#sucks in very slow breath and shuffles feet

[iamcassian]

[ladycaramelswirl]

It Happened in Texas

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader ❤︎

Chapter 3: You’re not trying to get fired - it’s just raw talent

series masterlist

A/N: The case in this chapter is based on s4e2 where Hotch ignores the doctors orders and goes straight to work after tearing his eardrum 🤡

tags: minor grovelling, slow burn. Hotch needs a hug. Some canon typical violence and a few uses of y/n. Sorry for any typos.

Word count: 2.8k

Enjoy! 🤍

❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎

You are so fired. 

Strauss is getting impatient with your fruitless reports. Hotch and you are not on great terms. In fact, since Jack’s party, he’s been avoiding you like the plague. He isn’t ignoring you or glaring at you anymore, but for some reason, he now never pairs himself up with you and keeps his emails to you even shorter than before. He also refuses to talk to you when Jack comes to visit and spends all his time at your desk. It had taken you months and a 5 year old to give you the courage to make any friends on the team. So why are you standing here, scolding your boss? You must have an innate talent for getting fired.

“Hotch. If you think that never hearing Jack say I love you again, or never hearing him laugh again is worth getting back in the field straight away, I’ll think you’re insane, but I’ll never bring it up again. However, I don’t think you’re willing to tell your son his dad can’t hear him anymore because he wasn’t taking care of himself”. 

You take a deep breath, and add for good measure,

“Sir”. 

Hotch stares at you. You are not a confrontational person (at least with your colleagues). And right now you were so out of line. While everyone else might have warmed up to you, you and Hotch aren’t exactly friends. But you had gotten to know Jack, who had been the catalyst to you becoming friends with the team. He’s probably the only reason that you don’t hate your job now. You love that kid. And after seeing Hotch clutch his ears at the graveyard and overhearing him ignore Morgan when asked if he was cleared to fly, you felt you needed to say something. Clearly no one else was going to. 

But why wasn’t Hotch saying anything? You shuffle your feet and try not to think about your face heating up from embarrassment. Where was the person from 30 seconds ago who was basically scolding her boss? Your resolve had completely evaporated. And now you were nervous. Which was a very bad thing to be in front of a profiler.

“I know that you’re my boss and we aren’t exactly friends, but I’m saying this as a…”, what were you exactly? An overeager people pleaser who had just gotten the team to get used to working with you. And an idiot who is currently screwing up her chances of staying employed at the one job you had left. “As a person who respects you a lot”, you decide on. This is definitely true. He was a good person, even if he clearly didn’t like you. He might be avoiding you, but he’s still polite. And if he didn’t say something soon, you were going to say something stupid. 

“You’re also the best boss I’ve ever had, so if you permanently lose your hearing and have to be taken out of the field, that would suck for me too”, you laugh nervously. 

Damn it, you were already in saying stupid things territory. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Oh god, what if your rant was hurting his ears? You start whispering.

“Are you okay? Am I being too loud? I’m sorry, I’m just going to shut up”, you say softly. He’s still staring. 

“I should go now”, you mumble and promptly run away, immediately making your way to the precinct bathroom and locking yourself in a stall. Why did you say anything? The rest of the team had just left him alone, but you were never a fan of turning a blind eye to people’s problems. It just didn’t seem right. Despite the fact that the other team members are clearly each other’s family, you are technically just a coworker. So you’ve definitely overstepped, but it just didn’t seem right to let it happen. To Jack. Not Hotch. Though technically you did care about Hotch too. As a friend. Probably. 

“Hey, you okay in there?”

You startle from your thoughts and see Emily’s shoes from under the stall. You quickly shake yourself together and flush the toilet you clearly haven’t used before coming out.

“Yeah? Am I not allowed to pee?”, you laugh, washing your hands. Emily frowns, but knows better than to press. She might have seen you run out of a precinct conference room you’d been alone with Hotch in, but you’re not going to tell her why and she doesn’t overstep boundaries. She pretends to believe you and moves the conversation to the case. The team has figured out who the unsub is and are about to raid her house. You both leave the bathroom and move towards the SUVs with everyone else. Everyone except Hotch. 

“We gotta go. Where the hell’s Hotch?”, Derek asks.

“He was on the phone with Strauss, said he wanted us to go without him”, Rossi says, walking to the passenger seat. “Let’s go”.

Derek shrugs his shoulders and everyone piles into the cars. You feel your stomach drop. Technically you did just tell your superior off. Was he going to report you for insubordination? Maybe he had had enough and was finally telling Strauss to transfer you. He hadn’t wanted you on the team in the first place. If you get fired from the BAU you’ll probably have to leave the FBI. You shake your head. Whatever happens, the case comes first. You need to stop the unsub before she hurts anyone else. 

You try to forget about your earlier conversation with Hotch and focus on the case. The unsub’s apartment is empty, but Rossi finds her next target, Faye Landreaux, in her journal. You all drive to her house and Emily distracts the unsub while Morgan sneaks Faye outside. She’s trembling like a leaf and doesn’t respond when you ask if she’s okay, so you guide her to a paramedic to make sure she hasn’t gotten any injuries. Technically your priority right now should be the unsub, but the entire police department and 4 FBI agents have a gun pointed at her and Faye is completely alone. You don’t feel right leaving her yet, so once she’s been looked at, you try to talk to her when you hear a gunshot from behind you. Faye cries out and you let her know she’s okay. The sheriff has shot the unsub. It’s over. A police officer the victim knows starts talking to her so you move back to the team. Emily pulls back the unsub’s shirt to reveal that she had maimed herself to become the “Angel Maker’s” last victim. You fail to not feel nauseous. 

It’s late, so you’re all staying the night in Ohio. On the drive, everyone’s talking about how early they have to get up tomorrow. You look out the window and can’t stop thinking about love and what it does to people. What it did to Chloe Kelcher. To all of the “Angel Maker’s” fans. Female unsubs that hurt other women always bothers you more than other cases. Emily notices your silence. 

“You okay?”, she asks quietly. 

“Just tired”, you smile. If she notices it doesn’t reach your eyes, she doesn’t mention it. She nudges her knee against yours - an ‘I’m here if you need me’ without words. 

You nudge her back - ‘thanks. I know’. She smiles. You really are tired though - it’s 2am because the unsub liked attacking at night - and you stifle a yawn. You’re about to fall asleep when the car abruptly stops, signalling your arrival. 

It’s a cute inn, the owner offered you all free rooms for the night as a thanks for capturing the unsub. Everyone piles out, eager to go to bed. You’re suddenly awake though when you see who’s in the lobby handing out keys - Hotch. He’s looking straight at you. Everyone grabs their keys and turns in for the night. If anyone notices you and Hotch lag behind, they don’t say. He gestures to a corner with some armchairs. 

“Can we talk for a minute?”

You nod, slowly taking a seat. You’re too afraid to speak and keep your eyes on the ground. Was he going to fire you now? In some inn in rural Ohio?

“Thank you.”

What? 

You snap your head up to meet his gaze. 

“I called Strauss earlier to let her know I’m taking 2 weeks off from the field. You were right earlier. What I’m doing isn’t fair to the team or to Jack. I want to apologise for putting you in a position where you felt you needed to tell your boss that he was being stupid. That shouldn’t have to be your responsibility.”

He looks straight into your eyes and you can see the sincerity flooded in his. 

“I’ll be taking a car back to Quantico. I shouldn’t have gotten on a plane at all in my condition. You don’t have to worry about me.” He takes a breath. “And I appreciate you telling me what I needed to hear. Even if you shouldn’t have had to”, he adds. 

You don’t know what to say, so you say the first thing that pops into your brain. 

“I’m not fired?”

Aaron looks incredibly guilty. 

“You thought I was going to fire you?”

You nod, still unable to form coherent thoughts in your relief. 

“No you are definitely not fired. I’m sorry for making you feel like your job was on the line”, he says and feels even guiltier at the obvious release of tension in your shoulders.  “If anything I should be fired for endangering you all with my inability to make sound decisions”, he sighs. “When you’re the boss, people become too afraid to tell you that you’re wrong. And sometimes I forget that I can be”.

You try to find the right words. “I don’t think being worried about people getting hurt when you’re not working is wrong”, you say. “But I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself. And thank you for apologising.”

Aaron nods at this, searching your eyes for something. He seems to be pleased with what he finds and stands up. You follow suit, and the both of you start to walk towards your rooms. You lapse into silence as you walk up the stairs until Hotch clears his throat.

“Well, when someone tells you that they respect you but you’re being insane, you rethink your priorities a little”, he chuckles, trying to break the ice. 

You feel your entire face grow warm - you had forgotten that you had called him that. 

“Sorry”, you mumble.

He stops abruptly and you turn to look at him. 

“Please don’t ever apologise for what you said to me today.” 

His gaze bores into you as if to try to make you understand. No wonder he has the most confessions from unsubs in interrogations. His stare is a little lethal. Your knees feel a little weak. 

“Sorry for saying sorry?”, you manage.

He raises a brow at you. 

“Ok. Then I’m not sorry?”, you offer. He smiles at this. 

“Good. Because I’m very grateful it happened.”

You beam. 

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I do.”

You reach your room first. You move to unlock your door and he waits to make sure you get inside safety. Your hand stills on the doorknob and you turn around. 

“I hope you know that it’s still true.”

He looks confused. 

“I still respect you. And now I respect you for being able to step back. And for apologising. Maybe it doesn’t mean a lot coming from me, but I think you’re a great boss and a great dad. Jack is very lucky.” You meet his eyes so he knows you mean it. “You’re a good person, Hotch.”

A lump forms in Aaron’s throat. He doesn’t know how to tell you how much your words mean to him. He wishes, not for the first time in his life, that he was better at communicating his feelings. He shakes his head. 

“It does mean a lot. I respect you too, Y/N.”He pauses, as if trying to find the perfect words. “You’re always looking at the good in people. Jack loves you. And you’re kind, not just with the team. When we catch unsubs you always make sure to take care of victims.”

Your eyes widen. You hadn’t known that he’d noticed.

“You’re smart, loyal, empathetic. I know that these last few months have been… unpleasant for you. And I’m sorry for my part in that. But I’m proud to have you on our team. I know that this morning you were just doing what was right, and earlier you said we aren’t friends, but you were the friend I needed today. So thank you.” 

You blink, trying not to well up at his words. You don’t know if anyone’s ever said something like that to you. Afraid you might cry if you speak, you give him a hug. It’s quick, nothing intimate, but it feels righter than words in this moment. You take a step back.

“So we’re friends?”, you ask, opening the door to your room. He looks at you thoughtfully. 

“I’d like to think so”, he smiles softly. You give him a smile back.

“Good night, Hotch.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You sleep well that night for the first time in a while. 

——

The next morning, you’re quiet as Hotch tells everyone he’s driving back to Quantico instead of taking the jet. You offer to take the drive with him, which surprises yourself just as much as the team. While you had gotten closer with the rest of the team in the last month, you and Hotch aren’t really close enough for you to voluntarily spend 7 hours in a car together. You’re not exactly sure why you offered either. 

You’re too busy trying to get everyone on board that you all miss Rossi’s barely hidden glee at this unexpected development in your relationship. 

“It’ll be fun!”, you say excitedly. 

“I love you, but 7 hours is crazy baby girl”

“Long car trips make me nauseous. In fact there’s a correlation between-”

“Yeah no, the baby makes me carsick.”

“The thought of being trapped in a car for 7 hours makes me sick”

You’re a little sad because a group road trip would be fun, and it would help to have a buffer between you and Hotch, but it is unfair to force everyone into something they’re uncomfortable with, so you give everyone a hug goodbye before sliding into the passenger seat beside Hotch. You can almost feel him overthinking. 

“You don’t have to do this”, he says.

“I know. I want to”, you tell him. Surprisingly, this is true. 

He stares at you.

“It’s 7 hours”

“It’ll be longer if you keep arguing with me”, you shrug.

He stares at you some more.

“I’m not leaving you to do this alone. Plus 7 hours isn’t that long if you’re with a friend”

He smiles at this.

“A friend?”

“Unless you’re taking back what you said last night?”, you ask tentatively. Had he just been reacting to what you said to him? What if-

“No. I meant everything I said”, he says firmly, looking directly at you to make sure you know he’s serious. His gaze that felt intimidating last night, now somehow makes you feel calm. But it might take a while before you can maintain eye contact with him. You turn to face the road.

“Good. Now drive, or I’ll call Reid and ask him to explain the statistics of car crashes in Ohio”, you tease. His eyes crinkle in amusement.

“Driving right now”.

You grin and start looking at your CD options.

“If I’m your friend does this mean I get to choose where we eat lunch?”, he asks.

You roll your eyes.

“You didn’t let me drive so I’m picking lunch.”

“Yes ma’am”.

Bonus scene:

“They’re driving here together from Ohio? Doesn’t Hotch hate her?”, Penelope asks through the screen. 

“I don’t think he hates her. Don’t you remember what it was like when I first joined?”, Emily asks the team. 

“We never hated you! Except maybe Spencer. But that was a whole other thing. I just don’t get why he still doesn’t like her. She’s so sweet”, Penelope pouts.

“He didn’t tell her no, so that’s an improvement”, Derek reasons.

“I didn’t hate Emily!”, Spencer scoffs.

Emily raises an eyebrow at him which causes him to sputter. 

“Well ok I wasn’t very nice to you at first. But it wasn’t because I hated you”, he tries to explain. Emily mouths a quick “I know” to let him know she’s joking. 

“I don’t think Hotch has ever hated Y/N”, Rossi chuckles. “He just needs time.”

Everyone nods. They all relied on him now, but Hotch was famous for being cold at first. Rossi grins at everyone missing his point. Being the only profiler on the team with relationship experience made for excellent entertainment. They’ll get it at some point, he thinks, sipping his drink. 

(to be continued)

Main Masterlist

[upsidedownmvnson]

temptation | eddie munson

warnings: tension, kinda pervy thoughts, thoughts of oral and sex and all that

A/N: really just practicing writing tension and best friend eddie has me feeling this way

PART 2: Saturday, is posted

God, you were being such a perv. You were sitting on the floor of your best friends trailer. Eddie was sitting on the edge of his bed, strumming his guitar, but occasionally mumbling a little "fuck" or grunt when he makes a mistake. The noises, paired with his fingers moving on the guitar had you soaking wet between your legs. You couldn't stop watching, even though were supposed to be doing your homework.

You squeezed your thighs together, and tried to look down at the notebook in your lap before he caught you. You sucked your lip between your teeth, and looked up a him again. But he was already looking at you, caught, you both turned away in a panic. A matching blush strewn across both of you.

In the last couple of weeks, you'd been seeing Eddie as more than a friend - and he's mostly reciprocated those feelings. But both of you worried about the friendship, so you decided to take things slow. You'd made it about two weeks... but two weeks of stolen glances, and an accidental brushing of his fingers across your thigh.

But every time you saw him leaning against your locker waiting for you, or caught him smiling at you across the lunch table, you got butterflies. Sometimes, when you were watching him practice with the band, it felt like this. It felt like you were watching with ulterior motives. The way he looked so hot, it made the feeling in your stomach unbearable. You just wanted to reach out and touch him.

You were sitting with your back against a dresser, knees up, writing out math equations on a regular spiral bound notebook. Your textbook was beside you, but you only needed it to write down the question really. You were totally oblivious to the fact that in your skirt, you were giving Eddie a direct line of sight between your legs, letting him catch glances at your panties around your squirming. Once he noticed you'd starting trying to subtly clench your thighs together, he couldn't look away. You'd caught him twice, you just thought it was because you were watching his fingers.

The tension in the air was palpable. He started messing up more, and you starting squirming more. And with a scratch, he put this guitar on the bed beside him.

"This isn't working," he said. "I can't learn in these... conditions."

"These conditions?"

"You are... you look very... uh, nice today," Eddie said, looking all around you but not quite at you. If he had, he would've noticed the pink blush across your cheek. "That skirt is very... uhm, distracting," he said, finally looking at you. He had a finger over his mouth like he had to hold it shut.

You took a look at the situation, and immediately scrambled to sit on your knees, shoulder of your shirt falling down your arm, leaving most of your shoulder and collar bone exposed, but still covered in pieces your hair. You were stuttering out excuses, and explaining that you didn't mean to. You shuffled your books to the side.

And as he's looking at you, he thinks you've made it worse. Messy hair, on your knees, slightly out of breath. He thinks of about a hundred different dirty things he wants to do to you while your down there. He wants to love you all the time, but mostly, right now, he just wants to fuck you really bad. He thinks about running his thumb across your bottom lip, he thinks about you sucking it into his mouth, and he thinks about his dick...

"I'm sorry Eddie," you said, cutest look of shame in your eye. And it just makes him want you more, but not like this. Not for your first time together.

"Do not be sorry," he said, "I wasn't complaining."

You blushed, and rose to your feet. Eddie smiled at you, an unrecognizable look on his face. You'll learn later that it's how he looks at you when he absolutely lusting over you. And he's trying to resist touching you, but it's getting difficult, because he hasn't stopped thinking up scenarios and you haven't fixed your shirt.

But you made it impossible, when after all that you bent over to pick up your books, and as you shuffled to grab it all, your skirt inched closer and closer to the bottom of your ass. He couldn't look away from where the fabric was exposing your soft thighs. He wanted a handful of them. He wanted to hold them open while he ravaged you with his mouth. He wanted to mark up your thigh with bites to let anyone who dared to look at what was for him, they'd see you were well taken care of.

He said nothing as you picked your books up. As you tucked them into your backpack, he crept up behind you, pushing his front flush against your back. Your cheeks heat up with the sudden contact, and you freeze. Hands frozen in time, books still gripped firmly and half in the backpack. He brushes the hair on your shoulder out of the way, and places a single gentle kiss to the bottom of your neck.

"Just friends just isn't working for me anymore," Eddie said, voice low in a state of combined horniness and vulnerability. "Baby, let me take you out on Saturday, please."

You sighed softly as he placed a second kiss on your neck, a temptation you didn't even need because he already had you. You dropped the books, letting then drop into the bag and melted into him.

"Okay," was all you said, pushing your back harder into him.

"Okay," he said, kissing a few kisses up your neck until he placed a final, tender kiss on the soft spot just under your ear. Your breath caught in your throat, neither of you moved. Eddie moved a hand down and pressed him palm against the outside of your thigh, slowly running it up the soft skin until the skirt rose, slightly crumbled, just an inch or two. "If you wear this skirt again I probably won't be able to control myself."

You shivered, his mouth this close to your ear and hand on your thigh was making your head spin.

"I'll wear it Saturday."

[importantangels]

Part 2 of Farewell kiss?

Ask and you shall receive 💕

It's Over, isn't it? (Farewell kiss part 2)

Word Count: 774

Remy Lebeau x Reader

Summary: The morning after Remy's departure

The light from the rising sun filtered through the sheer curtains in the kitchen, bathing it in a pretty gold that makes it look almost unrealistic. It was something Y/N loved about this part of the house, one of the reasons she wanted it. Her thoughts are paused by the shuffling of little feet against the hardwood floors. Riley and Rose, still rubbing sleep from their eyes, stumbled into the kitchen, mouths open mid-yawn. Y/N stands flipping pancakes, and lets her gaze drift to the girls before going back to the food.

"Mommy, are you making bunny-shaped pancakes again?" Riley questioned as she pulled herself up into a chair. Y/N moves to put Rose in a chair as well before going to the stove and flipping a pancake. "I sure am, honey." She answered after swallowing thickly, afraid she might cry in front of them if they asked about last night or Remy in general. The air in the house felt almost uncomfortable to her, but she ignored it as much as she could and grabbed plates for the girls pancakes before setting both plates on the table in front of them and moving to grab cups that she filled with orange juice. This was the quietest she had been in years, especially since having Riley and Rose.

"Mommy, where's Daddy?" Rose was always observant and had already caught on to something being wrong the moment her father hadn't appeared when the pancakes were done, like he always had. Y/N freezes like she has been caught committing a crime and stops before she could move the frying pan to the sink. "Daddy had to go out last night, sweetheart." Her heart clenched at the mention of Remy. "He'll be back soon." She added that, trying to reassure them, though uncertainty lingered in her voice, she turned to face the girls, who stared at her with wide eyes that looked full of questions.

Riley was next to speak up, her lower lip quivering and her eyes starting to water. "But why did he have to go?" Her voice wavered, mirroring the anxiety that Y/N felt in her own heart. Y/N moved closer to the table, kneeling down to be level with both girls. She sucked in a breath and wiped her own eyes, trying to gather the strength to answer their question. "Daddy had to go help some people who needed him, just like he always does. But he loves us very much, and he'll come back as soon as he can." Her words were slow as she looked for the right words to say to explain it to the girls.

Riley's brows furrowed in confusion. "But he's always home for pancakes." She spoke in almost a whisper, clearly upset by his disappearance. Rose looks out towards the living room, almost like she was patiently waiting for her father to walk in, but Y/N knew she would be waiting awhile if that were true. "Can we call him?" Riley questioned her eyes, searching Y/N's for reassurance. Y/N smiled softly and nodded before speaking. "Of course we can." Y/N knew he wouldn't answer while he was gone, he never did, but that didn't stop her from leaving voicemail.

Y/N stands to find her phone, which was almost always lost when she was home. Finding it, she scrolls until she finds Remy's contact and brings the phone to the girls as it rings. After a minute, they are met with the automated voice saying to leave a message after the beep, which Y/N let the girls take over most of the recording. "

Hi daddy! You're missing the bunny pancakes today, but I think Mommy can save some for you. Oh, and it's Riley!" She exclaimed, saying her name like her father wouldn't know her voice. Y/N turned the phone towards Rose, who spoke quietly. "Hi daddy, I miss you, but I know when you come home you'll stay for even longer, so it's okay." Y/N's heart hurt at her youngest daughter's words.

Y/N ended the voicemail. "Hey Remy, the girls just wanted to talk to you. I hope you can call me whenever you get a chance. The girls would like to hear your voice, and I wouldn't mind either. Love you." She hangs up with a sigh before smiling at the kids. "Okay girls, finish eating before your food is all cold." She goes to start the dishes.

Y/N wished he picked up the phone just this one time, but the kids were satisfied with leaving a voicemail. But somewhere far from their pretty little house, Remy laid on a battlefield, never hearing any voicemail.

Part 3

[little-diable]

Kinktober Day 1 - Negan

Here we fucking go – my favourite month is finally upon us! I can't wait to share all these fics with y'all. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading them, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

🩶 Day 1 🩶 Cockwarming

Warnings: 18+, obviously smut

Negan x fem!reader (800 words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

My Kinktober Masterlist

Her naked feet met the ground, arms wrapped around herself. She had her eyes focused ahead, not daring to give into any distractions, very well knowing that those she didn’t want to cross paths with were lurking in the shadows. Tiredness clashed through her system, trying to push away the heaviness weighing her every step down. 

Slowly she came to a halt in front of the door she had been searching for, quietly listening to the sounds of the night, trying to pick up on the sounds of any conversations. Only as (y/n) was sure that she couldn’t hear a single word echoing through the night did she knock on the door, pushing it open. 

“Well, hello there, doll.” Negan’s soft voice coaxed her closer, pushing the door close before she walked up to him. He pulled her into his lap without a warning, chuckling against her lips as he pressed a slow kiss against them. (Y/n) couldn’t help but moan, letting go of the tension now holding her body hostage. “What brings you here? Did I forget something?”

By now (y/n) was all too used to sneaking around, knowing that they had to keep their love for one another a secret. And yet she hated not being able to touch him whenever she wanted to, longing for the man who was holding her heart in his hands. Negan’s hand cupped her warm cheek, smiling down on her with a kind of admiration only she was fortunate to pick up on. 

“I need you, fuck, been aching for you all day.” (Y/n)’s whispers left him chuckling, thumb moving to her lips before he forced her mouth open. Negan watched her suck on his digit, eyes rolling back into her head. 

“I still have some work to do, doll, you’ve got to be patient.” A whine left her, head whipping from left to right as she tried to protest. Not even the sound of Negan's clicking tongue managed to pull her out of her desperate state. His darkening eyes stared down on her for a few more seconds, deeply sighing as he gave her a slight push back. “Alright, alright, I got you. I'm too fucking soft for you, fuck, the things you do to me.”

She watched him free his cock with quick movements, growing harder in his grasp as he fucked his hand for a few seconds, “You’ll be patient, you won’t move, and later i’ll properly take care of you, doll, I promise.” 

(Y/n) didn’t dare protest, knowing that Negan could easily pull away if she’d speak up. So, all she did was nod her head in excitement, shuffling closer once again. Negan’s hand guided the movement of her eyes, mouth watering at the sight of his twitching cock. (Y/n) wanted to feel him, in her mouth, buried in her cunt, whatever he’d offer her, she wanted it all, wanted to make him feel as good as he always made her feel. For Negan she’d do it all, would choke on his cock for hours on end, if it meant being close to him. 

His cock kept growing harder, tip drenched in red, covered with small drops of precum. She had to force herself to hold still, not daring to move, scared that Negan would push her away, simply to punish her for going against his every command. And yet she wanted to taste him, wanted to swipe her tongue over his tip. 

His hand found its way down her way too long shirt, groaning as he felt her bare heat. A few curses left Negan as he brushed through her folds, collecting drops of her arousal before he aligned himself with her heat. 

Their eyes kept holding contact as (y/n) sank down on his cock, groaning with anticipation thumping through her veins. She felt him twitch inside of her, felt her walls clenching down, something he instantly scolded her for, reminding (y/n) of her need to be patient. Deep breaths were inhaled into her lungs, grasping onto the air flushing through them, desperately trying to relax.

“Atta girl, doing so well for me.” Negan pressed a kiss to her forehead before he switched his concentration back onto his papers, smiling as (y/n) found comfort with her head nuzzled into the crook of his neck. She wasn’t one for being patient, but for him she’d try, always. 

[lillian-gallows]

Kinktober Day 25: Pregnancy Kink with Simon "Ghost" Riley

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1802 Warnings: Pregnant sex (Reader is specified as being around 6 months), Frequent references to a large belly, the baby, and other pregnancy related things, Oral sex (F receiving), Vaginal Fingering, P in V sex, Super Soft Ghost. Kinktober Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

Another moan was pulled from your lips as Simon sucked your clit while curling his fingers into that spongy spot inside you.

You wished you could look down at him, but with the swell of your very pregnant belly, there was no hope of that.

For the last 6 months, ever since that little blue plus sign appeared on that plastic pee stick, Simon hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you. Granted you’d been all over each other for weeks before that, trying to make the baby that that stick told you was growing inside you, but he was somehow even more insatiable after.

And then it got even worse when you started showing! This man who already couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you, now barely let you leave the house because he was too busy pulling orgasm after orgasm from you with his fingers, mouth, and cock. It was like he thought that the baby would stop growing if he stopped fucking you.

Now, make no mistake, you’re not complaining, quite the opposite actually. You were glad to see he was still attracted to you even when you feel like you’d swallowed a planet, but goddamn he was utterly insatiable.

You hand shot down brush through his hair as your second orgasm of the day rolled through you, seeking something to tether you back to earth once more as he helped you ride out the pleasure.

His free hand came up to brush over your belly, holding the bump tenderly before coming to rest on your ribs just under your breast, feeling your chest expand with each breath as they slowed back to a normal range.

“Christ, Si…Good morning to you too…” You managed as you rubbed the last dregs of sleep from your eyes. Oh yeah, this was how he woke you up most mornings, either with his mouth or his fingers, or both, all before he would get up and make you some hot cocoa, since you couldn’t drink coffee or tea because of the caffeine, and drinking something hot tricked your brain just enough to function.

It helped that the baby seemed to like it too.

The large Brit pressed a line of kisses all the way up the curve of your belly as he came to rest next to you once more, a contented smile on his face that belied the smoldering lust that you knew was just underneath, now just waiting until you’d woken up properly to show itself again.

“Good morning, Love.” He said before pulling you into a slow kiss that you could taste yourself on. “How’re you feeling?” He asked, eyes scanning over you carefully, looking for what you couldn’t possibly fathom, you doubted there was a safer pregnant lady for a thousand miles.

You let out a sleepy chuckle. “Great now. You know you don’t have to wake me up like this every morning, right?” You teased sleepily.

He smiled back at you softly. “Yeah, but I want to…You taste better than coffee.” He said before pressing another kiss to your forehead and moving to get up. “Speaking of.” He said as he went, then rounded the bed while you shuffled to the edge.

Strong hands took yours to help you stand slowly. He’d tried multiple times to pick you up and carry you where you’d wanted to go, but you’d been adamant that you were not going to let him do that. Your feet still worked just fine, even if they were swollen most of the time.

Once in the kitchen he started to prepare his coffee and your cocoa while you fixed both of you some toast and thought about what else sounded good to go with it.

You had just opened the cabinet where all the jams and other toast toppings were kept when your steaming mug was placed in front of you. You smiled at Simon over the rim as you took a slow sip, humming happily at the taste.

Simon had his own mug in hand as he leaned back against the counter, watching you enjoy your morning drink and decide the details of your breakfast. He was lost in thought for a couple moments, just watching the way you swayed carefully on your feet, body still unused to the extra weight and dimensions given by the tiny life growing inside you.

The tiny life he helped you make and now got to watch you grow…

He’s fully aware of all the discomforts that come with pregnancy, not just obvious physical aches and pains, but the hormones and what they do to the mind, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make you feel as loved as possible before, during, and after.

To him that meant pampering you in any way he could think of, and you would allow.

You were looking at the jar of peanut butter with pursed lips, trying to decide if it sounded good, when you felt Simons strong arms wrap around you, his chest pressed to your back as his face found the crook of your neck, pressing slow kisses there that made your body feel hot.

“Si, we haven’t even had breakfast yet…” You protested weakly, already getting lost in his touch as his hand began to roam over your body, smoothing up and down your sides, over your baby-bump, and down to your hips, where they pulled you back against him, pressing his hardon between your ass cheeks.

You let out a heavy breath and leaned back against him, head resting just below his shoulder, as he nibbled lightly at the sensitive spot by your ear.

Before you could think he was picking you up and carrying you back to your bedroom where he laid you on the bed, not even fully pulling away before he was crowding in right behind you, hands roaming, massaging your tender breasts, drifting over your belly, then finally finding home between your thighs.

Your pajama pants were swiftly pulled down, but not with the same kind of frantic force he might have once used. No, now it’s done with a tender care that makes you feel as hot as the previously forceful nature of your British operator.

You loved seeing this side of him. Simon has always been caring in his way, protective and even soft when you both were alone, but this was a whole new level of it. It was like he thought you were made of cotton candy, and he was water, worried you’d dissolve if he wasn’t careful.

The care he shows you is, in fact, not shown to your pajama pants as he tossed them haphazardly off the bed, not bothering with your shirt, one of his larger ones that you’d commandeered long ago that used to fit like a short nightie but now was filled out too much to hang so low.

You press back against the hard plains of his body as those hands returned to the apex of your thighs, brushing light between your folds till you’re sighing and whining for more, a quiet wet noise punctuating your voice.

He didn’t tease you for long, not when your body was so sensitive that the lightest touch had you soaking and begging for more. Those skilled fingers slipped into you, first just making a shallow in and out to coat them in your slick, before pressing in further to curl against your g-spot, pulling a gasp from you, one hand gripping his forearm while the other had a tight hold on the pillow under your head.

The heel of his hand pressed against your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to get you nearly to the edge, but you needed more. You needed what you could feel rutting against your ass.

“Simon…” You whined softly, eyes closed against the pleasure, trying to keep your thoughts clear enough to form words.

“Hmm?” He rasped into your neck, where he was still pressing kisses and occasionally nipping. “Yes, Love?”

“Need you…” You exhaled the words more than you said them, so light that you weren’t sure that he would be able to hear you, but you knew he did when he pulled his fingers from your body and tugged his own pajama pants down just enough to free his achingly hard cock.

He let out a shuddering breath when he pushed his cock through your folds, coating it just as he had his fingers, his face found a home pressed into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin and stoking the fire that was your whole body.

He rutted there only a couple of times before he was angling both your hips just right to press into you slowly. The slow fill drove you crazy in the best way, which he’s always had a skill at, for better or worse, in this case better.

Once he’d bottomed out, he took a steadier hold on your hip with one hand while the other curled under you to wrap around your body, holding your ribs the same way he had earlier though with a slightly tighter hold to keep you pressed back against him, then he was moving.

Fucking into you was maybe not the best way to describe it, considering he was barely pulling out an inch before thrusting back in, it was almost more of a roll of his hips that pull back just enough to feel the press back in.

This meant that there was a consistent hard press on your g-spot that made your head spin, and between the fact that you’d already been so close and were still buzzing from your rather pleasurable wake up, the climb to your peak came fast and hard.

Your body went ridged, gasps and quiet whines pouring from you like water, cunt gripping his cock and pulling his over the edge right along with you.

His low moans made your body zing and with the way he kept moving it all seemed to prolong the orgasm.

But when you did come down and he pulled out, neither of you moved for a long while, too comfortable wrapped in each other, basking in the afterglow.

Then your stomach’s need for breakfast made itself known.

The journey to the kitchen was repeated, though this time as you looked at the untoasted bread on the counter and pursed your lips you didn’t even have to think too hard about it. Toast was not the plan, and a kick told you that the baby agreed.

Looking at Simon you found he was already holding up his phone with a delivery app pulled up and a knowing smile on his face.

God, you loved this man.

[st-danger]

Hi, what about Mean Rain with your choice, but towards the end, Rain can't keep up the act because he has alllllll these sweet soft feelings for Ghoul of your choice

At his feet, Mountain kneels, reverent and adoring.

And abused. Ignored. A plaything for Rain to touch and tease, spit on and slap, speak cruel words to- Mountain takes it all, grateful and begging for more. Rain holds a nice fistful of hair, unforgiving when he pulls. Testing.

"You can go harder," Mountain breathes, and yes, Rain could.

"When did I ask you to talk?" Rain muses, voice light. Condescending. Mountain's face falls; a bad sign, or would be if Rain doesn't see what hangs between his legs, red and heavy and giving a noticeable twitch at the query.

"You didn't," he says, chastened.

"Got it in one," Rain drawls. "Good for you. Next time you open your mouth, it better be for something useful."

The hand not yanking Mountain's hair grabs the tent in his pants and holds. Mountain naked as the day he was summoned, Rain still clothed- submissive, at a disadvantage. Ready to be taken advantage of. He wants to be fucked. Privately, Rain would rather love him instead. But it isn't about him.

Mountain is good at making himself useful. He has Rain pulled out of his pants moments later, wasting no time licking him into his mouth, taking him as deep as possible. Rain can't bring himself to fuck his mouth as roughly as he wants, but it hardly matters. As expected, Mountain does a fine job gagging himself on his cock without any help. The sound makes Rain cringe even as the feeling of hitting the back of his throat this way makes his eyes roll back.

"Drool on it," Rain orders. "If your chin isn't wet, don't bother."

Mountain is a good listener. He drools and licks and it's so filthy wet, messy. His lips are shining, his knees will be bruised from where they press onto hardwood floor. And Rain will feel a little guilty, and wonder if he can get away with kissing the marks when they fully bloom tomorrow.

Mountain pulls off, coughing after taking Rain too far. Eyes watery. Rain feels a twinge of discomfort. He looks up at hi. With wide, searching eyes.

Rain rolls his.

"What is it?" he sighs, doing his very best to seem annoyed at the interruption. Irritated that Mountain would vocalize anything other than a muffled moan around his dick.

"Insult me," he whispers, voice raspy. "Call me names."

"You want to hear you're a slut?"

"Meaner," Mountain says. "Make it bad."

For the first time tonight, Rain falters. The hesitation is too great to sweep under the rug. Too obvious. He chews his lip and lets his hand drop from Mountain's scalp. There's a very pregnant pause where they stare at one another, and Mountain seems to shrink in on himself.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't mean to demand-" he says, right as Rain says,

"I don't want to."

Rain drops to his knees, joins Mountain on the floor, and reaches for his cock. Takes it into his hand and tries to imbue all the affection he possibly can into the slow, gentle stroke. Mountain moans, but looks confused.

"I can't do it," Rain admits, apologetic. His ears feel hot. "If you want degradation, go to Dew. Or Swiss."

Mountain looks a little dumbfounded, lips parted while he sucks in ragged breaths as Rain begins jerking him off for real.

"Rain-"

Rain surges forward, kisses him, and rests a tender hand on the face he'd backhanded not twenty minutes prior. Doesn't need to wait long before Mountain's tongue slides against his. Deep and dirty, though in a different way.

"Let me be sweet, for once, please," Rain speaks against his lips. "I'm not good at this."

"You're very good," Mountain corrects, and then breaks into a groan as Rain pays attention to the head. "Really good."

"Let me be good to you," Rain says, and shuffles closer, close enough he can take them both in his talented hands, stroking soft. The feeling of Mountain against him makes him go a little cross-eyed.

Mountain's hips stutter forward.

"Don't do anything you don't wanna do," he whispers. "We don't- we can stop, if you want." The tremulous voicing betrays the sudden nervousness. That it's a step too far, he's hurt Rain, he's pushed him into something-

"Let me love you," Rain breathes, embarrassingly soft. He buries his face into Mountain's chest, and blurts out a glob of pre the moment Mountain wraps an arm around him.

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part thirteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you and joel make your reunion official, and deal with the fallout.

a/n: brO I will fully admit I struggled a bit with this one - it’s mostly unedited but I’m still happy with where we’ve ended up. ANGST CITY BABY AS PER USUAL. and my askbox is always open if you’d like to scream about it 😇

word count: 5.3k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, explicit sex, unprotected p-in-v (with a slightly throwaway solution), light choking, very emotional sex (heavily inspired by a scene from outlander 👀), Joel’s head has been fully removed from his ass and Liv is making the most of it.

✨I do not have a taglist - follow @friskito-library for updates on future chapters/works!✨

You feel like you’re moving in slow-motion. Every moment feels drawn out, the emotion tripled, the touch more sensitive, the sound more clear. You’re committing every second to memory, refusing to let yourself think this is a dream.

“I can’t stay away from you.”

“So don’t.”

Don’t stay away from me, you want to say it a million times over. Don’t ever leave me, don’t let this world swallow me whole without you by my side. You know for a fact you don’t say the words out loud, but he seems to know them anyway. “Never leaving you, baby. Never in a million years.” The words are whispered into your skin, mapped out along the curve of your jaw.

You’re both slow, getting up off the floor. The peals of laughter taste like sugar on his lips, and your mouth chases his, hands reaching, searching, pulling at fabric and pushing at limbs. He hauls you up against him, lifting one thigh until it’s bent over his hip, presses his weight into you. Your neck arches and his lips glue to your pulse, sucking a bruise, tongue soothing the ache it leaves.

Take me to bed.

He does. With one more hungry kiss, he pulls away, planting his hands and pushing himself up, sliding his lips along your collar before he’s gone, shuffling backwards, getting to his feet. He holds both hands out to you, and you take them, groaning as he pulls you up, tugs on your arms, sends you sprawling into his chest.

Joel bands his arm around your shoulders, the other around your waist, seeks out your mouth again. 

Never stop kissing me. Never stop holding me. 

The riot of butterflies zipping through you feels foreign, almost unfamiliar, but when he pushes his tongue past your teeth, memories rise to the surface, bright spots amongst the dark. Kissing in the paint aisle with coffee on your breath, in the bed of his truck beneath the stars, in the corner of the movie theatre in Austin, in the dead of night when you slept in his bed and sought him out with sleep in the corners of your eyes.

It all feels like a lifetime ago. It is, in a way.

The hand at your waist moves beneath your sweater, the flat of his palm against the small of your back. The mere touch of his skin to yours makes your blood shiver with anticipation and you curl your fingers in the front of his flannel, dark red striped with black. He adjusts his grip on you, slides both hands up your back, presses them to your shoulder blades, the soft pressure making your arms lift, wrapping around his neck, lips still glued to his.

His hands slide back down, rounding the curve of your hips, squeezing at the meat of your ass. He walks you backwards, out of the kitchen, towards the bed, and you waste no time taking over, turning until you’re the one pushing him, your legs crooked between his, boots shuffling together across the wood floor. When the edge of the mattress hits the back of his knees, Joel flinches, your mouths breaking apart.

“Liv, are you—”

“Joel Miller, if you ask me if I’m sure, I swear to god I will smack you with my baseball bat.”

He has the audacity to grin, a sly thing that makes your heart flutter in your chest. “You stashed the bat.”

You scoff, almost exasperated. “Shut the fuck up.” You almost roll your eyes, but he grabs you again, both hands on your face, fingers curling around your ears, sliding into your hair. You slide your own beneath the hem of his shirt, seeking out hot skin, but you freeze when your fingertips skim something raised, a line across his hip, unfamiliar. “What…?”

You half expect him to pull away when you lift the fabric, leaning back enough to get a good look. 

“Joel—”

“Outbreak day,” he says, the words hushed, the tone in his voice making your eyes dart back up to his. His hands have slid down to your neck, and you can feel the edge of his thumb rubbing along the hinge of your jaw, the movement soothing. You let your fingers follow the shape of the scar again. “Bullet just skimmed me.” He inhales sharply, leans forward until his forehead is pressed to yours, his eyes shutting tightly. “Same soldier that…” The words trail off, but you put two and two together, taking a deep breath.

Same soldier that shot Sarah.

You move your hands away, instead focusing your fingers on the buttons of his flannel. “I like this shirt,” you murmur, tilting your face in his grip, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Might have to steal this one.”

“You have one of my shirts already,” he replies, his thumb moving up the slope of your cheek. “Saw it in your closet.”

You lift a brow, silently exhaling, grateful for the change of subject. “You went through my stuff?”

He catches your bottom lip in a gentle kiss, his mouth along your jaw a moment later. “Didn’t go through your underwear, don’t worry.”

“I wouldn’t be mad, if you had,” you reply, letting your lips curve into a wicked grin. He makes a grumbling noise, giving you a harder peck, and you nearly moan.

“You have my shirt.”

You nod. “I had another one, too, but I got caught in the bombings, and it got shredded.”

His brow goes hard, and your hands move to his belt, tugging at the buckle, pulling it through the loops, dropping it to the floor. The movement makes his face soften slightly, and he grumbles again, eyes screwed shut. “Don’t like the idea of you, out there, all alone, fighting for your fuckin’ life.”

“Didn’t have a choice,” you tell him, working the button of his jeans neck, letting your fingers graze the skin above the band of his boxers, through the happy trail of hair that leads beneath the elastic. “I had to get to you.”

“Were you hurt?” he asks, his voice a low rasp, and you nod, the tip of your nose dragged along his. “Show me.”

You pull back slightly, reluctantly letting go of his waist, crossing your arms and yanking your sweater over your head. Joel inhales sharply, dropping his hands from your face. He grabs your wrist first, taking in the jagged scar that runs the top of your forearm. “I was holed up in a bookstore when they started bombing,” you tell him, recalling as he lets his fingers skim your skin. It makes you shiver. “Lucky a damn shelf didn’t fall on my head.”

“I remember…” he starts, lifting your arm until your hand rests on his shoulder. He turns his head, leans his cheek against your wrist. “When I called that first night, you said that Dean…that he scratched you, or…?”

You nod, turning your scarred shoulder towards him. “That’s right. You told me to patch myself up.”

His fingers graze over the scar, following the lines in your skin. Your hand moves to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, and your shoulder rolls back and he grips your hips again, thumbs rubbing slow circles. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says, his voice low, forehead leaning into yours. “I’m sorry I was an ass, I’m sorry I took so long, I’m sorry I—”

“Joel—”

“I’m never leaving you again, you hear me?” You’ve got both hands in his hair now, and the shine in his eyes makes tears crawl up your throat. “I won’t ever lo—”

“Joel.”

“I should have been here,” he says, his voice thick, and a tear slips down your cheek, hot as anything. “I should have protected you, I should have told you to stay in Austin, I never should have let you go.”

You tighten your grip on his hair, pushing yourself further into his grasp. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters, you understand?” When he doesn’t respond, you tug on his hair, forcing his eyes to yours. “You’re here now. We both are.”

The next kiss he offers destroys you. It’s like he’s devouring you, drinking the air from your lungs, tasting every inch of your mouth, pulling you back to the thrill and pleasure and love you felt in Texas so many years ago. There’s nothing slow about his movements now, hands roving your body, careful around your ribs, but mapping you out, relearning the curve of you. There are other scars on you, tiny marks collected outside the wall, too-close run-ins and that one time you fucking tripped and fell on your knife, but he doesn’t ask about those, too preoccupied with your mouth.

After a while, he sinks down, sits at the edge of the mattress. He spreads his knees wide, brings you between them, undoing your jeans with ease, pushing them down your legs. He leaves a hot trail of kisses along your waist, hooks his fingers in the elastic of your underwear, pulling them down too. Joel’s head dips lower, one hand pushing your legs apart, and you gasp when he licks at you, nose buried right between your thighs.

You gasp, tugging on his hair, and he pulls back, eyes on your face, lips shiny already. You’re quivering, having him this close again. “D’you have any idea how much I’ve missed the taste of you, baby?”

The words alone are enough to make your knees go weak, and you open your mouth to say something, but only a moan comes out, his head lowered to you once more, both hands an iron grip on your hips. It’s ecstasy, the feeling of his mouth, the press of his fingers, the softness of his hair. It makes your toes curl, makes stars shoot across the backs of your eyelids.

“Joel.”

He moans into you, and you pull hard on his hair, gasping for air when he detaches from the nerves between your legs. You feel staticky, your fingers and toes tingling as you tilt his head back, bend down to kiss him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue. You go to lift your leg, to plant your knee on the bed beside him, but Joel stops you, getting to his feet.

“What—”

His fingers fly down the front of his shirt, unbuttoning as he goes. Your chest is heaving, eyes darting all over him as more bare skin is revealed. You can see the scar just above his hip now, raised and shiny. He has other scars, just like you, tiny marks and wounds, proof of life, proof he survived. You can’t help but reach for him, running your palms up his chest as he shrugs out of his shirt. 

Joel kisses your forehead as he drapes the shirt around you, helping you slide your arms through the sleeves. Faintly, you hear the soft thud as his jeans hit the floor, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you against him as he sinks back down onto the mattress. He curls his other hand around your leg, tugging at your knee until it’s fit against his hip. You adjust your weight, lifting the other leg to match, and settle into his lap, feeling the light scratch of the hair on his legs against your thighs, the prod of his covered cock against your core.

“D’you need me to—” he starts, but you shake your head, cutting him off, your faces so close together that your nose brushes his again.

“I just wanna feel you.”

Joel watches, eyes heavy-lidded and pupils wide, as you grab his wrist, lifting his hand to your mouth, laving your tongue along his fingers, tasting the salt on his skin. His gaze is glued to your lips, your tongue, and when you slide his index and middle into your mouth, your eyes lock to his, and his grip on your waist grows impossibly tighter.

You lean up slightly, lifting your weight off him as he pulls his hand from your face, slipping between you, freeing himself. He fits his face into the curve of your neck, sucks at the thin skin over your pulse, and you let your eyes slip shut. Your fingers curl in the cuffs of his shirt, the fabric worn soft between your knuckles. You’re surrounded by the scent of him, almost overwhelmed by the feeling of him. 

His hand drags slowly against you, making your back arch when you sink back down, feeling the hot press of him inside you, scrabbling at his shoulders as his mouth moves up your throat, seeks out your lips once more. You’re gasping as you seat yourself fully, his cock filling you to the hilt, and Joel kisses the noises right out of you, moving both hands to your hips, guiding you along him.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, teeth nipping at your lips, moving along your jaw. You’re a mess, the feeling of him, of being full of him, after so long is so achingly familiar that all you can do is hold onto him, pushing both hands through his hair, keeping him as close as you can. It’s a stretch, there’s no denying that, just riding the line between pleasure and pain, but you don’t care, letting your knees slide wider on the bed, letting yourself sink deeper into his embrace, letting him push agains tall those devastating places buried inside you.

It makes you feel alive.

“Missed you,” he breathes into your skin, hips jolting up into yours with every drag of his cock. “Every fuckin’ day, every fuckin’ minute. Never stopped thinkin’ about you, baby.”

“Joel—” you croak out, that coil in your belly snapping tight when you feel his teeth scrape beneath your jaw, one hand dipping back to grab a handful of your ass. But every movement is slow still, a drawn-out instant that blurs the line between past and present.

It sparks something in you, something that’s been waiting to be unleashed for God only knows how long. A near toxic mix of anger and longing and pain and love, emotion spilling out of you unbidden. You shove at his shoulders, catching him off guard as he falls back. He reaches for you, and you bat his hands away, planing both of yours and chest and grinding down on him.

“You were an ass to me, Joel Miller,” you grit, pleasure setting your nerves alight. You can feel your orgasm barrelling towards you, but you hold back, bearing down on him, revelling in the sound he makes when you clench tight.

“I know,” he starts to say, his voice gravelly. “I’m sorry, baby, I—”

You move one hand from is chest to his jaw, your fingers spread along the side of his neck. You lean forward just enough that his eyes meet yours, and everything in you buzzes at the lust-filled look in his eye, his parted lips, his heavy breaths. Something possessive and feral makes your heart racket.

“You ever treat me the way you have these last few weeks again, and I swear to God—” the words are punctuated by deep rolls of your hips, long drags that make his chest stutter, “—I will make you regret the day you met me, you understand?”

“Liv, ba—” he starts, and you squeeze your fingers either side of his throat. 

“Do you understand?” you repeat, and lift yourself off him, until just the tip of him is notched inside you.

“Yes,” he breathes, and you slam back down, mouth seeking his, drinking down the groans the spill out of him. Everything in you is tingling, white sparks behind your eyes, your blood singing in your veins. He grabs hold of your wrists and leans up, chest pressed to yours, a grunt on his lips and a gleam in his eye.

The world tilts, and your back hits the mattress, Joel still pressed deep within you. He moves up the bed with you, covers your body with his own. He cages his arms around your head, pushes the hair back from your face. You drag your nails up his back, dig them into his shoulder blades slightly. You want to mark him, you want to shout his name until your lungs give out, you want to—

“God, I fuckin’ love you,” he murmurs to you, his mouth an inch from your ear, hot breath fanning your cheek. He presses a soft kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “My brave girl.” He rolls his hips, and your back arches off the mattress. “Feel so fuckin’ good.”

You croak his name, tossing your head back as the familiar feeling creeps up your spine, the world being yanked out from under you, everything going impossibly tight and good and—

He grits out your name as you cum, your nails dug so hard into his back you’re sure you’ll draw blood, but Joel doesn’t seem to care, continuing the slow drag of his cock against your every nerve, his face fit into the curve of your neck, peppered kisses at your pulse. It’s just as intense as you remember, with him, that feeling of weightlessness seeping into you, everything relaxing as he keeps moving, seeking out his own pleasure, and you can’t help but clench, spurring him on.

At the last second, he pulls out, making you both groan, cumming hot across your bare stomach, just missing the fabric of his shirt. He slumps sideways, falling onto the mattress beside you, keeping his arm across your body, fingers wrapped around your bicep.

“M’sorry,” he grumbles, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Wasn’t sure where to…”

You just laugh, moving his shirt out of the way. “It’s fine, Joel,” you murmur, reaching out and stroking your knuckles along his cheek. “We’re good, just for future reference.”

His brow raises slowly. “Hmm?”

“McCoy has a few…habits,” you tell him, sighing when his hand moves up to your face, cups your jaw. “I smuggle his shit in from the outside, and he gets me the pill from the pharmacy in exchange.”

“Why would you—” he starts to ask, but cuts himself off, eyes slipping shut. “Right. Cowan. Of all the guys you could have…”

You slide your head closer to his, until you can kiss him softly. “It doesn’t matter now. None of it.”

Joel grunts, pulling you even closer still, a hotter kiss pressed to your mouth, tongue tasting yours. “You were the only thing that ever did.”

“You’re a romantic, Joel Miller,” you grin, rubbing your nose against his.

He grins back. “Only for women who put their hands around my throat and threaten me like you did.”

You chew your lips, heat sparking between your legs again already, turned to flame when he releases your jaw and lets his hand rest on your thigh instead, fingers curling along your sensitive skin. “Oh, you enjoyed that, did you?”

“Fuckin’ right, I did,” he grumbles, and then his mouth finds yours once more.

+

You’re up just before the sun is.

You don’t bother with the clock, turning back over, burrowing deeper into Joel’s side, the blankets covering you both. He’s sprawled on his back, one arm beneath your head, the other resting on his stomach. It makes you smile; some things never change, and you’re grateful as hell for that.

The pair of you never left the bed last night. After you cleaned yourself up from the first round, it had very quickly devolved into a second and third. Joel couldn’t keep his hands off you, and you couldn’t keep yours off of him, touching and exploring each other until the last dregs of sunlight disappeared. He made you feel things you’d thought were long forgotten, mere memories of what you’d shared in Austin, renewed completely, leaving you reeling.

You lit candles along the windowsill, played music low on the radio — a copy of the same Led Zeppelin cassette you’d once played in Joel’s truck — and polished off the bottle of whiskey. And you talked. 

For hours.

You talked until your voice grew hoarse, and Joel’s just got more and more gravelly with every story he told. There were things he still wouldn’t tell you, things he said he was ashamed of, but you understood. There were some stories that required more than just whiskey, ones you weren’t ready to share. You weren’t the same people anymore, but a combination of new and old, survivors, people who had done what they had to to make it out alive. Make it back to each other.

Joel refused to let you out of his grip, and you were more than happy to oblige, content to stay perched in his lap as you spoke. His hands wandered, along your ribs, over your stomach, brushing the hair back from your face. You returned his touch in kind, palms riding the curves of his chest, the width of his shoulders. Your attention veered off more than once, distracted by his fingers sliding between your legs, lips finding yours, rasped words in your ear.

God, I missed you. Love you. Need you.

And now, waking up, your body not so shockingly aches for more. You cuddle closer, humming happily when his arm curls around your shoulders, head turning and his lips moving across your forehead.  You sling your arm across his stomach, rubbing your thumb across his hipbone. His legs flex beneath the sheets, tangling with your own, dragging you closer.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his eyes still shut, removing his hand up and down your arm.

“Hi,” you whisper back, lifting your jaw to kiss at his scruffy one. “It’s early, go back to sleep.”

Joel groans, burying his face in your pillow, his head ducked beneath yours lips near your ear. “W’bout you?” He squeezes your shoulder. “Stay.”

You have time to make up for, questions that still need answering, decisions to make. You want to assume that he’ll stay with you here, in your apartment, that the bed that has only been your own thus far would now belong to you both. Waking up like this, beside him — a luxury you’d never allowed yourself to grow used to back in Texas — nearly makes up for it all.

But with the threads of sunlight just starting to spark the sky, Joel beside you, the phantom feeling of him all over you, the heaviness of all the whiskey looming in the back of your throat, the guilt comes too, the unfairness of your situation, to one specific person.

Nick.

Joel had asked only once. Only one question, only one thing he was curious to know. And the answer had come so quickly, fallen out of you so fast that the guilt had started there, only to be pushed away by Joel, not by his words or his reassurances, but just his presence.

Did you love him? Do…do you love him?

No.

The answer was easy. And, you hadn’t lied to Nick. You’d never said the words, no matter how many times he’d had that gleam in his eye, when you disappeared out the fire escape, or ran into him out on patrols. It would have been a lie, plain and simple, and you refused to be that person. You had wanted to give him more, had felt like it was something deserved, even if it wasn’t something you were able to give. After five long years, you’d started to resign yourself, half convinced that no one was ever going to answer your radio messages, or walk through those gates, back into your life.

But then…Joel did.

You have to end it, with Nick. Officially. There’s no getting around it, and part of you wonders if he’ll see it coming, if he’s expecting it. In the weeks that followed him bringing Tess and Joel through officially, your stint in lockup, the beating from Angie, you’d made yourself scarce. The weight of Joel’s indifference was one thing, and the last thing you wanted was Nick’s sympathy. It felt false, no matter how you looked at it.

It was a good few days before you saw him on the streets again, and he’d balked at the bruise on your face, the slight stagger to your walk. You gave him the short version, that you’d definitely pissed Angie off at the pharmacy, and maybe you had the beating coming. He’d given you a once over, took your chin in his hand and inspected your face, told to come see him later that night.

“I shouldn’t,” you said, trying not to sound too dismissive, shaking your head in his grip. “I’m staying at Deanna’s, promised the kids a bedtime story.”

“Come after.”

“And get caught out after curfew?” you’d shot back, stepping out of his reach. “The last thing I need is another stint in lockup, don’t you think?”

“Liv—”

“I’ll see you around, Cowan.”

You’d turned on your heel, stalking off in the same direction you’d came, even though it wasn’t where you were going. You didn’t miss the hurt look on his face, the use of his surname rather than his first clearly not what we was expecting, but your face and ribs throbbed with every step you took, and you found you didn’t feel so bad about it.

He’d come by Deanna’s once while you were there. A few words were exchanged, you’d kept yourself busy with a game of Candyland with Emily, and Deanna and Nick talked in the kitchen, their voices hushed. He ruffled Henry’s hair and pinched Emily’s cheek before he left, and ducked down to leave a kiss at your temple. It made your cheeks flare with heat, and you’d followed him out of Deanna’s apartment, caught him in the hallway.

“I never thanked you properly. For getting Joel and Tess through.”

He stopped, dead in his tracks, for just a moment. Turned his head enough that you could just see his face, his hard expression. “Don’t mention it.”

That was the last time you saw him.

You’re reluctant, sliding out of Joel’s grip, out of bed. He makes a noise that sounds nearly like a whine when you disentangle yourself fully, and you lean over him, pressing messy kisses along his cheeks, over his lips, his jaw. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be back.”

“Where y’going?” he grumbles out, chasing your mouth. “Come back t’bed, baby.”

“There’s something I gotta go,” you tell him, kissing his cheek, brushing your fingers through his hair. “I’ll come back and make you breakfast, hmm?”

“Mmm,” is the only response you get, and he’s asleep again, buried in your pillow.

You can’t bring yourself to shed his shirt, so you do up the buttons instead, find a pair of black jeans that are still wearable, shove your feet in your boots. Pulling on your coat, you grab your keys, and pause, turning and glancing back towards the bed. Joel’s still asleep, flat on his back, lips parted, soft snores filling the apartment, and despite the guilt rioting in your stomach, you smile. He looks peaceful, for the first time since you saw him again. He looks like your bed is where he belongs.

You yank your eyes away, slipping out the door as quietly as possible and locking it behind you.

It’s just past the morning curfew, when you step out of the building. The streets are mostly empty, soldiers coming off evening patrols, the day shift switching out. You take the quick path to the barracks, sliding up the fire escape, knocking softly at the window.

Nick’s awake, pulling on his gear, and his eyes meet yours through the glass as he walks towards the window, sliding it open. “What are you doing here so early?” There’s a bit of curiosity in his tone, but otherwise, his voice is flat, unflinching.

“I need to talk to you.”

He steps out of the way, and you clamber through the window, ignoring the ache in your legs, no doubt a consequence of your evening escapades. If he sees you flinch, he says nothing.

Nick goes and perches at the edge of his bed, and you stay standing, near the window. A quick escape. “What’s going on, Liv?”

“I can’t…we, I’m not…” You sigh heavily. Might as well just fucking say it. “I slept with Joel.”

He barks a laugh, and you nearly flinch. “Am I supposed to be surprised?” He leans forward, clasps his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. “When?”

“Last night. I’m sorry, for whatever that’s worth. I don’t expect you to keep…treating me, the way you have. I don’t expect any more favours, or—”

“What would you have done,” he starts, getting to his feet, cutting you off, “if I had said no? If I had refused to bring them through?”

Your back straightens at his harsh tone. You’re not expecting forgiveness, or for this to be an easy conversation, but you already don’t like where it’s going. “I would have found another way. I would have made another deal, or let Angie beat me to death, if that’s what it took. I would have done anything.”

Nick just stares at you, for a moment, those strange eyes of him going dark, nearly black, darker than you’ve seen them in a long time. “You really love him that much.” It’s a statement, not a question. “I never stood a goddamn chance, did I? Could you ever have loved me, like that?”

You shake your head. “I can’t love anyone the way I love him.”

“I never should have fucking…” He trails off, rubs a hand over his face. “Did you ever even give a shit, really?”

“Nick, don’t—”

“Well, now’s the time for honesty, Liv! Answer the fucking question.”

“Of course I give a shit!” you throw back, taking a step forward. He stares down his nose at you. “Of course I care about you, Nick, but this is not…It’s him. I’m sorry, I truly am, but it’s always been him. It’s always gonna be him.”

“Get out.”

“Nick—”

“Get the fuck out. And do me a goddamn favour and keep your smuggling bullshit away from me. I know I can’t stop you, and there’s no point in me reporting you, you’d just rat me out.”

You balk, faltering back a step. “You really think that little of me? You honestly think I’d rat you out after this?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, I do.”

You inhale sharply. You knew it would be bad, but you didn’t think this bad. “I never meant for it to happen like this. I never thought he would show up. Don’t you get that?”

“Just…get out of here, Liv. Don’t come back.”

+

There are tears in your eyes, the whole way back. You take the long route back to your apartment, keeping to the streets, pushing your way through people. Every word Nick had said rings in your ears, your throat thick and your cheeks stinging. You chew the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears from sliding down your face.

When you get through the door, your eyes go straight to the bed, and your heart leaps into the throat when you see it’s empty, the blankets rumpled. A single tears slips out then, and you wipe it away with the sleeve of your coat.

“Liv?” Joel’s voice calls, and your head snaps towards the kitchen, seeing him standing there at the counter, no shirt, jeans still unbuckled. “Baby?”

You throw yourself at him, headlong into his arms, and he catches you, holding you against his bare chest. The tears come freely then, a whirlwind of emotions, and Joel just holds you through it, fitting his face into the crook of your neck, rocking you slightly, one hand buried in your hair.

PREV | NEXT

[planetharrie]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Waiting from Home

In which Harry comforts Lucille after she finds out some terrible news about her sister.

Warnings: Contains very slight mentions of vomiting.

⭐️

When Harry received a dazed call from his girlfriend in the early evening, (barely) explaining she was in hospital, he all but pounced from the sofa he was sunken on.

He’d messaged Lucille just after 7 P.M that night, wondering about her whereabouts,

‘Hey, where are you? Dinners ready :) x’ was his message and he balanced his phone on his thigh, Lucille’s contact open so that he could read her message when it came through. Her iMessage bubble popped up, Harry watched the three little dots fade in and out as she typed before they disappeared all together.

He frowned and picked up his phone, ready type a second message to prompt her to reply, when a banner notification popped down. Lucille ICE read the caller ID and Harry’s thumb automatically pressed accept.

“Hullo, Lovie. Is everything oka—” Harry was interrupted with a sniffle and muffled sob, “Luce? Wha-What’s wrong? Talk to me—”

“Harry—”

“Yeah, Baby. ‘M here, are you alright?” Harry sat up and leant his elbows atop his knees and clutched the phone tight to his right ear. He was met with broken sentences and blubber as his girlfriend attempted to explain the situation from the other end of the receiver.

Usually, Harry would have the patience to allow others to cry and calm down a little before speaking, but in this case, he was so concerned he was getting slightly frustrated with the incoherent responses.

“Lucille, Love, I’m here. Just try and explain—”

“Hospital—I’m i-in the hospital.” Lucille muffled another sob before sucking in a deep breath, “Harry, I—”

Harry was on his feet in an instance, his left hand frantically feeling his joggers’ pockets for his keys. “Fuck, Luce. Do you need me? I-I’m coming, Love—”

“No! No, i-it’s okay. I’m in the,” she took in a shaky breath, her speakers going distorted for a second. “I’m in the waiting room. It’s Sam.”

Harry slowed down, his hand hovering over the front door handle. “Sam? As in your sister, Sam?”

“Yeah! Oh god.” Lucille’s voice broke, seemingly still in shock that it’s her own sister that’s in A&E; she honestly hadn’t processed it until Harry had asked. She began weeping again and Harry’s heart shattered. His eyes trail up to the ceiling as he blinks back his own sympathy tears and swallowed the anxious burn at the back of his throat. He sucked in a short breath and lowered himself to sit on one of the bottom stairs; he had to stay calm, collected and supportive for Lucille.

He found it almost challenging to hold back his own flurry of tears; hearing his wife sob through a speaker, alone in a cold and bare room alone was fucking torture. Knowing he couldn’t simply scoop her up, hold her, kiss her head, whisper caring and comforting words into her hair. Knowing he couldn’t make her feel safe at that very moment made him feel sick. And not only that, but his sister-in-law was also in a bad way; he didn’t know any details but Sam was very important to him too. They were close, basically like biological siblings. She was important to Lucille so she was vital to Harry.

“Alright, Baby, it’s alright. . . just take a deep breath for me,” Harry listened to her regulate a couple of breaths before coughing and a taking some more. “That’s it, Luce, well done. You’re going to be okay. .”

She hummed into the mic and sniffed.

“Now, do you need me to come down to St John’s? Is that where you are?”

Lucille began nodding but quickly realised Harry couldn’t see her. Now she felt stupid. Her emotions were high and beyond regulated and her face crumpled with tears streaming again. She couldn’t focus on a thing, and after not replying to Harry for a good 20 seconds, she got spooked when he spoke again.

“Luce?—”

“Yes, it’s St John’s Hospital. B-but no, you’re okay. I’m okay. Y-you don’t have to come, Harry.”

Harry frowned and shuffled on the step, “Are you sure? Lucille, I hate the thought of you there alone.”

“I’m not. Well, I won’t be; I think my brother-in-law is on his way, so Luke will be with me.” Lucille explained, her voice far more calm and understandable. “I’ll be okay.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his face, staring at the gap between his feet. His heart physically throbbed at the thought of his wife sat alone with her own thoughts in a silent room. He wanted to be there. But Sam’s partner, Luke, would hopefully be there soon. He was a great guy and Lucille felt safe with him.

“Okay, i-if that’s what you want, Love. I’ll come pick you up then?”

“No; I’m going to be here a-awhile, Harry. I don’t want to keep you up, you have work and—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Lucille. I don’t care about work, right now. All I care about is you and Sam. I’ll stay up for how ever long you need.” Harry’s voice was short. He hadn’t intended for it to come out so sharp and impatient as it did. “Sorry. I’m just worried, Love.”

There was a slight pause on Lucille’s side before she audibly swallowed. “I know, Harry. Look—Luke‘s just arrived. He’s messaged me to met him at the entrance. I’ll be okay. I’ll get a taxi home.”

“Lucille—“

“I’ve called Stacey, I think she’s going to come keep me company; don’t worry. I better go ‘cause Luke’s waiting. I love you. .”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and reluctantly accepted defeat. “I love you too, Luce. I’ll see you later.”

Then the call ended. Harry dropped his phone to the step bellow him and he rubbed his face until it went red. This was sick; he felt like such a shitty, useless husband not being at his wife’s side. But he reminded himself that this is what she wanted and he must respect that.

She has her brother and best friend with her ,

she has a her brother and best friend there,

her brother and best friend are there, she is not alone. .

Was what Harry had to rhyme to himself for the rest of the night to calm his anxiety. He refused to go to bed. He refused to get changed into his pyjamas. He refused to eat the food he made for the both of them. He refused to continue on with his evening, their evening, without Lucille.

So he sunk into the sofa, put his ringer on as loud as possible and stared aimlessly at the flicker of the TV for the remainder of the night.

At around 11, later that same night, Harry woke up to his phone ringing; he must’ve dropped off to sleep at some point.

His eyes squinted, adjusting to the blue light streaming at him from the telly and his phone. The caller ID once again had Lucille ICE flashing at him and he sat up.

He accepted the call and blinked. “Lucille?”

“Hello, Harry?”

“Who’s this? Stacey?”

“Uh—yeah, hiya, it’s me. Look Harry, I’ve just rung a taxi for Lucille. She really needs to come home.”

Harry frowned and sat up even straighter, “I offered to come collect her but she said no.”

“Yup, yeah she told me but she’s stubborn as fuck.” Harry nodded to himself, “anyways, she’s not in great shape. Her eyes are bloodshot and she was practically falling asleep in the chair. She refused to eat and drink anything. She really needs to come home.”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks, Stacey, I’ll look out for the car. Um,” Harry paused and recollected his thoughts, “did—did you hear anything more about Sam? Do we even know what happened?”

Stacey sighed, indicating it wasn’t great news. “Hit ‘n run basically. There’s not severe injuries, thank fuck, but she’s got a few broken bones, concussion. .”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. It sounded awful but he was relieved that no catastrophic injuries took place. A hit and run, how terrible. .

“Jesus. .”

“Oh, that taxis here. Luce, cmon stay awake for me, time to get you home, Babe.” There was a groan and some muffled movements coming from Stacey’s call. “Gotta go, H. She’ll be with you shortly, bye!”

Harry tossed his phone to the side and stood up. His blanket fell from his upright body and crumpled to the ground. He picked it back up, deciding he’d wrap Lucille up in it when she arrived home to keep her warm.

In the 20 minutes it took for Lucille’s taxi to arrive home, Harry had got the bedroom and bathroom ready for her. He’d made the bed all comfy, with a few of her collected Jelly Cats sat up waiting for her. He’d turned on only one lamp so that it was dim and cozy; Harry did not want to overstimulate or overwhelm her.

In the bathroom, a bath had been run with lavender-scented bath salts scattered in the warm water. Lucille’s pink flannel and matching towel were folded neatly on the closed toilet seat along with her pyjamas. Harry figured a quick warm bath would make her feel better; it would relax her a little bit before bed and she’d hopefully feel a little better within herself with clean hair, a clean body and—ultimately—a clean(er) mind.

As Harry went to shut the bedroom blinds, he spots a black taxi pull up onto the driveway, it’s headlights seeping in through the windows. Harry bounded down the steps and jogged out to the car.

He went to the passenger-side window and tapped on the glass. The driver rolled down the window.

“Hey buddy,” Harry handed him a folded £20 note. “cheers mate.”

Harry shuffled sideways and opened the rear door. Lucille sat behind the driver, her head slumped against the door, eyes fluttering shut. He knelt a knee on the seat and reached in for her, scooping his arms under her knees and around her back.

“Cm’ere, I’ve gotcha. .”

Lucille cradled in his arms, barely awake. Harry kicked the car door shut gently and thanked the driver once again through the passenger window and hurried them both inside.

⭐️

“Everything’s going to be okay. .” Harry cooed softly to his wife as he gently washed her face with a damp flannel. Lucille was slumped against the side of the tub, her small hand being used as a pillow to protect her head from the hard porcelain. “You’re going to be okay, Lovely.”

He ran the flannel across her forehead and looked down at her eyes. They were distant. Almost like there was nothing behind them; no thoughts, no emotion. The flannel was dunked back into the bath water before it trailed softly over her pale shoulder and down her arm.

Her naked body was curled up against the side and her long hair trailed down her back, wet after Harry’d washed it.

He took his eyes off Lucille for the first time in a little while to squeeze out the excess water from the flannel and drape it on the edge of the tub. Harry’s attention is back on his wife in an instant and he reaches over to cup her shoulder. His green eyes scan her pale features, searching for something; anything,

He hummed and copied Lucille’s position, using his left hand as a bony pillow for his cheek as he rested it on the bathtub. His finger softly rubs her damp skin and begins to hum a song softly.

Her eyes slowly wonder up to his and Harry gives a small smile, reaching up to stroke her cheek.

“Hi there.” He whispers. Lucille blinks slowly and Harry took that as her way of saying hello back. “Are you hungry, Darling? Do you want some tea? Toast?” His whisper continues but he notices a slight shift in her eyes. They went from content and sleepy to a slight panic-like glimmer. She began sitting up, her face looking flustered.

“Harry—“ she choked out as she used all of her strength to life her chin over the side of the tub, where she suddenly coughed and vomited onto the bathroom floor.

Harry’s hands immediately went to her back and forehead, supporting her weight so that she didn’t slip and fall. He rubbed a small circle on her back to coax anything else up. Lucille coughed over the small puddle of, well, nothing. It was mainly water. She was left panting, her eyes wide like saucers as she realised she’d just been sick.

“Oh, it’s okay, Luce.” Harry cooed, stroking back her wet hair. “let’s get you out of here, hm?”

10 minutes later, Lucille is tucked in in bed; wrapped up in her favourite pyjamas and the quilt tugged up to her chin. Harry is laying next to her, on top of the duvet, soothing her hair back and waiting for her to drift to sleep.

It had been a long, difficult and scary night for the both of them but especially Lucille. The best thing for her was rest. Harry figured he’d try getting her to eat in the morning. He then remembered he still had the bath to drain and the small puddle of vomit to clean up but that could wait.

The stress-induced vomiting had honestly scared him; the fact that she only threw-up maybe a mouthful of digested water made Harry feel sick himself—he hated the thought of his wife not being able to eat anything because she’s so sick with worry and anxiety.

“You’re so strong, Lucille. I hope you know that. Your sister is strong too and she’s going to be okay.” He whispered to her, despite her being fast asleep. He listened to her breathe, soft and faint snores coming from her nose.

Getting tired himself, he left the bedroom and went in to tidy and clean-up the bathroom before climbing back into bed—for real this time. Harry leant over and pecked the softest kiss on his wife’s forehead, not wanting to wake her before cozying down himself and letting his body drift into a slumber.

⭐️

[samwpmarleau]

fic: sliding doors

whumptober day 15: childhood trauma masterlist: tumblr, ao3 It could have gone like this.

It’s comically easy to run away from the Olsens. Climb out the window, dig her sneakers into the seams between the bricks to shimmy down the wall, only almost fall twelve times, freedom. Eleven-year-old Mary Sue Poots has done this before. Not from the Olsens, they’re fairly new, but others. This family is fine. Not the worst she’s had. They’re predictable in their anger, they telegraph it to Mary Sue’s well-trained eyes.

Usually, anyway. Her wrists twinge with the results of Mrs. Olsen’s iron grip that Mary Sue had been slow to anticipate.

It’s less than a mile to the nearest subway station, and a pleasant day outside to boot, only mildly humid in comparison to the soup that the rest of summer has been. She swipes her metro card and slips onto the next train, destination: Queens.

While she’s been to the Hall of Science before, it was only for a few minutes. The Rykersons’ three-year-old had gotten fussy, making enough of a scene that his parents shuffled them all off to the park instead. That was six months ago, and Mary Sue has been wanting to finish the visit ever since. She stares up at the curved building, finesses her way through the entrance (“Oh, my mom and dad are just outside, ma’am, see? Those two there. They’ve got my little sister to get situated and told me to just go on ahead. I’m really excited, I’ve enrolled in the science fair at school and everything!”), and begins to absorb everything it has to offer.

Four exhibits in, Mary Sue’s attention is caught by a boy around her age animatedly talking to what she assumes are his parents. He takes after his father in appearance, she observes, all lanky and curly-haired, but he shares the laugh of his heavily pregnant mother, who has folded up one of the museum maps to use as a fan.

They look happy. They look like the sort of family Mary Sue’s always wished she had.

It’s not fair.

Even more unfair is how she’s too distracted to notice the Watch Your Step sign near her feet and promptly face-plants, hard.

Mary Sue considers lying where she is, forever. If she doesn’t look up from the carpet, she won’t be able to see what she knows is everyone making fun of her.

“Hey, you okay?”

Mary Sue sighs. Lying here will not, apparently, work out. Not that her plans ever do. If they did, she’d have found a home by now.

With a grunt, she moves into a sitting position and regards the speaker. It’s the boy that had captured her attention in the first place, his big brown eyes earnest. “I’m fine, thanks.”

The boy lets out a little gasp. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” Mary Sue glances down at her hands, which, indeed, are scraped raw and welling with drops of blood.

“Mom!” the boy calls over his shoulder.

“No, don’t,” she pleads. The last thing she needs is more attention.

Too late.

“What’s your name, mija?” the boy’s mother asks as his father gently helps her to her feet.

“Mary Sue.”

“Are your parents nearby, Mary Sue?”

“Yeah, they’re … around. Back at the bubble part, I think.” The woman’s eyes are as big and brown as her son’s, and very kind. They make Mary Sue almost not want to lie.

“Berto,” the woman says to her husband, “see if you can find them. Take Robbie with you.”

He complies with an encouraging smile in Mary Sue’s direction and ushers along his son into the previous exhibit. Robbie gives her a little wave as he leaves. Mary Sue responds with half of one.

“I’m Juliana,” says the boy’s mother. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up a little?”

Mary Sue lets herself be all but manhandled to the nearest restroom. For being as far along as she is, Juliana is surprisingly agile. “I can take care of it myself,” Mary Sue says, trying not to sound rude.

Juliana assesses her as she wets a paper towel. “I’m sure you can. Hands, please.”

Grumpily, Mary Sue holds out her hands and lets Juliana daub away the blood and grit. She sucks in a sharp breath as Juliana inadvertently presses on a particularly tender part. “Ow.”

“I’m sorry. Almost done.”

From her purse, Juliana pulls out two band-aids and secures them over the scrapes. A quiet groan escapes her lips as she straightens, her hand pressing into her lower back. Mary Sue comments, “You look like you’re gonna pop.”

“Wish he’d hurry up,” Juliana laughs. “Still a couple more weeks yet.”

“What’s his name?”

“Gabriel.”

“Like the archangel? He was a messenger.” I am Gabriel, recites Sister Maggie’s voice in her head, that stand in the presence of God, and am sent to speak unto thee.

“Yes, that, but it was my father’s name. He passed not long ago.”

“Oh.”

“Many your age wouldn’t know who Gabriel is,” Juliana says. “Sunday school?”

“More like every day school.” Juliana tilts her head in question, and Mary Sue reluctantly elaborates, “I’m from St. Agnes’s. It’s an orphanage.”

Juliana’s face morphs into one Mary Sue is all too familiar with: pity. “So when you say your parents …?”

“Met ’em a couple weeks ago.”

Mary Sue reaches up to fix her mussed hair, which proves to be a mistake. As her sleeves fall down past her forearms, Juliana sucks in a breath. The bruises. Crap.

“Fight at school,” Mary Sue says by rote. She’s got this routine down to a science.

Voice carefully measured, Juliana asks, “Get into a lot of fights, do you? Some of those look old.”

“I can be a brat. People don’t usually like that.”

“A brat?”

“Thanks for the band-aids,” Mary Sue sidesteps quickly. “I’ve gotta go.”

“To your parents?”

“Yeah.”

“All right, let’s go see if Alberto’s tracked them down yet. Maybe we can all get some lunch together.”

Mary Sue knows that tone. The fakeness of it. Juliana has no interest in making nice, and Mary Sue would get the blowback. No thanks.

“I think we have plans already. Mom mentioned something. I’ll find them, you guys don’t have to wait around.”

“Oh. Okay, well …” Juliana reaches again into her purse and scrounges up a pen and a crumpled receipt. She jots down her name and a pager number. “Here. In case you want to meet us later. We saw a Korean barbecue place not too far from here that looked good.”

Mary Sue obediently, impatiently, pockets the receipt.

Unfazed, Juliana’s eyes search Mary Sue’s. She implores, “We’ll be in the city for another week.”

———

Mary Sue doesn’t plan on using the number or Juliana’s hospitality. The woman probably hadn’t meant it. But later that night as she lies in bed listening to the Olsens discuss what to do with her ungrateful self, she fiddles with the edges of the band-aids. Juliana and her family would have finished their barbecue long ago. Mary Sue’s stomach growls at the thought. The Olsens had skipped her dinner.

“— send her back.”

“Garth, no, of course not. We need her.”

“If this is a habit, though … Cheryl, neither of us have the patience for all that.”

“Let’s sleep on it. No reason to rush to a decision.”

Mary Sue grits her teeth at the conversation. Maybe Garth and Cheryl wouldn’t call up St. Agnes’s immediately, maybe they would even wait a week or two. But it always ends up the same: Mary Sue on the steps of the orphanage, her worldly possessions tucked tight into a backpack.

Glad that at least the Olsens had thought their volatile reaction would dissuade her from doing anything rash, she once more pries up the window, shimmies down the wall, and leaves the cul-de-sac. She comes to a stop outside the corner bodega; or, more accurately, the bodega’s payphone. Carefully, for she doesn’t have a whole lot of extra change, she punches in the numbers Juliana had written down. At the prompt, she inputs the number of the payphone, and waits.

It takes only seconds for the phone to ring, as though Juliana had been waiting for it. And she had, as Mary Sue is greeted not with a confused hello but, “Mary Sue?”

“I lied to you, Mrs. Reyes,” Mary Sue says.

“What did you lie about?”

Mary Sue shuts her eyes. The idea of confessing to someone, to someone she barely knows no less, makes her heart race. But what is the alternative? She will never get such an opportunity again, of that she is sure.

“What you saw earlier … I mean, my parents, they … um …”

“Tell me where you are.”

She does, and fifteen minutes later a solemn-faced Alberto ushers her into a cab. From Juliana’s endless purse she gets a travel pack of tissues to dry her tears.

The rest happens in a blur. Mary Sue doesn’t quite understand how it’s accomplished, only that before she knows it, she and the Reyeses are sitting in Sister Maggie’s office and Juliana asks, “Would you like to come with us, mija?”

Mary Sue agrees before the question is even finished, much to Sister Maggie’s bewilderment. One long plane ride later, she walks up the steps of a modest but well-kept home in east Los Angeles.

Which is exactly what it is, she realizes: a home. At last, she has a home.

———

It doesn’t happen like that, of course. Mr. Olsen yells, Mrs. Olsen’s backhand cuts a gash in Mary Sue’s cheek, and first thing the next morning, they send her straight back to the orphanage. Sister Maggie asks about the gash. Mary Sue says she fell off her bike. What use would there be in telling the truth, after all? The nuns wouldn’t care, not when they themselves regularly wield rulers that leave fat, bleeding welts on Mary Sue’s knuckles.

She dreams about it, though. Juliana with her mija and her bandages, Alberto with his kind smile, Robbie who’d called over his parents with worry for a mere stranger. Baby Gabriel, soon, wailing and wanted. The family she could have.

Could have, but won’t. Mary Sue can wail, but she will never be wanted.

[foap-enjoyer]

AI-Less whumptober, Call of duty Soap edition. Starting off fluffy!

Overworked | Insomnia | Exhaustion

Exhaustion. Soap x either Ghost or Gaz, your choice! Soap is too tired to tell who he's talking to anyway.

~

He was exhausted.

One whole fucking week. Twenty-four fucking seven. That’s how long higher-ups had had him working for. Running surveillance- a solo mission, of course, because why wouldn’t it be?

Soap knew for a fact he wasn’t the best candidate for something as delicate as surveillance, especially something that required him to lay low. Soap Mactavish didn’t do laying low, but apparently, he was the best candidate for this his commanders had on the roster at the time. Which, now that he had time to think about it, was almost insulting. Not to him, of course, but to the whole British military. He himself had been flattered, at the time.

Now, however? 

Now, these ‘commanders’ could shove a few hundred guns up their asses collectively and fire them to the sound of a Queen song. The mission sucked. He’d been shot at, he hadn’t slept, and he never, never wanted to ever see their dumb smiling faces ever again. Stupid old men who should’ve retired years ago instead of sending him on a one-way trip to hell. 

He’s still not even sure how he got out alive. Not that he wanted to think about any of that right now. His time of ‘usefulness’ was over, the mission was done, he was back on base, and most importantly he was fucking tired.

“I’m going to need a debrief, sergeant.” 

Of course. Of course he couldn’t have a moment to breathe come seven days later. None other than Captain John Price meeting him on the tarmac at two in the fucking morning asking for a debrief. If he wasn’t his higher up, Soap might’ve considered throttling him out of pure spite. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he gave a half-assed smile and looked up at the man. Price’s stern eyes instantly softened at the look. “Jesus, Mactavish.”

He was swaying on his feet like a damn flag in the wind. He felt like he could collapse at any given moment, and the tarmac under his feet was the last comfy place he could think of. “Think you’ll find my name is John.” 

Price snorted, waving his arm towards the door, “Fuck off and go sleep, I’ll see you first thing tomorrow-or, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “I’ll see you whenever you wake up next.”

“I don’t plan to wake up.” He mumbled as he moved past his Captain, the man hot on his heels. He could feel a hand ghost over his shoulder, steadying him as he wobbled. “Ever again.”

Somehow, he was able to make it inside. The hand on his shoulder leaves him reluctantly with a squeeze as the heat of the building encases him, steadying him in its own way. 

It’s beautiful. 

It seeps into his cold, frozen skin. Brings life back into him, and at the same time, reminds him just how tired he is. The heat slows him drastically; his muscles are relieved to not be aching as much as before, and it makes the full weight of his exhaustion very well-known to his brain. 

Not that it wasn’t already. But now, he felt more zombie than he did human.

This zombie-body would not make it to his room. This zombie-brain couldn’t even remember if he had his room key to even get into his room. So he aimed closer, nearer.

His squadron’s common room was only down the corridor.

The common room was about as lush as one could imagine a military, government-issued common room could be. A sad little kitchen, a small chipped dining room table, and most importantly, a sofa. 

Sure it was an old, creaky one, but it was a fucking sofa, and Soap honestly couldn’t give a rat’s ass about spring consistency. Not anymore. His back was already aching, and that sofa would definitely not fuck it up further than it was already.

So, gathering what little energy he had left, he shuffled along. His feet were heavy, and his eyes were closed as he slowly manoeuvred himself through the empty corridors. His hand glided across roughened brick as he guided himself forward purely through tired muscle-memory. When he finally arrived at his desired door, he eagerly let himself in.

The common room looked abandoned when he peered inside with half-lidded eyes; the lights of the kitchen were on, bleeding a soft yellow glow out into the rest of the room. But other than that, it looked undisturbed. The chairs were empty, the room untouched. It looked perfect.

He soon comes to realise, after he’s collapsed onto the cushions, that he is in fact, not alone.

“Soap?”

Soap forced his eyes back open from where they had closed once more, groaning. God, how tired was he that he didn’t realise the sofa was in fact not empty and he had just willingly fell into the lap of a poor random soldier head first?

His eyes blurred with exhaustion as he attempted to push himself back up onto his elbows, sleepy, yet frantic to move out of the way. “Sorry,” He murmured tiredly, yawning, “Sorry, sorry-” 

A hand rested hesitantly on his head, pressing his cheek back onto the warm thigh beneath him. “It’s alright.” They assured him, beginning to gently scratch at his scalp. His eyes fluttered closed at the contact, and a noise left his throat that he could only, embarrassingly, describe as a purr. But he was too tired to honestly care.

If the soldier above him heard it, they didn’t comment. Instead, they moved slightly, getting comfy, before their hand disappeared, something soft and fluffy hitting his back a brief moment later. A blanket. Where the fuck had that blanket come from?

The hand returned, running through his matted mohawk. Talented fingers began working at the knots in his hair, and he sighed into it, relaxing further. “You broken?”

He shook his head slightly into the thigh. A no, which was half-true. He had enough bruises and cuts to make an adventurous toddler jealous. Sure, he’d been shot at, but he was a Sergeant for a reason, and a madman on top of that. He’d jumped off of way too many cliffs and rolled down one too many hills in his time spent in the wilderness of Russia.

The voice huffed fondly, fingers continuing to work their magic against his skull. The other hand reached to rub against his blanket-covered shoulder. “Sure you aren’t.”

~

Also can be found here, on AO3:

Ouch. - Chapter 1 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

[dearlymrme]

Hi! With the prompts list, could we get 138 with Terzo after one of his many many falls? Maybe he was a bit more injured than everyone thought and his partner wants to make him feel better without him hurting himself more?

Be Me: You know you should really post one of these drafts in your inbox and let people know your still alive instead of procrastinating and playing video games.

Be Me Also:...But video games...

Better Than Vicodin...(Terzo x Reader)

Terzo x Reader || Oral Sex || 69

Terzo has split feelings when it comes to that firm look in your eyes. The look that tells him there is no room for argument with what you have to say next. On the one hand it sends fire to his loins that one command could have him on his knees and kissing your feet. On the other hand it has him pouting his lip and insisting that, it was just one little slip, he’s fine.

But you don’t believe him. You put your hand firmly to his chest and maneuver him towards the bed. As the back of his knees hits the mattress his cock gives a firm twitch of interest and he swallows a suddenly dry mouth.

"Lay back."

He groans as he sinks down on the heating pad you had prepared and tries not to prove you right, that the small twinge in his back is nothing to be worried about. But as the heat presses against his sore spot, he can't help but sigh in relief.

"Cara, I am fine." He tries to argue. Not wanting to admit that it feels so much better. "A little fall on stage and-" As he goes to shuffle and fails to hide the wince as his lower back loudly complains. You give him a very unimpressed stare, keep your hand firmly to his chest, holding him back against the pad.

“It was not a little trip, Terzo.” You growl, and he snaps his mouth shut at your domineering tone of voice. You see his throat flush, one of the only ways to tell he’s flustered with his paint on. And his pupils are blown nearly eclipsing the white of his trademark eye. You catch him glancing down at your lips, then back at your eyes, and your lips again, focus divided between the two. You huff, honestly, this man, easy to read. He could very well have a neck brace and still wanna screw.

“Really?” You ask him and glance down at his cock, a firm outline in his pants. He gives you a bright and boyish grin with a shrug of his shoulders.

“You’re hot when you're bossy.” You scoff and can’t help the smile. The upturn quirk of your lip tells him he may have a chance, and he tries to bargain. “Can we?”

“No moving.” You command the only condition. The speed at which he nods, he could very well take his own head off.

“Promise, I promise-”

“I mean it, Papa. You let me handle all the work." His breath draws sharply as your hand creeps down to his hard-on and squeezes him through his jeans. He gives a satisfied groan from contact, and his shoulders go lax.

"Nothing better to distract from some pain than an orgasm, hmm?" You snicker, getting a slow and dumb nod of his head.

He grunts obligingly as your hands go to expertly unbuckle his pants. You look up at him under your lashes as you bend down and unfasten his zipper with your teeth, his eyes widen at the sight.

"Fuck." He gasped, slack jawed from your performance, and relieved of the tight pressure confined to his pants. He lifts his hips to help you pull down his jeans and ignores the tiniest twinge to his spine. You click your tongue at him, catching that wince and give his dig another hard squeeze.

"Be a good boy and keep still." This causes his exhale to shudder and his hands to fist the comforter. You take him out of his pants. He jerks at the first touch of your lips, wasting no time and pumping him once. Precum drips from the head onto your hand with your one solitary stroke before you swirl your tongue over the salty head of his cock, gathering the clear bead at the tip before sucking him into your mouth.

"Che cazzo." He slurs, unable to take his eyes off you. His hand comes to rest on the crown of your head, fingers playing with your soft hair. You're a sight when you're like this. He'd be insane if his did like seeing your on your knees with his cock in yoyr mouth.

He starts to wiggle in anticipation as you tongue at his head, and you grumble, pulling off.

"I said…" And he grunts when you pin his thighs to the bed, your arms pressed against them. "No moving."

He whines, cock throbbing in your hand as he's forced still, forced only to sit back, enjoy, and do little else.

"Okay." He blows out between his teeth. Face scrunched in consternation. "I'm sorry. Please-?" Having such a powerful man, the most powerful figurehead of the church reduced to a begging and lust dumb man, did things to you. It makes your body sing with strength and your toes curl. It had you vibrating from every pore to see him with wide pleading eyes, and his mouth fell open in quick breaths as he begs.

You hum at the sight, also searching his face for pain or discomfort and when you fail to see any you grant him mercy and push his cock back into your mouth.

What you could not fit in your mouth yet you gripped at the base and squeezed him just the way he liked.

He watched, his breathing erratic. You would not take your eyes off him. His mouth opened in barely withheld moans and eyes half-closed.

You lowered your head, gradually sinking inch by inch down his cock. An explanative curse from your Papa's mouth followed by steady encouragement as you lather your tongue over the underside of his cock as you slip further down to the point of gagging.

You hadn't fully been able to swallow him, but it was a near thing, and you weren't going to stop there. Determination had you tightening your fist over his cock as you slid up and off him to catch your breath, then you went straight back to work.

Each backdraw and forward you go a little bit deeper and a little bit faster. The muscles of your throat burning as you successfully manage to take him whole, the wiry curls of hair at his base pressed against your nose. You paused for a moment before hollowing your cheeks.

"Fuck!" Terzo cursed, practically whimpering. He gave a petulant whine and you feel his thighs fight against your pinning arms but he fails to break your hold. Your eyes start to gum with tears as your throat burns against the need to gag.

"Fuuuuck." He hisses hoarsely, the entire time he watches you, hypnotized as he watches your mouth suck him down and shudders when he sees the lightest bulge in your throat. You moan, earning an appreciative and wrecked sound from your Papa from the vibration.

Your own core clenches over nothing. He sounds like such a little whore and it sparks fire in your veins, igniting your entire body in heat and then centering between your legs. Your hand reaches and presses down on the seam resting perfectly against your clit and you grind down against it, grinding it against your cunt. Another moan around his cock causes Terzo's breath to catch in his throat and his thighs to jump against your hold.

You can feel your own slick in your underwear, knowing you're soaked. Turning him into a quivering mess always serves to rile you up.

"Wait. Wait." He grumbles and gives a very gentle pull of your hair, sliding you off his cock. "Come on. Hop on my face." He pleads and your brows raise to your crown. He gives you look his own desperate whine

"It won't hurt. Please? Let me eat you out, bella." He begs, his mouth suddenly parched for your juices. You do suppose that if he's resting back, it won't put too much strain on him. You give the head of his cock a sweet goodbye kiss before giving in and unbuttoning your jeans.

Terzo makes a show of licking his lips as you shimmy out of your pants and underwear, and he smirks at the very obvious wet spot of your panties. He pats his chest, encouraging you to hurry and eager to get his mouth on you. You swing your leg over his torso, settling with your forearms on his thighs, and angle yourself backward. You give a playful wave of your hips in his face and shriek when his hands roughly hook around your thighs, snatched your hips, and he all but crushed your cunt into his mouth.

Starting with a single solid strike of his tongue against your folds, a slutty moan spills from his lips. His shoulders heave and he buries himself deeper into your mounds. There's the loud sound of his sucking your clit into his mouth and a spike of pleasure runs through your spine.

"Bella donna." He praises into your pussy and laps through your folds, quickly matching the speed you had been performing on his cock. It takes you a moment to get your bearings before you grab his dick, shining wet from your spit and his precum, before you take it back into your moan and quickly resume where you left off, sliding back down to the base.

He groans into your cunt and moves his assault to your clit, taking the tender button of nerves into his mouth and sucking. Your shriek of sudden overstimulation is hardly heard over your mouthful and your hips bounce to try and get away as it's too much at once, a flare of sharp pleasure making you desperately wish for his cock stuffed in your cunt. He makes up for it though, stuffing two fingers into your sopping wet pussy and then hooks. He immediately finds your g-spot and flutters his fingers against it. Your thighs quiver and more tears spill from your eyes and drool and spit runs down your chin.

"Coming close." He groans slurred words of love. Your jaw is getting tired, so you decide to finish him off with flourish.

You back off him, slathering the head of his member with your tongue before pinning it to the roof of your mouth, his glands feels heavy, precome slick against your soft palate. You grip the rest of his cock with your hand. Running your thumb firmly over the underside base of his cock. Then you suck, hard.

"Jesus Christ!" Is ripped from his mouth, echos in the room, and the nails of his other hand dig into your thighs. Your forearms flex as you fight his hips from jerking and give him another firm suck. The pressure it creates against the roof of your mouth is as tight as your cunt when you come.

"Y-you beaut-Ah! Aah!!" He manages a thrust, nearly all his strength put into the one bounce of his hips that has his dick slipping from your palate down your throat. The sudden intrusion almost hurts, but you battered through and pushed down, rearing your hand back and spanking his quivering thighs hard as punishment for moving.

You tongue against the underside of his dick you feel his vein twitching with each jet of his release as he throbs in your throat. You pop off to cough and clear your throat, stroking his hard once from base to head, earning one more jet of cum that you expertly catch on your tongue.

"Bellissimo." He sighs and melts into the bed, blissful. His eyes half-closed and unfocused. For all of a few seconds, then they sharpen with purpose and he buries his face into your pussy and eats like a man starved.

Pulsing bliss starts to bloom in your abdomen as now that he's found his release, he chases after yours like a hound to a fox. The point of his tongue pressing and rolling hard, working your clit as a man who experts in providing the female orgasm, alternating between fingerings you and tongue fucking you with scathing hunger. The obscene noises of your dick sucking turned into degenerate smacking of his lips as he slathering your cunt like it's candy, filling his otherwise quiet room.

Your thighs start to quiver, start to burn from exertion as you keep yourself up. His fingers work inside you, fluttering and curling still proding against that sinful bundle of nerves, and a wave of intense bliss shatters through your body. You writhed and sobbed, rocking your hips back against his seeking fingers and mouth and begging him for more.

You reach your end like the snap of a wire. Shrieking, back arching, pressing your face to his lower stomach and clutching at his thighs. Riding back against his mouth and fingers as you chase the euphoria, pleasure coursing through your veins glowing and burning through your cells like a sun until you are a limp shaking mess.

Terzo laps at your cum, purring low in his throat like a cat enjoying the finest of creams. He swipes, scooping with both his fingers and tongue to get every last drop, sends aftershocks of shivers through your body, goosebumps rising on your clammy skin. After eating you hollow, he gives your pussy a kiss and slides his hands up your thighs, stroking them gently.

"You're right, cara. I do feel better."

*Alternatively.

"Lay back." You press, and he whines as he does as he told, giving a soft and relieved grunt as his lower back hits the awaiting heat pad.

You then hop into bed with him grasping the remote and turning on the TV. Through the normally quiet room, the theme of F.R.I.E.N.D.S begging to play.

Despite his soreness, there is no hesitation when you both clap your hands.

[clarepreed]

Don't Sweat It, Pt. 1

Story Content and Summary - 4,460 words. Ginnie and Holly have a weekend together, unaware that a dangerous medication interaction will interrupt their plans. Part One content: Hurt/comfort, explicit sex. 🏳️‍🌈

Previous installment: Practice

--

Ginnie

The bus was too hot.

Ginnie clutched at the strap above her head, almost too high for her to reach. She stood buried in a pack of warm strangers, forced to smell their scents and feel their clothing textures. Sweat poured down her face and neck, trickling down her spine. She’d put in her noise-canceling earbuds, but they didn’t seem to help. She felt as though the commuters were all shouting over each other.

Ginnie’s body buzzed with discomfort, and she briefly closed her eyes, trying to reduce her level of stimulation. She had to open them again almost immediately, however, as the heat sent a wave of nausea rolling over her.

Don’t barf on the bus.

Don’t barf at all.

Jesus, you’re going to be disgusting by the time you get to Holly’s.

This time, a wave of despair hit her, and she felt her eyes water. The bus rocked to a stop as she rubbed her face on her sleeve, and people shuffled around her. Her backpack was in the way, jutting out from her back, but she didn’t feel comfortable holding it down near her feet like a lot of passengers did. She needed a free hand.

The bus rose from the curb and headed on to the next stop, which was, mercifully, Holly’s stop. Holly had promised to meet her there, which Ginnie thought was very sweet, though now she regretted she wouldn’t have time to collect herself.

Ginnie swayed with the movement of the bus, the fingers of her free hand tapping on her thigh. Her running shoes, tied to her backpack, swung back and forth as she rocked. She still sweat profusely, and felt damp patches growing under her arms and between her legs. The man to her side sniffed and stepped closer to her, forcing Ginnie to wedge herself tighter against the woman standing on her other side.

Finally, just as Ginnie’s breathing increased in pace and she could feel her heart pound in her ears, she felt the bus slow and edge toward the curb. Ginnie twisted to face the side entrance, muttering: “I’m getting off. Excuse me! I’m getting off!” She’d somehow gotten further away from the stairs than she’d intended, and she felt a rising sense of panic that she wouldn’t be able to get off the bus when it stopped.

“I need out!” she exclaimed, slightly louder, before releasing her handhold and pointing her hands into a wedge in front of her. One man shuffled to the side, but everyone else stared at her, no one quite sure where to go in the packed compartment. The smells in the bus seemed to warp and worsen as she pushed toward the exit. Hands brushed her arms, her legs, her stomach, her ass. 

The bus rocked to a stop, and the doors swung out. Ginnie let out a panicked gasp and forced her way between two people, her shoes swinging wildly behind her. Then she staggered down the steps and out into the sunshine. 

Ginnie stood on the sidewalk, agitated and disoriented, her skin wet and itchy. Her hands shook as she wiped sweat from her face, and her breath came fast. 

Holly abruptly stood in front of her, warm eyes worried. “Ginnie?” She heard Holly’s voice, faint over the music from her earbuds.

Ginnie fumbled with her earbuds, slipping them into the case she had wedged in her pocket. Without the noise cancellation, she could hear herself breathing, teetering on the edge of hyperventilation. Seeing Holly actually made everything a little worse; she’d wanted so badly to show up at Holly’s place looking cute and acting easy breezy, and now that was entirely ruined. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she sucked in a shuddering breath.

“Ginnie, what—” Holly reached out, her hands hovering in the air between them. She frowned slightly, and then her eyebrows went up. “Let me take your bag? Please?”

Ginnie nodded and started shrugging out of her backpack. Holly helped her, then swung the bag over her own shoulders as Ginnie wiped her face again.

“Hey, I don’t want to overwhelm you, but are you okay?” Holly ushered Ginnie off the sidewalk and into the grass. “You look like I ought to take your pulse, hun.”

Holly looked so worried that Ginnie extended her hand, palm up. 

Holly cradled Ginnie’s wrist in her hand and pressed two fingers to her damp, delicate skin. A breeze kicked up, stirring Ginnie’s limp hair and laying a cool hand across her brow. 

“That’s not so bad,” Holly said. She held onto Ginnie’s arm, watching Ginnie’s face. Then she leaned over and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Sorry, I just got a little worried. You look like you might fall over or take off running. I’m not sure. I… I want to ask you what happened, but maybe after we get to my place? Do you feel okay to walk?”

Ginnie nodded, and Holly grasped her hand and led her gently back onto the sidewalk. Ginnie clasped Holly’s hand between both of her own, the touch of skin on skin like an anchor binding her to the earth when moments before she thought she would fly apart. She didn’t even mind so much that her hand must be unpleasantly moist in Holly’s; if Holly noticed, she wasn’t saying anything. 

The walk to Holly’s apartment was under five minutes, and they took the elevator at Holly’s insistence. “I don’t want you to exert yourself, hun. You look red in spots and pale in others.”

Inside Holly’s apartment, she encouraged Ginnie to sit on the sofa while she got her a glass of water. Ginnie hunched over it with both hands wrapped around the cool glass, occasionally taking sips. Finally, she said: “I had a bit of a meltdown, I think. Just a bit.”

“Do you want a hug?”

Ginnie nodded, but she blurted out: “I’m really sweaty.”

“That doesn’t bother me, Ginnie.”

Ginnie nodded again and sat her glass on the coffee table. “Okay.”

Holly scooted closer and wrapped her arms around Ginnie, pulling her against her chest and drawing her head down toward her shoulder. “I’m sorry you had a bad trip, sweetheart.”

“It was so crowded on the bus,” Ginnie whispered.

“I saw that from the bus stop! I hate it when it gets like that!”

“Everyone was touching me and it was so loud and smelly. And I’m taking this new medication and I think it makes me sweat!” Ginnie sighed. “I wanted to look cute when I met you. Instead, I look like a wet rag.”

Holly pulled back enough to kiss Ginnie’s damp hair. “You look very pretty, Ginnie. Sweaty, yes. But very pretty.”

Ginnie lifted her head, intending to ask Holly to kiss her. The other woman anticipated her question, pressing her full lips to Ginnie’s pout. Holly’s kiss was soft but firm, and when they came up for air, she pressed a series of pecks to Ginnie’s jawline and cheeks. Ginnie giggled, relaxing back against the sofa.

“Good,” Holly said. “There’s your smile.”

“Smiling is really easy when I’m around you, Holly.” Ginnie watched with pleasure as a dusky blush crept across Holly’s cheekbones.

“That makes me happy.” Holly leaned back next to Ginnie. “So you started a new medication? Are you okay?”

Ginnie took Holly’s hand. “Yeah, it’s just for anxiety, mostly. Bu…. Bupropion? I’m still taking that beta blocker from the cardiologist, too.”

“It makes you sweaty? That sucks! Think it will get better? We have a bit to go until fall or winter!” Holly reached over and plucked a strand of hair away from Ginnie’s neck. “I hope you aren’t uncomfortable for long.”

“I hope it gets better! It has other side effects, too.” Ginnie, thinking of those side effects, felt a fresh wave of heat roll over her body, settling in her cheeks.

“Oh?” Holly gave her a sidelong glance. “What? What is it?”

“It makes me extra horny,” Ginnie said, her voice low and quiet.

“Ooh!” Holly said, grinning. “I like the sound of that!”

“I hope you meant it when you said ‘Netflix and Chill.’”

“Oh, I did,” Holly said, letting her hand drop onto Ginnie’s thigh. “I do. Do you want to take a cool shower before we start? We can put on our pajamas and I’ll set out the snacks and find something we can pretend to watch…”

Neither of them had said anything overtly sexual, and yet Ginnie could feel her body already responding. She was a little surprised; she was afraid her experience on the bus would wipe her out. But she was tingling, from her lips down to her leg beneath Holly’s hand, to the slickness between her thighs. Ginnie leaned toward Holly and gave her another quick kiss. “A shower and pajamas sounds fantastic.”

“I think you’ll feel a lot better after.” Holly stood, reaching down to pick up Ginnie’s bag and then extending her hand to Ginnie. “I’ll show you where everything is. Use anything you want.”

Ginnie accepted the hand up, murmuring a “thank you” and reaching for her bag. To her embarrassment, her hand trembled.

“Maybe we can talk about ways to see each other or times to see each other that don’t involve you getting sardined into a bus,” Holly said abruptly. Ginnie looked up at her in time to catch Holly’s look of concern. “I’m really sorry that happened, Ginnie.”

“The bus isn’t your fault. I like coming here because you don’t have a roommate. Aspen is… We would have to just stay locked in my room the whole time.” Ginnie grimaced. “I actually feel a lot better than I thought I would. Don’t worry.”

“Well, let me carry your bag to the bathroom, hun. I’ll show you where the towels and the hair dryer are.”

Holly

When Ginnie came out of the bedroom a half hour later, she looked refreshed and sweet in her mauve shorts and tank top set. She flashed Holly a smile.

“I’m sorry that took so long. I didn’t want to blast myself with hot air, so it took a long time for my hair to dry.” Ginnie’s hands flapped at her sides as she gave Holly an appraising look. “I like your pajamas.”

Holly was wearing her own pair of short shorts, paired with a cropped t-shirt. “I like yours, too. I’ve got snacks on the table if you’re hungry. And I have soda and sparkling water in the fridge.”

They curled up together on the sofa, mostly ignoring the snacks, while Holly clicked through a few selections on Netflix. Holly draped her arm around Ginnie’s slim shoulders and pulled her closer.

“I don’t know what to choose,” she said finally, laughing. “I don’t actually care what we watch.”

“Do you want to just turn on some music?” Ginnie shifted, leaning back to better see Holly’s face. “I would like to make out with you more than I would like to watch a movie. To be honest. If that’s okay.”

Holly laughed, a deep-throated chuckle, and immediately clicked off the television, tossing the remote on the coffee table. Then she said: “Hey, Google. Play ‘This is girl in red’ on Spotify. Volume level thirty.”

The smart speaker on the end table bleeped and then the sound of indie pop filled the room. Ginnie slid her arm around Holly’s waist. “Very on the nose. I like it.” Her fingers trailed back and forth across Holly’s exposed skin, slipping beneath the crop top to trace her bottom rib.

Holly bent her head and kissed Ginnie’s sweet bow mouth, heard her inhale sharply. Ginnie’s hand curved around Holly’s side, her thumb brushing the underside of her breast. Holly dropped her hand onto Ginnie’s thigh, running up and down the smooth expanse of skin. She felt Ginnie’s hand slide higher, and then her mouth suddenly broke from Holly’s as she gasped: “I can feel your heartbeat there!”

“How does it feel?” Holly asked, kissing Ginnie’s neck.

“Fast…”

“You caught me,” Holly whispered. She put her lips by Ginnie’s ear. “I want you, bad.”

Ginnie’s breath caught, and Holly took advantage of her open mouth to kiss her again, her tongue slipping past her lips. Ginnie rewarded her with a moan that vibrated against her lips. They spent the next few moments kissing, hands stroking each other’s skin. Ginnie’s hand cupped her breast, her thumb circling the nipple until it was taut and sensitive.

“I want to take your shirt off,” Ginnie said when they came up for air. Holly raised her arms, leaning away from the back of the sofa as Ginnie grasped the hem and pulled the shirt up and over her head. She laid it over the back of the sofa and then reached for Holly, palming both of her breasts and then cupping them in her small hands. “You’re so beautiful, Holly!”

Then she bent over and lapped her tongue over Holly’s right nipple, her lips closing around the nub. Holly let out a huff of air and fell back against the sofa, her hands cupping the back of Ginnie’s head, smoothing her corn silk hair. The sensation of Ginnie’s mouth suckling her nipple shot straight between her thighs, making her roll her hips restlessly. Ginnie switched to the other side, though this time she nipped gently with her teeth. The gesture surprised Holly, a low moan escaping her.

Ginnie moved over her, straddling one of her legs and giving Holly a deep kiss. Holly reached for the bottom of Ginnie’s shirt, pulling it up her back. Together, they pulled the shirt over Ginnie’s head and then they embraced, naked chests pressed against each other and mouths crashing back together. Holly ran her fingertips up Ginnie’s sides, felt her shiver. Then she reached down and grabbed her ass, sliding her hands beneath Ginnie’s flimsy shorts.

Holly thought about gathering Ginnie up in her arms and laying her flat on the sofa, but her mind countered with an image of Ginnie spread out on her bed. She pulled back and gasped: “I want to take you to the bedroom. Is that okay?”

“Yes, I—”

“Just hold on to me, hun. Wrap your arms around my neck and hold on.” As soon as Ginnie’s arms came around Holly’s neck, she stood, gripping Ginnie’s ass firmly with both hands. The smaller woman clung to her, legs and arms wrapped tight, their breasts pressed together and Ginnie’s lips close to Holly’s ear. Holly heard her giggle, her own mouth breaking into a broad smile.

In the bedroom, she bent over the bed, gently laying Ginnie out across the bedspread and feeling proud that she could do so smoothly and without dropping her on the mattress. 

Ginnie immediately reached up, exclaiming: “Oh my God, Holly, you’re so strong!” before pulling her down for a kiss. Holly laughed as their lips met, her face and chest growing warm. She lowered herself on top of her girlfriend, slipping her thigh between Ginnie’s. She felt Ginnie’s small, soft hands touching all over her, running up her sides, sliding up and down her back, gripping her shoulders, palming her breasts.

Ginnie ground up against her and gasped: “Roll over, Holly. I want to see you!”

Holly kissed her temple and then moved off of her, slipping off her shorts before rolling onto her back. She raised her arms and let her hands rest by her face as Ginnie kneeled on the bed beside her, her hands coming up to cup her own small breasts.

“You’re so beautiful, Holly.” Ginnie reached down and ran her hand up Holly’s thigh to her hip. Then she bent close and pressed a kiss to Holly’s sternum. Ginnie’s lips were warm as she kissed down Holly’s abdomen, pausing at her mons. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Holly said breathlessly. “It’s very okay.”

“Scoot around,” Ginnie said, grinning. “I don’t want to fall off the bed.”

Holly complied, pleased to see Ginnie’s shorts come off while she was rearranging herself. Holly kept herself shaven, but Ginnie had a trimmed tuft of fair hair between her thighs. 

Ginnie crawled up Holly’s body to give her a lingering kiss, then sank back down, her hands guiding Holly’s thighs open. She laid down between them, kissed the insides of both. Holly felt Ginnie’s hair brush her most sensitive skin before she raked her hair back and scooted closer, one arm wrapping around Holly’s leg. Then she felt Ginnie’s fingers press against either side of her opening, rubbing gently.

“You’re pretty down here, too.” Her breath ghosted across Holly’s wetness, sending a shiver through her. Ginnie kept massaging, her touch growing firmer as Holly’s blood rushed south, making her swollen and needy as she lay splayed out on the bed. Then Ginnie moved her other hand around to draw a series of wide circles around Holly’s clit. Holly’s hips bucked involuntarily, and Ginnie leaned in and dragged her tongue from the bottom of Holly’s opening, through her wetness, and over her clit.

Moaning softly, Holly pushed herself up onto her elbows, wanting to see Ginnie’s mouth on her. Ginnie glanced up, colored pink, then flashed her a brief smile before returning her mouth to Holly’s sex. Quiet slurping sounds filled the air as Ginnie’s head bobbed, her wet mouth working on Holly’s clit. Then Holly felt the tip of Ginnie’s finger trace around her opening, gently prodding.

“Is this okay?” Ginnie asked.

“Yes!” Holly gasped as Ginnie’s lips puckered, drawing her sensitive nub out from beneath the hood. One of her slim fingers slipped inside and began pumping in and out, followed quickly by a second. Holly flopped back on the mattress, reaching out to rest her hands on Ginnie’s head. Her hips moved of their own accord, rocking gently against the fingers inside of her. “Don’t stop!”

Ginnie increased the speed of her fingers, her body shifting so that she had a better range of movement. Her ass came up into the air, providing Holly with an excellent view of her hips. She was panting and moaning now, her pelvic floor tightening as the sensations built. Her hands clutched the back of Ginnie’s head as her tongue and fingers danced and pumped. Holly felt Ginnie suck hard on her clit, followed by the flick of her tongue, and the contact sent her over the cliff. Her back bowed and her eyes squeezed shut, a loud groan of pleasure escaping her. 

She felt Ginnie move with her as her muscles contracted, as she made a strong effort not to pull too hard on Ginnie’s hair. She had just enough clear thought left to be fascinated that Ginnie seemed to know just when to back off, her mouth moving to plant a kiss on Holly’s mons, her hands stroking her thighs. Holly laid still for a moment, languidly catching her breath. “Come here,” she said, gesturing for Ginnie to come lay next to her.

Ginnie cuddled up beside her, looking somehow both fragile and satisfied with herself. She leaned in for a kiss, and Holly tasted herself on Ginnie’s lips. Holly rolled toward her, slipping her hand between the two of them, reaching for the tuft of hair between Ginnie’s thighs. Ginnie was soaking, and Holly’s first touch was enough to make her moan into their kiss.

Holly encouraged her to bend one knee and open herself, then rubbed her palm over Ginnie’s sex. “You’re so wet! I like how that feels…”

Ginnie made a small noise, a high-pitched mewl. Her back arched, and Holly pressed her mouth to the skin of Ginnie’s neck, suckling a path down toward her collarbone.

“I like that noise, kitten.” The new endearment slipped out of her, a surprise that seemed to fit. She nudged Ginnie onto her back and slid down so that her face was in line with her slit. Ginnie’s fair pubic hair glistened with arousal, and when Holly nuzzled her, she moaned and writhed beneath her. Holly grasped Ginnie’s thighs and pressed them wide. “I think I want to invest in some toys. A vibrator for sure.”

Ginnie’s moaned in affirmation. Holly pressed her thumbs on either side of her slit, massaging and stroking and watching as her girlfriend began to roll her hips, trying to push her attentions higher. 

“My favorite toy is a strap on,” Holly said, grinning as Ginnie gasped. “I like to give. Would you like me to buy one?”

Ginnie sucked in a quick breath to answer her, and Holly swept the flat of her tongue up to and over her clit. Ginnie tasted clean and tangy, her slit soaked with arousal. The other woman’s back arched, and she gasped out: “Yes!”

Holly flicked her tongue rapidly over Ginnie’s clit, holding her hips in place with her forearm. Then she trailed her fingers over Ginnie’s opening, teasing her with her fingertips. “Do you want me to penetrate you now?”

“Please!” Ginnie gasped. “Please, Holly!”

Holly slid her middle finger inside, suckling Ginnie’s clit as she did so. Ginnie cried out and drew her legs up, her hands shooting out to grip the bedspread. Holly added her index finger, pressing and rubbing up into her girlfriend’s depths. She flattened her other hand against Ginnie’s abdomen, holding her in place while she pleasured her.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” Ginnie’s voice was high-pitched and breathy.

Holly increased the pace of her thrusting fingers. Ginnie’s legs moved erratically on either side of her head and she began to make quiet unh unh unh sounds, her breath coming ragged and fast. Then, as Holly lavished her clit with attention, Ginnie’s back suddenly bowed and Holly felt her muscles pulsate around her fingers. She let out a cry, her legs trembling as Holly continued to pin her hips down, holding her in place. 

Her body relaxed for a few seconds and then bowed up again, a more guttural cry tearing from her throat. Holly slowed and then removed her fingers, planted a kiss in Ginnie’s wet center. Then she crawled her way up beside her and drew her trembling body into her arms.

Ginnie cupped her face in her hands and kissed her. “Oh my God, Holly.”

“We’re good together,” Holly said. She pressed a kiss to Ginnie’s damp forehead. “I’d do that with you anytime, kitten.”

Ginnie smiled, then yawned. Holly pulled her upright and then turned back the covers, inviting her to slide in beside her. They wriggled their way underneath the covers together and laid there in a soft tangle until they fell asleep.

Ginnie

Sometime later, Ginnie woke with a start, aware she wasn’t home but uncertain where she was. She laid there for a moment, fingers groping the unfamiliar sheets, eyes straining in the dark.

Holly’s familiar, comforting scent grounded her.

Holly’s place.

Ginnie relaxed, curling toward her girlfriend’s warmth in the dark. This was their first night sleeping together; she was bound to wake up a few times in confusion. She slid her arm over Holly’s sleeping form, expecting her to be warm and soft. It startled her to find her rigid and shaking. A worrisome noise, a cross between a whimper and a gasp, made Ginnie sit up in the dark.

“Holly?” Ginnie groped around for her shoulder and squeezed it. “Holly! What’s wrong?”

Holly let out a moan, and Ginnie shook her gently, wondering if she should try to turn on a light. On the third shake, Holly came to with a gasp, her eyes glinting in the dark.

“Holly! Were you having a bad dream?” Ginnie ran her hand up and down Holly’s arm, distressed that she didn’t know what was wrong or how to fix it. She heard Holly sniffle. “Hold on, I’m going to turn on a light!”

“Hey, Google,” Holly said, her voice shaking. “Turn on the bedroom lamp.”

The light on Holly’s side of the bed clicked on, and Ginnie was dismayed to see tears tracking down Holly’s cheeks. Her eyes looked wet and lost, wide in the lamplight. “Oh, what’s wrong?! May I hug you?”

“Please.” Holly’s voice wobbled, and when Ginnie wrapped her arms around her, she turned her face into Ginnie with a shudder. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“No, it’s okay!” Ginnie squeezed her tight. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Holly was silent for several seconds, then she whispered: “You know, normally I would say that’s okay, we can just go back to sleep. And then lay here not sleeping.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Ginnie rubbed her back. “And you don’t have to lie here in the dark. We can go watch a movie.”

Holly squeezed her back and then pulled away, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes. She dropped her hands down into her lap and spoke, her voice muted. “I keep having these nightmares.”

Ginnie rested her own hands on her thighs, fingers tapping as she waited.

Holly wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m in a dark place, alone. I’m… in pain, but I can’t move. It’s cold, and… I don’t know why it’s so scary, it just is!”

She sounded so sad that Ginnie reached out instinctively and put her hands over Holly’s.

“I know it doesn’t sound that frightening. But it seems like it goes on forever and I’m just in anguish and I can’t do anything about it.” Holly heaved a sigh. “It’s been happening since I got out of the hospital.”

Ginnie reached up and smoothed Holly’s hair, then wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry. That sounds horrible. I’m so sorry that’s happening to you. Oh, Holly…”

“Lay back down with me,” Holly said, clasping Ginnie’s hands and pulling her down with her as she laid her head on her pillow. “I’ll be okay. It’s nice having someone here. It’s nice having you here.”

Ginnie laid beside her and then gestured for her to come closer. “Come here. I’ll hold you.” She directed Holly’s head onto her chest and they arranged themselves beneath the covers. Holly’s hair felt silky beneath her hand as she stroked it. She knew they wouldn’t be able to sleep the rest of the night like this, but she would let her limbs go numb if it meant Holly felt better.

“Do you have bad dreams?” Holly whispered. “About what happened to you?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“I dream about that, too.”

“And I have nightmares about what happened at the restaurant. To you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Literally none of it is your fault.” Ginnie continued to stroke her hair. Holly’s scent soothed her own nerves, and she relaxed into the mattress. “You saved me. And you survived. The rest is just anxiety, I think.”

--

Part Two

[borrowedtimeandspace]

The Looming Doctor

5. Caught

From this list of gt prompts.

AU: Unknown BAU; Pocketlock

~~~

Sherlock’s ears perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, yanking him out of his reverie. He dropped the food in his hands in shock. The human was right outside, and there was no mistaking that limping gait. How had Sherlock not noticed earlier?!

Faster than Sherlock could ever hope to be, the human stepped into the kitchen in time for the tiny man to shoot to his feet.

Doctor John Watson spotted him right away, and he and Sherlock froze. 

Silent.

Staring at each other.

Sherlock snapped out of it first, heart pounding as he sprinted for the edge of the table.

“He-hey! Wait!” John cried. Sherlock flinched as the human’s voice bombarded the silence of the room and rumbled through Sherlock’s very being. Then the table beneath his running feet began to shake, and Sherlock threw a glance over his shoulder to find John coming closer, his free hand raised placatingly.

All Sherlock saw was hands. Dangerous appendages built for grabbing, lifting, crushing– the most unpredictable part of the human body. Sherlock was decidedly against having anything to do with them and, in his panic, did the only thing he could think to do.

He concentrated, and everything around him fell slightly out of focus. All noises were muffled far into the background, and when he looked back at John, he was moving so slowly that he might as well be still.

Sherlock let out a relieved breath, but kept going, knowing this wouldn’t last long.

Ever since Sherlock was a teenager, he’d noticed a tingle on the back of his neck in certain situations. Dangerous ones, in which it was likely that he’d end up in some kind of trouble. And he found that when he concentrated on it, everything and everyone around him slowed down significantly. 

For just a moment, Sherlock was faster than the entire world.

The catch was, if Sherlock kept this up for too long, he would tire. Growing up training himself to control this ability, he often worked himself into pounding headaches and intense nose-bleeds. He counted it worth it now that years later, he was able to slow time around him on command.

As swiftly as he could, Sherlock snagged the thread on the edge of the table and slid all the way down to the floor. He retrieved his hook and gathered the line before ducking behind the leg of a chair and returning himself to the natural flow of time. Here he could catch his breath and recover his energy.

High above, John sucked in a gasp. Sherlock side-eyed the man’s feet as they shuffled indecisively. Then they and the cane circled around the table in their stilted pace until they carried John to the space between the table and the counter, and Sherlock cursed under his breath. John had cut off his quickest exit. Sherlock couldn’t risk passing so close to the human. He needed a new route.

Sherlock’s eyes darted to a hole in the wall across the room, adjacent to a loosened outlet under a smaller table. 

Just as the human bent to peer under the table to see where Sherlock had gone, the borrower slowed him down again and dashed to the far leg of the table on the diagonal from his previous hiding spot. There he took refuge again, taking a breather from using his ability. Not only were these sprints wearing him out, but it had been ages since he’d used his knack this much. The all-too-familiar fatigue of overuse was creeping up on him.

John Watson had no such impediment. A glance back revealed the doctor straightening in surprise, rising out of Sherlock’s line of sight. This time, John’s approach around the table was much more swift, and Sherlock had no choice but to make a run for the exit without the aid of his ability.

A shadow fell over Sherlock, and he had just enough time to see the mug before it dropped on top of him and trapped him in darkness.

Even with his limp, John was much faster than Sherlock could hope to be on his own.

~~~

John sat frozen on the floor, in utter shock.

The last thing he’d expected when he came home to grab a quick lunch was a miniature man standing on a plate of scones. He could hardly believe his eyes, especially when the little being fell out of focus and became a speedy blur zooming over the edge of the table.

A shot of adrenaline coursed through John, driving him forward to find where the creature had gone. He had no ill will toward whatever it was, but he was too curious to let it get away.

This is what drove him to trap the little guy, but now that he was there, staring at his mug, he had no clue what to do.

It took him a second to realize he was being shouted at.

John could hear light taps against the porcelain of the mug in between muffled outbursts. He leaned in to listen.

“I’m talking to you!” the tiniest baritone echoed slightly in the small space. “I know you’re out there, I demand to be released!”

John stiffened, finally starting to think about all this from the smaller man’s perspective. Chased and trapped by a person several times larger than himself, with no means of escape even with that hat trick of his. To this little fellow, John was hardly more than a giant in his way.

John had always been average height, oftentimes shorter than others. Never once had he ever felt so ridiculously large, frightening, dangerous.

He was already feeling guilty for what he’d done, reaching toward the mug to free the tiny man when his voice rang out again, freezing up John’s hand.

“Answer me, damn you!” Another dull tap against the side of the mug, possibly a kick. John opened his mouth to say something as per the man’s request, but nothing came.

The quietest sigh strained the edges of John’s hearing, and the tiny man sounded a little more dejected when he spoke up again.

“Or at the very least, you could hurry up and get the dissection over with. I’d say the suspense is killing me, but that would be redundant, now wouldn’t–!”

Sherlock’s remark was cut short as John lifted the mug away without warning. He winced in the sudden light and, thanks to the way he’d been leaning on the wall of the mug, tumbled onto his back. When he looked up at John’s hovering face, he found it ashen and full of shock.

“You think I…” John blinked rapidly at the tiny man on his back on the floor, lifting one arm to shield his eyes and feebly defend himself against John. “I...I’d never...” His insistent protest trailed off as the thought of dissecting a living person, no matter how small, turned his stomach. It was a disturbing notion, downright cruel, and John felt terrible for giving this stranger the impression that he’d do such a thing.

He must’ve looked like a monster, crouched on the floor over the smaller man like a predator cornering its prey.

John shook his head numbly, grabbing his discarded cane for support as he pushed himself to his feet. While he still hated towering over Sherlock, he couldn’t keep the man where he clearly didn’t want to be.

“I’m sorry,” John breathed, putting the mug down on the table. He took the long way around to the door out of the kitchen and left without looking back.

~~~

Sherlock remained on the floor for another minute or two after John left. Scrambling to his feet, he stared at the door and waited for the human to come back and catch him again.

But he didn’t.

With a huff, Sherlock combed his fingers through his mess of curls and straightened his clothes importantly as he made his way to the nearby hole in the wall. The sooner he was out of sight in his hidden home, the sooner he could think long and hard about what had just happened.

This human already had the advantage of being over a dozen times bigger and stronger than himself, how dare he be confusing on top of that!

[tanushakyrano]

febuwhump day 6: secrets revealed

today’s piece is kind of only loosely based on the prompt? it kind of ran away with me and it technically works but. yeah. it’s 10pm and tomorrow’s one leads on from it so i’m not changing it lol

characters: Scott, Virgil, John

additional warnings: blood and injury

________________

He'd been too slow.

It was a rookie mistake. A miscalculated angle, a reaction time slow by a few milliseconds. It meant that the jagged metal he'd tried to twist away from instead sliced through his side, fabric and flesh tearing as he fell. It was a miracle that he didn’t smash his head open on the hard ground; only his helmet stopped his skull from shattering on impact.

Scott lay there for a few moments, winded. His heart was working in overdrive, thudding away in his chest as he sucked in precious oxygen. Each breath was a challenge; the fall had completely knocked the air from his lungs.

And bloody hell, his stomach hurt.

It was all he could do not to scream. Scott settled for a pained groan instead, curling protectively around the wound as if that would do anything to help.

"Scott? Scott, are you okay?"  

That was John's voice, worry laced in his tone. Why was he worried? Had something happened?

Oh, right. He'd fallen off a very high ledge and practically impaled himself.

Whoops.

"I'm… fine, John," Scott forced out, sucking in a breath as he pushed himself up on one elbow. A fresh wave of fire wracked his body. "Just had a fall."

"Where are you?"  

Virgil. He was somewhere else in the building. Doing something important, probably.

"On the first floor, I'm guessing," he told him. He craned his neck up, trying to see where he'd fallen from. The movement cost him more energy than he would’ve liked. "Yeah, first floor."

"I'm coming to get you."  

"No, no, it's fine, you don't need to," Scott protested, stifling another groan as he sat up properly. He clutched his side with his left hand, trying to stem the blood flow. His uniform was already saturated with it. "I can get myself back to Two. You worry about the civilians."

"Scott, I'm worried about your vitals," John chipped in. Scott pulled a face. "I really think-"  

"I'm fine," Scott ground out. "Seriously. I've had worse."

Which, considering his track record, was not the most comforting thing to say.

The room was starting to swim. Scott pushed himself up from the floor and staggered, spots flickering about the corners of his vision like shoals of fish. His free hand groped for the wall. He just needed to get back to Two. Then he'd be fine. No need to worry anyone.

His hand finally made contact with the wall. Scott paused for a moment, sucking in ragged breaths, before making a first determined move towards the light filtering in at the end of the corridor. The stupid spots in his vision were making it really hard to tell if the light was coming from an open door or a window, but either way he figured it was his best shot at getting out of the place. He inched his hand along the wall, feet shuffling along one dogged step at a time. His other hand was still curled protectively around his abdomen.

Scott was nearly there. He could do this. He could-

His leg gave out.

One knee buckled, and then the other, and before he could even register what was happening he was on the floor. Cold seeped in through his uniform, the heat seal damaged from the tear in the torso. He blinked. Time warped around him. Some part of him registered that this really wasn't a good sign, but the thought flitted away before he could grasp it.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

"Scott, are you- shit."

Blue and green. He could see blue and green. A strong hand cupped his face, the other moving his hand away from his side.

 Virgil.

"Thought I told you to…go help those people…" he murmured, the words blending together as he tried to get them out.

“You’re lucky I don’t always listen to you.”

His brother brushed a finger over Scott’s visor, his hand separated from Scott’s face by the plastic and metal that had saved his life only a few minutes prior. His eyes were alight with controlled panic as he scrutinised Scott’s side.

“Jesus, Scott. Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

"Virgil, what's going on?"  

John's voice was so, so far away.

His head seemed like it was detached from his body. “Didn’t…want you to worry…”

“You idiot,” Virgil choked out. He moved closer instinctively as Scott tipped forward, guiding his head onto his shoulder. “Of course we’re gonna worry, it’s our job.”

“Sorry…”

“Hey, no, don’t.” He was being pulled down, down. “It’s okay, Scott. You’re okay.”

Scott sank into the darkness.

[godlizzza]

inspired by your valentine's fic: dan fucks herbert on the floor for realsies

The carpet was thin, the wooden floorboard beneath hard and uncomfortable as Dan pushed Herbert onto his back on the floor. Normally, Herbert would have protested to this treatment, but it was the holidays and he was feeling sentimental. Then Dan took his shirt off and he was feeling very sentimental.

"I wanna have you," Dan whispered into the crook of Herbert's neck as he mouthed at the skin below his jaw. "Right here, right now."

He rolled his hips down, grinding his straining erection against Herbert's navel, and Herbert sucked in a breath at the low swoop of desire in his stomach.

"Well, don't just lie around, talking about it," Herbert gasped into Dan's ear, reaching around his broad back to clutch at his shoulders. "Come on."

Dan laughed huskily as he slunk lower, trailing kisses down Herbert's bare stomach. "I like it when you get all impatient," he murmured as he nosed at the spot just above Herbert's belt buckle.

Herbert nudged Dan's head with his knee. "You'll really like me right now then."

He wanted Dan. Needed him. Needed to feel his weight pressing down on top of him as he fucked him. He wanted it hard and fast. He wanted it deep and slow. He wanted all of it but he wanted it right now.

Herbert took the initiative to undo his belt and throw it, where it landed somewhere across the room with a clatter. He lifted his hips up and reached to shimmy his pants down. The heat of the fireplace and his desperation was making his head swim, and Herbert had to focus to keep his grip on his waistband.

Dan's hands covered his, helping to guide his pants and underwear down his legs. He tugged them free of Herbert's feet and flung them into the same dark corner his belt had landed in. Herbert watched Dan's face darken with lust as he took in his nakedness. He lowered himself over Herbert, sealing their lips together and kissing him hungrily. Herbert moaned into the kiss, pulling Dan tighter against him with his arms and legs.

Before he knew it, Dan was kicking off his own pants and uncapping a bottle of lube. Herbert hadn't even noticed him grab it- didn't know where he'd produced it from, but he didn't care. All he cared about was getting Dan cock in him as quickly as possible.

"Yes," Herbert gasped as Dan slid two slick fingers into him, vigorously pumping and stretching him out. He rocked back against Dan's hand, urging him to go faster. "More- Harder."

"Fuck," Dan breathed raggedly, adding another finger.

Herbert hissed at the stretch but took pleasure in it, in Dan's desperation equal to his own. That Dan wanted to fuck him as much as he wanted to get fucked just made him relish the slight sting.

"Now," Herbert ordered, eying Dan's hard, flushed cock. "Fuck me now."

"God," Dan cursed as he pulled his hand away and fumbled to squirt more lube into his hand. He pumped himself a few times before he was good and slick, then shuffled down to line himself up. Herbert spread his legs and wrapped them loosely around Dan's waist, tugging him in and almost making Dan tumble forward. "Fuck, Herbert. You're so good like this."

"Come on," Herbert bit out between his teeth.

Dan complied, pressing the head of his cock to Herbert's entrance then thrusting inside. Herbert's head hit the carpet and his eyes fluttered shut as he moaned at the delicious feeling of being full. He didn't have to nudge Dan to get him moving; he quickly fell into a fast pace, fucking him against the floor.

"Yes," Herbert panted, his legs locked securely around Dan's hips. "Oh, Danny- Yes."

"Herbert," Dan groaned, his hands falling onto the ground on either side of Herbert's head. "You feel so good."

"Don't stop," Herbert begged, scrabbling to grab at Dan's strong back. "Don't stop."

"I won't," Dan promised, keeping up his hard and steady pace. "I won't stop."

Herbert fought to keep his eyes open and watch Dan's face as he fucked him. With his mouth fallen open and his eyes screwed shut with pleasure, he made a glorious sight. It was Herbert that was making him feel this good. Herbert's body that had him scrunching his eyebrows up and making those deep, guttural moans. It all went straight to Herbert's head- Had his blood singing in his veins.

"Dan!" Herbert cried out as Dan nailed him with blinding accuracy.

"Yes, Baby," Dan whispered, his hands running feverishly up and down Herbert's body to grasp at his wrists. He jerked Herbert's hands above his head and pinned them to the floor, picking up his pace. His breathing was erratic as he barreled into Herbert, their skin slapping loudly together with every thrust. "I need you," Dan chanted as Herbert writhed against him. "I need you with me."

Herbert couldn't formulate the words in his head to reply. He was too lost in the sensation of their bodies, slick with sweat, hot from the fire blazing beside them, moving against each other. Dan's hard cock, filling him up and stretching him out, sawing in and out of him, dragging so good snatched his voice away. All he could do was hold onto Dan with his legs and take it.

He let out a garble of wordless noises, arching his back off the floor as his pleasure quickly mounted. His orgasm crashed over him like a wave and he was coming between them, spilling between their stomachs. Dan grunted as Herbert's body spasmed beneath him. He continued to plough into him even after Herbert dropped, boneless, to the floor. Herbert bit down hard on his lip as Dan buried himself inside Herbert to the hilt and came with a mighty groan.

He hovered over Herbert for a moment, heaving, before he released his lips and collapsed against him. Herbert gladly bore his weight, stroking his hands up and down the panes of Dan's sweaty back as the two of them fought to catch their breathes. After a moment of the room being filled only with the sound of their huffing and the crackling fire, Dan eased up high enough to kiss Herbert, long and deep.

"Fuck," Dan whispered against his mouth and Herbert had to agree.

"We certainly did," Herbert said breathlessly, and Dan laughed.

"Oh, my god," Dan croaked, rolling off Herbert to lay heavily beside him on the floor. "That was...good."

Herbert nodded his agreement, his brain still trying to reconnect to his body after coming so hard. "Let's not make a habit of doing it on the floor though. I'll throw my back out."

"I'll get a mattress," Dan said instantly, and then it was Herbert's turn to laugh.

They laid there a while longer, eventually rolling onto their sides so they could embrace, the sound of the fire lulling them into a comfortable silence.