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Description: After a string of bad dates and even worse hook-ups, your friend encourages you to visit Heavenly Massage for some well-deserved stress relief.
Pairing: Taehyung x Reader
Warnings: Detailed massage, oral sex, vaginal fingering, finger fucking, talk of sex toys, explicit language, slightly dub-con
Genre: Smut (18+)
Word count: 7.8k
A/N: I have a specific kink, okay? Don’t @ me.
Dull, tired eyes stared morosely at your reflection in the mirror, cataloging each and every single wrinkle and fine-line that had developed over the last couple of years, their growth spurred on by the stresses of your life. One finger reached up to pull and stretch the skin around one eye, a heavy pout forming on your lips as you contemplated the cost of going in for a round of Botox like most women your age seemed to do. You let the skin return to its normal state, the slight wrinkle returning even as you flexed and released the muscles there.
Your eyes sharpened as a flash of unwanted color appeared in your peripheral, your gaze snapping up to your hair to stare at the lone strand of white hair with horror. Your head dropped as your strength evaporated, your weight supported by your hands on the sink in your bathroom, the slow, steady dripping of water from your earlier shower filling the tiny room. You heaved another sigh as you finally pushed away from the sink and mirror, deeming yourself appropriately discouraged for the day.
As far as you were concerned, your mid-20’s had been absolute shit so far.
Sure, you’d managed to graduate from your high school in the top one percent, then from your undergraduate school with cum laude, landing you a very decent job in your chosen field, but oh, how you were tired. Your success with your studies had led to you being promoted quickly, pushing you higher up the ranks of your profession. Celebrations had been had at first, but very quickly you’d learned that climbing the ranks meant an even greater load of responsibility and personal work.
On top of your increased workload, your CEO had pushed for you to continue your studies, constantly whispering sweet words of “just imagine... ” as she courted you over coffee meetings and work discussions. You were already an amazing asset to the company; imagine what you could bring if you’d go for your Masters, or maybe even your Ph.D.?
With her encouragement and your family’s support, you’d waved bye-bye to any hope of a social life as you dove headfirst into your new studies, the full-time classes going hand-in-hand with your already full work schedule. You were only able to see your family now on holiday weekends and your friends even less often. You made connections with your fellow grad students, sure--but they were just as busy as you.
With all your time divided between work and studying, your romantic life had taken an even harder hit. Where your dates had once been at least semi-frequent, now they were all but a distant memory of one-too-many failed first dates and general awkwardness. Your last blunder of a date from last week had actually been so disappointing you’d gone home to stare blankly at your wall for over two hours wondering why you even bothered anymore. Your wallet had taken the dry spell just as hard, as more and more self-care toys found their way from online shopping carts into your home. You’d jokingly declared your favorite of the collection to be your most loyal boyfriend yet.
You groaned into the steering wheel of your car as you put it into park, realizing your depressed musings had taken you from your home and into the darkness of your company’s parking garage without you realizing it. Today was going to be yet another hellish day, filled with appointments and in-house meetings before you’d have to go home and crank out that day’s assigned homework for school.
“It’s only eight and I already need a drink,” you sighed into the silence of your car, contemplating the tempting idea of simply disappearing and beginning a new life somewhere else before you finally forced yourself into action. You gave the customary waves and morning greetings once you entered your floor, making sure to stop by the floor manager’s desk to greet him directly and grab your folder for the day. You grabbed a cup of coffee and doughnut from the staff table as you made your way over to your desk, wiggling your fingers at your friend, Lucy Knoft.
Through all of this stress, she had been your closest friend since childhood, going through all levels of school with you and landing a job at the same company when you’d graduated. She’d helped you through bad breakups and one-night stands, offering her wise advice on how to get over them and yourself. She made sure you ate and kept a semi-decent sleep schedule, making you teasingly call her “Mom” more than once. She didn’t put up with your shit and wasn’t afraid to call you out when you were being stupid. In all, Lucy was your rock in this clusterfuck you called life and she was reaffirming that position as she pulled you from your desk several hours later, demanding an impromptu coffee break for the two of you.
You moaned appreciatively into your cup after you’d managed to secure two comfy chairs at the Starbucks in your building, inhaling the delectable scent of the coffee like it was your own personal version of crack. Considering the way Lucy was giggling at you from across the way, you figured it looked like it, too.
“Oh, shush,” you chided, waving a hand at her before taking a sip from your cup.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as in love with coffee as you are, ___.”
“That’s because it’s not blood that’s running in my veins, but caffeine itself. Coffee is necessary for life.” She rolled her eyes at you but let you drink your life essence in peace, the two of you falling into an easy silence.
“So… I met a guy from Tinder the other night,” you said after several minutes, swirling around the liquid in your cup contemplatively.
Lucy perked up with interest, a giddy smile on her face as she leaned forward in her chair. It’d been months since your last Tinder foray, after all. “And…?”
“And he was a one-pump-and-done fella.” Your pout was severe, matched equally by your friend as she sunk back into her chair, her earlier enthusiasm deflating like a balloon.
“What is it with and your terrible Tinder choices, ___?!”
“Hey! How was I supposed to know he’d be so terrible?” The offense was thick in your voice, though you tried to keep the level of it down after a barista passed by the two of you with an amused expression. Lucy waved off your tone without remorse, setting down her cup on the table between you with a loud thud . She pointed at you accusingly, a scowl on her face with an equally scary furrowed brow to match.
“I’ve taught you the ways of Tinder, ___. What kind of profiles to steer clear from and which ones are okay. Now, you tell me—without lying—did you follow my rules?”
“...No.” If you sounded like a petulant child, Lucy didn’t care. She threw up her hands in the universal sign of exasperation, throwing herself back into the chair once more. You stared into the now empty remains of your cup, your cheeks warm with your embarrassed flush under her disapproving glare.
“Did you buy another toy after that?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, ___.”
“How else am I supposed to get any sort of relief, Lucy?! You, of all people, know just how stressed I am!” You leaned back into your own chair, rubbing your temples with your forefingers as you felt the warning signs of an oncoming migraine. “What I’d give for a full-body massage right about now... I’d probably melt into a pile of stress-goo from the relief it’d give me.”
Your wish had your friend stiffening, her eyes growing wide before she slapped her forehead in revelation. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t I think of that before?” You looked at her between your fingers that had come up to cradle your face, one brow quirked in silent question. Lucy smiled excitedly as she reached for her phone, picking it off the table to begin typing in the name to the Google search bar. “First of all, stress-goo? Ew. But also, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you about this. I found this amazing massage parlor! They’re a little expensive, but-- oh my god --their masseuses are like gifts from the heavens. And the best part? They’re open twenty-four hours!”
“Twenty-four hours?” you asked dubiously. “That sounds like the kind of place that only dirty old men go to.”
Lucy rolled her eyes at your doubt, simply holding her phone out for you to take. “It’s a place frequented by mostly women, ___. They have female masseuses, but their male staff are what tend to bring in the business. They’re twenty-four hours because a lot of their clientele are like you and me--fucking busy.”
You scrolled through the business’s online webpage, curiosity piqued as you took a look at the services offered and their prices. They specialized in Thai massages mostly, with extras like aromatherapy specials and hot stone baths for those who wanted it. You clicked on their ‘About’ page next, your eyes darting up to meet Lucy’s excited ones before you returned your gaze back to the staff photo on the screen.
Good god, they were gorgeous.
Your friend’s laughter tinkled through your ears as you shifted on your chair tellingly, clearing your throat as you enhanced the picture with your fingers, looking in close detail at each of the faces of the men working there. This company sure knew how to choose only the best looking people, apparently. Some of them could have easily been models or actors with how well sculpted their features were.
“How, uh--how many times, pray tell, have you visited this place?”
It was your friend’s turn to blush as she cleared her throat and ran a hand through her shoulder-length locks in an attempt to look coolly collected. “A few times."
“A few times meaning... two or three? Or a few times meaning ten or more?”
“And you’re only just now telling me about this?!” You tossed her phone back to her, thoroughly scandalized at her breaking of the BFF Code. You’d already memorized the name of the massage parlor, so you didn’t mind nearly punting the device at her traitorous head.
“Listen—LISTEN! I… Okay, I have no excuse, really. I meant to tell you but I kept forgetting, and I know that’s not a good excuse, so all I can say is... I’m sorry?”
“You have a LOT of ass-kissing to do for this, Lucy.”
“Hey! I told you about the place! That’s gotta count for something, right?”
Your scowl was your answer as you stood to your feet, grabbing your purse and cup to get ready to leave. Lucy tried to honey you up as you returned to work, grabbing onto your arm and giving you the puppy eyes until you were sighing in exasperation. You sent her off to her own desk with an assurance of forgiveness and an agreement to at least look into the massage parlor later on when you had the time.
“Later on” happened to be nearly two months later, however, when you were left with yet another disappointing Tinder meetup and stress so deep in your bones you were finding it impossible to sleep. Your return to your apartment had been much earlier than planned, your upset mutterings filling your apartment as you threw your purse and coat onto one chair before you collapsed into another. Your fingers drummed on the arms of the chair, the staccato beat telling of your annoyance as you stared up at your ceiling.
You really couldn’t win when it came to scoring, it seemed. The only men that swiped right on you were either creepy or disappointing - there was no in-between. You rolled your shoulders in an attempt to release the strain that settled there, your face scrunching into a scowl as the pain continued. You reached a hand up to massage the sore muscles, but the relief was only present until you stopped. The memory of your coffee date with Lucy from before suddenly flashed across your vision, bringing with it the faces of all the men that worked at the business she’d shown you. You’d yet to go, or even call to inquire, putting it off due to work and school….
What the hell could it hurt?
Heavenly Massage, it was called, and your fingers tapped the name into your phone with just a little bit of eagerness. The place pulled up immediately, the green text with its operating hours revealing that it truly was always open. Your thumb pressed down on the call button in quick order, putting the phone to your ear as the ringtone began.
“ Thank you for calling Heavenly Massage. How can we help you tonight? ”
“Hi, uh, I was wondering if I could make an appointment for tomorrow evening?” You’d considered going tonight, but then you’d remembered yet another one of your never-ending essays was due first thing the next morning. You smothered the groan of exhaustion that wanted to escape as you listened to the woman on the other end start to look up things on her side of the line.
“ Of course, ma’am. We’re open at all hours, so when would be a good time for you? ”
“Um, is 10 p.m. available?”
“ Absolutely. What package are you wanting ?” Package? Your mind blanked as you tried hard to remember what you’d seen on the website two months ago. Your silence was longer than you realized, as she started speaking again. “ Ma’am… have you ever visited us before ?”
“No…. Is that a problem?”
“ No! It’s no problem at all…. I’m just curious how you heard of us? ”
“Ah, that’s thanks to my friend. She says she’s been to you guys at least ten times.”
“ I see. This friend has told you about our services? ”
“Yes? She said you guys do massages and that they’re great.” The other woman was silent for a few seconds, making your brow furrow as you wondered just what the issue was.
“ Alright ma’am, thank you for telling me. Since this will be your first time, are you wanting just a basic massage? Or would you be interested in one of the more intensive packages? ”
You considered the question, rolling your shoulders again as your muscles all seemed to tense together in one unified pulse to demand detailed attention. “Um, well... I’ve been super stressed lately and I haven’t been able to sleep at all. So, I guess whichever package can help me finally relax enough to sleep?”
“ Hmm…. If that’s the case, ma’am, then I highly recommend our Deluxe Care package. It’ll leave you feeling so relaxed, you might need to call a cab to drive you home .”
“Deluxe Care? That sounds wonderful! I’ll take that one, then.” The woman on the other end laughed at your eagerness, the sound of her fingers clacking away at the computer making its way through the receiver as she scheduled your appointment. You finished the call quickly, offering your name and contact information before hanging up the phone to bound away for a quick shower before hunkering down to complete your essay.
The stomp of your heels on the tiled floor rang loudly in the hallway as you made your way to the elevators, your annoyance with the world and everything in it making your pace rough and more than a little hurried. You’d arrived at the building that housed Heavenly Massage just a few minutes before, freshly frustrated after receiving back the grade on your essay. You jammed a finger on the up button for the elevator with force, shaking your hand out immediately afterward as you realized you’d pressed just a little too hard.
“God. Fucking. Dammit .” Your growls of annoyance followed you into the small elevator as its doors opened, the man already inside shooting you a nervous side-eye as he moved towards the other side of the small space, trying his best to look unnoticeable to you.
A fucking C-. That’s what your professor had given you on the paper you’d turned in right on time early this morning. Your scowl turned into a severe pout as you met your reflection in the dingy mirror of the elevator, your chin quivering as you fought down the tears of frustration that wanted to fall. You’d never received such a low grade in your entire school career. To be given one, during your Masters' studies no less, felt like a blow that you might not recover from.
The weight of the world felt even heavier than usual on your shoulders as you stood there, waiting for the slow-moving lift to take you up to the sixth floor. You ignored the man who was shooting you nervous looks, his throat clearing roughly again and again as he tried to avoid incurring your wrath. You didn’t know why he thought you’d attack him. Your eyes flitted back to look at your reflection again, your mouth falling open with a small noise of understanding--you looked ready to kill, it seemed. The doors opened on the floor before your stop, the man nearly bolting from the elevator to escape your presence.
“Yet another man running from me….” Your head fell into one hand as you shook it slowly, keeping it there till the elevator dinged once more, alerting you to your arrival at last.
Your steps out of the lift were slow and hesitant, your head spinning in all directions as you took in the calm, pleasantly lit atmosphere of the waiting room. There was soft music playing in the overhead speakers, accenting the mood of the room with its dark-colored furniture and vases of flowers that were strategically placed about the whole of the place. The reception desk was centered right in the middle, a woman looking to be in her young 20’s filing away methodically at her nails as she sat there. There were a few women sitting around the waiting room, speaking to each other in hushed voices or reading through the magazines that were offered by the business.
The receptionist’s head swiveled up to meet your gaze, a welcoming smile on her lips as she beckoned you into the room. You smiled back hesitantly, trying to tamp down the nervousness you felt bubbling in your throat. This wasn’t your first massage, but it was the first time you’d gone for one at so late an hour. Your back straightened with a sudden rush of resolve to just get it over with. You needed sleep and to do that, you needed stress relief. You walked up to the desk with only slightly faltering steps, placing your hands on the top of it to drum your fingers so not anxiously. “Hi, um, ___ here for my appointment at 10?”
“Ah, yes. Miss ___! Welcome to Heavenly Massage.” Her smile was even wider as she clicked away at the guestbook on her computer, typing in your name and number to pull up your reservation. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant day so far?”
“Hah, well… pleasant is definitely not how I would describe it, actually.” Your tone was more than a little despondent, though you tried hard to muster a smile for the woman when she looked up at you. She let out a sound of sympathetic understanding, a small frown on her face as she nodded and handed over a small form for you to fill out.
“Those kinds of days are the worst. Why don’t you fill out this form for me and then I can get you settled with your masseur ASAP.” You took the clipboard and pen from her hands, sitting down on one of the comfy chairs that were free, your eyes doing a quick scan of the form as you wrote down the required information.
Within several minutes of handing the clipboard back to the receptionist, she was calling your name, pointing towards a door to the left for you to go through. You were met by another worker as you went through the doorway, a slightly older looking woman with a kind face as she led you down the hallway and to your room. The same calming lighting kept the way just bright enough for you to walk comfortably after her, your nose picking up the soft scent of incense that filtered through the closed doors you walked past. Your door was finally reached after you’d been led down a few different hallways, your brows rising higher the farther back into the building you went.
It was quiet in the back rooms, the only background noise you could hear beyond your steps was the soft music playing over the speakers. The low echoes of seagulls and calming waves crashing on the beach lulled you into a serene mood as soon as the worker opened your door for you. Your masseur was to appear shortly, she said, pointing to the cushioned table and the towels to the side.
“Please make sure to undress completely and cover yourself with the towels provided.”
“I can’t leave my underwear on?”
“There’s the risk of them getting dirtied by the oil the masseur will use, so we typically request that our clients not wear them.” The reasoning made sense, your shoulders shrugging once in acceptance. Some of the massages you’d had before had required the same thing. The woman smiled pleasantly, motioning you to the bed once more before she backed out of the room and shut the door, giving you the privacy to undress.
You were undressed in just a few minutes, your eagerness for the coming relaxation making you remove your jeans and top in quick order, bra and panties following just as fast as you dropped them into the small basket provided. You plucked up one of the towels, blinking twice as you realized it was more like a hand towel than anything else.
“This explains why the temperature is so comfortable in here,” you said to yourself, shrugging once more before walking over to the table and laying down on the toweled surface there. That towel was at least long enough to fully cover the leathery-fabric, keeping you from shivering as you reached behind you to settle the other towel over your ass. Your brows furrowed as you awkwardly struggled with its correct positioning, finally settling on letting a little of the top showing rather than anything below. You figured your masseur’s fingers would dip low anyway to get those pesky knots around your hips.
You weren’t too sure how much time passed by after you’d settled your head onto your arms, breathing becoming slow and deep as the dim lighting, soft music, and pleasant incense that swirled about the room lulled you into a relaxed state. You were almost close to falling asleep when you finally heard the click of the door being opened once more, a waft of fresh air filling the room. Your eyes opened lazily as you lifted your head to greet your masseur, lips spreading into a smile before you froze.
Holy fuck .
To be quite honest, you'd been half-expecting to be placed with a female masseuse, it being your first time at the place. But as your eyes slowly raked over the man who had entered the room, you remembered Lucy saying that their male staff was what drew in the customers. You most definitely were in agreement with her now.
Words refused to present themselves to you as you watched him prepare his supplies at a small table to one side of the room. The masseur was tall, clothed in loose, cotton pants and a neatly-fitted white shirt that clung to his form from his broad shoulders. His hair was a wavy, blonde mess that accentuated his tanned skin, disheveled bangs falling into his eyes every so often as he got ready. Your throat felt drier than the Sahara desert when he finally turned around to greet you, his brow raised at finding you sitting up on your arms, your mouth still opened in silent awe. Neither of you spoke as your inspection of his features continued, your eyes blinking rapidly as you tried to see if you were dreaming.
Fucking hell, he was perfection. You could’ve spent the entirety of the appointment simply staring at the man and you would have left satisfied.
He cleared his throat after a minute of your continued staring, his expression unimpressed as he greeted you. “Miss ___, I presume?” Heat rushed through you at the timbre of his voice, its velvety deep tone washing over you like a warm bath on a cold evening. You nodded your head dumbly in response to his question, realizing at last that your mouth was still open, the clack of it shutting embarrassingly loud. He continued on, ignoring your embarrassment as he scanned down the form in his hand, fingers tapping at the back of the clipboard it was on. “You’re here for the Deluxe Care Package, correct?”
“Y-yes,” you finally managed, clearing your throat once.
“Very well. My name is Taehyung and I'll be your masseur today. Are you ready, then?”
“I guess so…?” He nodded, setting the clipboard down onto the table, motioning for you to lay your head back down so he could begin. You felt nervous shudders dance their way up and down your spine as you hid your face from him in the headrest, your eyes squeezing shut to give your ears more power to hear him with. Taehyung’s steps were soft, the carpet of the room helping him move nearly silently around the table. His breathing was just as quiet, too, a telling juxtaposition to your own pants that sounded obnoxiously loud to your ears.
You felt antsy waiting for him to begin, warring with yourself on whether or not you should try to strike up a conversation. Your masseurs from previous experiences had always seemed to welcome the talks, chatting with you about their days or discussing whatever issue had been bothering you when you found yourself on their tables. Was this Taehyung guy the same? Would he be willing to talk with you? Did he just want the oppressing silence of the room instead? Your questions came to a shuddering halt as you felt the first drops of cold oil hit your skin, your body shivering as the liquid made trails along your back and shoulders. His fingers followed next, his digits long, warm, and sure as he began to massage the oil into your skin.
Nirvana was all that your mind could conjure as you laid there, every sense honed in on following your masseur’s hands as they pressed and squeezed at your flesh, pushing against the many, many knots that littered the whole of your back and shoulders. You winced and sighed with every squeeze and release, your bones turning to liquid the longer he worked. Sweet Jesus, you’d been so tense. Months of hard work mixed with shitty dates had piled on the stress, your nights becoming more and more sleepless as your muscles twisted and pulled into knots. One by one, the muscles came loose, soft moans of appreciation slipping from you unnoticed.
The god--Taehyung--began with your shoulders first, fingers digging into the forest of knots there with deepening pressure, testing out the rigidity of your muscles to figure out the strength needed. Those long, deft fingers worked their magic almost too quickly for your tastes but you decided against protesting as they moved to your neck. You shuddered for all new reasons as he turned away to warm more oil between his hands before working at the tendons of your neck, pressing up and against your head, fingers sliding up into your hair as he sought out all those sweet spots that had shivers of relief shooting all through your body the longer he focused on them.
He worked down from there, fingers pressing a hard cadence against the length of your back, thumbs digging in painfully well at the knots that lingered around your ribs and lower back. If he noticed the increasing frequency of moans coming from you, he made no mention of it, simply continuing to work in silence as he pushed, pulled, and worked your body into a large pile of boneless goo. You guessed he might’ve heard at least some , however, as when he’d hit those spots that made you groan louder than normal, he only pressed harder. Overall, you didn’t care - you just needed this delicious pleasure to never end.
It was halfway through when you finally noticed something your body was doing, your eyes fluttering open as a stray breeze from him walking around to your other side blew cooly against your core--a very sensitive and wet core. You were aroused, embarrassingly so, and your cheeks burned with the ridiculousness of it all. Taehyung’s ministrations on your body had been so good that your body couldn’t help but to react, limbs and groin warming with growing need and desire.
“ It’s okay, ___. It’s common. It happens all the time. There’s a reason some of those shadier shops offer ‘happy endings’. You just have to calm down. It’s easy, it’s cool, it’s whatever.” You tried to reason with yourself, willing the flush that was warming your cheeks almost painfully to just go away already, dammit. And yet, your attempts were fruitless, as you heard him pad softly down beyond your waist and to your legs, the oil dropping first before his hands settled next.
“ Well, fuck .” He started first on your calves, your brows furrowing in pain-tinged pleasure as he immediately found the multitude of knots there with ease. You couldn't even attempt to muffle the moan that left you as his thumb dug in roughly against your calf, your toes curling in as he oh-so-slowly worked the muscles into submission. Your core throbbed violently as your leg went lax in his grip, breaths heavy as his palms moved upwards in a smooth glide.
"Are you okay, Miss ___?" Low and husky, Taehyung’s voice fell over you like a warm blanket. His question was emphasized by a hard squeeze around your thigh, fingers digging into your skin in a way that had your mind jumping to a whole other scenario.
"M-mhmm!" you managed to squeak out, swallowing thickly around the desert that had appeared in your throat, your body thirsting for more.
His hands lowered your leg back to the table and you swore you heard an exhale of amusement as the limb weakly fell to the side. You had no control over your muscles, your attention too focused on keeping your breaths subtle, and your growing whimpers quiet. Taehyung, of course, did nothing to help your silent battle, moving easily to begin the whole process anew on your other leg.
Your thoughts were a steady stream of curses mixed with pleas to the gods that you would be able to last with minor embarrassment. You almost worried that your prayers were being said aloud, but the roaring thrum of your rapid pulse drowned out any sounds. You were so distracted by your pleas that you almost missed the next stage of your massage.
All thoughts, movement, breathing … came to a halt.
Did he just…?
Your eyes opened blearily, staring down at the carpeted floor as you tried to process what you just felt. Surely not, right…?
You inhaled sharp and deep as the second pass of those fuckingamazingsogood fingers swiped languidly against your very sensitive lips. The pulsing thrum of your heartbeat turned to loud static, your breaths stuttering out as it happened again once more... twice more… -- oh my God , he wasn't stopping.
Surely this couldn't be happening, right? Maybe you were so lost in your haze of relief-filled pleasure that you were imagining this? After all, the man was very attractive and you wouldn't mind climbing him like a pole, but this was a reputable establishment and Lucy highly recommended this place and it was totally common to fall into dayd--
"Oh fuck--!" Your back arched up in surprise, rambling thoughts coming to a sudden halt as you registered with a low, heavy moan that your masseur had two fingers deep inside of your pussy and a thumb pressed to your clit. His hand wasn't still, either, fingers thrusting into your throbbing core at a steady, mind-numbing pace that had you panting loudly into the quiet room.
If you thought his hands were good before, then you were entirely unprepared for the new levels of pleasure he was sending through your body like shocks of lightning. Your hips were undulating against his hand with abandon, your mind unable to string together a single coherent sentence other than the litany of fuck, fuck, fuck that spilled out between moans. You pushed yourself into your forearms, head falling back in ecstasy as his free hand came up to wrap around the back of your neck, keeping you in place. You knew you should be protesting heavily against what was being done to you, but at the same time, you never wanted him to stop fucking your pussy with his deliciously long fingers.
"What-- hng --what are you doing?!" You wanted to pat yourself on the back for finally managing to get out more than a moan, regardless of the fact that your question ended in a whine that sounded suspiciously like Please don't stop .
"The final parts of the Deluxe Care Package, Miss ___."
It was indeed one of those kinds of places.
You were going to kill your friend for not warning you.
Your hips began to stutter to a halt as you realized the situation you were in, trying to pull your legs up and under you to get off the table, but Taehyung had other plans. His grip around your neck turned firmer, pressing your head down against your arms as his fingers slipped from your soaked core - ohfuckpleaseputthemback - to help pick you up onto your knees, presenting your ass to the room and him. You had no time to fight this new position he'd manhandled you into, your thoughts went static once more as he returned his fingers to your pussy, three fingers pushing hard and deep.
The room was filled with nothing but the sound of his hand slapping hard against your skin as he fucked you skillfully, your moans a constant companion to his movements. It was good--so good--you hadn't felt this kind of tension in your body in so long and you never ever wanted it to stop. You were falling apart before his very eyes and you couldn't even find it in yourself to even attempt to get yourself together.
With a groan of surprise, you were cumming on his fingers, the dim lighting of the room turning brilliantly white as wave after wave of long-needed release pulsed through you. Your body shook and quivered, knees wobbling as his fingers slowed down in speed, his attention focused on your twitching clit as he helped you ride out the oh-so-delicious pleasure.
Before you could lower yourself to the table Taehyung was handling you again, helping you flip over onto your back. You lay listlessly on the cushioned table, the towels beneath you feeling uncomfortably wet from your sweat and other juices. Your face was wet with tears, your chest heaving as you tried to calm down. Your eyes struggled to adjust to the light as they slowly opened, having clenched them tightly shut as you came. You spied him immediately at the end of the table, an unreadable look on his face as he spread his fingers wide to look at your slick that had practically drenched his hand. Your face burned with embarrassment, but your greedy core only throbbed for more .
"Jesus...you just f-fingered me… and made me cum…" you managed to finally say after a few moments, your breaths finally under control once more.
"Mhmm." Cool and unaffected was Taehyung’s tone, those piercing eyes darting away from his fingers to meet your lidded gaze.
"Is that even legal?"
He shrugged, attention moving back to fingers, head tilting to the side. "All part of the package, Miss ___. It's in the fine print." He pulled two sex-slicked fingers into his mouth with that statement, a husky hum of approval rumbling out from around the digits.
A lone brow rose on his otherwise calm features, slowly pulling his now clean fingers from his mouth with a 'pop'. He looked back to your wide-eyed face as he bluntly asked, "More?"
You most definitely should not ! It was high time for you to get the fuck out of there! "....More."
Your masseur (torturer? Demi-god?) answered your request immediately, his movements still exceedingly calm and collected. Taehyung gave no sign that he was aware that he'd just brought you to one of the best orgasms of your entire life. You weren't sure if you should feel offended at his blasé attitude or grateful that he wasn't making a big deal of it. He didn't give you too long to think about it, however, as he stepped up to the table and wrapped his wide hands firmly around your ankles. Your brows furrowed in confusion before you squeaked in surprise as he gave a quick, rough pull down, sliding you towards him till your legs were being held on either side of him. He let them fall almost carelessly, moving his grip instead to around your hips.
Your gaze darted from his hands back to his face, your neediness mixed with confusion at war on your own features as you tried to figure out what was coming next. His thumbs pressed into your muscles first, your eyes fluttering closed as he yet again found the right spots needing attention and began working out the knots that you didn't know even existed. His fingers held such magic over you, your mind returning to a simple pile of useless goo as he moved his hands up your sides and over your breasts. His every movement was sure, calculated, easy -- everything that was the exact opposite of what you were feeling.
As his hands began to knead at your flesh, fingers pinching and squeezing your nipples in the exact right way, your moans began anew. Stars lit up your eyes behind your eyelids with every moment that passed, your back arching into his touch as your moans became whimpers, begging for more. You'd never known your chest to be such a hot zone, but maybe it was just that you'd yet to meet a man who actually knew what he was doing. Maybe it was the simple fact that this was entirely taboo for you and your nerves danced with the thrill of doing it anyway.
"Ah fuck, this is-- yes !"
You could feel the throbbing in your core with almost painful awareness, your legs moving on their own as they tried to squeeze together. Your body was already oversensitive from cumming once already and his ministrations were steadily driving you closer and closer to a second peak. Your hands had drifted up to find purchase in your own hair, your fingers scratching and pulling at your scalp as you let the pleasure he was bringing you wash through you unhindered. You knew were sounding like a wanton whore with every passing moment, but fuck did you not care in the least bit.
Your efforts to bring yourself needed relief were halted almost immediately, however, as the masseur took note of your legs trying to enclose around him. Your eyes shot open as a loud whine of protest left you when you felt him release your breasts and move away, mouth open and ready--desperate--to beg him to continue.
Your head slowly lifted from the table as you heard movement by your legs, your eyes growing wide and throat convulsing loudly as you registered the sight of Taehyung on his knees, his gaze heated and locked with your own. His hands reached out to pick your legs up, spreading them wide enough to bare you fully to his gaze before he let you rest them on his shoulders.
" Oh my god, he's actually between my legs…."
The heat of his gaze left yours to instead look down at your swollen lips, the slick from your core visible even in the dim lighting of the warm room. His hands were still wrapped around your thighs, holding your legs in place against him. You moved without protest when he pulled you even closer to the edge of the table, towards him . You were speechless once more as you waited with bated breath for what you so desperately hoped and wished he was about to do, your fingers gripping the table beneath you in an increasingly tight death grip.
His single, monotone word was all the warning you had before his tongue was on you, a sinfully-good swipe that had your eyes rolling and a pathetic whine of delight escaping you. You shuddered as his tongue gave another long lick, your core throbbing in time with your racing pulse. The entirety of your focus honed in on the feel of his long tongue, burning into your memory the way it spread wide across your lips, dipped between to gather your slick. You grew taught as you felt his mouth enclose around your sensitive clit, lips sucking, tongue leaving, bringing you ridiculously close to your edge already.
Your legs shook around his head, only the firm grip of his hands around your thighs keeping you from squeezing too hard as he feasted upon you. You were grateful for his reminder to breathe, chest heaving between your moans, eyes rolling back so hard as your core grew tighter and tighter. Your ears picked up the sounds of his small, heavy breaths as he licked you, the small sighs he let loose between breaths spreading cooly across your slick and saliva-soaked pussy.
“Eyes open, Miss ___.” Your head shot up from the table immediately, your eyes heavy-lidded with the sheer lust that was thrumming inside of you. Taehyung’s gaze locked with yours from his place between your thighs, his head moving in a steady rhythm together with his tongue’s movements as he kept your attention focused on him.
The air of the room felt hot--too hot, but you couldn’t do anything but gasp and moan, swallowing thickly as you continued to watch yourself unravel more and more beneath his tongue. You could feel your edge coming close, too close to ignore this time, and you knew he could feel it, too. A brow quirked, a lopsided smirk visible for a split second on his face before he released your thighs, wrapping an arm around your waist. The fingers of his free hand delved back into your core, three long digits pressing hard and deep at the same time his mouth pulled and sucked hard at your clit.
Your head fell back to the table against your will, your mouth hung open in a silent scream as his fingers started to fuck you harder, faster. The sensations became too much for you to do much else but simply lay there and take it. When he switched positions with his mouth and hands, tongue replacing his fingers and a thumb pressed to your clit, you gave up all control that you might’ve had left. Your back arched roughly off the table, your hips bucking against his mouth as best they could beneath the heavy hold he had on your waist.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck !”
Your orgasm washed through you without warning, twice as intense as the last one, making you moan loudly into the quiet room. You didn’t care that the whole building probably could hear you, your own hearing filled with a loud ringing noise as Taehyung’s mouth did not stop . Your hands flew down to grab hold of his hair, pulling and scratching at his scalp as your babbled pleas for him to let you rest were met with silence. Your legs squeezed weakly around his head as he forced you into your third orgasm of the night, your body too relaxed, too worn out to do much more but twitch through wave after wave.
When he finally did stop, it was with a final rough suck to your clit, a pathetic whine leaving your lips at the overstimulation he’d put you through. Your body lay exhausted on the table, the room smelling of sweat and you. Your eyes were open but unseeing, staring at the ceiling above you with little thoughts in your head beyond He’s a god . When you were able to gain control of your body just a little, your head rolled to the side to see where he was, watching with a too-dry mouth as he casually cleaned his hands and mouth with a damp cloth. He ran a hand through his ruffled hair, brow quirking as he pulled out several of the knots your fingers had formed in it.
Taehyung waited until your breaths had finally calmed down from the heaving pants they had been previously, making little notes on the clipboard with your form in the meantime. You knew you needed to get dressed, but when his still-heated gaze snapped up to lock with yours, you decided to continue laying there, limbs spread wide and body bare for him to continue view at his leisure.
Once your body began to shiver from the now cool temperature of the room, he moved back towards you, the fingertips of one hand landing on your leg, slowly dragging their way up and over your stomach and between your breasts, coming to a stop to lightly squeeze around your neck one last time. You held your breath as he leaned over, placing his warm mouth against your ear as he whispered, “Thanks for choosing the Deluxe Relief Package. I hope to see you again soon, Miss ___.” He left the room with that, the door quietly sliding shut as his footsteps down the hall receded into silence once more.
You blinked once, twice, into the empty room before you finally picked yourself up into a seated position, grabbing a towel to wrap around your cool body. Your thoughts were still too staticky for you to do anything but grab for your phone, thumbs quickly opening the messaging app to scream at Lucy for not telling you the truth about this place.
How the fuck were you supposed to ever be satisfied by another man after that ?!
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watch your six - part four
pairing: eventual bucky x reader (still a slow burn but it’s getting closer)
warnings: some violence but not really, men being creepy, language (one f bomb), also badly written speaking while crying, aaand i think that’s it
word count: a little over 2300
a/n: aaaah it’s part four babes!!!! the response to this has been so positive i’m in love with y’all!!! <3 <3 <3 i’m still way behind on my classwork and going through a terrible break up but we’re pushing through here
p.s.: my requests are still open if y’all want me to write yall something! aaalso, there’s a bucky short coming tomorrow ;)) <3
This strange man’s hand was still caressing my hair as he smirked down at me. Running has hands up to the root and then yanking my head upwards to face him directly. “When I speak to you, you look me in the eye, little one.” Not one to show my fear, at least not to men like him, I scoffed. Thick brows shot towards his hairline and a twitch in his jaw as he clenched it. The hold he had in my hair gave him leverage over me. I winced as he lifted his arm to bring my face closer to his. A small whimper escaped the back of my throat, saliva gathering in my mouth. “Don’t test me, little one.” I sneered then spat in his face, the wet substance sticking to his face across his nose and cheek.
Bringing a hand up to his face to swipe the thick liquid from his skin, he glowered as he pulled his palm away. Then several things happened at once. The man forced a harsh breath out and then I was facing the ground with a sting on my left cheek. A gasp left my lips, he just slapped me. Who the hell does he think he is? I shook my head and then leveled my gaze with the man’s. I’m almost positive that my cheek is sporting a bright red handprint that does nothing for my complexion.
“What the hell man? What was that for?” I groaned while attempting to soothe my throbbing cheek on my shoulder. I mean, was it kind of justified? I did just spit in this man's face. No, he totally deserved that. After releasing his grip on my hair, he transferred his hands to the sides of the chair I was chained to. The metal scraping along the concrete floor caused a loud screech to reverberate through the small room.
“I said not to test me, bitch.” the man growled out as he pushed my chair onto the back two legs. I’m starting to think that this is a bit more serious than I originally thought. “Now, you’re going to sit here like a good little bitch and tell me what I want to know.” He retreated only to grab the chair that Suits used. Slamming against the pavement he straddled the chair with his forearms resting on the back.
“How many missions did you participate in?” I released a groan and rotated my head, leaning my head back.
“I already told your friend,” I tilted my head to speak directly to the absolute jerk-wad of a man in front of me, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man quirked an eyebrow and clenched his jaw. He rolled his neck, causing the bones in it to crack and then stood. He walked to the other side of the metal table that sat in the middle of the room. The sound of a zipper caused me to snap my head to where he was standing. The tactical vest he was wearing dropped to the metal surface allowing for a loud thunk to flow through the room. He stretched out his shoulders and swung his arms out in front as if he was trying to increase the blood flow. I’m the one who’s literally tied to a freaking chair, what does he need blood flow for? My breathing quickened, calm down, don’t show any fear. He popped the knuckles of his hands and approached me.
“I’m not a patient man.” He bent at the knees and leaned his face closer to mine. Exhaling into my face, he maintained eye contact with me. “And you’re not acting like the good little girl we both know you oh-so-desperately want to be.” I rolled my eyes at that, apparently that was the wrong thing to do in this man’s face. His left eye twitched as he stared at me.
“Do you think you could back up? Your breath reeks, man.” I have no concern for my own well-being do I? The man’s head tilted to the side and then he wolfed out a gruff laugh. He shifted his weight to land on the heels of his feet and threw his body into the laugh. It was a bit disconcerting to see this man laughing so wholeheartedly in a situation that didn’t feel funny to me. Another blow to the side of my face was issued, however this time he didn’t stop. Several open handed hits were delivered, all the while he was resetting my head back by grasping my chin. My breathing was becoming labored, my chest heaving up and down in a frenzy. He gripped my chin and jerked it upwards so he could stand at his full height to tower over me.
“How many missions did they send you on?” He demanded, increasing his hold on my face surely leaving sickening bruises that would match his fingers perfectly. At some point, tears began running down my red cheeks.
“I don’t kno-ow what you’re talking ab-about!” Tears streaming down my swollen face, “I s-swear to god, I don’t know wh-what you mean!” Choked sobs were preventing me from breathing correctly. The man grabbed my shoulders and shook my body.
“Calm the fuck down and speak clearly.” Small hiccups were escaping my mouth without permission. Why am I letting this guy get to me? What the hell is happening? “How many missions did they send you on?” I broke down again, fat tears leaking out of my eyes.
“I ju-just want to go h-h-home. I s-swear I don’t kno-ow anything!” I shouted in his face. He glowered at me and lifted his hand from my shoulder. My whole body tensed as I readied myself to the impact.
“Johnson.” The door burst open, stopping Johnson from landing another hit. “This is not what you were supposed to be doing.” Suits walked back in the room. Johnson backed down, lowering his hand and turning to the new member in the room. “Sir, I was told to interrogate the prisoner.”
“Yes, Johnson, interrogate her. Not beat her to a pulp.” He gestured wildly with his hand. “If the boss found out you were doing this, he’d have your head on a platter.” Suits took steps closer toward us and Johnson shrunk into himself. “Get out of here before I call him about this.” Johnson nodded quickly and left the room quickly, leaving his tactical vest on the table.
I was still quietly crying while strapped to the metal frame of the chair. Suits approached me while pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. He raised it to my face and I jolted backwards away from his touch. “Easy now, I’m only here to help.” Is he seriously pulling a good cop, bad cop routine on me right now? He wiped my cheeks of the salty remnants, “Now, how can I help you besides that?”
“You co-could let me go h-home.” I tried to say without stuttering, clearly unsuccessful. I didn’t want to show my emotions but really at this point, could it get worse?
“Awe, girly. You know I can’t do that until you tell me what I want to know.” He began to drag the chair next to me, back to the opposite side of the table. This created an obstacle between the two of us, which made me slightly more comfortable knowing he wouldn’t be able to reach me as quickly.
I heaved a sigh, “but I don’t know anything.” My weeping had come to a definite end, making way for frustration. My face heated for a different reason than being struck several times.
“See, this is where we disagree because I know that you’re lying to me.” He shook his finger in my face and I scrunched my brows together, flicking my eyes between his finger and face.
“You’re kidding me. I told you I don’t know about any missions.”
“Oh really? Then who’s Gemini?” He reclined in his chair, looking smug. “Actually, you know more importantly, who is Libra? The whole thing is just fascinating to me.”
“I don’t know what any of that is. I swear to whatever you want me to.”
“Then why do I have this that says you do.” He held up the manila folder that he first walked in with. I shrugged my shoulders.
“Whatever is in there is lying to you.” He cocked his head to the side and flipped the folder open. He removed a photograph from the folder and placed it on the table in front of me. Staring back at me, was a slightly younger version of myself with shorter hair. A large X was drawn across the whole picture and underneath it read the words ‘Agent Libra.’
My eyes widened, “I have never seen that before, in my life.” Suits sighed heavily and then began flipping through the rest of the papers.
“So what is the Svengali?” He threw out another paper and I glanced down at it. It looked like a typed report of some kind. Much of it redacted by thick black lines. The words Libra, Gemini, and Svengali were visible amidst the sea of dark ink.
A ping sounded throughout the room causing the screen of the phone to illuminate. A metal hand reached for the thin device.
New mission alert. You’re needed. Meet at the compound.
Great, this is just what Bucky needed to keep him distracted. Sleep never came easy to him so he was spending copious amounts of time trying to catch up on what he missed out on. Steve told him to make a list and Sam kept rambling on about some gay Marvin man? Bucky much prefered to do things on his own. He hasn’t had help for over ninety years, why should he need it now?
Throwing on his leather jacket as he began to leave his apartment, he checked the pockets for the keys to his motorcycle. He also made sure to grab his gloves. Even though T’Challa and Shuri were good enough to give him a new vibranium arm, Bucky still wasn’t too keen on being stared at in public. It was better for everyone if he just kept the arm tucked away as much as he could while around strangers.
He did one last once over of his apartment before locking the door behind him. He jogged down the stairs towards his bike. It definitely was his pride and joy, it was the first thing that he bought with his own money since 1943. His apartment was courtesy of Pepper Potts, no thanks to Tony’s complaining. Tony and Bucky had eventually worked out their differences, to say the least. Tony still hadn’t fully forgiven the Winter Soldier for killing his parents, and neither had Bucky so they were agreeing to disagree.
The ride to the compound from Brooklyn wasn’t a hard one. It gave Bucky time to appreciate the scenery around him. Slowing to a stop at a four way stop just outside of the compound, Bucky dropped his feet to the tarmac below, stabilizing the bike between his legs. He tilted his head back and felt the warm rays of the sun on his face. Warm was something that Bucky was still getting used to, it was easier in Wakanda. He had his own hut, voluntary therapy sessions, and easy-going check ups with Shuri in her lab.
Everything was simpler in Wakanda, but what Bucky missed most from Wakanda was the stability. He didn’t have to worry about missions, or keeping up with Steve, or the crushing guilt that he felt whenever he saw Tony. After parking his bike at the facility, Bucky made his way to the meeting room. Dark wooden tables in an L-shape appeared in his view. Steve and Sam were standing in front of the large monitor that was displaying images of an unknown, yet familiar looking woman.
“Tony, we don’t know if she knows anything.” Natasha said, apparently trying to rationalize with someone else in the room.
“Natasha, we don’t know that she doesn’t not know anything.” Tony shot back, Sam turned slowly and opened his mouth with a confused expression on his face.
“Tony, we aren’t in an episode of FRIENDS. This is serious. We need to decide if this is worth pursuing or not.”
“Wilson, that’s all well and good but we have to acknowledge that this woman could get us our first real break in our search.” Tony explained while taking deep breaths.
“What are we deciding?” Bucky interrupted as he plopped into one of the chairs. Now that Bucky has been given his freedom back, he’s able to display a difference between his mission self and his regular self.
“This woman here,” Steve gestured to the woman on the screen, “is a member of the Virago. It’s an international branch of SHIELD that was believed to be infiltrated by HYRDA years ago.”
“This is the agent code named Libra. Her last mission was with another agent code named Gemini. The mission report has since been lost to us. All we know is that Libra and Gemini were instructed to watch a Svengali safehouse. Apparently something went wrong and only Libra made it out alive.” Tony added, “Which is why we need to find her and see what she knows.”
“Tony! There’s no guarantee that she has any knowledge of this mission.” The redhead stressed as she leaned over the table towards the man she was speaking to.
“I think we should find her.” The words left Bucky’s mouth before he could stop them. All motion in the room stopped.
“Um, did the Manchurian Candidate just agree with me?” Tony questioned as the rest of the room remained quiet.
“Look, I’m not necessarily agreeing with you.” Bucky started.
“Nope, can’t take it back.” Tony mused, “Already said it.” Bucky sighed and shook his head.
“Why do you think we should go after her Buck?” Steve inquired. Bucky’s brows furrowed and he shrugged his shoulders.
“I think I know her from somewhere.”
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Revealed: Part 12 (Dhawan!Master x Reader)
Summary: When the effects of the Tarcanian ginger wear off, the Master and the reader begin seiving through their memories in order to learn more about what has bonded them together. What they find leaves them with even more questions than before, though.
Notes: Please let me know what you think! Warnings: mention of death, the Master’s bad temper
The twin red suns warmed his face, filled him with peace as he stared up into the sky, dreaming of distant planets and alien species. All the adventures on the horizon with his best friend, the trouble they could make together. The future was full of possibilities, as were the past, the present and the never-has-been.
Wind blew his loose locks across his face and ruffled the fabric of his robes. The Academy sat obtrusively in the distance, an imposing, impersonal tower supposedly highlighting the magnificence of the Timelords but really meant to remind the students of who was actually in charge.
It was a moment in time, long forgotten but still there in the depths of The Master’s mind. A sweet insight into the boy he had once been, before the universe had twisted him into this sharper, more brittle version of himself. But, for a second, you could appreciate the potential he’d possessed, the child still somewhere in his heart.
The beautiful scenery was replaced by the cold, plain stones walls which you’d come to know so well as you returned to the vault. That answered your question, at least; the psychic dampening effects of the Tarcanian ginger had finally worn off and your powers were back. It didn’t fill you with as much relief as you had expected.
You dropped your hand to your side and followed The Master to your bed, which had at some point been designated the only place to conduct your business. If you’d realised before that you would be here for so long, you might have asked for more furniture. A large sofa where you could sit and read. A fluffy rug underfoot, piles of cushions forming another space for you and The Master to have your little chats.
An odd knot formed in your stomach as you thought actually making a home for yourself here on his TARDIS, emotions bouncing between longing for that sort of normality and shock that you were even considering it with The Master.
“So…” Silence was common place between you both but rarely did it feel this awkward, this uncomfortably charged. You figured that pussyfooting around would only make it worse and chose to be direct. “How are we going to make this work? Do you want to scan my memories or am I reading you first?”
“I would prefer neither.”
“Master, we agreed -”
“Yes, I am aware. Sit back against the headboard before I change my mind.”
His prickly attitude didn’t bother you, although you were certain that it was his intention. As the days had passed, your theory that The Master was deeply uncomfortable with the prospect of sharing memories was confirmed over and over again. Each of your questions regarding the Timelords’ telepathic abilities were shot down, all discussions over what exactly he hoped to find (or would prefer to keep buried) ended in a shouting match. He hadn’t been this tense since you first woke in the vault but you took it in your stride.
You shuffled back into the centre of the bed and made yourself comfortable, surrounded by cushions, palms placed flat on the fluffy blanket scrunched up by your side. Legs curled up in front of your chest, more defensive than comfortable as the magnitude of what you were offering The Master began to reveal itself, you muttered, “I’m ready.”
Devoid of grace, The Master followed and positioned himself opposite you. He studied your posture and shook his head, his thoughts unreadable. You jumped when he rest his hand on your knee, breath caught in your throat at the remarkably gentle touch as he pushed your legs to the side.
“You’re too tense. Relax.”
All the concern you’d sensed in him earlier vanished, replaced by something quite hypnotic. A distant recollection of UNIT files reminded you that The Master had a penchants for these sorts of tricks but you couldn’t bring yourself to argue. His voice was gentle, soft like silk on your skin as he repositioned you into a far more open stance, your back straight against the headboard, legs crossed and palms open on your knees. Whether it was necessary for this activity or just a way to calm both of your nerves, you didn’t mind either way.
“Better. Now close your eyes.”
“Do I have to?”
You felt a tingle of annoyance on the edge of your senses but, instead of indulging it as he usually would, The Master simply drew a deep breath and said, “You don’t have to do anything but it would easier for us both if you just did what I told you.”
Nodding briefly, you calmed your own breathing and focused on what you could feel around you. The soft blanket beneath your fingers, the mattress sinking under your combined weights. The Master shifted forward slightly so your knees touched, the crisp fabric of his trousers crinkling. Slowly, he matched his breathing to yours and you once again found yourself considering that this was more of a delaying tactic than actually necessary for him to scan your memories.
Whatever nervousness The Master felt vanished when he actually made contact with your mind. He touched his fingers to your temples, his thumbs beneath your eyes, skin pleasantly warm against your own. The connection burst into life immediately and the familiar feeling of falling consumed you. However, as the images of his past began to take form around you, a wall appeared, pushing you back.
The shapes faded into obscure, fuzzy blobs, little more than bursts of colour, the sounds and smells grew distant. You felt trapped in a bubble, lost between your consciousness and his. An opaque whiteness surrounded you, cradling you in its warm but somehow impersonal embrace. Panic spiked in your chest as you fought to free yourself from the cage only to find that there was a similar nothingness in every direction.
Suddenly, the emptiness shifted. You couldn’t control it, the power completely out of your hands. A far away voice whispered to simply let it happen, to set yourself free and allow the memories to take you. It was familiar, warm like a summer’s day. You trusted the voice – you needed to trust the voice, the possibility of being stuck here alone too much – and stopped fighting the change.
All the pain and fear vanished as buildings took form, towering above your head. The London skyline was instantly recognisable as you walked along the same route you had followed every day for five years since starting at UNIT. You smiled to the magazine vendor on the corner, dropped a pound in the busker’s guitar case as his beautiful melodies followed you down the street.
It was a bright and vibrant day, a rare and beautiful thing at this time of year. You wove through the bikes and cars like it was a level of a video game. Safely across the road, you bought yourself a pastry for breakfast and stopped in the park to enjoy it. You were at peace with the world, grateful for the life you had.
Until, without warning, the screaming started.
The sky tore in two, releasing wave after wave of spheres from… somewhere. A dark crack in the heavens, the universe bleeding into your world. They descended upon the Earth and eliminated a fraction of the population without mercy, without regret. As they flew past you, some even seemed to be laughing, full of childlike joy. It was horrendous.
Frozen with fear, you watched as strangers around you were shot down, torn to pieces, unable to help them. Unable to help yourself. One sphere circled you, scanned you, and paused. It bopped in the air, curious, before zooming off to rejoin the rest of the army, for some reason deeming you worthy of survival.
On the ground at your feet, people who had not been so lucky were trampled on and tripped over as the survivors scrambled to escape.
The memory faded, replaced by one far kinder. Your childhood home. A rainy morning locked inside but still full of joy and fun. You played boardgames with your friend, created your own rules, lied and cheated to win. Naturally, they did exactly the same until you were effectively playing two separate games simultaneously. A winner was never declared but you had all the pieces and they had all the cards so neither felt hard done by.
There was chocolate cake, so rich and delicious that you couldn’t help but eat the entire thing; you each paid for that mistake later but that was part of being a child – scoffing your face with sweets until you were sick – wasn’t it? You curled up together on the sofa and watched your favourite film, able to sing every word of every song in questionable harmony.
Another door opened. It brought you back to the present, sat on your desk at UNIT as you flicked through a folder on one Agent O. A note from high up was stuck to the top corner: Utmost interest. Begin recon immediately. You couldn’t see why the man was so special, other than having a big mouth and an attitude problem, but never questioned your orders.
Then, a gun in four parts. That was the rumour circulating the ghettos. A brave woman, Martha Jones, was scouring the world to find the pieces in order to kill The Master and end his horrific reign. She wasn’t far from here, apparently. She’d escaped the factories in what used to be China and was heading across the border tonight. You were part of the resistance team sent to meet her, to smuggle her through the checkpoint.
Weeks it had taken to collect the necessary equipment required to stun the Toclafane. For all their power and technological superiority, they were little more than children. They didn’t learn from the mistakes of their kin and fell for the same traps over and over again, one miracle among all this suffering.
Your three man team – you and two ex-students you shared a room with – unscrewed the bars on your window and leapt out to the tree you always used to assist your descent. Under cover of darkness, the nights now black as nature intended with all non essential lighting cannibalised for the rocket ships, you crept through the desolated town to the border.
The chill set in your bones as you waited for Martha’s arrival, nervous energy the only thing you had to keep you warm. Jane and Felix set about preparing the equipment to knock out any partrolling Toclafane as you worked on the radio, sending your signals out into the ether in the hope that Martha would find you well.
She was three hours later, her clothes soaked from a gruelling trek through the marshes, but Martha greeted you with a tired smile and thanked you for your assistance. You carried her bags back to your building and gave her your bed for the night. She told you stories of a wonderful man, of hope and the possibility of a better world. It was difficult to believe but her determination and strength of heart soon won you over.
By the morning, when the guards arrived to execute you and your team as traitors to the new world, Martha was gone.
Finally, two children ran around on a cliff top, the red sky stretching out as far as the eye could see. They played rough, pushing and shoving, their laughter filled the air until one pushed too hard. The other fell to the ground, their limp body encased in a beautiful golden light as it took them away.
You came back to the vault with a jolt. The Master dropped his fingers from your temples and studied you seriously, equally as concerned by that last memory. With nowhere to run – for that was your immediate reaction when faced with a predator about to tear your throat out – you drew back as far as the headboard would allow you. The extra inch provided little extra protection from the Timelord but somehow gave you more clarity.
“That wasn’t my memory.”
“Really? I would never have guessed,” The Master snarled. “That was a regeneration.”
“Who were they? Were you the child that fell?”
He shot you a look so dark that you were surprised it didn’t blow the lights above your head. “I know my life. I’ve jumped off a few cliffs in my time but not that one.”
“It was on Gallifrey, though. I felt your recognition before you drew back.”
“I don’t care what you felt. Tell me how you have that memory.”
“I don’t know!”
The Master raked his fingers through his hair and grumbled something undecipherable beneath his breath. Still seething, he flopped back onto the mattress and swore. “We know even less than when we started this!”
You awkwardly patted his leg and said, “Look on the bright side. We have something new to investigate now.”
“Your optimism makes me sick.”
Good, you thought spitefully. You allowed him a few more moments to indulge his anger before bringing up the other elephant in the room. “Are we going to talk about what else we saw? I was executed for helping Martha. In the other world where you were Master of Earth, I died.”
“Yeah, well, you’d be surprised how often it doesn’t stick.”
“But I still have the memories. How is that possible?”
He lifted his hands in an uninterested shrug. “I lived through that timeline. You have the power to look back on the lives of others. Most probably a temporal convergence which allowed you to access the parallel universe when it happened. It’s not important.”
“It is to me! I died.”
“You keep saying that as if it will change anything. Just shut up and let me think.”
In two words, The Master managed to channel a level of authority and threat which you had never encountered before. Fear chilled your entire body, right down the space between cells, as you realised a moment too late that you may have miscalculated. Head bowed so low that your chin practically touched your chest, your long overgrown hair falling around your face like a curtain, you whispered, “I’m sorry.”
The Master grabbed your chin and forced you to meet his gaze. It was like staring into the heart of a sun, beautiful in its rage but absolutely, undeniably deadly. “Don’t speak to me like that again. I tolerate your existence and you have proved yourself to be occasionally useful but that does not mean you are my equal.”
“I understand, Master.”
He released his grip and you rubbed the skin, testing for marks. None yet, but you were certain that bruises would appear over time. The Master deflated slightly as the silence grew heavy between you and he fell back on the bed once more, this time his anger replaced by resignation. “It’s right there, I can feel it. All the answers. Just out of reach.”
“You think the children are important.”
“I’m certain of it.”
“Allow me to search your memories for them, then. Perhaps you have them buried somewhere.”
You waited anxiously for his next outburst, another wicked blow as he expended his anger on you. However, none came. Instead, The Master sighed so deeply that he may well have brought life to a new universe. “Tomorrow. There are things I need to do today. Do you want curry or noodles tonight?”
Truly, the Timelord was unbelievable. How could he think that you were okay after all this? Watching your own death, learning you were no closer to an answer regarding the bond between you. Still, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to shout back and tell him exactly how you were feeling; he wouldn’t care and you weren’t willing to ignite his anger again.
So, you smiled stiffly and mumbled, “Noodles, please.”
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you play, and everything else goes away
for @extasiswings <3
read on ao3
It’s all very familiar as he enters the store — the smell of wood and rosin, the instruments hanging on the walls, the snippets of music coming from the practice rooms along the back wall. There’s music playing from speakers behind the front desk too, a familiar piece that he’s forgotten the composer of. As he adjusts the case straps on his shoulders, watching a group of kids warm up in the corner, he’s suddenly nervous, anticipation rolling in his stomach like it did before his very first lesson.
Eddie didn’t start with the cello — every kid in the neighborhood was taking piano lessons, so his mother signed him and his sisters up too. Sophia was good, played through sophomore year, did a few solo and ensemble competitions. Adriana quit after a month so she could focus on dance. Eddie liked it fine, but he didn’t feel any passion for it. The keys felt too cold, too impersonal, and he couldn’t feel the music anywhere but in his hands, didn’t feel like he could control it.
His teacher must have noticed too, because she turned to him one day mid-lesson and asked, “Eddie, what do you really want to play?”
He’d thought about it, of course. He’d watched kids warm up and tune every instrument imaginable while waiting for lessons to start, but he always felt himself drawn to the strings. They were beautiful, looked elegant and commanding no matter who was playing them, and although they only had four strings, there were infinite notes that could be played, microtonalities and variations that the 88 keys of the piano just couldn’t replicate. Every violinist he watched seemed to put their whole body into their pieces, swaying as the music changed, bows ebbing and flowing. He told his teacher the simplified version of that and she nodded, leaving the room and coming back a few minutes later with two cases, one double the size of the other.
She handed him the violin first. Twisting his arm to hold it under his chin was awkward, and the shrill tone of the E string wasn’t something he was sure he wanted to listen to day in and day out. His teacher showed him some basic fingerings and helped him play a scale, but something still felt wrong.
The cello, though. As soon as he sat down with it securely between his knees, he knew this was different. Better. The tones were lower, warmer, and he could feel them in every inch of him, felt in command of the music he was playing. All he played was a D major scale, but it was enough to know this was it for him. His parents agreed, happy enough that he still wanted to play something, and bought him his own cello that same day. He was a little worried on the day of his first lesson that he wouldn’t love it as much as he hoped, but one hour and one sawed out version of “Hot Cross Buns” later, he was completely enamored.
He continued with lessons, joining his school’s orchestra in fifth grade, and Eddie continued falling in love with the cello, now learning how to love how it sounded as part of a whole rather than just a single instrument. Cello parts weren’t always the melody or particularly fun, but they supported the sound of the whole piece, enriching it, sometimes making it so intense he could feel the notes in his bones as he played. He was first chair by sophomore year, playing solos and in the chamber orchestra. He listened to the pieces his director recommended outside of school, and fell down rabbit holes of his own, finding particular comfort in the repetition and minimalism of Glass and Richter, in the picturesque melodies of Einaudi. By the time he was a senior, it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to play much if at all after graduation — his parents were pushing so hard for pre-med, the Army kept sending him letters about his potential as a recruit, and all the best music programs were out of state anyway, away from Shannon, from his family, everything he knew.
He packed up his cello after his orchestra’s senior concert, fully expecting to never touch it again, watch it gather dust in the corner of his childhood bedroom while the world moved on around it. It hurt Eddie deeply to leave this thing he loved so much behind, but he still had recordings to listen to, where he could close his eyes and pretend he was playing too, fingering along silently on his arm.
It wasn’t the same, but it would have to be enough.
But fast forward 15 years and here Eddie is, waiting for his new teacher to call him into their room, foot tapping with nervous energy. He sees a door open, a girl walking out with her case on her back, waving as she heads out of the store. A man maybe 10 years older than him sticks his head out.
“Edmundo?” he calls. Eddie walks over to the room, shutting the door behind him as they shake hands.
“Eddie is fine,” he says.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Steve,” Steve says, his smile warm and paternal. “I take it this isn’t your first rodeo?”
Eddie stops, bow in his hand frozen mid-rosin. He hadn’t even realized he had unpacked, it just...happened. Like muscle memory.
“It’s not,” he laughs, blushing lightly. “But it has been a while.”
“Well that’s okay, it’s never too late to start playing again,” Steve says as Eddie settles in the plastic chair, locking his endpin and placing it in the rock stop. “Do you have any music with you? I’d like to get an idea of where your technique is at right now.”
“I don’t, but I have a piece memorized I can play?”
Steve waves his hand out as he sits in the chair across from Eddie. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Eddie places the bow on the strings and takes a deep breath. It’s been ages, but it’s all so familiar that he’s not nervous anymore. The weight of the cello is comforting, like hugging an old friend, and he’s relaxed. Excited, even, to be back in this mindset that was an escape to him for so long. As he begins to play, the familiar arpeggios flow out of him like rain water, the bow gliding along with them. He closes his eyes and feels it, the slurs and scales, the crescendos and diminuendos, every rest, every string crossing. This was the first piece he ever memorized, the first one he ever played in front of people at a recital, and to know that it’s still so much a part of him, ingrained in his mind, makes him kind of want to cry.
He finishes, let’s the last chord linger, his eyes still closed. He knows it wasn’t perfect — he was flat in places, he missed a bowing change and was backwards for a few bars, and his fingertips started hurting toward the end, calluses no longer there to protect him. But none of that matters to him, really, because he’s back, back in this home he didn’t realize he had missed so much.
He opens his eyes as Steve claps softly, still smiling. “That was really great, Eddie. You have some things to brush up on, but you really are a natural. Shall we work through it from the top?”
He picks up his bow, heart close to bursting with happiness, and he starts again.
Eddie peaks through the crack in the curtain, scanning the audience for his family. He spots them — they’re kind of hard to miss, taking up the entire third row — and he feels his stomach drop, more nervous than he ever is running into a burning building.
It was their doing, really, his getting back into playing. Sophia had been in town and had dropped by the station one day, and everyone took full advantage of grilling her for childhood memories of Eddie. He hadn’t minded when she let slip that he played cello once upon a time, because he wasn’t ashamed of it. It just wasn’t something he talked about often because it still stung, even all these years later, remembering the feeling he used to get mastering a tricky fingering or learning a new piece, knowing he’d probably never have that same joy again. He didn’t really think anything of the way Buck’s eyes lit up when he said he wouldn’t mind taking lessons again, or the way he pulled everyone but Eddie aside in the weeks leading up to Christmas.
At their yearly gift exchange, Eddie had been presented with a huge, oddly wrapped package with a tag reading “To: our favorite musician, From: all of us”. His breath caught as he unwrapped it, revealing familiar, curved black plastic. He opened the case, tearing up at the sight of the used but clearly loved cello and a coupon for a year’s worth of lessons from a local teacher. He croaked out a “thank you” and was quickly enveloped in a group hug, feeling beyond grateful for these people that knew him so well and loved him so much.
He practiced as often as he could in between lessons and work and everything else. Sometimes he was alone, working through difficult passages with varying degrees of frustration. Sometimes Chris laid on the ground next to him doing homework, sometimes Buck sat on the couch and read, both listening intently, not caring when Eddie played the same four bars over and over and over to get them right. As annoying as it was, he never felt like giving up, like picking cello up again had been a mistake. If anything, it just made him work harder, in honor of 18 year old Eddie that had to leave his passion behind.
The audience claps as the pianist before him finishes. Eddie feels a hand on his shoulder, turns to see Steve behind him, holding his folder of music.
“You’ve worked hard this year, Eddie. You’re going to be great. And if not, that just means you have to keep practicing.”
Eddie nods, stomach still swirling. He and Steve walk on stage as his name is announced, and he hears Buck and Chimney’s unmistakable hollers. He sets up his chair and music stand in front of the piano, looking at the audience again. He can see everyone’s face clearly from here, all smiles, Bobby holding up his phone to record the performance. He catches Buck’s eye, who sends him a wink and a smile, and he’s ready.
He places his bow on the strings, nods to Steve, and he’s lost in the music almost immediately. It’s a melancholic piece, full of sorrow and intensity that fills Eddie as he plays. He picked this piece because it’s beautiful in it’s sadness and simplicity, and today, he plays it for all that he’s lost. For his Army friends, for Shannon, for his younger, more optimistic self. He mourns for them through his music in a way that he’s never been able to without it, and as it swells into the final melodic section, he swears he feels some weight lift off his soul.
He finishes, and there’s a breath before the audience applauds. It’s mostly polite, but the third row is on its feet, Athena passing Maddie a pack of tissues as they wipe their eyes. He smiles and bows before heading offstage with Steve, feeling giddy, the same we he always remembered feeling after a good performance. It didn’t matter that he missed a few notes or rushed a few bars — he made people feel something, and that was a better reward than perfection.
Another round of applause from his family greets him as he enters the lobby, Chris barreling into his legs, all smiles and congratulations. There’s hugs and pats on the back and flowers from Hen and Karen, and Eddie doesn’t know if he’ll stop smiling. As they leave, headed to a nearby restaurant to celebrate, Buck falls in step next to Eddie, tangles their fingers together.
“You were beautiful up there, Eds,” he says as he presses a kiss to the back of Eddie’s hand. “I’ve never seen you look so in your element.”
Eddie just smiles, kissing Buck’s cheek before tugging him toward the car, Chris already there, yelling at them to get a move on.
Because Buck’s right. On stage, playing music, he is in his element. Behind a cello, he’s home.
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