#i was also deeply distracted by rob's arms

[boysareouttonight]

i rewatched dennis gets divorced and sometimes i can't believe that episode is real. dennis getting married to maureen and being disappointed that she's not, well... mac. he wants to do with her the same shit he did with mac, calls her dude, wants to watch the same movies he watches with mac and slowly starts realizing he misses the structure that mac gives to him. when he goes to the strip club with the gang, it's not about getting laid with women. he doesn't give a shit about that at all, barely pays attention to the women, doesn't flirt with anyone. at the end of the night, who does he bring home with him? mac. and then maureen comes in. we know that everyone outside the gang is like an outsider but maureen is an outsider to whatever the fuck dennis and mac have going on, specifically. nobody could replace mac in dennis' life and the example they chose was a romantic partner. they go to the bar and share casual intimate moments, like mac brushing his teeth and them getting dressed together. it's not like they have many choices but it's interesting that they chose to show this. he can't stand having maureen living with him for a few days and yet can't bare the idea of not living with mac. the apartment is mostly his and mac doesn't contribute with rent. it'd be more beneficial to live alone and see mac like he sees the gang. but no, he wants mac with him. they're soulmates all the way.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

the same tv

words: 1.8k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, parent death, funerals, robbery, redemption/forgiveness, addiction, drinking (wine, not like hard drinking), tickling, cockwarming, they call themselves kids at one point but at no point are reader or rafe under 18, like itll make sense once you read it in context

the first thing you do when you enter your house is kick off your shoes. the next is to stop holding back your tears as they stream down your face. you can't even sob anymore, just silent, steady tears.

you sigh as you look around the entryway. there's been some changes since you moved away, despite only being out of your parents house for a little over a year. they replaced the grand portrait that was of your mom's parents with one of you, now taking the place of honor.

you look away before you get to the rest of the family photos. you've seen enough at the funeral. you walk further in to the house, bare feet against the shiny wood floor.

you pause when you hear something further in. you haven't forgotten how the old house seemed to speak, groaning and settling during strong winds or when too many people were crammed between it's walls.

this sound seems different, but you're also occasionally sniffling, your ears are shot from blasting music in an attempt to distract yourself, so you shrug it off and walk further into the living room.

the sound suddenly makes sense as you see someone stood in your living room, arms holding up your parents flat screen television, awkwardly trying to carry it.

you aren't even mad. you honestly don't care about the tv. or the fact that someone is trying to rob you.

you let out a bitter laugh before you sink to the floor. “of fucking course this happens.” you are glad you still have your purse slung from your shoulder as you pull your wallet out, quite aggressively throwing it at the robber who has now frozen.

“what?” he questions, lowering the tv to the ground and pushing his hood of his head, a dumb move for someone currently committing a crime.

“this has been the worst week of my life and now you're robbing me. just my fucking luck…” you let out a broken sob. “just take whatever you want and leave.”

the only things that matter to you still in the house aren't actually worth anything anyways. the photos of your parents, your dad's cologne that's half empty, the oak tree that your childhood dog is buried next to.

“i thought the people who lived here died.”

you pick your head up, a look of fury overtaking your face.

“they did. they're my fucking parents! and now they're gone and you're fucking robbing me! get the fuck out!” you stand up, pushing at the robbers chest.

he looks familiar, like you should know who he is but can't place him.

“im-shit. im sorry.” he says, allowing you to shove him away and out the door. 

“im really fucking sorry!” he yells again before you slam the door shut.

-- years later --

you park your car in the driveway instead of pulling it all the way into the garage like you know you should, but you need to know if you're correct about the man sitting on your front step.

“you're the kid that tried to rob me.” you say as you walk the sidewalk to the porch.

“yes.” he says, looking ashamed and a whole lot more grown up. “i was an addict and i owed a debt. my dad had just kicked me out of the house and i was on my own for the first time. it was stupid of me, but when i heard the people living here died, i thought it'd be a victimless crime.”

he sighs deeply, like even just thinking back to that time physically hurts. “i didn't even think that someone could have inherited the house. im so, so sorry.” 

he swallows thickly. “my mom died when i was young. my dad- my dad just died recently. he faked his death and i got him back, but he's actually gone this time. you know what you said about the worst week in your life?”

you think back those years. it's mostly a blur, especially the days surrounding your parents car crash and funeral, but you do remember breaking down in front of the robber. you nod gently, waiting to hear the end of his speal.

“i know what you mean now. and im sorry i hurt you. im sorry about your parents dying.” he pulls something out of his pocket, extending his hand.

you look into his open palm, realizing it's a ornate gold necklace.

“no.” you shake your head. “you keep it. you don't need to bribe me to forgive you.”

“i want you to have it.” he says. “it's… it's not a lot, but it's something. something to help make up for what ive done.”

you reach forward, carefully taking the necklace out of his outstretched hand, carefully not to accidentally bump his skin. 

“thank you.” you say, admiring the way the sun gleams off the metal. 

“im rafe, by the way. rafe cameron.”

“y/n.” you respond, undoing the clasp of the necklace.

“here, let me.” he takes it out of your hands, moving quicker than you can think as he steps around you. your hair is already up in a bun, so rafe is able to reach around and easily place the chain around your neck.

“thank you.” the weight of the necklace feels comfortable against your skin, like it's the last finishing touch you need. you are wearing your mother's earrings, your father's bracelet, and now you have the other piece of what made that time in your life so miserable, your robbers necklace.

“i… i guess ill be going now.” rafe says.

you turn and watch him walk away. you recognize so much of your former self in him, the clear grieving he's going through.

“are you sober now?” you call out before he reaches the end of your driveway.

“sober enough.” he shouts back. rafe doubts he'll ever truly be clean, but he can at least manage now, doesn't need the drugs like he used to.

“then come back for dinner tomorrow. we can talk.”

you can see the smile stretch over his features. “ill be there.”

-- three months later --

“shit.” rafe says, head snapping over to you. “this is the same tv.”

you giggle and nod, surprised it took him so long to realize. “i never really watch tv on the actual tv, so no need to replace it.” you shrug, the gold necklace still draped over your neck. you haven't taken it off except to shower and sleep.

“god, thats crazy.” rafe looks over to you. “imagine if we just talked back then.” 

you shake your head. “you just think you want that because we get along now. we were both in bad places.”

“you don't think we would have been hooking up back then?” rafe asks, raising an eyebrow at you, watching the way your thighs press together at the mere mention of hooking up, already feeling the urge to sleep with rafe even after having sex only a couple of hours ago.

“we were two scared kids. if we were hooking up we definitely shouldn't have been.” you giggle, reaching your wine glass out for rafe to refill, which he is glad to pour a more than healthy amount in.

“and now?” rafe looks down at his lap.

“and now we are two slighty less scared slightly older kids.” you giggle again, taking a deep sip before leaning across the couch cushion to press a kiss to rafes cheek, the movie you had put on long forgotten.

“rafe.” you wait until he looks you in the eye. “im here for you.”

“god, what have i done to deserve you?” rafe wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you on top of him as he flops back onto the couch. 

you let out a laugh before it's cut off with his lips. he kisses you heavily, hand against the back of your head, not allowing you to pull away, not that you want to.

you let himself get lost in your kiss. you wish you had someone to support you in the time you needed most, and you're determined to be that person for rafe now.

rafe easily dominates your mouth even though he's underneath you as you quickly work your shorts off, wiggling against him until your bottom half is nude.

you press against rafes crotch, still covered by his sweatpants. you feel his cock straining against the fabric as you rub your pussy against it, wetting the gray material.

“baby, please.” rafe groans. he would pull his cock out himself, but his hands are preoccupied holding you close to him as if his life depends on it.

“oh, now you don't like teasing?” you smile.

“alright, i deserve this.” rafe also manages a chuckle despite his straining erection. “but please. need to feel your pussy ‘round me.”

“alright.” you roll your eyes dramatically. you'll have to get revenge on rafe at a different time for edging you the other night.

you push his pants down his thighs until you're able to reach into his underwear and pull out his cock. you give him a few quick strokes before lining up your entrance and sinking down.

rafe let's out a moan, barely pulling his face away from yours. “you're so wet.”

“it's almost like i like you or something.” you roll your eyes.

rafe laughs before kissing you again, hand moving up to your hair, tangling his fingers between the strands.

you sit on his cock for a moment, adjusting, before beginning to move, up then down, up then down, subtle movements of your hips, not needing anything fast, wanting drawn out, wanting it to last.

the movie is long over by the time rafe finally cums, a hand finally moving down to rub your clit to make sure you get off at the same time as his.

by the time you're both satisfied, you're sweaty and exhausted. you don't even bother to pull off his cock as you rest your head against his chest.

“thank you.” rafe says softly, rubbing his hand over your back. you don't need to ask what for. you know. for being there. you'll always be there.

you look up at him, a small smile on your face. “how are we gonna tell people we met?”

things are quickly getting serious, and while he hasn't breached the subject with you yet, neither of you have been hiding how quickly you're falling.

“what, you think it's a problem that we met when i was robbing you?” rafe says, making you giggle, only intensified by his hand pressing into your side, fingers tickling you as you howl with laughter.

rafe flips you over onto your back so you're underneath him, keeping his cock pushed inside of you.

“maybe we should just tell people we met on tinder.” rafe shrugs.

you roll your eyes. “somehow that's more embarrassing.”

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[sunny-mercya]

His Reasons

Rusty Ryan x Male Reader

Fandom -> Ocean's Trilogy

Masterlist

When Danny, after being out of prison, asked Rusty to join him at a Grand Coup—Rusty had only agreed halfway to it. After all he wanted to know what exactly they would rob and risking their lives and freedom for.

And when Danny told him, they gonna rob three Casinos in good old Viva Las Vegas, Rusty wanted to know a good enough reason for him to join in such madness of nonsense.

And Danny, like the best friend and charming asshole he is, told Rusty the only valid reason;

»If we pull this off and I promise you, we will, you can finally move with [Name] to wherever your heart desires and afford the safety you have promised him.«

Danny was right, hitting a wound point in Rusty's ego, because there had been one thing Rusty couldn't give you and that was protection. Protection you from a past, you wouldn't be able to free yourself if you don't have a certain amount of money to pay for.

»Okay. I'm in, but if we fail I'm gonna send you personally to hell, Danny boy.«

Rusty might have agreed, trusting and believing in his friend that they will manage this with a 100 percentage chance of successful winning—but he also know what price it would cost him, because if they indeed fail it would be you who Rusty would lose and you're more worth to him than all the money and jewels in the world.

~~~

So far, the whole plan went, besides absolutely minor improvements of differences, hellbent well.

Rusty could almost imagine the millions, billions, of money he would have. Enough money to buy you free and finally move to either (f.country) or sweet California.

Just you and him, Rusty thought, imagining the new life—fully secure, comfortable and happy healthy—he would have with you and maybe a big family with lots of dogs and cats (and perhaps Danny, because he's your self-proclaimed older brother)

„Uh, uhm, Rusty there's–“ „Rusty, there's a problem. A You problem.“

»What?« asked Rusty, scrunching up his face in confusion. Another problem? What sort of you-problem do they mean?

„Look towards the entrance.“

»Fuck. Give me some minutes to handle this guys.«

»Robert Russel James Ryan! You do not write me a letter with such unbelievable heinous words and leave our house in such fucking manners. How fucking dare you! Do you know how fucking worried I was?!«

A few people had turned their heads, when you had marched forward to Rusty and shouted in anger at him.

Ouch, shouting his full name—yeah, you're furious and it was Rusty's own damn faulty mistake. Indeed a You-Problem.

Rusty took a few steps forward to you, having his hands up in surrender, wanting to appease you. Honestly, he haven't seen you this angry ever since Danny and him had a bloody fist fight with your "Boss", which they lost—of course, as they couldn't win against a knife and knuckleheads—and you were so furious with them, that they were taken back with the amount of cursing you said at them, while treating their wounds.

»Hey, love, watcha you doing here?«

»Don't come with such bullshit. You know perfectly well, why the fuck I'm here. So tell me now, Russel, the fuck are you and Danny—and I know that fucker is here as well—suspiciously planning to do here?!«

Rusty inhaled and exhaled deeply through his nose, trying to think of a way to get you away from here—before you causing more disturbance and a possible fail to the plan. Then again, he could use you for a good distraction, but no—no, no, he had sworn himself to not do such things with you.

Gripping your arms gently, Rusty pulls you close to his side and leads you away to a more secluded area of waiting.

~~~

Waking up to an empty bedside next to you and discovering your husband is not in your shared apartment, even though he told he would be on time back—and that has been days ago, I mind you—brought a lot of unpleasant thoughts through your mind.

There could be many things happening to Rusty; him having a accident, in a hospital and injured, arrested—your husband is certainly not a innocent man, he had done some bad and dangerous awful things of illegally, you're aware of it—or worst case scenario, your Boss quit the deal and killed Rusty.

You started to walk through your tiny apartment, still clothes in pyjamas—shorts and one of Rusty's oversized shirts—mind going haywire with everything and anything; be it the due bills, another round of grocery shopping—as Rusty is a total glutton and eats more than you and probably has an endless pit of a stomach—which you don't know how to pay for, the payment deal, Rusty being gone and probably killed and you still being jobless.

A lot of things for a tiny mind like yours to think about.

Then, while you cleaned, you found a note—definitely from Rusty and when you read it, you screamed in disbelief.

Yeah, sure, do a few days trip to Las Vegas and just don't tell me personally, not even the reasons for it—you thought, scoffing at your Husband, who's a buffoon

~~~

»Rusty, you tell me now why you and Danny are here.«

»I can't love, it's a surprise«

Perhaps, in perspective, Rusty should have told you personally about his little trip and possibly heist, but then it wouldn't be a surprise and loved to surprise you.

»Fuck your surprise. I thought he called off the deal, I thought he had killed you. I was worried sick.«

»I know, I know, dear. I apologise, I shouldn't have told you via note, could this prince forgive a humble man like me?«

Rusty leaned in closer, whispering the last few words in your ear as he ask for your forgiveness and kissing your cheek, when you remained silent.

„Not to bother, but time management?“

Rusty rolled his eyes, the guys could be such mood killers and a pain of annoyance in the ass. The gang was his gang though and he had a job to fulfil.

»Need to go, love. Meet me at Helios-Motel in like two hours.« Rusty kissed your lips, a gentle kiss it was and gave you the Motel-Keys.

Before Rusty could stand up and go, you had taken ahold of his hand.

»You promised me, you and Danny will be safe and unharmed?«

»Always, my love«

And when Rusty flashed you his signature grin, you let him go—knowing he wouldn't break his promise.

[mosshook]

snapshot, from 2021: shawn and gus learn that nightlights aren’t stupid, after all.

full text below cut.

Shawn is nine when he figures out how to unlatch Gus’s window from the outside and sneak inside. It is also roughly 10:00 p.m. when this discovery comes to light, and approximately 10:05 when Gus raises his head from his pillow, squints through the dark, and shrieks at the shape of a lumpy shadow skittering across the floor. 

“Shhhh!” hisses Shawn, waving his arms around. “Keep it down, your parents are gonna kill me!” 

“Not you!” Gus bites back, untangling himself from his planet patterned sheets. He takes one of his pillows under his arm and crosses the room, proceeding to whack Shawn across the head with it. There’s a muffled sound of indignation but Gus does not care to hear it, jabbing his thumb into his own chest. “Me, Shawn, they’re gonna kill me!”

Shawn makes a dramatically drawn out whisper cry, curling onto the floor with his legs tucked in. “Okayokayokay that’s fair. Good god, man, no need to assault your best friend like that.” 

“You’ve got no room to talk, scaring me like that.” Shawn makes a flippant gesture with his hands (he’s gotten really expressive with them recently), and smiles. But it falls flat after a fraction of a second. 

“Sorry, Gus.” His voice is unusually soft, and he brings his knees into himself more. “I would’ve, uhh, called or something. Just got…” He pauses, thinking. “Distracted.” 

Gus blinks sleep from his eyes, and looks at his clock again. 10:08. “It’s way past our bedtime. Doesn’t your dad say that eight is…?” 

“Yeah,” Shawn says lightly. “But I don’t usually listen.” 

 “What are you doing here.” Gus kneels beside him, tone mostly flat but with a hint of genuine worry that he hopes Shawn hears. 

Sighing deeply, Shawn brings himself into a sitting position, planting his palms into the hardwood. His fingerpads start scratching against his dry cuticles. 

“I got lonely.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but he’s no longer looking Gus in the eye, staring at the floorboards. “Is it okay if I stay?” 

;

By the time Shawn is twelve, he spends enough nights in Gus’s room to know exactly how it changes from the day to the night. 

There’s a stack of science books (ranging from topics of geology to that of cosmology, medicine, and biology) set near the window on a shelf that catches the light, and a stack of neatly folded shirts on the dresser. Binders and notebooks rest on his desk, as does a small lamp, and loose ballpoint pens are scattered across the room. 

The nighttime doesn’t do much, really, besides rob the room of its vibrance; but it makes the shadows from the bookcase longer, and the posters dim, and allows Shawn to flick on the blue triceratops night light that Gus keeps attached to the wall. 

“You’re scared of the dark?” Shawn asks incredulously when he first sees it. He’s not sure why this fact is so astounding - Gus is scared of lots of things. The weird bugs at the park, bad grades, blood on his knees and ice skating, so the dark shouldn’t be that shocking. 

Gus pushes himself up from his pillow and scoffs. “C’mon, Shawn, plenty of people are scared of it. Fear comes from a perfectly logical place, and at least ten percent of Americans alone think it can be freaky, too.”

Shawn frowns, studying the triceratops. It’s ceramic, and when he leans in closer, he notices that the multiple openings for light to flow through from the bulb inside are shaped into small stars. He flicks on the switch, watching faint, softly defined stars cast against the wall.

The inkinesss of the room seems less suffocating than before, broken up by the gentle golden glow. He mulls Gus’s words again. 

“That’s a lot of people,” he says. 

“Yeah. It is.” There’s the sound of shuffling sheets; Gus’s voice sounds more muffled than before. “So just leave the light on, okay?” 

For a moment, Shawn seriously considers flicking them off for a brief second to hear Gus’s indignant yelp and to give himself a quick laugh, before his gaze finds itself on the dinosaur again. He’s struck, privately, by how pretty the stars look. 

Shawn can hear someone that sounds suspiciously like his father telling him that sleeping in the dark builds character. Makes you more alert, enhances your senses to intruders. 

But he bats it away, and crawls back into Gus’s bed. He brings his blanket over his shoulders, staring at the nightlight. 

“Okay,” Shawn says. “Yeah, I’ll leave it on.” 

Gus makes a small hum of acknowledgement, his chest rising and falling with even breaths minutes later. 

It takes Shawn longer to fall asleep. But he sighs, resting one hand on his pillow and watching the makeshift stars until he can’t keep his eyes open. 

; 

They’re fifteen when Gus hears a tap against his window at midnight. 

Shawn wordlessly climbs through, taking off his shoes before tucking himself into a ball on the bed. 

“She left,” is all he says, before squeezing his eyes shut. 

There’s a long silence. Then, making a small, strained sound, Gus pulls Shawn closer.

He flicks the nightlight on. 

[wordsofmoon]

Prose of ponderance, and existentialism.

What a curious thing .Why this ? No, its just a.. you see,

People are too easy to toy with,. That’s how you know its wrong, for, anything worth your while is always that which is the harder nut to crack. Yet, sometimes the weightlessness of the fast lane is the breath of fresh air the slow traveler craves. Sometimes all they want are wings.

But what are wings if after only a few kilometers of flight, they are robbed from me, and they scar so deeply, that new ones may never grow back,. What will become of that pain of knowing what could’ve been ? And yet never, receiving again. Will you spend your days wandering, wingless and emptied. Will you end your days ? Or instead, will you collect new scars? New addictions, From thrills just as enticing as the wings you were made to think were given as a gift.

  Gift or curse. What is the difference, where do we draw the line, from whose respective do we analyze, for the giver is never promised something in return. And the trust they allocate to believing their sacrifice named a „gift“ was honored and well received, is also, yet another gift atop the prior.

Would you rather have loved and lost, or never to have loved at all, they ask.

 Well, id rather love and lose, and love again and lose again, then love a little less and lose a little less, then love so much deeper, and lose, just as deeply, then again love and lose, on repeat, an endless loop, and yet remain entertained. Careful to craft love each time in a different manner, so that, the loss thereof will always, in me, find credence.  Of love and loss I’ll never tire. And that. Is the addict in me. That being said, all can admit, The truth to be depressing, its only through mantras and repetition, discipline, practice, distraction. That we can muster the strength we need, to breathe life into the emotions we require to get by. The diligence, that grind, of getting through every day, one after another, we follow the yellow brick road. Is this life ? Where is the love, the loss, the joy, the pain. I know that pain is inevitable, but is suffering ever really a choice, when we live slave to systems such as this. Being given the empty promise of wings that only fly a short distance, dressed up as such a prize, that we hang them in our closet, never even taking them out for a ride. We convince ourselves, that the „gifts“ we have been given, that we have bled, sweat, and cried, for- moreover. Were so generous, that we must revere the giver. But that is the game. If you ever hope to be the giver not the receiver, you must be grateful. Don’t they tire of such an endless game? Sign me up. I suppose, at least the rules are easy enough, and the pawns so easy to toy. The strings so simple to tug.

Maybe love is what happens when you stop analyzing. When you stop thinking and surrender. Into the arms of another. But why give that power to them, when upon realizing the emotion is possible, you must only then repeat the pattern in just the right order, lucking the strings, firing the neurons just as they must be for what we call „blisS“ I guess they call that meditation. To me, its the only way out. Besides death. For if I speak it into being, perhaps, can I make it true.

[mlmxreader]

Like the Cowboys | Dr. King Schultz x m!reader

Anonymous asked: Can you write something whit a m!reader and Dr. King Schultz whit the prompt " "It fucking hurts, okay?" Were they get In a fight because King refuses to be more careful while working and the m!reader is angry at him for being so careless?

Also maybe an accidental love confession? 👀

Thank u -🪴

summary: it’s hard enough to worry about your friend being a bounty hunter, but when you fall in love with his partner, that worry gets to be too much. 

tws: swearing, mentions of violence

word count: 1237

From what Django was telling you, King was going back to his old ways, being more and more reckless, and although you didn’t think anything of it at first - as he had Django with him, and if there was anyone you trusted the most with anything and everything, with anyone and everyone, it was him - you started to realise that King was indeed putting his fucking neck in the noose; he was being an idiot, if you were honest, and he was refusing to take your advice when you told him to start being a little bit more careful, to start thinking twice about what he was doing and when he was doing it. Outside of Django, King was the only person you deeply cared about; although the love that you held for the two of them was very different, Django was your best friend, King was… something else that a man like you wasn’t allowed to admit to in certain territories. You didn’t want either of them to be hurt, but King worried you; his recklessness and his boldness would get the better of him one day, and that was something you dreaded to think. That was something that left a hollow feeling in your chest when you thought about it. It made you swallow thickly when you met up with them, it made your hands tremble when you found your trail was the same as theirs. 

So, naturally, you decided that you would confront King about it, but you had to wait for the right time, as you didn’t want Django to hear or see what was going on; you waited until you were at a local saloon, and while Django was distracted by making friends with a trapper, you pulled King outside and sighed heavily, running your hand down your face, glaring at him. 

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

King raised a brow. “Not as far as I know, why?”

“What the fuck do you mean why?” You hissed. “You’ve been so goddamn reckless and stupid lately, I’m actually fucking surprised you haven’t had your brains blown out!” 

He scoffed, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the wall and shook his head. “Mister (y/l/n), you’re a wildlife painter, I don’t think-”

“I think you ought to shut your fucking mouth,” you growled. “Do you wanna die?”

“No,” he said calmly. 

“Then why the fuck are you being such a fool?” The way you glared at him, the way you were speaking, King would have to have been ignoring you to miss the pain, the agony, in your eyes and voice. 

He hung his head, licking his lips as he sighed. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because it fucking hurts, okay?” You snarled, breathing heavily. “It fucking hurts to think that you could have your fucking brains all over a curtain! And I’d…” 

“You’d what?” King questioned, looking up at you as he raised his brows, expecting an answer. “You’d move on again? You’d simply continue going around the country painting animals for little cigarette cards?” 

“No,” you said flatly. 

“Because you’re not there,” he continued, “you aren’t there when Django and I are getting shot at. You don’t work in the same field that we do.” 

“So that means I don’t get to say that I’m worried?” You spat. 

“Not particularly, no.” 

“Real nice,” you huffed, shaking your head. “Real, real fucking nice.” 

“Well, what do you want me to say?” He shrugged. “That I worry about you when I have no right to? That I know the kind of bastards that are out there, who would just love to steal an innocent man’s horse and rob him blind before killing him and stealing his paintings, too?” 

“It’s a bit fucking different when that shit could happen by pure chance,” you started, “but when it fucking comes to you, you’re out there every goddamn day! And you’re not even using a rifle, which would be a lot fucking safer than using that sleeve gun you got!” 

“But at least if it happens to me it wouldn’t be for no reason,” he growled. “If it happened to you, there would be no reason behind it. No morality, or any sort of justification. If it happened to you, there’d… it would be easier that it happened to me, not to you.” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, King?” You huffed. “That, that you’d rather you died if it meant that there was one less fucker likely to rob me?”

“More or less, yes,” he stated with a curt nod. “I care about you, (y/n), I don’t… the thought of something happening to you pains me just as much as the thought of something happening to me pains you.” 

“I highly doubt that,” you told him. “I highly fucking doubt that.” 

“Oh, really?” He took a step forward, and the next thing you knew, he had you pinned against the wall he had been leaning up against. “Do you doubt that if you died, I would blame myself? Because I wasn’t around to make sure nothing happened to you.” 

“And, what, you doubt that I don’t fucking worry every day?” You asked. “You doubt that I wished, so fucking badly, that we could just settle some place out west and mind our own goddamn businesses? You, me, Django, Hildi? You doubt I want that? For all of us to be safe?”

“You’re a fool,” King sighed heavily. “You are an absolute fool… I worry, because I want that for us - I want me and you to find a place out west and to settle down. We could be… we could be like the cowboys.” 

“Then why did you say that I have no right to worry over you?” You questioned, shaking your head. “You can’t… you can’t have it both ways, King.” 

“So I can love you and be in love with you, but not worry about you?” He scoffed. “You tell me off for being reckless, but you could get robbed, mauled, shot, trampled, bitten, you could be-” 

“Did you just tell me you love me in the middle of a fucking argument?” You asked, all anger leaving you as you dared to laugh a little. “Seriously?”

“Not on purpose but, ja, I did… but-” 

“You fucking idiot,” you breathed out, cupping his cheeks and giving him a quick kiss. “Why the fuck do you think I’m so worried? Huh?”

King smiled when he noticed your little spark of joy, a faint blush coming to his features as he sighed. “Because you love me?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “You idiot.” 

“Mein maler,” he whispered, licking his lips as he swallowed thickly. “Maybe we can compromise? Me and Django travel the country, I don’t doubt that we’ll inevitably see some wildlife that you can paint. And you may even find some… what are they called? The big mean looking ones with red, orange, black and yellow.” 

“Bull snakes?” You asked, and when he nodded, you shrugged. “Maybe… in certain areas.” 

“Will you think about it?” He pleaded. “And if I’m still reckless and careless, you can tell me off.” 

You couldn’t help but to laugh as you nodded, letting out a sigh. “Sure, I’ll… I’ll think about it, I’ll let you know by morning.” 

“Bitte,” gently, he took your hand as he cleared his throat. “Like the cowboys?”

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[funkymbtifiction]

I moved to a dangerous area of a city for school, and during the school year when most of my activities were on-campus, faced very few problems going about my day. However I recently moved off-campus and have been taking public transport more often, and it feels like I’ve been encountering more situations that stress me out than usual. Anyway, I’ve been lucky enough so far to not have had any “real” bad outcomes as a result of this (haven’t been robbed or had harassment beyond street comments,) but it’s taking a toll on my general anxiousness levels. I feel jealous of my roommates for not having had stuff like this happen to them yet while I’ve had scary encounters like 4 times in the past few weeks, which makes me wonder if I’m just being paranoid compared to them. I’m a generally more anxious person than most people, and sometimes I have episodes where I get really jumpy for a while or feel deeply unsettled, like someone could be following me or jump me in my apartment (not to the point where it feels real, more like “this would really suck.”) I’m also a six, so my gut reaction to people trying to get my attention is highly reactive and fearful. I’m a bit worried that my naturally anxious demeanor is making me more of a target than otherwise, but I’m not sure how to change that. While I think there are legitimate reasons to me to feel anxious, I don’t get anything out of being more stressed all the time. So do you have advice for dealing with the general anxiety/unfairness of the situation, and maybe encountering less of it? Or on appearing less vulnerable in public?

Regarding safety -- it's important to look confident even if you are not, to glance at people as you pass them (make brief eye contact, so you are telling them that you see them / are aware of them being there), and to seem like you know what you are doing (a confident stride, not hesitant movements or sidelong glances). If you are really concerned about being attacked, make it hard for them (no ponytails or anything they could grab, and arm yourself with protection of some sort that is legal where you live -- like pepper spray or a taser). Minimize being out after hours as much as you can, find people to walk home with and/or go to the bus stop with, and don't listen to music on your headphones or look at your phone. Distracted people are easier targets. Look around, be aware, and become aware of what is 'normal' for each environment (which people are always there, and what are they doing; who else is traveling at the same time you are). You should also brush up on self-defense to feel more confident (youtube has videos, or you could even take a class). There are lots of articles, videos, etc., from ex-cops/marines that will help you.

As for dealing with generalized anxiety -- it's understandable that if you feel vulnerable and are having to navigate a stressful situation, you will be more on edge, more emotional, and more easily triggered into being anxious about people trying to get your attention. You could try meditation at home and breathing techniques to calm yourself down. Learn how to be more in your body, and less in your head -- that's the only way for a 6 to feel more connected to the earth, by being aware of how they are breathing and how their body is reacting and how their feet are hitting the pavement. It's also good for a 6 to talk about their fears with other people they trust, or to just vent about it to someone who can reassure them or help them come up with a solution. Do your close friends know that you feel unsafe on your way to school? Could any of them carpool with you? Would any of them have ideas about how to feel safer or feel more calm?

I would say it might be helpful to assume that most people are just on their way to work/school, and like you, want to get there. Most people don't have evil intentions toward you, which means you don't have to be scared of every person you meet. Humans are very good at being intuitive in dangerous situations -- you can trust your body and your mind and your instincts to tell you when something is off or when someone seems "not right." Your mind and body is processing body language and information that you are not consciously aware of. There are also places that attract more trouble than others, and if they make you uncomfortable, don't go there anymore if you can avoid it. Get familiar with your route and the people you usually see along it and that will help you feel a little more oriented, and aware of what is normal for that route. The more familiar with it you are, the less anxiety you will have about it. It will just take time.

You can also be consciously aware of your negative thinking, and choose whether to give in to those thoughts or not. Like, "Is that person watching me?" -- well, are they, or are they doing the same thing I am doing, which is glancing around to see who is doing what? If someone is trying to get your attention -- why? Is it just to hit on you or is it because you're about to step into the bike lane?

Lastly if this is REALLY stressing you, is there any way you can move back on campus, or move closer and carpool? And since it's hard to be objective about whether something is scary or not (is this me overreacting or is this legitimately something to worry about?), ask your friends for input -- describe the scary situation to them, and ask them if that would unnerve them. Sometimes talking about it makes it seem less intimidating, and other times, it clearly shows you that this situation was NOT okay and should be seen as a warning flag.

I hope you can stay safe and find ways to feel less endangered.

[hercleverboy]

the waiting room

spencer reid x fem!reader

summary ↠ the three times Y/N waited for spencer, and the one time he waited for her. (based off of this blurb)

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ mentions of death as a result of potential illness, spencer’s headaches, mri scans, swearing,  indefinite ending. 

word count ↠ 2.9k

dedicating this one to two of the literal loves of my life, @voidsfilm + @ellesgreenaway ♡

“What is stronger than the human heart, which shatters over and over and still lives.” — Rupi Kaur

Spencer had always hated hospitals.

He found it so conflicting, how a place could hold so much hope for life and promise for the future, and yet also hold so much heartbreak and despair and agony.

The strong disinfectant smell wasn’t his favourite thing, either. He hated how the bright lights always irritated his eyes, and how the hallways all just looked the same, so bleak and lifeless.

Most of all, he hated the waiting room. 

The navy-blue carpet that lined the floors, wooden chairs that were always, without fail, extremely uncomfortable to sit in. The way that nurses and doctors would walk past the room, eyes full of pity and sorrow. With his job, he’d seen more waiting rooms than he would’ve liked. He spent more time than he wanted to in hospitals, talking to victims’ families, and even sometimes having to witness them receive such heartbreaking news. On one or two occasions, he’d even had to be the bearer of bad news himself, the one who had to tell expectant family that their loved one was gone. It only added to the list of reasons why he despised hospitals.

Then there was the other side of the coin. He took frequent trips to the hospital, but unfortunately more oftenly as a patient than an FBI agent. He wouldn’t say he was reckless, but he didn’t exactly put much value on his life. Or at least, he never used to. He figured it was because he was the only one on the team without a family to come home to, without people who were dependent on him. And so, if it came down to it, he would willing take off his Kevlar vest and put down his weapon while talking down a gun-wielding unsub. Of course, he’d get the third degree from Hotch later, but he could live with that. And then he met Y/N, and he realised that now he had someone counting on him, someone waiting for him to come back home to them, he couldn’t afford to be so careless in the field.

Though sometimes, despite Spencer’s best attempts, things still went wrong. Y/N had seen the inside of the hospital waiting room more than most, often because she’d get called by one of his team mates to alert her that he’d been injured in the field. And without him ever asking, she’d drop everything to be there for him, even if it was his own stupidity that had landed him in those situations. 

The first time was after he’d been shot in the knee. Y/N had been midway through her workday when she’d received a call from JJ telling her that Spencer had been injured. She knew that it was only a leg wound, that he would be absolutely fine, but that didn’t stop her from being worried. She’d been sat in the waiting room, waiting anxiously for a nurse to come by and update her. 

As soon as she got the all clear to see him, she’d breathed out a sigh of relief and made her way to his room,  catching his attention as soon as she entered.

He gave her a tight-lipped smile, grimacing slightly at the pain shooting through his leg. “Hi.” 

She chuckled at that, moving to stand at his bedside. “Hi baby, how are you feeling?” 

“I’m ok.” He smiled, reaching up to tightly grasp one of her hands in his. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here, you know.” 

“Oh, stop.” She mumbled with a smile. “You know how much I worry about you.” 

He grinned at that, the warm feeling that he always got when he was with her spreading through him. He used the grip he had on her hand to pull her down to him, so his lips could meet hers in a sweet kiss. “Hotch has demanded I take some time off to rest, or whatever.” He murmured against her lips. “So, I’m all yours.” 

“Hmm, and what you mean by that is that you need someone to take care of you at home for a few days?” 

“Well, I did get shot in the leg, you know. Taking down the bad guy...” He gestured to his bandaged-up knee, a pout on his pretty pink lips. 

She let out a laugh at that, amused. “Alright, Superman. Let’s get you home, shall we?” 

The next time Y/N found herself in the hospital waiting room was a year later, when Spencer had been suffering from painful, unexplainable headaches. 

Initially, Spencer hadn’t wanted her to attend his MRI scan appointment, but it didn’t take much convincing for her to assure him that she wanted to be there for him. He’d held her hand in a vice-like grip on the drive to the hospital, only letting go when the nurse called his name to tell him they were ready for him. She’d kissed the back of his hand before he’d left, a whispered promise leaving her lips before he went, “I’ll be right here waiting.”

She looked around the empty waiting room, took note of its greying walls and stained carpet, and how awfully uncomfortable the chairs were. She thought of anything and everything that could distract her from the way she was feeling at that moment- knowing how scared her boyfriend was that there was something was wrong with him. 

Spencer came back to the waiting room an hour later, both relieved to see that his girl was indeed still waiting for him but frustrated with what little the doctor had told him. 

“Hey!” Y/N sat up straighter, putting on a smile for the sake of her boyfriend. “How’d it go?” 

Spencer just shook his head. “He says there’s nothing physically wrong with me. He suggested I should consider that it’s something more mental, but he’s wrong- he’s wrong, Y/N.” He sat down in the chair next to her, seeking comfort in her arms as he whimpered into the crook of her neck. “I’m not- I’m not crazy, am I?” 

And the truth was, she didn’t know. She was so afraid for him, worried that he was sick, dying, perhaps of something that the doctors hadn’t detected yet. It terrified her. Her hands ran up and down the expanse of his back, attempting to soothe his weeps the best that she could. Spencer grabbed fistfuls of the back of her shirt and breathed in the scent of her hair as deeply as he could to try and ground himself.

“I’m scared, Y/N.” 

That broke her heart to hear, but all she could do was nod in understanding, hoping her words would offer him some form of comfort. “I know, I know. We’ll figure this out, ok? Everything is going to be alright.” 

The next time Y/N inside of a waiting room was on what she could only refer to as the worst night of her life.

There were no words that could encompass the plethora of emotions she went through when she’d received a phone call from JJ, “Spencer has been shot. It’s- It’s pretty bad, Y/N. You need to come quickly.” 

When she got to the waiting room, she saw JJ and Alex sat opposite one another, a worry that made Y/N’s stomach sink on both their faces. She hurried towards them, tears blurring her vision. “Have you had any updates? Is he ok?” 

JJ looked up, shaking her head sadly. 

“What happened?” Y/N asked, her voice wavering. 

“He got shot in the neck. He pushed me out of the way.” Alex sighed, as though she was still in disbelief that he’d done that to save her. 

Y/N stared ahead in shock, dropping down into the seat beside Alex. Of course, of course, Spencer would risk his life to protect Alex. Y/N knew how fond he was of his colleague, how he idolised her, saw her as a sort of mother figure, even. 

Eventually JJ got called back to work, with Alex insisting that she’d stay with Y/N and wait for Spencer to wake. 

Y/N was so sick and fucking tired of the waiting room. Before, she hadn’t minded it, it had even bought a sense of comfort to her- because she was in a hospital, where they saved lives. But now? The familiar walls and dull navy-blue carpet made her feel nauseous. Not knowing whether her boyfriend was going to live or die was incomparable to any other time she’d found herself waiting in the same four walls. She was feeling everything and nothing all at once, she wanted to cry and scream, curse the universe for once again hurting a man that had done nothing in his life but protect others. Hell, part of her even wanted to laugh- laugh at the absurdity of the situation. If he died, - god, if he died - the world would’ve robbed him of a lifetime with her, the chance to live the life that he deserved.

She barely registered that Alex had left her side to bring her a coffee until she sat back down beside her. Y/N looked over at her, giving her a small smile as she gratefully accepted the coffee. 

Y/N brought the cup to her lips, relishing in how the hot liquid brought her a sense of warmth, and she wondered if she’d ever feel Spencer’s warmth again. She sucked in a shaky breath, speaking the first words she’d said in all the hours they’d been waiting. “You know he wants kids?” 

Alex looked over at her, sad smile tugging at her lips. “I do.” 

Y/N nodded, sniffing. “He’d be a phenomenal father.” 

“He would.” 

Y/N let out a small cry, trying desperately to hold herself together. “What if I never get the chance to give him that, Alex?” She cried, body finally giving in to the painful ache that consumed her entire being. 

Alex placed an arm around her, allowing the younger woman to lean on her shoulder for support. “You’ll get the chance. Spencer is strong, he’ll pull through.”

And sure enough, Alex had been right. When Y/N had been told he was awake, she couldn’t describe the relief that flooded her. After meeting Penelope in the hallway and being given a much-needed hug, she took a few deep breaths before walking into Spencer’s room. When her eyes landed on him, she felt the tears start to well again. She had to remind herself that despite the bandage on his neck and the numerous machines hooked up to him, he was there, and he was alive. 

She came towards him with the best smile she could muster, and he looked up at her with a drowsy smile.

“Hi.” She whispered, standing beside his bed. 

He grinned up at her, reaching out for her hand just like he always did. “Hi.” 

She squeezed his hand gently, reminding herself again that he was ok, though she couldn’t prevent the tears that began to tremble down her cheeks. 

Spencer’s heart throbbed at the sight, and he allowed himself to imagine the pain she must’ve been through, having to wait for hours to see if he was alive. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not the woman he loved more than anything else. “It’s alright, sweet girl. I’m alright.” He promised, wishing more than anything that he could pull her into his arms and soothe her, though the pain in his neck prevented him from doing so. 

“I could’ve lost you.” She whimpered, her other hand coming out to delicately trace the side of his face. 

“I’m right here.” He gave her hand three squeezes just to emphasise his point. 

She leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “You can’t ever scare me like that again.” 

Spencer chuckled lowly, nodding. “Yes ma’am.” 

“Promise me?” 

And though it was a promise they both knew he couldn’t keep, he granted her the reassurance that she craved. 

“I promise.” 

Y/N knew that wasn’t the last time she’d be sat in the waiting room, scared and anxious and hoping that the love of her life was ok. She knew there would always be a ‘next time’, no matter how many self-serving promises she asked Spencer to make. What she didn’t plan for, was that the next time she saw the inside of a hospital, it would be her fighting for her life. 

It had been a slow day at work for Spencer, with him managing to complete a majority of his withstanding paperwork. He sat at his desk, focused on how he twirled his pen between his fingertips, willing the clock to move faster so he could go back home when his phone rang, Y/N’s name flashing across the screen. 

He answered eagerly, though all eagerness was wiped away when it wasn’t her voice on the other end of the line. 

“Hi there, I’m looking for a Dr Spencer Reid?” 

Spencer’s mind raced, and he swallowed thickly before squeaking out an answer. “That’s me.” 

“I’m calling on behalf of Y/N Y/L/N, you’re registered as her emergency contact.” 

“Is she ok?” He croaked out, begging and pleading internally that all the worst-case scenario’s running through his head wouldn’t come to fruition. 

“She was involved in a severe road collision. You’re going to want to come down here-”

Everything past that was drowned out by the sound of Spencer’s heart beating quicker, so loudly he could hear it. He hung up, gathering his things together as quickly as he could and rushing toward the doors of the bullpen- running directly into one Derek Morgan. 

“Woah, easy there, kid. You got somewhere to be?” He joked at first, but erased all hints of a smile from his face when he saw the tears filling the younger man’s eyes. “What’s going on? Talk to me.” 

Spencer couldn’t form a sentence, only managing to splutter out a few barely strung together words. “It’s Y/N, she’s- she’s been in an a-accident and I need, I have to get to her.” 

Morgan’s eyes widened, nodding in understanding. “Alright, ok. You’re in no condition to be driving, let me take you.” 

Spencer wasn’t about to argue, already making his way toward the elevator. 

*

Spencer had always hated hospitals. 

But he’d also decided that he really fucking hated the waiting room. 

The doctors didn’t have any updates for him, no matter how many times he asked. So, he’d been forced to sit in that damned room and wait. 

He thought of how cruel the concept of the waiting room was. Waiting for either good or bad news, waiting to hear the words that would either fill him with relief or dread, signify the start of his life or the end. How cruel was it that people had to sit and wait, with the weight of the world on their shoulders and just hope their loved one was ok? 

With the first hour brought Spencer’s upset, tears trembling down rosy cheeks and whimpered words of disbelief that he could lose the woman he loved. He’d sat in the uncomfortable blue chair with his head in his hands as sobs wrecked through his body, with Morgan sat next to him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

The second hour brought with it a slither of hope, as a doctor came out to update them. Though it wasn’t good nor bad news, just that Y/N was still in surgery and was expected to be so for the next few hours. Spencer had again buried his head in his hands, his thoughts racing. The rest of the team arrived, joining the sombre atmosphere of the waiting room. 

The third hour saw Spencer grow agitated, angry with himself for not being with her, for not protecting her, despite how many times the team attempted to reassure him that there was nothing he could’ve done differently. They brought him cups of coffee with gentle reassurances, empty promises that Y/N would be fine, that she would pull through, but how could they possibly know that? 

In the fourth hour, Spencer sat staring blankly at the wall. He reminded himself of the future he’d dreamt of time and time again, and how he couldn’t imagine himself having that life with anyone else but her. He recalled the location of the velvet purple box he’d bought just a few months prior, hidden amongst pairs of his mismatched socks in the second drawer of his nightstand. What if he never got the chance to propose? To give her the life that he’d promised her time and time again when it was 3am and he was holding the love his life as close to his chest as he could get her. After all he’d done, the years of his life he’d given to helping to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, this was the thanks he got? What a sick twist of fate that was. 

By the fifth hour, he was exhausted. His eyes drooped but he fought to keep them open, choosing to ignore the pitiful looks JJ shot him when she saw him fighting sleep. He would wait for her, just like all the times she had waited for him. He recognised how the way that he felt must’ve been how Y/N had felt after he’d been shot the year before, and the thought almost made him sick. He ran over all the possible outcomes in his head, allowing his eyes to close for a single moment as he mentally calculated the statistical probabilities of each outcome. He despised how helpless he felt. For a man whose job was to help others in need, he’d never been a position before where he didn’t have the answer, where he couldn’t come up with a solution. His heart ached as the realisation that he could very well lose her settled over him, the statistic he’d calculated of her survival being a number that was way too low for Spencer’s liking. 

For the moment, he had no choice but to wait. 

It was all he could do. 

*

permanent taglist: @beyonces-breastmilk​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @thelovelyrose​ @averyhotchner​ @cynbx​ @calm-and-doctor​ @reidyoulikeabook​ @katexrichardson​ @jemimah-b99​ @muffin-cup​ @shadyladyperfection​ @rigatonireid​ @amoeebaa​ @mggsprettygirl​  @alltooreid​ @s1utformgg @awritingtree

spencer reid taglist: @reidtome

[silverhandsamurai]

Heat • River Ward/Fem!V • NSFW

warnings; nsfw, minor swearing, sexual content 

summary; River needs a comforting touch V helps out.

Setting; postgame • dating a while

River had been short-tempered all day. His latest case was driving him up the wall. Countless leads leaving him empty-handed. Wanting to distract him I offered to take him out to lunch at the Chubby Buffalo. 

Not even a minute after our food arrived he was twirling his fork looking off into the distance.

" So I finally finished that gig in Watson today."

" Uh-huh."

" I danced on the moon."

" Uh-huh."

He wasn't paying attention at all. I didn't truly mind I knew he was working hard doesn't mean I wouldn't tease him about his lack of attention.

"So River mind helping me rob Arasaka and Militech of all their secrets?"

" Uh-huh."

I gave a sudden laugh jarring River from his thoughts as he suddenly held his fork a little too tightly and looked at me wide-eyed.

"Really officer? You'll help me steal? How sweet of you."

Heaving a sigh River leaned back giving me an apologetic look.

"Sorry. This case just has me going crazy."

I shook my head and reached across the table to take his free hand in my mine and lace our fingers together. " Hey, I get it. No need to explain. Happens to everyone. "

Relief flashed across his face and he gave my hand a soft squeeze. " You are amazing you know that?"

"Oh, I know. Keep goin' tell me more." 

I chimed grinning back at him playfully.  He hummed in thought for a moment before taking a sip of his drink. " Nah. Got nothin' more to say." 

I felt another laugh bubble up at his cheeky rebuttal. 

Finally calming down for a moment River started to eat his meal as he listened to me give all the fun details I had from dealing with my last gig.

We parted ways after lunch and I didn't hear from him until I got a message late in the evening.

It was really short and odd.

Hotel. Room 202.

He then sent another message with the hotel address attached.

Wasn't like River at all. 

I knew something was wrong.

Arriving at the hotel it was in the middle of the city. Not too fancy, but not rundown either. I walked through the lobby and no one was at the front desk so I just headed for the stairs checking each room number with a glance.

Once I found the right one I gave it a few solid knocks. 

I heard rustling on the other side of the door. Rocking back on my heels nervously I felt my mind racing as I waited for River to answer the door. 

Finally, it slid open to reveal him standing there looking as restless as I felt. " What the hell happened?" He shook his head and stepped aside to let me in. Confused I walked in and after the door closed I spun on my heel to glare at him. I was worried and he wasn't saying anything.

" Talk. You are seriously this close to- " Before I could say he was pissing me off River had slammed his mouth on mine and his hands were holding my hips firm.

Damn...he felt good. 

But as much as I wanted to give in to him I wanted answers first.

Reluctantly I pulled away nipping at his bottom lip as he hooked his grip under my thighs and lifted me. My legs naturally wrapped around his waist and my hands clutched his shirt.

" The client dropped the case. All that work was for nothing. " 

I could hear the anger and disappointment in his tone. I knew how much River prided himself on his work ethic and what being a private investigator meant to him. He always put everything into all his cases. Hours of effort and time. To have one of those cases suddenly ripped away was torture.

I knew then why he had messaged me.

River was seeking comfort and I was more than happy to provide it.

Tugging on his shirt I kissed him roughly.

Soon clothes fell left and right until no barrier stood between us.

Reaching out for him I slide down his body as he leaned back against the wall. My hands and tongue flowed along the curve of his hips edging lower. His breath halted and his hands were fast to grip my hair holding me still. He was pulsing filled with heat against my tongue as I eased him past my lips. 

It was hard not to have my throat tighten. 

He was thick and overwhelming.

I couldn't breathe...

I didn't care...

Deeper I pushed him drinking up his scolding touch. Even though I was in his grip it was my every move that was making him arch to my mercy.

It felt powerful having this man rendered helpless against me. 

A lick here or there. He was trembling.

His hands would rake through my hair making my scalp sting. 

" Fuck, V..."

His sudden raspy curse sent shivers down my spine. River's voice was huskily laced with a dripping want. River yanked me back suddenly causing pain to course throughout my head as his hold was unforgiving and aggressive.

I had pushed him close to the edge and he wasn't ready to fall yet. 

Instantly I was frustrated that he had stopped me. My body was craving his touch so I leaned towards him as he towered above me.

" Give me more.." A plead and a command. I was begging, but also demanding for him to take me.  River pulled me up by my hair then captured my lips silently giving in to my request.

His tongue thrust into my mouth.

Long, thick, and warm.

Filling my mouth.

Claiming it. 

Letting me taste and savor him.

He pushed and I pulled a power play. My hands were rough as I held him against the wall forcing him to submit. This taste. This touch.

 I needed more I needed to feel engulfed by it. 

Hunger surrounding me swallowing me in its embrace I leaned back falling into the bed beckoning with a wave of my hand for him to follow. His stance tensed and his jaw locked as he stalked forward the tension rippling off his skin as he edged to the bed. 

Such a large man unraveling within my grasp. Yearning for me with such need that just by looking at him I could see how much he wanted me.

The sight made me squeeze my thighs together as the ache inside me grew.

"Come here closer....hurry..."

I knew how desperate I sounded but I didn't care I needed to feel him right away. River answered without a word his lips on mine again. Gasping I could feel all of him. 

His touch. 

His heat. 

The pressure made my toes curl and my thighs shake as I gripped clawing at his back. It was burning this craving ache making me succumb to its whims.

Groaning deeply in my ear I knew River felt it too. Unbound tension building.  

It wasn't enough. 

Pushing using my weight I shoved River beneath me.  My hands gliding to his neck gripping tight forcing his focus on me. My back arched as I sank down on him my hands becoming talons as I ran my nails into his skin. 

Marking him as he did me.

River was biting his lip hard as his hands set firmly on my hips weighing me down. Anchoring me to him. I resisted pushing against his touch my hips dancing on their own.

My breath grew shallow as I felt my sweat become liquid heat along my hips licking at my sore muscles. I leaned forward losing some of my strength as my legs trembled.

The ache and need inside I couldn't reach it anymore. 

Begging River with just a look my eyes reflecting my inner struggle he was quick to act. His strong arms held me as he pushed up reaching far into my depths. My voice left me as my back hit the sheets. Powerful long strokes. Grinding me into the bed.

I was helpless my strength spent as my hands were barely able to hold onto his shoulders. He kept going supporting me never relenting.

The ache was like hot water now washing over me. Numbing me and burning me at the same time.

"River...please..."

Whimpers melded into moans as our voices entangled together. Every movement of River dulled the ache burning inside. Surrendering myself bliss took over soon as my mind and body felt engulfed. 

River's hands pried into my skin as I felt him yield to the same bliss.

His voice was raw as he held himself over me sweat falling down his brow.

So strong and wild.

I smiled fondly at him before kissing his breathless lips softly as he drifted down from his high. Pulling back I ran my thumb over River's swollen bottom lip and his dark and hazy eye followed my motions silently. 

Locking my eyes with his River gave me a warm smile as he caressed my waist.

" At this point, there is no hope for me now "

Tilting my head in confusion I eased into the bed lazily " What are you talking about?"

River let out a chuckle as he trailed kisses along my arm. " You told me not to fall in love with you, but every moment I spend with you I just keep falling more and more."

"Well, officer seems I'm guilty of the same crime. "

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

Was requested a nsfw piece for River so here it is. 

[13atoms]

Slippery Fingers [Dhawan!Master x Reader]

Took longer than I expected, and I haven’t written smut in forever so forgive it being a little rusty, but here’s the Dh!Master smut which (barely) won the oneshot fic vote! 

Also sorry if you’re a massage therapist, we’re on a different planet so I’m hoping the now-defunct word ‘masseuse’ is still in-vogue there!

Contents: Happy Ending Massage from an alien, Smut, Jealousy, yet another unsuccessful trip to a spa planet. [8k]

*

“You never take me anywhere fun!” You had pouted, pushing the Master’s buttons as he researched yet another scheme.

In truth, he did take you places fun. At least, places he thought were fun. But in all of time and space, there had to be more relaxing ways to have fun than overthrowing monarchies and trying to instigate political disasters.

He’d tried taking you hiking, once, but both of you had complained an hour in. He was bored, you were too sweaty, and no one was enjoying themselves. He’d teleported the pair of you back to the TARDIS, and you’d robbed a weapon store instead.

Still, you were determined he should take you somewhere fun.

The Master’s raised an eyebrow, a concealed smile making his lips twitch.

“A theme park, a beach, a… um… a waterpark? I’ll wear something revealing?” you teased, knowing he would never take you up on the offer.

The flirtation the two of you engaged with was frustratingly endless – just a bit of fun.

You relished in the way his eyes couldn’t meet yours, as he considered your suggestions. Maybe imagined them, too.

“Sounds boring,” he finally commented.

“What’s boring about a little hedonistic fun?”

He smiled, striding across the outback-interior of his TARDIS to finally meet you beside the console. Good. Co-ordinates were being set, the screens displaying a stream of impossibly fast information in a language you couldn’t read.

The Master was planning something.

“Hedonism is about pleasure, dearest,” he ground out the last word, and it made you smile.

You refrained from making the ‘old married couple’ joke that so many strangers made on your travels, because it rang a little too true.

“Yeah?”

“And if you’re in the mood for hedonism, you won’t find that pleasure in an amusement park.”

You raised your eyebrows, leaning against the console very intentionally, so his fingers had to brush your hip to flick the switches he needed. He shot you a knowing glance, as his hand lingered a little too long.

“Where will I find pleasure, Master?”

For a beat he paused, his lips parted and somehow inviting, mere inches from yours. Then he leant forwards, only to whisper.

“A spa.”

You felt the tension in the room pop, blown-bubblegum pierced by a pin and flying back into your face. Sticky and shocking and unpleasant. It took you a second to remember where you were – and who you were with. A retort came uncomfortably slowly, and you startled as the TARDIS began to dematerialise.

“Still trying to get me in a bathing suit?”

The Master winked.

*

As you stepped off the TARDIS, you found yourself in a stiflingly warm room, reaching for the Master’s arm subconsciously as he offered it.

All around you was a plush whiteness, creams and sterile surfaces somehow designed in such a way that the space felt both perfectly welcoming and clean. The TARDIS door locked quietly behind you, disguised as an inconspicuous cupboard, as the Master chose a direction to walk.

“This is one of the most exclusive spas in the whole quadrant – horrendously expensive.”

“Want to split the bill?” you teased, knowing damn well he’d never let you pay for anything.

Not that you could. What was the currency here? Credits? You’d never even considered it.

He gave you a laugh, tightening his hold on your arm as a lavender-skinned member of staff walked past you in mint-green scrubs, politely avoiding looking at you. They were a clear foot taller than the Master, and you tried not to stare.

“I hacked their systems to check,” the time lord boasted, “and it’s the quietest day they’ve ever had. We’re the only patrons.”

“That doesn’t seem very time-travel safe,” you chided, remembering the phrase from the countless times he’d warned you against doing something to change a timeline.

He rolled his eyes, and you couldn’t help smiling fondly.

“It’s okay when I do it,” he sniffed.

Finally, you had found some kind of reception desk.

With nothing more than a smile and a few nods to the softly-spoken receptionist, you watched as the Master handed over a payment stick and arranged everything. You found yourself handed a dressing gown as white as the rest of the décor in this place, and so fluffy and warm you immediately pressed it against your face, much to the Master’s fond amusement.

“It’s really soft,” you explained, and he rolled his eyes.

“Go get changed.”

*

In the end, the cubicles you were offered to for changing were adjacent, and you were quite glad you didn’t have to offer any kind of gender-segregated spa-experience. The Master chattered away as the two of you showered and changed, spa employees silently arriving to administer all manner of hair and skin treatments before you enjoyed the rest of the facilities.

Hair conditioned and skin moisturised, you emerged from the cubicle to see the Master in just a dressing gown – mirroring yours – and the sight made you strangely uneasy. It wasn’t often he dressed down. Certainly never willingly, as far as you could remember. With conditioner combed into his hair and beard, a treatment across his nose, he had never looked less threatening.

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh which he clearly expected, already glowering at you.

“Come on,” he complained, heading for the next room.

He didn’t offer you an arm, but he did hold the door open. As you brushed past him, you noticed they’d combed the hair treatment into his eyebrows. You wondered if choosing the quietest day in history hadn’t been – as you assumed – for your benefit. His pride seemed a little wounded.

“It’s good to relax!” You reassured him, holding out your arm. He ignored it.

“For humans, perhaps.”

You leant into his shoulder briefly, trying to wind him up.

“Even big scary time lords need a break! Though, you do have a disappointingly tame interpretation of hedonism.”

“I was thinking of bodily pleasure, darling.” he purred, “I’m sorry if this doesn’t meet your exacting standards.”

Trying to ignore the rush his implication sent through you, you kept your eyes trained on the soft carpet ahead. How do they keep it so clean? I suppose no one wears shoes here.

“But I’ll ask you to reserve judgement until you’ve seen how good the massage therapists are. I believe on earth you might call it sinful.”

With a contented hum, you walked with him to the open treatment room.

*

As you sat in adjacent chairs, you realised just how naked both of you were, both adjusting your robes to cover yourself as a receptionist approached. She explained everything rapidly, and the Master nodded in understanding. You trusted he would reiterate anything important – you were distracted by the bare slice of his thigh he kept fidgeting to cover.

In lieu of clipboards they handed you tablet-style devices, which seemed familiar enough. The prices of the treatments seemed huge, but the Master told you to ignore them. Maybe the currency here was just inflated. The Master never seemed bothered, at any rate.

He was scrolling through his own options, and you knew he struggled to allow himself to go through anything that might seem self-care-y. The parallel massage tables set up ahead of you seemed to suggest you would be in the room with him, and privately you hoped he might allow himself to relax, to trust a highly-skilled stranger, with you right there.

“What are you getting?” you asked, curiously looking at his screen.

The options were all described luxuriously, with various options for oils and smells and styles, different firmnesses of touch and different problem areas the therapists could focus on. You were settled on some focus on your left thigh, the lingering ache of a muscle there had been bothering you since you’d fallen running from an enraged palace guard last week. Besides that, you had no idea what to select.

“Just something standard,” the Master told you non-committally, and you marvelled at how embarrassing this seemed to be for him.

Then, something caught your eye.

“What are these options?”

You pointed on your own tablet, pointing to one of the most expensive options at the bottom of the page.

Indulgent twenty-minute full body muscle release with Lerimoya blossom oil, Akesian-style massage and skin treatment. Completed with sexual release and relaxing cool-down.

The Master’s jaw seemed to clench minutely, but you pretended to ignore it.

“Exactly what it says,” he told you curtly.

You scrolled back up to the top of the options, taking a moment to consider his bluntness. You had to admit… there was something very tempting about it. Getting yourself off on the TARDIS made you nervous – a living ship with a consciousness watching you bite back moans as you masturbated a deeply un-erotic thought each time you remembered it. But this was clinical. Self-care.

The Master was a ceaseless flirt, but seemed unable to deliver on his gazes and winks and comments. You needed something.

“Isn’t that… taboo here?”

“As common as a back rub, love.”

His curtness hadn’t ceased, and it irritated you for some reason. So much for being relaxed.

The time lord had impatiently clicked some arbitrary option at the top of his list, no doubt the shortest massage he could get away with. He was already clicking his tongue, holding the device out to be collected by the receptionist. You took a deep breath.

He was always telling you to take what you want and be hedonistic. You scrolled down quickly, selecting the option, selecting the areas of your body which hurt (not least that damn thigh) before holding out the device.

You could feel his eyes on you, your cheeks burning, and some deep part of you igniting at the thought of what was about to happen. You were looking forward to it, you realised. So much.

“Chosen something expensive?” he ground out, the joke landing flat as his tone seemed oddly monotonous.

“If you’re paying, then of course.”

It was only as the tablets were taken gently from you by a kindly receptionist that you remembered the massage room would be shared. A screen seemed to have appeared silently between the massage tables, and you hoped your look of appreciation was understood by the alien.

*

There was something surreal about being asked to undress just a screen away from the Master, knowing he was doing the same on the other side, mere feet away as the lights dimmed and incense burned.

The spa workers were softly spoken and considerate, putting you at ease immediately as you lay down, feeling acutely aware of your body against the table. You weren’t sure where to put your arms, fidgeting, until warm oily hands smoothed them down by your sides, and you fought your instincts in order to stay still.

You wondered how the Master was doing. He wasn’t the best at letting other people touch him. At being vulnerable. He hated leaving his back exposed, always afraid someone would stab him in it.

You thought, for a moment, about trying to talk to him.

Would that be rude? Would it help him?

But talking felt uncomfortable, laying like this, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

As large, warm hands started their work on your bare back, you let all thought of conversation go. You closed your eyes, feeling the smooth, gentle release of your muscles as they were expertly relaxed. The larger frames of the aliens here seemed to make them strong, pressure spread across fingertips which felt human-enough, the smell and warmth of the room tempting you near sleep, wringing soft noises of approval from you which you didn’t bother to conceal.

The time seemed to stretch on forever, in a delicious, in-urgent way you rarely experienced with the Master. He was always in a rush, unable to stand still even with a time machine.

This was, you conceded, luxurious and hedonistic: pleasure above all else. Pure self-indulgence. The pursuit of nothing but feeling good.

You could almost forget he was there. Soft music and the gentle movements of the massage therapists were the only sounds, until suddenly he was there again. For seconds at a time, in small noises, his presence seemed looming. The shifting of his beard against the table beneath him, a grunt of discomfort as a knot was released in his back, once a snap to not touch my neck.

He settled, soon enough, his treatment seeming more painful and intense than yours. You could hear the slap of skin onto his, the breath forced from his lungs as a considerable force was applied to his body. You tried to tune it out, each time the masseuse seemed to be hurting him. Likely by his own choice, you lamented. It was short, too. Your massage therapist had only just begun to work on the ache in your thigh, doing a marvellous job of easing the pain, when his massage was slowly finished.

Your body felt as though it was melting into the table, pleasantly warm with the oil and the heat of the room. Only because you strained your ears, you heard his masseuse leave the room, with a gentle instruction to lay still until they returned.

It was strangely difficult to enjoy the rest of your massage as you wondered what he was thinking about, just laying there. You had feared he might ignore their instructions and move, but he seemed to be behaving himself for the day.

A gentle murmur of “turn over for me” brought you back to your body, made your eyes snap open and a sudden rush of blood to the head caused you to feel disoriented.

“Take your time,” the massage therapist coaxed, as their soft hands guided you in turning slowly, careful not to let you fall off the table.

You had forgotten what was coming next.

The low murmur of something indiscernible started, a humming noise you soon tuned out, as hands found their way across your stomach. You felt yourself clench at the contact. This was different. Slower, more sensual touches, beyond the realm of what you would consider professional. You bit your lip, toying with stopping the treatment early, until you realised the source of the quiet buzzing.

As one huge hand began to knead at your breast, the other reached for the slipperiness between your legs.

Vibrations against your clit made you gasp, their expertly firm touches pulling you lazily yet inevitably closer towards orgasm. Your entire body felt dragged along with the certainty of a current in a river, moved as surely as gravity, pleasure growing stronger and stronger. As fingers pried your willing, limp legs apart, you let your hands roam your own oily skin, no longer caring about the noises you let slip past your lips, the quiet begs for more.

The calls of yes, please, fuck.

For a second, the Master’s fidgeting pulled you back into the room, making you gasp. But then the buzzing sped up, rubbing fingers joining it, and your mind went blank.

*

The Master grit his teeth, knowing nothing good could come from letting you tick that stupid box. It had been a kind of dare, a test of whether you’d actually do it. He thought he’d been playing good odds, in truth, even as a feeling of something uneasy had risen in his stomach at the thought of it.

A happy ending massage.

Or rather, you receiving a happy ending massage.

Perhaps he’d underestimated his own fondness of the pure art pleasure seeking, because his barely-relaxed body was already tensing again just listening to the hum of whatever tool they were using to finish the complete sexual release you had requested.

The whole time that damn alien had been abusing the muscles of his back, he had been wondering what you’d selected. If you actually had the nerve to go through with it. The treatment was popular here, he knew. In fact, the spa was famous for it. Famously good at it. Human anatomy and human pleasure were close enough to theirs that the richest interstellar-travellers from earth colonies would begin to arrive just a few years from the date he had chosen. They would all be seeking out the exact treatment which had caught your eye.

A strange thing to be famous for, he supposed, but popular. Certainly lucrative, and – was that moan?

*

It felt like it lasted an eternity, listening to how those… creatures finished their supposed-treatment, moans and calls and staccato words leaving your voice with a keening, sensual desperation he had never heard from you before. The slick sounds of your body had accompanied the buzzing of that device in the most insufferable symphony he had ever heard. He had considered leaving, so many times, gritting his teeth and trying to school his body into nonchalance as you finally came. The Master tried to block it out as you moaned, and laughed, and thanked the massage therapist, and apologised for thanking them… joked with the alien, no doubt glowing and coated with sweat and oil, flushed, your pants filling the room alongside contented hums.

He wondered why he couldn’t stand it.

“I’ll leave you for a few minutes to calm down,” the massage therapist had told you gently, and he had grimaced as you gave a breathy, giggling reply.

“I think I’ll need it.”

Then they were alone. And nothing should have changed dammit, and yet everything had. And he damned Rassilion and all those other bastards who decided time lords should be sexless and uncomfortable naked because fuck nothing had prepared him for this, no matter how much he pretended he was nothing like them.

He loathed to admit when humans were better than him at something, but in this situation, he longed to be the kind of species who could meet your eye after this.

You laughed again, suddenly, airily, and he wondered if that was supposed to be some kind of cue for him to say something.

Something witty.

Something clever.

Something him.

“All okay?” he choked out.

He was still on his front, and frankly dreading standing to change, and he wondered how you were laying. On your back, still, he presumed. All sticky and sweaty and mile-a-minute heartbeat like humans tended to be. He could smell pheromones from here, loathing his body for how he was reacting.

Yet another reason to dread standing.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” you called back, so obviously sated and giggly from just your voice.

“It was exactly what you chose, love.”

The pet name sounded unnatural, forced, and he prayed you were too whacked out on hormones to notice. The spa worker slunk back into the room, and he took a moment to hate them, to hate those fingers which had been slippery and clever all over you. His stomached clenched as he wondered if they’d been inside of you.  

As the lavender and mint form disappeared between the divider, the Master shoved his face roughly back against the table.

This room is too hot, he grumbled silently to himself, stupid human temperatures.

He wondered if you were cold, your skin risen in goosebumps, or if you were warm. Pliable. Slippery and soft and –

“How are you feeling?”

“Perfect.”

He could hear the stupid smile in your voice.

“Glad to hear it, if you’re ready to stand for me…”

The Master couldn’t help the furrow of his forehead, the dig of his fingernails into the soft surface of the table. Then he heard the matching gasps of you and the massage therapist, half-way pushing himself up to run around there and save you from whatever had happened and… you were fine.

Laughing, apologising for being lightheaded, saved from falling by the spa worker who had righted you. They were coaxing you to be slow, to be careful, and suddenly the Master was remembering the times he’d bellowed at you to go faster. To push your human physiology, to keep up with him. He could hear his own rough shouts, loud and harsh enough that they had made everyone around you wince with sympathy.

Then, he wondered why those thoughts were in his mind. And why that pang of guilt was making his hearts ache.

His damned masseuse had come back, no doubt from a smoke break or a lunch break or whatever these purple creatures did, helping him quickly into his robe. They offered him far less comfort than your massage therapist seemed to think was appropriate, still fussing and saying goodbye on the other side of the stupid divider.

He waved them away with a curt “good, yes, thank you.”

Then, he found himself looking straight at you.

And he couldn’t stand it.

*

The Master led you from the room with a military stride, taking some twisted pleasure in how you jogged to trail behind him.

“I can see why this is so popular,” you smiled, legs a little weak and your entire body feeling raw underneath your gown.

The Master ignored you.

The softness of the material was slightly tacky against your oily skin and you pulled it closer as you trailed behind the Master, enjoying a slight giddiness and feeling lightheaded, toes digging into the carpet as you took slow steps.

He seemed in a rush to get to the pool, swinging the door open, ignoring you as he let it swing closed after him.

The cloudy water of an oversized pool was pink tinted and sweetly aromatic, none of the chlorine smell you would expect on earth. You took in the fragrance with an indulgent sigh, refusing to give up your relaxation, even as a nagging feeling refused to leave you.

The Master was unhappy.

He waited for you to look away before quickly sliding into the water, chest-deep as he rested his elbows against the poolside behind him. He looked straight ahead as you disrobed and slid into the water beside him, the emptiness of the whole complex striking you yet again, as a sole employee passed whisper-quiet through the room.

The high vaulted ceiling was as simply designed as the rest of the complex, beautiful in its simplicity, and you looked up at it as you moved slowly through the warm water.

“Are you okay?” you asked the ceiling, hoping the Master might deign to answer instead.

He hummed, something affirmative and insincere. You let yourself float back, buoyant in the cloudy water, your toes breaking the water near the Master. He regarded you with a judgemental curl of his lip, before fixing his eyes on the wall opposite.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The Master didn’t reply, he just scoffed. You pouted, the water lapping at your face, paddling to stop yourself drifting into him.

“Just trying to have a conversation,” you grumbled.

Your words rolled off him like the sweat off his forehead, oil and water mixing on both of your skin, the heat of the room just a few degrees shy of stifling.

“Does this feel warmer to you, because you’re colder?”

He nodded. You rolled your eyes at him, finally standing in the water, crouching a little to keep your shoulders covered by the flat surface of it. You waded towards him, closing in on his personal space until the underwater bump of his leg against yours made you stop.

“Too hot?”

“Fine,” he ground out, rolling his head back towards the side of the pool.

You glimpsed the sweat and oil on his neck as you let your eyes drift over him, knowing he wouldn’t catch you while his gaze was trained on the ceiling.

“You’re in a bad mood.”

“I’m not.”

“Are.”

He gave an exasperated exhale, pinching his nose, and you watched the movement of his shoulders as he shifted his weight. You’d never seen so much bare skin, and you couldn’t help staring.

Sidling closer to him, you felt the brush of your leg against his once again, not recoiling. The Master tensed, and you ended up beside him by the pool.

“You are.”

All but whispering in his ear, you grinned as a shudder passed through him. The Master didn’t find it as funny, flopping his arm back beside him, wincing as it brushed your bare breast. He pulled away at lightspeed, shaky and sudden in his movements. You were getting to him.

He kept his lips tightly sealed, teeth clenched, making the muscles of his jaw bulge slightly beneath his beard.

A door opened, intended to be quiet but deafening in the tense room.

The Master snapped his eyes open at the noise, before moving away from you. He ducked his head underwater, rubbing product and oil from his face, before re-emerging with his fringe plastered to his face.

You laughed as he tried to brush the hair from his eyes, and that was the final straw.

“You’re insufferable sometimes,” he snapped.

The Master marched to the side of the pool, soaking his robe in his eagerness to cover himself as he climbed the steps, turning to face you for just long enough to reveal something unsettling in his glare.

“I’ll wait in the TARDIS. Don’t hurry.”

His curt words remained in the room longer than him, echoing as the door closed itself softly behind his indignantly retreating form.

“Grumpy,” you sighed to the vaulted ceiling, floating on your back, and wishing that high ceiling housed the consciousness of the TARDIS.

At least when you argued on the TARDIS, you knew the ship was (usually) on your side. Maybe her gentle hum would have alleviated your guilt.

You managed to float in the pool a little longer, swimming for a bit, trying to relax. It was no use. With a mournful last duck under the water, you emerged from the pool, not hurrying to cover yourself now you were alone.

What had the Master been so pissed off by, you wondered. Hadn’t he known what this place was like? His research was usually meticulous – in fact you suspected he tended towards places he had been before when planning days out for you. Was it the nakedness? The touch of a stranger, in that massage parlour? Or simply the strangeness of a place devoid of stress and terror and chaos.

You’d thought about your life with him a lot, of late. About how you couldn’t just keep seeing the darkness of the universe. Perhaps it was naïve, but you had hoped that his recent movements towards flirting with you might have been the start of a few nicer trips. Of something a bit… more with him.

But he was acting like the bastard you’d first known, no longer softer, kinder, towards you.

Somewhere the two of you had taken steps backwards. And now he was fighting with you at a spa, of all places.

You pulled the robe tighter around you, gave a passing member of staff a tight smile, as you found the cupboard door which led to the TARDIS.

Deep breath, you told yourself.

Stepping into a different dimension always felt a little disorientating, but the TARDIS was your home now. Welcoming in her warmer, yellow light as the door closed behind you and cut off the spa’s true white lights and pristine décor.

You saw the form of the Master the second you stepped inside, the first thing your eye was drawn to. He was in a different gown, a thicker, longer one. Dark purple like his coat, and just as modest in its coverage.

He was leaning heavily on the console, hunched over with his hair messily towel-dried and barely styled. He’d clearly made some attempt, then gotten frustrated.

“Sorry for being annoying earlier,” you tried to weakly joke.

The Master didn’t even turn to regard you, he just tensed his shoulders, leaning defensively closer to the ship’s console.

“You still reek of that oil,” he spat, “and hormones.”

Even across the room, you took a step back from him. You pulled self-consciously at the neck of your robe, hoping he couldn’t see how genuinely shaken you were.

You couldn’t reply, biting down a surge of emotion at his rejection and turning from him, inspecting a side table by the door. The TARDIS sent a wave of comfort through you, but it only made things harder.

Highlighted what her pilot wouldn’t give you.

After a few seconds of silence the Master whirled around, a furrow in his brow.

“Say something.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You had nothing to say to him.

He strode closer to you, and you stepped back again, closer to the doors.

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, an uncertainty in your tone which made the Master take pause.

“Why?”

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know why you were meant to be sorry.

“For upsetting you. Whatever I did, I…”

You trailed off as the Master regarded you for a second, something approaching genuine conflict on his face as he fully took in your appearance. Wet hair, dressing gown tightly around your skin, shivering from the change in temperature… you wondered what he saw.

He sighed heavily.

“‘Whatever you did’?”

The words weren’t cruel. It was a question. But he could be terrifying, even in a bath robe. And you watched his eyes, looking for a trick or a spark of something more troubling.

He was searching your eyes too, looking for sincerity. For some kind of comfort.

“You took me there, and I really don’t know what I did… why you hated it so much. But… I’m guessing it was my fault.”

To your surprise, he pulled you into a gentle hug, cradling your head as he pulled you near to him. He wasn’t squeezing you, your bodies hardly touching. He was just… holding you close to him.

“I don’t like being touched,” he mumbled, his words over your shoulder, like they were trying to evade being heard.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you into –”

“No I just… I don’t like you being touched. Either. It makes me nervous.”

“Nervous?” you echoed back to him.

You felt his fingers twitch against your head, tightening and loosening slightly.

“Maybe… I just… I couldn’t stand them touching you. Or seeing you. I wasn’t expecting that.”

In the silence which passed between you, you wondered if he was mulling over his own words. If he even suspected what you heard in them, the vivid green between the lines of what he’d said: jealousy.

“If there had been anyone else there, other guests, I would’ve made us leave. But you seemed happy and…”

He was struggling. Struggling to articulate himself, maybe even struggling to come to terms which his own motivations.

While bragging and flirting and banter came as easily as breathing to the time lord, sincerity was something much harder.

“You didn’t like being vulnerable?” you prompted, afraid to push him too much.

Something like an awkward, coughing laugh happened in the back of his throat – you only heard it because you were so close to him.

“I suppose you could say that.”

Snaking your arms around him, you pulled the Master closer, feeling your bodies properly together between thick material. He sighed indulgently, and you smiled, face hidden from him.

“You should have said. We could have left,” you tried to comfort him, “tell me, next time. We’ll just leave.”

He gave you the silent treatment again, though you suspected this time it was not unkind. He just genuinely didn’t know what to say.

You tried a different tact, returning to something more familiar.

“You really hate how I smell?” you teased.

He groaned, and you squeezed him just to make him groan more.

“You don’t smell like you.”

That was sweet, you conceded, rubbing his back in a few soft, gentle sweeps across the towelling of his dressing gown. He gulped.

“Did you enjoy your massage?” he asked suddenly, and edge to his words which made the question seem suspiciously loaded.

You tried not to let your wariness show, holding your posture perfectly still.

“I did. It was… intense. Good though. How about you?”

He gave a low laugh, and the knot in your stomach grew tighter, pulled taught by his sudden change in demeanour. He was holding you. In the way he might hold a hostage, not a friend. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, made you open your eyes and look across the TARDIS for any sign of danger.

You couldn’t know it, but you suspected that if you tried to walk away his tensed arms would stop you.

“My massage wasn’t nearly as satisfying, if the noises you made were anything to go by, love.”

The laugh you forced was barely loud enough to leave your lips. You felt the Master’s breath on your neck.

“Tell me what they did to you, love.”

“It was just… um… massage oil. And… they did my back. And rubbed that muscle I was complaining about, the one in my thigh. It feels a lot better now, actually.”

The Master stood silently, waiting. More, you could hear him thinking, more, love.

“They turned me over, massaged my front, and then they did the happy ending bit,” you laughed, awkwardness creeping into your tone where you tried so hard to suppress it.

“How did they make you feel?” he asked, an edge to his voice which barrelled straight past the boundaries of flirtation he had set before.

His voice was gravelly, seductive, each word painfully intentional as he whispered the syllables in your ear.

“Good,” you choked out, and he shook his head with a quiet, dark chuckle.

“No, darling, tell me what they made you feel. What did they do?”

Your mouth was dry, the TARDIS and your robe too hot, constricting against your sensitised skin.

You could feel yourself getting wetter, clenching, the faintest, most frustrating waves of pleasure in your clit. The Master was tense all over, and as you fidgeted, you felt him, hard against the front of your thigh.

“They hid you from me. Behind a barrier. Tell me what they did to you.”

In some deep part of your mind, a part which wasn’t clouded by lust and overwhelmed by the Master, pieces clicked into place. How he hated being exposed, but hated you being exposed more. His curtness, after you asked someone else to touch you. You damned him for being too proud to admit what he wanted, before you sought out pleasure elsewhere.

“They made me relaxed,” you began, “so relaxed. With these strong, gentle touches. All over. And then they turned me over, and I was so relaxed, I didn’t even notice how turned on I was getting.”

You paused, hoping the Master wanted to hear your words. That this was what he was asking for. His ragged breath told you enough. In his silence, he seemed to be begging for more. As you spoke, remembering the moment, you could feel your body responding to the memory. Growing wetter at saying it all out loud, at the knowledge the Master was desperately hanging off every word, his own arousal matching yours.

“When I was on my back, it was more oil. All over. Across my chest and my stomach and dripping between my legs and that was when I remembered what I had asked for.”

His grip on you tensed, his body thrumming with energy as it seemed to encircle you, and you forced yourself to conceal a smirk.

“The touches started on my stomach. They were teasing me, working me up. Then they moved to my nipples – I think your massage was done by then,” you pretended to think about it, and your tangent made him press his body against you insistently. You could feel that delicious jealousy, almost making him growl, as you paused.

“The oil was amazing. It smelled amazing and felt… so good. I don’t know if there was something in it, or if the masseuse was just that good,” you felt him shift again, privately delighting in how worked up he was getting.

“Then they had this toy thing. I never saw it, my eyes were closed, but… it was wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better, I can’t even remember it I just…”

“Came.”

The Master’s hoarse voice felt like it was in your very head, and maybe it was, his telepathy sending a powerful jolt through you as you felt his arousal and jealousy and anger for just a second.

“You let them touch you… those aliens, those strangers –”

“You’re an alien too,” you reminded him, another rush of irritation rushing forwards from him.

“I am the best alien you’ve ever met, love, and you’d do well to remember that.”

He was so close to you, and your skin was so hot, you shivered at the snarl in his words.

“I was right there, and – ” he fumbled for words, and you smiled, pulling against his grip a little so he could see. His eyebrow raised in disapproval.

“You were right there, and what?” you challenged.

The Master shifted on his feet, his arms loosening around you, before he leant in again. His beard brushed the softened skin of your cheek, nuzzling, the slight scratch making you shudder from the rawness of it all. He inhaled deeply, pressing his nose into the swathe of skin beneath your ear, tutting with a condescension that sent a jolt of heat down your body.

“You still reek of sex. Even more now, darling. Do you want to go back? Cheat on me again?”

“I wasn’t aware we were in a relationship.”

With a bitter laugh, his hands found your ribs. Their grip was higher than they ought to be, brushing the underside of your breaths over the robe, squeezing just a tiny bit too tight. You reached for the belt of his robe, your own threat held between your fingers as you assessed the flimsiness of the knot he’d tied.

His fingers dug in tighter.

“Then I’d better make you aware,” his words came out as a threat, but you didn’t feel intimidated. The muscles in your abdomen clenched, and he noticed, fingers spreading wider on your ribs. “Can’t have you going elsewhere again.”

He was teasing, but you wondered if he had perceived what you did as cheating. His surliness made it seem that way.

“Think you can convince me?” you muttered, already far more focused on the roaming of his fingers, closer to the opening of your robe.

“Obviously.”

He stepped away, and you missed the contact already, searching his dark eyes. They were unfocused with lust. Flickering lazily and obviously to your lips. His robe had loosened slightly, a sliver of chest hair exposed below the smooth skin of his neck, and you didn’t bother to conceal the bite of your lip as you trailed your eyes down across his body.

“It really bothered you that much?”

In lieu of an answer, you found your head cradled in his hands, fingers haphazardly strewn across your face and head as he pulled you in, his lips against yours. When the Master kissed you, it was everything you’d imagined. His lips were intense and firm and bruising, but not rough. The fingers wrapped around your skull were firm, intense, but not painful. Not aggressive, not trying to hurt you, just demanding all of you.

The rest of the day melted away, the TARDIS’ presence disappeared, until all your senses could perceive was him. You could feel the wetness of his lips as he kissed you so desperately you thought he might sob, hear the sound of his breathing, the squeak of your shoes on the floor as he dragged you closer still to his body. You couldn’t smell anything his skin, the oil and the water from the spa mixed with sweat and the TARDIS’ laundry detergent and him.

Even the press of his fingers on your head made you close your eyes, focussing everything on the Master.

Your fingers fumbled to reach him, hold him somehow, finding the neck of his gown and pulling, blindly reaching to run your hands across his chest hair while you fought to open the gown further. Through where he was kissing you, you could feel his amusement, the smile which threatened to break your kiss as his hands slowly released their hold on your head.

With a slight tug at his chest hair you finally broke the kiss, pulling away as he hissed at the pull of your fingers across his

You thought you should probably say something, as the two of you stood panting, eyes glazed with want, but there were no words which could serve this moment.

Your fingers went back to the belt of his robe, tugging greedily until the knot was almost free. As you were about to undress him completely, his hands covered yours, holding them in place against the slight swell of his stomach.

“My room,” he demanded curtly, though the words came out stilted and strange as he fought to catch his breath.

“If its closest,” you agreed, happy to fluff his ego in exchange for that sincere, indulgent smile which spread across his face.

In a strangely sweet gesture, he reached for your hand, pulling you eagerly towards his room. You had never been in the space before, but you barely had time to appreciate it. The dark mahogany of the furniture and the scattered books, stolen goods, and components were completely ignored by the Master as he tugged you by the hands towards a four-poster, shoving blankets and books aside. When the bed was clear he pulled you bodily around in a wide circle, before shoving you back onto the bed with a boyish grin.

Unable to resist his glee, you let yourself flop back, the robe riding up and opening at the neck, much to the Master’s delight. He was quick to try and get the white fabric off you, one deft motion undoing the belt at your waist, pulling it open down the centre with a flourish that made you roll your eyes fondly at him.

You had expected a smartass comment, some kind of brag or joke, but instead he sank over your torso. Lips pressed to the gap between your breasts, he was astonishingly serious.

The room was silent aside from the sounds of your breathing, the gentle smack of his lips as he kissed his way down your body, and the sincerity of the moment took your breath away.

The Master wasn’t a man easily moved to reverence or seriousness, not by beautiful palaces or ornate temples or tragically burning civilisations. He always had a cruel remark, a joke.

His astonished silence meant more to you than words ever could.

When he reached the slope of your pubic bone, he looked up at you, hands flat on the bed either side of your hips.

“Can I fuck you?”

Your voice shuddered as you told him ‘yes’, a ‘please’ wrung from your lips as his tongue found your clit.

He looked up at you again through long eyelashes, seeming somehow, despite the context, surprised.

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” you repeated.

One hand reached down for his chin, stroking the line of his jaw in a mute reassurance. He smiled softly, lips pressed tightly together.

Your gentle touch on his jaw followed him as he moved up your body to kiss you again, gently, with all the veneration which seemed to have overcome him since the console room. His soft lips against yours made you groan, and he paused for a second, as though afraid you might suddenly be made of delicate porcelain and shatter from the gentlest pressure. You kissed him back harder and relished in the rumble of a moan from deep in his throat.

Then he was standing, eyes refusing to flicker from staring into yours, pulling your legs astride his hips and slipping his fingers into the wetness between your legs, fingers methodically stretching you for him.

“Good?” he asked, fingers toying at your entrance, refusing to find the nerves you wanted him to be playing with.

You nodded, trying to be patient.

“Good.”

With one last look of wonderment, he lined himself up and sank into you. You broke his eye contact, throwing your head back, whining at the stretch of him inside you. His hands reached to hold your legs, a thumb stroking across your thigh, before he gently started to move.

“Good?”

“Good.”

He thrust slowly, almost tentatively, as though trying to convince himself he wouldn’t hurt you. His pace gradually quickened, desperation growing on his face as pleasure built inside of you, until suddenly you were holding yourself in place on the mattress and the Master was grunting with the force of his hips meeting yours. Your feet dug into his back, supported by his hands holding your legs up, one arm thrown over your eyes as the other desperately tried to stop him from shunting you further up the bed.

All you feel was him, the desperation in his thrusts, the tightening of his hands on your thighs as you subconsciously clenched around him, your desperation mounting in tandem with his.

“Tell me,” you panted, a fistful of his sheets clenched painfully tight as he pounded into you.

“What?”

He was barely there, you realised, uncomprehending and stupid with pleasure. A groan ripped from his throat as you shifted your hips, his hands gripping your ass to keep you in place.

“Tell me you were jealous.”

“Furious,” he grunted.

“Because you were jealous,” you ground out, feeling the Master reach between your legs, distracting you with the roughness of his fingers across your swollen clit.

You arched your back, uncovering your eyes to glare up at his sweaty face, his eyes trained hungrily on your body. As he looked up to your face, neck and stomach clenching with the strain of keeping up the furious rhythm of his thrusts, you laughed at the grin spreading wide across his gritted teeth.

His fingers on your clit fumbled for a moment, before letting you reach down to take over, your own slippery fingers barely needing to work across your clit before you gasped at the break of pleasure washing over you, the Master’s hips stuttering, struggling to stave off his own orgasm.

As you came down, he slumped over you, fucking you more and more erratically until he was coming inside of you, fingers scrambling to grip onto your body any way he could, pulling you closer as he gasped for air. You couldn’t help watch, mouth hanging over and sweat mixing with his, marvelling as he finally softened and caught his breath on top of you.

“Since it seems to really matter to you,” he mumbled into your neck, “I’ll say it. I was jealous.”

You laughed. He was heavy on top of you, his chest crushing yours as he laughed too, face pressed to the crook of your neck. You could feel his teeth against the sensitive skin connecting to your shoulder, the wetness of his mouth as he laughed, exasperated and high from the hormones.

“You were jealous!” you teased breathlessly, the words making a barest attempt at being sing-song, before his lips pressed against your neck gently.

“I was jealous,” he replied soberly, his hair brushing at you as he fidgeted, taking his weight off you a little. His legs were intertwined with yours, and you could feel the contractions of his muscles as he moved. “So, unbelievably, jealous.”

Even as you dedicated his words – this moment – to memory, you could feel sleep pulling at you. You sorely needed showers, and food, and probably water, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“So we can’t go back?” you asked airily, if only to feel the rumble of a short, exasperated laugh in the Master’s chest.

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I want a massage?” you whined, pouting for show, then gasping as the Master teasingly pinched at your hip.

“Then you’ll have to ask me.”

You pinched his hip in retaliation, his thigh jostling yours as he fidgeted irritably.

“Hm, I can live with that. If you’re any good.”

He was halfway to sleep too, tugging a displaced blanket across the pair of you blindly with his free arm.

“I’m the best, darling. Obviously.”

[oneshotnewbie]

Supergirl - Missing for a Decade Part II

Trigger Warning:

This one-shot includes the topic of abduction and mentions of abuse. These plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle those subjects, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

PART 1: https://oneshotnewbie.tumblr.com/post/190536785917/bd-is-missing-since-10-years-she-magically

ᕚ—ᕘ

Deeply involved in one of her latest cases, the blood young detective leafed through one of her files as she walked out of the elevator and down the departmental corridor. Since the disappearance of her ex-girlfriend's youngest sister, the National City Police Department had become her second home, where she tried to distract herself every spare minute just to keep her mind off of you.

Ever since you were kidnapped, her relationship with Alex had started to trickle and despite several chances, they failed to keep it standing. Both tried to deal differently with the pain and the gap you left in their hearts and several verbal altercations ensued between them.

The redhead encapsulated herself and, despite her intact outer shell, seemed to be breaking inside day by day as they blurred together without you. Alcohol became her best friend as she tried to fill the void while trying to drown the emotional pain. Your disappearance gnawing at both of their grieving and worried souls.

Both Maggie and your sister had grown apart until they finally separated in good. Still, they tried to work on themselves to find each other again.

Focused on the inked paper in her hand, she completely shut out the outside world of the HQ and bumped into the arms of a male colleague, which brought her back to reality. The cardboard sheet slipped from her hands and fell to the floor, scattering the sorted sheets all over the floor. "Damn it,"

"Detective Sawyer, I am so terribly sorry!" he stated panicked and quickly crouched down to bring the file back to its original state. The brunette also started to move and collected the remaining sheets of paper from the floor to avoid someone trampling on them with their dirty shoes. "It is okay, Rob. It was my fault, I should have paid better attention,"

He nodded in understanding and smiled before handing the collected papers to Maggie. The officer straightened up and watched her as she tucked the file tightly between her arm and her side before walking past him to get to her desk. "Eh, Sawyer?" requested the young detective who had just bumped into her. Maggie stopped in her tracks, turning around to look up at him. "Yes, what is up?"

"The Lieutenant asked for you. There are new information regarding an old case or something that he needs to discuss with you."

Her eyebrows rose abruptly and a questioning look fell on her face. She quickly walked the remaining meters to her actual destination and threw the file onto the hard wood. "Do you know which case?" she asked and unconsciously went through all the cases of the last few years in her memory.

Rob hastily shook his head and shrugged. Maggie mumbled a silent thank you before parting ways and heading straight to the lieutenant's office. The brunette stood in front of the door and exhaled deeply before she knocked. As she received official confirmation to come in, she entered and stood face to face with her boss.

"Detective Sawyer, I was expecting you," the head of the unit sat behind his desk, clammy hands clasped strongly in front of the keyboard, his knuckles already losing all color from the tension that coursed through his body. Maggie could not read his facial expressions, it was a mixture of nervousness and joy. His eyes not revealing what he was thinking. "Please, sit down."

The brown haired did as she was told and sat down in one of the leather chairs that were placed in front of the desk. Questioningly, she looked up at him and her heart started beating like crazy without knowing the exact reason why. As if her body already knew what news awaited her before her brain could realized it. Maggie was anxiously awaiting the start of a conversation as he looked at her intently. He seemed to struggle with a sensible topic.

"With all due respect, sir. Detective Young told me you wanted to talk to me?" the detective started to speak, barely able to stand the silence in the room. Her eyes wandered impatiently from the elderly gentleman to her trembling hands until they got stuck on the dark plastic cover of the computer. "There is new information regarding the disappearance of your sister in law."

His voice dropped to almost a whisper as he cautiously spoke the last few words. The corners of his mouth curled into a soft smile as he stared deep into his detective's eyes. Maggie swallowed hard. Not knowing how to process this information, her emotions went on a roller coaster. All the worst scenarios that had played out in her head multiple times over the years had tormented her every single day. And that was all over now.

With a trembling and muffled voice, the brunette tried to translate her crypted thoughts into a question. A sentence she wanted to hear a decade ago had now been said and she could not believe it. "Please tell me she was found alive?"

"Yes. Y/n Danvers is alive and asked for you right away. Some police patrols are already on site, waiting for your arrival" he replied and immediately saw the tough detective's shoulders sag in relief. Associating your name with positive news for the first time since your disappearance made her heart ache. "Where was she found?" "Whispering Pines. Detective Sawyer, bring her home. She has been held captive for too long and separated from her family," he murmured in a delicate way and she nodded before thanking him and quickly disappearing.

All the years she had turned over various hints several times to still not to find out anything new. The sleepless nights she did spend looking at the board at the bullpen with your photo on it, trying to see something new that she might have overlooked. The tears she had shed, the anger that had built up, all the alcohol she had drunk to drown out the pain and the hopelessness that ate up your sisters and her from within. All of that was over now.

Dropping everything, she pulled her leather jacket untidily over her shoulders and ran to the elevators. Overjoyed and hardly waiting, she pressed the button that led her to the lower floor with full force several times in hope that the elevator doors would then close faster. She bobbed on her feet as she followed the numbers on the display with her eyes until it came to a standstill on zero.

Now she only had to drive two hours to finally be able to hold you in her arms again.

[plus-size-reader]

Robbing the Cradle

Dean Winchester x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1932 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Dean falls in love with a younger reader, and really struggles with it.

——————————————————————————————————

Dean had put up a huge fight when it came to you, at least at first. 

He didn’t want to be in love with you, and he didn’t want to admit how happy you made him. He didn’t want to but clearly that didn’t change the fact that he had fallen so deeply in love with you that he couldn’t dig himself out.

You were nothing more than a child, at least as far as he was concerned. You were only twenty-two years old, practically still in pampers and he felt weird about it.

After all, why didn’t you want to be with a man your own age? Didn’t you want to have a normal relationship? Why would you want to be with someone like him when someone better was right around the corner. 

Dean wasn’t the most thoughtful, or well adjusted man in the world, and that wasn’t a secret. 

He knew that there was someone who could be better for you.

Still, you showed no interest in anyone other than him. It shocked the man to his core, that you never once talked about what you were missing out on, or wanting to do anything other than what you were doing. 

He just didn’t get it.

From Dean’s point of view, you should have been desperate to get out and experience life but who better to show it to you than Dean? That was the only thing that you ever said when he brought it up. 

You just didn’t understand how he could ever worry about something like that. After all, how many guys your age were going state-to-state, hunting monsters and saving lives?

Dean Winchester was one in a million...whether he chose to believe it or not.

Take today for example, you had tagged along with Sam and Dean to track down a poltergeist that was committing a series of gory murders in a small town. 

It had been a ridiculously stressful hunt, and it could have been dangerous but you had never felt more alive. You were obsessed with the thrill of the hunt. In fact, there was only one thing you liked more.

...And that was drinking. 

You had learned early on that going to the bar with the guys after a hard case was the best way to unwind. There was honestly nothing like it and you had never passed up a chance to go after everything was over. 

Which was good, considering the fact that Dean also really liked to hit the bar when he was stressed. 

...But he wasn’t the only one. 

There were a ton of guys with really hard lives and things they’re running from. Everyone had things they were trying to forget and liquor just aided in that journey. 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing liquor did. 

It also made some men lose their tact, which with a beautiful woman around, was never good. It was a bad combo and Dean was really figuring that out tonight. 

“What’s wrong Dean?” you wondered, in a sing-song tone, even going so far as to throw your arm over his shoulder casually. 

The action was a little goofy with the slight drinking you’d been doing but you were in no way drunk. 

You had just been trying to get him to play pool for an hour now and tonight he was practically a bump on a log. 

...It was no fun at all. 

Especially not considering how much fun Dean was when he was in a good mood. You just missed it tonight, and you had no idea what was on his mind.

  “Nothing’s wrong, just got a lot on my mind” he tried, but you knew better. 

He may have been older than you but sometimes his pouting made you doubt it. You and Dean had been together for too long for that to work. 

The two of you had nearly died today and all he could think about was the hunt. It was kind of unbelievable. 

However, you were missing the biggest part of this whole thing. You had no idea but you and Dean weren’t alone in your casual affection. At some point, you had caught the attention of a group of strangers. 

...But you hadn’t noticed yet. 

You thought that there was something wrong with you, or that he was bored of your company. 

“Please Dean? Can’t we just play? I wanna have a good time and forget about the monsters” you begged, your voice nothing more than a purr in his ear. You were desperate for a little fun, especially after such a long and stressful day.

Though, you still didn’t know that across the bar stood that group of younger guys, not much older than you are. 

They’d had their eyes on you since you two walked in, and it was really starting to bother Dean.

He couldn’t stand it. 

Dean had been around the block before, and he had been that sort of guy. He knew that they were talking about him, and that they were weighing their options about what their chances were with you. 

They thought that he had robbed the cradle, and they were planning on taking you away from him...and why wouldn’t you go?  They were young, and built and they could offer you the world.  

How was he supposed to compete with that?

“I’m not really in the mood tonight, why don’t you play without me?” he suggested, waving over to the table begrudgingly. He felt bad about it but he just couldn’t fake it tonight. 

These were the sorts of things that really got to him about the age gap that you two had. Other people constantly had their eyes on you, as if you didn’t know what you were missing out on. 

Though, you both knew that wasn’t the case. 

As far as you were concerned, you weren’t missing out on anything, and Dean didn’t ever get that far. He was fully in love with you, and as long as you wanted to be with him, he would take it. 

...But not tonight. 

Tonight, he just needed to sit by himself and stew over everything that was bothering him. 

It was the way the Winchester men dealt with things, and there was nothing he could do to change that. 

You nodded, taking the hint and heading over to the table. Luckily, you were able to reach out to a few people at the pool table and join their game. They were nice, but you found it really hard to take the distraction. 

You were just worried about Dean. 

So worried, in fact, that you completely missed the one brave guy out of the pack who approached you. He had just chugged an entire beer can, and he was feeling on top of the world.

Clearly, that had led him to believe that you wanted anything to do with him. Even if you were putting out every single signal telling him that wasn’t the case.

As far as you were concerned, it didn’t matter if this guy was David Beckham or the queen of England. 

The last thing you wanted right now was for some average Joe to bother you. 

Not that your very clear body language kept him from coming. 

Before you could say or do anything about it, his arm was slung around your shoulder, a clumsy stumble following. He wasn’t smooth by any means, but weren’t too worried about it.

You were a literal monster hunter. You could handle a handsy frat boy that was too far out of his depth. 

Both you and Dean had handled worse. 

“Can I help you?” you wondered, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as you shrugged him off, not even bothering to drop your pool cue. You didn’t imagine this would take too much time at all.

The Bozo to your right only laughed, smiling at you with a lopsided grin. “I was thinking more along the lines of how I could help you” he suggested, the words leaving his throat in a sick tone.

It made you want to be ill. 

This guy was a creep and you knew for a fact that he had nothing to offer you. Though, before you could inform him of that simple fact, an all too familiar hand fell down on his shoulder. 

...Because as it would turn out, Dean couldn’t just sit by and watch.

He knew that you could handle it, but he couldn’t help himself. As much as he tried to stay out of it, it made his blood boil to watch someone paw at you like that. 

It wasn’t in his nature. 

“Is there a problem man?” the younger guy wondered, looking at Dean as if he’d committed some sort of serious offense. If only he knew what he was getting himself into.

You could tell that Dean was doing his best to keep calm, which was good. However, you couldn’t be sure how long that patience would last. 

If you knew anything, it wouldn’t be long at all.

Dean Winchester was a lot of things, but patient wasn’t one of them. 

“No, there’s no problem at all...except for the fact that you’ve got your hands on my girl” he started, his jaw tensed slightly as he addressed the frat boy by your side. 

He seemed just as upset as you could have expected, though he was doing a pretty good job of keeping it hidden. 

“Wait, hold up, this is your girl? Is that what you’re telling me?” the stranger laughed, looking between the two of you with a grin on his face. 

...Obviously that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, but you didn’t get it.

There was nothing funny about it and as soon as he said it, you found yourself getting angry. Not only was this guy a creep, but he was also gonna question a man like Dean? 

He must have been an idiot. 

However, before you could step up and make that point, Dean stopped you with a calm glance. 

You hadn’t been prepared for that reaction, but Dean had. From the moment that you two started doing this whole thing, he had been waiting for these kinds of reactions. 

A guy like him had no business being with a woman like you, and he knew that. 

“Look man, I get it...but yes, this is my girlfriend and I’d appreciate it if you backed off” he suggested, knowing it wouldn’t go down that easily. Though, he wanted to give this kid a chance. 

After all, he was just a young guy trying to have a good time and Dean understood that, not that he was going to let this whole thing slide if he kept it up. 

...And of course he kept it up. 

“Oh yeah? You’d appreciate it?” he scoffed, glancing down at you. “Can you believe this guy, honey?” he just kept going, laughing. 

You could have killed him. 

There was only one thing that you knew in this moment, and that was that this wasn’t going to end well.

*Bonus* 

“Are you alright baby?” Dean checked, smiling at you in a tired sort of way. It had been a long day, but you nodded, anyway. 

“I’m fine, are you okay though?” you hummed, returning the favor. He seemed alright, but the bruise blooming on his cheek proved potentially different. 

That jerk had got one lick in before Dean knocked him out. 

Little did you know, but in that moment, Dean had actually never been better.

[fatefulfaerie]

Yearning (All I Want For Christmas Is You)

Day 3 of the 12 days of Christmas prompts orchestrated by @zelink-prompts

Incarnation: Twilight Princess post-Ganondorf

Zelda always loved the Hylia’s Day ball as a child. The joyous occasion was met with festive decorations that adorned the ballroom with hues of red and green. She remembered smiles and laughter, times with her mother and father that were now just melancholy memories.

Now, all grown up, her perspective inching further and further away from romanticizing the holiday that was really no different from any other day, she anticipated it with little excitement.

Her dress, which felt as if it were being tied securely around her very lungs, nearly breaking her ribs and flattering her chest a bit more than she was used to, was a dark green. It fell down to the floor elegantly and, since she was now Queen, showed more skin than perhaps the dress of a princess. The green velvet dress had sleeves that dangled off her shoulders and a heavy petticoat underneath that rounded out the skirt.

Zelda placed her hands on her hips as one last pull of the corset strings cemented her into a perfect figure. She was glad she could breathe, but in the mirror she couldn’t help but be worried about the amount of her breasts that could be seen. The entire kingdom knew that she hadn’t yet found a King Consort to measure up to her high standards, and thus every male had his gaze upon her.

And yet all she wanted for Hylia’s Day was the one man who gave her those expectations in the first place, who stole her heart and yet disappeared without even knowing. She supposed in this coming year, she should give up the hope of his return, give up the warmth of her feelings and marry the best suitor in line, to produce heirs and become just another Queen with just another arranged marriage.

“How does that feel, Your Majesty?”

Zelda had lost herself in her reflection, tipping her head, still mesmerized by the bottom of the dress and imagining it gliding across the floor as she danced with the man who saved her kingdom.

“Hm?” She hummed before registering the question in her mind, her head realigning to sit on her shoulders evenly. “Quite satisfactory. Thank you.”

“I take it you have quite a bit of suitors coming tonight,” the handmaiden commented as she carefully placed an ornate crown upon Zelda’s head. 

“I do,” Zelda said, her fingers finicking with the skirt of her dress, a habit she had ever since she was a child.

“I guarantee they’ll fancy you in this dress,” the handmaiden continued as she made small, minute adjustments to Zelda’s updo, to Zelda’s makeup. “Is there a suitor whom you particularly fancy?”

Zelda thought upon her answer, staring at her sad blue eyes in the mirror.

“No,” she lied quietly. “Not yet.”

“Well, you never know what this day will bring,” the handmaiden said. “Hylia’s Day is a magical time.”

“Of course,” Zelda said with a small and forced smile.

“Is there anything else you need of me, Your Majesty?” The handmaiden said with a step back.

“No, thank you,” Zelda said as she turned away from the mirror, facing her handmaiden with elegantly clasped hands. “That will be all.”

The handmaiden bowed and departed to the servant’s quarters to enjoy her night off, Zelda wishing she could follow.

——————————————————————————————————

She felt alone in a crowded room of dignitaries, of suitors, of court members and distinguished soldiers. Even when someone asked her to dance she felt alone, that dangerous hole in her heart eroding at her and telling her that with Link nowhere to be found, she would be pining for him until her dying days.

It took a couple hours until she could saunter to the outside balcony without being stopped by another suitor vying for her attention. Hands on the railing, she basked in the cool night air as she closed her eyes, reveling in her temporary freedom.

Her thoughts strayed to Link, as they often did, the last time she saw him becoming smaller against the horizon, the feelings she had that she never had the courage to voice. And, of course, the distance that came after that made her heart grow even fonder of this man of her dreams.

“Perhaps it is time to let you go,” she said to the open night sky. “Three months is a long time to be gone.” She laughed to herself. “You would probably think I’m crazy for my feelings. You were part of my life for such a short time and yet…”

She sighed, hanging her head.

“I just want you back.”

“Your Majesty?” She heard someone inquire somewhere in the ballroom.

“Not even five minutes to myself,” Zelda grumbled to herself, turning around to see not a suitor but one of her servants, carrying a tray with a folded note.

“Thank you,” Zelda said as she took it, the servant bowing and returning to other duties.

The Queen had no idea what matter could be so pressing for her to receive a correspondence during the Hylia’s Day ball, but she figured she would humor that distraction.

Meet me in the west courtyard at your earliest convenience. I assure you it will be safe, but I suggest you bring a guard nonetheless.

She tried not to hope that her mysterious correspondent was Link, but by the time she reached the courtyard, she was convinced it had to be. She didn’t bring a guard because of that. The swordsman who saved Hyrule surely would still be courageous in protecting its Queen.

——————————————————————————————————

Her heart pounded in her chest as soon as she recognized his silhouette. There was no doubt it was him, Zelda having near-memorized the way he stood for her own dreams and fantasies.

Link had, however, positioned himself beyond the reach of the moonlight, standing deliberately in the shadows. Zelda steeled her excitement at the fact that he was alive when she saw his hesitation.

“Link?” She asked as she walked forward cautiously. She watched as he knelt almost immediately.

“I must apologize, Your Highness,” he said, his very voice making Zelda swoon, her cheeks blushing pink. “I no longer am of any use to you.”

“Link, what…” Zelda said with a step forward. “What are you talking about? Where have you been?”

His head remained bowed and his figure remained shrouded in shadow. Zelda’s concern grew by the second and yet at the same time, her relief that he was here was contradicting it.

“A distant village to the south heard of my battles in Hyrule,” Link said quietly and submissively, Zelda’s blue eyes already sinking at the sadness in his voice. “They travelled to Ordon to ask for my assistance defeating a monster that was terrorizing their village, killing innocent people. I left immediately, travelled back with them, and faced the monster. The battle was difficult. I was cocky, over-confident fighting a monster even though I had never seen anything like it. I defeated it eventually, but…not before the monster…robbed me…of my arm…cutting it clean off. These past couple months have been a great deal of recovery, but I’ve also been avoiding facing you, telling you that…you can no longer depend on me to be the hero. I am deeply sorry, Your Highness. I come to you ashamed that someone you depend on for the safety of your Kingdom has betrayed you in such a way, is now so…useless…”

Zelda had shed tears but she didn’t care to wipe them, rushing forward and kneeling in front of him.

“Link,” she said, placing a hand on either of his shoulders. “You aren’t just a soldier to me. That is not all you are worth. Hey! Look at me!”

His blue eyes seemed scared to meet hers until they finally did, Link taking a shaky breath.

“I am so glad you are okay,” Zelda said before insisting. “You. Not your ability to fight. You are worth so much more to me.”

“Yeah right,” Link figuring she was just saying that to be nice.

Zelda was almost angry at his lack of self-worth, for brow furrowing before she captured his lips with his, so suddenly that he didn’t even know it was coming.

Link pushed her off as soon as he could, searching her for why a person of her status would do such a thing, whether or not this was one of his dreams where she actually likes him back. Zelda placed a hand on his cheek.

“I love you for who you are,” Zelda said. “Not what you did or used to be able to do for Hyrule. I don’t love the chosen hero, I love Link. I love you…and I’m so relieved that you are back.”

Link still look absolutely shocked, Zelda worrying he didn’t return her feelings before he surged forward much like she had, only this kiss continued as they pleased.

“I love you, too,” he whispered against her lips. “From the very second I met you, I knew the meaning of love. I’m not sure how that’s possible but…it’s true.”

Zelda couldn’t help but smile.

“I feel the same.” She said, their foreheads touching. “All I wanted for Hylia’s Day was you.”

Link chuckled.

“I didn’t plan to come back on the day of the ball,” Link said. “But you look as beautiful as I remember, even more so in that dress. In the moonlight you look like Hylia herself.”

“Pale and ghostlike?” Zelda jived.

“Transcendently gorgeous,” Link corrected.

Zelda chuckled.

“You know,” she said standing up, backing away, and excitedly positioning her arms, ready to dance. “I’ve danced with every one of my suitors except you.”

“As much as I’d like to be,” Link said, standing up and stepping into the moon light. He was just as charmingly handsome as Zelda remembered. “I’m not one of your suitors.”

“Oh?” Zelda asked as they stepped into each other, Zelda taking his hand with hers and placing her other hand on his armless shoulder. “And why is that?”

“There must be some rule,” Link argued softly, the two starting to waltz in circles. 

“Rules can be changed,” Zelda said. “Remember you are dancing with a Queen.”

Link froze immediately.

“I…I-I am?”

He looked absolutely panicked.

“You didn’t know that?” Zelda asked with a smile.

“I…I don’t know, I…” Link looked for more words. “I don’t know I guess I didn’t even think you would…I-I mean of course you would rise to Queen, I…”

Zelda giggled, and her smile accentuated by the moonlight made Link’s blush.

“I supposed I should have assumed,” he said, prompting her to continue dancing in circles.

“Are you,” Link cleared his throat. “A-already in line to marry someone then? Because if I’m getting in the way of that, I really don’t need to stick around. I just want you to be happy.”

“Link,” Zelda said with shakes of her head an an elegant smile. She kissed him again. “You make me happy. Happier than I’ve ever felt. You. No one else. Those other suitors never had a chance with you in my heart. I never chose any of them.”

Link chuckled nervously.

“Good, that’s…that’s good,” Link said before laughing again, a sound much more hearty and warm, his eyes locked in hers. “I’m happy, too”

[lochrannn]

AU-gust: Some people call me Maurice

Read on AO3

CW: Explicit sexual content, canon typical violence

prompt no 5: Science Fiction

Characters: Lila Pitts, Diego Hargreeves

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

-

Lila is sitting at the bar, twirling the facsimile of what she assumes is supposed to be some grain alcohol around in her glass. It’s amber and it burns, that’s all she can really ask for. But she’s had two already in quick succession so she’s in no hurry to down this one as well.

She’s trying to settle her nerves after the day she’s had, and luckily she found the skeeviest bar at the port, with very few patrons and therefore all she has to contend with is the slightly irritating buzzing of the neon tubes that barely illuminate the place but bathe it in a weird purple light.

And then the automatic door zips open and a far too familiar, tall figure walks in.

Lila rolls her eyes and unsuccessfully tries to hide her face, because the man with his distinct scars, shaggy dark hair, and a thick beard, makes his way straight over to her and sits down on the next barstool over.

He signals the barman for a drink of his own but doesn’t say anything.

It’s not the first time they’ve crossed paths today. No, the fucking Hargreeves, and consequently also the angry fighty one, who is sitting next to her now, almost cost her her loot and did get her shot.

The salvaging game is dangerous and only semi-legal, so she knows the risks and loves doing it anyway, but the fact that recently she keeps running into this stupid group of misfits that claim they are a family somehow, who fly around in their stupidly named ship The Umbrella Academy and are annoyingly proficient, getting there before her almost half the time now, is making her job an absolute misery.

“You here to steal my loot?” Lila asks eventually, quite exasperated with the brooding salvager disturbing her peace.

“Nah,” he says in a low voice, “I know you offloaded that the minute you got back to the port. And I’m not gonna rob you of your money, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he goes on, turning towards her and toasting her in the air.

Lila realises she’s never heard him speak beyond a couple of barked orders to his crew or insults directed at her, when they have been competing for the same abandoned cargo ship. The way he’s speaking to her now feels deceptively pleasant. He has a warm voice that trickles into her ears far too easily.

“What do you want, then?”

“Came to make sure you were alright,” he says simply, not looking at her this time around.

That takes Lila a little by surprise.

Sure, it’s not like the Hargreeves have been particularly violent towards her in their past encounters, but especially the one sitting with her now has, so far, never had any particular qualms about shooting his phaser at her or throwing a knife in her path. Granted, he’s never actually hit her with them, but she refuses to consider that that might be by design.

Also, who the fuck uses knives in enclosed corridors on space ships where you are guaranteed to hit some vital piece of equipment if you just randomly chuck a knife at the wall?

“Why do you care?” Lila asks maybe a bit harshly. It’s not like he shot her himself. Admittedly, they had been lobbing petty insults at each other while trying to race one another to the cargo hold and maybe that had made them a little too distracted to notice the group of far less scrupulous scavengers arriving.

The man next to her smirks into his glass, but doesn’t answer her question.

Instead, after taking a sip of his drink he turns to look at her with big, impossibly dark eyes, some part of her brain informs her unhelpfully, and asks, “That zippy little number you’re flying around in, that’s far too nice a ship for a salvager. Where’d you get her?”

The question is so conversational that Lila answers before she can think better of it. “The Commission? A… uhm…” she hesitates, “a parting gift from my mother.”

“Oh right, so you’re one of those rich kids who go into salvaging for the adventure?”

Lila bristles at the accusation and shoots back, “Oh please, it’s not like we haven’t all heard of Reginald Hargreeves!”

But she doesn’t get a response to that conversational thread either.

Instead the Hargreeves sitting next to her, who apparently is reluctant to acknowledge his patriarch, asks her, “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lila.”

She decides he doesn’t need any more than that, no point in giving up too much information to the competition, “What’s yours?”

“Diego,” he says and then holds out his hand to her.

When she shakes his gloved hand, Diego holds on to hers for just a little too long and the penny finally drops for Lila.

She’s a tad annoyed that he won’t just come out and say what he’s looking for, but it’s been a little while since she’s had another warm body in her bed and this one’s definitely a very nice body with a handsome face, and he seems clean and so far relatively respectful, and it’s not like she hasn’t thought about him that way before.

She thinks he’d probably end up being scandalised if she just outright asks him if he’d like to fuck her, so she goes with a barely disguised euphemism, “So if you’re that interested in my ship, d’you want to come take a look at it?”

His eyes widen a little, but he otherwise hides his shock at her straightforwardness and after a beat says, “Sure.”

-

“So this is the galley,” Lila says nonchalantly, pointing towards the stainless steel kitchen aisle in her cramped living quarters.

Diego just nods, arms crossed, looking otherwise a little forlorn before they move on.

-

“This is the propulsion reactor,” she says, pointing to the contraption with its bluish glow in the hull of her ship. She doesn’t really care about it and doubts Diego does, and right now she’s entirely distracted by the way he’s standing decidedly too close behind her, but to her absolute annoyance, not touching her yet.

-

“And this is my cockp-”

Lila doesn’t get to the end of her sentence, because Diego has apparently reached the end of his patience with their weird little cat and mouse game as well and wraps his arms around her, crushing her flush against himself so he can fuse his lips to hers.

Lila loses no time in slinging one arm around his neck and wrapping both her hands around the straps of his weapons holster so she can pull herself even harder against him while kissing him back fiercely.

Next thing she knows, Diego twists them around and he slams her into the closed cockpit door, making Lila gasp on impact and Diego uses her surprise to lick into her mouth and tangle his tongue with hers.

A thrill runs up her spine at the prospect that, contrary to her concern after he was too chickenshit to make the first move at the bar, this is apparently not going to be any kind of gentle love making.

They start undressing each other roughly, though to her surprise Diego is particularly mindful of the bandage on her arm covering the phaser burn, and then, when he pulls off his tactical gloves, she is momentarily distracted by his unexpectedly long and elegant fingers.

Without thinking about it too much, she grabs his hand, takes his index and middle finger into her mouth and closes her lips around the base, then painfully slowly pulls the digits out again, making sure to press her tongue against them the whole time.

She doesn’t miss the way Diego’s pupils blow wide and a muscle jumps in his jaw, as he whispers a breathless “Jesus!”

To her delight, she’s apparently given him ideas, because the moment she lets go of his hand, he shoves it down the front of her jumpsuit, the top half of which is pooling low on her hips, past the waistband of her underwear, to drag his fingers along her already wet folds.

He knocks her knees apart with his own, and Lila has barely any time to grab ahold of his broad shoulders before he pushes both long fingers inside of her, reaching deeper than she ever could herself.

For a little while he drives her absolutely insane with every twist of his wrist and curling of his fingers, his lips on her throat, sucking and biting at her pulse, but eventually she gets frustrated. It’s just not enough, so she tells him as much.

“I need more!” she gasps.

Without a verbal acknowledgement, Diego pulls his hand away from her and they get each other fully naked as fast as possible, before he pushes into her with a hard thrust.

And this is exactly what she needs. Stretched to a point just shy of being painful, one leg wrapped around his waist as he slams into her, every inch of him pressed against her body, still holding her flush against the door.

Lila has her arm firmly wrapped around Diego’s neck so she can keep his remarkably soft lips on her own, she’s savouring the feeling of his long fingers digging into her thigh where he’s keeping her steady on her one leg, while she’s gripping the biceps of his other arm, which he has up by her head so Lila can lean against his forearm instead of the hard metal door.

He’s far too good at this and her combative nature takes over for a second and she gasps against his mouth, not losing the rhythm of her own movement, “Don’t think for a second this changes anything! I won’t go easy on you if you try and take my cargo again!”

Lila feels a smirk stretch across his lips where they are still touching hers and for some inexplicable reason, that makes the knot building in the pit of her belly tighten even more.

“As if I wanted you to go easy on me,” Diego growls before he kisses her again deeply and his self-satisfied tone riles her enough for her to bite him sharply on his plush bottom lip.

“Ow! Fuck!” he cries out and then smacks her hard on the back of her thigh in retaliation. It stings bad enough that for a second she can’t breath but, Christ, if it doesn’t almost tip her over the edge.

-

In the end she comes when he has her bent over one of the consoles of buttons and switches, buried to the hilt inside of her, chest flush with her back, his teeth scraping the shell of her ear.

-

And afterwards, for reasons she really doesn’t want to examine too closely, she takes him to her bed so she can fall asleep wrapped up in his arms.

[kirisenpai]

Rio x Reader : Break In Episode

This is the shittiest thing I have ever written in my entire EXISTENCE. I couldn’t get Rio out of my head. I woke up yesterday morning and just immediately started writing about this encounter in my “notes” app. I know it’s not the best by any means but there’s not a lot of Rio fics out there. Something is better than nothing I guess... :/ Also I don’t like using “Y/N” because i feel like it takes away from the story, we already know it’s us we’re imagining when we read this so..

________________________________________________________

You had just finished cleaning up the bathroom after a shower and were grabbing the last of your things before heading out the room. That’s when you heard it. You heard the clicking of heals against hardwood floors. The shuffling and ramming of dresser drawers. Rio was away on business so you knew you had to hold down the fort but god dammit were you completely clueless to where he hid his guns. You guess this was about to be one hell of a cat fight. You breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly, and began to walk silently out into the open living space.

A white woman? Who the hell was she? She was dressed like she worked a normal 9-5 , and her shoes- why the hell would you rob someone in granny heals?

She was standing with her back turned to you comparing keys on a key ring. You knew that was your time to pounce. Seeing her distracted, you silently padded over to her. You quickly reached out and grabbed her hair at the root, and kicked in the back of her knees, forcing her to kneel. “Who are you?” With one hand still pulling her hair you used your other to press at the pressure point in the juncture between her neck and collar bone.

“I- Um, I-“

“Spit it out bitch, I don’t have all day.” You we’re ready to bash her head into the drawers if need be. You had to pick up Marcus from school, Rio’s business was not supposed to intermingle with his personal life. You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a small click and jumped back as you realized she’d pulled a knife on you. “I don’t care which whore of the week you are, but I’m here on business!” She said with newfound confidence, puffing out her chest as she did so.

You figured now was the time to channel your inner Rio; since this woman wanted to test your gangsta, now was the time to start acting like one.“Oh ho ho,” you chuckled lowly, “you think a little knife is gonna scare me, sweetheart?” 

The woman looked taken aback, as if she saw him in you. But she didn’t have time to retort as you lunged for her. Both of you were on the ground, hair pulling and face bashing ensued. You let her have it, any pent up aggression, any anxiety, all the adrenaline that had built up during the intrusion had sent your body into maximum overdrive and your hands were trying to mangle any flesh they came onto contact with. She landed a few cuts on you with the knife, a few on your face, a few on your arms, but you kept pushing.

With the woman’s hair still in your hand you ripped yourself from her clutches and stood up. Dragging her behind you to the open window which you assumed was her point of entry. “It’s time for you to leave, miss lady. You’ve overstayed your welcome.” To be honest, you didn’t know what to do with the woman, bash her head against the windowsill? Attempt to push her out? Or stand there and wait? While you contemplated you felt a sting to the back on your thigh. You howled out in pain realizing that the woman had stabbed you deep, all the way to the hilt. Adrenaline coursing through your body once more, you held the woman’s head still as you kicked her face in. You heard a crushing noise as your knee connected with her nose. “Son of a bitch!” She cried out, her hand leaving the knife in your thighs to nurse her newly broken nose. You drew in a big breath and pulled the knife out of your thigh, letting out a low groan as you did so. The woman flared at you as you squatted down to her level. You looked at her with fake sympathy and whispered in her ear,” You might want to go home and ice that you know?”

She glared at you and pushed herself off the ground with one hand, the other still on her nose. You gestured to the window with open hands and bowed,” Thank you, it’s been a lovely visit.” She glared at you, while picking her purse off a nearby chair, “I will be back, but I doubt you’ll be here when I do. I’m sure you’ve overstayed your welcome as well.” And with that the woman crawled through the window, cursing as blood dropped down onto the windowsill.

You sighed and shut the window behind her, staying to watch as she shimmied her way down the fire escape. You turned and looked at the mess you’ve made, blood on the floor, and the picture of Rio and his son that once sat on the dresser was now on the floor in pieces. It must have happened during the scuffle. You glanced up at the clock and you knew you wouldn’t be able to clean all of this up and go pick up Marcus on time. You decided to call Rhea, Marcus’ mother, and let her know that some “business” had popped up and you couldn’t pick up Marcus. She was going to visit family this weekend and was supposed to be leaving for her flight soon, but you hoped she would understand.

Once you had made arrangements for her to pick him up and drop him off back at Rio’s, you set to work. You decided to nurse your wounds first so that the blood would be the last thing you had to clean up. You limped to the bathroom gripping your thigh. You turned the knob on cold and let the shower run while you stripped yourself of your bloodied clothes and folded them into the sink.

You jumped when you stepped into the shower, flinching at the cold water. You closed your eyes letting the water run over you, and when you opened them you couldn’t help but chuckle. It looked like you were on your period with the amount of blood that was going down the drain. You finished wiping the crusted blood away from the shallow cuts on your face and arm and began to inspect the wound on your thigh. You knew the gash was deep and would probably need stitches. It was a good thing you kept medical supplies that you used to on Rio when he would come home after taking care of “business”.

You let out another deep sigh, and shut off the water. You walked over to the the cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit which housed sutures and gauze pads. Pulling out the needed supplies you made your way to the full length mirror and began to bend over so that you were peaking in between your legs. An awkward position that would surely result in a horrible stitch, but it would have to do until Rio came home. Once you finished that up, you saw that the cut on your cheek would need two stitches as well.

After bandaging the different areas you threw on a black cami with matching shorts in order to keep your bandages from rubbing against your clothes. You then proceeded to walked to the hall closet and got out the bleach, mop, broom, and a couple of rags.

With a sigh you began to sweep up the broken glass and mop up the blood that trailed from the dresser in the living room to the adjacent windowsill. Hell, you even cleaned up the intruder’s blood that had spilled on the fire escape. After the living room was clean you hobbled back to the bathroom to bleach the tub and mop the floor. You wanted all evidence of the brawl to be erased before Marcus got home. You packed all the cleaning supplies up and tread back to the closet. Opening the door you ran a hand down your face in frustration, it looks like you’re going to have to play Tetris to figure out where you got the items from.

You pulled the box down and inspected it. Curiosity got the better of you and you shook the box wondering what was inside it. You tried to pry it open like a dumbass, but alas it was locked. That’s when you remembered you saw the woman looking at a ring of keys before. The keys in the drawer in the living room! You made a dash for the keys, finding them folded in a piece of paper in the top right drawer. You shook the keys looking for the smallest one, hoping it would fit the lock box. Once you did you made your way back to the hallway and inserted the keys, smiling when you heard the ‘click’. With wide eyes you saw a gun and a box of bullets. “Oh I got something for your bitch ass next time,” you thought to yourself as you attempted to load the gun. You had never in your entire life held one, you had seen Rio’s when he puts it on the nightstand but he never allowed you to touch it. You quickly put everything back in the closet, save for the gun which you hid under the right side of the couch.

Once finished you drew the living room curtains closed and turned out all the lights. It was 3:27pm and Rhea would be there soon with Marcus. You didn’t want him to see you like this, both you and Rio wanted him to stay completely oblivious to this lifestyle. Hell, you wanted to be oblivious as well, you had never imagined you would be in this kind of situation. You’re still just a college student after all.

You heard three knocks on the door, which meant it was either Rio or Rhea. You took a deep breath before opening the door and smiled big, “Hey big man!” You saw Rhea and Marcus standing there all smiles. You quickly engulfed Marcus in a hug, not giving him any time to inspect your face. You mouthed a quick thank you to Rhea who handed you his backpack. “Marcus, come give me a kiss, say goodbye.” She bent down and kissed him gently on his forehead. Once their embrace ended she looked at you as if she wanted to say something more but she just shook her head,” keep my son safe and out of trouble. I mean that,” she said sternly. You looked at her with determination,” with my life.” And with that she was off.

You brought Marcus into the house and locked the door. “You hungry, kid?” You ask walking towards the kitchen. “What happened to you!” He asked running up behind you noticing the bandage on your thigh. You turned to him with a fake pouty face, “I slipped getting out the shower, that’s why I couldn’t pick you up on time.”

His mouth was wide with awe as he inspected your face, he then pouted too, “Does it hurt? Are you okay?”

You gave him a huge grin, “Of course I’m okay nene! Now, what would you like to eat? Do you have homework?” He slipped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and placed his chin in his hand just like his father does all the time when he watches you cook. “No homework. Can we have Dino nuggets?” He said that too coolly for your liking.

“Marcus,” you chided,” are you sure you don’t have any homework at all?” You side eyed him as you reached into the freezer to pull out the nuggets. “I mean,” he started,” just math. But that’s not important, there’s no school tomorrow!”

“Sly boy”, you thought as your rolled your eyes. You preheated the oven and then put the nuggets on a baking sheet. “Well, if you do your homework now, you won’t have to do it later, and then you can play all weekend without any worries,” you explained to him. You walked over to his backpack which was sitting on the couch and proceeded to go through it. Once you found his agenda you read over today’s notes from his teacher about how he was a good student and saw that there was a basic worksheet for the students to do. You got out the worksheet and a pencil and sat with him at the table. “We can do it super quick while we wait for the oven to heat up!” “He looked down defeated, but knew there was no winning you over.

You sat and helped him add and subtract with his fingers until the oven beeped. “Here, look for the ones you think you can do on your own, and I’ll be back to help you with the other ones, okay?” He nodded as you got up and put the nuggets in the oven. You then proceeded to make broccoli and Mac n cheese for the both of you while he finished off the easier questions.

While the water was coming to a boil for the pasta you checked on him and his work. You gave him a kiss on the head and praised him for a job well done. After helping with a few more problems you went back to cooking.

When the homework was done and dinner was ate you decided to give him his bath early. “Would you like to have a movie night? I’ll pop us some popcorn!” You asked as you handed him his pajamas. He was elated at the idea and raced to get his clothes on so he could be the first one on the couch. Marcus adored the movie “Where the Wild Things Are,” and loved the different monster plushies that took up most of the space in his small room. He selected the movie from Netflix as you popped the popcorn for the both of them.

“Scooch ya mooch,” you said to him as you sat on the couch. He let out a giggle and gave you room to sit down, but came right back to cuddle up in your lap. You decided to prop your legs up on the other end since he was going to be all up under you. You stroked his head as he munched on some popcorn. His eyes never left the screen, it was as if it was his first time viewing the movie.

He fell asleep that way. And when the movie ended you decided to turn off the tv and enjoy the silence that surrounded you two. You reached for the remote which had fell on the floor, and that’s when you felt the gun that you hard forgotten you had placed under the couch. Adrenaline courses through your body again as you remembered what happened earlier, and that the woman promised she’d be back. You grabbed the remote with shaky hands and fumbled with it for a bit before hitting the power button.

You’re on the cusp of sleep as Marcus’ quiet breathing comforted you like white noise. You forced yourself to stay awake, at least until Rio came home, so you would be able to protect him in case anything happened.

You decided to carry Marcus to his bed and tuck him in, in case the woman did come back. You kissed him on his head and watched him sleep for a bit without a care in the world. You decided to pour yourself a glass of wine and went back to the couch, sitting. Waiting.

Your eyes began to get heavier and heavier. You didn’t know how long you had been sitting there, just basking in the darkness of the quiet room. It was calming, washing away all the intense moments of the day. That was until you saw the door handle jiggle.

You quickly grabbed the gun and stood up. You winced at the pain in your leg but figured it was do or die time, again. Marcus was here and you had to protect him at all costs. You had no idea what that woman wanted or if she had brought friends back. But you knew that if it had to do with Rio, it was never anything good.

With bloodshot eyes and adrenaline pumping through your body you cocked the gun as the intruder opened the door.

“Woah woah woah, hey,” Rio looked surprised at first and then he glanced over to Marcus’s room which was off to the side of the open layout. “Put the gun down,” he said sternly, a frown gracing his features. You sighed and he came and took the gun out of your hand. “I-“ you started but he grabbed you roughly by your arm and all but drug you to the bedroom. He threw the gun on the bed and turned to you, furious. “No guns around my son, are you crazy? Have you lost your mind?”

He spoke harshly, that was, until he saw the bandages and stitches on your face, the moonlight shining on you through the bedroom window to show evidence of the scuffle you had been in earlier. His features softened for a moment as he looked it you, then harmed again as he realized the reality of the situation. He quickly reached behind you and flipped the lights on. You squeezed your eyes shut, having been in the darkness for most of the night.

“What happened to you mama?” He questioned, his voice soft but his features stern and he came to move a lock of hair from your face. You flinched a bit thinking he was going to touch your stitches but quickly accepted the affectionate gesture. You took a deep breath before explaining the situation. “Some lady broke into the house. She was looking for something. We ended up fighting but she had a knife. She cut me up and stabbed me in my leg.”

He was already inspecting your body once you finished your story. He saw the cut on your arm and looked behind to see the bloody gauze that covered your thigh. He looked up at you, his expression one of rage ,” When was this? What did she look like? Was Marcus home? I swear to god if Marcus was home-“ You quickly shushed him and you bent down to his level, wincing as you did so. “It was before I went to pick up Marcus. When I was about to leave I heard her rummaging around in the living room. After she left I called Rhea and had her pick him up for me. I don’t know who she was, some white woman. I guess she thought I was some common whore because she said she would come back when I was gone. Assuming we had a one night stand...Are you cheating on me ‘Christopher’?” You question with a playful tone, trying to diffuse his rage with a small joke.

He gives a small huff and rolls his eyes as he helps you to stand. With a gentle kiss to your forehead he whispers,” No I ain’t cheating on you, mama. You my girl.” You smile and lean into him, accepting his warmth. But the embrace doesn’t last too long and he pulls away and walks over to the bathroom. “We need to change your bandage.” You sighed and walked over to the end of the bed and bent over the mattress, allowing your legs to hang off the side.

When he came back out he couldn’t help but chuckle,” I would love to see you like that under different circumstances.” You let out a huff and rolled your eyes. “Just change the damn bandage.”

He bent down and began to take off the bandage, seeing your wound had reopened. “You did a shit job of stitching yourself up, mama,” he said quietly as he cleaned the wound. You squeezed your eyes shut at the stinging sensation, “oh shut the hell up, it was the best I could do.”

He gave you a quick pat on your ass before undoing the stitches. He had never done this before, you were the one who always patched him up. Now the roles were reversed. But he would try anything for you. Do anything for you. So he tried his best.

Once he was satisfied with his work he replaced the bandage and you sat up. He walked toward you and you leaned into his abdomen. His eyes shifted to the gun that was still on the bed,” Where’d you get it?”

You looked up in confusion, “Hm? Get what?” Then your head turned to follow his gaze. “Oh, it’s yours. I found it in the closet. I didn’t know when you or her would be back,”Your face contorted into a frown, “but I’d be damned if she set foot in this apartment again with Marcus inside of it.”

You began to shake a bit, thinking of all the possibilities of how the night could’ve went if it was her and not Rio who stepped through that door. You closed you eyes as Rio pet your head, soothing you. “I’m here now mama, and I ain’t gonna let nothing happen to both of you. But I gotta go now.”

“Again?!” You wine,” But you just got here.” You give him a pout as you reach for the waste of his pants and pull him close. He grabs your hands from his pants and kisses each of them. He pulls you up and embraces you ,”I gotta take care of business mama. You held it down for me and now Ima hold it down for you. You weren’t tryna be involved in this lifestyle but damn did you try, for me.” He places his fingers under your chin and tips your head up to look at him,” Thank you baby.” He kisses you, deep and passionate. Full of all the love he has for you.

Before you can move to intertwine your arms around his neck he pulls away. He grabs the gun off the bed and looks at it for a second. “I guess you kinda need this now, huh?” He walks over to your side of the bed and holsters the gun on a spot hidden in a gap between the mattress and headboard. He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips before heading to the door. “Get some rest mamas,” he says turning the knob,” I’ll be back soon.” And with that he left, head filled with images of the one woman bold enough to pull some shit like this. She was getting out of line, forgetting her place.. It looks like he would just have to remind her that you don’t fuck with a King and his Queen.

He was so furious he couldn’t see straight. He was blinded by rage. That bitch has the nerve, the audacity, to come into his house and lay hands on his woman? Whatever the fuck she thought this was she had it completely twisted. He called up Mick and his boys and had them meet him at Beth’s house.

He let himself into her house with the spare key he had made and trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. He didn’t give a damn if she heard him coming. Didn’t give a damn if she got scared.

Once he reached her bedroom he flicked on the lights and pulled his gun from the waist of his pants. He shot a bullet into the ceiling.

Beth awoke with a scream. Alert as ever, her eyes darted around the room to see Rio’s boys surrounding the bed, with the main man himself leaning against the door frame. “Goodmorning darlin’,” he said smoothly. “Rio what the fuck are you doing here. It’s too early for this shit.” Beth said with a scowl.

“My girl told me you paid us a little visit today... Why the fuck were you in my house Elizabeth?”

“Your girl? You mean that whore that was in the apartment. I thought she was just a fuck.” Before Beth could speak any further, Rio shot the headboard, the bullet barely missing her head. “You better watch what you say, darlin’,” he said, his voice a low warning, “And yes, my girl.” Rio was livid all over again. Fuck being calm and collected. He motioned for his men to grab Beth, “Come on, let’s have a little talk.”

Beth stuttered and protested as the men grabbed her by her arms and drug her out the bed and down the stairs.

There they stood in the living room. Rio eyeing Beth up and down, admiring your handy work. “Looks like she got you good. I’ll have to give her, her props later.”

He stalked towards Beth and tilted her head from side to side with his gun. He winced as he inspected her face, “ Whew, a broken nose? Damn, you go baby.” He saw the many bruises on Beth’s face and his inner conscious beamed with pride that his girl was able to hold her own. He knew he didn’t pick her for nothing. She was the one who would hold him down, and she proved her worth today.

“Now, tell me why,” he started, as he pulled back shaking the gun in his hand,” I shouldn’t put a couple slugs in you for touching my girl? Damn the breaking and entering.” He eyed Beth up and down again, looking for potential places to shoot.

Beth gaped her mouth open and closed like a fish, looking for the right words to say. “First off, your girl? Rio I’m your girl-“

“You ain’t shit.” He quickly cut her off, stalking towards her. She could feel his breath fanning out over her face as she looked up at him with wide eyes. “You ain’t shit but a business partner. You’re just ‘work’.”

“This,” he said as he motioned the gun from his chest to hers, “ ain’t nothin’ but work darlin’.”

“But Rio I-,” Rio backhanded her with the gun and watched as she stumbled back to the couch behind her, spitting out blood onto the floor. “Shh shh shh, don’t speak darlin’, you’re in deep enough shit already.” He back away from her and ran a hand over his mouth, working his stubble over. He decided to conclude his visit with one final warning. “Never forget your place, and never forget you are replaceable. Just as I taught you, I can always teach her, too. Now stay the fuck away from my girl and never come back to my house again.”

With that he left. He knew he shouldn’t kill her now, but damn did he want to. He motioned for him and his boys to leave the woman to wallow in her thoughts. He felt no pity for her or any feelings she had for him. All he knew was that he needed to get back to his girl.

______________________________________________________

It’s complete D O G SHIT but i did it!!! I feel like it got better with all the dialogue at the end but literally this was a dream I had. SO i wanted to retell it exactly like how it happened in my dream. 

@fandom138 @averyraeleigh @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @cardio-princess @dopeybubbles @my-life-is-here-soo @stuff4me2do @uhlxis @minniecrybabyxx @india-nicole19

[bella-caecilia]

Cobert drabble - Spice Things Up

So, this drabble is another dose of Cobert fluff but it gets a bit steamy. This is my first shot at something M-rated, so let me know what you think.

It’s set in season 4 episode 1, the morning of O’Brien’s sudden absence and the night before.

————    

Cora was lost in her thoughts when Mrs Hughes started helping her to put on her blouse. O’Brien’s sudden departure left her quite shocked and, in a situation, she wouldn’t have thought herself in just at the moment. Sure, she was aware of the fact, that O’Brien probably wouldn’t be her last lady’s maid, but her notice was very unexpected for Cora. She felt deceived and could only call this way of doing it sneaky and sly. How much easier everything was just the night before. The wrinkles her brow had shown because of her worries disappeared at the thought of last night.

Robert closes the adjoining door behind him. He must have followed Cora soon after she called it a night and went upstairs. Now she welcomes him with wide eyes and a light smile. Every sign of fatigue vanishes. 

“I’m glad you’re not fast asleep already. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been worth it to turn in this early”, Robert expresses while sliding off his slippers. He tries to sound serious and to hide his elation. But he can’t fool his wife.

“Really? And I’d think my company would always be worth it, even if I’m fast asleep. You can’t tell me you’d prefer the moderate mood downstairs”, she raises an eyebrow.

“Of course, you’re right”, Robert lifts the duvets and settles himself underneath them after getting rid of his dressing gown. “But I think it’s a great advantage that I find you still awake”, he adds and tries to hide his smirk.

“Oh? And why is that?”, Cora asks in mock surprise while turning into a sitting position that allows her to fully face him.

“Well, because I came upstairs with the intention…”, his left hand finds her hip and he leans towards her while his eyes look deeply into hers, that are wide and full of anticipation.

She can feel his warm breath on her face and there is the slight smell of cigars. “With the intention to…?”, her question comes out as a ragged breath and Robert is fascinated by the effect it has on him. He closes the small distance between their lips. The sensation of her lips on his is as soft and warm and plump as he had fantasized downstairs, or maybe even more. His heart swells inside his chest. He really enjoys kissing her. He is glad, he had that anchor in the last months. Matthew’s death hadn’t made things easy for him. And the kisses with Cora had been a good distraction. Actually, they had been more than a distraction. She could never be just a distraction. But it wasn’t often that they led to more. His mind was too occupied most of the time to allow more than passionate kisses.

Cora wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer and to make her intentions clear to him. She won’t back off, not tonight. He had used the time of mourning long enough to return to brooding in the evenings. Cora indulged his way of coping with Matthew’s death and was happy enough to be allowed a part in it. More often than not Robert shared his thoughts with her and she snuggled to his side because she knew that both of them would find comfort in it. But she was also aware of the fact that it took him long after that to fall asleep and that his thoughts were running in circles about the estate and Mary and poor little George. After talking to her until her eyelids drooped and she settled down beside him half-asleep, he escaped into his broodings. She is having no more of it. He is not getting away with a few passionate kisses, not this time.

So, she pushes her left knee between his legs and tilts her head to press her lips against his more fervently. Her left hand slides down his back so that her chest is pressed against his. Her tongue glides over his lower lip to request entrance to his mouth. But just then she feels his hand press against her hip and for a split second she fears that he wants to break their intimate contact. However, the press of his chest against hers follows soon after and she feels herself sink into the pillows on her side of the bed. She nearly forgets her tongue on his lip over the surprise of his eagerness when he opens his mouth and sucks on her tongue. The pulse in her veins accelerates. The hold on his neck now seems to be necessary to keep her steady instead of the initial purpose to encourage him. His exploration of her mouth robs her of her breath but she has no intention to break the kiss. She gladly accepts the light-headedness that sets in due to the lack of oxygen. And she responds to the way he seems to try to swallow her mouth, by sucking on his lower lip. The tingling and the warmth in her belly make her sink her teeth into his lip.

A groan escapes him and Cora feels it vibrating through their tightly connected mouths. It triggers something deep inside her chest and before she even realises it, she uttered some incomprehensible noises herself.

His hands roam over the silky material of her nightgown and caress her sides. Every muscle of her body is loaded with anticipation and she loosens one hand from his neck to guide his one to the hem of her nightgown, that is already bunched at her thighs. Robert starts caressing her soft legs and slips his hand beneath the fine material of the dress.

Cora finally breaks the contact of their lips for a second, her heavy breathing fills the air, which elicits a deep chuckle from Robert. But Cora begins to grow impatient, his hands only carry out some coy caresses on her eager skin.

“Robert”, she hisses, “I want more… more of you.” Her arms encircle his upper body and roam his back. She needs to feel as much of him as possible.

“I have an inkling, that you won’t back off until you’ve had it”, his voice was throaty. He pushes up her gown and unties her knickers, his hands slip under her body and push down her knickers. His warm and big palms linger under her bum. They softly and slowly knead the smooth cheeks.

Cora wasn’t able to answer his statement and buries her face in his shoulder. She starts pressing warm and breathy kisses there, that wander along the hem of his night shirt. Her right hand fiddles with the first button, while Robert eventually frees her of her knickers completely. He carries on to push up the fabric of her night gown, that lingered at her waist. For a moment they break their contact, but as soon as Cora’s night gown lands beside her bedside table, their lips find each other. Soon his night shirt follows and covers her gown on the floor. His hands stroke that parts of her braided hair, that he could reach on the sides of her head. Her thighs press firmly into his hips and her hands find their way down to his buttocks to pull him closer.

“Wait, darling… I help you”, Robert chuckles, “You know that you have to undress me completely first, before we can perform your wishes.”

His teasing makes her blush and Robert enjoys the sight of her flushed chest and he presses soft kisses to her collar bone, that took a lovely rosy shade. Oh, how he adores her collar bones! Her hands land in his hair and her nails scrape deliciously over his scalp. As he promised Robert rids himself of his pants and his arousal presses into her heated skin.

“Oh…”, Cora utters and holds his head to her chest. He nuzzles into her bosom. His hands take hold of her hips.

“Mmmm…”, he hums into her soft skin. Cora tries to lift her hips but is met by his firm grip.

“Please! Please, Robert… I-”, he interrupts her by lifting his face and looking imploringly into her blue orbs. She nods gently.

He repositions himself and a soft smile grazes his lips as he caresses her side. His hand wanders from her waist to her hip and rests on her thigh. Slowly he lowers himself into her warmth.

“Oh… Oohh”, Cora’s moan is soft.

“Oh, Cora”, Robert groans, realising just how much he had needed exactly this. And his wise wife had known it along. Somehow, she always knows what he needs.

He starts moving slowly, feeling her warm breath on his face with every thrust he makes. The puffs of air make his skin tingle and his arousal hardens as her thighs and walls clutch him. Her nails graze his back and begin to scrape up and down lightly when he sets a faster pace.

“Oh yes! God, Robert!”, the coil in her core tightens. Her breasts are pressed against his chest and his swollen lips find hers in a fervent kiss.

She presses her heel into his backside and he is spurred on by this to ride her with more ardour. Her cries of pleasure, that follow, make him groan unintelligible. Their sloppy kisses are repeatedly interrupted by moans.

Soon she loses sense for her surroundings and tumbles into the surges of bliss. Robert feels her heat tightening around him and looks into her blissful face. Her eyes are closed, her head is thrown back, her mouth is slightly agape. He thrusts into her again and again and his tense eases as he spills into her. He slumps into her welcoming arms.

Their heavy breaths grow more even and their exerted limbs regain their ability to move. Robert passes a gentle caress over Cora’s arm before rolling to lay by her side. She moves to put her head on his shoulder and her right arm encircles his chest. Robert tries to reach down to catch an edge of the blankets to cover them up. Their legs intertwine while he straightens the blanket over her petite but curvy frame. His left side stays exposed to the chilly air, but he prefers to cover her up completely.

“Thank you, for having me have more of you”, Cora whispers in a low voice and starts giggling.

“Please always feel free to ask for more. I am more than willing to comply”, Robert answers smiling. He moves his head to the crown of her head to inhale the fragrance of her smooth hair.

Cora’s hand makes passes up and down his chest, playing with his curly hair there. “It wasn’t as hard to persuade you as I thought”, she chuckled.

“What?”, she couldn’t see his confused expression. But she probably knew it all too well.

“Oh, you know, you weren’t in the mood lately. So, I was lucky you had the same intention today as I. I think it wouldn’t be amiss to ease our minds this way every once in a while”, Cora stated.

“Cora, every once in a while? I don’t want to leave your needs unfulfilled. I know I have been absent lately. I’m sorry. But I intend to ease your mind more than every once in a while…if you feel like it.”

She chuckled. “I do feel like it surprisingly often”, her mind drifted to the time before the house went into mourning. “Do you remember, what we were up to in Duneagle?”, there was a huge grin plastered on her face, that matched the one that appeared on Robert’s face.

“Well, we were more experimental I have to say.”

“Yes, quite adventurous I’d say”, she added.

His grip on her waist becomes firm. “Cora?”

“Yes, dear?”, she looks up into his face. “I’d like to continue were we left of in Scotland. What do you think? Should we spice things up the coming nights?”, he requested.

Her grin reappears and her nods are accompanied by a pretty blush.

Now she was a bit preoccupied that the new developments according all the troubles about her missing lady’s maid will get in the way of his much-appreciated plans. Maybe he’ll forget about it with all that is going on and just falls asleep instantly next to her the coming nights.

She thought herself silly for worrying over this kind of things when it really shouldn’t be the first thing on her mind. She should start the search for a replacement and make some job advertisements. Really, her intimate life with her husband shouldn’t be on the forefront of her mind. She needed to get her priorities straight. She had to, right?

Mrs Hughes was fixing her skirt and Cora took a deep breath. The housekeeper buckled her shoes while asking for her choice of jewellery. She went with a pearl necklace and pearl earrings. As Mrs Hughes left the room and Cora was checking her jewellery in the mirror on her vanity, Robert entered her room.

She was deciding to put her silly worries aside and attend to the things that needed her attention.

Robert caught her ruminative expression and noticed her furrowed brow and far-away look.

“Darling, I hate to see you so downcast”, he approached her and put his hand gently on her upper arm.

“Oh, it’s nothing really”, she shook off her thoughts.

“I know how O’Brien’s departure upsets you, even if I think she doesn���t deserve another thought”, she was slightly relieved, that he wasn’t asking for the reason of her thoughts but just assumed he knew.  

He didn’t want so see her like that. His arms found their way around her waist while his lips found the slope of her neck. His mouth just grazed her skin there and he whispered, “I promise to help you distract you from your worries.”

And with that he kissed her cheek and gave her a warm smile.

Well, she could only guess what he meant.