#psyche-delic-dreams

[anantaru]

4 RULES TO SURVIVE A DIVORCE (GONE WRONG)

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — deciding to end your marriage with neuvillette might've been the hardest decision you've ever had to make in your life, although now, navigating through the divorce was becoming even more difficult, especially when you suddenly fail to stick to four simple rules you have both set between each other.

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 7.8k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ns]fw, fem! reader, ex! husband neuvillette, divorced couple goals lmao, fluff & crack, p with plot, lovers to strangers to lovers, size kink/size difference, rough sex, unprotected sex, unresolved tension and lots of bickering, sassy comments from the both of you, it's very much giving married old couple, office sex, cumming inside

RULE NUMBER 1: KEEP YOUR DISTANCE AT ALL TIMES

by the sixth day of waking up to an empty bed— with the left side untouched and consisting of nothing but a feeble scent of vacant perfume, neuvillette has decided that he's had enough.

which wasn't to say that he's had enough of sleep, even though that's certainly a potent route to take, yet the neuvillette the people of fontaine knew was only the one they believed they knew.

in this agonizing moment in time, he wasn't sure on how long he could act out this picture-perfect facade for the sake of his people.

they thought he was brilliant, attractive, chocolate-box pretty.

a radiant, enigmatic dragon that was quite the sight to behold, his smile reminding the flowers of spring-time to blossom to their original beauty— awakening their way of life— ah well, such lovely things to ruminate on, or when they decide to appreciate his delicateness, how uniquely he viewed the world and how otherworldly soft he chose to explore it.

in a true sense, the alluring stories the people of fontaine told each other got one single piece about him right; that neuvillette was very handsome and soft to someone's eyes.

with all ones heart, the man unquestionably had enough of the irrefutable coldness wearing down on his shoulders, sitting there alone in an empty bedroom that was previously essential to his well being, with misery written all over his face and bursting at the seams of his mental health, just enough for him to stop talking all at once.

the cold bedspread was rough against his naked body, the mattress too soft to rest on and giving in beneath his weight. wholly crestfallen did neuvillette realize that sadly, the only way to return to the life he's lived a couple months ago, return to where he should be, was to somehow learn on how to travel back in time and make things right.

which from the bottom of his heart, was impossible.

it was confusing, he has to admit, because the only factor he found somewhat common now was on how empty the bedroom was— besides his own belongings, which weren't a lot in the first place, everything else was taken by you weeks ago, beloved items that were brimful of memories stacked in cold boxes and delivered to your new home.

a predictable event, he knows, and how embarrassingly predictable it had gotten that neuvillette found himself in teething trouble, precisely the issue of his sleep schedule in this bed— one you had bought together, shared together every single day, one you had made love to each other every single night.

a slump of mindless memories waft through his psyche, resembling a wicket current of catastrophes as he ultimately came to the conclusion that the reason he was unable to sleep must be because of you— his serious issues on being unable to rest, it has to be because of you.

neuvillette's thoughts and judgments were all scattered, rummaging through the vortex of problems he had endured through the weeks, a matter much more pressing than all of the other issues put together— he continuously waits and aches, hopes and dreams, and before he notices he's slowly healing, it all comes crashing down on him again.

a recollection long gone relives itself in his mind's eye, and his previous gaze gets overturned by a new, haunting stare.

this is why he had bought the bed in the first place, he remembers it vividly now, it's because you fell in love with it right away, you liked the way it felt underneath your body, heedless of how he personally never really found it comfortable.

concealed from everyone's eyes, neuvillette was deeply saddened, but he hadn't given his mental health much thought yet, because how do you even process that your wife has left you?

how do you tell anybody that you failed as a husband?

and it's raining again? what a hassle, although now he's acquired another way to fault himself on, most importantly hurt himself, because no one deserved the bad weather other than he himself did.

for the first time after gaining the position of the iudex of fontaine, neuvillette did not want to go to work. what if someone begins to ask too many invasive questions when he visits the palais mermonia today?

if that's the immediate case that was going to happen, he begins to think about it more clearly— a person asking about his private life was definitely trespassing his boundaries, right? he could immediately do something about it and put them on trial.

by that logic of his, neuvillette cannot fathom how humiliating it was, his face clouds with a mixture of desperation and disappointment in himself, because he can already imagine the hot off the press headlines on the cover of the steambird;

ATTENTION! ATTENTION!

IUDEX OF FONTAINE LEFT STRANDED BY FORMER WIFE! ARE YOU WONDERING WHY WE THINK THIS MARRIAGE WAS DOOMED TO FAIL FROM THE START? GO FIND OUT IN THE NEW ISSUE OF THE STEAMBIRD. ©this article was written and published by journalist charlotte, do not plagiarize under any circumstances

up to the minute he was able to calm himself down, until imagining the wildfire of emotions an article like that would cause in fontaine.

all the unpleasant hours of arguing with you, even attempting to understand each other without actually coming to a conclusion on how to navigate a situation like that. aside from wanting to keep it all hidden from the outside world, leave it concealed and let the people of fontaine forget about the fact that you two had been married in the first place.

who cares, right? who gives a damn if it's husband or ex husband now? what even was the difference between a wife and an ex wife, you see that it's all the same?

ugh, who was he fooling besides himself.

the whole 'ex-wife' was aggravating him to the point where it made him physically sick.

why can't he just flip a switch and everything goes back to normal like it never happened in the first place. neuvillette wanted his normal life back, the normal life he thought you both loved and would continue to live on until your dying days.

in the end, neuvillette saw no other route around it other than to quit using it all together, maybe stop talking about you entirely.

by all means, it's not like he will talk to anybody about the divorce, maybe besides you when he has to mention it. granted that he might not talk to you about it either, because he wasn't allowed to see you right now, neither were you allowed to see him.

on how it came to that point was genuinely understandable.

after the divorce was finalized, new adjustments had to be made regarding your previous living situations, shared income and the future possibility of seeing each other.

as was anticipated, before he was able to say anything or make suggestions, you had already started to list out a couple of "important rules" that you made up, you called them rules but in the iudex mind he called them pesky little regulations.

regardless of his distaste for them, he wrote them down on a piece of paper as to not aggravate you.

well, he found it a bit bizarre, but neuvillette thought it must be a serious requirement at this point. it was his first divorce so how was he supposed to know how to navigate through one? it wasn't supposed to be easy, that's what he knew, it's very heart breaking and draining his life force.

although funnily enough, his overwhelm strengthens after you waltzed over the fourth rule of the day. that's one rule too much in his opinion.

just how many were there?

"i can't think of a better solution," you state whilst leaning your body against his desk, always facing the ground, you wouldn't want to lock gazes with him during such difficult time.

"we may even be able to talk again in the future, you know,"

but did you really want to?

it's safe to say that neuvillette would want to keep in contact, but it's certain that this would not only stress you both out in the long run, possible new partners could also get weirded out by the fact that you two were still talking and they may become jealous.

neuvillette stifles a groan, scribbling down the second rule that left your mouth before absorbing the letters on the piece of paper, "it's for the best if we keep a distance,"

to say like that was a punch in the gut would be an understatement, despite the fact that you proposed the idea in the first place.

alas and without any of you knowing before setting out those four simple rules, now— weeks after, you had found yourself in a position that made it near impossible to keep a distance from each other, or at least make eye contact in a social gathering.

for you, it has become your life in a literal sense to comb through this difficulty, for neuvillette, the possibility of seeing you in the future would secure his sanity and keep him from turning as mad as a hatter.

patience. the incurable truth was patience.

this afternoon, you have to talk for at least five minutes, with a window consisting of a maximum of ten minutes if one of you talked slowly— it's not like you want to see him, but you have to visit your ex husbands office to sign a paper regarding your previously shared finances and then you're good to go for the day again, you can leisurely exit his office and leave this failed relationship behind, exactly where it belonged in the first place, deeply stored in the past.

previously during the negotiations, neuvillette was quite persistent in leaving you the house which was located a little outside of fontaine. he was in no need of it anymore and wanted you to have it, without payments required.

between us two, it's quite obvious he wanted to get rid of it.

but so did you.

you didn't want to stay there, not now, not ever, you wouldn't sign that damned paper even if the god of contracts suddenly came knocking on your door and force you to.

all the memories in that house would eventually eat you up, they'd definitely destroy you, the gnawing grief would certainly keep you awake at night.

originally after telling your ex husband that you didn't want the house, he was able to find you a flat in the city— it's small but cute, and it had everything you needed. a cozy bedroom, a kitchen that was big enough to dance in while you're preparing dinner and an area where you can set up an office for yourself.

how convenient it was that you were previously married to the person that is in charge of fontaine.

aside from that and the fact that you were practically making neuvillette handle the most difficult parts of this— you realize how a sudden guilt was stored on your shoulders, you could barely face him after that.

the parts he needed to handle included, but were not limited to,  well, a problem slightly more irritating since it was about his life, turning approximately a hundred other problems he deals with on a daily a whole lot easier.

most of the legal process was handled by him, and only him for that matter, meaning that he had to spend additional hours on it and was barely able to move on with his life after losing you.

unlike you did.

well frankly, it's only been a couple of weeks, a month at best since you've last seen him— although it has been much longer since you've last felt him.

there really wasn't a lot going on in your life after breaking things off, it's always a grueling whirlwind of;

waking up, heading to work, walking home, eating, sleeping, repeat.

most significantly, your new bed felt a bit hard as well, it's uncomfortable and drove you insane.

you missed the one you had previously shared with neuvillette— wether it was because of the way it felt underneath you or because of its much better quality.

perhaps it was also that in the past, you had the chance of leaning against a warm body whenever you were freezing— the secret on why you found your new bed worse in comparison to your old one would certainly remain a secret forever.

it can never be answered, because you do not even know the answer yourself.

it's frequent and happens all the time— when you suddenly begin to wonder late in the evening if this was the right decision after all.

then again, a divorce wasn't necessarily something you would just forget from one day to the other— aside from that, there was a reason it happened, considering the countless events of arguing and the inability of you both to find a solid middle ground.

when you notice that a relationship drains the life out of you, or makes you cry your heart out late at night, a decision has to be made eventually, especially before it would turn your love into resentment or make your respect for the other person dwindle away.

was it really that surprising that you had your doubts?

when it comes down to it, neuvillette wasn't a bad man and you would never speak poorly of him. he was everything else but bad, which reminds you of the reason you had fallen in love with him.

but in earlier days, he had a reflection less of the way he was than of the way he wanted you to see him.

it was challenging for neuvillette to open up to you.

but hell, you're certain you won't be able to find someone who'd ever make you as happy as he did, bring you sweet tummy aches when he makes you laugh all night, or be there for you when you're sick and unable to take care of yourself.

you shake your head in embarrassment, your cheeks aflame as you're drawing several deep, steadying breaths— perhaps that's just how you're supposed to think right now.

it's not real, it cannot be.

right now, you feel like you should've never broken it off, but this marriage had been on death's door for months before the decision was finally formed— albeit from afar, no one had ever suspected anything and you're quite proud of that, in fact, both of you made sure no one would notice too much of what had been going on behind closed doors— like good spouses should always protect each other.

among other things, taking into consideration just how important his work and image was, the last outcome you wanted was for your ex husband to endure dreadful gossips about him.

neuvillette did not deserve a single negative word against him, this man deserved nothing but the finest life for himself— furthermore, after spending yet another night without sleep and thinking about your ex husband, you believed that the best for him just wasn't you.

it never has been.

RULE NUMBER 2: NEVER SHOW UP TO EACH OTHERS HOME OR WORK, NOT EVEN ON EMERGENCIES, ESPECIALLY NOT IF YOU MISS EACH OTHER

it's a little clumsy when you first enter his office, accompanied by an unnerving type of awkwardness outstretching across the room as neuvillette meets your eyes right away— but his head drops after around two seconds and he puffs out a wretched sigh, sounding as if he's about to cry.

neuvillette thought that this should've been way easier— but before you, he has never felt real love like yours before, and he was quite certain that this type of love only happens once in life.

the melusines were also happy to see you, and you could tell that they were equally as confused as you were— they probably did not realize what was going on and nor did you really want them to know.

given that their love and admiration for neuvillette was bottomless and you wouldn't want them to suddenly harbor a disdain for you.

nevertheless, when you listened to what they were whispering about behind your back, they were talking about how you must've been away for travel or desperately needed a vacation from fontaine, or one even mentioned that you might've been sick— considering how dead and empty your eyes looked those past weeks.

then there's the "being busy with work". ah well, the excuses were surely endless and somewhat amusing, you know you're not taking care of yourself when every second a melusine talks about how tired you looked and if you needed a glass of water.

everything but a divorce was being spoken about, at least you managed to hide that well.

your gaze lifts to meet his own again when neuvillette stands up from his desk and looks at you from the opposite side of the table.

under further examination of your facial expression, he notices the slight discomfort that buzzes underneath your skin, especially around your eyes and how you could barely look at him for more than five seconds.

beneath the familiar emotion of being in the same room as him, the sharp bite of his aftershave slips down the back of your throat when you suck in a sharp, choked breath, tensing like a tree at each step forward.

why do you look like you haven't slept for days?

it cannot be, right? but he was paying attention to certain details, either relevant or not he notices how you're looking around without focus, or shift the weight of your body from left foot to right foot.

and well, his supernatural senses were sharp, immediately picking up on your heart pounding against your ribs as if trying to fulfill a thousand beats.

his fingers twitch slightly with the document in his hand as he remains in his position, waiting for you to come closer.

"this couch doesn't seem very comfortable for sleep," you point to the sofa in his office, in an attempt to break the awkward tension, your chin forwarding to the left where a neatly put blanket and a small pillow sat on top of the furniture.

just how many nights has he spent here? did he even sleep in the first place? was he taking care of himself and should you worry?

it's safe to say that his work shouldn't be in danger, but it really is killing you that you cannot ask without coming across like a desperate ex, and you're fully aware that it would also go against your rules.

but neuvillette has always taken his important occupation very serious, sometimes even to the point where he forgot about his own marriage and his wife waiting for him at home with freshly made dinner served and his most favorite beverage awaiting him on a beautifully set up table and— yikes, that escalated quickly.

you're beginning to remember one of the reasons as to why this marriage failed.

"i hope you do not mind if i ask," neuvillette stifles a groan, "but are you mentioning this out of curiosity or are you speaking down on my new sleeping area?" the hint of sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable, the underlying scorn making you wince.

and oh, "sleeping area" was a big statement for that little excuse of a couch, you're very much aware that he can barely fit all of him on it and always had troubles finding a comfortable spot when he fucked— uh, well, when you did things to each other there.

yes, you already know how it felt on there, and who could possibly know of the plentiful times you had been intimate with each other on that couch.

wait a minute, was that the reason? was he already having a rebound this soon after your divorce?

no, it cannot be.

not your neuvillette, hold on, scrap that and reverse, he wasn't your neuvillette anymore.

it's stinging and like pins and needles on your heart when you think about neuvillette fucking someone on the exact same place he made love to you— leading to the conclusion that simply looking at the couch made you sick to your stomach, instantly setting off another unpleasant lurch of nausea yet you could still muster enough strength to fix yourself for the sake of this conversation.

he wouldn't dare, okay, this is the last time you're discussing this with yourself;

what if he wanted you to see this, tell you that:

hey, look at me! i am so happy without you stupid witch, and i already have a new partner too, isn't that nice for me? there really is no need for you to be worried about me, so please sign this document and exit my office.

because i am getting my dick sucked every single day!

your heart beat turns feverish in your chest, and you quickly snap your head towards the direction of your ex husband, "isn't it obvious that i was just trying to make conversation with you?" you retort back, swatting away the dust lingering on your clothes while simultaneously coughing out in an awkward manner.

"although i really cannot imagine that this couch is somewhat comfortable to sleep on."

"i believe you must still remember on how it felt laying there yourself,"

yikes, what a great comeback from him, and he didn't mean to say it like he's spitting venom into your mouth, it's almost like he wanted to tell you that it's your loss you cannot make yourself comfortable on here, even though he wouldn't mind bending you on all fours again like he did last— okay, that's enough.

there was a half-visible smirk on his face that aggravated you, the absolute last expression you were expecting to see from him.

you roll your eyes, "trust me, i don't want to," you reply, pinching your eyebrows together while assessing your distaste of his answer.

just when did an innocent question about a dusty, old couch turn into— whatever that conversation was about.

RULE NUMBER 3: DO NOT ASK INTIMATE QUESTIONS ABOUT EACH OTHERS PRIVATE LIFE

no, stop it, that doesn't seem right, neuvillette shouldn't treat you this way.

right now, he was experiencing his worst nightmare and the previous gears of sadness grind to a halt upon perceiving another emotion— one, that certainly scared him.

whatever the case, he wouldn't repeat his mistake, accepting any destiny the universe would bestow on him as he silently promises himself to stop any anger from slipping past the tip of his tongue.

pressing your lips together, you dig your heels into the ground, "okay, forget it, i don't have a lot of time," an unexpected force of confidence pushes you forward until you could feel the wooden desk graze across your thighs, you're so close now and the only thing keeping your bodies apart was the desk in between.

your mind was repeatedly screaming at your frame to stop moving before you actually did, "i have to be somewhere in, uh, about a couple hours, so lets finish this quickly."

what a sweet and pretty liar that you were, terribly aware that the only thing waiting for you tonight was your bed.

what a sad image, but he must not know!

"oh?" neuvillette mutters bitterly, a nervous rasp roughening his voice.

"a date, i assume?"

you would have gasped if you had any breath to spare, because you did not think this would actually work in a million years.

"ah, ah, ah," you note in a triumphant colored tone, happily waving your pointer finger from left to right.

"this, dear iudex, goes against rule number three."

content, neuvillette resumes to the document in his hand before placing it in the middle of the desk, sucking in a short, harsh breath, eyes deepening down south, just any area that wasn't you,

"of course, my apologies,"  his tone was thick, sickly sweet with barely cloaked amusement.

now he knows you're lying— he knows you so well it's almost embarrassing.

"this, is why you came for, right?"

you fumble a blistering retort that died with the hard press of teeth against your tongue, "mhm," you murmur in a low, rich tone, his casual unbothered spirit was dangerously convincing.

oh well, he must have gotten it right— and ah, you were remarkably stubborn too, resisting even the most innocent type of help coming from him as you take a random pen laying across the other side of the desk instead of the one in neuvillette's hand.

your eyes slowly scatter over the document, your brain struggling to put together the authoritative choice of words displayed in front of you.

"please elaborate on that," you press a finger on a significantly befuddling paragraph.

neuvillette muses agreeably before slanting against the desk to see for himself— and when he did you got a real good taste of his perfume suddenly invading your nostrils, playing devils advocate when you flinch back a little.

"do not worry yourself about this," his answer came so quickly you barely caught it, spelled out without a flutter of hesitation.

"everything is accounted for," he adds gently, you only need to put your name, there,"

your once-vulnerable eyes now squint stormily, "that smart mouth of yours surely has been busy, i can tell," as you place the pen on the desk before dropping both arms to your side— the man before you narrowed speechless, burning his eyes through your smug face.

"oh, just how many tricks did you pick up on your way here?" he replies sternly, accentuating the "here" as to remind you on where you currently were— as if that would somehow make him look threatening, you have been in his office plenty of times before, both naked and fully clothed, so neuvillette surely must search for another way to dominate this conversation.

priding himself in front of you with his position as iudex certainly wouldn't work on his ex wife.

"why?" you retort, "you like it?"

"indeed i do, or is that what you want me say, i assume?"

"no," a soft sigh above you echoes your own, "but i do find it weird that you'd want me to sign something without explaining it to me,"

"i did explain it to you multiple times, in fact, last time we saw each other i even asked you if you understood what i was referring to,"

an instinctive flutter of frustration, anger and exhaustion slips down his throat, "and if i recollect my memories," he coughs out and walks around his desk, so that nothing was in between you anymore.

"—you have said your time was limited." the radiating dominance of his body momentarily presses your back against the table, trapping you in the middle, caging between a wooden desk and your ex lover.

"that was weeks ago," you pause, "it's normal for most people to want a quick run through on a document of this importance,"

"it's normal?"

"it's normal," you reaffirm.

"how interesting indeed. i will keep that in mind," 

you lean your weight against the desk as to keep the eye contact with him in an attempt to stand your round, and the two of you have since lost the original purpose of this meeting.

"how could you possibly forget that?"

your voices flap over in an unmusical tune when neuvillette attempts to reply to you, although your tone was far louder than his. 

there was an awkward moment of silence that was practically slicing the air within your bodies and it's unusual on just how strong the tension had gotten in a span of two minutes. not to mention that he was so close— you honestly preferred it when his desk was keeping you both apart.

it was hard to remember anything and keep a rational mind, neuvillette realized that and found himself deeply saddened on how quick this meeting went out of hand and turned to this.

but a whispered sentence reaches your hearing and immediately calms you into a warm, relaxing state, "i apologise," he speaks finally and it surprises you, a nervous rasp shaking his voice,

"i shouldn't have talked to you in such disrespectful manner,"

your eyes widen, "no," and your cheeks grow hot with deep embarrassment, "it's really my fault, i need to apologize to you," as you force out a shaky laugh in an attempt to lighten up the mood.

"don't," neuvillette retorts back, contemplating wether he should or not but lastly deciding to rest a hand over your shoulder before he squeezes it, a smile manifesting on his lips— and it was otherworldly radiant, illuminating his complete face with deep warmth and joy.

"i always loved that witty side of yours."

he doesn't say anything for a moment, in fact, neither of you do— and the feeling of him touching you again after weeks of spending apart from each other, and despite it being just his palm on your shoulder, was instantly turning your knees into jelly.

the minute of silence felt like twenty years as neuvillette straightens his body upright, drawing a more serious touch along your shoulder before moving his palm from your collarbone until curving his hand along your cheek, holding your gaze through bright, gemstone-like eyes.

he must be crazy, he thinks— because right now, he's going against everything he has promised himself not to do, and everything you have told him not to do as well. but fuck, he hasn't touched you like this in so long, the last time was long before your divorce, and the helpless intensity of his desire horrified him.

it's when neuvillette suddenly realizes that he has never stopped loving you— not even for a minute, nor a searing second.

it was impossible to stop loving you.

"it's just that i…" your voice grows softer and quieter the more you attempt to speak and your heart thuds feverishly in your chest that you're pretty much aware he must notice it too, "everything feels terrible," you admit hesitantly and flutter your eyes up at him, your gaze fanning over the soft pink across his facial features. 

neuvillette begins to move his thumb across your cheek, "please forgive me for failing us," he whispers weakly, on the brink of tears, "for failing the only thing that made life worth living," his throat adds a slightly hoarse perception to his tone.

your eyes widen as you attempt to drop your head if not for neuvillette holding your cheek in his palm as a whirlwind of crystallines well up in your eyes, sousing your lashes.

your mind was gone, but suddenly you can think more clear— and you're not depending on the damaging daze that was originally controlling your body's autopilot feature— the grueling circle of work, sleep, repeat.

you sniffle between words, "no!" and helplessly slant into his chest as to bury your face in the fabric of his garments, "it's my fault, not yours!" continuing to cry and wail and sob your heart out.

"please don't hate me! don't resent me!"

being able to finally let go of all those stored emotions in your heart felt utterly freeing, as if an unbearable weight was lifted off your chest.

how did you two even end up in this situation? can someone, just anyone, make this agony for the both of you stop?

neuvillette shushes your cries with a soft shhh, folding his arms around your waist before smoothing one hand across your back. he decides to rest his head on top of yours, his warm breath fanning against your hair as you return his hug, pulling him deeper into you.

"i could never hate you," neuvillette sighs, "it's because i have never stopped loving you," before putting on weight around his embrace on you— perhaps as to prepare himself, because he was sure you were about to smack him due to what he just bluntly admitted to you.

while he knows it was certainly deserved as well, no excuse would make this proclamation easier even in the slightest.

but he doesn't regret it, it's over now. he just wanted to get this off his chest even if you'd most likely break off any remaining contact to him— although now he realizes that you've given him so much and he won't let you go again, not before repeatedly telling you that he loves you, loves you, loves you.

despite him believing that his efforts went to waste.

to his surprise, you did not hit him, nor did you yell at him or ask if he's hit his head somewhere— instead, you slowly move yourself from his chest, a saddened gaze meeting his own as a single tear falls from your eye.

your answer dwells a moment before you push it out, "i love you too," and whisper, "i love you so much," before you're peering at him with an expression he couldn't begin to decipher— for what's obvious, it's pure and selfless, a startled hum immediately following the last syllable that leaves your mouth when neuvillette suddenly slants his head forward to feel your lips.

RULE NUMBER 4: DO NOT FUCK UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, PLEASE JUST DON'T DO IT, SNAP OUT OF IT, DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT SEX WHILE BEING IN THE SAME ROOM TOGETHER

by all means, this wasn't supposed to happen— hell, you don't even know how you got here.

but his eyes were enticing as they meet your gaze, a deep source of exuberance affecting your delirium and when he leans into you to kiss your lips, his soft lashes clash against your skin, his traces subtle enough to make you feel a faint tingle shiver downwards your heat.

against all odds, neuvillette was terrible at making this any easier for the two of you, no matter how hard you tried to pull away after the third, fourth or fifth kiss, there was no way of ending this and his tongue made sure to clash against yours at each lap— this passion, it had no resistance, it will always find a way to flourish.

nothing more, nothing less, and you've got the iudex right under a fucking spell because even when his life felt depressing after you left him, when he was living through all those weeks and tried to navigate through this divorce— now, his heart had suddenly begun to beat again, although neuvillette knew that this would go against the fourth, and most important rule you had set up.

but he cannot stop.

blood racing, nerves alight, he pushes you against the desk and helps you to get on top of it.

you wanted him to pleasure you, needed him to use his hands and devour those pretty lips of yours— whine as his mouth carvs in a smirk, so excited and sooth as silk when you wrap your arms around his neck to push his frame against your chest, so he could easily rest his entire weight on top of your own.

"you're gorgeous," he coos, "so utterly breathtaking," the thought of you craving his attention to that level was flooding him with pride, it made his skin crawl with a thousand thunderous vibrations that hit the bulge in his pants, your wet kisses and hot traces fueling the withdrawals of your soul on his skin.

the dizziest groan touches your glossed lips— and neuvillette flips over your skirt to expose your drenched panties to his hungry stare, his eyes instantly hard with lust and love, every measure of his yearning openly shown as his cock twitches uncomfortably in his clinging pants. 

you moan a dreamy sigh when the freezing office air hits your most sensitive parts, the tone leaving your lips high-pitched and desperate to feel more of him. in response, you earn a rough groan from neuvillette as he discards of his belt, dopamine shaking his soul alive, manifesting ruthlessly and tempting as you hug him tight, your erected nipples crushing against his strong chest.

you kiss along his neck with tenderness and feel the intense force of redness on his flustered cheeks, your tongue swift to blend over the quivering skin as you lash fiercely at the outline of his jaw between sharp flares of teeth tickling his face— his bewitching expression being held captive by your hand gripping his jaw hard enough to pull him towards you.

unwinding with relief, neuvillette manages to pull his tight slacks off, sighing as he drew out his hard cock and aching balls— instantly taking himself in his palm before fisting it slow in front of your hole. a thrum of arousal around the slit of his tip intensifies his need to crowd you with his shaft, and he gracefully strokes himself until you wrap your fingers around his wrist as to stop him for a second.

"i want you to make love to me," you mumble impatiently, "it's been so long," and neuvillette follows your lead in a flash and a quick nod of his head, making sure that you're sitting all comfortable on the desk and that you wouldn't hurt yourself with a random utensil on the table before he urges you to wrap your legs around his waist, your thighs squeezing his hips close.

"everything you say, i do," neuvillette reassures you, "forever,"

your broken moans and bulging eyes excite him, not to mention when you refuse to let go of him. of course, who knows what will happen after desire subsides and you're both thinking rationally again, after all, you do trust him with your life, but you're still divorced and sure you would look stunning on your second wedding with him, he would very much prefer to marry you right after fucking the broad daylight out of your figure.

gently clutching at your clothes, neuvillette slowly lifts up the fabric until you're wholly exposed for him to feast on, at last working your panties down your legs as they hit the ground, a coy smile spreading across his lips— your naked body was prancing in front of him, reminding him on how gorgeous you were, especially now as your lips hang apart and your lewd whines spill from the tip of your tongue.

your pretty nipples were erected as well, laying a familiar caress up his spine when you grind your chest against his chiseled one, encircling the exposed skin until it comes to meet in front.

"just look at you," he mutters proudly, almost to himself, his cheeks flushed as he ducks his head to hide the beginnings of a pleased smile when he kisses your shoulder. the praises set your blood raising, pumping a hotness into your pussy as you moan out his name in sweet tandem, feeling the slight trace of his cock-head shadowing your hole.

you will do so well tonight, neuvillette thinks to himself, and before he helps you keep your legs parted, he teases your entrance with a half-hearted push of his cock. you want him closer and carry on to search for his entire weight on top of you as his dripping dick slides past the tight edges of your hole, your pussy throbbing as it began to hurt a little— just a bit, and it's important to note that you weren't used to this anymore, used to him, and it's because all the pheromones are currently leaving your body that it was worth having a slight pain come by.

because you knew neuvillette will do anything in his power to make it hurt as little as possible— so you could enjoy his erection painting your walls white as you moan avidly, your pussy rubbing deliciously on him, his hand continuously massaging the delicious, soft skin of your thighs and ass.

you breathe a shaky sigh of relief when he snakes himself half-way in, a gentle breeze of your whimpers scatter across the room as neuvillette continues to push inch after inch of himself into you, your body relaxing underneath his much bigger one as you welcome him, beautiful moans and whimpers spilling from the back of your throat.

oh, how much you missed sucking in his cock like your life depended on it— and whatever issues would arise after this sinful encounter, neither of you was giving an inch of mind to those future concerns.

"there you go, that's what you need," neuvillette grunts, tensing his jaw and limiting his breathing because fuck, how are you still so fucking tight— in any other case, he would never skip foreplay with you, knowing that his size tends to be too big for your pussy, sometimes offering you help in spreading your puffy cunt apart— but he is aware that you're extra wet today, he notices how much easier it was to slide himself through your walls and collect your slick.

a slightest raw edge of desperation made his groan sound almost like a plea when your pussy clamps down on his shaft, and neuvillette moans softly as he bows down to trap your lips against his own, sliding down his tongue and lapping at yours, wet and slow, wet and slow, a low hiss of pleasure accentuating his skilled ministrations.

your pussy squeezes him gently and wets him thoroughly so that his flushed cock glistens in your walls as neuvillette allows himself to nuzzle his face against your neck, humming appreciatively when he began to move his hips, drinking in the light tears that swell in the corners of your eyes as he kisses them away.

everything was so filthy, just like that, and you're back to square one again— it's lewd enough to make his cock throb heavily between your legs when he picks up on his shallow tempo, warm and viscous grinds of his thick cock pounding you in two, wild and passionate burning through your sore hole and matching the rhythm of your hips that were catching his shoves halfway.

fuck, you missed his cock filling you up, shaking at the added stimulation when one hand squeezes your tits— not to mention how heavy it felt to have him deep in your guts again, his slicked erection pawing through your walls and searching for your pleasure spots, until you're practically writhing of overstimulation, most importantly releasing the stress you endured those past weeks.

somehow, everything felt more intense tonight— ecstatic and as if you're drugged of his cock, like you broke off the connection from clear reality each moment his tip inches down the searing spots in your cunt— your screams muffled by his strong shoulder which resulted in your noises coming out in weak cries and sobs.

"i'm— i'm so close." it's the way you said it, the way you wanted him to hear you.

neuvillette glances down on you, "yeah?" he cannot hold back anymore, your walls were too hot and too tight, his thudding erection cornering your bruised pussy as his cheeks turn cherry red— the tip of his ears shading the same color, "will never let you go again..." the following sentence comes from under his breath, a strong utterance, holding graven significance as it ignites flames deep within the pits of your core.

it's so unbelievably sexy when you tell him that he's about to make you cum, and the repeated proclamations of love were aiding your orgasm in unraveling much more intense— neuvillette parts his lips before pinching your nipples in between his digits, never faltering nor losing the steady streams of thrusts on your sex, paying no mind to your minor struggle of keeping his thick member within your sloppy hole.

the moans you sob are bringing him such satisfaction as well, particularly the ones of his name made him swallow down the assembling saliva in his mouth, leaving small kisses against your face as his adams apple bobs harshly against his throat when he grinds his hips into your heat— your slick seeping out at the corners of your hole as your beautiful legs hover over his waist to get into that ideal position.

he cups your pretty face without stopping the shallow tempo on your cunt, "i.. want you to look at me," his rhythm becoming blistering and rapid— it almost pains him to hold himself back, or the desire to cum but wanting to make you climax first. it's like his shaft runs through satin, pressing back and forth the finest silk but it's your pussy instead, so soft and taking his shape, you're made for him and he'll never let you forget.

even though he could hardly breathe because of how achingly hard he was, caged within the tight embrace of your walls as tears spring to his eyes, slip down his flaming cheeks, being wild and free and finally one with you again— in addition to the exciting sounds of wet noises of skin clashing on skin providing the last bonus puzzle pieces to make you spiral out of complete control.

a static crushes as if underwater in your ears— and neuvillette rolls his hips fast and hard, purring deeply when your legs wrap and urge him to penetrate you further. the pleasure buried in you was coiling from the base of your spine and found the candid bubble in your belly before snapping into a million pieces— your gorgeous noises finding his ears as he fucks you faster, yanking his head back and clenching his jaw as you came apart together, moaning into each others mouths and welcoming your orgasm with melting, soothing moans.

you shake your head and bury yourself into his warm embrace, earning you a smile you cannot even see when your thighs shake around his waist as he continues to pump his seed into you, the warm covers of milky whites prolonging your orgasm and intensifying it to a tenfold.

just in time too, his hot gift soothes the soreness on your walls as neuvillette deafens your body with a post-orgasm sensitivity that catches you in a trance, his cock still buried inside and never leaving your tight hole as you work to somehow get a hold of your breath again, letting you ease the stress he senses from you.

the stone-hard desk underneath you was bruising and uncomfortable, but it's bearable when you nuzzle yourself into your ex lover, or, well— current lover? soon to be fiance again?

"do not worry your pretty head," his hand lovingly brushes over your head as you fuse into his trace, "i will take care of everything," as he's allowing you to indulge in the intimate atmosphere you have missed so dearly, "i could marry you right this second, wherever you want," and with that sort of enthusiasm, you hold in every passing word with love, knowing that whatever the case— neuvillette and you will figure out a way, but you'll do it together, as a team.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[mydear-corinthian]

Rivals || Jonathan Crane x reader

Synopsis: You and Crane are both fighting for the asylum's new head of the psychologist department. Pairing: Jonathan Crane x reader / Jonathan Crane x psych! reader / Scarecrow x reader Warnings: SMUT +18, unprotected sex, p in v, rivalry Notes: RUSHED, there will be lots of grammatical errors. Click here to see the MAIN MASTERLIST Click here to see the CILLIAN MURPHY MASTERLIST

Today is the important day of your career. The head medical chief will now announce who will be the head of the psychology department.

You were working for nearly 5 years in Gotham's asylum, Arkham Asylum. You've seen many patients; juveniles, sadists, serial killers, and other more. It wasn't easy at first but slowly, you got the hang of it, being able to adjust the unusual environment of the hospital.

You had barely any interaction with anyone else when you were an intern except for Jonathan Crane. He was your age, a fellow psychologist committed to helping Arkham Asylum's needy patients. Your relationship with Crane developed with shared experiences and shared loyalty, creating a firm connection during the psychological obstacles of the asylum.

The pressure between you and Crane was intense and serious considering there were just the two of you. You will both keep track of the number of patients you see each day, the number of consultations and interviews you do, and of course, the journey toward becoming the department head of psychology.

Now, the both of you standing in front of the head chief resident, waiting for him to announce the result.

Even though you appeared calm and collected on the outside, there was a stream of anxiousness running through you. Jonathan Crane was just as calm as you were, but in opposite to you, he was so confident and at relaxed that there was no trace of nervousness.

"Doctor Crane, Doctor (Y/n), I want to say that the both of you did a wonderful job here as Arkham's psychology resident. I saw both of your performance since your first day and I can see the massive progress that you guys done for the past 5 years," the head chief resident said, lowering down the papers that contained both of your performances and records.

"Thank you, chief." a smile was plastered on your face as you thanked the chief resident.

"You both did an excellent job. I hereby congratulate our new chief..," the chief resident slowly announced, making your heart flutter, a wave of anxiety rushed over your spine.

"Doctor Jonathan Crane,"

Your eyes widened. You looked at your workmate, his eyes glowing as he shook the hands of the chief resident, thanking him.

You were left cashing by the shock that went through you like a voltage, and your hopes were buried in a deep sense of disappointment. A dream set back in the face of unexpected defeat, the pain of longing for this desired position, grown throughout your time at Arkham, suddenly seemed to resonate down the corridors of your mind.

Jealousy was starting to spin all over you as you shook Crane's delicate hand, muttering a 'congratulations'. You left the office after, giving the both of them privacy as they started a new conversation about Crane's new responsibilities and duties to the hospital.

Your gloomy walk echoed through the asylum's corridors. You immediately walked to your office and harshly opened and closed the door.

"What the fuck!" you yelled loudly in frustration Your palms curled up together like a ball. "What the fuck do you mean that Jonathan got the position and not me?" slapping your wooden table harshly as you threw a big tantrum.

"Fuck you, Jonathan!"

Good thing that your office was soundproof so all the staffs and patients passing by won't hear a single sound of you bursting into frustration.

Your tantrum stopped when you heard a knock on your office's door. Assuming it was the head chief resident, you fixed your hair and your outside, composing yourself.

You opened the door with a smile but it was gone after you see who it was-- Jonathan Crane.

"What are you doing here, Crane?" you spitted, your arms folding each other on your chest.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Fine," you groaned in annoyance, opening the door widely so he can enter your lightly-dimmed office.

He scanned your office, looking at the picture frames on the hanged shelf, books that were neatly stored beside your frames, and your Ph.D and awards that hanged over the white walls of the office.

"Now, what do you want, Crane?" you asked again, sitting in front of the wooden table, both arms still locked in your chest together, your eyes piercing through his.

"I just want to congratulate you for having the chance to compete for the position," he teased, a small grin plastered on his soft cheeks.

"Oh fuck off, Jonathan. Yeah, I got it, you got the position," you rolled your eyes, getting angry and annoyed every time Crane breathes.

"Won't you congratulate me, (Y/n)?" he asked, moving closer and closer to you, until your faces were only centimetres apart.

"Fuck no! Just go and flex your position to somebody else because I don't care about you,"

Your response made him chuckle. He took a deep breath as he adjusted his clear eyeglasses. "Mhm, I don't think so. You care about me. You have feelings for me, don't you?"

Your eyes grew wide at what he said. Was he aware that you like him? He's your rival, and you were beginning to feel something for him. He's a perfect man - well for you. He's good looking, smart, and works with you but you kept it as a secret, ashamed that you're in love with someone you compete with. His words caused you blushing leaving you speechless.

"I - What? Funny, Jonathan. I don't even like yo-"

"Not according to your journal here," he cut you off, he took a small brown notebook out of the pocket of his blazer, showing it you.

Then you realized what it was: it's your missing journal book. You remembered leaving it at your desk a week ago but after that, it just suddenly disappeared like that. You kept on finding it, you searched everywhere, your apartment, your bag, your office, your cabinets: none.

"Where'd you get that! Give it back!" you gasped, attempting to grab it from his hand but he sways his arm back further away.

"God look at this. You were imagining stuffs like this huh? Lusty images and scenarios of me," he teased, opening the journal and scanned the pages.

"Fuck you, Jonathan," you cursed.

"If that's what you want," he said before he crashed his lips to yours. Tasting every spot in your lips. You gasped at the sudden action but it was true, you fantasized about this.

You returned the passionate kiss, wrapping your arms over his neck and then his now messy hair, pushing your lips deeper to him.

His tongue traveled deeper into your tempting mouth, the passionate kiss becoming more messier and messier. His hand held tightly to your delicate body, pulling you closer him. Your lips softly moaned, each one begging for the kiss to get even hotter and more intense. You could feel the heat building as you both gave in to the burning desire that was dominating over. 

Crane's lips started to trail down on your neck, kissing the sweet and sensitive spots all over, earning a loud moan from you.

"You know, I fantasized about this too," he confessed, sucking your sweet spot that will likely leave a mark. Your back arched, your cunt getting more and more wet. "It's just that I don't write about it."

"Oh god, Jonathan," you moaned. His hands found your tight long sleeve shirt, unbuttoning it one by one. Crane tossed your shirt on the floor, continuing kissing you.

"Look at you. So fucking sexy," he said, your breasts now exposed after he unhook your bra only using two of his fingers.

Crane's trousers stretched out revealing his bulge and how he was hard already. In not much time at all, you unfastened his belt and took off his underwear, causing his hard cock to spring out, pre-cum leaking all over it.

"See what you did to me?"

"I need you, Jonathan," you begged, showing how wet you were when you removed your trousers. Your black panties were now stained with wetness.

He removed your panties with his soft hands before aligning his cock into your hole. "So wet for me, huh?" his tip teasing your wet and impatient hole as you moaned softly.

"Please.." you begged, getting more and more impatient.

He slowly entered you, earning a low grunt from him. Stretching your small hole as you took him.

"You're so tight, fuck," he cursed, starting his pace slow. His cock pushing in and out of your needy cunt, letting you a loud moan.

"Is this what you imagine me doing to you? Fucking you? Taking my cock?" he asked, his hands gripped your hips harshly as his pace fastened. A small dash of sweat was starting to form on his forehead as he grunt out loud from the sensation.

"Yes - oh god, Jonathan!" moaning, your eyes shut as you rolled your head back, taking him deeper and deeper. Allowing him to penetrate all the sensitive spots down there.

All you experienced was nothing but pleasure. You felt a rush feeling of thrill wash over you, seeing only sparkles. A huge mess was made as your skin flapped loudly, the table moved around, and some of your materials items fell off the table.

"Look at me while I'm fucking you, sweetheart." Crane hissed, harshly gripping your jaw to make you look at him.

His pace was immeasurable. The sound of his and your skin slapping together echoed inside the room as you let out a series of pornographic moans.

"Good thing your office is soundproofed," he laughed. "You don't want them to hear you moan while I fuck you, huh?"

Crane's right hand gripped your thighs, giving him support as he fucked you harshly.

In a short while, you felt your orgasm starting to form. Your legs trembling as you locked his back with it, allowing him to penetrate deeper at your sensitive spots.

His icy-like eyes met yours, mesmerizing him. His eyes. His mouth. His jaw line. Everything, admiring him.

"Jo - Jonathan, I'm close.." you breath shaking, feeling your orgasm coming near and nearer.

"Yeah? Come then, cum on my cock, love," his pace remained fast. His grunts were getting louder and louder.

After a few more thrusts, your orgasm came and so did his, staining the inside of walls with his seed as he came inside. The both of you continuously let out a few grunts and moans while reaching your high.

He didn't pulled out until every drop of his cum pours inside of you. The both of you pant hard, your cunt clenching on his hard cock.

"I like you, Jonathan," you confessed.

"Oh sweetheart, you belong to me," he said, pulling out slowly before he kissed you again but this time he did it passionately.

"I'm still mad at you for getting my desired position," you admitted, glaring at his sweet features as he chuckled with your response.

"Well, I can request the chief to make 2 psychologist the heads of our department," he remarked. "But before that, let me.. enjoy what belongs to me."

[pictureinme]

sweet dreams - jonathan crane

❧ who's the real deviant here?

jonathan crane x f!reader word count: ~900 tags: DUBIOUS CONSENT/CNC, somnophilia, bondage, medical kink, slight breeding kink, fucked up crane as per usual

(ao3)

Jonathan traces the curve of your thigh as you lie unconscious in his examination room. Your chest rises and falls with a calm rhythm, unknowing of the dilemma you’re currently in. He smiles to himself as he imagines what lovely dreams your feeble mind could be coming up with right now– an escape from what he was about to do to you.

Of course, the two of you had discussed this idea multiple times, with your various shared… interests. You know of Jonathan’s quirks and fascinations and felt nothing but pure curiosity when he would talk of them.

That’s how you ended up strapped to a cool examination table, unconscious and donning a hospital gown doing absolutely nothing to cover your most intimate parts.

“Look at that, you must be having a pleasant dream, (Y/N).”

Your legs were spread open further by Jonathan’s cold hands, revealing your idle wetness. A soft whimper is elicited when he does so, but you’re still fast asleep. He closes his eyes, taking in the delicate noise you just made– all for him, even if you didn’t know.

Not wanting to waste any time, he unzips his work slacks gently, afraid any noise might wake you from your deep stupor. Jonathan did use a much lower dose of sedative than he tends to, for fear of damaging your delicate psyche– but it never hurts to be careful, now does it?

He spreads your folds open softly with his fingers, relishing in the sticky feeling of your arousal. You could be dreaming about anything, but he was the one in control. Inching forward, he moves his tip up and down, collecting as much wetness as he can before entering you with a sigh.

“Perfect as always, my love,” Jonathan fully sheathes inside of you, “Gonna wake up sore and full, aren’t you?”

You try to turn over in your sleep but are blocked by the leather straps holding you down. He sees the tired confusion and struggle written all over your face and feigns pity as he starts to thrust in and out. The way you tighten around Jonathan’s length subconsciously has him struggling to stay focused, his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose in the midst of it.

His rhythm is steady and calculated, wanting to leave you sore was his main priority. You begin to whine quietly, a noise one might make when they’re too tired to get out of bed in the morning.

“Jonathan…”

The utterance of his name has him choke out a groan, stuttering in his previously steady movements. He slows down, hoping you were just dreaming of him, and not waking up.

Your eyes are lidded but open slightly to observe your predicament. Unable to truly stop himself, Jonathan starts his thrusts again, causing you to gasp loudly.

“Fuck, Jonny, what are you– oh!”

The sedative was wearing off slowly, and he grinned almost maniacally as you moaned in your questioning, “Don’t worry, just go back to your slumber, dear.”

You start to moan in earnest as he speeds up, sweat falling from his brow from the desperation of the situation. Even as you halfheartedly tug at the restraints, you try to meet his thrusts.

“Desperate little thing, even wants my cock like this…”

A dull thud sounds as your head falls back against the examination table as Jonathan rubs suddenly at your clit. His pace quickens, your sudden wakening has him even more eager to ruin you. He grips one of your thighs harshly as he pounds into your cervix, causing you to see white.

You quickly realize you’re orgasming, his treatment of you, coupled with the new situation, was too much for your body to handle. The warmth enveloped you, your tiredness only increasing the pleasure of it all. You had no choice but to fall deeply into it, a new daze coming over you.

Jonathan groans deeply as he feels your walls clench around him, and he quickly fills you up with his release. Continuing to thrust throughout both of your shared orgasms, he overstimulates the both of you. His hot breath is ragged above you, and your eyes finally fully open to see the mess of a man who just came inside of you. Sweat lined his forehead, hair sticking in all sorts of ways. Jonathan’s mouth hung open, you had never seen him like this before. Maybe that’s why he wanted you unconscious?

Your wrists ached from the straps, and he quickly undoes them for you. Catching your breath, you watch as he slips his fading arousal from your own, wincing at the change. The odd feeling of his seed dripping out of you onto the previously sterile floor has you shudder from embarrassment and lust.

“I can’t believe you actually did it, Jonny,” you bite your lip, pulling him close to you by his tie, “Sick son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

He grins, satisfied with your reaction, “You love it, don’t you?”

You kiss him with a newfound sense of passion, wrapping your tired legs around his hips, effectively trapping him in the embrace. Jonathan’s hands tentatively rake through your sweat-dampened hair, eager to please you now that you’re awake. 

[flowerandblood]

The Taste of Shame (2)

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: doubts related to sex work, panic attack, remorse and depression, fluff, sexual tension ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients - however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. It turns out that what he wants and what he doesn’t no longer matter when he meets his friend’s younger sister for the first time. Slow burn, sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Walking to the lecture they talked about everything and nothing; for the most part, she was the one speaking, telling stories or asking questions, guiding her bike beside her by the handlebars, while he just added his thought or simply remained silent, listening to her.

They arrived at the Community Centre true to her word very quickly and indeed he immediately saw posters announcing that there would be free lectures by philosophers in the fields of contemporary ethics.

Robert's sister padlocked her bike in the designated area and they both went inside, following the signs. They entered a large, neo-classical hall with beautiful pillars and rich ornamentation on the ceiling, reminding him of a theatre or opera house.

They sat side by side on seats in one of the first rows − she explained to him that the presenter would be asking questions and, among others, her professor would be answering.

Indeed, the discussion was remarkably interesting and he caught himself drawn in; the men were talking among themselves about capital punishment, attitudes to the treatment of other humans and animals, warfare and human-wide conflicts.

However, he felt a cold sweat on his back and a tightness in his throat, his heart starting to pound like mad when the presenter asked the next question.

"As we know, a lot of young people start, as they say in modern times, sexworking − whether they show up on webcams or have sex for money. How do you, Professor, view this, do you think it's good for the psyche of such people? Is it morally right?"

The professor grunted and corrected his glasses with a slight hand gesture; he was a grey-haired, elderly man with a kindly, calm face.

"It depends on a number of factors. Firstly − what that young person's goal is. When we choose our job, we usually want more than just to earn money, most people's dream is to do things that fascinate them, that they are fulfilled in. Of course, people are also fulfilled in the sexual sphere with their partners, however, what happens when sexuality becomes a profession?

Well, in a way, two things are then combined that can be very destructive to the psyche − materliness and one's own body. At the same time, we make the decision ourselves, so it is not morally wrong if it involves two adults who agree to it, but there is an internal objectification, a selling of some part of our intimacy.

Of course, one can feel good about it. One may even like it. One should not tell such people that they are denying something, or say that they are selling themselves, that they are pricing their value. You see, it is not for us to judge. Everyone can do what they want with their body, it is their unquestionable right.

However, the danger arises when, underneath this materialistic approach, there is a desire for self-destruction, a desire to simultaneously dominate, to be in charge − I decide what happens to my body − and, at the same time, I desire to humiliate myself in my own eyes − I sell myself and I'm nothing, I don't want affection because I don't deserve it.

This issue is very complex and delicate, judging too quickly, especially by outsiders, will be even more hurtful to such people, a confirmation that they will never be loved and accepted, so they will be afraid to make sexuality emotional, which will lead to the opposite effect that we would all like."

The presenter nodded with understanding.

"If the professor were to state what it should look like in an ideal world, what would the professor say?"

The man laughed good-naturedly, stroking his white beard.

"I don't have an answer to that. I think that in an ideal world, the person who is made for us would be highlighted to us in green and those who hurt us in red. But we don't have that option. I think the fundamental mistake of every human being is to make judgements prematurely, instead of being willing to understand, to offer conversation, to support.

Calling someone a whore or a slut has never helped anyone, what's more, it only makes such people even more likely to have suicidal thoughts and be afraid to seek help when they feel they need it, because they are scared of revealing themselves to their parents or loved ones."

The presenter moved on to the next topic, but he heard nothing more, staring blankly at the floor, leaning forward so that his elbows were on his knees − he felt himself trembling all over, his eyes burning from the moisture that had gathered under his eyelids, his throat all clenched.

He felt her hand on his back and he shuddered, glancing over his shoulder at her with wide eyes − she was leaning over him worriedly, he could smell her pleasant scent again.

"Are you all right? Do you want to go out for some fresh air?" She asked frightened, clearly seeing how pale he was, and he nodded in embarrassment.

By the time they got outside it was completely dark; he reached with his shaking hand into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, taking out a cigarette and a lighter, firing it quickly and putting it into his mouth.

He felt her looking at him − they were standing in the square in front of the main entrance where there was no one but them, all around them was the loud hum of moving cars.

For some reason he felt desperate and miserable, weak, small; he clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head, trying to pull himself together. He sat down on the cold stone steps and she immediately sat down next to him, far too close.

He sighed when he felt her hand on his shoulder, stroking him gently, her warm breath on his cheek cool from the crisp evening air. He let out a loud puff of smoke with his lips, thinking only of how he had never let any woman touch him.

He placed his hand on hers, wanting to feel her for once, her skin soft as silk, exactly as he had imagined; he looked at her in pain, her eyebrows arched in worry, in incomprehension of what had actually happened.

"I'm selling myself." He said finally, desperate, and she blinked as if she didn't understand what she had just heard.

He took a drag again, not taking his eyes off her, and let the smoke out through his nose.

"I do all sorts of fucked up things to women for money and get satisfaction out of it, you know?" He asked in a low, trembling voice, feeling devastated how tears of shame one by one began to run down his face.

He felt himself shaking all over and thought he was an idiot, wondering how he could have said that to her. For some reason, he felt something inside him break.

He wanted her to know, to tell him she was disgusted with him, to look at him with that look full of reserve, to tell him it was nothing and just go away simply to let him finally stop thinking about her.

He saw her tighten her lips, her eyes turning red, her eyebrows arching in sorrow as if she was in pain as he was. He felt a pleasant shudder when her hand stroked gently through his hair as if he were a small child, and then she hugged her face to his cheek and simply remained silent.

She didn't say anything.

She stayed.

She wanted to comfort him.

Delighted at this revelation, he burst out into a quiet, mournful sob, leaned over and snuggled his face into her neck, wanting to hide from his own shame and remorse, from what she might think of him, from what he feared and could not forgive himself for.

Why did he have to be like this?

Why exactly did this give him fulfilment?

He sighed quietly as she put her arms around him and hugged him, her soft hand stroking his cheek with gentle, slow movements, her face nestled against his hair and placing a gentle kiss on it.

"You didn't do anything wrong." She whispered finally; he swallowed hard, rubbing the tip of his nose against her neck, brushing his lips gently against her bare skin, again, and then again.

He felt her tremble and tighten her hands on his leather jacket, his manhood in his trousers completely hard.

He had no idea what had just happened between them, but he didn't want to stop.

After a moment, as his emotions left him he realised what he had done.

That he had told a complete stranger about who he was, revealed to her his darkest secret.

This thought made him panic − he got up abruptly and mumbled through his tears that he would go home already, that he apologised to her for everything, not listening to her pleas to wait for her, running quickly down the stone stairs, walking ahead.

He looked over his shoulder as he turned into the corner of the next street and noticed with some kind of disappointment that she was not following him.

He burst out into uncontrollable sobs for the second time once he had locked himself in his car having complete chaos in his head, feeling that he was going through some kind of panic attack.

He thought that until he'd met her he hadn't felt this way, that the idea that he couldn't date her because of what he'd done made him start to regret it all.

What was he supposed to do now?

He reached for his phone hearing it vibrate and unlocked it quickly seeing as many as three new messages from her.

He clenched his eyelids, dropping his phone on the other seat, hiding his face in his hands.

He needed to calm down.

He sat like that for a few minutes in silence, not thinking about anything, just breathing, and then he drove home as if nothing had happened.

He entered his flat, took a shower, ate something and then turned on the TV, all mechanical, completely empty; he shuddered when he got a new message, reaching uncertainly for his phone and felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach when he saw it was one of his clients.

She wanted to meet the next day.

No, he thought.

I don't want to.

He wrote her back that he was taking a break from it all for a while.

He was infuriated when she started texting him to tell him not to do it, that she needed him, that meeting him made her want to go on living.

He slammed his phone furiously into the wall.

What about what he fucking needed?

When he picked it up after several minutes he found that it worked despite the cracked screen.

He accessed the last messages he'd received from Robert's sister and began typing quickly to her on his phone's keypad.

He pressed his lips together when he saw that she immediately displayed his message, a bubble popped up in his app window indicating that she had just written back to him.

He swallowed loudly, writing her back without thinking, without controlling himself, allowing himself to shamelessly write her exactly what was in his head.

He stared at the screen with a pounding heart, wondering whether to do it or not, walking restlessly around his living room with his phone in his hands − he typed out the answer slowly, feeling that he was hot.

She didn't reply for a long time even though he could see that she had displayed his message.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, laughing despairingly under his breath, not believing how desperate he was.

He'd known it from the moment he'd seen her, when she'd gotten off that fucking bike and looked at him with those big, innocent eyes of hers.

He stood looking at her message as if stupefied, reading it again and again, unable to believe it, feeling like he was about to die from the arousal and heat he felt in his chest, his fingers trembling as he tapped out his reply to her.

And so she did.

He didn't dare propose to meet her alone, knowing how that would have gone down on his part.

He didn't want to scare her off.

However, they wrote with each other for days, even during his classes; Criston and Robert laughed at him for having a girlfriend and not even wanting to introduce her to them.

He didn't care.

She was the first person he told about how it all started, what he felt when he did it, what aroused him and what repulsed him about it all.

She listened to him and answered him with sincere concern and worry, without judging him, without pretending it was a simple and obvious subject, giving him a sense of comfort and understanding.

He made it clear to her that he had refrained from any contact with strange women for the time being.

He licked his lower lip as he lay back in his bed, writing her off quickly.

He swallowed hard when she wrote him back after a moment.

He felt a squeeze in his heart at her words, some kind of pain that she thought of herself that way, that she saw herself as just another person he wanted to take out on.

He chuckled involuntarily, typing back a quick response to her question.

He blinked, looking at his screen with a pounding heart, not believing what he read.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[graceofagodswrath]

Omg your Humans are space orcs/deathworlders + Transformers is just *d e l i c i o u s*. My complaints are pretty much the same, it seems that most humans on the franchise are just manufactured to be hated or simply annoying for being so useless. I want transformers to realize just how hard we have to work to simply stay alive *in our own planet*, with the sheer amount of diseases and poisonous animals and predators and weather and so much more, I want them to wonder how such seemingly fragile beings became the dominant species, how can we be so resilient yet so delicate... I'd like a transformer that particularly hates/is disgusted by humans to swap places with us for like a day or so, the first one that comes to mind is Starscream, I want him to get a glimpse at the daily fight for survival here on Earth and can't help but develop a tiny speck of respect for humans, not that he would ever admit it, even to himself, that he's secretly more mindful of where he steps when there are humans around ever since.

I literally just gave a rundown about this to a friend in a drunken rant the other night, so I am so ready for this.

Starscream wouldn’t be my first pick, based solely on the fact that I haven’t psycho-analyzed him the same way I have others, but imma do my best ~

For situation-sake so my writer brain doesn’t kill itself over context, imma do this in the form of Headcannons. Let’s say Starscream gets stuck in a human body and has to exist as such until he magically gets put back. Until then, he’s stuck with a human who is aware of what he is (vague gn oc/reader, up to whoever. Writing from the viewpoint of “one of us”).

(Also y’all can input any Starscream here cause imma write him in his basic form: whiney, stuck-up, clever little cunt).

- Bro is flabbergasted. Disgusted. Horrified. Out-of-his-mind losing it. Keeps praying to primus it’s a drug-induced hallucination or a dream.

- Wakes up on the soft cushions of a… couch? The word pops up in his head. He knew the basics from his overviews when their war traveled to earth. He brought his servos- No. Hands, up to his face, inspected his new honey, fleshy digits. The detail was too vivid to be a hallucination. Colors were both muted and bright. Starscream found himself automatically trying to adjust his optic intake. But nothing happened. Of course. Because fleshy organics can’t manually adjust their own sensory inputs.

- He curls his lips, and is instantly hit with the feeling of muscle contorting. Skin and flesh was an entirely different sensation from mesh and plating. It made his plating- damnit no, skin crawl. Another sensation trailed up the center of his back, spine and shiver popping up in his mind.

- Even the way his psyche worked was different. Like a new plane of existence. Thoughts were unorganized, uncalculated. Like something that squirmed out of his grasp as he tried to keep hold. Everything felt simplified, yet the awareness and sensations were overwhelming. His entire presence felt… hypocritical.

- Sounds distracted him from his insightful, yet horrific reverie. His gaze drifted to another area of the room, half-built walls sectioning it off, but with flat slabs atop. Counters. A face pops from behind the half-wall. Human eyes catch his, and the creature pulls its lips back to bare its teeth. To smile. Even though humans and cybertronians had similar facial anatomy, the little creatures were so ugly that it was hard to recognize similar expressions.

- “You good bud?” The thing asks. Starscream felt his new face twist into his casual sneer, one laced with aggravation and disgust.

- “Good? Is such a thing possible when you’re a skin bag of flesh and bones?” The humans only response was to broaden their grin.

-“Glad you haven’t lost the attitude. Means you’ll make it out alive.” The nonchalance threw the ex-cybertronian for a loop.

- “You… know me?” That grin turned into a smirk that made the non-energon in his lines boil.

- “You’re Starscream, second-in-command to Megatron, lord of the deceptions, yada yada yada… yeah I know who you are.” They leaned back against the wall, eyes boring into the deception. Starscream found himself wondering if human eyes were always so disturbingly piercing.

- “Wonderful.” He shoved the unsettled feeling to the back of his head, determined to figure out a solution and still be in control. “Then you can explain how and why I am in this disgusting organic form.”

- The smirk disappeared into an odd expression Starscream had never seen before. The human flattened their lips and pursed their… cheeks. It looked entirely stupid. But something in the back of his head whispered apologetic.

- “I’m not sure on the exact details, but I can tell you it won’t last long. I’m basically your caretaker until it wears off.”

- Instinctually, Starscream’s brows raised. “That’s it? Is this some new human weapon, cruel imprisonment within one your fleshy bodies?”

- The human tilted their head back and laughed, once again taking Starscream off guard. Their casual presence was so different from the fight-or-die everyday lifestyle that gripped his species.

- “Nope. Just a random accident that you’re the unfortunate victim of.” At the con’s bewildered stare, the human pushed their mouth outwards, changing the pitch of their voice as they said, “aww, poor baby. Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.” Then they whirled around and walked into the other room.

- Man is flabbergasted. Is out of his element and cannot function. Cue him trying to stand and do normal things, and bust his ass because the different sensations hitting him all at once. Organic nervous systems feel very different from techno ones.

- First thing he starts doing is eating and drinking. It takes a couple hours, but his “babysitter” eventually gets him to try something. Water first, of course (he refused any organic foods). The con is disgusted, but moderately pleased that the tasteless liquid isn’t slimy or thicker like he expected. It’s actually rather soothing to his human body.

- The first food he willingly tries is melon. Honeydew to be precise. Refused to touch meat, as the idea of eating actual organic flesh was unfathomable. He was pleasantly surprised to find the flavor of the fruit likable. Humans don’t taste things the same way cybertronians do. Whereas energon has a more electrical charge to it (to put it in human words), Earth flavors were smoother. Discovers he has a huge sweet tooth (as his “babysitter” put it).

- His human guardian took this opportunity to drag him out of their home and go shopping for more consumables. Let him pick things he found somewhat pleasing, but chose most others. Lots of fruit to try and other non-meats. Went in to try the other types of fruit. Has a preference for honeydew, strawberries, cantaloupe, watermelon, and grapes. Really likes (loves but won’t admit) pineapple and raspberries. The sour/sweetness is similar to energon. Citruses like oranges and mandarin are also similar, but he prefers more sweetness than straight sour. Kiwi is also a treat.

- (I headcannon that energon is similar to sour patch kids and skittles, super sweet and sour with an electric tang and texture. So all transformers would be immediate sweet lovers as humans because of the similarity).

- Hates anything dull or flavorless. Don’t try to feed this man spinach, he’ll call you grass-eating fleshbag.

- Drinks water only because he has too (stupid human body), but once he discovers those liquid flavors he can put in, it’s all he uses. Tried juices when he found out they were liquids derived from the fruit he likes. Got excited when it tasted almost like energon and tried to only consume juice from then on. His guardian explained that humans couldn’t only exist on juice, but of course he tried to argue that all he needed was nutrients in liquid. He then discovered smoothies. Nearly did the same thing until he actually tried them. Hated the thickness and gritty texture.

- A couple days go by and his guardian decides it’s time to get him tf out properly. Man is lounging around all the time. If he’s not on the couch making fun of human entertainment and politics, he’s following his guardian meatbag around and demanding answers for his current predicament.

- So his guardian starts small. Hauls his ass outside for a jog. This is where things really get interesting. Starscream is unaware of how human bodies work. When his guardian begins a slow run, he gets confused. Why would you run when you can walk fine? Where were they going? Leads to an explaination of exercise, which results in the con doing his usual snide shit of “you force yourselves to go through training otherwise your bodies become slow and unusable? How unsurprising.” And they’re like “yes and nooo, it’s so we can stay strong and get stronger as time goes on. Staying strong allows us to do cool things.”

- Cool things like what? Well his guardian gets an evil idea in their head. Starscream hates running. Hates using his legs and having nothing to do with his arms. Don’t even get them started on the tantrum he threw when he started sweating (fluids exiting one’s body? Horrifying).

- So his guardian introduces him to swimming. The con is a jet in his natural form, and the closest he’ll get to that as a human without a shit ton of equipment will be the water.

- Problem is the man has to learn to swim first. And willingly get in the water. Stays on the edge of the lap pool the first few times, watching with his nose turned up at the humans swimming.

- However, he starts to slowly dip his toes in the water. The sensation is… interesting. It’s not dislikable on human skin. In fact, on the hotter days it’s very soothing, like when he drinks water (finds out he can’t drink this kind tho, chemicals and bodies in it and such).

- Eventually he gets in, staying in the shallow area. His guardian helps him learn how to swim. It feels humiliating, learning to kick and tread water, while watching human children do it with relative ease. It feels strange to use his body in such ways. But with his guardian constantly reminding that none of his cybertronian peers knew or will know of his situation, AND their constant praise, he finds it in himself to continue.

- The praise he receives from his guardian is also something he’s not used to. As well as other humans willing to help him learn. It apparently wasn’t uncommon for many adult humans to not know how to swim or do other things, and gave him more confidence to learn. He’d never admit it, but he tried harder to learn just to hear the praise from others. It felt nice to be treated kindly. Better than nice. But again, he’d never admit it. He’d just respond with a clever quip. Never did anyone hear a thanks (but most quickly figured out he was grateful from the obvious burning red on his copper-toned neck and ears).

- Weeks drag on, and to distract himself from the impatience of going back to his normal, Starscream becomes an excellent swimmer. He finds it is like flying, the way the water holds up his body. When he holds his breath and dips under the surface, he can almost imagine his rocket boosters on his pedestal holding him aloft in the sky.

- From the work it took, he gained a slight appreciated for how his human body worked. At first he thought it was a hindrance. But as he worked with the others, he began to have an understanding that unsettled the cybertronian part of him.

- Humans were incredibly versatile. After he began to improve greatly at swimming, he asked about other activities humans did for exercise. The resulted in learning that humans didn’t always “exercise” to become strong. Many did it for fun. It was a hobby to them, and the exercise was a great benefit. It kept their minds clear, it kept their bodies healthy, and it satisfies a part of them that he was only beginning to discover.

- Starscream was aware of human creativity. It’s what had made their species a slight hindrance when they aided the autobots in the war, but because of their size, they were seen as nothing but bugs. Pests at the most. But as the con experienced this small bit of human life, he began to understand there was more to them than he’d like to admit. There was this drive to do things, to push themselves beyond their current capabilities.

- He learned of skills that human no longer needed but still learned to take pride in for fun. Swimming was only a base skill. There were humans that attempted to swim across the oceans just to see if they could, even with the high chance of death. Beyond swimming, there was running across land for days on end, jumping off cliffs and diving in spectacular ways, gliding across the sky’s on flimsy metal pipes and fabric, and so much more. Their adaptability to any environment was envious.

- It nearly terrified him, the thought of what if humans were the same size as cybertronians. What if they could acutally measure up to other species of their universe? They could do anything. They would be a real threat. Or the greatest ally any race could ask for.

- His lid has been flipped.

- Eventually he wakes up back in his habsuite in his normal body. The euphoria that rushes through him at the familiarity his nothing he’s ever experienced before. Checking his info screens, he discovers no time passed. As if he had dreamed all of it. But when he looks to his desk in the room, he sees it.

- Starscream picks the item up, inspecting it, and feels his spark skip a pulse. It’s a small ring and chain, attached to two metal objects. Both in the shape and color of a pineapple and raspberry.

[gallawitchxx]

hi beeee!! i hope you're doing okay 💖💖💖

ooohohohoho okay for the kiss thingy: god knows why cuz it sounds potentially very painful but i feel so compelled to request 28 🙏

sweet deanna! i'm hanging in, thanks love! 💖 so you & @lingy910y both requested #28 & i want to fill both of your prompts. but because you were (rightfully) afraid of pain, i gave you one that's a bit strange, but has a promisingly happy ending? you can be the judge! xx

- - - - -

send me a number & i'll write you a smoocheroo 😚

- - - - -

#28: ...as a lie ps. this is inspired by this post about dealer!mickey & insomniac!ian, who have now rotted my brain.

Ian hasn’t slept in days.

It’s happened before—endless energy is one of his tried-and-true symptoms of mania—but this isn’t that. He’s taking his meds, his skin isn’t crawling and his mind is fairly quiet. Quiet enough to frustrate him as he tosses and turns and wonders what the fuck’s going on.

His schedule has been all over the place lately; his normal routine lost to the endless cycles of employment and Gallagher family responsibilities. He’d been hoping to add school to the mix this semester so that he could have other, less hectic options than a rig-riding EMT, but he’d pushed it off. A pity, now that all-nighters are apparently his thing.

Night two, he googles a few things, which is a huge mistake. Who can fall asleep after reading about how even just twenty-four hours without sleep can begin to derail your bodily systems? Sleep deprivation can cause or worsen conditions like Type 2 diabetes, High blood pressure, Stroke, Heart attack—his pulse leaps as his phone clatters to the ground.

Night three, he takes to the streets, running around the Southside until his lungs burn and his knees wobble. As he passes the clinic that gave his seventeen-year-old self a lifetime prescription for antipsychotics, he knows that if this lasts much longer, he should call his doctor. Tell them his nighttime meds aren’t putting him to sleep anymore. Nip this insomnia thing in the bud before it can overthrow the delicate balance he’s worked so hard to maintain.

Night four, desperate and a bit delusion, he pulls up a number he hasn’t used in years, saved under a contact labeled, DO NOT TEXT.

He breaks his own rule: Hey. Still making house calls?

The response is almost immediate: the fuck u care for?

Ian rolls his bloodshot eyes, typing: It’s an emergency.

Three little dots herald a response that makes him laugh: a weed emergency?

He stays strong: Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.

The next text makes his chest clench: u ok?

He decides to keep it vague—I can’t sleep, but it’s not what you think.—and hopes he doesn’t have to explain further and is relieved to read: u want ur usual?

Another clench: Indica

Two texts arrive in rapid succession: what else do u want? can i give u head while u smoke or no?

There it is: the reason Ian doesn’t use this number anymore.

Maybe in another life it would be a blessing to have a weed dealer to lovers arc with your childhood crush, but in this one, it was a curse. A curse that lasted almost a whole year, bringing with it an endless bouquet of blissful fucks and free weed, and a million moments of tenderness Ian knew nobody else was getting out of the guy. A curse that eventually came to collect payment in the form of bloodied knuckles, broken hearts and ego wounds. A curse that still clings to Ian’s psyche, filling his dreams with gentle, tattooed fingers and bright blue eyes and a sweet and savory scent that can only be described as Mickey.

Mickey, now DO NOT TEXT.

On second thought, maybe he should never sleep again.

The knock at the door makes him hard—a Pavlovian response that irks him more than the three sleepless nights he’s suffered so far. Three raps, one right after the other. The last one no more than a brush of his hand.

Ian adjusts himself and answers the door.

Fuck, one look at that smug asshole and he’s immediately right back in it. Lust and like and maybe even a little bit of reckless fucking love fill his body, rising to the surface like sweet cream. A layer of fat on the roof of one’s mouth; a treat to lick later, a reminder that they didn’t end things because they weren’t insanely hot for one another and potentially soulmates. They were just idiots. Stubborn, petty dicks.

Oh Pride, the great slayer of men.

Jesus, he needs to sleep.

“First one’s on the house,” Mickey says as he crosses the threshold, a joint held tightly between C and K.

Hours slip by. They laugh, they smoke. It feels like old times. Ian’s body is loose in a way it hasn’t been in years. It feels good. Like maybe-he-could-sleep-tonight good. And as he melts further into the couch, he starts to get a little horny too. Because Mickey’s yapping on and on about some asshole that frequents the bar he works at, and Ian’s listening, he swears he’s listening, but he’s also staring at Mickey’s mouth like he wants to take Mickey up on that text message and shut him the fuck up with his dick.

Like he wants to taste the stale smoke of his tongue.

Wants him to stay the night.

Forever, maybe.

Mickey finishes his story. His eyes go soft and he drums his fingers against his knee. “Should get outta your hair, Gallagher,” he says. “Letcha sleep.”

That’s the last thing Ian wants.

“Not tired,” he fibs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not? ’S been days, man. This shit’s gotta be hittin’ ya by now.”

It’s true. It has been days and this shit is hitting him. Or maybe he’s having a sleep-deprivation-induced stroke. He just knows Mickey can’t go.

“Can’t go to sleep without a goodnight kiss.”

Mickey’s already leaning in when he asks, “Then you promise you’ll hit the hay?”

Ian nods as Mickey presses a kiss to his lying lips.

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter III : Psyche

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Overstimulation; Orgasm delay; Rough sex;  Ass play; Unprotected sex; Size difference; Discussions of infertility; Discussions of past abuse

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word count: 9.0K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER III : PSYCHE

Are there many little [girls] who think they are a Monster?

Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red

You see him in your dreams – his mind or his memories or his own dreams – you can’t be sure. Fraught with violence and desperation and desire. The shadows and shapes of his past or his future, coalescing to create a dreamscape in your own mind, mercurial thoughts of a desire to possess something which you’ve never had or known or imagined possible. 

And he’s there, a physical manifestation of him or an imprint of his mind – something that calls to you in echoes, something that knows your name or your heart, maybe, the things you want and hold in the deepest part of yourself. The shape of his name, which you cannot hear, the shape of his face, which you cannot discern, which you look away from quickly, ripping yourself away from the threat of violation that would be and into wakefulness. 

When you finally open your eyes again, his bare hands are there, illuminated by a singular, warm shaft of light through the cracked open fresher door. 

The first time you’ve gotten a glimpse of them, and they’re scarred – beautifully crafted, long, thick fingers, short, neatly clipped nails, wide palms, prominent veins – but scarred with a roadmap of his lived past. The architecture of him is so magnificent, and you have the fleeting whisper of the thought that his face must be just as beautiful, and that it’s a true shame that it exist so hidden from everyone else to see. 

He’s crouched before you in the darkness, arm slung over one bent knee, the dark tee of his visor trained on you infallibly, so still you worry for a single moment that he’s calcified into a droid, but he starts slightly when he notices you’re coming to. He’s still not donned his armor or duraweave once again, only clad in another, clean, dark undershirt, and he slides to kneel closer beside you silently, one hand shifting through your loose hair to cup the back of your skull and look down at you. He’d taken out the ties that you’d had the heavy mass of it held up in, so that it lays in a tangled mess about your head.

You’re disoriented, body sore and throbbing as if you’d run endlessly for ages. Your muscles scream in protest as you shift your legs, and a hoarse whimper claws its way up your throat as the tendons in your back pull tight in agony. His hand tightens in your hair imperceptibly at the sound of your pain, and you clear your throat, your voice coming out scratchy and raw when you look up at him worriedly to ask: “Are you okay?” It sounds as if you’d screamed yourself hoarse and voiceless in your dreams. Your mind, sluggish, confused, so his responding voice sounds just as disjointed when he speaks. It feels as though there’s a mudslide slipping through your consciousness, filling your ears with static, and you feel your panic spike for one second. What’s happening to me? What’s happening? You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, trying to shake your head free of the disorientation, and his other hand comes up to gently cup your jaw, tenderly stroking the delicate skin beneath your eye. “What did you say?” You blink up at him confusedly. 

“You’re asking me if I’m okay?”

“You– you were hurt… and I–” Your brow crumples, “I can’t remember–”  You’d healed him– the Force– you’d used the Force to heal him– You surge up suddenly, at the realization. You’d healed him with the Force, that had been that feeling of power shifting within you. You’d healed him, and you’d not stolen anything in compensation for the act. At your sudden movement though, your head goes woozy, the contents inside of your skull seemingly sloshing about between your ears, and your arm buckles under your weight, ready to give out, but then his hand is there, gently pulling you in between his splayed knees so that you’re huddled into his strong embrace. “You were hurt– you were shot,” you say, reaching for his side where the terrible blaster wound had been. He grasps your chin between his fingers, his touch, so gentle, when you know he possesses such strength, feels all the softer for his care. “Be slow, it’s okay. You’ve been unconscious for hours,” his deep voice comes slowly through the modulator. His hands are warm and dry as he handles you, gloveless, pulling you in even closer to himself by the bend of your knee. He clasps one strong hand around your waist to support you while the other wraps around your jaw to keep your face turned up towards him. His gaze through the darkness of the visor is almost searing for its intensity, almost a physical manifestation of his inspection of you. “I don’t know what you did…”

“I think– I think I healed you,” and there is so much wonder in your voice – had you turned to the light? who could even say –  the juxtaposition between light and dark, good and evil – those things were beyond you and wholly inconsequential; at this point, all you could understand was freedom, and that you were here now, with him, it’s all you want, all you care about – that you forget yourself when you reach up unthinkingly to run your fingers down the gleaming silver of his helmet. You feel him tense and flinch for a moment, and you jerk in his arms, as well, remembering the violent way he’d handled you the last time you dared to touch the helm, but as you make to pull away from him, his hand shoots up to clasp your wrist in his strong fingers and press your entire palm to his helmet so that it’s splayed out across the face of it. 

“Thank you,” he says, his voice is almost choked for the fervor of it. “I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.”

“I used the Force. I– I think– I didn’t know I could. But I was so scared… so– I felt so– I had to, and I didn’t know what to do, but you– you were dying. I could feel it. And the energy inside of you– it’s– it’s so strong. Did you know that? Your presence in the Force is so strong – like you’re,” you squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head quickly, trying to find the right words, and you feel a slow brush of his thumb at the corner of your mouth, “I don’t know, like you’re extra full of life.” You open them again, and the hand splayed at the small of your back begins to stroke you gently there too, back into calmness with slow soothing passes. 

“It’s alright,” his voice holds that same soothing cadence his gentle hand is trying to imbue into you. “It’s alright,” he says again. “Take it slowly. You’ve been unconscious for over twelve hours. Whatever you did must have taken a lot out of you.” You freeze shocked at that, at the same moment that you realize that the ship is currently moving, the gentle, steady thrum of a vessel moving through hyperspace, vibrating through the hull. You turn to look around at the darkened space surrounding the two of you, he’d shut off all the lights save for the warm glow coming from the fresher, and his hands tighten around you imperceptibly, as if he’s unwilling to let you move away from him even a millimeter. 

“Where are we going? We’re moving–”

“I’m sorry. I had to get us out of there. We couldn’t sit there on Corellia any longer. I’ll take you anywhere you need to go. I just have one more bounty to retrieve, and then I promise, I’ll take you anywhere you need.” His voice takes on a hint of rushed worry, as if you’ll be angry or bothered that he’d snuck off with you without asking first. 

You bring your other hand up to clutch at his shoulder, trying to squeeze reassurance into your touch. “It’s okay. I– I don’t have anywhere I need to be. I can go with you for now–”

“Alright,” he says quietly. The hand on your back slides up to grip the back of your neck. “Thank you. For whatever you did, thank you. You saved me, and you shouldn’t– the group– back on Corellia– you shouldn’t have had to do that.” And you realize that he’s trying to apologize for the fact that you’d had to kill for him. 

You shake your head quickly, “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t–”

You cut him off, “It was nothing I haven’t done before,” let the truth of what you both really know about you hang heavy and pungent in the air. He’d seen you murder those that had hurt him, brutally, without hesitation. Wielding this power within you and a blade that you’d forged with that very strength, unflinchingly in his name. You think suddenly, that if it hadn’t been for his presence, for the fact that they’d hurt him, that you’d probably not have killed them as you had. Had it been only you they’d attacked and hurt, then you’d have, perhaps, let them get away with it. It was only you, after all, and there was not much damage sustained that you could not walk away from. There was not much damage sustained that you had not already experienced before. And there was nothing in you left with the desire to hurt or kill, a fact you’d not been aware of prior to this very moment. You had not realized that the blood lust had left you entirely. But to save him, to defend him, you’d once again donned that mantle of viciousness and brutality you’d so desired to forsake, and you realize that you do not resent him for this fact – for the necessity of brutality he’d unknowingly pulled from you. On the contrary, you feel so, so unerringly grateful, deeply grateful, in this moment, that you possessed the ability to protect him. And it is with a painful, jarring shock that you realize that this is, perhaps, the first time in your entire life, since the day you’d discovered your power in the Force, that you’re grateful for it, that you’re able to see it as a gift, and not a curse. 

“You still should not have had to do it alone.” There is nothing you can say to that, nothing within you that knows how to accept such a thing. “Keep your eyes closed,” his voice comes then, quiet and hesitant. “Don’t– I want– I want to do something. Don’t open your eyes.” Your heart squeezes and flips with nerves, and then you hear the hiss of the helmet’s hydraulics disengaging, and the heavy thunk of it as he places it on the metal floor, and those nerves turn to a full blown, screeching havoc of panic. You shake your head quickly, mind still confused so that your brain feels as if it’s gone liquid, sloshing around in your skull with your movements, you squeeze your eyes shut as tightly as you can. 

He’s taken his helmet off. He’s taken his helmet off.

“No– wait, don’t. What are you doing? Don't take it off,” voice full of panic.

“It’s okay. I just want to–” he wraps his fingers around your jaw, tilting your head back to the angle he wants you in . “I just– I have to– I’ve never done this before.” And it is a confession and a promise and an apology, all at once, and then his soft mouth is pressing to yours gently. He holds there for a long moment, you can feel the panting fan of his breath against your face, and your heart feels like that of a small and vulnerable animal on the brink of death, running ragged and painful within the confines of your chest, your breath on the verge of hyperventilating. He has a plush, soft mouth, warm and a little dry, cracked, his bottom lip feels slightly fuller than the top. A soft, sensuous mouth on a hard,  uncompromising warrior. Your lips open on a shocked little gasp, and he groans deep and savage in his chest. His other hand twisting in your hair to pull your head back and open you to him, deepening the angle so that he can dip his tongue into the wet warmth of your mouth. When his tongue touches yours he pulls back with a small gasp, a gutural, muttered, fuck, and then he’s licking into you again, noses brushing, lips slotting against each other, soft and desperate and wet, and you can’t believe this is the first time he’s ever done this. He does not kiss like this is the first time he’s ever done this. Your fingers slide up his neck to his jaw, cupping the sharp, strong edge, he has scruff. He has a scruffy jaw, and you are, for some reason, shocked at the humanity of the man beneath the mask this signifies, and as you make contact with his face he lets out an almost pained, animal sound, a whimper or a plea, fuck, fuck, whispered again, his fingers tightening on you almost painfully so that you’re left wanting for more, for harder, for tighter. Inside, inside, inside, a chant in your wanting mind sounds – up his cheeks, over the strong, prominent bridge of a curved nose, his eyes, thick lashes, brows.

He pulls back, kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, down further to lick your neck, to taste your skin, your breath is panting and agonized and your cunt is slick and weeping beneath your clothes, your breasts heavy and aching, your entire body awakening to bloom for him. “You shouldn’t– we shouldn’t– you shouldn’t trust me,” you whisper in a small, anguished cry. It feels like the moment warrants a soft, quiet voice for the resounding blare of lust and desperation in your mind. “I’m bad.”

“I do anyways. And you’re not. You saved me. ” 

“Why? You don’t know. You don’t know me.” Your hands finally reach his hair, thick and so soft, heavy curls covering his head, and your fingers twist to tug harshly, pull him closer. He growls, bites down on the hammering pulse in your neck to reciprocate the hurt. 

“I know what it is to be a stranger to yourself,” he murmurs into your skin. “To be afraid. And I have to – I can’t help it. You deserve it.” An anguished sob heaves in your chest, and his hand moves to cup your breast, squeezing tightly, palming the heavy weight in his large hand. You moan for him wantonly, and he finds the peak of your nipple, thumb brushing over it and then pinching to elicit another mewl. 

“Fuck– you’re so–” he moans, “You’re so soft, little one. How’re you so soft?” He noses into the skin of your throat, nuzzling and kissing and licking at you, big hands squeezing and kneading at your curves, pressing you into him. He moves to pull you further into his lap, pulling your knee over his thigh so that you’re straddling him fully, and as your aching core makes contact with the prominent bulge in his lap you both groan, pained twin sounds. “Fucking Maker– I want–” But as he grips your hips to press you down harder on that thick length beneath his trousers, rolling the heat between your legs over himself,  you have a sudden remembered flash of your earlier dreams, of him moving through your dreams, and the murky, confusing landscape of that place that you couldn’t discern as belonging to you or to him. 

“Wait–” you gasp. “Wait– we– we can’t. I have to–” You plant your palms on his strong, wide chest to keep him at bay, feeling his muscles beneath jerk and twitch at your touch, and he lets out a frustrated growl of irritation, pulling you back in by the waist. “Wait– I– there’s something–” A soft kiss to the tender place behind your ear, his tongue dipping into the soft, vulnerable shell, his hand at the small of your back pressing down on your ass to drag your cunt over his hard cock. “Please, wait,” you beg, moan.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he presses into your skin with damp, seeking lips. 

“There’s something– There’s something you should know.” You don’t want to tell him this. You don’t want him to take himself away from you. But you also know that you must, that he deserves your honesty, your truth, if nothing else, then this truth, at least. “There’s something you should know,” you say again, “If we’re going to – if we’re– going to be close– to… to spend time together.”

“What is it, little one? Tell me.” He continues to press kisses to your face and throat, unable to stop himself, hands roving and squeezing, seeking entrance to bare skin.

There seems to be, for some inexplicable reason, an unusually strong bridge between the two of you. You’d noticed it last time you’d been together, his presence, his emotions, his desire – so prevalent around you, it was almost sentient, flavored. His mind, so easily open to you – easily connected in a way that you’d never before experienced with another being. You could see into him, his memories, his past, his thoughts, almost unconsciously, unknowingly. Lost in your dreams, your moments of stress and fear or ecstasy, filled with flashing images of the shape of him, and what could, perhaps, be his memories, or his very own dreams, entirely out of your control. You couldn’t understand why it was, or what the meaning could be, you only knew that you felt him at a great vulnerability in your presence, and try as you might, you could not make sense of the connection that seemed to run between the two of you. Perhaps, because the energy inside of him was so strong. Perhaps, because he felt so alive, and you felt, sometimes, just on this side of not. Perhaps, because from the very first sighting, that first meeting in the dark, you’d felt as if you’d known him, had been meant to find him, meant to touch him, to have him. In some strange and unknowable way, he felt like he was yours. 

That dark, red thread of fate at play.

“Any Force user – but– but especially one who’s inclined toward the dark side has the ability to see into another’s mind.” You feel the imperceptible tensing of his muscles beneath where you’re perched across his lap. “And for s– some reason,” you stutter, “I think– I think– well, I don’t know why, but I can see within you, into your mind, so easily. When I was asleep before–” your voice is choked with nerves, and you squeeze your eyes shut even tighter, bringing your hands together in front of you to twist your fingers together anxiously, it’s alright, he murmurs, keep going, his thumb brushes over your kneecap soothingly. “The energy inside of you – it’s very– it’s strong. You’re strong. And that would have made me think that you’d be less susceptible to me finding a way inside, but for some reason, it’s like you’re wide open to me. I don’t know why. But I– I could see anything. Anything I wanted to, whenever I wanted, and you’d never even know it if I was careful, if I didn’t want you to know.” The worst part now, “I– I could see your own memory – a memory of your face…” you trail off, quiet for a beat, letting the truth of that terrible potential violation settle in the air around you. He remains still and quiet except for that still softly stroking thumb over the cap of your knee. “And I would never, never look intentionally, I swear.” You raise your eyebrows over your still closed eyes at him, shaking your head as if to drive your point home. “ But I– you just needed to know. And I haven’t looked. I promise, I haven't looked, and I swear to you, I never would. I’d never do that to you–”

“I know,” he says simply. 

“But I… What?” He must not be understanding the gravity of what it is you’re saying here. Surely, he mustn’t.

“It’s alright–”

“I haven’t looked,” you say again, pushing urgency into your voice so that he’ll understand what it is you’re saying here, pressing a splayed hand to his belly and trying to strain away from him, keep yourself away at the same time that he tugs you nearer. 

“I believe you. It’s alright,” he murmurs, mouth returning to yours. 

“You should know. Before– before you decide to– I don’t know–” a gasp as he presses his hips and straining erection up against you, “Or– or you could just drop me at the nearest–”

“No,” he growls, suddenly surging forward with you held in his arms to lay you on your back, settling between your splayed thighs into the cradle of your hips. “No, you said you didn’t have anywhere else to be. You can’t change your mind now,” he clasps your wrists gently in the circle of his fingers and brings them to rest together over your head, pinning you beneath him, trapped and splayed out for his ravaging. “You’re coming with me. You can’t change your mind now. You’ve said you’re staying, and now you have to stay with me.” He’d pulled blankets from somewhere to create a nest for you while you’d slept, and as he presses you back into the layered pile you go soft and pliant for a moment, letting yourself be handled and arranged as he sees fit. Your mind still befuddled and murky from your long hours of unconsciousness, his lightning swift movements have you confused so that your eyes crack open infinitesimally in the onslaught of rapid shifting to take in his darkly clad chest, the top of his naked throat. You snap them shut once again immediately, squeezing them closed and turning your head into the crook of your arm to hide yourself away from the threat of seeing anything you’re not supposed to, and with a flit of your fingers, the fresher door snaps shut, plunging the hull entirely into pitch darkness. He gives a low rumble of approval, “Nifty little thing,” he presses into the skin of your exposed neck, biting down gently on the straining, delicate tendons. He reaches up to grasp your chin, turning your face back towards him so that he can kiss you again, licking into your mouth, nipping at your full bottom lip, tasting behind the line of your teeth. He’d said he’d never done this before, kissing, he’d never kissed before, and he seems to have now developed an immediate taste for it. His hips grind into yours, thick cock pressing into the apex of your thighs so that you’re moaning, high pitched and keening for him. 

“I want you,” he whispers into your mouth “I need you,” he licks into your skin.

“Oh– Oh, wait,” a gasp, “I– I think that maybe we should – your wound,” another, as he nips at your breast, sharp teeth catching gently at your nipple and tugging, sucking the peak beneath the fabric of your clothes into his hot mouth. “You’re hurt,” you try to protest with absolutely zero conviction. For some reason, unlike the last time when you’d been brazen and ravenous, you find yourself now shy and nervous to give yourself to him. The two warring sides of your inner heart vying for attention or shadow at the same time. You’re afraid of what this time will mean, do, to you. 

“Quiet.” He reaches down to squeeze your ass in his wide palms, pulling the soft meat of you apart so that he can slot his hand between your legs and roll you up into his thrusting hips. 

“Oh, p– please, please, I just–”

He pulls back then, suddenly, bracing himself above you on his strong arms, “No, you’re right,” he bends his neck for another kiss to the tip of your chin, sharp teeth nipping there gently, and then nosing along the edge. “You’re right,” he says again, “We should wait. There’s one more thing–” he reaches up to begin unfastening the buttons of your high necked tunic, down, down, until it’s open to beneath the heaving swell of your breasts, he presses one more kiss to the tops of them, and then he presses his forehead there, to the space beneath your clavicle. “I want to tell you something too – something… another thing I’ve never done. Only because… I told you I trust you, and there’s no reason for it, surely, like you’ve said, there’s no reason for you to be able to see inside my mind so easily either. And yet, both things are true. So, I think– I don’t want you to find this before I’ve given it to you myself. And well, also… I want to hear it.” Your heart is beating so hard beneath your breast bone that the mass of it aches, pinches and twists like some vile writhing creature. So hard he must surely be able to feel the reverberations of it against his face. He can’t give you anymore, you don’t deserve anymore, but before you can get the words out, warn him against you once again, he says, “Din. My name is Din.” You close your eyes, even against the blinding darkness, and let the words settle between the two of you. “I’ve never done that before either,” he whispers into your breast. He had asked you for your name once before, and you, in your fear, had refused him. So you give it to him now. You give him your true namesake. The one given to you by your mother before it was stolen away by the dark, enshrouded by a helm forced upon you by that cruel power. And perhaps, he should not have given it to you, nor should you have accepted it and returned the gesture, but for much time after that, there are no words, only the soft wet press of mouths and tongues and seeking hands, the darkness surrounding the two of you, no longer cruel, but only comforting here with him. 

He pulls your clothing from the two of you slowly, meticulously, but even yet, there is a hum of desperation to his movements, that fear and anxiety from before, being wounded, your frenzied fight to heal him, his endless hours of waiting for you to regain consciousness, you can taste them, feel them, in his kisses and his touch. He was afraid for you. Just as he’d worried for you on Corellia, afraid that you'd be hurt by your attackers, you shouldn’t have had to do that. He had worried for you. For a creature that had been subjected to things much worse and darker than that which he could ever imagine. You had never had that sort of benevolence extended towards you, lie, and it has you spreading your legs wider for him, tilting your pelvis up to accept the thick, invading press of his cock when he finally pushes into you slowly. You’d dreamt of the feel of this since that night on Nevarro with him. You’d dreamt of the feel of him, heavy and changing within you. 

“I thought about you so much,” he whispers as if he can read your mind.

He moans into the crook of your neck when he bottoms out inside of you, his heavy sac pressed tightly against your bottom, thick root stretching you until you think there must surely not be any space left within you. He holds there, the wide head of his cock pressed up against that deepest of places so that you can feel your walls start to tremble and pulse around his invading length, overwhelmed, already on the brink of orgasm, just from this, just from the feel of him stretching you. 

A groaned, “Fuck,” his hands roaming and squeezing and pressing along the soft contours of you, pulling you tighter onto his impaling cock with a hand on your bottom, his fingers so long he presses down on the tight furl of muscle of your ass. “Fucking soft and wet– perfect little cunt.” He starts to move in deep, strong thrusts, the wet slap of his balls against the curve of your ass as he fucks into the soft, spongey place inside of you. Your hands explore his own body, sharp little nails dragging along the strong, muscular planes of his back, the smooth slope of his nape, up into his thick curls to twist through the heavy locks. He mouths wetly at your ear, down your neck to your breasts, sucking and nipping at the sensitive tips, wrapping his hand around the entire heavy globe to bring it up to his mouth and feast on you, all while the steady rhythm of his hips continues to pound into you. The wet squelch of your joining is lewd and deafening in the dark quiet of the hull. “Din, Din, Din,” you whisper the gift of his name into his ear over and over again, and it has the savage growl of your name ripping from his throat in return. His voice sounds almost furious or pained at the sound of his name spilling from your lips. I’ve never done this, I’ve never had this, he whispers back. The two of you are giving something more to each other in this moment than just pleasure or sex. So different is the joining from that night on Nevarro before. There is something intrinsically other about the feel of him fucking into your cunt now. Something meaningful, in a way that last time, although changing and desperate and intense, had not translated. He presses upwards suddenly, anchoring himself above you with one strong arm, pulling you onto him harder with the other wrapped beneath you so that his cockhead is drilling right into your g-spot, “Come,” he grits, “Come on my cock. Give it to me, I need to feel it.” He bends his head to bite painfully at your breast, and at that, coupled with one particularly savage thrust your orgasm starts to hum through you, twisting in a tight ball of heat in your pelvis and going loose and wet, fluttering through your muscles. You arch up into his hold, pulling one of your knees up to your shoulder to open yourself wider to his thrusts. “Maker, yes– just like that. Fuck– give it to me just like that,” he moans. He continues the steady onslaught, fucking himself into you over and over again through the waves of your orgasm. You can feel the dripping wetness of your gush between your slick, sliding skin. 

As the waves of your orgasm ebb into throbbing echoes he pulls out suddenly, the wet sucking sound of his cock slipping from you has a blush heating your cheeks, and you try and pull at him, scratching at his shoulders to bring him back towards you. “I have to taste it,” he mumbles, sounding half delirious, cunt-drunk, and then he’s moving down your trembling frame, mouthing at your breasts, the heat of his tongue dipping into your belly button and teeth nipping at the soft swell of your belly, to finally shoulder your thighs apart, making room for himself down at the level of your still fluttering cunt. He licks at the vulnerable softness of your inner thighs, tongue lapping up the mess of sweat and slick and come, tasting between the crease of your thigh and pelvis and groaning and the flavor of you there. He kisses a path across the top of your mound until his soft, seeking mouth finds the apex of your sex, and his tongue sweeps out over your swollen clit. The sound he makes is almost a whimper, another I’ve never done this either, between wet laps at your slit. “Taste– taste so fucking good,” a groan as he dips the tip of his tongue into the source of your leaking slick, “Gorgeous little cunt, so soft– so pretty–”

You groan into your crossed arms thrown over your face, the fucking mouth on this man, you swear to the Maker you don’t think you’ll survive this, him. “You can’t even see me,” you say, voice breathless. Your hips moving against his mouth in needy little arcs. 

“Don’t need to see, I know– prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“You live your life inside a tin can,” you sass, “You can’t have tasted much.”

“Quiet,” a sharp nip to your thigh, and then he’s back to slowly lapping at your folds, sucking on your clit, the tip of his tongue dipping into your opening over and over again. The pattern, slow and intentional. He’s down there for what feels like hours, savoring the taste of you, drinking down the slick you produce for him, enjoying the sound of your pleading moans and cries for more, for harder, Din, please. He eats you for so long you’re eventually left as nothing more than a wet, trembling mess of a girl, never letting you hit your peak, never letting you unravel. Shuddering, tears spilling back into your hair, dripping into your ears. You beg for mercy, for him to stop, to let you come, but he keeps you just on the brink of orgasm for his own enjoyment, his own pleasure at the taste and sound of you. You can feel that deep buzzing of satisfaction humming through him and into you. His energy is strong and sensual and almost viscous, a syrupy sweet delight that the two of you are feeding into each other back and forth. The feeling of it is almost more overwhelming than the stimulation of his mouth on your overly sensitive sex, licking and biting and kissing and sucking. “Please, please, Din,” you cry, overwhelmed and on the brink of insanity. “Please, let me come, please, please, please–” And he finally,  finally, presses two of his thick fingers into you, crooking them within to beckon your orgasm forth with a murmured, come for me, little one. It licks through you like fire, white hot like electricity, almost painfully, so that you’re sobbing and heaving and whining, delirious. 

You feel him uncurl from his position between your legs, big hands maneuvering you to turn onto your belly in your delirium, pulling your hips slightly up and pulling you apart by the soaking wet meat of your ass to lick at your clenching pussy once more, tasting the rosebud of your ass, pressing his tongue there, biting harshly at your cheek, and then he’s pressing his cock at your entrance again and sliding slick and unencumbered all the way to the deep end of you. You’re so sensitive, a writing mass of wet flesh, and his thrusts take on a brutal pace. Fucking you into the nest of blankets, hard and savage, holding nothing back. You can feel him throbbing inside of you, movements becoming harsher and rougher with each punishing thrust. One of his hands twists into the back of your hair to pull your face up from where you’re sobbing and drooling into the blankets, the other holding your asscheek open for his impaling cock. Your cunt pulls tight, and you don’t want to, you don’t, you can’t, it’s too much now, but you start to come again, fluttering and pulsing, too sensitive, too painful, nerves a raw, writhing mess, around his cock. “Fuck, yeah. Yes, yes, come one more time. Good fucking girl.” He bites into the thin tendons of your shoulder, your neck, sucking on your skin sharply. Ravenous. He snarls a hoarse, ragged curse in a language you can’t understand into your spit and sweat slick skin, and then you feel the heavy kick of his cock as he starts to come deep inside you, coating the walls of your cunt with the hot blanket of his spend. “Shit– fucking perfect, take it all – yes. You perfect, gorgeous fucking thing.” The two of you moan into eachothers open, panting mouths, and he licks at your lips, your teeth. Messy and sloppy and so fucking good. Everything is wet and trembling, the two of you, a tangle of shivering, exhausted limbs. You feel the tickle of his long curls on your forehead and reach up to card your fingers through the sweat soaked strands, pushing them back and out of his face. He rumbles low in his throat, nuzzling into your hand like an overly large and needy cat, and you press a soft kiss to the curve of his nose. Din, Din, Din, Din, his name is a chant of a certain type of victory in your mind. The name suits him, you think, straight forward, to the point – strong. A mysterious and beautiful name for a beautifully mysterious man. For you’ve felt him now, touched his face with your own hands, you know he is beautiful, even if you’ve not seen it with your eyes. 

The two of you lay tangled together for hours with the thrum of hyperspace around you. Limbs intertwined and damp, cooling in the comfortable dark of the hull, trembles abating and finally settling. He touches you everywhere, fingertips running over the lines of your arms, circling your nipples, pinching the tips, smoothing over the slopes of your thighs, pressing into the soft of your belly, dragging through the strands of your hair. He feels your face, the fan of your lashes, the sweep of your brows and arches of your cheekbones, the plush of your full lips where you suck his thumb into your hot mouth, running your teeth lightly over the pad of it. He growls threateningly at that, the once again stunningly hard length of his erection pressing into your belly. The man is insatiable and fucking needy, a constant demand to have his hands and mouth on you at all times. Touch starved and desperate.

Eventually, he stands to get a damp cloth to clean you up, and once again dons his helmet, hiding himself away to bring you a canteen of water and a ration pack which he forces you to finish entirely, and he takes care of you with such intention and patience – like you’ve never before experienced. 

Illuminated once again by the warm glow of the fresher, he watches you eat with hyperfocus,  making sure you finish the entire thing. You motion for him to take a bite himself halfway though, and he refuses with a shake of his head and a low, not hungry, which you don’t believe at all. He sits with such stillness that if you hadn’t just felt the hot softness of his skin within your own body you’d have mistakenly taken him for a droid or some other non organic creature. When you’re finished, he takes the wrappings and the canteen from you, brings you one of his large, soft, long sleeved undershirts and covers your cold feet with some of his own thick woolen socks, and then tucks you into the narrowly tight space of his bunk. With your eyes closed and hidden, he pulls off the helmet once again and all of his clothes with it and climbs in with you, shutting the two of you away in the safety of the dark. 

He settles in beside you, both of you lying on your sides with you tucked under the crook of his arm so that your nose is pressed right to the hollow of his throat, at the very source of that musky, delicious scent of his. He presses you tight to his chest, the deep exhales of his belly pressing into your concaved inhales, and the intimacy is almost too much, the closeness, his skin and heat and scent everywhere, the endless expanse of his wide shoulders crowding you into the cool steel wall of the bunk behind you so that the sweltering heat coming off of him is balanced by the coolness behind. There’s still a slightly overwhelmed tremble running through the lines of your muscles, wet, leaking cunt still quivering, oozing the thick drool of his spend. 

Once again, as if reading your mind, he murmurs, “I didn’t pull out – I– I’m sorry, I didn’t ask if you have an implant or–”

“N– no–” you stutter, embarrassed and immediately nervous, humiliated at having to confess this. “I um– well, I don’t have one. But I, I–” you turn your face into the cave of his underarm, hiding yourself away even in the deeper darkness, blowing out a slow stream of air to settle your racing heart. “I don’t think– well– I was told that I can’t– I can’t have children. So… it’s not really– it isn’t necessary. I–” you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, feeling him tense beside you.

You force yourself to continue: “I was told that I couldn’t ever– ever conceive. I was entrenched in the dark side for so long – it made me– turned me into something I wasn’t supposed to be – an inhospitable environment, not fit to sustain life–” your breath hitches in a repressed, agonized sob. You remember the exact cadence of your master's voice as he’d said those exact words to you, and you feel, suddenly, that you’ve told him too much, this is too much. Nothing he needs or surely wants to know about.

But then, in the gentlest tone you’ve heard from him as of yet: “I’m– I am so sorry to hear that, sweetheart. Truly… I’m sorry.” And there is so much anguish for you in his voice, anguish and tenderness and compassion at hearing this confession, this devastating truth of what you are, what they made you, that you want to cry at him, Don’t be tender, please. Don’t be kind. You’ll ruin me – I don’t deserve it. They’d taken away the possibility of more, of hope, of future. First they’d stolen your parents, and then they’d stolen your ability to ever make a family yourself – and it was the worst thing they’d ever done to you. But he presses his soft mouth to the tender skin above your brow, rubs his lips there soothingly while one of his large hands passes long comforting strokes along the slope of your spine silencing your thoughts. “Explain it to me – how it works… the Force. I’d– I’d heard of it, in rumors and stories, the Force, the Jedi, but you said– you said before that you’re not– that that’s not what you are… So then…” he trails off, a question in his voice. And then: “Tell me what you are.”

Truth. He wants truth from you. But how to say that you were bad and wrong and forged in a crucible of darkness and war and destruction. Never given the chance to be what you should have, never given a choice. 

Tell me what you are. “Nothing,” you say. 

“That’s not true. I don’t believe that.” You can feel the reverberations of his heart thumping into your own chest. 

You shake your head, but tell him anyways, “The Force, it’s – it’s a living thing, almost sentient, and it lives through all of us, every living thing – through you, it’s why – it’s why I can feel you so strongly, I think. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together. It’s life itself. And those of us that wield it – Force sensitives, we can exist on either side of it: the Jedi who adhere to the light, or the Sith… who covet strength and power through the dark side. And it can be– distorted, poisoned – used to do harm. A creature born in darkness can wield it in an ill intentioned way – drawing from anger, hatred, fear, jealousy – strong emotions. It can be turned into a foul and desecrated thing. It can turn you into that.”

“I was stolen as a child – when it was discovered that I was a wielder. When someone of great strength comes into their power it can be felt, a disturbance in the Force. We were found, my parents were killed, and I was taken, enfolded into the Sith – their cult. I– it felt like I never had a choice. I don’t know if that’s true… But I could have done things differently, of that I’m sure. Made different decisions once I was old enough to understand. But they whispered into my mind for so long – that I was alone, that I was forsaken, weak, bad, ugly, wrong – that I’d never have anyone or anything that was solely mine. Eventually, I sat with the dark so long, it spoke back to me, understood me. It became the only thing I had to turn to, to hold me. And there was, perhaps, a part of me that always knew that it wasn’t – that I wasn’t how I should have been… how I would have been… But I was so– so–” you shake your head, desperately searching for that word which you know in your heart is true, but which hurts so terribly to say out loud to him, “I was so alone,” you hitch, tears spilling down your cheeks to slide over the swell of his arm. “I was lost, afraid, angry. So many terrible things.” Why are you telling him all this?  “Perhaps, I had no choice. Perhaps, I did. I don’t think that’s the point. The point is that sometimes I liked it. Sometimes I felt grateful I at least had one thing to hold on to, to hold on to me, even if it was a bad thing.”

“But you were a child? Stolen–”

“I was not always a child, though. Eventually I grew up.”

“But when it counted… you were vulnerable, alone–”

“It doesn’t matter–” you cut him off, voice almost sharp. He must see – he must understand that not even he, the great warrior, can save you. “You don’t know. I’ve done things I bitterly regret,” Unforgivable things, things which you’d detest me for, “I was once a thing I wish to never be again. I wielded the Force in the name of the dark, and I did terrible things that I can never take back, and that I’ll always regret. I’m trying to be different now. Whatever the rest of it may have been, or may be, is inconsequential to me now, other than that I’d like– I’d like to be different. Something else.”

“I think that in a life such as this… all of us, eventually, do things that we regret. That we feel remorse over. Things that are terrible, even.” But not like me, you think. “Do you think that I am so honorable that I have never done such things? That there have not been times when I’ve done things that I felt I had to – even if they were ignoble, perhaps, terrible, even, when a different path could have been chosen? And worst of all, that I liked them – that sometimes a mistake in the moment seems like something you want, something that could have been avoided, but that you choose to go through with anyway. To err is to be human – to be alive.” Like your tears, like your regret, like your gratitude for this tender heart that was coming to life within you, and that you would have surely taken for weakness before, but now you only saw with appreciation and relief. And you realize that Din is not a man to cast judgment. He will not judge you. “Mercy, the capacity for forgiveness even, loyalty and honor, this is what makes us worthy in the end. This is the Way.” The intonation of his Creed makes your heart clench and spasm like a live creature within your chest. 

“My parents were murdered when I was a child, as well,” he tells you then. “The Mandalorians took me in, raised me–”

A small huff of bitter laughter, “Another cult. I’ve heard.”

“Some think so.”

“I think… that I’ve had enough of orders to last me a lifetime. Staunch zealotry – unchangeability – I cannot fathom such things any longer. Never again. If I cannot be free, then I do not want to be anything. This – this isn’t to say that I don’t respect you, or– or understand the value of your Creed… the meaning behind it. I do. Before, if I could have put myself away beneath the mantle and protection of a belief in something that was good, perhaps, things would have turned out differently for me, been easier. And it must be– it must be comforting? Such protection.”

“In some ways… perhaps. A mantle can also weigh heavily at times, you know this better than most, but this is The Way.”

You laugh sardonically, “Yes, that I do know.”

The entirety of your life thus far had been lived beneath the heavy weight of such a mantle. Beneath power and desire and greed. But there had always been that little seed too, within you. That tiny sprout of hope and imagination and a wish for something more or different. And they had tried to kill it, but they had not succeeded.

One foot on either side of light and dark was a difficult way to exist, even if you wished you could find yourself firmly planted on the side of good, of benevolence and mercy, there would always be a part of you that was of a slightly darker nature, this you could not help. Even your eyes, one lighter than its darkened counterpart, reflected this division within you. Like the Maker had known, when you were being crafted, that you’d live at war with yourself all your life – a physical manifestation of that battle plain on your face for the galaxy to see. 

Later, he says, “You can’t ever tell anyone my name. Or ever use it in front of another – only when it’s just the two of us, alright?”

The two of us, he says. “I won’t. Never. I promise.”

And then more silence and touching and the soft, wet press of his seeking mouth, the slick heat of his tongue, before he asks,“Why the crossguard?” One of his hands sliding between your thighs to feel your wetness and his own spend leaking from you, not giving you the relief of penetration. 

You groan and beg with silent whimpers but tell him what he wants to know nonetheless,“Ah, unstable, fickle thing, that blade. I needed a deviation for the excess energy. It was entirely unintentional – I cracked the crystal when I was making it – I was– I was also… unstable. Unmoored, or I don’t know– not undecided… but unanchored. My power and emotions, too volatile at the time. I should have waited, or perhaps, not made one again at all. But it’s been my weapon to wield for so long – I felt like I needed it. Now… I don’t know, there’s something about the volatility of it that I like – that comforts me or that I feel a kindredness with – an understanding, perhaps… I don’t know.” You laugh, “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“No, I understand,” he says quietly, hand sliding back and forth over your wet seam. Teasing – pressing lightly to your clit and then retreating, palm sliding down the back of your thigh to hitch your knee over his hip and roll the hard length of his cock against you. 

You gasp and grip the frame of his jaw, squeezing as tight as your little fingers are able, feeling the ridges of his molars beneath his cheeks, the scruff of his jaw, the soft mustache above his full mouth. “How old are you?”

He’s silent for a moment, and you wonder if this is something he’d not like to share for some reason. “I– I’m not sure. I think maybe my late thirties, early forties – but I can’t know for certain.”

“I don’t know either.” And you feel such sudden kindredness with him. The knowledge of not even knowing how old you are, the date of your birth, is such a small but specifically sad and humiliating thing. Such a small thing, a date, to be taken from a person but just as devastating as anything else. 

“The things we lose along the way, huh…” He gives a soft, breath of a laugh, sardonic and a little sad. 

“Had you really never kissed someone before?” He tugs your head back with a fist wrapped in your hair and gives you an open mouthed, wet kiss, groaning deep in his chest at your taste, shoving his cock up against your pussy. 

“Never,” he whispers against your swollen mouth. “Your cunt is also the first I’ve ever kissed,” another swipe of his tongue behind the line of your teeth, slick along the surface of your own tongue. 

“Maker–” you moan. 

He pulls back with a groan, and drags you on top of him so that you’re draped over his chest, a murmured, no more, for now, racing heart knocking against his own rapidly thrumming one, and you run your palms down the flat plane of his naked stomach, running your fingers through the trail of hair below his navel leading to the thick, hard cock resting heavily on his belly – still slightly sticky and damp with your slick. 

“Sleep, little one – you’re exhausted,” he says as if he knows you, as if can read you so easily. 

But you don’t want to sleep, you don’t want to go away from him yet. You want to keep talking to him forever. “I was out for hours – I’m not tired,” you grouch, mouthing at the skin above his heart, little tongue swiping out to lick lightly as the flat of his nipple. “You’re not the boss of me.” He growls at the feel of your explorations and pinches your bottom in gentle reprimand.

But you’re out like a light minutes later, lulled by the slow, mesmerizing cadence of his breath beneath your cheek, the soothing strokes of his fingers through your hair and the heat of his skin.

Chapter IV

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[doumadono]

EMERGENCY REQUEST

Hello my dear friend.. I apologize for using your emergency requests for something so trivial, but my nightmares have been absolutely killing me.. I'm always so terrified to go to sleep and even when I do, the nightmares plague me so badly that I hardly ever feel like I've slept at all and I feel like I'm losing my mind. I just want to scream and cry and rip my hair out, and I just want to sleep and actually FEEL like I've slept.

But all of that out of the way, I was hoping you might be able to do something with Douma, Akaza, and Kokushibo (all three or just one is fine) who are with a male human s/o who suffers terribly from night terrors and how they might help comfort their s/o.

Thank you so much for being such a beautiful, kind, loving, wonderful human being. I adore you so much 💜 You are truly such a warm presence in my life and I am so grateful for you

Upper Moons 1, 2, 3 & male s/o suffering with nightmares

A/N: oh, tiger, I'm so sorry to hear that you've been going through such a challenging time. Your well-being means a lot to me, you know that, and I'm here for you. First and foremost, your well-being is never trivial, and your struggles are always valid. Remember, it takes immense strength to share such vulnerabilities, and you've already taken a brave step. It's okay to feel overwhelmed, but never forget the strength that resides within you. I'm honored to be a part of your life, and your warmth and gratitude mean the world to me. Take one step at a time, and I'm here to support you through every single one. 💜 Always here for you

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Douma

In the dimly lit room, shadows danced on the walls as Douma's boyfriend writhed in the grip of night terrors. Douma, the Upper Moon Two, lounged elegantly nearby, observing with an unsettling mix of curiosity and amusement. A sadistic grin played on his lips as he observed the torment consuming his partner's dreams.

Despite his typically twisted nature, Douma was surprisingly attuned to the human psyche. He approached the boyfriend's trembling form with a languid grace, like a predator closing in on its prey. "Oh, my dear," he purred, "how delightful it is to witness the chaos within your mind."

"It's terrifying, Douma-sama," the man sobbed. "I don't want to see all those things..."

As his arms encircled his partner, there was an unexpected gentleness in the demon's touch, as though he had momentarily set aside his sadistic tendencies to embrace a softer side. His long fingers with sharp nails traced patterns on the man's back, a delicate dance that contradicted the ferocity he often exhibited.

In a voice that, against all odds, carried a sweetness the man never thought possible from Douma, he whispered into the man's ear, "My love, do you feel the warmth of my embrace? It's a flame that burns brighter than any darkness." His breath was a soft caress against your skin, the chilling aura he usually exuded replaced by a comforting warmth.

He traced a finger along his boyfriend's cheek. "You know," he mused, "the beauty of your nightmares is exquisite. You need to embrace the terror, my love, for in it lies the true essence of existence."

Akaza

Akaza, the Upper Moon Three, approached the scene with empathetic demeanor. His eyes softened as he observed his boyfriend's restless sleep, a stark contrast to the ferocity he displayed in battle. Kneeling beside the man, he gently brushed a strand of hair from his face. "Hey there, don't worry. I'm here," Akaza spoke in a surprisingly soothing tone, his usual aggression replaced by a comforting warmth. "Nightmares can be tough, but you're tougher. Remember that."

The man sobbed quietly. "I hate it. I can't rest because of those nightmares. I feel so lost."

"We all carry burdens," the demon confessed, "but facing them head-on makes us stronger. You don't have to face them alone."

Seated together, Akaza allowed his partner to snuggle against him, his muscular frame providing a comforting warmth. His normally intense gaze softened, revealing a tenderness that was reserved for moments like these. His fingers traced soothing patterns along the man's back, a silent reassurance that the man was safe in his arms. "Hey," he spoke in a voice that rumbled like distant thunder, a stark contrast to the gentle caress of his touch. "You're safe here. No need to carry the weight of the world right now."

"It's alright to lean on others," he admitted, surprising himself with the admission. "We all need someone to rely on from time to time. So do I, a demon, whose fragility would be the last trait anyone could fathom."

Kokushibo

Kokushibo, the Upper Moon One, approached the situation with an air of detachment. He observed his partner's night terrors with an analytical gaze, as if deciphering a complex puzzle. While his demeanor remained cool, there was a subtle undertone of curiosity in his voice.

"Nightmares, a manifestation of the mind's deepest fears," Kokushibo remarked, his words carrying a wisdom earned through centuries, "One must confront the shadows within to achieve true serenity."

"It's hard to confront them, Kokushibo-sama. It's like being swallowed by some invisible force that no one can fight."

Rather than offering immediate comfort, Kokushibo encouraged introspection. He guided his boyfriend through a mental journey, dissecting the roots of the man's nightmares and addressing the underlying fears. His words, while cryptic, carried a strange sense of reassurance.

"Conquer your demons, and they shall trouble you no more," he declared, his gaze unwavering. Kokushibo's approach might seem cold, but it aimed at empowering his partner to face his fears head-on, emerging stronger from the depths of the night. "Confront the specters haunting your dreams with unwavering resolve. Your mind is a battlefield, and you, the warrior, hold the power to shape its narrative. Close your eyes, not in retreat, but in preparation. In the silence before sleep, let the echoes of your courage drown out the whispers of fear. Your resilience is a beacon that can pierce through the darkest of nights."

[sad-scarred-sassy]

What if Elain and Lucien met before she was made – Part 2

Read part 1 here

----

Lucien Vanserra did not understand what had gotten into him.

He had become used to leading a quiet content life, but ever since seeing her, ever since touching her, something had changed. When those fawn brown eyes landed on his, he had felt stranded. Amiss. Like he had somehow lost his way, had forgotten what he was supposed to be doing with his useless, pointless life.

It wasn't that he had ever been too sure about what his life had meant to be like, ever since he lost everything he had resigned himself to serve, to fulfill his duties, to follow orders and go by. He had been content with it, had been okay with the occasional diversions he allowed himself. Not that it had been the same after Under The Mountain, all diversion essentially gone. But he had been fine with just getting by, fighting when he had to, resting when he needed to. Helping Tamlin clear up the Spring Court of the residual trash of Amarantha. He had endured harder times before and had been fine.

Until that day that one of Hybern's more playful lackeys had attacked him inadvertently and had dropped him in the only place that could be considered dangerous for a fae in the mortal lands, and he had met her. Had been saved by her.

His first thought of her had been that she was impossibly beautiful, so much so that it stunned him. That wasn't his usual opinion on any female ever. He obviously could appreciate female beauty and affections but she was the most beautiful... woman he had ever laid eyes upon and it troubled him so. He had never thought that about a female after- after Jes.

But having shoved that thought away and assessed the situation, his second thought about Elain had been that he had to protect her. It wasn't even so much of a thought but a bodily reaction he hadn't been able to rationalize. And when she hadn't shied away from him, had called his name, he thought he had never heard it sound so nicely before.

But ever since that day, ever since having felt the sudden spark at touching her small hand, and having felt the unshakeable pull of wanting his body closer to her body, having his hands on the delicate skin of her ankles, everything in his world had shifted, and Lucien, for the life of him, could not place why.

So he had ignored it as much as he could, he had busied himself, drowning in more work than he could take upon himself and had shoved those thoughts deep inside of him. What use would it make to be thinking about a human girl? A human girl he merely met once? And Feyre's sister, of all people.

He hadn't told her. Had honored Elain's wish to keep it a secret, for whatever reason. He could understand, though. Meddlesome siblings were something universal, it seemed, and it felt somehow nice to have something only he knew, a secret thing only shared with her.

But even with all the work, all the tiresome activities he subjected himself to so that he could stop thinking about her eyes, and her freckled nose, and her pouty pink lips, he could not stop seeing her in his dreams, or in random flashes when he glimpsed a rose, or a lily, or any flower, really. Living in eternal spring did nothing to help his situation.

He could swear he sometimes felt like she was calling him. He could feel it in the wind, in the smell of freshly cut grass, in the sight of the first rays of sunshine coming through his windows. It was pathetic, actually. To think a woman like her would even remember him, let alone be calling him to her. She had seemed so free, so desperately alive, he doubted he had posed any significance in her life.

He was losing his mind.

The long weeks passed and he tried to convince himself that his constant thinking of her was just an outlet for all the stress he had been accumulating, a normal response of his psyche trying to fixate in something beautiful and right, rather than the depressive reality he was shoved into. But a part of him knew it wasn't that simple, and ignoring it was resulting to be useless.

He had tried to stay away. He really did. He had tried to put her behind him. He had even gone to the village to see one of his past lovers, a headstrong but gentle female that had shared a similar need of release as him, expecting nothing more, needing nothing more. But the moment she moved her lips to his, the moment he had touched her hand in that cozy tavern they usually met at, he realized he couldn't do it, he had seen her, he had seen Elain in his mind and could not put her away. He had to apologize and leave, compelled to spend another night alone, thinking about her.

So here he was, back in the mortal lands, pacing outside her house in the dead of night under the cover of some trees surrounding her manor. Couldron boil him. He had left Spring under the pretense that he would survey the border with the human lands, Tamlin had simply agreed, and he had winnowed to where he knew she lived. But now that he was here, and somehow he could feel the closeness of her, he didn't know what to do.

He was going to leave, he had decided this was an awful idea, had turned around and prepared to winnow when a soft voice called him and made his whole body stop short.

"Lucien"

----

Elain Archeron had not been able to sleep that night, and when she had finally grown tired of rolling around in her bed, she had found herself outside in her garden, taking in the chilly night, the smell of dewy grass and jasmine bushes.

She had been thinking about him... again. Lucien, he had told her his name, and she had replayed it in her mind again and again during those long weeks. Her tongue rolling softly, only for her to hear, as if her body was involuntarily calling him. She had thought she was finally losing it.

She sat there now in one of the wooden chairs alone in her courtyard, when everyone in the manor was asleep, thinking about his broad but elegant hands, his enchanting mismatched eyes, his otherworldly beauty, one that she could not find anywhere else, one that dwarfed even Greysen's handsome face. She felt the need to roll his name on her tongue again, felt the need to chant his name as if containing it inside her might actually drive her insane.

"Lucien" She spoke softly, but the sound of his name was enough to make her blush. If anyone could hear her in that moment they would say she was definately insane, sitting in the garden talking to herself. She huffed a short laugh at how hilarious it was. A tale as old as time, the human girl enthralled by the mystical fae that probably could not care less about her insignificant existence, she was a living cliché.

She tasted his name in her lips anyway, a guilty pleasure she could not rationalize. She couldn't help but feel the rightness of it, even if she was not able to place it in any logical thought. The weeks since she had met him had not been the same, as if something in her had awoken, something she hadn't even known had been inside of her sleeping.

She was just about to stand up to go inside when a voice made her stiffen.

"Elain?"

It was low and tentative, masculine but soft. The voice she had not been able to forget through all these weeks. Her heart was hammering in her chest when she snapped her head towards the orange and apple trees surrounding her garden. She saw him then and gasped, bathing under the moonlight, a statue of a male, his long flowy hair shining in a deep red under the cool light. He was looking at her with surprise in his eye, as if he hadn't expected to find her here.

He had come. He had come back.

"Lucien" She spoke again and she could swear she saw him shudder a bit. Suddenly she felt insanely self conscious, looking down at herself in her thin nightgown and flimsy silk robe. She looked up at him again, dressed immaculately, an embroidered navy blue vest, tight cream pants and knee high brown boots. He looked impossibly regal.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" She crossed her arms around her chest, heart still beating loudly, suddenly aware of the situation, looking at her surroundings to see if there was no-one else around. She questioned what exactly he was doing here, in her home, in the dead of night. Had he finally come to steal her away like the other one had done to Feyre? Like every cautionary tale of the fae she had heard since she was a child?

"I-" He said, apparently also realizing his surroundings. "I was patrolling the border and I-" He looked down and clenched his hands awkwardly. He looked up at her again. "I'm sorry for the invasion, I was just trying to check if you... and your family, were doing alright" He said.

Something about seeing him a bit undone, this mountain of a male that exuded power, struggling with his words, made her ease a bit. The familiarity of him, even if she had just seen him once before, overtaking her, making her step up towards him, even if all logic called her to be smarter, he was a stranger after all. Why did she trust him so easily?

"You came to see if we were doing fine?" She said, cocking her head a bit as she saw him stiffen at the steps she had taken towards him.

"Yes, milady" He simply said. She couldn't help but like the way that sounded on his lips, the way it made her feel.

"Under my sister's wishes?" She asked softly, tentatively shortening the distance between them, just letting her body naturally drift towards the pull she felt.

"No" He said, watching her closely, unmoving. She could swear he was also trying not to just run towards her. Was she out of her mind? Imagining things she deep down wanted to believe?

"Under your wishes?" She asked when he didn't elaborate, and she almost laughed when he didn't even word a response, simply nodding his head and straightening when she reached him under the cover of the trees. "Why?" She asked, placing one of her hands on the tree close to her, for comfort and stability.

"These are… dangerous times" He said sharply and she could finally smell his woodsy, masculine scent again. She relished in it, the way it filled her with something she didn't know she had been missing. She noticed his own nostrils flaring, as if he too was taking in her smell in that moment. It made her feel something warm deep inside her tummy, running through her core.

"I thought you would have another reason to come by" She said, tilting her head a bit. He stared at her with those dazzling mismatched eyes and softly cleared his throat.

"Were you by any chance calling my name?" He changed subject, turning it on her and making her face grow impossibly hot. He had heard her?

"Me?" She straightened. He simply watched her with a predator's gaze. She suddenly felt impossibly bare before him.

A soft smirk crept over his lips as he noticed the aggressive blush she could assume had taken over her whole face. She averted her gaze at that, but quickly found it in herself to retaliate.

"Well, maybe I was" She held her chin up towards his towering frame. "Maybe I knew you were around and decided to summon you out of the shadows, acting as if you're some thief in the night" She said, but his smirk only grew more wicked.

"How can you be so sure I'm not some thief in the night?" He said, suddenly leaning his forearm over the same tree trunk she was pressed against. His tall frame towered over her, his smell and warmth intoxicating, filling her senses. Elain again found herself in one of the most scandalous scenarios she could think of. With a fae male leaning above her in the middle of the night, smirking at her like some fiend, eating her up with his gaze.

Her face grew hotter. In fact, her whole body did.

"Have you come to take me away, then?" She suddenly sounded more serious than she had intended. He noticed it, his face relaxing to a more serious stare, eyes suddenly lost in hers.

"Do you want me to?" He rasped, a slightly devious grin curling in the corner of his mouth again. His eyes never left hers, and for a moment she actually considered it, damn her, just simply running away from her small content life, leaving everything to go see the world, things she could only imagine, experiences she could only dream of. She realized they were still looking at each other, still breathing the same air, her chest rising and falling quickly, when she dropped her gaze and stepped out of his reach.

"Funny. Do you find me so careless as to think I would just run away with a strange fae male I just met?" She arched an eyebrow in a teasing way, although the tension between them did not subside.

"I did meet you running around barefoot in the middle of a forest" He crossed his hands behind his back and shrugged a bit. His hair was tied up, but she noticed some strands that had fallen off, moving around his chiseled face as he talked.

"Can't a lady have her moments of liberty in peace?" She crossed her arms again, diverting his intent gaze.

"By all means milady, I am sorry for assuming" He teased softly and she dared to look at him again. "I will say though, I'm usually right about spotting wild things and you-" He assessed her again, as if he could read her like a book. "You struck me as one"

"I'm not such thing" She cut him a glare, but it held no real offense.

"Aren't you?" He said with amusement in his eye and she pursed her lips.

She held his gaze for a moment, even though they were just teasing, there was an undertone of reality in his words, in his assessment of her. She was trying to find it in herself to deny it, to negate the raging feeling of wanting to see more, wanting to learn everything there was to learn. She couldn't.

"You may be right" She exhaled a breath as she turned and looked towards her garden, feeling his body heat at her side, his presence so overwhelming she was having difficulty thinking. "I'm in my courtyard, talking to a strange male in the middle of the night, any proper lady would deem this scandalous" She said.

"And what do you deem this?" He asked, she could still feel his eyes on her, it felt as if he could not, for the life of him, stop looking at her, even for a mere second.

She looked at the ground for a moment, feeling out the question, sensing her response and deciding to simply voice it.

"Exhilarating" She said not daring to look at him. Her heart thrumming in her chest again. For a moment he said nothing. The night sounds filling the air between them. She swallowed as she felt him move closer to her, sliding behind her. What would Nesta say if she knew she was having such conversations with a stranger like some scoundrel in the night? Even worse, with a seductive fae male at that, tempting her to release her wild side, something she had always kept under a tight leash. It was more than enough to make her sister see red.

"Maybe if I ask you to tell me more about yourself-" His voice was rough, breath hitting the back of her ear and neck in a way that made goosebumps rise over her skin. "Then it wouldn't be so scandalous, don't you think?" He finished, and some small, wicked part of her expected him to touch her, even if just her shoulder, her hand. She quickly shut it off.

"Could be" She breathed, turning her face slightly to glance at him. "But only if you also tell me more about yourself" She dared to say.

"What do you want to know?" She felt him lean down towards her exposed neck. His mouth so impossibly close she had to shove that thought away as well. It was one thing to engage in conversation with an interesting individual, even if it happened to be in the dead of night and had the potential of ruining her entire reputation, it was another to have such improper thoughts about them.

Even if she had to shamefully admit to herself, she had never been so attracted to anyone like this before.

"What do you do... for a living?" She asked in an effort to distract herself from that line of thought. She turned around to face him again, needing to see his face and assess him as she knew he could assess her.

"I'm a court emissary" He said, his body remaining close to her, half a step away. She took a look at him, eyes wandering from head to toe.

"Are all fae emissaries so... buff looking?" She blurted and he had to contain a laugh in order to keep quiet.

"It's not a requirement" He said, amusement still present in his face. "I do like to keep myself useful in more ways than one. Training allows me to do that" He looked down at himself following her eyes, then they both met their gazes. "Do you have a complaint about it?"

"No" She said a bit too quick to be casual, his smile broadened, she noticed he had a dimple beneath those scars in his face, and couldn't help but wonder. "How did you... get those scars?" She asked and immediately regretted it, seeing how the dimple disappeared from view, his face hesitating.

"I pissed the wrong person" He cringed a bit, but he seemed to be more concerned about her own reaction than on the memory of it. "It's not a pleasant tale, but one I could tell you some day. Now it is my turn" He said and his eyes travelled around her frame. The prospect of meeting him again in the future gave her a ridiculous flutter in her chest, one she quickly pushed aside.

"What do you enjoy doing, aside from running around in haunted forests?" He asked and she held her laugh. She moved through the trees then, in an effort to dissuade his intent focus on her, but his eyes seemed to relish on her movements, on the way her thin clothes hung from her body.

“I enjoy gardening” She said a bit shyly. “I take pride in it” She concluded, signaling towards the garden behind them. His eyes followed it, quietly contemplating her work, as if he could even see the garden in the dim light. His lips curled in a soft smile.

“That’s very impressive, lady” He said. “I shall like to take a closer look some time”

Elain had the urge to fix her hair behind her ear, not really sure of what to do with her own hands.

“What do you like to do… aside from work” She asked then, caressing her fingers through a jasmine flower blooming.

He followed her closely, watching her with amusement. “I like to lay down in nature”

“I could see that” She teased and he snorted. “What’s your favorite place to do it?” She asked.

He pondered for a moment. “There’s a stream in the court I live in. Its calm, lovely in the morning and during the night, surrounded by fireflies and white lilies”

“That sounds perfect” She said, imagining such a place.

“Would you want to see it?”

“Are you trying to steal me away, still?” She gave him a look and he laughed softly.

“Forgive me for trying” He said, casually striding in front of her, intercepting her like prey, eyes dancing with mischief under the moonlight.

She bit back her smile. “Is it far?” She found herself asking. The question had surprised him a bit, he didn’t seem to expect her to actually be considering it, and if she was honest, neither did she.

“Uhm- just a few jumps- winnows I mean” She assumed he was talking about that transportation magic he had used before.

“I see” She said, thinking about the implications of it. She shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help but be enthralled by the idea. Escaping for a night, seeing something she had never considered seeing before. Her heart hammered in her chest again.

He noticed her hesitation and tried to ease up a bit. “It was a wild proposition, milady, there’s no-“

“Let’s go” She said, determination shining on her face.

“What?”

“Take me there” She repeated, but he still looked at her like he didn’t believe her. “It’s safe right?”

“Yes…”

“And we would be back before dawn, right?”

“Yes-“

“Then take me” She said, stretching out her hand to him. He looked at her small hand. “Show me” Show me things I have never seen before.

The determination in her brown eyes must have sparked something in him, because after that he slid his broad hand around hers, and as she felt that tiny spark in their touch, the spark she had craved ever since the day in the forest, Elain felt the world collapse around them, and just like that, they were gone.

[anantaru]

DAY 1 — SIZE KINK

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including. — alhaitham, wriothesley

𖧡 — warnings. — fem! reader, size kink, dom/sub dynamics, oral (male! receiving), rough and v messy but also sweet idk, we love big men

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

alhaitham's fingers are slow, precise, and it takes no effort for him to place himself in between your thighs— his dick proudly prancing on top of your puffy folds, and he's so unbelievably long and thick, swollen and red, dripping at the tip when he expertly rubs his cock against your hole.

yet, it almost hurts when he lets you swallow the first inch inside— but you wanted him, longed for him this entire day, raw and needy awaiting him late at night, biding your time until his dripping cock was fully engulfed inside of you. "oh, fuck!" rolling your eyes, you wrest your body off the mattress, strongly against alhaitham's chest as he braces himself with one arm against the head board.

"hurts? i’ll stop." he asks in a whisper to make sure, his gaze softening upon admiring your changing mannerism and on how good you were taking him despite the troubles of his cock being too large for his own good. his length was already half way concealed in your warm pussy— and he shivers on top of you, the slick, wet sounds fueling his desire until he was eager to expose more to you, pushing a defeated sigh past his parted lips the moment you clench down on him.

"n-no..." your breath rattles in your chest, a need frantically building in your belly as you wrap your arms around his neck to pull your boyfriend, your eminently affectionate alhaitham, against your lips, "y-you can move now...." and with his body swiftly reacting upon accepting the softness of your voice and body, the man began to move his hips— although slow, his thrusts leaving no possible room for any breaks in between.

you moan out little noises and mewls with your body rippling back and forth the mattress at his harsh blows, your tits bouncing in tandem with the way he fucked and pleased you, your skin shivering wild and free, and you kiss him desperately, hastily breathing through your nose as you add your tongue into the mix.

all day, you wanted this so badly, and so did alhaitham, his heart thudding in his chest with a frenzied intensity— feeling like he was currently underwater, the passion and euphoric drill roaring through his limbs and muscles as he fucks into you, again and again, husky groans deep in his chest, rumbling, only waiting to be heard by you.

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

fundamentally speaking, wriothesley knew his way around your body, and he had already carved every spot and curve of your skin inside his very psyche, so he could be sure of it and day dream about your bare skin on top of him, yet also so he wouldn't have to worry about you not enjoying it.

and now— with your frame pressed in between his body and the desk behind you, his large palms silently move to curve around your face when you slowly fall on your knees, and you could see it in your boyfriend's brilliant eyes, the way he wasn't sure if he should let you take him in your mouth, just like that— because you see, he was big, remarkably so, and the last thing he wanted to achieve was to make it an unpleasant experience for his enchanting darling.

yet there he was, with desire flaring and expanding in his stomach at all the visible bare skin under him as you leisurely stroke your hands over his thighs, your tits being exposed with your nipples erected, fuck, he couldn't wait to touch them afterwards and have them in his mouth.

his heavy muscles were parading under the delicate shade of light, whereas his cock was now tightly closed in between your warm palm fisting him— his length standing thick and proud, so damn erected and aching that it was almost side by side to his defined stomach.

"sweetheart.. you sure?" wriothesley coos down at you, his voice cracking when you teasingly rub his leaking tip against your pouty lips, the featherlight weight of your mouth encircling him in such way was definitely the most marvellous touch he had ever felt.

"i'm sure." you assure him sweetly, kissing the tip, and add, "relax, baby.. i will take care of you." with your voice gentle alike, soft, as you caught onto the twinkle of desperation in his eyes.

you assemble enough saliva in your mouth before opening up, and a hand covers the back of your head as to guide you. you split your lips apart to take him in your mouth— and granted, it's a little scary, you have to admit, he's barely half way in and you can feel a pinching burn on the split sides of your mouth, taking a deep, shuddering breath as you circle your tongue around his shaft to have more slickness added.

"slow.." wriothesley whispers and moans at the same time, fondly scratching the back of your head to signalize you that it was okay, his eyes warm with a smirk prancing on top of his lips.

"slower sweetheart.. take your time."  

with his cock being buried in your mouth, although not entirely, wriothesley was able to trace the insides of your mouth with a thoroughness that it had him moan shamelessly above you— and you were quick to catch on to it as well, adding more tongue, making a mess out of him, placing a hand right under his balls so you could cup them all nicely and play with them while taking your sweet time, one inch more, hollowing your cheeks before taking another;

just how your boyfriend liked it, envisioned it, craved it.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Thirty-Four

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Thirty-Four: Aragnus

All she can think of is him.

He plagues her in her sleep. Comatose and unkempt, all her body is able to do is toss and turn, drink and re-drink each memorised plane of his body.

His hands. Large and calloused and firm – in another lifetime, she really would’ve complimented them. She would’ve held her fingers over them, quietly sliding over each scar, over each section of where his skin regrew to be tougher, to be stronger, to be… better.

Oh, and the way those very hands travelled across her jaw; his rough, heavy fingers curling across her throat as he held in his own admiring breaths reserved for her. They felt firm on her skin - yet in the way they lingered, they could only be described as soft, tender almost. It was as if they were self-assured, that in that moment, she was his, and nothing could take that away from him.

His mouth. His jaw. The way he’d silently part his lips and pant out repressed breaths as he’d loom over her, and when he stared at her like he’d never seen someone so delicious as her, consumed by the lust that even the strongest men are rendered vulnerable to…well, something tore within her.

Constant dreams. Of his breath laying hot against her skin, his large back curling over her body. His shoulder blades flex as his lips near the shell of her ear. And with each pant he released into her, another wall between them broke.

Hard kisses and shivering gasps and intensely gripped at hair. Bare skin brushing against bare skin, lips crossing across lips like wind that delicately brushes through long grass.

A swell of something inside her grows as she turns in her sleep again, her psyche desperately clawing at the vision that lays before her - begging, pleading, for it not to dissolve into some man-told fiction.

It’s a constant and repetitive dream, lasting for days on end. And when Raya finally stirs from her own relentless mind, she wakes up gasping, her torso shooting up from the bed.

Raya gasps heavily, blinking confusedly within the darkness of the medical cabin. It’s silent here, the only source of noise being from her own fearful mouth that inhales all the oxygen of the room.

She feels hot – too hot, uncomfortably hot in a way that feels like her body is on fire. On fire with anger, with lust and confusion and heat, and everything in between, every single thought and feeling is relentlessly aflame.

And so, Raya makes a run for it.

Plagued by the intensity of her own blood and skin, she swings her legs over and stumbles out on the night-ridden deck, where she’s immediately slapped in the face with a gust of freezing air.

Wearing nothing but a long shirt and socks, Raya stands on the deck, shivering. A repulsive sensation of the wind mingling in with her sticky sweat irritates her even further, making her look down and curse at herself for leaving the room without putting any pants on.

But when Raya inspects the skin on her legs closely, narrowing her eyes in suspicion, a sense of dread washes over her. Because her legs aren’t just bare, no. They’re glistening, with metallic protrusions threateningly spiking out from her skin.

Since when did it grow out of her legs, too?

“You should be asleep,” a deep voice mutters out from behind her, the heaviness of his boots creaking against the wooden surface of the dock.

Raya’s heart trembles.

Because she knows whose voice that is.

Raya spins around clumsily, meeting with the face she only stopped obsessing over a few moments ago.

Her breath catches in her throat as she continues to stand stupidly in front of him - Zoro, meanwhile, tries his absolute best not to look at her legs, but his little glances downwards betray him.

“I…feel…” Raya swallows. She doesn’t know when or why she does it, but her legs automatically take a dizzy step towards Zoro. “I feel all wrong.”

She takes another step closer, taking in Zoro’s baffled furrow of his brows, his arms tightly folding against his chest as he quickly scans her over for any sign of injuries.

She stares at him. At his strong jaw, the thin scar that slits down his eye, the muscles that ripple from his neck, and the heat from within her pulsates, the sweat across her skin beading faster together in a desperate attempt to regulate herself.

Zoro clears his throat, feeling quite uncomfortable with being under her scrutinising eye. “Wrong?” He forces his gaze away from her half-naked form. “What’re you talking about?”

Raya tries her best to shrug as coolly as possible. The heat underneath her skin continues to pulsate as she roughly swallows, eyeing the muscles that run so perfectly through his arms. And, as if on their own command, her fingers raise towards Zoro’s face, gravitating towards the line of his thinly veiled scar.

“I… Everything feels so…”

Zoro gapes at her as he raises his own hand, grabbing her fingers before they reach his face. He shakes his head, unable to take his eyes off from her. “Raya… You should go back to sleep.”

"I can’t. Someone’s coming for me. I can feel it" Raya dazedly whispers, rising on the tips of her toes to reach his face. She nears his mouth, her fingers gently searching for respite in the nook of his shoulder. “But…but I…”

She can’t control herself anymore. The heat within her is too suffocating, and she needs a release more than ever.

So, softly, ever so gently, her lips lay against Zoro’s neck. Peppering his tan skin with light kisses, trailing so sensually towards his clothed chest, her voice softly muffles against his body. "But I can’t seem to care."

Zoro stands frozen in place, his mind reeling as Raya's lips press against his neck with a tender urgency that sends pleasure through his entire body. His heart pounds in his chest, his breath catching in his throat as he struggles to comprehend the sudden shift.

For a fleeting moment, he's overcome by a surge of conflicting emotions - confusion, desire, and a gnawing sense of unease that coils like a serpent in the pit of his stomach. He knows that something isn't right, that Raya isn't herself, but the intoxicating heat of her touch ignites a primal urge within him that he can't ignore.

As her soft lips trail down his neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, Zoro's resolve begins to waver. His muscles tense involuntarily, his hands twitching at his sides as he fights against the overwhelming tide of desire that threatens to consume him.

Zoro's voice emerges as a rasp, strained with a mixture of disbelief and arousal. "Tenguyama," he manages to force out, his words thick with restraint. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

In response, Raya's gaze intensifies as she searches for his eyes, her own filled with a desperate longing. With a swift movement, she pulls away from him, her breath still warm against his skin. "Are you uncomfortable?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. "I can stop."

Zoro's cheeks flush hotly, his gaze darting away from her as he struggles to find the right words. "No!" he blurts out, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "That's not... I mean, it's not about that. You're just... not yourself right now."

“But I want you,” she murmurs softly, her arms hesitantly returning to rest across his shoulders, pulling him closer. “I want you.

But just as Zoro begins to speak, his words are swallowed by a deep, guttural groan escaping his lips. Raya’s mouth electrifies his senses as her lips press against his neck - harder this time - and begins roughly sucking at his skin, sucking so desperately, that even Raya muffles out a sigh of pleasure. With each stroke of her tongue, he feels an intoxicating wave of pleasure wash over him, rendering coherent thought impossible.

“Raya,” he hoarsely mumbles. He fights to suppress a mounting groan as she responds to her name with a teasing nip at his neck.  “You’re not in the right mind—”

“Why do you never leave me alone?” Raya slurs softly against his neck. She kisses a tender spot from below his ear. “Even when I’m in a bloody coma, you’re still there. Burned into my retinas.”

With a low growl of desire, Zoro leans into Raya's touch, his hands sliding possessively over her hips as he pulls her closer. The feel of her soft skin beneath his fingertips sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine, igniting a fierce hunger within him that demands to be sated.

Before Zoro can open his mouth, a ferocious onslaught of wind consumes the sails of the ship, throwing the Sunny itself into a spinning plank of wood. Amidst the deafening roar of the tempest, all semblance of sound is devoured by the howling winds, leaving only a cacophony of chaos in its wake. With wide-eyed terror, Raya watches as the air itself seems to warp and distort, heralding the arrival of an unimaginable threat.

An enormous gasp escapes her lips as the surreal sight unfolds before her: a horde of colossal dragons descending upon them with breath-taking speed.

Each behemoth is a marvel of ferocity and power, their scales gleaming like molten gold in the pale moonlight as they carve through the tumultuous sky with deadly precision.

Zoro's hands move with practiced urgency, instinctively reaching for the comforting weight of his swords as he braces himself for the impending clash. Muscles taut with anticipation, he stands ready to defend against this otherworldly onslaught.

"What the fuck?" Zoro's voice booms above the tempest, his words swallowed by the roar of the wind. But even amidst the shock, his resolve remains unyielding, his gaze fixed on the approaching threat.

And then, Raya does the mistakeable. She locks eyes with the largest of the swarm, the darkest of the dragons.

The dragon, a towering titan among its brethren, commands the sky with a presence that defies description. Its scales, as dark as the abyss itself, seem to absorb the moonlight rather than reflect it, giving the creature an aura of ominous power. Each movement is fluid yet purposeful, its sinewy form twisting and coiling with a grace that belies its immense size.

As it descends upon the ship with lethal intent, the dragon's eyes burn with an intensity that pierces through the chaos like twin beacons of malevolence.

It is her, his voice rings in her mind.

Raya staggers backward, overwhelmed by the sudden intrusion into her mind. The dragons' voices reverberate within her skull, sending shockwaves of pain rippling through her consciousness. She clutches her head, her nails digging into her scalp as she struggles to block out the cacophony of voices assaulting her senses.

Another dragon swoops into her vision with a huff from his snout, almost as if sneering at her. She does not smell strong, Aragnus. Perhaps old age is catching up to your snout.

The large dragon roars furiously in response, his large, wet eyes narrowing at his red brother.

Do not ridicule me, smallthing! He thunders out loud in Raya’s mind, making her scream out in pain, desperately clawing at her ears to make it stop. Her talons do not lie.

Speak with the human, Aragunus, a feminine voice huffs out. With each of its exhale, plumes of smoke and flame billow forth, painting the night sky with a searing glow of impatience. She seems to be in pain.

"What are you doing?" Zoro yells, staring at Raya who’s gripping at her head in complete terror. “Grab a weapon, already!”

But Raya shakes her head, her eyes never leaving the dark behemoth that soars overhead. “No,” she whispers, her voice barely audible above the roar of the wind. “No. They’re here for me.”

[soft-mafia]

Hisoka Helps With a Wet Dream

Warning: fem y/n, oc insert, smut, wet dreams, sleepy sex

I haven’t posted in forever and I apologize for that😔I promise I’ll be uploading more soon!

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The sheets ruffled, and the bed squeaked softly as Y/n squirmed in place, her legs rubbed together, moving back and forth under the covers.

The observant magician noticed, keeping a keen eye on the girl’s movements, thinking at first she was having a nightmare, but upon prying into her psyche and listening to her tiny noises, he developed a small smirk.

“It appears you’re having a good sleep.” Hisoka commented quietly to the sleeping woman, “I wonder what’s going on in that delicate mind of yours.” His smile grows, shuffling the deck of cards in his hands.

Y/n had no idea of the man laying beside her. Hisoka had been making a habit of showing up in her home, he says he finishes missions in the area and needs a place to rest, but he doesn’t rest, nor leave the day after; Hisoka comes when he craves her, attention, conversation, anything from her would entertain him. Hisoka was fully dressed in his magician’s garb, he didn’t want to disturb her so he didn’t bother slipping under the covers(it would also be inappropriate because he was still wearing his shoes); so he sat, laid against the headboard, knee in the air, inquisitively playing with his cards.

The magician wants to reach out and tenderly stroke her cheek with the back of his knuckle, his muscles twitch as he imagines the feeling of her soft skin against the hard area of his finger, how he longed to stroke her smooth feminine features. But he wouldn’t want to risk disturbing Y/n’s sleep, or even worse frightening the girl.

Though it did seem entertaining, the atmosphere was far too tranquil, it would feel forced on Hisoka’s end. That would bore him greatly.

Hisoka leaned his head back, gaze towards the ceiling. Y/n would be far too tired if I were to wake her, any trace of lust and vigor quickly washed away by the overwhelming weight of the eyelids, beckoning to be brought back to sleep again.. The man laments to himself, before turning his head and looks at Y/n again, She’s looks stuff, but she’s still whimpering, shivering softly. As if she was an injured nymph, just close to death. Hisoka croons, despite the dirty dream she might be experiencing she looked so innocent.

What are you dreaming about, my kitten? Perhaps me? I sure hope so.. if anyone else, I might wither. Hisoka doesn’t want to move, but in the same breath he wants to scoot closer; to close the separation between them.

Hisoka’s eyes widen as Y/n’s part open. She seems dazed from sleep, but she looks up, meeting his gaze. “Hm? I hope I didn’t disturb you.” He smiles, finally scooting closer to her. Y/n shook her head, turning to face him with her cheek against her pillow. Hisoka noticed that she was still shaking, thighs clenched together under the sheets. He could tell she felt a hint of embarrassment. “I had a rough dream.” She mumbled, trying to cover up for her own dream.

All Hisoka did was chuckle, “Mmm. Rough, you say?” He gave her a knowing smirk. Y/n frowned and pulled the blanket up to her nose. “There’s nothing to be ashamed about..” Hisoka sighed, laying both of his legs down flat before patting his thigh, “Come, sit. I can tell your dream didn’t quite satisfy you, let me help.” Hisoka shuffled his pants below his hips, and then his boxers, “Those kinds of dreams always end at the best part, don’t they?” He chuckled, “You know I’ve had a few myself, that is when I can remember them.. always ending before I get to the good part..”

Y/n lifted herself up, slowly crawling over to Hisoka. “Mm, good girl. Straddle me.” He whispered, his voice deep and soft as his cock began to rise. It was pale, with a pretty pink tip and sack. Hisoka was girthy, she dragged a finger down the vein going down his shaved happy trail, then slowly dragged that finger up his length, pressing down on the slit of his tip before it leaked precum. “Ahh.. how long as it been, my dear? How long has it been since we’ve done this?”

“2 weeks..” Y/n whispered, shuffling forward, she could feel her bare cunt meet with the skin of his ballsack, his sensitive testicles. Hisoka’s breath hitched, one hand gripped the blankets while the other slammed his deck of cards on the nightstand, “Ooh. An observant little lady are you? Or perhaps you’ve felt neglected..” He chuckled, a puff of air escaping his lips, “Mmmm.. Y/n, grind. Grind on me.”

Y/n nodded, leaning back, putting her hands on Hisoka’s thighs to balance herself as she slowly rolled her hips, her clit brushed over Hisoka’s balls as she rubbed up and down. Hisoka��s chest rose and fell, his eyes were tightly shut, Adam’s Apple twitching as he panted against bared teeth.

Y/n shivered, tingles of arousal filled her belly as she listened to Hisoka’s moans, watched his expression; his twitches. And most of all the way his ballsack scraped against her cunt.

After a few more seconds Hisoka quickly grabbed her hips and halted her movements, “That’s enough.” He breathed, “Lean forward, my dear.”

Y/n did as obliged, lifting herself once more, shuffling forward, the tip of Hisoka’s cock brushed over belly, then her cunt, and when she sat down to straddle Hisoka’s abs his member stood proudly between her buttocks. She had her arms wrapped around Hisoka’s neck, her pussy throbbed as it made contact with Hisoka’s rock hard abs.

“So soft, my beloved..” Hisoka mumbled into the side of her head as his hands dragged down her body, his palms caressed her ass, holding each cheek. He lifted her, adjusting her over his cock before sliding her back down.

“A-Aah!” Y/n croaked, whimpering as her pussy was pried apart by Hisoka’s pale, girthy cock. “Ohh.. oh Y/n..” Hisoka grinned widely, teeth grit as he burrowed deep into her, his hips trembled, muscles tense.

“Hhahhh.. ohhh fuck..” Hisoka growled, “I can’t believe I’ve forgotten how good this feels.. how good you feel.” He breathed out, then began to move her up again, then brought her down. “Mnnh! Mmm!” Y/n moaned. Hisoka paused, and then started to get a rhythm, bouncing her up and down, “The sounds you make darling..” Hisoka laughed, “Ohh you’re adorable..” he rested his hands on the side of her thighs, letting her take control, grunting and groaning as she kept up the pace. “Ahh, impressive..” Hisoka commented, “Mmm.. keep it up, good girl.”

Y/n tilted her head up, her eyes met Hisoka’s. His golden-hazel irises were filled with lust, looking down at her with sensual adoration. His lips were parted for a second but then he smirked at her, which urged Y/n to lean forward and connect their lips. The kiss was wet, his tongue slipped between her lips and curled into her mouth. Hisoka groaned into the kiss while she whimpered, and he was thoroughly impressed at how Y/n managed to keep the rhythm. His hands rubbed up and down her thighs, then cupped her ass, “Good girl.. good girl..” he grumbled between her lips.

Y/n pulled back, then kissed him again, over and over again, sucking on his bottom lip, peppering kisses around his mouth. She held his chiseled face in her hands, holding it securely, she could feel his jaw shift against her palms, his teeth gritting in his mouth. “Do you enjoy kissing me?” Hisoka hummed, “Mmm.. you seem so enamored.”

“Your lips are always soft..” Y/n looked up at him, puppy dog eyes that made Hisoka shiver.

Hisoka then suddenly pulled away, his hands on her waist, “Mm..” he turned over and laid her down on the bed, looming over her now, her legs were flat on the bed, knees beside her shoulders, “The way you talk to me.. it brings the devil out of me..” he panted, wasting no time at pounding her into the mattress. Y/n’s eyes widened, looking up at Hisoka, her body swam with sensations, tingling arousal as his cock dug deep into her with every plow, his grunts got louder, making her tremble and burn. Hisoka continued to thrust his hips back and forth, holding Y/n by her thighs to keep her still, “Oooh.. oooohh..” his head was craned all the way back in pure ecstasy. Their pants, moans and grunts mixed together, the bed creaked and skin slapped against skin. “You’re mine.. mine, all mine..” Hisoka grunted.

Y/n’s arms were above her head, all she could do was whimper and moan, bent in half at the mercy of Hisoka. It was amazing how Hisoka managed to keep his pace, he was in a lustful, primal daze, plowing in and out of her so rough the way he was. His hair was coming undone, the star and tear placed so precisely on his cheeks began to smudge away from sweat, “Oh Y/n..” he groaned, his fingers dug into her thighs, making her whimper and clench her fists.

Looking down at her body made Hisoka realize— he wanted to cum on her, he wanted to paint the soft skin of her belly with his milky warm semen, the ache in his crotch told him he was close. Hisoka lifted Y/n’s silk nightgown, pulling it right above her bouncing tits. “I’m going to cum all over you..” Hisoka grinned, making Y/n’s eyes widen. Her lips parted, but as she came she winced, her cheeks going a bright red, “Nnn.. aah!” She breathed out, relaxing but whimpering as Hisoka continued to thrust harshly, his movement sped chasing the goal of release. The puffy look of her eyes told him that she was still sleepy, it would only make since she had woken up only a few minutes before they started. Hisoka thought she was adorable, struggling to keep her eyes open and when they dared to close he thrusted deep into her, eyes shooting wide and a whimper leaving her lips.

“I love you darling..” Hisoka whispered before pulling out, jerking his shaft for a second until his cum splurted onto Y/n’s belly in short strings. “Ohh..” Hisoka groaned, panting heavily in relief, “Did this.. help you, my dear?” He said between heavy breaths, honestly burning up in his thick costume.

Y/n batted her eyes, mewling softly as she looked at the mess on her stomach, “Mm.. mhm..” she nodded and turned her head to the side, her arms finally relaxing above her head. “I’m glad to hear it.” Hisoka smiled down at her, “What a pretty sight to see.” He flicked out a handkerchief, sighing, “Too bad it has to be short lived..” he gently dabbed Y/n’s stomach, wiping away all his nice cum. She pouted at him, her chin to her chest, “Did you slip in while I was asleep?”

“Mhm. I was in the area.” Hisoka set the piece of cloth to the side, laying beside of Y/n and slowly dragging her nightgown back over her body. She suddenly turned her head to meet his gaze, “Did I say anything in my sleep?”

Hisoka raised a brow, then chuckled, “Mm. You did meow like a kitten.” He fibbed, a fun little lie that made Y/n frown at him with a scrunched nose. The magician giggled and shuffled close, he pulled the covers over the both of them despite still having his shoes, he slipped an arm around her, his bicep alone nearly suffocated her, “What were you dreaming of, my dear?”

Y/n’s brows creased, she looked down at Hisoka’s large hand that hung off the side of her body, “I’m not gonna tell you anything else but.. you were in it.” Hisoka’s brows raised completely, but then softened with a smirk, that piece of information alone made his heart flutter. For once he was in somebody’s dreams rather than their nightmares, and since this was Y/n, he was perfectly fine with it.

[drakewyne]

tim drake loaded the chunks of evidence he had wasted his summer on, a grueling ordeal into paranoia of the existence of a lazarus pit he had missed nearly six years prior, onto a thumbdrive. he held that hurt in the palm of his hand and let the dark circles beneath his eyes ring into nothing.

the slim hand of nancy van der huis pulling him out, pulling it out of his hand.

———————————————————————

your friends supply the drugs, your good friends stage the intervention.

———————————————————————

“i’m going to hide it where you won’t find it.”

he shrugs, moody cold new england ice to his sublevel floor. not even the gotham heatwave could melt his eyes out.

hers, though, melted gooey and thick.

“i can find anything.”

“not this.”

“nancy—”

“maybe i’ll have you beat this time.”

———————————————————————

she swagger walks backwards, a smooth jolt in her backstep; like she was walking perpendicular to reality. he watched her with a tilted head. she cocked hers to match.

“you have to close your eyes,” she says.

he rolls them briefly instead, but she insists: close your eyes.

———————————————————————

( in darkness, he knows where her sneakers take her. she could not fathom how to step quietly enough for him to not know. still, he sees the way she paws for a hiding place in some calculation of psyching him out, and he pictures double blinds. )

“i didn’t stop you when you were rolling a boulder up a hill this summer.”

( her fluttering hands stopping. starting again. triple blinds. )

“because i knew what i was doing had substance.”

( her dark voice carries across the sublevel and his head instinctively follows. quadruple blinds. )

“because i was looking for a thing that i knew i could find.”

( her dark voice that carries air. )

———————————————————————

“but you don’t look for things.”

( her dark voice carrying the dark— )

“you look for doorways to doorways.”

( —searching for the path it took, she took— )

“until you’re out, ( her sigh, like some boat ceaselessly adrift perpetually, dragged farther out into the current. ) and out, and out . . . “

———————————————————————

“you know the difference. i know you do.”

( was someone coming back for him? yes, that delicate swing to slightness was telltale on his floor — he’d memorized it. he could visualize her walking, swaying lazily, her arms behind her back with a tilted chin and seeking eyes like he’d blocked this scene out. like he was shooting her movie, and she was performing really spectacularly, this friend of his that he couldn’t have dreamed of. this friend of hers that she couldn’t have either. they competed for gravity just to enjoy it being taken away again. they just went around and around. )

“between . . . mm . . . being on the right track and self sabotage.”

( shifting her long, slim legs and staggering her weight to counter that of immeasurable talent; it was hopeful that she was not hard. that she saw cats with the pawpads ripped off and still believed good luck was very real. it was an arrogant notion for her to think that she had any control over the whim of the universe, whatever cruel god was out there exacting punishment until she pointed her bed northwest, but the delusion had a purity in it that he couldn’t replicate. she just wanted some wrong to be righted. didn’t they all? )

“when you know, tim . . . you know.”

( and she was right. )

“you won’t get what you want from this because there isn’t a chance for an answer. you could tear this building down brick by brick and you won’t find what you’re looking for. you’ll just have dirty hands.”

breath escapes his parted mouth.

———————————————————————

“you’re ruled by desire, but you really hate the suffering that comes from wanting. like you want the cake but not the calories. like . . . ”

( she was this carbon copy imprint on the backs of his eyelids; so to say, his permanent hide and seek player. the bonds between his carbon atoms, 1 - diazidocarbamoyl - 5 - azidotetrazole. stress held them firm and they cyclized at room temperature and ate each other’s electrons on their own compound tension. their hands clasped together, as if she had looked down, as if she had clicked her tongue: you know, now that you're here, we should get comfortable, huh? )

“you want to be loved but you don’t want to be known.”

( in where they hit the equilibrium point; wherein the reactants and the products stop blooming and only create free energy. )

“i’m like that. the feeling that i have to make it up to someone. it’s a very transactional feeling. i think all rich kids can be like that. i don’t wonder why we’re all obsessed with paying to be liked, but i let it happen anyway. i pay. i let them pay. well . . . it’s all we know how to do.”

“a secret.”

( she has many of his. she keeps them like a promise. )

———————————————————————

( there is a lull in the dark and he pictures her taking her swarovski teeth into the plush of her bottom lip, fitting manufactured lines in a deep dusted rose. she does that short hum that she does — the pull of her brown brow into dissociative maladaption, into conception, into decision. she decides. he sees it in the space of his skull. he reviews the softness of her decision again and again and again. )

“can i tell you a secret?”

“what for?”

“so i can make it up to you, the fact that you burnt through your summer. your rotten feeling.”

his hands slip out of his pockets and sit cold and beautiful and destroyed at his side.

“that’s not your fault.”

“i know. that doesn’t really matter to me, though. all my action is newtonian.”

( still believed if she did enough, a wrong would be righted. )

“okay,” he says.

———————————————————————

he angles his long body down—

( —and she angles up and smells like boozy cherry and white beaches and the summer he completely blew searching for the search for bomb misconception; which yes, was self punishing and tortuous. and he certainly would have inevitably gotten some win that would have made him realize the futility of this device, but instead he was being led out in the dark by this very slim hand that made things out of nothing. his self evisceration was as arrogant as her luck — both of which were just grapples for some sense of control. they hated suffering but both found it very necessary because they wanted too much. the curve of her hand against his cheekbone to cup away from no one else, she opens her mouth, and then the hesitation audibly catches the soft breath in her throat. )

he turns his face somewhat, still listening—

( —and she shifts her face as well, uncharacteristically demure for a moment. he feels briefly the puppysoft skin of her cheek slightly warm against his. contemplative, very thoughtful, the subconscious and haunting ability she has to stop start all of time for him. the eerie anticipation of a secret, or maybe of just being touched in a way that isn’t derisive or trying to kill him. )

———————————————————————

"hey . . . tim . . . "

———————————————————————

" . . . yeah?"

———————————————————————

the backs of her cold fingers brushed against his jawline, and she pulled no blood from the sheer sharpness of how gaunt he was in the face, and pressed rough fingertips against the other side of his face — the hallow of his cheek, some valley to her adept artisan hands. and he kept his eyes closed because he was taught to find everything out of nothing, because he could have found her needle body in a haystack he was so talented, because her sooty eyelashes fluttered against his cheek like a butterfly wing. tim knew it was a good secret because she was so embarrassed about the act of giving it, but of course he would keep it very safely. there was still the filter of some nodding off, gooey half of a dream between the press of her mouth to his, but it was still violently tangible and slow. he archived the feeling of this deliberation, and then he got lost. doorways to doorways. they were very dark halls, but he didn’t mind the dark if she didn’t mind either.

after all, he thinks he leaned in before she did.

( she tastes like sweet mint. )

———————————————————————

“i could hide here too,” she murmured, “if you want.”

[shinriha]

Having lost my father at a similar age . This movie really resonated with me .

As a child parents are like our entire world . They are bigger than life to us . Their mishaps feel like a betrayal to our perceptions of their entire persona . We can't really grasp their struggles . Adulthood to a normal child is full of excitement, something to look forward to . A little jump in the time and you can finally do all the things that you couldn't then. Time passes slowly as you dream about that tomorrow. Unlike adulthood when time doesn't seem to stop and doesn't let you stop either to dwell on your worries because you immediately have to set your eyes on the next thing. Once you reach adulthood you realize how misguided your expectations were as a child . With this new perception the same old memories paint a completely different picture of our past experiences and the people we thought we knew . How our parents were also just people trying to figure things out and the jump in age doesn't give you  an easy access to the adulthood we saw in our rose tinted glasses as a child. With the old memories , a little imagining and the new found adult lenses we can piece together who our parents were . But the puzzle is left incomplete when the person in question is not here with us anymore. This movie is about a similar experience.

Our protagonist went on a long trip with her father when she  was 11 years old . And now she is the same age her father was at the time . She tries to understand her father through old VHS tapes , her memories and imagining what he could have been doing when he wasn't with her , trying to decipher who her father was , a man she never got the chance to know .

This movie is tender , delicate yet bittersweet . We see these beautiful moments of a father and a daughter. He really tries to be a happy cheery person for his daughter. But at moments you can see through his facade . He is struggling financially, he and his wife aren't together , an abusive childhood , how he never even imagined to live this long . There are many scenes to pinpoint but especially the last scene where she tried to grab hold of him from her memories as he fades away left a deep impression in my psyche .

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Arrows (Special Request) - Doc - Part 3

Part 3 of Arrow. Reference to Found Footage. If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved!

Also: got a new Poll up for your thoughts! Should Doc Have Her Own Blog?

Warnings: This one's pretty mild - descriptions of pain, some guilt... I think that's about it

WC: 2,458 - I'm thinking one more chapter will finish this off

If I looked for it, if I let my mind fade into the hum of overhead lights and focused only on each fractured inhale, I could just taste the scent of autumn flowers, that rich earthiness lingering from mere hours prior when Hunter laid here instead of me; when the ship was blessed with a rare moment of quiet that we coveted for too little time. I wondered if he gleaned comfort from my scent during those precious few moments of peace, or if my presence had become so commonplace that he barely noticed it anymore.

And the others? What tiny details caught their attention when reality simply became too much to take in at once? Did Crosshair count the scratches on the durasteel walls? Did Tech run through impossible equations in his mind? Is that why Wrecker so frequently sought out the simple tooka doll? To distract himself with the sensation of static wrought by gently grinding the stuffing between his callused fingers? And Echo…

I remembered the first day he finally let me help him. I remembered how hesitant he was; how he’d nearly fled before allowing my touch too near the nodes of metal lining his spine; how violent his relief had been when my hands soothed the ache from muscles desperate for a release his body simple couldn’t grant him anymore. I remembered the tears we never spoke of and the stillness as I’d simply held him after. Where did he seek refuge when the memories threatened to overwhelm him? When the ache of limbs lost long ago resurfaced absent cause or hope for reprieve?

I wanted to hide in the shattered recess of my psyche, safe from the hurt and cold, set apart from the body he’d helped place atop a cot that was never meant to be anyone’s bed for long. I wanted to pretend that when I woke from this half-dream I would find us still soaring through the in-between of hyperspace, that it might be a rare morning in which I rose before the others and could lure them into the kitchenette with the scent of fresh caf and some delicacy snuck aboard from one of the exotic markets of some far away world. I wanted anything but for my mind to be dragged back into the ruined form too weak even to shake beneath the chill dancing atop skin aching beneath its own weight.

“-at me! Come on…” Echo… I didn’t want to hear the fear in words he forced into a whisper.

“Please… Come on, I need you to look at me.” I didn’t want to feel the subtle tremor in the gentle touch of his hand against my jaw, the desperation in how his thumb swept so carefully atop my cheek; the broken prayer of my name murmured in a voice that seemed to resonate through me in a delicate rush of heat.

But, once more, he called my name, and I knew I would endure this agony for eternity if only to free him of the sorrow in his voice. I wanted to sob beneath the understanding that I’d never really escaped the pain, that what madness feigned reprieve had merely lulled me into a denial that could only ever end like this: thrown back into a hurt too great for the nerves to ever stop screaming. Hot. Cold. Pain. Pressure. Every sensation overstimulated into a deafening noise rekindled by the ceaseless racing of my heart. Still, I forced myself to look for him, gaze sweeping blindly before me for a long moment before finding the brilliant amber of his eyes.

“Hey-hey; good,” The words escaped him in a gasp of relief, fingers flaring out to hold my face like I might fade again at any moment. “You stay with me, Doc. Don’t scare me like that again.” I shifted slightly into his palm, movement delayed beneath exhaustion, but the hint of a smile flitting at the edges of his lips was worth the effort.        

“Tech’s making progress on figuring out how to communicate with the locals.” He explained, the already smooth cadence of his voice slowing even further. “It won’t be much longer before he gets a cure from them for whatever gunk they coated their arrows with.” I could just make out Tech’s crisp voice in the distance, but I couldn’t understand any words. It took a long moment to realize he wasn’t speaking common, that whatever dialect he was working to understand more closely resembled Geonosian, and I had little hope in trying to grasp some meaning behind the guttural clicks and growls. Abandoning the attempt, I let my attention return to eyes still heavy with worry.

“With there being a sentient race here, the mission’s voided until the senate works out a charter with them.” He explained, and I didn’t doubt that he knew how I was relying on the familiar sound of his voice to ground myself, to keep my fractured glimmer of awareness focused on him lest I recede back into the corner of my mind where nothing quite existed. “That means as soon as we know you’re alright, we can leave; so, you just hold on a little longer, okay?”

I think I nodded, but with how the room spun, it was hard to tell. I tried not to think about it; tried not to think of the ache in my chest that only grew beneath my heart’s frantic pace, the effort it took to drag each panted, shallow gasp through my abused throat despite how the raw flesh balked from even that fleeting caress of air; the distant sensation of having sprinted to the point of collapse and forcing myself to continued regardless how acid filled my veins and every cell was begging me to stop.

“… awake?” Voices hummed somewhere nearby.

“Not really.” I didn’t realize I’d fallen back into that haze until hearing them. “She’s been… not really sleeping, but…” Echo struggled slightly to explain before adding, “Her heartrate’s finally starting to come down, though.” As soon as he said it, I realized he was right and felt myself relax slightly into the worn cot.

“That is… a relief.” Despite his words, there was still a tension in his voice that my mind rebelled against. “Beta blockers can take some time to begin working, and I was unsure if they would even be effective given the nature of the toxin.” When I managed to look up at him, he held the med-scanner over me, attention locked on the screen with the same steadfastness as he granted his datapad.

“Tech.” Echo called, and I could hear the smirk on his lips. His brother glanced briefly toward him before turning his gaze to me, and, for just a moment, he froze.

“Ah… hm…” For those first few seconds, he seemed torn between wanting to say too many things at once yet unable to remember how to speak, and, Maker, if seeing him stammer didn’t bring the threat of a chuckle to me. He must have seen the hint of a smile, seen the fond affection in my eyes because only then did he finally seem to breathe, shoulders loosening as he allowed himself to smile back.

“I was successful in establishing a means of communication with the natives.” He explained, voice quieting as he set the scanner down to gently place his hand over mine. “We’ll have to travel to their colony to retrieve it, but I assure you, we’ll return as quickly as we can.” I wanted to ask him what he’d learned, wanted to remind him that it was okay for him to feel the thrill of excitement at discovering this new people, but, with a fleeting squeeze that reminded me of the strange numbness stealing through that limb, he turned and walked quickly from the room.

“Crosshair and I are staying with you.” Echo reassured me as I stared at the door for a beat too long. Before I could gather breath to reply, that door opened once more as Hunter and Wrecker approached me, strides just shy of rushed. Echo reluctantly stepped away for Wrecker to reach me, massive hands enveloping mine as he nearly trembled before me.

“I’m sorry, Doc; I should’a been payin’ closer attention…” My heart broke at the guilt in those gentle eyes. “I should’ve heard ‘em or”

“Shh-shh.” It was quiet, and it was weak, but Wrecker instantly stilled at that soothing sound. My fingers shifted listlessly in a vain attempt to hold him. Despite the faltering movements, he understood, grip tightened carefully around me. “Be… b…” Lips and tongue listless beneath what ragged breath I forced through my ruined throat, the tattered snips of speech escaped me sounded more akin to a wheeze than a word.

“It’s a’right – promise. We’re”

“Be c… care-f-full.” He instantly fell silent at the strangled words, gaze dropping to watch his thumbs shift lightly atop my wrist, brows furrowing deeper with each passing second.

“We will.” He whispered, glancing almost shyly toward me. Movements nothing if not careful, he set my hand back atop the cot and turned to rejoin Tech, leaving Hunter and me alone.

Without hesitation, he let his hands cup my face, let his forehead fall to rest lightly atop mine as his chest swelled with slow, deep breaths, and I felt the fear that wanted to ruin him; I felt the tension so nearly causing those hands to shake, but I also felt the breadth of determination driving his every movement, and, when he shifted to touch his lips to my brow, when he lingered in that tender kiss, I couldn’t doubt him.

“Promise me you’ll hold on.” He begged, words fluttering across my scalp.

“Ca… can’t get… rid o… of me.” Despite the terrible weakness in those fractured murmurs, there was a smile on his lips as he pulled back to meet my eyes. The reverent dance of his touch sweeping delicately along the curve of my cheeks sent a warmth through me that, if only for a moment, let me forget the crippling pain twisting through my knee and shoulder, the nauseating war of blinding heat and that terrible cold churning beneath my skin. He held me, and I existed only in the quiet in his eyes, the too-quick eternity in those few seconds of reaching for words neither of us could quite speak.

And then the muscles of his jaw bunched, teeth clicking together as he dragged his gaze from mine, hands pausing just a moment longer before returning to his sides. With a final deep breath, he left as well.

In those stolen seconds free of guilt-ridden eyes, I let myself crumble, face twisting beneath the agony I’d fought so hard to mask in the face of the others. My head craned back into the thin pillow, heel dragging uselessly atop the mattress as breaths I’d fought to keep steady shattered into sobs that I still struggled to force into a hard-won silence, hand reaching up to claw uselessly at my ruined shoulder.

I heard the hiss of the door but wasn’t able to fight myself back into that earlier façade before the approaching footsteps stopped sharply. Caught in that moment of weakness, my teeth locked around my lower lip, shame and sorrow twisted across my face as I glanced up. The dark understanding in Crosshair’s gaze robbed me of that shame, and I found myself unable to even try vailing the depth of hurt torturing me without it, eyes sliding shut as my chest hitched. His touch whispered so softly over my shin, I almost doubted its existence until the gentle rasp of his voice hovered just above the tense silence around us.

“What can I do?” It was a rare thing to hear that softness from him; the faintest hint of a plea just brushing past his lips.

His jaw tensed. In silence, he tread to the far wall, meticulously removing his armor with practiced ease to rest atop the counter. Hand lingering atop that final bit of plastoid, he hesitated, but when he turned back to me, those eyes were quiet in a way I wasn’t used to, and I found myself frozen as he returned to my bedside, as he eased his arm beneath my uninjured shoulder, hand slipping down to wrap around my back, and he lowered himself onto the very edge of the cot, embrace tightening just enough to gently pull me against him until he lay nestled beneath me.

“S… s-stay.” I hated how the word fluttered from me in that desperate whimper, but the overwhelming need for something, anything to distract myself from feeling my veins carrying poison and pain and fire throughout every inch of me overruled what pride might otherwise have stilled my tongue. He didn’t move for a long moment, gaze burring into mine with an attentiveness that was once unsettling, but now I yearned for the comfort of that gaze, the innate safety in it.

“This okay?” I remembered him asking me that once before and found myself nodding against him just as I’d done then, cheek dragging over the coveted warmth of his chest. I could feel the thrum of his heart, felt the powerful, slow beats count the seconds with a leisurely calm I so desperately clung to, mind instantly focusing on that steady rhythm, on the tentative brush of his hands over the base of my ribs, the soft weight of his chin resting lightly atop the crown of my head.

Maker, I wanted to sleep; to vanish for just a moment into that emptiness as I melted into the safety of his embrace. I ached beneath the weight of an exhaustion so deep, the simple act of drawing breath was quickly becoming an insurmountable task. Some distant whisper of logic told me it was from the toxin, remembered Tech stating that it blocked some autonomic functions, but that knowledge offered no reprieve.

“m…m s-so… tired…” I sobbed, straining to press closer to him. Instantly his arm tightened, and I could feel him shift to look at me. The gentle caress of his fingers trailing through my hair drew my gaze up to him, and I knew he saw the threat of hopelessness in me as his jaw worked subtly over words he hadn’t yet settled on.

“Close your eyes.” He barely breathed the quiet words. I started to tell him I couldn’t, that my body simply refused to grant me that escape, but then his hand settled softly over my eyes, and, in the darkness, there was only his touch, the gentle dance of his heartbeat, the strength of him surrounding me, and I readily lost myself in him.

Next Chapter

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[techtalksfics]

My General (Crosshair x f!reader - Part 1/2)

Summary: Hunter contacts the one person that Crosshair will need, once they got him back.

Authors Note: I wanted to do a Crosshair finds his way back story but I guess this was always going to be a little sad.

Warnings: None. So this chapter is very angsty SFW but it will heat up in the next chapter! Word Count: 2.5 K

They finally had him back.

Crosshair, as grumpy and taciturn as ever, was reunited with his Bad Batch brothers. After Cody's desertion, it didn't take long for Crosshair to realise it was now or never. If he stayed, he would have lost his brothers entirely and forever. The whole process, the Empire, had demolished his head, his psyche had been poisoned by the enhancement of his inhibitor chip.

He was broken, confused and angry. He was angry at Hunter for leaving him; he was at the Empire for using him. But, most of all, he was angry at himself for everything he had done wrong.

But, he asked for their help and they gave it, gladly and without question. He was, and always would be, their brother. Once he had been put under, in order to have his chip removed entirely, Hunter had been the one to say it. The one thing that they were pretending that they knew nothing of.

It had been forbidden.

"We are going to have to comm her," Hunter sighed, running his hand across his face, "she has a right to know that he came back."

After their first successful mission as a group, reunited, they were celebrating together in Cid's. Crosshair still hadn't fully readjusted to Wrecker's emphatic, brotherly hugs nor Hunter's questions about how he was feeling.

And so, he simply sat, quiet and unmoving, in the corner seat of the parlour. He simply observed the scenario unfolding around him. He didn't feel he had much to say.

He wasn't even sure that he would ever be the same with his brothers. He wasn't sure if he could ever truly trust them to have his back again.

They all heard the footsteps, as they clobbered their way down the steps towards Cid's.

The heavy clunk of boots hitting their ears, one by one. Closer and closer until a figure appeared in the doorway of the parlour. Hunter had been waiting to hear those footsteps for days - he was worried that you wouldn't come.

There, at the door, was the one person Crosshair truly believed to be dead. That is what the Empire had declared in their reports, at least. As you appeared in the doorway, Crosshair was stunned. You were here, in Ord Mantell, with your hands on your hips, staring into the room. Looking at each of your brothers with a gentle smile, remembering the first time you had met them. It all looked very much the same. When your eyes settled on Crosshair, he stood slowly, sliding out of the chair, and walked towards you cautiously.

He was convinced you were a dream, a dream from a simpler time. He was worried if he moved too fast, you would be gone.

"You really are here," you finally said, breaking the iced atmosphere in the room. "You really did come back." You pulled at the fingers of your right glove, one by one, until it slipped away from your hand delicately.

He had always liked your delicate and dainty hands.

Just like Crosshair, you were terrified of moving too fast. In fear that this whole thing was a dream. You were afraid of moving too fast, of pushing too hard. But you couldn't believe he was really here. Once the glove was held in your other hand, you tentatively lifted your hand towards his cheek.

He leant into your fingers, which were softly closed, and closed his eyes. Your skin was so warm on his cold skin.

He looked so frail, so skinny. A shadow of the real Crosshair.

But to him, you looked perfect. You were here, his general. You had never kissed him, never slept with him and hardly even been around him except for on those rare missions. But he was yours, truly, and you were his, fully. You were his Jedi general. His commander. He would go anywhere with you. Anywhere for you.

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

There had been one touch earlier, years earlier, which had almost been as the one before you now. His position had been hit by the bombardment of a Separatist tank and your heart had plummeted in your chest. You instantly began to retreat towards his position, ordering the others of 99 to continue pushing forward, to not give up your position. You had said you would save their brother and they knew that you would. They believed in you and they had always known of your special bond with Crosshair.

When you reached his position, he was lying on his back and was groaning. As you rushed to help him, you breathed out his name and his head snapped towards you. You reached for his helmet and slowly began to remove it. When his brown eyes finally pierced yours, you slowly reached out and touched his cheek.

Feeling him through the force, to ensure he is okay, you reminded yourself in that moment. That was all it could ever be. You were a Jedi and a General. He was clone troopers and your favourite deviant defect.

As you touched his cheek for the first time, the whole world stopped for Crosshair. Despite the screams of clones in the background, as Wrecker bulldozed them off of the bridge.

Your eyes bore into his momentarily, before you asked if he was okay.

He nodded once, a very curt nod. He breathed in and swallowed. "Tell me what you need, my general," he responded and with a smile, you told him to find cover over the second bridge. "Sir, yes sir," he affirmed flippantly.

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

He couldn't believe you were here, touching his cheek so gently. After what he had done.

After what he had done, he remembered. In that moment, he remembered every bad thing he had done, every bad decision he had made. He had hunted her kind; he had tried to kill the young padawan. If Hunter hadn't have helped him...

He tried to shake the thoughts, but he couldn't. They were seared into his mind, along with the residuals of the enhancements of his inhibitor chip. He knew you could feel his pain in this moment and that was the last thing he wanted. You frowned as you asked, "what did they do to you?"

"Good soldiers follow orders," he mumbled. In that moment, it was as if lightning struck your hand and you pulled it back from his face so quickly. It had been a while since you had heard those words so truly. But they were words you'd never forget. His eyes snapped open as your hand retreated.

He knew you would have heard those words by now. Perhaps you'd even heard them at the time. Perhaps you had fought for your life as the Republic crumbled around you. He looked at you with a frown on his lips, "I'm sorry."

"I..." you trailed off and looked to the others for solace. But you found none. The room was silent, and every face bore a frown. You felt a surge of so many emotions as you looked at Clone Force 99. You felt elated by the sight of your old friends. You felt angered by the sight of a broken Crosshair. A good soldier following orders. You felt pity and pain and the pointlessness of everything the Jedi had stood for. Everything you had stood for. "I have to go. I - I can't do this. I'm sorry."

And with that, you left. You left as quickly and gracefully as you had arrived.

Hunter rushed to his brothers side, placing a hand on his shoulder before heading out of the door and into the evening heat of Ord Mantell. It didn't take him long to track you.

You had left a messy trail of shoe prints, fingerprints and tears. You also had not gotten very far away from the parlour before collapsing into your tears. So consumed by it all.

"It shouldn't be this hard." You said as he approached. He had tried to come towards you quietly but, well, the force is the force. You had always had a strong connection with it. "He looks so...broken."

"They," Hunter cleared his throat, "ran experiments. Left him alone without food or water for 32 rotations. Pushed him through command posts, hunting us. He barely ate or slept, even when he could. He is broken." His hand came to your shoulder, but you couldn't bring yourself to face your old friend.

You wiped the tears from your eyes. "He cares for you though, still," Hunter confirms, "as he always did. He may not even understand it. But following you, was never just a command as a clone. It was his will as a man. He would've gladly followed you anywhere."

As you turned to face him, he looked at you with a deep brotherly concern. The pain of it all was almost too much for you to bear and it was plastered across your face. "I can't help him, Hunter. I can't even help myself."

"Just don't leave, yet." Hunter asked this favour of you, of an old friend. "Please."

"Alright, Hunter. I won't go, not yet."

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

But you didn't return to Cid's. Not that night or any of the other three nights you were there.

Instead, you had headed to the Old Ord Mantell City ruins. You had camped out there for three days, trying to clear your mind. To commune with your Master. You'd had no luck with that since Order 66.

The sun was beginning to set on the old city; the ruins of an old civilisation from an era now forgotten. You kicked at the dirt, watching as it unsettled and floated just above the ground before landing soundless once again.

You honestly didn't know why you were still here. It is not as if the city had a pleasant history. Just like this ruined city, your relationship with the Bad Batch, with Crosshair, was long forgotten.

"Hunter said you had headed out this way," the sultry sound of Crosshair's voice made you jump. You had been so lost in your thoughts that you hadn't even felt his approach. He wasn't in his armour anymore. He wore a simple and light black cloth across his chest and legs. Light enough that he could feel the breeze across his skin. He truly looked so fragile as a civilian, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"All of it." As you tried to stare him down, you realised how angry you truly were. At him. At the Empire. You scoffed and repeated his words, 'all of it'.

"Yes, all of it," you kicked at the dirt again as you spoke, "the Empire," you flipped your hand one way, "the Jedi," your hand flipped the other way, "the Sith." You stilled your hand this time, feeling the force about your fingers. "The failures of my people to do the one thing that was so fundamental to their core. Protect the people. Protect the fucking peace. We were nothing more than pawns in a game of war." You squinted as the sun reappeared from behind the ruin, behind Crosshair's head. His silhouetted form was frozen in space. "All of that is your fault, is it?" You didn't even know why you were arguing all of this.

"They were your friends, and they were killed. They were systematically killed by the people I put my faith in." Crosshair held up his hands slightly and moved towards you. "I should have kept my faith in my brothers. In you."

"You think I'm angry because you, what -" You yelled, turning away from him, "because you left me and fought for them? No, Crosshair," you sighed, "that wasn't your choice." You scoffed, "I am angry that my people failed you. They failed everyone. I have lost everything and everyone I held dear." You were yelling at the top of your lungs now, but not at Crosshair. You were just yelling into the wind. Your voice carried throughout the ruins. You felt the pain coursing throughout your system, and you were tired. You were so very, very tired.

"You didn't lose me."

"Good solider's follow orders, isn't that right?" You regretted it instantly.

He recoiled away from you the second you said it. He had managed to creep towards you; he was almost close enough to reach out and touch you but now? How could he? How could he touch you after this?

You regretted those words more than any you had ever spoken. He'd had no control and you knew it. He'd been conditioned and controlled. None of this was his fault. You had failed him, not the other way around. You opened your mouth to speak but no sound came out. You simply sank to your knees in front of him and cried out a simple, "I'm sorry that I failed you, Crosshair."

He realised, in that moment, that you were as broken as he was. Perhaps there was enough left unbroken for the two of you to patch each other up. He realised he at least wanted to try and find out. He wanted to try because you were on your knees before him, crying. You were in pieces before him.

So, he sank to his knees in front of you and reached his un-gloved hand to your cheek. You felt him graze his knuckles across your cheekbone.

"My general," he whispers, as you continue to sob, "are you okay?" He repeated the words you had uttered to each other in secret all those years ago. You looked up at him, feeling the water still brimming under your eyes. As you shook your head in defeat, he said, "tell me what you need."

His hands found the points where your shoulders met your neck and he pushed your hair away. He rested his hands around the crook of your neck as he watched you try and centre yourself.

You eyes finally snapped up to his, red from the tears and the pain.

"I came here for you, Cross." You stated it so matter-of-factly to him that he was a left a little startled. "Hunter, he reached out more than once when you were working with the Empire. He begged me to help and I couldn't give it. I was weak. But then I hear from him, one final time, after months of silence and he said you were back and so, here I am." You sighed as you grasped at his hands at the base of his neck. Sighing at the sensation of your soft skin on his rough hands. You leant your head into one of his hands and closed your eyes. "I am sorry that I failed you Crosshair. But I promise... I will always come back for you. You are not my solider, and I am not your general. Yooba solus ner aliit."

You were his family. That is what you had told him. His love, he thought. Your affirmation made him smile, the first real smile he had felt on his lips in months.

He rested his forehead against yours and sighed so softly. He affirmed, "you will always be my general."