#ship engineer duties

[rifeconsultancy]

What are the Duties of Deck cadet on Merchant navy Ships

Click here to see all the duties...

[etchif]

Actually the most tragic thing about Prusty is that observation cars are typically at the back of a passenger train so Pearl and Rusty can never hold hands or be close to eachother while they work

[jimvasta]

Humans and their pets

The sentient races of the universe have just about started to get their heads, or approximate similar in function body parts, around the odd nature of humans but only recently have humans begun to bring other Earth creatures into space with them.

“Don't worry about Fluffy, he's totally ship trained.” the human designated Bradley spoke with frightening casualness about the creature sat at his side. It's muzzle was level with his hips and it's forward facing eyes showed it had predator history just as much as humans did.

“It has fangs.” Captain Mota'tog was unimpressed. The permissions were correctly stamped on the file and yet such a creature hardly appeared inoffensive.

“He does not, he's not poisonous. Of course some of his teeth are sharp, he's an omnivore.”

“He's a hunter.”

“He mostly hunts biscuits. He'll scavenge in the canteen from anyone soft enough to feed him. He's a certified well-being dog. People stroke him, he's got really soft fur, it makes them feel better. Look, he's wagging his tail, it means he likes you.”

Mota-tog whistled uncertainly.

“Oh wow!” One of the human engineers arrived at the airlock and dropped her bag as she stared at the dog. “So cute!”

Fluffy jumped round, tail wagging furiously, nuzzling in as the woman buried her hands in his warm soft fur.

“You are totally gorgeous. You're so fluffy and beautiful, you're like a little polar bear. You're here to stay, yes you are.” the woman happily baby talked to the dog who was more than half her size.

Bradley looked at the Captain and indicated. “See. Dogs make us happy.”

“You do all the care for it.”

“Of course.”

There were some false starts with the rest of the crew who were not so trusting of the huge pack hunter in their midst, but over the next few months they slowly learned to trust that the worst he would do was beg for food off their plates at meal times. Some of the braver aliens even began to pet him.

Then an alarm sounded.

Everyone raced to their emergency stations.

Bradley was in the cargo hold, his duty was to check the cargo was safe and secure.

He had quickly trained Fluffy to sit in a corner out of the way. It kept him safe in case anything shifted. The last thing he wanted was for his pet to get hurt by moving cargo.

The clang of magnetic grabs was deafening.

The alert was for a boarding raid.

Pirates.

Bradley cracked his knuckles and picked up a pry bar.

Through the rest of the ship there were varying degrees of panic.

A few of the other species could fight but most looked to the humans, having learned the way they fought when cornered and knowing their best hope to survive was to stay back and wait for the screaming to stop.

“What the fuck is that?!” the shout was shock and outrage. More anger than fear in the moment.

Crouching as it came through the main airlock was a creature taller and broader than anything else on the ship.

“Star spirits preserve us,” Mota'tog whistled. “A Batath.”

“It's a bloody troll is what it is.” Martins snapped.

Everyone froze as they heard the snarling and growling.

It was not coming from the Batath.

Fluffy arrived at speed and leapt, not caring can his opponent was huge. His fur was already matted with the blood of pirates and this was just another opponent.

The humans charged.

The Batath could only concentrate on one enemy at a time, it was used to picking off creatures as they ran, not fighting them off as something had its teeth deep around a knee trying to rip it apart.

The pirates ran when the Batath fell and the gore covered humans turned to face them.

Bradley let himself drop to the deck. “Don't worry, I'm fine. Good boy, Fluffy.”

Mota'tog shook his feathers as he watched the dog go back from snarling killing machine to placid fuss receiver. “I swear to the spirits, all Earth creatures are insane.”

[girl-lostconnection]

Little angst to sprinkle, but Helldiver!Reader who are tired.

God, you are so fucking tired. None of this matters, none of this makes any fucking sense at this point.

You climbed the ranks and you did your due and you paid in blood and flesh and chips of your own sanity. You gave and you gave and you gave.

You trained new cadets, explaining the terminals and heavy nests and fortresses. You have been everywhere command allows space jumps to.

Your ship a big menacing thing, a blade forever suspended in the vast cosmic nothing. Weightless and creaking whenever you have to engage orbital thrusters, chief engineer muttering something under their breath. You never ask what. Engineers can have their superstitions.

You can’t afford to have any.

You can’t afford much at all nowadays, prices biting harder than they ever did, missions deadlier.

You have less and less divers with each year — numbers of your branch diminishing quickly. Frankly, you don’t blame them.

Average age of Helldivers is 18 to 22 years old.

Average survival time out in the field — less than half a minute.

Even with all the propaganda and enlistment perks command simply cannot supply new meat to the frontlines. There is simply no more new meat.

Conditions get worse for rookies, their chances of survival dropping through the crust of the earth. At least when you were starting out you still had a med bay.

At least you managed to scramble some manuals for proper ammunition assembling.

You drag yourself onto the ship, steps heavy and tired — there are black spots in your vision, your head is swimming and you are pretty sure you no longer have anything in your stomach.

Bloody stims devour any available energy source to power your body through the life-threatening injuries.

No wonder you are still limping. Your mind doesn’t understand why the leg that got torn off is in place again.

You don’t really notice Price chatting up your chief administrator when you drag yourself in — bloody and tired, limbs so heavy it’s a miracle you are still standing.

But you can’t call it a day, there are three more missions. Then you can rest.

There are black spots swimming in your vision, you are lightheaded and nauseous, stomach aching — it clenches around nothing, trying to dissolve the food that isn’t there anymore.

You whip out the stim you didn’t dispose after the last mission, needle sliding in your thigh with practiced ease. Your body filling with energy, your vision brighter.

You can finally fucking think again.

There is a heavy silence you don’t notice immediately, too high on the endorphins stims bring. Pain free for the next two minutes or so.

“Captain?”, Price is hovering just behind your shoulder, your fingers twitching around the base of your secondary weapon — you are jumpy straight out of the mission. Automatons start looking like people after too long.

Down on Chort-Bay is hell likes of which you haven’t seen before.

You are not looking forward to jumping down there again. But duty calls, right? No one else would do that. No one is on the orbit right now but you.

“Captain”, you hum, eyes flickering to him for a moment. You have to wipe the visor of your helmet to properly see him — one of the diver’s got blown up on a landmine, his blood is still on your armour.

You don’t have time to wash it off. Not if you want to finish mission before you will need to be up for the next order.

“I noticed…the syringe.”, Price starts after prolonged silence, brows furrowing as he watches you. Eyes the softest blue you ever saw. The summer sky.

You remember the one you saw back at home. The time before helldiving now feels like a feeble attempt of your imagination to cushion the fall from the height of your exhaustion. The time before helldiving feels nowadays like a fairytale.

“Didn’t know you were sick”, he continues and you chuckle, typing in your coordinates. It’s cute that he worries about your health, though understandable. You are still alive and therefore a valuable asset to the command.

“Not sick. Just fucking tired out of my mind. We get a shit ton of stims with every resupply. Probably the only thing we get for free”, your laugh is a dry static-y thing, distorted from helmet, coming out of dynamics in your helmet feeling wrong and twisted.

But Price looks at you now like you have three heads and you try to explain. Perhaps SAS don’t get any of these. Though not like they need the thing, they got actual medics ready to stitch them up as needed.

They got off days and luxuries you cannot afford.

God, you might consider marrying on one of these days. Purely for tax benefits.

“Stims are used to patch us up on the go. Don’t have a whole lotta time to waste. We use them sometimes as energisers as well. A tired soldier is a sloppy soldier and a sloppy soldier is a dead one”, you say, brain fog finally lifting, god, this is good.

“Wouldn’t that constitute addiction with how often soldiers use it?”, John is a heavy stare and deep frown in the line of his mouth, his eyes the prettiest summer sky. “Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

You shrug, checking your gear before getting yourself in the pod and locking your ankles in place.

“Command told us they had scientists test drive the things and they aren’t addictive. Honestly I don’t know much, Captain. You might wanna ask someone with actual degree about the stuff”

You salute him for the road and then the pod slides you down, all ready to go.

Down there hell awaits. Down there torn off limb is the least that could happen.

Down there you could use any help you can get.

Price watches you getting launched down the orbit and turns away, tension coiling in his shoulders.

Price whisks away one of the stim vials, hiding the thing in the pocket and walking away. He will need to have someone check the bloody thing.

There is no way godsend ambrosia that cures torn off limbs and massive bleeding is not addictive.

John remembers the way your whole body buzzed with energy from the moment you pushed it in. Like there was no more pain, no more exhaustion, no more fear.

Like you were high.

And that’s for sure that sloppy soldier is a dead one. But so is the drugged out one. So is you, if his suspension is right.

[grandline-fics]

Dream A Little Dream

DESCRIPTION: They hear you say their name in your sleep

WARNINGS: just fluff

CHARACTERS: Law, Sabo | Killer, Smoker

WORDS: 1,295

A/N: After the wedding nightmare request I thought I'd do something quick and fluffy. Might do this one again with other characters. Hope you all enjoy

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

LAW

Law knows it’s wrong to have feelings like these. He knows he shouldn’t let himself fall deeper and deeper in his attraction and yearning to be with you. For now he’s managed to restrain himself from confessing or making any sort of move with you. You’re a member of his crew, someone he depends on completely and he’s your Captain. Of course you would look at him the way you do, you’re looking to him as the commander of the ship and your unwavering trust in him is because of his title and talk so easily with him because of a solid foundation of friendship. Nothing more. He can’t allow himself to hope there’s more to it. It can only ever be Captain and subordinate.

Still though when he’s finished his work for the day and does his routine survey of the Polar Tang, ensuring all crew tasks are completed, that everything is maintained and the ship is running smoothly he can’t help but leave your station to last. Just to allow himself an extra moment of time with you, to talk as you both relax from your duties is something he can’t give up. This is fine though, he tells himself, it’s a tiny indulgence that won’t go any further. He finds you as you’re leaving the engine room, having finished extensive maintenance checks and calibrations. You both talk as you walk towards the communal area, Law can’t help but notice your movements and responses are a little slower than usual.

Before he can ask if you’re okay, Penguin’s voice calls for him from the control room. With a small smile you lightly nudge him in the direction of your friend’s voice. “Duty calls, Captain.” You tell him while forcing yourself to hold back the yawn rising in your chest. As much as you’d love to keep talking with him, you know you can’t command all of his attention. “I’ll be in here when you’re done.” Law can only nod once and watch you walk into the communal room while he has to see to Penguin’s problem. 

By the time he’s finished and returns to the room he finds you curled up on one of the sofa, arm tucked under your head and sleeping deeply. Now that he has the time, he can see how exhausted you look. Your body needs the rest and as much as he’d like to just let you sleep, he can’t in good conscience let you continue to sleep in the position you’ve found yourself in. You’ll wake stiff and sore and feeling no benefit to the sleep you’re body eagerly sought. His fingers flex and he’s about to conjure a Room to transport you to your bed when he stops. 

Taking a breath, Law leans down and easily gathers your sleeping body into his arms. He stills when you shift and he fears for a moment that you’ve woken but instead you seem to nestle into the warmth of his arms and chest, unconsciously your hand curls around his shirt. Law allows himself a small smile and walks carefully to your sleeping quarters. 

He lays you gently on your bed and pulls the covers over you as you relax against the mattress and incoherently mumble. Law shakes his head with a small huff of amusement, for a moment he doesn’t believe anything of what you’re saying is an actual language, just noises. That is until he’s almost at the door and you speak again and this time there’s no denying what you say while unconscious. “You’re the best, Law…so happy…with you…”

Law freezes and whips his head around to observe you, watching for any sign that you’re messing with him or pretending to be asleep but no, you’re fast asleep and dreaming about him. As he quickly recovers from his shock and wipes the momentary lovesick expression off of his face Law leaves to let you rest and finally allows himself the time to consider that maybe he should hope there’s more to your relationship with him. 

SABO

“Dragon’s just going to tell you to go to your quarters and sleep.” Sabo teased as you staggered mid-step towards the meeting room. You righted yourself and threw your colleague a withering look. While he looked rested and practically glowing with his usual bright smile, you looked awful. You’d both been out on individual missions and Sabo was lucky to get back earlier and got a good night’s sleep whereas you’d completed your mission and the journey back had been a rough one, leaving you no chance to get any sleep. Now you had to attend a full Revolutionary meeting. You told yourself you could sleep after you’d reported to your commander. 

“Seriously, you look like you’re about to fall over any second.” Sabo continued, while he was concerned he knew it was pointless to order you to put yourself first. You would just get more stubborn and force yourself to stay away the rest of the day just to prove a point. “If you do fall asleep in the meeting, please don’t do it in Dragon’s lap.” You managed a tired laugh only to stop and let out a long yawn to the point your eyes watered and body swayed slightly. You hadn’t even realised Sabo’s hands were on your shoulders to steady you until after you blinked. “Yeah you’re definitely going straight to bed.”

With your mind and body so exhausted, you didn’t have the normal capabilities and reflexes to react, in a blink Sabo had you effortless thrown over his shoulder and he was already striding down the corridor by the time you caught up with what was happening. ��Sabo put me down!”

“This just proves my point you need rest.” Sabo laughed as you feebly hit his back. “Look you’re only letting your reputation suffer. Just sleep and then you can properly kick my ass okay?” You glared tiredly at the ground, ignoring all of the stares you were getting from the other Revolutionaries that were walking to the meeting you were also meant to be attending. Out of pure pettiness you managed to reach up and smack the top hat off of Sabo’s head. However with his own sharp reflexes he caught it with ease.

By the time Sabo reached your quarters he realised you’d stopped trying to break out of his hold and when he adjusted you into his arms to lay you down in your bed he saw that you were fast asleep. He smiled to see you already looked more like yourself now that you’d allowed your body to sleep after having stayed awake this long. “Sleep well, beautiful.” 

“Sabo…” your voice broke from your lips in a hazy murmur and Sabo tilted his head at you. He hadn’t expected you so innocently saying his name in your sleep would make his heart skip a beat but it did. His lips quirked into a smile only for it to drop slightly when your face scrunched into one of annoyance. “Sabo’s prettier…” 

Sabo blinked and relaxed, for a moment you had him worried that you didn’t feel the same as him. He left you to sleep and grinned happily as he made his way to the meeting he was definitely late for, the sound of your sleepy voice echoing in his head. You did catch him off guard by your silly misconception that he was in any way better looking than you but that was you all over. Of course even in your sleep you would manage to be stubborn and disagree with anything he said. Still now he had a new topic to debate with you over, but that could wait until you were awake and more alert. 

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TAG LIST (If I've missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa @kabloswrld

[thevoidscreams]

How would each primemarch be if their wife is pregnant with their child?

No real warnings for this one other than pregnancy Lion: He's as cool as ever on the outside but he's secretly a mess on the inside. The lion is not the kind to be very open with his emotions so to some (Of the few who actually know) it might seem he has no feelings at all about his wife carrying his progeny. However those who know him better notice how close he keeps you from the start. He's not going to allow anything to happen to his beautiful lioness. 2: Went out for milk and didn't come back. Fulgrim: "Oh have you heard? My darling wife is with child." This man could not be anymore different, he makes sure everyone knows and is appropriately excited. After all how could they not be? He was going to have a child that was truly his own. He parades you about in clothes that show your progressive belly and he makes a show of rubbing it in. Not even his most beloved brother Ferrus is spared. Well to be fair Ferrus is especially the target of the pheonicians excitement.

Perturabo: He is quietly delighted his giant hands have never been so gentle. His honor guard becomes yours for the whole duration, not that they weren't ordered to keep you safe as well, but now they are especially vigilant. He doesn't make a fuss about it outwardly but the nursery soon fills with tiny marvels of engineering for your future child.

Jaghatai: He's also quiet about it, but he's always been a bit aloof about his brother. But in private he is incredibly happy, practically worshiping your body. Making sure you only have the best food. He's a very dedicated husband and soon to be father.

Leman: Is boastful about it. But also very vigilant. He's not letting you out of his sight so long as you've got his pup in your womb. He keeps you warm on cold nights as he refuses to let his child be born anywhere but on Fenris so you do have to suffer the biting cold. Don't worry though, you'll have more furs than you can shake a stick at to keep you comfortable.

Rogal:

No one even knew you were pregnant until the kid came. Though their were signs, kinda, like every place you stepped foot in having even more recent additions to the defenses. His best sons being put on guard duty. A rare quiet smile on his contemplative face and stern face. His apothecaries are the only ones not completely shocked.

Curze:

Oh boy if he was a mess before?... Hes actually quite mellow for most of the pregnancy, of course that is once he's established paternity. It's not that he doubts you, it's that there are other men on his ship and he can't trust them. He holds you even closer now at night. Whispering feverish, yet loving inanities to you. His hard bitter laugh has a softer edge to it now. Could it be that he might finally have two good things in his life to bring his mind out of the darkness?

Sanguinius: I'm saying it now, he started trying early, as soon as the ring was on your finger. Sanguinius loves his sons and that love is only amplifies for the child growing in your womb. But along with that love is a terrible anxiety, what if the child is touched by his thirst, doomed to live with the curse as he and his other children are? He'll love them all the same absolutely nothing will change that. And he somehow loves you even more for this gift of life you are creating with him.

Ferrus: His massive metal hands hold you so gently when you give him the news. He has so much to do, and so much to be. Now he must also be a real father, not only to his astartes, but to a small bundle of life that will share half of his dna. Should he tell anyone? Fulgrim? His father? Ferrus feels very real uncertainty about it. He will tell no one, he decides and puts an even more robust guard around you at all times unless you are with him, in his arms. It becomes the safest place in universe just for you.

11: Went out for smokes and didn't come back.

Angron: How did this even happen? Most people assumed your marriage to this giant butcher was all for show. But no, he is your husband and despite his moments of temporary insanity at the clawing of nails in his brain, he managed to do it. He won't touch you unfortunately. Despite his general disposition about things he does not hate you, and his fear of the nails keeps his hands at bay. No matter how much you plead. He will not risk the life of his child. In his moments of clarity you hold his hand, and kiss it, he tells you he loves you. You alone in the universe as he twitches at the biting of the nails. Maybe he will go back to perturabo and finally allow his brother to aid him. For your sake and for your child.

Roboute: Also quite hush hush about the pregnancy, he journals the whole experience, and builds the nursery with his own hands, putting his own little touches on the place. His hearts swell with delight every time he thinks about it. He holds you in his arms as he picks the handcrafted animals that will go into the rooms. He thanks you softly for allowing him to have this experience. He also has the whole timeline planned out for the pregnancy, you let him have it despite knowing that these things hardly ever go exactly according to plan.

Mortarion: Is this even allowed? Is what he keeps thinking to himself, but he is happy. Fearful as well as you progress, what if he ends up being like the awful monster that raised him? Or even like his own father. He vows to not be those men, he promises to you over and over that he will be the best father. On his knees, he swears to you. He loves you so much and his love your child as well.

Magnus: As soon as you tell him that you're with child he begins divining. Looking into the potential futures to ensure his child's safety. He messages you with his collection of scented oils as he tells you of the endless futures he's seen. He loves to touch you, to feel the aura of his little one growing inside you. He'll know them better than even you by the time they're born. His sons are just as joyful about all this, but do come up with some wild concerns that you never even considered. Magnus puts all theirs worries and yours to rest, telling you hes seen what may happen and will not allow any negatives to come to pass. He is arrogant, for sure, but it does make your fears less.

Horus: He couldn't have kept it under wraps even if he tried. His sons soon learn from the mournival and now every lunar wolf is on high alert to keep you safe. Even Ezekiel, those that's on orders from his primarch. Horus spends as much time as he is able with you. He's glad to be a father, a true father, fulfilling his unspoken desires at long last. He treats you like a queen, and you are never far from his side. As he speaks soft words of love to you and kisses your hands and cheeks.

Lorgar: Lorgar looks at you as if you hung the stars yourself when you tell him. He dedicates himself to you throughout the whole process, at you beck and call the whole time. He acquires for you the most luxurious things he can to pamper you. Most of your evenings are spent with him massaging you with lotions or oils as her tells you tales from his compliances. He adores you so much. Vulkan: He is likely the most outwardly expressive with his delight. Not boasting or bragging but delightedly sharing the good news with his family. It's a nice feeling, to be so openly praised by a primarch. He, like many of this other builder brothers makes toys for his soon to arrive child. He's attentive, maybe even a bit smothering. But it's all to ensure that you are happy and well. His sons are also over the moon at the news, there much beloved legion mother carrying their brother or sister. You will certainly be very safe and loved, that's for sure.

Corvus: He might tell a few of his brothers and his father, but other than that he keeps it a rather private affair. He will of course keep you close and when he is unable will have a silent guard keeping an eye on your every move to ensure your safety. At night when he holds you, he will sing you to sleep with his soft mellow voice. His dark eyes scanning the shadows for any movement. He will keep you and his little chick safe in his nest. Alpharius/Omegon: The question is who's the father? True they are twins of a sort, technically two halves of what would have been one being. But still. Either way, no one but the three of you will even know until the baby comes and even then it's largely going to be a rumor. You are well cared for as you always are, but the two fathers will ensure that regardless, nothing happens and no one knows.

[sillystarwrites]

Artist’s Muse | MW Daisuke x Reader

A/N: first one shot gang, wish me luck because I am scared.

Summary: Daisuke hasn’t been heard from all day. Worried, reader goes to his quarters and finds out what he’s really up to.

Type: Anya’s intern reader, gender neutral, Fluff/platonic, idk man just read it blehhh

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was quiet. Too quiet. Something was up. Ever since you woke up, and gotten to work in the medbay, something was missing.

Daisuke.

He always poked his head in the room at some point, cracking a joke or giving you and Anya some doodles from his work with Swansea, which you both put up on the board. (Yimpy was your favorite, by the way!) You’d been working for hours, organizing and helping Anya, occasionally going around the ship to help Swansea, since the engineer’s intern was holed up in his quarters. 

As of right now, you were just in Utility, taking a break from your intern duties with Anya.

“So…have you heard from Daisuke at all? I haven’t seen him all day.” You started conversation awkwardly, figuring Swansea might know.

“Nope, haven’t seen the kid either. I tried yanking him from his room, but he was working on something. Didn’t even let me in.” Swansea groused, grabbing a wrench from his toolbox as he tightened the bolts on the cryopods, “Can’t help but admit I am a bit worried, the kid doesn’t pull stunts like this often, or at all to be honest.”

“I mean, I could check on him. I’m technically his best friend, right?” you suggested.

“Y’know…I suppose that could work. My next bet was waiting it out, but I’ll send ya down there. Thanks, kid” he spoke, the gratefulness evident.

“Anytime, Mr. Swansea!” you grinned, your feet swiftly carrying you from the utility room, down the metal halls and to the crew’s quarters. You approached his door, “Daisuke” written in dark pink lettering, with doodles of hibiscus flowers around his name. You raised your hand, your fist rapping against the door softly.

“Daisuke, are you in there? Can I come in?” you asked carefully, worried. Something was wrong. It had to be.

“Don’t- don’t come in! I’m busy.” he responded meekly, a hint of nervousness in his voice, “Besides uh- I’m- whatever, just go away.”

“I’m not gonna go away until you either let me in or tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying Swansea and I, as well as everyone else, I’m sure.” you insisted, the concern eating you alive, “You know these doors don’t lock, the only thing stopping me from coming in is the fact you’re responding.”

“Come on, (y/n), it’s really better if you just go, I’ll be done in a bit!” he fought back.

“Daisuke, please, you’re scaring me. I haven’t heard from you all day. I can tell something’s up.” you could hear shuffling from in the room, pens and pencils clicking against the wood of his desk. Your hand gripped the metal knob, turning it slowly.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Daisuke ran up to the door, closing it before you could open it as papers rustled.

It was a few moments before it flung open, the wind slightly pushing your hair back as you were greeted with him brightly smiling self. Before you could even speak, Daisuke spoke over you.

“Here! I’ve been working like, all day on this, so I hope you like it!” He smiled, handing you the paper.

You looked down and…it was a drawing of you. You knew he was good at art but…this was on a different level.

“This is so good!” You gushed, careful not to crumple the paper with excitement, “Swansea’s gonna be absolutely pissed but y’know, it seems worth it, right?” you chuckled, hugging him, still tenderly handling the masterpiece.

“Oh wow, I didn’t expect you to get this excited, but thanks, (y/n). Thanks a lot.” he hugged back, relishing the feeling of you in his arms. 

“Still, you should probably go to Swansea before he chews you out for 12 hours.” you pulled back, smiling still, a fuzzy feeling on your cheeks, “I’ll put this in my room immediately, though, it means a lot!”

“Fine, fine, see ya (y/n)!” He waved, jogging off to Utility. May he rest in peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: sorry if this was short, I don’t write one shots that often, but lemme cook!1!1!1!1!1! 😋

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

Christmas Comfort - Law x Reader

Wrote this blurb on a whim, I'm feeling hyped up for Christmas! Featuring a scroogey Law. It's barely been proofread, I'll probably continue editing it as per usual.

CW: Small trauma mention. GN reader. SFW!

~1.6k words

----

The Heart Pirates weren't exactly known for being festive. The ship was typically viewed as cold, medical, sterile. Steel, rounded walls would almost become hypnotic to anyone pulling the late shifts, and it was a common occurrence for people to gasp for air whenever the ship would surface. Life was hard, methodical, strict, but the bond among the crew and the sense of duty they shared was the thread that held them together. There was real love there, even if the ship itself seemed like a death-clad tank piloting through the deepest layers of the ocean.

It never seemed to bother anyone on a day-to-day basis, but as the holidays rolled around, the energy between crewmates would always get increasingly restless. As December crept closer, Christmas merriment began to spread through the ship in hushed whispers and secret gift exchanges, nobody willing to incur the sneers of their captain urging them to get back to work. That is, until he gave the all-clear to Bepo that the crew could decorate the walls of the Polar Tang.

It was almost immediate - an overnight transformation into an underwater Winter Wonderland. Tinsel and bows hung along bolts and lined portholes, carefully strewn about by the joined efforts of Shachi and Penguin. At Port, somebody even had the great idea of dragging in a Christmas tree, which was decorated with homemade ornaments and old medical equipment that was no longer viable. Bepo directed crewmates to string lights along the inside of the galley, and it was already beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Eggnog became a nightly offering with dinner, and all seemed merry for the season.

It was now Christmas Eve. The stockings have been hung, the ship smells of pie and cinnamon, yet Law remains locked up in his own little world going over paperwork and research. As per usual. 

“You're such a grump, you know that?” You sigh, leaning against the doorframe of Law's office. 

“Is that all you came here to tell me?” He responds curtly, his eyes never leaving the medical texts he was always engrossed in. 

“No. I also came to bring you some hot chocolate Ikkaku made. Since you don't want to take a break, though…” You say with a tone full of tempting mirth. 

Law glances up only briefly to see the mug held casually between your hand and your hip. Damn. How did he miss that? The interest only lasts a moment, though, before his eyes look back at the textbook in front of him. 

“Can't. Too busy.” He says simply, before adding a quick, “You can leave it, though.”

“Nu-uh. Christmas grumps don't get any hot cocoa.”

Without any other warning or indication, Law's hand lifts into the air, his fingers moving in that familiar way that makes your frustration flare up. 

“Don't-”

“Room. Shambles.”

In the blink of an eye, the ceramic mug in your hand is swapped with some kind of paperweight from Law's desk, heavy and edged. The mug, still steaming and otherwise undisturbed, now sits beside Law, though he doesn't bother looking up to check. He doesn't have to. 

“Really?” 

He shrugs nonchalantly, picking up a pen to mark a specific section of the page he reads. With a groan, you toss the paperweight to the floor, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Law-”

“If that's all, I'll see you when I'm finished.” He responds, his tone bored and otherwise disengaged. 

There's a pause between you two, the only sound being the far-off cheers of the Heart Pirate crew singing carols and the sound of the Polar Tang's engine. 

“You can't be serious.” You say, your tone barely containing the edge of hurt and frustration. “It's Christmas Eve. There aren't any patients in the unit and everyone else is celebrating. There's no way you'd rather be alone.”

Law doesn't respond, though his eyes are no longer scanning any text. He's got that familiar glaze over his eyes that you've come to know all too well. It's as if he's trying to come up with some sort of explanation or response, a clear attempt to carefully curate his words. Law isn't one to sugarcoat how he feels. You prepare yourself for whatever lecture you might get from him, ignoring the tugging concern that's growing in your gut.

With a sigh, Law pushes himself back from his desk, leaning back in his chair. A hand runs through his hair methodically, fingers shoving tufts that have been left over from his trusty hat. Finally, gold eyes peek up to meet yours. There's something noticeably off about them this time - the bags under his eyes are darker and the glint in them appears dull. 

“I don't…do well around Christmas.” He murmurs, eyes quickly averting down to the floor. “So don't take it personally.”

Watching him closely, you try to decipher exactly what could be plaguing him. There are plenty of reasons why he might not be doing well. You’ve spent countless nights retreading shared trauma, hearing about his family in Flevance and his time in the Donquixote family. It’s the most intimate Law can be, sharing the smallest glimpses into the nightmares that still seem to permeate in his head. Christmas, though…you’ve never been aboard the ship before during Christmas. This is entirely untreaded territory. You take a few careful steps into the room, closing the door behind you. Mustering your courage, you look at your boyfriend with empathetic eyes, taking a deep breath to ask the question.

“How come?” 

Law looks at you with that same, tired gaze, though there’s the slightest hint of his face falling at your question. A reluctance to answer. He doesn’t look away from you, though, and for a moment you think he almost looks grateful that you’ve actually pried a bit further.

“It just brings back memories I'd rather not think about.” Law answers simply, his voice just a little quieter than before.

You’re not sure what he could mean - surely he’s celebrated holidays since losing his family. You look at Law for several moments, debating in your head the best way to approach this. Finally, there’s a compromise made in your mind.

“What if we made some new memories?”

Law’s eyes flash with surprise at your question. He was clearly expecting a series of invasive questions, prodding into what exactly has him down. Looking down, he lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes briefly.

“Y/N-ya--” He starts.

“I know it's not that simple.” You interject quickly. You have to try to get a word in before Law completely shoots down the idea. “I know I can't erase what you've been through or fix it, and I don't want to. It's all a part of who you are. I just…don't want you to be alone. You have a family. We all want you to have a good holiday.”

Another pause. He seems so thoughtful, so lost in trying to figure out what to say. It’s almost heartbreaking. Taking another step forward, you let out a small sigh of your own. It’s at least worth a try to make sure he doesn’t isolate himself.

“How about this - you come out into the galley for, say, ten minutes. Watch the gift exchange, drink some cocoa. Spend time with your crew who loves you. Then, if you're really still not feeling it, I'll come back here with you and we can just hang out. Read or something. No expectations.” You offer, your voice soft and gentle.

The tender gesture surprises Law again. He looks over at you again, straightening in his chair. His face is as enigmatic as usual, though the corners of his lips turn up slightly at your gesture. It’s subtle, but present.

“You don't have to do that for me. If you'd rather be with the crew-” 

“Law, I'm not leaving you by yourself. I want to be with you on Christmas, even if it just feels like a regular day. Just…spend time with me. I'll make it worth your while.” You offer again, this time taking another small step forward. “You can say no.”

Law seems lost. For a brief moment, he looks back at his desk and the pile of paperwork. His eyes land on the text he was marking up. It’s quiet for long enough that you almost think you’re being dismissed until-

“Okay.”

You blink as he reaches for his hat, placing it atop his head. He makes his way around his desk, and you can’t stop the smile that rises to your lips.

“Okay, then. Let’s go.” You say softly, holding out your hand for him to take.

And so, the rest of the evening is spent in joyful festivities and good company. Law stays for much longer than ten minutes, enjoying the eggnog and the shenanigans of his crew. Gift exchange kicks off with Bepo entering the galley in a Santa suit, easily Law’s favorite moment of the night. When the last of the carols are sung and presents are given out, you walk out of the galley together, fingers interlocked. You feel a gentle tug on your hand as you’re about to cross the threshold and when you look back, Law gestures vaguely with his eyes up to the mistletoe hung in the doorway. Giving a mirthful smile, you lean forward and press your lips tenderly against his. It’s soft, a caress full of love as your lips move in sync. As they part, Law opens his eyes, gratitude and affection evident in them. He pecks your lips one more time before mumbling a gentle,

“Merry Christmas.”

[robolvrr]

medical malpractice. ‿⁠✷｡

pharma x human! gn reader.

warnings: medical play. sharp objects. temporary blindness/sensory play.

nsfw under the cut. this is a bit darker but this is pharma we are talking about here. not enough of this rat on my feed.

"are you sure ratchet isn't available?"

the cooling bulbs shine bright in your eyes and you itch the sleeves of your uniform, gaze wavering between the flawlessly polished floors and an elaborate monitor with a screen that easily dwarfed you lengthwise.

the fucker doesn't speak for an uncomfortable five seconds. you are convinced he purposefully does this just to have the pleasure of your wariness wither.

"yes, my dear. he has far more pressing matters than a simple organic check-up. i do apologize if my cycles of experience in this profession is.. lacking for your standards."

his back is all you see when your face twists, mouth slack as you struggle to seek a response.

sarcasm must be a species thing. almost every cybertronian on this ship seems to have a snippy remark.

"it's not that."

you don't know how to describe it. pharma is sardonic and precise. the crew members don't seem to have too negative of an opinion as his performance precedes his mannerisms.

when he first laid optics on you, there was a tiny voice in the back of your head that itched.

he did not share the warmth of his companions. granted, it was not as if you were adored by all mechs — plenty still had their reservations of allowing such an easily harmed creature aboard on a personal journey that they could not even hope to relate to.

however, unlike the other medics, you felt trapped under his leer. vivisected no matter the layers of insulation and nylon hiding flesh that blazed under unrelenting attention.

he never strayed far from your thoughts after that introduction. you can hear his croon at night and see those genuine, icy stares when you close your eyelids to toss and turn to sleep.

he's dangerous.

no one shows to share your beliefs. you don't speak of them out of fear of alienation. he triggers your survival instincts so strongly it starts to make you angry, because he hadn't done anything to warrant the disapproval.

he's a voyeur to your discomfort. sooner or later, you learn his subtle language and realize he's pleased.

you make efforts to avoid him. it's easy, given your skills don't overlap with his duties. you're just an engineer and more than half of the technology they possess is outside your education. you forget about his stalking frame and find members that treat you nice, treat you gentle.

this very situation is nightmarish.

"distracted, little dove?"

a yelp leaves your lips. his helm is eerily close and his smug smile remains firm on his dermas. you're so alarmed you don't notice the velcro round a forearm until he clasps the straps, tight.

the iv bag is clear. you breathe shakily.

"please keep in mind i do have your best interests in consideration."

"... just get on with it, doctor."

he hums, doesn't react to the bite. his digits graze your elbow. when did he yank up your sleeve? goosebumps freckle up your skin and he pinches.

consideration. the gravity of that word sinks in the pit of your gut. too easy to miscontrue.

"i understand your.. unease. alone, far from home, far from your own kind. under the scrutiny of what you cannot predict."

the medical stretcher slowly creaks back. the rusty pop of cogs startled you. a giant light nearly hides his calm demeanor, just the shadow of himself and a halo of sterile white behind him.

the electricity sparkling in your veins runs blood hot. faint beeping climbs in measure — you assume the thumping pattern of your heartbeat is what that is.

suddenly, your mouth is coaxed open.

metal - tool and him - slide across your tongue in a practiced sweep. it clinks against your canines and molars, scraping inner cheek until you feel just shy of pink, sticky sinew shredding.

a swab is after. it isn't rough but far from tender. this is no lollipop ending appointment and you become faintly aware of a chemical stench starting to waft around your vicinity.

"healthy. teeth all accounted for. funny, how these bones work. brainstorm had spoken to me about ah, what is it called for you. cavities. fascinating, your inner workings aren't close in nature and yet it can poison you, just by chance. find that small, plump heart and send it right into failure."

this conversation tinges dreadful again. you make a protesting noise that careens into a groan before he shushes you, sifting through equipment. having him in your mouth has your jaw throb sore.

"yes, yes, i know, keep it quick. while we are on the subject of brainstorm however i want to be frank. he has assisted me in creating a method to better examine your parts. you're just so.. fragile. small. i would hate to hurt you."

".. and what exactly does that entail?", you whisper dubiously, twitching at the thought of anything from brainstorm being near you in a ten mile radius.

he laughs.

"well", you blink and he is still difficult to see with all the lights and proximity, something wet and slimy dropping in both of your eyes. you squirm with a gasp and go to rub out of nature. he stops you.

"it's difficult to explain on your terms. but it's dropped into your eyes. microscopic cameras are effortlessly mixed with the solvent. it'll adapt to the shape. almost like a thin casing. it connects to my screen aaaand.."

you can't see. confusion driving the monitor to grow louder and louder.

"you put fucking cameras in my eyes? wh— what?! i can't fucking see! does ratchet know-"

"ratchet is not here. i suggest you find your bearings before you scare yourself to death, dear."

he sounds unapologetic. you fully drift to panic and think about the crawling sensation around sclera, unsure where your imagination and reality separate.

pharma sounds distant. this very room is almost closing in and your senses heighten in natural hopes to extend your survival.

his voice is charming and thick with something you can't identify. whispers hot in your ear. a cut has been made.

"excellent, little one."

this is torture.

one by one, the pain of an incision you can't even detect when it was sliced sutured with practical movements. unwoven, stitched again. you start to huff.

thumb catches moisture. you hear a rumble and it isn't the ship engines, it's him.

"just what else can the human body do?"

your throat closes up.

"how much could you take, hm? i simply want to know. there is no... allure of a broken body. perhaps in a dream. perhaps in my fantasies."

in and out, you fade. body trembling, hair sweaty on your forehead. he is an issue you cannot solve.

"perhaps, perhaps."

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

"how did the examination go?"

ratchet doesn't pull from his work. the gruffness and bitter edge you have learned to navigate and know his inquiry is made out of concern, not forced.

"i... fine, i think. i can't remember."

ratchet keeps working, though his pace has slowed.

"... mm."

[lie-lacdreams]

Thermodynamics and Turmoil (Curly x Reader pt. 1)

Hello! I'm putting out my very first piece ever and I'm so excited to feed the masses as much Mouthwashing content as they deserve :) This game has a lot of sensitive topics to it and as such I'll try my best to bring them up as appropriately as possible. The story is gonna start off slow and elaborative because I love all of the Tulpar crew so much (except for Jollof rice, Jimneva convention) and they all have such interesting personalities that I couldn't help but to explore their wants and aspirations. This story will feature an alternative ending to the game because I cannot stomach sad things they make me very sad </3

Next

engineer! reader x curly TW: a bad word or two, I think word count ~ 1.9K

Curly was back in the medical bay for his routine psychological evaluation with Anya. With all of the questions answered and out of the way, the both of them were just chatting before he had to go back to the cockpit and finish up his duties for the afternoon.

“You’re all good to go, Captain. Seems like there isn’t much change from your answers like last time, as usual.” Anya let out a tired sigh. 

“That should be a good thing, given we’ve already been on this trip for almost two months now. We should all be used to the routine around here at this point. Has everybody else been adjusting alright?” Curly stood up from his chair, Anya following suit as they moved towards the door. 

“For the most part, everyone’s been well but I wish they would open up or take the assessment seriously. I mean, at least Daisuke has been making my job a little easier – he just talks and talks.” she mused. Curly gave a little chuckle in response, thinking about the last-minute intern that the Pony Express decided to add on board to their journey. He wasn’t exactly the most helpful – at least according to Swansea – but he brought an air of lightheartedness that they all needed in a cut-corners, shitty working environment like the Tulpar. “Oh, actually, have you seen (Y/N) lately?”

Curly thought for a moment. Along with Daisuke, (Y/N) was another late addition to the crew. The Tulpar has started showing its age and as such, there were increasingly consistent problems with the water pipes, life support, and fuel usage. However, instead of giving the crew a new ship, they handed the responsibility of keeping the ship up and running to the passengers. After their previous trip, Swansea went straight to the higher-ups and ripped them a new one, stating that “he couldn’t be expected to perform miracles”. When the crew was assigned this trip, they were all surprised that corporate had listened to Swansea’s complaints and granted them with another engineer. (Y/N) was self-sufficient, only really needing to work with Swansea to consult him on how best to move forward and with Daisuke when Swansea needed a break from his overzealousness. As a result, Curly saw and knew very little about her. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t. Why?”

“She’s due for her check-in as well but I haven’t seen her these past two days to tell her that. Go figure. We share a room yet recently she’s been waking up earlier and sleeping later than I have. When I went to ask Swansea and Daisuke if they’d seen her, they said that they haven’t seen her at all today.” 

“Huh. She’ll show up eventually. This ship only has so many places a person can be. If I see her, I’ll let her know to go straight to you. Thanks, Anya.” He patted her shoulder lightly before heading out, making his way back to the cockpit to fulfill his duties. 

In the evening, the crew convened at the table for dinner. Curly always looked forward to this time of day, where everyone had finished all of their tasks and could open up with light hearted banter. With only the six of them on the ship for over a year, all they had were each other, and he cherished all of his crew members. Anya and Swansea were chatting to the left of him about Swansea’s kids back on Earth. To his right, he saw Jimmy get increasingly agitated as Daisuke tried convincing him to swap dinners with him. That’s when he spotted the empty chair across from him and realized that (Y/N) was still missing. 

No one was concerned by her absence; it was a common occurrence, and he trusted Daisuke and Swansea to be in the loop about what she was up to and would report to him if anything happened. During the work day, everyone was so consumed with their jobs and couldn’t afford to worry about the whereabouts of the others, unless they needed to lend a hand. Curly wasn’t an exception to this. As the captain it was his responsibility to make sure his crew members were okay and that things were moving along nicely, and so far there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that indicated otherwise. With everyone finishing up their dinner, clean up began before people bid each other goodnight. 

In the middle of the night, he woke up parched. Debating whether or not to get a glass of water, he finally got out of bed and made his way to the lounge where the kitchen was. Leaving his room, he could hear a faint clacking noise grow slightly louder the closer he got to the lounge entrance. Opening the door to the lounge, he was finally met with the sixth crew member whom no one had seen all day. Sitting at the dining table, (Y/N) rested her feet on the seat of her chair and had her knees drawn up to her chest. All around her were books and loose papers scattered about. Her hair was messed up, likely a direct cause of the hand she kept on her head, fingernails digging into her scalp. Curly gently cleared his throat, trying to make her aware of his presence. Shooting a tired glance his way, her eyes widened a bit before immediately sitting up straight and tidying her hair. She looked guilty, like she was caught in the middle of doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. 

“Finally, we get to see her. Where have you been, Miss Absentee?” He sent a small smile her way, walking over to her.

“C-Captain! What are you doing up? It’s quite late.” (Y/N) nervously fidgeted.

“Just up for a glass of water. What are you doing up so late is the real question.” He crossed his arms. 

“Just doing a bit of work. Can’t get enough of it.” She joked dryly. Curly frowned and pulled the chair next to her to take a seat. She sighed and leaned back, finally relaxing from tensing up after seeing Curly enter the room. (Y/N) didn’t know her captain well, and as such she always tried her best to save face and remain professional with him, but at this hour of the night, she was too tired to keep up with decorum. 

He leaned on the table, facing her. “I know we may not be as close as you are with Swansea and Daisuke, or even Anya, but as your captain I care about how you’re doing and I want you to open up to me.” Her expression became hesitant as she shifted in her seat. “We’re all busy and even though it’s common for you to go missing during meal times, seeing you like this now is making me worried about how you’re doing.”

(Y/N) kept quiet for a second, looking like she was mulling something over before picking up the object right in front of her.  “Do you know what this is?” 

“An abacus. Interesting that you have one.” he said. 

“Yeah.” she sighed. She moved her gaze from Curly to the plastic Polle statue in the corner of the room. “Before I got on the Tulpar, they had given me all of the supplies I needed to fulfill my duties and do what they asked of me. I had met Swansea only briefly before so he could give me manuals and maps of the ship’s layout. I got the uniform, the steel-toed boots, notebooks, writing utensils, and a solar-powered calculator.” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d think that would be enough to prepare me to be here, but no . If only there was a way to have a bit of sunlight in outer space in a ship with no windows. They gave me something so crucial but useless out here. I had brought the abacus on board with me for sentimental reasons, but ironically enough it’s the only thing here that allows me to do my job.” She glanced back at him. “I’m not sure if you were aware, but Pony Express lied and said this was an internship for graduate students. Little did I know I’d be thrown into something I wasn’t going to have much guidance in. I needed a break from my PhD and even though the pay wasn’t that great, I was desperate for some sort of escape from academia.  I thought going to space would give me that, but every day I wake up is a constant reminder that I’m so underqualified. Swansea is an expert with the mechanical side of the ship and he’s helped me a great deal, but the fluid mechanics and thermodynamics of it all are things he knows nothing about. So I’m here, trying my best to play catch-up and praying that I figure out a solution so that this ship has enough fuel, enough air to last us an entire year, and that the Tulpar doesn’t pop like a pressurized soda bottle while we’re out here.” 

“(Y/N)...” Curly’s voice died at her name, shocked at this revelation and disappointed he somehow didn’t know about her struggle sooner. “I had no idea what you were going through. You always seemed to have a grasp on your tasks and Swansea always praised the work you did, so I just assumed you weren’t having a hard time adjusting. Have you told any of this to Anya during your evaluations?”

“No… I really wanted to believe that I could do it and stick it out, and so far, thank God, I’ve just barely made it every time. I really wanted you and the rest of the crew to believe I was capable and worthy of being here.” He cautiously put a hand on her shoulder, testing the waters on how he should comfort her. 

“You are worthy of being here. The fact that we’ve been having such a smooth trip with no complications so far makes that obvious. I really appreciate you opening up to me now. I want to do everything I can to make sure you aren’t stressed about your work. You need to get rest and eat like the rest of us. Sure, none of us are a chemical engineering smarty pants like you, but you can always ask for help, even if it’s just for something like bringing you food or running errands around the ship.” He smiled at her, and she weakly reciprocated the gesture.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Thank you, Curly.” Too tired to remember formalities, (Y/N) let out a big yawn, much to his amusement. 

“So are you gonna go to bed?” He asked. She threw her head back and groaned in defeat, murmuring a “yes”. “Good! I hope I get to see more of you around now that you’ll be asking for help, yes?”

“Yes, of course, Captain. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The both of them stood up, (Y/N) to head to her quarters and Curly to finally get his glass of water. Before completely leaving, she paused and turned back. “Oh, and Captain?” 

“Hmm?” He raised his head up to look at her again.

“I know you have a lot of responsibility on your shoulders looking after all of us. Please, rely on me too.” She smiled gently.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).” He called after her as she slipped through the door. He felt content that he was making good progress to gaining the trust of the crew member he knew the least. It always made him feel good to be the reliable captain he hoped everyone viewed him as. Having that conversation with (Y/N) made him a little more relaxed now that she had opened up to him for the first time.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Dishonorably Discharged and Detained

Alpha Shark Man x Gender Neutral Omega Reader (CW: Dubcon, a/b/o, omega reader, DILF, size difference, shark man, merman, biting, marking, claiming, heat cycles, breeding, kidnapping, force fed reader, reader is briefly shocked by an electric fence, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 4.7k (18 minutes into March and already a fic is posted! This was written as a birthday gift for a friend, happy birthday, you know who you are, my longest friendship and trusted confidant. I hope you all enjoy this. Also I tagged this as a merman because I think it qualifies, even without a fish tail a person who is part fish counts. I will die on this hill.)

The dreadnought you were on sailed at a fair pace, ever forward, back to your base. It had been deployed to the front but the battle was over before you even had a chance to arrive, enemy presence in the area had been way overestimated and your unit had not been needed. The sea ahead of you lie calm and serene, the sun scintillating off the surface of the water and the salty breeze kissed your skin, feeling pleasant in your stuffy uniform. You were second in command of the ship directly behind Admiral Reeves, you were an omega but with hard work and perseverance you had managed to defy all expectations of what an omega could be, ranking higher than many alphas your age. This caused some issues when you had first achieved your current rank, but over time you had gained the respect and obedience of those under you as well as the respect of your superiors. You had become invaluable to Admiral Reeves both as a hard worker, a motivator of the troops, and even a strategist he could always call upon for a second opinion when planning on how to engage an enemy force or escape a harrowing situation. That wasn’t to say things were completely easy for you, whenever you were docked or dealing with other service members that were not in your unit you always had to stand strong against harassment and catcalls. And being constantly surrounded by so many alphas, and the pheromones that accompanied them, could sometimes make you more than a bit dizzy. Admiral Reeves’ pheromones were among the most potent, he was not a regular human like most of your peers. He was a shark man. A hybrid species that had been genetically engineered decades ago to help humans explore the seas and get an advantage in maritime combat. Reeves’ heritage was obvious. His sharp teeth, the fin on his back, webbed fingers, gills at the base of his neck, and pale blue skin giving him away to any who saw him. He was likely in his early fifties, it was slightly hard to tell though given he wasn’t completely human, but his short hair had an attractive peppering of grey. As mentioned previously his pheromones were much stronger than an average alpha’s. Probably because he was significantly larger than a normal human. It made being an omega near him all the time slightly difficult, but the main difficulty was that sometimes his cool headed handle on his instincts slipped a bit and he could be just a slight bit overprotective of you. He never disrespected you or questioned your ability to carry out your duties though. After enjoying a few minutes of sunlight and salty sea air you began to make your way back below deck to the dorsal side of the bow where the bridge was contained, you had to make contact with the mainland and give them your coordinates and estimated time of arrival. But before you could even leave the deck a sudden explosion sent you flying. You remained conscious just long enough to notice your right arm and leg were bleeding. You tried to get up but within seconds you collapsed. The next few weeks were a blur that you were almost entirely unconscious for, with only brief fragments of confused awareness. You remembered seeing medics above you, you remember a moment of being in the ship’s medical bay as the ship weaponry fired, and you remembered being awake several times briefly in a hospital bed. When you finally, REALLY, woke up you were in significant pain. Your arm and leg that you had seen bleeding were both in a cast with your leg suspended, your vision was a bit blurry, and your head was throbbing. You had great trouble concentrating, it took great effort to collect yourself and assess your situation. You were no longer in the ship’s medical bay and there were no windows in your room, it seemed very minimalist. Probably a military hospital on base. There was nothing really much you could do other than just try to relax and let yourself heal, eventually a nurse walked in and immediately rushed over to you to check your vitals and ask you a few questions to make sure you were fully aware and awake. After doing so she hurriedly rushed out, staff was under strict orders to notify Reeves the second that you were awake. Since the ship you had been stationed on, The Sentinel, was docked for repairs Reeves was currently at the naval base that you were receiving treatment from and it did not take long for him to be notified about your updated condition and come speeding to your side. You could tell immediately by his scent he had not been getting much sleep and he had been more than a bit anxious. Not surprising, probably lost some good soldiers in that battle and then having to wait as the ship was repaired or for him to get a new assignment was probably pretty stressful. You could have never imagined that the reason for his recent distress had actually been your hospitalization. But it had affected him in ways he would not have thought previously possible. He stood beside you with a huge grin on his face. On anyone and to anyone else it may have been frightful, given the sharp nature of his teeth, but you knew it was a good sign. “Nice to see you awake after you’ve been lazing about in bed for a few weeks, haha,” he joked with his typical sense of humor before his face got grim and he took on a more solemn tone, “But... in all seriousness… It’s good to see you’re okay. We lost some good ones in that attack. Sunk the bastards that did it though.” You took a moment of silence before breaking the tension. “Don’t worry, fish breath, after a short recovery I will be their worst nightmare. I will sink their entire navy myself.” Reeves hastily hid a worried expression at the thought of you returning to duty, you didn’t know what the expression was for but it was probably just a bit of stress piercing through that rough exterior of his. “Heh, yeah. I’m sure. The little pipsqueak is gonna have them all on the ropes. They’ll piss themselves,” he chuckled heartily, though it sounded just a wee bit forced. After some small talk and him telling you about the casualties and general condition of everything he reluctantly left, after the nurse shooed him away to let you rest. For the next 5 to 6 weeks it seemed like resting was all you could really do and by the time you were ready to be released and begin physical therapy to get back to tip top shape you were really ready to get out of bed. Over the course of your recovery Reeves continued to visit you, really just about everyday that he could, to see how you were progressing and he seemed to be increasingly anxious about you returning to duty. Now that you were out of bed that anxiety seemed too palpable for you to ignore and finally, after he had given you a nervous look when you mentioned your excitement to be seaworthy right as The Sentinel was nearly ready to depart, you decided to just ask him about it. “It may just be me but… it seems like you don’t really want me back on duty…” “What that’s crazy!” he said in a manner that had you wholly unconvinced. You crossed your arms, tilted your head slightly, and stared at him with an expression that said “really?” He sighed deeply before finally admitting outright what he had been thinking since the moment you had been taken to the ship’s med bay. “Look… I know you are a talented sailor but… are you sure you should keep doing this?” You were stunned, mouth agape in shock, but he took your silence as an opportunity to press forward with his line of logic. “I mean… you have a smaller frame than anyone else. The doctors did not know if you would survive at first and the doctors said that even a beta, let alone an alpha, with a larger body would not have been so damaged by the blast or so endangered by the blood loss,” once he started saying all this the words just seemed to spill out of his mouth, like he had been damming them up and it had finally burst allowing him to unleash a torrent of his thoughts on the matter. There was of course much more to it than that, he was in love with you, but even if he had been honest about not wanting you back in combat he could not be completely honest with you or with himself on why exactly he was so adamant. You were speechless a moment more before becoming absolutely indignant. “SEVERAL people passed away in that battle, and all of them were all alphas, war doesn’t spare anyone!” Normally someone speaking to their direct superior in such a manner would be reprimanded but you were beyond caring at this point. “That may be true, but being smaller and more fragile doesn’t help your chances. And you have always been a bit accident prone…” Not an entirely unwarranted criticism, you did tend to be a bit accident prone, though all of those were minor injuries, nothing serious until now, but having enemy ammunition go off near you was hardly your fault and anyone, regardless of body or constitution, would have been injured by such a situation. Incredulous at his comments you stormed off, he called out behind you but you kept going on. That night you didn’t get much rest and you were irritable the next morning. But that did not compare you to the anger you had when you reported in the next morning and had Reeves tell you that he did not want you working with him anymore, he wanted you off the ship working in a safer non-combat capacity. You just stormed off once again to get reassigned to another combat ship. It didn’t have to be glamorous, it could be a fucking submarine for all you cared. It hurt, and it hurt bad, that you would not be with your former crew, or with the leader you had grown to consider a friend, but in battle was where you were meant to be. You put in for reassignment and vacillated between anger, grief, and feelings of betrayal for the remainder of the day. As at the end of everyday you made your way to the omega barracks. You were the only one using them currently, unlike on the ships there were fresh recruits trained on site so separate sleeping arrangements were made. It was hard but eventually you managed to push your raging emotions aside and go to sleep. Reeves had heard about your reassignment, he figured you might be difficult. Instead of asking for a non-combative position you had of course just let them reassign you to another dreadnought. He couldn’t just tank your career to get you out of the front lines, you had too impeccable of a record for anyone to believe that and too many sailors that would vouch for you, no, he would have to instead use his ties to have you erased completely. The shark was a very high ranking admiral with ties to the intelligence agencies and it was within his power to do such a thing, considering you had no civilian friends or family to poke around, and anyone in the navy who might poke around could easily be brushed off or told that you had passed away in the line of duty. So in the dead of night you were disappeared. Operatives quickly snuck in and made their way to your sleeping form, quickly injecting you with a serum that would keep you completely unconscious for many hours and then shoving you into a black sack. You woke up from probably what could be described as the deepest and most fulfilling sleep you had ever known, and then you looked around and realized that you were most certainly not where you had gone to sleep. Gone were the rows of bunk beds that had filled the small omega barracks room, replaced by a small room without any windows, blank walls, and harsh lights. It all seemed very… antiseptic. Too clean. Too empty. You went to the door, which had a small barred hole window, and tried to open it, but it was completely sealed with no way to open it without the key. But you were stubborn and shouted a few curses while trying to force it open anyway. This proved to be a mistake, as it summoned your captor. Reeves. “Admiral!? What the fuck!?! Where are we? Why am I being detained?” He looked at you and with a regretful sigh said, “You just… wouldn’t listen to reason. And I couldn’t lose you.” “My god… You’re absolutely insane! You can’t just cage me up like I am some sort of animal just because I don’t want to live my life how you want me to!” “I AM NOT INSANE!! You refused to see reason! I love you and couldn’t have you in danger anymore and you just wanted to charge in and get hurt. Your injury was a sign that it needed to stop. YOU NEED TO BE SAFE!” You flinched back, unaccustomed to him being so loud and angry. At seeing you recoil his face softened and his tone became much more quiet. “Look, you’ll get used to it here okay? I know the room is a bit bare but we can put whatever you want in here, okay? The war will be over soon and I will be able to be home and then you can move in with me.” You looked down, angry and depressed and betrayed, unable to meet his gaze. Finally he sighed heavily and mumbled that he would have someone bring you some food but he had to go. That’s largely how life went for you there for roughly a year. Facility staff would take care of your day to day needs and every few months, or sometimes weeks, you would get a visit from Reeves. Each time he would offer you some gift or trinket, repeating his confessions of love and care for you. He gave you sweets, blankets, plushies, flowers, and various other things. The blankets and plushies were scented by him, in typical courting fashion, but no matter what the item was you shoved it in the farthest corner of the room. Except the sweets, they would have expired, so instead you would immediately throw them at him. Reeves was more than distraught, not only were his attempts to advance a relationship with you not succeeding, but the friendship you had before was totally eroded. Till, the most important thing above all else was that you remained safe, and once the war ended, which would be any day now, he would be able to move you to his house and take care of you daily himself. When the war was finally over and the time had come for you to be transported to your new happy home with your captor and the destroyer of your life you fought the personnel that were trying to put you in the transport van that had been loaded with all of your things tooth and claw. Literally. You clawed and bit everyone who got near you, you would rather live in a boring glorified cage for the rest of your life than be in a house with Reeves. Finally they had you held down by multiple men and once again injected with a sedative. And, just like a somewhat uncertain amount of months previously, you woke up in a strange room. This time on a couch though. A blanket had been lovingly put on top of you and a soft pillow placed behind your head. This was obviously Reeves’ house. Unlike last time you had been informed of your destination before being abducted. It appeared you were in a modified basement, you looked around, searching for anything that may be useful as a weapon. Sadly, it seemed the room had been left clear of anything you could use to fight Reeves with. There were tiny windows, but they were not only really high up but also really small. Even if you could somehow manage to eat them you would never manage to squeeze through them. There was really only one course of action left for you. You took the blanket that had been left down here for you and waited at the door for Reeves to come down and check on you. When he finally opened it you hid behind it until he took a few steps down. You then threw the blanket over his head and kicked his legs as hard as you could making him stumble, you took the opening to push him down the steps and flee out of the basement. You came up into a hallway that connected to the living room and rushed out the door. You were more than a bit shaky, you had no shoes, and your body was weak but pushed on by a potent mix of sheer force of will and a strong dose of adrenaline allowed you to propel yourself forward. You ran down the driveway and came to a fence that was entirely locked up. No problem. You could scale this with ease, flee into the woods that seemed to surround this area, and eventually find help on the other side. But the second you touched the fence and electric current ran through your body, causing you to twitch and fall down stunned. It was electrified. Because of course it was. For someone he was worried about dying in battle he sure as shit did not seem to underestimate you when it came to you trying to escape. It didn’t take long for him to come running, you had hoped you may have been lucky enough to at least have broken a leg or ankle as he fell, but it seems he was unperturbed by his recent push. You were too shaky at this point to do anything other than let him pick you up and hold you close. “It’s okay, I know you’re scared, I forgive you for pushing me. And sorry about the fence, can’t take any chances.” He carried you back down to the basement and sat you down gently on the couch, laying the blanket that you had formerly used as a weapon on top of you before kissing your forehead, which made you flinch away in disgust. “Now that we are living together I will be able to give you the non-stop attention you deserve. I am sure you will love it here eventually, okay?” “Not okay you absolute fucking idiot, there is no way in the world I will ever love you or even remotely tolerate your presence! Just let me go! The war is already over anyway.” “There is always another war eventually and I must keep you safe from yourself. I just can't risk losing you, can’t you understand that?” You just scoffed in response and pulled the cover over your face so you didn’t have to look at him. Reeves tried rubbing your arm comfortingly through the blanket, and you could do nothing to stop given how shaken up you still were, but he could smell in your scent that you were growing increasingly angry and even a bit anxious at his touch so he finally retreated upstairs to make you a nice dinner. He remembered from years of service with you that you got pretty cranky when you were hungry. When he came back he brought with him a bowl of delicious smelling crab bisque, something he thought was fairly light and easily digestible, but not too light and still full of nutrients. He sat the bowls down on the coffee table and sat on the opposite side of the couch from you. “Sorry about the furniture accommodations. I will move a table and bed down here for you eventually. At some point you will share my bed but I felt like an adjustment period might be good for you first.” “Yeah, so I don’t murder you in your sleep,” you said dryly and without any hint of it being a joke. “Y-you don’t mean that, you’re just a bit cranky because you need some foo-” **CRASH** He was interrupted by you using your hand to smack the bowl of bisque right the fuck off the table and into the hard concrete wall, not unlike a cat that had taken offense to a cup on a table. “It’s… okay… I made more than enough. I know this has been hard on you.” All you did was blankly stare at him as he went and procured another bowl. It smelled great and you were well and truly hungry, but you refused to give in. If you made sure not to eat too much your body would not trigger a heat because it would take too much energy. You also just wanted to piss him off, maybe get him so pissed off that he either lets you go or at least makes some mistakes that you can exploit. When he handed you the second bowl he had gotten for you it immediately met the same fate as its predecessor. He stared at you for a long moment that seemed to span an eternity before he angrily grabbed his bowl of food and pulled you close to him by his arm. He pinched your nose closed so you had to open your mouth and then he shoved a spoonful of food into your mouth, then he held his hand over your mouth so you had to swallow. Reeves continued this a couple times until you got the memo and ate the rest of the bowl willingly. Well… you had wanted him to be pissed. Over the course of weeks you had to accept that you just had to eat what you were given, but by no means did you just give up on making life inconvenient for him. Every gift tossed, any furniture he brought down here destroyed, blankets shredded, anytime he scented something it would be immediately quarantined to the closet after its destruction. The only thing you kept was clothing you deemed acceptable and without his smell on it, you needed clothes but would not accept any with his pheromones. That could be misconstrued as you accepting courtship. You were perfectly content with denying him any ounce of love, affection, or friendship and you were right in the middle of giving a nice silent treatment when finally the proper nutrition and your omega nature convened to ruin everything. You were in heat. Heats were very strong on a normal day, but this was not a normal heat, this was the first heat in a very long time. You had prevented them for a long time in the black site and when you were in the navy of course you took prescribed suppressants. You hadn’t had one in years. Tremors shook your body, you couldn’t stand and your body temperature was heightened. They didn’t call it a heat for nothing. Your brain was addled, you were dizzy and almost delirious, you could barely remember why you were here. You tossed off the covers and stripped down to your slick soaked underwear. Reeves was awoken by an amazing scent and knew immediately what it was, your pheromones beckoning him even from his bedroom, his darling needed him desperately. The smell demanded he come immediately to you and comfort you and take care of you in every way imaginable. Reeves saw you there before him, writhing in carnal need and so small and helpless in front of him. The couch wouldn’t do, he needed a bigger and more familiar space, he took you up to his room where he had actually made and maintained a nest made of things that smelled of the both of you. Despite a vague notion in the back of your mind telling you to avoid him, scratch him, and leave this situation, your instincts and the powerful consequences of having denied yourself your natural cycle DEMANDED that you bury your nose into the scent gland of his neck. So strong, such a strong mate. Reeves was elated, his brain was very much fogged too with lust and instinct but he didn’t have it as badly as you did. He was very much aware that his darling mate was finally accepting and even actively seeking out comfort from him. The shark man peeled off your slick saturated underwear, sniffing at your hole, breathing in the heavenly aroma you made, before your cries of desperation and something inside of him told him to slide his tongue right inside. Finally you began to feel the smallest amount of relief. It wasn’t enough, you needed a knot. A nice big knot from a nice big alpha, and this one smelled strong. You grinded yourself into his probing tongue, whimpering for much more. After several minutes of this he decided that was enough of getting your flavor and he was now ready to properly breed and mark his sweet little brat. He took off his clothes, revealing his large well muscled pecs, lightly scarred from years of combat, and his large cock. The musk coming from it made you drool. He wasted no time ramming into you, as caught up in the moment as he was he had little concern for going slow or for any possible discomfort. Fortunately there was none, you were perfectly primed for his large prick. It slid in you perfectly hitting all the right spots inside of you, causing you to squeal with delight when he bottomed out, deep within you. He moaned himself when he felt your heat and how every movement you made, every shudder, squirm, and all that writhing, he could feel on his cock. He started slow at first, but that was not what either of you wanted and soon it turned into a messy slamming of you, making hot wet sounds as he battered your innards with his cock pistoning in and out. It did not take long at all for his knot to start to swell within you and then reach its full size, sealing the two of you together whether or not you would want it when post heat clarity hit you. You clung to him tightly as he bred you, nails clawing at the skin of his back, as if trying to pull him deeper inside you. He nuzzled into your neck, his nose swimming in your scent as he breathed it in, this is what he had wanted for so long and now he knew he would never regret his actions, everything had been worth it. Reeves licked your neck and bit down on your scent gland, sharp teeth buried into your neck, you whimpered at the sensation and he licked your neck comfortingly, holding you close as you both shared a powerful orgasm. You both panted from the intensity, the heat that was burning up your will power and clarity fading a bit, but not enough to be yourself again. Reeves knew on some level that when things went back to normal you would still resist him, and your convictions would not be so altered in subsequent heats now that you had one after so long, but this was a good start to everything finally falling into place. Your heat would last days and there would be a lot of breeding and a lot of bonding. His instinct to protect you would only get stronger and you would be a bit more susceptible to his pheromones and would naturally seek him out for comfort when in distress. He may have been part fish, but it was you who were caught in his net.

[monstertreden]

⊹ ࣪EVERYTHING I FIGHT FOR ⊹ ࣪

-Reader: GN reader (platonic) -TW: none -Character: Optimus Prime (Transformers series) -Summary: Optimus is the best sire anyone could ask for, except when he must leave on various missions away from Cybertron. It was during those times that the absence felt so unbearable that his sparkling would sneak onto the ship... -Word count : 1747 -A/N: S/N = Sparkling Name I had this in my drafts for a while now, I've been kinda busy lately,,damn

Long warm shadows coated the landing Ark, its familiar silhouette descending towards Cybertronian grounds. The hum of engines quieted as the first bot to step onto the ground was none other than Optimus Prime himself. Exhausted, he let out a sigh of relief. After all those endless missions and difficult decisions, Prime could finally step his pedes home.

Yet, before he could even make his announcement, a streak of bright, young energy burst from the crowd of Autobots waiting to greet him.

“Ack-- hey watch it!”

 “Ouch- they stepped on my pedes--"

“My new paint job! noooo-"

 A sparkling, one that could barely reach his stabilizing servos, dashed toward him at full speed, their optics wide with excitement. “Sire!”  Their voice rose above the crowd's murmurs to get his attention. Arms open wide, they barrelled toward him like an unstoppable force.

“Sire!” They jumped up and down as they neared. Surprised but overjoyed, Optimus stretched his arms just in time to catch them before they could slam themself against his legs. After scooping them up into a gentle but firm embrace, he then lifted them high into the air!

“Little one” At the contagious laugh of his sparkling his optics lit up with genuine joy " There you are”

“Sire! Sire! You’ve come back!” They hugged his digit tightly, beaming with excitement for his arrival, he was finally home!  Primus- their grip on his arms was utterly strong for their size, an unspoken plea for reassurance.

Looking at his sparkling, he replied softly  “Yes, little one, I’ve come back.” He gently stroked their helm with one of his servos.

"Sometimes duty calls, but rest assured, I always come back here, to you-”

The smaller bot nestled into his embrace,  as if every mission, every farewell, could take him away from them. “-That’s a promise." For Optimus, the battles and long journeys seemed worth it, just to feel them there, thanking Primus that they were safe in his arms.

“ What did you do this time?? Did you help the humans? Kicked bad guys???-” They started yapping about, excited to hear more of their sire’s stories. “- I want to join you too!” Eager to hear more, they wiggled slightly in his hold.

“Patience” Optimus paused their rambling  “You have plenty of time to grow strong and learn. But for now...your most important job is staying safe and keeping that bright spark of yours shining.”

“But sireee, I can fight those scarp-heads! I can help you!” They insisted.

“Language first, S/N” Optimus raised a brow plate, which made the sparkling freeze for a nanoclick, immediately crossing their arms in a pout. “But they are scrap-heads…”

The Prime managed to chuckle “Even so, you must remeber, words carry as much power as actions. Use them wisely.” He continued, “I have no doubt you’ll become a force to be reckoned with someday. But for now, the best way you can help me is by being here learning, experiencing and assisting in the growth of Cybertron. It needs your help, you, see?” Turning slightly, Optimus gestured outward, drawing his youngling’s attention away from his chassis and instead toward the bustling scenery around them.

── .✦

It had only been a short while since sire and sparkling were catching up and enjoying each other's company when the base's alarm blared through the corridors, alerting everyone of a new mission ahead, much to Optimus's dismay. He found it difficult to look down at his sparkling, knowing what he had to say next.

"Duty calls,sweetspark” Voice tinged with regret, he gently set them down on the floor.

“But you’ve promised you’d stay longer!”

Optimus paused at their protest, his optics flickering with guilt. He knelt, placing his large servo on their shoulder as the sparkling did not dare to separate themselves from their sire’s leg.

"I know, I know, I promised.” Each word hung heavy with regret. “But sometimes, things don't go as we planned. Something has come up, and I have to leave again." Optimus looked at them, his spitting image. He knew how much you hated being apart and how frightened and antsy you became when he was away. "I know you're scared, my little one. But I trust you to be brave while I'm gone. Can you do that for me?"

As his sparkling nod, his optics flickered with pride and gratitude as he leaned closer.

"That's my brave one."

He gave them one last reassuring pat on the helm before turning around and transforming into his truck mode, the engine roaring to life as he prepared to embark on the ship.

── .✦

As the last few preparations were underway, Optimus and the other Autobots were busy securing the final cargo in the Ark’s storage hold, ensuring everything was in order: countless barrels of energon, essential for their long journey ahead. Little did they know though that one of those barrels held more than just fuel…

Just a little longer, they thought, giggling to themselves as the ship’s engines roared to life. In the tight space, their small frame curled up against the walls of the energon-filled barrel, ready to wait for just the right moment to make their presence known.

Their optics flickered with excitement as they peered through a tiny crack in the lid. Tiny servos gripped the edges, the promise of adventure ahead sending shots of adrenaline into their circuit. For too long, they had to watch him leave. Every mission ended in farewells, and every farewell seemed to stretch longer and longer. But this time, they had enough. They wanted to be by his side, to prove themself to him and the Autobots.

Unfortunately, S/N  miscalculated something… still blissfully munching on the energon cube, they hadn’t realized how loud the sound was as they eagerly devoured it. Who could blame them? After hours inside the barrel, the hunger had taken over.

Optimus, who was nearby on patrol, went on high alert at the unexpected noise. His optics narrowed slightly, his posture shifting as he tried to assess the situation. He hadn't expected to hear anything like this. whatever it was... Carefully, he wrapped his fingers around the edges of the barrel and gave it a slight nudge. With a smooth motion, the cap came off.

Inside the barrel, the small sparkling froze mid-chew, their optics wide with surprise. For a moment, they were caught—still holding the energon cube, their mouth full, and unable to hide.

“Ops...” The small sparkling burped again

Primus, he was confused,

“How in Primus did you get in there-“

The sparkling, still holding the energon cube, looked up sheepishly, the sweet treat still clutched in their servos.

"Little one, you cannot be here," he said softly, though his voice carried a tone of both affection and responsibility. "It's too dangerous. I know you miss me, but there are risks you don't understand."

They swallowed the energon cube, their optics bright and filled with determination, they had been so sure that this time, they could prove themselves.  “I just want to be with you, sire,” they murmured, fidgeting with her digits.

His usual calm demeanor was replaced by a tenderness only a sire could show. Gently, he curled his digit around their tiny servo, cradling it with the utmost care..

"I understand, my little one," he said, his voice filled with a fatherly reassurance, not anger. "You feel lonely when I am away, don't you?"

They didn’t speak, but the weight of their emotions was clear. Instead, they leaned closer to his digit, finding comfort in the subtle touch.

Optimus' optical ridges furrowed, he gently pulled them closer, allowing them to carefully lean against his digit.

"I know, sweetspark, I know it's hard for you when I have to go away," his voice gentle and sincere. "But I need you to understand why sometimes I must go.  I want to keep you safe, my little one. I go on missions to protect everyone, including you."

However, his sparkling only frowned deeper and stubbornly turned their head away, unwilling to meet his gaze.

Optimus couldn’t be angry at them, He understood the conflicting emotions they held within their spark. With one digit he gently poked their helm.

"You want to be with me, right?" he guessed gently, his voice warm and soothing.

They only gave him a side-optic glance still unwilling to speak. Optimus' optics softened, his paternal instincts kicking in. He gently lifted them up, cradling them in his large arms.

" my little one, you’re understood," he said softly, his voice filled with compassion. "It's natural to want to be with the ones we care about. I want you with me too, you know?" To stay by my side-“

“But  you’re never home!” The youngling blurted. Optimus' optics flickered, and a hint of sorrow tugged at his spark.

He knew that it was dangerous for them to be with him on missions, but the weight of their longing and fear tugged at his paternal instincts. "S/N, you know I can't always keep you with me. It's not safe for you on missions. I do hold you dear, here, always--” He placed his servo near his matrix  “Autobots face many dangers, and I can't put you at risk”

Though he appreciated her youthful determination, he couldn't help but be a responsible guardian to her.

"I have no doubt that you could kick the bad guys, after all, you have time to learn and grow."

By then the small sparkling who was nestling in his servos was falling into recharge.

��…But I hope” He murmured, almost to himself” you’ll never have to face all of this once you’re older”

Ratchet’s voice broke the moment, his expression etched with concern as he eyed the slumbering sparkling.  “Optimus” the medic called “What are we going to do with them, then? It’s too late to turn back the ship now, we’re too far away”

Glancing down at his youngling, the weight of the situation pressed down on him.

“We” He started, before quickly correcting himself “...I’ll keep them protected here until we return home, until then, they’ll remain safe with me…”

A solemn promise came from the deepest parts of his spark,  and that was enough as a long journey was ahead of them. No harm would come to them, not while he stood as their protector.

── .✦

[ma1dita]

to catch a thief

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> love like a blister | next -> solipsism words: 3.7k summary: (post-TLT, sea of monsters compliant/spoilers) The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. Your reunion with Luke is nothing you both could have ever expected. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: sorry for the post birthday hiatus on this, hope you like it! crack banter but err... she got a lil angsty (posted 3/22/24, semi-edited)

—

When you wake up to the gentle rolling of the sea, it feels like a comforting embrace in a distant dream. Tangled within pristine white sheets, you could smell the salt through the small opening in the bay window–though this was a far cry from a fairytale conjured by your mind.

This was your reality. 

You wouldn’t call it a nightmare per se, but the circumstances were definitely less than preferred. 

This is not the CSS Birmingham. No, that went up in flames. Retracing your steps to what led you to this—cushy cruise line of a prison, you reckon it’s been a few days now since you’ve become a stowaway, or a hostage. You haven’t quite decided yet. 

Gods, this is what you get for passing up on that summer research internship. 

Dropping off Percy, Annabeth, and Tyson at camp was supposed to be a fun walk down memory lane—until meeting with your dad, finding out Thalia’s tree had been poisoned, watching Chiron get fired, and essentially getting kicked out by the troll of a man who originally got sent to the Fields of Punishment for marketing the taste of human flesh made you remember that nothing at camp is the way it used to be.

Not like before, when you and Luke used to run it.

Your dad told you to go home and wait till you were needed. Home. Driving away from it this time around was harder than you thought it would be. You’d never been the patient type, and to drop everything just because a god told you to?

Hilarious, really.

But almost a week later, after rejoining your friends on an undead ship that you let the kids commandeer, your vital mistake was thinking that Clarisse’s quest would be a breeze. Rookie move, since the last one you were on left you almost as scarred as Luke was. Even thinking of him now, you run your thumb over the rough patch of skin on your palm. 

At the very least you hoped Tyson was okay. The last memory you have of the young Cyclops was watching him from your place on the ladder as he stopped the engines from overheating. Maybe it was the ex-head counselor in you, or your increased threshold to pain, but there was no way in hell you were leaving that kid behind.

The sound of voices from outside your door gets louder now, your throat feeling like you’ve been swallowing wads of cotton and a persistent ringing in your ear that hurts just as bad as when you watch Chris Rodriguez walk in with a plate of food. The last one he slid through the door bumps against his boot, still uneaten and he sighs. 

“So what, you’re on a hunger strike now? I forgot how difficult you could be.”

You bark out a laugh. Thankfully it’s loud enough that it almost conceals the rumble of your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you mumble, “Wish it could be an idiot strike. I forgot how much of a bitch you are when it comes to your brother, Rodriguez. How long are you going to keep me here? It’s been days.”

Your former friend rolls his eyes at your dramatics like he doesn’t hold the key to your freedom.

“Three since you woke up, actually. Come on, you’ve gotta eat, or I’ll get my ass kicked,” he grumbles. You raise an eyebrow at that, walking towards the window to dodge the uncomfortable tension that fills the room. He plucks an apple slice off your plate.

“He couldn’t splurge on a balcony view? Monsters aside, it’s not like you’ve reached full occupancy.”

“There are more mortals here than you think. To be honest, he was worried you would find a way to overthrow us,” the tanned boy admits, placing the tray on the dresser. It was always a wonder to him how you and Luke were more alike than you think, even now—even when Luke hasn’t come to see you. Talking to you reminded him that you’re both pains in his ass, and Chris was still unsure of who to be more wary of, but he’s been in charge of watching you for the most part.

“Well tell your stupid captain he has no right to be worried about me. I’d much rather try to jump if given the opportunity.”

There’s no response, so you turn to face Chris who’s eating a croissant with a bashful grin.

“Seriously dude?”

“Listen, I’m hoping if I think of the right words to say, he’ll come in and deal with you himself. Opposite sides of a war and you’re still both giving me a headache. Just like old times,” he chuckles, flakes of pastry dotting across his chest plate. Your mouth quirks into a bitter smile. Old times, when Luke would shove you if he couldn’t think of a reply fast enough. When you’d punch him to get your point across if he wasn’t listening. How a kiss could end any waging war between the both of you.

You swallow, turning slowly to watch your reflection in the glass of the windowpane.

Why hasn't he come to see you? The first day, you remember spending out on the sea—treading water with no land in sight, calling out to your friends until your voice went hoarse, but you didn’t cry. You know better than to show weakness now, even when no one’s around. Chris tells you over a gulp of orange juice that you washed up next to the Princess Andromeda on the second day like it was fate. Though fate was never truly that kind to anyone; it felt like it was laughing in your face. Knocked out cold for two days after, and ignoring all of Chris’s attempts to keep you alive in the days that followed, you’ve been in this room ever since. You barely notice Chris’s departure. 

Entering the ensuite bathroom, you splash your face and sip on water from the tap before stopping at the doorway. A shadow flits at the seam near your feet, someone standing just out of sight when you peer through the peephole.

But you know Luke’s there. Sons of Hermes have almost undetectable footsteps, however, Luke walking in and out of your life for as long as he has—there’s no inconceivable way to not know him. Perhaps you couldn’t hear the sound of his feet, but there’s a way the wind shifts your hair, your heart slowing in ease at his presence, and the scent of him reminiscent of skin kissed with the peel of an orange. The skin you used to kiss and greet and know like your own.

The shadow fades just as your hand reaches out towards it, leaving like he always does. Always out of reach.

Even as the Princess Andromeda continues to set sail upon the calm waters of the Atlantic Coast, you look out to the unending horizon and still feel like you’re drowning.

—

“Status report, soldier?”

Chris rolls his eyes, popping the last piece of apple into his mouth as he strolls into the command deck. The both of you had a flair for the dramatic—it serves as his reminder of why you two worked so well. Luke is sitting in his captain’s seat, watching the waves crash against the hull as the sun begins to set on the skyline.

“She’s angry. Anyone would be if they were locked up like that.”

“Well, yeah, but tell me something I don’t know. Something useful, Rodriguez,” Luke says, flicking his pocket knife closed. It’s still sticky with the juice of the fruit, catching onto his finger. He hisses, but then the sound of loud footsteps boom down the corridor, along with the sound of maniacal laughter as the door slams open. The two sons of Hermes look at each other curiously, knowing it all too well.

“You know, the next time you send a 9-year-old to stand guard, remember to not make it the one we used to throw into the lake,” you drawl, sauntering into the bridge and looking around until your eyes land on your ex, “and also remember that you taught me how to pick locks.”

Ethan Nakamura heaves behind you, hands on his knees before he stands to attention and salutes his captain.

“Sir, I was just following orders… and I’m not 9 anymore!” he snaps, glaring at you. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation makes it easier to get through. You thought being surrounded by the undead on the CSS Birmingham was scary enough, but standing in a room with ghosts from your past was somehow worse. Honestly, you learned a lot more by being in that room than if you were to jump ship like you wanted to.

“I taught you how to tie your shoes, Ethan. You’re always gonna be a little kid to me,” you scoff, brushing him aside and walking towards Luke, “your new digs are fancy, by the way. I could tell by all the teenage soldiers chasing me through the tourists.”

He stands up and meets you head to head, as the both of you inspect each other closely. 

It’s been a long year without you.

You look thinner. You’ve lost the softness in your cheeks and your eyes are tired. He wonders what you chose to major in, who your roommates are, if you still think of him with a smile on your face. You’re still beautiful.

“You know me, I like to travel in style,” Luke says offhandedly, a half smile on his face. For someone leading a war against the gods, he’s calm in your presence.

“Back when I knew you, we traveled in a tin can that we also called a car.”

His clothes are nicer than anything you’ve ever seen him in. He looks really fucking good, for someone on the run. It’s almost frustrating to see how brawny he’s gotten, muscles rippling as he crosses his arms. You suppose he has nothing to do now but practice and spar (that or he’s definitely flexing for you). Pulling at the drawstring of the joggers you wear, you realize his initials are embroidered on the pocket. Pretentious fuck. Did he change you once you got on board?

Chris and Ethan suddenly get the feeling that they’re interrupting something—a reunion in a blockbuster romantic movie they’ve seen the mortals play out on the ship deck’s projector on Friday nights. The two of you stand there arguing like a married couple despite the fact you are no longer lovers and the bickering continues even when more of Kronos’ army files in. You laugh again at the sight of children walking in—some strangers, others you’ve sung to sleep in cabin 11, all still children, even back from the time before when laughter didn’t have to have a reason, light and airy in the summer sun.

“You’re sick, you know that? Did you just plan to let me rot in that room until it was all over? You didn’t even talk to m—”

“Classic, you’re more mad that I didn’t talk to you over the fact that you’re a prisoner,” he seethes, but you don’t stand down—not now or ever.

“Prisoner? I walked out and none of your Boy Scouts could do anything about it!”

His face is turning red now, jaw tightening at the angst but deep down he misses this—the banter, the thin line between hate and love you both tread on. You may be a damsel. But you were not in distress.

To further prove your point, you swing an arm toward one of the boys in black (their uniforms were annoyingly corny), and they all take a step back toward the wall. Your eyebrows furrow, “What type of prison has guards terrified of the prisoner?”

He shrugs, “It was only time before you came and found me. I even gave you a bay window.”

That was not the right thing to say.

“I’ll fucking kill yo—”

“Sir? So do we try and detain her, or….” one of the demigods you don’t know interjects, and Chris Rodriguez sucks at his teeth before he responds. 

“Alright. We’ve seen enough of the show. Everyone file out and let Castellan reunite with his girlfriend.”

“GIRLFRIEND?”

“Girlfriend…”

The both of you look at each other, one in anger, the other in sheepishness now that you’re alone. It's even funnier that neither of you deny it.

“You left me there in that room, and by the sight of things around here you prefer being in the company of monsters than being with me, so by the gods, what do you want, Castellan?”

You fall into the captain’s chair exasperatedly, watching him watch you.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he says simply. “You can stay here with me, or you can go.”

“A choice? You captured me to tell me I have a choice,” you spit, as if that was the stupidest thing he could say. “You didn’t give me a choice when you left me.”

“It was a matter of the circumstances. And I didn't capture you—are you mad that I betrayed everyone or not, because I can’t really read you right now, Trouble…”

Your eye twitches and your hands are in fists across your lap. Another wrong thing to say.

“Keeping me here until I get the nerve to talk to you is not a choice, asshole. Do you think you could just hide me away until the bad part’s over? To save me until everything's good enough for you?” Your eyes catch onto the droplets of blood that fall onto the hardwood flooring near your feet. His hand is bleeding, and like it’s nothing of the sort you reach out for it.

Luke thinks that if he lets you your hand will still perfectly fit in his, so after a moment, he pulls his hand away out of your reach. Pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket (also embroidered with his initials—note to self, never let a son of Hermes have money), you stand to wrap it around his hand to stop the bleeding. You pretend not to notice his heartbeat increase through the throbbing of the cloth.

“Don’t let my actions make you believe that what we had wasn’t good, Trouble.”

“Stop calling me that. Why are they all scared of me? Why won’t you let me touch you?” you whisper, putting pressure on his finger until the blood clots. It doesn’t even hurt, to tell you the truth. Not touching you when you’re right here in front of him is a pain he can’t find the words to describe. But what he’ll never understand is that he’s right. You two were good together. You’d have him through the bad too, if only he let you.

“Because you might think you can fix me.” Or worse, you might change his mind. You don't have to say you love him for him to know it. A part of him wishes he didn’t have to do all of this to prove to you he feels the same. 

“Would you have left with me?” he mutters. A wistful look cuts through your anger and he knows he’s finally said something right. His pocket knife is on the control board and your hands drop to your side again when you realize that he may have forgotten to tell his battalion of who you are to him, but he still remembers how you like your apples cut. The silence is loud, even with the twinge that comes with the pain in your eardrum as you sway a little on your feet. Your body still knows it can relax with him, knees buckling with a false sense of security despite your willpower.

“I would've made it so that there was no other option for you but to want to stay.”

A soldier bursts through the door and apologizes for the intrusion, but the both of you have found out all you need to know. The moment is over and Percy Jackson has been captured by the army in his efforts of trying to save the day. There’s a look shared between the two of you that wonders if this will become a trend.

—

Licking your lips as your… Luke guides you out onto the main deck with your hands behind your back, you can taste the salt in your air. It’s almost as evident as the surprise in your friends’ faces when they see you alive. This time, they don’t question your allegiance but in the chaos that ensues, for a moment, you do.

For a moment, you wonder what would change if you decided to stay with him. Would the sky fall under your feet? Would the gods kneel like Luke said they would? Looking at him in your periphery, you realize it’s not what the both of you want, even if it’s the easier way out—to be together despite it all.

The two of you against the world instead of the world against the both of you.

But he won't even touch you—he’s holding you over the sleeves of your shirt, too scared of what you’ve become in his absence. You suppose you’re scared of what he’s become too. 

The realization hits that you could defect from your friends, family, and home. You could undo everything that you and your friends have worked towards. But nothing he can say will change the fact that he didn’t choose you.

Luke was right, then.

You did have a choice, one that he still forces you to make as you nod at Percy to flip his last drachma into the open water, opening a direct line of communication to your father to catch the thief—of both lightning and the beat of your heart, in the act.

You realize that if the gods were the least bit grateful that you’ve kept their kids alive for the past half-decade, perhaps fate would be on your side and Luke would still be yours. But life has a funny way of working itself out when Luke admits to the open air of another crime to tack onto his list.

“Kronos was right. I should’ve killed you, Percy.”

The son of Poseidon goads Luke into another duel and you survey your surroundings for a way out. Annabeth burns holes into the side of your head and it gets you thinking, moving faster than you have in days as you walk towards her and Grover. At the raise of your hand, the demigods holding onto the pair drop to the deck, incapacitated with illusions of madness they will never comprehend. The more of them that surround you drop like flies as Luke’s eyes flicker between you and the boy he has at swordpoint.

You’ve gotten stronger in his absence—you never needed to touch him to use your powers after all. Just waiting for the right moment to strike, attacking when Luke finally let his guard down for you. He cracks his neck, knowing you’ve made your choice, so he makes his. 

“Get them.” 

The monster scrambles across the deck but it approaches you first, clawing at the wood and barely missing your feet as you scream for help, defenseless without a sword and you hear Luke yell your name in alarm before a punching glove-tipped arrow sends it hurtling overboard.

Your eyes lock with his again as you disembark with the Party Ponies, you with your crew as he corrals the mess you made of his. It has to be the salt air that makes your eyes seem a little misty.

Your fates have always been tied. 

You protect your home, and he does what he can to protect you. Luke looks over your form like he’s checking if you’re okay, even from a distance— and it makes you wonder if this is how it's supposed to be. Someone leaving, and the both of you apart. 

It’s weird to be the one leaving this time, but it isn't as easy as Luke makes it seem each time he does it.

You avert your eyes once you see him put his hand in his pocket, him finding what you snuck in on the way to the deck. Luke pulls out a leather bracelet with a black camp bead, the one he missed in the year he’s been gone. He rolls the bead between his fingers, the thing you last touched before leaving him, an emblem of his archnemesis and the summer that changed everything—the consequences of his actions ripping you away from him. When he slides it on his wrist, it lightly clinks against the hilt of his sword, the lone clay bead a force of its own against Backbiter's reverberating power. He feels nostalgia for what could have been crawling through him—though Luke supposes he’s always been too vulnerable when it comes to you.

Is this what you’ve been feeling every time he walks away? 

It starts to rain after you leave. Luke watches his crew take cover from the downpour, running in all different directions to hide away from the storm that ravages the Princess Andromeda. 

But he stands still, looking up at the sky and hating it for how openly it’s able to cry. Luke is far away from home again—from you and it makes him wonder how much longer he’ll have to be away from you when being with you is what he truly wants.

The mission continues and the ship keeps pushing forward even as the rain washes over him, soaking through his armor and straight to the bone. Raindrops pelt through every crevice, though this onslaught is much kinder, more gentle, even when it’s angry. He closes his eyes and lets it touch his skin. 

For a moment, it feels like you. 

—

A hand penetrates the tide searching for yours, gripping onto your unconscious one. He’s spent hours ripping holes through time to try to find you, an advantage given to him in a dream by the Titan. The agreement, what keeps him from not running back to you is that you live—and as Luke pulls you out of the ocean waterlogged and turning blue, he wonders if it’s all a farce. 

Losing you isn’t worth the wrath of the gods if you’re lifeless in his arms like this. 

He shouts your name, pumping your chest with his fists and breathing life back into your lips until you cough out saltwater, head lolling against his knee. Luke’s fingers stroke your hair, touching you for the first time in a year. As life slowly brings the color back into your cheeks he silently thanks Hestia for keeping your flame alight. His soldiers call out to him from the deck, and he steels his resolve as he rows the lifeboat back to the ship. Still, Luke has to uphold his side of the agreement. 

He wonders if you’d stay. Even if he knows the answer, Luke wonders if you would ever change it for him.

—

And they tell me you are evil and I answer: Yes, I know. –Patricia Smith

 ½ luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

False Pretences

19/12: Holly and Hair Pulling - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2k~ | Warnings: hair pulling, fingering, allusions to p in v, ww2 talk and mentions of hitler

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

It was as clear as fog, what her role was here.

Since war had broken out in Europe, listening to whatever dire news filled those who listened with fear and anticipation, all the keywords present to stir up panic in every household, she knew she could not merely stand idly by on the shores of England, and do nothing.

It was either overalls and dirty, grotty factories, or the Women’s Royal Naval Service.

She couldn’t deny herself, one sounded better than the other.

Of course her family had attempted to deter her from leaving England altogether, waving her off from the front step as if she were slinging a gun over her shoulder herself and facing Hitler head on. Her mother sobbed, but she did not miss the gleaming pride in her father’s eyes. Her own brother had already gone off to fight, so he’d be left with no children at home, and yet he did not complain, did not forbid her from going. He knew the honest truth, that she would have found a way anyway, stubborn as she was.

Usually, people like her, or women, more so, were not allowed aboard naval ships. Especially hunt-class destroyers. It was far too dangerous, or rather in their words, unsuitable for female company. God, if her parents knew where she stood right at this moment her mother would surely throw a fit until she was red in the face.

Better for them to not know at all, she reasons, sat at her desk, tapping the end of her pencil against her notepad. It was only temporary, they’d told her, a quick posting to fill an urgent need. But that hardly felt reassuring now, deep in the belly of HMS Keith with the sound of waves pounding against the hull and the faint but ever-present vibration of the engines beneath her feet.

The ship shuddered as it cut through another swell, and she reached out instinctively to steady the pencil rolling across her desk. She could hear the men outside, shouting and belly-laughing, no doubt taking some much needed time off their duties to celebrate what they thought was as close to Christmas cheer as they were likely to get. Who knew if it was even Christmas Day?

Her pencil hovered above paper, listening to the constant hum of static that she had come to know so well. These last few hours were quiet, luckily. She supposed the people of Europe celebrated Christmas too. In fact, she’d wager that most of the enemy were doing the very same thing this crew were doing right now, drinking, laughing and card games. Perhaps they were not so dissimilar after all.

A small knock came at her door, and she considered ignoring it, wondering if she had somehow misheard through her headset. But then it came again, more firm, and she rolled her eyes and stood, straightening her uniform to see who was so insistent on seeing her this late hour.

She raised an eyebrow as a man stood there, tall, leaning confidently against the doorframe as the ship swayed slightly. He was young, perhaps somewhere near her age, if she had to guess. His sandy, blonde hair was pulled from his face, sides shaven and short, as was the style of young men.

“Evening,” he said, his tone so breezy it might have been mistaken for confidence. Overconfidence perhaps. “Thought I’d pop by and spread a bit of cheer.”

She crossed her arms. “Cheer?”

He held up the sprig of green, holly, she realised, though the leaves looked rather battered. He propped it in the middle of the doorway. “You know what they say.”

Her lips twitched, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. “That’s not mistletoe.”

“You’re smarter than I hoped.”

“Smarter than you, evidently.” She raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just checking on our mysterious new arrival,” he said, leaning a little closer as if they were acquainted. “Word travels fast, you know. ‘Unmarked door near the comms room.’ Had to see it for myself.”

She smiled, though she willed herself not to. “And?”

“And here you are. Bit of a shock, I’ll admit. Women on a ship, it’s bad luck, you know.”

She snorted slightly, her cheeks warming in embarrassment at her behaviour. “Didn’t take you to be superstitious. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at your post?”

Tom chuckled, the sound warm and unbothered. “Probably. But this seemed more interesting.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I’m just here to work, same as you.”

“Right. Decoding top-secret messages, I suppose. Life or death stuff, like when Hitler breaks wind or when Goebbels has food poisoning.”

Surprised you know who they even are, she thinks to herself.

She snorted despite herself, quickly masking it with a cough. “Something like that,” she said, turning back toward her desk.

It was her way of dismissing him, but he didn’t take the hint, as men with his confidence rarely did. She busied herself with the papers scattered across her workspace, shuffling them into neat piles that didn’t actually need straightening. She didn’t want to encourage him, but at the same time, she didn’t really want him to go, either.

Behind her, she heard the faint scuff of his boots on the floor. She paused for a moment, a smile rising to her lips when she felt his presence so close behind her. “I do hope you can tell the difference between holly and mistletoe, Mr…?”

“Tom, just Tom,” he answered quietly. “Can’t blame a bloke for wanting a kiss from a pretty girl, can you?”

She turned slightly to look at him over her shoulder, blue eyes almost clear in this low, amber light that felt tighter as time passed. “I suppose it is Christmas, after all, isn’t it?” she smiled.

Tom didn’t wait for a clearer invitation. He stepped closer, his hands brushing her waist as if testing her reaction. When she didn’t pull away, he tilted his head, meeting her halfway. The kiss started soft, tentative, but the heat rose quickly, fuelled by the unspoken urgency of two people who had been too long without touch. Tom cupped her cheek with one hand, the other slipping to her hip.

She turned fully now, her back pressing against the edge of the desk as her hands found their way to his chest. His uniform was coarse beneath her fingers, and she could feel the hard muscle beneath it, the warmth of him seeping through the layers.

She felt the low hum through his chest as he pressed his hips closer, easing her back against the desk, his hand slipping into her hair up the nape of her neck, tightening a fist around her glossy strands as if for leverage to pry her lips open for his access.

She hummed in amusement, prompting him to part with ragged breath, “been around men for too long?”

“Too bloody long,” he confessed, his voice rough as he let out a shaky laugh. 

She smiled, but her eyes looked over as if she were analysing him, her hand sliding from his chest over his belt, her small, soft hand drifting over the evident hardness straining in his uniform trousers.

“I can tell,” she muses quietly.

He let out a shaky exhale, flustered either by her behaviour or slight embarrassment at being so called out for it. But it was clear he wasn't the type of man to like small jokes at his expense, and she let out a breathy whine as his fingers tightened in her hair. Keeping her where she stood, and tilting her face up towards him.

“Are you always like this?” He asked.

“Only to the ones that deserve it.”

He huffed, pulling her up by her hips to set her down on the desk, papers and pencils scattered to the floor under his hasty palm. Her legs parted around his instinctively, letting him step between them, his hands dropping then to her thighs.

His breath was hot on her neck as he placed open-mouthed, nearly desperate kisses there. His hand brushed beneath the hem of her skirt, as if testing the waters, pausing only to pull back to speak.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, though his hand didn't move.

“I wouldn't dare.”

Her breath hitched as her hand drifted higher, teasing the gusset of her knickers, sending a sharp, white spark of pleasure up her spine. Her hands gripped his shoulders, shuddering despite herself, he was certainly in no rush.

“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice laced with both surprise and satisfaction. “God, I’ve barely touched you.”

Her face burned with embarrassment, but instead of chastising him, she tugged him back to her lips. He groaned, his fingers exploring the growing wetness and heat forming between her legs. For a moment there was no more, not even a ship. Just his long, thick fingers against her heat, wanting more.

“Tell me what you want, love,” he murmured against her lips, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric now, skin against skin.

She shuddered, parting her legs wider for ease of access and wrapping them around his hips, “just don't stop.”

The sound his fingers made as he explored through her wetness was nothing short of lewd, her back arched slightly into him, wanting to feel the girth of them inside her, and quick.

“Christ,” he murmured, almost to himself, as two fingers slipped inside her, drawing a soft gasp from her lips.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, and her head fell back slightly. “Tom—” she breathed, her voice breaking.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his tone somewhere between curious and wicked as his fingers curled inside her, finding the spot that made her whole body tense and then melt in the same breath.

She bit her lip to stifle a moan, but he wasn’t having it. His hand moved faster, more confident now, his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive bundle of nerves that had her hips bucking against him.

“Let them hear you, love,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her jaw as his fingers curled just right inside her. 

Her body trembled, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped, a cry spilling from her lips as pleasure surged through her like a tidal wave. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his uniform as her thighs clenched around him, holding him in place as her body shuddered with each wave of her release.

Once it subsided, the feeling of how tight his fist was holding her hair became apparent but not unpleasant. She sighed, the tension leaving her body slowly, easing her into lulling waves of warmth.

He withdrew his hand slowly, his fingers slick and glistening, and stepped back slightly, though the smirk on his face suggested he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment.

“Worth the trouble of knocking, I'd say,” he quipped with a wink, infuriatingly wiping the moisture on his fingers against her bare thigh.

She glanced up at him through her lashes, her smile some kind of soft but amused warning. Her hand shot out to his belt, and his eyebrows shot so high to his forehead she was sure he'd seen God for a moment as her hands worked quickly to undo the buckle and then the buttons.

“Christ, love. Didn’t think you’d still have the energy.”

“Maybe next time, bring actual mistletoe,” she said, her voice dry but laced with heat.

“Next time?” he repeated, his grin turning wicked as he leaned down, his lips brushing against hers, a full body shudder running through him as she took him into her palm, hard and thick, giving a few languid strokes before sliding her other hand up his neck. 

“Oh, love, you’re going to ruin me.”

General Taglist:

@1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

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@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[mariasont]

Trying It On - K.R

a/n: so this might be a surprise for everyone because ive never posted anything other than hotch & spence but alas! my kylo ren fixation is resurfacing so i wanted to write this! enjoy! or scroll and don’t

parings: kylo ren x maid!fem!reader

warnings: size kink ish, not smut but not fluff necessarily, mention of nips, kylo being an asshole, shy!reader

wc: 3k

The atmosphere in Kylo Ren's chambers was unlike anywhere else aboard the ship--dense, oppressive, almost as though the very air itself resented intrusion. Shadows sprawled across the cold, metallic walls, their jagged edges twisting under the flicker of dim, blood-red lighting.

A low, steady vibration from the ship's engines filled the air, more felt than heard. It buzzed at the base of your skull, like a distant warning that you were not welcome. But you surely didn't need reminder.

You'd thought the same thing the first time you were assigned to clean his quarters. Kylo Ren did not seem like the kind of man who would tolerate someone invading his space, let alone dusting it. Yet here you were, week after week, meticulously wiping down surfaces that barely collected dirt and scrubbing floors that already gleamed. His room was as cold and methodical as the man himself--or at least what you assumed about him.

Thankfully, the supreme leader in question was almost never here. You'd been cleaning his room for weeks now, and in all that time, you'd never once run into him. Not face-to-face, at least. His absence was a blessing. Staying invisible was your survival strategy aboard the Finalizer, and it worked perfectly as long as he remained a distant, untouchable figure.

Not that it stopped your imagination from filling the void.

No one aboard the ship really knew anything concrete about him—what he was like beneath the mask, what he thought, what he wanted. Rumors swirled about the man beneath the mask—some whispered that he was a monster, others insisted he was little more than a broken boy pretending to be a leader. But none of it mattered to you. The less you knew, the safer you were. 

So you stuck to your routine. His chambers were suffocatingly tidy, so cleaning usually meant little more than wiping invisible smudges from glassy surfaces and making sure everything stayed exactly where it belonged. It was like cleaning a tomb: sterile, lifeless, and reeking of death.

There was one unspoken rule was that you found simple: don't touch anything personal. Not that Kylo Ren left much of himself behind in this space. It was like he existed here, but only barely.

At least, that's how it had been. Until today.

The desk caught your eye--or more specifically, his gloves. They lay there, blunt and misplaced, as though tossed aside in a rare moment of carelessness. Kylo Ren's belongings were never out of place. He didn't make mistakes, didn't leave evidence of imperfection. But there they were, unmistakably his.

You should have ignored them. You told yourself to keep cleaning, to focus on your task and pretend you hadn't noticed. But your feet carried you closer, your gaze fixed on the gloves like they were forbidden relics.

One of them had a tear along the palm, the leather jagged and worn. Dried blood crusted the edges of the tear, dark and cracked. The sight made your stomach tighten. His blood. The Supreme Leader's blood.

The thought was unsettling and somehow intimate in a way you hadn't expected. Kylo Ren was supposed to be untouchable, unbreakable. Seeing proof of his mortality, his vulnerability--felt like witnessing something you weren't meant to see.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the gloves. You could just leave them. That would be the smart thing to do. But a gnawing sense of duty—and something darker, sharper—kept you rooted in place. You couldn't leave them like this. It felt wrong, as though the gloves themselves were accusing you of negligence.

Fix them.

The thought came unbidden, but it rooted itself in your mind, firm and insistent.

You reached out and picked up the torn glove. 

The leather was cool against your skin, heavier than you'd expected. A sharp, electric scent clung to it—a mix of sweat, metal, and something faintly smoky, like scorched ozone. Turning it over in your hands, you traced the edges of the tear with the pad of your thumb.

It felt... alive.

You couldn't explain it, but the glove seemed to hum faintly in your grasp, as though it still carried some trace of him. Your chest tightened, your breath catching as an unwelcome curiosity bloomed within you.

Before you could stop yourself, you slipped your hand inside.

The leather swallowed your fingers immediately, the sheer size of it making you gasp. Your hand felt impossibly small, comically so, the fingers of the glove far too long and thick for your own. You flexed your hand experimentally, the leather creaking faintly, and tried to imagine the man who filled it. His hands had to be enormous, strong. Inhuman.

The soft hiss of the door sliding open yanked you from your thoughts. 

Your body went rigid, heat flooding your face and neck before being replaced by an icy dread that locked your limbs in place. You didn't need to look; the shift in the air told you everything. It thickened, heavy with a suffocating energy that pressed down on you, crawling across your skin like an insect.

Still, you turned—slowly, unwillingly—like a puppet pulled by unseen strings.

Kylo Ren filled the doorway, his towering silhouette backlit by the cold, sterile light of the corridor behind him. The black of his robes bled into the shadows pooling along the walls, stretching his presence into something larger, something that felt more like a living nightmare than a man. His mask gleamed under the blood-red light of the room, its angular design harsh and unforgiving, a sharp, impenetrable barrier that erased any trace of humanity.

The glove was still on your hand. 

Your heart seized, your chest tightening with a sick jolt of realization. The leather felt impossibly tight now, alien and wrong against your skin. You wanted to rip it off, to hide it, to erase the evidence of your mistake, but your body betrayed you. Your arms wouldn't move, your legs rooted to the spot as if the air itself had turned solid, trapping you in place.

He stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him with another soft hiss. The sound felt louder than it should, final, like the lid of a coffin sealing. His boots struck the floor with torturing slowness, each step reverberating in the pit of your stomach.

The air grew colder, thinner. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

His head tilted slightly, the faint shift of his mask cutting through the haze clouding your thoughts. His gaze—hidden behind the black void of his visor—dropped to your hand. He knew. Of course, he knew. And yet, he didn't speak, didn't react—he simply looked.

"I—I wasn't—" Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to force the words out. "I mean, I didn't— I was just—cleaning! I swear, I didn't mean to—"

The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, but they sounded hollow, even to you.

He said nothing. 

His silence pressed tighter, suffocating the room, until you were choking on your own excuses. Your mind scrambled for anything to fill it.

"I thought I could fix it!" you blurted, the words almost tripping over each other in their rush to escape. "It was torn, and I—I wasn't thinking, I just—"

You trailed off, the sheer absurdity of your own words hitting you like a blow. Fix it?  What kind of excuse was that? The flush burning your cheeks spread down your neck, shame twisting like a knot in your stomach.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible now. "I shouldn't have touched it. I—"

Still, he said nothing. 

His head tilted again, the slow, curt motion somehow sharper, more predatory.

He was enormous, you realized. Even without the armor, his presence would have overwhelmed the space, but the black robes and impenetrable mask made him seem otherworldly, something far beyond human. Power radiated from him in waves, suffusing the air until it felt like you were drowning in it.

This was your first time seeing him so close. Not from across the hangar bay, not giving orders in a distant, booming voice over comms. Here. Now. Inches away.

And it was worse—so much worse—than you'd imagined.

The mask was the first thing you noticed, sharp and brutal, a perfect reflection of the man who wore it. But it was the way he moved that sent ice curling through your veins. Every motion was measured, purposeful, as if he wasted nothing—not a word, not a glance, not a step. He wasn't just a man standing before you. He was a force, something raw and primal that made the room thick with tension.

Your knees wobbled, and for one horrifying second, you thought they might give out entirely. Or worse—piss yourself.

The masked man took another step forward, and the faint heat radiating from him brushed against you despite the cloak. It coiled in the space between you, overbearing and intimate, making the hairs on your arm raise. 

The leather glove on your hand suddenly felt like a brand, searing into your skin, marking you as a trespasser.

"I..." Your voice cracked again. "I didn't mean—"

"Silence."

The word was soft, almost a whisper, but it struck like a slap. Your mouth snapped shut, and you flinched, your whole body trembling under the weight of his command.

The room fell deathly quiet. 

The only sound was the faint rasp of your own ragged breathing. You dared to look up, your gaze locking onto the dark, empty void of his mask. 

For a moment, it felt like he could see through it, through you, peeling back every layer to the raw, trembling thing beneath.

"Why," he said finally, his voice low and mechanical, vibrating with barely-contained menace, "are you wearing my glove?"

The question hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. 

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. What could you possibly say? That you'd been curious? That you couldn't help yourself? 

"I..." you stammered, the single syllable brittle in your throat. "I—"

"You must be braver than I thought," he said, his tone softer now, almost mocking. "Or just stupid enough to think you could touch what belongs to me and walk away unscathed."

"I didn't mean to—" you started, but his hand lifted sharply, cutting you off. 

"What does it feel like?" he asked, taking a step closer, the air between you seeming to thin as his towering frame filled your vision. He tilted his head again, the mask catching the dim light, making the sharp edges gleam. "To wear something made for me? Does it make you feel strong? Like you could be something more than what you are?"

You shook your head frantically, your voice a trembling whisper. "N-no. I didn't—I wasn't—"

"Liar." 

The word was cold and clinical, more a statement of fact than an accusation, and it sliced through your frantic denial with devastating precision.

"You wouldn't have put it on," he said, stepping closer still, his cape brushing faintly against your leg, "if you didn't want to know. If you didn't need to know."

His voice softened, curling around you like smoke. "Tell me—do you think you deserve to wear something of mine? Something that carries my blood?"

Your stomach twisted, shame coiling tightly inside you. You wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and escape the weight of his gaze. But there was nowhere to go.

"Does it fit?" he asked, his eyes—or what you imagined must be his eyes—dropping to your hand, trembling beneath the glove. "Or does it remind you how inferior you are?" 

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, your voice barely audible. "It doesn't fit."

"Of course, it doesn't." The faint edge of amusement in his voice only deepened your humiliation. "Take it off."

Your hands moved instinctively, fumbling to obey. The glove clung stubbornly to your skin, the leather slick with the sweat now pooling in your palms, and panic flared when the moment stretched longer than it should have. His silence made it worse—made everything worse.

Finally, you managed to pull the glove free, the sound of the leather slipping off seeming deafening in the tense stillness.

You held it out to him, your hand shaking, desperate to rid yourself of the damning object. But he didn't take it.

Instead, he extended his bare hand, palm up. 

The sight of it gave you pause. His hand was scarred, the rough, uneven ridges of old wounds crisscrossing his palm and fingers. A fresh scar, raw and jagged, ran along the edge of his thumb, the angry red line contrasting sharply against his pale skin.

It struck you in a way you couldn't explain—startling and disarming. He's human. 

The thought lingered, unsettling in its clarity. The scars, the warmth you'd felt beneath the glove—they were proof of his mortality. And yet, the mask loomed above, sharp and alien, reminding you that whatever he was, it wasn't the same as you.

You hesitated, your hand hovering over his, unsure of what to do. He didn't speak, didn't move. And yet, an unshakable certainty settled over you, sinking into your mind like a whispered command.

He wanted you to put it on him.

You didn't know how you knew, but you did. The realization sent a chill through you, your stomach knotting as you realized the truth. He wasn't speaking. He wasn't asking. But the thought had rooted itself in your mind with an undeniable clarity. 

You'd heard the stories, the rumors of how Kylo Ren could rip thoughts from minds, implant commands with nothing more than a flicker of will. And now, he was doing it to you.

Your breath quickened as you fought the pull, but your hands betrayed you. Trembling, you reached forward, sliding the glove back onto his outstretched hand. 

His skin was warm beneath your touch, the rough texture of his scars brushing against your fingertips. The contact jolted through you, a sharp static-like shock that made your hands freeze.

"Keep going," he murmured, his voice lower now, softer, yet no less commanding.

Your fingers worked clumsily, tugging the leather into place. The creak of it echoed faintly as you adjusted the glove, your hands brushing his again and again. Every touch felt charged, a hum of something electric and dangerous bleeding into your skin.

 He didn't move, didn't flinch.

When you finished, his other hand shot out, closing around your wrist with a grip that was firm but not painful.

You gasped, the sound soft and breathless, as your body jolted forward under the pull of his strength. Before you could steady yourself, something else—something unseen and immense—pressed you closer, like an invisible current drawing you into him.

Your chest collided with the hard planes of his armor, and the air rushed from your lungs in a sharp, startled exhale. He didn't move, but the rise and fall of his breath was steady, deliberate, and impossibly loud in the small, charged space between you.

You tried to breathe normally, but it was impossible. With every shallow inhale, your chest brushed against his, the thin fabric of your uniform doing nothing to shield you from the pressure. The friction made you hyperaware of everything: the heat of his body, the unyielding strength behind his touch, the way the rasp of your breath sounded so much louder now.

And worse—your body's unwelcome reaction.

You could feel your nipples hardening beneath your uniform, the traitorous response sending a wave of mortified heat flooding your face. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, desperate to will the sensation away, but it only made the tension more unbearable.

"Do you like touching what doesn't belong to you?" he asked, his voice dipping into a growl, vibrating through you as though it were coming from inside your own body.

Your lips parted, but no words came.

The question should have been easy to answer—should have been a firm, unequivocal no. But your mind was spinning, tangled in the storm of your own emotions. You couldn't think clearly, couldn't focus with his chest pressed so firmly against yours, the closeness making you feel trapped and exposed all at once.

Do you like it?

The thought wormed its way into your mind, unwelcome and impossible to ignore. You shouldn't like it. That much was clear. And yet, the truth stirred somewhere deep and unguarded inside you, a quiet, humiliating admission you couldn't bring yourself to confront.

The thought made you feel raw, stripped of every defense, as though he could see right through you.

And then he tilted his head, the subtle motion sending a shiver through you. Though his eyes were hidden behind the cold, lifeless mask, you could feel his gaze piercing into you, searching, uncovering the thing you hadn't dared to admit to yourself until now.

"Interesting," he said, his tone smooth and laced with something unreadable.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed, unsure of what to do, unsure of how to breathe. Your chest pressed against his again, the closeness unbearable, and yet you couldn't pull away.

"Don't touch what isn't yours again," he said, his voice soft but weighted with an iron finality that sent a fresh wave of heat surging through your body.

You nodded quickly, instinctively, but your body betrayed you. Your chin tilted up slightly, your neck craning to look at him more fully, your gaze locking on his mask as if trying to glimpse the man beneath.

The pressure released abruptly, and you stumbled back, gasping for air as your chest heaved. Without his closeness, the space between you felt unbearable in a different way.

"You may go," he said, the words clipped, his tone cold.

The command made you flinch, and embarrassment bloomed in your chest, burning hotter than before. You nodded again, your face flushed, and turned toward the door, your movements hurried and clumsy as you fumbled to open it.

You're probably fired.

The thought struck like a hammer as you rushed for the exit, your pulse racing. The shame of it all—how close you'd been, how much you'd felt—clawed at your chest. But then again, you were alive. That was something.

Just as you stepped into the threshold, his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"You're not fired.”

Your head whipped around, wide-eyed and confused, your lips parting to speak, but no words came. He didn't say anything else, didn't clarify. He simply stood there, unmoving, the faint red glow of the room casting sharp shadows across his towering frame.

The realization hit you like a cold shock: He knows what you're thinking.

The whispers, the rumors—the stories you'd heard about Kylo Ren's power to rip thoughts from minds—flared in your memory. Your stomach twisted as the pieces clicked into place.

You nodded again, shakily this time, and turned back toward the hall. The door slid shut behind you with a hiss, cutting off the last bit of air tethered to him.

You pressed your back against the cold metal wall outside, your breath still unsteady, your heart crashing uncomfortably against your ribcage.

Alive. Not fired. But worse—he knew.

And somehow, the thought of it sent another ripple of heat through you that you couldn't explain.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Insecure Delusions

Pairing: Ettore (High Life) x f!reader Warnings: Physical injury, smut. Word count: ~1.5k

Summary: Desensitised to almost everything, Ettore goes to extremes just to feel something. Part of the Hand That Feeds universe, but can be read as a standalone.

Author's note: Day eight of Smuffmas - holly and hair pulling. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Boredom is a burden that weighs heavily upon Ettore’s shoulders as he moves slowly through the ship. He feels numb to the constant stimulus that he’s surrounded by; the gentle hum of the engines, the glare of the lights, the chatter of his fellow prisoners, yet his mind will not quiet and allow him to relax. Usually he throws himself into his work duties, focusing on the monotony of scrubbing floors, the way the bleach tingles against his knuckles and leaves his skin raw, but he has been given a day off today; a privilege granted to those who have donated a specimen, and Ettore had done just that this morning.

Even the momentary relief that came with climaxing into a little plastic cup hadn’t been enough to stop the racing of his thoughts. Usually, only she could do that. Sinking inside of her welcoming heat, all thoughts would leave his mind as everything became centred around the way her wetness yielded and squeezed around him. However, lately even that wasn’t enough, nothing seemed to satisfy. He needed more, the trouble was he didn’t know what more was.

Unable to occupy himself with anything else, he sought her out. He didn’t want to, he needed to, she was a compulsion that he had zero control over. He walked towards the garden, having spied Tchemy, who was the usual occupant of the ship’s only green space, in his bunk as he passed through the corridors; he knew he’d find her there, she liked the quiet.

As he stepped into the lush, green surroundings, his nose wrinkled in disgust. The rich, earthy scent of the soil was repulsive to him, almost alien in its aroma. Ettore was used to the brutalism of plain white walls and concrete, he had never spent much time outside in nature. The care that people took to tend so lovingly to plants and flowers, keeping them alive, demanding they be treated with respect, while not extending the same courtesy to other people was bewildering to him. It made him angry, so he avoided it.

It was unavoidable when he wanted to see her though, so he endured it, his hands clenched into fists as he stepped slowly between the meticulously plotted out foliage, his eyes scanning the space for her. For a moment he assumed she wasn’t there, when he couldn’t immediately see her, and was ready to turn and leave, but a quiet rustling in the far corner caught his attention, and when he craned his neck he could see that she was crouched down in front of a bush.

He approached her silently, but she could tell he was there, even before he was upon her – she had grown used to the quiet way in which he stalked, was so attuned to his presence and mannerisms that she could always sense him if he was close, without even needing to see him. There was both a sense of comfort and unease for Ettore in having this sort of bond with someone – it meant she no longer feared him, but at what cost would that eventually be to her?

“I never realised there was a holly bush here before,” she said thoughtfully, by way of greeting, though she didn’t turn to look at him. “Reminds me of Christmas.”

“Never celebrated it,” he replied with a derisive sniff, as his gaze travelled over the sharp looking green leaves and red berries of the bush she was crouched in front of.

She turned to him, looking up at him, and seemed as if she wanted to say something as her lips parted, but she closed her mouth and turned her attention back to the holly. “I don’t suppose any of us do anymore,” she finally whispered.

He watched as she reached out a hand, stroking it almost reverently over the holly leaves. Suddenly, she hissed and snatched it back with an “ow, fuck!” before sucking on her finger. Ettore crouched beside her, gripping her wrist and coaxing her hand away from her mouth.

“Bastard thing pricked me, I’d forgotten how sharp they are– oh…”

Her voice trailed off as he wrapped his lips around that same finger, his tongue running over the pad, an attempt to arouse her as much as it was to soothe her pain. He released her digit with a wet pop, letting her hand drop back to her side, as he observed her silently; the subtle dilation of her pupils, the slight parting of her lips, a wordless plea for him to turn a quiet moment into pleasure. Ettore was all too eager to oblige.

Moving from his crouched position, onto the steadier surface of his knees, he reached out, wrapping the hair at the back of her head around his fist and pushed her forward, towards him. Still squatting, the movement knocked her off balance and she wobbled, hands flying out to steady herself. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tugging harshly as her body collided with his.

Ettore hissed, a blend and balance of pain and comfort stirring within him that stirred his already half hard cock to full arousal. His own grip on her hair tightened reflexively. 

Her eyes widened the moment she realised what she had done, and she let go immediately, settling into a kneeling position as his hands moved to her waist to steady her.“Fuck, that was an accident, I know you don’t like me to touch you, I–”

It was true. In however many months it had been since they started sleeping together, he had never once allowed her to touch him, always insisting she kept her hands behind her back or above her head whenever they fucked. The idea of tender caresses and being held made Ettore’s stomach turn, he wasn’t ready for that. But this had felt different, the pain he’d experienced as she’d tugged harshly at his roots had awakened something in him. For the first time in a long time he felt alive.

“I liked it,” he interrupted her.

“You liked me touching you?” she whispered, her eyebrows raising in surprise, as a soft smile spread across her face. Slowly, tentatively, she placed her fingers upon his jawline, tracing it gently.

Bile rose in Ettore’s throat, and he gripped her forearm hard enough to make her yelp as he wrenched her hand away from his face. “Not like that,” he muttered darkly, eyes drifting to the angry red marks his fingertips had left upon her flesh.

“That hurt,” she seethed, fury in her eyes as she glared at him.

“Hurt me back then,” he challenged, staring back defiantly.

She surged forward with a snarl, her hands sinking into the shortness of his dirty blonde hair and pulling hard, making him grunt. She seized the opportunity, her mouth pressing against his before she sank her teeth into his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood.

Ettore’s pulse thrummed with excitement, as he tore at her red scrubs, ridding her of her bottoms as he manhandled her onto her back. This was the most he had felt in years, his heart thudded so loudly within his chest, he was certain it meant to break free of his ribs. There was a certain sadness to the fact that the trajectory of his life had led him to the point where he needed to experience physical pain in order to enjoy himself, but there was no room for subtlety when she tugged off his shirt, leaving him bare chested as he pushed down the waistband of his trousers, and notched the swollen head of his cock against her slick entrance.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, pressing forward, met with the tight resistance of her inner walls, paired with the agonising sting of her fingernails raking down his torso, leaving crimson scratches in their wake.

Previously, none of this had meant anything at all to him, it couldn’t, not when he was unable to feel anything. But now, as his hips snapped against hers, his cockhead bullying relentlessly inside of her, it was as if all of his nerve endings had awoken from slumber as the sensation of being buried deep inside of her mingled with the dull throbbing of his scalp and the soreness of his lip and chest.

His hands grabbed her hips with enough pressure to bruise as he continued to rut into her with brute force. She panted with exertion, her eyes bright with arousal and something that bordered upon sinister intent. Ettore’s eyes almost rolled back in ecstasy as she gripped his throat, squeezing tightly, and his balls drew taut against his body, signalling he was close as a white, hot ache began to lick at his lower spine.

His thrust forward as hard as he could, one final time, then stilled as he pulsated deep inside of her, groaning as he pumped her full of his release. She let go of his throat, her arms dropping limply back to her sides. As his mind swam back into focus, he could see that the blood from the mess she had made of his lip had dripped onto her top. He pulled back, gaze drifting to dark marks already beginning to form upon her hips.

“You okay?” she whispered breathlessly, pulling him from his thoughts.

He wasn’t sure how to answer her question. They had unearthed something within him that had lain dormant until now, and now he had been given a glimpse of it, he was eager to keep digging until he felt something. She had touched him today, amd even though it was just to hurt him, he knew he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Part three || Series masterlist