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snarwor · 3 years

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moon and old stars - chapter 1

I blame @badwolfbadwolf for every single word of this. Din Djarin/Boba Fett Daddy Kink with a side of Emotional Hurt/Comfort? I’m fuckin AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA damn it I’m writing Star Wars fic again. What’s this ship name? Link to AO3 at the bottom. No warnings so far. Also: this is my first time posting a fic on Tumblr so if there’s formatting issues yolo

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He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t. He was practically forty cycles old and he knew better. Here he was, without a damn starship, without the kid, bereft of enough credits to make a difference, and he was spiraling out of control due to the residual guilt and shame which had come with taking his helmet off at the refinery on Morak. He’d compromised himself, his Creed, his people.

And the damn Fett wasn’t talking to him, to top it off. That’s just great.

It wasn’t much of a Way if you kept meandering vaguely off course, listing on just this side of heresy.

Cara and Fennec had gone off in search of food on some outpost near the Outer Rim, a few days’ travel behind Gideon, and therefore Grogu. Din was left alone in Slave I with Boba Fett, and he was practically crawling out of his skin.

He’d rehearsed the bad idea so many times in his head, but somewhere between his mind and his mouth the words changed from “Wanna go shoot something?” to “I need a distraction.”

The old bounty hunter was sitting at the console near the hyperdrive, sans helmet, as he was used to. Din’s hands were shaking in their gloves, but the gloves and his armor were sturdy enough to hide it from the common man’s eye.

Boba Fett was not a common man. He was a Mandalorian, if not by Creed then by race, and he knew exactly the deadly mix of poisons which had led Din to this point better than... kriff, better than anyone else in this blasted galaxy.

His eyes, so level and sure, so calculating and sharp it felt like there wasn’t any beskar between them, regarded him and his request. Din hadn’t asked, he was past the point of asking. He was desperate to get his mind off of the vicious circle of imagining what the kid was going through. Fett stood and straightened his back.

Din wasn’t a slight man, by anyone’s definition. He was strong enough to wield and wear the armor, to make it this long as a guild bounty hunter, to survive the training and the trauma that came from just living in the wild galaxy. But Boba Fett was a clone, he was created to be the most powerful kriffing bastard this side of the stars, and he was engineered smarter, faster, and stronger. He had a hand’s length on him in height, and Din was eager to know what that would feel like, without the armor, without the boots, without—

But Fett hadn’t spoken yet, he hadn’t even given anything away that Din could overthink about. He was sweating all over the inside of his helmet, worse than when he first put one on as a teenager. He swallowed roughly, and the vocoder picked it up, a soft crackle putting his nervousness on display.

“Come with me.”

It was three words, which were more than enough of an order for Din’s head to swim, and he followed like Fett had said to. He was led to a berthing at the far edge of the ship. The matter of fact way Fett had interpreted his request for a distraction as “I’m taking you to bed” made him swoon a little on his feet. “I don’t lay with armor. You’ll have to take it off.”

“But—”

“If I wanted to lay with a droid, I’d lay with a droid. It comes off.”

Again, Din was brought to heel by three short words. And really, what was there left of himself that he could hold tight to and pretend was honorable? How much of himself had he given up in just the last few months? What part of him actually still fit, hidden behind buckles and clasps and plates and signets?

He forced himself not to think about it. His need was great. Back on Morak, he’d felt the same need take control, blurring the line in his head that was at one point, uncrossable. Now, his whole mind was blurred, and he felt the air in his helmet was hot and stifling. Piece by piece, the armor around him came off, and with it, his cares and self-respect. He was willing to debase himself for one petty distraction.

In for a credit, and all.

The chest plate acted as sort of a holding dish for the rest, keeping it nice and tidy and out of Fett’s way as he bared every part of himself. Fett watched with an unreadable expression as pale skin was uncovered, as cloth-covered elbows and socked feet revealed itself to the room. The door was shut, there was some semblance of safety here, but the recklessness with which Din stripped himself gave the old man something to worry about.

Finally, in just his soft skin-layer clothes, all that was left was the damned helmet. Din felt his lips wobbling beneath it, and set his jaw. It’s just a distraction. It’s just enough to get me by. Then I can bottle the shame and find a way to repent for my actions. This is the Way.

The light in the room was dim, like Fett had known Din’s eyes needed to adjust. The helmet sat atop the rest of the armor with a soft thud, finality in its tone. Din let out a shuddering breath, and his eyes went to the floor, his head with it. He’s worn the helmet so long that he was unused to peripheral vision when he had it.

“Look at me.” Three-word sentences were a favorite of Fett’s, so it seemed. “You are not of a Creed you can disappoint while in here. The only truth is that you are mine.”

Din’s eyes flashed up, and his jaw dropped. That strange cadence to his voice, the accent, it was unfamiliar enough to his ears that it set the stage for what came next. “Yours?” he croaked, almost flinching at the new acoustic quality his voice had.

“Mine.” Fett sat on the edge of his bed, and made no motion for Din to follow, so he remained standing. “You are unfamiliar with this kind of activity. Good. There’s nothing you can do, or have done, that will change how I treat you here. We will start small. You will follow my orders. If you are confused about something, you will ask. If something is wrong, you will say ‘beskar’ and we will stop. No one else is allowed to know about this. I will not speak of it, and neither will you. This will not follow outside of here unless we speak of it. Do you have any questions?”

Millions.

“No.”

“Kneel here.” Fett pointed with a single, gnarled finger to a point on the ground by his feet. Din made a soft noise of resistance, but a firm look reminded him that he was to follow Fett’s orders. He slowly went to his knees, and walked forward on them, closer, to Fett’s side. He thought they were going to do this on the bed. “Get comfortable.”

He spoke like he’d rather be talking in a different language, but for Din he’d keep speaking in Common. Din adjusted his kneeling stance so his back wasn’t slouched. They often meditated in the cloister and learned to stay very still despite discomfort, but Fett had told him to get comfortable, so he did, though once he’d found it, he began to fidget.

“Put your head here.” Fett patted his lap. Surely there was an easier way for him to do this…? Din wasn’t sure he’d be able to reach Fett’s cock in this position. “Your mind is jumping several steps ahead. We are not moving past this now. Relax your mind.”

“I asked for a distraction, not a guided meditation,” Din grumbled, resisting and testing the waters a little. Fett seemed quick to temper despite his glacial expressions, but in here, he took the little barb like Din hadn’t even said anything.

“You will get what you need, and nothing more unless you follow what it is I’m saying. Put your head here. I won’t repeat myself again.”

Din gently rested his head against Fett’s thigh. It was a strange sensation, to feel warmth there not brought by engine heat or the flash-burn of a sonic shower, or his own body heat trapped in the helmet. The fabric over his thigh was a rough canvas, but not too thick that it hid the warmth from the man wearing them.

“Good. That’s good.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Fett put a hand on his head, not grabbing, just resting. He took deep breaths and calmed his heart down.

He’d spent so many months taking a sharp blade to his hair, thinning it down as soon as it was long enough to curl. He didn’t like to meet his own eyes in the mirror as he worked, only looked at his face enough to do a cursory, impersonal shave and haircut, and only when absolutely necessary. He felt he owed it to the Creed that he didn’t indulge in time spent out of the helmet, in things like vanity and pride.

But now, with Fett’s hand on his head, and his head on his thigh, kneeling at his feet because he’d been told to, he wished he’d spent a bit more time making sure it was at least even. Insecurity and shame bubbled inside of him, and it made damn sure Din knew how unworthy he was of a signet, of the helmet, of the gifts given by his people. Through many years and lonely nights, even after he met the kid, he’d found himself in moments of physical pain, but never enough to make him cry like a child.

This simple act, it seemed, was enough.

It started slow, a prickling spark behind his eyes, a flash of radiant embarrassment on his cheeks. He swallowed past a lump in his throat. His vision blurred with tears, and they fell, uninhibited, from his eyes. If Fett noticed, he didn’t speak about it, and didn’t move his hand back. His thigh and his hand were the only two points in the galaxy that could tether Din back to himself, and he was holding on tightly to that sensation.

Those fingers curled into unevenly-cut hair, a gentle scritch against a sensitive scalp, and Din cried harder. Under the sounds of his gasps and silent, shuddering sobs, he heard humming. It wasn’t a song he recognized, but the tune became familiar the more Fett repeated it, in a deep register that matched his entire demeanor.

Din’s hands came to wrap around Fett’s calf, holding on hesitantly, but tighter once the song interrupted with a “Hm,” of assent. Now he had four points of tethering, and it was easier for Din to let the tears carry away his shame and injuries to his pride.

He didn’t know how long he was down there, knelt by Fett’s feet, but when he felt fine enough to look up, he was surprised to meet Fett’s eyes. He somehow knew Fett hadn’t looked away even once in the whole time Din had knelt. “You were very good for me,” Fett said, a soft quality to his voice that made Din’s breath catch. The hand on his head shifted and cupped the back of his neck, and Din’s eyes fluttered shut. How long had it been…? Never, his mind said. You’ve never felt like this.

“What was that song?” Din asked, his voice terribly hoarse and small.

“It’s an old one, so old time forgot the words but not the sound and story. It told a tale about an old star shooting across the galaxy, and when it sailed past a moon made of crystals so clear it looked like starlight, it stopped, pulled into orbit by a thing so beautiful it was helpless against the laws of the universe. My father used to sing it to me, and now I sing it to you.”

Din didn’t know what to make of that, but said, “That sounds like a nice story. Will you teach me the song?”

“I will. But not now. The others will be back soon. You may want to clean up.”

Din noticed the uncomfortable feeling of tears dried on his face, and felt the wave of self-consciousness return, though it was greatly subdued.

“There’s a shower on board.”

“Thank you.” Din kept his eyes down, gathering up his things again, his pieces.

“You’re welcome, any time you need it.”

“What if I don’t need it?” Din said, trying to cover his vulnerability with...something else.

“Then you don’t need it,” Fett said, calm as anything. He stood.

Sure enough, those five inches Fett had on him were made starkly apparent when Din stood in none of his armor. Certain men carried a metaphorical weight with them when they walked, and others carried an imagined height that let them look down on others. Boba Fett was bigger in both senses, but did not use his power to belittle or condescend at Din. He exuded a presence of comfort and safety, a peace that Din had thought inaccessible for himself for so very long.

He felt held, though they stood apart.

“I’ll just. Shower.” Din said, awkwardness filling his lungs.

As soon as he was in the small ‘fresher, he closed the hatch and wondered what in the kriff just happened.

Read on AO3.

Chapter two.

#star wars fanfiction #din djarin/boba fett #mandalorian fanfiction #if past me saw now me she would be very disappointed #my writing #moon and old stars

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undertalethingems · 4 years

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Fic: Bark at the Moon

Oh boy, the time’s finally come that I feel like I can start posting this--introducing Bark at the Moon, my next major fic. It started as a challenge to myself--I’ve had trouble enjoying how the classic Gaster Blaster AU is often executed, even though I usually like settings where the characters can turn into... well, monsters. I already had a gaster blaster AU with Unexpected Guests, but could I write the AU as it’s usually depicted...?

15 chapters later--and at least six more planned--I think the answer is yes. It likely features many of the tropes you’ll be familiar with... but, I hope I’ve brought something new to it as well. Mainly, I hope you’ll like it regardless ^^

Anyway, on with the story, right?

Bark at the Moon: Prologue

Next>

Or read on my Ao3>

Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon

Warnings: Body horror? Maybe? Please let me know--if it’s any consolation, the content in question is all in one paragraph here in the prologue, and then hardly in the fic ever again.

Summary: Papyrus was well on his way to joining the Royal Guard. Was. Now, he’s not sure he can rejoin society--if only for the sake of his brother. Because he doesn’t want to remind him of anything.

He doesn’t want to remind him of what they can become.

The snow lay crisp and pristine in the clearing, wholly undisturbed after a solid night of frigid winds and blinding sleet that had eventually become a dense layer of snow. Papyrus inhaled deeply, air rushing through his nasals as he steeled himself for a full day of puzzle construction and maintenance. Somewhere under this crystalline blanket was a brand-new tile puzzle designed by none other than the wonderful Dr. Alphys, and it was his duty to ensure it was up and running should a human finally come through.

At least the snow would show any footprints had one passed through overnight and evaded the night guard. He stared at the unbroken plane of white and tried to imagine what a human’s footprints would look like; humans were built a lot like skeletons, right? So they probably had similar feet and left similar footprints—all he had to do was look for prints like his own and he could track the human through the entire Underground if he so desired! He would finally, really prove himself worthy by figuring this out so quickly. Of course, none but the Great Papyrus could work out such a logical deduction!

“A LOGICAL DEDUCTION. BUT FOR OUR PURPOSES... YOUR OTHER FORM IS MORE USEFUL. CHANGE.”

White filled his vision. White, white, white snow, white, blank, blank white walls. He could see nothing else, feel nothing but a steely grip latch into his soul and tug it open. A jolt of something—not quite pain, but unpleasant all the same—shocked down his spine, and he shuddered. It had been so long since he'd felt this--and it was overwhelming.

It drowned out all thought as it washed over him, vibrating through his bones; he shut his eyes and sank into the rush. He'd completely forgotten what this was like. Even if he could have, there was no point resisting it now, and really, the terrible snap of power humming through him was preferable to watching what came with it.

But he could still feel it. Long bones stretched, sutures separated and rewove themselves along new lines. Neural crests grew and sharpened into spikes, and even his spine lengthened until his low, toothy skull rested atop a long s-curved neck, and a whiplike tail lashed behind him. When it was all over, his bones had been completely remodeled from dentary to tailtip--the skeleton monster was nigh unrecognizable. A chimerical mix of mammalian and reptilian features, his new appearance had more in common with a mythical creature than anything alive or long extinct.

The first sensation that crashed into his reeling mind was scent--sharp, heady pine, damp, crisp snow--the dry, earthy scent of his own bones. He tried opening his eyes, bright orange irises igniting in his orbits--but his vision still swam, and took what felt like far too long to clear. When it finally passed, he rose, swayed on limbs both alien and familiar to him, and tried shaking the lingering dizziness from his skull. It persisted stubbornly, but he was just as stubborn if not more so and waited for the ache and lingering buzz of power to fade. At last the haze fell away, and he settled into the form he now bore as though he had never worn another with a sigh.

In a way this was true. Exchanging a smaller, friendlier shape for a long, spiky, intimidating one was something he’d always been able to do. He liked being friendly far more, knew deep in his soul that for as naturally as he bore it, this form didn’t suit him. It had been ages—it felt like another lifetime—since he’d last taken it, for good reason. He snorted, already over this, and called the power back.

It didn't listen. He tried again, focusing on the energy that made up his soul, but it persisted as though nothing was different. Sitting in the snow, he tried thinking back--obviously he'd done this before, so he knew how to change. It just... wasn't... coming to him right now. That was okay, there were lots of things he didn't remember! That didn't mean he'd totally forgotten them, as his nightmares liked to remind him. He just needed to focus. He squeezed his eyes shut, and...

Nothing came to him. He tried again, wracking his memories for a clue, but all he found were dark corners he wasn't about to poke into. Until he remembered or rediscovered how to change back... he was stuck like this. His heart sank--no, no, that wouldn't do, he couldn't give up so soon! He tried calling on his magic again, pulling and straining at it until he felt frazzled. He couldn't let this stop him! He just had to--stop being this. Because while he didn't remember much about why he was like this, he remembered enough to know that no one could ever know about it or see him in this form.

Especially not his brother.

Papyrus sighed, a long hiss gusting from between sharpened teeth. There were no human footprints and he'd gone and done this to himself. He looked down, flexing one clawed hand, then the other. It was funny, really… he would leave very strange, extremely non-humanlike tracks like this. If, of course, he left any to find. Working quickly, he swept the snow from the tile puzzle, scraping away or burying any evidence of his transformation with hands, feet, and tail. Then, he picked up the shredded remains of his clothing, took one look back in the direction of Snowdin, and took a running leap into the forest as far as he could. He'd made his decision.

He wouldn’t come back until he’d remembered how to stop being a weapon.

#undertale #undertalethingem writes #gaster blaster au #papyrus (undertale)#i'll be crossposting this to ao3 soon but maybe not tonight #not sure what the rest of the update schedule will be like but the prologue is super short so #let me know if i should add more tags or something too =u=;#anyway aaaaaaaa

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honeyhan-123 · 4 years

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The Long Way Home

Summary: Keen to take your relationship with Peter to the next level, you take advantage the long car ride home.

Warnings: OF AGE PETER, hand job and oral sex (male receiving)

Word Count: 2.1k

AN: this was written for the incredible and lovely @sunmoonandbucky for her 5k writing challenge, I had a lot of fun with it. It is also the child of a gif the former @sovietghoststories (now @dirtychocolatechai) posted of Peter (around four months ago) which inspired the scene. Sorry it took me so long! Also if there’s any formatting issues blame my phone, I’ll fix it as soon as I get back to my computer later this week.

My Masterlist

Your panties were soaked, clinging to your skin as you stood in the elevator, desperate for it to release you to the cool night air. Peter stood beside you, perfectly at ease, a smile on his face as if he hadn’t been teasing you the entire night.

Every now and then as you sat through the painfully long movie night at the Tower, his fingers had brushed against you, soft and gentle, absentmindedly, driving you insane. You wanted his touch, craved it even. You hadn’t been dating that long, barely three months and the fact that he had felt comfortable enough to introduce you to the rest of the Avengers meant a lot, but three months was a long time for a girl to hold out for.

You loved him and totally understood that he wasn’t the most sexually experienced - he refused to talk about it, blushing a deep scarlet before making up some excuse about needing to leave right away whenever you brought it up, so you kind of figured he was embarrassed to still be a virgin.

You knew that he was all too well aware of the fact you had had boyfriends before him and just how far you had gone with each of them and you longed to comfort him, make him realise that you didn’t care how far he had gone. You only cared about him, and your future together, both sexually and emotionally.

You wanted to wait until he was ready but you knew he needed a push, some form of reassurance from you, that this was what you wanted irregardless of his past, and as he opened the car door for you, an idea popped into your head, a way to get what you wanted and also to get back at him for teasing you all night long.

He started the car, pulling out of the underground garage and you waited until you reached the first red light before putting your plan in action. Casually, you leaned across the seat, placing your hand on his thigh as you spoke, giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me over tonight Pete. I had such a great time with you.’

You didn’t fail to notice the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes fluttering down to your hand, pausing before he replied. ‘Uh yeah. I’m glad you had a nice time.’

You smiled at him. ‘No Pete, I had a great time. I’m so thankful to you for giving it to me.’ You knew you were laying it on thick, the bedroom eyes that never failed to work on your previous boyfriends accompanying your words. You also knew that this was the only way to get him where you wanted him.

Your thumb started swirling, drawing invisible patterns on the rough denim of his jeans, his eyes following your movements.

‘Uh Pete?’

‘Y-yeah Babe?’ His voice was slightly hoarse and you smiled, he was so easy to rile up.

You pointed straight ahead, out of the car. ‘The light’s green.’

Your words shook him from his reverie as his head swiveled back to the lights, only just comprehending what you had said. ‘Right yeah. The light’s green. Green means I go.’ Even in the darkness you could see the blush that crept up along his cheeks and down past the collar of his shirt. You longed to find out just how far down it went.

Because you didn’t exactly want to get into a car crash on the way home, you kept the teasing light, taking your time to slowly inch your hand up his thigh, relishing in the gradual build of a bulge between his legs.

Far too soon for your liking, Peter pulled into the underground garage of your apartment block. You wished that you could invite him upstairs, yet you doubted your parents would approve of the activities you had planned. Mentally, you cursed yourself for still living at home during college, if only you had a place of your own. Instead, you unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to face him in earnest, keeping one hand on his thigh as you unbuckled his seatbelt and your other creeping up his button down shirt to wrap around his neck, pulling him to you.

Your lips met and your fingers curled in his hair as his tongue invaded your mouth, massaging your own. You moaned into his kiss, your thighs rubbing together desperate for some friction as you pulled away slightly, looking into his lust blown eyes.

‘Do you trust me Pete?’

‘Yeah, of course I do babe.’ His voice was slightly breathless, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips every few seconds.

‘Good, I want to try something, if that’s okay with you?’ You smirked as he nodded, pulling him back in for another kiss as your hand below moved up his thigh, covering his bulge with your palm.

You relished in the soft moan that poured into your mouth from him as you rubbed him through his jeans, getting him even harder before brushing your fingertips against the smooth leather of his belt. Pulling away once more, you kept your eyes on his as the clink of his belt coming undone filled the silence, his fly following soon after.

Peter stopped breathing as you reached your hand underneath his boxers, coming to rest against his hot flesh, giving him a chance to pull away. When he didn’t, you spread your hand, gripping his length as best you could and moved your hand up and down along him.

‘Oh god… babe… fuck.’ His eyes closed on their own accord, his head lolling down as you pumped him, your lips against his cheek, trailing soft butterfly kisses over every exposed surface of his skin, coming to a stop at his ear.

‘Does that feel good Peter?’ Your voice was unlike anything Peter had ever heard, so flirty, so seductive, so illicit.

‘Yes, god yes babe. Feels so fucking good.’ Your lips met once more your tongue tracing the soft pink flesh, pulling on it slightly between your teeth.

‘Do you want it to feel even better babe?’ Peter’s simple uh huh was enough confirmation for you as you released him, moving both hands to his hips where his jeans hung. ‘I need to take these off Peter, just raise your hips a little for me.’ You saw the bob of his Adam’s apple once more before he complied like a docile child, allowing you to push the rough denim and cotton down his legs to where they pooled at his knees.

The slick in your panties doubled at the sight before you. His thick cock, standing rigid against his covered abdomen, the tip angry and red, desperate for more. Gripping him properly now, you stroked him hard and fast, flicking your thumb over his tip, collecting the drops of precum and smearing them along his shaft.

With one last glance at his face, now resting against his headrest, his jaw slack and moans tumbling freely from his lips, you bent down, moving your legs underneath your body. Your hand never faltered as your brushed your lips against him, your tongue swiping at his tip. You felt him straighten in his seat as you did this, his hands raising to his hair to give you more room. Slowly, you opened your mouth, trying to gather as much saliva as you could before guiding him inside.

He was thick and much longer than any of those other boys you had tried this with before and so, before you even got halfway down him you could feel your throat constricting, trying to push him out. Taking a deep breath, and trying to relax as much as possible, you continued lowering your mouth, pushing yourself to your limit as your nose finally met his pelvis, buried in the thick curls of his pubic hair.

The groan that he gave was your reward for your effort, the tangling of his fingers in your hair as you worked him was a gold medal. ‘Fuck, babe, god… I can’t… you feel so fucking good.’ His whines seemed to echo in the silence with his laboured breaths, his confidence slowly growing as he started to move your head, pushing and pulling you up and down his length. Your insides were glowing as he took more and more control, eventually thrusting his hips up into your mouth as you hollowed your cheeks and swirled your tongue against the bulging vein on his underside.

You ignored the middle console digging into your stomach, the growing pain in your jaw as you struggled to take him all, too in awe of the sounds of him losing control to pay attention to the discomfort. His groans grew in volume as your head started getting slightly dizzy, he had already surpassed your longest ex by a long shot.

‘Fuck babe… I’m gonna… I’m gonna fucking cum…’ With a renewed sense of purpose you glided down him faster, sucking him harder, trying to push him over the edge. You felt one hand tighten in your hair, pushing you all the way down as his thighs tensed underneath you, giving you a moments notice before he filled your mouth.

You struggled to breathe, trying to swallow everything he had given you with your lips still wrapped around him. When his fingers released your hair, you finally pulled back, a trail of saliva and cum connecting your lips to his softening cock.

Your eyes roved his body as you wiped at your lips, swallowing the last few drops of him. His head was thrown back against the headrest, his eyes still screwed shut as his breaths slowly calmed down, one arm still around your shoulders, resting at the back of your neck, the other held a vice like grip on the steering wheel, the once smooth leather covering split beneath his fingers, revealing the crumpled metal and wires inside.

Slowly his eyes peeled open, his grip on the wheel releasing. A single word coming from his mouth. ‘Fuck.’

You couldn’t help but laugh your smile glowing in the dark interior. He pulled you back to him, kissing you softly, like you were precious china that could easily break underneath him. ‘I love you, so fucking much. And not just because of what you just did, but literally everything about you.’ Your lips curled against his, whispering your love back to him.

The moment was ruined by a chime of your phone, a text from your father, asking where you were. Guiltily, you realised it had slipped past your curfew while you had been in the garage, once again cursing your living conditions. ‘I should go before Dad calls the cops or something.’ You joked with Peter as you pulled away, a pout coming onto his face. ‘I’ll see you in English Lit 101 tomorrow.’

‘But I want to-’ You cut him off with a peck.

‘You don’t have to Peter, there’s always later.’ You winked, gathering your purse and hopped out of the car, blowing him one last kiss as he slowly tucked himself back into his pants.

The lights in the kitchen were off as Peter stepped out of the elevator, his blood rushing through his veins just like it did after a victorious fight. He was too elated, too far up on cloud nine as he rifled through the pantry looking for a snack to notice the shadow seated at the bar.

‘I see you’re home late.’ The packet of Takis slipped from his fingers, spilling onto the floor as he swiveled around to Tony.

‘I was- I just… dropped y/n home. Traffic was a nightmare.’ His mind replayed the way your hand had crept up his thigh at every red light, the way he had wished there had been more and then the way your mouth had felt on him. It had been a nightmare, trying to concentrate on driving when he could feel the heat of your palm against him, could smell that sweet honey scent of you with every breath he took.

‘Mmhmmm.’ Tony’s steps were slow as he neared the boy, bending to pick up the dropped bag, passing it back to him, his eyes racking in Peter’s dishevelled appearance. ‘Here’s looking at you kid.’ His hand clapped Peter on the back and raised his glass slightly before he turned, walking out of the room a proud smile on his face, leaving his protege blushing a deep scarlet in the dark kitchen.

Tags will be added in a reblog

My Masterlist

#peter parker #peter x reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader #marvel one shot #mcu #marvel #honeyhan writes

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thetorturerwrites · 4 years

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Puer Deus: Strings

This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @faestae-writes. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

***

Captured / Hurricane / Sustenance / Liar / Scars / Proof

Summary: When he wants more

A/N: OK YOU GUYS -- Look, if you're here this far in, you know this is some dark shit. So, please heed this warning: This is a DARK, heavy kink chapter. SO, some things... 1. The content herein has been dramatized for effect, but this is real shit that happens in the real world. Please feel free to ask me any questions. 2. If you feel the need to explore anything here further, do your research and be risk aware. 3. Strap in. This is some shit. 4. 50 points to your house if you spot the FYA reference. :)

Word Count: 9.3k (I AM NOT SORRY)

Day Seven

It was a flicker of a moment, a subtle jolt of injected power, when the night cycle ended and day officially began.

What day is it?

Today was the first time you wouldn’t stumble to consciousness or fight through a fog. You were still embroiled in questions, though. Ren told you that you’d been here four days, but how many days ago was that?

You decided it was simply too surreal for you to actually be here, to be in your body, in Ren’s room, on board his ship. Each time you thought up a level, you felt smaller and more insignificant. Maybe you really had died. Maybe you’d bled out on his floor, and this was your afterlife.

No, not that lucky…

Your eyes were dry and red from so much crying. Your body was beyond battered, a landscape of harm and wound, mania and furor. You wore the hue of bruise like a new catsuit, covered by Ren’s painful passion from throat to toes.

The idea that some part of you would hurt, sting, throb, or ache every day you were with Ren had been hard to swallow; but a week into this persecution, you knew it to be fact.

How long until he breaks bones?

Sitting in the center of his great, wide bed, you ran your fingers over the still-bloody sheets and contemplated the last however many hours. Ren made it clear that he still meant to keep you, and the idea was solidifying more and more in your brain. You pondered whether or not you would be allowed to leave this fucking room as his personal pet.

Having spent a lifetime under open skies, being caged inside four walls for days, weeks, maybe months sent your anxiety into overdrive. The notion that you would only ever see light cycles and never again sunlight strangled you, chased away all your air. At some point, you knew you would try to flee again just for a damn change of scenery.

After he’d left, you complied with Ren’s instructions insomuch as you did eat and did not try to escape. Sleep, on the other hand, was put to the back burner because you were still in his chambers. Even if he didn’t spend all of his time here, these were his things, and they could tell you a great deal. With the guard outside this time, you simply could not pass up the opportunity to explore.

The room was eloquent in its simplicity and deliberate in its function. You ran fingers and palms over all of the flat surfaces, seeking out hidden drawers or levers in the walls and along the sides of the bed. Everything was dark gloss, industrial in its execution and easily maintained.

Of note, there was a threshold of polish right at the door, a long stretch just on the inside where the shine was high. However, that luster faded two or three steps inside. Ren did not allow people in his room often, even a cleaning crew.

Defeated, you slunk back to the bed. You’d checked all of the hiding places you would use, but you found nothing. Ren either didn’t have anything to hide or he was exceptionally good at it.

Sometime in the night cycle, you’d awoken alone in an empty bed, struggling with this swirling sense of loneliness. Captors didn’t usually sleep with prisoners, but weren’t you more than a prisoner now? With a scowl, you shook the stupid thought from your head.

You were an object to him, easily discarded and forgotten.

You hadn’t slept much after that. You curled onto your side, facing the vacant side of the bed and overrun with disquiet, anticipation. You were faced with warring options. Relent and become the devil’s plaything or escape and be hunted. The bitter truth was you wanted both, and this was not the sort of universe to grant such possibilities.

Morning came, food was delivered, and you were still alone.

Now, you were trying to forget the familiarity you thought you’d seen in Ren’s eyes yesterday, trying to wash it down the damnable drain. He was no more capable of gentleness than you were of speech. Trying to smother the ache, you turned the shower up as hot as you could handle and drifted into distraction, turning inward in a forlorn bid to comfort yourself.

The darkness that had always been there for you, though, was an empty consolation. Ren had blown apart every part of you and stomped on the ashes; he’d even taken your blessed darkness, the one place you could hide. Because when you closed your eyes to sink into that blissful nothingness, you saw him, his bloody face, his burning eyes.

Kylo Ren had infected every part of you, right down to the subconscious.

When you could pity yourself no more, you turned off the shower, scraped the water from your body as best you could, and purposefully avoided your reflection. The woman in the mirror wanted you to make choices you weren’t sure you could live with.

Exiting the bathroom, you were stopped dead in your tracks by the sight of Ren sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. He had a smallish black case to his left and was resting with one arm on a bent knee, his long body relaxed and waiting for you.

You were irked by how beautiful and calm and unhurried he looked. Must he always look so put together when you only ever felt on the verge of shattering into dirty, unrecognizable pieces of yourself?

Hi...

“You haven’t eaten today.”

He gestured over his shoulder to the tray that still had food on it. You were flushed from the hot water and stark fucking naked, but you burned redder at the idea that you were going to be punished like a child for not eating. Again.

Canting your head a bit, you gestured towards the shower. You’d wanted to wash away the feel of dry, endlessly recycled air, dirt, and shame before you did anything else. Conquering the day wasn’t on your agenda, but surviving it was.

“Good,” he looked you over speculatively, and your eyebrows shot to your hairline.

He’d shoved food directly into your throat to make sure you were decently-nourished; and now, he didn’t care if you ate? The speed with which this man changed course made your head swim, and you just stared at him, complete irritation plastered all over your face.

Fucking pick one, would you please?

The withering look he leveled at you set your blood to boiling. You’d forgotten that he could hear you now; but by the darkness in his eyes, you knew he’d be sure you didn’t forget again.

“Come here.”

You tensed, arms crossing over your chest as though you could armor yourself against him. For a second, you couldn’t make yourself move. He wanted you to willingly deliver yourself to his torment.

A shiver worked its way up your spine, blossoming into sparks at the back of your brain, but you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or pining. If you refused, he would simply put his angry hands on your body and bend you to his whim. You didn’t know what would happen if you complied without a fight.

Taking in a steadying breath, you closed the distance on tender steps, the soles of your feet still bothered at bearing weight so soon. Stopping when you were within arms reach, you looked past him to study the kit he’d brought, uncertainty wrinkling your forehead.

It was a med kit, a field kit. You’d carried one yourself for years, but your wounds had already been tended. You were littered with surgical tape and Bacta patches.

What could he possibly need a field kit for?

Are you hurt?

Ren’s rough hand slid up along the curve of your body, settling at your waist and sending fissures of desire playing along the swell of your belly. Your knees and thighs pressed together, and you shifted under his appraisal. He’d seen you naked before. Multiple times, in fact. But this felt different, affectionate. He had stripped you completely bare, laid out your mind and soul for him to reanimate at will.

Feeling naked in front of this man was about more than just your flesh.

Digging his fingers in, he maneuvered you to sit on the edge of the bed in front of him. All of the tension you’d washed away in the shower came barreling back. Every muscle was tight, and every synapse was screaming that you needed to get away.

Sat like this, unrestrained before him, you fidgeted, frightened. Your heart drummed so loud you thought he could certainly hear it. When he was silent and calm like this, you were lost to apprehension, images of lightsabers inside your body where they shouldn’t be flooding your mind. You could likely conjure up more ways for him to murder you than he could.

Just as worrisome, you couldn’t look away. He captivated you each time he was in the room. His dark irises gleamed as he held your stare, his full lips curving up on a smirk. He was daring you to look away first.

He won.

You wilted from the intensity of his gaze, turning your inflamed face away and averting your eyes. In your stupor, you didn’t realize that he was talking to you. The only thing you could hear was the metronome of your heart, its pace quickening moment by moment.

Displeased that he had to draw back your attention, Ren’s hand was around your calf, fingers pushing in between the muscles and rubbing demandingly. You glared and hissed, twisting your legs together, knees tight.

What!

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and swept his thumb along your mouth, smoothing away the bothered sneer. When your lips relaxed, he pushed in and hooked his thumb into your teeth the way you hated, the way you loved.

Your core clenched as he tugged you forward. He brought you nose to nose, so close you could feel his warm breath. He cleaved apart your desire to fight, soothing you into compliance with weaponized stillness.

“Open,” his voice was melodic, low, and rousing.

Your forehead crinkled in confusion. Lifting a hand to settle at his wrist, needing the contact to go on, you shook your head ever so slightly because his thumb was already in your mouth. It already was open.

You felt his fingers tapping on your knee, then, and you burned red from ears to toes. Whining, you tugged against his grip in a bid to keep him from seeing the way your thighs rubbed together at the very idea.

“I will not be repeating myself today, puppet.”

Blanching, you stiffened, building up any courage you could muster. Finally, as though your maidenhead was actually still intact and valuable, you hesitantly parted your knees.

Other than his eyes trailing downward to watch your legs barely obey, Ren didn’t move or speak. When his fingers dug harshly into your cheeks, cutting the weak skin inside against your teeth, you lurched and struggled. This only tightened his hold, and you thought he might break your jaw. Clutching his forearm, you fought to settle back onto the bed and opened your knees wider and then wider still.

He didn’t release his rough grip on your face until your thighs were splayed far enough apart that your pussy opened for him, too, and your face ignited with humiliation. You rubbed at your abused jaw and cheek, wondering how long it would take the finger-sized discolorations to develop.

Are you hurt, though?

You surprised even yourself with the repeat question, circling back oddly and still not certain why you should be bothered. He turned his beautiful, dusky eyes to you, and your breath caught. Was he pleased with your concern? Did it satisfy him to think he’d brainwashed you into caring?

He trapped you there, pinned by his mesmerizing eyes, while his fingers slid up your calf, thigh, hip. You were nearly lulled into thinking his light touch would extend to your aching cunt, but he gripped your outer labia into such a tight pinch that you felt punched in the stomach.

You yelped and surged forward, folding in as much as you could, hips from screwing side to side trying to lessen the pressure. He squeezed and tugged upon the tender flesh until it puffed up, swelling under his ministrations.

A satisfied sound bubbled up from his throat, and you slowly brought your focus back to him.

Kylo..please...

In a hot second, he switched and snatched up your left labia, digging his fingers in so deep you could feel the nails. You shouted out, the wheeze of it tapering off as your breath heaved. Mirroring his grip, you dug your fingers into his arm but didn't try to push him away.

Screwing your eyes shut, you shuddered and tried to roll through the pain.

The whole middle of your body throbbed in time to your heartbeat, and you groaned when the endorphins finally kicked in to flood you with acceptance, the sound of it indecent even to you. The sting and pulse abated slightly, and your head fell back, lips parting on a relieved sigh.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice smooth like honey. “Open your eyes.”

You very nearly refused and vaulted from your perch, but it was inevitable. You wanted to obey nearly as much as you wanted to fight, and it was this internal war he wanted to witness every time. Willing your breathing to steady, you relaxed your fingers at his sleeve and opened glassy eyes.

The look of him, the utter craving displayed on his godlike features, was arresting, intoxicating. His eyes shone a shade of twilight you’d never get used to, and his lips trembled, barely keeping his hunger contained. The way he was looking up at you was erotic and evoked a terrible longing.

Kylo!

Your face twisted into a pained frown as he switched back and forth between the two bloated lips. He clucked in condescension when warm juice tracked down onto his fingers, and you buried your face in your hands. When he finally stopped crushing you in his vice grip, the gratitude rushed out unchecked.

THANK you…

Absent his touch, you pressed a hand at your abdomen and forced yourself to breathe deeply. You were wholly disgusted with your response to such vulgar treatment. Would you blossom under every madness he put upon you?

Your eyes lit upon his hands and the case he was holding, and you forgot to feel repulsed.

Dread filled your chest, squeezing your lungs back into panic. You had no fucking idea what he was about to do, and you were too terrified to look away. You didn’t think you could curtail his plan, but maybe you could persuade him that you would be good.

If you’ll just let me, I’ll go do it right now...

Ignoring you completely, he produced and threaded a slender surgical needle. Your torso hunched of its own volition, trying in vain to put more distance between you and that curved metal. You mewled and whined, begging him to look and not do whatever this was, but he brushed your hands away, reaching out to tug and pinch at your labia again, inching nearer to his goal.

Fuck, Kylo..I’ll eat dammit! Please stop...

He looked at you, smug and cruel, and you finally understood that he was swelling your labia on purpose and with clear intent, and it had absolutely nothing to do with whether or not you'd eaten.

You shook your head wildly, leaning forward and pushing at his arm in a different spot every time he would wave you off. Desperate, pleading tears sprang to your eyes, and you clung to him.

No no please no not that please no…

Finished with your begging, Ren anchored you in place with the Force, preventing you from even twitching from the waist down. He hummed at the sight of you, flushed and heaving, thighs spread wide.

You were in the middle of the next pitiful appeal when you felt the needle pierce your most-sensitive skin.

You were too shocked to move, to shout, to implore him to spare you this torture. The thin suture line dragged through the perforation, and your eyes slammed so tightly shut you thought they might bleed.

It wasn’t until the second stab of his suture needle that you fully understood what was happening. You’d thought he simply meant to pierce the bulging, inflamed lips in order to decorate them; but when he tugged the line taut, pulling the swollen folds together, you sputtered and choked on your own spit. You pawed at his shoulder imploringly, foolishly hoping he would surrender this plan if you appeased him with your touch.

Kylo..please don’t do this...please don’t do this...

He crooned and cupped your face, the supple tone of his voice belying the very atrocity he was committing upon you. He straightened up to nudge your jaw with his nose, dragging the tip through your tears. Your fingers curled so tight into his sleeve that you popped stitches in the black fabric, but he offered you no more solace than this.

He wasn’t indifferent to your suffering; he reveled in it, enjoying seeing it up close.

“You need strings, puppet.”

You whimpered helplessly, thinking you’d likely launch yourself into a dying star if he told you to with that almost-adoring voice.

He released your face, and you dissolved into wretched sobs. There was no escaping his iron will, his demented punishment. Pressing the heels of your shaking hands into your eyes, you openly wept, not bothering to try to be strong for this, for him. Expecting you to endure this easily was too much.

Ren had treated you like property from the moment he saw you. He’d proven to you that you were little more than an object to be toyed with, and his words from that day in the shower resounded in your ears. But in this, he was taking away your humanity entirely. Any pretense that you might have been afforded some pleasure for your endurance bled away.

Stitch by stitch, Ren sewed your labia together, rendering you an androgynous receptacle, suitable for nothing more than receiving pain.

When he was finished, your clit was hidden snug behind a fleshy hem, but your vagina was open, accessible. That was the part he needed, you thought morbidly.

The Force pressure dissipated, your legs instinctively pressed together, and you curled into yourself. Digging ruddy fingertips into the mattress, you tried to flee, to crawl across the bed and away from him.

You’re a monster...

He captured you around the hips and hauled you onto your feet. He didn't care that you were awash in pain; it didn't factor into his plans and was, thus, negligible. He gathered you into his arms, and you wished, for the hundredth time, that he had just let you die.

The sutures were neat and tidy, but every movement tugged at them, reminding you of your place in Kylo Ren’s world. You erupted into a new bout of tears and pushed at his chest, angry and gutted.

“Walk,” he pressed his lips to your temple, murmuring the order into your hair, “or crawl.”

On an offended snort, you jerked your head away from his kiss. Battling yourself into some semblance of calm, you sniffled and nodded. He absolutely would make you crawl down the halls of this ship wearing nothing but those fucking sutures, and you’d rather not be so debased as that.

Suffering for Ren was one thing; suffering for an audience was too much.

He had stepped away to shake out clothes for you to wear when the epinephrine crested and dropped you over a black cliff. Thunder roared in your ears, and your eyes rolled into white. Chased by a wounded gasp, your legs lost all ability to hold you and buckled, but Ren was at your side in an instant, snatching you up before you hit the floor.

Righting you, he held your weight until your breathing regulated and you pushed back onto your feet. Not wanting to meet his eyes, you nodded against his shoulder, a silent report that you were here with him. He helped you dress in the gauzy black shirt and pants and tipped your face up.

You had no idea what he was looking for, and you were too tired to fake whatever it was.

Wrapping his great hand around your upper arm, he steered you from the room and down a dark corridor. He wouldn’t go through all the trouble to maim you if he was going to kill you, and you wondered what fresh hell you were being delivered to now. Your steps were slow, hesitant, but he didn’t rush you.

Probably enjoying watching you hobbled in a fantastic new way...

He stopped on a chuckle, turned you to face him, and looked down at you with sardonic amusement. You met his stare, fresh out of any damn to give over whether or not he heard you. You knew you were in no way threatening to this brute, but you leveled him with a searing gaze anyways.

“Supreme Leader Snoke is pleased with my progress.” Ren offered, pulling you flush against his body. “He thinks I have no further need for you…” He reached out to brush his thumb across your glowering mouth. “...but I find that I want more.”

Overwhelmed and nervous at the admission, your mouth dropped open and you stared, dumbfounded. While your mind tumbled over what else you could possibly offer him, he brushed past, leaving you to follow.

More? What else was there? Hadn’t you already given him everything? He’d broken through your safety wall. He’d all but bathed in your blood. He’d sewn your fucking cunt shut so you couldn’t even use it like a human being.

What the fuck else could you possibly want from me…

You were so angry that you stupidly followed him into a blindingly white room. You slammed to a stop and blinked, forcing the room into focus. In the center, there was a surgical table, a tray of neatly-arranged instruments, and a man, dressed in gray scrubs and donning a clear splash guard at his face. On the opposite side sat Ren’s black helmet, dented and busted apart.

Hand at your elbow, Ren led you further in and stroked your face with his wide palm, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the table. He nudged the shell of your ear with his nose, and you quivered to feel so near to him, almost like a lover. You clutched at his shirt, molding your body to his and trying to hide from the coming onslaught.

You shook your head, already disbelieving, not wanting to hear what he was going to say next.

“I want to hear you scream,” his voice was hushed, as though this was a romantic secret.

All the blood drained from your face, and your mouth went bone dry. You looked from Ren, who was gazing down at you in a way that seared your insides, to the man waiting to enact his orders. He stood there silently, waiting for his Commander’s direction, and you wondered if he’d been threatened into this room, too.

Ren turned you into the very middle of this insanity and hunched down to bury his face into the crook of your neck, crowding you back into the table. Dancing on your toes, you laid petrified and quaking fingertips at his neck, needing to impress upon him how crazy this was.

Kylo...you can hear me...I’ve already given you everything..please don’t do whatever this is...

Paying no attention to your pleas, Ren slid his hands into the roomy waistband of your pants and nudged them down your body, kicking the paltry fabric away before you could get them. He lifted you onto the table and situated you at its very end, legs dangling in an eerily familiar way.

He stepped into the space between your legs, scooting your hips out to meet his. You felt blistered every time you came into contact with his body, fingers, nose. He tipped your head back to lick at the scars crossing your larynx and rocked his body against yours. He was thick against you, his body hardening at the pitiable display you were putting on, and you whimpered in shameless response.

“Be good, puppet,” he hummed against your ear, enjoying the way your body reacted to his vicious dominance.

He stepped back, tugging out the table's stirrups, and you didn’t know who to be more afraid of. The doctor positioned his tray nearer to your head, stepping in so close you could smell the antiseptic soap.

You pushed at Ren’s hands when he guided your heels into the braces.

Kylo..please...You can’t… I can’t…

It was fluid now, automatic. Your mouth opened when his fingers drew near, and he yanked you forward by that wicked hook. He slid his thumb slowly against your tongue and looked directly up into your eyes. Your knees knocked together, and you cried out in pain, having forgotten in your terror that your pussy was sewn up tight.

“You will.”

He did something to you when he said those things, and you stopped squirming. You would never win this war. You would only tire yourself out with the fighting. Beyond that, some delirious part of you wanted to prove him right, to show him that yes, you could do this.

Clenching your hands into tight fists, you closed your eyes to quell anxious tears. He finished arranging your legs into the stirrups and scooted your ass down to the end of the table.

Shame flooded you, barely contained by the bruised membrane that was your skin, because anyone who walked into the room would be treated to a view of your mistreated cunt.

Over you, the two men discussed what was about to happen as though you weren’t even there, and you felt more infinitesimal than ever before. The doctor agreed that this was, indeed, a minorly invasive surgery, but it was what came next that launched you forward, panic-induced frenzy telling you to get the fuck out now regardless of whether you died in the process.

“There’s no need for a sedative. She will be fine. Topical if you need it, but nothing stronger.”

You were a rabid animal up against an unstoppable force, but you howled and thrashed anyways. You clawed at his arms and tried to kick him in the stomach and groin. You screamed and sobbed because even Santcha, who had done nothing but beat, stab, and take from you, had never been so cruel.

Each day you were here, Kylo Ren was disassembling you and rearranging your parts. He was building himself a better puppet, piece by bloody fucking piece.

You cannot do this! You cannot do this...Kylo..you fucking cannot...

The doctor hunched over, holding his groin and floundering. Ren smirked, punching you into place with his trunk of an arm at your stomach. Looking down at you, he stroked the inside of your knee with lazy circles, no doubt in a patronizing attempt to settle your fraying nerves.

“Calm down, puppet. You’re hurting the good doctor here.”

In your hysteria, you were pushing your feelings, your pain, out into the world around you. If you still hadn’t believed Ren about your Force-sensitivity, you’d just manifested all the proof he would ever need.

Exhausted from your outburst and ashamed for assaulting someone who hadn’t harmed you, you swallowed down air and fixed your stare upon the ceiling. You counted heartbeats until the muscle didn’t feel like it was about to explode from your chest.

Angrily, you pushed Ren’s hand away. You needn’t be pitied by the very man who was causing all of this.

With a chuckle, he pulled a rolling stool over to sit like it was just another fucking day of endless meetings. Lifting your head up to glare at him, your chest seized, breath hitching, because you could see his shoulders, neck, and face between your spread thighs.

Kylo please...

Maybe it's what he thought you were begging for because the Force slid over you like a weighted blanket, pinning you to the table, and you were never so grateful for being relieved of your autonomy.

The doctor turned your head into place and secured a metal brace on your throat, prohibiting any movement. He applied a foul-smelling ointment to your skin, and you shattered, horrified to your very marrow.

You no longer had eyes, only faucets spewing forth an endless stream of angry, mournful tears. You tried closing them to staunch the flow because the doctor said you were moving too much, but you couldn't stop your body now. You weren't in control of it anymore.

The stress response to this terror was unforgiving, and you thought it might never end. He was going to have to cut you open from ear to ear because stopping the chatter of your teeth and the rattling of your shoulders and chest was simply not within your power.

Your fingers uncurled, reaching for Ren even though you knew he would never offer you this comfort.

Instead, warmth pooled around your breasts, licking up your sternum, and you drew in a tremulous breath. The Force that held you in place lavished attention upon your torso, cupping, massaging, and squeezing your breasts together. Warm and wet nipped at the hard peaks, and your calves flexed in response.

“Quiet now.”

Ren's voice was even, demanding. He had indulged your fear long enough, and it was now time to obey. You concentrated on the invisible hand tugging your breasts into an aching throb and reminded yourself to wiggle your toes and fingers. Your lips quivered on every exhale, but you were trying so hard to keep yourself together.

You knew how to process pain, but this affliction could hardly be classified as pain.

As the doctor set to his task, you felt pressure at your neck but not the sting of the scalpel. Ren seemed to want that sensation only for himself, and you conjured the image of him painted with your blood, preferring the memory of beautiful torture to this reality of sanitized mistreatment.

The doctor, asking Ren something you didn't catch, stuck his fucking fingers into your throat, and your panic kicked back up. You jerked against the stirrups, and your lips curled into a snarl, readying to shout curses at this man, consequences be damned.

Shushing you, Ren dipped his face between your thighs, and you nearly vaulted off the table when you felt his lips connect with the supple, bruised skin. His kiss was soft, his lips smooth, and you bristled with ire that he would deny you the sight of him between your legs.

Alongside the doctor, you cursed him and tightened your hands into angry fists.

He chuckled against you, clearly entertained by your fit. The sensation at your breasts increased, the rippling heat licking, sucking, and biting at your nipples. The throb bubbled over and spread down your sides, slithering across your stomach. It was rousing and teasing and distracting, exactly as it was meant to be.

Ren’s mouth traveled from one thigh to the other, and your whole face pinched with the effort to be as silent as possible. It was clear that any noise you made, any vibration in your throat, would do more damage and prolong this bastardized treatment.

He didn’t want you to damage his property with your foolishness, you realized.

He murmured an agreement to the thought and kissed up the insides of both legs, sucked on his bruises, and nipped at the highest point of your thighs. Your insides pooled, and he dipped his thumb into the wetness building for him, tugging ever so gently upon the weeping slit.

The doctor reached across your body to the tray that held the destroyed helmet, but you were too wrapped up in Ren’s wicked scheme to notice him plundering the debris for a specific part. The tension in your legs and hips had lessened under his mouth, and your vulnerable thighs had dropped further apart.

Abruptly, the pressure of the Force increased upon your entire body, and you were unnerved all over again because what was coming next surely was worse than what you’d already endured if he needed to hold you down more.

You sniffled through your fear but poured every ounce of brute determination into remaining calm, to keep yourself still and under some measure of composure. You weren’t sure if he was speaking aloud or in your head, but you heard Ren praising you for how well you were doing, how beautiful and strong you were to endure this for him.

As though you had any choice in the matter.

When his lips connected with your cunt, you thought you would certainly swallow whatever the doctor was lodging into your neck. You could feel the pressure more insistently now as he crammed or screwed or stitched whatever the fuck it was he was doing.

Ren kissed and sucked upon your stretched labia; the sounds lewd and consuming. He plucked each stitch with his tongue, and you thought you were going to lose your mind. You could feel every tight tug followed by the warm flat of his tongue gliding up the length of the vicious seam.

You marveled at how easily this man could conjure new tortures, how simple it was for him to corrupt something so mundane and turn it into exquisite torment.

Master of the Knights of Ren, indeed...

You cursed him again for taking away any hint of pleasure you might eke out from this whole experience. It was barbarous and merciless to lay his mouth upon you like this and prevent you from actually feeling it, enjoying it. It was the pinnacle of painful foreplay, and you hated him for it.

You hated the doctor for being a party to this whole fucking thing. You hated everyone on this ship for bowing to the tantrums of a Child God, and you promised yourself you’d murder Supreme Fucking Leader Snoke himself for creating such a beast.

Ren bit into your thigh harshly at that last thought, directly into the center of the deep bruise, and your toes curled tight. That mark certainly went down to the bone and would likely scar, little indentations from his teeth puckering more each time he revictimized the area.

Kylo...

Sweat broke across your brow, and a feverish tremble began as your body tried to deal with the absurd number of sensations warring inside.

The doctor pushed his tray away and told you both that he would need to test the calibration before he could close the window. You blinked up at his masked face in confusion. Test the calibration of what? How were you meant to do that, exactly?

Ren stood and you jerked at the brush of his body. You could feel him rustling, but it was driving you mad that you couldn’t see what he was doing. He hooked his thumbs into the very tops of your thighs and tugged the opening of your vagina just slightly wider. The stitches strained, and you whimpered, unable to contain it any longer.

Your eyes flew wide open because the sound was strange, louder, reverberating.

The swollen head of Ren’s cock nudged at your entrance, and you knew your heart was going to explode from your chest. He’d been working you, tinkering with those fucking puppet strings, to flood your pussy and make it ready for him; and like a damn fool, you’d given him exactly what you wanted.

You burned with humiliation and ragged desire as he pushed in, breaking the seal and stretching your cunt into something pliable for his sizable dick. It was endless, the sting and scorch of each inch, and you wanted to beg that he please just let you reach for him. It was all becoming too much, and you were disjointed, disconnected from everything.

Ren pushed and leaned into you until he was fully seated, pulsing at the very center of your body. You could feel every throb, every carnal twitch. Ren was fucking you from both ends, his dick stuffed far into your pussy and his depraved will stuffed down deep into your neck. The very idea of it sent you into a spiral.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” he groaned, voice gravelly. “Relax, puppet. Open for me.”

Kylo, not like this...

You were truly his object, denied any relief from his harassment or any pleasure at his hand. Digging his fingers into your hips, he began a slow, thorough stroke, pulling nearly all the way out only to plunge back down to the hilt.

“Out loud, girl.”

Your head ticked, a screaming internal alarm preventing you from shaking it outright, because you couldn’t do it; you could not obey this order. You couldn’t even remember the sound of your own voice, and you didn’t want to mourn something you couldn’t recall. You also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Fuck you...

Ren’s hips thrust harder into you, though, and you yelped. The high-pitched fabricated sound shocked you, and you trailed it with a hiccup, breath catching on the implications of this new reality.

“Lower,” Ren nodded to the doctor, who adjusted the implant in your throat.

You seethed. He was tailoring the sound of your voice to his fucking preference, and you thought you surely would rip the damned thing out of your neck if you had your hands free.

Dissatisfied with your reaction to his steady pace, Ren rutted into you stubbornly, fucking you with more force. Your ire fizzled, the anger dribbling out of your cunt on a steady trickle of hot slick. He stretched you, and you moaned at the fullness of it. You desperately wanted to arch and rock your hips against him, but you were completely paralyzed, not even given room to wiggle.

“Kylo. Fuck. Please.”

He all but purred at the modulated sound of your voice, the one he’d given you, and rewarded you with a long series of strokes so deep you saw stars.

“Lower,” he ordered, and the doctor moved to his bidding.

“Now, puppet, what’s that mantra of yours?”

Ren’s cunning was staggering. He was demanding the only thing that had allowed you to survive him. Your throat burned, tingling around the foreign implant, and you swallowed, trying to moisten the metal. Sniffling, you cleared your throat, focusing on the task you’d been given and not the ruthless invasion of your pussy.

Taking as deep of a breath as you could, you concentrated on making the sound as even as possible.

“In...suffering...there...is...beauty.”

“That’s right,” he praised you and then nodded to the surgeon. “That’s it.”

Having gotten what he wanted, Ren bent over you and nipped at your stomach before tucking himself back into his pants. In moments, the doctor had your throat stitched up, a Bacta patch applied, and was giving instructions to Ren about no solid food for 24 hours, watch for infection, and apply Bacta as needed.

He also advised that you should be silent for the next 24 hours due to inflammation but that he understood if something happened to prevent that.

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling when he said it because of fucking course something was going to prevent that. Curling your hands into fists again, you renewed your vow to slaughter every soul on this ship.

With the doctor gone, the Force hold you’d been kept under released, and you shot upwards to confront Ren. This wasn’t fear or flight; this was anger and malice.

You slammed both fists into his chest and shoved. Pressing your lips into a hard line, you jammed your knee in between your body and his, intent upon sprinting past him and away from here, from him.

Jerking your legs back apart, he stepped in and wrapped his massive hand around your throat, burning you with his gaze and squeezing you back into muted compliance. Satisfied you would be still, he wrapped you tight into his chest, fingers still stroking your throat.

Shock and absolute fury coiled into the pit of your stomach, and you just sat, boiling in your hatred that he could so easily disfigure you and, then, so easily divest you of your rage.

The severity of what he’d done registered, and panicked spikes drove into your heart. You quaked anew, tears spilling, and you dug your fingers into the shirt at the small of his back.

What did you do…

“Out loud,” he pressed, voice endearing as he brushed your tears away.

Licking your lips, you stared at him for a long moment, eyes glossy. Ren waited patiently as you gathered the fortitude to obey. Even he seemed to understand this was a lot to take in.

“What did you do?” You whispered it, the haunted voice faltering, betraying the depth of your despair.

He hummed hungry delight against your jaw. Using the leverage he always seemed to have at your neck, Ren turned your head for you to take in the broken bits of his helmet on the tray. In the vortex of fear and lust and terror, you’d completely forgotten it had been there at all.

“This voice,” he breathed the words out, stroking the bandage, “is mine.”

You gaped at him, eyes swiveling from the tray to his face and back. It broke over you like lightning. He had taken the modulator from his helmet and had it implanted in your throat.

Ren dropped his head into your neck again and sucked a mark into the skin. You were too frozen to respond, your back rigid but your arms and legs hanging limp and useless.

“This body,” he said into your neck, “is mine.”

Slithering his hands between your bodies, he pushed your thighs apart wide and ran his fingers up the plump seam. You shuddered, feeling the pulse of your sequestered clit battering against the wall that should not be there.

“This pussy,” he bit at your jaw, “is mine.”

He had succeeded in reducing you to a nameless doll, a puppet tailored exactly to his liking for his entertainment and use. You were dazed, thunderstruck, and empty. He had put you through absolute hell today, and you weren’t capable of filtering your thoughts, now words, anymore.

You were past the point where you could even care if he punished you for insolence.

“Why did you stay with me?”

The question startled you more than the alien sound of your new voice. You managed to look at him and concentrated on his alluring freckles. You searched his starry eyes for something to latch onto, something that would tie you here.

You had no childish thoughts of love or support. But right now, having borne the brunt of so much of his persecution, you needed something.

One question, though, led to more, and they began to spill from your lips on this new capability.

“Why didn’t you kill me? I was ready, and I would have gladly given you that. Why did you need to do this to me? You were already in my head, listening.”

Your ire and emotion were rising, the mechanical undertone in your voice lifting in pitch. You blinked, really truly trying to understand the whims of a mad man.

“What difference is there between me screaming in my head and screaming out loud? Why couldn’t you just leave me the way I was? I was surviving your punishment just fine without this unnatural, bastard tongue!”

You fisted both hands into his shirt and pounded against the chest beneath. Your lips wobbled, and you tipped your head back, furious at the tears that wouldn’t fucking stop.

You had learned to survive without a voice. The silence you offered the universe became your salvation, your solace. People expected nothing of you when they knew you couldn't speak, and you’d used it to strengthen yourself, to fortify your will to endure and withstand all manner of ego and abuse.

Frantic, you settled on the most important question, the one that you needed answered.

“Why did you do this to me?”

Ren captured your face in both hands and smothered your tirade with a kiss. His beautiful pink lips slanted over yours, and you melted against his mouth. He sucked at your lower lip, licked the roof of your mouth, and slid his tongue against yours until you were breathless and squirming.

He curled your limbs around his shoulders and waist and carried you around the side of the table. Setting you down, he plucked the scalpel from the tray, his hands disappearing between your legs. You whimpered and scooted backwards, but he hooked a hand beneath your knee and pulled you back into place.

“I did this,” he cut one of the sutures, “to focus your attention away from the procedure."

“Is that not…” he nipped at your pulse, “...merciful?”

He made quick work of the remaining sutures, slicing through them and pulling the remnants away. You whined, head lolling, as your freed labia parted, blood beginning to redistribute to the abused skin and shooting pins and needles into your cunt. He followed the sharp stings with his thumb, rubbing between the swollen folds until you gasped and tipped your pelvis into his touch.

Tugging you against his body, Ren ground his erection between your tender lips. You moaned low, the sound warbled, wanton, and needy, and he captured it with a deep kiss, swallowing on a growl.

He tore at his own clothes, freed his swollen cock, and pushed inside of you, not bothering to be gentle. Your eyebrows drew together tight at the invasion, the time between the first fucking and this one having been enough for your body to re-acclimate to his absence.

Sinking your teeth into your lip, you lifted your hips to his assault because the utter completion you felt was too good to resist.

“And I did..fuck…,” he faltered, bottoming out into your tight heat; “...I did this,” he dipped his face down and licked the bandage, the only truly new scar he’d ever given you; “...so that you would remember,” his breath was broken now, his voice ragged with lust; “...that every sound you make belongs to me.”

You held tightly to his back, hugging his sides with your legs, and trying your damnedest to stay here in this moment. The second adrenaline crash of the day threatened to consume you, but you fought against it because the man who’d teased you for a week had his dick so far inside you that you thought you could taste it.

You were desperate for this bliss, whining in raw need, and you shuddered when he rocked your body against his in the manner and tempo he liked, large fingers splayed across your ass and moving you to his pleasure. Your tortured cunt clenched and all but sucked his dick in deep.

You cried out, feeling the lines between you as a person and you as Ren’s personal fucktoy bleed together. Your whole body contracted, squeezing him hard and coming absolutely alive under his thumb. You clung to his back like he was your own personal savior.

Stretching long fingers around your neck, Ren lifted your face and forced you to look, always wanting to watch you agonize for him. The now-familiar warm sensation blossomed at your clit, and your eyes fluttered shut on a loud moan. He shook you until your eyes opened again, demanding your stare.

“You’re no victim," he sneered.

He punched himself so far into your cunt that you felt the nudge at your cervix and erupted into an echoing shriek. The Force engulfed your clit, every single one of the thousands of nerves swarmed by the hot vibration and spreading a delicious jolt up through your abdomen.

“You’re a depraved, filthy thing,” he dug his nails into your jaw, “and your body was made for me.”

You couldn’t look away, couldn’t shake your head or disagree. Accepting that hard truth on your behalf, your pussy flooded him with a new surge of molten slip, and he growled possessively. He licked at your mouth and squeezed your neck tighter. The pressure arched you into his chest and set your cunt to clutching feverishly.

“See? Not happy unless you’re being hurt.”

Pressing into the veins below your jaw, he stunted the flow of blood to your brain, sending you into floating oblivion. You convulsed against him, the jerk of your body trying to fight off unconsciousness drawing a hungry moan from your captor. The suction at your clit intensified, and you begged, lips working on impotent words, breath choppy, and fingers clamoring and raking against his biceps.

You were nothing but a vibrating mess, well-fucked and wholly obliterated by his embrace as he choked and ravaged your body. The stab of his dick was relentless, and you were very nearly gone, your eyes glazing over, eyelids heavy.

“Cum for me, puppet. Show me how much you like it."

He dipped his mouth to your ear, voice commanding, dripping with derision and desire. Shifting his fingers, he allowed blood to rush back into your dizzy head, and you gasped hard. Married with the hot pressure at your clit and the pistoning of his cock, you seized in deference to his order.

Your entire body shrunk into a tight ball against him, knees drawing up high, ankles hugging at his back. Your fingers and toes curled, your legs and arms shook, and your abdomen and ass clenched hard and tight.

The orgasm blew through you like a comet, and everything loosened on a series of soul-shattering quakes.

You shouted and wailed, the altered, digital howl sounding almost like it truly belonged to you. Your cunt spasmed, alternating between trying to push Ren’s invading cock out and trying to draw it further and further in.

You were drowning in euphoria, endorphins, and emotions, and you had no protection, no wall with which to keep everything at bay. Every single thing Ren had done, was doing, roiled through you and radiated off of your body dangerously, and he was caught in the blast zone.

“Fuck..fuck..FUCK!”

His hands dug caverns into the meat of your ass, fingernails leaving crescent trenches. He bit into the side of your neck, buried himself as far into you as he could, and emptied his cock into the flood you were offering him.

Three more thrusts pushed his seed in deep, and he moaned, low and liquid, into your skin while bucking through his orgasm. You were barely clinging to consciousness, weak and overwhelmed by the events of the afternoon, the day, the week.

For the third time today, Ren held you, stroking your back until your mind came back to your body. When you lifted your head, he leaned back, taking in your mottled cheeks, swollen mouth, and glassy eyes.

“Open.”

He lifted his hand to your mouth and purred when it opened for him naturally. He hooked his thumb into your teeth, just the way you liked, and you shifted against him, leaking all manner of bodily fluids onto the table.

You hadn't hesitated at all, too sated to bristle that it was beneath you or too eager for whatever demeaning paradise he was willing to offer.

He held your jaw right there, thumb playing with the inside of your teeth. He was looking at you as though he was ready to bathe in your blood again, and you weren’t sure that you wouldn’t let him. His eyes were dark and nefarious and hypnotic.

What he did next was so unexpectedly obscene that you choked. He tilted your head back and spat into your mouth, watching his saliva pool on your tongue.

Your body’s reaction was immediate, suffused with want and something you might later identify as pride. Your fingers tightened into his shirt, and your chest arched up into him. You let loose a low sound that even you didn’t even recognize, and your hips rocked beseechingly against him.

“You belong to me,” he said, watching the bubbles slide down your throat. “This is the last time I'll explain myself to you."

He allowed you to close your mouth, and you stared at him, awed and searching. Before you could second guess yourself, you curled his trembling fingers around your throat, swallowing beneath the grip.

If this was the closest you would ever get to an intimate gesture, you needed it now more than you needed oxygen.

Satisfied for the moment, Ren squeezed your neck and rubbed his nose against yours.

Too soon, the moment ended, and Ren grasped your hips and lifted you off of his dick with a low groan. You watched openly as he tucked himself away and righted his clothing. You flushed, pleased at the idea that he was going to spend the rest of today with your cunt lingering on his dick.

You blinked at the thought, troubled at the ease with which you joined him in such vulgarity.

Your reverie was interrupted by a slender man in all black walking into the room uninvited and unannounced. Ren’s head shot up on a snarl, and he reached out to wind that unfortunate soul into the Force and lift him off of his feet.

You tiredly glanced over at Ren’s newest victim, surprised by his bright red hair. Knowing better than to interfere, you simply looked from Ren to this intruder, wondering how long it would be before one of them spoke.

“The...Supreme...Leader...demands...your………………...presence!”

Ren released his hold, and the uniformed man hit the ground with a crash, scrambling back out into the hallway. Bending down, he scooped up your black pants and handed them to you.

Ren's gaze hardened considerably, and you were amazed at how dark became void in his eyes. Reaching back to the tray, he grabbed the scalpel, broke off the blade, and lifted it to your mouth.

“If he tries to hurt you or move you,” his voice was dangerously low, and your eyes flitted around his arm to the door, “get away. Find the Knights of Ren.”

The questions played across your face, and your brow knit. Were you in danger? Why were you in danger? You leaned forward, meaning to ask, but he shook his head, instructing you back to silence. You sat up straighter, concerned and more alert.

“That voice is for me, only.”

Understanding, you parted your lips and accepted the weapon, moving it with your tongue and tucking it into the roof of your mouth. Ren's battle face changed for just a second, his beautiful lips turning up into a smirk, knowing full well this wasn’t the first time you’d had to hide a blade.

You accepted that he would push you until you broke for him, over and over, but it satisfied you to no end that he wasn’t prepared to allow anyone else to harm you. That pleasure was afforded to him alone in the Galaxy.

“Hux!” He barked it out, and the man, who was still rubbing his tender throat, turned into the room to look.

“You will personally deliver her back to my chambers.”

Ren didn’t waste time asking if the man understood his instructions. He would be obeyed, or someone would die. In seconds, he had collected the remnants of his helmet and was gone from the room.

You sagged, feeling like the universe was somehow less bright without the scorch of his presence. Stuffing your aching, wobbly legs into the black linen, you cautiously descended from the surgical table and righted the material over your hips.

Turning, you faced your new escort, whose name was apparently Hux, and gestured for him to lead on.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #puer deus

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anteroom-of-death · 4 years

Text

Life, For Dummies p4

a/n: any one out here wilding? i’m just vibing and writing comes when you ave zero braincells left...

Waking up was a struggle, you’d never slept that deeply or that well. The combination between a long, hot shower and Earth-shattering sex made it all too easy to sleep. You were so, so sore, but it was good. You admitted you hadn’t been fucked like that, heavens, at all if not for a long while. You looked at the large mirror across from your bed, lifting up your shirt. You had a few book-related bruises.

Stretching and feeling out the fact that you obviously didn’t have your sea legs yet. Your knees and thighs were wobbling and weak.

Then you caught it in the reflection. The collar- your collar. You half- thought it was just a fever dream. But it was real, and it’s weight was light but suddenly very noticable. The ring pressed against your larynx, the bow at the back felt oddly graceful as you flexed your neck to get a better look.

You finally allowed yourself to cry- this was what dreams were made of. (hey now, hey now!) You were exhausted already, you were happy. You felt light years away from where you were before the Master whisked you away. Hell, the last time you saw the Doctor seemed just a memory.

So much had changed. You felt completely different. Yes, you had all your same traits, likes and dislikes. But a week with the Master? Chaotic, mind blowing, devastating, beautiful, enriching and most of all, beyond your wildest dreams and even your deepest darkest wishes.

You definitely were different. The collar around your throat and the bruises and sore, stiff muscles proved you were. Not only were you having a tea party with the Devil, but you were the Devil’s whore.

It was wicked, and all too amazing. He treated you well for the most part. Very well. For only knowing you a week, he seemed to harbor no true ill will.

You got dressed and wracked your brain, reconciling everything finally and putting thoughts in boxes where they needed to go. It was slow, but needed. And time really did not matter anymore. You splashed yourself with cold water from the sink and prepared yourself mentally for outside your solitary walls. You had no clue what was waiting outside and you needed to put yourself out of any more revieries that might pop up. You had a lot of thoughts, and a lot of places to add up. Obviously, pro and con lists were out of the questions these days.

You supposed if this was a standard exchange of power, that rules and limits would be in place, but there was already the imbalance of aliens with knowledge of all of history, time travel, and space. Humans were simpler and had an equal footing. Therefore it was always up for debate.

You were halfway through finishing your daily SPF and thought about what if’s. Where was this all going? You couldn’t ask, obviously. He made it all up as he went along as much, if not more than the Doctor.

Poor Doctor, you allowed yourself to think, picks you up from your mundane routine only for you to better fit in with her best enemy.

Her loss, his gain.

Things added up, morals and ethics wise. The Doctor could be just as callous and just as insane, yet hid behind the greater good. She was a spoonful of sugar whereas he was castor oil. Twin sides of a coin…

You shook yourself from these thoughts. Too much to process in one morning for you, especially without caffeine to mainline.

You finished up and made your way out after stretching and taking a few excedrin you found rattling around the medicine chest. This TARDIS was incredibly intuitive and even materialised all your usual products you used. Or maybe the Master read your mind and supplied them. Either way, it was a big help…

You made your way out and sat down to an already piping hot mug of coffee and a tinkering Master. Your heart and stomach gave a flutter. You rolled your eyes at your over-eagerness.

“You’re finally up, I was worried that I’d have to physically go in there…”

You sloshed into yourself, “How long was I actually asleep?”

“19 hours. I think that qualifies as a coma with you humans.”

“I obviously needed to sleep.” You talked into your coffee mug. It tasted good. Strong, a little crunchy, very much the perfect cup you didn’t have to add anything to.

“Mmn, you made this?” You asked, pointing to the mug held loft in your hand.

“Of course, I know how to make coffee, spent years on the Outback of Australia, I got bored, I know how to be perfect at everything…”

“Yeah, sure, perfect at everything.” You rolled eyes again, this time at him.

“I am the Master.”

“Alright, alright.” You gave a concessional hand. You stared into your coffee and contemplated breakfast. You weren’t usually a big fan of eating in the morning, but all things considered you scraped yourself away from the coffee and started looking through the cupboards to see if anything was appealing to you in the moment. Nothing seemed terribly tasty so you just grabbed a bowl of random cereal and some sort of liquid you assumed was oat milk by the scent.

You felt his eyes studying your back the entire time, you didn’t know if it was in an observational manner or just perversely taking a peek at your backside.

“You like the show?” You demanded jokingly.

“Of course, pet…” He leaned back and placed the device he had down. It was a long silver and gold rod with three prongs at the tip. “I see my pretty little pet has found her pretty little treat.” He went over and flipped a strand of your hair and fingered the collar at your neck before stroking at your sternum. He smiled down and flexed his lips open. The lighting made his teeth glitter dangerously.

The dim lighting really brought out a beautiful tone to his lips. You tried to return to your cereal, but you pecked him on the cheek and steered yourself to a seated position. Temptation could take a temporary back burner. You had to get some semblance of nutrition into you.

He joined you at the table.

“I was thinking of a few ideas, but I wanted your input.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, I can more than enough make my own choices, but to spice it up, why not get some feedback? What chaos shall be wrought today?” He bent over the table, disregarding the personal space needed to eat a bowl of cereal and let actual brain-processing happen.

“What all did you have in mind?” You scooted back infinitesimally and tried to finish breakfast quickly.

He quickly pointed to some post-it notes, “Here’s the name of an intergalactic crime boss who owes me a few favors, figured we could go and rough him up until he squeals, giving me the powerful weaponry we all know he has. Or, here’s a plan to visit a certain set of pepper pots and make some deals that most definitely will backfire, but it would be great fun to see them get frustrated and deny the fact that they can get frustrated. Or I was thinking of visiting Earth and teasing Torchwood and UNIT around early 2000’s Cardiff, you know, for funsies. Oh! What if we went back to Raxacoricofallapatorius and destroyed their nursery?” He was spinning around and fluttering between notebooks and sketches including one where he was strangling a person in an army uniform and a handlebar moustache.

“Jesus, how fast does your brain go?” You massage your temples…

“Too much? Huh? What would you suggest then?” He pouted, placing a hand at his hip and jutting it out.

“Why don’t we just start slow and nothing Earthly? Crime boss seem good? Simple even…” You slurped the milk off the spoon, “But lemme finish Breakfast first!” Pointing it at him, “Slow your roll. Savor the day. Do you Time Lords even sleep?”

“Rarely.”

“Wow, that explains so much.”

He querched an eyebrow, “And what would that be, love?” The love felt oddly formal, not like being called a pet.

“I’ve only met two of you, mind, so I might be generalizing...but the high energy. Like... “ You pressed your fingertips together, “Napping? Don’t you enjoy finding a good place to sleep during the day and just sleeping and enjoying the restfulness and sensations of the sun through a window and maybe a breeze if you open it a bit.”

“No, I’d love to try it, sounds pleasurable…”

“And you said that you were the Master of Everything.” You false-scandalized then laughed, cupping his face and smiling at him. It was great. He really made you laugh in one of those cheesy, stupid ways.

“I could punish you for talking down to your Owner…” He teased right back.

“Oooh...dirty.” You gave a salacious wink.

You could feel the “You have no idea…” radiating from his pores.

“Come along, my pet…” He pulled you from the table and over to the console, “We got a crime boss to torture…”

He punched in the coordinates and grabbed his jacket, then pulled you out the door…

You were toasting your success in the newly acquired weapons-room that now belonged to, as he poured you a little more champagne.

You oddly enjoyed helping torturing the poor sap. He squirmed and you enjoyed him blanching from pain.

The machine you saw him working on was a laser screw-driver? And he gave it to you as he was attaching some high tech hand-cuffs to the man. He told you that the controls were intuitive and to “give it a whirl...see how that grabs you…” Watching the gross little green man scream and shake around, flushing and pleading- felt good. Felt powerful. It brought you a tingle of pleasure and you could see why the Master was fond of it. The device felt good in your hand and after the second whorl of your wrist, it felt like a natural extension. It felt right to hold it in your hand and be able to grasp such power.

A bit of sadism? Then champagne? And the thrill of a steal? All felt like an adrenaline rush.

What were you becoming?

A shred of our conscience echoed about the fact that you, obviously, had to kill him, something the Master allowed you to turn into him and avert your eyes as he shrunk his body and flicked it into a drainage gate. He knew your limits and didn’t go past what he knew you could currently take. You grimaced a bit as you heard a tiny clink. That was a tad harsh.

All in all, a busy day...

He was busy cataloging and cooing at all the tech he had access to his as he put it “fun, evil plans”...

It was hilarious and so endearing to watch. He was like a kid in a candy shop. Soft, feral, incorrigible.

You determined that a small nap whilst tipsy and moonstruck was a great gift to yourself. You felt the collar and played idly with the diamond heart until you blacked out.

You woke up to him watching you. “One of those fabulous little naps you talked of?” He stroked your thigh and massaged the fabric of your shorts. You pulled yourself up and propped yourself up on your elbows and coyly smiled, “Care to join me?” You winked, “Take a walk on the wild side. It’s a real treat. After that...who knows?” You teased him.

He considered it and then loosened the buttons, and took off his jacket before laying it down and rolling up his sleeves. He laid down and you offered him to slide up to you. He obliged stiffly but soonly gave in. You spotted his chest hair and stared at it for a moment. You then acted, you traced it, mildly twirling your finger in its mass, he shuddered and then left you to continue. You laid down your head on his chest and felt his hearts pounding between two different beats.

He murmured, “Keep the screwdriver. A little gift. From me to you…” You felt his hearts hitch a bit.

Sighing, you told him, “Relax." You let out a sleepy little moan. You embraced the warmth of his body and soothing echoing in his chest like a whitenoise machine. "You're doing excellent.." The Master eased up and you felt yourself ease up and drift off. You dreamt of falling through water and waves and the scent of fires and musk. You could feel a pair of eyes watching you, but they felt nonjudgmental, just guiding you deeper down. Deeper under the spell of sleep and total darkness.

#personal #i wrote this #dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #the master #master x reader #reader insert #doctor who self insert fiction #fanfic #sacha dhawan

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crasherfly · 3 years

Text

Weekly Update

It’s a privilege to write about personal shit this week.

There’s not much I can add to the conversation about the election, suffice to say it was both better and worse than expected, and I’m glad that society isn’t immediately collapsing, at least this week.

Which is to say I’ve never been so glad to focus on my stupid, deeply low-stakes life updates. Obviously, the future is still uncertain and there will be plenty of work to do in the days and years ahead, but a week ago, I wasn’t certain if I’d be witness to a reality where questions like “how did a week of not drinking go” and “what are you playing” still matter.

So without further ado...

It was a challenging week, obviously.

Not just the election- I’m talkin’ for like- EVERYTHING. Home life. Work life. Creative life. I could go on. You get the idea.

I went on full blown quarantine as of last Friday after learning a member of my household may have covid. You wouldn’t think it was much of a change from my normal every day, but man, I did not realize just how many little things were working together to keep my sanity together.

A short list- weekend walks to pick up morning coffee, Friday night carry-out sushi and pizza, my weekly groceries at the co-op, and most importantly- trips to the weight room- all suddenly off the table until testing results come in.

In my state, testing often requires booking at least 3 days in advance, and it can take another 3-4 days just to get results back. Luckily, everyone in my home works remotely, so this doesn’t put us out too bad. I can’t imagine now non-remote workers manage. Even so, having to toss all the precious little things I’d managed to keep despite the pandemic stung. I even had to put my wrestling watch parties on hold- they took place on Discord, but one of my friends would normally come over to watch.

I’ve worked through a lot of huffy anger and annoyance over the course of the past few days. Losing my ability to get to the gym as the weather turns especially hurts. As a weight lifter, I’m pretty reliant on what the gym offers. Early into the pandemic I got a lot of folks snidely telling me to go lift paint cans. I resisted the temptation to tell them they could in turn pay for my back surgery. Thanks to the pandemic I’ve learned that the gym is actually a need for me, emotionally and physically. Losing it, even for a week, feels awful. I can’t wait to get back to it.

Until then, jogging and biking will have to suffice.

One positive- I’ve gone a week without drinking!

Based on my tracking, that’s actually the longest I’ve since June, which is nuts.

Predictably, I have gained weight. Because no good deed goes unpunished.

I don’t know if I’d say I notice any life-changing effects yet. For all I know, my body is still adjusting to the sudden absence of all the shit it’s normally used to working in overdrive to break down.

A few things I’ve noticed- my runs are going slightly better, I can stay up later working on games or creative endeavors, and I’m actually experiencing REM cycles again- meaning I’m dreaming, and dreaming vividly. I also get incredibly hungry around 10:30 every night- because, surprise!- that’s when I’d normally sit down with a beer or glass of sake. So I’m working on finding ways around that.

I can’t say I’ve felt a huge urge to drink. I occasionally wonder when, or indeed if, I’ll grab a glass of beer again any time soon. But beyond that, it’s been pretty easy to lay off. The fatigue alone was just such a pain to work through, not to mention the way a glass of beer would just kinda pin me into place for the rest of the night. I like how active my brain is now in the late hours.

But I do watch a lot less anime now :(

On that note, here’s what I’ve been playing lately!

Outer Worlds (XBONE)

So, you probably missed it last post- probably ‘cuz I forgot to write about it in my first draft, but I wrote about my Total Kill Run that I just wrapped up in Outer Worlds.

The short and dirty version for those of you who can’t be bothered to go back and read- I tried to do a run where I killed every NPC in Outer Worlds, a space RPG from the Obsidian, and instead got sidetracked with completing the nefarious Board’s story and ended up doing a Board run instead.

I was surprised by how humor and wit the game brings to its commentary on your wanton slaughter. The devs were not bluffing when they said you could kill anyone and anything in Outer Wilds and they even prepared a few nice moments in anticipation that some players would try.

I was disappointed to find that the Board’s mission- and indeed, some of the progression points I followed on my own go-it-alone-and-kill-everything story, mirrored the Good Guy story beat-for-beat, basically shrugging and saying “well, you’re gonna do this anyway, like it or not”. At several given points you can kill everyone you like- but you’ll still have to find that keycard, access that terminal, or visit that far off map point now matter how hard you try to get out of it.

I was finally struck by how little I missed. I skipped A LOT of stuff- almost every sidequest and all the companion quests. And you know what? I had a fine time. I might even say I had a better time. So much time in Outer Wilds is devoted to fetching, traveling, and sitting in load screens. Turns out you do less of all of that when you just go guns blazing into every civilized map.

Some friends earlier this week were talking about revisiting old Bethesda-style RPGs like Fallout: New Vegas and Skyrim. It got me thinking about whether or not I would bother doing that myself any time soon. It’s true those are better games than Outer Worlds. But if the point of Outer Worlds is to echo those positive experiences so closely...what does my recent experience say about the source of that reflection?

Just a thought I’m chewing on. I don’t have a good answer. But feel free to HMU if you have your own thoughts!

NeoGeo Arcade Stick Pro- Art of Fighting, Samurai Shodown, Fatal Fury, World Heroes 2

Friday night I sat down at my desk, dimmed the lights and hooked up my NeoGeo Arcade Stick Pro. On my second monitor, I brought up move lists for King of Fighters ‘95 and started my fighting game learning journey.

I did OK, in my opinion. I stuck to just learning the hero team- Kyo, Daimon, and Benimaru. I even managed to trigger a few level 1 supers. I think I could safely beat the average player at an arcade now- but there’s definitely plenty of system I came nowhere close to learning all the ins and outs. However, after trying out a few subsequent KOF games, it seems like my learning should transfer forward.

I also tried out a few other games on the stick. Art of Fighting and Fatal Fury aren’t games I’ve had prior exposure to. In my experience, they seemed a little slower than KOF. The command lists were definitely shorter. Samurai Shodown was absolutely gorgeous and felt really, really good to play. I could see getting really into it.

My big highlight was World Heroes 2, which I ended up playing most of the night. It’s a bit sillier than the previously noted titles, but it has a really fun roster and a good, medium-sized move list that isn’t too taxing to remember. I had seen some of the characters, like Johnny Maximum, on the Spriteclub roster, so it was cool to see them in their native environment.

Overall, the Arcade Stick Pro is holding up nicely. The stick itself is solid, and the deck is a natural fit on my lap or desktop. I’m not noticing any serious input lag and the buttons seem really responsive. Of all my retro consoles, this might become one of my favorites.

Endless Space 2

AMPLITUDE’s 4x sci-fi has entered hallowed realms of my “Games I will Be Playing 20 Years From Now” list. A massive, sprawling turn-based strategy about managing a spacefaring empire, Endless Space 2 is great for those weeks where I want to play a 4X that I can resolve within 20 hours.

For my most recent run, I once again took up my favored faction, the Riftborn. Every game is a learning experience, so this time around I was determine to try and tackle the massive and deeply inconvenient quests that Endless Space 2 mercilessly slews at you every_damn_turn.

I was mostly successful. I didn’t finish my faction’s quest, but I did complete the Academy quests. Throughout every game the Academy looms as this impartial faction that hires out heroes and provides boons to those who donate resources to it. In the endgame, the Academy offers a quest that forces every active civilization to choose sides regardless of existing alliances. Depending on the results, the last phases of Endless Space 2 can look very different

I finished the questline, unlocked a cool cinematic and learned that next time I should definitely not ignore those quests, however obnoxious they might be. The faction buffs earned from successful completion are....pretty wild.

Sunless Skies

Another week, another dead captain in Sunless Skies. This captain had a particularly long run- I had managed about...15 hours with him before losing him to some enemies that I was not at all prepared to fight. Death comes quick in Sunless Skies- a single bad decision can lead to swift death.

This run I at least managed to bank a ton of valuable supplies and upgrade my engine. My next captain will have a better shot as a result. I’m not sure when I’ll pick the game back up. After a particularly long run I usually take a long break- weeks or even months. We’ll just see what happens.

Pokemon Shield

I’ve finally, FINALLY beaten the endgame of Pokemon Shield. At least, I think I have. I’m sure there’s a few more things to do here or there, but for the most part, I think I’m done. I beat the champion and saw the credits roll. There’s some DLC to visit and more ‘mon to catch, but mostly, I’m done.

I had the opportunity to take care of some trade evolutions and partake in a friendly battle with a friend. It was the first time I’ve done that since...I kid you not...the playground in 5th grade.

It was...really fun?

I’m a deeply casual pokemon player. I don’t search for shiny ‘mon or suss out perfect numbers. I just use who I think looks cool and I try to keep type and consideration in mind. As a result, my friend and I had to agree on some ground rules for average levels- but the result was a compelling match.

I found myself afterwards making plans for another battle night. This tends to happen in November- I get really into Pokemon again for a few weeks. Historically, this is ‘cuz I’m normally traveling a lot for the holidays. That won’t be true this year, but old habits die hard.

Maybe I’ll even bust out my 3DS again soon. Who knows?

Quest 2: Revisited

Last week, I posted some thoughts about the Oculus Quest 2. I’ve spent another week with the headset, testing some new features and trying some more involved experiences. I’m happy to report my thoughts on the machine are still positive.

If anything, my impressions are MORE positive than before. My eyes have grown used to the world of VR. I’ve found a setting on the out-of-box headstrap that I don’t hate. And I’m finding more experiences than I initially suspected I might.

I’ve had a change to run the Link option, for instance, which allows you to use your Quest 2 as a Rift. It’s actually pretty seamless, requiring only a good desktop and a USB cable. My cable seemed to suffer from some bad speeds, so my experience was pretty laggy, but with an approved cable, I have no doubt the Quest 2 could handle just about anything you throw at it.

I finished Superhot, and have only raving reviews to offer. It is a perfect introduction to all the Quest 2 can do. Given limited space, Superhot places you in do-or-die situations where you must dodge, duck and shoot your way through enemies. When you move- time movies- so you will often find yourself forced to take stock of your surroundings before making your next step.

It is sharp, offers a great mix of puzzle solving and brisk action, and even serves as an ad-hoc workout. Picking it up with your Quest 2 is a must.

Encouraged by Superhot, I gave Job Simulator a try. It is a zany VR experience that humorously simulates a number of white collar job environments. It is short, funny, and with no shortage of silly interactions. I spent several minutes in my digital office cube shooting staples into neighboring cubes and giggling at the angry responses of my co-workers. WHO THREW THAT. STAND UP.

Finally, I’ve taken some time to try and get into the streaming world beyond the Mozilla app. It has been both encouraging and...well, not so much. I’ve mostly been dinking around in Bigscreen, an app that offers a number of Pluto TV channels in digital theater environments. You log into a room with other people, who appear as avatars, and you all watch the shows together.

Well, sorta. Most people don’t really watch the shows so much as they throw digital tomatoes at the screen and shout upsetting shit at each other. The server population seems really low, so the massive theaters take on the quality of a creepy XXX cinema, where one always feels a bit apprehensive of who they might meet.

At its best, Bigscreen is genuinely funny. I’ve made nightly stops at the Star Trek theater, which plays old reruns of Next Generation. The most enjoyable moments come in the spirit of MST3K, with witty comments and memes as people throw digital refreshments at the screen. I’ve found myself giggling despite myself.

At its worst, Bigscreen is a deeply racist and sexist hideaway full of the types of folks you’d normally shush the hell out of in a real theater. You can mute people, but it’s a tedious task. A reporting function also exists, but who knows how or if its being enforced at all. Finally, unless you’re doing a film rental, you’re going to be subjected to commercials on everything from erectile pills to The Blaze. I’ve described it to others as being Peak Late Night Cable: The App. If that appeals to you, well, it’s there and it’s free.

I’ve tried streaming my desktop, both on Bigscreen and via Oculus Link. Both were very laggy. There’s a very popular desktop streaming app I could try, but it costs IRL money. Honestly, most of what I’d want out of my desktop streaming I already get from Mozilla.

I like the Quest 2 a lot. I hope we see more experiences tailored specifically to it, as opposed to through the Link function or via desktop streaming.

Dungeons and Dragons

I finally wrapped up my improv sessions with my local DND group. Having just finished The Lost Mines of Phandelver, I wanted to take some time between campaigns to improv and get off the grid a bit.

The result was 4 sessions, 2 hours each, where I had nothing prepared in advance and I let my players take the lead. I gave them a map I’d built of the region and told them we could go anywhere they like.

My party ended up splitting into two groups- one heading to Castle Grayhawk, and one to Neverwinter. Antics ensued, personal quests furthered, and by the end, everyone felt ready for our next adventure at the Salt Marshes.

An interesting takeaway- when doing improv sessions, I had almost zero fights. I never once broke out the battleboard and only a handful of attack rolls were even attempted.

I, personally, like combat a great deal. So I don’t think that will be my style forever. But it was interesting to see what my sessions could look like without it, especially after such a combat-heavy campaign.

Anime

I’ll be honest- I’ve fallen really behind on this season’s anime. I have so many hobbies, and one thing gets shoved aside for another, necessarily so. This time, it’s anime and manga. I promise I’ll get back on the horse soon.

As the year winds down, I’m already thinking about my experiences over the past year and what my end of the year experience list will look like.

I’ve seen so many amazing titles this year.

Like, I get deeply, viscerally emotional when I think about Re:Zero.

My heart races as I think of the thrilling high points of Tower of God.

I delight in my inner goth kid as I ruminate in experiences like Gleipnir and Berserk.

I’m going to have a lot to talk about. Just thinking about it motivates me to get out there and see more.

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halfwayinlight · 4 years

Text

Series: Precious Commodities Chapter: 3 The Impasse Fandom: Star Trek TNG Pairing: Will Riker/Deanna Troi Rating: PG Notes: continuation of my fic for @nothingeverlost, all cross posted to AO3

Dexterity was a precious commodity, and Deanna only wished she could enjoy this display of Will’s intelligence more thoroughly. Distractions and schemes are touchy things. Some distractions are subtle and catch others by surprise. And some are an accumulation of sheer bluster and personality. She excels at the first type. She has used her calm and deep study of psychology to distract and play her own strategies when needed.

Will can do this, too. He’s cagey, smooth, and charming. Between poker, chess, war games, and any number of missions and incidents, she’s had a front row in his masterclass.

But he’s also large and hard to miss. He can leverage this, too, to his favor. Noise, demands, and a lean or a glare can get him very far. He’s using both with their captor and these long rounds of chess. She knows he could have won in fifteen moves or less.

He won the first round, stretched it into a long play. Passed up any number of opportunities to end it swiftly and ruthlessly. It gave her a chance to nap for a bit. And set up legitimacy for his own complaint of standing too long as he teased out a second game. Feigned disinterest. Maybe that wasn’t true. He wasn’t particularly interested in chess. At least not in this particular game.

Deanna can sense the strategies that go far beyond the chess board. His angles have given him a partial view of the brig layout. He’s had time to sneak several overviews of the panels and realized their potential. And he’s still trying to figure out when to make his final sequence. Not to end the chess game, but to begin to put action to the plans and contingencies he’s forming.

He complains that it’s hard to see the board. And Deanna almost laughs at this. She’s known Will to play blindfolded before, moves called out in sequence. His mind can hold the entire board, visualize the moves, keep track of which piece is where, and still win handily.

She does her best to be quiet, to quiet her mind. Food and the short nap helped. But she is still cold enough that she can’t relax. It’s unlike her not to be able to sit still. She does it for long stretches of time during counseling sessions, going especially still and quiet when a patient is on the cusp of epiphany. She’s trying not to distract her mother, either, but her thoughts search out Lwaxana’s as often as she had called for her parents as a small child with a very over-active imagination when she should have been sleeping.

Deanna catches herself right as her mind is turning to her mother again, pulling herself back as she remembers the last time she reached out. Her stomach turns at the thought of her mother and DaiMon Tog. Her mother’s revulsion at the reception is all too real in Deanna’s memory, and she is not okay with Lwaxana doing that, even if it’s an attempt to keep Deanna and Will safe. Betazoids are free with many things, but they also are repulsed by forced or non-consensual situations.

She can’t stand to sit still, so she’s pacing the cell and in motion. Her arm isn’t as sore as it was, but she welcomes the dull ache that distracts her. It’s not a great coping mechanism, but she’s aware there are far worse ones. It’s certainly going to be an interesting conversation with her counselor on subspace, well, whenever they get out here. That poor, amazing woman had helped Deanna through so much already. Her counselor could write entire volumes on the psychological effects of space exploration and its impact on the psyche. More than once her counselor has said that for someone facing as much uncertainty, Deanna was generally handling it well. More than once, Deanna had felt like a complete wreck. She had learned to deeply appreciate one of the few conversations where she could simply exist, without having to be the calming presence in the room. For someone who spends eighty percent or more of the conversation listening, it’s still hard to talk about herself for that long.

Deanna expected it would be easier when Will was outside of the cell. She tried not to hover at the opening. Tried to act casual as she took Will’s abandoned seat. Tried her hardest to focus on a breathing exercise. But she couldn’t settle on which one to use. She felt like a liability to both her mother and Will—she couldn’t do anything to help either one right now, nor to help them find a way off the ship. And while she didn’t want her mother here alone, a thousand “what-ifs” were playing through her mind, all while she watched the chess game intently.

Will shifted on the padded stool, his shoulders stiffening. He gave a slight shake of his head in irritation, as though trying to clear his thoughts and refocus. On some level, she was distracting him.

She took a slow breath in, held in for a four count, and then released it even more slowly. Beneath her, she could feel the lingering warmth on the padded bench from where Will had been sitting for some time before leaving the cell. And another small gust of cool air from the intake made her shiver slightly. This time she welcomed the distraction.

When he finally made his move, Deanna both saw and felt his surprise flare of pain in Will’s hand. She wasn’t familiar with much about Ferengi anatomy, but the skull seemed particularly dense. Hopefully he hadn’t broken anything. At any rate, it felt like a victory to be helped out of the cell. She felt a little safer on the same side of the force field as Will. Even if it was an illusion and re-capture was only meters away.

Deanna was relieved to have at least a small something to do. She’s the connection to her mother, and it was utter relief to see that her mother has once again used her own eclectic blend of charm and firmness to keep things… appropriate.

You’re so prudish, Little One, her mother chided. Those humans have influenced you too much.

A day or two ago, Deanna would have chafed and argued. Protested. For now, she was simply glad that her mother is distracting their captor. And thankful that Will has such a wider understanding of ship systems than she could ever hope to have. Her position and degree from the university and time at Starfleet have put her in the rank of Lieutenant Commander. But the only time she really feels like she’s acting in that position is when she’s acting as Diplomatic Officer. She knows her skills and services in that role have more than earned her right to have the rank.

Yet, she has struggled far more with imposter syndrome as an officer than she ever did as a graduate and doctoral psychology student. She was not a fan of the older uniforms when she first began to serve on Starfleet ships. Her reasons for preferring more casual versions of the standard uniform, however, go far beyond the way the top piece often rides up and requires adjusting. And beyond the fact that it’s difficult for people to relax and open up about personal or professional challenges when she’s wearing the uniform of their authority. But this echo of imposter syndrome has made her consider, once or twice in passing, taking the bridge officer’s test. To prove she can handle command. To prove it to herself. But there are portions, like the engineering section, that continue to make her inclined to reconsider an attempt.

Uniform or not, Will has brought his singular focus to the console. She wonders idly how much Ferengi or glyphs he can read and how much is instinct. It does seem naïve not to have anticipated the need for access codes. She should have predicted that, knowing how the Ferengi are so insular, how they prefer to keep everything to themselves. In a civilization that thirsts for money and power, of course the risks would be too great to a DaiMon to leave even internal systems without security features—lest some lower ranking crew try to usurp power.

It’s a surprise to both of them when their attempt is denied. And she could sense the wariness in Will, his resolve grinding down by the moment. They’re both drained. He has dark circles under his eyes, his usually tidy beard is attempting to grow full-out, and his hair is mussed in the way she only sees in the rarest of occasions. Mentally, she can sense he is scrambling for a Plan B.

Reaching out to her mother was easy, but the wait time for answers stretched out.

Beside her, Will tried several other combinations to probe the restrictions of the console. By the third attempt, he pressed his head against the console and gave a huff of frustration. “I’m afraid if I keep trying, I’m going to trigger some kind of alert. We’re no good to her or ourselves if we get locked back in there. Especially if someone comes to investigate and finds our friend. I don’t know what their shift changes look like.”

“I know,” she sighed, moving closer and giving his upper arm a squeeze. When he didn’t turn, her arms wrapped around him from behind, and she hugged him tightly. Her eyes closed, and Deanna pressed a warm kiss against the fabric over his shoulder. Her cheek came to rest against him, and she gave over more of her weight. “Will, you’ve done so much for all of us. We will figure out a way to get off this ship.”

“Deanna, I don’t know what else—”

She sighed and tightened her grip around him. “Breathe with me for a minute,” she encouraged, a small smile crossing her lips when he found one of her hands and gave a gentle squeeze before obeying. “You’re exhausted. We both are. But we will figure this out. And get back to Enterprise. And have real food—or at least replicated food—again.”

“And a hot shower,” he mumbled with a sigh. “And clean clothes. Clothes that are appropriate to space,” he added. His hand caught hers, drawing them back slightly so he could turn to face her. “C’mere.” Gently, he eased up the ruffle over her left upper arm. “How is this?”

It was nice to have this half moment, even if she can feel a shimmer of upset from her mother, the first signal fire that things aren’t going smoothly with command codes. “A little achy still, but better.” Her fingers covered the spot and rubbed lightly.

He pulled her against him, arms going around her for long moments to offer warmth. “Deanna… if it comes down to it, if we can’t all—”

Her head shook before he could even finish. “No, we need to do this together. All three of us.”

“If it comes down to it, you and your mother should—”

“No!” she protested, pulling back slightly. “I’m not having this conversation with you. There are too many things in our favor on this. If we can’t draw the Enterprise to us now, we can wait it out. We’re both officers. There has to be some trail that someone will trace back to Tog—between Data or the Captain or someone on the ship… Mother is an ambassador. They might be willing to gamble on any number of things, but even Tog and Farek will have to admit that they don’t dare incur the wrath of Starfleet. Or the other DaiMons if Starfleet pressures them.”

He pressed a warm kiss to her forehead. “You have a point,” he sighed, and she could sense he was irritated that he was too tired to have come to the conclusion sooner.

“You were busy getting me out of the cell and trying to signal Enterprise,” she reminded affectionately. “And I’m sorry, but I might have to delay those plans on the holodeck.”

“You’re breaking our date?” he teased wryly, and she was glad to hear the lightness in his voice, even if he was still tired. It meant that he was ready to do whatever they needed to do next.

Her head shook slightly, and she offered a small smile. “A raincheck. No offense, but I really want a bath and to sleep first.”

“Your creature comforts,” Will teased. “With all of your bath salts and oils? What was it, sandalwood and…”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Sandalwood is entirely your fault, you know. I’d never smelled or heard of it until you gave it to me all those years ago.”

His hand slid to her shoulder, thumb lightly tracing her collarbone. “Creature comforts,” he repeated, dropping a kiss to her cheek. After taking a slow breath, he chaffed her shoulder lightly. “And thank you, I’m better now.”

“I think we’re both going to be due a counseling session once this is over, but so long as only one of us is frustrated at once, we’re alright.” She gave his wrist a squeeze and took a breath to refocus, but before she could make any suggestions, dread flooded her and she froze.

“Deanna?”

Her eyes were wide when they lifted to meet his. “It didn’t work… Farek… He interrupted. Will, he’s going to run experiments on her.”

“Experiments?” Will pressed, already moving back toward the console and scanning over the consoles again as if he might see something he missed before.

“Neural scans,” she grimaced, her own fear spiking in harmony with her mother’s. Try to delay. We’re doing everything we can! Deanna swallowed hard and stepped out of Will’s way as he reached across the far side to bring up the strange grid and layout. “Farek thinks he can replicate mother’s telepathic abilities with enough probing and experimentation.”

Under his breath he let out a Klingnon curse that would’ve made Worf speechless. “Like hell they are,” he grunted, “Grab that phaser in case this doesn’t work.” He jabbed a series of commands and smacked the wall beside the work station when those failed like the ones before.

#star trek tng #otp: imzadi #imzadi #counselor troi #commander riker #will riker x deanna troi #deanna troi #will riker #verse: precious commodities

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skgway · 4 years

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1825 May, Tues. 24

11 20/60

My cousin came just before I got up. Gave Hotspur oat cake – Rainy morning – Great deal of rain, heavy during last night with much lightning (they say) yesterday evening late – It became nearly fair about 8 1/2 –

Went out at 8 50/60 – Seeing nobody about the new footpath, walked to and from the Crownest gates – A little rain in returning – Met George Robinson, and hearing the workmen were come, went and found Jackman and Frank Oates and John Crossley – the gardner and his brother were come to breakfast – Nothing could be done – Frank had tumbled over the plank, the 1st barrow – John could not wheel at all – Jackman said it would be like standing in puddle to wall – He came to job here about the house – The other 2 men went away I suppose – and George Sykes (the gardner) and his brother came and mowed the grass walks in the garden –

Got home at 11 – Breakfast at 11 1/2 – Went upstairs at 12 1/4 – From 1 3/4 to 6, wrote the letter 1/2 page 2, page 3, the ends, and under the seal, (began on Sunday) pretty close, to Mademoiselle de Sans, and then wrote the latter 3/4 of page 3, the ends, (very small and close) and crossed the 1st page of my letter (began yesterday) to Miss M[a]cL[ea]n – Dressed and came down to dinner at 6 3/4 – The following is the passage in Miss McL– [MacLean]’s letter alluded to yesterday –

“I wish that nasty road was at an end – I do not at all like your being out all day overlooking men – I can fancy the necessity of it but I cannot bear your doing it – You must be directing, finding fault, etc. etc. A manner is so imperceptibly acquired – And you tell me you shall not be released till the middle of July! I shall expect to see a Yorkshire roadmaker appear in the shape of my friend in Quinish – On returning to my sheet, the last lines strike me as terribly impudent – My pen ran off with the thought, and so shall the post – I am not afraid of your justice –I sometimes wonder if ever I shall know what rest is and also ask myself how we shall like each other when more personally known. Your opinion in this subject I know and wish it may prove true. Sometimes I persuade myself that when next we part it may be with indifference. All these queer thoughts pass thro my brain during my sleepless hours” –

Wrote all the above of today downstairs after dinner – Came upstairs at 9 1/2 – Vide page 1 my letter to Miss McL– [MacLean]

“How we may meet I know not; for my fort is not in meetings – but that, when next we part, it may be with indifferences,” I confidently believe will not be the case – To me it seems to be, and, probably, it is impossible – Even should our fancies have wrought but foolishness in thus linking us together by the charities of epistolary intervenience, the disappointment, on my part at least, would be too signal to be compatible with indifference, – That good or evil of which I have as yet learnt little from experience – These are indeed, ‘queer thoughts’ that pass thro’ your brain – I long to prove you right, or wrong – You feel, as if you knew me not thoroughly, – As if you had not yet that ‘faith, that were ev’n its light remov’d, could like the dial, fin’d remain, and wait till it shone out again’ – Hold! Hold! Sibbella! A truce to these queer thoughts – If they have aught of truth, ‘tis premature; if they have aught of falsehood, ‘tis another villainy – But you are a person somewhat given to queer thougths – Perhaps they are in some degree inseparable from regard, and are the natural offspring of ‘the doubt it feeds on, and the pain that in its very sweetness lies? . . . . . . . . .

(vide page 3)

“Part with indifference! Impossible – No! No! Not quite impossible – You do not know me – You make me impatient – You make me anxious on this subject – I have never lately calculated upon being other than your ‘most valued friend’; nor can I be, unless I deserve it; and this conviction would make doubly great the mortification of losing any part of your good opinion” –

(vide page 2)

“I laughed aloud on reading your sentence of excommunication against that footpath – ‘directing – finding fault – a manner is so imperceptibly acquired’ your expectation” of seeing ‘a Yorkshire roadmaker in the shape of your friend’ amuses me exceedingly – This sentence is invaluable – I shall copy it into a conspicuous part of my journal, and read it every day by way of antidote – Why do you call it ‘terribly imprudent’? It is terribly just; but, luckily for me, I have sense enough to know it – In good truth, and soberness, I thank you for the sentence with all my heart – You never wrote a better, or a kinder” –

Say I will see her this summer if possible . . . . .

“Remember now and ever, that ‘all is not gold that glitters’, nor is all valueless, that looks like dross – Do not expect to see any other than the person from whom very little difference of manner would have . . . . . . .”

these seven dots are copied and thus follows

“I am tanned as brown as if I had been dyed with walnut-juice – Itf is not in the nature of things, that I should improve much at present; but I hope . . . . . . . keep your expectation as low as possible, and spare me, if you can, the mortification of discovering, that it will be yourself around whom disappointment shall throw the folds of indifference ‘when next we part’” –

A very kind cheering letter to Mademoiselle de S– [Sans], well written. I have brought in very well the two quotations from Moores Loves of the Angels given in my letter to Miss Macl [Maclean] about faith and tis but the doubt he feeds on etc. See above – There is the following style of profession beginning at the bottom of page 2

“Were my interest in your welfare a small matter, – a mere word without meaning, or a feeling that endured not beyond the moment of professing it, I should have ample excuse for leaving your pages unanswered, perhaps till your head had time enough to forget me altogether; but as I never pay compliments at my heart’s expense, nor ever, either to others or myself, make a joke of its regard, you may believe it real, and may count upon its continuing, in all English sincerity, true to the last – It would delight me to be at your elbow a little just now, because I think I could cheer, and console you, – I think I could persuade you that, come what may for the present, the bright side of your case is much longer than the dark one, and that the one is but as it were, a little spot upon the other, that merely hides, for the moment; the sunny good that lies behind – I have a presentiment, that I shall see you happy – Few will congratulate you more affectionately, and none more sincerely – Do not tell me of shewing you kindness in Paris – I had pity, perhaps even more than your doctor: but pity is neither the 1st, nor the only sentiment which it is in your power to excite, and by which you will always hold your place in the remembrance of those who are not “fickle as the summer’s wind” – . . . .

Conclude with

“God grant you better health and speedy happiness! Write when you have time and inclination – Nothing will give me greater pleasure than the good tidings I confidently hope you will have it in your power to send; for I am really and affectionately interested in your welfare, and shall be always my dear Louise, really and affectionately your friend AL –”

Bid her write in French and tell me what postage she pays, promising to write on thinner paper another time – Mention the de B– [Boyve]’s house being visited as an hotel garnis – Quote Mrs. B– [Barlow]’s words, mention her illness and mention that Miss Gauntlett has told us of a very nice respectable French woman who will be ready to receive a few in July – I have noted this because I never mean to go to the de B– [Boyve]’s again, and hope I have not walked in the Tuileries gardens for the last [time] – Hope to chat again there with Mademoiselle de S– [Sans] and Mrs. B– [Barlow]

A few heavyish showers during the day (vide line of today) very heavy thunder rain in the evening – Began about 7 – Barometer 3 1/4 degrees below changeable, Fahrenheit 57º at 9 1/2 p.m., at which hour came up to bed – Sat up reading volume 1 Rousseau Confessions – I certainly improve a little from the style of Rousseau and read with more ease and profitable observation than ever before –

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #Sibella MacLean #Louise de Sans #Mademoiselle de Sans #Shibden Hall 1825

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crysta-cub · 5 years

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Crysta’s Lamia Experience: Looking for a Hero

It’s been a while since I last posted about our adventures on this blog. But I missed writing about my Lamia family. One that is ready to grow.

Since the time that the Lamia’s have discovered that I’m not exactly human, we have experienced loss, all three ferrets had passed due to their age and illnesses. It was a rough time for us all, Moonstone and Guardian took their passing hard, but I taught them about the human’s poem about Rainbow Bridge and that seemed to help them out.

There was Guardian’s eggtastic find. Having Munchkin as a hatchling had brought a lot of warmth into the household, giving Alpha and Butterscotch a young one to care for as they struggled to produce their own young. Guardian and Moonstone excelled as older siblings, helping where they could. Guardian was especially proud of Munchkin, protecting him and teaching him how to swim in the bathtub. Maybe one day I’ll post pictured.

We’ve even taken on the challenge of adopting a puppy named Eevee. This pup really turned the household around. Wrestling with Alpha and Guardian, providing rides for Moonstone and Munchkin and having cute naps with Butterscotch. She really fit right into our humble abode. She has also been a handful, an adventurous spirit who wants to get into everything and anything. Too smart for her own good at times. Took Butterscotch a longer moment to accept her ‘in your face’ approaches.

Life has been great with this bundle of lamias. And soon our unit will be growing. After a dancing affair at Vex’s shop, something finally sparked for Alpha and Butterscotch and they are expecting their first clutch of babies. Apparently, whatever Butterscotch whispered to Alpha that night to cause the latter to flush so brightly, did the trick. But that’s a story for another night and the other blog. Alpha’s been doting on Butterscotch like nothing else, making sure he’s comfortable and not doing too much. Guardian and Moonstone took extra duty with Munchkin, especially since he’s now too big for either of the older lamia’s to carry.

It's been a fulfilling life, this is the best family anyone could ask for. I do still feel something is missing, a connection that was lacking. I’m surrounded by all these loving lamias and yet, I feel like there’s still something more I need. I had originally wondered why I never felt that soulbond with Guardian. I read all the adoption stories on Chains and I never got that feeling of a tug on my soul, just the forever engrained memory of a panicked baby Chain tugging on my pant leg to get me to help his Papython friend.

I asked him about it, about his soulbond. That’s when he revealed that he actually already had a soulbond with Moonstone. It explained so well why those two had always been so close, so intuned. Part of me was relieved. I don’t know how I'd feel if Guardian ever felt pain from me through a link. My life on this earth has been relatively peaceful, but I have known battle from my homeworld and some not so pleasant encounters from the humans of this world in times where my true self was revealed to a select few. Humans don’t take different well. It sucked to hide, but it was better than when trust was betrayed. And if anything happened to me, I’d hate for it to harm him, my little Guardian.

But I kinda still felt wanting, wanting of that close bond that other Chain owners had. Maybe another Chain would come into their lives, though I have been finding myself admiring the King form as well. Those heroic poses and grand stature and size. Ok, my mind was beginning to wander.

I’m sitting here, rocking little Munchkin to sleep after his feeding. Such a sweet little Twister. I give him a little kiss on his head before placing him in his nest. I quietly left the room, kneeling down to give Eevee a head scritch in thanks for guarding the door before going into the livingroom to throw on some shoes. There were a few errands to run and a spot to check out. Deciding against taking anyone along this time, just a little me time and maybe to get a little surprise treat for everyone.

I left the house, telling the household to behave themselves before hopping into the car an driving off. A few stops here and there, nothing eventful really, a tasty cake in the passenger seat for the fam and a chew bone for Eevee. I pull up to the entryway to a trail I heard about, wanting to check it out before I bring everyone out there. It looks inviting and private, maybe a place I can shift into another form and run with Alpha, Moonstone and Guardian. Maybe Eevee too. The Lamias seem to love my snake form, it looked much like a mixture of this planet’s Cobra, Anaconda and Diamondback rattlesnake, but it was a bit too large to really shift into at home, but in open space, it worked well.

With a large inhale as a strong breeze cut through the trees, I let myself relax. Close my eyes and take in the peak of sunlight escaping through the branches. I didn’t expect the presence of another coming up behind me and grabbing me, a cloth being placed over my mouth. I began to fight the stranger as my head began to swim. I nearly slipped out of his grasp before the world grew dark.

The last thing I remember hearing is the person behind me calling out. “Wooowee, lookit here Mick, I caught teh Alien!”

Well Shit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Munchkin begins to cry, alerting the household. Being close by, Alpha and Butterscotch slither over and began trying to console the distraught Lamia.

“shh, shhh, it ok Munchie, it’s ok.” Butterscotch cuddles close to Munchkin, rubbing his back, he glanced up at Alpha. The fact that Munchkin was crying for no noticeable reason was concerning.

“Are you hurt? Hungry?” Alpha began questioning. Munchkin shakes his head, his tail thrashed in his tantrum.

“Wan Mama Isssta! Wan Mama Isssta!” Munchkin bawled. This was odd of Munchkin, the young one never demanded, never complained, always a warm bundle of sunshine.

“Shh, shhh, It’s ok Munchie. Mama Crysta will be home soon. She just went out to do a few things. You’ll see, she’ll be home any minute now.” Butterscotch continued to console Munchkin. Soon the baby Twister is brought down to sniffles. Butterscotch smiles and cuddles with him.

Moonstone and Guardian come in, while Eevee pokes her nose into the room through the small lamia door.

“Is Munchkin ok?” Moonstone asks, coming over to pet the baby lamia on the head.

“Yes,” Alpha answers. “Just got a little upset. Wants his Mama Crysta.”

“Should we give Mama Crysta a call?” Guardian asked, his brow bone crested in worry.

“That should be fine. The phone is in the living room.” Butterscotch informs Guardian, who nods and slithers off to try to contact Crysta. He adjusts himself so that his gravid belly wasn’t uncomfortable. Munchkin snuggles close to Butterscotch, still sniffling but much calmer.

Guardian slithers by Eevee, who playfully nips at him. Guardian giggles and pushes her muzzle away before going over the cellphone left on the coffee table. He presses the saved phone number labeled Mama Crysta and listened to it ring. He glances over at Moonstone who ended up following after him.

“She didn’t pick up.” Guardian informed.

“Maybe she didn’t hear it? Or accidently put it on silent again?” Moonstone offered, taking Guardian’s hand in his own.

“I guess. Sometimes I wish I had a soul bond with Mama Crysta so I knew she was ok.” Guardian squeezed Moonstone’s hand, feeling his worry through his bond. “Not that I regret having it with you. I just worry when she’s gone so long.”

Moonstone smile and brings Guardian in close for a hug. “I know. But Mama Crysta is strong, can take care of herself. I like our bond too.” It wasn’t unknown that the two young Lamias were developing a little puppy love for each other. They never considered the other a sibling but as their best friend that they got to grow up together. Though they were still merely young teenagers, their connection was obvious.

“I’ll call Mama Crysta again in a bit.” Guardian pulled away giving the phone a glance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wake up in a bright room, laying in a pad of a bed. I groan as I sit up, looking around, 3 solid walls and one glass wall. Cameras mounted at each corner, leaving no room for privacy. There’s a door at the far corner. I stretch from my stiff position. There’s something around my neck, kinda poking at me with cold metal. I lift my hands to it and feel… a shock collar… with multiple shock devices.

What the fuck was going on. I get up and go to the door, testing it. Locked obviously. I look to the glass side of the room and I see a table and another door showing what I can guess is a hallway.

“Hello? Is anyone out there?” I call out.

It didn’t take long for a scraggly looking man to enter the room, head full of dreads, clothing looking unwashed. “Wooowee, look atcha. Well, miss alien, the name’s Tic. I’m so glad ta finally meet cha. Tis was so worth not going to that there Area 51 Raid. Yessiree.”

“I’m sorry, Tic.” Oh god, this guy was off. Hopefully I can reason with him. “There seems to be some kind of misunderstanding, I’m not an alien. Just a normal person. I kinda just want to get back home please.”

“No Alien mam, You can’t trick me that easy. I’ve seen whatcha can do. That transformin’ thin’. Got it all on camera on one of my wildlife cams. Blew my mind. Was hopin’ for a Big Foot but got me somethin’ better. Was mighty nice seein’ ya handle that there couga’ when ya shift to a Lion.”

There was a camera in that clearing? The clearing where Alpha got hurt when defending Guardian from the Mountain Lion?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t do anything like that.”

“Nah, nah, You surely can. Wanna prove et to.” He picks up a remote and turns on a projector. The projector shows a video of her confronting the Mountain Lion. Alpha getting hit and her reacting and transforming to stand protectively over Alpha and Guardian. Its a bit blurry and gets staticy during the transformation. It’s hard to tell that it is even me.

“That’s some impressive CGI, that’s not me, I was never at that location. Dude, you have to realize how ridiculous this is. I’m not an alien. Please, I just want to go home.” I’m getting nervous. This guy keep replaying the transformation.

“Nah, Yous an alien, gonna prove et too. Now we can do et the easy way and ya show me what ya can do or I’m gonna make ya.” Tic holds up another remote and my eyes widen.

“Please no, I can’t do what you want me to do. Please, you don’t have to aaaaaahhh.” I scream as the collar begins to shock me. These shockers were altered to deliver a higher voltage than those of normal dog shock collars. I reach up and grip the collar, trying to pull it away from my neck. It’s over quickly and I collapse to my knees, breathing deeply. This guy is insane and by the look on his face, there’s no convincing him.

“Teh easy way out is still an option.” Tic begins writing something down. “But if cha keep insistin’ that cha won’t transform, well. That collar will go off every hour. I figured if anything, a little dangah will spark your transformation. After a few hours the power should increase. It should help in encouragin’ ya ability. I have video recording live and with a push-o-a button, I can reveal whatcha are ta tha world. I’ll be famous. Once you show whatcha can do”

I look up and see a crooked smile, teeth yellowed or missing. I could almost imagine the bad breath. “No, you’ll kill me. Please, you can’t do this. I’m Human!” My heart dropped as I saw him shake his head and walk away. “No Wait, Please let me out.”

Realization sets in, I’m alone, no one knows where I am, and I’m at the mercy of some mad man. I look around the room, taking a few calming breaths. I can either reveal myself and break out, giving Tic what he wanted and further putting my life and the Lamias at risk. Or hope somehow I am rescued, or the mad Tic would come to his senses.

I just wish I could see my Lamias.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few phone calls with no answers and it had turned dark outside. Moonstone and Guardian go back to the lamia room where Alpha stood watch over the snoozing Butterscotch and Munchkin.

“Anything?” Alpha whispered, moving a short distance away so not to wake the sleeping duo.

“No, Mama Crysta hasn’t picked up or called back. The last call went straight to voicemail.” Guardian informed with worry in his voice.

“This is very unusual of Mama Crysta. What if something happened to her?” Moonstone looked a little scared.

“I agree.” Alpha glanced back at Butterscotch and Munchkin. He couldn’t leave them on their own. His instincts telling him he should stay close to his mate at all times. It was getting very close to their due date. He also didn’t feel comfortable about sending Guardian and Moonstone on their own to search for Crysta afterdark. They were still small enough that the threat of birds of prey was valid. The last thing he wanted to do was to put them in harm’s way.

“We’ll wait til morning, If Crysta doesn’t show up, well give Miss Vex a call. She’ll know what to do.” Alpha decided that would be the best course. He had to believe Crysta was fine. Crysta has gotten herself distracted before, hopefully this was the case but the whole thing seemed off. “She’ll come home, we just got to believe in her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve woken up from another shock attack. Hours have passed since I first woke up in this place. I don’t know how long I can stand this. This human form won’t be able to take this very long. Everytime the shock collar goes off, Tic appears and writes something down. I plea with him, to let me go, that I’m not the alien he’s looking for.

He still doesn’t listen. I pound on the glass wall and he laughs and says “It’s bulletproof, You can’t break it.” I sag against the glass wall. My body is shaking from the assault, add hunger, thirst and lack of sleep. I look over at Tic, watching him write. “What are you even writing?”

Tic smiles at me. “the difference tween screwin’ round and science is writin’ et down.” He jots a few things down and leaves.

Did he just quote Mythbusters at me? I rub my face with my hands. I can hear voices from the hall. I strain to listen to Tic talking with the other. What was his name, Mick?

“Eh, Tic, wha if she isn’t one-o-those aliens? Wha if she es tellin’ the truth?

“Ya saw the video, Mick. She really es one. We just gotta prove et. She’ll come around, just takes time.”

“But wha if she does die? Wha then?”

“Eh, we’re in tah middle of the woods, ain’t nobody finding us out here. We just bury her a ways from here and move on. There’s still tah Big Foot to find.”

I can hear them moving away. Great. They don’t really seem to care that they could be killing someone with this ‘experiment’ they have, either I’m an alien or I’m dead. I begin to hope that something happens soon. My soul reaches out. All I need is a Hero.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning dawns, and Moonstone brings the cell phone over to the group huddled in the Lamia room. Crysta still hadn’t come home. Alpha and Guardian are arguing about Guardian going out on his own during the night when Alpha explicitly said not to.

Moonstone knows they’re worried, he is too. He presses the button to call Vex and turns on speaker phone. Both Alpha and Guardian shut up and move closer, waiting for the line to pick up. And once it did, Moonstone doesn’t even wait for who ever picked up to say anything

“Hello, Miss Vex.” His voice is shaking. “Mama Crysta didn’t come home last night and we’re worried about her.” A tear runs down his face as he speaks. “We think something is wrong and we need help.” His voice hitches as Guardian wraps his arms around him.

Alpha then takes over. “We need help looking for her. My mate, Butterscotch, is due to have our hatchlings at any moment and I can’t leave him alone. I also need help with Munchkin cause he’s too big for me to handle on my own. I can’t send Moonstone and Guardian on their own to search for her. We don’t know where she went or how far she’s gone. Her phone just goes to voicemail.” Alpha glances over as Moonstone begins to sob and can see Guardian trying to hide his own tears. He glances over at Butterscotch, still curled up with Munchkin. Their eyelights meet. He feels helpless.

Suddenly Butterscotch gasps and clutchs his belly. Alpha drops the phone and rushes over. Guardian quickly picks it up. Waiting for a reply from the other end of the line.

Butterscotch looks up at Alpha. “They’re gonna be coming soon. I can’t have them without Crysta here. I need to know Crysta is safe, they can’t come without Crysta being here.” Butterscotch is beginning to panic and Alpha try to console him as Munchkin begins to whimper.

Guardian looks between the minture Lamias and the phone. “What do we do?” his voice shakes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m shaking after the last shock. It’s gotten more intense and it’s starting to feel like it’s happening more often. I can only assume he’s getting impatient. I’m leaning against the glass plane wall, the cool surface giving me some relief. I’ve tried pounding on it, hoping I could call for help in the off chance anyone else was around. Maybe Mick would have a change of heart and go against Tic. It didn’t seem likely.

My vision blurs before I see it. The slide of a distinctive large tail, glowing with magic.

A Lamia!

I begin pounding on the glass wall in desperation. I couldn’t tell if it was a King or a Chain but I didn’t care. It was a Lamia, and hopefully a way out. Hopefully it wasn’t blind to these insane peoples’ experiment.

“Help, Help, please help me!” I call out, ignoring how hoarse my voice sounded. My vision is swimming and I’m feeling faint. I try to shoulder the glass, trying to make as much racket as possible.

That’s when I felt it, another unscheduled shock. I cry out, leaning against the wall as I wait for it to pass. I can’t see the tail anymore, but my vision is darkening. The shock ended and I slide down to the floor against the wall.

“Help, I need a hero.” I mutter before I lose consciousness.

( @vex-bittys or @vexy-sins (not sure which blog this would be better for...since there is some element of torture of my person in the story.)

Yes this is a Lamia adoption scenario, I’m looking to be saved by my next Lamia.

I had this Idea for a while and am kicking myself for not doing it sooner. I’m either looking for a (and leaning more towards) a large King-Chain Hybrid that can hopefully still do a soulbond, or I can be happy with just a large full size King (or both a king and a chain, so I can still get that soulbond? :P I’m indecisive). Also any other unique features or background for him (them) would be nice. This is going to be a love interest(s) for my character. I hope I’m not asking for too much.

Also, I chose not to have a soulbond with Guardian as I could have sworn that I remembered that a Chain can have a soulbond with another Lamia and I kinda liked the Idea of him having one with Moonstone instead. I never got that soulbond feeling during their rescue/adoption. I just couldn’t find the post to confirm it.

I do want Butterscotch to have his babies after I’m rescued. If you wanna throw me what they are having that would be great because I don’t even know what I want yet. So surprises are the best. Again, hoping I’m not asking for too much Please take your time in replying, I know you have a lot of asks in your mailbox and I don’t want to be jumping ahead of anyone… but this needed to be a story rather than an ask. I can be patient.)

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delicrieux · 5 years

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pyrrhic | 11th

pairing: 11th doctor x reader

fandom: doctor who

request: Would you write something with the 11th doctor please?

warnings: ANGST

words: 656

author’s note: why do i do this to myself??? this is from this post and i will try to do all 30 of them!:) three, pyrrhic ( won at too great a cost ).

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

masterlist | buy me coffee☕

To dare to hope is to dare to break your own heart. And in his case, his pain is twice as big.

You were a friend of Amelia’s, the best friend of a fairy-tale princess whisked away on a space adventure as dangerous as it is exciting. And you, at first, had been shy of conversation, livelier of movement, precise and curious though sparse in smiles. He, overly dramatic and desperate to be liked, made it his personal agenda to cheer you up. And he surprised you often with loud “Aha!”s and you would jump, startled each time. You’d then release a surprised laugh and it would be the prettiest sound he would hear. He’d then show you a gadget, or the view from the TARDIS, or an interesting old book he found and blabbered away while you listened and Amy, from the side-lines, watched with a knowing smile.

He was not quite sure when it had happened, when his hearts had dangerously skipped beats whenever he saw you first thing in the morning, or when he started to listen to your words attentively and realised that you were talking quite a lot compared to when you first started. His mind warned him, waved red flags, urged him to run, because really, that was all he was good at, wasn’t it? And he would often find himself overwhelmed when you, breathless and blushed, after a scary encounter with aliens, would look at him in a sort of adoring way you did, and he would release your hand as if scorched by the touch and run to the console, run to Amy, run to anywhere that you were not because being so close was simply a recipe for disaster and he knew it well. Yet he could not help the happiness you brought along, could not help but relish in the first blossoms of love. He liked everything about you, naturally, what was there not to like? He fancied everyone that showed him an ounce of affection.

He is terribly lonely.

…And unbelievably unlucky.

He knew it would end in this way…when had it ended in anything but? You would of course care too much, love too much, you are only human, you can’t not possibly help yourself. When you had said you would go to the ends of the universe and back for him you had meant it, even if your tone was light and your eyes twinkled with mirth. He wishes he had never met you, and Amy by his side does too. He cannot save everyone and he knows this, yet he tries to anyway, always does, and it only makes things worse. A part of him thinks he deserves it. Deserves this curse of wandering the galaxy on his own, because every one and thing he loves is destined to parish from his touch.

Amy is stone faced and silent in his embrace. He can’t think. The only thing he hears is the wheeze of the TARDIS, it too sounding sorrowful. She trembles, lightly at first, then as if her body is no longer in her control and he says he’s sorry and she says nothing but bites her lip and hugs him tightly enough to bruise. Your smile is still fresh in their memories along with the blazing heat of flames and choking fumes that spring tears.

You had done it. You had saved a lonely planet from extinction, from a pesky parasite that had devoured many on its trek across the universe, though in turn… They had lost you. And that is simply too great of a cost for him. He thinks he’s selfish, he realises he is when all he can think about is that he would trade that planet, any planet, if it meant you being by his and Amy’s side again, planning their next destination.

He had dared to hope for a happy ending. What a foolish man.

fin. hope you liked it! xx

#doctor who #11th Doctor #doctor who x reader #imagine #imagines #angst #request #the doctor #dw #11th #11th doctor imagine #eleventh doctor #reader #xreader #why do i do this #this is so painful #:(

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shireness-says · 5 years

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If I Could See Your Face Once More (1/6)

Summary: This time, there's no celebration at Granny's when the latest crisis has been resolved. Instead, they're left to deal with the body of Killian Jones. A 5B canon divergence where Killian dies in Camelot, never becoming a Dark One. Rated T for language. Also on AO3. ~4.3K.

Here it is - my contribution to @csmarchmadness! Thanks to @xemmaloveskillianx for organizing such a great event! I started writing this 2 years ago, before it got way out of hand and I ran out of steam. The next chapter will be posted on the 13th.

If you guys have talked to me for any length of time, you know I hate 5B. Hate it. Why all this Zelena/Hades stuff? Isn’t this supposed to be about saving Killian? Wtf? So here’s my take on 5B, featuring Liam not being a murderer, no Gold at all, Robin not dying, and so many other corrections. I have a lot of feelings about this, guys. Title taken from the Kodaline song that gave me these feelings in the first place (”All I Want”).

Special thanks to my beta, @snidgetsafan, who’s been surprisingly happy to deal with all this angst and dragging me through the writing process. You’re the best, babe.

Tagging: @thejollyroger-writer, @captainsjedi, @profdanglaisstuff, and @ultraluckycatnd. Shoot me a message if you want to be added to the list!

Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!

This time, there’s no celebration at Granny’s when the latest crisis is has been resolved.

There’s just Emma, re-forging Excalibur with shaking hands to trap what’s left of the Dark One inside the blade, removing it from a human vessel once and for all.

Then, of course, they’re left to deal with the body of Killian Jones.

------

When Killian steps off the boat into the Underworld, it’s a small consolation to see Liam waiting at the docks for him.

It’s somehow fitting that the first words he hears from his brother in nearly three hundred years are “Little brother!” as he smiles sadly and pulls Killian into a fierce hug. And even if Killian tosses back a half-hearted “younger…”, he can’t help but squeeze even tighter, just to savor this reunion.

When the two finally break apart, it’s Liam who speaks first.

“I’ve been waiting so long for you, Killian. I can’t tell you how good it is to see your face again.”

“I know, believe me, I know,” he replies, before realizing something. “How did you know I was coming?”

Liam looks a bit sheepish and moves to scratch behind his ear in the same way Killian does (the same way Emma calls “adorable”). “Ah, well… you see, the captain’s log aboard the Jewel has kept me apprised of your life up above - the most painful moments, to be precise. A form of penance, I suppose. When the entries cut off abruptly after you got hurt in that swordfight, though, I got worried. So when a new house appeared down here... I couldn’t resist going to check it out, just in case it was yours.”

Killian knows immediately which one he’s talking about. “Grey Victorian? Tower room?”

“That’s the one. I walked in, saw pictures of you and your lovely wife, and figured one of you would be showing up in the next couple of days. Even if it was your lady instead of yourself, I thought I should still check in on her and find out how you were doing.”

Killian’s heart sinks as soon as he hears the word “wife”. He hates to disillusion Liam of this idea that he’s been living some idyllic life, but it will hurt too much in the long run to pretend, even for a little bit. So he forces himself to whisper back, regret coloring his voice, “I’m not married, brother.”

Liam frowns. “I’m sorry, I just thought… there was a picture of you two dancing. She was in a white dress, you looked dressed to the nines… I just assumed…”

Killian cuts him off before he can go any further. “It’s quite alright, we just… it was a maybe, someday.” He pauses. “I guess not anymore.”

“And the house?”

“We were planning on living there together. Building a future. But again…”

“Not anymore.” Liam nods. “Well, whatever would or wouldn’t have happened, the house appears to be for your use down here. Come along, I’ll take you there.”

------

The house Liam brings him to appears to be a perfect replica of the one Henry and he picked out back in Camelot, just more run down. What little furniture is present is covered in drop cloths and feels stiff and painful. Of course, those observations are secondary to how his attention is immediately drawn to the two photos in the entryway – the one from Camelot that Liam described, and the tiny instant photograph the Lady Snow took the night of their first date. Emma’s beautiful pink dress had made her look like an angel of some kind, and he can just see his temporarily-restored left hand resting on the small of her back. It’s a little bittersweet, seeing those images in this place that might have been home, but he’d rather they were here than not.

Liam, as it turns out, lives on the Jewel of the Realm (and it’s definitely the Jewel here, not the Jolly – beautiful and pristine and not marred by centuries of unintentional gouges from his hook) and runs the local bar, where he promptly offers his little brother (“Younger!”) a job. Turns out this was the only place at which he could find employment when he first arrived, and when the previous owner moved on, ownership transferred to Liam.

“And why have you never been able to move on? Go, be happy and at peace?”

Liam smiles sadly. “I was always worrying about you, wondering how you fared. Felt too guilty about not listening to you, I suppose, making you watch me die like that.”

Whether intentional or not, Killian can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the fact that his brother has been trapped here because of him. Gods, will his list of sins never end?

But Liam breezes on. “Now that you’re here, though, I think I’ll be able to move on, just as soon as we sort your unfinished business. Any idea what that might be?”

That only twists the knife deeper. Of course he knows what his unfinished business is, and it’s nothing that can be sorted out in a few weeks. It’s promising Emma a happy ending and a future – hell, just promising her that he’d survive. “Ah, well, we’ll both be here for a while then.” Liam quirks a quizzical brow. “I made a vow I ended up not being able to keep. So until Emma either moves on or…” He can’t even speak the words, refuses to even contemplate Emma dying and joining him down here for many, many years yet. “… then I’m stuck here. Which apparently means so are you.”

That feels like the worst admission of all – that he’s somehow doomed everyone he cares about to a lifetime of misery. And when Liam pulls him into a hug that he’s sure is meant to be comforting, he can’t help but feel that he doesn’t deserve that kindness, not one bit.

------

Killian quickly settles into a routine, if only in an attempt to retain some semblance of sanity. Every evening, he joins Liam to work behind the bar at the Underworld’s version of the Rabbit Hole (though down here, the bar seems to cater to those drinking to forget, rather than serving as the social hub it was back in the real Storybrooke); every morning and early afternoon he tries to fix up their – his house a little more, straightening hinges and sanding floors as best as he can. A man learns a good bit of carpentry over years of maintaining a ship; the only thing holding Killian back oftentimes is his lack of proper tools. Liam’s assistance is often offered, but rarely accepted; somehow, Killian feels like this is a task he must accomplish on his own.

Besides being in a state of complete and utter disrepair, the house additionally seems to have a mind and a life of its own. Killian simultaneously loves and dreads the surprises the house conjures up for him. The metal table and chairs on the back porch are an exact match to the set outside of Granny’s where he and Emma shared their first real kiss; a constant smell of cinnamon lingers in the kitchen, despite there not being any of the spice in the house; Middlemist flowers wilt, half dead, in the front flowerbeds. The tower room upstairs must have been meant for Henry in another life, as all of the photographs that appear there are of the two of them or of him, the lad, and Emma. He even finds the Author’s pen in a drawer of the desk beneath the window. This is, oddly enough, the room that hurts the most – a vivid reminder of the life they all might have had. Yet he still finds himself checking the room nearly every day, sometimes twice a day, to see if any new memories have appeared of him and the young man he was looking forward to one day proudly calling his stepson.

------

Every few days, he allows himself to visit the red talking phone box to try and send a message to Emma. There’s no real knowing if any of it reaches her, but he repeats the same words over and over again anyways:

“I’m so sorry, Swan. I’m so very, very sorry to have left you, especially after I promised I wouldn’t. I’m so sorry and I love you so incredibly much, will love you as long as I have a soul to do so.”

(He can’t decide if it hurts more to talk to her or to stop.)

------

A few weeks after he arrives in the Underworld – he thinks three, but really, time runs together down here – there’s a persistently circulating murmur that the former Dark One, Rumpelstiltskin, had been brought here, brought to the Underworld to answer for his sins, before being taken back to the world above by Charon on the very same boat.

Killian knows it’s petty, and far too late anyhow, but he can’t help but feel like he deserves a second chance more than the Crocodile ever could.

Maybe that’s the reason – when given the option of a second chance, a shot to redeem himself, Killian grabbed it with both hands and made the most of every moment. He was satisfied. He was happy. Rumpelstiltskin hasn’t achieved any of that. Apparently, someone thinks he deserves all that just once.

Whatever the case, Killian knows he’d have given anything to be the one going home – back to his real home – on that boat.

------

Maybe a week after that, Killian is shocked one afternoon to feel a strange tingling all over his body, and when he looks back up, is stunned to see himself not in his kitchen, but in Storybrooke’s cemetery with Henry standing in front of him. In his joy, he rushes forward to embrace Henry… only to be devastated to see his arms pass right through his boy.

Henry looks just as crushed. “It’s only temporary,” he explains softly. “I got this ale stuff from Merida to talk to you.”

Killian nods. “That was very resourceful, lad.” A pause. “How are you doing?”

Henry shrugs noncommittally; Killian knows the feeling. “Ok, I guess. I miss you. We all do.”

“I miss you too, Henry, you and your mum. More than I can properly express.”

“She misses you like crazy, you know. Kinda just goes through the motions like she’s in a daze. I guess she imagines your voice sometimes, cus that’s what she always tells me when I walk in on her crying.”

(In that moment, Killian vows to stop visiting the talking phone box. It’s clearly hurting her more than it’s helping him.)

Henry looks worried for a second. “Are you doing alright? You’re not… it’s not like pits of fire down there, is it?”

Bless this wonderful boy for worrying about a man who can’t possibly deserve it. “I’m ok. I’m with my brother, get left alone most of the time. I wish I was up here with you lot but it’s not so bad, being dead.”

Henry nods, and Killian’s heart breaks a little more at the thought of having left this young man concerned about him for even a moment. Henry shouldn’t ever have to be in position where he has to think about what happens to the soul of one of his loved ones after they’re gone. He’s already had to do it with his father; the last thing he ever wanted was to put Henry through that pain again.

Henry seems to finally work up the courage to get to his point, the reason he summoned Killian. “Gold woke up the other day. We all thought he wouldn’t, and I think my moms kinda hoped he wouldn’t, but he did.”

Killian nods. “I know. I heard down in the Underworld.”

“It’s just so unfair, you know? That you don’t get another chance too. I know more people would want you back.”

“Ah, but we don’t get to decide these things, lad. You have to know that if it was up to me, I’d be back with you two in a heartbeat. I’d choose you every time.”

“I know.”

Another pause. It’s like there’s so much to say that neither even knows where to start.

Killian breaks it first. “I take it you’re back in Storybrooke then?”

“Yeah. Mom used…” His voice falters. “Mom used your heart to cast the Dark Curse. She and my other mom and the fairies and Merlin are trying to figure out how to send the Camelot folks back now.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“No. I just thought…” Yet another pause. “I figured if this didn’t work, I didn’t want to get her hopes up. She’s already sad enough as it is.”

Selfishly, he wants to beg Henry to go bring her here as fast as possible, but he can feel whatever this spell is about to fade out, a tingling starting in his toes. Not to mention, the lad is right. No need to torture his love unnecessarily. He wants her to move on, be happy, and that’s just not possible if she’s coming to summon him every chance she gets.

“I think that’s smart, lad. Maybe we don’t tell her? Just keep this between us?”

He can tell Henry wants to object. “But –“

“It’ll be too hard otherwise. For both of us. I just want her to move on and be happy, yeah?” At least this time, Henry nods. “I think I have to go now, but I love and miss you both so much, ok? Try to be happy for me?”

He won’t lie – it hurts a lot that his last view of Henry before he reappears in his kitchen is of the lad sniffling and trying to hold back tears as he waves goodbye.

------

Not long after his talk with Henry, Killian is shocked to walk past a previously empty room of the house one day to discover a fully furnished nursery. Mostly, he hopes to any god that might be listening that this is just another trick of the house, another glimpse of what he could have and should have had, had he lived. He hopes Swan isn’t having to go through a pregnancy alone again.

(A selfish part of him likes to imagine she has a little someone to remember him by – a little lass or laddie with her hair and his eyes.)

(He can’t help but add that thought to the ever-expanding list of reasons to be disgusted with himself.)

------

About two months after his death, Killian is once again summoned by Henry, who is pacing and clearly furious when he rematerializes.

Internally, Killian can’t help but huff a sigh – Henry needs to move on, needs to let him go, needs to not try and contact him every time something goes wrong. “Henry…” he starts, intending to reprimand the boy, when the young man in question colorfully interrupts.

“That son of a bitch!”

“Henry, language! I know for a fact neither of your mothers tolerates that.”

“Well pardon me, but that asshat Gold separated Excalibur and took back the Darkness, so I think it might be warranted.”

“That son of a whore,” Killian can’t help but blurt out. So much for scolding Henry.

“See?”

This talk ends up being slightly longer than the last – Henry just needs to vent, but when it comes to the Crocodile, there’s always an awful lot to vent about. But right before he fades out, Henry fixes his full attention on Killian.

“I’m going to find a way to bring you back, okay? If he gets to live, so should you. You deserve it a million times over.”

(He knows he no longer has a heart, but somehow, it still feels warm anyways.)

------

The next few weeks, he can’t help but feel hopeful. It must be apparent, because Liam keeps commenting on how cheerful he seems, one day even (Gods help him) catching him whistling. Killian even finds himself making an effort to interact with the other souls living in the Underworld. In the end, that’s how he meets Milah again.

It’s bittersweet, really. Killian spent hundreds of years trying to avenge his first great love, only to see her again and realize how many of the finer details he had forgotten. He supposes that’s what happens when you finally move on.

At least he’s relieved to learn that Milah’s unfinished business has nothing to do with him (one less thing to carry on his conscience). In fact, it’s her guilt over leaving Bae that has kept her here all this time. It’s the very least he can do to tell her about all the times he and Bae – or Neal – interacted, how Bae had still fiercely loved his mother and forgiven her for leaving before he had died. That seems to be enough for her – to know that her son had ultimately been happy.

It’s a little awkward, telling Milah about how he had moved on with Emma (especially since he had been dating the former lover of his own former lover’s son), but she loves hearing his stories about Henry – how smart and down to Earth he is, how brave, how adventurous. It’s a pity, really, that the two will never meet – he sees so much of Milah in her grandson, and thinks the two would have gotten along famously.

“Thank you,” she tells him, as she kisses his cheek. “I’m happy you were able to find a family for yourself. You and your big heart deserve it, even if you want to pretend otherwise.”

Then she vanishes, off to hopefully meet her son in a better place.

------

Five weeks after Henry’s second visit (this time, Killian is counting carefully), he’s summoned for a third time to find Henry looking exhausted and disheveled.

“Gods above, lad, are you alright? What happened?”

“Don’t worry. Long story.”

“Well then summarize.”

“Uh… Belle found out about Gold taking back the darkness. Broke up with Gold. Found out she was pregnant. Then Gold found out she was pregnant, and tried to manipulate her to come back to him, but she didn’t. So he sped up Zelena’s pregnancy so we’d be distracted while he tried to kidnap Belle to another realm. And I’ve been researching all the while.”

“Is she alright? Is everyone alright?”

“Yeah, Belle’s fine. Mom and Mom figured out what was going on pretty quick and Mom – Regina and Gramps went after him while Mom held down the fort at the hospital. That’s what I’m here about actually – Merlin and I found a spell to get to the Underworld. It required the blood of someone who had already been but came back, but Gramps nicked Gold before he fell through the portal, so we’re all set now. Just have to wait a few days, six days, for the full moon and then we’re coming to get you.”

Killian knows he should be grateful, but his blood runs cold when he hears the words. “No, Henry, you can’t, I can’t let you put yourself in danger for me. I’m already dead, I can’t let you risk getting yourself killed to fix something that isn’t meant to be fixed.”

“I don’t care. I miss you, Mom’s miserable, so I’m going to get you back. End of discussion.”

And, well, who is he to argue with the young man who possesses the Heart of the Truest Believer?

------

Of course, it’s too much to hope that everything will run smoothly and he’ll be home in a week. Instead, Hades shows up in all his slimy glory. Apparently, Killian’s hope is a little too contagious - enough that the Lord of the Dead himself has noticed and deemed it a threat to his rule.

Instead of waiting in his house for his Swan and their boy to take him home, he gets taken to Hades’ underground cavern of a dungeon to have the hope beat out of him.

------

Briefly, through a haze of pain and a coating of blood, Killian thinks he feels himself being summoned again, thinks he catches a glimpse of Emma and all her – their – family, but he writes it off as a hallucination.

------

And then suddenly, he’s being lifted down from the chains he’s strung up in by a pair of small, gentle hands.

Emma.

He’s half delirious with pain, but he can’t help but try and grin when her face swims into focus (or at least as much focus as he can achieve with one eye swollen shut). She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even in filthy jeans and an oversized sweater with a pale face and tears in her eyes.

It’s the very least he can do, after all he’s put her through, to work through the pain to try and wipe away her tears.

------

Somehow, Emma helps him hobble out of the chamber where he had been suspended to an outer landing where Liam is waiting with a boat, ready to return them both to the upper levels of the Underworld.

(There's some tension between the two, but it’s difficult to comment on that tension when he has to consciously focus on breathing properly and not falling over.)

Killian is more than happy to mask any physical pain, however, when upon re-emerging into the Underworld’s facsimile of a library, Henry rushes up to wrap him in an enormous hug. He may not be fully healed for a while, but this? This is a start.

He’s just as touched to see the small crowd assembled behind the lad – Emma’s parents are there, of course, and he’s not that shocked to see Regina, considering that it was her precious son that engineered the plan to find and retrieve him, but it’s something more of a surprise to see Belle and Robin as well. He shakes the men’s hands in turn, offers a nod to Regina, and hugs Belle as firmly as his injuries will allow (taking the chance to whisper a soft but deeply meant “congratulations” in her ear). Killian then does his best to console the lady Snow – who looks close to tears – with a mumbled “it’s not as bad as it looks” as she holds his face to kiss his cheek before Emma interrupts to say she needs to bring him home and clean him up. At that, the others disperse, either to the Charmings’ loft or the Mayor’s mansion, as his Swan slides her slender arm around his waist and tosses his arm over her shoulder in order to help him hobble the few blocks back to his – their house.

It’s only once she gets him inside and settled in a kitchen chair – “I know it’s unsanitary, but hey, better than getting bloodstains on the couch, right?” – that Killian starts to think something is off. He hadn’t been too surprised when Emma wasn’t clinging to him in front of her family; on the best of days, she isn’t much for public displays of affection (or “PDA”, as she and Henry insist on saying), and a time when he needs help holding himself up certainly isn’t the best of days. But they’re alone now, and he’s sitting down, and damn if he doesn’t want to hold her. Killian knows it’s not the blood that’s the issue – he may be covered in the stuff, but so is she after supporting his weight for the past forty-five minutes, and it doesn’t seem to be fazing her in the least. Maybe before, his lack of self-confidence would have insisted Emma didn’t actually want to be here, didn’t want to be with him, but the way she tries to touch his face or his hand every time she passes him as she scurries around his kitchen trying to clean off the worst of the blood seems to suggest otherwise. So why doesn’t Emma seem to want him to hold her? It could just be that she doesn’t want to hurt him further, aggravate his wounds, but something makes him think otherwise.

“Love?”

She hums in his general direction.

“What’s wrong?”

Emma shoots a quick, though tight smile his way before turning back to the sink, trying to wring out a rag that was surely as clean as it was going to get. “Nothing’s the matter babe, don’t worry about it.”

He wants to believe her, so badly, but he knows how to spot her avoidances. And this? This is one of the most obvious he’s seen. “Emma, love…”

Killian holds out his hand towards her, and even if she was trying to avoid him a moment ago, she takes it like their palms are connected by magnets. “I’m just so relieved to have found you, to see you again. That’s all.”

“Even if that’s true, I know that’s not all,” he replies, to her half-hearted scoff. “You don’t have to tell me right now, but just let me hold you, love, let me try and make it better for both of us, yeah?”

As he tugs her closer, Emma tries to protest, tries to tell him “Killian, I don’t think that’s a good —” but he’s even quicker to interrupt.

“If this is you worrying about my injuries, sod the injuries,” he dismisses as his hand and stump move to her waist in order to pull her closer, only to unexpectedly encounter firmness.

Now Emma has always been strong and well-muscled, certainly, but she’s also a tiny, petite thing, thanks to her mother’s genes. So to encounter her now, more filled out, is odd. And suddenly, Killian remembers –

Upstairs, there is a room, meant to be a nursery.

“Swan…” he murmurs, slowly pulling up her sweater as she sighs in defeat to reveal…

…The small beginnings of a bump.

“…Surprise?”

#cs march madness #captain swan #cs ff #cs canon divergence #my writing #If I Could See Your Face Once More #I have a lot of opinions about 5b and none of them are good

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