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lizard-shifter-noms · 7 months ago

Text

Still Subject to Change Chapter 15 (NEW)

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Hello everyone! i decided to repost arc 1 of SSTC

(the chapters were way too long and had a bunch of typos but hopefully this will make reading easier)

this Story contains Vore, Dont like dont read.

if there are still any grammatical errors i’m sorry.

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I wasn’t sure how long I stayed unconscious for but I woke up to something repeatedly tapping at my face as well as some noise I could not Identify for the life of me.

I really wanted to go back to the warm comforting darkness but I knew that I should get up even if I would rather continue to keep my eyes closed.

I wasn’t sure where exactly i was but i knew that everything Fucking hurt a lot and wanted it to stop.

The noise came back, this time louder and clearer than before and I could finally make out that it was someone talking.

“Donovan please wake up! Please!”

The voice was very familiar and I was confused.

Why would I know someone well enough to know their voice?

I was a street rat, an unwanted bastard, So why was the voice I heard so full of concern?

I was pulled a bit more into consciousness when I felt an excruciating pain in my abdomen from Something applying pressure on me.

Or in me? At the moment I hurt too much to care but I opened my eyes a crack anyway, curiosity overriding pain for just a second.

The things I saw were dimly lit greenish gray walls and someone standing in front of me.

Something was off though, the person stood close enough to appear slightly blurry but seemed to still be really small?

“Donovan! Are you okay? Please be okay!”

The Redhaired form rushed at me and clung to my neck in a weird sort of hug.

“Robin?”

I croaked recognizing that mop of ginger waves everywhere.

He went back to where I could see his face and I noticed that his eyes were slightly puffy.

Had he been crying?

Before I could continue that train of thought a new wave of pain went out from my guts causing me to hiss out from the awful sensation.

“Don’t move! That’s just making it worse!”

Another voice called from somewhere I couldn’t see and I complied, recognizing Arthur’s voice.

At this point I wished that this awful pain would finally stop.

Oh. wait. FUCK!

Rikaad was still in my pouch, the very same pouch that had been horribly assaulted with a blade and suffered at least two stab wounds.

No wonder I was hurting so bad! Lying sideways on the glowy moss hadn’t made things better of course.

But at least the glowy moss was better than collapsing in the snow.

Wait a second, I wasn’t actively stopping Rikaad from stabbing me again by squishing my pouch!

But he still wasn’t doing anything it felt like, just a limp form lying as far away as possible from the wounds he had caused.

Even though all the pain I could tell he wasn’t moving and that worried me greatly.

Rikaad was a stubborn man, he wouldn’t just- He wouldn’t just lie there and do nothing.

For a second my mind conjured the horrifying image of him having drowned in my blood that was no doubt still trickling from the wounds he made.

Despite knowing how much pain it would cause me I tentatively flexed a few muscles just to make sure he was still alive.

I somehow ended up flexing my ribs outward a bit instead and he jerked, trying to brace himself from the sudden movement.

“What the fuck are you doing i said don’t move!”

Arthur snapped from wherever he was.

I glanced around trying to find where he was and saw him sitting between my hands and middle, some bandages in hand and trying to wash out the bite wound Rikaad had made.

Where the hell did he even get bandages? I didn’t know but they looked suspiciously like strips from my handkerchief.

I chose not to care about it, the thing had been old anyway and at least like this it was useful one last time.

This time I did what Arthur said and instead turned my attention to Robin again who was hugging my ear like his life depended on it.

“What-”

“I’m so glad you woke up again”

Looking at him to the best of my ability as he was still hugging my fuzzy ear I could practically feel the worry radiating off of him.

He really must have thought I wouldn’t wake up again after I fell unconscious.

I wish I could move to hug him but I was pretty sure that if I did that the entire pain I had beforehand would flare up again.

And at least whatever Arthur was doing seemed to have helped just the tiniest bit.

My entire torso still hurt like hell though, and I didn’t dare move in case I upset the wounds again.

Rikaad was still lying completely docile and moving as little as he could while confined in an ever shifting environment.

It was really weird and kind of off putting that he was just- just lying there but I was VERY glad he hadn’t decided to cut me open while I had been out of it.

I wondered if I could move my head without straining my torso at all and slowly turned my head towards Robin who looked up at the movement.

He scrambled to get in front of my face again, stumbling once and then was back to standing before me, still looking as worried as ever.

“How are you? Can I do anything to help?”

His usual chipper demeanor had vanished completely, replaced with nothing but worry as he looked at me, eyes still a bit red.

I wasn’t sure what exactly he could do to help as I didn’t really know the extent of my injuries, hell I didn’t even know what had happened since I got to the cave.

Well I probably could just ask, and it would make Robin feel at least a little useful and maybe i could figure out why Rikaad was so weirdly calm.

I didn’t dare speak to the man, I wasn’t keen on another beating as this time I WOULD die.

“Say what the fuck happened? I know I keeled over and then?”

I didn’t dare ask why Rikaad had not cut himself out, the mental image would probably make him sick, and me too if i was honest.

“Well when you fell over you said he was hurting you, so we yelled at him to stop then Arthur shoved me out of the way and started yelling, i think he was cursing?

But uhh he did stop and Arthur explained stuff? I think he did get some things wrong but Rikaad understands now i think”

Well at least that, I still didn’t dare speak to him though.

I didn’t WANT to talk to him, my physical injuries weren’t the only thing hurting right now and honestly? I was a bit sour that he didn’t believe even after I had promised twice in a row that he’d be okay.

Well nothing to do about it now, best to just let it be.

“Say how long was I out for? I still feel awful”

He glanced at the cave entrance, apparently trying to gauge how light it was outside.

“I’m not sure but long enough for the storm to pass”

Not exactly the information I was hoping for but at least without the storm we had one less problem.

Now it was only back to about five other problems, We were still away from Kamerasca and now I was hurt with no way of actually helping me.

Even if by some miracle we found a doctor or medic out here in the middle of fucking nowhere they wouldn’t know what to do with my freaky anatomy.

Besides, I was still a bastard so I wouldn’t receive help anyway, if not outright killed.

Before I could think of anything else to say or ask we were interrupted by Arthur.

“Donovan? Do you think it’s possible to get Rikaad out? I don’t think having him staying there is going to help your wounds, i mean he did say that they mostly stopped bleeding but uhh yeah”

And there was the question i had dreaded, it wasn’t surprising that he wanted out but i knew that if i just attempted to do so would rip my pouch to shreds.

“I want to, i really do, but if i try that i’m going to rupture something”

I winced, I didn’t want him in there anymore than he did but I wasn’t keen on dying either.

And everything still hurt so much!

It was a hot throbbing pain that made me feel like someone switched my heart with my pouch and there was this underlying feeling of nausea all the time telling me to get rid of the uncomfortable lump sitting in my Pouch.

Arthur just nodded and went back to check the bandages once more.

I could tell he was nervous and decided not to point it out or tell him that he didn’t have to check the bandages every ten minutes.

At this point I could almost feel the exact shape of the gashes Rikaad had made and they weren’t exactly benign.

I could tell that it was one longer slash above a single stab where the knife had twisted itself into the flesh during the time I had squished Rikaad.

There was a slight shift inside and I had to bite my tongue to not let out a pained hiss.

Rikaad noticed my discomfort anyway and went back to being extremely still.

If he wasn’t moving he was so still that I could mistake him for a corpse and it was kinda unnerving but at least it kept the pain to a minimum.

Though my ear flicked when he spoke the first words to me since I had fallen unconscious.

“If you can get a needle and thread to me i could sew the wounds shut and reduce the risk of reopening them”

My heart sped up a bit at his proposal, sewing a wound wasn’t an easy task even if you weren’t confined in a fleshy bag that moved while its host was breathing.

Not to mention that he had no light to work with and I would not let anyone attempt to do that when they couldn’t see anything.

He did not move as he spoke, simply waiting for a reply.

“I- you don’t have light, how are you going to sew it when you can’t see what you are doing? Also I’m NOT going to swallow a needle! Thats fucking dangerous!”

“I am not saying that you should swallow a bare needle but you could find a container for it, as for the light there should be a lantern with glass and a candle with my stuff, if im fast enough it wont even get warm”

I hated that he had a logical solution for all of these but in the end he was once again right.

“Fine! Just- just be careful?

Everything still hurts and you are not making that better!”

I might have sounded a bit snappy but I decided after all that happened I was allowed to sound sour.

“Of course and, whether you believe me or not i am truly sorry for what i did”

“Just help fix it.

I don’t want to talk about it right now okay?

ARTHUR! Can you find a needle, some thread and a container for them? Also some lantern that's with Rikaad’s stuff”

Arthur’s head snapped to me before scrambling to get upright and sift through all our stuff for the required items.

“Oh what can I do to help? I want to help too!”

While it was nice of him to offer i wasn’t exactly sure if Robin Could help, I knew he was the most clumsy out of all of us and I didn’t want him accidentally dropping the needle.

Finding it again would be a nightmare.

“You could uhh- you could do something to draw away my attention from having to be sewed up?

Having something distracting me would be appreciated!”

He nodded enthusiastically and then his brain seemed to be buffering on what to do.

His eyes flicked over me before settling once again on my ears.

He went over to the one I wasn’t currently lying on and began to massage it.

Well this was something his tiny hands were good at, Having a positive sensation to distract me from the negative one was a good idea.

Not to mention that it was actually relaxing and successfully calmed me down enough to not flinch when Arthur returned with a tiny metal box in hand that usually contained the fire starters we used and the lantern Rikaad mentioned.

Strangely enough he was also dragging a piece of a thick branch behind him.

At least the lantern was round with little sunk in windows so breaking the glass would be difficult.

“I have the stuff! And something you can bite when Rikaad sews you up”

Ah so that was why he brought that log over, it was a nice gesture and i was sure it would keep me from howling out in pain.

Now for the hard part, actually getting the unpleasant looking metal box and lantern down to Rikaad.

I had never actually attempted to swallow something while lying sideways, why should I have?

So this was gonna pose a problem, how would I even get it down without choking?

Arthur seemed to have had the same thought as he glanced at my arms, One of which I was lying on and the other holding my guts as gently as I could and moving would probably cause more pain.

“Uhh you know what I’m just gonna toss them? No wait, one contains glass, uhhh how should we? Like you can’t move, what should we do?”

Good question, but I had no answer to that either.

Before either of us could think of something Robin had moved from his spot and went up to Arthur.

He took the items out of a confused looking Arthur’s hands and went in front of my face so that I had to cross my eyes to see him.

“I have an idea! Open up!”

He gently nudged at my mouth with his elbow and i was so confused that i simply complied.

I did not expect however that he would just stick his entire torso in my mouth.

I was so surprised that I almost jerked my head back but I didn’t dare move.

I did not want to end up hurting him, at all.

Looking at Arthur for help i could see that he had a shocked expression, He didn’t expect that either huh?

I tried my best to keep my mouth completely still but my tongue seemed to try and act on its own so I had to incredibly restrain myself.

I could feel Robin leaning in even further with his arm above his head one item in each hand.

Was he just gonna shove it down my throat?

The answer to that was yes as he started to do just that.

The sensation of having something small and pointy shoved into my pharynx was rather unpleasant but I bore it and prepared myself to send it to the pouch.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Arthur had grabbed one of Robin’s legs to keep him from going too far in.

I was grateful for that as it reduced the risk of me accidentally swallowing him and inflicting even more pain upon myself.

Though i had to say that swallowing the small things was far from pleasant as they were hard and had pokey bits.

I couldn’t believe that I would actually prefer to swallow an entire person instead of these boxy things.

And I was really glad that Arthur had decided to hold on to Robin as he had been dragged a bit further back when I swallowed and had to be pulled out a bit.

The Stuff Rikaad wanted reached him just as Arthur hauled Robin out of my mouth.

“Warn a guy before you do something like this, please that was not what i expected don’t do that again”

He just nodded and tried to get spit out of his hair using an already saliva soaked sleeve.

He stared at it for a moment and grimaced.

“I’m going to wash at the pond, I’ll be right back!”

He slipped out from Arthur’s grip and made a beeline for the small body of lukewarm water.

Arthur had meanwhile moved closer to my pouch again, asking Rikaad if he had found the items.

I was glad that they did not bump or scrape the wounds on their entry but the peace would last long now as Rikaad would sew them as soon as he had light.

Speaking of light, I hoped he would manage to actually get the candle to light up.

While I wasn’t exactly keen on having a literal fire in my guts it was better than having Rikaad work in total darkness.

From the movement that sent a new pain signal to my head he had found them and was preparing himself to play doctor.

“I have found everything, it wasn’t difficult as half on it landed on top of my head”

I would have laughed at the mental image if I wasn’t sure that it would just bring a new wave of pain.

While we waited for Rikaad to set up his stuff Robin came back with partially dried hair and clothing and resumed his place next to my ear.

He continued with the gentle massage but I couldn’t help and get the image of someone petting a cat in my head.

Well not like anyone else would ever know about this.

“I have threaded the needle, prepare yourself i will begin stitching you back together”

I tried my best not to tense.

I really did, but the needle felt like a wasp sting every time it went in and out of my flesh.

I hissed in pain and bared my teeth in a grimace, I hated this!

It hurt and I couldn’t even move lest I risked making it worse.

Arthur, seeing my plight, dragged the log he previously searched out over to my face.

It was a wonder he could even hold the thing as it was at least as wide as a person and twice as long.

“Here you can bite this, maybe it’ll help?”

He almost dropped the slightly curved wood on his foot and stumbled back a bit but it was close enough that I could take it between my teeth.

Between being able to bite something and Robin still gently petting my ear it got at least bearable to have my insides sewn up.

I did however hope that Rikaad would be done soon, not just because it hurt like hell but also because I could start to taste a faint hint of smoke at the back of my throat.

There was a particularly bad twinge as Rikaad called out again.

“Almost done! I just need to tie the thread”

And I bit down on the wood stronger than I had before with a pained sound.

It cracked and suddenly I had a mouth full of splintered wood and sawdust while larger pieces just fell to the floor.

I didn’t think I would be able to bite through solid wood and stared at the pieces of it for a horrified second, not comprehending what just happened.

“What the fuck?”

Arthur pressed out in a higher pitch than normal, staring at it with wide eyes.

Robin hadn’t seen exactly what had happened as he was basically next to my neck underneath my ear but he had stopped petting it and curiously looked over to the mess.

“Oh you are going to have to pick out all the smaller pieces later”

He ducked back to his spot now weirdly calm and quiet.

Aw Fuck, scaring them was the last thing i wanted to do but of course i somehow still managed to do it anyway.

At least Rikaad was done sewing my insides up as the stinging sensation was gone now and the taste of smoke slowly disappeared from my mouth.

As much as having him play doctor was awful, I had to admit that it actually was a bit better now, probably because the wound covered less of the skin there and didn’t run a risk of opening itself with every motion.

For the first time in hours my body was able to relax a bit again and I just lay there with my head on the moss feeling just a tiny bit better.

Arthur quietly leaned on my shoulder next to Robin and slid down to the floor looking rather tired.

Right, I didn’t even know what time it was, or how long it took to sew me up.

Before I could ask though, I heard Rikaad again.

“You should sleep, the rest will aid you in your recovery”

I could feel he was lying on his back, he probably had the stuff he had used put on his chest to not lose it.

He better not lose it, I didn’t want random items to be left behind.

He was right though, sleeping would help even if it probably would take a while to actually fall asleep with how everything was still aching.

At least the other two wouldn’t have much of a problem with that judging by how Robin was slumped over and cuddling up to my neck.

Arthur wasn’t faring much better either, he was slouched next to my shoulder and looking only minutes away from sleep.

Everyone’s adrenaline must have worn out and left them feeling tired, me included.

So best to heed Rikaad’s advice and simply rest till the next morning.

Waking up my brain took a few seconds to start working again, but the feeling of something in my aching pouch made the memories rush back to me and I prepared for a sudden onslaught of pain from the wounds.

As nothing happened beyond the constant ache i recalled that Rikaad had sewn it up yesterday, and subsequently was still in there.

Glancing down I could see Arthur slumped against my shoulder in a rather uncomfortable looking position.

Robin was also still cuddled up to my neck, I couldn’t see him but I could definitely feel his little body there.

I wasn’t sure if I was the only one awake as Rikaad wasn’t moving, but I knew from taking shifts watching that he could lay there like a corpse and still be wide awake.

I deemed it best not to do anything as I didn’t want to wake the two curled up outside of me.

They looked like they needed the rest, at least Arthur definitely did, and Robin had never been a morning person so i let them sleep until they woke up themselves.

Though, Arthur looked a bit miserable with how he was slumped over, And with how he held his head that couldn’t be good for his neck.

So I decided to carefully move for the first time since I collapsed on this spot.

Slowly raising the arm I wasn’t lying on closer to my head and making sure the movement didn’t disturb the freshly sown wounds in my gut.

When there was nothing besides a weird pins and needles sensation from not moving my arm I gently brushed the splintered wood from yesterday away from me.

Slowly as not to wake him I slid my palm under Arthur and put him next to Robin in a more comfortable position that wouldn’t strain his neck so much.

Before I could take my hand back though something latched onto my thumb and wouldn’t let go.

Robin had grabbed it in his sleep.

Damnit, now I couldn’t move.

Well I WAS ordered to rest anyway so I could deal with this for a couple of hours until everyone else woke up.

Before falling asleep again I tried to focus on the damage that was done on my insides and how bad it was now that Rikaad sewed it up.

It didn’t seem like it got any worse at least, and it had stopped hurting as much as it did before.

It was still aching of course but nowhere near as bad as at the start and thus a lot more manageable.

Reassured that I was now getting better, I fell back asleep with my hand still used as a pillow by Robin.

PREVIOUS / NEXT / OVERSIGHT

#sstc #lizards writing #vore story #giant/tiny #soft vore #extreme cuddling #g/t story #g/t vore #v0re #sfw vore #Barmea #nsx vore

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softevnstan · 2 years ago

Note

From the NSFW genarator

reader handing Bucky Barnes a bowl of cream/chocolate/honey and telling them to spread them on their own body where they want it eaten by reader. Bucky Barnes eagerly complies, and everything starts (or ends) with a sloppy smear on person Bucky Barnes's lips.

pairing. bucky barnes x gender neutral!reader

summary. for valentine's day, bucky brings you a bowl of whipped cream and strawberries. with a game proposition, you very quickly come to learn you're hungry for a different type of cream.

warnings. bucky loves you with all his heart but he's also a hard dom at heart. misuse of strawberries and whipped cream, dom/sub undertones, spitting/spit, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, food play - whipped cream, facefucking, petnames (specifically 'doll' and 'sugar', but these are intended to be for any partner, not just f), fluff, pre-established relationship SMUT - minors DNI. reader's bits are not mentioned in depth here so gender is ambiguous, i like all of my stories to be as inclusive as i can make them :)

a.n. hi, nonny, i wanted this to be out on valentine's day but some things in my personal life held that up. additionally: kinda interpreted this a little bit of the way i wanted to and the way i thought i'd best enjoy writing it, so bucky is the one with the game in mind (bonus: listen to this song as your background music like i did to add to the experience) -- reader is nerdy and likes things like books and candles and reading (reader is me projecting lbr)

also winterdevil friendship briefly mentioned bc i can

w.c. 7.3k

You were only a few pages into your new book - ‘Good Omens’; You’d heard good things about the story in its witty writing and amusing tale.

Bucky had been paying attention when you’d both gone on a bookshop date and scoured the shelves hopefully for the novel. Even when asking about the bookstore’s directory, the worker reluctantly let you know the book wasn’t in stock. You’d shrugged the loss off with a warm smile; ‘Better luck next time, right?’

Imagine your delight when Bucky brought you a red gift bag with four golden arrows decoratively laid horizontally and stacked upon one another with the words ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’. Inside the bag had even more delightful contents; Peeling past the elegant golden tissue paper, you were excited to find your very own copy of the novel you’d been unable to find in stores. Additionally was a box of chocolates and a candle scented ‘Rose & Apple’.

“Aw, Bucky,” you swooned, “I thought we said no gifts…?” “I know,” Bucky admitted, moving around the kitchen island to come to stand behind you; Arms of flesh and vibranium slowly winding around your waist to hug your body to his own, settling into a comfortable hold so naturally. “But I like seeing you smile.”

You looked fondly at the cover of the book, thumb gently brushing over the paperback cover before setting it down on the counter. You bit your lips together in an appreciative smile, and you felt Bucky’s grin against the side of your neck where he tucked away. Nose rubbing affectionately against your pulse before pressing a chaste kiss.

“...At least now you won’t feel surprised when I tell you I got you a few gifts of your own,” you reveal as you turn your head to usher Bucky’s chin up. “Oh, of course, you got me something anyways!” Bucky huffed on an amused laugh, eyes crinkled in the corners with his smile, and your heart was left to melt.

He nosed into you lovingly, nuzzling and then pressing foreheads together. You took the opportunity to drape your arms around Bucky’s shoulders in a warm embrace; the rest of your quiet valentine’s day was spent peacefully with expensive sushi ordered to your shared apartment, moving the furniture and putting his records on to sway together playfully with giggles and kisses, then wrapped up with movies in the living room and popcorn kernels in between the couch cushions from the way you’d been pelting pieces at one another. You needed no fancy dinners or dates. You both were capable of making a night-in a remarkable memory all on its own.

Though the favor you called in from Zemo wound up with gifting Bucky a signed copy of ‘The Hobbit’ signed by J.R.R. Tolkien himself, and that was pretty good at also making an evening remarkable. The absolute awe in Bucky’s eyes and the way he’d gone slack-jawed when unwrapping the book was worth the six digits that were poured into the cost. Zemo had more than enough to spend and was happily willing to pay off his debt. A book was child’s play for Baron - simple.

You'd only been a few pages into your new book; Having been eager to begin drinking in the story as soon as possible. Bucky knew you were a bookworm; it's part of what you two had so in common - Bucky knew how to appreciate a good story, too. Eagerly diving into the paperback and excitedly tearing through pages was what you did best; On Multiple occasions where Bucky and you had surprised one another with blind-book dates and annotated novels for one another, reading was perhaps a love language between the both of you.

So you’d think Bucky would’ve expected that from you as soon as that book was between your nimble fingers. Good luck with any attempts that may sway your attention or distract you as a whole; everyone should know it’s useless to try. But Bucky wasn’t everyone else. Bucky knew you and knew how to wriggle his way in between you and a good book.

And his key tool for that this evening seemed to be a wooden food tray with a bowl of hulled strawberries and a tub of whipped cream, and then an additional can that made you raise a brow. Any skepticism was dropped in moments given the natural delight you felt with Bucky in a room. When it was just the two of you, he was the sweetest man you’d ever met. “Surprise,” Bucky beamed softly, earning an amused smile from you in the process. He moved from the archway of the kitchen to step into the living room, rounding the coffee table to take his seat beside you on the couch.

“Strawberries? You shouldn’t have,” you hum appreciatively, picking up your bookmark to hold your page; You didn’t dog-ear your pages like some savage.

“Strawberries and Valentine’s Day go hand in hand last I checked. Whipped cream just makes it even better.” the soldier defends, earning a playful roll of your eyes.

“You’re makin’ me feel like a chump here, Bucky, we said no gifts and surprises,” you softly protest albeit with little sternness to your voice. Book abandoned on the side table of the couch, you leaned to reach for a piece of fruit.

“Ah ah ah,” Bucky stops you, vibranium hand coming to cover the mouth of the bowl. “This isn’t for nothin’, I wanna play a game, sweetheart…” The sultry purr to Bucky’s voice insinuates he’s up to no good. “Huh?” You pause, confused as you look between Bucky’s hand and the bowl. A game? “I should’ve known there’d be a catch. You’re a menace, James.” The words are light and teasing; No real harm behind them.

“Oh quit bein’ so dramatic,” Bucky playfully chides with a teasing pinch to your outer thigh - it makes you squeak in delight and burst into soft laughs before shooing his hand away. Bucky absolutely thrives on your smile and laugh; It drives him crazy. “I’m not dramatic, I’m melodramatic!” you titter happily. “Well, if by ‘melodramatic’ you mean ‘theatrical’,” Bucky commented with a mischievous grin as he safely set the tray on the coffee table. You took the liberty of pulling the throw pillow you’d been laying on and help it live up to its name; Hitting Bucky in the shoulder with the cushion for his ‘theatrical’ comment.

“You love me and my melodrama theatrics all the same, don’t act like you don’t.” “Alas, it’s true.” he sighs sweetly, nothing but love in his gray eyes as he says it; Smitten. The softness of it helps melt some of the banter that had been building. “...And what was this ‘game’ you were talking about, exactly, Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes light up with arousal, wetting his lips and treating the question as though he couldn’t wait to answer. “Have you ever plaid chicken before, sunshine?” Bucky inquires, and your head shakes side to side. “Alright, I brought out whipped cream. Wherever one person smears whipped cream, the other has to lick it off. The first one to refuse - or chicken out - loses.”

Your own gaze widens with delight at the sound of the provocative game. At least a game was something you could get behind, and it definitely had a means of spicing things up with Bucky; Not that your sex life was boring, but something new every now and again was exciting for the both of you.

“Aw,” Bucky tuts sympathetically, “I can see it on your face, poor thing. The way your eyes lit up… Sheesh, people are gonna think m’not takin’ care of my babydoll.” The heat that rises to your face is familiar and leaves your chest feeling fluttery. “You do take care of me, Bucky,” you softly utter, squeezing your thighs together. “I wanna play.” the words are airy when they leave your lips, and the voice in which you speak makes Bucky stifle a soft groan in reply.

“Knew you would, baby. Such a perfect little thing, always onboard for whatever I want to try.” Bucky hums his approval and something inside of you swoons for the praise. He even takes a moment to use his fingers and tenderly brush the stray hairs from your face; touching you nothing but gently.

“Uh huh,” you confirm with a jerky nod and a doe-eyed look as Bucky smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. He reaches for the container of whipped cream, popping the lid off. “Wait.” The thought creeps up on you.

Bucky stills briefly, eyes flickering to your face in a brief haze of concern. Pausing the act he’s been putting on for a moment to assure you’re not being genuine when you ask him to ‘wait’. You swallow around the tightness in your throat, attention solely on Bucky as you watch his studying face. Leave it to Bucky to be ready to fret over you at the drop of a dime.

“What if I win?” Bucky’s expression falls for a brief moment before twisting into disbelief and amusement. He laughs, entertained but relieved that’s where your concerns lie rather than somewhere more concerning.

“If you win, huh? Hmm,” Bucky takes a deliberate moment to hum and you shift with eager anticipation. Curious for whatever delicious thoughts may be brewing in that beautiful head of his. “Why don’t you choose — What would my babydoll want as a prize…?” the drawl of his voice nearly makes you squirm where you sit on the couch.

Your mind runs wild with ideas for half a moment before settling on something simple; “You have to go down on me, mouth only. No hands to help.” A swell of pride in your chest at the thought, you could already imagine Bucky looming over you and the warmth of his breath on your core before delving in without the aid of his hands.

Bucky seems to like the idea as well if the devilish way he watches you is anything to go off of.

“Sounds like a deal, and if you lose, you go down on me, sunshine.” You would hardly consider that a losing game.

“Sounds like a fair match - may the best player win,” you chuckle, the words a meager attempt to take back the reigns on your confidence and not become complete mush for this man by default. Bucky had this charming way of entrancing you. He did it to everyone that got to know him, half the time Bucky didn’t even need to think about it.

“I’ll get us started,” the sergeant takes lead - setting the lid of the whipped cream container on the coffee table and using a spoon he’d brought along with him to scoop up a dollop from the container. Messily, Bucky smears a dab across his bottom lip - all too aware of what he’s doing. Bucky may look innocent, but there are devil horns holding up that halo. You wonder if that’s a reflection of his friendship with Matt.

The grin Bucky wears is devilish when he looks at you; Eyes piercing and somehow even seductive with a swipe of whipped cream on his bottom lip. A soft giggle emits from your being before leaning to pluck up a strawberry. You use the piece of fruit to swipe along Bucky’s bottom lip, successfully scooping up traces of the whipped cream before taking a bite of the strawberry. The taste is ripe and sweet, no wonder they’re occasionally considered a form of natural aphrodisiac.

Bucky’s flesh hand finds your wrist tenderly after the first bite, causing you to arch a brow.

“Licking, sunshine.” Bucky corrects. “Pick at strawberries all you want, but the rules of the game required you to use your mouth. Otherwise, that’s not nearly as fun, is it?”

It’s moments like those that made you feel all light and fuzzy. When Bucky talks to you as though you were a helpless and useless thing; It makes your brain fog up with cotton with the way he speaks down to you.

“No, Bucky,” You exhale sweetly. “Good baby,” Bucky’s hand releases your wrist to lift and cup your cheek, giggling when you’re faced with the whipped cream on his lip again. Not as easy to take him so seriously. Bucky gives an amused huff at the response. “Now c’mon, before this melts and you have to lick that up, too.”

Popping the rest of your strawberry into your mouth, you finished chewing and swallowing before cupping Bucky’s jaw to steady him. Holding him in place when you lean forward into his space; being able to smell the traces of sandalwood and cinnamon on his skin made you shiver. It didn’t matter how many times you were like this with Bucky, your belly filled with butterflies every time in the best way. Tentatively you drag your tongue across his bottom lip, whipped cream sweet on your tongue.

There’s no chance to pull away when Bucky catches your lips in an immediate kiss following. Mouth slotting to yours in the opportunity that the man has, grinning against your lips like the cat that got the cream. His large palm lifted to come and cradle your cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing into your hair where it cups under your eat. Palm cooler than the average person due to the way his body ran cold, but your own warmth helped balance out the temperature difference from time to time. Your cheek felt like fire beneath this hand.

Bucky kisses you hungrily, a searing claim when he licks hot into your mouth and makes you whimper and shiver. Your fingers still hold his bearded cheeks as Bucky takes his time tasting you; Enjoying it far more than any whipped cream he could ever buy. Bucky parts only after he’s left you breathless, wiping a thumb at his bottom lip with a low chuckle. Your head is left to spin with your heart hammering in your ears.

“Been achin’ to kiss you like that all day,” Bucky confesses. Your lips tingle, mourning the loss of Bucky pressed against your like that. “You’ve had countless chances, Bucky - we’ve been here alone all day.” You defend while lacking a legitimate malice to your tone.

“It’s different,” you almost wave him off at the defense and make yourself busy with the whipped cream when Bucky elaborates. “I wanted to be soft with you today; I think we both deserve a little tenderness every once in a while. But sexy games give me a reason to kiss you like that.”

“Sometimes I struggle to believe that you’re the same stoic sergeant everyone quakes in front of.”

“I’m not; Not with you.” The words are raw, and it would make your heart turn to mush if you weren’t turned on by his kindness.

“You’re sexy when you’re sweet,” you coo, fingers brushing up his jaw to draw Bucky in for another quick kiss.

“And you’re sexy all the time, sunshine.” Bucky hums right back before meeting you partway for a small exchange of pecks. You both linger there for a moment, the kisses stolen not nearly as heady or heavy. Then you’re taking your turn. Parting lips and Bucky nearly chases your touch for more when you tut your tongue. A mock of his earlier tutting. “Aww,” you echo back to him, half condescending and half frisky. “I see it on your face, people are gonna think m’not taking care of my Buckybear.” though with your delivery, the words are far less menacing and end with you breaking the character to laugh, especially when Bucky is already crumbling into chuckles in front of you.

“‘Buckybear’?” Bucky parrots incredulously and entertained. “Trying out new nicknames,” you say with an innocent shrug, plucking up the spoon to get more cream on the utensil. “I think it’s cute.” “I like it,” Bucky agrees, shifting to get comfortable on the couch while his predatory gaze follows your hand. “It’s a nickname you gave me, just… Maybe let’s not let Sam hear this one.” “Does he still call you ‘Buckaboo’ sometimes?” You ask, momentarily distracted and appreciative that you and Bucky are able to break up seductive moments with cute ones. You’re convinced it’s proof you’re both truly in love to be able to be this casual and open with one another.

“Unfortunately. Torres heard Sam over the commlinks last week, both of them were dying of laughter.” Bucky deadpans, clearly not finding the situation as humorous as the boys did. You snicker with a shake of your head, assessing the spoon in your hand for a moment before setting it down in the container and abandoning it as a whole.

Instead, you pull your shirt up and over your head – stripping away the layer. The response it earns from Bucky fuels your confidence, the way he straightens up on the couch and wolf-whistles at each inch of skin you show off for him. Bucky always has a way of making you feel perfect; All your insecurities blanch when you were able to feel his comforting presence, always leaving you feeling loved and unequaled in your skin.

“Givin’ me a show, doll?” Bucky muses, a small tilt of his head while he studies you. “Why, enjoying the view?” You coo in turn, meeting Bucky with that same playful banter - this was a game after all, and games are meant to be fun. You discard the top haphazardly to the floor, no doubt to be gathered tomorrow morning.

“Oh absolutely. Got the prettiest baby in all of New York… I’m a very lucky man.” When Bucky speaks, his voice is thick and warms your face. Bucky is very much the flatterer.

“I know you like it when I say things like that,” doesn’t even hesitate to single you out on the thought. “When I remind you of how precious you are to me, sugar… Just how much I fucking adore you.” Bucky’s voice drips with lust and devotion. Utterly in love. It almost tempts you to drop the game before it gets too far in and have him now; Peel away the remaining layers separating you two and open your legs in an invitation for Bucky to fuck you so roughly into the couch that the legs break and the neighbors know Bucky’s name loud and clear.

God, you’re fucking whipped for this man.

Sometimes you’re still not prepared for the outpour of loving words; Still, you’re trying to remember that Bucky means the things he says and isn’t merely humoring you as exes have in the past. Bucky is nothing if not genuine.

“Keep sweet talking me, Sarge, and this game might end sooner than you want it to,” You warn with a coy smile before picking up the formerly abandoned spoon. “I’m bein’ honest,” Bucky defends, lifting his hands in a feigned and mischievous. “You know you love when I talk sweet to you, anyways, sugar.”

“You also know it makes me freeze up; I never know what to say things like that, Bucky.” a gentle reminder and your cheeks hurt from smiling - do you look stupid? Bucky would love you anyways, truth be told.

“Oh, but that’s the best part,” Bucky replies, leaning forward on the couch and closer into your bubble of space. Taking his time letting his eyes drink in the pretty sight you make for him without your top. “It turns you into putty, baby. You start floatin’ so easy, ‘s cute - it’s worth it gettin’ you cock-drunk in the end.”

You stutter - jaw clenching and you feel the tips of your ears burn. Bucky takes more sadistic amusement in the responses he pulls out of you. Plays you like a fiddle. It embarrasses you as much as it makes your thighs tighten and a wetness forms in your underwear. He works you up for fun. It’s maddening and exhilarating and perfect.

“Buckyyy,” you whine, pitiful and with a harmless scowl. Bucky’s laugh is rich and makes your face soften almost immediately. “Well, on with it, sunshine.” Bucky nods towards the spoon clutched between your fingers.

You take the moment to regain your composure. A deep breath - Attempting to shake out Bucky’s influence and his attempts to deduce you to a ditz so soon. Then, with the cold metal of the spoon, you smear a generous streak of whipped cream from your left clavicle to the top of your left breast.

When you lift your attention from your careful work, you find Bucky’s hungry eyes on you. Looking like a wolf preparing to strike his prey; Oh, to be littered with bites from Bucky’s mouth sounds like a dream.

“You’re bold tonight. I can already tell this is gonna be fun,” Bucky husks, voice low before moving into your space.

Right hand coming flush against your hip before smoothing up to frame your chest. He wedges himself between your legs, bringing your back flush with the arm of the couch as he looms over you; The semi that the soldier has been packing pressing prominently against your ass through his jeans. His vibranium hand brushes your hair out of your face, eyes studying you.

“You’re always so small under me...” Bucky hums, metal fingers brushing down your cheek as you lick some of the remaining whipped cream off the spoon; Putting on a show with the slow and deliberate lave it was the tip of his cock.

Bucky groans, his touch hardening where he holds your chest before lowering himself to let his hot mouth lick over your collarbone. Trailing down, his tongue glides across creamy sugar while littering open-mouth kisses to your flushed skin. His beard scratches against tender flesh and you keen underneath him - Bucky subtly presses tighter against your ass so his cock can make itself well acquainted and he growls low in his chest. Hot breath fanning over your flesh.

The soldier’s hot mouth threatens to go further, tempted to explore every inch of your delicate skin and leave you covered in hickeys. Bucky practices self-restraint, but not before licking up the swipe of whipped cream and suckling a deep hickey into your skin. The purpling skin is beautiful under his skillful tongue and you moan into the air of the living room.

May the best man win.

You’d both gone back and forth. After Bucky licked the mess from your chest and tasted the sugar on his tongue from a shared kiss, he had fun spraying whipped cream on his fingers.

Watching you have to take each digit between plump lips to suckle and lick the cream off. Beyond the sweetness of the cream, you could taste the roughness of his skin while he played with your tongue. Bucky even took the liberty of pressing his fingers to the flat of your tongue and holding your mouth open until you were drooling when there was no more cream left. When his fingers slip too far, you gag around the intrusion and Bucky grins.

He spits in your mouth to compensate for your time. You moan, thankful.

When it’s your turn again, you take the chance to shimmy your pants off next. Bucky licked his lips - watching you get undressed and not having to do a bit of the work but also being tempted with the inability to touch. Eager hands wanting nothing more to grip supple flesh and lay his claim while he takes you. With him. All good things come to those who wait.

You smeared whipped cream on your inner right thigh - dangerously close to your center and trailing towards your v-line. Bucky took his time settling between your legs. Kissed stamped to the inside of your calves, calloused hands smoothing out the outer of your thighs. Trailing upward, Bucky’s breath ever hot and the whipped cream threatens to drip.

Bucky catches the drop with his tongue before it can find the couch, licking up the inside of your thigh. His tongue makes you tingle and your brain stops working for a moment; shuddering under his touch and your toes curl. Bucky presses a kiss over the wet patch in your tight briefs and you hide your face. Your core quivers with want.

Bucky refuses to let you hide for long, working his way back up and gently prying your hands from your face. You share a heated kiss and sigh shakily against Bucky’s figure; Melting between him and the couch.

When it’s Bucky’s turn again, he takes a page out of your book and uses the opportunity to shed away layers. The jeans hugging his deliciously thick thighs are discarded, Bucky hiking up the plain black tee that left little to the imagination of the definition of his abdomen. It’s no mystery that Bucky was packed with muscle; Even in thick coats, you could still somehow always make out his distinct shape with rippling arms, a thick chest, and somehow a narrower waist. You’ve joked about him being a Disney princess once or twice.

The scoundrel smears the chilled spoon over his chiseled abs and for half a moment you’re in one of those steamy romance novels your mom would read and you’d giggle at.

You lap up the trail from over the concrete muscle down to Bucky’s groin - and he sighs out shaky and delighted. Hooded and heated eyes always watching you, you, you. Nothing else exists in the world to him other than your game. You feel a swell of pride knowing you have such a catch as Bucky; his thick fingers tangled in your hair and carding through as you innocently lick up the cream with a sinful tongue.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, sunshine.” the words are drawled out lazily and hushed from Bucky’s swollen lips; He’s been chewing them and biting like crazy.

The tent in his briefs doesn’t surprise you at all - you’d be insulted if he wasn’t aroused.

Still, you’ve taken every task he’s given you like a champ. Bucky is running out of safe skin to present, and you’re in for the long haul. Winning or losing makes no difference to you. By the end of the night, it’ll be Bucky’s hands that have touched you and brought you to your climax. No one else. You’ve already won.

But that doesn’t stop you from sitting back and shivering when the cold metal touches your bare nipples. Smearing a generous amount of cream to both bare and pebbling buds. Bucky is simply excited to get his mouth on you in a way that isn’t so safe anymore. His lips close around your nipple and leave you gasping - sucking and rolling the bud against his skilled and velvety tongue.

You’re wet; fingers holding Bucky’s head, merely along for the ride as he circles the areola with the tip of his tongue before pinching the delicate skin between his teeth and making you cry out. So sensitive. He kisses your ache better before subjecting the other nipple to the same torment; Bucky’s hot and wet mouth is heaven and your body speaks louder than your wanton moans or words ever will. You want him so unapologetically, and Bucky knows it. Prides himself on it, even.

It’s only a matter of time before you’re out of whipped cream and both of your teeth have rotted from your skull from the sugar; Something has to give otherwise the both of you could be at this all night - would that be so awful, though?

Bucky could wait you out easily. Run you out of choices until all that's left to cover with cream are the places he wants to get his tongue on the most. That's too easy; the back and forth between you two is what helps sparks fly.

Your fun is interrupted on Bucky's turn. He's trying to swipe whipped cream on his chest when he fumbles the spoon; the dollop slides right off the flimsy metal and falls to Bucky's bare shin, trailing down to his foot.

Both of your noses scrunch. Bucky's look of disgust is quickly replaced though by a mischievous glint, the soldier raising his leg up to balance his heel on the couch cushion.

"Better hop to it, honey." Bucky singsongs.

You playfully swat at his thick thigh, hand wanting to linger just to feel the muscle under your palm. How easy it would be to glide up and cup his cock.

"I'm not licking your foot, Bucky." You stifle the words only because you can't contain the giggles.

"Rules are rules - unless that means I win…?" Bucky perks up, and ah, no wonder why he got all delighted. He sees this as his golden ticket win.

No way he's serious. Your relationship and dynamic is very experimentational, but feet aren't on the table - sorry, Bucky. Licking one of his boots is a different story, but that's for another day where you have more time and the sweet words are replaced with filthy titles and the soldier joins you in the bedroom rather than your loving and chaste boyfriend.

“I’m not licking your foot.” You reiterate, “Pick somewhere else, for real?” “Ah ah ah, Sunshine. When we started playing we agreed.” Bucky protests and you are tempted to steal that spoon away from Bucky and swat another spoonful of whip cream at him. Instead, you pout; trying to wiggle your way. “Oh c’mon.” Bucky knows you won’t do it, the pain in the ass that he is (and you adore).

“Then I win,” Bucky declares matter-of-factly, and really, has defeat ever been such a pleasure? You shrug your shoulders to acknowledge your defeat, flashing the man across from you a bashful smile. At least you don't have whipped cream sticky on your foot - you're the real winner in that case.

“That means you, sunshine, gotta get that sweet mouth of yours on my cock.”

“Yes, Bucky,” you agree with an airy giggle. “I know what going down on someone means.”

When you go down on Bucky, he’s kind enough to give you a pillow to kneel on between his thighs. It helps recompense for the iron-grip in your hair as he guides your head up and down the steady length of his cock.

You’ve long started to adapt to the girth by now. The first time you’d attempted to go down on Bucky, the thickness of his cock had overwhelmed you. You could only take so much before nearly sputtering - and vomiting during sex isn’t sexy. It left you to have to make up for what your mouth couldn’t reach with skilled hands pumping the base of his dick and playing with his balls.

Now you can take Bucky without gagging, and it’s worth it to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head when you suck his cock. You’re his pretty cock-sleeve and Bucky has no problem letting you know it:

“Yeah, that’s it… Such a slutty fuckin’ mouth, droolin’ all over me, baby.” His fingers fist your hair at the root, every pull a delicious sting as he guides your head up and down his cock. The corners of your lips stretching around the intrusion, eyes watering and everytime you moan at the way he fucks your mouth, it sends a vibration through Bucky’s cock that just has him reeling for more. “Oh, oh God… I’ve got the prettiest fuckin’ cocksucker - a work of art."

The words are filthy yet flattering; your chest fluttering while your hands brace on Bucky’s thighs. You keep your jaw slack, making the slide as easy for him as possible as the tip of his cock abuses the back of your throat. There's a certain fulfilment that comes with being used so filthily; Solely existing for Bucky's pleasure in that moment as he shifts from guiding you to thrusting.

Your nose buries in the neatly trimmed pubic hair, flush with his pubic bone every time he cants his hips up into your willing mouth. This is how all blowjobs tend to go. With you taking the lead before Bucky can't handle it anymore and pummels your poor mouth.

It leaves a delicious ache.

Drool slips down your chin, doe-eyes fixed on Bucky despite the bleary picture he makes with tears dripping down your cheeks. Your sounds are muffled yet still whorish; your skin prickled with heat and the knot in your stomach slowly building. You grind your hips into the air looking for something to hump. You whine when you find nothing; more drool pooling past your red mouth as Bucky tilts his head back into the cushions with a low moan.

"That's it, take it, take all of my cock, baby. Like you were fuckin' made for it, mm, my precious little fuckhole. God, I love you, love my messy whore."

Your head is swimming, all you can focus on is the feel of the cock thrusting in and out of your slack mouth while Bucky uses your hole to his delight. Even when your head feels light from the lack of air, you float happily and trust Bucky. Bucky always takes care of you.

He tugs your head up by your hair, pulling you off his cock, and only then are you able to swallow lungfuls of air; gasping with spit-slick lips and a gossamer connects you to the tip of Bucky’s flushed cock.

“Cock-drunk. Like I said.” Bucky playfully chides and you whimper pitifully in response. Bucky laughs condescendingly at how pathetic you are and your chest blossoms. His hand cups your face tenderly, vibranium fingers wrapped around his dick while he smears his cockhead against your cheek. You turn your head instinctively towards the cock, mouthing wet kisses up the length and Bucky barks out a laugh at how hungry you are.

“Fuck, when did you get so desperate? You’d think I never touch you.” He traces your lips with the flushed tip; your tongue darts out to lap up the pre-come.

“As if I don’t have you bent over the nearest surface every other day; Pumping you full of my seed and leaving you fuckdumb.” Bucky slaps the length against your cheek wetly. You tongue down his shaft, as much as Bucky’s clutch in your hair will allow, and mouth at his balls hungrily. Bucky groans low and primal in his throat.

“Dirty, dirty…” His hand comes to hold your jaw, tongue sliding past your loose and parting lips. Playing with your tongue, Bucky shakes your head like a dog and you mewl. Fingers curling into the flaps of his jeans from where you’d pulled them open. “Shh, you’re alright, honey. M’just playin’ is all, yeah, you’re so cute like this. So airheaded n’ dumb.”

You suckle on Bucky’s thumb, your reply coming in a pleased purr to have your mouth full again. It’s not his dick, but you’re more than happy to bob your head. Bucky bites his lips and grins wickedly.

“I love how stupid you get for me, baby. It’s absolutely adorable, knowin’ you’d let me do anythin’ I wanted to you,” Bucky coos all too lovingly for it to be merely lust and heat.

He slips his thumb from your lips and you chase the digit with a whimper; Mourning the loss. Bucky just grips your hair again and pulls you back to his balls.

“C’mon, sunshine, suck on my balls.” The weight in your mouth nearly has you salivating, sucking on Bucky’s balls and right where you’re meant to be; Worshipping this man.

His cock is heavy against your face as Bucky jerks off to the gorgeous and whorish sight you make for him. The bruent groans, stroking his cock as Bucky watches you intently mouth as his heavy sac; Saliva dripping all over his skin and making a mess. His cock jerks infront of you, pulsing and veins bulging.

“That’s it, good pet… So fuckin’ good, yeah, you’re so perfect — Fuck, what am I gonna do with you..?” Bucky guides your mouth back to his cock. Up the length and taking the head between your lips before swallowing him down entirely. Back to the steady bob as you moan around the intrusion and Bucky groans roughly into the thick and heavy air.

“I wanna fuck your face, sunshine,” Bucky rasps out, and you stutter your ministrations for half a moment to peer up at him in the helpless daze that consumes you. “Yeah, you like that idea? Don’ gotta do nothin’, honey, just let me use that pretty fuckhole of yours.” The words purred out so sweetly, you profusely nod. Eager to be of use. Pulling off his cock, you utter the word: “O-Okay…” “Good fuckin’ pet…” Bucky’s fingers thread delicately through your hair until he’s tightening the grip. Sinking you down onto his length yet again and forcing you to take every inch he gives you. It doens’t stop there. Instead the soldier braces his feet on the carpet alongside where you’re sat between his open thighs. He pistons his hips up - hitting your gag reflex and causing you to sputter around his cock.

There is no mercy. Bucky fucks up into your face, setting a progressive pace to allow you to slowly adjust but not for long. It’s only a few moments later that he’s fucking up into you like his own personal hole. Piercing steely eyes burning through you as he watches you choke and sputter on his impressive girth. It’s a mess of spit and tears that stream down your cheeks from the brutality of the face-fucking.

Heavy balls slap against your jaw and Bucky moans. You tingle between your legs, wet from being able to be a tool for Bucky. An object of pleasure; Something about it has always turned you on in being able to please your partner. There’s no better pleasure than Bucky using you like the fuckhole you’re made to be, and he lets you know that.

“God, baby, you were made for this. Should just keep you for this one day; Make you my pretty little fuckdoll and the only thing you gotta worry about is fuckin’ yourself stupid on my cock. You make such a pretty sight, fuck, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you…” The litany is breathless as Bucky continues to thrust his dick in and out of your welcoming mouth.

You choke and sputter; Face hot and eyes burning with tears that drip off your chin in fat droplets. Cries die in your throat, high off the euphoria of the moment and burning on the adrenaline of being used as a fleshlight. Your lips ache; His pelvis smacks into you every time he ruts his hips up. Bucky slides down your throat easily. He’s right. You’re made for it.

You don’t know how long it goes on for. Instead you ogle in heaven, seeing and feeling nothing but Bucky. Even through the wet and slick squelches of your mouth being used, you couldn’t be happier. You roll your hips to find nothing - you suppose that’s the punishment of losing the game. Only one of you get off.

He fucks your face until you’re dizzy and can’t breathe. When you fear you might sputter for air is when Bucky unravels; Your throat flexing around his cock and fingers feeling every now and again in your throat for the tell-tale bulge.

It’s when Bucky’s hips stutter and the dirty talk bleeds more into primal noises rather than words. Grunts through his teeth, low growls while he abuses your throat up until the moment Bucky’s hips jerk harshly. The movements stutter, and Bucky punches out a harsh gasp. Then you feel it.

The hot pump of his come down your throat; Filling you up.

You threaten to choke and Bucky hushes you, rubbing sympathetically over your windpipe. “Shh shh, that’s it, swallow every last drop, baby. Take it all…” He rolls his hips impossibly deeper into your sore jaw. You feel drunk and you weren’t even the one that got to ride out their orgasm. With a few last grunts and rolls of his hips, Bucky withdraws from your sensitive mouth. Half-soft cock falling and you greedily swallow for air.

Bucky pets you through it all - whispering out your praise. How good you did for him. How much he loves you.

You take a moment to recover, head pillowed on Bucky’s inner thigh as he pets your hair lovingly. You drool onto the denim of his jeans, and if Bucky minds, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches you with loving eyes and a soft hum; As if this wasn’t the same man who just deduced you to his filthy fuckhole. If you didn't know any better, sometimes you'd think the man who fucks you and the man who bought you a book you'd been dying trying to find for Valentine's day were two separate people.

Bucky does it because he knows you love it. You could tap out any time with the special little word you both selected months ago when your sex life began to spicen up past vanilla rocking. But you don’t. No, you take it all and then some because it feels good and sometimes you’re convinced it’s what you were made to do.

You take your time recouping. Bucky rubs through your hair lovingly and affectionately, soft hums to add noise to the space. You smile, delighted, as if you’re the one who’s won and come. Calloused fingers trace the shape of your smile and you nearly preen. Slotting open your droopy eyes, you find Bufcky still there. Still sweet.

“You did so good, honey. M’so proud of you.” He praises, knowing now that he has your attention. Your grin splits and give him a toothy smile. “My sweet sunshine,” Bucky’s voice is soft and inviting, a lopsided grin on his chiseled features. You feel like the only thing in the world for a moment.

Although you want to talk, words don’t come easily and instead, you drag Bucky down into a languid kiss. Bucky groans at the taste of himself on you, but other than that, he’s chaste and gentle. Knowing when to play rough and when not to. It’s heaven when his lips move against yours so tenderly. Your heart still flutters like a teenager in love.

The both of you remain that way for a few minutes. Slow kissing even if you imagine Bucky’s back burns from the lean and your neck is starting to ache from how you crane it. Still, there’s nowhere you’d rather be than with Bucky.

“How about we head on to our room, sunshine, and I’ll take care of the rest?” Bucky purrs against your throat when he trails kisses down. The brush of his beard tickles and the feeling of his warm breath on your skin makes you happy to be alive.

“Actually,” you say after a beat, swallowing hard and clearing your throat. You pull yourself together as much as you can before leaning back and away from Bucky.

He eyes you with a mild look of concern as you prop back against the coffee table, reaching for the untouched can that Bucky had brought in with his game proposal. You pop the red cap off and it scatters to the floor below, lost. Then, pulling yourself up to sit on the edge of the coffee table, you shake the can. You lift your hips, shimmying out of the underwear you’d been left in - both of you are half naked at this point and you’ve seen one another countless times, you have nothing to hide.

The pair pools around your ankles and you use your foot to toss them, discarded like everything else that’s met the floor this evening - save for you. Bare legs spread, an open invitation and show. Bucky’s eyes light up, and you adore how he seems to treat everytime like the first time again, too.

“I was thinking about a round two,” you purr with newfound confidence and second wind; Spraying a strip of whipped cream down from your navel and disappearing between your legs. “What do you say, Barnes?”

“Oh, you’re on.”

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sandcobangevent · 2 months ago

Text

Concussion at 221B

by @watsons-busted-kneecap and @anerdynerd

[Sherlock’s POV]

I had spent the morning “chilling” on the couch, as John and Mrs. Hudson would put it, with some marshmallow tea in hand and yesterday’s case to reflect on. It had admittedly been quite the challenge to get behind, but once we had discovered that Mr. Verner Vogel was lying, it all had come together nicely. I grinned at the thought of this adventure. It was so obvious looking back on it: The poison was hidden inside the pen, his brother had never even arrived at the scene and the poster was just a distraction. Of course we hadn’t gotten away without a few scratches here and there during the chase, but John had taken a look at us and declared that there was nothing to worry about. I would keep an eye on my scuffed up knee anyway. Not that I didn’t trust John‘s conclusions, but keeping an eye on the development of smaller wounds like this one might prove to be interesting. Or perhaps I would forget about it within two days, who knew.

I heard John‘s door open widely. That was odd, usually my roommate would only push it as far as he needed to to get through somewhat comfortably. I presumed that there must have been some sort of news that he hadn’t told us about yet, hence the change in behaviour. I took a sip of my tea, making sure to catch some of the marshmallows that had started to form a bit of a chunk inside the cup, before turning around to greet my morning grump of a roommate.

I was… confused when I saw him. Something about him threw me off, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Was it his posture? His expression? His even bigger lack of energy than usual? I tried to find a way into our conversation. Would ‘Up early, are you?‘ do the trick? Maybe too confrontational for the weirdly cold, almost hostile mood that was spreading throughout the room… What had I missed?

I landed on “Good morning, Doctor.” instead. Safe enough as it was neutral, but could hopefully be read as as friendly as I intended it to. John just threw an annoyed, accusing look back at me. Alright… That was weird. “Is something wro-“, before I could finish my sentence, John had already cut me off:

“Oh, what gave me away?”, he sounded irritated, “‘Is something wrong??’ Who was that this morning?! And why was I accosted by Jack Bower or bloody Jason Bourne in my own flat??”

“…What?”, I replied. Nobody had been in our flat all night. I was sure of it because I had had a rather light sleep and had been awake until 4am practicing the violin anyway. “There were no ‘Jack Bower’ or ‘Jason Bourne’ here tonight, Watson, I’m not sure who or what you’re referring to.”

[John’s POV]

“Yes of course there were, I was DRAGGED OUT OF THE ROOM!”, I couldn’t believe this guy. Was he gonna act like none of last night had ever happened? God, I was sorry, Stammo, but I didn’t think I’d be able to live with this man any longer. I’d just need to find a new apartment with manageable rent… in London….

Alright, okay, nevermind, I’d need to think about that later, right now I was a bit too distracted by my for-now-roommate looking genuinely puzzled. At least I thought it was genuine... Couldn’t really tell with this guy.

He hummed weirdly concernedly. “The last time I recall you getting dragged out of this exact room would be when Mrs. Hudson had to forcefully keep you from walking into your own surprise birthday party.” He had placed his hand on his chin now while mumbling about some stuff. This guy seemed to be going through a whole LIST of occasions where that had supposedly happened. What on Earth??

“Woah, okay, slow down there, mate! I’ve only been here for a day. Do people get dragged out of this room so often that you can’t even remember which time was me? Especially when it was just LAST NIGHT?!” Aaaand now his eyebrows furrowed even deeper. “Ah.”, he said, “You’re talking about the incident on our first night here, when Barack Obama had come to thank me personally and you walked into the room unexpectedly, aren’t you, Doctor?” Wha- Barack Obama?? This wasn’t making any sense. “What the hell do you mean, Barack Obama came here?!”

“Well-“, he sighed, clearly struggling to explain himself. “You know this already, Watson. I’m not sure why you’re so confused about something that happened a year ago-“, his eyes widened a bit and he shifted forwards, “Oh- Hey- Careful!” He grabbed my shoulders to stabilize me. I had started to lose my balance. I groaned, trying to get back on my feet and waving at his hands to let go of me. He looked.. a bit hurt? I dunno, I was too busy NOT falling over, but I could swear I saw some sort of realizing look on his face. I was still trying not to let the headache sweep me off my feet, when a voice I couldn’t quite pinpoint popped up at the flat door, which was suddenly creaking open and closed.

“Hey, guys! I’ve finished walking Archie, so you can have him back now.” A woman came in, taking her jacket off and letting a dog loose as if it was completely natural for her to be here. I just looked at her startledly as she went on: “I’ve got an idea for our karaoke night! If you want, we could-“

She was looking past me at my roommate now. I could see that he had gritted his teeth when I turned around to face him too. Wasn’t she the person from Hudson’s though? Why would she have a karaoke night with Sherlock and- WAIT A SECOND WHAT WAS ARCHIE DOING HERE?!

My own bulldog, that was supposed to be MILES away by the way, was sniffing my legs now. I couldn’t help but scratch his head dumbfoundedly, because what the hell was even going on anymore.

“About that.”, Sherlock replied to.. what was her name? Mmmmar.. Martha? No, wait, Mmmariana? I thought? Maybe? Yeah I was pretty sure. I just hoped I was right too. He continued: “We might have to change those plans.”

[Sherlock’s POV]

I inspected John carefully. So far we knew that he was having problems with his balance, confusing the time of events and that his behavior was off. Way off, actually. His eyes were staring blankly at the floor again right now and he seemed to not even bother processing Mrs. Hudson’s arrival. He was visibly speechless. Doctor John Watson had been speechless countless times before, but in a way where he would attempt to express that fact very clearly, by… speaking about how speechless he was. This time was different. He was actually struggling to respond to this situation.

Now the problem at hand was that there was nothing obvious to be struggling with about this scene. It was a fairly normal morning: I was in the flat, Mrs. Hudson had just come back from the park and Archie was enjoying the petting session that Watson was giving him seemingly absent-mindedly. Nothing too irritating or irrational had happened, there had been no triggers for his PTSD, none that I knew of anyway. But John had hit his head pretty harshly on the handrail of a staircase during the chase of our case yesterday. He had denied that it was still hurting when he was taking care of our scratches last evening, but he’d squinted his eyes and gone to bed soon after.

I realized when he had almost fallen over and I needed to inform Mrs. Hudson as soon as possible: “John is suffering a concussion.” “Wait, whaaa”, was to be heard from my side, his voice was fading out slurringly at the end, but he continued petting Archie, most likely for comfort. Yes, definitely a concussion. Mrs. Hudson shot me an aghast look first and then proceeded to take a step towards Watson, putting her hand on his back and watching him concernedly. That seemed to snap him back into the here and now, as he turned his head quickly to look at her bewilderedly. Before she could say anything, he finally started speaking again:

“Who- I’m sorry, what is going on? Why were you, Sherlock, planning to have a karaoke night with the person from the estate agency? And uhh- I- I just,, really. Don’t have a clue about what concussion you could be talking about, I mean I feel fi- ohhhh my god I do have a headache.”, my dear friend stated, as if he had just noticed it. “Yup, that’s… That might actually be a concussion, the symptoms are there.”, he admitted and went on to list all the signs I had already noticed: “I- I’ve got the headache, I’ve got problems balancing myself, I’m just- genuinely VERY confused right now, my speech is slurring a bit and if I’m gonna be honest, I am feeling a bit nauseous, oh god.” A pained expression made its way across his face.

Mrs. Hudson put her other hand on his arms which were hanging loosely now that Archie had gone into my direction to drink out of his bowl.

“Do you… not remember my name?”, she asked and only now could I see how widely her eyes were opened in worry. Ahh that was right, he had only called her ‘the person from the estate agency’ and did not appear to recall our connection.

“Uhh”, Watson looked at her hand holding his arm without understanding. “Well it’s Mariana, isn’t it?” Mrs. Hudson’s shoulders rested slightly in response, but that seemingly didn’t satisfy her, so she continued to ask: “And do you remember me?”

“Mmm well yeah you’re the estate agent as I said.” Her mouth was opening for a response, but I decided it was best to do this short and simple: “Watson, what date do you think it is?” His hand wandered to his face to brush frustratedly over it from the forehead to the chin. “Uhhh ffff somewhen.. October 2023?” I had thought as much, but it still stung to hear.

“And there we have it. Memory loss. Another sign of a concussion, as I’m sure you know, Doctor. Why did it have to be so extensive in your case…”, I sighed before Mrs. Hudson picked up the plan that we were most likely all thinking about, as she grabbed the keys to the apartment that were lying on the sideboard and determined:

“John, we have got to get you to a hospital.”

[Mariana’s POV]

It felt very strange to sit next to someone who didn’t remember me. It had already been awkward to stand outside, trying to catch a free taxi, but this was somehow worse. Whenever I looked at John, I could see all the memories we had made as a friend group: The movie nights, the walks in the park, the endless talks and of course the constant cases to manage and solve. But he did not see that anymore. The only mental picture he had left of me was from when I was still working at a job I barely even enjoyed and wasn’t sure what to do if I couldn’t stay in the UK. The houses outside were flying past the taxi windows whenever we weren’t standing at a red light, which honestly took up a lot of the time. I kept catching myself glancing over at John, as if he’d suddenly start looking back at us the same again. Instead, his eyes were jumping around the car whenever they weren’t frozen on the floor. He seemed guilty. I got so stuck on watching him repeatedly fiddle with his legs that I almost jumped when he lifted his head and started talking.

“So what date is it actually then?” He looked over at me. Oh gosh, had he noticed me staring? That caught me off-guard. “Sorry?” “Well apparently it’s not October 2023 anymore, so uhh”, he chuckled nervously. “How much time did I miss? Or, well, forget?” Oh boy, how would I tell him this… I tried to make eye contact with Sherlock for help, but he was only staring straight out of the front window, maybe occasionally keeping an eye on whether our driver was actually taking the fastest route possible. Great, I’d do this by myself then. “Well, it is October…”, I started, just leaving a slightly too long pause because I wasn’t sure how to do this sensibly, but unfortunately that led John to jump in: “Oh so not even a month then?”, oh no, he was looking so relieved, “Oh that’s great! You know, I already thought I’d have missed a lot, but-“ “2024”, I squinted while saying that. I really didn’t mean to get his hopes up like that oh my gosh that felt terrible. John’s shoulders that had relaxed just a moment ago were tensing up again and the lighthearted mood that had overcome him froze in the air and turned into something else.

“October 2024?”, he breathed out. I couldn’t do this. “But that’s a whole year! I can’t just… have forgotten a whole year because of a concussion! I mean, obviously, I.. did… but that’s just so much. I-“ He put his hands up to his face, as if he was trying to wipe something away from it. “I just can’t believe it. I forgot. I forgot. A whole year.” I didn’t know what else to do so I just put my arm around his shoulders and tried my best to comfort him. “It’s gonna be okay, John, we’re here for you and while this might be a really weird situation for you - for all of us - right now, I mean you don’t even really know Sherlock and me anymore, which is just crazy”, I laughed bitterly, “I mean, I guess what I am trying to say here is: We’re your friends and we’ll be sticking by your side, no matter what. So don’t even go a second thinking you’re alone in this, okay?” John seemed to appreciate it, judging by the painfully apologetic grin he was giving me now.

“Thank you.”, he said, turning his face away from me.

[John‘s POV]

I didn’t stay quiet for too long, I honestly just didn’t want to. I wanted to believe her that I wasn‘t alone here, so I tried my best to keep the conversation going. “So what’s our deal then? The three of us, I mean.” I had been wondering about that anyway. “What makes a war vet with a podcast - or well, a mic so far, but I’m getting there -, a guy who apparently gets visited by Obama at 3am and their estate agent come together and form a friend group?” I was asking this fairly openly into the car, I didn’t mind getting an answer from either of my sides as I had been squeezed into the middle. Even the damn cabbie could’ve answered me for all I cared. Not that I didn’t care, quite the opposite actually, but I was just getting really desperate to finally learn more about my connection to these two. I had woken up, not knowing why everything around me felt so weird and now these two people that I only recognized as basically strangers were openly concerned about me and getting me to a hospital because of a concussion. Curiosity was mixing itself into my nervosity and made my legs shake even more.

“Your podcast.”, Sherlock had finally spoken up to answer oh thank god. “That’s what made us come together and form a team.” “What, my podcast?”, I wasn’t expecting that to be honest. I had been planning to use it for war vets, so I wasn’t sure what exactly could make these guys befriend me in connection to that. Then again, I had been pretty flexible about what this podcast could’ve been about, so maybe they had found a bit of a different topic to talk about. “Yes, our true crime podcast. You and I are usually the ones to go and solve the cases together. Mrs. Hudson does the managing for that matter.” “What- TRUE CRIME?!”, I almost choked on my own spit. “You don’t like it?”, that was the first time Sherlock glanced at me again instead of staring at the cabbie’s screen. “I mean it’s just unexpected, that’s all. I don’t really have any experience with uhhh criminology? So that just sounds a bit random.”, I laughed in disbelief and muttered: “Sounds exciting though…”

“We’re here!”, the cab stopped at the side of the road and Mariana tapped around on the buttons of the credit card device to pay. Sherlock and I climbed out of the door in the meantime. St. Bart’s Hospital was standing tall in front of us. Sherlock pushed my back towards the ER entrance. “Woah- Hey! Shouldn’t we go to the urgent care instead? I feel fine, I don’t think I need to take up the services of the ER, they’ve got more important injuries to care for.” I got a look back from him that I couldn’t quite read. My headache had been flaring up, but I would be fine! Just needed a bit of ice, that was all. “Doctor, listen to me!”, he turned around, grabbed me by the shoulders for the second time that day and stared into my eyes determinedly. “You just nearly fell out of the car, you’re experiencing a heavier headache than earlier judging by your expression, you cannot remember the last year that we had spent together and I will not risk us missing a deeper level to this injury again. You misjudged the severity of your concussion yesterday already and I would much rather be safe than sorry in terms of your health.”

“Kind of ironic coming from you.”, Mariana had joined us on the sidewalk, but she only got a disapproving glance back from Sherlock. “But that doesn’t mean that Sherlock is wrong at all.”, she said, now also turning her full attention to me, “John, you should have been to the ER yesterday already. You’ve got a medical license. You should be the one reminding us how important it is to make sure it’s not worse than you suspect.” I was gonna say something, but Sherlock had already gotten behind me and started pushing me towards the ER. “Chop chop, off you go. To the emergency room!” “Sherlock, I can walk alone.” I went a little faster to free my back. “Sure you can.” He let me walk alone by myself now, but I could tell he was still walking close behind me to make sure I’d actually follow their advice. It felt weird to be forcefully cared for, but I didn’t really mind. It was nice to know that I apparently had friends who would ensure my safety as much as I would for them. …But I still didn’t like going to the ER.

The white lights of the hallway shined on us painfully brightly, so I was a bit too distracted to notice the old lady nurse that was already running at us. My attention only swung over to her when I could hear a booming “You three again! What is it this time, another bloody case?!” That made me stumble back a bit. “I- uhh.” We hadn’t even gotten to the reception! “Watson here is experiencing a concussion.” Luckily Sherlock had taken on the job of speaking for me while I was still a bit perplexed. How often did we come here for the staff to react like that?? “So if you could tune down the volume a little, I’m sure his heightened sensitivity to noise would appreciate it.”, he continued quite snarkily. Was that just how he’d act around every stranger or had we gotten to know this specific nurse over the past year? Based on what I knew about Sherlock and our apparently regular visits to the ER I figured it’d be a mix of both.

The nurse didn’t seem impressed, but went on to do her job anyway. “Alright, Dr. Watson, what are your symptoms?” She lead us straight to the nearest exam room while I was listing what we had gathered and trying not to trip. She determined that it should be temporary, as most concussions were, but that they needed to run an MRI scan in order to properly assess my situation. At that point, it all felt like a blur. Neither the sounds of the MRI nor the bloody hurtful light situation of this hospital were doing my pulsing head any favors. When I had come back from the scan, our nurse Gertrude told me to wait until the doctor would come for the evaluation of my results.

“Mrs. Hudson went to get you some ice.”, Sherlock, who was sitting on one of the plastic chairs beside me, told me. “Ah okay.”, was all I could bring up. I was dizzy and the whiteness of this hospital room wasn’t making it any better. I still couldn’t quite believe that this was really happening, it was just so absurd. It felt like I had time traveled, but not in a cool way like in Doctor Who or Back To The Future and more like as if the whole world had gone on without me and now I was back and couldn’t really immediately connect with what I saw. Huh. That was kind of like that other part of Back To The Future, just… better, I supposed. Because what I was seeing here wasn’t some messed up version of reality where the wrong person had gotten the betting numbers, this was… actually kind of nice. If only I hadn’t gone and hit my head for some stupid reason, I wouldn’t be having trouble keeping my eyes open right now.

I didn’t wanna let those thoughts linger for much longer, so I decided to pass the time through conversation with my new friend. “You’re still calling her that then?” I was met with a questioning look by Sherlock.

“Mariana.”, I clarified, “You’re still calling her Mrs. Hudson.”

Understanding made its way across his face. “Ah. Yes.”, but then he quickly changed his mind, “I mean- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Is that a joking tone I’m hearing? Are you a jokester, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”, I surprisedly poked fun at him. He shot me a knowing glance and I swore I could see his lips curve up a little. “I have been told that I can be rather amusing at times.” Was that a half-joking tone?? “But I’m still not sure what you’re referring to, Dr. Watson.” Oh yeah, I was starting to see why I liked hanging out with this guy, this was fun! “Welp, I’m guessing that’s just your thing then, huh? Alright, I’ll leave it be.”, I lifted up my hands in playful defeat and laughed to myself, before Mariana came back with some packaged ice.

She sat down on the plastic chair to my right after handing the bundle of sweet release to me. “Here you go. Fresh ice for your head.” “Thank you very much, Mariana, ohhh that is so good.” The touch of the cool package against my throbbing head wasn’t exactly relieving, but it was so much better than going on without it. We only had to wait a couple of minutes, which Sherlock and Mariana could easily fill with some friendly banter, until a doctor came in.

“So, John Watson.” He entered the room, looking through a clipboard full of info that he’d be sharing with me any minute now. Oh god, I was getting more nervous than I thought. My leg was getting very hard to hold still again. “I’ve got your results right here. There’s no need to worry, the memory loss and confusion will usually clear off after a while. In your state, it might only take a few days until you’re fine!” He went on to tell us about statistics on the average recovery and all the usual procedures to reassure your patient that everything was gonna be okay. I knew the drill. I had been taught to do the same. It just kind of sucked to know which phrases were empty. And hell there were a lot of them. I thought it was more likely that I’d need a few weeks to be the same again. But I also knew that the goal of this was to calm the patient down for no extra complications, so I tried my British best to keep calm and carry on. My concussed mind couldn’t focus on anything he was saying for long anyway. His stupid, patronizing way of talking made me want to get up and leave more than anything.

By the time we finally got to the bit that would actually be helpful to listen to - the instructions - I had given up on holding my leg still. “Now, I’m going to prescribe you some paracetamol. Make sure to take an appropriate dosage to keep your headache down. And it’s very important that you listen to this next part: You need rest. Please avoid activities that require a lot of thinking and concentrating! That includes things like your phone, reading, watching TV and also:” He looked over at Sherlock now. “Your cases. No going around and solving murders for your little podcast. And if you must, then go by yourself, but please keep Dr. Watson out of this until his symptoms have cleared. Not until he says he feels fine. But until he actually is back at a healthy state again. I know what doctors are like when it comes to their own treatments. Understood?” Sherlock looked like he wanted to protest but forced himself to nod with a clenched jaw instead. The doctor looked at me and Mariana for confirmation too and we both agreed verbally. Then, he finally left. And all the stress that had been building up until now was still there.

Great, so now I wouldn’t be able to do anything fun for a while. Of course I had known this was coming, but god it just wasn’t fair. The day was barely half over and I wanted nothing more than to go home and feel normal. To stop being so caught up in how sensible I was to everything right now. To never have to see that absolute arse of a doctor again, who I was pretty sure was probably just trying to do his job, but his tone was just so goddamn annoying, there had to be some sort of core arrogance in this guy, honestly. But first and foremost: I wanted to bloody remember. To not feel like a stranger within what was apparently my own world. Damnit I was so close to throwing up out of frustration, I didn’t know what to do.

[Sherlock’s POV]

Solving cases alone certainly wasn’t gonna be as stimulating as it was with Watson by my side, but I was sure I’d be able to manage until he’d be feeling better, somehow. I had something else to worry about right now. We were all sitting still, almost frozen, after the doctor had left. I was focused on John, his face specifically. If it hadn’t already been obvious by his trembling leg, I would have still seen the distress in his features rather clearly. His irises were fixed on a random point at the desk, his teeth were clenched and his left eyebrow was twitching ever so slightly - those were typical signs for him being stressed. That, mixed with his uneasy posture and the severely uncomfortable surroundings of an emergency examination room couldn’t have made it any more obvious: John needed consolation.

And there couldn’t have been a worse man to ask for that task than me. Quieting a cacophonous mind wasn’t exactly my specialty... At least I thought so at first, but as I kept turning this issue over in my head, I realized that I had been taught everything I needed to know by the very people that were sitting beside me. I may not have been great at finding comforting words for others as they often came out wrong, but I knew the act of physical reassurance that would hopefully deliver the message I was trying to convey and not require any words from me.

I stood up, took position in front of my dear friends and widened my arms. That seemed to be enough to let John’s eyes detach from the desk and look at me questioningly. Mrs. Hudson also didn’t catch the cue right away, so I decided to help out with a verbal clarification: “I am inviting you to a hug. Both of you, to be clear.” John’s mouth opened and closed. Was that a good sign or a bad sign? “I may not exactly be a champion of comfort, but I thought-“ I did not get to finish that sentence, as John had already sprung up from his seat and was pressing himself against me - quite frankly more tightly than I had thought he would - and it didn’t take a second longer until Mrs. Hudson had gotten up from her chair and joined in on the hug as well. I had to admit that this was a quite stress-relieving embrace for the most part. And John’s more relaxed posture around my shoulders reassured me that it was helping him too.

After a while, Mrs. Hudson picked up the verbal part of consolation: “John?”, she said. A muffled “Hmmpf?” was to be heard from my shoulder. It was strange how much comfort our hug seemed to bring to him despite his pitted memory. “I just want to make sure you don’t forget that we’re here with you, okay? I know I’ve said this in the car already, but I also know how easily truths like that can leave our mind if we’re not constantly reminded of it.” She was stifling some sobs. John pulled up his head to look at her with a tremulous smile. “Hey it’s okay. I uhm… I know we’re gonna figure this out together. Thank you.” I could hear his voice getting weaker, he might have had to cry soon too, as the last part of his sentence was almost a whisper. I got the impression that he had needed to say this fact out loud in order to really believe it himself. And in that moment, I felt a flicker of hope. John was finding comfort in our words, in our embrace! The memories may have been missing, but the emotional connection was there somewhere in his subconscious. He was feeling safe enough to cry around us, for god‘s sake, that held colossal meaning, considering how much we must have had dug up already within these short hours for him to be feeling that connection again. The sensation of him and Mrs. Hudson melting in my arms was reaching my heart with its warmth and gave me the sense that possibly, we were going to be okay, as John may have already gotten a monumental portion of himself back. He was here. He was safe. And soon enough, he‘d be happy again.

____________

Check it out on AO3 too!

#sherlock & co #sherlock and co #john watson #sherlock holmes #mariana ametxazurra #event #fanart #flash bang #fanfiction #flashbang event

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allisonreader · 8 days ago

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This is my second Christmas @inklings-challenge story for this year. I did not intend to write TWO Christmas stories this year and this one’s focus isn’t directly related to Christmas, but takes place near Christmas and includes discussions about Christmas related festivities. And truthfully this is a story written after rewatching a Hallmark Christmas movie which prompted the thought of the conversation between the two characters in the story. Everything else is just framing and an excuse to have the conversation and still have some plot.

This story takes place after the main events in Tales Of A Frozen Sailor. I have tried to include enough background information so that if you’ve never read the main story, that you don’t have to to understand it. Hopefully I’m not retreading the ground too much throughout the story.

And if you are interested in the full story, go to the Master List for Tales Of A Frozen Sailor .

Like always, I feel like I haven’t edited this enough, but also couldn’t look at it anymore. So it is what it is and that means that I’m not particularly happy about how I ended it. I just feel like the ending feels like what it is. Sort of a rush to just get it done. Anyways enough of my blabbering and onto the story.

Jessica's Christmas Surprise

The latest news on the last Titanic witness.

Jessica Hudson (now Piston) was a young woman who sailed on the Titanic as a sailor under the guise of being a man named Jesse Hudson. A fact that had only been known by her family and fellow sailor John Winters for many years.

Jessica had been assigned to man a lifeboat with John, but instead had been locked inside a room deep inside the Titanic. She was left for dead as the ship sank and for nearly a century it had been the perfect murder. If it wasn’t for the fact that her body was found and brought up nearly a 100 years later.

Once she was brought up, she was thawed from the position that she was found in and in a turn of events that can only be called miraculous, as Jessica thawed, she began to wake. Revival efforts were then focused on.

Jessica’s revival was unexpected and allowed her to connect with nieces and a nephew who hadn’t been born when she went down with the ship.

Jessica's story was then able to be told in full with her perspective.

Since then, Jessica has been finding her own way in the modern world. These days Jessica tries to keep a low profile.

Recently though, she has been spotted with her husband Erik coming out of an ultrasound clinic together. Not only did they come out of the clinic together, but it does appear that Jessica is sporting a bit of a baby bump.

Neither Jessica nor Erik have made any announcements about expecting at this point, but it seems to be evident that the couple will be adding an addition to their family, come sometime in the coming new year.

For further details on Jessica's story turn to page 12.

📰📰📰

"Why can’t they just leave me alone?" Jess grumbled, glaring at the article that included a picture of her and Erik walking out of the clinic, making her belly look larger than it actually was. Or at least it seemed so to her. "This is a hard enough season this year without others talking about our private life Em," she complained to her husband.

"I know, but people find you interesting, and something like our daughter is news worthy to anyone who's been following your story. They forget that you’re just a person like them and that you don’t even consider yourself a celebrity, though others do. Nobody is going to give a statement to any of the press though. It’s going to stay within the family that our baby, is in fact a little girl, our little girl," Erik reassured her as he pulled up and stopped in front of the small guest house on the backside of the Piston family estate.

Someone had decorated the house for Christmas, lights were all along the roof line and down the columns of the front porch and banisters. There was a wreath on the door and a Christmas tree lit with white lights in the front window.

Erik offered to help Jess out of the car, but she shook her head wanting to do it herself.

Once she had gotten out of the car; the article in the magazine left was behind. Erik noted to get rid of it before Jess got back in. She snuggled into his side, allowing him to wrap his arm around her and rest his hand on her belly.

They walked quietly the short distance to the front door, which Nanna was opening before they even were close enough to have knocked. Having been expecting and anticipating them.

"There the two of you are. Come in, come in. Emery, your grandfather is out back. Before you head out to him, give me a hug and a kiss-" Nanna tapped her cheek where she wanted the kiss- "while I get Jessica comfortable so we can talk about her appointment this past week."

"Yes Nanna." Erik agreed, letting go of Jess and kissing her cheek before going to hug and kiss Nanna as instructed before leaving to find his grandfather.

"Stay out of trouble Em, don’t let John drag you into anything," Jess warned.

"I won’t Jess, and I promise that I won’t lollygag around too much."

"I hope not."

"I’ll be back before you know it. Have fun with Nanna. Don’t let her get you into too much trouble."

Jess stuck her tongue out at her husband teasing her about her warning about John. Nanna watched with Jess as Erik left to find his grandfather and then leave to visit Jess's family and drop off their letters and gifts for the season. Something that Erik had already done at least once since they had found out that she was pregnant.

Jess let out a sigh. It was for the best that it was just Erik going back to visit her family. She stared longingly at where Erik went down the hall.

Who knew what would happen to her or her baby girl if they time traveled while she was pregnant. It wasn’t worth the risk. But that didn’t mean that her heart didn’t long to visit her family over Christmas.

Nanna startled her as she wrapped an arm around her back and rubbed her one shoulder.

"Come now my dear. I have a fire going in the front room where the tree is. We'll make ourselves cozy and then I suspect that you have some pictures from your ultrasound appointment to show me, hmm?" Nanna said, gently guiding her into the front room, where there was indeed a fire roaring. Jess nodded as she allowed herself to be lead to be sat in front of the fire.

The two of them discussed the incredible invention of ultrasound technology allowing them to see the baby and tell that she was going to have a girl. How Jess had never anything like it would be possible and how Nanna had been unaware of its invention that had happened in the same decade as her son’s birth, at least not until years after when it became more common.

Jess showed Nanna her ultrasound pictures, and discussed how much of a taint the picture of her and Erik coming out of clinic, ending up in the news and gossip rags left her with on the experience.

"Learn to ignore them my dear. I know it’s hard in this day and age, but ignoring them will be better for you than worrying over them." Jess just nodded in acknowledgment and excused herself to the bathroom.

While Nanna waited for Jessica to come back, she turned back on the sound of the Hallmark movie that she had been watching before Jessica and her grandson had arrived. It didn’t take her long to re-pick-up the plot and become engrossed again.

"Nanna? What are you watching?" Jess asked when she returned.

"Hmm? Oh, just a Hallmark holiday movie. One that you might relate to a little too much in part to a degree. The main character is a nurse from 1945… 46… one of the two. Feeling a little lost and out of place in her own time, but has been pulled forward by forces unknown to the modern day and is having to try and fit into this strange time to her," Nanna explained.

Jess blinked a couple of times. "Really…?"

"Oh yes my dear. These type of stories have been popular for many years already. Long before most people were ever aware of your story and existence. I dare say that they might have had a bit of an uptick since your story has become known, but they’ve been around as long as fairy tales have been. Why else do you think your life is so fascinating to people? You have all the marks for the best types of stories, but perhaps best of all to many people is that your story is true," Nanna said.

"What are the other marks…? Do I want to know them?" Jess asked.

"None are bad my dear, just interesting to people. Your connection to the Titanic is a large one. That ship has fascinated people from the day the news broke that it was sunk by an iceberg on its maiden voyage, with so many elite on it. I’m afraid that your Mr. Winters didn’t help with his insistence that something happened to you beyond being reassigned and you just not making it. Then there is the fact that once you were found on the ocean floor in the ill-fated ship; something that shouldn’t have been possible, it was found out that you were in fact a woman, not a man as claimed when sailing. Let alone the fact that your John was proven to be correct that something had happened to you. Beyond that is the fact that you survived your miraculous revival. It’s all very interesting to people. As much as you’d love to just live your life. To others you are a celebrity."

"I don’t want to be a celebrity," Jess pouted.

"I know my dear, but sometimes that is out of our hands. The best that can be done is what you are doing. Living your life to the fullest and keeping a low profile by not reaching out to the press yourself. While there will always be people interested in your story, it will eventually fade over the years. But at the moment, it’s still relatively new for people and it will take years to die down."

Jess scowled at the thought.

"I don’t want my daughter to become some spectacle once she’s born."

"We’ll shield her from it as much as possible. Especially at first when she won’t be able to protect herself, but she will learn."

Jess nodded, still wary, but there was nothing to do about currently.

🎄🎄🎄🎁🎁🎁

Erik went and poked his head in to see Jess and Nanna now that he was back. He found them both finishing off a Hallmark Christmas movie, just catching the end of the credits.

It had taken Jess a bit of time to get used to tv, even now she’d often avoid watching it unless there was someone else watching it with her. He smiled fondly at Jess's one hand resting on her belly, thrilling him once again that he was going to be a father to a little girl. He didn’t need to be distracted by those thoughts currently. He had a wife to surprise.

He entered the room slowly and quietly. Coming up to beside where Jess was sitting. Watching Nanna's smile grow as she caught sight of him.

"Hey you, I made it back," he said softly in a low voice. Jess smiled back at him. Nanna got up and quietly slipped out of the room.

"How’d it go? How is everyone?" Jess asked.

"Good. They’re all good and the trip was successful. The gifts, cards and letters are all delivered to the 1920's…. And- John didn’t drag me into any trouble."

"Good. He doesn’t need to-"

"But, I might have dragged him into some trouble."

"Em… what do you mean?"

"I guess you’ll just have to come with me and find out then won’t you," he held out his hand to her.

"Emery… what do you do?"

"Come on, off the couch. Your family sent a surprise along with me."

"What kind of surprise….?"

"You’ll see for yourself."

"Emery Erik what kind of surprise is this?" Jess asked, starting to sound cross.

"One that you’ll love; come, let me show you." Erik helped her off the couch as she warily stared him down and followed him to the back porch.

Nanna was sitting with his grandfather on the porch swing, but standing just off the porch was Jess's surprise. Jess stilled the moment she first saw them, before bounding down the stairs to where her siblings and John were waiting.

All three of them embracing Jess in a hug together.

"You’re here! Why-? How…? …I didn’t think I was going to see you until after my baby came," Jess stammered in surprise.

"Erik planned it all out. Well, at least for the most part. My mom and Amelia and her family are looking after the kids today. Joan would have loved to come, but thought it would be best to stay as an extra pair of hands. But otherwise, we’re here for the day and to finally see a little bit of this time that you’re living in." John said.

Jess started to tear up as she soaked up the attention from Ruth, John and Henry being here in her chosen time. Ruth gave her another hug.

"I can’t believe that you’re here…" Jess

"Oh Jess…. We should have thought to come sooner."

Jess shook her head. "No, this is perfect. It’s the best Christmas gift…. I have so much to show you…"

Erik and his grandparents gave Jess and her family some space at first. Giving them the chance to reconnect and let the four of them time to catch up and for Jess to explain certain things without any of them interfering or interrupting. Allowing Jess to share her pregnancy update and share her ultrasound pictures and to show her visitors any technology that she thought might interest them. Pointing out that they wouldn’t have the chance to really get used to those in any capacity.

Nanna only interrupted them once the meal was ready. It brought all of them together for the rest of the day. The conversation and jokes flowed freely. Until it was finally time for the three to go back to their time and back to their kids. Jess gave all of them a long hug before Erik took them home. With promises to keep them all updated.

#inklings challenge #inklingschallenge #story: complete #genre: time travel #loosely time travel because it’s more mentioned in passing than anything seriously related to the plot #tales of a frozen sailor #Christmasinklingschallenge

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wtftarot · 1 year ago

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PAC: The Moon

The Moon is my all-time favorite card. Representing all that is unknown, she calls us to embrace what we don't know. Accept that some things will never be explained in a way our conscious minds can grasp. The unconscious, the truths and illusions it holds. The often hazy way our intuition and instincts work. She is a mirror, reflecting back at us our longings and fears. What does The Moon have to tell you? Let's fuck around and find out!

as always this reading is for entertainment purposes only and is not a substitute for professional advice in any capacity. Remember, use common sense, and don't be a dumbass.

Pick either the Dog, the Crab/Lobster? or the Wolf and head on to your reading.

The Dog

Your cards: 8 Cups Rx, Temperance Rx, 5 Wands Rx, 9 Wands, Page of Pentacles Rx, The Star, The Emperor Rx, Queen of Swords, The Moon, and the back of the deck is The Devil Rx.

The number 8 might be important to y'all. Are y'all like REALLY self-controlled? Self-contained, I'm hearing? What I think that means is y'all do your best to keep yourself, the true YOU, restrained for whatever reason. I'm getting that some of y'all may be neurodivergent. Hold on, Rainbow in the Dark by Dio started playing, so not to be too on the nose but some of y'all are LGBT+. Whether one or both of those are you or not, this whole group has a MAJOR issue expressing themselves authentically. With Temperance in reverse it's like you intentionally make yourself 'unbalanced' in a way, to avoid conflict big or small. And there's this vibe of "when x situation is over, I'll be the real me." In some situations, that could be true. Leaving controlling parents when you go to college for example. But, if you came to this group, I don't think that's your situation. At least not entirely. Holy fuck, a dove just flew by my window and scared the shit out of me. So, doves may be a sign for y'all. Anyway. It looks like, if you came to this group. You have restrained yourself to the point of atrophy. You've been held back. Held yourself back from being You, that you're not even sure who that is. You think that once this situation exits your life, you'll just suddenly be that person. That person you want to be and feel you are deep down. The person you've always imagined yourself to be. Thing is sweetheart, who you are isn't just a jacket you can put on when you feel the time is right. You're not just a switch you can flick and become yourself. You have to grow who you are/ want to be. You have to build yourself up. Even Dr. Frakenstein had to build the creature before he could hit the switch and scream 'It's ALIVE!" (Not that I'm saying you're a creature or anything. unless you want to be, you do you.) Actually, that may be a better analogy than I thought. You have to dig up the parts of you that you buried, hopefully not in a graveyard. Put them together, see what still fits, see what doesn't. You may need to find some new parts where the old ones don't fit anymore. You build yourself by trying out the things you think you'll be into, and experimenting like a mad scientist. Try new things out, keep what works, scrap what doesn't. I'm not seeing anything about it being dangerous for you to try to be fully you. More so there's a fear of what others will think. ( I don't know every situation though, keep yourself safe) Y'all may have always just been what was expected of you, never really thinking if it was something you genuinely wanted. I think the reason why Frankenstein came up so strongly is that y'all feel like this horrible, awkward, ugly thing when you do something new to you. Y'all may not start something if you think you'll be bad at it. Y'all could be incredibly critical of yourselves. Not gonna lie to ya babe. You will be bad at some things. You will try things you thought you would love and end up hating them. You'll love things you'd thought you would hate. You will be wrong and sometimes that's a good thing. Winning is no fun if you don't lose too. The losing is what makes the winning worth it. And honey, you have an amazing opportunity here: You get to discover who YOU really are. You're going to get to learn so much shit about yourself and it's going to be beautiful. The Moon is telling you all of this, all of that hidden beauty you're unaware of is going to come to light. So, let yourself go a lil wild. And I don't mean the stereotypical wild that you see everywhere. I mean wild FOR YOU. It's okay if wild experimentation for you is joining a book club. Hell, if the stereotypical wild is your normal, maybe spending some time with yourself is experimental. Listen to music you never thought you'd be into. Wear something that's a little 'too much'. It's all okay. You can stop cutting yourself down to whatever size you feel you 'should' be. I believe in y'all.

The Crab/Lobster

Your cards are: 4 Wands, 4 Swords, Judgement, 2 Pentacles Rx, 5 Pentacles, and on the bottom of the deck the 2 of Swords.

Sweetheart, this one may be a little intense, okay? First off y'all need a nap or at least a break. You're overworked and the thing is y'all are comfortable being overworked. And now you're like 'Ash, this ain't comfortable at all wtf'. Let me explain. Humans are extremely adaptable, we can get used to pretty much anything. Downside of that is when you get too used to something, it becomes familiar, safe, and yes even comfortable. We've all seen it, we've all done it. There's no shame in being human. However, just because you shouldn't feel ashamed of it doesn't mean you shouldn't try and fix it. Cause all of y'all are in a situation like this. Maybe it's not work-related, could be school or a relationship. Could just be a cycle or pattern that you keep repeating and can't figure out why. Now I want to be clear here. I am not saying whatever this is, is your fault. Some situations we're responsible for, and some we get pushed into. Some cycles are generations in the making, and some are our own shitty habits. That's life. This reading is to shift your attention to these patterns so we can break them and do better. I feel like y'all may have an inkling about what this pattern is. I think it's been coming into your awareness over the past few weeks or months. All of y'all are different and will have different cycles to break. So, I can't get any specifics. You're in a sort of awakening moment it seems. (Funny cause the first thing I said was that y'all need a nap) This cycle is going to become painful in a way. You're outgrowing it. It's going to become clear how harmful this has been for you. There's going to be a bit of grieving happening as you realize this. The kind of grief that comes with the knowledge of all the ways you've held yourself down, hurt yourself, and held yourself back. The grief of knowing you deserved better. You'll need to let yourself grieve but not get lost in it. Because while that's important, it's the next bit that's going to get you the farthest. You get to break the pattern. Unlearn the cycles. You get to move into a new part of your life that's not familiar but that's fun. Enjoyable and not just comfortable but decadent. It'll be hard at first to break the pattern. (that's why you need to rest now, not later) Our brains are wired for repetition but soon breaking the pattern will be the pattern. I'm so, so proud of y'all, group two. It's going to be beautiful where y'all go from here.

The Wolf

your cards are: 6 Cups Rx, 8 Swords, 5 Swords, The Moon Rx, The High Priestess, 7 Wands and the back of the deck is The Queen of Wands

How are my fighters doing? Cause y'all pulling the cards for this one was ROUGH. Usually, that means the reading is something you don't wanna hear or you already know and are fighting off. What's interesting is the whole time I was shuffling I knew the High Priestess was going to come out for y'all and she kept peeking out and hiding again. Cards kept flying out all over the place, I'm talking a shit ton would fall out at once I'd put them back and it would happen again. But The High Priestess didn't come out at all until I was finally able to pull an actual reading. What it felt like was that y'all have all these ideas of how this reading will go, ideas of what you need to hear, what you expect to get. You're actually drowning out your actual intuition. You may also have daydreams or fantasies about how your intuition will work, and what you'll see. I think you may be so deep in these daydreams at times that you're disconnected from your surroundings and even when you are getting something psychically, it can't get through to you. For some of you, it's not daydreaming as much as overthinking. Either way, y'all are a bit in your own head and it's distracting you from your intuitive gifts. Which of course is going to make you doubt them even more. Babe, I'm sorry if this is a little harsh. You just seem to be beating yourself up a bit for not being as good as you think you should be. I'm hearing these sort of self-criticisms about how you should be a 'better' intuitive? That you're not a 'real' intuitive, not a 'real' tarot reader, not a 'real' psychic, not a 'real' whatever because oh you should be able to do this or that and you can't so it's not real. Or you don't have intuitive hits daily so you're faking it all. Or you're not clairvoyant/clairaudient/clairsentient soo you'll never be a real psychic. Ya wanna know what that is? That's just a bunch of bullshit, right there. Let me tell y'all a lil something. First off EVERYONE is psychic/intuitive to some degree. Even if they only can remember having one intuitive hit and that's it. Now, not everyone has the same gifts, or psychic skills if you will. Not every psychic/intuitive will talk to the dead. Not all of us will be clairvoyant. Some psychics are clairvoyant but can't read tarot to save their life. Some people have multiple gifts, others have one. Some gifts are random but are not any less for it. For example, my sister knows when something we've been looking for is at a thrift store, she knows which one and where in the store it is and will walk right to it. It's awesome. Being 'more psychic' ain't all it's made out to be anyway. Believe me, it can be wonderful but it's also rough. I know a few really 'strong' psychics who have intentionally cut themselves off from their gifts because of things they've experienced. I myself have come close. All of that to say, you are a 'real' intuitive. Promise. You don't have to push yourself into something you're not sure about to be more 'legit'. You don't have to have all the skills, all the gifts, to be proud of what you can do. What you do have to do is stop fantasizing about it and actually BE it. Stop worrying about all you can't do and really hone what you CAN. We all have different gifts because the world needs all different things. Your gifts are yours for a reason, because you, specifically can add something to the world with it. Now, there's another message here maybe just for one person: It's your choice to embrace these gifts or not. If you do not feel comfortable with them you can let them go, it's okay. You're not ungrateful or doomed if you don't utilize them. Like I said, these sorts of gifts can be rough, and downright horrifying. It's okay to want something easier. And yes, you will be able to lead a fulfilling life without them.

#tarot reading #tarot #divination #tarot community #tarot cards #the moon #wtftarot #tarot readings #pac #pac reading #tarotblr #pick a card reading #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a pile

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americasass81 · 9 months ago

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Vibranium Knight

Warnings:- Mild Kidnapping, Use of Pet Names, Cockwarming, P in V Smut. 18+ only. Do not read if any of these warnings are upsetting. Feedback is welcomed.

By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut.

Author’s Note 1:- @targaryenvampireslayer just a little something I wrote for you Suz to hopefully make your working day a little brighter. Sorry it took so long but I hope it’s worth the wait being that this is my first time writing for this character I know you adore..

Author’s Note 2:- As always, all images have been found through google search.

Synopsis:- Enjoying a beautiful Spring day was not supposed to introduce you to a whole new world of possibilities but that’s exactly what happens when your distracted state intersects with an Avenger on a totally personal mission.

Pairings:- dark-ish!Sam Wilson x Female Reader.

Word Total:- 4,836

The office was quiet as you sat down at your desk and turned on the monitor, but the silence didn't really help. The truth was nothing did. ‘Why did it have to be this way?’ you thought as you now stood back up and headed for the nearest coffee machine while your computer flickered to life and the pinging of the elevator told you that soon your colleagues would be filing out of it to join you in another monotonous day of being totally undervalued while you scrimped and saved to hopefully retire before the humdrum working existence stole all semblance of joy from your life.

Sitting back down now and stealing a quick, generous amount of the caffeine infused beverage designed to see you through the day, you nodded kindly at your colleagues and exchanged pleasantries about your weekend activities before throwing yourself headlong into your work and counting down the seconds until lunch brought a much needed and welcome relief. Or at least that's what it usually did.

Powering down your computer at the 1 o'clock mark and picking up your jacket while rising from your chair, a brisk walk to the elevator past the fire alarm that you'd dreamed so often of pulling just to add some excitement to the boring office routine, a smooth, uninterrupted trip down to the ground floor and your were free. At least temporarily anyway.

Stepping outside the door then and taking in a few delightful breaths of the sweet spring air, you contemplated getting in your car, letting the top down and just spending your hour's break cruising around the city. After all, it wasn't very often you got weather like this that let you feel the wind in your face or the sun shining down on you in a manner that wouldn't leave you burning up from the inside out afterwards. No, this was exactly the type of weather you relished.

Not too hot, not too cold, you took one last delightful lungful and agreed instead that this was far too glorious a day to waste even a second of it sitting around in smog-fueled traffic. Walking instead now to your favorite restaurant and collecting your usual order to go, you next headed to the local park and finding one of the easily accessible benches beside the river, sat down and tucked into the mouthwatering ramen noodle dish that only David managed to prepare just the way you liked it.

Although to be fair you thought as you took that first delicious bite and savored every single flavor that assaulted your taste buds, the other staff members never really screwed up this dish and it was the main reason you loved their food so much, but there was just something extra that seemed to make it taste a whole lot nicer when David made it. Maybe he added something the others didn't. Maybe it was his infectious smile and sunny disposition. And then just maybe, it was the fact that he always had it hot and prepared for you the second you walked in as if he somehow accepted how excruciatingly tedious and demanding your work environment was and how precious this lunchtime break was for you.

A good deed in a weary world. And yet something so small that made a world of difference to you.

Finishing up your meal now and dumping the rubbish in the nearest bin provided, you then decided that a bit of exploration was due you before you headed back to the grind of daily life necessary to pay your bills and afford you some small pleasure away from the hustle and bustle of trying to get a leg up in the corporate world. And perhaps it was this very ruminating that found you off the beaten track in an area of the park you had never ventured before as a cloth came up to cover your mouth while the world went black all around you.

Coming back to the waking world some time later with absolutely no idea of what had happened in between or how much time had passed exactly, two things at least were perfectly clear .... and only one of them brought you any semblance of relief. Looking around the room now while simultaneously focusing your gaze on the outside world that greeted you through a nearby window, you knew beyond all doubt now that this was not your apartment while the vegetation blooming back at you confirmed this too was no longer the city you knew and worked in. As for the second thing? Well, the pounding in your head told you you were well and truly alive, but whether or not that was a good thing or a bad thing remained to be seen.

Rising slowly from the bed now and thankful from your head to your toes that every stitch of clothing you had last put on was at least in place, you still needed to know exactly what was going on. Walking then from the side of the huge bed over to the double doors that clearly opened on the outside world, you placed your palms on the handles and sent up a silent plea before quietly as possible pushing down and releasing a breath as the latches gave way and an exit appeared. Giving one last look behind you then to make sure you hadn't alerted whomever it was that brought you here against your will, you next stepped forwards into the unknown and faced what lay ahead. And what an experience that was.

Gazing around you now at wide open fields in every direction set against the backdrop of a picturesque mountain and river, it would have taken your breath away if not for the truth of what it revealed .... you were totally and utterly cut off from civilized society. Taking an extra few moments still to just stand there and soak in the peace and tranquility so evident in every rock and blade of grass before you, you then pulled yourself away from the quiet and headed back towards the house. It was time to figure out where you went from here.

Turning around then and walking back through the double doors that just moments ago had offered you freedom and then stolen it away just as easily, you stopped up short however when a man appeared through another door in the bedroom covered in only a towel as water droplets running down his exposed upper half told you he had just returned from a shower. Which actually explained why your absence had gone unnoticed .... at least until now.

"Well hello there chicklet, am I to assume by your return that you're not yet ready to try and make a run for it?" he asked while you simply stared blankly back at him as a thousand questions exploded in your mind like fireworks on the 4th of July. Yet nothing came out. So it seemed he would have to try again. "You don't remember me, do you chicklet?" he now asked as he walked fully into the room, closed the doors you had neglected in your shock and then sat down on the seat situated at the foot of the bed to await your response. A response that came rather quickly this time.

"Remember you? When the hell did I ever meet you?" you asked, but any answer from him was unnecessary as flashes of memory answered your own question for you. For you see you had met him.

Oh sure it was now a lifetime ago and he went by The Falcon back then, but there was no mistaking that beautiful smile, those soft eyes or the fact that you haven't lived your life under a rock. No, the whole world knew of Sam Wilson. Formerly known as the heroic Falcon, now carrying the mantle of Captain America, the whole world had witnessed his strength and character when The Flagsmashers had sought to create even more chaos out of the tragedy that was the Blip and the resulting return of all those people that had been snapped away. You on the other hand knew him personally. Kind of.

Sitting by the catwalk many years back at a New York Fashion Week event your friend Alice had somehow managed to get both of you tickets for, your memory of lying beneath the strapping superhero when guns began blasting and bullets started flying might have remained more prominent in your mind if it wasn't for well .... said gunfight. As it was, you remembered being tackled to the ground, moved this way and that to a safe place before the winged superhero told you to stay put upon rising from your position and heading off to help The Black Widow deal with whatever skirmish was wreaking havoc on the spectacular event.

No, that was definitely an encounter you were only too happy to forget. Even if it did include a run-in with an actual Avenger. But wait, if Sam Wilson was still an Avenger and he was now currently occupying a house in the middle of absolutely nowhere with you, then what exactly did that mean for your current location? After all, you had woken up that morning in England just like you did every other morning and Sam Wilson, as far as you could recall, was everything good that the United States of America had to offer. But they were oceans apart. Literally. So where the hell were you now?

In the time you had lost had you somehow been transported across the Atlantic to the good old U. S. of A.? Or was Captain America himself currently shacked up in the most idyllic of settings deep in the heart of the English countryside? Looking out the double doors once more and realizing now that you could in no way place this location in either country, you were about to give up and ask him where both of you were when a glance through the door he had just entered brought a whole new set of questions and distractions flooding through your mind.

Walking into that room while completely ignoring the half naked Adonis and staring in awe now at the rows of fabric that had caught your attention, one half of what appeared to be a gigantic closet filled with fabulous dresses, comfy casual wear and shoes that would have made Miranda Priestly swoon told you that you were in far more serious trouble than you had previously imagined. For this situation was not something that had just sprung up overnight. No, every little detail here had been meticulously planned. So turning back to the bedroom now and facing the man you suspected to be your abductor, you took a deep breath before asking that very same man what the fuck was going on.

"Aw come on now chicklet, isn't it obvious?" he asked with a smirk before continuing as you sat down on the chair nestled in the corner of the room. "I built this place for you. For us. This beautiful, isolated spot where you can live a life of pampered luxury without that tedious job sapping your joy and killing your creativity. I've read some of your work, you know. Who says fantasies don't come true?"

Staring at him blankly now as your mind began spinning with what he had just told you, your anxiety spiked to the point where if you weren't sitting down you would most possibly pass out yet again. As it was, you now had no alternative but to tell your brain to shut up and think. For what he was saying couldn't possibly be real. Right?

Oh sure, you were far from stupid or naïve. Anyone these days could find anything on the internet with enough savvy if they looked hard enough and of course you were well aware that one or two celebrities at least poked their virtual heads on Tumblr from time to time. BUT THIS? Had Sam Wilson really found your blog and read your fics? Had he truly discovered your secret desire to feel his powerful, naked body pressed against yours after he rescued you from a job that treated you no better than a mechanical robot tapping away at a keyboard and answering questions for people who couldn't even be bothered to thank you afterwards? Worse yet, how had he managed to put all the pieces together and actually track you down?

No, this couldn't seriously be what was happening here.

Looking up at him now however and seeing the truth etched quite plainly on his handsome face, you quickly got up from your chair and began frantically pacing back and forth before him as your anxiety spiked once more to levels you barely remembered previously experiencing. "No, no, no. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This. Can't. Be. Happening," you now repeated like a manta in the hopes that saying it enough times, with enough conviction, might make it so. But that didn't happen as was evidenced when the man whose presence you now tried desperately to ignore reached out, pulled you onto his lap and stopped your ranting the only way he knew was guaranteed to shock you out of your current state.

He kissed you. And what a kiss it was.

Slow and deep. Soft and with nothing but luscious lips well versed in the art of seduction, the humming that left your throat as his lips first massaged your top one and then your bottom before alternating back and forth would have been a sound he could happily listen to all day if he didn't have other plans. For he wanted to hear you scream. Continuing to gently devour your lips without seeking entry, his hands now moved to cup your ass and massage here too as your brain began the process of slowing down the panic currently controlling your system. After all he did want you to agree to this and for that he needed you to be calm and thinking clearly. Well as clearly as his kisses would allow anyway.

Switching from a humming to a purring now as his ministrations continued to calm you while a warm feeling slowly made itself known between your thighs, you were finally relaxed enough to ask Sam what the plan was next, but it seemed he asked that question for you first. "So chicklet, can I interest you in a life of pleasure and debauchery after all?" he asked as his lips finally left yours and he pulled back from your face just long enough for you to look into his eyes as he continued, "What do you say? You willing to live here and let your creativity flourish while I spend my days saving the world and my nights ravishing every inch of this .... divine specimen," he finished as his palms squeezed your ass cheeks while his eyes roamed over your clothed form as if it was the most glorious sight he had ever seen.

And maybe it was, but you rarely thought so.

Looking back at him now in return as if he had completely lost his mind and wanting to tell him so, you opened your mouth to turn down his proposal but his lips now buried against your neck brought a whole different response. One you never consciously planned on making. "Yes. Yes. Oh my god, yes," you moaned out continuously as Sam now nibbled on your neck and shoulders before soothing the harsher nips with his tongue while his hands still caressed your ass and made you wonder if you could actually orgasm from this situation alone. Which was actually a frightening concept when you thought about it.

Coming to your senses long enough now as a result of this stray thought however, you pushed back slightly from the man beneath you to fully take in the position you were in. Sitting atop the thighs of Captain America, who was currently wearing nothing but a towel as he set the embers burning in your loins, you wanted to tell him to slow things down but he wasn't having any of it. You had accepted his offer and he now intended to show you exactly what that meant. "May I chicklet?" he asked and before your mouth could raise any objections, your head gave an imperceptible nod and that was all the consent he needed.

Returning to kiss your lips now as his tongue this time sought to invade your mouth and distract you from what his hands were doing, you might have been shocked by the strength he displayed in standing up with you in his arms and letting the towel fall from his waist if he wasn't so good with his damn mouth. As it was, he was very good. Kissing you endlessly, while twisting his tongue with yours as well as biting it gently every few swirls, you only now noticed the changes taking place when his face disappeared from before you, your back now rested against his chest and the closet door appeared in your vision once more. He had completely turned you around without ever letting you go.

But that wasn't even the most remarkable feat.

Sitting on his lap still as his lips now returned to tasting any bit of skin they came in contact with, your brain tried to figure out not how he had done what he'd done, but how your jeans and panties now lay lodged around your ankles as his hands began to make themselves acquainted with your most private region. Roaming along your thighs, squeezing here and there as well as opening you up as wide as was possible atop his powerful legs, the warmth now spreading outwards from your core just ached for him to quench it but he just wanted to have some fun. And all at your expense it seemed.

Running his fingers back and forth along your slit now as his other hand slid up your top to rest against your stomach, you whined and pleaded for him to make you come but that it seemed was not yet in his immediate plans. Circling your clit extremely slowly instead to the point where your hips began to move against him, he stopped and slapped your pussy once before chuckling into your neck at the yelp that left your tender lips. "Patience chicklet, we're a long ways off from making you squirt all over my sheets but .... maybe I can give you something to take the edge off," he offered and with that he once again defied the laws of man by somehow using a foot to finish removing your lower garments before lifting you up and slotting his shaft into your warm, wet and waiting pussy.

And what a feeling it was .... for both of you. Long and hard and thick enough to split your lower regions apart, you were by no means an innocent virgin, but you suddenly doubted you would ever be satisfied with any rod other than the one currently making its presence known to your fluttering walls. Not that Sam had any intention of allowing another man or his equipment anywhere near you.

Making you comfortable then as your perfect flower held him snugly in place and his weeping tip just kissed your cervix, his hands now removing your top clothes while his lips by your ear whispered not to move told you his plan was a simple one .... to pleasure you with everything he had except what you really, really wanted. In other words, he planned to torture you.

Verbally railing against him now as his hands began massaging your breasts while his lips now became acquainted with every bump and dip along your spine, your hands moving down to tend to the ache between your legs brought a murderous slew of profanities streaming from your mouth as his teeth made themselves known to the soft juncture of your neck and your shoulder.

"Chicklet no," he reprimanded now as he pulled his teeth back and he ran his lips over the spot that was sure to sport a lovely mark come morning, "you'll get your release when I give it to you and not a second sooner," he continued as his hands now moved further upwards to allow his fingers dance against your shoulder blades. Pressing here and kissing there now as you held onto his thighs to keep from toppling forwards, the moans you soon started releasing as his skillful talents worked out knots you never knew existed were matched only by the devious chuckles coming from the man behind you when the odd thrust upwards added a growl from you every now and then.

The bastard wasn't playing fair.

Continuing to run his fingers over every inch of your glorious body as his hands moved down to finally rest atop yours, you hoped now you might finally get some release, but Sam it seemed still wasn't cooperating. Taking your left hand in his now and linking your fingers together, he next took your hand and moved it to his sac before speaking. "You feel that chicklet? What you do to me? You have no idea the number of nights I've gotten myself off to your writing wishing we could make it real. Who knows, now that I have you we might even give your back door the attention it so desperately craves," he added and realizing what he was now referencing, your body produced a burst of strength you never knew you possessed and hurled you back across the room as horror dawned on your face while surprise clearly settled on Sam's.

"Please tell me you've taken one too many blows to the head and taken leave of your senses?" you now asked as you reached for the throw resting on the chair and wrapping it around you while waiting for the superhero to prove your suspicions wrong. For he couldn't possibly be suggesting that.

Unfortunately for you however that's exactly where his mind was headed. Reiterating once more that he wanted to experience everything with you, both sexual and otherwise, he now joined you on the floor before promising that any and all adventures would only take place when you were ready and with your complete and unwavering consent.

Content at least with the sincerity you found in his eyes and voice, you agreed in principle to give him a chance as he then stood up, offered his hand and pulled you gently from the floor when you easily obliged. Walking you to the bed then before tipping up back onto it, a few kisses later and his shaft was buried deep inside your pussy as his eyes stared into yours and fingers once more laced with your own just inches from the headboard.

Pulling out slowly then before plunging back in at the same leisurely pace so your quivering walls felt every ridge, vein and twitch his impressive phallus possessed, it was nothing compared to the magic his lips were working. Feasting on your breasts with just enough pressure to dull the lines between pleasure and pain, his tongue soothing the skin felt like utter bliss. As were his words.

Dripping with honey and whispered out between bites and moans, the professions of love, praise and plans for your future together did far more in this moment to turn you on really than anything his physical form was capable of. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Continuing to gaze into his eyes now as you felt your body moving ever closer to that elusive release you thought would never come, Sam stalled his hips just long enough to whisper those three little words that sent a flutter straight to your heart as your walls contracted and tried to pull him deeper.

"I offer freedom," and with that he kissed you deeper than he had before, brought your interlocked hands closer together and pounded into you with such abandon now that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. And yet you still didn't feel pain. There was nothing but love and pleasure and as both of you finally reached the precipice and leapt forwards together there was a strange sense of completeness. Of being whole.

Continuing then to kiss you through your orgasms as wave after wave of warm cum flooded your insides and reached the sheets as Sam had earlier promised, your eyes closing on this liberating experience shut out any words he murmured as sleep dragged you into its welcoming embrace.

Opening your eyes on the world again and almost crying out from the loss of the dream that was both bizarrely weird yet oddly satisfying, you snuggled deeper into the soft sheets to hold onto the memory a little while longer. For you didn't want it to disappear. Someone had wanted to worship you. To love you, provide for you and show you that their world began and ended with you. But of course that only proved it had to vanish. Work wouldn't wait, wouldn't give you what you most craved.

Groaning in frustration now as you resigned yourself to heading back to the daily grind, a hand appearing from behind you and resting across your stomach brought your focus squarely and securely on the other half of the bed however. For it seemed you weren't alone. Frantically wondering what to do now in regards to fight, flight or simply screaming your lungs out like the damsel did in every single horror movie you had ever watched, turning slowly now to assess the situation brought a whole new shocking and wondrous revelation to your unbelieving eyes. The dream it seemed was real.

Laying beside you now, his hand still resting where it had just landed, his naked form clothed in fabric and sleep, Sam Wilson looked a vision if such a thing could be said about a man. But what then did this mean for you? Was the dream actually real and not a dream at all? Had this real life, honest to goodness superhero been serious when he offered to pamper and pleasure you every second his presence wasn't required to save the world? Did this really mean you never had to work in that deplorable, dead end job again where you were less valued than the office chair you sat on?

Contemplating all these questions now while reaching out to touch the man beside you simply to further confirm his existence was real, you were just about to place your palm gently upon his cheek when you thought better of it. This was nuts. Total, complete and utter bonkers. Your life wasn't meant to be this easy and carefree. Writing stories and having your every sexual desire catered to by your very own superhero. Never again having to worry about bills, unappreciative bosses or rude customers whom it seemed had never been taught terms like kindness or common decency.

No, things like this never happened to you and so as you resigned yourself to the fact that all of this was simply wishful thinking, you turned away from the god before you and prepared to exit the bed and return to the reality that was your life. But it seemed this trip was only ever meant to be one way.

Joining you now away from the peaceful embrace of slumber that previously held all of his attention, Sam opened his eyes, reached out his other hand and pulled you tighter towards him. "Now, now chicklet, I hope you don't plan on sneaking out of our bed to run off somewhere at this god awful early hour. It's too warm and cozy here for me to have to chase you down and fuck you where I catch you," he murmured between still sleepy breaths.

Gulping down your shock now as images of his glorious erection splitting you apart the previous night sprang forth before your eyes, his knowing smirk told you he had you right where he wanted you. You weren't yet ready for another round. Still unsure of where he got his stamina from and how you were meant to keep up, the throbbing still present in your pussy and his intense gaze raking over your equally naked form quickly and easily made up your mind.

Now was the time to be his good girl.

Finally admitting defeat and turning back onto your side, you silently allowed Sam Wilson to spoon your bodies together and pull the covers back over both of you before closing your eyes and drifting back to sleep with the promise that when you woke again you would try employing reason and common sense to regain control over your future. Even if the grip around your midsection solidly confirmed your plan was doomed to failure and the future he promised was now yours for the taking.

#dark-ish!Sam Wilson x Female Reader #Sam Wilson

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deja-mew · 5 months ago

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Here, take a bunch of Predaking, Skylynx and Darksteel headcanons!

As a treat!! They were a treat for me to write ✍️. Silly dragon guys I ❤️❤️ Love them.

✧˖*°࿐

- Of course he would never admit this to anyone who doesn’t already know, but Predaking is extremely ticklish on the bottom of his feet, only back towards his heels. Darksteel found this out the hard way one day when he thought it would be silly to try tickling him while he was having a snooze and accidentally got kicked into next Thursday.

- Skylynx likes to wake up extra early to see the sunrise. He sneaks away to be as alone as possible, just before dawn breaks, and finds a good place to watch the sun come up. He loves soaking in the first morning rays of sunshine. It’s usually his favorite part of the day! He never talks about it to anyone though, it would be spoiled if anyone else tried to come with.

- Darksteel loves tiny creatures. He just thinks they’re so cool (anything but scraplets). If he had ever met Lazerbeak he would have been a fan. In my AU, there’s all sorts of “tiny” (by cybertronian standards) bug-like creatures and he collects them! He gets so hyped up learning about new ones. Maybe he’d like humans, but who knows..

- Predaking, even if he had legions of subjects, is super attentive and has a very detailed memory. He’d remember everyone’s name, face, even things about their personality/things they’d mention liking. He is definitely one of those people who would gift someone something they had only just slightly mentioned wanting (and had probably forgotten they said anything about it in the first place).

- Darksteel counts it as a great victory if he ever gets Skylynx to full-on laugh with him. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes they both get really silly over something and Darksteel likes not being the only one laughing for once.

- This isn’t much of a headcanon because it’s probably pretty true, but I’ll take it further. Predaking loves reading. Researching, yes of course, since he needs to know all he can to best serve his people; but aside from that he just loves to read. Novels, poems, news reports, you name it. He’s already read it. His particular favorite though, is novels. I once imagined him reading Jane Austen and I can’t get it out of my head now. I’m sure he was ready to throw down for Elizabeth when Mr. Darcy insulted her family in Pride and Prejudice. (Imagine the Autobots giving him some datapads filled with similar content from Earth for him to read, to help maintain a good relationship with the Predacons… And he’s genuinely so hyped but trying to be professional in the moment 😭)

- Probably nobody else on Cybertron does this but when Darksteel gets extra giddy about something he trots. At least in quadroped mode anyway, he doesn’t exactly skip in bipedal mode because well that would be too embarrassing and he’s too fierce for that… but it’s okay to do as a dragon in his own mind.

- Skylynx and Darksteel both like trying to blow smoke rings. Like how they do in movies, with cigars and such. Instead of needing to be smoking something, if they do something similar to a belch, they can naturally puff out smoke instead of fire. Sometimes they’re even able to get Predaking to play along and the three contend with each other on who can do the best ones.

- At some point, they get a hold of a great bunch of music files. Things get a little tense. While Predaking is trying to enjoy Tchaikovsky 1812 Overture (complete with cannons), Darksteel is playing Dragostea din tei too loud. Skylynx can’t stand any of it and just wants to listen to his Grizzly Bear playlist in peace, so to avoid confrontation everyone sort of splits off to mind their own music. Hopefully they get some custom headphones soon. (Basically, Predaking’s all about classical music, Darksteel loves meme songs, and Skylynx is an indie folk fan)

- Predaking usually doesn’t remember his dreams, but when he does they’re extremely abstract yet vivid. Mostly, they’re representations of whatever he has been feeling most. Because he sleeps rather lightly, they are pretty rare.

- Skylynx sleeps deeply, and has realistic dreams that have their own plots and everything. Sometimes he even has consecutive nights that are the same dream just continued on from where it left off the night before. He likes to keep track of these stories and writes down everything he can remember as soon as he gets a chance.

- Darksteel also gets good deep sleep most of the time. Though he never remembers his dreams enough to be able to talk about them or write them down, he knows they must be pretty good, because he never seems to wake up in a bad mood. Of all the three Predacons, he usually is the one to wake up most refreshed.

- All three take their morning energon (or whatever equivalent of breakfast there may be) together, usually in a comfortable silence. They do have their own routines to get ready for the day, but they also like to, actively like to, spend calm time together before the day officially starts. It’s one of the many subtle things they do naturally that shows that they’re getting quite close as bretheren after all.

#transformers prime #tfp predaking #transformers predaking #tfp skylynx #transformers skylynx #tfp darksteel #transformers darksteel #tfp predacons #predacons #mewyra thoughts #MY GUYSSS i love them

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headcanonsandmore · 7 months ago

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'Stand and Deliver!' Chapter Six

Summary: A new arrival appears in Crofters Lodge in dire circumstances, and Tegan finds herself travelling to London once again. The phantom keeps appearing and Tegan finds herself slowly growing to like the mysterious masked figure. Will a death-defying chase alter things between them? Read on, dear readers, and find out…

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi everyone; my apologies for the delay with this chapter. I know I'm normally very regular with my release schedule but this has been a weird time for me; I bought my first house! Yeah, I'm as surprised as you are XD Hence why I've barely had any time to write over the last few weeks.

Anyway, my apologies again for the delay. Today is my birthday and I finally have some time to myself, so I've been able to get this chapter finished. Hopefully, the next chapter won't take nearly as long to write but we'll have to wait and see.

~~~~~~~~~~

Read on AO3.

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Monday had always been a calmer day for the inn, but there was still work to be done. Luckily, the weather had stayed dry, although it was still cold, with overcast skies and dim sunshine peeking through.

Tegan spent most of the morning sweeping the courtyard, and cleaning out Dan’s stable. The donkey looked sheepish, as if embarrassed that she needed to clean out his muck. Tegan chuckled, and scratched Dan fondly behind the ears, which elicited a happy honk.

After all that hubbub from the previous evening, the inn felt very quiet. Tegan ignored the acceleration of her heartbeat as she remembered dancing with Nyssa, although she couldn’t help but smile at the memory. It was a very good memory, after all.

Although… Nyssa had quickly left after the Lethbridge-Stewart had made his introductions. The pastors daughter had quickly curtsied to the man, before squeezing Tegan’s hand in goodbye and heading off, explaining that her father would be expecting her arrival back home soon.

Tegan let out a sigh, and leaned against the door of Dan’s stable.

She had hoped to have danced the rest of the evening with Nyssa, but she supposed that was too much to hope for. After all, Nyssa’s father did rely on her for help around the parish, not to mention the various charitable collections that Nyssa organised for the poorest in the community. Nyssa was a busy person, and Tegan was glad to have had at least one evening with Nyssa to herself.

It had been lovely, dancing with her. Feeling the happy beat of her own heartbeat, and the warm gentle brush of Nyssa’s hand against her own. Now that she thought about it, Nyssa had a surprisingly strong pair of arms, given that she had been able to effortlessly dip Tegan whilst the two of them were dancing. Tegan wouldn’t have expected it but, then again, she had been away for a long time; it could easily be that Nyssa’s physicality was due to her busy schedule, not to mention living in a small village where, when heavy things needed to be moved, the entire community came out to help.

Now that she thought about it, she wondered if she would get to see Nyssa’s bare arms in the summer months-

Tegan felt her face suddenly flush, and she cast that thought aside. She gave Dan one last scratch behind his ears, and headed back across the courtyard to the inn.

Too dangerous to think like that, anyway.

When she came back inside, she found Adric and Joy sat at the long table, pouring over the inn’s accounts. Adric had always been good with numbers, and his skills had grown significantly since Tegan had last stayed at home.

‘Where’s dad?’

‘In the cellar,’ Joy said, looking up from the long rolls of parchment. ‘Doing a stock check with the barrels.’

‘Right. Did you say earlier about me delivering something to Barbara?’

‘Basket’s in the kitchen; thanks, love.’

Tegan pressed a quick kiss to her mother’s forehead, and ruffled Adric’s hair. Ignoring the grumble that arose out of the boy, she headed into the kitchen, picked up the basket and headed out of the side door.

As she walked along the road, Tegan breathed in the fresh country air. Hmmm. Bit too fresh, that morning. The wind was blowing in the wrong direction, bringing with it the pungent odour of manure. Lovely.

Still, Tegan found it hard to complain. She had grown up on Sutton Common, after all, and the smell of manure was not new to her. She supposed she had grown used to the smells of London which -while very unpleasant at times- didn’t tend to include cows mess.

Tegan headed off of the main room, and up the small side-street, passing a couple of cottages along the way and coming to a stop in front of door, painted in a blue that was beginning to fade.

She knocked politely and took a step back, holding up the basket.

Barbara Chesterton opened the door. Her hair was looking slightly messy and her cheeks were slightly flushed. The top few buttons of her blouse had been hastily done up.

‘Hello, Barbara.’

‘Er, hello, Tegan,’ Barbara said, as she stepped forward. ‘Oh, the basket? That’s so thoughtful of your mother-’

‘Fun night with Ian, eh?’

The older woman’s face bypassed red and turned maroon.

‘Ssshhh!’ she exclaimed, waving her other hand in mortification. ‘You don’t need to draw attention to it.’

‘Draw attention to it? You spent half of the dance with your hands on his buttocks!’

Barbara giggled.

‘Yes, it was rather an enjoyable evenings dance. What about you? I saw you with Nyssa; are you teaching her to dance?’

‘Er, sort of.’

‘That’s very sweet of you, Tegan,’ Barbara said. ‘Nyssa is rather shy with public events, bless her. I think she really appreciates you doing that.’

Tegan shrugged.

After politely declining Barbara’s offer to stay for scones (she knew that Barbara and Ian would want to continue whatever had been interrupted), Tegan headed back down the lane, and then stared up the main street that headed past the inn and out of Crofters Lodge.

There was a coach, stood at the side of the road, just before the bend in the road.

Tegan felt a strange feeling of foreboding. Looking around, she saw that the main street through the village was deserted aside from herself, no doubt due to the early hour.

Hurrying up the road, Tegan headed around the other side of the inn (Dan the donkey giving a happy honk as she passed) and took a shortcut, making her way across the muddy ground, ducking from tree to tree as she went.

She came to a stop amongst the trees nearest the road, and peeked out towards the coach stood on the opposite side.

Her eyes widened in horror.

There were two figures next to the coach.

One was a man, dressed in a long black cloak and a tricorn hat. His build was bulky and gruff. One hand was holding onto a horse that was presumably his own. The other hand was pointing a pistol at the second figure.

The second figure was a young girl; she couldn’t have been older than thirteen. She was probably a few inches shorter than Tegan, and had short dirty-blond hair. Her bonnet was lying abandoned on the ground beside her.

She was kneeling beside someone who was lying, collapsed, on the ground. It almost looked like-

Tegan felt her breath hitch in her throat.

There were several red stains on the man’s shirt, and his skin had a horrible ghostly pale look to it. He was dead.

Tears were streaking down the girls face, as she glared up at the highwayman.

Now that Tegan looked at it, she could see the forms of several other passengers lying about in the coach. The coachman was lying on the ground nearby, with the same pale look to his skin.

They were all dead.

This had been a massacre.

‘Well, young lady,’ growled the man irritably. ‘Can’t have you around, can we? Otherwise that’s me for the gallows.’

He raised his handgun.

Tegan felt a sudden search of panic. She needed to do something! Maybe she could distract the highwayman so the girl could run for cover? Or-

There was a load bang.

Tegan flinched, but the girl did not fall. Instead, the pistol had been blown out of the man’s hand.

Tegan’s eyes darted along the road from where the sound had come.

The phantom, sat astride their horse, was barrelling up to the coach.

‘Get away from her!’ exclaimed the masked figure.

The man turned, eyes widening behind his mask.

‘You again!’

Without a second thought, he scrambled backwards, jumped onto his horse, and galloped away, heading onto the common.

Instead of following, the phantom slowed their horse to a gentle stop, and climbed swiftly to the ground. The girl stiffened as they approached.

‘I mean you no harm,’ said the phantom, kneeling down in front of the young girl. Their voice was exceedingly gentle. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘N-no,’ stammered the girl. ‘I… my father…’

The phantom looked over the girls shoulder, and their gaze seemed to rest on the body laying a short way away.

‘I’m so sorry,’ the phantom said, very quietly.

The girl’s lip began to tremble. The phantom leaned forward, and put their arms softly around her. The girl began to cry into the phantom’s shoulder, and the figure patted her gently on the back.

Tegan’s mouth hung open. There it was again; the phantoms predilection for kindness that Tegan wouldn’t have thought possible of a highwayman. Why did it intrigue her so? Was it simply the gap inbetween the figure of the masked bandit and the kindness that they seemed to extend to everyone? Or was it something… else?

No -Tegan waved the thought aside- that definitely wasn’t possible. Tegan knew that her feelings for any man would never be that.

She bit her lip thoughtfully.

The girl had, by this point, wiped her nose messily with her sleeve, and pulled away somewhat from the phantom.

‘The village of Crofters Lodge is just along the road,’ said the phantom, gesturing behind them. ‘There is an inn there; the innkeeper and his wife are good, kindly people.’

‘Can… can you take me there?’

The phantom nodded. They took the girl with one hand, using the other to lead their horse.

‘Good, kind people, you say?’

‘Yes,’ the phantom replied. ‘I know their daughter.’

‘Is she nice?’

‘She is the loveliest person I have ever met,’ replied the phantom. ‘Tegan, her name is. You’ll like her, I’m sure.’

Tegan froze for a moment. Why did the phantom think she was lovely? They’d only met twice before, and on the first occasion Tegan hadn’t exactly been full of the milk of human kindness. Where would the phantom have-

Nyssa. Of course, Nyssa had apparently been mentioning Tegan whenever she crossed paths with the phantom.

The innkeepers daughter smiled. Nyssa was too good for this world.

Tegan turned and hurried away, taking the long route around. Her boots beat softly against the dull winter ground.

She arrived back in the courtyard of the inn, and hurried in the back door.

‘Mum, there’s been a hold-up on the common!’ she exclaimed, bursting into the common room. ‘The phantom managed to stop the robber but… oh…’

The door opened, and the young girl from the coach entered, looking terrified out of her wits.

Tegan hurried forward.

‘Hello,’ she said, gently. ‘My name is Tegan.’

‘The masked man mentioned you,’ said the girl. ‘My… dad always called me Vicki.’

Her eyes glistened miserably with tears.

‘Oh, you poor dear,’ Joy said, coming up to stand next to Tegan, before bending down to Vicki’s eyeline. ‘Come along; let’s get you somewhere to sit and I’ll get you something to drink.’

‘T-thank you,’ Vicki said. Joy placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and guided the young girl over to a table nearby.

The door opened again.

‘I came as soon as I could!’

Tegan startled at the familiar voice, and turned round, her heartrate suddenly increasing again. She hurried across the room.

‘Nyssa?’

‘The phantom threw a stone at our front door,’ said the pastors daughter, face flushed from the exertion of running. ‘He said that there had been a hold-up on the common, and a poor young girl who needed somewhere to stay.’

‘O-oh,’ Tegan said. ‘Right. Yes, her name is Vicki. She’s still in shock, poor thing. I... I wouldn’t go to the coach, if I were you; it must have been pretty horrible, by all accounts.’

Nyssa nodded.

The two young women crossed the room, to where Vicki was sat. Joy had placed a glass of milk in front of her, but she wasn’t drinking from it. Tegan’s heart clenched in empathy. No doubt Vicki could barely focus on anything at the moment, given the circumstances.

‘Vicki,’ -Tegan gestured to Nyssa- ‘This is Nyssa Traken. The pastors daughter.’

Vicki stared at Nyssa for a moment, and her eyes narrowed slightly, as if in thought.

‘Hello,’ she said, slowly. ‘How do you do?’

Nyssa hurried forward and knelt down beside the girl, giving a small, kind smile.

‘I’m very well,’ Nyssa said. ‘Er… Vicki, was it?’

The girl nodded, morosely.

‘Do you have any family in London?’

Vicki shook her head.

‘There was only dad,’ she said, quietly. ‘I… I don’t have anyone now, it seems.’

Nyssa’s eyes seemed to glisten with tears. She reached out and took Vicki’s hand in her own.

‘That’s not true, Vicki,’ she said, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke. ‘I assure you that no-one will force you into an orphanage or a workhouse. You are more than welcome to stay with my father and I in our home, for as long as you want to.’

Tegan felt her heart well.

‘Thank you, Miss Nyssa,’ Vicki said, giving a watery smile despite her tears. ‘That sounds wonderful.’

‘Come along, love,’ said Joy, placing a gentle hand on Vicki’s shoulder. ‘Let’s get you some food, help you get over the shock…’

Vicki nodded, and followed Tegan’s mother away. The kitchen door closed behind them.

Nyssa wiped her eyes, and gave a sniff. Her eyes landed on Tegan, and she tried for a watery smile.

Without thinking, Tegan strode over and put her arms around the younger woman. Nyssa stiffened slightly but did not pull away, and leaned into Tegan’s shoulder after a moment. Her hands came to rest around Tegan’s back. She wasn’t crying anymore but there was a curious fragility to her. At the moment, Tegan wanted nothing more than to support Nyssa as best she could. It wasn’t even due to her own feelings for the parsons daughter; she simply knew that she would be there for Nyssa, no matter what.

Nyssa’s hands were soft and gentle against Tegan’s back, and her head had a warm weight as she rested on the shoulder on the innkeepers daughter. Tegan decided that she liked this feeling far more than she would ever feel comfortable admitting to Nyssa. The feeling of knowing that Nyssa could rely on her, whatever the circumstances, was truly wonderful. Or maybe Tegan was just hopeless. Either way, she didn’t care.

Eventually, Nyssa sniffed again, and gently pulled away.

‘Better?’

The parsons daughter nodded.

‘Thank you, Tegan,’ she said, with a smile. ‘You are too kind.’

Nothing is too kind for you, Tegan thought. She dare not say it; she knew that Nyssa was just brush it away, assuming that Tegan was just being overly sweet.

Instead, she simply returned the smile.

‘You were… very sweet to her.’

Nyssa seemed to freeze, her eyes darting to Tegan’s face, as if trying to salvage some deeper meaning from her expression.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Suggesting she live with you,’ Tegan explained. ‘That was really lovely of you, Nyssa.’

‘O-oh, w-well…’ Nyssa stammered, waving a hand. ‘I just wanted to help. The poor girl has had a harrowing day.’

Tegan leaned forward, and took Nyssa’s hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

‘I wasn’t kidding when I said you were the loveliest person I’ve ever met,’ Tegan said, smiling softly.

Nyssa’s cheeks turned a pretty pink of pink.

‘T-Tegan,’ she stammered, blinking quickly. ‘I… oh, I’m really not as lovely as you think I am.’

‘I find that hard to believe,’ Tegan replied, very quietly. ‘You sure you aren’t hiding a halo under that bonnet?’

Nyssa let out a flustered giggle, and tried to cover her mouth with her other hand. Beautiful. Tegan felt her heart jump into her mouth; whenever she thought Nyssa couldn’t spellbind her, the pastors daughter would prove her wrong.

‘An angel?’ Nyssa chuckled, skin crinkling around her eyes. ‘Are you simply trying to flatter me, Tegan?’

‘I thought I was stating facts,’ Tegan cheeked, grinning. ‘And I will keep at it until you finally stop underestimating how wonderful you are.’

‘That’s a little rich coming from you, isn’t it?’

‘That reminds me, I think you need to stop mentioning me to the phantom,’ Tegan said, with a chuckle. ‘Apparently, they’re now under the impression that I’m lovely. You’re flattering me, Nyssa.’

Nyssa blinked quickly, cheeks flushing again.

‘W-well, it would be discourteous to lie when describing you,’ she stammered, grey-green eyes meeting Tegan’s brown. ‘And… you are lovely, Tegan. I hope you do not mind.’

Tegan smiled.

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said, quietly. ‘You know me, Nys; I couldn’t be upset about you saying that about me.’

‘Really?’ Nyssa said, voice barely above a whisper. ‘Why?’

There was a beat of silence. Tegan felt her throat go very dry. Her heart hammered painfully against her chest, and she was sure that her palms were sweaty.

‘Nyssa… I-’

But there was then a creak as the front door of the inn opened, and Tegan lost her nerve.

Benton stepped into the common room, followed by Nyssa’s father. The parson’s daughter startled slightly, but did not remove her hand from Tegan’s.

‘She’s in the kitchen, father,’ she said, quickly. ‘Mrs Jovanka is getting her some food.’

‘Much needed, I imagine,’ sighed the pastor. ‘Come along; let us help the poor thing.’

Nyssa followed her father and Benton across the room to the kitchen door. However, she turned to look at Tegan.

‘Sorry, we were interrupted; what were you going to say?’

‘Er… n-nothing.’

Nyssa frowned, as if she had been hoping for a different answer, but nodded. Tegan swallowed as, hand still clutched around Nyssa’s, she followed the pastors daughter across the common room.

Would she ever be able to tell Nyssa why?

‘Tegan!’

Stumbling down the stairs as she did up her pinafore, Tegan hurried into the kitchen. It was the next morning.

‘Mum?’ she said, coming to a halt just inside the door. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

‘Vanessa’s been taken ill,’ Joy said, eyes worried as she looked up from the letter in her hands. ‘This came with the morning post carriage; her nurse is worried sick.’

‘Right. I’ll collect my things and hop on the mail carriage heading to London,’ Tegan said, already grabbing a loaf of bread from the table. ‘Don’t worry, mum; I’ll stay with her as long as it takes.’

Joy pressed a quick kiss to the top of Tegan’s curls, before nodding and letting her rush back upstairs.

‘Hold on!’

Tegan recognised the voice and turned where she was stood. Lethbridge-Stewart was striding pointedly in her direction. The innkeepers daughter frowned, before passing her bag up to the coachman, and then turned around to face the military man.

‘Hello, Miss… Jovanka, was it?’

‘Yes,’ Tegan replied. ‘Good morning, sir.’

‘And to you, miss. Are you heading to London?’

Tegan nodded. The man frowned, his moustache prickling on his upper lip.

‘There are highwayman abroad, Miss Jovanka. I would advise caution when travelling across the common to London.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Tegan replied, stiffly. She knew that she had no reason to be so cold to the man, but his presence at the dance had disturbed Nyssa. ‘But I must travel nonetheless; family emergency, you see.’

Lethbridge-Stewart nodded, in apparent understanding.

‘This phantom may still be around, hence my warning.’

‘I have met the phantom on several occasions,’ Tegan said, frowning. ‘They have caused me no harm thus far.’

‘You are very lucky indeed, in that case.’

Lethbridge-Stewart tipped his hat, and strode away.

Tegan rolled her eyes at the man’s back, and turned around, climbing into the carriage. When she had initially heard that a higher-up was arriving in Crofters Lodge due to the highwayman situation, she had hoped that the official would be similar to Benton in outlook. This had clearly been a forlorn hope, given Lethbridge-Stewart’s rather pompous manner. She understood that the man was simply carrying out his assignment, but anyone who caused Nyssa Traken discomfort was not to be trusted, in Tegan’s mind.

She really was hopeless for that woman, wasn’t she.

The coach left Crofters Lodge a few minutes later. Aside from Tegan, the only passengers were an elderly couple who had been on the coach since it had set off northwards earlier than morning. They did not speak, content to quietly sit, and Tegan was more than happy to join in.

Tegan looked out of the window. Through the morning mists, she could see a familiar-looking figure on horseback, gliding between the half-visible trees like a guardian angel.

Smiling slightly to herself, Tegan sat back down. She had a sneaking suspicion that this coach wasn’t going to get held up on the common.

Several hours later, Tegan climbed out of the carriage, her boots making a soft squelch against the muddy pavement. London’s sanitation hadn’t changed much since she had been away. It was always worse in the winter, when the heavy rains combined with the dirt of the streets to form a disgusting layer of sloppy mud.

She bit back her desire to wrinkle her nose, and collected her bag from the coachman. Giving a quick thanks, Tegan headed down the street.

It had clearly rained here more than it had back home, and there was a wet tinge to the air, mixed with the general odour of unwashed bodies, animal mess and human waste. Lovely.

Eventually, Tegan arrived at her aunt’s home, and knocked swiftly on the front door. It was a respectable house, in a street mainly made up of the strange social strata where the upper working class bled into the lower echelons of the middling sort. Office boys, young families of army sergeants, shop assistants, trade apprentices, and the like.

Vanessa’s front door was as well-cleaned as it always had been. A few moments later, it opened, revealing the harried-looking nurse that had sent Tegan the letter that morning.

‘Thank goodness, Miss Tegan!’

‘Hello, Mary,’ Tegan said, smiling kindly. Domestic service was a difficult job, and she bore the woman no ill for trying as best she could, despite such an isolated and difficult job. ‘How is my aunt?’

‘She has improved somewhat,’ continued Mary, letting Tegan into the house and closing the door swiftly behind her. ‘But I was most concerned.’

The house was much the same as ever, albeit with a slightly less airy feel than when Tegan had lasted lived there. Mary had kept the place clean and tidy, but there was undoubtably a sense that the place was now more a place of care than of a home in its own right.

Tegan placed her bag over to the side, removed her overcoat, and followed Mary up the stairs, the steps creaking slightly under their weight. It was warmer inside than out, and Tegan was glad to be out of the cold air.

The two young women came to a stop in front of Vanessa’s bedroom. Mary opened the door, and Tegan entered. With another smile, Mary closed it behind her.

Vanessa was sat up in bed. Her eyes lit up as Tegan hurried over.

‘Hello, my girl,’ she said, voice accented with a slight croak. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘And to see you too, auntie,’ Tegan said, bending down to kiss her aunt on the forehead before sitting down in the chair left next to the bed. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Much better now, Tegan,’ Vanessa said, smiling. ‘I’ll be up and about in no time at all. You know me; tough as an old turkey.’

Tegan grinned.

‘Mum will be pleased,’ she replied. ‘She was worried about you, as were we all at home.’

‘My apologies,’ Vanessa chuckled. ‘I do worry that my maid may have inflamed concerns with her letter. I was simply feeling a little under the weather, and yet she seems to think that I was at deaths door.’

‘She means well. And we do not mind being informed as to how you fare.’

‘Anyway, how are things back home? Is Adric still helping out with the accounts?’

Tegan smiled, and began to reminisce.

‘My apologies for bringing you away from Crofters Lodge,’ Vanessa said, smiling. ‘I take it that you are enjoying your time back in the village?’

Tegan nodded, smiling.

‘Very much so. It’s great to see all the old faces again. Barbara, Ian, Ben, Polly-’

‘Nyssa Traken, perhaps?’

Tegan’s mouth fell open.

‘How did you-’

‘You’ve mentioned her about five times in the past half hour,’ Vanessa chuckled. ‘I take it that you enjoyed dancing with her.’

‘Er… yes,’ Tegan said, very slowly. ‘I did. She is… a good friend. Kind, sweet, intelligent. She will make a wonderful wife, no doubt.’

Vanessa smiled.

‘Not every woman needs to marry,’ the older woman said, gently. ‘Some of us… find comfort in other things. Other people.’

Tegan stared at her.

Was… was it that obvious? She could have sworn that her expression hadn’t changed when mentioning Nyssa. And… what on earth did the older woman mean? Other people? Did… did that mean what she thought it meant?

‘Yes, Nyssa is a wonderful friend,’ Tegan said, softly. ‘I… I do care a great deal for her.’

Vanessa smiled.

‘That does not surprise me,’ Vanessa said. ‘Our family are good judges of character. It is no great shock that a woman as good as Nyssa Traken had become such a close friend to you.’

Tegan’s fingers bunched into the material of her dress. It felt as if Nyssa occupied a space in her mind constantly these days, regardless of what else she was doing. But she supposed that was to be expected. By the sounds of it, Ben and Polly had felt the same way about each other for a long time before they had begun courting.

Could she court Nyssa?

Was that even possible?

But… Nyssa had been very happy whilst dancing with her. She had repeatedly mentioned that she found Tegan lovely, and there had been moments between them -when the two of them were alone- where Tegan could almost have hoped that maybe her feelings were not entirely unrequited.

Tegan swallowed. It was all so very complicated.

‘Do… do you wish me to stay, auntie?’ she asked. ‘Mum isn��t expecting me back for a while.’

‘No, dear,’ Vanessa replied, kindly. ‘I’m perfectly fine; I think Mary just got a little scared on my behalf when she sent the letter. Bless her, she is so caring.’

Tegan smiled.

‘In that case, I will leave you to it,’ she said, standing up and pressing a kiss to her aunt’s forehead. ‘I will catch the coach back home.’

‘Goodbye, Tegan.’

Tegan smiled.

‘Goodbye, auntie.’

‘Tegan; jump!’

It was several hours later. Tegan’s coach -which, aside from her, had been empty- had been hijacked by a highwayman. The coachmen had been thrown off the side. Realising that the robber hadn’t noticed the carriage was occupied, Tegan had climbed out of the window, and started wrestling with the masked man for the reins of the horses. In the scuffle that had followed, the highwayman had been thrown from the seat, knocking himself unconscious on the ground.

Tegan, trying desperately to slow the horses down, had been left atop the rickety coach. The horses, by now terrified by all the yelling and shoving, were now incapable of stopping, no matter what Tegan did. The next fifteen miles (or thereabouts, it was difficult to judge) were the longest of Tegan’s life.

It was just when Tegan was at her wits end that a horse, carrying a very familiar-looking masked figure, had appeared, galloping alongside the carriage, with their hand outstretched towards her.

The phantom had tried to climb up on the coach but, due to the horses terror, was unable to get close enough. Thinking fast, Tegan first threw her bag to the phantom, who nimbly caught it and attached it to their saddlebags behind them, keeping their horse on-course with one hand.

Heart in her mouth, Tegan leapt from the carriage. She landed behind the phantom and swung her leg quickly up over the horse, clutching her arms around the waist of the masked figure to steady herself. The horse’s hair was wet in the night air.

The carriage, horses still braying in terror, continued down the road and was swallowed up by the inky black night around them.

The phantom slowed the horse to a gentle stop by the side of the road, next to a grassy patch. A barn was stood a few hundred feet away. Tegan and the phantom were both breathing heavily, the exertion hitting their bodies with a sudden shock as the danger had passed.

The phantom reached out to help Tegan down. As Tegan made to reach down, her wobbly hold on the horse broke, and she fell.

The masked figure made an attempt to catch her, but the momentum of Tegan’s fall caused the two of them to fall onto the grass, tumbling over each other before coming to a halt in a jumbled heap.

‘Ow…’

With a sudden shock, Tegan realised that she was now straddling the phantom’s waist. The highwayman’s cloak had ballooned out behind them, and was now acting the part of a large blanket, protecting both of them from the we and muddy grass. The buttons of their shirt beginning to gap, and their legs squirmed slightly underneath Tegan. A strand of curly brown hair escaped from under their hat, trailing down over the mask that covered their eyes.

As Tegan’s brown eyes met the grey-green orbs below her, she was suddenly aware that, up close, the phantom didn’t look like a man at all. In fact, with the way their chest was heaving in and out, and their face flushed a delicate pink colour, they almost looked like a-

Tegan’s face flushed.

‘S-sorry!’ Tegan exclaimed, feeling her heart pounding against her chest. She was suddenly aware of her own thighs pressing into the legs of the phantom, and she made to stand up. Her dress had bunched up somewhat during the events of the last half hour, and it took her a while to scramble to her feet. ‘I-I didn’t mean to-’

‘N-no problem at all,’ the phantom replied, looking away as Tegan made to arrange her petticoats into something less salacious-looking. ‘Are… are you hurt, Tegan?’

‘Just a little shaken,’ she said. She realised that, in the heat of the moment, the phantom had dropped the honorific of “Miss Jovanka”. The way they said it… why did it sound so familiar?

‘I-I best get you back to the village,’ the phantom said. ‘Are you able to ride behind me?’

Tegan nodded, trying desperately to calm her breathing. No doubt she looked a complete mess, with her dress torn and her petticoats still showing underneath. For some reason, the thought of the phantom seeing her in this way was strangely… exciting.

For a moment, Tegan’s gaze came to rest on the phantom’s shirt, which was still expanding in and out as the masked figure tried to get their breath back.

A sudden warmth sputtered into life between Tegan’s thighs, and she hurriedly averted her gaze to stare at the horse instead, feeling her cheeks flush with heat. What on earth was she playing at? This was the phantom after all. While they were a decent enough sort, they were still a highwayman.

Wait… since when had Tegan started referring to the phantom as “they” instead of “him”?

But was the phantom a man? Judging from the way Tegan’s eyes had lasciviously lingered on the phantoms chest, she wasn’t sure. She had never seen men in that sort of way, after all. There had only ever really been…

Nyssa.

Tegan felt a sudden spasm of guilt in her gut. It was wrong of her to stare at another person in this way, given the feelings she knew in her heart would always belong to the pastors daughter.

And yet… Tegan could not ignore the giddy delight that came with being around the phantom. The feeling of their cocky-yet-gentle gaze on Tegan was… rather exciting. The sputter of warmth between her thighs continue to kindle softly, lapping slightly over her skin.

Tegan was not a stranger to those sorts of feelings, of course. Her adoration for Nyssa had been an early indicator in that regard. But she had always tried to repress those sorts of feelings when it came to the pastors daughter; she somehow felt that to think of Nyssa in that sort of way was… unfair to the woman. After all, Nyssa saw Tegan as a good friend.

Admittedly, these sorts of reservations tended to disappear from Tegan’s mind during sleep, and she had woken from various dreams breathless and covered in sweat. Those moments had always been followed by bouts of shame and remorse, the latter directed at the young woman who, in the depths of Tegan’s dreams...

Well, Tegan tried not to think too much about it. Good grief. Her unconscious mind had a habit of bringing hidden desires out into the open during those nocturnal hours. It unnerved her.

The phantom looked up. A drop of rain landed on their cheek.

There was a crash of thunder, and the heavens opened. Rain poured down, bouncing off Tegan’s overcoat and bonnet. Within seconds, she could feel the cold water permeating to her skin.

‘The barn!’

Breaking into a sprint, Tegan and the masked figure (who had grabbed the horse’s reins) charged over the wet grass. The horse didn’t seem that bothered by the rain, so Tegan reached the doors before the phantom. She pulled up the large plank keeping the doors closed, and pulled out one of the doors.

The horse strolled inside and shook itself, soaking the phantom in a second shower of rainwater. The masked figure gave a groan.

Tegan followed the phantom in through the door.

The masked figure tied their horse up against a nearby wooden wall, and the animal shook itself again before snorting.

The phantom walked back over to Tegan, and the two of them stood, shivering, staring out into the rain; it was getting worse by the minute, although mercifully there weren’t any strikes of lightning.

‘Guess that puts paid to getting back to Crofters Lodge.’

‘You never know,’ the phantom said, pulling their wet cloak off their shoulders. ‘It may just be a short heavy shower.’

Tegan stared sideways at the masked figure out of the corner of her eye. Their cloak had kept the worst of the rain off, but their shirt underneath was damp in several places. Where the rain had soaked in, the material had become half-translucent, and Tegan could make out several patches of pale skin-

The innkeeper daughter turned away quickly. Her heartrate had increased again. The heat between her legs sparked. Rabbits.

‘Er… Miss Tegan?’

‘Hm?’

‘Your overcoat looks soaked; you’ll catch a chill if you leave it on.’

Tegan reluctantly removed her outer layer. The layers underneath were mostly dry, but there was an uncomfortable dampness nonetheless.

The phantom was staring at her. Their eyes met hers, and a flush came to the face of the masked figure as they turned away sharply.

‘Er… Miss Tegan, your blouse is…’

Tegan looked down. With a start, she realised that her blouse was a lot more transparent than she had initially realised.

‘Don’t stare!’

‘I’m not!’ the phantom exclaimed, sounding very flustered. ‘Why did you think I turned away?’

‘Er… yes,’ Tegan said, lamely. ‘Sorry.’

‘No need,’ the phantom said. ‘I’ll just…’

They gestured to the open doors, and Tegan nodded.

‘Yeah; best to keep the warmth in.’

A few moments later, the phantom had pulled closed the door.

They headed across the barn (still avoiding looking at Tegan) climbed down onto the ground underneath one of the haylofts, leaning back against a heap of hay, and placed their hands behind their head, knocking their hat slightly forward to cover their arms. They crossed one leg over the other.

Tegan sat down a few feet away, and leaned back against the side of a barrel of hay.

‘Nothing to do but wait until the rain clears, I suppose.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ the phantom replied. ‘You can rest assured that I will not harm so much as a head on your head, Miss Tegan.’

‘Not much for the literal roll-in-the-hay, then?’

‘Not without a maidens consent, certainly. I am a gentleman.’

‘Gentle… man.’

The phantom went very still.

‘What?’ they said. ‘What are you implying?’

‘Nothing,’ Tegan replied. After all, it wasn’t any of her business, regardless of her own flusteredness when it came to the masked figure laying a short distance away. ‘Just thinking how you really are a gentleman, aren’t you?’

‘I am not an aristocrat, if that is what you mean,’ the phantom said. ‘Besides, I doubt you’d be interested in a roll in the hay with me.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

The phantom, to Tegan’s surprise, let out a giggle.

‘Because, knowing a certain pastors daughter, you’ve got someone already trying to find you, despite the rainstorm. Can’t imagine you’d want her to turn up whilst you were in an intimate situation. The poor girl would probably faint.’

‘Cheek!’

Before Tegan knew what she was doing, she had got to her feet, closed the distance between them, and gave the phantom a hearty shove. The masked figure, still giggling, went sprawling into the hay.

‘Bit of a short fuse, eh?’ grinned the phantom, dimples showing in their cheeks. ‘Goodness forbid I say anything untoward about “Nys”-’

‘Oh, do be quiet!’

Tegan found her heart hammering against her chest.

‘I can tell Nyssa that you propositioned me in a barn when I was vulnerable, though,’ Tegan said, grimly. ‘You’d never hear the end of it.’

‘I don’t doubt that,’ the phantom replied, with a shrug. ‘She has rather a soft spot for you, doesn’t she. Bet you’d be happy if she propositioned you for a roll in the-’

Tegan shoved the phantom again. The highwayman was ready for her this time, though, and gently placed their hand on her arm. Tegan froze where she was leaning over, her brown eyes meeting the green eyes that peeked out from under the hat. She was aware that the phantom could probably see quite a lot of skin through her half-transparent blouse, but the idea did not alarm her. In fact, it felt almost… enjoyable.

There a very pregnant pause.

‘Er….’ Tegan said, not quite sure what she was even going to say.

‘I think the rain’s stopped.’

They both looked towards the door. Sure enough, the sound of the rain had completely disappeared.

‘Back to Crofters Lodge,’ the phantom said, gently letting go of Tegan’s arm and climbing to their feet. ‘We best get moving; your parents will be worried sick.’

‘Er… yes.’

Tegan put her still-soaked overcoat back on, and followed the phantom outside.

What on earth had just happened?

Tegan climbed down from the phantoms horse, her boots landing with a soft thud against the stones of the inn’s courtyard. It was a good hour later, and the weather had remained mercifully dry. Both Tegan and the phantom were now dry, although Tegan felt a chill coming on and knew her mother would insist on drawing her a hot bath once she got inside.

The phantom also climbed off the horse, and came to stand next to Tegan, at a companionable distance.

‘You’re sure you’ll be safe from here?’

‘Oh, I’m not sure,’ Tegan said, with a chuckle. ‘I imagine after almost being kidnapped, a quiet courtyard with a sleeping donkey may be a step too far.’

The phantom smiled.

‘Fair point. Dan is rather a handful, isn’t he.’

Tegan raised an eyebrow.

‘How do you know he’s called Dan?’

‘Er’- the phantom’s face blanched for a second, before regaining its prior confidence-‘Miss Nyssa told me.’

‘I’m starting to think Nyssa tells you a lot,’ Tegan said. ‘I hope you have no designs on the pastors daughter?’

‘Why would- no!’ the phantom exclaimed, startled. ‘Obviously not!’

Tegan let out a laugh.

‘Oh, I’m only messing with you,’ she said, still chuckling. ‘I like to think Nyssa has better sense that to get mixed up with highwayman.’

The phantom stared at her for a second, before letting out a small laugh of their own. The highwayman then climbed off the horse, and stood in front of Tegan.

‘But… you do not?’

‘Apparently not, no,’ Tegan cheeked back, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. She took a step closer. ‘Thank you for the rescue; I must admit, I can understand why you are considered something of a folk hero around here.’

The phantom smiled, and gave a short bow.

‘No thanks needed,’ they replied, smiling as they straightened up. ‘The least I could do. I hope that we can become… friends, of a sort.’

Their grey-green eyes glistened in the half-light.

Tegan smiled.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, smiling softly. ‘You have a way of sneaking into people’s hearts.’

Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the phantom’s cheek.

The phantom froze, and Tegan’s brown eyes met the grey-green. Their breath seemed to catch in both of their throats.

‘E-er, anyway, thank you!’ Tegan exclaimed, stammering as she turned away. ‘M-much appreciated; have a good night!’

As she hurried to the side door of the inn, Tegan found her face beginning to flush. Her heart was pounding against her chest, and she was certain that she was perspiring. The mind of the innkeepers daughter was aflutter as she desperately tried to understand what she had just done.

WhydidIdothatwhydidIdothat-

The door closed behind her.

The phantom stood, in the empty courtyard. There was silence aside from the gentle snores of Dan the donkey, and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. The evening air was cool. The village had turned in for the night.

The masked figure reached up to the spot on their cheek where Tegan’s lips had brushed. A slight blush began to coat their skin and, behind the mask that covered her eyes, Nyssa Traken stared up at the first floor window of the inn that housed the young woman she adored.

~~~~~~~~~~

DUN-DUN-DUN XD And the identity of our mysterious highwayman is finally revealed (well done to everyone who was able to guess correctly).

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed it; I always love a good cliffhanger!

#'stand and deliver!'#doctor who fanfiction #tegan jovanka #nyssa #nyssa of traken #doctor who #tegan/nyssa #nyssa/tegan #indestructible #heathrow scientific #tegan x nyssa #nyssa x tegan #background ian/barbara #barbara wright #vicki pallister

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devildom-moss · 10 months ago

Note

It may be a bit selfish of an ask.. but could you do some simeon dad content with the BOF!MC? (Fluff or angst, you choose!)

I dont care how you portray the MC, as i never actually set a personality for them, but I understand completely if you dont want to write such a story <33

Anyways, as always, remember to eat, sleep, and dont do drugs!

Sincerely, 💜

I hope you will enjoy this one 💜 anon. If anyone isn't familiar with 💜 anon's BoF!MC or their AU, you can read a bit more about it under this tag. (hopefully I got it all since I went back and added the tag)

If you just want enough context to read the story, in this AU, Simeon had a half-human, half-angel child in a similar way to how Satan was created. The child will be referred to MC in this, but it's not the normal/original MC (reader) I use. So it's not the standard x reader fic. It's basically just Simeon dad content. Also, the child has strong, persistent pain that they've adapted to over years. The child is around pre-teen years.

A Little Simeon Dad Story

(BoF AU) (some angst) (but some softness) (mentions of physical harm and bullying)

Word Count: +2,400

“I’m home,” MC announced – restrained and hoping that Simeon wouldn’t notice them coming through the front door. They tried to sneak off to their room as quietly as possible.

“Welcome back, sweetie. How was school?” Simeon hollered from the kitchen as he stirred the pot. He had a homemade loaf of bread baking in the oven; something had to distract him from the fact that his child insisted upon walking home on their own for the first time, and breadmaking was – at least – time consuming.

Yes, his child was probably old enough to walk home alone; they were the equivalent of Luke’s age when he first started going around the Devildom on his own. However, Simeon had grown into an overprotective father, and ever since his sweet baby began their education, he would walk them to and from school every day – if he couldn’t walk them, there were a handful of powerful members of their adoptive family that would. Although, the one time that Diavolo walked them to school, MC was embarrassed to be dropped off by the King. They didn’t hear the end of it for weeks. Simeon wanted to know that his child was safe and protected, but he also understood that his baby had to grow up at some point; it would only stunt their growth if he refused their request to walk back from school on their own today. Besides, if MC needed help, they had their D.D.D. with them; and they had taken to technology much quicker than Simeon ever could. After a month with it, they were already able to start teaching him about new features. Ah, youth. Simeon smiled to himself.

“How was walking home alone?” Simeon asked another question, trying to prompt his child to join him in the kitchen and talk about their day.

In truth, Simeon had been watching the clock carefully, calculating a reasonable time frame for his child to return, justifying every second past the earliest possible minute. Did they stay a little later to talk with a friend? Did they have to talk to a teacher after class? Do they walk slower when they aren’t trying to keep up with me? Maybe they feel sore? Or maybe they’re leisurely enjoying the scenery? Did they stop somewhere? No – they would have told me, right? What if they got lost? What if – Simeon had to silence those thoughts. When the door opened, and his sweet baby’s voice rang out, he was awash with relief.

“It was fine, but I’m pretty tired. I was thinking about taking a shower and going to bed. I’ll do homework tomorrow.” They tried to cover the strain in their voice that came from an added layer of pain today. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

That struck Simeon as odd, and MC needed to eat something after getting back. He turned the stove temperature down and peeked his head out into the living room to find his child slinking towards their room. “You have to eat, MC – even if it’s just a few bites. Dinner will be ready soon. It’s one of your favorites. If you want to shower before eating, that’s fine.”

“Alright, dad,” they paused, angling themselves away from Simeon, before adding, “thanks.”

“Is something wrong, sweetie?”

“Nope. All good.”

“You are awful at lying to your father,” Simeon sighed. It was a relief that they hadn’t learned how to lie well yet. “Can you look at me?”

MC turned around to reveal a bruised and scratched up cheek – evidence of being punched by someone wearing rings, and probably gaudy and cheap decorative ones at that. The front of their pants was slightly dirty, as if MC had made an attempt to brush them clean only to stop when they realized it stung the scrapes on the palms of their hands and smeared specks of blood over the dirty surface.

Simeon’s jaw dropped, horrified. He rushed to their side, resisting the urge to pat them and check for other injuries. “What happened to you?!”

“It’s fine. Nothing happened,” they shrugged – although the motion hurt. “I just want to get cleaned up.”

Simeon took a deep breath in to calm himself. “I understand that, but we need to talk about this. You’re all scratched up and bruised. I’m worried.”

“I’m fine. Can it wait until after I’m clean?” There was a bite to their words.

“Okay,” Simeon conceded. “Do you need me to help disinfect anything?”

“I can do it.”

“Okay. Alright.” Simeon bit back his pain and concern. “I’ll finish dinner. Come to the couch in the living room when you’re done.”

“Fine.”

“I love you, okay?”

“I love you, too.”

Simeon rushed to finish dinner, trying not to accidentally stir his rage into the stew as it bubbled up. He pulled out the bread to let it cool. Why did I let them walk alone?! I should have protected them.

When MC left the bathroom, everything ached more than usual and their upper arm felt stiff where they had been punched – and after they fell to the ground, kicked. If the witch from the Demonus shop that Simeon never let MC go into hadn’t come out of her store to chase away those demons, it would have been worse. Thinking back, MC was embarrassed that they got up and ran away without even bothering to thank her. She had even bent down to ask if they were okay and if she should call someone for them.

Simeon was waiting on the couch for them. He was unusually scrunched up, bending forward and holding himself while tapping at the side of his thigh with one hand. The rhythmic sensation soothed him slightly, but he couldn’t get the thought out of his head: someone had beaten his baby – and it could have been much worse. His eyes were trained on the floor.

“. . .dad?” MC mumbled awkwardly. They hadn’t seen him this distressed in years.

“Oh, sorry sweetie.” Simeon jolted up and scooted over more. He pat the spot next to him, which MC took. They stared at him, waiting for him – as the parent – to breach the topic. Simeon nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know where to start. How bad is the pain? What happened? Who – I know this wasn’t an accident, so who did it?”

Although Simeon had intended to smother his wrath before MC returned, it came back just under the surface when he imagined someone daring to attack his baby. MC wasn’t meant to know how mad he was, but they could tell, so they told him a redacted version of the truth: a couple of demons from school had ganged up on them on their way back home. The demons had seen MC leave by themselves, and they waited until they were far enough from the school campus to attack. The specifics of the attack were left out, and no names were given. As much as Simeon wanted to know, he recognized that he had a desire for revenge more than justice. It was for the best that MC kept their identities a secret. MC explained that they ran home as quickly as they could after the shop owner rescued them, and that they waited outside for a few minutes until their breath calmed down. Simeon would never admit it, but he was a bit impressed that they had the forethought to wait outside for a while.

“. . .that’s about it,” MC added, hoping they were done with the awful ordeal of recounting the attack.

“I need to know where you got hit.”

“Nowhere bad. No head, neck, throat, spine, or chest hits,” they added, counting each one off on their fingers. “It’s not my first attack.”

At that solemn reminder, Simeon swallowed hard, gulping down his guilt; it wasn’t useful to him now. “I know, and I trust you, but I’m going to call the physician Barbatos and Diavolo found for you later. I’d feel better if we got you checked up.”

“I don’t want–” they started.

“I wasn’t asking,” Simeon interrupted. “I need you to do this for me. If you don’t like the doctor, we’ll get you another one.”

“She’s fine, but I really don’t need to go. I’ll be okay.”

“That’s good. Then your doctor will confirm that with us after your appointment.”

“Can it at least wait until tomorrow morning?” They sighed. It had already been such a long day, and they were certain they were going to be fine. If they needed a check-up to appease their father, they would get it, but right now, they just wanted to rest.

“Promise you’ll be okay.” Simeon held out his little finger. He hadn’t made MC pinky promise in years. If not for the seriousness on their father’s face, MC would have thought Simeon was just being an embarrassing, goofy dad again. They nodded and hooked their finger with his. Simeon gave them a soft smile. “Okay. We can wait, but if you feel worse at any point in the night, tell me right away – even if you think it’s nothing, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Thank you, sweetie.” Simeon finally let go of his child’s pinky. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you want to walk home alone today?”

“It’s stupid.”

“That’s okay,” Simeon smiled, “even if you think it’s stupid, I want to know.”

“I wanted to walk home with Sylvia,” MC admitted. “She’s an incubus – or maybe it’s a succubus now? I don’t know – her mom’s a succubus. She’s really nice to me, and I want to be friends with her. We walk the same way home sometimes, so I thought – I don’t know. But she didn’t show up today, so I just walked alone.”

“So, you didn’t actually want to walk home alone?” Simeon was almost pleased to know that someone was nice to his baby. “Why didn’t you call someone to walk you home?”

“I didn’t want to bother or disappoint you.”

“Why would I be disappointed, sweetheart?”

“Because I was the one who asked if I could walk home alone.”

“You’re allowed to change your mind.” Simeon shook his head in exasperation. “Why didn’t you call someone else?”

“Barbatos is always busy, Satan has book club with Solomon and (original) MC on Friday afternoons, everyone fauns over Luke and Diavolo when they pick me up, and the last time uncle Raph walked me home, he caused 80 thousand grimm worth of damage because a demon said I smelled like a mutt. So, I just walked alone.”

“Why do you know so much about the adults in your life?” Simeon slapped his hand to his own forehead with a sigh. “Sweetie, can I have a hug?”

MC shrugged. “Okay.”

“My sweet baby.” Simeon wrapped MC in his gentle embrace. He was warm enough that the pain began to fade slightly – or maybe it wasn’t the warmth. Maybe their dad just had magical, healing hugs. Simeon rubbed their back softly, careful not to add too much pressure. “It wouldn’t have been a bother. I’m always happy to walk you home. I’m so sorry that you got hurt because you didn’t want to ask for help. I’m your dad. I’ll show up when I know you need me.”

Simeon pulled back and put his hands on MC’s arms, holding them affectionately. The swelling on their arm was evident under his hand, and Simeon felt his heart break. He couldn’t even see the bruise, but he knew it was bad.

“Wait here for one second, okay?” Simeon signaled for MC to stay put while he hurried to the medicine cabinet. He returned with a large glass jar containing an ominous-looking blue substance.

“What is that?”

“Solomon concocted a soothing lotion for you to help with some of your pain. It’s supposed to be pretty strong. He brought it by – probably on his way to this mysterious book club I’ve never heard about before. You should try some on the bruises. It might help.” Simeon sat down and set the jar between them. “Do you want me to put it on your arm for you?”

Normally, MC would have insisted that they could do it themselves, but after the day they had, they wanted a bit of attention and care. They nodded.

“Roll up your sleep for me, then.”

Simeon tried not to react to the massive bruises on his child’s arm. They were already turning dark shades of purple and brown. It looked painful, and there were multiple hard lumps under the darkest parts. Simeon gently applied the lotion, feeling his own hand start to tingle from the lotion’s numbing properties. He hoped it would be enough to help his poor baby. When he was done, Simeon rolled their sleeve back down – happy to not have to face physical evidence of his child’s pain anymore. “How does it feel?”

“It’s the strongest sh– stuff he’s ever made,” MC quickly corrected their desire to curse, shocked by the degree of pain relief Solomon’s concoction had given them. “It feels a little better.”

“Good. I’ll pass that onto Solomon. I’ll let you keep this, but if you want help putting it on, just ask.” Simeon smiled softly as he tightened the lid on the jar. He stood up. “How about we put on one of your comfort shows or a movie you like, and we can eat dinner in here while we watch it? Does that sound good?”

“For real?” MC perked up, which warmed Simeon’s heart.

“Yes, and maybe you can tell me about that girl you want to befriend. Is it the one with the single mom? I think I know her.”

“Yeah. But why do you know a succubus, dad?” MC smirked. “That’s sus. Should I tell Barbatos?”

“What? Why? I know most of the parents! I go to PTA meetings – whether they like it or not,” Simeon’s embarrassment gave way to bitterness as he grumbled the last part, mostly to himself. Some of the demon parents weren’t keen on him or his child being involved with the school. Still, if it was the succubus he was thinking about – the nice single mom who had actually been friendly to him during the first meeting, then Simeon was happy at the prospect of her daughter befriending his kid. Simeon added on, “And stop learning slang from your classmates. I don’t understand it.”

“I’m sorry.” MC didn’t mean it – not about the slang, anyway.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I love you.”

“I love you, too, dad. Now, can we please eat? Dinner smells so good, and I’m so hungry that I finally understand uncle Beel.”

“Okay, okay, my growing child,” Simeon laughed, “just don’t eat the plate like your uncle.”

A/N: Hopefully I did okay with writing a child character. I don't have a lot of experience there. I know this one is different, but hopefully y'all enjoy it - and if no one else, than that at least 💜 anon enjoys it. I hope you don't mind that I added some OC content in here. I wanted the MC to have a friend their age. Simeon also deserves a "technically single" parent friend. And what's more fun than a former angel being friends with a succubus?

#anon #💜 anon #requests #simeon #obey me simeon #obey me au #bof!au #also giving you a symbolic forehead kiss anon because I was in such a bad mood before I sat down to write this #turns out writing Simeon dad content is a mood booster?#also you don't know how bad I wanted to have MC refer to Barbatos as Baba throughout the fic

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