#Nomis fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ellethespaceunicorn · 7 months

Text

Touch and Go: The Morning After

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Detective!Female!Reader

Fandom: Night Hunter

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: You and Walter try to navigate the morning after. You both have a few lessons to learn.

Warnings: touch starvation, awkward conversation, unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie

A/N: This is a sequel to Touch and Go - A Detective's Romance. Thank you @peyton-warren for your help with this story. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

You’re awoken by the soft snores of the man next to you. And it’s less the sound of the snoring, but more the tiny puffs of air that escape his mouth and skate across that sensitive area of your neck.

His arms encircle you from behind and his warmth enfolds you like a blanket. If you weren’t sure that last night happened, what’s poking at your hip would surely remind you of a few moments. And oh, what solid images there were.

As you turn around in his arms, he shifts a bit in his sleep but doesn’t fully wake. His arms manage to tighten around you, and you didn’t think that was possible given how close you were. Not that you’re complaining. Far from it. You couldn’t be happier.

This man could literally squeeze you like a stuffed animal, and you would thank him for it. You decide to throw a leg over him and soak up his intimate embrace. Laying against his chest, you tangle your hand in his chest hair for good measure.

A low rumble in his chest and his arms tightening ever so gently signaled to you that he was awake finally. When he mumbles something close to ‘Good Morning’, you are surprised to hear that his voice could get any deeper than it already was normally.

He leans down to kiss the top of your head and you try and hide the smile it gives you, but he sees it anyway and kisses your forehead this time. His lips linger there for a second and soon you hear him chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” You stop yourself from listening to your anxious mind telling you that he is somehow laughing at you.

He leans back and looks into your eyes. “I thought I was dreaming that you had stayed. I don’t normally sleep well. You might be my lucky charm. I feel rested.”

“Good. I was a little worried that I wouldn’t get any sleep. But I liked being held all night. I could get used to that if I’m not careful.” You look down and away from Walter’s gaze, piercing right through you.

“I understand your apprehension about all this, but may I suggest something that I promise to listen to myself?” Walter puts a hand over yours and you look up at him.

“Sounds ominous but continue.”

“Let it happen. Whatever this is, just let it happen. And we can worry about our vulnerability later, deal?” His thumb strokes the back of your hand, and you feel safe in his arms.

In a single breath, you push down about a thousand negative thoughts before even listening to them and simply say, “Deal.”

Walter moves to put you on your back, leaning over to cage you between his arms. You allow him to kneel between your legs, wrapping them around his waist and pulling him into you. He never takes his eyes off you as he reaches one hand down to line himself up with your opening.

As he pushes in, he lowers his forehead to yours and groans, lightly pecking your lips. Once the soreness from the night before subsides, all you can feel is the perfection of Walter inside you as he pulls out and slams back in. He swallows your whimpers as his kiss becomes hungrier.

Turning your head to keep up with his kiss, you slide one hand into his curls, and the other glides down to grab a handful of that plump ass of his to encourage his movements. He seems to relish your coaxing if his grunting is anything to go by.

Soon, the sounds of your flesh meeting from Walter's powerful thrusting fill the room. One of his giant paws comes to rest on your hip, the grip sure to leave bruises in the morning. You are at his mercy and his cock pounds into your cunt at the perfect speed to get you off.

You get a thrill out of how your orgasm comes down on you like a bolt out of the blue. Your walls squeeze around his dick and your grasp on reality starts to shift as stars appear behind your eyelids. Throwing your head back, you let out a series of wails that your body has never made before.

With your neck exposed, Walter latches onto it with his mouth. He nips, bites, and sucks until his resolve also falters and he reaches his peak. As his hips go still against yours, you can feel every twitch of his shaft as he empties inside you. Sinking to collapse on you, his arms cocoon you and as your chests connect, the dizzying tempo of his heartbeat can be felt.

You lay in silence for a while, tangling your fingers in Walter’s sweat-slicked curls. It's only the sound of your stomach growling that breaks you both out of your shared lull. His grumbling chuckle follows, and he unwinds himself from around you, finally sliding out of your tight heat. He doesn’t miss your whimpers; he just chooses to ignore them as he pulls you up and into the bathroom for a quick shower.

After some time spent under the hot spray, mostly spent with stolen kisses and forgetting to get clean, you both dress in some comfy clothes. Walter gives you a pair of his boxers, sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a hoodie that still smells like him. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and you smile thinking you look like a perfectly comfy girlfriend.

Walter just watches you and smirks before laying a kiss atop your head and suggesting you two eat something. You follow him out to the kitchen and are swiftly turned around and told to go sit while he cooks for you.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

Once breakfast is over, you rise from the table to take the plates into the kitchen with the intent to wash dishes to repay him for a lovely meal. Instead, Walter empties your hands and gives you a stern look.

“Come on, let me help with something?” You whine, not at all being coy about it.

“No. You don’t have to repay me for feeding you. Just let me pamper you. Act as though you deserve to be taken care of, please? Because you do deserve it. Now, go sit down on the couch, and don’t make me ask twice.” If it wasn’t for the wink he sent your way, you would have melted.

You try to reply but the sound out of your throat is a mix between a moan and a whimper. It shocks you and makes Walter smile. You open your mouth again to speak but think better of it and just go sit down.

Walter joins you on the couch, sitting close enough that his warmth spreads over you like a blanket. He turns to face you and you do the same.

“So, I—”

“Are we—”

You both go to speak at the same time and then share a bit of nervous laughter.

“You go first.” Walter urged, his hand running through his hair before settling on the back of the couch.

“Um, so, you know I’m no good at this. That’s why we work so well, I guess,” You pause to get your words together while gathering a bit of courage, “I just...feel like I should be completely honest with you.”

Walter tilts his head and furrows his brow, nodding for you to continue.

“I like this,” You admit, gesturing between the two of you, “I like spending time with you. That being said, I would be upset if you invited another woman here and cooked for her and fucked her instead of me. I know it’s soon, but I want you to know how I feel.”

Seconds pass like hours before Walter takes your hand in his.

“I like this, too. I like cooking for you and spending time with you. I’m sure you can tell I like fucking you. But just so you’re sure, I’m saying out loud that I like it.” He finishes, smiling at you and raising your hand to his lips.

The giggle that escapes your lips gives no warning and it startles you before you give in and let it float on.

“So...I have a question. And it may seem rude, but I don’t mean it that way, I promise.” You start, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth in apprehension.

Walter uses one thumb to free your lip from its confines before speaking. “Duly noted. Ask away.”

“Why are you always so grumpy? I mean, you’re such a different person outside of work. You are fun to be around, and I did not expect that." You playfully poke his chest and are rewarded with a genuine grin on his face.

“Well, firstly, thank you for the compliment. Secondly, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but I’m not a big talker usually. When I wear my grumpy pants, fewer people come up to me. Less talking. Although now that I think about it, I enjoy talking to you. I think because we both struggle a bit with conversation, we don’t press each other. We just, sort of, work well together. I like that.” While he talks, his hands play with yours. You’re not sure if that is a nervous thing or if he just likes the way your hands feel in his.

You both seem to take pleasure in idle touching, so why question it?

“That makes a lot of sense. It’s easier for men to be grumpy as their resting mood. The number of times I get told to smile or ‘cheer up’ daily could fill a swimming pool. So instead, I have this fake enthusiasm with a matching artificial coy expression to go with it. It can be so tiring, and not to mention it makes my face hurt at times. It fucking pains me to be so falsely sweet all the time. But that’s the joy of the feminine mystique, I guess.” You sigh, letting out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Wow. How long have you been holding that in, girl? I think a bit of steam came out of your ears just then.” He smiles and throws a wink your way and you can’t help but smile back at him.

“Well, since I’m on a roll with this stuff, I’ll just keep going. You’re the first person I’ve had sex in about a year. Just, bad breakup...and all that kind of killed my appetite for close human contact.” You babble, your hand going to the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry to hear that. If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here for you. And I also hope last night and this morning were to your...liking? That’s weird to say. But it’s already out. Sorry.” His adorable rambling ends and the tips of his ears are pink to match the blush across his cheeks and nose.

“Oh, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Trust me. But my anxiety is going a mile a minute, trying to convince me that good things don’t happen to me. And I’m fighting it really hard. But you are starting to seem a bit too good to be true.” Your breathing picks up a little, but you control it quickly.

“I can start listing off all my bad habits?” He sits forward and begins to count his fingers, “I snore. I hog all the blankets. I leave the cap off the toothpaste. I spend too long in the shower,” He pauses when you climb into his lap, “I can keep going.”

“I bet you could. But let’s save a bit for me to discover later. Keep the rest a mystery, detective.” You wrap your arms around his neck, and he smiles up at you.

“So, you still want to stick around, huh?”

“I mean, our arms fit so well wrapped around each other. Also, you smell nice,” You lean in to sniff at his neck that still smells of woodsy soap, “And I'd be lying if I said I didn’t want to see where this goes.”

“I’d like to see where this goes as well. In fact, I have a feeling this is going back into the bedroom any minute.” He rises from the couch, taking you with him as you wrap your legs around his waist.

He walks you to the bedroom, kissing your neck along the way. He kicks the door shut before laying you down once again in his bed. You both take your time with each other, not caring about when things happen or if they happen. You get lost and find each other over and over.

While you catch your breath, you are curled up in each other’s embrace. Your hand is tangled in his chest hair while his hand draws shapes on your shoulder. Companionable silence lies between the two of you, like a quilt connecting you.

And it’s moments like these that you both find that you enjoy. The quiet moments where nothing needs to be said. There are no perfect words. While it felt touch and go for a while, sometimes all that is needed is the positive outlook that uncertainty can be a good thing.

A/N: I felt like this story needed another part. I hope you enjoyed it!! "Let it Happen" by Tame Impala helped so much while writing this!!!!!

**Tag List**

@cakesandtom @brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @thabiddie23 @sweetandgentlecreature @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102 @peyton-warren @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁

264 notes · View notes

viking-raider · 1 year

Text

Soothing the Shadows

Summary: You were Marshall's nurse, after he was shot by Simon Stulls. The two of you fall in love, and everything seems perfect, but it's strained by Marshall holding something back from you. His fear of losing you.

Pairing: Walter Marshall/Reader

Word Count: 6.5

Warning: M - Mention of Violence, PTSD, Severe Flashback, Mention of an ugly divorce, Language, Fluff, Alcohol Use, Mental Health battle - SMUT - fingering (F receiving), protected intercourse.

Inspiration: So, for this fic, I sort of meshed Marshall and Sy together into one.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

Dating a homicide detective wasn't easy. Especially, when that homicide detective was Captain Walter Marshall.

The pair of you had met after Marshall was injured on the job, having been shot by Simon Stulls and his twin brother. You were the nurse that took care of Marshall, while he recovered from the near fatal wound that rendered him in the Intensive Care Unit for two weeks.

“How are we feeling tonight, Captain Marshall?” You asked, breezing into Marshall's private room, with a bright smile, finding your grumpy and sometimes difficult patient in his bed, one massive arm in a sling and the other working the remote control to his tv.

“Hm.” Marshall huffed back at you, rolling his eyes.

You chuckled at him, not taking it personally. “How's your pain level?” You inquired, checking his medical chart to see the notes from his previous nurse, before moving over to examine the vitals on his monitors. “Better than yesterday?” You asked, lifting a brow in his direction, remembering the discomfort he had been in.

“Six.” He rattled off the number, shrugging his good shoulder.

“Would you like me to get you anything for it?”

“No, I'm fine.” Marshall answered, sighing softly, setting the remote down on the little rolling table next to his bed and raked a hand through his hair. “I just want to get the hell out of here.”

“Is our hospitality that bad?” You quipped, giggling at him, hoping to get him to at least smile. “I could phone the manager.”

Marshall looked up, his blue eyes regarding you for a long moment, making you feel like he was reading your soul, before he finally responded. A twinkle in his gaze. “No, I'd hate to complain to the manager. Especially when there's one bright spot in the hospitality.”

“Well that's-” You gulped, shifting in your rubber nurse's clogs. “That's good to know, Captain Marshall.” You told him, a bit sheepish.

��Marshall.” He corrected you, gently. “Just call me, Marshall.”

“Marshall.” You smirked, nodding your head. “I'm glad you enjoy the hospitality. But I also hope you go home soon. I'm sure your daughter is ready for you too.” You said, changing the subject, so the heat in your cheeks would cool off.

“And, your wife.” You added, a small lump in your throat.

“Oh, she's-”

“Code Blue.” The Hospital P.A crackled over the speakers. “Code Blue. All personnel. Code Blue, room eighteen.”

“Oh crap!” You gasped, adrenaline starting to pump through your veins. “I'm so sorry!” You said quickly, before rushing out of his room.

Sadly, you weren't able to see Marshall again. Your code blue patient took up most of your time and when you were finished with them and your other rounds, Marshall had been released to go home. You were happy for him, even though you were a bit sad that you hadn't been able to say goodbye and see him off.

But you got another opportunity to come your way.

“Hey.” One of your co-workers tapped you on the shoulder as you stood at the nurse's station, filling out a medication request. “There's a super handsome guy asking for you.”

You looked up from the computer. “What?” You frowned at her, confused. “Who?”

“I don't know, I didn't get a name. But he's damned sexy.” She chuckled, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Shaking your head, you leaned over the counter of the nurse's station, looking down the hall and towards the doors that allowed entry onto your floor. You were shocked to see Marshall standing there, reading one of the posters on the wall. “Oh my god!” You gasped, quickly pulling back, before he could see you.

“Do you know him?”

“Yeah, he was one of my patients.” You told her, fussing over your black, whimsical bee, scrubs and hair.

“Well, you must like each other.” She commented, watching you with amusement.

“Shut up.” You chuckled, going by her and trying to act natural and calm, despite being nervous beyond belief. “Marshall, what are you doing here? Is everything all right? Is your wound healing?” You asked, trying to be professional.

“Everything's fine.” He smiled at you, instinctively touching his shoulder. “It's healing great.”

“Then, what are you doing here?”

“I-uh-came to see you.” He confessed, biting the inside of his lip. “I wanted to know, if you'd like to get some coffee with me, sometime?” He asked, shoulders stiffening with resolve.

You narrowed your eyes at him, cocking your head to the side. “Aren't you married?”

Marshall drew in a deep breath, tightly folding his arms over his chest. “I was married, yes.” He replied, his face darkening. “Angie and I divorced some time ago. It's complicated and not something I'd like to get into.”

“All right, as long as I'm not being a home wrecker by accepting your offer.” You answered, relieved.

“I assure you, you're not.” Marshall said, relief dancing in his blue eyes. “So, when are you next available?”

You looked down at your watch, tilting your head side to side for a moment. “I can take my lunch break right now.” You told him, meeting his gaze with a smirk.

“All right.” He nodded, turning to push open one of the doors behind him, for you.

That day had changed both your and Marshall's lives. You quickly fell in love with each other and craved each other constantly. But there was a drawback to dating Marshall. You hadn't made that step to move in with each other yet, as much as you wanted too. So, you went to one another's place. It was usually Marshall coming over to your flat though, after he got off from his shift at the station. You would make him dinner and the two of you would cuddle up under a blanket on the couch with a glass of wine, or more specifically, a glass of wine for you and a glass of whiskey for him, to watch a movie or one of the shows the two of you had become interested in together.

“Walter.” You giggled, shifting beneath the heavy comforter the two of you were under, trying to watch Peaky Blinders.

“What?” He husked back, turning his head into the side of your face, moaning softly, while his hand squeezed the inside of your thigh again.

“Keep that naughty hand to yourself, Captain.” You teased, turning your face into his.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Marshall replied, feigning innocence.

“Oh yeah?” You chuckled, smelling the sharp honey and caramel of the whiskey on his breath. “What's this?” You asked, rubbing your legs together against his hand.

“Oh, you mean that hand.” He smirked, gently nudging his nose against yours. “I don't know how it got there, but since it is.” He said, pushing it up to cup you through the thin, purple fabric of your panties.

Your gasp melted into a deep whimper, as Marshall started to rub you, watching you through hooded and lusty blue eyes. You turned, pressing your back against the armrest of the couch and opened your legs, giving Marshall full access to your dripping womanhood. He reached under the quilt, not removing it, to keep the chill of the room off of you, as he all but tore your underwear off your body. Tossing them absently over his shoulder and behind the couch, Marshall's hand was back on your privates within a millisecond.

“Oh Christ.” You mewled, arching your back against his hand, his middle finger slipping between your slick folds as he caressed you, teasing you. “Walt, please!” You begged him, pushing the heel of one of your feet into the top of his thigh, nudging his leg impatiently.

“Mm-mm.” He shook his head at you, curving that evil digit into your canal. “I haven't seen you in two days, babe.” He panted, licking his lips. “I want to enjoy it.”

“Then take your fucking shirt off, Marshall!” You barked, outraged and worked up as the tip of his finger grazed your sweet spot.

Marshall laughed, “That requires me to take my hand off of you.” He pointed out, amused by your situation.

You dropped your head back on the couch arm, then sat up, shivering as Marshall's finger reached different angles, and grabbed at his shirt. Bunching the knitted material in your hands, you yanked on it until you managed to pull it off over his head, then tossed it in his face for extra drama. Making him chuckle and toss it back at you, before driving his finger deep into your spot. Caught off guard, your hand flew out, clawing into the exposed skin at the top of his shoulder and leaving very angry crescents behind in their wake.

“Lord have mercy, Marshall!” You cried out, your head flying back, while you rocked on his hand.

“Lay back.” He purred at you, planting a kiss to your fingers. “Let me make you feel good.”

“You always do, Donut.” You teased, laying back again, tugging the blanket up over you as you did.

Marshall blushed slightly at your nickname for him. “I try, Angel.” He replied, gently working his finger inside of you, crooking it to tease your walls, knowing all the places to hit.

Your toes curled and you moaned softly, eyes rolling shut as you rutted against his hand, rolling your hips. Marshall looked at your face, a soft smirk on his own, seeing the pure pleasure you were in. He slipped in a second and started rubbing your clit with his thumb, drawing out a loud sigh from you. The want to keep that look on your face forever was so strong inside of Marshall. You were relaxed in the essence of pleasure and bliss, with no care in the world, other than what his fingers were doing to you.

“Walter, please!” You begged him, brows drawing together as you looked down your face at him.

Smirking, Walter freed his fingers from inside of you and grabbed you by the hips, pulling you into his lap and a heady kiss. He moved to the edge of the couch and stood, taking you with him, supporting you against his body as he carried you to the bedroom, one big paw rubbing firm circles over your back to keep the flat's chill away, until getting there.

“Why do you keep it so cold in here?” Marshall commented, resting you on the bed.

“I don't know. Guess I'm just used to the chill of the hospital. I don't really pay attention to it, until you show up.” You replied, giggling as you pushed the blankets to the foot of the bed.

“I should start a fire.” He said, glancing at the enclosed fireplace, in the corner of your room, as he stood at the side of your bed, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down his tree-trunk thighs.

“You already started one.” You cooed at him, licking your lips at the titanic tent in the front of his boxer briefs, reaching out to palm it through the black material. “A big one, Bear.” You hummed, feeling the hot beast that lived within throb against your palm.

Marshall's eyes fluttered back into their sockets as you fondled him, pressing himself against your hand, growling deep in his throat and chest. You smirked up at him, leaning forward to press your lips to his hairy belly. Smoothing your palm upwards, you curled your fingers around the elastic waistband and slowly peeled his boxers down. Even with anticipation, your eyes grew and you gasped silently, when Marshall's thick and veiny, cut cock sprang heavily free from the confines of the garment.

Reaching into your bedside drawer, you removed a square object from inside and tossed it on one of the pillows, before looking at Marshall.

“Come to me.” You whispered, removing your shirt and heading up the bed.

Looking you over, like a hungry wolf, Marshall stalked up the bed towards you. Moving over you and nuzzling his face into your neck, he nibbled and kissed at the skin there and at your shoulder, while his hands smoothed down your sides, touching every inch of your body. You felt the rub of Marshall's beard as he left love-bites you'd be feeling during your shift later tomorrow. But that didn't bother you, you wanted to feel Walter with you. Always. You had one hand tugging at the curls at the back of his head and the other clawing into one cheek of his rump, as he grabbed at your knees, shoving them wide open to buck against you, his cock dripping against your slickness, mixing with the ultimate finale.

It didn't take love for Marshall's thought of lighting a fire to become nonsensical, the two of you were heated and glistening with sweat, from your combined actions and feelings. Perspiration pearled down Marshall's vast back as he pulled away from you, only slightly, his darkened blue eyes meeting yours in a hungry and sultry gaze, that sent a chill so powerful through your burning body, goose-flesh was raised.

“Mine.” He growled, in a deep pant.

“All yours.” You gulped back, nodding and sucking your lip between your teeth.

Marshall sat up between your legs, and you grabbed at the item you had tossed on the pillow earlier. It was a condom. You tore it open and took out the opaque-red and lubricated rubber, tossing the packaging carelessly to the floor, while Marshall grasped himself at the root, the head of his member changing a shade of purple, to hold his thick cock steady. You carefully rolled the protection down over his length, marveled at how it looked, snug over the throbbing veins. Wrapping your hand around the head of Walter's manhood, you stroked it downward, ensuring the sleeve was secure in place, before reaching up to grab him by the shoulder and pull him down into a heated kiss.

While you kissed, Marshall lined himself up with your weeping entrance. It never seemed mattered how many times the two of you were intimate, you never quite grew accustomed to Marshall's sheer size. Even with the help of being aroused and lubricated, there was always that initial stretch of him easing inside of you, of his girth reshaping you for the billionth time in the two years you had been dating. But it quickly subsided into something so marvelously euphoric, that you couldn't help the soft smile that crossed your lips or the curl of your toes.

He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you against his body, an arm encircling your waist and the other around your shoulders, his knees planted into the mattress, as he rocked into you. The wood headboard smacked against the wall behind it, keeping time with each thrust. Thankfully, it was an outer wall, so your next door neighbor wasn't too bothered by the noise, and he was used to your and Marshall's love making, by now.

Good and patient, Preston.

“Christ, Marshall!” You cried out, your walls kneading around him, feeling every furious movement that begged his manhood to release his magic and bring you both into a world of unimaginable bliss.

“Fuck, babe.” He panted back, his hot breath wafting over the skin of your face.

He pressed his temple against yours, letting out small whimpers of effort and moans of pleasure in random intervals. His thrusts lost rhythm and became rougher, as he neared his climax, your own aiding the effort. Marshall throbbed inside of your quivering walls and you felt the muscles of his stomach clench and become rock hard. He made his tell-tale sound, a soft, groaning sigh, as he unloaded inside of the protective barrier between you. Nonetheless, your slick canal struggled to keep a hold of Marshall's unloading and still working cock, feeling it surge inside of you. Your back arched, pushing yourself up against his clenched stomach, nails racking down his sweaty back.

“Marshall!” You cried out, shuttering with each wave of pleasure that washed through you. “Oh god, Marshall.” You whimpered, slowly lowering yourself back down, spent. “I love you.” You sighed softly, after a few moments to catch your breath.

Marshall rolled you both onto your sides, tucking your head under his chin and against his chest. “I love you too.” He whispered back, hugging you hard against him, fingers tangling in the back of your hair.

You struggled to stay awake, not wanting to fall asleep, knowing what it meant, if you did. But you were spent from a long shift, the previous night, little sleep and the exhausted pull of your love making. Soon enough, you were snoring into Marshall's collarbone. But, when you woke with a jolt a few hours later, your heart thundering in your chest, a good enough fire in the fireplace to keep your room warm, but not roast you alive, however you were alone.

“Marshall?” You called out, hoping—praying, he was just watching tv in the living room like he did, on rare occasions. “Donut!” You yelled out a little louder, turning to grab your shirt off the floor and padded into the living room, but found it cold, quiet and empty.

You sighed, realizing Marshall had left. Turning, you went down the hall to the guest room bath and discovered the mirror was still foggy. Marshall would go there to take a shower, before he left, so he wouldn't wake you by using your master bathroom. Usually, when he showered at your place, it meant he was heading straight back into the station to work some more, without bothering to go home. You wondered how many hours your boyfriend had slept, before sneaking off into the night.

“Just one night, Walter Marshall.” You whimpered, stripping your shirt off as you headed to bed again. “That's all I ask of you. Stay one fucking night with me, without vanishing like some sort of ghost.” You sighed, crawling under the blankets.

Marshall scrubbed at his eyes, while trying to focus on the police report in front of him, Harper had given him a new case to work on. It was a double homicide with a few lead suspects, but no solid proof on which of them it could possibly be. He was hitting his wit's end, three shifts, with a four hour sleep between two of them, crashed out on the small couch in his office. He'd only spoken to you through text messages through that time. The two of you had tried to meet up for lunch, but one of his suspects had been hauled into the station and he had to cancel it, so he could interrogate them.

A soft knock sounded on his office door and Commissioner Harper popped in. “How's the case going?” He asked, depositing himself into a chair across from Marshall.

The Brit drew in a deep breath and let it out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That well, huh?” The older law enforcement officer chuckled. “When was the last time you went home?” He inquired, seeing the dark circles under Marshall's bloodshot blue eyes.

Marshall looked at his watch. “Nine hours ago, to shower.” He replied, shooting Harper a look.

“You need to head home.” Harper snorted, shaking his head. “Don't you have a new lady in your life?” He said, lifting a brow at Walter, critically. “You shouldn't be keeping hours at the station, like you were when you were a bachelor, Marshall. I'm sure it drives her fucking crazy.”

“I know.” Marshall sighed heavily, knowing Harper was right. “It does.”

You had scolded Marshall several times about working himself into the ground and not getting a proper night's sleep. He wasn't a bachelor anymore, preferring to be at the station, then sitting alone, in the deafening emptiness of his flat. He definitely was a husband in the middle of getting a divorce, where he'd rather work eighteen hour shifts, against the alternative of going home to another argument or silent treatment from his soon-to-be ex-wife and making his daughter's life a nightmare.

He had you now, and was still acting like he didn't.

“You're right.” He said, flipping the case file closed and locking it away in his desk. “I am going to take the rest of the day off.” He nodded, stretching to his feet.

“And tomorrow.” Harper added, giving Marshall a stern look.

Marshall stared at him for a long moment, before slowly nodding. “Tomorrow as well.” He conceded, grabbing his jacket from the hook at the back of his office door.

“Hey.” Harper paused, as he stepped out into the hall, turning back to Marshall. “Surprise her. Women love that stuff.” He smirked, giving him a teasing wink before heading off to his own office.

“Yeah.” Marshall nodded, chewing on the inside of his lip.

Thankfully, he knew you had the day off, which made surprising you all the easier to do.

Marshall stopped by his place first, taking a quick shower and changed. Washed up and freshly changed, Marshall went to a small floral shop to get a bouquet of your favorite flowers, then crossed town to your takeaway spot, ordering your favorite dish with something to hit your sweet tooth, before finally heading over to your flat.

Situating things in his hands, Marshall knocked on your door and waited for you to answer, his heart pounding for a reason he couldn't put his finger on. At least, until the door cracked open and you peeked out, then his pulse calmed.

“Hey, Sugar butt.” He grinned at you, enjoying the surprised expression on your face.

You swung the door open, excited to see Marshall. “What are you doing here, Donut? I thought you had to work!” You said, bouncing on your toes towards him and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I got some sound advice, and I decided to take it.” He replied, bending his head to kiss the top of yours. “So, I have the rest of the day off, and was told I'm taking tomorrow off as well.” He told you, holding up the bag of food and your bouquet of flowers.

“There's no one else I want to spend it with.”

“What about Fae?” You asked, your tone teasing.

Marshall rolled his eyes at you. “I'm far too boring and uncool.” He huffed, shaking his head.

“Well, you're entertaining and cool enough for me, Donut.” You giggled, pulling him into your flat.

“Thank the heavens for that.” He smiled, letting you drag him inside and into the kitchen.

“What did you get me?” You asked, dying to know what he had in the takeaway bag.

“Things you eat.” Marshall smirked, side eyeing you. “Hey, hands off!” He chuckled, batting your hand away from the bag. “Go pour us something to drink, Sugar butt!” He said, popping you on the butt and kissed your neck.

“My sweet detective, you drank all your Rich & Rare whiskey, the last time you were here.” You informed him, giving him a gentle pat on the chest.

“Oh fuck, I did.” Marshall sighed, his shoulders slumping a little.

You smiled, moving around him to go into a cabinet. “Luckily for you, you have a very thoughtful partner.” You said, pulling down a bottle of the amber colored spirit. “Who noticed it and bought another bottle for you.”

Marshall turned around, cracking a smile at you. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” He asked, reaching out to cup your face.

You nuzzled his hand for a moment, before answering. “You got shot.” You deadpanned.

“Right.” He nodded, taking the bottle from you, then turned back to the food, pulling it out and putting it on the counter, before taking down plates.

You took down glasses and set one of them next to the plates, before grabbing your chilled bottle of wine out of the refrigerator, wiggling your brows at Walter as he moved by you for the fridge himself. Winking at you, Marshall grabbed a black case from inside the freezer and turned back, smirking as he found you already nibbling on your food. Shaking his head, he set the case on the counter and opened it, before cracking the seal on the bottle of whiskey, pouring some into his glass.

“So, how was your day?” He asked, opening the case and lifting a brow in your direction.

“It's been good.” You answered, getting your takeaway on the plate. “Slept a whole extra hour and a half.” You snorted, smirking to yourself. “Took a bath, instead of a shower, which felt incredible, and started to catch up with all of the shows I'm behind on.”

“Sounds like a day off well spent.” Marshall nodded, pulling out a pair of small tongs and removed a medium sized, chilled, black whiskey stone that was nestled inside and placed it in his glass. “I hope mine goes as well.”

“Well, we can make that happen.” You told him, holding a fork out to him.

Marshall grinned at you, taking the fork. “Yeah, we can.”

The two of you took your food and drinks to the couch, finding something to watch together, while you ate. You smirked, however, watching your Donut doze on and off, his plate balanced on his knee. Setting your plate on the coffee table, you gently took his and set it beside yours, you grabbed his hand and coaxed him up to his feet.

“Mmm.” He grunted, responding to your nudges towards the bedroom.

“Ssshh.” You cooed back, not wanting him to stir from the soft doze he'd fallen into.

Getting him to your room, you lightly pushed him back, to sit on your bed, stifling your giggle at his 'umph' as he landed. Kneeling down, you untied the laces of his boots, biting your lip as you gingerly pulled them off, but Marshall barely stirred as they came free from his feet. You managed to get his shirt off, before laying him back on the bed and covering him up.

“Sleep tight, detective.” You whispered, stroking the curls off his forehead for a moment, listening to his deep and easy breathing.

Tip-toeing out of the room, you gathered up the hardly touched plates and wrapped them up, storing them away in the refrigerator for later on, carefully poured the remaining whiskey Marshall hadn't polished off into the bottle, rinsing the stones, slipping them back into their case and into the freezer. Rubbing your face, you stripped and crawled into bed with Marshall, snuggling in against his side with a smile, excited to be falling asleep with him, knowing there was a high likelihood he'd be there, when you woke up.

What you hadn't expected was how you woke up with Marshall.

You were too deeply asleep to even dream, comfortable and warm. It was pure heaven, that you were hardly aware of the loud bang, likely someone slamming a door shut or the lid of a dumpster being dropped; nothing that was significant enough to draw you from your slumber. Nothing, but the jolt and gasp beside you. You started to pull to the surface of consciousness, struggling to understand what was going on, before you felt a pair of abnormally strong tentacles wrap around your frame. Jerking you against something solid, the air was knocked out of your lungs. While you were dragged over the edge of the bed, your stomach clenched as you dropped to the floor, crying out at the force of the sudden stop.

Realization flooded you, feeling the huffing, puffing and mountainous body of Marshall move over you, one arm still crushing around your middle to pin you against him, one thick thigh wedged between yours. If you didn't know Walter as well as you did, you probably would have started screaming at the position he had you in.

But you knew him, and you knew there was something deeply wrong with your boyfriend. Even your nursing instincts were going off for something being out of place. Marshall was panting like a wounded animal, his nostrils flaring with each breath, every muscle in his body was rock hard and rigid, but he was trembling. His teeth were gritted, like he was in pain and his blue eyes were wide and on high alert, as if he was waiting for something to happen.

“Marshall?” You whispered, apprehensive to make a sound, almost afraid that he'd snap at you, but his arm only tightened, making you hiss and wiggle underneath him, but he only held you tighter. “All right.” You groaned, relaxing to rest your forehead against the carpet, taking a deep breath of relief when his arm eased against your stomach.

You racked your brain, he was a horror hardened Detective for the Manitoba police force, what could cause Marshall to react to this extreme? Could this be a flashback from Simon?

You took a deep breath, knowing you had to help Marshall out of this, to let him know he was in a safe place. You bit your lip, bracing yourself for whatever reaction he gave you. Wiggling your arm out from underneath of your body, ignoring his attempt to keep you still, you propped yourself up the best you could under his weight.

“Marshall.” You said, keeping your voice calm and as if nothing was wrong, reaching back to rest your hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “It's all right, Walt. It's just a flashback.” You told him, pressing your head against his chest. “I'm all right. We're all right.” You reassured him, moving your hand to his neck, beginning to massage the tight muscles there.

“We're safe. There's nothing and no one here to harm us. I promise.”

“Unless, you look in my closet and notice the alarming ratio of scrub outfits to regular ones.” You said, making yourself giggle, hoping a light joke would cause a crack in the wall of his PTSD, since Marshall had always enjoyed your sense of humor.

But Walter didn't seem to react to any of it, though you didn't allow yourself to become discouraged.

“What can I do?” You cooed at him, wondering what was going through his mind. “Please, tell me how I can help you, Donut?”

Marshall abruptly stopped trembling against you and seemed to relax on top of you, but didn't move any farther. You took the win, patiently waiting to see if he made any further improvements. They took several more moments, with you still massaging his neck and just laying there with him, but Marshall finally seemed to regain some sense of himself.

“I'm sorry.” He mumbled, moving off of you at last.

You floundered for a moment, sitting up to rest your back against the side of your bed, unsure how to reply. “Mar-” You started, only to have him jump to his feet and storm into your en suite, slamming and locking the door behind him. “Okay.” You sighed, nodding curtly at the door. “You need space.” You said, to the air, then pulled yourself up and pulled on a pair of shorts shorts with a tank top.

Going out to the kitchen, you made yourself a cup of tea, pausing for a moment as you carried it out of the kitchen to fortify it with a small splash of Marshall's whiskey, before going to sit in the living room. You stared at the turn off tv, regarding your blurry reflection as you thought about what had happened in the bedroom with Marshall, then abruptly locked himself in the bathroom. The shower had turned on not long afterwards, making you suppose he was taking one to wake himself up and clear his head. You were still worried about him though, he had just turned into a statue after yanking you off the bed like that, forcing you to be still, like he was afraid something would happen, if either of you moved.

An hour and all your hot water later, Marshall emerged from your bedroom, his eyes pointed at the floor as he stood just passed the doorway. You set your empty cup on the coffee table and turned to look at him over the back of the couch, his wet curls were combed back off his forehead, making him look almost boyish.

“I'm sorry.” He mumbled again, folding his arms tightly over his chest, still refusing to look at you.

“I know you're sorry, Marshall.” You whispered back at him, your heart aching. “Please, sit down with me?” You begged, patting the cushion beside you.

Marshall lingered in place for a moment, before shuffling over to you and sitting down, arms still crossed. You stared at the circular and slightly puckered scar just below his collarbone, the purplish skin stood out in stark contrast to the pale skin of his chest, lightly hidden under the dark fur that covered his torso.

“I'm sorry, if I scared you.” Marshall elaborated more on his apology. “I also understand, if you don't want to see me anymore.” He added, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

“What?” You giggled, surprised. “Why would I break up with you, Marshall?”

He finally looked at you, brows creased like it was obvious. “Because of what just happened.” He growled, his jaw muscles flexing. “I could have hur-” His eyes searched you for any marks, an almost frantic look coming into them.

“You didn't hurt me, Walter.” You assured him. “You startled the hell out of me, with that wake up. You've caused me to be very concerned. But hurt me, you have not.”

“This time.” He mumbled, relaxing back into his broodiness.

“Tell me what happened, Donut.” You sighed, shaking your head at him. “I know you had a flashback. Why? Was it because of Simon?”

Marshall sighed, bouncing his leg. “It wasn't Simon.” He replied, licking his lips. “Before I was a homicide detective, I was in the British Army, I served three tours.” He paused and regarded you, deciding it was time to give you everything.

“I met Angela after I finished boot camp. She was in London for a holiday. We hit it off, and started a long distance relationship. I went on my first tour and everything was reasonably fine. I rose through the ranks quickly through my tours, I initially intended to be career Army. But between the second tour and my last one, Angie got pregnant with Fae. Which complicated things. Angie didn't want to raise her away from her parents in Manitoba, she also didn't want me being in the British Army, since it meant I'd be stationed overseas, away from them and being deployed constantly.”

“That is quite the situation.” You nodded, folding your legs on the cushion.

“It was.” Marshall nodded, his eyes distant. “My second tour had been rough, it was the first time I was given command of a squad of men. We got through it and all my men got home. But that's when some of my PTSD started. Loud noises would make me start or put me on edge. It was my last deployment, when I didn't renew my contract, so I could move to Canada with Angie and Fae, that it went through the roof. My men and I got pinned down by a group of rebels and I ended up losing two of them, despite the effort to keep them alive.” He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing on an imaginary spot on the rug.

“Marshall?” You whispered, reaching out to rest your hand on his knee, feeling the muscle there jump slightly.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat, shaking his head, his gaze clearing. “That's when I started having reactive flashbacks, like tonight. At first, Angie took them in stride. I thought they'd be better if I was back in 'that environment', so I joined the Manitoba SWAT team, and it worked for a short time. But Angie worried that was just as dangerous as being in the Army and didn't want Fae losing me.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “She had a point. SWAT could be just as dangerous at times. Get a person in the corner, when they're desperate, it doesn't matter if you're in a war-zone. They'll do anything to get out of that spot. Including killing you.”

“So, what happened?” You asked, biting your lip.

“I transferred to homicide.” He chuckled, smirking like he couldn't believe it himself. ��Anyway, over time, Angie couldn't take my flashbacks anymore and we slept in separate bedrooms for the last four years of our marriage. They were a catalyst for our divorce.” He admitted, pressing his lips together, pained. “She even used them to gain full custody of Fae. Like, I was some sort of danger to my own daughter.”

“I don't think you're dangerous, Marshall.” You confessed, moving closer to him.

Marshall huffed at you. “Yeah, that's because I won't allow myself to fall asleep around you.”

“This is why you ghost me after we've made love?” You asked, looking at him wide eyed.

“Yes.” He nodded, staring back at you. “I'm terrified of something like that happening and losing you because of it.” He barked, jerking a hand towards the bedroom. “That I'll have an episode and I'll hurt you or it's just too much baggage for you to take.”

“Oh, you sweet Donut.” You giggled at him, grinning. “When was the last time you even had a flashback, before tonight?”

“I don't know!” He barked, raking a hand through his damp hair. “Two or three years.”

“That's not bad!” You said, wrapping your arms around his. “And we made it through this one.”

“I don't want you to make it through them.” He whined at you, looking like a hurt puppy.

“Walter Donut Marshall, I helped you get through being shot.” You grinned at him, stubbornly. “I'm pretty darn sure, I can help you through more flashbacks. You're not going to scare me away. I'm not going to break up with you. I love you, you silly Detective.” You cupped his bearded face in your palms.

“Stop running away from me, let me love you, shadows and all.”

“I have some dark shadows.” He whispered, turning his head to kiss your hand.

“Don't we all, Donut? Don't we all!” You giggled, kissing him soundly on the mouth.

#Viking-Raider Fics #Henry Cavill #Walter Marshall #Marshall #Walter Marshall x Reader #Walter Marshall/Reader #Marshall x Reader #Marshall/Reader #Nomis #Night Hunter #Walter Marshall Fanfic #walter marshall fanfiction #Walter Marshall fandom #Smut #Fluff #PTSD #Soothing the Shadows *fic*#Soothing the Shadows #Henry Cavill fandom

330 notes · View notes

peyton-warren · 1 year

Note

As I love to keep you occupied 😁

Do you think you can write:

⛑ - Some tender first-aid with Walter Marshall

Arresting and Arrested

Characters: Walter Marshall, OFC, random thugs Fandoms: Night Hunter, Henry Cavill characters Word count: 277 Type: angsty, fluffy. Warning: 18+. Minors DNI. Injury, blood, comfort, vague hints of torture. Summary: Walter receives comfort from a suprising source. Author's Note: @geralts-yenn is to blame for this. She sent me ask from this as game if you would like to play too. Thank you to @adulting-sucks, @ronearoundblindly and @sarahdonald87 for the beta. Let me know if you'd like to see another part to this, there may be one in the works. Ask Box: Open Masterlist

“Who are you?” Walter pushed out between ruptured lips, his lungs barely holding enough air to breathe as his likely broken ribs screamed.

The young woman with stringy, dirty hair just silently shook her head at him, laying a finger to her lips as she continued dabbing at the cut over Walter’s eyebrow. Walter peered at her through the eye that could still open, wondering who she was, what she had to do with the man who had orchestrated his kidnapping, and why she was giving him tender first aid in what he assumed was a warehouse. Was she a prisoner or somehow part of this trafficking ring Walter had been trying to bust for almost a year? She didn’t seem to be a willing participant in any of this.

She smiled softly as she looked through her bag at her hip, selecting something else to help stop the blood and clean him up. Pulling out a small tube, she placed a dab of ointment on her finger. Getting to her feet, she leaned forward, her face looking up at him where he hung from the ceiling. He felt her breath on his bruised cheek as she delicately daubed the ointment over the split on his lower lip.

“Thank you,” he tried softly, his brow puckering at the pain.

Her smile was brief as suddenly there was the return of foot falls, at least three men, headed back in their direction. Stuffing her bag again quickly, she squeezed his calf before dashing off into the silent shadows just before the men rounded the corner, the biggest brute of them smiling wide at Walter before flexing his fists.

Follow up here.

General Tag List: @littleone65e65, @mysweetlittledesirettledesire

HC Tag LIst: @m07belzen, @used-to-be-bourbonwithice, @hawklin, @geralts-yenn

#walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall fic #walter marshall angst #walter marshall fluff #night hunter #night hunter fanfiction #nomis #nomis fanfiction #henry cavill characters #fan fiction #fanfiction

123 notes · View notes

ellethespaceunicorn-masterlist · 7 months

Text

Touch and Go Masterlist

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Detective!Female!Reader

Series Summary: What happens when a touch-starved detective who isn’t well-versed in human interaction meets their match?

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Parts: (possibly ongoing)

A Detective's Romance

The Morning After

My Masterlist

41 notes · View notes

sonocomics · 10 months

Text

Time for another TWGOK Tuesday update! ...And the final one!

I can see the Ending.

Here’s the fic! Unfortunately, bc of AI scraping, I’ve restricted it so you MUST have an Ao3 account to read; https://archiveofourown.org/works/39260712/chapters/121893340

#twgok #the world god only knows #kami nomi #kami nomi zo shiru sekai #fanfic update #where angels fear to tread #noncomic

32 notes · View notes

nomi--sunrider · 6 months

Note

⭐ for the fic writer's ask!

Ah, a behind the scenes for Then, Now, and Always. Let's see....

Oh I know! I'll unpack the scene that got me the most negative feedback I've ever received on anything I've written: The Duel from Chapter 25: Battle of the Goddesses.

(I haven't talked about Then, Now, and Always in like a month, so be prepared for an essay.)

I thought up the silent Tally/enraged Alder epic duel very early on in the drafting process. Literally, it's in the first, very very rough draft in my docs, which is about 15 pages long and half-summary, half- little bites of scenes.

The reason I wanted them to have The Duel is twofold:

It's genuinely the most tragic thing I could think of for two people who love(d) each other. Y'know? Like Anakin and Obi-Wan on Mustafar. Badass scene, but you're fully aware of the tragedy all the way through. It's supposed to hurt that these two women who once loved each other are now on opposite sides of a war and forced to do battle.

2. I thought it would be fucking awesome.

Part of the inspiration of Then, Now, and Always was this scene:

Tally Craven's hottest scene in the whole show imo. What was I gonna do, give her an enhanced witch baton and not let her use it to full effect? And who else was she going to fight who mattered? It had to be Alder.

Also, Alder's headbutt was dumb. You can quote me on that.

Look, if nothing else, Alder and Tally fight in the actual show. And that fight is important, it does have narrative and thematic relevance, and there is a damn good reason it happened. Unfortunately, that fight is also LAME. Seriously, it is the lamest thing ever! And not even because Tally gets her ass kicked in seconds! The scene is shot cleverly, with perspective shifts and quick camera cuts to veil the fact that the actors and stunt doubles aren't really doing that much. It's the only time we see an actual scourge battle that might have given some indication as to why it's the weapon of choice for witches and why witches make such deadly soldiers. And then it's five seconds long and nothing special.

So I wanted to write a cool fight scene for the fic. Not a spar, by the way. Sparring scenes are popular in fiction, but I personally think they're pointless (unless the author is trying to accomplish something unserious). Literally, a spar is a fake fight. A fascimile. It isn't real. I wanted to write something very, very real. And that led to a lot of the narrative wrapping around making Battle of the Goddesses possible.

Someone on Discord posted during a TNAA discussion "Oh Alder would never hurt Tally." The thing about that is a.) canonically, she can and she has, and b.) For Then, Now, and Always, that's actually not an unreasonable assertion to make. Alder is carrying one hell of a torch. Therefore, I had to make Alder angry enough to actually fight Tally with no holds barred and every intention of beating her.

And that ended up making Chapter 24: Judgment, what it is. In that same very early doc, I had this Petra line.

Literally, that's all. I had no idea where I'd put it or for what reason, but it felt important. I knew about the Ozarks twist from the start, so I knew that someone had to call out Alder for her judgment eventually. Then I realized that, since my plan when I started drafting TNAA was to fix everything, including mandatory freaking conscription of a persecuted minority group, I had the perfect, perfect opportunity to make Alder vicious enough to kill.

Tally's trying dissolve the Salem Accords. That was her endgame the whole time.

Now Alder's angry enough to fight to the death and make the duel truly epic, Tally's goal is much broader, the fic has the chance to move into deeply philosophical, big-picture territory, and I get a pair of dope-ass chapters out of it. Eight birds, one stone. I was so happy.

Zooming back out, I think part of the reason a lot of folks were upset by Battle of the Goddesses pertains to my theory that fanfiction is like ice cream. Easy to eat, requires no effort, delicious and instantly satisfying. The main romantic pairing isn't supposed to fight each other to the literal death, even if it's fucking awesome and deeply symbolic. Duels/battles/wars between two love interests are common fare in sci-fi/fantasy because of their intense thematic and narrative heft, but not in fanfic. That's serving roasted sweet potatoes and kale at an ice cream parlor. It's too much for a lot of readers.

Finally, I think a lot of readers were upset about Alder losing the fight. Here's the thing:

It's not interesting if she wins.

Just like it's not interesting if Goliath beats David or if Jamal doesn't win the jackpot in Slumdog Millionaire. It's a story. The underdog has to win against all odds by their cleverness and mettle. Yes, I too, am sad that Sarah Alder's trauma was never addressed. She's a traumatized, damaged victim of the narrative and her story is a tragedy, start to finish. I think a big draw of the Talder ship is that it allows us to protect and humanize Alder in a way the show never did. Few people want to see her be the victim of even more pain in fic.

This doesn't change the fact that General Sarah Alder is brutal, unyielding, and violent. She's a three hundred year old soldier and her entire existence is war. She is not a good person. To defang her without earning it would be OOC. Trauma doesn't make good people. Healing makes good people. And there's no indication in canon that Sarah Alder has healed in any way, shape, or form.

If you've read this all the way til the end, that's very kind of you. Thanks for letting me ramble!

Why her character arc in Then, Now, and Always really doesn't start until Arc III lmao. When Alder is on her knees, defeated and disgraced, but instead of Petra and Tally going for the kill like they did in the show, they both offer a hand to help her back up. Alder heals because she's given the chance to do so by the people around her. Because I chose to not, y'know, immediately kill her off after tearing her from her pedestal. Genuinely, I have lost so much sleep over all of the amazing, transformative character work the show had in its damn lap and chose to ignore.

#talder #fanfic #nomi--sunrider #then now and always #tally craven #motherland: fort salem #sarah alder #asks

10 notes · View notes

blacksapphhicmaddonna · 11 months

Text

hey y’all💗

I made a new taglist link, it’s open to everyone!

if you’re already on my taglist, no worries but do feel free to fill it out if you want to, there’s space for choosing what fics you’d like to be tagged in, another way to send requests, and leave feedback.

It’s linked in my bio now!

but also, here’s the link!

love you stink🩷

also, s/o to @pantherheart, your taglist format helped me straighten mine out! go join hers and read all her work right neowww!!!!

13 notes · View notes

superspookyjanelle · 8 months

Text

( ships in order below )

6 notes · View notes

teamcivilian · 2 years

Text

Fear and Desire — Chapter 03

Fandom: James Bond

Rating: M

Warnings: Non-con in Ch01 and to a briefer extent in Ch03, graphic depictions of violence in Ch02 and Ch03, and major character death.

Summary: "If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?" — Cormac McCarthy (No Country for Old Men)

[Ch01] [Ch02] [Ch03] [Ao3 Link]

This was originally going to be four chapters but I said, three is enough. It's been a hot minute since I saw NTtD and I tried to elaborate a bit on Safin's motives, since canon couldn't be bothered. — Dorminchu

03: RUINER

Growing up, Safin was always a smaller, sickly boy compared to his siblings. That was why his father had been so eager to share his knowledge of the garden.

By the time he had awoken from the coma his body had betrayed him. Now every day was a fight to regain what had been stolen from him, travelling in and out of hospital. A dozen surgeries and therapeutic sessions. Physical therapy and medications. Access to his father's inheritance ensured he would have a fresh set of organs and whatever else he required. The nurses and doctors and psychotherapists all remarked on what a polite and reserved young man he was in the face of the awful tragedy that had befallen his family. How strong he was to persevere through all of that.

In-between operations and recuperations Safin had plenty of time to ruminate. To lament what had happened to him for the rest of his life would be futile. Instead of grief there was only hatred disguised as emptiness. Under threats of incarceration he had expressed his absence of feeling and been told it was no aberration. Grief took a lot of time to process. He had every right to be angry about his condition. Never illness.

Though his family had been slaughtered and the garden razed, many of the books remained intact. Over the next decade and a half, and with time and care, he was able to eliminate most traces of the dioxins from his body in ways most modern medicine could not. He could do little about his skin pitted over.

By the time he was eighteen he had established contacts with the same men his father had worked for and learnt the name of his family's killer. Over the course of his recovery he was able to whittle down his desire for vengeance from the absurd and theatrical into something more sensible.

Alone, he would raze those who had seen fit to ruin the lives of his family, and from there begin reinventing a new life for himself from the ashes. It began with Mr. White and ended with Madeleine Swann. A girl born from wealth, brought up in the shadow of her father's work and a dying, feckless mother. He looked down into the surface of the lake, into the black abyss, and saw his sister. He reached into that lake and withdrew an innocent child from death. He ensured she would survive in time for her father's return.

For the next eighteen years he was her silent confidant. He knew of her name and all of her pseudonyms. Passing details delivered by his loyal subordinates. Her interest in mental health and non-profit work for charity. Her lack of luck in friends and poorer taste in men. At any time, he could have ended her as her father had ended his entire family. When Mr. White was found with a bullet in his head in Altaussee. When Swann came into contact with SPECTRE's worst nightmare 007. When Blofeld was thrown in prison, and when Bond abandoned her for good in Matera.

Yet Safin did not intervene. Why should he enable the success of that syndicate which had taken everything from him? Despite her abhorrence of her father's methods she had accepted White's money and his protection. She attached herself just as naturally to 007. She was cunning enough to spite her own fear. And nine months after the incident in Matera she bore a child.

Only then did Safin begin to put together a procedure for her retrieval. She would need protection and MI6 could only offer a surface-level guarantee. So for the next four years as he amassed his resources he was also keeping an eye on Madeleine Swann and her infant.

When they met for the second time in her office, five years later, he was curious. Would she recognize him now? Did she pause because of his inflammatory words or some part of her mind that recoiled in unwilling recognition?

The same part slowly giving way from disbelief into understanding on some subconscious level. It was not clear until she grasped the memory box in her hands. The horror he had grasped in the eyes of the adolescent giving way to despair. To look at his face and know there were no outs, no bargaining chips.

Two days had passed since their initial arrival onto his base. In between consultations with Obruchev and the other bioengineers, Safin noticed the blank walls. The soldiers around every corner were necessary but a proper refurbishment was overdue.

Military intelligence anticipated that the MI6 agents 007 and 008 would arrive within the next twenty-four hours. Not enough time to intercept the release of Heracles into the atmosphere. There were enough forces on the ground and around the island to alert him to any further interceptions. Better yet to lower the guard around the subterranean complex and let MI6 come directly to him. After Bond was dealt with there would be time to create an environment more befitting of home.

For now his new guests must be kept comfortable.

That morning, Madeleine would not come out of her cell for breakfast. When Primo opened the door she was still laying in the bed provided, feigning sleep. Dressed in her own clothes from the day before.

Safin said, Playing dead won't help you.

The stillness to her body suggested childlike stubbornness. But there was nothing she could do to harm herself within her cell. The room had been checked before her arrival.

He said, Mathilde has asked me about you. Did you know that?

No response.

I would like you to accompany me for breakfast. You may go willingly, or I will have you dragged like a prisoner. Which will it be?

She finally raised her head. An ugly, violent emotion kept behind her eyes.

There is a change of clothes for you. He motioned over to the chest. You will dress first. Everything you will need is here.

She did not move. I'd like some privacy.

Safin said nothing.

The realization passed over her with a slight shudder. She averted her face. She got up and went over to the chest and opened it. She slipped out of her blouse with trembling hands but kept on her camisole.

Undress, please.

A sharp flinch of her shoulders that she disguised as reaching for a plain taupe dress that would come down to her ankles. Matching blouse and cardigan covered her wrists. If she were looking she would catch his cold, empty smile. She had nothing to fear from him.

As she redressed she did not look at him. She stood with her chin down. He walked over to her. Without anger she was a much simpler creature. A beautiful, fragile thing just as easily snapped in half. In a perfect world he would have plenty of time to correct her more clandestine tendencies.

He said, Now, I'm sure you feel better.

Madeleine said nothing. She was looking past him. Safin nodded to Primo.

In a little while the two of them were attending a quiet breakfast while Primo remained as wordless vigil. The female aide who brought the tray of tea caught Safin's attention.

Klava, he said, switching to Russian, a moment please.

The aide stiffened at the gesture. He brushed her sleeve aside and brandished her hand revealing a row of smaller teeth-marks that were not enough to pierce the skin. How did this happen?

Her stupid little shit, she hissed, wrenching her hand away. That's the last time I bring her food.

Madeleine grasped her own teacup tightly. She was watching them now, very closely.

Safin said, I think she would not retaliate without good reason.

Every time, she asks for her mother. I don't see why you insist on keeping them separate from each other. The aide glared at Madeleine.

Your orders were to make sure the girl was fed and rested. Not push that responsibility onto our guest.

Your guests, the aide said through her teeth, who will not eat or drink anything I offer them because they suspect it must be poison.

Madeleine's jaw was very tight.

I assumed you would be skilled enough to negotiate, Safin said. Perhaps I was mistaken. If you would prefer instead to work down in the garden, I will notify your team immediately.

Klava's face was very pale. No, of course not.

Very good. You may leave us.

Then he looked at Madeleine. If you wish to know, Mathilde is safe. The girl does not cry much. But she is listless. She misses you dearly. I see no reason to separate you indefinitely, as long as you remain obedient.

She wouldn't bite someone out of malice, Madeleine spat.

Safin allowed her a small smile.

Of course not. She is usually so well-behaved.

Listen to me, right now. I will do whatever you ask. But you will not involve her in this sick little game. If you ever think of harming her, or allowing harm to come to her—

—in what way have I harmed either of you?

Her eyes flashed.

I have given you a room to sleep where you will not be threatened or disturbed. I have provided your daughter similar accommodations. If I wanted to hurt you—he glanced at Primo with the barest of nods that went unreciprocated—there are much simpler ways to do so. He looked at Madeleine. You are the only woman on this base.

Her jaw clenched. Each meeting would be the same as the first. Safin waved his hand.

If you still think I have harmed you, in any way, please speak. Whenever we are alone I will only ask for your honesty.

Her grasp on the teacup was uneven. She had curled her fingers into a fist, white-knuckled. He reached across the table to take her wrist and she shrank back, displacing a little liquid onto the saucer. His mouth twisted.

Madeleine, there is no need to be nervous. We are having a civil discussion.

She looked him in the eyes and said, I am doing this for Mathilde. No one else.

Of course. You need not justify yourself to me. He said, But if you are still concerned, I will entrust you the responsibility of caring for Mathilde. In return you will remain here on the island.

Madeleine's facade of calm rippled. What are you saying?

I cannot send you back into a world that would just as soon devour the daughter of SPECTRE. You will be safer here with your daughter. Does this not suit you?

The same dangerous softness without a smile. One misplaced word was all it took. She swallowed dryly.

Yes, it—it suits me.

Safin nodded. Have some tea.

Madeleine glanced at the mess she'd made but did not move.

You saw Klava serve us both. I gain nothing from poisoning you.

She took a sip but her eyes shone with contempt. She said, For what purpose are you keeping me alive?

I knew that someday you would grow into my enemy. You have been living in the shadow of your father for so long, yet you forget you are still his daughter. When you offered yourself for the sake of Mathilde it was your choice. The first, selfless act you have ever wrought, and now you will live by it.

That's not what I asked.

Madeleine, we have each lost so much. We understand one other so naturally that there is no reason for me to eliminate you. As the daughter of SPECTRE, it would be a greater cruelty to leave you to fend for yourself. What I am offering is far more merciful.

You are confusing obsession for mercy.

He faltered. A wheezing scoff shook his frame and betrayed the frail body beneath the kimono.

I assured you that I would never let anything happen to Mathilde, he said. But when our business with MI6 is finished, if you truly wish to leave this place, I will hand over the girl to your lover. There are many who would pay good money to claim ownership over Bond's woman.

Now she was forcing herself to remain very still. Her face must be blank. Placid. An arrogant tilt of the chin or callous remark would be easier to stomach than his lack of sentiment. Without that tenuous thread of human connection all her sacrifices were for nothing. The sooner she understood this truth the easier her life would be.

Of course, he said, it doesn't have to be this way. You can start over. Repent for the sins of your family. He gestured to the vial tucked away against his breast. If you wish it, I will make sure no one else can touch you.

After breakfast he dismissed Madeleine to her room and ordered Primo to accompany him to visit Mathilde. She was sitting on the bed meant for an adult, clutching the stuffed rabbit to her. When the door opened she looked over sharply.

Mathilde, I would like to talk to you. Is that all right?

No response.

You are more comfortable with French? He switched. Your mother and I were just talking about you.

Mathilde said nothing, though she was looking at him closely. She had her mother's hair. The same nose. Safin approached slowly and she did not decry his actions. She was looking over at Primo. Her wide blue eyes a shade darker than her mother's.

He indicated the opposite corner of the bed and asked, May I sit here?

She glanced over at the stuffed rabbit. Clutching it tightly, she nodded.

I heard about what happened this morning, with Klava. I understand you miss your mother. But you cannot behave like this in my home.

She was a bad lady.

Bad? What did she do?

Mathilde's brow creased. She was saying mean things about maman. And me.

Hardy, like her mother. But she would need a little coaching.

I'm sorry, Mathilde. I didn't know. If you would rather see your mother from now on, that can be arranged. But you must behave yourself. Can you promise that much?

Mathilde was looking at him closely. To settle her nerves, Safin gestured to the stuffed animal. What is his name?

Doudou.

I see. That's a nice name.

Mathilde said, Why are you talking to me?

You are my guest. I want to know how you are feeling.

You only care about maman.

That isn't true. You are important to her, and so you are important to me.

Mathilde looked away from him, at her only friend. Deep in thought. You know my maman?

We met a long time ago. When she was a child I saved her life. Over the years I came to care for her.

Why do you care about her if she doesn't like you?

Safin stopped. Mathilde was looking at him, unbiased and frank. Unlike her mother she had not yet learned to hate. He chuckled.

Well, sometimes you care for someone, even when they do not understand why. It doesn't matter if they understand. You care for them all the same.

He touched her head as if to tousle her hair. She tensed immediately, and he removed his hand. Are you feeling well?

It's cold.

It's no good for you to be stuck in a room by yourself. I would like you to accompany me for a walk. Remember? We walked around the garden together.

He offered his hand. She did not take it. I want to see maman.

You will see her after we walk. You have my word. OK?

They rounded the circumference of the garden two times and did not speak. Mathilde kept Doudou under her arm.

Mathilde looked him up and down. Still tense. I'm not supposed to talk to you.

Safin knelt down so they were on the same level.

Your mother is going to be all right. Right now she needs a little time to think. I know that I said you will see her. But she needs to be alone. Have you ever felt like that?

Mathilde didn't speak. She looked steadily at Primo and walked up to him and offered Doudou. Give him to maman. So she's safe.

Primo blinked slowly. He took the stuffed animal and nodded.

Safin caught Primo's eye. Return her to the room afterwards. She will see her mother another time.

Madeleine had been sitting, thinking. When the staff spoke in front of her at all it was always in Russian. They would always avoid eye contact. The thin man with glasses looked over and expressed his condolences for the boss's woman. Primo was the only one who acknowledged her with a look.

Every one of them complicit in their leader's scheme.

Left on the verge of tears that wouldn't come. Until he was away from her family once and for all there would be no end. She could not fold.

The moment she saw her own face it would be her father staring back at her. Or her mother.

Primo opened the door, walked in, set Doudou on the armoire. The kid came up to me and insisted that you have this.

Madeleine looked up. The muscles in her face fighting a losing battle for indifference. Her composure finally broke into a light sob. Primo turned away, ready to leave.

You don't have to do this, she said thickly. You see this plan he has, the lack of one. How can you stand there and let him get away with it?

I have my orders. As do you. See to it you don't give him a reason to reconsider his mercy.

Madeleine sneered. This is not mercy. It is senseless.

What he could not communicate in words. Two souls entrapped in the same circumstance.

He's sick, said Madeleine. And he isn't getting better. That is why he feels he must eradicate all of these people, isn't it?

Primo said nothing.

He has probably been sick for some time, I think. All the medicine in the world can't stop the inevitable. Your boss is no better than any of these heartless men and women he has slaughtered in the name of progress. Whatever ideology he wants to paint it as. If he succeeds, what else is left to conquer?

Primo said, I'll collect you when he calls for you.

Madeleine walked over to the armoire. She clutched the rabbit to her own body and wept into its soft fur.

Then stopped. Groped the seam along Doudour’s head until she found the foreign outline under soft fabric. There was a slit no bigger than an inch. Reaching in, she experienced a stab of pain along the pad of her finger. Drawing out a shard of china spanning the length of her palm to her ring finger.

Madeleine wiped her bloodied hand on the sheets. She stared at the shard for a long time. She used it to tear a strip from the sheet and bind her hand.

Each time Madeleine left the cell she paid close attention to her surroundings. In the garden, the steel gate was closed. Mathilde was nowhere to be seen. It was just Safin and Primo and a handful of soldiers in the garden, around the perimeter.

Where is Mathilde?

She was not feeling well, Safin said. Primo told me she hasn't been sleeping regularly. I offered to give her some tea but she refused. So we will let her sleep for a time.

Madeleine looked at Primo who gave her the slightest incline of the head.

Then Safin was right in front of her.

What happened to your hand?

I cut myself.

Safin took her hand in his, meticulous. His brow furrowed. How did you manage this?

I wasn't thinking. I dropped one of your plates and cut myself cleaning it up.

Safin looked at her closely. Why were you cleaning? That is for the help to do.

I thought it would be right. I did not intend to offend you, or your help.

Primo was coming up behind them.

Safin understood what was happening a second too late. Primo was the larger man and he grabbed Safin by the back of the collar, pinned his arms behind him with little effort.

Madeleine looked at Safin. His teeth bared. In her other hand she gripped the shard of china so tightly she'd drawn blood. He opened his mouth to speak.

She slashed at his naked throat in one jagged movement. Blood spattered down her chest and forearm. His mouth opened but all that came out was a congested gurgle. Madeleine shut her eyes.

For some reason the soldiers were not rushing to eliminate them.

Primo let him fall limp to the ground. Madeleine did not look.

These men answer to me, said Primo. Safin gave me that authority. I instructed the to give Mathilde a light sedative. Right now she is only sleeping. She will wake up in an hour or two none the wiser to this.

Just then, Bond and the other 007 rounded the corner. Madeleine looked at them and they looked at her and the woman said softly, Shit.

Madeleine, said Bond, but she was already with Primo.

It's over, said Madeleine.

Not yet. We have to shut this down. 008, with me.

Nomi glanced at Madeleine once before joining Bond up the stairs into the heart of the facility.

Hours later, when the island was disarmed and they were all on a helicopter back to Europe, Mathilde was sleeping in her mother's arms.

#nttd #teamcivilian #007 fest #007 fest 2022 #user: dorminchu #lyutsifer safin #madeleine swann #primo #mathilde swann #james bond #valdo obruchev #nomi #fanfic #fanfiction #villain day #nttd fix-it I guess?

24 notes · View notes

ellethespaceunicorn · 8 months

Text

Touch and Go: A Detective's Romance

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Detective!Female!Reader

Fandom: Night Hunter

Word Count: 3.3K

Summary: What happens when a touch-starved detective who isn’t well-versed in human interaction meets their match?

Warnings: touch starvation, awkward conversation, unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, crying during sex

A/N: It’s apparently winter in this story, damn Minnesota weather. Honestly, I was watching the movie while writing so it ended up being snowy. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

It’s not like you never noticed your fellow officer. Of course, your attention has been pulled to Detective Walter Marshall once or twice, or several times throughout your time working together. Damn, ok the man was a presence. His very existence should have a warning label on it.

Not that he’s a bad person. Far from it, in fact. You thought the world of him. Not that you’d admit it, but you found his grumpiness endearing. His monosyllabic responses to questions made it a bit hard to get to know him. You weren’t exactly an open book yourself. But you forced yourself to try and get to know him.

You didn’t make it a habit to get to know people very often. You had trust issues, and rightfully so after what your ex-partner left you with. A broken heart and a fractured view of your self-worth. You hadn’t even let anyone touch you in so long. A handshake here or there, maybe a pat on the shoulder but nothing more.

And now here you were, a touch-starved mess who had grown to be a bit more than interested in another detective. You wanted to make him smile and that was a foreign feeling to you. So, you started with an olive branch.

Asking if he wanted a coffee on your way to the break room. After the fifth time, he relents, requesting a cup of black coffee with three sugars. While you’re there, you pick up a granola bar from the cabinet. Handing him the paper cup of coffee, you also pull the treat from your back pocket and toss it on his desk.

He tilts his head like a giant puppy at the snack.

“Humor me and eat something. I’m curious if you’re eating enough if I’m being honest.” You bite your bottom lip unconsciously, and the beginnings of a smile appear on his face as he rips open the bar and takes a bite.

Chewing slowly and staring at you, he seems to look right through to your soul. You look down at your feet to break eye contact and he clears his throat, getting your attention back.

“You know, I actually love food. I love to cook almost every night.” As the words come out of his mouth, it’s like they’re fighting their way out. As if each syllable is a punch to the gut.

“I love food, too. But I hate cooking,” You suddenly had a very dry throat, so you sip a bit of coffee before speaking again, “I’m not inviting myself over or anything, but if you’d be up for it sometime...I, uh...yeah.” You look everywhere but him as you trail off.

“Yeah, that’d be nice. I normally eat alone. Be nice to have someone...there...to eat with.” It’s like speaking makes him physically nauseous, the way his jaw tenses like that.

“Well, I’m free most nights, so...just let me know.” You move to turn and leave his office, but he stops you with an offering.

“You wouldn’t happen to be free tonight?” He’s even surprised by his question but plays it off by folding his hands on his desk and maintaining eye contact.

“Yes. I’m free.” You know you sound desperate but at this point, this is the most contact you’ve had with the man since you’ve been here so who cares? Well, you do, but you can worry about that later.

“Good. Yeah. So, uh, I guess come and grab me when you’re ready to go. You can follow me to my place. Sound good?”

“Yeah, that sounds great. Um, I’m gonna leave so I don’t say something embarrassing. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I just—”

Walter cuts you off, saving you from yourself. “Don’t do this a lot?”

“No, I don’t. Been a long time and I don’t want to fuck this up, ya know? Not that playing it cool was ever my style. Why start now, right?” You surprise Walter by laughing at your self-deprecating joke and he follows suit.

The little duck of his head doesn’t stop you from seeing the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. When he picks his head up again, a broad smile is painted on that normally glum face. If you had 1% less control over your face, you would have drooled.

This man should smile more.

And you know you hate being told to put on a smile but fuck, his face was made for it. You realize you’re still looking at him and a faint rose-tinted blush dusts across his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

You should not be allowed to be that adorable.

“What?” Walter’s question brings you back to where you just said that sentence out loud.

“I think I just called you adorable. So, I’m gonna see myself out and try not to throw myself into traffic on the way to my desk. I’ll be back when I’ve calmed my brain down a bit.” You wave awkwardly and exit his office before you can notice the smile inching back over his features.

You spend the next two and a half hours hoping you didn’t make a complete ass out of yourself in front of the only man you’ve talked to in the last few months that wasn’t a delivery driver or your boss. The only person who you’ve talked to for more than a few minutes about something other than work.

When 5:30 p.m. comes around, you gather your things and drag your feet to Walter’s office. He’s already standing, putting away some files in his desk drawer, looking up when he hears your polite throat clearing.

“How do you feel about Spaghetti Bolognese? I have a recipe from Jamie Oliver that I’ve been meaning to try out.” He says, putting on his parka and moving toward you where you stand in his doorway.

“Um, pasta is life. Pasta with meat sauce? Even better.” You brighten at the mention of a familiar dish, your previous nerves all but forgotten.

“Great. Shall I help you with your coat?” He hinted once he realized you weren’t moving toward the exit.

“Uh, yeah. Thank you.” You set down your purse and handed over your fluffy overcoat.

Walter holds it out for you as you back your arms into the sleeves. As it comes to rest on your shoulders comfortably, his hands smooth over the fabric that covers your forearms, your hands ending up in his for a moment.

You freeze at the sudden contact but if Walter notices, he doesn't make a big deal out of it. He just squeezes your hand quickly and hands you your purse so you can walk out together. You are grateful to be among the stragglers leaving the office so that you don’t draw too much attention.

Walter walks you to your car and has you put in his address to your GPS, ‘just in case you get lost’ he jests before heading to his truck. As you watch him walk away, one thought comes to your mind.

Is this a date?

You park behind Walter’s truck in his driveway, climb out of your car, and crunch through the snow behind him. In your clumsy state, your foot slips, and strong arms catch you so that you don’t completely bust your ass on the unforgiving ice below.

This time when he touches your arms, you are beyond grateful to be able to pull yourself upright again. Once you’re stable, Walter keeps one of your hands in his until you make it to his front door. He lets you walk in first, turning on the light to the short hallway after you chuckle in the darkness.

Walter takes your coat and hangs it up with his, your wet boots left by the door. Walking into the kitchen, he pulls out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Opening the wine, he pours each glass and brings them out to where you are standing in the living room. Handing you a glass, he raises his own.

“Shall we toast to something?” Walter smiles softly, expectantly waiting for you to suggest what to salute.

“To...being pleasantly surprised that you still wanted to cook for me despite every awkward moment I’ve had since earlier today. You are a gentleman and a scholar and I'm gonna shut my mouth and drink this wine before I just...keep talking.” You cringe inwardly before looking back up at Walter.

He is watching you with rapt fascination, a slow smile forming. “Let’s toast to practicing human interaction. I’d say we could both use some assistance in that area. We’ll help each other, deal?”

“Deal.” You tap your glass to his and take a sip of the now-aerated wine. Your cheeks warm at the blackberry finish of the cabernet sauvignon.

Maybe there is something to the whole liquid courage thing.

Dinner turned out lovely. You were pleasantly surprised that Walter could cook. There were moments watching him cook where he didn’t have to measure things, or he added a little extra of this or that. He didn’t use a recipe while making the garlic toast like it’s a staple of his repertoire or something.

Sitting on his couch with your feet tucked up under you, you look around the living room at the lack of family photos or little touches that scream Walter Marshall. Not that you would have any idea of what those little touches would be. It just doesn’t feel like a home. It feels like a house, just a house that someone lives in.

When he comes back to the couch with freshly poured wine, you accept your glass with a smile, and he returns it.

“It is a Friday night. We are enjoying our second bottle of wine. You made me a delicious dinner. And I still can’t figure out if this is a date, Walter.” You fiddled with the glass in your hand, looking into it as if the answer was inside the wine.

Walter’s thumb and forefinger on your chin have you looking up at his face. “I’ve used almost every excuse to touch you tonight. I kept talking to you earlier when you thought you’d lost me. I feed off your awkwardness because you say what’s on your mind without a filter. I’m not exactly one to speak a lot but I enjoy talking to you. Because you make me feel like I’m not alone.”

Unshed tears gather at the corner of your eyes. You swallow the lump in your throat, clearing it loudly before you speak. “Can you tell I’m touch-starved because you are too?”

At his quiet nod, you take his wine glass and set both of your glasses on the coffee table. You lean forward, your elbows on your knees. He watches as you have a silent moment with yourself, going over different scenarios before you reach a consensus with yourself. You look back up to him and your face softens.

Reaching out your hand, you intertwine your fingers in his curls. As he turns his head to push it further into your hand, his breathing picks up. He grabs your fingers as they migrate to his jawline.

“I want...I need more than this. I'd like to say I could wait, but all I can think about is kissing you until you can barely breathe.” Walter forces the words out, his breathing in time with yours. Erratic.

You climb into his lap, one hand still in his, the other hand fisting his wool jumper. “Then kiss me until I can barely breathe. Fuck breathing. I just need you.”

No sooner are the words out of your mouth, than Walter’s lips are on yours. It’s like he was starving and the breath from your lungs was the only meal he’d had in weeks. You could feel his hunger as he licked the seam of your lips, letting him in was the only option.

As your tongues fought for dominance, he took the lead in a way you couldn’t ignore. His arms wrapped around you, pulling your torso flush to his. You felt so small yet so special as he held you. So new yet so treasured as you broke the kiss and rested your forehead against his to calm your nerves and catch your breath.

A moment passes between you where you both just breathe. Until you lean your head back, locking eyes with Walter again, and you nod. He understands your non-verbal request, picking you up and walking toward his bedroom. Kicking the door behind him, he lays you down in bed and gets to work undressing you.

You lift your hips as he pulls your jeans and underwear down your legs. You remove your top and bra, and he watches as your body is exposed to him. He stands to make quick work of his jumper, and you salivate at the sight of his hardness through his boxers when his jeans are pushed down his legs. His hefty dick springs up against his abdomen as his boxers are removed.

Your hands roam over his hairy chest as he climbs onto the bed. With a hand under each knee, he pushes your legs back as far as they will go. He admires the shiny wetness that your pussy leaks. Shifting closer, he pushes the head of his dick through your folds and groans.

He looks up into your eyes and asks silently if he can continue. When you nod, he enters you and your body accepts him fully. Allowing you to get adjusted to his size, he wraps your legs around his waist and pulls out until just the tip remains inside you before he slams back into you. This time you both groan, you at the fullness, him at the tight squeeze.

“Fuck, you feel amazing. But please, keep moving.” Your words are all he needed to begin an all-out assault on your cunt.

If it had been a while for him, you’d be none the wiser with the stamina this man possessed. He held your legs open while he fucked into you. He allowed you to just take it as he did most of the work. You could hardly keep up with his thrusts as you melted beneath him.

“You’re so fucking close, just let go for me. I can feel you squeezing my fucking cock. Be a good girl and come for me.” While he whispered in your ear, he ground his pelvis into you to stimulate your clit and G-spot at the same time.

When your resolve finally breaks, you try and hide your face in Walter’s neck to no avail. He tangles a hand in your hair and pulls you back so he can watch your orgasm play out on your face.

“Don’t hide from me when I’m making you come. I want to watch you fall apart under my hands. You are so fucking gorgeous when you come for me, girl.” He talks as you come down from your orgasm and the warmth that spreads over your body is palpable.

“Thank you,” You blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Walter all but runs with it. “Fuck yes, you fucking thank me for your orgasm. That’s my good girl.” He pulls out, turning you on your side and sliding in behind you. Entering you again, he reaches a hand around to play with your clit. Circling your nub, then flicking it to keep you stimulated enough to come all over his fingers.

You come for a second time within a few minutes, and he fucks you through it. Your words are clipped while you try to thank him once more and it just comes out as breathy whispers.

Your moans are music to his ears and he pistons in and out of you. As your walls massage his cock, he starts to falter in his movements. You reach back to grab his hand, lacing your fingers together before pulling your hands to your chest.

Getting the message, Walter wraps his other arm around you to pull you even more impossibly close to him. He slows down his pace, dragging out your moans as he unhurriedly moves inside you. He leans into your ear and speaks softly.

“You have no idea how much I needed this. How much I wanted you. I didn’t know how to talk to you. Fuck, you feel amazing. Need you every day, girl. Just like this, wrapped up in you. I won’t last much longer. So perfect.” He babbles near the end, whimpering your name. He latches onto your neck as he stills inside you.

His teeth nip at you and his tongue soothes your skin as you feel his cock twitch and paint your walls with his spend. You can hear him groan in your ear as his arms hold you tight. You haven’t felt this safe in someone’s arms since you were little. You don’t notice you’re crying until Walter wipes away the tears that fall down your face.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“If you’re about to apologize for crying in front of me, please don’t. You deserve to express your emotions no matter who is around. Least of all, me.” He places a kiss on your neck, attempting to soothe you.

“Fair. I haven’t been held or even touched in so long and it’s a little embarrassing that my first reaction is to cry.” You sniff, rolling your eyes at yourself.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I know that’s easier said than done. But trust me, we just experienced some intense sex. And it was emotional for both of us. Trust me. Can’t you feel how fucking hard I am still inside you?” He moves his hips just slightly and is rewarded with a shiver going down your spine.

“Walter...please.” You let your whimpers be heard and you get what you want.

He moves to his knees while keeping you on your side. He pushes your leg up to a 90-degree angle and leans forward to fuck into you. The sound of slapping flesh fills the room as well as Walter’s grunts as he buries himself deeper inside you than before.

“I’m gonna...please, don’t stop!” You reach up to hold his cheek in one hand and he shuts his eyes at the contact. When they open again, his pupils are blown wide.

“Not stopping until you come again for me, girl.” The hand on his cheek migrates to his forehead to wipe away sweat-slick curls from his brow.

“Come with me, Walter!”

“Ugh, fuck!”

The hold you have on your orgasm falters and your walls flutter around him, his hands curl around your thigh as his hips pound into you one last time. As his cock spurts inside you, your cunt continues to milk him until he softens and is released from your hold on him.

He collapses next to you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. You reach an arm across his chest and settle in to catch your breath. Looking up one last time to Walter’s face, you’re pleasantly surprised to see a smile on his normally grumpy face. His eyes are closed, and you feel at peace knowing you are the cause of that serene expression.

“Stay with me tonight.” You’re startled by his words, but you can’t deny the smile that crosses your face.

Leaning up to kiss his stubbled neck, you revel in the grunt that follows. “Good night, Walter.”

You feel him kiss the top of your head, nosing at your hair. “Night.”

You fall asleep with your hand in his chest hair, your legs tangled together. You are held, you are safe, and you couldn’t be happier. Talking about what all this means could wait until the morning. For now, you bask in the feeling of warmth that this man and this moment give you.

Touch and Go: The Morning After

A/N: Shout out to @sillyrabbit81 for her Detective Grumpypants Spotify playlist which helped me so much in writing this.

**Tag List**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @thabiddie23 @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102 @peyton-warren @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁

333 notes · View notes

viking-raider · 1 year

Text

Secret Santa 🌲

Summary: You're the new Detective in Marshall's station and he's cold towards you. But for Christmas, Rachel Chase devises a plan to fix all of that. With Secret Santa.

Pairing: Walter Marshall/Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warning: G - COTTON CANDY GOODNESS, Grumpus!Marshall, Language, Mention of Homicide, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers?, Shady Behavior, Workplace Romance, Alcohol, Christmas Fic, Cold Work Environment, Kissing

Inspiration: MERRY CHRISTMAS! If you know anything, Grumpus is a World of Warcraft monster! Nerds Unite!!

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

You had been transferred to what felt like the middle of frigid, bum fuck nowhere of Manitoba, from British Columbia, because your boss had thought it would be a good career move for you. Giving you experience outside of the department you had been assigned straight out of the Academy, four years earlier.

Of course, you felt differently.

Just becoming comfortable in your department, with the boys starting to respect you; and not giving you that extra cold shoulder, because you were a rookie and a woman. You had just been accepted as a cold case investigator a month before Captain Dueck handed over your transfer papers, uprooting you halfway across the country.

But even with that, almost all of the employees at your new station were charitable and accommodating towards you. They welcomed you on your first day, as if you had been working there with them for years. Commissioner Harper, the boss, was no nonsense, but he was still friendly and gave you a warm greeting, whenever the two of you met in the hallways or out in the parking lot. Rachel, the department's psychologist, was even more companionable, always popping into your office, if she didn't meet you elsewhere in the building to say hello. Sometimes bringing you a cup of coffee or a pastry.

The only unfriendly entity in the office, that always regarded you with a grunt, eye roll, lifted brow or a sigh, was Detective Walter Marshall. He was a hulk of a man, thick with muscle underneath his knitted sweaters and tight jeans. But underneath that was nothing but a grump of the highest degree. Rachel tried explaining that Marshall was really a good guy, but he'd seen a lot as a homicide detective and former SWAT leader. That he had a chip on his shoulder from a nasty divorce with his ex, Angie, how he was bitter with the little he saw his daughter, and the strained relationship between them.

Despite Fae being Marshall's light in the dark.

You called bullshit on most of it. At first, Marshall was just bitterly indifferent towards you. He'd speak to you, if and only, when he needed to. Other than that, Marshall's replies to you were guttural sounds and facial expressions. You were incredibly annoyed by it for the first several weeks, but after that you just got over it. Learning what each sound and look meant. It wasn't until you discovered a cold case had a connection to a case Marshall was on, that you saw things change between you and him.

It was the case of Monika Wagner, who had disappeared eight years before, in Headingley. There had been no solid evidence at the sight of her disappearance, other than three walnut beads found on the ground, with her jacket. It was when you saw the suspect in Marshall's murder case, rubbing at rosary that it clicked in your mind. You rushed to the evidence lock up, scouring the boxes for Monika's, and tore the red tape seal off of the lid, digging through the contents for the small baggy that held the three beads.

“Marshall!” You barked, out of breath as you bent forward, wheezing to catch your breath.

He stood there, waiting for you to recover, brow lifted at you.

“Your su-suspect...” You gasped, holding up the clear evidence bag. “He's ta-taken another girl before, I'm s-sure of it.” You gulped, straightening and looking up at him.

“Why do you think that?” He asked, taking the bag from you and studying the small, black beads.

“The rosary he's rubbing.” You said, licking your lips. “I'd bet my career they're made of the same walnut of these ones, and these are from a cold case, eight years ago, in the same city he murdered your victim.” You explained to him, staring expectantly at him.

Marshall stared at you for a moment longer, which you knew was just him making sure you weren't wasting his time, before turning on his heels and storming down the hall into the interrogation room, where the suspect was being held. You started to follow, but he put a hard stop to that, with a sharp side glance, before slamming the door shut. Huffing, you scurried into the viewing room and watched from there.

He set the evidence bag on the metal table, the middle aged, bald male was cuffed to and regarded him for a moment, judging him for any reaction. The man looked at the three beads, he seemed confused for a second, before a creeping look of surprise seeped into his eyes and he shifted uneasily in his chair, gripping the rosary in his hand. Marshall nodded his head, pushing his bearded jaw forward. It was all he needed to confirm you were right, before taking the bagged beads and walking out.

“I told you.” You said, meeting him in the hallway, proud of yourself.

“Yeah.” Marshall grunted back, moving past you.

You thought after that, Marshall would be a little warmer towards you. You had helped him put his suspect away, cementing even more evidence against the guy. But instead, he'd only gotten colder. In fact, you would have been warmer standing out in a Manitoba blizzard in your socks, than the chill Marshall started giving you. You didn't understand and you didn't know how to go about talking to him about it.

How do you talk to someone with an almost nonexistent vocabulary? You don't, that's how!

So, the two of you just started avoiding each other at all costs. You even took a different shift as Marshall. Which was an achievement, since the brute rarely took time off to go home, so he could sleep and shower.

But then, Christmas came around and Rachel, being her good nature self and a “need to fix it” psychologist, decided to do something about the elephant between you and Marshall.

“We're going to do Secret Santa!” Rachel declared as she popped into your office one morning, in mid-December.

“Oh.” You gulped, looking away from your computer monitor. “I've never done that before.”

“Your other precinct didn't do it?” She asked, stepping further into your room.

“No.” You shook your head, chewing on your lip. “If we were going to give each other presents, we just gave them to each other.”

“Well, we do it around here.” She explained, holding out a slip of paper to you. “This is your special person.” She smiled, a glint in her eyes as you took it from her.

“All right.” You answered, taking it from her and unfolded it. “Oh fuck.” You groaned, shoulders slumping as you read the name inside. “It got--”

“No, no!” Rachel cut you off, giggling. “No one is supposed to know. Just you. So, good luck on finding a gift for your person.” She smirked, before breezing back out of your office.

“Yeah, what do you get the biggest Grumpus in the office? Coal.” You sighed, tossing the paper on your desk and rubbing your face, already overwhelmed.

You had two weeks to figure out what to get your Secret Santa, which wasn't a lot of time. Two years wouldn't be enough time to figure out what to get him, let alone that short amount of time. You wrecked your brain all day for what you could buy, forsaking the report you were supposed to be filling out for Amazon Prime. But it was useless, you had no idea what would be remotely useful to him or peak his interest.

“It's hopeless.” You huffed, rubbing your eyes and looking at your watch. “He'll just have to settle for coal.” You mumbled, shutting your computer off and stretching to your feet, joints popping for sitting so long.

Grabbing your coat, you locked your office and headed down to the parking lot, gasping and shivering as the blustery wind wrapped around you at full force. There was easily two feet of snow outside, but thankfully the walkways were shoveled and salted. However, on your way to your car, you ran into the fruit of your current issue.

“Don't you wear gloves?” He asked, locking up his truck as you tried blowing warmth into your bare palms.

“No.” You answered, glaring at him. “My car is right here. It's not that bad.” You told him, hitting the unlock on your key fob.

“Hm.” Marshall grunted, before continuing towards the station.

“Coal.” You growled, getting behind the wheel and slamming your door. “I'm getting that Yeti coal for Christmas!” You hissed, watching him head inside, before noticing the hypocrite wasn't even wearing a beanie over those wild curls of his.

It was honestly two of the fastest weeks of your life, and that was saying something, since the Academy stressed you out beyond belief. But in those two weeks, you had finally figured out what to get Grumpus Walter Marshall for Secret Santa.

It hadn't been easy either!

Now, it was time to exchange it to him at the station's annual Christmas party, that you were in all truth, slack jawed to see Marshall attend. Though, you weren't shocked to see him in his signature black shirt and jeans, while everyone else wore something festive, like ugly Christmas sweaters, Santa hats or Reindeer antlers. Some of the gifts were sitting on a designated table, to be picked up by their person, whenever they wanted to stop by and grab it, while others happily and excitedly rushed over to their Secret Santa with their gift thrust out.

You had come with your gift in a small, brown colored bag with red reindeer printed all over it, sealed shut with a small bit of clear tape. You carried it around with you for an hour, trying to work up the nerve to move over to Marshall's broody corner, where he was sipping a paper cup of eggnog and glaring at everyone with a watchful eye. But you hadn't managed it. So, you went from one cluster of co-workers to another, wishing them Merry Christmas and giving out hugs, nibbling on homemade and store bought Christmas cookies, and nursing a cup of Spiced Cider.

“So, I see you still have your gift.” Rachel said, over your shoulder, as she came up behind you, taking a drink of her hot cocoa.

“I do.” You replied, biting your lip and fighting the urge to glance over at Marshall.

“Well, why haven't you given it to your person yet?” She asked, grinning like the cat about to get the mouse.

“Um--” You floundered, taking a deep gulp of your cider.

“Go on, before they leave.”

You looked at her. “How do you know they're even here?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at her, then finally saw the meaning to that glint in her eyes. “You rigged it.” You gasped at her, mouth falling open.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Rachel chuckled, shrugging her shoulders.

“You purposely made sure I got that grouch.” You scoffed at her, outraged.

“There's many grouches-”

“Rachel!” You barked, eyes flaring as you nudged her with your shoulder.

“Oh, all right!” She relented, laughing at you. “Yes, I made sure you got him as your Secret Santa. Big deal. Maybe it'll warm things up between the two of you.” She pointed out, pressing her lips together. “The aura around you two is palpable. The whole office feels it. I'm just trying to help fix it.”

“Is it that bad?” You asked, suddenly feeling aware of your co-workers closeness.

“It's not anything toxic. But people know something strained is going on between the two of you. Even the Commissioner commented on it.” She confessed, looking a little reluctant.

“Oh god.” You squeaked, glancing over at your boss. “All right, I'll go over and give it to him.” You sighed, gulping down the rest of your drink. “Wish me luck.” You grimaced, setting the empty cup on a table in front of you.

“You're going to need it, he's heading out.” Rachel replied, pointing to Marshall as he moved through the crowd.

“Crap!” You gasped, twisting around and going after him. “Excuse me! Pardon me! So, sorry!” You said, frantically weaving through people, trying to get to Marshall before he could leave, rushing to the door of the conference room the party was being held in just as it swung shut.

“Marshall!” You yelled out, dashing into the hallway.

Marshall stopped, just before rounding the corner to his office, and turned to the sound of your voice. He lifted a brow as you rushed towards him, your eyes bright from your cider consumption. He was about to ask what you wanted from him, before noticing the gift bag in your hand and his massive shoulders slumped, understanding.

“You're my Secret Santa.” He whispered, looking down at you with tired eyes, he clearly hadn't gone home after his shift.

“Yee-ah.” You nodded, biting your lip.

He rolled his jaw and nodded back, holding his hand out for the bag.

“Look,” You started, handing it over. “I'm not good with presents. I don't have—I don't do them back home. So, I'm sure you'll hate it and it was a stupid idea.” You rambled watching him break the tape seal and reach in. “I don't even know why I bothered making it. I should've just bought you a gift card for Timmy Horton's or something.”

Marshall didn't answer, instead he pulled out the black and grey umber, knitted beanie you had made him, with your own two hands. He didn't say anything, he just stood there holding it and staring at it for the longest time. You couldn't tell if the expression on his face was a good one or not either.

“I knew it was stupid.” You blurted out, your anxiety hitting the roof. “I'm sorry. Do what you want with it. Just forget about it.” You said, quickly turning on your heels and hurried back to the party.

As you ran off, you missed the look on Marshall's face, one of confusion and like you had punched him in the heart somehow. Gently putting the beanie back into the bag, he turned and carried on to his office, to the task he'd been on before you stopped him. He unlocked his door and set his gift down, going into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling out a small box, covered in white and pink snowflake wrapping paper. He cleared his throat, holding it for a moment, feeling his palms clam up. Glancing at your gift on top of his desk, before leaving his office again, he carefully tucked the box in his back pocket.

He returned to the party, scanning the crowd until he spotted you, by the refreshments table, going for another cup of Cider. Taking a deep breath, he moved through the crowd and stopped beside you, startling you for a second.

“Jesus.” You gasped, composing yourself.

“Could I speak to you?” He asked, with his usual hard and guarded expression. “Privately.” He added, glancing at the few people close by.

You regarded him for a moment, before sighing. “Fine.” You nodded, brushing by him and heading towards the quieter side of the room. “What is it? Come to give me crap about my gift or something?” You asked, instantly defensive.

Without answering, Marshall pulled the gift from his back pocket and held it out to you, lifting a brow, when you didn't immediately take it from him. You were too shocked to realize you had apparently been his Secret Santa, to grab it from him. Your eyes darted around the gathered police force to spot Rachel, who was grinning at the pair of you.

“Sneaky.” You mumbled under your breath.

“What?” Marshall frowned, cocking his head at you.

“Nothing.” You replied, taking the box from him finally. “So, I was your Secret Santa.” You said, carefully peeling back the paper.

“Yeah.” He nodded, watching you carefully. “My daughter thought the paper was cute.” He said, offhandedly. “She even helped me wrap the gift, since I'm not great at it.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard. “It's really cute.” You answered, blinking at him, unsure what to do with that bit of personal information, as you continued unwrapping.

Marshall held his hand out, taking the paper from you, once you finished unwrapping his gift. His blue eyes shifting, they were soft and curious, watching you examine the present he had gotten you. It took you a moment to understand what the device was, but once you did, it genuinely made you chuckle.

“It's a rechargeable hand warmer.” Marshall explained, biting his lip. “Since you seem to refuse to wear gloves.” He grinned at you, for the first time since the two of you met.

You smiled up at him, laughing even more. “It seems we've both given each other practical gifts.” You pointed out, amused to no end.

“It would seem so.” He agreed, his face transforming into something so much more handsome, when he allowed himself to smile and be happy. “I do like my present, by the way. I've never had anyone personally make me something before. It's very thoughtful and will no doubt keep my head warm.”

“I love my gift as well.” You assured him, looking down at it. “I look forward to using it.”

“Ooo!!” Rachel called out, suddenly, catching your and Marshall's attention. “You and Marshall are under the mistletoe!” She chuckled, pointing to the sprig of plant above you.

You dropped your head back and gulped. “Oh fuck.”

A smirk tugged on one side of Marshall's mouth. “Well, tradition is tradition after all.” He said, looking down at you, a coltish look in his blue eyes. “That's if my Secret Santa will grant me one more gift tonight?”

“Hm, I don't know.” You cooed, narrowing your eyes at him. “You've been a right Grumpus this year.”

“I'll be better next year.” Marshall answered, the sparkle growing brighter.

You smirked at him, a fluttering in your stomach pulling you towards him, realizing he was in love with you. “I'll hold you to that.” You replied, lightly wrapping your arms around his hips. “Or it's coal, next year.” You said, offering your lips to him.

“Can't have that.” He chuckled, dipping his head to capture your lips, kissing you deeply, and hugged you snug against him.

The office hooped with excitement as you kissed, and Rachel laughed, knowing her plan had worked.

363 notes · View notes