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incognit0slut · 11 months

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Body on mine

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Y/n and Spencer finds a way to spend the night together on a team retreat. Based on;

warnings: 18+ includes overstimulation, chocking, unprotected sex, creampie, and soft!dom Spence with a mirror involved

words: 5.9k (hehe)

a/n: my goal is to make you hot and flustered by the end of this, also watch the edit I made based on this writing (using voice ai because I mastered eleven labs!). The more delusional we are, the better🥰

MASTERLIST

“…when you put your body on mine, and collide, collide…”

"SNEAK INTO MY ROOM TONIGHT."

Spencer’s gaping mouth was an indication of how baffling her suggestion was. He tried not to give away the disbelief in his eyes, especially when he was good at maintaining a poker face—given he was a master of the game—but it was hard to act as if her words weren’t affecting him. And they did. Badly.

In fairness, it wasn't simply her words that stirred him. It was everything about her. The way she carried herself, the way she stood in front of him, a silhouette against the backdrop of crashing waves and gently swaying palm trees. The way the sun illuminated her features, highlighting the curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.

But it was her words that heightened his senses as his mind conjured vivid images of what would happen with her proposition. It also reminded him how her suggestive offer happened at an inappropriate time, a moment when he should have exercised restraint.

"I'll leave the door unlocked," her sultry voice, carried by the gentle wind, reached his ears like a melodic symphony. It was a sound that evoked a longing deep within him. "Come by around midnight."

He gulped as his eyes wandered to their teammates gathered by the shore, engaged in a spirited game of beach volleyball, their competitive spirits matched by bursts of laughter and playful banter. Everyone was there except for Rossi who sat under the shade of a massive umbrella, and of course, excluding the two of them, who were now huddled under a food stall nearby.

Spencer had the duty to bring in more snacks and drinks when Y/n offered her help. It turned out she had other intentions behind her assistance, which was anything but innocent with the way she was standing close to him, bringing up their ongoing rendezvous without their friends' knowledge. At the thought of this, he nodded their way. "They'll notice."

"Not when they're fast asleep they won't."

His eyes drew back to her. "Hotch is a late sleeper."

"You're right," she mused, then she gave him a coy smile. "Come by my room around 2 then."

His eyes darted around nervously, his mind locked in a relentless battle between reason and longing. His thoughts swirled in a whirlwind of forbidden fantasies, each one more tantalizing than the last. With a heavy sigh, he gathered the strength to resist the pull of his desires. "Do you think we should do this?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'm offering you to sleep with me and you're opposed to the idea?"

"What? No!" He quickly shook his head. "I didn't mean it that way."

She fixed her eyes on him with an alluring gaze, her lips curved into a mischievous smile. He watched as she removed the plastic wrapper of her recently bought popsicle, pulling out the frozen treat, her fingers moving with deliberate slowness.

"Loosen up, Reid. It'll be fun. Besides," she continued as she drew the ice pop closer to her lips, feeling the coolness radiate from the icy surface. "I brought something along this trip that I really want to show you."

Then he watched her, his eyes drinking in the way she wrapped her lips around the cold treat, unraveling the boundaries of his imagination. She savored the tangy sweetness that burst in her mouth, her eyes never leaving his gaze. The bright red juice trickled down her chin, leaving a sticky trail in its wake and Spencer felt the weight of temptation pressing upon him, especially when her tongue slid along her mouth, capturing every last drop of the delicious treat.

Her movement exuded a potent magnetism, a subtle yet irresistible lure that drew him closer to the edge of indulgence. He would be a fool to decline a night of having her sweaty, naked body writhing under him.

"I'll be there."

And that was how he found himself walking stealthily through their rented villa hours later.

True to his words, Hotch was a late sleeper. But he wasn't the only one still awake in the dead of the night. Somehow he and Rossi were still in the kitchen, indulging themselves in the expensive liquor Rossi had brought along on this retreat. They had also invited him to join, but Spencer feigned fatigue and quickly excused himself, only to find Morgan and Garcia coming down the stairs as he climbed up to the second floor.

Now it was barely past midnight and half of the team was still wide awake—but he couldn't wait any longer. Not when the curiosity of what she wanted to show him fueled the fire within him, intensifying his longing with each passing second.

That was why he was making his way toward her room as stealthy as possible. He glanced down the dim-lit hallway before stopping right in front of her door. It was then he heard the faint shuffling noises coming from the room next door, certain it was Emily's lodging for the night. Then suddenly the door next to him rattled and Spencer's eyes widened as the adrenaline coursed through his veins, his heartbeat quickening its pace.

He reached out in a single fluid motion, his hand trembling ever so slightly, and grasped the cool metal handle in front of him. A rush of relief washed over him as he quickly slipped into the room before closing the door harshly amid his panic, a jarring thud echoing in the silence.

The sudden sound jolted Y/n as she twirled around in surprise.

"Reid," she hissed, her eyes darting toward the clock on the wall. "What are you doing? I told you to come by in another two hours!"

He looked over to her, and whatever thoughts he had at that fleeting moment completely dissolved into thin air. His eyes fell upon her and his words become entangled in a tangled web of astonishment. Spencer had seen her in clothes that weren't exactly modest, but he had never seen her adorned in a risqué outfit that accentuates every contour of her body.

The dress clung to her like a second skin, embracing her curves with a provocative grace, tracing the outline of her waist and hips with tantalizing precision. His eyes caressed the gentle slope of her shoulders, the smooth expanse of her collarbone, and the delicate neckline that plunged daringly. The delicate lace and sheer panels teased his senses, offering glimpses of beauty that lay beneath the surface—a beauty he could see a fragment of as his gaze lingered on her hard nipples pressed against the see-through fabric.

"Is that—" He cleared his throat, the hoarseness in his voice sounding foreign to him. "Is that what you wanted to show me?"

She looked into the full-body mirror she stood before by the bed, catching her reflection. "Technically. I brought a bunch of these and I was trying them on..." Her eyes drew back to him. "Until you came sooner than expected."

"Should I not be here now?"

"It kind of ruins the surprise."

His eyes slowly roamed across her body, stopping a little longer on the short hem of her fabric that stopped in the middle of her thigh. "I'd say you've accomplished whatever reaction you were aiming for."

She watched as he took a slow step forward, his eyes never wavered from her, locked onto her form with an intensity that had her feeling breathless. "I take it that you like this one?"

"I love it."

An amused smile formed on her lips. "But you haven't seen the other ones I brought."

"I'm certain I would also love them on you. But this—" His gaze revealed the depths of his desire, a hunger that burned bright within him. It was a flame that flickered in his eyes, igniting the anticipation that coursed through his veins. "Never knew I liked the color red."

As he took deliberate steps towards her, a surge of anticipation gripped her being. The intensity of his gaze, filled with longing and need, held her captive. With each stride, he closed the distance between them, his presence growing stronger, more intoxicating. She could feel his gaze caressing her, leaving a trail of heat and anticipation.

As he finally stood before her, the weight of his presence wrapped around her like a warm embrace. Visibly heaving and clenching her thighs, she peered at him with veiled anticipation, unbidden lust scorching at her core which lost all battle to and demanded to be consumed by the heat that radiated from his body. She could feel the intensity of his need, tangible and potent.

"You're beautiful," he said, reaching for her waist, both of his thumbs lightly rubbing along the material of the soft fabric. Then his hands slowly slid their way up her hips, gradually snaking their way up over her rib cage until both of his large palms paused at her breasts. "So fucking beautiful."

Then he squeezed her breasts roughly over the material and she gasped, thighs tightening together.

Y/n wasn't sure which reason she was surprised more, the way his touch was rougher than usual or the fact that he was cursing, because there were only two occasions for that to happen—either he was really, really mad, or he was far too aroused to properly filter his mouth.

It was definitely the latter considering she could distinctly see the bulge forming in his pants. And then his hands were quickly sliding down her body, gliding down over the curve of her ass. Feeling his fingers splay wide over each cheek beneath the fabric, he abruptly gave her a firm squeeze.

The way they stood in front of the mirror gave him a clear view of her backside as he marveled at the way her flesh molded in his grip. The tips of his fingers grazed her skin, the fabric having ridden up while he roughly kneaded her ass. Spencer almost purred when both of his hands fully slipped under the material only to be greeted with bare skin.

"Are you not wearing anything under this?" he whispered into her ear, the tip of his nose nuzzling into her cheek.

"It's called a thong."

He took a step closer and she could feel his arousal pressing into her leg. His forehead dropped down to her shoulder, resting there as his nails lightly dug into the flesh beneath his hands. "You want to torture me, don't you?"

She couldn't stop the giggle falling from her mouth. "Maybe."

He lifted his head, gently nipping at her shoulder. A shudder ran down her spine when he lightly kissed the spot afterward. "Laugh all you want now," he softly murmured against her skin. "You won't be able to laugh by the end of tonight."

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to surrender completely to his caresses, to the raw intensity that pulsed in her veins. "Spence."

The way she pronounced his given name held a power that transcended the ordinary, leaving him spellbound. "I love it when you call my name."

She felt a surge of confidence in his words that she let out a moan a she threw her head back, giving him better access while he gently peppered her neck with kisses. "Spencer."

Then it happened in a flash. One moment he was holding her gently and the next thing she knew, rough fingers gripped around the base of her throat, forcing her to look into the depths of his eyes. She could sense the unyielding force of his longing and desire. It was a palpable energy, a hunger that radiated from him, enveloping her in its intensity. She squirmed in his grip, mouth open as she gasped for air.

"Now you're just playing with fire."

She sensed the dominance that simmered beneath his touch, an innate desire to take control, to possess her completely. His hands, firm yet gentle, left trails of sensation along her skin, marking her as his own. It was a force that she couldn't ignore, nor did she want to. Instead, she surrendered to the raw power of his need, allowing it to wash over her.

"I must warn you," he murmured, licking across his bottom lip. "I'm not feeling like my usual self tonight."

She felt a shiver of anticipation ripple through her body. His words, laced with a commanding tone, sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core.

"You trust me, don't you?" She found herself nodding in agreement. "And you'll tell me if I'm being too much on you?"

She nodded again.

A satisfied smile played on his lips. "Good."

Then his breath was on hers. Their lips finally met in a gentle, tentative union, the soft brush of skin against skin. It was a delicate dance, a mingling of breath and desire that sent ripples of sensation throughout their bodies. She gasped out a moan, not expecting the enthusiastic way he devoured her, rolling her lips into the frantic motions of his wandering tongue.

As their bodies pressed closer, their mouths molded together with a hunger that defied words. It was a sensory feast, an exploration of pleasure that left them craving for more.

He slowly pulled away and breathed against her lips, "Turn for me."

Her hazy mind was trying to comprehend his request. "W-What?"

"I want to see you. Turn around for me."

She obliged his command without further thought, mostly because she was already willingly surrendered to the force of his dominant nature.

He stood behind her, his gaze fixated on the reflection before him. The soft glow of the ambient light accentuated her curves, casting a mesmerizing aura around her. His fingertips grazed the smooth surface of her arm, a gentle caress that sent shivers of anticipation coursing through her body. "Look at how beautiful you are."

He watched himself in the mirror as his hands made their way from caressing the softness of her stomach to gripping onto points of her hips and then up over the swells of her breasts. He gave them both a firm squeeze, admiring how they looked in his hands, how her skin radiates beneath his own. Then his lips descended upon the nape of her neck, pressing gentle kisses that left a trail of fire.

She whimpered when he pinched gently at her nipples to see it harden instantly against his touch. "...Spence."

He hummed a satisfied sound as his hands found their way back to her hips again, directing her with a low, sultry groan, "Sit down between my legs." Her eyes snapped towards his through the reflection. He simply smiled. "Don't worry. Just let me admire you."

That was how she ended up sitting in front of him on the bed, her back resting against his chest. Spencer carefully nudged her legs apart with his hand, and she couldn't resist looking away when she saw herself in such an explicit and vulnerable position. His breath, warm against her skin, mingled with the scent of her arousal, creating a heady atmosphere of desire. "I thought you wanted me to admire you in this outfit?"

Her eyes were brought back to the mirror. "I do."

"Then watch me while I do exactly just that."

He didn't leave her time to react because his fingers were already trailing around to feel over her stomach, across the dip of her navel, up and down the thickness of her thighs until they stopped between her legs. She could see herself clearly. The slick fabric of her thong was already a second skin to her, sticking against her arousal which barely covered her sex. Then his fingers moved deliberately slow as he grabbed onto the flimsy material, gently knitting it together in his hand before pulling it up along her wet folds.

Oh my god.

The friction startled her as she felt an unfamiliar pain while he continued to tug on the fabric, but at the same time, she felt a surge of arousal as it nudged against her clit. She was lost in this feeling, of him grinding the material against her core, of the view of her legs spread wide open in the mirror, of his ragged voice breathing in her ear... it was all too much.

And when she thought she couldn't take more of the pleasure building up in her body, he proved her wrong by pushing her thong aside, finally exposing her flesh in the open. The second his fingers slipped into the pooling wetness of her folds, spreading them open for himself to see, she couldn't help but let out a moan louder than she intended to.

"Shh," he cooed, his breath hot against her skin. "We don't want the others to know what we're doing, do we?"

She shook her head helplessly, watching as his fingers continued their exploration. She could already feel him harden with each steady, rhythmic beat of his heart while his fingers explored her, collecting the slick of her arousal before spreading it along her folds. His voice was a bit louder this time, the filthy words echoing in her clouded mind, "You like this, don't you? Look how fucking wet you're getting."

There went another curse word and somehow it managed to peak her arousal. There really was something about being the reason for him to act this way, so primal and dominant, so crude and demanding. His voice, deep and resonant, carried an authority that sent shivers of anticipation cascading through her body. It was a voice that commanded attention, demanding her full submission to his desires.

"Do you wanna see how my fingers look inside you?" He was taunting her now, teasing his fingers around the entrance of her like a twisted, evil game.

One of her hands gripped his thigh, the need to be pleasured so strong in her core that she couldn't help but cry out desperately. "Spencer, please...please."

He gently laughed at her despair, the throaty sound made her shiver. She let out a soft whimper when he finally gave her desperate pleas by sliding his middle finger into her.

Her eyes rolled at the back of her head before she instinctively closed her eyes. "Fuck..."

It wasn't long before his other hand gripped her chin, forcing her to open her eyes. "Keep your eyes open or I'll stop," he groaned into her ear. This alone almost sent her teetering right over the edge, just feeling his finger locked inside her. She settled to watch how his hand flexed as he began to slowly pump his finger in and out of her before adding another to stretch her out.

The bedroom was quickly filled with the lewd sound of his fingers plunging into her, suddenly moving at a crazy, mind-numbing pace as he curled them the way he knew would make her weak.

Her throbbing heat swallowed his fingers greedily as she caught a glimpse of them in the mirror, the only sounds echoing in their shared space were the hard breathings and low noises of her wetness and his fingers finding that sweet spot relentlessly. Spencer gently placed a kiss on her cheek and pressed his palm against her clit, feeling her body jolt in pleasure as he moved his hand.

She turned her head towards him, her lips capturing his in a needy kiss. He swallowed all her whimpers and bit her bottom lip before her tongue slid inside his mouth, sloppy and rough, and yet he wouldn't have it any other way. The closer she was reaching her high, the more intense the movements of his fingers became. She let out a gasp when the coil in her stomach tightened her core.

"Keep your voice down," he whispered, his fingers still driving in and out of her. "Don't worry, I got you. I got you."

She did her best to try to drag her focus back to their reflection through her fogged daze from her heavy, closing lids. The sight of him withdrawing his soaked fingers from her to circle changing patterns across her clit elicited a symphony of sighs and gasps, a testament to the depths of her pleasure. She could feel his breath against her skin, warm and tantalizing, as he placed gentle kisses along the nape of her neck.

"Spence...I'm so close," she sighed between heavy pants.

He nodded against her. "I can feel you. Let go for me. I want to see you."

She closed her eyes, ready to simply enjoy the thrilling and wonderful feelings of the pleasure he was bringing to her. When she was about to reach for her high, rolling her hips against his fingers as the tension in her body rose higher, he suddenly pulled them out and she whimpered at the loss. Her eyes settled on his gaze through the mirror.

"Sweetheart," he whispered gently, but then his fingers gripped around her throat again, forcing her attention back on her arousal glistening in the light. "I need you to keep your eyes on yourself."

She let out a strangled moan but managed to nod her head helplessly. Satisfied she was listening to him, he then started rubbing her clit roughly. She let out a muffled cry as she felt her orgasm rushing, his hold tightening around her throat as his fingers kept stimulating her clit in quick motions. She cried out his name over and over like a skipping, broken record.

"That's it. Say my name," He nipped at her skin, stinging that sensitive flesh between his teeth. "You're doing so good."

One look at the reflection before her was all she needed to fall apart. Seeing his arms holding her in place while his thighs were wide open behind her was more enticing than she had ever imagined. The way he touched her, so caring yet so dominant was the last drop for her to come hard, nails digging painfully into his forearm as her body went rigid.

The person staring back at her was one she almost didn't recognize. Her hair was frizzy and disheveled as it stick to her cheeks, her cheeks were flushed bright red and her face was coated in a sheen of sweat. Her eyes followed down her own body to see the mess coating his fingers, pooling between her thighs. She was still trying to reel back her senses when he suddenly let go of her.

"Lay on your back," he demanded, carefully pushing her onto the bed.

Then he proceeded to jump off the bed, his hands quickly removing his shirt before throwing it to the floor. Then she watched him as he started unbuckling his belt and—how did he manage to make it look so sensual? He dragged his tongue across his lips as he lingered at the sight of her sprawled wide open before him. The sound of his zipper being pulled down echoed throughout the room while he locked her gaze, finally slipping out of the last piece of clothing.

In one swift motion, he reached out and hooked his arms under her thighs and roughly yanked her further toward the edge of the bed. She squealed at the sudden movement in which he leveled her with a strong, disapproving gaze. "What did I tell you about keeping quiet?"

She nodded and watched as he slipped off her thong through her legs, slightly lifting her hips. Then he moved closer and positioned himself between her legs, taking his twitching cock in his hand as he stroked from base to tip, ready to bury himself inside her.

"So messy," He mumbled, dragging his cock along her folds as the head caught her entrance. "You're drenched."

She grumbled out a faint whimper.

"Make one noise and I'll stop," he sighed before slotting the head of his cock through her slit, catching the dewy arousal pooling there. Every fiber of his being trembled with the weight of desire, teetering on the edge of control.

"S-Spence," she mewled, her cheeks heated at the sensation of him pushing into her, the burning stretch of his tip reached places that felt nearly impossible to find.

"Shh," he whispered, desperately holding onto every self-control he had with the way she was already gripping him. "God, you're so tight."

"Baby," she mumbled, biting her bottom lip as she looked up at him with the utmost desperation. "Just fuck me already."

It was as if a dam had burst, unleashing a torrent of pent-up desire that had been building within him for far too long. The walls he had erected to hold back his cravings began to crumble, surrendering to the tempestuous storm that raged inside him.

With a breathless whisper, he reached out, his hands trembling in anticipation. "I'm afraid I don't have the restraint to be gentle," he exhaled, appetence thick in his throat. Searching fingers trailed over her stomach and eventually rested at her thighs and dug into the flesh until he couldn't hesitate anymore, and thrust to the hilt. "Forgive me."

At that moment, he finally let go, relinquishing control to the overwhelming force of his desire. He started out slow, enjoying the tightness wrapping around him as she gasped out his name. It was like he was reading her mind, moving at exactly the right pace to make her comfortable, but also building that delicious pressure. The roll of his hips pulled her into a trance as her body responded; muscles straining, eyes widening, lips parting.

She watched as he threw both of her ankles up onto his shoulders, his hands pinning them to his body. She felt his fingers firmly grip her legs tighter before he abruptly snapped his hips forward, his cock driving all the way into her instantly.

“Keep going," she breathed out, eyes snapping shut.

The grip on her face startled her as her eyelids fluttered open again. "Keep your eyes on me."

A low moan escaped her lips. He leaned over, hovering above her, his hands pushing her legs as they pressed against her body. The position allowed him to bury himself so deep inside of her, that the pleasant sting of him hitting her reverberated around her entire body. Her legs along his chest were already trembling against him as he continued to slam himself into her over and over.

"Don't make a fucking sound."

She hummed a reply before he leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft, hungry kiss. He trailed his lips down her throat before slightly pulling away, watching the way she was staring up at him, gasping and withering at every hard thrust of his hips. Her eyelids grew heavy under the weight of his stare, her mouth going slack as she felt the slow withdrawal of his cock, but she wasn't prepared for the way he rammed himself swiftly forward into her seconds later.

"Fuck, baby," she whimpered, feeling him stretching her all over again.

His hand slid back down to her throat, wrapping his fingers around it. Squeezing with just the right pressure, he picked up his pace, his hips rocking more rapidly into her. The hand on her throat tightened and she relaxed into his touch, feeling her climax reaching up to her as her own hand latched onto his forearm.

She continued to meet his savage thrusts with her hips, though his pace was near impossible for her to keep up with. Every soft grunt of his was falling almost into her ear and she couldn't help the way it was sending goosebumps across her skin. "Spence."

He could feel her walls clenching around him. "Don't come before me."

The demand startled her, because in honesty, Spencer always prioritized her needs before him. "W-What?"

"Trust me," he grunted, his lips hovering inches above hers. "Hold on a little longer."

There was nothing else she could do but to obey. There was something addicting with the way she easily surrendered control to him with so much trust that made pride swell in his chest, something about the sight of her obediently agreeing to him. Each forward thrust of his hips had her jolting, her breasts bouncing inside her barely covered outfit as the tip of his cock hit deep inside her.

The sounds that filled the room were vile. She faintly looked down between them as the crude sound of her slick walls squelching around his cock rang in her ears, leaving creamy rings of her slick around the base of his cock. A motion almost knocked the wind out of her as she let out a silent moan, lips parted in pleasure as he began a frantic pace.

And then he came undone. The intensity of his orgasm was enough for him to have an out-of-body experience, his vision going white as he filled her, her name drunkenly dripping off his lips. It was also enough for her to feel his warmth spread in her core, enough for her to clench hard around his cock as her own orgasm tugged her without warning, her legs shaking and her vision blurred as she felt the sensation traveling through every nerve of her body.

Her pleasure didn't go unnoticed by him as he frowned, his chest heaving while he tried to calm himself. "I thought I told you to wait."

She looked up at him tiredly. "You made it hard for me to wait."

He gave her a manic smile that sent a shiver down her spine before prompting himself on his arms, his dark curls tickling her skin as he stared down at her. The moment she felt him moving his hips again, she looked up in a panic.

"What are you doing—shit." He thrust his hips into her violently, her body squirming at his movement. "T-Too much."

"You came without my permission, might as well give you another one."

She bucked wildly beneath him, trying desperately to escape the tormenting way he was thrusting into her. She bit her lip from making a sound as he leaned back, pushing her thighs wide to expose her to him. "I-I can't."

"You can," he muttered, eyes never leaving the way he filled her up, his own release coating the slickness of her arousal. It was such a crude, messy sight, yet he was so infatuated by it. His thumb then fell on her swollen clit, moving it frantically in a circular motion. "You've been doing so well."

"Fuck." She stuttered out incoherent words as he thrust in and out of her in quick progressions, impatient and rabid. Pleasure and pain intermingled with each other so much that her brain couldn't process which one was which as they blurred. "Spence."

Then she couldn't take it anymore. It was too much for her to bear as her body erupted in flames, every vein of her being scorched with the fierceness of pleasure running through it, every collision of his hips into her sending sparks down her thighs. The climax swept through her like molten lava, swallowing her whole and threatening to drown her in a sea of pleasure.

"That's it, good girl," he grunted. There was something about how she was letting him witness such a sight, to let him bask in her lust-driven state. His fingers continued their torture on her clit. "So fucking pretty."

He didn't allow her even a moment to reprieve or a second to fully come down from her high, keeping up the same frantic pace until she was freefalling into another orgasm so strong that she briefly forgot how to breathe. It wracked through her like a creature possessed, pulling her muscles taut and rendering her completely speechless. She couldn't have screamed his name even if she tried. Every nerve seemed to vibrate with divine electricity that consumed her entirely. She trembled uncontrollably, her limbs quivering with the sheer magnitude of the sensations coursing through her body.

Her vision became a hazy blur as the world around faded into insignificance. The room, once familiar, now dissolved into a backdrop of abstract shapes and colors. Her eyes, filled with tears of ecstasy, mirrored the tumultuous storm within. They spilled over, tracing a path down her flushed cheeks. She gasped for breath, struggling to anchor herself in the midst of the whirlwind that enveloped her.

Somehow amidst her shaking form, Spencer managed to pull her into his embrace, settling them onto the mattress before pulling the covers over their body. He held her and peppered the side of her face with gentle kisses as his hands soothed down her trembling body.

“Hey, I got you. I'm right here."

The intensity was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a fusion of pleasure and vulnerability that brought her to the edge of her limits. She clung to the precipice, teetering on the brink of overwhelming release, as her body continued to convulse. Her grip tightened on his arm as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"Baby, breath with me," he muttered, gently cupping her face. "Breath in... breath out."

She followed him, her chest rising and falling with every breath she took as he helped her through it. And as the tremors subsided, she gradually returned to herself, her senses reawakening to the world around her. Her breathing steadied as she basked in the aftermath of the blissful storm that had swept her away.

"I'm sorry."

She shifted in his arms and glanced at him, noticing the way he was looking at her with worry. "Why?"

He gently swiped away the remnants of the tears still glistening in her eyes, evidence of the overwhelming intensity that had consumed her. "I pushed you too much."

"Spencer," she said, her voice dripping with astonishment. "That was the best sex of my life."

An amused chuckle escaped his lips. "Yeah?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "And it would hurt my ego if you don’t say the same thing."

His shoulder shook as he continued to laugh. "Y/n," he urged on, pressing a soft kiss on her mouth, smiling against her lips. "You're the best of everything that has ever happened to me."

As his words washed over her, a surge of warmth and tenderness enveloped her heart. She looked into his eyes, her gaze locked with his, and she could see the sincerity that radiated from his every word. His confession held a weight that transcended mere compliments or flattery and a soft smile played upon her lips as her eyes shimmered with a mixture of joy and disbelief.

But their moment was interrupted by the sudden sound of the door rattling without their knowledge.

"Y/n," Garcia walked into the room, her eyes focusing on the tablet in her hand. "Can you—"

Then she looked up, her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she stood still. She blinked, hoping to dispel the illusion, but it remained, solidifying the reality of what she beheld. She finally let out a scream.

"What the hell?!" She groaned in disbelief, quickly turning around. "Seriously?"

Y/n winced and let out a sigh. "...surprise?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't see that!" Garcia yelled, already out of the room as she shut the door behind her. Then her voice rang in the air, muffled by the walls. "I'm happy for the both of you but very, very traumatized."

Her footsteps disappeared down the hallway and Y/n let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding. She quickly swat Spencer's arm and gave him a glare. "You didn't lock the door?!"

He gave her a sheepish smile. "Oops."

"Reid."

"You distracted me with your outfit!"

She groaned, burying her face against his neck. It wasn't that she didn't want anyone to find out about them, everyone would eventually know how infatuated they were with one another. But she never thought they would find out this way.

He slowly kissed her shoulder before mumbling against the skin, "So much for keeping quiet, huh?"

She burst into laughter, shoving an elbow into his side, not knowing whether to find this amusing or wanting to die out of embarrassment. "Shut the fuck up."

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sky-scribbles · 10 months

Text

Shepard holds a funeral for her clone.

The paperwork is almost harder than the ceremony. Turns out it’s tricky to register the death of someone whose birth - creation? Decanting-from-vat? - was never recorded to begin with. Then there’s some kind of question about whether the clone needs to be retroactively registered as a Council space citizen to have her death put on the official record, and if so, whether she counts as a member of the Systems Alliance or as an ‘undocumented alien’. Which is pretty fucking ironic, considering how utterly she’d have loathed having the word alien attached to her.

And once Shepard’s ground her teeth through a dozen calls and bludgeoned through the first layer of formwork - a death certificate still needs a name.

‘I have to put something,’ she says. She’s aware that her voice is ragged, and that Kaidan is watching her as he brews her fourth coffee of the evening with concern heavy on his face. She must look barely alive, up near midnight in a kitchen that was Anderson’s and still feels nothing like hers, hair falling forward, eyes shadowed grey. Datapads and empty mugs strewn around her. Fine. She’s felt barely alive ever since she woke up in a Cerberus lab.

‘You could choose one for her,’ Kaidan says gently. A lot of people speak to her gently, these days.

‘She’d hate that. A name makes you individual. She didn’t want to be an individual; she wanted to be me.’

The cofee machine whirrs softly, sounding louder than it is in the open space of the apartment. It still doesn’t feel right, all this space for one person. Someone could drown in this much space.

‘She didn’t want to be you, though. Not really.’ Kaidan pours out the coffee, his eyes only leaving her face for a moment. ‘What she wanted was to be the symbol. The face on the vids.’

He carries the mug over and sets it down beside her hand. Shepard grips it tight. The unfinished form blinks up at her from the datapad screen, and she looks away.

‘I’m not asking this because I don’t support you doing it, or to judge you for it, or anything,’ Kaidan says, after a moment. ‘I just want to understand. Can you tell me why this is so important to you? I mean - I get that you were trying to save her, and she... she let go. But...’

He hesitates, and in his silence Shepard hears, she tried to kill you. She tried to take you away from me, and everyone who cares about you, for a second time - because she was jealous.

Shepard sips her coffee. It hasn’t had time to cool down, and her lips smart. She ignores it. She thinks.

‘What you said about... being the symbol,’ she says at last. ‘I get why she wanted it, or thought she did. I understand feeling that Commander Shepard is someone bigger than you are.’

Kaidan breathes out slowly, and takes a seat beside her.

‘I get feeling that you’re so small, so nothing, next to everyone’s idea of what Commander Shepard is. And when I fall short -’ She sees him prepare to protest, and cuts across him. ‘I do, I do all the time - I feel like it’d be easier if I were the symbol. Not...’ She waves a hand, indicating all the sleep-starved mess of her. ‘This. I don’t even know when what would Shepard do and what will I do stopped feeling like the same question.’

She lets her hand fall back onto the table. Kaidan takes it and holds it tight.

‘And I think of her, the clone, waking up in some Cerberus med bay. Confused. And Brooks - Brooks was there, feeding her things to believe, manipulating her, turning her into the symbol she wanted. And I get it.’ Shepard bites her burned lip. ‘Because I woke up in a Cerberus lab. And I was scared. And they used me, and I let them.’

What she does not add is, and sometimes I don’t feel any more real than her. I don’t have any way to prove that I’m the woman who died in the wreckage of her broken ship. They wiped away that woman’s scars. There could be all kinds of tech in my head, feeding me a lie, telling me I’m real.

She swallows. Her throat feels raw. ‘And now the clone’s dead, and no one cares. We’re planning a fucking party. If I don’t push for a funeral, she’ll just go unregistered and undocumented and everyone will keep joking about how crazy this whole mess has been, how I fell through a fish tank and a mad clone tried to steal my life, and it’d be like she never existed at all. I don’t have to fill in these forms. I could take the easy road and let her be a ghost. But I can’t do that, Kaidan. I can’t.’

He looks at her, his eyes steady and patient and full of worry. Then he slips an arm over her shoulder and pulls her in, and Shepard leans into him, needing the surety of his touch, his warmth. Anything that tells her she’s something more than a force piloting a set of N7 armour.

Kaidan presses a slow kiss to the top of her head. He holds her until she stops feeling ready to howl. Then he sits with her and helps her fill in the forms, helps her choose a name for the clone, one that fits. When morning comes, he calls C-Sec and stays on the line until they agree to release the body to the Normandy, into the custody of the only person who could be considered the dead woman’s relative.

He doesn’t ask Shepard any more questions as to why she needs this done.

In the end, they bury her in space, as Shepard would a crewmate. And no one has stories to tell of what she meant to them. They have nothing to say about the achievements of her angry little life. But they wear their dress blues, and speak softly, and they turn the lights down low.

Shepard doesn’t know if this is what her clone would have wanted. Maybe she never learned to want anything for herself at all. It doesn’t matter. A funeral doesn’t help her clone; it helps her.

They lift the casket into the airlock. EDI opens the outer door. And the casket leaps away into space in a blur of silver-grey, like the body within is hungry for the stars.

#anyway the clone is a walking tragedy and ill never be normal about it #yes this is still a cr blog. but im doing a mass effect replay and i have feelings #mass effect #femshep #shepard #kaidan alenko #shenko #sky's writing #oc: sita shepard

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moondirti · 1 year

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genesis

But the white light highlights the captain’s silhouette; grown-in mutton chops, broad shoulders that double your own. He’s wearing a beanie, pulled to his brow, melting into the shadow that conceals his eyes from you. It’s the first time you truly see him – this much of him, anyway. And he’s startlingly younger than you would’ve thought, hair still packed a uniform brown, the occasional wisp of grey speckled in the midst.

pairing: Captain John Price x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 8k summary: the progression of a spite-fuelled relationship warnings: enemies to lovers, literally 4k words of unfettered smut, virginity loss, reader is given a backstory, light corruption kink, tummy bulge, choking, mentions of death, mentions of torture, kidnapping, alcohol, alluded misogyny notes: this became something else entirely and i apologise. credit for the 'choking with an arm' thing goes to @sprout-fics and, by extension, @yeyinde 's anons lol

The first time you meet the captain, his edges blend in with the wet asphalt and gunmetal downpour. Midnight adrenaline, vision bleary with disrupted sleep; you’re only able to make out the flickering end of a fat cigar, tucked between his lips and smouldering orange, somehow still alight despite the weather.

You suppose it’s that ironclad conviction, the one you’ve heard of in passing on base. Smelted to every bullet, carved to fit the crows feet that frame his eyes. You see it now, tainted with a conscience rebellion – non discrete, as they’d called it, enough to bend nature itself to suit his tobacco fix.

You still, pausing for him to give you the rundown. He doesn’t approach you, not yet, caught in a hissed argument with one of his men. Their voices drift in the howling wind; his, like smoke, curling with a rough aggression.

Hair plastered to your forehead, water gathering on the tip of your nose; you quietly thank your hasty decision to throw on a lab coat before coming. It proves to be the only barrier between the rain and your dishevelled self – loose pyjama bottoms coming to your calf, knitted socks that start to soak through your army-grade boots. Not a state you commonly adapt for first impressions, though it’s not like you’d had much of a choice.

Paramedics swarm the helicopter Price had emerged from, pulling out a limp body, blood splattering on the landing pad to be washed away without a trace. It’s nothing you weren’t expecting as the medic on call tonight – the shrill beeps of your pager were enough of an indication that something had gone wrong. Yet your mind reels to pinpoint the face that lulls onto the stretcher. Wrinkled nose, quivering lips – they’re alive, but only just.

You don’t recognise them. The cooling relief is stupidly selfish.

A minute later; two soldiers hop off the craft, trooping off with their guns tucked near their chests, entirely dutiful. You note the direction they take, heading towards Laswell’s office – assigned report duty, no doubt.

Five minutes pass, and the pilot disengages as well. The chopper powers down from a loud roar to a disruptive quiet. The storm still boils overhead, thunder a cracking whip to what had been a peaceful night. You resist the urge to wipe the drops that weigh your eyelashes. You’re soaked to the bone, now.

Ten. The patient would have reached the hospital bay. An irking sort of impatience begins gnawing on your gut, dangerously fiery for the situation at hand. You cough, despite knowing the captain won’t hear you, and square your shoulders as you take him in again. He hasn’t so much as looked in your direction, locked into a series of gruff nods and whispered commands with the sergeant.

Is his comrade’s life really of that little urgency to him?

The thought leads you down a path you do not want to take. It’s decidedly destructive, a match to the rush of fuming petrol that courses through you. Breathe through it, a clipped voice echoes back to you, reverberating on starched walls and a cold leather couch. Rationalise. Your psychiatrist’s office, post reassignment. I’d wager you didn’t take that time to think before the incident in Bulgaria, hm?

Pompous bitch.

You draw in a long inhale, holding it until your chest aches with blurring hypoxia. Black dots your vision, spurring a pounding alarm at your temples. Your fists clench, unclench, then clench again, nails digging crescent moons into the pruned skin of your palms. You wait, and wait, and think you puncture yourself, a new warmth pooling into your cuticles.

Then, when Price’s conversation dwindles, the flame tempers, mental barricade forming in its stead. A necessary precaution; you steel yourself and prepare for the likely gruesome incident debrief as he breaks off and starts to approach.

Only, he marches right past you.

You’re stuck staring ahead, frozen in paralytic shock. Heart lurching, your body thumps with it, disorienting when you turn to his shrinking form.

“Captain!” Your yell whips with the gale. He tosses you a brief look over his shoulder, pulls an especially large drag from his cigar, and keeps walking.

You snap to your senses and jog to catch up.

“Bulle’ to the chest, punctured a lung. Concussion from tumblin’ rubble but not much else.” He keeps a quick pace ahead of you. It takes all you’ve got not to slip as you disentangle his words from an ashen irritation.

“Was he given any medication that might interfere with the anaesthesia?”

“Negative.”

“Was the wound sealed to keep air from being sucked in?”

“Affirmative.”

“Did he lose consciousness at any point in time?” You strain, legs screaming as you finally come side-to-side with him.

“Doctor–”

“I need to know these things for the procedure to run as smoothly as pos–”

“Doctor.” He snaps, stomping to a sudden halt before facing you fully. You’ve come to the right wing’s entry, secured with a strict-access passcode your rank is not privy to. The most you know of it is what you can see through the doorway window; a fluorescent hall, illuminated despite the late hour. An office at the end of it. Shepherd, perhaps, engraved on a nameplate.

You shuffle in place. Your pyjamas cling to your skin, dewy disposition a reminder of how ridiculous you must look. Lip quivering, you tuck it underneath a sucking tooth and glare up at him.

“Sir.”

“You’re wastin’ your bloody time with this. One of my men is choking on his own blood,” His finger prods to the general direction the patient was taken in. “And you’re here, mm. Why is that?”

“It’s procedure.” The statement escapes as more of a hiss than anything else, his hypocrisy clawing at the gummy lining of your lungs.

“Procedure can fuck off this once, that shit’s for the textbooks. Things differ on the field, Doc.”

It hits you, then, who he sounds like. The revelation bleeds into your tone. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. Now go and make sure my sniper doesn’t die on me.”

The rain’s eased to a drizzle now. He leaves you molten, steaming with a sulphurous rage.

“Stop moving.”

“Can’t exactly do that now, eh?”

By the fifth time you cross paths with the captain, you’ve already decided you don’t like him.

To the outside eye, your position does nothing to suggest it. Lewd at best – you sit, crouched between his legs, your elbows propped up on muscled thighs to stabilise the tremor in your hands. The floor beneath you rumbles, the humvee rolling over rocky terrain in its attempt to exfil. Price, stabbed; once in the left lumbar, twice in the umbilical region.

Ichor soaks through your compress. Your fingers are tacky with dried gore.

The car is stiflingly hot, a vessel for the trapped Uzbekistanian sun and high tensions. Large gulps of air prove insufficient; oxygen runs scarce, recycled through the systems of the several soldiers present. You’d given your seat to Garrick – who, currently, has no use for it, stuck halfway out a window to shoot at your pursuers.

It’s loud. It’s chaotic. The sergeant driving has no goddamn idea how to do so without messing up your work and your clothes chafe over sweat in the most excruciating way possible. It took you fifteen tries to thread the suture through the needle. It’ll take ten times that to actually get his wound closed.

And it’s not his fault. None of this can be pinned on him.

Yet–

“Can’t understand why you don’t take the time to reload your ballistic plates. This whole thing–”

“Jus’ do your damn job, doctor.”

You swallow the snarl that tears up your throat, burying it alongside a grave of acrid emotion you reserve for men just like him. This situation is profoundly familiar. Bulgaria; the crunch of your general’s nose under your fist. Betrayal sour on your tongue, a sting like you’d never before felt it. It took a whole team to hold you back as he spit upon your bruising temple.

A cunt. That’s what you are, girl.

Pray tell, then, what does that make you?

Your next seam is done with fervent hostility.

It’s only when your penultimate knot is tied that you force yourself to reel in your wandering mind and focus on the task at hand. You’ve one more laceration to mend after this, the length of it throbbing underneath a wad of temporary gauze. It’s that, maybe – festering evidence of the raid you’d just survived – that flushes you in further warmth, a boiling panic still itching beneath the surface. Rip release grenades, the dust of unsettled gunpowder. Your calf twinges from where it was caught under a pile of debris.

C’mon, doc. Up. Yeah… yeah, there we go. You broken?

Fine.

Or. Perhaps–

Giving flesh. Not rock-hard with chiselled definition – his body doesn’t carve into pronounced sinew – but solid, all the same. Packed brawn underneath a stretch of ivory skin. His shirt, rucked up to his chest. A trail from beyond his waistband, curly hairs, stark against a crimson backdrop.

Your conviction warbles, so you say nothing when you move to pierce him again.

It’s unfortunate timing, really.

His hips jolt at the cold bite of the needle head. The car rocks over a pothole. Some greater destiny, a cackling trio of asshole fates, weave their inexplicable thread. You’re only able to pull your hand back in time – the threat of stabbing him yourself a looming prospect.

Your face isn’t so lucky.

It comes into full contact with the swell between his legs.

His grip shoots to your hair, winding at the roots to hold you firm. It’s enough to steady you as you pull back almost immediately, but the phantom feel of his crotch shoved to your nose is slower to leave.

For a painstaking moment, the two of you lock onto each other’s stares. Price’s brows buoy, hooding over florentine eyes that spark with an untapped choler. You pretend not to notice the way his lips twitch, how his hand – still on your head – clenches the slightest bit tighter.

Ticking bomb, wedged in the divet between two floorboards.

Click, click, click.

One. Two. Three.

Three beats until you clamp your jaw shut, gathering your surely obscene expression to one of mortified irritability. It’s all you allow yourself.

“I told you to sit still.”

Despite the way your words slip between clenched teeth, they sound with whopping pliability. Like he could grind them down, pestle on mortar, and watch as they unfurl, syllable by syllable, to shape some semblance of truth.

(Honesty; a notion tucked along with happier memories of staying up longer than you should, facing your bunkmate with a bottle of cheap tequila on your lap.

There’s gotta be something you can drink to.

You’re just wild, Tess.

Fair, fair. Hmm, alright. Never have I ever…

She cackles at the grimace you pull.

–given head. Yeah! That’s easy, right?

Hm.

Wait. Seriously?

Everyone’s intolerable.)

“You watch your tone.” The growl rips from him then, laden with the scratch of singed newspaper, tobacco clustering at the back of his throat. It’s not so much a command than it is a reminder, a recall to your second meeting where you’d found the captain pouring over your file. Swilling the last amount of amber liquid from a glencairn: you nee’ to learn to control yourself, doc. Not everyone is so forgiving.

You’d only meant to collect a batch of vaccination records for his new recruits. You’d left as you seem to always do with him, rage burrowing into claggy marrow.

Forgiving. Right.

“Sorry, sir.” It’s the farthest thing from genuine.

You don’t know what you hate more. The husky chuckle that erupts at your hushed admonishment, or the fact that you miss them when his fingers leave your hair.

Something shifts between the sixth and the seventh time.

It isn't forfeit, not by a long shot. The gods wrote you with a deathly stubbornness; acquiescent Sisyphus, bound to roll your boulder up an impossibly steep incline. Your back will ache, and your tendons could tear, and you’d continue pushing for the sheer fact alone. Palms sliced open on abrasive rock, you’ve long since stained your white flag with blood and the pink salt of lake atanasovsko.

(You used to compliment Tess on her hair – ice blonde, almost white. Her face had matched that deathly pallor when you pulled her up on the grassy bank.)

No. It’s a lot more subtle.

As subtle as kidnapping can be.

A cramped safehouse, post-evacuation. You’d commandeered the one bathroom for a moment alone, crouched over a pail of tepid water functioning as a sink.

Sand clings to you like second skin, grime piled in impossible crevices you can’t clean no matter how hard you try. It’s Price’s gore that washes off first, tainting the murky pool for any who wishes to use it next. Rippling red; it doesn’t disgust you to cup it up and wash your face.

Three raps strike on the rotted-wood door.

“Yeah?”

“There’s, uh… there’s a slight issue we need you for.” Gaz says.

Drawing a sharp inhale, you shrug on your coat and leave to find him standing by the hall. He quirks his head towards the main space, where various voices overlap one another in an effort to make themselves heard. You’re able to single out his amidst the mix, a clipped bark that’d hold more weight had he not been stabbed.

A kid, as it turns out, is the source of such contention. A local who’d seen the red cross on your armband and recognised the universal symbol.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re trying to figure that out. I speak a rough Uzbek. Think she mentioned something about her mother being sick,” A sergeant – the one driving earlier – briefs you.

“Right.” You lick your lips, locating Price in your peripheral before crouching to meet the girl’s height. “Is she nearby, sweetheart?” Her feet curve towards one another, clad in flower-adorned sandals that have seen brighter days. You smooth down the flyaways at her temple, noting the way she searches for meaning in your gentle expression. Hindsight tells you she looked terrified.

But before you can ask again, you’re met with a gruff command.

“You’re not goin’ to help, doctor.”

Incredulity spikes, a ruthless parallel to his own dismissal. You slowly turn to catch his eye, piercing from the end of a table. He’s still in his tactical gear, his shirt darkened and sticky across the front. You hadn’t had time to wrap his wounds.

“Come again?”

“It’s not our mission.”

You can’t miss the meaning camouflaged in his vague rejection. Current company dissipates into ash; tunnel-vision – all you see are pursed lips, bearers of an apathetic verdict. Not goin’ to help – like it isn’t your sole reason for being here.

Temper flaring into a whistling fusillade, you shoot to your feet. Your tone is the first victim, piquing with violent emotion. “She’s just a girl!”

“We don’ know that for sure–”

“Jesus fucking christ, captain. If you think the enemy’s got their talons this far out, then what are we even doing here?”

“All I’m saying–”

“I don’t want to bloody hear it! She’s come to me for help, so I’m the one who’ll make this decision. Should I be ambushed, or worse, you have my full bloody permission to leave me behind.”

Usually, the bitter aftertaste of citrus rage scalds you. But when you had walked out into the dust-clogged afternoon, you felt nothing but grim satisfaction.

It only lasted as long as it took for a bag to be placed over your head, a blunt force accompaniment, the butt of a gun to your cheek that sends you spiralling into a brutal goodnight.

The seventh (technically, eighth, as you come to learn) is at a bar in Belgium, two months later.

Littered in novel scars, the largest one spanning your cheekbone, you swish a dram of soju and drum your fingers on a tacky bartop. The patrons that had originally crowded the space have long since filtered out – your original distraction funnelled to just the drink in your hands.

So, you sit and think of nothing.

(Everything, actually, but memories fizz like static. Your period as a hostage stands out as the sharpest of the bunch.)

It’s been a week since you’d been dismissed from the hospital – though you can’t say the same for your stay there, days fused together to stretch over an undisclosed amount of time. You’re usually on top of things, but being the one in the clinical cot had thrown you off your element. For good now, you think. You prowl Belgian streets with little aim and direction, pardoned from duty until they figure out what to do with you.

Which makes you wonder how exactly he finds you.

It’s a hole-in-the-wall, seedy establishment. Swallowing light, artificial lanterns a mild buffer to vignette shadows, slithering up brick walls.

Still, the captain gravitates to you in your lowest moment – as he evidently has a habit of doing – and takes the stool next to you like he belongs.

“Nice to see a friendly face.” You chortle.

Nice gives him all the updates he needs. A debrief on what changed since Uzbekistan; the new woman whittled by torture and the painful consequence to her own derision.

“You look older.” He nods.

“Wishful thinking?”

“Maybe.”

He urges the bartender for scotch with a water back, neat, and toasts the foot of a cigar. You hide your simper behind your bottle. Not everyone is different.

“How’s the damage?” You point to his gut. He looks confused for a second before remembering the circumstances of your next-to-last interaction.

“How’s yours, mm?”

“Healed.”

“I can see that. Looks better than it did when you’d been extracted.”

You skim over the fact that he was there for your rescue and breathe in the smoke that twines. Wood, burnt ochre that’s become synonymous with him. You suppose you’d missed it; that rendezvous point for when you were beaten within an inch of your life. It’d been a far warmer scent than rusted metal and sour mattresses.

The conversation dwindles to silence, then. Part of it is the ache that stones you, the revelation that you don’t hate him as much as you’d convinced yourself on. A nebulous inkling that you’d dreamt about him, more than once, curled in on yourself and sore with rue.

You have my full bloody permission to leave me behind.

But it’s prickling, too. You don’t have it in you to revisit her; you – Doc – whoever emerged all those years ago with an ingenuous vengeance. You focus on the present for the first time in forever, content to relish in it.

So–

The two of you sit like that for a long while after, soaked in dim light, basking in an old dynamic that hasn’t quite found its footing yet. It isn’t until Price finishes his drink do you pinpoint the courage to interject again.

“You were right.”

He ponders your confession, turning it over while he takes you in anew.

“I was.” It’s gruff, short.

And it could end there. A brusque exchange doubling as your apology, more than you ever thought you’d give. But something gnaws on your chest, cramming up in the space between your pounding heart and a rib; the need to spill, to make yourself known, so – if they decide to decommission you – you leave an honest crest in his impression. This might be the last time.

Pyjamas and waterlogged socks. Naivety that bites. You haven’t exactly been the best version of yourself.

You can’t speak the full truth of it, so you start on a tangent you hope will paint it for you.

“I was a soldier before I was a medic, y’know. Fought in the Bulgarian spec-ops.”

“Mm. I read your file.” Still, he takes another drag and settles an elbow on the table. Whether he’s curious or genuinely wants to hear you out, it gives you the go-ahead to continue.

“We were cornered, once, out near the Black sea. Every single one of us was shot. By the end, two were killed, with four following in close footsteps.”

You knock back another swill of soju before continuing.

“The general ordered an immediate exfil, but the chopper only had space for four bodies. They made the decision to pull every man out of the water, KIA included, while leaving the only other girl and I for dead.”

Florentine eyes. They flicker with a concern you might have seen before, but were too busy spitting at to properly appreciate.

“Tess was my oldest friend. Couldn’t save her, so–”

“You try to save everyone else.”

Your lips pull in a thin line.

“But you can’t.”

“Yeah.” You chuckle. “I know that now.”

“So where are you headed, doc?”

“What–”

“I mean. What are you goin’ to do with yourself, now that this noble mission’s been fried, eh? They’re discussing your discharge. Should that happen, you’d be a civilian.”

“I get that. There’s nothing for me out there, though.”

“Start with what you haven’t allowed yourself this far, then.”

And he places something on the table in front of you. A hotel keycard, Navarra Brugge printed in a decadent font across its length. The building two blocks away. You bite your lip, mind reeling with every connotation to what the gesture might mean.

You settle on the most plausible.

“How’d you know?”

Looking up at him, your chest flutters when he grins. Handsome. How’ve you never noticed that?

“Saw it on that pretty face the first time we met. I figured, a girl so far up her own ass. Probably never had the petulance fucked out of you.”

You scoff with faux offence.

(Part shame).

So, something shifts between the sixth and seventh time you meet.

Maybe it’s the way you seriously consider the four digits after he leaves – scrawled in black ink, the number to his room.

Hands like the blistering end of a cigar, searing skin as they keep you in place. Your jaw seized in one, the other curled firmly around your waist. You think he’s trying to savour it, the sight of you keening for him, glossy eyes that hang on to the last bits of defiance. Stupid, drunk – not from the sip of soju you’d taken earlier, but off the scent of suede and ash alone.

You lean forward, searching for slightly chapped lips. He lets you get close enough that his moustache tickles your nose, imbued with tobacco, before pulling away. It’s hellsent, some tantalising choreography he’s undoubtedly danced before. But your consequential whine is short-lived, tempered under a severe look when his eyes meet yours. Fingers crushing together, squeezing, so your cheeks pucker up for him. A promise. A warning.

“How do y’want this to go, mm?” He says, low enough for the words to reverberate through you. Punctuated – his voice is hoarser at this hour.

In the dim lamplight, your brows knit together. He must read the confusion.

“You want me to take it easy on you, dove?” His palm smooths down your waist, eye contact locked while it does, looking for something you wouldn’t be able to pinpoint in yourself. Price’s touch curves along your hip, catching the hem of your jeans, before circling back to cup your behind. It’s gentle at first, a barely-there graze, feeling you out. You puff into the shared air.

But you can’t speak, not with the grip on your face. You resort to clenching your teeth, hoping he can feel the tick of it.

“Mm. I see,” His breath fans over you. It’s hot with malt, smoke cloyed to the tongue. The hand on your ass tightens, cleaving between flesh, forcing you upwards. Your pants press taut over your cunt. “How ‘bout this… tell me if it sounds good, eh?”

You nod. He pats your thigh in response.

“I’m goin’ to fuck you how you need to be fucked. Can’ promise it won’t be rough, but if you ever need to tap out, just say the word. Got it?”

Again, you nod, mouth parting once his clutch eases on you. The concession dangles for a moment, bobbing in the thick pause he takes. Two blinks later, still nothing. You take the opportunity to try and capture his lips, a little too eagerly.

He wrenches you back.

“I need t’hear you say it.”

Of course. A verbal affirmation. But for– what, exactly? Consent, all things considered, though he simmers with something else. Satisfaction teetering towards a precipice, a covered pot threatening to over boil. His fingers dig into you like they know your softest points, having stewed over them before. You shiver, fluttering with a familiar venom, and think to the humvee in Uzbekistan. Crouched between his legs, propelled onto his crotch. The swell that twitched under your cheek, throbbing, new blood.

Say yes to yield. To give in to the command of someone new, who’ll know deeper parts of you than what you’d ever allowed. The clutch of your cunt, the sound of your moans. Vulnerability he could exploit, should he want to.

Yet–

He’s asking, leading you along and stopping at every hitch. There’s a lifebelt tied to the end of some rope, a thrown-out line; an act worth more than you could credit to anyone before him.

I need to hear you say it.

It comes from some cavity within you – a rotten place, blackened with decades long neglect.

“I understand.”

Obedience. Just this once.

(Then, if the invite extends–)

“That’s a girl.”

Lightning shoots through you at the praise, flaying you open to his steady presence. Warmth; he’s alive in the way that trees are, thickset, unwavering, rooted to your core as you bleed and breathe and choke on your own delirium. You don’t want it to be known, how reactive you can be.

Though, you suppose, that’s printed in red ink, stapled to the front page of your file.

You nee’ to learn to control yourself, doc.

Not here, not now.

Flooded with the woes of golden pleasure, you don’t notice his subtle nudge upwards, tilting your chin. It’s only when he finally, finally, gives you what you want – the press of his mouth to yours, full force, rough like he said he’d be – that you touch back to reality.

Maduro flavoured spit, he overwhelms you with an unrelenting magnetism. Teeth clashing, his hands on your neck, your hair. It hurts, borderline bruising. Should he give you a moment’s breath, your lips would swell blue, burst capillaries a service announcement to anyone who thinks they could measure up. But Price keeps you to him, his beard rubbing you raw when he pushes his tongue into your mouth.

And it’s scorching, heavy. Folding to find the scars dotting the insides of your cheeks, bitten tissue in fits of rage. Sucking the mewls that stream from you as he meets them with his own, guttural groans. You collapse into pliability as he kisses – no, devours – you, losing that sparking centre, torrid effervescence blurring your senses. There’s no rhyme or reason, no connection to the person you’d hammered out of stone. Just drool, a dominating masculinity to melt into. Sticky like a fruit popsicle on some summer’s day.

He manoeuvres your head, tilting to the right, so he can push further onto you. An expert in all things dizzying; you can hardly keep up with the targeted onslaught. It takes all that is in you to breathe, clinging desperately to the front of his shirt – for purchase, for plea – and relinquish control.

Your back arches, front grinding onto him. He breaks away, saliva webbing between you, and tuts when you try to follow and bridge contact once more. “So eager, dove.”

Hovering near lightheaded rapture, you say the first thing that occurs to you. “Any slower and I might take charge.”

Entirely untrue. You’re porcelain in the molten pool of his desire. Harder, and he’d break you.

But his vicious snarl is enough to balance the lie. A scale tips in you, heavy stone of anticipation weighing on your gut.

“Mm. Is that how you want to play then?”

“Dunno what you mean.”

“Oh, you maddening li’l minx,” Price rasps, backing you up against the edge of his bed. He keeps you from falling onto it with a hand around the base of your neck. “I’ll show you what I mean.”

Reprimanding, he doesn’t choke you – not quite – though the grip on your throat is anything but gentle. Chafing calluses pressing into gooseflesh-prickled skin, you’re braced to his whims – locked into suspended animation as he takes you in. Your lashes, clumped with blissed tears. The constant, whistled whine, streaming from a punctured lung. Your sweat-flushed cheeks, honeyed sheen, tangy with iodine and still, sweeter than most that drips from you.

You, stuttering with frenzied pants, and searching for nirvana in his gaze alone.

His beard glistens with a concoction of both your saliva, and he smiles proudly under the varnish. You scramble on your tiptoes to meet him when he dips in again.

Price, captain. Spearhead of any team, bending rain to mould over a hefty cigar as he barks out rough commands. You’d seen it then, back on base, shivering under a debilitating monsoon. This fire, an unquestioned charge that threatened to batter you into place. One that does exactly that, right now. But you take it gladly when you're manhandled back onto a nest of cool cushions, crawling to your elbows to watch as he pulls his shirt off broad shoulders. Lift your hips for me. Putty, he peels your jeans off with one fell swoop.

“Fuck, look at you.”

Sinking deeper into oblivion, you grasp onto conventional straws – acts calculated in well-lit showrooms. A babydoll smile, a virginal blush. Your knees tap together as you attempt to shut your soaked panties from his view.

One well-placed, smarting slap thwarts the attempt. The delicate skin of your inner thigh blazes with a white-hot sting, carved to fit the shape of his palm.

“Keep ‘em open for me, now. I feast with my eyes first, dove.”

Fuck, indeed.

“C-Captain…”

The breathy murmur comes out broken, composed to the quick cadence of your heart. It slams for space, almost nauseating, squeezing your internal organs as it tries it’s best to just hang on. He’s sin, a transgression to whatever divine laws are sung in stain-glass lit halls. And maybe your body knows – maybe it’s adrenaline, the fight or flight that’s kept you safe all these years, coming back to blare it’s bad news. Red flashes, astigmatism. A cavern of fire ready to swallow you whole.

But if hell is anywhere near as glorious as the feel of his hands on you, then you’d plunge to the devil yourself.

“Bloody christ. You beautiful thing,” His words, for contrast, are whispered with a reverence so quiet you wonder if he meant for you to hear. “It’s a fucking wonder no one’s tried their way with you.” Secret tenderness spilling to the lilt of it.

(Not so secret is the lust with which he kneads your hips.)

“They have,”

Shifting, he brings your legs to either side of him. “Is that right?”

“None were worth my time.”

“Mm. And I am?”

“We’ll see.”

“Suppose we will. Update me when you’re tending to a sore cunt.”

He doesn’t give you the time to respond, hands anchoring beneath your knees to press your thighs up to your chest. You’re snapped in half, miniscule beneath his body – an anvil with weight alone. Beyond fanned lashes and a feverish glow, you see his arm crook at the elbow, slotting between your thighs.

But he only grazes over your panties, stretched thin over your drenched centre.

Your hips buck, seeking friction to sate the fattening pressure. Price only entertains your high-pitched whines with gentle hushes. And when they ebb to a varicoloured fog, found in teary eyes, he taps your bitten lips with two fingers.

You take them in, suckling vacuum around the thick digits. Lapping at his knuckles, smoothing over the tang of saltpetre and binder leaves. He takes a moment to enjoy the balmy envelope of your mouth before reaching deeper, knocking molars and pinning down your tongue until your chest twinges with throbbing hypoxia. Spittle pools behind your teeth, dribbling from the seal of your lips to coat your chin.

You have half a mind to doubt it, to curl in with the knowledge that all it took was a stern stare and some words of comfort for you to debase yourself. But Price meets your insecurity with a reinforced thrust of his pelvis, hard-on grinding into your ass. It’s enough to send you unquestioned lechery.

A loud rip and the sudden rush of cold air on your pussy is what it takes for you to realise he’s stripped you bare, pocketing your torn underwear with a sly shift. Your jaw remains unhinged when he pulls away, tasting the stench of sex that clots sticky at the back of your throat. As such, there’s nothing to dampen your needy cry when he slips the slicked digits between velveteen folds.

He touches you like his name is imprinted in bold letters across your navel, implanting blunt fingertips onto your electric centre – circling, harsh and rough and fast enough to spike fully-body tremors. It’s debilitating, overstimulating and somehow, simultaneously not enough; a defibrillator to your core, a deep dive into molasses waters. His thumb takes place on your clit when he finds you clenching around nothing, index and middle inching towards your sopping hole to plug you full.

And the stretch burns, squeezing into a space that’s only ever taken your smaller hand. It doesn’t hurt so much as it aches, your cunt rushing to accommodate the intrusion. You know, you know, it’s a fraction of what’s to come – he’s preparing you to take him, that hefty appendage that’s so big it can’t even slot in your ass, confined and all. Yet, you feel as though you should’ve been readied for this too. This scissoring – chock-full of competency, an expert hook that isolates the perfect spot off the get-go. A part of you you’d never been able to reach.

His free hand cradles your neck, steadying it as he crouches over you to shove his tongue down your maw. It’s not a kiss, far from the lip smacking of before – no. Price bleeds his groaned compliments into your lungs, battling for what orifice of yours can make the lewdest sounds. Your moans, choked on scotch-spiked spit, or the battered, airtight clinch, gushing new slick with every quirk of his fingers.

“Mm, you’re– fuck, love. So goddamn tight, you’re practically cutting off my blood flow.” He curses, voice damned with restraint. It settles in the back of your head, forced through the bromine-doused cotton that lines your skull. Nothing makes sense. Vowels form shapes that dance to an off-tune song, edges slicing you, severing synapses. Something about blood, something about love. You’d always prided yourself on deciphering the most complicated of inflections, but never were you given the handbook on empyrean pleasure.

You can only guess based on what you see. Ivory skin, smudged at the edges, no hard lines to his form. Washed with contoured muscles, a peach blush, ripe enough to sink your teeth into if you can muster the energy. A bristly beard, carving you cell-by-cell, scraping the sensitive skin between your chin and lower lip until all that’s left is a bottomless chasm to drool your words into. You don’t dare roll your eyes back, can’t bear to shut them, even as your peripheral vision fuzzes out.

“C-Ca–”

“None of that. C’mon, love. John.”

“John! Sir–”

“Say it again.”

“J-John,”

His thumb presses down with a vengeance, bearing down on a trillion little nerve endings that flare up, liquifying your guts into a viscous substance, heavy as it sloshes around in you. Your muscles tense, screwing into tight knots, your hips lifting off the mattress. Price’s nose taps yours while he peppers you with small pecks – your top lip, the corner of your mouth, your chin.

And it’s cataclysmic; both everything and nothing all at once. The bout of deathly quiet before a nuclear blast, where birds flock out of trees and you think you can hear the pitter patter of a pulse, erratic at your wrist. And when the ground rocks, trembling with an explosive magnitude, fire erupting in the distance. When you seize up in a ball of fear–

Your cunt clenches impossibly tighter, all but forcing his fingers from you. It’s terrifyingly strong; your orgasm wrecks you not in waves, but as one upturning tsunami, floodgates open to the duvet underneath you.

–and do your best to embrace a quick death.

He gives you a moment to find yourself. Boneless, you sink into the bed, teetering towards oblivion.

“Tired already?” He teases, massaging your calves with subdued vigour. The fingers once knuckle-deep in you slide into his mouth, waitressing your spoils to his eager palate.

“Mmnn…”

“Best snap out of it, precious. I’m not nearly done with you yet.” He draws away to tug down his pants, taking his briefs along with it.

You don’t really… process it, right away. Expression dazed, you stare dumbly down at his leaking cock, reddened head angry at his prolonged control. Reality finds you in increments, foam lapping at a sun-soaked shore, carrying with it seagrass and brine.

The first thought that occurs to you; he’s hairy. Not untamed – it’s clear he trims the curls at his groin – but, just like his face, Price exudes masculinity in even the smallest of aspects. You imagine swallowing the length of him, doing your best to take it all, and breathing in unadulterated musk as you’re crushed against coarse hair.

The second; he’s huge. It’s a fact that shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does, but the longer you drink it in, the more inconceivable it seems. You’d known – had face-groped it in the car, felt it poke your ass – and still. It slaps the softer flesh of his stomach, swells under his touch when he wraps his fist around the base.

Last (a final position you credit to your own humility); he’s practically throbbing. Life pulsing in the thick veins that branch up the frenulum, oozing copious amounts of prespend. You’re shaking your head before you have time to come up with an adequate response.

“That’s not gonna fit.”

Stupid. He’s got you cock dumb and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

For a moment, he backs away, kneeling at your ankles. Dread swarms you, buzzing doubt. Of course he’d lay off at your admission, he made it clear he prioritised your consent above his own gain. You can’t help but think it fitting; a slip up is what ended up costing you ecstasy.

But then – ridiculously, blissfully – he bends over, so his face is level with your cunt.

And spits.

Squealing, you throw a leg over his neck, winding your hands in his ruffled hair. His jaw remains hidden behind your pubis, but the scrunch of his eyes tells you enough. He’s smiling.

“Hey–”

But Price doesn’t listen. He reaches up to rub his saliva over your folds, careful to especially do so over your tender entrance. As he does, his tongue – that expert, warm, wet tongue – smooths over your clit, sucking it back to a swollen floret.

You keen, bucking into his ministrations. Watered boscage, you come alive with new life, a fresh vigour under a pink spring.

(He threatens the delicacy; raging sun, eclipsed, now, by his role as captain – caregiver – but verging on a supernova. Ever the firestarter, you’ll abandon reinvigoration in a heartbeat for ruin instead.)

“We’ll make it fit.”

Something you’d never admit so long as you’re bound to this underworld, cursed by Zeus and shackled to your boulder – you already feel another climax impending, with just the effort of his mouth alone.

So you pull his hair until he’s made to detach from you, entertaining your command, crawling up your body for his lips to smash yours once more.

“Just fuck me.” You whisper against him.

“Watch your tone.” He replies.

And it’s enough of a symphonious statement to truly emphasise it when he catches the divet of your cunt, sculpting you into a paradigm figure of devotion as you catch his eye. Florentine, glinting with an ardour you mirror in your own. Hooded under a heavy brow bone, blending into a perfect nose. Wrinkles and age lines and still so in tune with your much younger self.

You bite your lip when he finally drives inside you. He cradles your head to the curve of his neck.

“Fucking hell, dove.”

“Haah–”

Exclamations groaned simultaneously, unravelling ribbons curled with the sharp blade of a knife. It’s the same, flickering sting, a pressure less than pleasurable cramping in your lower gut. But they exist as subsidiary, fleeting points to acknowledge and move on. Nothing can trump the deluge that is his cock slotting into you, bursting through a dam that shifts to fit hard ridges – sucking him deeper, deeper.

“Jesus– fuck. Nngh– you perfect… perfect little–”

When he’s more than halfway through, you figure it’s safe enough to contract what you’d been trying to relax. You nuzzle your face further into his shoulder, nosing Maduro and suede, drinking the heady fragrance of his sweat-infused cologne. You wind your arms up around him, driving nails into rigid muscle, and search for purchase as he bottoms out with the aid of your squelching uptake.

“So– Yersobig.” You slur into him, muffled.

“I know. I know, precious. Breathe through it,”

And his hand trails downwards to find your clit again, lubed under his efforts. He emphasises his reassurance with a precise rub, right over where you thrum fierce and hot, feeding the gluttonous depravity that begins crawling up your legs. It festers like a day-old wound, sticky and raw, delicate at the seams.

In between croaked moans, you voice your voracity. “Jus’ move, old man.”

Price’s chest rumbles. You flush with the thought of making him laugh.

And promptly quiet down when he draws out of you in his first stroke.

Because oh.

You don’t get used to the sensation, after all.

Every thrust, you’re able to discern a new part of him. One, and it’s the veins that slide perfectly across your walls. Two, and it’s the way he thickens the further he pushes in, stretching your sensitive skin to its limits. Three, four, five; his mushroomed head wedges against the gummy wall of your cervix, pumping you full of leaden warmth.

You’re fucked. Literally and figuratively.

Propelled into a cosmic cavity that engulfs you with familiarity. Not some galaxy, beyond the exploration of man (though, you feel you can reach out and touch the stars). More so a fort, made of the quilt your mother had gifted you once. Nostalgic timelessness, hot chocolate glazing your gullet, resting rich in your tummy. You go out of your way to lick the dampness from his skin and place a purpling bite in its stead.

He ducks to graze his lip on the shell of your ear. You shudder under the gesture’s exposing simplicity.

“You’re takin’ me so well, dove. Doin’ so good for me.” He groans, sap onto a crackling bonfire.

“Y-You– s’feels so–”

“You can do it, c’mon,” As if to challenge you, he gains speed, pistoning at a brutaller pace.

“John! Oh my god, oh my god. You can’t do that. I’m gonna…”

“Cum for me, then. Make a mess of yourself.”

And it’s the filth he utters over anything else. The string of obscene promises, sung for only you to hear, his balls slapping your ass and his prespend smearing milky white on sweltering walls. Captain – sir – who orders death in dire seconds, who depends on cigars and the quick-thinking action of his subordinates. Taking on that same pitch as he urges you to find release, a slow-creeping apocalypse waiting to happen at your core.

So perhaps he still asks for calamity; perhaps he knows you’ll lose face the moment you’re milked for all you’re worth.

You give it to him anyway, collapsing over a pressed-pedalboard longing.

Nerves snapping, limbic system miswiring. You wrap your limbs around him and black out before you feel the full effects of it.

You resurface half a minute later and find yourself in a completely different position. Axis turtled, he’d flipped you over on your hands and knees to spear you from behind.

“What was it I asked of you, eh?”

His chest fits along your back, tree-trunk arms wrapped around your waist. You barely hear him under the pool you’d been thrust into, his words splintered like the tune on an old record player. You hang there for a perennial moment – not quite floating, not drowning – blinking as the world rocks by in a blur of creme and gold.

Your elbows buckle. He has you before you fall face first into a cushion, a forearm buttressing your collar. The action hauls you upright, until you can rest your head on his shoulder. Blood rushes to your head.

Ragdoll is the first thing that occurs to you. Wool lined with cotton, pilled stitching.

“T’tell you…” You croak, parched.

“Mm?”

“F’it was too much.”

“Is it, dove?” He speaks against your cheek, placing a sloppy kiss on the upraised plane. You lean into it, nose bumping his.

“No… no. Keep goin’, please.”

Price needs nothing else.

You flop onto his full-bodied support, temple slick with moisture, itchy when it scuffs his beard. His cock plunges into new depths like this, pummeling your abdomen with a noticeable bulge, his fingers brushing affectionately over the extrusion. You’re somewhat cognizant to it – awake to what’s happening, aware of the loving nature – but say nothing.

The arm spread across your chest rises to your throat, wrapping around the lean length. It constricts enough air to bring stars to your eyes, pulsing flashes of nirvana, speckling the freckled skin that fills your vision.

“Gonna – fucking… cum inside, precious.” He screws them shut, his face scrunching, a lined portrait in sybaritism. You weakly nod along. “You’ll be bursting with it. Will feel me for days, won’t you?”

“Yhh– Hahh…” You struggle against his choking hold.

“Shhh. It’s okay, I know. I got you.”

You grab onto his wrists, winding around the hair that dusts them, bouncing with the unrelenting roll of his hips. You’re so full, it’s too much–

And when he stutters – the smallest, most imperceptible amount – you tighten your core and brace against the torrent that stuffs you.

“Fuck.”

Molten. Viscid. He wasn’t lying when he said you’d be brimming with milky-white, splattered across your insides. Your stomach overturns with the sheer volume of it; already, it oozes from you, slipping from the thick plug of him to paint your quivering thighs.

And you think of the desert sun and heat-drunk resentment. Sand, scorching, scratching absurd crevices. You think of yourself, two months ago, holding out from everyone. Part of you is angry (her, maybe, still buried underneath this murky rapture) that it took this long, that you’d forgone fulfilment for fear that your poison would seep through.

Another, newer part of you forgives the orchestration of your life thus far – Bulgaria, Tess, the general and the sick process that enabled him. If this is what it was all building up to, then you can find contentment, tucked somewhere in the scant space between you and your captain.

(Stupidly selfish, you recognise, even now. Like looking at dead soldiers and exhaling when you realise they’re not someone you know.

Perhaps it’s the tip that catches your the divet of your cunt when he pulls out, designed to fuck those experiences out of you.

Barely friends, hardly more.

But you could be.)

taglist: @guyfieriii @nqberries @kkinky @ravenhood2792 @allekat1988 @rattlemyb0nes @simonrileywife @melancholyy-hill @sexlapis @s-u-t @sweetybuzz25 @hypernovaxx @glassgulls @superbafango

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drowninghell · 5 months

Text

Dealing with an SO with constant nightmares

Warnings- mildly distressing angst with fluff

Leo

- Leo is probably the lightest sleeper out of all the boys.

- It doesn’t take much to rouse him.

- Especially when he knew of their little night time routine.

- A few strained whimpers and jutting had him sitting straight up,moving at any sign of danger.

- Head spinning towards your place next to him.

- He seen the tears tripping your face and it broke his heart. It had been a while since your last nightmare.

- Immediately his features and body softening as he gently shook your shoulder, muttering sweet words about how you were safe, how he’d never let anything happen to you.

- When you jolt awake he’s there with steadying hands and a cool countenance.

- Muttering sweet nothings as he helps you calm down, getting you to breath correctly. Bringing his meditation into practice.

- Tentatively brushing tears away.

- When he knows you are ready to go back to sleep he will pull you into his chest in such a protective manner, his chin hooking around your shoulder, tucking you further into his plastron.

Donatello

- Donnie, ever the gentleman did upmost research on why you had such frequent nightmare attacks.

- The results varied, diet, trauma. It could all be one or the other, nothing ever conclusive though.

- That frustrated him, Donnie needed definitive answers for why you where suffering.

- He was a night owl, always burning the midnight oil , so he was always awake when a episode over took you.

- You were sound out on the sofa in his lab. One he had brought in given how much you fell asleep in there.

- He had his headphones on, always sitting awkwardly so he had one ear out for you. And like clockwork, he could hear your distress in your sleep.

- Starting off unsettled before your body writhed with nerves, soft cries leaving your lips.

- Straight away he was on his feet, standing to his full height.

- You called to him in your sleep and that anguished him even more.

- He hummed soothingly as he gently inserted himself into your space. Like he would when he was fixing his little trinkets. Donnie was so adept in this routine that nine times out of ten you never even woke up.

- The tallest of the turtles gently cradled a hand under the ditch of your knees and the small of your back before hoisting you up into his arms with ease.

- He continued humming , the vibrations reverberating against his chest never failed to softening the taunt of your face.

- As he carried you to his bedroom he watched the stress melt away from your face as you drifted back off into a peaceful sleep.

Raphael

- out of all the turtles, he struggled the most with your nightmares. Souly because he struggled to see you in pain.

- Raph is as empath as they come despite his brash and harsh attitude. Particularly about the person he deems his soulmate.

- Although it had been a long while since you last had a bad one, which he was grateful for.

- Tonight was different though.

- Raphael awoke with a jolt to you hyperventilating , tears streaming your face as you writhed. This was a bad one.

- Eyes pressed together so tight , a little trickle of blood pooling at the corner of your lip from knicking it with your teeth.

- “ hey..hey!” He rumbled, a hand bracing your arm as he tried to steady you.

- He shushed you , spoke softly yet nothing was stirring you and it was only progressing worse.

- He was starting to get worried, as gently as he could he took both of your arms and applied a grounding pressure before raising his voice. Beckoning you awake.

- This worked, you jumped at the sound of his sharp gravelly voice, his strong arms stoping you from jolting up off the bed.

- Staring up at him with glassy wide eyes as you took a moment to understand what happened. Tremors wracking your body before the flood gates opened. Straight away he’s pulling you into his lap.

- Manhandling you up off the bed and into his warm embrace. Hushing you as his thick hands smoothed the goose flesh on your skin.

- He was so tentative , cradling you in his great hold like you where the most valuable object to grace this planet.

- “ I gotcha” he would mumble over and over again until your sobs stiffed and the heaving of your chest slowed.

- When you knew you were safe.

Mikey

- out of all the turtles, Mikey was the most natural at calming the storm of your nightmares.

- He didn’t have to trial and error like Donnie or use different methods like Raph and Leo.

- He was, as he called it, “ the master of nightmares.”

- And that’s what Mikey used to subdue your stress.

- For a normal standard nightmare, he would use laughter.

- For the bad ones , he brought out the ultimate trump card.

- Playing with your hair.

- Like Donnie, he never had to wake you up to help with your sleep trouble.

- He would hum sweet nothings or little one liners , that even in your sleep your lip quirked up at.

- His fingers would tangle in your locks, massaging smooth circles into your scalp.

- He would work the tension away from your face first, then gradually move you to be closer to him.

- He noticed you always held on to him in some way when these nightmares where happening , almost as though you where grounding yourself.

- He always made any limb readily available for your greedy hands.

- When you wake up the next day he NEVER mentions it.

- Would joke that what happens between Mikey and sleepy!(y/n) stayed between them.

@thelaundrybitch @leosgirl82 @turtle-babe83 @fluffytriceratops

#tmnt fanfiction #tmnt #tmnt scenario #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt x reader #tmnt raph x reader #bayverse leonardo #leonardo x reader #tmnt bayverse #raphael tmnt

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generallysapphic · 1 year

Text

relax for me, pretty girl +18 (shuri x reader)

shuri needs to relax, again. Bast forbid she actually gets the rest she needs. but you’re her wife, and once more, you’ll make sure she gets what she deserves.

sub shuri my beloved, i’ve been meaning to write about her for so long and i finally CAN! this is the same wife reader from i can take care of you, so reader that one before coming here!

warnings; sub switch shuri x soft dom reader, squirting, multiple orgasms, name calling, pet names, smothering kink, sexual massages, strap on sex, tribbing, sex toy usage, married love making, bottom!shuri!!!!

DT: @inmyheadimobsessed @verachii @rxcently @zayswriting

tag list and enjoy! @heartsforjojo @ogbells16 @shuriszn @marsolgy @shinsousliya @6-noir @k3nn3dyxo @someshuriposts @c0cac0laguns @zhanylai @shuriislut @yamsthoughts @itzmy @sapphic-blak-diam0nd @randomhoex @sokkasbae255 @playgurlxoxo @shurismainbxtch @dejaonline @vampzxi @titiaswife @ventingfanfics @prinxeali

translations: ndisondele kakhulu: i’m so close |uziva ulungile: you feel good | uyizuzile: you’ve earned it |

you can hear shuri’s groans of frustration from the lab before you even enter it. after your beautiful week of relaxation and love making, it was back to business as usual. and even though she took her health and her needs more seriously, after a couple of months shuri was back to her old ways— crowding herself in her work, coming to bed late, and taking up long missions with no break.

it saddened you; you knew why she was throwing herself in her work, she wanted a distraction from the year anniversary of her family’s deaths, but she was not well, dark circles under her eyes again, small cuts around her lips because she had been biting at them too hard, her posture was ruined— your poor wife was just so exhausted.

you knew another week of relaxing wouldn’t do much, this way of living was embedded into shuri’s core, and it wouldn’t do anything if she had another week off except relax her for a moment, then she’d be right back to square one. so you had developed a plan.

you would reward her tonight. for all her hard work and dedication, you’d make her relax.

you were going to take charge tonight.

you felt your cheeks heat up at the thought of it; you had always followed shuri when it came to your sex life. she was more than happy to guide you, take control and lead you both in euphoric ways, but tonight you wanted her entire mind, heart, and body to relax, and you knew the only way to do so was to take complete control tonight.

you knock softly on the doors and push them open, griot announcing your presence, “panther, your wife has arrived.”

you walk around the corner, hearing her grumble a soft response and see shuri, hunched over and working diligently on another suit for okoye. you smile, “what improvements could the midnight angel herself require?” and you see shuri smirk a bit, goggles reflecting the suit, “okoye says she’s ‘too hot’ in the suit, im adding perspiratory outlets to release her sweat and make it cool,” and you both share a giggle.

you come behind her, hugging her and leaning on her shoulders, snaking your hands against her abs, “you look so sexy, you know,” you whisper, kissing her neck and ear. she sways her shoulders, not pushing you off but startled by the contact. okay, good, you wanted to get her a little bothered. “and you smell so good,” you practically moan in her neck and she sighs, “my love, i— i need to work,” she whispers back, turning her neck to give you more room to kiss.

you take the opportunity, sucking and kissing at her neck and you can see her hands lower slowly, “i know, baby, but you taste so good,” you moan back, pushing up her shirt and feeling on her skin, and rubbing all over her and she completely gives in, sighing and moving her neck to the side and giving you complete access. you kiss her feverishly, sucking and nipping at the skin there and moving your hands farther and farther up until you smooth over her bra and fiddle with the lace there.

and shuri becomes silent wit just small huffs of air leaving her mouth, and when you open your eyes you can see her furrowed eyebrows and closed eyes and it makes you smile. it wasn’t rare for you to take charge like this, encouraging her to leave her lab and give you some attention and you were sure she’d soon try to take over and begin to lead like she always does but you hold her there until she’s huffing impatiently, moving her hands to hold yours under her shirt and moving to stand. you pull away, the skin wet and making a small noise once you leave her, “hey, shuri, calm down,” you whisper and kiss her ear.

she chuckles a bit, “oh so you weren’t trying to get me all riled up just then?” and you giggle with her, moving in front of her and sitting down on her lap, holding her chin and licking your lips. shuri looks gorgeous like this, mouth parted and lips wet with those blown eyes you’ve seen in the bedroom far too often. “no, my love, i was, i just.. i have a suggestion, okay?” and shuri’s interests are peaked, her holding onto your hips with her steady hands and leaning forward encouraging you to continue.

you exhale, okay, “i wanted to… be in control tonight. like yknow how you always tell me what to do and i follow? i wanted to do it, this time,” you say slowly and wait to see a reaction on shuri’s face, but she waits a bit, the corners of her mouth poking up and her eyes closing a bit. you hear a small giggle before she open them again, smiling at you, “okay,”

your eyes bulge for a second, “‘okay’? really, you’re okay with that?” you double check and shuri nods, pulling you close, “yeah i’m okay with it, usana, i think it’ll be fun, hmm?” you smile shyly, and nod, “i think so too,” you say and lean forward, finally kissing her mouth and wrapping your arms around her neck. shuri sighs against you, ranking her own hands up your shirt and you smile and pull away, “first rule, only touch me when i say. remove your hands, lovely,”

shuri scoffs, “i didn’t know we were doing rules,” she says sarcastically, rolling her eyes and taking her hands from your skin, letting them rest on your thighs and you speak again, “and rule two is watch that mouth, i want to make you to feel good, not punish you,” you say, standing and you watch shuri’s mouth quirk up, “i doubt you could come up with a punishment i can’t handle,”

you shrug, taking her hand and leading her away from the lab table, “maybe. so for tonight, just listen to me and be good, okay pretty girl?” you ask looking directly into her eyes knowing the nickname does things to her. you see shuri swallow a bit, nodding and speaking breathlessly, “yeah, yes. okay, i’ll be good,”

and you smile, knowing she’s putty in your hands.

if there’s anything you know to be true about your wife is that she loves making you feel good and she love when you wear lingerie. and luckily the latter was already in motion.

you had on your newest set, unbeknownst to shuri who sat patiently in the bedroom. it was beautiful two piece, the lace dress was loose and frilly and damn near see through, your nipples exposed and hard from the cold air and your ass was nearly uncovered, the panties weren’t doing much but adding a cute floral pattern to your melanated skin. but, you loved it and you knew shuri would too. you spin around once more in the mirror and put on some more lipgloss before nodding to your reflection, a silent but firm you got this.

you tried to force all your nerves away as you opened the door, peaking, “are your eyes still closed?” and you hear shuri laugh a bit, some subtle shuffling, “yes, baby, they’re closed,” and you exhale slowly, walking out and seeing shuri sat exactly where you left her on your shared bed, still covering her eyes. you smile, “okay, go ahead,” and shuri’s more than eager to take her hands away.

“fuck,” she mutters lowly, looking you up and down and licking her lips. you nearly give in with that look, wanting her to take you and ravish you like she always does but you stay strong and harp it up a bit. you turn and show just the side of your butt, “you like it? i bought it a while ago, never knew i’d wear it, honestly,” you tease and shuri laughs absentmindedly, clearly not paying your words any mind. you can see her hands fiddling with the sheets, clearing wanting to touch you and it makes you smile, “you wanna touch me baby?” and shuri’s eyes meet yours, her clearly not listening until you said that and she licks her lips and nods, “yes,” comes the breathless whisper and you shudder yourself, you didn’t know you’d be that into this— shuri at your beck and call, hungry and waiting.

you lick your own lips and move closer to her, swaying your hips and moving your arms around her neck, “ask me,” you whisper back and she exhales, eyes still holding yours, “please, can i touch you, my love?”

you giggle a bit, surprised at her blatant desperation and nod, “yes, my love, go ahead,” and she smiles back, wrapping her hands around your waist and squeezing the skin of you butt, pulling you closer and kissing at your stomach through the lace. you feel her fingers slide through your panties, moving the fabric around and touching your lips, her cold hands touching the warm slick there and you both let out a breathless moan, you surprised by the contact.

she keeps her fingers there, kissing your stomach and keeping your lips apart with her other hand and she starts to enter you. your eyes close, you want to give in but you don’t, you hold on to her arm, “uh uh, take— take them out, love, not yet,” you stutter out and shuri groans, removing them, and placing her hands at her sides. you look down at her through your lashes and sigh, kissing her forward, “i know you want to please me, baby, but tonight’s about you, okay?” she nods, so clearly wanting to be good. you kiss her nose and place your hands on her shoulders, adding pressure, “lean back for me, okay love?” and shuri nods, shy but obedient and you can feel yourself leak at this vulnerable side of her.

she’s all on the way on the sheets, and you climb on top of her, smoothing over her legs and coming to her chest and kissing there. “my pretty girl,” you mumble into her skin and she smiles and sighs, leaning all the way back now, head against the pillows. you feel her breasts in your hands, moving the skin around in your fingers until you reach her nipples, mouth suckling on one and your fingers squeezing the other. shuri’s breath picks up and you hear small moans leave her, hands finding the sheets. you suck the skin there for a few moments, until both of her nipples are hard, wet and puffy and you smile at the sight, deciding to move downward.

you kiss down to her navel and she chuckles a bit and you smile, “ticklish, love?” you whisper out and look up at her. shuri’s on her elbows now, eyes glossed over and clearly infatuated with the sight of you pleasuring her and the look she has in her eyes has your mind spinning. she nods at your question and you nod back, getting back until you reach her boxers, a dark, wet spot greeting you there. you lick your lips, sliding your hands against her thighs and coming up between the clothing there. you call her softly, “shuri,” you whisper in between her legs and she hums back, eyes twisted shut and not looking. you kiss her thighs, “look at me love,” and she opens her eyes, eyebrows furrowed, “keep your eyes on me, okay, intombi entle?” she moans at your xhosa and nods, eyes still holding yours.

you smile against her skin, sliding her boxers down and her beautiful pussy comes to view, a line of slick still connecting it to her boxers as they slide down her legs. she huffs at the contact, the cold air flowing on her clit and you shush her, smoothing your hands over her thighs and kissing the kiss there, actively avoiding her heat. shuri’s hips buck, clearly wanting your attention elsewhere and it makes you smile. shuri’s so rarely this desperate but you’re also so rarely this cruel— usually you give into shuri completely and fully, moving the way she wants and giving into her entirely.

you kiss more and more at the skin around her pussy but never getting too close to her lips, not even close to her clit. she huffs, “you’re being mean,” she whispers out, still holding your eyes once you look up. you nod, “i know i am, watch your mouth,” you mumble back, sucking on her thighs and she whispers again, “please, please ikumkani wam, i need you, please,” comes the breathless response and you shudder yourself, grinding down on the sheets below to give your own clit some friction.

you pull away from her thighs, looking up at her, “ask me, shuri. i have no idea what you want, love,” and she leans her head back and groan, her gorgeous throat in view. you make a reminder in your head to bite her there more often. she leans back and finds your eyes, frustration clear on her face, “please, my love, please eat my pussy, i need your mouth on me, on my clit,”

you lick your lips to hold down the gasp that was bound to escape you. so explicit, you think and nod, “of course, my sweet girl,” before you get caught up in what she said. you lean forward, sighing at the sight of her pussy, leaking and gushing all for you and from your teasing. you smile, rubbing a finger through her slit and separating her lips, shuri moans loud and unashamed, leaning her head back once more. one of her hands comes to her chest, playing with her puffy nipples and you moan at the sight. you lean forward and suck a kiss on her clit, the nub twitching in your mouth and her pussy leaking around your chin.

shuri moans louder, and you look up and see her closed her eyes, her bottom lip between her teeth and her hand working diligently against her chest. you pull away from her clit and she groans, “eyes on me, shuri,” you reemphasize and she moans and nods, opening her tightly shut eyes and you get back to her clit, sucking and holding her shaking thighs open with your hands. shuri holds your gaze, moaning and sighing, trying so hand to keep her eyes open.

you love the taste of shuri on your tongue, her pussy leaking on your chin and her hole squeezing around nothing. you flatten your tongue when you feel her hips move, obviously needing more. you move one hand from her thighs, sliding your fingers between her lips and pushing inside. “oh, fuck, y/n,” shuri calls in a hushed tone and you hum around her clit, the vibrations sending another slew a moans from her.

you push another finger inside and move them in and out slowly, still sucking on her clit softly and she bucks, “please, please, i need— mhmm, need more,” she all but begs and you moan yourself, grinding more aggressively on your sheets to alleviate the pressure on your clit. you listen to her, thrusting your fingers harder and harder and deeper into her until— “uhhh, right there, please, please—!” and she sounds so lovely, her moans all the way deep in her chest, her fingers squeezing the sheets.

you hold yourself there, pulling away from her clit and speaking, “tell me how it feels,” you say, your voice sounding so different than what you’re used to. shuri hears it too, fluttering her eyes a bit, and then opening them and responding, “feels good, feels so good. you’re so good,” and you nod, angling your fingers deeper and you see her eyes roll back, your rule of keeping hers on you leaving you because you can tell she’s about to cum.

you breathe, “you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” and she’s nodding, bucking her pussy against your hand and you nod back, even though she can’t see you, and you put your mouth back on her clit, sucking at the bud and you feel it jump in your mouth, twitching along with shuri who moans louder, “i— i’m cumming, fuck, i’m so close, please don’t stop, cumming—!”

and you feel it; her pussy squeezes around your fingers, gushing out more cum as her clit pulses around your lips and you moan at the feeling, not relenting much like she does you, and you hear her moans become high pitched sighs as she gets more and more overstimulated. you pull away after you feel her thighs squeezing together. her pussy looks beautiful, milky white and pulsing. you sigh, running your fingers through her cum. shuri sigh, and leans back, shuddering as you play with her.

you smile once you get a good look at her, one forearm is coving her eyes the other still in the sheets to calm her down, thigh still twitching and shaking. you lean down and kiss her legs, “you alright, my dear?” and she chuckles a bit, nodding, “yes, i’m okay, shit,” she curses and you laugh, getting up and sitting next to her face, looking down.

you smile once she moves her forearm and looks at you, “you did wonderfully my love,” you praise her and she smiles, a bit shy and she leans up, “can i kiss you?” she asks, sweetly and you blush and nod, leaning down and capturing her lips. shuri’s so sweet like this, so pliant and loving, not like she hasn’t been this way before but it’s a whole new side of her entirely and it makes you flush inside.

shuri leans up more and deepens the kiss, more than eager to please you and you can feel it. she anxious, her hands moving to touch you but then remaining obedient and placid. you smile as you watch her and pull away, “you want to touch me, shuri? make me feel good?” you tease and she nods, biting her lip and holding eye contact. her hands are still moving, she’s so needy and it’s making you pulse in your underwear. you lean down and kiss her again, speaking against her lips, “what do you to do, hmm? tell me, baby,”

shuri huffs, obviously upset she still can’t touch you, “wanna make you cum, i want your pussy in my mouth,” she says desperately and you giggle, “you want me to sit on your face?” and youre mostly joking to see her reaction and you do— shuri’s pupils nearly explode behind her hooded eyelids and you can see the breath that catches in her throat. she nods but you shake your head. you lick your lips and double down, “ask me, pretty girl, say it,”

she’s immediate, “please, sit on my face my love, smother me,” she gasps out and you have to keep your cool but shuri’s driving you crazy. you want to give in and completely fall over, drop your dominant facade and let her take control but instead you nod, trying to remain calm on the outside but your stomach is swirling and your positive your underwear have been ruined. you move to straddle her stomach, shuri watching you all the way with hungry eyes.

you rub yourself on her abdomen, her muscles flexing against your pussy, “you feel me love?” and she nods, watching you mesmerized, “be a good girl and don’t touch okay?” you ask once you lift your hips, leaving a damp post of slick on her abs and she nods, looking between your pussy and her own. you slide your own underwear off and shove them somewhere, your pussy hovering right above shuri’s face.

you lick your lips and hold steady on the head board, “tap twice if it gets too much okay, baby?” and shuri nods, she barely heard you and you chuckle once more before finally lowering down on her mouth.

shuri slurps you up quickly, her jaw working diligently and aggressively against you and the sudden contact makes you moan aloud and unashamed. you sigh through your nose once your feel her mouth on your clit, sucking and licking and it causes your hips to rise up, alleviating some of the pressure. shuri’s not having it apparently, and she uses her hands to lower you back down, grabbing desperately at your butt and using her strength to hold you there.

you gasp, eyes wet with tears and mouth drooling, “shuri— shuri, i said— haaa! i said no handsssss ugghffuckk,” but it’s useless, she’s holding you taught and you can’t help but rut your hips against her mouth, your juices flowing all the way down her chin and neck and you can hear yourself being worked on through her mouth. she holds you open with her experienced hands, working her index finger in your core and adding more pressure. you whine, hand squeezing the headboard and the other ripping up the sheets. your noises could be heard all throughout the castle.

your orgasm approaches fast, faster than you wanted and it makes you groan, hips grinding against her on their own accord as you chase your release. shuri must feel it too, she hums against your clit and the vibrations make you moan and gasp her name, “shuri, shuri ndisondele kakhulu,” you sigh and shuri pays you no mind, still working and flexing against you.

you sigh out, head lolled back, “i’m cumming, aahhgg fuck, fuck, shuri shuri i’m cumming—!” and you can’t hold it, you cum all over her mouth, squirting against her chin and your clit pulses between her lips. you feel lightheaded as you come down but shuri doesn’t stop, still sucking and preening on you and it makes you dizzy, soft squeals leaving your mouth and you can’t leave with her hands still around your thighs and you squeal, “p-peach!” and she hears that, letting go of your skin and you move away from her mouth, gasping and falling over on the other side of the bed, your chest heaving and you can hear shuri trying to collect her breath as well.

you let out shaking breaths and try to sit up and collect yourself, “i.. i said no touching, shuri,” you mumble out and you know you don’t sound nearly as tough as you want and you can see it in shuri’s face once she turns to you, she’s not taking you any more seriously than you are yourself. “i know. i’m sorry,” she whispers, lips still wet but you don’t believe her. once you’ve stopped spinning you sit up and look at her, “oh, you will be sorry my love. don’t cum for the rest of the night,” you let out harshly, stepping down from the bed and walking around it, wobbling only slightly.

shuri leans up and watches you, smiling slightly, “i can with hold an orgasms for weeks, my love, this isn’t much of a punishment,” she chuckles to herself and you’re not looking at her, only grabbing the toys you wanted from the closet. “oh i know dear, that’s why i’ll be using these tonight,” you say turning around and shuri can’t see what you’re holding from afar but she understands your tone. you can see a bit of her smile fade away and she leans down on her forearms. you walk over to her and lean over, laying out all the toys on the bed, “lie down and be still,” you instruct and shuri holds your gaze before following suit, leaning all the way back on the bed.

you take out the massage oil, so much still left from the last time you both used it. shuri had made this aphrodisiac-esque massage oil that you both had used maybe once; it was extremely effective, she had only used it on you and you had cum and squirted 7 times with one toy and her fingers alone. now you wanted to see if she could do the same. you dropped some on your hands and looked at her as you spread it around your fingers, “don’t cum, okay ikumkani wam? can you be good?”

shuri watches you with intense eyes and nods, but you shake your head back, “shuri, i need you to say it, you know that,” and she sighs, “yes i’ll be good,” and you nod, leaning down to kiss her head. your hands are oiled as much as you want and you dig through the bag again, pulling out two vibrators, showing shuri her options. “which one, love?” she looks between them, sighing, “the blue, please,”

you nod, handing it to her and straddling her and moving to her other side, cutting on the vibrator yourself, guiding her hand to love it on her clit. shuri huffs, eyes sliding shut and you giggle, lifting up and rubbing the oil on her chest, spreading the liquid all over her already sensitive nipples. her mouth hangs open and you can tell her nipples have already become damn near inflamed with ecstasy, her aphrodisiac working within seconds.

you coo, “oh you’re so pretty shuri,” you praise her, kissing her cheeks and she moans at the contact, “so pretty for me, huh, mami? am i making you feel good?” and shuri moans, nodding and you see her legs twitch, her hands stuttering and moving away from her clit but you lower them back down, shushing her whiny moans, “mhmm, i know my love, i know.. but you look so gorgeous like this,” you reemphasize, squeezing her nipples through your fingers and shuri’s back arches, “shit! oh my love, please, please, you’re being cruel—!” she whines out and you fake hurt, twisting at the skin more.

you lean down and slap right against her clit with your hand, right below the vibe and she jumps and moans. “watch. your fucking mouth, shuri,” you curse at her and she moans, eyes still tightly screwed shut and she whines, “i’m— i’m, im sorry please please, make me cum, i need it,” she moans out and you moan with her, moving away from her chest and pushing two of your fingers inside her, opening her legs up with the other hand, the contact making shuri buck against you and squeal.

shuri’s pussy instantly reacts to you, squeezing around you and accepting your fingers with ease, “such a filthy girl, taking my fingers so well,” you mock and shuri’s head is tilted back, hand shaking and thighs threatening to close but you hold them open, “keep your legs still, baby, be good,” you reemphasize and shuri whines, shaking her head slightly and you gape at her, “no? are you telling me no?” you ask, thrusting in her much harder, curling your fingers and pressing right against her g-spot.

shuri screams, “please! oh Bast, i’m cumming, i’m cumming, y/n, please let me cum—!” and you speak over her begging, “no. you haven’t earned it,” you hear her wet gasps, her pussy is starting to flex around you and you think she might cum anyway. shuri babbles more, mouth drooling, “please, please please, i’m so close, i’ll be good, i promise, my love, i promise!” and she sounds so pathetic, it makes your pussy pulse a bit, and you realize you hadn’t cum again and shuri was inches away.

you sigh and taking your fingers out of your wife, moving her hand holding the vibe from her clit and straddling her instead, rubbing her clit against yours and you both let out long, drawn out moans once the contact and friction start. shuri twists and watches you with wet eyes, you start rutting against her, your wet skin kissing hers.

you moan and pick up your thrusts to get to where she is, “when i cum,” you pant out and lean down to her mouth, “you can, too, okay?” and shuri nods, squeezing the sheets and being good and not touching you. you see her eyes close and her eyebrows furrow, mouth hanging open and tits jumping with every one of your thrusts. you whine at the sight and you can’t help but feel selfish, “shuri, shuri, touch me, mami, touch me,” you moan out and she opens her eyes and nods, leaning up and capturing your mouth and you wrap your arms around her, she does the same and holds your hips steady playing with the skin there. you kiss her greedy and sloppy, like she’s your only life line.

your pussy fits perfectly into shuri’s, you’ve found. when you move together her clit perfectly shapes yours and to say it’s an addiction is an understatement. you feel your body ascend, damn near, as your orgasm slips against your skin and you can feel shuri bucking and moaning in your mouth, obviously so close herself. your clawing at her back when you finally release her mouth, “oh, shuri, i’m so close, i’m so—unnffff— cum with me, please cum with me baby,” and she nods, head in your shoulder and you can feel her shaking against you.

shuri squeals, “i’m— i’m cumming, can i? oh my love, please, please can i cum for you?” and it’s her last question that has you twisting and moaning, a loud squeal leaving your chest as you squirt against shuri’s pussy, and she moans in tandem, cumming right behind you and your both holding on to each other, thighs shaking and bodies still moving against the other.

you finish first, your head spinning while shuri follows suit, gripping at your hips and holding you close as you both come down. you whine, grabbing desperately at her coils and pulling her into a wet kiss, the both of you falling back onto the bed, limb entangled and pussies still wet and twitching. but you’re not quite satisfied, you wanted just one more thing.

you lean up first, kissing against her tired face and moving slightly. she huffs in disappointment, not wanting to let you go just yet. “shuri,” you call softly and she mumbles to acknowledge you, but you need her eyes, her full attention. you call her again and she opens her eyes, looking fucked out and exhausted. you exhale, “i wanna fuck you, okay? can i?” and shuri sighs, head falling back and she nods, before correcting herself, “yes, please fuck me love, i want to be good,” she whispers and you smile, leaning up to kiss her chin, rubbing up and down her sides, “you’ve been so good, darling, keep talking okay?” and she nods, letting you go once you begin to pull away from her.

you reach for the bag of toys you had left on the side of the bed and gather yourself to put on your strap. you’ve fucked shuri maybe about three or four times, it’s rare and it’s extremely vulnerable for shuri so you take your time with her and never pressure it out of her. you kiss at her hands once you’re all ready to go, grabbing some lube while you do so. you look her in the eyes, “you’ve been so good, my love, so cum as much as you want okay? uyizuzile,” you tell her sweetly and she smiles and nods, holding on to your hand and bringing it down to kiss it.

you adjust yourself against her, sliding the strap against the cum settling on her pussy and she shudders, her head falling back against the pillows and you smile, proud of yourself for taking care of shuri so well. you push forward once you’ve done enough teasing and shuri gasps, thighs twisting and her hands finding the sheets as you move inside her.

you slide in and out of her with ease, pressing on her abdomen and giving her the pressure on her cervix she’s addicted to. shuri groans, eyes rolling to the back of her head as her back arches and her hands rip at the sheets. you sigh and moan at the sight of her, talking her through it, “does it feel good, my love? tell me, please, let me hear you,”

she moans louder, assuming you found her g-spot once more and she nods, “yes, yes, oh— my love, uziva ulungile, so good,” she says back sweetly, bringing on hand to her chest and playing her nipples. you smile and swat her hand away, squeezing the skin there with your own fingers, and shuri takes it, moaning and biting at her lip.

but you know shuri, you know she needs more as soon as she starts to whine and move her hips more and more. you sigh and lean down, kissing her, holding one of her hands against the sheets, “you need more, my love?” and shuri nods, coils stuck to her forehead because of her sweat. you speak again, the rutting of the boxer against your clit making you moan against her mouth, “what do you need, sthandwa, tell me and i’ll give it to you, i promise,”

she whines back, “t-touch me, touch me here,” and she guides your hand to her clit and you sigh when she does, rubbing the bud in sweet, achingly slow circles. shuri groans, “h-harder, please my love, harder, i can take it,” and you feel your own hips stutter, her voice making your body jump and you sigh, nodding, “such a good girl telling me what you want,” and you lean back up, moving her thighs to thrust harder and deeper, keeping the hand on her clit in tandem with your thrusts.

shuri squeals, nodding and grabbing at the sheets again, “oh, my love, just like that! don’t stop please, please!” and your own eyes roll back at the sound of her, the black panther herself giving into you so easily. you speak, “look at you darling, taking me so well, aren’t you such a good girl?” and shuri whines, the pressure proving too much for her but she still talks back, “i’m— oh, fuck! i’m your good girl, y/n all yours, all for you, right there, please please please—!” and you nod, kissing at the skin on her legs and adding more pressure to her clit, her gasps making you smile.

you feel her pussy squeeze around you and her legs begin to close in on yours and you rub against them, teasing, “cumming already darling?” and she nods, eyes leaking and mouth huffing. you don’t let up though, “cum for me shuri, be my good girl and cum for me, let me see,” you whine against her and she shakes, listening to you wholeheartedly and yelling your name once more then cumming hard, her pussy practically shaking and squirting some. she moans, loud and long, twitching against you and you watch in genuine awe of her.

you slow your thrusts but keep your fingers working against her clit, until she sobbing and shaking, her hands against yours and silently asking you to stop. you pull out slowly, letting shuri calm down and see the thick ring of cum covering the base of the strap and smile. you sigh and catch your own breath before sliding out of the boxers and tending to shuri, coming to her side and kissing her everywhere you could softly, whispering praises, “such a good girl, shuri, did so good for me, mami, breathe, breathe,” and shuri whimpers as her mind calms down, sighing and holding onto you as closely as possible.

shuri takes a moment before she opens her eyes again and you look at her and smile, “hi, love,” and she laughs a bit, still breathless, “i can’t feel my legs,” and you laugh back, kissing her arms and then her face, “then i did well,” and shuri smiles, pulling you down for a real kiss, moving her lips deeply into yours and keeping you there.

you pull away first, mostly to check in, “are you okay though, my love? it wasn’t too much was it?” and shuri shakes her head, smiling, “it was excellent, darling you were great. and thank you, i… i think i really needed it,” she admits and you smile back at her, kissing her nose, “i know, pretty girl.”

the next morning, shuri’s struggling to keep her balance once she’s back in the lab. many of the scientists are worried about her, coming to her aid and offering stools for her to sit in and she always refuses, saying she’s fine and that she’s just pulled something.

when you walk in with okoye later that morning, shuri’s face gives it all away and no one offers her anymore aid that rest of the day. you giggle and okoye rolls her eyes, “when will you learn some decency for the rest of us poor souls?” and you laugh harder, shoving her a bit and shuri turns to her, “i don’t have to fix your suit i hope you know! i’m only being kind because i have to!”

and okoye is turning to leave, sighing out, “oh i know! don’t fix it, have aneka sweat in those things alone!” and shuri rolls her eyes. you walk up to her, hugging her side, smiling hard, “i can’t believe i have you walking funny, how the tables turn, huh?” and she gapes at you while you laugh, shoving you playfully and kissing you to quiet your boosting.

bottom shuri my beloved, i will keep you in my heart forever and always 💕💕💕💕 (also i wanted this to be longer but i’ll just have to make a different story entirely and that’s okay!)

and again special thank u to @inmyheadimobsessed for giving me this information that i will use forever! bottom!shuri truthers rise!!

and as always reblogs, likes, and replies are always appreciated !! thank u guys sm mwah mwah love!

#shuri x reader #shuri udaku x reader #shuri smut #sub shuri my beloved #sub!shuri #sub!shuri x reader #bottom! shuri #bottom!shuri x reader #deijah wrote #my story

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tmntfixationxreader · 3 months

Text

"Hello author! I've read some of your other works and I thought they were great, so I have a request for you.

Would you be willing to write a Rise Raph x reader where they're having a sleepover? Raph is nervous about wearing his retainer around them but doesn't realize that the reader also has a retainer until they put theirs on, fluff ensues.❤️🙏🙏🙏"

Sure thing! Thanks for the request :)

*****************************************************************

♡Self conscious sleepover♡

~During a sleepover, Raph gets worried about wearing his retainer~

Warnings: None, just fluff :)

Word count: 933

*****************************************************************

You had just had an amazing, long night with the gang.

Raph had invited you over for a sleepover, so you could hang out with him and his brothers, watch movies, play games, and chill.

It was getting late now though, even for them. Mikey was already passed out on the couch you all had been watching movies on. Leo was sitting in front of the couch watching Jupiter Jim intently, and Donnie was typing something on his wrist watch, as he was ‘definitely too busy to watch the Atomic Lass special’.

Raph yawned once, displaying his fang and teeth before stretching his back as he sat forward. He noticed how sleepy you were looking, and decided it was probably time for the two of you to head to bed.

“Y/n, you ready to head to Raphs’ room?” Raph asked, looking sleepy himself.

You yawned as well and nodded. “Yeah, probably…”

Raph nodded, definitely ready for bed; But he was the older brother, and had to make sure his younger siblings would go to bed too.

“Leo, last movie. Seriously, you won’t get any sleep. Same for you too Donnie, and no lab work past midnight.”

“Yes yes dear brother, I know the rules,” Donnie said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand before typing more stuff onto his wrist watch.

“Don’t worry Hermanos, I’ll make sure Don Tron goes to bed…. Aaaand I won’t stay up past midnight either…” Leo said, giving Raph a smile before turning his attention fully back to the screen.

Raph sighed, content with their answer. “You two will sleep… Trust me, I’ll know if you didn’t.” He tucked Mikey in with a blanket before getting up from the couch.

“Ready Y/n?”

You nodded happily and sleepily, telling the twins goodnight before getting up from the couch yourself.

Raph’s bedroom was nice. It was large, decently organized, and decorated with a few scattered posters. You noticed the small (some larger) scratch marks on the walls from his spikes. He had a large bed, big enough for the two of you to sleep on. Actually, you guessed that it was a king sized bed and a twin mattress pushed together to make one large bed.

“I like your room,” You smiled, setting your bag down. You had already gotten changed into your pj's, brushed your teeth and hair, ready for bed. One last thing was needed, though, to complete your routine. You squatted down next to your bag, digging through its contents to find your retainer.

“Thanks,” Raph smiled, and sat down on his bed, having already finished his nightly routine… But, he needed his retainer, too. It was sitting on his mostly bare nightstand, next to a small lamp. He didn’t keep much on it, more than once he had knocked the contents off during the night.

He was nervous to get it out, looking over at it more than once as the two of you talked.

“It kind of reminds me of my own room… I especially like your squishmallows collection,” You smiled at him over your shoulder, still digging around in your bed.

Raph smiled a toothy smile. “Thanks! I like to collect them… Kind of hard to do that without spending a lot of money, though… Most of them are ones my brothers have given me over the years”

You nodded. “Cool! Seems like your brothers knew just what to get you then.”

Raph looked over at the small box on his nightstand. He was nervous about wearing it in front of you. He had only ever worn it in front of his brothers, and he was worried of what you would think of it… Especially because it was shaped around his fang and looked a little strange.

Finally your fingers found the container your retainer was kept in.

You pulled it out of your bag, opening the small plastic container with a click

Raph blinked. “You… Wear a retainer?” He asked as you put it on, fitting it inside your mouth.

After a short moment of muscle memory, you closed the container and put it back in your bag with a nod and a smile. “Yep, I wear a retainer.”

You glanced at Raph to see his reaction, and was pleasantly surprised when Raph’s face lit up into a smile.

“Really? I wear one too!” He said, grabbing his container from his nightstand. “Raph was a little nervous about wearing it in front of you…”

You raised your eyebrows. “Nervous? Why?” You smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Raph nodded, feeling a little better. “I don’t know… I was just self conscious.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be! I would never make fun of you for it or anything, even if I didn’t wear one myself.”

Raph smiles, and you zip up your bag. He opened the small plastic container, putting the plastic retainer over his teeth.

You smile at him, and he smiles back, clearly relieved.

“Thanks Y/n,” He smiled, and scooted so you could take half of the bed. You sat down next to him with a smile, patting his shoulder.

“No problem… Seriously, don’t stress about it…. No one should ever make fun of you for it,” You say, laying down next to him on your half of the bed, pulling the blankets up over yourself. It was getting really late, and you could immediately tell how tired you were.

Raph smiled and nodded, pulling the gigantic blanket over half of himself too.

“Good to know…Thanks,” He said, sleepiness settling into his eyes and muscles.

“Anytime Raphie…”

*****************************************************************

Hope you like it! I'm really busy working on some personal and long requests, so I took a break to do some shorter ones :)

Bye bye butterflies!

#rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles x reader #tmnt #rottmnt raph x reader #raph x reader #tmnt raphael #rottmnt raph #raph tmnt #raphael #rise raph

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drawingbakeryy · 5 months

Note

DROP THE DONNIE BACKSTORY. I SAW THE HASHTAG. PRETTY PLEASE!1!!1!???? NOT FORCING BUT U GOT ME REALLY CURIOUS….

HMMM IM STILL LIKE FIGURING IT OUT STILLLL— BUT ILL DROP SOME

okay so yk the apocalypse started, blah blah blah all thag junk

one thing i know for sure, he had a lab explosion

which will explain these scars, he was extremely disappointed because in the explosion it did destroyed and ruin creations and tech he worked so hard on, it also ruined his lab which he was pissy about, overall he was just really annoyed abt this and extremely upset

afterwards yk living in apocalypse until he got krangified.. yayyyy

like years later after the explosion

the infection started in his eye, he was out on mission, he wandered off to a infested area which was dangerous but he honestly didn’t care because he needed samples of the krang, he went in and this one krang aimed to his eye, it got into his eye which dee immediately was disgusted by the thought of something in his eye, but it wasn’t long before it started taking over him, it was a fast because it got into his head first, now he’s all infected.

here’s a photo of how he looks like when he’s infected but his whole arms is covered and also the shoulders to his neck is covered but overall this is what he looks like, the host is now in his left eye like, it completely took over his WHOLE eye, the only way to get rid of the infection is to pull out his eye

imagine the angsttt omfgg

yeah uh, but the eye is extremely sensitive, but it does have the ability to protect itself but closing it and covering it, which i thought is cool. . .

forgot to mention he’s also around in his 30s rn, likeeee two years or smt.

anyways yeah that’s a whole angst potential story, i also would say he was taken from the krang, i havent like given it a whole whole plot or like what happens

but i do say he was taken by the krang onces, he managed to escape though because he’s donnie!!!!🔥🔥

ITS MIDNIGHT RN AND I DONT FEEL LIKE TYPING MORE— but in my small brain this is what i could type🔥🔥🔥‼️‼️‼️‼️ for now

#SORRY IF THIS WASNT MUCH #LOWKEY LAZYYY #WTV #rottmnt #drawingbakeryy #future donnie #future rottmnt #flood my inbox #emo #future donatello #answering inbox #answering anons

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meara-eldestofthemall · 2 months

Note

Now it’s been months after the fact and likely the spoilers are out there;

Batfamily Response to Godzilla Minus One? Their favorite scenes from it? Their viewpoint on the special effects? Commentary on its setting and plot? Etc?

This is an excellent and timely question now that Godzila: Minus One has won an Oscar for special effects. Hmmmm...

It's tradition that Dick and Tim go to see any new Godzila movie on its opening night for the midnight showing. They even do cos-play (the original 1954 movie) since the crowd is usually filled with young adults and college students. Dick dresses as Ogata (the young, handsome protagonist with perfect teeth and lush, muffiny hair). Tim is Dr. Serizawa, complete with a white lab coat and an eye-patch that Tim tends switch from eye to eye. It confuses people and he finds that amusing.

After seeing the fun these two were having the viewing party has grown over time. Jason decided to come and Damian insisted that he be included. Duke was asked to join them and thought it sounded cool. Barbara, Stephanie and Cass were also invited along. Barbara simple gave Dick a look he knew all too well and he tendered her regrets to the others. Stephanie decried it as too much in the nerd zone whereas Cass doesn't like subtitled movies ("bad translations hurt my soul") but said to ask her when the dubbed version comes out.

Jason and Damian walked several paces behind Tim and Dick (pretending they didn't know them) but Duke got an old T-Rex costume and joined in on the cos-play as Godzila. Duke wasn't the only Godzila there and the management had to remind the various kaiju in the audience to remove their heads so as not to obstruct the view of the screen.

While Dick and Tim were fully expecting a remake of the 1954 classic they were not prepared for just how good it was. The acting was top notch, the music was excellent and the special effects were mind blowing.

Being Godzilla purists, Dick and Tim loved the kaiju's first destructive romp through the Ginza. They particularly loved seeing the reenactment of the classic commuter train scene, applauding loudly along with half the audience when Godzila had the passenger car in his teeth. They both cheered at the specticle of Godzilla's atomic breath and agreed that it was even better the Legendary movie version.

Duke was enthralled by the special effects. He declared the scene where the old battle cruiser Takao takes on the monster epic and seamlees. He cheered when Godzilla swallowed the mine and then regenerated (after a rather satisfying explosion). In fact both Duke and Tim were happy to enjoy the massive property damage in the movie since they could not be blamed for any of it. The two spent the ride home trying to calculate how many new kaiju were going to come out of all of the various chunks of Godzilla from the movies' ending. Their laughter as they talked about how many cities the herd of Godzillas could demolish was vaguely disturbing.

Jason was honestly surprised how good the movie was. He declaring that, unlike the 2014 Legendary movie, he actually cared about the squishy human's stories. Considering himself the family's preeminent movie critic, Jason gave the flick his top rating of five bullets.

Damian, unsurprisingly, found himself sympathizing with Godzilla. After all, the kaiju was only doing what his instincts prompted him to. Damian's opinion that it wasn't Godzilla's fault that humans were in his territory and were attacking him.

Having been schooled in the principals of Bushido, Damian also appreciated Shikishima's need to atone for his past and the guilt he felt at surviving when his comrades did not. It was what happened to Noriko and Shikishima's vow of revenge that seemed to truly speak to Damian. He and Dick had a deep conversation on the way home about how revenge is a double sided blade that hurts you when you wield it. If the suicidal pilot had followed through with his plan then he would have denied himself the very thing he craved the most - love and a family. Of all the things Dick hoped for from the movie, a life lesson for Damian was the most welcome and the most unexpected.

#dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #damian wayne #duke thomas #batbros #batfam #godzilla minus one #i only inflinct my kaiju nerdiness on you because Paladin-of-Nerd-fandom65 asked #i'm old i'm odd and unlikely to change at this point in my life

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pianocat939 · 1 year

Note

Mayhaps I request a platonic Yandere(if you do thoses) Rottmnt with a MC that is viewed or is their little sibling?

I hope you have have a wonderful day/afternoon/night!

I only have 2 more requests to finish before moving on to the next set yay! The next set is like 16 requests so that'll probably take a month to finish ;-;.

I haven’t done any non-Hcs things recently so why not.

Tw: overprotective behaviour, Mikey's a hypocrite,

Hypocritical Feelings

(MC is a turtle mutant like the bros)

The sun settled down into the depths of the horizon, painting the sky of New York a dark shade of blue. The city's children head off to bed, the teenagers lay awake in their beds scrolling through any media they can find, and the adults rush through the streets, trying to get home. Yet deep in the sewers of the megapolis is a family of mutants: five turtle siblings and their lazy rat father.

The stroke of midnight is noon to this household, which is the time for lunch. The second youngest prepares lunch for the siblings, his skilled three-fingered hands adding spices to the dish. Once finished, he walks to the living room to announce the meal is ready.

"Raph, Leo! I finished cooking lunch!" He calls out to the elder two, already wandering off to the next destination.

"Please tell me it's the tempura rice bowl we've been so hyped for~" Leo, who previously was reading comics, jumps up from the couch, excitedly marching to the kitchen in excitement. Raphael follows behind him, his long tail wagging in joy.

The oranged-masked turtle heads off to his twin's room, swinging his arms as he does so. He lightly knocks on the door before opening it, slipping his head in through the crack. "Y/n, lunch is served!" He waits for a few seconds for them to answer, blinking a couple of times.

They soon notice him and reply, "'Kay, let me finish this first." They focus back on the activity, silently signaling to him he can go back to the kitchen.

He obliges, shutting the door and heading for the middle child's lab.

——————————————————

The siblings sit at the high table and munch on their food, enjoying the exquisite taste. Raphie is almost finished with his entire bowl, seemingly devouring the delicacy.

"'Angelo, I must say this is one of the better dishes of your craft!" The lab-technician compliments, biting a piece of the crispy fried shrimp

"Thanks! I found a really good market that has some of the best ingredients." He grins, his legs wiggling a little with happiness.

Soon enough the siblings have finished their meals and have headed off to do their own things, leaving only the younger set of twins in the room.

"Hey Mikey, do you mind if you could cover for me?" Y/n asks, slight uncertainty laced in their voice.

"What do you mean by 'cover'?" He sassily juts out his hip a little, drying the dishes.

They hesitate, doing a few taps on the countertop. "Well, there's this really cool shop I wanted to visit...And I wanna go alone this time."

The room suddenly quiets, a tense atmosphere developing. Mikey freezes, eyes wide in shock. His brain short-circuits on him, no thoughts running through his head.

"EXCUSE ME? ALONE? NO WAY!" He exclaims, gripping the fragile plate so hard it almost shatters underneath the pressure.

"Oh but come on! You literally picked up the Lou Jitsu game alone a few months ago! I should totally be allowed to go to a shop!" They argue back, a small pout forming on their face.

Mikey wiggles a finger, shaking his head in the process. "Nope! Nuh-uh! I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

Just then, Raph walks in, carrying a barbell in one of his hands. "I hear bickering. What's goin' on?"

Mikey turns to him dramatically holding out a hand in his twin's direction, "Y/n wants to go shopping, alone!"

Raph immediately frowns, jerking his head to them. "I barely let Mikey go, but you, definitely not."

"Don't you guys think you're a bit too overprotective?"

"No."

Like a dramatic effect from a movie, both Leo and Donnie enter as well, seemingly attracted to the commotion from the three.

"Guys, me and Donnie are trying to have our weekly 'who's better at video games' competition! We do not need all this noise; except for cheering that is."

"Yeah, I agree. The sound is not quite enjoyable background music."

"Y/n's trying to leave! ALONEeEeeEEee!" Mikey runs to Donnie, embracing his plastron in distress. D'Nello stiffens in response, leaning back in disgust.

"Oh great- wait what! What are you doing trying to go out alone! What if you get run over by an ice cream truck!" Leo approaches Y/n his hands on his hips.

"First of all, I am not getting run over by an ice cream truck. Two, I should be fine! If Mikey can do it, so can I!" They open their arms, frustrated with their brothers.

"Mh well, let's see. I can confirm that you have a 100% chance of getting run over by an ice cream truck if you are to go out alone." Donnie pushes Mikey to Leo, at his limit for physical touch.

"Wha-"

"Alright guys, let's go watch Leon and Donald have their competition!" Raph interrupts the youngest, pushing everyone out of the kitchen and towards the arcade.

Y/n huffs, and crosses their arms, ready to take a run for it.

Why can't they go out alone just for a limited edition Jupiter Jim figure?

——————————————————

I really need to brush up on longer pieces. It just seems like a picture with only characters

- Celina

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere rottmnt #yandere tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt2018 #rottmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #mikey #donnie #raph #leo

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14muffinz · 8 months

Text

@blackfire-fanfiction it's 2am, but here's the fic as promised

first week

words: 2169

Notes: i didn’t remember the rise timeline, so i’m just going in the order on wikipedia. There’s a lot of food mentions because i forgot to eat dinner and i got hungry. Sue me.

~~~

it’s a bit weird right? that over there we’re almost fifteen, and then over here we’re almost fourteen? wonder how that worked out

shit, right. this is supposed to be important info only, sorry

Leon’s pretty sure that it’s pure luck that’s holding the page of the notebook together. He’s written down so many things in preparation of swapping, only to wake up the next day still in ‘his’ body, and have to erase it all.

The body’s not actually his. There’s a bit of a silent agreement that he belongs in this world and the other guy belongs in the other, just because that’s usually where they are. The longest Leon’s ever been on the other end was a couple of weeks, he doesn’t know those brothers like he knows the ones here.

Plus, no hate to the other guy and whatever he’s got going for himself, but it’s weird and wrong to be the same age as Raph and Mikey. To somehow be the soft spoken one, even though that’s almost the complete opposite of who Leon is.

The switching’s been more frequent than normal as of late. It’s got them both on edge, from what Leon can tell. Unfortunately, you can only write so fast in a notebook, and apparently the other guy’s barely touched a keyboard so even if they could find a way to stop Donnie from hacking everything tech-y that they own, it wouldn’t be any faster. But they have talked about it, sort of. Mostly about who has taken notice, with maybe one or two theories thrown in.

Good news, countdowns ticking. They’re about to be fifteen in the other world, and Leon just has a feeling that something’s going to happen over there. He doesn’t want the other guy to miss out on that, so he’s doing anything he can to stay up, even though he’s not entirely sure if that’ll prevent a switch or not.

He was planning on staying up late either way, if he’s honest. After all, fifteen over there means that he and Donnie are about to be fourteen over here, and that’s pretty important. Leon, for several reasons, does not know if he’s actually fourteen, but it’s the thought that counts.

At about five minutes to midnight, Donnie lifts up the curtain leading into Leo’s room, settling himself next to Leo on the bed, and silently handing over a party horn. Leo very, very carefully sliders the notebook underneath his sheets.

Right as the clock strikes twelve, in a mutual silent agreement, they blow into the horn, the paper uncurling and making no noise at the end. Damn, that’s overwhelming.

“I blew first,” they both say in perfect sync, before turning two glares on one another. There’s no way to prove it, as always, but Leon will fight for his status as the older twin, please and thank you. With nothing to decide it for them, they usually resort to things like rock paper scissors or who can do something first games. They never warn each other, either, it only adds to the fun.

One of the many reasons that Leon prefers his Donnie to the other one. He might pretend to be all distant and cool, but he’s still Leon’s twin and it doesn’t seem like he plans on dropping that title any time soon. But other Donnie spends most of his time cooped up in his lab with the small amount of materials he has, or with other Mikey. Having the ‘twin’ interactions with other Raph just isn’t the same.

“Considering I am wearing my glasses and have been caffeinated, it’s reasonable to assume that I would have a quicker reaction time than you.”

“We both I have the better reaction time, Dontron,” Leon argues. “And that I’m much faster than you.”

“Lies.”

“Are they?”

⠀

The surface is weird over here. Like, it’s cool finally seeing what’s above this lair, but it was hard trying not to act underwhelmed. The other world’s a lot more colourful. I have a feeling you won’t like it up there.

They finally tried pizza, and thank goodness they are hooked. I don’t think I could last too much longer on algae and worms, haha. Definitely need to track down Mike Tony Lou’s, though, I need to get them hooked before it’s too late.

Onto the good stuff! We are very, very close to figuring out what mutated us. We found another canister tonight! And a lot of other stuff, make sure that nobody else bothers you before you read this because it is a lot.

“You doing your writing again?”

Leo can’t help but jump, looking out his open bedroom door, where Donnie is peering in. He winces, frantically shutting the worn and slightly water-stained notebook shut, sliding it underneath his covers before Donnie realises that it’s one he stole from Raph. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Cool.” Donnie pauses for a moment, before continuing as though nothing happened. “Do you want breakfast?”

No. Absolutely not. Ever since the first time he’d had real food in the other world he has not liked eating over here. It’s disgusting. Why are his brothers still okay with eating algae and worms?

“What time’s it?”

Donnie barely hesitates before responding, “Nine-ish.”

“I’m going to sneak out,” Leo decides. It’s prime pizza hour! He can’t ignore that!

“Are you crazy?” Donnie hisses.

Ehn, maybe. Not that he can tell his brother that. Leo just wants to have some bread, so that he has a reason to ask for a toaster, so that he can have toast. Master planning, very important leader stuff that he’s thinking about.

“If Dad doesn’t know, he can’t yell at me,” Leo decides. That’s not the card he’ll usually play in this dimension, but sometimes a little misbehaviour for the sake of the greater good (his family’s taste buds) is worth it.

Donnie considers this. Leo can’t tell how serious he is, his brother mostly just looks tired. “Good luck.”

He proceeds to walk away.

Leo goes back to updating his other self on the Kraang situation.

⠀

… I’m not entirely sure what happened to S.B, actually, just that he made it out of that fight. One of us should probably bring that up to our brothers. He could cause problems.

By the way, we have cereal finally. You’re welcome. Make sure Raph gets his first, you know how he is.

Leon stares down at the notebook, shocked by all the stuff detailed in his other self’s ramble about the last two weeks-or-so. It was a lot, and Leon doesn’t think that the weird shapeshifting dudes and creepy lab guy really hold up in comparison.

He crams the notebook between his mattress and the wall, before beginning to stretch his fingers and toes, adjusting himself to the unnaturally large hands that this body is stuck with. He swears, if it weren’t for the switching, one of them would never have heard of wrists or ankles, because they barely exist in this body.

For the first time in a while, he’s not ready to face the day. So many unknowns have just been thrown at him, and he’s not sure how casual to be about them. Silence is always an option, but Leon’s not a quiet guy. He’s the jokester, the face man! Even without the eye bananas from the other body that he loves oh-so-very much, he wants to keep that role here.

Not the leader.

Goddammit, other Leo. If you were that jealous of Ra– big Raph, why didn’t you just say so?

The differences are apparent pretty much the moment he steps into the main area of the lair. Mikey is sitting in the pit with a plate that only has two slices of bread on it, and he’s biting into the third. In this Mikey’s usual chaotic neutral fashion, he’s biting right into the side, crust and all. Beside him, Donnie is leaning over his own notebook, scribbling something down frantically.

It’s not, like, weird or anything, but last time Leon was here, algae and worms were pretty much the only thing these guys ate and Donnie would usually be in his own space rather than in the pit while he works.

He’s good at rolling with things, though, and he’s too hungry to care.

Slipping into the kitchen without offering a good morning, Leon comes across Raph leaning against the counter with a bowl of cereal in his hand. He’s practically asking to spill it, wow.

“Morning,” Raph greets shortly.

“Morning,” Leon returns, already looking around the room trying to identify which cabinets have probably been filled with actual food. One of the worst parts about swapping is not knowing where anything is, like that one time his other self washed his mask and forgot to tell Leon and so he spent the entire morning tracking it down.

Whatever, the biggest one probably has something in it. Raph doesn’t seem to care that much anyways.

“Hey dudes!” Mikey shouts from the other room. “Wanna try and set up a ramp for a bit? I’m bored!”

Heck. Yes. Leon misses the giant ramps from back home, like, all the time. He’s going stir crazy in here! All the time. All the time. Trust him on this.

“Be there in a minute!” He responds eagerly.

Hopefully other April plans on coming over together, he really wants to meet her. He’s been wondering if there’s an April here or not, and he finally has an answer.

⠀

so those green bugs kinda sorta came back out the portal thing with us. and went everywhere. so that is a bit of a problem, and we don’t really know how to handle it yet. another mutant popped up btw, a pig dude. really weird, 0/10 would not recommend fighting

you also missed the rat flu by like two days. don’t ask raph what happened, because he is a lying liar who lies, but fingers crossed that you’re around for it next year

we’re going out to see a wrestling match wednesday night, no april

The nice part about this world is that Leo can spend two minutes reflecting on what he just read with his head in his hands, just trying to make sure he read that all right. He’s not sure what he was expecting when he showed up, considering how his own week’s been, but it definitely wasn’t this.

He’d thought that the whole brain aliens thing had upped his weirdness tolerance, but an entire magic city underneath New York is pushing it a lot. As is the teleporting dog/cat, sentient vines(?), and all the other madness that his other self has apparently dealt with.

But you know what? This is the dimension where he’s able to speak his mind without getting weird looks. If he told these brothers that this is insane, he’s pretty sure at least one of them would agree with him.

Leo rushes up the stairs and skids into the kitchen, being greeted by the wonderful smell of this Mikey’s cooking. Absolutely the best part of showing up here is the pleasant wakeups. As much as he loves training (he loves it, he loves it so much, even when Raph is constantly showing him up) sometimes it’s nice to just have a peaceful morning.

“Morning Leo!” Mikey greets happily, moving around the kitchen expertly.

For how much the other Leo wrote down this week, very little seems to have changed.

“We have anything planned today?” He asks, hoping that he sounds more tired than quiet. Leo’s not the loudest person unless he’s quoting something, but the other guy is and he spends more time in this body, so Leo just has to deal.

Mikey shrugs. “Raph wants us to head topside tonight and do more hero stuff, probably. I think that he should be saving his energy for when we watch the match tomorrow.”

Raph wants to do hero stuff? Really? Raph from the other world spends most patrols complaining about how Leo leads the team, or just having to waste time patrolling in general. Which is weird, because Leo knows that those brothers are excited by being topside, including Raph. (Maybe this is something he should prompt his other self about?)

For the next few minutes, he’s left awkwardly standing around as Mikey finishes up a batch of pancakes, trying to think of any more questions that he needs to ask before he starts the day. He has several questions about what’s happened on this side of things in relation to those bugs, that secret city, and more, but he doesn’t know how to ask without sounding suspicious quite yet. He’ll just have to go off of context clues.

“You look tired,” Mikey notes as they both finally settle around the table.

He does? Whoops. It’s not the first time this Mikey’s said that to him, so maybe it’s just a swapping thing.

“I’m fine,” he responds.

~~~

#soul switching au #tmnt 2012 #rottmnt #tmnt leonardo #rise leo #2012 leo #ficlet #fanfic of an au #since this au is so new a lot is there to be played with #this is not an attempt at assuming what the creator wants to do with this story #its just my mind being bored and writing stuff #btw am i allowed to chuck this onto ao3 or no

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