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buckets-and-trees · 6 months

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Warm Shadows - Let All Light Go (2/4)

Fandom: MCU Collection: Warm Shadows Title: Let All Light Go Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader, existing Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Now that he's claimed you, Captain Hydra takes you back to his new base of operations, his little omega bait for the Soldat. But the bond between an alpha and an omega is a powerful thing that shouldn't be trifled with. [sequel to When You Fall On Me Like Night]

Content Warnings: DARK, a/b/o dynamics, explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT/omega heat, oral - female receiving, vaginal fingering, breast play, vaginal intercourse

Logistical Notes: We've got a dose of pride for @nickfowlerrr's Seven Deadly Sins + Seven Holy Virtues writing event. Now this second part is too late for the Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon, but I had most of it written before the challenge closed, and so I had plucked another dialogue prompt from her list, so I still want to give @witchywithwhiskey credit where it's due, and you'll find the prompt in bold and italics when it appears.

Additional Notes: I had no intention of making this three times as long as the original, but Steve had other plans. So many other plans. Thanks to @biteofcherry for letting me suss out a couple of the things I had questions on plot-wise. Title from Hozier's De Selby (Part 2).

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Steve doesn’t smile anymore. He hasn’t smiled in weeks. And yet the frown on his face is more than the non-smile stoicism that had taken over his demeanor since the ambush outside of Turin. He exhales deeply, washing away the frown as he straps your limp body into the jump seat of the stealth jet. Unconscious and sedated, your head falls forward though your torso is held back by the chest harness of the safety belt. Steve angles your head back against the headrest because if you got a crick in your neck, it will be a problem he doesn’t want to hear you try and complain about later.

He had achieved his objective in coming to Wakanda. Though the operation had played out with slight differences from what he had anticipated, it had gone as close as he could have logically projected in almost every aspect. He knew Bucky. No. The Winter soldier, he corrects. And he knew you. As players in this piece of the plan, you had both been reliably predictable.

As a super soldier Steve knew the strengths, the weaknesses, the limitations, and what Barnes would be susceptible to. That’s why he had been so prepared in laying his trap and incapacitating the asset.

Overpowering you had been easy.

Claiming you had split a slow but building tremor to his system. It had changed what he’d intended to do.

A few hours later as he approaches the remote Hydra base, that disconcerting feeling in his brain that he is working to tamp down still smolders with something unsettled that makes him flick his eyes up to the mirror that allows the pilot to check the interior behind him to see that you’re still in the same state of sedation.

His new conditioning will help him to control this irritating itch.

After touching down and rolling into the hangar, Steve unbuckles you from the seat and slings your unconscious body over his shoulder. He doesn’t stop walking but proceeds to give his brief mission report to the ranking officer on base who was waiting to meet him at the base of the small jet’s cargo ramp as he exits. This man is not his handler but his liaison for the time being. He’s competent enough that Steve if rarely frustrated with him. The power dynamics are something Steve is constantly aware of. Hydra wants to know they are in control and yet learned with the Winter Soldier that an asset stripped of complete autonomy was more inflexible to work with – and impossible to pull back when he broke free. They don’t want to make the same mistake with him, but they give him no illusion over who his allegiance is to now. It’s not a leash, but an unmistakable tether that they will let him tenuously control as long as he ultimately complies.

It's why he has tolerable and private living quarters where he deposits you on top the large bed. He leaves a bottle of water next to you and then leaves. The door to his quarters is controlled by a fingerprint recognition, allowing Steve a fair amount of control over who can come in and out, and he has no intention of giving you access.

He goes to the mess to get food. No one approaches him while he eats. He collects two of the meal boxes that are ready to go – one marked for lunch, one marked for dinner – and brings them back for you.

You’re still asleep when he returns. He takes the time to order routine meal delivery to his quarters for you long term as well as a supply of standard issue clothes and laundry service. This base is a hub for research and development, so the standard of living is functional and minimalistic, which suits him fine, and that is all you will require as his omega.

It's mid afternoon before you finally wake, and he can sense the moment you resume consciousness – his heightened senses heard the change in your breathing, but there’s also an innate sense about it. He wasn’t expecting that.

He shifts slightly where he sits in a boxy armchair reading over some new intelligence reports on his tablet to watch you. You slowly sit up causing the water bottle he set on the mattress next to you to roll against your body, and you frown, then look around and see him almost immediately. Fear and anger show immediately in your face, exactly as he expected.

“Your food is on the counter,” he says flatly.

“I don’t want it.”

“You will,” he responds.

You look away from him, scan the single-room quarters, and then look down to the water bottle again. He hears your small sigh before you pick it up, unscrew the top to take a few sips, then close it and shift to one side of the bed and lay back down, curling up, facing away from him. There’s an east-facing window on that side of the room.

None of this behavior is unexpected, and it’s of no matter to him. He has you here, he’s keeping you here as long as necessary. You’re hurt, you will hold onto your pride at the offense for a long while yet, and he expects it. He’s not offended. It will wear away.

He has a few projects he planned to touch base with various research and development teams on the base, and so now that he knows you’re alert and fine, he has no problem resuming his operations and routines.

The single declaration over the food is all you say to him for the first few days.

Not that he is there much either. He has missions, projects, agendas – his own and Hydra’s, and certainly doesn’t exist to coddle his omega.

An omega, he reminds himself.

There is only one bed, and he doesn’t say one word about it to you. The first night when he returns, you are curled in on yourself on the edge of the bed much as you had been earlier when he left (though he notes you had eaten the roll from the dinner box, so you had moved at some point). He wordlessly changes into his sleepwear and slides beneath the sheets. He figures if it bothers you enough, you can choose to sleep on the small couch or the floor, but he isn’t going to give up the bed to accommodate you.

On the third day, you rise when he does. The small bathroom is the only private part of the living quarters, so he is closed off from you while he showers, but as he eats breakfast and finishes the rest of his morning routine, you sit in the armchair, legs curled up, and watch him with a cool storm in your eyes.

When he returns on the fourth night, you smell different. You wear the same clothes, but you’ve clearly showered, and you must have done what you could to clean your clothes in the sink because you're wearing them and not the base-issued garments. You’re already curled up on your side of the bed, still on top of the bedding, barefoot, but not sleeping yet.

Your state of unrest is burdening his thoughts. It’s an imposition he can’t have.

The way you bleed into his consciousness was the only thing he had stupidly forgotten to even account for in this maneuver to draw out the Soldat. Part of it was because he hadn’t been entirely sure he could successfully make the claiming bond – he knew he could get the bite, but it had been a gamble on whether it would work.

It had.

Though it hadn’t been like a clap of lightning but more like an invisible string threaded between the two of you. He had used it to manipulate the situation that night, but the reality of it had also shifted what his original plan for you had been.

Having never bonded with an omega, he had heard varying reports of how the connections could develop between an alpha and an omega. Some said it was strong enough to reach a degree of non-verbal communication, but this seemed to be developing as more of a constant, pressing awareness as the string wove further through him as the days passed, but an awareness that he was learning to read and decipher.

That cool storm that brewed in your eyes any of the few times you looked at him had to be tamed. He didn’t expect it to go away, but he could not have the rage brewing, growing, and pulsing from you to him. He can’t afford the distraction.

In an operations meeting one of the analysts sits down to the table with two unnecessary books in the stack of things they’ve brought with them, and he remembers that you loved to read.

He deposits a linen tote bag with a stack of books on your bedside table that night, returning after you’re already asleep.

He leaves for a mission across the globe before you wake the next morning.

When he returns three days later, it’s mid-afternoon, and he goes to his quarters after the mission debriefing. You’re sitting almost comfortably on the couch with one of the books. You still regard him with cold, guarded eyes, but you’re wearing the base-issued clothing. It’s plain, utilitarian, slate grey.

He remains with you the rest of the evening, the two of you eating dinner together at the small table in one corner of the room when meals are delivered. You don’t look at him, and he doesn’t watch you too much. He thought he had been focused on the mission. He thinks now the focus had come easily again because you were less angry, an icy ache rather than the rampant and enflamed rage that was only further agitated without anything to do.

The next day is unremarkable with this new development. You read, you wear different clothes from the base again, and he is back to his standard on-base routine, returning to his quarters after dinner but before dark. It’s the same the day after, and then the day after that. The only thing that changes at the end of one more day, is that once you’re settled to sleep and he slides into bed a quarter of an hour later, he’s about to drop off to sleep when he hears you take a deep breath.

His own heart stills. What are you about to do?

“Can I have normal clothes?” you ask softly.

One request could lead to another request, and another.

But if they’re as simple as this, easy enough to appease, he could say yes until he needs to refuse you something he’s not willing to entertain.

“I’ll see it done.”

“Oh,” your response is small, surprised.

“Now sleep,” he says, not a command.

Mid-morning he has a break between consultations, and he pulls one of the base caretakers aside and charges them with accommodating your request.

He returns to you before dinner that night. He simply finished his work earlier than usual that day, it’s nothing more than that. You’re in jeans and a lightweight crewneck sweatshirt. Eating dinner is another quiet affair, but the easiest it’s been out of the few times you’ve shared any meals in this place.

Over the next week he eats breakfast with you and most of his dinners. There’s a sadness that’s growing, but he is also melting the glacier of your guarded hostility.

While eating dinner one evening, you ask, “Where are we?”

“A Hydra research and development facility.”

You give it another moment, and then you press further, “And where’s this facility located?”

He looks up at you across the table and gives a dark, wry smirk. “Europe.” His tone is clipped. He can see you know that’s the end of the information he’s going to give you on the matter.

“How are your books?” he ventures after a few minutes. He had gone to the bookshop in the town to purchase a second stock of books for you earlier in the week.

“I appreciate them,” you answer. Without looking back up at him, you say, “The old you liked to read.”

He glowers at you, but he can see there’s almost a warmth in your eyes. It does something to him, so he drops his eyes back to his plate.

He stands abruptly and takes his plate to the counter by the sink, then he leaves. He won’t entertain that line of conversation with you. He paces through the facility for an hour before he returns. When he sees you seem to have been waiting for him, there’s a small warmth in his chest. You just nod at him, and he nods in return. No more words are exchanged between you that night.

When you both finally retire to bed, he doesn’t say a word or give any sign of reacting to you pulling the covers back on your side of the bed for the first time in this space and climbing into them, he simply does the same on his side. You still stay rigidly still and curled up, nearly on the edge of the mattress, but it’s more than he ever expected from you. The nights following, you maintain this step forward in proximity.

He notices your hand going to your bonding mark from Bucky over the following days, and it happens more and more frequently. He almost says something, but as he scrutinizes your actions, he sees you do it without seeming to think about it. It bothers him, but when he sees it’s not intentional, it’s not jealousy or rage that eats at him, it’s something else.

Because why hasn’t the Soldat come for you yet?

That was the object of the game, after all.

He was sure he hadn’t underestimated the Soldat’s skills or Bucky’s devotion to you. Bucky had, in fact, been spotted close enough in the region that the whole base had been on red alert for three days, certain the Winter Soldier would strike, but he hadn’t. Then the reports were he’d gone further north and left Italy altogether, so the alert had gone down from red to orange, and now sat at yellow - standard caution and operating procedures.

It was bothering him further because you were supposed to be Bucky’s beloved omega. How could he abandon you this long? Work so carelessly? Soldat should be desperate and raising hell at this point.

Because at this point?

It’s why Steve decides to embark on one more mission. He doesn’t tell you where he is going. He didn’t tell you even that he is going. He could already feel your unease growing, the questions and uncertainty. He doesn’t need his omega further agitated.

His mission is quick and successful.

As he returns, there is a sudden spike of fear and adrenaline when he is about an hour out from the base. It burns through his system, and he hasn’t felt any emotions overpower him this strongly in weeks and weeks, but after less than a minute it’s snuffs out almost as quickly as it had flared.

Twenty minutes from landing, a call buzzes in over his comms.

“Captain, our base has been attacked, but we are clear from intruders and in active recovery mode now,” his liaison’s voice relays.

“Intruders?” he growls.

“Full report forthcoming and will be ready by the time you arrive. You are cleared for landing but divert to the machine storage facility rather than our standard hangar, we’ve sustained damage there. End communication.”

Steve slams his fist against the arm rest of the seat – the place he knew could sustain the brunt of his impatience – and it breaks off, smashed away completely.

His landing approach gives him a view of the obvious devastation to the base, the entire northwest quadrant still in flames, but with crews working quickly to extinguish the fire.

His liaison is waiting in a truck to drive from the storage on the outskirts back to the main base.

“Twenty-two casualties, six injured, two hundred on evacuation disbursement orders. Only beta essential personnel and the damage control teams remain, prime essential personnel were evacuated as soon as the intruder was reported.”

Steve frowns. “Identity?”

“Confirmed as the Soldat.”

Steve nods. “You said intruders when you contacted me on approach.”

“We’ve since confirmed it was the Winter Soldier and only him.”

He nods again. That news wasn’t surprising. Had he known I would be gone? He was certainly cutting it close, waiting until almost the eleventh hour to come for his omega.

“Status of the omega?”

“We sedated and moved the omega to our facility outside of Geneva.”

Steve’s entire chest seizes in rage – not only moving his omega without consulting him, but to sedate her without any thought? It doesn’t matter that it’s standard protocol for prisoners, you’re his omega. However, every alarm in his head rings immediately that he can not show any ripple of emotion or he may very well never see his omega again. He won’t make the same mistake again – not for a third time.

“Geneva will be the next center of operations for current projects?” he asks.

“Correct. Early calculations project that this base can be functional again in four to five months, and we’ll evaluate whether projects will move back, or continue in Geneva and other bases in the region and clear the way for new initiatives here. We thought you would want to see evidence and damages yourself here first, which is why I didn’t redirect you once we had entered the first recovery stages after clearing all immediate threats, Captain.”

“The logical call,” he agrees.

Four and a half hours later, he touches down in Geneva, but it’s another two hours before he can escape all the protocol and regrouping strategy conversations. Within ten minutes after that, he’s in the new living quarters assigned to him on the Swiss base.

And there you are. Haphazardly deposited on the bed, but there all the same. He lets out a breath as he closes the door behind him. It locks automatically. He drops his pack on the couch and then makes his way to you. He rights your body, laying you fully across the bed and straightening your limbs. He removes your shoes and tucks a pillow beneath your head. He could smell you immediately on entering the quarters, but handling your body now confirms you’re dangerously close to breaking into your heat a day earlier than you were supposed to. He has no doubt it’s due to the distress of the day. That spike of fear and adrenaline he felt earlier had to have been you moments before you were sedated for transport.

He examines your neck, but sees no evidence of an injection, which leaves sedation by inhalation. In a situation where they needed efficiency and couldn’t chance a miscalculation of precision, it was the logical move. It also narrows things down to one of two compounds currently in use for inhaled sedation, which he appreciates.

Then he sees the bloom of a bruise forming already on your arm just above the elbow, and his brow furrows. He will review the footage and he will find out who did this to you.

Satisfied in general over your state – even breathing and no other visible injuries – he turns his attention to the new living quarters. It’s still a studio set up, but moderately larger than the Turin facility. There he’d been assigned quarters for an individual, and this is clearly one of the units designed for Hydra personnel with a partner. A marked difference here is an area that is sectioned off as a study with a desk and a bookshelf. There are already some books there, but empty shelves that can be filled as well.

There’s a decently sized case on the table in the kitchenette area. Inside is a selection of personal effects transported here from Turin, likely collected after the initial evacuation of personnel, but delivered here in those first two hours while he was in the strategy meetings upon arrival. There are a few items of his clothing, a modest selection of the wardrobe he’d arranged for you, toiletries, and even your small accumulation of books.

He has just finished unpacking the case when he can sense you stirring on the bed. A moment later he feels the spike of unease and tension as you register the new surroundings, sitting up on the bed, but he’s already approaching you.

He can feel the diminution of your nerves when your eyes land on him, but he sees the initial wave of relief in your eyes that you also try and stamp away in an instant.

He sits cautiously but with no apology on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Where are we?”

“A new facility.”

Your eyes study him for a moment. He knows you’re assessing that his answer means he won’t give you details. “Still in Europe?”

He nods.

“How long since the former facility was compromised?” you ask.

He smirks. You were always intelligent – not that it would have been difficult to figure out, but he’s proud of how quickly your mind works.

You huff at his hesitation and roll your eyes. “If you think I’ll use the information to try and figure out where we might be, I don’t know where we started, so it won’t be of any use to me, I’m just hungry and want to know how much time I’ve lost.”

“It’s been somewhere between seven to eight hours.”

He reaches for his communications tablet and quickly orders a standard meal for each of you to be delivered as he hasn’t eaten much either.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” you break the silence again. “Bucky found me.”

He hadn’t planned to tell you, but he won’t lie to you. “Yes”

“He’ll find me again. He said that wherever I went, he would find me.”

“Oh, I know.” His stare is back on you. “That’s the entire point. I need the Soldat.”

The silence that builds between you two is full of anger on your side. There’s nothing else for him to explain, but he’s curious to see how long you’ll keep this moment stretching on before ending it or saying something else.

But it grows more and more uncomfortable, and you try not to fidget. You’ve never been one to fidget, and certainly not over these past few weeks at any point around him. Then he notices the beads of perspiration gathering on your brow.

“Your heat, Omega.”

“My heat, not yours.”

“Sure,” he laughs cruelly. He reaches out to touch your cheek, somewhat patronizingly.

“Don’t touch me!” you snarl and snap your jaws at him, causing him to withdraw his hand immediately. “I don’t need you.”

“Fine.” He stands and retreats, not because he fears you in the slightest, but because he won’t fight your petulance, not when he has better things he can do at least for now. “Face your heat alone, Omega.”

He leaves, hearing you let out another impatient huff just as the door closes behind him.

He leaves you in pursuit of one of the data analysis rooms. If you’re going to be difficult and refuse him, he can do better things with his time until you’re ready to bend and keen for him. Once there, he logs into the system and pulls up the footage from Turin. He watches every frame of the Winter Soldier’s attack on the facility. It was shown earlier when he was meeting with the Hydra officers in debriefing the attack, but now he can study it alone in its entirety, moving from camera to camera outside, and then through each hallway and room without commentary from anyone else, able to slow down and rewind each moment as he sees fit.

It’s masterful.

And he looks directly at cameras after many of the kills. Twenty-two casualties and only six injuries? That’s intentional. He knows the Soldat could have executed this more quietly, and that’s evident in how he exits when he realizes you’ve been moved. From that point, his exit strategy has him engaging with almost no one, but setting fires and explosions, leaving enough damage in his wake to send his message.

It’s effective.

Steve narrows the block of time from the incident on the base and watches additional footage from the same ten-minute period. It’s every frame of the footage related to your acquisition, sedation, and transport from the base. He is interested in discovering just how the Soldat knew when to retreat, and he leaves notes in his log and in addition to drafting and sending a memo with some of his theories and observations to his primary liaison and a few of the officers on the taskforce. But his primary objective was to figure out who handled you so roughly, and he does. They will be dealt with later. He can’t expose such a personally driven need to deal out punishment.

While he’s been gone he’s felt the tenor of your emotions tugging at him – not tugging insistently, and with how tightly you’ve tried to control and suppress your emotions over the past few weeks, this must mean you’re battling to keep things at bay, pushed beneath the surface. As soon as he enters, he clocks the spiking fluctuations of your hormones. Since returning with you from Wakanda, he’s read extensively over the heat cycles, and this situation gives all the signs that you’re vacillating precaiously between falling into either a standard heat or a dry heat. You’re trying to stave off the heat as long as possible, but it will come, and if you fight it too hard, it will be a dry heat, which will be physically and mentally painful for you and difficult for him to navigate with you. He needs to edge you carefully from that tipping point of the dry heat.

You’re sitting at the table, having polished off one of the meals already and eating the last bits of the other one. It looks like they were boxes with sandwiches, fruit, and vegetables. You’ve left the celery from both servings. He smirks, but he’s glad you’ve eaten. That’s a good sign.

In another attempt at normalcy, desperate to keep things at bay, you push the chair out across the table from you with your foot, nodding for him to sit. You try and engage him in completely normal lines of conversation. He knows what you’re doing. He’ll entertain it for at least a little while so he can assess more of your state and how he should handle it.

He’s more concerned with watching you than listening to what you’re saying. You stand to refill your cup with water, and he follows you to the sink. He reaches into the cupboard and gets a glass of his own, encroaching somewhat into your space very casually. It doesn’t put you on edge, so he eases even closer, as you continue to talk. He puts a hand on your shoulder and leans in to fill his cup with the tap. There’s a slight hitch in your breathing at his proximity. He pushes the teasing of his closeness even more, moving his hand down your arm and resting it on the counter next to yours.

“I know what you need, Omega,” he whispers against the shell of your ear.

He can feel you do everything you can to remain still.

But then you turn your head ever so slightly toward him. “The last time you touched me, you humiliated me.” Your voice is flat.

He doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t move.

Finally, you ask, “What did they do to you?” your voice barely above a whisper.

The dangerous question comes out of nowhere, and the surge of emotion it evokes in him is immediate. He growls, whipping away, not even thinking before he slams his fists on the table. It splits in two clean pieces. He grabs one before it even falls to the floor and throws it against the wall, smashing it, splinters flying.

He turns back, advancing on you, and you’re already trembling. He doesn’t relent, forcing you up against the wall, caging you in. He pounds his fist into the wall right above your head, and you close your eyes, afraid to move. He can smell the fear in your scent now, but there can be no confusion here.

“No, Omega,” he speaks low, and his other hand moves lightning fast to grip your chin. He can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers. “Look at me.” You open your eyes. “We aren’t doing that.”

He leaves a beat of silence between you.

“Do you understand?”

You nod.

He drops your chin, then grips the neck of your shirt and yanks, ripping the fabric down the front and jerking you forward, making you bump into his chest. He picks you up and hauls you across the room with a few furious strides to drop you onto one of the armchairs.

You right yourself in the seat as he steps back, but only an arm’s length away. He doesn’t have to use his alpha voice or say the words. He knows the look he gives you communicates his instruction: stay put, don’t move.

He slowly undresses, unfastening, unbuckling, unzipping. He places each article of his dark tactical suit in an orderly pile on the coffee table. It’s purposeful, this tactic. The onset of your heat is only a moment away. You’ve been doing everything in your power to stave it off. Part of him clocks this enormous show of strength and sees it for more than stubbornness, recognizing the discipline and power within you. But this has gone on long enough, he needs you to finally tumble over the edge, and he will push you if he must.

He watches you watching him as he reveals each expanse of naked flesh – arms and torso, legs, and finally his loins when he slips off his boxer briefs. He’s hard for you, of course he is, the pheromones have been flooding out of you, and he wasn’t tempted to touch you in Turin, but now it’s all he can think about. He wants your body supple and pliant, submissive beneath him. He stands above you, looming, imposing – he knows he is, and he wants you to feel that he can do this – and pumps his cock slowly with his own fist.

He does it a few more times, watching you watch him. He sees the small ripple of a shudder you can’t suppress when your breath hitches.

“Undress,” he commands.

Your jaw ticks up. He knows you don’t like it – he felt it the first time he gave you an alpha command, and he hasn’t again until this moment. You look down as you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra and slide it off, dropping it to the floor. You stubbornly refuse to meet his eye since he’s making you do this – he knows it. You hook your thumbs into your waistband, and you push your leggings and underwear down in a slight huff.

“Spread your legs,” he issues another command.

You do, still refusing to meet his eye. Part of it is the irritation over the commands, but he knows part of it is also the trepidation still pulsing through you. He doesn’t want to make this easy for you, but he doesn’t want you to suffer the agony of a dry heat where you’ll be agitated, devoid of slick, in pain, and distressed.

He sinks to his knees between your parted thighs, but now you can’t help but look at him staking his claim there so close to your exposed core. He can see you have a million questions in your eyes, it’s the most you’ve allowed him to glimpse of you – the real you – these past weeks.

He lowers his head, keeping his eyes on yours, and licks a slow, broad stripe from the side of your knee along the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He can feel you tense and hold your breath. And he stops inches from your warm cunt, pulling back and kneeling back on his heels.

You whimper.

He knows he has you now.

“Touch yourself, Omega,” he doles out the third command. He knows how he wants this to play out.

“Don’t make me,” you plead, but your hands are already slowly moving to your center.

“Do it,” he barks, and you flinch.

There’s a little bit of slick between your pussy lips, and he watches you trace a finger slowly over your folds, up and down. You drop your head down and to the side, refusing once more to look at him.

“Omega, have you ever experienced the pain of a dry heat?”

You huff.

“Is that what you want?”

“I want him!” you blurt, and you certainly must not have meant to say it out loud because your hands immediately fly to cover your mouth and your eyes flash to him in fear. And anger. Both are there.

He growls and surges forward to claim your clit between his lips, clamping his hands at the juncture of your thighs to keep your legs open. He sucks hard and flicks his tongue angrily over the little bundle of nerves, drawing a cry from you immediately. Your hands push at his head, but there’s no match for his strength, and he holds your pelvis firmly to his face.

“No, no, no,” you murmur, starting to cry.

He keeps up the furious sucking and flicking, and it’s less than a minute before he feels your whole body seize up, frozen as the first orgasm crashes down on you. Slick begins to seep out in abundance, and he hums in approval, but he doesn’t relent, only changes his tactics. He flattens his tongue and laps at your cunt, letting his tongue slip between your folds and into your hole every two or three licks. It’s less frenzied, but no less insistent, and he rips a second orgasm from you easily. He hums in approval as this time that blissful wave forces you to throw your head and shoulders back, and you land against the back of the armchair, clutching at the rim of it next to your head.

But he won’t relent yet.

He reaches up to cup one of your breasts in his hand, and you moan and push your chest forward for him, head still thrown back, and he imagines your eyes must be shut. He squeezes your breast, then tweaks your nipple, and your breath hitches. He presses his mouth back to your folds and works his lips over your puffy, engorged clit, working slowly this time. He draws his hand away from your breast, and then he slides the fingers that just tweaked your nipple into your tight heat. He pumps slowly, and your hand moves to the back of his head, applying insistent pressure there. He crooks the fingers and strokes along your front wall, and he knows he finds the spot of your undoing when your legs abruptly shift, the left lengthening out, and your right hitching up over his shoulder to press into his back. He doesn’t change a thing now, sucking, pressing. He knows you’re on your way, but he will not hasten this. He wants you to feel every drawn out moment of this – some but not enough of what you need.

Paying attention to every breath above him, every movement of your body, and especially the way your muscles start to squeeze around the fingers he has inside you, he stops just short of your third orgasm.

You whine in protest, but he pushes himself up to stand above you. He grabs your waist and hauls you easily with his preternatural strength up and over his shoulder. You claw at his back, but it’s only a few quick steps for him to be able to throw you down onto the bed.

Your fear from his outburst is long gone, and the face you turn up at him is angry, and you snarl, quickly kneeling up on the bed.

He grasps your chin in his slick-covered hand and looks into your face. “You will beg for me, and only then will I consider whether or not I will touch you again or let you suffer.”

He drops your chin and is already turning away, but you’re lightning fast in reaching for his wrist.

He stops and only inclines his head part of the way to look back at you.

“Take me,” you plead, voice stronger than he expected.

He furrows his brow.

“Please,” you implore.

He turns fully back to you. Perhaps he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. You’d always been adaptable and clever, and rarely stubborn to your own detriment. You had been stubbornly trying to hold the heat at bay, dangerously so to tempt the dry heat, but he knows this is an extreme circumstance for you, and with the tide turned yet again, he was almost impressed that you had so quickly determined it was worth it to take what you needed.

“Then present,” he says simply.

You turn, moving up to the middle of the bed, but close to the headboard, and kneel on all fours.

He climbs up behind you.

You drop down to your elbows, subjecting yourself to him, omega to alpha.

He takes his cock in his hand and rubs the angry red tip up and down your slick folds. You whimper, and he sees the small shiver that runs down your spine. He sinks his thick length into your tight heat, and you both groan as he fills you for the first time. He doesn’t move once his hips are finally flush against your ass. He breathes in and out, in and out, and watches your measured breaths as well.

He did not know it would be like this.

He reaches forward, grips your shoulder, and pulls you up and back towards him. Your hands move to reach out to steady yourself on the headboard. He presses his fingers into that juncture at your neck where he claimed you, and you keen, throwing your head back. He leans forward and while his right hand stays anchored at your hip, his left strokes that bite again, then moves to hold the front of your neck as he leans down and forward over you. You look up at him, he looks down at you. “You’re fucking mine, Omega,” he growls, your eyes locked.

“Yes, Alpha.”

Then he feels you rock your hips back against his. He smooths his hand down your neck, then presses his lips to your forehead. “You’re mine,” he says again, imprinting the words against your skin.

Then he pulls back and thrusts into you. A few thrusts like that, but as you begin to keen for him, begging for more, he has to drop back and grip your hips with both hands to fuck you. You both come twice – once quickly, and once more very slowly – before you’re boneless beneath him, and he forces you down to the mattress, shifting you to your side and drawing you up against his chest. You whine, but he strokes your arm and promises he’ll give you more once you sleep.

While you sleep in his arms, sticky and sweaty, his mind goes to work.

It’s not long before you wake again, and you two truly fuck, carnal bleeding with a few moments that are too tender for either of you to acknowledge. But his stamina outmatches yours and he has you exhausted and sleeping again before long.

He’s never taken care of an omega in heat before, and it’s all-consuming, but he stays focused. When you’re awake, he plies your body with pleasure until you cry, keen, moan, scream aloud and silently, and it goes on and off again between sex and sleep all through the day. He’s prepared for your reluctance during the first high phase of the heat to eat or drink anything, but he slips you bits of fruit and nuts as he can, gets you to greedily gulp water only after he pushes it your way insistently. You want his cock, not hydration or nutrition.

A little before midnight the second night, you stretch and yawn waking from another of your short sleeps, and then you roll out of bed and pad to the bathroom. He’s been rooting through some of the cupboards, taking stock of what’s there, and he finishes quickly and follows you into the bathroom after he hears you flush the toilet and then turn on the showerhead. You’re slipping into the shower when he enters the bathroom, and he’s there in time for you to give the silent invitation for him to join you – the expectation, even.

You’re still in heat, but craving a shower lets him know you’ll have enough of your mind back for what needs to happen now.

Things are tenuous, but there’s no denying that this heat has changed things for both of you. He claimed you in Wakanda, but the two of you have bonded through the first thirty hours of this heat in ways neither of you thought possible.

He takes the lathered-up sponge you place in his hands, and he washes your body carefully. Then you take it back, soap it up again, and run it over his skin with the same kind of attention.

He washes your hair, you rinse away the suds, and then he pulls you flush against him. You take his hardening cock in your hand and pump shamelessly. He groans appreciatively, than pushes your back up against the tiles, moves your hands away, and pulls your leg up around his waist so he can enter you. You clutch at his shoulders for stability and moan. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, but he speaks just loud enough for you to hear, “This is the only place I’m sure no one will hear us, but they also need to have no reason to question what’s happening if they’re monitoring.” He moves his hips back and then pumps slowly into you again. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you moan, “more, Alpha.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly, though he knows you can’t see it. He tongues his bite at your neck, and you whimper. He gives you another thrust, and you keen.

“I won’t have you anywhere near these Hydra personnel anymore. I don’t trust them.”

The surprised noise that escapes your throat is slightly distressed, and so he speeds up his thrusts a little. “My heat,” you whisper.

“The heat cycle is the only time no one expects me to be anywhere or respond to anyone unless there’s complete catastrophe, and I already reported the onset of your heat last night. They won’t disturb us for a few more days, and they will not expect us to attempt to leave our quarters let alone the facility. If we can manage to get out unnoticed, we will have enough of a head start on time to lose them completely.”

You remain quiet.

“Omega?”

“And go where?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

You push his face away from your neck and push at his chest. “I’m still nothing more than your bait?”

He growls and turns you around so your chest and face are pressed up against the wall.

“I’m still your alpha, and yes my end game is still to draw out the Soldat.”

“Why?”

“I need him.”

He nudges your legs apart and enters you from behind, and you groan as he fills you.

He pulls back, about to enter you again, but then you turn your head, and gasp, “Wait,” in a tone that’s different enough that he does, brow furrowing as he meets your eyes.

“Omega?”

“Tell me what happened to Sam, to you, and I promise I’ll go with you willingly.”

He didn’t think you knew Sam had been with him.

You reach for his head and urge him back to the cradle of your neck.

With more than your words and the gentle action, you’re also entreating him through the bond, he can feel it. It’s powerful. And so he tells you. It only takes him two sentences to tell you what you need to know. Tears stream down your face, and he fucks you then, the fucking he needs for him, not you, but you allow him to take.

go immediately to part three: Carving Through the Dark

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

read more from the Dark Forest Fest

#steve rogers x reader #captain hydra x reader #steve rogers smut #dark steve rogers x reader #the seven writing event #nickfowlerrr's writing event #aspen's dark forest fest #omegaverse #marvel omegaverse #aspen wrote something #warm shadows au #tw: dubcon

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the-s1lly-corner · 5 months

Note

This is a silly request you don't have to do it or don't have to do it now

TADC crew having to take care of a very sleepy kid reader

Like this kid just falls asleep in the most random places that are sometimes dangerous probably giving people parental/sibling panic as they try to get the sleeping kid out of danger as the kid is oblivious to the world around them

TADC cast x very sleepy kid!reader (platonic!)

UEUEUEUE gonna answer a few requests then imma go ahead and start cooking tonight's dinner yahoo!!

Sorry that stuff has been slowing down a lot lately, between being sick last week and getting a ton of baking orders to deal with after recovering, I've been a little pressed for time and energy <\3

CAINE:

Good news for your safety, reader! Caine keeps all his eyes on you and watches you like a hawk! hes already pulling you to a safe place to sleep when you so much as yawn; perhaps even getting a digital cloud to hover around so you can sleep on it.. hell even if he cant get a cloud he might summon a bunch of bubbles to carry you around

Baby harness

He carries you in one of those/j

POMNI:

Easily one of the most panicked when she sees you curled up and sleeping in the middle of a chaotic IHA, tries to scramble towards you. You know those tropes in cartoons where a character has a fragile person/object they're trying to protect at all costs and it leads to the character doing the protecting getting all beat up? That's basically you and pomni, I think

You wake up and ask why she looks like she just got zapped by lightning

RAGATHA:

Always keeps you within arms length when she realizes just how sleepy you are all the time; perhaps even offers to carry you when you're feeling a little tired. Really with ragatha theres a little risk of you falling asleep in a random area. I think the only reason you may end up in a dangerous situation is if she needed someone else to look over you briefly

Just know that if this ever happens she will never let the one who was meant to be responsible for you live it down

Cough cough jax or maybe even zooble

JAX:

Unlike the above, if he were responsible for you in a general sense he would feel far more panicked than if he was playing babysitter. That's not to say he wouldnt panic if he was put in charge of you by someone else and you fell asleep somewhere. No he still would... but he feels a new level of guilt if youre *his kid*

As mentioned in the reader w/ crutches post he has a habit of zooming off and doing his own thing especially if it's for a new prank idea he came up with

So theres a chance he sometimes impulsively runs off. Like he gets better at it overtime as he becomes more responsible, buuuut...

Shakes you awake and tries to walk you to your room

Lightly scolds you but really I think hes more so beating himself up... just redirecting the blame.. again, jax is still trying to be more responsible with things.. not perfect yet, of course

GANGLE:

KINGER:

Keeps you at arms length AND in his sight at all times because 1. Hes a father and 2. Hes so so scared that something is going to happen to you, especially given your sleepy nature. Offers to let you snuggle into the soft fluff of his robe when you're feeling a little tired. You have probably fell asleep standing up while leaning into the fur. Very silly

This poor man nearly has a heart attack when he sees you asleep and in harm's way, but oddly enough I think it would make something "snap" in him and he immediately comes to your rescue. If he gets hit or struck by anything he just. Takes it and keeps going

Dad powers, I guess

Very determined to get to you probably doesnt let himself feel his feelings and panic until long after the events of the IHA are over, I think... starts fretting over you

ZOOBLE:

If you're their kid/sibling then they might just take you with them when they decide to skip a IHA, since zooble seems to not enjoy them in the pilot. So good news here, you're unlikely to be in any real danger when zooble is looking after you! When they're not doing a group thing and in the common area, they just stick to their room.... so they probably let you sleep in their bed!

Good ending here folks

Forgot to mention this in ragathas part but I think both her and gangle try to figure out why you're so sleepy, and perhaps try to find a solution aside from simply letting you sleep it off. I mean obviously neither of them would ban you from napping, buuuut

...well it's a digital body, could there really be any deeper stuff going on aside you just being tired?

Anyways

Her comedy mask literally pops off and breaks when she sees you just sleeping in the middle of the floor during all the chaos. Tries to get you out of harm way but it ends up in her also getting hurt, similar to pomni

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

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grumpyeagleandfriends · 3 months

Text

À Terre II | Poe Dameron x OC/Reader

A/N: Reader is a Resistance pilot that was captured during a solo reconnaissance mission. They escape by hijacking a ship. Gravely injured and hanging by a thread, they rejoin the Resistance by crash landing just outside of the base on D'Qar. A certain distraught squadron leader runs out to help.

Hurt/Comfort. Gratuitous, self-serving one shot TWO PART story. I have rewritten the first chapter in addition to adding on a second installment. This time it's in Poe's POV. I don’t like using “y/n” so I give the reader a generic, 1 syllable Star Wars name in the middle of this bad boy. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’ve been daydreaming about this for months years, so I finally decided to write it all out. There’s a little bit of a long set up, but I’m not sorry about it.

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions blood and torture. Shellshock/PTSD vibes. Cursing. Tons of graphic medical stuff. Injections (so needles).

Word count: 5,439

Masterlist

Blood was everywhere when he finally made it inside the cockpit...

Even after he got her free from the safety harness, when all he could do was keep her calm and alert until the med techs arrived, he noticed the way she looked at him, the way she pulled it together to focus every time she nearly fell asleep. Hol hadn’t been able to properly talk, but with every command he gave her, she nodded and tried her best to comply.

The metallic iron smell of it nearly knocked him back when he opened the canopy. It covered everything. Her shaking hands, her hair, her flight suit, he even found it coating the inside of her mouth after he coaxed her to let him take away the life support mask.

He desperately wanted to give her water to see if she could drink, but there wasn’t any to be found in the cockpit. He wanted to put her in one of his jackets to help stop her from shaking, but the patch of trees she crashed landed into was too far from his quarters on base. He wanted to scream at her for being so goddamn stubborn, but he couldn’t shake the way she desperately clutched onto his hand.

They hadn't been careful enough when extracting her. There wasn't enough time to wait for proper immobilization equipment to be brought out to the crash site. Between Hol's blood loss and the ship leaking dangerous fluids into the forest, they made the difficult call to just move.

Seeing that utmost trust in her eyes, alongside the fear and the pain, was what really scared him the most. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he let her die there, not after she clawed her way back to them.

He had no way of knowing at that moment, but the jostling when they lifted her out caused a broken rib to puncture one of her lungs. Poe couldn’t keep from blaming himself for his own role in that.

The second they placed her onto the hover gurney, her condition began to rapidly deteriorate. One of the med techs caught sight of her blue fingertips and immediately diagnosed a collapsed lung. Poe only just managed to clamber out of the cockpit to see it all. He stood frozen on the wing of the ship while he watched them cut open her flight suit to reveal her bloated chest. The bright glow of a laser scalpel quickly appeared and they made an emergency incision between her ribs to let the trapped air escape.

Once they got her breathing again, she was loaded onto the back of the waiting med truck and they took off. Poe was left to follow behind on the back of a ship technician's speeder bike.

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

He sprinted into the medbay only a few moments after Hol was rushed in on the hover gurney. Bypassing the waiting area and going directly through the sliding double doors was unusually easy. In hindsight it should have struck him as odd that no one stopped him, but the overstretched med staff meant that no one paid him any mind when he planted himself against the back wall in triage.

As promised, Kalonia’s team was already primed and waiting to receive her. Poe had to crane his neck to be able to see, but he counted at least seven different med techs helping transfer her over to the exam bed.

They began working like a well calibrated machine, her dirty flight suit was sliced open and quickly stripped away. As soon as they were connected, the more sophisticated diagnostic scanners lit up and began displaying the worst of her injuries. Images of her chest cavity were produced on a monitor near the end of the exam bed, along with her vitals.

From where he stood, Poe was able to catch Hol’s foot beginning to subtly twitch. He wondered initially if he had just imagined the movement, but the surrounding med staff began to take notice as well.

“Eyes are beginning to flutter, she might be starting to come around.”

Dr. Kalonia took a step back as her staff continued their work. She pulled aside the young medic who had been down in the cockpit with Poe. He began rattling off the details of Hol’s condition when found and how exactly she was transported. After a couple of minutes he began gesturing over his shoulder in Poe’s direction, causing Kalonia to promptly look up. Her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of him standing back by the door.

Shit…

His back stiffened in preparation for an argument that never came.

“Dameron, get over here!”

She issued the instruction like an admiral as she pointed him over to the top of the exam bed.

He didn't think, he just immediately crossed over. The moment he was within reach, she grabbed hold of his arm and brought him to stand where she was.

“Do exactly what you did down at the crash site, alright? Talk to your pilot. Keep her calm.”

Hol’s head gently lolled to the side on the padded exam table, her face slack and eyes half-lidded. She went still once more just as he took his place. He cupped her face in his hands, noting how cool and clammy her skin felt against his palms.

Kalonia stood to his right, a penlight ready in her hand to test the reaction of her patient’s pupils.

“C’mon, Tarmin…” She called while carefully tugging open Hol’s eyelid.

Immediately, there was a weak moan, greatly muffled by the respirator mask. Hol tried to roll away from the touch, but Poe’s hands braced either side of her head.

“Hey, hey- it's okay. Easy, kid, easy.” He whispered, holding her in place just long enough for Kalonia to work.

“Settle down, Lieutenant.” The doctor spoke as she pulled away. “You crash landed on D’Qar. You’re in medical.”

Poe didn't let go once she finished. He continued cradling Hol's head, his short nails scratching at her scalp in some attempt at providing comfort.

Her body was fully exposed under the surgical lights, revealing the extent of the damage that he wasn't able to see back in the cockpit. The bruising along her abdomen and rib cage was mostly black, as if there were large ink blots staining her skin. There were blaster grazes on her right side, localized swelling where her right forearm was clearly fractured, wounds in her lower abdomen...

So much of it jumped out at once, he found it hard to focus on any one injury long enough. He began to wonder just what sort of state she was in before the crash.

Hol emitted another faint groan, one where he could distinctly hear a wheezing sound that came from deep in her chest. Her body jerked from the force of a cough. Red flecks of blood appeared inside the clear respirator mask.

Slowly, she began to blink against the lights. A worry line formed in the center of her forehead.

"No...n-no… "

It was hoarse and strained, but everyone standing around caught the audible plea. Hol's good hand suddenly lifted in an attempt to bat away those touching her.

Dr. Kalonia cursed.

"Restrain her! I'm trying to insert a chest catheter here!”

Padded white cuffs were produced and promptly attached around each of her limbs, securing her to the exam bed.

"Hol, look at me." Poe commanded. He cupped her jaw as he leaned directly over her, giving her no choice but to comply. He made himself the only thing she had to look at. His shadow worked to shield her eyes from the glaring overhead lights while also blocking her view of the med staff.

Her gaze was glassy and unfocused, but she was thankfully looking at him.

"You've got to relax." He urged, his hand smoothing her tangled hair back off her face as he spoke. "We’re trying to patch you up, alright? Let us help."

She blinked at the sound of his voice, and though the distress on her face didn't fade, she went still on the exam bed. Her eyes remained set in his direction.

"There you go, sunshine..." Poe quietly praised, using once again the affectionate name he knew she absolutely hated. "Keep those eyes on me, don't worry about anything else."

His attention never left her, but he was aware that Kalonia and another med tech were beginning to work at prepping the incision site to insert the chest tube. He wasn't convinced that Hol recognized who he was or even that she was somewhere safe, but he couldn't risk her getting freaked out by the procedure being performed on her chest.

There was still visible fear in her eyes, but she never looked away from him. Her struggling thankfully ceased as she began to lean into one of his palms bracing the side of her face.

"You're safe, you know that?" He found himself reminding her. The pads of his thumbs traced over the outer shells of her ears, trying again to ease the visible discomfort he saw etched in her face. "Promise you, babe. You're good, we've got you."

Hol winced before swallowing. His brow furrowed as he watched her lips suddenly part.

“Poe…"

Her voice was painfully raw, and normally the sound of her saying his name would have been reason for relief, but he only worried that she was wasting her energy trying to talk.

“Yeah, hey, Hol.” He greeted in a whisper, dipping just enough to brush his lips to her hairline. "It's me. I'm right here."

He frowned when she tried to say something more, something longer and impossible to parse.

"Shh-hey, no, that's enough. Don't want you to talk anymore." He gently scolded. "We’re going to do like before, okay? You relax while I run my mouth.”

Poe doubted she remembered their conversation down in the cockpit, but she thankfully fell silent. Her eyes remained on him as he kept quietly talking to her, blabbering on about how lucky she was to get out of briefings and inventory duty for the next few weeks, about how she was going to sit back on the medbay's best painkillers and watch the trashiest holovids he could find.

He knew deep down that she probably wasn't following him entirely, but he was trying to reassure himself at this point more than her. He was keenly aware that none of what he was saying was guaranteed, but he had to give himself something to hold on to, because imagining anything else simply was not an option for him.

She had to pull through this.

She had to be fine.

Minutes passed like that, Hol's unfocused gaze trained on Poe's face as he worked at keeping her distracted. Kalonia was able to successfully insert the temporary catheter into Hol's chest, which would assure the function of her uninjured lung until they could patch up the other.

Poe listened closely as a medtech outlined all of the crucial information, providing him with the rough plan of how her treatment would proceed. Once they finished stabilizing her most grave injuries, she would be taken back for surgery. There would be some additional testing after, which would take a couple of hours...

The explanation suddenly stopped short when an alarm began to sound from one of the machines. The level of the urgency in the room immediately started to bubble over.

"Heart rate is increasing!" Someone announced.

Poe visibly paled as he watched Hol's eyes roll backward. His hands still bracing her head, he desperately looked up at the med staff, searching for some kind of instruction.

"Dameron, out!"

Kalonia swooped in and firmly shouldered him out of the way.

Before he could object, a med droid approached and began to usher him towards the door.

"Doc, what's going on?" He demanded, sidestepping the mechanical arms reaching for his shirt. "What's wrong?"

His question went ignored. Hold was entirely obscured from his view. There were too many people now surrounding the exam bed.

"She's seizing! Start anticonvulsants and prepare for a transfusion!"

"Master Dameron, the team needs to prepare the patient for surgery. You must leave."

The med droid's pincers whirred as it closed in on Poe.

"Don't tell me what I have to do!" He snapped, the outline of his jaw more pronounced as he spoke through clenched teeth.

In a moment of sheer stupidity, he pushed back hard against the unforgivingly solid metal chest. He clearly forgot that these droids were built to easily lift the deadweight of critically ill patients of any species.

The mechanical arms tightly wrapped around him, securing his own arms to his sides. They closed, crushing him flush against the droid's metal body. The gesture was completed so quickly that he could feel the air being forced out of his own chest.

Poe feebly kicked, but it was useless. The droid easily hauled him back out through the double doors and towards the waiting area.

________________________

The word about who crash-landed into the trees traveled like wildfire across base. All of black squadron, Finn, BB-8, several of the x-wing techs and pilots from various outfits formed a large group just outside of the medbay. Each of them had duties elsewhere that they were purposefully ignoring, choosing out of loyalty to be present while one of their own hung in some grave state between life and death. They were the ones who threw back countless drinks in the mess hall together, who organized a massive fantasy Gravball league that nearly sent the entire Resistance into chaos, and who pooled their commissary credits to throw each other birthday parties.

They were all present to witness the painful moment Poe was forcibly escorted out of the sliding double doors leading to triage.

"Shit!-alright, alright! Let go!" His shouts ricocheted down the hallway as he finally managed to yank himself free. The force of the motion caused him to promptly fall to the floor.

The others watched as he quickly scrambled up from the ground, stumbling and hurrying to kick at the back of the retreating med droid.

He missed, which only served to enrage him further. The doors promptly closed behind the droid and Poe spun around— his mouth set in a tight line while he began to inexplicably search his surroundings. His chest rose and fell for several beats. His face twisted into a sneer before he abruptly lashed out at the nearest object, sending a trashcan flying with his boot. The steel barrel was thankfully empty, but the sharp clang sent a shockwave across the medbay.

The few people waiting in the sitting area immediately stood up to vacate the space.

Finn was the first to take a step forward to intervene, but he was halted by a large hand on his arm. He turned his head to see Snap, skin still humid as if he came straight from the refresher.

"Best to stand back and let it pass." The pilot urged with a sad shake of his head. "His scenes are never pretty."

Finn didn't want to agree, but as he stood and watched the scene unfolding before them he couldn't find any reason to argue. Snap and the others would know better. They did know.

Poe’s hands were pressed to the back of his head, his fingers laced together as he glared at the closed doors. He could have easily pushed his way back through, but he inexplicably remained where he stood. His eyes shot a deadly amount of spite toward whatever was happening on the other side of those doors— information that, for the time being, only he knew.

His arms fell heavily to his sides. Ignoring the uneasy looks following him, he turned and traipsed over to the first row of waiting chairs, silently throwing himself down onto one of the seats.His legs stretched out while he leaned back, his arms folded over his chest.

He continued to stare at the doors, a hard glint in his eyes for the faceless goliath wrecking untold damage on the other side.

The others slowly filtered over to join him in the waiting area. A supportive hand would occasionally grip his shoulder or linger on his knee, but no one said anything. Those unvoiced questions sat heavy above their heads.

BB-8 remained near Poe’s feet, unusually still and silent.

Hours grudgingly crawled by. The light outside faded away and began to just barely creep back over the horizon when someone finally came out to speak to them.

Poe was the only one to be escorted back behind the double doors. Dr. Kalonia stood there waiting for him, still dressed in some of her surgical garb. Thankfully, her mask was off, because her facial expression alone was able to answer his most crucial question.

She was alive.

Kalonia began to turn before she motioned for him to come along.

"Follow me, Dameron..."

________________________

They walked together down the main hallway of the medical wing, back to where Poe knew the overnight patient beds were located. He remained silent as Kalonia gave the run through of everything— what exactly happened when he was forced out of triage and what they were able to correct during surgery. Internal bleeding was what caused Hol to begin seizing. They performed a blood transfusion that stabilized her enough to undergo surgery, but they hadn’t been confident that she would make it through. The surgery itself took hours, but they were successfully able to localize and stop the bleeding in her abdomen and patch up her punctured lung. They installed a more substantial drainage tube in her chest to allow excess air and fluids to escape so her lung could continue to heal.

She would need to be kept asleep so her body could focus on repairing itself, but Kalonia was going to let Poe see her while they performed some additional tests.

They came to a stop just before the smallest room along the hallway. Due to space constraints on base, most of the rooms along this corridor housed multiple beds. This room was only for patients in a bad enough state to justify being kept isolated from others.

Kalonia stood aside to let him enter first.

They had Hol lying half-covered on an exam bed, her chest was mostly obscured by bandages. The first thing he noticed was that she was clean now, so much so that it made his head spin.

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, because of course they were going to scrub away the blood and grime before putting her on fresh bedding. But still, the contrast from when he found her sitting strapped in that downed ship was startling.

Several machines were attached to her body. She was hooked up to a respirator and receiving fluids intravenously, but Poe also caught sight of the aforementioned drainage tube extending from a patch of bandages in her side. It ran all the way over the edge of the bed into a receptacle on the floor. Her injured arm was wrapped in bacta strips and immobilized with a splint.

He remained a few feet away from her bed, a distance that he decided would be safe, because it felt too dangerous to touch her. His eyes slowly took in every piece of equipment being used to keep her stable, at first he began to count but stopped himself when he reached double digits.

His brow furrowed the moment he noticed the padded white cuffs still attaching Hol's wrists to the bed frame.

"Why is she still strapped down?" He demanded, his voice oddly distorted from hours of not speaking.

"It’s just a precaution for now.” Kalonia began to explain, seeming to choose her words cautiously. “She’s still on anticonvulsants to help reduce the likelihood of further seizures, but even while sedated there are still some tremors. With the location of the drainage tube we can’t risk her moving too violently or ripping it out when she wakes.”

Poe blinked, taking a moment to process the information.

"How long does she have to keep the tube?”

“No more than 2 to 3 days.”

He nodded while he chewed on his lower lip, his eyes still trained on Hol.

“Look, Dameron…”

She interrupted his thoughts in a gentle tone that was meant to be comforting, but it only made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. Dr. Kalonia was known for ruthlessly running the medbay like a battleship. They went back far too long, he knew to brace for the worst whenever she started to go soft.

Poe turned to face her, the pit of dread he felt low in his stomach was only growing. He would have given anything in that moment for them to fall into their traditional roles, for him to be the one injured and for her to be yelling at him. - Dammit, Dameron! Either make yourself useful or get the hell out of my medbay!

But she only continued to speak in that horribly gentle tone.

“As Tarmin’s commanding officer, there is something else that you should know.”

She walked him around to the opposite side of the bed, where there was noticeably less tubing.

“During the examination before her surgery, I noticed some smaller injuries that made me order full lab work.”

He watched as she lifted the bit of blanket covering Hol’s legs.

“I found infected injection sites on the insides of her arms and thighs, then these small circular burns on her ankles.”

Immediately Poe began to understand the rationale behind her delicate words.

He'd seen those marks on more than a few Resistance members who managed to escape capture. He sported similar ones himself after being captured on Jakku...after the Finalizer.

“We found traces of antipsychotics, nerve agents, and truth serum in her system.” Kalonia continued to explain.

He bowed his head as he listened, the sour taste of bile was creeping up in the back of his mouth. He pinched the bridge of his nose while the facts began to register in his mind. His teeth clamped down on the inside of his cheek, he forced himself to slowly exhale.

"There are chafe marks on her body from restraints. The partial break to her humerus looks like it's from prolonged strain during intero—"

He couldn’t let her fully pronounce the word.

"Alright!”

He didn't have it in him to yell anymore, but the tension in his voice filled the space like a streak of lightning.

To her credit, Kalonia never flinched at the sound. She stood patiently, unwavering, her face neutral as she watched him. An uneasy silence settled over the room.

He took a shaky breath, being mindful to adjust his tone before continuing.

“It’s okay.” He spoke softly, voice trembling despite his efforts. “I-I got it, Doc.”

He turned to face away as he desperately tried to calm the tightening in his throat. The corners of his eyes were sharply stinging. The best he could do to regain control was to continue biting down hard on the inside of his mouth, inhaling and exhaling through his nose.

After a couple of minutes he scrubbed both hands over his stubbled face. With the heels of his palms he rubbed at his eyes until he saw stars. Slowly, much too slowly for his liking, he was able to push his own agony down enough to recenter.

Poe turned to face Kalonia once more. He cleared his throat.

“She's not going to be in too much pain when she wakes up?” He demanded. “You can keep her comfortable, right?”

She pointed his attention to the IV stand by the head of the exam bed.

"I can't promise when she wakes up that she won't be in some pain, but we can adjust the medication through her drip and it'll take effect almost immediately."

He nodded. His hand combed through his hair before he slowly approached the bedside once more.

Poe stood and watched Hol's face for several minutes. He searched hard for any signs of movement or distress but found nothing. Her features were mercifully still and serene for the moment. She was protected under the fog of artificial sleep.

“How long are you going to keep her under?”

The question was spoken in a near whisper.

“Depends on her vitals, but at least a day, maybe two.”

Kalonia took the time to show him her vitals displayed on the monitor near the head of the bed, providing a brief explanation of what the numbers currently meant. For the moment, everything hovered just barely inside the acceptable range. It was far from ideal, but it was at least temporarily stable. They would have to see over the next few days how she progressed.

While standing there together, they witnessed a ripple of stiff movement pass through Hol’s limbs.

“Whoa…” Poe visibly straightened, alarm written on his face as he began to think the worst.

Kalonia’s hand found his arm.

“Those movements aren’t another seizure.” She assured him. “It’s a residual effect from nerve agent exposure. Think of it like the nerves in her body recalibrating.”

Poe nodded in quiet understanding, but all he could think about was the excuse Kalonia gave him earlier for keeping Hol restrained— how she didn’t want her to hurt herself. There was some logic behind it, he could admit that much. But now that he knew some of what happened to her, he could barely stomach the idea.

They allowed him to stay in Hol’s room overnight. Kalonia had a cot brought in for him to sleep on, but only under the condition that he promised two things: to use the refresher across the hall and to actually get some sleep.

When he was finally alone with her he felt oddly numb. There in the nearly dark ward of the medbay, he stood over Hol’s bed and just watched her. It took several minutes for him to work up the courage to approach, but he did it. His hand briefly rested on the metal railing, as if he was grounding himself before he finally reached to touch her.

His fingers snaked between her own as he slotted his hand over her's. Immediately he realized that her skin felt strangely warm, prompting him to reach up and feel the side of her face. A quick look at her vitals confirmed his suspicions, she had a low-grade fever beginning to form.

Poe made a note to point it out to one of the medtechs when they would come to make their rounds. He touched her hand once more before he stepped back to take a seat on the unfolded cot.

From there he watched her rest. He felt the heavy pull of exhaustion on his body, but sleep was the last thing he wanted for himself. His mind was all over the place, thinking about too many things at once.

Leia would come to visit her soon. He knew that much. Once she was past the worst and strong enough to speak, they would make her issue a report and do a formal debrief in front of Leia and her counsel.

It would be long and grueling. She would have to relive everything in great detail and be thoroughly questioned. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know all of the facts himself, but he definitely knew that he didn’t want to put her through having to recount it too many times. Those meetings were meant to be classified, but it wouldn’t take long before everyone would know.

Poe so desperately wished that he could save her from that part—when everyone on base would begin to look at her differently. He knew that it was inevitable though. While he sat there next to her bed, watching over her while she slept, he could only think about what was to come.

He knew that for however long she stayed asleep in this room, she was at least protected from all that was waiting out there. The thought comforted him some, even if it was only temporary.

He also knew that the two of them needed to talk about a lot of things once she woke up.

Her position in Black Squadron needed to be rethought. It was a massive understatement to say that her flying under him was unethical. Before Hol left for Batuu they tried to be discreet about their relationship. They both told themselves that they were doing a good enough job keeping things secret, a delusion that went well past the point of denial. They thought their regular heated arguments in front of the others and their general refusal to touch each other would provide ample cover, but their sneaking off to fuck in supplies closets hadn't always been the most covert. But now that she was back, Poe was ready to throw discretion out the window.

There were without a doubt other positions for her as a pilot, other opportunities, but it was going to be difficult convincing her. Making her understand that it wasn’t a punishment would be delicate.

He would talk it over with Leia, with some of the other squadron leaders. He would confess that he was the one in the wrong, and readily accept whatever disciplinary action came his way. They would figure something out for Hol. They had to.

Poe knew he also owed her an apology. He could have handled things differently when she volunteered for the mission, he could have spoken his mind while remaining supportive. His only memories of that conversation were just of him dressing her down, desperately trying to pull rank as a last ditch effort to keep her from leaving by herself.

The truth was that he was so fucking proud of her. During the weeks she was gone he had been livid, walking around with anger bubbling under his skin at all times. But now all he wanted was for her to hear how proud he felt, because he didn't want to leave her with those memories of their final argument.

She kept her head cool and found her way back. She survived whatever hell she fell into and fought her way out. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how she managed to pull off the execution of that landing. She had one broken arm, was trying to evade being hit with no comms system, all while coming in on fumes.

A medtech came by a couple of hours later, which woke Poe out of a light sleep.

He sat up and watched from his cot as they administered medication, checked the tubes and wires around her body to make sure nothing was out of place.

He mentioned the fever, which thankfully hadn't climbed any higher. They started her on another course of antibiotics.

“She looks peaceful, doesn’t she?” They asked him at one point.

The very moment he heard the word a bitter taste spread across his entire tongue, making his mouth twist downward in a frown. He knew they meant well enough, but his head still snapped around to look at them in disbelief.

Because "peaceful" had never been Hol.

Conniving.

Stubborn.

Impulsive.

A pain in his ass.

There were easily ten dozen choice adjectives he and quite a few others on this base could use to describe Hol Tarmin, but peaceful was definitely not one.

Peaceful was a word that people used to describe the dead.

And his girl wasn’t fucking dead.

The very idea was something he couldn’t dwell on for too long, because of the way his foundation had very nearly crumbled during those weeks she was gone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt panic the way he had at the crash site, thinking at any moment he would be forced to helplessly watch while she slipped away from him, like watching water slowly leak out of his cupped hands.

It felt selfish to have those thoughts while she was lying there in front of him, but he was keenly aware of how impossibly lucky they were to get her back — how impossibly lucky he was.

@idkwhattoputheress @boghag-after-dark @faveficsblog @flyleaf-girl @whatthehekko @maplemind @foxilayde @arctrooper69 @pascalsaac @booktvmoviefangirl @tattooednursewrites @wild-lavender-rose @alexlynn16 @euphorealis @pioneergirlsie @lilhawkeye3 @theedgeofmagik @x-wing-dameron @kik51199 @isretroavibe @mrs-kidflash @rawrimacarebear @peterwandaparker @kassdyer @holdingthegun

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron #poe dameron fic #star wars fanfiction #star wars #poe dameron/reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x oc #tw blood #tw medical #tw injections #poe dameron x f!reader #poe dameron hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #tw language #tw swearing

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mega-ringsandthings-world · 1 year

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Another thing I just noticed on my 500000th tristamp rewatch is that Knives is piloting the escape craft/pod. The scene goes by so fast that the details are hard to notice, but they’re there. Which I guess isn’t a big deal at face value, but if you consider that someone had to teach Knives how to handle the craft, then it becomes a lot more interesting to dig into. And someone definitely did teach Knives, and they taught him very well. When Rem brings them to the craft, Knives goes ahead of Rem and Vash and jumps onto right seat and he does it with a little-grab and jump that speaks to ease, he knows where to go and where to sit. Meanwhile Vash is being coaxed onto the craft by Rem and he crawls in with a lot less grace while Knives is already sitting down. Knives has his sea legs, he knows how to get on and off of the craft, he’s comfortable with it and in it from what we see already, Vash is not. Knives has clearly spent time with this craft or something like it, because he knows it, and Vash obviously doesn’t.

When Rem shoots them out of the hatch Knives grabs at some lever? it looks like a joystick or a like manual transmission stick for a car so it’s definitely some kind of control, when he touches it several displays spring up and he’s constantly looking offscreen to them throughout the rest of scene. But before that, he physically yanks Vash back and against his seat when Vash reaches for Rem, and it’s only then that Vash and Knives’ harness/seatbelts engage, and it’s only then that Knives goes ahead and grabs that lever. So Knives knows the systems of the ship, knows when and how the safety protocols will engage and knows how to work navigational controls. (Also, while they are flying backwards out of the escape hatch not once does Knives look up to Rem, while Vash is still reaching for her the entire time, but Knives keeps his attention down on the controls)

When they are out of the ship, in the wide shots we get of the escape craft, we the see it actively dodging debris and the other freefalling ships around it, which, it could be that the craft has built in AI piloting capabilities or built in defensive maneuvers, but that’s rather unlikely for a simple escape pod, so it’s Knives who’s maneuvering the craft via those controls we saw earlier. And he does it extremely skillfully. Not once does the craft come into contact with any of the debris or even come close to any danger except for the explosions, but those are given a wide berth too. We talk about Vash dodging Matrix style, but that’s what Knives is doing here, albeit in another context. And that can be his plant reflexes/abilities at work too. On the planet surface we see the escape craft has landed relatively intact, and both Knives and Vash are physically (not mentally though, R.I.P to Vash in those scenes) unharmed, so Knives landed the thing without much incident.

All this is to say, who taught him? Well, Rem, of course. Rem was the on-duty navigator on SEEDS 5. She was responsible for keeping the ship on course and/or even piloting it at times, and it’s likely she taught Knives a lot about her work. Naturally she would have offered to teach both twins at first, but it was Knives who would have shown more aptitude for piloting, he excels in things that require precision and focus, (playing the piano, planning genocide over a century and a half, he’s very quick to work the screens when searching for Tesla’s files) and all throughout out the above scene, he was extremely focused, in direct contrast to Vash, who was scared and distraught. While piloting skills were something that Knives could have learned from databases or the ship’s AI, it’s just simply more likely that Rem would have taught him, she was on-duty while raising the twins and probably had them around while she actively worked, and she taught them about her job or they picked things up themselves(see Vash knowing how to work the engine controls on the Sand Steamer easily and knowing the nav codes for reference) and piloting is something that does require a hands on-approach and a suitable teacher. And Rem would have had the time and access to teach Knives. And perhaps that was another reason why Rem was so willing to stay behind on the ship, she knew Knives could fly the craft and fly it well enough that he and Vash would arrive safely on the planet below. There was no hesitation when she took them to the craft, she put them in there with the confidence that they were going to make it, and more then anything that was due to Knives knowing how to fly the craft. Tl;dr, Knives was piloting the escape pod from SEEDS 5 ship, and Rem was the one who taught him how to do it, and the reason he was so good at it.

#trigun stampede #trigun stampede meta #tristamp #vash the stampede #millions knives #rem saverem #rem trigun #rem tristamp #vash tristamp #knives tristamp #tristamp knives #tristamp vash #tristamp rem #trigun #trigun analysis

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gumnut-logic · 1 month

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“NO!”

At 120 kilometres per hour, Virgil’s little hydrofoil tripped on its own foils and spun in the air, coming down hard, before bouncing off the water surface to spin again, bounce again and again until its angle of entry penetrated the water surface and drove her under.

There was a split second of pure frozen horror.

Then the comms erupted and Gordon moved.

His scanners tracked the pod as it dove, speed leeching into the water the deeper it got. He knew there was enough air in the craft for it to resurface by itself, but that calculation neglected to take in any possible damage to the hull.

It would only take a crack.

He flung TB4 into a steep dive, deploying her arms on approach and grabbing the wounded pod. Shifting his turbines into reverse, he slowed her plummet and began pulling her towards the surface.

His lights shone on the cabin.

Virgil was slumped in his restraints.

“Virgil?”

“Gordon, what’s the pod’s status?” Scott’s voice was strong as ever, but it was trembling just that little bit. Shock, no doubt.

“Recovering now. Pilot appears unconscious.”

“I have no response from Virgil.”

“Neither do I.” His heart was thudding in his chest.

It took years to get to the surface. Likely a matter of seconds, but staring at his injured brother while separated by marine acrylic and water and not able to do anything but look, stretched time beyond belief. But eventually they surfaced, the sun sparking off wet metal and plastic, Thunderbird Two’s engines shaking the air some distance off starboard.

Securing TB4, Gordon flipped out, under, and swam over to the crippled hydrofoil. He climbed up the side of the craft, his gloved hands ghosting over dented metal. Her foils were bent at odd angles, but the core pod…the core pod was secure. Thank god for good and safe design. Her seals had held.

He banged on the clear acrylic. Virgil didn’t react.

Please.

He reached around the back edge of the hatch, his fingers searching for the emergency release. The ocean made the world go up and down.

Finally, his fingers caught the latch and with a hiss of broken seal, he hauled up the hatch. The sea breeze stirred Virgil’s hair.

Gordon yanked off a glove and holding his breath reached for Virgil’s pulse.

His brother’s heart beat against his fingertips.

Oh, thank god.

“H-he’s alive.”

There was an incoherent sound of relief at the other end of the comline.

“We’re going to need a spinal board down here.”

“Copy that.”

It didn’t surprise Gordon to see Scott pin drop from Thunderbird Two several moments later. He’d stripped off most of his uniform, leaving only his undershirt and shorts on. He had also donned a harness to which he had attached one of TB2’s first aid kits. He paddled over on the spinal board and hurriedly clambered up the side of the mangled hydrofoil, his eyes seeking his injured brother.

Gordon had done a visual assessment of Virgil. It appeared that the pod’s safety harness had done its job. There were no obvious major injuries. There would be bruises, no doubt, but his brother appeared to be in one piece.

Scott’s fingers brushed against Virgil’s hair.

“Let’s get him out of there.”

It took some awkward manoeuvring and Virgil was damn heavy, but finally with his spine and neck immobilised as much as possible, the two brothers manhandled him into a basket stretcher lowered from TB2.

Virgil did not stir at all.

Taking one last second to grip Gordon’s shoulder in thanks, Scott rode Virgil’s stretcher up into the confines of Thunderbird Two, and the aquanaut was left staring at the mangled and empty hydrofoil.

As TB2 tore off towards the mainland, Gordon swore and sunk his boot into the side of the crippled craft.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #scott tracy #nuttyfic reblog #Sotto Voce #stumbled across it today and thought I would share #old Nutty writing #I think I've changed a little in the last five years

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chxrrylime · 1 year

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Thank you for replying! I just wanted to make sure I wasn't breaking any rules that could make you uncomfortable. As for the request I was thinking of alpha alejandro vargas (if you don't write for him then ghost is perfectly fine) x omega ftm reader (they are already married/dating) where reader also works in the forces (air force) but is from a different country (preferably pakistani) alejandro sees someone flirting with the reader but reader doesn't notices it and talks to the person normally, which makes alejandro jealous and it turns into smut (consensual) with softdom alejandro with touch deprivation (basically alejandro not touching the reader and using toys) and over stimulation with aftercare. I'm sorry if this is confusing or too specific, if you don't feel like writing it then it's cool. I hope you are having a good day/night.

-🦝

Ok, Alejandro is a new beloved now, thank you. He's going on the list. Full stop I'm not Pakistani nor do I have any knowledge of the language. I tried my best to convert the Urdu script to the Roman alphabet for non-Pakistani reading ease too, so forgive me if anything is off—and feel free to DM me if you're a native speaker to correct me! That goes for any foreign language I write in!

Alejandro x FTM!Reader ↪ 1711 words — 18+ / SMUT.

Content tags — trans male submissive (pakistani) omega reader, cis male dominant alpha Alejandro, crying, a/b/o dynamic, mention of claiming, unsafe sex, bondage, mention of breeding, jealousy, mild man-handling, subspace, probably bad Spanish and Urdu, overstimulation, established relationship, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, sex toys.

Ever since the Los Vaqueros took their base back from the Shadows, you’ve requested station on base to help them rebuild from the damage left behind following the siege, a request that Laswell honored, pulling favors to get you leave from your home taskforce.

The 141 had pulled you back into work not too long ago, operating as a personal pilot and borderline escort for Alejandro in hopes of keeping their alliance and their only non-cartel tainted relationship to Las Almas safe.

Alejandro hadn’t been super thrilled about having a babysitter. He could handle himself, and he had Rudy.

Things changed when Ghost slid him your file and he got to see your face for the first time, paper clipped to the corner of the manilla file. He changed his mind very quickly then. He likes to remind you about it, too, just to see you fluster.

He’s watching you over his shoulder now, pretending to focus on the blueprints in front of him as you carefully weld the deformed metal of a jet, having taken a few stray bullets to the wing. You’re in that tight sage green jumpsuit that he loves so much, the safety harness you’re wearing hugging your thighs and pecs in all the right places.

But he’s not the only one who notices, some private sauntering on over to you like Alejandro isn’t right there. His nostrils flare as he watches you push up your welding mask, greeting them happily. Maybe you know him, or maybe you’re just so sweet that it makes Alejandro’s stomach burn hot and flutter.

He doesn’t need to hear what the private’s saying to know he’s flirting—watching how he leans into your space, puts a hand on your arm, looks up and down your body while you barely notice any of it. Friendly, you just think he’s being friendly.

“You’re leaking,” Rudy’s voice comes from beside Alejandro, nasally as he pinches his nose shut, startling Alejandro from his stupor.

Alejandro grimaces, catching a whiff of his pheromones pouring off of him. Mine, mine, mine, mine.

“Sorry, alero,” he murmurs. Rudolfo’s gaze trails over to you and the private.

“You’d think they would know better by now…”

“You’d think,” Alejandro growls. Rudy eyes the man warily, nose still pinched.

“Why don’t you go… spend some time together,” Rudy says, “I can take over here.”

Alejandro sighs, looking down at the untouched blueprints. You’d asked him to mark down damage to each one so you could keep track of it. There’s only one mark on the paper.

“I owe you,” he finally says, giving Rudy a pat on the shoulder before heading your way.

“Más bien, el soldado raso me debe,” Rudolfo mutters, turning to the workbench.

You turn to Alejandro as he approaches you, smiling. You lean up to give him a quick peck on the lips, and the second you step back Private Pérez is skittering away and out of the hangar.

You raise a brow, then catch a whiff of the scent pouring off of Alejandro, strong eucalyptus and cedar that almost burns your nose but makes you feel foggy at the same time.

“Did something happen?” You ask, pressing a hand to his cheek. He nuzzles into it, eyes closing with a smile as he turns to press a wet kiss to your palm.

He reaches up and takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers.

“Come with me,” he says low and smokey, his tone making your core drip.

You nod and he smiles, tugging you along behind him as you follow dumbly, brain slowly letting his scent overtake you. You can feel slick gathering between your thighs, and while you’re sure everyone you pass can smell it, you know they wouldn’t dare say a word, not with Alejandro's hand in yours.

He’s on you the second you reach his quarters, lips rough and biting against yours, hands grasping at your hips and pushing you hard against the door as it slams shut. You gasp against his mouth and he grins all sharp and wolfish, the outline of his cock hard and rubbing along your thigh.

You tangle your hands in his slick hair as he trails nibbling kisses down your throat, undoing your jumpsuit as he goes, baring your chest to him. He growls and licks a stripe over your nipple, making you moan as he sucks it harshly, his stubble scratching at your pec.

He moves to the other, giving it the same rough treatment before pulling away, guiding you backward until the back of your knees collide with the bed and you topple onto it. You scramble to grab at him again, wanting to pull him into another searing kiss, only for him to catch your wrists and pin you back down to the bed.

“Alejandro—” you whine, squirming.

“What’s your word, amor?” He purrs, transferring both of your wrists into one of his big hands, your brain already too dazed to focus on what his other one is doing.

“Cowboy,” you breathe, trying to rock down onto his leg he keeps purposefully just out of reach. He smiles again, and you hear the sound of metal clinking before you feel it cold and hard around one wrist, looping through the bedpost, and then the other wrist.

You whimper, feeling his hands skate featherlight down your body, touch so faint you’d think you were imagining it if your eyes were closed.

“Te desean,” Alejandro says, voice low, touch trailing just around your clothed core, the fabric dark and soaked through with your slick, “pero no pueden tenerte.”

You don’t remember closing your eyes, but they snap open at the sound of fabric ripping, a shiver running through your body as Alejandro tears your jumpsuit at the crotch. He’s lucky you packed more.

You can see the wand resting against the dip of his knee, assuming he got it from the drawer the same time he grabbed the handcuffs. You squirm in anticipation, mouth hanging open as the toy comes to life, the soft buzzing filling your senses.

You jolt as he presses the head to your swollen nipple, holding it there so faintly it’s somehow more overwhelming than if he pressed it down. You moan loud and desperate, hips bucking as he watches with rapt attention, drinking you in. His cock is hard and dripping, knot already curiously swelling at the base as he takes in the sight before him.

He trails the wand down, down your sternum, your tummy, down to the mound just above your small, swollen cock. You make a pained noise, trying to shift enough for the vibrator to slip down against the pulsing nub.

“Alejandro, meri jaan,” you cry, brain so overwhelmed with pheromones and base instinct to be bred. He can smell it on you, knot nearly full without having even entered you, nevermind touched himself, “please, pyar—touch me, touch me!”

“You’re so beautiful,” he purrs, voice thick and raspy like he’s struggling to get the words out past the haze of lust, “handsome boy, mi chico guapo. Tell me how you say it.”

The cogs in your brain churn, a full minute passing before you can piece the words together through your moans and cries.

“Mera khobsorat larka,” you gasp.

He smiles, open mouthed and sweating, looking down at you with such adoration, such possession.

“Mera khobsorat larka,” he repeats, and pushes the wand hard against your cocklet. You keen, back arching as an orgasm rocks through you, whole body shivering up and down as your eyes roll back.

The intense vibrations carry you through it, milking your body of its pleasure—it quickly becomes too much. He doesn’t move it away, circling your nub with it, the overstimulation making you shake, tears streaming down your face. You thrash against the handcuffs, booted feet planting on his chest in both an attempt to close your legs and push him away.

“Your word, nene,” he urges, his hand held steady against your core.

You shake your head, biting your lip. You can hear the gravelly, satisfied trill emit from deep in his chest, finally flicking the toy off. Your hips immediately crash back down onto the bed, your whole body going limp as you try to catch your breath. You barely get a moment before you feel his slick, slightly tapered cock sliding between your folds before catching on your hole, pressing in with one sharp movement of his hips.

You croak on a moan, mouth hanging open dumbly, wrists feeling sore. You’re not fully aware at this point, body floating and mind so, so foggy with instinct. Alejandro feels so good inside of you, his thick cock stretching your hole open as he fucks into you slow and steady, yet with a force you can only attribute to his jealousy.

He doesn’t knot you—doesn’t want to push your body to that point without the proper preparation. He instead buries to the bulb and wraps his fist around it, squeezing hard to simulate your tight little hole clenching down around him.

The sound starts as a guttural growl before growing into a loud, moaning shout as he fills you with his cum, indistinguishable from the slick you’re leaking onto the sheets.

He pants against your scent gland as you both come down, scraping his teeth across the swollen flesh to make you shiver—not quite owned yet but close, you’ll be his when the time is right.

You catch your breath and hiccup, letting out a shaky, heart-wrenching noise caught between a sob and a whimper, pulling hard against the cuffs. Alejandro’s immediately on you, somehow steady hands unlocking them to free your wrists.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmurs, almost cooing as you grab for him, wrapping your arms over his shoulder and around his neck, trying to bury your face against him. He skates his hands over your body, attempting to soothe your shivering as you come down from your headspace.

#modern warfare #modern warefare 2 #alejandro vargas #alejandro x reader #trans male reader #smut #mine

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sw5w · 4 months

Text

And Those Two Control the Pitch?

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:37:29

#Star Wars #Episode I #The Phantom Menace #Naboo Royal Starship #cockpit #pilot #co-pilot #communications officer #engineer #navigator #ship's bosun #Queen's diplomatic aide #unidentified Naboo pilot #Ric Olié #turbolift #flying jacket #Anakin Skywalker #pilot safety harness #pilot's station

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jessybarnes · 2 years

Text

Sweet Caress

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader

Rating - 18+ Only!! Minors DNI!!

Tags - NSFW TITLE CARD!!!!, Angst, fluff, smut, dom/sub, use of a flogger, oral (female receiving), fingering, yelling, mentions of a mission gone wrong, fighting, stress, crying, language, choking, unprotected sex, and I think that's it.

Word Count - 4,843

Beta - T. Thompson

Title Card - Yours Truly

The entry hatch to the quinjet slammed shut as everyone took their respective seats. Nat sat next to Bruce, his hand holding hers while his thumb drew small circles on her skin. Bucky sat in the co-pilot seat chewing on the nails of his flesh hand, while Clint sat opposite, Nat and Bruce cleaning his arrows.

Y/N and Steve were the last to board the jet, the sound of his combat boots echoed off the floor as he made his way to the pilot's seat. She plopped down next to Clint and huffed loudly before flicking a piece of debris off her pant leg.

No one said anything, the silence slowly becoming deafening with each minute that ticked by. Everyone, however, was aware of the palpable tension radiating between Steve and Y/N.

Nat focused on the other woman's body language. It may not have been evident to Bruce or Clint, but she could practically see the inner turmoil swirling around in her mind.

"Y/N, you were just going on instinct. Stop beating yourself up like this. Everyone makes mist-"

"NO!"

Steve nearly ripped the safety harness from his torso as he abruptly stood up.

"You don't just ignore a direct order and go on instinct, Natasha! Y/N could have gotten herself killed!"

Bucky sighed and grabbed the aircraft's controls as his best friend's voice echoed through the small cabin of the aircraft.

"Cap, cut her some slack, okay? I've fucked up way worse than this and all I got from you was a simple 'do better next time' lecture. You're overreacting."

Y/N stood up and crossed her arms. "Thank you, Nat, but I've got this one."

She stared into his narrowed blue eyes and held her ground. "I did what needed to be done, Steve. I got the damn files we needed didn't I?"

Her fists clenched tightly as her voice matched his in volume. "Yeah, maybe I had to fight a few HYDRA assholes alone, but that's what we do! We do what we have to, to get the job done!"

Steve was seething as he backed her up against the metal wall, his large hands on either side of her head boxing her in. "I don't care, Y/N!"

His voice was dangerously low now, and she scolded herself internally at how her body reacted to it. "You were reckless! Those goddamn files don't mean anything when it comes to our safety, your safety."

They stared silently at each other, her eyes looking up into his perilously. Steve's chest heaved as he took in the features of her face. Even when she was angry, Y/N still took his breath away.

Her eyes flicked to his lips briefly before moving back up to his own. Such a small action shouldn't affect him this much, but the way she was looking at him was about to make him fuck her right here in front of everyone.

Natasha was right, he was overreacting. He couldn't control himself around her, and it scared him.

"Whatever you say, Captain."

The way his rank rolled off her tongue made his cock stir with interest, but the sarcasm in her tone took resonance over the way his body craved hers. He was angry. Angry at the fact that she didn't value her life as much as he did.

"My office. The moment we get back to the tower. Do you understand?"

Instead of answering him she shoved him away from her and sat back down next to Clint.

"That's an order, Y/N!"

She glared at him as he walked back to take over the controls from Bucky. "Yeah, whatever. I heard you."

The remainder of the flight was silent other than the whirring sounds from the aircraft and the occasional loud sigh. Once they were on the ground, Y/N was the first one off the jet. She walked swiftly to the tower's main entrance, her bag slung haphazardly over her shoulder.

"Whoa, kid! Where's the fire?"

Tony cocked an eyebrow at her as she stormed through the common area towards the hallway that led to her room. Y/N held up her hand to stop him from asking anything else.

"Not the time, Stark."

Tony watched her disappear through her bedroom door and rolled his eyes. He and the rest of the team could see the blatant sexual tension between her and America's hero, and it was tiring watching them tiptoe around one another.

Steve entered with the others a couple of minutes later. Bucky and Clint headed in the direction of the gym while Natasha and Bruce took the stairs down to his lab.

Steve grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned his hip against the countertop facing Tony. "I take it she's in her room?"

Tony nodded. "Sure is."

He watched his friend pick at the bottle's label before finally deciding it was time to give him a push in the right direction. "Trouble in paradise?"

Steve licked his lips and twisted the cap off his drink.

Tony crossed his arms and cleared his throat, trying again. "Let me guess, Y/N took matters into her own hands and disobeyed the Capsicle?"

Steve rolled his eyes and took a swig from the water bottle. "Ugh, do you have to call me that?"

He drank half of it before screwing the cap back on. "I just… I don't understand her, Tony. She…She doesn't get that her life is just as important as the rest of ours."

Tony chuckled, his head shaking slightly. "Listen closely, red, white, and blue because it's obvious you're not looking at the big picture here. Y/N is testing you! She's the newest one on the team and she's simply seeing how far she can push those patriotic buttons of yours. Sounds to me like you gotta put her in her place."

He raised his eyebrows and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the kitchen island. Steve furrowed his brow. Tony was one of the only two people who knew about his past submissives, the other being Bucky, of course. He took a moment to mull over his friend's advice, finally looking up at him only to be met with his signature smirk. "So you're saying I need to… punish her?"

Tony took a bite and pointed a finger toward him. "I didn't say that, but you do what you think is best."

Steve shook his head and watched him leave the kitchen. "Thanks, man," he called after him.

"Don't mention it. Seriously, I don't want the details. I'll be in my man cave if you need me though."

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It had been years since he'd had a sub. Hell, he wasn't even sure he knew where most of his toys were. Finishing his water, he grabbed two more out of the fridge before walking the short distance to his office.

Seeing it empty made him feel more at ease. Even though she'd disobeyed him yet again, he needed a moment to prepare himself. He hasn't been in his dominant headspace in a while, and having a quiet moment would help get him there again.

The tips of his fingers slid across the smooth wooden top of his desk as he walked around it. He drew the blinds and dimmed the lighting so it gave the room a more intimate feel. Steve took a seat and closed his eyes.

He focused on his breathing, the ticking of the wall clock, and the slight hum of the air conditioner. Soon his mind was clear, void of all things except her.

He imagined her Y/H/L Y/H/C hair sliding between his fingers, her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, those brilliant Y/E/C eyes looking up at him while her plump lips wrapped around the head of his cock. "Fuck…"

His right hand palmed his dick straining against his pants, precum already leaking from the tip.

"FRIDAY" Steve's voice was raspy as he spoke to the AI.

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

His tongue came out to wet his lips. "Tell Y/N I said to wear something that makes her feel pretty and to be in my office in five minutes."

"Of course, Captain Rogers."

He reluctantly pulled his hand away from himself and reached into the bottom drawer of the desk to dig around for one of his homemade floggers.

Y/N was sprawled out on her bed, eyes closed while her favorite playlist blared through the speaker system Tony hooked her up with. The way Steve held her against the wall was still so vivid in her mind.

She was mad. Not because he yelled at her, no, that didn't bother her much. She was more upset with herself. The dampness in her panties was proof that her attraction to the super-soldier was imminent. How could her body betray her like that?

Y/N sighed, her forearm covering her eyes as she lay on her back.

Her music paused and the sound of the tower's AI brought her out of her daze. "Miss Y/L/N?"

Y/N didn't even bother moving. "Whoever is outside my door is wasting their time, FRIDAY. I don't want visitors."

"Miss Y/L/N, there is no one awaiting entrance to your sleeping quarters. I was, however, instructed to relay a message to you."

Y/N sat up on her elbows. "A message?"

"Yes, I was to inform you that Captain Rogers would like for you to wear something that makes you feel pretty and to be in his office in five minutes."

Y/N didn't move. Her brows furrowed as she moved to a full sitting position. He wants me to wear something that makes me feel pretty? She tried to come up with a reason for his odd request but was brought back to reality by the AI's voice again.

"You have four minutes remaining on your timer Miss Y/L/N."

With a heavy sigh, she climbed out of bed and opened her closet. Her eyes settled on a white button-up shirt and a black mini shirt. Simple, but also sexy at the same time. Y/N changed into the outfit before slipping on a pair of thigh-high stockings and her favorite stilettos.

"One minute and forty-five seconds remaining."

"Thank you, FRIDAY, please let Steve know I'm on my way."

Steve's ears perked up as light footsteps crept closer and closer to his office door. He took a deep breath to gather his bearings, slowly exhaling as a small knock sounded against the wood.

"Come in."

The door opened slowly, anticipation growing by the moment, revealing her to him inch by inch. Steve blinked, taking her in. His cock twitched in interest and it took every ounce of control to keep himself from moaning out loud.

"Steve?"

Y/N took a tentative step past the threshold eyeing him warily.

"What's going on? Why is it so dark in here? Why did you want me to dress up? Oh, and another thing, no matter what you have to say I still don't regret anything I-."

"Stop talking."

Her eyes grew wide at the tone of his words, the remainder of her thought lost as she looked at him stunned. "Wh-What? You can't talk to me like th-."

Steve slammed his hands on the desk and stood up. "I SAID STOP TALKING!"

Y/N jumped at his sudden outburst and stumbled back slightly. She stayed still as Steve walked around his desk and leaned his lower back against it.

"Come." His finger made a 'come hither' motion and he gestured to the chair next to him. "Sit."

Y/N wasn't used to taking orders. Hell, she was still getting used to taking them when they were on missions, but she listened to him anyway.

Once seated she became instantly hypersensitive to everything around her. The smell of Steve's cologne, the sound of his fingertips drumming on the oak desktop, the feeling of the cool leather seat sticking to the back of her legs, her berry chapstick flavor coating her tongue as it came out to wet her lips, and seeing the way his chest rose and fell heavily.

"That's twice in one day, Y/N."

She moved her gaze to his and narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"You've disobeyed me twice today." Steve's arms crossed over his chest.

"Twice?! What do you-."

He turned his head sharply toward her, eyes full of authority.

"Enough! It's my turn to talk, Y/N. I told you to wait for backup. I was minutes from your location, but you couldn't wait, could you? That was the first time. Then you did it again when I asked you to go to my office. Do you think this is a game? You think you can just be careless with your life?!"

He was quiet only for a moment as he looked into her eyes.

"You can't be reckless anymore, Y/N. You mean too much to me."

His last sentence was barely audible, but it still made her heart race.

"Stand up."

She stood slowly, their bodies so close together now that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek.

"Steve, I-" His lips slammed against hers silencing her.

Y/N stiffened. Never in her life did she think this moment would come. Steve Rogers was kissing her? Once it sank in that this wasn't, in fact, a dream, she began to kiss him back.

Steve licked her bottom lip and groaned when she immediately complied. Their tongues fighting for dominance, his winning easily. He switched their positions and shoved everything off his desk in one quick swipe.

"Steve, wh-"

He cut her off again, pressing a finger against her lips. "That's not my name, sugar. Not right now anyway."

Y/N stared at him, searching his face for a clearer explanation. Oh. Oh, she was so fucked. Once it finally clicked what he was doing, her eyes widened and she took a slow shaky breath.

"There we go, now you're with me. You gonna listen to me now, princess?"

She nodded and his eyes narrowed sharply. "Answer me, Y/N."

She licked her lips and gripped the side of his desk tightly. "...Yes."

Steve's jaw tensed and he wrapped a hand firmly around her throat. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to get his point across.

"Yes, what?"

If her panties weren't ruined before then they certainly were now.

"Yes, sir."

He let go of her neck and turned her around so her front was resting against his desk. "Good girl. You are to address me as sir or Captain. Now, before I do anything else, we need to go over the rules. Can you be good and pay attention to my words?"

Y/N's answer was immediate, her voice just above a whisper. "Yes, Captain."

He chuckled darkly and leaned down right next to her ear. "That's what I like to hear."

Y/N shuddered and he smirked at how responsive she was. Oh, he was definitely going to ruin her for any other man.

Steve let his fingers slide along her sides as he began to speak again.

"First things first, I will never force you to do anything you're not comfortable with. I'm not doing this to hurt you, doll. I'm trying to teach you a lesson. You already know rule number two. Steve may be my name, but not in this setting. Captain and sir are the only correct responses. That brings me to my third and final rule. You need a safeword, and since this is our first time doing this together I think the stoplight system is a good start.

Green means you're one hundred percent okay with whatever I'm doing to you, yellow means it's still okay but you need me to slow down and give you a minute, and red means stop everything and the scene will end completely. No questions asked. So, darlin', do you want this? Do you want me?"

He slowly turned her head to the side so he could see her eyes. Y/N looked absolutely wrecked and he'd barely touched her. Her skin was flushed and she was a shaking panting mess.

"Baby girl, I need you to answer me, or I won't give you what I know you're craving. Your body gave me its answer the moment I kissed you, but I need that pretty mouth of yours to tell me what your mind says."

Y/N swallowed thickly. "P-Please, Captain...need you…"

Steve raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, s'not enough, baby. I know you need me. I can clearly see that, but I asked if you wanted me. There's a difference."

She whined, her arousal now coating the inside of her thighs. "Yes, sir. I-I...I want you."

He smirked devilishly. "Oh, princess, when I'm done with you everyone in this tower will know who you belong to. Gonna have you screamin'"

Steve pushed Y/N's chest against his desk, the shortness of her skirt riding up leaving little to the imagination. His large hand slid up the back of her thigh and splayed across her ass.

"You're so beautiful, baby...your skin is gonna look so pretty when I'm done marking you."

He reached for the flogger and drug the leather tendrils across her body slowly. "You feel that, princess?"

He brought it around so she could see it and smirked when she whimpered. "This is called a flogger. You can buy them, but I made this one myself."

Steve offered it to her and watched as she touched the braided handle tentatively. "Will um….does it...does it hurt, Sir?"

He stood her upright and moved in front of her. She was trembling slightly, her eyes trained to the floor. He used his first and middle fingers on his free hand to tilt her chin up so she met his gaze.

"Oh, Sweetheart, I'd never ever hurt you. Here." Steve handed her the toy. "Try it out. Think of it like it's a mini whip and flick your arm with it."

Y/N gripped the flogger in her right hand and let the tips of the other end glide across her left forearm. They were surprisingly soft. She looked at Steve again, his encouraging nod giving her the confidence to raise it in the air.

"Just flick your wrist and let the momentum do the rest of the work."

She took in a breath and listened, moving her wrist down in a quick motion. At first contact, she noticed a slight sting. It wasn't painful, but her skin still became slightly red.

With a shaky hand, Y/N handed the toy back. "...Okay."

He took note of her not following rule number two but decided to let it slide. She was new to this, and he didn't want to scare her away.

"Hey, look at me."

She did, and he immediately saw an array of emotions in her wide eyes.

"Y/N, we don't have to do th-"

He was cut off by her lips as they smashed onto his own. Steve growled when she pressed her body flush against his. He pulled away and cupped her face in his hands.

"Now, princess, I know you're not used to having a dominant so I won't add to your punishment, but I make the rules. I'll decide when you kiss me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain."

He bent her over the desk once again and knelt behind her, his large hands moving the fabric of her skirt above her hips. "Fuck, baby-doll you're soaked. Dripping all down your legs. Bet you fuckin' taste like heaven. Can I?"

Y/N moaned and pushed back into his touch, "Sir, please..."

Steve wasted no time, his fingertips hooking around the waistband of her panties. The lace material slid easily down her legs, stopping to rest around her ankles. His calloused palms slid back up to grip her ass firmly.

"God, you're a fuckin' dream come true, honey."

Y/N whimpered, her skin erupting with goosebumps in anticipation. Steve started a trail of kisses along the back of her legs, making his way up to her pussy agonizingly slow.

"C-Captain…"

He nipped at her inner thigh making her suck in a breath. "Shh...I know baby, I know…"

He flattened his tongue, slowly dragging it between her folds savoring her taste. "Ohmyfu-...Sir, I… please!"

He groaned and delved deeper bringing his right index finger up to circle her clit. "Mmm...doll, you taste like candy. So fuckin' sweet."

Y/N's legs began to shake, her orgasm approaching faster than she thought it would. The way his left hand gripped her skin surely would leave bruises, how his mouth ravished her pussy like he needed her to live, his fingertips pinching and rolling her clit, it was all too much.

She couldn't stop herself, her nails clawing at the desk as she screamed. "I can't...I'm gonna...Oh, fu-STEVE!!!"

Y/N didn't even realize her mistake. She'd blacked out momentarily from her orgasm, so being able to control her brain-to-mouth filter was almost impossible. It wasn't until she was picked up and slammed against the wall that she understood how badly she fucked up.

Steve's eyes were nearly black, his pupils covering all but a sliver of blue. The fingers on his right hand curled around her neck again squeezing enough to make her light-headed.

"What’s."

"My."

"Name?"

She whined and rolled her eyes in the back of her head. Steve grabbed a fist full of her hair and pulled. "Answer me, Y/N! Now!"

"I-... I didn't mean to, sir...I'm sorry."

A predatory grin spread across his face as he eyed her up and down. "That's not gonna cut it, sweetheart. Not only did you break rule number two, but you came without my permission. I think…," His left hand released her hair and caressed her face gingerly, smoothing the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. "...someone needs to be reminded who's in charge here,"

Y/N whined as he brought her back to his desk. Steve sat in his leather office chair and patted his lap giving his next command.

"C'mon princess, lay down for me."

She bit her lip and laid her body over his legs so her ass was on full display for him.

"That's my good girl. Now, I think ten strikes is enough for your actions, don't you? Five for each side, baby doll."

Steve grabbed his flogger and rubbed the cool leather along the small of her back.

"Okay baby, you're going to count these out for me. Each one, got it? If you be a good girl and do this right I'll let you ride my cock. Think you can do that for me, pretty girl?"

Y/N felt her walls clench around nothing at the thought of Steve's cock inside her. She'd do anything to have him fill her up at this point.

"Y-Yes Captain."

Steve moved the toy lower, a few of the tendrils sliding along her folds becoming wet with her juices.

"Good, doll. What's your color right now?"

"Green, s-sir."

That must have been all the confirmation he needed because the next thing Y/N felt was the first of her ten strikes.

SMACK

The blunt tips of the flogger snapped against the skin of Y/N's ass making her whimper. "O-One…"

SMACK

Steve repeated the action on her other cheek and admired how her skin reddened. "...Two."

SMACK….SMACK

Three and four were quick, making her cry out. Y/N could feel Steve's cock twitch against her lower stomach and it made her even wetter. "Oh, god...th-three...four."

SMACK

She was over halfway there. Her skin was becoming numb, but the sting of the flogger made her clit throb every time. "Five… please… please fu- six...seven."

SMACK….SMACK

Eight and nine made her eyes sting with unshed tears, but she knew how stressed Steve was because of her actions. She knew how much he needed this. "Eight….n-nine." Her voice was hoarse as she prepared herself for the last strike.

SMACK

"T-Ten…"

Both of them were a panting mess as he let the flogger clatter to the floor.

"Fuck, baby…you did so well."

Steve lifted her into his arms and carried her to the adjacent couch. Y/N stood on wobbly legs as he finished undressing her.

"So beautiful…"

His lips captured hers in a tender kiss making her heart swell. "You wanna ride me, baby?" Steve pulled back to look into her eyes.

"Yes sir… please…" He made quick work at removing his clothes and sat down, pulling her to straddle his lap.

His cock rested thick and long just above his belly button making her bite her lip.

"Let me prep you, sugar." Steve held her hip with one hand and pushed two fingers inside her, pumping them slowly.

"Oh, my g-...Cap...I need...please…"

He added a third finger and felt her walls clench. "Nuh-uh princess… don't you dare. Not yet. I wanna feel this pretty pussy cum around my dick."

Y/N nodded and whimpered when he pulled his fingers out, the loss of them making her feel empty. Soon the emptiness was replaced by the tip of his cock sinking ever so slowly inside her. Steve helped her sink down onto him until she'd taken him to the hilt.

"Shit, baby doll...you feel so fuckin' perfect around me."

Both of them moaned as she began to raise and lower her hips in a steady rhythm.

Steve leaned forward taking one of her nipples between his teeth, biting down slightly before soothing it with his tongue. His hand pinched and pulled the other between his fingers.

"Oh, Captain….Captain I… please m'so close….so close please please please."

He gave the valley between her breasts a chaste kiss before sitting back to look up at her. His hands held her still and chuckled at the frustration on her face.

"Patience, sweetheart. I wanna savor this moment. You look so pretty like this. Still can't believe the prettiest woman in the world chose an old man like me."

Y/N felt her bottom lip quiver at his words, her small hand coming to rest on his cheek. "I was yours the moment we met, Steve."

He pulled her down and crashed his lips on hers. His tongue dove into her mouth as he began to move inside her again.

It didn't matter that she'd called him Steve. Nothing mattered at that moment other than her. It wasn't anything he was used to, going slow, making love like this. Being able to feel every inch of her tight walls squeezing him, the warmth of her mouth molding with his, and her soft skin beneath his battle-worn hands.

She was a part of him that he didn't know he'd been missing.

"Y/N,...baby, you're so good...so good, doll. M'not gonna last much longer...cum with me."

He moved his fingertips to her clit, making small slow circles that timed perfectly with his thrusts.

"St-Steve…Oh baby, right there...yes! Yes, don't stop...oh fuck I...I'm gonna cum!"

The moment her walls tightened around him he was a goner. Steve stilled inside her, his moans mixing with hers as they both fell over the edge.

Her forehead rested against his as they took a moment to catch their breath. Finally, he slipped out of her and laid down with her head against his chest.

"You alright, honey?"

His fingertips combed through her hair while his other hand reached for the aloe lotion on the side table behind his head.

"M'sore...but it's a good kind of sore."

Steve laughed and poured a small amount into his hand. "You did so well, sweetheart. I'm proud of you and I know you're tired, but I have to take care of those pretty red marks I left on you."

Y/N made a sound of affirmation and nuzzled her face into his neck. Steve smirked and began rubbing the lotion gently into her skin.

"There we go, baby. All done. You can close your eyes...I'll be here when you wake up."

Y/N sighed and let herself relax against his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling her to sleep. Steve smiled into her hair and covered her with a blanket as he wrapped his arm protectively around her waist.

There were a lot of things he wasn't sure of. The future, who the next bad guy was going to be, or where he'd be in five years wasn't clear to him.

The only thing that was certain to him was Y/N. She made him feel whole, a constant in his fast-paced life, and he knew in his heart that she was his forever.

309 notes · View notes

aspenmissing · 10 months

Text

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚅𝚘𝚕𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗 (𝙿𝚝 𝟷)

"Roll out, donkeys!" Lance, Hunk, and Pidge exit the simulator and stand before Iverson and their class. A young woman stands beside her team, staring at the three in sorrow. Y/N Gane, top of the class; best pilot "Well let's see if we can't use this failure as a lesson for the rest of you students. Can anyone point out the mistakes these three so-called cadets made in the simulator?" Iverson shouted.

"The engineer puked in the main gearbox," a voice said.

"Correct, as everyone knows, vomit is not an approved lubricant for engine system. What else?" Iverson said while shaking his head.

"The comm spec removed his safety harness," another voice said and Y/N laughs a little.

"Is there something funny Miss Gane?" Iverson asks. Everyone looks to Y/N and she stands up straight and keeps a straight face.

"No sir" She replies.

"Miss Gane, can you tell me something they did wrong?" he asked.

"Erm... The pilot... crashed?" Iverson looked at Y/N before smiling.

"Correct! Miss Gane" he shouted and walked away. Y/N gave lance an apologetic smile, who just shrugs and smiles "And worst of all, the whole jump, they're arguing with each other! Heck, if you're going to be this bad individually, you'd better at least be able to work as a team! exists to turn young cadets like you into the next generation of elite Astro explorers, but these kinds of mental mistakes are exactly what cost the lives of the men on the Mission" Y/N's fists clench.

"That's not true, sir!" Pidge shouts.

"What did you say?!" Lance clasps his hand over Pidge's mouth, but Pidge continues; her voice muffled by the hand.

"Sorry, sir! I-I-I think he may have hit his head when he fell out of his chair. But point taken" Lance says.

"I hope I don't need to remind you that the only reason you're here is that the best pilot in your class had a discipline issue and flunked out, and the second-best refused to be the best" Lance glances at Y/N before back at Inversion "Don't follow in his footsteps" Iverson turns to look at Y/N and her team "Miss Gane, your team is next!" Lance, Hunk and Pidge watch as their classmates board the simulator, Y/N patting Pidge's shoulder, smiling softly.

Later, Lance and Hunk hide in the halls of the Garrison as curfew begins.

"Lights out in five! Everyone back to their dorms, now" Iverson shouts.

"We shouldn't be doing this" Hunk whispers.

"You heard Commander. We need to bond as a team. We're going to grab Pidge, hit the town, loosen up, meet some nice girls, maybe we can bring Y-"

"OK, I'm just- I'm just saying this here, right now, on the record: This is a bad idea" The lights turn off; Lance and Hunk sneak through the hallways.

"You know, for someone in a space exploration program, you don't have much of a sense of adventure"

"All of your little 'adventures' end up with me in the principal's office" Lance sneaks by the instructor's lounge and motions for Hunk to follow, which he reluctantly does "Oh, man..." The two hide in recycling cans as a guard passes by.

"L-5 North all clear," The guard says. Lance jumps out; Hunk tries to follow suit but gets stuck and falls over. Hunk stands.

"I'm fine" They hide as Pidge and Y/N leave Iverson's office. The two watch"

"Where are they going?" Lance asks. Y/N and Pidge were sat on the roof of the Galaxy Garrison. Pidge listens to radio chatter through headphones and special equipment. Y/N is sitting beside her, looking up into the sky, eating a snack bar. Hunk crawls along the roof and Lance carefully removes the headphones to speak close to his ear.

"You two come up here to rock out?" Lance asks. Pidge jump and spin around to face Lance and Hunk. Y/N following, snack bar still in her mouth.

"Agh! - Oh, Lance, Hunk. No, Um... we-"

"We were just looking at the stars," Y/N says, chewing.

"Cool. Where did you get all this stuff? It doesn't look like Garrison tech" Lance wondered.

"He built it," Y/N says, swinging her arm over Pidge's shoulder.

"He built all of this" Hunk said astonished. He tries to touch the equipment; Pidge smacks his hand away.

"Stop it! With this thing, I can scan to the edge of the solar system" Pidge says, gesturing to the tech.

"That right? All the way to Kerberos" Lance smirks. Pidge looks away but does not respond, Y/N's eyes sadden. "You two go Ballistic, every time the commander brings it up, What's with that?" Lance continued. Hank tries to sneakily touch the equipment again.

"Second warning, Hunk!" Y/N says and Hunk stops.

"Aw...."

"Look, Pidge, if we're going to bond as a team, we can't have any secrets. Same for you Y/N" Y/N looks at Lance confused "You may not be a part of the team, but you're our friend. Friends can't keep secrets from each other"

"I mean they can" Y/N mutters.

"Fine. The world as you know it is about to change. The Mission wasn't lost because of some malfunction or crew mistake—" Pidge sees Hunk trying to touch the equipment again "-STOP TOUCHING MY EQUIPMENT!!" Hunk groans but finally desists "..."So, I've been scanning the system and picking up alien radio talking" Pidge pushed up her glasses.

"Whoa, what? Aliens?!" Hunk says.

"Oookay. so your insane, Y/N please tell me you don't believe in him," Lance asked me. Y/N nods"

"He is serious" Y/N holds up a pad with 'Voltron?' on it "They keep repeating the same word over and over again, Voltron. and tonight it has been crazier"

"How crazy" Lance said. The Galaxy Garrison building alarms blare. Iverson speaks over the intercom

"Attention, students. This is not a drill. We are on lockdown!, Repeat: all students are to remain in barracks until further notice" A fiery object appears in the sky.

"What's going on? Is that a meteor?! ... A very, very big... meteor?" Hunk says and Y/N grabs binoculars

"Its. It's a ship" She says. Lance takes the binoculars and looks at the object.

"Holy crow! I can't believe what I'm seeing! That's not one of ours" Lance said with wide eyes.

"No. It' 's one of their" Pidge says.

"So wait, there are aliens out there?!" The three watches as the alien spacecraft crash into the desert. The Garrison sends out land rovers to the crash site.

"We've gotta see that ship!" Pidge says, standing up, pulling Y/N with him.

"Pidge, slow down" She laughs.

"Hunk, Come on" Lance yelled and chases after the two.

"Oh, this is the worst team-building exercise ever"

Lance, Hunk, Pidge and Y/N spy on the quarantines crash site from a nearby cliff. Lance views the alien spacecraft through binoculars.

"Whoa... What the heck is that thing?! ... And who the heck is she?" Lance asks, looking at women through the binoculars.

"Lance!" Y/N smacks his head.

"Ow! Right, Right, alien ship. Man we will never get past those guards to get a look" Pidge continues to type on her computer.

"Aw, man. Yeah, yeah, I guess there's nothing to do but head back to the barracks, right?" Hunk says.

"Wait for Pidge, there is a camera in there, try and hack into it," Y/N said and pointed at the screen. Pidge hacks into it.

"I've grabbed its feed, Look" They all looked at the screen. Inside, a man is strapped to a table as Garrison technicians examine him.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Calm down, Shiro. We just need to run some tests" Iverson says, trying to settle Shiro. Y/N chokes on her breath.

"You have to listen to me! They destroyed worlds!" Shiro grunts "Aliens are coming!"

"That's! Shiro The pilot from the Kerberos Mission, That guy's my hero!" Lance shouts with excitement.

"Guess he's not dead in space after all" Hunk says.

"Where's the rest of the crew?" Pidge asks, saddened. Y/N put her hand on her shoulder, smiling softly.

"I'm sure they're fine, I mean if Shiro's still alive, I'm sure the rest are" She reassures.

"Do you know how long you were gone?" Iverson asks, walking over to Shiro?

"I don't know, Months? Years? Look there's no time. Aliens are coming here for a weapon. They're probably on their way right now. We need to get Voltron!" Shiro struggles, trying to get out of the bounds holding him down.

"Voltron!" Pidge and Y/N say in unison.

"Sir, look at this. It appears that his arm has been replaced with a cyborg prosthetic" A technician asks, looking at Shiro's arm.

"Put him under, until we figure out what it can do," Iverson said and a technician came over with a syringe.

"No, no, no don't put me under, There's no time, Let me go!" Shiro is one again trying to get out of the bounds.

"They didn't ask about the other crew members"

"What are they doing? The guy's a legend. They're now even going to listen to him" Lance said.

"We have to get him out," Y/N says.

"Ah, I hate to be the voice of reason here, always, but weren't we watching on TV, because there was no way getting past the guards" Hunk says, standing up.

"That was before we were properly motivated. We have just got to think. Could we tunnel in" Lance says, standing up. Y/N snorts, standing up alongside him.

"What so funny," Lance asked.

"Really? Tunnel in, Tunnel in!!" Y/N laughs

"Well at least I have a plan, where's yours," Lance said with a smirk.

"We find some hazmat suits and sneak in like med techs" Y/N smirks back. Lance thought for a while.

"That's a pretty good idea"

"Or... we could dress up like cooks, sneak into the commissary... little late-night snack" Hunk drools.

"...No. What we need is a distraction" As if on cue, an explosion burst in the distance and the four cadets scream.

"Is that the aliens?! Are—Tha—The—Is that the aliens?! Are they here?! They got here so quick!"

"No. Those explosions were a distraction, for him!" Pidge points to a figure arriving by hovercraft "The Garrison's headed towards the blast, and he's sneaking in from the other side!" Lance views the new arrival through binoculars.

"No way...! Oh, he is not going to beat us in there! That guy is always trying to one-up me!"

"Who is it?" Hunk asks.

"Keith!"

"Come on, Lance. Don't start"

"Who?" Pidge asks.

"Are you sure?" Hunk asks.

"Oh, I'd recognize that mullet anywhere!"

"Lance, come on, man! Keith hasn't done anything"

"Who's Keith?!" Pidge asks. The four-run towards the quarantines crash site. Inside, the technicians examine Shiro, who's been put under.

"These readings are off the chart," The technician says. Keith enters.

"Hey!" Iverson shouts. Keith attacks and knocks out all three technicians, then runs to Shiro, surprised to find him.

"Shiro...?" Keith cuts Shiro free from his bonds and tries to carry him out. Lance, Hunk, Y/N and Pidge arrive.

"Nope. No, you—No, no, no, no, no, no, no you don't. I'm saving Shiro" Lance lifts Shiro over his shoulder.

"Lance, let's just get him out of here" Y/N looks to Keith "Hey Keith"

"Hey Y/N, long time no see" Y/N nods "So, who's this?" Keith asks, looking to Lance.

"Who am I? Uh, the name's Lance" Keith silently looks at Lance without recognition "...We were at the same class at the Garrison?"

"Really? Are you an engineer?"

"No, I'm a pilot. We were, like, rivals. You know, Lance and Keith, neck-and-neck" Y/N snorts.

"Oh wait, I remember you. You're a cargo pilot"

"Well, not anymore. I'm fighter class now thanks to you washing out" Lance says, proud.

"Lance!" Keith looks to Y/N in confusion "I refused to take your place, that was yours. I couldn't take it" Keith nods, before looking to Lance.

"Well, congratulations"

Lance and Keith carry Shiro out together. Keith hops onto his hoverbike, along with Lance and Shiro. Keith holds out his hand for Y/N.

"Hop on," He says. Y/N smirks, reaching for his hand before pulling his close.

"You may be a gentlemen and I may be a girl, but this girl beat your ass in training" She whispers into his ear before jumping onto the bike behind him, Keith staring at his hand stunned - and slightly blushing. Hunk spots the Garrison returning.

"Oh, man, they're coming back and they do not look happy. We gotta go. Uh, do you mind if we catch a ride with you?" Hunk asks. Everyone climbs aboard Keith's hovercraft and it tips over.

"Is this thing going to be big enough for all of us?" Pidge asks.

"No" Keith replies bluntly. Keith has to take off as the Garrison arrives to pursue them. Pidge has to hold on to Shiro.

"Why am I holding this guy?"

"Hey, we did all fit!"

"Can't this thing go any faster?" Lance asks, looking back at the vehicles following.

"We could toss out some non-essential weight" Keith says sarcastically. Y/N shakes her head, nudging Keith's hip with her knee.

"Oh, right!" He glances around, clearly not getting Keith's sarcasm "OK, so that was an insult. I get it"

"Big man, lean left!" Keith shouted. Hunk leaned left.

"Whoa!" They all shouted. Two of the cars smashes into each other.

"Aww, man. Mr Harris just wiped out Professor Montgomery. No, wait he's fine" Hunk sighed in relief. They were on one of the roads and next to us was a big ditch

"Big man, lean Right!" Keith shouted. Hunk leaned right, they managed to get over to the big ditch and land on another road. Two of the cars are still chasing them. They were still all screaming, and they went around a corner. One of the cars crashed, but one is still following.

"Guys? Is the-the-the-the-that—Is that a cliff up ahead?" Hunk stammers.

"Oh, no, no, no" Lance shouted.

"Yup," Keith smirked.

"Just like old times" Y/N smiles, wrapping her arms around Keith. Keith increases speed, everyone was screaming, apart from Y/N, Keith and Shiro. The hovercraft jumps off the cliff.

"What are you doing? You're trying to kill us all!" Lance shouts

"Shut up and trust him" She shouts back. Keith safely avoids crashing and continues flying into the desert, escaping the Garrison.

Shiro and Y/N stand outside a desert shack at sunrise, the two hugging each other.

"It's good to see you again, Shiro," Y/N says, smiling. They pull away as Keith approaches.

"It's good to have you back," Keith says, placing his hand on Shiro's shoulder.

"It's good to be back" Shiro replies.

"So what happened out there? Where...were you?" Y/N ask.

"I wish I could tell you. My head's still pretty scrambled. I was on an... alien ship but... somehow I escaped. It's all a blur. How did you know to come to save me when I crashed?"

"You should come to see this" Shiro and Y/N follow Keith into the shack. Inside, Keith shows Shiro, Y/N, Lance, Hunk and Pidge his board of maps, diagrams and notes.

"What have you been working on?" Shiro muttered.

"I can't explain it. After getting booted from the Garrison, I was kinda... lost and... felt drawn out to this place. It's like something... some energy was telling me to search." Keith explains.

"For what," Shiro asks. Y/N stands close to Shiro, his arm around her shoulders, her own crossed in front of her.

"Well, I didn't know at the time... until I stumbled across this area." Keith pointed at a map "It's an outcropping of giant caves covered in these ancient markings" We looked at the pictures of the markings "Each tells a slightly different story about a blue lion, but they all share clues leading to some event, some arrival happened last night. Then you showed up" Keith explained more. Shiro took his arm from around Y/N's shoulders and walked over to the others.

"I should thank you for getting me out. Lance, Right?" Shiro says. He offers Lance his prosthetic hand. Lance hesitates but shakes it. Shiro offers to shake Pidge and Hunk's hand, Pidge being the only one who does.

"This nervous guy's Hunk. I'm Pidge. so, did anyone else from your crew make it out?" Pidge asks, which makes Shiro's face saddens

"I'm not sure. I remember the mission and being captured. After that, it's just bits and pieces" Shiro goes back over to Y/N, placing his arm back over her shoulders as she leans into his side. Lance zones out from the conversation, looking at the two confused.

"Are they TOGETHER! No, Lance, No! Shut up! He's way, way older than her. They're probably just really, really close" Lance thinks "I'll ask Y/N later"

"You'll ask me what late?" Y/N asks, Lance looks to see Y/N standing in front of him.

"Uhm, I- I was just wondering if- Uh"

"Come on Lance, spit it out" Lance sighs.

"Uhm.. a-are you and Shiro... Uh... together?" Y/N eyes widen before bursting out in laughter "What's so funny?"

"You thought me and Shiro were dating?" Y/N says, whole trying to catch her breath.

"It was just a question" Y/N continues to laugh, gaining everyone's attention.

"What happened?" Hunk asks.

"I just asked her if she and Shiro are dating" Pidge starts to laugh a bit. Shiro and Keith chuckle.

"What!? Why's that so funny" Lance asks, getting slightly annoyed.

"Okay, okay," Y/N says, trying to catch her breath "I'll tell you" She clears her throat "Shiro, is my brother" There was a long, awkward silence.

"WHAAAATTT!!!!????" Hunk and Lance asks in unison

#Voltron #Reader Insert #Voltron Fandom #Voltron Fanfiction #Fanfiction #keith x reader #Voltron Legendary Defender #Keith Kogane x Reader

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wareagleofthemountain · 6 months

Text

Glorfindel With A Guide Dog

A/N: I originally wrote this for disability pride month. So here it is again without all the spelling errors.

Pairing: Glorfindel x blind!reader

You smiled as you felt the warm Imladris breeze hit your face, strands of your long hair brushing the tips of your pointed ears as it too was rustled by the Summer afternoon. The steady pull of the harness handle held in your left hand guided you confidently through the garden pathways. You’d gone out to collect a basket full of the first strawberry bloom of the season with the intention of sharing them with your love after dinner that night. A cold nose nuzzling your upper thigh and the abrupt stop let you know that you had approached one of the many spiral staircases of the city. Your companion, a golden retriever Glorfindel had so lovingly named Pilot, wagged her fluffy tail as she placed her front paws on the first step, asking if you’d like to go up.

“Good girl.” You coo, reaching into your pocket and rewarding her with a small treat. “Forward.”

Pilot began her climb in measured steps, walking slightly in front of you so as to allow you to feel each step as she took it. She was always very good about keeping you away from trip hazards and the other elves grew used to giving the two of you a wide berth as you weaved through a crowd, lest they get nudged aside by her nose for standing in the way. You could still remember the day Glorfindel had first placed the warm, squirming puppy in your arms after returning from a mission in one of the nearby human settlements. He’d purchased her from a tradesman there upon learning that humans trained dogs to act as eyes for their blind counterparts. Though he held a firm belief in your abilities to travel independently, he couldn’t help but worry about your safety when he had to go away. Besides, if he could provide a way to make your life easier, he saw no reason not to act on it. He hired a human trainer to reside in Imladris for two years where they’d work alongside you and Pilot everyday until she learned to be your efficient eyes.

You reached down to pat her chest as you reached the top of the stares. The two of you had graduated from bootcamp this day, and you were eager to return to your room and tell Glorfindel.

“Left.” You instructed Pilot as you reached a fork in the hallway. Though you didn’t really need to; she’d memorized this route long ago, and she knew dinner awaited her in your chamber.

You heard the skitter of Pilot’s claws clamber across the hardwood floor as soon as you removed the harness.

“Oh yes, hi! You're so excited! Hi baby!” Came Glorfindel’s cheery voice as he pet Pilot, the dog circling him and whining excitedly as she pawed at his robes.

The ellon laughed as she licked his cheek. “Thank you for the kisses, sweet one.”

The next thing you knew, strong arms were wrapped around you and pulling you into a solid chest. “And you, meleth nin, how was your day?”

You sighed in bliss and leaned into his lips as he kissed you. “Mm. Better now that you’re here.”

You could hear the smile in his voice as he ran a hand up your back, the other reaching over to relieve you of the heavy basket. “Went berry picking? You know these are my favorite.”

“Aye. I believe a celebration is in order.”

Glorfindel looked intrigued. “What are we celebrating, starlight?”

“Pilot was cleared in her training today.” You were quite thrilled by this, as your job as a musician regularly required you to travel to other realms during diplomatic meetings. And with another trip just one week away, you were excited to travel without the arm of an escort or your cane getting caught on a rock and snapping. “So she’ll be able to accompany me to Dale.”

“Congratulations to you both.” The Balrog slayer released you and gave Pilot a few affectionate pats on the head. “You two make a great team.”

You leaned in for another kiss. “That we do.”

Glorfindel caught you around the waist again, a mischievous note in his tone. “We’ve got a few hours until we have to show up for dinner…”

“Yes…” You smile, forced to pull apart sooner than you would have liked due to a soft knock on the door.

“Lindir.” You recognized his mannerisms immediately. “What can we do for you?”

“Forgive my intrusion, but we must go over some last minute accommodations for our visit to Dale.”

You give a slight bow. “Of course. I’ll meet you in the courtyard in a moment.”

Once the door is shut you turn back to Glorfindel. “You two can manage on your own for a while?”

He raised an eyebrow as he watched you unfold your long, white cane. “You’re not taking her with you?”

“Nay. She’s worked hard enough today. Besides, I shouldn’t be gone long.”

His eyes followed your retreating form and it wasn’t until you turned the corner that he shut the door to the room. The elf lord stoked the fire and opened up a book he’d been meaning to finish. Sprawling out on the large bed, he chuckled softly as Pilot rested her head on the edge of the mattress and fixed him with her pleading brown eyes.

“Oh alright. Come on.” Glorfindel let her snuggle into his side and stroked her ears as his thoughts began to wander. So often he’d watched the two of you walk together, steps in sync like some highly trained soldiers. A perfect team. Often enough, he’d wondered what it would be like to spend a day in your position. The use of his eyes was vital to who he was, and you never ceased to amaze him with how well you got on without your own.

Besides, he was putting a lot of faith in this dog. She was well trained and adorable, of that he was sure, but your safety was never a concept he took lightly. He glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the harness hanging on a hook by the door.

“Hmm…”

XXX

Marchwarden Rúmil of Lothlorien was currently lounging on a wide, flat rock soaking up the sun and sketching the surrounding meadow in his journal. The past few weeks had been filled with an influx of duties, him barely receiving any time off between his usual border shifts and being sent to escort Lady Celebrian back home. And now, at Elrond’s behest that he stay and assist in training new Imladris border guards, it could be months before he got reprieve. Which is why it was very hard for the ellon to maintain a friendly air with Glorfindel when he came barging in on his solitude.

“Ah, mellon, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Rúmil gave a huff of acknowledgment, not looking up from his drawing.

“Say.” The Balrog slayer continued. “Do you uh… have a spare blindfold I could borrow?”

At his request, Rúmil’s pen stilled on the paper, fixing Glorfindel with a sideways glance over his book. After a moment of careful thought, he finally spoke up. “I did not think it necessary since they can’t…”

“No, no. Not for them. For me!” Glorfindel couldn’t hold back his laughter at Rúmil’s confused expression. “Look, do you have one or not?”

“Let me check my pack.” Rúmil began rifling through his things, finally producing a heavy duty blindfold. All Wardens carried one as it was protocol to shield the route to Caras Galadhon from the eyes of non-elvish visitors. “But, what do you need it for?”

“Come. I’ll show you.”

XXX

Glorfindel had cleared out one of the archery fields and built a pretty impressive obstacle course in its wake. Five empty wine barrels, pull up bars set about chin height, arrow targets, and finally a set of stairs on either side of an above ground pool with a wide wooden plank bridging across the water for Pilot to guide him through.

“Marchwarden, this is Pilot, my love’s guide dog. I must test her prowess to ensure that she is capable of assuring their safety.”

“This is going to be an interesting incident report to write up to Haldir.” Rúmil muttered into his palm, watching Glorfindel nervously as he harnessed the dog and tied the blindfold over his eyes. Pilot looked up at him curiously, knowing that he was not her usual handler.

Now then, he’d seen you work her many times before, but failed to remember the commands you’d use.

Where are the reigns on this thing?

Suddenly, it came to him. “Ah yes. Forward!”

And with that, they were off. Putting his full trust in an animal was a new feeling for Glorfindel, though not an unpleasant one as she artfully wove them through the barrels and targets in their path. “Well done! Very nice!”

He flinched, expecting to feel one of the bars smack him in the head, but Pilot stopped him in time and led them around those too.

Glorfindel smiled, picking up his strides and pulling on the handle, urging the dog to go faster. “Let’s finish off strong, yes?”

They ascended the first set of steps and the ellon felt the wood creek slightly under his feet, indicating they were going over the shallow water below.

So eager was he to finish the course that he missed Pilot’s cue that they had approached the second set of stairs…

CRASH!

XXX

You yawned and stretched your back. That meeting with Lindir had run much longer than you’d expected, and now you were pressed for time to get Glorfindel for dinner.

That was, until you were stopped by Rúmil in the hallway.

“Looking for Glorfindel, I take it?”

You blushed, slightly embarrassed about how late you were going to be. “Yes. Is he already at dinner?”

“Well, actually…”

You couldn’t believe your ears as you heard the story of what had happened on the way to the infirmary.

“Rúmil, you were supposed to watch him! He what? He fell down the stairs?”

“Lord Elrond says he’ll be alright.”

When you entered the infirmary, you stroked Pilot’s head as she sprang up to greet you, Glorfindel groaning dramatically as he lay on a bed with his arm wrapped.

“I don’t know. I think she needs more training.”

You chuckle and sit beside him, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “I think you need more training.”

#Glorfindel #Glorfindel x reader

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