#He was still willing to help in whatever way he was able ;; And it still ended the same
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Impulsivity
Modern Viktor x Fem! Reader
Your chronic pain has you at the end of your rope as you hopelessly search for something to relieve your pain. Help comes from the most unexpected of places: a walgreens at 9:45 pm.
Reader is mentioned to be an art/theater kid and is also disabled like Viktor and suffers from chronic pain. No use of y/n. Also not proofread we die like redacted
High key inspired by @meownotgood and @gaybybirth because reading their writing made me want to write again. This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written and I'm terrified to post it. But I'm being brave! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I may make a part 2 depending on how this does. I hope you enjoy!
Tumblr media
Pain makes it incredibly hard to think. Even though you're used to it and it's something you feel every day of your life, the burden is still quite heavy. But there is no pity for Atlas, and his shoulders will ache for the rest of time as he holds up the sky without the relief of Tylenol.
So now, you're standing in a Walgreens at 9:42 pm in the pain management aisle, shifting your weight from foot to foot to try and relieve the pain radiating from your hips to your ankles, trying to pick a topical pain relief gel that will actually work. You've tried most of them here; Bengay, Aspercreme, Biofreeze, Icy Hot, and nothing. Sure, they work for a few weeks but your fucking mutated joke of a body adapts and grows accustomed to whatever you use. The brace you wear on your left knee is itchy and pokes into you through your fleece-lined tights and it's not helping matters.
Giving up on reading the box of Voltaren you're holding, you crouch down to put it back and pick up something else. Your pain-addled brain is poor at making decisions it seems, as the moment you bend, your knee cracks in such a way that a painful heat spreads through your entire body. It was loud too, you know it was. Eyes are staring at you, burning a hole in your head as you wince and grit your teeth against the waves of pain.
You feel the urge to collapse, just sit on the floor, and read the labels and boxes there without having to stand, despite how utterly ridiculous you'd look.
"Are you alright?" Your right knee hits the floor as you shift into a kneeling position to look up at the person speaking to you. A long tweed overcoat, a thick red scarf, a cane, nice Oxford shoes, pale skin, worried amber eyes, and tousled brown hair meet your gaze. A man, a very beautiful man is standing a mere three feet from you, eyebrows pinched in concern. You blink a few times, willing yourself to remember how to act like a normal person and not a gobsmacked fool.
"Oh, yeah I uh…" You swallow and gesture wildly to the wall of products, and then visibly deflate "…no there's no way to make a joke out of this. " A laugh slips out, pitiful. You look back up at the man and the corners of his mouth are quirked up at the sides. Thank god, maybe he finds your misfortune endearing.
"They do tend to keep the best products just out of reach, don't they? Nothing at eye level ever seems to be worth your time. Just another cruel joke the health industry plays on the less abled." He looks between the wall of lotions and pills and you, his smile widening.
You smile too, less self-deprecative and more understanding, "Ah, a fellow health industry hater, amazing. Damn straight, they bleed us dry and expect us to thank them. Greedy schmucks." With one hand on the metal shelf and the strength of your good (better?) knee, you manage to pull yourself into an upright position, even with every nerve in your body screaming at you and the feeling that your left hip simply wants to cease to exist.
"Just trying to find something that doesn't stop working after a few weeks and also not develop an opioid addiction." Ah, maybe you could make a few cute jokes that this cuter man will appreciate.
"As one does." He leans both hands on his cane and nods his head conspiratorially. You giggle, you can't help it. Maybe it's the pain-induced delirium or maybe it's because you find the man in front of you incredibly attractive. But who's to say?
"Might I make a recommendation?" His accent is lilting and thick and it feels like every word out of his mouth is wrapped in a velvetine cloth. That metaphor makes no sense, your brain thinks. Shut up, chimes your heart.
"Please. I was just about to start considering just chopping off my leg." He laughs out loud at that.
"Ah, we've all been there." His attention is pulled back to the shelves and his fingers twitch as he looks for something. He's focused, insanely so, and it makes you feel important, seen. This random stranger, looking for something that will help you with such fervor.
God, it's been a while.
He bends at the waist to grab something off of the second shelf from the bottom and you definitely don't fixate on the way his long fingers curl around a box.
"This is Arnicare. The main ingredient was only legalized here a mere decade ago, it's never failed me thus far." He hands it over to you with a smile. You take it, a little awestruck and make a sincere effort to not freak out over the fact that your fingers brush his own. They're warm, good god.
"Thank you. This is invaluable insider information." You hold the box to your chest in gratitude.
"Of course. Tiger Balm is my favorite but they don't typically sell it in-store due to popular demand. I usually, unfortunately, turn to Amazon to buy it when it's in stock." he continues, putting one hand in his pocket and leaning onto his cane. You nod, making mental notes as you go.
"You are saving my life and my sanity right now. Truly." You pause, and then, with bravery that you didn't know you had-
"I'm (name)." You stick out your right hand, so that way if he chooses to take it, it won't be with the hand using his cane. He stalls for a moment and you fear you've made a horrible fool of yourself, but then he laughs and shakes your hand gently. You can't get over how warm his hand is, skin soft save for the callouses on his palm and fingertips.
"Viktor. It is nice to meet you." His eyes crinkle as the gentle smile he wears widens.
There's a charged beat where your hands linger a moment longer than what is expected and you laugh before letting go. "Sorry, I uh…have been running on far less than the recommended amount of sleep and meals that do not classify as full meals."
"I don't think I have ever gotten the recommended hours of sleep a day in my life."
Your eyebrows shoot up, "Really?"
"Really. I think my blood is 60% espresso at this point. Such is the life of academia." He shrugs as if to say, what can you do?
You look down at the product in your hands, and then back up to him, mind racing in a thousand different directions that all leave you terrified but at the same decision.
"You know, there's a really nice late-night coffee shop in this same shopping complex. Their coffee is the only coffee I confidently drink after 4 pm. Which, is arguably not healthy but, what can you do?" You blurt out, rather impulsively. He's a little shocked, it's clear on his face, but there is still a smile there.
"Are you asking me if I'd like to accompany you to grab coffee at…9:45 pm?" He tilts his head quizzically after checking his watch.
You nod a few times, "Absolutely I am. And maybe it's the fact that my hip hurts so bad and it's prohibiting me from feeling fear but…yeah. Wanna get coffee at 9:45 pm?" He's staring at you incredulously, but it's sweet and amused.
He laughs again, and it's a low, rumbling sound, "I was already planning on getting some kind of caffeine. Sure. I would love to." He's looking at you so intensely, almost like he's studying you. Self-consciousness washes over you suddenly as you realize you've sort of completely derailed whatever he'd been doing.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your shopping or your night…"
He shakes his head as if it were impossible to interrupt, "Interrupt my night? My night full of no plans other than grading papers until my eyes bleed? Alone and without the company of a pretty girl? Ah yes, how dare you come between me and those plans." his tone is playful, sarcastic and the nervousness fades from you as quickly as it came. Your eyes narrow.
"Oh, so he thinks I'm pretty?" You grab your purse from off the ground and start to move backward toward the register, and he follows, adjusting his cane and bag sheepishly.
"He does."
"Good because she thinks he's pretty too." You venture quickly before your brain can catch up with your mouth. It only takes a second for him to catch up with you, strolling through the aisles of a near-desolate Walgreens.
"Lucky him."
The cashier at the counter looks as though they'll fall asleep as they bag your items: the Arnicare and a bottle of dark green nail polish. "I swear I'm not typically this impulsive." You call over your shoulder as the cashier hands you your receipt and you stuff your things into your purse. Viktor walks up and puts his items on the counter - allergy medication and a pack of multicolored pens, presumably for grading - and turns to you while fishing out his wallet.
"Somehow, I highly doubt that." He pauses, thinking over his next words, "Not that being impulsive is a bad thing. I could stand to be more impulsive." It's an apology where there doesn't need to be one.
You shrug, "No offense taken, because you're right. I was just trying to save face."
"Why?"
"Well…" Why were you trying to save face? "I feel, maybe a professor wouldn't be so inclined to hang out with someone so uninhibited? Some people call me childish." As he takes the small bag from the cashier, you find his eyes again, and they are full of mirth.
"Firstly, not a professor. I'm a PhD student at the University not far from here. We, as TA's, usually get saddled with grading assignments and papers." He walks forward with you, letting you walk through the automated doors first, probably also so you can lead the way to the coffee shop.
"Secondly, I disagree. Impulsivity does not automatically equate to childishness. Some people say impulsive, I say driven, or passionate. Spontaneity is life." You stare at him unabashedly as you walk. This man, Viktor, waxing poetic about the benefits of impulsivity on your behalf. He's smart, obviously, but not in a haughty I'm Better Than You way. It's refreshing. And while you may not be a traditional academic, you understand to some level.
The cold bites at your skin, and you regret your decision to forgo a jacket, so you shiver when you tell him, "You're incredibly good at making me feel better about myself. I bet your students love you." He laughs at that - you're noticing that you seem to be quite good at making him laugh - and shakes his head disapprovingly
Then, guilty, "Not when I'm assigning pop quizzes after returning from winter break and calling them out for using AI."
"Ok the AI thing I completely understand, but assigning a pop quiz after a break is just cold on so many levels." College wasn't that cruel to you, but there had been many a quiz that you bombed simply because you hadn't been prepared for them. One or two that immediately followed a break.
The coffee shop comes up quickly and you move to open the door, but he's faster, shifting his bag to his elbow and grabbing the door for you as he quips, "Ah, so I see you would've been one of the students who failed that quiz." He's teasing you, and it's working.
"I can neither confirm nor deny. Although don't look at my freshman year grades. They force the art kids to take two semesters of stats and…it was just a fucking torpedo into my GPA."
"Fair enough." His laugh is starting to become one of your favorite sounds.
The warmth of the dimly lit shop is nice, especially after just being out in the cold. It seeps into your bones and mercifully leeches out some of the pain in your hip.
The shop is small, quaint, and its setup reminds you of a library. Secluded booths and tables with individual lamps on them, bookshelves lining the walls, and everything made out of dark wood. Viktor looks around in awe for a moment, then, "How have I never stumbled onto this place before?"
You mentally pat yourself on the back. It had been a few years ago that you'd found this place. After a bit of an insane night out cut short by a friend getting you kicked out of the bar, you frantically searched for food places open late. This place immediately popped up leading you and your friends to feast on pastries and sandwiches washed down by the most delicious coffee you'd ever had.
"I was just lucky. When you're drunk and hungry, you can find anything." You walk towards the back of the shop, picking out a booth in the corner, "Is this ok?"
Viktor nods, hanging his cane off the table and shrugging out of his jacket. There is a moment where you feel you might keel over right there, but it is through sheer power of will that you remain standing, because holy hell this man is attractive. He's wearing a three-quarter sleeve black turtleneck that clings to his body in a way that's not loose, nor is it skin-tight. You can see the barest hint of something underneath, perhaps a back brace to help with stability. Sitting down in the booth, you try to avert your eyes to no avail, as they roam over the dark brown slacks sitting high on his waist. It's a miracle you're not drooling. Staring down at the red, long sleeve sweater you'd paired with a deep brown skirt, you can't help but think we match.
He sits down slowly, and you recognize the strategy to minimize pain, then folds his hands in front of him. "So, freshman year statistics? I believe you called it a 'fucking torpedo'?"
"Of course you picked up on that."
"Well, you were rather emphatic about it." The smugness is radiating off of him in waves and it stokes the fire in your gut.
Huffing, "Not everyone can be a whiz at math and science. I mean, what are you getting your PhD in?"
It looks like he's biting back a shit eating grin, "Biomedical engineering."
"Oh fuck off."
He releases the hold over the grin he was hiding and you're blinded by it. It absolutely makes sense, in retrospect. His analytical gaze, as if taking things apart in his mind and putting them back together, even just the way he talks speaks, so sure and confident. Your mouth opens to say something but a waitress decides that moment is prime opportunity to get your drink orders.
Viktor orders a Turkish coffee and you order a french vanilla iced latte with cinnamon. As the waitress leaves, he wrinkles his nose.
"You call that coffee? It is just sugar. And iced? It's freezing out."
"Oh so first you critique my grade in stats, and now you attack my coffee order? You hate me and want me dead." Your arms fold in front of your chest as you stare at him in mock challenge. His hands shift to rest on his biceps, fingers spreading over the evidently lean muscle there and you fight to keep your breathing steady.
"I retract my statement, I bare you no ill will."
"Yeah you better, me and my sugar coffee will beat the shit out of your boiled coffee grounds." Now it's his turn to raise his eyebrows.
"You mock my drink, a traditional drink from my home country? Now you hate me and want me dead."
A warmth pours over your cheeks and you feel it heat the tips of your ears, all the way down to your shoulders. Something flashes in his gaze that tells you he definitely noticed.
"Touche." It's only a minute more before the waitress returns with your orders, said minute filled with meaningful glances and sitting adjustments on your part, your hip still aches slightly, but it's easier to ignore at this point.
You're mid sip when he fixes you with a stare, hands wrapped around his own drink, and asks, "So I can rule out anything to do with statistics, but what do you do, miss (name)? I believe you referred to yourself as an 'art kid'?"
Ah, the tricky part of explaining what you do to an academic. Not to say you weren't an academic yourself, just…a very different flavor of it.
"Yeah. In college I dual majored in Psychology and Theatre Arts. So I feel like I play both sides of the court, despite how many of the other scientists refuse to recognize psychology as a science." You spit the word as if it were a dagger, still holding a vendetta against your 11th grade physics teacher who called it a pseudo science.
"But my real love is Theatre. Whether it be Musicals or Shakespeare, it's my passion. I dialect coach on the side to make extra money, but mostly I love performing." There it was, out in the open. Would he call you foolish? Tell you to get a real career? Get up and leave? Probably not, but anxiety can lead you to places you wouldn't dare venture with a gun.
Pensive, he sits, staring at you with renewed interest, "Your impulsivity must suit you well in that career path, always having to think on ones feet and remain immersed in the moment." You instantly smile again.
"Exactly! There have been so many times when people have forgotten their lines and I've had to come up with something on the fly. It's…exhilarating." There's a certain sparkle that lights up your face whenever you talk about theatre, it's your passion, you can't help it. You only hope it translates.
"I know it must seem silly, pursuing the arts. Hell you're probably going to go on to change the world in a field like 'biomedical engineering'." You muse, leaning your cheek into your hand as you meet his eyes. It flatters him, you can tell, as he shifts in his seat, puffing his chest out slightly in pride.
"While I thank you for your vote of enthusiasm, I do not find it silly to pursue the arts at all."
"You don't?"
"No. I find it inspiring that you are pursuing your dream. I am pursuing mine. We should all chase after what interests us." His eyes are thoughtful, kind, and you want to swim in them forever.
A beat, then, "A lot of people have called me stupid. But I can't see myself doing anything else. I know it's cheesy to say, but it feels fated. Like, I'm supposed to be doing this. It's what my atoms traveled billions of years to do." Staring into your cup, you're hit with the intensity of this confession. It's not something you tell to most people.
"And…" he clears his throat, "I think it is the most admirable thing one can do, to follow what you believe your destiny to be." Good god you like this man, you like Viktor. Not just as an infatuation or a crush, you want to get to know him.
"Thank you Viktor." Another sip of your drink and the sugar spurs you onwards, "Do you happen to like theatre? I'm sure an English lit class somewhere forced you to read at least on Shakespeare play. They did always seem to make the STEM kids suffer through classic literature as some sort of revenge for putting us art kids through math." His gaze fixes you to your spot and you find that even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to pull away from it. It's hypnotizing and has you pinned with the sheer intensity of it. You were learning that above all else, Viktor had a quiet intensity to him.
"I have read my fair share of Shakespeare as well as a few greek plays, but I admit, I read them mostly from an analytical standpoint, and not for mere enjoyment or to marvel in the artistry. My favorite would probably have to be Macbeth, though." He takes another sip of his coffee that still has steam curling off the top of it.
You nod approvingly, "A splendid choice. Your aesthetic certainly fits the more tragic, macabre, dramatic plays. Though I could see you enjoying Much Ado About Nothing."
"I…thank you?" Eyebrows pinched in confusion, he laughs.
"No, no it's a compliment! You just have a very…dark acedmia, gothic vibe to you. it…it tracks."
He leans back in his seat, "Gothic?"
"Yeah. it's incredibly attractive don't worry."
Wait-
"Incredibly attractive you say?" And he's sipping on his coffee again, watching as that all too familiar flush spreads over your skin again. Damn your mouth.
"You…I…hell-" You sip your coffee in an effort to keep yourself quiet. He's making you bolder, making you feel comfortable, loosening your tongue, beckoning you into the sea like a siren and you're not sure if you'll be able to tread water.
"Hey," his voice is soft, coaxing, "for what it is worth, I too find you incredibly attractive. I'm sorry, I did not mean to make you so flustered." The sincerity in his voice has you reeling. Placing your coffee down, you rubs at your cheeks with your hands.
"Somehow, I find it hard to believe you're that sorry when you seem so pleased with yourself watching me flush." You accuse, somewhat parroting what he said about you denying your impulsivity. Now it's his turn to flush, his pale cheeks turning rosey at having being caught.
A comfortable silence washes over the both of you momentarily as you sit with the confessions that have just been made. Well…it's nice to know that the attraction is mutual. Both of your coffee's were near finished by this point, and there was a part of you that regretted how fast you drank it.
"How is your leg?" He breaks the silence after the waitress returns to take away your empty glasses. You roll your hips slightly, testing the tension in your hip and how far the pain radiates.
"Mm, better. Could be worse, it's starting to ebb finally, but I'm still planning on slathering that Arnicare you recommended all over my leg and laying in my bed until the pain finally goes away." You conclude, hoping to God that the Arnicare works as well as he's hyping it up. "Maybe go crazy and light a lavender candle."
He's digging something out of his bag as he responds, "I'm glad it is feeling slightly better. I fully endorse the Arnicare, it has helped me immensely over the years and I trust it will help you too." The waitress returns to drop off the check and it's too late that you realize Viktor had been looking for his wallet as he places money in the little booklet and hands it back to her with a soft, "Keep the change."
You stare at him in mock offense.
"What?"
"Don't what me, you didn't even let me attempt-"
"There was no universe in which I was going to let you pay, so why even entertain it?"
"Let me pay? You are evil." But you're smiling as you slide out of the booth.
"Maybe so." Is all he says as he stands up, readjusting his shirt and grabbing for his coat. Checking your watch, you realize it's 10:45 and you've spent nearly an hour with this man, and yet it feels as though it's only been minutes. Bidding goodnight to the workers, you bothexit the shop and are hit with a blast of cold air.
"Why are you…you did not bring a jacket?" Viktor stares at you as if you've grown another head. "Are you…it is below freezing out!"
You pause, and breathe in the crisp cold air, "I like the cold, it's not so bad, I promise I'm ok." But he's already moving to grab the scarf from around his neck and balance his cane on his arm.
"Viktor-"
"Shush." Your mouth shuts and you let him wind the red scarf around your neck. It smells like him, woody and warm and you know you'll be breathing it in later.
"Bláznivá žena." He murmurs in what you can only assume is his mother tongue.
"Well that didn't sound very nice." His hands still on the edges of the scarf as he finishes securing it. Whatever he was about to say dies on his lips as he stares down at you. Despite the freezing air swirling around you, everything suddenly feels warm. And you know how cliche it sounds, but truly, it feels as though the world melts away and you are stuck in this little circle of warmth.
He looks from your eyes to your lips, "Can I-"
"Absolutely." You answer far too quickly. He laughs again, and its lighter than the others, as if a weight has been taken off of his chest and the laugh had been filled with air, just waiting to escape.
He wastes no time in bringing his hands up to your wind bitten cheeks and pulling your lips to his. They're slightly chapped, but warm and sure and soft as he kisses you. Your breath is gone and you realize every cheesy thing you've ever read about kisses is true. It is all encompassing and earth-shattering. If you knew anything about physics you would say that it feels like atoms colliding.
Seconds, minutes, hours, you don't know how long it is before you finally detach. You leave your eyes closed for a few seconds more, basking in the feeling.
"Wow." It's barely a whisper when you finally speak, opening your eyes to find him staring down at you, smiling unabashedly.
"My thoughts, exactly." His hands slips down your shoulders before one of them finds your hand, the other taking his cane as he leads you back to the parking lot. It's nice, just walking hand in hand with him to your cars.
"This is me." You murmur sadly as you come upon your car, parked in the handicapped parking spot. He stops and looks at you in disbelief, and you furrow your brows in confusion. His hand detaches from yours, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his car keys, clicking the unlock button. The car parked directly next to your beeps and unlocks. You'd parked right next to one another and you absolutely lose it, doubling over in laughter.
"Oh my god that is crazy."
"Well, given the fact that we both have handicapped stickers-"
"Nope, shush, let me have this." You turn back to him after catching your breath and hold out your hand, "Let me see your phone."
He obliges, even unlocking it for you before dropping it into your waiting hand. With half numb fingers, you input your phone number and contact info before returning it to him.
"To let you know how well your recommendation works." You smile as you head toward your drivers side door, unlocking it and sliding into the seat so quickly, you leave Viktor stunned. He shakes his head in mock annoyance and walks over to your window, tapping on it until you roll it down.
"Yes?" But he's leaning in and kissing you again, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. When he pulls away, you're left just as stunned as he was.
"Nothing, just wanted to say Goodnight." He walks off, gets into his own car, right next to you, and drives off, all while you're sitting in your car, window still down, and processing what just happened as the cold blasts you.
Wordlessly, you roll up your window and smile uncontrollably.
For the first time in your life, you are thankful for your chronic pain.
244 notes · View notes
alg3a · 12 hours ago
Text
muffins
viktor x f! reader
3.8k, MDNI, no use of (y/n)
description: Viktor had been so kind as to agree to help you out with your midterm prep, so you thought baking him muffins would be a great way to repay him. However, an accidental secret ingredient gets in the way of studying.
warnings: Age gap, roomie smut, more story than smut, p in v, sex pollen/serum (with pretty explicit consent), overall jolly good fun, no harm no foul, yippee!
a/n: inspired by @the-hidden-pages story, Human Testing because it’s one of the first viktor x reader fics i ever read and i STRONGLY recommend!
Tumblr media
Any student should feel lucky to have the smartest men at the academy as your roommates. Being an undergraduate biochem student who had to work to pay her own tuition, going to lecture wasn’t always an option. That’s when you’d bake a tray of brownies or do some extra dishes and call in a favor from one of your roomies.
It happened all the time, which made you incredibly thankful to have one people-pleaser in the apartment. Jayce was always willing to put aside whatever he was doing and help you out on your Arcane Studies homework or your Bioengineering project. Last semester, finals week consisted of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on the rug of the living room, paper scattered all over the floor as you tried to decipher the grading scale of your Organic Chemistry class to see what the lowest grade on the test you could get was and still wind up with a passing grade (something Jayce had done plenty of times in his undergrad years).
Viktor, on the other hand, had gotten somewhat tired of your constant requests for him to backtrack and dive into knowledge he hadn’t tapped for years now. He was never particularly rude about it, but you were very perceptive. When you asked him to repeat an explanation once or twice, you noticed the growing exhaustion on his face that bordered frustration and you stopped asking for his help going forward. It wasn’t to his own fault, you could be pretty needy sometimes, so more often than not, you just asked Jayce.
Only, Jayce was out of town for a Hextech press conference this weekend, the weekend before you had your Arcane Studies midterm. In a heartbreaking display, he had apologized profusely for not being able to help, inches away from getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness. You assured him none of that was necessary, and that you’d just stay up studying in the library or even reach out to your TA (who you’d never even spoken to before in class or outside of it, and who you were certain would be less helpful than Jayce).
To remedy your situation–even though you pinkie promised him you didn’t need him to–he took it upon himself to ask Viktor to help you cram study on Sunday night, the night before your midterm. While Jayce asked, you did your best to listen from your bedroom, the next room over. You heard some grumbling from Viktor and a muffled, yet compelling “She’s our roommate and she bakes us nice things” from Jayce.
Apparently that last bit must have been very rousing, because shortly after, Jayce was at your door telling you that Viktor agreed to a maximum of three hours of cramming that would begin no earlier than eight at night.
You worked for all of Saturday’s daylight hours, and then finalized your experimental serum for your Advanced Biochemistry project. For the biochem class, you’d been studying methods of enhancing senses for the first half of the quarter and your midterm project involved making a serum that could temporarily improve the performance of one human sense. Around three weeks ago, you and your classmates drew topics from a hat and your fingers emerged with “arousal” on a piece of paper. Needless to say, you were concerned. You thought the serum project would be fairly straightforward, and had already brainstormed ideas for vision enhancing serums or hearing aid serums, but arousal? You had to think out of the box for that one.
When you finished up your last touches to the serum, you were left with enough time at night to get ingredients to bake Viktor some muffins as a sign of your gratitude. You got enough stuff for twice as much as you would’ve made for Jayce and actually stuck to the recipe this time. Keeping Viktor happy was a very delicate ecosystem and there could be no tampering.
It wasn’t that he was a grump or even that he hated you, he was just too busy to want to help and too intelligent to want to backtrack. Once he had even looked at what you were studying and said, “I’d have to go too far back to help you.” That was inspiring.
You poured the contents of your tote bag on the counter.
On your better days, you and Viktor actually got along quite well. Those were the rare days when Viktor got more than three hours of sleep and ate a full meal before two pm. In his best conditions, the two of you were good friends.
The best days were when he and Jayce both come home early enough for you to make them a home cooked meal. Then you’d all curl up on the couch and watch a movie. The last time that happened, Jayce picked some superhero movie you’d never heard of and you and Viktor both fell asleep. You woke up the next morning asleep on Viktor’s chest with four blankets piled on top of you both. Jayce said he knew both of you ran cold, so he took the blankets from your beds. You and Viktor never talked about that night.
The exhaustion of your stressful Saturday had leaked into your studying Sunday, and in a tired stupor, you whisked together all the ingredients for the muffins and poured them haphazardly into the mold. They might not look pretty, but at least they’d taste good.
You pulled the freshly baked muffins from the oven and rested them on the stovetop. The sweet aroma of warm blueberry filled the apartment. It must have roused Viktor from whatever he was working on in his room, because he emerged a full quarter of an hour earlier than your agreed upon study time.
“Hey,” you said. “I made you some muffins as a thank you. They’re still hot, though, I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes.”
“That’s fine,” he said, setting himself at the kitchen table and sipping from a cup of coffee that had been there since Jayce was still in town. “Would you like to begin now?”
You grab all your study guides and homework assignments and your assortment of chicken scratch notes and slide them over to him on the table.
“Are your midterms cumulative?” He asked, finishing the remnants of his cold coffee.
“No,” you answered. Thank God. If you had to remember everything that was in the last midterm you’d be losing your mind right about now. “Everything past Arcane History will be on the test.”
“Mm. I see.”
He scans your notes for another five minutes.
“I’ll quiz you,” he decided, standing up to check on the temperature of the cooling muffins on the stovetop.
“Uh, okay.” You didn’t typically study by being quizzed, especially when you hardly went to lecture and didn’t even know most of the material. But you didn’t want to risk arguing with Viktor and have him decide to take his muffin to-go.
“Tell me why the Arcane can manifest in such unpredictable manners?”
“Because…” you started to think that maybe going to your TA wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Your TA was just a random graduate student. The roommate that was helping you study now was one of the inventors of Hextech, the researcher responsible for some of the greatest advancements in Piltover’s modern understanding of the Arcane. “...it reflects the intentions of the user.”
“Correct,” he says, affording you a rare Viktor smile. “Would you like a muffin?”
You had intended for the muffins to be entirely Viktor’s, but you hadn’t eaten all day and gods, they smelled good. Plus, it was like a reward for getting an answer right.
“Sure, thanks.”
You watch as Viktor plucks two muffins from the tin and comes back to seat himself at the table. He hands one to you and sorts through the papers you’ve scattered on the desk as he brings a small chunk to his mouth. You do the same.
Something tastes slightly off, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. It’s possible the ratio is off, and in your tired state you added too little vanilla extract or too much vegetable oil. Regardless, they’re not bad at all.
“Your notes are a little bit difficult to–” Viktor stops before finishing his sentence. He pulls out a sheet of paper from the pile and reads it, his eyes widening a bit as he does.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“These notes are from your biochem class,” he says, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for just a few seconds over the piece of paper. “This is an interesting assignment…”
“Oh,” you feel your cheeks growing hot. “Sorry, that’s not supposed to be in there.”
You reach out to take the paper from him, but he pulls it back as you do. He’s still reading it. You’d really like him to stop reading about your own aphrodisiac serum, but your embarrassment is a bit unwarranted. After all, you didn’t make the serum because you wanted it, you made it because it was a graded assignment. Nothing more. So what if you did eventually garner interest in the topic. So much interest, in fact, that you did extensive research into the properties your serum could afford and spent long hours in your lab experimenting with it. Shamefully, yes, you had tried some of it. Mainly to test its efficiency but also out of plain curiosity. You had determined that it was safe, most importantly, but you’d also learned that it tasted horrible. To counter that, you’d added some–
“Oh fuck!” You shout as you scoot your chair so far back so quickly that it topples over. You stumble over your bag on the floor as you sprint to the kitchen.
“Is something wrong?” Viktor asks from his seated position.
“Don’t eat the muffin!” You exclaim as you run to the counter space next to the stove, your heart pounding.
You confirm your worst fear. The bottle of vanilla extract you picked up from the supermarket sits on the counter, the protective seal still intact. Your arousal serum, however, is halfway empty a few inches beside the extract.
You turn around slowly to face Viktor.
“It’s a bit late for that,” Viktor says, holding up the half of his muffin that remains. “Did something happen?”
You eye your own muffin on the table, half eaten as well.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you scrambled back toward the table where Viktor sat, the serum held tight by your hand. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”
“No,” Viktor says, eyeing you like you’re crazy.
Come on, just get it out already. You have to tell him, it would be morally bankrupt not to.
“I accidentally drugged you.”
Okay, maybe not like that.
Viktor just stared at you, his expression unchanged. You sort of just wished he would yell at you so that you could get the encounter over with, but no such luck. He just sat, unphased, until he picked up the notes he was looking at earlier.
“With this?” He asks. Even his voice is still even. You knew that if the roles had been reversed you would be fracking out, absolutely bouncing off the walls.
“Yes, but don’t worry I’ve done lots of research on this serum,” you say, taking the notes from Viktor and looking them over. You read the list two or three times, scanning for any sort of antidote for ingestion. You saw none. “How could I have not included an antidote?” You mutter, mentally beating yourself up.
“It’s okay,” Viktor said and you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up at him from your notes. “It is safe, yes? It won’t kill us?”
“No, it won’t, but it’s a powerful aphrodisiac and I added half the serum to those muffins. If my math is right, you’re taking three times the recommended dosage.”
“But I only ate half the muffin,” Viktor counters. Again, you’re shocked by how unphased he is.
“Okay, then one and a half times the dosage,” you shrug off his comment as you look for anything in your notes that might reveal a way to undo this mess.
“I assume this means you no longer wish to study?” Viktor says.
“How are you so calm about this?” You finally burst out, slamming the paper down on the table to look at him.
Big mistake.
Once you see him, you become lightheaded and your knees buckle beneath you. You have to sit down to stop yourself from falling over.
“Are you alright?” Viktor asks.
“I-I’m fine,” you shake your head in an attempt to get some blood flowing to your brain. No luck.
“Since you’re obviously worked up about this, why don’t you tell me how it works and then we can go from there.”
“It’s a fast acting stimulant,” you say, burying your face in your hands. “The chemistry is irrelevant since I have no goddamn cure for it, but it works the same as any other aphrodisiac. It makes you susceptible to arousal and heightens it by three times at a normal dosage, and in our case… nearly five times.”
“Intriguing,” he says, eyeing the muffin that lays neglected on the table. “Such a strange class project. Aren’t there moral quandaries to be had for such a substance?”
“Yes of course there are, which is why I made it so that it only takes effect if there’s already a degree of attraction in place–”
You shouldn’t have said anything. Especially not when you’re so clearly affected by it in the presence of Viktor. Way to sell yourself out.
“So you’re saying…”
You groan out in frustration, but once you look at Viktor you’re reminded of why you had your face buried in your hands. Somehow every feature of his seems five times more beautiful than you normally regarded them. His perfectly angular nose, his narrowed amber eyes, his messy hair which fell in ways you could never recreate on paper…
“I have a feeling you know exactly what I’m saying.” You squeezed your eyes shut. If you couldn’t see him, he couldn’t torture you.
Or so you thought.
A tantalizing graze of his hand on yours shot shivers down your spine. You pulled away so fast that a few of the papers on the desk shifted from the shear force of the wind.
“Don’t do that,” you seethed, sucked your teeth as you pressed your eyes shut so hard that you saw stars.
“Because…it affects you?” His voice was raspy and slow, or maybe that’s just what the serum was making you hear. Every bit of what he was doing seemed five times as attractive as it would normally be.
You’d done such a good job at hiding your feelings for Viktor for almost a year now. Being roommates with someone you found incredibly attractive was no easy task. And now all of your efforts were thrown out the window because of a stupid baking mishap.
“You’re being cruel,” you furrow your eyebrows as you speak, your voice coming out whinier than you would’ve liked.
“I’m sorry,” he stifles a laugh. “Would you open your eyes?”
“I can’t,” you groan, shoving your hands against your face again. “It’s best if I just go to my room and wait it out. Thank you for trying to study with me but I’m just gonna have to accept a shitty grade tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and pulling them down from your face so that you had to look at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken biochemistry, and I certainly haven’t studied aphrodisiacs, but the effects should go away after the serum is put to use, correct?”
You thought back to your experimentation phase. All the nights you spent alone in your lab trying out the efficacy of the serum resulted in the effects dissipating once climax was reached. It had certainly been the least orthodox experimentation phase you’d ever undergone.
“Yes, that’s correct,” you say reluctantly. It takes every ounce of strength you have not to let your eyes explore Viktor’s face, then his long, narrow neck protruding his sweater, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a deep breath, then the sharp clavicle poking from–
Get yourself together.
“If you’re willing to retake the class–a class you should easily pass, given your access to the two most prevalent scientists in the field–then by all means, go to your room.” Viktor pulls his hands away from you, then picks up the muffin, peeling off the paper from the bottom. He picks off a piece and drops it onto his tongue.
“What are you doing? You’re just going to make it worse!”
He smirks at you, then sets the muffin back down. “It’s a very good muffin. You’re an excellent baker.”
Fuck.
“You’re playing with me,” you shake your head in disbelief.
“No, dearest, I am not playing with you,” he says, standing up from his chair, then moving toward you tantalizingly slow. He takes a seat on the table in front of you, then crosses his hands on his lap. “You’re smart enough to recognize the alternative I am offering to you.”
Your heart stops. You look at his half eaten muffin, although more than half is gone now with the addition of that last bite.
“You…” The idea is almost impossible for you to grasp, let alone put into words. “You want to expedite the process?”
“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Viktor laughs. He reaches for a strand of your distressed hair and pushes it behind your ear.
“But you’re not even attracted to me!”
“What makes you think that?” Viktor says, retracting his hand, only to place it over yours on the desk.
“Because if you were, you’d be much more affected right now. I mean, look at me!” You gesture to yourself with your free hand. “I’m a mess! I’m on the brink of breaking out in a sweat and my hands are clammy and you’re just sitting there!”
Viktor laughs to himself as if he’s in on some kind of inside joke that you know nothing about.
“I’ve had lots of practice in concealing my excitement around you,” he finally says, slowly, seductively, the words dripping from his chin as his cold eyes bore into you.
“What?”
You know what he said. In fact, you understand it perfectly, but you can’t be sure it actually came from his mouth because it seems so perfectly unreal. So dream-like, so idealistic, so fantastical.
“You’ve done a good enough job at hiding your attraction, too,” Viktor says. “I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for tonight’s incident. Which is exactly why I’ve felt the need to hide my own.”
“You’ve liked me?”
You still can’t wrap your head around the idea.
“I’ve admired you,” he smiles, rubbing circles on the back of your hand, reminding you just how potent your little sex serum really is.
In fact, it’s so powerful that you hardly have to put any thought into leaping up from your chair and pushing your lips against his. Before you can third guess his affection, his hands are interlaced with your hair, pushing you deeper into his lips as his tongue begs to be let into your needy mouth.
Now it was clear to see how much the serum had actually affected him. In mere seconds, his hands grabbed at your thighs and pulled you up onto the table to straddle him with strength you didn’t even know he possessed. His breathy little moans sent you further into madness and you yanked his sweater off of his head, forcing your mouth off of his for just a few seconds, but once that sweater was off, your lips clung together like magnets.
Deft fingers unbuttoned your long sleeve shirt and he pulled it off your arms so quickly that you worried for a second that he might have ripped it. But you didn't care. You couldn’t possibly be concerned with a silly shirt when Viktor was beneath you on the kitchen table like a meal.
The serum didn’t exactly allow either of your minds to comprehend much foreplay. You fiddled with Viktor’s belt and he pushed your skirt up to your waist. Once both of you were exposed, he didn’t waste any time positioning you above his cock.
“So wet for me,” Viktor whined against your bare chest. “Is that the serum’s doing or is it mine?”
“Yours,” you whimper as Viktor slides his tip beneath your folds. “If it were anyone else in the room with me when I took the serum, I’d be unaffected.”
“I’m flattered,” he smiles cruelly as he thrusts up into you.
“Oh fuck,” you whine as your rest your heavy head on Viktor’s shoulder.
He brings his hands to your waist and guides you up and down as his hips meet your core in long, languid thrusts. The serum sets every single nerve on fire, making it seem as if each of his thrusts has the impact of twenty.
You moan muffled strangulations of his name into his neck, which only urges him to persist with his cruel thrusts. The sound of your cunt being abused fills the kitchen and you’re wildly thankful that Jayce is out of town.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Viktor pants. “You have no idea.”
You really did have no idea. He hid it so well. You silently thanked whatever force had caused you to accidentally throw the serum into the muffin mix.
“So have I,” you whined against his skin. “Fuck…don’t stop…”
Each thrust is punctuated by the creaks of the sturdy kitchen table below you. His motions become quicker, shakier, and more intense and you can tell he’s reaching the end along with you. Your legs begin to shake and you feel that familiar tickling sensation in your core that the serum does a beautiful job at emulating.
“Viktor, I’m close, I’m so fucking close,” you moan as you lift your head from the crook of his neck. You bring your lips to his and he delivers his final thrusts. As he fills you, your moans echo on each other’s lips, a feeling you never thought you’d experience with your own brilliant roommate.
Your breathing steadies and Viktor wraps his arms around you, bringing you close to him as he tries to collect himself as well.
“You…” Viktor pants, “are forbidden from using that kitchen ever again.”
You laugh as you bring yourself off of him, pressing a kiss to his lips as you collect yourself. “That sounds fair to me.”
244 notes · View notes
thedeskofaltoclef · 24 hours ago
Text
How I became The Desk of Alto Clef.
My response to a SCP Group designed around Hate and Bigotry who have targeted me and others in this community.
Tumblr media
Nah, man, my daughter is dead.
It has been brought to my attention that there is a group of people on the internet who are fascinated with my fascination of Alto Clef and Meri. Hurtful and yet cute in a way so I think now I'll choose this time and these screen grabs from their discord to explain how I came to be 'The Desk of Alto Clef'.
My Daughter died six years ago and it sent me spiraling deep into the bottom of whatever bottle I could find.
I was completely prepared to take my own life and even had the things to 'finish the job' because my life had no meaning at that point. What was another statistic going to matter anyways, right?
It was in one of these dark, drunk moments with a gun when I fell across the Volgun's video on 'reality benders and you' and fell into a rabbit hole.
Drunkenly I fumbled around the wiki and learned more about this broken man known as Alto Clef.
A man whom I could relate to in my own way. A man who, no matter what he did, could never see his daughter as I will never be able to see mine. So thus, I became a very, very shitty cosplayer.
I like to believe that over the past four years my acting ability has increased to a sustainable level and as much as I joke about things I do try to stay humble about it. Though I like to think I've become better but I digress.
Tumblr media
I love the lore of Clef and Meri, on or offsite, to the point that I am weird about it I know, but that's how I stay connected to my daughter. Writing the Deskverse is how I stay connected to my daughter.
I am also autistic which causes me to hyper fixate on Clef as a coping mechanism.
Tumblr media
Because of this group of people I have greatly considered leaving the community and going back to my own personal solitude. Acting, Voice Acting, Cosplaying as Clef gave and still gives me something to live for again. I may not be this group's cup of tea but I do like to believe that I have helped others. My main goal has always been to uplift those who need uplifting. I do not want anyone to ever feel how I felt in my lowest and darkest moments.
The main story in the deskverse is about a father and a daughter torn apart by the actions of an abusive mother. My real life story.
I also have ZERO clue as to why I am being involved with misogyny or yuri things. If I have offended you in any way I do apologize.
Tumblr media
I do not plan on posting the more 'suggestive' or 'lewd' responses they have made. Overly sexualized content does make me extremely uncomfortable.
This group of people have broken my heart into pieces. Seeing this list of images and names dragging me through the mud has already smashed my unstable self-esteem as it is.
At this time I do not plan on releasing any names associated with all of this because I am honestly tired of reliving the most horrid event of my life over and over because I, for whatever reason, do not fit what this group feels is acceptable of an actor/writer/fan.
I cannot say the same for the others in which they were assaulting.
In summary Alto Clef is an outlet for the pain I live with every day. I can never see, hold, hear, smell, or speak to my daughter. I have scars on my body from her mother that will never allow me to forget that life I had. I will always remember the taste of gunpowder but thankfully my drunk ass was too weak. If your going to be bad at something, be bad at that I suppose.
I will leave all of this with a final image from the copious list and the one that honestly hurts me the most. I am honestly a shy and reserved person and frankly it takes a lot for me to get out of my comfort zone. Not long ago I went to another SCP discord server because I wanted to meet new people and someone in there was awesome. I truly enjoyed my time with this person and just found them amazing. They were kind, open, willing to listen to my ideas, and gushed over Numberonedoggo. I thought I had finally made a new friend on my own. I was apparently wrong.
Tumblr media
Art, from some of my favorite artists, was made for the sole reason of mocking me specifically. To laugh at me for finding joy in something that gives me purpose. Something I use to drive away the darkness.
No age, disorder, illness, or reason at all can be acceptable for anyone to act in this way. You are all a mockery of everything the SCP community should stand for.
-TheDesk
161 notes · View notes
raayllum · 3 days ago
Text
They share her flying steed on the way back to the Banther Lodge, his limbs still sluggish and eyes burning. Callum knows, also, that Rayla is keeping an eye on his breathing. Kosmo had said the darkness and corruption would overwhelm him, but... maybe the spell was too small? Or maybe it would take him over slowly, but...
He rests his head against her shoulder blades and dozes as much as he dares to avoid falling off.
Eventually, they take a break near the fringes of the Moonshadow forest to make camp, and she helps him down with a steady arm braced along his back. "Careful, there," she teases, gentle and warm, but a shadow of guilt flickers in her eyes.
He holds onto her turn and lets them sink to a sitting position in the soft grass.
Soren takes one look, then peels away with an overly cheery tone, "We should go foraging! In the forest! Hey, who do you think can get the most berries?" and then herds everyone else away.
Runaan gives him a lingering look, and then follows the rest; he and Ethari will go to return to the Silvergrove soon without them.
Then Callum stares at Rayla and waits, till her lips twist and she sniffles, her voice all wobbly and small as she begins, "Callum—"
He places his hand over hers. "Thank you. For having my back in there."
She stares back at him, tears in her eyes. "How can you say that? I was going to—"
"—do what I asked you to do," he says firmly, giving her fingers—the same fingers that had drawn back the arrow that would've taken his life—a squeeze before he cups her face. He traces her indigo marking, brushing away tears as he does so. "I needed you to back me up. I needed you to trust me. To do the right thing." Even as he did the wrong thing, of sorts. "Thank you."
She lets out a sob and throws her arms around his neck; Callum holds her while she shakes and cries, some of his own tears and adrenaline seeping out of him. Fuck, he'd been so tired and so scared and so...
He can feel her heart beating through her chest. Her heart for Xadia. Him, for Xadia, and—
He holds her tighter. "We'll figure something else out, before he comes back. We have time."
Seven years and nineteen (seventeen now?) days. He'll make each one of them count.
I don't want to be separated again.
"You were willing to do what you had to do," he says softly, rubbing her back. However the corruption works, he is corrupted, and that means, when Aaravos comes back, he'll be able to... "Because that's who you are, selfless, brave, and I love you for it. I depend on you for it. And now we can figure out how to do what we want to do... To make sure you're stuck with me."
She hiccups, her tearful laugh still more of a sob, but her eyes are brighter when she pulls back to look at him and wipes away some of his own tears, her thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. "Do you promise?" she says, whatever levity she's mustered up flickering this time too.
He holds her hand and kisses her palm and fingers. With enough time, they can make anything work—finding her and him again after her return had made that clear. Seven years will have to be enough.
"Yes," he swears. "I do."
112 notes · View notes
sysig · 6 months ago
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Wake up somewhere better, maybe (Patreon)
#Doodles#SCII#Damned#Harvey Dent#ZEX#Blood#Ask to tag#Stepping back even further - I'm sure you can understand needing a little extra time on this#For multiple reasons haha#It took such a while to finish the first one and not just on an editing front! Honestly that didn't take very long at all haha#There's a frame somewhere that's bothering me - I ''animated'' that movement frame-by-frame myself so if it's a bit strange it's my eye#At least it's mostly like what I wanted! Mostly like what I saw in my head! The three overlapping and then drawing back to show the depth#It really was such a strong mental image for me - it's amazing how simultaneous things can be despite being described separately#The dog - Harvey - ZEX - all moving at their own pace! A split second can be so expanded like a slow-mo shot ah#It's honestly a very beautiful medium#Hhhh ZEX's death was very affecting to me ;; I so very much wanted him to go out the way he wanted to#Befitting his Admiral status - strong and confident and surrounded by his crew#But by that point he was so tired and ready to rest - it would have been sadder to watch him continue to barely scrape by#Not even killed by his Beauty! Just one good chomp from one big sick dog :'0#The others trying to protect him - they didn't know him just out of whatever empathy they had for their fellow!#Zero was a hero so that kind of character is easy enough haha but even Harvey! Even after ZEX made him uncomfortable with his long looks lol#He was still willing to help in whatever way he was able ;; And it still ended the same#His last word being just ''pain'' hhhwehhh ;;#It is always the saddest-saddest to me to have such an articulate and eloquent witty verbose and silly character reduced to singulars#Something so simple and still so expressive hh </3 ZEX dearest hweh#But loving also means letting go! Death was a release he needed even if it's sad#I'm a real sucker for Meet Me In The Afterlife kind of stories so I may or may not have batted that around as an idea down the line#He has plenty of loved ones that have seen the other side - even from the Institute specifically!!#It's not exactly a happy ending but it's something <3
17 notes · View notes
dredshirtroberts · 9 months ago
Text
hey. hey universe. hey fucker universe.
no one said you could bring back the Wednesday Curse, bitch. fuck off with this shit i didn't need any of this first thing today.
#the Wednesday Curse is related to a span of about... almost 10 years of every single wednesday having something major go wrong#''major'' is a strong word but it would always feel big and afterwards would be when i would notice it was wednesday#it was a lot and i got very tired of it very quickly but it eventually stopped and i stopped noticing wednesdays#because they stopped being bad every single week#i would wake up on a wednesday bracing for whatever terrible news i would learn or whatever horrible thing would happen inevitably#and i stopped having to do that#my dreams lately have been absolutely horrific and last nights/this mornings was.... worse than usual in a way i wasn't anticipating that's#made me very very worried about a dear friend i can't easily reach out to and i'm doing my best at waiting patiently for a response#but it's hard and then the tire on the car exploded *again* so we're scrambling to figure out how to fix that and we've got a plan#and at least 3 butches on the job and it's going to be okay in the end but i have extreme car anxiety and tires going out is one of the mai#triggers for that and i'm just#i'm also still dealing with the tail end (hopefully) of an upper respiratory infection which makes all the crying i keep doing difficult#because i keep needing to hack my lungs out because breathing sucks rn even though i've had all my meds for it#and i'm just... it's just... anyway#i'm having a rough morning#but i am surrounded by people who are very lovely and care a lot and are willing and able to help with whatever they can#and that's helped a lot and it's just... i know i gotta wait patiently for resolution on things and i'm gonna do my best#to calm myself down and try to be less anxious but i'm only able to do that because of the love that surrounds me and it's a lot#it's all a lot and idk man#the spectre of my dad is doing his best to ruin it but he doesn't exist here in this space it's just a bad memory and no one is at fault
1 note · View note
hamsternella · 5 months ago
Note
PLEEEEASE a nsfw alphabet for Stanford??🥺
SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG
Stanford Pines NSFW Alphabet
Tumblr media
A= Aftercare (what they're like after sex)
Despite the tiredness and embarrassment once the heat of the moment wears off, Ford goes to great lengths to wrap you in his arms and hold you tight against his chest, where you can hear his heartbeat. He likes to let you know how well you did, and how much he loves you. Caresses and kisses, as well as laughter and sweet whispers until falling asleep are never lacking.
B= Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Ford would always say his brain. He is a cool, methodical person who almost always finds a way to achieve great results. Thinking and ingenuity are like breathing to him. But of course in this case that's not the answer; considering that the last thing he can use is his brain when he has you in front of him. It is as if only his heart exists, beating wildly at the sight of the most beautiful and inexplicable thing he has been able to witness in his entire existence: you.
That being the case, he can't find any other part of himself that he likes enough. Maybe his hands, because he knows how much you love it when he touches you. And if it's you, it would be everything—Ford is unable to pick just one part of your body. If he had to, maybe it would be your waist; because he loves to grab you with both hands from that spot to keep you still, under or on top of him, and at whatever pace he can best get those sweet sounds out of you that fascinate him so much.
C= Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
He cums a lot and hard. Preferably inside you or on your face; sometimes pushing a little with his fingers to fill your mouth with his cum. He loves it when you clean his hand with your tongue.
D= Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Ford would never tell you—there's a reason it's a secret. But do you still remember those times when you couldn't find your underwear, and suspiciously it was during the weekdays when Ford took care of the laundry, and oddly enough he took all the time in the world to iron and put the laundry away...? Yeah, well. I think you know what I mean. Don't mention to him how obvious it is that he's been stealing your underwear to masturbate with it. Don't tell him, really.
Also don't mention that you've actually felt him cling to you when you sleep; looking for more than just warmth at night. Don't tell him that you clearly feel him down there—hard and warm.
Or do. Who knows what might happen.
E= Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Technically no experience at all. Of course he had gotten to kiss other women, maybe a little touch with one or two, but that was many, many years ago; by now he hardly remembers anything at all. Besides he was very young; he used to think differently and be busier with his research. Now that the world is at peace and he can enjoy the calm and family life, it is more than obvious that the only thing he has to defend himself at the beginning of the relationship is all theoretical. It's not a terrible thing, of course. Ford is willing to experiment and learn with you.
F= Favorite position
There are still many positions to try and discover, but the most used —for comfort and practicality— are three par excellence.
Doggy, because nothing is nicer than being able to see you under him, with your ass and waist at his disposal to play to his heart's content.
Cowgirl/Cowboy, because even though he loves making love to you, Ford has to accept that at his age it's hard to stay steady all the time. Sometimes he needs a little help from you to avoid looking pathetic for getting tired after so much action—even if you tell him there's nothing pathetic about it. Besides, don't you look lovely on top of him, with your body shaking and your eyes glazed over? Best view of all.
Spooning, because Ford goes crazy holding you from behind, pushing his hips against your ass; with one of his hands working over your body and his lips on your neck, waking you up from a long night of deep sleep. This man is desperate to touch you.
G= Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Ford is quite serious during the moment, but this is because he is a very shy person about approaching you to begin with. Even if it comes to playing along with you he is the first and last to get embarrassed. An occasional nervous laugh; sometimes little choked sentences if he notices you looking at him too much, and that makes him lose his concentration. But in general he is someone very focused, who seeks not to lose the thread of the moment. His biggest fear is disappointing you.
H= Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
A lot of things happened and he hasn't had the time, nor the desire, to get down to work there. That being the case, I'd say hairy; but at least he's started to take the time to trim it down a bit and make it halfway nice for you. If it's something that would bother you, Ford is willing to trim it further—even all of it.
But yeah. Super hairy.
I= Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Ford takes care to be careful with everything he does or says, always seeking to satisfy the needs of your body and mind; every fantasy you have closely tied to everything he does to make you feel fulfilled. He is a dedicated man, with nimble hands and a sensitive heart. Sweet and witty words are never lacking, always driving you crazy in his arms and against his lips. Sensuality is never in short supply.
J= Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He's been starting to do it more often since he's been with you. Not a lot, because he prefers to do it with you; but once in a while never hurts if he can't get you out of his head. He needs at least something of yours to make him cum—your underwear or the warmth of your body. He needs you.
He cums fast and hard, with the piece of clothing against his face, inhaling intensely; or with a free hand on your body, against your skin.
K= Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Definitely role-playing and cockwarming.
L= Location (favorite places to do the do)
Private places, if possible. Ford doesn't want to risk the possibility of being seen by someone else. He loves to have you in the bedroom, or even in his study room. Any place where no one and nothing will interrupt you.
M= Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
To see you in his clothes, to hear your voice, to come on to him... to suddenly appear dressed for some sensual and perverse role-playing... My goodness, how you drive him crazy.
Ford is a simple guy: he sees his partner existing and making eyes at him, and suddenly he feels his body warm and ready to go.
N= No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Threesomes, because he can't accept the idea of seeing you with someone else, let alone seeing himself with someone other than you. Ford is also unwilling to degrade you or physically harm you; just as he does not find it attractive to allow the same to be done to him.
O= Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Ford loves to receive oral, but he prefers to give it. He loves to put his mouth down there, tasting you and pulling out sounds that haunt him in his best dreams. You are a delight. Even if he's inexperienced, he's so desperate to have you in his mouth that the guy learns in no time to meet your expectations. There's no way not to lose your mind when Ford is taking care of everything between your legs; with his hands holding you by the flesh of your thighs, with his fingers caressing your skin.
Imagine his face if you proposed sitting on it. Imagine that, I insist. It's the best.
P= Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Slow and sensual; deep and hard. Getting all the way in, Ford always gives a little push to press himself against you, hiding his face in the space of your neck. He will talk to you through this—be prepared for a couple of whimpers and muffled moans.
Q= Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He doesn't like them at all. He prefers to take his time with you. Although if you are very needy, then maybe he can find a way.
R= Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Ford loves to experiment! And with that always comes risk. But when it comes to sex, this all takes a different turn; and while he's willing to try new things and experiment with you, he'll always be against anything that might hurt you or make you both uncomfortable.
S= Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
The years and the various experiences out in the open have weathered Ford, and have made him a man with a lot of physical capacity to endure long hours without sleep and with a lot of work. Research work, of course; the physical stuff has always been for fighting or survival.
With this in mind, Ford is able to handle quite a bit of foreplay and sex itself, but he tires quickly after a second round—if the first one wasn't strong enough. Even if he feels he can't go on, he has no problem helping you by using his hands or mouth; as well as any other part of his body that comes in handy. Hopefully and maybe there will be another round if you manage to turn him on one more time.
T= Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Ford doesn't need toys. He only needs you. Now, if in a hypothetical case you would like to use one, he has no problem even designing his own to use with you. At first you tell him no, because it's easier to buy them; but after seeing some plans and listening to him talk so excitedly, seeing that he even starts to consider the idea of implementing other things when it comes to sex, you come to the conclusion that maybe it's not so bad.
Ford opts to use toys on you, not him. They don't get his attention that way.
U= Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Not so much, really. He thinks it's cute to see you being so desperate for him. But at the end of the day it's something that makes him desperate too. Ford couldn't stand to play with you like this for long; he needs to accede to your needs in order to satisfy his own.
V= Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Whimpers A LOT, and likes to moan loudly—but tries to drown them out, fearful that someone might hear them.
If the two of you are in a place where you can be sure not to be overheard, Ford sets out to talk to you during the act.
W= Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
He's unexpected and always manages to sweep you off your feet, but Ford is capable of the hottest dirty talk you can imagine. When you least expect it you have him with his lips on your ear, his hot breath on your skin, and his husky, deep voice of desire spitting out dirty, kinky phrases that keep you with your hands pushing against his chest; his fingers pressing against the skin of your neck, surprising you with how much this man can separate himself from the real world and let you drown in his darkest fantasies.
Ford prefers not to talk about it after everything calms down. It will take some time.
X= X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Not as long, but definitely fat. The tip is quite sensitive. Slightly curved downward.
Y= Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Since he discovered how fascinating your touch is, quite high. Although it's more what he desires than what he can get to do. If he gets careless, he comes quickly. It's fun to play on his desperation and make him wait; that might help him endure his neediness with you a little longer.
Z= Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Pretty fast; but he strives to see that you're okay after all, and that you're resting with him. His priority is you, after all.
2K notes · View notes
cherry-pop-elf · 2 months ago
Text
Your Own Happy Ending
Mouthwashing gang X Reader
AN: Can be read as platonic, and can be implied to be any/multiple characters. Except Jimmy. Fuck you Jimmy
Sum: Enough was enough. Time to get off this stupid Rock
Warnings: 18+, violence, sexual assault, revenge fic, talks about rape, gore, happy ending don’t worry, trauma, mouth wash, graphic violence, written by a victim of sexual assault and giving all of us that need to get revenge on our abusers. I see you, guys gals and nonbinary pals. I see you
Tumblr media
This had to stop. He was going to just hurt more and more people. There will be more victims. You can’t become a victim, you can’t have the ones you love be under his hands. No. No one deserved this.
No one except him.
Curly was at deaths door, Anya is going to reach a point of no return in her pregnancy, Daisuke is on the edge of a mental break down, and even Swansea is shattering apart. One bottle of mouthwash at a time.
You didn’t know what will happen next. You were crashed in god knows where, but maybe there is a chance of hope. Maybe there is a way to get home. Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe.
The cockpit is full of foam, but who says you can’t just cut away at it enough to access a transmitter? What’s else is left to do? Not like waiting and praying is helping.
Would explain why Jimmy refused to let anyone have the keys to the pit.
He didn’t want his sins to escape.
You’ll make them escape out of his damn body.
There was no way Anya was going to tell you where the gun was. Guess that means you’ll need to improvise. Had a ax. A ax can do it, but getting it away from Swansea is going to be troubling. He was keeping it as much for self defense at this point as you would have to.
You needed a weapon.
Your hands couldn’t handle it. Jimmy was able to do so much harm already. Anya was most likely not his only victim. He’s certainly done this before. Meaning he knows how to fight, and get someone pinned under him. There to do whatever he wanted.
You had to get him before he got you.
What else could be a weapon?
A knife? A knife!
You ran into the kitchen, much to the confusion of Swansea and Daisuke, only to start tearing the drawers out. Utensils flying everywhere as you tried to find something. Anything sharp.
To your horror there was no knives.
“He took all the knives….”
You looked over, same for Swansea, as it had been Daisuke who said it.
Daisuke said it.
“They are all in Curly’s old room. Since he’s the new captain now he has the ability to lock down that door. No one gets in, and no one gets out. Whatever he wants to hide is there. Noticed him hoarding things there. Was so confused…..Now I’m not anymore.”
Swansea looked ready to start swinging his ax at the nearest body of organs. He couldn’t believe this was real. That this was some shining bullshit.
This couldn’t go on.
“Swan, Daisuke, you guys gotta grab Anya and hide out in the med-bay. I’ll find something. I’ll find something-“ You rambled on, before Anya had poked her head in. Seeing Swansea holding Daisuke, and trying to keep that ray of sunshine from finally snapping.
“What’s going on?” She would whisper. Ever afraid if she spoke to loud that Jimmy would find her. Find her and do something else. Didn’t matter where she was. He was always breathing down her neck. One way or another.
“Little junior adventurer over there wants to finish the job.” Swansea would grit his teeth, as you still kept hunting down for something. Willing to tear apart cushions. You had to find SOMETHING. Maybe you could break a chair leg, maybe you could use some wires. Maybe maybe maybe-
That’s when Anya held your shoulder. Her tired eyes pulled you away from the incoming insanity. Brought you back to reality, and had you listen. Listen for just a moment.
“This is where the jugular vein is-“ She begun, as she pointed to her neck. Then started to name off more vital arteries, before pulling a scalpel from her pocket. Into your hands they went, as she kept listing off every vital vein possible. Weak points every body had.
Even a man like him.
“Last I saw him he was exploring the lower decks. Please…..Just make it quick.” As much as she hated him, she just could only bring herself to be only so cold. She could never be as cruel as Jimmy. To wish death onto someone. Never would she.
That’s what made her forever better than him.
“Come on, kid. You ain’t gonna wanna see this. Get over here, Anya. Come on. Let’s go have a sleepover with Captain Curly.” He would motion her over, and she would snuggle under his arm. The two safe in his arms, as he would walk them to the med-bay.
Was wise for him to keep the ax. That thing was what kept Jimmy from doing his own finishing of the job. You can’t over power him. No you can’t. There was also the fact Anya made sure to keep the gun hidden. You wouldn’t deny the idea it was in the med-bay somewhere. Just more protection if anything.
They’ll be safe. If you didn’t make it, at least you’ll make sure Jimmy is too weak to try anything more to hurt them. Weak enough for someone else to finish the job. What mattered now was them staying away until the job was done, and for you to figure out what to do next.
You needed that damn key.
You would stuff your hands in your pockets, grip tight on the scalpel, and started walking. Walking, thinking, listening. Eyes glued to anything that could offer an opportunity to be jumped. You had to be vigilant.
As you walked you would notice the door that was once Curly’s. How Jimmy didn’t deserve the luxury of what a Captain gets. Made you wonder what else he was also hoarding in that room. Maybe he was hoarding resources that should have been shared with the rest of you. There could be the slimmest chance that he was hiding away a transmitter even. Not having the guts to destroy it, and maybe even as far as to what for the rest of them to kill each other before he called for help.
That coward.
You had to get his keys. You needed those keys for those you love. They deserved to live. YOU deserved to live. No way in hell will Jimmy keep getting away with this. Never again. Never more.
Your nerves were getting tighter and tighter now. Even the sound of your own heart beat was painfully loud in your head. The sweat on your skin, the itch of your skin being too tight, the pounding of drums, the feeling of air pushing at your ribcage. So much as your eyes blinking was to loud.
Everything was to loud.
That’s when a bang of metal hitting metal alerted you. You spun around, and was just met with nothing. Just an empty, dark, hallway. No source of the noise. Maybe there was none to begin with. Just your nerves.
“Deep breaths. Deep breaths. You know you have to do this. There is no other option. You can do this. For Anya, for Daisuke, and for Swansea.”
A wipe to your brow and you returned to hunting him down.
Felt like an eternity. Just endless hallways in red lights of emergency. Hallways blocked off by foam. Was a scarlet bouncy castle of horror. Never did the ship feel so endless yet so tight. Maybe the ship itself was breathing to.
Never did you think you would be happy to see his ugly face.
He was down in the lower decks, seeming to be trying to access a door that Swansea had managed to block off. Swansea was stronger than he looked, and was a mechanic no less. Jerry rigged a makeshift lock for the door. If you recall correctly that was where the cryo-sleep pods were. He had been working to try and fix them up, but you doubt they survived. Guess it’s better to pretend you are doing something useful than do nothing at all.
“Hey Jim, whatcha doing?” You tried your best to act casual, as you watched him trying to get the lock off. A mixture of locking mechanics and bent metal that kept things in place. Jimmy just didn’t have the body weight to unbend them. Who ever said being fat wasn’t useful?
“Trying to get into this damn room. Be useful and help me, won’t you?” He grumbled, as he kept trying to pull the metal.
This was your chance.
This almost felt to perfect. He was distracted, hyper focused on something, and was crouching. You would have the upper hand. You can pull this off. You just had to fight your nerves.
“Yeah yeah yeah. I’m coming.” You would say, as you would walk closer to him. Flashes crossed your vision with each step. Was like blurs of a shadow puppet show. Visions of his talle outline pinning Anya to the ground, another of him pinning Daisuke to a wall. Even Swansea wasn’t free from the concept of being pinned to a surface and abused.
No one was safe with Jimmy still around.
You would soon be standing behind him, as he focused on the lock. He was right there. You just had to do it. Do what Anya showed you. His neck was exposed. It was right there. You just had to do it.
You pulled your weapon out, and took in a deep breath.
Just as you brought your arm to swing, Jimmy turned around.
Happened in a flash. You made contact with his skin, but it was his cheek instead. He would tumble over, and was quick to kick your legs out from under you. Had you slam your back to the ground. Knocked the wind out of you.
“I fucking KNEW IT-! YOU GOD DAMN BITCH-!” Was like he wasn’t even human anymore. Just as much of an animal on the outside as he was on the inside. You had to run. You had to get out of there. You fucked up your perfect chance. Your messed up and he’s going to remind you that you did.
You attempted to get up, but Jimmy was just that much faster than you. Your ankle was grabbed, and he was yanking you closer. You couldn’t stop yourself from screaming, as he would try and pry the medical tool from you.
“GET OFF OF ME YOU RAPIST PIECE OF SHIT-!” You nearly sobbed, as he stared down at you. Your wrists pinned above your head, as he just gawked at you. Was like he never even heard the word before.
“Rapist? You think I’m a fucking rapist? You little fucking bitch. I’m no such damn thing. What happened between us was nothing of the sort. It was just what happens when someone gets in my way. Reaching your goals isn’t a crime. Is it?” He asked you, as you kept struggling under him. Trying to get away.
“Fuck. YOU-!” And you slammed your face into his. Gave you a blinding headache instantly, but the shock of contact was enough to make him let go. You were soon crawling, and now running, away.
“IM GOING TO KILL YOU! IM GOING TO KILL ALL OF YOU LIKE IVE BEEN TRYING TO DO WITH CRASHING THIS STUPID SHIP!” His voice echoed like the demon from hell he was.
You never thought such fear like this could be in your body.
Your vision was a blurry mess from the head bang, but you just used the walls to offer you guidance. To try and find a place to breathe, and wait. To try again. You won’t give up. You refused to give up.
“COME BACK HERE-! YOU CANT RUN FOREVER! THERES NOWHERE ELSE FOR YOU TO GO-!” He would threaten you. His voice just seeming to be coming from everywhere. Was like he was inside of your own head. Like he was all of your insecurities crawling through your skull, and turning your brain into a mushy puddle of doubt and fear.
You still kept going.
You would find yourself back into the dinning hall, and took your chance in hiding in the kitchen area. Ducking down and hiding yourself by the elevated counters. If he kept running he shouldn’t notice you.
You would hold your knees, recollect yourself, and breathed.
The echoes of his running foot steps were like alarm bells in your ears. To hear them get closer, more distant, then closer again. Clearly having lost where you went, but still keeping up chance. How did he have so much energy? He must have been indeed hoarding resources. No way should someone surviving off mouthwash have this much stamina.
Your confused thoughts were cut short by the quickening pace of the foot steps. From banging on metal to proper flooring. He had entered the kitchen. He was breathing hard, and just boiling in anger.
“Where’s that fucking bitch? Where did that fucker go?” He would pant, as you would hear something sharp run over the counter marble. Must have grabbed a knife from his bedroom. Maybe that meant he left the door unlocked as well.
That could be your chance to get a proper weapon.
You just had to wait. Wait and pray he didn’t look over the counter.
You couldn’t tell where he was looking, but you needed to risk it. You would grab for one of the spoons off the ground, and threw it as far as you could. Into the hallway to the next part of the ship. You managed to get enough distance. The sound of metal hitting on the grates was loud. You swore you could feel the head thwip of Jimmy turning towards it.
“Found you-!” He shouted cockily, as he ran into that direction.
“Dumbass.” You muttered, as you soon ran the opposite way. Trying to find his room before he realized he was had.
You even went as far as to take off your shoes, so your feet made much less noise. Harder to be tracked and followed. Never did you think listening to Daisuke ramble about horror movie logic would come in handy. Gave some weird morbid hope that maybe Anya will be a final girl and make it out of here alive.
You would hear the foot steps echoing around you, as you tried to stalk quieter towards the dorm hallways. Was so hard to make out where they were going and coming from. The distant shouts of annoyance weren’t helping either. Was just making you more aware of your own mortality.
Luckily you managed to find the door. He snuck inside, and closed the door. Maybe he would think he locked it behind himself and not even think of checking in there. Maybe he was dumb enough to be fooled.
When in the room you couldn’t help but be disgusted by the sight. He really was hoarding food! The knives were also laid all out on his desk. Organized like he was planning to use them. There was also a trans communicator. Just as you thought there was. You thought it was suspicious there wasn’t a means to transfer information in case of an emergency. Even Pony Express had to have THAT. Suppose believing it was just consumed by foam was easier. Maybe it was and he dug it out himself.
No matter. You had hope.
You quickly grab the device, and turned it on. By god it WORKED!
“Hello? Hello?! This is the Tulpar for The Pony Express! We’ve been crash landed for months! Pony express has laid us off and hasn’t sent any rescue by proxy! Can you hear me?!” You couldn’t help but shout, as the transmitter would crackle.
“We read you loud and clear. How many are on the ship?” You were sobbing. No way. Someone was actually hearing you!
“Five! We have five people here! One in critical condition! Captain Curly! He’s alive! Alive but having suffered the most from the crash. We are running lower on medical supplies, we have very little food, we’ve been drinking fucking mouth wash to survive!” You weeped, as the person on the other end was taking in the information.
You said five for a reason.
“Keep on the line with us as we track your signal. Are you in any immediate danger?” The person asked.
“YES YOU ARE-!” Jimmy would shout behind you, before stabbing you right in your shoulder. You screamed bloody murder, as the person on the line gasped. Despite the pain, you were keeping your grip on the communicator. You weren’t letting go. No you fucking WONT.
“STUBBORN BITCH-!” He shouted at you, as you used your body to protect that communicator with all your body and life. You didn’t care if he was going to kill you now. You were getting everyone home. You were and you fufilled your mission.
“Just get it over with already you coward! How many people did you rape?! Huh?! Was Anya the first?! Like hell! She’s your most recent! Was Daisuke next?! Was I next?!” You called out, as you had nothing to lose anymore. You were going down with your own ship, unlike him.
“If you have to know, Anya wasn’t my last at least. She really thought leaving me alone with Curly was smart. Dumb whore-“ He would yank out the knife, making you bleed and scream. The hot searing pain was just beyond words. You were seeing stars, and not the kind you wanted.
“Was figuring how many I could get away with. Didn’t think she would actually tell anyone. Didn’t think much about her at all. Guess you live and learn. You live and l-“
Bang.
Silence.
Silence, the crackle of a communicator, and the ever breathing ship.
With a thud to the ground you were able to finally gain some vision to look over. Over to see Jimmy was dead on the ground, with a bullet hole through his forehead. Those terrifying eyes were now glsssy and empty. Looked almost relaxed. The only time he seemed to rest.
He was dead.
Your vision was blurring, and noise around you was muffled. All you could hear was muffled noise. Was like you were underwater. Your vision was starting to blur again as well. Couldn’t make out shapes.
You thought you saw someone with black hair above you. Seeming to grab something and speak into it. Was there something yellow to? Yellow and shaking you? There was also this almost pinkish blur as well. Came to you, and you swore you heard someone saying ‘you’re a hero’ before it all went to black.
One Month After The Call.
“Morning sunshine.”
You would groan, as you rubbed at your eyes. What happened? Was it all some bad dream? Where were you? This place didn’t look like the med-bay. Was so clean and white. There were windows too. Holy shit was that daylight? REAL daylight?
“Over here.”
You turned your head, and you saw him. Captain Curly. Looked so much better than when you last recalled him. His skin wasn’t as red, proper bandages were on him, and his lips even seemed to be healing back. Skin graphs? Was still laying in a bed, but far more cared for. Proper bedding, clean, IV bags, and…Wait…..Did he speak?!
“Been out a while. Don’t worry not much to catch you up on. You kinda went into a medical coma, from what Anya tried to explain to me. Everyone agreed to put you in the Cryo-Pod until help arrived. Was the only way to keep us both alive. All the resources had to go to me, sorry about that, so they had to pretty much freeze you in time. Big Swan had managed to make it function enough to work until the rescue team came for us. Welcome to the land of the living, hero.”
Even with his messed up complexion, and voice so hoarse you thought he himself was speaking through a communicator, you smiled. A hero huh? Wait. That meant….
“Did Anya pull the trigger?” You asked, with your own voice rasp from lack of use.
“Yeah. Yeah she did. We heard you screaming and she just….Couldn’t let you be his next victim. You gave her some bravery. I already knew she was brave, but damn. Who needs a Captain when you have her?” His laughter was painful, but you knew it was worth it.
“How’s everyone else?”
“Anya has been working with staff here. They took her in to be a doctor with them when they saw that the likes of me was still alive and functional. They really didn’t want to lose someone as smart as her. Daisuke has been glued here as much as us-“ He would weakly raise his arm, what’s left anyway, towards the sleeping solider. Curled up on a spare cot that was brought in for him. The staff having been understanding that he deserved to be around you both. His parents most likely were the ones to bring in all the video games for him to play with and show Curly as well. Even after so much he was still taking care of the ones he loved.
“Swansea?” You worried the most, since you wondered where he could be.
“Sueing the ever living fuck out of Pony Express for whatever damn dime they have left. Daisuke’s parents, and him, have been at the forefront on it all. He will come visit us soon. Get some rest, sunshine. You’ve earned it.” But you couldn’t help but worry. A worry that one person wasn’t accounted for.
“He’s dead. I do mean dead dead. By the time help arrived he had already well started decomposing. Swansea even went the extra mile and cut his head off from his body. Kinda overkill, but hey….Can’t take risks with monsters. Right?” You nodded at that, as you were able to rest.
No more Jimmy.
No more space ships.
Time to finally be a princess and get your beauty sleep.
“Sleep well, sunshine.”
“You to, Captain.”
A deep breath in of that sterilized air, fresh cut grass, and clean cotton.
You were free.
Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
sister-lucifer · 10 months ago
Note
hcs 4 toby giving bj 4 first time :3
Toby’s First Time Giving/Receiving a Blowjob Headcanons 
Ticci Toby x Gender Neutral Reader 
A/N: I know you probably meant Toby giving a blowjob for the first time but I wrote both because i can. enjoy the double feature
Genre: Smut headcanons 
Content/Warnings: Oral sex (obviously), Toby likes praise, face fucking, Toby gets a bit rough in his excitement but he doesn’t mean it, he’s just a feral, excitable horndog, scenarios for both AFAB and AMAB readers are included, use of dick, cock and cunt to describe genitalia
Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!
Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 
Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)
Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!
Giving 
Oooohhh boy okay, listen 
He’s not exactly experienced 
Most of the people he went to high school with were incredibly put off by him and the like two who weren’t never went past making out 
He has no idea what he’s doing, you’ll have to teach him 
The good news? He’s very eager to learn 
If you have a dick he’ll try to deepthroat it IMMEDIATELY, regardless of the fact that he’ll choke like a fucking idiot, and you’ll have to practically yank him off of you 
If you have a cunt he’ll do the same thing except latching on way too fast and way too rough in a clumsy but genuine effort to pleasure you
Just hold tightly to his hair to keep him from ducking back down and gently instruct him to start slow 
You’ll have to be very detailed with your instructions, and he has no shame, so expect a lot of really specific questions 
“Should I-I keep flicking your clit with my tongue like th-that?” 
“Do you like w-when I circle your tip l-like that?” 
Etc, etc
And he’ll say it with 100% sincerity, because he really does want you to enjoy this
It takes him a minute to get the hang of it, but once he gets his rhythm he won’t stop until you’re begging him to 
It’s fun for him to watch you squirm and moan, it brings him just as much pleasure as it does you 
You can encourage him to keep going by scratching his head, running your fingers through his hair, and giving a little tug when he does something you particularly enjoy
Speaking of which, he responds very well to verbal feedback (re: praise) 
You can see his eyes light up when you call him a good boy or tell him he’s doing well 
And he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get him praise
Basically, he’s easy to train
Just keep telling him how well he’s doing, and be clear about what you enjoy 
He’s more than happy to comply 
Plus, it’s kinda hot to watch the drool and cum leak from the gash in his cheek as he eagerly laps up everything he can get from you
Receiving 
Well your first challenge will be getting him to sit still
He’s a hyperactive bastard and his excitement will manifest as restlessness 
It’s best to have him lying on his back to reduce the risk of possible injury, but he will still shake his legs and fidget with his sleeves as he watches you position yourself between his legs
He’ll try not to touch you at first because he’s not really sure what’s acceptable or not, instead opting to fumble with his fingers and gnaw on his knuckles 
He’ll be breathing heavily and mumbling to himself the whole time, before you’ve even gotten his cock out 
“I-I can’t believe you’re doing this for-for me…Y-You’re so nice to m-me…I-I don’t—fuck!—I don’t k-know what I’d do with-without you…”
And he’ll go on and on like that until you’ve sucked him so good he can’t talk 
He’ll forget his manners the closer he gets to cumming
He’ll get more and more needy and he’ll start to grab at your hair 
Unless you stop him, he’ll get rougher and rougher until he’s practically fucking your mouth, pulling and pushing your head back and forth by your hair and thrusting into your mouth 
He’ll have drool running down his chin and he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut, just completely desperate and messy
The best part is the way he’ll shamelessly beg to cum down your throat 
“Pleeeaaase, please, please, fuck—! I-It’s all I want, just let me—let me cum in your m-mouth, I need it! I-I’ve been a g-good boy, haven’t I?!”
If you don’t say yes he’ll literally cry 
But if you do, the absolute euphoria that’ll cross his face is more than worth it 
He’ll force you down on his cock as he releases down your throat, his back arching in an almost violent manner as he forces you to take everything he has to give
And he won’t let go until he’s completely done 
When you’re finally released from his death grip it’ll be because he’s gone limp, completely spent and barely conscious 
Give him a quick kiss before you go to clean up, he’ll lick your lips clean for you 
He’ll be riding that high for hours 
2K notes · View notes
rizsu · 1 year ago
Text
ex-husband!gojo, who wakes up every morning to his disappointment. it's been well over a couple months, yet he still extends his arm to feel for you.
ex-husband!gojo, who still has your contact saved as his main emergency contact. he uses this to his advantage— ringing your phone with the excuse of being "too drunk to drive." it works. he isn't exactly high off his brain, but he has alcohol in his system.
ex-husband!gojo, who happened to spot you with another man. who is he? is he your friend? your lover? perhaps you met after the divorce? whatever the status is, it doesn't help to soothe his jealousy. it's not like he can walk up to you — you might issue a restraining order against him.
ex-husband!gojo, who finds himself at your doorstep. it's late, storming, and you're probably asleep. he doesn't move. mind set in chaos as he ponders whether he should leave or ring the bell. he wants to see you, but the look of disgust he might receive is something he isn't ready to face.
ex-husband!gojo, who's shocked that you opened the door. he didn't ring the bell. were you already there? probably. his throat ran dry, unable to speak a word. you're leaning on the door's frame, arms crossed as you tilt your head. "you need something, gojo?" you asked, not willing to receive an answer.
"can i — can i come in?" he stutters, a little shocked at the use of his surname. the little sparkle of hope that you continue using his first name has been dusted.
ex-husband!gojo, who's fidgety in your home. your silence isn't helping him relax. hell, he hasn't known relaxation ever since the divorce. "help yourself to the kitchen. sleep wherever, i'm going back to bed," your voice held no volume of softness. it was as if you were but a stranger, yet he refuses to let you become one.
"then, may i sleep in your room? on the floor, of course," he's hesitant with his request, deciding it's best to justify himself, "i don't know my way around this house."
ex-husband!gojo, who's yet again stunned that you allowed him in your room — let alone your bed. now he's as still as a stick, unable to fall asleep due to his itching urge to pull you into him. you're most likely sound asleep, uncaring to the man you once called your husband.
ex-husband!gojo, who calls out to you, keeping his voice low as he speaks, "can we talk?"
you replied to him, voice still holding its tone of harshness, "what is there to talk about?"
"anything. how's life been for you?" he keeps his speech short, afraid of annoying you. it's a little late for that, however. you're already annoyed by the attempt of useless talks. "just get to the point, gojo."
and so he follows, sighing before he reveals his intentions, "i fucking missed you, that's all."
ex-husband!gojo, who's surprised when you sat up. although your room holds no light due to the black-out curtains, his eyes adjusted to its darkness, being able to see your every feature. your face, hands, neck, collarbone, chest — everything. he misses being able to run his hands through your body ever-so lovingly. when you lowered yourself right above his face, his eyes kept your gaze. your jaw's clenched. why does he look as if he lost everything? wasn't the divorce mutual?
ex-husband!gojo, who's rendered speechless when your voice cracked. he didn't expect it, nor did he expect you to say what you did. "i missed you, too." did you really miss him? he feels as though he's being lied to. raising a hand to cup your cheek, he shares his words, "really? then why not act on it if you're not lying?"
ex-husband!gojo, who happily accepts your kiss, moving his hand from your cheek to your nape. softly pushing you closer to himself — and to deepen the kiss. it's soft but rough. passionate but seeping with hatred. it's everything at once. you're pulling at his hair, purposefully tugging it as if you're using it to distract yourself from the escaping emotions. he's the same. using his other hand to travel along the junction of your neck and shoulder, squeezing it each time he feels to let the tears flow.
4K notes · View notes
thexsilentxwordsmith · 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Biker!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader
From the ask here
Fandom: Call of Duty
Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader
Summary: Seeing Simon on his motorcycle is something that awakens a new yearning inside you, but when you get your own bike and start riding alongside him, the way he gets you hot and bothered makes it worse. You need him to fuck you on his bike and you hope your plan will make it happen.
Word Count: 5 k
Warnings:
Tumblr media
The first time you ever saw Simon Riley perched atop his black motorcycle, in that moment some innate part of your brain was awakened and you were never the same. There was just something so incredibly erotic about the way those thick thighs straddled over the sides, the way his arms looked with their muscles bulging, straining his black short sleeved t-shirt wrapped around them as he leaned forward to reach the handlebars. Of course his helmet with the blacked out visor didn’t hurt either, not when paired with his sleeve of tattoos. He was a vision even more than usual and you were suddenly hooked. 
Then he took you for a ride along the open highway where he could really show you the power his bike had and that solidified your need to be involved in his hobby. Adrenaline, that was and still is Simon’s favorite part of being on the open road, his bike vibrating underneath him as the wind rushed past his body, and now that you had that first taste of it all, it was yours too. 
Whatever you needed to do to keep getting to look at him like that, to keep feeling that rush, you were more than willing to do it. 
Whenever he was on leave you two found yourselves on his bike, roaming the city on long night rides just to feel the wind on your skin and the rush of speed under your bodies. That was until he made an off-handed joke one day about getting you your own bike so that you could drive alongside him and then suddenly you were expressing how much you actually had been thinking about it. Sharing his hobby with someone, especially you, was something he has always wanted. To think you could experience the same thrills had him rushing to take you bike shopping the very next day so he could start teaching you.
You picked it all up relatively fast and before you knew it you had your license and regular drives have now become a part of your routine whenever your military man is in. Getting on the highway, opening the bike up as you go faster and faster, weaving through traffic with Simon always right by your side, there is something exhilarating about it all. And now you had the best view of that gorgeous specimen of a man.
Being able to see you on your own bike makes Simon have a taste of his own medicine because fuck did you look a goddamn beauty. Is this how you feel looking at him? The way it makes your back arch, full juicy arse just calling his name, has him salivating whenever he gets to see it. And he can’t help what it causes him to do; it’s not his fault when you look the way you do. The first time he ever pulled his little stunt, a ritual of sorts that he has to engage in every time you’re out driving together, you had a hard time focusing on the road after.
Bringing his bike close beside yours, he reaches out and runs his hand over the curve of your ass, making sure that he does it long enough that the other motorists behind you both can see him claim his hot biker vixen as his. You belong to him and he wants everyone that can see to know it.
And fuck does it drive him wild and have you reeling every time.
This goes on for quite a while, and all the times he’s touched you while riding have conjured up a new fantasy of yours and you finally decide you have to do something about it. Lately you’ve been thinking: what type of partner would you be if you didn’t return the favor? Simon deserves to be just as flustered too, right? It’s not because you need him to fuck you on his bike, nope, not all. 
Is it strange? Maybe. Will he go for it? You aren’t entirely sure, but one thing you do know is that you at least have to try. And if it works out, you know he’ll enjoy it too. On one of the last few nights of his leave, you decide that you’ve got nothing to lose and put your plan into motion.
“You know, it’s been so long since you took me on a ride with you,” you put your case to him tonight. “Like we used to. Me on the back of your bike, wrapped around you tight, you speeding through the lanes with the wind rushing past us. Remember that? I used to get so excited to see you just so you’d take me out with you.”
Those hazel eyes stare back at you curiously; of course he remembers. Christ, how could he ever fucking forget? Still, it’s intriguing to him why you would be bringing this up now. “What’s got ya all nostalgic sweetheart, hmm?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow. “Ya don’t like ridin’ beside me?”
You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Just thought it’d be nice to be close to you again is all, since you’ll be leaving soon,” you say as you bite your lip with a subtle coyness while you stare back at him with those tempting doe eyes that make him melt.
How can he say no to that? To his girl wanting to be near him? Absolutely fucking never.
“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he responds as he gets up while pointing towards the bedroom, “well, go get dressed then. Can’t say no to ya when ya look at me like that.”
Simon is already sitting on the bike out front ready to go when you emerge from the front door in a short skirt, tight tank top, and leather boots and once again he is reminded just how lucky he is to be with you. This just keeps getting better and better for the ol boy. 
Climbing on the back and securing yourself around him, helmets on and visors down, Simon takes off into the night. He can feel the pressure from your hands wrapped tightly around his waist, pressing into his abs as you hold on, the warmth of your chest against his back, your thighs saddled up against his, and he wonders why you both don’t do this more often. 
The lights of the city sparkle around you, cutting through the evening like stars to illuminate your way as Simon drifts through the streets, making his way to the highway like he always does. Your heart is beginning to beat faster as you wait for the opportune moment to implement your plan and you silently hope that it works. 
On the highway, weaving in and out of traffic, Simon detects the first signs of something happening behind him. The movement is subtle at first and he almost misses that both hands aren’t pinned against his stomach anymore until he detects the warmth from your palm as it comes to rest on top of his thigh. He looks down through the visor of his helmet to where your hand lays as he wonders curiously to himself about the intentions of your actions.
Just what the hell is she up to? he thinks to himself as he turns his attention back onto the darkened road studded with streetlights.
The answer is quickly approaching as he feels your hand on the move again, now inching towards the middle of his broad thighs, moving and stopping, moving and stopping, to the crotch of his jeans and suddenly he understands just as you make first contact with the mass contained inside. 
A shiver runs up Simon’s spine and you can feel his back shudder against your chest as you start to rub over the swell, your touches heavy and full of purpose. Over and over again your palm makes purchase with his crotch and you can feel the muscles in his back tense. A part of him wants to pull your hand off so that can refocus, but it feels too damn good to get you to quit. Fuck, the pressure from your hand and the vibration from the bike has him so hard he can barely see straight. 
He needs to find some place to stop and fast; if he’s going to come in something it is not going to be his pants, it’s going to be you. 
Up ahead he sees an exit fast approaching and he quickly transfers over to the lane and takes it, not having a plan, but hopeful that he will be able to find something satisfactory enough. Brown eyes dart from one side of the street to the other frantically searching for something, anything so that he can pull off. The sign for a large parking garage is illuminated just up ahead; it’ll have to do. He won’t be able to focus for much longer; the pressure of your hand rubbing against his cock mixed with the vibrations from the bike leaves him gnawing at the bit with a need that he desperately has to satisfy. It wouldn’t be safe to keep going, not with the way his limbs are starting to tingle.
Simon drives through the first couple of levels and is glad to see it relatively empty save for a few straggling cars spaced far apart. Perfect, that means no one will be around to disturb him until he has had his way with you. He continues on a couple of levels that are completely empty as he puts you both more in the middle of the structure just to be sure you will be all alone until finally he drives to the back of the garage and pulls into the shadow, parking the bike and shutting it off. 
“Hop off,” he says and you immediately do as you're told, taking off your helmet and straightening your skirt as you make it to your feet.
You stand there close to his thigh as he removes his helmet and sets it on the ground on the other side of the bike, running his fingers through his short hair to fluff it up from being crushed underneath. As he sits back up his tattooed arm quickly reaches out behind your head where he grabs your hair into a ponytail in his fist, keeping your head locked while his opposite hand palms around your waist as he leans in with a smirk across his lips and a glimmer in those coffee-colored eyes. 
“Whatcha think you’re doin’, sweetheart? Playin’ games, hmm?” he asks as he stares back into your face.
“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug, your tone playful and coy. You know damn well what you are doing and he isn’t dumb enough to think you don’t.
He glares back at you skeptically. “Right.”
“What?” you dismiss him. “I thought you didn’t mind a bit of touching when we ride? Always grabbing me; thought you’d enjoy a bit of fun.” 
There it is; this is payback for all the times he’s made his move while you were out cruising together. And fuck, has it worked to perfection.
Simon rips his hand from your waist and wraps it around your wrist so that he can pull your hand forward and place it right up against the stiffening peak straining against the zipper of his form fitting jeans.
“So this is whatcha fuckin’ wanted, yeah?” he asks, breathiness in his gruff tone as your hand makes contact with the rigid bulge. “Gettin’ me so fuckin’ hard I can’t even be bothered ta wait till we get back home ta fuck ya?” 
Can’t wait? Is he saying what you think he’s saying? God, you hope so. “What do you mean?” you ask, faking your ignorance as you rub your palm over the swell while maintaining eye contact. “We aren’t going home?”
A deep hum echoes through the atmosphere as he bites his bottom lip; you’ve started something that can’t be stopped now and the way your hand continues to stimulate him, he doesn’t think you want it to anyway. “No,” he says with a shake of his head, “ya wanted to start all this on my bike, that’s fine. Guess I deserve it. But now…I’m gonna make damn sure I finish ya on it.”
As you stand there silently waiting to see what he does next, Simon shifts back in the seat and helps you climb back onto the bike, but facing him so that he can lay you over the fuel tank. He plants his feet firmly onto the ground to keep the setup steady and pulls your body down, those rough hands pushing your skirt up off your hips to your waist as he forces your legs open wider so he can get himself between them. 
Thank God you’ve worn something easy to get into. Or was that your plan all along? Doesn’t really matter much now; he’s in.
Simon looks down and his eyes catch sight of a dark spot in the crotch of your panties. He presses his hand up against the mound of your cunt and the pressure makes you twitch, your back arching up off the tank as he feels what he had just suspected: you’re a little damp.
“Seems someone’s already stirred up,” he comments as his hand releases the pressure only to press in tight all over again in a pattern that matches his increasing heart rate. “Ya like it, don’t ya baby? The way tha bike vibrates ‘tween your legs? Like the way it hums against ya ‘till your clit is swollen?”
Simon’s hard-on throbs harshly against the zipper of his pants and into your naked thigh, tenting the fabric while he grinds it into the muscle as you wrap your legs around his hips; you have to hold on as you can’t stop the way your body jerks the longer his touch prods against those sensitive lips. Just the pressure alone after the drive is enough to make you whimper inside your closed mouth.
“Have ya been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ like this? Me fuckin’ ya raw while you’re on this thing?”
Releasing his hand, he walks those long fingers over the top of your clothed pussy to the waistband of your panties so that he can slip them inside and back down to the moist slit waiting eagerly for their touch and there it is, the unmistakable sound of his breath hitching as his hand makes contact. God, you always feel so fucking good. 
He uses his two middle fingers to part the lips of your slit and run them along the length to gather all the wetness he can on his digits so that once he finds your entrance he can easily slip up inside while the tip of his thumb nestles against your clit. You’re very warm, nice and hot and soft against his fingertips and a pleasurable hum he gives in response to the feeling.
“Ya know, I know why ya started ridin’ with me,” he says as you squirm. “I could see it in your eyes the second I pulled in to pick ya up that first time: ya like the way I look on my bike. Don’t ya?”
Your silence is met with a heavy jab with the pad of his thumb to that sensitive little button, holding it down until you are forced to answer as he thrusts his fingers inside you up to the knuckle. Your body takes them in perfectly, gripping tight around the digits as you suck him in. 
“Yes,” you say in a whine and buck as his stocky fingers give you a nice starting stretch. “You 
look so f-fucking hot on this thing that sometimes I d-don’t know what to do with myself. That’s w-why I n-need…”
“What do ya need, sweetheart?” he groans as he curls his rough fingers up against your G-spot as his thumb begins to stroke concise circles upon your clit. “Use your words.”
You swallow hard while breathing heavily out of your nose as you clamp your lips shut to stop from audibly crying out in ecstasy at that first contact he makes. “Ah, ah, ah,” he scolds as he pins his thumb down hard again. “Let me fuckin’ hear ya. Ain’t no one here ‘cept us.”
A desperate moan escapes your lips and echoes through the empty space as you let it all out. “I need you to f-fuck me on y-your b-bike,” you say as you vibrate under his skilled touch. “B-been daydreaming about it for a while. Didn’t know if you’d want to, but I’m desperate.”
Using a flick of his wrist, he begins to snap his fingers up into you faster and faster, those fingers vigorously working your cunt until your juices are starting to dribble down to collect on his palm and the sound of wet slaps reverberate off the concrete. 
“All ya had ta fuckin’ do was ask,” he says. “Ya know I’d do anythin’ for ya, luv; my pretty girl always gets what she wants.”
You look so beautiful sprawled over his bike like this, disheveled skirt shoved up to your ribs, his hand plunged into the front of your panties so that they are stretched tight around your hips ready to rip, back arching as he again strikes right at the exact point of pleasure, tiny beads of sweat sparkling over the exposed parts of your flesh as you burn for him in the warm night air. It’s an image he’s gonna have committed to memory; every time he rides now he will remember the gorgeous mess he made of you.
If he thought he liked his bike before, it is nothing compared to how he will feel after fucking you on it.
Minute after minute each stroke draws you near that razor’s edge and threatens to violently throw you off. Your walls are fluttering around his fingers as they swell and become engorged the closer you get. Simon knows that it won’t be long now and his pulse races to feel it, that moment you come. But not like this, oh no.
He has still been chomping at the bit to relieve the pressure throbbing between his legs and now that he is sure you are ready for it, he isn’t going to waste time. You’re still in public after all, he doesn’t need this to end before you’ve both gotten off. Amidst your whimpered protests to keep going, that you are almost there, he pulls his fingers out of you with a squelch, your lubrication dripping along his fingers and glistening in the harsh lighting inside the garage. 
You lean your head up as Simon pulls his fingers apart to watch the sticky fluid string between them before he brings them to his mouth and rams them into his lips to lick them clean, taking care of the mess he’s created from his touch. Just a taste to sait him, as if his face isn’t going to be plastered between those thighs later as he replays the memory of what happened here.
The sight of him sucking the lubrication off his fingers has you gasping for air. How can someone look so perfect doing something so filthy? You need him, bad. “Please,” you beg with a needy whine in your voice, “I want you inside me.”
Those words are like striking a match near a gas leak; suddenly he is scrambling to move as fast as possible.  Feverish hands are clawing at clothing at breakneck speeds as his flesh begs to connect with yours and complete this union. “Ya can shoot me dead if I ever say no to that,” he growls as he moves. 
Time is of the essence and so he quickly rips the soaked crotch of your panties to the side, securing them against your thigh and out of his way as his free hand ruthlessly yanks at the button on his pants to get it undone before he wrenches down the zipper and releases his cock that is throbbing and aching with his rapid heartbeat. 
“Gotta make this quick, yeah?” he groans as the caress from his hand over the tip is almost too sensitive to handle. He’s falling fast. “Don’t want no one seein’ ya like this ‘cept me.”
Leaning down, he places a brief, heated kiss with his warm lips to the exposed skin near your belly button before he has you sitting up so that he can get at those lips he yearns to feel against him as he enters you. The threads of your panties are beginning to snap as he holds the fabric out of his way so he can move his hips in as he aligns the head of his cock with that dripping, aching hole. 
Eyes closed and acting off of pure impulse and adrenaline alone, he mutters a rushed “Breathe” into your open mouth as a warning while his fingertips dig into the meat of your hips. The tip prods the opening before it pushes through and slides up inside, the rest following behind in one steady, fluid motion until he reaches the base and there is no more to shove inside you.
Simon shudders at the overwhelming euphoria hitting him all at once and now he’s burning from the inside out, his bulky chest taut with each heavy breath that he releases between kisses as the feeling of you wrapped tightly around his phallus drowns out everything else that surrounds him. 
You throw your head back, breaking the kiss to cry out as you are filled to the brim, being stretched to capacity with all he has to give. His hand grabs at the back of your head so that his lips can shoot back to yours as a tether to help you calm until your body can be allowed a little time to adjust; he’s not exactly small by any means of the word. 
It’s a few seconds before he releases your mouth as he starts to thrust, trying to go slow at first even though he is eager for more. Hips rolling at a steady pace now he pulls back to watch himself pump in and out of you. “Look,” he says in a breathless growl as the hand on the back of your head directs your eyeline down in between your bodies. “This what ya been fuckin’ fantasizin’ ‘bout? I think it looks even prettier on my bike.”
The way his swollen, veiny cock disappears as it slides up into you is mesmerizing. You can feel it but still seeing it has you questioning…where does it all fit? 
He keeps you close as he picks up the pace until the sound of slapping skin against skin fills the silent space. Panting into your face with mouth open, chest heaving up and down with laborious breaths, Simon puts more into his thrusts so that even the bike itself begins to rock with you from the force. The longer he goes the more feral he gets, relinquishing any hold he had on his sanity for as long as he gets to have his body stay fitting so nicely into your cunt.
It’s building, the warmth in the pit of your stomach is gathering steadily as the epinephrine releases all those euphoric chemicals into your bloodstream. The risky nature of your endeavor, the stimulation he’s already produced with his fingers, the fulfilling of your fantasy, it all works together to fuel your passion and his strong thrusts have you ready to spill over the edge at any second.
Simon keeps his pace even as he is now struggling to keep it together. The excitement has gotten to him too so that if he lets himself lose control he is going to come and he can’t have that, not until you have. With each passing second, each pound of that deadly appendage inside you gets more and more desperate, until he finally hears those sweet, sweet words that make his heart skip a beat.
“Don’t stop, baby,” you beg, your voice cracking with desperation as you try to keep your volume at a reasonable level while he slams into you again. “So c-close…”
“Come for me, baby, that’s it,” he coaxes desperately through gritted teeth as he strains to hold on a little longer. Just a little bit more and you’ll finish and he can let go.  
That’s when an idea is thrust into his brain and he knows what he needs to do to bring this full fucking circle for the both of you; complete the fantasy and give you even more to dream about for later. Simon moves over top of you to force you back until you find yourself against the fuel tank again.
Reaching above your head, he cranks the key and restarts the engine. The motorcycle roars to life, filling the garage with its sound, and begins to vibrate until it is pulsating through his body as he thrusts into you harder and harder. It’s like having your own living dildo that only intensifies the stimulation the longer he plunges into your dripping hole; a few more seconds of this and you will be coming on his cock.
And then he revvs the engine…  
The stimulation is too much and suddenly you are forcibly thrown over that precipice as you come with such force, like a hot flash of white light, that your thighs clamp down around his hips as your head falls back. You cry out in choking gasps as your orgasm tears through you; so strong that you are shaking. Your walls are fluttering sporadically around his cock as your hips buck against him unrelentingly and he can’t hold back any longer. 
“Where do ya want me?” he pleads as his fingertips claw at your hips, stabbing harshly into the muscle as he holds on for you to answer; he is about to blow.
“In me, in me,” you whine as you clamp your legs down hard to keep him in. What else were you on birth control for other than this? 
He jerks violently as your pussy continues to flutter around him, making his limbs numb from the pleasure, and with a loud groan that is akin to the bellow of a wild beast, the pressure building at the base of his spine finally reaching its peak and he falls over the edge as he lets it go. His hips never stop, slamming into you as the thick, warm fluid coats the inside of your pussy.
“Fuckin’ hell, luv,” he repeats as he shuts off the engine while he milks himself dry, his thrusts slowing down after a few seconds until they stop all together and he stays with his cock still buried inside you to let your body finish off the rest.
An unknown amount of time passes as your unsteady breathing slowly returns to a more tolerable rhythm, all the while Simon just sits there admiring the products of his labor: the beautiful flush in your cheeks and the contented, glazed look in your eyes, until he can find his voice again once his heartbeat has settled.
“Ya know, I’ve gotten plenty a compliments about my bike, but I gotta say that you’re the prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever rode, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls you in by the back of your head to press another breathless kiss onto your lips.
It is torture having to pull out of you, but even he isn’t delusional enough anymore to think that you can just stay like this for much longer. You’ll have to go soon and he needs to help you to redress as your legs are shaking uncontrollably. There’s no way in hell someone hasn’t heard the noise you’d been making.
“Was it everythin’ ya hoped?” he asks with a contented smile as he carefully moves you off the bike to your feet so that he can readjust your panties and pull down your skirt back around your hips.
You match his expression through the hazy afterglow of your ecstasy as he finishes you up and gets himself situated. A pretty sizable wet stain darkens the middle of his jeans, but he doesn’t pay it any mind; a risk of a good fucking time, that’s all.
“Better,” you murmur, satisfied.
Bringing his hand up he cups it against your cheek a second before he combs his fingers through your hair until he reaches the back of your head where he holds them wrapped in the strands. There’s one final thing he has to do before you get going and that is to give you one last kiss as praise for doing so well for him. With how strung out you still are from your orgasm, the gentleness of it makes your knees weak.
“Now how ‘bout we get back so we can go for round two?” he smirks against your mouth as he pulls away. “We can pretend I’m your bike and ya can show me how well I taught ya to ride.”
He gets you situated on the back of the bike, helmets and all, and restarts the engine. It bursts to life and that familiar vibration makes you squeeze your thighs together all over again. Simon smirks to himself before he turns to you with the visor still pulled up. He opens yours and leans in. “Keep your thighs tight. I want ya ta keep all that inside til we get back. I got plans to watch it leak out; I think I’ve earned it.”
With a mischievous chuckle, he closes your visor and his and takes off back out of the garage and into the cool night air. Good thing it isn’t far back to the house from here…if Simon doesn’t plan to take a detour first.
1K notes · View notes
mysecretlittlelibrary · 9 months ago
Text
Touch Tank
Pairing: Loki x Reader
Word Count: 5.5k (look it wasn't supposed to be this many- my characters got away from me)
Warnings: sheesh, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjob, creampie, Loki is very soft and worshiping, unprotected sex (be safe) I think that's it idk this is kind of mild compared to some of my other stuff- could be waaaay more raunchy lmao
Genre: fluff, smut
Summary: Loki is not the easiest person to get close to, but you're not deterred by his standoffishness. He deserves a friend in the tower and you're determined to be at least that much.
He's so pretty when he goes down on me // he tells me he's gentle when he wants to be // I think he wants to be gentle with me ~ Touch Tank by Quinnie
Tumblr media
***
You rush down the hall, excited for your night out with a group of your non-Avenger friends. You make a point to see your other friends as often as you can to balance those relationships with your ones on the team. After all, living with the Avengers means that you see them all the time, but being an Avenger is not all there is to you. Walking into the main room you're surprised to see Loki sitting at the kitchen counter, just kind of staring at nothing.
"You alright Lo?" You ask him carefully. Your question seems to pull him out of whatever trance he was in.
"I'm fine." He says, though his face isn't convincing.
"Okay? Happy staring- I'm going out so- I'll see you later then." You frown heading over to the main elevator. Loki's not exactly close to anyone in the tower except Thor, and even that he'd argue is false but you always make a point to include him even when the others ignore him a bit. As you ride down to street level you can't help but wonder what has him so pensive up there by himself. On the street, waiting for a taxi to flag down, you can't get yourself to shake Loki from your mind so- reluctantly you dial one of your friends.
"Y/n!" Your friend's excited voice practically yells down the line.
"Hey! Listen, you know I hate to do this, and I wouldn't if it wasn't important, but I'm not going to be able to make it out tonight, something's come up. I'm okay, I just can't come. You guys have fun! I want loads of pictures and a play-by-play once one of you returns to life tomorrow yeah?"
"Aw we're gonna miss you!"
"Ditto! But I'll see you guys soon! Tell the girls I said hi!" You say.
"Of course! Take care, and call if you need anything!"
"Same to you!" You blow a kiss as you end the call and sigh. "Dammit Loki." You roll your eyes as you turn around and go back inside. You ride the elevator back up to the main floor where Loki is still sitting at the counter. You knock on the counter in front of him and grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
"Aren't you meant to be going somewhere?" Loki's eyes narrow at you.
"I was, but I called my friend on my way down and she's actually not feeling too hot so we decided it'd be best to reschedule once she's feeling better." You shrug. You know better than to tell him you cancelled your plans because you saw him moping at the counter. He'd flip at the first possible hint of you pitying him, even though that isn't what this is.
"I see."
"Do you want to watch a movie or something?" You offer.
"What?" He scoffs.
"Well- I was supposed to be spending time interacting with people tonight and that fell through but I'd feel kinda bummed if I spent the whole evening alone now after all the mental prep to be social so if you can be so terribly bothered to hang out for a bit I'd- value that." You say. Loki looks you over as he considers your words and then he sighs.
"I suppose I could spare a few hours, but only because I can't stand watching you mope around the tower the way you do whenever you're disappointed, it's pathetic. But this favor is a huge inconvenience to me I just want you to know that." He says and you have to fight the urge to smile. You know the show of bravado is for his own sake more than anything, and you're willing to let him have it, but it's funny to think of how much rationalizing he's doing to convince himself it's alright to spend time with you.
"Your sacrifice is both duly noted and greatly appreciated. I can offer you compensation in the form of a meal or freshly baked cookies." You say. Loki's eyes light up very briefly at the offer of cookies, he'll never admit it out loud but he loves your baking, he always eats almost half a tray when you make them.
"You know Midgardian food has very little appeal to me, but I suppose a batch of cookies will do." He says with feigned disinterest.
"Do you want them now or at a later date?"
"I have no interest in dragging this out, so now would be better."
"Alright, give me five minutes to change, I'll make you some cookies and we can throw on a movie." You smile at him. You change out of your dress and into a hoodie and shorts. Twenty minutes later you're sat with a tray of cookies and a few other small bites with some random sitcom on the TV.
"I don't understand the point of this. Is there even a plotline?" Loki scoffs.
"Yes but only a little one."
"A little one?"
"So there are a number of shows that you can throw on and watch out of order with little consequence. Like if you do watch every episode in order there is a throughline of like character development and life changes but if you jump into, let's say, season 3 episode 2, you'll just see some funny little antics that are mostly inconsequential and chances are will not come up again until maybe the finale where they recount all their little goofs over the years." You explain.
"Why?"
"Mindless entertainment? It's nice to have something to watch that you don't have to be aware of watching." You shrug. "Lots of shows have complex storylines and characters that need to be paid attention to in order to comprehend what you're watching. Sometimes you don't want to do all of that." You shrug.
"If you don't want to think about what you're watching, why watch anything?" He frowns.
"Pass the time, fill the silence, any number of things. Like we have one on but we're talking now so we're not really paying it any attention, but because it's a sitcom we're not missing anything vital because there's nothing vital to miss. And when this conversation lulls to a stop we'll just tune back in and pick up wherever it's at."
"Your Midgardian habits are very strange." Loki hums.
"What do you do when you're bored and want to be entertained without much effort?" You ask him.
"That specific phenomenon I'm not quite familiar with. If I'm bored, I read, practice spells, on Asgard there wasn't much time for boredom." He shrugs.
"Well, things are different on Midgard. And seeing as you hate everyone and everything about this place you may find yourself well acquainted with that specific phenomenon sooner than you might think." You say.
You gotta say you're pretty proud of your ability to interact positively with Loki. When he first started living here you never would've guessed you'd be watching movies and having silly conversations like this. He's always been rather closed off from the team but perhaps that's something you can actually work around.
*~*~*
"Loki!" You call when you catch him in the hall.
"What?" He rolls his eyes.
"Are you busy?" You ask.
"Why?" His eyes narrow suspiciously.
"Well I was meant to go to the aquarium with Thor today-"
"Thor is on Asgard." Loki says.
"Yes exactly." You nod. You weren't meant to do anything with Thor today, but it seems the key to the trickster god is minor deceptions.
"Did he forget you were going to this 'aquarium' today?"
"It would appear so. Which- I'm not mad about really but these tickets did cost money and I can't exchange them for another date so I was hoping you'd be able to replace him that way the ticket doesn't go to waste." You explain to him.
"You don't have anyone else you could ask?" He huffs.
"Not on such short notice." You shake your head.
"How short is short notice?"
"We need to be there in forty minutes."
"Oh you have got to be kidding me." Loki scoffs.
"If you come with me, when we get back I'll bake you a batch of cookies." You offer. It seems to be the easiest way to get him to do things. You watch Loki contemplate for a moment before he caves to his inner discussion although you're not sure there was much of a debate once you offered baked goods.
"Very well, I'll go so you don't waste your money, but you can't keep bringing your nonsense to me in exchange for cookies." He says.
"Of course not!" You smile knowing damn well you will be doing it again if you see fit. Loki will never admit to enjoying your company or wanting you to make him cookies, but considering he always accepts your offers and never truly complains when you're together, you know the irritation is only a front. "We'll leave in 15 minutes 'kay?"
"Very well." He says. You head back to your room to get yourself together and 15 minutes later you meet Loki by the kitchen.
"Ready Lo?" You ask.
"Yes let's get on with it." He says. You loop your arm through his as you leave the tower and you're surprised he doesn't protest the contact, but you won't bring it up. At the aquarium, you excitedly talk about all your favorite exhibits as you walk from section to section. "So what was the plan exactly?" Loki asks.
"What?"
"With Thor, why were you bringing him here in the first place?"
"Oh! Well because there's a lot he still wants to learn about Earth so I've been trying to take him places where he can learn a number of things at the same time." You shrug.
"And how is that going?"
"We've done the zoo and a couple of museums already so I'd say not bad. Oh, we're by the jellyfish, you should see the touch tank!" You say.
"The what now?" Loki frowns. You grab his hand and lead him to the shallow tank of water off to one side.
"This is a touch tank. These are jellyfish, they're like 95% water and don't have brains, some of them are dangerous, but these ones are pretty harmless and you can touch them! Only on the tops of their heads though. Like this." You lift his hand up and push down all but two of his fingers and then slowly, you guide his hand into the water. "You have to be gentle." You tell him softly as you let his fingers touch the top of a moon jelly in the pool. You turn to Loki with a small smile only to find him already looking at you very intensely.
"I'm quite gentle when I want to be." He says quietly. You step back a bit and clear your throat, dipping your own fingers in to touch a jellyfish for yourself.
"Well I hope you want to be gentle with the moon jellies. This is one of my favorite things here." You tell him.
"So anyone can just walk up and pet the jellyfish?" 
"Yeah! Isn't it cool?"
"Sure." He nods.
"Wait till you see some of the other Jellyfish they've got here! They're insane!" You take his hand again and walk further into the jellyfish exhibit.
"They have more open tanks of creatures?"
"Oh- no all the other Jellyfish are in closed tanks." You giggle.
"Just as well, you said some are dangerous, no?"
"Well, yes, but aren't they just so beautiful?" You say looking at one of the tanks.
"Breathtaking." Loki says before he can help himself. He clears his throat, lucky you're so captivated with the floating water creatures that you don't even notice his eyes on you as opposed to the exhibits.
"Thank you for coming with me." You tell him.
"You bribed me."
"True- but you still could have said no. Especially since you're not even a fan of our, how do you say it? 'Mediocre Midgardian food'."
"Yes well, you pout when you're disappointed and it's incredibly displeasing to see. The whole tower suffers your moods. And while Midgardian food is mediocre yours is- the least. Plus I can rub this in Thor's face."
"I see you really weighed those pros and cons." You chuckle.
"I must. If I'm to disrupt my entire afternoon on such short notice." He shrugs. You roll your eyes and pull him through to the next exhibit but the smile on your face can't be hidden.
~*~*~
You hum to yourself as you enter the tower library.
"Good morning Loki." You say immediately spotting him on one of the lounge chairs. He's always in here, it's like his sanctuary and over the last few weeks you've found it easy to interact with him.
"It's 3pm y/n."
"It's morning somewhere Lo, time is arbitrary, don't be a grump." You shrug.
"What are you doing here anyway?" He rolls his eyes.
"Utilizing the insane collection of books we have considering there's only like 3 people living here that would ever pick up a book for from here."
"You've been coming here a lot lately."
"Why should you be the only one taking advantage of this big otherwise undisturbed room?"
"The best part of this room is that none of you come here."
"If you want to not run the risk of having to interact with anyone who lives here to might I suggest your room which has a lock on it." You smile brightly.
"Very funny." Loki scoffs.
"I thought so too!" You snap back. Loki gives you a dry look.
"Must you be so-"
"Charming? Witty? Adorable?"
"Not quite the adjectives I would've chosen." He says.
"Well next time finish your sentence." You wink at him.
"Are you trying to get under my skin?"
"Of course not! But it's pretty easy."
"Why must you bother me?" His eyes narrow.
"Maybe because you like talking to me more than you want to admit."
"And why would you think that?"
"Because you always do."
"Do what?"
"I'm sure you can figure that out." You say turning to leave the library.
"Do what y/n!?" He calls after you. "You didn't even get a book!" He shouts as the library doors close behind you. Loki frowns to himself for a moment and then decides to contact the only person he'd ever go to for advice on any subject. A looking glass spell slowly brings Frigga to life above his palm.
"Mother." He gets her attention.
"Loki?" Frigga picks up her looking glass with a smile. "Hello my darling boy. So lovely to hear from you. Thor tells me you're well."
"In the physical sense, yes." Loki nods.
"What troubles you my dear son?"
"I think Midgardian women might be more confusing than those on Asgard." Loki says.
"A woman? Do you feel for her?"
"Don't be ridiculous mother." Loki's words come out as a breathless chuckle.
"It is not ridiculous. She plagues your mind. Why, if you do not feel for her?"
"Truthfully I'm not sure." He frowns.
"Have you considered that you feel for her?"
"How would I know?"
"I believe the fact that you are asking may perhaps be a strong indicator already. This girl, do you see her often?"
"She lives here so yes." He nods.
"I mean intentionally darling." Frigga smiles.
"What?"
"Walking past her in the hallways is not quite what I'm referring to."
"Oh- well she's the least insufferable person here so- sometimes, yes. Though it's usually her bribing me to do things when her other plans fall through."
"What do you mean?"
"Well she invited me to this water creature house they call an aquarium a couple of weeks ago because Thor forgot he was meant to go with her."
"Are you sure Thor was meant to go with her?" She asks.
"I don't follow." Loki shakes his head.
"I wonder if this girl is playing tricks on my trickster." Frigga smiles knowingly.
"Do you overestimate her or underestimate me to believe I could be outsmarted by a mortal?"
"It is not a blow Loki, be calm my son. She plagues your mind when she is not there, she has made her way to a spot many people never have the pleasure of knowing within you. I believe she has stolen your heart and even you do not know it yet."
"What makes you think that?"
"In all your years Loki you have never once asked me about a girl. And this one seems to have you quite... wrapped."
"I resent that notion." He scoffs.
"What made you contact me?"
"Well she was-" Loki stops himself, his mother has already decided Loki is a goner, perhaps he shouldn't feed her any more information.
"She was with you Loki?"
"I spend a lot of time in the library. She came by and we had a short conversation that's all."
"What did she say?" Frigga asks.
"She thinks I like her more than I do. Or rather more than I will admit. I asked her why and she refused to answer."
"Well- what would lead her to believe that?"
"I have no idea." Loki scoffs.
"How is your relationship with her different than with the others?"
"I don't speak to the others. I only speak to her and Thor."
"Tell me about her."
"She is- happy, but not like Thor- his happiness is loud and aggressive she is- a calmer happiness. She seems to be crucial to the peace in this madhouse. Not for me, for everyone. She's also frustratingly smart, she has a comeback for everything and- it's nice to feel as though someone on this dreadful planet can match me- even if I find it vexing at times. Also she bakes- I don't quite enjoy Midgardian food but her treats are quite good though I refuse to tell her that-"
"I'm sure she knows." Frigga says with a soft smile.
"Why are you smiling like that."
"If you could see your face when you speak of this girl you would know like I know that your heart is no longer yours."
"My heart is very much still-"
"No darling. You may not realize but your mind has already given your heart to her. Follow your heart to her. Allow yourself to go there. It will do you good and you deserve it."
"Mother I cannot." He shakes his head.
"You can, and I suggest you do soon. If you do not tell her she has your heart you risk her unknowingly breaking it. Though I sense she is more aware than you may think. Certainly she's more aware than you are."
"You keep saying that-"
"There was no day planned with Thor. I would bet money she wanted to go with you, but you are a tricky thing. To catch fox you must think like one."
"What do I do mother? If you are right and this girl does have me, what do I do?" Loki asks.
"Be kind, be honest, be true. Don't wait too long." Frigga warns.
"Don't wait too long?" He frowns.
"Yes child, that woman will not wait forever for you to wake up."
"What if she is not waiting?"
"You misunderstand. I'm not saying she is waiting on you to come to your senses what I'm saying is that affections change one day she may not enjoy your time as she does now, someone serious may woo her and you miss your chance entirely, stars forbid it but something could happen to her or you. Do not get in your own way Loki, you have a tendency to do that."
"I do not get in my own way."
"Loki." Frigga says, leveling her son with an unimpressed look.
"I will consider your advice mother thank you." Loki cedes.
"Good. I will expect an update soon so be prepared for me to check in."
"Of course mother. Take care."
"You too my son." Frigga sets her looking glass down and Loki disconnects his end of the spell with a sigh. If Frigga is correct, Loki has much to consider, and rather quickly based on her warnings.
*~*~*
When the door to the library opens you don't bother looking up. The book you're reading is far too interesting to stop mid-page.
"What are you doing?" Loki jumps when he walks passed you. You look up momentarily, debating how badly you want to make a stupid joke.
"I'm practicing my backhand spring." You say flatly.
"You're sitting on the couch?"
"I'm also holding a book and yet you asked what I'm doing. I don't know what answer you expected honestly." You shrug.
"I just meant you're not usually sitting around in here."
"Is reading in the library that odd to you?" You chuckle.
"Well- no. I was just expecting the library to be empty." He says.
"Would you like me to leave?"
"Why would you offer to leave? You were here first."
"Yeah but I can read anywhere. Your hermit tendencies limit your spaces far more than mine."
"I am not a hermit." Loki rolls his eyes.
"Of course not." You hum.
"I'm not. I just have no desire to waste my time having unintelligent conversations with the uncultured morons that live here."
"Well don't let me bother you then."
"Not you, the others. And you can obviously stay."
"Why thank you for deeming me worthy enough to stay in your presence." You quip dramatically.
"It's not as if you care what I deem anyhow."
"True, that was sarcasm. Happy reading." You turn your attention back to your book and though Loki would like the conversation to continue he can't think of anything to say to justify pulling your focus from the book you're so clearly captivated by. You're in the library with your book for a few more hours and during that time Loki cannot help the way his eyes wander to you every so often, he doesn't even realize it's happening at first but once he does his mother's words that have been in his head for the past 2 weeks ring even louder.
~*~*~
"Y/n!" Wanda practically sings as she walks, no from the sound of it she's skipping, over to you at the kitchen island.
"Yes Wanda my dear?" You chuckle, setting your sandwich back on its plate.
"You know our coffee shop?"
"Around the block?"
"Yep!" She nods.
"What of it?"
"Well I heard through the grapevine that someone who works there has a crush on you."
"You heard- through the grapevine?" You quirk up an eyebrow at her.
"Cassie told me."
"How did you end up in that conversation?" You chuckle.
"Not the point, we should go down there!" She suggests excitedly.
"I'm eating a sandwich-"
"Not right now, tomorrow morning."
"You wanna tell me- who this mystery crush is? Because I'm not going anywhere if you don't tell me." You say biting your sandwich.
"It's Elliot."
"Oh he's cute-"
"Wanda." Vision calls as the main elevator arrives.
"Soooo we'll game plan when I get back?" She asks walking backwards.
"Fine." You shake your head and chuckle as she disappears in the elevator with Vision. You take a bite of your sandwich, presumably alone again, only to hear a throat clearing from behind you. You look over your shoulder to find Loki the source of the sound.
"Oh hi Loki." You say covering your mouth.
"Hello." He mutters.
"What brings you out of hiding today?"
"I'm not a hibernating bear you know."
"Of course not." You hum. Loki opens the fridge to grab something to drink, although it's mostly just so he can convince himself to bite the bullet and confess to you before this 'Elliot' from the coffee shop has an opportunity to turn your head like his mother warned him of.
"Do you have a moment? I know you're- eating but I'd like to talk- about something." He says awkwardly.
"Sure. I can use multiple senses at once. What's up?" You ask taking another bite of your sandwich. Loki opens his mouth a couple of times before he frowns. "Is something wrong Loki?"
"I don't know." He says, brows furrowed as he looks at the floor.
"You don't know if something's wrong? Are you dizzy? Dehydrated? Feverish? Do you need to sit down?" You sit up, concerned.
"No, I don't."
"You sure? You look kind of- constipated. I think you should sit down."
"I don't want to y/n." He grits out.
"Okay, calm down no need to get angry with me for caring."
"You said I look constipated!"
"Well you do! But only a little bit!"
"This is not going at all how I planned it?"
"What are you on about Loki?" You frown.
"Nothing it was just way easier to do this in my head."
"Easier to do what?"
"Never mind. Enjoy your lunch." Loki pivots and you almost knock over your barstool trying to stop him from leaving the kitchen.
"Not so fast god of mischief tell me what it is you're so panicked about."
"It's nothing y/n." He rolls his eyes.
"Nonsense. If it were nothing you wouldn't have made such a big deal out of it in the first place." You tell him.
"Yes, I over reacted, which is what I just realized and why I'm no longer interested in having this conversation." He says completely avoiding your gaze.
"Don't be a coward Loki." You snap.
"I beg your pardon?" His eyes widen.
"Don't be a coward. I've never known you to shy away from sharing your thoughts even when nobody asked don't tell me suddenly you're incapable of speaking your mind."
"I am far from incapable." He says.
"So spill it." You push.
"And if I don't?"
"Then you're not who I thought you were."
"Over a personal thought?" His eyebrow raises.
"It's the principle. What have you got to lose that makes you so fearful of your own voice?"
"Something I didn't even realize was important to me until recently." He says quietly.
"What's that?" You ask. Loki's eyes scan your face for a long moment, and if not for how close you are you'd swear he's holding his breath for how shallow it is.
"You." He whispers.
"I'm not going anywhere." You shake your head.
"I'm afraid you may take that back if you hear that which I refuse to say." He says.
"Is the reward worth the risk?" You ask.
"If I'm lucky."
"I'm disappointed that you see me as someone so easily run off Loki."
"That's not what this is." He shakes his head.
"No? It sounds like it."
"Do you see me as somebody that could be loved?"
"Of course I do. Thor loves you unconditionally. Your mother too from what I've heard."
"Do you see me as somebody that could be loved, by you?" This question is far more hesitant.
"Is that what you want?"
"In time, yes." He nods and a stray giggle escapes your lips.
"That's what you thought would drive me away?!" You shake your head. "Maybe you haven't noticed but I put quite a bit of effort into creating time to spend with you."
"Oh come on it's mostly coincidence, your friends canceling or Thor forgetting you had plans."
"You silly trickster. I chose to spend that time with you." You say.
"To be clear- does that mean you're as taken with me as I am with you?" Loki asks.
"You're taken with me?!" You blink at him in shock.
"Yes was I not clear about-"
"I'm joking Loki I just wanted to hear you say it directly." You smile.
"You vex me." He breathes out.
"And yet you like me anyway. Even more than I expected."
"Don't boast."
"How can I not?" You ask.
"I can think of a few ways to stop you."
"You can try Loki but I'm not so easily swayed." You taunt. Loki's hand comes up to your cheek and he kisses you. His lips are soft and he kisses you as if he's got all the time in the world. When Loki pulls away your eyes flutter open with surprise.
"How's that for sway?" He smirks.
"I'll admit that wasn't a terrible start." You breathe.
"Oh yeah?" Loki lifts you into his arms suddenly and you squeal in surprise as he carries you to his room. He lays you gently on his bed and kisses you again. "Not a terrible start is not enough." He hums trailing to your neck, peppering your throat with kisses and light nibbles. Loki pulls your shirt over your head. "Stars above you're beautiful." He mutters trailing his fingers delicately across your newly exposed skin.
"I'm not a flower you know." You giggle, the soft touches making you feel ticklish.
"What do you mean?" He frowns.
"Nothing bad. You're just being much more gentle than I'd have expected." You tell him caressing his face. He pauses for a moment as you trace his features.
"Do you remember what I said at the aquarium?"
"About the hammerhead shark reminding you of-"
"No about being gentle you silly girl." He says with a disbelieving chuckle.
"Oh! Yes that you can be when you want to be."
"Precisely."
"I didn't realize it applied elsewhere."
"Do you not like gentle?"
"Gentle is good." You shake your head. "Just unexpected." You smile. Loki returns your smile and leans down to press kisses down your abdomen. He pulls your shorts and panties off together, kissing your calf ones you're freed from the fabric. Loki's eyes are on you as his lips glide up your leg, opened mouthed kisses until he reaches your thigh where he bites at the skin, just enough for you to feel it. With one last kiss to your hip, Loki buries his face in your heat. You gasp at the first feel of his tongue against your center. His movements are unhurried as he watches your reactions to his mouth. When he finds the rhythm that you react the strongest to he sticks to it, enjoying the whimpers and moans he pulls from you and the way your body grinds against him.
"Oh god." You pant, one hand tangling in his hair. When you feel two of his fingers slowly glide into your entrance and curl upwards your eyes shoot open with a whine that makes Loki hum against you. You glance down at him, surprised to see his green eyes peering up at you with something akin to adoration shining in them and despite the pleasure building in your belly all you can think about for a brief moment is how... pretty he looks. Of course, that train of thought is lost when Loki wraps his lips around your clit, focusing his attention on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Between his tongue and his fingers you don't have a chance of staving off the orgasm that washes over you soon after. Loki works you through it, only pulling away when your breathing starts to steady.
"You are a vision in the heat of release you know." He says a hand on your chin to guide your attention.
"No, I did not know that." You smile reaching up to undress Loki. You pull his shirt over his head, littering his chest with kisses as you undo his pants but don't pull them down. You slip your hand into the waistband of his underwear stroking his hard hot dick.
"F-fucking hell you might be the death of me." Loki breathes out shuddering beneath your touch.
"I sure hope not. I quite like you alive you know." You joke with a giggle. Loki grabs your wrist and shakily pulls your hand from him.
"Right, if this goes on I'll embarrass myself." He says with a slight chuckle shifting to pull his pants down enough to free himself. He lines himself with your entrance and slowly works himself passed your walls with short rolling thrusts, deeper each time.
"That's nothing to be embarrassed about you know Loki." You tell him, admittedly a bit winded as he fills you.
"Maybe not, but I'll admit it's not ideal for our first time together." He groans as he bottoms out.
"Don't get caught up in expectations Loki." You tell him.
"Only my own darling." He says. Loki holds still for a few moments, allowing you to adjust to his size, only moving when you begin to grind against him.
"Move, Loki, please." You groan. Loki lets out a breath as he starts a steady rhythm. He's immediately a string of groans and curses in your ear as he fucks you, his sounds mingling with yours beautifully.
"Gods you feel even better than I could've imagined." He pants out between thrusts.
"Don't stop baby. God you feel so good." You moan, grinding up against his hips to meet his movements. Loki reaches between your bodies and his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles against the bud that turn your quiet moans to loud whines.
"Come on darling, I want to feel you cum on my dick. Please y/n- let go for me." Loki coaxes, kissing at your throat again and it doesn't take long for your body to tense with the feeling of another orgasm. Loki groans deeply as your walls tighten around him from your release.
"Did you like that Loki? Feeling my pussy clench from cumming for you? You're close aren't you? Come on baby, cum for me."
Loki's thrusts speed up a bit, then falter, and stall altogether moments later as you feel the heat of his release inside you. Loki kisses your shoulder gently as he comes down from his orgasm, your fingers stroking his hair a comfort he wouldn't have thought he'd enjoy.
"You know- I know you were trying to get me to stop boasting but if boasting always ends with us like this I'm inclined to do it more often." You say after a few moments of silence and Loki chuckles against your neck.
"Boasting is not a prerequisite my darling." He says sitting up. Loki conjures a damp cloth and gently dabs first your face, then your neck, and carefully between your legs before helping you into his shirt.
"Well what is?" You ask.
"There isn't one you tricky girl." He chuckles pulling you into his chest.
"How am I the tricky one here?"
"You caught the fox, I think that's worth some tricky points."
"What fox? Are you the fox?"
"Mhm." He nods.
"Well- then that's by far the best thing I've ever caught." You smile up at him.
"The fox isn't complaining either." He hums and you cuddle closer to him. This hadn't exactly been your original gameplan with Loki but this is way better than any outcome you could've expected.
***
1K notes · View notes
keferon · 24 days ago
Note
Sorry in advance for the word vomit but. I love the whole Jazz-and-Prowl figuring out the language barrier but also consider:
They don't.
Prowl's been captured by Quintessons and is currently thinking of ways to completely scrape his processor so they can't get any useful data, only to get rescued by a random mech. They fight their way out (the mech is extremely proficient in combat). At first he thinks it's a drone- it looks at him when he asks questions but doesn't answer (responds to noise, not language), it is sparkless (not alive) and it makes random but entirely incoherent noises and doesn't even ping (not able to communicate). Prowl has no idea what's going on but he's too injured to make it back to base alone and it's helping him? So. He chalks it up to some waylaid stealth military asset and tries to think of ways to both get it back to base whilst also making sure it's not some sort of Quintesson Trojan-horse [10%].
Meanwhile, Jazz was sent to blow up a Quintesson command camp by his organisation but instead he got thrown through a weird portal, and found a pilot all tied down and probably being tortured so naturally he busted him out but uh. He has no idea what the other is saying. He's talking in total tonal gibberish. Not that he's judging, he's heard some stuff about how far other piloting programs are willing to go to advance neural technology. And his face! He has one! A handsome one. Must be some advanced shit because he's got micro expressions and he's using them to frown as him. Anyways, Jazz's got bigger fish to fry. The sky's a different colour, there are two suns and atmo is reading terribly low levels of O2. Maybe he and this pilot got thrown into an alien planet? Cool- well, actually pretty bad but hey they're in this together.
Prowl knows by models that they're bound to run into another Quintesson patrol eventually, and based on the drones alertness to its surroundings, his previous observations to its capacity to fight, and how it doesn't stray to far from him, if patrol numbers are favourable [1-8 range] they can survive [70, .5]% the route back to base. But the drone is reckless and abandons him to the melee (how can a drone be reckless?) and Prowl gets injured worse. Energon drips from wounds, and the angle makes it challenging for him to patch it. But the drone creeps closer, folds to its (knees? Its joints are in an odd but effective configuration) and gently (gently?) begins to mimic (clumsily) Prowl's motions of patching his wounds. Here is where Prowl falters, because drones are not so careful. Drones do not do not look up multiple times at his faceplates, and become more delicate when they see you in pain. Drones don't hold out a servo and help you to your pedes when your done. Which begs the question, if he's not a drone, so what has been done to this mech?
Jazz on the other hand is freaking the fuck out. Naturally. Because uh, he started slicing Quints, expecting Frowny to do the same because his mech was still clearly operational, only for the idiot to completely disregarded normal combat standards which can be summarised as 'fight hard or die' and instead get chewed on by some big ass teeth.
Only to see the glowing purple dripping from his torn sides, only to see that he's bleeding.
Machines don't bleed.
So Jazz figures out Frowny is an alien first. He starts pointing at himself and saying his name, insistently, until Frowny repeats it. He points at Frowny, and records and replays whatever sound bite Frowny makes until Frowny's also nodding in confirmation. He still calls him Frowny, because even though he has his name? Probably? He has no idea what it means and can't actually pronounce it (no idea how to get a mouth to move that way) but hey! Progress! He does this again and again with small things (rock, hand, cyber?animals, music (Frowny's confused at that one it's pretty adorable) ect.
Prowl has no idea what to make of this strange mech. Is he a failed experiment? A runaway from Cybertron following the Functionalists rise or power? Thennn Prowl finds out one fateful night that the mech is actually an alien organic (in a fit of misunderstandings, and squeezes him pretty hard for it ouch and feels SO guilty about it later) and suddenly the language/culture barrier makes way more sense.
Prowl's injuries degrade (a line splits). He has no way to communicate this except for the energon dripping out of his chassis. The organic is clearly worried (how did he think he was ever sparkless), and Prowl can't reach the injury himself. So he guides the mech's servos past armour and wiring, down to protoform (near his sparkchamber) to the split line. Gestures and hopes the mech can figure out what to do from his miming[#^%]. That'll he'll be careful, and won't hurt him [5%, 87%, #*%, *########%].
Frowny is later picking shrapnel stuck in his forearm that's too small for him to remove, so Jazz gets out of his mech to help with his small human hands. Jazz has no way to communicate to Frowny that if he moves, he'll sheer Jazz's limbs clean off, but he goes in anyway, because Frowny's hurt, and speckled in blood. Because he's clearly struggling and hurt and tired. Because Jazz has to trust that he won't.
Frowny's injures eventually make him collapse, and Jazz carries him the rest of the way. Jazz has no idea how they'll be received (especially considering how Frowny reacted when he found out Jazz was organic). Jazz knows he might be dissected. Knows he might be pulled apart (again) but.
He remembers all the little moments they had on their journey (Frowny shielding him from falling rubble when Jazz was out of his mech once, them getting to gesticulating arguments, Frowny's reaction to his music, how he fell asleep on Jazz once and it was fricken adorable).
It doesn't matter that Jazz can't say (barely understands) his actual name. That Frowny probably doesn't understand his. It doesn't matter that they talk in halting miming, in broken sound clips and touches and half-glares.
He's already gone out on all his limbs, might as well put his head on the chopping block. And if it causes him to lose the damn thing, well.
He's a pilot. Dying horribly is practically his job description.
OOOUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHH DYING HORRIBLY IS PRACTICALLY HIS JOB DESCRIPTION,,,,,,,,,,,
Tumblr media
450 notes · View notes
notsodailycake · 30 days ago
Text
Part 3 for the fitclet I did for @keferon 's mecha pilot jazz au! (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧
For those who missed it:
Part 1 || Part 2
This is probably the longest out of all the 3 parts, dear god, I went all in. It came out bigger than I ever expected it to be. I was not expecting it to go this far honestly, but the parasites in me, they begged for more. So here we are! :D
Again tho, idk how in character they will be here, but I tried my best \(*T▽T*)/. Also, kinda bullshitted my way through in worldbuilding bc idk how things work exactly- and I had to come up with stuff on my own, even tho I'm not that good in mecha world stuff, so I'm sorry for any inaccuracies ^^;;
Now, to give credit to those who so desperately deserve it:
My sister @saltynsassy31 for helping me when I couldn't write out some of my ideas and doing it herself (so consider this as a bit of a frankenstein monster of both our writing styles, mainly during intense scenes. If there is any fancy words in this, it's cuz of her) and being my beta reader for this part. Seriously yall, this wouldn't have been as coherent and well written without her help!
Also huge thanks to my online sister @yayadrawsthingz for helping out when I hit a few road blocks during this!
And finally, a huge huge thanks to my honorary online uncle @hexyz09 for helping me finish off the final fight scene when I got stuck during some plot holes and road blocks, or generally just writing myself into a corner and having to help me leave it, despite not knowing jackshit about the au, let alone the ship and characters themselves, but was still willing to help me through in working on the plot, in this crazy obsession of mine XD
Yall have no idea how much help these guys were. Probably wouldn't be able to finish without either of their help ᕦ(òωóˇ)ᕤ
Oh and an honourable shoutout to the song "Headlock" by Imogen Heap! Kept listening to this on loop as it kept my drive up to write this.
Now onto the fic!
---
Prowl ignored Jazz's various attemps to push out his servo from the cockpit. Despite the mech being weak himself, the human was still no match against thousands of pounds of metal, especially in his own weakened state.
Which was a matter of its own at the moment. Prowl knew he had very little time to be able to run ahead before the other humans caught on to them, having noticed the alarm bells ringing through the facility.
So he ran towards the exit Jazz had initially pointed out, the only plan they had at the moment.
...
"Prowl! Prowler, hey! I know you can hear me! Prowl!" Jazz shouted as he slammed yet another fist in a failed attempt to nudge the bot's servo out of the way. He hasn't said a word since picking Jazz up, and he wasn't sure how long that was, maybe not that much, but it felt too long yet too little at the same time (what a headache).
Sliding down, he gently hit his forehead over the protective servo and let out a sigh of defeat. No way he could get him to move like this.
Why was he trying to anyways? Didn't he want to be with Prowl? He certainly did, but somehow, something in him made him feel like he shouldn't just be accepting this.
And maybe Prowl also knew this, which is why he took off and hasn’t said a word since. Both held conflicted feelings about the whole thing. If only things didn't feel so blurry right now!
Suddenly, a hard shift made Jazz stumble a bit, grasping at whatever he could so he didn't fall back, loud noises of metal scrapping metal could be heard as something got kicked open on the outside. Jazz scrambled over to the small crevice that opened between Prowl's digits, not enough for him to fit anything over other than his hand, but enough to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.
Prowl had kicked down the exit door to the lab ('not like he had the hands available to properly open the damn thing anyways' Jazz thought to himself). It was meant for mechas to exit the room after they finish off whatever it is they do in here, that Jazz knew, and if he was right, just down the hall there will be another exit leading to the backroom where they stockpiled the mech suits. No one but the technicians were usually supposed be there, it would be an easy fight to get to the big gate that lead to the outside training grounds, which is why Jazz had pointed for the mech to go down there in the first place.
There shouldn't have been a problem besides giving him time to leave unscathed. Which Jazz assumed would not be the case as he was currently inside Prowl and not buying him time to escape. But, to Jazz's surprise, nothing had come close to attacking them, yet.
The pilot did not have much time to contemplate it as suddenly he heard Prowl rumble an annoyed grunt.
"Don't move."
In shock, Jazz stumbled back as Prowl removed his hand and reached for the end of the overhead gate, seemingly alot harder to kick down than a two way door. The only thing it would really do would be to bend the metal a bit but it wouldn't give an open entrance. Jazz didn't dare leave, not like he could from this hight, but even if he could, Prowl would probably just pick him up again; it be a waste of energy really (just admit it, you don't want to leave him). But something about this felt wrong, so far they haven't had a single guard come down the hall, just this small pause would give them enough time to catch up to the two runaways, Jazz was sure that guards had been on his tail when he was under his rampage.
Unless...
Wait.
"Prowl! Wait don't open that gate!" But he was too late, the moment he uttered those words the mech had already been in motion and pushed the gate up with all his might and as quickly as he opened it a gun shot came through the otherside. They had been waiting for them, they knew where they were heading. The bastard he kicked down prior to this probably saw them and reported it, dammit.
Prowl let out a strangled cry of pain as the shot landed right on his left shoulder (like it wasn't damaged enough by the lack of arm), Jazz fell backwards with the harsh motions, hitting the back of the pilot's seat, the impact leaving his vision to go dark for a few seconds before he collected himself as quickly as he could. In an instant though, just as he tried to get back up to see what was outside, Prowl had put his hand back over the open cockpit.
No...he wouldn't be able to fight like this, protecting him as he is would only hinder the bot to more damage. And that's exactly what Jazz intended to express to the other. "Prowl! You won't be able to fight with your hand over me! Forget about holding me inside, I won't leave, I promise!"
"That's not the point!" Prowl growled, letting out another hiss of pain as more shots were loaded, someone shouting out for them to stand down.
Prowl couldn't risk leaving Jazz exposed. Unlike the human, Prowl could take a few shots, their weapons not being strong enough to inflict any serious damage to his plating (though perhaps a bit to his exposed protoform, though he could handle it for a little while longer). But it would take one lucky shot on Jazz to have him dead in an instant, and Prowl couldn't take that chance.
It seemed like Jazz got the message, not spitting back any sort of remark about Prowl's lack of explanation.
But the mech couldn't linger too much on those thoughts, he had to get out, and fast. He was losing too much energon, and his vision was starting to get blurry, which wasn't a good sign. It didn't help that his thoughts were a hazy mess, his usual ability to think logically overthrown by the panic of needing to get out of this place while ensuring Jazz's survival.
It's not like he had much to do, though. Any possible escape hindered by the fact he couldn't use his weapons unless he risks Jazz's life to one lucky shot. Perhaps he could make a run for it, knock through the mechas in front of him and let them tumble over as he reached the final exit; it wasn’t the best plan perhaps, with at least a 19% rate of success, given he isn't in the best physical state at the moment, he probably wouldn't be strong enough to knock them over. Added to the fact the exit wasn't shut by a gate he could simply knock over easily either, like the previous one. He'd have to push it open from the bottom, and there wasn’t enough time for him to act on it.
But he'd have his back turned to the shots, reassuring Jazz's own safety, so he could perhaps risk removing his servo to push the gate open once more.
With a quick warning from his HUD telling him his energon levels were getting dangerously low, Prowl decided to take the risk, with little time left, he took a step forward making a run for it.
The mechas seemed to ready themselves for his attack, quickly positioning their weapons to target him, closing any narrow space they had between each other.
What they didn't expect was for the mech to charge his whole body weight onto them. Despite not feeling any pain, they certainly could not fight against gravity itself. They all stumbled against each other as Prowl made a mad dash to the gate. He slid on his knees and made a quick reach for the bottom of the gate, anxiously removing his hand from over the cockpit, bending over protectively as to not have anything be able to aim inside.
He could feel his spark beating fast from anxiety, they were so close, they'll be able to leave soon enough. Jazz was most certainly having a good feel to Prowl's anxious beat, the loud thruming reaching the bot's own audials was most certainly deafening to the human sitting near it.
Then, a shot.
A pop.
A blinding light.
And the beat stops.
Jazz was curling in on himself as an instinct to protect himself from the sudden burst behind him. It only took a few seconds for him to realise what that was once he couldn't hear a single beat of a spark, or the burning sensation it left, feeling his own heart stop and drop to his gut.
It felt like the world around him suddenly stopped, everything going into slow motion, with no sounds to accompany the dread. Feeling as Prowl's body leaned foward to crash on the ground.
But just as quickly as the silance came, it left. Prowl catching himself from hitting the ground with a grunt, a slam could be heard as his arm and elbow made contact with the concrete floor. His spark beating, weakly, but beating nonetheless. What felt like hours of silance was only a quick few seconds of deafening dread.
"Prowl!" Jazz called out in desperation, reaching out to hold the edges of the cockpit, so not to fall out, but to also try and comfort his anxiousness as he tried to look up at the mech's face. The mech made a sound of acknowledgement, which came out more like broken static, but didn't make much effort to move, his face scrunched up in pain, optics shut. They shot him on his back, too close to where his spark would be, causing him to skip a beat, and busting a bit of his left doorwing, but it still seemed to function somewhat.
Suddenly, both of them picked up on the sound of something opening, giving no time for either to fully process what had just occurred. Prowl made a quick move to get his hand over the cockpit once more (with slight struggle as he stumbled and fell on his aft) as a thick metal slab emerged from above and beneath, right in front of the gate, shutting it close with a protective layer of metal. Guessing by the red alarm ringing around them, an emergency protocol to keep anyone from leaving. Slag.
The mechas surrounded them, guns all aimed to shoot at the alien mech if he didn't comply.
It was silent for a brief moment, in exception to Prowl's anxious beating spark (which wasn't a problem for Jazz at the moment, the burning warmth being somewhat comforting) and Jazz's own heart beating over his ears. Both catching their breaths.
"There's no point in fighting. So make this easy for all of us and surrender yourselves." A nobody pilot finally spoke out, weapon leaning a tad closer than the others.
The atmosphere felt heavy, they were pinned down. Really, the only thing they could do was surrender, but Jazz would sure as hell be reprimanded for his actions and Prowl.....he didn’t want to think about that. No, he wouldn't even allow that thought to become any sort of reality.
"Prowl" he whispered, knowing only the mech would hear him, leaning a gentle souch to his servo as if to beg, "I know you might not have alot of trust 'n me, but this might be our best shot." There was a tense shift, not too noticeble unless you could see the mechanisms from the inside, Prowl knew what he was about to suggest. "You need to let me pilot you." He cringed as he felt the other's servo stiffen, he wasn't pleased with the idea, and neither was Jazz, but he knew this place alot better than Prowl did, and knew how to properly defeat the mechas, knowing their weak spots. And Prowl was all too aware of that too, Jazz knew it. They both were very aware of it all.
"Please," he begged, leaning his forehead on the mech's servo yet again, "I can't lose you again." There was slight shift, Jazz looked up, though he obviously couldn't see the mech's face, the sigh he let out was loud and clear. The controls on the pilot's seat shifted, Jazz got the message:
'Alright'
He couldn't help but let a small smirk creep over his face, making way to sit down and start piloting.
"Under one condition though," Prowl suddenly whispered to him, though it was alot louder to Jazz on the inside.
"And what would that be, partner?" The title flew out too fast for Jazz to stop himself, feeling so natural to call Prowl partner once more. The mech didn't seem against it though.
"No removing my hand."
Jazz was left stunned for a quick second, though it felt like a minute for Prowl as he waited for a reply eagerly.
"I can work with that." Prowl let out a sigh of relief at that, allowing the human, his partner, to take control of him again.
It took a moment for Jazz to adjust himself, in the meantime, the people waited outside anxiously for the other to make a move. When Prowl finally started to shift around to stand up with a small grunt, everyone raised their guns and loaded them up, but didn't shoot just yet. The mech looked up at them with a deadly glare, but made no move to attack, his remaining arm not leaving the open cockpit for a second, he simply stood up with a slight slump to his posture, doorwings drooping down slightly. In all possible ways, he looked weak and defeated, no signs of fighting back.
One of the mechas walked closer, gun still aiming at Prowl, but it was lowered slightly. They reached a hand out expectantly.
"The pilot, hand him over." They demanded, no sympathy whatsoever.
Prowl clutched his chasis, anger pooling over in his spark, doorwings twitching up slightly, but he made no move to attack. Not yet. He heard Jazz speak to him in a low tone so only he could hear it, with a sigh, he relaxed. He slowly, very slowly, drew out his hand from the cockpit, the action in itself having the other mecha have their body relax slightly as they approached the mech, weapon being put down slightly enough, and so did the others around them. Jackpot.
Before he fully removed his servo, the mech made move to crouch down and in a swift motion swung a peed over to the mechas own, catching them off balance and knocking them down. Jazz let out a small hiss to the action, forgetting his own injured leg, but pushed on regardless.
Using the thrusters of his doorwings, they were able to balance themselves back up, Prowl's servo going back into fully protecting it's pilot once more. With most weapons being aimed up and not down, it took a delayed second to aim correctly, but it was enough time for the human and cybertronian duo to twist themselves out of harms way.
Before the fallen pilot could attempt to get up, Jazz made move to aim over the weak spot of their mecha's knee and stepped hard enough to break its mechanisms so they couldn't stand back up easily. But the glory was short lived as more shots were fired their way.
Jazz's hand twitched to move and use its weapons, but he resisted the urge with a slight huff, "Man, 's hard to fight without an arm!"
"This is none negotiable, Jazz." Prowl hissed as they made move to avoid more shots.
"I know, I know! Don't mean it makes it easier!" Jazz tried to analyse their surroundings, though it was made difficult with the many HUD warnings from all the injuries (the pilot couldn't help but mutter a broken "I'm so sorry" to his partner, whether the mech heard him or not he wasn't sure), but pushing through it, he took note of a few key details. There was a metal catwalk grate near above the mechas' heads, running with a few on ground troops, the bastard of a boss being one of the few amongst them. Near a corner stood an elevator to go up and down the area.
How that could help, Jazz wasn't sure yet.
A shot hit Prowl's arm, pain flowed through the mech as he moved out of the way once more. Jazz looked around in a frenzy to find a place to shield themselves....the mechas! Making a run for to the lifeless husks, he swivelled around between them and hid behind the many rows of mechas knowing full well that they would not risk such precious resource and money just to reach them. At least he hoped not, because he just needed a little bit of time to figure something out.
Hearing the big man call out to hold their fire was good enough indication that his idea worked.
"Ok, now we just need somethin' to distract them long enough for us to make a jump to the ceiling." Jazz explained
"The ceiling?" Prowl inquired, not so certain about his partner's ability to properly think at the moment.
Jazz rolled his eyes, but didn't make mention of the mech's tone. "It's the weakest point here, plus" he made way for Prowl to look up to where he remembered the area to be at, "there's a trap door for flying mechas and emergencies. One quick press of a button will open it up, even under "safety protocols."" Prowl let out a hum in thought, seeming to analyse the situation.
"Possible, but where is this said button?"
"Behind the elevator, by the catwalk grating on top. There's a control panel, and one big red button, can't miss it."
"Would smashing it still get it to work?"
"Yes."
"Then I don't have any complaints."
"Good, now," Jazz went back to scanning the area, "how to cause a distraction?"
"Would that broken pipe be of any use?" Prowl made an effort to twitch his head over to the direction of what he wanted Jazz to see. And just as the mech stated, there, by the first floor of the elevator, stood a broken pipe, steam coming out of it.
Jazz smirked "it would actually. If we can get somethin' to shoot at it, we might cause an explosion, giving us time to jump up without being the target anymore."
"Sounds like a plan." Prowl shrugged.
"Don't have anything to add?" Jazz asked a bit surprised.
"No, I don't." The pilot didn't push.
"Okay. Well, let's get these bastards shootin." In quick motion, they made way to the elevator, already hearing the commands to shoot fire, 'but watch for the machines!' Weapons were loaded from above as well, shooting down at the two runaways once again.
Jazz made sure to move swiftly behind the mechas, making sure they were shielded properly. Any gaps they had to cross was a small risk they needed to take, scrapes and scratches being left in its wake, but tried not to do it too often, just enough that they could follow them. They eventually reached where the pipes were, Jazz took a deep breath.
"Ready, big guy?"
"Ready."
They stepped foward, making sure to call the attention towards where they were, but quickly retrieting back behind the mechas suits as they shot directly where they wanted to hit. "Bingo."
Quickly, activating Prowl's thrusters, they leaped over to the metal grates that stood above them as the pipes behind them burst, causing a huge commotion as empty mechas fell down and whatever machine near the crossfire tumbled down. Prowl let out a gasp as he felt the world around him spin, the grating beneath them not being of any help as it shook with his weight. Jazz was quick to hold on, helping the mech stablise himself before aiming with his left foot to kick the big red button with their ticket out of here, the motion causing his vision to flash in pain, but he bit his toung until he could taste iron and pushed forward.
Hearing the metal door above them open up, Jazz readied himself, but hesitated with the warning he'd received from Prowl's HUD from his low energon levels. He didn’t even get the chance to fully check on it though, Prowl quickly pushing them out of the way himself.
"I'll live, just one more push." The mech hastily reassured the human. Jazz wasn't inclined to belive it though, feeling the other's spark beat anxiously (and for some reason that made him feel slightly dizzy. Though he chalked it up to it being his possible concussion).
It took one shot to slip an inch away from Prowl's face for them to finally snap out of it and jump. One more push from his thrusters as they flew up through the trap door and landed on top of the roof with a grunt, the mech's left wing finally giving out.
But they weren’t in the clear yet. Looking out, a wasteland of a forest awaited them, with dense trees at the bottom.
"We'll have to make a jump for it. If we're lucky enough the trees will be big enough to hide us." Jazz supplied.
"45% of that happening. But we don't have much of another option at the moment." Prowl added
With all that being said, Jazz moved into action. With so much at stake, he had to, he couldn't waste another second in debating. Hefting Prowl up, he used all remaining strength to jump where they needed to go, but as the training grounds began to get closer than anticipated, Prowl knew they didn’t make the jump and that made the mech almost freeze.
Though Jazz had other plans, because as their impending flat doom approached in rapid speed, Prowl's remaining thruster burst to life and gave that final impusle they needed to reach the slope. They both braced themselves as they were thrown up and over to their intended destination, Prowl having half a mind to tighten his hold over his chest so none of the debris and impact could reach the fragile human still in his care.
They rolled down the slope, Prowl just barely being able to shift himself so that he was sliding on his back instead. The aggresive motion of going down a not so smooth path causing bigger cuts and slashes against his already damaged frame. But the only thing he could think of at the moment was that they made it.
Jazz was quick to let go of his control over Prowl, who in turn made an effort to sit properly. Though the sudden slamming to his servo made him look down worriedly, moving it slightly to see Jazz leaning on it desperately.
"Prowl-" he heaved, "Prowl put me down I'm feeling sick."
The mech panicked and quickly made move to help the human down, gently placing him on the grass below. Jazz made no effort in being graceful as he hurled over and puked his guts out, luckily avoiding Prowl in all of this.
Clutching his stomach in pain, his heaving and coughs agitating the injuries on his abdomen. Everything around him felt blurry and muffled as his body made sure to get everything he had eaten in the past day out of him.
What made him panic was the sudden taste of iron in his mouth as he coughed up whatever he had left inside. That's not good. And that definitely didn't escape the giant mech's notice, who kept a hovering servo near him.
"Jazz! Is that blood?!" His voice sounded so broken, static lacing over his words.
"Uh- Yeah. Yeah it is." He wasn't sure how to deny that really, and he felt too light-headed to try. But his attention diverted to the sudden pink glow that landed at the side of his vision.
Energon.
Quickly looking up, he finally got a glance at his partner's battered condition. Energon leaked from many different parts of his body, but the main source being from his missing arm. Jazz couldn't help but cringe at that.
But what hurt him the most to see was the weak light from the mech's optics, which still held visible concern on them. Despite being close to going into offline, he still looked at Jazz as if he's about the crumble into dust and leave him. Which he honestly, maybe, felt like. But seeing Prowl's optics flicker as they fought to stay online, Jazz panicked
"What 'bout you?!" He called back, catching the bot off guard. "You're losing too much energon! You look like you're about to go offline!"
Prowl cringed a little, not having anything to counter that. "Well that's because I-"
"No! I'm only a little bit dizzy, but I'll live. We need to patch you up right now!"
"I can help with that."
The new voice catches the duo off guard, Prowl immediately reaching out to Jazz, hand shielding the human from whoever that might be. Jazz looked down from where he was looking at Prowl and turned to see who it was that the voice came from.
There standing in front of them was a human carrying a simple tool box and a huge backpack strapped over one shoulder, filled with questionable things.
Tumblr media
---
BEFORE YOU LEAVE, a little something I would like to point out for the fic, that some of yall with either like or not, during the process of writing this, I've seen a few posts keferon made about the spark being radioactive and such, and it sorta made me think a bit while developing Jazz's condition. So well, take Jazz's health in this as you will with this info :)
But anyways, yippie!! That's all for today folks! I hope yall enjoyed this one bc I definitely had a heck of a time writing this one XD
It got alot bigger than I anticipated and took much longer to finish than I originally planned (was supposed to be done 2 days ago).
Now, I know I keep saying "not sure if I'll make another part to this" but then proceed to do so anyways. But I mainly do so because everytime I shared it someone said something that added to the story somehow and gave me ideas to continue foward.
So like, if yall liked this and wanna see more, don't be shy to suggest/add anything to this as it may help inspire me to add more onto this, cuz honestly idk what the fuck I'm doing rn, I'm just going with the flow ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
Also, a bit of note for the doodle, holy shit I did not expect it to look this good!! Tho I suffered with Jazz's suit, plz ignore any inaccuracies tee-hee. Prowl's knee and hands were hell too, especially his knee, but i could like, hide most of it lmao. Actually mainly struggled to not have his hand cover Jazz too much bc it kept covering the parts I actually wanted to show off lmao.
Oh and the guy at the end? Yall can take a good guess as to who it is :)
But since he doesn't have any official design, I kinda went with whatever felt right lol.
I also really wanted to draw out more scenes to add to the fic, but then it would take me a lot more time to actually post the fic as I figure out how to draw robots :'). But maybe I can try and doodle them out another time if I can, no promises tho-
473 notes · View notes
freedomfireflies · 1 year ago
Text
Whiplash*
Summary: The second part to Knockout*
The one where Harry does something dangerous in the shadows, and he'll do anything to keep you out of it.
Word Count: 9.4k (again...so sorry)
Content Warning: 18+, smut, mentions of violence, slight blood kink, slight pain kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms
Tumblr media
There’s no protocol for what to do when a handsome stranger you hardly know (but occasionally fool around with), stops showing up at your diner. 
You stare at his booth for far longer than you should. Willing him to appear. To walk through the door and make things right. Ease this ache in your chest.
You have no way to contact him. You don’t know his last name, or his phone number, or his address. You don’t even know his license plate number. He’s a ghost to you. More than a stranger but less than a friend.
You give him a few more minutes to appear. Maybe there was traffic. Or maybe he forgot you were working tonight.
But soon, a few minutes turns into an hour, and booth 505 remains empty.
So, you put the idea of him to bed. Carrying on with your shift while wearing your heavy heart on your sleeve. Perhaps he’s gotten bored with you. Or perhaps he’s found other ways to occupy his nights.
You almost think you’d prefer this alternative to the other. The one where he’s not here because he’s not…here. That wherever he goes and whatever he does has finally caught up to him.
It makes your stomach wrench to imagine, and you forcibly shove the thought free before returning your attention to your newest pie.
Peach. Another one of Harry’s favorites.
3 a.m. has never felt so liberating. Bringing you the perfect escape as you clock out and rush through the doors for the parking lot. Eager to rid yourself of this wretched night and head back to your apartment to worry about your stranger in peace.
You step out into the cold morning air and pull your jacket a bit tighter around your frame. Exhaling a shaky breath that you can see dance across the dimly lit space.
There are only two other cars over by the right side of the building, and much to your continued dismay, you notice that Harry’s still isn’t one of them. 
So, with a sinking stomach, you reach into your pocket for your apartment keys, and begin walking for the subway. Yet right as round the corner of the diner, you notice something move within the shadows just beside you.
With a jump, you gasp, and spin around on your heel with your keys raised and aimed at the ready.
The figure that emerges sends your heart straight into your throat.
“Harry?” You drop your arm and move closer for a better look. “What…what…?”
The battered and bruised man offers you a tired smile that hardly reaches his lips. “Hi, Cherry.”
He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. There’s a nasty slash going down his left eyebrow, a dark bruise forming along his jaw, and blood dripping down his arm from beneath his sleeve onto the pavement below.
You search for the right words – for any words at all – but before you can, he’s stumbling forward. Just barely able to catch himself before he collapses onto the ground.
With another gasp, you surge forward, quickly taking hold of his shoulders in order to keep him upright. “Harry—”
“M’okay,” he murmurs, and you can hardly hear him. As if he barely has the strength to speak. “I’m fine. I promise—”
“Harry,” you repeat for a third time, almost incredulously. “You…this is not fine. You’re…what happened?”
Even before he shakes his head, you know he won’t truly answer. “Nothing. S’just a little worse this time, but I’m okay. Really.”
You feel sick. Sick that he’s so hurt, sick that you can’t help him, and sick because you don’t understand who does this to him. “Okay, we…we need to get you to a hospital, we need to get you some help—”
“No.” His head shakes again, a bit more insistently. “No, I can’t go to a hospital. I just…I had to see you.”
You feel your throat constrict. “What?”
His hand lifts, palm finding your jaw until he can softly caress your cheek. And you feel a streak of blood smear across your skin from where his thumb brushes at your chin. 
“I had to see you,” he repeats softly. “Had to make sure you were all right. M’so sorry I wasn’t here earlier.”
You want to bury yourself in his arms. Want to kiss him, and hold him, and fix him. Make everything better again.
“It’s okay,” you nearly whimper. Pushing yourself into his touch. “I’m just really worried about you.”
The smirk grows. “I’m all right. I’ll go home, take some pain pills, and be right as rain by tomorrow. Really.”
 You’re hardly convinced. “Harry—"
“I’m all right,” he insists, dipping down to press his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to worry about me, Cher. S’not the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last. I’ll be okay. I just wanted to see you.”
And you don’t believe him. You don’t even think he believes him. But he smiles at you as though he wants to. As though he wants to offer you any sort of consolation for his pain. To make this better…for you.
You allow him to hold you a moment longer before you pull back and declare, “I’ll help.”
His brows pinch together. “What?”
“I’ll help. I’ll go with you. Make sure you’re okay, and…and help you clean up.”
His expression softens, but he sighs heavily. “Baby, I can’t…I can’t ask you to do that—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”
“I know, s’just…” He holds your cheeks in both hands now. Keeping you in his sights. “I made a rule with myself. A promise that I wouldn’t drag you down with me. That I’d make sure you were okay, and that you’d never hurt because of me.”
The pit in your stomach deepens, but you merely straighten up. “How could this hurt me? I just want to help.”
“I know, sweet girl,” he breathes. “But letting you come with me means breaking my rule. And I can’t do that. I won’t.”
You wonder what he means. You wonder if you really want to know.
“Then you come with me,” you decide. “You can come back to my apartment, and I can make sure you’re all right.”
Another heavy exhale, but you can tell he’s touched. “Cherry—”
“I mean it. You’re not…Harry, I’m really worried about you. You can hardly stand and you’re bleeding from more places than one. You could have really hurt yourself and you shouldn’t be alone. I won’t let you be alone right now.”
He considers this. “Cherry, I’m trying to protect you—”
“And I’m trying to protect you, too,” you argue firmly, but with a persuasive grin. “Please let me.”
There’s a long lull of silence, those gentle green eyes studying you closely. He looks so very tired and wrought with grief. Yet when he sees you…his entire world seems to change. Lighting up about as bright as the moon.
“Okay,” he finally agrees. “Okay, we’ll go. I trust you.”
I trust you. Three little words that have never sounded so good and you can’t help but push up onto your toes to kiss him as gingerly as you can.
“Okay, where’s your car?” you ask, letting go in order to look around. “My apartment isn't too far, so I can drive until we—”
“No.”
“What?”
He squeezes onto your wrist almost pointedly. “No, we can’t…can’t take my car. S’not safe.”
“Oh…” Your lashes flutter. “All right. We…we can take the subway. I was going to take it anyway because a friend of mine is borrowing my car for the night, but…that can work. We can make that work.”
He says nothing, instead swaying a bit from the loss of blood as you rush to take hold of him once more.
“All right, okay. You’re okay,” you murmur softly. “Just hold on, okay? It’s only a few stops to my place, and we’ll be there in under twenty minutes.”
He nods weakly in response, and you’re quick to pull his arm around your shoulders in order to help guide him through the parking lot.
He seems grateful for this hold on you. Smirking to himself before leaning over to press his lips to your temple. Keeping you tight against his chest as though the two of you are merely going for a stroll in the park. 
Like a real couple.
You cling to his stained hoodie and help lead him toward the subway station. Making sure that you don’t walk too fast (or too slow) in order to get him there in one piece.
You don’t talk much – although there’s so much you want to say – but you can tell he’s pleased. Grateful to be in your company, even despite the circumstances. 
Once the train arrives, you both slip through the doors, and take a seat near the exit. You push your shoulder into his and he pushes his shoulder into yours. Leaning against each other almost contently and smiling to yourselves as the rest of the crowd saunters on.
The subway is relatively empty for this time of night. Or rather, early morning. And you’re more than all right with that. It means less people to stare at the bloody, bruised man dripping onto the train floor. 
He doesn’t notice the odd looks. He doesn’t seem to notice anything but you, instead staring down at where your fingers are tracing his. The way they run tenderly over the cracked skin across his knuckles before intertwining together.
He hums contently, lips stretching into a gentle grin.
You’re at your stop only fifteen minutes later, practically leaping onto your feet in a rush to get him out.
He seems to have a bit more energy now, perhaps from being able to rest for as long as he did. But he still holds onto you as tightly as he can while you walk along the sidewalk.
And you can’t help but let him.
“My apartment might be a little messy,” you attempt to preface as you head inside the tall building. “I was going to clean it before I left, but something…came up.”
He nods understandingly before glancing over the side of your profile. “Are you all right?”
“Am I all right?” you tease, gesturing toward him.
He smirks, but that curious look doesn’t slip. “Are you?”
You press the elevator button with one hand and squeeze his palm in the other. “I will be once you are.”
Apartment 505 is on the left side of the building, just beside the stairwell. It gives you a perfect view of the city, and you spend most of your days out on the stairwell watching the sun rise and set.
There’s a wreath on your door, hanging just over the number, and your stranger smiles when he sees it. Seemingly amused by the bright flowers and dainty bow that stands out amidst the dark grey paint.
After fumbling with your keys, you finally manage to get you both inside. Exhaling a deep breath and tossing your things toward the coffee table.
“Lock it,” he murmurs just as you’re moving for the kitchen.
“What?”
“The door. Lock it,” he says, almost firmly while nodding toward the handle. “Right now.”
A tad surprised by the resolute tone of voice, you nod, and turn around to oblige. Making sure the lock is turned and the door is secure before glancing over for his approval.
“Good girl,” he mumbles. “I want you to always lock it when you come in, all right? Always.”
“Okay,” you agree softly, returning to him. “I will.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” you whisper, raising your hand to his face to press a kiss to his cheek. “Can you let me take care of you now?”
He seems to chuckle as he allows you to stroke his jaw. Settling into your gentle touch before nodding.
Pleased, you take his hand, and lead him toward your small bathroom. Sitting him on the edge of the bathtub in order to get a better look.
But the moment you see each cut and scrape beneath the bright, fluorescent light, there’s a hitch in your breath. Overwhelming you with sorrow and anguish at the sight of him. 
“Harry,” you exhale, almost unintentionally. 
His lashes flutter as he smiles, reaching out to lightly tug on your waitressing dress. “M’okay, Cherry. Really.”
He’s not okay, and you both know it. “I’ll…I’ll need to clean them first. Where…how many are there?”
A beat while he thinks. “There’s a couple on my chest. Plus, the one on my eye, and, you know, my hands.”
You nod, and vaguely gesture toward him, willing yourself not to shake. “Can…may I take off your hoodie? So I can check?”
The corner of his mouth curls up and he nods as well, reaching for the collar of his sweatshirt in order to begin peeling it off his torso.
You attempt to help, making sure he can get his arms through without having to bend too far or cause any strain to the injuries.
But once it’s off, you feel your stomach twist.
 His skin is littered with scars, scrapes, and fresh bruises. A variety of colors that range from light pink to an unsettling yellow. Blood is smeared across tattoos you didn’t even know he had, and there’s a rather nasty gash along the side of his ribcage. 
You hear yourself gasp, and he quickly tugs on your hem again. “Cher—”
However, you brush his hand away and move closer, running the tips of your fingers along his shoulder and down his sternum. Trailing each inch of stained skin until you reach his heart.
“Harry…” you say again.
He takes hold of your wrist and offers you a look of remorse. “I know.”
You aren’t sure you have the strength to ask, instead swallowing thickly as you pull back, and turn around. Searching through your cupboards for everything you’ll need.
He watches you closely, and it seems your reaction causes him more pain than anything else. It’s a look you know well. One where he’s desperate to comfort you, and you wish you could let him.
You rejoin his side with bandages, rubbing alcohol, and a sterilized needle with thread. “All right, I have to clean them first, and then…”
His eyes flick down to the suturing supplies with a smirk. “Ah.”
You grimace. “It’ll probably hurt.”
To your surprise, he shrugs. “No worse than what gave me the cut, I imagine.”
You hum to yourself and move for the alcohol. “And this might sting.”
“Mm. I’m counting on it.”
Dipping a cloth into the potent liquid, you begin to dab at each open cut that’s painted along his body. Making sure to be as gentle as you can and avoid any potential infections.
He tenses every few moments, jaw ticking as he takes steady, even breaths. But he makes no noise of complaint, nor does he flinch away from your touch. Almost leaning into it as you move between each scratch.
“How’s that?” you whisper, glancing over his face curiously before moving for the cut on his brow. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, red-rimmed eyes trained on you. Seeming to study you while you study his injury. “M’okay. Are you?”
You smile. “Yeah. Don’t like hurting you, though.”
“You’re not. Could never.”
“Hope you’re right.”
You smooth back the dark hairs of his eyebrow as gingerly as you can before reaching for the medical tape. Cutting the strips to the right length, you place a couple over the cut, and step back to observe.
“All right,” you declare. “Now, um…now I’ll need to…”
You both look toward his stomach where the worst gash lies, and he nods. “Where do you want me?”
“Just…there. Is fine.” You collect the needle and thread before crouching down near him in order to get closer. “It shouldn’t take too long. Be over before you know it.”
“All right.” He’s oddly calm, and for some reason, it makes you nervous. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been stitched, Cherry. I’ll be all right.”
 “I can see that,” you mumble to yourself, reaching now for his abdomen. “Just…tell me if it hurts too much, okay?”
“Okay.”
With a deep breath, you pinch his skin between your fingers, and bring the tip of the needle closer. Piercing the skin and threading it through slowly and with great precision.
He looks down, watching for a moment almost as though fascinated. “You’re really good at that.”
You offer a tight-lipped smile. “Should hope so. Spent three years learning how to do it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. My, uh…my parents really wanted me to pursue a career in the medical field,” you explain as you continue working your way down. “And I thought being a nurse would be good because I liked the idea of helping people. And I liked learning about the body and how to heal it.”
His eyes remain on you.
“Anyway, it didn’t…I didn’t have a great experience in medical school,” you continue. “And it made me realize that it wasn’t what I really wanted to do. I wanted to…help people through food, I guess. Which probably sounds silly—”
“No,” he says, almost immediately. “No, it doesn’t.”
You smile a bit bigger. “Well, my parents were pretty pissed when I dropped out. Which makes sense, since they were the ones paying for it. But…they told me that if I wanted to pursue baking, I’d have to do that on my own. Financially, anyway. Hence all the late shifts at the diner.”
His brows furrow together almost sternly.
“And I don’t mind it. I really like working there. I like my coworkers, I like the people I meet.” You pause now and brave a glance up. “And I really like that it brought me to you.”
There’s a softness in his expression that makes your heart skip. “M’glad it brought you to me, too.”
You chew on the inside of your lip to suppress a rather giddy grin before returning your focus to the wound. “All right, your turn.”
“My turn?”
You nod your chin toward his injured body. “Why do you keep letting this happen?”
He sighs, and his stomach tenses with the strained breath. He wears the same look he wears each time you ask, and you already know he’s searching for the right way to deflect the question. 
“I don’t know.”
You expected nothing less, yet tonight, you insist upon the truth. Scooting closer as you glance up almost pleadingly. “Where do you go? Who does this to you?”
He hesitates. “Cher—”
“I won’t judge you. I’d never judge you, but this isn’t…Harry, this is really scary. And I want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”
Another heavy pause as you continue the suture. He contemplates his response, the small bathroom filling with a tense sort of energy. You wonder if the truth hurts him more than the scars.
“I…fight,” he finally says, and you feel your pulse stutter. “I get paid to fight. Three nights a week.”
And even though you’d already begun to assume that was the case, you feel the blood drain from your face. “Harry…”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs quickly, reaching out to brush his thumb along your cheek. “I’m okay.”
You want to argue, but you bite your tongue. Zeroing in your focus on your hands.
“I like it,’ he continues. “Don’t know why, but there’s just…there’s this rush, you know? This adrenaline. Makes me feel alive to be so close to death, I guess.”
You hum quietly, features pulling together in a wince. 
“S’about the only thing I’m good at, too,” he adds with a wry chuckle. “And all I have to do is win.”
Your head lifts. “This doesn’t look like a win.”
“Yeah, well. You should’ve seen the other guy.”
And despite his attempt at humor, you look back down, lashes fluttering.
It’s quiet for another long lull before he says, “It’s how I met you.”
You choose to keep your eyes downcast on the needle this time, but your ears perk up.
“One of the guys I work with said your desserts were the best he’d ever had. Said he used to go there all the time, for every fucking meal.”
You pull the thread though his stained skin and he sucks in a sharp breath. 
But his story is undeterred. “And I always get kind of a sugar craving after a fight, so I thought I’d go. And then…you.”
You remember the night vividly. The sight of him, hands wrapped in gauze, eyes dark and inquisitive, that familiar hoodie pulled over his head.
He was mysterious and strange, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 
You have been ever since.
“And he was right,” Harry whispers now, tucking his finger beneath your chin until he can see you. “Never had anything as sweet as you.”
Your heart returns to your throat, and there’s a sort of longing in your stomach that can’t be tamped. You aren’t sure if you want to laugh or cry, so you merely release a soft sigh and finish closing the wound.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” you ask of him again. “Really?”
He runs his tongue over his cracked lip. “Sometimes.”
“And would they let you leave? If you wanted to?”
The silence is deafening. 
His thumb moves to your mouth, brushing over the pink fibers that part for him. “Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to find out.”
It’s not a perfect answer. But it’s the one you choose to cling to, reaching up to squeeze his wrist in desperation.
You suppose this explains more than you realized. Why he won’t tell you who he really is. Why he won’t let you into his world. Why he insists on keeping you safe.
But it only makes this new reality that much heavier.
“Just make me a promise, okay?” you exhale. “Promise me that you’ll be all right. That you’ll stay safe. That you won’t…”
The unspoken word carries a weight that nearly crushes you, and he seems to understand as he squeezes your chin.
“That you’ll always come back,” you finish.
“I promise,” he says, even if you both know it’s not a promise he can make. “Always.”
You kiss him. Quickly and without pause, surging forward until your mouth meets his. You take his lips between your own, careful to mind the cut while remembering just how much he enjoys the sting.
Instantly, his hand curls around the back of your neck, tugging you as close as he can get you. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing, and soft grunts that reverberate all the way down to your chest.
“Careful,” you gasp, attempting to pull back when he guides you between his legs. “Your cut—”
“Don’t care,” he whispers, bringing you back to nip at your bottom lip. “Don’t fucking care.”
You whimper against him, hands resting delicately on his chest. “Har—”
“I know. Just missed you. Really missed you, sweet girl.”
He tugs you between his thighs and you allow yourself to be moved. Melting into his touch as he uses his height advantage to fully take control of you. In more ways than one. 
Desperate pants fill the tiny bathroom, and you can’t help but feel undone by him. Already feeling a certain throbbing in the pit of your stomach that can’t be tamed by anything else but him.
“Harry,” you try again, moving your hands to his hair. Carding your fingers through his matted, bloody curls. “Please…”
And then…you feel it. Rather, you feel him. Hard and prominent, pressing right up against you. 
You gasp, and he rests his forehead against yours. Cursing to himself when you nudge yourself forward.
And that’s when you realize. 
“Does pain turn you on?”
There’s a quick pause before he nods once. Trailing his lips along your cheek and toward your throat.
Your head spins. “Really?”
Another motion of his head. “It’s not really pain when it’s you.”
Breathlessly, you drop your touch to his lap, palming him through his dark jeans while he groans again and buries his nose in your neck. Inhaling you deeply while bracing himself against your knelt frame.
“Think it’s my turn now,” you say. “My turn to be good.”
The grip on your neck tightens, and you can feel him release a warm exhale against your collarbone before he’s kissing just below your ear.
Then, he shakes his head, and mumbles, “No.”
You stop, fingers freezing over the bulge between his thighs. “What?”
“No,” he repeats gently. “S’not about me. Wanna make this about you.”
You lean back just far enough to catch his eye. “But—”
“There are a lot of things I’ll never be able to give you. Or do for you,” he explains gingerly. “But I can do this. I want to do this, sweet girl. Wanna give you the fucking world because it’s what you deserve.”
You consider this for only a moment before settling on the floor. “Har…”
His head shakes once more. Thumb stroking the curve of your jaw while tilting your eyes up. “Never be able to tell you how beautiful you are. I don’t…I can’t even understand it. You’re perfect, Cherry. So fucking perfect, and I will spend the rest of my life wanting to be near you.”
It’s a sweet sentiment. One that nearly knocks the wind from your lungs as you gaze at him.
“Wanting to taste you…” he continues, dipping down to brush his nose against yours. “Feel you…touch you. You…are the best goddamn thing I will ever have.”
You whimper, pushing yourself closer until he finally kisses you. “Then let me…”
But he merely smiles. “One day, sweet girl. I promise.”
You want to push. You almost want to insist that he let you take his cock into your mouth, but the look on his face is resolute. Decisive. You aren’t changing his mind, at least not tonight.
And you decide that maybe it’s for the better. His body needs to rest in order to heal, and perhaps any extra strain would hurt him or rip the stitching.
So, you oblige. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”
With a chuckle, he kisses you again. “Good girl.”
The kisses grow more frantic. About as frantic as before, and you have to physically yank yourself out of his grasp in order to calm yourself down.
“No,” you say this time as you stand. “No, you need to lay down. And rest. Okay? Give your body time to heal. And get better.”
He watches you go, but he’s unconvinced, already looping an arm around your hips to pull you back. “This is how I get better.”
And even though you’re concerned for his health, you can’t deny the pulsing between your thighs. “Harry—”
“You make me better,” he says, trailing his lips along your arms, all the way down to your palms. “Always. Fucking always—”
You whine beneath a strained breath, your other hand dropping to his head as you tug on his hair.
In turn, he moans against you, and your knees about buckle. “Let me get better…please…”
And it’s almost like he doesn’t realize he’s said it. A subconscious thought that’s whispered against your skin until it becomes one with your bloodstream.
“Want to,” you say. “I want to, but you need to rest. I need you to rest, Har.”
“I am,” he tries to argue, glancing up through those thick lashes of his. “This is me resting.”
“Harry—”
“Please,” he nearly groans again, pressing his nose into your stomach. “God, please, Cher. Please. M’so fucking lost on you, I can’t…I need…”
He told you once that you’re like a drug to him. That he goes through withdrawals if you’re not near. If he’s gone too long without you.
And, truthfully, you feel about the same. Feeling strung-out and shaky without his touch. Even the sound of his voice. It’s borderline pathetic, yet you don’t ever want to be rid of him.
“You need to rest,” you repeat, although you’re losing conviction. “I want to, but I can’t…I’m worried. You shouldn’t move, you should rest.”
The air becomes charged as he looks back up. “Then ride my face.”
You hesitate. “What?”
“Ride my face,” he says again, practically groaning the instruction. “S’easy, right? Won’t have to move. I’ll just hold you, yeah?”
You feel the heat rush into your cheeks as you blink down at him. “I…you’re already hurt. I don’t want to suffocate you, too—”
“God, suffocate me,” he sighs, grabbing onto the backs of your thighs. Squeezing the flesh in his strong, battered hands pleadingly. “You’d never hurt me, baby, ever. S’all I fucking want. Don’t want anything else but you. Only you. All of you. Want you everywhere.”
And you believe him. You do. But the idea of…and being that close…
“What…but what if it’s too much?” you murmur. “What if I’m too…—”
“Never.” A firm shake of his head. “Fucking never. You would never be too much. Believe me. Tasting you is the only good thing in my life.”
There’s a catch in your throat that you swallow down. “I just…I’ve never…”
His expression softens. Thumbs brushing at your exposed skin before squeezing once more. “It’s okay. S’okay, sweet girl, really. Don’t have to if you don’t want to. Don’t have to do anything at all. But…I promise you…you could never do anything wrong. Ever. You breathe and you’re perfect.”
And he’s so honest. So good. You know he means it, know he’d never lie about something like this. And you do trust him. More than anything. Trust that he’d never judge you or want anything more from you than what you’re willing to give.
“If you say no, then it’s no,” he adds gently. “End of. Promise.”
But that’s not your problem. You’d happily do anything and everything with him. But you’re worried about his injuries and all the blood he’s already lost. Granted, his suggestion would perhaps be the best alternative, but…
“Fine,” you whisper, squeezing his curls in your fist. “Okay. But you need to be very careful and very still. And if it starts to hurt, we stop. Okay?”
There’s a wicked gleam in his eye. One you recognize all too well, yet it merely makes your pulse jump.
“Okay,” he agrees, almost mischievously. “Deal. Just lead the way.”
You bite back a whimper before glancing toward his knuckles. “I need wrap your hands first—”
“No,” he interjects. “No, leave ‘em. Just for right now. Wanna see them when I hold you.”
And there’s something about the idea that leaves you breathless, making your nails curl into his scalp as if to drag him closer. “Are you sure—”
“Yes.” He tugs on the hem of your dress again, almost as though trying to rip it off. “Yes, m’sure. Please, Cher…”
And you have no choice but to oblige.
You reach down, take his hand, and pull him onto his feet. Quickly and impatiently leading him out of the bathroom and down the hall to your room before pushing the door open and bringing him inside.
He only takes a moment to look around, eyebrows raised while a smile plays at his lips. He studies the array of artwork you have displayed, the baby blue paint on your walls, and the plethora of pillows that sit near your headboard. He seems…enchanted, almost, and it makes you giddy.
“S’cute,” he decides, offering his smirk to you. “Very cute. Very you.”
“Thanks,” you reply anxiously, already looping your arms around his neck in order to yank him back down. “Please?”
He chuckles against your lips before dropping his hands to your waist, nodding once, and pushing you back. “Do you trust me, baby? Trust me to take care of you?”
“Yes,” you answer instantaneously. “Yes, always.”
“Yeah? Know I’ll take care of you?”
“Yes.”
He drops you onto the bed before chasing after you. Lips on your cheek, your neck, your chest. Fingers playing with the buttons on your chest before he whispers, “Can I take this off, sweet girl?”
You motion your head almost frantically, leaning back to give him room.
He undoes your dress and slips it over your head in a matter of seconds. Leaving you in nothing but your underwear as he tosses it toward the floor before surging forward to kiss you again.
He’s seen you before. Seen your chest, your stomach, your thighs. But never in the privacy of your own home, and the way he seems to look at you now feels as though it changes everything. Like he’s looking at you for the very first time.
“Baby,” he breathes, pulling your lip between his teeth before groaning. “God…s’fucking cruel you have to hide this behind such a hideous dress.”
You grin against his mouth, scooting back in order to make space for him. “Then maybe you should come around and take it off more often.”
He likes this idea, chuckling to himself before grabbing hold of your hips, and flipping over onto his back. Effectively pulling you with him until you’re straddling his waist.
With a gasp, you glance down to his newly stitched cut, quickly inspecting in order to make sure nothing has been ripped or pulled. “Harry, you can’t—”
“Shh,” he coos, pulling on the back of your neck to bring you down again. Nose nudging with yours. “M’okay. I’ll tell you, yeah?”
“But—”
“I’m all right,” he insists quietly. “Promise. Just need you.”
You swallow the rest of your complaints, allowing your body to be pulled into his before he’s moving both hands to your naked thighs. Stroking along the tender, soft flesh and kneading it tenderly.
“Think you’re ready, baby?” he whispers. “Hm? Gonna let me have a taste?”
And even if you’re somewhat apprehensive, the lust that swims within the bottom of your stomach makes you whimper. Urging you to say, “Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”
“Good girl,” he hums, gliding his palms toward your ass before patting it once. “Up you go.”
You imagine you seem somewhat terrified, but his look of encouragement goes straight to your cunt. Encouraging you up his body until you can place your knees on either side of his head.
“Good,” he breathes, eyes already gluing to your panties. “So good, baby. Can you hold onto me? Hold onto my hair? And tug it if it’s too much?”
You nod weakly and drop your fingers to his curls. Brushing them gently while he smiles, lashes fluttering.
“Good girl,” he says again, and it makes you clench around nothing. “M’gonna pull you down now, okay? Don’t worry about anything. Just let me make you feel good. Promise I’ll be all right.”
You whimper beneath a deep breath before nodding again and allowing him to guide you down to his face.
You feel the tip of his nose ghost across the edge of your panties, right near your clit. And you can help but buck up, gasping as you squirm away from the stimulating touch.
But his hold on you is unrelenting, tightening when he feels you twitch before yanking you back into position.
“Uh-uh, sweet girl, none of that,” he warns softly, mouth dancing down your covered cunt. Tauntingly. Deviously. “M’just having some fun, yeah? Gonna let me have fun with such a pretty pussy?”
When you don’t answer, he gently smacks his hand against the side of your thigh.
“Yes,” you answer quickly, gathering his curls in your fist. “Yes, I…I will.”
“Mm. Good. Cause m’having so much fun with you, Cher. You know that? Always have fun getting to play with what’s mine.”
This possession sends chills down your spine and your chest heaves from the way he flattens his tongue against your underwear before dragging it down.
He seems to bask in your whines, moaning against your cunt before curling his fingers into your skin. Forcing you down even further until you’re nearly sat on his mouth.
His technique is sinful. Just enough to tease you and leave you wanting more. Effortlessly casting out any doubts or hesitation as you begin to settle in his hold, permitting him to keep you against his tongue until he sighs contently.
“Fucking killing me, baby,” he says, lifting you up in order to reach for the soft material against your pussy and drag it to the side. “Ready, sweet girl?”
You nod quickly.
“Promise to tug me if it’s too much or you want to stop?”
“Yes…yes, Har, please—”
“I know,” he shushes. “Just so well behaved for me, aren’t you? Hold still for me, all right?”
You go to nod again, but before you can, his lips are meeting your clit. Pressing the most innocent of kisses to the sensitive nerves until you choke on his name and yank his curls.
He seems to realize this aggression has more to do with the pleasure than the pain, and you can practically feel him smirk into your cunt before he does it again. Over and over and over, making your eyes roll back and your throat run dry with desperate pants and whimpers.
Then…he sucks. Takes your clit into his mouth before flattening his tongue and dragging it through.
You’ve never felt this kind of stimulation. This kind of overwhelming pleasure that goes directly to your toes.
Sure, he’s eaten you out before, but he’s never been this…close. He’s devouring you from the inside out. Forcing you against his mouth as though his life depends on it. 
The hold on your hip is unforgiving, and you’re almost sure you’ll see remnants of him on your skin tomorrow. The tips of his fingers tattooing to your waist and marking you as his forevermore. 
You aren’t sure what to do with yourself. Overcome with lust and infatuation for the man between your thighs. The way he expertly slides his lips through your folds, drowning in you.
The tip of his tongue teases your hole, and you feel him groan at the way your pussy flutters from the slight intrusion. And the vibration of his greed makes your hands tighten in his hair. Nail scraping so hard down his scalp, you’re sure you’ll draw blood.
But he loves it. Seems to thrive off it. Going in a bit further before dragging your arousal up to your clit and flicking.
Then, he swallows you down.
“Harry,” you gasp, and you wish you could see him. Wish more than anything that you could gaze down at his face and watch while he does this to you. 
He always tends to get a sort of mesmeric look in his eye when he’s making you cum. Almost like he’s in a trance. Hypnotized by your body, drunk off the way he’s making you feel.
You imagine that’s about how he looks now, and you’d give anything to see those beautiful, hazy eyes just once.
“You’re okay,” he whispers, pulling away just long enough to speak. “You’re okay, yeah?”
You nod quickly. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay. I promise—please…”
He understands your request perhaps better than anyone and smiles to himself before going back in. It’s far too easy to unravel you, it seems. All he has to do is suck, and flick, and slide his mouth along your dripping pussy, and you’re done for. Already nearing release before he’s even really begun.
He senses this, and instantly goes harder. Faster. Tongue fucking into your clenching hole relentlessly until you cry out his name…and let go.
You hardly have time to register what’s happening or warn him of your impending orgasm. Nor do you have the time to remove yourself from him before accidently crushing him between your thighs and beneath your weight.
Yet through every second, he holds on. Keeps you exactly where you were, stuck in his hold, glued to his tongue. Until every drop of your cum belongs to him.
“Har…Harry,” you pant, uncurling your fingers from his hair. “Okay, it’s okay…I came, I—”
“I know,” he mumbles, leaving another kiss to your clit. “And you’re gonna do it again.”
It’s resolute. He leaves no room for bargaining or questioning before he’s going back in. Quick flicks of his tongue through your pussy until you feel breathless.
It’s sloppy. Everything about it is sloppy and wet. The sounds, his technique. The way he makes out with your cunt as though it’s the best thing he’s ever had. And, truthfully, you imagine he believes it is.
He repeats the movement of his tongue along the overstimulated nerves until you begin to shake. Never letting up, even when you begin to whine rather pitifully. Instead, he squeezes your waist, and keeps you close. Makes sure you take every second of this blissful affliction until you cum for a second time. 
The moment you do, he readjusts his hold on your panties in order to slip a finger inside. Forcing you up onto your knees so he can nip at your clit and fuck his finger into you with a newly determined fervor.
“Harry,” you cry out again, moving one hand to your headboard to brace yourself. “Can’t…can’t—”
“You’re all right,” he hums, the tip of his nose pressing hard into your skin. “You’re all right, sweet girl. Just want one more, okay?”
 And you believe him. You do believe you’re all right, even if the painful pleasure he’s dragging you into nearly kills you. Making your legs shake and your lungs heave.
You want to give him another. You want to give him all of your orgasms, forever. And he knows this, so he adds a second finger, and pumps you mercilessly.
The sound echoes through your room, loud and lewd. But it intertwines beautifully with his soft murmurs of encouragement: 
“Good, baby, just like that. Fucking squeezin’ me, aren’t you? Hm? S’it feel good? Feel so good to ride my face?”
You can’t answer. Want to. Can’t. Skin growing hot as sweat beads at your hairline. Muscles burning, aching, crying out for reprieve.
But all you really feel…is him.
“One more, come on,” he urges, increasing the speed of his tongue and his thrusts. “Can feel how close you are, sweet girl. Know you want to, yeah?”
You whimper softly, body tensing with the impending release.
“Yeah? I know. Know you’re so close. Bet it hurts, doesn’t it? S’just too much for this sweet little pussy, hm?”
He curls those long digits into your cunt until you moan, thighs trembling beside his head as you attempt to keep yourself upright. “Har, please—”
“What? What do you need?”
Everything, all of it, whatever it takes. You aren’t even sure, you just need…more.
He moves his mouth to the inside of your leg. Kissing and sucking into the tender skin while his fingers continue to encourage you closer. 
“Just taste so good, don’t you?” He trails his lips back toward your cunt. Lazily mouthing at your clit as if to torture you. “Get so wet for me. S’precious. So fucking precious.”
He uses his fingers to spread you open. Exhaling against your dripping cunt until you begin to squirm. Writhing away from the sensation while he does it again.
“Mm-mm,” he tuts, pulling you closer. “Told you no, sweet girl. Said I could play with you, so I am. Thought you were behaving for me?”
He exploits your need to please him. To obey and win his approval, and it nearly drives you mad.
“Know it’s a lot, baby,” he coos next, slipping back inside and curling. “Know you’re all sensitive. Not used to being so overstimulated, are you?”
He’s right, you’re not. Apart from him, nobody else has ever really taken the time.
“Makes me wonder,” he continues gently. “Wonder how you touch yourself…here in this very room.”
He pulls your clit between his teeth and tugs until you gasp.
“Tell me, Cherry. Tell me how you touch yourself when I’m not around.”
Your mind goes blank. Darkening around the edges while you suck in quick pants for air.
“Tell me,” he repeats, coarse and riddled with an insatiable hunger. “Tell me what you think about. D’you think about me, baby? Think about how good you look on my tongue?”
You find just enough strength to nod as you squeeze his curls and whimper out your agreement. 
“Yeah? Go on, tell me.”
Your mouth drops open, yet nothing else comes out. Save for a plethora of pathetic whines and anxious mewling.
He seems to laugh, the low sound sending goosebumps across the back of your neck. “What’s the matter, Cher? Pussy got your tongue?”
You can hardly acknowledge the joke as you go reeling forward, just barely able to catch yourself against the headboard before collapsing. “You…you,” you finally groan. “Always you, Harry. Always.”
“Me?” You can hear the faux fascination. “You think about me, baby? What do you think about?”
What don’t you think about? “Your…your fingers,” you stammer. “And…and your mouth.”
“Yeah? Good girl. What else?”
You’re too close to think straight, already falling victim to your orgasm before it’s even found you. “You…your…your…”
“S’okay, baby, come on. Tell me.”
You swallow thickly and will yourself to speak. “Think…think about taking you. About how you’d feel. How you’d…be.”
“How I’d be, hm?” The hand on your hip tightens almost possessively. “How would you want me to be? How would you want me to fuck you?”
 An array of positions flash through your mind. The echoing of his groans and pants in your ear as he fucks you. The way he’d hold onto your leg and push it into the bed. The way he’d pull your hair and demand you take him. That you behave, be good. 
There’s something about him, you realize. Something about his dominance that makes you feel safe. Seen and cared for.
You want him to tell you what to do. Want to give him full control of your body and mind. Make your decisions for you so you don’t have to wrestle with them yourself. You trust him. Trust that he’d always put you first.
“Any way you want,” you finally answer. “Any…any way. Hard…slow…fast…deep. Just wanna be good for you.”
The noise he makes against your pussy is animistic. Virile and obsessed, and his mouth reattaches to your clit almost like a reward. 
“Good,” he nearly growls. “Know you would be. Know you’d be fucking perfect, yeah? Let me stretch this sweet, little pussy anyway I’d like?”
 “Yes. Yes, Harry, please—”
“Just take it, wouldn’t you? Take me so well?” He yanks you down so hard, you wonder if he can even breathe. Truthfully, you don’t think he cares either way. “What else do you think about, sweet girl? Think about me tying you up?”
You nod zealously, sneaking a glance at the headboard almost as though to recreate your fantasy. 
“Yeah? What else? Would you want me to spank you?” He follows this inquiry up with a quick – albeit gentle – slap to your outer thigh. “S’that what you want?”
“Harry—”
“What about your pretty, little throat, hm? D’you want me to hold it in my hand? Squeeze it till you see stars?”
The thought sends you into a frenzy. Stomach flipping in on itself until you’re clenching so hard around his fingers, you’re surprised they don’t break.
“Yeah? Oh, sweet girl,” he coos, slowly and almost inconspicuously sneaking a third digit into play. Filling you exactly the way you need. “My dirty little Cherry just wants to be taken care of, doesn’t she?”
You have nothing more to offer him. No more noises, no more whines, no more pleas. Your throat has gone dry, and your body is trembling almost violently.
He grins. “Then I’ll always take care of what’s mine.”
You’re not sure what does it. If it’s the way he strokes his fingers into that sweet spot in your cunt, the way he skims his tongue against your clit, or if it’s his promise. 
But no matter the cause, your third orgasm overwhelms you. Pulls you down into the deepest part of your pleasure before ripping you apart. Seam by seam.
He swallows every second of it. Attempting to drag the stimulation on for as long as he can before you have to psychically take yourself away in order to breathe. 
“Okay, okay,” you whimper, returning to the bed just beside him. “Can’t…I can’t…”
“Okay,” he agrees in a soft, soothing tone. Quicky reaching out to press his hand to your cheek while his thumb brushes at your heated skin. “Okay, we’re done. Did so good for me.”
Your lashes flutter as your vision slowly returns, and when you see him, you about moan.
During his ravaging of your pussy, the cut on his lip reopened, and now, blood is smeared across his mouth and chin. Glistening from his skin right beside the remnants of you.
You don’t imagine you’ve ever seen something so erotic. You also never imagined you’d find it so appealing, and yet the way it looks painted across his sharp jaw and swollen lips…
You surge forward and kiss him. So hard and so fast, you imagine you’ve made him dizzy. 
Instantly, his palm is pressing to the back of your head. Keeping you against his mouth while slowly pulling you back into his embrace. And he holds you against his chest while moaning something that sounds a lot like, “Fucking hell.”
 You kiss until the sun comes up. The soft, warm beams of light slipping through your curtains, setting the whole room – and your tired bodies – aglow. 
His mouth moves to your neck. “You still with me, baby?”
You smile. “Always.”
“Good.” He leaves one, final kiss. “And you’re feeling all right?”
“Mhm. Are you?”
“Oh, I’m more than all right, sweet girl. M’fucking perfect.”
He guides back onto his chest. Limbs tangling together as he puts your body between his legs until he can hold you properly. Even despite your fussing over his injuries.
But it’s not until you’ve begun to settle that you feel it. “Harry?” you whisper softly.
“Mm?”
“…did you cum?”
He smiles before pressing his lips to your forehead. “Yeah.”
“But I didn’t…I mean I didn’t get to—"
“You just have that effect on me, Cher,” he murmurs, snaking his arms a bit tighter around your frame. “Told you. Making you feel good is all I want.”
You glance up, expression wounded. “Why won’t you let me help? I thought…I mean, you keep saying you want me to, but you never…you won’t let me.”
The bedroom falls silent as he considers this. The sage green in his eye melting into something golden from the reflection of the sunrise.
He reaches out and brushes his thumb across your mouth. Seeming to clean you of the blood that smeared when you kissed.
“I didn’t want this to be about me,” he finally says. “I never do.”
You merely frown. “But I want to do it. Do you not…I mean, do you think I can’t or something?”
A soft chuckle. “Oh, I know you can. Know you’d use this pretty little mouth just right, yeah?”
You nod.
“Yeah.” He squeezes your chin. “I meant what I said. One day. There are a lot of things I want to do with you. Be for you. But right now, I can’t…I’m not in a place where I can offer them to you. Not with…everything else going on.”
Your stomach sinks as you realize. You might not understand the complexities of his job or his life, but you do understand his concern. And you trust that he doesn’t make this decision lightly. 
“Besides,” he adds coyly, “they kind of have a rule about it.”
“Oh, do they?”
“Yeah. Something about reduced testosterone and decreased aggression. I don’t know, s’probably bullshit.” A nonchalant shrug. “Just means I get to keep the focus on you. Which is all I really want, anyway.”
“I can tell,” you tease, reaching up to brush your nose against his. “Why is that?”
“Because you’re perfect.” He says it so easily. As though it needs no thought. “Baby, you have no fucking idea how beautiful you are. Touching you is the closest I will ever get to heaven.”
You wonder how he does that. How he always manages to say exactly what you need to hear. And make you believe it. Every time.
You kiss him again, but it’s slow. Soft and gentle and full of an unspoken emotion that nearly overwhelms you. 
You fall asleep against his heart. His lips in your hair, your fingers on his chest. And for the next few hours, you dream of nothing but him.
By the time you wake, it’s nearly afternoon. Your muscles are sore and your body aches from the decisions and positions of the night before. 
But it’s a good sort of pain. The kind that reminds you of how willing you are to do it again.
You’re both quiet as you stir, and it’s comfortable. As though you’re used to waking up together. Exchanging nothing more than smiles and a hoarse, “Morning.”
After offering him some cereal, you ask if he’d like to take a shower. Maybe change into something else before you take him back to the diner so he can retrieve his car and you can pick up yours from your friend.
He politely declines, but he does agree to your stipulation that you check his wounds before you leave. He even stands perfectly still while you assess each cut and stitch in order to make sure everything is still in place.
Which to your surprise, it is.
Once you’ve gathered your things, you exit your apartment (after locking it as previously instructed), and head for the subway station.
It’s almost strange to see him in the light of day. He’s still as effortlessly striking as before, if not perhaps more. His skin looks a bit more tan, and his hair seems softer in the sun. But he walks with a kind of confidence you almost envy, slinging his arm around your shoulders just like the night before. This time, out of possession.
And you grin the whole way there.
It feels normal. Feels good. Natural. Like it was always meant to be. You and him. Always.
Your heart begins to sink with each step closer you get to the diner. You cling to his hoodie as though it physically hurts to say goodbye. And in turn, he pulls you in tighter to his heart, as if refusing to let you.
“I’ll walk you in,” he murmurs once you reach the parking lot, and you nod gratefully. Already taking in a deep breath as you prepare to watch him leave.
You see your car near the front of the diner, signaling that your friend is here to drop off the keys. And you almost feel nervous because you aren’t sure how to explain Harry. Or if you even need to explain him at all. 
If he’d want you to.
A part of you wants to protect him from everybody else. From their prying eyes and inquisitive questions. From their haughty, judgmental stares and this idea that they know who he really is.
Instead, you take his hand in yours, and squeeze. Offering him one last smile to hold you over until you see him again.
Which you can only hope will be soon.
He pushes the door open and leads you inside. Loosening his grip on you almost regretfully while your heart sinks down into your toes.
But the moment you both step beneath the light, he stops. Suddenly and with a strained inhale as fingers retighten around yours, halting you in place.
Concerned, you glance over the side of his face rather curiously before following his eyeline further into the diner.  
And that’s when you see him. 
“Hey, thanks again for letting me borrow your car,” your friend says, sliding off one of the barstools in order to hand you your keys. “I really appreciate it. It was a huge help.”
“Oh, yeah, no problem,” you murmur before looking back to the tense man beside you. “Uh…this is my friend, Jesse. And Jesse, this is—”
“Harry,” Jesse says for you, lips curling up almost knowingly before he’s nodding once. 
Now even more confused, your head tilts while Harry’s skin instantly pales, his jaw clenching as his grip on your hand gets stronger.
But despite your muddled expression, Jesse merely chuckles to himself and steps forward, dragging his eyes from you to the tall stranger holding you.
“I see you finally found my girl.”
Tumblr media
EEEEE I AM HAVING WAY TOO MUCH FUN
Next Part:
~ Reckless*
Previous Part:
~ Knockout*
~ Full Knockout Masterlist
~ Main Masterlist
Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞
Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgff@myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @amberbambridge @percysaidnever @prettydelilah @ripesinner @fairytale07 @hannah9921 @mitochondrialeva-blog1 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @buckybarnessimpp @lomlhstyles @be-with-me-so-happily @daphnesutton @ribbonknives @stylesfever @slutforcoffein @rainycowbride @harringtonhundreds @kaybee87 @youcan-nolonger-run @tobesocoldasyou @dylanobandposts21 @cherryshouse
3K notes · View notes
innerfare · 3 months ago
Text
Smutty Shanks Headcanons
Tumblr media
Summary: a collection of NSFW Shanks headcanons
Genre: pure smut
CW: oral sex, penetrative sex, slutty Shanks
———
Has a habit of asking people to join his crew when he wants to sleep with them. Beckman no longer wastes his breath trying to stop it, has simply resigned himself to the reality that his captain is a whore because… well, he is a whore. 
More than happy to share with others.
Has so much game, it’s unreal. Nobody had to teach this man how to pick people up at a bar, he was just born that way. And he has perhaps the most colorful body count of anyone in any of the seas, a list of past lovers that include pirates, marines, aristocrats, bureaucrats, and many a bar maid (there’s a green-haired one in the East Blue whom he is particularly sweet on and often finds himself reminiscing about). Gender, appearance, profession- none of this matters. If Red Hair Shanks has you in his sights, he’ll have you in his bed soon enough. 
Not the biggest dick, but above average and on the thicker side; definitely has a nice curve in it. Has never manscaped in his life, would be deeply offended if you suggested he should. He’d probably be offended if you shave, too. This man likes it natural and nasty. 
Kisses like he’s trying to swallow your tongue. Seriously, the messiest, sloppiest kisser, aims to swap as much saliva as possible with you; the type to share chewing gum with you. This holds true for when he goes down on you, too. 
Speaking of going down on you, he’s religious about it. He swears your pussy is a hangover cure and he’ll have a headache all day if he doesn’t get to taste you. You’ll end up with a rash on your inner thighs from his stubble, but if that’s the case, he’ll just bend you over and lick your cunt from behind to give your inner thighs a break. As much as the stubble bothers you at first, you quickly reach a point where you don’t think you’d be able to cum if a clean-shaven man put his face between your legs. 
Sometimes gets a case of whiskey dick (happens far more often than he’d ever admit), but he always makes it up to you come morning- to the point you’ve assured him repeatedly there’s no need (help, you’re so sore), but he feels he has something to prove. His whiskey dick isn’t even straight up dysfunction because he can still get hard, he just can’t cum, so even though he’ll fuck you good and make you cum, he feels like you haven’t been fucked properly until he’s finished inside you. 
Has a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde thing going on in that there are two versions of him in bed: 1) the easygoing drunk who is more than happy to lay back and let you do all the work while he watches your tits bounce (Shanks is a titties man, it’s practically canon), and 2) the pirate emperor who will pound mercilessly into you from behind, hands digging into your hips so hard they leave bruises. 
You always know when the pirate emperor is going to be the man waiting for you in bed that night based on how many jokes he cracks over dinner/drinks. If he’s in rare form, making even more jokes than usual, leaving the entire crew keeled over in laughter, he’ll be bending you over and snapping his hips against yours for a solid hour; basically, if Lucky Roux laughs until he cries, you are about to get fucked. Once you notice this pattern, you realize he makes eye contact with you while the crew is distracted by whatever joke he just told, and he always has a wicked gleam in his eye, as if his Conqueror’s Haki might just rear its powerful head. 
Pirate emperor Shanks is willing to risk it all, too. He’s not going to wait until his cabin door is shut to start tearing your clothes off. He’s not going to tell you to keep it down in case the crew overhears. He’s not going to double check you took your birth control that morning. He’s just going to fuck you, and you’re just going to take it. 
That being said, he’s never rough with you when you blow him. Blowjobs actually bring out the sweetest version of Shanks there is, the version who tells you to pace yourself and smiles brightly when he cums. He’ll hold your hair back for you, being very careful not to tangle it, and be sure not to thrust his hips forward; not into face fucking. 
Has the most ridiculous nicknames for you outside the bedroom, and these carry over into the bedroom, too. His favorite is to call you his red panda. Sometimes uses these silly nicknames to break some of the tension. 
Your most common position is with you on top, but his favorite position is prone bone. He likes your body flat against the mattress with his on top of you while he bottoms out inside. He’ll make you cross your ankles, too, so he can get even deeper. 
———
Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!
449 notes · View notes