#before i loose the right to medicate it into oblivion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sgt-seabass · 1 year

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Joining in on the clockwork fan train, I have a Drabble prompt if you are interested. Nick often plays fast and loose with reader’s safety, and although he’s a control freak so he thinks of everything to prevent her getting harmed (like using air rifle etc) I wonder how he might react if he goes too far/something goes wrong and she does actually get badly hurt from one of his games. Maybe playtime gone wrong or he misjudged his strength. Would he feel guilt, or shrug it off?

𝒔𝒊𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒚

pairing — mob boss!prime alpha!nick fowler x omega!reader w/c — 1.9k this is a dark fic. 18+ only. part of the Clockwork AU. listening to — ♫ sip u slowly warnings — general dark elements, smut (dubcon due to stokholm, p in v, cunnilingus), choking to the point of passing out and bruising, possessiveness, pet names (pup, puppy, omega), a/b/o dynamics, very light medical elements, reference to past minor character death a/n — i hope you like it! thank you so much for the support and interest in the Clockwork AU! written on my phone. thank you so much to @rookthorne for helping with beta and suggestions 🥺🥺💙 this was meant to be short whoops.

Nick had been insatiable, fucking you for hours and eating you out each time in-between sessions.

After a work deal had gone awry and lives had been lost, he wanted nothing more than to bury his problems in your tight heat. With your essence on his tongue, he could be absolved of his irreverence.

Nick was angry. He didn’t take to fuck ups well.

When he’d heard about an omega retrieval gone wrong that ended with the death of a few targeted girls, he was irate.

Nick had to murder his men for their actions. They were there to capture them, not kill them - professionalism was expected, mandated, in his organisation. Nick didn’t need more red in his ledger, yet it seemed to have a way of seeping in, tainting the pages and bleeding everywhere.

His temper was no more than his inner child locked in an endless cycle of self-flagellation, so he fixated on you to distract himself. He’d created you and turned you into the omega he wanted. However, the problem with manipulating is that you deny yourself the love and support that partnership provides. Nick knew he was fooling himself by thinking you were unequivocally his, so he wanted to show you how good he could make you feel.

The urge boiled beneath his skin, an unbridled need to claim you; to fuck you into oblivion.

Barely keeping himself restrained, he’d carried you to the bedroom just after dinner, and the sun had long set. His need for you continued into the early morning.

By the time the clock hit three am, you were exhausted. That much was evident by the way your eyes struggled to stay open even as you orgasmed. The little sounds Nick pulled from you got whinier and more strained the more your body tried to get its rest.

But there was no rest for the wicked, and Nick was certainly feeling sinful.

“Give me another, puppy,” Nick growled to you, face between your legs before moaning at the taste of his seed and your wet mixing.

“I’m tired, alpha. I can’t.” You whimpered, sweat dotting your brow while your back arched against the silk bedsheets. “S’too much.”

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to decide that. I’ll tell you when it’s enough, omega.” Nick’s voice reverberated against your clit before he gently sucked it, causing your fingers to fist into the sheets from the unrelenting pleasure.

This was Nick’s favourite way to have you. Crumpled from the euphoria he caused you. You’d fought so hard against him, but at the end of the day, you ended up right where you belonged.

In his bed.

Nick started slow, drawing circles around your clit before replacing his tongue with his fingers. He flicked his finger while his mouth pressed kisses along your hip and down your thigh. Nick couldn’t help himself when it came to tasting all of you, so he bit into the supple flesh of your thigh as he kept working your sensitive clit.

Your wail only served to make Nick bite again, closer to your cunt this time. Fuck, your tears were gorgeous. “Does it hurt, omega?” When you nodded in response, Nick slapped your thigh. “Use your words.”

“Ye— Yes. Hurts, alpha.”

“Mm, but you look so beautiful with my marks.” Nick looked at the teeth marks adorning your skin, smirking to himself before turning his attention back to your clit. “Tell me what you want, puppy. Tell me what you need.”

Your thighs clenched, and Nick chuckled dryly as he ground himself against the bed, his erection painfully hard. He wanted to do nothing more than fuck you senseless, but it was worth waiting if it meant he got to see you shatter.

“I need…” You stopped yourself, and Nick could see the embarrassment in your expression. It was beautiful. “I need your mouth, please, alpha.”

“Such nice manners,” Nick praised before giving you exactly what you wanted.

He drank you in slowly, running his tongue over your folds and watching how you responded. You were so tense. As if each muscle was waiting for the anticipated precipice. And Nick would give it to you, but he wanted his fun first.

Deft fingers pulled your folds apart, and Nick groaned at the sight of you. Glistening and inviting. “Such a pretty pussy, pup. Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

Nick ran his flat tongue up your cunt, starting with long, languid licks that began to gradually get faster. Nick placed a hand on your stomach to stablise you as his broad strokes got shorter, turning into quick flicks across your clit.

He didn’t stop, not tiring even as the clock ticked away on the bedside table.

The tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm started to show as Nick alternated between licking and sucking, his hand running up and down your thigh as the other held you down. Your body tensed, and it goaded Nick to go faster, gripping your flesh tightly.

Nick hummed against your clit, and the dams burst. Like music to his ears, your mewls turned high-pitched as you came, your juices gushing down his chin. Nick had lost count of how many orgasms you’d had tonight, but each one was better than the last. He’d never get sick of this.

“My puppy does love playtime, don’t you, baby?” Nick watched as your glazed eyes looked at him, surprised at the new pet name. Baby. It’s endearing. Intimate. “You’re going to sit back and let your alpha do all the work now, right? Puppies are just too silly to do anything but lay down and get fucked.”

Seeing you so raw, so vulnerable, was bringing out the beast in Nick. The further down this rabbit hole he fell, the harder it was to keep his semblance of control. If you tried to make a run for it right now, he might actually kill you, too lost in the chase of his prey to realise what was happening. But you don’t run. Instead, you shuffled a little up the sheets, so your head rested on one of the satin pillows.

You knew you couldn’t escape, so you prepared yourself to be comfortable. Nick crawled up the bed, cock standing proud between his parted thighs, and he loomed over you. “Are you scared, puppy?”

Nick smiled when you gave him an odd look like you weren’t sure what response he wanted. “You should be.”

His words were the only warning you got before he mounted you, sheathing his dick in your dripping cunt with one swift motion of his hips. Nick let out a growl, pulling out the pillow from under you so he could grip the back of your neck. “Fuck. Fuck. You feel like fucking velvet, omega.”

The teasing nature Nick had earlier was long gone, replaced with a feral alpha desperate to breed. His thrusts were deep, rutting against your hips as his heavy breaths filled the room, mixed with your moans. It was a fucking symphony.

“This little cunt is mine, isn’t it? Tell me,” Nick snarled, pounding into your sore, used pussy without resolve.

“S’yours. All yours,” you sobbed into the cool air, tears streaking down your cheeks.

“That’s right. You’re fucking mine.” Nick moved his hand to rest on the front of your neck. He tiled his head back while his eyes fluttered closed.

It was a complete state of bliss. Nick didn’t look down as he let himself be free. No control, no thoughts. Just alpha.

You moaned with each plunge of his cock, but Nick didn’t notice the way your moans were weakening under the sound of smacking flesh.

Your hands clawed at Nick’s arm, but he didn’t even register it.

It wasn’t until you went quiet altogether that Nick opened his eyes.

Suddenly, cold washed over Nick when he looked down, his hand tight around your neck and your eyes closed. Not even a squeak came from your parted lips.

“Omega? Shit. Omega, open your eyes.” Nick tapped your cheek, but you were completely unconscious. “Puppy, wake up.”

He shook your shoulders, pulling his now soft cock out of you before he placed his finger under your nose. A sigh of relief left Nick when he felt the soft blow of your breath against his skin.

Nick’s jaw clenched, guilt awash over him. He was so lost in the moment he didn’t realise he’d begun squeezing, and he’d choked you out.

Your lack of response concerned Nick, so he sat on the bed, pulling you to his chest. He cradled you, and suddenly he was like his ten-year-old self again, holding the body of his dead sister on the living room floor. “Wake up. Please. I’ll… I’ll get you even more strawberries. You love them, right?”

You didn’t wake. Still soundly asleep and unaware of your distressed alpha.

In making you vulnerable, Nick had actually exposed himself. Desperate and alone, he was nothing without something of his own. Without you.

“Beck! Bring your med kit!” Nick’s voice boomed through the mansion, a prime alpha call.

Only moments later, Beck came barrelling through the door with his doctor’s bag. His eyes widened at the sight of you in Nick’s lap, mottled bruises already beginning to spread over your neck. “What happened?”

“I didn’t realise I was squeezing,” Nick’s voice came out monotone, devoid of emotion. His heart had begun to lock down. He wasn’t ready to lose anyone else.

Beck rushed over, gently taking you from Nick and resting you back against the bed. Your alpha moved away from the bed, arms crossed and expression cold as he watched.

“She’s alive,” Beck commented. You were obviously alive, but hearing Beck’s assurance eased Nick a little. The alpha always managed to calm him down.

There was a flurry of movement as Beck checked you over, Nick watching closely, not moving from his spot. As if he were a statue, frozen by pain.

“She’s going to be fine. I think she could use an IV with some fluids, and I can do a scan of her neck if you’re really worried,” Beck sighed, standing up. “But she’s okay. We could put her in the medical bay?”

“No. She stays here,” Nick snapped back quickly. Beck didn’t flinch, not phased by the icy mood of his boss. “Do the IV here.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go get the stuff from downstairs if you want to get her into bed for me. Her body is pretty run down, so I imagine she’ll wake up when she’s got some energy back.” Not waiting for a response, Beck packed his things. On the way out, he passed Nick, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Accidents happen. It’s okay.”

Without further comment, Beck left, leaving Nick staring at you. He could have snapped your neck and not even realised.

Nick ran a hand over his face, the memories of his sister still fresh in his mind; he couldn’t protect her or his mother, but he could keep you safe. You were the only thing that had ever made him feel human.

After the loss of his family, he’d turned into a hardened shell. But something about you and your homely scent cracked his defences. Around you, his heart was exposed. It meant he could love with a burning intensity, but also hurt just as much.

Body tensed, Nick maneuvered you carefully so the sheet and duvet shielded you from the cool night air. You were covered in your slick and Nick’s cum, but washing you was an issue he’d resolve after you’d rested.

Waiting for Beck to return, Nick pulled up an armchair to sit beside you. He’d never let you see this side of him, not for now anyway. He wasn’t ready. But with you unaware, Nick leant forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry, omega.”

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#ambs answers #cherished anons #ambswrites #clockwork au #nick fowler #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x reader #chris beck #sebastian stan #sebastian stan character #sebastian stan fanfiction #nick fowler fanfiction #dark fic

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morthstaar · 1 year

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Anon: Can I request some dominant medic nsfw with a reader who is AFAB?

DOMINANT MEDIC HEADCANNONS AND A LIL SHORT STORY (NSFW)

Wooowwie, where to start?

Medic is definitely a switch, but I think he is more Dom leaning.

He loves roleplaying patient/insane doctor which consists of tying you down to the gurney and him absolutely overstimulating you to tears.

Speaking of tears, HE HAS A THING FOR CRYINNGG

HAS A DUMBIFICATION KINK.

He likes to pleasure you to no end to the point where you can’t even speak a coherent sentence, and he is so damn proud that he is still mentally intact unlike you.

“ Oh hoho! My Liebling, you are trembling so much! Do I make you feel that good? Hm? What was that? I can’t understand you when you are slurring your words!! “

He also really likes to bite. When he is on top of you, pounding you into oblivion, he leans down and licks your neck before biting it and creating marks that will be there for daysss.

Choking. Soft slapping. Degradation. He likes it all.

Man handling bro.. he uses his strength to his advantage so he can just pick you up and absolutely fuck you against a wall.

SIZE KINK. HE IS BIG, AND HE LIKES THAT YOU ARE SMALLER THAN HIM.

HE LIKES BUILDING UP TO THE MOMENT AND THEN LEAVING YOU DESPERATE HEHEAHAH EVIIL.

Loves when you are all a mess for him. It fuels his god-complex

lil story for y’all horny asses

Medic couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help his urges when you, his girlfriend,are just sitting there biting your lip in concentration as you fill out papers he gave you. You are just,, so delicious and ripe for the picking. He couldn’t help that every time you looked at him, something is his pants seemed to perk up in interest and intrigue.

It wasn’t really surprising when he suddenly got up from his desk and advanced towards you in long strides. He had turned your swivel chair to face him. His arms were trapping you in, and your faces were so close. You could see the arousal and lust in his eyes. His pupils were dead set on your lips. Your,, plump and bitable lips.

“ Mein Taube, do you have any idea what you do to me? “

And with that said, he very roughly put his lips on yours. He removed his hands from the back of your chair to pick you up and set you on the desk. He pushed loose papers out the way so he can set you flat on his work table. He moved his right hand to your throat and simply squeezed so the airflow was stopped for a second. The heat between your legs heightened. The sounds that came out of your mouth were soft whines and moans. You loved that he was rough with you.

“ The sounds you make,, they are just delicious. Do you like when I am dominating you, dear? I know you do. “

His other hand went to the button on your work pants. With ease, he unbuttoned and slipped the article of clothing off your body. His fingers trailed down to your underwear and slowly began to trace the outline of your wet slit. His fingers were barely touching you but it felt like heaven. Medic began to make his way into your underwear and made a b-line for your clit. He did an experimental rub to see what kind of reaction you would make. It did not disappoint.

You arched your back and closed your eyes as you felt him rub your sensitive spot. The moans coming out of your mouth were absolutely filthy.

When he gets you right to the edge, he completely stops.

“ I’m not letting you cum until I have had my fun. “

#team fortess 2 #tf2 medic x reader #medic x reader #tf2 medic #tf2 x you #team fortress 2 x reader

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highfunctioningflailgirl · 3 months

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Damage Control - 1x12 Faith

Dean is so unlike Dean when they leave for Nebraska the next morning, it hurts to see. He’s acting like Dean - the bravado, the self-deprecating jokes, the refusal to accept help - but he’s so weak that it’s a complete shit show, and Sam can see right through it. His brother moves like an octogenarian, slowly and using every surface his hands find for support. When he comes out of the shower, he has to sit down and catch his breath, his lips tinged blue, and no amount of complaining about the water pressure or claiming that all he needs is coffee will mask his frailty. Frailty. Not a word Sam thought he’d ever use for his unstoppable brother, but here it is.

Sam inconspicuously helps him pack, placing Dean’s items within reach to speed up the process. When they’re finally in the car, Sam insists on two stops - one for a healthy breakfast to go, and one at the hospital to pick up the medication Dean left behind when he checked himself out. One of them - a diuretic to take the strain off Dean’s ailing heart - makes him have to pee every hour or so, and the jokes about it quickly turn into sullen silence when they have to stop at yet another gas station.

Dean sleeps a lot between bathroom breaks, and while he’s always been able to immediately drop into slumber in the safety of the Impala, no matter how uncomfortable his position in the passenger seat, it’s a different kind of sleep now. Not the deep-breathing, childlike oblivion Dean usually has about him, all fanning lashes, parted lips and loose limbs. Now, his shallow breathing is barely audible, his brow is furrowed, and he looks so grey that Sam feels the urge to check his pulse every now and then.

How did this happen? How did Sam let this happen?

He should’ve been with Dean. Could’ve kept the idiot from using a taser while sitting in a puddle of fucking water. Physics, man! Had Dean never paid attention in school?! He wishes it’d been the other way around - Dean taking the kids to safety while Sam finished off the Rawhead. None of this would’ve happened and they’d be on their next hunt now instead of on a Hail Mary tour to a faith healer to keep Dean from dying of goddamn heart failure at twenty-six.

As if feeling Sam’s anger, Dean stirs beside him, one hand lifting to his chest to rub at it even before he’s fully awake. His face creases in discomfort, and his eyes flutter open, disoriented and bloodshot.

“You okay?” Sam asks immediately.

“Yeah.” Dean coughs dryly and sounds anything but okay. “Where are we?”

“Bout halfway. You need anything?”

Dean grimaces. “Gotta take a piss.” He shakes his head, looking drawn. “I swear, Sammy, this is the last time I’ve taken those stupid pills. I feel like a fucking sprinkler system.”

“You can’t stop taking them, Dean. They keep fluids from building up in your system. If you don’t take them, you’ll—“ Sam stops. He can’t go there.

“My ankles will swell to elephant size and I’ll drown in my own gunk,” Dean finishes cynically. “I heard what the doctor said, Sam. But frankly, I don’t care. If I only have a couple weeks left, I’d rather not spend half of them in front of urinals.”

“Dean…”

“What?” He throws up his hands in frustration, and even that small gesture looks like an effort. “It’s my life — well, my death. I get to decide what to do with it!”

He coughs again, and his breathing turns into that of a spent runner. Not for the first time, Sam thinks they should have brought the portable oxygen kit the hospital had offered, but, of course, Dean had refused.

“Hey, easy!” Sam says, cranking the window open for a little more air. “One: You’re not dying. I’m taking you to a specialist who’ll fix you up. And two: You’re taking the medicine. If this works out, you won’t need to take it much longer. And I don’t mind the pit stop. I need coffee.”

“Make that two.”

“Dean, you’re not supposed to—“

“Coffee, dude! And pie.”

At least his appetite is still normal.

Sam finds a Gas ‘n Sip and pulls up to the entrance as close as possible. Their short walk inside is this new tug-of-war of Sam offering assistance and Dean rejecting it until he loses to his weakened body and ends up leaning on Sam with an expression of grievous defeat. Sam helps him back to the Impala before getting their order of coffee and pie - pecan for Dean - and getting back on the road.

To his dismay, Sam watches his brother lose interest in his favorite food only halfway through, and that’s another unsettling new development to add to the quickly growing list. Dean listlessly picks at the pie with the plastic fork until he just stops and deflates, looking out the window with a thousand-yard-stare.

Sam’s own heart clenches in his chest. He can’t imagine Dean going down like this - frail, defeated, drained. And with no resistance whatsoever. Dean’s always been a fighter. Where is that fight now?

“It’s only a couple more hours, Dean,” he feels compelled to say. “We’ll get you right. You’ll see.”

Dean trains his big, wet, deeply shadowed eyes on him. “No, we won’t, Sammy.”

“Dean!” Sam grips the steering wheel harder. “How can you say that! I found this specialist, and he can save you!”

Dean shakes his head. “No, he can’t. Whatever hotshot doctor he is, Sam, it’s not gonna save me. It’s too late. I can feel it.”

Anger rises in Sam. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Well, there’s this heart condition I have…”

“No, you fucking idiot!” Sam’s not taking it. “I mean what’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you fighting this? Why are you just giving up? That’s not you, man!”

“Because there’s nothing to fight, Sammy!” A blotch of color creeps into Dean’s pale cheeks. “I know how to gank a monster. I know how to torch a ghost. But this? There’s nothing to go up against! We always say ‘If you can grab it, you can kill it.’ But there’s nothing to grab here! Nothing to kill! There’s no way out, Sammy! And you gotta accept that.”

“I’ll never accept it,” Sam answers, and he fixes his brother with a determined stare. “I’m gonna save you. You’ll see. You’ll see.”

Dean huffs as if he’s dealing with a basket case and shrinks back into his seat. “Whatever.” The conversation seems to have depleted him. His lips have taken on that bluish tint again, and he’s holding his paper cup with both hands, shoulders tucked in, as if huddling for warmth.

“Want a blanket?”

“Shut up.”

Sam steps on the gas. If Dean doesn’t want to fight, he’ll have to do it for the both of them.

Read the entire series on AO3 here:

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nightingaleflow · 1 year

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Violet and Lotus, Chapter 5

AO3 Link

Fandom: Naruto Rating: T Pairing: Rock Lee x Nezumi Chisaki (OC) Chapter Word Count: 4.3k Warnings/Tags for this chapter: More medical stuff, There Was Only One Bed 2.0, hot springs time and the partial nudity that comes with it.

A/N: What's this? A new chapter of Violet and Lotus? It's true!

Sorry this took so long to put together - I was stuck for the longest time on how I wanted to get this chapter to proceed. Then I reread one of my favorite fics, Human Weakness by @valkyriav, and was re-inspired by a hot springs scene she had there. So shoutout to Valk for being my muse. <3

Hope you enjoy!

When Lee woke up the following morning, he felt incredibly content. The light of the sun was diluted through the shoji, bathing the room in faint golden light. The blankets were perfectly warm, and the mattress and pillows were as soft as clouds. He was tempted to blow off his morning routine and follow the lure back to the oblivion of sleep. But he took a deep breath and opened his eyes, reaching down to pull back the covers.

That’s when he realized something was amiss.

Nezumi’s head was lying on his chest, her arm draped over his stomach. One of her legs was tangled between his. She shifted in her sleep, tilting her head, and he could see that she was smiling softly as her breath warmed his chest. His own arm was loosely wrapped around her shoulder, holding her close.

He frantically looked around. The pillows he’d arranged between himself and Nezumi were scattered on the floor, no longer separating them. He looked back down at her and pulled his arm away from her shoulder, color draining from his face. Immediately, her brow furrowed, and she nuzzled closer, grumbling. Lee blinked, then slowly replaced his arm. Nezumi relaxed against him, the smile returning to her face.

In spite of himself, Lee’s heart melted. She looked absolutely precious.

Precious. The word echoed in his mind, over and over again, giving him pause. He’d only ever applied that word to one person before: Sakura. He’d declared her his most precious person seven years ago when he’d declared his love for her and protected her in the Forest of Death. Things had changed since then - they’d gotten older, he’d matured somewhat, and Sakura was now dating Tenten, his teammate. Even so, he still considered her a precious friend.

But never before had he thought to award that title to someone else. He’d tried moving on, even going on a blind date that Ino and Tenten had set him up on. That had gone disastrously, with the girl taking one look at who was waiting for her at the table and promptly turning around. Lee had been extremely upset that night, and had resigned himself to a life of being single.

Now, though, with Nezumi snuggled up to him, he couldn’t help but think that maybe his luck was changing.

He then shook his head rapidly. This couldn’t work. Nezumi was his mission leader, and she was in his care right now. She was off limits and he needed to be respectful of that, no matter how nice it felt to hold her.

Then, to his horror, he felt her slowly shift in his arms. He held his breath, waiting for inevitable scolding. She yawned, blinking her eyes open. Then her entire body went stiff. She jerked back to her side of the bed, pulling half the covers with her as she made an unintelligible squeaking.

“Nezumi!” Lee said, leaping out of the bed and bowing his head. “Please, let me explain!”

Nezumi didn’t seem to hear him. She jumped out of bed, still making quiet squeaks as she raced towards the bathroom. But just as she reached the halfway point, she stopped. She groaned softly, sinking down onto the mattress and rubbing her temples.

Lee immediately darted to her side. “Nezumi? Are you all right?”

Nezumi put her head between her knees and breathed slowly. “I think so,” she said. “Just not fully recovered from yesterday.”

Lee reached out to steady her, but froze, his hands an inch away. There was no way she’d welcome his touch right now. So instead, he primly folded his hands, his voice growing quiet. “Perhaps you should return to bed,” he said. “I will bring you some food.”

Nezumi shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”

“All right,” Lee said reluctantly. “But please let me know if I can help.”

Nezumi nodded and returned her focus to her breathing. Lee looked around, hating how useless he felt. He spotted a leftover water bottle on the dresser, still unopened from last night. He grabbed it and brought it to the bed, waiting patiently until Nezumi raised her head. They both turned pink as their eyes met, but Lee still offered her the bottle. “At least drink this,” he insisted.

Nezumi twisted the cap off, then drained a quarter of the bottle in one gulp. “Thank you,” she said, her voice lowering.

“Of course,” Lee replied, his voice just as quiet. “It is no trouble.”

Nezumi’s cheeks turned pink, and she hastily took another sip of water, bowing her head.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Lee asked, looking alarmed.

“Yeah,” Nezumi replied. “I appreciate you worrying about me, but I promise, I’m fine.”

Lee didn’t believe her.

“Are you sure you would not rather rest here?” he asked, his tone as gentle as he could make it. “I would be more than happy to get you whatever you need.”

Nezumi frowned, looking like she was about to say no. Then, as she tried to stand, her legs trembled like branches in the wind. Lee wrapped his arm around her, supporting her as she reluctantly sat back down. “Ok,” she agreed. “I’ll stay here until I’ve eaten something.”

“Thank you,” Lee said, feeling relieved. He carefully helped her back into bed, pulling the covers up around her. “You just rest, Nezumi. I will be right back.”

Nezumi nodded, turning her reddened face away.

Lee kept smiling until he was out in the hallway. But as soon as the door closed, he sighed, silently cursing himself. Any chance he potentially had of developing a relationship with Nezumi, platonic or romantic, had just been thrown out the window. He doubted she would ever speak to him again once the mission was over, and he couldn’t blame her. It didn’t matter that she’d felt nice, snuggled in his arms. It didn’t matter that she’d ordered him to sleep in the bed. He should have just slept on the floor, consequences be damned.

He hadn’t even apologized to her. He’d just made excuses. He was less than a man, and certainly not someone worthy of Nezumi’s kindness.

His shoulders fell as he descended the stairs to the breakfast nook. He had noticed during the previous days that Nezumi seemed to like strawberry-flavored food, so he grabbed a pair of strawberry muffins and a bowl of mixed fruit for her. He didn’t feel hungry himself, so he took her food upstairs as he mentally rehearsed various apologies, each one seeming more inadequate than the last.

By the time he reached the room, his mind was completely blank except for two words: I’m sorry. But they weren’t enough and he knew it.

He hoped he could think of something by the time they finished eating.

They ate their breakfast in awkward silence. As soon as Nezumi was done, she excused herself from the room and hastily made her way to the lobby before Lee could speak, brushing away his concerns about her weakened state. She spent the morning exploring the gardens behind the hotel, slowly winding her way through the lush plants and rippling koi ponds. She eventually found a stone bench overlooking a pond. Then she sat down, looking out at the fish who immediately came to the surface looking for food.

“Sorry guys, I don’t have anything for you,” Nezumi said.

“Ah, good morning, Misaki!” a cheerful voice called.

Nezumi turned to see Sadako waving at her as she watered a flowerbed further down. “Oh, good morning, Sadako,” Nezumi said. “How are you?”

“I’m wonderful, thank you for asking,” Sadako replied. She looked at Nezumi meaningfully. “How are you doing?”

Nezumi lowered her head. “I’d be better if I hadn’t drank so much yesterday,” she lied, leaning into the cover Lee had given her.

Sadako laughed. “No need to feel embarrassed,” she said. “A lot of tourists overdo it. You’re not the first, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

“Still, I would rather not.” Nezumi bowed her head. “I apologize if I made any trouble for you.”

“None whatsoever,” Sadako replied, waving her hand. “Trust me, I’ve seen far worse.”

Nezumi smiled faintly. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Sadako smiled back. “You’re also quite lucky to have such a handsome young man taking care of you,” she said. “How’s Haru? I’m surprised he’s not here with you.”

Nezumi’s smile vanished. “He’s up in the room.”

Sadako frowned, then abandoned her watering can and sat down on the bench next to Nezumi. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Nezumi sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Sadako tilted her head. “Now, of course, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’m just hotel staff,” she said. “But I remember you saying that you and he were just friends.”

Nezumi nodded.

“Did something happen between you two?”

Nezumi’s face reddened. She tried to deny it, but the only thing that came out was a quiet squeaking.

Sadako smiled sympathetically. “So, it did. I assume that wasn’t the plan?”

Nezumi minutely shook her head.

“Forgive me, but…is that such a bad thing?”

Nezumi sighed. “I…I don’t know…” she said. “It’s complicated.”

Sadako nodded. “And that’s entirely ok not to know. But also, I often find that life rarely goes the way we plan.” She tilted her head back towards the hotel. “But if you need to clear your head, maybe try taking a soak in our hot springs?”

Nezumi lifted her head. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

Sadako smiled as she picked her watering can back up. “I’m always happy to help. Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you.”

Nezumi decided to eat lunch before going to the onsen. She gathered her courage and went back up to the room to ask Lee if he wanted lunch, but he had already left the room for parts unknown. Disappointed, she went back downstairs and quickly ate a sandwich before going to the hot spring.

Nezumi’s body relaxed as soon as she stepped through the red curtain, the steam wafting in as soon as she passed through. She quickly tucked her clothes in a basket and rinsed, then wrapped her hair in a towel before sinking into the water.

The hot spring was much like the one in Konoha. It consisted of one large oblong pool, split perfectly down the center by a wooden wall with women on one side and men on the other. She could hear a few nondescript voices coming from the men’s side, but she had the women’s completely to herself.

The last of her aches from using her jutsu melted away in the hot water. She sighed, leaning back against the edge of the bath. She sank lower, letting the bath consume her until only her head poked out.

As she relaxed, she let her mind drift back to Lee. She felt ashamed of herself. It should have been a simple thing. She had intruded on his space and made him uncomfortable. And yet, he’d still honored his end of things and taken care of her. The least she owed him was an apology. But she hadn’t been able to. She was too much of a coward, letting her personal embarrassment get in the way of common decency.

She didn’t deserve someone as sweet as Lee. Not as a friend, and certainly not as anything more than that.

From the other side of the wall, she heard some people splashing as they got out, chatting about their plans for the rest of the day. Once they went silent, everything was still and quiet, perfect for further relaxation.

Then she heard Lee sigh from the other side of the wall.

“Haru?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Ne - Misaki?” Lee asked, sounding as surprised as she felt. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” she managed, her cheeks catching fire. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Yes, for some time now,” he said, sounding nervous. “Um…how are you feeling?”

“...Better,” Nezumi said. “Um, how are you?”

“I am well,” Lee replied. “This hot spring is very nice.”

“Yeah,” Nezumi said. “Better than the ones at home.”

“I agree.”

Their conversation stilled, the only sound the quiet splashing of the water. Nezumi swallowed, knowing this was her chance to apologize. She shifted, trying to form the right words.

Then Lee sighed. “Forgive me, I do not wish to interrupt your relaxation,” he said. “I will come back later.”

“What - wait!” Nezumi protested. “You don’t have to go!”

“But you do not wish to be around me right now, yes?”

Nezumi’s heart shattered at how despondent he sounded. “No. What are you talking about?”

“No, it is all right, I understand,” Lee said. “I would not want to speak to me right now either.”

“...Is this about earlier?” Nezumi asked.

“...Yes,” Lee said. “I am sorry for my conduct. It was wrong of me.”

“No, Haru,” Nezumi said. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“You?” Lee asked, confused.

“Yes?” Nezumi replied. “I invaded your space and put you in an uncomfortable position. That was inappropriate of me, and I’m sorry.”

“No, Ne-Misaki. You have nothing to apologize for,” Lee replied. “I was the one who entered the bed after you were asleep. It is my fault.”

“You were also doing what I ordered,” Nezumi said. “You were in an unwinnable position, and that’s my fault.”

“I could have found another solution,” Lee said. “The best I could come up with was putting pillows between us, and that did not work.”

Nezumi remembered the pillows that were scattered around the bed. “Yeah, I guess one or both of us knocked them off in our sleep.”

“It would seem so,” Lee replied. “But it will not happen again. Tonight, I will take the floor. It is only fair.”

“No,” Nezumi replied. “We agreed you would take the bed for the rest of our trip.”

“We did,” Lee agreed. “But…

“But?” Nezumi prompted.

“...I am worried about you.”

The response Nezumi had prepared died away in her throat.

“I am glad to see you are getting better, but I am worried for you all the same,” Lee continued. “I want to make sure you are getting plenty of rest so you can finish recovering properly.”

“All right,” Nezumi finally said. “If it will make you feel better.”

Lee sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

Nezumi leaned against the wall. “So…are we ok?”

“...you forgive me?” Lee asked, the hope in his tone palpable.

“I’ll forgive you if you’ll forgive me?” Nezumi offered.

“Deal!” Lee said. A muffled thump came from the other side of the wall. “You cannot see it, but I am extending my hand to shake.”

Nezumi giggled, placing her hand on the wall. “I am too.”

“Then it is done!” A splashing sound came from the other side of the wall. “I will leave you in peace now. Shall I meet you back in the room later?”

“Sure,” Nezumi said. “I should only be another ten minutes or so”

“Then I will see you then!”

Lee took a few steps towards the hotel. Then he groaned, his footsteps stopping.

“Haru?” Nezumi called, sitting up. “Are you all right?”

Lee didn’t answer. A moment later, she heard his body hit the stone floor followed by a yelp.

Nezumi didn’t even think. She leapt out of the water, quickly securing her towel around her, then scurried over the wall.

Lee was hunched over next to a bench, a towel wrapped around his waist. He groaned, clutching his head. She dropped next to him, prying his hand away. A large bump swelled on his forehead, turning an ugly purple. “What happened?” she asked, her hand glowing green with chakra.

“Nez-Misaki!” Lee said. He turned red, his body caving in on itself as he tried to cover himself with his hands. “What are you doing here?”

“Healing you.” She pressed her fingers against his head. “What happened?”

Lee swallowed, not looking up at her. “When I got out of the water, I became lightheaded. I stumbled and hit my head on the bench.”

Nezumi frowned. “How long were you in there?”

“Thirty minutes or so?”

“You’re probably dehydrated,” Nezumi said, never tearing her eyes from the shrinking lump. Once it disappeared, she pressed her hand against his forehead, then checked his pulse. “Scratch the ‘probably’. You are dehydrated.” She wrapped her arm around him, steadying him as they stood. “Have you had anything to eat or drink recently?”

Lee shook his head. “I did not want any breakfast, and I was planning to eat lunch after this.”

Nezumi sighed. “Ok, then I want you to go back up to the room and drink some water,” she said, her tone not leaving any room for argument. “I’ll bring some food up in a minute.”

“All right,” Lee said, bowing awkwardly. “Thank you again, Nezumi.”

Nezumi waited until Lee disappeared into the changing room before returning to the women’s side of the wall. As she landed on the stone, it finally clicked in her brain what had just happened. She had not only seen, but also touched, Lee when he was wearing nothing but a towel. She froze, turning red as her brain replayed how well-defined his muscles were, turned to steel from years of training. His skin was marked with scars, from pink burns on his left arm and leg to a long surgical scar down his spine, but it didn’t detract from how beautiful he was.

Then, to make matters worse, he’d seen her. He’d seen her bare skin, her scars, her towel barely concealing her body…

She sank to the floor, squeaking incoherently as she buried her face in her hands.

Lee sat at the end of the bed, obediently sipping a bottle of water. He had foregone his disguise as well as his jumpsuit, choosing instead to wear the robe provided by the hotel. He still felt overheated, but the cold water and lack of insulation from the jumpsuit was helping.

He clenched the bottle, causing it to crackle as he thought about what had just happened. He had been doing so well, coming to an understanding with Nezumi and apologizing. He had felt better after clearing the air, starting to feel like he had a chance of nurturing the budding friendship they had formed.

And then he’d stopped paying attention as he got out of the water, causing him to slip and hurt himself. That forced Nezumi to jump over the wall to treat him, putting them both in a compromising position. His face burned as images of Nezumi in a towel played in his mind, stubbornly refusing to leave no matter how hard he tried to push them away. The towel had been damp, clinging to Nezumi’s skin, barely concealing her pale skin underneath. He had been equally indecent, his towel wrapped low around his waist while leaving the rest of his body exposed.

Lee groaned and pressed the water bottle against his head, trying to cool the renewed burning in his face.

The door opened, and Lee glanced up to see Nezumi - thankfully fully dressed - balancing two steaming bowls on a tray. “Welcome back,” Lee said, smiling at her as he tried to hide his embarrassment.

“Thanks,” Nezumi said, kicking the door shut behind her. “How are you feeling?”

“Still a little warm.”

Nezum frowned, then set the tray down and walked over to him. She gently pressed her fingers against his pulse and laid her hand on his forehead, making his heart beat faster. “Your temperature is getting back to normal,” she said. “Just rehydrate and take it easy for the rest of today, and you should be fine.”

Lee nodded. “Thank you for your help,” he said, lowering his head. “I am sorry for inconveniencing you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Nezumi replied, handing him a bowl. “I’m a medic. That’s my job.”

“Even so, I did not mean to make things…awkward,” Lee said, turning red. “And I do not wish to disrespect you in any way. I…” he swallowed, struggling to form the rest of the words. “I hope you do not think less of me for what you saw.”

Nezumi’s face flushed pink, but she shook her head. “Of course not,” she said. “Why would I?”

Lee looked away, the red hue on his cheeks darkening. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again.

Nezumi’s voice softened. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

Lee blinked. “Nezumi?”

“I know I was acting as a medic,” Nezumi went on. “But I’m sure it was a surprise to see me on your side of the wall.”

“No, that is not it,” Lee replied. “I was merely worried about making you uncomfortable, given…well, everything.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Nezumi let out a small giggle, hastily hidden behind her hand as she blushed. The sight was so cute, Lee couldn’t help but laugh too, smiling apologetically at her. This only made Nezumi laugh harder, which made Lee laugh harder in turn.

A minute later, they finally calmed down. Lee took a deep breath, wiping at his eyes. “I suppose we were both worried for nothing.”

“So it seems.” Nezumi carefully wiped her own tears away from her flushed face. “Here. You should eat your curry before it gets cold.”

“You got us curry?” Lee asked, his face lighting up.

Nezumi nodded. “We need to get some food in you. Might as well be your favorite.”

She handed him a bowl, the steam wafting gently around her face. Lee thanked her profusely, scarfing down the curry in large gulps. The concoction scalded his tongue, and he immediately felt better. He smiled brightly at Nezumi as she politely ate her curry.

When she smiled back, it made him feel even warmer.

Nezumi and Lee relaxed in the room for the rest of the day. Nezumi read a book she’d picked up from the gift shop, and Lee trained after he promised that he wouldn’t overdo it. They left only to get dinner in the restaurant downstairs. When they returned to their room, they packed up their things, Nezumi speculating that they would receive word from Kakashi sometime the following day.

As Nezumi dressed for bed, she felt a prickle of indecision. Lee appeared to be at full health again, but she was still worried after his earlier episode. It didn’t feel right for her to take the bed, even if she wasn’t at 100%. But she also knew that he would refuse if she offered, and she didn’t want to order him now that they were back on equal ground.

She sighed, wishing there was an easy solution.

When she went out into the room, Lee was unsnapping his bedroll from his pack, looking lost in thought. She frowned. She had to say something.

“Rock?”

He jumped, looking over at her with wide eyes. “Yes, Nezumi?” he asked, sounding startled.

“I want you to have the bed tonight,” Nezumi replied, pointing at it.

Lee looked even more startled. “But…did we not come to an agreement earlier?”

“Yes, but things have changed,” Nezumi replied. “You need to be at your full strength tomorrow, so you need to get a good night’s sleep tonight.”

“But, you do as well,” Lee pointed out. “I promise, I can sleep just as well on the floor as I can on the bed.”

Nezumi shook her head. “Rock, please,” she said. “I’m worried about you.”

Just as he’d done with her, those words stopped Lee’s arguments in their tracks. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his cheeks dusted pink. He cleared his throat, still obviously uncertain.

The memory of the night before played in Nezumi’s head. She blushed, remembering waking up in Lee’s arms. A small, traitorous part of her brain wanted that again, because in the space before she’d realized what was happening, she felt warm and comfortable. But Lee would never agree to that…

She stopped herself. They had both assumed a lot of things about each other on this mission, and every time, they’d been wrong. It would be far better to just ask. Plus, even if he said no, he wouldn’t hold it against her.

She swallowed, her cheeks burning. “How about this?” Nezumi said. “Do you trust me?”

Lee nodded. “Of course.”

“Then what if we just share?”

Lee’s face caught fire. “W-hat?”

“Both of us want the other to get a good night’s sleep, and both of us need to be at our full strength tomorrow,” Nezumi replied, ignoring her own blush. “So, why don’t we just share?”

Lee’s eyes were huge. “Nezumi, are you sure?”

Nezumi nodded, folding her arms as she tried to remain calm. “Yeah. You trust me, and I trust you. I think this is the best solution.”

Lee stayed silent for a long moment. Nezumi waited anxiously, praying she hadn’t messed anything up between them.

Finally, Lee nodded. “All right,” he said, his face still red.

Nezumi blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Lee said. “It is as you said. It is the best solution to ensure we both get rest.”

“All right then,” Nezumi said, her voice rising in pitch. “Shall we then?”

Lee nodded, then slowly peeled back the covers as if they would bite him. Nezumi slid in on her side, keeping her gaze lowered until she turned to face the wall.

Lee turned off the lights, plunging them both into darkness. They both laid in silence, their breathing slow and deliberate. Nezumi closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep even though she was wide awake. That traitorous part of her brain wanted her to roll back over and cuddle up to Lee again. She crossed her arms, hugging herself in an attempt to make the urge go away.

When they finally did fall asleep, Nezumi dreamed of a future with Lee. Of the two of them lying in a meadow near Konoha, gazing at one another as a warm breeze made the leaves dance around them. It made her heart beat fast as she basked in his love, and when she finally awoke, she silently hoped that one day, that future would become a reality.

Tag List: @justmyownreality @therantingfangirl @mrsbakashi @anchy-bananchy @hashira-mal @allyallygator @nnandmm-archived-hard @undersero (if you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know)

#nightingale writes #violet and lotus #nezulee #nezumi chisaki #rock lee #rock lee x oc #naruto oc #my oc #naruto #naruto fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #my writing

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ourladytamara · 2 years

Text

Weight Training

(1.1k)

Tamara 02/22/2022 | @_ourladytamara

Cws: enemas, horse cum, state violence, institutionalization, carceral kink, CNC, fisting, gaping, mentions of pregnancy/breeding

“Dobroye utro, Patient 21!”

Oh no. Doctor Gurianova’s working today.

The lights in your storage cell shunt on, blinding you for long enough to allow the demure woman to walk right up to your cheek. Her long, forked tongue slides across your face, a trail of drool left in her wake. Your vision returns from white oblivion, staring back at her fierce, wrinkle-marked eyes.

“Good news! State Recquisition Office paperwork to move you into breeding work finally approved – you’ll be able to work off that sedition sentence, moya divushka! Aren’t you excited?”

You can’t speak on account of being utterly gagged by an oversized feeding tube down your throat, locked in place with an over-tightened head harness, but you shake your head a tiny bit anyways. Resisting or not didn’t matter, so you might as well tell her what you’re really feeling – not like she’ll listen.

“Of course you are! Being good citizen is important to every subject of the Demesne, da? We like to hear this.”

You are so angry you would spit. She spits on you, first, turning away from the harness that keeps you restricted to the wall. A low, guttural laugh; you’d be distracted by how good she looks in the black labcoat, had you not known better. After all, overly-lustful gazes at a few Commissars not during designated public lustfulness hours were why you were in here to begin with.

During your blindness, you’d not noticed her wheeling in a stainless steel tray and cart. It sits in the corner of your cell, just off to the side of her enormous form while she washes her hands and stretches on her black latex gloves. It’s got a small, clear bottle of fluid atop it – and a hose, coiled up around a medical drum sat beneath the instrument tray.

Hoses were never a good thing in Demesne institutions.

The Doctor smiles at you, tightening the bun she’d done her graying hair up into. She smells like bleach and alcohol, sterile air seeming to follow her around; beneath it, though, something stronger, more sour, masked beneath the struggling chemistry.

“We know how unfair would be to throw you right into collective birthing so quickly – so! We devise plan to help you acclimate, da? You will love.”

Gurianova leans down and grabs the end of the hose in one hand, and flips a switch on the cell wall with the other – a second later, the mechanical vice lodged into your asshole starts spreading you open. You wince, panting, eyes widening in terror; she ignores you, however, rolling the little cart with the tank over to your side.

She sets the hose across the tray and takes the little bottle into her fingers, popping the cap and spreading a thick, slimy glob of lubricant across the now-shiny black gloves. Without delay, she pulls in close to you and slides her sticky digits into your ass, now spread wide and vulnerable by the mechanical speculum.

“Mmmh, patient, I can tell internment has been assisting with looseness – this is good sign! You will need it.”

Gurianova manages to get her entire fist inside of you before even brushing up against your innards, your hole spread so wide that it offers no resistance whatsoever. She leans back, grabbing the hose, now – and tightening a cinch around the end until it terminates in a rounded, semi-pointed tip.

Before you can even put two and two together, she’s stuffing it inside of you, using her lubricated hand as a guide to force it in as deep as it’ll go. It’s ribbed, slinking through your guts like a disgusting, knotted worm; you’d retch, if your gag reflex wasn’t so thoroughly stifled beneath surgical plastic.

In a few moments of bleary, painful pleasure, the hose is seemingly well-attached, buried deep somewhere within you. The doctor smiles at her handiwork, patting you on the spitty, sweat-and-tear-drenched cheek with her lubed hand.

“See tank? Training device.”

Your eyes fixate on the little steel cylinder, noticing a little gauge and motor off to the side. No. No.

“Will help you become accustomed to feeling of gravid motherhood – Fertility Bureau expect triplet.”

She flips the switch on. A low, gurgling churn begins, followed by distinct vibrations in the tube hooked into your colon. No.

“No worries, though – not real cum.”

Pearlescent globs of it start working their way up the half-transluscent plastic tube.

“Harvest from State Cavalry Corps – very safe. Has many nutrients.”

A continual flow of horse semen is unleashed inside of your guts. In an instant you can feel it, expanding and stretching and flowing inside of you. By feeling the tube running up your leg, it’s still warm; horribly, unsettlingly warm, as if it were… freshly-squeezed. It sprays out of the end of the hose like the world’s most violent orgasm; had it not been for the sticky confines of your innards, it would’ve been coming out of the tip entirely laminar.

In mere seconds you see your stomach start to inflate, distend, stretch around the sheer quantity of liquid being injected into you. It doesn’t take long before you’re blowing up as if you’re pregnant; first trimester, second trimester, and finally, third. Your skin aches, stretched tight across a bloated, cum-filled interior like sheets that’d shrunk in the wash. Gurianova smiles and chortles to herself once more.

“See? Is similar to motherhood, is not? Very good, very good.”

She switches off the pump, the pressure gauge on the tank dropping to zero. You gasp, burp, gag; your body is entirely unaware of what to do with such a massive invasion. Perhaps you should’ve stayed quiet, though – the good Doctor takes note of your suffering.

With a powerful arm, she yanks the hose right out of your ruined, aching, dripping ass. It’s like you’re being turned inside out – at least until the locking vice in your hole slams shut, your tight, muscled rectum snapping shut and locking all three gallons of your equine training inside.

You’re hanging there, the weight on your stomach almost too much to bear. Gurianova slaps your stomach, prompting you to dry-heave violently.

“Morning sickness.”

She cackles right into your face. Without a further word, turns away from you and wheels the cart and tank back into the storage wing’s hall – but before she’s gone, she comes back to your side, once more.

She hooks the feeding tube on the wall into your gag, a slow, potent flow of nutrient slurry now joining the cum in your innards.

Everything is pain.

“I will be seeing you in impregnation wing, next week – until then, patient 21, please acclimate to pregnancy. We would hate to see any expecting mothers uncomfortable.”

A final laugh. She leaves, shutting the powerful fluorescents off before slamming the opaque door, leaving you, and your horribly-stuffed guts, to stew in the agonizing darkness.

Perhaps eventually they’d realize you can’t get pregnant.

#subscriber stories

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agntofhydra · 4 years

Text

Sawbones // SIX

(gif credit)

summary: Red String of Fate Soulmate AU

Soul mates have a red thread tied to each others pinkies that only one of them can see.

You’re the Resistance’s head medic. You can see the red thread of fate that leads you to your soulmate. Poe doesn’t believe in the soulmate / thread theory. You don’t agree with his tactics, nor does he approve of yours. Leia and Holdo just really want a win.

pairing: poe dameron x reader

rating: mature for later chapters

read me on ao3!

the masterlist | the playlist

read on till the end for notes!

CONTENT WARNING: this chapter contains drug use and more swearing than usual.

SAWBONES // SIX

CALM DOWN, STARBOY.

You’d surprised yourself, honestly.

Maybe you were cut out for politics - the way you were able to stand in line with Poe and the Generals, keep your face blank and greet the new recruits without a scowl? It was nothing short of impressive. For you and Poe to stand shoulder to shoulder, his hands clasped behind him while yours were clasped in front, and not glance down at the stupid fucking string and notice that it was probably the shortest it’s ever been entitled you to an award. Maybe a nice vacation, off base? For the entirety of this training?

That would be nice.

You half expected Poe to jump into her arms, like people often did when their significant others returned from a flight. He didn’t. In fact, Poe’s expression did not crack from it’s diplomatic mask. Shoulders back, jaw clenched and chin out, Poe scanned the pilots as they left their ships, and you couldn’t help but watch him from the corner of your eye. Poe now diametrically opposed who he had been in your office, his stupid smile now a faint memory.

Diplomatic, political Poe was one you hadn’t met nor seen in person.

Diplomatic, political Poe was hot.

Poe’s posture elongated his spine, jutted his chest out and brought forth his collar bones. Your eyes once again traced his gold chain.

Maybe you didn’t deserve all the praise you’d previously granted yourself as you openly ogled the man next to you. But Poe was your soulmate. It granted you an ogle pass, whether or not both parties were aware.

The pilots had lined up, helmets off and tucked under their arms. They were the perfect image, the very epitome of what people would want to see on Resistance banners. You’d purposely not remembered their names in spite. You were the Head Medic of the Resistance - they should have to introduce themselves to you.

Leia greeted them, her words sounded garbled as your eyes met the infamous Scoria Tane. She stood tall, her long white hair in a loose french braid. Her chestnut skin seemingly unmarred with such trivial marks like pores. You felt the breath leave your chest as her eyes flitted over to meet Poe’s. No matter how brief, you still caught it. You couldn’t feel any change in Poe’s demeanor, but you didn’t want to chance glancing over to see if there was a smile on his face. No need to put salt in an already festering wound.

“This is our head medic,” Leia introduced you. Your head turned to hers before returning back to the recruits with a small nod. You were really mucking up your air of superiority.

Besides Scoria, there was only one other human. And he was staring at you.

“It’s an honor to be here, Generals,” the man spoke up, his eyes momentarily leaving your figure to address Holo, Ackbar and Leia. “It seems like a large base. I don’t know about my fellow pilots, but I would love a tour.” His eyes were back on you.

“I’m sure Commander Dameron would be more than willing to accommodate you, Commander Ancin,” Holo nodded.

Ancin smiled slightly. “Doctor, would you have the time?”

You had been trying very hard not to meet his gaze, but his lack of subtlety forced your hand. However, Poe had beaten you to a response.

“She’s very busy,” he cleared his throat. “Still has to conduct your physicals and stress tests. I am more than willing to give you a tour,” his tone was clipped.

Ancin didn’t even spare Poe a glance, and you saw Poe clench his hands from behind his back out of your peripheral vision. You desperately wanted to pause time, to knock your shoulders or nudge him with your elbow. But you couldn’t, not with the audience in front of you.

“It’s fine, Commander Dameron. I’m sure I could spare some time,” you responded, feeling like your skin was on fire. No doubt the white of your coat further contrasted the fact that your face was also on fire.

“Great,” Ancin switched his helmet to the other arm. “Can we begin now?” He turned to Leia quickly. “My apologies, unless there was more to be discussed?”

Leia gave him a tight smile. “The specifics can be gone over later.”

Ancin nodded before breaking formation with his fellow pilots and grabbing your arm. “Shall we, Doc?”

If you would’ve had the time to turn your head as Ancin grabbed you, you would’ve seen the way Poe clenched his jaw impossibly tight and watched as the Coruscant’s pilot Commander dragged you away. If you would’ve perhaps taken the time to drag your eyes away from Poe’s chest and face earlier, you would’ve noticed that since the beginning of this whole situation, Poe had been slowly dragging the pointer finger of his right hand over the base of his left pinky.

If you did, maybe you wouldn’t have agreed to showing someone around a base you barely knew yourself.

“I’m going to apologize in advance,” you began, subtly removing your arm from his grip. “I don’t really know the base that well either. I know hangars, cafeteria and meeting room. But only in relation to the medbay.”

“That’s okay,” he smiled down at you. “We can figure it out together.”

You hadn’t forced yourself to memorize the names of the pilots, but hearing Ancin jogged your memory from when you had skimmed their files. You were pretty sure his first name was Cane, and if the galaxy could pick one person to represent them, it would probably be him.

Cane Ancin was objectively gorgeous. He was tall, several inches taller than you and most likely Poe, too. His cheekbones and jawline were sharp, and you remembered bitterly that he must be ridiculously fit, because he had one of the lowest resting heart rates you’d ever seen. He was broad, and his curls rivaled Poe’s. You outwardly winced at the comparison.

“Something wrong?” he asked, putting a hand on your shoulder. You tried not to shrug it off.

“Nothing. Just uh, remembering all the stuff I have to do back in the medbay.”

Cane wasn’t bothered. “Let’s start moving then, yeah?”

The two of you had continued walking for a couple of paces, Cane watching you out of the corner of his eye, not even bothering to take account of where the two of you were.

Fleetingly, you wondered if the base would be able to accommodate both Cane and Poe’s ego.

“Why did you want me to give you a tour?” you asked, his silent watching pushing you to the brink.

Cane shrugged. “Is it a crime to ask a beautiful woman to show me around?”

You blinked at him.

“Tell me,” his voice viscous like honey. He increased his stride so he could stand in front of you, abruptly stopping your movement. Throwing civility to the wind, you openly scowled.

“Can you see your thread?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. Could you have a conversation about literally anything else or was the soulmate tether your whole life now? You couldn’t work, sleep, or even eat without thinking about it. You’d never piloted one before, but you were sure that you could figure out how to steer an x-wing into oblivion. Sure, you had two of the best pilots in the galaxy on base that would catch your ass in no time, but it was nice to pretend that they couldn’t.

Cane looked you up and down slowly. You weren’t exactly sure what he was looking at. Your boots, black leggings and white coat buttoned up to your throat didn’t really emanate sexy, but this guy was weird. It probably did seem sexy to him. Your scowl deepened.

“I can see mine,” he drawled. Now would’ve been a great moment for one of your infamous ‘i’m gonna be sick’ moments. “And let me tell you, I like where it leads.”

You snorted. “Calm down, starboy. I can see mine, too.”

Cane deflated.

“Does that actually work? Do you get people with that?” you questioned, tapping on your chin. “Even on a few shots of fire-water I still don’t think I would’ve fell for it.”

Cane didn’t stay off-guard for long - after you were done speaking, he let out a laugh and held his hands up as if to say, ‘well, I tried.’

“It does sometimes,” he said. “The addition of fire-water does seem to increase the chances, though I figured I would try it with you regardless.”

“You pilots are always so risky,” the two of you fell into step again. The tension seemed to have dissipated instantly. “Always shoot first, ask questions later.”

“You speak from experience,” Cane raised an eyebrow.

“Do you know how many pilots end up in my medbay because of that mentality?” You shook your head. “Craziest beings in the galaxy, I swear.”

“Dameron is the worst of us,” he responded, and you didn’t miss the way his expression steeled. You stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“Commander of the Resistance? You really trust that guy?”

You narrowed your eyes, the words your brain wanted to speak in defense of Poe stilled at the tip of your tongue. You didn’t expect someone to join the ‘I hate Poe Dameron’ club, but as soon as it crossed your mind, you realized you weren’t even part of that club. You were in the ‘I hate loving Poe Dameron’ club. President of the ‘My soulmate is a douche but it’s totally my fault’ club.

You could go on.

“What’s your issue with Poe?” you asked.

“Typical he hasn’t mentioned me,” Cane scratched his bare jaw. It made you realize you preferred stubble. “He’s just...not the guy you all think he is.”

“Don’t be vague,” you said, annoyed.

“The guy just...he’s not this straight-laced, hero of the Resistance. Hell, I haven’t even been here a day and I can tell the whole base fucking worships him, and for what?”

“For being a good pilot?” you answered what was most likely a rhetorical question. “For risking his life every time he gets in that ship, getting us First Order intel and directly playing a role in saving the galaxy?” You were getting angrier by the second. Whatever past he had with Poe, you didn’t care about it.

“Might I remind you it’s the same galaxy that you and I both live in? We all have shit we’ve done in the past. How we move on from it defines us.” You stopped yourself before saying something you would regret, revealing too much to a man you didn’t know. And honestly? You didn’t care to.

You continued when Cane stayed silent.

“You don’t have skeletons in the closet? If you know Poe’s, I’m sure he knows yours.”

You turned to him, conveniently stopped outside of the double doors to your medbay. The harsh fluorescents illuminated Cane’s face, exposing the conflict and discord written all over his features. Whatever thoughts were floating in his head made you feel uneasy, as though you were teetering on a tightrope. Cane didn’t meet your gaze, instead he chose to finally notice his surroundings.

He inhaled deeply and exhaled for longer. You waited patiently.

“I’ll see you around for my tests, Doc.” Cane continued to walk down the hallway, and you fought the urge to point out that it was the opposite direction he needed to go. ...right?

You couldn’t dwell on your mediocre sense of direction before you heard the whoosh of air form the double doors opening and FX-7’s bulky metal frame towering over you. Droid or not, you could feel the disapproval from the lit, annular holes in its head as they bored into your back.

“You have plenty to do,” was all the droid said before it retreated back into the medbay.

✗ ✗ ✗

Yes, you had plenty to do. So much so that it took you up until early morning to finish. It was so early, (or late?) that you had recoiled when you’d checked the time.

But, as you were heading back to your quarters to catch up on sleep because you were in no rush to start taking vitals on the new recruits, your arm was caught on fire.

Not literally, but it felt literal. Like every nerve ending was ripped from your skin, abraded and exposed. And it all originated from one point on your hand. You fought the buckle of your knees, desperately applying pressure to your pinky finger after loudly yelling a string of expletives. As you took another step in the direction of your quarters, the pain impossibly intensified. Somehow, your brain was able to act logically as you quickly retraced your last few steps.

As you moved backwards, the pain slowly dissipated into a deep throb, coming from both your hand and somehow your chest? You inspected your arm, turning over at least seven times. Your medical training had never taught you, or even touched on anything related to...whatever just happened. As you retreated back to the medbay, the pain intensified again.

“What the fuck,” you gritted through your teeth. Stepping back from the double doors, you continued forward. And for the next few minutes, you continued like that. Walking and retracing your steps, following the path that didn’t beset your body in so much agony your vision went white.

In your course around the base, you were at a junction you’d never been to previously. To your left, the hallway led out to the runway and to your right, a dead end. However, a few experimental steps in either direction revealed that your phantom arm pain was directing you straight forward.

Honestly, fuck the galaxy, you sized up the door in front of you. Whatever forces were at work right now, pulling your sensory nerves like strings on a marionette could fuck off. Sending you to weird parts of the base that you’d never been to (it could’ve been a common area actually, you never really explored) and sending you to a blank, durasteel door? Another healthy dose of fire shot up your spinal cord.

“The thread is sentient,” you tried to catch your breath. “All of the past soulmates in the galaxy have joined together to kill me.”

Rationally, there was no way you were correct but you were running on empty and had been updating the files on the pilots until you thought your retinas would burn out. Maybe this was a dream? You could definitely be dreaming.

Shaking out your right arm, you bounced back and forth on either foot. You were going to go through this mystery door. Enter the mystery door that didn’t make your arm feel like the thread was pulling tight between your arm and torso as if to amputate it. Yes.

Before your mind could bitch out, your muscles pushed your legs forward by reflex - acting before the brain could process. Your hand pulling down on the handle, a component most doors on the base didn’t have.

Blue.

Your entire field of vision was met with a murky swirl of blue. The room was of decent size, maybe slightly smaller than your office. From what you could see, it looked like a storage room. The walls were lined with shelves that contained extra orange jumpsuits, helmets, blankets and clothes of all sorts. In your pursuit of orienting yourself, you disregarded the figure sitting on the ground against the wall opposite you.

With one leg forward and the other bent at the knee, the source of the smoke dangled loosely between the fingers of Poe Dameron.

But you didn’t realize that yet, because it was dark and hazy and you were confused and what was that smell? The acrid fumes were coupled with an odor that was almost...sweet? No. Tart felt like the better word. Sharp and sour and sitting on your tastebuds.

As Poe dragged on the stick in his hand, the embers that burned at the end burned brighter and attracted your eyes. Then, you noticed him.

“Dameron?” you squinted through the smoke, trying to swat it out of your vision. “Are you seriously smoking spice right now?”

In your confusion and disbelief, you didn’t notice how the throbbing from the remnants of pain in your arm had become an amalgamation of both the lingering pain and a new, warmer sensation. Pleasure.

“I’m surprised you know what this is,” he blew out a long stream.

You tried not to scoff. “I was a teenager once, too.”

He was silent for a moment before lazily motioning with the hand that held the joint to the spot next to him. With a concerning lack of reluctance you’d think on later, you sat down next to him.

“My entire left arm has been killing me all day,” he took another hit. You frowned as he blew the smoke out at you.

“So weird that there isn’t someone on base that could do something about that,” you replied casually, but your mind was spinning. His arm was hurting too? What the hell was going on?

He shook his head, ignoring your response and offered you the joint instead. Surprising both him and yourself, you took it, rotating it in your hand.

“Take a hit,” Poe urged. “You can turn off your doctor-mode for one seco - are you really inspecting it right now?”

You looked at him, confused. “Um, yes? Why are you inhaling this when you don’t even know what it’s made of?”

Poe blinked at you, albeit much slower than usual. “To get high.”

You tapped the ashes into the palm of your hand, then handed the spice back to him. His hand slowly, meticulously took it from your grip and brought it back to his lips. Rubbing the ashes with your pointer finger in your palm, you brought the fine, cerulean powder to your eyes, studying it before lightly placing your finger on your tongue. Poe’s eyes tracked every movement.

“It’s similar to Ryll,” you noted. “An ore from Ryloth. It’s usually used medicinally, but it can be refined into some good fucking spice.”

“You’ve smoked spice?”

You took the object in question from his grip, putting it between your lips and taking a deep inhale. Holding it, you smirked at him. You laughed while exhaling, your lungs somewhat relishing in the sweet burn you hadn’t felt in years.

“Medical school was hard.”

“That’s…” Poe’s eyebrows twisted as he tried to find the words, “so...normal? Of you?”

“Thanks?”

Poe leaned his head back against the wall. “You’re always the head medic, the doctor of the Resistance. You make it really hard to get to know you outside of that. Is there someone beneath the white coat?”

You took another hit to avoid answering and Poe had no issue in continuing.

“I had to ask that engineer you always hang out with,” he paused, thinking hard to remember Jasti’s name before giving up and continuing, “what your actual name was. The people I asked before didn’t know.”

“Everyone calls me Doc. I don’t mind it.”

“I do,” Poe snapped, uncharacteristically hostile. “Stars, I’ve made such an effort for you.”

“An effort?” you echoed.

“To get to know you, to spend time with you. Maker, I even thought for a second - “ Nope. Poe wasn’t high enough to let that statement loose.

But you were just high enough not to notice.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, the usual weight on your chest now heavier. “I don’t know how to act when people want to get to know me. I haven’t for a long time.”

Poe placed the joint on the ground, letting it burn out. The two of you sat in silence, slowly inhaling and exhaling the chemicals that swirled in the air. You could feel yourself becoming heavier and weightless at the same time. Your physical sense felt light, but the burden of everything else came down heavy.

“I hate having him here,” Poe began. “Ancin.”

“Did you know him previously?”

Poe swallowed thickly, and you watched his adam’s apple bob up and down. The thought crossed your mind again - the sensitivity of his carotid. It would be so easy for you to find out right now, to just lean over and place a finger, or even your lips on it. That part of your brain that kept you rational and reasonable must've been short circuited by the spice because it wasn’t telling you not to find out, not reminding you of any and all consequences. For once, your brain felt quiet.

Leaning his head back up towards you, he caught your staring but you couldn’t be bothered to look away. Maybe he was sensitive elsewhere, too. You had dated a guy from Corellia who went absolutely feral when your lips met his sternum. You wanted to find out if Poe was the same way. You wanted to place your lips on every inch of his body, test each section of skin for a quick intake of breath, a twitch, goosebumps. To feel his fingers, calloused from years of flight maneuvers and switches, testing you for sensitivity.

In your reverie, Poe had begun to inch closer at imperceptible increments. His left hand resting flat on the ground - next to your right. His left pinky laid over your right as he leaned in, tucking some hair behind your ear to justify his proximity. His head turned, his lips now ghosting over the strip of space between the bottom of your earlobe to the joint of your jaw.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, and you closed your eyes at the feeling of his lips brushing against you.

“This better not be a dream again,” you said under your breath.

Chuckling, Poe pressed his lips to your temporomandibular joint as you tilted your head, giving him full access. “Again?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Your filter was gone - your brain now occupied with the double assault of the spice and having Poe Dameron press kisses onto your skin.

“We don’t have to talk,” he said, unbuttoning the top two buttons of your white coat to give him more access to your neck. He sucked lightly at your own pulse point, and you sucked in a breath.

“Sensitive?” Stars. The irony.

“Are you?” you bit back as you brought your hand to rest on his bicep.

“Want to find out?” he pulled back to meet your eyes. In spite of your slow movements and cloudy train of thought, you had never felt so clear, so confident in an answer.

You licked your lips, moistening them as your hand slid up from its place on his bicep to the side of Poe’s face, stroking your thumb lightly. Poe sighed, leaning into your ministration and tangling his pinky finger with yours. You could feel the blood buzzing underneath your skin, your sympathetic nervous system sending adrenaline and epinephrine by the gallon to account for how fast your heart was racing.

You copied his earlier movements, pressing your lips to various points along his jaw, his neck. Testing what he liked the most. When you got to your target, you boldly licked the spot up to his jaw. Poe’s hand tangled in your hair, breath shuddering.

“That’s a yes for you, too,” you whispered with the last remnants of air in your lungs.

Finally, your brain rejoiced through the fog.

You continued kissing, nipping at spots here and there. At the notch between his collarbones, Poe groaned.

“Scoria.”

You stopped.

Pulling away, you mustered the courage to meet his eyes. The smoke of the room now felt suffocating, not intoxicating. You felt like you were being smothered, and you were now noticing the lack of fresh air in your lungs.

Poe’s eyes met yours, too before widening.

Your hand left his face, your pinky leaving his. The dull ache in your arm had returned. You swallowed thickly, nodding.

“Fuck. I’m - “ Poe couldn’t straighten out his thoughts, let alone form a sentence. Very clearly in his mind, he had known it was you kissing, sucking on his neck. Her name had just..slipped out.

“No,” you cut him off before he could formulate some half-assed excuse you didn’t want to hear. “I’m sorry. I should’ve have - I forgot about - “ You couldn’t find the words either.

Standing, you looked down at him briefly, noting how the red thread of fucking fate bisected his torso, standing out starkly against the blue of the smoke and his button up.

“Thanks for the spice,” you forced, before leaving the room.

Walking down the hallway, continuing your initial course of returning to your quarters, you felt extremely sober. What else could sober you up faster than the guy whose neck you're kissing moaning out the name of another woman?

Looking down, you quickly redid the buttons Poe had undone.

I’m sorry? Your mind replayed the moment. Sorry for what? Poe is yours.

You stopped in your tracks.

Poe was yours. Why the fuck were you embarrassed that you were indirectly kissing your soulmate? Apologizing because he was currently in the middle of wasting his time with another woman? Sure, it was girl code not to do what you had previously been doing, but soulmates were excluded from girl code. Whether or not it was indirectly (...or directly) your fault that he was with her wasn’t important.

So, yeah. Fuck being sorry, fuck being embarrassed. You were done tiptoeing around the subject. Operation ‘Poe is my soulmate and I’m finally going to do something about it’ was a go. You couldn’t waste any more time.

The realization that you would explode if you had to spend any more days of your life without Poe’s lips on you was completely unrelated.

-----

are you guys screaming? i'm screaming.

also, poe looks high af in the gif above so...i felt that it fit well.

but what a wild rollercoaster this has been & will continue to be. I hope y'all are excited for the ride, because I am. Can't thank you guys enough for the love & support. don't be scared, share the angst with your friends!! xoxox

also!!! official sawbones playlist because i am a slut for playlists. i’ll be adding and removing, so lmk how you feel about it :)

TAGLIST (message me to be added!)

@yayrainday @samhollandssweaters @softly-sad @rebelgeneraldameron @btillys @daydreamerinadazedworld @teaofpeach @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall @fandom-addict-aesthetics @peterwandaparker @bookaholicinwonderland @roserrys @clydesducktape @heythere-mel @justrunamok @corrupt-fvcker @lets-do-get-help @agents-assemble @idocarealot @phoenixhalliwell @afootnoteinyourhappiness @gottalovethefandom @bbuckysbeardd @stanningtoomanypeopleatonce @missreyskywalker @katrynec @lizajane3 @shootingstarzmagick

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fic #poe dameron #slow burn #soulmate au #red thread soulmates #red thread of fate #star wars #star wars sequel trilogy #pre-TFA #romance #enemies to lovers #ish #fem!reader #medic!reader #mine #coworkers to lovers

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

As per our conversation, Hermann teaching a zoom class and perhaps forgetting to mute himself when his husband comes in during break...

god this is going to be my first fic of 2021. hilarious. not sfw!!!!! 👀 and also major warning for secondhand embarrassment LMAO

------

“You finished yet?” Newton calls into the study.

Hermann stretches his arms above his head with a groan, then yawns just as Newton appears around the doorframe. “Hardly. We’ve still got another, oh…” He spares a glance towards the cat-shaped clock hanging near some potted ivy by the window. (The clock was purchase of Newton’s at some sort of novelty shop they stumbled across on vacation last year that Hermann absolutely refused him to allow to hang in the bedroom.) “Hour. I’m allowing them a small break to fetch water or lunch or whatnot.”

A plate balanced atop Hermann’s preferred mug is produced from behind Newton’s back—sandwich, apple slices, and tea. Newton smiles. “Good timing. I was worried I’d have to force this on you in front of your students. How’s the leg holding up?”

The occasions upon which Hermann has no choice but to reschedule his graduate lessons to Zoom are rare, but fortunately foreseeable by a day or so; though the end of the war meant Hermann does not run himself nearly as ragged as he used to, his left leg acts up terribly every now and again, and he really doesn’t have it in himself to make the journey by foot to campus (or even by train) when it does. Or do anything besides wear a bloody heating pad and pop some his medication—Newton calls them his bad leg days. Hermann’s students are always very understanding, and indeed, he suspects they may appreciate the chance to lounge about their own flats for the day. “Better than before,” Hermann says. “Much better, really.”

Newton sets Hermann’s lunch down on his desk, and pulls up the second computer chair to sit down next to him. He steals an apple slice. “Good,” he says. Then his eyes flick over Hermann—from his usual combination of sweatervest and slightly-wrinkled oxford up top, to Newton’s borrowed pair of sweatpants below. They’re too-big in everything but length and hit his calves, but it’s not as if any of his students are going to see them. Newton grins. “Those look kinda hot on you, you know.”

“Newton,” Hermann warns.

“Are you wearing my boxers too?” Newton says. “Or—”

He creeps his hand over to Hermann’s thigh with (what Hermann knows are) full intentions to draw back his waistband and take a peek. Hermann bats him away, blushing. “Behave yourself. I’m in class.”

“You’re on break,” Newton says.

“A short break,” Hermann says. “A very short break. Not nearly enough time to—”

“You didn’t take very long this morning,” Newton says, grinning wider.

That morning should hardly be held up as an example of Hermann’s usual, er, prowess in their intimate affairs. After fetching Hermann his medication and a glass of water, Newton had very graciously massaged his poor, poor knee, and his poor, poor hip, and Hermann had had only the natural reaction to one’s extremely alluring husband groping about one’s bare skin even with twinges of pain, and Newton had used his mouth to take care of that. Hermann’s stamina was short-lived, though it made him feel heaps better. “I was wound up,” Hermann says, lamely.

Newton swallows down another apple slice and carefully slides one of his legs between Hermann’s. “I bet I could get you wound up again pretty fast,” he says. He rubs his knee up and down slowly, against the front of Hermann’s loose, borrowed sweatpants; Hermann groans.

“Bugger,” he says. “Oh, Newton, I’m teaching.”

“Really fast?” Newton says. “C’mon, it’ll make you feel even better.”

“This is entirely about your—” Hermann bites down on his bottom lip to keep another pathetic sound from slipping out, and clutches onto the edge of his desk. “Ah, your own bloody ego, and you—you know it.”

“Maybe,” Newton says.

He grazes his fingertips across Hermann’s jaw, and presses his thumb against Hermann’s mouth. Hermann parts his lips automatically to allow it to slip between them. Newton’s pretty irises darken. “You want another blowjob?” he says. “Hey, you wouldn’t even have to stop teaching. I could just hide under your desk.”

“Newton,” Hermann hisses around his thumb. “Don’t be crass.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Newton snorts. “Remember that one time in the lab—?”

Hermann does, unfortunately, or maybe it’s fortunately, because it had been rather exhilarating at the time. Newton had talked him into a rare instance of laboratory sex, oral sex for oral sex, and offered to go first; halfway through the act, they’d been interrupted by someone with paperwork for them to sign, and Hermann (in a panic) had shoved Newton out of sight beneath his desk. Newton continued to suck him off anyway while Hermann signed it for them. “It’ll be just like then,” Newton says. He pulls his hand away from Hermann, and begins to slide off his chair to his knees. “C’mon, dude. Or are you afraid everyone will find out you’re a slut?”

Hermann moans in spite of himself, and then laughs nervously. He does so lose control of himself when Newton calls him those sorts of things. “Newton. Oh, you’re awful. Get back—mhm, ah—” Newton is pulling down the waistband of the sweatpants with a devious grin. He makes a mocking, obscene little kissing-face when Hermann's prick, already hard, pops free. “Darling—”

Hermann’s phone begins to buzz when Newton takes him into his mouth. One short buzz—a series of one short buzzes, in fact. Emails. Emails, emails. Why so many in a row? He’s meant to be in class. People know he’s not available now. Hermann is absolutely not available now. “You’re too bloody good at this,” Hermann says through a soft gasp, and kneads at the bulge of Newton’s cheek. Newton winks.

Buzz. Buzz. “For God’s sake,” Hermann says, and snatches his phone up in a fury. He’ll set the damn thing to Do Not Disturb and finish enjoying his private time with his husband, thank you.

The top subject line catches his eye before he can. You’re not muted!!!! It’s from one of his graduate students. The rest of them are something similar, from some handful of three or four students. “Oh, fuck,” Hermann gasps. A chasm of dread opens up in the pit of his stomach; surely he muted himself, of course he muted himself, he wouldn’t have not muted himself. Hermann programmed jaegers, by Jove, he knows how to work simple technology like a mute button. Right? “Newton, get—”

“Mm,” Newton hums happily.

“No, you moron, get up, get up now.”

Hermann tugs Newton back by his hair, which is a mistake: Newton’s head hits the top of his desk with an echoing thud, and Newton’s moan of pleasure at being manhandled turns into a grunt of pain halfway through. “Shit, Hermann, that hurt!”

Hermann pulls up his Zoom screen (minimized during the break) frantically. His camera is off; his computer sound is muted; his microphone is not, and he has a half-dozen messages in the Zoom chat (which he missed) politely telling him he might want to check that. He fixes it quickly. “Get out of here,” he hisses at Newton. He tucks himself back into Newton’s sweatpants, acutely aware of the horrid hot blush spreading up every inch of his visible skin. Oh, he wishes he was dead. He wishes a kaiju would come from no where and stomp both of them into oblivion. He wishes he could hand in his resignation at this very moment. “I wasn’t—muted.”

Newton, still kneeling under his desk, stares at him with eyes wide behind his glasses, and then lets out a burst of laughter. “Oops,” he says.

The allotted break ends five minutes later. Newton makes off with Hermann’s uneaten sandwich, and Hermann gathers up as much dignity as he can muster and switches both camera and microphone back on. “Good,” he says. “We’re all here. Er. Where did we leave off?”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #not sfw ////

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droidrights · 3 years

Note

For your writing prompt... A scene from always red or stay the black but in Cals POV?

Ask and you shall receive! Thanks so much for the prompt, Anon! This was fun!

Sometimes Pink

This here is the scene at the end of Chapter 9 of Always Red where Cal first wakes up after the escape from Nur.

2nd person/ present tense like the rest of Always Red except Cal is “you”.

Inquisitor Cal Kestis x Jedi Reader

Words: 1918

Warnings: Description of Injury and near death

“Now you'll be what I make you.” Her voice rings in your head. Somehow over the roar of the flames, over the howling sea wind and even over the crash of thunder, you hear her claim you in a whisper.

Laid flat on your back, soaked through to your bones, you blink the raindrops from your eyes and through bleary vision you dare to take in the sight of her. Writhed in the towering flames that engulf the Fortress Inquisitorius she stands over you in victory; small strings of blue electricity blink between her flexing fingers. The memory of those fingers pressed on the side of your face, even to deliver a brain rattling Force blast, becomes something you find yourself clinging to. Those hands, you've thought, the things those hands could do.

It's the last thing you recall before things go black.

Fuzzy and indistinct, you imagine the brush of those deadly fingers over your forehead. Most certainly imagined, in a moment burst with brightness shining behind your eyelids. Blazing and uncomfortable before the comfort of the black seeps back in.

You've always hoped that when you died your spirit would scatter, made to rejoin the living Force. There would be a loss of consciousness surely, a kind of oblivion. Force users are taught to believe they live on through connectivity to the Force and they do but...not as they were. You consider that this could be death. The Black, this endless float peppered with visions of this and that. Her. Could be worse.

Later you are slowly stirred to consciousness by the astringent scent of bacta gel stinging your nostrils, and more gentle touching though less imagined this time. When your eyelids become unstuck you spy a world much different from the one you had been imagining.

In a heartbeat the comfort of the black is banished. The place that allowed you to drift carelessly and linger on your memories of thunder and lightning evaporate in an instant, replaced with an air of the urgency to live. In the here and now you are a prisoner, confirmed bu the metallic clank of durasteel cuffs at their limit. Blazing overhead lights are blinding and your instincts are the only thing you have, aside from an intense throbbing ache on the right side of your head. You have survived many times before by allowing your instincts to take control and so your rational mind takes a backseat to an animal impulse toward survival by any means necessary.

There is a muffled crack as you fold your thumb inward, making one hand more amenable to slipping its restraint. It hurts, of course it hurts but you tell yourself it doesn't.

A startled medic bounces from his seat at witnessing his patient wake so suddenly and commit violence on himself. With one free hand, you bolt upright and the twi'lek gingerly, mistakenly presses his hands on your shoulders. No touching.

“Be calm, you mustn't aggriva-!” the twi'lek's words are cut short when you raise your open fist. His breathing become raspy and short as you draw your fingers closer and closer together.

The decision to attack had been simple for you. It always is. What you hadn't known is that you had been asleep for the past four days in recovery from grievous wounds. Against his better judgment, Byt Ilan agreed to treat your injuries as best he could, despite the fact that he witnessed your role in the battle that had lead all of you to this point. Despite the fact that you had been an active member in the institution that tortured and imprisoned him, because he is good. Truly good.

Byt claws at his throat uselessly as you get to your feet. To you there is nothing, no one, other than this obstacle before you. The only sound that matters is the hiss and wheeze that escapes this twi'lek's lips.

It's not even that much pressure, honestly. To think that most living things have a soft little spot for you to squeeze and wrench the life from. It is both dazzling and intoxicating to exercise this power. Your vision tunnels and you move with the intent and purpose of a predator that has not been unconscious for days but waiting. Your trembling fingers, broken thumb included, curls into a tight fist as you move to cross the room.

In your battle fervor, you fail to release the restraint fastened to your other wrist. Your fervent pursuit of the medic causes the heavy metal gurney to overturn. Your balance is thrown immediately and the thing brings you back a ways. There is a loud and muted pop and you know right away that your arm has become dislocated from your shoulder. It's happened several times before, each instance more unpleasant than the last.

Byt's legs scramble in the air haplessly, far from the ground. He knows he's near finished when a darkness begins to creep in from the edges of his vision. Until he is suddenly dropped to the ground like a sack of grain.

Years of training within the Empire has given you the singularity of mind that allows you to pour your focus into your goals, and exactly nothing else, until they are achieved. Discomfort, pain, your very limbs are second only to your gain. In this moment nothing matters beyond dispatching the nearest jailer.

Byt uses the brief pause in your assault to scream for help, though the wracked sound produced by his broken throat is nothing like the alarm he had intended. When he cries out a second time it is for horror at watching you drag the overturned bed, dislocated arm and all, in his direction, renewing the fight.

Byt struggles to his feet in time to be hefted again into the air. When his back hits the opposite wall of the small cargo area the twi'lek loses a lungful of air he could not spare. Your pupils triple in size as victory grows nearer and your connection to the dark side spreads its wings inside you.

“Cal, no!” A voice cries out. Y/N arrives in a flurry and immediately places herself between you and your opponent. You don't see her. There is only you and Byt Ilan's final breaths.

“Cal, stop right now!” She roars again, this time with more menace.

You hear nothing, you see nothing. You are dead to the world but for the quiet symphony of blood vessels popping in the twi'lek's eyes. The hard thump of his heart against his ribs, so rapid and vital until the blessed moment of silence that will follow. Any second now.

A loud crack echoes off the walls of the hold and every nerve on your face lights up in a spark when she strikes you with the flat of her hand. You recognize the feel of that hand across your face instantly. A bright stinging throb blossoms across your cheek and the hard contact of skin on skin breaks the kill's hold over you. The things those hands can do.

Blindsided by the sensation, you loose your grip on the poor creature by unclenching your fingers. He hits the ground hard and his breath does not return immediately. The twi'lek's rosy pink cheeks and lips have turned gray

More and more of your surroundings come to light. Gathering crew and guests become shadows around this drama in the cargo hold. Someone rushes to the medic's side and slaps him hard between the shoulder blades until he gulps in a shuddering breath. Another figure moves in the space around you but goes unnoticed. Your tunnel vision has fixated on someone new.

After the dazzling white light clears your vision you still can't quite believe your eyes. You see her before you the way she looks in your memories, the way she looks in your dreams. Framed in fire, windswept, tired, bloody and gloriously furious.

“Y/N?” you whisper, confused. You blink hard and this time she is a more realistic version of herself. Still tired, still angry. Your hand stays hefted in the air, unsteady.

You don't believe what your eyes are telling you. You died and this is a sick joke, which normally you might appreciate, but for the look on her face. You would never understand the combination of emotions you see there. Your shoulder, your head, your hand, they all pulse in various octaves of pain. It's disorienting.

It's not her, it can't be. You lost and she killed you. Shaky, you lurch forward keeping your hand outstretched. You have to be sure.

There is a swift movement from the shadow behind you and in a flash there is a sting in your neck. So minor compared to the other aches, throbs and stings but you were unprepared for the suddenness of it.

A normally welcomed old companion, the blackness, creeps in again. Your heart cries out to wait, just one more second while you figure this out. While you reach out to her.

Before you hit the ground the very tip of your longest finger connects with her chin, just below her lip, before trailing its way down her chest and belly. The hem of her shirt snaps up when the crook of your finger tugs and releases it.

As your head hits the metal flooring you decide it really was Y/N. You are indeed still living and for some reason she had decided to spare you in the rain on Nur. The fool.

You've tried to tell her since Zeffo that she's yours, from the second you saw her on Bracca, whether she knew it or not. When she inched closer to you step by step, siding against the Ninth Sister she was yours. When you touched her Master's lightsaber and saw her as a frightened and defenseless padawan she was yours. Hands and feet fastened together, jammed in the back of your TIE fighter she was yours. Until you handed her over to the Empire...and she was theirs.

What you had not anticipated were all the myriad moments that led to you belonging utterly and madly to her. Starting with the hard resolve in her face when she went for your throat in your first rain-washed clash. Again when she teased you in the industrial caverns of that Zeffo mountain. Especially when she was bubbling over with wrath and vengeance even lying weak on the floor of her cell, imagining the demolition of Imperial control. You were more hers then and completely when she made good on her promise by conjuring destruction from the air like a goddess. It's like you never had a choice.

That's a lie. It's a choice you've made repeatedly. You embraced it, fought it, misinterpreted it but you never denied it. Fool that you are.

Y/N will be your undoing, she makes you weaker than anything the Empire has put you through and nothing is scarier than to know that you will lose every time.

Yes, you tried again to kill her but it's only because you are the one who does what others will not. It was your final attempt at releasing you both from this thing. Y/N is strong but not stronger than what's between the two of you. You tried to be but it turns out you aren't either.

Now you are doomed to each other. For your part at least, you commit yourself willingly to the flames.

She really should have killed you.

#always ask #always red #stay the black #jedi fallen order #calquisitor #cal valeska #writing prompt #thank you for the suggestion #star wars jfo #star wars jedi: fallen order #inquisitor cal x reader #he is a puppy #cal kestis

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smokahuntis · 4 years

Text

Gravis

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader

Prompt: “I’d die for you, and you don’t even realize it!” “Are you crying?”

Warning: angst. Arguing, sad poe

Summery: Poe realizes his feelings for (y/n) after she risks her life on a mission and they get into an argument.

“Commander, we cant take them.” A pilot’s voices echoed threw the coms before continuing “not with the towers active.” He said before his ship was blown to oblivion. Poe groaned as he watched another pilot fall, he was right of course, with the towers up they weren’t going to make it. The towers were large cannons that were taking out the X-wings like they were nothing.

“Fall back!” Poe said as an X-Wing flew past his and towards the towers. “(Y/n)!” He yelled as he watched her take out the towers one by one, explosions sounding out as she flew threw them like it was nothing.

“I got this!” She said back into her Coms as she took down the final few towers. Heading towards the final tower, a green beam shot from it scraping the middle left wing of her fighter. It sent her X-Wing on a spiral that with her skills she quickly recovered from, and finishing off the final tower, out of Poe’s sight.

Poe thought she was gone, thought she wasn’t going to make it when he could no longer see her X-Wing. His mind was racing to find her. His hand came down hitting the wheel on as the pressure behind his eyes built, it built up until tears fell down his face. His cheats was heavy and it felt like he was empty, he never realized he felt this way without her until now. But everything disappeared as soon as her X-Wing came back over the Finalizer and into his view. He felt the heaviness leave his chest and be replaced with an everlasting warmth. It was clear to him now.

—

When they touched down onto the base she searched for him first, making sure he understood why she did it. The mission was finished and went well once she destroyed the towers, it was like most, things start to get bad so Poe or (y/n) do something to stop it from ending worse. She ran threw the hangar searching for the dark haired man, finding him still in his X-Wing, head on the control panel. She opened the hatch looking at him.

“Poe?” She asked quietly, the hangar was almost empty now that most of the pilots were going to medics or to get a drink. She moved her hand to his back rubbing it. “You okay...”

He sat up and ran his hand over his face, letting out a sigh, he finally looked at her. His eyes were red and watery, his cheeks rosy, he looks wrecked. It broke her heart to see him like this.

“Are you crying?” She asked her voice cracking at the question, he moved to get out of the x-wing, the hangar was empty now leaving just them. She moved around following him as he tried to leave, ignoring her. But she stopped him, standing in front of him her hands on his chest. “Poe wait! Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why are you so stupid?” He growled out looking at her, pushing her hands away. She was shocked by his words but quickly quipped back.

“If I hadn’t done that, less of us would have came back, Poe...” her voice was still quiet yet he could feel the anger of it.

“I said fall back and you disob-“ he raised his voice but she cut him off.

“We got what we needed didn’t we?!” She said looking him in his red teary eyes. His lip quivered with anger as he thought of something to say.

“That’s not the point!” He yelled back looking at her, she couldn’t stand this, the yelling but she wasn’t about to let it go.

“Then what is it?”

“The point is...” he hesitated before finally breaking out.” I could have lost you!” It almost touched her heart, if he hadn’t continued. “I could have lost my best pilot!”

“So that’s what I am?” She crossed her arms over her chest looking at him the tears starting to prick at her eyes. “Just a pilot?”

He could see his mistake fast, and the pain the riddled her face ruined him. “That’s not what I mea-“

“No I know what you meant, Commander” she said before turning to walk away. “I’m getting a drink...” she started leaving towards the door, the quiet sob she let out made him say it.

“I’d die for you! And you don’t even realize it!” He yelled at her, but his voice gave him away, it wasn’t angry it was hurt, sad, desperate. It reached out to her and stopped her in her tracks as she turned looking at him, the tears on his face all over again.

“You mean everything to me (y/n), and I never realized it until I thought you died today... I can’t loose you.” He slowly walked towards her, running his fingers threw his curly hair as he got closer. Looking down at her, his tongue swiping across his body lip before he spoke.

“It should have been me...”

“Poe...dont..”

“I should have took out the towers, I should have been the one to get clipped not you! If something happened to you I don’t know what I’d do with myself!” His hands came up resting on her shoulders before shaking his head and letting the words tumble out before he could stop them, but he meant every word.

“I love you...” he was quiet, gentle as he spoke. She shook her head and pushed him off.

“You don’t mean that”

“I do-“

“You don’t!” She looked back at him. “You can’t mean that, not right now not ever!” Her words hurt him but he understood, but he needed to push on.

“Why not?...” he moved closer to her, not letting her go this easy.

“Because... because I love you too and I’ve been trying to-“ he shut her up fast, kissing her, his hands falling onto her cheeks as he did so, her hands moved around his neck pulling him closer, her soft finger tips playing with the ends of his greying hair.

When he pulled away he looked into her eyes. “Tell me you don’t want this... because if you don’t I’ll walk away (y/n), but I kn-“

“I want this...”

Taglist: @fanboyswhereare-you @hxldmxdxwn @jediminddicks1000

#star wars x reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron #poe dameron angst #poe dameron smut #poe #dameron #x-wing

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wickedmilo · 3 years

Photo

SOUNDS LIKE A YOU PROBLEM | MILO & CHLOE

PLACE: A dive bar TIMING: 10:49 PM SUMMARY: After realising he has run out of money, Milo approaches Chloe and asks her to pay for his drinks. WRITING PARTNER: @chloeinbetween CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction, alcohol, references to emotional abuse, drug manipulation (Leanan-Sidhe kiss), chronic illness

There were a lot of things Chloe hadn’t done for years, banned because the only thing allowed to be a detriment to her health was the fae feeding on her. There were a lot of things she wasn’t supposed to do now either, against medical advice or the general opinions of the town on what wasn’t and wasn’t safe. Drinking a glass of whiskey by herself in a bar that was too dingy to have a crowd on a weeknight probably fell into all of the above. Which was why she was doing it. Her fingers drummed against the sticky linoleum of the bar, looking at messages on her phone that she had no plan of answering. Her old messaging app had kept all the old messages from before she’d been taken, so in her worst moments she scrolled through the texts she’d received demanding to know where she was, and why she’d abandoned them.

It was hardly surprising in pits like this that she didn’t notice the young man sidling up to her curiously. Not until he was much too close. “Can I help you?” Chloe asked, looking him up and down.

Until very recently, Milo had no reason to concern himself with boundaries. The circles he usually ran in had far more important things to worry about, like who had the drugs, and where they were going to use them. He was too used to stumbling, getting close to strangers, or sharing paraphernalia with people he didn’t recognise. Being forced to avoid people, Humans, was new. A habit he was being forced to form. That didn’t mean his other habits, the ones he had been establishing for years, weren’t demanding his attention though. Which was why he had made his way over to a quiet bar, a bar he knew didn’t often draw in the crowds. As depressing as it was to drink alone in a shadowy corner, that’s exactly how he had been spending his night. Up until the moment he had reached into his pocket for the crushed bills he usually kept there and realised they were no longer present. He shouldn’t be surprised, he had been handing them over for hours. But everybody knew running out of money was anxiety inducing, even when you didn’t have habits to maintain.

His bank account was empty, that had been the last of it. He wasn’t stupid enough to assume he counted wrong when he had withdrawn the remainder of his funds. And he hadn’t been to work since his official time of death. He could make a run for it, but even in his inebriated state he knew being chased down and potentially tackled by a bartender would only end in said bartender being drained of blood. There didn’t seem to be many options ahead of him. So instead of eyeing the door, he began to eye his fellow patrons. It was very easy to single out the person least likely to punch him in the face, and he pushed himself out of the booth he had been slouching in, getting far too close before he could hold himself back. His limbs felt heavy, his entire body clumsy, and uncoordinated. But he pushed on. “Yeah, actually-” He insisted, a familiar rush of longing creeping up on him as her scent began to permeate the space. Taking a hesitant step back, he swallowed his craving, willing himself to stay where he was. “You can pay for my drinks.” Maybe it wasn’t the smoothest way of asking the woman for money, but his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity and pathetically, it was the best he could do. Maybe she would take pity on him. “I mean- I’ve probably had the worst fucking month of my life, and I… shit, I mean I have no money. What do you want me to say?”

“Excuse me?” Chloe replied, twisting in her seat to look him over. There was a buzz in her head, but it did nothing to numb the immediate annoyance at his request. If anything, it removed any social insecurity, Chloe was no longer interested in being careful with her words. A fae would be more eloquent than that anyway. She pushed her drink further onto the counter so that she would not knock it, and looked him up and down. There was a loose, chaotic way of his movements, like he didn’t quite know how to hold himself together. He was drunk, drawling, obviously. Her lip curled in disgruntled annoyance. “Why the hell are you at a bar if you haven’t got any money?” Chloe snapped back, looking right back up at him.

“I really don’t see how that’s anyone’s problem except yours. And the bartender’s. How disrespectful do you need to be to expect something like this from other people?” She rolled her eyes pointedly at him. There was another thought, biting at the corner of her mind, after another moment of looking at him, the sentence slipped out before she could stop herself. ��Can’t have been too shitty a month if you still have the capacity to make bad life choices.”

Milo knew the moment the woman turned to face him that she wasn’t about to hand over her credit card. Even if it hadn’t been obvious in her tone, it would have been obvious in the way she was looking at him. Letting out a huff of breath in response to the question, it was a sharp reminder of how important it was to take shallow breaths. He didn’t need the oxygen, and breathing in too deeply was only going to put her in danger. Each intake brought with it a wave of tantalising scent. “I had money.” He countered, an edge to his own voice. “I drank it.” Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he would do if somebody approached him and asked him to pay for their drinks. Maybe in the morning her reaction would feel reasonable, and valid. Right now though, in this moment, it was infuriating. It didn’t make any sense.

“And it isn’t disrespectful to be a total dick when somebody asks you for help?” He demanded, twisting the situation to frame himself as someone to sympathise with, someone to feel sorry for. He fell silent again, his eyes narrowing as she carefully observed him. Even with so much alcohol in his system, it made him feel vulnerable, and exposed. He didn’t like it. Shifting awkwardly on the spot, he felt a spark of genuine anger when she eventually commented on his life choices. Did he really look that bad? “Oh, yeah?” He snapped. “You’re here drinking alone too, you know? Seems like we’re both making shitty decisions. I’d like to see anybody go through what I’ve been through and not want to drink themselves into oblivion. Haven’t you ever heard of coping mechanisms? Fucking crutches? Maybe I just need a fucking break.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Chloe replied, matching his edge just as harshly, even though her voice croaked with the effort. There was a way he looked at her that made her skin crawl, like he knew more about her than he should, or that he wanted more than her money. Perhaps what was left of her life, she though, and shook the thought away. He didn’t have the charisma to be like Lydia. He was pitiable. Still a threat, maybe, but under her anger she understood just want this looked like.

There was a knife edge difference between drinking to cope and drinking to lose herself, and Chloe was terrified of landing the wrong edge of the line.

Then he opened his mouth again and her sympathy was quashed immediately. “Only if they’re not a dick in asking for it. You didn’t even ask! You demanded. You look young but not too young to know the difference.” If nothing, her barbed comment only seemed to raise his hackles even further, his voice raising. Her hands curled tightly around the edge of the barstool. “I’m not pissing off anyone else though, am I? I don’t think you’re in a place to throw rocks, dude. Oh fuck off, do you really think you have a monopoly on suffering?”

Milo glared at the woman, irritated by the tone she was taking although he had a feeling he might look back on this conversation and feel it was entirely justified. “I’m trying to make it an us problem.” He muttered, thinking of every time Dani had ever called him a smartmouth. “I didn’t ask for shit.” He added, his glare only growing in intensity. Clearly it had been a mistake to approach her. She must have known he was likely going to ask her for money regardless of how she chose to begin their initial interaction, but technically he was being honest. “You asked if you could help me, and I said yes, you could pay for my drinks. If anything, you offered.”

Noting her voice growing in volume, the last thing he wanted to do was cause a scene. But he also felt as though he had every right to be angry. He hadn’t done anything wrong. “I didn’t come over here to piss you off. I actually have better things to do.” He snapped, running a clumsy hand through his hair as he struggled to reign in his frustration. “You know what? Yeah, I really fucking do have the monopoly on suffering right now. Why do you think I’m even here? I had friends, and a fucking family, and I’m really fucking tired. So forgive me for not realising I was nearly out of cash. And forgive me for thinking that maybe someone might actually take pity on me and offer to help me out. It’s whatever, okay? I’ll fucking go-”

“I’ll remember next time to be clearer with my sarcasm as you don’t seem to get it. I fucking doubt that,” Chloe snarled back, eyes creased in a frown, back straight. She couldn’t say whether it was the alcohol or the attitude that was giving her a headache, but she was pretty sure he was the problem either way. But somewhere in his furious tirade, Chloe heard the hints of something that… well, nothing justified treating people shittily, but something awful, something Chloe understood a little too well.

No friends. No family. Alone in a dark place with an unhealthy coping mechanism and a need to drown your thoughts in a buzz. Chloe hadn’t had access to alcohol for the last few years, but… well, there had been something available to take the edge off. Chloe shivered. “Wait.” She said curtly, jaw flexing, unable to believe she was about to say this. Maybe because in the biting harshness of his features she saw snippets of Todd and Sammy, young lost men who had found the wrong source of comfort in their troubled lives. Chloe already knew it was fantastical to think she could fix things, but if there was a kindness to be offered…. On the other hand, he was an asshole who had pissed her off, so she almost let him walk away just to teach him a lesson. “Just this once, okay? So you don’t end up in jail on top of whatever other shit you have going on. Now get the hell out of here.”

“Maybe don’t engage strangers in conversation and you won’t have to.” Milo countered. She had spoken to him first. He wasn’t about to take responsibility for something that wasn’t his fault. He was just turning to leave, his hands balled into fists, when he heard the woman call out to him. Surprised, but too irritated to show any gratitude, he faced her once again, a frown still fixed firmly in place. He hadn’t been expecting her to change her mind, and he was in too bitter a mood to be honest about just how much the gesture meant. Taking the bills she was handing out to him, he was careful to only take the amount he needed, leaving a few of them behind. There were other ways to find money if he became desperate. Right now, it seemed like the very least he could do to acknowledge she was offering him help. Crumpling them in his hand, he sheepishly caught her eye. He knew he should say thank you, but he was stubborn. Too stubborn to admit he might have been unfair to her. So he left, instead. Without saying another word. Maybe one day he might feel guilty about that fact, but it wasn’t as though he was ever going to see her again. Something, he thought, that might very well be for the best.

#addiction tw #alcohol tw #emotional abuse tw #drug manipulation tw #chronic illness tw #milo & chloe #alcohlism tw #c:chloe

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hardyimagines · 4 years

Text

Vodka Veins

Another Drabble 🥺

———————————————————————

Warmth. It burned. It trickled through your insides, flooding each muscle, vein, and sense. The intoxicating scent was like fire in your nostrils. They flared at the sting, a crinkle forming almost instantly between your brows. You should’ve been use to that smell by now.

Sticky fingers traced the rim of the bottle clumsily. The glass exterior was hot like your throat. You left the bottle out overnight. It was typically cold, the liquor thin, smooth as it slid down your throat, coaxing your thirst, quietening it. It was different when it was hot, it wasn’t as refreshing, yet still you tipped the half-empty bottle, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as the clear liquid filled the mug you’d been drinking tea from. The brown grains at the bottom lifted with the liquid, swimming in it uncertainly but with no choice. You closed your eyes.

The heat in your stomach radiated north, tickling your chest all the way up into your throat. It was an addicting feeling, to feel the craved comfort of something’s heat. The lack of your husband’s presence left a void inside you, one that was easy to fill with the beverage. You couldn’t taste it anymore. Your tongue was numb as you gulped from the glass. Your mouth was dry, thirst unquenched despite the amount you drank. It was draining you. Dehydrating you. Yet you continued to sip it.

You focused on the quiet tink that sounded when the rim of the bottle hit the rim of your mug. You’d set the bottle down with an audible thump before giving your sole attention to the vodka. It’s name was sweet on your lips as you pressed them together, your burning gaze unmoving from the waves that formed in your drink. You couldn’t tell if it was moving on it’s own accord, from being freshly poured, or if it was your spinning head that caused the affect. Probably a little bit of both.

The throb in your head was dull, but noticeable. It was faint, but painful, like a nail being hammered inside you. You lifted your palm to your hot skin, pushing firmly to try and cease the discomfort. The hammer hit harder and you winced audibly.

Whoever said to never mix a painkiller with alcohol had clearly never done it. The painkillers quietened the migraine and the vodka relaxed you considerably. It was the fifth night in a row you’d pass out against the table, with your arms folded and your head pressed against them, loose strands of hair draped in every direction on the wooden table.

Tonight you couldn’t find the relaxation you needed to drift into oblivion. You pushed yourself up from the table and crossed the length of the kitchen to the cupboard. Drawing the creaky cabinet open, your hazy eyes drifted along the containers jammed inside. You extended your arm, your hand trembling without you even noticing.

The light switched on suddenly, your eyes instantly narrowing, squinting beneath the bright invasion. Lifting your hand to your eyes, as if it were physically blinding, you turned your head over your shoulder to inspect who’d cruelly sent your head into a frenzy.

Your husband was stood in the doorway. His big, black coat was draped over his forearm, the material barely brushing against the watch he wore. A file of paperwork was clutched in his palm. He shuffled lightly in the doorway before moving further into the room. The man wasn’t exactly a giant, but in your vulnerable state, he seemed like he was Bigfoot. You turned your attention back on the painkillers, though you knew now that it wasn’t wise to try and take one.. some, not in front of Alfie.

Alfie tossed his jacket over the backside of one of the old chairs. His hands lifted to the buttons on the front of his shirt, adjusting them briefly. The heat inside the house was far different than the cold outside. The drastic change left him boiling. He set the papers down on the table and as he’d done for the last few nights, he lifted the bottle of liquor, examining how much you’d consumed.

“Again?” His hoarse voice sounded less threatening when you were shriveled in the corner, looking for something to numb the constant throb in your head. “Pet.” He stared at you, watching intently as your muscles tensed and your head straightened. He could tell you heard him, but you acted as if you didn’t. Your fingertips traced the bottles of medication, most of them for him for when his leg or back started to bother him. “I thought we fucking talked about this.” The swear was one of habit. His tone didn’t change. He set the bottle of vodka down a bit roughly on the table before weaving around it and stepping up behind you. His hand was seemingly cold against your hip, it’s chilly surface seeping through the material of your dress. He pulled you into him, drawing you away from the cabinet of medicine. “Y/n. Your fucking head, right, it hurts ‘cause you won’t stop fucking drinking that,” His finger pointed strictly toward the culprit on the table. “Yeah, you wouldn’t have a fucking migraine, would you, if you’d lay off the liquor.” His eyes were dark, intrusive as he pressed you against the counter. He lifted his hand to your chin, forcing you to look at him. It scared him. Coming home each night to a wife who could only remember the type and amount of alcohol she drank. You never said anything when you were drunk, he couldn’t ever understand you when you rarely did. His thumb traced your chin. “Big fucking relief it is to come home to a wife who’s just as absent as I am, innit?” His blue eyes danced between yours.

You’d confessed to him that you drank when you felt lonely, so he did all that he could to try and get home as soon as possible. Evidently, it wasn’t soon enough. You were killing yourself. Slowly, but surely. An addiction was the opposite of what you needed. It was eating you alive.

He watched as your dry lips parted, your tongue briefly moving against your teeth, as if you were going to speak. But as he strained his ears, he was given nothing.

“Right, well then.” His hand fell away from your face. What could he do? Make you the usual butter and toast? Fix a cup of tea and coffee in hopes that you could drink it and hold it down. On a few occasions you’d upchucked everything he gave you and he’d been left cradling your shaking body as you hunched over the bowl of the toilet. He hated seeing you like this. But he was too selfish to let you go. Part of him thought it would be healthier, set you free to find someone who could move you from up close everyday. His job didn’t allow it. “Let’s sober you up, yeah, talk about this once again.” His tone was different than usual, less thick, less harsh. He sat you down at the table, his hand curling around the neck of the bottle. He screwed the cap on tightly and watched as you laid your head down. When you were fast asleep, he was going to drain every bottle. The sink would be the liquor’s new home, consumed by the drain and washed down by the water.

Alfie made a hot cup of coffee and a hot cup of tea. He set a hot piece of toasted bread on a plate with some smeared, melted butter before taking a seat beside you. His arm extended, draped across the back of your chair as he waited for the alcohol to absorb in the necessities he’d given you.

It took a while. His eyes were red around the rims, droopy from exhaustion. He’d been on his feet all day. His throat was sore from shouting at the lads. He’d burned his fingers when reaching too soon for a tool. And his back was killing him. He didn’t speak about his problems though, he didn’t express to you that he needed some affection too every once in a while, to be noticed and cared for as he did for you each night. When you could form a coherent sentence and there was no slur in your soft voice, he slid closer, the chair legs groaning out against the floorboards. He didn’t know what to say. The two of you had had a long conversation a few nights ago, you crying as you expressed how empty it was to sit at home alone for days on end. Working a normal job only lasted so long. You were home long before he was, staring at the dinner on the table until it was cold and tasteless.

The silence that hung between the pair of you did most of the talking. Things were uncomfortable, awkward, and if there was no communication to find a solution, this marriage would fall apart. Alfie set his elbow on the table and let his fingertips trace the length of his beard. He watched you as you played with the remnants of your toast, brushing your thumb and pointer finger together to dust off the crumbs that clung to your fingertips.

“I don’t want to talk about this again.” You finally informed him. “It’s embarrassing.” You sighed. Your arms curled around yourself, a shy action instead of one to typically signal you were cold. Alfie watched you closely.

“If it were fucking embarrassing, right, you wouldn’t fucking be trying to kill yourself.” He murmured. His hand dropped from his face, arm flat against the table and fingers dangling off the edge. He watched you as you bit your bottom lip. It quivered. He sighed. You were going to cry. Cry out all that alcohol.

Your watery eyes burned from exhaustion. They burned from weakness and from the sting of the alcohol. Lifting your hand to your throat, you traced it briefly before looking toward Alfie. “I ain’t..” your brows creased. “I’m not trying to kill myself, Alfie. Sometimes i just drink a little quicker than I mean to.”

He pursed his lips before shrugging. “Not drinking at all, pet, right, that would be a good fucking way to avoid that, innit?” He sighed lowly before shuffling his heavy boots against the floorboards. “Fucking nonsense, that’s what it is, yeah, drinking that much alcohol, you’ve got something going on. Spit it out.”

“I’ve told you once, Alfie. I’ll tell you a hundred times. I don’t like the fact that I’m married to your house. I’m married to your dog, your furniture, your clothes, your belongings. But I’m not married to you. When do I ever see you!” You stood. Evidently, too quickly. The room spun and your legs felt like jello. Alfie extended his arm, fingertips wrapping around your own to gently pull you back down.

“Don’t shout.” He growled lowly. It was late. Neighbors were sleeping. And the last thing he wanted to do was fight. “I’m home an hour earlier than I use to be.” He defended.

“Right, and what does that do?” You collapsed back in the chair. “No meals together, no sex, no cuddling by the fireplace or talking until we’re tired. You just sleep, then leave, then sleep, then leave. It’s not a relationship.”

Alfie curled his hand against his thigh before shaking his head. “Least I ain’t drinking a bottle of liquor all hours of the day. I’m doing what I can to get home. I’m trying.”

You felt guilty as you watched the man slump against the creaky chair. He let a heavy huff fall past his lips, a sound that told you he was just as drained as you. Your stomach flooded with guilt, it was clogging. You felt stuffed and suffocated with the feeling as you squirmed at his side. Lifting your hands to your cheeks, you brushed at the salty teardrops that traced the underside of your eyes. “I’m sorry.” You whispered breathily. You knew he was doing what he could to be home with you. You couldn’t imagine him wanting to be filling out paperwork instead of spending time with you. He wouldn’t have married you if that were the case.

Alfie was quiet for a few moments, his ears ringing with your gentle apology. He sensed you wanted him to assure you that things were alright, but he wanted to remain with his thoughts for a few more seconds. The fridge in the corner let out a low hum, the annoying sound penetrating the silence. Alfie watched you from his peripheral, only reaching for you when he caught sight of a lonely tear racing along your cheek. You wiped at the droplet, the liquid smearing against the back of your wrist. His fingertips circled your wrist, delicate as he pulled you up and toward his body.

You dropped down in his lap with no hesitation. He was easy to curl up against. His legs were spread wide, bent at the knee and his arms wrapped around your middle securely, holding you firmly so when your body grew heavy and your limbs fell loosely, he had you. His lips brushed against your temple, one of his hands managing to grasp your own. You peered down at the contact, a faint smile forming on your lips.

“Promise me..” He started to speak. Your head lifted from it’s drooped position. Looking toward the man slowly, you lifted your free hand to his cheek, cradling it. His scruffy hair tickled your palm as your fingertips traced his flesh.

“I know.” You silenced him. Laying your head against his shoulder, your features nestled into the side of his neck, legs swinging in the slightest as you shuffled on his lap.

Tonight was the first night that you hadn’t started drunkenly screaming at him. He did his best to diffuse the situation when things got out of hand, but try as he might, he was hot-headed and your incessant yelling and will to disobey him when he pleaded for you to quit shouting only made it harder for him to prevent losing his cool. Each night he’d ended up yelling back at you, both of you red in the face, expressions tight and furious as you spat venomously, defensively toward one another. Neither of you could take it anymore. You didn’t know what else to scream at him. And without your need to rile him up, Alfie was tender, doing his best to sober you up.

This was the first time he’d been able to get you to promise you wouldn’t drink anymore. You made a change. He would too.

“I’ll talk to the lads.” He promised you. It was hard for him. He’d been working at the distillery for as long as he could remember and when the two of you had begun dating, it had been okay for your time together to be spaced out. You paid him visits at work and he came to see you when he was off. Married life was different. You’d vowed to love each other forever, but how was that possible when you rarely saw one another. He was so use to his routine, so use to doing things the typical, set way. He’d have to fix it. Even if it meant leaving four hours earlier for work just to be home four hours sooner after work.

His head tipped south, turning so that his pink lips brushed the soft spot on your nose. You tilted your head further so his mouth was forced to hover in front of yours. Your eyes were droopy as you gazed up at him, fingertips brushing from his cheek, down to his neck, along the collar of his shirt, to run along his tight chest. You inhaled deeply before lifting your head so you could close the small gap. His mouth was soft against yours, slow as it opened. Your heart fluttered, butterflies forming where the guilt had previously been. They flapped their wings furiously, making you shiver in delight. The tingling feeling he gave you would never fade, you knew that. He managed to draw such a reaction from you from the smallest action. Your lips mirrored his, parting so your tongues could slide out and glide along one another. Your heart thumped wildly, legs extending so the tips of your toes could push into the floor. Standing, only so you could rotate your body, you straddled his hips. Sex probably wasn’t the best way to recover from arguing for almost a week straight. Your body dropped back down on top of his own, straddling him fully now. His hands fell to your hips, gripping them gently as he pulled your body against his own, pinning you between his chest and the table. Alfie grunted. He groaned. And he sighed breathily when your fingers pulled at his thick strands of brown hair. You dipped your hips forward, smiling into the heated kiss when his hips instantly lifted to meet your own.

Everyone had their own way of making up, your way just happened to be efficient. It worked and it worked well. At least for the time being.

———————————————————————

Tagged:

@peakblogbecauseimweak @mollybegger-blog @morphoportis @ghost-of-student-sufferings @drippydownes2002 @ellar21 @sovereigngoth @willowick13 @pansexualginger @heyitscam99 @haroldpain @justrepostandlove @emerald-bijou @multireality @innerpaperexpertcloud @goodiesintheclosetlove @giftofdreams @ihclipse @inkedfandom @thatsamegirl @doct0rstrange @jakechillenhaal @shanty-lol @centerhabit @clevertheoristpainter @favouritereadings @badmaax

@thephuonganh @wewillfindourwaythere @uhhhemilyrose @scarrasco1325 @bignastyfan-nz @hot-and-spiceyyy @azayamari @shane-isa-shame @lonewolf471 @crldrr @keeleyella @overitall2018 @lovebitesimagines @eddieisasnack @axxl-rose @slytherintothedeep @lucreziaborgiatheunholyfamily @demoncrypt1066 @phire23 @orphiceseum @captainbuckyboobear @medievalfangirl @hp-hogwartsexpress

#tom hardy x reader #tom hardy imagine #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons imagine

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iwriteforthetincanman · 4 years

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Mandoctober Day 14: Helmet

A/N: brought to you by angst, depression, a small hot chocolate, the tense feeling in my shoulders as I’m typing this and of course the source of almost all of my writing: the mixture of insomnia and a f**ked up sleep schedule.

p.s. I am trying to take care of myself, October is just a tough time of the year for me and Mandoctober is helping me cope. I refuse to give up any possibly writings/drawings at this point.

Also this is loosely based off of headcannons from @dindjarindiaries blog and this is for @leo-moon ‘s Mandoctober!

TW: mentions of abuse (both descriptive, non-descriptive, mental, emotional and physical but only for a two, three paragraphs) Refusal to eat or sleep (Din refuses to do these things for two seconds and Reader isn’t granted them) minor character death, themes of slavery (NOT RACE SPECIFIED) (not a trigger warning) pronouns of a gender neutral partner and of course, lastly, hurt/comfort and fluff. (Also personally because I wrote this and I can shout it into the void, I’m gender fluid with she/her pronouns so I’d like to imagine reader is too, BUT THAT’S JUST ME SO IMAGINE THIS HOWEVER YOU WANT, once again requests are open for any sexuality/gender, as long as you give me brief description of what you want, nothing NSFW)

Time. Aboard the Razor Crest with no specific moon, sun or stars to guide you, time easily became irrelevant. What you learned very quickly was that with this discovery, you realized Din knew that too.

Or it had gotten to a point where he learnt it a long time ago and just...forgot all about it.

Sometimes he would just sit there in the pilot’s seat, without even doing anything and he would just stare into oblivion. You wondered if his eyesight was okay. Now that you think about it...when was the last time he ate something? Does he ever take that helmet off?

“Din? Are you okay?” For a moment you thought he might be asleep.

“Sorry...did you say something?” Okay, now you knew he at least needed some sleep.

“Come on tin can. You need some brain food and maybe even an ‘extended nap’.” You joked.

“Isn’t that just called sleeping?” You couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not...or if that helmet was squeezing his brain too.

“Come on!” Grabbing his hand unexpectedly, Din flinched a little before you dragged him to his feet.

“I-I can’t.” This admission had you stopping in your tracks as you reached the hull.

“Is...everything okay?” You were concerned before but now you were starting to think he was hiding a wound from you. He’s done it before. Waiting until you were asleep to tend to it so you wouldn’t worry. Little did he know you had been wide awake with worry for a while and could hear him hurting himself with that blasted cauterizer.

It was understandable that as a Mandalorian medical supplies weren’t cheap. Even with all the bounties Din brought in, currency rates were going up around the universe. It was difficult to keep up with. Which is why you never broached the subject with him.

It wasn’t your place to pry.

Not with him anyway...he was silent, reserved, it was like he didn’t trust you. Yet you of all people understood that, you understood that it took you a long time to trust him. Like really trust him with your life...rather than just your role to him as the child’s ‘caretaker’.

It blind sided you when you realized how deeply you cared for him...Mando.

Gods, you didn’t even know his own name.

“My creed. I can’t...eat in front of other people.” This was a touchy subject. You knew that. But you underestimated how stressed out he really was. He wasn’t wounded...he was just bone tired.

“Well, I can make some food-”

“DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!”

“...ok.”

He hadn’t seethed the words out from his teeth as loud as you had heard them.

But...the look on your face as your eyes met the floor, undoubtedly filling with tears.

It cut Din deeper than any vibroblade could.

---

“I don’t know what to do Ad’ika. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t dream without thinking of her. And now...now I’ve gone and done the worst thing I could ever do to her...I hurt her without even touching her.”

The sigh was small before it reached a crescendo out of his lungs, erupting out of his head like it was a volcano. That was what it felt like to breath again. When he was alone Mando had the freedom to take his helmet off on the Crest as much as he wanted. As long as he was in space, his privacy was unlimited.

But that all changed when he met the child and then eventually...you.

“I just wish...I knew more about her. Knew her likes and dislikes. Knew what her favorite food was. What makes her laugh...her favorite kind of music…I’ve gone and ruined everything haven’t I? Not just for me but for you too. I can’t just let her go...and if she does leave I can’t just hire someone new. She’s...really burrowed her way into my heart, little one.”

Din’s soliloquy fell into the little creature’s ears like a fly trap. The child knew his father was hurting, he could feel it, not just in the force but in his tiny little heart. It was the kind of hurt he couldn’t fix with his own hands...he had to find another way. He had to make his buir feel whole again.

Determined, the little creature climbed onto his father’s chest as his breathing started to relax.

“Ad’ika, I’m not in the mood for games right now…” The dark circles under Din’s eyes became more and more pronounced as the hours dragged on. The good thing about being a father now meant that he had someone to talk to at any time if the baby was also struggling to sleep.

Din never thought he would become a father. He thought a lot of things wouldn’t happen before he died a warrior’s death. He definitely thought he wasn’t going to fall in love too...but that happened before he could even think about it.

Multiple chirps and coos echoed from the child’s lips as Din continued to massage his temples.

“Ad’ika did you not hear me?”

Opening his eyes, Din found himself utterly and completely alone.

“Ad’ika!” Startling upwards, he launched himself onto his bear feet as he searched the dark air around him for either you or the child.

“Y/N!” Screaming your name into the void he began to run, not caring about his bare feet, his sleep wear or the fact his helmet was completely missing.

A fact that had not gone unnoticed by the child.

---

Abruptly, Din was launched into the scorching blazes of a desert sun.

The sand hurt as he fell down the dune he wasn’t gonna lie.

But in some weird, twisted way, it felt good to feel the sand under his skin.

“Girl! You get back here! Wretched creature!!” The sudden yelling came from a small village not too far away from where Din stood. Flinching, he hid behind the sand. He felt naked without the beskar. It was almost embarrassing how scared he was right now.

Peering over the sandy hill, he saw a young child with Y/H/C hair, rosy cheeks and bare feet run straight towards him. Not considering the strange events that had occurred before this, Din, although he’d never admit it, attempted to run away from her. Except, when she caught up to him, she ran right through him.

Din couldn’t decide whether this was some wicked form of a dream or that he had died and was now wandering the nearest planet.

Oh Maker, what if he was dead? There was no way you could pilot the Crest on your own...and what about Ad’ika.

That was when he heard it, the baby cooing in his head.

“Ad’ika?”

That’s when it clicked. He wasn’t in some hellish figment of his imagination or dead…the child had used his powers to do this since he wasn’t wearing his helmet. But then again...where the hell was he?

“Y/N! YOU UGLY THING! IF YOU DON’T GET BACK HERE I WILL THROTTLE YOU!”

Whipping around to face you, all Din was met with was the familiar sight of you hunched over yourself, right near his feet. Crying. This had happened before but…not like this.

Was this...one of your memories?

Oh no...Din was in your head. Somehow, the baby had managed it.

“I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK THERE! AND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!” Din turned back to face the furious woman, she looked like a cursed school teacher, her hair flying all over the place. But what stood out to him were the nail marks on her cheek.

He couldn’t picture it but somehow this woman had distressed you so much you had decided to hit her. The next thing that happened confirmed it…

SLAP!

“YOU EVER HIT ME LIKE THAT AGAIN GIRL I WON’T BE AS CONSIDERATE TO KEEP YOU!”

Keep you? Oh...you weren’t a school child.

You were a slave.

That’s why when you had first met you had been so skittish, so fearful...and yet so brave.

Somehow it all made sense.

Din couldn’t help reaching out for you as your head sagged on your shoulders, a purple and pink mark blossoming across the side of your face as the evil woman clawed her hand around your wrist.

“You will make my children their supper and you will go straight into the cellar with no dinner. Do you understand me child?” She spoke with a gentle tone...yet the venom dripped from it with the force of a thousand sandcrawlers.

“...Yes Ma’am.”

Your submission startled Din. Then again, you were only a child, and if Din hadn’t been taken in by the Mandalorians at your age...who knows what could’ve happened to him. From what little he had heard about of slaves...they didn’t often make it to see their teenage years.

Yet, somehow you did.

Din couldn’t help being grateful that, from what he could see of you, those were the only things that cruel woman had done to you.

---

Stumbling into a new landscape, Din shook his head in an attempt to gain his bearings.

“Look Y/N, it’ll be a quick job, all you have to do is listen to what I say and we’ll be gone as soon as you can say ‘bantha fodder’.”

This was a new voice. A teenager from what Din could guess. They spoke in a kind tone but at the sound of the way they said your name he couldn’t help the feeling of jealousy welling up in him.

Shaking his head once again, he looking around the jungle planet to spot you and this person.

“Iarren...I don’t know about this. I know we’ve done stuff like this before but we’re not resistance fighters. Those are imperial troops. What if...what if one of us doesn’t come back from this?”

A much older version of you appeared like a vision from behind the leaves. You were much older now, Din could only guess that you had only just recently come of age. You had grown into your features well. He could see more of the fierce woman he had come to know.

“Babe, you worry too much. Imps are stupid, plus what we are after is right next to the door practically. If you’re so concerned you can cover me from here and I’ll be right back to kiss your worries away...alright?” Din could tell just by the way you shared a glance that you were absolutely taken with this person.

In a way Din respected them...but in the back of his mind he knew there was a reason he was seeing this particular memory. Bracing himself, he could only watch as you shared a tender kiss with your lover. It shocked him how passionate you were with them. Gripping them like a vice as if you knew what was about to happen.

Din’s heart broke for you as he watched you sob over their corpse later that very night.

---

“Cyare?”

Din thought he had finally made it back to you just by looking upon your face. Much older now, age similar to the one when he met you. Looking around, he realized...this was that exact moment.

“Excuse me.”

Now Din knew for certain he wasn’t dreaming...there was no way he could dream about himself in this much detail. It was like having an out of body experience...in a way he was.

“Can I help you?” The first thing Din noticed about you was that you were too kind to have been on a planet as rough as Andos. Imps were everywhere nowadays and it was the one time Din had to wear a proper cloak so no one could spot him.

“I need to hire someone to help me with a child. I was wondering if you could help me find a person that is trustworthy?” Being a Mandalorian was so difficult that day. Meeting you made him realize that you were kind enough to suggest yourself, admitting that you were tired of the constant trail of dead bodies this planet had shown you. He flinched when you mentioned the blood you found leaking through your front door one morning.

He accepted your offer immediately. Offering payment for a job you had been doing for years without none.

Din had no clue he had saved you from slavery for the second time in your life.

---

Waking up in a cold sweat, Din knew this was reality.

All your memories, it felt like a dream.

That’s when he felt his son sag against his chest, heaving long tired breaths.

Din was scared he had over exerted himself.

“Ad’ika...why did you do that?”

All the child could do was reach for his father’s face, bringing it towards his own.

“Da.” This one, simple word, brought Din’s walls crumbling to the ground as he began to cry.

“Thank you...Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum Ad’ika.”

The overwhelming joy he felt caused his thoughts about you to skyrocket. He knew he had to share this information with you.

Startling from his bed, Din shot out of his room with the sleepy child tucked against his vest clad chest.

“Y/N! Cyare come quick!”

The sound of his unmodulated voice scared you more than anything else he had said to you that night. What you didn’t expect when you opened the door was to find a complete stranger shouting your name.

“WHO ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH DIN?!” You practically screamed, ready to throw hands with this strange practically half naked man that had appeared before you.

That’s what you spotted the child in his arms, half asleep and staring admiringly up at the man.

“...He called me da. I...had to share that with you Cyare...I didn’t even think twice about my creed.” The watery smile he gave you was enough to convince you that the man before you was none other than Din Djarin himself.

“...just like that? You...you threw away your creed, being a Mandalorian...just so you could tell me he spoke his first word?” Din thought you were upset, in a way you were.

When he turned to find your eyes filled with the happiest of tears he had ever seen, the overwhelming urge to kiss you kept slamming into his head, bleeding through his heart.

“Cyare...Father’s always share the first word their child speaks with their Mother.”

When you began to sob, Din refused to hold himself back as he curled his fingers through your hair, cradling your son between the two of you as he tilted your head back.

As his lips brushed against yours for the first time…

You both had never felt so free.

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iamtheprotagoneil · 3 years

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when i was writing my answer for the second part of this ask from alicia, i actually came up with a fic idea but since my schedule is pretty packed for a while to come, i probably won’t be able to turn this idea into an actual fic. so to keep this from fading away into the oblivion that is my awful memory, i’mma just do what ive made this blog for, which is rambling away:

there’s this hongkong tv show i watched ages ago, but one of the subplot really stuck with me. it follows one of the main characters on his journey to his eventual greatness. in this subplot, he’s stuck in an ice cage and, every night, he’d meet a girl (circumstances are a bit icky, but let’s digress). the ice cage is so dark and freezing that, to both of them, it feels more dreamlike than reality. they even prefer to each other as ‘mộng lang’ and ‘mộng cô’ which loosely translates to ‘dream man’ and ‘dream lady’.

later on, the girl (who turns out to be a princess) hosts an event to search for a consort (although, in honesty, she’s hoping to meet her dream man again). in the event, she hides behind some thick drapes that hide her identity, and asks her suitors questions that only her dream man would be able to answer – or answer correctly, anyway. the guy only comes to the event out of obligation, rather than any actual wish to be the prince consort. however, his intention changes as his turn to go ‘meet’ the princess comes, and then the questions, and then the realization that his dream lady is just behind those drapes.

i just find it so poetic that they only meet each other through bizarre circumstances, that they don’t even know of each other’s true identity, only falling in love with each other’s voice and wits. then, after a while apart, they find each other again, through sheer coincidence, and are able to reconcile on what they’d thought was only a lost connection.

which, ahh, makes me think of an AU, of sorts, for protagoneil. perhaps, they wouldn’t meet in an ice cage, but in a prison (idk, that’s just what my mind decided on), maybe in some place where they’re held captive in rooms next to each other, a place with rules so reclusive that they never get to see each other, only a voice as proof of the other’s existence. their situation – being locked up in a room with only a small window as indication that the outside world does exist, although distant – would make their interaction with each other so surreal, as if the other is nothing more than a figment of their imagination, another sign that they’ve gone mad in this captivity.

hell, we can make this even more tragic by setting in the tenet ‘verse, post-canon. perhaps a mission went awry, and the protagonist finds himself captured by some antagonists with greedy, self-serving purposes for tenet’s inversion technology. perhaps, the protagonist thinks neil’s voice – or whoever it is that sounds so much like the neil he once met – coming through the wall is just his mind coping to the loneliness and isolation. he’s never had problems with either before, but the circumstances are different now. now he’s got a ghost living up in his head, that he’s been missing and thinking about more than he’d ever admit to another soul.

i imagine their conversations can only be held in the night, spoken so quietly – barely above a whisper – so as to not alert the guards. the secrecy drown in complete darkness truly adds another layer of surrealism to it all. they never exchange names – the protagonist bc he doesn’t want to compromise himself, and neil bc well, if the protagonist doesn’t bother to offer name then why should he?

the things they talk about are simple, although unclear on whether what is true and what is warped into something not quite a lie, but close. they talk mostly to keep themselves sane (ironic, isn’t it?), to have a little distraction from the horrid things await them when morning comes.

i imagine the protagonist would wake up one day, call for neil, but get no answer in return. he tries more times, through many nights but still, no answer. neil’s just gone, so suddenly, and the protagonist can’t decide which sense of the word is worst. eventually, after a few more days of torture, of wondering and dreading, the protagonist finds his freedom.

it’s a joined effort, from himself and the tenet team sent to rescue him. i imagine the protagonist checking the room besides, finding it vacant of any furniture and living soul. he decides there that, yeah, perhaps the time in and out of inversion, paired with the isolation and torture he was put through, has really done a number on his mental state.

then, some months later, the protagonist would meet the voice in his head once again, but this time, with confirmation that it’s been real all along.

see, neil’s been moved to another holding facility. the antagonists have wanted him to work for them; have taken interests in the research he’s been doing on a particular field of physics and decided that he would be perfect to help them in their malicious plot for greed. neil... well, i wouldn’t say they broke through him, but he did agree eventually. the torture had been too much, and he was tired – he hated having to go back to the cell they were holding him in, facing this sickening dread as he questioned his sanity.

the voice in his cell had been a great reprieve from the undue punishments on his body, but not enough to completely elevate him from the pain of it. so he “broke”. he agreed to work with the antagonists, to save himself since it was obvious that no one ever would.

and that’s how the protagonist finds him again; when he breaks down the antagonists’ second location and discovers a compliant neil seemingly working for the people that was going to put a whole lot of lives in danger for their own greedy purposes. before they can say anything to each other, though, neil’s taken out by another agent – a sleeping dart placed carefully on his neck and pushed. the protagonist never did get the agents’ identity, having lost track of them in the midst of chaos going around him.

later, when neil is put in their medical care facility, the protagonist stands outside of his room, watching him sleep through the glass window and listening to a report about his conditions. it contains everything from the moment neil went missing from his london flat (presumed dead), to the time he’s spent under the antagonists’ captivity, to the point where they found him. then, the protagonist is shown a document, including various equations and graphs and terms that mostly went through his head.

he looks to the reporting agent, expecting a better explanation. the agent points out that the equations are wrong, but so delicately that she would’ve missed it if she hadn’t thought to take another, harder look.

“even if they’d gotten with it, their plan would’ve failed. that document you’re holding in your hand ensures that.” she turns to look at neil, regarding his sleeping figure. “he might’ve given into the idea of ever getting out of their claws, but he never gave in. he never truly gave them what they’d wanted from him.”

all of that winds down to one simple fact: neil’s passed the test, and the protagonist knows what that means. the protagonist has to wait a few hours for it, though; for neil to finally wake up and have his induction into tenet. in the meantime, he sits on the couch inside neil’s room, and waits, watching neil’s eyelids flutter in sleep, and feeling sorrow/rage/frustration grip tight to his being as he thinks about things that has and will happen to neil.

when neil wakes up, the protagonist is just right there to welcome him into the afterlife. he keeps his speech short, giving neil a brief overview of his situation, but neil isn’t really listening. the protagonist’s words blur together, not because of neil’s groggy mind, but because of a single, simple realization. it hits him so hard that he just can’t keep in the lone tear falling from his eyes. the protagonist sees this, and his heart aches – remembering how it’s felt when he was the one who was lying on the bed, getting told that his entire team had failed to make it out alive – and unlike his own recruited, the protagonist tries to comfort neil with, “listen, i know it’s hard—”

but neil just cuts him off entirely, reciting a phrase he’s said before, to the man he’s thought was just a dream his tired mind made up to keep him company at the late hours of the night. it stops the protagonist right in his tracks, staring down at neil, breathing harshly through his lips because he can’t believe it. he’s thought, also, but apparently, he’s thought wrong.

“i’m glad you’re real,” neil says, as he watches the same realization he’s experienced dawn on the protagonist’s face.

the protagonist takes a moment to respond, still a little bit stunned by neil’s words. then, he takes an easy breath, relaxing his tense shoulders, smiles down at neil - small and private, something just for the too of them - and says, “me too.”

because despite everything that had happened to them both during their time in that prison, they still had each other. they were there for each other, and the protagonist gets it now - the beautiful friendship that neil had alluded to. it is quite beautiful - poetic too, maybe - for them to have found each other in such a hopeless place, then lost that connect, then reconnecting it again because fate has willed it so.

the protagonist can’t help, even more so now that they are together again, looking forward to the things they will get up to - as promised. neil’s smile, sleepy yet sincere, tells him the very same thing.

#protagoneil #its only an idea so some parts are weird and super vague and just improbable #i really want to write it but damn i can't be profound enough to write something like this; and like i said my schedule is packed rip #and i have so many wips already ahhhhhhh #gotta finish them all before i can jump on any other projects and i just love this one to much to leave it there collecting dust #so here goes #if anyone wanna hop on this please do #you'll get my eternal love in return #also kudos for anyone who knows/figures out the show i'm talking about here #it's based on a very famous novel (that i have never read before; but have heard enough of it from my dad while watching the show with him)#(fun times; maybe that's why the show (or parts of it) really sticks to me hah)#idk what to tag this #*my ramblings #my prompt #ig???#i'll figure something out later but this will be it for now

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hilllsnholland · 5 years

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Undeniable (Grey’s Anatomy Inspired)

Attending!Tom Holland x Resident!Reader

Wc: 4.2k

Warnings: medical talk, swearing, smut

Summary: It’s a beautiful day to save lives....and get freaky in the on-call room

A/N: I maaaay have watched a little too much Grey’s lately because all I want is to write some sexy Doctor smut. Also, I know nothing about the medical field. If I get something wrong, who cares? It’s fanfiction. Or you can message me nicely. Either way, enjoy this mess of feelings.

_____

Hospital life was not all it was cracked up to be. You learned that your first year interning, having to clean patient’s cavities and do the dirty work for your Resident. Yet, somehow it was the most calming place in the world. You could have a full day of rounds, surgeries, and post-ops and you’d still feel like the luckiest person in the world to work at Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital.

Although it did have its moments, like now. As soon as you stepped onto your usual floor you were bombarded by your interns. They asked you questions that you were far too busy for, begging for a chance to scrub in on a surgery with you that day. You didn’t even have any for them to even pick from. But interns were savages. Birds picking at dead skeletons hoping to prove their worth. You remembered those days so you went easy on them. Giving them chances and building them up, but today was not a day of compassion. It was tough love day.

“Doctor Y/L/N, patient in room 304 needs-”

“Is it something you can do?” You interrupted while looking down on your papers.

“I mean yes but-”

“You don’t need permission to be a Doctor, Reid.” You handed your interns paperwork for rounds and sighed. “Reid, go with Maloney and deal with whatever the patient needs. Unless he’s literally dying I don’t want to be bothered,”

Your interns nodded at you like a bunch of children, grabbing their round work and rushing off into the rooms. Sometimes you swore they’d be the death of you. They needed confidence, which is why you set them loose on days like these. It wasn’t busy, just routine surgeries and looking after patients. It was vital they learned how to do busy work. Not every day you’re a hero. Even though you felt particularly heroic today so you scanned the surgery board, looking at today’s schedule and noticed a General surgery that piqued your interest.

“Hello Doctor Princess,” Harrison greeted you, leaning over the nurse's station.

“Morning Doctor McHottie,”

Harrison grinned but pretended to roll his eyes at you. He was playful, young, and bright. A Trauma God is what the interns called him. He was a master of problem solving in tight situations, which is why you admired him. Harrison moved next to you, whistling at the board.

“I think a certain someone will be asking you to scrub in today?” He hummed, winking at you.

“Would that be you?”

“Sadly not, it’s me darling,”

You and Harrison shot to your left, seeing Tom coolly writing in his paperwork. His curls were pushed back, giving him that sexy relaxed look. You try to hide the redness coming to your skin by smiling at the Attending, but your heart was pounding in your chest. You’ve scrubbed in with Tom plenty of times, but it always happened like this. You would get all child-like, shaking in anticipation to show your worth. You were like an intern again. It was a constant battle, but the surgery was worth it.

“I can’t wait,” You nod to Tom who smiles. Harrison mocks you and you slam your elbow into his side.

Tom walks past you, eyes locked on yours with the most sensual smirk on his lips. Tom was a sight at the hospital. Attractive, young, and a heart of gold. He was everything you wanted in a doctor and more. As Tom walks away from you, there’s a glimpse of something in his eyes. Longing? Fierceness? You weren’t sure, but it was sexy. The thirst was aching in your heart, to get more than a somewhat friendly, somewhat work, relationship with him. Tom looks directly into your eyes and you stop.

“It’s a beautiful day to save lives,”

____

“You’re a petty prick!”

“And you’re a self-serving psychopath!”

That did not last long, you heard Harrison mutter as you and Tom rushed out of the operating room. You slammed your gloves into the disposal bin, tossing aside your scrub cap while Tom followed close behind. He was fuming, veins popping from his neck and eyes narrowed on you. He disposed of his bloodied garments while you slammed the door in his face. The two of you were pissed at each for what was the hundredth time.

This time though it was inexcusable. Tom didn’t trust you in the surgery and belittled your judgment. It was a routine procedure that went horribly wrong. There was too much bleeding and the patient's heart was flatlining. You did what you thought would be the most efficient, cutting out the rest of the mass and finishing the job. Tom, however, was upset as he was leading the surgery, and you took over.

“Y/N, don’t walk away from me,” Tom keeps his voice calm around the nurses and patients but you kept walking.

You needed a break. It was a long surgery and you needed to get away from Tom. After working with him for several years you would have hoped that he trusted you but nope. He treated you like that small minded intern that he met so long ago. That was your worst fear. Being just a child to the older surgeons. They would never respect you the way they respected their peers, especially male peers. Harrison said you were making it up in your head, but this just proved it. Suddenly though you were dragged into an on-call room. Tom shuts the door and crosses his arms at you, like a father lecturing their child. It angered you, causing the heat in your stomach to rise.

“Y/N, you put the patient at risk with that stunt you pulled-“

“I saved his life!”

Stubborn, a word that everyone would associate with you. It was clear to you though that you did what was right. You saved the man’s life, ruling out the need for a second surgery. In your eyes, you were a hero.

“You didn’t know that though!” Tom raises his voice and throws his hands up. “You could have made it worse. You may have made his recovery harder than it needed to be. You were rushed and could have left pieces of the mass behind. You don’t know Y/N.”

Tom had snapped, but not in frustration, tears were brimming to his eyes. In all your years you’ve only seen Tom cry a few times. Only after losing a truly emotional patient or a child. And that one time he got so drunk at the Christmas party that he cried over a kitten pillow. This though, he was serious. His body shook with such ferocity you’ve never seen before. He was shaken, humiliated to be outright disregarded in his own surgery. Completely torn because you didn’t trust him.

“Tom, I’m sorry,” You speak softly. “I just wanted to save this man’s life. Make it easier for him to go back to his family. I’m sorry,”

Tom rested his head on the top bunk of the on-call beds. He looked a mess, something was eating him up inside. There was so much pressure on him, on his team, on this whole entire hospital. It was something you never thought of when in surgery. It was only you and the patient. Everything else was background noise to your end goal. It sounds selfish, but it had the highest success rate yet. You thought you had control, but watching Tom break down made it clear that what you did was irresponsible.

“Y/N, you got a lot of heart.” Tom rubs his face and pushed the hair out of his face. “More heart than a surgeon needs. You put the good of the world over the reality of medicine. One of the reasons why I admire you most is because you look death in the eyes and tell him ‘fuck you’”

You laugh and Tom cracks a smile through his broken composure. For years it had been this weird friendship between the two of you. One or both of you would get pissed, someone makes a joke, and then it’s all better. Most of the time it was stolen glances, smiles behind surgical masks, or late night drinks at the bar.

So many nights at the bar though, drinking shots of tequila or vodka. If you wanted to see someone drink themselves into oblivion, watch a doctor. It was some sort of right of passage to drink at Emerald City Bar across the street, drowning sorrows from the day’s surgeries or consultations. The Bar was a safe place, and an amazing place to sit down with Tom and have existential talks late at night. Talks that became so passionate, so intimate, that you felt the sexual tension coursing through the room. Many times you thought Tom would take the leap of faith, but here you were, becoming flushed by his simple compliment.

“I admire you also,” You take a step forward. “You’re the only surgeon in this fucking hospital who gives a shit. I’ve seen you send holiday cards to your old patients. You make them feel safe. You make them your family,”

Tom exhales softly, his body moving on its own to get closer to you. It was undeniable at this point. All the frustration was stemming from his urge to have you. Long nights on call he would think of you to calm his nerves. Even nights away at the hospital he wished you were to banter with him, keep him warm, and satisfy his needs. It was against every code he set for himself but he wanted to kiss you so badly.

“Y/N, although I’ve been a surgeon longer than you have, I feel like you’ve taught me more than any professor or chief.” Tom’s fingers dance up your arms. “You are a brilliant surgeon. You are the sun and we are only the planets and meteors that surround you,”

Tom’s eyes are locked on yours. He can’t look away anymore, he needs to finish this now. You saw this, the hunger building and it only antagonized your affection for him. It would be a lie to say you haven’t had feelings since your first day of interning. How could you not? Tom was the youngest Attending at the hospital, charming and sweet. He took you under his wing without taking advantage of you. What was happening now though, this was a blossoming attraction that had been building for years.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Since the beginning, it had been you and him. It made sense for the two of you to be the ultimate team. When you’ve scrubbed in for his surgeries there was never a doubt in his mind that you would fail. That was what sparked his interest long ago, your determination during a Whipple procedure. You were skillful and delicate, making sure that this patient would never have to worry again. Tom stood back, watched you with ease. That was not common, especially with a first-year intern. Most interns couldn’t tell the difference aphagia and aphakia. You though, you were the sun. You shined bright and gave life to every patient you touched.

“I would, especially after today’s surgery,” Tom was now almost pressed against your body and breathing offbeat. “Watching you hands…so agile and…and…”

What happened next was a flash, but you would be lying if you didn’t expect it. Tom melted his lips into yours in a flurry of passion. You grabbed his face and pulled at his luscious curls, needing him to be as close as possible. It was sloppy, but what can expect from years of build up? Not everything was roses and champagne. Right now it was the aroma of sanitizing soap and scrubs. Tom hoisted you up so that you could wrap your legs around his waist and then pressed you against the wall of the on-call room. His lips traveled down your neck, leaving wet kisses over the sensitive area. Fuck it’s been too long.

It was a mess of massaging and groping, his hands moving everywhere on your body while you held him as close as possible. Nothing had ever felt so right, his body grinding down on yours in a lustful, almost animalistic, rhythm. You could feel him tenting in his scrubs, the low groans leaving his lips and vibrating on yours. It was a scene of weakness, finally coming together after so much pinning in silence. If either of you knew how easy this would have been then this would have happened ages ago. It felt right. Your bodies made for one another.

“Is this…is this okay?” You whine while still holding a tight clump of his hair.

“More than okay,” He gasps against your skin. “I’ve been in love with you forever Y/N. I’ve been holding back because I didn’t want to jeopardize our careers…but I can’t hold back anymore.”

There was a pause. He put all out there, no going back essentially. Tom waited to see if you would want to continue. If he needed to walk out and act like the never happened, he would. But he couldn’t deny those pestering feelings anymore. Tom could not act like you were not the most amazing thing in his life. You meet his gaze and kissed him again but sweeter. Much more innocent to the previous actions. It wasn’t so timid like a first kiss you have in middle school, but it was soft. It was the kind of kiss you give to the person you cherish more than anything in this world. Like a goodbye kiss, but only this one spoke a thousand words for Tom.

“I love you,” You whispered. “Tom, I need you…”

With a swift roll of your hips you ground yourself against his groin. Tom threw her head back slightly, murmuring a low groan against your lips. That was all he needed. Tom dropped you to your feet and scrambled to lock the door. You started throwing your scrubs off, pulling your hair out of the tight pony and letting the hair fall seductively on your shoulders. Tom turns to you and just stops dead in his tracks. He memorized the moment so he could have it forever. The way you looked in a mismatched bra and panty set and how you were smiling at him. Tom had never seen you like this, so undone and vulnerable. You kept yourself professional, taking your hair done only after work and sometimes during lunch breaks. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

“What are you waiting for huh?” You tease.

Tom picked you up again and laid you on the bed. He continued to kiss down your throat and sucked on the ample skin of your breasts. Your hands went to massage him through the scrubs, his cock desperate for your attention, which prompted his low grunts. He couldn’t stop being vocal, this has been his dream for years. Tom wanted you to know that it was only you who could make him feel so good. You felt victorious, getting a man so desirable like Tom to melt into your hands.

It was more than the sex though, it was the need for him to get closer to you. Tom could have stopped at just the kiss, but you were devouring him in every way. Your eyes spoke sex and your hands were needy. Tom couldn’t resist you, urging the only fabrics in the way to be removed. You slipped the rest of his clothes off and tried to hold in a gasp. You had always wondered what Tom’s body looked like under the loose-fitting scrubs, but you did not expect him to be completely built. Tom’s toned abs felt like magic on your fingertips. Tom was confident though, smugly laughing as you admired his body.

“Get in me now,” You whined.

Tom chokes a laugh out while your lips go to raid his perfect skin. He treasures the moment, dragging his fingers down to your clit and moving slow circles on them. He knew the body, he studied it for years, yet touching you for the first time was otherworldly. The way you thrusted forward towards him boosted his ego even more, his fingers continuing the pace and feeling the wetness pool around him. Your hand went jerk Tom, his member twitching as your thumb spreads precum down the tip. Thank god the room was sound proof because the desperate whines of presex were uncontrollable. Tom slipped your black thong down to your ankles, you kicked them off and eased yourself back under his control. It was no longer a power struggle, the two of you were working through the motions and loving every second of it.

“Ready?” Tom shifted himself so he was leveled with your opening.

He didn’t need the verbal confirmation, the passionate kiss you gave him was enough. Tom eased himself into you and the overwhelming euphoria engulfed your body. Tom lifted himself on his forearms to get better leverage to pump in and out. You were in a fit of giggles with the pure happiness bubbling deep inside. Tom only stopped grinning once he bottomed out and the sloppy flat smile appeared on his face. His eyes rolled back as you bucked toward him. He had never felt something so intense in his life. The way you knew how to use him, move around him to get that knot in his stomach to tighten. Tom followed your rhythm, slowly pumping in and out of you so he could savor the feeling. Your nails clawed into Tom’s back to steady yourself with the movements and you met Tom’s gaze through dazed eyes.

“You…are so…beautiful,” His words came out in short huffs of air.

Tom couldn’t look away. He loved the closeness that he felt when staring back at you. It was only you and him. It didn’t matter if there was a hospital full of people, or a whole world full of people, it was just the two of you against it all.

“I love you,” You whisper like it was the first time you had said it. “I do…fuck I love you…”

Your head fell back at the knot loosening in your stomach. You didn’t want it to end, but something about this was shaking you to your core. It may be the way he thrusted so deep inside of you, turning you into a mess of whiny moans. Or it could be the way his fingers danced along your clit, easing you to your quick release. He knew your body too well, even if it was the first time. It was instinctual. Tom met your lips again while quickening his thrusts. His sloppy movements and muffled curses intensified the incoming orgasm. You buckled down as the knot snapped inside of you. Tom pressed down on you as you shook with pleasure.

“Fuck…Y/N…” Tom’s eyes rolled back and you felt his warmth fill you.

His body slumped down on top of you. The heat of his body flushed against you made the realization of what really happened hit you even harder. Your fingers trickled through his hair, pulling at the loose curls that were wet with sweat. Tom peppered sweet kisses to your forehead, humming against the skin while his fingers trace your arms.

“We…we really did that…” Your breath is rippled due to his weight on your chest.

“Yeah,” Tom looks down at you. “Are you having second thoughts?”

Tom was trying to not gulp so loudly at the sudden fear coursed through his body. You nuzzled into his chest, shaking your head and kissing his toned fiery body.

“Never. I mean it when I say I love you,” You hold his face to make sure he looks straight into your eyes. “I just don’t want this to jeopardize anything we have. Our careers and friendships, you know?”

There wasn’t a ‘No dating’ policy at the hospital, but when people did date it got complicated. You were not one for drama, neither was Tom, so to add this aspect into your lives was another feat. It also didn’t help that gossip traveled quicker than sickness in Grey Sloan Memorial. Tom kisses your temple and nods.

“I totally agree love. We should keep this to ourselves for a bit until we figure everything out.”

You kept your feelings a secret for years so a few months of dating in secrecy wouldn’t be a big deal. Tom longingly looked at you, the same look he gave you that morning when asking you to scrub in. That was the face, he wanted to say those words and longed to finally hold you in his arms. You kiss him again, but you couldn’t imagine not kissing him anymore. So many years you spent wondering what his lips tasted like and now they were yours to take. It was pure, even if you both naked and glowing with post-sex, but it was innocent and full of those gooey emotions. Although you were adults, medically trained adults at that, it was so easy to fall for the feelings that only appear in romance novels. But it was love.

“Hey, are-”

You and Tom shot up with wide eyes looking at the open door. Tom locked it, he was sure he locked the fucking door but there was Harrison, peeking his head in with a bewildered expression. You didn’t know what to say or do, Tom tried to get up but he was covering your naked body and you held him against your chest. He grabbed the blanket that was tucked underneath your legs and covered the both of you to save some modesty.

“Harrison, I swear to god, if you say anything-”

“Mouths shut!” Harrison exclaims and shuts the door behind him, entering the room. “I’ve been waiting years for this. My two best friends together! A dream come true!”

Harrison paced around the room excitedly, seemingly ignoring the fact that the two of you were naked and in a compromising position. Tom grabbed his scrub bottoms from the floor and shimmied them on from underneath the thin blanket. Harrison was too consumed by his ramblings, going on and on about how he knew there was something happening, that he didn’t notice Tom shoving him towards the door.

You couldn’t help but stare, although you found it amusing you were still in shock. Harrison oblivious to it all, and you wondered how long he’s suspected something. And how long he’s known the two of you liked each other and didn’t say anything.

“Haz, I love you mate but you gotta read the room,” Tom patted him on the back and opened the on-call door slightly.

“Yeah, yeah man. This will be our little secret.”

Harrison winks and struts down the hallway, giddy as could be. You finally took a breath for the first time since Harrison caught the two of you. There was an awkward tension in the air as you grabbed your clothes to put back on. The day had to go on, there were interns to instruct and patients to save. But you would be lying if you didn’t want to spend the whole day in bed with Tom. It would be a dirty lie to say you wouldn’t be craving him and wanting him again later tonight. Tom threw on his shirt and made his way to the bed to kiss your head again. He was one for simple gestures, you noticed. He loved to simply touch you, know that you’re in arms reach for confirmation.

“So much for our plan huh,” Tom murmurs.

“It’s alright. We still have each other,”

You stood up, grabbing his hand and bringing him to the door. It would look suspicious if you left together but you wanted to enjoy the last few moments of bliss before you’re whisked away by some foolish intern or another Resident wanting to compare notes. There could be a whole tragedy going on outside those walls and you wouldn’t know it. But for once, your mind wasn’t on that. It was how Tom was smiling at you, slightly crooked teeth but they were sparkling the same. His cheeky smile didn’t make you feel like a schoolgirl anymore, but it did fill you with glee to know you were causing that smile.

“I’ll see you around,” You kiss him quickly and open the door.

“Where you going so fast?” Tom hid against the sidewall while you looked for any watchers.

You step out, only looking into the room to say your final goodbye to your lover, boyfriend, what have you now. That was a conversation for another time.

“A sexy man once told me, ‘it’s a beautiful day to save lives’,” You winked at him and strutted down the hallway.

Tom watched you, wholeheartedly smitten with everything about you. It wasn’t your looks, but your brains, wits, everything that made you, you. Surgeon life could be sorrowing, having to break the news of death and pain, but somehow you were the sun in all of that. The hospital walls seemed lest dreary, the cafeteria tasted less bland, and Tom felt a resurgence of vigor towards the craft. It was stupid, undeniable, love. And he was absolutely okay with that.

////

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tagging cuz idk: @spiderboytotherescue @laureharrier @starksparker @stuckonspidey @hollandroos @peterplanet @peterporkerpete @naturallytom @captainbuckyy @marvelouspeterparker @madmadmilk @blissfulparker @mcuspidey

#Tom Holland smut #Tom Holland imagines #Tom Holland imagine #Tom Holland fluff #Tom Holland blurbs #Tom Holland fanfic #Tom Holland angst #Doctor!tom holland #surgeon!tom holland #Attending!Tom Holland #Tom Holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #Tom Holland x you #Peter Parker smut #Peter Parker imagines #Peter Parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #Peter Parker blurbs

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shinebrite97 · 4 years

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Day 7 - Magically Ever After

The moon was shining brightly above as Lochlan laid back to watch the stars, hands under the back of their head. It had grown too stuffy in the sleeping quarters and the odd feeling of dread filled their chest despite assurances from Asra that everything was fine. They sighed into the night air, watching the mist of their breath dance above them as the faint sound of whimpering rose from the deck below. Strangled sounds, grinding into their skull and a level of panic took over. Julian.

Once that thought registered in their head, Lochlan leaped up from the ground and dove under the deck to the sleeping quarters. Portia was there in the dim light of the moon through the window, hovering over her brother and shaking his arm, hissing at him to wake up.. "Ilya, wake up! It's just a nightmare,” she whispered. Mazelinka was still asleep, oblivious to his tiny strangled cries and Portia's frantic whispers. "Pasha," They whispered. She perked up, lips slightly parted as if to utter their name with a startled expression and luminescent blue eyes. "He just started mumbling,” She whispered. “He's nearly impossible to wake up during one of these, and I don't want to wake Maz." "Let me help." they offered, kneeling down beside his face. Portia stood behind them nervously, her timid energy built up like a storm cloud above them, and Lochlan smiled, realizing what she was waiting for. Some kind of magic to ease Julian’s anxiety, to let him sleep throughout the night, and stop him from going into a full-blown conniption. But they knew it wasn’t necessary. All he needed right now was communication. The kind magic of support for a troubled mind. They acted slowly, making sure to keep their movement steady, knowing just how tightly wound Julian could become when he was stressed. He’d been mostly hiding it well up until now, singing sea shanties as he tied knots in the rigging systems, sailing the four of them into the setting sun of oblivion, pulling Portia and Maz into sweeping twirls under his arm around the deck and sharing stories about his travels in his medical studies, but during his quiet moments like dinner and sleeping, the anxiety is still there. Now it came out in these horrible nightmares. Portia watched on silently as Lochlan pushed the damp loose locks away from Julian’s eyes, they were shut tightly, tears escaping as he muttered small things in his sleep. Whatever was happening in there must have been terrifying. "No…" He groaned. "No…” as his voice trailed off, growing into more of a pained whimper, they couldn’t help but wonder what he didn’t do. They knew these dreams hardly ever made sense, but from first-hand experience, they also knew that those tended to be the scariest. "Julian, my love…." They said in a low voice. "Wake up." Their fingers trailed along the length of his arm, trying to avoid his back where he'd likely have a more violent reaction. "Jules…” they whispered. “Julian…" They sighed, leaning over his writhing form and moving the hair from his ear. "Come back to me, my love." "Lochlan…." He moaned. "Loch…I'm sorry." Julian, you’ve done nothing wrong... It would be so easy to tell him this but they knew it wouldn’t matter. Whatever is plaguing his mind now, haunting him in his dreams, it was a hurt far older than them. Behind them, Portia fell to her knees. She hesitantly brought her hand up to his shoulder, recoiling when he feverishly and unconsciously shrugged it away. “Ilya…” She hissed. “Please wake up, you dumb big brother.” Lochlan knew this was scaring her, and the tears would soon fall. They turned to face her, abandoning their light touch on Julian and throwing their arms around her shoulders, soothingly running steady fingers through her soft red hair. she trembled in their grasp but they only held on tighter. “Go back to sleep now, Pasha,” I whispered calmly. “I’ve got him.” She drew a short shuddering breath, a hiccup as the worried tears fell from her eyes. She nodded once before crossing the floor and I listened as she slipped back under the blanket beside Mazelinka. Now Julian was facing the other way with his back to them, but they knew his routine now, and in a moment he turned over faster than lightning, still mumbling apologies. Lochlan sighed out of sympathy, not wanting to know what this nightmare was about, remembering the visions they bore witness to in the Devil’s trap. They took a deep breath, slipping their hand over his writhing palm, interlocking their fingers as his hand gripped on tighter like a lifeline. They smiled, feeling hopeful at his movements. Perhaps he was finally coming to. One more try. "Dashing Doctor Devorak, please wake up." They whispered into his ear, softly stroking the sweaty skin on his forehead. Lochlan pursed their lips, placed a gentle but deliberate kiss on Julian’s twitching lips, holding them still through his crazed murmurs. This finally roused him. His eyes flew open, both crazed and feverish, but the blood-red eye glowed in the moonlight like a sparking ember. “Lochlan?" He asked. "It's me, Julian," they replied. "Come here," they stood up, ducking just a bit in the tight space, and held their hand out for him. "Watch your head, love." Out on the central deck, the night air was cool, crisper than it had been in Vesuvia when the trip began two days ago. The moon was still high in the sky, illuminating the crystal waters with glimmering fractals of silver light. It looked beautiful, almost like The Sun's realm, and the thought of the realms reminded Lochlan of why they’d been laying outside to begin with - that strange prickling feeling that something is wrong back home. "I'm sorry if I woke you, my dear." Julian said sheepishly after a few moments of comfortable companionable silence. "Oh, I was already awake." They replied, bringing up one knee to rest their elbow on while Julian gathered his thoughts. "Is something wrong, Lochlan?" He asked. "I just couldn't fall asleep tonight, and I came out here to see the stars," they replied. "What about you, Ilya? That nightmare seemed worse than the others." They relaxed themself and placed a hand on his knobby knee as he let out a sigh into the atmosphere around them. “And please don’t tell me that it’s nothing,” Lochlan begged. “If you don’t want to talk, that’s okay, but please don’t be worried about protecting me.” “My dearest Lochlan,” he beamed. “In another life, I might have felt the need to protect you, but I know better now. No one needs protection when they can defeat The Devil Himself.” He sighed, leaning back on his palms as he glanced down at them still holding onto his upturned knee. He reached out for them, fingers brushing their shoulder as they leaned in, only to feel his hand on their shoulder, ushering them closer to his side, holding them steady in his lap as the two watched the moon bounce off the listless waves that tapped the ship, filling the atmosphere with a calm ambiance. Lochlan listened as his pounding heart slowed, steadying itself as he relaxed more. His skin was still so warm from his slumber, and it felt nice against their face when they burrowed into his chest. A happy sound emanated from his diaphragm, deep and luxurious. It was a laugh, one that they very seldom heard. “You know,” Julian said after a long peaceful moment of silence. “I never thought I would have this.” His roaming fingers landed in the long dark tresses of their hair as it fell over their shoulders, twirling the locks until his hand relaxed, landing on the curve of their neck. “I never thought I would have a moment like this, even after I found you in that aqueduct. Another lost soul, another person that I could corrupt or con, but even after I realized my feelings, even when I told you I loved you for the first time...all over again, I’d never envisioned a happy moment like this, and I’m beyond grateful to experience this with you.” “I am too,” I said. “But Ilya...” they trailed off until that hazy smile fell on them again, lips pursed for a kiss, but instead, they placed a finger to his lips instead. He looked confused. “You’re stalling.” They finally said. He sighed, rolling his eyes before flashing them that adoring smile, placing a chaste kiss on the finger that blocked him at first and then pulling it away to speak. “You’re right,” He said. “And I’ve calmed down a bit.” As he stretched his back, falling flat onto the deck floor and holding them even closer against him, huddled close as the crisp air nipped the bare skin that their tunic didn’t cover. “It’s really nothing new,” He started. “You remember it, right? The dream we were trapped in together?” “Yes,” they said. The memory still burned clear in their head. It hadn’t been long since they witnessed it all, but they knew they’d never forget it. Portia, Asra, Nadia, and even themself, all suffering from different stages of the plague. Eyes red and weeping, voices raw from infection and blood dribbling from their lips, all calling him out on his failure. Lochlan had never brought it up to him since, but it still haunted them. Visions in their dreams of the exact scene, the echo of Julian’s voice, his begging and his tears. They knew they’d never know how he felt about it, fully. “Is that what happened tonight?” They asked. Beside them, Julian shivered. They reacted quickly and emotionally, tightening their hold around his waist. “Thankfully this time, it wasn’t just a shit-show of all my loved ones dying of the plague,” he said. “Instead, I saw my parents…” “Really?” They asked. He nodded silently, swallowing back sadness as he drew a long breath and continued to speak. “I saw them walking along the beach near Lilinka’s land in Nevivon, they had washed up saying how glad they were to see us, Pasha and I, of course. They said they didn’t die at sea and they’ve been looking for us, and it was my fault that I abandoned them.” “Julian…” Lochlan murmured. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he replied quickly. “I’m under no illusion that it was my fault, this time…” His smile is weak, almost like a joke, but while his grip was tight in their hair, his fingers tapped along their arm, briskly rubbing the bare skin that prickled with goosebumps. “How old were you…?” They asked. “When it happened?” “I was nine,” he said. “Pasha would have been about three,” He thought for a moment, the fingers of his free hand coming up to his chin as he stared out into the dark abyss of ocean around the ship. “When I could finally breathe again...after coming up from under the water... I was only able to find Pasha floating among the waves, and she was already half dead.” His grip on their hand grew tighter and they allowed it, nodding gently as they waited for him to continue. “I feel like I should have gone back, I could have gone back and searched after Maz and Lilinka took us in, I could have searched some more.” He said softly. “We had every fisherman in the continent searching the harbors for their bodies, but they never turned up, at least not before I left Nevivon.” “It seems like you did everything in your power, Julian.” They replied quietly. “I know there is no other conceivable measure I could have taken,” he agreed. “I did everything I could,” Lochlan heard Julian’s audible inhale as he tried to calm himself once more. “Thank you, my dear, sometimes I just need to hear that from someone else.” “And I am more than happy to remind you, Ilyabush.” He smirked once before placing his hand on top of their head, cradling their skull and returning his idle fingers to twirling absent-minded curls into their hair. “Perhaps a different endearing nickname, my dearest,” He smiled. “But I’ll save that conversation for daylight.” Lochlan chuckled into the soft hairs on Julian’s chest, murmuring into his warm skin until he released his firm hold on them. “What was that?” He asked. “I said, how about you stop suffocating me and we go back to bed.” They replied. “Sounds like a good plan.” The bed was warm, thanks to Julian’s tossing and turning, and as he fluffed up the flattened pillow and placed a kiss on their forehead, they knew it would be a smoother rest until the sun rose.

#I love this pair so much #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana julian #the arcana portia #julian devorak #portia devorak #julian x oc #fanfiction #would have been fan art but my drawing capability is non existant today #might also write up a more fluffy offering before the end of the day #this is immediately following Julian's upright ending #Lochlan #enbymcweek2020 #enbyapprenticeweek #enbymagicianweek

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