#at least that have made their way onto ao3

[lorelune]

O4O: part i

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega for omega, soft smut || wc: 10.3k  || ao3 ||

Jing Yuan has been content riding out his heats alone for centuries. You, despite being another omega, are happy to lend a hand if Jing Yuan will have you.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

💦🎀 this piece is apart of SPRING FEVER: an omegaverse collab! 🎀💦

part i (here) — part ii (coming soon!)

notes: hello omega jing yuan omega jing yuan save me... the way omega jy has haunted me for months. MONTHS. this fic is incredibly indulgent soft, needy smut with non-traditional a/b/o dynamics. THANK YOU to the lovely @owlespresso for beta reading!! please read the tags and enjoy!! <3

CW: a/b/o dynamics, omega jing yuan (with afab and amab anatomy), omega reader (afab anatomy), past yingxing/jing yuan/dan feng, bottom jing yuan flavors (though reader does not do any penetration), use of toys, worldbuilding around omegaverse, lots of biting, milfy jing yuan, mommy kink without the word mommy (at least not in this part 👀💗!!),

Jing Yuan has not shared his heat with anyone in a very, very long time. Centuries, most certainly. Jing Yuan doesn’t find it very useful to keep track of that length of time— he finds it cumbersome if anything. There’s no use holding onto a past that only forces him to redigest pain. 

Jing Yuan rarely has heats. He keeps a diligent schedule of medication and only has to go through them once every decade or so. Occasionally less, if the Luofu is passing a particular star system or comet field. His heats are always cumbersome. He can conceal his omegan sensibilities often, but it is more difficult prior to a heat.

Preheat is a different beast.

When Jing Yuan sequesters himself in his estate for the better part of a week, anyone who knows he’s even there assumes it is to go through a rut. A week is a standard amount of time to take off for a rut and is expected. However, a heat has a standard time off of about two and a half weeks. Much longer to accommodate preheat and nesting needs. 

Jing Yuan rarely indulges his own. 

The Luofu, at large, assumes he is an alpha. This is manufactured, however only partially. Generally, the citizens of the Luofu assume, given that he is the General and he has a larger, broad-shouldered stature, that he is an Alpha through and through. He always wears scent patches in public, which is normal for both omegas and alphas. Betas, too, occasionally. Depending on the subtype. The Charioteers know that he is an omega, but they are committed to some amount of discretion and guard the information as a secret. Lady Fu, an alpha, will occasionally scold him for being so secretive. Like he harbors some sort of self-hatred that he is an omega. 

It is simply more convenient for him to be seen as an alpha. Jing Yuan doesn’t wish to disturb this perception.

And therefore, it is much easier to wait as long as possible between heats and bear them alone. Whatever instincts he has can be satiated with toys and a half-decent nest. Jing Yuan has always considered this enough. ‘Enough’. 

(It’s not sating. Jing Yuan cannot lie to himself about this. He remembers laying with Yingxing, and how the alpha made him feel more full and content than Jing Yuan had ever thought possible during a heat. Or ever, truthfully. He remembers how calming Dan Feng’s presence had been— grounding and reassuring, too. Jing Yuan was fucked, filled and protected. An omega’s dream.)

Jing Yuan... copes with what he has. A large, plush bed with a downy mattress, a few donated, alpha-scented garments, and a collection of inflatable, knotting toys. He always leaves his heat with lingering cramps, a brutalized hole, and a yearning that takes a few weeks to quiet itself. 

It is natural that he craves his mates. Even if they are long dead (not dead. Not really. Not the same as they once were, anyway.)

And certainly, never to be his again. The mating mark on his neck has long faded.

Jing Yuan tracks his heat so such yearning can be anticipated and planned for. He knows when his heat is approaching, down to the specific day it will occur. He titrates off his suppressants carefully, and maps out a portion of time off for himself a year or so in advance. 

Which is why it is very odd that he starts exhibiting preheat symptoms in the middle of the day, a random day, during a tactical meeting.

Even if he had been titrating down his dose in anticipation for a planned heat in a few months time, it is far, far too early to begin feeling symptoms. The familiar itchiness prickling under his skin is entirely unexpected. Jing Yuan has to put a particularly large amount of effort to get through this unnecessary meeting without letting a single symptom slip. He can only adjust in his seat so many times before it is improper, or juggle the cradle of his jaw from one hand to the other before it is clear something is wrong. 

If any of the Charioteers and their advisers notice anything amiss with him, they say nothing. The only one who looks off-put is Fu Xuan. She’s a spitfire alpha herself, and perhaps she’s keen enough to notice that Jing Yuan is beginning to feel... unwell. Though he is masking his scent as he always does, he imagines that the flush in his cheeks is becoming increasingly obvious.

Fu Xuan gives Jing Yuan a wary look as the meeting is dismissed.

“General,” She says curtly. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” He gives her a rich laugh as he stands, muffling a groan as his stiff back and knees ache. He’d sat for too long. He feels light-headed as he rights himself and Fu Xuan glares at him.

“I doubt that,” Fu Xuan huffs. “I will not interrogate you in public, nor do I think you would give me an honest answer even if I did—”

“So little trust in me, Master Diviner—”

“ However, I will urge you to go home. ” She takes a step closer and sniffs the air. It’s just the two of them in the meeting room now, the rest of the parties in attendance having filtered out. Subtly and without fanfare, she takes his hand in her own, and presses her wrist to his. Jing Yuan keeps an easy grin on his face but can’t help the way he tenses his fingers, flexing them at the contact. “Do you need an escort?”

“Is Lady Fu worrying for me? How kind.”

“I’m— not, ” Fu Xuan huffs now and more roughly smears their wrists together. The scent gland she is almost abusing is swollen and hot to the touch. It takes all of his composure not to squirm with her treatment. “I’m no fool. If you have a heat starting, you should be comfortable at home, not in a war room.”

“Master Diviner, you think I’m an omega?” Jing Yuan says with a smile. He knows she is already privy to this, but he can’t resist teasing her a bit.

“You are insufferable. Even in this state. Go home. I will take you there myself.”

“I’m afraid I can’t return home just yet,” He hums. He imagines he has a few hours before proper pre-heat sets in. “I have a lunch date that I cannot miss.”

“You— a lunch date?”

“Yes, of course. It’s a scheduled event, dear Diviner.”

“Do not patronize me.”

Jing Yuan laughs as she fumes. He has the urge to ruffle her hair, but thinks better of it. The complicated updo would surely be ruffled, and Jing Yuan is already getting an earful as it is. 

“I would never.”

Fu Xuan yanks her arm away with a growl. She wears some type of masking perfume, she always has, but with her frustration swirling, a bit of her actual scent peaks through. It’s light on the back of his tongue, floral almost. Nearly inedible, but the kind of scent Jing Yuan that makes him nostalgic—

(For a master with a scent like frost-covered roses, and a packmate with a scent filled with springtime lilac blossoms in fat clusters.)

“If this lunch is really so necessary, may I escort you there at least? Or will your alpha be meeting you here?”

“They’re not an alpha.” Jing Yuan hums. His stomach feels warm regardless. “And I’ll be just fine getting there myself.”

Fu Xuan looks at him, questioningly. Her lips open, then close once more. There are questions she clearly has. And for all her brashness and hot-blooded fervor, she understands decorum better than most. She pries out of care and her good intentions, and Jing Yuan can respect that if nothing else.

“I’ll concede,” Fu Xuan sighs. “ However, please let me know if there’s anything else you need. You have my number.”

“Noted.” Jing Yuan rises, and feels the heat clouding his head sink lower in his body. He’s being engulfed. 

Fu Xuan deadpans, “General—”

“Have a good rest of your day, Master Diviner,” He calls with a light laugh, slipping away before Fu Xuan can give him any further grief.

...

As the Arbiter General of the Luofu, Jing Yuan knows its streets and secrets very well. There’s more than one way to arrive at his favored terrace garden without being seen or smelt by the public. It is helpful that this path is lined near an aqueduct stream, surrounded by lush greenery and clumps of fragrant azure asters. This path is tucked away, straddling an external tunnel of the Luofu’s inner tunnels. Really, only the Calibrators aboard the ship use it, and as there are only a few and they tend to keep to their delve, Jing Yuan has very little fear walking this way at his own leisure.

He is glad you tend to take your lunch dates in the privacy of this particular garden, under the gazebo and nestled atop its many silken blankets and pillows. A conventional restaurant in this state would be doable, but unideal. 

Jing Yuan can smell you as he approaches. It makes him pause, just outside the gate. His hands hovers over his jade abacus as he opens his mouth to taste you in the back of his mouth.

(Warm, a familiar scent that he associates with the rare indulgence of relaxation. It’s not overly sweet or ripe, but balanced and full-bodied. Not quite floral or fruity, and not deep enough to be akin to an aged black tea. Perhaps like the roll of a hearth or the beeswax of a lit candle.)

He’s sighs. It calms him instantly. 

Even if you aren’t an alpha, you are familiar, as is the current setting.

You’re sitting at a low table in the shade of the gazebo. There are several plates of cheeses, cut fruits, salted meats, and nuts laid out. You’re ladling sticky honey into a small dish as he enters, and look up at the sound of the gate closing.

You smile when you see him.

“General,” You smile. “I apologize, I started setting up lunch without you. Everything should still be chilled.”

“No need to be sorry,” he laughs gently, brushing a hand against your shoulder before rounding the table, and taking a seat across from you. “I could never complain about your diligence. You have chosen quite the spread today, haven’t you?”

You flush with a nod, and gesture down to the table, “The markets were lovely today, I had to splurge. You’ll have to let me know what you think.”

“Only if you do the same.”

“I-I can do that,” You smile at him softly.

Despite your familiarity, you still regard him with some amount of anxiety. Jing Yuan has long since placed this has less to do with his status as General, and more than likely due to a deepened amount of affection that Jing Yuan... entertains. Enjoys. Thrives off of, even. He perhaps returns it, though he hasn’t told you that explicitly.

Besides, you believe him to be an alpha. He’s sure that, if you did know his secondary gender, such affections would fade quickly. The allure of what he could provide as an alpha is quite different from what he can provide as an omega.

Jing Yuan takes a sip of sparkling juice, and as he lowers the thin-necked glass, you look at him strangely. A crease knits itself between your brows.

“Did I get some on my face?” Jing Yuan chuckles and wipes at the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

“No... you just,” You stumble with your words, hands flexing in your lap. “Are... are you alright? Your cheeks look quite warm, and you’re sweating around your hairline.” 

You always have been keen to bodies other than your own. It’s not the most common trait. 

“... Am I?” Jing Yuan could choose to lie at this moment. It would be easy to say he was using a new brand of suppressants, or blame it on a stressful day. However, he doesn't like lying to you, only twisting the truth when entirely necessary. “I do suppose I’m at that point in my cycle.”

“Oh!” You startle and sit up more straight. You push a plate at him. “Pre-rut? You should eat, then. You’ll need your strength. Do— do you have someone I can call? I don’t mind.”

Your worry is cute. 

Jing Yuan can’t help thinking about it. You are an omega full of so much care and urge to help. Jing Yuan has seen it and experienced it many times, and has also seen how it has gotten you into unfortunate situations. You have a trusting mind and spirit, and more than once, it has been used against you. 

Jing Yuan likes keeping you close, so he can look after you, even if it’s from a distance.

He stares down at the plate. There’s a pile of glistening orange grapes, a few roses of sliced, cured meats, a chunk of honeycomb, and buttery looking crackers. It does look delicious, however Jing Yuan has always struggled to eat in his pre-heat. When he looks up at you to decline, your expression looks even more worried, almost sour.

Before he can speak, you are. Petal-soft lips lips downturned. “Are you... not in pre-rut, General?”

He deflates, slightly. He is old— and. He does not wish to steer you away from what is a correct assumption. You are his most trusted companion.

“I am not,” He says softly, and picks up one of the grapes. He squeezes. The skin is taut and tight. “And, please call me Jing Yuan. Formalities can be dropped, yes?”

“I— yes, of course.” You look from his plate to him. “So, you’re... pre-heat?”

“I am, yes.”

“Oh!” You immediately heap his plate with several other kinds of fruit, and grab a clean glass and pour ice water from a pitcher into it. “I apologize— for. Making such an assumption.”

“No need to apologize.” He soothes and lays a hand over yours. “I’m aware of what the vast majority of the Luofu assumes my secondary gender to be. It does not bother me. If it did, I would have corrected the greater public long ago. I apologize for not telling you directly until now.”

“It’s— okay,” you reply. Perhaps a bit hurt. “I never asked. I just— I just thought. Wrong.”

(Please be kinder to yourself, he thinks. It hurts to see you saddened on my account.)

“Nonsense,” he laughs and gracefully takes the water you offer. He downs the glass down his parched throat. He— hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. “No harm done. If anything, I’m grateful that you now know.”

(Regardless of how it could change your feelings toward him.)

Jing Yuan has tempered heartbreak for millenia. Another one— is not nothing, but it is manageable. Perhaps not during preheat, but he still has time to mourn. 

“I’m glad too,” you tell him, and squeeze back his hand. You only scent him sometimes, always so shy about it, but now you firmly rub the scent gland in your wrist against his. His aches, and the sensation and exchange of pheromones nearly makes him wheeze. He straightens his spine. 

“Was that—?” You almost pull away.

“No, it’s very welcome.”

You stare at him, intent and soft, before settling. Tentatively, you rub at the gland in gentle circles.

“You should eat,” you say after a moment. “Do you have an alpha I can call? Or— um, anything you need me to pick up for you?”

“I am fine.” Jing Yuan will text Qingzu for the essentials, rather than troubling you. “I’ll finish lunch with you, and then see myself home.”

“... No alpha to pick you up?”

“None to speak of, no.” Jing Yuan manages a smile.

(It has been— centuries since Jing Yuan had an alpha to care for and stake a claim on him. The notion of finding another has been put out of his mind since he himself had to confine Dan Feng to the Shackling Prison and exile the man Yingxing became. Even after meeting them as they are today, Jing Yuan knows they are no longer his mates.)

“Oh.” 

Every one of your emotions is so clearly on your face. You look so sad for him and you squeeze his hand. He has half a mind to pull away, and remind you that he does not need your worry. However, he is in pre-heat, and by Lan, he is craving worry.  

“And... heatmates?” You ask. “I don’t want to pry, but it’s hard to spend a heat alone.”

“Once again, none.” Jing Yuan replies without hesitating. The silence that follows is poignant as you study him. 

“I see.” You frown again, clearly thinking. Jing Yuan can see the thoughts turning around just behind your eyes. You pile on even more fruits to his plate. “Eat, eat. You need it.”

“This much fruit will give me a stomach ache, I fear.”

“Some of it, at least!” You huff at him. “For me, please?”

Jing Yuan meets your gaze, easy and soft. There’s no threat, only the heat that matches your scent and the feel that radiates in his chest.

(You are not his alpha. You are something entirely different— something that he wants so badly to hold.)

“For you.”

...

By the end of lunch (in which, Jing Yuan does manage to eat a decent amount of the fruit you’d put on his plate), Jing Yuan’s pre-heat has begun to simmer into a more uncomfortable territory. He desperately wants to shed his uniform and armor, and slip into a robe and no bottoms. He hasn’t begun to slick yet, but he will surely start to by sundown.

Jing Yuan stands after the meal, stretching. It’s proper afternoon now, and the birds of the garden chirp eveningsong. 

“Jing Yuan?” You ask as he stretches his arms above his head. His name sounds lovely in your mouth.

He hums, “Yes?”

“Do you want a heatmate?” You ask quietly. 

He looks at you. 

You’re fiercely meeting his gaze, even though you’re clearly struggling to. Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth, and you’re fighting a frown from the crinkles on your forehead. Regardless, you stand your ground and ask a question that is surely difficult to broach, especially so directly.

“I—I am offering.” You stammer. “To clarify.”

“To be my heatmate?”

“Yes— I hate to think of you suffering alone, Jing Yuan. If I can be by your side to ease it, if only a little, I would like to be.”

“That is very brave of you to ask.” He smiles with a tilt of his head. “And bold.”

“I— I’m being honest.” You almost whine. It’s so cute. “Is that a no?”

“No, not at all.” Jing Yuan replies. “However, I wouldn’t want you to help solely for my benefit. If you wish to enter my nest exclusively to be an aid, and not out of... personal wants, I would feel guilty.”

“It’s— it’s personal wants too.”

“... Is it now?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Even though I’m not an alpha, as you thought?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain.”

“ Yes, Jing Yuan.” 

“I cannot give you a knot—”

“I do not need one!” You break, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement. “I am happy to be by your side, regardless of that! If anything, I’m more than happy to share a nest with you without the assurance of a limp and a potential pup.”

Jing Yuan smiles, almost unrestrained, and your cheeks heat deliciously. 

You stammer, and poke at his chest, “You’re teasing me—!”

“I apologize, you must forgive me—”

“ Rude—!”

Your bury your face in his chest and nuzzle there. It’s— clearly a self soothing action, one you realize a moment too late isn’t quite proper. You stiffen, beginning to draw away, before Jing Yuan catches you by your scruff and holds you there. 

“You’re alright,” He holds a wide palm there. “I apologize for teasing you. I mean so warmly.”

“... Scoundrel.” The sound muffles into his chest.

“Am I?”

You peer up at him, so warm in the cheeks and eyes... almost watery. Something in his chest feels sticky and molten. 

“ Yes—” You dare to meet his eyes again. “But, one I’m very fond of.”

Jing Yuan steels himself.

You are an omega. It is not your pheromones addling his mind. There is clarity in the attraction and affection he has for you, one not influenced by the urge to be knotted and bred. Though, Jing Yuan wants that, maybe part of him needs it. There is a trunk full of toys and implements he has tucked away that will sate the urge. The feelings that he carries for you will not so easily be placated.

“I would like it very much if you were to share my heat with me,” He speaks softly, just for the two of you to hear. Not even the garden birds will know his words. “If you are still offering.”

“Yes,” You say quickly, tentatively wrapping your arms around his waist. “Yes.”

He chuckles, easy and low, and presses his nose into your hair. Perhaps it’s pre-heat, making him sentimental and mushy. He usually hides out and bears it alone in his comfiest nest so these feelings typically do not get expressed in any other way other than delirious, anguished cries while a knotting toy takes the edge off. 

Jing Yuan finds these are nice to indulge, as your scent envelopes him.

...

“I lied earlier,” Jing Yuan says as you enter the threshold of his estate. “I apologize sincerely.”

“Oh?” You ask with a tilt of your head, accepting a pair of house slippers eagerly. “... What about?”

“I am in pre-heat unexpectedly. Though I have been tapering suppressants for an anticipated heat, it has come far earlier than planned . Things are... not as I would like them. You’ll need to excuse me for a few moments.”

Jing Yuan, like any omega, is particular about his home and nest, especially around his heat. He knows his home and inner chambers are not to his liking and he’ll need to prepare them. Even if you aren’t an alpha entering his nest, you are a guest and companion he is very fond of. You deserve only the best.

“Of course, whatever you need,” you assure him. “Do you need me to grab anything while you do so? I don’t mind running to the market—”

Jing Yuan turns on his heel, grabbing your arm firmly, “You’re not leaving.”

“O-Oh.”

Your eyes widen, and heat rises in your cheeks. Your throat bobs as you swallow and nod. Jing Yuan— were he not in pre-heat, would perhaps be a bit embarrassed by his brazeness. However, now? The idea of you leaving his home sends him reeling. You cannot leave— not until you smell like him and his nest. Not until— not until this is over.

“I sent a request to Qingzu to fetch us a few things during the walk over. She’ll be here shortly. I do, however, have a bowl of fruit that could be cut up while I get myself sorted. How does that sound?” 

You nod eagerly, happy to follow instruction. Jing Yuan knows this about you and enjoys it thoroughly.

He sets you up in the kitchen with a bowl of sunsiettas, a box of meldberries, and a few bunches of perfectly ripe, round kaishen grapes. Jing Yuan leaves you to the task, which he can already tell you will do dutifully. You thrive off of praise and direction. It’s a dangerous trait of an omega to carry, even more terrifying to hold openly as you do. Jing Yuan knows it has burned you before.

However, he intends to indulge you well and kindly, as it pleases him very much.

His mind, far-too warm and itchy, yearns to spin fantasies as he locks himself in his room with a shake of his head. 

He must keep it together. Just for awhile longer. His bed is— not a nest. Not the nest he wants (needs) it to be. His duvet, thick and luxurious as it is, needs a fluffing and a fresh scenting. His pillows are not arranged to his liking, and he needs to poke through his linen closet and add some extra layers as well. He needs to make sure there’s lube nearby with clean toys. Water out. His phone charged and volume on— (though, he already sent a message to Qingzu stating his heat has hit and he’ll be out for at least a week. ‘Defer to Diviner Fu :3’ , which is Jing Yuan’s payment to Lady Fu for the list of errands he had sent her.)

Jing Yuan shakes his head with a laugh. The little alpha will certainly be pleased when she hear she’ll get to play General for a while. 

Pre-heat drives him forward. He sheds his many layers (without aid, which is objectively a headache and he regrets not asking you for assistance initially. However, Jing Yuan is fairly certain that if he were to be fully bare around you, regardless of his pre- heat or not, he may jump you and drag you into his nest—)

Pre-heat is also making him somewhat irrational.  

He throws on his favored robe, a silken, cream-colored garment with delicate gold and red embroidery around the hems. The sleeves drape at his wrists and a sash ties it snugly around his waist. The itch that’s been rolling around just under his skin feels duller, with the less restrictive garment. The fabric crosses over his chest in a way that is... revealing. Probably too revealing, under any other circumstance, especially given that you have never seen him in anything less than his daily regalia. 

The thought of looking so indecent around you has its allure to it. One that Jing Yuan lets himself entertain with a smitten smile as he works.

He is attracted to you, surely. This he knows and has known. 

Jing Yuan acknowledges that this is both emotional and physical. You are dear to him, truly. In a way that is unique to any of the connections, he holds in the present. Your presence is one he thoroughly enjoys, and, more than once, (many times), has craved during his late-evening ruminations in his courtyard. He— has thought about inviting you over, if for nothing else than a chat in the moonlight and tea or wine to your preference, however—

He has always stopped himself.

Yearning, he will allow in the ways he has learned to manage it over the centuries. Small doses of longing that can be enjoyed and swallowed down, without festering. Being brazen with his wants and feelings is... slipperier. Especially concerning you, as you are dear to him, and Jing Yuan, for better or for worse, would like to share space with you for as long as he can manage. 

This attraction is regardless of secondary gender. 

Jing Yuan has not cared about secondary gender for a great while (since he shared a bed with a short-lived alpha and one of Long’s Scions, who, like all Vidyadhara, did not have a secondary gender at all.) 

Your presentation as an omega was never a deterrent to him. If anything, it was something of a comfort. Jing Yuan was claimed long ago, and he knows that no alpha’s claim will feel the same as Yingxing’s and he wouldn’t want anyone, especially you, to attempt to emulate it. The ownership of a claim was not something he sought. Jing Yuan has had his heart broken enough for this lifetime. He is sure you could rend his heart asunder, however it would not be in the way of losing a mate that he is biologically tied to. 

Statistically, Jing Yuan is lucky that such a loss did not cause him to become Mara struck five hundred years ago.

He is very content with whatever your relationship could become. If nothing else, the prospect of it allures him. Especially now that you know his presentation and clearly seem undeterred yourself. If— if anything. Your scent calmed and cooled when he’d told you on the terraces. 

Another thing that Jing Yuan will have to parse when he isn’t so wet that he’s leaving puddles in his wake. 

For now, Jing Yuan’s nest is satisfactory aside from a few personal items. 

Now, all it’s missing is you. 

...

Jing Yuan does not find you in the kitchen, but rather the foyer, wishing Qingzu a goodbye with a wave and shout. 

Jing Yuan must—

(Temper his instincts because you are far too close to the door and you need to be in his nest and his teeth need to be in you and his scent on you—)

“Jing Yuan,” you say to him warmly, with a smile. There are a few canvas bags on your arms. “How are you feeling—?”

Jing Yuan can’t stop himself from dragging you away from the tall set of doors and back to the kitchen. You squawk at his firmness, but don’t reject his touch. He helps you heft the bags onto a low table. His own arms shake, with both the strain and his own heat-induced weakness.

“It’s really progressing, huh?” You tentatively raise a hand, and place it on his forearm to stroke there.

Jing Yuan practically purrs when you rub over the silken fabric, “It is. Quickly. However, my nest and appropriate supplies are ready. Did Qingzu deliver all that I asked?”

“It seems so.”

There are— three more bottles of lube. A few pearly-looking medicine pills, a specialty item from the Alchemy Commission. Several stacks of ready-made meals and electrolyte powder. There are several vials of milky-looking oils he had her grab for more scandalous purposes as Jing Yuan would like to avoid any type of friction abrasion. Lastly, there are few unmarked boxes with new toys.

“You’re so well-prepared.” Your eyes are wide as you take stock of the haul. Jing Yuan bundles things into a basket and ushers you to his nest.

“I have gone through many heats,” he chuckles. “I have learned the best tricks.”

“I-I can see.”

As you enter his bedroom, you stare at his nest with wide eyes. You jump when Jing Yuan locks the door.

“... Is that alright?” Jing Yuan asks.

“Yes, yes, of course. I just—” You swallow. “I haven’t ever helped another omega through a heat. If you have any pointers or preferences, let me know while you’re still in your full mind, please? I’d like to make this as comfortable for you as possible.”

Jing Yuan thinks for a moment. With a tilt of his head, he rests his hands on your shoulders. Your scent is spiced, a bit nervous, but also undeniably aroused. Your gaze darts down to his exposed collarbones and chest, then quickly back up to his eyes. Heat rises fiercely in your cheeks. 

“Your presence will be helpful in and of itself,” he assures you with a squeeze. Carefully, he hooks his thumbs on your outer garment and pulls it down, undoing buttons and ties along the way. Your lips part, breath hot. “I’ll guide you as I need. My heats tend to be mild, though they do last a full week. There will be lulls, which I tend to be quite worn out during. I’ll need your assistance more than anything.”

You nod, taking in his response. 

Jing Yuan— he’s holding it together. Slick is beginning to drip down his inner thighs and there’s an ache in his core that feels heavier and hotter by the minute. However, he does want to do this part slowly. He prides himself on his patience. Piece by piece, he takes off your day clothes and tosses them into his nest. Without them, your scent is stronger. Your neck is bare from any topical or adhesive blockers.

“During the rest of it though?” You ask, softly. “When you’re in the throes of it.”

Jing Yuan hums, letting a shaking hand rest on the curve of your waist, “I’m not certain. It’s been quite some time since I’ve shared a heat with anyone.”

“... Really?”

“Yes.” Jing Yuan presses his lips to your forehead without thinking. The heat of it, of you, sinks into his own. He feels like he’s going to burn up. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes.” You answer, and push yourself closer to his neck. Your lips part to taste his scent on the back of your tongue. “You are a catch. I know you have quite the lineup of suitors... I just assumed.“

“You also assumed I was an alpha.”

“The General is a skillful liar.”

Jing Yuan clicks his tongue, sliding a hand below your last garments. Satin, lacey things that are almost sheer. Thin. He could tear them easily, but doesn’t. His touch lingers.

“ Jing Yuan,” he reminds you. You stammer before pitching into him. He carefully walks the two of you backwards. His legs are close to giving out. “And I’d like to think of it as a skillful withholding of unnecessary information.”

“ Jing Yuan is very good with his words,” You murmur into the soft skin of his neck, lingering around one of the scent glands there. They ache, sore and unstimulated.

So carefully, you stretch up on your tiptoes to nose at one of them. Your scents bloom together and his eyes almost roll back into his head at the meld of it, the relief and rush of connection. 

It’s the last push Jing Yuan needs before dragging you into his nest with a stifled moan. Coherency is shattered and all he can do is crave, crave, crave.

...

You are a good heatmate.

Astoundingly good. Attentive, kind, and so soft. It’s a relief to Jing Yuan, who’s heat-addled mind is so used to loneliness and cold. You do not have the scent or knot of an alpha, but you’re more than enough. It’s presence and comfort in a way Jing Yuan so, so missed. It’s enough in a different way— and that difference is good. 

(You are not Yingxing or Dan Feng, and Jing Yuan is grateful that you aren’t.)

Jing Yuan finds himself on his back, with you wrapped around him. You let him pillow his cheek against your collarbone. His nose presses against your scent gland, and he pants against it with an open mouth and spit slicked lips. Your hand lays over his chest, cupping his breast while gently thumbing over his nipple. He’s so swollen there, aching.

He cries out as you pinch, as if it could relieve any of the pressure roiling around under his skin.

You curl closer into him with your lips against his temple. “Does that feel good?”

He can only keen and hope you understand that it’s a plea for more. 

You must because a moment later you’re squeezing with your entire hand. It’s— too big of a handful for you. Your fingers are soft and your touch gentle. The visual of the plump flesh of his chest bulging out from between your fingers rewires Jing Yuan’s brain for a craving he never knew possible. A rush of slick gushes from his cunt and— it’s so much. He lurches into your neck, licking blindly at your scent gland. Vaguely, he notices you stiffen and your scent grows a little sharper. 

It’s worry. Jing Yuan can’t have that.

With every ounce of his strength, Jing Yuan rolls you below him, and sits on your hips. You let him, so pliant and agreeable, and lay below him. Jing Yuan’s breath catches and drool slips to the corners of his mouth.

You are beautiful. You look debauched, and you’re not the one in heat. You’re flushed and damp with sweat, just as he is. The robe he’d draped you in is mostly open, revealing supple skin and your last bastion of modesty in the form of a cute pair of panties that Jing Yuan will fantasize about later. 

You look up at him in awe, lust-hazed just like him. There’s little composure to be had as your fists ball up in the sheets around his thighs. Your gaze goes glassy as you look from his face down to where he’s seated atop you and back again.

“No teeth,” he assures you. It is the last coherent thought he has, if only to provide your some comfort.

You look up at him sweetly and nod, grabbing the plump flesh above his hips. “No teeth.”

(A claim wouldn’t take, anyway. Not really. Omega-to-omega pairings lack the necessary pheromones to stake a claim on each other. The most it would do would indicate that whoever has been bitten is a submissive-leaning packmate. Which— Jing Yuan actually would not mind biting you. He would like his teeth in your neck if you would ever allow him.)

He groans at the thought, lowering his head as a silver mane of hair spills around his face.

Jing Yuan is drenched and hard, leaking from the tip of his cock and seam of his cunt. It’s— filthy. You’re soaked too, with a mix of him and undoubtedly yourself too, though Jing Yuan can’t scent it over the smell of his own heat. It’s regrettable as he is sure the mix of you must be divine. Heavenly. 

He wants it in his mouth.

Jing Yuan slinks down your body, licking and sucking at patches of your skin. You try to bat him off, haul him up and away from your own leaking sex, but he resists. He needs a taste or he’ll die, probably. His heat can be quelled in a number of ways, he presumes.

With his face buried in your cunt, surrounded by your scent, the ache for a knot is dulled. When you cry out on his tongue, it is almost deafened.

Jing Yuan drinks you up— he should pay more mind to your clit, probably, if he wants to get you off properly. However, he is so immensely distracted by your entrance and the essence of you that’s leaking out. There’s a rapidly widening damp spot beneath your ass. A steady flow that Jing Yuan needs in him. 

He seals his mouth over your cunt, and prods his tongue inside of you. He presses so close, suffocating with his nose tight to your clit, to lap at your insides. 

You— you wail above him. Your hands bury in his increasingly tangled mess of hair for any sort of leverage. Jing Yuan doesn’t let up; he doesn’t think he can. Your tone crashes into one that’s softer, more airy, begging for more. For less. Jing Yuan can’t entirely tell. He isn’t sure he cares, truthfully. All he knows is that your thighs tighten around his head with each suck and slurp.

The sound of it is heavenly.

Your thighs press around his face. Flush to his cheeks are the scent glands in the apex of your inner thighs. Not everyone has them, as they’re something of a recessive trait among all secondary genders. The scent that comes off them is your own, however muskier and deeper. It sticks to the inside of his nose and pours down his throat like a nectar. You mewl when he breaks away to lap at one, coaxing out more of the scent. He gluts himself on it.

He needs, he needs, he needs.

“Jing Yuan,” you pant above him, propping yourself up with one arm while the other blindly reaches among his nest. “Do you need it? Knot?”

He— 

(He needs to be filled. He isn’t picky if that feeling is quenched with his cunt, ass, throat, or nose. The scent of you is almost enough, even if he clenches down on nothing and feels hollow in his belly. The sensations are so dull with you nearby. He feels heat incensed, but in a way that craves closeness with you and not the manic pursuit of a knot.)

It’s refreshing. Jing Yuan regrets not propositioning you for this treatment sooner.

“Are you offering?” Jing Yuan purrs. He places his thumbs over the scent glands of your inner thighs and presses down on the swell of them, just under your skin.

Your back bends off the bed and you throw your hand over your mouth. Teary eyes meet him and you nod. From the folds of the nest, you pull forth a knotting toy with a shaking grip. 

It’s beautiful for a toy. It’s a model that Jing Yuan had seen in a few high-end adverts on the few social medias he moonlighted on. It’s a flesh-like plastic cock, with an inflatable knot at the base. A little, wired remote drags along the blankets of his nest as you hold the phallus out to him. The plastic of the toy is a light gold, cut with veins of blue. It looks otherworldly and unreal. Jing Yuan has never cared for much realism with his toys, though this one is human enough. 

He makes a mental note to get Qingzu a bouquet for purchasing it for him on such short notice. 

The head of it feels cool against his cunt. It’s a welcome sensation as it feels like his body is burning up from the insight. He lays over you, wrestling you a bit to be flat below him, with his thighs caging yours. He growls when you try to grab the toy from his hands to assist.

It makes you pause.

Your soft palms cup his cheeks, “Do you not want me to help?”

“The angle—” The angle won’t be right, Jing Yuan wants to say. His words feel lost in his throat as he slowly begins to push inside himself. He gasps and tries to duck into your neck, to like and suck at the gland there and feast on your scent.

“I can try—?”

“ No.” 

Jing Yuan wants you just like this. In his nest, smelling like him and arousal and safety. The toy that’s sliding into his cunt is mostly irrelevant, as is the twitch of his cock as he slowly and methodically fucks the toy into himself. Little by little, he bullies it into his underused hole. The stretch is— is not bad. It would be far more uncomfortable if he weren’t in heat and pouring slick. 

You ask more quietly, just as he bottoms out. You still haven’t let go of his face. “Are you sure?” 

He is, but he can’t find the words to say so. Instead, he nods and tucks himself closer to you. You pet down the back of his neck and push on his scent glands. They ache with his heat. The pressure and direct contact makes him grunt as he adjusts to the toy in his cunt.

You hush him and nuzzle in his cheeks, “You’re doing so well. So good, Jing Yuan.”

He keens and pulls back the toy cock, only to shove it back into himself a moment later. Praise from you is a drug. He’s sure. You’re unbearably earnest and sweet and you are too kind to him. You whisper more of them into his ear as he fucks himself, deep and slow. He feels the sentiment of your words more than he hears it. Deeply affectionate and caring. If he were more lucid, he would be disarmed by you, speechless even. Perhaps he is already speechless, but he blames that on the heat haze and how the head of the toy is pressing deliciously into his sweet spot.

He narrows his focus on the spot and fucks him on the toy in earnest.

Jing Yuan will have an arm ache after this. Many aches, actually. It will be worth it. It is easiest to bear with you underneath him, tilting your hips up to grind against his dripping cock. It’s not the friction his body craves, but it’s welcome. It sends sparks down his spine and he whines into your neck. 

You nip at his neck, high on the side of it, and Jing Yuan lets loose a cracking moan. It’s almost embarrassingly loud. Were Jing Yuan able to feel shame in that moment, he’d be red-faced.

Instead, he tips his head to the side, allows you room to mouth and suck marks as you desire. You catch on quickly, and hum, licking broad stripes and soaking him in your scent. Your marks. It surrounds him.

He fucks himself on the toy faster.

(It’s nothing like the heats he had while he was mated with Yingxing and Dan Feng. Not at all. They were shorter, back then. Perhaps it was his youth or the relentless pace and haze Yingxing kept that burned Jing Yuan out faster. Or, maybe it was that Dan Feng always made sure he was wrung out, despite not craving him in the same way Yingxing had. It was carnal then. It still is now, but it does not feel as manic. You are gentle without qualifiers, sweet without expectation, and happy to let him rut into you and back onto the toy as much as he pleases. Your kisses are bruising, but not bloody like Dan Feng’s. There’s a different pace, a different scent, and a different intent.)

Jing Yuan once enjoyed the desperation that Yingxing put into everything he did (including him). He had fallen in love with Dan Feng for his poetics and distanced care. You have neither of these. It is unfair, ultimately, for Jing Yuan to draw comparison. 

Perhaps, he’ll feel guilty over it later. For now, his arm gives out and he falls into your chest with a keen. His back arches, hips raised, and the new angle is so, so good. You run your hands through his hair, and move your thigh, just right, so he can grind on it to his heart’s content.

He’s close; he can feel it in his belly.

What sends him over the edge is the feel of your lips against his hairline, the way your lips have curled into a soft, easy smile as you kiss him there. You stroke down his back, like how a good lover would.

You are a good lover. 

He shudders as orgasm grips him. The sound that rips from his throat is shattering, as overwhelming as the heat that boils over in his guts. And you are such a good lover, that the little remote must have already been in your hand, as in the moment he comes, the knotted base of the toy begins to swell. Jing Yuan can’t— can’t chase his orgasm. He can feel his eyes growing wet while his body feels out of his control (he hates that, he really does). You, however, are a good lover and reach and stretch, matching his angle with the toy and fuck him through it yourself. The knot catches once inside him, then a second time, and with the third, it locks him and the toy together.

And with what can only be called a sob, Jing Yuan fully collapses on top of you.

He can’t keep himself upright, he realizes. His thighs tremble terribly, and his arms are the same. His eyes are filled with tears he didn’t expect and doesn’t know what to do with. It feels vulnerable. Too vulnerable, in a way that Jing Yuan has avoided for centuries now. 

Before the feeling can consume him, you’re coaxing him onto his side and wrapping yourself around him. A sheet gets pulled atop the both of you and you’re nosing into him wherever you can.

“It’s okay,” You tell him. “You’re okay, I promise.”

A muffled sound that comes from your throat, followed by the low roll of a purr. 

Oh. 

All for him?

He shoves himself closer, skin to skin in all the spots he can reach. His tongue laves at your scent glands as his cunt flutters around the toy. He claws at your back before locking his arms around your waist. 

You’re purring for him.

He can help but do the same, even chirping without meaning to as he nips at your jaw. Jing Yuan trails his lips to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. You curl and laugh at his touch, and Jing Yuan steals the lovely sounds from you with a kiss. It’s something deep and consuming, and Jing Yuan needs more of the taste of you. You squirm into it, gasping and opening your mouth for him to explore as he needs. Your openness continues to undo him. 

It’s all the reassurance he needs. Any poisonous feelings fall away, and Jing Yuan, for the first time in far too long, finds himself content and knotted. 

...

Jing Yuan has never had a heat quite like this one.

It is certainly more mild, and certainly a bit shorter than what he was expecting. The worst of it lasts five days, followed by three days that he can’t quite call post-heat. Though the desire in him is less feverish, he still craves your presence so much it hurts, and the idea of you being out of his nests sends him into a toothy panic those days. The ‘no teeth’ rule is modified to allow some biting, as long as it doesn’t involve any scent glands.

(However, Jing Yuan still would not mind putting a claiming bite on you. He makes a note to bring this up when he’s feeling some clarity of mind and can... attempt to court you properly.)

The most intense days of his heat are spent with a knotting toy in his cunt, rutting against your soft thighs, or with your hands wrapped around his cock. He eats you out whenever he can muster up the energy to shimmy between your legs and luxuriate there. Any down time is spent dozing in the warm sun rays that his bedroom is perfectly placed to receive. 

The latter days of his heat, Jing Yuan is more lucid. 

It’s in those days he truly enjoys his heat. Though the burn of arousal still lays within him, it is easily tempered with your presence in his nest and your many shared bite marks. Your time awake is spent lazily kissing, speaking in low voices, and sharing laughter and cups of cool water, one after the other. 

Jing Yuan, partially, did not think he would ever get to experience this type of connection again. with you or any other partner. The intimacy of the act is so deeply vulnerable, and after the spiritual loss of both Yingxing and Dan Feng, he never endeavored, or wanted to endeavor to, open himself up in that way again.

He, perhaps, convinced himself he did not need to.

(Nevermind the many nights, both heat-addled and otherwise, Jing Yuan spent craving nesting companions. Nevermind how many nights Jing Yuan lay alone, accepting his losses and mourning mates he’d never hold again. Jing Yuan could never choose to be selfish.)

It helped when Yanqing was little. He was just a small pup with golden eyes like Jing Yuan’s and a fiery spirit, even when he was so small. Jing Yuan had never considered himself maternal, however having a pup to take care of brought out latent instincts he’d spent the better part of his life pretending didn’t exist. As Yanqing aged, however, he was less receptive to such affections and connections. After presenting (far too young, poor thing, traumatized body), Yanqing wouldn’t share a nest with Jing Yuan unless he fell ill. Even then, Jing Yuan would have to coax him into it.

It quenched something in him. It allowed Jing Yuan to let himself care in the direct way he craved. With his position as General, how often does get to show care with his hands, and not with his words or stratagems? Not with sacrifice or poetry, but with his body and scent. 

Jing Yuan realizes now that there truly have been so many urges and behaviors Jing Yuan simply did not indulge.

And as his heat breaks, Jing Yuan thinks he’d like to start indulging them more.

...

On the last day of his heat, you stir around nightfall. You are exhausted, Jing Yuan knows this. Though his heat has provided him with a surprising amount of stamina, you are in standard condition, and looked wrung out halfway through day two of his heat. Jing Yuan’s grateful you’re as fond of midday naps as he is. 

You are cradled against his chest, your cheek pillows on his breast. He’d thrown a robe on while washing up, and hadn’t elected to remove it. The silky texture of it feels lovely against his flushed, sensitive skin. You seem to enjoy it too as you grip at the fabric of it in your sleep, nuzzling into his chest.

Your brow scrunches and a little sound pops from your throat as you try to burrow closer. It’s a hopelessly sweet gesture, desperate and honest. Jing Yuan can’t help but chuckle and smooth a hand over your mussed-up hair.

When your eyes crack open, your voice is raw, “‘S morning?”

“No, nighttime.” Jing Yuan nods to the darkened window.

You raise yourself up just enough to look, hum, and then fall back on top of him, “Feels like it should be morning.”

“We haven’t been keeping a very consistent sleeping schedule,” Jing Yuan rarely does, but he imagines that you and your position with the Sky Faring Commission have quite a regular routine. “You can keep resting.”

“I don’t wanna’,” Though, you shove your nuzzle into his chest, smearing him with your scent. “I wanna stay up and talk to you.”

“Me?” Jing Yuan smiles, smitten. He pinches your cheek. “About anything in particular?”

“... Not yet.” Your eyes slip closed. “Maybe later. I want to say things to you, but I feel... mushy. Inside my head.”

“Pheromone drunk?”

“‘Something like that,” Your words slur. “Not that I’m complaining. You smell so good, Jing Yuan.”

When you say his name, he shudders. The hand that’s been playing with your hand slips to your nape and squeezes. You keen at the contact and tangle your legs with his. It’s an impossible amount of closeness you are seeking, but Jing Yuan must attempt to give it to you. It’s abashed and honest, and in the stillness of night, how can he not indulge?

“Do I?”

“ Mhm.”

“Like what?” 

You’re falling asleep, clearly. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open even as you inhale deeply. Your lips part and you take his scent into your mouth. 

“Earth after rain,” You hum. “Sunbeam and linen. Warm milk.”

He squeezes you.

(A long time ago, Yingxing had complained about his scent. ‘Complained’. His face had been flushed crimson, telling him how distracting his sweet, rich scent had been. Dan Feng thought it was the funniest thing, considering Yingxing so clearly enjoyed Jing Yuan’s scent, as did he. They’d described it similarly— “petrichor” Dan Feng had told Jing Yuan while sweeping his mane back from his neck— “the smell of sunshine” Yingxing had told Jing Yuan after berating him.)

“How complementary.” Jing Yuan purrs and pulls you closer by the waist. Your face is smushed against his chest, but you don’t complain. You keep your lips parted to enjoy his scent. “And you like it?”

“So much,” You assure him, droopy-eyed. 

So good for him, so so good.

Jing Yuan presses the tip of his finger to your lips, a bit chapped from the dehydration and exertion. You chirp with it, a bit more awake.

He hushes you, and pushes his finger further into his mouth, “Sleep now, dear. You need to rest.”

“‘So do ya’,” You try to say, though it comes out garbled as Jing Yuan lays his finger on the flat of your tongue. Your eyes widen and go a bit crossed to look at his wrist, then up to his eyes. 

Jing Yuan isn’t entirely sure what compels him, but something does. Gently, he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. He idles there, and pets down your side.

“I’ll sleep soon, I’m sure you know.” Jing Yuan says softly. “Will you indulge me?”

(He asks to be selfish.)

Without hesitating, you nod.

(And you let him.)

Jing Yuan doesn’t explain himself. He doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s the specific sweetness his scent must take on, or the night air in contrast to the warmth and comfort of his nest, but you understand what he wants and give it to him without so much as a word.

Your lips open a little wider and Jing Yuan slips another finger inside. You stroke your tongue on his fingers as you close your mouth, eyes going dazed and heavy-lidded. You take a deep breath, inhaling his scent into the deepest parts of your lungs. You suck on his fingers gently. 

Jing Yuan watches with still, even breaths.

Later, he will analyze why this scratches so many itches in his brain. Why his post-heat mind feels more calm and sated than he thought possible. Why he wants more of this, always, even if he doesn’t have a name for it yet.

For now, he is so, so content to have you this way. You are lulled back to sleep so easily, sucking on his fingers with your cheek still smushed against his breast. Even as you sleep, Jing Yuan doesn’t remove his fingers. He explores the inside of your mouth with gentle, easy pressure, so as to not wake you. It’s exploratory, more than anything. 

He plays with you in such a way until he’s too drowsy to continue. Satisfied and warm, he drags you under the covers and holds you close, scenting you one last time before letting himself fall into a contented, new kind of sleep.

...

You depart suddenly, while Jing Yuan is in the kitchen deftly chopping fruits and assembling little parfaits. 

You had been in his bathroom, freshening up with whatever products you’d like from his stash. Jing Yuan had left you your own robe for when you exited, quietly beaming that he’d have yet another article with your scent on it.

However, when you do leave the bathroom, you are fully dressed in the day clothes you arrived in a week ago. You stand at the doorway of his kitchen, pausing, wide-eyed.

“I n-need to go,” Your voice wavers, like you’re going to be ill.

Something squeezes in between Jing Yuan’s ribs. There are thin, transparent patches on your neck on either side. Scent blockers. Your eyes look watery. Jing Yuan immediately sets down the knife he had been working with.

“Is everything alright?” asks Jing Yuan. He knows something is wrong, even if he can’t smell you, you’re clearly distressed and disheveled.

“It’s— it’s nothing. It’ll be okay.” You tell him. Your voice trembles and you shake your head. 

“Are you sure? I can help.”

“It’s— it’s really nothing. I need to leave. I-I’m really sorry.”

You look from him to the foyer that leads to his front door and back again. There’s a desperate look in your eye that Jing Yuan has never seen with such an intensity before. It makes his heart ache and his hands feel clammy. He sighs.

(And a quiet, ever-present voice in his mind says, “they all leave, eventually.”)

“Alright.” Jing Yuan gives you a smile, the best he can muster. He knows it must be sadder than intended, as your expression falls and you look like you’ve been punched. 

“I’m so s-sorry.”

“It’s alright,” It isn’t. Not fully. “Handle whatever it is that you must. I’m only a call away. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“Okay.” You take a shaking breath and shudder out the exhale. You’re trying not to cry and it takes everything in Jing Yuan’s being not to rush to you and attempt to mend whatever is causing you distress but—

(He can’t. He can’t do that. You have asked him to leave you be and Jing Yuan has spent his entire life honing his ability not to chase, even when he so, so badly wishes to.)

You give him one final, fleeting look, “Thank you. I— I’ll see you at our next lunch, okay? I’m sorry.”

It looks like there’s more you want to say, but you’re already out the door before you can. Jing Yuan hears it open and shut with a soft thud that vibrates throughout his home. It leaves Jing Yuan standing alone in his kitchen, frozen, while the robe he wears slips down his shoulders. He bears your marks, and reeks of your scent. His nest grows colder each minute. And though his heat has ended, the yearning for you has not.

If anything, the feeling is far stronger than it was before.

He latches onto the fact you will have your lunches. That— he will find some clarity then. That he can inspect you for damage during the next sunshine-filled meal you share, and prod to see if the last week and half did not carry the same type of... meaning for you, as it did Jing Yuan. He will need to make sure you’re well. He’ll fret until then, he knows this.

(A more dormant, possessive part of him wishes he snatched you back from his foyer and threw you back into his nest. If something was wrong, he could. If something needed fixing, he could help. If it were anything official for your work, Jing Yuan would pull any and all strings to get you out of the obligation. If you were hurt, Jing Yuan would do anything to see you better.)

Instead, Jing Yuan idles in his kitchen, feeling struck and helpless. Something in him aches, deep and low, and Jing Yuan lays a hand over his chest and squeezes it into a fist. He had thought he had become used to this type of loneliness, but it aches all the same.

#lore writes #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr x reader #cw omegaverse #ITS HERE... ENJOY!! #part one hehe <33

[carooosa]

Bound by You: Love is Power, Love is Weakness

Part 1: Exposure (rewrite)

Word count: 1.5k Rating: Explicit Pairing: Ascended Astarion x AFAB Resist Durge/Reader Warnings: 18+, exhibitionism, ear play, violence against an NPC AO3 link: Exposure

Summary: Astarion can exert his control/power as he maintains composure while fucking you, and while he may not be as strict with his council when doing so, the harshness behind his actions is still there. But when you torture him by making him moan in front of everyone who is beneath him? Not only will it show him weak, but it’ll show his weakness.

It’s another boring day as a consort while you sit on your lover’s bare lap, slowly rolling your hips into him. Ever since the ascension, Astarion has refused to let you out of his sight for too long, always wanting to have some part of him touching you. It upset you, at first, having to sit in on all of the dreadful conferences and dull discussions. But as always, Astarion made sure that it was worth your time.

He’s droning on about some inaccuracies in recent reports he’s received and his fingers dig into your hips as the proprietor of the counting-house stumbles out an excuse. You can’t help but giggle when you picture the proprietor trembling as he tries to talk his way out of this mess. You remember his name being quite the joke as well, something like Sparkleboard or Glimmerbrook.

“Rakath Glitterbeard,” Astarion barks at the dwarf before berating him for his inadequacies. He shoots you a mischievous glance, confirming that he too is bored with this meeting, so much so that his mind had wandered into your own.

Of course the poor sod’s name was something ridiculous. If he was going to have a name as awful as that, he should just change it to Goldcoin or something similar. At least then it’d have relevance to his job.

Astarion pinches your hips in an attempt to stifle any laughter that may come out, and you yelp in surprise. You look at your lover and notice the slightest crinkle in the corner of his eyes. The ramblings from Rakath stop, and Astarion’s head snaps towards him. “Have you run out with excuses already, Glitterbeard? Or have you simply come to your senses and decide to own up to your shortcomings?” Astarion says with a growl.

You turn your head as well, excited to see what’s about to unfold. The dwarf readjusts his collar before clearing his throat, and the idiot decides to speak up against your Lord.

With the arrogance of a little kid, he says, “No, Lord Astarion, I just noticed that you seem to be preoccupied and thought I would wait until you regain focus.”

Astarion scoffs and you feel him grab onto your ass with one hand as he stands up and kicks back the chair he was sitting on. With his other hand, he pushes off all the paperwork that lay strewn about the desk. He sets you on the edge of the table before pushing you down so that your back is against the hardwood. He stares directly at that insufferable banker as he begins to thrust into you – hard.

“What was that about losing focus?” Astarion says with a crazed look in his eyes.

Rakath’s face turns bright red as he tries to stammer out a response, but it’s no use, as Astarion has already made up his mind.

“Silence. Pick up those documents and put them back on the table – in their correct order. After that, you will redo all of this week’s reports, as well as the last 4 month’s as well.” Astarion is interrupted by a noise of disapproval, his frustration reaching its highest point today. “I said silence. Perhaps you’ve forgotten how that tongue of yours works, shall I cut it out and show you?”

Rakath drops to the floor and begins frantically gathering the papers, all the while Astarion continues to slam into you with reckless abandon as he addresses the rest of the meeting attendees. 

“Do I need to remind everyone that you’re in the presence of the Vampire Ascendant? I am more powerful than you could possibly comprehend, yet you wager your lowly lives just to make some ridiculous point. I could replace you with the snap of my fingers and no one would even care. I keep you around because I couldn’t be damned to get rid of you – however, give me enough of a reason and I’ll put the dungeon to use.”

You weren’t sure exactly how or when it started, but whenever Astarion would get annoyed or pissed off during a meeting he would yank you closer and begin to fuck you, right there, in front of everyone. Somehow he was able to maintain composure as he catered to your needy whines, asserting his dominance over the room while he dominated you. He always took care of you, and one day, you got the brilliant idea to care for him in return.

You’re once again sat on your lover’s lap with his cock buried deep inside you. His nose is deep in a document, a contract with an architect from Neverwinter, and his shoulders are tensed. You delicately reach your hands behind his shoulders to start massaging the knots. He doesn’t acknowledge you save for a quick twitch in his ears, so you push harder, hoping to alleviate some of the stress the Vampire Lord must feel. Moving up to his neck, you meticulously knead every knot you find, humming a soft melody as each point of tension slowly comes undone. When you finish giving him a massage, one of your hands slightly brushes against his ear, causing a shutter to ripple through Astarion.

You quickly look at his face and notice his lips part, a silent moan leaving them. Interesting, you think to yourself, and you slowly reach out to stroke his ear.

You watch as Astarion gasps, eyes fluttering closed in contentment, the contract falling from his hands. He desperately tries to regain control by focusing on his breath. You caress the helix of his ear and his breathing hitches before a pleased sigh escapes his mouth and he leans into your touch. His hands move to your back to stabilize you as he begins to roll his hips, ever so slightly fucking you.

He looks so beautiful like this, you think to yourself. Astarion’s eyes are hooded when he opens them again, and if your heart was still beating, you’re positive it would’ve skipped a beat.

You can tell from his posture that he’s about to move your hand away, and the mind-link connection you share confirms that. The Vampire Ascendant has an image to upkeep, and he can’t show any vulnerability outside of the bed chambers. He starts to shift in his seat when suddenly, you take his ear lobe in your mouth. He mindlessly bucks his hips forward and grasps the armrests of his chair, splintering the wood. You nibble on the lobe, pressing and flicking your tongue against the soft skin.

He can vaguely see in his peripherals the guests from Neverwinter glance at each other and shift in their seats. One of them clears their throat and Astarion tries again to regain his poise but all he can think about is your lips on his ear. You roll your hips and gingerly reach out to his other ear, pinching and rubbing the tip. A quiet moan starts in the back of Astarion’s throat as you coo at him, telling him that he’s such a good lord, so strong, incredibly smart, your love. All the meeting attendants can do is watch as the Vampire Ascendant comes undone beneath your touch.

Astarion is panting as you whisper sweet nothings in between giving attention to his ears. You bite down on the flesh in your mouth – harsh enough to draw blood – and moan from the sweet ichor that flows into your body. The nobility that would usually cower at the mention of the vampire lord’s name now sit watching, unable to do anything in fear of retaliation. One of the younger nobles, the son of the architect, begins to slowly stroke his fingers against his strained trousers.

Within seconds, Astarion barks an order.

“Stop.”

You pause, concerned that you may have gone too far. Before you can ask if you did something wrong, you’re sat alone on the chair while Astarion is on his feet and holding the young man by his throat. He raises the boy above his head and dangles him above the table, his claws piercing into his flesh. The architect starts to get out of his seat but a nearby guest stops him.

“You fucking degenerate. How dare you please yourself while looking at my consort,” Astarion bellows.

The boy is unable to respond as blood fills his throat, causing him to suffocate. Astarion slowly closes his grip around his neck, watching as the architect’s son struggles to pull his nails out. The boy stops thrashing, the life drained from his eyes as his body goes limp.

Astarion continues to hold the corpse in the air as he addresses his room. “Leave. Now. And if so much as a word of today’s events is whispered outside of this room,” he pauses, throwing the body onto the table where the group congregates, “I will personally hunt each and every one of you.”

A few days later, a rumor silently spreads across Baldur’s Gate. Astarion, the unforgiving and merciless Vampire Ascendant, has a weakness. While many laugh and make jokes about how the powerful tyrant gets turned on with the touch of his ears, a resistance group takes note of his true weakness, and their key to his demise: you.

Part 2 Here

#astarion smut #astarion fic #astarion x reader #ascended astarion #bg3 durge #fics #ascended astarion bg3 #astarion x you #astarion x f!durge #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female durge #astarion x female reader #my writing

[diorkyeom]

: : angel.

joshua x dokyeom, idolverse, fluff, pining, light angst, heavy blond!dk appreciation ft. joshuas strange couch

2.2k+ words, no warnings

also on ao3 | listen i never expected to love blond!dk as much as i do but he's gorgeous and deserves a fic about him. also pining whipped shua ftw 😽😽

summary: “angel,” joshua murmured. “angel, seokmin. you look like an angel.” seokmin's eyelashes fluttered, beating softly like feathered wings. - or seokmin turns up at joshua's doorstep at 2:47am. and of course, there's no way that joshua would ever be able to turn him away.

At 2:47am, someone came knocking on Joshua's door. 

He was unfazed by it, though, and simply lifted his head up from where he'd been lying in bed before making his way across his apartment, turning on the hallway light and unlocking the door with a smile. 

“Seokmin,” he greeted the younger man as he stood there at his doorstep, after having received the almost timid hyung, are you up? text from him all of 15 minutes ago. 

“Shua hyung,” Seokmin greeted back, though he blinked owlishly, as if he were surprised that Joshua was awake. 

Like he hadn't been the one to message him at almost three o'clock in the morning, Joshua thought, a touch of fondness in his smile. He didn't say anything else, though, and just stepped aside and beckoned him in.

Seokmin obeyed willingly, taking off his shoes and stepping into the hallway. His eyes were still wide, almost nervous, and he wrung his hands together as he took another hesitant step in Joshua’s direction. Joshua hadn’t moved, continuing to just smile openly at Seokmin, patient, simply waiting for the younger to explain what he wanted.

He'd always wait for Seokmin. He'd wait, and then give him anything at all, so long as it made Seokmin happy. 

After a moment, Seokmin stepped even closer and hugged him.

His arms wrapped tightly around Joshua’s shoulders, pulling him in so suddenly that Joshua let out a small “oh!” in surprise, before the sound melted into a fond chuckle as he let Seokmin burrow into his neck, wrapping his arms around the younger to hug him back.

“Did you miss me that much?” he teased, but he couldn't help the way the ends of his words softened with fondness. “We were literally together at work the entire day today, Seokmin.”

Seokmin huffed, and Joshua could feel him pouting into his neck. 

“No, of course I didn't miss you,” he said, even as his voice was a little muffled, refusing to remove himself from where he'd latched onto Joshua. 

“Oh, you didn't?” Joshua asked, amused. Seokmin huffed again, the noise tapering into a small whine that Joshua, devastatingly, thought was rather adorable. He chuckled, but didn't push any further, letting Seokmin bury himself into his neck, arms wrapped around his frame. 

This wasn’t the first time Seokmin had texted him in the thin hours of the early morning, asking Joshua if he was awake and if, perhaps, if it wasn’t too much of a bother, Seokmin could come round to say hi. Seokmin did it with all of them, especially as of late: he’d been having trouble sleeping, for reasons that he appeared to have only shared with Jeonghan. And whilst Joshua was concerned about Seokmin's recent bouts of insomnia, he didn't mind too much that Seokmin hadn't confided in him about the reason. Joshua was just grateful that Seokmin trusted him enough to come to him during these kinds of nights.

“Did you manage to sleep at all?” Joshua questioned softly, and Seokmin shook his head. He hummed. “Alright. Come on, then, let’s get you inside.”

He gently peeled Seokmin away from him, gently coaxing him further into the apartment so they could find somewhere that’d be more comfortable than just standing in his cold-floored hallway. They couldn’t make it all the way to Joshua’s bed as he’d originally intended, though, since after Seokmin whined a few times they ended up in the living room instead, which was only a few steps away from the door.

But at least, here, they could sit down, and Seokmin could cling to Joshua as much as he wanted.

Seokmin didn't come to Joshua during all of his sleepless nights, but he came often enough that he roughly knew what it was he'd come for, and what he wanted Joshua to do.

When Seokmin was in these moods—shy, nervous, meltingly soft and just a touch sleep-deprived—he became devastatingly clingy, all sprawling limbs as he seemed to want to try and smother Joshua, fingernails scraping uncomfortably against the bouclé texture of his cream coloured sofa as he adjusted himself against him. Joshua just let him, let Seokmin do whatever he needed to do, saying nothing other than humming contentedly when he finally settled down.

Seokmin’s head ended up on Joshua’s shoulder, arm wrapped around his front, legs thrown over his so that he was practically in Joshua’s lap, their legs tangling together. He could feel every inhale and exhale that Seokmin took. 

Hopefully, Seokmin couldn’t hear Joshua’s heart thumping unusually hard in his chest.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s really wrong?” Joshua asked, gentle, once Seokmin had gotten himself comfortably draped over him. The room was dark, save for the feeble yellow light spilling in from the hallway, but Joshua didn’t want to dislodge Seokmin for something as insignificant as being able to see properly. He could still see Seokmin, anyways, and that was enough. “Why did you message me at three in the morning, hm?”

Pressing his face into Joshua’s shoulder, Seokmin didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“...I just wanted a hug.”

It was always the same five words, with Seokmin apparently not wanting to go further into why he was really here. But Joshua didn’t mind. He never minded, not so long as Seokmin still came to him anyway.

He hummed softly. “That’s okay.”

Seokmin squeezed him tighter, and then relaxed.

Neither of them had breathed a word. They didn’t need to. Seokmin liked talking, liked telling stories and cracking silly jokes that made people laugh, and Joshua liked listening to every single one. He liked hearing him talk in that way, and liked that Seokmin also liked to talk, but that was only during the day. 

Seokmin didn't message Joshua in the middle of the night to talk. 

With one hand still massaging circles into Seokmin’s upper arm, Joshua patted Seokmin’s hair almost absentmindedly, running his fingers through the strands, and Seokmin made an involuntary noise, a shiver running through him. Joshua chuckled at his reaction, and Seokmin huffed, but still leaned back against Joshua’s hand to encourage the fingers in his hair.

Seokmin had dyed his hair recently, both for their new album and their new concert tour, and whilst Joshua hadn't been the biggest fan of the blond colour at first, he had to admit that it was growing on him. Especially when he was like this, with his soft, pale hair fanned out all around him, the white gold fringe moving with every blink that Seokmin took. The dimness of the room coupled with the pale warmth of his hair made him look like some sort of magical, mystical being. 

“Angel,” Joshua murmured to himself, but with the way Seokmin was pressed up against him, there was no way he couldn't hear. “Angel, Seokmin. You look like an angel.”

Seokmin's eyelashes fluttered, beating softly like feathered wings. “Hyung…”

He looked up at Joshua, brown eyes swirling with grains of gold. Beautiful, was Joshua's instant thought. And then he stopped thinking, tilting Seokmin’s chin upwards, thumbing at his cheekbone.

“You're the loveliest angel of all,” Joshua said, far too sincerely, but oh well. 2am Seokmin liked hearing these sincere things, and Joshua was never really in a position to deny him. “You’re beautiful, Seokmin-ah. Did you know that? Hyung thinks you’re the prettiest person in the universe.”

Seokmin flushed, and in the dim light, Joshua wouldn’t have been able to tell if he couldn’t feel it under his fingertips as Seokmin’s cheeks warmed.

“Shua hyung’s really pretty too,” Seokmin whispered, and goodness, Joshua’s heart felt like it could burst.

“I know,” he said, instead, and smiled as Seokmin let out a short, breathy laugh. Seokmin’s hair was a glowing halo around him, making his eyes shine. “I am really pretty.”

Seokmin laughed again, and Joshua's heart felt light. 

No one said anything else for a while after that. Joshua let Seokmin be, let him stay as quiet as he needed until the voices in his head finally died down and allowed him to think clearly once more. He just threaded his fingers through Seokmin’s pale gold hair, traced slow circles along his upper arm and allowed himself to be buried in this hug as Seokmin’s head lolled peacefully on his shoulder.

Noticing the way that Seokmin’s breathing had slowed down to peaceful, drowsy exhales, Joshua looked down at him, wondering whether Seokmin had drifted off already. 

But no, he wasn’t asleep yet, and Seokmin blinked up at him through shadowy lashes, mumbling something unintelligible. Joshua just smiled. Despite having a heart softer than the softest pools of golden light, Seokmin was rarely this gentle and still, and he cherished those moments when he could hold him like this, and not fear when his rays would slip through his fingers once more.

Joshua would never want to pin him down, though. 

Seokmin deserved to be free, and Joshua was content with being Seokmin’s safe place, his refuge, the horizon line that he could sink down into after a busy day of brightening everyone else’s lives.

“Stay with me tonight?” Joshua murmured, carding his hand through Seokmin’s hair again, letting the glowing strands feather out as they were slowly released. 

Seokmin shook his head, a rustle of movement against Joshua’s clothes. “Can’t,” he whispered back, then his face scrunched up into a yawn. “Need to wake up early tomorrow, and I don’t wanna disturb hyung’s sleep.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Stay as long as you need,” Joshua assured him, but despite the way his heart clenched, he wasn’t surprised by Seokmin’s answer. He rarely agreed, but Joshua always offered just in case this time, he’d say yes. 

Besides, Seokmin always ended up accidentally staying over anyways.

“I’ll go in fifteen minutes,” Seokmin murmured, but he burrowed himself further into Joshua’s embrace, fingers curling into the fabric of Joshua’s shirt. 

Joshua hummed, leaning back against the couch, going back to threading his fingers through the pale embroidery of Seokmin’s hair, silent. Seokmin was warm against him, a warm and steady presence, like some sort of endearing weighted blanket that made little contented noises every time Joshua scratched his fingers against his scalp in a pleasing way. It made him chuckle silently, pressing into the same spot again and again until Seokmin was so utterly relaxed that he was practically melting into him.

It only took Seokmin seven minutes to fall asleep. Joshua counted; he watched the hands of the clock in the living room as the minutes ticked by, and could pinpoint the exact moment Seokmin relaxed so fully that he couldn’t be anything but asleep.

As Seokmin dozed on his shoulder, though, Joshua couldn’t help but stay there for a few minutes longer, until ten extra minutes had passed and Seokmin continued to sleep peacefully against him. He wanted to keep this scene in his hands for just a few extra moments, with Seokmin resting against him, his hair an angel’s halo, his fingers curled almost protectively into Joshua’s shirt.

Like this, Joshua could almost pretend that Seokmin was his.

But it was, of course, only pretend, and so Joshua eventually shifted them both, gently untangling their legs so he could get a hand under Seokmin’s, the other hand supporting Seokmin’s back as he lifted him up.

“Come on,” he said softly, even though Seokmin couldn’t hear him. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Joshua wasn’t going to wake him up, of course. He may have fallen asleep surprisingly fast whilst all curled up against Joshua, but he didn’t know if Seokmin would be able to go back to sleep again if he was awoken once again. And so Joshua carried him out of the living room and into his own room, setting Seokmin gently down onto the bedding.

He made a quiet noise in his sleep as he was laid down, but Joshua made his own soothing noises in response, and soon Seokmin was happily curled under his covers, his hair now looking ivory-white in the darkness of the room.

“Angel,” Joshua said to himself with a smile on his face, for the second time that night.

This time, though, Seokmin really wouldn’t be able to hear, and Joshua thought it was better this way. The word had come out even more fond than last time, and he didn’t want to risk Seokmin knowing just how fond Joshua was of him.

Joshua stepped back, and quietly exited the room, prepared to spend the night on his own couch. Seokmin needed the bed more, anyways.

In the morning, Seokmin would come padding into the living room, rubbing his eyes and whining about how he didn’t mean to force Joshua out of his own bed and how Joshua really should have woken him up. Joshua would shake his head, smiling, say it was no big deal, and then offer to make Seokmin breakfast before he left.

Seokmin would still look like an angel, pale blond hair all messed up, and Joshua would still think he looked absolutely beautiful, and it would take everything in him not to say that out loud.

But Joshua would deal with that later. 

As he listened to his heart beating hollowly in his chest, he wondered whether Seokmin knew he held Joshua’s very soul in those golden-glowing hands.

taglist (send ask if you wanna be added/removed!): @my-moarmy-heart @weird-bookworm @bangantokchy @bittersweet-folder @leigh-darling @ahuiahoe

#diorkyeom ᰔ fics #svt #seventeen #dokyeom #joshua #seoksoo #svt fic #joshua hong #dk #svt fanfic #seventeen fic #lee seokmin #lee dokyeom #hong jisoo #ao3 #svt fluff #joshua fluff #dokyeom fluff #dk fluff #svt x reader #joshua fic #dokyeom fic #dk fic #ao3 writer

[myymi]

drabble prompt; can we have some big sibs being protective over the baby? (tails as the baby, obv)

word count-636

ao3 link

“Alright, let's get started.” Amy said, clasping her hands together. She was standing in front of the large consoles that controlled the wall of monitors Tails had built.

“What’s the point in doing this?” A soldier, a brown raccoon, asked with a deep frown. “With Sonic dead there's no hope in us winning.”

“Sonic isn't dead.” Tails mumbled, his gaze locked onto the map sat atop the table everyone was gathered around.

“Then where is he?” The soldier asked, rolling his eyes. “You gotta grow up and accept that Sonic's–”

“Leave him alone.” Knuckles turned to the soldier to glare at him.

“I'm just saying!” The raccoon raised his paws defensively. “He needs to–”

“You've said enough, Ranger.” Amy frowned at him before sighing. “We're going to find Sonic, but right now we have to focus on pushing Eggman back.”

“Good luck with that.” Another soldier, a light blue lion huffed. “The closest thing we have to Sonic can't go outside without having a panic attack.” She made a point to look towards the little fox, rolling her eyes when he didn't move to argue with her.

Silver frowned at her, “He's going through a lot. Give him a break.”

“We're all going through a lot, Silver.” The lion said, crossing her arms. “But at least we're pulling our weight.”

“Come on, Quinn.” A gray cat sighed, “That's not fair.”

“Who cares about being fair, Hazy?” Ranger asked, frowning. “He's dealt with Eggman longer than any of us! He watched Sonic die, the least he could do is help out in the fights!”

“Hey!” Amy shouted, glaring at the raccoon and lion. “Both of you, stop it.” She scolded.

“You know we're right, Commander.” Quinn grumbled. “He's practically useless right now.”

More arguments broke out after that. Some defending Tails, but most berating him.

Silver went to join the conversation, but stopped when he felt a head push itself into his neck.

Looking down to his right, he found Tails trying to hide himself against the gray hedgehog. He was trembling slightly, ears pressed against his head as his paws clung to his tails that were twirled around each other.

Silver frowned, “Knuckles–” He looked up, stopping himself when he realized the echidna was standing now. He was arguing with Quinn, baring his teeth at her.

“Amy?” He turned to the pink hedgehog next, but she was busy trying to get everyone to stop yelling.

“Guys!–” Silver tried to raise his voice, but everyone else only got louder.

He groaned and looked around the room as he hugged the fox, trying to find a way to get everyone's attention.

His eyes eventually landed on the light switch beside the door.

Using his telekinesis, he flipped the switch down. The room went dark, causing the arguments to end in gasps as people looked around to figure out what happened.

Once it was just quiet mumbling, Silver flicked the lights back on. “Guys.” He called, watching as everyone finally turned to look at him. “You're scaring him.”

Knuckles and Amy immediately looked down at Tails, the latter's ears wilting at the sight of her brother.

Ranger scoffed and went to say something, but the pink hedgehog quickly beat him to it, “Silver, Knuckles, please go take him to his room and try to calm him down.” She ordered, looking at the two.

Silver nodded and shifted the little fox so he could pick him up as he stood from his chair. Knuckles walked ahead, opening the door for the hedgehog.

Amy smiled at them before turning back to the other mobians, specifically Ranger and Quinn, “We're gonna have a talk.” She decided, her smile dropping into a glare.

Silver could feel a shiver go down his spine at the sight.

He's just glad her anger isn't directed at him.

#surprise; sonic's not one of the big sibs #i got this so long ago i'm so sorry ajdjdnsj #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #sth #tails the fox #sonic #amy rose #knuckles the echidna #silver the hedgehog #brain and brawn #pinky lemonade #futuristics #sonic forces #myydrabs #drabble #anon #myyanswers

[luvf4ngz]

In Bloom - jason todd.

Contents: Marking, Biting, Scratching, Possessiveness, Implied Sexual Content

Word Count: 464

Authors Note: Consider this a love letter to Jason Todd and my marking kink - taken from my AO3 <3

For the most part, Jason Todd enjoys the powers that he got from his dunk in the lazarus pits. Increased strength, increased speed, and increased stamina - things like that made it easy for him to do his job. To take down the baddies of Gotham and clean her from the inside out. To protect the ones he cared for, to protect the ones that didn’t have anyone else.

One thing he hated, however, was his healing factor. 

He hates how fucking fast your scratches and hickies disappeared off his body, leaving him a blank and loveless canvas once again. 

He always craves your marks on his skin. He absolutely adores the scattered love bites and dark bruises decorating his frame. He can often be seen in the bathroom of your shared home, body twisted in the mirror as he admires the deep carmine strokes that paint his back, or leaning in close to lovingly rub at the mauve blotches that stain the skin of his neck. 

He makes it a habit to show off your markings, often refusing to sport a shirt wherever he’s out and about - or at the very least a quite revealing muscle tee. His marked skin makes his friends’ eyes roll, makes his brothers give him disgusted expressions, and makes strangers on the streets grimace at him. 

He doesn’t care. He's shameless, especially when it comes to you. 

He always just wants to show you off, to express how fucking grateful he is to be yours. 

That's why he always encourages you to sink your teeth in harder, to rake your nails down his back harsher, anything to make those little symbols of your love for him last longer.

“That’s right, princess, there you go. You’re taking me so well, huh? Hold onto me a little tighter.”

In return, he’ll slam his cock into you faster, grip onto the soft of your hips harder, bite and mark you up himself. He paints your body like Monet, because to him you’re definitely as precious as the most exquisite work of art in the world.

He’ll never get enough of feeling how your skin gives way to his sharp canines, or how your shaking body feels under his calloused fingertips.

It’s the thought of losing you, of ever having to let you go that makes him fuck you rougher - that makes him hide his face in the crook of your neck and dent your skin with his teeth.

He relishes the sight of you the next morning: spread out on the bed with telltale signs of lovemaking covering every inch of your flesh. 

He can feel his heart beating out his chest, feel his blood thrumming furiously under your veins because you’re so wholly and undoubtedly his.

Just as he is yours. 

Thank you so much for reading! A comment or reblog is much appreciated. Have a great day <3

- sumi ☆ミ

ミ☆ masterlist

#jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #red hood smut #dc x reader #dc smut #sumi — dc. #sumi — works. #sumi — my love.

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟱: 𝗹𝗲𝘄𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝘅 & 𝗰𝗼𝗰𝗸𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your husband comes home to his monaco apartment after achieving p2 in spain. from the texts you sent him before he boarded his flight, he expected you to be awake when he arrived. however, you’ve fallen asleep–but that’s not a problem. he’ll sneak into bed right next to you and catch a few extra hours of sleep. you’ll commemorate the podium come morning. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. vaginal sex. lingerie. marriage. unsafe sex. no pull-out. tender sex. slow and sensual. cockwarming. intimacy. no beta we get disqualified like lewis and charles. not dirty? husband/wife kink (if that’s a thing). more soft. sickeningly sweet (ig). 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lewis hamilton x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: icu • coco jones

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: needed something to soothe the soul after the austin gp disqualifications. this is at the same time the least kinky thing i’ve written so far and the most kinky thing ever. because love feels filthier to write, idk if that makes sense. it’s on the shorter side because i ditched the preamble in order to finish this in time lol, but i dedicate this to my twin @saintwrld :) (it reminds me of her renaissance series :p y'all should check it out @saintslewis) and i hope everyone enjoys it !!!!

do you want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

lewis sighs tiredly as he lies down in bed next to you. the mercedes driver turns on his side facing you, and laughs quietly. your bonnet, of course, has grown a pair of legs and climbed its way off your head and is sleeping on the pillow next to you—your braids fanned out on the pillow underneath you unprotected. lewis carefully wrangles the bonnet back on you and smiles adoringly when he notices that you're wearing the matching bonnet he got you almost nine years ago. and to feel how the matching bonnets makes his heart stutter after spending a decade of his life with you, two of those years being married; he knows being married to you is one of the best decisions he’s ever made. 

he tugs you, his wife, closer; cooing out loud when he notices that you’re clad in one of his tommy hilfiger hoodies, tucking your head under his chin, arms wrapping around you tightly, and legs intertwining comfortably. you hum against his chest, nuzzling deeper into his bare skin, and a faint smile lingers on your lips, and unconscious reaction to having your husband home again. lewis throws his head back groaning, he can’t wake you up now. you had spammed his phone with texts before his flight, promising that he’d get a “surprise” when he got home, for doing so well this weekend—and he doesn’t have the heart to wake you up just so he can fuck you. well, he thinks, he can just get a couple hours of sleep in and then he’ll wake you up and enjoy whatever gift you’ve decided to bless him with and he drifts into sleep.

when lewis wakes up again, the first thing he notices is that he’s slept for way more than a couple hours. the noon sun has brightened the room immensely, and he’s shocked that he managed to stay asleep for so long with how the sun is shining directly on his face. he shifts onto his back, groaning at the soreness left from racing, and glances down at you to see if your still sleeping, and chokes on his breath. his hoodie is rucked up your waist from sleep, exposing your black lace panties, and when he shifts to get a better view of your ass, his body jostles yours and reveals the silver shift of glitter in the fabric. 

“fuck,” lewis murmurs, he’s always been weak for you dressing in his team colors. one of his tattooed hands takes a generous squeeze of your ass, and he wonders if you're wearing the matching top. his grip on your ass may have become a smidge too tight at that thought, because you softly gasp awake. lewis watches as you squirm against him softly, face twisted in confusion, before you make eye contact with him, and you relax. 

you smile sweetly, your left hand rising to rest on his cheek, “welcome home, champ.” lewis laughs at your half-asleep tone, nuzzling his face into your hand, before turning to press a kiss at the ring he put on your finger. “it was only a second-place finisher, love. no need to call me ‘champ.’”

frowning at him, you scoff, “you are still a seven-time world champion, are you not?” lewis concedes to your point; he’s not interested in being scolded by you today—he’s more concerned with unwrapping the present you got him. he hums and noses at your chin before he captures your lips in a dizzying kiss. your lips are languid against each other, there’s no rush in rediscovering the crevices within your mouths. lewis ignores how your teeth tug at his bottom lip, urging him to speed up—he only deepens the kiss, not quickening his pace, coercing you to melt under his passion. 

he pulls away, enjoying how your gaze has transformed from sleep-hazy to lust-hazy. “mmm, is my ‘surprise’ the panties and matching bra you have under my hoodie?” lewis asks you. you nod your head gently, scooting back and pulling the hoodie up to reveal the matching silver-glitter covered black bralette. he moans at the sight of you; perky breasts and nipples hard underneath the lace, your eyes half-lidded in arousal. his hands reach out to grasp at your chest, thumbs dragging over your nipples, causing a shaky moan to fall from your lips at the friction. you reach to pull the hoodie off but lewis grunts in dissent, “nah, keep it on for me. just make sure it stays up, love.”

“ohmygod,” you giggle quietly, “you can just say you’re obsessed with fucking me in your clothes.”

lewis rolls his eyes at you, “okay: i’m obsessed with fucking you in my clothes. i love the way you smell like me after, i love the way your smell lingers when i wear them after you, i love the way you look in my clothes; if i could choose, i wish you’d only ever wear my clothes and have pretty lingerie underneath them all the time.”

you stare at him wide-eyed, not expecting him to flip your teasing words in that manner, maybe that’s why your panties suddenly feel a little wet. you bite your lip, trying to think of a way to regain the upper hand, and lewis clocks your eyes brightening.

“i fingered myself open for you last night. i’m sure you could still slip in, if you’re up for it.”

lewis chuckles, half-crazed, and murmurs, “if i’m up for it? promise me, if i ever say no to having sex with you that you’ll take me to see a doctor?”

you hum, hand shifting to rub at the nape of his neck, “i promise, baby. can you fuck me now—i fell asleep waiting for you last night.”

lewis quickly gets to work positioning your body. he spins you around to your side, your back pressed against his chest, and spreads your thighs open with his knee. you moan at his easy manhandling, and press your ass back to grind against the tent in his boxers. he encourages the movement of your hips, even directing the grind for a few beats before he halts your motions. his hand slips in between the two of you, and tugs his dick out. he pulls your panties to the side and slowly slips into you. your mouth drops open in a silent moan, overwhelmed by the stretch from his dick spreading you open. lewis sighs deeply as he bottoms out within you, and kisses you on the shoulder. he stays still, allowing you the time you need to adjust. you shift your hips gently, testing the feel, and hum in assent.

lewis moves his hand to find yours, and locks them over your navel, using them to pull you as close to his body as he can. he whispers softly, “can we take it nice and slow today? i want to make love to you today.”you hum, and it shifts to a whine as his hips gently rock into yours, and whimper out, “it’s your present—can use it however you want.” 

lewis keeps the motion of hips slow and controlled, pulling out halfway before sinking in as deep as he can reach. it’s stunning how you can feel every bit of love lewis puts into his thrusts, seeping into you. he continues to pepper kisses on your neck and shoulder, and slips his other arm underneath you, and moving your body slowly so you twist back further, exposing your chest to him again. the hoodie remains bunched under your armpits, and lewis tugs the bralette down underneath your chest, causing your breasts to spill out lewdly over the top. his hand rests over your chest, not groping in any manner, just holding you close, feeling how your heartbeat speeds up from his movements.

in the decade you’ve been in a relationship with lewis, you’ve had some life-changing sex. but, for some reason, the slow and sensual sex has to be your favorite. it feels restorative, like he’s breathing life back into your body, with every deep thrust he’s showing you how much he loves you. and he’s not afraid to say it either.

“i love you, so much—you’re so good to me—my wonderful wife—all for me—all mine—i’ll make you feel so good, love—forever, yeah—you and me, like this—i win everything for you—“

you rock back against him, always weak when he can help but run his mouth, and start rambling back to him, mouth loose from the pleasure he continues to give to you, “my oh! my husband—only you for me, yeah?” he moans into your neck, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to you calling him your husband. 

there’s no telling how long the two of you are wrapped together, neither you are in any rush to reach a climax—you both crave the intimacy sex like this provides, especially after he’s been away. your orgasms crest over your bodies slowly but they’re more satisfying than any other release you could get from rough sex. lewis continues to grind his dick in you as deep as he can, not making any motion to pull out, and ignores the building sensitivity he’s feeling. 

lewis smiles at the blissed out look on your face, and watches how you struggle to open your eyes; he’s been fucking you back to sleep this whole time—that would explain why your rambles disappeared as you got closer to your peak. he tugs the hoodie back down over your chest, and one-handedly drags the duvet to cover your bodies, not wanting you to get cold. “hey, love,” he calls softly, “do you want me to pull out and clean you up?” you shake your head, and turn back onto your side fully, pressing you back to his chest again, and you start to doze off. lewis rubs at your waist gently, soothing you further into sleep—he’s never going to say no to having you keep his dick warm. 

lewis carefully reaches towards the nightstand and grabs his phone, and quickly sets an hour alarm. he won’t let himself be fooled by the call of sleep and let the whole day fly by, like he did last night—he’d rather not be awoken by his angry wife screaming about uti’s and whatnot. he’ll just bathe in the afterglow while you sleep soundly; he just wants to look after you a little longer.

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr@nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhaj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess-blog @lovingaphroditesworld @katekipshidze @darleneslane

© httpsserene 2023

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x fem!reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton fluff #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 x black!reader #formula 1 x you #f1 smut #f1 fic #f1 imagine #mercedes amg f1 #serene’s chapters. #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: lh. #httpss :// kinktober 23 #f1 kinktober #formula 1 kinktober #kinktober 2023

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 7: Somnophilia - Winter Soldier

Summary: He had been instructed to find you after he had completed his mission for a debrief, but he has needs to be taken care of first.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dubious content!!!, consensual somnophilia, kinda freeuse, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, rough sex, obsessive behaviour, multiple orgasms

masterlist 📚 

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AO3 Link 

The Winter Soldier had only been to your home once more, the location of which wasn’t even included in any Hydra files, but he knew. He always seemed to know where you were, seeking to find you in the darkness. He had been your patient and priority for years. Not only were you his Doctor but carer, the person to give him his missions and report back to; you fed him, helped even to wash him on occasions, you had been ordered to look after the Soldier’s every need, by whatever was necessary.

You’d instructed him two days before report to you following the completion of his mission, and tomorrow, in the early hours of the morning, you were to go to the Hydra base and wait for him to arrive. This was why you were shocked, to say the least when he turned up at your home clearly; whatever had occurred during the mission had riled him up, making him desperate for release.

You should have anticipated this with the Winter Soldier, and to be truthful, you, too, needed some sort of a release from how on edge you’d been over the last 36 hours of watching his heartbeat on a monitor to make sure that he was surviving through the mission. Only after he had confirmed the kill and was on his journey back you finally collapsed face-first onto the bed. 

Even though he was your patient, the relationship was significantly blurred as of late as human instinct and the need to find satisfaction through touch had escalated. You weren’t sure when or where, but as he became more unsettled and riled up, his trust in you increased, and he made advances of the sexual kind.

You’d used the excuse that it was to get his frustrations out, which is why you’d allowed it to continue, but in truth, you were just as lonely and in need of human contact, too. The bond the two of you had formed over the years meant that, in an odd way that was inexplainable, you trusted the assassin. There had been enough circumstances that he had lost control and on the warpath, and the only person who would never come to any harm would be you; even after his memory was wiped, he would automatically answer to you and no one else. 

Therefore, now, the Soldier was more unpredictable, needing the warmth of your body but also being fascinated by how you reacted to the point that he’d become obsessed. This was how you got to the situation you were currently in.

You’d been in a deep-sated sleep that was desperately needed, but because of that, you were incredibly disorientated. The bed felt softer than usual; the thump of your heart fluttered against your eardrums, covering up the sounds produced further down the bed.

Your entire body was floating like the bed had disappeared, and you’d somehow landed on a fluffy cloud. Everywhere was warm, comfortable and yet vulnerable; you felt exposed at first but soon realised that the bed sheet must have slipped from your body, exposing your nudity.

The more that time ticked on, the more your surroundings began to unblur. You realised that the warmth of your body was actually a burning in your muscles being held in a specific position by a heavy weight pushing on it.

Taking a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with cool air, you soon came to the realisation that you were moaning deep from the back of your throat. Drowsy, dry moans that continued in a steady flow as you reacted to something even in the depths of sleep.

With a whole body shiver, you attempted to move, to understand why your core was pulsing with pleasure; however, when you tried to stretch your legs, thick leather gloved-covered hands held your thighs back so that your knees were grazing your chest.

“Wha-What’s going on?” you asked, but your throat was so dry and sleep still evident so that your voice was croaky and deeper than usual. Your only answer came in a long hard lick of a tongue from your hole to your clit.

Your back arched with an automatic response, hands moving down to deel whoever was there and was greeted with a clammy forehead and hair that felt long, unwashed and draped over your mound.

A powerful suck to your throbbing bundle of nerves forced your eyes to bolt open; back still arched, but now, you were pushing up on your elbows to half sit up and look at the man you already knew who was there, eating you out like a man wholly starved, like it was his first meal in days. You supposed he probably was hungry, besides from the fact that he’d been travelling for hours, as his high metabolism meant he usually was hungrier quicker than others.

The Winter Soldier was lying on the bed, stomach down against the mattress, his tactical gear still on and only his mask was missing. He was still coated in grim dirt from the mission, even on the gloves that held your thighs in place, but he didn’t care, and neither did you as he helped himself to your pussy. For a moment, you contemplated his night; he must have travelled non-stop to get here and then dropped to his knees and started licking your cunt, probably too hyper-fixated on your nakedness even to bother to wake you.

The moans in the back of your throat increased in volume, the tips of your fingers moving further into his hair to hold him in that position right as his tongue curled deep inside your hole just as you liked it.

The Asset's eyes were closed. However, they always were when he pleasured you, as if he was so in the zone, only wanting to listen to your sweet melodies of moans and taste your unique sweet taste like it was the best and only thing that mattered to him.

“Soldier”, you gasped with a rush of air escaping your mouth as you collapsed back onto the mattress, feet tilting and resting onto his shoulders to help keep him in that same position.

The grip on your thighs tightened almost to the point of leaving bruises as he responded to his title, and your walls were beginning to clamp down with more urgency to suck his tongue deeper. Just a little more, a particular flick of his tongue, and you were orgasming, squishing his face by grinding your hips and holding his hair firmly in place as your cunt contracted against his tongue.

The Winter Soldier didn’t stop fucking you with his tongue until your muscles loosened and fingers relaxed, and then dropped back onto the mattress as you stared up at the ceiling in the after-orgasmic bliss.

One minute, you’re grinning like an idiot, blowing out a long, steady breath, and the next, you’re face down on the bed as the Asset twisted your hips, turning you over and rising on the bed himself.

This was usually how it happened, so you had anticipated it, especially to be moved into this position. It was his favourite position to do it from behind, whether it was bending over a desk, countertop, bed or on your knees like you were now, face down and ass up. The conclusion you’d come to that he preferred it this was it wasn’t as personal as face to face, which had happened once, and he’d gone into a complete meltdown to the point that he had needed to be frozen again and Pierce had been beyond fuming after he’d found out what had happened. It was most likely because he’d seen the euphoria on your face during sex and bought back some human emotion for him that the Soldier couldn’t understand.

So now, the fucking was exclusively from behind, but you didn’t mind, especially as it was wild, as he always fucked you so deep from this angle. The Asset only unzipped himself, not bothering to undress any further, finding it unnecessary even to remove his shoes as he wiped his cock up and down your folds to later his tip in your juices.

This was your only warning before he began to fuck you. One sharp thrust in, 5 seconds to adjust and then it was a free-for-all. 

Hard, deep, fast thrusts. Your bed bounced against the wall, smacking noises of both the impact of the bed and your hips being slapped against his as he held tightly onto the flesh, using the momentum to push and pull your body against his.

The Winter Solider’s balls smacked your tender clit, swollen from his mouth. Your fingers fisted into the pillow beneath your face, teeth also having to bite the material so that your poor neighbours didn’t complain about the screaming at whatever late hour that it was.

He was rough, but the Asset needed to be. He needed to feel hard sparking touches as anything else would have been too overstimulating in the sense that he wasn’t used to soft touches, only from you, but when he was in control, he craved it to be like this. The mushroomed tip of his thick cock was fucking repeatedly into your cervix, almost making you see stars with how good and intense it felt. Your juices were making squelching noises with each thrust of his member, and it was so loud and obscene that it covered the sound of your muffled moans.

Not a single noise came from the Asset; he was always silent for the most of it. Only his heavy breathing could be heard, but at least this time, he wasn’t wearing his mask like usual.

However, he decided to mix it up slightly, doing something he hadn’t attempted before as his grip on your hip released so he could take hold of your shoulder, pulling on it until you were entirely on your knees, naked back flush against his tactical gear-clothed chest. The arm on your shoulder then scooped around your front, resting between your breasts and fingers around your neck to ensure you didn’t fall forward. You knew the metal arm was holding you up due to the firm feeling beneath the leather clothes.

His parted lips hovered next to your ear like he would whisper something to you, but no noises or words came. The rolling of his hips slowed, but the thrusts were still just as deep and methodical, the buckles of his belt digging into your bare flesh until you were clawing at his wrist to all of the stimulation.

It felt so good, so god damn good that you were already clinging to him and wanting to scream that you were about to orgasm again. Still, he already knew from how your pussy clutched to him like a lifeline, attempting to milk his cock with his hard it was squeezing his length in flutters. The Soldier continued, not phased or slowing as you shivered and then came, warm wet juices soaking down your thighs as your cunt pulsed around his cock.

Nothing could ever prepare you for his libido, though. He could stay hard for hours due to his super serum, and with how needy and lonely you were, you’d fucked him enough time to get used to the long sessions, knowing by the end, you’d be overstimulated and thoroughly satisfied.

Two more orgasms later, you were a trembling mess, having moved to lie on your side as he spooned close behind, hair drenched from how warm he was, still completely dressed. You were curled around your pillow, pussy sensitive and flooded from all of your orgasms, and he finally made a noise, releasing a deep groan as his seed spilt into your pussy, coating your walls and then leaking out and dripping onto the bed.

You were already half asleep again as he pulled out, standing to clean himself. With half-lidded, heavy eyes, you forced yourself to turn onto your back to follow his movements. It was sometimes hard to remember what your job role was, that it wasn’t some kind of a fling or one-night stand, so with great difficulty, you asked, “Mission report?”

#winter soldier #bucky barnes #bucky #winter soldier x reader #winter solder smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #marvel smut #marvel #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #mine*

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCXDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 5)

—

Tw: torture scene (GiW agent receiving), general angst, canon-typical violence (DC), nobody is having a good time

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was pretty easy for Danny to forget that Dr. Crane was a rogue at times.

Most of the time he wasn’t comically evil, like what he’d expect of a Gotham rogue. He was helping Danny, even if only because he didn’t want to be taken in by the GiW as well. He was even downright nice most of the time, or at least neutral.

Sure, he had a strange obsession with fear and psychology, but that wasn’t really out of the ordinary for Danny. It didn’t feel like living with a rogue, just like…staying with a distant relative, or something.

He seemed like just an ordinary person.

Today, though, Danny was brought back to reality.

The GiW agent they’d tracked down together writhed on the ground, screaming in pain and terror. Scarecrow was sat a few feet away, setting up a syringe of the antidote he’d made.

After a few more moments, he injected the man with the antidote, watching him like a hawk the entire time.

Suddenly, the man surged forward, lunging at Scarecrow with a feral scream.

Unluckily for him, though, he was still weak from the fear toxin in his system, and from the beatings he’d received prior. Scarecrow easily wrestled him to the ground, settling himself on the broad part of the agent’s back with a vice grip on one of his arms.

“Let’s try again,” he said sharply, all of the warmth Danny had grown used to gone from his voice. “Where is the GiW base of operations?”

The agent took several shuddering breaths before spitting at Scarecrow, defiance and hatred written all over his face.

For just a moment, the room was utterly silent.

“Fine, have it your way.”

Scarecrow began to twist the man’s arm further. It wasn’t long before the agent began to squirm, then writhe, beneath him. Danny’s stomach churned.

“You know,” Scarecrow began, almost conversationally, “there are plenty of jobs that one can get without the use of their legs, especially with the level of education you have. Anything that doesn’t involve hard labor, really.”

The man’s face was beginning to turn red in his struggle not to scream. He took in gasping breaths, the way that his mouth moved almost reminding Danny of a goldfish.

(He felt awful for the comparison, but it was true.)

“However,” Scarecrow continued, “I find you’d be rather hard-pressed to find a job without the use of your arms. Especially in a place like Gotham, where you can always be replaced by someone eager to do your job for even less money. Of course, you could most likely coast off of savings and severance pay for a while, but…”

He leaned closer to the man’s head, his voice lowering.

“Would you be able to live like that? To live with yourself, if you no longer have a purpose?”

He allowed the agent a few seconds of rest before increasing the pressure on his arm. The agent gasped, letting out a strangled hiss. His arm bones were making fascinating noises in response to the strain. Danny felt sick.

“You seem like a rather driven young man. I’m sure your family would hate to see you unmotivated, directionless. Would they resent you, do you think?”

“Fuck you, you—”

The man was cut off by his own scream as Scarecrow finally allowed his arm to break, audibly splintering into thousands of useless shards of bone.

He had the exact pressure memorized. Clearly, he had done this before.

This was wrong. This was wrong.

Shouldn’t Danny step in, do something?

“That won’t heal cleanly. Even with the best medical care in the world, you’ll end up with permanent damage.”

The man below him wheezed and sobbed, choking on air as Scarecrow let go of his arm carelessly, letting it flop back onto the ground.

“Just the sort of thing something like you deserves,” Scarecrow hissed, his voice cold.

“You tortured a child, and you enjoyed it. You laughed with your friends about it. In your notes, one of your friends complained about the screaming,” Scarecrow brought his leg around, grinding his boot into the man’s broken arm. He howled in agony, writhing uncontrollably.

“Was it inconvenient to him, do you think? Too loud? If you were joking about it, clearly you thought so, too. I could fix that as well.”

He drew out another needle, this one once again filled with fear toxin.

“Scarecrow, wait,” Danny choked out.

Scarecrow turned to look at him.

Even his posture was different than usual. He looked… stiff, more like an animal than a man. When he tilted his head at Danny in a silent question, it looked like something in his neck had snapped, his head lolling to the side.

Danny wondered if he was consciously moving like that, or if it was habit at this point.

“You—we don’t have to do this. We can get information some other way, right? You don’t have to…”

Danny looked down at the GiW agent below Scarecrow. He didn’t even have it in him to glare up at Danny like he had before. Instead he laid limply on the ground, tremors rolling through his body uncontrollably.

“We’ve exhausted every other option and you know it,” Scarecrow said, his voice low, “this is the only way we can move forward.”

“Still, I—I don’t,” Danny swallowed, his throat tight, “this isn’t—this isn’t right. Isn’t there some other way to do this? Like—a truth serum, or something?”

“Truth serums are notoriously unreliable. They’re almost as bad as lie detectors. We’re much more likely to get a reliable result from this.”

Danny just stared at the GiW agent and his splintered, ruined arm. He began to weakly wriggle in Scarecrow’s grasp, which was graciously ignored.

He vaguely remembered himself doing the same thing when he was on the operating table; even if he knew there was no chance of escape, he still thrashed and screamed, desperate to get away. The jagged I-shaped incision on his torso felt uncomfortably warm.

What was there left to say?

“The Bat does the same thing at times, you know,” Scarecrow said, “him and the rest of his brood. By using my toxin, I’m actually lessening the amount of permanent damage that I’m doing. Physically.”

“Still, that doesn’t make it right,” Danny said desperately. “Even if—even if everyone in the world did this, it wouldn’t make it right.”

Scarecrow hummed.

They were both silent for a moment.

His next words were gentle, absurdly so when compared to the scene in front of him.

“I would love an alternative. But…”

He shrugged, hand coming to rest on the break in the GiW agent’s arm. Even without applying any pressure, the man stopped squirming immediately.

“There aren’t any other options,” Danny repeated, his voice flat and his body numb.

“Yes,” Scarecrow said. “I’m sorry.”

There was a pause. No one moved a muscle. Eventually Scarecrow spoke again, his voice strangely empty.

“You can stand outside and keep watch, if you’d like. At such a short distance their radars won’t pick us up.”

Danny said nothing, leaving the room silently.

He sat outside for quite a while.

He was grateful that Scarecrow had, with his help, dragged the agent to one of his previous hideouts. It was soundproofed, after all.

He was glad that he didn’t have to hear the rest of what Scarecrow did to the man.

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Crane left the building, joining him outside. He guided Danny back to his beat up old truck and they drove home in silence.

“Did you at least…do you know where they are, now?” Danny asked as they entered the apartment, his voice small.

“They didn’t share the details of all of their locations with any one person. I know where one of their locations are, but not their main base of operations.”

Danny felt disgusted. With himself, with Dr. Crane, with the GiW.

He was disgusted by the agent, too. Did he just hate the restless dead so much that he would prefer to be tortured than to give them the upper hand? Did he really think he was in the right?

Was there a chance that he was?

Danny felt very, very small, and very stupid. Stupid and weak and cowardly.

“Danny,” Dr. Crane spoke, his voice soft.

“I’m truly sorry that this is happening to you. I really, truly wish that you didn’t have to endure my company. I…”

He fell quiet. Danny wondered if he was just saying this to pacify him, or if he truly meant it. He wondered if it really mattered in the end.

After a few moments of silence, Dr. Crane sighed, looking truly pained.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Danny was quiet.

“I’m going to bed early,” he finally said, turning away and leaving without a second glance.

—

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #liminal scarecrow #this kinda shit is how the fic got its name btw. #like yeah obviously it’s also in reference to the contrast between crane and danny’s actual parents #but it’s also about doing what you need to survive vs what is best for the people dependent on you #tshirt that says I love moral quandaries I love when no matter what you do you lose I love torturing characters #Scarecrow: why isn’t torturing everyone who wronged you healing this child. it worked for ME #meanwhile Danny is undergoing the torment nexus #and red hood is doing some doomguy shit #getting swarmed by GiW agents bc he’s one of the only ones showing up on the radar #Tucker voice Wow Mr red hood this is kinda fucked up. can I use the bat computer to hack the pentagon btw

[syrma-sensei]

→ Home.

gif credit.

pairing: soldier boy/ben x wife!reader.

rating: fluff, implied smut.

warning: bens's pov, very soft ben, implied pregnant sex, praising, horny reader, antiquated mentality....

word count: 2.4k

summary: ben's discovering new life affairs while expecting his first baby.

tagging: @zepskies

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Soldier Boy guzzled down his third raw drink before he decided to call it a day and go home. He took off his supe gear and changed into more casual clothes in the dressing room in his quarters at Vought's tower after he took a quick shower. He shook his head with a sneer when he tugged the shirt above his head, remembering her telling him —bossing him— that he wasn't to come home stinking with blood and cigars and whiskey and Vought. Soldier Boy didn't take shit from anyone, but he found himself helpless against her wishes—orders. He was grinning though, amusedly so. Sometimes he wondered where his obedient and good wife went. He liked that version of her, nonetheless.

Though he liked to think that his baby was igniting her wild spirit, his pretty wife seemed to have gotten quite sensitive to strong scents, and her stomach grew weak ever since he got her pregnant with their first child four months ago. It was chiselled in his mind; the memory of her hoping onto his chest with happy shrieks when he returned from work affirming the news.

He had been sensing the baby's presence for a week thanks to his superhuman senses before that, and he'd told her that night to go check on it with a doctor. They were eagerly trying to have a baby so it was of no surprise, but it still pulled a huge smile on his lips and made pride swell in his chest. He was going to be a father in nine months. The thing he wanted to be the most.

But as it turned out, pregnancy wasn't as magical as his mind fantasised to be. It wasn't all fuzzy and beautiful like he imagined. He cursed the damn commercials for that. Fucking marketing.

The first couple of months were rough. Morning sickness, vomiting, ungodly cravings at ungodly hours, horrendous mood swings, and worst of all; minimum intimacy. She'd become fragile unlike her nature. And she got overly concerned that he might hurt the baby whenever he suggested penetrative sex. Orals were, certainly, out of the equation. It was both frustrating and maddening to say the least. He was a fucking man and had needs. The best he could get was quick and not so enthusiastic handies from time to time when she could provide. Long story short, he was growing blue balls from the ordeal. Fuck, he used to make fun of men who couldn't get laid properly. The irony had such an impact on his ego; his pride of being a fucking man.

It was not easy for someone like him to stay faithful to his partner. He rarely recognised commitment before he met her, and being surrounded by blatant temptations all the time didn't make things any better. He could have anyone at any time, ladies would eagerly kneel and suck him off without a question if he wanted them to. But he'd be damned if he wasn't in charge of his own self. He'd be damned if he dared to break her heart. He'd be damned if he ruined his family, a family he never thought he'd ever have, for such vagaries.

In time, however, pregnancy did prove itself to be the most beautiful of all affairs. Surprisingly so. Whenever he spooned her up hugging her from behind, he found odd tranquillity of hearing hers and the babe's rhythmical heartbeats, or when he caressed her bumping tummy, feeling his child's life forming inside of her body, a creature they both made, lack of sex seemed to be durable and trivial at some point. Something he himself wouldn't believe before. But here he was. His disgust and appal from what pregnancy entailed gradually dissipated and were replaced with zeal and thrill. And most certainly, he enjoyed the changes of her body the most. Ben just loved the way her boobs were swelling up with milk, and the way her stomach was flourishing with his child. Boob massage was something he greatly took pleasure in. Kneading her sore breasts while hearing her moans of relief. He'd come to learn that intimacy could be found in many other things than sex.

Ben noticed he'd come to hating every moment he spent away from them. His temper got much worse, his teammates observed. And he became more aggressive than he already was when fighting crime. The happiest moment of his day was when he dropped the shield and took the helmet off to head home, where his beautiful wife would be eagerly waiting to have dinner with him even though most of the nights he'd come home and find her dozing off on the couch where she'd been waiting for him. He'd carry her to their bedroom and have dinner by himself — he skipped that very often — then slip right behind her on the bed holding her close to his body. The concept of coming back home to someone was so much alluring to him. He felt his life was complete. Real.

Ben arrived at their penthouse, assuming he'd find her soundly sleeping while she stayed awaiting him. He didn't announce his return loudly as he used to do before the pregnancy. He didn't want to wake her up. But much to his surprise — and delight, Ben found the place dimly lit with scented candles, sensuous silence prevailing within the air.

Ben's eyes glimmered, and an instant wolfish grin slipped into his lips when his eyes landed on his wife's figure as she clambered down the stairs. A thin, short gown with a raunchy red colour hugged her frame, its fabric was so thin that he could see her skin glowing through the red. Her breasts were full, putting her cleavage on more display. Whereas the bump of her belly was deliciously visible. Her hair was neatly styled and spruced up and her pretty face was elegantly painted with make-up.

“Welcome home, Ben,” She warbled with a smile, eyes filled with sultry desire as she strolled down to him. He was dazzled by her appearance, he was practically eating her with his eyes. Fuck, pregnancy did make her much prettier. “Hope you didn't have dinner yet 'cause I made you something special tonight.”

Her palm grazed his stubbled cheek. Ben leaned into her touch, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm, a grin gracing his mouth. “'Course I didn't. Why the fuck would I eat outside when I have a capable wife like you at home?”

She giggled gleefully at his statement as he pulled her flush against his body. He eyed her with a hazed gaze. Her mouth was luring him in, deliciously so. He liked that lipstick shade on her lips so much. He couldn't but to give in to the utter temptation. Ben tilted his head down and captured them in a burning kiss. An instant moan escaped her throat as his mouth passionately pressed to hers. Her arms encircled his neck, hands combing through his brown hair. He synced their heads for a better angle, and deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into her warm mouth. His hands brushed her sides then her ass.

He broke the kiss momentarily and she gasped vehemently. He could hear the rapid pace of her heart and the gushing blood through her vein, pooling down in her groin. He crushed her lips again, hands travelling up to remove the dress but she squealed and pulled back.

“Benjamin, dinner's gonna get cold!” She laughed again when he buried his face in her neck, kissing her skin softly.

“Is that really what you're fucking concerned about now?” He grumbles in a teasing tone.

She giggled, “Should I be concerned about something else—woah!” Ben grabbed her hips and lifted her effortlessly, heading to the living room with her pretty legs around his hips. His lips plundering hers again all the way until they reached the couch where he sat with her straddling his lap. The kiss went wild once they settled comfortably on the couch. His big hands stroked her thighs ardently. They trailed up to her ass giving it a firm squeeze and she moaned in his mouth, plucking the rim of her satin panties. He smirked into the kiss, fingers tracing down to her core. His grin widened when he met her bare cunt.

“Oh, baby,” He rasps when she rolls her hips slowly, pressing her cunt on his clothed cock, “Aren't you a pretty fucking tease?” He tugged at the lip of the crotchless panties, a mischievous grin playing on his mouth.

She guffawed with a coquettish tilt of her head, and his cock twitched in an immediate response. However, the innocent look on her face opposed the tortuous pace of her hips. She was fucking tantalising him with those hips. And he fucking liked it despite the screaming urge growing in his chest to flip her over and fuck her raw. Oh, she did like it rough, the little slut. She liked to be beneath him and beg him to go harder and faster, to yank her hair and make her choke on his dick. She loved how he manhandled her with his superhuman strength despite being only a human, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't take great pleasure in it too. Ben's nothing if doesn't live to be in charge. He'd been shocked that a tiny woman like her could handle him as such. But he was quick to remember that she was with his fucking child. He couldn't go rough on her like he used to do even if they both craved it.

She didn't stop her torment as her delicate hands rested on his shoulders for support. He could smell the sweet scent of her arousal soaking his crotch and he growled, “Holy fuck, you gonna let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours, or you planning on making me cream my pants?”

Her lips twisted wickedly, “Depends,”

“On fucking what?” He grunted, brows furrowed, puzzled. He was way too hard and drunk by her scent to clearly think or read between her lines, “Baby, you're fucking killing me here.”

“Aw, am I to seal the greatest era of America's history?” She giggled again, “What an honour.”

Then it clicked. The fucking slut. She was tempting him to ravish her. Maybe he should, but again, he worried about her and the child. Because honestly, he wasn't so sure if he could restrain himself if he unbridled that side of his.

Then his mouth splitted in a huge grin, brushing his cheek to hers to grumble in her ear, “The only honour you're gonna get is milking my cock empty in that slutty pussy of yours.” He chuckled triumphantly when he sensed her shivering in delight. Leaning his head backward, he saw her chewing on her lower lip adorably with a cute pinkish red dusting across her face, whereas her eyes were searing with covetousness. Ben pecked her nose and lifted her up again, gently. She trilled a series of choppy laughters and playfully kicked her legs when he carried her to their bedroom.

Needless to say, she took whatever honour he bestowed upon her like a champ.

He was craving a whiff of a cigar. He used to smoke after a good fuck in bed, she'd even share him a couple of drags sometimes. But since it was off the table — temporarily — he focused on and enjoyed her fingers running on his chest.

Fuck, pregnant sex did feel amazing. He gotta admit. He did hear from here and there that a woman with child, at some point of her pregnancy, would be touched by sudden and high libidinousness. But fuck, didn't that catch him off guard. And fuck, if he didn't enjoy it down to the last minute detail. And dare he say, it was the best sex he ever had. It was perfect; she was perfect.

Never did he think that he'd find home, his real home in a simple elementary school teacher he met on one of his tours throughout the country. A beautiful and smart woman who always kept him on his toes and had him wrapped around her pretty fingers.

Ben smiled and kissed the crown of her head, and slowly, it turned into a trail of kisses down her face. Then he captured her lips, and soon enough, they were engaging in a heated make-out session.

“Ben,” She whispered as she gazed at him, voice a bit hoarse from screaming and crying beneath him for hours.

His hand was rubbing circles on her ass languidly, “What is it, dollface?” He drawls with a thick voice.

“Sorry for not being a good wife for you the last couple of months.” She said meekly, bringing his hands to cradle them in hers, while he just frowned at her words, “They were tough times on me, on us.” She sighed, pressing light kisses on his rough hands, “But everything's gonna be set right again, I promise.”

Ben's frown only got deeper when he noticed the lick of fear and desperation in her eyes and voice. Fuck, she was scared shitless. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His wife was scared if he was screwing around on her because of her lack of attention due to the pregnancy, for she used to shower him with doting and devotion as a good wife did. Fuck, did he, by any mean, do anything wrong to arise such qualms in her? He certainly did not. Then he fucking remembered that nasty reputation of his that proceeded him.

Fuck, gotta reassure her and chill her the fuck down. He can't have her in such a position. He can't have his home in such a precarious, dark place. Not after what the two of them had done to build what they had up. He wouldn't allow it.

“Hey,” He passed rough-padded thumbs under the lines of her eyes, palms caressing her cheeks, “Nothing went fucking wrong to set back right, sweetheart,” Then he gave her belly tender strokes, “You're an amazing wife,”

She was; everyday she woke up, five in the morning, to prepare him a delicious-ass breakfast. She took it upon herself to be his barber and shaved his beard almost everyday and trimmed his hair every now and then. She was patient when he wasn't. She embraced him when he was practically a walking ticking bomb. She patched him up — when needed — at night when he'd return to her roughed up from fighting crimes. She soothed him down when frustrated and angry. She took his bad temper and relieved it thoroughly. She was everything. She was home.

Ben's finger flicked her nose playfully, “As I'm fucking sure yer gonna be an amazing hot momma,”

Ah, here it was, the sheepish smile that reached her eyes. He'd fucking cherish it forever.

He kissed her forehead, “You're perfect; my perfect wife, my perfect home.”

#soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy fic #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x fem reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #soldier boy imagine #the boys smut #the boys imagine #the boys soldier boy

[plutoswritingplanet]

Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader)

a/n: as promised, here's the full chapter. as a person who's only played skyrim and oblivion, writing for fallout is like throwing a hot dog into an empty corridor (i will not elaborate)

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Attempted Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Cooper is a mean old man with a boner. Takes place before the events of the TV series.

Summary: The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew. Cross-Posted on AO3

PT. 2

Copper knows this job will be different, before he even decides to take it up. 

Scribbled with flaky charcoal, your face looks at him from the notice board every time he delivers a bounty. For months now, a humble title of "The Healer" hangs without change, between criminals, raiders, and people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

Cooper hasn't considered going for you, it was never his first choice. The bounty on your head was moderately low, in comparison to your notice board neighbors.  He had other priorities, bigger than a smeared over pretty face, for half his usual reward.

Until one day, as he stomped his way through the dusty floor, his eyes caught onto your wanted poster yet again. 

Well, to be frank, his eyes strayed towards your portrait almost every time he crossed the threshold, but he would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Like a constant companion, overlooking all his accomplishments since he decided to stick around the place, your empty gaze followed every transaction, every head delivered onto the table. Some semblance of a routine, he supposed, looking over the board. 

 There, under the regular information, freshly painted numbers stared back at him. A new bounty, significantly bigger than any reward on the board. The red paint was still dripping down the yellowed paper, the addition must've been made quite recently. 

A hefty price. One, that would supply him with enough chems to last for half a year at least. Tempting. Especially now, that he's down to only a couple of vials, his coughing fits becoming longer and closer between. So tempting, in fact, that he tears your wanted poster from the board, finally getting a closer look, a deliberate one. 

Booker gives him a raised eyebrow, all the commentary needed, encapsulated in this simple gesture, and Cooper shoots him a nasty look. There aren't many requirements regarding the job, except one, annoying detail. 

You have to be alive and in good condition. 

Now, alive Cooper could do. Alive is easy. Good condition, however, opened a whole shitbag of problems, which he would be a fool to overlook. Still, the prospect of such money couldn't be ignored. And, he'd be damned to admit it, but he was curious. Who were you? Why haven't you been caught for such a long time? What caused this sudden raise in bounty?

- Did you piss someone off that bad, little lady? - he asks the yellowed paper, and gets no answer, as expected. 

***

The bar is filled with patrons, all tripping over themselves to loose as many caps on cheap alcohol and chems from under the table. It's not as rowdy, as one would expect. This settlement must be one of the few more civilized ones, for the Wasteland's standards at least. Farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, they all clam together, smelling of smoke, sweat, and alcohol. 

You're here too, hunched over your drink with a sour expression. Your shoulders are slumped, covered by a piece of cloth, that used to be a shawl, but currently looks more like a rag used to wipe down countertops. Despite that, Cooper sees in the way your body is poised, taunt and graceful, that you're neither a naive Vault Dweller, nor a scruffy raider. A skinny scarf is tied around your neck in a fashion, that reminds Cooper of the old westerns he used to star in. 

The sudden influx of memories is neither wanted, nor useful, and he clicks his teeth in annoyance at his own betraying mind.

The Healer, he thinks to himself, making his way through the crowds, until he reaches the side of the bar, one seat from you. Not a glance is spared in his direction. The townsfolk must be used to seeing Ghouls run around the place. Still, when he orders a glass of moonshine, out of the corner of his eye, he can see you peaking at him with curiosity. There's a intelligent glint in your eye, and Cooper feels a shiver of curiosity climbing up his back. He scolds himself for being too old imediately after. 

By all that's holy, you look tired. And not the kind of tired, that sticks to a person living in the Wastelands, no. It's the exhaustion of a shitty day, dragging your eyelids down to flutter against creeping up sleep. The alcohol can't be helping your state, however, it will most definitely help Cooper. He almost feels sorry for you, but if your dumb enough to leave yourself in the open like that, while being hunted, there's nothing more he can do but take advantage. 

Cooper turns his face ever so slightly towards you, looking over your expression for any signs of recognition. He sees none, more than that, there is no emotion at all, not even a blink at his fucked up face. Raising his hand, he touches the rim of his hat in a wordless greeting. 

That finally wrenches some resemblance of a reaction out of you, and with a blink, you tip your glass towards him, before downing its contents. Your cheeks are flushed, lips wet with remnants of moonshine and there's a lock of hair falling out of place, and damn it, Cooper suddenly feels so old.

Ordering drinks while in your current state wasn't the most intelligent thing you could've done. The harsh taste of alcohol burned your throat in a way that was less than pleasant, and for a moment you consider turning to some good old chems for help with... Well everything really. 

It started with Old Lady Sal. 

You've replaced her hip a while back with some scrap metal and a fuckload of reused body parts. Now, every other day she demands you check it out, make sure it's in working order. Which it always is. This isn't your first replaced hip, you know what you're doing.

Then, you had to sit through the insanely uncomfortable marriage offer from Old Lady Sal's grandson, who is not only dumb as a bag of rocks, but also fourteen. 

And to top it all off, suddenly everyone needs you to solve their particular pains of the day. There must be an epidemic of aching heads sweeping through the town, because as soon, as you flee from Old Lady Sal's home, you're being hounded by everyone and their mother, looking to you for help. You were in town for two hours, and your herbs reserve went down to one fucking leaf. 

The Ghoul keeps looking at you from under his hat, and at this point it's gotten from uncomfortable, to straight up creepy. You were not about to pretend this stranger's interest in your particular person didn't unnerve you. Although, thanks to your mother's efforts, and later your own, the town practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the same could not be said about the rest of the Wasteland. 

You had enemies. You had people, who would love to get their hands on you. You were also deeply aware of the bounty placed on your person. Last you checked, it was quite small, but Ghouls don't have it easy out there, and if there's anyone looking like a bounty hunter in this fine establishment, it's the shady guy giving you a shameless once-over. 

So, you place a couple of caps on the counter, and gather yourself best you can. 

Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was not the best idea, because as soon as you slide off the barstool, your head does a flip. Your balance completely off, you trip over your own feet, already accepting the floor, as your soon-to-be companion. 

That's when something strangely warm wraps itself around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter. The Ghoul smells just about as pleasant as one would expect, but moonshine is a powerful sedative, and instinctually, you lean into the warm embrace. Eyelids flutter, as you look up into the sunken eyes of your savior, and you can see his throat move, as he swallows thickly. 

- Careful now, sweetheart - the voice is low and reminds you of wind whistling through leaves - Gotta keep you in good condition.

Now, if you were completely sober, or at least less drunk, those words would fire an orchestra of alarm bells in your head. Instead, you smile, teeth on full display, as you reach up, to undo a tattered scarf from around your neck. 

- Mmm - you sigh, throwing the piece of cloth across the Ghoul's shoulders - My hero. 

Then, you grab onto his arm, still holding a tight grip around your waist, and lift it up by the sleeve of his coat. Despite your drunken disposition, you duck under the limb gracefully, and shoot the Ghoul a nasty, fully aware smirk. Realization flickers across his face, but before he can move to catch you, a series of body-wrecking coughs shakes his entire frame. 

You hesitate just for a second. The instinct to help is ingrained into your very being, passed down like a mantle from your angel of a mother. But then, self-preservation kicks in, and as the strager reaches into the pocket of his coat, to find his inhaler, you're already out the door, throwing yourself into a mad dash towards your cabin.

You were drunk, not stupid. 

***

The sun has barely had time to rise, when you're rudely awoken by the sound of a fist, pounding desperately on your front door. Hard enough to make the hinges squeak and shake. 

It tears you from your already light sleep, and you scramble to your feet, hastily pulling a shirt over your head, as you make your way towards the entrance. Hand on your pistol, you look out through the small space between two planks, which make up your door. 

It's not hard to understand what is happening. You remember one of the men standing outside your door from the nearby town. Benny or something like that, you were never good at remembering names. Hanging on his arm was another, barely breathing man, who was currently bleeding out right onto your porch. Pete. This one you recognize as a farmer and a hunter. You've treated multiple bites and scratches on him. So did your mother. 

Cursing under your breath, you undid all the makeshift locks with record speed, throwing the door open.

- I'm sorry to bother your so early in the morning Healer - you wince at the title, already making a beeline for the table in your kitchen - Pete and I were just...

Both men follow you closely behind, Pete's boots making a disgusting, sloshing noise. 

- Put him here, face up - you command, throwing a couple of papers to the floor.

- ...Coming back from a night hunt, and this fucking Ghoul was asking around town about you...

- Cut his shirt - another command, thrown over your shoulder, as you begin to rummage through a cabinet filled with chemicals and various herbs, barely registering the words. 

- ...And when we started asking questions back at him, he just shot Peter, right then and there...

You pluck a couple of twisted, dried herbs into your trusty, stone mortar, spitting into it, to gather some moisture. Throwing a semi-clean rag at the man, your voice cuts through his rambling.

- Put pressure on it.

There is no exit wound, and you almost sigh with annoyance at the prospect of fishing out a bullet. It had to be done, however, putting your sleep depriation and a building headache aside, you scoop out some of the herbal paste with your fingers, before pushing past the man.

- Hold his legs down - you mutter, taking a blink-and-you-miss-it moment to check Pete's temperature.

- ...Thankfully, he didn't kill Pete on the spot, so I brought him here straight away.

Pete flinches on the table, as you apply the paste to the wound. That's about as big of a reaction he's capable of, given the amount of blood he just spilled onto your porch. Another thing to clean up, after you take care of the table. What a way to start a fucking day. You can see his eyes follow your movements, barely conscious, but still alive. Sweat beads and gathers at his brow, and you reach out with a clean rag, to dab it off his skin.

Then, as if coming out of a stupor, your eyebrows scrunch together. The story of this faithful encounter finally registering in your brain. 

- A man was asking about me? - you ask, despite already knowing the answer. 

- Well, kinda. A Ghoul. 

You knew which Ghoul, it was not difficult to piece together. 

- And he didn't kill Pete, just injured him - you can feel another headache brewing just behind your eyes, as the sheer stupidity of the man in front of you finally comes to the surface.

They led him to you. 

Three, steady knocks to your door, smug and confident, interrupt the conversation, and deep down you can see the future of every person present in this cabin. As if you've developed some magical powers. 

Stilling your suddenly trembing hands, you settle the mortar back on the table. Thenyou instruct the man to keep pressure once more. Covering yourself with a robe you got as payment for stitching up a sliced finger, you make your way to the door. Fabric flows around your feet, shuffling like the wings of a moth. 

Your eyes flicker to the side, where, placed against a wall, stands a small end table. Under it, you've hidden a rather large kitchen knife, and for a second you debate, whether going for it now would be the best course of action. Call it dumb optimism, but deep down, you pray this is some big misunderstanding, and you'll be allowed to go back to your patient, preferably sooner than later. 

There's no need to bother with a gun, no time too. Pete is bleeding out faster than a stuck pig, and you were not one to leave your customers unsatisfied. Or, in this particular line of work, dead. 

The door opens with a slam. There's a small indent in the wooden wall, where the door handle has hit the surface.  The cabin is slowly entering the state of ruin, although, some places are more taken care of than others. Still, it has a roof, a semi intact entrance and even a window with actual glass in it. Quite the luxury in the Wastelands. 

Cooper didn't know what to expect, not really. Seeing you for the first time gave him a mixture of varying feelings, as well as a rather uncomfortable throbbing in the nether regions. Who could blame him, really? Your wanted poster gave you no favors, and although he was able to recognize you almost immediately, he still felt slightly short of breath.

He scolds himself for getting distracted by his thoughts, and as your eyes lock down on him, he lifts the barrel of his gun, touching the rim of his hat. Your eyes shift like little sparkling gems onto the weapon, before your jaw locks.

- Salutations Ma'am - his voice is rough from lack of use, the southern twang even more prominent, than usual. - I believe our introduction was cut short.

Yellowed teeth flash in a mirthless smirk, and then his expression tightens.

Cooper is used to people reacting, let's say, negatively towards him. Fear is the most common, and he can't blame the masses, he really can't. Disgust, as well, happens quite often. But as he looks over your feverish gaze, he can't really see either one of the emotions. 

No, what you give him is an annoyed roll of your eyes, and he's surprised to say, it bothers him more than he'd be comfortable admitting. He's a goddamned bounty hunter, a ruthless one at that, and a fucking Ghoul. Fuck you mean, you're annoyed by his presence?

- Look - you're already turning away from him, shooting a look towards your kitchen, where he can see a leg twitch in a spasm on top of your table - I ain't got time for whatever this is - your hands wave around in Cooper's general direction. - You'll have to wait your turn.

- Ah, well, I'm not the patient kind.

A squeak of surprise leaves you, as the Ghoul pushes past your body, entering your house gun first, murder clear in his deep set eyes. His steps take him through your living room, dangerously close to your kitchen. You know exactly, what's going to happen, and your arms shoot out on instinct. His body is unnaturally warm, even through layers of clothing, as you wrap yourself around his waist, tugging him back with all your might.

 He looks down on you, more bothered by the sudden contact, than the fact you're trying to stop him. It gives you a small leverage, and you push him back a couple of steps, settling yourself between the entrance to the kitchen, and the bounty hunter, raising your hands and getting ready to fight. 

- I don't have time for this kinda bullshit. Git. - Cooper snarls at you, his gun-free hand coming up to grab at your hair.

Before you have time to react, five fingers twist hard into your roots, and you stifle a scream, as the Ghoul pushes you off of him. On instinct, your hands come up to tug against his wrist, nails digging into the leathery skin. He lets you go with a hiss, and you use that second, to throw yourself towards the end-table. 

Your fingers find the handle with a practiced ease. Then, your body twists like a radioactive viper, and all Cooper sees is a flash of metal. The blade is rusty and chipped, but it could still do some damage. Especially now, that it's pressed against Cooper's jugular, the dull, cold presence halting all his movements. Your eyebrows raise in small recognition at the thin fabric tied around his neck. The scarf. Your mouth goes dry.

- Everything okay back there? - Benny asks from the kitchen, you can hear his approaching footsteps.

- All's well, kee pressure on the wound - your voice is tight with nerves, but the man obeys. 

Cooper watches your face carefully, his gun tucked neatly into the meat of your stomach, ready to fire, should the situation escalate. You can feel it, pressed right into the hollow space under your spleen, a good place to be shot, if you could even say that. You're dealing with a professional, apparently. 

- We seem to have a bit of a conundrum on our hands, little lady - Cooper drawls, voice bordering on a whisper, his eyes follow the way your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips. 

- I have a patient, he needs help - you explain in an even tone, breathing shallow - After that, I'll deal with you.

Despite being at a loosing position, you refuse to back down, your eyes glued to the Ghoul in front of you. You're bracing yourself for the imminent pain, should he decide shooting you would be easier, but it never comes. Instead, the barrel of the gun presses further into your flesh, before lightly retracting. The cold metal is dragged up, across the expanse of your stomach. You bite the inside of your cheek, and surpress a shiver, when it travels between the swell of your breast, and settles into the dip of your collarbones. 

You swallow thickly, Cooper's eyes catching the movements of your trachea like a hungry vulture. The tip of the gun touches the underside of your chin, pushing your head to one side, then the other, as if the bounty hunter is taking inventory in a butcher's shop. Once he's had his fill, he lifts the gun completely, raising his hands as a peace offering.

- Git - you whisper back at him, and a flash of something rushes through his mangled expression. 

You take a step back, chest rising in falling rapidly, blade still in front of you, just in case. Then another step, and the bounty hunter dusts off his coat, before sitting down on a stool in your cluttered living room. You don't like the way he looks at you, eyes shining from under his hat, as he occupies your space like it belongs to him. Long legs apread in front of him, and you try very hard not to sneak a peak between them. Finally, you cross the entrance to the kitchen, and the knife is tucked under the leather belt of your pants. 

A sigh, a roll of shoulders, and you're off.

Cooper watches with curiosity, as you immediately start to work on the poor bastard stuck on your table. Your back is taunt, hands bloodied but steady, as you lean down to take the metal bullet out of the wound. The herbal paste you've provided earlier has dried up, and is currently working wonders for the bleeding, while you reach inside with not-so-sterile pliers. 

- Hold him down - he hears you say, as the legs on the table start to twitch again. 

Finally, a metallic sound of the bullet hitting a dish is heard, and you stand up, making your way towards the cabinet filled with chems. There is a grace to your movements Cooper wasn't expecting. Reminds him of dancers, ballet ones. 

Back in the day, his ex-wife would drag him to all those ballet shows, ones that made him feel stupid and uncultured. He swallows around the memory, willing it to die down, as you shoot him a cautious look over your shoulders. 

He wiggles his gun at you lightly, a reminder, that all this is happening because of his good humor. You scoff. 

Pete starts screaming as soon, as you begin to dress the wound properly. Chemical smell fills the air, and although Cooper lacks the nose to feel it, his eyes water all the same. You seem to be unbothered, years of doing this exact job must've hardened your senses. Finally, it's done. There's nothing more you can do for the man, and you wipe your hand on your forehead, leaving a large smear of red.

- He'll be fine - you mutter towards the other man in the kitchen - He needs rest, and a loads of it too. 

A couple of small bottles and dried herbs land onto a checkered cloth, and you tie it closed, like a small care package. 

- Dress his wounds twice a day - you press the package into the other man's hands while he helps his partner off the table - Good luck. 

Cooper glares at the men, as they stagger out the front door. They don't seem to pay him any mind. Well, the shot one definitely doesn't, he can barely walk on his own. His friend is too preoccupied with keeping him on his arm, to even acknowledge that this whole situation was orchestrated by Cooper himself. Or perhaps, he's to stupid to connect the dots. It's hard to tell these days. 

The door closes with a click, and Cooper stands up from his stool, sauntering over to the kitchen. 

You're currently trying to wash blood off of your hands, which are stained crimson almost up to your elbows. It goes about as well as expected, and as you dry your arms with a rag, there's still a pinkish stain to your skin. 

The table is a mess, blood and herbs seeping into the wooden planks which make up the surface. Cooper leans against the doorframe, as he watches you splash some chemicals onto the wood. It bubbles up in a disgusting mixture of red, green and yellow. You let it sizzle for a moment, before taking that same bowl of water you've been using to clean up, and dumping it all onto the table. The mixture flows down to the floor, the residing surface looking much cleaner. 

- Now, as much as I'd love to sit around and play house with you, honey - Cooper starts, and has to clear his throat, when you look up at him wordlessly, blood on your face and fire in your eyes - I have a bounty to collect.

Sighing, you push your hair back from your forehead, exhaustion, which is synonymous with living in the Wastelands seeping off of you like a tidal wave. 

- Do you have a name? - you ask, reaching for a leather bag sitting on one of the chairs. 

- I do - he says, and you roll your eyes at the deliberate lack of information his answer has given you. 

You mutter something that sounds scarily close to "asshole", and begin to chuck a couple of vials into the bag, then some herbs, then a water canteen. It's like you're ready to move out at any time, and a sneaking suspicion arises in Cooper's mind. This isn't the first time you're in this situation, if your calm demeanor is anything to go by. Suspicious, highly so, and as you turn around to face him, Cooper raises his hand ever so slightly. 

Your eyes fall onto the bundle of rope in his grip, eyebrow raising in annoyance. 

- You serious? 

- As a funeral, sweetheart - he sways the bundle lighty, his other hand pointing the gun at your abdoment - Now, are you going to be good, and come over here? Or should I come over there and make it unpleasant for us both?

- You're already making it unpleasant - you mutter, but cross the kitchen towards him, raising your hands, palms up. 

- Wait. 

Confusion hits you, when the Ghoul reaches into his pocket, producing a small piece of torn cloth. Your entire body goes still, as he grabs onto your chin, cold metal of his gun digging into your cheek, the barrel settling into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Then, despite your best efforts at freeing yourself from his grip, he brings the cloth to his lips, wetting the fabric with his tongue. 

The bloody smear on your forehead is wiped down rather roughly, and you twist in place like an impatient toddler, when Cooper leans his head back, to look at his handywork. You shiver with disgust, at the feeling of his drying saliva on your skin, and as soon, as he lets you go, you begin to rub at your forehead with the sleeve of your robe. 

- Good condition - he rasps, and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

He gives you a nasty smirk, settling his gun down for just a moment, and grabbing your wrists together, so he can tie them up. Which is all the time you need to make a decision, and kick out your knee, nailing him right in the crotch. He doubles over, cursing loudly, hands shooting out to grab you, but all he catches is your tattered robe, which you slide out of easily. 

Fater than he would've anticipated, you grab at your bag, and bolt to the back of the kitchen, where he watches you jump over the table and all but slide out of the house through an open window. It's like a choreographed dance, the way you move out of his grasp. When he reaches the window himself, there's no sight of you, other than the rustling of tree branches somewhere in the woods behind your cabin. 

- Fucking women. - Cooper whistles.

He can't deny the shiver of excitement running down his back, as he secures the hat over his eyes.  If that's how you want to play, he would oblidge. It's been far too long since he could actually enjoy a more challenging bounty. Cooper slowly walks out of your cabin, looking over all the little trinkets you've gathered inside. Then, almost lazily, he lifts the robe you've left him to his nose. He feels nothing, of course, but he has quite a vivid imagination. Vivid enough to supply him with a memory of a scent from his past life. Lavender, he'd bet you smell like lavender. 

Your tracks are deep and visible across the ground, and so, the hunt begins. 

#my writing #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout smut #fallout x reader #fallout tv series #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #i walt on his goggins till we fallout

[anantaru]

DAY 20 — DACRYPHILIA

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

kink. dacryphilia — enjoyment or arousal from tears and crying

𖧡 — including — neuvillette, diluc, baizhu

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, dacryphilia, just tears everywhere /hj, handjob, overstimulation, oral (fem! receiving), thigh riding

𖧡 — NEUVILLETTE

neuvillette felt like your clasp on his skin gave him some kind of nurture that changed his complete body and its upheaved reactions.

was he burning inside the limits of his body right now? was he igniting underneath his soul? no, of course not, but he sure felt that way, primarily because of the way you were expertly rolling your palm over his flaring erection— with the weight of your hand on him now, he simply cannot move an inch, light as your trace may be, he cannot even breathe evenly.

his warm cum was smeared everywhere around your hand and glissades down your tensed knuckles, and he's still dripping in it when he leans his head back before huffing out shakily, scrunching his eyes together as he perceives a mischievous grin manifesting on your joyful expression.

it feels good, for the both of you, absolutely intoxicating, to have this sort of power over an individual such as neuvillette, and you slant your head a little forward whilst picking up the tempo on your palm, fisting his large cock in your hand and curving your wrist ever so often to add a slight twist into your movements. you muse, kissing his cheek before he returns your gaze eagerly— his blasted, glistening, pleading eyes normally untouched, although now crowded with hot tears drizzling down his scarlet cheeks which radiated eminently through his pale complexion.

"do you want me to stop?" you coo, and smirk right after to fill him with some sort of frustration, or at least that he'll end up pondering deeply on where you got that honeyed, sweltering audacity to ask him such unfathomable question. neuvillette inhales inside his chest, before coughing out into his fist as to somewhat dampen down the obvious mess of himself before rummaging his large hand over your thigh to squeeze it and release a little pressure off his groin.

he shakes, almost winces when you add additional relish on him length, precisely every time you'd slide over his red tip which was practically swelling to the hilt, "of- of course," he speaks in between desperate noises and coughs before opening his mouth to add onto his words without anything really falling from the tip of his tongue.

ugh, he's so pretty, so handsome and cute when he's crying all over himself due to your skilled thrusts and caring on his shaft and you can only imagine how the weather in fontaine must look like right now.

all you can do is giggle sweetly at him before planting another kiss on his dampened cheek, the slightly curved slopes of his cock like putty in your hands as you sensed that he was just about to cum— he was so close, the erratic rutting into your hand, his hips pushing and twitching upwards to catch your pace halfway and the strengthening squeeze on his hand on your thigh revealed as much as they could.

so, well, what happened next? you naturally gave neuvillette what he yearned for, loud, penetrating noises of smack, smack, smack's demolishing his sensitive hearing abilities as his face grew even hotter, the shattering hue of red growing into a darkened vermillion before he cums at last, wrinkling his nose in concentration and leaking of creamy, white cum, shooting it all over your hand and his lower stomach until it dribbles all the way to his scrunched up slacks hanging loosely around his thighs.

there's still so much more and neuvillette empties himself out with whispery grunts and wet ruptured moans, hard and without shame, although you knew he'd be embarrassed right after he'd witness the utter mess he made, or listen to the growing storm outside.

𖧡 — DILUC

diluc's dark intensity takes shape over your complete figure as he first settles in between your thighs before carefully placing each leg on his shoulders— your hands already balling into the cecilia flower scented sheets when he first, skillfully flicks his tongue over the sensitive bead in between your folds, slurping up the taste of your arousal.

the curved ending of his tongue digs into all the right places, and diluc gradually applies more and more pressure with his wicked muscle working wonders until you practically scream at the top of your lungs, your pleasure entirely centered on you, diluc made sure of that, and the stimulation of the roughness on your sensitivity through the wetness of your slick and his saliva just got better and better, even more precise when he penetrates your hole and gathers your slick on him— he's so obsessed with how you taste on him he could cum just from that, just from having himself soiled with your arousal all over.

diluc wantonly moans into your sopping cunt and teasingly nibbles down on your folds to contain some of his passion bundled up inside the flesh before looking up between your thighs, his own erection pushing the limits of his self control, close to showing the red tip at the top of his waistband. yet, when he suddenly witnesses the current state you were in, he almost touches the threshold of his solid self restraint and could cum from nothing but your writhing figure.

at first, a single crystalline pebble rolls down your cheek, before you're whimpering again at his tongue thrusting into your hole, additional tears sizzling from your eyes just like fumes from a camp fire as diluc unquestionably marvels at this whimpering echo from you— it's almost embarrassing and he wouldn't confess it to you, ever, but the thought that he was responsible for this, making you cry out of sheer pleasure that only he was allowed to place on you was thoroughly surreal and maddening.

he continues to drag the flat of his tongue over your dripping cunt as you practically cling and ride his face, sucking in your chest and arching your back before your mouth gapes open, letting out an excess of moans and whines with each flick of his tongue being reviving in nature, your blood shot eyes blurred and making it unable for you to properly gaze down at him, yet you do not mind— because your reactiveness to his tongue moving at the speed of molasses brought the immediate reaction of yearning and enjoyment to your lower region, the thudding bolt located inside your belly growing and growing, yearning to snap in half.

and your tears, so warm and comforting, glide gently down your cheekbones and the beauty of your facial features, trailing to the sides as you muffle the squeaking noises littering from your throat before inspecting the blown pupils staring up at you, half lidded and webbed in lust, diluc's scarlet eyes remaining focused, famished and in under a dime— he twists his tongue back through the tight ring of your creamy hole to savor the flavor forever.

𖧡 — BAIZHU

how baizhu took authority over your aching hips truly shouldn't have made you this obedient to his smoldering touches, nor shouldn't have made you this reactive as your naked folds repeatedly crush over his clothed thigh.

his clasp on you was unfalteringly unchangeable that you're growing an eternal hotness all over your skin with the igniting clench hovering like a strong weight stemmed against your shoulders that you're forced to carry out.

he rushes you on his thigh with a rough tug, back and forth and back and forth, finding a surge of solace at all the mean torment of not allowing you to cum on him, nor have his cock deep inside your guts, seemingly blurring it all together and stitching it on your facial expression crumbling right before him as you develop into a hazy mess, your arousal bleeding out your fluttering hole and soiling his pants.

and once that first tear broke free from the fast inflicted overstimulation, the rest followed in an unbroken stream— and you press your face into his shoulder as you began to cry with the force of a person pulling the strings on your most sensitive and swirling places.

although, baizhu wouldn't stop there, he never did, because he enjoyed this, how did you forget? and he graciously settles his head against your collarbones, wetting his lips with his warm tongue before lapping at the quivering skin, choosing to ignore your whining for a second as the sensations he inflicted on your chest moved downward to nibble on your swollen core.

you can feel his lips twitch like he's trying to hold back his own pleasure rutting against his tight pants, additionally you note how baizhu attentively listened to you, precisely for any sort of noise you'd make due to his cruel ministrations. you grip around him harder and hold yourself close to his shoulder as you start to squirm, your digits feebly pushing into the flesh of his shoulders as to keep him on you with ease.

the sweet words and encouraging praises of baizhu too, silently become inaudible when you rush yourself to a mind-altering orgasm, "you're doing so well, darling," and "just a little more, my love," with such praising sentences, truly, they must be even better and more ravaging than the heat you felt building up in your stomach, making you jittery, yet you couldn't understand anything anymore— as if dipped underwater, spasming above him, screaming, clinging to him and finally climaxing all over his clothed thigh.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #baizhu x reader #baizhu smut #diluc x reader #diluc smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #neuvillette x you #genshin impact drabbles #diluc x you #baizhu x you #kinktober

[stareaterau]

Chapter 1 episode 4

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Time for some new characters perhaps?

CW: description of pain

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Etho is relieved to finally have a moment of peace from that incessant beeping. It’s been driving him insane from the moment he woke up, surrounded by heaps of twisted and mangled space debris. Impact crates sat all around him, filled in and covered with the – barely recognisable – remains of old battleships. With some smug satisfaction, he’d spotted what was left of countless Vindicator insignias. They were marked on their dented hulls and scattered supply crates, their paint scraped away over time. The beeping had been increasing steadily, as Etho traipsed across the sand-swept wreckage, reverberating around his head in a way that made him worried that he’d suddenly developed a strange form of tinnitus… not that he hadn’t already been developing it for years thanks to his constant exposure to loud machinery. But now – as he approaches the rusting wreckage of a massive spaceship that rests, standing like a beacon, nestled atop a mound of its mangled brethren, its form surprisingly intact save for the side of its hull, the once sturdy metal gored open – the silence is deafening. After having grown accustomed to the constant beeps, the absence of noise is almost overwhelming.

Etho hoists himself up and over the mangled opening in the ship, grateful that his gloves prove to be enough protection against the likely scalding metal. He breathes a sigh of relief as his heavy boots thud onto the dusty metal flooring inside the wreckage. The cooler air hitting him immediately. The insulated walls and dim metal halls of the ship create a welcome reprieve after the blazing heat of the desert outside. Etho is not dressed for this sun, since the dark fabric and fluffy interior of his jacket are more suitable for the chill of space. Maybe if he’d known that he’d find himself waking up in a strange desert, he’d have actually dressed for the occasion. He pulls his hood down, shaking the sand from his clothes, finally protected from the wind as it peppers the landscape outside with sand.

Etho stretches, his long limbs cracking. With a sigh, he looks around the room he climbed into. It looks like some kind of barrack. Uncomfortable uniform beds line the walls and old, musty bedding lays strewn about the room. He grimaces. Those blankets look scratchy as hell. Despite his initial disgust, Etho would probably be tempted to pick one of the beds and not get up for days if they weren’t also covered in sand that had blown in through the fissures in the ship's wall caused by its crash landing, years ago. He assumes it was years ago, at least, considering the rust and the sand that has made itself home in every possible corner.

He walks out into the corridor, brightened by long strips of broken lights stretching down the hall in either direction. Tangled and fraying wiring hangs down from the ceiling, the panelling that was meant to hide them likely thrown and forgotten somewhere during the ship's rough descent. A ship like this should have plenty of rooms that could prove far more useful than a dusty dorm room. If he’s lucky it may even have a stocked storage room. The ship's crew certainly wouldn’t have run out of rations before their unexpected demise.

Etho turns right, padding down the hallway, periodically peering through the occasional unlocked door as he passes by, each one leading into increasingly dark and dingy rooms.The corridor leads him deeper into the belly of the ship, further away from the blazing sun’s reach. The interiors sit dusty, undisturbed and utterly useless. Not a single one appears to contain anything of use to Etho unless he wants to try and sleep on some of the sandiest beds he’s ever seen. He just woke up not even an hour ago, sleeping right now might be a bit overkill… and not all that useful. He needs supplies, food, anything. A weapon of some sort would be nice too, he doesn’t trust this dump to be as empty and dead as it looks on the surface. A planet with breathable air like this would surely have some inhabitants, no matter how harsh the living conditions. Hell, a blaze would probably thrive in this heat. Their dense fur and high body temperature would protect them from the worst the desert has to offer.

The thumps of heavy boots against the grated metal echo down the corridor. Etho’s careful steps do little to lessen the noise as the rusted hull groans in response to his presence. His tail drags behind him, through the sand and dust that litters the hall, pale white scales and grey-tinged fur drawing lines on the ground as he roams the winding halls.

He comes up to a split in the path… or well, it’s not much of a split. The corridor that should veer off to the right comes to a quick end, its flooring having collapsed in on itself, broken pipes and tangled wires hanging down from the ceiling. The floor is caved in on itself, twisted metal sloping down into the pitch-black pit that is the lower floors. Etho cringes at the creaking sound of metal that echos out of the hole. He doesn’t want to think about the strain the weight of the crashed vessel is causing on its fractured hull. The last thing he wants is to be trapped in this hunk of junk if its supports give way.

Deciding he’d rather not risk catching himself on the jagged metal… or falling void-knows how far down the dark pit. Etho, instead, turns left and ventures down the more intact corridor. At least there’s far less sand this way. Although Etho suspects the damage has already been done, he’ll be finding those persistent grains for months. Years, even. The lights above flicker sporadically – or at least the few that managed to survive the years in one piece – combating the increasing darkness with their cold, dim fluorescence.

Etho pauses, reaching up to flick one of the long bulbs as it fades out, causing it to sputter back to life for just a moment before dying out once again. Etho realises with a start that the ship must still have a functioning power source somewhere, Etho realises. It might not have much life left in it if these half-dead lights are anything to go off, but it’s better than nothing. This ship might still have some useful parts lying around. Etho could try fashioning… something from the scraps. Something that could help him get off this dead planet, or at least send some kind of distress signal, with the hopes that someone, anyone is close enough to hear it.

He’ll take anything that might prove useful while he figures out where he is. It’s better than his current lack of possessions. He’d had nothing on him when he woke up, which, concerningly, was not how he’d been before. Etho never left home without at least a knife or two, preferably a gun too. He’s not stupid. The last thing he wants is to be cornered by some Vindicator grunt without any means of defending himself. He’d never hear the end of it.

But, for now, it’ll probably just be nice to have shelter with some shoddy lights. While sleeping under the stars doesn’t sound too unpleasant, sleeping on trash in a sandstorm definitely does.

Etho picks up his pace. He can at least assess the damage to the ship's redstone if he can find the engine room. Until he knows what supplies he’s working with he can’t properly plan his next move. The thought makes him shudder. Being stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no clue where he is, no memory of how he got here, and no plan sounds like, quite possibly, the worst combination. Hell, graveyard planets aren’t typically in inhabited solar systems…if he’s really that far from civilisation, he’s fucked. The sooner he can figure out a plan of action the better.

Rounding a corner, the corridor quickly comes to an end. Standing in front of him is exactly what he had been hoping for. Another doorway the door itself, thankfully, resting mostly open. Albeit disconnected from the track that would usually enable its closure. Beyond its frame, flickering lights illuminate a room lined with control panels and overturned chairs. Lights pulse faintly behind dusty buttons and screens and wires stretch across the floor, twisting over and tangling with one another. He’s found the cockpit.

Etho grins behind his mask, the slight crinkle of his eyes the only sliver of emotion displayed for the lonely wreck. He cracks his knuckles before making his way over to the closest control panel.

He pauses for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought and hands hovering over the rusted controls. He never actually checked if he’s truly alone in this place. Glancing around the room again shows no more signs of life than his first inspection. He hadn’t noticed footprints at any point in his journey so far. Void knows there’s enough sand everywhere for them to show up. He’s well and truly alone.

Giving in to curiosity, he cracks open the console, prying off the loose screen, exposing the guts of the ship inside. Looking through the rusty parts, he investigates the state they’re in, hoping that any of the individual parts can prove useful. Who knows, maybe he can get the engine up and running and get out of here… it doesn’t look like it though. Holding up a particularly rusted part, Etho scowls, tossing it onto the metal flooring behind him with a loud clang. He continues to rummage through the mechanisms of the ship, anything unusable – which proves to be most of it – getting tossed, carelessly to the side with a loud clunk.

“...Oh, what the heck?”

Etho jolts at the voice behind him. Dropping the rusted redstone comparator he had been holding, in surprise. Spinning on his heels, Etho’s eyes land on a figure standing in the doorway, their face scrunched up in a frustrated scowl. They look like some sort of glare-blaze hybrid, judging by the green feathers scattering the right side of their face and the brown markings that tint their brow and the tips of their ears. The tips of their fingers are coated in that same brown, the point where the markings merge back into their paler skin tone hidden behind a pair of padded fingerless gloves. Etho notes, however, the figure's distinct lack of a tail, his own flicking to the side subconsciously. They’re dressed in a cuffed t-shirt and baggy, padded trousers. A singular grey knee pad is strapped to their right leg, though how much that would help them if they fell onto their other knee Etho is not sure. Their deep, dark eyes lock onto Etho. Huge, pure-black pupils boaring into him.

“Uhhh-” Etho stares, dumbstruck at his unexpected visitor. He'd been so sure that he was alone here. The metal dunes outside had betrayed no signs of life. All the ships look like they’d crashed into the planet, their hulls cracked and bent from the impact. It’s unlikely that any of their passengers survived.

“Who the hell are you?” The glare furrows his brow further, pointing an accusatory finger towards Etho. “What are you doing to my ship?”

“...Your ship?”

The stranger scoffs, seemingly offended at the insinuation that this mangled spaceship isn’t clearly his. “Yes, my ship! I found it first!”

Etho rolls his eyes at the childish nature of the argument, there’s no way of knowing who had actually seen it first. It's not exactly hard to spot. The massive ship stands like a beacon atop the mounds of twisted metal, it could probably be seen for miles across the ship graveyard.

“I saw it the second I woke up here,” Etho counters, throwing out a bit more information than he’d usually feel comfortable with, testing the glare's response. They don’t react.

Their brows remain just as furrowed, eyes just as piercing. A couple of seconds pass before their mouth contorts into an annoyed snarl. A small scar cuts across their lip, a gap in their teeth replacing the fang that should rest just behind it… Huh.

Etho runs a hand down his mask. He hadn’t realised that the stranger isn’t wearing one, nor a helmet. The air here must be safe to breathe. He decides against removing it for now, though. Maybe they just hadn’t dropped dead yet.

“Yeah, me too! You’re not special!” The other replies, crossing his arms. Etho frowns, the two sides of his split jaw grinding together slightly, behind his mask, in thought. So they had woken up here too, he concludes. They’re probably just as in the dark as he is, lashing out due to the fear of being lost on some graveyard planet with no idea how they got here… Or maybe they’re just like this.

“...I’m the one in the cockpit though.”

“You’re tearing the cockpit apart!” The stranger complains, striding over to a broken comparator, one of the many engine components Etho had scattered across the cockpit floor. They pick it up and twirl it in their hand, glowering at the state of it. Rust rubbing off the metal, staining their fingertips a ruddy orange.

Their dark eyes turn back to Etho, scrutinising him with their gaze. A mischievous glint crosses their face. They give the engine piece one last spin in their hand, before tossing it right at Etho. Hitting him square in the shoulder, the rusted metal cracking as it clatters back onto the ground by Etho's feet. “Ow- Thanks…” he murmurs

“It’s not gonna fly anyway,” he adds, brushing away a spot of rust from where the metal had bounced off his padded jacket.

“I can make it work!”

“Can you?” Etho raises a brow, he’s sceptical anyone would be able to fix a ship in this much disrepair, especially not this guy. They look like they’re more likely to blow up a ship than they are to fix one. The only thing this wreck is good for is shelter and spare parts.

“YES!” the stranger argues, their face contorted into an offended scoff. “GET OUT! FIND YOUR OWN SHIP!”

Etho stands up from where he knelt, hunched over the control panel. He wipes his hands on his trousers, leaving a smear of oil and rust behind on the green fabric. "…Fine, ‘s nothin’ useful here anyway. It’s a rusty mess.”

That only seems to rile the glare up further. Their green feathers bristle, standing on end, and a slight puff of smoke spills from their mouth as they huff angrily.

“IT’S NOT A RUSTY MESS! IT’S MY SHIP!”

Etho, paying their outburst no mind, strides over to where the glare still stands, blocking the doorway with their broad frame. Etho tilts his head, as he looks them up and down, sizing up the shorter, angrier man. They just glare back up at him in response. He snorts.

“Mhm, sure,” Etho finally responds, a sarcastic drawl to his voice. He pushes past them, knocking the stranger out of the way with his shoulder. They stumble to the side, letting out an offended squawk as Etho heads back down the dark corridor of the ship. He smirks at their reaction. Void that guy is full of themself.

If they want this ship so bad they can have it, it's not worth fighting over.

Maybe if he’s quick, Etho can find another, mostly, intact ship to seek shelter in before the sun sets. Preferably one where he won’t have to share with some obnoxious blaze-glare hybrid.

The gash in the ship wall he had climbed through proves easy to find again, thanks to the way it tears through room after room. He picks a door and makes his way through what looks like the remains of a small botany nursery. The plants that had once grown here would’ve helped to generate for the ship's crew back when it was still being maintained, but now it sits in disrepair. Its foliage withered and dry from neglect, the glass of their terrariums shattered and scattered across the ground. The only sign of life this room has to offer now comes in the form of a tiny, sandy rat, no bigger than Etho’s palm, sitting in a dusty plant pot. Though, it seems mostly unbothered by the enderian's sudden appearance, the shrivelled stick of a plant that it's digging its teeth into is clearly more important. Beady eyes follow as he picks his way through the overturned interior, careful to avoid the sharp shards of glass, even if it’s unlikely it would be able to puncture his boot's thick soles.

He doesn’t even need to climb over the jagged metal this time, the whole exterior wall is ripped out from top to bottom. The gnarled, torn edges of the floor and remaining walls the only evidence such a wall ever existed in the first place. Instead, he lowers himself and jumps down, landing with a clatter on the scrap metal ground outside.

The sun still beats down on the metal mounds surrounding him, the old wrecks sizzling from the heat. The topography shifts and ripples behind the torrid air. Etho blinks and holds his hand up to shelter his eyes as the metallic landscape reflects the bright light at him from every direction. He had not missed this, the ship had been stuffy, but it was at least sheltered from the worst of the heat. Etho had better find another shelter soon, he decides. Especially as the sun has now dipped far lower in the sky than it was before. He’d rather not be wandering the wasteland at night, at least not until he can assess how safe this planet really is.

Etho readjusts his mask – breathing in dust cloud after dust cloud probably won’t be great for his lungs – before beginning his descent down the mound. His pace is slow and careful as the scrap below his feet shifts and dislodges from its capricious position. Each step sends small waves of metal debris scattering down the hill ahead of him. It’s not the quietest of descents, but Etho can’t bring it in himself to care. Not when he’s already met and fallen out with, who is likely, the only person for miles.

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

The whistle of wind rushing through the trash peaks almost disguises a building ringing in his ears, the constant note mostly fading out into the background when he pays it no heed. Shaking his head, Etho groans. He almost misses the beeping.

He really should look into what had caused that… as soon as he finds himself somewhere safe to settle for the night. It’s far too risky to stay out in the open with the sun rapidly sinking in the sky. Not while he doesn’t know what kinds of wildlife might call this place home, and going back to the security of that ship is clearly a no-go.

The hairs on the back of his on the back of his neck stand up as a staticky sensation dances across his skin. Etho furrows his brow. That’s just another reason to find shelter. The last thing he wants is to get caught out in a thunderstorm. But, as he glances at the vast, cloudless sky, it holds no sign of a coming storm

Etho reaches the bottom of the metal mound, luckily only almost losing his footing once or twice. The moment his boot meets the sandy ground the ringing solidifies into something real, something vicious and sharp. He stumbles. It feels like hands are reaching into the deepest parts of his soul and wrapping their hands around his heart.

With another step electricity surges through his body. Etho buckles over, every nerve set alight in white-hot pain. A hook is driven through his heart. Etho bites his tongue. The hands pull.

His vision turns white.

Then red.

Etho keels over. His mind struggles for coherency as he clutches his chest.

He rips his mask off, struggling for breath as a haze settles over the world. Thick and suffocating. Shrouding the landscape around him until all he can see is his own shaking hands and the shipwreck, looming above him, mockingly.

A desperate resolve washes over him.

He needs to get back. It hurts to breathe and he needs to get back.

The ship is safe. It’s walls and shelter and shade and it’s safe. And there is absolutely room for two. Despite that glare’s adamant claims.

They don't need all that space.

Etho found it too.

They can share.

It’s massive.

He can easily stay there without even running into them once.

And it hurts.

And it hurts.

And he can't think.

And the world is spinning.

And he's clambering back over the gnarled ship wall. His clothes snagging on the jagged edge. The thud of his knees, connecting hard with the floor, echoing through his bones.

Relief washes over him. The strain on his heart easing slowly as he staggers back into the welcoming shade. With a huff, he slumps down in the ship's corridor as colours aside from the ruddy hue bleed back into the world.

Etho’s not sure how long he sits there, on the hard floor of the ship corridor, gathering his breath. The cool metal of the ship wall presses against his back, grounding him as his head slowly stops spinning.

But he’s not alone as he gathers his thoughts. Movement catches his eye as, across the hall, that small rat scurries into view, its dried-up twig abandoned. Beady eyes meet his own, unblinking as Etho stills, not wanting to scare the critter away. It’s nice to have some company that won’t attack him for daring to breathe the same air… hopefully.

Its pale, sandy fur stands out in stark contrast against the dark, grey colouration of the ship. He’s caught similar vermin hiding in the dark corners of his own ship before, but they had looked different. Their ears had been shorter and stubbier, their fur dull and grey to match their surroundings. Etho’s not exactly an expert on alien fauna, but if this planet is as uninhabited as it looks then the small rodent might actually be undiscovered. He watches as it slowly relaxes and begins to clean its long whiskers with its paws. It’s kind of cute. Maybe if he captures it and makes it off this forsaken planet he’ll be able to name the species. He’ll probably name it something scary. Like taxes.

Not that aiding scientific exploration should be his priority right now. He’s more likely to cook up and eat the rodent if he actually catches it. Food will probably be scarce in this desert junkyard, and Etho is awfully fond of not starving to death… besides, he’s probably eaten worse.

“You coulda leant a hand y’know.” Great, now he’s talking to a weird rat.

He drops his head back against the wall, inhaling sharply as the impact sends a jolt of pain reverberating around his, already aching, skull. Closing his eyes, he digs the palms of his hands into them. Today is going great so far. At least the beeping still hasn’t come back, hopefully, it’s gone for good now. Etho doesn’t want to imagine trying to think with both the beeping and fuzzy disorientation from whatever the hell that was, overwhelming his brain.

The only sound is the wind outside as it whistles through the cracks marring the ship's hull. It blows roughly through the rooms that are unlucky enough to share that exterior wall, creating a dull, rhythmic thrum, slowly getting louder as it echoes through the halls and – oh, that’s footsteps, Etho realises. Great.

The glare rounds the corner, dark eyes immediately landing on Etho. A scowl crosses their face. They’re clearly just as pleased to see Etho as he is to see them. Taxes scampers off, diving through a grate in the wall, at the sight of the other figure. Etho’s never wished he could follow a rodent quite as much as he does now.

“I thought you were leaving.” They plant their hands on their hips, eyes narrowing as they scowl down at Etho.

“Mm, I tried. Didn’t go so well.” Etho frowns, tearing his eyes away from the hole the rodent had vanished into.

He takes in the glare’s appearance. They look scruffier than before. Their hair is unkempt – well, more unkempt – it falls over their face in messy strands, green and brown mixing together in a muddy tangle. The green feathers scattered across their face are puffed up and dishevelled and their breathing is heavy. What had they been doing after Etho left?

“Huh? What do you mean you ‘tried’?” They ask, making quotation marks with their fingers to emphasise their point. An incredulous tone laces their voice. “Just walk away and find your own ship. It’s not hard!”

Just to complete their point, the glare strides forward in a mock impersonation of Etho’s own pace, coming to a stop in front of the enderian. They scowl down at him, not even trying to hide their distaste. If anything they’re exaggerating it. They place their hands on their hips in, what looks to be, an authoritative manner.

Etho rolls his eyes. It’s nice to know he’s stuck in this place with someone mature. “You try if you think it’s so easy.”

A childish part of Etho, that he’s not so proud of, hopes that the same thing will happen to the glare if they leave the ship. But then again, if that… sensation was indeed a product of trying to leave the wreck, instead of just a freak incident, that might mean he’s stuck with this guy. A thought that fills Etho with dread… It would be worth it to get back at them for taunting him, though.

“To… walk out the door?” They narrow their eyes, trying to figure out just what Etho’s playing at. Ethos face betrays no ulterior motives, though. Even with his mask discarded on the ground, his expressions exposed.

Etho nods. “Mhm. Bet you can’t do it.”

“Bet I can!”

That was easy… they’re way too eager to be right.

Etho pauses to think. If the beeping stopped when he reached this ship then this is clearly where it had been leading him. Etho wouldn’t be surprised if someone had put a chip of some sort in him before abandoning him in this wasteland… it wouldn’t actually be the first time. That could explain the beeping. It might even be the reason for what he just felt too. If that is the case, the glare is probably here for the same reason. Etho’s willing to bet they’ll feel the exact same thing. He’s also willing to bet that they wouldn’t believe him if he tried to tell them.

“How about this? You get the ship to yourself if you can get, mmm, 10 yards from it- the bottom of the mound. If you can’t,” He looks the glare directly in the eye, the inky voids returning an increasingly confused stare. ”It’s mine to scavenge for parts.”

They narrow their eyes, trying to parse Ethos logic. That’s not exactly a hard ask. “You’ll… leave me and this ship alone if I… walk… down a hill.”

“Mhm,” he nods.

The glare pauses. The last thing they want is their ‘beautiful’ ship torn to pieces for parts. What’s the point in finding shelter if you don’t pick the grandest option there is, damn it. This wager is objectively the stupidest thing they’ve ever heard, there’s no feasible way to actually lose it. They smirk.

“Your loss. Easiest bet I’ve ever made! Watch and learn!”

The glare turns on his heels, marching out of the hall with purpose. The sound of their footsteps echoing, loudly down the halls of the ship.

Etho relaxes slightly as the glare disappears from view. He leans back against the wall, mind still buzzing. The cool metal grounding him in place.

He waits. Anticipation slowly building.

The faint sound of metal sliding and clattering from the glare’s heavy steps meets his ears. Etho chuckles. They’re clearly not the stealthy type.

Etho’s amusement quickly dies down as a familiar tightness settles in his chest. He grimaces and steadies himself as he braces for round two as the ringing takes hold and the world falls to red.

He really hopes this isn’t going to be a recurring condition.

A distant yelp echos through the ship – shrill and startled – as the glare concedes their bet.

Etho breathes in a sharp breath as his heart tugs on its bindings. Vindication bleeding into his mind, through the gaps of his thoughts and pain.

He should leave the ship. Meet the glare on their ascent back up the shrapnel hill.

They might need help.

No.

They’ll come to him.

Etho waits. His mind slowly returning to its usual state.

He hears them before he sees them, their angry grumbles and stomps telling Etho all he needs to know about how they’re feeling.

They storm back into the corridor. Stumbling slightly as they steady themselves with a hand on the wall.

Wild eyes lock onto Etho. A fire burns deep inside, shining brightly through their pupils like a feral animal reflecting light in the night.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”

Their face contorts in a furious expression, as even more smoke billows out of their mouth than earlier. Etho wonders how much he can get them to do that.

“Told you.” A smug expression crosses Etho’s face.

“TOLD M- WHA- HUH- WHAT THE HECK?” The glare splutters, more smoke spills out of their mouth with each rapid breath.

“Just walk away, it's not hard,” Etho taunts, doing a poor imitation of the other, smirking as their face scrunches up in annoyance.

“...I’m gonna kill you,” they spit, marching up to Etho, their fists balled stiffly at their sides,

“You can tr- ohHH ACK HEY!”

#stareater au #life series au #ethoslab #joel smallishbeans #boat boys #trafficblr #cw pain

[xervn]

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 🔧

oneshot | mechanic ellie x reader

ao3 link

summary: your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, but thankfully ellie shows up and offers her help

18+ MDNI | 6.3k words | tags; modern au, porn w/ plot (like 70% is plot tbh), kissing, vaginal fingering, pining from reader? arguably, no use of y/n, not proofread

my first post on tumblr EVER and my first time seriously writing smut, so pls be kind!

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It’s midday and you’ve been driving down an isolated road in fuck-knows-where with the hopes you’ll be able to find a gas station in at least 15 minutes. You’ve been driving down this straight road for what felt like ages now, your only surroundings being orange-colored sand and leafless plants. 

Never in your life has driving made you more anxious, it was like you were in charge of safely disarming a bomb. You gripped the wheel and glanced at the gas gauge occasionally, each look wearing your hope thinner. You were supposed to fill your tank before leaving, but it wasn’t in your plans to get lost in the first place. You knew your incompetence would catch up to you eventually, but you didn’t think it’d be now. 

Your teeth grit against each other as you raced against time. You desperately repeated affirmations, hoping they would help you along the way. Maybe if you ignored the fact you could be stranded, you’ll get to your destination faster. 

My gas is NOT running out…

I will NOT have a mental breakdown…

I AM responsible…

Not even a good moment later, the engine starts sputtering as if you called it upon yourself. You desperately tapped at the fuel gauge, resulting in the amount dropping drastically. To your surprise, it’s been showing the wrong amount the entire time. You drove towards the side of the road so you could let the tank run out while you spit out a colorful array of obscenities. There was no doubt in your mind that this might be the worst day of your life.

You slammed at the dashboard of your piece of shit, beat up, 2012 Toyota Tacoma with unprecedented rage, dropping your head onto the steering wheel in defeat. The depleting noises the engine made as it slowly died only added to how you were feeling. Your face heated up and your eyes brimmed with tears; not because you were sad, but because you were so damn pissed.

“Fuck my life...” You sobbed out, forehead pressing harder into the wheel. 

The sudden blaring sound that came from the car’s diaphragm jolted you up and caused you to yelp out. Everything’s silent for a while— you included— like a city before a tsunami attacks or the quiet before a dam bursts. In proper fashion, you unleashed a waterfall of tears; slowly, but surely, turning into a wallowing mess. Tears, snot, and saliva everywhere all because you made an irresponsible decision and drove a terrible car to make irresponsible decisions in.

Out of frustration, you honked some more, beating at the wheel’s center like there’s a solution inside of it. Certainly, this wasn’t the best way to handle your situation, but it was the only thing you had the energy to do. Amidst all the beeping and profanities, you failed to notice a car pulling up beside you. They honked their horn in unison with yours and the harmony caused you to frantically look around for the source.

You turned to your left and your gaze was met with a green set of eyes. It only took a second longer for you to realize who or what was looking at you. A woman with short auburn hair and a freckled face was shooting you a concerned glare.  

All that was running through your head now was that a woman was looking at you and the manic episode you were having would undoubtedly scare off any future prospects. As your stomach turned into knots of shame, you muttered a low swear and quickly wiped away the remaining tears on your face. 

You took a deep breath and calmly rolled down your window, which took an agonizingly slow amount of time. You occasionally spared the woman a few awkward glances with an equally awkward grin. Your humiliation built up along with the comically loud sound coming from the rolling window. After what felt like an eternity later, the window finally rolled down and you looked up to meet the woman’s gaze again, further examining her features.

Right there and then, you swore your heart fell out of your ass. You never thought you’d find yourself saying something so cliche, but the lady was a sight for your teary sore eyes. She was wearing a simple gray tank top, which showcased her spectacularly shaped arms and tattooed forearm.

The sight of her alone made you question your sanity. Maybe you were imagining her to make you feel better? You wouldn’t be surprised if you did.

 As you looked up at her even more attractive face, you noticed her scarred brow was perked up, which could only mean she noticed you staring, and based on the subtle curl at the corner of her lips; she found it amusing too.

 Your face instantly warmed up. You needed to defend your ogling quickly, but before you could manage out a single word, the beauty beat you to it.

“Are you okay?” The woman questioned, the slight lilt at the end of it only deepened your embarrassment. It physically pained you to imagine how much of your breakdown she saw.

“I’m fine, I was just...” You couldn’t finish your sentence, so you let out a sheepish laugh to fill in the space. 

“You sure? It looks like you’re having some trouble.” The woman gestures her head at your car as she speaks, not breaking a second of eye contact. 

You chewed on your lip, nervously shifting your stare before admitting, “Uh, yeah. I ran out of gas...”

“Looks like it slightly inconvenienced you.” 

A subconscious scoff fell from your mouth as you lazily gestured around you. “Slightly?”

“Just a guess. I could hear the honking a mile away.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the only thing that works on this junk.”

The woman let out an amused hum, casually glancing at the road behind her before turning to you again. “Did you already call for help?”

“Nope...” You responded, your eyes still wandering off.

 The woman idly wet her lips in thought before driving up the road. For a moment, you thought she rudely left you stranded on the side of the road, but after carefully looking, you noticed she was driving a tow truck. 

Your previous thought that she might be a figment of your imagination immediately came back, because what the hell? A real-life angel came to save you at your lowest. She parked in front of your car and stepped out of the vehicle and you peered out the window of yours, shamelessly following her movements in awe.

She was slim, lean, and held an average height. The jeans she was wearing fit her so nicely, you actually had to pinch yourself to stop looking. 

You reached for your rearview mirror and pointed it towards yourself, making sure most of your makeup was intact. Much to your dismay, your eyeliner was smudged, and your lip gloss was wiped away. So, not only did she watch you wail like a baby, you looked like one too. You glimpsed back at the woman, making sure she wouldn’t catch you in the act of dolling up for her. 

You stepped out of the car after quickly fixing your makeup, a bit shy to face the woman now. You weren’t particularly dressed like you were ready to do any flirting today, sporting a white graphic crop tee and distressed blue jean shorts. Nonetheless, you fidgeted with your clothes before approaching her. 

She double glanced at you as she moved stuff off the truck’s ramp, eventually blurting out, “I don’t have any gas in my truck, and uh–“ She abruptly stopped her action to look at you as she spoke, “– there’s no gas station out here for a while, but I have a garage not too far away.” 

“You’ll help me? I mean, is it okay? I don’t wanna shit on your plans.” You asked, but mostly out of decency. You needed the help after all. Plus, your only other option was to wait for another mechanic instead of just going with this extremely hot one.

She grinned and nodded a few times reassuringly. You found that every little motion she did melted you a bit. Just the tease of a smile from her could turn you into pudding. “It’s no problem, I was headed there anyway. It’s not every day I get to rescue a damsel in distress.” 

You bit down a bashful grin as you muttered a thanks and she told you to wait in the passenger seat. When you walked off, you swore you could feel her eyes burning into you. You couldn’t tell if it was a phantom feeling or if she was actually staring you down, but every inch of you hoped for the latter.

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You took a look around your surroundings. The car smelled like diesel and marijuana, but you weren’t expecting much from a tow truck. There was a cute 3D dinosaur pendent hanging off the rear-view mirror and the car had small handmade stickers across the dashboard. 

Before you could look any further, the woman stepped into the driver’s seat and started the car. She just hooked your car up to hers, so she had to take a look behind to make sure it was in place, setting her tattooed arm on your headrest as she did so. Your heart skipped at the closeness and all you could do was stare at her like a dork.

It was slightly perverse how much you enjoyed staring at her face. You’ve seen beauty before, but she was a discovery. Another plus was that she smelt really good. She didn’t wear a sweet or flowery perfume. She wore something earthier, and it blended in perfectly with that slight hint of gasoline. The best way to describe it is that she smelt like a pinewood air freshener in a new car but fucking hot. 

The woman caught you off guard with a glance, her own face a bit shocked to find you looking at her. You quickly averted your gaze and eyed the road up instead, pursing your lips together as if nothing happened, attempting to ignore the shame away.

You were obviously embarrassed, and that usual mortified feeling washed over your body. She didn’t laugh or anything, but as she retrieved her arm and put her hand on the wheel, you nervously glimpsed at her face and saw a small, smug smile. 

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The drive was painfully quiet. All you could hear was muffled crunchy sounds of the road and the humming of the truck’s engine. You sat there, fiddling with your shorts as you slowly zoned out.

“Where are you headed?” The woman blurted out, causing you to abruptly turn her way. She was still focused on the road ahead, so you took the time to peer at her side profile, in which you deemed needed to be framed and hung up in an art gallery.

“I’m going to see my family upstate for the holidays.”

“How long have you been driving then?”

“About... three hours.”

“Three hours and you didn’t think to stop for gas?” She huffed out a melodic laugh and peeked at you. You’d let her tease you as much as she wanted as long as you got to hear that laugh again. 

“I thought I had enough! My stupid tank was reading wrong.” You responded, puffing your cheeks out at the thought.

“I’ll fix that too then.”

“That’d be appreciated.”

“Why’re you driving that old thing anyways?”

You shrugged as you spoke out, “Well, I’m a college student and it’s better than nothing.”

“Really? What’s your major?” She looked at you for a moment with genuine curiosity. It didn’t feel like she was just looking for small talk.

Her interest was comforting, but you were slightly wary to say it. Your major didn’t necessarily scream out sexy like psychology or law would. You hesitated before slowly speaking out. “… Astrophysics.” 

You knew the chances of her having any idea what your nerdy major was about was incredibly low. You bit your lip as you waited for the awkward ‘oh’ or ‘cool’ that usually comes after. 

“Astrophysics? That’s actually fuckin’ sick.”

Your brows rose in shock, never expecting anyone to respond that way. “Yeah, I like space stuff... I guess...”

You rubbed your forehead at your dull awkwardness and the woman let out another satisfying laugh at your lack of explanation. “That’s one reason to get into it. I like space stuff too. I think constellations are pretty neat.”

You smiled to yourself at her sincerity, and consequently, the thought of stars perked you up in an instance. “Me too! I had the perfect view of Aquila from my backyard growing up.”

“I’m jealous. I struggle connecting them myself, so I just go to that one space museum in the city to look at ‘em. But, fuck, if I could see– I know this is basic, but– if I could see Ursa Major with my own eyes?”

“You haven’t? The Big Dipper is one of the easiest to find.”

She chuckled before she spoke. “You’ll need to help me find it then.”

Help her find it? Lay underneath the stars and connect them with her? It was a very nice thought in your head, but you’re 100% sure she said it without thinking. You expected the previous silence to continue after that until she broke it again.

She was clearly embarrassed by herself, twisting her lips before finally saying something. “My name’s Ellie, by the way.” 

You sheepishly responded with your name and Ellie subtly smiled as she continued to drive down the road. 

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You guys pulled up to the driveway of the mechanic garage. There was a large decal with ‘MILLER AND CO’ over a wrench painted on the metal doors. The area was just as deserted as the road you guys drove on, minus the few farms around now. 

“Is this yours?” You asked.

“Nah, it’s my dad’s. I try to enjoy it like it’s mine though.”

“Has this always been what you’ve wanted to do?” You wondered out loud, only to feel regretful after. You didn’t know her, and you were already asking personal questions. The slim chance she’s suddenly put off by you made you wanna curl into a ball and cry.

“I mean, I always wanted to be an astronaut growing up, but that was never in the cards for me. Things changed when my dad adopted me, I was practically glued to him. I did everything he did.” Ellie freely answered and it dropped your worries instantly. You found her openness incredibly attractive. At that moment, you could feel yourself yearning to learn more about her. “I still love everything about space though, don’t get me wrong.”

“And dinosaur stuff too?” You cheekily queried as you pointed at the rearview chain.

Ellie glanced at the cutesy decor and chuckled. “And dinosaur stuff too.” 

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After getting the cars into the garage, Ellie steps out of the car and walks over to your side. You watched curiously as she strolled to your door and popped it open for you. 

You stared and she stared back expectantly, gesturing for you to hop out. You smiled slightly at that, and Ellie smiled back. God, you could watch her smile for days on end.

“You can sit anywhere, it shouldn’t take too long.” Ellie said as you stepped out, closing the door behind you. 

You turned to face her before continuing the conversation. “Thanks again. Also, err... how much is it gonna run me?” Your teeth clenched a little as you asked. It wasn’t the first thing that you wanted to say, but you weren’t made out of money. I mean, look at what you were driving.

Ellie snorted at your expression and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.” 

In response, you gave a doubtful look. There was no way she was this kind and wanted nothing in return. 

Leaning against the truck door, Ellie playfully rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. This is my good deed for the month.”

“Nothing? Nothing at all?” You quizzed, your brow perking curiously.

“Nothing at all. But if you insist…” She went on, looking off as if she was really changing her mind.

“No! No... Thank you.” You blurted.

You cursed yourself at how vulnerably broke you were being, and Ellie smiled wider than she had before. Once you caught onto that smile, your eyes latched on. It was only natural to stare at her teeth, her lips, wondering how they’d feel on yours; if she’d smile between her kisses. 

You quickly snapped out of it before you spiraled any further, but clearly not fast enough. 

“You have a staring problem, y’know?” Ellie stated, slightly tilting her head as she let her eyes travel over your body. A stare for a stare if you would. 

“I wouldn’t say it’s a staring problem.”

“If it’s not staring, what is it?” She asked with her eyes locked onto yours.

“Admiring?”

Ellie was slightly surprised at your sudden boldness, her smile faltered for a millisecond before quickly returning. 

“Hm, I could say the same.”

She basically confirmed she was also checking you out. Meaning, you had a chance. You looked away as you blushed fiercely, and in the corner of your eye you could see Ellie doing the same.

You don’t know when it started, but the vibe between you two became pleasantly tense. Any previous worries and doubts that Ellie might not like you vanished. You clearly had a chance with her, and you planned to see how far your luck would go. She turned away to clear her throat and pushed off the truck. You decided to move away yourself, finding a nice chair to settle yourself on. 

The spot you sat at put Ellie in your direct line of sight. You should probably call your family and tell them you’d be running late, but you were comfortable where you were. Ellie was incredibly captivating; you wouldn’t mind trailing her with your eyes as she did simple tasks like filling up gas for the rest of your life. She was like a really good fucking movie.

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Thirty minutes into your imaginary film, you thought the picture quality was getting better, but you discerned it was just Ellie getting closer. 

She rubbed her oiled hands off her shirt as she approached you. “Can you help me with something? I j–“

You sprang up to your feet before she could finish speaking. You didn’t need to hear what she had to say next. It wouldn’t hurt for her to see how interested you were.

Ellie went wide-eyed at your eagerness, shaking her head lightly. 

“You could’ve let me finish talking first.” She said with a subtle, taunting smile.

“I didn’t need to. I’m already getting serviced for free, so I’ll gladly do it.”

“Getting serviced, huh?”

You smiled coyly at Ellie as you recognized the implications of her childish repetition before correcting yourself. “I’m already getting helped.”

Ellie retained her smile as she turned back to the car, gesturing for you to follow her with one of her stained hands. You followed her over to the driver’s side of your truck where she knelt down and shifted an arrangement of tools on the cement floor. 

“I need to fix the wiring underneath your car to fix the fuel gauge. If you could hand the tools to me when I ask for ‘em, that’d be great. Can you do that for me?” Ellie questioned in a honeyed voice. She looked up at you, waiting for your answer; a cruel grin barely tugging at the corner of her lips. 

You only nodded as her stare left you too flustered to speak. You knew the intentions from her tone of voice alone and, boy, did it work. She was teasing you again, but even more obvious than the last. 

She fixed a set of tools on a white cloth, setting the toolbox open and nearby as well. You weren’t stupid, you can tell what almost all the tools were. Driving a car you do; it was only a matter of time before you had to do temporary repairs yourself. However, you realized the opportunity you had laid out in front of you, and you were most definitely gonna take it.

Ellie spoke as she retrieved a tool from the box, glancing at you to make sure you were following. Of course, you made sure to pay attention fully. 

Her gorgeous green eyes laid upon your dreamy lash-filled gaze up and you could read the subtle fluster off her face. “This is a ratchet. I.. I’m sure you know that already though.” Whatever you were doing was working and Ellie’s little stammer was evidence.

You looked at the tool and pushed out your full, bottom lip, slightly shaking your head. “Nope. I do now though. What’s next?” You immediately resumed your gaze at Ellie before you could even finish speaking. 

She grinned and it was clear she didn’t believe you, but the look in her eyes had a mischievous glint in them; so you knew it was definitely safe to continue. 

“Alright, princess. This? —“ She paused to pick up another tool mid-sentence, and the break gave you just enough time to process the panty-soaking pet name. “— Is a screwdriver. The pointy end screws things in.” 

You didn’t bother to look at the tool this time, making sure every inch of your face was telling her you wanted her to screw you in. 

“Uh-huh.” You nod with your eyes glued on Ellie’s.

Ellie laughed lightly with a new tone to it. You couldn’t describe it if asked, but you could describe how it made you feel. It took everything for you not to clench your legs together to relieve your now growing pressure.  

“Are you keepin’ up with me?” She said, teasingly. 

You grazed your teeth along your bottom lip, and you hummed in response. Ellie licked hers like an effect from your cause before she continued to school you on the tools she needed. 

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You two engaged in the flirty lesson until it eventually ended, and she left to fetch a garage creeper from a tool station nearby. 

Ellie set it at the side of the truck, where the driver would be, and sat down and laid back on it. You were sitting on the floor by the tools now, so you could easily watch her work. She rolled backwards and underneath the car, adjusting herself on the trolley by sending her hips forward so sexily you wondered if she did it on purpose. In that motion her top rode up a bit and since you were so close, you could ogle up her midriff freely. 

“Screwdriver. Enjoying the view?” Ellie suddenly quizzed.

Without a second thought, you handed her the screwdriver only taking a moment longer to register what she said after.

By now, you felt less embarrassed by Ellie catching you staring since she obviously enjoyed it. “The view? The view is nice.” 

“Just nice?”

“The view is really nice. Amazing, even. It’s a nice area, I might even move here.”

Ellie huffed out the faintest chuckle. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

“We are, don’t worry.”

“Feel free to admire all you want then.” You could tell she was smiling as she said that despite barely being able to see her face.

The light banter you guys shared gave you twinkles all over your body. You wondered where this all might lead to. Perhaps nothing at all, or, as you hoped for, her number at least.

Ellie tosses the screwdriver to your side with a low hum before holding her hand out. “Pass me the torque, please?”

You reached into the toolbox, staring dumbly at the items. It seems you might’ve really needed the walk through after all. Along that tutorial you failed to learn what the hell a torque could be. “Let me try to find it...”

You looked through some more, trying to see what method could help you single out this torque. Meanwhile, Ellie rolled from underneath the car and sat on the creeper, rolling forward and towards you. You were so caught up in Ellie’s request, you failed to notice her presence.

 When you finally chose a tool, Ellie’s hand happened to land onto yours. You and Ellie shot each other surprised glances and Ellie eased the tension with a subtle smile. She pulled her hand away, but not fully nor quickly. Not quickly at all. 

In fact, she lingered like she wanted you to remember how her fingertips felt; slowly sliding her digits up the back of your hand. Just like that, everything felt like it was in slowmo. Everything but your heart, which was beating faster by the second. You knew you had to pull yourself together quickly. This moment could potentially make or break something.

“I found it.” You spoke out so lightly it could be mistaken for a whisper, peering your eyes into Ellie’s green pair. You didn’t have any expectations for what would happen next, but you were practically shaking from anticipation.

“Took you long enough. Do we need to go over it again?” Ellie responded just as low as you spoke. The husk and tease around her words made you clench around nothing, embarrassingly so. 

You didn’t let that stop you, however, letting yourself indulge in her teasing for your own guilty pleasure. “Maybe… What’s this again? A hammer?”

Ellie grinned at your faux naïveté, her head cocking to the side. “I know you’re smarter than that.”

“I just need a quick reminder.” You grinned back as you spoke.

“That’s not what you really want though, is it?” Ellie’s smile faded into a less prominent, yet more seductive one. 

You could swear up and down her eyes flickered down to your lips a couple times, so you naturally started leaning towards her. 

What you failed to realize was that Ellie had already started to lean towards you. She dropped off the creeper, decreasing the distance between you two dramatically. She leaned herself against her hands and spread her legs, leaving you kneeled between them. There were no coherent thoughts in your mind, but you finally had an expectation and that was Ellie’s lips on yours. 

Your lips collided and your eyes fluttered shut. You instantly dropped the torque back in the box and stiffened a bit, not sure if this was really happening or not. However, whether it was real or not, you wanted to do a good job. 

The kiss started off slow, testing the waters. Ellie’s smooth, gentle lips made you feel tipsy along with that smell you loved blocking your senses. You were completely intoxicated.

Ellie slid her palm on your hip and gradually roamed the small of your back. The sudden touch shot electricity through your body. She was balancing herself on one hand now, but she attentively stayed on your lips. You couldn’t stop the greed for more rushing through your core even if you wanted to. You placed your hand on the nape of her neck, desperately bringing her in to deepen the kiss. 

You could feel the grin etched into her lips and it only drove you further. She obliged to your wishes and parted your lips against hers with minimal effort, easily intruding the tip of her tongue between. Your tongues slid and ran across each other sensually, and the messiness of it all had you sopping where you knelt. Too lost in the moment, you accidentally let a low moan escape. If Ellie couldn’t tell how needy you were, she could tell now. 

She slowly broke away from your lips, and it left you both panting heavily. Your face, confused, and hers, studying. Did you turn her off? Did you do too much when she was probably expecting something less? You tried to avoid her eyes, too disappointed with yourself to look.

Ellie didn’t let the eye-contact break, following your eyes with a worried expression. “Hey, hey... It’s alright. You’re not in trouble.” Ellie said, letting out a cruel laugh at the end.

You frowned at the teasing this time and your embarrassment was even more evident.

Ellie took your expression in consideration as she leaned in to peck the corner of your lips. The gesture eased your worries, but you were unsure of how this would turn out. She gave you a brief smile before finally saying, “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

You nodded your head slowly and Ellie frowned at it. “I need words.” She said, more sternly than you’d expect. 

She was quick to get a few words out of you. “I… I want this.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” She replied, leaning in to connect lips with yours again. You didn’t realize how much you missed that contact until you felt chills run through your body. 

You missed her lips on yours despite only kissing for so long. The hand Ellie had placed on your back drifted lower and grasped your ass, earning a moan from you, which Ellie took great pleasure in hearing and feeling. 

By now, your knees were starting to hurt, and it took a lot of restraints not to topple over Ellie. However, you refused to move your lips from hers, you just got them back. 

Unfortunately, Ellie must’ve noticed your stubborn shuffling since she pulled away despite your muffled protests. 

“Let’s move somewhere more comfortable.”

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Ellie cracked open the door for you to a small lounge space and placed a quick apologetic kiss on your lips before walking off. She had noticed her handprint smudged on your shorts on the way to the lounge and it reminded her that she had to wash the car grime off before doing anything more with you. At this point you were so pent up you probably wouldn’t mind. You decided not to dwell on what risks you’re willing to take to fuck Ellie and sat yourself on a brown couch that felt a lot comfier than it looked. The vibe of the room was similar to Ellie’s car minus the smell of weed. Speaking of smells, it smelled just like her. 

Thoughts of Ellie panting and briefly taking your lips between her teeth flashed through your mind. The vividness, considering it just happened, made the heat between your legs increase. You instinctively pressed your thighs together and fought the urge to take care of yourself right there and then. 

Thankfully, Ellie strolled into the lounge and shut the door behind her, and it finished with a lock click. Your eyes met as she strolled towards you, plopping on the couch next to you.

Ellie opened her mouth to say something, but you didn’t want to hear it. Not right now. You cupped her face and pressed your lips into hers and you shut her up instantly. She leaned over you, pressing you back into the couch. Amidst the smacking and passion of your mouths against each other’s, Ellie’s hand drifted up your waist; thumbing along your skin. Everything was so hot and cloudy now; you couldn’t think about anything other than how good you feel. 

At some point, Ellie’s leg was kneeled, and her thigh was wedged between your legs. You only became aware of the new positioning after accidentally pressing yourself against her. You were laid down on the couch, completely dazed with Ellie hovering over you. She noticed you coming back to reality and grinned smugly as she moved her hand underneath your top and groped at your breast. You arched into her touch, keening, and Ellie rewarded the sound by rubbing her thigh against your clothed clit. 

You gasped sharply and the brief friction had you bucking for more. Your barely audible pleas must’ve triggered something in Ellie as she bent down to kiss you, taking your lips between her teeth. The feeling is even better than you remembered.

The intensity of the kiss is wet, hot, and you can’t remember when you last took a breath. You placed your arms over Ellie’s shoulders and lightly ran your fingertips along her back, rolling your hips into Ellie’s thigh. You were so close, so close until.. you suddenly lost contact. Ellie moved her right hand to your hip, gently pinning you down so you couldn’t move as she placed her thigh out of reach. 

She has pulled away from you too often and you weren’t going to back down quietly this time. You broke off from her kiss-swollen lips, rather reluctantly, and begged. “Ellie! Please… just—” 

Ellie shushed you and whispered directly into your ear, her breath hitting your cheek and sending shivers down your spine. “I’m gonna fuck you myself. Be patient.” 

You weren’t gonna argue. You wanted that. You wanted her. Ellie moved her hand from your hips and went to loosen the button of your shorts. She moved her legs so that yours were fully between hers. You unwrapped your arms from her shoulders and helped her tug your shorts down urgently, lifting your hips to speed the process. 

Ellie positioned herself so she could tuck your knees in. She parted your legs and leaned back, taking a moment to appreciate how wet you were for her; your slick heat coating your underwear, glistening, all for her to see. It would’ve embarrassed you in any other instance, but you were so filled with lust, none of it mattered. 

She pressed her thumb against your clit, through your undoubtedly soaked panties and peered down at your face: brows furrowed and brimming with want. Ellie wasn’t gonna make you wait any longer. She moved the fabric out of the way and finally rubbed your bare clit with the pad of her thumb. You panted heavily, moving into her touch. 

Ellie leaned towards you, turning her wrist clockwise and dipping her fingers between your folds, rubbing your labia between her middle and ring digits. You groaned out and quickly pulled up your top and tugged your bra underneath your tits so you could grasp at the sensitive area. 

Your wetness coated Ellie’s fingers perfectly and it was only a matter of time before she fucked you with them senselessly. She coaxed your clit between her fingers, and although you were too wet for much friction, the pressure was just enough to get you there. 

You fondled and squeezed at your chest, pinching at your nipples as your eyes clenched shut; concentrating on that release you needed so badly. Ellie was practically salivating at the sight, still hunched over you and getting off from the look of you alone. 

Your much anticipated orgasm rolled through you, crashing in like a wave. You moaned loudly, arching your back and rolling your hips forward.

 Ellie slowed down and helped you ride out your orgasm before suddenly slipping both fingers into your entrance. The sudden intrusion made you whine, and Ellie dipped down and pressed a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes were brimming with tears, but you needed her to move. You needed her to fuck you badly. 

You squirmed under Ellie and she placed her free hand on the cheek she kissed, thumbing along it as she cooed at you teasingly. “Shhh.. You’re gonna ruin the makeup you fixed just for me.”

Ellie’s thumb creeped towards your swollen and gloss-less bottom lip, the aftermath of rough, sloppy kissing. You mouthed out a ‘whoops’ and faked a pout. 

Ellie laughed as she gazed down at you. The sight of her flushed red, freckled cheeks smiling down at you only made you want her more. Ellie felt your need squeeze against her fingers, and she made sure that you knew she knew by glancing down at her fingers filling your cunt. She bit her bottom lip and decided to give you what you wanted, slowly pumping her fingers in you. 

You keened colorfully, raising your tucked knees and wrapping your legs around Ellie’s waist. You needed her deep. She picked up her pace and curled her fingers, hitting that soft wall. She was doing everything right, there was no doubt in your mind she was an angel, a sexually experienced one at that. You pulled her down, meeting her halfway so you crash your lips into hers. 

Ellie moaned over your lips and, god, you were so close. She slid a third finger in you, pumping and curling her fingers; knuckles deep. You were so close you were seeing stars, it made you think back on the little conversation you two had in the car and you wondered if this is what she meant. Then just like that they fucking connected. 

You cried out as you came, tightening your legs around Ellie’s waist as you gushed over her fingers. She kept her fingers in you until you finished. Once Ellie pulled out, you groaned from the loss and she muttered out an apology.

You gave her one lingering kiss before plopping back down. You were utterly exhausted and aching. Aching... pleasantly, but that wasn’t the point. Your mind slowly started recollecting everything that happened. You were just fucked by a hot stranger you met in a town you still don’t know the name of.  You’re not sure you would’ve remembered after this anyways. 

“Usually I would help clean up, but...” Ellie gestured around her. You almost forgot you guys were at the back of a mechanic’s garage. 

You snickered and nodded understandingly. “Right. I know.”

You two stared at each other awkwardly despite what occurred not even five minutes ago. Ellie ruffled with her hair before speaking out, “So… Can I take you out sometime? When your trip is over?”

You pushed up so you were at eye-level with her. “I... I think we’re past that, but yes. Yes, you can.” You leaned in for a kiss and she returned it with a grin.

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#ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #the last of us part 2 #ellie smut #tlou2

[springtyme]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐨 ♡

Carmy x afab!reader || Series masterlist || Series playlist

Can also be read on ao3 || Main masterlist || Next chapter

chapter summary: You moved to Chicago six months ago. You still don’t really feel at home in a new city, far away from friends and family, but you make a new connection one night when your new neighbor almost set your apartment building on fire.

word count: 3.1k

warnings/tags: Eventual smut! (18+, mdni!) Language. Smoking. Angst and fluff. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Strangers to friends to lovers. Set in season one. Vague mentions of Mikey’s situation. Reader is from Copenhagen, or has at least have lived there for a longer period of time, but it isn't directly mentioned that it's her nationality, and no description of appearance is mentioned. Reader's exact age isn't mentioned either, but it is implied that she is around Carmy's age.

"My head and my heart and my hands are longing I just woke up in smoke feeling the heat coming Cause the house is on fire"

Copenhagen, six months ago 

The cool breeze from the water blows gently against your cheeks, and you can’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia creeping in. The calm waters of the harbor glisten in the evening sun, casting a mesmerizing reflection on the nearby buildings. You take a drag of your cigarette, letting the smoke caress your lungs as you contemplate the big changes that lie ahead of you, the smoke swirling around you in a hazy dance. You’re not really supposed to smoke on the platform, but since the station is almost empty you let yourself indulge this one time. You’re leaving all this behind in a week anyway.  

As you stand there, watching a lone seagull glide effortlessly above the water, its wings catching the last rays of sunlight, you can’t shake the feeling of bittersweetness that envelops you. Copenhagen has been your home for so long, filled with memories and familiar faces. But now, Chicago beckons with a new opportunity, and you’re leaving in a week, and you don’t fucking know if you have made the right decision or not. 

You’re going to miss the ocean, that’s for damn sure. You take another puff of your cigarette, the brisk air mixing with the smoke as the golden sun slowly sets over Nordhavn. The colors of the sky shift to hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the water. The beauty of the moment is not lost on you, but neither is the weight of the decision you’ve made.

These thoughts swirl in your mind as you take a last drag of your cigarette, exhaling slowly as if trying to let go of all your worries. The sound of the approaching train brings you back to the present. You stub out your cigarette, before the red train comes to a stop in front of you, cutting off the view of the water.

With a deep breath, you gather yourself and step onto the train. As the doors close behind you, you find a seat by the window. The familiar rumble of the tracks beneath you lulls you into a sense of calm as the train begins to move. As the train starts to pick up speed, you close your eyes. It’s going to be hard to leave it all behind and start over in a whole new city, but you know deep down that you’re in need of a change.

· · · · ·

Chicago, present day

Carmy can feel the building pressure at the sides of his skull that indicates that a nasty headache is on its way. The wet rag in his hand is feeling mushy between his fingers as the scrubs away at the steel countertop, the rhythmic sound of Gary’s broom sweeping over the floor, matching up with the incipient throbs in his temples.

He needs a fucking break and a cigarette, but he can’t really take one now, he is the one who has been so insistent that they start to take prepping and cleaning of their stations more seriously and he can’t just, fucking, leave in the middle of it, he’ll get the bottle of tylenol in the desk drawer in his office after they’ve finished. 

“Chef, you want me to strain that oil for you?” Sydney asks, her voice cutting through Carmy’s pounding head.   

“Uh, no, no I got it. Thank you, chef.” He’ll finish his station, strain the oil, and then take a break. Unless something else comes up, which there most likely will.  

“Why am I using a toothbrush, chef?” Marcus asks from his place at the stove where he is scrubbing  the burners. 

Carmy blinks, trying to push aside the growing migraine as he explains, “It’s about consistency and being consistent. Can’t operate at a higher level without consistency.” He can’t help but feel a pang of guilt for pushing his team so hard with all these new changes, but he knows they need to seriously step up their game if this place is ever going to be just a little less of a shit show. 

“I like this level,” Richie exclaims. 

“Yeah, well, at The French Laundry you know how much time we’d spend-” Carmy begins, but Richie cuts him off. 

“Well, go fuck your French Laundry. Stupid fucking name.”

And yeah, Richie might be right, it kind of is a stupid name, but Carmy is not about to start a discussion over the fucking name of a French-Californian fusion place.  “All right, then at Noma.”

“Fuck your Noma too,” Richie retorts.

Carmy just shakes his head, deciding to let Richie’s attitude slide for now. He doesn’t have the energy to argue with him, not with the pain in his head steadily increasing. 

“Noma’s the shit, huh?” Marcus chimes in. 

“The best,” Carmy and Sydney respond in unison before Carmy continues. “It’ll teach you to operate at a level you didn’t even know you could operate at, Marcus,” he tells the baker before turning to address Richie again, “And just so we’re clear, I wanted to work here. Mikey wouldn’t let me.”

“Oh, no, no. You went halfway around the world to learn all this fancy, useless fucking bullshit. I went to West Lawrence Avenue and learned every level.” 

“West Lawrence? You’re talking about DeVry?” Marcus asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.  

“Yeah, exactly,” Richie confirms. 

“Oh, DeVry. ‘We’re serious about success,’” Marcus jokes, using an exaggerated deep voice.

“Is that supposed to be fucking funny, fucko?” Richie grins at Marcus before jokingly trying to tackle the younger man who by now has bursted into laughter. “Let me tell you something. No for real,” Richie lets go of Marcus pointing his finger in the air as he continues. “Where else are you gonna learn crucial database management specialization skills, huh? While troubleshooting a vented OptiSpark distributor in a Trans Am?” 

“I would never need to learn that,” Syd interjects, not pleased with Richie’s antics.

“Definitely not Noma!” Richie exclaims.   

“I would legit do anything to go to Noma,” Sydney says longingly.  

“And eat bugs?!” Richie teases.

Those ants had been a fucking pain to work with, but Carmy keeps that to himself, he is not about to give Richie that victory.  

“And be inspired, stupid,”Sydey retorts.

“God, and be lame.” Richie counters. 

But before more can be said about DeVry or inspiration or, fucking, bugs, Ebra storms into the kitchen, interrupting them. “The ice cream machine is broken!”

Just like Carmy had predicted, something else had come up. He turns to Richie. “DeVry teach you to fix that?”

“You know what? Actually, yes.” Richie says, swinging his dish towel over his shoulder before starting to pick up a bunch of random tools and utensils, including two wooden spoons, leaving the room to join Ebra at the ice cream machine.

Another fucking thing in this place that doesn’t work, Carmy should probably just call Fak before Richie can break it even more, but it is not like the old machine can really get much worse, it’s and old piece of shit and almost no one ever orders the ice cream anyway, so why not let Richie feel a little useful.

· · · · ·

A swirl of steam dances in the air as you trace the rim of the mug with your finger, the aroma of the tea is filling the room, mixing with the scent from the lavender candle you have lit, enveloping your senses with a bittersweet nostalgia. 

You are sitting in your kitchen, staring out of the window, another night unable to sleep. The vague sound of the city filters through the glass along with the warm glow from the street lights and signs which are the only cause of light  along with the candle, its flickering flame casting a gentle shadow upon the room.   

You take a sip of the tea, feeling the warmth travel down your throat, before wrapping your hands around the warm mug, seeking comfort in its gentle heat. The steam rises and dissipates into the air, mirroring the ephemeral pattern of your tired thoughts. Outside the window, the city continues its nocturnal rhythm, its heartbeat resonating with your own. The distant sounds of car horns, and the occasional sound of the L train rumbling by and the vocational sirens mixing together into a harmonious cacophony. 

You close your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath, but you open them again quickly, wrinkling your nose. Something suddenly smells wrong… It’s vague, but it’s like burning plastic or something. You quickly look down at the candle to check if something got into it, but nothing is there. You don’t get to ponder more about it though, before a sudden, piercing sound slices through the tranquil ambiance of your kitchen. Your eyes widen in surprise as the shrill wail of a fire alarm blares from the apartment next door.

Concerned, you immediately put down your mug, while the smell of smoke starts to get more intense. This would normally be worrying enough, but what’s the real kicker to your concern is that no one’s lived in the apartment next to yours in the last four months. You stand up, stepping into your slippers while grabbing the zip up hoodie you had hanging on the back of your chair. You quickly throw the hoodie around you, slipping your arms into the sleeves and wrapping the oversized garment around you, not bothering zipping it.

You blow out the candle, as you quickly grab your phone, sliding it into the pocket of your sweatpants. You Swiftly make your way through your apartment, stepping out into the hallway, the smell of smoke now stronger. The ear-splitting beeps of the fire alarm continue to echo through the corridor as you approach the door of your neighboring apartment. You hesitate for a moment, You try to listen if you can hear anything from inside, but all you can hear is the sound of the alarm. 

Has someone really moved in without you noticing? But how likely is it that a spontaneous fire starts in an unoccupied apartment? Raising your hand you knock on the door. Nothing happens, and panic grips your chest, thoughts of evacuation and calling the fire department race through your mind, but you are pulled out of your spiraling thoughts as all of a sudden the loud beeping stops and you can now hear a vague shuffling sound from inside the apartment. 

You knock again, your heart beating fastly as you wait. There is someone in there, and you both get worried that they might not be okay and need help while you simultaneously  feel weird about someone being inside the apartment you thought was empty. 

The seconds stretch as you wait for a response. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, but in reality only is a few seconds, the door creaks open, revealing a disheveled figure standing before you, and you are met with a pair of eyes so piercing blue that it catches you off guard.  They belong to a man, around your own age if you have to guess, dirty blonde curls framing his face in a messy, yet oddly charming way. 

He is wearing a white t-shirt, which you can’t help but notice is hugging his biceps extremely nicely, with tattoos scattered across his arms and hands. He has dark circles under his eyes and a look on his face that screams of pure exhaustion, yet his eyes are wide and alert, like someone who has just been woken abruptly.

“Hi,” you stammer, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the man. “I heard the fire alarm and smelled smoke, I just wanted to check that everything was okay, I-I live next door,” you say, sheepishly pointing in the direction of your door. 

“Oh, hi,” the man replies, his voice slightly hoarse and rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in a while, yet soft. “I-I’m so sorry if I woke you. I… I accidentally burnt some shit, I’m sorry,” he says a bit bashfully, his cheeks turning slightly pink. A short moment of silence hangs between you both as you process the situation. 

You can see the genuine embarrassment in his eyes, which brings a sense of ease to your worried mind. He seems harmless enough, just a regular person who made a mistake. You decide to let him off the hook, even though his explanation doesn’t quite match up with the intensity of the burning smell that fills the air, offering him a supportive but also slightly shy smile. “Accidents happen, don’t worry about it. I’m a terrible cook too,” you say, trying to lightning the mood. 

“Well, I’m actually a chef,” he says a little awkwardly. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mea-”, you stammer, trailing off as you realize your unintentional insult, but he cuts you off in the same sheepish tone as you.

“No, no, it’s fine I didn’t mean…” he begins to say before shutting up mid sentence, and the two of you share a brief, awkward but understanding laugh before another silence settles between you. 

Now that you have been made sure that nothing urgent is going on you take a second to take him better in, and you can’t help but notice how attractive you find him, captivated by the piercing blue eyes and intrigued by the subtle tattoos that peek out from under his short sleeves, now realizing that several of them are kitchen themed.

“So, everything’s under control now?” you ask, tearing your gaze from his arms as you realize that you had been staring for a little too long, glancing past him into the apartment. The lingering scent of smoke still hangs heavily in the air.

He nods, running a hand through his rumpled locks. “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine now,” he reassures, but the smell of smoke still hangs very heavily in the air.   

You hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not to invite him into your apartment while his gets aired out. You don’t know him, and inviting a stranger into your apartment in the middle of the night isn’t really ideal, but something about his tired eyes and disheveled appearance tugs at your heartstrings, and you can’t shake off the feeling that he might need some company. And with the tired, almost haunted look in his eyes you also can’t help but be reminded of Michael.  

Michael had lived in the apartment next to yours when you moved in six months ago. You did not know him well, but he had always been friendly when you talked to him. He seemed like the type of guy who is friends with everyone, despite it being clear that he was dealing with some internal shit. 

One night you had encountered him in the hallway and he had seemed off. You were on your way home, and he was on his way out. He appeared caught off guard by your presence, and after you greeted him, he had just turned around and walked back into his apartment instead of leaving the building like he was supposed to. Little did you know that it was the last time you would see your old neighbor. A week later, you learned that he had tragically taken his own life on the State Street Bridge, just five days after your last encounter in the hallway.

You have thought about it a lot for the past four months: how he might have planned to go to the bridge the night you ran into him in the hall, and how, if you had done the same just a few days later, things might have turned out differently for him. 

You don’t want to assume that your new neighbor’s situation is as dire, but you also don’t want to underestimate the impact a small act of kindness can have and now, seeing this man standing before you with a similar look of exhaustion and vulnerability, you can’t help but feel a sense of responsibility to offer him some support.

“Hey, um... I know this might sound a little strange, but if you need a place to stay while your apartment airs out, you’re welcome to come to my place,” you offer, your voice filled with genuine concern.

The man’s tired eyes widen slightly, clearly caught off guard by your unexpected invitation. “That’s incredibly kind of you, but I wouldn’t want you to lose any more sleep because of me,” he responds, his voice filled with gratitude and a hint of hesitation. 

You are quick to shake your head, realizing that you never told him that he didn’t wake you. “Oh, you haven’t made me lose any sleep, I was already awake, so please don’t worry about that.” The man’s shoulders relax a bit, a little of the tension melting away. He takes a moment to consider your offer, his gaze flickering between your face and the open doorway of his smoke-filled apartment. The exhaustion in his eyes is undeniable..

“No pressure,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “But, seriously you are more than welcome, I can make some coffee, I got both normal and decaf, or some tea. I also have some leftover takeout in the fridge, I could need some help to get eaten, if you’re hungry.”

The man’s hesitant expression softens, and he offers a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he says, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. “I don’t want to impose, but coffee does sound really good.”

You nod understandingly. “Of course, no imposition at all.”

“Okay, thank you. I’ll just get some of these windows cracked open then,” the man says, stepping back into his apartment and disappearing from view for a moment. You hear the sound of windows being opened, the crisp night air filtering in and mingling with the heavy aroma of smoke. 

You turn your head, for some reason you feel a little rude to stand staring into his apartment even though you just invited him into yours, your eyes landing on the nameplate next to the door. Berzatto. It has not been changed since Michael. 

After a few moments, the man reappears at the doorway, now holding a light jacket under his arm, and his keys, phone and a pack of cigarettes in his hand. His disheveled appearance remains, but there’s a glimmer of gratitude in his tired eyes. 

“Ready to go?” you ask, offering a reassuring smile.

He nods, stepping out into the hall with you. 

“You know, uhm,” you say, pointing at the nameplate. “You can talk to the resident manager.” His eyes following the direction of your finger. “He’ll help you get your name up.”

“Oh, no that’s… that’s me,” he says, sheepishly pointing at the nameplate. “Well, it’s also me,” he explains, a little clumsily, before turning to you again. “I’m Carmen… Carmen Berzatto.”

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated :) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter ♡

@wittyno

#springtyme writes #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto x f!reader #carmy x you #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x y/n #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #the bear x reader #the bear fic #the bear fandom #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmy berzatto #jeremy allen white

[eyelessfaces]

caregiver

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: when miguel sees how wrong your mission went, he only wishes for you to let him take care of you.

warnings: description of injuries, blood is mentioned once and there's not a lot of it

tags: gn!reader, slight angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, fucking oblivious idiots in love

word count: 1.8k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

I love him

You pressed the button of the strap around your wrist with difficulty, opening a portal to the spider society. 

It took a good amount of your strength just to get back onto your feet after having collapsed into an empty alley after finally escaping the people chasing you, and you were thankful that your webs had helped you transport yourself earlier, because your legs couldn’t have done the job. 

It was the first time you had fled a scene without stopping the bad guys, but if you hadn’t fled it, they would have stopped you, and worse could have happened.

When you arrived at the spider society, almost everyone stopped in their task or conversation to stare at you, watching you limp through the crowd. A few of them gathered around you and offered you help, but you gave them a small smile and a lame excuse and that seemed to be enough for you to be able to move on. 

That was until Miguel turned his head at the hubbub you had caused and saw the state you were in.

He pushed every other spider person away, making his way to you hurriedly, his eyes gradually widening and lips parting in disbelief as he made his way to you.

"What on earth happened to you" he asked from a distance, his path now clear as everyone had made way for him to join you. 

He stood right in front of you, and though he couldn't see your face, he could imagine it through your mask, and he knew you wouldn’t tell him what happened. 

He looked at his side and realized everyone was staring. He sighed and turned so his back was turned to you, now facing the crowd that had circled the both of you. "Nothing to see here, we're fine, you can go back to your occupations" he ordered, and people awkwardly moved on from the situation, trying to act like nothing happened.

Miguel turned back to you once the movement had dissipated, and his face dropped in worry again. He had seen the way you were limping, and he was now seeing how you were holding onto your left shoulder, thoroughly trying to cover it with your hand. And hell, you hadn't even dropped your mask, but from the cut in it on your forehead, it was already bad enough.

"What happened" he asked again, more calmly and composedly this time.

"It's okay, I'm fine" you discarded the question, starting to walk until he put a hand over your other shoulder to stop you.

"If you don't wanna tell me what happened, let me at least help you now" he almost whispered, his gaze falling to meet your eyes to let you know that he was serious about this.

"No."

With that you left him behind and continued walking, difficultly, and Miguel sighed one last time.

A startled yelp left you when he shot a web at you and pulled you to him, making you land over his shoulder. It was so easy for him, his superstrength allowing him to handle you like you were just a rag doll to him.

You hit his muscled back with the bit of strength left in you, your desperate ministrations barely affecting him. "Let go of m–"

"Look at the things I have to do for you to let me take care of you" he cut you off in a monotone and low voice, trying to ignore all the pairs of eyes glued to the both of you again as he carried you over his shoulder. 

You gave up on trying to fight him, you knew you couldn't even if you really wanted to, you didn't have enough energy and he wouldn't want to let go of you anyway.

—

He brought you to a secluded quarter with medical supplies, and you were finally alone and not putting on a show anymore. He pulled a chair thanks to a web, and made you sit down on it before getting another chair in front of you and gathering the stuff he would need to clean up your wounds.

"Sorry if I hurt you when I shot the web and pulled you to me, but if you weren't so stubborn–"

"That's okay, I appreciate your concern" you cut him off huffing a laugh until another jolt of pain from your shoulder coursed through your body, making you suck in air through your teeth.

He looked over at you and hurried to get everything ready to take care of your wounds, putting the stuff on the table next to the chairs once ready.

"Let me see your shoulder" he asked throwing his chin at it, noticing that your hand hadn't left the spot since you came back to the spider society.

You released your tight grip from the wound slowly and carefully, your covered hand stained with a bit of blood. The wound wasn't so bad, it wasn't too deep, but it was long scratches that hurt every time you moved your arm even just a bit.

The worst part of it for you was that you were going to have to change your suit now that it was ripped to shreds in that area.

"Okay" Miguel muttered, inspecting the injury. "I think you're gonna heal pretty fast, but the first days are gonna be tough. The placement isn't the easiest to live with" he said while sitting down in front of you.

"You wanna talk about good placement? I probably have a cut right over my face" you declared, sliding your fingers under the hem of your mask. "I haven't seen it yet but I felt it for sure." you grunted, taking the piece off with a sigh of relief, happy to finally feel some fresh air.

He stared at the slash going from the side of your eyebrow to your forehead, his gaze quickly diverting to his lap where he was getting his stuff ready when your eyes met.

"There's no good spot to get hurt. I just meant that there are spots where it won't disturb you while it's healing" he declared as he prepared the gauze pad and soaked it with disinfectant. "Your forehead, it won't get in your way. It's inconvenient because it's visible and in the middle of your face but it won't disturb you. Your shoulder, it gets annoying when you shower, when you sleep, when you want to reach and grab something"

"Right"

He pinched his lips in a skeptic smile. "You ready? It's gonna sting a bit" he declared looking at you seriously, and you responded with a small nod.

He took care of your shoulder first, helping you rip off your suit a bit more so he could have full access to the wound. Your heart ached at the sight of your beloved suit getting torn apart, but Miguel telling you that he would get you a new one, even better than this one, made you feel a bit better.

If you thought your shoulder was hurting before, it was nothing compared to that feeling when the disinfectant met your flesh. The sudden burning feeling made you let out a scream of pain, accompanied by a few swear words including a 'motherfucker' you hoped Miguel wouldn't take personally. 

He was trying to be gentle, he really was, the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt you, but no matter how soft he could be you both knew it would hurt anyways. You appreciated the way he tried to soothe you with kind words, telling you how good you were doing, telling you he was almost done cleaning it up and it was almost over.

You hoped he didn’t mind the way your nails were digging onto his bicep as you hissed in pain, and you knew he didn’t when his kind eyes met yours once he was done.

"Let me bandage you then it's over, okay?" he softly asked before shooting you a small smile. "It won't be as painful for your forehead."

—

You took the time to drink some well deserved and needed water before Miguel took care of your forehead. 

The proximity was another new feeling from this whole experience, and it almost made you forget about the slight pain located at the side of your face.

Miguel had your chin trapped between his thumb and forefinger to hold your face, causing your lips to slightly part. It was endearing to see him being so focused on trying not to hurt you, being so careful for each of his even smallest movements.

You hadn't even noticed he was done until he waved a hand in front of your face, making you apologize for being so disconnected from reality. You wished that moment could have lasted longer.

"Thank you" you absent-mindedly mumbled. "Sorry I was being a pain in the ass, I'm actually thankful you could take care of me" you softly smiled, and he mirrored your action.

"See, you should listen to me more often" he replied smugly, his soft smile changing to a toothy grin exposing his sharp fangs.

You huffed out a laugh and playfully hit his arm before shaking your head and standing up with a grunt.

"Hey" he called, a serious tone in his voice as he stood up in front of you. "I know you don't wanna tell me what happened but just know that I'll have Lyla get your previous location, I'll track them from here and I'll take care of them"

You paused for a second.

"You don't have to do this for me"

"I know" he declared, pinching his lips. "I want to."

"I'd need to properly thank you for that." you declared, raising your eyebrows until a sting reminded you of your cut there.

"You don't have to do that"

"I want to." you repeated his previous words with a smirk. You paused, then an idea came to your mind. "What about… What about you go to another universe with me so we can grab dinner?" you proposed, walking around your chair – still slightly limping – so you could slide it back under the table.

"So, a date"

"N– Yes." you bit down on your bottom lip as you looked back at him, trying to figure out what was going on in his head at that moment and studying his face, trying to guess if he would accept your offer. "If you want it to be"

"I think I'm fine with that." he smiled, crossing his arms.

"Good" you smiled back at him, your heart ready to burst out of your ribcage at any moment. "Shall we?" you asked, pressing the button to open a portal where the door of the room originally was.

"After you" he offered with a teasing smile, waving his hand at the halo. You grinned and started walking, until Miguel huffed out a laugh behind you. 

"God you need to do something about that limping. I guess I'll just have to keep carrying you around"

—

feedback is always extremely appreciated plsplspls!!

masterlist | taglist | ao3

spiderman 2099 taglist: @bubuslutty @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @jakecockley @midnight-the-shadow-wolf @cocodiem @pedropascalsidechick @spxctorsslxt @roxannarichie @vicolangelo @amb3rrz @inluvvwithme @friedwings @chaotic-neon-sign @foxglove-grove

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 smut #oscar isaac

[underdark-dreams]

It's finally here, all 7k words of it 👀 Thank you for everyone who read chapter 1, and waited so patiently!

[ch1]

Birds and Bees - Ch.2

Rolan isn't usually the type to accept help. In his defense, Tav is very persuasive—and he is very, very desperate.

Tags: Tailplay, Oral Sex, Biting, NSFW | Word Count: 7.7k [Read on AO3]

Rolan didn’t appear again for the rest of the day.

After their awkward exchange this morning, Tav felt she might be somewhat to blame. She tried to recall the bits of Tiefling etiquette she’d picked up from the Elturians; perhaps touching his tail had crossed some sort of line? Either way, the gesture seemed unthinkably forward to her now. 

Then again…Rolan was the one who’d coiled his tail across her desk like that, its tip nearly brushing her hand as she wrote. She’d never seen him do anything like it before. If she didn't know him so well, she’d have found the move almost flirtatious.

At shop’s close, Cal took charge of locking up the front. Tav caught sight of the large iron keyring he carried and realized that it must be Rolan’s. So his brother had checked in on him today, at least—that gave her a modicum of relief.

Lia pitched in to help wipe down all her equipment and carefully fill the many waiting bottles with her cooled elixir. Tav held her tongue from repeating any of the worries she’d made after Rolan during the day—but it seemed her silence was just as damning.

“Stop fussing,” Lia repeated firmly. “Rolan’s just overdue for a rest. I mean, you saw his face.”

“I did.” Rolan had never been the type to slow down or show weakness easily. To Tav, the fact that he’d willingly taken himself to bed worried her more than anything. “Just promise you won't let him turn down a healer if he needs one?”

“If it comes to that, which it won't,” Lia said down to her work. “I promise we’ll find someone, okay?”

Tav kept her tone teasing as she packed away the sealed bottles in their crate. “Hmm, yes…if only you already knew someone with some knowledge of healing.”

Lia let out a bark of laughter. “Trust me, you’re the last person Rolan wants to see right now.”

The sting of those words took Tav by surprise herself. Lia caught their edge too; she pulled up with a grimace, letting a few drops of antidote dribble onto the desk. “Shit, Tav, I didn't mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” Tav replied, making a fuss of sealing up the filled crate. The thought made her feel rather less than okay, which she didn't want Lia to see. “I think—I don’t know. I feel like I did something rude today, anyway.”

“Oh?” Lia’s tone was light, but she allowed a conspicuous pause to stretch between them. Tav pushed through a twinge of embarrassment to turn to face her.

“Lia, what would you think if I touched your tail?”

Lia glanced up with an eyebrow cocked. “What, right now?”

“No, just—say I did by accident.”

Lia straightened to take a thoughtful inhale. “I mean…it depends on the context. You and I are friends, I wouldn’t think much of it. Unless you grabbed it up by my backside or something,” she added with a laugh. “It wouldn’t be a big deal. If I’m walking somewhere crowded, lots of people might brush against it unless I’m careful.”

Tav had moved around to reset the rest of her clean glassware as she listened, feeling marginally relieved by the explanation.

Then Lia paused her work again. “Are you saying you touched Rolan’s tail?

“You what now?”

With impeccable timing, Cal skidded to a stop at the edge of the conversation, a heavy lockbox under one arm.

Tav glanced between the two of them. “Yes?” The word came out as a question somehow; her mouth went dry as they stared at her. “Like you said, I didn't think it was a big deal. He laid it on my desk while I was working, so I just kind of—” She mimed a little picking-up motion with her hand.

The siblings exchanged a significant look with each other. 

“What?” Tav felt her face burning and knew the color must be noticeable to either of them. “How does it being Rolan’s tail make it different?”

Cal turned back to her with a frown. “What do you mean he laid it on your desk?”

“I don't know, damn—clearly I’m no expert!” She flailed her arms out a bit. “I just turned around and it was sitting there by my hand, all right?”

Another shared glance.

“That explains it,” Cal decided. It earned him a swift pinch on the arm from his sister. “Ow, hey—”

Tav looked between them again, trying to translate. “Explains what? Seriously, if I offended Rolan somehow, I want to kn—”

“You didn’t,” Lia cut in firmly. “This one here's just an idiot. It’s harder to control your tail when you're sick or tired, and Rolan’s been both, that’s all. I'm sure it was a mistake. And he shouldn't have minded you moving it,” she finished with a decisive nod.

With that, Lia snatched up the filled crate from her with one arm and grabbed her brother’s sleeve with the other. Cal stumbled slightly as she pulled him along, but he wisely held his tongue as they headed for the back stockroom. The hinges creaked shut behind them both.

Tav was left standing alone in the cavernous interior of Sorcerous Sundries, beside the desks that she and Rolan used to comfortably share—not sure if she should feel better or worse.

—

The next morning, Rolan was once again nowhere to be found.

He hadn’t even conjured his projection the way he usually did when occupied with research in the Tower. It was a shame; the shop was unusually busy by midday, and Cal and Lia worked without pause. When she could, Tav left her alchemy just to lend a hand with customers or make runs to the supply room.

She found herself worried to the point of irritation. Was Rolan really so stubborn that he wouldn’t take a potion? Or accept healing from someone he’d claimed was a trusted friend and colleague? She tried and failed not to be hurt by it.

Then again, Rolan had always been the type to shoulder his way through awful things alone while firmly turning down help—particularly from her. His apprenticeship, most recently. The memory made her radiantly angry on his behalf even now.

“Shit—” 

Tav jerked away from the flask and sucked on her freshly scalded thumb. She must have the ratios off again; this recipe wasn’t new to her, but the nuances had escaped her all morning. These sublimates shouldn’t get nearly so hot when mixed.

Might as well admit defeat and review the recipe before she wasted yet another bunch of black oleander. Surely there was a reference text somewhere in Rolan’s library?

Tav glanced around to the front of the shop. Cal was recording a sale at the front desk; Lia was chatting with a very large half-orc over near the conjurement runes. Things seemed well enough in hand. Tav damped the flame at her station and quietly took the stairs for the portal.

For lack of a better word: the library of Ramazith’s Tower was absolutely magical. 

Tav stood breathing in the quiet afternoon sunlight, taking an appreciative look up around her. The collection must be the best one this side of Candlekeep, with all sorts of books on spellcraft, Weave theory, alchemy, religion, the history of Toril—just to scratch the surface. She could think of no hands more deserving than the ones its ownership had fallen into.

Just as Lia mentioned the other day, Rolan had clearly been hard at work reorganizing the place. She ran her fingertips over the books’ spines as she walked around the perimeter of the main floor.

She imagined Rolan with his robe sleeves pushed to his elbows, enthusiastically at work in his book stacks, and bit back a grin. There was something so endearing about his passion for taming disorder. As she walked, she found her gaze drifting to the delicate staircase at the far end of the main floor. It spiraled upward invitingly. 

She’d never been to the upper floors of Ramazith’s Tower—nothing past the library. Certainly she hadn’t stepped foot in any of the private quarters of Rolan or his siblings. She wouldn’t even know which door led to whose.

But her mind wandered readily at the thought of Rolan’s bedroom. What it might look like…smell like. 

No doubt it was packed with shelves of books and scrolls, filled with the scent of fresh parchment and leather-bound volumes. That warm, bookish smell that seemed to be woven into his robes. The fresh hint of cedar from the way he kept his clothes meticulously cleaned and stored. And that other faint spice that she could never identify, but always picked up when he stood close to her.

The same scent that had filled her lungs with dizzy pleasure when he’d hovered close to her yesterday, chin brushing her shoulder and arm circled possessively around her waist— 

She bit her lip as heat pooled between her legs at the memory. She couldn't help it—how very fucking nice it had been to feel Rolan’s elegant hands on her, casually and effortlessly touching, as if he was accustomed to touching her much more often and much more intimately.

It would do no good to dwell on that moment. If anything, the uncharacteristic gesture was just proof of how out-of-sorts Rolan must be feeling. He was her friend, and by all accounts, he’d been too sick to leave his room for days. 

With a sudden burst of determination and a disregard for the consequences, she strode for the stairs.

Taking the curving ascent so rapidly left her dizzy. Tav planted her boots on the landing for a moment, holding onto the railing while she took in her surroundings.

This upper hall was also quietly sunlit, filled with fine carpeting and oak paneled walls; but the atmosphere was somehow less grand than the cavernous library below. More intimate. 

Two doors stood on both ends of the hall. Hazarding a guess, she stepped to the closest one on her left. Its heavy oak panels swung forward with the slightest touch.

Not a bedroom at all, but a bath—and a tremendously fine one at that. All the fixtures seemed to be wrought from polished gold. Underneath a towering stained glass window stood the deepest, widest clawfoot tub she’d ever seen.

As she gazed around, Tav caught sight of her reflection in a large glass above the sinks. Her hair was all frizzy flyaways from a day over her potion work. Indulging a bit of vanity, she paused to tame it with her fingers.

One of Rolan’s many endearing habits was his dedication to fastidiousness. Never a hair out of place, horns polished and shining, robes immaculately pressed—knowing him, with a bit of the Weave.

She must look like some sort of wild hedge witch by comparison. Tav had never minded life in the wilds as a wayward adventurer, even after the Elder Brain was felled to the Chionthar. It was part of what drew her to the career of a traveling alchemist. 

But there were moments…most of them in this Tower, with Rolan and his siblings. Sharing a meandering dinner at a real table with actual chairs. Sitting with Rolan out on the starlit balcony, discussing blood alchemy over a glass of wine as they watched the harbor.  

Tav forced her hands still and stared back at her reflection. 

“What do you want?” She muttered to herself. The Tav in the mirror had no answer. But in her mind, one softly bloomed.

Over the past months, her feelings had tumbled forward faster than she could keep up with them. Seeing Rolan, talking with him about anything and everything, working beside him in quiet moments—she found those were the moments she looked forward to most.

His offer to turn one of the Tower’s empty vaults into a greenhouse for her. Essentially giving her a permanent place in his home, if she wanted it. Was it stupid to hope that he wanted more, too?

As she stood frozen silent in the confines of her lavish surroundings, a muffled sound came from her right.

She hadn't noticed the second door past the bathtub; presumably connecting to one of the bedrooms. She realized it most likely led to Rolan’s.

She stepped toward the heavy oak paneling and raised a hand to knock. As she did, more muffled noises came from within. Tav hesitated, questioning whether she should—then leaned in to press one ear to the wood.

There were the sounds of labored breathing, as if from pain or exertion. She strained her ear harder. There was something almost…rhythmic in it.

And then—she could swear—she heard Rolan's voice groan her name aloud.

A shock of heat ran through her chest, prickling up her neck and diving between the cleft of her legs. The rapid, hot ache at her core made her gasp out in surprise, then clap a hand to her mouth lest he heard. She felt her cheeks burning with realization.

Whatever she had expected to find by wandering up here…this had never been on the list. All she saw in her mind’s eye was Rolan, sweating and panting and desperate. And that thought filled her with overwhelming want in response.

Tav pushed herself back from the door with a jolt. She turned and ran, not knowing or caring whether the ring of her footsteps on tile carried past the door. Her pulse pounded against her ears as she rushed out of the room and back for the staircase. 

Even before Tav’s foot hit the third stair, she knew she was headed for the Elfsong. And a very stiff fucking drink.

—

Day passed to night and back to day again in a feverish jumble. Like a vessel adrift in a vast ocean, Rolan was passed along wave after wave of searing impulse.

Had his ruts always been this overwhelming, and he’d just forgotten? Or was there something different about the drives this time around? 

Even the little dignities were stripped away, one by one. He began by conjuring mage hands at first, but his concentration faltered too many times at the cusp. He finally just settled for his own grip. Desperate sounds rose in his chest each time he neared his next finish, the likes of which he’d never utter voluntarily.

And he quickly gave up on clothes altogether. He lay naked and spread-eagle on his sheets and tried to sleep when he could, before his demanding cock inevitably twitched back to life again. The fever turned his dreams shockingly lewd whenever he did manage to drift off.

By sunset, another strong wave of need was pulsing through his core, demanding his attention. Rolan lay back against his pillows and groaned open-mouthed as he stroked himself.

Even slick with oil, the friction between his hand and the raw, overstimulated ridges of his cock bordered on painful. His finish danced out of reach to the back of his mind.

With an impatient growl, he flipped over to his knees and snatched up a feather pillow, folding it into a sleeve for his cock. A crude solution—but with his first few thrusts, the cool softness of the silk caused a moan of relief to rise in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut as he fucked his own pillow in a desperate chase for relief.

And behind his eyelids, there she was again.

Tav appeared there so easily now. He’d tried to fight it at first—ashamed to be using her like this, without her knowledge or consent—but he found that nothing satisfied his urges so well as when he pictured her on his cock.

So he closed his eyes and imagined Tav…pliant, eager, hungry. Legs spread and center dripping with desire for him. The shameful depth of his need faded away as he fantasized her own. How her eyes might shine as she panted and gasped under him, calling him by name and begging him to fuck her and fill her and mark her as his—

What would she sound like as he took her? He conjured the timbre of her voice, always warm and musical, now canting to a whine as the ridges at his base slammed against her with each thrust.

Pressure coiled rapid and hot at his loins. Rolan slid off the mattress with legs braced, the pillow cast aside, and tugged frantically at his stiff length again. His tail arched and flicked behind him.

Through clenched eyelids he saw Tav laid at the foot of his bed, hair splayed in a messy crown against his sheets as she cried out his name. Her legs crossed behind his flanks to hold him deep inside her tight wet heat—

‘Rolan—’ She moaned louder, her heels digging into his lower back as he took her. Tav gripped two handfuls of the bedding underneath as he thrust relentlessly, chasing more of her heat around his cock, more of the delicious scent at her throat and between her legs—

“Rolan!”

“Fuck—” With a strangled gasp, Rolan’s hips stuttered one last time as his come spilled in ropes to the floor. Panting and shaking, he caught hold of the bed post with one hand as he frantically worked out the rest of his finish with the other. His head spun with the force of it.

But as he opened his eyes and his vision cleared, so did that cottony feeling in his ears. Someone was rapping insistently on the door to his room.

“Rolan, we need to talk—” Even muffled by the heavy wood, Tav’s voice was unmistakable.

“Fuck,” Rolan hissed again, this time with enough wits about him to panic. How much of that last performance could she hear through the door? He snatched up the nearest towel to wipe himself, then tripped away toward the pile of clothes on the floor that had lain untouched since yesterday.

“Go away,” he called tersely, nevertheless yanking the trousers up over his hips. Thank hells that last round had left him soft enough he could do up the laces for now.

On the other side of the door, she was undeterred. “I’m not leaving till I’ve seen you.”

Rolan cursed as one of his horns snagged the ties at the neck of his shirt. Once the fabric dropped over his torso, he whirled around to take in the state of his room. 

Bedsheets pulled sideways from the mattress; pillows strewn across the floorboards; air thick with the smell of him. Absolute filthy shambles.

Using a rush of energy he couldn't afford, he cast a mass prestidigitation spell on the space. The improvement in the air was immediate. But the resulting light-headedness caused him to stumble forward; he caught himself with a hand braced on the door frame.

“I'm not joking,” Tav called loudly, unaware he was now much closer.

He could have yelled at her to wait outside for another week, then, if he wasn't so sure she was stubborn enough to actually do so. After all, this was the person who’d defeated an Elder Brain and taken on several gods in the process.

That…and he found he badly wanted to see Tav in the flesh. Hearing her voice from just beyond his bedroom door only increased that desire. Rolan’s tail lashed behind him in helpless frustration.

“What do you want?” He asked instead, lowering his voice. No use broadcasting any more of this conversation to the whole Tower.

There was a pause on the other side of the oak paneling. “I’ve barely seen you since I got here,” Tav’s voice replied, matching his volume.

“And?” 

“And I'm worried about you…obviously,” she added. “Cal and Lia said you’re sick. But I’d feel better if we could talk face to face.” Even through the barrier between them, he could hear a strain in her voice. She wasn't lying. 

Rolan rested his horns against his braced forearm with a sigh. “Tav, I swear I'm perfectly fine.”

“Then just open the door a moment. Please, Rolan?”

It was far too pleasant to hear her say his name outside of his own imaginings. Rolan glanced down at himself. Barefoot, shirt untucked, but technically presentable. And not pitching a tent for once in the past twenty-four hours. 

“If I do, will you leave?” 

There was another pause. “If you want me to,” came the reply. He unbolted the latch and drew it open to shoulder width.

The wave of Tav’s scent hit him almost before he registered her face in front of him. The sweetness of it overwhelmed his other senses for a moment. It tested all Rolan’s limited reserves of sanity not to grab her by the waist and pull her body against him.

Unaware of the silent struggle raging in his chest, Tav stood with face tilted up toward his. Her eyes had traveled over his figure immediately, checking him over with a worried little crease between her brows. Something at the side of his head caught her eye; Rolan realized his hair hung loose and rather sweaty, exposing the slender tips of his ears.

Her demeanor changed at the sight. Tav sighed, leaning her head against the flat of the door.

“You’re even handsome with a fever,” she told him softly.

Rolan blinked at her. Perhaps exhaustion and hormones were driving him to hallucinations. “What are you—”

Faster than he could react, her palms landed on either side of his face, and Tav pulled his mouth down to hers.

A burst of colors exploded behind his eyes; the sensation of her lips moving on his kindled the dormant heat in his body to wild blaze. She notched her hands upward as she kissed him, and her fingers slid up along the sensitive tapers of both his ears.

Rolan let out a hungry, animal sound against her mouth. Both hands landed on her back and crushed the line of her body forward into his, leaving no space between them. He could feel the soft hills of her breasts pressing against his chest through clothing. The warm scent rolling off her skin and hair surrounded him with dizzying force.

The higher part of his mind was screaming at him. Rolan desperately tried to focus on what it was saying; as he did, he caught the tang of wine on her lips. The discovery gave him just enough will to pull back from her.

And he did, with one jerking step back into his chambers. “You can’t be here.”

Tav stood panting through parted lips, eyes half-lidded as they traveled over him. Rolan felt flames lick his skin everywhere they moved.

“Why not?” She breathed. “I wanted to see you.”

“You’re drunk,” he told her. He rather felt that way himself, still reeling from the electricity of kissing her.

Tav pouted at that, and Rolan wished to bite that lower lip firmly between his teeth. “I’m not drunk,” she corrected. “I’ve had a drink. There’s a difference.”

“You wouldn’t be here if—”

“If what?” Tav watched him as she took a step closer. Rolan stepped back in tandem, reflexive. She was well over the threshold now. “If I knew what was really happening to you?”

Those words sounded much more knowing than he liked. Rolan stared at her, trying to read into her face. He swallowed against the dry lump of his tongue and went out on a limb. “Which one of them told you?”

Tav shook her head. “Cal and Lia have been nothing but discreet.” 

“Then how could you possibly understand?” He demanded. The very recent discovery of how soft Tav’s lips were was making it very difficult to maintain this conversation. He could still feel the way her body had pressed into him.

One corner of her mouth twitched. “Rolan, I’d like to think I’m not completely oblivious. There have been…signs. And I’ve had a lot of time to think about them. I’ve been at the Elfsong all afternoon, just—thinking.”

At that, Rolan felt his tail twitching nervously behind him. “I see,” he replied. Pivoting, like an idiot, trying to pretend this was a perfectly acceptable conversation to have with the woman who occupied most of his thoughts when he was pleasuring himself. “And you think that I—that my—”

Tav made a quick twisting motion to get around the door. She latched it and drew the bolt closed behind them, then turned back to him.

“A lot of humans have heard rumors about Tieflings,” she confessed. “Some stupid, but some credible. I’m saying this is maybe not the secret that you think it is.” As he watched, a much deeper blush spread over Tav’s cheeks. She glanced away to the side. 

“Rolan…I grew up in the Dales, remember? Around rabbits, and cattle, and oxen. Half my friends lived on farms.”

Her analogy couldn’t be clearer. To hear her lay it out so plainly—Rolan felt the last dregs of his pride shrivel up and die. He gripped two palms over his eyes and let out a groan of abject humiliation, turning away to the middle of the room. 

How early had she connected the dots? The moment she felt him brazenly place a hand around her? Had she known all along that he was locked up here, rutting into every one of his pillows?

“Look, Rolan, I’m sorry—I didn’t know how else to say it—” 

Completely overwhelmed by his embarrassment, he hadn’t heard her follow. When Rolan finally dropped his hands from his face, he turned to find Tav standing very close to his chest.

“And I’m sorry for kissing you before,” she blurted out. “I mean, I’m not sorry for it…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, to be honest. But it wasn’t fair. I just…wanted to know how you’d react.”

Rolan watched as her chest rose and fell heavily where she stood. The look in her eyes made his blood pound through his veins. He felt an urge to reach out and smooth back her hair to bring her in for another kiss, one he resisted.

“I care about you,” Rolan told her, before he could lose his nerve. “Our friendship. I respect you, Tav, it’s not worth—muddying things with this.” 

He felt fingers lacing through the ones that hung at his side, and despite his words Rolan tightened his grip automatically. Her hand was so pleasantly cool against the heat of his skin.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Tav answered earnestly. “I care about you, too. If I can help, I want to. Please—”

She was so close to him; Rolan breathed shallowly, but the warm scent rolling off her skin and hair nevertheless swept past him with dizzying force.

“You don’t know what you’re offering,” he managed hoarsely.

She didn’t falter. “Then tell me what else you think I should know.”

His senses were growing clouded with her; the offer that had tumbled so easily from her rang in his ears. It made the thread of Rolan’s control stretch dangerously taut.

“I won’t be gentle,” he warned. 

His inadvertent shift in tone changed something in the air between them. There was a crackling energy that hadn't been there a second before.

Tav licked her lips as she watched him. “Good.”

Rolan thought he might melt from the heat that spread across his skin. His tail snapped against the mattress behind him. If she moved a step closer, she’d feel how hard he was in his pants.

“Mating bites,” he went on hoarsely. “I’ll mark you. Quite a lot. I’ll try not to draw blood, but…I can’t promise it.”

Tav nodded. “What else?” She asked, encouraging him to go on. 

Rolan swallowed against the embarrassment. But this was important for her to know. “This time for us, it’s all about…reproduction. We become quite virile.” He nearly choked, but there was simply no other way to put it. “For the urges to pass quicker, I need to come in you.”

Tav let out a throaty hum of approval. His cock twitched in his pants at the sound. “That’s fine, I take preventatives—it’s safe.”

They stood looking at each other for another moment. That shivery, electric feeling buzzed in the air around them. Rolan wondered if she could hear the way his heart drummed against his ribs.

Tav leaned in slightly. “Well…” She said, and her wet tongue passed nervously between her lips again.

That taut thread in his chest snapped in two. Rolan crushed her up against him with a whimper. Arms circling around her waist, he nudged a thigh between her legs and firmly ground their hips together.

Tav matched his eagerness. Their lips crashed together; at the back of his mind, he felt her grip cradling under each of his ears. Her fingertips licked like flame against his scalp.

Even through layers of clothing, he could feel the heat of her. Rolan jerked her hips forward harder against his thigh; the swelling length of his cock pressed against her soft, yielding center. Tav dipped her head back from the kiss, arching into him with a moan, and her fingertips laced at the nape of his neck. 

It offered an irresistible angle at the column of her throat. Rolan’s claws raked back in her hair, pulling it to a tight ponytail. Then he tugged firmly, holding her open as his mouth descended on her neck.

He kissed and sucked along the band of muscle from her ear to the curve of her shoulder, then parted his lips to bite down firmly on her soft flesh. 

“Yes,” Tav moaned in approval above him. Her hips rolled into his, grinding herself against the hard cock straining in his pants. Rolan felt her pulse skip against his mouth. Only when he tasted sweet copper did he pull away, laving his tongue over the crimson pin-pricks of his teeth into her skin.

He took only a moment to admire the trail of marks blooming along her neck. Tav was already pulling him in for another kiss. Their lips crashed together with bruising force; her tongue explored, tasting, searching for proof of her blood against his tongue and moaning against him when she found it.

Her scent filled his mind. Without breaking from her mouth, he plucked open the laces of her pants. Rolan slipped his hand under the waistband, beneath her smalls, and slid two fingers to dip down between her legs. Her folds were shining-slick; as he nudged her in circles, a trickle of her arousal rolled down his fingers. She shivered prettily under his touch.

“You’re soaked,” Rolan groaned against her neck. 

“All because of you,” she breathed without hesitation. “Been wanting this, gods, wanting you for months. Your hands on me—cock in me—”

At the words he withdrew his fingers from her impatiently, then sucked them clean. Her sweet taste on his tongue made his cock ache. She scarcely had time to curse at the sight before Rolan gripped both arms around her waist to lift her into him.

With one quick pivot, he landed her down on the bed with his frame pressed into her. Her legs hung off the edge from the hip down, and he used the position to grind the stiff length in his pants against her cleft.

Even fully clothed, it was maddening. He could feel the wet patch between her legs, and when she arched further into him, a primal growl rumbled in his chest. 

Tav’s fingers were brushing at his sides, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she panted impatiently.

Rolan tilted back to rip the garment up over his horns, immediately reaching for her own once his was free. He stripped her frantically, ripping her smallclothes in two before he could work them down her thighs.

When she lay bare beneath him, moaning and arching into everywhere he touched, he was overcome with hunger for more of her taste. 

Rolan gripped her hips, dragging her with a jerk to the edge of the bed. With her glistening folds displayed before him, all he could do was drop to his knees and bury his tongue between them.

The sounds she made were like sweet music as he explored her. He sucked and massaged her slit with his tongue, then plunged it as deep within her walls as he could. His eyes rolled back in his head. Her taste surrounded him; his nose brushed her clit as he ate her, further overwhelming his senses with the scent of her arousal.

“Gods, yes, Rolan—” Tav moaned above him as her hands flew to grip each of his horns. She alternately tugged them and arched into his mouth, grinding her clit against his face.

He wanted to hear her say his name like that another thousand times. Rolan curled his tongue against her walls, determined to taste her even deeper, but to no avail. Without his sharp nails, he would have sunk two fingers into her.

Instead, as his mouth left her, the ridged end of his tail looped around to brush over her slit.

“Ah—” Tav gasped from the bed. One of her hands left him to prop up on an elbow to look. 

He watched her face in adoration as his tail slid between her soaked lips, coating itself in a mixture of her arousal and his saliva. Once it was thoroughly wet, he let the heart-shaped tip push experimentally into her.

Whatever hesitation he had evaporated at the way she arched and keened. He pushed in further, inch by inch, hissing in breath at how tight and wet her walls squeezed around him. Rolan felt his cock leaking between his legs at the sight of his tail disappearing into her plush cunt.

“Taking my tail so well,” Rolan praised without thinking, then groaned. “Fuck, Tav, you’re so tight—”

“Don’t stop,” she demanded, breathless.

When he felt the tip brush the limits of her insides, he held it steady as she panted down at him. Her mouth hung open in anticipation as she watched him lean in again for her center.

But instead of landing on her clit, his mouth met with the soft skin of her inner thigh and sucked it firmly between his teeth.

Tav gave a little yelp of pain, but her walls constricted around his tail so hard he moaned against her flesh. He left two more lovely red marks against her thigh before withdrawing his tail from her, leaving only the tip inside her silk.

Then he thrust back into her and took up a forceful rhythm of stretching her open on his tail.

“Fucking gods,” she gasped, gripping both his horns again. He felt her use them as leverage as she bounced her hips down to meet him. 

“Like this, don’t you?” Rolan urged her on, drunk off her desire. “Fucking yourself on my tail—” He leaned down to take another taste of her clit, swirling and sucking as the ridges on his tail dragged more wetness out of her with each thrust.

“Yes,” Tav moaned, shaking under him as his tongue worked over her clit. “Feels so perfect in me, so—ngh—!”

When he flicked the tip of it up inside her, Tav’s words stuttered to incoherence. He felt her inner walls clench and flutter, and repeated the motion over and over with each thrust.

“I’m—oh, oh ohohoh—”

She dissolved into soft cries. The muscles at her core tensed and shuddered as she climaxed against his tongue. Rolan withdrew his tail from her with a slick release, instead clasping his mouth over her to lap down the sweet taste that poured from her. His pants were so wet he was nearly convinced he’d already come, but he felt his cock straining against the fabric just as firmly.

When her thighs collapsed limp to either side, Rolan pushed himself to his feet for a look at her. Tav’s eyes were bright, cheeks flushed with arousal, her hair coiled out in wild tendrils that framed her like a crown. Their eyes met; with both hands on his arms, she pulled him down for a kiss.

Rolan landed braced on his forearms. Their tongues slid and pushed together, trading the taste of her release. When he felt her reaching between them to undo his laces, he pulled away to loose them and strip off the rest of his clothes. 

Tav reached for his erection, and before he’d steadied himself, she gripped his length to drag the generous droplets of precum around his tip with her thumb. His hips bucked into her.

“Eager, aren’t you?” She teased softly.

“Yes,” Rolan groaned. Tav’s soft hand was around his cock for the first time; it was all he could do to locate words. He knew his face was flushed and tense with arousal, but Tav only looked up at him with appreciation from where she lay back on his bed. 

When she guided his length across the wet of her core, he rocked his hips to drag his ridges across her. She shivered slightly, still sensitive, but rolled into him.

“Need you,” Rolan panted, not sure whether he was asking her or begging. “Tav—please—”

Tav’s hand lined him up with her entrance. When his leaking tip nudged inside her, Rolan pushed forward with one slow, determined cant of his hips.

The cool slick of her walls clutched each inch of him so perfectly. A low groan rose in Rolan’s throat—this was the closest thing to real satisfaction that he’d gotten in days, and he hadn't even started moving yet.

“So good,” Tav said under him, voice sweet and husky. “Keep going—”

Rolan braced his hands against her hips. He pulled out slowly, legs shaking beneath him, then pushed back into the tight plush of her. 

His hips took up a firm pace, and Rolan couldn't bite back his whines as he plunged his cock inside her. Whatever his fevered imagination had conjured, it was nothing compared to this—he fell over her again, fangs skating against her breast as her body rocked under him with each thrust.

“Yes, yes, fuck—” Tav was just as breathless as her fingers gripped the infernal ridges on his shoulder blades. She tugged, egging him on.

Rolan took the invitation with enthusiasm. He nipped and sucked around the swell of her breast, breathing in lungfuls of the sweetness rolling off her skin.

“Harder,” Tav begged, the words vibrating against his lips. The hunger inside him surged in agreement.

Rolan’s lips fastened over one nipple. He sucked, hard, letting his tongue roll her against his teeth. Tav let out a whimper, but he felt her legs crossing around his hips as he continued to bury himself in her.

Rolan pulled away to look at her face. A mist of sweat dusted her brow; Tav’s lips were parted and twitching with silent words. 

“Look at me,” Rolan ordered, still filling her with his cock in a steady rhythm.

Tav obeyed, her eyes shining and pupils blown wide. He straightened away from her, never breaking, and laid a hand each on her calves. Then he pushed up, folding her legs to her chest and opening up her cunt even deeper for him.

“You look so beautiful like this, Tav,” he told her, thighs trembling with the effort of keeping his pace slow and steady. “Folded in half in my bed. Stretched around my cock so perfectly.”

In response, Tav’s hands grabbed her knees, pulling herself open even further to each side. “Is this how you imagined it?” She asked wickedly. “All alone—wishing it was me and not your own hand—”

Heat prickled across his neck and shoulders, but Rolan was too far gone to feel shame. He couldn't resist breaking eye contact, however, watching the way his cock stretched open her dripping cunt.

“Just like this,” he panted in answer. She took in breath to respond, but he was already slamming back into her at a reckless pace.

The lewd, wet sounds of his thrusts filled the room, layered with their chorus of whines and moans. Rolan shuddered at how slick and tight she was around him, perfectly gripping each inch of his needy length. His cock throbbed in anticipation of a satisfying release, finally, after all these times of not quite enough—

“I’m close,” he panted, gripping her hips to pull her down deeper onto his cock. The tip of him nudged against the limits of her walls. “Where should—”

“Inside,” Tav insisted, still holding herself wide for him. “Only inside, Rolan, want you to fill me up—fuck—”

The imagery pushed him over the edge, and he did just that. With a throb of release, he felt his cock pulsing and filling her deepest walls with his seed. His hips stuttered into her as he pushed his spend as far into her as he could reach.

Tav clutched his shoulders as he came, humming and moaning out praises for him. Their hips rocked together, nudging his coated length back against her deep center. 

Tav went tense under him. He forced his eyes open and saw her lips parted in surprise.

“I’m—oh—!” 

She gasped in shock as her own climax gripped her. Rolan hissed in breath at the way she clenched and fluttered so suddenly around him. His length was still hard, and his ridges pulsed against her.

As she drifted back down, Tav’s eyes finally lit on him in a daze. “What…what was that?”

Rolan was abruptly reminded of how many ruts he’d spent without a partner. “I'm sorry, I should've warned you,” he confessed. It was hard to form his thoughts while still inside her. “During the cycle…infernal traits get stronger. Like incubi. Helps attract a partner.” Somehow this explanation was more embarrassing than any of the other filth he’d just spoken to her.

Tav stared up at him. “You're saying your come is going to make me come?”

“Essentially.” Rolan shifted inside her slightly, still not confident he was done. “I apologize—I didn't think to tell you. Is that a problem?”

“Rolan—” Tav let out a breathless laugh, and the sound went straight to his chest. “This is the exact opposite of a problem. Just a bit of a shock, that's all.”

The lovely sight of her happy and satisfied under him was too much to resist. Rolan leaned forward on his arms to kiss her, trapping her legs between their chests.

As her hand stroked softly under his jaw, Rolan felt a second ache settling in his loins. He released her lips for just long enough to push her legs out over his hips, then ducked back down for her mouth.

He rolled his hips into her slower this time, but it was somehow more intense. Their lips stayed connected as he drove into her deep. Her walls were slippery with arousal and his own seed, and they gripped like pure silk around his cock. Her opening slid over the sensitive ridges at his base with each thrust.

When he dipped a thumb between their bodies to rub circles over her clit, Tav broke away with a little gasp.

“I can’t again,” she said, panting.

“You can,” he told her simply. “Hold on to me—” 

She did, wrapping both arms and legs firmly around him as if he was her anchor. Rolan dipped his head to her neck as he doubled his pace, their hips slotting together with each brisk slide into her. He breathed deep against the curve of her shoulder.

Still so hungry for release, it wasn't long before he came again hard. This time he just barely pumped his spend into her before he pulled out to look down.

Sticky white seed dribbled out of her slit, running down toward her hole. He dipped the thumb circling her clit down to swipe it back up across her cunt, painting his come across the bundle of nerves at her peak.

Tav’s thighs twitched under him, and she gripped his arm tight with one hand. She swore as he continued flicking across her clit with the wet pad of his thumb, then whined out his name.

While her next orgasm nearly doubled her in half, Rolan tilted his head to watch the sight between her legs. She was soaked, twitching, utterly intoxicating. Her contracting walls pushed more of his spend out of her; it flowed generously from her slit and soaked down into the bedding below.

Finding himself now utterly spent, Rolan collapsed on his back next to her. As he did, he realized his legs had grown fatigued to the point of buckling from the exertions. He let his body sink heavy into the mattress. 

“I made a mess on your sheets,” Tav panted from beside him. 

Rolan groaned at her descriptive language. The fact that his length continued softening was a sign his urges were finally giving him a reprieve, however. “It was mostly my fault.”

She only let out a weak breath of laughter.

Too tired to trust his shaking legs, he reached an arm blind over the side of the bed and snatched up the first fabric it touched. His discarded shirt.

Pushing himself seated, he gently reached to dry between Tav’s legs. One of her hands traced the ridges on his back as he quietly tended to her.

“How long before the next?” She asked him.

“An hour or two.” Rolan didn't look at her. “Tav, you've done more than enough for m—”

The mattress shifted as she sat up and turned his face into a waiting kiss. It was soft, just a chorus of little presses across his lips.

When Tav pulled away, she tucked the damp curtain of his hair behind one ear. “Rolan, unless you want me to go, I'm staying until it’s over.”

Rolan cast a glance over her. Despite the fact that she was naked in his bed and covered in blooming bruises from his mouth, she was very much the same Tav as ever. “Thank you,” he told her quietly.

She pushed him onto his back with a sudden laugh, landing with her chest pressed to his. “What an utterly Rolan thing to say,” she mused. “Need I remind you I just came three times?”

Tav was teasing him, and was of a mind to put her in her place—only he found that none of his limbs wanted to move at the moment. Instead, his only response was a deep hum as his eyelids drooped shut.

He felt the mattress shift as she rose and wished he could reach out to stop her. But a moment later she curled up next to him again, dragging a soft quilt over their bodies. 

Rolan turned inward to rest his head on Tav’s chest—and fell into his first real slumber in days.

#spicy #rolan x tav #tiefling ruts #rolan smut #heat/rut cycles #female tav #bg3 rolan #tiefling biology #bg3 fanfiction #rebgrrl writes #underdark-dreams