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T h e D r e a m

In which Toji has a nightmare.

He tosses and turns, brows furrowing and lips downturned, scar stretching with the tension in his face. His whole body is tense, twitching, and flinching as he sleeps. If one were to dive into his brain as it works double time right now, they’d see something terrifying. 

Indeed, he is terrified. 

So, when he awakes with a jolt, no one would be surprised to hear his heavy breathing, panicked panting, and jerky shuffling. If you pressed your palm to his chest, you’d feel his heart galloping, threatening to burst right out of his damn body and run off. He's goddamn sweating, for God's sake.

His hand flies to your side of the bed. All he feels is the soft and cold sheet. You’re out of bed. Toji jumps out, dressed only in his boxers, and runs a palm down his face, flexing his jaw. He calls your name out. The only reply he receives in return is an eerie silence that makes him gulp. Hard. 

Fuck, he thinks. Where are you? 

The worst scenarios come to mind: someone broke in and took you, murdered you in cold blood; you’re out buying something, a white van comes from behind you, snatches you right from the street; you’re gagged and bound, killed, violated, thrown out into a ditch; and just as painful, you left him. 

All these potential circumstances sends a cold panic running through him. It’s as if the floor is suddenly moving, promising to throw his balance off and knock him down until he’s reduced to nothing. He can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t move. He’ll never admit to being afraid, but he is. He’s so deathly fucking scared that whatever he sees when he ventures out will devastate him beyond repair. 

Get a damn grip, he curses. 

What if you need him? 

Padding out of the room and into the hallway, light almost blinds his bleary eyes and it's coming from the open bathroom door. In a rush, he shoves the door open and lets out a breath of relief. 

“Fuck, ma. Fuck are you doing up so late?”

You’re clearly peeing, and he’s not sure why he’s swearing at you, but at the rise of your brow, he shakes off the heaviness in his shoulders and leans against the door, forcing a calmness to his demeanour. Toji doesn’t ever want you to see his hands shake so he folds them under his armpits, arms crossed and tongue wetting his lip. 

“I’m peeing, obviously. The better question is, why are you up?”

Shrugging, he replies, “No reason. Just was wondering where you were.”

“You missed me?”

The cheesy grin on your face as you clean up sends his eyes rolling. You flush and wash your hands. He approaches you, wrapping his arms around your stomach and pressing his nose to your hair. You smell good. Always so damn good. You’re also unbelievably warm and soft. God, he can’t ever lose you. 

He just can’t. 

“Toji? Baby? You’re holding on a little tight there.”

Unable to muster a response, he buries his face in your neck and inhales again. He fights your attempts to shake him off as long as he can, but he can’t ever hold you off, so you shift around until you’re facing him and attempt to get a good look at his face. The way you cradle his face is full of love, and it sends him reeling. Whatever he did to deserve this he’d like to know so he can keep doing it, in this life and in the next.

“What’s going on?”

He can’t explain. If he tries to describe what his stupid fucking brain conjured up, his lips will wobble like a damn child, and then he’ll never recover from the shame. A big man like him scared shitless by some shitty nightmare. What’s next? He’ll wet himself and ask for his blanky?

You gasp. Fuck. He knows you can see the wetness coating his lashes. Must be the same wetness he saw coating your lashes in his dream. Blood. Chill. Loss. Flashes of his vision come to the forefront of his mind, mocking and taunting, and he swears for a second, as you shuffle, it’s like he loses his grip on you for good. His heart drops. Fucking drops. 

So does his entire body. 

Falling onto his knees, he hides his face into your stomach, taking comfort in the softness there. You’re so frail. He knows it every time he lands a hard smack on your ass and before you even yelp, he already knows it was too hard — he curses the heaviness of his hand. He knows it when he lays on top of you and you croak out how you can’t breathe. When you can’t reach for the top shelf, when you walk into poles and doors, when a car comes speeding past, and he just about makes it, snatching you back into the safety of his embrace. 

“We need to get you the gym,” he mutters into your shirt. 

You slap his head. “Excuse me?”

Huffing a laugh, he explains, “Nah, not like that. Y’know how perfect y'r body is to me. Just meant, let’s get you some self-defence��lessons. Can teach ya myself here and there, but better a professional teaches you. I can’t teach for shit.”

“This is kinda random, Toji. Wanna talk to me about why you’re being weird?”

“Not weird.”

Your lack of a response sends the message: ‘You’re not acting like it.’

So, clearing his throat, he stands up and carries you in his arms, ignoring your complaints. You’re taken to the bedroom where you’re thrown down onto the bed, bouncing before he climbs on top of you, tickling your sides a little, just ‘cause he can, before he rolls you both around so you’re on top of him.

Once the giggling and mock-complaints ceases and you both fall into a comfortable silence, sleep knocking at the door once more, he finds it in him to let you in a little.“Just had a shitty dream. Don’t worry about it.”

Head on his chest, you ask, “You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

Brushing your hair back, he pecks your forehead and clasps your hand. The covers keep you both hidden from the rest of the world, the distant hum of cars passing by, filling the gentle quiet. “No. Don’t wanna speak it into existence, y’know?"

Then, as if the thought just occurs to him, he adds, "Just do one thing for me, ma.”

“What, baby?”

He holds your face, hopefully with just as much tenderness as you hold him, and whispers, “Wake me up before you go, okay?” 

“Before I go?” You ask, thoroughly confused. He grunts in confirmation, which doesn’t really answer any of the questions circling in your head but that tends to be as much as he ever gives you on a typical day anyways. Nodding, you play along, not really getting it but somewhat too tired to chase up this odd turn in conversation. “Alright. Yeah, I’ll let you know. Why?”

“Because I want to come with.”

“To the bathroom or something?”

Sure and firm, he asserts with all the conviction in the observable universe, “Wherever you are, I want to be.”

He needs to know someone can give you their clothes for warmth, that someone can hold your hand when you’re afraid, that they can brush your hair out of your face, and carry you when your legs can no longer. Even if the place you’re going to is too nice for him, all pretty and white and cloudy and shit. Even if they don’t let him in, he’ll just sit outside at the gate and listen to your voice. 

Whether it's the bathroom, or the living room, or further out. Whether it's to the store, midday or midnight. Or so far away you call some new place home. Wherever it is, wherever you go, wherever you set your eyes on, he wants to follow. And if he can, he wants to be there to welcome you into his open arms.

There's no place too dangerous, too hot, too cold, too big, too small, too lonely, too crowded and whatever the fuck else. He's never let himself want for more than he deserved, but just this once, he dares to.

After all, Toji knows well that there’s no place worth going to if you’re not there. 

So, fuck his stupid nightmare. 

He’s already living the dream.

[norrisleclercf1]

Mafia Lestappen when reader gets into a car crash

A/N: And if I add a child? Then what????? Also Monaco is a lot bigger in this fake world soooo yeah maybe twice as big as it normally is

"Mommy, sing," You baby girl giggles as you drive her home from 1st grade, you hate dropping her off there, but it was safe and good for her to socialize with other children, and with her life and who her fathers are you knew letting her be herself safely was best.

"Adie," You sigh, but you can't deny those sea green eyes as you turn up the old Disney music and start to sing with her. She giggles happily as you look in the mirror and smile, 'MOMMY!" Adeline scream rings out as you look back in front of you and gasp, before everything goes dark.

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

"Should be home soon," Charles sighs, finally home from a long day at the office, Max trudging in behind Charles wanting to just curl up in bed with his family. "I know, I hate she goes to school, but it's best," Max grumbles, always missing his little girl and Charles was no better.

When she was younger the two of them would break her out all the time but you put your foot down, stating that school would be good for Adeline. Charles hums and pets the cats and then Leo, his dog and moves grabbing his phone as it vibrates and he smiles as picture of you and Adie pop up.

"Mon cher, when are you going to be-" "Mr. Leclerc, this is Dr. LaRouche, I'm the emergency room attending here at Grace Kelly Memorial Hospital, I have your daughter and wife here, they were in a very serious accident," Charles feels his blood run cold as he turns to stare at Max whose bent down petting his cats. "What?" Max asks, looking up.

"Charles, what is it?"

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

"I just want Mommy!" Adeline sobs, the pediatrician and nurse trying their best to calm her down. "I know sweetie, but we've called your fathers, they'll be here soon," The doors fly open as Max charges in like a bull, eyes wild before the settle on his baby girl. "ADIE!" "DADDY!" She sobs and moves as he rushes over and captures her in his arms.

"I'm here, I'm here," Max repeats as Charles collides into them holding his baby as well. "Mommy, mommy was hurt," She sobs and Max refuses to move from her side as Charles looks around their guards everywhere as the staff move carefully around them. "Someone tell me where the fuck, our wife is?" Charles ground out and a nurse stands, walking over quickly.

"You're wife and daughter were involved in a head on collision, the man was running from the cops and hit your wife. She sustained a head injury and a lacerated spleen and they needed to take her to surgery to remove the spleen as it was bleeding and unable to be repaired. You can see her in a couple hours when the surgery is over, please, just stay with your daughter," The nurse calmly explains and Max moves lying on the bed now.

"Charles," Charles turns around and sees Adie crying softer and looking at him with his own eyes. "Oh, my poor bebe, you must've been so scared. You were so brave," Charles praises softly kissing her head as Max looks over her only seeing little scratches and scruffs, the only thing that concerns him is the cut on her forehead.

"Does your head hurt my little star?" Max whispers pulling her into his lap and holding her close as Charles blocks them from the lingering eyes in the Emergency room. "Just a little, they gave me yucky medicine to help," She explains, "Papa, can I play a game on your phone?" She asks, blinking and Charles quickly gives her his phone.

"Mr. Verstappen, Mr. Leclerc?" They turn as a doctor approaches them. "Your wife is out of surgery, we can't let you in the room, but you can see her," Charles and Max move, Charles taking Adie into his arms and kisses her head gently as they walk through the stale hospital hallways and stop at your window, the sound of candy crush going low from Charles's phone.

"She's good, just sleeping, we'll continue to monitor her, but luckily her car is....military grade, if her car wasn't like that then it would be much worse," The doctor says and pats Max's back who nods as Charles squeezes Adie close unable to imagine what would've happened.

"Told you it was worth it," Max whispers and Charles sighs resting his head on his shoulder. "Not now, Max,"

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{ Heyyyy, So just watched a horror movie so expect some of that vibe in the story lol anyway to the story! }~

•Living Doll•

The old Drake manner has been moved into.

The house was bought by a man wearing a black suit and a purple hat that covered his face and for the life of anyone who talked with him they can’t remember his name or face but they could remember why he was buying the house, it was for his niece and nephew and as he has to travel around a lot for work they would live alone for the most part.

So when they heard this Bruce and Dick went over to say hello spy on the niece and nephew.

Who opens the door is a tall messy red haired woman who looks like she wants nothing more than to shut the door and pass the fuck out so Bruce puts on “Brucie” and starts talking to her about how he so happy to have a new neighbor and stuff while Dick looks around from where he is standing.

And that’s when he sees it a porcelain face and arm peeking out from behind a wall, the arm has light blue detailing on it and Dick couldn’t get a good look before the figure sees him looking at them and moving behind the wall the rest of the way and it seems the woman hear the figure and saw where Dick was looking and immediately shut the door in Bruce’s and Dicks faces.

This is definitely something for the Bats.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

Jack and Maddie caught Danny changing back from Phantom, they hit him in the back of the head with a Fenton-bat and brought him down to the lab and they started to see what they could do..

Jazz had just came home from the school and looking for colleges to go to when she heard her parents in the basement and she thought nothing of it.

But when she didn’t hear or see Danny when Jazz knew that he was home that’s when she can tell something’s up so Jazz goes up to his room and that’s when she sees it the bloody bat with specks of a so familiar green.

That when Jazz feels her blood go cold and she books it down the stairs to the basement but the door is locked and she can hear Jacks and Maddie s tools cutting into something and Jazz knows what that something is. She starts trying to break down the door until she remembers the bat in the kitchen so she runs to the kitchen.

And thank all of the Ancients that it is still there so she grabs it and runs back and breaks down the door and that’s when she sees it.

Arms cut off and torn to shreds, legs broken beyond repair, muscles and organs removed and put in jars and the dead eyed look in her baby brothers eyes and his core in mother Maddies hand everything gets foggy.

The next time Jazz is presented she is sitting on the bathroom floor covered in blood with Danny’s light blue almost white glowing core in her hands and a very bloody bat next to her.

That’s when she hears it the sound of a string being pulled and Clockwork shows up in front of her and explains that now with Danny original body being torn apart (Which gets a death glare from Jazz) and how with his core still intact Jazz can make a new body for him but how they would need to leave this world as if they don’t this will happen again.

And Jazz immediately agrees.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•Jazz a lot less sane than in the show

•Jazz is protective as hell of Danny 

•If you put a ghost core in an object to that is vaguely human they can take over it and over time the objects start to look like the ghost until it has turned into the ghost body!

•In the manner there all the books Jazz could need to make a new body for Danny and really anything Jazz or Danny could want

•Jazz is supposed to have a Fog Core while Danny has a Ice Core

•Jazz always has a gun of her making on her at all times, ALWAYS

•when Clockwork shows up randomly you can hear the sound of a string pulled

•The DCU side of this is inspired by This Au of mine

•Jazz found all of hers and Danny’s clothes already in the manner and she doesn’t want to leave Danny’s core alone so she doesn’t really care about it all to much

•Cores kinda work like the kids ghost eyes from Coraline

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

Danny-

Jazz-

And here’s what Danny’s new body looks like

~{and that’s it! Sorry if the story part is short I am very tired lol so if any of you gremlins want to take it feel free to anyway until next time byeeeeee}~

[sena-seastar]

Burning Desire

Aemond x Older!sister Reader

Summary: You rush off to confront your brother Aemond after discovering he hurt your sister, only to find him crying. You are angry at him for what he has done, but you cannot stand to see your little brother suffer.

Warnings:  Angst, Smut, Sibling incest

A/N: This was supposed to be an angsty comfort fic, but it very quickly got out of hand. All dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in High Valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes. (Gif is not mine!)

You stormed through the castle halls, ignoring the maids and knights who quickly stepped out of your way. Usually, you would give them some sign of acknowledgment, but tonight, you couldn’t— not when your anger was boiling over. Your hands trembled with repressed rage, and your fingers curled into fists as you tried desperately to refrain from lashing out. There was only one person who was deserving of your wrath, and you were headed to find him now. 

When you arrived at his door, you entered the room, not bothering to knock. The loud sound of the wooden door slamming close behind you echoed in the air. The room was dark; only a few candles were lit, though they were burning dangerously low. You squint your eyes, searching until you find the silver-haired man hunched over in his chair. Your robe made a slight whooshing sound as you stormed over to his side. 

“How dare you!” Your voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade, every word dripping with venom and contempt.

Aemond says nothing. His head is lowered, and his long silver tresses conceal his face.

“You dare to lay a hand on our sister?! Has she not suffered enough?! And now you wish to send her into battle?!” Your chest is heaving wildly as you lose what little composure remains to you.

Once again, you are met with a deafening silence that angers you even more.

“Have you nothing to say?!” you yell, each word cracking like a whip. Your brows furrow and your lips curl into a snarl.

Yet once again, your words go unanswered. You open your lips, prepared to berate him even more until quiet sobs reach your ears. Your blood runs cold, and you freeze. Aemond’s body jerked with every gasp that escaped his throat. 

“I am alone,” he whispers . “As I always have been.”

His words move you to tears. 

“Aemond,” you whisper, stepping closer.

You reach out a hand to touch his shoulder but pull it away just before reaching him. Your mind is suddenly conflicted. Your rage is quickly converting into sadness with every second that passes. The two of you rarely saw eye to eye these past few weeks. His actions above Shipbreaker Bay had left you horrified. The abhorrent murder of your nephew, Jaehaerys, happened not long after. You blamed Aemond for that and did not bother trying to hide it from him.

Then, Aegon returned from Rook’s Rest, burned and broken beyond repair. Your mother came to you shortly after, sharing her thoughts about what had happened. She believed Aemond to be responsible, but you could not bring yourself to believe it at the time. But as the days passed, you found yourself becoming increasingly unsure. Especially after today, when the horrific details of his actions at Sharp Point reached you. Most days, you could hardly even recognize him—this strange man who shares the face of your sweet little brother.

You take a deep breath before reaching out. Your hand trembles as you place it on his shoulder, but he does not flinch from your touch. He leans into it. Aemond raises his head just enough to look you in the eyes. His face is stained with tears, and his eye is red and gleaming with tears, ready to fall. His silver hair is unusually messy and unkempt. The leather eyepatch is gone, exposing the beautiful sapphire embedded into his eyesocket. It is a sight he has entrusted very few to see.

“I am sorry,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know,” you whisper, pulling him close.

He buries his face into your stomach. His large hands gripped tightly at your sides, and you did your best not to wince. You lift a hand, brushing down his unkempt hair. You were angry at him. You had come here to yell at him, maybe even hit him, but you couldn’t. Not when it filled your heart with great sorrow to see your brother in so much pain. Your little brother. The boy you had always tried so hard to shield from the cruelty of this world. The boy who had always run to you for comfort after being humiliated by Aegon time and time again.

Aemond continued to sob. His tears made the thin fabric of your nightdress stick to your skin, and the cold wetness sent a chill down your spine. You gasp as you feel him pull you down, sitting you on his lap. He held you close, burying his face into the curve of your neck. Your hands rested against the warm, bare skin of his back as you held him. He must have been preparing for bed not long before you arrived as he was only dressed in a pair of black lambswool breeches.

“You are not alone,” you reassure him, gently kissing the scar that marred his brow. “I am here, as I always have been.”

There is a slight chill in the air, but the heat radiating from his skin keeps you warm. Aemond sniffles but says nothing. You can feel his tears sliding down your neck. You move a hand up to his head, toying with his hair. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, seemingly inhaling your scent. Aemond shifts in his seat, spreading his legs a little wider, making the position more comfortable for you. A quiet gasp escapes your throat as you feel the taut muscle of his thigh pressing into the most intimate part of your body.

The feeling sends a rush of heat through your veins. Your breath quickens as you try to push the sensation aside. Your face burns as shame begins to overwhelm you. He just wanted to be close to you, searching for comfort in your arms as he had done many times before. But your body is turning it into something perverse.

Aemond bounced his knee ever so slightly, almost like a tremble. You squirmed, trying to press your thighs closer together in hopes of stopping the heat growing in your stomach. One of Aemond’s large hands rests firmly against the small of your back. The other moves to grip the outside of your thigh.

“Aemond,” you gasp as you feel his lips grazing against our collarbones.

“What?��� He asks, his voice so nonchalant.

“I think I should go,” you replied, trying to stand up.

But his hands hold onto you tight, refusing to let you go. 

“Please stay,” he begged, burying his face into the curve of your neck once more.

“Alright,” you whisper, trying to calm him.

His hair tickles your nose. You lift your head a bit, resting your chin on the top of his head. You trail the tips of your fingers against the muscles of his back. Aemond nuzzles his face against your neck. He bounces his knee a bit harder. You wonder if he is doing this on purpose.

“Aemond, stop it,” you mumble, trying to ignore the fire sparking in the pit of your stomach.

“Stop what?” He asked, ghosting his lips over your jaw. 

“You know what,” you whine.

He ignores you; his lips press soft kisses against your jaw. Aemond bunches the skirt of your dress into the hand that grips your thigh. He steadily inches it up higher. The cold air touching your now bare legs makes the hair on your body stand up. Suddenly coming to your senses, you gasp, slapping a hand over his as the skirt of your dress reaches just above your knees. He tries to continue, but you use all the strength you can muster to keep his hand still. 

“We must stop,” you command, trying to stop yourself from giving in to him completely.

This was wrong. You were both betrothed to other people—him to some Baratheon girl and you to the Lord of the Arbor. They were political matches, as most marriages are. You held no love for Lord Redwyne, but you would do your duty as was expected of you.

Aemond easily pushed past your hand, slipping his hand between your thighs. You gasped, trying to squeeze them together to keep him at bay. Your stomach flutters as his thumb rubs across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your fingernails dig into his forearm. You pull back, and he lifts his head to look you in the eyes. 

He removes his hand from between your thighs, moving it up to your face. You find yourself melting into the warmth of his palm. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips, but his eye never leaves yours.

“You were supposed to be mine,”   he says in the gentlest tone.

“Aemond,” you whine, trying to push him away.

But he refuses to let you go. The hand on your back kept you from standing. His fingertips trail down the side of your neck down to the neckline of your nightdress. His touch on your skin leaves you feeling almost delirious. The fire in your stomach is fully ablaze now. You squirm in his lap as his fingers graze over the tops of your breasts. You cursed yourself for this, as the feeling of his tense muscles sends waves of heat straight to your cunt. The hairs on the back of your neck raise. Your eyes close, and you bite your lip to stop crying out. 

“Look at me.”  

It is a command that you are unable to ignore. Aemond is the prince regent. In this moment, he speaks with the king’s voice. His absolute authority leaves you fearful and painfully aroused. Once again, your eyes meet his. He says nothing, simply watching you like a predator stalking its prey as his hand moves over your nightdress, cupping your breast. You gasp, slapping a hand over his. You know you should push him away, but you don’t. 

A chill runs down your spine. Under his gaze, you feel completely exposed, almost powerless—a feeling you usually dislike greatly. You were a princess of the realm and a dragon rider. You were anything but helpless. Yet you find yourself wanting nothing more than to surrender yourself to him, to escape from your worries and sorrows, to be free from all the tiring expectations that have been placed upon you since your birth.

“Am I so hard to love?” 

His voice trembled, as he struggled to hold back tears. The authority is gone, replaced with something much more vulnerable. The sight broke your heart in two. You had always worried about Aemond, your sweet, sensitive little brother. Since he had come of age, he had changed. He was colder and more distant, not just from you but from everyone, even your mother, whom you know he cared for greatly. It was like he believed he had to be this... pillar of strength, or all would crumble.

You remove your hand from his, moving it up to cup the scarred side of his face. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss on his brow. You have done this so many times over the years, yet it has never felt as intimate as it did now. Aemond closed his eye, leaning into your touch. A sharp pain stabs at your heart as you watch how desperate he is for your comfort.

The hand on your breast slid back down to your thigh. Aemond’s fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. Your thumb traced down the deep scar that marked his cheek. You lean down, peppering kisses from his cheek to his jaw, where the scar stops. He turns his head slightly, so that your lips hover above his, almost touching. You rest your head against his. His violet eye stared into your own.

“What of Floris? She is to be your wife.” You say, hoping he may come to his senses, as yours have fled from you completely.

“You will be my wife... for tonight.” A single tear drops from his eye as the words leave his lips.

It is such a beautiful, harrowing sight. One that leads you to shedding tears of your own. Aemond’s hands grip you by the waist, hoisting you up just enough for you to straddle him. Your knees rest on both sides of his legs, trapping him between your thighs. A wave of heat runs through your veins as your bare cunt presses against his clothed bulge. He leans forward, capturing your gasp with his mouth. One of your hands cups his face while the other pushes his hair away from his face. 

The two of you shared passionate, frantic kisses. You had not been prepared from when Aemond’s tongue slid into your mouth. You whine, caught off guard, but do your best to follow along with him. You had no experience with such things. The only kisses you had ever experienced came from tall, handsome knights in your dreams. But even then, those kisses were nothing like this. They were short and sweet. A quick peck on the cheek or lips, but this was much different. Aemond kissed you with such urgency, such deep burning desire.

Aemond lifts his hips, pressing himself against you. The feeling of his hard cock pressing against your aching cunt makes you cry out, though your noises are muffled against his lips. The feeling is so foreign, yet exciting, that you can’t stop yourself from reaching down to palm him through his trousers. His hardened cock is thick and throbbing beneath your touch. A newfound confidence blooms in your chest.

A sound rumbled in his chest; his large hands gripped your ample hips. Your hands moved to grip his shoulders as you rocked yourself back and forth, your bare cunt grinding against his clothed bulge. He hissed, knitting his brows together. You watch as his face contorts into one of pleasure. Your own burning desire is growing too much. Your desperate, heavy breaths fill the air as you grind yourself against him even faster, desperate to reach your peak. He looked up at you; his mouth hung open slightly as he watched you use him for your own selfish gratification.

It’s exhilarating- him watching you- seeing you in a way no other ever has, touching you in a way no other ever has.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises.

His praise sends another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. The room suddenly feels unbearably hot. You’re so close; you can feel it. The pressure building up in your stomach is eager to be released. You roll your hips even faster, harder. But it is not enough. The throbbing in your cunt is almost painful. You are nearly sobbing at this point.

“I want more,” you whine. “I need more. Please, brother.”

“I am at your mercy, sister,” he smirks. “Take what you want.”

You reach down, huffing as you struggle to untie the laces of his trousers. You can feel his chest vibrate against you as he chuckles.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you grumble.

“My apologizes-” he shudders as your hand wraps around his thick cock. Finally freeing him from the confines of his trousers.

A triumphant smile crosses your face. You give his cock a few strokes, admiring the way it stands so prettily for you, so thick and full. Suddenly, you begin to fear the thought of having to fit it inside of you. Aemond seems to sense your worry. His hand cups the back of your neck, making you look at him.

“Take it slow,” he warns.

You nod, lifting yourself on your knees a bit. Your wetness coats your fingers and his cock as you press the tip into your aching cunt. You whine as the head breaches your walls, and you clamp tightly around him. The stretch is a bit uncomfortable but not painful. You may be a maiden, but you still had desires. Many nights, you have had to satiate your hunger with your fingers.

You lower yourself on him slowly. Thankfully, your wetness makes it easier to take him. You take a deep breath as you take him to the hilt. It takes you a moment to adjust to his size. 

“Are you okay?” Aemond asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“Yes, I just ... need a moment,” you breathlessly laugh as he lifts a hand to trail his fingers against your jaw.

He nods, raising his chin to kiss gently against the corner of your mouth. You turn your head, pressing your lips to his. A soft tongue gently licks at the swell of your bottom lip, and you grant him entry. The gentleness comes to an end. He licks into you with a fervor that steals your breath away. Your thoughts fade, and you melt into his arms. 

Aemond kisses you like he wants to devour you, and you want nothing more. You lift your hips before lowering yourself. Aemond finally breaks the kiss, and his hands move to your waist.

“Ah-h,” he whines against the corner of your lips.

You begin to move slowly, easing yourself into up and down on his cock. Your eyes never leave him, watching as he presses his head to the back of the chair. His chest moves with his deep breaths, his eye is closed, and his mouth is partially open. He shudders, and a desperate, eager moan emits from his throat. It is a sight to behold.

He lifts his hips, pressing deeper into you, making you cry out.

“Aemond!” You whimper, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

His eye fluttered open as he watched you struggle to find the right pace. He gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your fleshy sides. He guided you, raising you up and down on him. The newfound pace made you mewl pathetically, but you were too desperate to reach your peak to care. He called out your name. It sounded almost sinful coming from his lips. 

You drop your head, resting it against his. Your mouth hangs open as you gasp and moan. The faint scent of pine and smoke fills your nose. It’s him, his scent. The smell is almost intoxicating. Your mind is swimming, dizzy from the pleasure of him bucking up into you.

You feel one of his palms cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He lifts his chin, closing the small distance between you pressing his lips to yours. You try your best to follow the frantic rhythm he sets. He swallows every sound you make as he holds the back of your neck, refusing to let you pull away—not that you want to. 

Aemond plants his feet on the ground for leverage as he pumps into you. His thrusts are more erratic now as he approaches his end. The air in your lungs is incinerated, and a shameful, high-pitched moan escapes from your lips. You move your hips, rocking against him, dangerously close to finally reaching your peak. 

He doesn’t stop, bucking into you with a force that would be strong enough to toss you off of him if not for the hand holding onto your waist. Your hot cunt clenched around him, the muscles in your legs burned from remaining in this position for so long. 

It’s not fair- how good he is at this- how good he is making you feel. It’s all too much. Your poor wet cunt is overwhelmed with pleasure. The hand on your neck moves down, and the pad of his thumb rubs circles around that sensitive button between your legs. 

“That's it,” he coaxed, his hot breath fans on your mouth. “Let go, give it to me.”

You don’t stand a chance. Not when his cock makes you feel so full, reaching that one spot that makes you throw your head back. One of your hands tangles in his hair, tugging. Your chests’ are flushed against each other as you both rock against each other. You clench around his cock as you finally reach your release, hard and blinding. The world around you seems to disappear. It’s only you and him who matter.

“Ha-ah ... ah,” he sputtered, becoming more desperate.

You cry out as you fill his hot mouth, which latches into one of your breasts. He suckles at your breast like a starving babe. His tongue lashes back and forth around your hardened nipple. The sensation is strange but has you clenching around him even tighter. 

His teeth graze against your nipple. Every grunt and moan that leaves him vibrates against your breast. You can feel his thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. His cock pulses inside of you, it feels too good. Aemond releases your nipple, resting his forehead on your breast. Choked gasps and grunts slip past his lips as he reaches his peak, releasing inside of you, filling you with his seed.

The two of you stay pressed against each other as you come down for your highs. Aemond’s hips relax, his body melting into the chair. Your body sinks into him, boneless and spent. You lay your head on his shoulder, resting your chin on his collarbone. His fingertips trail over the curve of your back. Your eyes feel heavy as you struggle to keep them open.

“I am sorry for what I’ve done,” he apologized.

“I know,” you reply weakly.

You can feel his warm breath against your ear. His scent, mixed with his sweat, fills your nose, bringing you comfort.

“Our sister has too much of our mother in her. I see that now.”

You frown but say nothing, letting him continue. His lips press against your ear. He nudges your face with his shoulder, making you pull away. He grasps your chin between his thumb and index fingers. Your eyes flicker between the sapphire and his violet iris. You lift a hand to trail your fingers along his sharp jaw.

“But you and I,” he says, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “We are two flames kindled from the same fire. We were always meant to burn as one.”

“Aemond,” you sigh.

“I am afraid,” he admits, rendering you speechless. “I cannot fight this war alone, sister.”

“You are not alone,” you argued. “You have Daeron.”

“Tsk,” he turns his head. “He is still young, as is his dragon.”

“Young or not, Tessarion is still a dragon.”

Aemond says nothing. His eye stared at the plain stone wall of his bedchamber. You watch him silently, trying to read him.

“Come with me,” he asked, turning his head back to you. 

“What?” You gasp.

“Mount your dragon and go with me to Harrenhal.”

“Mother would never allow it,” you shake your head.

“Our mother has made it clear that she does not hold our best interest at heart.”

“She means well,” you protested, trying to defend your mother, no matter how true his words seemed.

“If we do not fight, we will die. Rhaenyra may spare you and Helaena, but she will not be so merciful to the rest of us. She will have to take Aegon’s head, mine, and Daerons's as well. So long as our father has a living son, she will never be able to rule in peace.”

“You don’t know that-”

“I do,” he insisted. “Is that not what our mother has told us our entire lives?”

You blink, and memories of your childhood flood your mind. He was right. Over the years, your mother had repeatedly stressed the dangers that would follow should your sister ascend to the throne.

“Come with me,” he whispered.

Your eyes flickered from his trembling lips to his tear-filled eye. It was not an order but a plea. He was afraid and desperate for aid. You were afraid as well—you had been since Ser Criston placed that crown upon Aegon’s head. It has only been a few weeks, and already, your life has been turned completely upside down. 

You had no desire to fight this war. Many times, you have had to stop yourself from climbing on your dragon and leaving. But you could not abandon your family, just as you could not abandon Aemond now.

You nod your head. He smiled, a look of relief crossing his face. One of his hands finds yours, lacing your fingers together before bringing his lips to yours, giving you one last sweet and adoring kiss. Once he pulls away, you lay your head back down on his shoulder.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You mumble against his skin.

“Yes,” he lets out a breathy laugh. “You can sleep now.”

[writingwisterias]

Deserved

Death Island! Leon kennedy x AFAB!Fem! Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNi, Breeding Kink, Drinking, Depression, Alcoholism, Creampie, Teasing, Praise Kink, Mentions of body changes, Unprotected Sex, Missionary, Words: 3.4k It's finally here, one of the many breeding kink fics promised LMAO Taglist: @biohazard-4ever (Sorry it changed from damnation to DI)

Life was different now he had you, this angel saving grace that wormed its way into his hardened heart. He was never sure how you did it. How you actually made him excited to come home and see you. Or for him to allow himself to have a slither of happiness for once. Something that the government couldn’t rip him away from because no matter what happened it will always be there waiting for him. 

But he couldn’t do that could he? He couldn’t let the one thing that caused to be happy to feel the love he had for them. It was a curse he could never express the right thing. Instead, he had spent the last year allowing the words he wished he said come out in drunken slurs and sprinkled with arguments. He was ashamed at how he allowed the world to rot him, darkened his heart with walls he wasn’t sure neither him or you could break. 

The whiplash of him loving you to pushing you away was getting too much. Leon could see it in your face everytime you watched him stumble through the front door. It was getting too much for you and he wasn’t giving you the promises that he made so long ago. You tried, always tried. Gave him the space he needed as well as the love he craved when he came back like a wounded puppy. 

You knew deep down it wasn’t his fault, knowing that he didn’t force himself to turn out this way. The late night whispers of what he wanted the future to hold seemed to become far and few in between now spending most of the nights listening to his drunken snores. You would watch as his face released all the tension from his face as the alcohol allowed him that moment of peace. You knew he didn't want this future for the both of you, dreaming of giving you one in the form of little giggles with a living room that would always seem to be covered with childrens toys instead of beer bottles and takeaway. 

What kind a father would he be if he couldn’t break this cycle? The whirlpool of hatred he had formed instead of himself. That was until that one night. One where he balanced on the edge of life and death, memories of everything came back to him faster, your sweet smile as you kissed his scars whilst he moved above you. The nights he would press his palm into your lower stomach wondering what it would feel like to have something there whilst you slept. 

He had been a dick, such a dick it led him into this moment. Where death whispered in his ear as he stood up and forced himself to finish the fight not only for Chris and Rebecca but for you and all the innocent people who had lost their chance at happiness below him. That one night had changed everything, had built a new fire inside him to give up the drink. To will himself to give you everything he thought he couldn’t have just because you proved he can. 

It was comical that he faced death again a year later. The virus caused him to collapse against the cold bars as he struggled to fight it. However, Dylan's words struck him hard. Serving as reminder that will always be rooted deep within himself in a mental collection of how the governments fuck innocent people over. His body grew weaker as the man spoke every word, the cold bars being his only sense of relief. 

However, as the vaccine worked its way through his system, his body slowly repairing itself – he thought of you. At home, in the space you kept running for him through his rough patch. A place for him to come back to even when he felt like didn’t deserve it. 

The aches were still there; he felt them as he walked down the aeroplane steps, a reminder that he almost lost this chance. That you would have been met with two government soldiers instead of his arms at the airport. It made him sick, that he was so stupid to put this idea off for so long. You could have slipped away from him, out of his embrace and his life because of his actions. He didn’t deserve your kindness that you gave him in the past few years. It was only his chance to repay the favor. 

When he saw you the nerves settled in, his brain not quite figuring out if he was asking for you for a child or fighting another tyrant. His head raced with thoughts creating what seemed to be a never ending list of what if’s along with possible rejections that you could line up for him. Each would end up being a stab in the chest but He deserved it he supposed. It’s not like he had been the best partner in recent years. There was no reason for you to do this for him.

Your eyes light up at the sight of the slight spring in his step, rushing towards him as he opens his arms to greet you. The duffle bag landed on the floor with a loud thud. “Hi sweetheart” He whispered in the crook of your neck, his nose breathing in the scent of his home. You giggled at the small spin he gave you, his hand cupping your ass possessively. The fingers digging into the flesh not letting you forget his presence. “Hi” You whispered, pulling back enough to see the stubble that still coated his face, those plush lips curved into his infamous smirk. 

It had been a while since he had greeted you like this, guaranteed neither of you had thought the mission would have gone on as long as it did. The time apart allowed you to think about how much you missed him, the silence of the house unnerved you more than anything. One side of the bed is always cold. 

You almost left him, gave up on the man he was in favour of keeping the memories of what he used to be. Grieving someone that was still alive was hard, knowing that in their absence they were still suffering and chose to do it alone. His lips and the memory of his body becoming ghost touches as the time he grew apart increased. The idea of burdening you with his problems never stuck right with him, the horrors that haunted his mind didn’t need to haunt yours. 

“Finally home” He chuckled lightly as he placed you back on the ground. “Not just yet” You smiled. You knew what he meant, he has spent most of his time professing that his home was not in the walls you shared but in the slither of your heart you allowed him to remain. He followed you blindly, one hand holding the duffle bag and the other clutching on yours tightly as if he will lose you amongst the crowd. He didn’t care that people stared at the two of you as you passed them, weaving yourself through the other people greeting each other and slow walkers. Not when he was looking at you – the slight sway of your hips as you walked, the glance back to ensure he was still there. He would grin back at you, his eyes sparkling as the question swirling around his head like it was another drunken thought. 

“I want to have a baby with you” 

He spoke allowed as the sound of your car door closed. He cringed at the silence from you that followed, your actions paused in shock. There were better ways for him to ask, ones that weren’t so demanding but at this point he was too far gone in this dream he had created for himself that he refused to think of anything else. 

His admission lingered in the air creating a tension that lingered between acceptance and rejection. It was a lot to take in, to consider since it had only been a year since he returned from New York stumbling and weeping about change. Spewing out promises of sobriety that to his credit he has kept. You gave a quick glance at him, his eyes filled with new found hope and devotion. Something you haven’t seen in a long time. 

He was being serious. 

“Look I know we have had a rough year…and it probably seems too soon but…I can’t think of anything else” 

Leon wasn’t sure his rambles were doing anything in his favour, the words almost seemed like a desperate plea for you to forgive him. His brain soured as he spiraled into how pathetic he sounded, that he even had the balls to dare to ask you for more after you already gave him so much. 

“Okay, If you think you are ready” 

You watched as light brightened in his eyes, the crows feet making an appearance as his smile grew. It was on his terms you wanted this, the stress in his life would only amplify with the new additions. You needed him to be ready. “It’s a lot to take on Leon, a child. I need you to be sure” you implied, your hand landing on his knee drawing his eyes back to yours briefly. Leon nodded, the smile on his face only grew. “I know…I’ve already wasted so much time in life. I don’t want to waste anymore” He whispered. The words felt heavy as they left his lips, finally speaking the true worry that bubbled inside him as he faced death not once but twice in the span of a year. 

The thought whilst seeming impulsive was one that he longed for. The world always seemed like you had enough time but he was only 38 and so much had happened. Whenever it was just simply old age or death the window for having children was closing. “Then let’s not waste anymore time” you smiled at him, squeezing his knee once again forcing his eyes away from the road briefly. 

Your fingers teased his thighs as you looked at him slowly inching up the muscle until you cupped him. You smirked as you felt his cock harden beneath your touch. “It’s illegal to distract the driver, don’t you know?” He joked, a low breathy moan spilling from his lips. “Must have forgotten” 

Those damn eyes were the death of him. Looking up at him with so much innocence, the smirk however gave you away though. The one that you attempted to hide away behind the bite of your lower lip. He always read you so well, not missing the subtle clench of your thighs as your body was turned towards him. Trying to ease the ache that slowly built up, your walls clenching around nothing. Each small adjustment you made in your seat had the seam of your jeans rub against your puffy clit. 

The idea of finding a motel was growing tempting, the traffic only adding to the tension that suffocated the two of you. You could feel him twitch, his cock thickening under your fingers. Small grunts escaping his lips every time you ran your fingers up the zipper – tracing the outline of him. You deserved better than some random motel, better than the needy fuck he was going to give you when he got home. You deserved the candle light dinner, the pretty dress that would accentuate the curves that would soon change. 

He wanted to worship you, thank you for sticking by him and then giving him this opportunity. You had lost count of the amount of nights he had spent with his head buried in your thighs praising you but it was never enough not for Leon. Not even when he would be drinking the sweet taste that he scooped out with his tongue. His hips lazily grind against the mattress leaving a smudge of pre cum on the mattress. Leon would never admit it but he deserved this as much as you. The chance for him to finally claim something for himself. Implant and trust a slither of his happiness for you to nurture it – grow it as you already did. 

The drive felt too long, the satnav being the only sound in the car as he focused, or attempted to focus on the road. Your heads suffocated with the throbbing need in between your legs. You barely got the chance to take your shoes off when you made it home, his hand clutching your arm tightly as he dragged you throughout the house. Mentally counting each stair like it was a countdown. 

You kissed him first, the cherry chapstick that coated them melting on his lips. His fingers entwined with your hair, tugging you closer craving the feeling of you pressed against him. The kiss was hungry, sloppy – filled with the desperation of his actions, the desire to give you a part of himself. 

His shirt was the first to go, discarded somewhere in the room landing with a thump. His abs now washed with a light layer of fat he had yet to shed, his drinking days hadn’t fully left him just yet. You felt the muscles in his arms contract as he lifted you with ease carrying you towards the bed. Your shirt was next, the lacy bra that cupped your breasts displaying them perfectly for him. 

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, watching your reaction or any change of mind. You had made sure he was ready, he needed to hear the words leave your lips. You watched as his eyes softened slightly, his head lowering to nip at the skin across your chest. He knew he was asking a lot, the decision wasn’t one to make randomly. What he didn’t know was that you craved it and wished that everytime he buried himself deeper inside of you instead of yanking his cock out and spilling across your stomach. A waste every time. 

“I’m sure” 

There was no point sugar coating your answer. It was enough to make his cock throb again anyway. His hands are already working on your bra clasp to remove the offending fabric. “Your body will change” he stated as his lips sucked on the hardened peaks he exposed. Cupping the mounds of flesh and groping them lightly. His eyes remained on your, watching as yours fluttered shut each time his teeth grazed the sensitive bud. “I know it will” You whined, arching your chest towards him, feeding him more of your breast. Leon smirked against the skin, his breath warming the area. You groaned as he let go, moving along to give the other one the same attention. “I just know you will wear it well” 

His words throbbed through you, the ache becoming unbearable at this point. “Please– enough teasing” 

You watched as he pulled away, a line of saliva connecting your breast to his mouth. The sound of the belt was sharp as he undid it. The metal landing on the floor discarded. You watched as his cock pulled the waistline of his jeans away from his lower stomach, the slither of his boxers you could see was already darkened in color. His pupils were blown out wide as his hands ran down your sides, the touch was barely there until he reached your hips. “Leon-” You whined, hips bucking to draw some form of attention to them. 

The air in the room cooling the salvia he had left around your nipples. If only you knew what was going through his head, the thoughts that swirled around in there which caused his grip to tighten. Your pleads and begs only fueled his desire as his eyes flicked back up to you. He undid your trousers with ease, the offending garments discards somewhere in the room. His fingers moved slowly down from your hips to that bundle of nerves that stood puffy and twitching for his attention. Normally he would have caved, too tired and sore for anything else other than devouring you. 

Not tonight. Nothing was holding him back tonight; not the bruises that littered across his skin, the scraps that still looked sore to the touch. His weight was held up by the same arm that supported the giant weapon he held up with Chris, he didn’t care if it hurt. It was all worth it, to prove to you his devotion. His need for this new step in life. 

Leon flinched as your fingers touched the front of his jeans, he hadn’t realised he was staring at your body. Practically salivating over the changes he already pictured in his mind, the possessiveness of your imaginary swollen stomach sinking deep into his brain. He whimpered as your hand brushed against the wet patch in his boxers, the fabric almost see through from how hard his cock strained against it. 

Words failed the two of you as you settled into position, giddy smiles placed on your faces. His cock twitched against your entrance, your hips bucked to meet the slither of pleasure. He swallowed your moan as his cock entered you, stretching the insides of your walls easily. Leon moved slowly at first, his head buried deep in the crevice of your neck, sucking sweetly on the flesh as his hips began to assault you. Each thrust harder than the last as the primal need overtook him. 

You only held him, clawed your nails deep into his skin as he hit your cervix again and again. He moved his knee higher up underneath your leg, gently folding your body in itself as he continued to get deeper. His brain is only focusing on driving himself further into you. You drew his attention away from where he entered you back to your face. Capturing his lips into a passionate and messy kiss. 

Leon moaned into the kiss as your teeth tugged his bottom lip. Fuck, You looked like an angel underneath him. The warmth of the lamp shining against your smooth skin. Your breasts were bouncing with every sharp movement of his hips. “You are so beautiful” He whimpered against your skin. His lips muttering every word between a kiss along your collarbone. “I’m so lucky” 

He felt your walls squeeze him with every praise, small inhales of air causing your chest to arch against his own as your orgasm drew closer. His hand moved to your thigh, hitching it over his hip as he rose. Leon’s form towered over yours, his head thrown back revealing his stubble coated neck. The groans of his desire soon filled the air. You looked down towards where he hammered himself into you, his chiselled stomach clenching at each stroke of pleasure you gave him. You itched to touch him, to be arched closer in a way that you kiss along his chest. Instead your nails scratched along his forearms, your own stomach clenching as you lifted your hips higher. 

Leon was deep, deeper than he had ever hit before. His groans turned deep and guttural as he felt you explode over him. Your walls are sucking him further inside, trapping him from pulling out. Not that he wanted to anyway. He moved your legs to your chest, pushing you up higher as he pounded into you, his balls tightening ready to spurt himself inside of you. “I’m ready baby” 

Your words broke him out of his trance, his lust blown eyes watching yours as you smiled at him. “You deserve this” 

The words were so sweet considering the situation, his chest tightened as you muttered the praises. Ones he didn’t realise he needed to hear.

“I want everyone to know what you did to me tonight. I want everyone to see who deserves my heart” 

Each sentence caused his head to spin, his brain unable to focus on anything other than the twitch of his eager cock. The pulsing tip that continued to brush so deep inside of you. 

“Please” 

Your final beg snapped him, his hips bruising your own pelvis as he finally slammed into you. You felt the warmth spread inside you, the feeling welcomed. His face hovered over yours with his signature smirk. The room was silent other than the panting you both gave off. Your chests meet briefly with each rise and fall. You could feel his cock twitch from where it sat snugly inside you. His seed plugged inside by himself. “Someone needed that” you chuckled as you kissed him, his stubble scraping your cheeks. Leon only chuckled deeply, pushing his cock further inside to remind you of his presence. 

“Oh we aren’t done. Not by a long shot” 

[meownotgood]

steel kisses supernova. / machine herald!viktor x reader

A botched mission results in fixing the Machine Herald's mechanics, brushing your hands to wires, and indulging in the traces once left by emotion.  tags: 18+, reader is gender neutral + fem bodied, reader uses they/them pronouns, wireplay, inappropriate use of hextech, bonding through near death experiences, divine machinery, reader has a prosthetic arm, repairing the machine herald, fluff + angst, praise kink, sexual tension, fingering + clit stim, size difference, protecting you with their own body trope, yearning, good lord you guys need to stop yearning, mix of arcane + league lore, vik's anatomy isn't mentioned. (terms used for reader: cunt, clit, no mentions of chest anatomy, dear, sweetheart, spark, love, adorable) word count: 49.5k note: hey!! please keep in mind, this fic is unfortunately too long for tumblr due to the word count + tumblr's post block limit... so you'll be able to read the first part of the fic here! the full fic is available in its entirety on ao3. apologies for the inconvenience, and happy (late) year of fucking robots... read on ao3

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The deepest fissures in the depths of Zaun are usually, thankfully quiet. Perfect to hide something you'd expect not to be found. 

You breathe deep puffs of simulated air through your gas mask. Your ear presses to the cold steel door, sealing off the entrance to the Chem-Baron vault. There shouldn't be anyone present, not at this time. Enforcers know little of the darkest labyrinths of Zaun. It's too risky to even have guards stationed here. Predictably, you're met with total, resounding silence — save for the echoing beep and ping of Viktor's self-made sonar device. 

Lowering onto your knees, leaving yourself eye-level with the door's intricate set of five locks, you cast one more glance towards him. Viktor — the Machine Herald — completely towers over you, especially from this position. 

It makes the back of your neck prickle on impulse. The two of you hardly resemble partners. Creator and creation, more like. One another's opposite image. A bright purpose for sets of technical, controlled executions. A fragile, too-emotional human, and a composed, powerful machine. 

As though his complex steel form, an expression of the limits of his work and technology, was made to be admired. 

Some people do. They come to him when they need him; just as you once did, ages ago. They worship him like a deity. Perhaps you're starting to see why. 

Viktor hardly resembles the man you remember. And yet, there's a certain thrum to him. Mechanical beats and impulses. Familiar gear and hardware that delightfully push the boundaries of science. Vibrant, intricate, self-built components that demand your curiosity. 

The Machine Herald captivates you, just as strongly as Viktor once did. 

Viktor's mask voids him of expression. His orange, glowing eyes are the only light to illuminate the room. Still, there's urgency to the way he moves, stepping closer. His cape billows in the chamber's low draft, his iron boots clank when they hit the ground. His thumb flicks a thick button on the side of the sonar device. 

The third arm jutting out from his shoulders tremors, before it comes to life. It scans the door with a bright red sensor, then twitches, shuts off. The sonar reader chimes approvingly in response. 

Viktor gives you a nod. His gaze runs hot and intense, enough to burn right through you. 

"The Hextech crystals are here. The device is picking up several readings," He discerns, modulated voice rumbling evenly. "If we are fortunate, we might return all of them." 

You pull your gas mask from your face. It hangs loosely from your neck. The vault's thick, partially-filtered air hits your lungs hard. One deep breath in feels like you've filled your chest with half clouds, half sawdust. 

You're trying your best to focus, examining the locks with your eyes squinted, when a gentle, yet firm hand places onto your shoulder. 

"Do not rush," Viktor instructs. "We have time. This should be handled as quietly and discreetly as possible." 

Artificial heat bleeds from his touch. Sparks of warmth, like black holes and galaxies, expand and implode beneath your skin. There's a sense of loss, when he carefully pulls his hand away. Allowing the cold to seep back in. 

Your jaw clenches. Finally, you turn towards your metal arm. 

The edges are smooth and shiny, recently welded. It's second nature to test the flexing of your fingers, even though you can't feel them; the metal creaks, but holds, gears turning, rigid platings twisting. Intricate patterns, in deep shades of silver and amber, line the frame. Fused together with a powerful ray of heat. A clear sign of his handiwork. 

Recalling Viktor's instructions, you find a small notch on the underside. Press here, then pull this panel open. A thin lockpicking tool emerges from your palm, easily held between your steel-jointed fingers. Fit with its own handy flashlight. 

It helps illuminate your work as you start on the first lock. 

"How long do you think it'll take before they notice?" You're asking. Swearing to yourself, when the lockpick meets some resistance. 

Viktor fiddles with the sonar device. "They will eventually. The crystals are nothing more than a bargaining chip. In all probability, once they attempt to sell them back to Piltover- Well, they will be in for an unpleasant surprise." 

"We're making enemies of top and bottom side, then." 

Viktor answers, "As anticipated." 

It certainly wouldn't be the first time. This is all deathly familiar — working beside the Machine Herald, stealing tech to help those in Zaun. Though, this mission has been easy, in comparison. Perhaps a bit too easy. Your first tango with Zaun's upper echelon should've posed more of a challenge. All the crystals are right here, in an unguarded vault. No strings attached. 

Viktor's boot taps against the ground to an impatient rhythm. So, you aren't the only one on edge. 

You try to make conversation. "Thought about what you're gonna say to Miss Glasc?" 

Rummaging through a Chem-Baron's property is one thing, certainly a dance with danger. Messing with Renata Glasc would be like prancing underneath a guillotine. She's influential, cunning, her connections nearly as bountiful as the coin that lines her pockets — and she's Viktor's benefactor, most pressingly. An important supplier of sheet metal, hardware, and painkillers. 

"Glasc possesses no knowledge of this place. It is beyond her territory. Nevertheless, our alliance is not so easily relinquished, considering the rate of mutual benefit." 

You put on your best faux, overly fancy voice. "We're her most beloved pawns, after all." 

Viktor expels an amused huff in agreement. 

The first lock ticks. When you move on to the second, it pops open around your lockpick in one smooth, simple movement. 

You scoff, clicking your tongue, "As rich as these people are, you'd think they'd have a better security system." 

"Our work here is not yet complete," Viktor replies, firmly and mechanically. He closes the sonar device, and he kneels down to hand it off to you. With your hands full, you're reaching around awkwardly, breathing an annoyed huff as you stuff it back into your pocket. "We still need to wipe the security cameras, and dispose of the thermal detectors." 

"We?" The third lock clicks. "Pretty sure that's just my job." 

"It is." 

You throw him a quick, indignant glance. The fourth lock clicks open harshly, as you hastily jam your lockpick past the threshold. 

"Almost done," You're mumbling, mostly to yourself. 

"Excellent work," Viktor practically purrs, praise reverberating through his voice filter. "The new lockpick functions for you naturally, I see. We will be finished here soon." 

Your spine tingles, like there's a lightning storm underneath your skin. Your heart pounds. It threatens to throw your composure off-kilter. To be praised by the feared, indecipherable Machine Herald is a wonderful, thrilling, head-rushing thing. 

But you've stopped working on the last lock. The end of your lockpick taps the door idly, to no rhythm in particular. 

Viktor notices. 

"I thought I would provide you with some motivation. But here you are. Pouting, as expected." 

A steel palm glides up from the small of your back, leading to your shoulder as he stands upright. 

"First," Viktor explains, "I will obtain the crystals. Then, you will head to the security room, and I will stand guard in the event we are ambushed. We already discussed our plan. Have you forgotten?" 

Your eyes roll. He says it like a taunt — you should try to remember, because he doesn't plan on reminding you twice. Although, in truth, there's little force behind the words. There never is, not when it comes to you. 

"Actually, I remember being promised a reward in my future." You glance up at him, gaze playful, star-like. The lockpick twirls around your metal fingers. "Y'know, for all my hard work. I'm sure you haven't forgotten about that, right?" 

Viktor hardly falters. "Once we return to the lab, we can discuss." 

"Hm." You stare blankly at the last lock. Dramatically squinting your eyes, tapping your index to your chin. "I think my lockpick is broken." 

Viktor grumbles, "You are ridiculous." 

Your shoulders shrug. "Just clarifying our terms." 

It's rhythmic — the way you instantly return to your work, turning away to hide your shit-eating grin. Your partner falls silent, for long enough to let the tension build. Metal creaks and scrapes together when his fingers clench. Either way, you're going to get what you want. You're certain. The push and pull between you always ends in your favor. It has to, because there is one exception to his rule. One weakness, amongst his perfected layers of inhuman machinery. An unacknowledged line connecting you and the Machine Herald. 

If it were anyone else, if Viktor was made of less flesh and more machine, he might've attempted to circumvent this, to remove the aspects he deemed distractions, but you — 

Viktor sighs, hard enough to push steam out from the edges of his mask. 

"When we return, anything you desire from the lab is yours. Or I will add another modification onto your arm, if you prefer." His steel hand returns to your shoulder, this time giving you an authoritative squeeze. "Now, focus. First, the Hextech crystals. Then, the security system must be dismantled. Deciding will come later." 

Anything you want. 

The smirk on your face must make you look stupid, but you're having a difficult time holding it back. Continue to play your cards right, and one of those crystals might be yours. 

"Alright, V." A single turn of your lockpick clicks open the final lock. You rise to your feet, and the lockpicking module folds back into your arm with a simple button press. "I'll get it done, yeah?" 

Viktor approaches the door. You swiftly step aside. 

"Good." 

The vault is small. The metal door opens with a loud, grating creak. A flickering overhead light turns on automatically, revealing walls decorated by various rudimentary weapons, and tables littered with blueprints. Canisters of shimmer are stacked neatly in a corner. Unfinished machinery parts collect in piles on the floor. Resting atop a table in the far-right corner, graciously reflecting the light, you spot your target — a glass case, with a set of Hex Crystals suspended inside. 

You stride in. Viktor grabs his staff, still leant up against the wall, and he follows you into the vault. 

Your hands clasp together and rest behind your head. You glance around, examining the entirety of the room. A large blueprint is pinned to the wall; stolen, most likely, as it's signed with various Piltover clan symbols. It seems to detail a process to make similar crystals artificially. There's no cameras on the ceiling, or in any of the four corners. You lightly kick one of the piled-up automatons with your foot. The springs in its center make a dull popping noise. A clear sign that they're entirely broken. 

"Wish you'd be a little nicer, though," You're humming, musing idly. You kneel down, sifting through the pile of components on the ground. A chipped gear, a loose screw, a broken lever. Why would a Chem-Baron vault be filled with useless, rusty parts? "You said it's a psychological thing, right? When humans are influenced by their emotions. Positive reinforcement, I guess." 

Beep, beep, beep. 

You rise to your feet, and Viktor answers from behind you. Voice dangerously close to your ear. Low and stern enough to make you tense. "Don't move." 

Unfortunately, you're not listening. You spin around to face him, arms crossed in front of you. Your fingertips toy with a loose wire on the panelling of your forearm. Viktor is twice as imposing when he's close; he towers over you, with your head barely coming up to his metal chest. Glowing eyes meet yours, and although it's usually impossible to determine what he's thinking, you can instantly tell something is wrong. 

He glances to either side of the room. His fingers drum against his staff quickly, almost nervously. 

Both arms fall loose at your sides. "I'm teasing, Viktor-" 

"Do not speak," Viktor snaps, his tone controlled. He grabs your shoulder, hard enough to nearly make your weak legs stumble. "And don't move." 

Beep, beep, beep. 

Oh. Prevailing over the silence is an unmistakable noise, getting louder, getting faster — 

Fuck. You're freezing up, as still as a fancy Piltovan statue. Your hands start to shake, and now you're chipping, threatening to crumble. Sweat beads at your forehead and the back of your neck, trickling down like sharp ice shards. You're both screwed. 

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep. 

Valves fall open; a loud hissing sound cuts through the air like a blade, as the room quickly fills with billows of smoke and sharp gasoline. Burning your eyes, choking your lungs. 

Viktor's staff hits the ground with a clatter. He grabs you, pulls you into his chest before the fear in your mind has caught up with your body. Your breath catches, your vision blurs, your ears ring — and all at once, the vault crumbles into destruction, blown to bits in the wake of a deafeningly loud explosion. 

— 

"Hold still. Is there one single instruction that is not immediately lost on you?" 

"I'm trying, Vik. Geez." 

Viktor presses an old cloth to a long scrape on your forehead, fabric ripped and dirty with oil stains. The disinfectant stings your skin lightly. You try your best not to flinch away. Your stool creaks when you awkwardly shuffle back and forth, digging your nails into your leg, and Viktor's scrapes the concrete ground when he shifts closer. A cold metal hand tilts up your chin, holds you firmly in place. He brushes the rag over your jaw, next. Meticulous, as he cleans the faint scrapes left by glass fragments, and so, so gentle. Your heart twists inside your chest, grinds and sings like a music box wound up too quickly. 

You force your breathing to steady. Your eyes stare into where his would be. Soft and golden, honey-drenched suns. The light of his pupils burns when you look at them too long. The artificial glow behind his mask carries amber-hued traces of what you remember, but he's utterly unreadable. Would he be looking at you with annoyance? Disdain? Guilt? 

Another corner of the rag is brought to your neck, and you roll your sore shoulders back. Trying to find a distraction, your gaze trails to the table behind him. 

Stray parts are scattered about. There's scalpels, messy rolls of bandages. Tools are sorted into piles: various wrenches, different sizes of pliers. In tonight's chaos, a few screwdrivers have rolled onto the ground already. 

And at the edge of the table rests a small glass case. The lid cracked, the surface charred. Each Hex Crystal remains suspended inside. Completely, tauntingly unharmed. 

Emberflit Alley is quiet and secluded, especially once night has fallen. Viktor's lab hums to its own familiar, comforting rhythm. It allows you to finally breathe again. 

Experiments you've been working on together litter every flat surface. Breathing devices, prosthetic outlines. A prototype hand takes up its own corner of his desk, parts separated neatly. There's a makeshift bed by the door, surrounded with discarded cans, left by the stray cat you both have been feeding. A couch rests in the room's corner, cracked leather showing its age. Stacks of your clothing pile up on the arm, neatly folded. You're sure you'd last left them in a heap on the floor. 

The adjacent end table houses an ashtray, littered with your smokes. Coffee stains burned into the wood form halos around your chrome lighter. 

(Viktor made it ages ago, to replace the ones you kept losing. It never leaves your pocket. Your thumb likes to trace over the jagged, uneven edges, welded from scrap material. You flick the sparking gear until there's a flame. Molten and warm, reminiscent of his heat — over and over again.) 

Finally, Viktor leans back, satisfied. He turns in his stool, tossing the rag onto the table. He sifts through his tools for a moment, metal clanking together, before he turns back to you, wrench in hand. 

"Your arm." Viktor instructs simply, holding out his gloved hand; and you're quick to extend it for him, allowing him to grasp and examine the broken gaps between your forearm's metal platings. 

The memory of the evening's events flicker dimly through your mind. You both were lucky, all things considered. 

You fucked up, must've tripped something. The vault shook, a bomb went off, and everything was a blur from there. A mix of hazy sensations. Ears ringing. Head throbbing. Rubble pinning you into place. Thick fumes choking you, burning in your chest, making your eyes water. Suffocating the cramped vault and mixing with the heavy air of the fissures. Pressure assigns itself a stronger definition. Its force pushes between your ribs, as though it hopes to split them open. 

Viktor's greys and oranges took on a watercolor swirl in your teary vision. He pressed your gas mask to your face until you were breathing again. He helped you to your feet, carried you when you were starting to fade in and out — 

Right. Viktor shielded you. He purposefully pressed you beneath him with seconds to spare, to ensure most of the rubble would damage him, instead. 

His chassis was mostly unscathed; the advantages of steel, you suppose. 

Your arm is busted, undoing all of Viktor's recent enhancements. Your lungs still ache. Your body hurts. The sort of hurt that crests like a fully-encompassing wave, the form of hurt you can't name. Not a this is sore here, or a this is injured there. 

It hardly matters, in the grand scheme of things. 

If the explosion damaged the canisters and blew through the shimmer, if it reached the crystals and sparked a chain reaction, the decimation would have been unrecognizable, you're sure. 

A dangerous chill laces up your spine. It taps you on the shoulder, reminds you of the risks. Viktor adjusts the crooked lockpick-panel on your palm. He holds your hand in place when your fingers start to twitch. 

You're alright, though. Alive. The realization perplexes you. It makes your chest ache, the memory a tender blade, pressing deep. 

Viktor saved you. And for the faint, blurry moments in between, it felt warm, to be held in his arms. It felt safe. 

This feels safe, familiar — Viktor skillfully glides his gloved hand down your forearm, examining where the frame has buckled in on itself. Metal components have been warped by heat. The outer armor is digging into the steel skeleton, blocking several axles and hinges. 

He reaches behind him, exchanging his wrench for pliers. You're watching him think as his fingertip taps your arm rhythmically. You can practically hear the vibrations of his memorized voice, echoing through your mind. The skeleton is unaffected, but the outer shell has been decimated. Most functions are rendered inoperable. Additional augments can be repaired in time. For now, returning function to the joints is the primary objective. 

It is a simple adjustment. You are in good hands. As you always are. 

Viktor has no problem with wordlessness. But matters between the two of you rarely get this silent. 

He holds your arm in a tight, unmoving grip. Pliers in hand, he works on bending each plating back into place. 

It reminds you of the past, pleasant and persistent. Viktor's been working to improve your prosthetic since you met. When the line between you sealed into a knot. When tension brought you together, two ships on stormy seas, and you decided to turn your sails and bond over the shared struggles you had to overcome — your arm, Viktor's leg. Piltover was less of a grave, and more of a home, then. 

Weakness, experimentation, and danger followed Viktor as a second shadow. Ultimately, it only made sense to rush after him. No matter where he returned to, no matter what he was slated to become. 

Without Viktor, you might find yourself flexing your handmade fingers, staring at the piece of him you're doomed to carry with you. A reminder of the half to your whole. Like the connection between gears. Like what the hammer is to the nail. Bright light to a systematic solar panel, crisp air to weak lungs. A hacksaw to fragile flesh. Inseparable. 

Viktor finishes adjusting the armor on that very same arm, and he begins to reach for your shoulder. His glove brushes your skin. Gentle, but you swiftly realize it's meant to be a distraction, reassurance. Crooked screws dig into the separation between your shoulder and your arm; Viktor tightens them carefully, and you wince, tensing up. 

Low and soft, Viktor's words crunch through his partially-damaged voice filter. "Tell me if I am hurting you." 

"No, no," You're answering, shaking your head. "I'm fine. Just a little sore." 

You shut your eyes. Viktor tightens the last screw. Fuzzy stars blanket your eyelids once they flutter open. 

His Hexclaw reaches behind him, handing him another tool. Ever-so careful, he examines a dainty set of wires leading through your forearm. He pushes them aside, attempting to reach a line of broken pistons set into your wrist. 

Metal clinks against metal. The lab hums quietly, jars bubbling, vents thrumming. 

"I cannot believe you waltzed right in." 

Oh. Viktor shatters the silence — and your placidity, along with it. 

"We're gonna start with this now?" You're huffing; the steel tip of your boot taps the floor anxiously. 

Viktor stops. He tips his head up, glowing eyes with rings of circular, mechanical pupils glancing at you. Expectant, intimidating. 

Your entire body weakens when you sigh, jostling your arm, making him hold you tighter to keep you still. The firm grip he has on your forearm's frame screams annoyed. 

"How the hell was I supposed to know they had the place tripped?" You argue, "And weren't you supposed to detect it? With that device, like you did with the cameras?" 

"Thermal cameras give off a unique heat signature, which the device was tailored to analyze," Viktor explains evenly. The end of his multi-tool extends to reveal small tweezers, which he uses to delicately remove specs of rubble from the joints in your wrist. "The Hextech crystals, as well. The energy they radiate is relatively equivalent. Failing to detect the tripwire indicates a clear error of design. It will be adjusted for our next mission. Now, your wrist. Test how it functions." 

Viktor sits back, and you twist your wrist in either direction. The joints swivel smoothly, and the modified pistons hold firm when you clench your hand. 

"Perfect. This will suffice," He concludes, with the familiar air of pride he always regards for his creations. Grasping your forearm once more, he returns to working on its inner mechanisms. 

"We needed those crystals, Vik," You're continuing. Fiery gaze fixated on him, even though he's focused on his work. "Our current procedures aren't cutting it anymore, and you know that better than anyone. Hextech has the potential to save so many people. I'm not like you. I can't just… sit around and calculate every possible outcome before I make a move. We can never make progress without taking-" 

"Risks only serve as obstacles when they threaten permanent consequences. Progress is not linear. It comes to those who are patient enough to know when they should further it." 

Viktor compares a few different sized gears in his palm, eventually choosing the smallest one. It fits perfectly into the juncture of mechanics just below your wrist. 

He glances up at you once. Then, he calmly returns to adjusting your arm. "Impulsivity will get us nowhere." 

You groan, tossing your head back. 

"They tripped a vault. With explosives." You're gazing at the ceiling, focused on the large, Machine Herald shaped shadow Viktor casts as he works. "Why even store the crystals there if you're just going to blow them up the moment someone nabs them? It doesn't make sense." 

"This was not about the crystals. They are sending a message. The Chem-Barons will not hesitate to dispose of us, if we continue to cross them." 

The pieces click into place, in hindsight. Voices flit through your memory. Takeda's shimmer-drunk drawl as he leans back in his leather seat and counts his coin. Make sure you tell your tin-can he still owes me. Veraza's cold tone as she crushes a purple petal between her fingers, the thick air of her greenhouse planting roots inside your lungs. Careful, now. The other Chem-Barons believe you are pulling at your leash much too tightly. Do not let them break your neck. 

Ah, the crystals were bait. An expensive trade-off. And the vault simply housed the things they were trying to get rid of. Unauthorized weapons. Stolen shimmer. You, and the Machine Herald. 

Physical pieces slot where they're supposed to, as well, when Viktor finishes adjusting the chain of gears that line your steel skeleton. This was the easy part. He rolls his shoulders back in frustration, as he attempts to adjust some warped, particularly stubborn strips of framework. 

"But this discussion is about you," Viktor grits, as though the words are spoken between bared canines. "What in the world could you have possibly been thinking? Or were you failing to think at all?" 

Your eyes roll. "You know what? I don't even want to get into it." 

"We are not getting into anything. It is a simple conversation," Viktor swears under his breath. He pulls and pulls at the thin cylinder but the broken metal won't give. "And I believe you should contribute." 

"I think it's best if we don't talk about it. We're both stressed, and just-" 

"I disagree." 

"I'm fucking tired, Vik," You're huffing, free arm rubbing the sore nape of your neck in emphasis. "My whole body hurts. Sorry if I'm not thrilled to sit here and listen to you scold me, because somehow, this is all my fault." 

Viktor rebuttals, "You are missing the point." 

"Oh, I think I understand it perfectly." 

"I am merely asking you to consider your actions." Viktor pulls at the last broken strip hard. It snaps, and he tosses it onto the table behind him with an equal display of impatience. "From now on, precautions must be put into place. Especially in situations involving the Chem-Barons. And you must promise me, if we find ourselves in a comparable situation, for once, you will listen." 

"Fine." 

You're yanking your arm away the moment he finishes closing the platings. You examine it quickly, front and back, flexing your fingers. Some sections are still chipped, but it'll do. Clear, delicate care has been put into the intricate assembly of each division, each joint, to ensure movement is as comfortable and responsive as possible. Viktor's work is always articulate, but doubly so, when it comes to you. 

His adjustments have already taken considerable weight off your shoulder. Surges of warmth kindle faint flames in your chest — but you're sighing, arms crossing, brows pinching. 

"Next time, I'll stay here. Keep the place warm, since it's all I'm good at." 

"I did not-" Viktor weakens in the wake of a sigh, as if the air is shuddering through his makeshift lungs. "I apologize, I should not have made it seem as if I was blaming you-" 

"No," You interrupt. Teeth gritted. "I'm tired of feeling like all I do is get in your way." 

You know you're being unreasonable, but you hardly care. The words simply tumble out, like they've been toppled from the knots in your mind. You glance down. Your fingertips fiddle with a line of screws embedded into your forearm. 

Whatever rebuttal Viktor was planning dies as quickly as a blossom in a snowstorm. He drops forwards; his fingers lace, he rests his forehead against them. Tension buds in his body like you've never seen before. Finally, he runs a hand through his hair, and he sits up. 

His voice fizzles with heavy, husky, insuppressible static. 

"I could have lost you. That is what you do not understand." 

Your spine tingles. As though it's laced in gold. You can feel the pull of guilt and tenderness — like gravity, in your heart, in your chest, in your flesh. The words must flicker differently through a mostly mechanical system, if they mean anything to him at all. 

You stand slowly, kicking your stool away half-heartedly. 

He's grabbing your wrist before you can get far. Your real wrist. He holds you there, hesitant. (The changing of seasons rarely reaches the depths of Zaun; you're gradually beginning to forget what they're like.) But Gods, Viktor's steel touch feels the same as the heat of summer, artificial warmth resembling basking in sun rays, dipping your wrist into candle wax. And yet, at the same time, it reminds you of the frigid chill of winter. Cool metal reminiscent of the sharpness of ice. 

"Lay down," Viktor instructs, as though he plans to give you little choice in the matter. "It is late. You should rest." 

Perhaps you truly do have a problem with listening. 

Because even as Viktor is speaking, your gaze is travelling across him, eyes narrowing as they catch downwards. Your partner hates asking for assistance, but you're used to reciprocity — to completing something for him, in exchange for what he does for you. To further the cycle of fixing and repairing. Little losses and small victories, strung between the fate of you, and the Machine Herald. 

Viktor's hand slips from your wrist. He follows your line of sight, and there's a look in your gaze he's long since come to recognize. Pure persistence. 

Your palm reaches out to him, makes a grabbing motion. "Screwdriver." 

Viktor drums his steel fingers against his iron thigh, making metal rhythmically clink against metal. Your stubborn nature is a stake, driving into him intimately. Like it never really left. 

Leaning his elbow on the desk, he reaches behind him, to hand you the particular screwdriver he knows you'll need. Flat-tipped, handle weighty. A light smile paints satisfaction across your expression. He continues to keep his gaze on you as you're sliding down — your frame appears small, when compared to his, simply because you're only human; this state amplifies the difference between your mortal form, and his large, metal chassis. Eventually, you're settling on your knees in front of him. 

The column of his leg is busted. It's functional, sure, but a few of the plates were crushed under rubble, the brace-like mechanism has springs loose and cogs twisted. Everything might crack, under the strain of continued usage. 

For now, you can fix the platings. You've done it before. On his arms, a few times. On his back, once. You'll reinforce the gears and tighten the framework back into place, to keep it stable, until he has the time to make a full replacement. 

You decide to start with his ankle, and work your way up. You're lifting his heavy leg, exhaling a weary breath as you place it close to your lap. The end of your screwdriver finds the seam on the back of his calf, screws crooked and stripped. Your jaw grits. You forcibly push the steel back into place, tightening each screw as far as it'll go. 

(And you're aware this is stupidly reminiscent of a lifetime before, although Viktor is twice as metal, and half as human. Emotions and sentiment are among the many things he swore he discarded.) Yet, he's leaning back. Relaxing, almost. Giving in to you, to this. 

Unable to sit still for long, Viktor twists. He finds the two broken halves of his staff, resting them in his lap, pressing them together. The Hexclaw twitches, before its laser hums. He begins to expertly weld both halves together. 

After a while, you're breaking the silence. "Vik?" 

Viktor doesn't look up. He examines the end of his staff, fiddles with a few wires and jacks. It's still out of power, predictably. 

"Yes?" 

"Back then, when the bomb went off." Your fingers trail his knee, admiring the smooth, solid structure. "You tried to protect me. Why?" 

"I thought you did not want to talk about this." 

You breathe a slight tch. "Just answer me." 

You're glancing up at him, but Viktor is pointedly not looking at you. His Hexclaw curls behind him to set his staff on the table, and to grab another part. In tandem, he's reaching for his throat, pulling its front panel open. 

He tilts his head back. Thumbs through the wires and exposed circuitry to yank a small part free, so hastily it seems like it'd hurt. He shoves the new voice box inside, until it clicks into place. Viktor rolls his neck once the panel is shut. 

"The explosion was inclined to originate from the entrance, perhaps aiming to trap us inside," He explains, voice strikingly clear, this time. "As soon as it convened on the shimmer or the crystals, the entire room would be set ablaze. Fortunately, it did not. It was a poor plan. But, regardless of their failures, you are… not suited to withstand such conditions. The only option was to use my construction as a shield." 

Your chest splits with an arrow-shot ache, because you know he's fucking right. If Viktor wasn't there, or if the fire had spread just a little more; if you weren't standing so close to him, or if your gas mask had broken, or if anything had changed — 

You swallow hard enough to make your eardrums prickle, and you busy yourself with fixing the drilled-in brace, just above his knee. 

"I guess that makes sense." 

"And our mission was a success," Viktor reasons. "Was it not?" 

"We got the crystals. But-" Your grip tightens on the screwdriver's handle. You breathe a long sigh, heavy enough to make your lungs hurt. "I'm sorry. For snapping at you, for acting like an idiot, for everything. I should've known it was a setup. The stupid vault was filled with junk. And I was standing so close to those shimmer canisters, I could've-" 

Your head shakes; your breath does, too. "Nevermind." 

Viktor's gloved hand grasps his gauntlet, where the power source feeds energy into his palm. You swear you catch his fingers trembling just slightly, as he deftly pulls the panelwork apart. 

"My body will not take long to fix," He replies. Metal fingers clenching individually, while he prods deep into his own arm. "If that is your concern." 

Your palm glides up his thigh slowly, exploring every dip and notch in the shape. Firm steel curves under your fingers. Beckoningly smooth. "I know. I want to make this up to you, is all." 

A steel index finger drifts underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards, in his direction. 

It's momentary. Viktor takes his hand away to grasp his gauntlet again, snapping the panel on his wrist shut. The molten light on the back of his hand glows brightly, indicating a newfound charge of energy. 

"I need you to listen carefully." 

"Mmm," You hum. You're warm, pliable, electricity traveling from the base of your neck to the end of your spine, like gliding gentle touches over tender bruises — "I'm listening." 

"This was a minor setback, nothing more," Viktor continues. "Betrayal from the Chem-Barons was anticipated. Your safety is my only concern. On that subject, I believe I have made myself clear. There is no need to hold yourself responsible. You do not owe me anything." 

Right. Just your life. 

You take your time on the last screw in his upper leg. Rising to your feet, you toss the screwdriver onto the desk, causing it to roll all the way to the edge. You give him a swift once over. 

The back of your hand taps against his chest. "Something's broken in here. The platings are all misaligned." 

"Potentially." 

Viktor grasps your hand. Squeezing, first, before he pushes it away. Gods, you know it's artificial and intentionally practiced — Does a machine's best attempt at replication still count as intimacy? — but it makes your head spin, all the same. 

"I will handle it," He concludes, assured. Words thick and accented as they rumble through his filter. 

Your head shakes. "No, it's- this isn't some kind of obligation. I want to fix this for you." 

"Spark, you have done enough for me. You may rest, now." 

The next breath you draw in aches to say his name. 

So, you let it. 

"Viktor," You murmur, although a hard, determined edge is returning to your voice, one that doesn't intend to take no for an answer, "Let me help you." 

You can feel the vibrating thrum of machinery beneath your palm, with your hand pressed flat to his chest. You half-expect another argument to ensue. You're preparing for it, as you worry an impression into your bottom lip. Instead, Viktor shifts, sitting up fully. 

He reaches down. Thumbs pressing a set of latching mechanisms, one on each of his sides. The armor around his entire midsection begins to hiss approvingly, releasing small puffs of pressurized steam. 

"This," He starts, although he's already popping open the structure of his central system, "Would prove much more simple if I chose to complete it myself. But I will teach you. If you are willing." 

Your smile shows your canines. "Of course." 

The moment Viktor has his platings fully opened for you, armor swiveled to the side like doors on hinges, a thick blanket of smoke pours out, filling your lungs. You cough, batting it away. The sound of his machinery is so much louder: ticking gears, moving pistons, the hum of various pumps. Your eyes squint, and you place your hands on your knees, bending down to peer inside. 

It reminds you of the automatons you've worked on together. The blueprints he followed for his own structure must have been similar, at least. But this won't be like operating on a person, nor an automaton. The little fixings you've done for the people of Zaun, fusing organic with inorganic, pale in comparison to the complicated system before you. Viktor's system. 

Viktor's fingertips dance over the inner edges of his armor, pressing a few more latches into place. Locking functions, you're guessing. To keep the platings open. 

"At odds with your expectations?" He questions, noticing your hesitation. 

"Well, I suppose," You're answering, throat dry. "This wasn't what I was expecting, no." 

"Ah. I will take it from here, then." 

"No, just… give me a minute. Need to get my bearings." 

A lull takes over. Viktor leans back slowly, he rests his elbows on the desk behind him; hands clenching, as he resists the reflexive tick to busy them. You allow yourself to kneel, still propped up enough to put your gaze eye-level with his mechanics. 

It's… a lot. 

You couldn't even begin to describe every individual intricacy. Different mechanisms all work in tandem, pushing out steam, clicking gears into place, powering various motors; and there's hundreds of wires, leading every which way like veins. They connect through a diverse array of parts, but they all inevitably curl into one central space — like the crest of a wave, like a Fibonacci spiral, an unintentional golden ratio. Bridging into a singular unit, runes carved on its edges. A small crystal suspended within. 

You're reminded of Viktor's words from years prior, when his newfound form first perplexed you. When you steeled yourself and simply asked, because your gaze kept catching on the jarred organs surrounding his workspace, despite his declarations that he'd relinquished all of himself. Because you're watching him dig a scalpel into his forearm, skin dead and pallid like snow, obsidian-hued blood trickling into the gap between sizzling, split circuitry. 

It was practical, this way. To replace imperfect organs with a consistent, mechanical system. 

Actually, the configuration before you is anything but. 

The mechanics show signs of Viktor's own handiwork. Welded edges, carefully constructed synapses. Bundles of wires have been grouped together messily. Displaying a clear motive: to focus on making a functional system, not a pristine one. 

The central unit, housing the crystal, is surrounded by two large pipelines, interconnected by steel conduits. Their purpose is lost on you, but one is smaller, the pipe closest to the unit. Like the way one lung is smaller to give room for the heart. 

Some of the parts are recognizable, albeit a bit rudimentary; they're prototypes you remember improving upon ages ago. Viktor must have deemed them still functional. Or perhaps, he hasn't had the time to replace them. It humanizes him, in a strange, opposite way. Viktor is so busy with the rest of his endeavors — evolving his plans for the Undercity, assisting others, including you — he hasn't been able to rebuild himself. 

And there is something beautiful about it, about him. Something worth worshipping. Alluringly, divinely synthetic, self-made by his hands. Everything within him vibrates with electricity and life. Resembling a tangible, second soul. 

(You're starting to understand those who pray for their flesh to be replaced with mechanics. Those who worship their image of the Machine Herald, despite not knowing he was once a man, just like them. Because still, every time you see them, knelt in reverence before a statue or a stained-glass depiction of the Grey Lady, you can't help but think of Viktor, and yourself.) 

Your heart hammers wildly inside your chest, a perfect contrast to his steady, exposed system. Your breath echoes so sharply through the lab, you're sure with the proximity, he can hear it, too. 

Maybe it's the circumstance — this is Viktor, after all. You're giving yourself a headache, trying to figure out how you should work on your own partner, how to understand the Machine Herald's stupidly ornate insides. 

And it's exciting, interesting. You've never worked on anything so complex before. He's a puzzle you desperately want to learn to solve. 

But, more than anything, this feels personal. Intimate. It's a thrilling, entirely new way to admire him, yet you're finding it difficult to stay relaxed. You think of the Viktor you once knew. Of how it would feel to be shown the softness of his guts. To be asked to dig through his sinews and his lungs and his innards, instead of wires and mechanics and gadgetry. Palms brushing a body made of fragile bones and pallid skin, not metal. 

Fucking hell. You'd do it, either way. Without hesitation. 

"Okay," You breathe, attempting to place yourself back on course. You rub the overwhelming tension from your temple, allowing your tired eyes to close for a fleeting second. Then, you're pulling up your stool, sitting across from him to continue your examinations. 

Beneath his mask, Viktor's gaze stays magnetized to you. To the pinch in your brows, to your hands folded in your lap, moving with the bounce of your knee. 

The curious, ambitious, lost-in-thought side to you is always impossibly enthralling. 

"This is sort of familiar, actually," You reason, as though you're trying to convince yourself. "Kind of like Blitz, just… way, way more advanced." 

You focus on locating the parts you recognize, as opposed to the ones you don't. The center unit is definitely a main power source. The pumps and fans surrounding it are likely for cooling. It amazes you, honestly. Viktor must know all of this like the back of his hand. 

"I will explain the process to the best of my ability." Viktor replies. 

"I'm, uh- a little nervous, V. It's your body, and I just- I don't want to mess anything up. When's the last time someone poked around in here? Is there anything I definitely shouldn't touch?" 

Viktor clenches his hands idly. He leans back a bit further. "Comply with my instructions, for now. Once the major repairs are complete, and we have eliminated all present malfunctions, you will be free to tinker with each apparatus, as you see fit." 

"Okay. I can do that."

"As for your additional question, it has been quite a while since I have improved upon my own design. This would make you the only one I have… shown this to, for lack of a more acceptable term." 

"Oh." You shrink up, recoiling your hands before they can reach for him. Jaw set, as you bite down your own nerves. "Should I- are you sure this is okay, then?" 

"Yes." Viktor's head tilts slightly, analyzing. "Go on. I trust you." 

Your heart races at that. Running circles around itself, abiding by its own laws of chemistry to create unbridled, newfound energy in your chest. 

Without another moment of hesitation, you shift closer, and you stick your hands inside. 

Warmth radiates off of him, sparking from the countless movements of parts and mechanics. It warms your face, envelops your palms as if you've held them to a campfire. It's definitely too hot, all things considered. 

"Looks like there's a problem with temperature," You're commenting, although it's certainly obvious. You run your fingertip over a line of fan blades, set into the top of his chassis. You turn them yourself, and pick out a few tiny pieces of rubble. "Yeah, fans are all stuck." 

"The fans are an auxiliary measure," Viktor clarifies, tone smooth and systematic. "The central pump must not be pushing coolant. Check the thermoregulation cylinders. They lead into the manifold." 

"Vik." Your gaze flickers up. "Whatever you just said, it sounded like total mechanical gibberish." 

"Give me your hand." 

With his metal palm already extended, you lean forward, and you gently brush your warm fingers to his. 

Viktor guides you carefully, steel digits closed around yours; the entirety of your hand fits in his palm with ease, it's at least twice the size of your own. Your fingertips slip past wires and circuitry, to hover over an intricate array of cylindrical conduits. 

"Do they feel hot? The cylinders," Viktor clarifies. "Touch them carefully. Do not let them burn you." 

His grip on your hand loosens. You're wincing, as you hesitantly press your fingertips forwards — but the metal isn't hot. Far from it, in fact. 

"No, they're… lukewarm, maybe." 

"Hm." Viktor leans back once more, elbows propped on the desk behind him. "We will begin with the fans. This fix will be the least complex."  

"They connect to a main unit, right?" You're asking, even though you've already started moving on your own. The automatons you remember working on carry similar cooling systems. "If that goes out, they all do." 

"Correct." 

You follow a fan's wiring with your hands. It loops several times, before it plugs into a small metal box: sides caved in, surface smashed. 

"Ah. Found the problem." You tap the surface of the power supply with your nails. "It's busted." 

"Do not touch it yet," Viktor instructs. "Its processes may still be running, in which case, it could overheat. Remove each connector and extract the unit. I will add it to my list of obligations, I suppose." 

You quickly pull every wire from the fan power unit, and you reach over his shoulder to place it on the desk. Viktor leans his head back. A few valves in his chest expel large puffs of steam, somewhat akin to a sigh. 

"The main cylinders," He continues, "Do you remember where they are located?" 

"Mhmm." You find the cylinders with your fingertips. Metal smooth, cool to the touch. 

Viktor stretches, rolling his shoulders back, armor slightly clinking together. He tips his head down to study you. 

"Shift your hand to your right. You will find a main cooling manifold. Open it. Flip both notches paneled into the intake. Up, for precisely three seconds. Then, flip them down. It will overclock the thermocore, enabling a full reactivation." 

You nod slowly. Right, you've got all that. Open, flip, down, close. 

Your fingers brush along the cylinders until you find where they lead into. The manifold's panel opens easily — slowly, with all the delicacy of opening up a ribcage. Fingertips to the notches, you push them both up; like tending to a wound, like softly tracing scar tissue. With bated breath, you keep count in your head. One. Two. Three. Then, down. 

You click the front panel back into place, and the entire assembly begins to whir. 

"Now, they will resume function. The systems are… cooling down- very good, well done." Viktor affirms, tone ripe with relief. Within him, sets of valves and pistons gently heave. 

His praise makes you shiver. Selfishly, you want to hear more. The cylinders are starting up. They're still slightly cool, as you drag your fingers across them; but Viktor's warm voice has the opposite effect. Guiding heat to coil and ignite in your gut, like you've swallowed phosphorus and matchsticks. 

You remove your hands carefully, settling them in your lap, and you give Viktor time to catch his breath. 

The manifold shudders. Briefly overloaded by the extra draw of power, perhaps. Viktor's machinery works synchronically to reign it in; his shoulders tense, he reaches into his stomach and messes with a few components, flipping switches, thumbing regulators. He leans back, and the large central cylinders strongly push out smoky air, reminiscent of lungs. 

Strong is a good way to describe the Machine Herald's construction. Complicated, durable, and intentionally intimidating. There's power behind the grind of every mechanical process. Parts are entrailed together haphazardly, vitals cased in metal, strung between wires — clearly not meant to be toyed with, to be examined by someone who is foreign to them. 

And yet, here you are. 

Old, rusted mechanics take the place of scars. Tracing your fingertips along his steel skeleton might remind you of brushing them over a defined ribcage. Individual colored wires form auroras, purposefully tethered. Able to be memorized — like you once did for constellations on soft skin, dotted in freckles and moles. 

Oh, how you long to reach out and touch. 

(It wouldn't be the same — but how would it feel? Would some wires be cool, rough, while some are smooth, warm? Fit with their own small intricacies: frayed insides, different electric charges. You could be gentle with some, and rough, with others. His pressure points would buzz underneath your fingertips. Shudder like a body arching into warmth. Would Viktor stop you, or would he give in — a betrayal of what he was made for, to finally pull you closer?) 

Hands still in your lap, you fiddle with your thumbs. Viktor's chest reverberates. Every mechanic convenes into his center, feeding into pumps and wire splitters, like arteries. Powered by a small, perplexing device with suspended panels. The metal is carved in rune-work. Protecting a gemstone, illuminated in hues of faint, blue light. It strikes you as Hextech inspired, though clearly more machine than magic. 

"Viktor, this crystal," You're asking, "What is it?" 

"That," Viktor's gaze stays trained on you. "Would be what functions as my heart." 

Your eyes sparkle. "Can I-" 

"Yes," Viktor interrupts, disgruntled. He knows that look, and he doesn't intend on fighting it. "Inspect it if you must. The gemstone is not my only power supply. Simply one of many." 

As your curious fingers approach, reaching into his chest, the device appears to open without prompting — panels shifting, sides unfurling. Coaxing you in. 

Your fingertips meet the gemstone, gently admiring; the surface is smooth like a petal, like gliding a pen over paper. It pulses with rhythmic energy, akin to a heartbeat. Viktor shifts, he breathes a cross between a gentle sigh and a mechanical hiss. When the stone drops into your palm, it is solid, warm. Energy-rich and beautiful. It reminds you of an oyster's pearl. Cosmic shades of purple and blue shift within its shape. 

"Vik- Wow." You let go of a small, tensionless laugh in amazement — you're literally holding Viktor's heart in your hand; "This is incredible. You're incredible." 

Viktor tenses. Energy thrums from the crystal, sparking hard against your skin. You choke in a sharp, pained breath, and you take your hand away quickly, leaving the gemstone to return to suspension. 

Ah. Viktor's heart just shocked you. 

You're barely able to reconvene; his Hexclaw grabs your face, tilting you gently yet forcefully, guiding you to meet an expressionless mask and glowing, motionless eyes. 

"Enough," Viktor asserts. "I require your focus. The central systems have cooled. We may proceed." 

Then, his Hexclaw releases you, reaches behind him, and hands you a wrench. 

"I will pull the sternum platings open, beneath the oxygen valves. Reach inside, and secure the pistons that sit above the energy reservoir. Is this understandable?" 

Back to work already, it seems. "Yeah," You nod. "I've got it." 

It's a relatively simple fix. Viktor reaches deep into his circuitry, pushing wires aside to pull both platings apart; surely this would have been cumbersome, if he'd opted to do it alone. Both sections of his sternum need to be held open, or they'll try to snap shut. Your hands are much smaller than his, as well, so you have no trouble reaching into his structure, and swiftly re-tightening the pistons. 

Viktor closes the panels as you're reaching behind him to set the wrench on the desk. His Hexclaw twitches. His gauntlet and the generator fixed into his shoulder flicker with light, like a dying lightbulb, before energy surges within them, bright and molten. 

You glance up. "Good?" 

Viktor's body hums quietly, amidst his usual mechanical noise. 

"Perfect. You are an expert already, yes? The Death Ray is no longer fueled by reserve power." Viktor rolls his neck to the side, until it gives a satisfying, motorized pop. "Now, as we continue, you will need to use your hands." 

"Alright. I can do that." 

"Use your flesh hand," Viktor corrects. "And promise me you will be careful. I would prefer to keep each of your remaining fingers intact. Do not get them stuck." 

You form a faint, light-filled smile. "I promise." 

"To your left, there is a diode controller. Here." Viktor finds your hand, steel digits brushing over your knuckles, and he guides you, once more. "Tell me which lights are displayed on the module." 

Your hand presses to a small steel box, nestled into his chest. "There's a red light. I think that's the power, but… it looks like that's it." 

"The explosion jostled its position, as I suspected. Inlaid into the underside, there will be a set of wires." 

Sure enough, although several curving filaments obstruct the crooked controller, you can spot a few tangled wires, plugged in loosely. 

You gently push a few of his mechanics aside, trying to get a handle on what you're dealing with. "You're planning on doing a full cold boot, right? So pull them all out, wait for the controller to restart, and then plug them back in." 

What Viktor lacks in expression, he makes up for in vibrato, because you can practically hear the smile hidden within his voice. Equally calm and weaponized; as soft as a caress, and as powerful as a knife held to your throat. 

"Yes," He hums, mechanical filter thrumming around the thickly accented syllables. "Look at you. It is impressive- how efficiently you learn." 

You aren't trying to prove him wrong, but what's truly impressive is how easily he knocks the focus right out of you. You're grasping at what remains of it, as you stretch to guide your hand to the wires. With the controller pinning them between itself and his metal skeleton, it's a relatively tight fit. 

Breath in your throat, you manage to find the first wire — and you blindly tug. As it comes free, Viktor's chest tenses, gears grinding, valves sputtering. He grabs your forearm, holding you still. Shaky mechanical fingers attempting to establish control. 

"Gentle," Viktor instructs. His body hisses, expelling warm air that fans over your skin. "The wires- they direct essential currents of power. If you are not careful, you will overload the voltage." 

He releases you gradually, then leans back fully. 

"Sorry. I'll go slow." 

You grasp the next wire at the head. Instead of pulling, you shift it back and forth, over and over, until it eventually comes free. With each discharged wire, his mechanics grow hotter, louder. Warmth radiates over your palm as the controller chugs, giving off a faint, high-pitched noise. It reminds you of the whistles of trains in Piltover. 

"Better?" You murmur, heavy gaze drifting across him, hand already blindly grasping for the fourth wire. 

"Yes," Viktor coos, content. "Keep going." 

"Does this- am I hurting you?" 

"No, you are not." His tone grits at the edges, buzzing rigidly through his throat. "The controller is applying a simulated curve. It is… an excess of pressurized fuel. A maelstrom of diverging currents. It is impossible to summarize in sympathizable terms, as your body is very different from mine." 

The Machine Herald tends to select words purposefully. He calculates discussions and formulates terms like every negotiation is a game of chess — and yet, this description is remarkably familiar. 

In the early stages of your alliance, the two of you rarely got along. Every sentence between you spun a web of new arguments. Viktor was insistent when it came to his vision, and weakness wasn't welcome, not within his new mechanized heart. You were a distraction. An unexpected miscalculation. A maelstrom, as Viktor described it. 

For our mutual benefit, you should relinquish the memories you have of the man I once was. We are no longer partners. If you can suppress this needless bickering, we can continue as allies, perhaps. 

"I'm depriving you of energy." You trail your fingertip over the ridges in the final wire. "Your systems are working overtime, to try and adjust." 

Viktor's body relaxes — warm and reverberant and trusting. He affirms, "Precisely." 

The last wire comes free smoothly. You take a languid, intentionally-long breath, giving the controller time to refresh. The wires have fallen loose, they rest a little further down in his circuitry. Leaning far forward in your stool, you bundle all of them in your palm, to make sure you won't lose them. 

"They're out." You line up the first wire's plug with the controller's first socket. "Gonna plug them back in now." 

"Firmer, you can be firmer." Viktor never begs, but this, despite bordering on a command, is the closest to pleading you've seen him come to. "The central system is acclimated to the fluctuations in energy." 

Your cracked bottom lip briefly catches between your teeth. Bringing the wire right against its socket, you shove it back in — and Viktor tremors, visible electricity sparkling from his chest like shooting stars in a lightning storm. With the second wire, his head rolls back. When you press the third in, he breathes a low, barely-audible groan, and the sound drives into you like a saw, a chisel, a stake. 

(You're lost in color, in the orange glow of his gaze and the coppery-steel of his body, as they paint stupidly vivid pictures in your mind. Viktor reaching for you, holding onto you for leverage. Static blooming at your fingertips, innocent experiments turning into purposeful coaxings. Stalling until he pleads, overwhelming him with surge after surge of energy, electromagnetic impulses and solar sparks that have him hot and only half-functional.) 

You really need to focus. 

"Okay." As you push the last wire in, the module's lights begin to flash, blinking faintly in a bright hue of amber. "I'm done." 

"Reach your hand further inside," Viktor is already explaining, words rich, perplexingly breathy. "You must guide it around the gears, to the back of the module. Beside the sets of copper filaments, you will find a red wire." 

You tilt your head down to peer behind the controller. 

"Fuck." You breathe a slight tch. "It must've come loose. It's all the way back there, Vik." 

"You may need to come closer, then." 

For a moment, you chew on the inside of your cheek. Palm buried inside him — you should be the one in control, but Viktor relaxes; his head tips, and he gazes at you as though he's got you under a microscope. Perfectly, wholly deciphered. Your weakness is predictable, not simply because you are human, but because it is you. There's no surprise within him when you rise from your stool, only an addictive array of certainty. 

Viktor leans back a bit more, spreads his legs to allocate space. And you straddle his thigh, heels rested on the spidery base of the stool. 

The hard, uneven edges of his armor dig into the pliable flesh of your legs. One large thigh is easily enough to accommodate you, but you need to shift closer, to properly reach behind the controller. 

You're reaching in, in, feeling around for your target. An unsteady steel hand braces to your side; Viktor holds you in place. You sigh in frustration, your fingertips fumbling past cold filaments, trying to find the smooth, elusive wire. 

Gears gently press into your forearm. A small, rigid generator bumps your elbow. Your body curls, you reach further inside him. And you find it, just as you're close enough to rest your forehead against his. Metal to flesh. Cool against warm. Your eyes — bright and fascinating, like stars, he thinks — become lost in the artificial glow of his. 

Your breath fans over his steel mask. "Got it." 

"Good." Viktor's voice is low, intense, and fucking sultry. "Plug it in." 

hey, sorry for interrupting the fic! unfortunately, due to the long word count of the fic and tumblr's post block limit, it's impossible to fit the entire fic into one post... :( if you're enjoying the fic so far, you can continue reading on ao3!

thank you for understanding... <3

[dahlibae]

BABYGIRL.

(wanda maximoff x fem!reader)

summary – today was the worst day of your life. everything you’d built seemed to crumble in an instant, leaving you hollow and adrift. but then there was wanda—beautiful, kind, and impossibly understanding. she didn’t ask for explanations or offer empty reassurances… just did what she did best as your girlfriend and also your mommy.

warning(s) – oneshot: hurt/comfort, mdlg, comfort nursing, nipple suckling, mommy wanda, reader needs all the hugs. (18+)

notes – hii, everyone. this is my first request ever and i’ve decided to make this a part of my unofficial mommy wanda series. i also think this is one of my fave pieces so far. thank you for reading! <3

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You stepped into the living room, exhaustion pressing down on you like a heavy weight. The soft hum of the house greeted you, but it felt quieter than usual. Normally, Wanda would be curled up on the couch, a cozy blanket draped over her lap and a book resting in her hands, waiting for you to come home. If not there, you'd always find her in the bedroom, lost in her novel but never too lost to look up and smile when you arrived.

Tonight, the couch was empty, so you trudged up the stairs, the day’s stress clinging to you like the dampness of your clothes. As you pushed open the bedroom door, the warm glow of a bedside lamp welcomed you. There was your girlfriend sat propped against the headboard, her book resting in her lap, and her eyes lifted to meet yours as soon as you stepped in.

“Hey, sweetheart.” She greeted, her voice soft as she set the book down. Her brow furrowed slightly as she studied your rugged state. “You look like you’ve had a hard day.”

You hesitated for a moment before shuffling toward her. She reached for you, her thumb tracing soothing circles over your knuckles, and tugged lightly, urging you to sit beside her, but instead of settling into her comforting presence, you slipped out of her hold. Without a word, you crossed the room to the wardrobe. The soft rustling of fabric filled the space as you stripped off your damp work clothes, their cold weight falling to the floor, not caring about your nakedness in front of the older woman. You reached for a familiar oversized top, one that belonged to Wanda—and still carried her subtle scent you noticed—as you brought it forward, inhaling deeply.

“What’s wrong?” She asked quietly.

You shook your head, chewing on your bottom lip as you searched for the words, refusing to look back at her. “Just everything.” You finally murmured, voice trembling, as you slipped the top over you. “Work, life—everything went wrong today.” The weight of the admission pressed down on you, and a sharp sting of embarrassment followed as you felt tears welling up, threatening to spill.

Today had been, without question, one of the worst days of your life. Nothing had gone right. Work had been a disaster—projects falling apart, deadlines missed, and criticism piling up. The disappointed look on your boss’s face wouldn’t leave your mind. Then, as if the universe wasn’t satisfied with your despair, a sudden downpour caught you unprepared. Soaked to the skin, you trudged home only to realise your headphones Wanda had gifted you were ruined beyond repair, forcing an expense you couldn’t afford. Each moment felt like another cruel twist of fate, leaving you drained, defeated, and wondering how much more you could take.

Wanda noticed your anguish, tears falling even if they were hidden behind your hands, and moved over to you. She cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear you had missed. “Oh, my love.” Her tone full of compassion. “Come with me.” She urged softly, pulling you towards the bed and into her lap.

And you couldn’t hold it back anymore—the weight of it all was too much. The disappointment in yourself, the crushing realisation that normal life felt like an insurmountable mountain, left you trembling. A choked sob escaped your lips, then another, breaking free like cracks in a dam. She wrapped her arms around you, her embrace firm yet tender, grounding you as you leaned fully into her.

After a moment, when your tears had finally stopped, you felt her hands under your shirt shift, gliding tenderly from your back to trace slow, soothing circles along your pelvis, up passed your breasts, and to your collarbone. Her touch was deliberate, grounding, yet charged with an unspoken intimacy.

“Baby,” she murmured softly, her voice a velvet caress that pulled your attention, “do you need Mommy to make you feel all better?”

Normally, words like these from her would ignite a fire, turning the world into a hazy blur where nothing else mattered. She had a way of consuming you entirely, of making you forget everything—even your own name and especially what had you so overwhelmed. Sex with Wanda always helped. But tonight, the pressure of the day lingered, sitting heavy on your chest, and even her gentle allure felt like too much. You turned your face slightly, unable to meet her gaze, the vulnerability too raw to confront.

“Not… not like that.” You mumbled, voice barely above a whisper, laced with a mix of exhaustion and nervous hesitation.

Her hands immediately retracted from underneath, but climbed back up to cup your face. She wanted you to look at her as you spoke, but she knew how nervous you were right now. It was clear that whatever you wanted was new territory for you both. And so, her thumb stilled on your cheek as she studied you closely. “Okay. Tell me what you need, sweet girl.”

Your throat tightened as the words clawed at the back of your mind, desperate to be spoken yet caught in the tangle of your hesitation. The thought had crossed your mind—a quiet, intimate need, something grounding and nurturing—but it felt too vulnerable, too strange to voice aloud. “I…” You started, the single syllable trembling before it broke apart. You lowered your eyes, shaking your head as your unspoken longing clung to your lips. Silence stretched between you, but her eyes never wavered from you.

Patience was one of Wanda’s greatest virtues.

“I don’t know how to say it.” You admitted in a whisper, the confession spilling from your lips like a fragile thread of truth.

“Just try, darling?” Wanda prompted, her voice a soft coaxing.

“But it’s… weird.” You replied, still avoiding her eyes.

She shifted closer, wrapping her free arm around your waist. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right? There’s no judgment here.”

You took a shaky breath. “I can’t, Wands. You’ll think I’m weird.”

Her lips pressed gently to your forehead. “Never.” She said firmly. “Not my baby girl.”

Deep down, you knew this was what you needed.

No other comfort would work.

The warmth of her words gave you the courage to continue, though your voice came out in a rush, barely above a whisper, “I… I was wondering if I could kind of play with your boobs… just for comfort.”

Wanda’s lips quirked in a small, understanding smile. “You already do that, baby.” She replied softly, though there was a curious tilt to her voice, almost like a question. Still, what she said was true. After sex, your aftercare often included her gently cleaning you up, then holding you close while you suckled at her breasts, finding solace in her warmth until you fell asleep.

“I know.” You murmured, your gaze dropping shyly towards her chest. “But it’s different this time, isn’t it? I don’t want sex. Just… that.”

The silence that followed made your stomach twist. Panic surged as you began to pull away, regret pouring out of you in a rush. “Actually, forget it. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t—”

“Hey.” She interrupted softly, her voice warm and steady, hands tightening gently on your shoulders, grounding you before you could spiral further. Her emerald eyes locked onto yours, brimming with nothing but love and reassurance. “It’s not stupid. And I don’t think it’s weird.”

“You don’t?” Your voice cracked, still unsure.

She shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she brushed a curl from your face. Her touch was tender, her tone even gentler. “No, sweetheart. I think it’s brave of you to ask for what you need.”

She cupped your chin, bringing your gaze to hers for the first time this evening. “And for you to tell me when you don’t want to have sex.” Her words melted some of your fear, but it was the warmth in her eyes that truly soothed the ache of doubt in your chest. “Plus, I like when you suckle on me.”

You blushed deeply at her words, and found her leaning forward to press light kisses all over your flushed face.

“You’re so cute.” She added with a playful lilt, finishing with one lingering kiss to your lips.

Still shy about the entire thing, you let her guide you backwards, making enough space for her to pull off her long sleeved top, before cradling you against her.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed about this.” She said, her fingers threading through your curls. “This is just for you, to help you feel safe.”

You rested your head against her shoulder, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but the moment her warmth surrounded you, all your tension began to fade. And you started at the crook of her neck, where her perfume lingered most intensely—a heady mix that would always soothe you. Your lips brushed the delicate curve of her collarbones, pausing to press soft kisses there, the contrast of firmness and tenderness grounding you in the moment. Slowly, you traced lower, finding the pliant skin of her chest, your lips and tongue gliding over her silken flesh in reverent exploration. You hesitated, vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to without the usual lead-up of passion to mask the intimacy. Still, you gave in to instinct, brushing your mouth over her heavy breast before gently taking a nipple into your mouth. The familiar act carried a different weight now, quiet and raw, leaving you feeling exposed but safe in her presence.

She carefully adjusted your position, guiding you to lie on your side as she leaned over you. The shift instantly eased the tension in your back, a welcome relief after being curled up in her lap for so long. She hummed quietly, fingers moving from your hair to your face, stroking your cheeks affectionately.

“Such a good girl.” She whispered, her voice low and soothing. The phrase, usually electric with desire, took on a softer, more tender note this time. Instead of igniting heat, it coaxed you further into your headspace, filling you with a profound sense of safety, as the worries of today floated away. And she held you as if nothing else in the world mattered, her hands continuing their gentle exploration, tracing over your jaw, brushing against your temple, and finally tucking stray curls behind your ears. “Let me see that pretty face.” She’d say, and each touch was intentional, a silent reassurance that she was there, grounding you in the moment. You felt her other hand drift down your back in slow, deliberate strokes, the rhythm lulling you further into her embrace.

“You’re so precious to me.” She murmured, her words wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Her thumb grazed the edge of your lips, pausing for a moment as though memorizing the softness there before her hand slipped back into your hair, cradling you closer to her chest, your nose flush against her.

You let yourself relax completely, melting into her as your lips lingered softly over her skin, not in hunger or lust but in need. A quiet, intimate need for comfort outside the bounds of what you knew. She seemed to sense it, tilting her head to rest her chin against the top of yours. Her breathing was slow, syncing with yours as the last remnants of tension ebbed away. The steady beat of her heart thrummed beneath your ear like a soothing melody, anchoring you to her.

“Thank you, mama.” You managed to say, exhaustion seeping into your bones, as sleep threatened to wash over you.

“Go to sleep, sweet girl.” Wanda replied, her delicate fingers against your skin also coaxing you into a deep sleep.

And when she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper, it was as if the universe itself paused to listen.“You deserve to feel loved and cared for.” She said, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “And I’ll always be here to show you that.”

Her words hung in the air, wrapping around you like a shield against the world, finally carrying you into the peace of sleep, where you were cradled by the unshakable certainty of her love and comfort.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

[snowyslytherinowl]

A Love Paid in Galleons - Part 1

PAIRING: Severus Snape x Reader

SUMMARY: Knowing that no one would ever want him, Severus hires a prostitute to help him lose his virginity. But what he doesn't anticipate is that he'll give his heart to her as well.

Part 2 here

I hate to say this but if we’re speaking canonically, I believe that Snape either died a virgin or lost his virginity to a prostitute. I wanted to write something on the latter topic with some cuteness.  This also has been interesting for me to write since I haven’t written smut in a long time and never really wrote smut like this. I hope y’all still enjoy this though!

18+ DUE TO SEXUAL CONTENT; MINORS DNI!

Severus wouldn’t dare to do this at Hogwarts. For one thing, inviting someone like this within the castle walls would surely be strictly forbidden. But most importantly, he wouldn’t be able to bear the embarrassment if knowledge of his actions circulated the school. His head pounded at the thought of the incessant teasing by the students, or even worse, by Minerva and Dumbledore. 

Earlier that day, he covered his head with a black hood and ventured into Knockturn Alley. The only place of its kind could be found at the very end of the alley, tucked away in a corner lit only by a flickering lantern. Severus handed his galleons to the madam, paying extra to reserve a pretty one for the entire night. His blood ran cold as he gave her his address and a fake name, not processing that he was actually going through with this. But he felt that it was only right to reserve the prostitute for the entire night; at least after she had sex with a disgusting man like him, she could leave and be free from company for the rest of the night. 

Even now, hidden away in the privacy of his home at Spinner's End, he doesn’t know what to do now that he has dared. He showers and roughly scrubs his hair, ridding it of all its grease. He tidies up the sitting room, repairs all the cracks in the walls, cleans his dirty dishes, puts every dish in the cupboard, and removes the nightmare-inducing jars from his study. He decides that they would do it inside his study, rather than his bedroom. He’s embarrassed by the holes in the sheets and the mismatching pillowcase and comforter. Even then, he doesn’t want to be reminded of the upcoming encounter every night and subsequently wrap his arms around his body, attempting to ease the feelings of loneliness.

The clock rings, signifying a new hour. It’s ten o’clock; she should be here any second now. And then there’s a knock on his front door. Severus jumps in his seat and slowly makes his way to the door, his hands shaking and his heart pounding. 

The woman on the other side of the door takes his breath away. He doesn’t think he’s seen a woman as beautiful as you. Smooth skin, luscious hair, full lips painted a deep red. Even your eyes are bright and welcoming as you smile at Severus. His heart pounds even faster as his eyes rake over the short green dress tightly hugging your body. “Hi,” you greet in a sweet voice.

“Hello,” Severus says quietly. He stares at you as though he’s stupified, completely mesmerized by your beauty. How could he ever rip his eyes away from a woman like this?

You blush and bite your lower lip. “May I come in?” you ask shyly.

“Oh. Yes,” Severus mutters, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He steps aside and allows you to enter. You walk to the middle of the sitting room and look around. He fidgets with his fingers at the thought that you might be judging the simplicity of his house. 

But it doesn’t seem like those kinds of thoughts are on your mind. You spin around and look at him with the most alluring gaze a woman has ever looked at him with. His breath catches in his throat and he stands frozen once more. You inch closer to him, that sweet smile still playing on your lips, until you stand directly in front of him. “What would you like me to do, sir?” you ask in a low voice. 

“I… er… I…” Severus’s heart beats so fast that he can’t breathe, let alone speak. His face becomes even more red. He’s so embarrassed that he can’t form a single coherent sentence. He gulps as you continue to look up at him, awaiting his response. “Er… anything you wish to do. And you do not need to call me sir.”

You laugh the sweetest laugh he’s ever heard. A laugh more powerful than a siren’s call, a laugh that could make any man weak in the knees. You bat your eyelashes at him and say, “How about we get out of the sitting room so I can show you what I have in mind?” 

You take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it. Severus fights the urge to run his thumb over your smaller hand, a perfect match nestled within his grasp. He leads you up the stairs on shaky legs and pushes open the door on the right. 

Like the sitting room, the study is unassuming. Shelves full of books filed in alphabetical order line the wall on the right. On the left, there are cabinets holding jars of potion ingredients. There are no framed photos or personal effects. He flips the light switch on, the dingy overhead light beginning to glow. But since the light flickers unreliably, he chooses to light the candles on his desk instead. Perhaps it’ll even give this situation a romantic feel, even if there is no romance involved. 

You walk to the bookshelves and run a finger over several of the titles. Your eyes light with genuine curiosity as you inspect his room. No one has ever been interested in anything he owns. “What do you work as?” 

“Oh…. er… I… I do…” Severus stammers again, still hesitant to tell you for fear of exposure. He awkwardly stands at the doorframe, hoping you’ll catch on.

You seem to sense his discomfort and smile reassuringly at him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly. 

You stand directly in front of him once again and take his hand. You place your intertwined hands on his chest and stare up at him. “Do you want me to show you what I have planned?” you ask in a low voice. The combination of you smiling at him, looking up at him like you actually want him, and speaking in a sultry voice is too much for him. His eyes dip down to your lips but quickly looks away before he can give in to the urge to kiss you. 

“Er… that would… er…” he mutters. You brush a strand of his hair behind his ear with your free hand, sending his heart into a tizzy. 

“Are you nervous?” you ask. Severus nods very slightly in response, so you follow with, “Will this be your first time?”

Ashamed, Severus’s eyes sink to the ground and he remains silent. The reason why he solicited a prostitute is because he wants to lose his virginity. Is it so wrong for him to yearn for the touch of a woman, want to feel wanted, even if that want is all a superficial act? He knows no woman would ever want to sleep with him. No woman has ever looked at him, approached him, or complimented him. If anything, they would be repulsed by him. With his greasy hair and sallow skin, he can’t blame them. And what would you say if he told you that he, a man in his thirties, was a virgin? He knows you’ll think that he’s a pathetic, lonely slug because that is exactly what he is. 

With your pointer finger, you tilt his head so he’s looking into your eyes. You smile at him and reassure, “Hey, there’s nothing to be ashamed of if it is. I’ve never been anyone’s first, but I promise to make this special for you.”

He frowns and his hands start to shake. Blinking rapidly, he tries his best to hold back the tears that are threatening to form in his eyes. “Why are you so kind to me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The only possible answer is that you’re paid to be here. Otherwise, you would have screamed and apparated away the second he opened his front door. 

“Why do you think that?” With a gentle touch, you caress his cheek to relax him. Severus sighs again, still not able to understand or accept your kind touch. “I think you’re very handsome,” you say in a tone that sounds genuine. 

Butterflies flutter in his stomach. No woman has told him that before. Or maybe you’re just saying that to be kind? “You really think so?”

“Of course. If anything, I’m surprised that no woman has snatched you up yet,” you say with another one of your beautiful laughs. 

He can’t stop his lips from pulling upward into a smile. Now all he can think about is kissing your soft, plush lips. 

“May I… may I kiss you?” he mutters, his cheeks reddening.  

“Yes,” you say and get on your tippy-toes. Severus bends his head down and tenderly presses his lips against yours. 

The moment his lips touch yours, shockwaves run throughout his entire body and his head spins. All thoughts drift into oblivion. All he can think about are your kind words, your gentle touch, your ethereal beauty, your enchanting smell, you. He wants to stay here in this exact position, kissing you forever. 

He lets go of your hand and then wraps it around your back, pressing his chest against yours. When you moan into his lips, Severus cups your face with his other hand. He kisses you deeper and rougher, as though he’s a dying man and your kisses are the only things that can save him. 

Severus is hurt when you pull away until he notices that your cheeks are now a deep crimson. He begins to panic at the thought that he hurt you by not restraining himself well enough. But then you take in a deep breath and laugh. “Sorry, I had to take a breather.”

He stares at his feet like a schoolboy caught doing something he shouldn’t have, yet this embarrassment feels amazing. “No, I apologize that I got carried away,” he mutters. 

You smirk at him. “No, no. Silas, I think you deserve a reward for how excellent of a kisser you are,” you say seductively. 

A shiver ran through his body at your words. As you inch closer to the desk chair, Severus stops you. He feels wrong continuing this night with you without telling you his real name. He’s willing to throw caution to the wind with you; he has a feeling you’d keep his identity a secret. “Actually, my real name is Severus.”

“Ok then, Severus. How about you sit down?” You grab his hand and then gently push him. He flops onto the desk chair and stares up at you with wide eyes. 

You lean down and press wet kisses on his cheek. You unbutton the top part of his coat and continue your trail of kisses down his neck. Severus freezes as he feels blood rush to the lower parts of his body. He doesn’t want you to notice the growing bulge in his pants, and neither does he know where to put his hands. He sits stiffly on the desk chair, his fingers tightly gripping the armrest. 

Instead of continuing to unbutton his coat, your hands trail down to his trousers. His breath catches in his throat as you drop to your knees and unbuckle his belt. With swift fingers, you undo his belt, and then his button trousers, and then pull the trousers down to his knees. 

Severus jumps in his seat when you run a hand over his clothed cock. If he had any intentions to hide his bulge earlier, well, his secret is out now. He takes a deep breath and stares down at you with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. With the mischievous expression you’re looking up at him with and the way you’re slowly palming his clothed cock, Severus thinks he might pass out. 

Severus holds back a moan when you apply more pressure with your palm, and you smirk as you notice how tense he is. You slowly shimmy down his boxers and reveal his large, hard cock. Severus stares at the ceiling, too embarrassed to look you in the eye. How pathetic he must be to get this hard at only a few touches. 

“Severus, look at me.” Your voice is gentle, but the firmness of your command is there. Severus forces his eyes to move from the ceiling to you. 

Below him is an absolute sight to behold. His hard, thick cock is leaking precum from the tip. Embarrassment burns through him, but he can’t stop staring at how you’re looking at him. Your hands rest on the chair cushion, just touching his thighs. And Merlin, you’re staring at his cock like you want to devour it. 

“Do you want me to touch you, handsome?” you purr. Your hands slither onto his thighs and massage his skin there. He nods a little too eagerly and you chuckle. 

“Where do you want me to touch you?” You run your hands up his body and rest on the bottom of his torso. “Here?” He only whimpers in response and moves his legs, trying to shift your hands where he needs them most. You smirk and click your tongue in disapproval. 

“Is here better?” You shift your hands to his hips, your fingers ghosting around his cock. He whines pathetically and looks down at you, silently begging you to just touch him already. 

“Use your words, Severus,” you gently command. As an extra tease, you skim one finger down the length of his cock. 

“My cock, please,” he begs you. If anything, he would spend the rest of his life begging him to touch you. Even if you got up and left, this would still be the best moment of his life. 

You finally wrap your hands around his cock and swipe a thumb over his slit, smearing precum up and down his cock. Severus lets out a needy mewl as you pump your fist up and down his manhood, his apprehension at making noises melting away. Every so often, he’d touch himself in the shower and eventually bring himself to orgasm, his feelings of shame washing away any feelings of pleasure. But masturbating never prepared him for this. Your expert touch feels better than any form of self-induced pleasure. 

Severus gasps loudly when he feels you peppering kisses down the length of his cock. You go even further downward and massage his balls with your tongue. When he was a teenager, his dormmates told stories of their sexual encounters right in front of him, knowing he would never have a need for their knowledge. He rarely listened to them either; the feelings of loneliness that arose would be too painful. During the few times he listened, he remembers how his dormmates raved about how amazing blowjobs felt. Merlin almighty were they right, and you had only just begun. 

Locking eyes with him, you lick his tip and then wrap your lips fully around his shaft. Severus enters a state of euphoria as you simultaneously wrap your fist around the base of his cock and rotate your hand around him. After several moments, you pull your hands back so you can take more of him into your mouth. Severus groans and unintentionally juts his hips up at the intense sensation, but then his mind floods with shame as he hears you gag. “Sorry. I am so, so sorry,” he apologizes profusely. He stiffens in his seat and watches your every move, afraid that he might have hurt you. 

You don’t say anything, instead subtly nodding your head and lightly holding down his hips. You slowly take more and more of him in your mouth, alternating between soft and firm pressure. He’s finally reassured when you moan around his cock. He allows himself to relax and his eyes flutter closed, indulging in the immense pleasure you’re providing him. The warmth and wetness of your mouth are beyond anything his imagination could’ve conjured. 

Severus grips the armrests so tightly now that his knuckles are white. He keeps his hands there partially because he’s too afraid to grasp your hair and potentially hurt you again, but mainly because he’d holding on for dear life. His hips shake violently and he can’t stop groaning. He can feel his cock pulsating, ready for sweet release, but he has to use every fiber in his body to not just cum already. Severus wants his first blowjob to last longer. But you sense that he’s close to his orgasm, and you hollow your cheeks more and suck more firmly. With a loud groan and shaking legs, he comes undone in your mouth. His heart races and he pants, his body and mind in a state of absolute bliss after the best orgasm of his life. 

His eyes flutter open and he suddenly remembers that he never asked you if he could cum in your mouth. Though before he can apologize, he feels you humming around his soft cock and swallowing his seed. He stares at you with wide eyes, stunned that you’d do such a thing and stunned at how intensely his cock is throbbing with pure arousal. 

You slide his manhood out of your mouth and stand back up. The candlelight illuminates your messy hair and sweat beading on your forehead. Merlin, you look gorgeous like this. 

“You were amazing,” Severus whispers. You smile shyly at him and lean down to kiss his cheek. 

“Thank you.” You run your hand down his clothed chest without breaking eye contact. “Do you think you’ll be up for another round soon?”

Severus blushes at your forwardness. “I am not sure. My refractory period is slightly long,” he admits. 

“Hmm, that’s fine. In the meantime, maybe you can undress me?” you lure. You pull down the straps of your dress, giving him a peek at your bra. You’re still leaning above him, so he can feel your breath on his skin and see the anticipation in your eyes. 

Severus is a flustered mess as he stares at your body. With a shaky hand, he reaches out and rests his hands on the top of your dress. He sits awkwardly on the desk chair, not knowing what to do or say. 

You sense his confusion. “Stand up.” Severus completely pulls down his trousers and steps out of them before standing in front of you. You point behind yourself and tell him, “Unzip me.” 

Severus focuses his eyes on the window as he reaches behind you and unzips your dress, which pools around your legs. Although you’re a prostitute and you just gave him a blowjob, he feels wrong looking at your naked body without your explicit consent. His hands then hover over where your dress once was, yet again not knowing where to put them. 

“You can look, you know,” you tease. Severus peels his eyes away from the window and takes in the magnificent sight of your partially naked body. His eyes linger over your lace panties and bra, which are the same shade of green as your dress. The sheer fabric clings to your body, revealing your curves perfectly. As the candlelight glistens off your flawless skin, he thinks that maybe his refractory period won’t last as long as he thought it would. 

“Er, what do you want me to do next?” he murmurs. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and look up at him with immense desire. You’re either one hell of an actress or you actually want him.

“You can start by taking off my bra.” Severus reaches behind your back and fiddles with your bra clasp. He fails at this task, partially because he’s overtaken with anticipation and partially because he’s so inexperienced. After several moments, you giggle and offer, “Let me help you.” You quickly unclasp your bra and allow Severus to pull it off of your arms. 

Severus swallows hard and has difficulty breathing as he stares at your breasts. Not even Muggle magazines prepared him for this. He gently cups one of your soft breasts and he marvels at how it fits perfectly in his hand. He lightly squeezes it and runs his thumb over your nipple, which hardens and peaks at his touch. He squeezes a little harder when you moan and bite on your lower lip, eager to draw more divine sounds out of you. 

“You are a goddess,” he murmurs. Maybe he’s crossing a line with you, but his words aren’t a lie. He’s never seen and never will see a woman as stunning as you.

“You’re very kind, Severus,” you whisper. Time freezes for a moment. It’s just the two of you in Spinner’s End staring deeply into each other’s eyes. No one matters in this world except for you. He doesn’t want to admit that his heart is starting to ache for you. 

You break the moment by standing on your tippy-toes and kissing him on his lips. Severus takes his time kissing you and exploring your mouth, wishing to drag this moment out for as long as he can. 

You take one of his hands and trail it to between your legs. He takes the hint and snakes his hands into your panties. He’s shocked when he feels your wetness coating his fingers. Does this mean that you truly want him, that all of this is not just an act? He shakes away the thought before it begins to play with his heartstrings even more. 

You gaze up at him expectantly, so he begins to experimentally circle his thumb around your clit. You moan with pleasure and bury your face into his shoulder. He melts at your touch and wraps his other around your back to pull you even closer. 

As you moan again, his face reddens as he remembers that he doesn’t know how to touch a woman. He wracks his brain for memories of the knowledge his dormmates had and any obscure piece of information he picked up from conversations with other men. All he wants is to pleasure you, so he runs his middle finger up and down your slit and then slowly pushes his finger inside. You gasp and start to grind your hips against his hand, beckoning him to fill you with more of his fingers. He pushes another finger inside you, pumping them both in and out of you. You two groan in unison, becoming more and more aroused each second. 

You and Severus are pressed so closely together that you can feel his now hard cock nudging against your front. Your eyes flutter open and you smirk at him. “I thought you would take longer,” you tease. 

You step away from him, forcing Severus to pull his fingers away from you. His heart drops, disappointed that he couldn’t pleasure you more. But those thoughts are quickly wiped away when you slip your panties off and rest your hands on his chest. 

You take your time unbuttoning his coat and then peeling off his robes and coat. He holds his breath as you caress his now bare chest. You somehow find his face handsome; it would take a miracle for you to like his thin physique. Yet if you are turned off, you don’t show it. Instead, you glance back up at him and bite your lower lip. “It’s up to you, Severus. Do you want to take me standing up, on the desk, or on the chair?” 

His eyes drift down to your supple breasts and your exposed cunt. Merlin, you are divine. Honestly, you would look stunning whether you’re naked or wearing a potato sack. He gulps, the burden of the decision weighing heavily on him. “Umm… I find…” he stammers, his voice hoarse. “I…. I think…”

“You’re taking too long. We’re standing.” You laugh and turn around, your back flush against his chest. You reach behind you and reassuringly rub his thighs. You turn your head back and look at him for a moment to quietly say, “Take your time, okay?” Seduction melts away and all he can feel is your tenderness.

Severus nods and takes a deep breath. His heart is beating a mile a minute and his palms are sweaty. This is it, this is the moment every interaction with you has been building up to. His mind goes blank; he can’t even fathom how he got here or how he’s about to lose his virginity to the most beautiful woman in the wizarding world. Pure and sheer exhilaration kicks in, and he grasps your hip with one hand. With the other, he aligns himself with your entrance and pushes the head of his cock in. 

Severus lets out mindless groans as he pushes his length into you, shocked by the feelings of warmth engulfing him. He thought the feeling of your hand around his cock felt good. He thought a blowjob felt amazing. But this feels heavenly. The warmth and wetness of your cunt, and the way your walls clench against him, is beyond compare. If he knew how this would feel earlier, he would’ve asked you to skip the blowjob. 

Once he bottoms out, he stills his hips and allows you to adjust to his length. He can feel your walls spasming around him as if you’re affected by this as much as he is. After several moments, you pat his thighs. “You can start moving.”

Severus rocks his hips at a gentle pace to test the waters. Even though this night is devoted to him, he wants you to enjoy this as well. He wants to slide deeper inside you, but he doesn’t know exactly how to rearrange himself. You look back at him and smile, and then bend forward slightly. 

He pulls back his hips and enters back into you. Oh, this new angle definitely feels much better. And even though you’re no longer completely flush against him, he can still smell the intoxicating scent of your shampoo and perfume. You moan loudly after a particularly deep thrust and praise, “You’re doing so well.”

“You feel, oh…” he whimpers. One hand trails up your body and squeezes your breast. It’s so, so soft. Everything about you is just perfect. 

You press your head against his shoulder and look up at him, your breath tickling his neck. You look expectantly up at him, so he nibbles on your ear and kisses your neck. This feels so, so right. 

Severus starts pumping into you at a faster pace, drawing out more gasps from your lips. “Keep going. You feel amazing,” you moan. Your praise makes Severus whine even louder. At this point, he’d do anything for you. He keeps up his pace and eventually reaches such a level of bliss that closes his eyes and opens his mouth in a silent ‘o.’

Severus almost jumps when he feels your walls squeezing around him, dissolving him into a moaning mess. He can feel his cock pulsating again. Merlin, he won’t be able to last much longer. He opens his eyes and although his vision is hazy from all the pleasure, he can tell that you’re smirking wickedly at him. “How does that feel, handsome?” you tease. 

“Please… I can’t…” he whines. His breaths become more shallow and his thrusts become more erratic and messy; he’s rutting against you more than anything. His grip on your hips is so firm that he knows your skin will be peppered with bruises. But his primary concern is that his legs are shaking so aggressively that they might buckle. 

You intentionally squeeze around him again, making Severus sob with pleasure. He can’t handle this anymore; he really can’t. The pleasure is so overwhelming that he thinks his soul might leave his body. And if his soul did, then so be it. At least he’d die a happy man.

“Here, let me help you.” You suddenly pull away, snapping Severus out of his paradise. Before he can protest, however, you spin around, push him to sit on the desk chair, and straddle him. All of it happens so fast that he has no idea he got here or how you got on top of him. It’s probably because his mind is hazy, but how can he complain about this new position when your breasts are hanging directly in his face? 

You slide down onto his cock, your abundant slick making the movement effortless. You grip his shoulders and start to ride him, your breasts bouncing up and down. He stares at them as though he’s stupified, and then takes one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks. You moan his name and press your chest even closer to him. 

His legs tremble again and he takes in deep breaths in an attempt to stop himself from cumming right then and there. But when you swirl your hips and squeeze your walls, he knows his efforts are of no use; he’s done for. His hips jolt upward and he groans so loudly that he wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors hear him. His cock keeps twitching, ropes of hot cum spilling inside you. It lasts so long that he knows that the second he pulls out, his seed is bound to drop onto the floor and down the desk chair. 

Your body gives no indication of it, but seeing his features drawn in pleasure brings you faster to your orgasm than you thought it would. You moan and trail your hands down to between your legs, rubbing your clit without a rational thought in your mind. Severus jolts as he feels your walls squeezing and spasming as you reach your own orgasm, the feeling making his cock ache with both pleasure and newfound desire. 

Now that the both of you are coming down from your highs, Severus leans his head onto the soft flesh of your breast, the beads of sweat on his forehead wetting your chest. His eyes are shut as he silently embraces you, relishing in relaxing against you. Never could he have imagined a better way to lose his virginity. 

He wishes he could stay here forever with you and forget all his responsibilities, though he knows you’ll leave after tonight and potentially never see you again. You’ll move on with your life and forget about him, but his memory of you will forever be engrained in his mind. Severus has to push all these thoughts far into his mind before he can get upset. 

Instead, he whispers “you are amazing,” his voice sounding as though it might fade away. You deserve nothing less than the highest praise. Honestly, he wants to tell you that this was the best moment of his life. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you whisper. You twirl his hair with your finger and look down at him with a twinkle in your eyes. Perhaps you’re only saying that because you want to be nice or because you’re paid to make him feel good. Yet seeing that twinkling ignites hope inside of him, overturning previous thoughts about all of this just being a part of your job. Deep down in his heart, he thinks you’re telling the truth. Maybe, just maybe, you have grown attached to him as well. 

You’re still breathing heavily as you rest your forehead against his and close your eyes. The two of you sit still in this position for what feels like an eternity, yet Severus couldn’t care if actually did last an eternity; he’d be happy here in your arms. He’s never been as happy anywhere as here, his body against yours. 

At some point, you shift around, ready to stand up from him. Before you can leave him, he kisses you. The kiss is gentle and doesn’t last for more than three seconds, yet he still feels like it’s the last time he’ll ever kiss someone. And maybe it will be. 

You smile at him once he breaks the kiss. You slowly lift your hips off him and stand up. The second you pull out, his seed trickles out of your cunt and drops onto the floor and his legs. He stares between you and the floor, wondering if he’d be able to go for a third round. 

You wave your wand, picking your clothes off the floor and neatly folding them. “Where is your bathroom?” 

“On the right.” 

The sight of you gripping onto your dress irrationally sends him into a panic. Is this it? Is this goodbye? Are you going to get dressed and leave? But he bought you for the entire night. On another note, though, he won’t force you to stay if you want to leave. His words come out in a hurry as he adds, “If you desire, you can take a shower. I have shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You can stay the night as well. Only if you wish to, of course.”

You smile at him and nod. “Thank you, Severus. I think I’ll take you up on both your offers.” You press a kiss to his cheek and head out of the room. Even though the kiss was quick, the feeling of your lips against his cheeks burns in his mind. 

His heart soars at the fact that you’ll be staying overnight, but it quickly sinks when he remembers what his bedroom looks like. It would be a miracle if you weren’t disgusted by the slimy potion jars he hid there earlier, or disappointed at his lack of organization. Severus rushes to the bedroom and waves his wand over his sheets, mending the holes in the fabric. Muttering “Colovaria” under his breath, he changes both the comforter and pillowcase to be a deep green. There’s only one pillow, but he can sleep downstairs. At least the bed looks halfway decent now. 

When you come out of the bathroom, a towel is wrapped around your body and water drips from your hair. You smile shyly at him and say, “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your towel.”

“No, that is perfectly acceptable.”

“By the way, I’m done with the bathroom. You can use it now if you want.” 

Severus nods at you and then heads into the bathroom. An odd part of him doesn’t want to shower, to wash away your scent and the traces of your touch. Yet he still turns on the water and scrubs his body, knowing that you won’t be able to linger on his body forever anyway. 

After his shower, he dries his body instantly with a charm and puts on pajamas that don’t look beaten up. Usually, he throws something on and tumbles into bed. This time, he stands in front of the mirror and rearranges the fabric to make himself look more presentable for you. 

He walks back into the bedroom and finds you wearing your lingerie. Seeing you like this, about to go to bed, feels wrong. The night isn’t particularly warm and you should be sleeping in something more comfortable. 

“You do not need to sleep in that,” he comments. He opens his wardrobe and turns to look at you. “Do you have anything to sleep in?”

“I… You don’t want me to sleep like this?” you ask, confused. “And I don’t, actually.”

He finds it strange that you don’t have pajamas tucked away in your bag. Haven’t you had to sleep in a bed other than your own for your job? Nevertheless, he finds pajamas and hands them to you. “Here. You may wear this. It will be large on you, but it is comfortable.”

“Thank you, Severus,” you say quietly. You briefly look up at him and smile, and Severus briefly notices a strange look in your eye. But before he can say anything or decipher that look, you take the pajamas and slip off your bra and panties. He turns around as you undress, embarrassed to look at your body, as though he hasn’t seen you naked before. 

You pat the pillow and smooth down the blankets, getting all cozy in his bed. He takes this as his cue to head for the door. But just as he’s about to turn around to wish you a good night, you stop him. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“Downstairs.” He pulls on the handle as he hears you laugh. 

“No, silly! Come here!” You pat the blankets next to you, beckoning him to join you. Concerns about invading your privacy and comfort flood his mind, but then he sees the inviting smile on your face and relaxes. If anything, he’s excited to sleep next to you. 

Your face scrunches in confusion as Severus joins you on the mattress.  “Where’s your pillow?”

“I only have one,” he admits sheepishly. When Severus inherited this house from his parents, he wanted to erase the memories of his childhood from the house. He threw out his childhood bed and converted his old bedroom into an office. Then, he threw out almost all his parents’ items, their bedding set included. The last thing he wants at the beginning and end of every day is to be reminded of them. 

“Oh. You can take this then.” You lift your head from the pillow, but Severus stops you. 

“It is yours. You are the guest, after all.”

“That feels wrong,” you say. You scrunch your brows together and then your face lights up. “I have an idea. How about you take the pillow and I use your shoulder as my pillow instead?”

Severus’s heart skips a beat at the thought of cuddling with you, partially from nervousness and partially because he’s never cuddled with anyone before. He extends his arms to you and hopes you won’t notice his racing heart. 

After getting cozy on his arm and resting your hand on his chest, you look up at Severus and smile. Neither of you say anything or move in for a kiss; you both just lie there until you eventually drift off. He watches you as you sleep, taking in the delicate lines of your face and the rising and falling of your chest. 

No matter how hard he pushes it in the back of his mind, Severus has to admit to himself that he’s fallen for you. When you part from him tomorrow, he’ll be parting with the first person to make him feel alive in a long time. He watches as you rest, allowing the seconds to tick by, hoping that time will slow down if neither of you moves from this position. But after an hour of trying to slow down time, Severus finally sinks into a deep slumber. As he drifts off, the last thought that crosses his mind is how desperately he wishes that morning will never arrive.

[evie-sturns]

dent - Matt Sturniolo

summary: you accidentally dent matt's car after taking it to work, when you give matt the news he doesn't comfort you, quite the opposite actually resulting in an argument. he finds a good way to make it up to you after he realises he overreacted.

contains: angst, arguing, crying, yelling, slight panic attack, smut, fingering, matt the munch, fluff.

----------------------.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.-------------------

I walk out of my office into the cold hair which hits my bare skin harshly, I tug down my mini dress with a sigh as i approach my boyfriend, matt's, car. he let me borrow it for work today due to the fact my cars in the repair shop.

I swing open the door to his car, flopping down into the drivers seat and instantly turning on the heating. I drive forward a couple meters before realising i left my phone in the office

"shit" i mumble, slamming on the brakes and swinging open my door.

It hits the pole which i pulled up next to, "oh my fuck-" i gasp, "no- no" i repeat before jumping out of my car, looking at the door. It has a reasonably large dent in it now.

"no, no no no.." i throw my head into my hands, i decide to grab my phone then deal with this situation.

my heels click against the concrete as i sprint towards the front door of the office,

I swiftly run into the elevator and press level 6, my finger shaking. "what do I even say to matt!" I mumble to myself.

the elevator door opens with a ding and i make my way towards my room, I pull out my keys and unlock the door, walking back in and swiping my phone off of the desk. I run back towards the elevator and pile in with one of my coworkers.

"You 'goin lobby?" she asks, I nod with a forced smile as i fix my hair in the mirror. The door to the elevator opens, I speed-walk out and out the building towards matt's car.

I start to instantly feel guilty as i look at the door on the drivers side again, I open the door more carefully this time and jump in, I turn on the car and pull out of the parking spot,

my hands grip the wheel as panic flushes over me, "matt will understand, i'm sure."

-

after parking the car in the driveway I walk up the front porch, I knock twice on the door as I feel my eyes water slightly, I push back my tears with a deep breath.

Matt opens the door with a tired smile, "hey sweetheart! how was work?" he breathes out, I walk inside with a shaky breath, folding my arms over my stomach.

"matt.. i need to tell you something" i say, looking up at him with my bottom lip trembling.

"yeah!? anything- are you okay?" he says with a concerned look on his face.

"i- i um" i take a deep breath before continuing "i accidentally opened the car door into a pole- like really hard and now theres a big dent" i squeeze out, my voice breaking halfway through

"you what?" he raises his voice "let me see it?"

i nod, walking back outside towards the car, matt follows close behind me. he takes one look at the door and instantly turns around, throwing his hands up

"of course you fucking did!" matt raises his voice, walking back inside

"matt i'm sorry-" i start but matt cuts me off "i dont wanna hear it- i dont wanna hear your voice,"

my eyebrows twist "matt what? i'm gonna pay for that you know that" i say, slightly louder, following matt inside

"no- how the fuck are you that blind? how do you slam the car into a pole that big? are you fucking stupid!" matt yells, looking at me directly in the eyes.

my lips part in shock, "you can't speak to me like that matt! it was an accident" i argue back, matt scoffs.

"you're so fucking clueless."

i feel my eyes water, "why don't you do anything right?" he groans loudly.

i burst into sobs, "don't say that" i whisper, taking in sharp panicked breaths.

"i'll say what i want!? you can tell me what to say and what not to when you grow a fucking conscious!"

and with that i go to walk down the corridor past matt, already embarrassed from crying. he grabs my wrist tugging me back towards him. i gasp with an ugly sob

"look at me." matt growls, i shake my head looking down at my feet.

"look at me!" he raises his voice, "fine!" i yell, looking up at him.

"if my car. isn't fixed by tomorrow evening. we're going to have a problem y/n." matt says blankly.

"i know- let me go!" i whine, he releases his grip and i run towards matt and i's bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

i hear matt mutter something about me being pathetic through the door

“stop being so mean matt!” i yell in a bratty way, i feel my breathing get shallow, my body gradually heating up

my sobs never slow, in fact they get worse the more that the argument we just hand sinks into me. the whole house is now silent aside from matt and i’s room where i’m struggling to breathe

i sink down onto the floor against the wall as i bury my face in my knees, i take in shaky attempts of breathes as i cry into the fabric of my pants.

I pick up my phone and email matt’s insurance company, informing them on what just happened to his car. My hands shake against the keyboard, as soon as i press send i’m up off the floor and in my closet, tearing off my minidress and changing into one of matt’s shirts.

——

I’ve been laying in bed for about an hour now, just now realising that i haven’t ate since mid day and now it’s 9pm, i’ve finally calmed myself down after what happened earlier

matt won’t be in the kitchen i’m sure, i hoist myself up off of bed and walk into the corridor. I feel myself get nervous, i don’t want to get upset again.

as i reach the end of the corridor i enter the kitchen, matt sitting at the dining table on his phone with a plate of dinner infront of him,

it’s okay.

if i don’t look at him i’ll be fine.

i can see out of the side of vision matt looking up at me, i open the pantry.

matt clears his throat before starting, “I made you dinner aswell.. it- it’s in the fridge and there’s muffins in there too.” matt says softly, his voice is quiet, like if he gets any louder i’ll disappear.

i don’t respond, i don’t have to respond to anything he does after how he treated me earlier.

i open the fridge to see a plate of pasta in the fridge, topped with a stupid green leaf on top which matt ‘only does for special occasions’, i remember him telling me and we laughed about it for hours.

along side there’s a couple of muffins which have a poor attempt of being iced, a dollop of icing ontop of each one with some strategically placed sprinkles.

i take the two plates as i keep my lips pressed into a line, i walk back down the corridor into our room and shut the door behind me with a loud sigh.

i have to admit, it was sweet what he had made, he’s always had a weird love for cooking for me no matter how bad he was at it, i think it was because of the amount of enthusiasm i gave him every time he presented it to me.

i sit down at matt’s desk, my feet up on the chair as i take a small bite. I didn’t really have an appetite but i was hungry, and this was nice.

after devouring the muffins i was feeling better, it was now 9:30pm and I decided that i needed to have my hour on my phone in bed before i sleep. I leave the dishes in a neat pile on the desk.

usually i would take them into the kitchen but i didn’t want to see matt, i knew i would cry this time.

I flop down into matt and i’s bed, it feels empty without him. We’ve slept in the same bed every night of our relationship and it’s the only way i can sleep.

—-

10:23pm

knock knock

i hear soft knocking on the door, i choose to ignore it.

knock knock

again, followed by the door clicking open. i’m practically buried under the duvet, only my hair visible so i keep my eyes infront of me at my phone.

i hear matt’s footsteps get closer to the bed, from the small gap out of the duvet i see his jeans by the bed.

i think he’s trying to figure out if i’m awake or not.

I let out a deep sigh and tug the duvet up higher. Matt takes in a shaking breath as he looks down at me.

“can— may i sit down next to you? i want to talk” matt whispers.

may i? on normal days i would laugh at that, it’s so formal.

if i don’t agree we won’t talk this out, meaning that i won’t get any closure for longer. I nod my head slightly. matt climbs into bed beside me, the weight shifting to his side as he sits uncomfortably

he doesn’t waste time to start talking

“I’m so sorry- i’m so embarrassed about everything i said, i didn’t mean it.” matt’s voice trembles.

“do you want to come out of there- I want to see you.” matt whispers, tapping my shoulder lightly though the blanket.

i pull down the duvet and sit up against the duvet next to matt, i look up at him briefly. he looks distraught

his eyes are puffy and red, his nose red and eyes glossy.

he looks at me and i see guilt wash over him.

“i love you so much— i don’t want to loose what we have over a dent in my car.” matt says calmly,

“i said things that i’m really really not proud of.. at all. i didn’t even know what i was saying.. my mouth was spitting out shit faster than i could process.”

“i’m not even sure what i was saying.” matt sighs

“you- you’re mad at me though” i whisper

“i’m not mad at you princess, i’ve never been mad at you i promise. i just freaked out over something minor” matt says, reaching down and interlocking our fingers as a single tear falls from his eyes, i reach up and wipe it quickly.

“you don’t have to forgive me, i’m not expecting you to. but if you want- i could make it up to you..? or not i don’t know- i could go sleep in the spare bedroom if you need time alone i mean, but i’m so sorry.” he rambles

“make it up to me?” i whisper, “like how?” i ask with a sniff.

“you know…” matt hints “the thing that you like a lot from me?”

i nod, sinking my top teeth into my bottom lip.

“i’m sorry for making you cry sweetheart,” matt says, wiping my face with his cold hands.

“i’m fine- it’s okay.” i give matt a small smile.

he nods understandably before sitting up, he walks over to the edge of the bed beside me and lightly grips my ankles, spinning me round so my legs dangle off the edge of the bed

Matt kneels on the floor between my legs “can i take these off?” he asks softly, referring to the lace panties underneath matt’s shirt that i threw on earlier

i nod quickly, “words please” matt smiles, “yes- yes you can please” i spit out.

“there she is” matt says, hooking his fingers over the waistband and tugging them down to my ankles.

he doesn’t waste time to wrap his arms under my thighs, holding my lower back lightly to keep me up in the sitting position. “this okay?” he breathes, “yes!” i reply instantly, feeling the heat between my legs grow.

matt starts to press small pecks to the insides of my thighs, kissing around where i need him the most.

embarrassingly, i let out a soft whimper from the little amount of touch.

matt loves to eat me out, i’m not sure why but he goes all out like it’s his last meal. he says it’s because it makes me feel so good which i find cute.

“so pretty” matt says from between my thighs, he finally attaches his mouth to my clit,

“oh my god-“ i moan, intertwining my fingers on one hand into his brunette hair and placing my other hand behind me, feeling myself grow weak already.

matt removes one hand from under my thigh, letting it fall onto the bed, he reaches under his chin and slowly dips his middle finger into my hole, curling it up slightly “matt!” i whine, bucking my hips up into his mouth

he adds his other finger aswell, the cold metal of his rings against the warmth of me making my eyes roll back.

i grip his hair tighter as matt repeatedly curls his finger “how- how are you so good at this” i breathe out

matt laughs lightly, the vibrations earning a squeal from me.

“fuck fuck-“ i whimper, feeling myself get close.

matt swirls his tongue around my clit,

and with that my legs clench around his head and i finish

i feel myself release on matt’s fingers, my legs shake around his head as he pulls his mouth off of me, being careful to not overstimulate me.

i collapse down on the matress behind me, attempting to catch my breath as i let go of matt’s hair.

matt smiles stupidly at me, his lips glistening. he picks me up off the bed, holding me by my ass. he pecks kisses down my neck.

“thank you.” i sigh, burying my face into his neck.

“don’t thank me.” matt laughs, carrying me into the living room and flopping down on the couch, i lay on his body.

“matt?” i ask quietly

“yeah pretty?” he reply’s, his fingers tracing mindless shapes on my back.

“you know i love you.” i say into his shirt “i love you more.” matt smiles

“and your rings- please don’t ever take them off.” i laugh.

“whys that?” matt teases,

“they feel so good.” i mutter out, barely audible.

“is that so?” matt grins, “yes- yeah” my cheeks flush

matt chuckles slightly, shifting me up and down on his chest.

“you know the muffins you made that were in the fridge?” i start up a new conversation

“yeah?” matt smiles, “what the fuck was going on with the icing- i mean they were really good but the icing was… special!” i burst out laughing

matt laughs with me before replying

“i actually don’t know- i don’t think bakings for me. i put the icing on and it like melted into the cupcake”

i scoff, “it’s okay baby, they were so cute”

——————

@luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @recklessmatt @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @pkfferroo @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle

[mockerycrow]

PACK CUDDLES (Hybrid!141 x GN!Human!Reader)

multiple characters masterlist

summary; the base’s heaters have all broken and aren’t due to be repaired for a week—it’s the middle of winter and you’re one of the few humans on base.

[WARNINGS; hybrid stuff, can be read as platonic or romantic, fluffy, sickness.]

THE BASE HEATERS decided to break at the worst possible moment—during the harshest part of the winter. They’re baseboard electric heaters that line every barracks room; the general community rooms such as the common area and the training rooms have central air and heating, but they didn’t decide to provide the barracks with the same luxury. It was never much of a problem, really. Nearly everyone on base was a hybrid of some kind, usually a bigger animal due to the needs of the military so they would produce body heat hot enough to keep them warm for the duration of when the electrical technicians would come in to fix the wiring, or replace the heaters.

Unfortunately for you, you are not a hybrid. You were born to completely human family members, and you have no hybrid genes in your chromosomes. Also unfortunately for you, you were for some reason one of the ones tasked with shoveling the pathways and roads on base—your station has no snow plows as the winters are usually mild to moderate, but this year decided to fuck you over harshly. You spent hours outside in the snow, bundled up in your warmest uniform with a winter coat, boots, gloves, hats, and even a balaclava on to keep as much warmth as possible. 

On day 2 without a heater, you woke up in the middle of the night unable to breathe through your nose. Your face is aching terribly—likely your sinuses—and it feels like you swallowed glass and gargled salt water right after. Your chest aches and you overall feel terrible, and you feel both hot and cold at the same time. Even after bundling up in your warmest hoodie and sweatpants—you slept with socks on, too—you just could not evade the sickness. Harsh coughs rack your body, your eyes tearing up as pain shoots through your chest and your throat to your ears. You groan and press your face into your pillow for a moment before you slowly kick your blankets off, pulling your hood up after sitting up.

You slip your feet into your slides and you check the time—0328. Fuck. The boys should be returning from a short mission soon. You hold in a sigh in fear of further hurting your aching throat, making your way towards your bedroom door. You grab your keys on the way out, letting your door close behind you. You squint as the hallway lights irritate your eyes, but you lay them no mind, walking down the hall to seek out the kitchen. Luckily, this base allowed basic medicines in a cabinet in the kitchen, so began your search for some cold medicine, and perhaps some sinus medicine too if you can take both at the same time.

To your sickly delight, no one seems to be awake right now—or at least hoarding the kitchen—despite many of the hybrids on base being nocturnal. You aren’t in the mood to really talk.. Not like you could, anyway. You shuffle your way to the counter with a harsh sniffle, opening the cabinet and rummaging around. You find some compatible cold and sinus medications, and you decide to grab a tea bag and the little plastic jar of honey, deciding that you want to soothe your throat. The air running through your throat makes it ache more. 

You put your forearms on the counter and arch your back, laying your head down as you wait for the electric kettle to heat up the water. At least the kitchen is warm. You holy a bit after it must be a few minutes, hearing the kettle heating up. You lift your head and see steam emitting from the opening, so you switch it off and begin to make your tea, stirring honey into the mug. You shove the pills into your mouth and swallow it down with a wince, using the tea. You sip the tea slowly until the mug is empty, so you quickly wash it out and put it in the sink to properly wash later. With your throat feeling a little better and a handful of paper towels, you head back to your room to go back to sleep.

The next time you wake up, it’s slow and uncomfortable. You’re on your back and you first feel the pain rippling through your throat with every wheezy breath you take—it’s a bit harder to breathe than before, even with the sickness—and then you notice the heat. Wait.. the heat? Isn’t the heater broken?

Your eyes flutter open, unfocused and bleary, with twinges of pain due to the dawn shining through your poor excuse of black-out curtains. Something shifts on your chest, causing you to glance down. When your eyes focus, you’re face to face with a wolf looking husky—striking blue eyes that are peering into your soul, the wolfdog’s fur being thick; white and grey, his ear twitching as he stares back at you. It takes you a moment before recognition filters through. It’s Soap!

A lazy smile spreads on your face as you pet his head between his ears, causing him to lick his snout. “Hey, Soap.” You croak. You sound absolutely dreadful. Three more heads pop out of view, making you flinch ever so slightly. “Jesus!” You hiss, looking at the other three. You’re met with a Grizzly bear, a Barbary lion and a Jaguar; Price, Ghost, and Gaz. Your bed springs croak under the weight of all of them—they broke your frame a year ago, still in the search for a frame that can handle a bunch of weight—and they shift closer to you. A low, rumbling noise comes from Ghost. There’s not much noise he truly makes in his lion form, he often is silent—except for the occasional chuff or intimidating growl—so you know the rumbling means something. 

You reach out to him with your other hand, tangling your fingers in his mane, feeling the rough texture between your fingers. His dark eyes stare at you and if you didn’t know Ghost as well as you do, you would likely be shitting yourself right now. He pushes his snout into your palm for a moment before his rough tongue peaks out and licks over your palm, making you wince from how prickly his tongue is. Ghost then lets out a huff, his breath reaching your face as you watch the Jaguar—Gaz—slink up to your face, the three of them; Gaz, Soap, and Ghost invading your personal space. No doubt that they can smell how sick you are. You think absentmindedly about when they returned from their mission. 

“I’m okay.” You say, your voice hoarse. You can’t help but wince at how you sound, but you don’t dwell on it too much when Gaz’s hard head pushes into your cheek, making you smile. “Yes, I promise.” You add on, moving your hand from Soap’s head to Gaz’s neck, your other hand still attending to Ghost’s mane. You glance over to where Price is, seeing his two little ears peering up behind Ghost. You groan dramatically and pat the spot next to yourself. “C’mon, Captain. You guys can be my heaters, I guess.” You weakly joke, earning a whine from Soap, who hasn’t moved an inch from laying on top of you. You make a noise in return, your eyes feeling heavy once again when the heat surrounding you finally becomes comfortable. “Supposed to fix ‘em soon.” You mumble, already half asleep by the time you feel Price’s nose sniff your cheek, checking in on you.

[muwapsturniolo]

𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐈 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐀 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧 🧊 Chris Sturniolo

"Just relax, you're only making yourself hotter."

✘ nsfw ahead. nipple play, nipple orgasm, ice/temperature play, oral (f and m receiving), p in v....with ice (DON'T DO THIS SHIT UNLESS YOU PUT A CONDOM AROUND THE ICE! IF YOU DO THIS AND GET HURT, ION KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU!!)

Sweat.

You could feel the sweat dripping down the side of your face and down the valley of your breasts, your skin feeling sticky and gross. The whole state of California was currently experiencing a heat wave, the temperature reaching 115 degrees - and it was just your luck that the triplet's AC unit went out.

You four were currently on the couches, half-dressed, attempting to stay cool during the scolding heat. Nick was sprawled out hogging all the ice packs, Matt was clicking away angrily on his phone as he tried to get in touch with the AC company, and Chris was laid out on the floor by your leg, claiming the hardwood floors were cool.

"This is bullshit, I hate all three of you right now. Why the fuck did I pack my shit and move to LA with yall?"

It was no secret that when the temperature would rise and the summer heat settled in, you became agitated. There was nothing about summer or the heat you enjoyed. You were always hot and sweating, you felt gross, your lace would lift, and there were too many bugs.

"Because you love me, and you're clingy." Chris's words earn him a firm kick to the back that makes him swat at your leg. "Is this how the cast of Victorious felt? " Nick mumbles as he wipes the sweat from his forehead.

"Probably worse, they were stuck in a hot-ass RV. I'm surprised they didn't die of suffocation," you mumble with your eyes closed. Suddenly, Matt jumps up from his spot on the couch, an angry scowl on his face. " Fuck this shit, the damn repair company is too busy dealing with everyone in LA! I'm going to the store and buying an AC to put in the window. Nick, let's go!" Nick gives Matt a dirty look, confused as to why he's the one being forced to go.

"Why me?"

"Because if I bring Chris, you and Y/n will just argue, and I don't want to come home to that. If I bring Chris, then Y/n will come, and respectfully, I don't want to deal with her attitude from this damn heat."

If you weren't too hot, you probably would have said something snarky in retaliation to Matt, but you knew he was right. With a sigh of annoyance, Nick stands up, both he and Matt quickly getting ready to go buy an AC.

As the door slams shut, you stand up from the couch, "M'gonna takes a cold shower until those two come back. If I have to deal with any more of this heat, I think I'm actually going to tweak out." Chris watches as you walk downstairs to his room, going to grab your towel and a change of clothes. A small clinking noise is heard, and Chris's attention is drawn to a glass of ice-cold water, the ice slowly rising to the top.

He smiles to himself as he pushes himself off the floor, his skin sticking to the wood. He snags the glass off the side table and quickly makes his way to the bedroom, a small pep in his step. He enters the bedroom and sees you standing by his nightstand, looking down at your phone. He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. You instantly push him back, your face scrunched in annoyance, "Chris, don't start! It's too hot for you to be touching all up on me!"

Your aggravated words don't bother him, he's used to your attitude caused by the heat- after all, he's had to deal with it for years. He rolls his eyes and pulls you into him once more, his grip firm.

"Calm down baby, you're only going to make yourself hotter." He mumbles as he begins to toy with your bikini bottoms, his lips starting to leave small kisses on your shoulder. Despite his touch burning your skin, you lean into him.

"It's too hot to be having sex Chris, I'm not in the mo-Come on baby, I got a plan, you just have to get naked." You turn around so you're facing him, only for your stomach to come in contact with a cold sensation. You jump in shock and look down, seeing your cold glass of water in Chris's hand. You look up and see that boyish smirk on his face that you've always loved.

"What are you getting at Chris?"

"I just want to cool you down."

He pulls the string to your bikini, the material falling off your body as he pushes you back onto the bed. he straddles one of your legs, taking a long sip of water. Some of it drips down his chin, trailing down his chest and stopping at his happy trail. He leans down and hovers over you, his eye contact firm and steady.

Suddenly, he dips his head into your neck, your body flinching as you feel something cold and wet trailing across your skin.

Ice.

Chris chuckles softly as he holds the ice in his mouth, slowly moving from your neck to your chest. His movements are slow and teasing, goosebumps rising along your body, the singular ice cube causing chills to rush up your spine. Chris's eyes meet yours as he trails his mouth down to your exposed breasts.

You flinch softly as his cold lips wrap around your nipple, a soft gasp escaping your mouth as the ice cube circles around the bud. As he focuses on one with his icy mouth, he tweaks the other, pulling at it gently and flicking it.

It's odd how quickly your body reacts to his ministrations. Your breathing had become erratic, your abdomen clenching as you felt that familiar coil in your stomach. "O-oh shit, Chris wai-" You're cut off by your own moans, your orgasm hitting you quicker than you expected.

Chris gives you no time to recover, trailing the ice down the valley of your breasts as he yanks your shorts down. He throws them across the room, pushing open your legs as he kneels on the ground. He takes his precious time, dragging the ice cube with his mouth along your inner thighs. It wasn't until the cube of frozen water had melted that he attached his mouth to your clit.

You yelp in shock - his cold tongue flicking at your warm clit has your back arching, your eyes rolling back. Between the temperature change, the previous orgasm that never calmed down, and his skillful mouth, your body goes into a state of shock. Your hands grip at his sweaty hair, pushing him away and closer to your aching mound at the same time.

You were so caught up in your own pleasure, you didn't notice Chris soaking his fingers in the cold water. He pushes both his index and ring finger into your aching cunt, immediately curling them against that special spot that has your legs shaking.

It wasn't long before you reached your second orgasm, your eyes clenching shut, back arching, and Chris's head still shoved against your cunt. He pulls away with a satisfied smile, planting a soft kiss to your thighs before standing on his feet.

"Are you cooled down now?"

You slowly sit up, swallowing harshly as you try to even out your breathing. You reach for the glass of water, taking a big sip. Just like Chris had done, you secretly take an ice cube into your mouth and set the glass down. You let it sit in your mouth until it's a bit smaller and push Chris down on the bed, pulling his boxers down.

He watches with hard eyes as you grab his dick and allow spit to dribble out of your mouth and onto his tip. He sucks in a sharp breath as the cold spit collides with his tip, your thump swiping over it and beginning to jerk him off. He moans softly, his body relaxing into the mattress. However, his relaxation is interrupted by the coldness of your mouth taking him all the way down your throat, his hips jerking as he groans loudly.

"Holy sh-shit," He lifts his head and looks down at you, watching as your plump lips wrap around his girthy length. You bob your head at a steady pace, swirling the half-melted ice cube around his tip in the process.

"Shit- oh fuck- you better swallow it." He mumbles feeling himself already reaching his tipping point- the ice doing nothing but making him sensitive. It wasn't long before he filled your mouth and you swallow with ease.

He yanks you up off the floor so you're straddling his lap, the two of you smashing your lips against each other. You make out for what feels like hours until he rolls you over on your back. He pulls away from you and looks down at you, "You're getting hot again baby-" He lazily reaches over to the nightstand and scoops the last half-melted ice cube out of the glass. He hikes your body closer and motions for you to hold your legs. You do as told, hooking your arms behind your knees and pulling the limbs closer to your chest.

He focuses down on your dripping cunt and spreads your folds apart, slowly pushing the ice cube into your warmth. You gasp at the new and shocking feeling- you could feel the now rounded edges of the ice cube, the warmth of your walls causing the water to trickle out. Chris wastes no time in slowly pushing himself inside of you, both of you moaning out at the pleasurable feeling.

He loved your cunt as it was, the way your warm walls stretched to welcome his length before clamping down and begging for him to stay inside- but there was something different about the temperature change caused by the ice cube,

Everything was sensitive, it was mind-blowing.

He rocks his hips slowly, watching the way your eyes roll back and your face contorts. His slow thrusts turn into quick and harsh ones, your hands dropping your legs as you grip at his arms.

"Fuck fuck fuck! Chris Chris Chr-" He cuts you off by shoving his fingers in your mouth. " I know baby- shiitt- feels so good, feels so fucking good." He groans out. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, moaning around the slim digits as you feel yourself getting close.

"Pussy feels so good-mm fuuck- gonna come for me?" He pulls his fingers from your mouth, and begins to circle your clit with your spit.

Your back arches as you let out a pornographic moan, your legs shaking violently as you reach your final orgasm. Chris follows shortly, spilling his seed deep in your warmth. He collapses right on top of you, the both of you panting harshly at the new experience.

After a few minutes of harsh panting, he slowly sits up and pulls out, watching as his cum mixed with water spills out of you quickly, pooling around the cusp of your ass.

It wasn't long before the both of you were standing in his shower, the lukewarm water cleansing the sweat and other fluids from your bodies. You clean each other off, giggling softly as you both talk about the new bedroom experience and what you liked about it. " I know what we should try during the winter," You voice with a smile on your face. Chris chuckles and raises a brow, pulling you closer.

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" Before you can answer, a banging on the door catches both of your attention.

" We got AC's for all three rooms. I left it on your couch." Matt's muffled voice shouts through the sound of the shower. Chris responds with a quick "thanks" and looks back down at you.

"What should we try during winter?" Your hand slowly wraps around his dick, starting to jerk it slowly as you maintain eye contact.

"Wax play."

[thatonefandomchick]

chilled

matt sturniolo x reader

a/n: 3.3k words of fluff, cockwarming, my own fantasies, idk what possessed me to write about cold weather in the middle of summer, but i’m kinda here for it.

please reblog!

—————

it wasn’t matt’s fault that you looked so cozy.

the room was bathed in a dim violet light. new girl reruns were playing on the tv, but he stopped paying attention hours ago. the chilly boston weather frosted the windows in the room, and matt could almost see his warm exhales in the air — a clear indicator of just how fucking cold it was. the heater had broken down earlier that day, and every single repair company they called was unavailable to come fix it that evening. the earliest they had was tomorrow afternoon because of course everyone in boston had a broken heater today.

the two of you had headed to his bed early that night in hopes of using body heat to warm each other up. nick and chris whined and complained that it wasn’t fair for matt to have his own personal heater,

“fuck off and cuddle with each other!” he yelled over his shoulder to the boys wrapped in two blankets each, hands on your shoulders leading you to his bedroom as you laughed at their grumbles down the hall.

reaching the door, matt snorted behind you, shutting the door with a soft click, and pulling open his closet doors to grab a couple of hoodies and about a dozen blankets, per your request, to hold you guys through the night.

“you cold, baby?” he murmured.

“we’re about two degrees from this water turning into ice, matty. ” you remarked, taking a sip from the plastic bottle on his desk before turning to face him. “of course i’m fucking cold.”

his head peeked above the comically high mound of blankets in his arms, winking at you before turning to drop them on his bed and beginning to neatly stack them on top of his comforter.

red creeped up your neck and cheeks. you rolled your eyes affectionately and turned to his wardrobe in search of some sweatpants, humming mindlessly.

“look at how cozy it looks, babe.” matt exclaimed behind you, grinning at the blanket pile before reaching over to slide a sweatshirt over his long sleeve t-shirt.

you looked over your shoulder and you could only let out a small ‘mhm’ because your eyes darted straight down to the trail of hair on his lower abdomen that continued down and into his sweatpants. he pulled the sweatshirt down his torso and ran a hand through his hair, lashes fluttering and nose pink from the cold, utterly oblivious to your ogling.

your lip came up to move in between your teeth, but you peeled your gaze from the boy in front of you and focused on finding the first pair of pants you could in order to get into the cozy bed and pair of arms that awaited.

shuffling out of your tight leggings, your hands came around to fix the waistband of your underwear, nails hooking on the elastic and tugging them back into place; but the skin at the nape of your neck tingled as you felt a gaze upon your back. smirking, your eyes lifted to peek at the small mirror atop the dresser. there was matt, eyes locked on your backside, staring unabashedly. your teeth glinted in the light, his eyes met yours through the mirror. a red flush creeped over his face all the way to the tips of his ears. your eyes crinkled in delight and you threw your head back, laughing at his shyness. turning your gaze back to the mirror, you grinned when his reflection flipped you off, huffing a laugh, hair tickling his forehead as he shook his head and moved to turn the tv on.

still smiling gently, you quickly slid the pair of sweats up before reaching for the blue hoodie matt left out for you, tugging it up and over the black turtleneck you already had on. you patted down the stray hairs on your head, fingers stiff from the cold, and padded over to the bed which beheld your boyfriend looking extra snug amidst the pile of blankets and pillows.

a cheeky smile took over his face, and his hand reached out from under the covers to pat the open space next to him. one, two, three steps forward had the front of your thighs grazing the edge of the mattress. you paused for a moment, gazing into his pretty blue eyes wondering what the fuck you could have possibly done to deserve any of this.

of course, matt ruined the moment by abruptly sneezing and you reeled back, nose and brows and scrunching in disgust.

“oh god, i think i’m getting a cold,” he moaned, sneezing again, “i can feel it coming.”

you shoved his chest back with a delicate hand as you climbed into the makeshift nest, preventing him from sneezing in your face again, but keeping him close enough that his warmth seeped into your skin and warmed your body down to your bones. you pressed your back against his chest, bringing his arms over and around your torso, settling them under the swell of your breasts. his hands splayed over your abdomen, spreading the warmth and your face relaxed, releasing a sigh of comfort. matt settled the blankets on top of you, making sure the was adequate coverage throughout your bodies, then set his chin over your head, breathing in your lavender shampoo and enjoying the pressure of your backside on his groin.

the alarm clock on his nightstand read 9:34 pm, so he nestled into your body and warmth even further and relaxed to the sound of your soft breaths and schmidt’s on screen jokes.

—————————

the hours passed in a timeless haze — there was no telling if it was 11:00 pm, or 3:00 am. the windows were still tinted with a sheen of ice, the tv still ran, and you were still pressed against him, sleeping now, with your mouth parted open, breathing softly into his arm. matt didn’t really recall falling asleep, but the show was on a different season and the clock read 1:34 am. blinking away the sleep, he reached to rearrange the blankets on your entwined bodies, settling his hand under your shirt on the bare dip of your waist. his fingers squeezed lightly, thumb rubbing in a back and forth motion. his eyelashes fluttered as your loose hair feathered his nose, watching as you shifted slightly in his arm and exhaled deeply.

no, it indeed was not his fault you looked so cozy.

his tiredness did not aid his growing erection. the opposite, actually. being drunk on sleep hazed his mind, and you felt so damn good. blood rushed to his cock as the cold air nipped at his exposed skin. he tugged you closer to him, manhandling your resting body to arrange you closer to him. eyes twitching in your sleep, matt leaned over to lightly kiss the corner of your lash line. his grip on your waist tightened as he continued to press feather light kisses along the side of your face.

one on the freckle atop your cheekbone, one where your ear meets your jaw, one on the dimple near the corner of your mouth. his hips twitched as your ass lightly grinded on his half-hard cock. holding back a groan, he moved the trail of his kisses down the length of your spine. one kiss per vertebrae until he was met with your hoodie. a light sound escaped your mouth, enjoying the warm press of his lips against your chilled body even in your slumber. despite the blankets, the layers, the fuzzy socks, matt was still so cold. it was like an itch he couldn’t scratch — an ache he couldn’t relieve.

his brows scrunched as a thought crossed his mind. it was like a little lightbulb that lit up because of course he had a solution. why didn’t he think of it sooner?

you had mentioned it just last week while the two of you were waiting for the car to heat up. you had gone to a hockey game and though the sun was gleaming and warming your bodies when you walked in, the temperature had dropped and the deep chill that swept through had your teeth chattering as you exited the arena. while cranking up the heat, matt remembered he said something about being so cold he thought his dick was gonna freeze off.

you looked at him with a wicked grin despite your body shivering and told him, “i can help with that.”

his eyes went wide, his pupils dilated, and you couldn’t tell if his cheeks were red from the cold or because he was trying to come up with what exactly you could have possibly meant by that (he knew very well what you meant).

it took him a few seconds to recover from the shock, and it only happened because he saw you biting your lip in an attempt to contain your laughter. matt turned back to look at the emptying parking lot in front of him and scoffed in fake annoyance. your head tilted up in laughter, plaid scarf shifting as the movement bared your neck to him.

he looked over and he couldn’t help but smile at your antics. of course he knew what you meant, but you hadn’t really moved past the clumsy and somewhat awkward stage of your sex life. it felt good, sure — really good, but maybe it was the fact that the two of you haven’t been able to simply feel. he was too caught up making sure you were okay, and you were too busy making sure it felt good for him that it always ended in a strange eye contact moment followed by a weird mixture of giggles and moans that made the whole experience a little off-putting. still, that didn’t deter you as you continued telling him, “i’m serious, matt.”

he didn’t say anything as he checked his mirrors and put the car in reverse, sneaking a curious look at your layer-clad body, eyes crinkled as you smiled up at him. “i mean,” you started. “i dunno, how hard can it really be?”

he snorted at that, adjusting in his seat because the thought of you talking about this so casually was making him kinda hard. you turned back to face the road now, gloved hands clasped in your lap. you liked like you were in a meeting, proposing a new business strategy that would knock all other strategies out of the park. somehow, he knew you could convince him to jump off a bridge if you wanted to him to.

“all you have to do is, like, stick it in.” you wondered, mindlessly. “right?”

he choked.

“i mean, it’s so easy we can do it in our sleep.” you chirped, sounding way more enthusiastic about the idea than he did. the light ahead of him turned yellow, and he pressed the brake, slowing to a stop. matt turned to look at you then, eyebrows raised and ready to say something along the lines of ‘sign me up, i’m all in’, but you interrupted him before he could tell you how embarrassingly hot he found the idea.

“maybe we’re overthinking this.” you admitted, for once looking sheepish as you stared ahead and avoided his eyes.

“overthinking what, kid?” matt asked, honestly.

“the whole — y’know, sex thing.”

the light turned green and the car was silent except for the hum of the engine.

“all i’m saying is,” you told him after a few more seconds of thick silence. “maybe we should trust each other a little more.”

“i trust you.” he said quickly, without hesitance.

“no — i know you do, baby, and i trust you too. but that’s not what i’m saying.” you shifted in your seat to look at him better.

“what are you saying then?”

you pressed your lips together and tilted your head at him. “i’m saying —.“ you paused then, biting your lip.

matt turned to look at you, and something in his face must’ve urged you to tell him what was on your mind because, “i’m saying we should trust each other with, our bodies?”

his brows scrunched and you must’ve seen the confusion on his face because you continued. “like, go with the flow type thing instead of trying to think about what we do.”

he was starting to get it now — maybe. “so like, doing what we want to make us feel good?”

your face lit up. “yes!”

“okay, does that,” another shift of his hips. “what does that actually mean?”

your lips tilted downwards, and you looked at him again, this time a little crestfallen. “i dunno.” you admitted, looking away from him and towards the snow covered road ahead. “maybe just, trusting each other to do what they think will feel good. just doing instead of thinking, y’know?”

he risked another look at you. your beanie had slipped sideways, but you paid it no mind.

eyes back on the road, it took everything in him not to turn around and look at the surprise on your face when he said with a voice as straight as he could muster, “like cockwarming.”

your head snapped and your eyes burned holes into the side of his face. he could tell your mouth was slightly parted, and for a second he thought maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say. this is what he got for trying to dirty talk. until you straighted your gaze forward again and confirmed, “yes, like cockwarming.”

it didn’t come up for the rest of the ride home, or for the next week.

you didn’t have the chance to try it out that night, or the next, or the next. but the thought crossed matt’s mind every time he felt an especially deep chill rack his body. especially now, with his cock nestled perfectly between your ass, growing harder by the second.

his hand on your waist dared to dip lower, pinky reaching the band of his sweatpants. you continued to sleep and melt into the lips pressed on your neck, blissfully unaware of matt’s dilemma behind you.

trust, right?

whether it was the quiet laughter that came from the tv, or the feeling of matt’s fingers now tugging on the waistband of your underwear, or his lips that pressed little kisses on your jawline, you woke up.

it wasn’t sudden. it was more of a glide into reality from the dream you were having of ice blue eyes and snowy streets. you felt the cool air of the room nip at your nose. you felt the warmth of your boyfriend pressed up against your back. and you felt his wandering hands at your hips, fingertips under your sweatpants and dancing around your hipbone. you felt his thick erection digging at your backside, moving in small up and down motions.

a deep sigh left your mouth as you cracked open one eye, attempting to differentiate between physical feelings and made up feelings. matt’s other arm under you shifted and moved lower, his hand reaching the other hip and toying with the waistband there.

slowly, you felt his hands push down. the sweatpants slipped lower and lower until they fell to your knees. it wasn’t cold, per say, the dozen blankets probably helped in keeping your body heat trapped, but it was a shiver that racked your body as his lips made his way to the shell of your ear. you could feel his hair on your cheek and hear his deep sighs as he kissed behind and below your ear.

the other eye opened and you shifted in his arms this time, legs maneuvering the sweatpants down and off your legs. you kicked them off the side of the bed with little struggle, but you could hear matt’s chuckle as you resumed your position against his chest again.

he knew you were fully awake when you shook your hips against his cock in order to get comfortable again. your cheeks burned despite the cold, and you moaned when matt reached his hand to the warmth at the apex of your thighs and pressed. fingertips over the fabric, he rubbed just firmly enough for you to turn into his arm and move your hips to the rhythm of his hand.

your hands clutched his arm, fingernails digging deep into the hoodie. a small whine crawled up your throat as matt continued the trail of his lips along your neck.

“so cold, baby,” he mumbled into your ear. “just wanna stay inside you.”

your breath hitched and your movements stopped. he could feel your heartbeat thrumming and maybe you weren’t ready —

“then do it.”

it was his turn for his breath to hitch because you didn’t even give him a warning as your hands reached behind you and tugged his boxers and sweatpants down in one go. the rough feeling of the sheets against his cock had matt keening over, mouth open against your neck. he helped you in pulling his clothes all the way down, then took his middle finger and swiped a line from your clit and into your wet entrance. you bucked against him, moaning as he pumped his finger one, two times along your inner walls.

you reached back once more, feeling blindly for his cock.

“fuck.” matt groaned out when you grasped him tightly, thumb rubbing up against his tip, covered in sticky precum. you gently tugged, savoring the way matt was at your utter mercy, guiding him towards your entrance. he got the message, and fully turned to be pressed snug against your ass. his hand covered your lower abdomen, holding you in place as he slid his cock in, and in, and in.

mouth open and face twisted, you were frozen in pleasure. a soft moan left your mouth when he settled fully to the hilt. you could feel the press of his balls, and you dared to press further back, groaning when you felt him slide deeper.

breathing heavy in you your ear, his hand pressed around your lower tummy, feeling himself there.

there was nothing better than this. the blankets were messy around his hips, but matt didn’t even care because he had never been warmer. it took everything in him not to buck his hips over and over and pound into you from this angle, knowing he would be able to feel himself. the urge to bask in this warmth overcame his urge to fuck your brains out, so he pulled the sheets back up and settled once more against your body.

“feels so nice, matty.” you mumbled sleepily against his arm.

“yeah, baby?” he whispered. you had clenched slightly around him, and the movement made his cock twitch. he moved his hand up your undershirt and held your breast, massaging the bud of your nipple and releasing it to cup it instead. you whimpered and it was enough for him to drop his hand and move it back to your bare waist because the noise made him want to pump his come deep in you.

that was the horny side of him talking. the logical side of him wanted to breathe you in and focus on the way you felt wrapped around him, warming him up in a way a million blankets or heaters never could.

despite the unnerving urge you had to come so hard you saw stars, you took a few deep breaths and made yourself relax to the feeling of matt’s cock pressed against your cervix. you were so sensitive that the smallest movement had your eyes clenched and tummy tightening.

it felt good — a little too good as it took everything in you not to keep impaling yourself on his cock till you came. but his arms around you tightened and you realized you’ve never felt cozier.

your breath still puffed out in chill breaths, the tv still played reruns, the snow still fell outside, the clock only read 1:43. everything was happening the way it was meant to. so matt kissed the corner of your lips once more and settled into your warmth.

“sleep, pretty girl,” he murmured. “i’ll be right here when you wake up.”

[vunblr]

The Broken Waltz

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader/ Bucky Barnes x other characters.

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt. Sprinkles of Comfort. Dark Content: Dead dove, do not eat. Violence. Depictions of sexual violence. Dehumanization. Brief description of torture. Rape/Non-con. Non-consensual use of drugs. Degradation. Hydra Trash Party. Mentions of blood.

Please read the warnings carefully, and if I’ve missed any, feel free to let me know. I'm serious, this is not like my usual content. If there is a warning you don't recognize, ask about it. You are responsible for your media consumption.

Summary: Before freedom, before choice, there was only function. A tool and a weapon, bound in a dance orchestrated by Hydra’s cruel hands. The tool was meant to mend, the weapon to destroy. That night, the tool got to witness the weapon's other purposes.

Word Count: 5.6.k.

notes: This is a side-story from the completed Toy Soldier series. It can likely be read as a standalone, but for context: Reader is a mutant with healing abilities, kept in cryo alongside the Winter Soldier over the years to repair him and ensure he remains operational. If you didn't read the main story, I'm afraid there will be spoilers at the end.

As the guards escorted her through the dark corridors, their boots echoed against the cold concrete walls. She knew where they were taking her, had only been here once before, but once was enough. It was the night she learned what other uses Hydra had for the Soldat.

She didn’t ask why they’d dressed her like this -a dress, and heels that made her steps unsteady- she wasn’t stupid enough to question it. But the nerves twisted her stomach as they led her deeper into the facility.

They stopped at a different door this time, bigger and rusted, pitted with age. But she could picture the scenario waiting behind it, and her hands started to tremble.

One of the men reached for the handle. The hinges groaned as it swung open, but the sound was swallowed immediately by the music seeping out, a slow, pulsing bass that vibrated through her bones. The scent in the air hit her next, thick with smoke, sweat, and something else.

Her pulse pounded against her chest as she hesitated at the threshold, and a firm hand pressed into the small of her back. Not a push, not yet. Just a reminder. Keep moving.

Someone noticed her. A man near an improvised bar turned to her, his grin was sharp and knowing, as his gaze dragged over her form.

“Ah,” he drawled, sipping from a glass. “About time.”

Her stomach churned. She swallowed it down.

Then a second voice, closer, colder. “Come on, don’t keep us waiting.” A hand closed around her wrist. Not a bruising grip, but firm, insistent. She forced herself forward.

Laughter rippled from the far side of the room, loose and taunting, while bodies draped lazily over worn-out furniture. Half-drunk officers, lounging agents, some already slipping hands beneath pants or unbuckling belts. At the center of it all, stood him.

The Soldat.

He wasn’t restrained. He didn’t need to be. Not with the way they had carved obedience into his brain, made his body react before his mind could resist. His expression was blank, unreadable. But she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides before flexing loose again. A tell.

His handler sat nearby, with his legs crossed, and one arm draped over the chair like a king on his throne. His gaze flicked over her, unimpressed. “I was wondering if I should retrieve you myself,” he mused. “But it seems you were just putting in extra effort to look pretty for tonight.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t even let herself stiffen.

“Sit,” he said, motioning to a cushioned chair. An order, dressed as a courtesy.

She complied.

The handler leaned back, exhaling like this was all a dull inconvenience. He gestured vaguely toward the Soldat. “Let’s see… Orlov, just do it. It doesn’t look like it’s going to get hard on its own anytime soon, and you know how some of the guys get when they don’t get to play with the full package.”

It.

Always it.

Never he. Because to them, that’s all the Soldat was, a thing.

‘Orlov’ stepped forward, a man in a neatly pressed blue suit. Detached, he pressed a metal syringe to the side of Soldat’s neck and thumbed the plunger. The liquid disappeared into his bloodstream. He didn’t flinch.

The handler sighed again, shifting in his seat. “I’m tired of this chair. Get on your hands and knees.”

Soldat obeyed instantly, lowering himself to the floor without hesitation. The handler perched himself onto his broad back like a piece of furniture, rolling his shoulders before reaching into his pocket. A velvet bag emerged from it, and the drawstring loosened between his fingers.

He rattled it once. “I’ll draft the numbers now.”

Excited murmurs rose from the crowd, and the anticipation sharpened the air.

“Patience, gentlemen,” the handler said, in an almost jovial tone, like this was nothing more than a friendly game. A joke among comrades.

He reached into the bag.

And the night began.

----

She didn’t understand why she was here.

For nearly two hours, she had sat motionless, a silent spectator to the relentless degradation inflicted upon the Soldat.

She had watched as they forced him to lick their boots, dragging his tongue over leather, metal, and filth while rough hands struck him at random. The blows landed carelessly: open-palmed slaps, backhanded strikes, sharp cuffs to the head that made him lurch but never resist. They had bent him over next, pressed him down with easy cruelty, and brought out a paddle. She didn’t know what it was made of, only that it was capable of leaving angry red welts blooming across his skin, crisscrossing over old bruises like a map of their past indulgences.

And now-

Now, he knelt in the center of the room, forced to orally service them, one after another. His head yanked forward and back at their whim and other times, they just grabbed his long locks to hold him in place and they thrust harshly down his throat. His knees were pressed into what looked like shattered glass. She couldn’t tell if it had been scattered there on purpose or if a bottle had been dropped and left behind, but the damage was the same. Dark smears stained the wooden planks beneath him, fresh blood dripping steadily from the ravaged skin.

She tried not to watch. She really tried.

But the chair they had placed her in was angled toward the scene, a deliberate choice, and the guard beside her stood too close, with the long barrel of his gun nearly brushing against her arm. And then, there were the sounds. Wet, broken, relentless, rising over the muffled pulse of the music, embedding themselves into her ears.

And then-

A loud crack.

The slap landed hard across Soldat’s face, snapping his head to the side.

“Look at what you did!”

The man who had just pulled himself from Soldat’s throat was seething, his face was twisted in rage. The hem of his trousers was stained deep red since the blood from Soldat’s knees soaked into the fabric.

He flinched as the agent wrenched his head back by the hair, forcing him to look at the damage.

“You useless thing,” the agent spat. His fingers dug into Soldat’s scalp, twisting cruelly. “You think this is funny? How the hell am I supposed to explain-”

He cut himself off with a growl, shoving the asset away like he couldn’t stand the sight of him. “This can’t happen again,” he muttered darkly. Then, firmer: “It won’t happen again.”

Dragging his foot, he shoved a pile of blood-slicked glass shards toward him. “Eat it.”

Silence.

“All of it.”

For a moment -just a fraction of a second- Soldat hesitated.

His eyes flicked up, searching for something.

It wasn’t rebellion. It wasn’t resistance. Just something close to human, buried so deep it barely surfaced before being swallowed back down.

And then, as if something inside him snapped back into place, he obeyed. His fingers trembled only slightly as he scooped the jagged pieces into his palm. Brought them to his mouth.

The first bite sent fresh blood spilling past his lips.

His throat worked around the sharp edges, every movement of his jaw was slow, deliberate, agonizing. His breath hitched as a shard sliced the inside of his cheek, a small, choked sound that escaped before he could stop it.

A whimper.

Soft. Nearly lost beneath the noise of the room.

The agent’s fury reignited at once.

“Swallow it all,” he barked, yanking at his hair again. “Or I swear to god, I’ll shove the rest of it up your sloppy ass!”

Soldat shuddered, and his body trembled with restraint. His wet eyes burned with the sting of unshed tears as he forced himself to chew. To swallow.

His throat clenched around the shards, red smearing across his lips, his chin.

But he did as he was told.

----

The handler sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath.

It was against policy to intervene while the winners were playing with the asset. But now that the damage was done -now that Soldat had swallowed every last sliver of glass off the floor- there was no choice. If its insides tore beyond repair, the party would be over before it could really begin, and tomorrow's mission would be delayed.

The handler turned to her with a flat, bored expression. “Fix it. Periodically. Its stomach needs time to dissolve the glass, and I don’t need it bleeding out on any of the carpets.”

She nodded. Then, at the risk of being ‘disciplined,’ she hesitated, just enough to seem careful, not defiant. “Sir,” she started carefully, lowering her gaze, “the noise and… the space here makes it hard to concentrate. May I take him somewhere quieter? Just the corner, so I can work properly.”

It was a complete lie. But the man barely looked at her before waving a hand, already losing interest. “Fine. Just don’t take too long.”

She exhaled silently, then reached for Soldat’s wrist.

The skin beneath her fingers was too cold. He didn’t flinch. He just let her guide him through the crowd, moving with the same eerie compliance as always. Around them, heat and alcohol-thick laughter embraced them, with grasping hands brushed against her arms, fingers grazing her waist. She kept moving.

As they weaved through the sea of bodies, she let a slow trickle of healing energy seep through her grip, mending the welts on his rear, and the smaller scrapes littering his skin. She couldn’t do much without direct touch, but it was enough to ease the fresh bruising, to soften the pain just slightly.

When they reached the spot she had chosen, she gestured to a stool, small, rickety, ridiculous. “Sit, darling,” she murmured, gently. “So I can reach you properly.”

He obeyed instantly, lowering himself onto the stool without hesitation. His posture was perfect, straight spine, knees spread just enough to be ready to stand promptly. The blood pooling in his mouth made his lips glossy, and his throat worked hard to keep from spilling it.

“I’m going to help with your mouth, alright?” It wasn’t necessary to warn him. If she had shoved a spoonful of nails past his lips, he would have accepted it without question. But she still gave him the mercy of knowing.

Her fingers ghosted over his jaw before pressing gently against his lips. A soft glow spread beneath her palm, slipping through torn flesh, knitting muscle and skin back together.

His eyes widened, flickering with something unreadable.

Then, hesitantly -almost imperceptibly- he leaned into her touch.

Her breath caught.

For a moment, there was something painfully young in his expression. A quiet, fragile trust that had no place in this environment.

She worked quickly, sealing the lacerations on his cheeks, the punctures inside his mouth, and the shredded edges of his tongue. The bleeding slowed. Then stopped completely.

But she lingered, with her hand still cradling his jaw, feeling the warmth of his breath against her skin. “Better?” she murmured.

His lips parted slightly beneath her touch. He swallowed hard, nodding faintly.

She did the same with his throat, then let her hand drift lower, pressing gently over his chest, then his stomach, focusing on the unseen damage inside his body. She avoided looking at the painful, leaking erection straining against his belly, but it was difficult, especially when she had to kneel to mend his torn knees. He had been like this for hours, courtesy of whatever they had injected into his bloodstream, to endure its effects long past the point of agony.

How much longer would they make him suffer?

When she looked up again, she caught him wetting his lips, noticing how his throat worked as he swallowed. Right. He had spent the last few hours licking boots, servicing men, choking on their pleasure, only to end up with his mouth full of blood.

“Are you thirsty?” she asked softly.

He didn’t respond. He was too well-trained for that. But his eyes betrayed him.

She glanced around and spotted a half-empty water bottle discarded nearby. Reaching for it, she held it out to him. His gaze locked onto it, desperation flashing behind his carefully blank expression.

But he didn’t take it.

His hands remained on his thighs, his fingers curled in silent obedience, waiting.

Then she remembered.

She had heard his handler laughing in his face earlier, taunting him If you’re thirsty, Soldat, find a guest to suck it from. That’s the only drink you’ll be getting tonight.

Her stomach churned. That perverted son of a bitch.

Then, an idea came to her, a fragment from one of those ridiculous romantic novels she used to devour before all this. It might not work. But if it did…

Slowly, she uncapped the bottle and took a generous sip.

His eyes darted downward, and he tensed his jaw. His shoulders went rigid as if escaping from another cruelty, another taunt about what he could never have.

Instead, she reached out, fingers light under his chin, guiding his face up to hers. Then, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

He froze, startled by the shift in her demeanor.

Her lips moved against his, coaxing, soft. When her tongue brushed his lower lip in silent request, his lips parted, hesitantly at first, but when she tilted her head, letting the water slip from her mouth to his, he swallowed without hesitation.

But it wasn’t enough.

 The moment she started to pull back, his breath stuttered, and before she could fully retreat, his tongue flickered out, clumsy, desperate, catching on her lower lip as if searching for more.

A low, aching sound left his lips, and she hesitated for only a second before drinking and tipping forward again. This time, she pressed deeper, letting her tongue slide against his as another mouthful spilled between them. His throat worked, taking every drop.

When she finally pulled back, he was panting with damp lips, and his eyes were blown wide with something raw, something dangerously close to reverence.

She licked the last trace from her lips. “What do you say?” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Want the rest?”

A nod. Small, barely there.

But real.

----

The air was thick with sweat and sex, clinging to her skin like a second layer. At some point, some of the spectators had wandered off, no longer entertained, while others -too drunk or too aroused- began touching themselves or indulging in one another.

If there had been even a thread of innocence left in her about what people could do to each other during sex, it unraveled completely that night. Not that it mattered. Damaged goods couldn’t mourn the loss of something already long gone.

She had once agonized over losing her virginity before marriage, racked with guilt over the belief that no respectable man would want her afterward. Laughable. Especially when, just a couple of months later, she discovered her sweetheart had been cheating all along.

And now?

Now, she sat watching these men -these monsters- pound into Soldat, fisting his hair to use his mouth like a fleshlight, carving slurs into his skin with the tip of a knife, playing darts against his flesh as if his body were nothing but a living target board.

Most of them wore wedding rings.

Respectable men with families to return to, wives to kiss, children to lift into their arms. Hours ago, they had taken turns forcing a human doll -chained to a wall- to accommodate whatever they could think of. Testing his limits like he was a broken machine, stuffing objects inside him just to see if he could take it.

They had laughed at his suffering. Struck him for the crime of exhaling too sharply. When he whimpered, they punished him for making noise.

And now, beneath the dim, flickering light, they poured their own cum into cocktail glasses smirking, toasting, collecting it in a disgusting jar that would no doubt be used in some other depraved act before the night was over.

----

A drunken cheer erupted from the corner of the room, followed by raucous laughter. She didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to know.

But her gaze betrayed her, drawn to the loose circle forming around Soldat. Their eyes gleamed, alight with cruel amusement.

A man she recognized -one of the cruelest- stood at the center, with a cigarette pinched lazily between his fingers. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke through his nose like a bored dragon.

Then the scent hit her nose.

Burning flesh.

Her stomach lurched as she spotted it, a small ember of orange pressed against the meat of Soldat’s thigh. The contact lasted only a second, a brief sizzle before the man pulled back to inspect his work.

He frowned. Unimpressed.

“Nothing,” he muttered, taking another drag.

“Figures.” Someone else snorted. “It’s just a fucking corpse with a pulse.”

“Maybe we’re not trying hard enough.”

The murmurs of agreement were instant. A ripple of dark anticipation.

The cigarette man smirked. Then, without hesitation, his free hand reached down, curling his fingers around the rigid length between Soldat’s thighs.

Heat crawled up her neck and sick, bitter nausea at the sight of what was coming. His body was slick, coated in sweat, his drug-induced erection still throbbing in cruel betrayal.

“Wonder if it’ll react to this,” the man mused.

The cigarette lowered, pressed just beneath the sensitive head.

This time, Soldat flinched.

It was barely noticeable -a twitch of muscle, a ghost of a movement- but they saw it.

And like sharks catching the scent of blood, they surged.

“Oh, you felt that, didn’t you?” A rough hand fisted in his hair, jerking his head up, forcing eye contact. “Bet it doesn’t hurt as bad as getting your throat split open, huh? Do you even feel pain anymore?”

The cigarette was pressed down again.

A sharp, wet inhale.

His stomach tensed, and his muscles coiled like a trapped animal. His body knew to recoil, even if his conditioning held him still.

The ember dragged a slow, deliberate path along his shaft, burning the skin in thin, blackened lines. Flesh darkened beneath the heat, branding him with each cruel press.

Someone passed another cigarette. Then another.

The men took turns pressing them into him, searing small, blistering circles along his cock, his thighs, and hip bones. A slow, methodical defilement. Some fresh and raw, others already darkening, puckering.

A sigh.

Heavy. Exasperated.

The handler stepped forward, boot nudging Soldat’s chin up, as cold, assessing eyes flicked over his ruined body. The spit drying on his bruised skin. The lipstick stains, smeared and fading. The fresh burns now marred his flesh. He curved his lip with disdain. “You look fucking disgusting.” A scoff. A lazy wave in her direction. “Fix it. I don’t need it pissing blood all over the floor.”

She moved toward him on unsteady legs, too slow for the handler’s liking.

He made a show of tapping his chin, exaggerating the gesture as if deep in thought. Then, with a smirk that curdled her insides, he spoke, “You know, pet, you’re already dressed for the occasion. "Fix it with your mouth.”

Her stomach turned. Her steps faltered.

The agents laughed, tossing crude comments her way, jeering that she was finally going to earn her place instead of sulking in a chair.

She forced herself to breathe. “I don’t know if I can, sir,” she tried, with a calm voice despite the tremor threatening at the edges. “I’ve never-”

“Don’t act all shy now, you slut.” The words cut through the space like a whip crack. “Far as I’m concerned, you’ve had your mouth on more than a couple of cocks in here.”

The laughter swelled. A few mocking whistles followed, crude and sharp.

She willed herself not to react. Not to remember.

Instead, she lowered her gaze. Pick your battles. “I meant healing, sir. My mouth… I’ve never used it like that before.”

The handler tilted his head, amused. “What better time to learn than now?”

He turned, spitting his next command at Soldat. “On your feet.”

Then, his eyes snapped back to her.

“You. Put that mouth to use before I change my mind and make you earn your food with your holes.”

She couldn’t stop the shudder that rolled through her body.

A thick swallow. A deep breath. Then she got on her knees, pressing hesitant hands against Soldat’s hips. His skin was clammy under her palms, too warm now, from fever or drugs or both. The scent of his body hit her like a blow, charred flesh, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood that trickled between his thighs.

Her stomach twisted, but she leaned in anyway.

A tentative lick, a slow stripe along his shaft. She reached, searching for the connection, trying to channel her gift through her tongue.

Nothing.

Her stomach clenched. She tried again, swirling her tongue around seared skin, forcing herself to ignore the low, wet noises of the room.

Nothing.

She pulled back, lips barely parting as she murmured, “It- it doesn’t work.”

The handler sighed, in a long and theatrical tone, as if she were a child disappointing a parent. “Useless bitch.” He flicked his wrist, already bored. “Fine. Use your hands.”

A pause.

“While you suck that pathetic excuse of a dick it got there. Don’t want the boys dying of boredom.”

Her fingers trembled as she wrapped them around him, the burned skin hot beneath her touch. She swallowed hard.

The agents were watching. Waiting.

A hand clamped down on the back of her neck, squeezing just enough to make her jolt. "Now," the handler warned with impatience.

Her lips parted, and she forced herself forward, feeling the taste of sweat and burned flesh thick on her tongue. The moment she took him into her mouth, laughter erupted around them. Some sneered in approval, others jeered with drunken amusement.

“Look at her,” one of them drawled, slurring slightly. “Acting like she’s never done it before.”

A sharp slap landed against the side of her face, not hard enough to bruise but meant to humiliate.

His skin was fever-hot on her mouth, the brutalized flesh cracked and raw where the cigarettes had bitten deep. He didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. He just stood there, waiting to be used, to be humiliated, to endure.

She breathed through her nose, shifting her mouth slightly, adjusting to the salt and copper clinging to her tongue.

Soldat’s stomach tensed. Just barely. Just enough for her to notice. Her hands smoothed over his hip in reassurance, though she wasn’t sure who she was trying to comfort.

“There you go,” the handler mused, with mock satisfaction. “Not so useless after all.”

Her hands began to glow faintly, and her gift sought out the worst of the wounds, the deepest burns, the tears that had yet to stop bleeding.

“Ah, help her rinse her mouth”, one of the men said, pouring his drink on Soldat's groin, splashing her face in the process. She imagined the burn of alcohol searing over the scalded skin of his cock, a punishment layered upon punishment.

He twitched in her mouth, jerking from pain or something else, she couldn’t say. And yet, quiet, shameful gratitude curled in her chest, and her lips parted slightly as the mock assistance washed over her tongue, ridding her of the taste of burned flesh.

Her fingers ghosted then over the ruined skin of his shaft, guiding her healing through the raw burns, knitting together flesh that should never have been damaged in the first place. Beneath her touch, she felt him twitch again, the smallest, involuntary reaction to relief.

The room buzzed with lazy amusement. Some had lost interest, slumping back in their chairs with half-drunk glasses dangling from their fingers, while others watched with languid, predatory satisfaction.

"It’s... it’s done, sir," she murmured, keeping her gaze toward the floor, and her hands trembling against her thighs.

Laughter. Mocking.

"I still see it at full attention, pet."

She clenched her teeth, willing herself not to react. Of course it was. The cocktail of drugs coursing through his veins had ensured that much.

“But the healing-”

"Oh, for the love of God," the handler groaned, exasperated. "Just suck it dry the same way you do with Bìkov on his shifts. You’ve already started, after all."

A pause. A slow, deliberate smirk.

"Besides, I think it likes you."

A sharp pat to Soldat’s shoulder, condescending, like a master indulging a particularly obedient pet.

She pressed her lips together, feeling her pulse roaring in her ears.

A slow inhale.

"Yes, sir."

She leaned in again, gently pressing her fingers against the tense muscles of his thighs as she worked his hard, throbbing length with slow and deliberate motions. At some point, his blue gaze flicked down to her. She held his stare as she swirled her tongue around the sensitive head of his cock, washing away the last traces of pain. Slowly, she took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked him gently, coaxingly. One hand slid to cup and massage his heavy balls, while the other slid up and down the part of his cock she couldn’t accommodate in her mouth. She started to move with the determination to bring him to completion quickly. 

The room faded away -the leering faces, the harsh lights, the laughs-. At that moment, there was only him, and his taste in her mouth. A perverse intimacy born of cruelty and circumstance.

The tension in his body shifted, and the trembling was no longer solely from pain. His breath hitched, and his fingers twitched where they had been obediently fisted at his sides. A shudder ran through his body, deep and uncontrollable, as his body finally gave in to something other than suffering.

His release was silent. No groan, no exhale of pleasure, only the sharp, involuntary clench of his abdomen, and the sudden, erratic rise and fall of his chest as his hips jerked once, twice. His body convulsed with the force of the orgasm, and his shoulders locked tight before he sagged forward, utterly spent.

For a moment, nothing moved. He was still hard -of course he was- but the unbearable strain had lessened, and the raw edge of his agony momentarily dulled. Even if just for a second, his body had been allowed to take something back.

She pulled away, swallowing thickly as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying not to think about what had just happened, what she had done, what he had been forced to endure. She wasn’t sure how she felt. Relief? Shame? It didn’t matter now.

The room, however, reacted differently.

Laughter erupted in the stance, drunken and wild, it was the sound of amusement tinged with something mean-spirited. Someone clapped, slow and mocking. “Well, would you look at that,” the handler drawled, stepping forward. His boot nudged at Soldat’s knee, forcing his posture back into proper submission. “Guess it had more in it than we thought.”

More laughter. A murmur of approval, men slapping each other’s backs like they had just witnessed a particularly good joke.

----

As expected, the jar of collective filth had a purpose.

At some point -between the agony, the laughter, the sick indulgence- someone had forced the asset into a maid’s dress. The fabric clung awkwardly to his frame, and the short skirt pooled in humiliating ruffles over bruised thighs. A lacy headpiece had been pinned into his damp, tangled hair, slipping askew with the weight of sweat and abuse.

And now, they had him kneeling before the jar, a straw pressed between his raw, swollen lips.

After all the abhorrent things she had witnessed that night, this felt… surreal. It should have been absurd, laughable in its ridiculousness. But it wasn’t. Not with the way his hands stayed obediently folded over his lap, not with the way his hollow eyes stared straight ahead, as he drew slow, mechanical sips from the straw.

The men around him roared with laughter, snapping pictures with strange cameras, sleek, silver things with small glowing screens, no film to spool, no rolls to develop. Instant gratification. They posed beside him like he was nothing more than a prop, tilting his chin up, forcing his battered lips into a parody of a pout.

Like a girl sipping a milkshake for a magazine cover.

A beaten, swollen, defiled version of that, obviously.

----

The night had stretched long, and the indulgence had given way to exhaustion. The room had thinned, only the most depraved lingered to watch the final act of entertainment.

Soldat had been given an order.

Dance with her.

His head tilted slightly at the order, and his swollen lips parted as if to breathe in the command like it was something tangible. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he turned toward her chair.

His tired eyes found her across the room, sunken into herself, bracing for whatever fresh cruelty they had conjured. He moved. Slow, limping, his bare feet sticking to the filth-slicked floor, and the torn lace of his ridiculous maid’s dress swaying pitifully against his bruised thighs. He stopped before her, close enough for her to see the dried blood at his hairline, and the trembling in his fingers as he extended his hand.

A parody of elegance.

A gentleman in a ballroom.

The room was silent now, watching. Waiting. She took his hand -what other choice did she have?- and there was no hesitation in his grip as he pulled her up. He led her to the center of the room, positioning her as was desired, and then… he moved.

Despite everything -the degradation, the broken skin, the exhaustion woven into every fiber of his body- he was a good dancer. He guided her with a firm but gentle hold, leading her through the waltz as if this were an evening of refinement instead of a pit of debauchery.

She forced herself to focus on him. Not the sneers, not the slurred laughter, not the echoes of what they did to him, or what they made her do. Just him.

His lips were split, and a cheekbone was darkened with bruising, yet his eyes -God, his eyes- were what undid her.

Awake. Not just alive, but aware.

And in that awareness, something wretched.

Sadness. Heavy and inescapable, a ghost of a man still lingering in the hollow shell they had carved him into.

She wondered if this skill on the dance floor was shoved into his brain as another tool, another weapon for seduction and subterfuge, or was a remnant of something real. A fragment of the past, long buried beneath steel orders and forced obedience.

She tried to picture it. A different setting. A different life.

Trade the tattered maid dress for a suit and tie, with the sharp cut of the jacket emphasizing his broad shoulders and strong arms. His tangled and dirty hair, clean and neatly styled. His mouth free of blood, curving into a mischievous, charming smile.

Would he have smiled at her? Would he have asked her to dance, some lifetime ago, with laughter in his voice instead of a command in his brain?

God, she would have said yes without a second thought.

As he guided their steps in slow, measured turns, she let her thumb brush over the back of his hand, a quiet, fleeting comfort. Almost imperceptible.

“It’s almost over,” she whispered, her voice meant only for him. “Almost there, Soldat. And then, I’ll make it all go away.”

Physically, at least.

His grip on her hand tightened, just slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to be felt. His gaze never wavered, locked onto hers with a force that sent a shiver through her body. His lips were pressed together, then parted, just a fraction, like he wanted to speak but thought better of it.

Still, that tiny hesitation said enough.

----

Silence, at last.

The spectators had had their fill, leaving only the echoes of their laughter behind. Soldat was sent back to his "kennel," and as always, she followed; trailing in his shadow, the designated keeper of a thing they would soon redeploy, its suffering inconsequential so long as it functioned. His condition had to be pristine. His pain was irrelevant.

So here they were.

She sat on the rim of his cot, watching the broken thing beside her, an instrument of war curled in on itself, reduced to a trembling frame of raw muscle and open wounds. He didn’t try to sit, didn’t dare after what they had done to him. His back was to her, the powerful body that could break men like nothing was now curled tight as if trying to disappear.

She knew better than to startle him.

"I’m going to touch you now, sweetheart," she murmured. "Your head first. Then I’ll work my way down, alright?"

No answer. There never was.

But he moved. A shift, subtle and deliberate, and suddenly she wasn’t staring at his bruised back anymore.

Blue eyes met hers, tired, shadowed, yet startlingly present.

----

"Cream cheese or plum jam, doll?" he asked, shaking a thick slice of toast in his vibranium hand.

She blinked.

The past bled away as she lifted her head, meeting those blue eyes that were no longer dull, no longer shadowed.

He'd put it on again, her frilly, maid-like apron. The delicate lace looked absurd against muscle and metal, tied haphazardly around his broad frame.

She swallowed, pushing the memories down, and locking them away where they belonged. "Both, handsome," she answered, carefully setting the cups and cutlery on the table.

Maybe he didn’t remember that specific day.

Maybe the chair had wiped it from him, erased it like so many other things.

And for that, she was grateful.

Tags: @cats-chaotic-mind

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

[falling-endlessly]

The Lesson

Vox x Reader

Summary: Vox comes home to find you lying in a pool of your own blood.

As soon as the security cameras in your shared penthouse went dark, he knew something was very, very wrong.

His screen shut off as he focused on any nearby surveillance cameras, only to find that he couldn't get a good angle no matter which direction he turned them to. With a feral growl of frustration, he sent himself through one of the ground-level cameras, ignoring the startled yelps of unsuspecting pedestrians as he zapped into existence.

A path parted for him as he stormed into the building, flashing into the elevator and rigging it to move four times as fast.

He barely restrained himself from just busting down the door in his terrified fury, instead carefully twisting open the doorknob with a white-knuckled fist.

Silence was the second warning. The apartment was never silent, either with Vark thumping around cheerfully or you humming to yourself as you moved through the hallways or tapped away at your keyboard.

The eerie lack of background noise sent an ice cold chill down his spine. He found that he could barely breathe.

With soundless steps, he crept further into the apartment, afraid of what he might—or might not find waiting for him.

He found Vark first, nearly stepping in the growing puddle of blood if he hadn't pulled his foot back in time. Vox strangled a noise in his throat, hastily dropping to his knees as he shrugged off his jacket and tied it as tightly around the shark's mangled side as he could, trying to staunch the bleeding. A numbing thought surfaced in his mind. If Vark was in this condition, then you...

No longer concerned with being silent or careful, Vox flashed into different rooms in your apartment. The bathrooms, the kitchen, the living room.

He found you in your shared bedroom, slumped against the wall as your hair shielded your face. Vox spasmed and glitched, having to mentally force himself to shove his worries in the back of his mind in order to keep control of his movements.

"Y/n?" He whispered, afraid to approach you. Terrified of what he might discover.

You didn't respond, making the cold ball in his chest expand until it felt like his airways were freezing solid. Like his entire body was shutting down.

No. NonoNONONONO.

He half stumbled, half fell at your feet, clawed hands grasping your soft arms and shaking lightly—then harder, when you stayed unresponsive. His knees were wet, something warm—blood, his mind unhelpfully supplied—and his vision was getting concerningly blurry. His hands slid up your shoulders, ignoring the large oozing gash across your chest, and cupped your limp face, where blood was also dripping down the right side in slow rivulets.

"Y/n?" His voice cracked.

When you didn't stir, he let out a choked sob, hastily divesting himself of his dress shirt and pressing the scrunched up ball into your open wound. You didn't even flinch. Fuck.

"Come on, sweetheart, don't do this to me," he said, voice strained as he desperately checked your vitals. His heart nearly stopped when he discovered that yours had.

"Noo," he moaned, sending bolts of electricity into your chest, fruitlessly trying to restart your failed heart. Cursed his lack of proper lips that made CPR that much more difficult.

It took a while before he stopped trying, tiring himself out until crushing sadness replaced the pulsing adrenaline. Vox leaned against the wall, panting as he cradled your cooling body in his lap. He held you when your lips went blue, stroking your hair tenderly like you were still alive. He held you until the first notes of color started to replenish your cheeks once more, until your chest began to delicately rise and fall as your insides repaired themselves.

When your eyelids finally fluttered open, it was to bloodshot, red rimmed ones staring back at you.

"Vox?" You whispered softly, causing your lover to let out a ragged breath. "W-What—?" And then suddenly it all came back to you with a jolt. The demons who broke in and killed you. They didn't want anything you offered them, only to cause as much pain to the TV demon as they possibly could. And what better way to kill him than with his heart? Your bottom lip shook as the horrible memories replayed in your mind, only cut off by the warm chest your face was shoved into.

"Don't," he croaked, shaking his head. "I can see what you're doing, stop it."

Your eyes welled as you let out your own shuddering breath, weak fingers coming up to clutch at the bare skin of his back. He held you as silent tears ran down your face, holding you tighter every time your fingers flexed.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. "I'm sorry I didn't protect you."

"They didn't want anything," you heaved, burying your face deeper in his shoulder. "Th-they just said they wanted to hurt you and—oh my god, Vark!" You immediately moved to get up, only to be pulled back down again.

"Shh, it's okay," he soothed. "The cameras are back online, I can see him moving around in the kitchen." Internally though, his heart pounded with an incredible rage. So some suicidal fuckers thought they could break into his house and lay their hands on you? Holy fucking shit, when he got his hands on them they were going to wish they'd just stayed in the shadows. That was a promise.

You sagged with relief against him, and he let you stay curled up against him for a few more minutes, before he carried you to the shower. After gently helping you clean off, rubbing your tense muscles when your hands trembled, he dressed you in the fuzziest sleepwear you owned, before depositing you carefully under the silk covers.

"Don't leave," you pleaded, making his heart ache. He acquiesced, staying until he was sure you were asleep, before his screen went dark as he lost himself in the flowing web of information that he'd built himself.

His screen flashed red as a single eye opened. "Found you."

That morning you woke up to lean arms draped over you, a defined chest pressed tightly to your back. A small smile graced your lips.

"Morning," he whispered into your ear.

"Morning," you smiled back. And when you asked the silent question, did you do it? He nodded, pulling you closer.

You leaned your head on his chest, thank you. He squeezed your hand, of course.

***

Art inspiration for the scene “Found you.” HERE (from zerochan, as unfortunately I could not find the direct post)

Artist above (Kwiisha) twitter account HERE

[jessiso]

"Triage"

A Criminal Minds one-shot | Aaron Hotcher x Fem! Reader

After you're shot in the field, Hotch is overwhelmed with guilt and finally confesses his feelings while you’re unconscious—terrified he’s lost you for good.

cw: injury, hospital scenes, guilt, emotional intensity, angst to comfort

w/c 945 (short n angsty)

...

The sirens blurred into the background, swallowed by the blood pounding in his ears.

“Aaron, you’re not cleared to go in there—”

He didn’t hear them. Couldn’t. His eyes were locked on the stretcher being wheeled toward the waiting ambulance.

He saw the hand hanging limply off the side. The blood-soaked vest. The fingers he’d memorized the feel of but never dared to touch for too long.

Yours.

“Agent Hotchner!” a paramedic barked. “We need to move—are you riding with us?”

He nodded numbly, clambering in. His knee hit the side of the gurney, and he didn't even register the pain. His eyes searched your face—ghostly pale, streaked with dirt and blood.

The medic was shouting vitals, adjusting oxygen flow. He kept asking questions about your response, your pupils, your pain levels.

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

And Aaron felt his world tilt.

He should’ve been the one to clear the house. He’d assigned teams. He’d made the call. He should’ve known the suspect wasn’t alone. Should’ve seen the signs. Should’ve sent someone else.

Anyone but you.

This was his fault.

The waiting room smelled like antiseptic and fear.

JJ brought him coffee. He didn’t touch it.

Morgan sat beside him, silent.

Reid paced, chewing on his thumbnail.

But Aaron just sat there, elbows on his knees, hands steepled in front of his mouth, eyes fixed on the double doors the doctors had disappeared behind.

It’d been forty-seven minutes.

Forty-seven minutes of remembering how your body had looked sprawled on that kitchen floor.

How you’d gasped for air as he pressed his hands to your side. How your blood had soaked into his sleeves.

“She lost a lot of blood,” the medic had said. “We're lucky you got here when you did.”

Lucky.

Aaron had never felt so utterly, cosmically unlucky in his life.

“Hotch?”

He blinked. JJ again, her hand on his shoulder.

“They said she’s out of surgery. Stable. But she’s not awake yet.”

“Can I see her?”

JJ hesitated. “They said… only one person for now. And only family.”

He was on his feet before she could finish.

“I am family,” he said, voice low and final.

Machines beeped steadily, a quiet symphony of survival.

You looked smaller in the hospital bed.

Fragile in a way he’d never seen.

Tubes snaked from your arms. A thick bandage wrapped around your middle. The doctor had said you’d lost nearly a third of your blood volume. They’d repaired the damage, but the healing would take time.

You hadn't opened your eyes.

Aaron sat beside the bed, his hand hovering over yours.

He wanted to hold it. Wanted to press it to his chest and beg you to squeeze, to do something to show him he hadn’t already lost you.

“I should’ve been there,” he whispered. “I should’ve had your six.”

The monitors kept their rhythm.

The only reply.

“I sent you in because I trusted you. Because I know how good you are. But I… I keep wondering if part of me did it because I knew you’d say yes. Because you never say no when I ask something of you.”

He swallowed, jaw tightening. His voice shook when he said, “You always show up for me. And I got you shot.”

Silence again.

He finally let his fingers brush yours. They were cold.

“Don’t make me lose you,” he said, eyes burning. “I never told you what you mean to me. Don’t make me carry that.”

...

Your eyes opened groggily and heavy, blinking against the harsh fluorescent light.

Pain throbbed in your side. You tried to shift and hissed, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“Hey—hey, stay still.”

You knew that voice. Even before your eyes fully focused.

Hotch.

His hand gripped yours now—tight, warm, grounding.

“You’re okay,” he said. “You’re in the hospital. You’re safe.”

You licked your lips. “You… okay?”

He let out a sound that was half a laugh, half a sob. “You got shot and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

You gave the smallest smile. “Didn’t… wanna worry you.”

“You always worry me,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Every time we go into the field. Every time I see you in danger.”

You blinked up at him. “Aaron…?”

His hand trembled as it cradled yours. “I should’ve said this before. I’ve been too careful. Too afraid. But when I saw you on that floor… I thought I’d lost my chance.”

He exhaled slowly.

“I love you.”

Silence stretched between you—thick with pain and promise.

You blinked again, slower this time.

“Thought I was dreaming,” you mumbled voice hoarse and thick. “Wanted to hear you say that… for a long time.”

His head dropped to rest lightly against your hand.

“You’re not dreaming,” he murmured. “And I’m not wasting another second.”

You drifted in and out of sleep.

Every time, he was there—reading case files, sipping bad coffee, holding your hand.

Once, you woke to find him brushing your hair back, lips pressed to your temple.

You didn’t talk much.

You didn’t need to.

His presence spoke louder than words.

You were alive. He was still here.

And when the time came for you to be discharged, Hotch was the one who wheeled you out of the hospital.

The team cheered, but his hand never left your shoulder.

Protective. Steady. Yours.

Later, when the BAU plane touched back down and he helped you into his SUV and began driving you to his place instead of your apartment, you didn’t ask why.

You already knew.

He wouldn’t let you out of his sight again.

Not after almost losing you.

Not now that he’d found the courage to hold on.