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avis-writeshq · 6 months

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06 — untouchable

summary: “come on, come on, say that we’ll be together/”i’m caught up in you.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, warnings: rated 16+ for two mentions of nakedness, short blood mention, brief mention of dead things, mostly canon compliant (s4 e23 ‘amplification’), wc: 4.3k a/n: thank you again to the lovely @astrophileous for beta-reading <3 good luck on your thesis babes MWAH SERIES MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

38 Hours Before the Phone Call – Monday, 8:42AM, BAU Office

Spencer arrives at the office with a stupidly giddy smile on his face. His cheeks are flushed as he grips a hot takeaway cup of coffee in his hands. He taps the cup idly with his fingers, bouncing on the heels of his feet as he steps out of the elevator unable to shake the smile off his face. It’s ridiculous and insane and borderline delusional but he knows it’s far from that. After all, he has a perfectly good reason as to why he is in such high spirits and that reason is you. After years of pining and psyching himself up (only to psych himself out) he managed to actually ask you out on a date. And, he reminds himself with a silly smile, he actually kissed you. And it wasn’t one of those platonic kisses, no, this was an actual kiss to the lips and he couldn’t be happier.

He thinks back to the previous night, visualising the way your cheeks grew warm and the way your lips felt against his. His own cheeks flush at the thoughts and he remembers committing that version of you to memory. How on earth are you so beautiful? Even while sleep deprived with dark bags under your eyes or unruly hair, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

“Pretty boy,” Derek comments in a teasing sing-songy voice as Spencer takes a sip of his coffee, trying to appear nonchalant. “Ooh, I know that look.”

Spencer chokes a little, wiping his mouth with a tissue in his bag. “What look?”

“Someone got lucky last night,” Derek responds with a grin. “It must be the hair. I heard that long hair gets all the ladies nowadays.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Spencer is quick to deny, walking through the big glass doors of the office.

“Who got lucky last night?” Emily asks, poking her head out of her little stall. Her eyes flit to Spencer and she grins. “Oh… I see how it is.”

“Nothing happened last night,” Spencer says adamantly, swiping a hand over his face. “It isn’t like that. Whatever we have is good. It doesn’t need to be–” He coughs quietly as blood rushes to his ears– “to be sexual. I like her. More than physically.”

Emily coos at his confession, twisting around her desk to ruffle his hair. “You’re such a gentleman, Reid.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he says through a laugh, swatting Emily’s hands away. “Being a gentleman. Some women prefer it over the whole macho act.”

“Hey, I am plenty gentleman,” Derek says swiftly, holding a finger out. “And chicks dig the macho thing.”

***

14 Hours Before the Phone Call – Tuesday, 7:09AM, BAU Office

It was supposed to be a normal morning. It was supposed to be an average Tuesday with your average, run-of-the-mill serial killer with daddy issues but instead, JJ called the entire team in the early hours of the morning, saying to get to the BAU as quickly as possible.

“Case must be local. JJ said not to bring a go-bag,” Spencer says as they enter the office.

In moments they were met with a complete arsenal of military personnel, bustling around their desks and storming throughout the office. Others were answering and sending phone calls, demanding for processes to be sped up as Hotch speaks to a group of people in his own personal office, Rossi beside him.

“What’s the army doing here?” Derek asks, his brows furrowed.

“What the hell is going on?” Emily demands, eyeing the uniformed professionals as they splay casefiles across their desks.

They all enter the conference room where JJ was waiting for them, along with a neatly dressed Asian woman with her hair tied up in a ponytail and out of her face.

“Guys, this is Dr Linda Kimura, Chief of Special Pathogens at the CDC,” JJ introduces, filling up styrofoam cups with water and placing them around the round table.

“Hello. I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances,” she says as she places pills on a shiny metal tray.

Spencer frowns at that. “What circumstances?”

Hotch enters the room instantly, gripping a case file in his iron fist. “We need to get started.”

“Last night, twenty-five people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis. They were all at the same park after 2PM yesterday. Within 10 hours, the first victim died. It’s now just past 7AM the next day, we have twelve people dead,” JJ explains as the rest of team look through the manilla files.

“Lung failure and black lesions,” Derek murmurs thoughtfully. “Anthrax?”

Spencer flicks through the papers, scanning the tox screen. “Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast.”

“This strain does,” Kimura says, an edge of fear in her tone.

“What are we doing about potential mass targets– airports, malls, trains?” Emily asks, turning to Hotch who shakes his head.

“There’s a media blackout.”

“We’re not telling the public?”

Derek looks over at Emily. “We’d have a mass exodus.”

“The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack,” Rossi explains.

“Yeah, and if it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples,” Spencer says as he sifts through the papers.

“Or if they wanted attention and didn’t get it, they might attack again. Doesn’t the public have the right know that?”

“If there is another attack, there’s no way we’ll be able to keep it quiet,” Hotch says urgently. “Our best chance of protecting the public is by building a profile as quickly as we can.”

Spencer wets his bottom lip nervously, his thoughts drifting to you. You work indoors all day. You’ll be fine, you have to be. “What do we know about this strain?”

“The spores are weaponized,” Kimura explains, “reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs. Odourless and invisible.”

Rossi nods, almost as if he wasn’t surprised at all upon hearing the news. “A sophisticated strain. Only a scientist would know how to do that.”

“These lesions are doubling in size in a matter of hours,” Derek points out, gesturing to the less than positive crime photos in their files.

“It’s not the lesions I’m worried about,” Kimura begins, taking an ultrasound scan of a patient’s lungs and presenting it to the team. “Its the lungs. We don’t know how to com2bat the toxins once they’re inside. And the reality is, we may lose them all.”

“The remaining survivors have been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed Hospital. Our offices will become a small command centre,” JJ tells them.

“We’ll be working with military scientists from Fort Detrick,” Hotch adds on.

“General Whitworth is coming here?” Rossi asks.

Hotch nods in the affirmative. “He’s in charge of sit containment and spore analysis. Determining what strain this is will help inform who’s responsible.”

“My team is in charge of treating all victims,” Kimura goes on to tell the team, looking at each person.

“Reid, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital, interview the victims,” Hotch says, dishing out responsibilities. “Morgan and Prentiss, there’s a hazmat team that will accompany you to the crime scene. There’s Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go.”

Linda hands a small plastic container, each one having two round tablets resting inside. “We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something.”

Emily lets out a nervous breath as she toys with the rim of the container. “This… is really happening?

“We knew this could happen. We’ve done our homework. We’ve prepared for this. This is it,” Hotch says as reassuringly as possible before knocking his head back and taking the two Cipro tablets.

“Cent’anni,” Rossi toasts, holding the little container out. “May you live one hundred years.”

***

Everyone rushes about, gathering files and resources before the head off to complete their allocated assignments. Regardless of how much is at stake in this certain situation, Spencer feels his heart spike with anxiety. It’s against protocol, sure, but shouldn’t he call you? Tell you to take a sick day and stay at home, or to just stay indoors the entire time you’re at work. Maybe if he’s lucky he could get you into witness protection.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Hotch says slowly, seemingly appearing out of thin air behind him.

Spencer freezes, his hands pausing as they rummage through his bag in search of his cell. “I’m not.”

“You’re not thinking?” Hotch asks, raising an eyebrow. “I know what you want to do.”

“I can’t just– I can’t just keep her in the dark, Hotch,” Spencer insists, continuing to feel for his cell phone. “She could get infected and–” His mouth runs dry at the idea and he swallows thickly. “If I can protect her, then why shouldn’t I?

Aaron sighs, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows knit together. “I know you care about her and I know you’re worried, but she isn’t on this team anymore. If we all called home and used this information to give them the advantage that other people don’t have… is that really the right thing to do?”

“Don’t give me a moral dilemma, Hotch. This isn’t a hypothetical,” Spencer counters, finally finding the little device buried at the bottom of his satchel. “When I– when the incident with Tobias Hankel happened, she never gave up on me. She went out on a limb for me. I’m returning the favour.”

Hotch is quiet for a moment before finally, “What about the guilt?”

Spencer balks. “What?”

“If she is saved because of the information you gave her… can you imagine the guilt she would feel? She’s a selfless person, Spencer, and knowing her… well, you can guess what she would do,” Aaron says, glancing back to his office where Rossi is waving him over. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision. Kimura is waiting for you.”

Hotch is gone before Spencer could say anything. He huffs quietly, guilty after hearing Hotch’s words. Even though he doesn’t want to admit it, he has to accept that his boss is right. The best way to keep you safe is by finding this UnSub before he could hurt any more people. He rubs at his eyes in frustration, stalking out of the BAU offices. Hopefully you’ll forgive him.

***

“Dr. Lawrence Nichols? Yeah, I read about him. He was highly respected doctor who studied anthrax prior to the attacks in 2001,” Spencer says as he gets into the passenger seat of Derek’s SUV. He rolls up the sleeves of his dark purple shirt, brushing some sweat from his forehead. “They think that he’s behind it?”

“There was a video of him at a conference with the with the National Defense Committee. He was paranoid after the Amerithrax attacks in 2001, proposing some crazy high budget to ‘protect the people of America’,” Derek explains. “He matches the profile exactly. Prentiss and Rossi are heading to his work. Apparently he got demoted into working with influenza.”

Spencer grimaces as he stares at the overgrowing rose bushes at the front of Dr. Nichols’s house, his nose scrunching up in distaste. Do people not hire gardeners anymore? He squeezes past a few bushes to follow Derek closer to the house, hissing when his hand gets caught on one of the thorns. He shakes his hand out, a scratch already blooming on the back of his hand with small droplets ot blood already emerging.

He continues to walk into the house as Derek’s phone rings, entering the house through a glass sliding door. The whirring of the fan above him grabs his attention and he frowns. The fan is on but the door is open… someone must have left in a hurry. He takes another step forward, jolting when he hears the sound of glass being crushed under his feet. Shit.

“Reid?” Derek yells, and Spencer jumps.

“Morgan, get– get back!” Spencer yells, slamming the sliding door shut so hard that the glass shakes. “Get back! Get out of here!”

Derek frowns, tugging at the handle. ‘What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

“No, don’t!”

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks again, tugging once more at the handle; Spencer is a lot stronger than he expected.

“What’s wrong?”

Spencer pushes his hair out of his face in frustration as he locks the door, turning back to his friend. “I’m sorry.”

It is in that moment that Derek’s eyes turn to the ground, his eyes widening in disbelief as he sees the white powder in the room leaking from a broken test tube with a bright yellow symbol for ‘biological hazard’.

It feels like hours before Hotch and the military arrive at the house, along with an ambulance and a hazmat team. The stench of Dr. Nichols’s dead body lingers in the air even though the air-con is blasting and the air is circulating through the room. He doesn’t even want to think about the dead animals and test subjects in the cages, his stomach churning at the mere thought. From what he could tell, the doctor was dead three days ago, meaning that he couldn’t have been the one to infect those people at the park. His head is pounding and his throat itches and all of a sudden he can’t breathe. He tells himself to relax but how can he when he very well could die in here? He knows the statistics; only 55% of those who receive aggressive treatment survive. He doesn’t like those odds.

“Hotch, I really messed up this time,” he says hoarsely into the phone, wiping the sweat off his upper lip.

“Reid, we need to get you out and to the hospital,” Hotch says firmly, and Spencer watches as he puts the call on speaker.

“What– no, I’m staying right here,” Spencer insists, frowning.

Derek interrupts swiftly, “No, you’re not, Reid.”

“I’m already exposed,” Spencer says, his voice straining as he turns back into Dr. Nichols’s makeshift lab. “It’s not gonna do me any good to stop working the case.”

General Whitworth grimaces in response. “He’s already infected. Now, if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure.”

“My best chance is to stay here, see if there’s a cure, and try to figure out who killed Dr. Nichols,” Spencer insists as he searches through the lab for what seems like the millionth time.

Test tubes, files, and text books litter the lab, a flurry of papers splayed across the floor. The sight of them remind him of the first time he met you when you had ran into him on his first official day at the BAU. You were a swirling rainstorm as you practically slammed your head against his chest, the paperwork you were carrying flying into the air as you toppled over like a house of cards. In that moment, Spencer could have sworn that you were untouchable. You were like a fire, burning brighter than the sun, and he would be damned if he ever made that flame flicker away.

“Come on, Hotch, say something to him,” Derek tries again, worry laced in his tone.

Aaron hesitates as he considers his options before sighing. “He’s right. His best chase is inside. We’re gonna get a suit and mask in to you right away.”

“Don’t bother, it’s not going to do me any good. I’m already infected.” Spencer knows that if you were still part of the team that you would be scolding him about being so stubborn. Hell, you’re not even on the team anymore and you still scold him about it.

As he continues to try and search for more clues and filtering the information he finds through to Derek, his thoughts continuously drift back to you. You and your blissfully unaware state. He thinks of the way you smile and the way you felt in his arms that day. He is sure that the universe is playing tricks with him because the one moment he finally has you, you’re ripped away from him. His mind wanders back to the way your eyes lit up and the way your lips felt against his and in that moment he’s begging. He’s begging whatever higher power there is that he is part of the 55% of people who survive an anthrax attack after treatment.

“Hey, Reid,” Penelope’s voice echoes through the phone, sad and mopey. It’s unlike her, incredibly uncharacteristic and Spencer chokes out a quiet laugh.

“Reid? Wow, no, uh… no witty Garcia greeting for me?” He asks, running his fingers through his damp sweaty hair. It’s disgusting and gross and he hates it because he knows that it’s a symptom of the disease.

Penelope chuckles weakly from the other side of the line. “I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that so instead he asks, “Garcia, do you think you can do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“I… I know I can’t call… I know I can’t call (Y/N) or my mother without, uh–” he coughs, wiping his face with the palm of his hand and feeling his clammy skin– “without alerting everyone.”

“What do you need?”

“I– uh– I need you to record a message. Two messages. One for my mother and the other for… for (Y/N). In case anything happens to me.” His voice cracks as he speaks, his hand trembling because oh God, this really could be the end. After everything he went through going to those Narcotics Anonymous meetings, getting clean, going to therapy… this is how it ends?

“Oh, nothing is gonna happen to you,” Garcia says, wholeheartedly believing it. “You’re gonna brilliantly find ut who did this and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

Spencer lets out a nervous breath. “I hope you’re right. But if you’re not, I just… I really want to make sure that they hear my voice. Both of them.”

“Okay. Just– just give me a second,” Penelope mumbles, clicking away on her keyboard.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“This– um, it’s for my mum first…” He clears his throat, trying to keep his voice even. “Hi, mum. This is Spencer. I just– I just really want you to know that I love you, and– and I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.”

Penelope presses pause on that message, murmuring, “Okay. And– and for (Y/N)?”

“Is it on?” He asks quietly, coughing as the itchiness in his throat refuses to relent. “Hey, angel, it’s me, Spenc– Walter. It’s your Walter.” His voice catches in his throat as he speaks, tears slipping past his eyes as he tries to choke out the words. “If you’re getting this then something happened and I just wanted you to know that– that– that I love you. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that before but I do. I love you and I wish it didn’t turn out like this but I am– I am so glad that we had that moment.”

“Reid?”

Dr. Kimura enters the room through the sliding door, clad in a bright red hazmat suit. “Prep the victim for transfer.”

“I gotta go,” Spencer says quickly, hanging up the call and pocketing his phone.

“Dr. Reid,” Kimura says, walking over to him.

“You look nice,” he says drily, staring at the uniform. It looks very similar to an astronaut costume and if he were in any other situation, he would have started to laugh.

Kimura chuckles quietly. “I haven’t been in this outfit for a while.”

“How… how are the patients doing?” Spencer manages to ask, and suddenly it feels as if all the air is kicked out of his lungs. His head throbs with each attempt he makes to take in a breath and sweat pools at the top of his lip.

“Let’s worry about you.”

“I actually… I feel fine,” Spencer lies through gritted teeth, the muscles in his shoulders aching with each heave of his chest.

Kimura nods, her concern palpable. “Okay, if you feel any pain, I can give you something.”

In an instant, the fear of losing all the progress he has made in the past year pools to his stomach and he shakes his head adamantly, ignoring the way the room spins. “No, I’d rather not take any pain medication.”

“We can at least make you feel more comfortable.”

“I am comfortable and I don’t want to take any narcotics!” Spencer says firmly, and he can see the realisation dawn in Kimura’s eyes.

“Okay… tell me how I can help.”

“I think the cure for this strain is in here somewhere,” he says through heavy breaths, sucking in a mouthful of air with every sentence.

It isn’t long before the hazmat team has Spencer in a decontamination tent, the smell of sterile plastic filling his nose. They’re hosing him down behind a clear plastic curtain, Derek standing in front of him. The feeling of the cold water splashing against his back is uncomfortable, and Spencer grimaces at the feeling of his clothes sticking to his skin. It’s gross and his work shirt is growing heavy from the waterweight, sagging down on his shoulders. The anthrax isn’t helping either. It’s too hot and too cold all at once, it’s too hard to breathe and it’s like his head weighs a million pounds.

“Go help Hotch,” Spencer croaks out to Derek, shivering as they continue to spray water on his back and front.

“Hotch has plenty of people helping him,” Derek dismisses.

Spencer shakes his head and regrets it immediately, his head starting to spin. “He needs you more than I do.”

“Reid, I’m gonna see you off to the hospital.”

“I’m about to get naked so that they can scrub me down. Is that something you really want to see?” Spencer deadpans.

Derek grimaces before finally saying, “What if (Y/N) were here? Would you tell her to go?”

“(Y/N) wouldn’t mind seeing me naked.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot upwards at Spencer’s less than innocent words, immediately turning away. “We are having a conversation about this later. Take good care of him, please.”

The ambulance is stuffy and cramped, and the scrubs that he has to wear is itchy and uncomfortable. They’re menial thoughts that don’t even matter considering the severity of the situation, and Spencer wheezes out of a cough; a reminder that he might not even live to see the next day. The nasal cannula that is attached to Spencer’s nose isn’t doing much to assist him to breathe, and he coughs again.

“How are you feeling, Dr. Reid?” Kimura asks as she checks his vitals.

“My throats a little dry, but other than that I feel– I flee– feel…” He blanks. His mind knows the words but they get stuck on his tongue and he panics. It can’t end like this. He refuses for it to end like this. “Flee– fleel– I–”

Kimura nods in understanding, a sense of urgency behind her words. “Okay. Okay, you’re doing okay. Driver, faster!”

“Call–” Spencer tries again, the words spinning in his head. “Pelen– Penel… low… len…”

Call Penelope, he tries to say, the lights in the ambulance growing brighter and brighter. She needs to give (Y/N) the message, she needs to… she needs to…

All he sees is white.

***

The first thing Spencer notices when he regains consciousness is the smell of lavender and oranges overpowering the sterile scent of antibacterial wipes. It’s comforting and familiar and he wracks his brain as he tries to remember where he remembers it from. He doesn’t remember much; only getting into the ambulance and Kimura asking him questions. He shuffles around in his hospital bed, stretching his aching muscles. He forces his eyes open little by little, and he quints at the woman at the end of his hospital bed.

“(Y/N)?”

“You ass,” you respond tearfully, your voice cracking as you swat him lightly on the arm. “You refused treatment?”

He smiles a little, sitting up on the bed. “Hey, angel.”

“Don’t ‘hey angel’ me,” you sniffle, taking hold of his hand and stroking his palm with your thumb. “You scared me.”

Spencer hums softly in acknowledgement, squeezing your hand back. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Dr. Kimura said that you should be free to go in a couple of days but you need rest afterwards,” you tell him, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. “You owe me a date.”

“I do,” he murmurs, his cheeks flushed and a giddy smile on his face despite where he is. He looks at you, you and his oversized CalTech hoodie. The hoodie in itself is ugly; a muted grey with a half-assed logo slapped to the front and Spencer has hated it ever since he bought it with what little funds he had back in college. Yet, for some reason, he doesn’t hate it so much when you wear it. “You look beautiful.”

You roll your pretty eyes at him, moving your chair closer to him. “Liar.”

“Never,” he whispers. “Never to you.”

You smile at him again, bringing your lips to the back of his hand. “You told me you loved me. Is that true, too?”

“Love,” he corrects you quietly, “and I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

Heat rushes up your neck at his words and you beam at him, kissing his cheeks. “I love you.”

He reaches a hand out to hold the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the line from your ear to your jaw. “I love you,” he says into the space between you, before kissing you again.

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bwambiee · 8 months

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𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

this lil’ drabble is inspired by the lovely @zeijias ♡ her drabble of isagi being a perv while pretending to be a goody two-shoes just scratched my brain so right i had to add on to the agenda! pls check out her works they’ve got me blushin’ ૮꒰/ฅ//ฅ//꒱ა

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings ꒱ྀིა smut ⸝ drabble ⸝ fem! reader ⸝ isagi being a perv ⸝ mean isagi agenda ⸝ aged up chara’s (21+) ⸝ dirty talk ⸝ mentions of face-sitting

campus crush yoichi is just the sweetest boy in your psychology class, who you just found out is an exercise science major and he’s got the prettiest sapphire eyes you’ve ever seen. classmates turned best friends came easily to you two even if sometimes you both could see that the line is slightly blurred from how impeccably close you two are. after spending every waking moment together in freshman and sophomore year, it’s like muscle memory for you to run to him at even the smallest ounce of juicy gossip, tugging his sleeve as you look up into his eyes and nuzzle into his arm as you explain the drama of a recent friend, or how you complain over your classes whilst wearing his hoodie. but who could blame you? he was sweet and understanding, and felt like home. but it was clear that you two had something. and the both of you didn’t have the guts to act on it yet.

of course you only see what’s on the outside, goody two-shoes isagi who sometimes walks in late for psych, who always always opens the door for you, who covers your drink at parties when you need to use the bathroom and even bends down so his ear is at level with your face so he can hear you over the booming music, who always buys you your favorite drink or snack before your morning classes start because you stayed up a little later than normal and he knows you haven’t had breakfast yet. he was just so pure and flawless you could never guess that he was secretly eyeing you like the last piece of candy at a sweets shop. especially when you wear that miniskirt that can most definitely show what color panties you're wearing and the curve of your ass if you weren’t careful.

isagi freaking loses it when you stroll up to him all casually, your eyes looking up at him while you bat your eyelashes and flash him that sweet smile, your soft hands tugging on the sleeve of his hoodie as you lead him towards the library so you two can study for an upcoming test. yeah . . . ‘study’. what he’s really studying is how good your legs look when you cross them together, how good they’d look resting over his shoulders when he pounds into your pussy without mercy, growling into your ear about how fucking tight you are, or how good your shoulders and neck would look covered in marks he’d purposely leave on you so that the boy in your statistics class would get a hint that you weren’t meant to be shared with. nothing drives him wild as his thought run amok, dreaming of your plush thighs surrounding his head as he imagines you sitting on his face, pretty pussy dripping honey onto his tongue as you let out soft mewls and whines of his name when he sucks your clit just right, gripping onto your ass cheeks so he can move you back and forth on his tongue as you hold onto his headboard for dear life.

he inwardly groans as he imagines sinking into your pussy, sticking his whole cock into you in one hard thrust as he robs you of every single slither of oxygen when you gasp and do nothing but hold onto him tightly. he’d destroy you, the frustration of playing cat and mouse with you when really he just wants to play house and stop fucking around. the need for his true feelings comes out slightly when he sees you bite the top of your pencil, slightly groaning as you lean in close to him, not-so-subtly showing off how good your tits looked in the top and mention how the barista that had made your latte was cute and he grips his mechanical pencil tightly, digging it into his notebook when he stares at your lips, pursed in concentration, smiling about that stupid fucking barista.

damn tease.

his mind wanders again, thinking about how you’d claw his back as he imagines your tight, velvety walls gripping his cock as he makes you see stars.

“such a tight little pussy YN. All for me, yeah?” he’d pant against your ear. “you think you can keep up this innocent act around me, mhm? you don’t think i can see the little game you’re playing? you can mention another guy’s name in your mouth, but it’s my cock you come all over, and it’s my name you fuckin’ scream.” he growls, gripping onto your hips so he can bully that sweet spot in you and you would let out the most prettiest cry.

“n-no more—nnh!” you would moan. “it’s too much y-yoichi!” you’d whisper pleadingly, watery eyes hazy as your mind would be too fucked out to even form a coherent sentence. he’d do nothing but grin at you and just leans forward, folding you in half.

“t-too much y-yoichi!” he’d mock you with an insufferable smirk, one hand sneaking up to grip your tits and the other on your tummy so he can feel his dick move in and out of you lazily, pussy throbbing around him as his fingers slowly tease you clit in slow, deliberate movements, grunting since he can feel you squeezing him so fucking good.

“don’t be a quitter sweetheart.”

and fire would spread across your oversensitive body, writhing and spasming as isagi robs you of an orgasm that’s sure to send you over the moon.

well of course, you’d feel that euphoric feeling if you’d stop playing cat and mouse.

#ཐིཋྀ◞𝓿𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 #𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒆𝒆𝒌 ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x reader #isagi yoichi smut #isagi smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #isagi yoichi imagines #it’s been a while since i wrote ! i think i’m a lil’ rusty oops ૮꒰ つᯅ⊂ ꒱ა

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muertawrites · 1 year

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Inked (Eddie x Reader x Punk!Steve) [18+]

Summary: tattoos hurt. thankfully your artist is chill about the way you distract yourself from the pain.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, oral (fem receiving), vouyerism, exhibitionism, male masturbation, explicit descriptions of sex and pain

Read Time: 7 mins

This is possibly the most painful thing you've ever felt. It stings, it burns, and the tip of the gun feels like it's digging under your skin and against the bone beneath. Eddie hisses.

"You're holding me too tight, baby."

You look over to where your hand is gripped around his wrist, fingers white as they curl into his flesh. You release your hold and there are little moon-shaped grooves etched in his skin, blooming red and threatening to bleed.

Steve stops tattooing.

You're laying on the bench in his home studio, having offered yourself as a guinea pig to help him practice working on people for his apprenticeship. He's doing a sternum piece for you, sprawled out over your naked chest while Eddie sits on your other side, one hand massaging your breast while the other gets itself impaled by your clawing grip. It hurts way more than you expected it to. You're lightheaded and nauseous, and your whole body is clammy and feverish. You feel like you might faint.

Steve nervously bites his lip, his gloved thumb stroking over some of the excess ink.

"... It looks really good already," he attempts to console you. "Do you need to take a break?"

You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Eddie's hand that cups your breast gives it a gentle squeeze, rolling your nipple between two of his fingers. You moan softly, and all at once you're inspired.

You turn to Steve, asking the question before you can psych yourself out.

"Do you mind if Eddie fucks me?"

The men blink at each other, bewildered. Neither of them says anything for a moment.

"Please," you beg. "It hurts so fucking much and I'm already topless. I think it'll help. I don't want to faint."

Steve stares at Eddie, who stares back at Steve. After a tense pause, Steve shrugs.

"Listen, man, if she's cool with it, I'm cool with it. Just don't move her too much."

Eddie looks down at you, his hand moving to stroke through your hair.

"Is that really what you want, sweetheart?"

He sounds concerned, but the brightness in his eyes and the growing stiffness in his jeans give him away. He's eager. Excited. He gets to bring his favorite pornos to life, and all because it was your idea. This is like Christmas.

You nod, giggling softly.

"Yes, Eddie, just do it. Before I change my mind."

He wastes no time, springing up from his chair and positioning himself at the end of the bench, his hands finding the waistband of your leggings and rolling them down. Steve watches, letting out a soft breath when Eddie exposes your hips, your thighs, the luscious patch of pubic hair between your legs. You grin up at him, gently tapping a finger against his chin.

"Stevie," you remind him. "My tattoo."

He gives you a suave, easy smile as he meets your eyes, a feature left over from his time as a high school womanizer. His cheeks are pink, his pupils consuming his pretty brown irises.

"Right," he chuckles. "Sorry."

He starts up the gun again, and Eddie's tongue finds your clit, pressing flat against you as Steve resumes his work on your chest, the needle stabbing its way back into your skin. The pain is eclipsed by the swirling of Eddie's tongue, the pucker of his lips as he dives in and starts sucking. You moan, focusing on the tingling between your thighs.

"That better?" Steve asks, smirking.

You nod.

"Way better."

Eddie grips your thighs, slinging your legs over his shoulders as he laps and sucks at you, the lewd, wet noises echoing off the walls. You can feel your wetness dripping down your buttocks as he works you towards orgasm. He gazes up at you through his lashes, his cock twitching when he doesn't meet your eyes or your breasts but instead sees Steve leaned over you, glancing his way. Eddie grins.

"How much longer, Harrington?" he wonders.

His lips and chin are glossy. Steve swallows heavily.

"About halfway," he answers.

Eddie nods. He stands, making quick work of his button and zipper and freeing his cock, running his shaft teasingly up the length of your pussy. Steve pauses to watch, his mouth slack at the way you coat Eddie's shaft, how easily it glides against you. Eddie grins as he taps the head of his cock against your clit.

"Her pussy's divine, man," he boasts. "Maybe instead of a tip she'll let you have a taste."

He winks at Steve, his hands moving to your hips as he eases inside of you, letting out a quiet moan. His features contort with the pleasure, succumbing to the heat of your slick walls. He starts to thrust, slow and deep, taking care not to shift you at all so Steve has a stable canvas; his palm presses to your stomach for support.

Steve stares, his cock pressing painfully against the leg of his jeans. After a moment he snaps himself out of it and goes back to work, painfully aware of how close he is to your breasts.

You whimper as Eddie fucks you, gripping the sides of the bench to keep yourself still. Eddie's cock pressing deep inside you, Steve's hot breath fanning over your nipple, the depravity of letting him see you naked and vulnerable has you panting, whining, crying for more. The pain of your sternum tattoo is easily forgotten.

Eddie fucks you for half an hour. Steve fills out the lines of your tattoo, then goes back over them again where they're not dark enough, pausing every so often to watch Eddie plow into you. At one point, you reach your hand between Steve's thighs and palm at him, feeling a rush as he bites his lip to keep from moaning. He whispers that you can take him out if you want. You do, and you haphazardly stroke his cock as he finishes the piece, surprisingly concentrated despite rolling his hips into your palm.

When the tattoo is finished, Steve steps away and lets you and Eddie finish as well. He leans against the counter as Eddie bends over you, his mouth latched to your neck as he rails you with unrelenting force until you cum around him, clenching him tightly and moaning as pleasure shakes your body; he follows close behind. You turn your head and watch as Steve touches himself, pulling on his cock until he reaches his own orgasm, spilling creamy ropes all over his stomach, thighs, and the floor. The skin between your legs is soaked.

Eddie helps Steve clean up while you come to your senses, laying on the bench in a dreamy, fucked out haze as Steve dresses your new tattoo and Eddie wipes the residue of sex off of you, himself, and the furniture. When you finally sit up, you look at Steve and laugh breathlessly, thanking him for a good time.

"How much do I owe you?" you ask.

He shakes his head.

"On the house," he says. He grins. "The private show was payment enough."

🎸eddie masterlist🎸

#eddie munson #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader smut #punk!steve #punk!steve harrington #punk!steve harrington x reader #steddie x reader #steddie x reader smut #muerta's works

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stevethehairington · 2 years

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Accidental Kiss Goodbye Part 1

Part 2:

Steve isn't so sure how he makes the rest of the drive to Family Video without crashing. It's all kind of a blur, how he manages to operate a whole entire vehicle in the state he's in once it hits him. Because after it does, his brain is just one big broken record of IkissedEddieMunsonIkissedEddieMunsonIkissedEddieMunson — absolutely no regard for speed limits and traffic lights and other cars.

He enters the store with his eyes glazed over and a faraway look on his face. Robin, of course, clocks it immediately, and she's worried for all of thirty seconds before Steve just blurts it out:

"I kissed Eddie."

Robin raises an eyebrow, the rest of her slowly relaxing when she realizes it isn't actually anything life or death (even though it certainly feels that way to Steve). "That's good, right?" She asks. "You've been crazy about him for months, Steve. It's actually kind of painful how head over heels you are."

Steve scoffs and ignores the dig, but he fixes his wide eyes on her. "It's not good, Rob," he grouses. "I didn't mean to."

Robin scrunches up her face. "Huh? What do you mean you didn't mean to?"

"I mean it was an accident," Steve tells her.

"An accident?" Robin repeats, amused. "Like — like you accidentally tripped and caught yourself with his mouth?" She laughs. "I don't—"

"No," Steve hisses. "An accident like I wasn't thinking and I just did it." And then Steve explains it to her, tells her exactly what happened this morning. How Eddie had grabbed him, how Steve had gotten so caught up in the moment, how he hadn't even hesitated, just leaned right in for a kiss like it was something they did every day.

When he finishes, Robin is quiet for a moment. Two. Three. Then she laughs. Hard. Like, doubled over, clutching her stomach, wiping tears from her eyes hard.

Steve smacks the back of his hand into her shoulder and whines her name. "Robin, be serious! I'm freaking out here," he says.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Robin says, swallowing down the rest of her laughter and schooling her face into something more sedate as she gathers her wits. "Look, Steve," she starts, grabbing his arm, just above his elbow. "I really don't think there's anything for you to worry about. It'll be fine. You just need to talk to him."

Steve frowns. "I don't even know what to say to him."

Robin narrow her eyes at him. "You could always, mm, I don't know, try telling him how you feel," she suggests gently. Tilts her head and smiles a little playfully. "I mean, accidentally kissing him goodbye is a pretty good excuse to finally get around to it. Y'know, since you've been putting it off for so long." She shrugs. Grins.

Steve huffs out. He knows she's right. She usually is. "Okay, but how do I even do that?" He asks.

Robin sighs softly and shrugs again. "You're asking the wrong person for that," she says. "I'm hopeless. You know that. But you're not." She knocks her shoulder into his, snatches up one of the tapes from the counter and gives it a little shake. "And you've got the next eight hours to figure it out."

It's going to be a long shift.

The second Steve's shift — his long, tortuous shift — is over, he's out the door. Hurries straight to his car and drives right back to Eddie's place.

He parks, kills the engine, then just sits there. Staring at the door of Eddie's trailer. Psyching himself up.

When he finally gets out and walks the short distance across the dirt and climbs those few front stairs, he stops on the doorstep. Hesitates again. His stomach feels like it's twisted itself into knots, but he pushes past that and knocks before he can talk himself out of it.

It feels like years before the door finally swings open. And there's Eddie.

"Steve," Eddie says, and he sounds surprised to see him.

"Eddie, hey. Uh, can I— can I come in?"

Eddie just nods and steps aside so Steve can shuffle past him.

They sit on the couch together, side by side. It's a little awkward, a little stilted, the slip up from this morning clearly at the forefront of both of their minds. Neither one of them seems to want to be the first to acknowledge it.

But the silence is unnerving, and it grates on Steve enough that he finally just blurts out, "I kissed you."

Eddie snorts, but instead of making some brassy comment like he usually would, he just parrots back, "you kissed me."

It gives him nothing, is the thing. Eddie has been very stoic, since letting Steve in. His face, usually so open, so expressive, has been carefully blank. Not giving anything away. Like maybe he's just as nervous about how this conversation is going to go.

It's a bit unsettling. Steve has no idea where Eddie's head is at. So, he figures it best to start with an apology.

"Sorry," Steve tells him, and that must surprise Eddie, because his head jerks up, eyes flickering over to Steve. The skin between his eyebrows pulls together briefly before smoothing back out, but Steve catches it. He sees it.

Eddie chews on his lip. Studies Steve from his sideways glance. Then very slowly, very quietly says, "you don't have to be."

"Oh?" Steve says.

Eddie shrugs, shifts a little so his shoulders are squared with Steve's a little more. "I just mean... I didn't— mind it."

"Oh," Steve breathes.

"You could... you could probably even do it again," Eddie says, blinks over at Steve through his eyelashes. "If you wanted."

"Oh."

Eddie laughs then, soft and fluttery from the leftover nerves of his confession. "Jeez, Harrington," he starts, "is that all you know how to—"

He doesn't get to finish that thought, though. Because Steve cuts him off with a hand to his jaw, curling beneath his chin, drawing him in, and then he's kissing him again. Properly, this time. Not some fleeting, accidental thing, but a firm, purposeful one.

Eddie sinks into it, and Steve kisses him the way he's always wanted to — slow, sweet, deep enough to curl his toes.

When they break apart, Eddie's eyes stay closed, but his mouth chases Steve's, body swaying after his. He's breathing a little heavy, and Steve has to bite back a grin. He did that.

Eddie blinks open his eyes, big and wide and dazed. "Oh," he says, and Steve laughs.

The apples of Eddie's cheeks are rosy, and they're close enough that Steve can see the feint freckles that dot the bridge of his nose. They pop against the pretty pink of his blush.

Eddie shoves at Steve's shoulder, huffing out a laugh of his own. He doesn't let Steve go far, though, holding onto his arm.

"Jesus," Eddie says, laughing again, this giddy little thing, and he wipes a hand over his face, tries to hide his smile behind it.

Steve grabs his hand, pulls it back down so he can see it. He loves the way it lights Eddie's face up.

"That was nothing like this morning," Eddie says.

Steve shrugs. "Wasn't really thinking this morning," he replies. "I just, y'know, did." He thumbs over the side of Eddie's hand, likes how their palms feel pressed together. "I guess I got so caught up in the moment that I just — didn't hold back. I just let myself do what I've wanted to do for a really long time."

The corners of Eddie's mouth twitch and his dimples come out to play as he tries to stop himself from grinning even bigger. It doesn't work, and Steve doesn't keep himself from brushing his thumb against one of them.

"Y'know," Eddie says, catching Steve's wrist. "it's kind of dangerous, what you did this morning."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Is it?"

Eddie nods. "Oh yeah, real dangerous. 'Cause I could really get used to that," he tells Steve. "Making you breakfast. Fixing your tie. Kissing you every morning on your way to work."

Steve's heart skips a beat in his chest as he pictures it — waking up tangled in the sheets with Eddie. Sharing toast and coffee and sleepy smiles over the table, playing footsie under it. Almost making himself late because Eddie keeps pulling at the clothes Steve's only just put on, trying to get him to take them off again. Hurrying out the door, but not before he stops to give Eddie a kiss goodbye. A kiss see you later. "A regular little housewife, now, aren't you?" Steve teases, chuckling.

Something sparkles in Eddie's eyes, and he leans in close. "Darlin' if you kiss me like that every time, I'll be anything for you."

Isn't that a promise?

And what better way to seal that promise than with a kiss?

So Steve does.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #mack writes #macks ficlets

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suchawrathfullamb · 4 months

Note

One thing I don't get is how can some fans see and write Hannibal as protective or caring of Will? He never cared about Will's safety, he has done so much damage to Will's body, it's out of character that he'd suddenly care...I don't know, I just feel like it's wishful thinking of shippers. I ship them too but I'm not delusional about Hannibal...He would still hurt Will in season 4 and I hate when fics write him as if he gives a fuck about Will's well being.

Oh wow. Okay.

Hannibal has known pain in a way most people around him have not. He has known cold, hunger, loss, abandonment, violence and death and god knows what else. All of this before his rational mind was fully developed, which essentially means his mind was shaped through those experiences. That's what it's ingrained in him, regardless of anything else, even the luxurious and opulent life he built for himself years later.

"God" throws his seeds in the air, violently, and they scatter everywhere. Some fall on fertile soil, and grow to become beautiful, strong trees. Some fall on rocky ground and don't yield any fruits. And some fall on thorns, and those thorns choke them. God is ruthless and careless, but not all of his seeds become the byproduct of his violence. But some do. That's just the way it is.

So the first part of this answer is not an attempt to justify Hannibal's behavior, but simply put it into context. No, he didn't have to punish the world for his own suffering. But he chose to do so. Well, I personally don't believe it's a choice, per se, but more of an illusion of choice. People tend to think they are always choosing how to act, but digging into human psyche, you'd find that no, you never had a choice. Free will is an illusion. The reasons behind your behavior go way back, to places you cannot reach. But that's besides the point.

So, again, don't take this as a justification. Hannibal is what he is, and does what he does.

Hannibal found himself at the mercy of a merciless, careless, amoral God, in his formative years. And so he mirrored that God, "can't beat them, join them" sort of deal. If God is careless, so will he be, if God is amoral, then so will he be. If He gives and takes as he pleases, then so will him. If he delights in bloodshed, then so will him. He won't try to please God, he will please himself. He won't worship God, he will worship pleasure, because it is the antithesis of what he feels. We worship that which we desire to experience, or that which we perceive as the opposite of what we're trying to escape from, the remedy for our specific wound. if you fear death, worship him, the one who conquered it and rose victorious above it. Or if you fear your own desires, the same one offers you to be cleanse of those things you perceive as shameful. Whatever you fear, there's a God for you.

And Hannibal's God, at least for most of his life, would become the big P's: Pleasure and Power. It's only a little funny that in order to experience one, you need to let go of the other, at least to some degree.

Hannibal is so afraid of the pain and vulnerability he felt, having perceived it as lethal, that he learned how to remain in absolute control of himself and his environment. He was, in his mind, unaffected by God. You can't hurt him, because he does not expect You not to. In fact, he expects the worst out of You.

He collects church collapses to remind himself that God does not care, since He is destroying his dedicated worshippers. To remind himself of how little his own destructions matter, how small they are, compared to God's.

So, play a little Will Graham here and see through his mind. Walk in his shoe and see. If you do so, you'll never think that him caring about Will is out of character because he hurts him.

Will did something to Hannibal that only God was able to. He made him vulnerable, made him feel out of control. Not even his sister was able to fully accomplish that. Hannibal loved Mischa, but he ate her to prove to himself (and to God), that he was beyond love. That even if he loved, he was still stronger than that feeling. That it wouldn't overpower him. Our NBC Hannibal didn't eat Mischa because he had to. He ate her to forgive her, for making him love her. "I forgive you for being so lovely, and now I will consume you to dominate this weakness". He wasn't able to do that to Will, and he wasn't going to. Bryan Fuller has confirmed he wasn't going to go through with it in the head sawing scene. No matter how hard he tries, Will always conquers him.

Imagine what this must feel like for Hannibal. He had the will to eat his sister. God took her away from him, violently, and he was still capable of defying Him by willingly consuming her, "you do what you will, but I'm still stronger, you are not capable of destroying me, look what I can do with the pain you give me". It's as if Hannibal sees God as a ruthless father who keeps testing him, over and over again. Beating him in the face, repeatedly, and all he needs to do is take it, bloody and smiling, as if he's enjoying it, as if God's intention of causing pain is futile. Does that evoke a certain scene from the show in your memory?

Hannibal finds some people slightly interesting, some disposable, some inconvenient, and most boring. He sees them as weak, mostly. They haven't endured what he has, they complain about things that are frivolous to him, they care about things that don't matter to him, and mostly, they would never relate to him, to his view of life. They'd be scared, or disgusted by him. He knows he's a monster in most people's perspective. Does he see himself as a monster? He tries not to. He looks at his church collapses whenever he feels this thought creeping inside his head. Yes, of course he sees himself as a monster. But he works very hard to argue against that...After all, God is so much worse.

Arrogance is not a an actual belief of superiority. It's just a mask for a deep feeling of inadequacy. It's an overcompensation. He has learned, from the way he was raised, and the type of people around him, that politeness and etiquette are signs of dominance, and most importantly, the opposite of what most tend to consider ugliness and brutality. Someone harmed him very gently. A nice and friendly person. No one believed him. And so, he learned the best character to play was this exact one.

I could be wrong, this isn't canon, it's just the most obvious explanation. But regardless if Hannibal is the way he is independently of the trauma, as Mads stated, that doesn't mean he didn't adapt, evolve, become. I already established that I do not think he is the way he is because of his trauma, I'm still going along with canon. But I see him as just one of God's little seeds that didn't fall on good soil. But he's still a human being, regardless if he's the incarnation of Satan, he's still incarnated, literally meaning born in flesh. He still has a linear story, a way of becoming, of flourishing (or withering) in a manner that his thorns could rise from his skin and harm others, even if they were there all along.

Punishing "the rude" is a way of justifying his own motives. Can't kill other killers, that would be hypocritical of him, he's not trying to be a vigilante, he's beyond that. Can't kill people who remind him of those who harmed in the past, that would be vindictive of him, therefore a display of weakness, as if he's still affected by them. So? Kill whoever is rude, disrespectful, unrefined out of pettiness. It's petulant and it is flippant (in most cases, that homophobic medical consultant may or may not had it coming, I didn't say it, you did), but it's the only reason he found. Other killers may kill because they can, because whatever. Hannibal needed to justify it to himself, in a way that still put him in a position of power. Again, vengeance or vigilance is too affective to his liking. He doesn't like playing good or bad. He just likes playing.

Here comes Will Graham with his rude, dismissive, agitated, grumpy and messy behavior. He's arrogant, he's childish, he lacks control of himself, yet everyone sees him as innocent, pure, genuine. What a punch to the stomach. Hannibal has to try so hard to be seen as innocent. And there goes this mongoose, acting all crazy and everybody treats him like an injured puppy. But he's just like Hannibal, he has thorns peaking out of his back, forcing their way out. And he's still able to be perceived as innocent? Oh no. Not on Hannibal's watch. So he turns people against him.

Hannibal's very aware of how Will affects people around him. He knew Alana liked him, he even told Will in the first episode, in the breakfast scene, but they cut the line out. He wanted to know if Will liked her back, but was dismissed. He tells him how Jack sees him as fragile, tells Alana they have Will dressed in moral dignity, pants, "nothing is his fault". He's very aware of how Will is able to evoke this type of unconditional compassion.

But then it affects him.

He wasn't expecting it, he was surely not prepared for it. All he knew was to hurt. Eat him like he did his sister. Hannibal realized his feelings were deepening in the opera episode, the singer who played that part (of the opera singer) said she chose the aria specifically for this, because it was like Hannibal was realizing he had a heart. He cried. Later on, Will told him he kissed Alana and that his connection to the killer, Tobias, was getting stronger ("it's our song"). This affects Hannibal in a way that disturbs him, and so he acts impulsively and sends Will to Tobias. "I do not care about him, see?". Denial.

What a shocker when he has to face the truth that he does, in fact, care. He looks defeated, and submissive in that scene ("I was worried you were dead"), even their physical positions mirrors that...But, "I got here on my own", he insists on remarking, after Will says he feels like he dragged Hannibal into his world. No. You didn't. I am here because I chose to be. I am still in control.

After that, he cannot lie to himself any longer, he knew what he felt when he thought he had lost Will. And so, it only got worse from that point on. Now, he was aware of his feelings and actively fighting them. All of his actions were an attempt to eradicate Will, as a way to eradicate his feelings towards him, to prove to himself that he can still overpower his feelings, "see? I can still do what I want with you, my feelings for you do not stop me". And Will rejects him for the first time, in that kitchen. And he still loves him. How infuriating. So he decides, "No, I will not jeopardize my own freedom for you." Anger.

When he saw Will in prison for the first time, you could almost see the exhilaration in his eyes. To cage the one who controls you, how divine of a feeling. He is elated. At first.

It seems that it takes Hannibal a few shocks to realize that he does care, a lot, about Will. And so he realizes that, once more. And needs to deal with it...Again. Meanwhile his inner world is spinning out of control, it is becoming a grand, beautiful mess, and he cannot stop himself, even though he is trying very hard to.

Bedelia brings him to awareness by telling him he's obsessed. "I'm intrigued", he tries, mostly to himself. Obsessed? Him? No, it can't be. Nobody is capable of doing this to him. Obsession indicates a lack of control, the incapacity to take one's mind off of a subject. Just imagine the war he was battling inside himself.

When Will tries to kill him (by proxy) he is as satisfied as he is hurt. Satisfied because he was right, Will is a killer. Hurt because he did almost die. The night he lets Alana kiss him and decides to engage with her, it's the night Jack made it clear Hannibal was a suspect. He felt alone without Will, and Alana made him feel less alone, "walking away what does that leaves us with?", he asks, "each other", she says. He does appreciate her, even if she doesn't truly see him and when she eventually does, she's afraid, she's still better than nothing, and convenient for his alibi. But it's more than that. This is the woman who had (has) feelings for Will, and those feelings seemed to be reciprocated, at least to some extent and at some point. Having her is like conquering Will in a petty way. "She rejected you. You rejected me. Now we're together", it says.

But he still sees potential in Will, in their union, and he still cannot deal with the ache of being without him. And so he finds a way to get him back, let his bird out of the cage, unbound, even if it means danger. He's so lost in his feelings that he allows himself to be deluded, to believe, to open himself up. And even after realizing the betrayal, he still couldn't let go, and offered his carefully crafted life, up, "we could disappear tonight". And when Will says "you were supposed to leave", he doesn't interpret it as protection, he hears it as rejection. Again. He did the same thing to Hobbs, not because he cared, but because he wanted to. He doesn't think Will did that because he cares, at most, he thinks he did because he felt guilty for lying. But mostly, this is Will rejecting him again. He is devastatingly hurt, and Will stands like God, so cold, so cruel. But at least you have a body, so I'll hurt your body, since I can't hurt your feelings, apparently. "You think you can change me?", denial, "I already did," the truth, spitting on his face. So he ends Abigail, because to Hannibal, Will cared about her, he protected her, he had compassion for her. But not him, so she will be Will's pain. "No, you haven't changed me. See? I'm still the monster". The monster he tries to convince himself he isn't, the monster he tried to show Will he wasn't, but Will didn't want that gift. That burden, that curse. But he'll call it a gift, to make himself feel better. After all, he's so much better than everyone else and seeing him in all his truth is such an honor...Isn't it?

He knows Will is right, even if he kills Abigail to prove a point, in his mind, he knows he's right (the script says so). So really, there is no point in denying anymore. But can still move on, overcompensating for the dark, endless pit in his soul, with opulence and a smile. Until Will comes to him, and once again, he cannot handle himself, and he's at it again, acting completely reckless and out of control.

"I forgive you", hope. Then Will tries to kill/harm him. And he's so done. With everything. Everything. How many times will Will Graham shake him out of his center, ruin his sense of self, spin him out of control, play him, hurt him? Leave him? No more, that's how many. He's done. He's ending it. And he knows he won't live without him. He's so deranged in that scene, so...Out of it, almost uncharacteristically insane. Consuming his God, finally. "I'll do this, so the pain will stop," he bargains.

Then, he would most likely end himself indirectly after that. After all, "suicide is the enemy", but letting himself get caught after a lifetime of expertly evading it, isn't the same now, is it? Of course not. Surrendering to the authorities even though you are certain you'll get the death penalty isn't the same as suicide, of course not. Refuting your insanity plea that saved you from getting the death penalty also isn't suicide, of course not. Not at all. Neither is allowing God to throw you off the cliff, even though you made it very clear that you were aware of His intentions.

Hannibal Lecter loves Will Graham to the point of insanity. He hurts him out of insanity, out of the inability to surrender to his love. When he finally does, he regrets what he did to Will. He's so insanely filled with regret he tries to reverse time. He's acting maniacally, and then he's rejected again. And just...Gives up. Accepts it. "He knew Will would come back, it was just another manipulation"...He gave up his freedom and risked his life just to be petty? Sure. You tell yourself that cause it's exactly what he'd rather you believe in.

At the end, he looks at a weapon and considers hurting Will, but he can't. He knows Dolarhyde is watching. Knows where he is. Will tells him he doesn't think he can save himself, and maybe that's okay. Hannibal clocks him right there, and his compassion for Will is inconvenient as he steps in front of him and takes the bullet. It's inconvenient when he allows Will to pull them off the cliff just to be able to hold him, even if it's for first and last time, because he'd rather die than live without him.

After all, how do you leave without your God once you've been graced by His glory?

So no. I don't this logic makes sense, anon. You're interpreting Hannibal as a person who follows one logic, when he in fact, "follows several trains of thought at once without distraction from any". And one of the trains is love.

#lamb writes #meta #analysis #this took me forever i went into a deep place in my own fucking psyche okay i need to lay down #hannigram #nbc hannibal #hannibal #will graham #murder husbands #hannibal lecter #hugh dancy #mads mikkelsen #ask the lamb #fanfic #season 4

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the-scarlet-witch-22 · 5 months

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Love and Liabilities (Agatha Harkness x FemReader): Chapter One

Summary: While you attend a pretrial conference for your current case, you’re stunned to learn your opposing council is your former ex…and law school professor, Agatha Harkness

Word Count: 4.7k

Tags: 18+ Minors Do Not Engage!! Smut, Light Choking, Light Degradation Kink, Mommy Kink, Hate Sex

A/N: Hi :) This idea has been bouncing around my brain since the promo pics came out. Lawyer Agatha, the gift we all need for the new year. This is my first real attempt at writing smut, but I hope y’all enjoy. Updates will be around every 2 weeks. If you’d like to be added to a tag list, please let me know. Feel free to let me know what you think! 💜 Also a special shout-out to my sweet beta/girlfriend, Sarah, thank you for always listening to my crazy ideas.

Smoothing out a wrinkle from your pantsuit, you looked over your case materials from outside the courtroom. It had been almost a decade since you graduated law school, and you’d spent the time since working in corporate law as a junior attorney, before leaving the firm and working your way up as a top prosecutor. To say you were married to your job would be an understatement. It wasn’t enough to be good, you simply had to be the best. You’d always pride yourself on your ability to dig deep in a case and pull out missing details, or find a crack in a seemingly perfect alibi. You were ruthless, but you knew you had to be. The defense attorneys you found yourself battling in court were absolute sharks, and if they sensed an ounce of hesitation on your end it would be a total bloodbath.

Dealing with criminal defense cases was as interesting as it sounded, although it wasn’t what you envisioned you’d be doing after law school. You had different dreams back then, more altruistic visions of helping those who needed it. Closing your eyes, you saw a brief flash of the strikingly blue eyes and dark hair that caused you to change your choice of career, before you quickly shook those thoughts aside. It had been almost ten years since you’d allowed yourself to think about her- about any of it, and it wouldn’t benefit you to take a stroll down memory lane before the biggest case of your career.

A law clerk eventually came by to inform you the judge was ready for you. This was it. Gathering your materials, you walked through the details again in your mind. Pre-trial conferences were relatively helpful when trying to reach a plea bargain, review evidence, as well as decide what to present to the jury. There was no doubt in your mind that this case would go to trial. After all, a woman who kidnaps two children and takes them to a small town in New Jersey didn’t leave much to plead innocent from. What was the name of it, Westchester? Westmont? No, no, you mentally crossed those out, until the name finally came to mind…Westview. Westview, New Jersey.

The room was relatively empty, and you recognized the judge, Carol Danvers. She had a reputation for being rather uptight, but was typically fair in her rulings. She’d moved up through various circuit courts throughout her career, and you’d heard rumblings she was being eyed for a potential Supreme Court nomination. Setting your briefcase on the empty chair next to you, you thought of any possible hiccups from the defense. Supposedly a brief psych evaluation had been done after the incident to rule anything out, so they wouldn’t try and plead insanity, right? You couldn’t see Carol ruling in favor of that. There was the small problem of genetics; the woman was the boys’ birth mother. But, you’d looked over the adoption contracts, as had your colleagues, and they were airtight. It had been a closed adoption, and from what you could tell there had been no contact for over a decade. Plus, with solid testimonies from both families and multiple eyewitnesses you weren’t worried of whatever argument the defense would make in her favor.

Speaking of the defense, you quickly realized the defense attorney hadn’t arrived yet, which was a bit unusual. Racking your brain, you tried to remember the name of the attorney Yelena said was leading the case, but no one came to mind. Pepper Potts perhaps? Carol also appeared to notice the lack of the second attorney, as she whispered with one of the law clerks. You could barely make out what they were saying, but she sounded annoyed. But, no matter, you knew this had absolutely no impact on you.

Carol finally sighed in defeat at whatever the law clerk told her, something about hitting a fire hydrant? “Well, as we’re waiting on the defense to resolve their…tardiness, will the prosecution step forward?”

Standing up, you grabbed a copy of your materials, evidence, testimonies, anything the judge would need, before taking a step towards the judge. “Your honor, the state of New York is ready to move forward with our case. You’ll find sufficient evidence to dismiss any plea deal, as well as ensure we can schedule a trial date.”

Handing the papers to the judge, you watched as she flipped through them, an unreadable expression on her face. Minutes passed before she looked up at you. “The prosecution is dismissing the plea deal being proposed by the defense?”

Nodding, you recalled the deal that had been sent over to your office. It was preposterous, and was heavily dependent on the mental state of the defendant, or rather the lack of mental state of the defendant. “Yes, your honor. The state has inculpatory evidence to convict the defendant, as well as a number of witnesses willing to testify.”

A voice you’d only heard in your dreams for the past decade spoke up, and you nearly froze in place. “Inculpatory evidence? That’s a rather bold claim, I’d call it circumstantial at best.”

It couldn’t be. Paralyzed, you forced yourself to ignore it, to ignore her and keep your eyes locked forward. It couldn’t possibly be her, you would have remembered hearing her name as the defense attorney. Clearing your throat, you continued, trying to keep yourself calm. “With all due respect, your honor, the typical procedure for a case involving the abduction of a minor is what we’re basing this precedent on-”

An obnoxiously loud cackle cut you off, and nearly made you whip your head around in annoyance. The slow clacking of heels echoed throughout the room, followed by the faint scent of Burberry that invaded your senses. Brief flashes of lecture halls and late night office hour visits intertwined with the smell of cigars and expensive whiskey. Lengthy, heated arguments over the moral justification of various Supreme Court rulings whilst being undressed and pressed against the door. Diamond jewelry and lavish bouquets being delivered to your modest law school apartment as you sheepishly explained to your roommates you were seeing an older woman. Secret rendezvous in dimly lit piano bars in Manhattan which would end in a king size bed in a penthouse you could never dream of affording.

It all led back to the same thought, the same woman you’d done your best to let go of. The very same woman you currently found yourself standing face to face with. Agatha Harkness. Clever blue eyes met yours, and a slow smirk painted her perfect red lips. She hadn’t changed much over the past decade. Her dark hair, now peppered with some gray, was pinned back with a few loose strands framing her face, and you briefly thought of how well it suited her. The fitted black pantsuit which accentuated her features, and black heels that made her look deceptively tall as she towered over you.

For a moment it was as if no time had passed at all, and you were back in her lecture hall. But as quickly as that oddly nostalgic feeling overcame you like a tidal wave, it swept away, leaving you with the reality of the situation. Clearing your throat, you looked past Agatha, keeping your focus on Judge Danvers. “As I was saying. While looking at prior cases involving the abduction of a minor we were able to set a precedent that-”

Agatha let out another cackle, and it took everything in you to not roll your eyes. However it appeared Carol was at the end of her rope with patience, as she banged her gavel twice. “Does the defense have something they wish to share with the rest of us?”

“Your honor,” Agatha drawled out, her voice sweet like honey, “The prosecution is making bold assumptions on precedents that do not directly follow the evidence of this particular case. To rule anything otherwise would be direct defamation to my client.”

“Defamation?” You all but hissed, momentarily forgetting you were in the middle of a courtroom. The answering smirk Agatha gave you only fuelled your fire. “Your honor, the defense is all but negating the direct evidence of the defendant’s guilt. We would like to proceed to trial while throwing out the plea deal.”

Agatha’s shark tooth grin widened, and you had a sneaking suspicion she was baiting you to get a reaction. Typical, as she always prided herself on being ten steps ahead of her opponent. Taking a deep breath, you regained your calm composure. It would do you no good to allow your emotions to take over. That would merely ensure Agatha to have one more victory over you, one more thing she would take away from you. But things were different this time, you weren’t some feeble, naive law student fawning over her professor. The playing field was finally leveled, and it was about time she realized that.

Unfortunately, you forgot Agatha never played fair. You curiously watched her grab two folders from her briefcase, all but tossing one at you whilst handing Carol the other. “While we’re discussing the plea deal your honor, I’ve included additional information regarding my client’s psychiatric evaluation.”

Practically tearing the folder open, your eyes scanned the lengthy documents before landing on something that nearly made you fall over. Before you could get a word in, Agatha continued on. “Due to our country’s ever failing healthcare and medical practices, my client has been unable to receive a proper psychiatric evaluation. Your honor, I am requesting a continuance to this trial until my client can get the help she needs.”

Carol’s focus remained on the papers, an inscrutable expression coloring her features. “I’m granting a one month continuance for the defendant, Wanda Maximoff, to be given a psychiatric evaluation. As long as Miss Maximoff follows the terms of her probation and doesn’t leave the state of New York, we’ll resume this conference one month from today. Thank you to the prosecution and defense, you’re dismissed.”

Not wanting to see the smug smirk on Agatha’s face, you packed up your materials, including the folder Agatha gave you, and did your best to hurry out of the courtroom. It was foolish to think you’d beat Agatha at the game she taught you to play. That’s what it always was to Agatha, a game. It was like everyone around her was playing checkers while she was constructing the most elaborate game of chess known to man. All while she moved you around as whatever piece she desired; because that’s how she viewed you, as an object she could twist and mold to her liking until you outlived your usefulness.

Ignoring the familiar sound of her heels approaching, you drafted a quick email to one of your colleagues with the news of the trial being halted before going to order your Uber. You didn’t have to look up to know Agatha was standing in front of you, because that was just part of her intricate plan. She surely knew you were furious, because of course she did. Hadn’t she once told you she knew everything? At the time you thought it was a cheeky remark to make you laugh, but looking back you came to terms with the fact that the only person Agatha Harkness could ever care for was herself.

You were growing weary of the rising tension, so you finally broke the silence, keeping your eyes locked on your phone. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m not sure,” Agatha replied, and although you weren’t looking at her you could practically feel her gaze burning into you. “I never took you for a sore loser, dear.”

There it was, she was trying to get her claws back in you. Keeping your tone even, you checked on the status of your Uber. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to. I’m just doing my job.”

Before you could comprehend what was happening, your phone was ripped from your hands. “Hey!” You exclaimed, angrily whipping your head up and your eyes narrowed, meeting the deep blue eyes you used to get lost in. “Give me back my phone.”

“Checking for your ride?” Agatha mocked, arching an eyebrow up at you. “Is that more interesting than talking to me?”

“Watching paint dry would be more interesting than speaking with you,” You retorted, your discomfort quickly growing.

“Now darling, is that any way to speak to me?” Agatha teased, her voice gradually dropping in volume. “It’s been so long.”

Glaring at her, you tried to pry your phone from her hands, but she put it in her back pocket. “And whose fault is that again?” Your voice was laced with venom, you subconsciously wanted to make her feel as badly as you had. “Should we take a stroll down memory lane and recall what caused this?”

Agatha’s gaze hardened at that jab, and you momentarily wondered if you pushed too hard. “I’m surprised you’re leading this case. I thought you wanted to,” she paused and used air quotes, “‘help the voiceless’, not strangle them.”

“How dare you,” You seethed, not caring that your voice was growing in volume. “I’m just doing my job, Agatha. Besides, isn’t strangling the helpless what you do best?”

Agatha tilted her head back, and let out another cackle. “Doing your job? You’re trying to imprison an innocent mother.”

“Your innocent mother kidnapped two minors and took them over state lines,” You fired back, vaguely aware that Agatha was taking small, slow steps towards you.

“She’s still their mother,” Agatha pointed out and you felt your face grow red from rage.

“Regardless of DNA, it was a closed adoption. She waived her parental rights,” You argued, unaware of anything but the infuriating woman standing in front of you. “Surely you’ve been practicing long enough to know how to read a contract.”

“And I thought I taught you to read between the lines of said contracts,” Agatha countered, and you knew she was testing your argument, it’s what she always did. “Things aren’t always black and white, dear.”

No they weren’t, you silently agreed. By this point your back was to the wall of the deserted corridor, Agatha still towering over you. Your faces were practically touching, and you could practically taste her lips. Both of you were panting from the exertion of bickering, and it wouldn’t take much to close the distance. She was so close, closer than she had been to you in so long. Having her back in your orbit, taking over all of your senses, made you forget the reasons you were so angry with her. Instead, it made you remember how many other times you had found yourself in this exact same position.

You could feel your ironclad restraint begin to slip away, and Agatha appeared to notice it as well. She let out a low chuckle as she turned her face to the side, her breath now hot against your ear, and allowing her to whisper, “Looks like it still doesn’t take much to get you riled up, does it?”

Shuddering, you struggled to get your breathing even, thinking of the many reasons why this was a horrible idea. Your history aside, you were on opposing sides of what would most likely be a very public case. It wasn’t just unprofessional to be doing this, it could potentially jeopardize your whole career. But it was hard to think about any of that when you locked eyes with the woman you had spent so much time trying to forget. Her right hand left your waist to push back the loose strands of your hair, tucking them behind your ear.

Each movement was slow, and delicate, and as her fingers slowly trailed down your neck, she gently squeezed, before gradually applying more pressure, and you had to physically restrain yourself from moaning. You could feel the heat pooling between your legs and had to close your eyes from the overwhelming sensation. Agatha’s lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open kisses on your flesh while her fingers began to move lower, cupping your left breast before slowly pinching your nipple. This time you couldn’t stop the quiet moan that left your lips, and Agatha quickly used her free hand to silence you, covering your mouth.

“You always had a problem being quiet,” Agatha murmured, lips still on your skin. “Let’s find somewhere more…secluded to continue this, hm?”

Feeling yourself nod, you opened your eyes and let out a pathetic whine as she let go of you. It didn’t take long to find an empty storage closet, and Agatha practically shoved you inside before slamming the door behind her.

Pressing you against the bare wall, her eyes scanned yours before asking, “Are you sure?”

Being with Agatha like this was the greatest euphoric high, and it always left you wanting more and more. It didn’t have to mean anything, and you certainly didn’t want it to. It was just two people working out their frustrations, right? You nodded again, grabbing her right hand and placing it back around your throat. “Are you going to choke me again or are you too much of a coward?”

She nearly growled at that, and squeezed, a little rougher this time. You pressed your face into her shoulder, trying to silence the noises you always made when she touched you. She had barely started but it was so good, and you didn’t hesitate when she used her free hand to try and remove your blazer. Taking a step back to take off your blouse and bra, you nearly tripped over some boxes, and her hands steadied you.

“Careful,” She lightly teased, eyes still dark from arousal. “I’m not nearly finished with you.”

Her hands skillfully unhooked your bra, carelessly tossing it to the side, before lowering her mouth to your breast, and lewdly sucked. As if she anticipated the noises you’d inevitably make, she roughly pressed two fingers in your open mouth for you to suck. Moaning around them, you eagerly sucked and sucked, thinking of where you wanted her fingers to go next. Agatha’s tongue swirled around your nipple, teasing it enough to make it go erect before using her teeth to pull. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head, your last functioning brain cells wondering how she could still have this strong of an effect on you.

She let out a low hum, clearly enjoying this as much as you were before moving to your other breast, only this time she bit down, and the rush of pain and pleasure flooded you. Unable to cry out as she fucked her fingers further down your throat before adding a third, causing you to gag around them. Releasing your breast, Agatha panted out, “Look at how pathetic you are, sucking on my fingers like a good little slut. What a good girl.”

Whimpering around her fingers, you clenched at the filth spewing from her lips. You hated this, how easily she could flip the switch and have you dripping and wanting her to fuck you through the floorboards. Agatha cooed, using her free hand to gently stroke your face, and roughly pulled her fingers out of your mouth. She was face level again, and you watched the gears turn in her head as she weighed out what to do with you. That same free hand cupped your jaw, and she was so close, your brain buzzing from the endorphins. It was so good, you hated how good it was.

Her normally perfectly red lips were stained and parted slightly as she looked at you with an indecipherable stare, and you were still breathless from her earlier ministrations. Before you could fully comprehend what you were doing, you grabbed her hair and smashed your lips together. You swore you heard her groan, but it was gone as quickly as it came, and you had no time to contemplate it as you felt her tongue teasing the entrance of your mouth. It has been so long, so very long, but you fell back into the familiar dance you could never forget.

Everything Agatha did she dominated, for she had such a strong presence that was impossible to ignore. Just kissing her was enough to get you off, as her tongue expertly swirled around yours, sending you further and further from the edge of reality. You were so far gone you barely noticed her hands moving lower, and lower, until they were pawing at your ass. Groping and grabbing, she was insatiable as she conquered your mouth. You broke apart for merely a second and without speaking, you helped get rid of your pants, slightly stunned you were still this in sync after all this time.

But again, you had no time to ponder that thought as Agatha quickly slammed you against the wall, and you couldn’t help but moan at the pain. The same fingers you eagerly sucked on were now teasing your entrance, rubbing gentle, slow circles. Agatha’s breath was hot in your ear, and you whined, trying to thrust your hips up for more friction. You needed more, you needed her more than ever before. Going without for so long was fine, you’d nearly forgotten what it felt like, what she felt like; but the second you remembered you couldn’t bear a second without it.

“Someone’s awfully worked up,” Agatha taunted, her voice softly whispering in your ear. “Did you want something?”

“Agatha…” You breathed out, your voice nearly cracking. “Please…”

Her fingers teased your clit, and the sensation made you cry out, causing Agatha to silence you with yet another kiss. “Behave,” she murmured against your lips, “Do you want me inside you? Do you want me to fill that sweet little cunt?”

Mewling, you again tried to tilt your hips up, desperate to feel her inside you, but her other hand kept you in place. “Agatha, please, I…I need it, please fuck me.”

Agatha arched an eyebrow, “I know your brain just melts when that pussy gets wet, but we both know that’s not what you want to call me, is it?” Blushing, you tried to avert your eyes but it was impossible. She nipped at your lips before continuing. “Be a good girl and beg for it.”

“Mommy,” The words slipped past your lips and you felt another rush of heat between your legs while Agatha moaned.

“Good girl,” Agatha praised you, and before you could prepare yourself she roughly entered you with two fingers, filling you completely.

Her fingers were so long and so good, hitting the spots you had trouble reaching. You couldn’t help but clench around them, and she groaned in your ear. Wasting no time, she set a fast and hard rhythm, skillfully fucking you better than anyone else since her had been able to.

“I almost forgot how good your cunt feels around my fingers,” Agatha hissed, nibbling on your ear, “Suck me in, slut.”

Your hips met her fingers, and you desperately chased your orgasm. “Harder, please mommy fuck me harder.”

Putting all of her weight on you, Agatha swiftly added a third finger and you nearly squealed at how full you felt. Her fingers were so deep, and you were so close, so very close to the edge.

“Such a good whore for mommy,” Agatha cooed, and her voice was strained, you could tell she was close too. “Do you want to come on my fingers?”

“Mommy please,” You cried out, unable to focus on anything but wanting to feel her fingers make you come harder than you could ever remember.

Agatha’s hips rested against your knee, and she began riding your leg, chasing her own high. “Come for mommy, baby. Soak my fingers.”

Twisting her fingers and hitting your G-spot again, and again causing you to quickly unravel. Feeling your orgasm coming, you clenched around her fingers, needing her to stay inside you. Your knees buckled and you swore you saw stars, unable to speak as you silently cried out. Agatha came right as you did, grunting in your ear and roughly thrusting against your leg as she came undone.

“Fuck,” She panted, keeping her fingers inside you as you continued to twitched around them. “Good girl, such a good girl for mommy.”

Breathing heavily, you gradually felt yourself come back to Earth. You were drenched with sweat, and you were sure you looked positively debauched. Agatha was staring at you with yet another inscrutable expression on her face, and you felt yourself relaxing around her fingers as she slowly pulled out. You grabbed her hand, and lewdly cleaned her fingers off, watching her eyes darken once more as you made a point to swirl your tongue around them until they were clean.

As your brain fog cleared, you were all too aware of the uncomfortable silence growing around you. With every high that came with being with Agatha, it was almost always followed by an indescribable low. There were so many things you wanted to ask her, so many things you needed to know. Brief flashes of arguments and slamming doors. Dozens of unanswered calls, and late nights spent wondering what you had done wrong to deserve her random outbursts of anger. But with every argument, every heated fight, it would always end the same way; with Agatha pressing you against some surface and having her way with you.

There had been so much more going on at that point than you were aware of, and as the pieces slowly came together, she was too far gone for you to be able to help. You’d begged and pleaded with her, but it never mattered. What was it your therapist had said to you? You couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to help themselves. Letting go of her nearly killed you, and now you made the mistake of opening that door again, knowing how much more complicated it would be. You weren’t just her law student anymore, you were on opposing sides of a trial.

It appeared Agatha was having the same train of thought as you, for she wordlessly helped you find your clothes. In spite of her just being inside you, you made a point of turning around as you got dressed, as the air in the room seemed to drop and any of the warmth that had been there prior had disappeared. There was so much you wanted to say, yet simultaneously wanted to get as far away from her as you could.

Agatha finally broke the silence as she fixed her hair, and she was back to her usual condescending self. “You know you’re wrong pursuing this case, right? It’s not too late to back out.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally grabbed your phone from her back pocket and saw your Uber driver understandably canceled your ride. That would certainly tank your rating. You quickly ordered another before replying with, “You know this meant absolutely nothing to me, right?”

Pushing past her to exit the room, she let out another cackle, the sound like grating nails on a chalkboard in your ears. You knew she wouldn’t follow you, and you were thankful for that. This was an indiscretion, a momentary lapse of judgment. You’ve been on edge with all the extra hours you’ve been working; you weren’t thinking clearly. The courthouse was still relatively empty, and you left the building, trying to get the thought of Agatha out of your mind. Why did she have to be so infuriating?

Your Uber eventually rolled up and as you got in you went to check your work email. It never failed to amaze you how quickly your inbox would fill up when you didn’t check it for more than five minutes. Scrolling through, you vaguely listened to the music your driver had in in the background, until a familiar song started playing. Frank Sinatra, a favorite artist of a certain attorney. The Way You Look Tonight had always been one of her favorites, and you could remember the last time you listened to it together.

Your mind absentmindedly drifted, the memories you’d tried to lock away slowly creeping back up to the surface. It seemed no matter how hard you tried to forget, she didn’t want you to. Settling into your seat, listening to Frank Sinatra, you thought back to the first time you met Agatha, or rather, how you met Professor Harkness.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fanfiction #agatha harkness smut

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sweet-as-an-angel · 4 months

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Hello there! I've been a fan of your work for a while now and let me just say, your original works and characters have me absolutely captivated! (Your yandere outlaw is one of my top favorite fictional characters! And your yandere cult leader is rapidly rising in the ranks 👀) You put so much detail into all your writing and you really delve deep into the psychology and personality of every one of them so beautifully, not to mention how diverse they all are from one another. Each and every one has such dimension and they're so believable in their actions and reactions! (And can I just say I think it's very clever that your yandere!Milf/Dilf's names start with the acronym's initial)

And your MCs are also quite vibrant and while they remain easily relatable they still have distinct traits that the characters get attached to. Thank you for making and sharing these amazing stories and characters with us, it really makes my day whenever I see you've posted something new.

Now, I know this ask is getting pretty lengthy (sorry about that ^^" I tend to ramble) but I was going through your Yan!Dilf works again and I wanted to ask, how would Dominic react if his darling was someone who's maybe dealt with manipulative people in the past or is highly emotionally intelligent and observant who could tell he wasn't being entirely genuine? But instead of pulling away from him they try to understand what he wants from them and was open about it? Would he ever even become obsessed with someone like that or allow that kind of situation to happen or is he too cautious for it to be possible?

I know you've had a lot of asks so please don't feel obligated to answer this! But in any case thank you again for sharing your works and I hope you have a wonderful wonderful day! 💖💫

My Lovely, you have positively touched my soul with your endearing sentiments ! Truly, you have made my day and I cannot thank you enough for being such a loyal enthusiast of my work, your time is valued more than I can ever hope to express <3.

Your question is an incredibly fascinating one, my Dear; thank you for sharing it with us ! I wish you the happiest and most prosperous of days, Sweetie ^^

TW: Manipulation, Dominic Being Dominic, Vulnerability, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except 'You'.

♡ Dominic is, as you suggested, initially extremely cautious around you. However, he knows he can't just drop you like a sack of potatoes; it would be far too obvious to the people around him, which would surely cause others to find him out as the serpent he is if they ever went digging around his character.

♡ But, when you show him, gradually, like a keeper feeding a feral animal, that your endeavour is not to oust him as an un-human but rather to understand what made him like this in the first place (and all the lace and frills that come with such a monumental task), he regards you...differently than he did before.

♡ Sure, he thought you were very attractive and that you could offer him something other than the resplendence his life is steeped in, but now...

♡ He feels exposed. Seen. Vulnerable.

♡ All things he tries to push back against. Things he tries to bury beneath a grandiose tale of a childhood spent in the most accommodating of educational establishments, lavish mansions and the lap of luxury.

♡ He tries to lead you a merry dance down a version of his life that he wants you to see, rebuttaling your attempts at making him crack.

♡ You tell him you can see past that. He, feeling his eye twitch, believes you.

♡ It will take a long, long time to get Dominic even close to admitting a scintilla of how his psyche works. Or, rather, doesn't work.

♡ And it's only if you manage to grind away at his need to hide his most precious secret - the parasite that wears his skin and controls his mind - that he'll open up.

♡ Fractionally. Piecemeal. But he opens up, nonetheless.

♡ He'll grow to love you in ways unfathomable even to him.

♡ If you thought he was bad without having a background in combatting the manipulation of others, he is insidious now.

♡ You become to him what he could never be for himself; a safe haven. The only person from which he does not hide.

♡ Sure, he keeps the more...dangerous aspects of his personality hidden for a lot longer than others, but you can topple these columns, can shake Dominic from his perch forged from the ivory of a devil's horns.

♡ You can tame him in ways unimaginable. You have only to see him for who - what - he truly is.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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#sweet as an angel #yandere #male yandere #yandere male #original yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere dilf #yandere dilf x reader #yandere writing #yandere blog #tw yandere #original writing #writers on tumblr

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brewed-pangolin · 6 months

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Excuse me while I whip this out....

NSFW under the cut. As per usual

Reference to this post here

Soap loves to fuck you in the back of his 4Runner. Even more so than in your shared bed.

He always invites you out on his camping trips. He says he does so because he adores your company while in the wild and can't get enough of how much of an adorable novice you are in the art of deep wilderness living.

He used to only set up camp on the ground, as before you it was just him he had to worry about. But that first time you tagged along and begged to sleep in the trunk space of his SUV in fear of getting mauled by a bear, he caved immediately.

He was reluctant at first to admit how much he enjoyed the vehicular enclosure deep in the woods. And the way you snuggled yourself up against him to keep warm did nothing but fuel the burning fire of arousal deep within his loins.

It didn't take long before you were naked, having only a blanket draped around your shoulders as you vigorously rode on his hardened cock. Your fingers digging into the flesh of his chest, his strong hands gripping your hips as he guided your soaking heat along his length.

And as you bounced on him, you couldn't help but notice the sounds of the vehicle's suspension creaking at every up and down movement of your hips. Aiding in your upward motions, assisting in your downward plunge until your bodies moved in tandem with the springs of the SUV. The sounds of pleasure mixing with the strain of metallic distress as you rode him like an animal in the midst of the deep wilderness.

You were a staple on his excursions from that point on. He taught you the ways of the wild. The life-saving techniques if you were ever faced with such a circumstance. And within a few months, you were no longer a novice. You were a well-rounded outdoorsman, fully capable and confident in your abilities to even go on a few short solo trips while he was on his extended deployments.

But they were never the same. They were tranquil, yes. But his company always made the trips more enjoyable. Especially when those wildly lascivious needs crawled into your psyche.

And that damn 4Runner. You had to admit, you were getting soft on it. You never drove it while he was gone. It was his baby. And you almost felt like you were cheating on him just looking at it. So it became a quick tradition that within the first few days of him coming home, you took a trip into the wilds tougher. To get away from the world and reconnect after months of prolonged separation.

And of course, fuck in the 4Runner. Your favorite of outdoor activities.

4Runner Wingman Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @jynxmirage @obligatoryghoststare @homicidal-slvt @glitterypirateduck @kkaaaagt @macravishedbymactavish @mykneeshurt @astraluminaaa @shotmrmiller @haurasha @writeforfandoms @havov973 @luismickydees

#Soap's 4Runner #pleasured bouncy house on wheels #lovers lost in the wilds #let your animal out #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap x you #soap x reader #call of duty #cod #soap squad #4Runner Wingman

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cookinguptales · 10 months

Note

Do you think Nandor is actually dumb enough to think that a bird fucked a mouse and gave birth to a Guillermo lookalike frog? Or was he just looking for an excuse to dig into Guillermo cause he's a salty bitch who misses him.

You know, when I got the notification for this ask, at first all I saw was "do you think Nandor is actually dumb enough" and I just reflexively said "yes" without reading anything more, so there's that.

Genuinely, though, I think that Nandor often lives in a place of very deep denial, and he'll make up whatever he has to so he can keep living there. I do think he's dumb, don't get me wrong. But I think that Nandor often sees gaps but doesn't actually want to fill them. He knows Guillermo's acting weird, he knows Guillermo's never around anymore, he knows people are hiding something from him. But he's not letting himself fully think these things through.

Laszlo doesn't care about Guillermo -> (gap) -> Laszlo is spending all his time with Guillermo.

Nandor sees that gap, but he doesn't want to know the real answer, so he just comes up with one that's quick and easy and kind of stupid, which is that Laszlo is trying to woo Guillermo away from him.

Guillermo isn't around -> (gap) -> I feel lonely.

He sees that gap, but instead of talking to Guillermo about it or doing self-reflection about what his loneliness means, he just fills it with Alexander.

Everything is fine with Guillermo -> (gap) -> Guillermo is avoiding me and won't talk to me.

Again, he notices the gap. But he fills it with "obviously, I must have forgotten Guillermo's birthday." He doesn't even know when Guillermo's birthday is, but he just needs something to fill that gap and he will clutch at increasingly desperate straws to do so.

So that brings us to where we are now, when he is getting increasingly suspicious and frustrated and lonely and kind of scared, but he still can't bring himself to really evaluate what's going on.

Weird frogs that look like Guillermo are flying around -> gap gap gap gap gap.

And he could look at this and think, "holy shit, Laszlo is experimenting on Guillermo." He could look at this and think, "holy shit, something weird and supernatural is going on with Guillermo." He could look at this and think, "hey, do you think Guillermo is seeming awfully vampiric lately?"

But he can't think any of those things because they scare and upset him, so instead he has to fill that huge gap with literally anything else, and if that's gotta be a bird fucking a rat who fucked a frog who looks like Guillermo, well fucking so be it.

And if that idea seems to be suspiciously fueled by a friend doing something shady that he doesn't like (presumably Matthew the bird) and Guillermo not doing what he should be doing, well. Nandor isn't exactly going to examine what his subconscious is telling him there.

He's going to keep ignoring what his brain is slowly, slowly starting to put together in the background of his psyche and come up with literally any other option, no matter how inane it is.

He's good at that.

(But also yeah he's a salty bitch who misses him and wants to make Guillermo feel as bad as he does. 🥲)

#replies #wwdits #wwdits spoilers #wwdits meta

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zepskies · 8 months

Note

How would Beau comfort reader who’s gotten home from work and is feeling overwhelmed and sooky? I’m in need of comfort my the cutie patootie pls and thank you beloved 🫶🥺

Hello, my love!

I know it's been a while since you requested this @chernayawidow, but I’m so sorry you’re feeling down. It’s my pleasure to fulfill this prompt for you! 😘💞

AN: This is sort of a sequel to “Didn’t Mean to Stay,” but can be read as a stand-alone.

Word Count: 3,000 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, lots of hurt/comfort, fluff, and feels.

Imagine: Beau gives you the support you need.

You heaved a sigh while climbing up the short flight of stairs to your apartment. Why the hell you decided to live on the second floor, you had no idea…

Okay, mainly for the safety aspect of being a single woman living alone, but at least for the past year, you hadn’t been all that single (or alone, for that matter).

Seeing Beau’s truck in the parking lot reminded you that your boyfriend was already home from work. It was rare that you got here after him, but you perked up a little.

I hope he got something for dinner. Your stomach began to rumble at even the first stray thought of food. After the ridiculous day you’d had, you’d happily eat your weight in just about anything.

A hearty sandwich, Chinese lo mien, a whopping burger with fries…hell, you’d eat a whole damn bag of pizza rolls. As long as it was hot and you didn’t have to cook it.

Once you managed to insert your key and unlock the apartment, immediately there was too much sound coming from the living room. Guns and blasting and whoops and hollers. It all grated on your ears and your frayed psyche.

You grimaced as you locked the door behind you.

“Are we being invaded?!” you called.

Mercifully, the cacophony ceased as you walked into the living room and found your boyfriend with a sheepish smile. On the TV was an old western classic, The Magnificent Seven.

Typical, you thought. Your Texan cowboy loved his westerns.

“Sorry. Too loud?” he asked.

“Just a touch,” you replied.

“Well, I’m glad you're home.” Beau nodded at the TV. “Was gonna ask you what your Netflix password is.”

“What, don’t tell me you settled for 1960s cowboys?” you quipped.

You dumped your purse on the coffee table and sunk onto the couch next to him. Beau slid an arm around your waist and pulled you in closer. You obliged by shucking off your shoes and resting against him, with your head on his shoulder. You let out a long sigh.

“Well, that was my fallback plan. See, damn Netflix booted me out and I’m really gearing up for that new season of Cake or Cake,” Beau said, with a somewhat childish smile that almost succeeded in tugging your lips upwards as well. Your brows drew together.

“Cake or…oh my God. You mean Is It Cake?” you asked. You nearly slapped yourself with your own hand as it came up to cover your eyes. Your shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“Ah, yeah. That one.” Beau grinned.

“I just can’t figure out how I keep guessing so wrong," he continued. "It looks like a hat. It should be a hat. How the hell is it actually cake? These guys are just so damn talented, I’ll tell ya. I mean, I’ve eaten my fair share of quality cake, but I ain’t never eaten a hat cake…though that does sound good to me, now that I think about it. Heh, I could finally say, ‘if that ain’t real, I’ll eat my own hat.’ And I’d actually be able to take a bite.”

Now, normally you found boyfriend’s diatribes incredibly endearing. Beau was a talker, and you appreciated having him with you at social gatherings. Not only was he great at connecting with people (something you very much admired), but the man was damn good at filling a silence.

Today, however, he was feeding the headache pulsing behind your eyes. You loved him dearly. Yet you were tempted to dig your nails into your own arm just to stop yourself from snapping at him to please, stop talking.

“Speakin’ of food, that reminds me. My stomach’s damn near ready to eat itself.” He eyed you. “What’s for dinner, baby?”

Your hand slid from your face and slapped onto your leg. Your head slowly turned to him.

“I don’t know, Beau. What’d you cook?” you said tartly.

It was an effort, considering how comfortable you were while tucked against him, but you moved his arm off your hip and lifted your heavy-feeling body off the couch. Shaking your head, you trudged a path over to your room.

You didn’t see it, but Beau frowned. Though you heard him follow after you. You did your best to go about your business, unbuttoning your pants and starting on your blouse. You were just so damn tired, and probably still anxious. Even your hands were trembling and fumbling with the buttons.

Still, you sensed him coming closer, saw his sock-covered feet out of the corner of your eye. The rest of him was comfortably dressed in sweatpants and a wool sweater you bought for him last month; he was getting better, but still acclimating to Montana winters.

“You’ve been here all this time,” you grumbled. “You see how late I’m coming in, and you don’t think, hey, my girl’s gonna be tired. Why don’t I figure out how to work the stove so she doesn’t have to worry about feeding my six-foot-ass, bottomless pit—”

Beau’s hands stilled yours, and he took over unbuttoning your blouse to help you. He bent his head enough to catch your eyes, smiling a little at your grumpy face.

“All right, all right. I see your point,” he said. “You had a bitch of day, huh?”

“The longest of my damn life,” you said. The stress of each moment played behind your eyes. So much that they stung with unshed tears when you raised your gaze to meet his.

Beau’s brows furrowed in sympathy. He paused in what he was doing to stroke your cheek and press a tender kiss to your forehead.

“And I wanna hear about it, but first, you go take a nice long shower,” he said. “What do you feel like eating?”

“Food,” you said petulantly. But he was being too sweet for you to be all that annoyed with him. A reluctant smile was growing across your lips. Beau smirked.

“You in the mood for Italian? Chinese? Maybe feeling a little adventurous and wanna try that Greek place down the street?” he suggested. “I think they deliver.”

By now he’d worked your blouse open. His hands were finding their way along the curve of your waist, smoothly across your skin, then meeting at the small of your back. He pressed the heel of one hand there, where he knew your shitty desk chair often made you ache.

You gripped his strong arms for support and leaned into him. You let out a sigh and rested your cheek against his chest, where he dropped another kiss on the top of your head.

“Greek sounds good, actually,” you confessed.

“Mmm, hell yeah. You want chicken, steak, or lamb on your gyro?” he asked. You felt the reverberation of his hum, and it was weirdly soothing. Though his question reminded you of one of your favorite movies that you too often quoted to him: My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

“What you mean he don’t eat no meat?” you said with a giggle. Beau’s lips moved to your forehead, and you felt the shape of his smile.

“It’s okay, I make lamb,” you both said together.

He chuckled and held you a bit tighter, secure and comforting. “All right. Lamb it is…you think they got cake on the menu?”

When you laughed, it was muffled by his sweater.

After a hot shower, good food, and three episodes of Is It Cake later, you were falling asleep on your corner of the couch.

All through dinner, Beau had listened to you vent about your day. About the problems your coworkers had hoisted on you to solve in the midst of a massive project you were already tackling. How your boss then blamed you for not coming to her first before you overloaded yourself, and how you’d very seriously contemplated going to HR before you figured just dealing with it would cause you less grief in the end.

Your boyfriend listened and gave his two cents, both supportive and fair. That was another thing you liked about him; he was always fair.

Now, he roused you out of your drowsy state when his arms wrapped around your frame and lifted you up.

You whined in protest. “Whaaat? Don’t move me.”

“Nope, you’re goin’ to bed,” he said, in his sheriff’s voice that boded no argument. You grumbled, but you still snuggled closer to his chest and pressed your sleepy face into his neck.

Smirking, he walked you into the bedroom and laid you down on your side of the bed. He came to your place often enough that he now had his own side, complete with his own nightstand and a couple of drawers of your dresser, even a bit of closet space.

You really should’ve just told him to move the hell in already, but you weren’t like Beau. He was a man of action. He processed things quickly and made decisions just as fast. His job demanded him to be that way.

You tended to drag your feet. You also tended to worry, and weigh pros and cons, and you were cautious by nature. Even dating this man had been a slow process, for which he’d been very patient with you. (And you with him, especially in the beginning as he learned to open up to you.)

The evidence was plain to see, as he raised the blankets and helped you roll underneath them. You just took him by surprise when you grabbed the front of his sweater and pulled him down with you.

“Hey!” he laughed. He had to brace himself against the mattress before he crushed you. His knees fell on either side of your hips while your arms twined around his neck.

“You’re a wily one, even half-asleep,” he remarked. You smiled and threaded your fingers through his soft brown hair.

“Like a rattlesnake in the tall grass,” you teased. In fairness, the two of you had gotten into watching David Attenborough's nature documentaries.

Beau’s brows raised, his smile deepening.

“Oh yeah? Better not mess around then,” he chuckled. “I might just get bit.”

You snorted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You leaned up until your lips were nearly brushing his. Beau’s eyes lowered to your face, taking in all the things that felt more like home than his little trailer near the woods.

Just before you would’ve closed the small breadth of distance, you veered away from his mouth and went for his neck instead. He even flinched at the tease of your teeth playfully biting him.

"You little vixen!" He laughed deeply as he unwound your arms from his neck. He pinned you down to the bed and pressed his hips down into yours over the sheets. But it was his claiming lips that stopped you from fighting back.

Your shoulders trembled with giggles that he swallowed up, kiss after kiss. Your eyes closed as he dragged the sheets down away from your body. His hands caressed you through your thin tank top, brushing over a hardened nipple with the back of his hand, then squeezing your breast through the fabric.

You sighed into his mouth. “I know I kind of started this, but I’m really tired, baby…”

“Who says you gotta do anything?” rumbled his rich voice.

A tremor of heat ran through you. Even with your eyes closed, your exhausted body responded to his touch. His lips drew a hot, wet path down your neck, all while his hands did sinfully good things, sliding under your tank top and gliding against your skin. You let him take it all the way off, followed by your pajama pants and cotton panties, though he paused to squeeze your ass in appreciation.

“Someone’s been doing squats,” he noted, grinning down at you.

“Nah, just an extra slice of that honey cake,” you retorted. Apparently, the Greeks liked honey on everything.

Beau’s head tilted. “Huh. Well, I do like me some cake.”

You laughed, then jolted with a yelp when he slapped a bare cheek.

But you couldn’t just lay idle when he started on his own clothes. You sat up and helped him raise the sweater up and over his shoulders, but he stopped you.

“I mean it. You just lie back and relax,” he said, giving you a charming grin. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes; he was just too damn good to you.

While he finished taking off the sweater, your hands drifted down to the waistband of his pants. You caressed the hardening length of him, earning a hiss and a groan from him.

“Can’t I just…” you tried.

With difficulty, Beau grabbed your wrist. He raised a brow at you and guided you back down.

“For once, I’m ‘a need you to listen to me,” he said, kissing your cheek and then the other side of your neck.

You breathed a laugh, but it caught on a moan as his fingers brushed through your wet folds. He made a sound of approval. And those nimble fingers gathered some of your wetness and began circling slowly over your clit.

You sucked in a breath and arched against him. You even whimpered a little as his free hand wound through your hair, giving him further access to your neck. He hummed against your skin and grazed his teeth under your ear.

“I gotcha, baby. Whenever you need it,” he said, low and steady. You gripped his arms for dear life as two of his fingers slipped deep inside you. You panted into his neck, rocked your hips mostly in time with his fingers as they twisted and pulsed around your tightening walls. His thumb rubbed against your throbbing clit.

“Please,” you whispered into his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. “Want you inside me.”

“We’re gettin’ there,” Beau nodded. He was breathing harder too, just from anticipation. The sounds you were making, the way you were squeezing his hand from the inside had him painfully hard.

“Now,” you insisted. Your hands moved to grip his hair, and your lips met his in a devouring kiss.

Beau matched your passion with closed eyes and furrowed brows. He’d had a plan for you at the start of this, but what kind of man would he be if he didn’t abide by your wishes?

So he withdrew his fingers from your slick pussy, even though you uttered a shuddering breath. It took everything you had within you to remain still and resting against the pillows as you caught your breath. You wanted to wrestle down his sweatpants yourself and show your boyfriend how appreciative you could be.

But you also appreciated what he was trying to do. You watched him with tired, but still hungry eyes as he kicked off the pants and the boxer briefs and returned to you, bracing a forearm above your head after he spread your legs and raised up your knees.

He lowered himself between the warm cradle of your thighs and kissed down your chest, licked between the valley of your breasts.

You arched up again when his tongue found your nipple, swirling around it, and finally taking it between his teeth. His hips rolled against yours, making his cock press against your core teasingly.

“Beau, for the love of God,” you moaned.

He chuckled. “Maybe you oughta learn how to be patient.”

You grabbed his bearded face between both hands and raised him up to you. He noted your challenging brow, but also your smile.

“Maybe you shouldn’t tease the rattlesnake,” you replied.

Beau laughed and ducked his forehead against yours. “Okay, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

He nosed at your cheek, angling for a kiss. You tipped your head back and welcomed his lips, especially when his tongue slipped past to tangle with yours. His forearm was braced above your head, but his free hand left your hip to line himself up to your entrance.

Another shudder went through your body as he finally slid home inside you. The shape and feeling of his cock was familiar as it stretched your inner walls, and you caught his moan in your mouth.

Your legs wrapped around his hips and squeezed, forcing him in deeper. His eyes screwed shut as he lost focus for a moment. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the feeling of you, or the sound of your voice, or the way you trusted him, but still tried to give as much as you took.

He pulled out nearly all the way, slowly sliding back in so you’d feel every inch. You clenched on him as a tremble ran through your body.

You uttered a broken gasp of his name that spearheaded goosebumps across his skin. And his next movements were faster, though just as deep.

He followed the encouragements of your voice, especially when he shifted his hips at an angle he knew would make you writhe. His fingers stroking your already sensitive clit, in time with his last wild thrusts, had you threatening to rip out a chunk of his hair. Instead, you gasped in his ear and dug your fingers into his hips.

His own release followed yours shortly after; he could only resist you squeezing the life out of him from the inside out for so long. And you held him afterwards, even though he still had a trembling arm braced above you.

Your hands smoothed up and down his back, trailing lightly with your nails. His breath was hot, but not uncomfortable against your neck.

You felt absolutely boneless as your legs slid from his hips. He pulled out of you soon after, but your embrace kept him from moving very far. He rested on his side, and you turned towards him. You both knew you’d have to deal with the sheets and the cleanup, but not just yet.

You carded your fingers more soothingly through his hair and drew his face back to yours.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered. And you didn’t just mean in this bed. “I haven’t had that in a long time.”

Beau’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You don’t gotta thank me for that.”

“Yeah, I do,” you nodded. Your lips formed a tired smile before they pressed softly to his. “I love you.”

Beau took a moment to brush a sweaty strand of hair away from your face. He’d believed in second chances before he met you…just not for himself. Meeting you made him swear by them.

“Love you too,” he said.

And the warmth of that bone-deep knowledge was more satisfying than even the heftiest slice of cake.

AN: God, I love Beau. I miss Big Sky. 😭 But feel free to let me know what you think of this one! It's only my second time, but I really do love writing this guy. ❤️

And tell me...are you team cake 🍰 or team pie 🥧?

Big Sky Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BA Tag List:

@deans-baby-momma @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92

@lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @waters-2567

@ultrahviolentart @deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @ades106 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @emily-winchester @beautyvaliant @beskarfilms

@syrma-sensei @tmb510 @fabimaou @mimaria420 @fromcaintodean @mrsjenniferwinchester @jc-winchester @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @charmed-asylum @globetrotter28

#Beau Arlen imagine #Beau gives you the support you need #big sky #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen x you #Beau Arlen smut #fluff #hurt/comfort #zepskies writes

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moonlight-prose · 10 months

Note

ahh hello lovely!! Your Sinful Soiree is gorgeous and looks so fun! So excited to read what you make for it.

And would love to send something in! I think about your kinktober Obi-Wan all the time, would love to please request something for him + this prompt: “shh. there’s people in the other room.”

Hope you have a great day! 💖💕

SWEETENED CRAVINGS

a/n: so i sat on this for a bit trying to find the inspo for obi-wan again. but i seriously didn't expect to get it back to this degree. i wrote this quickly and possibly not even paying attention to what i was putting on the paper because my mind was going a mile a minute. so this is probably extremely messy, but i hope you enjoy it darling. (also thank you for reigniting my love for this man. i am now swooning again).

summary: "he’d want the last thing he ever heard to be the sound of you tipping over the edge, falling into a bliss you both craved."

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, bad explanation of the force, cumplay, cumeating, obi-wan being a tease, possible exhibitionism (if you squint with a magnifying glass).

If you could scream, you would. You would allow every sound you pushed down, every whimper you bit back, free. In fact you wanted to hear it echo around you. Until he went deaf with it. Although knowing him, he’d want that too. He’d want the last thing he ever heard to be the sound of you tipping over the edge, falling into a bliss you both craved.

“F-Fuck. Obi—” Your head fell back against the wall behind you, nails digging into the rough fabric of his robes.

His eyes met yours, the brilliant blue still stealing your breath after so many months of seeing them like this. Darkened with a lust that reverberated through your entire body. A feeling unlike any other. When in fact it was you that showed it to him first. You who got to watch as he discovered what real pleasure felt like—what it did to his psyche.

“I know darling,” he whispered, his lips glistening in you.

One hand gripped your leg that was slung over his shoulder, the other focused on prolonging every little sensation that coursed through you. His fingers curled, brushing against a spot that he always found with astounding accuracy every time. And he watched—a small smile playing on his lips—as you nearly crumpled in on yourself. A sharp gasp leaving your mouth.

“I can’t…” Oh but you wanted to. You wanted to dig your hands into his hair and drag him back to your cunt that practically pulsed with each shift of his hand. You needed to fall off that cliff.

“Yes,” he said, his voice slipping into a tone you were rather familiar with. A demand that only came from a general in war. “You will.”

Nodding without another thought on the matter, you felt his tongue slip back through your folds. A sound clawed up the back of your throat as heat filled your stomach, spreading to the very tips of your fingers. But you fought against it. Did whatever you could to hold it back in your chest. Except then he sucked your clit into his mouth, a soft moan reverberating through your entire body.

A cry tore from your throat, your thighs shaking in his grip. You were right there. And you tried to drag it closer, allowing it to fill your entire being with that white hot burn you loved. You craved it. Desperately needed the sweetness that only he could give to spread along your tongue, but you felt it began to fade. Whatever licked hotly at the edge, sunk back into the darkness.

“No,” you gasped. “No, please. Please I want to—”

He rose to his feet, his hand covering your mouth with fingers that were still covered in your slick. “I know. I know what you want.”

A muffled whine echoed beneath his palm. You hoped that the sound would spur him on; show him how much you needed him to continue. Yet it only made him smile. A light in his eyes that told you he wasn’t done with you yet. Far from it.

Shuffling with one hand, he pulled at his robes with a speed that suggested he wasn’t as calm and collected as you expected him to be. In fact, seeing you like this—tasting you on his tongue—drove him to the brink of a madness he could no longer deny. A state of being he’d happily settle in permanently.

He gripped your leg, hooking it around his hip as the firm head of his cock swiped through your folds. Sending a shiver through your entire body. A broken moan escaping you. He nudged at your clit, his hot breath panting across your skin, and you nearly told him to get it over with. To finally give you what you both wanted. But the feeling of him sinking into you completely, until his hips met yours, sent your head flying back. A ragged cry slipping free.

“Darling,” he grunted, his forehead falling against your temple, eyes squeezed shut.

You couldn’t even get coherent words out, a muffled sound coming out louder than you intended. That only made him press his hand down harder, his lips coming up to your ear, the soft grunt he let out shaking your entire being.

“Shh. There’s people in the other room.” He kissed the spot beneath your ear that sent a shiver down your spine. “I need you to be quiet for me. Can you do that? Can you be good?”

You’d go out onto a fucking battlefield with no weapons at this point. As long as he continued with whatever he had planned. Obi-Wan controlled your entire being, bending you to his will, and you happily allowed it. What more could you want? When he held you like the most precious thing in the galaxy; when he looked at you like you were his north star. His eternal light in the battle against darkness.

Nodding, you felt him pull out slightly, only to press back in with a stunted thrust that had his head falling forward. Neither of you would last very long—not with the prospect of possibly getting caught hanging over your heads. Whichever of you thought fucking in the Jedi Temple was a good idea was certainly not thinking about the consequences.

“So tight,” he gasped, his other hand pulling your leg up higher, allowing him to sink in a bit deeper.

His body shook, teeth digging into his bottom lip, as he realized just how quickly this would be over. Obi-Wan—though a little more experienced than last time—still found himself unable to hold on at times. Not when your walls were so tight around his cock. Each flutter sending him a little higher, the self control he prided himself on, slipping further and further away.

“I’ve got you.”

Another short stunted thrust caused your hips to hit the wall softly, but it did exactly what you needed. His cock pressed against that blinding spot that had your eyes welling up with tears. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, eyes rolling back as the release he had built up suddenly came roaring back.

“So fucking perfect,” he muttered, his speed quickening to chase that feeling he felt build up in the base of his spine. “So good for me darling.”

A whimper was pressed into his palm, your hips canting up to match his thrusts with weak movements.

“I’ve got you.” He gasped, his forehead falling to yours. “I want to feel it. Please. I need it.”

He slammed into you, feeling your cunt clamp down around him as you clawed at his back. Ripping his hand away, his lips pressed against yours, swallowing every sound you made and giving you his in return. He grunted with each thrust, your slick coating the coarse hair at the base of his cock and giving him a chance to perfectly grind against your clit.

“I-” You pulled away, a string of spit connecting your lips together. “I’m—oh—”

“Yes,” he panted, his tongue sliding against yours, hand moving down to grip your hip. “Let me feel you.”

One final grind of his hips against yours sent the wave of bliss you’d been grasping for through you. A sob of his name was swallowed by his fervent kiss, your spine arching until you were pressed fully into him. Something burst forward, enveloping him whole, and it was only when he shuddered finally reaching his own peak, did you realize it was you.

A bright light of a feeling you could only define as purely Obi-Wan shoved into your body, sending you higher than before. He cried into your mouth, his hand slapping against the wall beside your head as he shook, sinking into the heat of the Force that you drowned him in.

“Fuck,” you sighed when you finally began to come down, your head spinning from the high that still lingered in your body. Sparking up and down your spine.

He chuckled, remaining as close to you as possible, even as his cock softened inside you. “I believe we got a bit carried away.”

You smiled, cupping the back of his neck. “So much for being quiet.”

“I can come up with an explanation for the noise.”

You scoffed. “And what pray tell is this explanation? I apologize for the noise but I couldn’t stop myself from eating out my lover in an empty room.”

His cheeks stained red until it crept up to his ears. “Something of the sort.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’d much rather prefer the term intelligent.”

You laughed, feeling his lips press against your neck, his own smile curving against your skin. “Whatever you say General Kenobi.”

A soft growl echoed in his chest at the sound of you using his title, his teeth digging into your throat. You sighed softly at the feeling of his cock twitching in curiosity, the knowledge that you wouldn’t be leaving this room any time soon now dawning on you.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his hips pushing forward, eliciting a high keening moan from your throat.

“G-General—” His thumb spread the mixture of your cum along your swollen clit, pressing down until your hips jerked forward—painful sparks shooting up your body.

“Good girl.” A wide smile curved on his mouth, the thumb that had been against your clit, now running along your bottom lip, opening you up. “Now.” He moaned at the feel of your tongue against his finger. “Where was I?”

#obi wan kenobi x f!reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x y/n #obi wan kenobi smut #obi wan x reader #obi wan smut #obi wan kenobi #my writing #sinful soiree🥀#babes the fact that you continue to think about that kinktober fic #makes me so happy

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cipheramnesia · 8 months

Text

Vivisection

I sloughed the shell in a flourish of our shared sweat, blood, and mucus. Cold on the steel-grated floor lift, tech eyes wide over me as my psyche twitched itself back together from the needles. My eyes said you must be new but my mouth spoke in thick puked up fluid whilst my sopping slick shuddering fingers clawed nerve pads off my tits and slid catheter from my dick. All of us nerves had little twitches of pleasure as we found ourselves whole, and made it to sitting.

"Towel," I found language, and the tech handed it, eyes carefully elsewhere at the pink and red cockpit still quivering in urgency, wet with quenched desires. Methodically cleaned under the wet warm terrycloth ministrations, top to standing, adjusting to eyes and ears 'side skin and taste. The hangar was all echoes of more experienced crew on the teardown fifty feet up and down the shell, didn't need the look I turned anyway at my love, the crab. Rested claws in bands of carbon, four squat legs and rolling condensation off the quieting spiracles. Charred, twisting armor coated over with clotted brown patch like scabs and fading blue drips of other less evils' blood, sparkling at places from shattered refractive layers, spongy intrasteel glistening through here and there. Below it discharged glutinous tar from the trap, all spent oil and shock fluid plus shells and fused filters, burned heat hexes all and all bound for the reprocess, someone else's hand-me-down armor or shoes.

The wasp staggered past us to its own home sweet safety net so I hung the rail in a gentlemanly way and bade our tech meet my goddess in crime at her door. "They have their own lift," the tech observed. My goosebumps agreed, emphasizing the questionable temperature, but a lady must pay her respects. "I don't care," I suggested so we went.

Parked up under those gangly legs adripped with the glow and silver of thirty confirmed kills and gored holes through musculoskeletal tubing told the tale, I held my arms in chivalry as the mandibles underside the shell parted ways and dripped Ari into my embrace along side her own deluge of girl-juice and veined amniogel shreds. Knees buckled as my stomach protested my lack aforethought, but no one could dispute the benefits of a girl pressed against my breasts, slinging her long arms around me. She barfed over my shoulders, warm and phlegmy.

Ari'd pulled her cords in the shell like a good girl, still shook gainst my skin as she stuttered, "fuh- fuh- fuh-" while I jerked my head at the tech who shrugged. Outta towels, well my bad. Leaned us on the railing and thought about tonight, you know the human body's pretty heavy all said? "Your... skin is... freezing!" she articulated, not a request mere observation, but my arms acquiesced nevertheless. We leaned on each other watching black muck drain from the wasp's thorax, standing around naked in a pool of shell vomit. "Yer dumb," she added, hocking up more phlegm. "Now're both shlimy." The other shells crawled in with the tide, blasted with sterilizing powder and steam, various scorpions and mosquitos and spiders seeking succor as we finally made our way down the textured rubber steps.

"Fuckin so hungry," Ari slurred, dribbling blood and saliva while my own stomach answered midst shouts of our squad as they were reborn, crawling free and bloodied from the shell, some still babbled nonsense, tried to move limbs no longer bodied and no shame to them. "You threw up so much, 'spected," I said. Watched Spinning Jenny shaking mucus off his head, snapping teeth together.

"Gonna eat three horses," Ari added. "Fuck potatoes, my dick can fuck a pile of potatoes I'm starving." She shook my shoulder, my legs wobbled in tune, "Clingy bitch." But her hand stayed, fingers digging the tense muscles in my back, mine squeezed her hips. "Casey I want you to hold me down and force feed a gallon of cheese into me." Managed to cross the whole hangar naked, didn't eat shit. Techs hooted appreciating and I tried to bow but just did a cockeyed vanity wave. Brain twitched but kept my cool, remembered I don't see in sonar. "Maybe later tonight," I murmured sotto voce. I cleaned the fresh blood from my ears with a pinky finger.

Lockers, showers, Ari always liked when I soaped and dried her, little bit of a tease, ease of limbs back into bodily limits. She was wiping gunk from her eyes, still going, "I fuck shit swear I'm getting mission reruns in my sleep now. Bullshit we don't hang on to PDN memories, I've deffo had the same shit we throw at the elves in my head at night."

"They're not elves," I said.

"Whatever, magical monster tree bugs, I dunno, are you getting shell feedback?" I was toweling her thick curls, my own short hair dried sweet quick. Threw on those almost paper scrubs. Sexy. "Babe, we all got feedback, I'm not even sure how much me is in my mind."

She grabbed my hair and gave my head a little shake, "Lucky you, I'll fuck your brains out anyway," and blew my hair out my eyes. I grabbed her hand and pushed back, she swooned, we crushed hard as team shelled and molted, in bed or in field. Just a way to anchor, comes with the piloting, nothing new. Lots of pilots fall in twos and fours of strange bedfellow - gets you back in mind after so long parted. "Shut the fuck up," she said to my smile, shoved back, I reeled her in and smiled more til she punched my shoulder. "Fuck you, feed me." We joined the aching crowd clustering to the mess hall.

Slammed our piled trays on a table, minutes later. Scatter Hawk had beat us there somehow, last in the bay, first to the hay per usual. Jelly was still in their hair and they were tearing into a pile of beef flavored protein patties they'd slathered with garlic chili sauce and pickled carrot chips. Shoved it in their blood-smeared face with mixed results twohanding a fork, missed the target 30% of the time. "Glad you're a better shot with the 40," I suggested and they replied, "Slip your own dick sideways fish brisket," spittle and snot sprayed with each word, language not quite in the altogether I guess. I slapped some nerves back into their shoulder and they grunted wetly and appreciatively.

Ari pushed me onto the bench and dropped down, catted up against me and chugged hot sauce from the tube, followed by a fistful of fake bacon and chips dripping with jalapeños. "Thid fit gess weeper effy dah" she spat out with a mouthful of half chewed food, elbowing my ribs in the process, so I slipped my hand over her thigh and gave her a reassuring stim. I was busy with whatever passed for kimchi and pork flavored protein while the table started filling up with other pilots eating an entire day's worth of food in one sitting, trying to feel and speak and touch and taste all at once with mixed successes, all of us trying to pick our nerves up from the sludge being in the shell made out of our bodies. DeeDee shoved a fork at us and said, "Fuck were you, suckin dick? Tank's supposed to keep hits off."

"Yeah, take many hits?" I wiped the dribbled of blood off my lip.

"Like ten! Two in a lung!" He jabbed a beef patty for table wobbling emphasis.

Barely audible Ari whispered, "You're alive aren't you?" Head was drooped under her curled hair near to my level, flying below table radar, still about hit direct to a nerve with DeeDee's bloodshot eyes going big and Hellis beside scooting its flat ass away but none of us got further into what manner of dicks weren't or were sucked (my carefully planned speech - about the pincer move we broke while I was still jamming longways thanks and the relationship of DeeDee's dick being vaporized vis a vis our suckage - wasted). Squad command rudely storming our table with the demand: "Death Claw! Kill Strike!"

Silence resumed in sudden shock as he stood authority thrust chinward, all our eyes tracking the table. He repeated the command, "Death Claw! Kill Strike!" Silence abounded, roamed the plains, handed him a look of weary resignation as his lips, with all the distaste of gingerly dropping a dead rat into a toilet, formed, "Kitty Candy and Raccoon Enchantment," he struggled to recover his momentum but the wind was dead, "I need to speak with you both." Tablewide "ooooo" and Spinning Jenny added "someone's in trouuuble," as we took our ways in the talking wake of the baron of bluster.

Followed breadcrumbs of wet bootie prints and bloodsmeared walls back to the old bay so he could scream at us with an echo. "You semen stains mind explaining what the fuck you were doing back in that shitshow?"

Her nose was bleeding heavily again and I could feel Ari's arm spasm as she pushed close behind me, whispering without sound. I had answers mercifully drowned in a wad of spit and phlegm suddenly dumping into my mouth and down my chin.

"Gods you're all fucking sick. Disgusting. Got nothing to show for it?"

I swallowed another gob of something unpleasantly solid which mercifully shot from my lungs into my mouth giving moments for me to think forward. Rare enough, I treasured them. Figured best not mention what was the thing, blowing the drop bolts early cuz she wanted to try and fire the primary on the wasp from directly above a banyan whilst midair, sans stabilizers, which for the record she hit the thing but caught an extra eighth mile sky above the crate.

"Listen," I gurgled, wiped off my face. ("Listen SIR," he interjected, so I waved indulgently.) "Hurgle. My decoms pinged a hostile lake, looked like a stand of banyans an' a anthill so we bailed at drop beta." Ari's fingers drug out blood from under my paper sleeve, fuck ridiculous she's like eight inches taller trying to make my ass into partial cover.

"Drop beta," he repeated the words to emphasize their unwelcome intrusion to his shriveled brain. I realized the part of my memories with this squad commander's name got sliced in the shell. His face was twitching as bad as mine ever has. "There was no drop beta! There was one site, slash and burn, the end!"

"Well lucky you! We set one up before that swampfire cut our lines up, no thanks necessary please, you know we do it for the love of our jobs."

He looked at the melted up muscle and vatsteel carapace curves of my beloved crab and wasp. Some mirror shaved surfaces, bug blood all black where it congealed. "Fuckin trannies, disgusting, undisciplined- Why we hire so many I don't even-"

"C'mon, you know we're your best guys."

"You're literally my worst guys! If I had anyone else fucked in the head enough to shove into those- those fucking meat grinder abominations, I'd dump your freakshow asses so far in the back beyond you'd fart just for the conversation!"

I elbowed Ari in the gut before she said something dumber than I had in mind. "You know the old saying, a tranny in the shell will give em all hell."

His face snapped shut like crab's load-in maw. Gritted teeth rumbled, "Scrape duty for the next two hours." He shoved us out of the way off to ruin someone else's sex lives, his own probably.

Two hours and two trays of congealed processed protein with vinegar and hot peppers, we trudged down the narrow hall to bunk. The ganglia stopped twitching but it'd been a minute last I had this much elf blood under my nails and my hair reeked of burned polyfilament lubricant.

Ari stretched her arms back because the ceiling was too low for up grumbling, "Don't wanna spec nother fuckin face for a whole shift." I shrugged half drop slept and headed my roomways, brought to heel with her hand on my wrist. "The fuck you think you're going, you promised." Her, lips, just as crusted with blood and snot as mine still a cute pout in dire times.

I gauged my cramping stomach up against that hand and those lips. We hadn't been on-mission for a sec, and fuck for the moment I'm only human and very horny. Still. "You said-"

"People, I mean people." She punched the latch and I let her reel me into her narrow cabin, coming attractions you could call it. I said, "Babe, you gotta pick up your underwear - or anything - sometime." Ari grabbed a bottle of the rancid wine someone was making from cooking oil and caramelized vinegar. She put it against my chest, and put us against the stowage wall, and put her tongue into my throat. Her lips were gunpowder nachos, burning hot, both of us careless to chapped cracked open blood. I took a slug of the wine, with its notes of artificial PTSD raspberry flavor, as she pulled the bunk from the wall. I held up the bottle, tipped it to her lips, spilled it into her mouth, on her face, down her bare flesh and cheap scrubs.

Ari yanked it away and tossed it to the refuse under her fully unused sliver of a desk. I grabbed her by the front of her scrubs, they tore, so I grabbed her arm and fumbled us against the edge of the cot, struggling with my pants and paper booties. "Fucking elastic, now it works?" Ari tried to rip the pants off, snapping a yelp and a shock outta me when she snapped the band on my stomach, so I pushed my hand into her pants and grabbed her dick, hip checked her onto her back on the cot, then furiously yanked both our pants off. We smashed tongues and lips again, her guided by my fingers in her hair, me by her nails on my back, furrows through the grime mottling my acne scarred skin. I clambered onto her, a full tangle of legs and elbows with the sweet serenade of the cot, joints protesting weight and unwelcome thrashing. But I had hold of her now, me and my little growls, her softly repeating "please," as I pressed our hips, tits, lips together. Teased and pinched on and around her nipples, scratched the welcome back real world long her ribs, pulled myself to myself with her rhythmic panting breaths. Shudders passing through from her to me, traded in kind as we reminded our bodies and each other of the dwindling human embers in our chests, the dregs of what once was bright and happy in the world still enough between us to reignite into the shape we suffered through bereft of shells. A minute for our hearts to hammer together, to take in the mossy dried blood scent, the reek of sweat and metal, both of us hard and slick against one another.

When she murmured, we gingerly squirmed our legs and arms around and across each other til Ari lay on her stomach, the pathetic, thin excuse of a mattress rolled under her chest and arms. Lube was spread over her ass and my fingers with wasteful urgency. I worked my hands slowly down her back, gently caressing her sync ports with my thumb, watching them contract and gape with her moans. The lips of them tingled and sent pulses of pleasure through my hands from lingering protonerves. Moved downward to her ass and sliped in one finger at a time, stroking inside her folds, touching her walls, three in and rhythmic spreading and relaxing as she sucked in air, so I leaned up close and slipped my tongue into her neckport, the sphincter closed tight and opened wide and I could feel my ports sympatic response, taste her tasting tasting her. She twisted her pillow into knots and I pushed my cock into her as my fingers slipped out, slowly, feeling her tense up and relax.

Slivers of amniogel squished against my cock in her ass, protonerves shot echos of her through me, flaring and then crushed between us. We pressed ourselves closer, trading pulses back and forth, that one flashing minute of her ass against my hips and one hand on her dick, my face in her hair, one hand pressing into jer back ports, letting her suck the lube from my other hand. It was almost the ecstasy of feeling our minds dissolve into one another. Then we moved again. Hours or minutes, I felt her cum trickle over my hands and wiped it on her thigh as I kept going. Mucus spilled from her contracting back sphincters and my own. Fucking the trace of vat grown life to death until we might have a hope of sleep tonight.

It was humid and reeked of sex, everything about Ari barely fit, except for me, so we stole away these moments from each other to remember and forget. It was nothing in the world, but it was better than dying alone. My leg hung off the bed when we had rolled free of one another, too filthy to breathe and too wasted to shower. My elbow and hip hurt from banging against the wall. Her legs were curled up and her left knee jabbed painfully into my thigh, I couldn't find a place to put my right arm and it was falling asleep but the tingle felt better than trying to stand up. Head was jammed into my neck, couldn't be comfortable, I brushed tangles out of her hair. Muffled, she said, "You smell bad."

"You love it. You missed my pit stank, my demure little corpseflower." She made gagging noises into my clavicle. "I'm gonna have to go back to my nice bunk where the floor is clean, can't stay under my wing forever birdie."

"Whatever," I felt her lips mashed against me with each word, and braced for her to shove me off bed, but her arm just squeezed me closer. "Can so stay f'rever," she sounded almost asleep, her head pushed closer to me and she muttered something like "glove mew bits."

Rolled eyes, but pressed a little closer. "Sure, marinate some new strain of bacteria, they can spatula us out the morning." Unprepared by her momentary snuggle, my ass hit the floor in a pile of unwashed tanktops with a sleep slurred "fuck off."

I left my dignity in the laundry and blew a kiss. "You're gonna hate you in the morning if you sleep that way," she made and grumpy noise and wrapped herself around the rolled up mattress, trying and failing to fit on the metal cot. I tripped a little on the way out the door, on my half naked way to a luxury five minute hot shower to a low bid bargain cold sleep.

Dreams told tales from the shell. Techs all swore in the slice nothing transfers. True enough we lost a short term or three but that's the balance to cost against feedback, they said. Dreams were my four legs crushing earth compact from the drop jump as my decoms rolled over the banyans and bugs slinging spells, my nightmost terrors unfolding from the PDN and flooding their foci and fetishes. In the mindscape ground ran fluid under mechanized polyplastic muscle, the world putty with my gargantuan claws. Chaff launched from deep inside my chambered shell to spark the incoming green, a deathly spray to casual sunblock rads, no mind to armored skin.

Myriad wave of banyans moving, windblown, roots crawling, but there she is, my darting wasp hurling her thousand stings, finding targets in my trackers n hackers through the grassfield bugs. Their blood glows blue, all the work of their spells to brittle silver threads that fall to pieces. She lands and I bathe the hill in freaks, veritable fog of messy tracking til her thorax slides open and erects its throbbing, winged main gun, legs planted, struts in, and a hurricane throws banyan trunks to shreds, clears a canyon of death, and she screams, and I see the branches from the earth tearing her apart, I am slow, bogged in sudden mud, green spears her, the angry earth rips her legs from limb, black ichor and green coolant and I wake up screaming as she shouts for me to go. Clutching the metal edge to my cot, seeking my body again, for a moment unable to hear or see, I exist only as pounding blood and raw nerves til each flexed muscle brings me to human.

Some time passes to rise, rollout hours more hence, I spent time to feel my body, put on shorts and t-top and try to forget the dream and Ari's voice screaming for me to leave her.

I tried to sleep the echo away, then folded my cot and dug the glass bottle of beauties. Rattled a couple hatch-down to flatten it out. Nothing doing, no washing or wiping or jerking off removed the unwelcome night haunt, so I made my soft shod way down to mess.

Rigs like these, there's never quiet. Air cycles, night crew, the odd distant clatter we all always hoped wasn't the seconds off warning of full breach. I paused by Ari's door, halfway to clacking it, but moved counterspin towards mess. No sense both of us losing sleep over one misfire of psyche. Half light in the mess, couple plotters and binders poked listless fried protein and I took my separate peace with a cup of the juice. Sick sweet chemflavor kicked caffeine to my heart and guts enough to winnow away the hours trying a dozen different flavors of artificial spice on artificial food, feeling artificially alive.

DeeDee showed in first after rollout, guy was never not angry at me over some shit, angry at something, put a lot of that through the lines good for us. Hellis always hung round, I specced on their afterhours but never pried the privates. Wouldn't have minded a bunk with either, but oh well. Shadow Jumper and Stepper and Jenny and so on filing their way through gallons of sickening juice and overcooked daybreak. Ari was last in, skulking through the rising shine and din of the mess, caught a tangle of her eyes but crowds were parting our ways.

"See how long you last without that filter, you'd hurl minimal," Jenny kept prodding at Scatter Hawk putting away more forkfulls than any two of us, just grunting back, while DeeDee yelled down the table at Stepper over horrendous and audible farts. I couldn't find a minute to catch Ari's eyes, roll em back and forth with mine, she was digging a hole through her tray.

I spent a frustrated week shipping past her nights. Some asshole I learned was apparently in charge of the squad demanding press-ups and running laps spin wise. Got mad when I said we don't use any muscles and I had to do extra sit-ups, and I threw up and didn't see Ari in the lockers. Tear down on the crab, coming and she was on her grease stained way showers, grimacing. Asleep when I catted around her doors at the odd hours. Anxiety in my spare space left my skin crawling. Ran into her at the psyche cracker and said hey, how you doin? Ari said, "Fine," with those tangled up eyes.

"You okay? I do something you wanna talk?" Whatever was left inside my skull felt like it wanted me to vomit it through my ports. My intestines wanted my skin rippled.

She shook her head. "It's not. You're good, you're good, I just." She shook her head again, tugged the hem of her shirt. Bless I was horny as fuck but just wanted to untangle her eyes, please.

"Listen, I got-"

"Casey!" The skull breaker slid its door up. Check-in time, its glassed eyes and masked mouth glittered, jovial work for a septic system.

"Ari, one second doc. Hey."

Backing down the hall, miming apologies. "I'll see you around Case."

I got a good grade from the psyche. "Very little degradation today," it exclaimed. "Your connectivity must have been quite well balanced! If you maintain this synchronization, we can expect to keep memory and autonomic function nearly optimal. Please ensure you take your supplements to maintain neural plasticity, excellent work!"

It always ignored my questions so I didn't ask anymore but one time I looked up "autonomic" and I was not very excited about the implications. Clacked Ari's door on the way back roomwards, to no result. Shut my door hard, rattled more beauties down my gullet and lay on the floor, tossed aside my psyche chart with all its healthy green and admonishing yellow. Degradation did not feel minimal, I was fragile with worry and my body wanted to fly apart, uncontained by the shell and trembling with skin crawling fear. Nothing flattened, the spin felt too fast, and I wiped confused wetness off my face. I clenched fists to my sides and shook uncontrollably. When would the drop would come?

Rolled out and rounded up came down soon enough against my liking. Marched our asses cross to the bay and posted us up. The squad leader looked uniquely miserable for each syllable of "Kitten Candy! Raccoon Enchantment!" He might actually kill me if he figures out how I changed our call signs.

Ari lurked behind me, sleep deprivation coming off her in radiant heat. I'd woke on the aching floor to rollout chimes, back still sharp from the sleep I should've skipped. She'd been doing teardown some long hours fore we got the callout. "Since you two reliably fuck up anything more complicated than bright colors and shapes, you're doing drop targeting. Three sites, think you can handle it?"

"Probably not, SIR!" I said, and he was not amused, Ari flopped hands affirmatively over the task a drone could do.

"Get synced up because that's the mission. Fuck off, the adult pilots are talking."

Could've argued, didn't, not with the halides in my skull and Ari walking away for the wasp. "Hey! Hey." Caught up around and walked with her. "Lotta radio silence, you good? I mean, girl, you look like shit, but you good?" We reached the lift. My hand was more tentative on her shoulder than my first time trying on a bra. "Are, like, are we? You know, did I say something?"

"Shit, you're fuckin impossible," Ari pulled a smile from an awful place. "Never said nothing except all I wished-" She started climbing. "Ah, fuck off, you know you're good. So good I want... like, fuck. I'm good. Had feedback something fierce this week. Hcch." I walked behind her, hand at her back and lifted, she grabbed my wrist. "C'mon, bitch, gimme a boost up."

The tech up top had the wasp open, long tongue dangling, pink, dripping ready to enfold. The mandibles were an umbrella over us, the whole cockpit slung between a sensaray and fire platform up front and the main gun taking up most of the thorax, flightless wings for short jumps and bristled with beams and missiles webbed into veins and live nerves. Ari stripped off her clothes and I helped her with the mass of thick tubes dangling from the soft flesh of the wasp's underbelly. Gentle with the catheter while she gripped my shoulder, taping the skin contacts on, then slipping the fat red sync cables and their gently writhing filaments into the sphincter along her neck and spine.

"Hey." I looked up from making stirrup hands and Ari's fingers lifted me from kneeling. "You be here when we come back, kay? I don't wanna open this cage if I don't see your ugly mug waiting."

"You fuckin wish," I said. "Believe, I'll be here, I got nothing better to do."

She had that smile, eyes almost past her tangle. "Yeah, what the fuck do I care, you're just, like. Well fuck you, anyway, you better be here, no excuses."

I put my hands together and knelt. "No excuses, bitch." She stepped into me and I hoisted her up until the closing mandibles caught her and pulled her the rest of the way in. The wasp began to breathe, the metal and polymer exoskeleton tightening as it straightened. The multiplicably enfolded legs flexed all their joints. I made my way from Ari's lift to my own, perspective and spin distorted neath my crab all encompassing the view and my world. The stairway to its cockpit was considerably longer, but no aid was needed. Sixfold mandibles waited for me, tubes lay cross the steel grate for my own administration. That same tech still couldn't look as I stripped and strapped. Didn't need help with my ports, just held crab's feelers up and they squirmed their way to the intimate fibers of my spinal cord. I sighed and my ports contracted to pull the connections deeper to the nerve.

The tech muttered, "I can't cope with the freaky shit," stepped off lively. Probably thought I couldn't hear as I wound myself into the folds of the crab's intimacy, and was encased in the dark. The peristaltic folds squeezed and swallowed me into the wet warm depths in the heavy polycombine plate armor of our turret. Impact gel, amniogel, blood and mucus flowed over my feet and hands, the added nerves and plasm more deeply fusing us. I felt my vision shriveling through a tunnel, my gritty eyes black in my skull, each muscle of my limbs unfurled from bones to thread themselves into the limbs of a colossus. My spine grew through my skin to blossom across a carapace and turret, flexed my claws and the wide flat armor wings across my back, felt the hangar through its myriad complex electrical systems and programs running in constant state of adjustment. I could smell the synapses of the crew inside the rig, all the redundant added systems, multiple layers of security, still so vulnerable inside this soft underbelly. My web crackled and fluttered along my body. I could kill everyone around me with a thought and leave only my fellow, slumbering shells for company.

I vacuumed air through my body and filters, hundreds of pounds in a breath. Piece by piece I cut my mind free of its cage, each part of it a point in a web of a thousand stars to guide my way. How had I ever let myself believe I could be human? How could I be when I was this, so much more, the parts of my mind I never before realized were incomplete. Destroy me, I urged the crab. Consume the last of my flesh and bones, and let me free once and for all. I slipped my claws out of their bands and tested link with wasp - with Ari. She vibrated enthusiasm, her stimulant chemicals were flooding overtime, and I selected the clam path of her many input and system indexes to aid her, grant her focus to the still before the burn. The dropship waited and we obliged, neither of us patient for departure and planet fall, once again to taste the alien atmosphere and feel true gravity pull at our tissue and joints.

Countdown for slow minutes, and we jammed to our sync. I felt at peace, each part of my psyche sliced from itself, and we lay distributed across our body, through small cortexes fired with the parts of my consciousness. We ticked through systems and my subconscious night terrors spooled into projectors while my self sense expanded to the decom in preparation for target tracking. Ari and I could feel one another as we synced, her slender body and long legs torquing their secondary legs into alignment. Her deepest horrors became a narrow band of foci, accompaniment to each one of her eight gun placements

We swayed for a minute as the drop slid out through the bay doors til thrusted still in a white noise of rocket and atmosphere. Open doors spilled a flurry of blinding light and boiling air. We cut the cord and took flight. Fission cycled to jets and Ari soard around my less graceful lander module decel, both flirtatious and efficient. Earthshaking on point, I breathed in the beacon for the first drop target, then pulled myself free of deeply fertile soil, felled the odd red thornbush in the way of our determinedly stealth free journey. Ari was more nimble in her travels, caught us both up fair to the prep kit. My decom swept all sides of the range for crevices of organized blue, and looked through my wavspec for tattletale knurled arms and segmented torso trunks.

"Whistle clean," I thrummed to Ari and she slipped up through to the prep barely shifting a twig. My hearts beat in time to her showy work then my pace crushed the evidence in passing. Exultation flooded my glands and fluttered my filtration, we set to the lungs of the future. My claws could lift and move enough whilst Ari's more dexterous complex digits hooked in power, nutrient starter, bacteria loads. All color coded and writ large enough couple pilots couldn't fuck it up, track records notwithstanding. Few hundred and we'd be able to turn the toxic swamp of atmosphere to nearly breathable. Plenty for firsts, let them deal with the messy genes for the twenty-threes to come later. Not us, not our yards and acres of lungs filtered enough to breathe near vacuum. Minutes confirmed the bactomix was good, and we beamed our confirmation.

"Nice and tidy," Ari observed the dirt churned circle round the target. I tasted the ground, messy but starter ready.

"Good enough. It'll be dust in a year anyway. Grab a ride?" We're supposed to march it point to point, no riders no passengers, but it's slow n tedious. She grappled to my exo instead. Put a safe-ish distance from the drop target, hunkered. Earth churned to mud and boiled around my feet as we sank down, I wrenched all I could from dirt rocks clay, sprayed hot waste out my vents, and we exploded into the air on jets carved from living thorns and earth, second drop in record time. Nothing rumbled I could spec but still. "Tastes sour," I trembled contact to contact. Ari slithered down and crouched near my shoulder.

Moments she said, "It's stilled air, might be some action crosswinds." Her wings flexed a bit and we looked for the petrichor druid chemsign. At range I could pick out just the echo of their craft, the sizzle of their spells registered a bare zero zero DV scale. "Specced it, action's noways near," I thrummed between us. "Sus, though, we're ahead of schedule, let's walk it." She affirmed, and we moved like glass, opened the target pack and specced every step.

Thorns still, sharp rocks earth clay uphill still, air still, but the maddening aquamarine fuzz of rain cluttered my sights. Ari flexed her wings on her thorax again, rocket platforms twitched nervously. "There's too much fizzing," she hissed, picking up my discomfort. Gauss guns on her sensary pointed hither and yon. "Fuck it," I thrummed, "Bact's good, bail." She mounted me from behind and we dug in the dirt, boiled and processed and locked. Branches burst up from earthbound as every spec greenlined on me, and I screamed in sickeningly fractured agony.

I could feel my exo cracking where the branches of an Atlas banyan crushed around three of my legs, pain and fluids pouring out of my body. Had to be a twin trunk, at least. Even my spiracles bled. Jagged shapes stung my left claw and numbed one of my injured legs. I could hear Ari's screeching and felt her weight shift from me to the ground. My specs were greened out in swampfire, I could taste the ozone and my own charred exo, but I was blind.

"I can't scope!" Ari's panic crackled and echoed through my body, fuled the rush of toxic stims and lit up my heat sinks bright from overclock. "I'm on it, I've got guidance," I lied, throwing a narcofilter into com. I dialed in broad spec and fired a wave of chaff, unspooled PDN for mass nightmare. Swapped high-speed into UV infra sonic organize scope range til I could line out the elves. Ari's screeches spiraled in time to hits I felt in my neuron clusters, dirt and rocks rattled from being skywards. Contermanded a second hit of stims in my system, cooled collect.

Instant recovery between the chaff and PDN. The stinging cold geometry faded its intensity on my exo. I experienced the reward of disrupted Atlas' soundscreams enduring the mortifying ordeal of being scoped. Shortburst the dial range to Ari. Caught backflow of her relief. Found the seconds we needed to move.

The Atlases were over halfway out of the soil, still partly wrapped their heavy branches over Ari and me. Quad trunks, fuck. Druid support, double fuck. The fully exposed organizing casters ways off, spec a kilo or two, but their alien decoms were holding up to the PDN. I pulled back to Ari and my pain receptors shut off the instant my legs twisted and shed broken exo like ice, steel grinding itself each movement. I checked her stat. Half a leg and one wing had been torn off. Her body was coated with slick black and green fluid, mixed with white foam. Her secondary leg was intact and functional, but I could see six bad hits from those light spears.

I cut loose a second wave of chaff, narrowed for the type-beta shieldworks from the druids, scattered an arch of green spears - I put my wings and claws out front to do their job just in time to take the secondary hit of jagged blue geometry. My back legs twisted excessively past their limit. The tri-polyplate claws held, mostly, some smoldering layers blasted free and others melted. I tight focused neural disruptors at the Atlases, cut more chaff, joyed at their screams of fear and agony. "Ari, my target." She swayed but unfolded her stabilizer struts, hit one of them with three rockets, a particle shot, and a full sec from the gauss, frosted it's decom and tore up the left half of its body. Glistening dark blue blood exploded across the other two and it laid out, alive but no threat. Heat fins spread wide open white hot underside her wings, her legs. "Casey your fuckin legs they-"

I flickered low beams at the druids, didn't connect but gave em a minute to think, redirected a broad neural disrupt at our six, more encouraging screeches, I filled the crab with the worst of my mind to saturate multiple kilometers in the PDN of my own fears and nightmares. "Ari, not now, cover."

Even on a wing and half a leg she was a beautiful flower of agony, spread of rockets, heavy beams, blistered depslugs streaking from her to seek the druids proved weakest by their alchemical conversion to bright blue explosions of blood and bone. Steamed heavy off her sink. The second Atlas was fighting up through my disrupt. I hit it with a PDN flare mix, and didn't catch the green blue spellwork shield crackling twixt its bark til I had to duke it.

The Altas caught a claw with one limb, put two more into my main body, right center, and I was overwhelmed by the vomit stench of my tissue and exo and endo rupturing, polymuscles shredded, but I boiled my feet in deep with stage one for jump, and got my other claw on its middle trunk. My com was choking garbled but I said, "Ari-" before I felt the left rear third joint sheer and snap.

She was to me before I could waver with her forelegs' high beam up to max in its face. Light hotter than stars burst the banyan into three flaming pieces, sheer through the trunk, bloodless, charred beyond recognition in a second. She buzzed me. "We can't stay." The last of the Atlases was pulling a highdef organized multiplier out of the earth. Looked like pine tree trunk but carried in a single limb. I specced another Atlas closing. One good HDOM shot would dust my armor. One bad shot would vaporize Ari. "You're right."

I tried to spool up, but the PDN was dead, so I blasted chaff along the ground in front of the Atlas. Give it some hot shrapnel to work through, dialed the rest for max dispersal, and cut three quarters skyward. "Grab a lift," I snarled and she was on me. "And set your main."

The earth churned and my legs threatened to give, but held. "Case. I tried that last week, rec? I couldn't hit shit."

"Yeah. You tried it. We didn't." I hit the jump, we caught sky.

Ari's limbs folded around my body, and her remaining claws clamped, support struts pierced my exo secondary limbs unfolded to add more stability. She shifted the main rifle forward from inside her thorax and opened the remaining wing, heat vents fully extended, coolant spraying out of her wounds as it pumped triple time through her sinks. Her thorax flexed heavy with breath and the gun's wiring and nerve rigs flushed the scent of her excited musk around us. I wrapped my three remaining legs up over my body and clung to her, spun us with my wings on our axis. We had a beautiful aerial view of the remains of our own ambush, our legs fallen close like hands of dying lovers.

The main gun of the wasp would not be possible to see if we had human eyes. A three stage system requiring the finest care with aiming and multiple stabilizers to the firing platform ensuring a clean hit, combined with full heat dispersal for blowback. It would break up shield and decoms, disruptors and polyplate, followed instantly by a particle beam depslug mixture.

I wrapped my claws over her cockpit segment and she fired. The slug obliterated the Atlas, its multiplier detonating and spraying organized green spears haphazardly with blue geometry. The drop target went up and threw a cloud of concentrated bacto over what looked like eight kilometers. I saw the beam digging a canyon through the earth moments before the bacteria and debris blacked the site.

We were thrown, I lost a second leg and both wings. Deaf to coms. My chaff clattered off us, shredded our armor. The full thorax and both of Ari's rear legs were torn away by recoil and a furnace blast of overheating power couplings as I held fiercely, even when my left claw was cleanly severed by the last flash of the beam and my main body punctured and boiled by her shrapnel. I realized I wasn't deaf, I simply was unable to hear anything except Ari screaming and lost valuable seconds - nothing to see but sky and only rushing air over our spinning bodies.

I jetted waste from my secondary vents, they spat angrily but caught air. Risked it, held Ari with my only two legs and put my claw between us and the freight train rush up on drop target three. I hoped enough was left of her to hear me shout, "Impact Impact Impact!"

The ground was very wide and very fast and black. It was-

Nothing. Black.

Casey. Casey. You need to get up.

"Casey," Ari's hiss was a near inaudible comm. "Casey please... I can't move my legs."

I specced, half blind, dialed it through. There was a flicker of distant green. Move. I felt joints and plastic muscle, raw tissue and white foam dig the earth, I moved in a little circle. The drop ship was waiting - no pilot, just auto for a grunt mission in and out.

"I'm up," I lied to Ari. She hissed, "I know you aren't." I specced myself. One leg could move, claw somehow intact, thank you polyplate. Other legs just partial joints, trailed their hydraulics and burned nerves. Quarter chopped off the rear platform. "Am so," I thrummed and put my claw in the ground, levered. Slid my partial legs underneath and my one good one up. "I'm up." I started pushing myself along the earth.

Felt like dragging the big protein drums on kitchen duty, couldn't lift much as rock myself back and forward one side at a time. I found what was left of Ari.

"How's it look," she hissed. One of her two remaining legs was shattered in half a dozen places, congealed foam doing nothing for the fluid leaks. Her other leg might last. Sensary might even be salvageable. There were holes gaping in her deformed cockpit, gel and blood oozing through cracks. "Looks great," I thrummed. "You lost so much weight."

Her laugh wheezed. "You got one good leg Ari, I need you to hitch a ride." She fumbled in the mud and found the tattered edge of my exo, dragged herself half onto what was left of my main body, and I pushed. Her voice was distant now, "Hey Case, remember that night fight, we jumped a bunch of elves with a flashblind."

Just a few meters. "Yeah, pretty funny. Guess they remembered us." She wheezed again, her comm was rattling. "And that time we used ice for heat sig?" My claw hit metal. I strained on the loading ramp without traction. "That was pretty good too, yeah." Fuck it. I grabbed one of the less important control struts and heaved, pulled. Felt my innards and Ari slither along metal, almost home. One more pull. "Hey Casey, hey. Remember when the fuckin elves ambushed us with our same dumb ideas and you thought I should shoot em on the jump."

I punched the recall code, the hatch cranked shut, dumped the tangled mess of our bodies into the drop bay. Acceleration crushed us. "Yeah Ari, that wasn't the best idea ever." The rig loomed up. "Right Ari? I'm an idiot." The comm was quiet.

We were in the bay and I was in a pool of sludge. I could feel my legs and arms and bruises and my own real blood on my face. I could walk and and almost stand, crawling clambering falling down the lift stairs before the tech could say anything. He slipped after me, clutched railing and tried to keep his footing in the mucus as I went sidewinding to our sad and shattered shells, tech prying open the jaws of Ari's with hydraulic levers.

I shoved through as the seal cracked, reek of poisoned atmos and stagnant amniogel, the snap of bone and it fell open, pouring Ari onto the hanger floor, washed up against me. I was on my knees, she was in my arms. Bone showed through one of her broken legs and a bloody hole in her ribs frothed blood. Her bottom lip split so bad I could see her shattered teeth sticking through it. Blood from her ears, nose, eyes, whole body a contour map of bruises.

Ari's one good eye cracked and she gurgled wet and rough, "You look like shit, Case." She spit blood.

"Told you. No excuses bitch."

"Fuck. No exchs." Nitrile gloved hands pulled us apart, and meds were shoving tubes into her, slapping dermals on her. They had a stretcher. Someone shone a light in my eye, I felt the cold slap of a dermal on my shoulder blade. "No excuses," I slurred as loud as I could. He said, "You shouldn't be standing up." I didn't know if Ari could hear. "I'm gonna be waiting!" They hit me with another dermal and goodnight.

It was like that for awhile, before I could go back to my bunk. Lot of debrief, I got a commendation, which mostly meant some extra cash in my account if I lived to spend it. Some looks. DeeDee came by and said "Mad respect." Scatter stopped in with some nearly not paint thinner whiskey. Squad leader came in and chewed me out. Then some days in my smaller, worse bed. I lay on my clothes and punched back painkillers and beauties, then got out of my space and flipped the latch on Ari's room to get into hers.

It looked the same. Laundry unlaundered, whiffs of fermented sweat and sex, crumpled up wrappers for hot sauce, thermalprint hentai, congealed shampoo and soap blocks. I held a tanktop to my face and inhaled, poked around her trash listlessly til I saw a scrap of print. Her last psyche, pages of red and yellow, warnings cautions, parts of it printed red on black. I banged out of her room with it clenched in my hot fist, storming along the counter spin corridors to Ring 2.

Medical. Deep breath. I pushed the door in and gave Ari the biggest smile I could muster and she asked, "Oh no. What's wrong," from where she was still ensconced in tubes to keep her lungs working while the biogels slowly closed her skin over. "What do you mean, what's wrong," I forgot to separte teeth for talking. Maybe a couple weeks before she was walking wounded. "You got a smile like you dropped a battery pack on your foot."

She looked better with her lips stitched back together. Her new front teeth were steel. I blinked and shook and pursed my lips so I wouldn't snarl when I unfolded the psyche chart she'd left balled up under her desk. Needles prickled along my feverish forehead. Tried to find words as she shifted her eyes away from mine and just said, "Oh. That."

I dropped it on her stomach. "Why? You could've- It... Why?" I've been called poetic in my time.

Ari started to bite her lip then stopped. Rubbed her eyes with her palms. "Ow. Everything hurts - Casey, what are you gonna do when you get outta here?"

"Because you can- Huh?" I blinked several more times rapidly. "Uh, I dunno. Little place with some twenty-threes? Maybe a dog? Nothing too special, just wanted a shot at like... living yeah?"

"But you think about it and... y'know, you see something?"

"Yeah, I guess, I mean a little. Who knows?"

She shut her eyes. "Well I didn't see anything." Squeezed her eyes. "I didn't think I'd- Case, I didn't come here for a shot at living. I... didn't see that. That idea." Tears slipped out of her eyes and she grimaced, shoved her hands against them. "I never planned to live that long," her breath hitched.

I didn't know what to do with my hands, whether to move over to her, or what. I nodded to her closed eyes, felt stupid. "Ari, I'd, uh, like it if you did."

She let out a long breath and opened damp eyes. "That's what, I mean, I met you. It's been good, and like. I realized I had started thinking about it."

"Thinking about it?"

"About being alive. Somewhere there, I mean, like, I thought about that I might want a future if it had you in it. And I guess I freaked about the idea it might not happen, and I wanted to keep you somewhere safe where I wasn't going to mess that up."

I folded my arms. "Ari, I fucking swear." She looked back at me. "I don't care how much it hurts, move the fuck over right now, I'm gonna hug you so bad you break another four ribs."

She slid a bit, and I managed to half lay in the bed around the IV tubes. I managed not to break her ribs. Big, stupid and hot tears dripped down my cheeks and nose as I squeezed, then grabbed her hands in mine. "Every day you wake up. I'll give you that future. You might not see yourself and that's okay because you'll see me, and I hope that's enough."

"I kinda kinda love you bitch," I clutched her tight. She kissed me, stitches rough against my lips, and smiled as she did. "You can stay," she said.

"I'll stay." And I did.

#gore cw #body horror #t4t #mecha #original fiction

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kibblbread · 17 days

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This is completely aimless and scattered, like more than usual but whatever. Either way it’s just relationship dynamic stuff~ btw pls read the fucking pizza gorl fic —>>> 🍕✨

Random thought but i think exposure therapy might be the best option in aiding Jason to recovery, well, that and gentle coaxing! Jason is very responsive to praise because he’s definitely a people pleaser. I know it might be hard to tell looking at him from a glance; but let’s not be shallow, he gives chance after chance to his loved ones no matter how much they screw him over. He’s simply a lover boy. So I conclude that Jason is a huge people pleaser, and he’s privy to it but ignores himself. He hates digging into his psyche.. it just hurts, poor guy has too many painful memories.

But it’s necessary for healing unfortunately 😔

AK!Jason is extremely.. emotionally.. wrecked. He doesn’t act outside his redhood persona often unless it’s completely necessary— like getting food and supplies, or even to possibly get intel.

At least for a while.

Meeting PG turns his entire world on its head! He’s pretty out of his element as it is while trying to define his persona, the redhood. But PG! Hoo boy— he did not anticipate a partner in crime. A sidekick if you will lol. So essentially his healing process is expedited(just a tad bit); since Jason interacts with his family at a much faster pace than otherwise on his own terms. Dick is very eager to give his younger brother the much needed affection and support that JT deserves but doesn’t want to scare Jason away. So early in the rekindling process, Dick takes a backseat and lets Barbara lead— she’s the voice for not only herself, but Dick & Tim even Alfred for a bit too. Babs knows just what to say and how to say it more often than not! Jason is more relaxed around her than any of his family for a time.

JT’s attitude is still pretty rotten though, he’s suffering so there’s still so much happening within him that slows them down in regaining his trust.

He’ll still snap & even become aggressive toward Barbara if she isn’t cautious and calculated in her approach, which she is, but she’s not a mind reader and can trigger the worst in Jason. However, on the other side of the spectrum, we have pizza. PG seems to never catch any lip, and if she does it doesn’t seem intentional most times— genuine underestimation is the biggest culprit. PG can be reckless, it’s the largest pain point in the fic between these two imo! But you’re not from gotham, you’re truly ignorant, you’re like a second chance to him almost. You don’t know of his sins, not really anyway… A slate as clean as yourself, he’s gotta prove to you he’s not a useless, unworthy, sorry excuse for a person right? He’s gotta prove it to you.

To his family.

To gotham.

No, he doesn’t. But if we are gonna play this game he proved it when he put on his life on the line once as robin, and a second time the moment he decided to become redhood. He’s no less worthy than anyone in reality. Hopefully he’ll see it in this lifetime, but even if he doesn’t, it doesn’t change how you see him and continue to see him. It most definitely doesn’t change how you make him feel either. 🥰 PG is a protective person at heart. She’ll do what she can to help just about any decent human being but especially her loved ones.

Jason sees it. He can feel it too, subconsciously he wants what she wants for him. So he’ll allow her to poke and prod him where he needs to be directed. JT allows a lot from PG actually, from her quick gentle touches to her quips and questioning. He doesn’t take it the same from any of the other bats, when it’s from family it’s nothing short of condescending. Humiliation and anger rises bubbles from his gut straight into his heart. But from you? It’s not something he can quite name.. sometimes it’s annoying, yes, but with you he doesn’t mind feeling insecure as much. You don’t know what insecurity looks like on him just yet so naturally he allows you to suggest things he wouldn’t otherwise acknowledge. The dialogue between you two is allowed to flow freely. To not know Jason’s trigger’s is to not know his anger; which is arguably both a pro and a con.

The closer PG gets to JT the more she sees what he’s capable of.. and how. The why is what she’ll inevitably get to, but how she gets to his truth is much more important. I think PG not being afraid of how Jason will react is her biggest advantage in being so close to him. On the reverse side of things, Jason is more calm because to him, she not antagonistic in his mind. She doesn’t know his past or the extent of JT’s capabilities so why would she, and even if she did, could she? Again I feel JT genuinely underestimates PG as she is a civilian and not held to his impossible self imposed standards. It’s not malicious, he just wants to protect her, his guard is lower than usual which isn’t saying a lot because it’s still extremely high. JT is still distrustful don’t get me wrong, but it’s not personal like it is with his family.

When you tell J he did good, that he’s accomplished something, he’s on the moon. PG’s acknowledgment goes such a long way in the never ending void that is his insecurity and self loathing!

On a less abstract level, when it comes to doing, Jason unintentionally gives PG the go ahead to start pushing his buttons when he inevitably begins clinging to her presence for comfort. For better or for worse, you push many buttons. lol.

“Stay here a bit longer?” Fine, what’s a bit longer?

“Call for back up! We need help!” Im good enough for the job, but maybe some help would be better than none in this instance…

*looks around Jason’s safe house* “Damn bitch you live like this??? Sleepover at my place😝” *complies but serves the most bombastic of side eyes*

The batfam get to see parts of him they haven’t seen before, or at least in a very long time when you two interact in front of them. Jason is still largely argumentative, but thats how it stays surprisingly, he doesn’t boil over and actually backs down or bites his tongue. Which is.. shocking to say the least. Dick & Babs take note of the more true extent of his patience and how willingly he’ll hear your suggestions. They’ll take note of how freely you grab his hand and drag him along. They even notice him suspiciously looking in your direction for prolonged periods while your back is turned. Hmmm very note worthy indeed. Jason is all too aware but doesn’t know what he can do about without you noticing his clear change in demeanor. But quite a few of his new habits fly under his own radar when it comes to being around PG!

He’s less jumpy for one.

Jason isn’t at all more confident in his abilities since he’s still crippled with anxiety and a lot of self doubt but, he’s really focusing on monitoring and guiding you. JT is teaching you to work smarter, teaching you how the streets of gotham work. And above all else making sure PG can keep herself safe! He’s firm and direct, sometimes even sounding like the commander of a militia 🤭 I like to think sometimes he reverts accidentally. Jason also tends to stay close to PG. Most times it’s unintentional but others he’s just watching out for you. You give him a lot of good vibes and reassurance and JT just naturally finds himself hovering over to where you are. Like him and D are side by side on a rooftop, then all the sudden he’s breathing down your neck because you decided sitting on the ledge of a building was cool like a dumbass. But the most notable of all these habits is how much he allows your touch; JT doesn’t squirm away from you either, he stays put. PG will touch his shoulder in gentle support or give his hand a quick tap to pull his attention.

Barbara finds this behavior interesting, Dick thinks it’s adorable but is lowkey in his feelings about it.

Lol

I think thats it for now…

thank u for reading my post bestie 🍕🤪

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jt <3 #head empty #arkham knight #red hood #ak!jason #jason peter todd #pizza girl x jason todd #pizzagorl #blurb #arkham knight x reader #morven my queen #im actually going insane #because u made me obsessed with this boy 😭#i lobe him sm #jayborb #my lil pookie

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dmitriene · 7 months

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𝗙𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗘𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧.

❝𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧❞ 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

❝𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬❞ 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴?

❝𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦❞ 𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛, 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘷, 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘦, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦.

❝𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘❞ 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯, 𝘴𝘰 𝘪’𝘮 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘺𝘦, 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

Within the sterile walls of a government facility, where the faint hum of fluorescent lights echoed through the clinical hallways, you awaited the arrival of one of the agency's most mysterious operatives.

As an experienced psychologist, your days were often filled with routine consultations, but they weren't as intriguing as consulting with Leon Scott Kennedy.

He was a man of deep contrasts, and each meeting revealed a new layer of his enigmatic personality, and it was during one of these routine checks that you first encountered the man whose name was whispered through the agency's corridors.

He entered with the controlled grace of a man who had seen too much, his piercing blue gaze saying much but revealing nothing — Leon Kennedy expressed the weight of his experience in the lines etched on his face, evidence of the trials he had faced.

At first he seemed reserved, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders — you were keenly observant, noticing how his eyes, usually bright to everyone, seemed clouded with an unspoken burden.

The dark circles highlighted those piercing blue circles, evidence of the sleepless nights and haunting memories that seemed to plague him.

There was a hint of desperation in the air around him, masked by a facade of professionalism — his suit, the color of the deepest ocean, gave off an air of formality that couldn't quite hide the subtle aroma of alcohol, it lingered, an unspoken secret, raising questions that were begging to be asked, but you didn't dared to break professional boundaries.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌───────────

The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, as if a thunderstorm was looming on the horizon as you sat across from him, pen poised over your notepad, ready to probe the depths of his psyche.

But Leon was not one to easily give in to vulnerability, his eyes, once clouded with unspoken burdens, now smoldering with resistance.

The dialogue that ensued was far from the professional exchange you had imagined — as you gently probed him, trying to unravel the layers of his psyche, Leon's reaction was not what you expected.

He clenched his jaw, his blue eyes narrowed with barely contained anger, it was as if you had hit a living nerve.

— «Why are you doing this, huh?» Leon's voice was laced with disappointment with an underlying animalistic growl — «I don't need some psychiatrist digging into my head»

You tried to maintain your composure, to be a steady hand guiding him through the turmoil of his emotions — «Leon, my job is to help, to listen, you don't have to confront your demons alone»

But Leon was far from receptive — his frustration grew and he seemed to be on the defensive again.

His shoulders tensed and his fingers twitched as if he wanted to find a way out of the situation, he was like a wounded animal, ready to pounce on any perceived threat.

— «Don't act like you understand something, Doc» he growled in a harsh and unforgiving voice — «You don't know a damn thing, you have no right to pry into my soul»

Your attempts to contact him ignited a rage within him, a rage that simmered just below the surface, and in a moment of frustration and anger, he pushed his chair back, scraped his feet on the floor, and rose to his feet.

The chair swayed, threatening to topple over, but he didn't care, he rushed towards the door, his movements quick and primal, like instinct.

Before you could say another word, he threw his final statement at you — «It's a waste of time, you can't help me» and with that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving your office in eerie silence, the echoes of his anger still resonating in the room.

It was a tumultuous beginning, a clash of wills that left you feeling like you had failed in your role as a therapist, the air in the room pulsating with the remnants of unresolved emotions.

You were left alone with the remnants of a session that had gone awry, and the notepad in front of you had no answers, only questions that would still take a long time to answer.

A weight of guilt hung heavy in the air even within the confines of your apartment, a constant reminder that the first session had gone awry.

You were gnawing both as a person and as a psychologist, a constant pain in your chest, and you couldn’t let it go, couldn’t just move on — the thought that you could have driven Leon even further into his own darkness haunted you, and it was a ghost , which you couldn't ignore.

With a deep sigh and a sense of determination, you decided to confront your own remorse, you reached for your phone, your fingers hovering over the keys as you texted Leon.

The words were carefully chosen and considered for minutes, because this is an apology that carries the weight of sincere regret.

«Leon, sorry for our last session, i want to help, can we talk?»

When you hit the «Send» button, you were filled with anxiety — would he read this, let alone respond?

You waited, every minute feeling like an hour until finally a notification buzzed on your phone — it was a message from Leon and he wanted to meet for coffee.

The ambiance of the cafe was different from your meetings in the office — the sterile walls were replaced by a cozy atmosphere, and the soft hum of conversations became the background to your meeting.

Leon sat across from you with a cup of coffee in his hand and a serious expression on his face.

He was the first to break the silence, his voice measured and contrite — «I owe you an apology, Doc, my outburst of anger at the first session was inappropriate»

In his words one could feel the sincerity, the weight of his regret — «Leon, it's not just you, i should have approached it differently, i'm sorry i put so much pressure on you»

He nodded as if understanding the shared responsibility — «I want to give it another chance if you agree, i've been through too much to let it all haunt me»

So, an agreement was reached.

You would continue your therapy sessions, but this time there was a different understanding between you — there was a flash of mutual respect and determination between you, a shared desire to unravel the complexities of Leon's psyche.

The first sessions were marked by caution - you both proceeded cautiously, aware of the potential dangers, but over time the atmosphere gradually changed, as if a bridge had been built to connect two souls that had once collided.

Your dialogues went beyond the superficial and deepened Leon's experiences.

He talked about the horrors he had witnessed, the friends he had lost, and the scars that remained on his body and soul — the air in your office seemed to carry the weight of his confessions, but you were ready to bear this weight together.

However, the transformation was not one sided.

Your own professionalism began to waver as your connection with Leon deepened — the boundaries between therapist and patient becoming blurred as you found yourself caring for him beyond your role.

It was an unspoken understanding, a shared vulnerability that made the atmosphere even more tense.

The air seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension, a magnetic pull that neither of you could completely ignore, and your interactions took on a new depth, an intimacy that went beyond professional duty.

Every touch, no matter how fleeting, took on an unspoken meaning — a pat on the shoulder to reassure him, the brief brush of his hand on your waist as he reached for something — these moments that should have remained innocent gestures seemed to carried within them an undercurrent of something greater.

The lines that should have remained stable began to blur, the air in the room filled with unspoken desires, unspoken recognition of the attraction that lay beneath the surface.

It was as if the air itself was crackling with a tension neither of you dared name.

Leon's gaze, the way his hand touched yours, or the closeness between you while discussing his past missions all added to the growing tension, he never allowed himself to get attached, but found comfort in your company, in your understanding.

And you, too, struggled with the thinning line between professional responsibility and personal emotions, as your desire to maintain professional decorum conflicted with the undeniable bond you shared with Leon.

And this is what led to the current point of movement.

The evening began innocently enough — a simple invitation to the bar from Leon, a gesture of gratitude for your unwavering support during his tumultuous journey in therapy.

The atmosphere was light, the bar offering a welcome respite from the heavy conversations that had marked your professional relationship.

As you sipped your drinks, laughter and stories filled the air, the dialogue was casual, and you couldn't help but be amazed at Leon's transformation — he was no longer the stoic agent you met in your office, but a man who knew how to enjoy the simple pleasures of life.

The transition from the bar to Leon's dimly lit apartment went almost seamlessly, as if it was an unspoken agreement — his apartment retained a strange feeling of intimacy that was far from the clinical setting of your sessions.

The dim light cast long shadows, and the air was thick with a palpable tension that had been building for some time.

A red wine stain marred the floor, a testament to the carelessness of the moment, your glasses lay broken, forgotten in the throes of desire, and your dress, once immaculate, was now lifted slightly, exposing the seductive expanse of your thighs to deliberate touches.

Leon's strong hands greedily explored your skin, leaving behind fiery fingerprints, and when his lips met yours, the atmosphere became tense.

It was a clash of desire and longing, a culmination of emotions that simmered beneath the surface, the air seemed thick with anticipation, a silent agreement that boundaries were about to be broken.

His kisses were a celebration, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you — the air was thick and crackling with the sounds of your shared hunger, the intensity of your connection was unmistakable.

His fingers tangled in your hair, his lips leaving a trail of fire along your jaw, neck and back to your eager mouth.

— «Leon» you whispered, the sound barely leaving your lips as his mouth found your collarbone, your desperate call carrying the weight of unspoken desire, a silent plea for more, for everything.

His response was a growl, a primal sound that resonated with longing, and there was an urgency about him that neither of you could deny, and that’s how you found yourself sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, your legs wrapped around him, your fingers tangled in his long dark locks.

The air was filled with sighs and moans, the atmosphere hummed with the undeniable connection that had been brewing between you for so long, and Leon's hands continued to wander, leaving traces of heat wherever they touched.

— «I've wanted this for so long» he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper against your flushed skin, the echo of his words bouncing off the walls of the apartment, the culmination of months of longing and restraint.

Your answer was silent agreement, a whispered acknowledgment of your own desires as a hoarse confirmation escaped your lips — «Me too»

And this became a green light for him.

With a gentle touch, he runs his fingers along your thighs, slowly moving towards the wet panties fabric that covered your sensitive clit under the fabric of your dress as your gusset gets wetter.

His touches are light as a feather, teasing and causing sensations in your body, he feels the warmth emanating from your body, the anticipation growing with each touch and heartbeat.

— «So wet already from just kisses, huh» he whispers, his voice full of admiration — «So responsive to my touch, fuck, deserve all of my attention»

He continues to tease and stroke your clit through the fabric, his touch becoming bolder and more insistent, he can feel the wetness seeping through the fabric, evidence of your arousal.

His fingers dance skillfully, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive you crazy, pressing and tugging in slow flickering movements.

— «You love it, don't you?» he whispers in a voice hoarse with desire — «So beautiful like that, shit»

His words, a mixture of praise and desire, fuel your own arousal, the sensations he evokes electrifying, igniting a fire deep within you.

You can’t help but arch your back, giving in more fully to his skilled touches as his lips press against the skin of your neck, wiggling his stubble teasingly and covering you with wet kisses.

Leon's touch becomes more focused, his fingers skillfully manipulating your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, and his lips brush against your ear as he speaks — his voice a low, seductive whisper.

— «Come on, cum f'me» he calls, his voice is full of insistence — «Let me hear you»

As his words hang in the air in the mix of your moans, he continues his skilled work, bringing you to the edge of ecstasy, your body trembling under his touch, your breathing becoming ragged.

And your body finally feels like an electric shock, when your legs twitch and your muscles tighten, your pussy clamping and gushing all around your already transparent panties, making you mewl and whine.

As your body trembles from the force of your release, Leon wastes no time in quickly falling to his knees, his strong hands gripping the hem of your dress, pushing it up.

With a quick jerk, he takes off your wet panties, leaving them hanging from your ankles, exposing your wet folds to his hungry gaze and his watering mouth, while he murmured in delight — «Fuck, what a meal»

The scent of your arousal fills the air, intoxicating him as he leans closer, his breath skimming over your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine.

His lips part and with a slow, deliberate movement he buries his face in your wetness, savoring the taste of your pussy.

The feeling is delicious as his tongue plunges deep into your folds, exploring every inch with expert precision, his licks confident and purposeful, his tongue sliding over your swollen clit, drawing moans of pleasure from your lips.

His hands reach your hips, holding you down as he devours you with unbridled passion, he is completely committed to pleasuring you and his tongue works tirelessly to bring you to new heights of ecstasy.

The wet sounds of his oral sex mix with your moans, creating a symphony of desire.

Leon's instincts and considerable experience leave no doubt that he knows exactly how to drive you crazy — he knows the right pressure and the perfect rhythm that will make your body writhe with pleasure.

His attention is focused solely on your pleasure, his own desires momentarily forgotten as he devotes himself entirely to your satisfaction, distracted by the pressing sensation of the fabric of his pants around his engorged member in his underwear.

As you feel the familiar spiral of pleasure building up within you again, his thrusts become more fervent, his tongue dancing across your clit, flicking and swirling with such intensity that it pushes you closer to the edge.

His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place as he brings you closer to another mind blowing orgasm, running along your folds and surprising everything that flows from you as if it were a restaurant and he was in front of a michelin starred dish.

Finally, the wave of your orgasm hits you again, allowing Leon to savor the taste of your pleasure as his lips and tongue greedily absorb every drop and your moans fill the air, echoing off the walls as you give in to the pure bliss he bestows upon you.

When you catch your breath, he rises to his feet, a satisfied smile playing on his lips wet with your juices, and his eyes meeting yours, filled with a mixture of adoration and hunger.

— «You taste incredible» he whispers in a voice hoarse with desire — «And i'm only getting started»

The air crackles with anticipation as he takes a step back, his hands deftly unzipping his pants, and with a quick movement he frees his throbbing cock, the sight of him like that takes your breath away.

Leon's eyes meet yours, a mixture of hunger and tenderness shining in his gaze as he moves closer, the tip of his hard cock caresses your wet folds, covering himself with your slippery arousal.

Slowly, he begins to sink into you, inch by agonizing inch, his movements deliberate and measured as you whimper with desire, and your hands instinctively wrap around Leon's neck, pulling him closer to you for stability in the storm of emotions.

A low, rumbling coo leaves his lips as he feels the tightness of your walls squeezing him, the sensation driving him to the brink of insanity, causing his cock to twitch deep inside you, each thrust a careful dance, taking him deeper into your welcoming warmth and enjoying the feeling of your body enveloping him.

— «Feel s'good» he whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of desire and adoration — «So tight, so perfect for me»

His pace remains agonizingly slow, enjoying the sensations, savoring the intimacy of the moment as he continues to go deeper, your bodies becoming one.

His hands reach your hips, holding you tightly as he begins to move harder, his thrusts becoming stronger and more rhythmic, filling the dim apartment with slaps and squelching mixed with your sweet whimpers as your legs spread wider.

With each thrust, his growls fill the air, a symphony of primality and desire, he encourages you with a mixture of praise and dirty talk, his words mixing with the sounds of your moans.

— «You love it, don't you?» he growls with a strong note of lust as his hand lands on the exposed skin of your stomach where the fabric of your dress has ridden up, exposing the bulge that he gently pressed with his thumb — «Feel how deep i can go, how i fill you up, so nice and full for me»

The thrusts becomes more insistent, his pace quickening as the heat between you intensifies, enjoying the way your body reacts to his touch, the way you writhe and moan beneath him, arching your spine and clinging your nails to his back as your your panties slide down your ankle and onto the floor.

Pleasure courses through his veins, driving him to the edge of both of you, and as the tension builds inside you, Leon's thrusts become more powerful and his grip on your hips tightens, causing your legs to spread even wider and your muscles to clench.

He feels your walls clenching around him, signaling your imminent release, and with one last deep thrust he pushes you over the edge, making your cries of ecstasy mix with his own grunts of pleasure and deep sighs as his cock spurts rope after rope of thick cum in your cunt.

He slips his cock out of you gently, trying once again not to bring you discomfort from being too sensitive while his eyes sparkle with great pleasure from the sight of his cum oozing out from your cunt, causing him to feel a sharp sense of satisfaction, a feeling that spreading pleasantly in the bottom of his stomach like long dead butterflies.

— «Guess i won't let you go from now on» he suddenly whispered, nuzzling into your neck and kissing your skin softly as your body leaned slightly limp against his and his fingers massaged the nape of your neck.

With the strength born from his muscular body, Leon easily lifts you into his arms and presses you against his chest, the warmth of his embrace enveloping you as he carries you to the bathroom, his determined steps echoing across the hardwood floors.

Reaching the bathroom, he carefully places your feet on the cool tile floor, his eyes filling with surprising tenderness as he watches you.

He wastes no time, his hands deftly undoing the buttons of your dress, exposing the soft curves of your naked body to his gaze.

As the dress rolls down to your feet, Leon sheds his clothes, and the sight of his chiseled physique gives you a thrill of anticipation that he sees, causing a playful smile to form on his lips, with which he climbs into the warm bath filled with water, and a soothing warmth envelops his body.

His strong arms open wide, inviting you to join him, and you sink into the soothing warmth of the water, feeling his even warmer presence next to you.

He leans back on the edge of the tub, his fingers gently stroking the nape of your neck, causing a contented sigh to leave your lips, his touch gentle as his fingers gently slide through your hair.

The sensation sends a shiver down your spine and your tired body responds to his help, and as he continues to stroke your neck, you whimper softly, a sign of your exhaustion.

Leon's sudden laughter fills the bathroom, echoing deeply off the walls, and he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping you in a protective embrace as your tired body presses against his, seeking solace and comfort in his presence.

— «There there, Doc» he whispers, his voice is full of warmth — «Rest, i've got you»

His words lull you into a state of calm as the exhaustion from your previous activities finally catches up with you, and the sound of the water softly splashing against the sides of the tub combined with Leon's steady heartbeat lulls you into a peaceful sleep, allowing your eyelids to close.

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