#by appealing to her love of the Doctor of course | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

therealslimshakespeare · 8 months ago

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Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: yes…Virgin!Gale + Maureen/Gale bonding

Universe: Friends in the Crucible (pacific au)

Summary: “Get laid, Buck.” Doc Egan prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve your jitters better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

Warnings: all the sex! 18+.|| both tender and feral || Doc Egan being a unorthodox but loving menace, a theme of ptsd and body tremors/insomnia -poor Gale is going through it after a whole war, drug mentions, erectile disfunction, Maureen is aggressive but everything’s consensual, usage of the word “Jap”. Graphic descriptions of Gale’s virginity loss, male overstimulation and an amusing amount of thought given to Bucky’s existence during the act … im sure that won’t lead to anything when Maureen returns to base and reports to Egan about it, right? Hahaha of course not, that would be craaazy

Word count: 10k

“Buck, come on now, it’s not a prison sentence, it’s just a little time off.”

“I don’t need time off.” Gale reiterated, a panicked sort of fierceness creeping into his tone as his appeal now stretched into something longer than the usual flippant favors Egan was customarily so eager to dole out.

“Those hands suggest ya do.” John gave a not unkind glance of sympathy at the twitching fingers rattling on the armrests of Cleven’s chair.

12 rescue missions in 15 days. Flying upwards of ten hours each. He’d done worse before, but then again, that had been when he was fresh, younger, less banged up from the head hitting the cockpit wall.

“Sending me to go watch flamingos and contemplate sand or some shit isn’t gonna make me steadier.” Gale very much feared his gripes were beginning to sound like begs, “Don’t send me off like this. Don’t.”

“Petrified of flamingos?” John hummed, glancing down at his chart as if contemplating making a note of this new malady, “Maybe if your dad had taken you to a zoo once or twice as a kid you’d not be scared stiff of the prospect.”

Cleven stared back at him with the most hurt eyes John had ever seen. He balled his own fist up to remember the rightness of his point, even if he’d delivered it about as clumsily as a marriage proposal at a funeral. “The hell would you say something like that?” Buck whispered, not even angry, just utterly lost.

“Buck, I’m just sayin’ -inability to slow or be alone, it’s classic symptoms of battle fatigue.”

“I don’t wanna sit on a beach when I could be helping, I’m perfectly capable of still helping! You know it!”

“But you can’t sleep.” John circled back to where this all began, with Gale asking if there was anything to knock a fella out when 82 hours of insomnia wasn’t sufficiently exhausting.

“Give me something, you’re a doctor! Goddamnit, John!” Gale finally broke, voice raising and fists clenched.

“Surgeon, technically.” John gave him a wane smile, “And I can’t dope up an active pilot.”

“Just an active surgeon.” Gale sneered, tit for tat on the insults.

John nodded grimly but murmured, “The day Gale Cleven becomes John Egan is a day this whole operation can pack up and go home.”

“So you're being the better man,” Gale scoffed, “-sending me to watch flamingos.”

“I’m not givin’ you shit.“ he confirmed, “Unless it’s an assignment.”

“Will it keep me outta the flak asylum?”

“If you comply to all the regulations, maybe.” Egan shrugged.

“Go on?”

“Get laid, Buck.” his friend prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve you better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

“That’s your ultimatum?”

“No, no, my ultimatum is that you go on a little sabbatical with one of my nurses, she’ll keep an eye on you and you can make yourself useful, helping her unload heavy shit at the aid station they’re setting up at Peleliu. My recommendation is that when she comes into your room at the end of the day and drops her knickers, you lay back and think of Wyoming.”

Major Cleven had thought of a million and one ways to bribe or ally the prospective nurse to his side of the deal once he knew which unfortunate female Egan was going to pick for this deplorable detail. Calling his friend a pimp and a bastard had done little good, threatening malpractice and a hardness of heart towards Gale’s own principles -even less. So Gale figured when the time came he’d just gently turn the well meaning comfort gal away and maybe pay her off to lie that they’d done it: for his hand’s sake.

After all, if she was willing to do this, was she even a nurse or was she someone Bucky dressed up in Red Cross arm bands like some sleazy fantasy? Gale didn’t think any of the nurses he’d encountered would be willing to go along with such a sordid “assignment.” Sure, some of them were -carefree. Indulgent. Easy, as the men sometimes called them before getting a stinging cheek that proved them wrong. But they were a proud bunch and they had earned it.

Rolling a toothpick in his cheek, Buck pondered these things while sat on the bench of a Goony Bird waiting for his nurse to hop into the cargo hold with him and off they’d go to Pelilu. The situation was made worse by the suspense of who it might be and the insulting foreignness of being on a plane but not piloting. It made Gale feel an odd sort of feeling close to self pity that he hadn’t felt in ages, not since he was a kid and the nostalgia of it wrung him out of all energy. He made himself sit on that metal bench motionless as the heat index rose on the tarmac and made up a fun little game involving trying to see if he could get his hands to stop tremoring for five seconds straight.

So far he’d lost his own wager each time. He told himself if he could make it to five seconds then the nurse Bucky had sent would be a gray haired matron and this really was just a sabbatical to lift boxes and breathe ocean air and get Gale to laugh at himself.

Then Maureen Kendeigh climbed into the hold and squeezed past their cargo of medicine crates and plopped down right next to him, leg bumping his and breathing like a race horse. “I have jogged here the entire way from administration.” she wheezed, tugging at the collar of her shirt where her glistening throat was bobbing in thirst. “Sorry I’m so late, Major. Am I late?”

It could have been Bucky sat next to him: the choice of phrasing was so familiar, the damnable ability to force forgiveness for tardiness with a single smile so predictable. Gale found dread knotting his stomach at the realization it would be her, even as a warmth spread all over him at her sweet presence that had the odd effect of steadying his hands despite the panicked fuzz of his brain at her proximity.

Oh he didn’t want this. No, no, no. He’d like to think of Maureen very much apart, apart from anything but her heroism, not her wide spread stance on the bench beside him or the idea of her dropping her knickers and making him think of Wyoming. He preferred her very much not attainable in the deeper ways and very much not what he saw himself with when all this was over. Whatever she and Doc Egan had was between them and he’d held it up like a shield to keep himself in check, a boy's code of honor about not encroaching on his friend’s girl. Even if said friend didn’t have the decency to make said girl “his” girl.

But to have Maureen dished up to him on a platter by John when John must have suspected some of Gale’s appreciation for her professional merits -it was somehow worse than any dressed up floozy or the easy new intern. He’d not be able to pay Maureen off without insulting her. Or outing Egan’s intent. Maybe she didn’t know. What if Gale spilled the beans and she was as harmless as himself? What if—

“God, Major, did you sleep at all?” Maureen’s steady fingers were gripping his expressionless face and suddenly turned him towards her, one thumb swiping a tender crescent in his under eyes.

Gale’s eyes seemed to forget blinking was a thing, they grew wide and stayed wide at her inspection and the sandy wind blowing in from the tarmac stung at them as they dried out. “No,” he found his voice and it came out more winded than hers, “you’re not late.” he lied.

Once they get to the island, touchdown and unload, there’s then three hours of driving around the pitted old warzone to the aid station. There’s more foliage the more they go, less mortar pitted earth, but the increasing tropical paradise surroundings put Gale on edge. Maureen drives them to their unexplored destination as confident and recklessly as Bucky would, little surprise there. Gale can’t help glancing at her with unabashed amusement for the way she keeps her pistol propped on top of the steering wheel with one grip, facing out like a top turret for their hood, while keeping the map balanced on her thigh.

He cradles his own BAR with loose arms, ready to use it. Sure they secured the island months ago, but still, not infrequently some Jap comes out of his hiding hole, a cave, or whatever fucking tree he resides in and surrenders. Or, conversely, some of them have charged with guns blazing or sword drawn, deciding to go out and a bang of glory and take with them whichever hapless American happens to be nearby. That Emperor worship shit ain’t happening on on Gale’s watch, and so Maureen gets to drive -she didn’t have to beg like that, he was going to let her- and he shoulders the duty of keeping his eyes peeled for the next bush becoming animate and running at them, pulled pin grenade in hand.

“Some relaxation.” he jokes as their jeep lurches into another crater. If it’s not the bomb pits it’s the massive roots crawling over the smashed earth the Marine Corps call a road.

“It’s a reverse strategy!” she informs, grin wide as a shark’s and Gale could almost draw a little pencil mustache above that top lip and pretend it’s Bucky torturing him thus -hey, that might be a good mode of thought to keep everything strictly professional- “Like when nothing else works, you kick the broken thing.” Gale politely ignores the urge to argue about being broken, that’s not her point… he hopes, “You’re all shook up,” she goes on, voice raised to be heard over the rev of her driving, “and calm hasn’t worked, so why not shake you up worse?!”

He squints at her, fully aware he isn’t being chummy like she is trying to be, knowing he’s being a stick in the mud but he’s dying under the uncertainty, chafing under the pretense. Does she know? Or does she not? Five times today he’s resisted the urge to slap her chest like he would Demarco’s and ask her levelly, man to man, if she knows. “If this doesn’t work then what?” he asks anyway, sober as hell despite the comedic jostling and even Maureen’s joviality dims in the face of his dour mood.

“Then we’ll have to get real unorthodox.” she replies, allowing something close to annoyance at his attitude to seep into her own expression and Gale refuses to pull his eyes off her.

Do you know? He wants to ask.

“Stop scowling at me and watch for Japs.” she snaps at him so suddenly and so heated he genuinely spooks and turns his body back towards their horizon.

It’s worse than he thought. Worse than he imagined on the times he lost the bet with his hands and let his mind go somewhere besides a practical joke from Bucky and a gray haired spinster nurse as his companion. The aid station is on the edge of the new camp, far off enough to be genuinely secluded from both sights and smells of the navy station. It’s a tiki hut, thatched roof and swinging mesh door and lovely little veranda and palm trees and waves lapping up the back steps.

It looks like the sorta place people advertise for honeymoons and Gale stares at it with a 100 yard stare once Maureen grinds the gears to park.

“Jesus.” he knows his mouth is curling in disgust and beside him Maureen huffs in disgust with him.

She jumps out of her side of the jeep, not a shred of amusement left on her face. Gale sits and stares and listens to the roar of surf and the clinking of the cooling engine.

“Not bad.” she grunts under the burden of a crate which Gale should be lifting if he could just make his legs work and his mind obey. “But I bet it’s gonna be a bitch to keep the gnats out though, so much foliage around.”

Her hips sway like a tantalizing pendulum when she jogs up the bungalow stairs, her waist somehow accentuated by the way her arms are lifted to keep the crate hoisted on her strong shoulder and Gale has the perfect seat to watch it. How did he never notice the lines on her before she was doing hard labor? Then he recalls, she’s mostly been in flight suits around him, he’s never seen her paired down to collared shirts and belted pants. How’d he never notice the lines on that gi-

“Don’t make me drive this thing in the surf to wake you up.” her slap on his listless forearm rouses him to realize she’s back out at the jeep, standing beside him looking at him as he sits here catatonic like the mental case he’s showing symptoms of being. “And take your jacket off, you’re gonna get overheated being so formal.”

“Are you in on it?” he snaps suddenly as she grins at him over his first crate. He can’t tell if she’s mocking him or not but he’s damn tired of it.

“In on what?” Her face falls.

He can’t do it. He just can’t do it and he hates himself for being such a coward. “This.” he chooses vagueness and it tastes foreign and awful on his tongue.

“It’s a week out of the cockpit in paradise, Cleven,” Maureen’s own expression holds back no disdain for his pissy attitude, “man the hell up.”

What Maureen, Gale and five other technicians had loaded into the jeep and it’s buggy in the course of two hours, takes the mere two of them close to four to unload. And that’s even with Gale keeping a rapid pace to his work like a sweating maniac, feverishly wanting to stop thinking for once. His jacket and shirt are thrown over the chairs that are actually provided as furniture in the place and Maureen’s tie lays discarded on the accompanying desk. The rooms are bare but there’s two beds in the bedroom with crisp sheets that have only a bit of pollen dusting them and there’s a desk, as mentioned, three chairs in the main room and Maureen insists they can use crates for a table.

The back room is for the actual medical aid, and Maureen insists nothing gets moved into it until she can sanitize the whole place. So they stack the boxes in the main room and in the bedroom and when the sun gets lower they’re relieved to find there’s some dubious provisions for electricity in the place.

“I can get it to work.” Gale decides as Maureen tries flicking the light switch ten times as if to see if the bare bulb will grow a will of its own and turn on for her. It reminds him so much of Bucky’s brand of idiocy that Gale almost forgets himself and reaches out to swat her hand away from the futile flicking.

“Ok, then you do that while I keep unloading.” she insists, “Won’t be able to do anything if it’s pitch dark in here.”

So Gale drags a chair over and begins to fiddle with the wires tacked to the ceiling, risking electrocution so Maureen Kendeigh can see her way around as she tromps past him again and again in the same path with yet another crate.

He’s good with his hands. Excellent, in fact, judging by how one bulb flickers then stays steady, then another and another until the inside of the bungalow is aglow with cozy light: enough light for Maureen to appreciate his sweat soaked singlet and the way it rides up his belly when his arms are up and how it’s bright enough for her to scrub the exam room effectively when laying in a room with an insomniatic Gale Cleven gets to her at 3:00 am.

As it surely will. God! -the man is as impossible as he is beautiful, and while she doubted she’d manage it with him before, the sheer amount of fury she feels towards him right now leaves no doubt. She’ll shake him up. Like a Fuckin’ Martini. And he doesn’t have to like it, probably won’t, but they’ll both feel better after. “In on it” -he’s got the gall to ask but not the balls to spell it out, she can’t abide a quasi gentleman and so far Gale Cleven’s been nothing but the genuine article. Until now, now when he can’t accept certain human things about himself like fatigue or attraction, and he takes it out on her with a sullenness belonging to a much older man.

Maureen’s fine with that, she thinks as ogles the glowing golden skin of his sheened shoulders on one of her passes with a crate, she can take her mad out on him, too. And she’s got a lot of it. More than John Egan was ever able to lick away.

By 15:00, and some change to the second hand, Gale Cleven was still awake. Little surprise there, not to him, but even though it didn’t matter he found himself thoroughly annoyed and taking it out with a lethal glare at the vague gray ceiling, lit by a massive moon over the ocean. Wire and chairs but no curtains -an oversight about the furnishings. It wouldn’t have mattered, he knew that, and still the racket Maureen was making put his teeth on edge. It wasn’t Benny’s snoring or John’s drunken mumbling but it was a consistent *swoosh, swish* of industry that had Gale feeling a mixture of guilt and determination to keep lying here while she scrubbed.

It had not occurred to him she might’ve needed this break, too. Such as it was, effective as it was not proving. He knew she’d seen some combat in the beginning at Manila, maybe even worse than Iwo but long hours doing what she was doing now, where she was doing it, was no joke.

The urge to get up and help her was strong but then, so was the crippling fear of being around her in the dead of night and inviting any more of the bossy familiarity she’d tucked him into bed with. A magnesium capsule! She’d made him take three of the maternity horse pills and told him to calm the hell down as if he didn't have ample reason to be on edge with her laying a foot away on another bed, stripped down to her cotton slip. Of course Gale would cite war horrors if anyone asked why he couldn’t sleep but to be frank, he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t managing it these days and it had started awhile ago. Before Maureen Kendeigh glowed sweaty and luminous in the moonlight while gripping his cheeks and puckering his protesting mouth and plopping pills on his lolling tongue.

Thinking of it made his face flame with embarrassment for such a childish resistance. But god, her nursley familiarity sent a cross signal to his brain each time she helped herself to his flesh and no amount of berating himself while sweating in these rough sheets could dislodge the reaction. Closer to fifteen hundred than was remotely chivalrous, Gale threw off his sweat soaked bedding and tromped into the glow of light outside their bedroom, shuffling blearily into the little exam room. He faltered for a brief ten seconds at the doorway watching her undulating movements with sponge in hand and knees on the floor, white slip clinging like a second skin from the sweat.

He felt the sudden medical urge to lick her like the cattle back home lick at the salt block, a strange way of quenching thirst. Was ninety two hours without sleep considered genuine grounds for insanity? He felt like maybe he should be keeping a diary of these fevered thoughts to report back to John and see if he needed to get turned in. This wasn’t horniness, this was salt cravings. Yeah, yeah that’s what it was.

“You hypocrite.” he felt emboldened to tease and his voice came out rough and lower than even he expected, the disuse of laying there for ages taking a toll.

Maureen looked up like she’d been spooked herself, a slip and stall of her scrubbing, hair hanging about her face so unprofessionally he realized he’d never seen it in such…disarray. “Oh, the baby’s awake.” she grinned back and he felt an indulgence settle in his gut for her he didn’t know existed, “I see my magnesium capsules were a cure all.”

“Oh yeah, knock a horse out.” he agreed derisively.

“Your eyes are droopier.” she found a silver lining and as if reminded of the grit in them, his large fists came up and rubbed them meanly.

Like a little boy, she thought, watching him in the harsh light of the bare bulb, warm wood all around him the same color as all that sweaty skin and those skivvies hanging onto the lithest set of hips she may have ever seen. Looked as if one deep breath of that lean belly and the fabric would be goners, slipping down to the floor dramatically like a woman’s pantyhose in those unfortunate comics where that’s always occurring just when she wants to cross a busy street. Maybe if she could make him belly laugh-

She wished she knew how. She wondered if he knew how.

“Got another Sponge?” he asked and she was reminded why she liked him so much.

“Top crate, there, left, there that one.” She directed him with jerks of her chin until he was at the right one, “I’m using antiseptic.” she warned.

“I know,” he answered, dropping to his knees beside her and making use of her bucket to dunk his sponge, “smell’s been givin’ me a headache.”

Maureen’s mouth twitched at his tired grumpiness, more endearing now he was still putting effort into being near the caustic shit and the way his golden hair flopped on his forehead with his scrubbing movements. If his hips were that fluid, that rhythmic in cleaning a floor, how much more could she teach him to be—“Yeah, I’m sure it’s the anti-septic giving you a headache.” she snarked.

They ate sandwiches he’d gotten from the navy camp’s mess on the back porch, letting the sea water lap at their feet. A little stale but it was a much needed breakfast and Gale brought fresh water back, too, and a report that they were nice fellas and entirely too undressed for her to ever go see. That suited her fine, they’d be a pest if they knew a woman was up here and personally speaking she only needed one man for company, crate lifting, and doing the job well. And she rather had her heart set on it being Gale Cleven. Especially now she got to stare at him under the bright morning sun with a tropical breeze and more skin on display than at a swimsuit contest. He’d put on a singlet, as if to mark that a day had begun even if they hadn’t slept the night, but that was promptly sweat soaked and tiny nipples were pebbling under it from the breeze.

“Did they ask if a nurse came with you?” she pressed him between bites.

“Yeah.” he swallowed his bite thickly and licked at the mayo collecting at the corner of his mouth with typical precision, “And I lied.”

“Well, well,” she cooed, making him roll his eyes, “how’d that feel?”

“I have lied before.” he balked.

The look he gave her was both thunderous and remincent and she repented that line of questioning, used to distinguishing in her patients whether a wound was from wartime or stemmed from childhood. “Well who’d you say came with?” she asked.

“A technician.” he mumbled, blushing for some reason.

“Mm, someone nice and hairy and stinky-“

“Stop.” he begged.

“-not anyone they’d wanna meet.”

“I did it for you!”

“-if that makes you sleep at night, Cleven.” she humored him and like lightning, the back of his hand had flicked out and thumped her on the sternum, hard.

“Shit!” Maureen clutched the place, more in surprise than pain although he’d walloped her good and well.

“Shit!” He parroted in mortification, holding his hand like it was an offensive weapon.

“What was that for?” she laughed, “Do I remind you that much of Benny? Are you missing him that bad? Is that who you pretended was with you up here? Huh? Huh? Benny Demarco, now that’s a beauty to hide under a bushel-“

She was crowding him in on the steps and he was teetering towards falling off, too alarmed at his own outburst to trust his instincts now to shove her off without causing harm -and she knew it. She pressed her advantage and crawled over him with her teasing comments about Demarco until his long body had bowed so far away from her’s it was levitating and then toppled predictably into the surf.

“Fuck it’s cold!” he wheezed out as the embrace of the old pacific drenched him and rolled him about at her feet for a few delightful moments before he got his footing and rose, shaking his hair out of his eyes and grabbing for the steps.

“Sea bathing was in doctor Egan’s regimen.” she informed remorselessly before extending a merciful hand to help him up. He was slippery and shiny as an eel coming up and the grip of his hand was as strong as she expected. And still she found it intoxicating, the duality of him as he stood there pouting and bitchy over being cooled off. “Stay right there baby, I’ll get you a towel.” she patted his chest, right where he’d smacked hers, and went inside.

“I’m not your baby.” She heard him holler to her through the door-less porch. “I’m not your baby.” he reiterated vehemently but lower again when she came out with the towel.

“Yes you are.” she argued, “For this week you’re my baby, whether that’s a literal infant or not is your choice -and don’t start arguing, you’ve got to stop it, no one’s making you do a damn thing.” she insisted, hand raised and his mouth closed satisfyingly as a result, “You’ll be my baby. I know you already had a baby, no? Our baby? Shared her with ten other men, that’s generous of you-“

“-Ensign!-“

“-so I’m not gonna be your baby. You’ll be mine and you can find me something to be for the week.” she watched closely as recognition of her logic began to dawn and settle on him, “I could be anyone. I could be Benny Demarco, for instance. If that’s who you wanna lay next to.”

Gale didn’t speak for a long while, eyes off to the side watching the surf lap at the steps and she was still standing there, holding his unused towel. “Who do you want me to be?” he asked finally and his grave perception just about winded her in its raw honesty.

“You.” she replied honestly, “Whichever version of you made it here with me.”

“An infant -a baby.” he scoffed and she was suspicious those eyes were watery. And too delayed for it to be from the salt.

“My baby.” she replied, “Never had one before.”

“With respect ma’am, that’s Bullshit.” he argued in a fierce hiss, “I know you have, with John and -and-“

“I’ve been somebody’s,” she clarified, “but I think I’ve grown out of that. You’ll be my baby, huh? It’s not marriage, Cleven, it’s a week in paradise and hopefully some shut eye, too. So do you want me to be Benny?”

Those watery eyes let one single tear go trickling down his pink cheek alongside the rivulets of ocean water dripping from his hair and Maureen had never felt a single thing heat her up quite like it. “No,” his chuckle was thick and he sniffed, “not Benny. Maybe uh, God, I dunno, I’ve never had anyone.”

“Then we can make it up entirely.” she was pleased by the idea of not being a stand-in, although god knows she and John could sympathize more about the need for that than anyone. “We’ll be castaways.” she suggested, sitting back down on the porch now the confrontation was dwindling and in full confirmation of her suspicions, he sat again beside her without fuss.

“Marooned.” he disagreed, chin resting on his hands and a boyish tug pulling up the corner of his lips. “Something insane you did landed us here.”

“Mm, took liberties with the captain's daughter, perhaps?” she teased, daring to run a finger along those golden shoulders and collect a few salt drops. He shuddered under her but stayed put.

“I’m not playing fair maiden for you.” he retorted but his eyes were fond.

“Mm, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Maureen was still impossible and Gale felt his gut burn in a bizzare sort of drive to prove her wrong. He’d hardly ever felt this even with all the jokes from the boys, not even with all the temptations from the girls, it just hadn’t seemed something that needed proving. Every flea and salmon could do it, he never doubted when he got married he could manage it credibly enough.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” his voice sounded like he’d come to a decision and Maureen squinted at his profile until it clicked.

“I’ve never been married before.” she observed breezily.

“And I never planned on being married for just a week.” he replied.

“Isn’t there a film about this?” she asked, “Cary Grant gets stuck on an island and he marries his castaway but then they get rescued and there’s a first wife?”

“Yeah, I think so, actually.” he thumbed at his bottom lip in contemplation and Maureen found it endlessly distracting, along with the bird song and the ocean crash and the sunshine.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” she agreed then, settling back on her elbows to stare up at the sun and let it add a few freckles, “And when it’s over and you’re rescued, I’ll be the better woman and let Our Baby have you.”

“You’ll always be the best of women, Maureen.” he sounded like the admittance took every fiber of his resolve to say, but she’d heard it before in his voice weeks ago when she was patching him up.

If a tear slipped out the corner of her shut eyes and down a sun warmed cheek, she wasn’t going to make a deal of it, not until she felt his finger catch it tenderly before it dropped from her jaw and rolled it back up.

She felt her lip wobble traitorously and perhaps there were more tears planning to follow and betray her but the shivering shock of his full lips, pressed to her bare shoulder, stemmed the flood. Maureen held her breath and kept her eyelids sealed, an orange glow of sunshine behind them as all her senses attuned to the drag of his caresses up to the juncture of her shoulder, the press of his body next to her on the porch boards, the suspenseful absence of his hands. They were soft as marshmallows, those lips, and a stray tip of his tongue caught her clavicle as he worked his way up a path that almost seemed premeditated, as if he’d thought of doing this a million times but held back. Now he allowed himself and the assured intimacy of his mouth made her body heat soar almost beyond her endurance as he crept up her throat and onto her cheek.

A kitten lick to that tear track down her cheek and Maureen was whimpering from something else entirely, breaking ranks and turning her head to gaze at him, nearly stunned by how close he was, how alive, how beautiful, how blue. There were his hands now, one propped beneath her shoulder, the other cupping her cheek. Her lips were tingling with anticipation by the time he’d lowered his face far enough and brushed her mouth with his.

Maybe he’d done his fair share of kissing the girls back home goodbye, or maybe it was a talent given along with this impossible lips, or perhaps she’d wanted it so long that the final having of it sent Maureen spiraling with something oddly like obsession.

Kissing was enough for the longest time, the shore sounds and the squawking of ocean birds and the feel of Gale Cleven laying more and more atop her as his tongue met hers and danced. She scratched the back of that tanned neck like she dreamed of doing a dozen times, little scritches to his hairline that had him sagging against her kisses to the point of crushing.

She allowed herself the liberty of running her hands along his lean sides, taking in the graceful taper of his waist, the dip of his back, the sopping wet waistband of his briefs. She wondered if this is how men feel with a young girl, when there’s so much loveliness one wants to maul it and mark it and watch it respond. Anything to make him moan again into her mouth, wrenched and helpless and appreciative of her all at once, anything for him to hump his hips against her thigh in a manner so mindless he didn’t seem himself at all.

When he pulled away, dazed and winded from his own exertions, he seemed to have left behind all his inhibitions, stark need written on his face and only some doubt of what he was allowed yet remaining. “Are we gonna?-“ he trailed off, raspy voiced and trembling with suspense.

“Going to what?” she couldn’t abide it any longer, his demureness, “Say your mind, Cleven.”

“Do it.” he let out with a wince.

“Well I don’t know, Mr. Jones, you tell me. Are we gonna?”

Gale huffed and threw his head back, trying to regain some sense of mind, lip savagely pulled between his teeth. “Yeah. We are.” he decided.

“Then finish your sandwich.” she patted his waist and pushed him off.

“I can’t!” he begged with a groan from where he’d spilled out on the porch like a boneless dummy. “Not now.”

“You’re gonna need it, the water too, trust me on this.”

“Are we gonna -make love? Or go for a forced march?” he protested but lifted the canteen to his lips anyways when she gave him a look and proceeded to drink it dry.

“How would you know the difference?” she teased and he had the good humor to roll his eyes. If all went according to Egan’s plan, they oughta hibernate for twelve hours of sleep afterwards and she wanted him hydrated and ready for that. Maureen had a plan of her own, which certainly might lead to such a sleep, but it also involved not getting off that boy for love of God or money until he was as useless as a wet rag and the impertinent gnawing between her own legs was replaced by a good ache.

Cleven was staring at his sandwich remorsefully, “I can’t get this down, Maureen.” he declared with sudden finality and then, without preamble he threw it into the sea. “C’mon, Mrs Jones.” he held out his hand for her as he stood up, something close to an excited grin taking over his face.

He was so confident now, having come to a decision, and Maureen found herself naturally bending to his direction, placing her hand in his large palm and allowing him to haul her to her feet as gently as a dance partner. “We’ve got a bed.” she reminded blissfully into another kiss, anchored to his face by the persistent hands snarled lovingly into her salt tousled curls: this hair Maureen, this hair drove me mad.

“And we’re gonna use it.” he agreed, walking her backwards up the porch until he feet were skidding over the threshold, his tongue still sucking her own.

She stopped him there with a hand to the willowy plane of his belly, a regulated, principled woman to the last, and snapped the still soaked waistband of his drawers. “Off, you’ll make the sheets wet and sandy.”

Their sweat would accomplish dampening them enough in this muggy heat, they didn’t need sand and ocean water to boot. Maureen ducked beneath his arm and went back out to grab the discarded towel.

“I don’t want a trail of drips on our clean floor.”

Gale smiled softly at the usage of “our” -it felt right somehow, to share things with her. They’d been at it for some time, it came naturally like it had with Bucky and the few other boys who he knew would be something special and unlike anything else after this. It was a little bittersweet to know he was living the best days of his life, right here and now, enviable, irretrievable moments of raw connection slipping away with each drip, drip, drip onto the threshold. It was a heartache in the making and it was a spur for the moment. Back home they’d never understand, and any old observer would see nothing unique, but Gale could allow himself the rightness of sharing just one more thing. Why not cement it fully, irrevocably, as the closest brush he’d ever come to with another soul- he’d asked himself the same with Bucky, knew it was already an established fact.

Maureen’s lips were warm where they pressed to his back, the space between his shoulders, towel held to his waist. “You’re not shy of me, are ya, baby?” she whispered in his ear, thumbing at the still worn briefs.

He could feel himself this past hour hardening and softening, so many times in the space of so many minutes he was dizzy with it, the way his brain would have the upper hand and then, suddenly no, it all rushed south. Which now left shyness as the only real excuse for the way he burned and shrank and burned and shrank in turn at each of her touches.

“You gonna give me the towel?” he asked instead.

“Once it’s safe to do so.” she replied primly, in her familiar nursing voice, and he hated the shudder that tore through him. She stepped under his arm again, around him and into the house, and stood in the shade of the it with the towel spread invitingly, tauntingly. A whole yard and a half between then and she’d decreed no drips past the threshold. Gale’s cheeks burned as did his eyes, smarting with brimming tears from an odd frustration he’d only ever felt over a botched mission, an anger at not being able to bomb his target and make it worthwhile, a petty frustration he always felt before the cold rage of lost men fully registered.

Futile tears: Gale yanked the skivvies down and stepped out of them efficiently.

Maureen wasn’t smiling at him from the shade anymore, not even a smirk, she looked hungry. She looked like Bucky, taking in “a view.” Gale didn’t know ladies ticked that way -or maybe they didn’t, maybe only Maureen did. The blush in his cheeks ran down his chest and spilled onto his belly and his fists clenched without thought.

“When the man of the house,” Maureen was reciting some inane pamphlet she no doubt did not heed or else they’d never be here, “respects the whims of the lady in small matters, he will find the lady more submissive to issues of larger stake such a-“

Gale made a dash at her, to shut her up, and she fled from him to the bedroom, feet smacking on the hardwood and cotton slip fluttering up her thighs -his towel with her.

“I want you bare.” he told her when he had her, struggling in his arms before the bed, a lush friction where he pressed tightly behind her.

“Then sit,” she sounded genuinely breathy, trapped to him and he had never heard her like that before, it made him want to hold fast, “and I’ll make your dreams come true.”

It was just a slip, no garters and no braisere or girdle, yet still Gale sat himself on the bed and Maureen bit her cheek to keep from laughing at the modest way he deposited the towel on his lap, covering what she’d been eyeing and thanking her luck for. A cock as pretty as his face -now if she could just make it stand up fully.

“You ready?” she deferred to him as she stood there before the bed, being looked on with all the reverence and trepidation of a goddess by this seated acolyte.

“Please,” he nodded furiously, “please show me.”

It felt a little wrong to expose oneself in front of such an angelic being, curtainless windows throwing in the sun on him all golden and untouched, white scratchy sheets and white draped towel making it a bower of innocence for a brief moment. It also felt right, to throw off everything but what they’d been born with. Off went rank, obligations and expectations, as easily as dragging the slip over her head.

She tossed the article of clothing behind her for good measure -and dramatic effect- then noted with satisfaction the bleary eyed comprehension of her charms from Gale Cleven where he sat with his mouth hung so slack he was liable to drool.

“Incredible.” he muttered, husky and a little slurred, his hand raising without his own volition to beckon her closer, a plea, command.

Maureen swayed on her feet, nearer and nearer until she was standing above him, between his parted legs and she shuddered as he laid that broad palm on her hip and dragged it up her side in an admiring swath, thumbing at her belly and catching her ribs in his hold.

“Those flight suits of yours, they don’t…they don’t let show the half of it.” Gale declared, mesmerized, face hovering closer and closer until his lips were pressing against her flesh, right under her sternum, his forehead pressed to the underside of one pendulous breast, nuzzling as he became aware of that, bunting like a calf at her breast with his face, gone silly with access.

“Whadda ya think?” she giggled, the silliness of Gale Cleven gone stupid over making yams jiggle being the exact sort of thing that made life worth living, and being a woman exquisitely satisfying.

“They’re so goddamn soft.” he moaned around a bit of the underside, still hadn’t worked his way to a nipple. He seemed too preoccupied with their give and bounce to make a more calculated use of them. Maybe if men hadn’t been told what to do with them, they’d do what Gale Cleven was doing and rub their face against them and let them rest on their foreheads. There was a charm to this ignorance as he licked the salty sweat from their undersides with a surprisingly brave tongue.

The clumsy misuse was oddly effective for Maureen, what Gale lacked in skill he made up for in unstudied appreciation and nothing got her quite so ready as being appreciated to the point of foolishness. Her first conquest had been a boy at school who hadn’t minded tripping in his track shoes, day after day, to try to catch up to her on her bicycle, just to give her a flower or trinket. He was laughed at for his devotion until he broke the school track record next year, and Maureen was sure to remind him of her role in his success. They’d soon found a mutually beneficial reward system and Maureen had adopted that attitude as a maxim for the future, her dates and conquests may have been many but each of them in their own way had been appreciative -or else she was jumping out the window, damn the twelve foot drop out the dormitory.

No one, however, had looked quite so gifted by her mere existence as Gale Cleven did while he clutched at her hips and smushed her flesh between his hands like it were some fine dough and he was an artisan.

Discreetly, and it was easy to be so with his face buried in her bosoms, Maureen glanced between them at the tool she had such hopes for and found it, unsurprisingly, twitching and dribbling against his thigh, half hard but flapping about like a fish on dry land, the discarded towel no match for its movement. He’d need a hand, literally and metaphorically, and as she raked her nails through his blond curls and directed his slick mouth to a nipple, she felt him sag even further into her hold. Maureen weighed her next step carefully, trying to tamp down her own wants. She’d need to be sure but slow, careful not to spook him, or antagonize or embarrass.

She wondered if he even realized the same banged-up-head condition that sent him out here was most likely responsible for the jitters that kept him flopping. She wasn’t so conceited as to assume he’d not bedded a woman yet out of mere dysfunction, Cleven was a man of principle and strict notions regarding how the world should be, and he wasn’t one to build those notions on passing medical conditions.

“You like ‘em?” Maureen teased him, shocked at how hoarse her own voice had gone in the interim.

“Gonna make a home in here.” he mumbled in the affirmative, slack grin molded to the valley between them, blue eyes wide as the skies outside peering up at her.

“Got a job for you, baby.” she murmured, thumbing at the scar on his cheek.

“What’s that Mrs. Jones?” his voice alone made her mad with need, as did the saucy turn of his mouth so wonderfully foreign she didn’t know how she’d control herself until he was ready.

“Need you to lick a little landing strip, right here.” she ran her finger along the somewhat tacky skin between her breasts, sweat and his sloppy kisses having partway done the job already.

“What for?” Gale asked, hushed and curious.

“You’ll see soon enough.” she recalled how effective her nursing voice had been on him, and pulled it out now it seemed beneficial.

She had been right, with only a hesitant spark of aggravated defiance, Gale dipped his head and stuck out that pink tongue, lapping a swath up between her breasts as directed, flaming eyes locked on hers as she shivered from the breeze on spit slicked flesh.

“Again.” she told him, and his hands came up to hold her breasts apart as he did it again, and again and once more under his own direction until it was shiny and messy and his nose was gleaming, too.

“What’s it for?” He demanded once more, pink cheeked and swallowing hard as his mouth had dried out from his efforts.

“I told you, silly,” she replied casually, “it’s a landing strip.” and with as little fuss as possible she got to her knees before he’d registered the absence of her standing above him. “Gale, let go of the damned towel.”

She held in a laugh of delight at the tortured color he had grown to, veins running like so much ivy up and down him and a vibrant pink tip that matched his lips. Maureen wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look him in the face again without thinking of this drizzling little pink mushroom.

“You oughta count your blessings, Gale Cleven, it was a close call, my coming along at all.” she informed him soberly while his mind visibly vacated his body at the repeated sighting of his sputtering cock emerging from between the pillowy press of her breasts, “It was pretty touch and go there for a bit, I was quite sure in fact, that Bucky was gonna help himself to this assignment.”

“Maureen!” Gale thundered, except his usual imposing ire was much diluted by his quivering belly and hoarse voice.

“What?” she brushed off his scandalized displeasure with a grin, feeling cocky herself as he hadn’t flagged on her in minutes and was beginning to gush in earnest, “Bucky loves the beach.”

“Sure, Maureen.”

“In the end he decided I had what it takes.” she went on conversationally, ignoring the inhuman sounds that came out of him when she casually spit on his tip, the better to work her lips around him, “These.” she clarified, pressing her breasts to his thighs as she wrapped her mouth around him and sucked.

“Fuck, hell, Maureen! Sorry, sorry, oh fuck!” -not even Gale Cleven had expected his hips to fly up that hard and fast, knocking on the back of her throat.

She laid her hands on his squirmy hips and did her best impression of a Listerine gargle round his tip, which sent a shudder through him so strong she thought he might’ve climaxed already.

“Maureen, Maureen come on, get up here, please.” now he yanked at her hair, desperate for once and that was a pleasure to hear.

“What baby?” she pulled off him.

“Gotta kiss you.” he told her firmly, and hauled her bodily up by her armpits, rolling her under him in the bed.

Kisses -sure, Gale, kisses.

He was moaning atop her, wiry and flexing his hips against her, wriggling to get between her thighs and she let him, hungry and expectant when he slotted easily in place. He pressed his lips to hers ardently, then reared back in shock at the taste of his own precum in her mouth and on her lips.

“Salty.” he whispered as if to himself before licking his lips and going back for more. “What do I need’to do?” he whispered urgently against her mouth as she rocked against him and he rocked back until they’d frustrated each other thoroughly with mere caresses.

“Put it in, my baby.” she whispered back.

“First though, don’t I need to-to do- something? Something first?” he could barely think straight but he’d heard enough talk about this, about gentlemen and the necessity of some form of chivalrous preparation. The way discipline and intuition set apart an average pilot from an excellent one. Bucky had talked a lot about getting girls ready, making them squirm, revving them up, for all his apparent disinterest during the topic, Gale had been listening.

“You’ve done it already, Mr. Jones.” she giggled, reaching between them to drag him more firmly through the wanton swamp he’d made of her. “I’m ready, I’m so ready.”

“Oh fuck, s’wet.” he mumbled the obvious before willingly letting her guide him in, his body following her tug like his cock were a leash.

“Jesus,— Gale!” Maureen choked as he bottomed out in a sudden plunge, shocked at the stretch despite the gauging of his size. “You’re so deep, oh baby you’re a big one aren't ya.”

“You ok?” he whimpered, shuddering on top of her again and again at the incomparable feeling of being inside another’s body.

“Oh yeah, yeah I’m fine,” she gasped, “Hurts so good, you can move, baby.”

“You’re so warm.” he sounded close to worshipful he was so drunk off her, and Maureen spared a moment to smirk at the fate of man: come tearing their way out of a woman to begin their lives only to spend the rest of it trying to and needing to get back in.

He did try to move, she’d give him that. And while Maureen was more than half expecting it, still, it was mildly comical to see the confusion flash across his blissful face right as the buildup was snatched from him and he was suddenly shaking into the real event before he knew it, betrayed and euphoric all at once. The muscles in his belly and back and neck seized and his hips lunged in a series of uncoordinated pumps and she could read the panic in his eyes right before they rolled back -a begrudging admittance that this was nothing at all like the steady predictability of his hand.

“That’s it baby, that’s my baby, feel nice, huh?”

Gale didn’t answer her, too occupied whimpering with a taut throat and jaw clenched so tight he could snap a hinge like that. He was shaking worse than before when the spasms subsided and the tiniest pressure to his sweat slicked neck had him buckling to lay pressed against her, half senseless from the force of his release.

Maureen had always loved this part of sex, the pliable, bewildered, smushed man atop her like she’d sucked his soul out, when he’d rendered it up to her so willingly, so desperately, forcefully even, chasing his own eventual weakness. Long limbs aligning on top of hers, the hot pants of winded breath against her breasts, the hands listlessly holding on wherever that had last tried to grip and control her. The view from above with Gale Cleven was something additional, beautiful and glistening with bronzed swaths of sun exposed skin and the pale whites of his thighs and ass making a perfect little outline of absent shorts, his golden hair tousled beyond salvaging and that luscious mouth, drooling like a babe’s.

“So this is what Bucky’s been talkin’ about.” he mumbled into her breast, cheek smashed and enunciation shot to hell.

Maureen laughed in disbelief, “Thinking of him even now? Really, he’s going to be impossible if we tell him.”

“Just sayin’, now I know.” he defended, lazily rubbing his partly softened cock inside her with a shimmy of his hips that was quickly followed by an overly sensitive mewl.

“You don’t know anything, Angel boy.” she insisted and Gale raised his head at that, sour that she’d still contradict him after thirty seconds of vigorous pumping. “Let me see your hands.”

He had some trouble recalling where he put them but eventually he found them under her hips and withdrew them from their warm shelter to present them, warily. “Well, damn.” he muttered to himself, somewhat shocked by just how badly the shakes had worsened. “Looks like that treatment backfired.”

“More of a dose dependent case, I’d say.” Maureen corrected and circled each wrist with her hands and brought them up to her lips to kiss.

Gale’s face smoothed at her softness and a shy smile lit up his bleary eyes while she felt a twitch of his spent cock deep inside her, swishing about the mess he’d made like a dog’s tail after getting pats. “You have the most beautiful hands.” she informed him earnestly and balls deep inside her she watched as one single innocuous compliment sent him scarlet with a blush. “And they’ll be yours again soon.” she promised.

His gentle expression and bright red cheeks crumpled rather suddenly and before either of them seemed to expect it, fat teardrops had escaped the blue of his eyes and rolled down the crimson flesh of his face.

“Goddamnit.” he cursed hoarsely, in an absolute rage at himself, regaining his hands from her grip insistently to bring them up to his own face, hiding from her behind harsh fists that rubbed at his wet eyes like he could grind the grief and weariness out between his knuckles.

Unbalanced as he was without hands to support him, and legs gone jellied from his fast fading pleasure, Maureen chose to capitalize on it as a nurse would a brief state of insensibility to move a patient to a cleaner cot. Remorselessly she pressed at his shoulder and lifted their still joined hips until he tipped over, rolling onto his back beneath her. “We’ll have none of that.” she told him with loving adamance from her new perch, prying his hands away and pressing them to the sheets beside his head. “The hiding, I mean.” she clarified and he looked all of hardly past twenty laying there with wobbly lips and wet eyes unobscured, “I’m a very great proponent of crying,” she went on conversationally which confused him more but kept him too preoccupied to stifle his tears, “De-sanguination is still a highly esteemed practice, you know, it means to drain the body. One type of draining often triggers the other.”

“You gonna start bleeding me?” he asked wryly.

“Oh, maybe, you’d look so pretty all streaked up.” she teased and ran a sharp thumbnail over his pinned wrist.

Well, that got him hard again. Fascinating.

“You know what’s got your hands like this-“ she whispered softly, “-probably the same reason you flop, too.”

“Huh.”

“Pretty common.” she assured.

“Quit tellin’ me I’m common.” He growled, tickling her sides and she grabbed his hands, pinning them again playfully.

“Nothing common about you, sweet baby.” she swore, leaning down to kiss him and enjoying the way he met her strongly, surely, “Gale, can I move?” she asked, half strangled by the taut string of need coiled in her belly, tugged to madness by the bulk of him still resting limply inside.

“Move?” he was perplexed.

“I’m going to die if I don’t get some friction.” she whispered, somehow shy to admit that in the face of his innocent bewilderment, “God -please tell me someone has informed you women finish, too?”

“Bucky says they clamp up so tight you can’t help but blow.” Gale recited dutifully, “Which is what just happened, right?”

Maureen grinned wide and wicked before dragging her hips up till he was barely in, then plopping down into the cradle of his hips, making him let out a “oomph.”

“Maureen?” he questioned, half knowing already he had been mistaken but hell, to go again? “Maureen- I’ll die if we go again.”

“What a way to go.” she muttered, her pace atop him increasing as did the tortured gasps tumbling from his lips. His spunk was making terribly wet, lewdly sloppy sounds of suction each time she slammed down on his cock and the visual of her exerting herself on top of him was something so blatant and jiggly he could hardly endure the visual feast of it.

“Shit, shit I can’t-“ he growled while his trembling hands latched onto her hips in a grip that was anything but dissuading. “Maureen.” he begged her for…he knew not what.

“Come on Mr. Jones,” she clasped her hands around his face and aligned their noses, rubbing like a kiss with each movement of her lower body, “you’re not one to leave your missus needy, I know you’re not. Not when you’ve got such pretty hands-“

-a shudder from him.

“and a clever tongue-“

-a whine from him that sounded close to a wounded dog’s it was so lasting.

“-or a tool this capable.”

“Maureen.” he groaned.

“Baby, my baby.” she begged, “You’ve got what I need, come on, take me apart.”

Like he trusted himself for the first time since they began this endeavor, she felt his body bow up beneath her, his arm flexing strongly across her hips, his legs braced beneath her and a heavy hand clutching her neck, then he was driving up into her with a wild abandon she only ever hoped was simmering beneath that cool exterior. When she finished he hadn’t stopped, and Maureen found herself crying out like a feral thing into the hollow of his clavicle as the brutal pummeling went on, satisfaction drug out of her over and over in harsh ruts.

“That more like it?” he panted the harsher he grew, a hand around her jaw pushing her face away from his so he might see the damage he was doing.

“Yes, yes oh baby, yes!” she swore through clenched teeth, it had been too long and each blissful peak only aggravated her further, made her hungrier, that and the fact he was so proportioned as to be a constant delight just shy of pain, “Hell Gale, do ya hear us?” she gloated, propping herself back on his thighs to watch the shiny pink of him flash in and out of her wet sheath.

Mesmerized, Gale didn’t reply, but he dragged a hand up her belly and felt for the way it tensed at each intrusion, the span of his fingers an incredible thing across her skin. “Can’t believe you can take it, easy as that.” he marveled, his thumb straying and pulling apart her petals the better to watch.

“Thumb it right there.” she directed gently, reaching down to move his calloused finger over her bud, right above where he split her apart, “That’s it, ya feel that too, huh?”

“Fuck you’re tight.” his voice cracked and his eyes shot wide again.

“Are you -?”

“Maybe.” there was a wobble of blissed uncertainty in his voice until she stopped her movements and he let out a sob before he could catch it. “Maureen, please.”

“Please what, baby?” she was chuckling at him, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead, “I let you-“ he pleaded, still thinking things worked that way, “-now I need, please Maureen...”

“Oh you can.” she assured and his face lightened but his eyes stayed wary, “But just know, I won’t be stopping.”

“What?”

“You remember how that feels, don’t ya baby?” she reminded, gently pushing him to lie back and beginning their movements anew, “So good you can’t stand it, so messy and easy for me, so tender and much for you?”

“Jesus.” he wheezed, his lean belly caving in with his heavy pants, but she felt him throbbing inside her and his pupils were large as saucers, “You’re as mean as Bucky.” he whined, voice gone high in panicked pleasure.

“Thank you, but really I’m not.” she laughed, gently thumbing away an errant tear that rolled down his cheek. “Not quite.”

“Maureen, please, please you’re too pretty!” he begged nonsensically even as his hips began to snap into hers, invigorated and forceful.

“Hold it Gale, try to hold it.” Maureen gasped, staring down at the prettiest face she’d ever seen as his brow began to furrow, “Or don’t, all the same to me.”

“I’m gonna flip you.” he swore and a few seconds of inaction passed, marked by the slam of her hips down onto his, and she thought he didn’t mean it until she gave him a daring look and suddenly she was careening backwards, head jolting against the sheets and body laid out firmly beneath him.

“Goddamn.” she swore at the way he hadn’t dislodged an inch during the whole maneuver, suddenly pressed just as deeply as before, his hips working like a piston and his hands tight and strong on her neck. “Goddamn baby. Oh goddamn that’s good.”

“S’good?” he begged her to repeat, some dizzying natural force propelling him harder and faster and needier.

“You’re so good.” she was adamant as she hung about his neck and locked her ankles in the small of his back. “You’re so good I’m - I’m -gonna-“

“What was that about holdin’ it?” he hissed, smile cocky and smug.

“Bull ain’t out of the gate yet Cleven,” she cautioned but her hips had begun to lift of their own accord, a tremble taking hold of her, “But I’m close, I’m, i'm real cl- oh God!”

“Come on sweet Maureen, wanna make ya -wanna do it for ya. Give ya what you need, Mrs Jones.” Gale’s hoarse and sweet nothings poured hot and breathy in her ear and Maureen found herself locked and gripping him before she knew it, moaning into his neck as he moved in and out, in and out as she’d only ever dreamed of.

When she cracked her dazzled eyes open again he was panting above her, the clink of his dog tags gently bumping her chin with each sway deeper, lashes batting in a golden flutter as he too began to lose himself, slower, more drawn out and yet every bit as desperate as the first time.

“Look at me baby, look at me when ya do.” she pleaded, gently gripping his chin as his mouth fell open in a series of little noises of effort that went straight to her belly grown hot and molten with the feeling of him spurting inside.

“Ugh, ugh, ugh,” Gale was working atop her in pained delight, lips so smeared and face so sweaty he looked like he might melt at any minute, “thank you, oh fuck, thank you, sweet Maureen.” he chanted low and dreamy, again and again until he drove in once more and stayed.

Those clear blue eyes fagged in an exhausted ecstasy, his head dropping impossibly further with each ragged pant until his face was barely hovering over her breasts, neck bent and forhead slowly pressing into the swell of them. His forearms gave out and those hands of his stayed trapped beneath her shoulder blades.

“Sleep Angel baby,” Maureen coaxed, hand cradling the back of his dear head to her breasts, feeling a low lazy peace settle over her at the feel of his dead weight plugging her up and the lovely wringing out she’d just endured, “let’s just sleep, dear boy.”

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fortheloveofwonderland · 2 years ago

Text

My Reply | S.R

This one was a request from the lovely @reidsaurora-replies for my milestone celebration which got wildly out of hand. I think I damn near used every lyric of the song in this one. Also, Maeve does not exist in this universe. I felt like his phone calls with her were too similar to the letters with reader and not needed

Summary - Spencer writes his deepest tragedies down on paper for his pen pal. After ten years of exchanging letters and some divine intervention from JJ, the two of you finally come face to face.

CW - this one covers most of Spencer’s canon storylines including Tobis Hankel and his drug addiction, his moms illness, his fathers abandonment, getting shot in the knee, his headaches, Emily’s “death”, prison arc, Mr Scratch and Emily’s kidnapping, angst, interfering friends, lots of literary quotes.

WC - 6.3k

Making friends was always something Spencer Reid had been inherently bad at. He was always too young or too smart which always seemed to put people off of forming friendships with him.

When he joined the BAU, his team called themselves his friends. But Spencer knew if he’d met any of them outside of work he would have nothing in common with them.

They were simply friends by proximity, which admittedly was better than having no friends at all. But he couldn’t talk to them about everything, afraid to scare them away with talk of his mothers illness or his fathers abandonment.

And sometimes he just needed to talk to someone.

It was Garcia’s idea that he sign up for a pen pal. When she found out about his mom during the course of the fisher king case, he’d confessed that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to the team about such things.

At first she’d actually suggested talking to someone online, she had many online friends who she talked to in various chat rooms. But after almost an hour of trying to explain that to the technophobe doctor and getting little more than a deep frown in response, she changed tact.

A pen pal appealed to Spencer greatly. He already wrote daily letters to his mom and found it somewhat cathartic, getting his thoughts down on the page, but he never bothered her with the darker stuff.

The idea of a faceless person he’d never meet reading his deepest, darkest thoughts was actually intriguing to him. And so with the help of Penelope he found himself a pen pal.

In his first letter he’d just introduced the basics, his name and age, what he did for a living and that he lived in DC.

He went on to explain how hard he found it to make friends and the difficulties of talking to his already established friends about the darker parts of his life. He ended the letter with a quote from To Kill a Mockingbird.

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” - Harper Lee.

He received a reply little over a week later.

Your name was Y/N and you were twenty two, three years younger than him and a grad student at Columbia University. You told him you would be happy to read whatever he sent you, that you were more than willing for him to write to you about the things he didn’t tell his friends.

You signed off with a quote of your own quote from the book Infinite Jest.

“You will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realise how seldom they do.” - David Foster Wallace.

And so he did just as you said and he wrote another letter.

His second letter to you was five pages long. He went into great detail about his mothers illness, how he’d been left to deal with it alone at ten years old. He wrote about how he’d made the decision at eighteen years old to have her committed to a sanitarium.

He told you about growing up as a child prodigy in Las Vegas and how hard that was. You were the first person he ever told about Alexa Lisbon and being tied naked to a flagpole.

He spoke about the events surrounding Elle leaving the team and how it didn’t feel complete without her.

He ended the letter by apologising profusely that he’d wasted your time with his long winded rambles and said he hoped to hear from you soon and scrawled a quote from The Great Gatsby.

“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald.

He said he would understand if you didn’t reply. But you did.

The letter took two weeks to arrive and you explained that it was because you wanted to really process his words and give each and every one of them the time they deserved. He read the last few lines of your letter over and over again in a loop even though they were etched into his memory after only one glance.

I wish there was something I could say, to erase each and every page you've been through,

even though it's not my place to save you.

“When I get lonely these days, I think: so be lonely. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person’s body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.” - Elizabeth Gilbert - Eat, Pray, Love.

He wasn’t familiar with the book and so he’d gone out and brought it and read it cover to cover within an hour.

Reading your letter made Spencer feel understood for the first time in his young life. You didn’t pass judgement on him. Spencer found that between the pages of your letters he found a kindred spirit.

The letters continued back and forth for several months until one day you didn’t receive a reply. His last letter had been penned to you on route to a case in Atlanta, which you’d responded to the day you received it. But there was radio silence from Spencer.

You shouldn’t have been as worried as you were, but you couldn’t help yourself. His letters had become such a huge part of your world, often rereading them hundreds of times just to make sure you didn’t miss any little nuance on the page.

His handwriting was ingrained within you, his scrawly, sometimes barely legible penmanship danced behind your eyelids every time you closed your eyes. His letters had rapidly become the best part of any day. And for over a year you didn’t receive a reply.

After a while you’d stopped holding out hope every time you collected your mail. Eventually you gave up ever expecting to hear from him again. Maybe he didn’t need you anymore. Perhaps he’d made a real life friend, maybe even a girlfriend and you’d been rendered ineffective.

But then little over a year after you sent your last letter, you found an envelope in your mail slot with the familiar handwriting you adored so much and the DC postmark.

Y/N,

I don’t really have any excuses, all I can say is I’m sorry. I have written you fifty three letters over the course of the last year but never mailed a single one. They are piled up on my desk, addressed and even stamped, but I couldn’t bring myself to mail them.

I’ve been struggling, I can’t lie to you. I can’t even lie to you through a letter and tell you I’ve been fine because I haven’t. I think you would see through my prose, know that I wasn’t being truthful. And you’ve never given me a reason to be anything but honest with you.

The case in Atlanta was one of the hardest I’ve ever worked. I’m not going to beat around the bush, I’m just going to tell what happened and hopefully this letter will end up with you and not in the pile on my desk.

I was kidnapped by the man we were hunting down. I spent two days tied to a chair being beaten within an inch of my life but a man with multiple personalities. In fact, that’s not strictly true. I wasn’t beaten within an inch of my life; one of the personas killed me.

I’m not entirely sure how long I was technically dead before he revived me but obviously not long enough to cause permanent neurological damage. Irreversible brain damage occurs after four minutes without oxygen so it stands to reason it was less than four minutes.

But during that time, my life flashed before my eyes, including every single word of every single one of your letters.

One of the alter’s drugged me in his own way of trying to save me. Drugging me was supposed to help with the pain, both mental and physical. I fought it at first, desperate for him not to stick that needle in my vein. But after that first hit, I stopped resisting.

I think you can probably already see where this is going. You’re incredibly smart and you seem to know me so well. After I shot Tobias Hankel dead I took three vials of dilaudid from his corpse.

I should have prefaced this by saying I am now ten months sober, and offered up the good news first. But there were several months that I continued using the drug in secret, hoping it would aid in erasing the memories of it all.

It took a case in New Orleans in which I met up with an old friend Ethan and ended up almost destroying my career for me to decide to get sober. I’ve had a lot of difficulties in my life, as you know, but getting clean is the hardest thing I have ever done.

And now for the first time in months I’m craving again. Maybe that’s why I’m writing to you, determined to send this letter this time. I need to know that everything is going to be ok and you are the only one that I will believe it from.

My team tries. Now it's all out in the open, they try to help. But you don’t even need to try. Your help is so effortless, so easy and I’m in real need of that right now.

His letter went on in this vein for another six pages. He also included several pages of handwritten poetry which he had copied out of a book to send you. With each word you consumed you felt your heart breaking for him a piece at a time.

And he signed off with a surprising choice of quote from The Lorax.

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” - Dr Seuss.

You spent the next month or so trying to cultivate the perfect reply, but for the first time in your life, words failed you.

It was three days after Spencer received his one year sober chip that your letter arrived.

I got your letter and the poetry you sent me, postmarked in December of last year. I really hope you’re doing better, all your friends close by your side, one step closer to recovery.

I hope by the time you receive this you are close to one year sober, but if you didn’t make it you need to know that’s ok too. Life is full of ups and downs Spencer. If you didn’t make it this time you will the next time. Or the one after that.

If you relapsed I need you to not beat yourself up over it. You will be ok, Spencer Reid, for that I am certain.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.

***

When he got shot in the knee, he wrote to you from the hospital. He told you how hard it was for him to turn down pain medication when he was in so much agony. But he was over two years sober now and he wouldn’t do anything to risk a relapse.

Your reply spoke of how proud of him you were and how you knew it couldn’t have been easy for him but you hoped the fact you were proud went some way to aid him.

He told you it meant more to him than you would ever know.

Then he started having headaches and the letters became sporadic. When he did write he told you how painful it was for him to try to focus on the words in front of him.

I’ve seen so many doctors and no one can tell me what’s wrong with me. It’s like they think I’m making it up, like this pain isn’t real.

On my good days it’s a dull throb but on the bad days it’s nearly paralysing. I’m so scared that this is a precursor for schizophrenia. I'm still young enough for my first break, and it is a genetic illness.

I love my mom but I can’t turn out like her, Y/N, I just can’t. I'm so, so scared.

But your letters are the greatest comfort to me. I don’t think there are words to describe how much they mean - I will try to surmise it with a quote from Charlotte's Web -

"'Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.'" - E.B White.

You could feel his fear through the pages. His handwriting was somehow even harder to read than usual and sentences often tapered off with no ending. There were whole passages scribbled out so violently his pen had ripped the paper in places. There were crude drawings of brains and dark rain clouds in the margins.

Spencer,

I am so sorry you are going through this and that no one can give you the answers you seek. But this isn’t the end for you, even if it is schizophrenia, you can still live a full and normal life.

If you'll just hold on for one more second, if you just hold on to what you have, you will wake up tomorrow. Behind every rain cloud lies the sun. As Victor Hugo said in Les Miserables -

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.”

In his next few letters he seemed to be getting better, his headaches slowly dissipating until they only hassled him every once in a while. Things seemed to be looking up for him.

But then one of his best friends died.

His detailed letter told you all about Ian Doyle and Emily’s history with him and went on to conclude how she died on the operating table.

I’ve been through a lot of trauma in my life, lost a lot of people close to me but never like this. I’ve never had to bury someone I love and honestly I don’t know how to move past this.

My initial reaction has been dilaudid. It's the only thing I can think of to take the pain away.

Tell me not to do it, Y/N, please. Please tell me that this grief will get better and that using drugs again is not the answer. Please help me stay clean.

"When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time — the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers.” John Irving - A Prayer for Owen Meany

It took you longer than it should have done to formulate a reply. You felt pressured, like his sobriety hung in your hands. You hated that his friend had died but you didn’t think it was fair of him to put this on you. And you told him such.

Spencer,

I am sorry to hear about Emily, I know how close the two of you were. I’m no expert on grief, I can’t tell you how to deal with this.

You know full well that using dilaudid again is a bad idea, you really don’t need me to tell you that. Honestly, I’m a little frustrated at you for putting this on my shoulders.

I am always here to help Spencer, in any way I can but sometimes I think you expect too much from me. We’ve been trading letters back and forth for the better part of five years and I don’t think you’ve ever really asked me about myself aside from those first initial letters.

And it’s fine, you needed this friendship more than I did. But over time this has started to feel so one sided and I don’t always look forward to your letters as much as I once did.

I realise this is not the best time for me to be saying these things but I can’t hold back any longer. I’m glad I can be someone you can turn to but I have my own life, my own issues and I have no one to talk to about them.

You put too much pressure on me Spencer and it’s a lot to take. I’ve tried to help shoulder your misery all these years but it’s starting to bring me down. All I can say is you need to wake up, you've gotta believe; you can't give up. Time keeps going on without us, long after we're dead and gone.

And you finished it with a simple quote from After You by Jojo Moyes.

“No journey out of grief was straightforward. There would be good days and bad days.”

It was no surprise to you that you didn’t receive a reply.

***

Y/N,

It’s been two years and I’m sorry for that. Two years, one month and eleven days. The truth is your last letter was hard for me to read as you can probably understand.

The hardest part of reading it was the fact that I knew you were right. I’ve been selfish all these years. I’ve treated you like a sounding board for my problems and never once asked how you were.

It's taken me time to write this because I wanted to get to a better place before I responded. I was angry at first, I felt like I was being abandoned again and my anger would not have been conducive.

Then I was hurt, hurt that the one person I thought would always be there for me had turned their back on me. I displaced my grief over Emily’s death onto you and anything I would have written in that time would have only been the rage fuelled epitaph of a grieving man.

And then once I dealt with those emotions, life simply got away from me. Emily was alive and well, her death was faked to get Doyle off of her back. Again I was angry about being lied to by my friends but eventually I was just happy she was alive.

Then I turned thirty and had a crisis of faith I suppose. I guess with my intellect I always assumed I would be doing something more with my life and turning thirty kind of threw me through a loop.

We had some changes to the team, new agents coming and going. All in all things have been somewhat hectic.

But that’s not why I’m writing.

I am writing because I really do want to know everything about you. I want you to be able to open up to me the way I always have to you. I want to be your shoulder, your repreve. I really hope I haven’t completely blown our friendship and I hope to be the kind of person who you can talk to.

These arms remain stretched out to you and maybe someday you'll accept them. Maybe it's too late to save a young girl's heart that's long stopped beating. But I hope that it isn’t.

“You have been in every way all that anyone could be…if anybody could have saved me it would have been you.” Jennifer Niven - All the Bright Places.

You wanted to tell him it was too little too late, that after two years of silence you weren’t interested anymore.

You wanted to simply not reply, ignore him entirely like he’d done to you.

But you couldn’t. And so you replied.

It was your longest letter to date, depicting in great detail how he’d made you feel over the years and all the hardships you’d faced without having someone to vent to.

But getting to write it all down had been purifying, and by the time you were finished you weren’t mad anymore.

I am willing to give this another shot, but things have to be different. If we’re to continue this friendship then it has to be a two way street.

But I can’t pretend that I haven’t missed your letters because I have. I see pieces of you between the words, parts of yourself I’m not sure you realise you leave on the page.

I’ve painted a picture of you in my mind's eye and even after two years with no letters, I’ve carried that picture with me wherever I go.

I feel like I somehow know you better than I know myself and I hope going forward you can start to know me the same way. Charlotte Bronte once said -

“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.” - Jane Eyre.

***

Spencer didn’t know how it happened, he only knew that it had happened. Over the course of all the years writing to you it was almost a surprise it hadn’t happened sooner. Or maybe it had and he just didn’t realise until now.

Spencer Reid had fallen in love with the woman who wrote her prose to him.

It had been ten years of letters, every single one of which he kept in their envelopes in date order in the bottom drawer of his desk at home.

Those letters were his lifelines on bad days, the one thing that kept him tethered. He didn’t even know what you looked like, even what you sounded like but he loved you. He loved you with every fibre of his being.

And he couldn’t stop himself from telling you exactly what you meant to him. Even if it inevitably destroyed what the two of you had, he couldn’t stop the words from flying across the page.

So that’s pretty much everything that’s happened these past few weeks. Mom’s doing ok but obviously it's a huge adjustment for her and I’m not entirely sure how long I can keep her living with me but for now it works.

How did the interview go? I have absolutely no doubts that you blew them all away with your presentation, you’re a hard person not to fall in love with.

Your presence in my life has brightened my every waking minute. You once told me that behind every rain cloud lies the sun; you are the sun behind my clouds. Your letters bring me back to life, your handwriting penned onto my soul.

Is it foolish of me to be in love with someone I have never laid eyes on? William Makepeace Thackery said in Vanity Fair -

“It is better to have loved wisely, no doubt: but to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all.”

I suppose that’s as good of an answer as any.

***

Five days after he penned his love confession, he was arrested in Mexico. Once all the drugs had left his system, only after he was extradited and arraigned and placed at Milburn was he able to dwell on the fact he never received your reply.

And being trapped in a cell gave him way too much time to think about that.

It was possible you had replied, maybe even just to tell him he was crazy to even think he could be in love with someone he had never met. But he was sure you wouldn’t have even bothered to respond, thinking him a lunatic you needed to cut ties with.

After a month in prison on one of JJ’s visits she brought a letter with her which she had found in his apartment. She recognised the handwriting on the envelope from several she’d seen him reading over the years.

She wasn’t allowed to give him the letter but she offered to read it to him. At first he’d declined because he had no idea what to expect from your reply but after several long minutes he’d decided to let JJ read it to him.

Spencer,

I am pleased to hear your mom is doing well but I do think you know that this solution won’t work in the long run. You say you live in a one bedroom apartment? You and I both know that you can’t sustain having your mother live there permanently. But I know you and I know you will figure out what’s best for you both.

The interview was amazing and they offered me the job on the spot. If it wasn’t for all your help with the presentation there is no way I would have gotten it, so thank you so much for that.

As for the other thing…

For some time now I have been wondering about feelings I didn’t understand. You’ve been such a large part of my life for so long and even though we’ve never met I feel like we have, if that makes sense? I feel like in my heart I know you. My heart knows your heart.

Falling for you was as inevitable as the sun rising each morning. Perhaps it is foolish but I believe Thackeray knew what he was talking about. And I also believe Emily Bronte was talking about me and you when she said, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

Spencer had interrupted JJ then, when she was smiling from ear to ear as she read your words out loud.

“That’s enough.” He cut her off, burying his head in his hands.

“Wow, Spence, I had no idea you’d met someone.”

“I haven’t met anyone. She is simply a woman at the other end of a series of letters.”

“How long?” JJ placed the pages down in front of her.

Spencer looked up at her, a small blush on his cheeks. He didn't want to be talking about this, least of all on the other side of a plexiglass screen with his other inmates nearby but he responded all the same.

“Ten years.” He shrugged.

“Ten years?” JJ sounded incredulous. “Ten years of letters and you’ve never met? Why?”

“I, uh, it never really came up.” It wasn’t a lie, you’d never once discussed meeting in all those years.

“Is it like a distance thing? Does she live far away?”

“No,” He sighed with a shake of his head. “She’s in New York.”

“New York!” She huffed. “New York is a five hour train journey, Spence!”

“Jennifer, now is really not the time for this.” He lowered his voice as JJ’s had garnered eyes in their direction. “There is really no point in discussing this as we have no idea when or even if I’m going to get out of here.”

“Don’t say that.” She shook her head.

“It’s true.” He shrugged sadly. “I really can’t think about all this right now, ok? Just take the letter back to my apartment and pretend you didn’t see it. Please?”

If it weren’t for the desperation in his eyes she might have argued it. But she didn’t want to waste what little time she got to spend with Spencer fighting.

“Ok.” She relented with a small roll of her eyes.

“Thank you, JJ.” He offered a tight lipped smile. “How are the boys?”

JJ filled him in but she wasn’t really focused anymore. In her head, she was already penning a letter of her own…

Y/N,

My name is Jennifer Jareau, JJ, and I work with Spencer at the BAU. I’m not sure if he’s mentioned me to you or not. He hasn’t really told me too much about you if I’m honest. But I have learned that he has strong feelings for you and you for him. I’m wondering if I can make a suggestion…

***

When you received the strange letter from Spencer’s friend JJ in response to yours, you’d been initially extremely confused as to why he was letting his teammates read your secret correspondence.

But when she’d gone on to tell you that Spencer had been arrested along with all the details surrounding his incarceration and how she’d read your letter to him during their visitation, you started to understand.

But then a few days later, before you had a chance to reply to her, you received another letter from Spencer with a postmark from Milburn Correctional Facility.

Y/N,

Maybe Thackeray and Bronte were right or maybe they were wrong, I can’t say for sure. What I can say with certainty is that I can’t carry on like this a moment longer.

Something has happened to me, it won’t be hard for you to figure out what as soon as you see the postmark. I am not willing to get into it or explain how I ended up here. But I have no idea how long I am going to be inside and I don’t want the rest of our communication to be sent through a string of guards who will pick apart each tormented sentence.

I ask you not to write me back. This has to be the end of the road my dear. This letter has to be our last. I don’t know how much longer I will continue to be able to live like this. Each day my hope dies a little more and I’m sure I won’t make it out of here alive.

I am writing simply to say thank you. Thank you for all your years of listening, for all your patience and kind words and your hopeful prose. In my darkest hours you have shown me the light, dragged me out of the shadows of my own creation.

I love you for all that you are and all that you have done but even you can’t save me this time. This really might be the end for me and I don’t want you to blame yourself. You are the only reason I made it this far in this treacherous game we call life.

Take care of yourself, continue to live your absolute best life. And in time I pray that you forget me and are able to love someone far more tangible.

All that is left to say can be summed up by a quote from The Miniaturist -

“You are the sunlight through a window, which I stand in, warmed. My darling.” Jessie Burton.

You replied firstly to Spencer, his heartbreaking words more pressing than JJ’s letter. You kept it short and to the point, knowing that various other prison guards would read it before it even made it to his hands.

I appreciate but can't accept this thank you note that's sealed with your last breath and I won't stand aside and listen to you give up.

You are stronger than that Spencer Reid and if I know anything about your team from all the years of hearing you speak of them it’s that they are the best at what they do and they will prove your innocence.

Just remember what Ernest Hemmingway said in A Farewell to Arms -

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are stronger at the broken places.”

You will be stronger at those broken places, Spencer, I have no doubt about it.

And besides, if you don’t make it out of there, how do you propose to ever meet me?

Whilst on a role, you grabbed a clean sheet of paper and started scrawling again.

Jennifer,

Thank you for your letter. I have spent some time musing on your suggestion and I think you might be right.

I think it's time for me to take a trip to DC…

***

Spencer never opened your last letter because he had no intention of replying to it. If he didn’t read it, he could pretend you had never sent it and he wouldn’t be tempted to write a response.

Instead he stuffed it between the pages of his book and tried not to think about it.

After two and half months his team proved his innocence and he was released but he was thrown into the deep end of trying to find his mother.

And even once he found her unscathed, he was rapidly thrust right into Scratch’s web after he kidnapped Emily.

Taking the elevator back up to the BAU alongside JJ after they’d escorted Emily to the hospital it already felt like a lifetime had passed since he left prison. And all he wanted to do was chronicle all of it to you.

Maybe once the dust settled, once he’d wrapped his head around everything that happened he would open your letter and send you a reply.

But for the first time in ten years, Spencer didn’t want to drag you into his mess.

JJ was strangely quiet as the elevator made its ascent. He didn’t even want to be here, he’d planned on going straight home after leaving the hospital. He hadn’t slept in his own bed for two and a half months and he couldn’t wait to collapse into it.

But JJ had insisted that instead of him getting the metro home, if he popped back to the BAU with her to collect some paperwork, she would drive him home.

And honestly he was just too exhausted to decline.

JJ’s eyes were hyper focused on the digital floor numbers as they got higher. A few seconds after it displayed number five, one floor below the BAU, she turned and looked at him.

“Don’t hate me for this.” She blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Spencer frowned, too tired to try to understand what she meant.

“I couldn’t just let it go.” She shrugged, a guilty smile on her lips.

“Let what go?” His frown deepened.

Her eyes flicked back upwards as the number five rolled into the number six and the elevator started to judder as it prepared to stop.

“Just remember I love you and that’s the only reason I interfered.” She shrugged as the elevator stopped entirely and soon the doors were peeling open.

Spencer looked away from her and out of the open doors to where someone was standing just a few feet back.

Spencer’s eyes landed on the stranger only it wasn’t a stranger. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew exactly who this person was standing on the BAU floor.

He remembered the way JJ had read him your letter and how you’d told him your heart knows his heart.

Well his heart knew yours too. And he knew the heart beating a few feet away from him was yours.

“Y/N?” He croaked, slowly stepping out of the elevator but not too close to you.

“Spencer?” You smiled at him, the kind that reached all the way to your eyes.

Neither of you noticed JJ slipping quietly away, wanting to give you some privacy.

“What are you doing here?” His brows were furrowed and he was rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’re friend JJ wrote to me. She told me everything that happened to you. And she made me realise that ten years is too long to wait for a first meeting.” Your voice was like honey to Spencer’s ears.

Your prose was beautiful, but hearing the words from your lips as you stood in front of him in all your ethereal glory was more than any letter could convey.

“I…I am actually speechless.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

“You? Speechless?” You giggled and Spencer felt the sound all the way to his heart.

“You’ll come to learn I am much more of a wordsmith on paper. In person I am incredibly awkward and often trip over my words. I ramble when I’m nervous or clam up entirely, no in between. I spout facts and statistics rather than have a meaningful conversation. I am much more comfortable writing my words down on paper than speaking them out loud.” He let the words spill out of his mouth, proving his point entirely.

“I’ve waited ten years to hear your voice. Please never stop talking.” You smiled so brightly at him he felt like he was floating.

You were here in front of him, not just hidden between pages of letters. You were real, tangible; within his reach.

And suddenly the last thing Spencer wanted to do was talk.

He took a few tentative steps towards you and cautiously raised a hand to your cheek. You sighed in content when he cupped your face and nuzzled against his palm.

“I could talk to you about anything and everything all day long, my love.” He smiled, inching his face closer to yours. “But at this moment in time I have one slightly more pressing desire to do with my mouth rather than speak.”

“Oh yeah?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

The warmth of your body and your smile encompassed him. As he looked into your eyes, finally looked into your eyes, every bad thing that had ever happened to him slipped away.

“Love starts as a feeling, but to continue is a choice. And I find myself choosing you, more and more every day.” He quoted Justin Wetch’s Bending the Universe.

“Spence?”

“Yes Y/N?”

“As sweet as that is, I thought there were more pressing desires to use your mouth for?”

“If you insist.” He smiled and quickly closed the small space between you.

When his lips finally met yours it felt like all the pieces of the universe were falling into place.

For ten long years you’d communicated in the pages of letters, constructing replies to what felt like one sided conversations that were confined to only live on paper.

As the kiss deepened every single one of those words seemed to float in the air around you, spiralling like a tornado made of a decade worth of missives.

He swore he could hear each and every word whispered to him in the voice he’d longed to hear all these years as he kissed you like you were the most important being on the face of the earth.

And when he pulled back and mumbled I love you against your lips, it was the easiest reply you’d ever given.

#milestone celebration #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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wolven91 · 7 months ago

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Thick as Thieves

"Have you seen this human?" Asked the canid officer to the whole crowd, the dyed red ear confirming that the canid was in it for the long haul.

A fanatic to the GC.

The small data slate the canid held in his hand that he held in the air for all to see was projecting a small picture a few inches above it. It showed a human in full detail, slowly rotating. The entire bar had gone quiet the moment the Galactic Community officer and his retinue had appeared in the doorway. All eyes on them until they had declared their business.

The canid was a zealot, which meant his team would be to. Zealots and norms don't mix. One finds the other either too much, or not enough. The ursidain all but blocked the door meaning even if a fight broke out, there would be no reinforcements from beyond the single room unless the GC team wanted them.

As it turned out, the GC team's business was bounty hunting.

"We have a substantial reward for the whereabouts, or credible information that leads to the whereabouts of the human known as 'Bruno' or any human that has interacted with him."

The hyenid on the opposite side of the bar merely took another long draught of their golden amber as the creature spoke, blinking slowly and unimpressed. It wasn't their problem, and they had no love for the GC nor the canid currently appealing to the patrons' wallets.

"He is wanted for questioning for the destruction of an entire species' development, along with assisting an armed assault and capture of a GC S-a-R vessel. The people on board were not soldiers, they were doctors. Rescue workers." The canid continued, slowly stalking deeper into the dive, seemingly not satisfied that the occupants had seen the hologram, nor heard the story.

In truth, the hyenid hadn't. They'd heard of the infamous 'Bruno', of course, but the version of the story they'd heard was not from a GC mouthpiece and was substantially different. The fiks didn't tell the story often, to the point where most almost outright claimed that 'Bruno', their prophet, didn't even exist.

"He's also wanted for a slew of other crimes including sexual interactions with a non-sentient creature. Conspiracy to distribute peanut bu-"

"Saah! Lies!" Cried a fik from a dark corner, the large creature jumping up onto its table and resting a clawed foot against the back rest of the neighbouring booth. In its hands were a chipped, but still dangerous looking sword and a curved axe, a wicked spike cut into the blade at the bottom. The sword would engage a target before the axe would be swung in a long arc until the spike was behind the target. The fik would then yank their arm back, puncturing any standard issue armour with the sharpened point.

The hyenid grinned as a point in their side twinged in memory. Fiks. Cheeky fuckers the lot of them. They took another slurp of their drink.

"Do you have something to say? Fik?" Demanded the officer, whilst the fik's tail was grabbed and pulled by its brethren who were sat at the same table.

"Saaah... Bruno has not... had interactions with animals!"

"His own admission on his rescue confirmed that he bedded several fiks before they were uplifted." The officer's snout curled back as he narrowed his eyes. "Your kind still aren't part of the GC. You're basically animals still..." Baited the officer.

"No one 'er's seen ya' stupid 'ooman. Fuck off." Called the hyenid over the rim of her drink before the fik could say or do something they'd regret. The canid's head turned their way and he lost interest in the fik now that they were less likely to give him reason to take action.

"The experiment speaks."

"Say's the paw licker."

The officer snarled again and marched up to the corner of the bar, just on the other side of the hyenid. He was mere inches away from where they sat on a stool. Wisely, he kept the bar between himself and them. For all he knew, they had a holdout weapon. Something short and stubby. Something loud. Something that could break a wrist if fired one hand, but preferable to nothing in a fight.

The canid dropped his voice into a low, gravelly rumble.

"No surprise your kind are now slumming it with these things, you fucking experiment." The canid sneered. The hyenid merely sighed into the now mostly empty stein. They hated dregs and wanted another, but the barman had disappeared and would likely remain gone until the threat of a fight was over.

"Tha's fuckin' rich." They belched loudly, directly into the face of the officer before tightening their lips and ensuring every speck of dead space was breathed out into the officer face. "Comin' from ya'. GC ain't welcom' 'er. The only thin' ya' gonna' get 'er is mocked."

The canid held her gaze, his eyes burning with barely contained rage. But he was GC. He had rules. His precious devotion to them had him follow those rules until otherwise. As a sanctioned bounty hunter, he had more freedom than most; but not enough to warranty attacking a bar full of people who hadn't actually touched him.

Crescent Station would throw the GC off of it if they got wind of a GC officer abusing his rights.

It was why the place was so popular with the folk who lived on the very edges of the GC's over extended reach.

The canid licked his chops and huffed before turning away and stalking back out, but not before he threw one last jab over his shoulder.

"Put clothes on you animal."

The hyenid glanced down at their naked torso and pulled a face, more confused than anything else. If they were a uniformed GC agent, fine, clothes come with the job, but they weren't?

Once the officer had disappeared, the hyenid waited before leaning back, away from the bar and addressed the space between their knees.

"Ya' okay?" They asked.

"Yeah thanks! That was intense!" Said the human that was the spitting image of the wanted hologram. Except he'd gained a tattoo on his neck and a ring pericing on his eyebrow.

"Nah, tha' wan' intense. Tha' were a prick." The hyenid sniffed as the fik clan broke from.the corner and went to see where the officer had gone.

"Do you want your top back?" Asked Bruno.

"Nah, he'll smell ya' before ya' get back to ya' ship. Keep it on n' keep ya' 'ead down." The hyenid explained, shuffling backward so the tiny human could get out.

"Was that the only reason he didn't find me?"

"Yeah, look, ya' mates are callin' ya'. See ya' later."

The human gave a soft smile and a short wave before running the length of the bar and being swept into the long coat of one of the fiks, disappearing from view.

The hyenids had found staunch allies with the fiks, and with the GC breathing down both of their collective necks, anything a hyenid could do to piss them off was a pleasure to do.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #hyenid #hyena #fik #rat

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thegoogoomuckkk · 2 months ago

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love love love the way u write especially Shoko!!!!

good samartian -> shoko is a good person. . .maybe not nice or the life of the party, but she’s a doctor, a good samaritan; so when she meets you who needs her help with something sensitive, she just has to say yes, whether you're asking for help or not

shoko was a big drinker, of course. but the thought of going out to a bar gave her a headache. especially when her drinking buddy options were gojo or. . .herself. neither were too appealing to her. but she’s making an effort to be nicer to gojo, call it a new year’s resolution or simply a life bettering notion. either way, she takes him up on his tenth offer of “please, please, please come out with me, shoko! i’ll pay your tab, & for your ride home, promise!” the bar is stuffy, the music is too loud, the led lights are hurting her head, & she’s not quite drunk enough for this to be worth it. gojo has already found some girl to take him & handed her a hundred dollar bill from his fat wallet.

but when she spots her, her night starts looking up. she’s a little tipsier than shoko, but not blackout drunk by any means, & she’s just precious with her frilly pink dress & bows in her hair. it’s practically criminal for a grown woman to look so. . .innocent. she offers to buy her a drink & she just smiles & nods enthusiastically.

“i don’t usually go out to bars much,” she smiles, “but i’m glad i did.” shoko thinks she might be flirting, but the girl seems so genuine that she really can’t tell. regardless, shoko’s glad she came out too. it’s after a few more drinks that shoko gets to enjoy the spectacle. she’s never met a girl who was so terrible at holding her alcohol. thankfully, she doesn’t puke, but when she attempts to stand to go home, she’s falling all over herself, tripping on her shiny heels, hiccuping about how she’s “gots ‘ta call a cab,” & it’s all slurred & drooly, & shoko finds it ridiculously endearing.

so of course she’ll take her home, it’s the right thing to do. she couldn’t possibly send her into a taxi all by herself, let her find her way home alone. she’s hardly sobered up at all by the time the cab pulls into shoko’s driveway, & a knowing glint shimmers in shoko’s eyes as she helps her across the threshold of the door. she’s falling all over shoko, tripping over the bed, when she lets the fun fact of the night slip from her lips: “‘m a virgin,” she giggles. “go out ‘ta try ‘n find a guy, b-but just never do.” & shoko is so sympathetic, so sorry for her. a pretty girl like her deserves better than some asshole who probably won’t even make her cum.

so she’ll make her feel good, she decides, fix this little problem for her because it’s what a good person would do, right?

it’s easy, rolling her over on her stomach, delicately unzipping her dress & sliding it off & onto the floor. shoko is graceful in sliding her panties off & unclipping her bra, & she’s so gentle with her, so sweet because that’s just who she is.

pinching her nipples, pulling her hair a little, making her arch all pretty-like before she makes her feel good because shoko deserves a little pleasure from teasing her, right? i mean, she is doing her a favor after all. some sick freak could come across her & take her virginity, but shoko’s not gonna allow that, no. she’ll take care of her.

she’s a little questioning when shoko, pushes her head a little further into the pillows, bringing her knees up, but she shushes right up when shoko lays her tongue flat against her pretty pink pussy, fucking it in & out of her, kneeding the flesh of her ass, fingertips circling over her clit, & shoko chuckles, a little mean, when she whines, trying to say something but she just can’t form the words.

“feeling good? s’good, wantcha to feel good, i’ll show you, sweetheart,” she sneers down at her, working her fingers into her virgin cunt, meeting a little resistance, but she’s just so wet for her & pliant & needy, practically begging for it as her moans are muffled by the sheets, & who is shoko to deny her what she wants? fingers pumping in & out of her cunt, sloppy kisses all over the backs of her thighs & ass. hitting that spot inside her that has her cumming all over her shoko’s hand, mewling about how foreign it is, how good it feels, & shoko’s glad to help, happy to make a sweet girl feel good because she’s just nice like that.

fucking her with her dildo after she’s stretched her out because all the best girls deserve to get fucked, pushing it all soft & gentle into her weeping cunt, shushing her as she bleats out that it “k-kinda hurts, sho,” ‘cause she doesn’t need to worry about that, shoko will make her feel good. letting her cum all over shoko’s cock & she’s too fucked out to know the difference between a real dick & a silicone strap-on & she doesn’t care ‘cause it’s “so good, so good, f-feels so good, sho.” yeah, let it all out, shoko thinks, because shoko’s a good person & she just likes to make pretty girls feel good.

sliding up her panties right after she cums & putting her dress back on, leaving her like that to wake up wondering why her panties are full of cum & she’s sleeping in a stranger’s bed feeling a little drunk still. shoko is a lot of things: rude, a little snotty, a gojo hater ‘til the day she dies, & sometimes just downright mean, but with her, she’s kind, she’s sweet, she cares.

I love YOU, anon <3 did you like it? -> here's my masterlist -> want something more? ask me for it

#jjk #jjk smut #jjk drabble #jjk fic #shoko ieiri #shoko ieiri smut #shoko ieiri drabble #shoko smut #shoko drabble #shoko fic #shoko jjk

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wpdarlingpan · 1 year ago

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Barbie x Female Reader

❌Some Spoilers Ahead❌

Hey guys! I just watched the Barbie movie and absolutely loved it. So I had to write a short fanfic on it but if you guys like it enough I may expand on it. I wanted to write this because it seems poetic that the idea of Barbie and Ken would break apart and she can see that she isn’t confined to him or the gender after it being what was expected.

Warnings: Self-Depreciation

Every day in Barbieland was absolutely perfect. Not a hair was out of place, the sun was shining, the sky was bright plastic blue and not a Barbie was frowning.

Except one.

Stereotypical Barbie was about to leave to head into the real world, find the kid who was making her a ‘weird’ barbie, and make them see the empowerment in Barbie once more. Her Barbie friends gathered around her, saying their good lucks and goodbyes, each sounding more and more similar to the last.

Y/N Barbie isnt gathered around her as she frowned at the idea of not wishing her goodbye. As much as she wished to, her brother was tightly holding her back, albeit unaware, as he bragged to another Ken about Barbie ‘inviting�� him to go with. That’s right. Her brother is Ken, as in Barbie and Ken. The supposed to be power-couple. But the truth is, it’s one sided.

Y/N didn’t notice the longing gaze sent her way from the beautiful blonde. Ken did, and of course he though it was for him resulting in a awkward kissy face being sent her way.

She had been too busy thinking about the outside world. It was so unknown. After all she wasn’t nicknamed curious barbie for no reason even if it’s not her official name.

It was odd being a Barbie without a sense of purpose. Y/N was just simply herself. She didn’t have a specified job, she just jumped around and worked with anyone who wanted a little help in their field. Oddly enough she was good at anything after a little practice.

Finally leaving the circle of thoughts as her brothers grip left her arm and her daydream was back to just that, a dream.

But the frown finally lifted at the sight of Barbie. Y/N quickly rushed down to her as Barbie was close to getting into the car.

Barbie heard the commotion of running footsteps and a slight squeak as the person in question was running too fast and literally ran into Barbie as the women in question didn’t even stumble as she felt herself be pulled into a tight hug. After noticing who it eas not a second went by before her arms wrapped tightly against Y/N’s figure.

No Barbie or Ken questioned their warm embrace. Barbie preferred it that way. She knew how Y/N let her brother get the best of her. If he questioned her too much about it, she surely would get awkward and avoid being open like this. That’s just how Y/N was… and she loved her for it.

Y/N has no idea of Barbies feelings for her, after all she’s stereotypical Barbie. She could never even imagine someone like her even considering the thought. Y/N was just another Barbie in the mix. She wasn’t even President Barbie or Doctor Barbie. Like she thought; Y/N was just her.

But that’s what made her so appealing.

Barbie knew long before she started to get flat feet that she had a crush on the girl. But ever since that happened, the only positive thing that could come out of the situation was that her feelings were intensified. They grew more mature and realistic, just like her.

Their hug ended with a soft gaze before they separated completely and Barbie got into her car. Y/N watched as she began to slowly drove away. When suddenly she slammed on the breaks making everyone gasp. She turned around and in one sentence she spoke

“Y/N… will you come with me?”

Again everyone thought nothing of it. Everyone other than Y/N and Barbie, they just smiled before saying their quick goodbyes as the former of which smiled brightly and nodded before gracefully running up to the car and hopping in.

Y/N still didn’t see the loving gaze as Barbie turned her head and continued driving away.

After all it is Barbie and Ken, not Barbie and Y/N

But with all the changes going on around them, why can’t they make one more?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Authors Note (you don’t have to read, just about the general feelings)

There is so much I can say about this movie but it’s hard to even put it into words. I give it a major 10/10, even above that if it counted. Watching the movie just gave me a different sense of self. It made me feel like I wasn’t alone. With the Barbie world and our world basically being switched where women are in high standing positions and are respected. Meanwhile our world constantly puts women down and are offered less opportunities. I don’t want to get too deep but this movie was a wake up call for so many people to see the differences in treatment and the expectations of a woman. This is just a tidbit of the deep message within the story of a Mattel doll. Something so small that represents so much more then themselves.

#barbie #margot robbie #Ken #greta gerwig #barbie 2023 #barbie x reader #fxf #ryan gosling #Spotify

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tearsucry · 1 year ago

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— °˖ ⊹ ꒰ 🌿 ꒱ tearing up old wounds ; addison montgomery (grey’s anatomy)

#. ( season 3 episode 14 ) you woke up after inhaling the neuro toxic from the colon cancer patient’s surgery, and addison was stupid enough to run in after the patient’s anesthesia was wearing off, ripping up bandages from old wounds

content warning; suggestive content, afab reader, implied homewrecker! reader, age-gap (reader is in the same intern year as meredith), mention of surgeries, blood, intubation,

a/n. I had this little idea while rewatching the show, I fell in love with addison all over again, ugh she is so hot- enjoy

everything was foggy, you still felt nauseous, you were still shivering even under the thick blanket, and the oxygen mask on your face felt more suffocating than the heavy feeling in your chest. blinking, moving your head around and trying to figure out where the heck you are.

“I thought you were on burk’s service today.” you heard an all too familiar voice coming from your side, faint, and sort of mumbled, but you knew who it was, you knew exactly who it was. you felt weak, struggled to move your hand up to your face to rub your eyes, to help yourself to see better.

“you went in there…” you croak, taking a shaky breath in as you spot her green eyes in the haze of your vision. you gulp again, trying to compensate for how dry your nose and mouth feel because of the oxygen mask. she is right in front of you, if you could just

you can tell by her blurry appearance and her messy red hair. she looks so tired and worn out, like every muscle in her body aches, just like yours does, and just like that realization makes you wonder if maybe you should have requested to stay on her service, maybe this whole thing wouldn't have happened with the two of you. “I did.” she whispers, her throat hoarse and scratchy.

“but i couldn't watch her suffer, fight against the intubation like that..." her voice trails off, and her hand reaches out for you, as if she wants to touch your face, caress your cheek but can't bring herself to do it. "i couldn't let her feel so scared, miserable." she sits up and leans on the bed next to you, reaching out to tuck some strand of hair behind your ear. “what do you mean?” you ask, not understanding whatever she is hinting at. you'd know because you were in her position once after your surgery, the surgery you had to get after a psych patient went rogue, dressing up as another surgeon then going around, and stabbing people in the stomach.

but then you remember-

she was there when you were fighting against the intubation, you remember it clearly. the same green eyes were staring at you, frightened above the rim of the surgical mask. the same lips formed the words, "you will be okay," over and over again. you try hard not to cry as you recall the events, because even though you are happy, you're also afraid.

"can we... can you lay next to me?" you finally manage to say, because you're starting to become restless from being trapped under this blanket, sitting still isn't really appealing anymore. "of course, i'm here darling." she smiles softly, and you could swear you're seeing her tears glisten in the dim light of the room.

addison shifts in her bed again, putting the green strap around her head then getting up to lay next to you on your bed. you catch doctor bailey rolling her eyes at the nurse's station before coming over and closing the curtain around the two of you. your breathing has gotten steadier, your heart feels calmer, and you close your eyes slowly as you settle into her embrace, inhaling deeply the scent of her scrubs, smelling like a freshly sterilized operating room.

her heartbeat slows down to match the beat of your own and you sigh contently, relaxing in her arms. “thank you.” you whisper quietly. she kisses the top of your head. you don’t think there is anything she wouldn’t give to make sure you are alright. “no need to thank me, sweetheart.” she murmurs softly, wrapping her arm around you tighter. your fingers are laced together now, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin.

#— created by 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐚☆#addison montgomery x reader #addison montgomery x y/n #addison montgomery x reader smut #addison montgomery x you #grey's anatomy x reader smut #grey's anatomy x reader #addison montgomery #addison montgomery smut #addison montgomery x female reader

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cringecompanionapologist · 6 months ago

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I Swear I Thought of This Months Ago: Different Doctors in Midnight

The thing with Midnight is that shit goes wrong because it's a companion-lite episode. The two people the Midnight Entity singled out to possess where the two people traveling alone. They were easy to isolate from the group. If the Doctor's not traveling alone here, and there's this human who came in with him just going along with whatever he's doing, it's going to seem less suspicious. So, what would happen to any Doctor in Midnight is based more on their companions than the Doctor. Donna took the day off of adventuring to enjoy the spa. Not all companions would do that. First Doctor: He may get on everyone's nerves, but he's going to have a granddaughter with him and people will judge him less harshly because he has a family. You've got a couple with their teenage son there. They see an old grandpa with a granddaughter the same age as their son, they're going to see him as someone like them. As for the granddaughters, Susan wouldn't want to leave her grandfather and Vicki canonically is more interested in adventures than relaxation. I'm less sure about Dodo, because nobody is sure about Dodo. She's a wild card.

Second Doctor: A group of people in a small space menaced by a monster? Might as well be a base under siege. He's in his element here. He also tends to be better at understanding human nature than most Doctors, so even if he was alone, he might not end up quite so isolated. And he wouldn't be alone. Out of a combination of loyalty and discomfort with spa environments, Jamie would definitely be with him.

Third Doctor: Following the Doctor around on his adventures is literally what Jo was hired to do. She'll be the one telling everyone that the Doctor is an expert on basically everything and she trusts him so they should too. If they try to throw him out she'll try to either take his place or go with him and nobody will want to hurt her. Nobody wants to hurt Jo. Even the Master didn't want to hurt Jo.

Fourth Doctor: When Four shows up somewhere, being weird, acting like he owns the place, and having way too much fun in a crisis, people tend to sort of roll with it. It's a superpower he has. But, if we want to turn the superpower off, we've sort of got three eras to consider. Sarah Jane would probably follow the Doctor, since she's still a holdover from Three's "companions are literally the Doctor's assistants" era. Leela would not understand the appeal of a spa and would threaten people into listening to the Doctor. As for Romana...Okay, we've got another Time Lord. I actually don't know. She'll probably go with him and might have slightly more luck with the locals.

Fifth Doctor: Really depends on the TARDIS team. Tegan's going to take the goddamn spa day and will talk Nyssa into going with her if she's around. If it's just Nyssa, she'll go with the Doctor and everyone loves Nyssa, so everything will be fine. Turlough is going to enjoy a pleasant day off. He can relax, do a bit of sketching, and not have to deal with yet another traumatic incident. Adric would not understand the idea of a spa, call it stupid, get into a fight with Tegan, and if he wasn't going with the Doctor before this, the Doctor would insist purely to separate the two and restore order. Adric has no social skills, so he wouldn't exactly make the Doctor look better, but like with One and his various granddaughter companions, the family on the train would be more comfortable with a family man.

Sixth Doctor: The classic Doctors have done well so far but Six is probably fucked. Peri would probably like a day off from him and the violent shit that happens around him. Mel might try to get him to stay at the spa for health purposes. I don't know the EU well, but Evelyn might have a chance of coming along and getting him to behave, but no promises for anyone else.

Seventh Doctor: Of course Ace is there. Yet another Doctor passes as a family man and it's easy.

Eighth Doctor: I don't know the EU well and Eight is the Whoops All EU Doctor, but he seems to pick up companions that would follow him around here, being all human and convincing the humans not to bully him. But, considering Eight's luck, they'd probably try to throw him out of the train anyway and he'd end up traumatized again.

Ninth Doctor: Might actually consider just spending the day at the spa, but if he gets bored and goes on an adventure, Rose probably gonna follow him. The day is saved with the Power of Love or something.

Eleventh Doctor: Amy wants to go with the Doctor despite Rory's protests. There's a lot of bickering but they get out fine.

Twelfth Doctor: Clara is his carer who cares so he doesn't have to, so preventing Midnight incidents is sort of what she's there for. For Bill, this would be an educational experience. Twelve gets on everybody's nerves a bit, and he gives a speech about how stupid everyone's being, which doesn't actually help, and he'll probably end up getting punched in the face, but not thrown out of the train.

Thirteenth Doctor: She tells her companions to just enjoy themselves and wanders off alone. If they insist on following her, and Yaz probably would, we're fine. If she successfully ditches her companions, she's in trouble. She'll openly admit to being socially awkward, but I'm not sure if that would actually help in this situation.

Fourteenth Doctor: He's retired. He's probably staying with Donna. If not, everything mainly goes the same as it does with Ten, but it feels more cruel.

Fifteenth Doctor: Ruby would go with him and he's actually pretty good with people anyway. I'm guessing the Fourteen remembered being Ten and regenerated into someone unlikely to be thrown out of a train on a death planet just in case.

#doctor who #midnight #this is way longer than it needs to be oops #first doctor #second doctor #third doctor #fourth doctor #fifth doctor #sixth doctor #seventh doctor #eighth doctor #ninth doctor #tenth doctor #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #thirteenth doctor #fourteenth doctor #fifteenth doctor

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alexa-fika · 11 months ago

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Ohh if you going to write Platonic reader

how about a male reader who's part of the straw hats and his devil fruit power is that he can talk and use dead people to fight (like Klaus from The Umbrella Academy)

he has a best friend who died but he talks to him all the time so he's never alone (like Klaus and Ben from The Umbrella Academy)

Gone but still there (Strawhats x male!reader)

A/N: I had to change it a little bit since im bot comfortable with the whole controlling dead people to fight nor I think the strawhats would be too happy about that but I made this instead, hopefully it is somewhat appealing to what you envisioned! It is not very good, I would say this one is a flop :(

Dividers by @/saradika

“Okay, are we ready?” Reader exclaims, staring at his crewmates around him. Robin and Nami sat at a table nearby, with Sanji bringing them both snacks and compliments. Zoro sat down in his favorite corner, eyes closed, with Chopper standing close to him; Luffy sat at the head of the Sunny as usual, with Franky and Ussop sitting together, tinkering with some gadgets they had. Jinbe sat at the boat's wheel, keeping watch of the course ahead, Brook standing nearby with his violin.

He looked up at the reader, smiling and waving his bony hand in excitement

“Yes! Im excited to hear what Doctor Hiriluk has to say this time.”

“Yohohoho, and im excited to hear what new songs my old crew-mates have learned since the last time we spoke.”

He smiles

“I promise I’ll go around with everyone!”

He sweatdrops staring at the small girl next to him

“Umm Zoro, I think Kuina really wants to say some things to you…”

His eyes open, and he walks over

"What did you want, Kuina?" he said with a bit of annoyance

He laughs nervously

“she said your form was off in your last fight, that only an idiot would make such a mistake.”

He sighed and shook his head a bit

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," he said sarcastically and started moving back to his corner

He sighs

“This is going to be a long one…Ah, Nami, Bellemere says you shouldn’t be hitting your crewmates.”

She gives a small sigh

"Well, when they don't listen, it's what happens. Thanks for the message." She said while fixing her bangs gently as she took a bite from her apple

"Robin You're mom says you should look up the Old Signs? Uh she says that the second part gives some interesting views on cryptography?"

"Hmm I will look into it, thank you for the suggestion"

“What about my Mom?” Ussop questions, glancing at Reader

“She says you should be more careful with your experiments; she hates to see you get hurt when one of them goes wrong.”

He chuckles softly at that

“I’m not a little kid anymore, though…”He said before he fell quiet and went about working with his tools

He cackles at what the crew can only guess is something one of the ghosts has said

“Ussop~ Your mom says you will always be her little baby.”

“That’s what she said?!” His hand froze on the tool in front of him as the other slowly wiped away his sweat, his eyes wide in shock and even some embarrassment at his mother’s words

He can’t help but laugh even harder at Ussop's embarrassment; he glances to the side as his laughs die down, now just chuckles escaping him as he smiles gently at his crew and all the one-sided conversations they were having with their loved ones, every once in a while he would step in to deliver a message to them. Still, even if it was one-sided, none of them cared, happily chatting with their loved ones, knowing they were there, listening to them.

Okay I was honestly debating if to put this one on a timer and then delete it but I think I smoothed it out at the end, but still debating that one.

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nihilnovisubsole · 9 months ago

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something i've been thinking about as GDC comes around again: it's amazing to sit in the same room with Real Industry People and hear the truth of why certain story decisions happened the way they did. studio games are odd group projects that take a really long time to make, and there are many irons in the fire and many interests at play. sometimes the stars align and a team gets a laser vision, creative freedom, and the budget they need, and they ship the thing they meant to ship.

but not always. if a character you love got killed off, it's entirely possible that their original writer left or they couldn't bring the voice actor back. or leadership wanted to close down old story arcs and tie up loose ends, or someone felt new characters would bring in a new audience. if a series seemed to drop a plot thread in a sequel, it's possible that the narrative team wanted to include it and it got cut for scope. or shareholders wanted to appeal to a different part of the playerbase. or the team had internal creative conflict, or any number of reasons as simple as "it got lost in the shuffle because we did so many rewrites". [important disclosure: i'm not vagueposting about specific games here. i'm just rattling possibilities off. resemblance, unintentional, etc.]

and of course that's not a phenomenon unique to video games. tv shows make snap decisions when they get canceled before the planned end of the story or a cast member wants to leave. movies' plots can change when a new director comes on board, or they bring in a script doctor, or an actor's problems interfere with the shoot. even louisa may alcott changed little women's ending over concerns that if jo remained unmarried, the book wouldn't sell. i'm not sure whether it was her publisher or she worried about it herself, but the point is, something got altered, and it can happen anywhere.

as a fan, i found these developers' stories both comforting and vindicating. for a long time, i've felt like someone riding two horses at once: the fanfic-and-OC girl playing on other writers' playgrounds, and now also the staff writer who sees how the sausage gets made. i've been affected - probably overmuch - by a character's sad end, only to learn that some third party or outside motive influenced it. i've met writers who also didn't like where a plot was going, but didn't have enough seniority on the team to protest it. i've heard stories along the lines of, "we were trying to make lemonade, man," and what shocked me more than the revelation is the peace i gained from it. it's a miracle the games shipped at all. the things that got made, got made. between professionals, it's neither heretical nor some wild flight of irrationality to ask, "what if things had gone a different way?"

and, i mean, it would be both cynical and incorrect to wave it all off and say that no storytelling motives are ever wholesome. some characters die because it's the logical conclusion to their arc. some universes with complicated worldbuilding benefit from narrowing their focus and shaving off a few subplots. i'm just saying many things are possible. when you only sit on the fan side, it's easy to feel like Canon™ looms above you, inviolable, when you're really in conversation with it. there's a lot of power in saying "i respect the team's accomplishments, but i would've made different choices." you'd be surprised how often the team agrees with you.

#writing #workjob

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mossyivy · 7 months ago

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Leon definitely did this for all his wife’s pregnancies but I think for Scottie in particular, she’s a lot older, probably got really self conscious when she started to gain weight and look more pregnant. Particularly when she’s in her third trimester, and she’s got a baby bump. Her clothes don’t fit at all and she’s uncomfortable. Of course she’s done this before but it’s different now. He’d go out of his way to make her feel beautiful, to let her know she’s still gorgeous to him. She’s also extra sensitive right now, and he’d be so gentle with her, and make sure his girls knew to be careful with what they say and do

Leon in general is affectionate to his family, especially his wife. He's extra affectionate when she's pregnant but this time around it's like he's a whole different kind of supportive man.

Constantly checking in, even a few times throughout the day. I'd imagine she goes a little stir crazy during pregnancy cause she's not able to work (Terrasave would definitely not let a pregnant woman around virus strains cause God forbid anything happen!)

Whenever he can be, Leon's home. Constantly being on the edge of overbearing but knows his limits by now with her, this ain't their first rodeo together after all. But the last two times you could bounce back pretty easily. Now this is considered a late in life or as the doctor so lovingly called it a "geriatric pregnancy" since you'd be in your 40s by now.

You can't help but dwell on all the possible issues or how you'll be after. HOW YOU'LL LOOK AFTER!

Will Leon still find you appealing?

You're honest enough with each other to come forward and talk about problems big or small. You've literally held him through full on breakdowns before. He's cared for you when postpartum hit you after having Cecilia and you felt like less of a mother for not connecting with her right away like with Violet. You're each other's rocks. Of course he'd still love you and find you just as gorgeous as the moment he laid his eyes on you.

He tells you not to worry about clothes, they're just clothes. They can fit again eventually. But he knows how you find comfort in having him around somehow. So you two start sharing a wardrobe. Sweats, t-shirts, and his jackets. It's nice having him there even if it's not physically. Even just his cologne stuck to his jacket collar is nice against your sensitive pregnancy nose. And he gets the benefit of watching you walk around in his clothes. And smiling in the bask of your glow.

He'd sit down with the girls in one of their rooms while you were napping and give them the talk. Being completely honest about how mommy's sensitive and they all need to stay aware of everything while she's like this. Cecilia wouldn't get it right away, obviously, she's younger. But Violet would understand. She'd even get into the habit of checking in on her mom and micro managing her sister whenever something came up. Talking on the responsibilities of making sure she kept her entertained so Leon could spend time with you.

It really does take a village to raise a child and you're very lucky to have people who care. To have raised 2 great girls already and have a husband who loves you unconditionally.

#🏡 domestic life with leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x fem reader #🌿 ivy writes #🌿 ivy replies #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader

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genshin-hsr-rambles · 5 months ago

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I see you have a Genshin Impact modern/school au on ao3… But do you have a Honkai: Star Rail modern au? If you do, I’d love to hear about it. I’m a sucker for modern aus that are so fluffy and fun it makes me forget about canon angst :’)

I do have something of a Modern AU, though it isn’t really a school au. Some characters do attend school and college, but most don’t. I haven’t really fleshed out all of the characters enough to have written anything fics for it yet, but I definitely want to once I have. The whole au is very found family-esque. I can tell you about the Astral Express crew!

Stelle and Caelus are the latest employees at the Astral Espresso, an old cafe that switched owners and was renovated a few years ago. They have complicated relationships with their family (the Stellaron Hunters) and have moved out together to start their own lives together, away from their family’s influence. Luckily, they were both able to land full-time positions at the Astral Espresso to support themselves. Stelle and Caelus have been considering starting college, though want to attend the same course and can’t seem to agree on a major.

Dan Heng is a part-time employee at the Astral Espresso, and part-time History major in college. Originally Dan Feng, he unfortunately got into a severe workplace accident and suffers from memory loss. As time passes, his memories gradually come back in fragments. Regardless, he has gone by Dan Heng ever since and sees himself as a different person altogether, determined to live his own life regardless of who he used to be. He is the somewhat reluctant legal guardian (and biological parent, though he’s in denial) of Bailu and took up work at the Astral Espresso to provide for them both in his college years.

March 7th is yet another employee of the Astral Espresso. She works full-time at the cafe, though dreams of becoming a professional photographer. In the mean time, has become something of a social media influencer in her free time, even collaborating with the likes of Guinaifen and Sushang. Much like Dan Heng, she too suffers from memory loss and seeks to make the most of her life. However unlike him, her memories have not returned at all. She has no clue why she lost her memories or who she was before she did, neither do her doctors.

Himeko is the new owner of the Astral Espresso. She is an ambitious woman who renovated the entire store to return it to its former glory, whilst also modernising it to appeal to all varieties of customers. Himeko was good friends with the cafe’s previous owner, Akavili, though admittedly knew very little about them. When they suddenly disappeared, the cafe was left in Himeko’s name. Himeko is determined to continue her friend’s legacy and also forge a legacy of her own.

Welt is a part-time animator, and part-time worker at the Astral Espresso. A close friend of Himeko’s, he was one of the first employees to be hired alongside a certain blonde companion after she took over the cafe. Coincidentally, Welt came to adopt a young child affectionately known as Pom-Pom around the time of Akavili’s disappearance. He frequently brings Pom-Pom with him when working at the Astral Espresso, though the child is too young to work themself.

That’s pretty much the basics on the Astral Express Crew. If you’re curious about any other characters or want to know more about these characters, feel free to send in an ask. I have lots of ideas and not much to do with them yet.

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leviismybby · 2 years ago

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Hey Klara 🙋‍♀️ Hope you are doing fine and had a great day. Is it ok I can leave a thirst here?

Levi’s pregnant wife who is frustrated and sad that Levi isn’t having sex with her because he is afraid of hurting her and her baby. She believes that it’s because of her body. But the truth is that Levi is having a hard time to keep his hands to himself because his wife looks so ethereal and beautiful and her skin glows. His pants tightens whenever he is near her. So one night her wife gets frustrated and sit on his lap when he is working on paperwork , this caught him off guard and accidentally pressure is put on his crotch. He is in verge of loosing control. He lost his control when she sat on his lap

Hey San! I'm doing good hope you're too! :)) And I'm always up for any Levi thirst.

Warning: NSFW 18+, minors dni, pregnancy sex, praise kink, oral f! receiving, fingering, creampie twice.... (sorry not sorry)

Your eyes lay on the ceiling as you rub your belly, pregnancy has been a rocky journey. Of course, as soon as Levi got the news, he immediately forbid you from doing anything that might put you and his child at risk.

The fact that your husband hasn't touched you in a long time makes you question things. You can't remember the last time you two had sex, maybe three or two months ago.

All of this caused your insecurities to rise, what if he doesn't find you beautiful anymore? After all, you did gain weight due to the pregnancy and the cravings you have.

You get up from your bed and walk over to the mirror, stretch marks are starting to show on your stomach, there are under bags under your eyes and your thighs have gotten bigger as well.

"Love?" Levi says when he sees you in front of the mirror. The way your cute belly sticks out and how gorgeous you looked in his shirt, Levi is bearly containing himself.

"Hey. I was just admiring how big the baby has gotten." You were six months pregnant, almost seven. As soon as the bump started to get noticeable, Levi hasn't been sexually active with you.

And the fact that he still goes out on missions hasn't been comforting either. He always tells you how you have nothing to worry about but the scenes of him not making it back home scare you.

He walks up to you, giving you a quick peck on the lips before leaning down and kissing your stomach. "You took good care of your mom while I was gone hmm?" He stands up again looking directly into those eyes he loves more than anything.

"Levi..." He recognizes that needy tone in your voice and his cock immediately tightens against his pants. Fuck. "Want another kiss." Your hands wrap around his neck.

"I'm afraid not now love, shitty eyebrows gave me tons of paperwork." He dodges your lips and kisses your forehead instead. There is nothing more he wants than to bury his cock deep into you but he is scared. The last thing he wants is to hurt you or your baby.

You pout your lips at him as he leaves another kiss on your cheek before going into his office that's connected to your bedroom. With a sigh you sit back on your bed, Levi was busy and you understand but somehow all the excuses he uses just aren't valid.

He had you before you were pregnant anywhere when you wanted, you didn't even have to ask him twice. Even during the busiest time of the day, he didn't hesitate to bend you over his table.

Now no matter how much you beg, he doesn't touch you.

Levi sits in his office papers laying all over his desk, though they are neatly sorted, he still doesn't have enough space for everything. He finds his mind wandering as the pen writes on the paper, every time he sees you, you become more beautiful.

Now that you are carrying his child somehow you have this beauty that Levi can't explain. The way you look so eternal, so appealing with every month that passes, Levi feels like the control he holds will soon crash down on him.

He barely controlled himself not to jump on you earlier and take you then and there. The doctor has already told him that sex during pregnancy can't hurt the child but he still isn't sure.

He stands up from his chair to check on you and smiles when he finds you asleep. Approaching you carefully, he covers the blanket over you and kisses your forehead.

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

A few hours later you wake up, the other side of the bed still empty. It's deep into the night, the moonlight is shining through the windows and you can hear as Levi writes on the paper.

Frustration hits you and slowly you get up stretching your arms before making your way to Levis office. He is sitting in his chair, movements of his hand giving away that he is fed up.

You approach him and levi hears your footsteps. "Love it's late you should go back to sleep." Your husband says as if his eyes don't have dark circles under them.

Without a word, you sneak yourself onto his lap, your back to him. Levi bites his lip as you put pressure on his crotch with your ass. Fuck he is going to explode if you move your hips even slightly again.

"Ah, the papers for recruits? You have always hated filling those up.." You ignore the way his body tenses beneath you, feeling him get hard under you.

"Princess..." The pen drops from his hand and he slips it to your hip, his other hand joining your other hip soon.

"Something wrong Levi?" You look back at him and his breath stops for a moment. Oh, how beautiful you look, he held himself back but he can't anymore.

"Fuck, move your hips for me please." You listen, slowly moving your hips back and forth on his erection. Levis lips find the back of your neck, he plants a few kisses before nibbling on your skin.

"You can touch me you know, I'm not made out of glass just because I'm pregnant." Fuck, he feels like such an idiot. He had his pretty wife before him this entire time and he didn't do anything because he was scared?

Levi picks you up in bridal style, he does it so easily and carries you to your shared room, putting you on the bed gently. His eyes are literally eating you.

"Levi kiss me please." You whine pulling on his jacket and he gives you what you want, kissing you passionately on the lips. His tongue enters your mouth and you tug the jacket off his shoulders.

Janking the fabric off his body, the jacket falls to the floor. Levi runs his hands up and down your thighs massaging them softly still kissing you. He loves how thick they have gotten, he can barely wait to sink his teeth in them.

Levi's lips move onto your cheek, jaw and neck, leaving butterfly kisses along your glowing skin. The advantage that he has of knowing your body so well turns him on even more. His wife. He can't believe how lucky he is to have you.

His lips bite on that sensitive spot on your neck and you whimper, grabbing his hair. "Sensitive are we? I have barely done anything love."

Lord, he lives for it. There isn't anything better than seeing your face drown in pleasure because of him. And even more now, your belly is filled with something the two of you created, a life that will make both of your lives better.

Fingers find the hem of your shirt, his shirt if he is being more precise. He pulls it off of you and almost moans at the sight of your breasts.

You aren't wearing a bra, it's not comfortable. The way Levi is eyeing you makes you want to chuckle, it's like you just gifted him a new broom.

His mouth latches onto your nipple as his hand massages the other one. You moan, your hands tugging on his raven locks making him groan.

"What a pretty sound. Keep singing for me beloved." Your breasts are very sensitive so his every move makes you moan. He pinches your nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

"Levi.." His head moves down lower, his every kiss and touch gentle. You can feel the love from each of the kisses he plants on your stomach.

"You're so sexy, love." The wet kisses move lower and lower until Levi reaches the hem of your shorts. It isn't long before they are on the floor next to his black shirt.

You're in underwear almost completely naked before him. "Levi want you to undress." Levi is quick to remove his uniform, with skilled hands working on the straps of his gear.

He is in his boxers in no time but doesn't fully undress instead leans in, leaving licks on your lower abdomen that lead to your thighs.

"Fuck. I love how plushy they have gotten you know?" That makes you blush, what you thought he would find disgusting, he finds beautiful. Guilt starts to rock your head, how did you even think that Levi would find something ugly about you? The man has done nothing but show you endless love.

Levi notices that your eyes get a little sad and he takes your cheeks into his hands. "What's wrong name? Do you want me to stop?"

"No, it's just....I thought that you didn't like how I looked. You haven't touched me in so long." That puts a spear straight through Levis heart, he is such an idiot.

Taking your wrist in his hand, he kisses it before kissing your ring finger. "You're my wife and you're carrying our child. I didn't touch you because I feared that I would hurt you and the baby. I'm so sorry love. I promise I will never make you doubt your beauty again."

He leans down kissing you on the lips as his hands slowly take off your underwear. His fingers gently rub your pussy and he smiles against your lips when he notices your legs spreading even more for him.

His finger runs up and down your slit before he slides it in, making your hands run down his upper body. "So wet." He pulls away from you, lips making their way to your thighs as his finger pumps into your wet cunt.

"Fuck I have missed you." With a little tug on his hair, you signal that you want his mouth on you. What his pretty wife wants, she gets.

His tongue licks up and down as his finger pumps into you, the sounds that leave your mouth makes Levi grunt against your pussy.

He nibbles on your clit, adding a second finger into you. You're leaking all over his fingers, filthy moans leaving your lips.

"That's my pretty girl." Levi says against your pussy as he lets his tongue roam every part of you. His pretty wife.

"I won't last much longer..." You whine into the pillow, pulling the strands of his hair. His tongue goes faster but his fingers are gentle, the perfect combination to bring you to your high.

"Levi...I'm cumming!" You buck your hips against his face and he lets you ride out your high, fingers still in you and tongue still working on your clit.

"Cum love, cum all over my tongue." And you do, your juices dripping down Levi's arm all the way down to his elbow. But he doesn't mind the mess, not when it comes to you.

"There you go pretty girl." He kisses up your belly, leaving wet patches all over your bump. "Want me inside?"

"Yes please." Running your hands down his strong biceps, you bite your lip. How you have missed this perfect body of his.

You pull him down to you, planting kisses on his neck as he hovers above you, making sure not to put too much weight on you and the baby.

He takes off his boxers, positioning his cock at your entrance. "You ready love?" Pulling back from his neck, you settle your head into a comfortable position.

"Yes." Levi parts your thighs and slowly enters you. Fuck its like you were made for him. "Oh shit.."

When he feels your walls ease around him, he starts thrusting slowly into you. Pulling out almost entirely before shoving himself back into your pussy.

It's just been a long time, he wants to remember every part of you. "Missed fucking you baby. So much." He huff's through his teeth, thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier.

Levi pulls your knees further apart so that he can reach the deepest part of you with his cock. "Oh Levi.." Your hands grip the sheets as he starts getting faster.

"Yeah? Like this princess?" He starts getting ruthless with his movements, taking your leg over his shoulder and kissing your calf.

"Fuck yes Levi! Harder please!" Fear is no longer the concern with Levi, he sees how good this is making you feel and does what you ask for, going harder.

He wont last much longer, its been too long for him, especially when your walls clench around his length. You're close too.

"Gonna breed this pussy again. What a gorgeous wife I have." He starts moaning your name getting messy with his thrusts, the faces and noises you're making only add to his pleasure.

"Levi! Please I'm-!" You don't finish your sentence cuming all over his cock. "Me too love." He lets your leg fall back on the bed an leans down to kiss you passionately as he cums inside of you.

"Want you to ride me please." Whispering in your ear, Levi massages your legs. "Want you to use me as you please, take it as an apology."

Smiling, you draw imaginary lines on his naked chest. "Only if you cum inside me again."

"Wasn't planing on doing it anywhere else." He gets off of you and positions himself so that his head is leaning against the head board.

You're quick to get on top of him as your hands settle on his upper body. Levi places his hands onto your thighs, impatiently waiting for you to put him inside of you.

Llifting your hips slightly, you position yourself on top of his cock before sinking down on him. "Oh fuck!" You let out as his cock enters you.

Unlike Levi, you start moving your hips in a quick pace making him throw his head against the head board. "Shit you're desperate aren't you?"

"Weren't you the one begging for me to ride you?" You slow your movements a little, teasing him. At this angle, his cock hits the deepest parts of you and you want to savor the moment.

"Princess...move faster please." He looks mighty, his hair is dripping with sweat, his toned hands holding your thighs, his chest heaving up and down, cheeks flushed. Truly the most beautiful man to exist.

You feel him twitch inside of you and you decide to stop torturing him, moving your hips faster and harder. His cum is dripping out of you, causing his lower stomach to be moist.

"Just like t-that." He won't last much longer, you can tell by the way his eyes are starting to get watery from the amount of pleasure he is feeling.

"You gonna cum hmm Levi?" His hips start bucking into your, meeting your pace. Both of you are a moaning mess.

"Y-yes gonna cum for you. Only for you princess." One of his hands travels to your clit, rubbing it. Your nails dig into his chest as you feel fire burning in your lower stomach.

"L-Levi!" His warm seed fills you once more and you cum around his length. You stay on top of him for a few seconds, before flopping on your back beside him, his cum leaking down your thighs.

"I changed the sheets for nothing yesterday.." He says and you laugh. "Change them again just not now. I didn't say that we were done."

"Needy girl." He chuckles, looping his arm around you and kissing your belly. "Do you hear that little one? Your mom is a freak."

"Any girl would be if they had you as their husband."

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Taglist: @notgoodforlife @the-milk-anon @youre-ackermine @yakaaamoz @sixpennydame @levisbrat25 @lovolee3 @levisgreyeyes @laraackerman @luvjiro

#levi #levi ackerman #aot levi #captain levi #levi x reader #attack on titan #levi attack on titan #levi smut #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x y/n smut #levi ackerman smut

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