#remove stretch marks permanently | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

helaintoloki · 3 months ago

Text

Safe Space

pairing: avenger!Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

warnings/notes: themes of ptsd and trauma, violence, mentions of torture, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

a/n: another request piece that was sent in! this took me a while to come up with but i hope you enjoy !

summary: you struggle to return to a life of normalcy after being kidnapped, but Bucky is there to help you pick up the pieces

The morning sunlight that bleeds through the curtains rouses Bucky from his sleep, and the first thing he is greeted with is your loving smile as you gently push his hair back from his face.

“Happy birthday, Sarge,” you coo softly before pressing a kiss to his cheek. Bucky hums tiredly as he stretches out his limbs and shifts to face you in bed.

“Is that today?” He prompts groggily while pulling you into his arms.

“Same day as it was last year, I’m afraid,” you tease softly, giggling at the way he playfully nips your neck in response to your sarcasm.

“Can’t we just treat it like a normal day and stay in bed?” Bucky groans into your neck, relishing in the feel of your warmth against his skin.

“And miss the birthday party Steve worked so hard to put together for you?” You reprimand him with a raised brow. “Not a chance.”

A small huff of amusement leaves Bucky at your comment. After everything he’d been through and all the years he’d lost, he never once thought it necessary to celebrate the time of passage marked by his birthday. Why bother when he’d already missed so many of them? But then he met you, and suddenly Bucky had a reason to look forward to each new day with you by his side. You were patient and understanding of all he’d been through, you never pushed him to do anything he didn’t want to, and you gave him the courage to take charge of his new start as an Avenger.

“Just give me ten more minutes with you and I’ll get up,” he promises, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as he cradles you against his chest. You hum appreciatively at the gesture and entangle your limbs with his own.

“Anything you want,” you murmur, already feeling yourself being lulled back to sleep. “I love you, James.”

“I love you, y/n. More than you could ever imagine.”

Bucky’s solemn gaze has been glued to your photo in his hand ever since Steve took over piloting the quinjet. The edges of the polaroid are frayed from being kept in his vest pocket, but your face remains unscathed and allows your permanently etched smile to haunt his every waking moment.

You’ve been missing for over a month.

It had been a simple assignment that you were more than capable of handling on your own. Fury had assured you it would take no longer than one day to retrieve forgotten files from an abandoned weapons dealer’s warehouse; all you had to go was get in and get out. You had kissed Bucky goodbye before he waved you off, and that had been the last time he’d seen you. Your one-day mission turned into three days, and on day five you’d officially been declared MIA. Your tracker was turned off and no one could reach you, and Bucky was left to grapple with his guilt over your disappearance.

The team had received an anonymous tip with information on your current whereabouts, and without hesitation the Avengers had suited up and made their way to your supposed location. Bucky was restless throughout the entire flight, his only goal being to find you and have you back in his arms once more. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if the tip turned out to be false or, even worse, it had been too late.

A gentle hand on his shoulder breaks Bucky from his contemplative daze as he’s forced to remove his eyes from your photo and look up into the remorseful face of his friend.

“We’re going to find her, Buck,” Steve says resolutely.

“What if we’re too late?” The man utters, agony clear on his features as he looks up at his friend with tears that threaten to fall. “What if this is all for nothing?”

“You can’t talk like that, like there’s no hope,” the blond insists adamantly. “The tip said she’s still alive. That’s gotta be worth something.”

“Sometimes that’s worse,” Bucky murmurs knowingly. A haunted look washes over his features that unnerves Steve, but the Captain isn’t able to discuss the matter further as the team finally makes their arrival to the given coordinates.

The tip had been sent to Fury by a supposed mole from an unnamed terrorist organization. They sought protection in exchange for your whereabouts, and the information led your teammates to a warehouse that had previously been deemed abandoned. No one would have ever thought twice about checking for you here, and that was what made it the prime the location for a secret base.

“We have no idea what we’re up against here,” Steve states as he debriefs the team. “All we know is that y/n is somewhere inside that building, and we’re not leaving here without her. Everyone knows what their job is today.”

Per Steve’s orders, every person is on their own as they spread out across the building and clear the rooms one by one. Bucky’s entire body is frigid with tension as he makes his way down the desolate corridors with his gun raised and his mind on high alert. The soldier is out for blood, heart pounding in his chest and mind frenzied with the endless possibilities of the state he might find you in.

The first few rooms are clear, but it isn’t until he turns the corner that he encounters an unsuspecting guard making rounds through the building. Bucky is on him in an instant, metal arm grabbing him by the throat and hosting him in the air before slamming his body against the wall. The guard’s eyes widen in fear while his fingers desperately claw at the metal arm that slowly crushes his windpipe, but Bucky is unrelenting.

“You have five seconds to tell me where you’re keeping her before I snap your neck,” he all but snarls through gritted teeth. He loosens his hold just enough to allow the man to speak and watches in annoyance as the man takes in spluttering breaths.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the guard insists desperately before immediately being slammed back against the wall.

“I know you have a woman here against her will. An Avenger,” he reiterates bitterly. A flash of recognition washes over the guard’s face that Bucky is quickly able to detect, and the unease it fills him with causes him to falter on his hold.

“I… I know you,” the guard breathes out shakily much to Bucky’s chagrin. “The Winter Soldier...”

“Shut up!” Bucky barks furiously, prompting a faint smirk to form on the guard’s lips.

“You got away, and they decided to take her in your place. Her torture is your penance for your betrayal.”

“Who took her?!” Bucky demands, fist closing tighter around the man’s neck. His patience is thinning as the seconds drag on, but the man finally manages to give his answer despite the pressure to his throat, and the soldier’s stomach immediately fills with dread.

“Hail Hydra.”

The man dies almost instantaneously as Bucky tosses his body aside, but he can’t find himself bothered enough to care as he’s hit with weight of this new revelation. This wasn’t the work of some amateur villain or low level organization; this was Hydra. Hydra had you in their hold for over a month, and Bucky didn’t have to imagine what horrors you’d endured during your time here. He needed to find you, and he needed to find you now before they had the chance to lay a hand on you again.

He’s on the warpath, taking out guards left and right as he storms through the building in search of you. All he sees is red, his ears ringing from the pressure pounding in his head while his sight tunnels to focus on the mission at hand. No one will stop him, no one can stop him, and it’s for this reason only that he finally finds you.

A single door at the end of the hallway is all the stands between you and him. The neatly organized patient chart that hangs on the doorway bares your name, but Bucky doesn’t have the stomach to read any further than that. He uses his metal hand to break the lock on the door with ease before slowly pushing it open. He isn’t sure what he’ll find on the other side, but he just hopes he isn’t too late to save you.

Your still figure lies strapped to a metal table, and the steady rise and fall of your chest assures Bucky that you’re still breathing. The medical grade hospital gown is the only item of clothing you have on, allowing the multitude of bruises that cover the expanse of your skin to be on full display. Your face is sunken and drained of color, and your frail figure indicates clear signs of malnourishment. This is not the same y/n that Bucky had kissed goodbye after seeing her off from the compound, and his heart tightens in his chest at this horrible realization.

Bucky makes careful work of undoing your restraints and notes the scarred skin hidden underneath. It’s evident you’d fought against the straps frequently, and he knows better than anyone the fear that must have consumed you from being held down against your will. He doesn’t even want to think about what else they could have done to you in your time here, so he wills the thoughts away and instead carefully brushes his fingers against your arm in an attempt to rouse you from your sleep.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he hushes softly, harshly swallowing down his anxieties for your sake. “Open those pretty eyes for me. Wake up.”

Bucky watches on with bated breath as you begin to stir, eyebrows furrowing in discomfort and lashes fluttering until you can finally will your eyes to open. You groan, blinded by the harsh lights hanging above you and sore beyond belief from your previous bought of torture. It takes you a moment to grow accustom to your surroundings, and after what feels like ages your gaze finally settles upon the man hovering over you.

“There you are,” he utters softly, eyes brimming with tears as a smile of relief washes over him.

You start to scream.

Bucky is taken back by the shrieks you let out as you immediately begin to fight against him, blindly thrashing around like a caged animal while using your feet to kick him away.

“Please, don’t!” You sob in pure terror. “Get away!”

“Y/n, it’s me!” Bucky insists desperately as he takes hold of your wrists to stop your assault, but this only agitates you further.

“Let me go!”

“It’s me, it’s James!” He reiterates firmly despite the tears that fall down his face. “It’s your Sarge, remember?”

You falter at his words as if clarity has finally taken over your frenzied mind, and after a moment your terrified faces morphs into one of desperate relief as you quietly choke out, “Bucky?”

He feels as if the wind has been knocked out of his chest at the sound of your voice. You look absolutely broken, and it unnerves him to no end to see you so hysterical. Bucky knew exactly what they had done to make you this way because he’d once endured it himself, and he ached with agony at the fact that he hadn’t been there to protect you from any of it. It was his job as your teammate, as your partner, to keep you safe, and he felt like he had failed.

“I’m here,” he assures you, catching your trembling figure as you collapse off of the table and into his arms. He sinks to the floor with you in his hold and keeps you close to his chest while you sob, your screams echoing throughout the building and permanently etching themselves into his mind forever. Tears steadily fall from his eyes but he makes no attempt to clear them away. His focus is solely on your comfort as he carefully rubs circles into your back. “I’m never going to let them hurt you again.”

“I wish they would have just killed me,” you manage to confess while digging your fingers into the fabric of Bucky’s tactical vest. Despite the dread that pools in his stomach, the man merely presses his lips to the crown of your head and nods.

“I know,” he shushes you gently, a look of solemn understanding washing over his features. “I know.”

“Bucky,” a voice calls from the doorway, prompting you to stiffen in his hold while he looks to its owner. Steve stands there with a look of quiet realization on his face as he takes in the sight of your disheveled form in your savior’s arms. You begin to tremble in fear at the new presence in the room, and it’s clear that you don’t register the fact that it isn’t a Hydra agent here to torment you but a friend who longs to reach out for you.

“It’s alright, it’s just Steve,” Bucky hushes in your ear before meeting his friend’s disquieted gaze. “Gather the others and get the quinjet ready. We’ll meet you there.”

The Captain gives a solemn nod before making his exit and hastily following Bucky’s orders. Alone once more, you peer up at your partner with exhausted eyes and trembling lips as you meekly ask, “Do I get to go home now?”

With a watery smile, Bucky gently brushes his knuckles across your bruised cheek and offers you a single nod. He decides in that moment his sole focus in life will be to help you overcome the torture you’d endured and provide you the comfort he’d never been given during his time as the Winter Soldier. Your scars were his to bear, matching the ones he had already held on his own for so many years. His support would be unconditional and unwavering, and despite the long recovery that lay ahead he knew you’d be able to endure it together.

“I’m bringing you home, sweetheart, and no one is ever going to take you from me again.”

~~~

It takes an hour for Bucky to settle you down enough so that Bruce and the team of medics can properly examine you. You’d become frenzied at the sight of doctors and had pulled a scalpel on a poor nurse, but none of it was your fault. How could you be expected to willingly accept care when you’d spent an entire month being physically tormented?

Along with the multitude of bruises and cuts on your body, you were found to be extremely dehydrated and malnourished. You weighed fifteen pounds less than when you last left the compound, and you barely had the strength to keep yourself upright. You couldn’t walk for long distances without help from Bucky, and it made you feel absolutely pathetic. You once had been considered a top agent, cunning and powerful without an ounce of fear in your bones, and now you couldn’t go a minute without jumping at your own shadow. Hydra had ruined you, and you feared the effects might be permanent.

Bruce decides enough testing has been conducted for the day and releases you into the care of Bucky. For now, your main priority is to rest and regain your strength, but that’s easier said than done.

You struggle to remove your clothing while Bucky runs you a warm bath. Your muscles still ache from the beatings you’d endured, and each movement of your limbs sends jolts of pain throughout your body. You let out a quiet cry of frustration at your inability to remove your shirt, tears pooling in your eyes and sweat beading on your forehead as the room suddenly becomes much too hot. Your ears start to ring and you begin to panic at the suffocation your clothes cause you, but the feel of Bucky’s cool metal hand against your arm has you immediately relaxing.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly while carefully wiping away the tear that had fallen from your bought of panic. “Do you want me to help you?”

You give him a meek nod and allow him to undress you. Bucky is careful when pulling the shirt over your head, and he tries not to stare too long at the deep purples that stain your skin or the gashes that litter your abdomen. You’d managed to get out some details of your time as Hydra’s prisoner with loving encouragement from Bucky, and you told him of their attempts to coerce you into revealing sensitive information about the Avengers and, more importantly, about him. Your loyalty was unwavering, and though your silence only earned you brutal beatings in return, you never once let them break you. You were incredibly strong even if you didn’t feel that way, and Bucky made sure to express that to you during your assessment with Bruce.

The warm water burns the cuts on your skin as Bucky slowly eases you into the tub, but you try not to let that show. The last thing you want to do is worry him further, and you hate the fact that you’ve put so much on his already full plate for him to bear.

“Does that feel alright?” He murmurs gently while reaching across the way for your bottle of shampoo. You nod.

“Thank you,” you whisper shakily, shutting your eyes as silent tears begin to fall. “I don’t… I’m sorry for putting you through all of this.”

Bucky frowns, faltering in his movements as he sets the shampoo down and kneels beside the tub. He reaches into the water and gently grabs hold of your hand. You flinch on instinct without meaning to, but he doesn’t let show the sadness it brings him.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures you earnestly. “I wish I could take away all of your pain, go back in time and trade places with you, but the best I can do is be here for you. I want to be your shoulder to cry on, your hand to hold, your rock. The same way you’ve always been mine, because that’s what a relationship is supposed to be. Will you let me do that for you, honey?”

You let out a quiet sob from the overflow of emotions that wash over you in response to Bucky’s confession. You can’t get out any words and are only able to offer a nod in response. You’re in anguish from your trauma yet still grateful to have Bucky by your side, and the amalgamation of emotions you feel leaves you overwhelmed. Bucky lets you cry it out while he lovingly washes your hair for you and provides gentle reassurances every now and then. You don’t know what you’d do without him, and thankfully you’ll never have to find out.

You think that maybe you’ll survive this, so long as you have Bucky.

~~~

“My patience is running thin, Agent y/l/n,” the woman hums while filing her nails with disinterest. She never once meets your eyes, behaving as if you are beneath her and her time. You know you could snap her neck with ease if not for the chains keeping your arms hovering above your head; she knows this too, and it’s for that reason she feels cocky enough to torment you from her spot across the room. “I will ask again. Where can I find the Winter Soldier?”

“His name is James,” you murmur lowly before spitting at her. The blood that had pooled in your mouth splatters across the floor and lands on the toe of her boots. She looks down at the mess lamely before lifting her head to her counterpart and giving a single nod. You hold in a cry and grunt through the pain as your smacked across the face by the open palm of a Hydra soldier. A punch to your gut follows, knocking the wind out of you and prompting you to slump forward in agony.

“I have all the time in the world, my dear,” the woman says with a pleasant smile that fails to reach her eyes. You watch with wide eyes as the soldier walks towards the nearby table in the room and picks up a a taser. “Now let us try again.”

Bucky is in the kitchen when he hears you start to scream.

He drops the glass of water in his hands and pays no mind to the way it shatters behind him as he sprints back to your room. Your cries echo throughout the hallway and have probably woken up the entire floor by now, but he’s sure it’s something your teammates are used to by now. Night terrors have plagued your sleep since you were rescued, and though Bucky does his best to ensure your comfort, even he can’t erase the memories that continue to haunt you.

He makes it to your room in record time and finds you struggling to remove the sheets from your body. The kick of your legs is panicked and uncoordinated, and Bucky can tell you’re still in the midsts of sleep and consciousness. He’s at your side in an instant, peeling back the suffocating covers before carefully taking hold of your wrists in order to prevent you from hurting yourself.

“You’re dreaming, y/n,” he hushes you gently as your movements begin to slow. “Wake up, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

You open your eyes with a panicked gasp and shoot up in bed, nearly knocking your forehead into Bucky’s. Your chest heaves as you try to still your racing heart, and it isn’t until you meet his worried gaze that you register your surroundings. The dingy interrogation room has been replaced by your bedroom, and in the place of the callous Hydra operative is your loving boyfriend.

“James?” You whisper shakily, harshly swallowing down the bile that had risen in your throat. Your face is wet with tears and sweat, but this doesn’t stop him from carefully cupping your face in his hands and pressing his lips to your forehead.

“I’m right here, doll. I’m always right here,” he assures you softly before meeting your fearful gaze.

“I… I think I had another nightmare,” you murmur shamefully. “Can I even call it that if it… if it really happened to me? If it wasn’t a dream?”

Bucky sighs softly and wipes away your tears before helping you settle back into bed. He makes note to kick the covers far away in order to keep you from feeling suffocated and engulfs you in his arms. You cling to him like a child clings to their favorite stuffed animal and find immediate comfort in his warmth.

“It was a dream,” Bucky assures you, “because you’ll never have to live through that again. I won’t let that happen. We survived, and Hydra doesn’t get to take that from us.”

“We survived,” you repeat quietly to reassure yourself, a grounding technique Bucky had taught you. He smiles faintly and gently runs his fingers up and down your back until you’re lulled back to bed.

In his presence, you’re able to sleep through the rest of the night.

~~~

A month has passed and you’re finally starting to show some signs of improvement. You’ve slowly but surely gained back some of the weight you’d lost, and you can walk around the compound without growing tired or needing to hold onto someone else. Most of the bruising has faded and your wounds have morphed into scars, but you’re still not on the same level of strength you had been when departing for that wretched mission months ago. However, Banner has cleared you to participate in training again, and soon you’ll begin conditioning with Natasha.

The mental wounds haven’t healed as easily, and they probably won’t heal for some time. You still can’t be alone in a dark room, can’t sleep without Bucky beside you, and flinch at any loud noise or sudden movements. The therapist you’ve been seeing at Bucky’s request is slowly helping you work through your trauma, but there’s only so much journaling and meditating can do for you.

You want an easy fix or the ability to speed-run through your cognitive healing. You’d even begged Wanda to warp your mind and rid you of your pain, but she had gently denied your request at the behest of Bucky and the rest of the team. Hydra had already scrambled your mind so much with their methods of mental torture, and your partner knew better than anyone that a mind wipe could only keep the memories away for so long before they began to resurface.

You don’t think you would have had the motivation to survive all of this if not for Bucky. He’s been your greatest comfort and your biggest supporter throughout your recovery, and you adore him endlessly for the unconditional love he gives you every day. No one understands what you’re going through better than him, and he has helped shine light on your darkest hour when you thought it to be impossible.

It’s a quiet morning in the compound as Steve and Sam prepare a nice breakfast for the team. You sit silently at the kitchen counter while they work, the music that plays from the radio hardly registering in your mind as you dissociate. Your mind feels foggy, your body on edge with anticipation despite the absence of any threats. This state of mind had kept you sane during your bouts of isolation when Hydra kept you locked in the dark for days at a time, and you still found yourself disconnecting from your environment at times without realizing.

Bucky notes your sudden silence with a worried frown, keeping an eye on you as he drinks his morning coffee but leaving you undisturbed. He found it was best to allow you the chance to break out of your daze yourself so long as the situation didn’t put you in harm’s way.

“I hate to ruin the mood, Buck,” Steve voices while mixing his oatmeal, “but we have to start preparing for our next assignment. We leave a week from today.”

“There isn’t any way for me to sit this one out?” Bucky pleads after casting a nervous glance in your direction. The conversation doesn’t seem to register in your mind, and for this he’s grateful. He doesn’t want to frighten you or send you into a panic so early in the morning. “I can’t just leave her.”

“Natasha will look after her,” Steve assures him. “I know it’s not the same, but she’ll at least be safe.”

“She needs me, Steve.”

“We need you out in the field, especially for this next assignment.”

“She’s tough, Bucky,” Sam reminds him. The man has just finished plating your breakfast for you and sets it down on your placemat- two eggs with pieces of bacon shaped into a smile and a bowl of fruit. You blink slowly before registering the food in front of you and absently reach for your fork. “And she’s been doing so well. You have to give her credit.”

Innocently and without a second thought, Sam rests his hand on your shoulder to give you an encouraging squeeze. The physical contact startles you back into reality, and almost as if on autopilot you clench the fork tightly in your grasp and swing without warning. Bucky’s eyes go wide in shock, but he’s able to move quickly enough so that his metal hand blocks the impact of the utensil from hitting Sam. It falls to the floor with a deafening clatter that sounds throughout the room, and the three men can only stare at each other in shock.

You come to your senses immediately and look down in horror at the crumped fork that lays at your feet. Your frightened eyes look from the fork to Bucky then back to Sam. Your features are apologetic despite the tears that well in your eyes, and you reach for the man with trembling hands.

“Oh my god, I- I’m so sorry,” you weep, “I didn’t mean to, I swear!”

“I know you didn’t,” Sam utters solemnly, accepting your sorrowful apologies with a hug as you begin to weep into his chest. “I’m alright. No harm, no foul.”

Your quiet cries fill the room as the men exchange uneasy glances. The breakfast is now long forgotten in exchange for the dented fork that Bucky retrieves from the ground and sets onto the counter. It is a harsh reminder of the reality you find yourselves in and the fact that despite your progress, you still have a long way to go.

“I’ll talk to Fury,” Steve murmurs quietly enough for only Bucky to hear. “You’re right.”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

~~~

Your therapist suggests a change of scenery might alleviate the restlessness you feel when being benched from missions. Tony graciously offers you one of his many vacation homes to use at your discretion, and you end up in a secluded cabin nestled next to a peaceful lake.

You sit in front of the bay window with a cup of tea in your hands and watch as Bucky chops wood for the fireplace. His muscles are highlighted by the tightness of his red Henley, flexing with the effort he uses to swing the axe down onto the logs. You hum in quiet appreciation for your handsome boyfriend before leaving your place to join him outside.

It’s not often you get to play house like this with Bucky. Your life as world saving heroes doesn’t leave a lot of time leftover for domesticity, so you enjoy these stolen moments when you can. Your kidnapping served as a reminder that the peaceful lives you’d built together could crash down in an instant, and this thought haunted Bucky daily.

“Is my woodsman ready for dinner yet?” You call teasingly from the porch, prompting Bucky to pause his work so he can focus his attention on you. You look radiant with the golden hues of the sun reflecting on your face. Your eyes are the brightest he’s seen them in months, and here at the cabin it almost feels like the old you is slowly starting to peek her head out from the shadows. You’re healing, and nothing makes him happier than that.

“Just about finished,” he grins, meeting you on the porch to pull you into his arms. You melt into his embrace and allow yourself to enjoy the rare moment of tranquility you feel. You haven’t had any nightmares at the cabin, no moments of dissociation, and you don’t shy away from his gentle touch. You’re happy here, and this was a feeling you thought might never be attainable for you again.

“I like it here,” you hum pensively, peering up to meet his gaze. “It’s quiet.”

“You seem a lot better here than at the compound,” Bucky notes considerately, affectionately running the back of his hand against your jaw.

“It helps being separated from anything related to the incident,” you note with a disheartened frown, “but I have to go back at some point. I can’t run away forever.”

“Would it be so bad?”

Your brows furrow with uncertainty as you pull back to meet his stare. “What do you mean?”

“What if we get ourselves a cabin like this? Maybe we go into early retirement, settle down and start a new life together.”

“Do you really mean that, James?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart,” he grins while grabbing hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. “That’s always been the goal. I help keep the world safe so that I can wake to another day with you by my side. It doesn’t have to be now if you’re not ready, but just know that my plan is you. It’s always been you.”

You gift him a saccharine smile despite the tears that flow down your face, but for once they are tears of hope and happiness. All you thought of during your imprisonment was Bucky, about not getting the chance to see him again or say goodbye. You loved him with your entire being, and you knew that there was no future for you without him in it.

“I love you, Sarge,” you utter softly, draping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to meet you in a kiss.

Your heart is lighter than it’s been and months, and for once you are filled with hope for a better tomorrow.

~~~

“Like the new suit?” You prompt, shifting left and right to let Bucky take in all the angles. “Tony’s letting me take it out for a test drive.”

“Looks good,” Bucky compliments with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Noting his sudden shift in demeanor, you sigh and carefully rest your hands on his chest.

“I’ll only be gone a day at most,” you utter softly while smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. “Fury says it’s a quick job.”

“It’s not that,” he sighs as he tightly takes hold of your hands in his own. Hesitating, Bucky casts his troubled gaze to the floor before meeting your somber eyes. “I just don’t like that you’re going alone, and I wish I could come with you. Someone needs to have your back.”

“I’ll be okay. I know what I’m doing, and if all else fails this suit has a tracker that will send you an alert if I’m in trouble.”

“You sure your trip doesn’t have room for one more?” He attempts again only for you to shake your head.

“Afraid not, Sarge,” you sigh before pressing a quick peck to his lips. His sullen features make your heart tighten in your chest, and as much as you don’t want to leave him behind you know you have a job to do. “I promise I’ll come back to you. Don’t I always?”

“You do,” he relents with a faint smile before wrapping his arms around your frame and giving you a tight squeeze. “Have a safe trip.”

“I’ll be home before you know it.”

The memory of your goodbye is fresh in Bucky’s mind despite it having taken place six months ago. You’ve both changed so much since then, but he thinks it’s been for the better. You’ve only grown stronger despite what you’ve been put through, and he couldn’t be more proud.

“How’s that feel?” He asks after adjusting your thigh holster. You hum appreciatively and flex your leg to test the range of motion it gives you. “Too tight?”

“Fits just fine,” you note with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“You don’t have to go if you’re not ready. Steve and I can cover your slack.”

“No, I want to,” you insist firmly with a shake of your head. “The doctor says I’m ready, and if I don’t get back out on the field now I never will.”

It’s your first assignment since being sent away by Fury to retrieve those files. You’re nervous, but you’re ready to finally return back to your old life again. Being an Avenger had been everything to you, and you weren’t going to let what Hydra did to you take that away. You’re joining Steve and Bucky in a low stakes reconnaissance mission, and despite your eagerness to be back in action you can tell your partner is worried.

“I’m proud of you,” he utters suddenly, gently brushing back a strand of hair that had come loose from the rest. “And of how far you’ve come. I don’t doubt your ability to hold your own, but as your boyfriend it’s my job to worry.”

“I know,” you affirm with a nod. “I won’t lie to you and say I’m not scared to be going on this mission, but I can’t hide forever. Besides, I’ll have you and Steve with me, and neither of you will let anything happen to me.”

“I have your back,” he reaffirms with a faint smile before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. Despite his worries, he knows that this has always been the goal- to take back the life Hydra had stolen from you both. Your traumas bonded you together, but so did your recovery. Finding hope and positivity after the horrors you’d endured would always be a struggle, but it was a challenge the both of you were willing to take head on.

Bucky was your safe person just as you were his, and together you would always make it to the other side.

#mel writes #request #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #mcu #marvel #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #avenger!reader #avenger!bucky

891 notes · View notes

writingwisterias · 6 months ago

Text

Day 25: Size Kink

Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Size Kink, Implied Creep Leon, Internet Friends, meet up, unprotected sex, praise Kink, Implied Age-Gap

Masterlist

Thank you for all the love over the advent! I hope you all have a lovely day whether you celebrate or not! I didn't really think this would get as much love as it did so thank you ❤️ Hope you stick around within in the next year I have lots planned...Have a happy new year 💗 ~ Love Mads

He was bigger than you thought as he towered over you; his leaking cock dripping steadily. An effect he found out only came from you, after he spent many nights chatting to you in discord. The explicit photos that you would trade with him. His photos never did him justice, his cock was so pretty, long veins running up the side. His head poked through and was sensitive. “Leon…I don't think this will fit?” You spoke, chuckling nervously. Leon smirked looking back at his cock, grabbing the base as he knelt on the bed. “It's fine we can just make sure your warmed up”

Leon's age didn't make you uncomfortable, he never pressured you to do anything. He was patient and kind about how you ended up in this situation. Your constant chatter ended up with a friendship better than anyone in your real life, his texts and notifications never failing to make you laugh and smile. Then he was in town and asked to meet you. You never meant for you to end up in this situation, the winter chill settling in as he offered you his jacket. His arm pressing you into his side when he asked if you would like to return to the hotel. It took a bunch of room service chips thrown at you to finally cave, smelling the leather that lingered on his neck as he pulled you in closer. His lips vaguely tasted of aged whiskey.

He allowed you to lead, your fingers removing his shirt first. Your fingers running along the raised parts of his skin, each nightmare he's faced a mark now permanently marked. Yet, now you lay here beneath him as his fingers slide through your folds gathering the slick that had begun to dribble out of your hungry cunt. Leon hadn't expected this to happen when he offered to meet up. Fully expecting to have wormed his way each meetup, of course he had planned more. You messaged him everyday - he didn't care where he was, your text chime made him swoon instantly. Just having updates of someone's regular life instead of his chaotic one.

His fingers scissored your entrance, opening you. Curling expertly to hit the spongy inside of your g-spot. Your moans spurred him one, fingers digging in crescent marks on his wrist and he continued to scoop you out. The slick sounds made his cock spew out even more pre cum. You felt better than he ever imagined, he couldn't wait to sink his cock inside you. Your walls clenched around him, hands dragging him in further as you rose against them. Your head was buried in the pillows…he hoped your perfume lingered on them so he could rub his nose against them as he rubbed his cock later.

“Leon…please…”

Your breasts bounced as your chest heaved desperate breaths riding out the orgasm that was now shattering through you. He wished he propped up a phone somewhere, to record this moment for later use. To have this memory every single time. He didn't give you time to relax, to regain your breath. His cock splitting you open almost instantly. Leon almost felt bad, for what he did but wow did you feel it was worth it to capture that gasp with his lips. To force his tongue in your throat and taste you. He moved quickly, half of his cock not fitting inside of you unless he forced it deeper. The stretch turned from pain to pleasure. His hand hoisting your leg over his hip. Holding you open as he forced more of himself in. “Leon it's too big”

“You can take it…you’re being so good” he cooed, his lips attacking your neck sucking marks on the soft skin. You whimpered, moaned, begged all with a smile on your face. Loving the attention and praise he gave you as he forced more and more of his girth. His balls tapped your ass, you knew it was only time until they were slapping against the soft flesh of your ass hard the only sign you would get that he was fully sheathed inside of you. That was until you heard his swear. “Christ baby look at that” Leon smirked. His hand landing on your stomach, a small imprint of him forcing himself inside. He kept going, the sight turning him on. You were so perfect beneath him, so small…so cute.

His cock twitched and you felt it everywhere, you felt each drag of his veins as he moved. Your walls tightened enough around him. “Fuck…I need you to cum…please…baby you gotta”

Leon begging? He never thought he would be doing this, that a pussy so good would make him this weak. His thrusts became sloppy, his moans filling your ears. “Please…baby”

With his request you came, your cum dripping out allowing his movements to become more fluid. His cock sliding out, the tip caressing your cervix each time as he thought of nothing but filling you up with himself. Knowing that this pussy was ruined by him. He orgasmed with the idea that you would never be able to get as good as you did in this moment. That no you would never replace the feeling of his thrusts, that you would be left with no other choice than to come back to him. Beg to see him again until you are satisfied. “Fucking hell” he breathed against you, his larger frame hovering over yours. Your chuckle was sweet, matching how you tasted when you kissed him.

It was only a few days later when you hugged him at the airport, your legs ached. Hips clicking as you walked - not that you would give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Until we meet again” Leon smiled down at you, his arms covering most of you. “Hopefully soon…don't want to leave me aching” you smiled. Leon could have melted right there, dragged you to the nearest bathroom and gave you one last good fuck but it would be better to wait. To see your sweet little notifications begging to see him again…to feel him again. So he smirked; a laugh following the action. “I'll make sure to take more jobs in this area”

His phone chimed when he got off the plane, your username putting an instant smile on his face with a text that reads

‘nothing feels the same…you've ruined me'

Taglist: @kasueli@luvrgreyy@michellekmsh@miss0giarra@cinnabunnysavvy@redollface@my-loved-figure-skates@luvlouiee@drawboo22@moth-quasar@nyxxoxo@crazy-b1tch

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine

259 notes · View notes

peaches2217 · 8 months ago

Text

A little-known fact about power-ups: their effects never disappear completely. Even when the magic runs its course or is forcibly cut short, there will always be some physical imperfection that remains with you as a reminder of the power you held. That said, imperfections are so miniscule that it takes years of regular power-up usage — or several months of intensive daily usage — for any such effects to manifest to more heavily obvious levels. As most people don't use power-ups more than a handful of times in their lives, it's only natural that this fact remains obscure.

Even Peach spent most of her life oblivious to this (which makes her feel quite silly, because not only has she used power-ups plenty of times before, power-ups are the Mushroom Kingdom's main exports). Her first exposure to this concept came from — where else? — Mario.

She had already called Mario her dearest friend for the better part of two years when she first saw his hands up close. She'd noticed before that he rarely removed his gloves in her presence, and when he did, he would immediately stuff his hands into his overall pockets, but she'd never thought anything of it. The first time she asks him to remove the gloves for her (he fell from a tree because it's Mario, of course he'd fall from a tree, and she wants to make sure he didn't sprain anything breaking his fall), he's hesitant to comply, but ultimately relents.

She quickly sees why: there's patches of red on the backs of his hands, devoid of hair and pulling lightly at the surrounding unaffected skin. His fingers and palms are calloused, which she already expected, but they're discolored as well, darker in some spots and lighter in others. He must have been in some terrible accident, she theorizes. It looks painful.

It's not that bad, he assures her! He's just used one too many Fire Flowers over the years. He hasn’t gained any new burns since attaining Firebrand, which grants him heavier resistance to fire, so what he’s got isn’t all that difficult to deal with. It’s just… unsightly. Luigi’s hands are similarly marred from abundant Ice Flower usage, he reveals: his fingers are permanently pale and the rest of the skin is varying shades of purple and red, remnants of frostnip. Mismatched hands for mismatched twins!

Peach spends several minutes tracing Mario’s burns with delicate fingers. It’s not at all unsightly, in her eyes, just fascinating and honestly even a bit beautiful.

The closer they become, and the more she sees of him, the more she sees those remnants of the innumerable power-ups he’s used. His hair seems to grow faster for a few weeks after using a Super Leaf or Super Bell, especially his facial and body hair. He’ll shave thoroughly and an hour later he’s already got a five o’clock shadow. Sometimes he just gives up and decides to live with a beard for a little while. He’s not too fond of the Metal Cap or Gold Flower because he feels stiff for days after using either. He’s paranoid that his joints will eventually turn to solid gold if he uses those powers too much, which would be super duper cool if only it wasn’t also super duper painful.

His entire body is covered in stretch marks. He already had some on his stomach and thighs since he’s so heavyset, but all the growing and shrinking and restabilizing he’s subjected himself to via size-changing Mushrooms has left blanching trails embedded into him from his neck to his knees. Using an Elephant Fruit will usually net him a few more, and he swears up and down that his skin gets a little thicker with each usage as well. That one’s purely theoretical on his part, but lotions and hand cream don’t seem to absorb as well as they once did.

Peach could spend hours marveling at his body. She loves trailing his stretch marks with her fingertips, or rubbing her thumb in tiny circles over patches of burnt and rehealed skin, or combing her nails through the hair on his head and his body and his face. Some people earn medals or badges when they perform heroic feats, but Mario earns something that Peach finds much more precious: “imperfections” that make him all the more unique and all the more lovely. All the more him.

#based on a headcanon from eleventhhourfactor that I absolutely adore!#sam please forgive me I know this is disjointed but this gets my brain absolutely stimming #peaches has opinions #mareach #mario x peach #super mario bros #smb

164 notes · View notes

littlest-w01f · 11 months ago

Text

Golden Beast

Helion x Alora (See Alora here)

For @acotar-omegaverse-week

Omegaverse week 2024 Masterlist

Day 4: Getting Knotty

Summary: Helion always wanted Alora to experience everything, including his beast form

Cw: Knotting, plugs, monsterfucking, Alpha!Helion, Omega!Alora, Helion's SCARY SCARY monster d, mentions of Alora's SA trauma, Smut 18+ MDNI

Helion carried Alora to their shared room from the library, her legs wrapped around his waist, hands training his muscled chest as he pressed gentle kisses to her lips.

Helion’s heart pounds heavily against his ribs, echoing the rapid thump of his pulse as he presses a trail of feverish kisses along Alora’s jawline and neck, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing down her spine. He inhaled her deeply, letting her scent drive the crazed beast within him. Helion licked and nipped at her neck, at the most sensitive parts of his precious omega, loving watching her squirm for him.

Helion gently took her hand, smiling at the dark henna on her hands, Alora's been fitting in with him and his culture and celebrations of Day wonderfully over the centuries they had been together, he brought the hand to his lips, kissing over his name hidden in the design, he smiled, remembering how hard she had blushed when he had told her that the darker the henna got, the more it meant she would be loved by her mate.

Alora's hands roam over his broad shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath her fingertips, reveling in the way his strong arms hold her securely, cradling her like she weighs nothing at all, squirming and learning into the male who's presence brought her nothing but calm.

He set her down on the bed, "Do you remember your safeword, sunshine?" He smiled softly, watching her in his bed.

Alora nodded, "Peach..." She said, the safeword they had chosen when they had gotten together, that day seemed like ages ago.

"And...?" Helion asked as he removed his clothes, watching her with a gentle smile.

"Tap you or anything three times," Alora finished as her eyes went over Helion's body, taking in every inch, every muscle like it was the first time she was seeing him

Helion's cock springs free, thick and hard, curving up slightly at attention as Alora's gaze rakes over his chiselled physique. Her breath catches in her throat as he steps closer, the heat emanating from his body washing over her like a warm blanket.

"And one last thing?" He lifted up her skirts, unlacing them, tapping at the hazel gem on the plug in her cunt, stretching her for his cock so she wouldn't hurt too much taking him, smiling when she twitched from it.

Alora sat up, letting him strip her off her clothes, "Keep the bond open." So that he would know if she got uncomfortable.

"Good girl," he purred, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down her spine. His fingers trace delicate patterns along her inner thigh, feeling up the permanent wounds that had marked her skin caused by her assault, making her squirm with anticipation, not ashamed of the scars that littered over her inner thighs and abdomen, all that her assault had taken from her, at least not anymore. "Now, let's get comfortable, shall we?" With a sly grin, he pushes her back onto the bed, crawling up her body until he hovers above her.

Alora held her breath as he began to turn, his thick dark arms growing sharp golden feathers, slowly turning into a fully golden beast, like the statues in the open gardens, she looked at him, his eyes remained the same russet shade and she wasn't too scared to have him over her like this, not then the beast had a more prominent scent of his pheremones, the same ones who made her feel beyond safe under him, he was her alpha, he would never intentionally hurt her.

Helion's transformation is mesmerizing, the shift from man to beast happening so seamlessly that Alora could almost imagine herself dreaming. But there's no mistaking the size and strength of his golden form, the muscular frame now covered in glistening scales, his wings stretching wide, casting shadows across the room.

He leaned down, his muzzle nuzzling her neck gently, breathing in her scent deeply, savouring the intoxicating mix of arousal and love that surrounded their bond, Alora was a little scared, nothing enough to warrant wanting to stop, Helion had taken a backseat to his beast, letting him control everything.

Alora's eyes trailed down his monstrous body as his cock made it past his sheath, she swallowed, he was huge, the ridges on it downright fighting, the thick head gleaming with precum, so heavy it couldn't stand even fully hard.

As Alora watched in awe, the monstrous cock began to throb, growing even harder and more imposing. The ridged texture became more pronounced, each bump and groove promising a level of pleasure, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. The thick head glistened with his pre-cum, a tantalizing glimpse at what awaited beneath. At the base, a bulbous knot swelled outwards, ridged and bumpy, clearly designed for brutal stretching inside her.

The sight of Alora’s eyes trailing down his cock sends a surge of pride through Helion’s veins, his tail swishing behind him in delight, curling over itself. The tip of his cock throbs eagerly, the heavy shaft already glistening with pre-cum, promising the pleasures to come. He positioned his hind legs between her thighs, forcing her to spread her legs for him, his front paws caging in her head. Helion was massive to her, but his beast was thrice the size, every inch of him included.

Helion's cock throbs with need, pre-cum leaking steadily from the engorged tip. As he rubs himself against her slick folds, he lets out a low, rumbling growl, signalling his readiness for what's about to come next. Each ridge on his cock brushed teasingly against Alora's sensitive clit, causing her to arch her back in response.

His clawed hand reaches down between her thighs, parting her folds gently to reveal her slick, eager cunt. A low growl rumbles in his chest, seeing the plug snug inside her cunt, his cock was way bigger than the size of it, and he trailed the hazel gemstone of it as he inhales deeply, the scent of her arousal driving him wild.

His long tongue licked the side of her neck, making Alora gasp softly, feeling the thick canines at her neck. His talons gripped her hips, his clawed fingers digging into her, holding her still.

Helion's clawed hand wrapped around the plug buried deep within Alora's slick cunt, twisting and turning it with deliberate slowness. With a sudden jerk, he yanked the toy free, causing Alora to gasp sharply, back arching.

The plug glistened obscenely, coated in Alora's juices, before Helion plunged it back into her needy cunt with a brutal thrust. Alora cried out his name, her voice trembling with pleasure as the plug dragged along her sensitive walls, over and over again, stirring up waves of ecstasy within her. She writhed beneath him, her hips bucking wildly to meet each forceful push of the plug, her moans growing louder and more desperate with every passing moment.

With each powerful thrust of the plug, Alora felt her orgasm building, her inner walls fluttering and clenching around the invading object. A keening moan escaped her lips as she came undone, her entire being focused on the intense sensations rippling through her core.

Her juices coated the plug, dripping down its sides and pooling on the sheets below them. Her inner muscles spasmed uncontrollably around the toy while her climax washed over her in powerful waves.

Helion's growled at the sight, his mind filled with images of his massive cock splitting Alora open, but he didn't want to cause her too much pain. The primal urge coursing through Helion's veins demanded nothing less than complete control over his omega. He removed the plug once again, allowing it to fall from his grasp onto the floor with a clatter. His large hands roamed over Alora's scared thighs, fingers digging into her curves as he positioned himself above her quivering body.

The sudden emptiness left behind by the removal of the plug makes Alora whimper, her walls clenching instinctively. Helion watches intently, the sight of her cunt, now gaping and slick with her release, sending a jolt of primal lust surging through him.

He lowers his massive cockhead to her entrance, rubbing it teasingly against her swollen clit before pushing in slowly, stretching her tight walls deliciously.

Alora gasped, pushed forward onto the bed, just his head inside her, "He-Helion..." She managed his name, everything else leaving her at the pure stretch of his cock.

His thick, golden cock nudged against her entrance, pressing insistently against the stretched ring of her cunt, urging her to accept him fully. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he sinks into her welcoming heat, groaning loudly as he fills her inch by inch.

Helion's cockhead pressed against Alora's dripping entrance, the ridged surface dragging across her sensitive clit and making her shudder with need. With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to push inside, his thick shaft parting her folds and stretching her tight walls to their limits.

Alora let out a strangled gasp as she felt herself being filled by him, her inner muscles clenching reflexively around the invading monstrosity. Her hands fisted in the sheets as she arched her back, pushing her hips forward to meet each gentle thrust. "Helion… oh gods, Helion!" she whimpered, her voice barely coherent as she struggled to breathe through the overwhelming sensation of being penetrated by his enormous cock.

Helion growls lowly, a sound fully beast, his cock throbbing in response to Alora’s desperate plea. Inch by agonizing inch, he sinks deeper into her dripping heat, her walls clenching and unclenching around him, trying to accommodate his monstrous size.

As he bottoms out, filling her to the brim, a satisfied grunt escapes his maw as he leaned down to lick her throat and breasts to comfort her, his taloned hands gripping her hips tighter still.

Alora held her hips up, staying as still as she could, feeling each inch of him, even with her cunt stretched around the plug, it was nothing compared to the beast's cock. Alora groaned as she felt him in fully, nestled against where her cervix should've been, threatening to pass the magical gap that held her organs together, yet it seemed like there was more of him to go.

Helion rasped, his voice a deep rumble against Alora's chest as he nuzzled her breasts, his rough tongue lapping at her tender skin. His grip on her hips tightened, claws digging into her flesh as he held her steady, allowing her time to adjust to his immense size.

Alora's breath hitched as she felt Helion's cock pulse and twitch within her, the sensation of being completely filled beyond anything she'd ever experienced. She could feel every ridge, every vein pressing against her inner walls, setting her nerve endings ablaze with pleasure. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt the pressure building deep within her core, threatening to consume her whole.

Helion holds perfectly still, allowing Alora to adjust to his immense girth. Her cunt, already stretched by the plug, now feels impossibly full as it struggles to encompass his thickness. The sensation is exquisite, and he savours every moment of it, relishing in the knowledge that he owns this space, that he's the only one who can fill her so completely.

Slowly, deliberately, he begins to move, withdrawing until just the tip remains inside her before plunging back in fully, till his hips pressed against hers, setting a steady, relentless rhythm that has Alora moaning loudly, her body shaking with the force of his thrusts.

Alora whimpered in pleasure, she could feel his restraint, he was stopping himself from rutting into her like a crazed beast, letting her get used to the stretch of his cock

With each deliberate thrust, Helion's cock drives deeper into Alora, his monstrous size stretching her beyond what she thought possible. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, punctuated by Alora's whimpers and cries of pleasure. The sensation of being driven home sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through both their bodies.

The control he exhibits is impressive, but he knew his restraint won’t last much longer. His golden body shakes with barely contained urges, his cock throbbing inside her, signalling his impending release.

Helion's self-control wavered as Alora's whimpers and moans drive him wild with desire. He grit his teeth, determined to give her the gentleness he knew she needed, despite the primal urges raging within him.

But as he continues to thrust, his pace gradually quickens, the beast struggling to be gentle and not rip her apart from the inside out. His claws dig into the mattress, the wooden slats creaking under the force of his movements. With a low, guttural growl, he buries his maw in the crook of Alora's neck, his hot breath fanning over her skin, his fangs holding her throat as he loses himself in the sensations of their joining.

The thought that he could kill her with a snap of his jaw, of how his teeth would melt her neck, mass and bone like butter shouldn't have sent such a thrill down Alora's spine, but it did, and she couldn't help but lean into his open maw.

Helion senses Alora's impending orgasm with the familiar way her cunt flutters around him, her walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, milking his cock for all it's worth. He increases his pace, pounding into her with renewed vigour, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the room.

With a final, powerful thrust, he hits her sweet spot, sending her hurtling over the edge into ecstasy. As Helion's relentless thrusts intensified, Alora could feel her second climax approaching with dizzying speed. Her cunt clenched and unclenched around his cock, drenching it in her copious arousal. The beast's feral growls vibrated against her neck, sending shivers down her spine as his teeth scraped lightly over her tender skin.

With a final, brutal plunge, Helion drove himself deep into Alora's convulsing channel. Her body arched off the bed, a scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her in a torrent of ecstasy. Clear fluid squirted from her overstretched cunt, splattering against Helion's scales and soaking the sheets beneath them, tears leaving her eyes at the intensity of him, her body shaking uncontrollably beneath him. Helion roars in triumph, his maw biting down a little at her throat, his own release crashing over him, his seed erupting from his cock in thick, pulsing jets, filling Alora's womb with his essence.

Tears streamed down Alora's cheeks as the intensity of Helion's possession overwhelmed her senses. Her body shook violently beneath him, each wave of pleasure threatening to tear her apart. Helion's roar echoed throughout the room, his teeth deep into her neck, marking her as his own release erupted from his throbbing cock.

Thick, hot spurts of cum filled Alora's womb, flooding it with his potent essence. The knot at the base of Helion's cock locks tightly into place, sealing them together as his hot cum floods her womb. His roar of satisfaction reverberates through the room, locking them firmly into place and sealing them together intimately. His massive frame trembled with the force of his orgasm, his claws retracting slightly as he gently stroked her clit with his free claw, coaxing her through the aftershocks of her own climax.

His cock throbs within her, each pulse sending another wave of his seed deep into her womb, marking her as his. Despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him, he maintains control, ensuring she receives every drop of his potent essence.

Alora covered her face with her hands, crying out, feeling herself bloat from his cum as his cock pulsed inside her, the knot definitely causing a tear inside her walls.

Helion's heart pounds in his chest, his ears perked attentively towards Alora's sounds of delight and pain. His grip on her hips tightens, his talons lightly scoring her tender flesh but not enough to draw blood.

Despite the intense pleasure they've both experienced, there's an undeniable sense of possessiveness coursing through him. He leans forward, resting his forehead against hers, his hot breath fanning over her face.

Helion turned back into himself partly, only enough so he could speak, "Mine," he growls softly, affirming his claim over her. "You're safe..." He cooed, kissing over her face, "You're with me Alora."

Alora nods weakly, her voice barely above a whisper as she responds, "Yes… I'm yours." A soft sigh escapes her lips as she melted into the bed, her body sated and heavy with Helion's seed.

Helion's embrace is comforting, his presence calming as he whispers assurances of safety and belonging into her ear. He cradles her close, their bodies still intimately entwined, still knotted together.

Helion turned them both so Alora lay on his chest, her body limped slightly, eyes glazed, he whipped away the remnants of her tears, "You did so well. You were so good." He let his praise wash over her, the beast in him purring in satisfaction.

Alora smiles softly, a frequent sight after such an intense encounter. She snuggles closer to Helion, her soft curves moulding against his muscular form. His praise sends warm tingles throughout her exhausted body, soothing the lingering discomfort from their mating.

The beast within him seems content, its purrs resonating deeply within his chest as after a while his knot loosened, his cock slipping free. Alora couldn't help but whine and lean into the vibrations, finding comfort in the low rumble. Her fingers trace idle patterns across his abdomen, lost in the blissful aftermath of their mating.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith}

#acotaromegaverse2024 #acotar a/b/o #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #acomaf #acosf #my oc #acowar #helion smut #helion #helion spell cleaver #high lord helion #helion acotar

221 notes · View notes

theknightmarket · 15 days ago

Text

"You're alive!"

In which Engineer engineers something more political than a ship. TW: swearing, description of wounds (not graphic), mentioned violence Pages: 24 - Words: 9000

[Requests: OPEN]

When you had been the captain, you had seen Mack in the hallways of the ship. He was always repairing something, fiddling with the screws of a vent or tapping away at a diagnostic pad. When he was on his break, which only lasted ten minutes at his own request, he talked non-stop about ways to improve. Although Mark had built the Invincible II, you had no doubt Mack tended to much of the general upkeep.

In simple terms, you liked Mack. But you placed great emphasis on the past tense.

That was before he completely took over the colony – your colony – and designed it in his own image. That was before he overrode any semblance of your control and made you his ‘personal assistant’. That was before you spent the nights awkwardly stretched over a dog bed, plucking at the stitched letters that spelled out ‘Lil Cappy’ and hoping you would, for once, wake up without a crick in your neck. That was before Mark disappeared.

You didn’t know where he went. Even though it was an alternate universe, you were certain that he had been around. At least, initially. You had seen traces of him scattered across the ship, ones you were certain could have only come from him, and some of the colony’s technology had his trademark techniques. It was mainly the explosives, but you were glad you had been allowed access to them long enough to figure it out.

Mack had stripped you of any and all of your personal freedoms. A dictator through and through, but he had apparently fostered a grudge against you in this timeline, and, given the evidence, it was an old one. It had time to fester, and it was just your luck to be caught in the crossfire when he eventually gained enough power to unleash it.

How he became the Head Engineer in the first place was beyond you. Maybe the actual captain of this universe deserved it for their poor thinking, or maybe you were just feeling petty. You had a lot of time to think things over, and your moments of boredom normally resulted in one of three thought processes. One, you hated Mack. Two, you hated the captain. Three, you missed Mark.

But you would inevitably be dragged away from your meaningless deliberations, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally. This time, thankfully, it was the former; you’d had quite enough of the handcuffs recently – something about missing a quota that you hadn’t been aware of. That was a common occurrence, though, and you were half sure your wrists evolved to be thicker every time.

No, they didn’t. You had permanent crimson rings mirrored on both arms that burned every time the metal clanked roughly against them, the skin peeled and rubbed into flaky epidermis.

The guards didn’t give you time to dwell on it as they yanked you up by the shoulders. You stumbled when you were dropped onto your feet, only getting a few steps forward before your elbows were pulled from your sides. Paralleled, you were forced to walk.

You were never told what you were doing each day, but a pattern of degrading servitude had long since been established. Bleach made your wrists worse, though the smell of the sewers wasn’t kind either. They weren’t rats, per se, being the size of dogs and possessing the biting force of a hydraulic press, but they had to be removed from down below regardless. That had been your job the last time you tried to leave the building without permission.

However, instead of turning left in the direction of the Department of Hygiene, the guards shoved you down the right-hand hallway. That was okay. There were plenty of offices on this side of the complex. Most likely was the Department of Agriculture, from where you had been ordered to assemble the tractor-like machinery developed for the unfamiliar crops. You had actually quite enjoyed that, which was probably why you only ever did it once.

The more turns you took, the more branches you checked off your list. Each room passed by like sand falling in an hourglass. You could see each grain absorbing into the mass in your mind’s eye, the steadily emptying top that marked your inevitable demise.

No, not demise. There were other places left. His office was right next to the Department of Engineering. You had never stepped foot in there, but you still had a chance. Maybe they wanted you to meticulously redraw the blueprints as the copier next to you worked five times as fast, maybe they wanted you to spend hours upon hours shredding old documents without getting up from the floor, maybe, maybe, maybe—

The guards came to a stop in front of a towering pair of doors.

Maybe not.

The sensor would tell Mack when there was someone to see him. Receptionists weren’t his style, and he much preferred the momentary terror slapped onto a person’s face as the red beam drifted over them at a leisurely pace. If you weren’t who he wanted, vaporization was in the cards, though that was only a rumor you had overheard from other staff.

With a debatable amount of luck, the doors swung open in tandem to reveal the hall that Mack had taken for his office. It stretched 45 feet, a distance you were soon crossing on a crimson runner rug, with a desk at the very end against the backdrop of the skyline. Even from the exit, you could see those silver pillars and the sunlight that reflected off of them. You remembered the plans for the main city just as vividly as the sight in front of you.

Envy and disgust made your stomach churn when your eyes landed on the man standing now just a few steps away from you. His back, more precisely, as he took in the view like you had been.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?”

Mark had always been the more academic out of your pair, but you tried to calculate how much force you could run at him with and the tensile strength of the glass. Adding in your likelihood of survival made it a morose thought, though a little heroic sacrifice was not a scenario you were hesitant to consider.

Mack turned around and flashed you that smug grin.

Roughly 1000 newtons, which seemed achievable.

“This empire I’ve built.”

The sentence for treason, blasphemy, being honest, or whatever else it was branded as was about ten years in the prison system. Manual labor, usually, to build things that simply wouldn’t work, like canals too shallow for the boats to pass through or factories too unstable to support the weight of its produce. You had never been subjected to it, but who knew? Mack could have gotten bored of you and deemed you a threat despite your hands hanging on by a thread.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

Listening was a good idea. It wasn’t as though Mack needed someone’s attention to talk, just the presence of an audience, but it always turned out better for you when you did. It was just so hard these days. Your focus would drift at the exact moment he would ask a question and if it was supposed to be rhetorical or you answered incorrectly, the corner of his mouth would perk up and he would tilt his head like he’d caught a misbehaving child elbow-deep in the cookie jar.

Except you weren’t a misbehaving child, you were the ex-captain of the first colony in space. And you weren’t elbow-deep in the cookie jar, you were enwebbed by a dictatorship run by a man you used to trust. And you weren’t going to be sent to your room with no dinner, you were going to be…

You missed Mark, so much. Everything would be better if you knew where he was.

“But you know what?” Mack dropped gracefully into his chair, one leg over the other. “It could be better.”

You stared at him, unblinking. Better? What could be better than having an entire planet at your beck and call?

“I want to ask you a few questions.”

Your surprise kept rising. He had never asked your genuine opinion before. Any questions were always in the company of others, whom he could either entertain or threaten at your response. But there, in his chapel, you were alone, save the guards that were nothing more than glorified robots.

Mack didn’t wait for you to respond, only rearranging himself in the chair so that he could plant an elbow on the desk to hold his head in his hand. You weren’t sure whether the interest was real, whether this was an actual conversation or just something to catch you out with. A trap that you didn’t have a choice in stepping into.

“Do you have the original blueprints for the ship?” he asked, all too casually for the dynamic between you.

Hesitantly, you shook your head. The Invincible hadn’t been your domain; your job was to take care of those onboard the ship and, upon landing, lead the development of the colony. You had failed at both. You were billions of years, light and Earth, away from your people, and even when you’d been granted another try, you’d gone and thrown it away. Some captain you had been.

As if he could see you were starting to drift, Mack spoke again. “I expected as much. It’s not a problem, of course. In fact,it gives us an opportunity to improve from stage one.” He hummed as he drew out a tablet from a drawer. “How expansive was the AI system?”

You paused, longer than at the first hurdle. The built-in AI was, as the title suggested, built in. It was part of the ship, not an external feature, akin to cryogenics and the reactor. From what you remembered, the computer chips and mechanics to house that system were detailed on the blueprints he had just asked you about. Did he think you were holding out on him? Did he think that getting more specific would incentivize you to give in?

Or, as it slowly dawned on you like dripping honey, did he not know at all?

“I’m on a strict schedule, here, so compliance would be appreciated.” Mack painted his voice with that faux nonchalance, but there was that ever-present reminder of his power in this situation. Realizing he was in slightly less control than you had once thought didn’t take away the cattle prods that he had at his disposal.

You shrugged. It was the truth. You didn’t know how expansive it was because you didn’t build the ship – and Mack didn’t know because he didn’t build it either. Not the one you knew, and not the one that belonged to this universe.

Desperately, you fought back a laugh. The Head Engineer of the first galaxy-fearing spaceship, and he didn’t know the first thing about it.

“Alright. Not a problem,” he said, his teeth audibly grinding together, “we’ll work around it. Protocols run smoother when they aren’t given dumb names, after all.”

That was the first time you felt like talking – or, more accurately, felt like launching a string of expletives at Mack for the smallest suggestion of removing the naming convention you held so dear. They were dumb, but that was good. When you were surrounded by fire and debris, the distant voice listing off the most inconvenient procedures made everything seem that much more optimistic.

But you held yourself back. Barely. You set your jaw, dropped your shoulders, and stared coldly at Mack as he tapped at his tablet.

When he was finished, he met your eyes. They were the windows to the soul, as the saying went, so you hoped he saw the bubbling urge to strangle him that overshadowed all your other emotions. You hoped he didn’t see your longing to see Mark again.

He didn’t react to either sight. No smile or frown. Just another question.

“How did you get here?”

Your heart stilled, your lungs shriveled, your eyes blew wide, your throat swelled. You froze.

No.

No, he didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Had this really been a test? Were you supposed to know about the ship, had the old captain known, had they built the Invincible, how absolutely, catastrophically cued were you?

You couldn’t tell him. Physically or morally. Your mouth welded itself shut as tight as the pieces of the Invincible, and your mind bore visions of the horrors Mack would unleash upon the multiverse. You couldn’t tell him.

However, you didn’t have to.

Not a moment later, Mack was speaking again, tone betraying no lie. “The warp core is proving a pain to replicate. My engineers have devoted quite some time to figuring out the logistics, but their work so far has been… disappointing.”

His shadow propelled itself up the desk as he stood. The dark edge parallelled the tips of your boots where it stopped. You supposed it was meant to be intimidating, but the adrenaline was flushing out of your body, and there was no rush to replace it. Instead, you felt the sobering effects of a more positive outcome.

Making sure he didn’t find out was another problem. As long as you kept your mouth shut, Mack would stay safe in his assumption that the warp core only traveled in time and space, and your little universe-hopping discovery would disappear when you did.

“You wouldn’t be able to offer any guidance on that, would you? A little information to help us, help the colony, just like you’ve always wanted?”

You weren’t stupid, even if Mack thought you were. It wasn’t going to help the colony, only him and you didn’t give a damn what he wanted. There was no ideological internal debate, no what-ifs, no way in hell that he was telling the truth. Your mouth remained closed as you stared him down blankly.

“No?” he asked.

No.

“Fine—” He waved a hand for the guards to seize you, and they grabbed your arms like wasps swarming an attacker. “Take them to solitary.”

Your skin burned underneath the gloves, pulled taught and twisted in your struggle. Pulled back, you were forced to bend and lose your balance, stumble over your feet, scramble for purchase against the runner. Solitary was worse than a death sentence. Its Earthen namesake was a light slap on the wrist in comparison. You couldn’t go there, anywhere but there. Give you the rat-dogs, give you the bleach, give you anything but solitary.

By the time you were wrenched out of Mack’s office, you had gotten nowhere in your escape attempts. The guards simply grasped you tighter and held you further down, practically dragging you down the hallway and to the back of the complex. Solitary was no ordinary cell in a prison – it was a single room buried as close to the planet’s core as possible. The gates to hell. The belly of the beast. You felt like you were going to throw up.

Some part of you wanted to talk to the guards, beg and plead for them to let you go. But they were Mack’s lackeys, and you had all seen what happened to traitors. There was no point in playing on morals or humanity, so all you were left with was kicking and screaming.

When you heard banging from above, you assumed that backup had been called. Mack had long ago instilled in his followers the idea that you were dangerous, despite your apparent weakness. Siege mentality worked a charm in drawing attention to you at all times, because surely you were just pretending to be beaten within an inch of your life, and you would spring out to attack if anyone gave you the chance. Your current similarities to a rabid dog warranted more people with more weapons.

Wild as you were, you disregarded the inconsistency unbecoming of Mack’s troops. The volume of the sound was both too far away to be in the same corridor and too quiet to be on the floor above, but you ignored that, too. As the guards exchanged confused glances before stopping in their tracks, you preoccupied yourself with straining against their holds.

You thought you had broken free just seconds later with your resistance to solitary, and you prepared yourself to sprint as far as you could get before fatigue made you collapse, but a glance behind made you stop short.

The two guards, now merged into one small pile of uniform and indoctrination on the floor, were shadowed by another pair. You might have wondered how this happened in such a short amount of time had, one, it not been obvious from the sooty boot prints on the guards’ backs, and, two, you not been overwhelmed with relief.

Celci was the first to speak, stating, “No time to talk, we need to get out of here.” Her air of stern objectivity followed her as she began to march down the hallway, but you didn’t miss the look she sent back.

That left you to be straightened up with a slap on the back from Gunther. He shot you a lopsided grin, somehow managing to stay audible even with the cigar between his teeth as he laughed, “What she means is it’s good to see you again.”

Had you any energy left from your failed escape attempt, you would have tried to convince yourself that the water welling in the corners of your eyes was from the smoke. It billowed from the broken ceiling and provided a great cover story, but you didn’t have it in you to pretend. You relied on the vague shape of Celci and Gunther’s hand around your shoulders to guide you through the complex while you gave in to the silent tears.

You weren’t aware of where you were headed, but you trusted your companions. Wherever they were taking you, you were going – it took a few minutes for you to get your bearings, but you only registered the change in environment when sunlight warmed your skin.

A window was propped open with a spanner, letting in the mid-‘May’ breeze, which would be completely normal anywhere else. The fact that made your brow furrow was that the complex’s windows were nothing but see-through walls; they weren’t supposed to open.

Celci pushed the glass upwards, tilting the pane so that she could slip underneath and out. Your nerves exploded, and you launched yourself forward as her hand left the frame, but she didn’t fall. Leaning over the edge, you saw a cleaner’s scaffolding swaying side to side next to the wall, and you sighed.

Gunther nodded at you, so you took the cue to duck out, too. Immediately, you were overwhelmed by the sun on your skin and the coolness of the metal frame. Just being out there for a second without a guard breathing down your back was a euphoric feeling like no other. You hadn’t gone outside alone since…

Ever. It dawned on you that you had never stepped foot on this planet without an escort.

And, technically, you still had yet to. Gunther popped up beside you and aimed an ‘okay’ sign to the ground as Celci let the window fall shut again, making sure it was nice and quiet. The scaffolding was just the same, descending with little more than a momentary squeak. Given the height you were at, you had a tense minute. Though your heartbeat bashed your ribcage like a caged zoo animal, you were forced to wait in silence; any talking ran the risk of raising the alarm, and you would sooner have thrown yourself from the 450 feet you were currently at than go back to Mack’s office.

The only thing you had to bide the time was your thoughts, the company of which you had dealt with for far too long. No matter how hard you resisted it, however, the voice at the back of your mind reminded you that the Celci and Gunther beside you were not yours. They weren’t from your universe, they weren’t your crew, and you weren’t their captain.

The voice that you much preferred pushed back against the first – they still saved you. Even though you didn’t know their history with the captain, it didn’t mean they weren’t there. You had to be thankful for that more than disappointed.

When you were close enough to the ground, you saw where the rope of the scaffolding trailed off to. Barely distinct grey lines led within the bushes – the kinds put near hospitals or business parks for a faux-welcoming atmosphere. It wasn’t the perfectly pruned leaves that had you grabbing the side, nor was it the evenly spaced roots that led you to vault over the side. No, what had you stumbling across the white concrete was the figure obscured by only one wayward branch.

You all but slammed into Burt like a torpedo.

Vaguely, you heard him groan, “Yup.”

Your arms wrapped around him without giving him a second to process, and, when Celci and Gunther got close enough, you grabbed them too. It was a veritable knot of limbs, and you were half sure you had caught the scaffolding’s rope in your little trap, but you weren’t about to let go to find out. For now, you just wanted a moment to relish the company of your crew leads.

That voice returned and was promptly banished to the recesses again.

This was good. Maybe it was selfish, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment yet, even if it meant being wilfully ignorant. Standing in the clump, awkwardly stretched around them, your eyes grew misty again. You’d missed human contact. Totalitarian regimes didn’t accommodate the human need for touch, and Mack went out of his way to avoid it altogether. Any physical interaction was through layers of leather gloves, and, for you, it had only ever been the vice grips of the guards.

The mental image of those two unconscious guards sobered you. You were still on Mack’s territory, after all, and time was of the essence.

Everyone peeled back from you, Celci catching your serious expression in her retreat.

“We have a headquarters set up in one of the disused factories. We’ll head there, patch you up, and plan what to do next.”

You stored any questions in the back of your mind for later, though one in particular fought back to the top multiple times throughout your journey. Every time you turned a corner, you expected to see another familiar face, and every time you were disappointed. Having seen Celci and Gunther literally drop out of the sky, it was hard to temper your hopes, and you had to force yourself to focus on anything else – the hard lines of shadows, the faint discussion of civilians, the rhythmic click of boots.

Gradually, the environment shifted. The painted buildings developed cracks and silence filled in between quiet directions. Two by two, you walked out of the edge of town and into an old industrial compound. You assumed it was old, at least, with architecture and wildlife left to rot. News never made it as far as you in the colony’s main complex, so you had to guess what happened here – from the craters in the middle of roads and scattered, smaller holes in the walls, it wasn’t difficult.

Eventually, after a good hour, Celci veered off from the main path, and the rest of you followed, you slightly more confused than the others. Most factories were linked up to the road, with the only exceptions being the very first ones. You assumed that this was one of Mack’s failed experiments to maximize productivity, now hidden behind abandoned streets and brutalist structures.

Everything was so rundown that you couldn’t begin to guess which one was the factory until you were standing right in front of it. That was good for a revolutionary base, but worry stirred in your stomach for its integrity. Your companions didn’t harbor the same fears, it seemed, as they guided you through the front door and into the main area.

The inside was just as bad as the outside, decorated with bits of rubble and rusty machines. The sight of it made you wonder if tetanus existed on this planet, though it wasn’t as concerning as the fact that it was empty. Was the resistance movement so small that you’d met all the members already? Celci, Gunther, Burt…

You shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up. For a force in the hundreds, or for just one more man. Getting away from Mack was good enough, you supposed, you assumed, you tried to convince yourself, poorly. It seemed so much more of an impossibility when there were just the four of you.

Distantly, metal slid against metal.

Your eyebrows furrowed.

Light tapping grew louder and louder.

You had the distinct feeling of déjà vu.

Somebody yelled indistinctly from further into the factory.

Your hopes soared through the ceiling as quickly as you sprinted towards Mark. He was already at full speed after skidding around the corner, so it was barely a second before you were throwing yourself at him, locking your arms around his shoulders with his around your waist, crashing to the ground in a tight ball.

Heart pounding in your chest, you registered little more than the sensation of touch. The pressure of Mark’s hold was the only thing keeping you together; not even the surprised stares cast your way prompted your composure.

Years ago, you might have grimaced at the thought of being so undignified in front of your crew, but now? Now, you didn’t bother to hide the soft hiccups of tears, too focused on the presence of Mark, your one and only Head Engineer. The grin that fractured across your mouth like a fault line was more becoming of you, and, although the nature of the emotion didn’t matter with formality, you kept both the smile and the tears.

Celci’s voice broke you out of your single-mindedness as she said, “Uh, Captain?”

Right. Despite doing away with regulation for the moment, you did still have an audience looking for direction. A proper reunion – preferably without the dull thump from landing on the floor – would have to wait.

A final squeeze of assurance was shared between the two of you before you staggered to your feet, taking Mark by the hand with you. It was only then, when you were both secure, that you cast a look over the group assembled. It was bigger than before, now comprised of your crew leads and whoever had followed Mark to the front room. Confidence was rising in you at every instance of eye contact you made, internally counting five, six, eight, twelve, twenty, all of your crew from your original universe were gathered on the factory floor.

The Invincible II was back.

For the next four hours, you were taking stock of everything and everyone that the group, this resistance, had. The majority of it was weapons, which also meant the majority of it was useful for an all-out offensive but not for subtle tactics. You were pretty sure you knew why explosives were so plentiful if Mark’s sheepish look as he checked off another shipping container of mines was anything to go by. You couldn’t bring yourself to do more than teasingly tut at him.

It was during those hours that you learned what you had been missing in your time as Mack’s PA. From Celci, you found out that the Earth-based Headquarters was completely disconnected from the colony after the warp to the current planet, which explained the incautious disregard for ethics and human rights. From Gunther, you discovered the routes they had established to steal from work sites, armories, and warehouses for all their supplies. From Burt, you were told just what had happened to your crew that drew them here.

Mark was gone even before everyone boarded the ship for the first time. Nobody knew why, and he hadn’t told them in all the time they had worked together – Burt presented this in his usual poetic fashion, making it out to be a tragedy of emotional guardedness, but you knew it was because Mark wasn’t the one present for his own removal. Another Head Engineer took the brunt of that punch, and you knew intimately how not knowing your own story would put someone on guard.

He went on to tell you what he did know, though, and that, surprisingly, started with Celci. Questioning Mack’s decisions had come at the cost of her position. Not respecting his authority given by the Captain, as he had described it to the other leads, or backtalking, as Burt then called it. She was soon shipped back off to Earth, but it hadn’t been quick enough to stop word of mouth. Rumors spread on the ship, crew members started ‘failing’ tasks that they had completed hundreds of times before, the shuttle back to the planet took more and more each day until near everyone was replaced.

Burt and Gunther had been among the few originals still standing on the ship, but it wasn’t for long; poetry was Burt’s downfall because Mack, ever the STEM addict, took no more a liking to his metaphors than he did you. He was gone the second the last syllable left his mouth, sent back to Earth to join his oh-so-traitorous compatriots in, apparently, gearing up for another flight.

Burt told you what he had been filled in on, and, before you could be lost in the he-said-she-said of it all, you learned of Earth’s backup shuttle that they sent to check up on Mack. The sudden transfer of power was jarring and definitely not state-approved, leaving HQ little choice but to send a team back after them. Who better than the people who were just there?

The last member to join the crew, with a smug grin despite having been fired, had been Gunther.

You had always wondered where Mack’s bullet-sized scar came from.

The story was wrapped up with simple luck. It was chance that the old crew arrived back at the Invincible II just as the wormhole opened, able to tag along through to the next planet. If they had been a few minutes late, they would have never found the ship. They would have never found Mack. They would have never found you.

Even recalling the tale made you grimace. You tried to shrug off the shiver that sprang through your body as you cataloged the medical supplies, but, although it had been hours since your conversation with Burt, it was difficult. In this world, double the number of people got involved, and now you were carrying the weight of disappointing 600,000 more people. The captain had failed to keep everything together, and that meant so too had you. Everything that Mack had done up to this point was punishment.

Though, that thought was tempered when Mark emerged in the doorway, poking his head around the corner in the cautious way he always did and checking the room for anyone else. When the search came up empty, he crept in and closed the door behind himself.

You supposed now was as good a time as any for that ‘proper’ reunion – and yet neither of you spoke. The air between you was filled with distant clinking and hammering, chatter from every other member of the crew except for the two of you.

He looked good, for a rebel. He missed the grizzled war-veteran style of a true futuristic revolutionary, the kind you’d seen in movies with the eyepatch and prosthetic arm, but he did well enough with the specks of gunpowder and stubble. The sheepish grin that barely held back his excitement didn’t exactly help the image, but you preferred it to the stern stare he had been aiming at the crew while you counted equipment.

Mark took one step forward, waited, and then took another. He tentatively made his way in front of you, as if going too quickly would spook you into hiding.

When he was firmly placed less than an arm’s length away from you, he whispered a simple, “Captain.”

Your voice was rough from years of disuse; you’d actively avoided talking to anyone in the colony, but you had no reservations now.

“Mark.”

And then down came the wall.

You were back in one another’s arms in the blink of an eye, like you had never been separated in the first place. Being on your feet gave you the ability to spin around, a childish display but you refused to care, sending you off-kilter and forcing Mark to stabilize your pair by grabbing the edge of a container. When he pushed off, though, you were dancing across the room with reckless abandon, twirling, jumping, laughing so hard that you thought your lungs would explode.

“You’re alive!” he gasped.

Your shoes squeaked against the floor as you slowed to a wobbly stop.

“So are you!”

Another round of desperate laughter ensued, muffled only when you brought Mark closer and buried your head in the crook of his neck.

“You’re alive,” you mumbled.

“So are you,” was his equally quiet reply.

To save yourself another repetition, you breathed the moment in. You’d missed this – you’d missed him – and suddenly, in this brief respite, nothing else mattered. You were back together again, and you weren’t going to be leaving any time soon. With the way that Mark secured his arms around you like a seatbelt, you imagined he felt the same.

“Where did you end up?” you asked. Had you been able to see his face, you might have noticed the red rising in his cheeks from the feeling of your lips batting against his skin.

You did notice the shaky breath he let out. You attributed it to the memory of his arrival, which was not all the way incorrect.

“I was in the storage hold. I would have come out, but I overheard some of the crew talking. About me. How- how I was apparently gone, and nobody was supposed to ask questions about it. CC was already gone by then.”

“She questioned Mack,” you filled in.

“Sounds about right. When I met up with her again planet-side, she refused to talk about it. Still hasn’t told me exactly what happened; she’s been preoccupied with all this revolution stuff.”

“All it took for you two to get along was a dictator and near-zero chance of survival.”

Mark chuckled, but it was weaker than before, and he didn’t say anything until you moved apart from one another. Enough distance was created for you to see the frown pulling at his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

It was somewhat of a dumb question given that you were standing in a disused factory amongst the beginnings of a revolt, but you both knew that wasn’t what you were talking about.

Eyebrows furrowed, he inspected your face.

“Your helmet.”

While the corners of his mouth dropped even further, you shot him a look of confusion.

“I don’t have a helmet.”

“I know.”

Ah. Yes. You knew you had forgotten something. Divulging the details of your time as Mack’s ‘personal assistant’ wasn’t something you wanted to do in that moment, but Mark had given you some background, so it was only fair to return the favor.

“A little after the colony was fully constructed, Mack fully stripped me of my title. He’d let me be a figurehead until then, but I guess he was tired of not getting credit for all his work.” You wanted to laugh. The stinging of your wrists stopped you. “He took my title and my helmet. I wasn’t in touch with the public anymore, but he pushed me into the spotlight just so everyone could see me… dethroned, as he put it.”

A sudden thought did get you smiling a little, though. “He had it put in a museum with the rest of my uniform.”

“I thought that was a replica.”

You switched back to confusion, which Mark noticed and responded to bluntly, “Reconnaissance.”

Even as you pondered the possibility of having seen him, he stayed staring at you. If this hadn’t been the first time he had seen your face, you might’ve been nervous.

Oh, who were you kidding? You were nervous. Beyond nervous. Was he mad at you? Disappointed? Did he regret placing his trust in someone who couldn’t maintain their position, let alone protect the colony they were hired to keep safe? Now he had to do it, shoulder your responsibility for you because you couldn’t—

“Hey, hey.” Sensation spurred against your cheek. “You’re okay. You’re back now. You’re safe.”

Mark repeated those phrases like prayers, one after the other, order switched around to the point that the words swam through your head and overshadowed every other negative thought. He gradually drew you to a nearby workbench and deposited you on the metal surface. Standing in front of you, he kept his hands firmly secured on your upper arms.

You were okay. You were back. You were safe.

You weren’t going anywhere.

“Captain, you need to go back.”

You flinched at the new voice, attention jumping to the door that had opened without you noticing. Mark had been so focused on assuring you that he too jumped, but he righted himself in a split-second and threw an arm in front of you.

When Celci marched into the room, your shoulders dropped, and your heart rate slowly but surely followed suit. The conditioning you received from Mack made your body register any surprise as a threat, but you weren’t sure what had happened to Mark for him to still be on guard as she got closer.

Gently, you pressed down on his arm, only managing to get it down a few degrees before your focus was redirected to Celci.

“Sorry, what did you say?” you asked as you pushed off from the table.

Mark repeated your words with a far more suspicious tone, bordering on a growl, “Yeah, what did you say?”

“You need to get back to the capital.”

“No.”

Your mouth was still open to respond when Mark’s single word registered, and it stayed open for the tennis match that proceeded between them. At each swing, they took a step closer.

Celci was the first up, saying, “We haven’t been able to get someone on the inside yet.”

Mark’s boot thunked against the floor. “Yes, we have. We have engineers and soldiers and doctors.”

“Nobody gets as close to Mack as they do.” Ten feet and closing between them.

“That only puts them in more danger.” Eight feet.

“He can’t afford to kill them outright. They’ll survive.” Five feet.

“Survival isn’t good enough. They were surviving before we got them out. They aren’t going back.” Two feet.

“We can’t throw away this opportunity to target Mack directly—”

“We’re not sending them back there, Celci!”

Your crew leads stood face to face like bulls trying to get the other to back down. Apparently, you had been wrong earlier; for them to get along, they needed more than a dictator and the constant threat of death.

They needed you to be gone.

And, from what it appeared, the rebellion was stronger when they did work together.

Placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder, you said, “I’ll go.”

You were surprised Mark didn’t break his neck with how fast he whipped around to look at you. You had to glance away before guilt could settle in your stomach.

“No,” he ordered, “no, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can. I can help more from inside than out.”

He huffed, spluttered, gestured vaguely with his hands. “Captain, if you go back, he will kill you.”

“Celci is right, he can’t do that without a good reason.”

“And he had a good reason for all the other people he killed?!” The yell echoed down the hallway, which had become noticeably quieter since Celci had arrived, but it faded out as Mark forced his voice lower. “Alright, okay, okay. Let’s say he doesn’t kill you. He has to do something to you. You won’t just get off scot-free.”

“That’s fine.”

“No, it’s not!”

“Mark, this is not your decision to make.”

“Yes, it is!”

A tense silence flooded the room. A beat passed. His chest heaved while you tried to keep yourself in check.

Swallowing thickly and gritting his teeth, Mark said, “I know you’re the captain, but, while you have been away, I have taken charge. I can’t send you back into that death trap of a colony in good conscience.”

He sounded almost composed. Formal. Leaps and bounds different from the man who designed the ‘wakey-wakey’ protocol for the Invincible II. You might have liked to take credit for influencing him, but, if what he had said was true, he had been leading this group since he landed in this universe. You had no authority to challenge his.

But that didn’t mean you were going down without a proper fight.

“Mark,” you spoke softly, “I know you want to keep everyone safe, but you can’t do it all at once. Sacrifices have to be made.”

You held up a hand as soon as he opened his mouth, and, luckily, he closed it.

“Think of it as a long-term investment. If I go back and get you information, you can take down Mack quicker, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

“How are you going to get back? We broke you out, we can’t just break you back in.”

Ordinarily, you might have laughed at Mark’s puppy-dog eyes, but there was a certain desperation that went beyond the usual want. How you wished you could stay with him, how you wished you could just let it all go and stay safe – but you couldn’t. You had to prove yourself useful to this cause, or else what good was all this? What good were you?

You took a deep breath, just about coming to terms with what you had to do, and you secured both of your hands on his shoulders. It was more for your sake than his in order to ground you. If you stored up the lightning that was thrumming in your veins, you would surely burn from the inside out.

“Before Celci and Gunther knocked the guards out,” you started, “they were taking me to solitary. Mack no doubt knows I disappeared, but if they find me where I was meant to end up, it won’t be so bad.”

He squinted at you. “What’s solitary?”

“A cell beneath the main complex.”

His squint deepened. “And why is it called solitary?”

“There’s only one, and you don’t have any communication with anyone.”

That last bit wasn’t a problem for you – after all, this was the longest, and possibly only, conversation you’d had since you were dropped into this universe – but it was one of the few things about solitary that you were willing to share. If you were to divulge all the intricacies of the punishment, there was no way he would let you leave, and saying them aloud would force you to confront your future.

Still, his squint dipped even further, to the point that you weren’t sure his eyes were open, but then he switched his attention to Celci as if to confirm what you’d said. She only nodded, so either she was just as unaware as Mark, or she really wanted this to work. Knowing her, it was a 50/50, but you would prefer the former because it meant no crew member had been sent there yet.

When Mark looked back to you, he took a second to study your face. Expert liar as you were, he had the uncanny ability to tell when you weren’t being wholly truthful. You couldn’t have that, which meant you were quick to draw him in for a hug. It both hid your expression of dawning fear and let you get your last dose of human contact for however long you’d be in solitary.

But you could withstand it. Weather the storm, and all the other metaphors for staying stable in the face of life-threatening odds. For him. If you gave up, you’d end up separated again, and you didn’t know where each of you would end up – but if he stayed in this universe while you were thrown into another? You would never forgive yourself.

“Okay,” Mark whispered against your ear, clutching you tighter.

You returned the gesture in kind, assuring, “It will all end up alright.”

When you pulled apart, you kept one hand on Mark. Going too far risked slingshotting you back into the hug and getting out a second time would definitely prove harder than the first.

From the side, Celci said, “Thank you, Captain.”

You nodded your acknowledgment, choosing not to point out that you hadn’t done anything yet. Instead, you asked, “Do you have plans for communication while I’m in the colony?”

“Yes, but they’re tough.”

If she hadn’t said that, you might have figured it out from Mark’s huff. Clearly, whatever plan had been agreed on wasn’t satisfactory to everyone, but a democracy, as you’d experienced, was better than a dictatorship.

“We have some people working for us within the colony, but we haven’t been able to touch the main complex,” Celci explained, “which is why we need you. Whatever you find out, no matter how small it is, we need you to report it to some of our members.”

She went on to list the spies and their locations, ranging from some regular civilians to the most useful of postal workers and shipment coordinators. As she said, none were within the walls of the capital building, but she mentioned that the mailroom was soon to open as a drop location for information. That would be the link between you and the rebellion depending on who was assigned that route.

The first problem would be getting there. It wasn’t as though you were in any position to request a job, but you figured showing enough disdain for addresses and glue would inspire Mack. Too petty for his own good, and a way to prolong the pain with papercuts would meet the status quo.

The second problem was your supervision. Smuggling out information was going to be difficult with one of Mack’s lackeys breathing down your neck at all times, and any moment of your speaking would garner attention. This one relied on spontaneity because you would have to drop information the second the guard’s focus waned.

The third problem was the question of identifying who to talk to. Luckily, that was as simple as two code words, for the sake of avoiding a false alarm and blowing your cover completely. ‘Golden’ and ‘retrieve’ were those chosen, and your thoughts immediately drifted to the little space pup who had accompanied the Invincible II’s flight.

“Don’t worry,” Mark said, immediately noticing your far-away expression, “Chica’s fine. Mack doesn’t believe in emotions, so he pulled her from the ship. The next shuttle brought her back, though, and she’s been the best security guard since.”

Well, you were pretty sure Mack knew spite at the very least, but you were able to relax as Celci continued through the protocol. The only thing left after she was finished was to actually do it all, the first step of which was landing yourself in solitary. That was a hurdle you were going to deal with when you came to it, though you were sure you could convince a guard to chuck you in anyway with the infamy Mack had drawn up for you.

“Whenever you’re ready, find me at the factory entrance. We’ll drop you off at the edge of the city, but we can’t risk going any further,” Celci said, bowing her head slightly. She wasn’t one to apologize for things that weren’t her fault, but the disappointment was visible in her effort to avoid eye contact.

With a final nod in your direction that you returned, she marched off to prepare.

While you weren’t all too happy with this turn of events either, you were willing to postpone your freedom for the sake of the rebellion. The man who stood at your side, however, was less accommodating.

Mark’s voice was dull as he scoffed, “I can’t believe you’re just going back.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Stay.”

Your gaze flickered to him. In your conversation with Celci, he had started fiddling with the medical supplies. A med kit was splayed open on the workbench in front of him, showcasing painkillers, scissors, bandages, and everything else a resistance could wish for.

“You know I can’t. I have to help somehow.”

“You’re the captain—” He stretched out a roll of gauze, “—you should just be the captain.”

“And what would that entail? You’ve been doing a great job so far; I don’t know how to do I would be better than you.”

“I’m an engineer, not a leader. Everything that I’ve been doing, I’ve just been copying you.” As he spoke, barely above a whisper, he cut through the fabric at a sizeable distance and spun on his heels.

“It’s called learning, Mark. Hands-on experience, and all that, and—and what are you doing?”

He’d stepped closer and taken your hands, neither of which you minded, but then he pushed up your sleeves and started winding the gauze around one wrist.

“If you’re going back, you have to be in top-tip shape… top-tip?” He had started strong, but, as he went to tuck the tail of the length between two belts, he began to mumble his words. He went back and forth between ‘top-tip’ and ‘tip-top’, testing them on his tongue, and despite his struggle being endlessly entertaining, you knew what this was.

With the opposite hand, you gently guided the gauze into place and tied it off. Mark followed along willingly, but a frown pulled at his lips.

“Do you trust me, Mark?”

There was no hesitation before he said, “Of course.”

“Then you have to trust that I’ll be okay. We’ve gotten out of worse scrapes than this, right?”

As if he had forgotten the reality of the situation, he sighed. Maybe he had gotten swept up in the revolutionary spirit, which wasn’t that hard given this was the longest you had gone without another wormhole taking you out. Briefly, you wondered what was so different about this universe that you hung around for so long. You hadn’t been given the opportunity to die, so that escape remained untested. With Mark still alive, though, you weren’t going to take that route any time soon.

“Just- just don’t do anything dumb.”

“What, like throw myself out of the airlock without a suit?”

He stared at you. You stared at him.

He did not laugh.

“I won’t. Buzzkill.”

“Speaking of buzzkills…” Mark trailed off, but he gestured towards the door. “She’ll get you back to the city, safe and sound. Your escape hasn’t been announced yet, so you should be able to get a little far in before someone finds you, if you’re stealthy about it.”

“You’re telling me to be stealthy?”

Pride swelled in your heart as he cracked a smile. It was small and dropped within the second, but it was there. You’d hold onto that for as long as it took to refresh the memory.

“Whatever. Just don’t be offended if they take off as soon as you’re at the edge.”

“You’re not coming?”

That prompted a grimace that he tried to cover up with a confident grin. You had to give it to him, he tried to keep it up even as you raised your eyebrow.

“Gotta keep the crew in line while the leads are gone. You know how it is, Captain.” He walked as he talked, guiding you out into the hallway with an arm around your shoulder. “Speeches of encouragement, separating fights, awarding medals of honor, all those captain-ly duties.”

You went along with his rant out of courtesy, and Mark was glad you did. He was already doing a poor job of hiding the real reason why he wasn’t seeing you off; if he did go with you, there was a chance he would lock the door and refuse to let you out or, failing that, follow you right into Mack’s office itself. Crying would occur in either situation, and the stirrings of a revolution were no time for that.

He'd have to save it for when you came back alive and well. Because you were coming back. Alive and well.

His heart stuttered in his chest as he shot you a sideways glance.

Alive and well. He was going to make sure of that.

Your escort stopped just before the entrance to the main factory floor. Now was supposed to be the cliché goodbye, the hugging, the whispering, the exchanges of ‘good luck’ and ‘be safe’. The phrases were baked into the look Mark gave you, which you returned in kind. Behind him, you saw familiar faces rushing around like worker bees, all contributing to the cause of taking down Mack.

You would not abandon this crew to a fate you forced upon them. You had failed so many times, you would not fail again. There was so much potential for this universe – the colony had been developed, food and fuel problems solved. All you needed to do was get rid of Mack and put the planet under the leadership of who it was meant to be led by. And then, maybe, you and Mark would get back home, too.

But there was still work to do first.

[Wherever you are right now, stay safe and pull through. Support friends and family, and make sure that you're okay. As always, thanks for reading]

35 notes · View notes

bigmpregnm · 4 months ago

Text

Up & Down - Part 4

[Story Collection] | [Part 3] [●] [Part 5]

We couldn’t be happier as the weeks passed. Spencer faced many challenges, but we were so in love with the idea of having babies together that his face was permanently adorned with a broad smile. When December started, Spencer was almost 16 weeks pregnant, and his weight was only a few pounds from 400 pounds. His belly stuck out about 8 inches from his former flat abdomen, making it impossible to hide his growing gut.

Even when Spencer wore oversized hoodies and jackets, his belly would stretch the fabric, hinting at his round abdomen, leaving me excited and horny. I loved how much bigger he was getting because, apart from his belly, some other parts of his body were also thickening. His butt looked fuller, straining his pants. His chest looked somewhat rounder and softer, and we knew it was all due to his overeating. He had strange cravings for high-calorie foods and carbs, things he had avoided for years before finding out he was pregnant.

He often texted me while I was at work, asking me for burgers or french fries, donuts, and fried chicken. He had a favorite place to get the fried chicken from, and even though they could deliver it to our apartment, he was somewhat needy, demanding that I bring it personally after work. When I arrived home every evening, I carried several bags of fast food for my big guy. My favorite moment of the day was when he sat beside me on the couch to devour it all right before my eyes. Others wouldn’t give those moments a thought, but I loved them.

Spencer laid on his back, resting his head on my lap. He went through several pieces of fried chicken like he hadn’t eaten in days, and I could only smile. I reached for his bare belly and rubbed it while Spencer continued eating. He often said he wanted big and healthy babies, insisting he had to eat a lot to grow our babies big and strong like him. I laughed and leaned to kiss his lips, marveling at how he was glowing and bursting with joy.

“You look stunning. Did you know that?” I said, caressing his belly while he ate the last piece of chicken.

“Hmm, I think I look like a pig,” he said, chuckling without pausing his eating.

“Well, you’re the prettiest pig ever,” I replied, rubbing small circles over his taut belly.

Spencer smiled, winking at me. “Thanks for filling my stomach with all this food. You’re the best,” he patted his round belly before sitting up. “Now you gotta fill me up in other ways,” he added, a lustful grin spreading on his face as he eyed my crotch.

I laughed and quickly removed my pants, revealing my big, hard dick. “You’re such a greedy pig; you knew that?” I replied playfully, “I’m all yours, big guy. Bring your insatiable butt over here and ride me all night long.”

“Hmm, some respect, Owen; I’m carrying your children,” Spencer said, rubbing his belly and laughing as he approached to sit on my lap facing me. He guided my dick to his ass and sat heavily, taking in my foot-long cock in a single move. I smiled and moved my hands to his belly, caressing its taut skin and marveling at the fact that my babies were growing there. As he started bouncing up and down on my dick, hypnotizing me, his moans grew louder. I wouldn’t change those moments for anything else.

Our routine revolved around Spencer’s pregnancy for the next few weeks. We still attended classes, but as the holiday break approached, our minds drifted farther from school stuff. Considering Spencer’s belly was growing faster than we expected, we decided it was better if he dropped out of college for the next semester. We loved how big Spencer was getting, but we had to be careful to avoid stares or suspicious comments. Spencer noticed some of his classmates staring at his belly. We couldn’t blame them. Those stares were the proof we needed to decide to hide Spencer for the rest of the pregnancy.

When he reached the 16-week mark, the same day we saw the number “400” on the scale, the winter break was only a week away, and another challenge arose. Each of our parents insisted on us going home for the holidays. We had never missed a family gathering but didn’t feel ready to tell them about Spencer’s pregnancy. I thought my parents could be somewhat understanding because they knew I was gay and I wasn’t the guy carrying eight babies. But Spencer’s parents were a whole different story because, even though they knew he was bi, they thought it was just a phase and that he would end up marrying a girl.

As the days passed and the holidays approached, I noticed Spencer’s attitude toward me changing. He wasn’t the loving and sweet guy I loved so much, but he turned colder and more serious. He even asked me to give him some space, so we slept in different rooms, which hadn’t happened since we found out he was pregnant. I knew he was nervous and couldn’t blame him, so I tried to be understanding.

However, even though we weren’t sharing a bed, his demands never stopped; they only became more intense. His classes were over for the year, so he stayed home the whole day. The anxiety caused by the impending revelation to our parents only increased Spencer’s hunger, and he even wanted me to sneak away from my job whenever he texted me to bring him candy or drinks. I couldn’t fulfill those requests because I couldn’t leave my workplace during my shift, but he didn’t understand.

“Where have you been?” Spencer shouted one evening as I arrived from my shift, two days before we left to visit our parents. He was naked on the couch, eating a bowl of ice cream, his eyes red from crying. “I’ve been starving to death all afternoon. You put these babies in me, and now you can’t fulfill your responsibilities.”

I froze by the door, taking in the scene and processing his words. “What are you talking about? I left about... five hours ago,” I replied, a bit angry at his complaint. “Also, I doubt you’ll starve to death if you don’t eat for a few hours. Look at you.”

“Are you calling me fat?” He replied, looking evidently offended.

I laughed out loud and stood before him. “You can’t be serious?” I said, taking the bowl of ice cream from his hands. “What are you? A woman going through menopause? What’s wrong with you?” I said it without thinking about my words before they escaped my mouth, regretting them immediately.

“I’m pregnant with your babies,” he said, tears running down his face. “I’m fat because of you. My parents will disown me because of you. That’s what’s wrong with me.” He stood up surprisingly quickly, considering his size and condition. I saw his massive frame cast a shadow over me as he approached.

“No, Spencer. I didn’t mean to say that aloud. Look, I get you’re scared of your parents’ reaction, but...” I began, but he looked furious and hurt. His face was red with anger while tears streamed down his cheeks.

“You didn’t want to say it aloud, but you think it,” he firmly said.

“Spencer, I don’t think you’re fat. You look stunning. You’re perfect,” I replied, caressing his face. I felt like the Hulk’s girlfriend trying to calm the green monster down. I smiled, pulling Spencer into a quick kiss and making him sigh. “Spencer Collins, you’re not fat. But if you were fat, I would love you the same. I wouldn’t mind having some soft spots to squeeze on your body.”

Spencer chuckled and hugged me tight, leaning in to rest his head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Owen. I… I… I’m scared. When you didn’t come when I asked you to come, I felt like you didn’t care about me, and...”

“Hey, hey, stop it there. I won’t let you complete that sentence,” I said as I hugged Spencer tight. “I didn’t come because I was at work, and you know we need the money. But I’d swim through the Pacific Ocean twice to get to you if you were in trouble.”

Spencer only rested his head on my shoulder for what felt like an eternity, and I felt some tears still escaping his eyes. “Would you sleep with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone. And... I want you there when I tell my parents about the twins and these eight babies.”

“I’m not leaving your side, now or ever. You’re mine, and I’m yours.” I smiled, caressing his back. “Also, our 10 coming babies are my responsibility, as much as yours.”

We cuddled tightly that night, talking about our plans for the future. We knew our parents would likely cut any financial help they gave us because it was for school expenses. It was a huge problem. We knew we had a lot of things to pay for and buy very soon, considering the twins were due in April. The woman Spencer got pregnant was willing to give up on all her rights over the babies, and I wanted to adopt them as mine. But we needed to cover the legal expenses of the process.

We had too many things to worry about but still had to make more sacrifices. Spencer was already dropping out of school, at least temporarily, and the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that it was for the best if I did the same. I was the only one earning any money, and with a part-time job, it wasn’t much. Dropping out of school meant I would have the time to get a full-time job to support Spencer and our 10 coming babies. We left for the holidays, aware that college was out of near-future plans.

Spencer wore several layers of baggy clothes when we arrived at his parent’s house. However, his parents immediately noticed his belly when we arrived. He was 411 pounds on Christmas Eve, and his belly stuck out about 10 inches from his rib cage; even though his thick pecs helped him conceal his belly’s actual size, it was impossible to hide.

“What happened to you?” His dad asked when he saw Spencer. Mr. Collins wasn’t a mean man, but he was a perfectionist. He loved his son and hugged him tight, but he playfully made some remarks about Spencer’s weight gain, making my big guy blush.

His mom was a bit more harsh, requesting that he start a diet after the holidays, but even then, she immediately offered him a slice of pie. I stood by Spencer’s side because we wanted to tell our families as soon as possible. So, we sat with our pie on their dining table, with his parents asking many questions about school. Spencer was sweating, even though the house and the whole town were cold. I reached for his hand under the table, making him gasp, and his parents noticed, exchanging surprised stares.

“Mom, Dad, I have something important to tell you,” Spencer began, taking a deep breath. “Where do I start?” He said this, looking at me. “I’ll start with something I should’ve told you a while ago. Owen and I... we’re boyfriends. I love him, and he loves me more than I deserve.” Spencer looked at his parents, who didn’t move for a few seconds.

“Spencer, we understood when you told us you liked girls and boys. It wasn’t that bad; we only want you to be happy. But… You also know we’ve always wanted grandchildren, and... with all respect, Owen can’t give you a family,” Mr. Collins said, making me chuckle.

“I know. I’m well aware Owen can’t give me kids, but...” Spencer continued, taking another deep breath. “A few months ago, I cheated on him with a girl, and she ended up pregnant. She’s 26 weeks pregnant with twins. And I’m the father,” he said, and his parents froze again.

“That’s... unexpected, but... is Owen okay with this? I’m not understanding,” Ms. Collins said, looking at me and waiting for my reaction.

“There’s something else. This woman doesn’t want to keep the babies, so I’ll raise them with Owen. He will be their dad as much as I am,” Spencer said, his parents more and more silent as he continued talking. “And there’s something else. Mom, Dad. I… We’re not only having twins. A few weeks ago, I was sick, so I went to the doctor, and he found out I have... How do I say this? I... have a womb, and... I’m pregnant. Owen and I are expecting octuplets.”

Spencer’s parents turned pale but didn’t believe him. They initially thought he was joking. Then, they thought Spencer was losing his mind. When I assured them that Spencer was telling the truth, they thought I was also crazy. The room turned into a chaotic mess of arguments from his parents, trying to convince Spencer that he was not pregnant. His dad even said I was responsible for their son going crazy.

Spencer left the room while his parents were still freaking out, and I immediately followed him. He sat on the couch, crying, so I approached and wrapped my arms around him, caressing his belly. I knew he was nervous and sad, but I assured him over and over again that everything would be alright.

“We only need each other and our babies, okay?” I said this, kissing his cheek and sliding my hand under his shirt to rub his taut belly.

Strangely enough, seeing us hugging on the couch was the proof Spencer’s parents needed to believe our story. His mom asked him to lift up his hoodie and shirt, and for an unknown reason, she immediately believed our story when she saw Spencer’s belly. His dad looked reluctant but slowly approached and tightly hugged Spencer. They shared a sweet hug, and Ms. Collins pulled me into it. Their warm expressions of love made me smile.

“You better take good care of my son,” Ms. Collins told me when we broke the hug.

“And you better get married. My grandchildren won’t grow up outside of marriage,” Mr. Collins said, making Spencer and I blush.

I had considered marrying Spencer, but I always expected him to ask the questions first. However, things were different now that he was carrying my kids. The rest of the evening was filled with questions and concerns from Spencer’s parents. Learning that he was dropping out of school, at least until he had given birth, made them freak out again. My lack of a stable job to support our “family” was an issue for Mr. Collins. However, their concerns only led them to promise to give us some financial help and to pay for all the legal expenses for the adoption process of the twins.

Things were great with Spencer’s family. However, my parents had a different reaction. They freaked out big time and requested that I leave Spencer immediately. They said Spencer was crazy—as expected—and my dad insisted I didn’t have to pay for anything. They insisted the twins weren’t my responsibility, so I could run away without remorse. My mom was hysterical when I told her I was dropping out of college to get a full-time job; she was literally shaking as she talked about me throwing my future into the trash can.

I didn’t expect them to react like that. However, they reluctantly accepted my decision when they saw I was determined to stay with Spencer. They still retired the financial support they gave me, but at least they didn’t kick us away. Spencer was evidently sad because of my parents’ reaction. But while we hugged in his bed that night, with his parents’ permission, I assured him that everything would be alright.

Considering Spencer’s parents were willing to pay for a lawyer to follow the adoption process, I immediately contacted someone I knew. I explained our situation, telling the lawyer we wanted the twins’ last name to be “Collins-Richards.” The lawyer responded I couldn’t give the babies my last name because I wasn’t married to Spencer. The only way for me to adopt them as mine was if Spencer and I got married. It wasn’t a big deal, but I was sad. Those babies were also mine, and for some legal shit, they couldn’t have my last name.

Then, as we returned to our apartment after the holidays, our relationship was better than ever. Things started somewhat improving. We dropped out of college, but I found a job that paid enough to help with our expenses. Spencer’s parents sent us money to buy food and prenatal vitamins for Spencer, even though I knew he didn’t need them. And surprisingly, my parents kept sending me money, even though they were still somewhat mad. My mom texted me that they would still support me on the condition that I would continue college after the babies were born. I obviously accepted.

Seeing how things were working fine after a pretty emotionally unstable December, I made a decision on the first few days of the New Year. One that I knew was the right thing to do.

On January 7th, the day Spencer reached 20 weeks pregnant, I woke up very early and left him soundly asleep in bed. I observed his thick body and smiled. He was 424 pounds as of the night before, and his belly protruded 12 inches from his ribcage, a round, firm dome that made me gasp with excitement. His whole body was thicker and softer, making him look enormous. His skin was tender, and some spots were sensitive, and I loved to tease him.

I had a surprise for Spencer that morning. I needed to get everything ready before he woke up, which wouldn’t take a long time, considering he had to empty his bladder frequently. I added decorations to our living room and put on my best suit. Everything looked perfect.

I got in position when Spencer went from his room to the bathroom. I heard his heavy footsteps approaching a few minutes later. I took a deep breath, smiling broadly.

“Owen? Why aren’t you in bed?” He asked as he entered the living room, fully naked, with his right hand atop his belly and his left hand on the small of his back. He looked stunning, even though he was half asleep.

“Spencer Collins, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and now I know this is the right thing to do,” I said, kneeling before him, leaving him speechless. “I’ve looked for the definition of perfection in a dictionary, and the words can’t describe what perfection is. However, I find the true meaning of what perfection is whenever I look at you. When you smile, my knees go weak. When you laugh, my heart beats faster. When you rub your belly, I realize we’ve defied everything to create our babies. With each passing day, I realize that you, Spencer Collins, are the living definition of perfection. And I want to spend the rest of my life tied to you. Would you give me the honor to marry you?” I asked, lifting up a small red box with a ring.

“Yes! Of course, I’ll marry you,” he responded, approaching to kiss me while tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’ve been meaning to propose, but I didn’t know how to do it.”

“You only had to ask, and I would’ve surrendered immediately,” I responded between kisses as I slid the ring onto his finger. “My body, my heart, and my soul—everything I am—is already yours.”

“And I’m totally yours. Even my womb is yours,” Spencer responded, chuckling as he guided my hands to his belly. “These babies will have the best dad in the world.”

“They’ll have the best dads,” I said as we continued kissing. “Now, let’s get you dressed up. Your suit won’t fit like before, but we’ll manage. We have an appointment in about two hours to get married.”

“Wait, how did you know I was accepting?” Spencer playfully said, winking at me.

“I knew. You can’t resist me, big guy,” I responded, slapping his butt as we went to his room to dress him up. We still had to face challenges, but I knew everything would be alright.

...

#mpreg #mpreg story

43 notes · View notes

nzchance · 4 months ago

Text

We've already gotten excellent hot and sweet fics as well as art of Tommy getting a tattoo for Buck.

But what about Buck asking Tommy to design a tattoo for Buck and to choose its placement on his body? As y'know, a romantic gesture - a declaration that he also wants so badly for Tommy to be his last. Alright, so tattoos can be removed these days, but they're not meant to be. They're supposed to be permanent.

Tommy's overwhelmed of course that Evan would trust him with this. With his body, in this way. With something that's usually so personal. I think it will take him a while to decide.

Then once it heals, perfect opportunity for some body worship of whatever stretch of skin Tommy chose to mark on his man.

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #tattoos as a love language #fic rec #x2 #fanart

36 notes · View notes

yayasvalveplay · 16 days ago

Note

AW Question: Would Blurr end up hating Optimus for a while?

He does hate Optimus for a while. Because he was the one who broke his family. He was the one who just had to bring the Allspark back. Play the Hero.

He'd hate him for years. Until he actually sees him. He looks broken. Lifeless then the cadet he saw in the halls, in the pictures he had gotten taken when he brought the Allspark back.

His armor has been removed permanently, He has stretch marks around his belly his pouches look full and in need of pumping.But he's out and about, carrying a fem in one arm and baby slings three others. they are much more smaller than the fem he's currently holding.

"Agent Blurr?"

"It's just Blurr, Consort."

"Optimus, please."

"Alright,, Optimus,,"

He looks at the sleeping sparklings, they look like Op, but also a hint of another. His frame is screaming at him that the babys are kin related. But that just has to be his own Carrier protocals going haywire with his own bitty sleeping in his cocpit currently.

"Are, are they all yours? They are so small?"

"They are. I cherish them immensely."

Then they have to part ways. Blurr thinks about that maybe his hatred for Optimus is invalid.

#autobot win au #robots with t i t s #mentioned mechpreg

26 notes · View notes

mossgh0st · 2 months ago

Text

gethsemane

a/n: no one asked for this but I’m doing it anyway! it’s probably going to be slow with lots of build up. let’s see how long it takes for me to get freaked out and leave it unfinished. for now, enjoy, and go easy on me pls.

desc: a series of moments throughout the growing relationship between two detectives, and the case that will define the rest of their lives. in this moment, we arrive on the scene in Erath.

warnings: descriptions of violent crimes, blood and gore, mentions of drugs and alcohol, possible drug and alcohol use, adult themes and language, religious themes

Previous: I. Sleep // Next: TBD

II. Absolution

You see the outline of his slim frame before anything else. Ramrod straight, ledger gripped in weathered hand. His back is to your dust caked windshield, but you don’t need to see his tired face to know the look resting upon it. Marty turns at the sound of the gravel under your tires, Rust stares on ahead, frozen in time it would seem.

The air is damp and sticky. Too early for the full heat but the cicadas are going at it full force. The smell of charred leaves and scorched earth burns in your nostrils, sunglasses low on the bridge of your nose. Striding over to the two men in matching CID jackets, Marty turns, stern.

“Might want’a take a shot’a somethin’ before ya take a look. This one’s bad.”

He stretches out the syllables before whistling an exasperated breath. When you look to Rust, he’s already regarding you, blue eyes clouded by something unnameable. Removing your sunglasses, your eyes meet and an unspoken agreement passes between you when he gives a slight affirmative nod. You start a slow walk around the base of the tree, scanning the ground and twisted roots. Rust follows behind, like a stray dog, a wide berth separating you as the full view of the scene makes itself known.

She’s kneeling in what one would assume is prayer, but this is a grotesque and violent display of faith if ever there was one. Knees sunk into the soft of the earth, grass skimming the top of a fleshy thigh. Her skin is so pale, almost translucent, the bruises in varying shades of purple and yellow look fluorescent.

The antlers adorning her head are not placed in grace or delicacy, the sharp angles giving way to the totality of the depravity here. The departure point is marked by blood and tufts of soft deer skin; jagged and messy. Her hands come together unwillingly, bound with the same gnarled cords as her ankles, ligature marks present. Fingernails cracked up through the bed, pieces pushed into the quick below, smudged with blood and dirt and fear.

To you, the viewer, the worst part is her face. Stuck in a permanent grimace, bruised and swollen, it preserves the most horrifying truth: the soft animal of this girl was not shown mercy. She felt every punch, every kick, every stab, every broken bone. You can feel it in the hair on the back of your neck, that this was someone’s idea of a masterpiece. A stray blonde eyelash, almost white, sits upon the high point of her cold cheek. You fight the urge to blow and make a wish.

It’s the sound of the ledger’s leather cover opening that pulls you from your observance as Rust closes the distance and settles stiffly at your side. The muscles in his shoulders flex and then settle, like he’s a skittish doe in a forest clearing. His eyes slide to you, waiting, pen in blue-latex-covered-hand.

A hum escapes you, dry lips cracking as you open your mouth to speak. “This is not his first, and it will not be his last. The imagery here screams religious iconoclast, the level of detail suggests obsession, but I can’t figure out with what. Is it the act itself or what the image represents?”

You cross your arms and kick a small piece of gravel. “And the fire. Why the fire? What’s the significance to him, or was it just a cover?”

His hand stills on the page, in the middle of a perfect rendering of the victims hands, posed in prayer. You can see the twitch of his Adam’s Apple before he licks his lips and his once clouded eyes, now clear, stare deeply into your own.

“No,” he says, “this is about his nature, his programmin’. The fire’s the absolution from what he is.”

Rust’s stare is too strong, eyes squinting against the sun. You feel the need to shrink away, scared he’ll uncover secrets if he looks deep enough into you. Secrets you’d keep until you were dead and buried. Still, his attention is something you find yourself seeking out more and more, like you’d snap the collar on yourself and hand him the fucking leash if he stretched out a hand and asked. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, attention fully turning back toward the tree and the girl at the center of it all. If he notices your growing unease, he doesn’t show it.

A throat clears behind the two of you, Marty standing almost sheepishly with his hand on the back of his neck.

“D’ya think you two are done chattin’ it up or what? Don’t know how much more I can take outta Rustin’s shit dark brain ‘nd I’m drawin’ a line at whatever the fuck an ‘iconoclast’ is.” He emphasizes with finger quotes, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear a smirk laid itself across Rust’s lips for the briefest of moments.

Turning on your heel, you look over your shoulder as you make your way back to the beater you drove there in. “Shut the fuck up and read a god damned book sometime, would ya Marty?”

He just laughs.

#rust cohle fanfiction #rust cohle fanfic #rust cohle x reader #rust cohle #rustin cohle #true detective fanfiction #true detective fanfic #true detective s1 #true detective season 1 #true detective #martin hart #marty hart #user!moss writes

25 notes · View notes

scoops-aboy86 · 4 months ago

Text

Prompt: Rose (@steddiemicrofic) | wc: 367 | Rating: M | CW: consensual objectification, weight gain, belly kink | Additional Tags: chubby eddie munson, feeder steve harrington

Was knocking around this idea with @hotluncheddie the other day and, heh. Something stuck.

Dough

As promised, it starts like a massage. Eddie is plaint under Steve's wide palms, full from another day his doting boyfriend seeing to all his material needs. The waterproof sheet on the massage table crinkles slightly as he relaxes even further. Olive oil scented with fragrant rosemary glistens on Steve's hands and Eddie's skin in the low light.

The only other tip sounds in the room are Steve humming in satisfaction as he glides effortlessly around soft curves and Eddie's stomach burbling, working through all the food from dinner.

"Looking good," Steve says to himself. "Time to roll out the dough."

He guides Eddie into turning over, clumsy from both the bloat and the gooey puddle that Steve's ministrations have reduced him to. Gets him settled on his back. Eddie bites his plush bottom lip around an airy burp as Steve starts to rub over his belly, coating his stretch marks and love handles with a fresh layer of oil. Kneeding into his softness with big, strong hands that occasionally just splay out flat and press, indent, move on. Working him over thoroughly from top to bottom and back again.

Eddie's totally boneless. He doesn't need to think or speak; dough doesn't do any of those things. He's free to close his eyes and just drift, be taken care of.

After a few minutes or a blissful eternity, Steve's touch eases into just a light presence on one plush love handle. "Time for the dough to rest now," he murmurs. "Then we'll check in the morning to see how much it rose overnight."

And then Steve slides his arms under the crinkly sheet and lifts him. Eddie is surprised, but still so relaxed that he barely even twitches. Then he sighs deeply where he comes to a rest, cradled to his boyfriend's strong chest, as he's carried from the massage table and to Steve's bedroom. Tucked into bed with one last sweet treat pressed to his lips for the night, a little last minute addition that Steve gasps out something about "gonna help you rise so good baby."

Tomorrow, Eddie will get to spend the whole day smoking weed and lounging in the sun, being happily baked.

Permanent tag list (ask to be added or removed): @hotluncheddie @hiei-harringtonmunson @sofadofax @victorclays @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

@ape31

#scoops words #wg steddie #chubby eddie munson #feeder steve harrington #he smells like focaccia #steddie microfic

23 notes · View notes

des-no9 · 4 months ago

Text

bitten belonging E - 1.7k Prince Orpheus/Vanquish/(Kith'rak Voss) Background Kith'rak Voss/Ka'zalii

CW: Dubcon, Unhealthy Relationships, Fisting, Voyeurism, Blood and Violence

Inspired by my friend @zetchrr's amazing fic equals. It's a partner fic to it, from Vanquish and Orpheus' POV as they watch Voss teach Ka'zalii a lesson.

Read on AO3 here. Or full below cut. Enjoy <3

----

Voss had left the door open.

A big enough window for a view, were it not for the Prince before Vanquish, elegant and at poise at the end of the bed, stretched across the lounger, eyes fixed ahead when the ping of metal goblet to floor.

A slither over the bed, her tail a python, rustling the silk and cushions Orpheus so favoured for comfort. Such a stark foil to the feel of Voss' bed. Plain. Practicality. The softest thing there her own behind and sometimes the words he slips against her ear, his breath between her thighs.

Ever since Orpheus had granted her permission to his quarters, it had proved difficult to remove her. Often finding all three gathering here instead of elsewhere. It was starting to stink of her. These infernal istik smells sometimes so close to the hum of chains that had left a permanence on his skin, dug deep.

Orpheus runs two fingers over the marks on his wrist, tucking them under Voss' leather riding straps. Old, worn.

He knew they'd been wrapped around Vanquish before, a deep indent of her teeth in the leather. So he'd done so again around her once; a mark for you, a mark for me.

Pulls the leather tighter around his wrist as his eyes flick up towards the doorway, to the table where he watches the spill of red wine soak the ends of Ka'zalii's hair, shine over the beads he loved so much.

Feels her touch his back.

Pulls the leather, tight.

"What?"

Rigidity in his back, lines between his eyes that still stare. Stare at the way Voss looms over Ka'zalii, worth over worth-to-be-proven; power beneath power-you-could-only-dream.

Permission for one thing did not grant all. But this istik behind him did not seem to grasp such a concept. Stuck between the legs of Voss for so long had deafened her, dulled her already inferior mind.

Clicks his tongue. She was still mla'ghir; she was still Voss' mate. Held such value to him, and he such value to Orpheus. It was a disservice to them both to lower himself to such pettiness.

Usually.

Feels her shuffle closer, a small hand simmering along his shoulder.

She's never tentative in her touch. She never had been. Even without the acceptance of Voss, or his guiding hand with her, or cocks inside her. And he couldn't quite decide yet if it was courage, or recklessness.

"Did you always like to watch him with vin'isk, istik?"

She tries to speak with as much Tir as possible these days. It's clumsy over her heavy accent, but musical. He isn't ready to admit, but he appreciates it. Enjoys it. Finds a strange connection to her with their struggles over the modern version of his language that sometimes feels like an affront to his own existence.

"Sometimes, yes."

Glances up, through the doorway. Hears the slew of messy, pleasured Tir spill from Ka'zalii's mouth. Defiance. Insolence.

A quiet smile as he watches Voss move slow, with power over his prey. No performance, just purpose. The necessary motion, and always, bite. The swell of blood snapping in the air immediately. Could hear the tear of flesh, submission beneath Voss' maw; could hear the softest moan at that act, Voss at his basest. Before he just thrust, Ka'zalii shifting up the table a little more.

They formed two different branches of grace. Orpheus the restless storm. Art and chaos. Voss—

Voss he could never quite form to his own words, but beast. Nal. Elegance in every bite and tear of flesh between his teeth; in ways he moves that you don't expect from someone so thin, so old, so much power contained in shadow you forget.

"He has grown soft," says Orpheus, staring at the movements, motion. At the spark of lightning from Ka'zalii's fingers. A small smile.

Feels Vanquish behind him breathe closer, her body warmer. Fat thighs pressing against the jut of his hip. Can smell her cunt. Can almost hear it as she moves she's so wet watching her mate koth'ann her friend.

A new word she'd learned, of late.

A new word she'd felt. Grown to love. Want.

Orpheus glances at the spread of her hand over his shoulder, following the lines of his tattoos. Then feels her claws press hard. Feels her snap a surprise breath as Voss picks up his sword and pierces it clean through Ka'zalii's shoulder, to table, his cry shivering over her skin, denting a fang on her lip.

"If that's soft," she says, the words close, breathy against Orpheus' ears, "what was he like before?"

Orpheus turns, seeing her face drenched in near awe. "I'll tell him to demonstrate on you, sh'k'nal."

Her breathing quicker as the words touch her ear. As she watches Voss thrust back in, the spill of blood and wine smearing skin to wood to floor in decadence. Ka'zalii's cry of pain, Voss' stifled moans she knows as well as her own.

Compulsion, as she takes Orpheus' hand, dipping it between her thighs. Hot. Already smeared wet.

Resist.

Power in the way he does, as he stares. A question at her insolence that he somehow keeps finding stuck to his lips, twisted between his sheets.

"Stop that," she says, losing the battle of strength. Always already lost there. But she'll do it anyway. Sometimes calling Caiphon's help when it's Voss. Not there yet with Orpheus. So her small hand alone tugs around Orpheus' fist of power, sh'k'nal claws denting hard skin as she shifts to her knees on the lounger with him, legs spread. Uneven.

She tries to tower over him.

Maybe he lets her, head dipped back, body a languid lounge.

Hand still unyielding.

"You said to Voss that night," fighting with him, tugging on his hold, snapping her tail around to help pull, "'what is yours is mine'" she repeats in broken Tir.

Orpheus sneers. Feels her tail pull hard with her—

—and the sensation like Voss' leather binds, the infernal chains, around his wrists.

A cut of sound against his throat, it shines in his eyes. Bares his teeth. Fingers blare with his psionics. She knows their lash. Has felt it; wanted, unwanted.

"What's his is also mine," she stumbles over, knees digging either side of Orpheus' thighs, the symphony of Ka'zalii's moans, a swear, of Voss snarling, of him biting back down on any flesh he can fit his maw around their backdrop. Their litany of lust.

"I am no istik's thing."

"You'll be mine, though."

Tries to hit her. Hand ablaze with his psionics. Tries to bat it away with her own hand. Fails. Suffers a psionic lash on her skin for it. Snarls a moan, fangs bared. But what is a drop amongst the sea.

She's afraid. But it's what she wants.

His hand is between her legs somehow. Rigid. Pushed between and up against her soaking cunt. She's rougher than a lot of istik between there. Can handle githyanki more than most. The ridges, rougher skin. Or maybe it's just the desperate desire to bleed from within.

And she grinds. Grinds hard against his fingers, hand, still clamped with her own, with her tail.

He's so hard against his sheath. Already swollen from watching Voss, listening. Now her. Always her in some shape or way.

He takes two fingers, thrusts them in.

Feels her ride them, fast.

Satisfaction when he stretches her to three, a coil of psionics at her back that hold her, prickling into her skin like nails.

Each finger burns with his psionics. He almost hears the sizzle of her wet and cunt every time he slides in, pulls out. Every captured moan she keeps quiet against her throat. He's not sure why. She likes it when Voss hears her. Likes to distract him, devour his attention with me me me—

But now, the only one who can hear, is Orpheus.

She's somehow looking down from above still, threads of hair sticking to her cheeks, lips. She tries to lick them away. Loses.

Four fingers in. Her body shudders, a knee almost off the lounge.

Orpheus leans forward, keeping her half on as he pulls out, then no patience, no warning, a stretch wide of her desperate cunt—

—fist in.

She has his other hand. A smother to her mouth. Teeth and tongue over fingers as she tastes, bites down. Bliss.

Rides that fist, eyes shut tight. Feels like her teeth might snap the harder she bites his hand, sinking onto pure power.

Then her eyes snap open as she hears something else.

The slow close of a door.

Soft steps. Hiss of armour. A gentle, satisfied sound.

Vanquish turns just in time to see Voss stride in, trousers still undone, and the edges of his scarred slit peeling closed, slow. Licks his fingers, lips. Strides past with a lazy look before he sits at the side on a chest, his old sword steady across his lap. And starts to clean it as he watches his mates.

She notices he'd left behind faint red footprints of Ka'zalii's blood. Smiles. Reaches down to touch one with Orpheus' finger.

Licks it. Moans.

Moans with the way Orpheus moves. Fist so deep in her it's past wrist, and down, her wetness making its own lines alongside his tattoos.

Dizzy. Moans louder. Vision fuzzy as it's not just skin she feels deep in her, but the static of his psionics bristling against her pleasure, her pain, plucking out the way she moans, moves. Slides her own hand around his, smearing her wetness up, and over. Marking him in what matters.

Me.

He pushes harder then. Another shock of psionics—

—and fuck, her orgasm, blinding.

Loud and arching off the lounger, the nails of his psionics harder in her back.

A hand through her hair, kiss to her neck.

"He was satisfactory, adilshar," coos the words above her. More words, not for her. Another kiss above, not for her. Hiss of armour as he leaves, dragging his claws along her arm, to hand, to hold. Feels a bead held between his fingers. Rolls it against hers before he lets her go.

A kiss this time for her. Sharp.

"Keep trying to collar me, sh'k'nal."

Vanquish smiles, breathless, still riding the bliss of her orgasm. "Half-way there, gith."

---

Tir used in 'bitten belonging'

CANON Istik - word for non-githyanki, usually derogatory Mla'ghir - saviour, liberator Vin'isk - underling Adilshar-first among many; Created Meaning: term of endearment, affection and most importantly, an address of absolute respect, levelling someone to the githyanki speakers worth

CREATED Nal - beast Sh'k'nal - word githyanki use for Tiefling; literally, Hell Creature/Beast Koth'ann - to take, to claim, to devour - context reliant

#githyanki #kith'rak voss #prince orpheus #vanquish tag #otp: ashkith'a #ot3: prince blade breaker #des writes #ka'zalii #bg3 #bg3 fic #orpheus/tav

15 notes · View notes

wannab-urs · 2 years ago

Text

Scar Tissue

Pairing: Dave York x f!Reader

Summary: Violent devotion OR You and Dave try to figure out how to take care of each other

Warnings: explicit description of injuries (in the healing process), wound care, mild body horror maybe, intentionally causing pain in a not explicitly sexual way, way more dialogue than previous installments, soft/vulnerable/sweet smut, reader’s daily routine is described and really similar to mine so be nice i have depression, aggressive dental hygiene, blood, one pet name, spitting, pinning, choking, biting, scratching, overstimulation, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv + creampie x2 (do better), love as consumption, love as violence, care as violence? No use of y/n. WC: ~2.7k

A/N: I keep coming back to these two. They won’t get out of my head. Huge thank you to @beskarandblasters, @idolatrybarbie, and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for listening to me talk about this fic near constantly. Extra huge thank you to @atinylittlepain who honestly deserves co-writing credit. She helped me flesh this out and figure out where I wanted to go with these two and even provided ideas for some key scenes. I love you, man, my dearest Gin Twin. This is basically a look at how reader and Dave try to care for each other even though neither of them quite know how. Gin called it “two animals try to domesticate each other with their claws,” and that feels apt.

Dave York Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

He hasn’t left your bed unless he had to, much less your apartment. It’s been days and days and he hasn’t said a word. Quiet, usually sleeping. It’s the first time he’s ever stayed more than a night. First time he’s ever let you touch him in a way that isn’t violent or hungry. It’s exploratory. Strange that the first time you get to really look at him he’s been forever changed. Permanently marked. Like the cavernous hole inside him has physically manifested there on his face.

You unwrap the bandage from his head. Is there a healing process for this kind of thing? There will be no knitting together of flesh, no scabbing over, no scar. Just the absence of something that used to be there. You drag your thumbs over the scruff forming on his jaw, another first. Never seen him unkempt, always in a button down and slacks or tailored jeans and a perfectly fitting t-shirt. Never seen his hair grow too long. Never seen a lot of him.

You trace the curve of his nose, the plushness of his lips, back up to the divot between his brows that doesn’t go away even when he sleeps. You run your thumbs over his eyelids, one stretched taut over his closed eye and one hanging half open, doesn’t need to close that one to be unseeing. To not have to watch the disgust he knows will flicker over your features.

You dip your thumb into his eye socket, touching something no one has ever touched before – except, you guess, for the man who did this to him. You hold your thumb there for a moment, and he doesn’t jerk away from you. Hasn’t rejected a single one of your touches in days. Hasn’t really responded to anything at all. Slow hissing sighs and deep inhales, no words, no flinching.

His eye flutters open when you return to stroking his cheek bones with both thumbs. He does not find a look of disgust on your face. Your mouth hangs slightly open, your breaths coming out shallow, and your eyes are full of something like curiosity. Maybe even adoration. He closes his eye again. Can’t bear to be looked at with anything even bordering on love.

You remove the bandage from his ribs. The stitches will need to be removed soon, just starting to scab over. The flesh around his wound is bruised deep, dark purple with tinges of green and yellow. Partially from the initial injury and partially from where you drove your knee into him. You think you may have cracked a rib with the force of it.

Before you can really think twice about it, you dig your thumb in between his ribs. Right over the heart of the hurt. He grabs your wrist and twists until you fall to the side trying to keep it from being wrenched too far. And he’s on top of you again. And there is a fire in his eye and his teeth are bared at you and finally you think. Finally here is the thing you have been so desperate for. A reaction. A sign that he can feel you. That he knows you are there. That he gives a shit how you touch him.

But he doesn’t rip you apart like he usually would. Like you’d hoped he might. He drops his forehead to yours and sighs the deepest world weary sigh you may have ever heard and he rolls back off of you. And you think he’s going to go back to his silence. Back to nearly ignoring you.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says.

“How to do what?”

“This. Being cared for.”

“I don’t know how to do this either.”

“How to do what?”

“Care for someone.”

You kiss him then. Soft, slow, sweet. No ripping claws, no gnashing teeth, no snarling growls, no closed fists or stinging palms. You savor him. Lick into his mouth and taste his tongue with no attempt to swallow it down, to draw him inside your mouth and consume him. You climb atop him without breaking the kiss, bare thighs settling along the line of his torso. He pushes his sweatpants down his hips and within seconds he is buried deep inside you.

You roll your hips against his, one hand propped on the bed beside him and the other fisted in his overgrown hair. Your lips finally part, but you keep your forehead pressed to his, stare into his eye as you move. God he’s so fucking beautiful. His hands settle on your hips, guiding you back and forth along his length, but there is no urgency, no hard press of bruises into your skin and no jerking of his hips to meet yours.

Your brow furrows and your eyelids start fluttering and he knows you are close, knows you only need a little more to push you over the edge. He slips his thumb over your clit, the barest brush, and feels you clench tight around him. He presses down firmly, letting the roll of your hips do most of the work, and then you are coming, clenching and unclenching around him in such an exquisite way. He pulls you fully down onto him, thrusts into your wet heat a few more times and comes deep inside you with a gasp like the wind was punched out of him.

You fall asleep like that, tangled in each other.

He spends a couple days watching your routines. Something a bit voyeuristic about it. He doesn’t usually comment or participate. It’s almost as if he isn’t there.

You wake up in the morning and stare at the ceiling for a while, mentally preparing, he supposes. You eventually drag your laptop off the side table and sign into work for the day. You always pee during the first break in the flow of emails, leaving the door open like you normally would, like he isn’t there.

You climb back into bed and work a while longer before heading to the kitchen to grab a bag of chips or leftover takeout and a glass of tea. You bring it back to the bed and eat while you watch youtube videos or read on your phone, usually leaving the dishes and trash on your side table until later.

He usually takes a quick shower while you eat. He closes the door so he doesn’t disturb you. Uses your body wash and your shampoo to clean himself. Movements slow and sore in a way he tries not to let you see, becoming less so everyday.

He stares at himself in the mirror. Trying to get used to his new face. Nothing looks quite right anymore, though he supposes that makes sense. Seeing it all through one eye now. He dresses, brushes his teeth, uses one of your silly little floss picks since you don’t have real floss. He shaves, finally. And it helps a little. Makes him feel a little more like himself in the mirror, though his hair is too long.

You shower in mid afternoon, when you can afford to be away from your computer a bit longer. He can see your shower from his place in your bed. You don’t bother to close the door. You strip bare and toss your clothes in the overflowing hamper.

Sometimes you wash your hair, but today you don’t. You use a loofah that has certainly seen better days to scrub your body. You run a razor over your armpits. You squeeze face wash onto your palm, rub your hands together, wash your face under the spray of the shower.

You get out and wrap a towel around your hair, use another to quickly dry your body. You throw on a big tshirt and a pair of panties and move to get right back in the bed.

“Brush your teeth,” he calls just as you step out of the bathroom. You grumble under your breath and do as he says.

“Did you floss?” He knows you didn’t.

“No.” You flop back onto the bed, seemingly exhausted by the process of maintaining your body.

“Go floss your teeth.”

“No. You go floss your fucking teeth.”

Dave gets out of bed and you think he is going to be petty. You think he is going to floss his teeth. He goes into the bathroom and grabs the bag of floss picks. He returns to the edge of the bed and tosses the bag into your lap.

“Floss your fucking teeth.”

“Why do you even give a shit?” He does not know why he gives a shit. He just does.

“If you don’t do it, I’ll do it for you.” It does not sound like an offer to help. It sounds like a threat. You throw the bag of floss picks on the floor, several of them spilling out and skittering across the hardwood. Dave’s face darkens. He retrieves the floss picks, tosses the bag onto the bed. And then he is on you, your hands pinned above your head and his thighs trapping your torso.

You twist and buck, letting out a near feral growl. You try to headbutt him and he dodges it, but loosens his grip on your wrists. You launch yourself at him, trying to use his flinch to knock him off of you. He grabs your shoulders and wrenches you back down, settling his knees on your armpits to keep you there.

“Fuck you.” Oh you are pissed. How dare he make you do anything.

“Sit still.” He grabs your jaw in his right hand, digging his fingers in where it hinges until you’re forced to open your mouth. Your frustrated scream is garbled. You try to close your mouth and only succeed in biting down on your own cheeks. He takes a floss pick in the fingers of his left hand.

The gentleness with which he flosses your teeth for you is at such stark contrast with the violence of his grip on your jaw. Despite this, you still taste blood. You close your eyes in shame. Hot tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. Dave finishes, lets go of your face, strokes his thumbs through your tear tracks.

“Look at me.”

You open your eyes, staring defiantly at the ceiling, and your lip trembles with the effort of containing your breakdown.

“Honey, look at me. Please?” Your eyes snap to his then. He’s never called you that, or anything really. “Why are you crying?” He couldn’t have hurt you. He’d been careful, so careful, not to hurt you. So different from his usual touches. He eases his knees off of you, but stays straddling you, holding your face in his hands.

You close your eyes again, squeeze them shut as if it will keep him from seeing you. “Embarrassed.” You mumble it, so quiet he wouldn’t be able to hear it if he wasn’t so close. He gets it then, but he isn’t sure what to do. What do you say when you have embarrassed someone without meaning to, when you do not think they have any reason at all to be embarrassed?

He kisses you. Soft at first and then hard in the way it always is. But also not in the way it always is. He tries to tell you, with this kiss, that he simply wants to care for you. That he does not know how, the same way you do not know how. That you are both trying.

You bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. Blood for blood, you think. He takes your hands in his again and holds them above your head, shifting both your wrists into one hand. He wraps his other hand around your jaw like before, dragging your mouth open. He spits onto your tongue, watches it drip down to the back of your throat.

“Swallow,” he commands it, but does not release your jaw. You swallow his spit with your mouth open, nearly choking with the effort. His fingers slide down and latch around your throat. Your eyes flutter shut and you buck your hips, chasing friction. He looks down at you in awe. Your tear soaked face. Your wet hair. Your spit and blood soaked lips.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers. And that is a new name too. He releases your hands and slips down your body, pulls your panties off and tosses them into the floor. You don’t move your hands from where he had them pinned down, but you crane your neck to watch him strip bare.

You think he is gorgeous too. Body scarred and mottled blue and yellow and green. Marked with you as much as anything else. Mine, you think. You have made him yours. Others may have had some other version of David York, but this one is yours and you will not let him go without making sure it is clear he was yours once.

He settles between your thighs and pins your hips down with a forearm. He thrusts two fingers of his other hand inside you. You cry out and grind into them, hands immediately flying to his hair. He drops his mouth to your clit, sucks it between his teeth and bites down. You pull his hair hard, but he only doubles down. Fucking you with his fingers and rolling your clit between his teeth.

You can’t do anything but take it with the way he has you pinned down. You claw at his shoulder, the nape of his neck, try to push his head away, but he doesn’t stop. And then you see white, coming with a shudder as your ears fill with a high pitched ringing.

Before you can come down, he’s thrusting himself inside you. He sits back on his heels and wraps his arms around your thighs, using them to pull you onto his cock with every thrust. You close your eyes at the overwhelming, overstimulating pleasure.

“Look at me,” he roars. He won’t let you hide from him. He locks his eye with yours as he fucks you, jaw set in a hard line. You reach for him and he obliges, leaning over you and folding you nearly in half with the motion.

You wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into his shoulder blades. You can feel his back muscles shifting with every thrust. If you dig your fingers in deep enough maybe you could watch the way his muscles work beneath that expanse of golden skin.

His eye bores into your left one and he imagines falling inside it, falling inside of you and staying there forever. Safe and cared for in a way he has not ever known and isn’t sure he ever will. He could stay inside you forever. You are so warm and wet and tight. A space seemingly carved out for him to fill.

He dips his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth, rolls the bud between his teeth. He drags his lips back up to your throat. Presses his lips to your pulse. He can feel your heartbeat here. Could dig his teeth in and feel all that warm and wet inside you gush over his tongue. Fuck he wants all of you. Every bit of you. An endless cycle of wanting to consume you and be consumed by you that makes his head spin.

Your hands find the back of his head and push him deeper into the crook of your neck. He sucks the skin over your jugular between his teeth and bites down hard. Your whole body seizes and spasms around him, coming as soon as the points of his teeth sink into your skin and he follows you instantly, drawn out by the way you shout his name.

He rolls off of you and pulls you against him, still craving the heat of your skin against his. He draws your thigh over his legs, wraps his arm around your body, buries his face in your hair.

“Do you wanna take a shower with me?” Despite both of you showering earlier, a sheen of sweat and blood and saliva coats you both. He pulls you impossibly closer to him.

“Yeah, honey. In a minute.”

--------------

Tagging people from the last one! Let me know if you'd like to be taken off!

@pr0ximamidnight @gasolinerainbowpuddles @bonezone44 @catchallfangirl @heareball @cool-iguana @youmeand5bucks @morallyinept @janaispunk @ireallyreallylikeyourwriting @sin-djarin @toxicanonymity @rootytootyvoodooty @blackfemalenerd @axshadows @heavennumber2 @pedrostories @theywhowriteandknowthings @anavatazes @missladym1981 @always-andromeda

#Dave York #Dave York fics #Dave York fanfiction #Dave York x reader #Dave York x f!reader #Dave York x you #Equalizer 2 #Equalizer 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu

171 notes · View notes