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blindmagdalena · 2 months

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All of a Sudden, There You Are

3k. homelander x gn!reader. pining. pure fluff! an older fic that desperately needed cleaning up. rewritten for a consistent perspective and added 600-some words. gif credit. AO3 link.

As Homelander's stylist, it's your job to ensure he looks his best, whether he's saving the world or saving face in front of the cameras. After nearly a year servicing him, things between you change abruptly.

Familiarity and consistency feed a base need in all of us. So much of what is best in us is bound up in the permanence of those around us that it becomes the measure of our stability. For Homelander, there are precious few things in his life that offer him any such quality of solidarity. People come and go. It's the nature of the business that has always been his life.

He's stopped paying attention to the PA's, interns and other worker ants that rotate in and out. Their faces blend together in a bland sea of normality and mediocrity. They're little more than cogs in the machine of his contrastingly extraordinary life.

Funny, then, that you should catch his attention amidst the insectoid buzz of it all.

It happens quite abruptly. He's just sat down before a brightly lit vanity where it's your job to style his hair and makeup, as it has been for the last several months. You greet him good morning, as you do every time, but for whatever reason... He notices you today.

"Remind me, what's your name again?" Homelander asks, watching you draw a comb from your kit.

That visibly catches you off guard. You offer only a dumbfounded stare for a moment before snapping to attention, smiling sheepishly as you introduce yourself. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. Had he never actually asked? Probably not. There’s rarely a point in bothering.

He hums contemplatively. "You've been styling me for a while.”

"Yes, sir. About eight months now," you say, using the comb to begin working product through his hair. He’s fairly certain this is the most he's ever spoken to you in all that time.

That sounds like both a long while and yet no time at all. It's nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but in terms of the people he sees consistently, that puts you in a shockingly small pool of individuals. Inevitably they move on, whether by choice or because they’ve found a way to irritate him enough that he has them dismissed.

He can recall his last stylist not by their name or face, but by the way they’d always manage to spray product in his eyes. They hadn’t lasted two days. The one before that he can’t bring to mind a single detail of.

Typically humans only become exceptional to him for how they grate on his patience. You’ve somehow managed to avoid making yourself noteworthy in that regard. Before today you had served as little more than a properly functioning gear in the well-oiled machine of his life.

Now it's as though you suddenly exist to him. Blood, flesh, laughter and all.

"Gooood morning," he greets you the next day, once again triggering another flare of surprise in you. He’s aware of the strangeness of his initiation, but behaves as though he isn’t. He flashes you one of his trademark Hollywood grins.

"Good morning to you, sir," you say with an answering smile that catches his eye. You sound pleased, which tickles something pleasant in the back of his own mind. He likes how well you’re mirroring his shift in mannerism.

He waves his hand dismissively. "Please, Homelander is fine. You keep it awfully formal."

You're actually quite pretty, he notices. Not exceptionally so, not like the celebrities and figures of social influence that someone like him brushes shoulders with on a daily basis, but... pretty nonetheless. He doesn't remember you being this pretty before, and speculates while you work whether you've changed something about yourself. He cannot put his finger on what exactly that may be, though.

He’s perceptive when it comes to the things that matter. Until yesterday, you hadn’t.

You laugh sweetly, pushing your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you do. You’re good with your hands, much better than the last stylist. He’s sure he made note of that at some point, but in the same way someone notices when a door stops squeaking. You take it for granted after the first time.

"I'm a creature of habit. Might take me a couple tries to adjust," you warn, covering his forehead with your palm as you spritz product into his hair. You never let any of that sticky crap get on his face, much less in his eyes. You take measures to ensure his comfort, even though he’s never scolded you. You seem to do it entirely out of reflex simply because you care enough to.

"Well, you've made it this far. You've got time to adjust," he says. Now that he's seen you, he finds that he doesn't care for the thought of you being gone. More than that, he starts actively looking forward to the time he spends in the chair with you. What used to be a monotonous aspect of the celebrity side of his life becomes a comforting ritual.

The two of you chat with surprising ease, like old friends made new. He tells you about himself, vents to you about work and personal business alike. In turn he learns about you and the life you live beyond the time you share with him. It’s nothing extraordinary–not like his–but it's yours, and for some reason, that’s enough to make it interesting.

The more he grasps that you are an entire person outside of the service you provide him, the more he wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about your elderly cat, but he does like the way your voice changes when you talk about it. His mind drifts when you tell him these little anecdotes, and he wonders what you tell the people in your life about him. He wonders if your tone similarly changes when you do. Do you speak fondly of him? Days turn to weeks. Little by little, Homelander discerns small changes in himself. There’s a slight pep in his step these days. The sun feels a little warmer, the thrum of crowded events less irritating. His attitude towards interviews flips; even the ones he used to dread he begins to anticipate. He knows you’ll have him looking and feeling his finest. He knows that regardless of what awaits him, you’ll have something to say about it that will make it easier to smile for the cameras.

Thinking of you is sometimes all it takes.

When he has nothing on his schedule to be styled for, he sulks. On those days, he misses your laugh the most.

He makes sure the products he keeps at home are the same as the ones you use. The smell of them reminds him of the smell of you, of your knock-off Dior perfume that fades too quickly after you apply it, which makes it just perfect for his keen sense of smell. The humble subtlety of you, your sincerity and gentleness, have become a boon against the unfeeling corporate reality of his life. On the days he does see you, he begins to miss you before he’s even left you. Now, as he walks to his next scheduled appointment with you, he’s painfully aware of the beat of his own heart. His stomach is twisting in on itself, though he isn’t hungry. If anything, he feels a little nauseous. The closer he gets to the door, the louder the cacophony inside of him becomes. Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible, but he can’t understand what’s happening to him. Pausing just outside the door, he takes in a steadying breath.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Taking a moment to collect himself, he gives his face two quick pats on either side, shaking his head. Get it together, he tells himself, stepping into the dressing room.

“Gooood morn–” Homelander cuts himself short, looking around the empty room. His brows pinch. He isn’t early. Pursing his lips, he takes a brief stroll about the room, clutching his hands behind his back. He peers down the hallway, cutting through the layers of wall with his vision. No sign of you on the grounds yet. He clicks his tongue.

You’ve never been late. Unable to settle, he paces for a while. He has the thought to call you, but he realizes he doesn’t have your number. Why doesn’t he have your number? It seems such an obvious thing to have despite the fact he’s never needed it.

He’s just pulled out his cellphone to track it down from Ashley when the door suddenly opens and his head snaps up. The initial relief he feels is cut short, turning cold in his chest when the person who steps through the door is most definitely not you. “Good morning!” the woman greets him, her voice chirpy and grating in his ears. She’s not really happy to see him. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. At most, she’s another sycophantic drone who’s only pleased to breathe his air. In his upset, she looks freakishly distorted, her smile overly wide and fake. His leather gloves creak as he curls his hands into fists. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, voice as measured as he can manage it. His anger hits in an unreasonable surge, hot like lava from a volcano. This woman’s only crime is the fact she’s not you, and yet it’s enough to make him want to rip her head off her shoulders, spine and all. The woman hesitates in the doorway, her chipper demeanor flipping to a fearful one. “Uhm, my name is Lisa, I’m supposed to style you to–” “Where is my stylist?” he interrupts her, prowling towards her like a hungry predator. He says again, louder this time, voice full of anger and anxiety in equal measure, “Where the fuck is my stylist?!” “I– I don’t know!” Lisa yelps, stepping backwards from him. “I was called in as a last minute replacement! They said– they said there was an accident, or–” Homelander pushes her roughly out of the doorway, blowing past her with a frustrated growl. She hits the wall hard before crumpling to the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes, but he doesn’t even register it. He calls Ashley, stalking down the hallway, his footfalls loud with fury. Why the fuck didn’t anyone think to tell him? “Ashley!” He snarls into his phone the second she answers. “Tell me where the fuck my goddamn stylist is.”

Homelander is at the hospital within minutes. The staff puts up a meager effort to enforce protocols, but he’s The Homelander, and after a lie or two, they eventually let him through. He hates the smell of hospitals. The sickly mix of bleach and illness, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. They never should have brought you here. You should be in Vought’s med ward.

You should be with him. When he finds you, you’re sitting with the hospital bed halfway reclined, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The vibrant reds and blues of his suit paint a sharp contrast to the stark white walls of the hospital room when he steps inside. You have a pudding cup in your hand, though you nearly drop it when you see him in the doorway. His hair is woefully unstyled, splayed loose in every direction from his flight. “H-Homelander,” you sputter, choking on your bite of pudding. You swallow, clearing your throat. He’s walking towards you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart beats in his ears. “What are you doing here?” “Are you okay?” He asks, blowing off your question entirely. He blinks and his vision flickers through your clothes and skin alike. He scans your body for internal damage, for broken or fractured bones. You’re not wearing a cast or anything, but he needs to be sure. You nod, clutching at the blanket, wearing your confusion plainly on your face. “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s probably just mild whiplash, but I’m getting an x-ray to be–” “You’re fine,” he breathes more to himself than to you, his relief palpable. He can hear the flustered patter of your heart clearly. With the adrenaline wearing off, he’s beginning to feel that sickly familiar feeling that he had experienced in the hallway; butterflies rampant in his stomach, battering their wings frantically inside him. His jaw feels tight, his tongue too big for his mouth. Staring at you now, frail and precious as you are in this ugly hospital bed, he realizes what’s the matter–what has always been the matter–he is deeply and incurably in love with you. “Are you okay?” You ask, taking in his tortured expression, his wildly wind-swept hair. The obvious concern in your voice and in your eyes churns his already twisting gut. “No,” he says, the response knee-jerk. Even though the room is still, he feels as though the world is spinning around him. “No, I think I’m in love with you,” he says, expression twisted up, like he’s figuring out each word as he says them. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches in your lungs. It’s as if the words have paralyzed you. Homelander laughs. It sounds a little hysterical.

“I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me,” he says, reaching out to cup either side of your face in his gloved hands. “I love you,” he says, voice firmer now, the realization setting in fully. He looks slightly delirious with it. He’s discovered a secret that he should have known all along, that seems so obvious in hindsight. Of course he loves you, because you love him. The gentleness in your hands as you touched his face, the care in your fingers stroking through his hair far longer than both of you knew you needed to. You dedicated yourself like no other to showing him reverence in service of him, and is that not love in its purest form? And yet, you don’t look to share his elation. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning, expression wide and bewildered. You still haven’t taken a breath. Homelander’s smile falters. “What’s the matter?” He asks, tone dropping a touch. “This is good news! Great, even.” For every second that you do not speak, the beat of his heart feels heavier in his chest. Why don’t you look happy? Finally, you suck in a shaky breath. He watches you with all the intensity of a viper poised to strike.

“I…” You hesitate. You lift your hands and grip his wrists, squeezing them through the thick fabric of his gloves as if to convince yourself that he’s really there. Maybe the accident was worse than he thought. Did you hit your head?

Panic swells in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him you might not reciprocate. The thought makes him ill.

“I never…” your eyes turn glassy, welling with tears. “Say it!” he wants to shout, his own heart hammering loudly enough to nearly drown out your words. “I never would have thought–or even dreamed–in a million years that you might love me back.”

love me back.

Like a dying ember roaring back to life, Homelander’s demeanor reignites, his faded smile broadening once more.

“I realized it when I was worried fucking sick because you didn't show up,” he says, leaning closer to you. He’s brought the scent of ozone from the sky he tore through on his way to you, but all he cares about is the faint smell of pudding lingering on your lips.

He huffs a laugh. “They sent in some idiot to fill in for you. Like they could replace you. I almost tore her head off,” he says, giddy with euphoria. Your expression shifts, brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You almost-” “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he interrupts, his voice a low rumble. He can already taste you in the breaths you’re close enough to share with him, and he’s never been hungrier for anything–or anyone–in his life. You fall silent with a shiver, nodding minutely, eyes falling shut. “Please do.” His lips meet yours in a gentle press. He deserves a medal for not crushing you with the sheer magnitude of his desire. You all but melt against him, settling into his grip as smoothly as you settled into his life, his mind, his heart. When the two of you break apart, you make a breathless noise that shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He feels hyper aware of your every sound and move.

God, how he wants to feel every part of you.

You move your hands to touch his face and he leans into the softness of your caress. You’ve been close enough to kiss more times than he can count. The fact it’s only now occurred to him to do so seems like lunacy. Your eyes dip to his lips, your thumb brushes the bottom one. He catches it with a quick kiss and you laugh your sweet bell-chime laughter.

Pushing your hand into his hair, the wondrous joy in your expression becomes tinged with amusement. “And people wonder why I use so much gel,” you murmur, smooth the wild splay of his hair down with both hands, cupping the back of his head. Homelander smiles wide and boyishly, which prompts you to kiss him again.

“I’m not having some kind of brain bleed hallucination right now, right?” You ask quietly, the tip of your nose lightly pressed to his. He brushes his lips against yours between words. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he purrs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Despite the ugly fluorescent lights and the dreadful hospital stench all around, you look resplendent in your joy.

He had been right. It was love that you touched him with. It had been subtle, imbued in your every movement, and for months he had soaked it up until, unbeknownst to him, he fell into it as well.

“Trust me when I say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, brushing your nose with his.

Maybe instead of tearing them limb from limb, he’ll send flowers to whoever the sorry son of a bitch that rear-ended you this morning was. Who knows how much more time he would have wasted before he realized he was utterly smitten with you.

#i've been meaning to get this fic fixed up for ages bc the original was a MESS and randomly switched to the reader's pov halfway in lol #but i have major fondness and nostalgia for this fic #it's from like my first month in the fandom #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #x reader #my writing #fluff

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divine-donna · 1 year

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a fair trade

pairing: miguel o’hara x gender neutral! reader

word count: 1,010 words

ao3 link: 🕷️🕷️🕷️

summary: your help is needed to defeat a multiversal entity, one that you’ve defeated before. but what can miguel offer in return for your service?

notes: kind of mishmashing the movies and comics together. do not fret if you haven’t read any of them! it’s mostly just referenced (much like how it was referenced in the last post). the fic on ao3 is also locked to registered ao3 users only. it’s a precaution i’m taking in response to ai using ao3 fics to be trained.

“(Y/N), we need your help.”

“Miguel, I’m in the middle of eating lunch. Because, you know, I didn’t have breakfast.”

“That’s on you.”

“Some of us don’t like breakfast.”

“Okay that’s not the point! The point is that we need your help!”

You were just sitting at your table, peacefully. After a mission earlier today, you thought you enjoyed a nice break. All you’ve been doing is going on missions across the multiverse, at the expense of your personal life back home. Your friends missed you and were constantly wondering why you would dip all of a sudden. After all, it wasn’t like you to just...cancel last minute. You loved your friends. You always made sure to be there. What you didn’t expect when accepting Miguel’s invitation was to be worked constantly. There was always a multiversal threat at stake, even for something small.

You were literally the local expert on the multiverse. Small things wouldn’t cause catastrophe. But Miguel believed they would. He believed in a domino effect. You believed that it was necessary to stay vigilant but not every small thing required attention. Sometimes the multiverse acted weird. It was a multiverse. It acted on its own accords.

“Miguel, is it actually something to worry about? Or is it something like the Vulture ended up in the wrong reality which can be cleaned up without my help?” You took a sip of your drink.

“It’s someone by the name of Verna. And she’s brought with her an army.”

“Verna? Never heard of her.” You shake your head.

“Really? She claims she’s fought you before.”

“If I saw a picture, then maybe I would recognize her.”

Miguel doesn’t hesitate. “Lyla.”

Part of you wondered what it would be like if your name was always on the tip of his tongue, ready to speak on a moment’s notice. You always wanted someone who could say your name with such ease, who thought of you constantly.

“Already on it.” Lyla pulls up a video. “This is live footage of the whole thing. We’re lucky she hasn’t spread her destruction further.”

As you were taking a sip of your drink, you choked on the liquid. Thankfully, you did not die. “We need you alive (Y/N).” Miguel says.

“I thought I banished her to the ends of the Multiverse!” You exclaimed.

“So you have fought her?” Lyla questions. “Was this the multiversal being you battled before?”

“She’s the reason I have no magic!” You crush the metal cup in your hand. “It took everything for me to banish her! And she just comes...comes back like nothing happened?” You squint a little. “She also looks a lot different than I remember. You said her name was Verna?” Lyla and Miguel look at each other before nodding. “She went by a different name. Called herself the Matriarch of...something. I don’t remember.”

“All the more reason for you to finish up and join us.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I lost my appetite.” You picked up the dishes and cleaned out the plates, dropping them off with the conveyor belt of dirty dishes. “You owe me Miguel.”

“Owe you what?”

“A break. Like a real break. My body needs to properly recuperate, you know.”

He inputs the numbers and opens the portal. “I can do that. You’ve done good work so far.”

“Exactly. Not getting paid here.”

“None of us get paid.”

“It was a joke. You know, Peter was right. You’re like the only one of us that isn’t funny.”

“That’s hilarious.” His voice did not change in tone and his facial expressions did not give away that he was humored.

“Lighten up a little. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re extra stoic because you want to kiss me.”

“I do not want to kiss you.”

“Everyone wants to kiss me.”

He looks at you, eyebrow slightly raised. “You should pay me in kisses actually. Think that’d be a fair deal. I help you guys stop Verna, again, and I get a kiss. It’d be the perfect reward.”

You feel his gaze on you. “It’s a joke, I promise. You don’t have to actually.” Even if you did want to kiss him.

He takes a step towards you, much to your surprise. His hand reaches up, fingers curled slightly, and his knuckles graze the skin of your cheeks. It’s reassuring in a way and his touch is gentle. It reminds you of when you first joined, how his fingers gently wiped away the crumbs at your face. His hand uncurls and cups your face. “How badly do you want a kiss?” He asks.

His voice made your legs shake. “If I answered that I think you’d make fun of me.”

“I mean...it’s a simple yes or no question.”

“Yes?”

You weren’t expecting his lips to crash against yours. The sheer force almost causes you to fall over and your hands fumble to grip onto his body. You could feel his muscles flex beneath his suit. You kiss him back, but most certainly not with the same amount of force he does. Miguel even goes as far to nip your bottom lip, causing a small gasp to emerge from your throat. It was a little embarrassing and your cheeks grew warm. He pulls away, satisfied and with that cocky smirk on his face.

“Make it back alive and I’ll give you another.” He puts his mask on. “Maybe even more.”

“You...have a lot of confidence that I will.” You were out of breath. Very much out of breath.

“You’ve beaten the odds before. It’s part of who we are.”

Miguel walks through the portal and you clench your hands for a few seconds. You were nervous. It wasn’t just the kiss that made you nervous (though your heart certainly was pumping for that reason primarily). Lyla looked at you with a smile. “You better come back. Or else I’ll lose the primary thing I make fun of him for.”

“I’ll try Lyla. For you.”

“Sure, sure. Now get going before people die.”

#to make up for the bad list of hcs #i might just be pumping out spiderverse content soon #spider-man: across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse #spider-man 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #x reader

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turtletaubwrites · 9 months

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Hogging the Blankets

This pure smut one shot can be read alone, but it would take place some time after part 18 of the poly fic, We've All Got Needs, linked below.

Pairings: Zoro x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1210

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Summary: Zoro hogged the blankets, so you try to wake him. He tells you what you need to do now that you've woken him up.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, 18+ Only, MDNI, Reader-Insert, Very Mild Consensual Somnophilia, Swearing, Smut, Established Relationship, Penis in Vagina Sex, Condoms, Pet Names (including nickname 'Needy'), Shameless Smut

A/N: Who doesn't want to wake up to Zoro in the morning?

Soft morning light fell into your quarters, and today you’d surprisingly woken up able to breathe.

Sleeping with Zoro was so often dangerous, his heavy body almost always finding a way to smother yours as you slept.

Sighing as you curled against him, you noticed he’d hogged the blankets. The cool air on your skin had probably woken you, but you knew better than to try to wrestle with his dead weight.

Grinning to yourself, you trailed your fingers along his hip.

I know what will wake him up.

Slowly, your fingers traced over the blanket, around that piece of him that was partly awake already.

Memories of how he’d fucked you stupid last night filled your mind, tightening your core as you shivered.

He looked so cute now, his green hair mussed, his mouth hanging slack, his arm slung over his head. He didn’t look like someone who’d made you beg him to do filthy things to you, made you cry on his cock as you ached for him to hurt you just a little more.

Biting your lip as you looked at his seemingly sweet face, you let your hand travel closer. You couldn’t help but hum softly as you felt him getting harder, twitching under the blanket while your fingers played around his length.

“So fucking needy.”

You yelped as his warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping your teasing movements.

His voice was low, raspy as he squinted at you, and the sound sent shivers over your skin.

“You’re hogging the blanket,” you whined, pulling at the fabric.

“Oh, is that all you want?”

Zoro stretched, his chest muscles distracting you from your goal.

“If you’re gonna wake me up like that, you should finish what you start.”

Zoro’s hands were on you, pulling you onto his lap, leaving you breathless. He shoved his fingers into his mouth before rubbing them along your folds.

“Wow, Needy, your pussy is fucking hungry for me, isn’t it?”

Zoro’s fingers pulled away with thick strands of slick, all your thoughts and teasing of the morning giving you away.

“I just… wanted the blanket.”

The look he gave you at your lie made your skin flush with heat, unable to hide how much he affected you.

“Sure. Since you want it so bad that you had to fucking wake me up, you’re gonna work for it.”

His command, voice still rough from sleep, made you shiver. He pointed at the nightstand, and you didn’t hesitate to grab a condom, releasing his swollen dick from the blanket, and rubbing the condom down his shaft.

Zoro moaned softly, putting his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes.

“Go ahead. This is why you woke me up, isn’t it?”

You paused, waiting for him to move. Zoro normally took you hard and fast, always taking control. You waited too long, and he opened one eye to growl at you.

“I’m going back to sleep if you don’t give me a reason not to.”

Holding in a laugh, you straddled him, pressing one palm against his chest while you slid yourself onto his length.

You were wet and ready for him, but you still hissed as your body adjusted. You took him in, his full length pressing deep, leaving you to hover, just slightly.

Zoro had closed his eyes again, and seemed unaffected by the heat of your pussy, clenching him while you moaned his name softly.

His lack of reaction felt like a challenge, and you started working yourself over him. Slow and steady, holding yourself up with your hands on his chest. You alternated rolling forward and back, and lifting yourself up and down, unable to keep in your own moans as you took his long cock into your now dripping cunt.

Zoro’s lips parted in a small sigh, and you knew he was fucking with you, pretending not to be affected.

Even though his eyes were closed, you leaned over him as you used his shoulders to hold yourself up, watching his face.

Still alternating with twisting your hips, and fucking yourself onto him, you let yourself moan. A bit louder than you normally did with everyone’s quarters being so close. You let your face show how much you needed him, your tongue hanging slightly out of your mouth.

You were rewarded with a moan from Zoro when his eyes opened to see the needy look on your face.

“Fuuuck,” he breathed, hands moving down to grab your hips. He helped your body slide over his, and you forgot about your challenge, forgot about everything except for the feel of his cock inside you, building tension and warmth in your core.

“Mm, my baby can’t even wait for me to wake up,” he teased, moaning as he watched your tits bouncing above him, one hand reaching up to play with them while your back arched.

“You can’t live without my cock, huh, Needy?”

“I can’t, Zoro, I need you so fucking ba-”

Zoro thrust up into you hard, your body lurching forward as your pussy ached for him, ached for more.

“Tell me what you want, kitten. Tell me what your pussy needs.”

Zoro’s eyes were dangerous as he brought his thumb to trace circles around your clit. Words were not easy to find, but you knew what he wanted to hear.

“I need you to fuck me, Zoro. I need your cock-”

He flipped you easily, and wasted no time in thrusting into you, the sudden force of him ripping a small scream from you before you could bite your lip.

Zoro rolled his hips with each thrust, keeping his dark eyes on yours as he fucked his way deeper into you.

His gaze was intense, and you kept it as well as you could while you dragged your nails down his back. His eyes fluttered slightly as you scraped down his skin, and you let out a moan as your body clenched around his.

“Fuck, Zoro, you feel so fucking good.”

“You too, baby. I love waking up to your eager pussy. It sucks me in so fucking well.”

His last words were emphasized with deep thrusts, sending your body so fucking close to that edge. Zoro lifted your hips then, the angle sending him over and over that soft, needy spot inside you, making you twitch beneath him.

“That’s right, Needy. Come on my cock for me. Show me how much you- Fuck, just like that, baby.”

That tension building in your core snapped as his cock rammed over that perfect spot one more time, and he didn’t let up. He fucked into you harder, chasing his own high as you fell apart for him, legs twitching while you moaned, incoherent pleas of more and too much falling from your lips.

Zoro’s head fell over you as his thrusts stuttered.

“Fucking perfect, baby.”

Your eyes teared up with the heat of his words, the strength of his last thrusts, and the throbbing feel of his heavy cock as he came inside you.

He stayed there, locked in your body as you both relearned how to breathe. His warm lips found your forehead, making you shiver with a soft kiss, and his whispered tease.

“Good morning, Needy.

Thank You for Reading! 💜

TurtleTaub Fanfic Masterlist

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

And @fanaticsnail Thank you, I rolled a 2!

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this extra scene!

Buy me a coffee ☕🙏🏼

#zoro smut #zoro x reader #One Piece smut #Reader Insert #Fem!Reader #Smut #mine #one piece x reader #zoro fanfic #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro smut #x reader #turtletaub fics

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marvel-ous-m · 1 year

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Eddie Munson’s Guide for How to Adopt a Jock in Four Easy Steps (3/5)

Part One

Part Two

Part Four

AO3 Link

A.N.- shorter chapter today, but the next two chapters make up more than half of the rest of my google doc! So I promise that it’s worth it, lol. Enjoy!

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“Eddie, I’m going to need you to repeat what you just told me, because I know for a fact that I didn’t hear you correctly. I couldn’t have.” Grant crossed his arms angrily, leveling Eddie with his best intimidating glare.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I need you to trust me on this. Steve is… fuck man, he’s not in a good place, okay? So yeah, he’s sleeping in the Hellfire room right now. Before you come for my throat, I need you to think about this.” Eddie held out his hands, counting on his fingers as he went through his reasoning. “His parents haven’t been home in three months. Hagan abandoned him last year, Nancy broke up with him then hooked up with Jonathan Byers, Billy beat the shit out of him this weekend, he isn’t sleeping, he has no one. He’s an outcast, just like the rest of us.”

“So this is the perfect opportunity to get back at him.” Gareth muttered under his breath, crossing his arms.

Eddie turned to the youngest member of their party, raising an eyebrow. “I know that his type like to pick on you Freshmen, but that’s not how we do things here, Gar-bear.” Eddie sighed then, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s easy to get back at people in times like this, but that would make us no better than them.” Eddie turned back to the entire group then, shaking his head at the three of them. “You guys didn’t see him. It was bad… I mean, if I’m being honest, it was a little scary.”

“So what are you proposing?” Jeff finally spoke, looking up from where he was previously staring at the linoleum floor of the hallway outside the drama room.

“Just let him sit next to me and watch the game today. Be civil. Don’t tease him, don’t make snide comments- just don’t be assholes. If things go well after today we’ll talk about bringing him in permanently.”

“Permanently?!”

“Eddie, I mean this when I say it, you are certifiably insane.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Shut up!” Eddie shrieked and held his hands up, effectively quieting the uproar from his group of misfits. “Just- look, if you fuck this up I’ll TPK this whole campaign- which, honestly, is probably more of a punishment for me because I’ve been working on this campaign for about a month, but I digress. Give. The guy. A chance.”

Grant, Gareth, and Jeff looked at one another. They always seemed to be able to have a conversation without speaking (and that conversation usually was centered around some shit Eddie was pulling). Finally, Jeff nodded at Eddie. “Alright, we’ll give him a chance. BUT only on the condition that each of our characters starts with a rare magic item.”

Eddie huffed out a quiet laugh, nodding at the three boys. “Yeah, sure, whatever. I’ll add them to your character sheets before we start.”

Jeff blinked in surprise and looked at both Gareth and Grant, then back at Eddie. “Even though the magic items may not make sense with your campaign?”

“You’re the ones asking for ‘em.” Eddie shrugged, then pulled the lanyard out of his pocket. “Okay, just gimme like, ten minutes, then you can come in.” As Eddie walked away, he could’ve sworn he heard the boys whispering about a giant crush and him being head over heels. Eddie scoffed to himself. He could never fall for Steve- what with Steve’s stupid big eyes and his floppy hair and his dorky polos. Eddie unlocked the door, rolling his eyes as he did. Him falling for Steve. As if.

Steve sat up from his space in the corner when the door opened, instantly relaxing when he saw who it was. The jock rubbed at his eyes, humming sleepily. “Hey Eds. S’it time for Hellfire ‘lready?”

Steve’s hair was a mess, his polo was sideways, his eyes were tired and a blanket was hunched around his shoulders. He was… actually kind of adorable. Eddie smiled at him and could’ve sworn he felt a flutter in his chest.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

He had a crush on Steve Harrington.

...Shit.

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A.N.: this tag list has grown so much! I’m sorry if I forgot to add you if you requested it or if you didn’t end up on here, there were some accounts that were giving me trouble. Thanks again for all the support!

@ellietheasexylibrarian @cuips-not-cute @melodymeddler @i-have-three-feelings @sc00ps-ahoy @singmeyoursimpsong @patchworkgargoyle @spectrum-spectre @devondespresso @thesuninyaface @obsessivlyme @angeldreamsoffanfic @carlyv @nburkhardt @inspirationorinsanity @rebelspykatie @my2amgaythoughts @lavenderagenda @just-a-tiny-void @mamafaithful @breadboi66 @beholdingloser @randomfandomcontent @oftirnanog @yellowdevilkitten @steves-strapcollection @keep-er-steddie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bisexualdisastersworld @jinxjinn @copingmechanizm @blackpanzy @failedstarsandgoldenclouds @evix-syne666 @crisisinverted17 @satan-is-obsessed @shrimply-a-menace @anaibis @trashcanniballecter @thoughtfulbreadpolice @awholedamnmesstbh @chaoticvictorianspirit @jcmadgirl

#stranger things #steddie #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #1984 steddie meeting au my beloved #stranger things fic #steddie fic #pre s4 #pre s4 meeting #s4 rewrite #steve harrington needs a hug #hurt/comfort

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uhohbestie · 1 month

Text

TAMN Outline

Since we're so close to the end of TAMN, I just wanted to share what Lock and my outline looks like, especially because neither of us ever used outlines for writing fic before this LOL

The only reason we have one for TAMN is because we were determined to finish this thing within a year of starting it and really wanted to post a chapter a week. Realistically, between work and irl and different timezones, there was no WAY we'd be able to keep up with a weekly posting schedule OR our self-imposed deadline if we were writing on the fly, so an outline was a good way to keep us on track.

(Details under the cut 'cause this got long af lmao)

SO FIRST OF ALL. We have quick chapter markers to refer to just to keep track of where we're at. The obvious ones are as follows:

🐈 Scar POV Chapters 🦜 Grian POV Chapters 🧟‍♂️ Some sort of significant zombie encounter that chapter 💦 Smut

I took this screenshot a WHILE back so Chapter 12 was actually split into 2 chapters, as was Chapter 14. So while the two emojis in Chapter 14 were meant to signify both Scar and Grian's POVs in that chapter, we ultimately just split it into a separate Scar chapter and a separate Grian chapter.

As for the other markers, this is what they mean at a glance:

✔️ Chapter is written ✔️✔️ Chapter has been edited by one person ✅ Chapter edited by both of us; Ready to Post 💯 Chapter has been posted to AO3

The last one isn't in the screenshot above, but is another one we use. And, ofc, if it doesn't have any of those markers beside it, it means the chapter hasn't been written yet.

Other than that, every chapter heading has not only the chapter number, but a reminder of where Scarian are, the time of day that chapter starts at, and how long of a walk/drive to their next destination remains. Plus, the very first point is always the current date and the weather (in Celsius 🍁) for the day. It looks something like this:

For a short chapter like Ch. 6 where not too much happens, the outline is just a handful of points. Also, we put a strike through things we skipped as we wrote when we felt they no longer fit the mood we were going for. (Basically, the outline is here as a guide and we adjust as needed for full creative freedom.)

Now the LINKS at the bottom lead to ANOTHER document where Lock and I's original conversations are sorted, in case we need to reference back to something we don't remember. That looks like something like this:

So when you click the link, there's a pop up that will take you directly to the original conversation about it located in another doc.

Basically, Lock and I had talked about TAMN for months before every writing it, so when I suggested making an outline, Lock was like "yeah, we basically have a skeleton already with how much we've talked about it". So what we did was, I copy-pasted EVERY conversation we had about TAMN into a Google Doc, and then Lock went through and SUMMARISED EVERYTHING in each conversation into The Main Points. After that, I went and put them into chronological order in a new doc which then became the outline we use today! 💫

Thus, when you click on a link from the outline, you get taken to the conversation summary, and if you scroll down past the summary you get to the actual conversation itself, minus our usernames/formatting/timestamps to make it easier to read at a glance:

And then, ofc, the further along we got in the fic, the more complicated the plot and the chapters got. So instead of short and sweet outlines with a link or two to old conversations, we had to come up with a lot of in between events that still somehow added to the plot and moved the story along to the main points we wanted to hit.

This was actually what took me the longest during outlining, and poor Lock kept going "JUST LEAVE IT BLANK, WE'LL FIGURE IT OUT AS WE GO" but I really wanted to have SOMETHING down just to give us a springboard to launch off of, because we had no idea if we'd have time WHILE writing to come up with anything.

(This continues on for more pages since we combined two chapters into one here, but this is the gist of what the outlines turned into per chapter as we got later and later in the fic LOL)

Turned out to be the right call, because it's saved our asses more than once when on a time-crunch! That said, there were a couple chapters where we DID in fact go "idk about what's in the outline, what if we do this instead?" and then do that because it Felt Right. So again, the outline was super helpful but not a hard and fast rule. (Though Lock and I had our fair share of "WHY DIDN'T YOU WRITE WHAT WAS IN THE OUTLINE"/"I FORGOR" moments that have been fun every step of the way 😂)

AAAND, I THINK THAT'S IT! THAT'S OUR OUTLINE! 🎉

Just wanted to make a post for it to document because it was such a novel experience, hahaha! Like I said earlier, neither Lock nor I ever used outlines before, even when writing fics together for other fandoms :')

I've got two completed longfics under my belt from before TAMN in my last fandom and I wrote those completely on the fly as well. Worked out just fine, but like. It took me 2-4 YEARS to finish the fics, and they were both MUCH shorter than TAMN is. 😅 Nothing wrong with that obviously, but it was a lot of fun to try something new and it felt incredible to be able to have a new chapter ready to go each week! ;w; 💜

We're almost done writing the fic and honestly idk what we're gonna do with all this free time once we've wrapped it up... time to come up with a new longfic ig LMAO

IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR, HOORAY! 🎊

Here's a little bonus for you--

From the time I went to a gun range and shot both a rifle (near the head) and a shotgun (the spray by the stomach) and took notes so that we could use it in our fic JHGFDSKJHDF THE CRAZY RESEARCH WE'VE BOTH DONE FOR TAMN I STG 😂😂😂😂😂

#TAMN #TAMN outline #🔑#I wore my HotGuy jacket to go shooting btw :J #well worth it #lock sneaking in to say: I love writing with Key so much omg :') bestie ilu #key: hehehe aww ilu2 bestieeeee ;w; 💜💜💜

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meiga-s · 1 year

Text

i said your name in an empty room

obey me! nightbringer

gn reader/everyone

ao3 link

a look during the present, from the moment you disappeared, to what you've left behind.

You disappear during the night.

None notices until it’s breakfast time at the House of Lamentation; it was like your disappearance had been carefully planned.

You’re not in your room. If this was any other day, Mammon would think you could’ve teleported back to the Human Realm for any stupid reason: you forgot some books you wanted to bring to Satan or Asmo’s new make-up kit, Levi’s new game went on sale and you decided to go and get a physical edition for him… Something, anything. Perhaps you went out early because you wanted to hang out with the Purgatory Hall group before class. Maybe you wanted to bake with Luke. Perhaps you wanted to take a look at the Student Council reports to help get a load off Lucifer, Barbatos and Diavolo. It could be anything with you, honestly. You were like a whirlwind: always running back and forth with a grin or a smirk on your face, never stopping and always laughing and always… always working hard for the sake of your loved ones.

You love all of them. And they all love you in return. Mammon knows this, he is no fool, despite his theatrics and penchant of getting into trouble.

Which is why the Avatar of Greed immediately notices something is wrong when you’re not in your room when he comes to get you for breakfast. He shoots you a message. It doesn’t deliver.

You’re a very capable sorcerer, he knows that—they all know that, but something in his gut is yelling at him that something is very wrong and that this isn’t like any other time you fucked off to do whatever in the Devildom, so he loses no time and sprints to find Lucifer, almost crashing into a complaining Asmodeus in the process.

He slams the door to Lucifer’s studio open, and before the older demon can even open his mouth to reprimand him, Mammon whispers in a trembling voice the words that send the whole House of Lamentation spiraling down into chaos.

“I can’t feel the pact.”

Lucifer feels the moment his legs almost give out when he tries to reach out for your pact with him and he feels… nothing , at first. He tries again, and again and again, grasping in the darkness at any sign that you’re not gone. Gone forever? Lucifer asks himself in his mind and he very nearly slams his head against the wall to make those thoughts disappear with a self-induced headache. No, no. I cannot think like that. Focus. Focus!

If you’d been in danger you would’ve told him, right? Of course you’d have—there were never any important secrets between you two. You had a playful streak, sure, but you hated worrying him—you hated worrying your family. He knows you love him—he knows you love them. You wouldn’t disappear where they can’t reach you without previous notice.

The Avatar of Pride tries again to reach for his other half… but you do not answer.

Lucifer grits his teeth, steadies himself and tries once more—

Where your pact has always been a steady, strong connection, now it’s just a tiny sliver thread he can’t follow.

Still, that fragile thread binds you together, and Hell will freeze over before Lucifer lets go of it.

“Where did you go, my dear…?” The Avatar of Pride asks, but you still do not answer.

They turn the House of Lamentation upside down, but they find nothing. Your bags are still in your room, untouched, and so is your uniform for the day. The book you were reading with Satan is still safely tucked and bookmarked and your console is still charging over your desk. Your wallet is also there, nestled inside the bag you had prepared for today’s class. They have no hints to give Diavolo or Barbatos of your possible whereabouts.

Your D.D.D. is gone. It’s the only thing they can’t find. Asmodeus tries to call several times, but it’s always sent to your voicemail. Nor Lucifer nor Mammon have the heart to tell him to stop calling and they let the Avatar of Lust cling to them when he breaks down in tears with a broken heart.

Satan very nearly tears the living room down, snarling they all go to Diavolo once again to demand he sends out another search party as fast as he can. Any second you’re away is a second you’re probably in danger, and he can’t stand it. The Avatar of Wrath doesn’t calm down, not until Belphegor walks up to him and softly says that you wouldn’t like him destroying the house in your absence.

Satan grits his teeth so hard it hurts his jaw and stomps outside, nearly slamming the door off its hinges. Asmodeus flinches and Lucifer gently pats his shoulder with a sigh. Beelzebub wrings his hands together and Belphegor looks down at the spot where Satan had just been and sighs.

You wouldn’t like coming back to this, Belphegor thinks. They all look like a mess.

Leviathan is running himself ragged hunched over his laptop making posts left and right to try and see if anyone has seen you. His eyes are red from staring at the screen for hours and he looks like a zombie. At one point, Asmodeus slides away from Lucifer and Mammon and sits next to Leviathan, suggesting they use his influencer account to try and reach out to more people. They get to it, but the Avatar of Envy is tired and can’t stop shaking.

But Leviathan loves you, so he won’t stop working and reaching out for you. For the last ten hours (or twenty?), the only sound in the living room has been the clacking of his keyboard. He’s spent fifty hours binging anime in the past, but that’s nothing compared to what he would spend looking for you if it meant bringing you home safely. Lucifer will have to knock him out to get him away from the computer at this rate.

A thundering noise startles all of them, followed by a flash of green light coming from their windows and the sight of a shadow of a tree falling on their backyard.

“Can someone please,” Lucifer mumbles, burying his face in his hands, “go tell Satan that our trees are not to blame?”

None moves, not even as they hear muffled sobs of your name coming from their backyard.

Belphegor and Beelzebub join Mephistopheles in his rounds questioning every living being in RAD and preparing the “missing person” reports. They couldn’t join any of Diavolo’s search parties, but at least they can do this. Belphegor hunts down every member of every club you’ve belonged to, while Beelzebub gets in contact with his teammates in all of his sport clubs and asks them to keep an eye out. Thirteen lets everyone know, very kindly, that any attempt to trick them for the sake of trying to get a reward will suffer the consequences of an angry Reaper.

You are loved, both the Avatar of Sloth and the Avatar of Gluttony can see it. It cheers them up a little, to know you’re in good hands all around, and they can almost hear you telling them to never give up hope nor trust on the people around them.

Belphegor hasn’t been sleeping and Beelzebub hasn’t been eating, but they keep combing the streets of the Devildom, not once stopping to take a break.

Simeon is trying to stay positive for Luke’s sake, but even he can’t always keep a smile on his face, nor does he want to lie to Luke about how he feels, especially after having to hide his new status as a human for so long. Luke isn’t allowed to go search for you on his own, nor join any dangerous search parties either, so the younger angel vents his frustration with baking goods for the search parties and the brothers to try and keep them in high spirits.

The first night after your sudden disappearance Luke stayed in Simeon’s room. He hasn’t left since. Simeon needs it, too, despite hiding his true feelings to the whole world. Everyone’s so hurt, and he doesn’t want to pile up more distress on his friends. He’ll stay, he’ll help and he’ll be smiling all the way until his face hurts. And when you return, he’ll receive you with a smile.

“An angel chooses one human to protect for all time.”

Perhaps, if he was still an angel…

…No, you wouldn’t like him thinking like that. You’re going to come back. You adore Luke too much to leave him devastated like that. You two are almost like siblings at this point, and Simeon knows your heart enough to know you’d tear sky and ground to keep Luke safe from harm, so you have to come back.

Simeon tells that to himself every night as prays for Luke to stay strong and never lose hope.

Barbatos looks, but he finds nothing . Your future, present and past are shrouded from him and he doesn’t understand . How is this happening? Who’s hiding you from him? Why ? Barbatos' face must have shown his own distress, because Lord Diavolo is shooting him a very worried look.

The Young Master hasn’t been sleeping or eating properly between tending to his duties and looking for you. Neither has Barbatos himself. He can almost hear you scolding him to take a rest before he collapses on his feet, but Barbatos is very resilient. And also very stubborn, your voice sing-songs in his head. Barbatos winces and gives his Lord a sad look before he shakes his head.

“No luck, huh…” Diavolo mutters, running his fingers through his hair. Any other time, Barbatos would’ve scolded him about ruining his image, but not now. The demon’s mind is a mess, and Barbatos doesn’t like this mess. He prefers the mess you caused in his mind when you were close instead.

Barbatos needs to keep it together for his lord’s sake, which usually is a piece of cake for him. The butler can almost feel you, just like when he was about to collapse during the whole dark crevasse fiasco, grabbing his shoulders and telling him very firmly to pull yourself together, Barbatos!

Barbatos takes a deep breath, then another, and looks firmly into Lord Diavolo’s eyes.

“We will find a way, Young Master.”

Diavolo smiles sadly as Barbatos leaves the room to rest. He's the main pillar of the Devildom, and so he must stay strong.

You’d hate it if he didn’t, he knows this, so Diavolo pulls himself out of bed every morning with the thought of keeping the Devildom in top shape for your return while never giving up your search. He can do it. He’s cut off on sleeping, eating and leisure time the first moment Lucifer had barged in with the news. Barbatos can’t say shit to him, for he’s done the same.

What a pair. If you were here, you’d have strapped them both to a couch to take a break. And they’d let you, if only to be able to tease you back to see your usually assured self crumble into a bumbling, blushing mess.

Diavolo almost laughs at the mental image, feeling his body a little lighter. Hells, he misses you dearly.

But he cannot give up. He will not give up. Lucifer, his brothers, the Hall of Purgatory, Barbatos… they’re all counting on each other to bring you home.

And bring you home he will, even if it’s the last thing he does.

Solomon has no time to lose.

He’s found you—the link is weak, but it’s there . He’s afraid if he waits too long it’ll disappear and he’ll lose your trail forever. If he wants to get to you, he must follow the trail this strange magic has left, and he has to do it fast. He has no time to call for anyone else, not even Lucifer. He’ll deal with his outrage later, when he brings you back to all your loved ones.

The link falls through time. Well, this is unexpected. And bad.

Solomon doesn’t hesitate, though. He’s a great sorcerer, and so are you (he’s chosen you to be his apprentice, after all), but this is unfamiliar to you and while Solomon might be many things, heartless he is not.

You hold half of his heart, after all, and he really doesn’t want it to be lost in time. Not like this.

Solomon thinks of the first time his heart beat again for someone after so long, closes his eyes and takes the plunge to you through time and space.

He will find you and help you come back, no matter what.

#✧ writes some demons #obey me!#obey me! nightbringer #nightbringer spoilers #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader #simeon x reader #barbatos x reader #diavolo x reader #solomon x reader #for the sake of this let's pretend nor barbatos nor solomon are a bit sus please lol

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ronwestbreeze · 2 years

Text

TO YOU , WORLDS AWAY : PART ONE : CHAPTER THREE

pairing: jake sully x human!fem!reader

summary: in which you and tsu'tey meet again

warnings: none

word count: 2.5k

author's note: yeah, i can't stop writing this haha. hope you guys like. and yes i am still working on requests, it's a slow progress with school.

AO3 | prev | next

The tufts of hair growing in on the sides of Jake’s head was evident of the time going by.

It has been two months since Grace, Jake, and Norm had become your roommates. Things have been a bit better. Jake and Norm weren’t arguing as much anymore. Grace must’ve said something to him to get him to cooperate. He was still a bit snippy some days but there were a lot less fights now.

The relationship between you and Jake had become better as well. You had officially become his language tutor since Norm opted out of it and Jake for some reason preferred you as a teacher rather than the former. You guessed it was to get on your nerves, which wasn’t all that farfetched.

But the good news was that he was getting better with the Na’vi training. And it seemed that he was getting closer and closer to becoming one of the Omatikaya.

Jake pushed away from the table after finishing his breakfast and rolled toward his link bed. You followed him, still eating some of your cereal.

“Alrighty, are you actually ready this time?” You asked as he hoisted himself up into the bed.

“Yep, for the fourth time today.” Jake smirked up at you as he placed his legs onto the bed.

“Mhmm, you said that last time and you spent hours ranting about the direhorses you kept falling off of.” You poked at his ears. “Are you ready to listen?” You kept poking at the side of his head, “Because I’m pretty sure your teacher isn’t as patient as I am with you, Puppet.”

He swatted your hand away, “Why don’t you just come with me? Make sure I’m learning, professor.”

“Funny.” You rolled your eyes before closing the link bed up and connecting him to his avatar. “Good luck, idiot.”

Jake met up with Neytiri as usual that day. She told him they would continue riding direhorses today and keep trying until he managed to stay on. It was embarrassing falling off of it every time but at least you weren’t there to witness it.

Instead of you witnessing it though, it was Tsu’tey, who had decided to come and watch Neytiri’s progress in training Jake.

And of course, the man had to laugh when Jake once again fell off the damn direhorse. “Training this demon is pointless!” Tsu’tey sneered down at Jake from his own horse, obviously trying to prove that compared to him he was practically a baby or useless. “He can’t even stand upright!”

“Quiet, Tsu’tey!” Neytiri muttered with a roll of her eyes, “You are being distracting.”

Tsu’tey scoffed, raising his chin higher as he scowled at Jake, “I feel only pity for you. Having to train this fool.”

Jake pushed himself to his feet, about done with the warrior’s taunting. “Sorry to disappoint you, brother.” Neytiri looked surprised and Tsu'tey scowl only grew uglier when they realized Jake just spoke in Na’vi. And pretty well at that. Jake smirked victoriously as he continued in English. “I am still learning but if you’re such a tough guy, why don’t you train me instead?”

Neytiri smacked his arm, “Stop it! You are in no place to challenge him, you skxawng!”

“Well, he says I’m still a baby, why don’t I show him what I’ve learned?” Jake knew he was being stupid and maybe a little too hard headed at the moment. But really, he couldn’t care less. He was tired of Tsu’tey taunting him and not being able to do a thing about it. He then hissed to Neytiri in Na’vi, “And I may be a skxawng but he’s a dickhead—”

“Hey! Demon!” Tsu’tey hopped down from his direhorse.

Jake squared his shoulders, “What now?”

Neytiri stepped between them, giving Tsu’tey a leveled and intense look, “Don’t start.”

Tsu’tey didn’t respond to her but he didn’t move any closer either. Now that Jake was actually looking at him, he realized Tsu’tey looked curious and a little irritated. “So you speak our language now, huh? Who taught you? You didn’t speak like that days ago!”

Jake furrowed his brows, “I’m not a master at it, like I said I’m still learning—”

“No.” Tsu’tey narrowed his eyes at him. What was this guy’s problem? “Who taught you?”

“How do you know Neytiri didn’t?” Jake questioned, not wanting to give your name away to this guy. He’d probably start coming at you if he did.

Neytiri glanced between the two of them before replying cautiously, “The way you speak. It reminds us of—”

Tsu’tey suddenly stalked away, surprising them both as he hopped back on the direhorse. He said something else in Na’vi toward Neytiri. Jake didn’t recognize the words that well enough but he was sure one of them were “she” and “still there” Then he rode off and left them alone in the forest.

“What’s his problem?” Jake asked, watching the spot where Tsu’tey just was curious.

“It is nothing.” Neytiri shook her head but there was something unreadable in her expression. It was the first time Jake had seen something so foreign on the woman’s face it almost made him want to pry more. But Neytiri was smacking his arm and scowling at him again, “Come. Let us continue. We are wasting daylight.”

“So, how’d it go?” You hear Grace ask Jake when you stepped out of your lab for the day. Really, you were surprised that Jake was back while the sun was still up in the sky. Usually, he’d come back at night, sometimes toward dawn.

Jake sat up with a grunt, “You know, falling on my ass as usual. Nothin’ new.”

“Hmm, well go ahead and log it all. While it’s still fresh.” Grace gestured to one of the cameras as she went toward the fridge.

He stared at her in disbelief and exhaustion, “Seriously?”

“Mhmm, while it’s still fresh, Sully.” Grace then noticed you and frowned, “Stop standing there in the dark like a creep and help me make some dinner, Tinkers.”

“I’m not being a creep.” You mumble before walking over toward the little stove. “All we have is beans, I hope you like that.”

Jake shrugged as he got himself into his wheelchair, “I’m okay with beans.”

“Norm, what about you?” Grace called toward the back where the cots were. There was a grunt in reply. “Sounds like a yes to me.”

In the next hour, you and Grace have fixed dinner just as Jake had finished up with his log. Despite the reason for him actually being here, you had to admit that he was improving, especially with the Na’vi language. It’s still a slow process but, you had at least gotten him to be able to hold a conversation.

“How is the village?” You ask him as the three of you ate at the table. Norm was still in the back sulking despite Grace calling him to dinner multiple times. Jake looked at you curiously when you addressed him in Na’vi. You smirked, “In order for you to get better, I have to keep you on your toes, Sully.”

Jake smiled at you, eyes twinkling. “The village is beautiful. The people are still warming up to me but…” He switched to English when his eyes glazed over in thought. “It’s like a whole other world, you know? I almost feel like they’re slowly starting to accept me.”

There was this look on his face when he talked about the Na’vi. You’ve started to notice it as of recently. It wasn’t a look of indifference anymore but instead it was soft, almost fond, and maybe longing. Perhaps you were reading too much into things, perhaps Grace’s hope in him was beginning to naively rub off on you.

Grace ruffled your hair with a grin, “Looks like you make a great teacher, Tinkers.” You gave a sheepish smile, swatting her hand away. “Even after all these years, you’re still a great teacher, you know?”

Jake now looked at you curiously, “You were a teacher? At Grace’s school?”

You cringed and shook your head, “No, no, I was just her assistant.”

“She filled in for me on days when I couldn’t be there.” Grace continued boasting. “The kids adored her, sometimes I feel like they favored you over me.”

“Stop it, Augustine.” You try to scold but the smile on your face couldn’t be fought. Jake laughed at your expression, almost adoringly. You continue quietly, “I hardly did a thing.”

Grace rolled her eyes, “Quit being humble, you know you like the praise.”

Your face grew warm as you avoided both their gazes, “Whatever—can we just eat, please?” Jake was still glancing at you curiously and you sighed, “What?”

“So you do have an avatar somewhere?” He nodded his head around the space, “You keepin’ it hidden?”

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Grace got up, “Alright you two, enough flirting. Tinkers, help me clean this mess up—”

“Um, holy shit!” All three of you turned your heads to find Norm, who had crawled out of his sulking hole, staring out the window next to the kitchenette. “I think someone’s here to see us.”

You furrowed your brows as Grace rushed toward the window as well, her jaw going slack, “Holy fuck…”

“What?” You asked, now standing.

Jake rolled away from the table and appeared next to you, “Who’s out there?”

Grace looked to you, eyes alight, “It’s Mo’at. She’s here!”

You froze, unsure of what you had heard until Grace started rushing around to find a mask for both her and you. Once Grace forced one in your hands, that’s when you snapped out of your daze and realized what she said was actually true. Before putting your mask on, you caught a glimpse out the window to indeed see wings from an ikran.

Grace yanked your arm and dragged you outside to greet your visitors. The sun was beginning to set and your eyes cleared when you saw the familiar Tsahik standing before you. And next to her was someone you hadn’t seen in years, not since the fall of Grace’s school.

“So this is where you have been hiding?” Mo’at addressed Grace first. You had forgotten how small you were compared to the Na’vi, it had been so long since you even stood next to one.

Your eyes then landed on Tsu’tey who was already looking at you. “Tsamsiyu.” You called him. “It has been a long time.'' You tapped two fingers against your heart twice. “Two hearts. One beat.”

He mimicked you, tapping his fingers against his chest. “Tsmuke.” Tsu’tey huffed but there was a glimpse of familiarity between you two, “I thought I was losing my mind.” He crossed his arms and raised a brow, “So you are teaching that demon our language.”

You mirror his posture, “How else is he supposed to fit in?”

“I rather not have an outsider in the clan that I would lead one day.” Tsu’tey huffed but his malic wasn’t toward you. “He is too much of a demon to ever be considered Na’vi.”

“Aah, don’t be harsh.” You sighed, glancing toward Grace and Mo’at who were also in a conversation between each other. You looked over your shoulder back at the station to find both Norm and Jake watching from the window. Jake frowning once your eyes locked briefly. You turned back to Tsu’tey, “I was once a demon to you. I am a demon.”

Tsu’tey frowned, face softening just a bit, “You were different. You are different.”

A part of you wanted to protest this but you saw no use in arguing over something that pointless, “Well, this demon is saying the other demon is not that bad. Give him a little chance? For me?”

He did not give you a response right away when Mo’at announced that they were leaving now. You noticed in the corner of your eye that Grace was smiling and even through the mask her eyes were a lot brighter. Mo’at was the first to leave on her ikran after giving you a quiet acknowledging nod.

Tsu’tey got on his and was just about to take off as well, “You owe me a fight, tsmuke!” And then he took off into the night.

For a moment, you watched as he got smaller the further he flew away until Grace pulled at your arm, a grin on her face, “Tinkers! Did you hear?”

“What?” You furrow your brows at her.

“We get to go to the village. She’s allowed us back.”

You were so startled that no words had come out of your mouth. Not even when Grace rushed back inside the station with you trailing behind, still in disbelief. It wasn’t until Norm closed the door and you reluctantly took off your mask did you find the words. “Are you serious, Grace?”

Instead of responding to you, Grace turned to Jake who was already watching you. He seemed to do that a lot, you realized. “What did you do?”

You met Jake’s eyes with a raised eyebrow before he responded, “I, um, I convinced Mo’at to allow the two of you back. I honestly didn’t think she would actually consider it.”

Grace looked on in disbelief as she sat in the chair, “Son of a bitch. I think you just replaced Tinkers as my favorite.”

You snapped your head toward her, “Wait—I was your favorite—hey no fair!”

“When you manage to top that, I’ll consider putting you back as my favorite.” Grace shrugged, an amused smile on her face. She then turned to Jake, “No but really, thank you.”

Jake nodded with a smile. You took a seat at the small table as well, still in disbelief. “Yeah, Puppet, thanks.”

He rolled over to the table, tilting his head out the window where you had been, “I didn’t know you knew Tsu’tey.”

“I met him around the time Grace’s school was open. Same with Neytiri and Mo’at.” You smiled softly, thinking back to those memories you never thought you’d ever look back at.

“So he was a student?” Norm asked while chowing down on his beans.

You shook your head, “He was around my age when we first met, so he would’ve been older than the children we taught.”

“You guys sounded close.” Norm pointed out thoughtfully.

You shrugged, “I guess we were in a way.”

“Mmm.” Jake responded quietly. Suddenly, he pushed away from the table, “I’m gonna head to bed.”

At the mention of bed, you suddenly felt the exhaustion finally catching up to you, causing you to stand as well, “Yeah, I should turn in too.” Grace was looking at you weirdly and Norm kept glancing from you to Jake. You furrow your brows, “What?”

Grace just shook her head as she walked toward the back where Jake had retreated, “You two are such idiots, honestly.”

You frown in confusion and look at Norm, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged.

taglist: @luvvfromme @sully-stick-together @dazedshoon @jakesullylvr @s-u-t @ssc7514 @cheari @tojigirl @nyotamalfoy @perfectprofessorloverapricot @erenjaegerwifee

#to you worlds away #avatar jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully fanfiction #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar jake #avatar jake sully #jake sully #avatar fanfiction #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #tsu'tey #sam worthington

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citrus-moonlight · 4 months

Text

Salvation is a Deep Dark Well

Chapter 2: Raise Your Chin and Howl

[ Masterlist - Part Two ] -> [ Masterlist - Part One ]

Fandom: MCU - Age of Ultron, Black Panther Pairing: Ulysses Klaue x F! Reader Word count: 9.7K Chapters: 2/6 Rating: Explicit

Summary: The actions of others leads to chaos at the compound, and after Klaue returns to deal with the aftermath you're surprised to learn that his reasons for being upset aren't what you think, and you finally have to admit some things that you've been denying.

Warnings: Explicit!, Mild Age Difference, Reader is Late 30s, Use of Pet Names, Injury, Workplace Injury, Mention of Blood, Reference to Guns, Insecurity (Reader is an Idiot), Light Angst, Smut, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Reference to Masturbation (M), Finger Sucking, Spit Kink, Oral Sex (M receiving), Brief Rough Oral, Cock Worship, Messy Blowjob, Mouth Fucking, Cum Swallowing, Hair Holding/Pulling, Guided Masturbation (F), Mild Size Kink, Soft Dom, Teasing, Praise Kink, Porn With Plot, More Accidental Feelings Oh No

AN: Welcome back, friends! It's been quite a while since I updated this one, but I'm excited to finally bring you so more of these two! it wasn't so much that this one got away from me, but what I wanted (and needed) to do with it was getting more involved, and ultimately I'm happy with how this ended up turning out. Especially since I also accidentally wrote a holiday "interlude" story that comes after this but before what was supposed to be the next chapter (which is now chapter four), which was simultaneously challenging and helpful in finding the right balance in this part as things progress.

As always, thank you for reading and to everyone who has commented or reblogged so far, and I am unendingly grateful to those who have provided encouragement and support through this writing of this story. I hope that you enjoy! 💕

AO3 Link

Title is from "Hands Like Roots" by The Builders and the Butchers

And if thee should die tonight Well it won't be without a sound When your hands move like roots Making their way through the ground

The afternoon is crisp but bright when you step outside, the sun actively working to melt much of the late autumn snow that had fallen overnight.

You’d only gone out to take a quick inventory of the oxygen and argon stock, but when you make your way past the loading dock to get to the storage cages you see something that makes you pause and do a double take.

On the compound’s property there are three industrial propane tanks that power and heat the facility, and today they were scheduled to be refilled before the snow properly settles in the mountains making the roads difficult to access during winter.

The refilling had already been completed and the tankers should have been long on their way, so you’re surprised when you see what appears to be a fuel transfer being done between the two bobtail trucks, which is illegal except in special circumstances, and making it more concerning they're also uncomfortably close to the loading dock.

On top of that, as far as you’re aware this compound isn’t licensed to allow truck to truck transfers at all - something that would normally only be done at the refilling plant - making it doubly illegal

And while this might not be a facility where “legality” is necessarily a top concern, that doesn’t change the fact that it’s still dangerous and incredibly stupid.

“What are you doing?” You blurt out, standing stock-still as you stare at Anatoly, the man who seems to be directing what’s happening. You weren’t necessarily on friendly terms with the Sokovian man, but you had chatted occasionally and he’d seemed to have more sense than this.

“We didn’t want to do it right next to the big tanks.” He gestures across the yard.

You continue to stare, perplexed.

“Ok, well, you shouldn’t be doing it here at all, but now you’re right next to the building, and the five pound tanks -”

“It was the only place flat enough for both trucks.”

“- are a lot closer than those big ones.”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” He brushes you off, starting to get visibly frustrated that you won’t let it go.

Changing tacks you turn to one of the drivers who’s in conversation with Milo, a welder you recognize from another shift.

“Hey, you know you’re not supposed to be doing this here, right?”

“He doesn’t know how, so I’m doing it for him,” Anatoly replies before the driver can answer himself. “You’re making a big deal from nothing.”

“Why are you doing it at all? Unless there’s an emergency you can’t just -”

“I’ve done it before.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Listen, they both would've had to go back to their plant, but now one can go straight to the next job.”

“So let me get this straight: Doing a favour for someone whose job doesn’t have anything to do with you is a good enough reason to create a potentially dangerous situation here? I don’t think that Klaue will love hearing that.”

“You’re not going to tell him.” His annoyed demeanor quickly shifts, his expression going icy.

“No? Why wouldn’t I? You’re doing something incredibly stupid and I think that he should-”

“So you’re going to snitch on me?” He sneers.

“About this? Yeah, I guess I am. And if you’re concerned about him finding out then you must have at least enough common sense to-”

“I don’t need common sense to know that you- ”

“Jesus Christ, would you let me finish a fucking sentence!”

Your voice surprises you and to Anatoly’s credit he actually shuts up, scowling like a petulant teenager who’s realizing that they’re not going to be able to intimidate their way out of trouble.

The other workers who had been milling around and watching half-interestedly now straighten up and turn towards the trucks.

“You.” Gesturing at both drivers, pleased that they at least appear to be somewhat chastised.

“You are supposed to be in control at all times. These trucks are your responsibility from start to finish and you’re letting him do something that’s illegal just to save a bit of time?”

“He offered!” The first one exclaims.

“Which he shouldn’t have, but you should have said no and moved on.”

You turn back to Anatoly whose mouth is downturned in an almost comical grimace.

“And you may think this is no big deal but I very much doubt that Klaue would appreciate you being so flippant about potentially damaging his operation.”

He looks like he wants to say something else but bites his tongue, his stare still condescending even though he knows you’re right and has no argument left.

At this point, and while you wouldn’t be surprised to learn it, you’re not yet aware that there’s a crack in the hose near to the end connected to the receiving truck. Before you’d even gone outside propane vapour had been steadily leaking out, the only indication that there was a problem the occasional whiff of mercaptan - faint and not out of the ordinary from a typical delivery.

Normally this wouldn’t be an issue and the vapours would simply disperse since you’re outdoors, but it’s unusually calm today with next to no breeze to move the air, allowing the heavier than air propane molecules to instead pool between the trucks like an invisible low-lying fog.

As it is, you’re relieved when everything is finally disconnected and sealed up, and having abandoned your inventory you turn to make your way back inside to try to get this documented, even if others think that you really are overreacting and Anatoly doesn’t face the consequences you think he should.

“You know, maybe next time you could- ”

You’re cut off again, but instead of a condescending comment this time it's by the sudden percussion of an explosion.

When the full truck’s engine started up an unknown faulty battery sparked and ignited the vapours that had been collecting, the flashback loud enough that your ears don’t register the sound until you’re already on the ground.

Fortunately you manage not to hit your head but your shoulder feels like you’re lucky it didn’t dislocate when you landed. Slowly pushing yourself up onto your elbow you look around, blinking until your vision slowly comes back into focus and you realize with a sinking feeling that the truck itself is now burning, flames appearing to emerge from one of the valves at the rear.

“Goddamnit,” you curse, momentarily frozen in place as you watch the flames growing quickly in front of your eyes.

You know that as the temperature rises the pressure inside the tanker does as well, and it needs to be stopped before the valve can no longer vent faster than the pressure is building, and you have no way of knowing whether any of the internal mechanisms were damaged in the explosion, so you may have even less time than normal.

Finally you manage to convince your muscles to move. Sucking in a breath you grit your teeth and force yourself to standing, moving as quickly as you can to reach the cabinet that houses the fire extinguishers, and then Milo is suddenly there next to you.

“I’ll take this one,” he offers and you quickly nod your thanks. Maneuvering over to the truck you unspool your hose and get as close as you can until the heat of the flames forces you back.

Stumbling briefly from the recoil when you pull the nozzle’s lever back you grimace at the sudden jolt of pain in your shoulder but manage to recover quickly, widening your stance to better brace yourself and focus the thick white cloud on the brightest part of the fire.

Thankfully the flames seem to be quickly smothered and you move closer as the heat begins to die down. Occasionally you or Milo alternate your focus on the truck’s own fuel tank, working to extinguish the burning propane while also trying to prevent the diesel from possibly igniting as well.

You can see Tom in your peripheral now, dimly aware of him barking directions, relieved that someone else was there to take charge, and even when the fire appears to be doused you keep your hoses pointed at the truck until both extinguishers have been completely emptied.

Finally, after what feels like hours but was probably less than fifteen minutes since you had walked outside you take a deep, shaky breath and simply sit down right where you stand in the mess of slush and extinguisher residue.

You can almost feel the adrenaline physically draining out of your system, your jaw involuntarily clenching as you begin to shiver. You’re not sure who’s hand squeezes your shoulder, your mind feels fuzzy as mild shock sets in, and it takes conscious effort to release your grip from the hose that’s still sitting across your lap and slowly stand back up.

You're buzzing wildly between a range of emotions: anger, frustration, relief, a blanket of exhaustion settling over all of it as you waver on unsteady legs, tamping down the thoughts of how much more badly this could have gone.

Two days after the incident with the trucks and the ringing in your ears has nearly stopped, and aside from stiff muscles and a painterly bruise blooming across your shoulder you'd come out of it all more or less unscathed.

Once the chaos had wound down and things could be assessed it was fortunate that damage was minimal and the overall injuries turned out to be minor, mostly cuts and bruises from being knocked over or from the burst of gravel from the initial explosion. Even the alarming amount of blood you'd seen running down Anatoly’s face ended up just being a superficial gash.

There are already at least two versions of what happened circulating through the facility, one casting your actions more favourably and one much less so (no question where that one started), though you’re not particularly concerned which version others decide to believe. Enough people witnessed what actually happened, and regardless you know that what you did was the right thing, and you’re confident that Klaue will see that.

You haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet but he's supposed to be on his way back, abandoning the South African coast early to assess the damage and meet with the kind of investigators that a facility that doesn’t exist in the strictest sense will allow.

Although you have his return to look forward to, you can’t help still feeling on edge as the dregs of adrenaline continue to circulate in your blood, and you regularly have to force yourself to take a deep inhale when you realize that your breathing has gone shallow again.

Fortunately you’ve had a simple job the last couple of days, spending your shift taking apart scrap metal to be sent to a foundry to be melted down. Oxy acetylene cutting can be physically taxing and it's hot as hell but it doesn’t require finesse, and right now you’re happy to simply let muscle memory guide you, focusing only on regulating the flow of gas and keeping the glide of the flame’s sharp tip steady as you work.

You’re waiting for the disassembled pieces you'd just cut to cool before moving them so that you can start on the next section when there’s a sudden burst of activity at the entrance to the shop, and when you turn towards the disturbance you see that Klaue has just walked in.

His eyes have already found you but the swell of excitement at seeing him unexpectedly is quickly replaced by confusion when you register his dark expression.

“You.” He points, singling you out from the crowd. “Come with me.”

Your mouth drops open in surprise at the anger in his tone, and when you don’t immediately move to follow he raises his eyebrows, impatience clear in the tight set of his jaw.

“Now.” He grits through clenched teeth.

“Ohh, someone’s in trouble.”

You whip around to find the source of the taunt, the anger and frustration that you haven’t fully processed surging out in a red-hot wave, and the words are out before you can think.

“Shut the fuck up!”

The idiot is looking at you like he’s made some world-class joke and you're ready to lay into him, but suddenly his focus moves behind you and the smirk drops away as the blood drains from his face.

Slowly turning to follow his eyes you see Klaue standing as still as a steel lathe with his arm extended, but it takes several seconds for you to register that the leather holster on his leg is empty and his gun now aimed at the center of the man's chest.

“Shit.” You gasp.

All of the oxygen seems to have been sucked out of the room and you're rooted to the spot, your hearing gone muffled and tinny. The joker’s eyes are flashbulb wide, standing with his arms jutting into the air as though that might have any impact on what happens next.

Every inch of Klaue appears calm, you might almost say he was relaxed if it weren't for the weapon in his hand. But the unmistakable fury in his eyes colours them nearly black, an obsidian blade glinting in the shadows simply waiting for an excuse to strike, and though he speaks quietly you know that everyone watching this happen can hear every word clear as day.

“If you ever speak to her about anything other than this job again...”

He doesn't finish the sentence, he doesn't have to, the sound of the safety lever being flicked off is deafening. The only movement in the room is the flex of tendons in Klaue's hand as his thumb deftly finds the switch.

You’re not sure whether the man is actually breathing, and even though your own heart is pounding out of your chest you find that you’re not exactly upset about the look of abject fear in his eyes.

“No! I mean I won’t! I didn’t mean anything, I’m sorry I-” he stammers, panicked eyes flicking back and forth between the weapon and Klaue’s face, forcing his hands almost comically high until his biceps are covering his ears.

No one else speaks.

After several more excruciating seconds you finally hear the click of the safety re-engaging and you let out the breath you’d been holding as he slowly replaces the gun in its holster.

Then he turns back to you and repeats:

“Now.”

You have to work to keep up with Klaue’s brisk pace as you make your way through the warren of hallways, eventually ending up in an area you’d only passed by before. You follow him into a room filled with various pieces of vaguely familiar military equipment, a heavy desk and a bank of monitors against one wall, and in your still flustered state it’s only when he closes the door behind you that you realize that he’s taken you to his office.

He walks over and leans on the desk, weight braced on his knuckles as his shoulders rise and fall, each breath slow and deep.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you - in fact he hasn’t looked at you since he’d turned away expecting you would follow.

“Klaue?”

You think that you note a brief hitch in his breathing, but beyond that he doesn’t respond.

“Listen, it’s been a long couple of days and I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me what’s going on.”

“What you did was dangerous.” He replies quietly, finally seeming to find his words.

You sigh. You’re not entirely surprised that that’s what this is about but you’re still irritated and your lingering anger is back at the surface, leaving you fighting to keep your response measured. You’re not the one who’d done anything wrong. You thought he’d understand that.

“I did what needed to be done, that whole situation was getting worse by the second.“

“You put yourself in harm's way. There was no need to get that close when there had already been an explosion.”

“So was I just supposed to stand around with my mouth hanging open like almost everyone else? Or walk away and pretend that nothing was happening?”

“You didn’t need to get yourself involved, period. Those men would have dealt with the consequences of their actions.”

You throw your hands up in resignation.

“This is perfect, I was one of the few people actually trying to help, and yet I’m the one you’re taking it out on? That seems par for the course in all of this.”

Finally Klaue turns around to face you.

“I’m not- ”

"What about Milo? Or more importantly the asshole that actually caused the whole fucking mess??" You're close to yelling now, unable to help it as your anger and disappointment finally boil over.

"Do you really think he hasn't already been dealt with?” He replies sharply. “He’s gone, and won't be stepping foot in another shop anywhere, ever again. I'll be making sure of it.”

There's something flat in his eyes that cloaks the usual sharp blue.

“Ok, well…good.” You’re happy to hear it, though you’re still only somewhat placated. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the damage could have been so much worse if that truck had kept burning. I had to do something."

"That shouldn’t be your concern. I would have handled it."

“More people would have gotten injured.”

“I’m aware.”

“Or killed!"

"You could have gotten- "

He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, fists balled tight at his sides.

He hasn’t raised his voice until now, but it's his tone and the way his words waver that gives you pause. As you watch Klaue collect himself you feel something trying to work its way into your chest - something that’s whispering to you what that clouded look in his eyes might have been.

Fear.

He’s visibly tense, lips pressed in a thin line as he takes a step toward you, broad shoulders curling inwards in an almost protective posture.

“I know you didn’t have anything to do with the accident, and that you wanted to help. But what you did still wasn't-”

He stops again and it surprises you, normally so certain of his words and not exactly afraid to speak his mind, you instead watch the muscles of his jaw working as his eyes burn into yours.

“This is a risky job.” You finally break the silence, trying to reason with him, taking your own tentative step closer to him. “Even when I’m not working for an arms dealer, by the way. Anywhere in this trade mistakes like that can happen.”

There’s a soft “careful” in the quick tilt of his head, and even now you feel a spark of relief at the flash of that familiar part of him.

“And you got hurt here.”

You only realize that your hand has been rubbing your bruised shoulder when you notice his eyes have shifted to watch your fingers.

“So did other people! Why am I being singled out? What is the concern about me?”

A part of him seems to drift from you again, and when he doesn’t respond a vice of cold steel begins to tighten around your chest. Has he discerned the real question that was hidden in your words? Is he angry? Disappointed? Indifferent?

Damnit, you curse yourself.

You wished you hadn’t said it but the recent stress has eroded your filters and you couldn’t help but push. Even though you’re not going to get the answer you can barely admit that you want.

“If you had really been hurt. If you had gotten killed..”

When his eyes focus on you again there’s a coldness in them that you’ve only seen hints of before, but now it’s right there at the surface, clear and sharp and seething.

“That man wouldn’t be gone, he would be dead.”

Oh.

Klaue’s words are laced with a calm certainty that sets your heart racing, your skin prickling hot under the weight of his gaze as you stand there shocked silent by his admission, unsure how to respond.

Just as suddenly as it appeared the cold begins to melt away, his eyes sweeping over you as if confirming that you’re still there, still whole and standing in front of him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be concerned about you?” He asks, a curious frown knitting his brows.

You’re not sure how to respond to that either and you’re quiet for several long moments, chewing your lower lip while you consider, nervous for a different reason now.

He’s pushing you back, and it’s what you wanted (what you needed), not letting you get away with hiding, because if you’re going to ask the question you need to answer it, too.

But he must know it’s not a simple question, and right now you can’t give him a simple answer.

“I don’t…know what this is.” You start, haltingly.

The first threads of an admission that there’s something for this to be.

An admission that although a part of you has known it since the first night he slowly, achingly buried himself inside you, you can no longer pretend that he hasn’t already ruined you.

”Neither do I.” He concedes, slowly closing the last steps that separate you, surprised to find yourself relaxing at his words. It's not an answer, not yet, but still an acknowledgement, that you’re both uncertain but unable to help the way that you’re drawn together. Moths lost in the dark, instinctively picking up on the invisible spark of the other.

His hand reaches up to touch the shoulder that you'd been massaging.

“Let me see.” Klaue rumbles softly as he moves to lift the edge of your shirt, and silently you help him work your arm from the sleeve before he pulls the garment the rest of the way off, leaving you in your sports bra.

“I don’t know that I have to know, but I-”

You start to speak but then inhale a sharp breath when his palm slides over your shoulder, soothing the bruised warmth, fingers also dance along the scar on your other arm which was fortunately not the side you’d landed on.

“And I don’t know if I can tell you.” His frown deepens as he takes in the angry bloom of purpling skin. “But I haven’t been able to think about anyone else since you’ve been here.”

You hadn’t assumed anything but you can’t help the sting of relief, even as you fight to hold back the dam of want that’s cracking open beneath your ribs.

But when his hand slides up over your shoulder, your neck, tilting your head so that you meet his eyes, you realize that it's a battle you've already lost.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, the other hand pressing flat against the firm warmth of his chest.

“I hadn’t been seeing anyone for a while, before Utrech..” You start and then pause, your eyes slipping closed with a sigh as you sink into the sensation of his palm against your cheek. “But even when I was still trying to pretend that I didn’t…since then it hasn’t even occurred to me to think about anyone but you.”

“Is that right?” Klaue’s voice hums with a pleased timbre though his eyes flick searchingly across your face.

“Yes. There’s no one else. Not now, not-”

Not ever.

“No one has ever come close to making me feel the way you do, Ulysses. And maybe I don’t know what this is, but…I know that I don’t want to stop.”

The last words come out in a breathless rush, forced out before you can overthink and lock them away again. Finally admitting it as much to yourself as to him.

“I’m not going to stop, darling. Not a fucking chance.”

You nearly laugh with giddy relief but it’s interrupted when his hand tightens around your jaw, leaning in so that his mouth is hovering over yours as you press your body flush against him, arching into the stiffening ridge of his erection that juts into your hip.

You try to angle your mouth to find the warmth of his lips against yours, but strong hands continue to hold you just there, a breath apart. The air has shifted, a charge growing in the dwindling space between you that leaves your skin tingling from the near contact, and when you feel a faint brush of his lips against yours an audible whine slides from your throat.

“That night, after the bar, I thought about you.” Klaue continues.

“You did?”

“Yes.” He nearly groans the word. “Thought about how you'd taste when you come.”

The wet heat that’s been building in your core surges at his words, at the sudden image of him flushed and sweaty, his fist moving in rough strokes over his swollen cock and the thought of you in his head.

One of your hands begins to slide between your bodies, needy fingers plucking at his belt, reaching beneath the waistband and tugging.

“Thought about taking you into the back, finding a quiet corner, having you on your knees in front- in front of me.” His voice hitches and he shudders when you find the now stiff curve of his cock beneath the fabric.

“And then..when you were there, kneeling, I was sure I was dreaming. But you were so much better than my dreams. Such a tease, weren’t you?” He hums, and you can hear the grin even as his voice drops to a rasp of granite and silk.

“Thinking you could get away with that.”

Klaue’s hips rock into your touch as you squeeze more firmly, sliding your hand along the shape of him, rewarded with a harsh sigh as he pulls back and fixes his eyes fix on yours. You thrill at the heat that you find there, helplessly reaching for the flames that lick against your skin.

That invite you to burn.

“I didn’t think that for a second. But I already apologized, didn’t I?”

A flash of him holding you against the door, desperation on your lips as he finally let you fall apart.

“Oh, you thought that was your apology? Getting to come on my fingers?”

“I didn’t, I mean-” You stammer, the movement of your hand faltering even as his admonition sends another wave of heat through your body.

“I’m afraid not, darling. And right now..” Your eyelids flutter and it takes a moment to realize that he’s waiting to make sure he has your attention.

“Y-yes?”

“Maybe I do.”

“You do…what?” Frowning, you try to figure out his meaning through the growing haze of arousal.

“Want to take it out on you.”

Your eyes snap to his, molten sapphire when you meet them.

“And maybe,” Klaue’s thumb swipes across the corner of your lips. “I want to take it out on this mouth of yours.”

His eyes flick down to catch your tongue peeking out as you reflexively lick your lips.

“Because a day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought about that sweet promise you made on your knees.”

His thumb slides against the seam of your lips, smug when they part easily beneath the pressure.

He tsks, but any response you might give is cut off when he pushes past your teeth and your tongue gratefully tastes the calloused skin. But just as you move to take his thumb deeper into your mouth he pulls back, quickly replacing it with his index and middle fingers before you can lament the loss, and you can’t help but moan around the thick digits.

Eagerly you begin to slide your mouth along them, slowly bobbing your head, taking them further until they’re far enough back that your gag reflex triggers and your body stiffens, squeezing your eyes shut as you force yourself to take slow breaths.

Eventually your eyelids flutter open again, your focus coming back to him and the pleased look in his eyes.

Once you catch your breath you increase the suction of your lips to pull his fingers a little deeper, your tongue teasing around and between his two fingers, the texture of his warm skin contrasted with the smooth edges of his ring.

The next time you pull back he takes the opportunity to add a third finger, his other hand reaching up to cup the back of your neck, gently but firmly holding your head in place as he slides them all the way into your mouth again until his thumb and pinky are cradling your jaw.

Klaue’s mouth has dropped open, his breathing gone rough as he watches your lips stretching around his fingers. Both of your hands have moved to grip his shirt, steadying yourself, your eyes beginning to water as your breath comes in quick gasps.

“Shhh,” he soothes. “Just like that.”

His fingers stay where they are until your breathing slows again, nearly wincing at the deep velvet of his gaze on you, soft but inescapable.

You still feel the instinct to gag, but once your throat relaxes the rest of you follows, and you sigh as he withdraws a little, rubbing gentle circles against your tongue. Your inhibitions are quickly falling away as you become focused only on more, moaning as his fingers continue to move, the thumb of his hand that’s curled around your neck caressing the sensitive skin there.

A heady thrum of desire is growing, settling deep between your thighs as you watch him through heavy-lidded eyes as he alternates between slowly pumping and then pressing deep and holding there, pleased when your breathing evens out more quickly every time.

Watching his expression cloud over with lust it occurs that you’d never really thought about how much he liked this. How watching your lips, and feeling your warm, slick mouth around his fingers as they grow shiny with your spit has him barely hanging on.

“That’s my needy girl.”

Klaue’s words are a sigh, almost a release, the tension when you had first followed him ebbing from his body, smoothing the set of his shoulders as his fingers continue to move.

You shudder again, unable to hold back the keening sounds from escaping your throat, your center already soaked and aching and you don’t even have his cock in your mouth yet.

“What’s the matter, isn’t this enough?” His words are cut with a smug glint of gold, seeming to guess what you’re thinking about.

And honestly you would let him keep doing this if he wanted, turning you into a mindless mess with just his fingers and only your eyes able to plead wordlessly for more. But he said he was going to fuck your mouth, and the narrowing of your eyes answers his question.

His unoccupied hand releases your neck and takes one of your hands, returning it to the waist of his pants where you quickly work at his belt and zipper, determined though distracted by the continued slip and drag through your lips.

Eventually you manage to reach beneath the fabric to grip his hard length, your other hand tugging the layers down until you’re able to free his cock. The movement of his fingers falters at your touch but then he’s grinning when your moans become more plaintive, saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth as your hand hungrily strokes the intoxicating heat of him.

“Now, don’t swallow.” Klaue murmurs.

You have a split second to frown before he withdraws, realization dawning when you have to quickly close your mouth to keep from drooling.

Unable to reply, you wait a beat before your eyebrows raise in a question.

“On your knees.” His hand drops, slick fingers replacing yours where they’re wrapped around his length.

Your breath catches with anticipation, and unable and unwilling to hide how eager you are now you keep your eyes on his as you sink down slowly until the thick circle of his fist is directly in front of you, the slit already leaking as he strokes himself.

The sight of it has you aching, desperate for your lips to replace the languid slide of his fingers, to take him deep into your mouth then and nose into the dark, grey-flecked hair that spreads from the base of him.

“Now, spit on my cock, darling.”

Your reverie suddenly broken you look up to see him watching you intently, eyes dark and commanding, his hand now gripping the thick base, holding himself out to you.

Waiting.

Still unable to reply, all you can do - all you want to do - is acquiesce. So you lean forward and slowly let the saliva slide from your parted lips until it drops onto the head of his cock, his palm quickly gathering and dragging your offering down his length, groaning at the slide of it beneath his fingers.

Only when you hear the low timbre of his laugh do you realize that you’re practically pouting as your eyes eagerly follow the movement of his hand.

You lean forward again, glossy lips parting in anticipation, but his other hand quickly reaches to grasp your hair and stops you.

You’re agonizingly close, not caring how desperate you must look straining against his grip as your tongue flicks out, the sounds of skin on slick skin making you increasingly desperate to taste him as he holds you just out of reach of what you want.

“Look at you.” Klaue croons.“You’re always switched on. You’re strong and I can see how hard you work, and I want you to know how much I appreciate that.”

You flush at his praise, briefly distracted from your conquest.

“But when I use your mouth…then I get to watch you let go. I can tell that you don’t like to do it for yourself, so I’m going to do it for you. Going to empty that head of yours.”

His hips nudge toward you and this time when your lips drop open he lets you move to meet him.

He sucks a hiss through his teeth when you press a wet kiss against the thick head of his cock, chased by a relieved groan as you let your lips smear the glisten of precum that continues to leak there, fresh heat blooming between your legs at the sounds this draws from him.

You keep the muscles of your jaw relaxed and pliant as you press slowly forward. Not sucking yet, simply using the head of his cock to part your lips to slide over the already slick skin, slowly and thoroughly mapping the shape of him with your mouth.

And he's right, of course. You can feel yourself relaxing as you finally taste the musk of his heated skin, humming contentedly as your tongue swirls around the head and drags over the sensitive frenulum, the tension of the last few days finally draining away with every languorous slip of your mouth.

A different kind of tension quickly swelling deep in your core.

“Jesus.” Klaue sighs above you as you gradually take him deeper, one hand braced on his thigh while the other wraps around him, his cock achingly hard beneath your fingers.

Still loosely holding your hair he's letting you work him, your own pleased moans slipping from your throat as you lick hungrily over every ridge and vein, savouring the salty tang of his velvet-slick skin warm against your tongue

Pleasure thrums through your body, growing hotter with the attention you’re giving him, but as you take him deeper again, your lips stretching wider, realization flickers in the back of your mind that you haven’t even taken him halfway yet and you’re already growing overwhelmed by how full your mouth is.

But, god, the ragged sound he makes when you slide down until his cock nudges the back of your throat makes your cunt throb, so you pull back so that you’re holding just the tip of him between your lips and then you do it again, reveling in every inch that you can take.

Slowly you build a steady rhythm until saliva is dripping down your chin, he's continuing to let you control the pace for now, allowing you to breathe and adjust until he’s deeper than when he was on the couch.

Your hunger is growing, though, and soon you're pushing forward with more intention and when your throat spasms you swallow reflexively, your eyes watering when this draws him in further. Klaue’s moans deepen at the ripple of the muscles around his cock but you’re unable to fight it any longer and you gag, even as his drawn out “Fuck” has your hips rocking.

Squeezing your eyes shut you just barely manage to stay where you are, tears dampening your lashes until you finally have to pull back, although you keep him in your mouth, breathing hard through your nose to catch your breath.

“It’s alright,” he rasps. ”Don’t think you’re going to be able to take all of me right now, darling. But you’ll take as much as you can, and when you can swallow every inch of my cock then you’ll get to feel me come down your throat.”

You can’t help the muffled sound you make that’s equal parts arousal and disappointment.

“Don’t worry, I’m still going to make a pretty mess of your mouth," he teases, his heaving chest and half-lidded eyes betraying his own growing need.

Not that he isn’t doing a fair job of it already, of course, unable to properly swallow, your chin is quickly growing shiny with drool. The pressure of his other hand still cradling the back of your neck firm but soothing as he holds you in place, as the still restrained flex of his hips begins seeking the wet heat of your mouth again, and you sigh at the intoxicating weight of his cock dragging against your tongue.

As you relax your awareness drifts back down to the heat between your legs, the slick press of the seam of your pants against your sex barely relieving the ache there as you squeeze your thighs together.

After a few more slow thrusts he presses forward into the back of your throat again, and as he holds himself there you take a shaky breath and swallow once, and then again, taking more of him than you have so far.

“There you go, God-”

You try to hollow your cheeks to pull him in further but you gag again when he bucks suddenly, his words cut off with a growled curse.

“It’s alright,” Klaue soothes, pulling back to give you a moment to recover, though it was more startling than painful. “You’re doing so fucking well.”

Looking up at him you see that his eyes are screwed shut, head bowed and breathing hard, concentration etched clearly across his face. When he finally opens his them he can only groan at the sight of your tear-damp reverence, his attention is first drawn first to where he's disappearing into your mouth as he starts to move again, but it’s not long before they catch instead on the needy cant of your hips.

“You do love this, don’t you? Have you soaked through your panties already?”

You can only let out a whimpered moan as you attempt to nod.

He hasn’t let you take his cock out of your mouth yet and you can feel the drool that continues to spill from your lips beginning to collect and drip off of your chin, down onto your chest where it slicks the skin between your breasts.

There’s a flicker in the back of your mind, a needling thought that you should feel…ashamed. By the mess, and your neediness, by how much you fucking adore being on your knees for this man.

But that flicker is quickly snuffed out as Klaue continues to use your mouth, and as you take in the look of awe in his eyes, when you feel his thumb softly stroking over the curve of your cheekbone, you realize that you don’t feel below him.

That although you're on your knees, it feels like you’re the one being worshiped.

You want to focus on him and you try, really you do, but the heated ache in your cunt is becoming unbearable and you can't help shifting and squeezing your thighs together, made breathless by your need as much as by the fullness of him in your mouth.

He's has been watching - and clearly enjoying - this increasingly desperate movement of your hips, but finally he seems to take pity on you.

“Do you want to touch yourself, darling? Want to come while you drool all over my cock?”

Even through his tease you can feel how his own words affect him in the quickening buck of his hips.

“Go on then, feel how wet your pussy is just from this.”

The words are barely past his lips and you’re already moving, but just as you manage to work your hand beneath the waistband of your pants he speaks again.

“Slow.”

The word is quiet but firm, Klaue's tone softer than before yet shot through with an irresistible command and you pause, glancing back up.

His shoulders and neck are impossibly broad from this vantage, eyes bright but tinged with a smoky darkness that does away with your resistance, and you know with a thrilling certainty that as desperate as you are for relief, in this moment you’d do whatever he asked.

Keeping your eyes locked on his you begin to move again, dipping your hand down - slowly.

“That’s it. Slip your hand into your panties now. Just- just one finger, darling.” His voice is uneven and clipped like he's having to concentrate on forming the words. “Slide it along that pretty slit of yours. Barely need to press to feel it, don’t you? How wet you are.”

You can only whimper in response, the building ache between your thighs only made worse by how close you are to relief, by how you could increase the pressure just slightly and you’d be able to part yourself and find your desperate bundle of nerves.

“You have no idea how delicious that first taste of you is. So fucking sweet.”

There’s an edge to his words, as though he were jealous of your fingers, that they get to slide and tease between your legs and not his tongue.

There’s barely any friction beneath your index finger, but the soft glide combined with his grunted breaths above you has you clenching and it's near agony to keep your movements slow and controlled, fighting against every instinct in your body not to give in as your sex quivers, pleading for more.

So instead you pull your focus back to his cock and let your mouth move the way you wish your fingers could, quickly and hungrily sliding your lips along his shaft until with a sudden movement you take him into the back of your throat again and keep him there, your hand stroking the part of him you can't take.

“Christ,” he grits through his teeth, your scalp stinging from the quick jerk of his hand in your hair. “Not yet.”

You can't tell if this is directed at you or himself as he swallows and releases a shuddered breath, his voice strained when he speaks again.

“Slide two fingers over your clit for me, now.”

Relief ripples up your spine as you eagerly press through your drenched folds, fingers dragging against your swollen bud, unable to let out more than a choked sound as you push forward to keep his cock where it is in your throat, hot tears spilling over.

“Again.”

Your touch grows rougher, matching his words, feeling the inevitable swell of pleasure growing as you float there, caught in the riptide of his voice.

”Want to go faster, don’t you?” Klaue rasps. “Want to reach down to feel how soaked your needy hole is?”

You do, trembling fingers unable to help chasing the path of his words as if they were his tongue instead, sliding along your slick cleft and down to gather more of your arousal.

Pleasure strings tighter when your fingers slide back up and over your clit, cursing him internally as you gasp short breaths through your nose. You try to relax your throat even as every other muscle in your body draws tight, unsure how much longer you can keep yourself from falling over the edge.

You can’t really tell him, only your eyes can plead, I’m close, I’m so close it feels so good please let me come.

“So used to begging with that pretty mouth.” He taunts with a breathless growl, reading your desperation, his lips curled in a grin at your half-delirious expression.

“It's alright, I know how good it's making you feel to use your mouth like this instead. Just like I know you’re going to make yourself come now.”

You're so close to lost that it takes a second for you to process his command, but when you do something in you snaps.

Your fingers immediately find a tight rhythm as you chase the swollen edge of pleasure, his fist gripping your hair tight to hold you firmly in place as your movements begin to grow frantic, unable to control any part of you as the blinding heat of your climax finally shocks through you.

The muscles of your throat spasm as your cunt flutters around nothing, desperate sounds caught in your chest as your hips buck and writhe against your fingers. Your other hand is entirely lost to any sense of rhythm and it drops to grasp at the fabric covering his thigh in an attempt to find purchase, and then suddenly his hand not in your hair is there, strong fingers twining tightly with yours, holding on to you as you fall apart.

“That’s it,” Klaue pants, his voice thick with lust and awe. “Choke on my cock while you come.”

You want to curse and cry and plead as ecstasy works its way through you in eddies and purls, and it almost feels like you might be drowning but you’re powerless to want anything else but to drown in him, trembling with relief as your fingers roughly work every pulse of pleasure from your clit.

As the waves begin to soften your other senses gradually filter back in: the ache in your throat and your jaw, the sting in your knees where they press into the floor, and when your body slackens as you start to come down he allows you pull back enough to properly catch your breath.

Slowly you’re able to focus again, eyes damp and red rimmed as you look up at him, but you only have a brief moment to appreciate his pleased expression before his eyes go storm dark.

“Going to come in your mouth, now.”

Fingers tighten in your hair once more and then he’s moving. His thrusts are rough now with surrendered control as his hips chase a harsh rhythm, a low groan rolling through his chest that's woven together with your name as he finally gives in and takes what you'd promised.

You attempt to tighten your lips around him as his rasping curses continue above you, but it’s no use, all you can do is kneel and relent to the slide of his cock filling your mouth again and again.

You want to beg him, words that fall so easily from your lips now when you sense that he’s about to let go for you, but you can only whine for it, your plaintive noises slipping messily around his cock until the pattern of his thrusts falters. And then, finally, there's only bliss when you hear his choked gasp as he stiffens, and you feel the first warm spurts of his spend coating your tongue.

With a low, open-mouthed moan he continues to fuck into the wet suck of your mouth, spilling himself across your lips and chin as well as your tongue until pearly ropes of cum are mixing with your drool, the mess of it dripping in slick stands off of your chin.

Then suddenly Klaue pulls out completely for the first time since this started and at first you can only gasp and cough, but when his hand wraps around himself your mouth instinctively drops open. Resting the head of his cock against the offering of your tongue he slowly strokes though the last pulses of his orgasm, making sure to give you every last drop, dragging through the slick mess with slow, sated thrusts until his fist gradually stills.

Eventually he pulls back though not away, panting and heavy lidded as he looks down at you where you kneel, a shining strand strung between his tip and your swollen lips that glisten with the pearly sheen he’s painted them with.

“Now you can swallow, darling.”

You’re not sure if you should laugh or sob, but fighting both you make sure to keep your eyes on his as you curl your tongue back into your mouth and swallow, before dragging your fingers across your chin to gather the mess he left there, too.

A lazy smile curves his lips as he watches your mouth sliding around your fingers, and once you've cleaned as much as you can your hand drops, both of them resting on the tops of your thighs.

Gently, the backs of Klaue’s fingers brush at the streaks of tears that are beginning to dry on your cheeks, then one slowly hooks under your chin to tip your head up, not letting you hide, leaving you startled by the affection that vines its way through your ribcage, burrowing into the want that even now burns hot.

The want that folds into a desperation to please him, to give and take everything until the only thing left is your desire.

You wish that you could explain it to him, that you could say something coherent, but any words you try to form seem to dissipate before they can reach your mouth, and you’re unsure that you could even articulate your thoughts as you sit in the filmy haze of your afterglow.

So when you do open your mouth you're nearly as caught off guard by the words that come out as he is, your voice an almost unfamiliar, grateful rasp.

“Thank you.”

Klaue’s satisfied grin falls away, his lips parting with a groaned sigh and then he’s reaching down, a hand curling around your bicep to pull you up to standing. You waver against the stiffness in your legs but he supports you, his palm again finding its place against your cheek.

He pauses, really taking in the state of you: your dazed expression and cock-swollen lips, standing there bruised and mussed and shirtless and pleased, his large hand brushing across your chin to catch more of the sheen there, words seeming to hover on the tip of his tongue.

The line between his brows deepens with a purse of his lips, a barely perceptible shake of his head.

“You’re going to be the death of me, klein Mot.”

Then he's pulling you against him, his lips suddenly on yours and he's kissing you deeply, licking hungrily into your mouth and you swiftly grow breathless as he chases the taste of himself on your tongue. But just as you’re sinking into it, he pulls away.

“Come here.”

He turns with you, quickly crowding you back against his desk, hands reach down to wrap around your thighs and you quickly brace against the surface as he lifts you until you’re perched on the edge of it.

Your legs fall open easily as he moves forward, his focus coming to rest on you again as his hands slide up to circle your waist.

“You did so fucking well.” A smile tugs at his lips again as thumbs trail soft patterns against your bare skin. “Are you alright?”

Warmth blooms at his concern, an unexpected contrast with what had just transpired.

“Yes.” You’re still finding your voice, still feeling like you're catching your breath, but you’re good. More than.

“You're sure?”

Leaning forward you slide your arms around his broad waist, hitching your legs up as well, drawing him into you.

“Yes, I promise.” You assure, brushing the ghost of a smile against his lips. “And…I promise that I won’t lie to you if anything is too much.”

“Good.” Klaue pulls back to look at you, a pleased edge of gold glinting in the blue before a more serious expression settles into the creases around eyes. “Because I'm going to keep pushing you.”

You inhale sharply, a fresh throb of heat blooming in your still slick core as your legs tighten around his hips.

“I want you to, Ulysses,” you hum, slowly arching and rolling your center against him, feeling him still half hard where he'd tucked himself back into his pants.

“I know, my darling.” His words are knowing and smooth with the edges singed dark, hands roving slowly over the soft flesh of your waist as he continues matter-of-factly. “But right now, you’re going to have some water, and then I’m going to make you come again.”

“Yeah?” You say hopefully as you continue to move against him, chasing the heat he so easily stokes in you with just a few words.

A slow nod and a rumbled confirmation.

“I’m going to take care of you, now, Mot. I don’t need you to make any decisions today. Except for one.”

“Oh?”

“Not how many times you’re going to come, that's up to me. But you’re going to tell me how.”

“God, Ulysses.” You’re burning with arousal now, every inch of your skin prickling hot. “That's all?”

“Will it be my fingers?”

His hands brush further up your waist, thumbs teasing beneath the band of your bra to just brush against the sensitive curve of your breasts before trailing back down.

“Or my mouth?”

Leaning in his lips press against your neck, a silvered shimmer of nerves swirling out from the point where his tongue flicks out to taste your skin, your body swiftly surrendering to the heat of his promise.

“Or perhaps you’d like to straddle my thigh until you’ve made a lovely mess for me.”

A needy sound rends itself from your chest as his thumbs press into the sensitive creases where your hips meet your thighs, but just as you open your mouth to reply, a loud knock sounds on the door.

“Not right now.” Klaue calls out to whoever is in the hall without pulling away from you.

“Yes, now.”

“I’m not ask-”

“It’s a call you’ve been waiting for. There's a problem.”

Jaw clenching, he exhales a sharp breath.

“Just a minute,” he replies.

“You really need to-”

“Just a minute.” Klaue snaps, his head jerking towards the door and you jump, your legs tightening around him.

“Alright, alright.”

The man’s voice trails off and it sounds like he’s moved down the hallway, at least for now.

When he looks back at you you’re biting your lip, the look in his eye telling you he must have noticed your reaction to his tone.

“Think about what I asked.”

You're about to reply that you will, but something occurs to you about the suggestions he’d given you.

“Wait, is.. is your cock not an option?” You give him a coy look through your lashes, intending to tease but still a little nervous that maybe it won't be.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to fuck you, darling. If you’re good.”

A thumb grazes the corner of your mouth, distracting you momentarily from what that means as you unconsciously flick your tongue out to meet it, earning you a knowing grin when you quickly pull away with a sheepish laugh.

“So?” He says, waiting for your confirmation of his request.

“I will. I’ll…think about it.” You're nearly panting now as the rock of your hips grows needier, shocked at how quickly you can feel another orgasm building already, if you just had a few more minutes you could-

“That’s all you’ll be doing, though. Yeah?”

Strong hands tighten around your hips, pinning their faltering movement against him and you pull back with a frown.

“Are you saying…you want me to think about how I want to come, but I can’t- ”

“Smart girl, you did hear what I said.” His gaze sweeps over your face, and you barely manage not to scoff.

“Yes, I heard you. But I mean, I did already make myself come. I made that decision.”

Klaue tilts his head, mock curiosity knitting his brows.

“Did you?”

You open your mouth to argue but then close it again, pursing your lips together in a pout. He has a point, though: It may have been your fingers, but it was his words guiding you, and you only made yourself come when he told you that you would.

“I decide,” he repeats, and you bite back a whimper when he slowly grinds you against him again. “And I've decided you're going to wait.”

There’s another, more insistent knock at the door.

“Coming.” Suddenly letting go he steps back from you, not hiding his pleasure at your pained expression as he finds and hands you your shirt which you reluctantly put back on.

“I’ll walk you back to the main corridor.” He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and raises a brow, waiting for you to follow.

“Fine. I’ll think about it.” You finally say, pushing yourself off of the desk, not bothering to hide the frustration in your voice.

“I know you will, darling.” His certainty overlaps with a challenge as he opens the door.

Be good, and you can come on my cock.

You shudder when his hand quickly presses against your lower back as you move past him, even the brief pressure burns hot through the fabric of your shirt, and then the door clicks shut behind you.

So, you have to wait. Again. And though you’re getting good at it now, and even knowing that it won’t be long, you’re not sure how you’re going to make it, your nerves already on fire as you part and watch him walk away.

AN: As always thank you so much for reading! 🥰 The next chapter will not be nearly as long a wait since about 75% of it was already written before I decided to split this on up! Will it be soon soon? No, but it won't be quite as long as this break as this was! Though to be fair I did write two other fics (and a drabble), flew to London, and dealt with a personal loss, and then the recovery from of all the that plus y'know, life in general. But we're finally here, and I'm glad that I made it and can finally share this with you all!

Full disclosure I am not someone who works with propane, and while much of the information is based what I've been able to find online, the accident itself is based on the events of a real explosion at a propane plant that happened in Canada several years ago. So things are likely not necessarily going to be 100% correct, but there are real variables here that would explain something like this happening.

I also want to mention that there's a line in that that was actually the first (filthy) line of not just this chapter, but also of this entire part two. I was only around halfway through part one and was just realizing there would even be a part two (the line did end up changing a bit as the story evolved, but it's still in here. 😏). Also I wrote it, closed the doc, then opened Instagram and immediately saw that Andy was coming to to Toronto. And instantly panicked. So there's that. 😂

#salvation is a deep dark well #bringin' home the rain part two #ulysses klaue #ulysses klaue x f reader #ulysses klaue x reader #ulysses klaue smut #reader insert #x reader #mcu #mcu fanfiction

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boldlyvoid · 11 months

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I Know Places: Title Chapter.

18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader | Masterlist | AO3 link

Summary: Worried for Aaron's safety as he heals, she takes him to the one place she knows no one can find them. The Bed and Breakfast in West Virginia.

Warnings: depression, anxiety, ptsd, suicidal thoughts, sexual assault, anti-depressants, hotch has a really hard time with everything. taking care of him, helping him bathe, hurt/comfort, deep talks, teasing, getting his staples removed, implied off-screen "sex", proposals

Word count: 5.6k

For some reason, he feels incredibly self-conscious as the nurse explains to Y/N how to help him change his bandages. They give him a little sponge bath in the room, ie a basin of soap and warm water is in his lap and they clean around his wounds with a washcloth while he lays back against his pillows biting his lip when it hurts.

In total, he has over 100 staples in his chest right now. Each wound has a large purple and blue bruise growing out around it and the wounds are gross… but Y/N doesn’t care. She lightly dabs the washcloth over these wounds, she cleans off the blood and iodine left over from his surgery and she listens so intently to the nurse as she explains how to re-bandage him. They dry him off, cover him in bandages and then make him lean forward so they can wrap his chest in gauze.

“Now, when it’s time to take the staples out you’ll have to come back here—

“We’re leaving after he gets discharged,” Y/N cuts her off. “With everything going on I don’t want to stay in his apartment or mine in case the unsub comes back, he’s not strong enough to help me fight the guy off if we need to.”

“Oh uh… where are you going?”

“West Virginia. The closest town to our cabin is Davis,” she explains, voice as low as possible.

“Okay,” the nurse nods and thinks of what they could do. “Um, I can send a referral to a local doctor or nurse practitioner in the area to get them out there?”

Aaron just takes a deep breath, he knows the plan but he’s so tired, so out of it, that he has a hard time caring. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You can’t take them out yourself,” the nurse reminds him. “Don’t even try.”

“I won’t let him,” Y/N assures her.

“Good, okay, I’m going to go do some research and talk to the doctor and you can help him put his gown back on?” She asks Y/N.

She nods, “Yeah, thank you so much.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she gives them a smile and then heads out with the basin and the washcloths.

She helps him back into his hospital gown with some grunts and heavy breathing as he stretches with staples in his chest. It’s not fun. He wants to pass out from the pain but he’s had more than enough pain medication today so he has to just deal with it. He’s so miserable, depressed beyond belief and trying his absolute best not to take it out on the woman he’s supposed to be so in love with.

Every time he looks at her, he knows he loves her. Every time she smiles at him, he knows he loves her. It's when she talks, to the doctors, to their friends… she talks to them as if he’s not there. As if everything will be okay. As if this isn’t the worst situation he could ever be in. He’s so mad at what’s happening that he wants to scream at her, ask her to be a little less cheery, to be a little more upset like he was.

“Are you okay?” She asks, giving him those over-caring eyes again.

He nods, “Yep.”

“Do you want to talk?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Aaron you can’t--

“I can. Watch me,” he spits back, closing his eyes as he lays back. “I’m hurting, I’m sad. Let it happen.”

She simply crosses her arms and stares at him, “You want me to leave you here? Do you want me to just go back to work and let you wallow in your self-pity and hurt yourself further? Cause I can do that.”

“No, no that’s not—

“I love you. I know this is hard, it’s killing me to see you like this but if we both fall down this hole who’s going to pull us up? I have to stay above ground for the both of us,” she explains and he knows she’s right. “So I’m going to plan things, I’m going to help you, I’m going to keep you on a schedule, and when you’re ready, we’re going to talk. Because I love you. I’m not doing this because I have some fake hope that things will be okay. I’m doing this because I truly believe we can get through this. I love you, which means I love your family and I will go to the ends of the earth to bring them back to you. Believe me when I say that.”

He beckons her closer, makes her sit on the side of the bed and takes her hand in his, “Thank you.”

“And?” She teases him.

“I love you too,” he assures. “Could you… um… could you ask the doctors to get me a psych consult?”

She nods, “Yeah, I can.”

He takes a deep breath, it hurts and so his breath comes back out in a sputter as a tear drips down his cheek. He doesn’t want to say it but he promised her a while ago that he would never leave her in the way he’s been thinking about it. “It’s been a week and my thoughts are… they’re not good. I want to fall asleep and never wake up in the morning. I want to die before they do. I can’t go through this anymore… I need some help.”

She reaches out and cups his cheek, wiping the tear away with her thumb, “thank you for telling me.” Fighting every urge not to cry with him, she swallows sharply. “you’re not thinking about hurting yourself? You just want to slip away in the night?”

He nods, crying harder, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no,” she gets even closer to him and lightly rubs his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll talk to someone, get you some medicine to help with the thoughts and I know I said we’re going to the middle of nowhere but I can find you a therapist there? We can handle this. We can do something about this before it gets too bad.”

He just cries, leaning forward she catches him carefully and their foreheads rest together. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

That’s all he could ask for.

—

With a new prescription for escitalopram, his bottle of pain meds and a referral for a nurse practitioner in Davis, they hit the road 1 week after the attack.

It takes them 4 hours to make it to the bed and breakfast that they knew and loved last year which isn’t too long for Aaron to be sitting but is just long enough to drive him a little crazy. He gets out with her to go get the keys, needing to stretch a bit before they have another hour and a half drive to their cabin.

Mary's daughter is working the front desk when they walk in. “Eileen, it’s lovely to see you again,” Y/N smiles as they enter.

“Oh, hey! Mom said you were coming today,” she smiles wide, happy to see them and then reaches under the desk for something. “I’ve got the key right here.”

“And I have the money,” Y/N says, digging $2k out of her purse in hundred-dollar bills.

They exchange the money and keys, Eileen gives her a map with instructions on how to get to the cabin and makes sure they know how everything there works. There’s a fireplace, they’ve stocked up the wood near the front porch so they don’t have to go far to get it and they walk them through the temperamental amenities for their stay.

She helps Aaron back into the car and he sighs, “Thank you…”

“Hey,” she looks at him from the door. “You don’t have to thank me, ever.”

“I know,” he gives her a little smile. She closes the door and rushes around to the driver's side again. “I just want you to know how much I love you for all this.”

She reaches over and takes his hand in hers, “so you should know I love you just as much because I’m doing this.”

He nods, “I know… thank you.”

“Let's go hide away.”

—

The first day at the cabin is just them moving in, unpacking all the things she brought and making a fire. She leaves Aaron there with his guns and makes him lock the door while she heads to the grocery store to get some food for them for the first week and when she gets home, he’s sound asleep on the couch, by the fire, with his gun untouched on the coffee table.

She makes him dinner, she helps him change his bandages, she gives him his meds and she helps him into bed. It’s the same the next day, only they start the day with his antidepressants and cuddles in bed. He’s starting to feel the side effects of adjusting. The nausea and dry mouth, he’s sweating even though it's pretty chilly without the fire on and he’s so tired. That can be both from his injury and his pain meds, but it’s definitely more intense than just regular fatigue.

She lays there beside him, as close as she can be without her head on his chest, watching him sleep. She’s done a lot of that over the last 2 weeks. He’s barely awake, he knows she’s watching him so he smiles and blinks into the light, “What?”

“Nothing,” she smiles back at him. “I like watching you sleep… knowing you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?” She asks, confused.

“I gave up,” he whispers. Eyes welling with tears, “I could’ve fought back… I got stabbed that first time and I just laid there.”

“We profiled him, we knew he’d need a stern face and if you show fear it’ll get worse. You did what you needed to do, clearly, he didn’t want to kill you,” she explains. “You didn’t give up, you did what you had to. We’re still doing what we have to. And when we catch him, he’ll pay for it.”

“What do you—

“I’m going to kill him,” she assures. “I’m going to shoot him in the chest and watch him hit the ground. I’m going to step on his wound so it hurts and I’m going to stare him in the eyes while I shoot him between them.”

“You can’t—

“I can and I will,” she nods, staring him down. He knows she’s being serious, she wants revenge. She loves him deeply. “And Haley said she would too.”

“What?”

“Before she left I gave her a talk, I gave her the profile and I let her know what he’s like. The games he plays and the shit he might try. I told her that he’s going to try and find her, he’s going to try and get her away from her Marshall and he’s probably going to pretend to have killed you to draw her out of hiding. I told her she couldn’t trust anything if it didn’t come from her Marshall's mouth or one of us. I made sure she knew to get a couple guns, one for her room, one for her purse and that if she ever thought she wasn’t safe, she should get in her car and drive right to Quantico.”

“Seriously?” He can’t believe it.

“Yeah. I’m going to make sure she comes home to you,” she whispers, trying not to cry. “You love her, I love you, we all love Jack. We’re getting them home. We’re all going to make it out of this alive.”

He reaches for her hand, holding it tight, “kiss me? I can’t sit up,” he laughs.

“Okay,” she smiles, leaning into his space to press a kiss to his lips. She kisses him a few times, hand on his cheek, she pulls back with a smile, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispers back. “I love you so much, I don’t want you to ever think I love her more because I do love her… but it’s so different now. The love I feel for you is so intense, I crave you every day. I will never be able to explain how different it is.”

“I don’t need an explanation,” she caresses his cheek, staring at his lips and then his eyes. “I know you love me. I’m perfectly fine with you loving her. I love her because she is your family. We are a weird, misshapen family… but we’re a family.”

“When this is over… when it’s all okay again…. Would you ever want to get married?” He wasn’t even sure where it came from, but he knew he wanted this.

Her smile slowly grows, “seriously?”

He nods, “When I was on the floor, bleeding out, all I could think was you’re going to find me like this and— and I’m going to break your heart in a way I promised I never would… and all I’ve thought since then, as I watch you take care of me, is that I never want to be without you. I never want to leave you with nothing. I want everything that’s mine to be yours, I want to take care of you as well as you take care of me and I want to love you until the day I do die. Naturally, as an old, old man, holding your hand.”

She kisses him again and again, crying slightly, he holds her as close as he can without hurting himself. He really didn’t think their first real vacation would involve him being hurt… he thought the first time they disappeared into the wilderness they’d be able to be all over each other, take hikes... go sit by the lake. But they can’t.

Not just because he’s in pain and recovering and worried about internal bleeding… what Foyet did to him transcends just physical trauma.

He pulls away from the kiss, memories flashing through his mind and taking him out of the moment. “Sorry…”

“It’s okay,” she worries, “are you okay?”

He shakes his head. “No… sorry. I just. I’m hurting.”

“Oh, oh, sorry,” she pulls away, sitting up and away from him and it breaks his heart.

“It wasn’t you,” he shakes his head. “I uh… I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it all yet but, I just got a little triggered.”

“That’s okay,” she assures him. “What did you want to do to feel better? I can read to you? We can go outside and sit on the porch? Whatever you want to do, we can do it.”

“I think sitting by the lake would be nice?” He suggests.

And so that is what they do.

She brings both the chairs from the porch all the way down to the dock and she lets him sit down in the first one while she retrieves the second. She brings down some blankets and then she heads back inside to make them both a coffee and he just sits there alone while she does it. The water is so calming, the air is so fresh. The sounds of the birds in the trees and the squirrels in the bush. He sees some ripples in the water where the fish have come up to nibble at the insects on the surface and he even sees a beaver out for a swim with a stick clenched between his teeth.

When she comes back, she has two mugs, and he gives her a big smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she waves it off cause he should know by now that she’ll do anything for him.

He reaches his free hand out to her, and she holds her coffee on the other side so she can meet him halfway. They interlock their fingers, he smiles over at her and she smiles back. “It's nice to see you happy,” she says as if a weight has been taken off her shoulders.

“I’m trying really hard,” he admits. “You make it easier.”

—

Getting him into the bath was easy. She bought Baby Johnson baby wash so she could clean him without any scents or harsh chemicals hurting him and he’s thrown back in time to when Jack was a baby. There were only a handful of times that he helped give Jack a bath before bed, he was always home after bedtime… it just makes him miss Jack even more. He normally sees him once or twice a week and now it’s been 2 weeks since he’s seen him last.

She gives him some time alone in there, letting him relax when in reality she can see the pain in his eyes and allows him to cry in peace. He was grateful. It’s not like he’s ashamed to cry in front of her, but she knows sometimes it’s more cathartic if you do it alone. She kissed his head before she left the room and he promised to call for her when he was ready to get out… and now he’s just sitting in lukewarm water, tears on his swollen face and no courage to actually stand back up to get out.

“Y/N?” He calls out for her, his voice more horse than he thought it would be.

She’s there in seconds, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder, and she looks worried. “You okay?”

“Can you help me out?” He asks, cheeks probably pussy and eyes bloodshot.

She nods, “of course.” She looks around, making sure she has a towel for him close by and there’s one on the floor too to capture all the water that drips off him. “Can you get to your knees?”

He groans but he does it. She helps him from his knees to his feet with her hands under his armpits and as soon as he’s standing, he kisses her. “Thank you,” he whispers against her lips. “I love you.”

"I love you more,” she whispers back. “Come on,” she gives him a little courage to lift his leg and get himself out of the big, clawfoot tub. “There you go, you got it.”

He groans as his foot hits the ground, his chest stretches and the staples pinch slightly. “Fuck I hate this,” he says through gritted teeth. He brings his other foot out and stands tall on solid ground.

“I know, just another week and then they’ll be out,” she reminds him. She reaches for the towel and wraps it around him. “Are you cold?”

“I’m okay,” he assures her. “Do you have the fire going out there?”

She nods, “Yep, just put a couple more logs in a few minutes ago. I’m in the middle of making some of those Pillsbury cookies for us. Did you want some coffee or tea?”

“A tea would be nice,” he gives her a smile and then another quick kiss. “I can change on my own, I’ll meet you out in the living room.”

“Sounds good,” she smiles right back, and just by the look in her eyes he knows how much she loves him.

It takes him a couple minutes to get back into his clothes, it hurts a bit but he’s okay. He’s so glad she packed his sweatpants and comfy shirts, he doesn’t get to wear them often enough but he loves them. He’s so comfortable, so happy… he wanders out into the kitchen and wraps his arms around her and rests his head on her shoulder, watching her place more cookies on a sheet.

“Hi,” she coos.

“I love you,” he reminds her.

“I know,” she smirks. “I love you, too… do you feel better?”

“I do, thank you,” he kisses her cheek.

“Your tea is right there,” she points.

“Do you mind if I go drink it outside again?”

“Not at all… just be careful?” She asks.

“I will,” he kisses her again before pulling away. He takes his cup and steals a cookie from the cooling rack. “Come out and join me when you can.”

He slips into his shoes and a coat, steps outside and starts to walk down the path toward the lake. It’s not too far, there’s nothing he can trip on, and their chairs are still out on the dock. He’s actually shocked by how much he truly enjoys being here.

He actually loves it here.

And when this is all over, maybe they can get a vacation home here. Like the one Gideon has. He always said it was a great escape and Aaron agreed to a point… he never fully understood it till now. It’s so peaceful, his brain is quiet and his belly is warm from the tea. He’s having the time of his life here.

Even though he misses his family deeply. Both his work family and his real family. They’re all his real family, who is he kidding? Even Strauss, he misses her too. He’s never been away from work this long without a single call or update or question. It’s weird… but he also enjoys it.

The sun is starting to set when Y/N comes out to join him. Wrapped up in a blanket, she sits on the arm of his Adirondack chair and smiles down at him. “Having fun?”

He wraps his arm around her and wishes he could pull her into his lap but it would hurt too bad. “I’m okay…”

“Good, good,” she smirks. “Did you want to go out for dinner? Or I could go pick something up for us?”

“I don’t mind,” he shakes his head. “Either is fine, but what do you want?”

“Just you,” she leans forward and steals a kiss from him. “I still have lots of food to make for dinner here, but it could be nice to get out?”

“What if I make you something?” He suggests. “I want to do something nice for you.”

“Okay,” she gives in easily. “There’s lots of stuff in there, do you have anything in mind cause I can run to the store real quick?”

“I’ll whip something together,” he promises. “Come on, let's go in. You can sit by the fire and read a book, maybe have some of that wine you bought?”

She stands up and reaches out for his hand, “let's go, handsome.”

—

Dinner is nice. He makes some rice with broccoli and chicken doused in teriyaki sauce. It’s so good she compliments him the whole time. “Seriously, Aar, where did you learn to cook like this?”

“It’s not hard… I made this a lot in college,” he smiles, enjoying the praise. “Rice is easy, chicken with a store-bought sauce is easy, and steamed broccoli is a piece of cake… I’m just glad you enjoyed it.”

“I loved it,” she says, reaching out to hold his hand across the table. “Thank you for treating me tonight.”

He runs his thumb over her hand and smiles, “I think I’m ready to talk tonight… I wanted to do something nice first before I tell you what happened to me.”

Her face drops, her eyes scan his face and she shakes her head, knowing already. “No… no. He didn’t? Oh my god, Aaron?”

His head bows and he takes in a deep breath as he draws his hand away from her. “He got completely naked while he stabbed me… I was incapacitated after the first one and he was able to straddle me and explain to me that stabbing isn’t always a substitution for a sex act.”

She doesn’t say anything, she just shakes her head. Having a hard time believing it.

“He was hard… he touched me. He touched himself,” he explains, feeling a little sick. “He used my blood as… as lu—”

“You don’t have to,” she waves her hand, unable to stomach hearing anymore. “Oh my god, Aaron?”

“It was awful, but by the 6th stab, I was pretty much unconscious… I could probably remember more with some therapy but, I don’t think I want to uncover more just yet,” he explains. “I’ll definitely talk to someone, I don’t feel any disgust towards myself or hatred even. I’m angry it happened, I want to get him. But I’m tired, more than anything, I’m tired.”

She gets out of her seat and walks around to wrap him up in a hug. He stands too, holding her as close as he can, “I love you. I love you so much,” she whispers, trying not to squeeze him too tight but she wants to. He can tell. “You are so strong, you are so brave. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known in my whole life. I… I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispers into her hair. “Thank you for listening.”

“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me until now.”

“I knew I could, I just didn’t know how to say it,” he explains. “I wasn’t raped but I was assaulted. It was awful but I’m okay. I’m alive. You’re here with me, I knew you’d still love me after it. I know the team will save my family. I know it’ll be okay. I just hate waiting.”

“You’ve always been impatient,” she teases, she pulls away to cup his face and smile. “But you’re right. You’re always right. You’re loved, your team is powerful and we’ll win. We’ll always win.”

“I just wish I wasn’t this beat up,” he whispers. “I should be able to cuddle while on a vacation with you. I should be able to hold you close and let you sit in my lap and… and I should be able to make love to you.”

“We have lots of time to do that,” she assures him. “I spent almost a year sleeping beside you without sex. And sure… I would’ve loved to be having sex with you the whole time but just being near you means more to me. You make me happy and you make me feel safe and that’s all I want on this vacation. I just want us to be happy and safe.”

“How about we do the dishes tomorrow and we just crawl into bed and we cuddle as best as we can?” He suggests.

“I think we can do that,” she agrees, taking his hand and dragging him into the bedroom.

—

The day he gets his staples out they have an hour and a half drive to the doctor's office. They check him for hernias, which he doesn’t have and they say he’s healing really well. And his antidepressants are working so he doesn’t need to go up a dose yet. But the best part is that his doctor is gentle as he takes out every staple. Y/N holds his hand the whole time and he gives her a good squeeze on the ones that pull a bit but other than them, it’s bearable.

“Now, I have to say it, but you probably still shouldn’t have sex for another 2 to 3 weeks,” he explains.

Aaron blushes, “thank you… honestly, I was going to ask.”

“I could tell,” he smiles. “You two seem very close… but it’s just exercise, heavy lifting and quick movements that could cause tearing or rupture. so if you do anything, keep that in mind.”

Basically, there are ways to be intimate without having full-on sex.

They go out for dinner afterwards, they sit down in a real restaurant and he has a burger for the first time in almost a month. He’s so used to eating out for work, he survives off breakfast burritos and club sandwiches and burgers and fries… it’s honestly a shock that he’s not 300 pounds with how much greasy food he eats. But he does do a lot of running after unsubs to counteract it.

And he doesn’t hurt as much today so he hasn’t had any of his pain pills meaning he can have a beer with dinner. And he’s so happy. He holds her hand across the table, they catch some of a football game on the TV and they talk about normal things for the hour and a half they’re there. It’s like everything is okay for a night.

And when they get home, there’s a different feeling in the air. She sits on the couch with a sigh and he puts the fireplace back on. “I have to go to the internet cafe tomorrow…”

“Why?” He asks, confused. She hasn’t gone there before.

“Strauss promised me she’d email me with updates on the case once a week and I haven’t checked them yet…” she explains, wincing like he’s going to yell at her.

“Oh, well, I mean she would call if there was anything serious to update you on,” he understands. “Is it safe to check them there though?”

She nods, “Penelope added a VPN to your computer for me so that when I do get an internet connection no one can hack us and it’s extra secure so that when I do click on anything no one can get our coordinates.”

“Okay,” he likes that she was so careful with everything. “Save everything and show me when you come back tomorrow?”

“Duh?” She teases him.

He smirks back at her, so in love… “thank you for doing all this for me.”

“To the moon and back, my love,” she stands up and pulls him to his feet carefully. She cups his face in her hands, “to the moon and back.”

“Come with me,” he backs her up towards the bedroom. “I know they said no sex but… there are other ways I can thank you for everything.”

She hums, “and ways I can thank you right back…”

—

When she gets back from the cafe she has a sad look on her face and the laptop tucked under her arm. “How was it?” He asks.

She sighs, “well… I showed my badge and they let me in the back room so no one could look over my shoulder and I read everything.”

“And?” He’s anxious as all hell. Patting the couch so she can come sit beside him.

“Haley called her mom, so they got relocated again. I have a couple videos of Jack playing at parks and things taken from the Marshall's car as he watches and the team has been trying to track Foyet with the long list of drugs he’s on but they don’t have anything yet,” she explains.”

“But they’re safe?” He asks.

“Oh yeah, they’re fine,” she assures him. “It’s only been 4 weeks, it’ll be okay. We’ll get him. It won’t take as long as it did last time.”

He takes in a deep breath. “When can we go back to work?”

“We have two more weeks off,” she whispers, staring at him carefully and he knows she wants to say more.

“But?”

“Are you really ready? Are you going to be okay back out there?”

He nods, “It’s not like I’ll be in charge, I don’t have paperwork to do, I can fly easily this time. It’ll be fine.”

“But what if the cases trigger you? What if you act out and get yourself hurt even more?” She worries. “I can’t go back out there with you if you’re going to be reckless and stupid because you need something to feel powerful again.”

“I won’t,” he shakes his head, upset she’d think that but really, why wouldn’t she? He’s done it time and time again. “I’ll listen to Derek and Dave… and you. I’ll follow orders and give my thoughts to the group and it’ll be okay. I want to get back out there, I want to work. I want to be with the team again.”

“You remember when you were interviewing for me?”

He nods, “Yeah?”

“They hired the other top candidate, Emily Prentiss. She’s been doing great filling in for both me and Spencer, who’s also doing a lot better,” she explains. “He’s at work, just he’s staying with Penelope in her room and giving his two cents on the phone.”

“I’m sure that’s not fun for them,” he jokes. “They’re like twins, butting heads because they’re so smart and know everything and both want the credit.”

“Oh, I know,” she laughs. “He’ll be on crutches for a few more months and he should be able to fly again by the time we get back.”

“Okay,” he nods along, trying to grasp how different life will be when they go back. “I want to call Dave… I know he has a few extra rooms in his place and I think I’d feel a lot safer if we stayed with him once we get back. I don’t like thinking about how he was able to get into my house without me knowing and the thought of him being in yours while we’ve been gone…”

“God, I didn’t even think about that,” she whispers. “Yeah, we should ask Dave for help.”

“And maybe when all this is over we could get our own place?” He asks, “I’ve really enjoyed living with you… I mean, it’s been months of sharing hotels and going back and forth between our apartments anyway, it wouldn’t be that much of a change.”

She smirks, “Aaron, you’ve already asked me to marry you, I think moving in together is the only logical next step.”

He chuckles, tilting his head to the side cause he honestly didn’t even think about that part, “I did, didn’t I?”

She leans over and kisses him quickly. “There’s no place I rather be than beside you for the rest of my life.”

“Good,” he kisses her again, whispering against her lips. “Me either.”

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pastafossa · 2 years

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Warning About A Plagiarizing Fic Author

*edit: FIC HAS BEEN TAKEN DOWN OFF AO3! Her blog posts here on tumblr however remain up so I ask that this keep circulating. *Edit again: all accounts appear to have been taken down, and all blogs look down save for her @k-9bails account which she had the audacity to use to try to follow me again. I’ve got a reblog with all the relevant updates but I’m adding it here, too. Original post: Right. Time for the callout post, since the thief has refused to answer my messages or take down the fic. Before we start: do not send her hate mail. At most, I’m looking for firm requests that she take down her fic and, as you’ll see, all the blog posts where she’s stolen content from me. Mostly I’m just trying to apply firm pressure so she takes all the stolen work down, and so that people are aware of what she’s doing so she can’t do this to anyone else. So, let’s start. If you’re in the Daredevil fandom on tumblr and AO3 at all, you might have heard of my fic The Red Thread about a psychic reader/OC referred to as Jane Hind/The Hound, who can see, via third eye, psychic threads of connection between people, animals, and beloved objects. It’s this fic that’s been blatantly plagiarized by @k9bails (who’s blocked me at present, so here’s the link to her main blog which I managed to access before I was blocked). Her fic on AO3 is called Legend, under the username K9bails. She’s also got a side blog called @k-9bails which appears less active, and a wattpad profile here, so please, if you write, make sure your work hasn’t been stolen. She’s only got the first chapter as of today, but it’s already full of stolen material, and her blog is absolutely bursting at the seams with things she’s stolen from me. Fortunately, before she blocked me, I was able to get screenshots, both of the fic just in case she edited it later, and her blog (which I had to screenshot on PC, so apologies for messiness). I’ve made a report to AO3 (please DO NOT report it on AO3, they prefer only one person do the reporting so that the volunteer team isn’t overwhelmed) and I am awaiting word back. But she’s also got my stuff all over her tumblr, and since she’s ignored my messages, it’s time to post it, since she’s active in the fandom and I don’t want her taking anyone else’s work.

Let’s start with the main bit from her fic. Left side is my first chapter, right side is her fic. If you’ve read TRT, you know that the concept of psychic threads seen through the third eye is incredibly important. They connect friends and acquaintances, family, pets, and even beloved childhood objects, with each type of connection denoted by a different color. She’s rotated some colors around, and taken some of the colors I introduce later like white, black, and purple, but this is very much my concept. Note she’s stolen a line almost directly word for word here: ‘Silver threads always struck Scout as the saddest,’ to compare to my, ‘That last always struck you as the saddest.’

In this case, she’s also taken the kaleidoscope effect line from a few chapters later:

I thought this was blatant, but it only got worse: she lifts two of my other original characters, and doesn’t even bother to change their fucking names. In this case, in her very first chapter, she’s lifted both Ciro, my OC’s Italian father figure (I’ve added a screenshot on the upper right from Ch17 of the first time his name is used), and Eli, an OC adopted by Ciro (also added to screenshot, bottom right). Eli doesn’t even appear until ch 36 so this stretches a long ways.

The rest of this I’m going to put behind a see more tag, cause we got a lot to go.

But we’re not done, believe it or not, considering there’s only a single chapter of hers so far - a single chapter containing a very similar opening line, and a bizarre lift of my frequent End Note message that leads to my tumblr??? That one puzzled me because there’s no real reason to steal that.

Yet another: she’s made use of the Hound theme, and made a barebones attempt to change the summary line enough to slide under the radar. If you’ve read TRT then you know, but if not: my OC’s code name is Hound, she’s frequently referred to as Hound or the Hound of Los Angeles, there are Hound metaphors galore, and Matt has taken to calling her his Hellhound, and those references are honestly so common it’d take hours to list them all.

I also happened to notice, after all this, that she’d linked to her tumblr, much like I did. So I wandered over. And it only got worse from there. Her own ‘answers’ to asks mimic mine, including lifting answers from posts I made here on tumblr. I’m not going to keep having side by sides because the post will get crazy long but if anyone wants receipts on any of these, I’ll go find it on a case by case basis.

Here’s where she mentions her character using threads to track people down for Bad Figures who want to kill them, along with tracking down threads for information, aka a major plotline of my fic and literally my character’s stated profession. Screenshot:

Here’s where she describes more about how ‘her’ threads and abilities work (starred paragraph is an almost exact summary of how my character’s abilities work, including how she can send them images and feelings, down to how a red thread is needed to control a person, definitely her taking my major plotline involving body jumping via red threads). She also, SURPRISE! Steals my psychic animals that inhabit the threads, that I’ve hinted relate to the subconscious, and that usually have some traits from the character. Oh, and the part about how doing all that makes her sick, yet again lifted from my fic, where my character gets incredibly sick the more she pushes herself doing all this.

Here’s another section in which she lifted Ciro - my Ciro that adopted Jane Hind is a native Italian, founded the particular family-like group he’s a part of, and also basically adopted Eli - who was raised in the US.

This section is where she’s roughly stolen Jane Hind’s mental trauma and the cause: her childhood arc. I’ve discussed at length here on tumblr (going to work on finding those posts in my tumblr history and update here when I can) and in the fic itself all the things she’s missed, using exactly this sort of phrasing. In fact, our major arc we’re currently going through in the fic (chapters 130 or so)... hm, references frequently missed out Christmases, birthdays, and little things we take for granted. This is one reason I’m sure she’s reading the fic as it’s getting posted. On top of that, she decided she’d also lift how Jane had never seen a beach and fell in love with it the first time she did. It’s a small detail but it’s just yet another thing she’s acting like is hers, just like the details about how this is all new and her Nelson and Murdock friends have taken her in.

Perhaps most bizarrely, her blog has even been reblogging posts friends have tagged me in that I’ve responded to. In this one, though, she gets a little too obvious - not only is she reblogging a post, maybe a few days after another friend tagged me in it and I reblogged it, but she also tried to tag her fic ‘the psychic thread’ as opposed to ‘the red thread’, which is my own series tag.

I have no idea why she’s done this. I have no idea why she was so blatant, why she thought she could get away with it. She also appears to have a few sock puppet accounts - for example, she makes a claim lifted straight from a half-joking post I made about my OC’s potential pokemon and then makes her own post using the same pokemon for her OC, and credits it to another account that seems to just exist to make her look more realistic. It was one of the more bizarre things stolen, since my post about it didn’t get much attention, but it proves she’s actively following me on tumblr quite closely, proven by a friend who snagged a few screenshots of her likes tab where she’d liked my posts.

She’s blocked me now, so I can’t see her main blog. I can’t ask her to take it down anymore, outside of the comment I’ve left on her fic and the report I made to AO3. But she knows, 100%, that she’s stolen my work, and just as frustrating, has gone on at length on her blog about how all your characters should be original, and truly yours, and how you should never imitate other authors. It’s a ballsy move considering how small the Daredevil fic circle is here on tumblr and AO3.

And look. I don’t want her to drown in hate mail. I really don’t. All I want is for her to take down the fic, and remove the posts in which she blatantly stole content from me. I’ve worked on TRT for years, I’ve poured hours and hours and almost a million words into this story, and the fact that this person is still reading it as they’re plagiarizing it is both incredibly insulting and incredibly hurtful. If you’re an author in the Daredevil fandom, I highly recommend blocking her. She’s mentioned a few very popular authors in the fandom in the blog posts, so I know she’s reading your work, too, and I don’t want yours stolen anymore than I do. If you see someone commenting about her fic, tell them its stolen. Warn your DD author friends. And if you’re going to say something to her, let it be a request to take down her fic and delete the blog posts that have plagiarized my content. That’s my end goal - not to burn her life down but to just pressure her to stop stealing something very, very dear to me, and hopefully learn not to do this in the future.

That’s all I want. *Edited 12/20: as of today, her fic on AO3 has been taken down! The scores of comments, or AO3′s plagiarism team, has done the job so this is a huge win, and I’m grateful to everyone that helped! Her tumblr posts on her k9bails account, however, are still up, and she has yet to respond, so let the pressure continue. I’m also hunting for her other accounts since it’s become clear the k9bails account and the @k-9bails account are both not her main blog. If anyone has any leads or knows who this person is, please send me a message! I want to find their main blog in case it’s following me so I can block it, and potentially apply pressure there to get her to take my work down on her k9bails account.

#plagiarism #the red thread #fanfic #fic #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x OC #daredevil x OC #using some of her tags so hopefully browsers will see it

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carlos-in-glasses · 1 year

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Please don't copy fics/parts of fics and pass them off as your own work

It’s come to my attention that a chunk of my fic Afterglow of a Supernova (and some other aspects of it) has been copied into a fic posted today. I posted Afterglow on 5th March 2023.

This is the main copied section in particular (as in, the below screenshot is from my fic, not from the fic that copies it), but there are other parts too:

Please don’t use other people’s words like this. It does stand to reason that many of us will have very similar ideas for the same ships etc, and some people will have very similar writing styles, but it really isn’t okay for the language to actually be lifted out, and pasted, and passed off as your own work from your own brain. It’s saddening. I now feel the need to highlight this as a way to claw back what’s mine. Some of you might be aware of what the fic in question is now, but I don’t want to link it here. I have also contacted Ao3 about it.

If the person who has done this sees this – you don’t need to copy anyone. You are talented enough in your own right. I advise stepping back, taking a breather, and then please write and celebrate your own words. This isn’t just about me, but all of us that share this space with you and trust you – please don’t do this again to any writers. Please.

I’m sorry to do this publicly, but I genuinely feel the need. I put my whole heart into my fics. I work very hard on them. They mean a huge amount to me. Afterglow of a Supernova was one of my favourite writing experiences, and now it feels spoiled. Anyway, you copied that portion of my fic and posted it publicly…so nothing feels fair or right and now we’re both in this, and I have to react. I can’t sit here pretending it hasn’t happened when people are thinking certain portions of my fic are yours. And maybe you have done this to others too, over time? However, my DMs are open if you want to have a chat about it, now that you know I know. I have no hate for you, I’m just upset for us both and very concerned.

I hope this is enough to ensure that you never do this again, and I ask that you please remove the fic I'm talking about.

I’m basically a human golden retriever who just wants to run around in a meadow of daisies, so believe me, all this is out of my comfort zone.

Also: I’ve taken the anon function off my asks for now. Sorry, but I fear the repercussions could end up worse for me than for the person who has done this.

#Tarlos #tarlos fanfiction

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yourlocaldisneyvillain · 1 year

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...the unholy flames of ♥kink!week♥ burn brightly... (don't know what kink week is? click here!)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

∼ the unholy week nears its end, and today we venture into the murky waters of dubious consent — what monsters await us there? ∼

∼ day six brings us our beloved villain ♥ Captain Phasma ♥ ∼

∼ tags and the fic are under the cut ∼

♥ i've worked very hard on this series — it was a huge project to undertake and i would very much appreciate if you left me comments with your thoughts and impressions — you already know they make my heart sing ♥ (AO3 link — i prefer it to tumblr vastly)

tags: #rape/non-con elements #tentacle rape #tentacles #tentacle sex #tentacle monsters #dubious consent #extremely dubious consent #face-fucking #triple penetration #double penetration #anal sex #power dynamics #power struggle #choking #fainting #dom/sub #forced submission #rape #multiple orgasms #kink!week

easy prey (clicking on the title will lead you to ao3)

Captain Phasma sometimes manages to catch a breath in-between missions. Sometimes, she has a night off, and sometimes, on such nights, she lets herself blow off some steam — always, she does it by picking up a pretty thing, usually at a bar, and having some fun with her. She has a type she usually goes for — she prefers a pretty, human(oid) female that appreciates a firm hand.

She isn’t too picky, however, after weeks spent aboard a stuffy spaceship.

She’d never been to this bar — nor this planet. She doesn’t know much about this part of the galaxy, nor does she care to learn. Her plan for tonight is to hang out by the bar, get reasonably tipsy, and see if there’s a pretty girl she could have a good time with.

It doesn’t take long to spot her.

She’s gorgeous. Long, wavy hair down to her waist, dark, glowing skin so smooth it doesn’t look real, full lips that are made to appear ever plumper with glittery lipgloss, broad shoulders, skimpy bright blue dress that looks almost neon against her skin tone and barely covers anything. She’s just the right balance between muscular and soft. She dances alone with a drink in hand, paying no attention to the swarm of people trying to approach her and talk to her. She firmly pushes away anyone who tries to grind against her or gets too handsy.

Phasma needs to have her.

She waits until the girl gets bored of dancing and goes to the bar to buy another drink. The girl leans on the bar as she waits, her bare, toned back partially turned to Phasma.

“Not interested in a good time?” Phasma asks.

The girl turns towards her. Phasma is immediately struck by how unnaturally — how beautifully — blue her eyes are. If Phasma knew — or cared — about particular colour shades, she’d call them ultramarine blue. They are accentuated by glittery eyeshadow, and seem to shine in a way that’s just slightly unnerving and uncanny, indicating she might not be quite human, despite appearing so — but Phasma doesn’t care to analyse her genealogy. The girl seems human enough for activities that Phasma has in mind.

The girl smiles. “Not with those desperate bastards over there, that’s for sure.”

Her teeth are pearly white and shiny, and perhaps a bit sharper than Phasma had expected — but her voice is smooth, melodious and lilting, and Phasma forgets all about the teeth. She wants to hear more of that voice, wants to make this girl moan her name — or, preferably, her title.

“If you’re tired of desperate bastards groping you on the dance floor, you could sit here with me — have a nice chat.”

The girl eyes Phasma up and down, lingering on her muscular arms before looking her in the eye and smiling even brighter. Her blue eyes and her sharp teeth seem to shine in the dim light — the visual is a bit eerie. Phasma feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she doesn’t think anything of it, distracted by lust and the pleasant fuzziness from all the alcohol she’d already had.

“And I suppose you’ll only grope me if I ask nicely?” the girl asks, sitting down on the stool next to Phasma.

“Ah, see? We already understand each other very well.”

The girl laughs. Her laugh is like a babbling brook, bright and melodious.

“I might ask you that later — but first, I’d like a name.”

Phasma isn’t keen on giving her actual name to one-night-stands.

“You may call me Captain,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.

“And are you a captain?” the girl asks with an amused glint in her eye, shifting on her chair.

It is in that moment her drink arrives. Before the girl can react, Phasma pulls out a crisp bill from her pocket and pays for the drink. She never breaks eye contact.

“I am.”

The girl takes a sip of her drink — some sort of sugary concoction that’s probably stronger than it looks. She nibbles on the pink, neon straw. “I could believe that.”

“And what should I call you?” Phasma asks.

The girl grins mischievously, straw in her mouth. “You could call me Lucy, but you could also call me something else, if you prefer.”

“Lucy is a lovely name.”

There is no way in hell her name is Lucy — but then again, Phasma’s name isn’t exactly Captain, either. She can understand the desire to keep one’s identity private, and she can appreciate a girl with a brain — even if the dumb ones are way easier to bed.

This one will probably be way more fun, though.

“So, Captain,” she purrs, raising her hand to caress Phasma’s bicep. “Wanna continue this pleasant conversation somewhere more private?”

Phasma is a bit taken aback by how eager the girl seems to be all of a sudden, especially since she seemed so disinterested in physical contact on the dance floor. Usually it takes a bit more flirting, and usually Phasma is the one to suggest going somewhere quieter — no girl wants to seem easy, after all.

Phasma doesn’t need to be asked twice, though.

She towers over Lucy as they walk through the crowd, enjoying how much smaller the girl is compared to her. She puts her hand on the small of her back — her skin is smooth like marble, but way hotter.

As soon as they exit the bar and step onto the dark alleyway, Phasma pins her against the wall and kisses her. Lucy nips on her lip with her sharp teeth and draws blood. Phasma enjoys it.

Easy prey, she thinks as they head towards Lucy’s residence.

It never crosses her mind that Lucy might be thinking the same thing.

Something about Lucy isn’t quite right — and Phasma, unfortunately, only becomes aware of that once they’re making out on Lucy’s couch.

Phasma is straddling her, pinning her wrists down with one hand, and the other one she runs over her throat before lightly squeezing. Lucy whimpers.

“Like being choked like a filthy slut, hm?” Phasma asks. Lucy shakes her head. “No? You’re out of luck then, pretty girl, because I enjoy that very much.”

She squeezes again — not too hard, but enough to let her know who’s in charge. She feels herself getting wet at the sight of Lucy squirming underneath her. The straps of her skimpy dress slid down and one of her nipples is exposed — it’s dark and pretty and perfect. Phasma can’t wait to put it in her mouth. Oh, she’ll love fucking this pretty thing.

Lucy is noticeably smaller than her, and a head shorter — she shouldn’t be able to throw Phasma off of her like she weighs nothing — nor climb on top of her and pin her down so she can’t move an inch — and not for the lack of trying.

And yet.

“Had enough of your little power trip?” Lucy says, smiling, and her teeth somehow seem sharper than before. Her blue eyes are glowing. She gives Phasma a look that makes all the hairs on her body stand up — predatory, lecherous, hungry.

She holds Phasma’s wrists down in the same fashion Phasma held hers moments ago, her long hair tickling Phasma’s neck. Phasma tries to throw her off of herself, but finds that she can’t — Lucy’s grip is iron. She keeps squirming, but Lucy doesn’t even break a sweat as she holds her down.

“You can’t escape, handsome thing,” Lucy purrs. Phasma stares at the glitter on her lips — remnants of her now smudged lipgloss.

“Fuck,” she says, giving up on trying to escape Lucy’s grip. There isn’t much else to say.

“Yes, that’s what I’m about to do,” Lucy chuckles, then surges forward and pushes her tongue into Phasma’s mouth. Phasma makes a guttural noise as Lucy kisses her and assaults her mouth with her tongue — a tongue that, now that Phasma thinks about it, feels a bit too smooth, and is perhaps just a bit too long. The girl isn’t human, that much is clear, but Phasma has no idea what she is.

“Like being choked, Captain?” Lucy purrs, breaking the kiss, her breath hot in Phasma’s mouth.

Before Phasma can react in any way there is a tentacle wrapped around her neck.

For a couple of seconds, Phasma can’t breathe. The tentacle feels smooth and slimy and slick, with little suction cups latching onto the skin of her neck hard enough to bruise. Her eyes widen in horror when she sees more of them appear above her. They seem to be sprouting from Lucy’s back, eight of them — thick, dark blue and glistening, with pink, fleshy suction cups.

Lucy releases the hold on Phasma’s neck, and Phasma gasps for air. The suckers painfully tug on her skin as Lucy removes the tentacle. It feels like getting a dozen hickeys all at once. Phasma hisses in pain.

“I love dominant women,” Lucy whispers in Phasma’s ear. “I love how helpless they look as I fuck them, and I love it even more when they realise they fucking love it.”

She licks Phasma’s neck, cleans up the slick left on it from the tentacle. Phasma actually enjoys the sensation, and would perhaps enjoy it even more if she wasn’t distracted by the fleshy blue and pink tentacles wiggling around her. She stares at them, wrists pinned down, frozen, as Lucy kisses her neck.

“Like them?” Lucy asks. Phasma can feel her grin into her neck.

They are horrifying, gross and slimy, but there is something mesmerising about the way they move — and they are attached to the most beautiful creature Phasma’s ever seen — that certainly makes a difference.

“Feel them,” Lucy purrs and pulls on Phasma’s wrists, bringing them behind her back. Phasma tries pulling back, but Lucy’s grip on her wrists is too strong. She guides Phasma’s hands to slide along the tentacles. Phasma’s entire body tenses up. “Mmm, that feels really good, you know,” Lucy murmurs into her ear, licking and placing lazy kisses onto it.

The slick tentacles and the sticky, bulbous suckers are unlike anything she’s ever touched. They feel weird, but not unpleasant — and mixed with Lucy’s hot kisses on her ear and her soft body pressed against Phasma’s, it’s… it’s…

Phasma settles on confusing.

“You must have thought I’d be such easy prey,” Lucy whispers as she grinds her hips into Phasma’s and slams her arms back onto the couch. “Pretty girl you could throw around a bit, get some frustration out on, hm? Have a quick, dirty orgasm while you choke me. And if you accidentally squeezed too hard, who’d know?”

“I wouldn’t kill you,” Phasma says, trying to keep her voice level, not wanting it to show how much she’s affected by Lucy grinding on her, the feeling of Lucy’s tits against her own, Lucy’s tongue on her ear. It’s not exactly a lie — she wouldn't kill her on purpose. If it happened accidentally, however…

Well — she wouldn’t dwell on the life of a pretty whore from a bar.

“How generous. Perhaps I won’t kill you either, then. It would ruin the mood just a little bit.” She takes Phasma’s lower lip between her teeth and bites on it, drawing blood. Phasma sucks in a sharp breath. “I’d much prefer to fuck and humiliate you. It’ll be super hot. I promise you’ll love it.”

Phasma feels both relieved that she probably won’t get killed tonight and completely horrified at the prospect of what this girl — this creature — might do to her instead. She wistfully thinks of her blaster, left by the door as they entered the apartment. Oh, what a fool she was to think she wouldn’t need it in a makeout session with a pretty alien.

Lucy seems to notice the dread in Phasma’s eyes, because she laughs, showing all of her sharp teeth. Her laugh is lovely sound — one that Phasma still finds charming. She wonders if the girl is some sort of siren-like creature.

Lucy caresses Phasma’s cheek — not with her hand, as she is still pinning Phasma’s wrists down — but with one of her tentacles. Phasma shivers at the feeling of the slimy, slick limb on her face leaving a wet trail of sludge.

“Afraid, hm?”

“No,” Phasma spits out. She’d rather die than admit to fear.

Lucy chuckles. “I can tell you’re a crazy bitch. And you know what?” She leans in closer. “It takes one to know one,” she whispers, and then laughs — it send chills down Phasma’s spine.

“I’d say you happened to meet your match, but I could eat you for breakfast without even blinking. Now, my advice for you would be to try to relax and enjoy yourself. It hurts more if you’re all tight,” she purrs and crashes her lips into Phasma’s again, forcing her tongue into Phasma’s mouth. It’s definitely too long for a human tongue, and she sticks it so far down Phasma’s throat that she gags.

“Aww, not a good gag reflex?” Lucy coos, breaking the kiss. “Poor thing. Let me give you a little treat as a reward.”

She sits up on Phasma’s lap, and before Phasma can use the fact that her wrists aren’t being held down anymore, Lucy replaces her hands with tentacles. Two wrap around her wrists, and two slide under her shirt, groping her tits over her sports-bra, wetting the fabric and leaving a disgusting trail of sludge on it. The suckers latch onto her skin — it feels bizarre — but she doesn’t dwell on the sensation too long. Her attention is taken by Lucy making a show of removing her dress, slowly sliding the straps down her shoulders. One of her nipples is already out from all the grinding and wrestling on the couch, but the other she reveals slowly — painfully slowly — letting the silky fabric slide down her perfect, round tit. Phasma watches her, mesmerised. Lucy is the prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

Lucy maintains eye contact with her as she undresses, ultramarine eyes sparkling in the dark apartment, plump lips curled into a wicked smirk. There’s glitter on her face from all the smudged makeup, and her long, wavy hair falls onto her shoulders in beautiful, fluffy tresses. Her dress now pools around her soft belly, and rides up her thighs. She isn’t wearing anything underneath, and Phasma can catch a glimpse of dark hair between her legs. She can feel the heat radiating from there against her own pelvis.

Lucy lazily starts rolling her hips into Phasma’s. Phasma’s eyes wonder up towards Lucy’s exposed tits that are lightly bouncing up and down as she grinds against her — perfect, round, soft tits, with small, dark nipples that she wants — needs — to have in her mouth. She watches, spellbound, mouth agape.

There is, however, a disturbing addition to the otherwise very arousing visual — the tentacles — slick, thick, deep blue and soft pink limbs that sprout from Lucy’s back and sides, four of them floating around her, and four pinning Phasma down and groping her over her bra. Phasma is only able to feel so much over the thick fabric strapping her tits down tight, but it still feels surprisingly good — better than Phasma would like to admit. And as she watches the alien goddess grind her hips on top of her, slimy tentacles surrounding her like a halo, tits bouncing, plump lips parted and smirking, she can’t deny it.

It turns her on.

She feels the wetness pool between her own thighs, and she's frustrated that she can’t do anything about it. She isn’t used to being helpless — or pinned down. She squirms underneath Lucy, unsure of what she’s really trying to do — escape, get some friction between her legs, or gain some semblance of control.

“Poor baby,” Lucy says, smiling wickedly. “Craving some attention, hm?”

Phasma is pissed. Nobody dares talk down at her like that — and if they do, she makes sure they never talk again. She squirms some more, exasperated, trying to sit up, and she almost manages — but then the tentacles slam her down into the couch, and she realises she was only able to get up even a little because Lucy let her. She’s fuming — Lucy is toying with her like a cat with its prey. Phasma tries kicking her legs, but that does precisely nothing.

“Fuck,” she grunts in frustration, and Lucy laughs. That bitch is laughing at her. Phasma thinks about blowing her head up with her blaster, and then each of the tentacles. She imagines how they’d twitch and fall down, limp and lifeless.

“You’re so cute when you can’t get what you want,” Lucy chuckles, then rips her dress from her torso in one swift move, throwing it on the floor. Phasma is so mad she doesn’t even register the fact that Lucy is now naked on top of her. She’s seething with rage, her vision blurring.

“You fucking bitch,” Phasma says through her teeth, “I’ll fucking kill you—”

“Ah-ah,” Lucy interrupts her. “You might wanna keep your pretty mouth shut, Captain. I’m the one who could kill you, after all.”

Phasma cries out in frustration, but then there’s a slimy, thick tentacle in her mouth. She almost gags on it. She tries to scream, but the only thing coming out of her mouth are muffled groans. She throws her head left and right, trying to get the thing out of her mouth, but there’s no way she can manage that. Tears fill her eyes. The sensation of sludgy, sticky suckers latching onto her tongue disgusts her. She tries screaming and squirming some more, but to no avail. Finally, she stills, realising her defeat. She’s breathing heavily, trying not to gag.

“All done with your little tantrum?”

Phasma just stares at those stunning, glowing, blue orbs mocking her, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

“Good. Now, stay still while I undress you,” she says, as if Phasma could do anything other than obey.

Phasma stays as still as she can, but she’s shaking, unable to help herself. She feels her cheeks burn with shame and disgust for her own helplessness.

Lucy undresses her almost gently — using her hands, thankfully. First she removes Phasma’s boots, then she undoes her belt.

“Lift,” she says, and Phasma lifts her hips. Lucy pulls down her pants, then her underwear. Phasma trembles the entire time.

“Awww, don’t be scared, pretty captain.” She kisses Phasma’s knees, then up her thighs, strokes her legs and hips almost reassuringly. “You’re gonna get fucked so well — you’ll love it.”

Phasma just stares at her, hyperaware of the slimy tentacle in her mouth. Dread weighs down her stomach. She’s unable to do or say anything.

“I’ll free your mouth to remove your shirt now, hm? And if you’re good and stay quiet I won’t gag you again. Nod if you understand.”

Phasma nods. She tries not to think about the tentacle shifting in her mouth as she does so.

“Good girl,” Lucy says, and Phasma somehow manages to refrain from recoiling at the phrase.

The suckers tug painfully onto her tongue, releasing with little pops as Lucy pulls out the tentacle. Phasma lets out a throaty whimper and furrows her brows in pain. Once the limb is out of her mouth, she moves her jaw and winces at the sludge it left behind — not enough to spit out, but enough to be gross. She swallows bits of it. It’s salty.

“Like that, hm?” Lucy taunts her as she hooks her fingers under Phasma’s shirt. “Up.”

Phasma sits up and Lucy pulls the shirt over her head. “Stay.” She removes Phasma’s bra.

Phasma is fuming with rage at being talked to like a dog, but she says nothing — just closes her eyes and inhales deeply, trying to calm down. She is completely naked now. She can’t remember the last time she felt so exposed, so vulnerable.

“Open your eyes, Captain. Look at me.”

Phasma does as she’s told. She gives Lucy a look full of hate.

“So easily provoked,” Lucy chuckles. “Come ‘ere.”

She kisses Phasma — surprisingly gently. She nibbles on her lip, caresses her neck and runs her fingers over the short hair at the back of Phasma’s head. She presses herself flush against Phasma and wraps her legs around Phasma’s hips. Her breasts feel soft against’s Phasma’s own as she slowly grinds against her.

They make out for a while, and it almost feels normal, as if they’re just two naked women kissing instead of an alien and a war criminal playing a sick power game — with one side most definitely winning.

After a couple of minutes, Phasma slowly starts to relax into Lucy’s touch. She can’t resist her soft curves — she runs her hands over her breasts, grabs her hips — firmly, but not too hard, aware she’s not the one in control here. She’s very careful not to touch the tentacles.

Lucy, however, doesn’t hold back from exploring Phasma’s body — and Phasma must admit it feels nice. She usually isn’t very keen on letting people pleasure her, as it requires giving up too much control — but since any semblance of control she may have felt in this situation is long gone, she finds that she enjoys being touched for once. Lucy drags her fingernails across Phasma’s back, fondles and squeezes her tits, her hips, her legs, her ass, runs her hands over Phasma’s muscular arms and taut stomach. She seems to really like Phasma’s muscles, and Phasma can’t help but feel just a little bit smug about that.

Lucy quickly catches onto the fact that Phasma enjoys a bit of pain — she tortures and teases her by digging her nails into Phasma’s skin, biting her neck and her tits, leaving painful hickeys, slapping her face, tits and ass. Phasma feels herself go red with humiliation when Lucy spanks her really hard as she's kissing her, making her let out an embarrassing, needy whimper into her mouth.

“You’re just a needy whore, aren’t you? You just need someone to spank and fuck you properly,” Lucy murmurs and Phasma’s hand flies towards Lucy’s neck on instinct, anger and humiliation filling her, but Lucy just laughs and catches her wrist, bringing it down. “You could use those in a more productive way,” she says, smirking, and guides Phasma’s hands towards her tentacles, making her caress the place where the sludgy limbs sprout from her skin.

“Mmm, yes, do that,” Lucy purrs.

Phasma hasn’t really got a choice, so she does as she’s told. She massages the tentacles, runs her hands over Lucy’s waist and back, sludge coating her fingers, and Lucy stars producing sinful moans that make Phasma grow instantly wet — not that the previous activities haven’t already riled her up. Much to her horror, she realises she doesn’t find touching the tentacles that gross — not when it makes Lucy moan like that.

Lucy grinds her hips into Phasma’s, her movements growing more urgent and desperate by the second, and Phasma does the same. They dryhump on the couch, both moaning and grunting and groping each other, not concerned with being gentle.

Phasma craves Lucy’s pretty tits in her mouth, and she decides to grant herself that wish — Lucy lets her. Phasma sucks and bites on her nipples, moans at the feeling of the soft, heavy tit in her mouth. However, when she tries sliding her hand between Lucy’s thighs, Lucy slaps it away.

“I think we’ve had enough foreplay,” she says and roughly pushes Phasma down onto the couch.

Phasma is almost okay with Lucy fucking her at this point — she’s wet and turned on and Lucy is so attractive Phasma could forgive her most things. She even feels herself growing excited by the idea of Lucy’s fingers inside of her.

However, when instead of Lucy’s hands she feels Lucy’s tentacles on her body — wrapping around her arms and torso, spreading her legs apart, grabbing her tits, squeezing and latching onto her skin — a horrifying realisation hits her.

Lucy won’t use her hands to fuck her.

Lucy is sitting on the couch, back prettily arched, hand between her legs. She’s a beautiful and terrifying vision — the most alluring monster. Her smooth, dark skin glistens with sludge and sweat, her lips are parted, and her face and neck are full of makeup glitter. Her piercing blue eyes glow in the dark, and her round tits and soft belly look enticing enough to bite. Blue and pink tentacles wiggle around her — horrid, thick, disgusting, sludgy limbs.

The tentacles wrap around Phasma’s tits and squeeze — Phasma suppresses a moan . They caress her torso, her neck, latch onto her skin, give her painful hickeys. They keep her legs spread and hold her arms firmly in place. One of the tentacles slowly makes its way up Phasma’s legs.

The tentacle touches the inside of her thigh. Phasma would recoil if she could move — instead, her stomach muscles spasm. “No,” she says, as the tentacle slides up her thigh. “No, no, no—”

The tentacle touches her vulva. Sticky suckers latch onto Phasma’s skin, onto her clit, and she cries out in pleasure, pain and horror. “Fuck,” she cries through gritted teeth.

“Feels good, hm?” Lucy asks, voice breathy and gaze hooded as she touches herself. “My handsome captain. I’m gonna fuck you so well.”

She slides the tentacle down towards Phasma’s entrance. Phasma wonders if that thing can even fit inside of her. She squeezes her eyes shut and braces herself for the pain of being stretched out — but the tentacle slides further down, over her pussy lips and towards her ass — and then she feels it probe around a much tighter hole.

“No,” Phasma says, squirming as the tentacle pushes against her muscles. “No, stop — stop! Stop!”

She knows there’s no stopping what’s about to happen, but she fights it anyway, squirming and screaming. She tenses up when she feels the tip of the tentacle push inside of her. The thing is sludgy and slick enough that it doesn’t burn and sting too badly — but it still hurts.

“My advice would be to relax, Captain. It’ll hurt much more if you’re tense,” Lucy says, voice thick and breathy, as she rubs her own clit. “Fuck, you look so pretty like this.”

Phasma hates to admit she’s right — the smartest thing would be to relax as much as she can, if she doesn’t want it to hurt much more than it needs to. Taking a deep breath, she does her best to unclench her muscles. She feels the tentacle slide a bit further in and she grimaces, but doesn’t tense up again, instead letting it slowly fill her. It stings, and it feels wrong — but then the tentacle touches a good spot and she moans. It starts slowly sliding in and out of her. She’s breathing heavily, trying not to make any more embarrassing sounds — but then it suddenly picks up the pace and starts pounding into her, and she cries out in pleasure and pain.

Before she can get used to the feeling of being fucked, another tentacle slides into her pussy without warning, filling her and painfully stretching her. “Fuck!” she cries.

She’s being fucked in both holes — it hurts and it burns, and she can feel the two tentacles touch over her inner walls. The slimy suckers provide a different sensation than the smooth, slick part of the tentacle, and Phasma hates how good the different texture feels. One of the suckers latches onto her clit, and then Phasma can’t hold back her moans anymore. With each thrust she lets out a puff of air and a whine. Her cheeks and chest burn in shame — but then Lucy fucks her harder and the suckers latch onto her nipples, and she forgets all about shame. Delicious pleasure overwhelms her.

Lucy continues to touch herself as she watches her. The air is filled with moans and cries and wet noise of tentacles pounding into Phasma, as well as the slick sound of Lucy rubbing her own pussy.

“Does it feel good, hm?” Lucy asks, her voice breathy. “Tell me.”

Phasma doesn’t have it in her to form a coherent sentence — she just whines as the both tentacles keep hitting the right spots. That, combined with the sucking on her clit and nipples, makes her unable to think about anything else except the orgasm that is starting to build deep inside her belly. She’s never experienced anything quite like this. Tears are streaming down her face and she’s producing sounds she never thought she was capable of making. Her entire body tingles with pleasure.

Then, Lucy stops.

Phasma is breathing heavily, frustrated by not getting enough stimulation to keep the delicious pleasure building. She still, however, considers herself above begging. She avoids looking Lucy in the eyes, her shame too deep — but Lucy will have none of that. A tentacle grabs Phasma’s chin and forces her head towards Lucy. Phasma closes her eyes.

“Look at me.”

Phasma slowly opens her eyes and meets Lucy’s bright blue ones that are shining with lust. She looks absolutely beautiful, and somehow ethereal — she’s almost glowing in the dark room.

“Wanna come?” she asks her. Phasma is silent. “Tell me, slut.”

Phasma makes a quick and practical decision in about a couple of seconds — she figures that since she’s already completely and utterly humiliated, she could at least get an orgasm out of it.

It still isn’t easy to say it.

“Yes,” she manages to utter. She doesn’t recognise her own desperate and raspy voice.

“Then beg.”

They stare each other down for a moment. Phasma knows she’s lost — she disregards the last bits of dignity left in her and begs.

“Please,” she breathes out, barely audible.

“Louder.”

Phasma averts her gaze. “Ah-ah, look at me.”

Phasma obeys and begs again, this time louder. “Please.”

“Say, I need you to fuck me like a filthy slut.”

Phasma takes in a shaky breath. She struggles to maintain eye contact, but forces herself to do it nonetheless. “I—I need you to… fuck me…. like a filthy slut,” she utters, her voice breaking. Her cheeks burn and her stomach twists with humiliation.

Phasma will never admit it to anyone — you could hold her at gunpoint and she’d deny it — but there’s something erotic about giving up control — about letting yourself be somebody you aren’t, somebody who begs to be treated like a filthy slut. She’s never been fucked like this before, and she didn’t think she’d enjoy it — she’s never craved it, never fantasised about anything of the sort.

And yet.

Lucy grins, and it’s downright evil. “Well — since you’re begging, Captain.”

Without further warning, Lucy starts fucking her harder than before. Tentacles slide in and out of her, suckers latch onto her body, her clit, her nipples. She whines and moans, unable to help herself, but then a tentacle is forced into her mouth again and it muffles her desperate sounds. Phasma is almost grateful for it — she can’t bear listening to her own embarrassing cries.

Lucy rubs her own clit, brows furrowed in pleasure, beads of sweat dripping down her face and chest. She lets out quiet little huffs as she works herself towards her own release. Phasma watches her, and feels an orgasm build in her belly again, deep and potent. She gags on the tentacle, completely helpless as it fucks her mouth relentlessly. She feels the burning sting of her holes being stretched, revels in the delicious pleasure of her clit and nipples being sucked. She can’t move, she can’t scream — she can only watch Lucy cry out and come around her own fingers, before she herself tips over the edge of ecstasy.

The orgasm washes over her like a wave. She would scream if she could, but instead she just grunts and convulses, her eyes rolling back in her head. She shakes and trembles, and Lucy doesn’t stop — instead she fucks her into another orgasm.

Phasma is vaguely aware of a sticky tentacle wrapping around her neck and squeezing — she can’t breathe for a couple of seconds, and then she can again — and then she comes even harder than before. Somewhere around her third orgasm Lucy squeezes onto her neck a bit too hard and too long, and Phasma loses consciousness.

When she comes to, she doesn’t know where she is. She’s in pain, her head is throbbing, and she feels nauseous.

She lies on the floor for a while, fighting the urge to throw up. She rolls onto her side, pressing her aching body against the hard concrete and hissing in pain. She blinks furiously, trying to stay conscious and clear her vision.

A neon sign catches her attention, and she blinks some more to try and read it. She quickly realises it’s the sign in front of the bar in which all of this started. It’s not the dead of the night anymore, however — dawn is breaking.

She somehow manages to lift herself from the floor and not throw up. Her head is pounding, every muscle in her body hurts, and she can barely walk. She’s sore from the fucking. She’s relieved to see she’s in the clothes she came here in, even if they’re wrinkled and dirty and have dried tentacle slime on it.

And she’s, of course, also relieved that she’s still alive — she figured the girl wouldn't kill her, but she couldn't tell for sure. What a stupid way to go it would have been.

She looks at her wrists. They have disturbing looking hickeys on them — rows of purple dots in the shape of tentacle suckers — she figures the rest of her body probably looks similar. There’s also makeup glitter on her hands. She shudders.

Somehow she manages to get back to the ship. Nobody dares ask questions.

She spends the entirety of that day in a hot bath, fuming with rage, grunting in pain, trying to fully remove makeup glitter from her skin with little success, and thinking about the best orgasms of her life.

A year later, she’s on the same planet again — and yet again, she has some free time before a mission. Before she can overthink it, she finds herself in the same bar.

She doesn’t know why she does it. There’s no way that thing will be here again.

When she catches Lucy’s gaze in the crowd, her belly tingles with excitement.

“Missed me, Captain?” she purrs as they dance, bodies pressed flush against each other.

Phasma grabs her face and kisses her.

She comes several times that night. When she wakes up unconscious in the alleyway again, she swears not to do this ever again.

And she doesn’t.

...

Not until the next time she comes to town.

big thanks to lovely @opheliauniverse for editing <3

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