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sequinsmile-x · 2 months

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Physical Touch

He usually loved when his wife touched him, but it was slowly driving him crazy.

Part of the Love Languages series

-x-

Hi friends!

Well...I should have expected that the smut fic would win the poll by a landslide and here we are haha

I really hope you enjoy this <3 it's soft, smutty and full of Aaron just...pining for his wife. What more could you want on a Thursday evening?

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He’d known she was tactile long before they got together.

Aaron had watched her for years, always ready to place a comforting hand on someone’s shoulder or pull them into a hug. More than once he’d found himself wishing she’d do the same for him, the embargo they’d seemingly placed on physical contact between them a two-way thing, something they both upheld, as if they knew it was a line they could not cross.

He’d held her hand once before they became them. It was when she was in hospital, before she was stable enough to be moved to Bethesda. She’d still mostly been out of it, pain and medication rolling through her in a way he was also familiar with. He’d held her hand, squeezing it tightly as he wore the suit he’d worn to her funeral, a bitter taste on his tongue as he apologised to her. She’d told him since that she thought she’d dreamt it, that she’d pulled him out of her imagination, the warmth of his hand around hers something she’d made up in some strange attempt to self-soothe.

He’d always known she was tactile, but being in a relationship with her was a whole other level he hadn’t been anticipating. She touched him all the time, ranging from subtle moments, like her fingers trailing over his when she passed him a coffee or a case file, or squeezing his knee under the table when they were at Dave’s for dinner, to more obvious moments. She was a snuggler, something he would never have put money on before their first date. She would wrap herself around him like a vine whenever they were alone, her arm linked through his and her head on his shoulder as they sat on the couch, or she could lay half on top of him in bed, her hand sneaking under his t-shirt as she sought his warmth from the source, falling asleep to the comfort of his heartbeat.

He loved it. He loved that his wife expressed her love that way, that she’d push his hair out of his face as she told him he needed a haircut, that she also loved their children in the same way. It’s one of the reasons he knew Jack and Violet always sought her out for comfort, her embrace was his place of safety too, something so calming about something as simple as her cheek against his shoulder that he wondered how he'd ever lived without it.

He usually loved it, but it was slowly driving him crazy.

He’d dislocated his shoulder in a takedown of an unsub two months ago. The injury had torn his rotator cuff and he’d needed surgery, a simple relocation of his shoulder joint not enough. He could still remember the fear in Emily’s eyes when he’d come round from surgery, how she was barely holding herself together, her grip on his wedding ring that he’d had to take off so tight the imprint lasted for hours. His shoulder had been immobilised with strict instructions on how to make sure he healed properly, and the only time his wife ever paid attention to medical advice to the letter was when it was for him or one of the kids, which had led to one, unfortunate, side effect.

Aaron hadn’t had sex with his wife in two months.

He missed her. She was right by his side, but he missed her. Missed the intimacy that had always been an important part of their relationship. Every tiny thing about her was getting to him the longer they went without having sex. Her beauty was bordering on obscene, as it always had, and his breath would catch in his chest whenever he looked at her, or if she walked by and he caught a sniff of her perfume, the scent he knew was simply her always following just afterwards. Even watching her with Jack and Violet, watching how good a mother she was filled his gut with want, with the desire to have more children with her as soon as possible.

The touching was, however, by far the worst. Every time she touched him he felt his skin fizz, sparks set off just by the feel of her skin against his, and he was close to losing his mind.

He hears a knock on his office door and he looks up, a smile immediately breaking out across his face when he sees Emily standing in the doorway, her arms crossed as she casually leans against the door frame.

“Hey honey,” she says, stepping into the office, “Are you ready to go? We, and by we I mean you, promised Vi we’d pick up some dessert on the way home.”

He chuckles as he thinks about his 2, almost 3, year old daughter. She was a mini Emily through and through, right down to the big dark brown eyes he couldn’t say no to. He stands up and starts to put some paperwork in his briefcase, and he raises his eyebrow at his wife as he looks up at her.

“You say that like you can say no to her,” he quips, stepping out from behind his desk and walking over to her, quickly stamping his lips against hers.

She hums and kisses him again, her hand hooking around the back of his head, making him shiver as she scratches lightly at his scalp, “We both know I’m the bad cop at home, baby,” she says, kissing him once more before she pulls back, “One of us has to be.”

He laughs, the sound dying in his throat when she reaches out and places her hand on his chest, rubbing gently at the lapel on his jacket. He can feel her touch through his clothes, her skin somehow burning him through his jacket and his shirt, and he tenses before he can control it. Emily frowns at him, her eyebrows pinching together as she pulls back.

“You had some lint on you,” she explains, pressing her lips together as she looks him up and down, her eyes slightly narrowed as she tries to figure out what's wrong, “Aaron are you okay? Is your shoulder bothering you?”

It’s not a lie, not really, because his shoulder was sore. A now familiar ache that got worse throughout the day, radiating outwards from the new scar he bore. It was easier than explaining to her how he was feeling, less embarrassing than admitting he wanted her so much he was thinking about pushing everything off his desk right here and now.

There were still two weeks until the doctor’s initial advice would run out, and he knew it was going to be the longest two weeks of his life.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling softly at her, rolling his shoulder slightly, “It just aches a bit.”

She hums and places her hand on it, her concern deepening when he tenses again, “How about when the monsters are in bed I give you a massage?”

He falters for a moment, sure that would be his undoing, but instead, he nods and decides to deflect as he places his hand on her lower back and guides her out of his office.

“Why do you get to call them monsters, but I don’t?” He asks, knowing exactly what her answer is going to be.

She scoffs playfully and looks up at him, her eyes narrowed, “Because one of them came out of me.”

___

By the time they get the kids to bed, he thinks she’s forgotten. The evening had passed them by with homework, bath time, and bedtime stories, a wonderfully normal evening they both once thought they’d never get.

He walks into their bedroom to find her kneeling on the bed, wearing one of his t-shirts and a tiny pair of shorts sticking out from underneath, with a bottle of lotion in hand.

She smiles at him, popping open the lid on the lotion as she beckons him over, “Come on, honey,” she says, “I promised you a massage.” She sees the slight hesitation before he walks over, and she hides a smirk by clearing her throat. He sits on the edge of the bed and she rolls her eyes, placing the lotion on the bed before she runs her hands over his shoulders, her fingers meeting at his neck as she starts to undo his shirt buttons, “This works better if you don’t wear your shirt.”

He nods and helps her get his shirt off, grateful that he’d slipped his tie off when he got home earlier, and he lets the shirt fall to the ground. She puts some of the lotion into her hands and rubs them together before she touches him, warming her palms and the lotion at the same time.

It’s only when she starts spreading it on his skin, her touch firm but gentle as she pushes her thumbs into his bad shoulder, that he realises she’s using her lotion. One that had a slight spice to it, a scent of cinnamon that followed her everywhere that was now permeating into his skin. He groans, his teeth clenched as he breathes her in, widening his legs as his pants get tighter.

She frowns, ready to pull away just in case she is hurting him, but then she looks over his shoulder, her lips pressed together as her cheeks flush when she sees the tenting of his pants. She makes a snap decision, wiping her palms on her shirt to get rid of the excess lotion before she climbs out from behind him.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his eyebrow raised as she kneels on the floor in front of him, her hands already on his belt, undoing it quickly.

“Come on, Aaron,” she says, unbuttoning his pants and moving them and his boxers just far enough to free him, “It hasn’t been that long,” she says, smiling in a way that seemed far too innocent for where her hand was, “I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at me,” she says, pumping him up and down, “Let me help.”

He nods, not needing any convincing, and his eyes drift shut as she leans forward and takes him in her mouth. He wraps his fists around the sheets of the bed so tightly he thinks they might rip.

“Fuck, Em. You’re so good at that,” he says, unable to stop himself from thrusting into her throat, the pressure that had been building him in for weeks threatening to blow, “So fucking good.”

She leans forward until her nose briefly presses against his pubic bone before she pulls back, sucking in a breath before she moves in again, bobbing her head up and down, his chorus of groans her reward. She has to press her thighs together for some friction, so turned on by seeing and hearing him like this that she briefly forgets why it had been so long since they’d done this in the first place. She can feel him start to lose control, his thrusts getting messier, but he stops her, his hand on her shoulder as he encourages her backwards, a desperate look in his eyes.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting rid of the spit that had connected her lip to the tip of him and she tilts her head, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, pushing his hands through her hair that he’d clearly messed up, unaware that he’d even grasped it, “I just want to be with you.”

She smiles devilishly, her tongue pressed into her cheek, chasing the taste of him from it, “You are with me.”

He rolls his eyes at her. He’d missed this too, the ease that came with being with her like this, the familiarity to it. It could be rough, passionate. Tearing each other’s clothes off. Or it could be soft. Full of love and hands pressed together as they showed each other how much they loved each other.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he says, and she smiles and nods, standing up from where she’d been kneeling. She pulls his pants off the rest of the way and then stands up, ready to straddle him, her desire making her dizzy. It’s only when she leans in to kiss him, her gaze briefly lingering on the new scar on his shoulder, and everything comes back into sharp focus.

“Wait,” she says breathlessly, pulling away from him, “We shouldn’t do this, your doctor-”

“Sweetheart,” he cuts her off, barely recognising his own voice because of how thick it is with desire, rough and gravelly as he stares at her, “You started this.”

She scoffs, “I started this? You’re the one who got an erection when I just barely touched your shoulder.”

In any other circumstance, he’s sure he’d laugh. It was so like her to try and start an argument in the middle of sex it made him fall in love with her even more, a feat that always seemed impossible until it happened. He pulls her closer, grateful not for the first time this evening that it wasn’t his dominant shoulder that had been injured, “Because you’re so fucking gorgeous I couldn’t take it anymore.”

She swallows thickly and looks him up and down, desire sparking under her skin. It had been a long two months for her too, her frustration at not being able to have him so intense she’d yelled at Derek twice in the last week alone when he hadn’t deserved it.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she admits, her voice cracking slightly. He smiles softly, the pent-up, overwhelming, need for her fading for a moment as he reaches out and cups her cheek, tucking some of her unruly hair behind her ear.

“You never could.”

She thinks about it for a moment before she nods leaning forward to stamp her lips against his before she briefly gets off the bed, dropping her shorts to the ground, “Lean up against the headboard.”

He does as he’s told, and she pulls a pillow from her side of the bed and slots it between his bad shoulder and the headboard, smiling softly when he stamps a grateful kiss against her lips. She sits on his lap, groaning as she notches over him, a noise he returns when he feels just how wet she is.

“Fuck, Em,” he says, his hands on her hips as she pulls her t-shirt off, “I’ve barely even touched you.”

“Yeah, well” she breathes out, rocking her hips over him, “You’re not the only one who’s been missing this,” she says as she wraps her hand around him to guide him into her.

They both groan as she sinks onto him, the familiar stretch making them both breathless for a moment.

“Oh fuck,” she says, her eyes rolling back as her head falls backwards for a moment, her hands on his thighs as she clenches around him, the breath stolen from her lungs as she adjusts to him, “God you feel so good.”

“You do too, sweetheart,” he grunts out, encouraging her closer, tugging at her until they are chest to chest, bare skin pressed against each other as he rests his forehead against hers, “You feel so fucking good.”

She cups his cheeks, her hands on either side of his face as she keeps her forehead against his and starts to rock her hips against his, a sound she could only call a relieved chuckle escaping her as he meets her thrust for thrust.

They fall into a familiar rhythm, a sense of desperation woven through it, their eyes locked together as they both move, lost in the feel of each other. Eventually, he feels her hips start to stutter, and her thighs tremble around him. He reaches between them with his good hand and rubs circles on her clit, smiling as she mewls at him, the sound close to obscene as she buries her face in his neck, just about able to remember their children were sleeping down the hall.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says, increasing the pressure on her clit, feeling his own orgasm within reach, “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

She clenches her teeth tightly as she comes, stopping herself from screaming out as her hips buck against him. A spark goes off in her belly and spreads through her entire body, every nerve ending on fire as it washes over her as she moans his name. He isn’t far behind her, the way she clenches around him as she comes the final push he needs, and he buries his face in the top of her hair, her name lost in the dark locks stuck to her with sweat.

They fall into silence, just the sound of their heavy breathing surrounding them. She’s the first to pull back, smiling lazily at him as she kisses him quickly before she pulls back to look at him, checking him over as if she’s looking for damage. She looks at the scar, placing her hand over it as she still tries to catch her breath, “I hope we didn’t make it worse.”

“It’s fine, baby,” he says, kissing her temple and then her cheek, encouraging her to turn her head so he can capture her lips in a kiss, “Besides, since when were you such a stickler for doctor’s orders?”

She playfully narrows her eyes at him but doesn’t pull back, not wanting to put any space between them yet, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Right,” he says jokingly, stamping a kiss against her lower lip, stuck out in a pout she’d always deny, “So it wasn’t you who I caught trying to drive to the store less than two weeks after she had a c-section? My mistake.”

She blows out a breath and shakes her head at him, her cheeks somehow flushing even though the blush from her orgasm had never gone away, “That was totally different.”

He chuckles and kisses her, properly this time, and he smiles as he pulls back, “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

-x-

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the-californicationist · 6 months

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Guile & Guilt (Ch. 02)

Soap x Reader AU

Link to AO3

THE NEXT DAY

The Ettrick was the best pub in town, and you could smell the spicy blend of their famous curry halfway down the block. It was close enough to Pidge’s house to walk but far enough to be a bit of a trek, and so you were trailing behind her and Hamish as you made your way out to dinner. Hamish had called up some friends, and Pidge had done the same, for a little impromptu celebration party. You were not a fan of crowds, really, but you had promised yourself (in some small secret way) that you would be the best maid of honor there ever was for your best friend. If that meant partying down at the local bar, so be it.

After bringing you and Pidge your morning coffees, Johnny had taken his Jeep and sped off somewhere, saying he “needed to clear his head.” But, even though he promised to show up to dinner tonight, you doubted he would show. Pidge had rolled her eyes and shrugged at you, expressing her doubt as well.

You weren’t supposed to be worried about him though. You needed to focus on the goal: Pidge having fun. Be fun. She needed you to be fun. Smile, or something, c’mon. Your internal pep talks exhausted you, and you grew frustrated with yourself. Surely you could stand to be in a crowd for just an evening?

Lachlan Black, Hamish’s man of honor and college roommate, was already at the restaurant. You could tell because his lime green Aventador was parked out front, covering both the street and the sidewalk and shining like a penny. Stepping around it as carefully as you would a coiled snake, you squeezed past the car, making sure not to even breathe too roughly on it.

When Hamish opened the door for you, you stepped inside to find Anjali, Bekah, and Cherise already waiting for Pidge, half-circled around Lachlan and Johnny like hungry birds - waiting to be fed more sweet nothings, you assumed. The three girls were Pidge’s friends from grammar school. They had grown up with Johnny and Pidge, and they knew them well, but they were not the most reliable bunch. If there was a party, they would turn up, but if you needed a ride to the airport, better call someone else. There was a reason none of them made the cut for maid of honor.

“Pigeon!” Johnny shouted from his end of the bar.

He had changed clothes, and he was in a half-open, rolled-sleeve button down with a pair of black canvas pants. Casual, but he looked like he was built to party. Lachlan, on the other hand, looked like he owned the party. You didn’t know what kind of fabric his clothes were made out of - probably something to do with baby alpacas - and he was shining all over. His high (surgery-induced?) cheekbones and bright blond hair made him look like a movie star, and the girls doted on him as if he was one. He had thrown an arm around Cherise, and she seemed perfectly content to be nestled there in his expensive armpit.

Johnny hugged Pidge and shook Hamish’s hand. He didn’t know what to do to you, so he just leaned back against the bar and shoved his hands in his pockets, smiling at you and mouthing the ghost of a “hey.” You did the same, matching that awkward energy and immediately regretting it.

“Hey, babes,” Lachlan smiled at you in a sort of sneer, “Aren’t you that bird from…New York?”

“Florida,” you corrected, tearing your eyes away from Johnny’s and looking hard at Hamish’s friend.

“Right, well,” he took a swig of his whisky, “All the same, innit?”

Hamish shook his hand, and then, he sort of pulled him off balance a bit to speak to him closer,

“No, mate, it isn’t.”

They laughed, but you could tell that Lachlan had been temporarily cowed.

“Good to see you again,” Cherise kissed you in the French sort of way, the imaginary cheek smooches that you were supposed to have memorized when you crossed the pond. Did you lean left first or right?

“You, too, Cherise. Glad you could come,” you tried to be as friendly as you could, but Cherise was into her own ventures and there wasn’t much that could shake her from that. She was tucked back into Lachlan’s side, trying to return herself into his missing rib. If she just squeezed in close enough, maybe…

“Can I get you a drink, from one Of Honor to the next?” Lachlan showed you his teeth again. White. Straight. Sharp.

Before you could say a word, Johnny moved in front of him and held out an outstretched hand. He gave you a full whisky cocktail, complete with an orange rind on top - something Pidge already had a copy of - and shrugged,

“Sorry, mate. You can get the next one, yeah? Here ya go, bonnie.”

The way he looked at you was meant to be dismissive, or perhaps he hadn’t meant to look at you at all. Johnny barely glanced your way, pale irises hiding under thick, dark eyelashes that then quickly fixed themselves back down at the counter. But, the look in your eyes must have called him by his name, because he found himself caught in the snare of you. His gaze met yours in a second glance and studied your skin, your cheeks, your nose, and finally your mouth, covered in sticky gloss and glitter, shining under the warm glow of the bar.

You watched him study you, his enormous Adam’s apple bobbing along his scruffy throat as he swallowed, and his face wore a mask of heightened uncertainty and… rejection? You couldn’t tell what emotion he was trying hard not to outwardly express. It was not a swoon, that was for sure. It looked as if he was concerned. You felt the blood rush to your cheeks and you broke away from him, muttering a thanks for the drink. Staring down at your hands, suddenly feeling insecure, you became hyper-aware of everything he could have seen and had apparently found wanting.

A soft hand grabbed you around the arm and pulled you in,

“C’mon,” Pidge said, “Let’s get a booth.”

You took a sip of your cocktail as you were dragged away by your friend, and the whisky stung you like a hornet. One of these would be enough to put you down, and Christ did you want to be put down.

Seeing Johnny dressed like that had been enough to shake your determination, but his look of dismissal or distaste (or whatever it was) had shattered your self-esteem. To make matters worse, you couldn’t get away from him for a single second. He had given you a drink at the bar. He walked behind you as you moved deeper into the pub, and he slid around the slick pleather crescent of the booth seat, finally sandwiching you between him and his sister - the last nail in your coffin. You could smell his cologne, a musky, woodsy scent that mixed with his earthy citrus that you knew so well. You remembered the arch of his muscular shoulders as he squeezed himself into the seat, and you could almost taste his sweet breath on your tongue as he talked over you to his sister. If you were still in grade school, you thought about having to write: “I will not fuck my best friend’s brother” five hundred times on the chalkboard - or however many it took for it to sink in. How many sticks of chalk would turn to dust just to slake your forbidden thirst?

You felt his huge thigh, warm and tight, press against your bare leg through his slacks. The thin cotton was a poor barrier, and all you could think about was the skin underneath it. Was it covered in dark coarse hair? Shaved smooth like a swimmer? Did it have black, inky tattoos or jagged scars? Sharing his heat was unimaginably difficult to deal with. Your body stirred, wondering why you were hiding your interest from him. Your traitorous heart was joyful like a bird with a juicy worm, expecting revelry and finding only cold, white-knuckled repression.

“A wee toast!” Johnny lifted his cup, smiling in that half-cocked way that he wore in all of his photos, “To Hammie and Pigeon; and whilst we thus should make our sorrows one, this happy harmony would make them none. Congratulations, sister. Slàinte mhath.”

“Slàinte mhath!” The tables’ voices rang out with proud approval.

Pidge rolled her eyes, but she wore a sweet smile,

“Thank you, Johnny boy. That was not the toast I was expectin’ from you, you weapon.”

Johnny, who had been wearing an innocent grin, turned it into a cunning one that a wolf might wear,

“Ya mean, this one?”

“No, Johnny, don’t -” Pidge tried to pull him down, reaching over you to get at his arm.

He broke through her grip as if she was a petulant child, and stood, raising his glass and his voice so that the entire pub could enjoy his toast,

“Let’s drink our drop o’ barley bree,” boisterous cheering came from the older menfolk who recognized the rhyme, “Though moon and stars should blink tae’gether, to each leal lad wi’ kilted knee…” a pause for effect prompted raucous whistles and table-pounding, “and a bonnie lass among the heather!”

Loud, jeering applause filled the cozy room, and Hammie was being shoved by his mates, blushing like a nun. Pidge cut a sharp glare at her brother, red not for shame but for fraternal rage.

You wanted to stick up for her, being stuck between them as you were. So, you put on a wry smile and raised your eyebrows to deliver your sarcasm,

“Wow, Sergeant, didn’t realize you were such a poet.”

While he was laughing and basking in the crude attention, he now paused and swiveled his head over to you, looking at you intentionally this time, and there was no second take. He laughed a little lower, and looked ruffled that you would challenge his poetic authority. He needed to save face, so he made quite a show of clearing his throat and settled himself nice and close to you before he said,

“Perhaps the bonnie lass would like to hear another?”

You noted his tone on the callback line, and you shrugged, feigning disinterest.

“Of that quality? No, thank you,” you tried to erase all traces of interest from your voice.

He was not to be deterred. Johnny’s face turned serious, and he delivered the next lines as earnestly and without satire, taking your request to heart,

“We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go, always a little further. It may be beyond the last blue mountain barred with snow, across that angry or that glimmering sea…”

When he stopped his performance, the applause and the cheering erupted again, praising him for his fancy delivery. Thinking he’d won your little challenge, he took a big sip of his own straight whisky and grinned like a cat who caught the mouse. You snuffed it out with the frigid precision only a graduate student would possess,

“White, on a throne, or guarded in a cave,” you enunciated as clearly as you could, matching his volume, and you watched as his pompous attitude was extinguished. He froze, just like a fox caught in a trap, staring at you with wonder. You continued,

“There lives a prophet who can understand why men were born. But, surely we are brave…”

He said the last line with you, his face blank in disbelief and his voice almost a whisper,

“Who take the golden road to Samarkand.”

More cheering than before. You’d won. You borrowed his smug attitude and looked at him, sipping your drink as he did, pleased as punch. He looked wounded but blissfully happy about it. Everyone around you went back into their conversations, chittering and drinking and eating the appetizers that were waiting for you. But, Johnny kept you locked in his sights, staring back like he was seeing you again for the first time, just like when he thought you were a thief. You wondered what it was that you had stolen this time. His pride? The other bridesmaids’ admiration?

“You know Flecker?”

You nodded,

“I’m at Glasgow. Doing a bit of graduate work in poetry, actually. Shakespeare, to be specific.”

You tried to be casual about it. In truth, the “bit” of work was a mountain, and if you were being “specific”, you could talk for days and still not cover the details in full. But, normal people didn’t want to hear about that sort of thing.

Johnny was about to say something with a wide grin on his lips, but it fell as soon as Lachlan interrupted from across the booth’s table,

“My father is an Emeritus at Glasgow. He’s hardly in residence, but he could help you get into the ARG, if I put in a good word.”

There it was again, that sharpness. You smiled genuinely, refusing to be unsettled by his intrusion and his mention of the invitation-only advanced research group,

“I’m running my own research in the ARG now, actually. But, thank you. That’s very generous.”

Johnny was speechless for a moment, but there was something dark roiling around in him as he cut his eyes at Lachlan,

“Aye, mate. Very generous. Did you attend uni as well, or just your da?”

A cruel dig. Everyone knew that Lachlan hadn’t been accepted to his father’s own department. Johnny was dragging out the skeletons of his vast, walk-in closet, a dog with a bone.

Lachlan Black was not one to be bullied, though,

“I went on invitation to Oxford, actually. A full merit scholarship…”

Johnny wasn’t done playing with his food,

“Och! Of course. I've been forgetful lately. And what, uh…degree was it, then?”

Silent tension struck the table like a too-tight guitar string, ready to pop someone across the cheek. Lachlan was clearly rattled, but he recovered with ease. He took a sip of his nearly empty glass and rose as if to get a refill, reigning hellfire as he did so,

“I had already made my first million by the end of my starting year. So, I thought I’d leave the monastery to the monks, right boyo?”

Lachlan stayed standing over the table for a beat, making sure the dog he’d kicked stayed down. Johnny didn’t produce a comeback, but he was close enough to you that you could feel his body prepare itself to deliver one in a more physical format.

When Lachlan left the table, Cherise in tow, Pidge spoke across you again,

“Johnny! What’s gotten into you?”

Her brother rolled his eyes and didn’t answer. He turned his attention back to you, emboldened somehow even in defeat,

“Another round, hen?”

He pointed to your glass, and you nodded,

“Sure, but let me get it. Pidge? Do you want another?”

“Yes! And tell them to bring two tequilas. My wee brother is driving me to drink.”

“I’ll help you carry ‘em back. C’mon, then,” Johnny held his hand out to help you out of the booth, and as you slid your fingers across his palm, he grabbed it with confidence.

He led you to the other side of the bar, as far from Lachlan as he could get, and let you place the order. You sat on the stool to wait and he stood beside you, one arm on the bar and one on the back of your chair, caging you in,

“So, Shakespeare, huh?”

“Yep,” you nodded, hesitating to elaborate.

“You’re after his poems, I take it?” Johnny’s face looked like he was trying to piece together an impossible puzzle.

You sighed, steeling yourself for the ordeal of telling someone all about your project only for them to respond in the most milquetoast way. You told him,

“I’m trying to determine why Sonnet 145 has such an abnormal structure. Some scholars have even claimed that Shakespeare didn’t compose it. It’s the black sheep of the collection, and I am performing an analysis on its rhyme scheme and meter.”

“Do you know it by heart?” He asked, practically begging for a performance.

“Here are your drinks, love. Tha’s twenty pound,” the barkeep stopped you from delivering your encore.

You paid him and balanced the cups in your hand. Johnny took the majority of the burden and made his way back through the crowd with you trailing behind him.

“Ahh!” Pidge squealed with pleasure, “Shots! C’mon, babe. Show these nuggets how it’s done in America. This girl’s a real cowgirl, she is. Watch this.”

You grabbed the salt from the center of the table, shy and miffed at Pidge’s callout, and licked the meat of your thumb to wet it. You sprinkled the salt on it and reached for the lime. Then, you licked the salt, downed the shot, and sucked on the flesh of the fruit, keeping your face as straight as an arrow. Pidge clapped with joy.

“Okay, me next.”

“That’s quite the process, cowgirl,” Hamish commented, admiring your shot-taking ritual.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that downtown Miami didn’t have any cows, but you just smiled, folding yourself back up into hiding in the booth. The conversations left you behind and your head began to swim from the alcohol. By the time everyone was ready for their next beverage, you were done. Pidge didn’t notice. She’d moved on to champagne and spritzers. You were alone in a crowded room again, as usual.

“Hey, you feelin’ alright, bonnie?”

Johnny’s voice seemed too quiet for a loud bar. You smiled weakly,

“Mmm. Just drank too much, I think.”

“C’mon. I’ll get you home.”

Before you could protest, he was helping you out of the booth and onto your feet. You heard Pidge shriek,

“Johnny! What did I say?!”

“Pigeon! Is that really what you think o’ me? Gonna tuck her in, and tha’s it. I’ll be right back.”

“I swear on Christ and -”

“Yeah, yeah, and all the actual saints. I heard you, you wee dafty. I promise. Not a hair on her head, yeah?”

“You can touch all the hairs on my head, Soap,” Bekah cackled, and the table laughed with her.

Johnny laughed too, which felt like a knife twisting in your chest for some reason. You’d forgotten all about his nickname. Everyone except Pidge used it for him. You thought it was a callsign for the military, but you’d never had to call him anything, so you didn’t remember. But, Bekah did. She called him the right name. You had failed, obviously. Put it on my tab , you thought. You screamed it in your mind, punishing yourself for your mistake: Soap, Soap, Soap…

“C’mon,” he held you by the arm, “I’m out back.”

He loaded you into his Jeep and climbed into the driver’s side, adjusting the knobs for air and music. Some early aughts alt rock was blaring too loudly, and he cut it down, apologizing under his breath. His car smelled like cigarettes and beach sand. It was cleaner than it should’ve been. You felt too hot and too cold, and you wanted to sleep, so you did.

You woke with a jolt after the short ride had ended, and he had you in his arms, nestled close to his chest. He felt you come to and he whispered,

“Shh, lass. We’re almost in. Gonna get you some water and a paracetamol, and you’ll be right as rain in the mornin’.”

“God,” you groaned, “Soap, I’m so sorry. I didn’t really eat anything, and I -”

“Tha’s fine, hen. You’re alright. We’ve all been there, trust.”

He deposited you on his bed, pulling off your shoes and tucking you in. Then, he was gone and back in a flash of your semi-unconscious state. He handed you the pills and the water. It was cool in your hot mouth.

“Here, lass. Take that for me. Tha’s it. Good girl.”

You groaned, feeling sick with drunken stupor and sick with drunken desire all at the same time.

“And, hey,” he bent his face so he was eye-level with you as you lay back down, “Call me Johnny.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 03

#soap mctavish #soap x reader #soap x you #soap cod #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mw2 #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty fanfic #guile and guilt

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novoaa1writes · 11 months

Text

day 0

image source

pairing(s): softdark!natasha romanoff x gnc!reader, natasha romanoff & tony stark (platonic)

summary:

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

Natasha shrugged. “Chemically-induced submission is all very well and good,” she mused, sounding vaguely preoccupied. You could still feel her gaze upon you, boring through your skull. “But I’d prefer to earn theirs.”

“Your funeral.”

Or: Natasha wants a pet. Lucky for her, she knows a guy who can help with that.

contains: non-con dynamics, pet play, dehumanization

[cross-posted on ao3]

word count: ~3,300

rating: mature

warnings: non-con dynamics, forced pet play, dehumanization, non-con bathing, referenced non-con body modification, referenced non-con medical experimentation/surgery, referenced physical and psychological abuse, discussions of administering post-op painkillers (morphine, oxycodone, anti-inflammatories, etc.)

notes: reader’s gender is not specified here, and as with every reader-insert i write, the reader is intended to be ethnically ambiguous! also, no use of y/n... i don't personally mind it much, but i understand it's typically preferred without

translation for russian terms in the end notes!

(previously named “build-a-pet”)

— —

Natasha had been on mission when she received the call.

Burner #1—professional access. A select handful of people had the means to call it. Phil, Clint, Nick, Maria. Pepper, too.

Burner #2—a separate, off-books agenda. Personal in nature. Accessible to none save for one individual.

It was the second of the two that rang to signal an incoming call.

Eyeing her target—Pavel Mikhailovich Novik, Bratyerstva head and prolific serial killer—intently through the tac scope, she brought the phone up to her ear and answered the call:

“Romanoff.”

“Gah! Always business with you, huh?” Tony Stark’s conversational—if not somewhat indignant—tone filtered through the speaker. “That’s no way to greet a friend.”

Were Natasha not otherwise occupied at the current moment, she might’ve scoffed. As it was: “A little busy, Shellhead,” she muttered, shifting her aim in time with Novik’s uneven stride as he made his way across a municipal street. “Why don’t we skip to the part where you tell me what you’ve got?”

“I’m doing just swell, thanks for asking.”

He was a short, stout man. Novik, that was. Flat-footed gait, the kind that had long since ruined the arches of his well-worn shoes. Broad shoulders; barrel-chested torso. Thick dark hair cut short on his scalp and, in the case of his square-shaped jaw, removed completely—but permitted to grow to damn near cat-whisker length everywhere else.

A wheat-link chain hung loose around his short neck; the chunky watch on his hairy wrist gleamed when it caught the light. Both solid gold.

He was dressed nicely enough in a red button-down that looked soft as satin, and charcoal black trousers with a matching blazer to boot.

Natasha had to bite back a disapproving hum as he strode into the establishment—a pub, no less—and hoisted himself up onto a barstool with little ceremony.

He was armed, of course, but only barely; a pistol in one inner coat pocket, a switchblade in the other. He also wasn’t entirely clueless, as evidenced by his company: a pair of stern-looking men who stood flanking him on either side, the material of their cheap polyester suits straining to contain their hulking figures, jackets bulging with poorly-concealed semi-automatic weapons. They watched the bartender like hawks as he set a clear bottle—Dębowa—and an empty glass in front of Novik before promptly scurrying away.

They turned their matching glowers away from their boss as he began to drink, surveying the small, dimly-lit pub with heavy-browed suspicion.

It was a clear message. A bit garish for Natasha’s tastes; but clear nonetheless.

As it was, she barely had to shift herself any further to catch him in her crosshairs through a series of high, rectangular windows lining the interior of the grimy pub.

All bark, no bite.

A far less jaded woman might have snorted.

A far less jaded woman Natasha was not.

“… Long story short, we’ve made some serious progress. I want to check in, though, if you could swing by for a quick visit. We’ve only got a short window before some of these alterations are irreversible. Plus, I figured you’d want to see them.”

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, her pulse thrumming wild and fast beneath her skin. “You figured right,” she managed to answer, her mouth dry. It was all she could do to keep Novik unharmed in her crosshairs, her finger from squeezing the trigger.

“So, when can we expect you?”

Natasha flit her gaze to the clock face fastened atop a tall, spindly spire on the nearest street corner, then back to Novik. “Give me six hours.”

— —

“Boss, three reports intercepted from secure, heavily-encrypted channels. All high-profile killings, all on European soil.”

Tony Stark, though intrigued, did not look up from the task at hand: himself perched adroitly along the rim of the tub, lathering your naked body in sweet-smelling soaps; you, slumped uncouthly in the cradle of the bath, glaring up at him with defiant eyes and murder in the tick of your jaw.

“Time window?” he questioned after a pause, lowering one sudsy hand to knead at your lower belly and grinning wolfishly when you couldn’t smother a quiet whine.

“Six days.”

“Locales?”

“Qormi, Malta; Kutaisi, Georgia; and Gomel, Belarus.”

Stark hummed in lieu of answer, a vaguely preoccupied look in his narrowed gaze. His large, calloused fingers didn’t cease their humiliating ministrations over your quivering belly, making you pant in an effort to hold back a low, guttural trill.

“In that order?”

“Yes, boss.”

You hated him. You fucking hated him.

“Walks like Natasha, quacks like Natasha…” he trailed off, giving your belly one last squeeze before withdrawing slightly to cup your other hip with his palm. “Probably Natasha.”

You’d only just begun regaining your strength following the latest procedure, though not nearly enough to do anything other than glare.

Stark slanted his gaze back over to you. If he was at all cowed by the force of your glower, he did well not to show it. “You’re adorable when you’re plotting my demise, y’know that?”

It took everything within you not to roll your eyes.

— —

“So, how was White Russia? Eat any draniki?” Stark questioned as he settled bodily into an armchair, gesturing for Natasha to seat herself on the settee across from him.

She did, her features calm and impassive. Her shrewd gaze flit to you once, but was quick to refocus. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“C’mon, give me something,” Stark carped, huffing petulantly. You couldn’t see his face from this angle, only the back of his head and a bit of bearded cheek, but you imagined he was probably pouting like a third grader. “For old times’ sake?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Guilty as charged,” Stark quipped. “Though, I suppose I can’t say the same for Novik. He didn’t even get a trial.”

Natasha’s placid expression did not falter. “Who?”

“You know what, I’m just gonna give you this one—”

“Generous.”

“—but only because we’ve achieved a mind-blowing amount of progress within the past couple weeks. Like, seriously: mind-blowing.”

You felt yourself shudder at the reminder. Progress, indeed.

“Oh?” Natasha queried lightly, brows raised. Once more, her gaze dipped to you… and stayed there.

You ducked your head and averted your eyes, cheeks aflame. You’d grown accustomed to being naked around Stark—mainly because you didn’t have a choice. But Natasha…

For the first time in years, you found yourself missing your long hair, the way you could cower behind it at a moment’s notice. Now, you were exposed. Vulnerable.

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

“Your funeral.”

Natasha’s lips twitched, though she remained silent. Then, after a beat or two— “Your progress?” she prompted.

“Right, so, here’s the run-down…”

— —

You’d tuned out for the most part as Stark began his long-winded, vainglorious speech to Natasha about his—your—successes since last they’d spoken. Much as you understood it was likely prudent to listen in, acquire a little more knowledge on what exactly he’d done to you, you’d also been there long enough to know that it probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyhow.

Natasha would do with you as she pleased. Stark, too, provided Natasha was the one asking.

In the beginning, that intrigued you. Made you want to learn more about them and their dynamic; to understand why it was what it was. You didn’t get why Stark would run, jump, and heel for the likes of her—intimidation factor notwithstanding.

By this point, that intrigue had since dwindled, if not dissipated entirely. It was what it was; consequently, they were, too.

You were still angry and strong-willed and a far cry from broken, but you weren’t stupid, either. Just because they treated you like a chained-up dog didn’t mean you had to gnaw off your own limbs in a desperate bid to escape like one.

And, besides… it wasn’t often you got moments like these. Moments where you weren’t being poked and prodded and shot up with God knows what. You were collared, sure, your body riddled with all kinds of aches and pains, but none of it held a candle to the agony you’d known in days past.

Lost in your head though you were, months’ worth of training ensured you didn’t miss the moment Natasha called you over.

“Ко мне,” she spoke, pitching her voice just above appropriate speaking volume.

It was like someone lit a fire under your ass. The second you heard it, you shot up on all fours. Pain came fast on its heels, but you grit your teeth and bore it, swallowing down a cry as soreness shot through your hands—you flat-out refused to call them ‘paws’—like wildfire. Every heightened reflex stood on high alert. Your back, too, felt like it was on fire, spinal column alight with tenderness.

Still, it wasn’t nearly so bad as it’d been a week back, when you awoke in observation all bandaged up and so acutely in pain, you feared it might kill you. You also knew better than to dawdle. Clenching your jaw tight, you shuffled forth on sore palms and bruised knees. Your muscles burned.

You were grateful to feel the tip of your nose graze Natasha’s jean-clad knee, signaling a justifiable stopping point.

“Молодец,” she praised, her voice pitched an octave (or two) higher, and you felt like singing.

You even arched your poor, aching back in a shameless effort to attract… well, something, you supposed. Head pats, perhaps. An open-handed stroke down your spine, even.

Damn that animal, desire-seeking hindbrain.

Fortunately, Natasha seemed to understand. Her palm met the nape of your neck, slender fingers curling their way into the mess of hair at the back of your scalp—God, but that felt divine. A mounting hum in the back of your throat was all the warning you got before—

Fuck. Immediately, you clamped your mouth shut, and the sound—along with the pleasurable vibrations—stopped altogether.

Not again.

“Ah-ah-ah, puppy,” Natasha tutted, her free hand descending to squeeze your nose tight—effectively cutting off your air supply. And still, the other remained; combing through freshly-washed hair at the base of your skull, occasionally scritching your scalp with the tips of her blunt nails until the insides of your throat quivered and your jaw hurt from clenching it so hard. It was all you could do to keep from opening right back up and giving her a nice long purr. (Which, you’d deduced, was exactly what she wanted.) “None of that.”

She was using English now, you noticed.

And, just like that, the realization hit that she hadn’t been before.

Now, you could… you could hear her words and understand them, and from that understanding know their meaning. Before, it was like… like hearing the words and knowing what they were supposed to mean, then acting accordingly. You couldn’t take apart the syllables, the letters in your head, not like you could with English.

P-u-p-p-y. That spelled ‘puppy.’ When you tried to conjure the word she’d used to summon you over, there was just… nothing. A blank space. A short one, telling you you knew the approximate length of the word you were looking for, but… empty.

Your gaze darted to Stark, who just slouched back in his cushy armchair looking immeasurably pleased with himself. At any other time, the mere sight would’ve been enough to spark some measure of annoyance within you.

Now… Now, all you could feel was fear.

He didn’t do that, did he? He… he couldn’t’ve.

All the rest of it: the obedience, the meekness—that? That was conditioning, plain and simple. You weren’t exactly a PhD, but it didn’t take a genius to note down from the very start that some behaviors got you alone time in a small, dark room without food or water or sunlight for days on end, and others got you… well, not that. By a certain point, you would beg him to yell at you, choke you out, take you over his knee and spank your ass raw when you misbehaved; something, anything, so long as it wasn’t that. 2 times out of 10, he’d take you up on that. As for the other 8… well.

But this—implanting knowledge in your subconscious, tuning it to mimic compulsory behavioral urges, all while you remained none the wiser? That was a hell of a lot more complicated than reworking your spine, or tweaking sensory receptors, or even altering your vocal tract to make that obnoxious purr.

It was like he’d rewired your brain.

You didn’t even notice that you’d since relented: gasped out what little breath remained and began wheezing, all doubled-over, sucking in new breaths of air like a half-drowned cat. Though, you sure as hell noticed how that rattling, restless, vibrating sensation arose in your throat with every shuddering inhale; how, on every exhale came exactly what you’d feared—that pathetic, trilling purr. The one that warmed your body from head to toe while simultaneously making you wish you had never been fucking born.

God, but Natasha’s hands were like magic…

Your head still spun. Was it from the oxygen deprivation, or the realization that Stark had been inside your head? Probably both.

Terrified, dazed, and overwhelmingly confused, it took you some time to re-center; tuning back into Stark and Natasha’s conversation, if only to posture yourself accordingly. You could figure out the rest later, you reasoned.

“… The spinal alterations don’t inhibit their ability to stand upright, by any means, which is the exciting thing,” Stark was saying, damn near perched at the edge of his seat—almost vibrating with renewed vigor. Weirdo. “They just enhance their natural capacity to remain down on all fours and go about their day for extended periods of time: a day, a week… hell, indefinitely! Which, for humans, would be pretty much unthinkable. I mean, can you imagine?”

Without allowing a moment’s pause for Natasha to respond (which you’d come to understand was quite typical), Stark wasted no time in steamrolling on. “‘Course, the process of transplanting new bones was rather tricky, and we had to do a couple of them more than once. Dr. Cho estimates a week—at most—before they’ve healed enough to allow for more… strenuous physical activity.”

Natasha snorted. Her hand had long stilled its pleasant ministrations in favor of resting inert at the base of your skull, slender fingers curled loosely around your nape. You felt how they twitched and tightened their grip ever-so-slightly when Stark spoke of what he’d done to your spine. “Are they in pain?”

Funny. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought she cared.

Stark raised a brow. “Ballpark?”

Natasha must’ve nodded, or dipped her chin in confirmation, because a beat later, Stark spoke again.

“Imagine you got ripped open, rearranged, then stitched back up,” he summed up. “Twice.”

Dimly, it registered within you to be struck by his forthrightness, though you did not dare mistake it for empathy.

Natasha was quiet for a beat. “Sounds about right,” she said eventually.

“It doesn’t have to be this bad,” Stark offered, though there was a curious shift in his intonation, this time; a knowing and almost resigned look in his eye that made you wonder if he and Natasha had had this conversation before.

The way Natasha’s hand twitched, blunt nails digging into the skin of your nape, was answer enough.

“Were I their doctor, I’d be prescribing some serious pain meds,” Stark continued on dryly, making a show of tilting his head and gazing off into the distance as though he was deep in thought. “Morphine, oxycodone—“

“No.”

“—maybe a local anesthetic or two,” he mused, beginning to count them out on his fingers. “Anti-inflammatories. Anticonvulsants. Something for the anxiety, even—”

“I wanted a pet, not a vegetable.”

Stark’s lips twitched—though with exasperation or humor, you could not tell. “Do you realize how quickly even the most powerful anesthetics will metabolize through their system? They’re not human anymore, Red. At least, not entirely.”

Now, that piqued your interest.

“Neither am I.”

“It’s different for them. You know that. You got Erskine’s serum. Some unrefined bootleg variant, granted, but that man was nothing if not brilliant. Everything he touched, he turned to gold.” Stark spoke of him—this ‘Erskine’—as though he put the very stars in the sky. You wondered if he was truly brilliant, or just insane. You wondered if for Stark, there was any difference. “As for them… well.” He gestured vaguely towards you. “They got some anthropomorphic whack job’s bone marrow.”

You blinked. You got what now?

“He has a name, you know,” Natasha commented archly, the earlier indignation having dissipated from her tone.

“Point being—I’ve met the guy. He’s seriously unhinged.” He paused there, as if expecting Natasha to argue. When she didn’t, he steamrolled on: “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. scavenge some digitized medical reports and psych evals from his time at the facility, along with anything else they could piece together after he escaped. Violently, I might add.”

“I won’t say he’s devoid of empathy, or a moral compass, because we both know that that’s not true,” Stark explained, then muttered under his breath: “Even if his senses of both concepts are seriously skewed.”

“Tony,” Natasha interjected, a note of warning in her voice.

“Just listen, alright? I’m getting there.” Stark huffed out a sigh, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “My point is that he wasn’t like that, at the start. He was no saint, to be sure, but he wasn’t like that. It wasn’t until they started a particularly ill-inspired series of ‘tests’—though I’d argue a better term would be ‘torture sessions’—to assess his healing capabilities that he really started losing his marbles.”

You head was beginning to spin. Your jaw ached from clenching it so hard. Who were they talking about?

“See, because his capabilities—extraordinary as they were—weren’t superhuman. They didn’t transcend healing itself, let alone make it any less painful to endure. In fact, I think they actually concluded that it was made more painful by his body’s ability to undertake those processes at such an expeditious rate.” Stark breathed out another heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he could feel a headache brewing.

He wasn’t the only one.

“He nearly went insane, Natasha. Joking aside, it almost beggars belief that he’s as high-functioning as he is,” Stark asserted, no longer pulling his punches. “I know you don’t want that for them.”

It was silent for a beat… Then two.

“Fine.”

Stark promptly quieted, renewed interest sparking itself alight in his gaze. “What was that now?”

“I said, ‘Fine.’”

A slow grin spread across his clean-shaven features.

“No opioids,” Natasha was quick to amend. “Nothing addictive. Just… anything that’ll help more than it’ll hurt.”

Silence for a beat. Then two.

Stark squinted at her. “You sure you and that bleeding heart of yours are up for this?”

Natasha’s grip around your nape tightened even further. “Shellhead,” she gritted out, her tone hard as weathered steel. Even the sound of it was enough to send chills down your spine.

Stark, in contrast, was not at all similarly affected. He simply tilted his head to one side and made a show of continuing to appraise her with shrewd, assessing eyes. Then, finally: “You should try yoga.”

— —

end notes: L O fucking L

also the anthropomorphic whack job they’re talking about is logan (wolverine) from x-men, in case you’re wondering

edit: i’ve since written a continuation of this, linked below!

translation of russian terms (with stresses bolded):

ко мне | ko mnye | “come”

молодец | molodyets | excellent, good

sources:

“organized crime in eastern europe” | to be so clear, i just made up “bratyerstva” from the term “братство” (bratstvo) which means “brotherhood” or “fraternity” in bulgarian, macedonian, russian, and serbo-croatian dialects. it is also the name of a ukrainian political party (ukrainian: братство, romanized: bratstvo), but it is not an actual belarusian word. it also bears some resemblance to братва, a slang term used to refer to criminal gangs in russia and other ex-ussr states. honestly, the closest you’d probably get to an actual word with this would be the polish “braterstwo” (brahterstvo) which also means “brotherhood” or “fraternity.” (however, in some informal contexts, the term “братерство” has been used in ukrainian dialects to convey synonymous meanings.) anyway, this is a brief snippet (~10 pages) from an academic article about organized crime in eastern europe, if the precedent behind all that intrigues you. i thought it was pretty informative!

white russia | another name for belarus, though there’s some controversy/nuance to that (and big surprise, it’s got everything to do with russia). this links to an article from euronews talking about... all of that

draniki | an immensely popular dish in belarus. they’re basically potato pancakes. several other european countries have close equivalents.

— —

next part: come, sit, stay

link to masterlist

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x gnc!reader #dark!natasha romanoff #softdark!natasha romanoff x reader #stuff i wrote

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boldlyvoid · 6 months

Text

I Know Places: Title Chapter.

18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader | Masterlist | AO3 link

Summary: Worried for Aaron's safety as he heals, she takes him to the one place she knows no one can find them. The Bed and Breakfast in West Virginia.

Warnings: depression, anxiety, ptsd, suicidal thoughts, sexual assault, anti-depressants, hotch has a really hard time with everything. taking care of him, helping him bathe, hurt/comfort, deep talks, teasing, getting his staples removed, implied off-screen "sex", proposals

Word count: 5.6k

For some reason, he feels incredibly self-conscious as the nurse explains to Y/N how to help him change his bandages. They give him a little sponge bath in the room, ie a basin of soap and warm water is in his lap and they clean around his wounds with a washcloth while he lays back against his pillows biting his lip when it hurts.

In total, he has over 100 staples in his chest right now. Each wound has a large purple and blue bruise growing out around it and the wounds are gross… but Y/N doesn’t care. She lightly dabs the washcloth over these wounds, she cleans off the blood and iodine left over from his surgery and she listens so intently to the nurse as she explains how to re-bandage him. They dry him off, cover him in bandages and then make him lean forward so they can wrap his chest in gauze.

“Now, when it’s time to take the staples out you’ll have to come back here—

“We’re leaving after he gets discharged,” Y/N cuts her off. “With everything going on I don’t want to stay in his apartment or mine in case the unsub comes back, he’s not strong enough to help me fight the guy off if we need to.”

“Oh uh… where are you going?”

“West Virginia. The closest town to our cabin is Davis,” she explains, voice as low as possible.

“Okay,” the nurse nods and thinks of what they could do. “Um, I can send a referral to a local doctor or nurse practitioner in the area to get them out there?”

Aaron just takes a deep breath, he knows the plan but he’s so tired, so out of it, that he has a hard time caring. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You can’t take them out yourself,” the nurse reminds him. “Don’t even try.”

“I won’t let him,” Y/N assures her.

“Good, okay, I’m going to go do some research and talk to the doctor and you can help him put his gown back on?” She asks Y/N.

She nods, “Yeah, thank you so much.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she gives them a smile and then heads out with the basin and the washcloths.

She helps him back into his hospital gown with some grunts and heavy breathing as he stretches with staples in his chest. It’s not fun. He wants to pass out from the pain but he’s had more than enough pain medication today so he has to just deal with it. He’s so miserable, depressed beyond belief and trying his absolute best not to take it out on the woman he’s supposed to be so in love with.

Every time he looks at her, he knows he loves her. Every time she smiles at him, he knows he loves her. It's when she talks, to the doctors, to their friends… she talks to them as if he’s not there. As if everything will be okay. As if this isn’t the worst situation he could ever be in. He’s so mad at what’s happening that he wants to scream at her, ask her to be a little less cheery, to be a little more upset like he was.

“Are you okay?” She asks, giving him those over-caring eyes again.

He nods, “Yep.”

“Do you want to talk?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Aaron you can’t--

“I can. Watch me,” he spits back, closing his eyes as he lays back. “I’m hurting, I’m sad. Let it happen.”

She simply crosses her arms and stares at him, “You want me to leave you here? Do you want me to just go back to work and let you wallow in your self-pity and hurt yourself further? Cause I can do that.”

“No, no that’s not—

“I love you. I know this is hard, it’s killing me to see you like this but if we both fall down this hole who’s going to pull us up? I have to stay above ground for the both of us,” she explains and he knows she’s right. “So I’m going to plan things, I’m going to help you, I’m going to keep you on a schedule, and when you’re ready, we’re going to talk. Because I love you. I’m not doing this because I have some fake hope that things will be okay. I’m doing this because I truly believe we can get through this. I love you, which means I love your family and I will go to the ends of the earth to bring them back to you. Believe me when I say that.”

He beckons her closer, makes her sit on the side of the bed and takes her hand in his, “Thank you.”

“And?” She teases him.

“I love you too,” he assures. “Could you… um… could you ask the doctors to get me a psych consult?”

She nods, “Yeah, I can.”

He takes a deep breath, it hurts and so his breath comes back out in a sputter as a tear drips down his cheek. He doesn’t want to say it but he promised her a while ago that he would never leave her in the way he’s been thinking about it. “It’s been a week and my thoughts are… they’re not good. I want to fall asleep and never wake up in the morning. I want to die before they do. I can’t go through this anymore… I need some help.”

She reaches out and cups his cheek, wiping the tear away with her thumb, “thank you for telling me.” Fighting every urge not to cry with him, she swallows sharply. “you’re not thinking about hurting yourself? You just want to slip away in the night?”

He nods, crying harder, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no,” she gets even closer to him and lightly rubs his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll talk to someone, get you some medicine to help with the thoughts and I know I said we’re going to the middle of nowhere but I can find you a therapist there? We can handle this. We can do something about this before it gets too bad.”

He just cries, leaning forward she catches him carefully and their foreheads rest together. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

That’s all he could ask for.

—

With a new prescription for escitalopram, his bottle of pain meds and a referral for a nurse practitioner in Davis, they hit the road 1 week after the attack.

It takes them 4 hours to make it to the bed and breakfast that they knew and loved last year which isn’t too long for Aaron to be sitting but is just long enough to drive him a little crazy. He gets out with her to go get the keys, needing to stretch a bit before they have another hour and a half drive to their cabin.

Mary's daughter is working the front desk when they walk in. “Eileen, it’s lovely to see you again,” Y/N smiles as they enter.

“Oh, hey! Mom said you were coming today,” she smiles wide, happy to see them and then reaches under the desk for something. “I’ve got the key right here.”

“And I have the money,” Y/N says, digging $2k out of her purse in hundred-dollar bills.

They exchange the money and keys, Eileen gives her a map with instructions on how to get to the cabin and makes sure they know how everything there works. There’s a fireplace, they’ve stocked up the wood near the front porch so they don’t have to go far to get it and they walk them through the temperamental amenities for their stay.

She helps Aaron back into the car and he sighs, “Thank you…”

“Hey,” she looks at him from the door. “You don’t have to thank me, ever.”

“I know,” he gives her a little smile. She closes the door and rushes around to the driver's side again. “I just want you to know how much I love you for all this.”

She reaches over and takes his hand in hers, “so you should know I love you just as much because I’m doing this.”

He nods, “I know… thank you.”

“Let's go hide away.”

—

The first day at the cabin is just them moving in, unpacking all the things she brought and making a fire. She leaves Aaron there with his guns and makes him lock the door while she heads to the grocery store to get some food for them for the first week and when she gets home, he’s sound asleep on the couch, by the fire, with his gun untouched on the coffee table.

She makes him dinner, she helps him change his bandages, she gives him his meds and she helps him into bed. It’s the same the next day, only they start the day with his antidepressants and cuddles in bed. He’s starting to feel the side effects of adjusting. The nausea and dry mouth, he’s sweating even though it's pretty chilly without the fire on and he’s so tired. That can be both from his injury and his pain meds, but it’s definitely more intense than just regular fatigue.

She lays there beside him, as close as she can be without her head on his chest, watching him sleep. She’s done a lot of that over the last 2 weeks. He’s barely awake, he knows she’s watching him so he smiles and blinks into the light, “What?”

“Nothing,” she smiles back at him. “I like watching you sleep… knowing you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?” She asks, confused.

“I gave up,” he whispers. Eyes welling with tears, “I could’ve fought back… I got stabbed that first time and I just laid there.”

“We profiled him, we knew he’d need a stern face and if you show fear it’ll get worse. You did what you needed to do, clearly, he didn’t want to kill you,” she explains. “You didn’t give up, you did what you had to. We’re still doing what we have to. And when we catch him, he’ll pay for it.”

“What do you—

“I’m going to kill him,” she assures. “I’m going to shoot him in the chest and watch him hit the ground. I’m going to step on his wound so it hurts and I’m going to stare him in the eyes while I shoot him between them.”

“You can’t—

“I can and I will,” she nods, staring him down. He knows she’s being serious, she wants revenge. She loves him deeply. “And Haley said she would too.”

“What?”

“Before she left I gave her a talk, I gave her the profile and I let her know what he’s like. The games he plays and the shit he might try. I told her that he’s going to try and find her, he’s going to try and get her away from her Marshall and he’s probably going to pretend to have killed you to draw her out of hiding. I told her she couldn’t trust anything if it didn’t come from her Marshall's mouth or one of us. I made sure she knew to get a couple guns, one for her room, one for her purse and that if she ever thought she wasn’t safe, she should get in her car and drive right to Quantico.”

“Seriously?” He can’t believe it.

“Yeah. I’m going to make sure she comes home to you,” she whispers, trying not to cry. “You love her, I love you, we all love Jack. We’re getting them home. We’re all going to make it out of this alive.”

He reaches for her hand, holding it tight, “kiss me? I can’t sit up,” he laughs.

“Okay,” she smiles, leaning into his space to press a kiss to his lips. She kisses him a few times, hand on his cheek, she pulls back with a smile, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispers back. “I love you so much, I don’t want you to ever think I love her more because I do love her… but it’s so different now. The love I feel for you is so intense, I crave you every day. I will never be able to explain how different it is.”

“I don’t need an explanation,” she caresses his cheek, staring at his lips and then his eyes. “I know you love me. I’m perfectly fine with you loving her. I love her because she is your family. We are a weird, misshapen family… but we’re a family.”

“When this is over… when it’s all okay again…. Would you ever want to get married?” He wasn’t even sure where it came from, but he knew he wanted this.

Her smile slowly grows, “seriously?”

He nods, “When I was on the floor, bleeding out, all I could think was you’re going to find me like this and— and I’m going to break your heart in a way I promised I never would… and all I’ve thought since then, as I watch you take care of me, is that I never want to be without you. I never want to leave you with nothing. I want everything that’s mine to be yours, I want to take care of you as well as you take care of me and I want to love you until the day I do die. Naturally, as an old, old man, holding your hand.”

She kisses him again and again, crying slightly, he holds her as close as he can without hurting himself. He really didn’t think their first real vacation would involve him being hurt… he thought the first time they disappeared into the wilderness they’d be able to be all over each other, take hikes... go sit by the lake. But they can’t.

Not just because he’s in pain and recovering and worried about internal bleeding… what Foyet did to him transcends just physical trauma.

He pulls away from the kiss, memories flashing through his mind and taking him out of the moment. “Sorry…”

“It’s okay,” she worries, “are you okay?”

He shakes his head. “No… sorry. I just. I’m hurting.”

“Oh, oh, sorry,” she pulls away, sitting up and away from him and it breaks his heart.

“It wasn’t you,” he shakes his head. “I uh… I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it all yet but, I just got a little triggered.”

“That’s okay,” she assures him. “What did you want to do to feel better? I can read to you? We can go outside and sit on the porch? Whatever you want to do, we can do it.”

“I think sitting by the lake would be nice?” He suggests.

And so that is what they do.

She brings both the chairs from the porch all the way down to the dock and she lets him sit down in the first one while she retrieves the second. She brings down some blankets and then she heads back inside to make them both a coffee and he just sits there alone while she does it. The water is so calming, the air is so fresh. The sounds of the birds in the trees and the squirrels in the bush. He sees some ripples in the water where the fish have come up to nibble at the insects on the surface and he even sees a beaver out for a swim with a stick clenched between his teeth.

When she comes back, she has two mugs, and he gives her a big smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she waves it off cause he should know by now that she’ll do anything for him.

He reaches his free hand out to her, and she holds her coffee on the other side so she can meet him halfway. They interlock their fingers, he smiles over at her and she smiles back. “It's nice to see you happy,” she says as if a weight has been taken off her shoulders.

“I’m trying really hard,” he admits. “You make it easier.”

—

Getting him into the bath was easy. She bought Baby Johnson baby wash so she could clean him without any scents or harsh chemicals hurting him and he’s thrown back in time to when Jack was a baby. There were only a handful of times that he helped give Jack a bath before bed, he was always home after bedtime… it just makes him miss Jack even more. He normally sees him once or twice a week and now it’s been 2 weeks since he’s seen him last.

She gives him some time alone in there, letting him relax when in reality she can see the pain in his eyes and allows him to cry in peace. He was grateful. It’s not like he’s ashamed to cry in front of her, but she knows sometimes it’s more cathartic if you do it alone. She kissed his head before she left the room and he promised to call for her when he was ready to get out… and now he’s just sitting in lukewarm water, tears on his swollen face and no courage to actually stand back up to get out.

“Y/N?” He calls out for her, his voice more horse than he thought it would be.

She’s there in seconds, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder, and she looks worried. “You okay?”

“Can you help me out?” He asks, cheeks probably pussy and eyes bloodshot.

She nods, “of course.” She looks around, making sure she has a towel for him close by and there’s one on the floor too to capture all the water that drips off him. “Can you get to your knees?”

He groans but he does it. She helps him from his knees to his feet with her hands under his armpits and as soon as he’s standing, he kisses her. “Thank you,” he whispers against her lips. “I love you.”

"I love you more,” she whispers back. “Come on,” she gives him a little courage to lift his leg and get himself out of the big, clawfoot tub. “There you go, you got it.”

He groans as his foot hits the ground, his chest stretches and the staples pinch slightly. “Fuck I hate this,” he says through gritted teeth. He brings his other foot out and stands tall on solid ground.

“I know, just another week and then they’ll be out,” she reminds him. She reaches for the towel and wraps it around him. “Are you cold?”

“I’m okay,” he assures her. “Do you have the fire going out there?”

She nods, “Yep, just put a couple more logs in a few minutes ago. I’m in the middle of making some of those Pillsbury cookies for us. Did you want some coffee or tea?”

“A tea would be nice,” he gives her a smile and then another quick kiss. “I can change on my own, I’ll meet you out in the living room.”

“Sounds good,” she smiles right back, and just by the look in her eyes he knows how much she loves him.

It takes him a couple minutes to get back into his clothes, it hurts a bit but he’s okay. He’s so glad she packed his sweatpants and comfy shirts, he doesn’t get to wear them often enough but he loves them. He’s so comfortable, so happy… he wanders out into the kitchen and wraps his arms around her and rests his head on her shoulder, watching her place more cookies on a sheet.

“Hi,” she coos.

“I love you,” he reminds her.

“I know,” she smirks. “I love you, too… do you feel better?”

“I do, thank you,” he kisses her cheek.

“Your tea is right there,” she points.

“Do you mind if I go drink it outside again?”

“Not at all… just be careful?” She asks.

“I will,” he kisses her again before pulling away. He takes his cup and steals a cookie from the cooling rack. “Come out and join me when you can.”

He slips into his shoes and a coat, steps outside and starts to walk down the path toward the lake. It’s not too far, there’s nothing he can trip on, and their chairs are still out on the dock. He’s actually shocked by how much he truly enjoys being here.

He actually loves it here.

And when this is all over, maybe they can get a vacation home here. Like the one Gideon has. He always said it was a great escape and Aaron agreed to a point… he never fully understood it till now. It’s so peaceful, his brain is quiet and his belly is warm from the tea. He’s having the time of his life here.

Even though he misses his family deeply. Both his work family and his real family. They’re all his real family, who is he kidding? Even Strauss, he misses her too. He’s never been away from work this long without a single call or update or question. It’s weird… but he also enjoys it.

The sun is starting to set when Y/N comes out to join him. Wrapped up in a blanket, she sits on the arm of his Adirondack chair and smiles down at him. “Having fun?”

He wraps his arm around her and wishes he could pull her into his lap but it would hurt too bad. “I’m okay…”

“Good, good,” she smirks. “Did you want to go out for dinner? Or I could go pick something up for us?”

“I don’t mind,” he shakes his head. “Either is fine, but what do you want?”

“Just you,” she leans forward and steals a kiss from him. “I still have lots of food to make for dinner here, but it could be nice to get out?”

“What if I make you something?” He suggests. “I want to do something nice for you.”

“Okay,” she gives in easily. “There’s lots of stuff in there, do you have anything in mind cause I can run to the store real quick?”

“I’ll whip something together,” he promises. “Come on, let's go in. You can sit by the fire and read a book, maybe have some of that wine you bought?”

She stands up and reaches out for his hand, “let's go, handsome.”

—

Dinner is nice. He makes some rice with broccoli and chicken doused in teriyaki sauce. It’s so good she compliments him the whole time. “Seriously, Aar, where did you learn to cook like this?”

“It’s not hard… I made this a lot in college,” he smiles, enjoying the praise. “Rice is easy, chicken with a store-bought sauce is easy, and steamed broccoli is a piece of cake… I’m just glad you enjoyed it.”

“I loved it,” she says, reaching out to hold his hand across the table. “Thank you for treating me tonight.”

He runs his thumb over her hand and smiles, “I think I��m ready to talk tonight… I wanted to do something nice first before I tell you what happened to me.”

Her face drops, her eyes scan his face and she shakes her head, knowing already. “No… no. He didn’t? Oh my god, Aaron?”

His head bows and he takes in a deep breath as he draws his hand away from her. “He got completely naked while he stabbed me… I was incapacitated after the first one and he was able to straddle me and explain to me that stabbing isn’t always a substitution for a sex act.”

She doesn’t say anything, she just shakes her head. Having a hard time believing it.

“He was hard… he touched me. He touched himself,” he explains, feeling a little sick. “He used my blood as… as lu—”

“You don’t have to,” she waves her hand, unable to stomach hearing anymore. “Oh my god, Aaron?”

“It was awful, but by the 6th stab, I was pretty much unconscious… I could probably remember more with some therapy but, I don’t think I want to uncover more just yet,” he explains. “I’ll definitely talk to someone, I don’t feel any disgust towards myself or hatred even. I’m angry it happened, I want to get him. But I’m tired, more than anything, I’m tired.”

She gets out of her seat and walks around to wrap him up in a hug. He stands too, holding her as close as he can, “I love you. I love you so much,” she whispers, trying not to squeeze him too tight but she wants to. He can tell. “You are so strong, you are so brave. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known in my whole life. I… I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispers into her hair. “Thank you for listening.”

“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me until now.”

“I knew I could, I just didn’t know how to say it,” he explains. “I wasn’t raped but I was assaulted. It was awful but I’m okay. I’m alive. You’re here with me, I knew you’d still love me after it. I know the team will save my family. I know it’ll be okay. I just hate waiting.”

“You’ve always been impatient,” she teases, she pulls away to cup his face and smile. “But you’re right. You’re always right. You’re loved, your team is powerful and we’ll win. We’ll always win.”

“I just wish I wasn’t this beat up,” he whispers. “I should be able to cuddle while on a vacation with you. I should be able to hold you close and let you sit in my lap and… and I should be able to make love to you.”

“We have lots of time to do that,” she assures him. “I spent almost a year sleeping beside you without sex. And sure… I would’ve loved to be having sex with you the whole time but just being near you means more to me. You make me happy and you make me feel safe and that’s all I want on this vacation. I just want us to be happy and safe.”

“How about we do the dishes tomorrow and we just crawl into bed and we cuddle as best as we can?” He suggests.

“I think we can do that,” she agrees, taking his hand and dragging him into the bedroom.

—

The day he gets his staples out they have an hour and a half drive to the doctor's office. They check him for hernias, which he doesn’t have and they say he’s healing really well. And his antidepressants are working so he doesn’t need to go up a dose yet. But the best part is that his doctor is gentle as he takes out every staple. Y/N holds his hand the whole time and he gives her a good squeeze on the ones that pull a bit but other than them, it’s bearable.

“Now, I have to say it, but you probably still shouldn’t have sex for another 2 to 3 weeks,” he explains.

Aaron blushes, “thank you… honestly, I was going to ask.”

“I could tell,” he smiles. “You two seem very close… but it’s just exercise, heavy lifting and quick movements that could cause tearing or rupture. so if you do anything, keep that in mind.”

Basically, there are ways to be intimate without having full-on sex.

They go out for dinner afterwards, they sit down in a real restaurant and he has a burger for the first time in almost a month. He’s so used to eating out for work, he survives off breakfast burritos and club sandwiches and burgers and fries… it’s honestly a shock that he’s not 300 pounds with how much greasy food he eats. But he does do a lot of running after unsubs to counteract it.

And he doesn’t hurt as much today so he hasn’t had any of his pain pills meaning he can have a beer with dinner. And he’s so happy. He holds her hand across the table, they catch some of a football game on the TV and they talk about normal things for the hour and a half they’re there. It’s like everything is okay for a night.

And when they get home, there’s a different feeling in the air. She sits on the couch with a sigh and he puts the fireplace back on. “I have to go to the internet cafe tomorrow…”

“Why?” He asks, confused. She hasn’t gone there before.

“Strauss promised me she’d email me with updates on the case once a week and I haven’t checked them yet…” she explains, wincing like he’s going to yell at her.

“Oh, well, I mean she would call if there was anything serious to update you on,” he understands. “Is it safe to check them there though?”

She nods, “Penelope added a VPN to your computer for me so that when I do get an internet connection no one can hack us and it’s extra secure so that when I do click on anything no one can get our coordinates.”

“Okay,” he likes that she was so careful with everything. “Save everything and show me when you come back tomorrow?”

“Duh?” She teases him.

He smirks back at her, so in love… “thank you for doing all this for me.”

“To the moon and back, my love,” she stands up and pulls him to his feet carefully. She cups his face in her hands, “to the moon and back.”

“Come with me,” he backs her up towards the bedroom. “I know they said no sex but… there are other ways I can thank you for everything.”

She hums, “and ways I can thank you right back…”

—

When she gets back from the cafe she has a sad look on her face and the laptop tucked under her arm. “How was it?” He asks.

She sighs, “well… I showed my badge and they let me in the back room so no one could look over my shoulder and I read everything.”

“And?” He’s anxious as all hell. Patting the couch so she can come sit beside him.

“Haley called her mom, so they got relocated again. I have a couple videos of Jack playing at parks and things taken from the Marshall's car as he watches and the team has been trying to track Foyet with the long list of drugs he’s on but they don’t have anything yet,” she explains.”

“But they’re safe?” He asks.

“Oh yeah, they’re fine,” she assures him. “It’s only been 4 weeks, it’ll be okay. We’ll get him. It won’t take as long as it did last time.”

He takes in a deep breath. “When can we go back to work?”

“We have two more weeks off,” she whispers, staring at him carefully and he knows she wants to say more.

“But?”

“Are you really ready? Are you going to be okay back out there?”

He nods, “It’s not like I’ll be in charge, I don’t have paperwork to do, I can fly easily this time. It’ll be fine.”

“But what if the cases trigger you? What if you act out and get yourself hurt even more?” She worries. “I can’t go back out there with you if you’re going to be reckless and stupid because you need something to feel powerful again.”

“I won’t,” he shakes his head, upset she’d think that but really, why wouldn’t she? He’s done it time and time again. “I’ll listen to Derek and Dave… and you. I’ll follow orders and give my thoughts to the group and it’ll be okay. I want to get back out there, I want to work. I want to be with the team again.”

“You remember when you were interviewing for me?”

He nods, “Yeah?”

“They hired the other top candidate, Emily Prentiss. She’s been doing great filling in for both me and Spencer, who’s also doing a lot better,” she explains. “He’s at work, just he’s staying with Penelope in her room and giving his two cents on the phone.”

“I’m sure that’s not fun for them,” he jokes. “They’re like twins, butting heads because they’re so smart and know everything and both want the credit.”

“Oh, I know,” she laughs. “He’ll be on crutches for a few more months and he should be able to fly again by the time we get back.”

“Okay,” he nods along, trying to grasp how different life will be when they go back. “I want to call Dave… I know he has a few extra rooms in his place and I think I’d feel a lot safer if we stayed with him once we get back. I don’t like thinking about how he was able to get into my house without me knowing and the thought of him being in yours while we’ve been gone…”

“God, I didn’t even think about that,” she whispers. “Yeah, we should ask Dave for help.”

“And maybe when all this is over we could get our own place?” He asks, “I’ve really enjoyed living with you… I mean, it’s been months of sharing hotels and going back and forth between our apartments anyway, it wouldn’t be that much of a change.”

She smirks, “Aaron, you’ve already asked me to marry you, I think moving in together is the only logical next step.”

He chuckles, tilting his head to the side cause he honestly didn’t even think about that part, “I did, didn’t I?”

She leans over and kisses him quickly. “There’s no place I rather be than beside you for the rest of my life.”

“Good,” he kisses her again, whispering against her lips. “Me either.”

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slamminslamminmcgill · 1 year

Text

Practicar - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

when you bought weed from tuco, one of his guys said something rude to you in spanish. one thing he said sticks with you, so you ask lalo about it when you get home. he tells you what it means, and decides to teach you some more of the language while smoking up.

tags/warnings: intoxication (weed and poppers), homophobic/transphobic slurs, degradation/humiliation, hair-pulling, rough oral sex, vaginal sex, squirting, pussy slapping

anatomical terms: chest, cunt, pussy, dick, t-dick, chocho, pija

words: 7,979 (we smoke CRACK!!!!!!!!!!!!)

ao3 link

author's notes: in which i am a dumb stoner with a lalo shaped brain tumor <3 no soy un hablante nativo pero estoy aprendiendo. la escritura es como yo practico. ¡por favor corríjanme si encuentran algunos errores! :3

“This is ridiculous. Are you guys seriously not gonna tell me what it means? It can’t be THAT bad.”

You groaned. You were in the backseat of the car as Marco and Leonel drove you home, dead silent, as usual. All you wanted to do was buy weed, but Lalo won’t let you unless it’s from the family. He doesn’t trust any other source. Okay, that’s fair, plus it’d be kinda rude to buy from his competition, right? So, you had to buy from Tuco. Sure, not a problem. The twins picked you up and gave you a ride over. Great. You were a little annoyed that Lalo didn’t even want you driving there by yourself, but whatever. Everything’s fine. Once you got the weed from Tuco, one of his guys said something stupid about you in Spanish, and Tuco snapped and started beating the shit out of him. You caught most of it, since Lalo had been teaching you the language, but there was one phrase that mystified you. It sounded like a slang term, and Lalo hadn’t taught you many colloquialisms yet. You had asked what he said, but no one would tell you. Tuco was too busy giving him impromptu plastic surgery; none of the other guys in the room would dare speak up; and Marco and Leonel dragged you out of there once the guy’s teeth started flying through the air.

It seemed like everyone in the Salamanca family treated you like a child, like you were a helpless little thing who couldn’t possibly protect himself. Shit, even Lalo was guilty of it, too. He didn’t even trust you to make the drive alone; he asked the twins to pick you up. It was infuriating. You seethed the entire ride back to his place.

When you got there, you stormed inside, pissed off, releasing a cloud of noxious vibes into the house. Lalo was there to greet you, and he sniffed it out immediately. “Dios mío, conejito, ¿qué pasó? (My god, bunny, what happened?) You look like you’re about to rip someone’s head off! Tuco didn’t give you any trouble did h-?”

You shot him straight, interrupting him mid-sentence, not even saying hello, “What’s a chichifo travelo?” you barked at him and crossed your arms over your chest.

Lalo’s concern bled into pure confusion, and then, for some reason, cheerfulness. He burst out laughing. A deep, rich belly laugh that had him doubling over and slapping his thigh. What? What the hell? What was so funny? “Oh! Oh my god, sorry, just. Just give me a second, woo!”

You groaned. “Can you just tell me what it means?”

Lalo’s laughter fizzled out, and he managed to compose himself. He stood upright, looked back down at you. “Well, chichifo is kinda like a… gigolo? Is that how you say it in English? It’s basically a male prostitute, y’know. And then, travelo…” His eyes trailed down to your chest, a few buttons of your shirt undone, and he sighed. He patted you on the shoulder, and gave you a somber expression. “...travelo is basically ‘tranny’.”

The lightbulb turned on. “Ohhh…” you replied, the flames of your burning rage subdued now that you had an answer. You uncrossed your arms and rested your hands on your hips. “Yeah, okay, that makes sense.”

Lalo furrowed his brow and took his hand off your shoulder. “Makes sense? What happened? Nobody called you that, did they?” He gave you a look of empathy and concern that masked the fury brewing inside him.

You shrugged. “One of Tuco’s guys did, I guess. When I got there, Marco and Leonel took me inside and waited with me. While I was talking to Tuco, one of his guys said something like…” You paused to recall what he said as best as you could. “‘¿De… ¿De verdad? ¿Esta es la pareja nueva de Lalo? ¿Este chichifo travelo? (Really? This is Lalo’s new partner? This tranny hooker?)’ I didn’t hear all of it, but I figured it was some bullshit since Tuco started wailing on him and-”

“Stop.” Now, Lalo was the one to cut you off, his cold voice slicing through your dialogue like a steel blade, “Someone called you that? In front of the family?”

“Yeah,” You replied nonchalantly. “Tuco took care of it. He knocked the guy onto the floor and fucked him up pretty badly. The twins grabbed me and led me outside after that. No one would tell me what it means.”

Lalo frowned, “They probably wanted me to be the one to explain it to you, chiquito. No one should have to hear that. Is everyone else still there?”

“The twins aren’t. They took me home.” You pondered for a second. “But I think Tuco is. I doubt the other guy is still breathing though.” You nervously tried to laugh it off.

But Lalo wasn’t laughing. “Alright then,” He patted your shoulders before moving with determination to get something out of a cabinet. ”Ven conmigo. Vamos a ver Tuco y el pendejo que te ha dicho esa mierda a tí. (Come with me. We’re going to see Tuco and the asshole who said that shit to you.)” He turned around, holding a loaded pistol with a silencer on it. Why?! Why?! Why?! Who the fuck just has that locked, loaded, and ready to go, just chilling in the living room cabinet like it’s a cheap airport knickknack?! Apparently, your boyfriend did, and since you lived here too, technically you did by extension.

You jumped when you saw the gun. “¡¿Q-Qué?! (What?!)” You asked, your brain flipping through pages of an English-Spanish dictionary as fast as it could, “No… no tienes que hacer eso. De verdad. Estoy bien. (You… You don’t have to do that. Really. I’m fine.)” You gave him an insecure smile, a sheepish grin that you hoped said: For the love of God, man, let it go. It’s not that deep.

Lalo wasn’t budging. He opened the front door, and turned to you, casually waving you outside with a 9mm handgun like an extension of his hand. “Ven. Conmigo. (Come. With me.)”

Thankfully, the whims of fate saved you from yet another aggravating car ride. Two in the same day was more than enough. Lalo’s phone started ringing, right on cue. He took it out of his pocket and squinted to read the name.

“Is that Tuco?” you asked. He nodded in your direction, and touched the silencer to his own lips. Be quiet. You understood.

Lalo flipped the phone open and laughed, as if this was the most normal conversation you could have with your cousin. “¡Tuco! ¿Qué chingados pasaba hoy? ¿Uno de tus vatos le llamaba mi chico un chichifo travelo? (Tuco! What the fuck happened today? One of your guys called my boy a tranny whore?)”

He let Tuco speak for a moment before continuing. You couldn’t hear anything coherent from the outside, but it sure was loud. “Primo, primo, cálmate. Cálmate. No puedo entenderte cuando dices tan fuerte. Toma un respiro profundamente y dime que pasaba. (Cousin, cousin, calm down. Calm down. I can’t understand you when you talk so loud. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.)”

Lalo stopped talking, and the sound on the other line was much quieter. You couldn’t hear anything besides Lalo now. “Sí, sí, yo sé que él dijo eso. ¿Había algo más? (Yeah, yeah, I know he said that. Was there anything else?)” Silence. “¿Me llamó un maricón? ¿De verdad? Ha! Te le ocupaste, ¿cierto? (He called me a faggot? Really? Ha! You took care of him, right?)” Silence again. “¿No está respirando? ¿Estás seguro? Bien, bien hecho, pero déjame terminarlo la próxima vez. (He’s not breathing? Are you sure? Good, good job, but let me finish him off next time.)” Silence once more. “Sí, por supuesto, yo diré tío. Él va a estar muy orgulloso de tí. ¡Bien! Entonces, nos hablaremos tarde, ¿cierto? Bien. ¡Chao! (Yeah, of course, I’ll tell Uncle. He’s going to be very proud of you. Alright! Well, we’ll talk later, yeah? Okay. Bye!)”

He flipped his phone shut and stood still for a moment. Then another. Then another. Until he shrugged, and went to put the gun away. You sighed in relief, letting the air permeate your lungs and your body relax once again. Once the cabinet was closed, Lalo approached you to cup your face in his hands and kiss your forehead.

“Perdóname, chiquito. (Forgive me, baby boy.) You were right. I should have listened. I just can’t bear to let anything happen to you. No one can say such horrific things to you and come away with his life. I wanted to make things right. Do you understand? ¿Me comprendes?” Lalo did that a lot. He would say something in English and repeat it in Spanish, a signal to answer him in kind.

“Sí. Te comprendo (I understand you).” You sighed, nudged him off you, and switched back to English. “It’s just… aggravating that you don’t trust me. I can handle myself just fine, y’know.”

Lalo simpered. “I do trust you, nene (baby). I just don’t trust everyone else. I need to keep my baby boy safe, yeah?” He could see you pouting, so he knew he had to change the topic. “So! How’d it go otherwise? ¿Conseguiste que tú necesitabas de Tuco? (Did you get what you needed from Tuco?)”

Having to translate made you forget what you were upset about. Your response took a moment to buffer, and you perked up when it finished loading.. “...¡Sí! Sí, yo hice. Acá. (Yes! Yes, I did. Here.)” You pulled a ziplock bag full of weed out of your pocket, and excitedly showed it to Lalo. “Mirálo. (Look at this.)”

Lalo examined the bag, first by appearance. Large nugs, dark green with flecks of orange and purple, blooming flowers, no big stems. Looked alright. He cracked open the bag and sniffed it. A dank, earthy, almost musty smell wafted through the air. It was fresh. Smelled alright. He took a nug in between his fingers and squeezed it, snapping it apart easily. Felt alright. Yep, Salamanca product. Not that he had any doubts, mind you. He was just doing quality control. A businessman, through and through.

“That’s the good stuff.” Lalo said as he put the torn nug back in the bag and zipped it shut. “Tuco did you right. How much he charge you?”

You took the bag back. “He said I was getting the ‘family discount’, so $100 for the ounce. He weighed it in front of me, don’t worry. Plus, he said he’ll give me some for free next time. I guess that’s the ‘sorry I practically killed a man in front of you’ discount.”

Lalo smiled. “That's a pretty good deal, even with the family discount. And free drugs? Now that's just a win-win.” He patted your back. “So I take it you'll be buying off him in the future?”

You couldn’t hide your excitement. “Yeah man! Shit, dude, if I wasn't already sleeping with you, I definitely would for a hookup like this!”

He chuckled and laid his hands on your hips, pulling you in closer. “You have no shame, huh?”

There was some truth to that statement. “None. And you love it.” You giggled and booped his nose.

“Maybe I do, chico,” He booped yours back, “Y’know, I should really teach you more slang. You gotta be able to fire back if someone talks to you like that, right?”

“Do I?” You teased, hugging him closer to you and putting on your best faux-innocent tone. “Can’t I just have you take care of it? You gotta keep your baby boy safe, don’t you?”

Lalo snickered, eager to play along. “Oh? What happened to being able to handle yourself? Do you need your man to take care of you?”

“Hmm…” You pretended to think about it while you rubbed his back. “Maybe I do, chico.” You made sure to punctuate that last word, knowing it’d set him off.

And it did. “Oh, you’re bad. Using my words against me? Debes estar castigado por eso, ¿estás de acuerdo? (You should be punished for that, don’t you think?)”

You giggled and nodded. The word “castigado” was escaping you right now, but you figured you’d press your luck and agree nonetheless.

Lalo clocked you, because of course he did. His bullshit detector was in perfect working order. “You don’t know what I said, do you?” You didn’t need to answer; he could see it in your face. He pried your arms off his back and pinned them to your sides. “That’s why I gotta teach you. C’mon, it’ll be fun I promise.” He let you go and pointed at your bag of weed. “Podemos fumar esa mota mientras hacemos, ¿sí? (We can smoke that weed while we do it, yeah?)”

“Mota?” You tilted your head. “Is that weed?”

“Good boy! That’s right!” He ruffled your hair and you squeaked. Sometimes, being babied and talked down to felt nice, from him, at least. “Entonces, te necesito sentarte en el sofá. Vayas. (Now, I need you to get on the couch. Go.)" He tapped your head as encouragement.

Once you translated your assignment, you walked over to the couch and plopped down. “Want me to pack us a bowl?”

“I was hoping you would.” Lalo sat down next to you and pulled the coffee table closer.

On the table, you had a grinder, rolling tray, and bong ready to go. You opened the bag and let the odor dissipate into the air. Then, you picked a couple nugs out of the bag and ground them up before dumping the weed on the tray. Once it was ground up, you went to grab the bong, but stopped. Apparently, it’d been a while since you’d changed the water. It was almost brown and had chunks floating in it. Plus, the actual bong itself was stained. “Oh, shit,” You turned to Lalo, “I should probably clean it, huh?”

Lalo grabbed your hand to stop you. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It'll be just fine until next time. I

actually like it the way it is. Just the right amount of filth to prove how much it gets used.”

You snorted. He walked right into this one. “Just like me, huh?”

He groaned, but with a smile. “Ugh, I knew you'd make that joke. But honestly, I can't disagree.” He let go of your hand and squeezed your thigh. “Just like you.”

You leaned over to kiss his cheek and went back to packing the bowl, his hand still on your thigh. “Got a lighter?” you asked once you were done.

Lalo grinned. “¿Sabes cómo preguntarme en español? (Do you know how to ask me in Spanish?)”

You weren’t sure, but you’d sure as hell try. “Tienes un… (Do you have a…) fuck… ¿Cómo se dice (How do you say) ‘lighter’?”

“Encendedor.” Lalo replied and took a fancy silver zippo out of his pocket, bougie as always. You went to grab it but he yanked it back. “Ah! Not until you ask for it correctly.”

You sighed, clearly fed up with his teasing, or maybe you just really wanted to smoke. Nevertheless, you did what he wanted. He watched the gears in your head turn. “Puedo… ¿Puedo usar tu encendedor? (Can I borrow your lighter?)”

“Bien hecho, chiquito! (Good job, baby boy!)” Lalo pulled you in for a hug and petted your hair again. “¡Tan inteligente! Claro que sí, tú puedes. (So smart! Of course, you can.)” When he was done patronizing you, he handed you the lighter.

You took the lighter in your hand and his lips in yours, but only for a second. There was weed to be smoked. Your lips then went to the mouthpiece of the bong. There was something about it, all the preparation that went into it, it was like a choreographed dance. A flick of the lighter, a singe of the flower, and a deep breath in, a really deep breath. The smoke would build; the water would bubble. You’d pull away and wait, just a moment, before you let it all out, blowing out a cloud of pure smoke, like a dragon doing a half-assed job of burning down the village and terrorizing the townspeople. You didn’t cough. How sexy of you. You glanced over at Lalo and wiggled your eyebrows, a kind of What do you think of that?, before you passed it over to him.

He laughed and said “You are too much, conejito.” before lighting up himself.

You laid back against the couch and crossed your arms behind your head. “Hm… conejito. What’s that mean?” You hummed.

Lalo blew the smoke out and coughed slightly. You giggled. Pussy. He cleared his throat to answer you. “It means bunny. Why? Do you not like it? I can call you something else.” He passed the bong to you.

“No, I like it. Was just wondering.” You answered before taking another hit, a big one too. This time you coughed when you let it out. Hubris. Maybe Lalo wasn’t a pussy. “What’d you wanna teach me anyway? Some more slurs?” You took another hit and passed it to him, the two of you establishing a good rhythm as you rehearsed your choreography. Flick, singe, pull, out, pass.

“If you want, I can. You know travelo, yeah? That’s yours.” He pointed at your chest, with the hand that was holding the lighter. “Both of us can say maricón. That’s how you say faggot.” Flick, singe, pull, out, pass.

“Oh, yeah,” You nodded. “I thought I heard the guy say that about you.” Flick, singe, pull, out, pass.

“Yeah, apparently he did. No big deal. I’ve heard it so many times now. I’m sorry you had to hear it, though.” Flick, singe, pull, out, pass.

“I’m fine, trust me. ‘S not like I haven’t heard it in English before anyway.” Flick, singe, pull, out, pass.

“Well, either language, some pendejo says that to you, you tell me, alright?” Flick, singe, pull, out, pass.

“Pendejo? What’s that, asshole?” Flick, singe, pull, out, pass.

“More or less, yeah. Literal definition is pubic hair.” Flick, singe, pull, out, pass.

“Ha! That’s funny. You just call people pubes? I like that.” Flick, singe, pull, out… Why was nothing coming out? Did you two burn through a bowl that quickly? You poked the ash into the center of the bowl and tried to light it. No dice. “Aw, boo.” You pouted and set the bong and lighter back on the table. Well, now that you weren’t smoking, you could take a moment to feel yourself getting high. You snuggled up close to Lalo, resting your head on his chest. He always smelled so fucking nice.

Lalo wrapped his arm around you and pulled you in tighter. “Relax, baby. We’ll smoke some more in a bit. Gives us more freedom to talk, eh?”

“Mmm… okay…” You hummed, though honestly, you weren’t sure you had the brain power to talk much right now. You dragged your fingers along his chest before honking one of his pecs. You giggled. “Hehehe… titty… how do you say that in Spanish?”

Lalo snorted. “Oh, wow, you’re cute when you’re high. ‘Titty’ is teta. Is that what you wanna know? You wanna know all the naughty words? Dirty boy.”

Another loopy laugh from you. “Niño sucio (Dirty boy).” You rolled onto your stomach and slid down, resting your head in his lap. You were staring right at his bulge. He was only slightly hard, but mouthwateringly so. Weed told you to touch him, so you palmed his shaft through his jeans, hoping to pump him up in more ways than one. For some godforsaken reason, weed was also showing you Spanish vocabulary flash cards. “¿Y este aquí? (And this here?)”

Lalo snickered and brushed your hair out of your face, making sure he had your undivided attention. “Verga.”

“Verga.” You echoed, licking your lips as they curled around the word. They were a bit dry from smoking. Oh well, you’d find a way to wet them. Weed was working wonders for you, a better wingman than most had been. You giggled yet again as you rubbed him. “Entonces… se puede… se puede decir… (So… you could… you could say…)” You darkened the color of your voice to a sultry hue. “‘Dame tu verga.’ ¿sí? Se puede decir ‘Qui-... Quiero tu verga, Lalito,’ ¿verdad? (“Give me your cock,” yeah? You could say “I want… I want your cock, Lalito,” right?)

Lalo chuckled. Even with your stuttering, even with your clouded mind, he loved hearing you so hot and bothered for him. Plus, he loved that you gave him the Spanish diminutive. “¿Lalito, eh? Me gusta eso. Y sí, tienes razón. Muy bien. (Lalito, eh? I like that. And yes, you’re right. Very good.)” He sighed and petted your hair, making you scooch further into his lap. “Me encanta cuando hablas español. Suenas tan lindo. (I love it when you speak Spanish. You sound so cute.)”

He was getting harder; you could feel it. You cupped your hand and stroked him through the denim, looking up at him with the most sickly sweet eyes you could give. Saying nothing, just doing. After a while, you couldn’t help but laugh, a goofy smile to match. “You’re pretty…”

Lalo laughed too, feeling a little buzzed himself. Just a little, nowhere near your level. He had quite the tolerance. “Oh, am I now? You’re quite the looker yourself.” He reached his arm out to grab your ass. “¿Sabes qué es esto? ¿Sabes qué se llama? (You know what this is? You know what it’s called?)”

You put your finger to your lips to think. Your brain was working as fast as a dialup router in Bumfuck, Wyoming during the Clinton administration. Lightspeed. Probably 4 years later when you had your answer, you seeked Lalo’s approval. “¿Culo? (Ass?)”

“Sí, es verdad. Bien hecho. ¿Cómo sabías eso? (Yes, that’s right. Good job. How did you know that?)” Lalo gave you a firm spank, the sharp sting diffused by your pants blocking the shot. “Chico travieso. No te enseñé eso. (Naughty boy. I didn’t teach you that.)”

“Hey! Did you just call me a tranny? I know that one!” You shouted at him in a mirthful tone, showing that your anger was in jest.

Lalo scoffed. “Travieso, not travelo. It means naughty. And it’s true. Eres un chiquito travieso (You are a naughty little boy).” He spanked you again, harder this time, making you yelp. “And so what if I called you a tranny? You like it when I call you names, don’t you?”

You whined and buried your face in his lap, not wanting to bear your shame to him. “Mm… Maybe…”

Lalo wheezed and tousled your hair again. You could feel his dick twitch as he did. “I knew it! I know you so well. I told you you’re a naughty boy! I bet there’s a lot of names you’d like me to call you. I can teach you some fun ones in Spanish, too. Isn’t that right, ¿putito? ¿Sabes qué eso significa? (...little whore? You know what that means?)”

You were lucky that his clothes muffled whatever pathetic noise you just made. You didn’t take your face out of his lap, not wanting to let him see you blush. He could play you like a fiddle, and you weren’t sure whether you hated it or loved it. “...Sí.” you mumbled into his leg.

Lalo patted your head. “Entonces, dímelo. (So tell me.)”

You stood corrected. He wasn’t playing you like a fiddle; that was almost too plebeian. He was playing you like a world-class soloist performing Sibelius’s Violin Concerto in D minor on their 10 million dollar Stradivarius, a master of his craft. You answered barely above a whisper, “Little bitch…”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He tugged your hair, pulling your face out into the open, into his line of fire. “Look at me, and say it again. What does it mean? What did I call you?”

Your lip trembled as you replied. “Little bitch…”

“That’s right! Good boy!” He praised you by tugging on your hair again, just how you like it, just how to make you sing for him. “It means more than just bitch, though. Little whore, little slut, it’s very useful. It suits you.” He released you from his grip, letting your head fall back down into his lap.

Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was his words, but something pushed you. You went right back to teasing his cock through his pants, running your tongue across the scratchy fabric, open-mouth kisses on his bulge. You wanted it. You wanted it bad, but you didn’t have the words to ask. Well, in English, that is. Weed gave you the answer in Spanish. You gave him the saddest puppy dog eyes. “¿Lo puedo? (Can I?)”

Lalo gave you a proud smile, happy to see you embracing the language, but he needed more than that. “¿Puedes hacer qué, muñequito? (Can you do what, doll?)”

Weed could only do so much. You still had to figure out what the hell you were actually asking for. “Quiero… quiero usar mi boca… en tu… en tu verga. Quiero usar mi boca en tu verga. ¿Lo puedo, Lalito? (I want… I want to use my mouth… on your… on your cock. I want to use my mouth on your cock. Can I, Lalito?)”

Lalo chuckled warmly. You were adorable. “¿Quieres chupar mi verga? Si quieres, debes decirlo primero. Dime ‘Quiero chupar tu verga, Lalito,’ y dilo fuerte. Quiero oírte decirlo. (You want to suck my cock? If you want it, you have to say it first. Say “I want to suck your cock, Lalito,” and say it loud. I want to hear you say it.)”

Like he said earlier, you have no shame, so you had no problem doing exactly what he asked you, and then some. “Quiero chupar tu verga, Lalito. Dámelo. Dámelo, por favor. (I want to suck your cock, Lalito. Give it to me. Give it to me, please.)”

“My, my, aren’t you eager!” Lalo stroked your cheek. “But, just so you know, it’s dámela, in this case. Verga is feminine. Ironic isn’t it?”

“Really?” You giggled, easily distracted from what you were begging for just moments ago. “So then is ‘pussy’ masculine? I can roll with that.”

“Sometimes, yeah.” Lalo responded, “In Spain, they call it a coño, and here you can say chocho. There’s also chocha, panocha, we got a lot of words for it.”

“So what do you call mine?” You asked with a cheeky grin.

Lalo returned the teasing energy and played along, but only to let you know who was in control here. His deep voice rumbled in his chest. “Do a good job and I’ll tell you.” He tapped your cheek. “C’mon. You said you wanted it, right?”

You’d momentarily forgotten how horny you were thanks to his distraction. You scrambled to undo his gaudy belt, tugging it through his jeans and tossing it onto the floor. Clumsy fingers patted around to find his fly, and eventually found what they were looking for. You undid the button, the zipper, and ineloquently dug your hand in, snickering as you grabbed his cock and pulled it out.

“Hehehe…” Amused with the situation you found yourself in, you fluttered your tongue across the tip, back and forth, making sure to keep his eye contact as you gave him nothing more than a facsimile of pleasure. You felt like messing with him, just a little bit. Weed was always a trickster.

Lalo raised an eyebrow. “That’s all you got? Okay,” He sighed, and leaned over you towards the paraphernalia on the table. He put a few nugs in the grinder and started to twist. “If all you’re gonna do is bore me like that, I might as well have some fun of my own.” He emptied the contents of the grinder onto the tray and started to pack a bowl. You stopped moving your tongue and tilted your head up at him, silently begging like a dog eyeing up his owner’s lunch. “No. Not until I think you’ve earned it. Get to work.” He chided.

You did as you were told and began to service him properly. Your tongue moved with purpose, mapping out his most sensitive spots. His slit, so you could coax more precum out. Underneath his foreskin and around his head, you knew he was sensitive there. Down his length so you could coat him in as much spit as you’d need. You were just warming him up for now, but nevertheless, you gave it your all.

Lalo was unphased, smoking the bong without a care in the world as you debased yourself for him. Business as usual. Your partnered dance was now a solo, and one of the steps had changed: flick, singe, pull, out, repeat. He whistled as he blew the smoke out. “There we go! That’s more like it. Ya realmente pareces como un putito. Te queda bien. ¿Estás de acuerdo? (You really look like a little slut now. It suits you. Don’t you agree?)” He took another hit and blew the smoke down into your face. “¿Entonces? Respóndeme. Respóndeme en español, te chico sucio. (Well? Answer me. Answer me in Spanish, you dirty boy.)”

You withdrew your tongue to answer him, your voice breathy and weak. “Sí… me gusta… me gusta esto… (Yes… I like… I like this…)”

“¿Qué te gusta? ¿Te gusta chupar verga como el maricón patético que tú eres? (What do you like? You like sucking cock like the pathetic faggot you are?)”

You moaned a non-verbal answer and took him back into your mouth, relaxing your throat and welcoming him inside. You let him take over all five of your senses. Sight: you’d glance up at him to make sure he was satisfied. Sound: the click of the lighter, the bubbling of the bong, the exhale of the smoke, the soft sighs and grunts of a job well done. Scent: you huffed in his aftershave and musk as your tongue touched his balls. Touch: the weight on your tongue, the calloused fingers brushing your hair out of your face. Taste: that one was obvious. Suddenly, a sour scent sliced through these simultaneous sensations. It smelled like pool chlorine on a hot summer day, but you were inside. Inside and on a couch in the living room. What the hell could that possibly be? Your eyelids snapped open and you stared up at Lalo, who was holding a small bottle up to his face, bong nowhere in sight.

Lalo poked one of his nostrils shut and snorted whatever was in the bottle. The contents shot up his nose and his face crinkled up instantly. He gasped and screwed the bottle shut before putting it back in his shirt pocket. “Mierda, está bien… (Shit, that’s good…)” He rolled his shoulders back as his head lulled to the side. “Ah… Acá… (Here…)” His fingers knotted in your hair, using it as a makeshift handle for your head, pulling you up and down his cock. “Déjame ayudarte… (Let me help you…)”

In helping you, he was really helping himself. There was nothing helpful about his hold on you. He used your mouth as a hole, a mere toy for him to get himself off. His hips jerked up into you to bury himself even deeper. He pushed you all the way down, until your nose touched his stomach, and you gagged. You spat up more saliva around his cock, making him groan in pleasure. He took you off so you could breathe, after you were done coughing up spit and precum, that is. You panted heavily while Lalo reached over you again, praising you as he did, “Oh, that’s a good boy…” Out of nowhere, you felt cold glass touch your lips.

Lalo was holding the bong up to you, a reward for your efforts. “C’mon, take a hit. You’ve earned it.”

You puckered your lips around the mouthpiece, and nodded, a signal that you were ready. He lit the fuse, and thus, the dance was partnered again. When you were done with your turn, you blew the smoke out and pointed at his shirt pocket. “What's that?” you asked.

“Oh, this?” Lalo set the bong and lighter back on the table and pulled the small bottle out of his pocket. He brought it down so you could see the label. You squinted to read the fine print. What the fuck? Nail polish remover? He’s a cartel boss. He can get all the drugs he could ever want, so why on earth would he be huffing that?, you thought. He must have sensed your confusion, so he explained himself before you could ask. “Amyl nitrite. It’s an aphrodisiac. The label’s just for legal purposes. Can’t say what it’s really for without the feds getting involved, y’know? You sniff it and it gives you a quick rush. Makes things feel pretty intense for the next minute or so. You wanna try it?”

Your eyes went from the label to Lalo, and then back to the label. You weren’t sure about this, but if Lalo did it, it was probably safe. You shrugged and went to grab it, but Lalo pulled it back.

“Hey, hey! Easy there! I’ll tell you when.” He put the bottle back in his pocket and ruffled your hair once more. “It’s a short burst so we gotta make it count, alright? Now,” He yanked your hair again, pulling your head up from his lap and sitting you up. “Let’s make it count.”

He caught you in a kiss faster than you could process. He was hungry, tongue invading your mouth, biting your lip, teeth clashing. You were too stoned to react in turn. All you could do is let him take what he wanted, and what he wanted was you. All of you. He broke the kiss to pull your shirt off and toss it on the floor. His large hands palmed your chest as he growled in your ear.

“Tan hermoso. No tienes idea de todos las cosas malas que yo quiero hacer a tí. (So gorgeous. You have no idea of all the bad things I want to do to you.)” Lalo pinched your nipples and tugged them out, making you howl in bittersweet pleasure. “Me vuelves pinche loco. (You drive me fucking crazy.)” He let go of your nipples and reached for the bong again, your body swaying left and right without his hands to support you. “Ándale, puto, hazlo otra vez. Dale una otra fumada. Quiero volverte agradable y tonto para mí. (Come on, slut, do it again. Take another hit. I want you to get nice and silly for me.)”

Dazed and confused, you weren’t entirely sure what he just asked you, but context clues were a big help. You barely had the brainpower to keep yourself upright, let alone go against him. Lips on the mouthpiece, flame on the flower, smoke in the lungs, and then smoke in the air.

“Buen chico. ¿Cómo te sientes? (Good boy. How do you feel?)” He asked. You answered with a ditzy smile and a nod. “Bien, bien. ¿Quieres continuar? (Good, good. You want to keep going?)” Another nod. Lalo chuckled and gave you a gentle kiss. “Yo sé que querrías. Chico sucio. (I knew that you would. Dirty boy.) He pushed you onto your back, and you melted into the couch cushions. You hummed contentedly, mesmerized by the plush fabric. You raised an arm to caress the back of the couch. It was just so soft. Did it always feel this nice? Wait… was the room colder now? Two firm hands grabbed your legs and pulled them apart, which posed another question…

Where were your pants?

Lalo must have slipped them off while you were conducting field research on furniture upholstery. He smirked up at you between your legs, his mouth hovering over your pussy. “Entonces, quisiste saber que yo llame este? (So, you wanted to know what I call this?)”

“Ah… y-yes, Lalo…” You whined, not even bothering to translate anymore.

That wasn’t gonna fly. Lalo frowned, and gave your cunt a harsh spank. You yelped and your hips thrust upwards. It was a pleasant sting, sure, but why? You couldn’t figure out what you had done wrong. “Wha…?! What’d I do- oh!” Another slap stopped you short.

The gentle tone you heard was a stark contrast to the searing pain you felt fizzle away. “En español, querido. Tienes que practicar conmigo. Eso es porque estamos haciendo esto. (In Spanish, sweetheart. You have to practice with me. That’s why we’re doing this.)” He gave you a second to process that. With how spaced out you were, he could’ve given you an hour and it may not have been enough. “Ya, me quieres decirte que yo llame este aquí? (Now, you want me to tell you what I call this here?)” He traced a finger up and down your slit. You were already soaked, because of course you were.

You whimpered and answered with a mediocre translation of your thoughts. “S-Sí… ¿Qué… ¿Qué es? (Y-Yes… What… What is it?)”

Lalo’s eyes held such reverence for you. You were just too cute for your own good. “Hm… Vamos a ver… (Let’s see…)” He pondered, “Eres un caso especial. Entonces, creo que yo llamaría este… (You’re a special case. So, I think I would call this…)”

His thumb flicked over your t-dick and your lower half jolted in response. “Una pija. Sí, tiene sentido para tí. Y este… (A dick. Yeah, that makes sense for you. And this…)”

He slid two fingers inside you and pressed them up into your g-spot, and pressed his thumb on your dick simultaneously. The sound that came out of you was nothing short of desperate. He laughed. “Creo que ‘chocho’ te quede. (I think ‘cunt’ suits you.)”

He twirled and rubbed his fingers inside and against you as he kept talking about your body. “Si eres algo especial, de verdad. Me encanta tu chocho, ¿sabes eso? Como apretado se siente, como mojado se vuelve cuando lo toco. Me encanta todo. No puedo esperar que llene tí. (You really are something special. I love your cunt, do you know that? How tight it feels, how wet it gets when I touch it. I love it all. I can’t wait to fill you up.)”

Your head was empty. The only thought occupying it was the fact that your hole wasn’t empty. Lalo knew just how to work you; he knew exactly what to do to make you beg, and you did instinctively. “Lalo… Lalo… Lalo, please… please fuck me… Ah!”

He had pulled his hand away from you and brought it down hard against your sensitive skin. “Te dije no inglés. (I told you no English.)” He got up onto his knees and grabbed your hips, lining himself up with your entrance. “¿Sabes que decir ‘fuck’ en español? (Do you know how to say fuck in Spanish?)”

You shook your head.

Lalo leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Follar,” and then pushed inside of you.

You cried out and wrapped your limbs around him, clinging onto him as if you were scared to let him go. Your hole did the same, pulsating around his fat cock.

Lalo sighed and caressed your cheek. “Oh, te siento tan bien. (You feel so good.) I gotta get you high more often!” He laughed. Wait, what? That was English! He saw the indignation in your face, and quickly counteracted it. “What? I can speak English, if I want. You can’t. Tú tienes que aprender español. Yo no debo. (You have to learn Spanish. I do not.) Now…” He fished that bottle out of his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and pressed one of his nostrils shut. “Close one nostril like this, put the bottle up to the open one, and sniff as hard as you can. You may feel some of the liquid shoot up, but that’s okay. It’s gonna feel great, I promise. Let me show you.” He snorted the popper himself and groaned before handing it to you, “Okay… okay… now you. Give it back when you’re done.”

Your hands fumbled the bottle momentarily, but you got it into position. One nostril shut, the other open, and sniff. Easy enough. You followed the steps: press, place, huff. A burst of liquid flooded your sinuses. You winced and handed the bottle back to Lalo, who screwed it shut and put it back in his pocket. He groaned and started to pound into you.

You’d never imagined that huffing “nail polish remover” would be so pleasurable, so psychedelic. It felt like your head was a balloon, gradually inflating but never popping. You heard your heartbeat in your ears. You could feel the couch breathing underneath you. Your cunt was on fire, and Lalo was pumping gasoline inside it, making you burn that much hotter.

Most of the sounds you made were incoherent gibberish, but there was one word in particular that you both heard loud and clear, its syllables syncing to its namesake’s hips. “La-lo! La-lo! La-lo!” Some more words crossed your mind and infiltrated the atmosphere. You tried like hell to make sure none of them were English. “Lalo! Lalo! ¡Más! ¡Da… ¡Dame más! F-Fo-oh! ¡F-Fóllame, Lalito! ¡Fóllame! (More! Give… Gimme more! F-Fuck me, Lalito! Fuck me!)” So far, so good.

Lalo groaned as he fucked you into the couch. “Ah, así es mi putito lindo. ¿Te gusta? No te preocupes, no debes decirme. Yo sé que te gusta. Justo relájate y disfrútalo. (Ah, there’s my cute little slut. You like that? Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me. I know you like it. Just relax and enjoy it.)” He pinched your dick and stroked it in time with his thrusts. “Sabes, me alegra que seas un travelo. Me encanta que naciste con un chocho. Sientes mucho mejor que otros hombres. Es como que tú has hecho para estar follado. (You know, I’m so happy that you’re a tranny. I love that you were born with a cunt. You feel so much better than other men. It’s like you were made to get fucked.)”

You had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, but it definitely sounded nice. Then again, anything would sound nice in that rich, sexy tone of his. For all you knew, he could be reciting his grocery list. This bitch could make the produce aisle sound like a hedonistic paradise. Whatever. Logistics didn’t matter. What did matter was how close your orgasm was. You’d say you were losing control, but that implied you had some control of the situation to begin with.

All you could do was moan and drag your nails down his back. Rather than worry about what words you didn’t know, you focused on the ones you did, of which there were very few. “Lalo! Lalo! Lalo! Oh! Oh my… Ah! I mean…! ¡D-Dios mío! ¡Dios mío!” Nice recovery. That got a hearty laugh from him.

Okay, good. You could do this. You could figure this out. What was “to come” again? Right, venir, okay. Now what? You couldn’t just say venir. You gotta preface that with something. You were drawing a blank, and it made you panic. You were running out of time, and you knew better than to finish without permission. Weed was not helping anymore, and the poppers were long gone from your system, not that they would’ve contributed much either. Fuck it. You tried. “¡Venir! ¡Venir! (Come! Come!)”

Lalo thought that was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. It was adorable watching you so dumb and cockdrunk that you could barely speak. He didn’t let up, but he lent you a helping hand, or rather, he flicked on the lightbulb in your brain. “¿Te vas a venir? ¿Estás cerca? (You’re gonna cum? Are you close?)”

And it all became so clear. “¡Sí! ¡Sí, eso! ¡Voy a venir, Lalito! ¡Lalito! ¿Lo… ¿Lo puedo? (Yes! Yes, that! I’m gonna cum, Lalito! Lalito! Can… Can I?)”

Lalo smiled, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and jerked you even harder than you thought possible. “Hazlo. Hazlo y dime gracias después. (Do it. Do it and say thank you after.)”

Whatever the hell después meant was not a concern right now. You understood the rest of the sentence. “¡Gracias! ¡Gracia-ah! ¡Gracias, Lalito! Lalitooo~!” You pulled him against you and into a kiss. You moaned into his mouth as you came, flooding the space between you two and staining the couch at least a little bit.

Lalo broke the kiss and took his hand off your dick so he could stroke your hair. He wasn’t far behind. “Bien… Bien hecho. Buen chico. Oh, hiciste tan bueno. Estoy muy orgulloso de tí…” He grabbed hold of your waist, pulling you back into him and digging as deep as he could go. He growled hungrily. “Voy a venir también. ¿A dónde lo quieres? (I’m gonna cum too. Where do you want it?)”

Your orgasm had delivered yet another high that fried your brain and left you dumb. Translating was a fucking ordeal, even moreso than before. You were staring up at him with your eyes red and glazed over, and your tongue hanging out of your mouth and drooling. Where… it… you want? Where do you want it? In… Inside, right? Shit, how do you say inside again? At least this time you could think of some other words instead. “En… ¡En mi chocho! ¡En mi chocho! (In… In my cunt! In my cunt!)”

“¿Lo quieres dentro? (You want it inside?)”

“¡Sí! ¡Dentro! ¡Hazlo dentro! (Yes! Inside! Do it inside!)”

Lalo laughed, warm and sweet, and smooched you on the lips. “Don’t gotta tell me twice!” Before you could gripe about him teasing you with English again, he slammed his hips into you hard, grunting and hissing as he filled you up. And you felt full. You could feel it seeping out of you before he even pulled out. If you had more than four brain cells left, you’d worry about how you were going to clean the cushions later. But you didn’t, so you didn’t.

You both panted like you’d just run a marathon, and you were sweating like sinners in church. Although you were alike in condition, your post-nut reactions were much different. You were staring up at the ceiling, brainless and boneless, blending into the bodily fluids left onto the couch. Lalo grabbed the bong and lit the bowl again, tapping you on the cheek when he blew the smoke out. “You want some? We probably got one good hit left in there. You can speak English again, by the way.”

Of course, he was giving you permission, not stating a fact. You were too fucked up (quite literally) to speak at all right now, but not too fucked to forget the dance. Flick, singe, pull, out, pass.

“Alright, nice! And good job!” Lalo took the bong from you and placed it back on the table. “You’re getting better with Spanish. I think we gotta practice more often though, right?”

You nodded. It was all you could do.

Lalo grinned. He was so, so proud. “Yeah, alright. We’ll do this again sometime. But, I got one more thing left to teach you.” He pressed his forehead to yours, and stared right into your eyes.

“Te amo. (I love you.)”

There was no need to translate. You knew it; you said it back; and you meant it.

#bcs #better call saul #bcs x reader #better call saul x reader #better call saul smut #better call saul imagine #bcs smut #bcs imagine #lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca smut #lalo salamanca imagine #lalo salamanca x reader #intox tw #intox kink #lalo salamanca x ftm reader #ftm intox #intox ftm #ftm reader

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nachofuck3r · 6 months

Text

✩°｡⋆Johnny Cage x Ftm!Reader ⋆｡°✩

Content warning:

Names used for MCs genitals: cock, dick, boy-pussy, cunt, pussy, slit, hole It's important to note that it's vaginal sex and described as such, with mentions of the cervix. Though there is zero mention of breast Still be cautious as you continue onwards

ao3 link for freaks: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51946675

It's essentially Johnny's fault, while training with the monks, he had been continuously teasing you. Making sassy remarks, mocking your form and altogether being the arsehole, he usually is. Though he always is his absolute worst self with you, to your displeasure.

Liu Kang had already been seemingly frustrated, you deduct the training with the Lin Kuei brothers had gone awry, as he showed up to your group's session with a permanent crease in his brow.

As Johnny had egged you on more and more you swiftly lost your temper, not only screeching like a banshee in a sacred place but also whopping his ass without it even being your turn to spar.

The disapproval on the Fire God's face was more than evident as you came down from your fiery high and he ordered both of you to collect flowers.

Jup, flowers!

It seems there is a special brew for tempered minds, he explained that it's usually made for medical purposes, like surgery, to ease the patients mind.

So, drugs.

But it seems it can also be used to enhance one's focuse, if prepared differently.

So essentially perfect for both yours and Johnnys purposes. It was supposed to make Johnny more focused and you, less tempered.

So that is how you found yourself, wandering the vast expense of the woods outside the temple.

With an idiot who won't stop shutting up.

"Isn't this just great?" Johnny offers sarcastically, the sleasyness of just HIM, making you have at him again.

"This is your fucking fault, you never know how to shut your trap and now we have to go flower picking because of it" you bite out resentfully, heat evident in your voice.

You don't hate Johnny cage, he is a good fighter and can be decent company. But lately he has proven to be an absolute pain, endlessly prying into your private life, flirting, teasing and so on.

It confused you rather than made you angry at first, but now it just frustrates you.

"Well excuse a guy's for trying to break through your stony exterior" his radiant brown eyes narrow as he regards you with a frown.

"This is not some speed dating show! We are meant to fight eachother and soon fighters from another realm. So excuse me for having no interest or time for chatter, especially during training" you snarl out.

"We are meant to be fighting together, honey. I know little to nothing about you. How do we know we can trust you."

"How about seeing if you can trust me! You focus more on your strategies in training"

" That's what I was doing, I'm just checking off all my methods at my disposal, to expose my enemy" he bites back, though a tone of joking lacing his words.

"There is a reason I am here, if I wasn't selected by Liu Kang himself, your mistrust would be well placed!"

"But even so, getting to know me while we're sparring. Come on ask a guy out to meet or something" you cross your arms, creasing your brows.

"I tried! But you avoid me like the plaque, you're never around, that's some fucking classic villain behavior!" he grits his teeth and moves his hands around excessively.

"There might also be a reason I tell you nothing about me, you're just gonna exploit every detail about me for your shitty movies!" your hands ball to fists as you both trot deeper and deeper into the never-ending nature around you.

"Ninja Mime was a fucking masterpiece and so will my next flick be, I don't need you emo personality jutting in, if you're gonna be an uncompliant bitch" Johnny barks out defensively, his styled hair falling into his eyes, you only groan in annoyance.

Silence falls over both of you as you just look around for the flower in question, it was supposedly growing not so far from the temple.

Looking around you don't even know where you both have found yourselves, lost in your argument you both have been walking for a good while, surrounded by all kinds of curious blooms.

"Gotta be one of these rights?" you hear Johnny say, as he pokes a random exotic looking plant.

"Stop that! Those are poisonous!" you exclaim pulling him towards you by his shoulder.

He slightly stumbles into you in shock, his big brown, baby cow like eyes, regarding you.

"How do you know?" he furrows his eyebrows in question, as do yours.

"What do you mean? We covered these in our lessons, you dunce"

"Hmmm must've forgot" he says uninterested.

"I was probably distracted by your radiant personality" he counters with a sarcastic smirk, presenting his canines and making you groan loudly in frustration.

"Whatever, the plant we're looking for is kinda star shaped and blue"

"star and blue, got it" he utters turning back to look around

You both, spent the next fifteen minutes marching deeper and deeper into the forest, looking endlessly for the flower. To your surprise Johnny is silent for the most of it. Only occasionally breaking the silence with a joke about a flower looking like a face or a tree having bumps that look like balls.

As childish as he is, he still succeeds at making you feel better about the whole situation.

While carefully eying a peculiar looking bug, you hear harsh coughs descend from Johnny's direction.

You swiftly turn, running to his side, as you see him double over.

"Johnny, what are you-" you stop, your eyes catching the huge purplish field of flowers expand before you two.

The flowers are matt with an almost star like shape, and a bulbous pink middle, which seems to be excreting some kind of -

Is that mist?

You pull Johnny back from the mist, that he probably inhaled and start rubbing his back.

"Did you inhale that?" you ask dumbfoundedly, rather than condescending, as another cough claws its way up his throat.

"Is that our mark?" he presses out ignoring the question, having recovered a little.

You eye the plant in question again and though you see the similarities, this could NOT be, what you both were sent out here for, Liu Kang would've told you if they'd expelled a mist.

"No, and I don't think we've talked about that one before" you say lightly, eyeing Johnny as another cough jets out of his mouth.

"Fucking *cough*, A-Grade bullshit this is" his face crunches up in disgust

"Yeah, but I think we did go a little off path, probably shouldn't even be here"

"You tell me, Stud. *cough* I-I think we gone and got ourselves lost."

"Hmm, you're a probably right we should head back rather than die because of this weird ass plant" you furrow your brows in worry as Johnny slightly doubles over again.

Then he lets out a few very concerning sounding coughs, which turn into gags as his mouth expels a slimy blob of something lilac.

"What in the-" he starts but gets cut of again by another cough.

You gasp loudly, take his arm over your shoulder and help him upright himself as well as possible.

"Fuck- Johnny do you think you can walk?"

He nods weakly, his glazed over eyes meeting yours.

You only now notice the sweat starting to bead at his temple and his already matted down hair, which is usually so perfectly styled, sticking to his forehead.

While tilting his head up, Johnny ends up coughing, a cloud of the mist, similar to that surrounding the field of flowers, jets out of his mouth into your face.

You gasp in shock, reel back, accidentally inhaling a good portion of it, making you both topple over.

Your vision starts to get woozy as you hear Johnny squeeze out apologies between the coughing.

"It-s O-Okay" you press out but feel yourself getting more and more -

Hot?

You hear a shift behind you seeing the movie star is now clawing at his uniform.

"What the fuck, I'm like really hot right now and not the usual kind" he utters out, his flushed face pressed against the forest floor, while scrambling to open the orange thread enclosing his body.

You flush slightly as your own cough subsides but you start feeling a burning heat spread through your lower half.

"Are you-" Johnny starts, furrowing his brows as he wets his lips with his tongue, your eyes tracking the movement.

To your own embarrassment.

"Are you okay, do you also-" he cuts himself of with breathy gasp, his hips jutted into the earth beneath at an angle.

You eye the film star cautiously, as he repeats the movement, letting out a small string of gasps.

Soon your brains fuzzy state catches up as you decide he's-

Rutting the floor?!

Johnny Cage, movie star of the millennium is laying before you, clothes half torn open and rutting his clothed sex against the forest ground.

"A- Are you fucking t-the floor?" you rasp out, your hands twitching attentively, resisting to wander to your own, pulsing sex.

Not even dignifying your query with an answer, Johnny just groans out your name, while also sending a heated gaze your way.

Affected by his stare, you hum out a groan of your own, no longer resisting the urge to create friction on your own cock.

"Hmmm- I could be f-fucking you if yo-u'd like that better, baby" Johnny moans out a response to your earlier question, turning on his back to get rid if the rest of his clothes.

The offer makes your stomach lurch with arousal, as a wave of wetness coats the inside of you boxers.

Looking up you see the other man, now thumbing over the head of his cock lightly, his head falling back in pleasure as he keeps on rubbing over the cockhead.

Your own heat prompts you to bite back a growl, seeing Johnny touch himself. Your clouded mind only provided you with thought of the potent seed churning in his balls. And the waste it would be if he spilled it over himself and not inside-

You

A fertile and willing hole.

You scramble over to him, tackling his hands to his sides.

He lets out a surprised moan at the loss of friction, eyeing you with confusion and newfound desire.

"W-what's up babe?" he breaths out as he eyes your flushed face and the needy expression on your face.

Without answering you pull of your frankly coated boxers and jut your dick against his.

Another moan leaves the otherwise cocky mans mouth, as slick from your pussy drips onto his shaft.

"F-fuck, stud you're all wet"

"Shut up" you growl out as you start rutting your length against his own, your sexes exchanging pre-cum.

You reach back towards his full balls, giving them a good squeeze. The action owes you a loud moan from the blonde, though your target is farther.

"I'm going to finger you, Johnny" you press out through the heat, rather matter of factly.

"Whoa whoa w-wait I-" he protests but not for long as your finger reaches his rim.

A sultry growl expels from his mouth as he grabs your hips for support.

With your unoccupied hand you stroke trough your slit, gathering slick on your fingers.

Then you coat his rim with your own slick and massage one finger around it.

"Please, Daddy" Johnny lets out, his eager gaze meeting your own, stunning you shortly.

You let out a dark chuckle, pressing your finger slightly into his hole, while your other hand goes to press his cock against your own, frotting the two together.

"Daddy, hmm?"

"Are you gonna be a good boy for your daddy?" you ask mockingly, still only ever so slightly entering his hole.

"Will you let me do what I want with you slut?" you resume

His beautiful brown eyes widen, as he gulps, nodding eagerly and gripping your hips tighter.

At the obedient display you mercifully push your finger into his hole, making Johnny jut up into your cock.

The friction makes you groan loudly and lean a little forward, but you don't stop your assault on his hole.

Pumping your thick finger in and out of his wet gummy walls, feeling Johnny clench down ever so often. His hips start bucking into your own and you startle.

He starts moaning more rapidly, letting out a ton of fast breathy moans.

He's about to cum, you pull your fingers out of his and scramble to position yourself.

"Wh-what are yo-"

"Breed me, Johnny" you moan out wantingly, eyes lidded and burning with hot desire, as a last warning before dropping down on his fat cock.

The blunt head of his dick, ramming into to you all the way to your cervix, giving it a fat kiss.

You both grunt in delight, Johnny twitching only a few more times before, filling your awaiting walls with potent sticky fuck juice.

"Fuuuuckk"

"Again-" you both press out at the same time, you looking at him in shock.

"W-what do you mean again?" your lips still wobbling from overstimulation.

"I'm gonna give you what you need, cunt-boy" his dark gaze meets your own as he moves to pull out and reposition.

The sudden shift makes your gut twist with guttural desire, like the fact that you just got absolutely creamed wasn't enough for your hole.

"Huh?" then he shifts you both in a mating press, you stuck beneath him, him pressing your legs to your chest.

"I'm going to breed you liked you asked, like the good and fertile bitch you are"

His eyes have a primal glint to them, his hair now fully sweated through, some stray strands falling into his face. His arms fully pressing you down, his face mere inches from you own and despite this full display of ownership-

You snort, his devilish smirk faltering in the process.

"Oh yeah?" You raise your eyebrow expectantly, your own face adorning a downright evil grin

"You better get to it then, a good sub like you can follow directions, mhh?" You lilt out, cocking your head at him.

He lets out a frustrated hum, his face further darkening.

Then, out of nowhere he pulls his cock, which was still seated in your pussy, delivering a quick smack to your swollen, overstimulated hole.

"Ahhh" you let out a load sudden moan, as your pain and pleasure melt into one combined feeling.

"You like that?" Johnny smirks at having you stunned to silence, swiftly smacking your sensitive slit and cock again.

"Ahh- J-Johnny"

"That's right, look at me" he orders, your body betraying you to obey the voice of the man who's going to fill you with more cum.

He eyes your cunt and hums as if in thought.

Then as if stricken by lightning, the mans face drop to your hole and he starts eagerly lapping up your juices.

"Johnny- mhhh you're so good" you let out holding your own legs against your chest as he starts sucking your cock.

"You know it, stud" his hot breath, hitting your hole

His assault on your boy-pussy making obscene slurping sounds that you could swear echoed through the tall trees. His tongue continues caressing your cock as his finger finds his way to your hole, clenching around nothing.

You feel something leak out of you and immediately know its Johnny's cum.

Pulling at the blondes, wet hair you, pull him of your cock with pop.

"Cum, the cum" you slur out, still fucked out and overly sensitive after the hits.

"Wh-what about-"

"B-Back in, push it in"

"It's fucking purple!" You groan in frustration and pull him forward by his biceps.

With a surprised yelp the others lips collide with yours and his cock slips back into you, pushing the purple liquid back into you, where it sloshed against you gummy walls.

Your mouths move in union for a while as you both savor each other's mouth. The change in mood makes Johnnys hips move on their own, as he pummels his length back into you, trying to reach that deep from earlier again.

You lose track of time as you and Johnny fuck, with seemingly no end in sight, that is until the heat within both of you starts to subside and you both grow exhausted. After making you spurt for final time you both collapse, breathing heavily against each other.

You're tired, and the sun is starting to set so you deduct both of you must've been missing for hours already. Its truly a wonder no stray monk collecting herbs, has walked in on you raw dogging. But it makes you wonder, why has no one looked for you yet?

Just as you're about to catch your breath you feel Johnny start softly kissing your neck, chest and collarbone. Looking down at the man you feel blood shooting to your face, he looks at you contently but also fucked the fuck out. Totally sweat coated but a lazy smirk ever present.

"You're the most gorgeous man I've ever seen" he mutters out, his sparkling brown eyes putting you on the spot.

"Is that so?" you query, a content smile of your own forming on your face as you let yourself sink into the pillowy moss covering the forest floor.

The film star hums in agreement, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He's looking infuriatingly cute right now and you wish you could punch a tree about it.

"That's why I bother you so much, I just really, really want to get to know the hot guy"

"Really? Not because you want me to star in your shitty movies?" you ask jokingly

"Well, if there was any movie you should star in-" he breaths out an implication

"it would not be the kind I usually work on" one that is not lost on you as you mirror his easy grin.

"Perhaps, another time" you exhale.

Laying there for another 30 minutes felt like a good idea at the moment, but soon it got cold and you both suddenly realized the amount of fluids that still stick to you. You did your best washing off in a nearby stream and putting on the, sullied by dirt, training uniforms before making your way back. To your surprise after walking for a good five minutes Johnny started recognizing, mushroom grow patterns, and weirdly shaped trees, that he seemingly saw on the way into the woods.

You are seriously impressed, he was like a human compass, guiding you both safely back to the temple.

Arriving at the Fire Temple you two are swarmed by monks, seemingly people were actually sent out looking for you but couldn't find you, to both of your luck. After you both took an actual bath and redressed, a wave of hunger swept over each of you.

"Man, you two looked as though you made your own training session out there" Kung Lao comments, his mischievous smirk apparent.

"They were probably at each other's throats as soon as they entered the forest" Kenshi adds with an own air of lightheartedness to him.

Just as you're stuffing your face with dumplings, Johnny scoffs loudly.

"You can say that again, what an eventful day we've had" he let's our a very convincing sigh as he ads onto the web of lies he started spinning

"We've searched endlessly for that damned flower, then we got lost and then this really weird looking squirrel jumped me, as-" he motions to you "Yours truly took it off of me. This man can really pack a punch"

Once again Johnny impresses you, by not totally freaking out, as you would've, trying to come up with excuses for the state you were in earlier.

"Yeah, you should still get checked with the doc tomorrow Johnny" Raiden, Kenshi, Kung Laos and the named mans eyes falling on you.

"Why? Did you get bitten?" Raiden asks cautiously, eyeing Johnny up and down as if to spot anything out of the ordinary.

"N-No but that squirrel was,- eh frothing at the mouth, that weird pink substance" you add cautiously, your eyes not leaving Johnny's.

Hoping you get your worry across, the sight of purplish cum dripping out of you, coming back to mind.

You try to convey him a different message than the once the others hear you say, which is essentially that he should get checked if the purple cum thingy was going to be a long term issue. You can only deduct it was a strange side effect of the pollen.

"Pink? Could it also have been lilac?" Kenshi suddenly asks, far more interested in the conversation than earlier.

"Yes, a stickler for details is what you are my friend, though...it could've been purple, why?" Johnny asks, reaching for his drink

"Must've been a horny rodent then" Kung Lao huffs out, still easy going as ever

"Why?" you in turn ask now, eying the two men who evidently knew something you didn't

"Isn't that like a side affect of those weird flowers the monks talked to us about" Raiden asks lightly

"The one with...- well" he tries adding on but doesn't continue

"An aphrodisiac effect, yea I think that's the one"

Both you and Johnny stare at each other, in a sense that reads "Are you kidding?".

"Oh really, must've missed that lesson" the movie star says, his food forgotten as he focuses on the conversation.

"Me as well, how do the flowers look?"

"I think they were like star shaped and..... blue or purplish"

*Clank*

Johnny hammers on the table, shaking the cutlery and glasses on it, but he has no regard for them nor for politeness, as he promptly storms off.

Leaving the other men in utter confusion, as they all frown, looking at you for answers.

Feeling overwhelmed you also get up trying to catch up to Johnny who was undoubtedly looking for Liu Kang.

"They probably-"

"Man, they definitely fucked."

"You both are insufferable."

࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙࣪✮🕷

#johnny cage #x reader #johnny cage fanfiction #mk1 fanfic #mortal kombat fanfiction #x m!reader #x ftm!reader

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ladamedusoif · 25 days

Text

Yesterday was the anniversary of the violent ending of the student occupation of Columbia University in 1968.

(This is a long-ish post; it is political; you’ve been given fair warning, but I can’t be silent on this today, my principles are my principles.)

Last night, hordes of heavily armed NYPD swarmed onto Columbia and City College’s campuses in upper Manhattan and proceeded to dismantle the peaceful encampment and occupation by students in protest at the university’s continued support for the Israeli regime and, by extension, the ongoing genocide in Gaza.

As some of you know, I am an academic. We think of ourselves - or should think of ourselves - as a global community. The students and faculty of Columbia and City College, like the students and faculty of the universities destroyed (and their communities murdered) in Palestine, are my colleagues, my people.

The student journalists on WKCR last night were so young, so brave in what they were trying to do, to keep reporting and make sure their story was being told. Meanwhile, the focus on Columbia meant eyes were turned away from the NYPD’s assault on City College, which has a much more diverse and working-class student body.

Student activism has always been an important vector for change. I do not know how we are supposed to teach our students that they can change the world, watch them try to put that into action, and then somehow stand silent while the riot police drag them out of their campus in zip ties.

Today is International Worker’s Day, traditionally a day of activism and solidarity, and with this in mind, here are some links to show support and solidarity. I’m trying to find a verified bail bond fund for students at the moment.

UNWRA:

MSF/Doctors Without Borders:

International Red Cross:

#forty five thousand dead you're arresting kids instead #columbia university #free palestine #tw: opinions #tw: politics #i can’t believe I’m adding those tags but how and ever #international workers day #personal post

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theangrycomet-art · 9 months

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Loontics Unleashed: Tunnel Vision

The latest band climbing up the charts in Acemtropolis, they are one of the first non-human bands to gain recognition (as well as notoriety) in recent years after winning a record label with Acme Records in 2068.

They're technically a rock band, though they tend to explore genres.

They are scheduled to preform at the 2774 Basherball Championship halftime show, despite the more recent threats sent to them.

Lore Below:

Don't mess with any of the band member's equipment ESPECIALLY their instruments. Jax get's particularly nasty when her guitar is touched.

Dakota Frog

performer name: Lily Pad

she/her

lead vocals/bass

Writes most of the songs with Jax

in charge of choreography

Descendant of Michigan J Frog

used to suffer from severe stage fright so she could only sing in front of one person at a time

luckily she's conquered this fear with Tunnel Vision

cool headed though she isn't above getting into mischief

Jesse Rabbit (Rodger/Jessica Rabbit descendant)

Performer name: Dust Bunny

he/him

Speaks several languages-> translates their songs

Drummer/ male vocals

Descendant of Rodger and Jessica Rabbit

clutsiest of the group, he does the least amount of stunts during their shows

smooth talker- he manages their contracts and ensures they get paid fairly

acts dumber than he is so people underestimate him

Marcy the Martian

Performer Name: Asteroid Bebe

she/her

Proper Title: Crown Princess Mihl’ah Tyr'ah,

Keyboardist/ rapper

sound engineer with Jax

Daughter of Empress Tyr'ahnee and Commander X2, cousins with Melvin

though polite and well-meaning, she is regularly impeded by her short temper (this has improved as she has found an outlet through thier music)

initially visited Earth as a culture study

she's perfectly content to chill on earth for the next century or two

tranlsate's their songs into Martian, giving them a LARGE fandom amongst the Martian Empire

Jacqueline “Jax” E Coyote

performer name: Sandy Lane

she/

9 string guitar/ lead vocals

sound engineer with Marcy

Writes most of the songs with Dakota

See Link^^^

protective over her bandmates, she's usually the one to tell people off if they are crossing a line

Tech's sister

Albums:

2769: Sour Candy (the love song/bittersweet album going over the highs and lows of a relationships)

Tug a War

Heart Murmurs

Eat it Too

Mind over Matter

(I love you, Lady!) Buh bye!

Ladies and Gents

Double Blind Date

My Demons are my Angels

rock cover of “Hello my Baby”

2770: Don’t worry, this is Just a Test (experimental album)

No Martian’s were Harmed in the Making of this Song

What is this thing?

Pliers and Wires (the diffusing bomb song)

Murphy’s Law (The Disaster Song)

Self Destruct Button

Never Have I Ever

Never again

Zap!

Gravity (thou art a heartless bitch)

No Sounds in Space

2772: Open Season (the angry album)

Count the Teeth

Leash Laws (This Bitch Bites)

Playboy Bunnies (Bad Hare Day)

Bring back the Noise (I hope you Croak)

Four Digits are All I Need (to Slap You)

Swallowing Honeybees

Pelt on the Wall

Feather Duster

Dynamite in my Piano

2773: Insurance won’t Cover This (direct callout to how the comet situation was addressed)

What’s up, Doc?

Second Skin

You wanna put what in my what?

Arm Cast

Scalpel to the Forehead

Surgery won’t fix This

The Bone Doctor

Empty Vase

Blow my Chest Clean Off

Hospital Fees

Freaks

2774: Highlighter Pack (dedicated to the Loonatics)

Comet

Start your Engines

Let’s Jet

On my Radar

Eye of the Storm

TNT’s the New Ibuprofen

Dodging Bullets, Throwing Stones

Lab Safety

Highlighter Pack

#Loonatics Unleashed #LU OC #LU #Jacqueline Coyote #Jax E Coyote #Lily Pad #Dakota J Frog #Marcy the Martian #Asteroid Bebe #Reese Rabbit #Dust Bunny #Tunnel Vision #OC Lore #AU Lore #TheAngryComet ART #angrycomet rambles #Fan Relatives #Loonatics OC

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vexic929 · 2 months

Text

Blue Streak

Chapter 2

Warnings: mentions of surgery, death, and implied false accusations of child abuse

Chapter 1: link

Chapter 3: link

Seven hours. Malcolm's first surgery took seven hours and every one of those hours Barry spent in the room they'd set up for Malcolm's recovery being interviewed by police officers. Barry drew his knees up to his chest and the officer who'd been speaking to him sighed, leaving the small hospital room as the 10-year-old refused to speak to him any longer. Barry was tired of the questions, tired of the accusations made against their dad. Dad would never hurt Mom and he'd absolutely never hurt Malcolm either, why didn't they believe him?

Barry sniffled and wiped his eyes as a team of nurses finally wheeled Malcolm into the room. Usually, Barry could look at Malcolm and feel like he was looking in a mirror, but right now he just felt sick. Malcolm was paler than usual, his eyebrows scrunched up in pain even though he was still asleep, with a neck and back brace and bandages taped to the side of his head. One of the nurses looked up and gave him a small smile that was probably supposed to be comforting.

"Is...will he be okay?" Barry asked quietly, hugging his knees tighter as he stared at his brother's unconscious form.

The nurse retrieved a blanket from a nearby cabinet and crossed the room to drape it around Barry's shoulders before kneeling in front of him.

"He's stable and we'll work very hard to keep him that way, I promise." He assured him.

Barry took a shaky breath and nodded, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. The nurse smiled again and gestured to the small couch by the window, next to the TV.

"If you want me to I could bring you a pillow so you can sleep until he wakes up. Or, you could lie down and watch some TV."

Barry nodded mutely, grateful for the nurse's kindness. He shuffled over to the couch and curled up into a small ball again, still clutching the blanket tightly around himself. His hazel eyes flickered between his sleeping brother and the TV screen, though his mind was far away from whatever program was playing.

As the hours ticked by, Barry couldn't shake the images from his mind - the floating water, the swirling lights...his mother's lifeless stare as he'd peeled back the body bag. At some point, the nurse brought a pillow, a bottle of water, some Jell-O, and another blanket, this one warmed. The warm blanket lulled him down into a fitful sleep filled with nightmares where he stared into the lifeless faces of his father and brother as well.

Barry stirred, his eyes fluttering open as the morning sun streamed through the window onto his face. Disoriented, he glanced around, memories of the night before flooding back with painful clarity. Malcolm's still form lay on the adjacent bed, his breathing shallow and labored, a maze of tubes and wires connecting him to various machines.

Pushing himself up, Barry rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of his nightmares before reaching for the remote next to the TV, hoping to distract himself. It didn't work; despite being in a children's hospital all the TV channels seemed to have boring old people shows that couldn't hold his attention. Barry slumped miserably into the arm of the sofa, defeated, and settled for dozing again.

Around lunch time, Malcolm finally cracked an eye open and glanced over at Barry who gave him a half-hearted smile and a wave.

"Hi," Barry said softly but Malcolm didn't return the greeting or the smile.

"What's going on?" Malcolm whispered, his voice scratchy from the tube they'd put down his throat during surgery.

Barry swallowed hard. "Um...what do you remember?"

Malcolm frowned, thinking hard. "Lots of lights...and Mom...and then I couldn't breathe and my back hurt really bad..."

Barry's heart sank as he listened to Malcolm's fragmented recollection. How could he explain what had happened without overwhelming his brother? He stared at his feet, trying to find the right words. He must have been quiet for too long because Malcolm spoke again.

"Barr, what happened? Where's Mom and Dad?"

Barry took a shaky breath, trying to steel himself for the difficult conversation. "Mom's...they think Dad..."

Malcolm's eyes widened and filled with tears. "Barry, where's Mom?"

Barry's throat tightened, his own eyes stinging with unshed tears. He crossed the room to sit closer to his brother, scooting the chair in the corner closer to the bed. "She's...she's gone, Mal."

"No." Malcolm said automatically, the tears escaping and running back into his hairline, soaking the bandages. "No. No she can't...she's not...she's Mom she can't just be gone."

Barry took his hand gently, afraid of hurting him further, and sniffled. "I-I saw her..."

Malcolm choked out a sob, squeezing Barry's hand weakly, and Barry wanted nothing more than to hug his brother. It was several minutes before either twin was composed enough to speak again.

"W-what about Dad? You said...is Dad okay? Is he in trouble?" Malcolm asked, tear-filled hazel eyes begging for good news.

Barry's heart sank at Malcolm's words, his gaze dropping to the sterile hospital floor again. He couldn't bear to see the fear and confusion in his twin's eyes.

"Um...the police..." Barry said shakily. "They think he hurt Mom. And you."

Malcolm's expression twisted in disbelief, his brow furrowing in pain and confusion. "But he...he loved Mom. And he never even yelled at us or got mad or anything."

Barry wiped away frustrated tears. "I tried to tell them, but they won't listen. They won't believe me."

"Well...they have to believe me, right? Cause I'm the one who got hurt, I know Dad didn't do it." Malcolm said, struggling to push himself up to sit despite the braces around his small frame keeping him mostly immobile. "So I'll just go and tell them and then Dad can be let go and they can find who really did it."

"Mal, wait, you're really hurt, you just had surgery, you can't-"

Barry was cut off at a groan of pain from Malcolm as his brother fell back on the bed, panting and looking like he might be sick, tears streaming down his face. "It's not fair! Mom's gone, they can't- they can't take Dad too!"

Barry felt utterly helpless, he didn't know how to fix this. Any of this. Malcolm was right, it wasn't fair at all. The room felt suffocating suddenly, the sterile scent mixing with the tension that hung thick in the air. This was just the worst. He couldn't help Dad, couldn't help Malcolm, Mom was...who was gonna plan her funeral if Dad was in jail? Could Mal even go to the funeral? Both boys stayed quiet for several minutes save for their tears, neither sure what to say that could make things better. There wasn't anything that could, really, but Barry spoke again after nearly a half hour had passed with just the sound of the machines and TV set.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly and Malcolm gave him a puzzled look.

"Why?"

Barry took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. "I was the one who said we should go downstairs. If we'd stayed in our room, you wouldn't have gotten hurt-"

"That's stupid." Malcolm interrupted and Barry paused mid-sentence, his mouth still open.

"What?"

"He...it...whatever the yellow thing was, he was already in the house and he killed Mom. You think it would've made a difference if we were in our room? He'd probably have come found us anyway, he might've killed all of us, who knows. We're 10, what're we gonna do against something like that?" Malcolm asked, trying to shift with a wince to look at his brother more fully.

"...I mean, I guess..."

It was a bitter pill to swallow. Deep down, he knew Malcolm was right. Their mother's murderer, the man in yellow lightning, had just...appeared and then vanished just as fast. If they had stayed hidden in their room, it might not have changed anything.

"Still-" Barry started and Malcolm reached out, his hand trembling as he placed it gently on Barry's arm.

"Barr, shut up." He said with a small smile and Barry let out an awkward, watery laugh.

"Sorry, I guess I just wish I could do something...anything, really to fix this," Barry said and Malcolm squeezed his arm.

"I know. You're not a superhero though, okay? And...you're helping me at least - you're here. I don't think I could do this alone. I'd probably go crazy or something."

Barry felt a lump form in his throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. Despite the pain and the uncertainty, Malcolm always managed to find a way to lighten the mood and offer comfort, even when he was the one lying in a hospital bed, broken and hurting.

"Yeah, well, we're in this together, right?" Barry said, his voice wavering slightly.

Malcolm nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Always. Can't get rid of me." He teased.

Barry laughed again, a real laugh this time. "Love you, Mal."

"Love you, too."

#earth-111 #earth 111 #malcolm allen #vexic writes #vexic lives #vexic ocs #blue streak

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bawltongue · 1 year

Text

ROOMMATES - Pt 1

(jonathan davis x stealth transmasc reader <on t, post op top surgery>. takes place in early 90s, very beginning of korn. reader gets notice by landlord that they will have to share their space with a new roommate- that being jd. despite the readers initial lack of excitement, they get to know each other and develop a mutual liking)

18+ !!!!!!!

warning: substance use, lots of swearing, slurs, brief mention of the film 'cannibal holocaust'

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Fucking shit!” You sputtered out, woken up from a deep sleep due to your obnoxious alarm. You had the day off, but had forgotten to turn it off the evening prior. You sighed, feeling defeated already. Another day where you’ve been yanked out of slumber nearly suffering a heart attack at 8 AM.

“Great, there goes sleeping in today.”

Getting up from your bed, you groggily stumbled into the kitchen. Might as well prepare a decent breakfast, since you actually have time rather then having to rush to work. You opened up the fridge to scan various ingredients, trying to decide on what you were going to make. You had meant to go grocery shopping a few days ago, but your consistent exhaustion has kept you nothing but work and homebound. The fridge was basically barren and despite your rumbling gut, nothing looked appetizing.

Well, nothing except for your trusty old bong sitting on the counter where you had left it the night before. It still had some ash and weed inside the bowl; even a bit of green still sprinkled in there. You sighed picking it up, mildly disappointed in yourself over how happy the thought of lighting it up made you. Walking out onto your tiny haven of a balcony, you plopped down in one of the plastic yard chairs and picked up the lighter left lying on the ground. Inhaling the comforting smoke, you sat wondering what you could do to postpone going to the grocery store for as long as possible.

“Damn, this is some good ass shit.” You coughed out, already feeling high after a couple hits. Your dealer knew you back in high school as the weird, quiet, androgynous kid. When you had first linked up about a year ago inquiring about buying from him, he thought your transition was ‘cool and interesting’. He always made sure to give you his best product; sometimes he’ll even slide you some free edibles to try.

Finishing up what was left in the bowl, you made your way back inside to fill it back up and get fucked up for the day; only to be inturupted by a knock at your door.

“Shit shit shit.” You anxiously jumped up, racing to shove your bong under the kitchen sink and lighting a candle on your coffee table. You weren’t expecting any visitors, and you had already paid rent for the month a week and a half ago; what’s the fucking deal?

Another impatient sounding knock at the door.

“Coming, I-I’m coming!” You stumbled over to the door, opening it without even thinking to look through the peephole. Lo and behold, your landlord, Lily, was waiting with a hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow.

“Do I have to remind you for like, the billionth time that you can’t be smoking? You’re gonna get me in trouble, Y/N.” She said half seriously, half nonchalantly. You’ve had this conversation so many times, all she can really do at this point is wag her finger and pretend to care.

“Shit, you can smell it?”

“Not this time, but your eyes give it away.” She snickered, gesturing at your face. “Anyways, that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about. I have news, and you’re either gonna be excited or pissed at me. Probably pissed. Either way, it’ll be your problem, not mine.” She crossed her arms and took a step closer.

“You’re scaring me, Lily. Like, that just made me so anxious. Just give it to me straight.” You braced yourself, crossing your arms in front of your chest and holding onto your shoulders. You honestly didn’t know what to expect at this point. You’ve been residing in the same complex for close to 2 years now, so aside from the occasional drama from the room above you or malfunctioning of appliances; surprises weren’t something that occurred often at all. You were almost hoping for her to say something a little outlandish. Life had felt so redundant lately.

“Alright. You want it straight? I’ll give to ya. Finances are… rough, to say the least. I can’t keep up with what I’m charging you for rent. So I’m raising it-“

“What? Are you kidding? You know I’m in a shitty situation myself, I can barely afford an eighth of grass. I’m paying for my hrt, come on, dont do this to m-“

“Y/N, chill. You ain’t even let me finish my sentence. Why would I mention you’d be excited if I was just gonna double the rent on you? You think I’m a monster?” She looked mildly offended. Her assurance made you relax your shoulders a bit.

“Anyways; I’m raising the rent and you’re going to be splitting it with a new roommate. I think he’ll be a perfect match for you, he’s your age, a bit quiet, but-“

“Aw shit… please tell me you’re joking. I don’t mesh well with other people. Especially strangers. Plus, you know my ‘thing’. What if I get hatecrimed? What do you even know about this guy?”

“Enough to be sure he won’t slaughter you. I dunno, he might be a little… you know… queer himself even. Not my business.” She flashed a limp wrist to emphasize her point. It would’ve made you chuckle if you weren’t so disappointed and taken off guard. “Be prepared for your new friend tonight. I already told him he’d probably have to take the foldout couch to sleep in.”

“Whatever.”

“You know, maybe you should be excited or something. You’re always alone, getting stoned by yourself and shuffling around here like a hobbit. Your life is your life, but you have a shot at making a friend. You’re gonna have to get used to it anyways, because I need money, and you need a place to live. Once I get his payment, I may even be able to fix your hot water problem.” She winked cartoonishly and took a step back. “That’s all I had to say. If you can afford it, go buy some eyedrops.” She said before walking away, unbothered.

You made a disgusted expression at her back before slamming the door shut and pacing to your bedroom to put some normal clothes on. In that moment, you had decided you’d tidy things up a little bit. Sure, you were pissed off and unhappy that you’d have to be sharing your space with a total stranger all of a sudden, but you didn’t wanna feel embarrassed about a mess on top of that. Wasn’t worth fighting fire with fire.

Time felt like no object as you cleaned up; throwing laundry into your crummy little dryer, spraying down the mirror in the bathroom, vacuuming up the ash and crumbs scattered throughout the apartment floor. Before you knew it, you had looked at the clock and it was 4 PM. You had done a damn thorough job sanitizing and tidying.

Damn, I’ve been cleaning all fucking day for some dude I don’t even know. I deserve a medal for hospitality or something.

You looked over at the little coffee table, spotting your lighter.

Or maybe a couple bong rips would suffice.

Packing up the bowl tight with a nice fluffy bunch of weed, you situated yourself outside with a glass of water and got ready to get fucked. Your anxiety was starting to eat at you now that you weren’t occupied cleaning; and what better way to rid yourself of that nagging feeling then to smoke it away?

Time dragged on as you smoked an unforeseen amount of bud. Your eyelids got progressively heavier until they fell and your body gave in to much needed sleep. A sleep that would once again be crudely interrupted, as the slamming of something hitting the floor of your apartment pulled you to your feet in fear. With bloodshot, sleepy eyes you yanked the door from your balcony open and staggered inside.

“The fuck?” Your voice cracked with apparent concern and confusion. In front of the doorway of your abode stood a lanky, and clearly startled man about your age. He had dark dreads, silver eyebrow piercings, and a uniquely handsome face. You scanned him tentatively, trying to figure out in your stoned state of mind if he was a threat or not.

“Sorry, I uh, Lily gave me a key and I didn’t wanna knock in case you were asleep. I didn’t mean to scare ya like that.” He awkwardly fumbled, putting the key in his pocket before outstretching his hand. “I’m Jonathan.”

You exhaled in relief and reached your hand out to shake his. He seemed polite enough, and the fact that he was clearly nervous as well made you feel a bit better.

“Names’ Y/N. It’s cool to meet you, man.” He gripped your hand with more strength then expected. You couldn’t control your eyes. Your gaze went from up his hand to his face and down his body. Taking in his features and clothing choices the best you could. You noticed his dark, friendly eyes. There looked to be a lot of soul behind them. His decrepit black sweater and sweatpants that looked like they’ve been through purgatory. You wanted to keep staring, but didn’t wanna seem weird.

“This is a really nice place, you do a good job keeping it clean I can see.” Jonathan smiled, trying to ease the tension, earning a soft smile back. His crooked teeth caught your eye.

“Thanks. To be honest, I really don’t. I cleaned it all today, went fucking nuts with it.”

“Aww, what? Already trying to impress me and we just met, huh?” He playfully responded, making you blush a bit. Fortunately for you, it was just dim enough so that he couldn’t tell.

“Man whatever.” You laughed tiredly. “Can I help you with anything? You look like you might be strugglin’ a bit.” You looked over to his bags that had fallen all over the floor. One had busted open and his clothes had come flooding out. You noticed a pair of thigh high striped socks and garters. Interesting.

He looked behind him and sighed softly, turning back to you. “Nah, nah… Well… I hate to make this kind of first impression, but would you maybe have sumthin’ to eat? I’m fuckin’ starving.”

You nearly facepalmed. Fuck. I was supposed to go grocery shopping today.

“Shit man, I wish I could say yes. I haven’t eaten all day. I’m hungry m’self.”

“Oh fuck, well… can I buy you something to eat then? It’s like almost midnight but I can get us something from the Kwik Stop across the street.”

You smiled, a bit surprised at the offer. You would’ve said no out of courtesy since you normally don’t like when people buy things for you; but because he was moving into your space, you graciously took him up on the offer. Before leaving, you both moved his bags onto the couch and went on your way. It was pitch black outside. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been out for until he mentioned it was about midnight. Time felt weird.

The Kwik Stop was just across the road from your complex, which was empty due to the odd time of evening. On the brief walk there, you had partaken in some small talk; learning that he had come from Bakersfield, that he enjoyed music, that you both really liked The Cure. He had a very soft spoken and gentle cadence to his voice. Although you weren’t excited by any means to have to embrace a new roommate, it didn’t seem like it’d be necessarily hard to get along. In fact, you found yourself kind of attracted to him which threw you off a bit.

“Feel free to grab whatever you want, It’s on me.” He winked at you and walked off, going straight for the beers in the back. Once you both got what you wanted, you left to run back across the street. The sidelights lit your faces up dully as you waited for cars to cease passing by. "I really appreciate you getting me something to eat."

"Don't worry about it. I really appreciate you being so cool about me staying at your place. I probably would've beaten the shit out of me the way I showed up earlier." He chuckled softly. Jon's gaze was soft, his eyes looked like black holes reflecting the small amount of light emanating from the street. You met his fixed look with your own causing him to nervously glance at his feet.

"I gotta be cool with it, right? We're roommates now. If anything, I'm surprised you didn't peace out when my stoned ass came bumbling through the door at you. Was kinda embarrassing."

"Naw, it was sorta endearing." You didn't even have a moment to respond before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the street. "C'mon, let's head out." He kept your wrist in his grasp as the two of you speedwalked across the road. You had been caught up staring at Jon's face rather than paying attention to the cars. He let go of you once you reached the other side. "Whew, let's fuckin' eat."

You walked up the stairs and unlocked the door to your apartment, letting you both in. Jon plopped down on the couch and instantly started ripping apart the wings he had bought. He looked up at you with full cheeks and patted the space next to him. You sat down somewhat guardedly, slurping at the slushy you got. As you both ate and drank your respective food and engaged in chitchat, it was easy to tell that sleepiness was becoming palpable. Your eyes kept fluttering closed as Jon would try to continue engaging in conversation. You had been sitting and talking for over an hour now.

"Y/N, you oughtta go to sleep." He snickered staring at you, his head in his hand. "I can tell you're exhausted."

Your eyes peeled open, dark circles encompassing them. "I guess I should. Fuck, I'm so tired. I'm sorry. I wanted to try and vibe a bit more but-"

"Go to bed. We'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow. I just like your company, it's why I won't shut the fuck up." A sleepy smile plastered on his face. You groggily got up and made your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth before passing out on your bed. Too tired to change out of your day clothes, but not too tired to unplug your alarm clock.

As the next couple days and weeks passed, you and Jonathan got to know each other better. Developing a friendship where you could be both serious when necessary, but poke fun at each other as well. You took space when you needed it but found that you both enjoyed each other's energy. Jon became more talkative as the days went on, and the two of you found it easy to intently listen to each other. He had told you about the band he was in and how they're working on their first album; even invited you to their next rehearsal. You were becoming somewhat close pretty fast. It'd been a bit difficult to continue suppressing the full on crush you developed on him throughout your time together. You kept covering it up by teasing and making fun of him in subtle, friendly ways. He did the same, but you assumed it was his way of being friendly.

In the midst of a pretty serious conversation about childhood and the lyricism behind the songs Jon had been working on with his bandmates; you ended up disclosing the fact that you're trans to him. You had gathered from multiple discussions and his experience with being perceived as queer that he wouldn't be distasteful about it. Fortunately, you were right. He found it to be very interesting and admirable. You were the first trans person he'd met. He was very open to being educated on the subject. Every now and then a new question will pop into his mind that he'll ask you; some a bit invasive, but all in a genuine attempt to better understand and sympathize with you. You came to learn he was a very open minded individual. After you came out to him, he insisted on giving you an almost uncomfortably long hug. Almost, but more than anything it was a very meaningful gesture. Ever since then, you found yourselves embracing and having sentimental moments a little more often. It was nice to finally have somebody to confide in about your personal life and vice versa. Friends, dates, socializing in general hadn't exactly been a tangible thing since you moved away from home.

At this point, it had been about a couple weeks since he had initially moved in. At the end of a very long workday, you had planned to head over to the Kwik Stop together and grab slushies. This time, on you. Work hadn't ended until 9:30, which left you getting back to the apartment around 10 PM. Jonathan was waiting eagerly when you got back. The moment you opened up the door, he sprung up from the couch and walked over to you. “Let’s get outta here!” He pushed past you, grabbing your wrist and tugging you along. He got into the habit of dragging you places by your wrist like that. You didn’t get the chance to even say hello, let alone change out of your work clothes.

After picking out your ridiculous sized slushies, you headed back to the apartment and finally had the opportunity to change into something more comfortable. You grabbed a random oversized t-shirt and pair of sweats from the dryer, swiftly throwing them on before exiting your room to join Jon on the couch. Looking up at him, you noticed a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

You sneered, raising an eyebrow. "What's your damage?"

"Nothing. You're just wearing my shit." He pointed a finger at you, still smirking. He proceeded to take an obnoxiously loud sip from his drink, not breaking eye contact. You looked down at the clothes you had mindlessly tossed on to find he was right.

"Oh, uh, shit. My bad. I thought-I didn't even realize. I'll go change real quick."

"You shouldn't. It looks good on you." He very obviously scanned you up and down. A hot blush spread rapidly across your face. You both locked eyes for a few silent moments before he spoke again. "You're turning red."

"Man shut the fuck up." You sputtered out, flustered and unable to hide the smile on your face. "That's gay as hell." You were never very good at accepting compliments.

"That ain't a problem with me." Jon snickered and bit his lip looking quite satisfied with himself. You plopped next to him on the couch and flipped the television on. Out of the corner of your eye while channel surfing, he was making it pretty apparent that he was gawking at you. You had your gaze fixated on the tv and tried to play it cool; despite your heartbeat growing louder in your ears. Jonathan interrupted your aimless search for something to watch by letting you know he had a VHS tape he wanted to show you. You hesitantly agreed as he sprung up and grabbed it from one of his bags, popping it into the player.

"It's called Cannibal Holocaust." He casually sat back down, a little closer to you then before.

"Jonathan, what the actual fuck are you making me watch right now?"

"Don't worry, it's all fake. Mostly. If you get scared, I'll protect you." He playfully patted your head and chuckled, turning his face towards the screen. Every time he touched you, whether it was a tiny tap, a hug, a fist bump, a gentle hand on your waist to get by you; it always made butterflies arise in your stomach. As the movie played on, you found yourself progressively more disturbed and unsettled. Every now and then, Jon would turn his head toward you to check your reactions. You thought it was pretty cute, but with him doing so, felt compelled to try and force a stone-faced expression. That was, until a particular scene involving a turtle shocked your system.

"OH SHIT!" You jumped in disgust and fear, spilling your giant, now melted slushie all over the couch. Jon couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You fucking weirdo, where are you gonna sleep tonight now?" you snapped in a mildly annoyed tone. He wiped a tear from his eye from laughter, glancing down at the sticky mess.

"Damn... Guess I'll curl up on the floor?" He got up to go grab paper towels from the counter. You took a deep breath and got up to turn the VHS player off. You felt a little bad for raising your voice at him.

"Nah, nah. I'm sorry, that was totally my fault. You can sleep in my bed... I-I wouldn't mind."

He gladly accepted as you both proceeded to get ready to go to sleep. Brushing your teeth, setting up his one pillow and bracing yourself for what you hoped to be a casual, non awkward evening. He walked into your room from the bathroom with nothing but a pair of dramatically short, tattered boxers on. You couldn't help but gawk at his figure; he was so much hairier than you imagined. Almost made your mouth water. He excitedly crawled under the covers next to you and faced you, a cheesy grin on his face.

"Taking it to the next level now, are we?" He winked.

"You're dumb." You laughed tiredly. Your faces were inches away, causing you both to subtly turn red. "You've been acting so gay lately."

"Yeah yeah, haw haw, Imma fag... Can you blame me? We've been spending so much time together. I'm starting to like- well I dunno. Nevermind. We gotta sleep." He closed his eyes and began cartoonishly snoring. 'Honk shoo, honk shoo'. It made you snicker.

"No, you can't do that, Jon. Tell me what you were gonna say. I promise I won't be a douchebag about it." You inched closer, getting in his face. Your mutual sleepiness causing your walls to come down a bit. He opened one eye, lips curling into a smile seeing you so close to him.

"I don't wanna make things weird, Y/N. We're sleeping in the same bed tonight." The anticipation of waiting for him to say what you thought he was going to was killing you. You were both sweating. A brief stretch of silent thought ensued until you interjected.

"You have a crush on me or something?" You tried to keep a casual, somewhat playful tone, but your voice came out shaky. His eyes bulged a bit, looking away from you. He sighed dramatically.

"You know, I played that movie kinda hoping that you'd get scared and like, grab my hand or want me to put my arm around you or something. I didn't expect you to dump liquid diabetes all over the couch... and now we're laying in the same bed... and I feel more awkward about telling you this then I thought I would..." He trailed off hesitantly. You hadn't even realized you'd been holding your breath since he started talking.

"Just say it." You impatiently spat out. His eyes fixed back onto yours, both of you using the blanket to cover your faces from the nose down.

He laughed awkwardly; "Peer pressure... I think I've made it obvious enough, right?... I really like you. Like, I'm crushin' on you a fuckton. I think you're really fuckin' cute, Y/N." He almost whispered out. Your smile stretched across your face so wide that your eyes squinted almost completely. You saw the smile in his eyes as well, as you both remained stuck in each other's gazes. You couldn't come up with a response due to your surprise and the surgency of emotions. Time seemed to stretch on forever as you affectionately stared into one another's gazes. Jon hummed thoughtfully to himself, debating on whether or not to interject the silence.

"Can I kiss you?" Jon softly asked. You nodded your head enthusiastically, prompting him to scoot closer to you until your lips weren't even a centimeter apart. He placed a gentle hand on the side of your face and leaned in, placing a tender, somewhat quick kiss on your lips. You couldn't hold back your childish giggle.

"So I take it I didn't make things weird?" He chuckled, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

"No, no. I'm actually really happy you said something. I'm kinda surprised. I uh, I like you too. A lot. If that wasn't apparent... and yeah, I also think you're cute. Very cute." You made the bold, sleep deprived decision to move your hand onto his bare waist, making him slightly twitch in pleasant surprise.

"Careful now. You're gonna give me a boner."

"Man you're so fucking dumb." The both of you laughed as you gave him a light, playful slap on the cheek. The rest of the night was spent sprinkling soft kisses on each other's faces and lazily making out. The romantic tension that had been building finally burst with your mutual confessions. Jon kept trying to spoon you throughout the evening, but in your exhausted state, you couldn't help but toss and turn. Every now and then, you'd feel a kiss on the back of your neck, or his hand resting on your waist. You could tell already that touch was his love language. Before you finally fell asleep, you ended up having to accept your nightly fate of being swallowed up in his arms. His chest hair tickled the back of your neck as he kept you pressed up against him. It was a much safer and cozy feeling then you were expecting. You had never felt so comfortable with the touch of another person before. It was one of the most restful, satisfying nights' sleep you had since you could remember.

#jonathan davis x reader #jonathan davis x transmasc reader #jonathan davis x ftm reader #jonathan davis fic #jonathan davis #korn fic #bawltongue writes #roommates #fic

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novoaa1writes · 10 months

Text

come, sit, stay

image source

pairing(s): softdark!natasha romanoff x gnc!reader

summary:

You have to resist the urge to shrink away when she lowers herself to a crouch. All at once, she’s close, too close, close enough that you could reach through the bars and touch her if you wanted.

“Look at me, pup.”

You do. The expression on her face is neither malicious nor lustful; rather, devoid of emotionality. Utterly unreadable.

No matter. Lost though you may be, you harbor no illusions about the vulnerability of your current state. She holds your leash; she has since she caught you. You know it, and she does, too.

Or: You haven't the faintest clue what it's like to have an owner—much less someone like her.

contains: non-con dynamics, forced pet play, dehumanization

[cross-posted on ao3]

word count: ~1,400

rating: mature

warnings: non-con dynamics, forced pet play, dehumanization, referenced non-con body modification, referenced non-con medical experimentation/surgery, minor blood, power imbalance, light bondage (cage)

notes: continuation of/companion to a recent work! (link below) i’ve decided to rename the first work and file this under the series name “build-a-pet” ‘cause i mean. that’s kinda what’s happening here and all, ya dig

also, i’m not doing tag lists anymore (with the exception of the ongoing “find you again” series), because i suck at them. sorryyy

see end notes for translation of russian terms!

— —

previous part: day 0

— —

You awake to aching limbs, a dry throat, and curious smells.

Consciousness comes gradually. A rare mercy, but the pounding in your skull tells you you’ve already slept far too long to bask in it.

Prying open one eyelid, then two, you scan your surroundings with bleary eyes. You’re curled on your side, bare-ass naked, both knees folded to your chest inside… a rectangular cage. A quick glance finds its dimensions larger than you’re used to, with ample room to sit up and crawl on all fours. The bars are thinner, too, but you’ve no doubt they’re quite secure; and the door…

The door. Panic grips you.

It’s open. No lock in sight.

What kind of cage doesn’t lock?

Where the hell are you?

You’re quick to rise to all fours as your search turns frantic, adrenaline and fear eclipsing all tearing aches from inactivity and injury until it’s all you can do to keep from vibrating with the force of it. Your heartbeat thuds double-time in your chest, wide-eyed gaze darting this way and that.

You don’t see much—tall ceilings, a well-lit fireplace, twin lounge chairs complete with matching ottomans—before a pair of startling green eyes meet your own, effectively nailing you to the spot.

Natasha leans casually against the nearby wall wearing a lazy smirk that broadens when your gaze catches hers. She hasn’t changed since last you saw her; donning black jeans, a wife beater, and a well-worn leather jacket. Scarlet-red hair is pulled back and woven into twin braids that tickle her shoulders. Her face is devoid of makeup, though it does nothing to dull her beauty.

She could have been there for hours or minutes; you’ve no way of telling.

As you watch, she cocks a single, well-manicured brow.

At that, you realize you’re staring. Cheeks burning, you hasten to lower your gaze to the floor.

“Finally awake, then,” she rumbles in a low, contralto drawl. It’s not a question. “How’d you sleep?”

Her voice comes from much closer, this time, causing you to flinch like you’ve been struck.

If you strain your downcast gaze, you can just glimpse the scuffed toes of her boots in your periphery. Christ. You hadn’t even heard her move.

“Okay, thank you,” you murmur politely. The words feel like gravel in your throat.

Whatever Stark did to you, it’s made speaking a nuisance. It scrapes your throat, burns your lungs. It feels unnatural, period. Who wants a talking pet, anyhow?

You have to resist the urge to shrink away when she lowers herself to a crouch. All at once, she’s close, too close, close enough that you could reach through the bars and touch her if you wanted.

“Look at me, pup.”

You do. The expression on her face is neither malicious nor lustful; rather, devoid of emotionality. Utterly unreadable.

No matter.

Lost though you may be, you harbor no illusions about the vulnerability of your current state. She holds your leash; she has since she caught you. You know it, and she does, too.

“Does it hurt to talk?”

Your cheeks burn. Biting your lip hard, you nod.

Natasha nods, as though this answer pleases her. “Are you in any pain?”

That gives you pause. Of course you’re in pain. Is this a trick?

The tick in her jaw suggests she’s displeased by your reticence. Slowly, carefully, you chance another nod.

“Can you crawl?”

You almost huff, but think better of it at the last second. You nod once more.

Her lips twitch. With amusement or satisfaction, you can’t tell. “Молодец,” she murmurs, rising to her feet and turning on her heel. She does not spare a backwards glance as she strides over to the crackling fireplace, then settles into a cross-legged position in the center of the rug, her back to you. “Ко мне,” she calls, little more than an afterthought.

Regardless, the effect is the same.

You shoot up on all fours with a speed that makes you wince, biting your lip hard to smother the pained whimper that follows. It’s a reflex, a mistake. You should know better, but realization doesn’t hit until it’s too late, until small fangs have broken skin, and it’s all you can do to bite back a hiss. You don’t need a mirror to know you’re bleeding.

Your lapse costs you. You spring forth perhaps a bit too hastily, trading the padded floor of the crate for gleaming marble. Pain traverses your veins like wildfire.

Your knees smart as you clamber over, fingertips curled beneath knuckles in that paw-esque fashion that now comes as naturally to you as breathing. Stark and his stupid, infernal experiments.

Blood, warm and wet, wells up along your lower lip. Reflexively, your tongue flicks out to lap it up. The metallic taste is a comfort, however fleeting.

You couldn’t sneak up on her if you tried, but you don’t dare expect that to mean she’d permit being approached from behind. Circling ‘round, you give her a wide berth. The heat of the fire sears your skin, yet the carpet lining proves a welcome comfort. As you reach Natasha, the acuity of sensation fades and you slow to a wary crawl, uncertainty thumping in your chest.

You imagine her gaze boring into you—through you. Blood stains your lips anew, its coppery scent tickling your nostrils.

“Ближе,” she murmurs. You don’t understand this one, and she must know it, for she’s quick to translate: “Closer.”

Dutifully, you shuffle forth until your knuckles graze her folded legs.

“Сидеть.”

This one, evidently, you know.

You fall back on your heels at once, muscles deflating in a dizzying rush. Gnarled hands pull themselves into your lap, and your chin dips lower toward your chest—a show of deference.

When her fingers brush your jaw, you don’t dare flinch back. You hold still, perfectly still as they travel down and forth, coming to rest beneath your chin. When they urge you up, you go without protest, tilting your jaw up until you have to strain to keep your own kneecaps in sight. At this angle, you could look her in the eye if you dared.

You’re not that dumb.

“Глаза,” she murmurs. “Eyes.”

You oblige.

Her gaze burns where it meets yours.

You clench your jaw and bear it.

It’s a relief when it flickers down to your lips… and stays there.

“You’re bleeding,” she observes, sounding perhaps awed, or engrossed, or something else entirely. Her eyes are darker now, no longer such a lurid jade-green hue. A trick of the light, perhaps?

You swallow.

Gently, deliberately, she swipes at pooling copper with the pad of her thumb.

The slight touch sends a shudder down your spine, but you pay it little mind. Seconds later, the warmth of her touch leaves your chin; you hardly notice that, either.

You’re possessed, spellbound as she brings her thumb to parted lips, engulfs the tip and then some—suckles at the taste of you with slightly hollowed-out cheeks and a groan that cleaves to the marrow of your bones.

Your thighs tremble, making you clench in an effort to hold still.

She eyes you with interest when she’s finished, thumb pressed idly against pouted lips. “Sweet,” she hums.

Were your complexion about three shades lighter, you’d be blushing pink to the roots of your hair. As it is, you can’t help wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

Her next command takes you by surprise. “Лежать.” Lie down.

You hate the disappointment that blooms in your chest even as your body does not hesitate to follow. You’re in position before you understand what’s happened, all curled up and ball-shaped on the rug like a housecat settling in for an afternoon nap.

It’s as though a switch has been flipped.

Fatigue follows fast on its heels, dousing you like a tidal wave. Is it conditioning, or is it you?

Is there a difference?

It’s humiliating. It’s wonderful. Your limbs assume the position like they’re made for it. You suppose, now, they kind of are.

The crackling fire is warm along your back. You almost preen when a familiar touch parts bedraggled strands of hair, blunt nails grazing along your scalp in a soothing rhythm. The rumbling purr that follows is no surprise. Sleep tugs at you, and you are tired of fighting it. You’re tired, period.

“Sleep, котёнок. I’m here.”

It’s the last thing you hear before unconsciousness swallows you whole.

— —

end notes: right so.... me when there’s.... right. yes. you all understand, i’m sure... .....

no idea if i wanna continue this (like ideally, yes, but as always, i’m pressed for time, so this is what i’ve got right now), but uhhhh yeah. lemme know what you think?

translation for russian terms (stresses marked in bold):

молодец | molodyets | excellent, good

ко мне | ko mnye | “come” (to me)

ближе | blizhe | comparative degree of близко (adverb) and близкий (adjective) meaning “closer”

сидеть | sidyet’ | infinitive form of the verb “to sit.” used when telling a pet (a dog, specifically) to sit

глаза | glaza | eyes (nominative plural form)

лежать | lyezhat’ | infinitive form of the verb “to lie (down).” used when telling a pet (read: dog) to lie down

котёнок | kotyonok | kitten

— —

link to masterlist

#softdark!natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x gnc!reader #stuff i wrote #dark!natasha romanoff #softdark!natasha romanoff

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imabeautifulbutterfly · 2 months

Text

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

Summary: Din opens up to Ann a bit more

A/N: Hello lovelies,

I hope everyone is doing well. I throughly enjoyed my day off, with cleaning, baking, and doing my taxes. Woohoo. Talk about living the dream!

I hope everyone has a lovely weekend. Also heads up there are only two chapters left for this part.

Love oo

Due to the past history of the OC there will be discussions alluding to past domestic abuse, please note that as it could be a trigger for some.

Warnings: Awkward conversations and question, discussions about flirting, chewing with your mouth open, seeing dead people. If I miss any warnings, please let me know.

AO3 Link | Words: 1,114 | Previous -> Next

Main Master List | Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

THE CRESTWORLD

CHAPTER TWELVE

The wind brushed against my face as we drove back to the ranch, silence had filled the truck since we left the diner. I wasn’t sure if Din was irritated with me or Cobb, but either way I wasn’t going to be the first to break the silence between us and cause Din a bigger headache.

He felt a tension in the truck as he drove, he hated how quiet she got when it was just the two of them at times, he let out a huff, “Um … ahem! I didn’t realize you and Cobb had gotten that close” he muttered, hating that was the only thing that popped into his head.

“Close?” I turned to look at him a little confused, “What close, that’s called being friendly.”

“Seemed more like flirting to me.”

Why did he care if she was flirting with Cobb, that was her business. She was simply an employee, it had nothing to do with him.

I leaned against the door as I turned to look at him, a smirk appearing on my lips, as I took in his demeanour.

“Let me get this straight. You, Mister ‘I only speak when I absolutely have to’, believe that my casual conversation, chewing with my mouth open, and let’s not forget to mention telling him off was flirting to you?”

He glanced over to her, realizing how absurd his statement had been. He kept his eyes focused on the road ahead of him, why had it appeared more than what it was when they were in the diner? He matched her smirk, giving a slight nod, “Okay, point taken.”

“I mean I could be wrong,” I held up my hands in surrender, “maybe you find seeing someone eating their food with their mouths open, really attractive.”

Din let out a chuckle, shaking his head, “No. No, that’s not attractive, at all.”

I tilted my head as I looked at him, a thought in the back of my head that wouldn’t drop, “Can I ask you a question, if I’m crossing a line just say so?”

The small smirk on his lips fell away as his hand clenched around the steering wheel, focusing his eyes on the road ahead.

“I feel that if you have to ask if you’re crossing the line, you’ve probably already crossed the line and should know better.”

I bit my bottom lip nodding, “Yeah, you’re probably right. Never mind. Forget it.”

Din glanced back over to her, letting out a long sigh, as he noticed she focused her attention out the window.

Camilla always said that he had to learn to not be so guarded, not everyone was trying to hurt him, not everyone was someone who couldn’t be trusted. He promised her all those years ago when the doctor told them they needed to prepare for the worst and hope for the best, before they rolled her into the surgery to deliver Grogu. He promised he’d do better, not just for Grogu’s sake but for his own. He could still feel the ghost of her touch on his cheek, as if she was still there reminding him to let people in, he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

He shifted in his seat, cursing himself for being a stubborn old fool. He cleared his throat, glancing over to Ann wondering if she’d ask the question regardless. Yet, only silence greeted him, and her focus on the outside was intense. He really had to learn to stop putting his foot in his mouth, he could see she wasn’t going to say anything. He had to make the effort to continue the conversation once again.

“Okay, now, you got me curious, just ask away.”

I looked back over to the man sitting beside me. His body was stiff, his hand clenching against the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were going white. Even his brows furrowed as if it took all his effort to simply concentrate on his driving.

I had wanted to ask if he ever thought about going on a date with Omera, but seeing how uneasy he was, I just couldn’t bring myself to ask. I couldn’t do that to him, not when it clearly was causing him such distress. But now I couldn’t exactly not ask anything, especially since he asked and was waiting for me to ask my question.

“Okay, um …” I shifted in my seat, turning to look at him fully, trying to think of some sort of question that might be somewhat interesting. I cleared my throat, “am I your first female farmhand?”

Din couldn’t help laughing out loud, “That’s what got you so nervous? All you wanted to know was if you were my first female farmhand?”

He glanced over to Ann again, as her smile stretched wider as a chuckle escaped her lips, he noticed how her hands tightened against her knees. Her nails were practically digging into her jeans.

Realization hit him, the question she asked wasn’t the one she intended to ask, initially. He wondered if maybe she saw his discomfort or if maybe she had a change of mind and thought better than to ask the question she initially thought of. He ran his hand through his hair, wondering, how bad could her question have been that she avoided asking it?

He noticed they passed Peli’s garage, they weren’t far from their destination and the stop they needed to make before going back to the ranch. Well they weren’t in any great rush, so there was no need to speed up or avoid answering or talking to her, his hand trailed over his moustache and beard.

“… You are my first live-in farmhand, regardless of gender. All the other previous farmhands that worked on the ranch or helped out with the house lived in town. Not to mention, most didn’t last long because of Grogu.”

“Hmm, I can see that. I was wondering, and I hope I can ask. Does he have a nervous disorder or is it that he’s really shy?”

“He’s just a shy kid, at first anyway. The doctor said that’s normal, that there are some children that are naturally shy, timid, introverted and prefer keeping to themselves. Grogu is shy at first but I think he’s just trying to see if he can trust someone before he opens up to them. Plus, he …” Din couldn’t help smiling as he thought of his son, “he inherited his mom’s ability to see people.”

“See people? Like … he sees dead people?” I glanced over to Din, who looked as though I had grown an extra head, I shrugged my shoulders, “What?”

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tiannasfanfic · 2 years

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Wisdom

Eddie Munson x Reader (Fluff)

| Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: You finally get your wisdom teeth taken out and your best friend, Eddie Munson, is there to take care of you afterwards.

Rating: General

Author Note: Gender neutral reader, they/them pronouns, if any. Here's a little bit of fluff to go with all of our smut for Kinktober. Based on when I got my wisdom teeth taken out and the hilarity of me waking up from anesthesia. The only thing I remember about any of this is the tongue thing. Everything else I was told about second hand from my parents.

CW: Dental problems (wisdom teeth, wisdom teeth removal with no details except for proper medical definitions only); pain; pain medication used for post-op pain; side effects of anesthesia and pain mediation (loopiness, nausea, mentions of Reader throwing up due to medication); mention of IV but no details.

Word Count: 2,112

There comes a time in everybody’s life where a certain rite of passage happens. It’s an unpleasant one that everybody dreads.

Wisdom teeth removal.

While most people would have it done right away if they had the means, you put it off. You didn’t want to do it. It wasn’t that you were scared about it. The idea of having them taken out didn’t bug you at all since they’d be knocking you out cold for the procedure. It was the idea of recovering with all sides of your mouth hurting that intimidated you.

After three years of putting it off, you finally hit your breaking point when both of your bottom wisdom teeth were so impacted you had regular, painful flair ups of TMJ and were infected to the point you had to be on antibiotics for three weeks before the oral surgeon could even touch you.

Needless to say, your dad, your best friend Eddie Munson and his uncle, Wayne, weren’t very happy with you that you let it get that bad.

That was why when your dad got called out of town for work two days before your surgery, he immediately called Wayne and Eddie. Your dad was supposed to take you to the appointment and look after you for a couple of days, so he was afraid if you had to reschedule, you’d just cancel it completely. After seeing you be in pain almost daily since you were 17, no one wanted that. A new plan was quickly formulated.

Eddie would take you to and from the appointment. Since your dentist expected the recovery to be rough at first with how bad it was, Eddie would stay with you for a couple of days until you had recovered some.

It was a simple enough plan.

At first, all was going well. You couldn’t eat or drink after midnight, so your appointment was early. 8:30am, to be exact, so you went ahead and got your prescriptions the day before, then stayed the night with Eddie to make sure he got up. One thing he would never be accused of in his life was being a morning person.

Surprisingly, he got up easily when Wayne woke you two up at 6am when he got home from work.

“Course I’m getting up,” Eddie said groggily, sitting at the edge of the bed and rubbing his eyes when you teased him about it. “I hate seeing you in pain and you know I would do just about anything for you.”

That made you warm inside. While Eddie was your best friend, you had fallen for him ages ago and had kept quiet about it. That was a line you didn’t want to cross since he was your closest friend. Outside of him, your dad and Wayne, you couldn’t count on many people. If you told Eddie how you felt and the friendship was ruined, that would effectively cut the list in half. That was something you definitely wanted to avoid. Your feelings had been bottled up for a long time now, and that’s exactly where you intended to keep them.

Surprisingly, you didn’t get nervous about the procedure until you were already in the chair with the IV in. They had you count backwards from one hundred, but you were out cold before you even reached ninety.

Thus ended your part in the whole fiasco.

And it would, indeed, become a fiasco.

Two hours later, Eddie was woken up from his nap in the waiting room to the news that you were awake and ready to go home. The nurse led him back to your room so they could go over post-op care with him since you were, in the nurse’s words, “a little loopy.”

Loopy didn’t even begin to cover it.

Despite the fact you had just gone through a little bit of surgery, you were in the best mood Eddie had ever seen you in for the entire time he’s known you.

“Weddy, muh wuv!” you exclaimed as soon as he walked in.

Eddie took one look at you and had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

Between the gauze you had in your mouth and the mild swelling already starting through your cheeks, you reminded him of a squirrel who had its mouth packed full of nuts.

“Ah mah gawd, Weddy!” you said, making grabby hands at him so he’d come closer. “Ave ah avar tald ewe ow uch ah’m in ove wit ewe? Ike, fer eel?”

That was the moment Eddie realized weed highs and anesthesia highs were two completely different things. Between the obvious slurring from that and the gauze, he didn’t have a clue what you just tried to say.

“Hey there, Princess,” Eddie said, chuckling as he came over to the dentist’s chair you were sitting in.

As soon as he got close enough, you dove halfway out of the chair to wrap your arms around his hips in a bear hug. You also headbutted Eddie right in the crotch in the process. Thankfully, it wasn’t terribly hard, but it was definitely hard enough to make tears spring up in his eyes and his knees wobble.

“Easy there, Princess,” he gently scolded you, a slight strain to his voice from the impact.

He grasped you by your shoulders to sit you upright in the chair before you could lean over anymore and fall out of it.

Right as Eddie was about to pull away and stand upright, you grabbed his face in both of your hands and kissed him.

Or, tried to, rather. You just kind of latched your lips onto his bottom lip and sat there, completely still with your eyes closed.

Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle then, and gently pushed you back down into the chair. You pouted, which looked especially pathetic with your slightly swollen bottom lip.

It didn’t take long to go over the post-op instructions, then Eddie pulled his van around to the side entrance the nurse brought you to in a wheelchair. It took a few minutes to load you up because you kept jumping out of the van and back into Eddie’s arms before he could get the door closed. He finally had to go back around to sit in the driver’s side and coax you in while the nurses helped you climb up into the van.

The drive back was uneventful for the first half of the half hour trip. You were a chatterbox during that time, though Eddie still couldn’t understand you. One sentence sounded like, “I love you, Eddie,” but he knew that wasn’t what you said. As much as he wanted you to, he knew you really didn’t feel that way about him.

Then, halfway home, you started freaking out for apparently no reason. He ended up pulling over and calming you down but still couldn’t understand what you were trying to say when he asked you what happened. You finally took some of the gauze out then to explain.

“Thomething wath moving in my mouth and it thcared me.”

It was your tongue. You had noticed your tongue moving between the gauze while you were talking, and it freaked you out.

A couple of minutes after Eddie pulled back onto the road, you suddenly got quiet for the first time since you’d been out of surgery. Eddie looked over to see your face twisted in a look of discomfort and you were holding your stomach.

“Feeling sick?” Eddie asked and you nodded rapidly.

Eddie started speeding a little since he knew how much it sucked throwing up in a moving vehicle or on the side of the road. The nurse had warned him nausea was a potential reaction to being under anesthesia, so that wasn’t a surprise.

As soon as he pulled up to your house, he cut the engine, jumped out of the van, and ran up to the door to get it unlocked. He figured that would make it easier for you if he went back for you rather than make you stand there while he got it open.

However, he had barely gotten the inside door open when he heard the sound of running footsteps behind him. Eddie turned around just in time to see you stagger running up on him. He jumped out of your way, holding the screen door open for you as you ran inside, making a bee line for the bathroom while very obviously trying not to fall over.

Eddie quickly got the passenger door of the van closed so none of the neighborhood cats would get in, then hurried to check on you.

By this point, you were on your knees in front of the toilet, leaned over it and holding onto the bowl for dear life. He had seen this pose a couple of times after you’d had too much to drink. Since there was nothing in your stomach, the throwing up amounted to just dry heaving, but it didn’t take very long before you were sobbing, too.

“Throwing up after surgery sucks,” you whined into the toilet as Eddie held your hair and rubbed your back.

At least you had realized you needed to take the gauze out before you started throwing up. It was sitting next to you on the floor, so all Eddie had to do was throw it away rather than fish it out of the toilet.

It didn’t take very long before you felt okay enough to let Eddie help you up and lead you to his bed, where you not so gracefully fell onto it. Since you had been told to dress comfortably in loose clothing, you were already basically wearing your pajamas. You were in a loose t shirt and pajama pants, so you wouldn’t have to change. You had even forgone a bra since you didn’t want to mess with one when you got back.

Eddie helped you get in a more comfortable position and pulled the covers up over you. You ended up falling asleep shortly after that and this time Eddie was positive he heard you mutter, “I love you.” But, as much as it made his heart skip, he knew it was just the drugs talking.

The fiasco continued later that afternoon when you discovered the hard way that the painkillers you were prescribed made you sick. This time, it wasn’t just passing nausea and you spent quite a while with your head in a trash can. That understandably made you refuse to take anymore, but you were in a lot of the pain after the last of the anesthesia and Novocain wore off. It kept you up all night, which kept Eddie awake.

Eddie spent most of the day trying to think of a way to help you when an idea finally occurred to him.

“I know you can’t smoke,” he said. “But I can try shot gunning it to you instead. See if that helps.”

You were ready to try anything at this point and readily agreed.

The first hit from the joint went well. Eddie kept his lips a safe distance from yours to avoid bumping into you. You kept your eyes closed as you slowly inhaled the smoke through your mouth. Still though, it felt intensely intimate to Eddie, and he had to keep himself from trembling above you.

The next few hits weren’t as intense for him now that he knew what to expect, and he managed to get through a full joint by shot gunning most of the hits to you. After about an hour, when it did indeed seem to be helping, he lit up another joint to start the process again.

Eddie didn’t notice how he got closer and closer to you with each shotgun. He didn’t notice it when he lightly pressed his lips to yours, or your eyes snap open wide since his were closed. He didn’t even notice it when he did the same thing a few moments later with the last hit off the joint.

But he did notice it when your hand came up to rest softly along the side of his face.

Eddie’s eyes few open and he finally realized he was actually kissing you.

After a moment, he pulled away and your eyes came halfway open. A sleepy, high smile came across your face.

“What took you so long?” you asked him.

Before Eddie could formulate a response, you yawned slightly and turned onto your side, eyes closing. You were asleep before he knew it, leaving him sitting over you, blinking.

That had to be the pain and the weed talking…right?

Had to be.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson x reader fluff

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dccomicsimagines · 2 years

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Closure - Wally West Imagine

*Image from Amazon -- Link here

Requested by frostbite883 - Can you do anything like this? YJ Imagine Request: Kid Flash (Wally West) sees for himself on whether or not an ex-super villain have turned over a new leaf for himself. When Kid spies on the former villain, he accidentally finds out why the guy had quit the villain game.

Author’s Note - Sorry that this took years and I hope it’s what you wanted.

***

“What do you mean we don’t have to worry about Bloodline anymore?” Wally spat out in the middle of the Batman’s mission briefing. Half eaten chips flew out of his mouth. “Bloodline? The one who shot the Flash in the knee?”

“Close your mouth, dude,” Robin hissed, eyes widened when Batman’s gaze narrowed into a glare. The rest of the team bristled. They were all in the main cove of the cave. The screen showed all Bloodline’s known associates, but Bloodline’s photo said retired on the bottom. The very thought had Wally nearly throwing up.

Batman crossed his arms. “Bloodline is out of the game and no longer your concern.” Batman turned away from Wally, ending the conversation. The briefing continued.

Wally crumbled his chip bag in his hand, staring at Bloodline’s face. Their face in a permanent scowl. Wally remembered seeing that face in the shadows as he heard Barry screaming behind him.

“Yeah, right.” Wally mumbled to himself, throwing his chip bag toward the nearest trash can before pretending to listen to Batman.

***

“Rob, just look up Bloodline’s location please,” Wally begged in the locker room. The mission was a success, but the entire team was covered in mud. Wally decided he wouldn’t think about this particular mission again. The mud was a good enough souvenir.

Dick closed his shower curtain with a sharp snap. “Why are you disturbed, Walls?” Dick raised his voice to be heard through the curtain. Wally sighed, stepping into his own shower and stripping out of his suit. “Get turbed. Batman wouldn’t tell us they are out of the game if they weren’t.”

“Because Bloodline isn’t the type leave the game.” Wally turned on the water, shivering at the chill of it. He turned up the hot water. “Please Rob. I’d owe you.”

“You should leave it alone,” Kaldur said from somewhere else in the locker room. He had used the shower first. Wally snorted, putting his head under the water to ignore him.

Dick sighed loud enough for Wally to hear through the shower wall. “Alright. I’ll take a look after my shower.”

“Thanks Rob,” Wally said, grabbing shampoo for his hair. Dick laughed his creepy little laugh. Wally rolled his eyes, but smiled, glad he would solve the mystery of Bloodline’s supposed retirement.

***

Wally bit his lip as he walked through the visitor’s entrance of the Metropolis Mid-Town Hospital. “So apparently they’re a patient here,” Dick said, putting his hands in his pockets somewhat nervously. His sunglasses hid his eyes. Wally told him he didn’t need to wear those, but Dick insisted.

“Hopefully, they’re in a coma,” Wally muttered under his breath. They approached the front desk. Dick flashed them a charming smile and gave them Bloodline’s civilian name. Wally didn’t know what to feel. He felt dirty inside for hoping Bloodline was in extreme pain. Was he a bad person for hoping the one who hurt his uncle would suffer?

Dick grabbed Wally’s arm to tug him along. “Come on. They’re on the third floor in the Oncology ward.”

“Oncology?” Wally blinked, glancing at the gift shop as they passed. “You mean they have cancer?”

“Probably.” Dick glanced at Wally worriedly. “What are you planning to do, Walls?” They stopped by the elevator. Dick pressed the up button.

“I just want to make sure Bloodline is gone for good.” Wally crossed his arms. “Dude, they shot Barry in the knee. Shattered his kneecap. He had to be in surgery for hours, having to recut tendons, rebreak bones because he healed so fast.”

Dick paled slightly. “Yeah, that wasn’t pleasant, but if Bloodline isn’t suffering enough for you, what are you going to do?”

Wally rubbed his chin. “I’m not going to do anything. I just need to know.” The elevator doors opened. Two older woman stepped out and the boys slipped inside. “You know what I mean.”

Dick looked at the floor, pursing his lips together. Wally’s heart panged slightly.

“Sorry, Dick.” Wally patted Dick’s shoulder. Dick glanced at him, giving him a half smile.

“It’s okay. I get it.” The elevator doors opened to reveal beautiful walls with flowers painted everywhere. A small plaque on the wall said it was painted as part of a donation. Wally’s jaw dropped. Dick had to pull him out of the elevator before the doors closed on him.

In the waiting room, there was a person in paint stained clothing. They were working on the mural of flowers on the far wall. Wally noted it made the room feel friendlier at the sight of all the flowers.

“Hey, do you know where room 334 is?” Dick asked the painter. The painter turned, blinking in surprise. They looked to be about Wally’s age. Wally lost his breath at the sight of them. They had paint on their nose, but it made them even more prettier.

“It would be a great help to us, babe.” Wally grinned charmingly, unable to stop himself. The painter looked at him blankly.

“That’s Mx. (L/N)’s room. They’re taking a nap.” The painter put their brush down. “They usually are here to watch me paint, but they’re going downhill fast.”

Wally’s shoulders dropped. “What do you mean?”

The painter sighed. They took a seat and grabbed their water bottle. “They had lung cancer, but when the doctors found it, it spread to their blood.” They bit their bottom lip. Dick shifted onto his heels. Wally felt a little weak in the knees. “They don’t have long left, but they donated money for me to paint the lobby.” The painter smiled softly, eyes focused on the far wall. “They said it should give hope instead of dread.”

Wally glanced around the room in awe. His head hurt. Maybe Dick made a mistake and found the wrong person? This couldn’t have been the same person that shot the Flash in the knee. Could it? Wally rubbed his temple.

“It does lighten the room,” Dick said after a moment of silence. He looked at Wally. “We’ll just go take a peek to see if they’re awake.”

The painter nodded. “Yeah, go ahead. They’re down the hall. Left side, second door from the end.”

Wally turned and started walking. Dick jogged to catch up with him. “You okay?” Dick whispered as they neared Bloodline’s door.

“I don’t know.” Wally paused outside of the door and peeked through the window. It was Bloodline, no doubt about that, but it was a faded version of the person Wally remembered. Gaunt as a corpse, hair thin. They looked half in the grave. Wally swallowed hard. “It’s them.”

A weight lifted off Wally’s shoulders. He knew Bloodline was indeed out of the game as Batman said. A sigh escaped his lungs, taking away the fear and dread. “Is it bad I don’t feel terrible or sorry?”

Dick stood on his toes to peek in himself. “I don’t think so. I mean, if the man who killed my parents was where Bloodline is...I would feel relief. He can’t hurt anyone else, just like Bloodline can’t now.”

Wally nodded, blinking back the burning in his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right.” He swallowed hard. “Let’s go.”

“Closure.�� Dick put his hands in his pockets as they walked back down the hall. “It makes everyone feel better for the most part.”

“I guess.” Wally felt lighter, so when he saw the painter again, he felt his charm turn on. “Hey babe, you taking a break anytime soon?”

The painter glanced at him, studying him carefully. “I take it they were asleep.”

“Yeah, and don’t mind him, he’s a dog,” Dick said, elbowing Wally in the side. Wally winced. Dick always did have sharp elbows.

“It’s okay.” The painter stood up and started to put away their paints. “I was about done for the day anyway and I suppose I could go for some ice cream. There’s a good place around the corner.” They looked at Wally. “If it helps, Bloodline is sorry for what they did.”

Wally blinked, wondering if he was that obvious. The painter just laughed and waved their hand. “You weren’t the first one to come,” they said calmly. “Honestly, I came looking for them too. They killed my grandfather when they raided Star Labs ten years ago. Then we got to talking and I got the commission to paint this.” They gestured to the walls.

“Hope,” Wally said, looking around. He blushed when he noticed the painter was watching him.

“Yeah, hope. I might call it that.” They looked around the room, smiling. Their eyes shined.

Dick looked at his watch. “Oops, I have to go home. Got a thing with my...guardian.” He sent a secret grin to Wally. Wally mentally noted that he owed Dick big for this. “I’ll have to take a rain check on that ice cream, but Wally here will still go. He’s boring.” Dick waved and ran off before Wally could protest.

The painter snorted, smiling at Wally. “So Wally huh? I’m (Y/N).”

“(Y/N), pretty name.” Wally beamed and offered to take their bag. They allowed him as they slowly walked to the elevators.

#wally west #wally west x reader #wally west imagine #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert #young justice imagine #young justice #kid flash #kid flash x reader #kid flash imagine

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