#all because of stupid trauma and my stupid head...

[barnesonly]

˗ˏˋ ★ Little Dove ★ ˎˊ˗

bucky barnes x empath!reader

summary: You escaped Hydra. You got him back. Now, you’re free — learning how to live, how to love, how to be whole again. The world is quiet for once… but healing isn’t easy. Still, with James by your side, maybe softness isn’t something to fear.

word count: 2660

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: the original series contains dark themes which may be referred in the one-shot. read at your own discretion. hurt/comfort, trauma bonding, established relationship, curse words, smut; oral (f receiving), praising.

Sam’s BBQ — oneshot continuation of my “Little Dove” series although can be read on its own.

A/N: This happens before the very ending of “Little Dove”. Just after they got together and Dove finally met Sam in better circumstances. I said I’ll write a oneshot of this fic when I reached 1k followers so… here is the first one — cause yeah, I am definitely going to write more about them in the future. I just cannot let them go, they’re like my babies. Anyways I hope you’ll enjoy this! Also extra points If you noticed the changed banner (you definitely did) and the pairing title 🤭

You stare at the closet like it’s personally offended you.

Clothes are scattered on the bed. Jeans. Two dresses. One too casual, the other too much. You stand there in your socks, arms crossed, biting at the inside of your cheek.

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid.

It’s just a barbecue.

Just Sam Wilson.

Just other normal people.

Your chest tightens at the thought. The clink of silverware. Laughter that isn’t cruel. Children running around without fear in their eyes. People asking where you’re from, what you do, what you like. And you — with no answers, no practiced smiles, no idea how to be in this world.

You sit down on the edge of the bed and bury your face in your hands.

God. Why did you say yes?

You’re still spiraling when you hear soft footsteps behind you. Then the mattress dips beside you, and James’s hand gently covers yours.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Talk to me.”

You don’t lift your head right away. Your voice is muffled. “I shouldn’t go.”

He leans a little closer. “Why?”

“I don’t belong there.” The words come out too fast. “I don’t have friends, I don’t know how to talk to people, and Sam—he already met me once and it was awkward, and what if I say something wrong or weird or just stand there like a broken lamp?”

James exhales slowly. His thumb brushes the back of your hand. “First of all, Sam liked you. He told me so.”

You finally glance at him. “He pitied me.”

“No,” James says, gently but firmly. “He didn’t. You came looking for me. He respected it.”

You almost smile, just a flicker. “I was desperate to find you.”

“Exactly,” he says, lips quirking. “Very charming.”

Your face drops back into your hands, groaning softly. “James…”

He shifts, kneeling in front of you now so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

“You’re not a broken lamp,” he says. “You’re not weird. You’re just… still healing. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

You blink at him, heart fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird.

“I don’t know how to be normal,” you whisper.

His expression softens. “Who cares if you’re normal?”

“You do. You’ll bring me around your friends and they’ll think—”

“I’ll bring you,” he interrupts, voice low and warm, “because I want you there. With me.”

You swallow hard. Your fingers curl in your lap.

“You don’t have to talk much,” he adds, like he knows exactly where your thoughts are heading. “Just stay close. Let them get to know this version of you — the one I see every day.”

You look at him, really look, and realize he means it. So you take a breath. Then another. And you nod.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes the edge of your jaw.

“Good,” he murmurs, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Because I already told Sarah you’re coming. She said she’s saving you a seat.”

You blink, startled. “She what?”

James smirks. “You’re part of the crew now, Dove. Better get used to it.”

You roll your eyes and let out a tiny laugh — shaky but real.

And when he helps you up and stands behind you as you try on another outfit, his hands resting gently on your waist, you start to believe — just a little — that maybe you can belong.

———

The car hums beneath you, windows rolled down just enough to let in the warm breeze. The sky’s turning golden, sun dipping low like it’s in no hurry to set. You watch the trees blur past outside, arms folded, fingers tapping your elbow in a steady rhythm.

You’re chewing the inside of your cheek again.

James glances at you from the driver’s seat. One hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. He’s wearing that slightly-worn navy shirt you like — the sleeves pushed up — and sunglasses he definitely doesn’t need anymore now that the sun’s behind the clouds. But you don’t say anything.

He doesn’t either. Not yet.

Instead, his fingers nudge your knee gently.

“You okay?”

You hesitate. Then shrug. “Nervous.”

“You already said that three times before we left,” he says, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You sure you’re not secretly going for a record?”

You shoot him a look. “I might be.”

He chuckles. The sound settles something inside you.

“I just… don’t want to embarrass you.”

“Dove.” His voice is warm, firm. “You couldn’t. Even if you tried.”

“You say that now,” you mutter, looking out the window again. “Wait until I freeze mid-conversation and forget what a fork is.”

James snorts. “Then I’ll remind you. Politely. Like, ‘Hey, babe, this is a fork. It’s for eating, not stabbing.’”

A laugh escapes you, unbidden.

He glances at you again — and smiles, wide and real this time, like it physically lifts the weight off his chest to hear you laugh like that.

“You’re doing great,” he says. “Really. Just… be yourself.”

You pause. Then glance over, a little unsure.

“And if I forget who that is?”

James’ fingers reach for yours, threading together easily, like they’ve done it a thousand times.

“Then I’ll remind you of her, too.”

You swallow hard.

The wind picks up just slightly, brushing your hair against your cheek. The sky’s turning a shade softer now. Golden-orange sun rays spilling across the hood of the car.

You squeeze his hand. He doesn’t let go.

And for the first time all day, you start to believe — maybe tonight will be okay.

———

The smell of grilled corn and barbecue sauce hits you before you even step out of the car.

Laughter echoes from the backyard — kids running, adults chatting over iced tea and beers, the crackle of meat hitting the grill. It’s warm, loud, alive. The kind of normal James once thought he’d never get back.

As you step out, you smooth the fabric of your dress — nothing fancy, just simple and comfortable, but James looked at you like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen before you left.

He leads you toward the backyard, his hand hovering at the small of your back like he needs to be touching you somehow.

“Heyyy!” Sam’s voice rises above the music and chatter as he spots the two of you stepping into the backyard. He’s by the grill, spatula in hand, wearing an apron that says ‘Grill Sergeant’ like he’s proud of it.

You try not to shrink under the sudden attention, but James squeezes your hand gently, grounding you. It’s you who speaks first.

“Hi again,” you say, offering a nervous smile. “We met that one time at the center. You, uh—“

“Oh, I remember.” Sam blinks — then breaks into a grin.

He looks at James now, eyebrows lifting with mock suspicion. “So this why you’ve been ghosting me all week.”

James rolls his eyes. “I haven’t been ghosting—”

“Don’t care,” Sam cuts in, already setting down the spatula and walking over. “C’mere.”

You’re caught off guard when he pulls you into a hug — warm, quick, and surprisingly comforting.

“Anyone who can put up with Bucky officially gets a gold star,” he says as he lets you go.

You laugh, your nerves loosening just a little.

Then Sarah appears behind him, towel slung over one shoulder and a lemonade in her hand. She eyes the two of you, then smiles.

“You’re Dove, right? Heard plenty about you.”

“Oh God,” James mutters behind you.

Sarah gives him a look. “Relax. It was all sweet. Except the part where Sam said you’re way out of his league.”

You let out an embarrassed laugh, covering your face. James just mumbles something under his breath and wraps an arm loosely around your waist — like it’s second nature now. Like he’s proud to have you beside him.

And just like that, the tension melts.

The rest of the afternoon is a blur of warmth and laughter. James softens in ways you don’t often get to see — especially when the kids tug on his hand and beg him to join their game of tag. He loses. On purpose. You can tell.

You help Sarah in the kitchen for a while, slicing watermelon and listening to stories about Sam’s terrible teenage fashion choices. And all the while, you catch glimpses of James through the window — the way he smiles at the kids, the way he sits in the grass with his knees up and lets the sun hit his face like he’s finally letting himself breathe.

As golden light spills across the yard and the grill dies down, you find yourself curled up beside him on the porch swing. His arm is draped over your shoulders, your head resting against his chest.

Sam walks over with a plate stacked with grilled peaches and homemade vanilla ice cream.

“You’re officially invited to every cookout from now on,” he says, handing you a spoon.

You smile, soft and certain.

“I’ll come to all of them,” you murmur, glancing up at James, “if he’s there.”

He doesn’t say anything but he presses a kiss to your temple — slow, tender — and that says more than enough.

———

The apartment door clicks shut behind you, the quiet settling like a blanket. You kick off your shoes and let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

James watches you from the doorway, his keys still in hand.

You glance over your shoulder. “That was… actually really nice.”

He raises a brow, teasing. “What? You thought I was setting you up for emotional ambush?”

You laugh, sinking onto the couch. “I thought I’d say something wrong. Or not say enough. Or be too weird, or awkward, or—” You wave your hand vaguely. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect to feel… welcome.”

James moves slowly, setting the keys down, walking over. “I told you they’d like you.”

“They didn’t just like me,” you say softly. “They were kind. Like, genuinely kind.”

His hand touches your hair, brushing it behind your ear. “Of course they were. You’re impossible not to love.”

You blink up at him — startled, a little breathless — and before you can respond, he’s crouching down in front of you, resting his arms on your knees.

“You don’t even see it, do you?” he murmurs. “How easy it is to care about you. How strong you are. How much light you bring into places that should’ve broken you.”

Your throat tightens.

“I watched you today,” he goes on, voice lower now, rougher. “You laughed. You talked to Sarah like you’d known her for years. You helped the kids with lemonade and smiled like the world hadn’t tried to take everything from you.”

You’re blinking fast now, trying not to cry. But he doesn’t stop.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says. “And god—” His head dips slightly, forehead brushing your knee. “I’m so glad I get to call you mine.”

You reach for him before you even think, fingers sliding into his hair. He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours — soft, unwavering.

“I’m yours,” you whisper. “Always.”

His breath catches like the words physically struck him. Like they cracked something open inside him that he’d kept locked away for far too long.

James doesn’t say anything right away. He just stays there, on his knees before you, eyes fixed on yours like you’ve become the only thing in the world he believes in.

His eyes flicker, something molten pooling in their depths — and still, he doesn’t rush. He leans forward slowly, lips brushing against your knee, then higher. A trail of warm, aching kisses up your thigh, just beneath the hem of your dress.

Your breath catches as he lifts it gently, fingertips ghosting along the edge of your panties.

You don’t stop him. You can’t. You don’t want him to stop.

Your chest rises and falls in rhythm with his, shallow, uneven. You’re breathless already and he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

His fingers graze your thighs, warm and steady despite the tremble in his breath. You feel him press the softest kiss just above your knee, then another, higher. The fabric of your dress bunches around your hips as he eases it upward, baring you inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something fragile.

“Can I?” he murmurs, voice low and reverent, like you’re something sacred.

You nod, already breathless. “Yes. Please.”

James leans in, pressing one last kiss against the inside of your thigh before carefully pulling your panties down. He’s methodical about it — almost ceremonial — sliding them past your knees, down your calves, letting them fall to the floor. He doesn’t break eye contact.

His mouth is soft against the inside of your thigh, and you feel it—how much this means to him. How much you mean to him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice barely more than a breath. “I hope you know that.”

You reach down, card your fingers through his hair. He leans into your touch like it roots him, steadies him.

And then he’s kneeling fully between your legs, hands on your thighs, parting you just enough. You’re already warm, already wet, and he hasn’t even touched you yet — not really.

“I want you to feel how much I love you,” he says, voice thick. “Every second of it. I want to worship you.”

You exhale shakily. “You already do.”

But he’s not satisfied with just words.

His hands slide under your thighs, pulling you gently closer. The skirt of your dress is bunched around your waist now, and he moans — low, broken — at the sight of you, glistening, waiting for him.

Then he looks up at you—eyes heavy, devoted—and lowers his mouth to you. It’s not frantic. It’s not about chasing release.

It’s about you.

His lips brush over you — soft, tentative. Then his tongue flicks out, teasing your clit with a featherlight touch. Your hips jerk, a soft gasp spilling from your lips.

“Shh,” he murmurs against you. “I’ve got you.”

And then he dives in.

Slow at first, savoring it. His tongue moves in long, deliberate strokes, tasting you like he’s starved for it — like nothing else exists but the way you sigh his name, the way your fingers tighten in his hair. He flicks his tongue just right, then suckles gently at your clit, and your thighs tremble around his shoulders.

“James,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Oh my god—”

He groans in response, the sound vibrating against you. He’s messy with it now, greedy, like he can’t get enough. But every movement still feels controlled — not rushed, not careless. He’s worshiping you exactly how he promised: with every kiss, every flick of his tongue, every moan he gives like a prayer.

Your back arches, a broken sound escaping your throat.

He grips your thighs tighter. “That’s it. Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you. Always.”

Your orgasm hits like a wave — slow, then crashing. Your whole body clenches, your vision blurs, and you hear yourself cry out his name like it’s holy.

And even as you come down, he doesn’t let go right away — keeps kissing you, gentler now, like he’s soothing you through the aftershocks. His hands stroke your thighs, his mouth soft against your skin.

When he finally looks up, his face is flushed, his lips shiny, his eyes dark and full of something that looks like worship.

You’re still trembling when he leans in to kiss you — slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He holds your face in his hands like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

And when he pulls back, he whispers it again.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re mine.”

tagging my little doves (tysm for ur love and support through the series, let me know If you still wanna be tagged in the oneshots! 🫶): @tfamidoingwithmylife @stell404 @shakysif @unicornqueen05 @carolinianmermaid @zoroforlife @beforemdnight @nicksolemnlyswears @mistalli @blazeflays @storystorktwo @its-in-the-woods @blv3rd @starkglory @diabolicaldinosaur @elisha-chloe @miyababbby @cats-chaotic-mind @brooklynadoresdior @madsmikkelsonlvr101 @ifuckwithyouanyday @taqmari @syupakingcowbaby @iamthatonefangirl @schlattslonghairytoes @bloodmocha @lavenderslace

[daughterwifed]

ADA ADORE !

ft. di!leon s. kennedy x gn!reader x ada wong

tags. toxic relationship, divorce sorry idk how to tag this, smut mentions, age gap mention, character study..? oral happens a little, dub-con

note. HAIIII IO HAPPY EARLY BDAY! @girlfridged this is a year and many months overdue it’s been in my drafts for so long I wanted to write it so bad for ages but I couldnt n I thought I’d finally do it before I get busy w exams ILYSMMMMM I HOPE THIS IS WHAT U NEED ilysm and I just want u to have fun and be happy and I hope ada brings that to u 💔🤍 unedited + clunky n disjointed per usual .. io I accidentally made this more ab aeon I’m so sorry I will make it up to u LMFAKDKFK feedback n rbs always appreciated

It’s not working out.

It hasn’t been working out since they tied the knot. 

There’s no honeymoon phase when you marry a woman like Ada Wong. In fact, there is no phase at all. There were no rings and no ceremony and when they went to bed that night Leon realised they both ran cold—Two cold bodies in a bed is just a shared grave. 

They both work a lot so they’re married on vacation days, but Leon’s not around on Christmas, and Ada’s busy on New Years so they settle for birthdays. Easter is out of the question - Ada doesn’t have time to believe in trivial things like god and Leon still ducks like the devil anytime he sees a cross. 

They remember they’ve chosen each other between global collapse and political demise and the occasional personal trauma—AKA Leon’s birthday. Not hers. Never hers.

It’s the one day in the whole entire year they pretend the world doesn’t need saving. 

(In Ada’s case, ruining.) 

She gives him a pretty little present, fucks him like it’s a threat, and sometimes, only sometimes, Leon gets to fall asleep in the same timezone as her. 

Leon thought about getting a dog. Something warm, loyal, friendly, something to come home to. When he told her she teased him. And he let her—Of course he did, he would let her push him flat on his back in an active minefield. 

“You want me to be a dog, Leon?” She got on her knees and crawled towards him and it was really sexy, but he took his meds before they got in bed and any chance of a boner had been deemed impossible. 

“I just want you to come home,” he had let out by mistake, and then Ada dried up because she doesn’t really feel anything that isn’t lust or some cruel type of need to have him squashed under her thumb and him getting needy outside of the bedroom is her number one turn-off. 

As of how they’re doing right now? 

Ada’s current location is unknown. He sent a message three days ago. He wasn’t even sure if it was the correct number. 

Leon: Alive? 

She left him on read. Whatever. Pretty generous for Ada. Means she’s not causing any trouble. Maybe she’s just taking time away from him. He understands. Leon often needs space from himself. And somehow from her considering how little she is home. One day with Ada stretches on for an eternity, it wrings him out, hangs him up to dry. It’s like the whole entire world is put on pause because she said so. He can’t get away from himself and not from Ada either—he sees her in the mirror everyday because they have the same goddamn haircut. 

He goes to work. Sits on his chair purposely hard. Stares at the ceiling like he’s waiting for god to send a memo. 

To: l.kennedy@dsoperations.gov.usa

Subject: Leave her. Fix your marriage. Get a dog. 

Attachment: Miracle. 

Leon wishes he knew how to talk to her. Like, actually like, talk—Like not in his head, but with his mouth and from his heart. Open up about all those big, big feelings he keeps having. But he’s not stupid, he knows Ada would probably smile at him, and in that smile he would see the exact moment she would decide not to want him. Because she doesn’t do feelings or emotions or therapy or any of the sissy bullshit Leon has really gotten into in these past few years. 

“Good morning, Leon.” Hunnigan rarely says it first, only when he’s brooding.

Leon sighs deeply. He pretends he doesn’t see Helena roll her eyes in his peripheral. “Yeah…” He nods slowly—forlornly. “Good morning.” 

“What’s wrong with you today?” She asks flatly. “Will you let me know by lunch so I can file the appropriate forms?” 

Helena snorts. Leon sighs again. Deeper. Sadder. Like, please fawn over me, at least offer to make me a coffee I won’t drink and let me rest my head on your bosom while you do all this complicated big boy paperwork for me. 

“I’m having girl trouble, put that on my file if you want.” Leon sniffs, crossing his arms and wondering if his marriage would benefit from whatever him and Hunnigan have going on; they have been work-wife and work-husband for eleven years now. It could be the back and forth. Sarcasm. But no. His therapist says sarcasm is hiding, which to be completely honest is true, he is hiding. Always has been. 

They don’t know about Ada—Not really. They know of her. That she goes up like smoke. That he keeps her compact in his drawer. That she is probably still wanted for treason by the country he lives and dies for. That she killed Helena’s sister and all. First by proxy and then by hand. They certainly don’t know her and Leon are quote-unquote married. 

“Maybe she’s seeing someone else,” Helena offers unhelpfully. 

“Why the hell would you say that?” He shakes his head, pointing a finger at her. “You don’t even know who she is.”

“I’m statistically speaking - based on all of your dates,” she adds, also unhelpfully. 

“Mm,” Hunnigan hums in agreement, “how old is this one?”

“Older than me,” Leon says proudly, like it’s some sort of accomplishment—but it is, for a moment he really did forget about himself, all his morals, he fucked a twenty-one year old and everything. A mid-life crisis, but he’s all better now. 

“How old?” Helena sits up, interested. “Your age kind of old?“

“I’m not even forty, Helena.” Leon doesn’t look up from the floor, pouting at the scuff marks on his shoes.

“Fifty?”

“God, I wish, but no.” 

 “Sixty?” Hunnigan chimes in without looking away from her monitor. 

“No.”

“Is she as old as that lunch lady you flirt with?” Helena scoots her chair closer. 

“Hey! First of all, her name is Hazel, and she is not just the lunch lady, she’s the head and she rotates the menu by season, runs the whole thing…” He trails off. 

Silence. 

“…But no, not that old, Jesus.” Ada is a cougar not a fucking sabretooth. “She’s got a couple years on me, like forty-something I guess.” He doesn’t even know her fucking birthday. Some husband he is. 

“Is it serious?” 

Leon looks at Helena like she’s stupid. Like anything could ever be fully serious with Ada. Everything is a sick joke to her, but it’s not. It’s not a joke—this is his fucking life. His stupid, sad life. ”Kind of, yeah, I guess—For me it is.” 

“But not for her, huh?” Helena clicks her tongue, giving him a sympathetic look. 

An hour or so later when they’re all in a meeting, Leon is too busy wondering how they fit such a big table through such a small door, why he is destined for so much fucking pain, whether or not Helena and Hunnigan are playing footsie right under his nose. Maybe if Ada was a man-eater with teeth the size of his head he wouldn’t like her so much. Maybe if his dick was bigger she wouldn’t be so inclined to leave. Maybe if it was nicer—No…No. it couldn't be that. His dick is nice. Nicer than most. Neatly trimmed pubes, nice shape, nice length, tasteful curvature, he’s got some lovely gradient going on. Jesus Christ, this table is huge. Did they build the room around it? Is that a thing people can do? It couldn’t come in parts it’s literally fucking solid oak. Does it fold? Everything folds eventually. Helena shifts beside him—Is she making eyes at Hunnigan? Is she seriously…Can Hunnigan even see all the way over on the opposite side of this huge-ass table? 

“Agent Kennedy?”

Leon’s eyes shoot up, going from bigwig to bigwig until he finds the speaker. A senator of some kind with a tarmac grey suit. “Yes… Yes, sir?”

“Some input on the current strategy?” It’s not unkind, more wanting of guidance from someone who’s been in the game as long as Leon has.

“My dick is fine,” Leon says on autopilot. 

Everyone is looking at him. That pretty intern he got a coffee for stifles a laugh into her hand, Hunnigan is staring him down, Helena is trying not to smile. 

“Sorry, thought I was on mute.” 

“You’re…You’re not on call, Agent Kennedy.” 

“Right.” Leon nods. “Obviously. 

He looks back down at the table.

It’s still too big for the room.

Leon comes home late. Which is usual. So he guesses he’s coming home on time. He isn’t over how big the table is, he isn't over talking about his dick in front of presidential advisors, and he isn’t over Ada like he would really like to be. 

He aims to throw his jacket on the wooden coat she bought. Gothic. Curling arms, and a mahogany base. He misses and his jacket slumps to the ground like a wounded animal. 

She’s cheating on me. Helena is right. She’s with someone else. She left me on read so that means she’s not even doing fieldwork, she’s just ignoring me on purpose. 

Leon blinks at his reflection in the oval mirror Ada placed in the entrance hall. 

But she can’t be. Look at him. Look at him. Look at those eyes. Look at that nose. Don’t look at the chin. She’s not cheating. She’s just Ada. Sexy, career-driven, free, independent—Oh god. But what if she is? What if she is cheating on him? With some hunk like Chris. Not because Leon thinks Chris is hot, but maybe Ada thinks he is. 

And then he sees them.

Her heels kicked off in the corner. The ones she wears on date nights. The one she wears to see other men probably. Leon crouches down to study them, running a finger over the patent leather, flipping them upside down to see the weathered red bottoms. He has kissed these a thousand times.

“Are you talking to my shoes, Leon?” 

Leon’s heart thumps out of his chest. 

“You're home,” he breathes out, waiting for someone to step out from behind her, freshly showered, using his towel. Taller, stronger, bigger—

“I wanted to see you.” She’s not wearing any makeup and she looks her age and it’s so fucking sexy. 

“Are you cheating on me?” Leon blurts out. 

Ada smiles at him like What if I am? What will you do about it? You’d stay with me anyway, wouldn’t you? You pathetic excuse of a man. “What makes you think that?”

“You left me on read.”

“You asked me if I was alive, Leon.” 

“Yeah—Yeah, and you never said yes.”

“I read it.” 

“Still—“

Ada cuts in, “Why don’t you come to bed, babe, I was so lonely waiting up for you.” She leaves no room for argument so he follows her into the bedroom, he lets her take off his clothes and wash his face and kiss him on the head as she tucks him in.

“Why did you call me babe?” Leon mumbles as he tucks his face into her neck, breathing her in. 

“What’s wrong with babe?” Ada asks him, falsely tender, antiseptic affection. 

“I dunno…It’s, like, it reminds me of the pig.” 

She laughs. He wants to hear her do that again. Make a fool out of himself to make her smile or snort. “Fine, you’re my baby.” 

He settles down after that as Ada traces shapes into his skin with the points of her manicured nails. It would be nice if she wasn’t pressing so hard. “Too hard,” Leon complains, twisting in discomfort. 

“Lingchi, pressure massage,” Ada explains, “ancient technique.” 

He rolls over while she lingchis his back to Google it. 

Lingchi

Lingchi, usually translated "slow slicing" or "death by a thousand cuts", was a form of torture and execution used in China from roughly 900 until it was banned in 1905. It was also used in Vietnam and Korea.

Source: Wikipedia

Leon is still rubbing sleep out of his eyes when Ada says it. Buttering her toast casually. Red dress. Red lips. Red heels. “By the way, I’m sleeping with someone.”

Just like that. There’s no ‘we need to talk’ or ‘I’m leaving you’. Nope. Not at all. 

“I’m sorry?” He blinks. 

She doesn’t look up from her toast. Dipping the knife into a pot of strawberry jam he didn’t even know they had. “It’s just sex, Leon.”

“I thought you…I love you, Ada.” He blinks again. Maybe thrice. 

“I know you do, baby.” She smiles. “You're still my husband.”

“How could you—I don’t…I don’t understand, Ada.” 

She places the toast on the counter in front of him. “I have to go now, I don’t have time to talk about it today, baby.” She kisses his cheek. Grabs her bag. “I’m very busy, why don’t you tell your journal all about it?”

“I don’t have a—“

“Drive safe, baby!” Her heels click-clack as she leaves.

Leon sits in traffic that morning thinking about it. 

By the way, I’m sleeping with someone. 

It’s just sex, Leon.

You’re still my husband. 

It’s not raining, but the wipers are going off, and he flips off a man in the car next to him without thinking. 

How could she? How could she just say that? Who fucking does that? Ada would. Ada can. Ada does. 

He thinks about crashing his car into the lobby of the DSO. 

He zones out during a meeting. For the second time. Hunnigan gives him a look that says If you’re thinking about killing yourself, please do it after this meeting.

He eats lunch alone in the break room. He opens his phone six times in five minutes and there’s nothing. 

What does this guy even look like? What does he do—What could he do to get her attention? Ada’s attention. To get her to want him, fuck him, leave Leon on read for three days to be with him. What is it about him? Taller? Blonder? Younger? Sweeter? Stupider? No…There’s no one stupider than Leon. No one is more pathetic than Leon. It can’t be. 

He drives home, clammy, hands slipping off the wheel thinking about this man. Thinking about finding out who the fuck he is, finding his address, sizing him up and ultimately leaving when he realises Ada has found herself someone that isn’t shorter than her when she puts on heels. And Ada is always wearing heels. 

He steps inside, holding his breathing, for once he is hoping she isn’t home so he has time to pace, drink, contemplate and repeat.

But her shoes are kicked off in the same spot, and there’s an open bottle of wine on the countertop. The balcony door is open, Ada is leaning against the railing watching the city beneath them, the ballet of life, cars passing by, people rushing home from work, young girls going out for the night.

She doesn’t even look at him when she speaks, fixing the fallen shoulder of her silk robe. “I want you to meet someone.” Then she turns, bare-faced, beautiful, gazing at him over the rim of her wine glass. 

“What..?”

“Oh, Leon, don’t pout.” Ada sighs, placing her glass down beside the unused ashtray. 

“I’m not—“

“Come here, baby, come give me a kiss.” She points at her heart-shaped mouth and he stumbles closer like a zombie, pawing at her robe as she cups his cheeks to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Good boy.” Ada smiles at him. That same smile she always has. “Tomorrow at seven, okay? Clear your schedule.”

And Leon does. He always does. He leaves work at four to get cucked at seven. 

Ada gives an address to the driver who keeps making eye contact with Leon in the rear view mirror. She keeps her hand on Leon’s thigh the entire time. She tells him how handsome he looks in that suit - his only suit - he rushed to dry clean this very morning. He looks the part of her husband. A very well-kept man on a very short leash. They don’t need rings because Leon is already wrapped around her finger. 

They pull up in front of this great, sprawling building, stone steps, bustling crowds, a sign that says something about an exhibition—Ada is walking too fast for him to read it properly, and she’s in fucking heels too. He catches up with her in the cool hush of the gallery lobby, thank god there’s air conditioning, he’s about to sweat right through this jacket. 

She looks effortless like always, he’s seen her naked and he still finds it hard to believe she even exists. Women are just something else. Ada has sexy legs, and painted toes, and she even has sexy fucking ankles—

“Come on, baby.” She leads him like a duckling, and it raises the question—

“What are we doing here?” Leon asks, clearing his throat, trying not to look at her ass in that high-necked, jewel-toned dress. Jesus. What if her boyfriend is an art dealer? What if he’s fucking loaded? What if this is all a trick? A ploy. A fucking joke. She’s trying to rope him into something bad.

“I told you, I want you to meet someone, Leon,” she answers simply. “Oh, look at that piece.” She waves her hand in the direction of a blank canvas. 

“Brilliant, really, I could never pull that off,” he mumbles, a deep pout settling on his face as he follows her past paint splattered canvases, statuettes, and a man who she humours for exactly fifty-nine seconds before she says:

“Leon, why don’t you tell this nice man how many times you came this morning?”

Leon doesn’t even fucking trip on a single word. “Four,” he says, loud and proud, but he’s more just loud than proud. This is really quite fucking humiliating and he’s thinking of throwing himself down that gorgeous spiral staircase as some act of artistic vengeance, become part of the exhibition, y’know? 

“There you are!” Ada smiles, and it’s the same sort of smile she gives Leon, but different. Like. Sweeter. Luring. Pure fucking Evil. Like I want to fatten you up and eat you. 

He scans the room for the suspect. Which fucking bastard is fucking his fucking wife? There’s a curator on one side, but he’s much too old for Ada. The few in the turtlenecks—Never. Velvet suit? Moustache? Oh, it’s got to be that one. Baby blues, wheatish hair, hands in his pockets like he doesn’t quite fit in. That’s him. Pft. Leon could take him easy—Oh, they’re not even walking in his direction—

“Ada!” 

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. Oh no. No. This is so much worse. He can’t beat up a little kid. You’re like shorter than both of them, she leans down to kiss both your cheeks, and you're smiling at her like she has the key to your heart—She probably does, she has the key to his cock cage. 

(Not that he actually has one. Leon hasn’t gone that far yet, he likes to believe he has standards.) 

“Leon,” she beckons him closer with a finger, introduces the two of you.

You put out your hand for him to shake, clearly a little nervous as you tell him, “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

“Wish I could say the same,” he mutters, loosely taking your hand, making sure to wipe it on his trousers when you let go of him. He can’t beat you up, but he sure as hell can be petty.

“Leon.” Ada laughs like a mother does when she’s trying to play down her child’s petulance. “Be nice, baby.” 

She’s insane. She has got to be crazy if she thinks Leon is going to put up with this. She’s talking to you all nice like We have dinner soon, but I just had to come and see your art. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. I really am. You’re so much more accomplished than my loser husband. My snooty little angel, look at your beautifully useless art, my tactically skilled, special agent husband could never be as talented as you. Oh no, he could never. And she thinks he’s going to stay? Yeah right. Never. 

Leon has standards. He does. He’s going to leave right now, he’s going to block her number, put her minimal shit in a bag, and toss it over the balcony. He’s going to hand her over to the President on a silver platter. He’s going to leave a bad review on your art. Is there a website for that? There’s gotta be. There’s a website for everything now. Ugh—Ugh. You’re not even anything special. Not the kind of beauty that offends women or intimidates men, but to Leon it does both. 

“The reservation is soon, we should head over,” Ada says, looping her arm with yours and waiting for Leon to follow.

He does follow. Glaring at your back. A threesome has been on his bucket list for years, sure, but not like this. It was meant to be sexy. Not cheating. 

Leon fumes silently all the way over to the restaurant, while the waiter leads the three of you to the cushioned booth at the back, when Ada slips into the booth beside you, when your foot knocks his under the table, when the waiter hands over the menus. 

The two of you are talking, it sounds like noise to him, like he’s underwater. You keep looking at him with these great, big eyes. Like you're waiting for him to say something. Or maybe you’re testing him. Maybe you want him to leave. He wants you to leave. 

Ada is too sneaky. She’s like a cat, they're nifty little things—Ada is twice as sly. She’s cunning. Like a fox. Yeah. That sounds right. A fox. A beautiful, red fairytale fox that talks its way out of dirty work. Leon is some stupid, hysterical damsel that needs a kiss to snap out of it. And you’re a wretched little toad and you’re going to get what’s coming for you, for being a part of this, for being her side piece, for making her smile like that. 

“So,” Leon finally cuts into the conversation you’ve been having without him for a good twenty minutes, “when were going to tell me you had a partner, Ada.”

She scoffs at him lightly, a smile playing on her red lips. “I don’t do boyfriends or girlfriends, Leon, I’m forty.” 

“What does that even—“

“It’s just sex, Leon, I told you that before, I wish you would listen.” 

It’s always just sex with Ada. All he gets is sex. All you get is sex. Maybe the two of you aren't so different. Maybe you’re both little mice and Ada is going to eat you both up. 

“Leon is so sentimental,” Ada sighs, shaking her head like he’s such a hassle. 

You smile at him awkwardly. He just stares. Ada takes her fork, holding it up so the tines bar his face like she’s putting him in public timeout, in jail. “He’s just so emotional, I mean, really, you know how men get.”

You shift in your seat, unsticking your thighs from the leather booth. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.” You smile at him again, nervous, fraying, like he isn’t what you expected—It’s Ada. It’s all Ada she probably marketed this as some fucking chic ménage á trois. 

Leon just sits there like he’s just been hit by a train and is trying to be casual about it. Of course she did. Of course she did and that’s why he goes on a second date with you and her. That’s why he drives the two of you home a week later. His wife and the person she’s fucking. 

This week has been tense. Dinner was tense. This drive is tense. You clear your throat in the back seat. “Um…Honestly, you could drop me a couple blocks away from home, it’s actually right down there—“

“No, no, sweetheart,” Ada gasps, like a really fake gasp, “we couldn’t do that to you, it’s so dark out.”

“It’s fine,” you insist, he watches you through the rear view mirror, how your hands twitch in your lap, the way you lick your dry lips, “I just don’t want to be intruding on anything.”

“You’re not intruding, sweetheart.” 

Yes you are. 

“It’s just that…Mommy and daddy are fighting, honey.” Ada sighs a long-suffering sigh.

Impressively, Leon doesn’t swerve off the road, but the car does jerk and sputter. You look like you’re about to cry, or jump out of the moving vehicle, or like you’ve been told Santa isn’t real, or that he’s in jail for indecent exposure. 

“Ada…” Leon mumbles, shaking his head at her, “don’t.” 

“Why, Leon?” She huffs like this is it not some psychosexual hostage situation. “Children should know when their mommies and daddies aren't doing well, communication is very healthy.” It’s all a game to her. She’s so callous and insincere and awful and frighteningly beautiful. 

“Stop it, Ada.” He white-knuckles the steering wheel, does a red light, thinks about taking both of you down with him.

“Oh my god,” you mumble from the back, sinking into your seat like you want to disappear. Poor kid. You don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into. 

“Just take us home now, Leon,” Ada says, sniffing dramatically as she gazes out of the window. 

So he drives. Pedal to the metal. Reverse parks in record time. Kills the engine. Ada’s already out the door, leaving behind a cloud of perfume, heels clicking on the concrete, you’re following like a ghost, footsteps barely audible. 

“Shoes off,” Ada hums as she floats into the apartment she has never once called home. 

You won’t meet his eye. Not even Ada’s. Just standing there all small. Breakable. Looking at the ground—It’s not like there’s much to take in. Underfurnished. Empty glasses litter every flat surface. Leon’s leather jacket is draped over the sofa. 

“You two are the same,” she laughs, it echoes down the hall as she leaves a trail of clothes leading to the bedroom, and look at you two. So easily led. Hansel and fucking Gretel over here.  “So dramatic, so sentimental, so hysterical—I mean at least you’re quiet about it, sweetheart, Leon throws a tantrum,” she muses as she edges her panties off her ankles. “God, don’t just stand there, help each other out.” 

Leon makes the first move. He feels bad. Doesn’t know if he wants this, if he wants you, but he does it ‘cause she said so. You’re nervous, heart like a hummingbird in your chest, he feels it when he rather unfeelingly unbuttons your shirt. He nudges you onto the bed gently, you have nice hips, nice legs, nothing about you is wrong—It’s just him that’s wrong. What he’s gotten himself into. 

“You need help down there, Leon?” Ada tilts her head to the side as he spreads your thighs, leant on her elbow, busy mouthing at your neck, kissing your jaw, tweaking your nipple every few seconds like it’s a fidget toy. 

“I know my way around, thanks” he mumbles, and if there’s one thing he can focus on it’s eating pussy. He likes the way it tastes, the way it smells, how soft it is on his tongue. Pussy would never hurt him. 

You arch when he kisses your clit, you whine when he pushes a second finger in, when his lips close around your clit and he sucks. You don’t scroll through your phone waiting to be impressed like Ada would. 

He wipes his mouth when you cum, sitting up, breathless. “You happy now?” 

“Oh, Leon, why don’t you come here, handsome?” Ada pats the space between you and her. He doesn’t move. Not this time. She purses her lips. “Leon has such a dangerous job,” she starts.

You blink the fog from your mind, turning to face her, spine straightening like every hair on your body stands to attention when she speaks. Even if you don’t want it to you—She’s magnetic. 

“He’s a hero, really, he does so much to keep everyone safe—He’s not allowed to talk about it, but he does so much for all of us.” Ada trails a hand down the front of his jeans, cupping his dick. “I’m just so glad this is all in one piece.” 

“Are you really, Ada?” He asks, staring at her. 

“Yes, Leon, I am.” She smiles, practiced. 

“I think we should take a break, Ada,” he says, dick still rock fucking hard.

“I really…I really think I should go,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes—He respects it. You got to cum, and now you’re leaving. “I really appreciate the invite—“

“Well, Leon.” Ada dusts herself off, still smiling. “If that’s what you think is right.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Hm.” She nods, then she looks to you, patting your head, smiling, cooing so you can’t get out of her fucking trap. “I get to keep you, and daddy gets to keep the office and the printer.”

You scratch the back of your neck. “…I mean okay—I didn’t really, I mean…Okay.” 

“Then I guess I’ll print the fucking papers,” Leon confirms, and it’s over like that. He sees his grief over to the door. Doesn’t kiss her goodnight. Just passes her onto you. 

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Chapter 32

Description: after a little bit of miscommunication, you finally get your boys back. Whoop! Laika’s emotions are all over the place…..

*Kyle’s POV*

As soon as we board the helicopter, two nurses take over. She’s whisked away from Simon and laid on the floor. Fear flashes through her eyes. God she looks terrified. One of the nurses produce a large syringe, and before any of us have chance to stop them, they’ve sedated her. The last noise she makes is a scared whimper, before she just goes completely limp.

Simon tenses beside me, and I can tell Johnny is struggling not to intervene. I’m the level headed one, and even I can feel the Alpha inside of me trying to force itself to the surface. I turn away from the scene in front of me. It is too much to watch. Not after what she’d been through.

Johnny tries to pull Simon away but he is met with a malicious sounding snarl, so he steps back and joins me on the seats. I close my eyes and try to relax. Calm myself down. I allow the thrum of the helicopter blades to seep into my brain, blocking everything else. I could smell her scent slowly returning having removed the patches. Silly girl shouldn’t have put them on in the first place …

My thoughts are interrupted by Johnny.

“Why’d you think she ran..?”

“I don’t know. We’ll need to talk to her when she comes round from this…”

“D’ya think she still wants to be with us..?”

“I don’t know. You heard Laswell…”

“Aye, but what the fuck happened to her. Look at the state the wee lassies in. How’d she get so banged up if she was just planning to leave..?”

“Johnny.. look.. none of us have a crystal ball. We’ll need to talk to her…” I sigh, trying not to think of the possibility that she actually wanted to run away from us.

*Laika’s POV*

I feel light, and warm. I can smell Simon’s thick scent. It’s right next to my face. I’m lying on a soft bed..

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My eyes aren’t really to open just yet. I feel drowsy and heavy. I manage to roll my head towards the scent and am met with soft fabric. My Omega purrs.

“-woken up yet..” I pick up from the tail end of a conversation. My brain still not fully computing everything happening around me.

I’m snapped back into reality when I hear that gruff voice.

“Silly silly girl.”

If my brain would have allowed it, a broken whine would have slipped from my throat. The Pack Alpha thinks I’m stupid. He probably wishes I’d just ran away for good. That’s what I get for thinking anyone could possibly care about me in the same way I care about them.

I roll my head away from the comforting scent of whatever it was next to me that smelt of Simon. I don’t deserve the comfort from an Alpha who doesn’t want me. Useless, broken, worthless mutt.

*John’s POV*

I go straight to her bedside. She looks awful. Worse than awful. Broken.

The nurses have cleaned her up somewhat. But wipes don’t do the same job that a good soak in a warm bath would do. She’s coated in a layer of smudged dust and blood.

Her shoulder is wrapped in rolls and rolls of bandages and gauze. The doctor tells me that she had been shot. Concussed. Fragile.

She’s been moving slightly in her unconscious state. The doctor tells me that the sedation will be leaving her system. He tells me that it’s basically up to her when she decides to wake up. But he warns me that she may turn feral again. She may have temporary memory gaps from her concussion, and the added trauma of going feral. I notice her roll her head towards Simon’s coat.

Good girl. She remembers her Alpha’s scent. That’s a good sign.

The doctor rambles on about how they had to sedate her on the journey home because she was feral. And how she didn’t properly give in to the sedation until Simon placed his jacket next to her. She had been seeking comfort. Comfort from her Alphas. Clever girl.

The doctor tells me how she resisted the police, meaning her shoulder, already damaged, has ended up even more mangled than the original injury.

I tut, in disbelief of what she’s gone through, and grumble “silly silly girl” aloud, into the room. If she’d have just stayed with Simon, none of this would have happened.

Or, perhaps, if Simon and I hadn’t have had that dick measuring contest a couple of days ago, that resulted in her getting caught in the crossfire of Alpha testosterone, none of this would have ever happened.

As I tut those words out into her room, she whimpers. Her face scrunches up, as if she is pained. I rush to her side, gently grasping her small hand in mine. She rolls her head away from the coat sitting up by her pillow.

I can’t wait for her to wake up. I need to apologise and atone. She needs to realise she is here to stay. That she is our Omega.

*Laika’s POV*

My hand is suddenly enclosed in another. I can hear John murmuring to himself. I use all of my energy to open my eyes. I grimace with the effort. I try to pull my hand away. I don’t want him feeling as though he needs to comfort me. I’m just a stupid omega, after all. Ruining everything as per usual.

He lets go when he realises I’m trying to pull away.

“Hey, you’re awake.. you’re ok.. the boys, they found you.. you’ve had surgery on your shoulder.. you’ll recover.. just need to take it real easy for a few weeks…” he speaks. My eyes are fixed on his fingers splaying on the bed, millimetres from my own, but never touching.

“I’m sorr-” my voice breaks due to the dryness of my throat. A few swallows of saliva and a good couple of coughs later, I’m ready to try and talk again. I keep my eyes down, not wanting to make eye contact with the Captain.

“I’m sorry. I - I’ll leave as soon as I’m able. I-I..”

“-who said anything about leav- wait..? Were you trying to run from us..?” He turns away slightly, clearly disappointed. Muttering something about Laswell being right about me.

My eyes shift with confusion. What the fuck does he mean by that?!

My scent obviously turns sour, he thinks his quick sniffle is subtle, but it’s not. He immediately back pedals.

“Is it me..? Is it.. do you want me to send Johnny? Kyle. Yeah, Kyle’s always been softer with you. I can call Kyle in until you feel a bit more awake, yeah?”

What the fuck does he mean? I’m perfectly coherent, yeah I’m a little drowsy, and nauseous, but my brain is fine..?!

I shake my head.

“No.. I don’t think - I - I’d rather be alone..” I stutter, knowing that I’m slowly sealing my fate.

It’s for their own good I tell myself. I deny myself the temporary comfort of having them near me. They don’t want me, anyway. It’s just my own stupid feelings prolonging everyone’s suffering.

Detach. Let go. Release them. Stupid mutt, letting yourself go and believe that you could belong.

John pauses, clearly not sure how to react.

His eyes widen, when I stubbornly sit up, albeit weakly, and hand the fabric that held Simon’s comforting scent. He’d left me his coat my omega feels fleeting joy, which is quickly stamped out. I’m in the drivers seat now. Not the omega. Me.

“You.. you should go. I’ll - I’ll be ok on my own” I whisper, looking away. He stares at me, shocked.

He turns away, as if he had lead on his feet. I finally let the tears fall, now his back is turned. The soft click of the door closing behind him marks the end of this. Whatever this was…

*Simon’s POV*

John had sent Johnny, Kyle and I back to our quarters. We’d sat outside her room for hours, still covered in her blood. Still stinking of the mission. Still reeking of distressed omega.

It’s his scent that hits me first. The joys of having the sensitive nose.

His head is hung low. He is emitting a foul smell. He’d never looked, or smelt, like this before.

A pit forms in my stomach and throat.

“…John?” I ask the unspoken question.

“- she, she - she rejected me. Us.”

No no no no… no she didn’t, she couldn’t!

Johnny and Kyle immediately start squabbling from behind me.

“Naw she Cannae have done. She’s no thinking straight. Still high on meds… that cannae be right. I’ll go talk to her..”

“-Johnny. She doesn’t want to see us.”

“I could go?” Kyle offers “I’ve always gotten through to her best..?”

“Kyle.. she made it clear.” John shuts him down.

He holds up my coat. The coat I had scented. Absolutely covered it in my scent, before tucking it under her head. She calmed down immediately. Why doesn’t she want it now?

The pack sit in absolute silence for the next few hours. Not a word is spoken. Nobody moves.

The silence is broken by a phone vibrating.

John huffs a dull laugh. “Laswell” he grunts, and declines the call.

A few seconds later it starts buzzing again.

“You should take that” I speak.

“Why would I want to chat to her right now? Eh? So she can tell us she was right? That the omega was running from us all along? Because of me? Because I let my Alpha feel challenged by a member of my own fuckin’ pack? No thank you, Lieutenant.”

I snatch his phone from the table, answering it sharply.

“Laswell, what do you want?” I bark down the line.

“Simon, it’s nice to talk to you, too” she says back sarcastically.

“I’m not in a joking mood, get on with it, or I’ll hang up”

“Are you ever in a joking mood? - anyway - It’s about your omega. We’ve combed through the building in Chicago. We have found something that may be of use to you.”

“S’too late. The Omega. Basically told John, and by extension: us, to fuck off, so whatever you have, it don’t matter.”

“I’m sorry to hear that you’re going through a rough patch. But it’s her bandana fabric thing. It was found in the rubble at the site of the blast on the 51st floor. We’ve sealed it and sent it first class. Should be with you by morning. I’d try to work things out with her. She’s worth the effort.”

And with that, she hangs up.

I slam John’s phone down on the table.

“Her hanky? How -” Johnny starts but I cut him off.

“She went to help. She went to help her Alphas, and we just left her to fend for herself. How the fuck didn’t you notice her.. she damn well got herself shot and blown up, and we left her in the rubble?” I rage.

“It wis you who dinnae even notice her sneak away in the first place, Simon. Don’t forget that…”

“Wait.. Simon. Remember you radioed to me, when I was holed up on the stair well waiting for Hassan? You said there was someone coming up?”

I nod, remembering. “Do you think..?”

“But how did she get to the site of the explosion. Hassan was about to shoot me execution style before that marine tackle-”

“Shit. SHIT”

“It wasn’t the Marine who hit Hassan.” Kyle says matter of factly.

“I couldn’t see. Because of all the dust and debris. And she had those scent patches on. Fuck. FUCK. I should have known..” he goes on.

“Kyle, this isn’t your fault” John tries to comfort.

“You’re tellin’ me.. that that wee lassie ran all the way doon from LT’s perch on the top floor of the building opposite, across the street, and all the way up to us, AND managed to save Cap just before he took a bullet between the eyes?” Johnny summarises.

“We need to see her” I conclude.

We all stand at once and march toward the medical wing.

*Laika’s POV*

I smell and hear them before I see them.

Oh no. Please not again.

I rapidly wipe away my tears, knowing that the puffiness and tear tracks won’t disappear so easily.

A knock sounds on the door. I stay quiet. Then I hear the nurse from outside telling them that I’d asked for no visitors.

“I’m sorry, Sir’s. She asked to be left alone for the next few days. Only staff are allowed beyond these doors” the nurse politely explains.

A soft scent flows into the room from under the door. I immediately recognise it as Kyle’s scent, when he concentrates it to calm me down. Sneaky bastard.

“We are her Pack.. you need to let us in.” I overhear Simon grunt, annoyed.

“Oh, Uhm.. sorry Sir’s. I hadn’t been informed that she was mated, or part of a pack. If you’d wait here while I go and check her documentation..” she excuses herself, I hear hurried retreating footsteps from outside my door.

Kyle’s calming scent continues to seep its way into my brain. My omega is crying out to be allowed some comfort.

“We know you know we’re here..” Johnny whisper-yells from behind the door.

I feel my cheeks heat. I gulp.

“Could you let us in, Bonnie.. please..? Just want to talk..” he pleads with me.

My eyes flash from left to right, weighing up my options. I can’t say no to them. My stupid omega just can’t say fucking NO to them.

I find myself nodding. Then mentally slapping myself around the face, realising they can’t see through doors.

“Ok” I consent, barely loudly enough for them to hear.

Johnny is first in. He rushes over and grabs my hands, hurriedly but gently patting me down, searching for all the bruises and blemishes left on my skin.

“Oh Bonnie, there ye are.. awkt, we’ll get you cleaned up in no time, eh? Clever wee thing you are..” he slides his thumb over my chin, and kisses the crown of my head, so tenderly, that it breaks me.

I preen at the praise, trying not to purr.

“What happened back there, huh? You threw pack Alpha out..? Scared us, lass. Really scared us..”

Scared them? Why..?

“Didn’t want me.. not pack..” my chin wobbles, trying not to sob. “I - I didn’t mean it… such a stupid burden useless mutt.” I sniffle, letting my anxieties pour out.

Johnny leans in and presses another kiss to my head, before softly lifting my hands and kissing all of my knuckles.

“That’s just not true. Not true at all. Not a single word of it..” he whispers.

Kyle steps in, then, and I bathe in his calming scent, still enveloping me, holding me together at the seems.

“You’re too clever for your own good, you know that, right, little bug?” He smiles gently at me, stroking my dirty hair away from my face.

“So beautiful, too” he says, making my cheeks heat.

“Think we wouldn’t find out that you saved pack Alpha’s life, huh? And those damn scent patches… they stopped us from finding you. I should have known, baby. I’m sorry. Forgive me..”

Kyle’s thumb gently swipes where the scent patches had been, causing a little whimper to rise from my throat, the sensitive skin feeling overwhelmed at the Alpha’s attention.

“I - I don’t blame you…” I breathe, looking at Kyle.

“It’s my fault-” John steps forward, hanging his head in shame but before he can quite finish his sentence I cut him off “I don’t blame any of you.. just myself..”

“No. No no - it’s not anything to do with you, love. Nothing is your fault. Nothing. You hear me?” John argues.

Simon steps forward then, looming over the others like a tall shadow.

“You’ve caused quite a stir here, Omega.” He states. I shrink back further into my bed, ashamed for a split moment.

“Don’t do that. Hide away as if you’re scared of us. We would never hurt you. Could never be angry at you. Look at you. You’ve saved us.”

My eyes blink away the heavy, fat tears forming.

Saved them? Maybe I’m not the only one who’s had a knock to the head..

“You’re part of this now. Part of us. If you’ll take us…?” John hesitates, extending the olive branch.

“I - I don’t want to be a burden..”

“Awkt enough of that, lassie..” Johnny cuts in, nuzzling his face against my un-injured shoulder, desperate for touch. His scent wraps around me like flames.

“You all want me to stay..?” I ask, confused

There is a chorus of agreement in the small room.

My tears fall loose, and Kyle is there to wipe them away.

“Is that a yes, bug?” He whispers into my hair.

I nod, sniffing away my tears and snot.

As I nod, I’m bombarded by the heady scent of the four Alphas. Pure relief and happiness wafts through the room. My omega is jumping up and down with joy.

—————— Timeskip (1 week) ————————

I’d finally been discharged. It felt weird getting to walk beyond the halls of the infirmary. Of course, the Alphas of task force 141 followed my every step. They’d visited every day, for hours at a time, and I was rarely left alone for the duration of my stay. They were trying their best to make up for what had happened last week. I felt as though I was in a happier place. Mentally and physically.

Johnny was blabbing about what he had planned for the next few weeks.

“So this week, we’re gonna be takin’ it easy, but the nurse said you’d be up for more activity by next week so we thought we could-”

“Wait.. what? How long have you got on leave, Johnny..?” I ask tentatively, not wanting to get my hopes up.

“Not just me, hen.. John made sure to put all of us on leave for at least the next four weeks. Ain’t that right, Alpha?” He explains, practically buzzing.

My eyes fly to John, almost giving me whiplash..

“Really?!”

He smiles down at me, “yes, love. Needed to make sure you were settled and happy. Need to make up for the past couple of weeks..”

I squeal, excited, grabbing Johnny’s bicep and squeezing, bouncing up and down.

“Oi, calm down. Nurse said to take it easy!” Ghost barks, gently removing me from Johnny and escorting me by my good shoulder, back to our quarters.

“I feel better, Simon..” I whine, glancing back at him.

“You’re on a huge dose of painkillers, you don’t know if you feel better or not. Now take it easy..”

I grumble under my breath. Stupid Alpha.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“That’s strike one..” he warns.

“You’re not funny..” I roll my eyes, pouting like a spoilt child.

“What makes you think I’m joking?”

We reach the kitchen and he sits me down on the sofa. Johnny and Kyle sit either side of me. I immediately adjust myself so I’m sprawled across Kyle’s lap, with my feet up on Johnny’s lap.

Johnny puts the TV on and flicks to a random documentary about animals and starts massaging my toes.

“Anyway, next week, I thought we could try and plan something to do away from base. As a pack..” Johnny continues his earlier conversation.

My heart leaps at the suggestion of being a pack, but my brain reminds me that they’ve not made a move to claim me yet, and I’ve only been properly intimate with Kyle.. just the thought of intimacy sends heat through my body.

I nuzzle into Kyle’s neck, inhaling his soft scent. He kisses my hair and tightens his hold of me ever so slightly, pleased to have his omega back in his arms. I chase the warm feeling, shuffling closer and closer, practically straddling him, pushing my nose further into his scent glands. Then I feel him tense up, I whine, upset, pulling away and looking at him with sad eyes.

“I- I’m doing something wrong..?” I ask, pained.

“No. No not at all, love. But you’re still hurt. You need to be careful. Just don’t want to hurt you..”

“Aye lass, nurses said no strenuous activity” Johnny chips in, wiggling his eyebrows cheekily.

“Was just cuddling…” I whine

“You were about to start more than cuddling, Omega..and you know it” Simon adds, from behind me.

I whip around, angrily, and point an accusatory finger at Simon.

“You’re just a kill joy. You don’t like me being happy..” I accuse, perhaps a bit harshly, but I was upset that he kept ruining my happiness.

Simon looks a bit put out by my comment, and steps back slightly, probably shocked that I’d been so harsh.

John steps forward from his place at the kettle.

“Sweet girl, that’s no way to talk to pack, is it? Apologise to Simon. He just wants you to get better..”

I furrow my brow, standing wobbly from my place on Kyle’s lap. “I’m not pack, and I’m not sorry. He’s being mean..”

I turn and leave the kitchen, heading back to my own room. I’d not been in my nest for a few weeks.

*Kyle’s POV*

I know a pent up omega when I see one. She’s desperate for touch and attention. Absolutely desperate.

She blows a gasket when Simon interrupts our little cuddle session. It had been quickly escalating into something more, she’d been neglected for too long..

And then the poor thing hobbles away, in a mood, probably back to her nest. I want to go after her. Calm her down. Make her happy.

I wait for her door to slam shut before speaking to the rest of the pack.

“She needs her Alphas. Her pack… she’s pent up..”

“And hurt, Garrick. And mentally exhausted from the last few weeks. She needs time.”

“I don’t see the issue with letting her set the pace..” I argue.

“Aye, I’m with Kyle, let her decide.” Johnny agrees.

“Boys” John prowls over,

“Just give it a few days. Please. Just don’t cross that line. Not until I give you the go ahead. That’s an order. Simon’s right. She needs time. Time to heal. Mentally and physically. Poor omega’s been through the mill. Remember she hasn’t even properly presented yet. Or shown any signs of her first heat. We need to back off until she’s ready…”

I drop my argumentative gave as the pack Alpha tells us the ground rules. I’m slightly disappointed but I cannot argue back.

“Kyle, look at me” he sighs, gentler than before.

I glance up.

“Go to her - Johnny, you too - hang out, be near her, even cuddle. I’m not disallowing that. You just can’t escalate anything, she’s only been with Kyle so far, and remember how she reacted afterwards. She panicked. We need to make sure she’s ready for us. As a pack.. understood?”

“Yes, Alpha” I reply, and from the corner of my eye, I see Johnny nodding.

“Go make sure she’s ok then” John nods his head in the direction of her room and I jump to my feet and speed off down the hall with Johnny.

*Laika’s POV*

Three knocks on the door break me out from my thoughts.

I’ve been sitting in my best in the cupboard for a few minutes, reorganising my blankets and throws, and scented items, trying to make it comfortable again. My brain had been playing on a constant loop since storming out of the kitchen.

Not good enough for them. Knew this would happen. Simon doesn’t want me near his pack mates. Simon doesn’t like me. Kyle is just being nice. John thinks I’m stupid.

“Bug..? It’s us.. can we come in..?” I hear Kyle from through both doors.

I stand and open the cupboard, walking towards the bedroom door. I inhale, trying to figure out who the ‘us’ Kyle referred to was. Probably Johnny. I confirm my suspicions with his scent slowly making itself known.

I slowly open the door and peak up at them.

“You angry at me..?” I ask, sadly.

“Oh Bonnie, c’mon, let us in and we’ll make it all better” Johnny practically shoves through the door and picks me up off of my feet suddenly.

I yelp and grab hold of him, conscious of my wrapped up shoulder wound.

“Johnny!” I gasp, wrapping my arms and legs around him for stability.

“Soap!” Kyle warns, “you heard what John told us…”

“Awkt, just stop actin’ weird around her. We’re just push in’ her away. Ain’t that right, sweet lassie?”he replies to Kyle, cheekily nuzzling his nose into my scent glands.

I feel giggles bubbling from my throat and the burden on my inner voice suddenly silences itself.

“Missed you, Johnny” I laugh, cuddling him closer. He moves us both towards my nest, stopping before entering to make sure I was ok with him being in my nest. I nod my head, smiling like a Cheshire Cat.

Kyle watches on from the middle of the main bedroom. I see a hesitant smile reach his lips.

He turns away and for a second I think he’s leaving. I release a loud whine and am about to plead with him to stay but he quickly closes the door to my room and turns back to face me.

“Shush, love. Was just shutting the door so the two killjoys wouldn’t catch us in your nest” he laughs.

“Come cudddddlllleee” I whine, making grabby hands at him past Johnny’s back.

“I don’t know if we’ll all fit in your little nest.”

“Jus’ do as the little lassie says, Garrick. She needs her Alpha’s. Ain’t that right?”

I nod my head enthusiastically, delighted that I’m finally getting some much needed attention from them.

Kyle squeezes in behind me, cautious of my shoulder. He pecks me on my head, and tells me how sweet I am. I’m basking in all the attention and feel purrs slipping past my lips.

“John and Si will come around soon, don’t worry..”

“Don’t they want me anymore..” I ask shyly,

“No, lass. They think you’ll break. Told us to be gentle and let you rest. Think Si wants to wrap you in bubble wrap and keep you at arms length for the rest of your life..”

“Simon’s being mean. He doesn’t like me..”

“That’s not true…” - “yeah it is”

Johnny and Kyle stay in my nest and we continue to cuddle and scent together for a while. I start to feel a little better after their constant promises that Simon and John aren’t mad at me and that they still want me. I feel a little more reassured.

“I - I have a question..?”

“What is it ‘mega..?”

“When I.. when I had my scent patches on… did you notice..? Because I mainly put them on because Simon has always said I stink… but you two and John never seemed too bothered by my scent. Or… lack of scent… I guess…”

“It’s not that we weren’t bothered by your scent, love..” Kyle starts. “-it’s damn near addicting once we get a whiff of it, Bonnie”

“You just had a very subtle scent. It slowly started to get thicker, ever so slightly, but I guess we didn’t notice as much with the scent patches because we weren’t with you.. you went off with Simon, remember… but.. when we found you on the street, surrounded by those cops and you’d gone feral… when the scent patches were taken off, your scent is stronger than ever… hit me like a fuckin’ train…”

“S’stronger..?” I ask, shyly..

“Yeah. Stunk of distressed Omega at first.. thought it wis’ just cos you went feral… thought it’d go back to like is wis before but it hasnae. Smell as sweet as a cherry pie, little lass.”

Johnny makes his point clear when he presses his nose into my scent glands and groans appreciatively. “Oi Johnny.. don’t be greedy!” Kyle laughs jealously.

I giggle but present my neck to Kyle to allow him some space to enjoy my new found scent.

“Love..” he growls lowly .. “you can’t just present your neck to an Alpha like that.. fuck”

He clearly struggles to restrain himself from jumping at me there and then.

“Aye lass, walking a wobbly tightrope doin’ that in front of us, ya little minx you…” Johnny grumbles from behind.

“You both like my scent..?” I look for reassurance.

“Can’t get enough of it” Johnny mumbles.

“Sweet as I dreamt of..” Kyle sighs.

I smile, bashfully, at both the Alphas, pulling them both down to lay with me in my nest.

Johnny ends up being the big spoon, tucking himself tightly behind me, and Kyle faces me, cuddling me face to face. I tuck my head into the crook of his neck and wind my legs with Johnny’s, purring happily.

“M’ happy to be home with my Alphas. Would never run away from them.. ever…” are my last mumbled words before falling asleep, feeling safe, happy and wanted.

[rikudaa]

Observe and Detach⋆·˚ ༘ *

Tim Drake/Red Robin x Reader | <<< Part 2. >>>

ღ A/N: Ena Shinomnomme and Mizuki Akiyama kinnie but this time I let someone died (but mention briefly). Reader dress up feminine clothes but not set as Female, they are gender neutral. Enjoy!

✮ WARNING!! Contains Themes Of Isolation, Mental Health Deterioration, Obsession, Emotional Surveillance, And The Bitter Truth Of Failing To Become Friends.

It happened.

A call at 2AM.

A hospital room.

A silence that never ended.

• • •

You lost someone.

Someone real. Someone grounding. Someone who kept you tethered. They were gone. And with them, you started to go, too.

At first, no one noticed. You still showed up. Still wore your bows and little pearl bracelets and dainty heels that clicked with purpose. You still turned in your critiques. Still kept your head high.

You tried to hold the shape of yourself.

But grief doesn’t rip. It rots. Slowly. Quietly.

Like ink bleeding through expensive paper, you began to blur.

You stop dressing up after the funeral.

Not immediately. At first, you double down. Lip gloss. White tights. Those stupid velvet Mary Janes that click on the lecture hall stairs. You wear bows every day like bandages–one for every time someone tells you they’re sorry, one for every time someone stares too long without asking how you’re doing.

It’s not for comfort. It’s camouflage. The same reason you still turn in assignments with delicate handwriting and smile at your professors when they say your midterm felt “emotionally raw.”

What they mean is: Are you okay?

What they don’t say is: We’re afraid you’re going to die like this.

Because they’re right.

You aren’t okay.

And it’s starting to show.

When they stopped asking, you didn’t miss them.

Tim watched. He always watched. But he never asked.

You skip studio for the first time in early November. You lie and say you’re sick.

You’re not.

You’re in bed, in the dark, chewing at your nails and ignoring your ringing phone. There are three unread messages from your department mentor. One from a classmate. One from Tim Drake.

You don’t read his. You don’t need to. You already know what it says.

Where were you?

That’s not like you.

You’re smarter than this.

He never asks you if you’re okay. He just catalogues your decline like a data set–measurable, methodical, inevitable. The way some people study heat maps or war zones. Like you’re a puzzle or a problem. Like you’re no longer real.

Maybe you’re not.

Maybe you’re just… after.

Until you started skipping lectures more often.

Until the piece you’d been preparing all semester–a visual trauma narrative built on recurring color and texture–was submitted unfinished. Blank. Canvas gessoed white, like you’d erased something sacred and dared them to notice.

You didn’t care if they did.

But he did.

He cornered you outside the psych building, his face tight in that frustrated, academic way. As if he was mad you were ruining his hypothesis.

“You’re unraveling,” he said, not as a question. Like a scientist naming a specimen. “I’m not the only one who sees it.”

You laughed. You hadn’t heard yourself laugh in days.

“So write a paper about it, Drake.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He stepped closer. You didn’t move.

“You’re not well.”

“And you’re not my therapist.”

Silence. Not heavy. Just hollow.

“You used to wear pink,” he said quietly.

You looked at him then. The way he said that–like it meant something. Like it was some kind of code. Like the loss of softness equaled loss of self.

And maybe it did.

But you didn’t say that.

You said: “And you used to mind your own business.”

You left him standing there. And it felt good, for five whole seconds.

You used to be coquette. You used to love the way light pink caught on your cheeks or how hearts looked drawn in gel pen on your wrists.

Now your skin feels too thin for any color.

You don’t wear bows anymore. You can’t even look at them. They sit in a little box at the back of your desk drawer, and every time you open it to find a pen or a charger, they’re just… there. Bright and untouched and wrong.

So you stop opening the drawer.

By December, you wear black every day. Not cute black. Not stylized, witchy black.

Just blankness. Oversized hoodies. Long sleeves. Jeans that don’t hug you right because you’ve lost weight you weren’t trying to lose. You smell like dry shampoo. Your eyes stay rimmed in red, but there’s no makeup anymore to cover it.

No one says anything.

But Tim watches.

Of course he does.

He keeps sitting two rows behind you in lectures. Keeps tracking your attendance. Starts submitting “group assignments” that aren’t assigned in groups, just so he can CC you and say “Thought you might want to contribute.”

You never ask him to stop. But you do start turning off read receipts.

Weeks passed.

You stopped attending studio altogether. The world dulled like overexposed film. Your professors reached out. You ignored them. Your roommate left sticky notes on your mirror. You peeled them off one by one.

The only constant was him–Tim.

Emails. Messages. PDF attachments at 3AM. Journal articles about grief regression and executive dysfunction. No “how are you.” Just clinical concern, thinly veiled as academic interest.

Emotional surveillance.

You start dreaming about him.

Not romantically. Not sexually.

In your dreams, he stands at the edge of your bed and watches you sleep like he’s studying you for symptoms. His eyes are empty. His hands are full of sharp things.

You wake up and start crying before you know why.

There’s a moment in late January when he finds you in the back corner of the library, curled up behind the stacks, your phone off, your sketchbook empty.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there. Watching.

You can feel the weight of it, like being stared at by your own autopsy photo.

Eventually, he sits down.

And says:

“You know, I used to think you were pretending.”

You don’t answer. Your mouth tastes like metal. You want to cry but your eyes are dry again. Your body doesn’t even have the energy to grieve anymore. Just a low hum of self-hatred under your ribs.

Tim keeps going, voice low, like he’s talking to a ghost:

“I thought the bows and the sweetness were performance. But I think… maybe this is.”

You turn your face toward the bookshelf.

“I don’t care what you think.”

“I know,” he says.

And then:

“But I still think it.”

Later, he sends you a document. Not a message. A full analysis.

You open it out of spite.

The Psychology of Identity Loss in Trauma Victims: A Working Hypothesis.

By T. Drake.

Inspired by case subject (Y). [REDACTED].

You want to scream. You want to set your laptop on fire.

Instead, you scroll. And read. And choke.

Because he gets it.

Because he sees it.

Not you, not really. But the fracture. The post-mortem of your former self, broken down into citations and behavioral regression tables.

He’s dissecting you like a cadaver.

You don’t reply.

But you read it again.

And again.

There’s a point in February when it’s so bad you stop going home for weekends. You stop answering your mother’s calls. You don’t even open your email anymore, except to mark things unread so you won’t be dropped from class.

Your world shrinks to your room, the inside of your hoodie, and the thin knowledge that Tim knows exactly how far you’re falling.

He’s stopped intervening. But not watching.

Always watching.

You imagine his notes. His folders. His timelines of your breakdown. You imagine him cataloging the way your hair started tangling, or when you stopped wearing rings, or the precise lecture where your hands stopped sketching in the margins.

And it’s awful.

And it’s disgusting.

And it’s the only thing that makes you feel seen anymore.

The last time you speak is in March.

You find him outside a seminar. He’s alone, reading. And you stand there in your too-long sleeves and chewed lips and ask, flatly:

“Are you still studying me?”

He doesn’t flinch.

He looks up.

“Are you still letting me?”

Silence. Cold and long and final.

You say, “I hope your research is worth it.”

He says, “I wish I didn’t need it.”

And that’s it.

That’s the moment.

That’s where it ends–not in flames, not in tears, not even in a scream.

Just two people who almost saved each other.

Who failed.

Who now carry the weight of that failure in silence.

You don’t talk again.

You don’t get better.

You just get quieter.

And one day, someone asks Tim about you.

“Didn’t you know them?”

“Didn’t you two used to…?”

And he shrugs.

Like it doesn’t matter.

Like you weren’t something he watched die in real time.

He never answers.

But he keeps the paper.

And he never deletes your name.

Next up: No one else gets to save you | <<< Part 2. >>>

©𐙚 rikudaa—Please do not repost or copy this content to other websites.

[florenceisfalling]

its ok the situation is long behind me and i have never experienced a bad feeling about it ever 👍 (lying)

[patrickztump]

I’m a bit late for the character ask game, but let’s have 12 and 26 for Arthur! =)

oh thank you thank you thank you for the numbers, catty <33333

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character? this one can probably be easily dismissed/debunked but it's something i thought about once. (and slight spoilers ahead if you haven't played the game)

in the beginning the gang is on the run from a horribly botched robbery. things went bad, lives were lost and it's shaken them but not destroyed them (....entirely). my personal theory (and it may not be my own, but i haven't looked to see if others share it) is that arthur suffered brain damage during that job and is slowly recovering from it. being an outlaw in his mid 30s, he should have known the basics for surviving off the land but instead he has to be taught how to track and skin game, spends time throughout the game discovering/learning about even the most common animals. he also relies on pamphlets for crafting tonics, weapons, etc., which in most cases is understandable. but some i would, again, assume he should have known how to create after spending two-thirds of his life on the run and in dangerous situations.

now of course my brother completely dismissed this, "it's to give the player more stuff to do," which yes, true. but also i think it could possibly explain a few minor details here and there. i cut some slack and, for example, don't think the mission where arthur learns how to use a bow is the result of any head trauma. he just strikes me as a firearm man; quick, easy, and less patience.

another one, that's not my own but one i have come to agree with and adopted into my viewpoint, is that he's more of a mare owner than stallion. his praising for female horses are softer and more affectionate. there's still love for the males but it's more firm, like he's talking to another guy in some ways.

26. What's something the character has done you can't get over? Be it something funny, bad, good, serious, whatever? bad. it's bad. you have generally speaking pretty good control over how he interacts with people and situations, can make good or bad decisions. but in the debt collection missions he can be needlessly cruel - and a certain one, it doesn't matter how you play it, he's a flat out ass. that one is hard for me to get through on a few levels, and he pays for how he handled the situation but that doesn't make it any better.

[tojisbbg]

gang baby

❝she told you she celibate, but she told me i can nail her shit!❞

♡ sylus, caleb, rafayel, zayne, xavier ♡

sypnosis: you're just a girl. yeah, you can't decide between five hot LI's presented to you in the popular otome game, love and deepspace, but that's okay. who said you can't have them all? literally.

wc: 11k (lots of smut beware)

a/n: valentines day special!! guys, don't question it, ok? i wrote this with my whole pussy. ok bai. (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated <3

content: all lads LI's x fem!reader (yes, you read right), gangbang, slight plot, reader gets transported in lads universe, smut (no details, find out hehe), all acts are consensual, not edited. disclaimer: not based off tomorrow's catch-22!!

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

"fuck!" you yelled out in frustration, chucking your phone off your bed as the poor device fell on the floor with a loud thud. you could hear your best friend giggling from your laptop, making you shoot her a sharp glare.

"shut up." you sneer, but it only fueled her laughter more.

"damn, infold really hates you, bro." she pokes further at your miserable failure, making your shoulders slump in defeat as you grumble.

"i can't believe it. i've been grinding for two months straight to save up fifteen thousand diamonds for the valentines day banner! i was sure i'd pull them all, and you're telling me i only got two out of the five?? this is a fucking joke." you ranted, making your friend hum as she understood your anger.

"yeah, i'd be mad as hell too. but hey, at least you got sylus and caleb. just watch the rest on twitter or something." your best friend tried to comfort you, but it only made you pout.

"but i want them all." you sulked, making her roll her eyes.

"you're such a whore." she sighed, making you grin.

"duh, why choose one when i can have them all." you nonchalantly responded.

"yeah, yeah, forgot you had no shame." she shook her head in disbelief.

"man, i don't know what else to do. i literally milked the game dry, there's no other way i can get more diamonds for more pulls before the event ends. this is so unfair." you whined, fingers tangled in your hair.

"you can always-"

"no. i'm not giving those greedy hoes my money." you cut off her suggestion, your tone stern.

you were a poor college student who worked part-time at a stationery supply store (living the aesthetic life while crying over classes and fictional men); money's tight, and you're not about to spend hundreds on this because you know it'd become a horrible habit sooner or later.

despite being broke, your spending habits were outrageous.

"yeah girl, then i don't know what to tell ya. i'm chilling with my rafayel card. oh shit, it's almost three in the morning, bitch. we have class tomorrow, go to sleep." she yawned tiredly.

"you're leaving me just like that? after i went through so much pain and trauma? is this how deep our ten years of friendship runs? just say you hate me and want me to die a slow painful death." you dramatically rambled, making your best friend rub her temple in faux annoyance as she groaned at your stupidity.

"when i see you tomorrow, i'm gonna slap you. goodnight, hoe." with that, she hung up.

you closed the lid of your laptop and placed it on charge, stretching before standing up to go pick up your phone. you noticed the small cracks on your screen as you walked back to your bed.

you unlocked your phone, noticing how the lads server kicked you out. you exited the app, clicking on it again as you were met with caleb's face.

so l-long for longe-ge-... before fa-fa...dust

so long for-for-.... fading-fa..-dus..

so-so...lo...ng-..fading...

your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the app glitch horribly, the audio was choppy and produced crackling noises. the graphics were disoriented and there was a pop-up notification saying you needed to upgrade your memory.

you could feel your irritation rise once again, getting tired of this shit as you decided to deal with it tomorrow or something. however, every time you tried to exit the app, it wouldn't let you.

your phone literally froze.

"great. just fucking great." you sarcastically murmured.

not only did you not get the limited cards you wanted, you were broke (in the real world and in lads), you're screwed for your morning classes and your phone is currently on its last breath.

also, you were hungry as fuck right now, craving for some five guys.

"fuck this." you sighed in defeat, settling your phone next to you before laying down to sleep. you figured that eventually your phone would turn off once the battery died, so until then you just turned to the other side and ignored the device.

soon enough, fatigue took over your body as you were slipping away into a deep slumber.

unaware, your phone screen turned off momentarily, before flickering on once again as the screen crackled and glitched before stopping.

data retrieval complete, memory upgrade...

successful.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

you stirred in your sleep, eyebrows pinched together as you felt a cold breeze run across the bare skin of your thighs and arms.

nonetheless, you don't remember leaving your window open, it was the middle of february. you groaned, eyes still shut tight as your hand reached down, trying to locate your blanket.

"comfortable, sweetie?" you heard an oddly familiar, deep voice suddenly speak.

did someone break into your house? and why the hell did your mattress feel so hard and cold?

your eyes shot open, adjusting your blurry vision as you realized you were not in your bedroom. you were laying on the cold, dirt ground and it made you panic.

you helplessly sat up and noticed the long pair of legs in front of your body, making you look up as you saw the towering figure of a man. the night sky was dark, making it hard for you to make out his face.

"who are you? and what the hell am i doing out here?" you asked, but your voice barely came out as a whisper.

a deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, before he bent down to come eye-level with you. as soon as you met the bright, ruby red orbs of his foxy eyes; your jaw dropped in horror.

no. fucking. way.

"shouldn't i be the one asking you those questions, sweetie?" sylus smirked, head tilting as he keenly watched your facial expressions.

"you're not real. i'm dreaming, yeah, just a dream that feels too real." you blurt out, a breathy laugh scratching your dry throat, trying to calm yourself from freaking out as your heart leaped to your chest when he directly looked at you.

"a dream, you say? hmph, you're a strange one." he shook his head before grabbing your wrist, bringing your palm to his lips. the warmth of his rough hands, which were definitely double the size of yours, made you shiver due to the contrast of your cold ones. he bit the side of your palm before gently sucking on it, making you jolt from the sudden sensation.

sylus watched you with pure amusement glinting in his eyes.

"you're like a scared little kitten, so expressive." sylus commented, making you swallow harshly.

well, this definitely was not a dream, thanks to sylus's help for that confirmation.

but the question was.... how the hell did you end up here?

suddenly, there was rustling in the distance, making his eyes twitch as he became alert. sylus slightly shifted closer to you, now scanning the area for the intruder.

"miss bodyguard?" with a dramatic gasp, you heard rushed footsteps approach you. it was hard to miss the hues of indigo, pinks and blues in his eyes along with the striking dusky purple hair that was a little more visible thanks to the moonlight.

"r...rafayel?" it felt odd saying his name out loud, it almost made you feel a little schizophrenic.

just a bit.

"duh, who else would it be? what are you doing here in the N-109 zone at this hour. also, the hell are you wearing? so not creative or fashionable." rafayel questioned, of course, not forgetting to throw in his snarky little insults along with it.

"what's wrong with what i'm wearing?" you glared at him.

"it's the middle of february and you're dressed like it's a hundred degrees outside." the lemurian smirked down at you.

you cursed at yourself for going to bed in shorts and a thin shirt. well, to be fair, it's a cute snoopy set. also, who in the hell could've predicted this to happen!?

"she wanted to have a little sleepover with the wanderers that lurk around here." the dragon teased, making your face heat up.

"i did not." you mumbled under your breath.

"uh-huh, you're not really in the position to defend that claim." rafayel egged further.

"whatever, what are you doing here? you usually don't go out of your way to come to the N-109 zone." you tried to change the subject, remembering from his anecdotes that he usually has third party people as his "networks" to gain intel.

"just some business you shouldn't sweat your pretty little head over, cutie. but, you know, we should really talk about what your business is with the leader of onychinus." he cocked an eyebrow, his eyes flickering between you and sylus.

"it's nothing, uh, i don't even know him." you chuckled nervously, making sylus look at you with a sharp look.

"is that so, kitten? you wound me. and here i thought we had something more than just... acquaintances. i guess those nights of naughty touches, kisses and naked glances mean nothing to you, right?" sylus shamelessly bullet-pointed, his tone dropping an octave lower as your cheeks grew warm.

on the other hand, rafayel's eyes widened at the revelation.

"you fucked the leader of onychinus?! woah, woah, woah, pause. what about everything that happened between us?? we had sex in my bathtub, the hotel and don't forget-" he was flabbergasted, only to be cut off by sylus.

"you were messing around with this half-baked fish, sweetie? i'm disappointed in your taste. if you planned on two-timing, you could've selected a better opponent for me. this is just... offensive." he snarked, his red eyes beaming with irritation as he looked at rafayel, who's face grew dark from his brash words.

"what did you say to me, you fucking crow? half-baked fish? i'm the god of tides, a majestic lemurian. you dare to speak to me like that?" rafayel's voice became husky, languid footsteps towards the other man.

"h-hey, hey, let's all calm down. there's a very logical and reasonable explanation, i swear." you tried to mediate between them, but it didn't seem like they planned on giving a flying shit about what you had to say any time soon.

"y/n? there you are. i've been blowin' up your phone for hours. thought a wanderer got to you and i got worried about how i'd pay the rent by myself." xavier walked from the shadows, his words laced with a gentle joke as he approached you and the other two men.

holy fuck, this was not good.

"and who are you guys?" the ash-blonde male asked, eyes narrowing before looking down at you.

"xavier." you meeked, not even knowing what to say anymore.

"why are you seeing other guys, y/n? am i not enough? you know i don't like it when you hide things from me. i thought you learned your lesson after i punished you for choosing lumiere over me." xavier now towered over you, his voice laced with envy as you gulped.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

"xavier, i promise i can explain. this is all just a-" you tried to somehow pull an excuse out of your ass, but your brain was fogging up.

"pipsqueak?"

"y/n? what an odd place to be at during such an odd hour, you left your patient copy in my office."

two other figures emerged from the sides, making your eyes close in disbelief, wishing that you could somehow disappear from the face of earth right now.

why the fuck are they all here.

at the same time.

"you've got to be kidding me." you covered your face with the palm of your hands.

"caleb? i thought you were dead." zayne spoke in a monotone, glancing at his childhood friend.

"wow, i missed you too, zayne." caleb rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his words. however, the small spark of tension barely lasted before caleb looked back at you.

"care to explain why you're in such a dangerous zone at this time? you know you can't hide from me, pipsqueak. what connections do you have here? who are you seeing? was locking you up in the attic not enough for you?" caleb lectured, his voice gruff before zayne decided to add on to the fire.

"you're utterly reckless, your heart condition isn't getting any better." zayned pushed the frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

all five on them now circled you, bickering and arguing with each other along with bombarding you with questions. you balled your fists in annoyance and frustration.

"shut up! oh my fucking god, i don't know, okay?! i don't know how i ended up here, so stop asking me. fuckin' hell, i can't even get a moment to breathe or think because all of you little shits won't shut up for a second!" you snapped as you stood up, making all of them look at you with surprised eyes.

you gulped, feeling a little cornered as you have five insanely tall, broad and buff men look down at you; like helpless prey.

caleb was the first person to break the momentary silence, grabbing your arm to pull you towards him.

"let's go home, pipsqueak. i'll cook your favorite tonight since it's valentines day." he smiled, only for your other arm to be tugged backwards as you yelped.

"home? her home is with me, we're roommates. i think you got the wrong person." xavier calmly replied, but his words were laced with venom.

"she's going nowhere with either of you. she's my bodyguard and i need her to come back with me to my studio. y'know, in case some scary wanderers are lurkin' around." rafayel pushed xavier to the side, intertwining his fingers with yours before giving you a charming smile as he attempted to walk off; only to bump into someone.

"i don't think so. she's been out here for so long, i might need to give her an exam to make sure she's okay." zayne cleared his throat, pinching the bridge of his nose.

you felt like you were the rope being tugged in tug-of-war. sylus deeply sighed at the situation and before you knew it; in one smooth swoop you were now in the strong arms of the leader of onychinus.

"what fools. she's in the N-109 zone for a reason. for me, of course. come on, sweetie, you must be freezing. let's go inside." sylus look down at you with a gentle smile playing on his lips.

you groaned, squirming out of his hold as sylus let you, watching you get back on your feet.

"this is ridiculous! you all are acting like a bunch of kids, fighting over me like i'm some kind of toy. none of you own me!" you stood your ground.

"fine, then why don't you choose?" sylus scoffed, crossing his arms. you grew quiet, looking at each of them before averting your gaze to the ground.

"i... i can't." you whispered.

"you can't? or you don't want to?" xavier snickered.

"you're the one who's been toying with us. we deserve an explanation, no?" rafayel grinned.

"explanations are too time-consuming, actions speak louder than words. so, how are you gonna fix it, y/n?" hazel eyes peered at you with intensity through the glass lenses.

oh, you're so fucked.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

everything happened so fast, you didn't know who swiped your panties off or unclasped your bra.

you felt betrayed at how they evilly plotted against you, telepathically agreeing to punish you for your unfaithfulness. what happened to hating each other? so, here you were now, splayed on the soft mattress in sylus's room; like art on a display.

they drank in the sight of you, perky tits spilled out as the smooth glaze of your skin glimmered under the dim lighting of the room. their eyes were full of hunger, eye-fucking you as you grew shy under their intense gazes.

"s-stop staring at me like that." you whined, looking away as your face reddened at the attention.

you felt someone stroking your thighs, making you shudder as you looked in front of you, seeing caleb gripping the supple fat of your plush thighs.

"never knew you were such a dirty little slut, princess. all these years of knowing you... and to think you were capable of this? how naughty." caleb smirked, prying your thighs open as you gasped.

but, your lips would soon be sealed with zaynes as he kissed you roughly. his pillow-soft lips molded with yours, the smacking sound of saliva filled the room. a big, veiny hand came up to cup your cheek gently as he slid his tongue inside your mouth, licking the wet muscle before sucking it.

caleb used his thumb to spread your soaked folds apart, watching the lewd string of your arousal connect them both. your clit was puffy from being neglected, a sheen of wetness covering your cunt; making his mouth salivate. he leaned down, mouth hovering above your pussy.

"fuckin' beautiful." caleb swore under his breath, the warm air fanning above your aching cunt, giving you goosebumps. you moaned into zayne's mouth, feeling caleb's warm and wet tongue lick a fat stripe up your cunt.

"hope you didn't forget about us, cutie." rafayel pouted, licking at your nipple before wrapping his lips on the swollen pebble. sylus soon followed his footsteps, greedily kneading at your other tit before leaning down and pressing open-mouthed kisses on the soft mound.

meanwhile, xavier's lips were buried in your neck as he punished you with licks and bites on the expanse of your unmarked flesh.

"ngh~ xavier!" you whimpered against zayne's lips, the doctor now nibbling on your bottom lip.

he licked the side of your neck before softly clamping his teeth down, suckling and leaving a purplish bruise. as a soothing apology, xavier kitten-licked the fresh mark before moving down to your collarbone with wet kisses.

caleb continued to lap at your wet cunt, his saliva mixed with your juices dripped down his chin. the tip of his tongue circled your clit before suckling on it, making your legs tremble as a moan ripped out of your throat as you tried to close your legs.

"f-fuck.. hnghh.." you cried out, feeling him plant his palms on your inner thighs, forcing you to keep them open. caleb peered up at you from between your thighs, amethyst eyes glaring at you as his lips were glossy.

"don't interrupt me when i'm eating." he huskily spoke before slapping your dripping pussy, producing a wet 'pap!' noise. you yelped because of your increased sensitivity, not having enough time to recover before he dove back in.

with one last wet smooch, zayne released your lips before crawling down right next to his childhood friend. they exchanged a quick look, a mischievous smirk dancing on the colonel's lips.

"oh? was my tongue not enough for you, princess?" he lowly spoke, pinching your inner thigh as you bit your bottom lips.

"ahh... need z-zayne to help... please?" you begged, making him scoff. zayne couldn't help but grin with pride, your words stroking his ego a little.

"you heard her, move." zayne pushed caleb a little to squeeze himself between your legs, taking off his glasses before throwing them to the side. caleb, utterly betrayed, seethed with jealousy.

"so that's how you wanna play? fine." caleb accepted it as a challenge, but of course, he won't let neither of you get the last word.

zayne ignored his little childish outburst, digging in as his scarred hands rested on your lower stomach before his fingers stroked the expanse of it, gently moving to the side to hold your hips; caressing your smooth skin while tracing the faint stretch marks decorating it.

your puffy clit peaked out of your wet slit, making zayne lean down to press a wet smooch on it. you shuddered, mouth gaping open as your breathing quickened. zayne dragged his tongue up your sopping folds slow and languidly, the tip of his tongue digging into your wet pussy. the difference in how zayne and caleb ate you out was clear. caleb liked to eat your honeyed cunt like a starved dog, as if it was his last meal; unlike zayne, who liked to take his time and savor the taste of your sweet cunt.

"mhmmm.... zaynee~" you slurred his name, drunk in pleasure as he took his time to lap at your pussy, suckling and nibbling on your clit. amethyst eyes bore into the back of zayne's head, fuming with anger and envy.

caleb's fingers dug into your thighs, making you wince in pain but soon it deliciously simmered into the pleasure you were getting from zayne's tongue. the colonel snickered, watching how slick your pussy was from saliva and your juices, deciding to toy with you as revenge.

you felt the pads of caleb's middle and ring finger brush against your hole, probing the tight opening. you groan, feeling him push in both fingers at once.

"c-caleb!" you stuttered out, feeling him scissor his fingers in and out of your tight hole; the thickness and length of his digits rubbing you in all the right places.

suddenly, xavier roughly grabbed your jaw, squishing your chubby cheeks in his hands; forcing you to look at him. the expression on his face was dark, eyes clouded with lust and possessiveness.

"you seem to be enjoying yourself, dirty girl. you like having four other guys touch you, hm? this mouth is fucking filthy, maybe i should clean it, yeah?" he smirked, blue eyes sharply peering down at you.

"x-xav.." you were cut off by his grip tightening just a little more, making you wince.

"shhh... not another word, my dumb little girl. now i just wanna hear you gagging on my cock, 'kay?" xavier unbuckled his belt before unzipping his pants. he pulled the waistband of his boxers down, making his hard cock spring against his abs, your eyes widening at the sight.

his dick didn't have a lot of girth, but fuck it was long. xavier tapped the blush pink tip of his leaky cock on your lips, spreading his precum all over them like it was your own personal gloss. his thumb rested on your chin before pulling it down, forcing your mouth to open as he slid his cock in; the ash-blonde male let out a shaky sigh.

both sylus and rafayel continued to paw at your tits, biting and sucking on your nipples. with a lewd 'pop!', they released your swollen bud, eyeing their shared masterpiece as your tits were littered with hickies and trails of saliva.

"why don't you return the favor, sweetie? these cute little hands of yours seem empty." sylus gives you a toothy grin, bringing your hand to the tent forming on his pants, making you palm him through them. a deep groan escaped his lips as your hand stroked him through the rough fabric of his leather pants.

rafayel now sat on his knees by your other side, grabbing your wrist before bringing it up to his lips. he kissed the soft, warm flesh of your wrist; inhaling the scent of your skin as he let out a moan.

"you smell so fucking good. god, it's driving me insane." he breathed out, licking your pulse point before gently biting down on it. rafayel continued to sniff and kiss your wrist, using his other free hand to undo his pants and pull his aching cock out; stroking it as it throbbed in his palms. he teased his slit, spreading the sticky precum all over the tip.

your eager hands fumbled with sylus's belt as you tried to undo it, a little difficult because your mouth was still full of xavier's cock and forced you to maintain eye contact with him; as if looking at anyone else in this room would make his existence perish. but, sylus decided to be kind enough and help you because who is he to deny you?

you dug your hand inside his boxers, eyes widening as you realized that you couldn't even fully grasp his dick. he was fucking hung, thick and long, not lacking in any area. a guttural moan escaped his lips, feeling your soft fingers caressing his balls.

you took out his cock from the confinement of his boxers, stroking the shaft of it as your fingers teased the throbbing vein that ran on the underside curve of his dick. sylus threw his head back in pleasure, a soft whimper heard as his chest heaved.

"feels so fuckin' good, sweetie." he praised, your hand still lazily moving up and down his thick meat.

you felt the tip of zayne's nose nudging your clit, providing more stimulation as he continued his assault on your sopping wet cunt; his tongue flicking at a leisurely pace between your folds. caleb matched the rhythm of zayne's tongue, finger-fucking you with deep and hard strokes.

your moans were muffled by xavier's cock as he drove his hips into your mouth; your cheeks hollowing as you tried to not graze the skin of his dick with your teeth. you could hear the soft grunts and whimpers falling from his lips, eyes closed in bliss as he still had your cheeks firmly squished between his fingers.

"fuck yeah... you were made for this, takin' my cock so well." xavier breathed out, slender fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled your head closer.

you could feel the pressure of zaynes tongue slurping your clit along with caleb's fingers abusing your cervix collide. the familiar knot began to settle in your lower stomach, making your thighs tremble as your eyes screwed shut, toes curling in pleasure.

caleb could feel your walls contracting, you were definitely close and as much as he would love to see you cream all over his fingers; you've been cruelly unfair to him.

xavier lazily opened his eyes, cerulean orbs looking down at you half-lidded. he scoffed, watching your face flush as saliva trickled down the corner of your mouth. you opened your eyes briefly, he watched as they rolled back from the pleasure you were recieving from your childhood friends.

he pulled his cock out of your mouth, glaring down at you.

"nghhh~ p-please..!" you mumbled against his tip, crying out in pleasure as you tried to kick your leg forward to get away from the two men ravaging your pussy. however, both caleb and zayne pinned your legs down.

"focus on me." xavier scowled, and in one swift and hard thrust, his cock slid down your throat as far as you could take him. your eyes blew wide open, as you gagged on his dick. he was being nice earlier, but now you really pissed him off.

you had the nerve to think about those two when he was being kind enough to rinse that dirty mouth of yours with his cock?

"fuckin' ungrateful brat, ignoring me when i'm stuffing this filthy mouth full of my dick." he panted, fucking your face as tears streamed down your face and drool dripped down your chin.

zayne and caleb continued their combined attack, making you scream as your felt zayne sucking on your clit harder while caleb's fingers continued to rub against your walls at a faster pace.

suddenly, all sensation was lost as caleb pulled out his fingers while simultaneously grabbing onto the back of zayne's head with his free hand; yanking his hair back to unlatch his mouth from your weeping cunt. your eyes widened as tears streamed down your face, your hole pulsating at the feeling of nothing.

"only good girls get to cum." caleb darkly chuckled, zayne wincing in slight pain as he swatted the hand that yanked his hair.

"do that again and i'll fucking kill you." zayne murmured, making caleb roll his eyes.

"mmphh...!" your cries were muffled as xavier continued to use your throat as his personal fuckhole. he continued to shove his dick deeper, a small bulge forming on your throat as he pressed against it.

"there we go." xavier grinned sadistically, continuing to chase his high.

"h-hahhh... fuck, gonna cum." he panted, face flushing as he threw his head back, driving his hips forward. you could feel his cock twitch in your mouth, before he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you towards his lower stomach; shoving his cock deep in your throat one last time as your nose was buried in his soft pubes.

"shit.. shit- hnghh... take it- fuck, take it all." xavier moaned, his thick cum painting your throat as he came so much. your mouth became overloaded with his cum, leaking through the corner of your lips as you tried to swallow as much as you could. he pulled out, watching your gasp for air as you coughed.

"what do you say, slut?" he darkly asked.

"t-thank you." you breathed out, voice croaking.

"good girl." xavier smiled wickedly, stroking your bottom lip with his thumb, your tongue peeking out to lick it.

with the intense throat-fucking session with xavier and the cruel denial of your orgasm, you forgot about sylus who was still painfully hard in your hand.

"come on, sweetie, i know you could do better. want some help? yes, no, maybe so?" sylus whispered huskily, leaning down to bite your ear before kissing your temple.

"s-sorry.." you sniffled, still extremely sensitive.

"poor baby, don't cry. i'll help you." he cooed, grabbing your hand before spitting on it. the warm feeling of his spit made you shiver, he brought your hand to his cock; guiding you as you used your spit coated hand to grab his dick again.

this time, his hand firmly stayed on yours, tightening the grip. the silver haired male moaned, moving your joined hands up and down his throbbing cock; fucking your wet fist.

"hnghh... yeah, f-fuck..." sylus panted, thrusting his hips into the makeshift hole he made using your hand. his foxy eyes narrowed, bright ruby orbs rolling back as he rasped out swears from the absolute pleasure he was feeling.

rafayel hovered above your naked torso, his pretty cock resting on the valley between your tits. he grabbed his dick, giving it a few strokes, whimpering at his own touch before looking down at you.

"you're so beautiful." the lemurian whispered through labored breaths, face flushed as his mixed indigo eyes peeked at you through a half-lidded lust-filled stare.

rafayel swallowed harshly, guiding the tip of his leaky cock to your nipple; circling the hard bud as his precum coated it. your breath hitched, watching him use his hard cock to paint streaks of his precum all over the expanse of your hickey-littered chest.

he then spat on his hand, rubbing his spit all over his dick to lubricate it before settling it between your soft tits. using both of his hands, he squished your tits together to squeeze his warm cock between them. the whimper leaving his mouth was almost embarrassing from how loud and needy it was.

without a second more of hesitation, rafayel began to rut his hips forward, thrusting between your tits. he stroked your nipples before using his thumb and index finger, pinching the swollen buds and rolling them between his fingers.

"ahhh~ rafayel! f-feels good...!" you moaned, watching the blush pink tip of his cock peek through your cleavage every time he motioned his hips forward.

"hnghh... love your tits so much, cutie. so soft... so tasty and cute." he breathes out a small chuckled, eyebrows pinched in pleasure as he continued to thrust his cock between your boobs. his precum coated the valley of your tits, making it easier for him to slide between them.

while he continued his ministrations of using your titties to fuck himself, you focused on making sylus cum. you increased the pace of your hands, feeling his hand tightening the grip on yours, the vein on his cock pulsating as frequent deep whimpers left his lips. your thumb caught his slit, teasing it as he could feel his balls tighten.

"hmm... gonna make me cum, kitten." he groans, continuing to pump his cock using your hand until you felt the warm, thick wads of his cum dribble down your fingers. his hands slightly trembled, chest heaving as he tried to compose himself.

"fuck, that was... so hot." sylus chuckled, releasing your hand as he watched you bring your cum covered fingers to your mouth; licking his release as you hummed in approval.

he could feel himself get instantly hard again from such an erotic sight.

"you're mean, darling." he shook his head, making you grin.

you broke away your gaze from sylus, watching rafayel fall apart as he desperately groped your tits.

"h-hahhh... need y..-your help, cutie! please?" he pathetically begged, swallowing harshly as his hips stuttered. rafayel grabbed your wrist once more, smelling your scent and licking your flesh; groaning at how intoxicated you made him feel. the tip of his tongue traced your fingers before encasing them with his soft lips, sucking and biting on your digits; indigo eyes looking at you with a pleading look.

you smirked, knowing that it'd be easy to tease him. you were basically at all of their mercy, but knowing you still had just a little bit of power against him at least; it made your heart beat in your pussy.

"you poor thing, need my help?" you pouted, faux sympathy written all over your face. the others watched in amusement and rafayel's horny-fucked brain couldn't even have the dignity to feel embarrassed.

"p-please... promise i'll be good, so good." he breathed out and you smiled in satisfaction, sitting up before pushing him back. rafayel now sat on the mattress, hungry eyes watching you sit back on your knees.

you leaned down, squishing his cock between your tits before sliding them up and down. rafayel's eyes screwed shut in pleasure, countless of goans and whimpers slipping out of his tongue; showering you endlessly with praise.

"y-yeah cutie, just like that... nghhh~ gonna make me cum." rafayel shamelessly moaned, mouth gape open as his breathing was uneven. you stuck your tongue out, lapping at his tip before wrapping your lips around it; suckling on it as if it was a lollipop.

you rubbed your tits together on his shaft, using your mouth to suck the rest. your drool trickled down from his swollen tip to the squishy tight slit created by your tits; making his cock slide with ease. the sounds produced was obscene, shlick shlick shlick. rafayel could feel his body tremble in pleasure, stroking your hair as his balls twitched.

"gonna cum! h-hahhh... p-please, cutie!" his lips were swollen from how much he bit them. soon enough, his hot cum was painting your tits, dripping down your nipples as his cock throbbed.

"fuck.." rafayel sighed, stroking your cheek as he glanced at what he did.

mentally clicking a picture to remember for the rest of his life when he fucks his fist to the thought of you.

"better?" you innocently batted your eyelashes, looking up at him with a dazed expression.

"you little minx." his breath hitched as you turned your face to the side, catching his thumb between your lips to give it a small suck before biting it playfully.

"you seem to be enjoying yourself a little too much, brat." you heard a daring voice break the moment, looking up to see a mean caleb glowering down at you.

you swallowed harshly, looking at rafayel for some help, but the cheeky lemurian only grinned at you; eyes twinkling with trouble as he moved away.

"you like being used like this, don't you? have you forgotten who's in control here?" now, xavier came into view as he scoffed, taking in your pitiful state.

"i think it's time that you learn your place." caleb suddenly pushed you towards the ash-blonde haired male, making you gasp as you were now sitting on his waist; hands pressed against his bare chest. you could feel the curve of xavier's hard cock press against your ass, making you unknowingly grind against the throbbing length of it to seek for some friction.

"tch, look at you. you're like a fuckin' bitch in heat." xavier snickers, holding down your hips with a bruising grip, making you wince. you felt the tip of his dick slip between your wet folds, his hands maneuvering your hips to help you glide on him. a breathy whimper leaves your lips, feeling his sticky tip caress your achy clit.

you hear the clinking sound of caleb's belt being undone and in what felt like mere seconds; you could feel his warm body heat radiating behind you. his lips grazed your nape, the tip of his nose gliding on your skin. he left wet kisses all over your neck and shoulder, trailing down the deep passage of your spine; making you arch forwards from your increased sensitivity.

xavier on the other hand fondled your tits, pinching and twisting your nipples. his fingers moved down, brushing against your hips. suddenly, you felt his tip prodding your tight hole, making you gulp.

they were all so fucking big and thick, you were wondering how you'd take them all. god, you couldn't even use process of elimination to figure out who'd be less painful to take in.

however, all that thinking flew straight out of your ears as xavier planted his feet on the mattress; harshly thrusting upwards into you. a croaky moan ripped out of your throat, your head lolling back to caleb's chest as you breathed heavy.

although xavier wasn't that thick, he was long as fuck; he couldn't even bottom out fully inside your cunt. you could feel his tip kissing your cervix. while caleb continued to place bite marks and lick at his work, xavier paid no mind to his counterpart; fucking you at a brutal pace.

"hnghh~ a-aahh... xav! w-wait!" you tried to slow him down, but that only made him go faster. he grabbed your hands which were resting on his lower stomach, pulling you forwards as you fell on his chest; away from caleb's touch.

the colonel scowled at the loss of your skin, glaring at the ash-blonde male in front of him. xavier didn't care, his hand finding purchase to the supple fatty flesh on your ass, spanking you hard as you yelped in pain and pleasure. your eyes squeezed shut, trying to form coherent words.

"you know i hate it when you don't look at me while i'm fucking you. open your eyes, y/n." he tapped your face, forcing you to look down at him. you bit your lips, trying to prevent another moan from flying out of your mouth, feeling xavier's cock rub your wet velvety walls just right.

his tip continued to bruise your cervix, his thrusts were deep and hard as he made sure you felt every inch of him in you. a ring of cream began to form at the base of his shaft, your juices dripping down to coat his heavy balls as you felt your thighs burning.

"hope you didn't forget about me, princess." caleb whispered, hovering behind you as you felt him grope your ass cheek. your eyes widened as you felt him spread them, his index finger gently grazing your other untouched tight hole.

"nghh.. wait, caleb! h-hahhh, never did it there before." you confessed, making him chuckle.

"well then, i'm glad to be your first here. don't worry, i'll make sure you're ready for me." caleb's words did seem genuine but rather because of the fact that he was about to touch you and feel you somewhere no one ever has.

you nodded at his words, too fucked out to even care about anything else. you were more focused on cumming, your cunt puffy and weeping from being neglected the last time your orgasm was denied; thanks to caleb.

so, you definitely didn't wanna get on his bad side again.

caleb spat on his fingers, bring it down to your ass before spreading the sticky spit on your hole. you soon felt his wet digit push through the tight ring of muscle, making you wince in pain as you breathed heavily.

"f-fuck... hurts.." you whined, but it would soon dissipate as xavier continued to drill into your pussy, distracting you from the pain of having caleb's finger in your ass.

it took some time but eventually the colonel was able to finger-fuck your ass with two of his fingers, meanwhile, xavier thrusted up into your leaky pussy that sheathed his throbbing cock. the ash-blonde haired male rubbed your clit to provide some more stimulation, your body trembling once you felt caleb withdrawing his fingers from inside you.

caleb sat on his knees, spreading your ass once more before leaning in, the tip of his tongue dragging from where you and xavier were connected; all the way up to your ass hole.

"ah! caleb!" you cried out, feeling him land a glob of spit on the tight hole before pulling away. caleb grabbed the base of his cock, his tip was a reddish-purple; angrily weeping precum as he stroked himself a few times. you could hear him groan behind you before feeling his wet tip squish against your hole.

"c'mere." caleb commanded, a hand coming down to gently grab your jaw, pulling you back to him. he tilts your head up, making you look into his eyes; leaning down to press his lips on yours in a searing kiss.

that's when you felt the burning stretch of his fat tip pushing past the tight ring of muscle in your ass, a pained cry leaving your lips, only to be muffled as he swallowed it; not letting go of your lips. tears pricked your eyes, feeling him slowly feed his cock into your tight ass, inch by inch.

the kiss with caleb was rough and messy, full of tongue and spit. the wet smacking sound of his lips clashing with yours as he drinks in your moans was so erotic. as his cock was now thrusted deep in your ass, he was kind enough to let you adjust to his size. his hand still firmly grabbing your jaw in place to not break away from the kiss while the other played with your tits.

meanwhile, xavier continued to give you nice slow and soft thrusts in your cunt, paying close attention to stimulate your clit. you were so full of both of their cocks, your mind was blank.

all you thought of was dick, dick, dick.

it was embarrassing and greedy, how full they made you feel, how good the burn felt as they both stretched out your holes.

it was definitely a pornographic sight.

as you grew used to having both of them inside you, caleb was the first to quicken his pace, pistoning his hips into you as his cock began to rub your walls. following in suit, xavier tried to match his rhythm, fucking your cunt with more rigor. your mouth gaped wide open, unable to respond to caleb's kiss anymore as you were too cock drunk.

"a-a..ahh! nghh~ feels so good!" you cried out in pleasure, feeling them both rub against the thin barrier that separated the two. you could feel your lower stomach churn in pleasure, your eyes rolling back as you began to drool from the corner of your mouth.

"what a dumb little slut, fucked your brains out already?" you heard xavier darkly chuckle, pinching your clit as you yelped at the sudden sharp sensation.

"p-please... wanna cum so bad! x..-xav.." your throat was parched as you tried to control your breathing, your lower stomach tightening as you could feel the familiar build-up of your orgasm.

"tch, you're moaning his name when i'm stuffing you full of my dick? where are your manners, pipsqueak?" caleb's tone was gravely, glaring at you with a look that could only make your knees grow weak, his grip on your jaw tightening just a little to remind you he was still here; balls deep in you.

"s-sor.. hgnhh.. sorry! please, c..caleb.." you stammered out, feeling the alternating push and withdraw of their cocks syncing together; turning your brain into mush.

displeased with your switch up, xavier yanked you forwards by your arm, squishing your cheeks together.

"you deceitful vixen, running to him when you don't get what you want? i'm the one taking care of this slutty pussy and you have the nerve to beg him? the fuck is wrong with you." xavier seethed with anger, his hips bucking into yours with more intensity; making you wail out in pleasure.

"i'm sor-" you tried to helplessy apologize again, only to be pulled back by caleb; the start of a tug-of-war as if you were a toy.

"don't fucking apologize to him, princess. you're mine, so when i say that you can cum, then you cum." caleb whispered, making you shiver as you sniffled out a cry.

"please.. fuck, please- i can't! t..too much.." you whimpered, making them both scoff.

"you can take it." both caleb and xavier sneered, making you whine.

"ungrateful brat, wanting us both and now you're saying it's too much?" xavier slapped your clit, making you jolt. you felt caleb bite down on your shoulder, the cold metal of his dog tag pressed against your warm, flushed skin.

you felt them twitch inside you, throbbing thick cocks rubbing against your insides. caleb and xavier continued to slide in and out of you, making your body grow hot.

"fuck, fuck, please! s-so close..!" you breathed out, feeling xavier's thrusts grow sloppy as with one final hard thrust; he emptied his balls inside you. his thick, warm cum filled your cunt as you quivered, his hips still rolling back in you.

your head was spinning, both of their scents were intoxicating. their hands were groping, slapping and stroking every bit of skin exposed to their lustful eyes. both caleb and xavier's thrusts held no mercy, battering your cunt and ass as your thighs felt like jelly. you squealed, feeling your walls tightening as you desperately squirmed, trying to lift yourself off and escape.

"where are you going? don't run away, i'm not done yet." caleb yanked you back to him. caleb's grunts and groans got louder by your ear, his arm wrapping around your stomach to hold you down in place; his cock fully in your ass as he shot fat wads of his sticky cum.

before you could process anything, they sadistically exchanged a cruel smirk, pulling out of you as your holes gushed out an obscene amount of their mixed cum.

"n-no! no! hnghh.. w-why.." you sobbed at the loss of contact, the fullness of their cocks gone as your orgasm was destroyed for the second time.

"since we weren't enough, why don't you go ask the others." caleb pushed you to the side, making you collapse on the mattress as tears ran down your cheek.

you looked up and noticed sylus and rafayel looking down at you, an unwavering glint pinned on your ruined form as they waited for your next move. it was humiliating, how you were begging them to let you cum; but it was too much.

you were going insane, needing some relief.

you weakly crawled to sylus and rafayel, sniffling as your body began to shake. your thighs were dripping with xavier and caleb's cum, your messy holes pulsing and aching.

"sy.. raf.. please, make me cum. i-i... i promise i'll be a good girl." you desperately pleaded, fat teardrops running down your flushed cheeks; making them both groan as your pathetic state only made their cocks harden.

"poor little kitten, they were so mean to you, weren't they?" sylus cooed as he wiped your tears away, tone honeyed with gentleness but with an undertone of mischief.

you nodded helplessly, leaning into his touch as you nuzzled your cheeks into his palm. you kissed the inside of his hand, licking the warm and rough skin.

just like a kitten.

sylus grinned at your antics, amused at how compliant you were. however, he wasn't that mean; he'd humor you.

"need us to make her feel better, cutie?" rafayel teasingly spoke, long fingers running across your slit as you whimpered; the tip of his digits circling your clit.

"mmphh, y-yes... please.." you bit down on your lip, tasting the metallic taste of blood.

"alright, sweetie. we'll help you." sylus chortled, leaning against the headboard. he grabbed your hips, spinning you around in one fluid motion, your back now facing him. he then lifted you up before placing you on his waist, as if you weighed nothing.

you yelped as sylus hooked his beefy arms under your thighs, pulling them up to your head; putting you in a mean full nelson. the sudden pressure and stretch made your cunt gush out more of the cum that was fucked into you earlier, soaked pussy lips spread apart as you were now exposed and on display in a very vulnerable position.

"s-sylus!" you shyly meeked, making him hum.

"what? don't be selfish, sweetie. you know the fish is an artist, let him see this masterpiece." sylus bit your earlobe.

rafayel settled between sylus's legs, now in front of you as he shamelessly stared at your messy folds. he salivated as it took everything in him to not just lean down and makeout with your tempting cunt.

"stop lookin'." you whined, feeling how intense his gaze was. however, rafayel just gave you a breathy chuckle.

"why not? she's sooooo pretty." he licked his lips, flashing you a boyish grin, making your heart leap into your throat.

the lemurian lowered his head, pressing gentle kisses on your soft stomach, dragging his lips up your navel until he reached your tits. he sighed in bliss, smoothering his face between your boobs as he kissed and licked the mounds of flesh.

his dick rested on top of your pussy, sticky tip parting your folds as he rutted his hips; sliding the length of his cock against your slick covered cunt. his tip repeatedly nudged your clit, rubbing it as you moaned in bliss from the heavenly contact.

your hand found purchase in his dusky, purple hair; carding your fingers through his soft locks. you tugged on his hair, making him moan as the vibration rumbling from his lips were felt on your nipple as he sucked; making you choke out a moan.

the silver haired male kissed your temple, smiling.

"come on, sweetie, need you to hold your legs up for me so i can take care of you." his voice was groggy, releasing your legs before grabbing your hands to help you lift them as you obeyed.

"there you go, good girl." sylus praised, grabbing the base of his cock, swiping it a few times between your messy folds, nudging his tip on your hole. you moaned at the feel of his cock deliciously rubbing against your aching pussy.

"p-please... nghh- no more teasing." you were breathless, feeling rafayel once again capture your nipple in his mouth, suckling as if his purpose in life was to worship your tits.

"if you say so, sweetie." sylus compliantly shoved his inches in you, feeding your greedy hole his hard dick. your jaw dropped, eyes rolling back as his fat girth stretched your cunt; sliding in with ease because of your arousal along with xavier and caleb's shared cum.

rafayel watched your hole eagerly swallow up sylus's cock, gulping at the sight as his dick was painfully hard; globs of precum dripping onto your clit.

"so tight even after all that? how cute." sylus lets out a huff, slowly moving his hips upwards to give you some slow and deep strokes; tip squishing against your cervix.

"h-hnghh... fuck... feels so good, sy." you moaned, turning your head to the side to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. he happily accepted, sucking on your bottom lip before swiping his tongue against it for permission to explore your mouth.

his hands firmly grabbed your hips before planting his feet on the mattress, grounding both himself and you before pounding upwards into your dripping cunt. your mouth flew open from his sudden shift in pace, and he took that chance to shove his tongue in your mouth; exploring every cavern and crevice. both of your tongues mingled and tangled, sucking and licking as drool trickled down your chin.

"fuck, cutie... you look so hot like this; it's tempting. i can't let the crow have all the fun now, can i?" rafayel's fingers stroked your thigh, leaning down to kiss your plush thighs, gently biting the soft skin.

"ahhh... raf.." you whimpered, biting your lip as you feel his tip poke your ass hole. you released one of your legs, pressing your foot on his chest to stop him.

"hm?" the lemurian tilts his head in confusion at your sudden action, stopping his advances.

"n-not there... need you and sy at the same time.." you licked your dry lips, words barely coming out as a whisper. rafayel's eyes widened at your request, sylus's ruby orbs mirroring the same bewilderment.

"naughty girl, you want us both in this sweet cunt of yours? you think you can handle it?" sylus teased, a cocky smirk painted on his lips.

you nodded frantically, your foot running down rafayel's chest as you looked up at him with a cheeky smile; eyes barely open as you gazed at him with a dazed look.

"i can handle it, p-promise." you assured, making rafayel grin.

"well you heard her, crow. make some space." he grabbed the base of his shaft, now aligning his cock with your hole that was already occupied with sylus's thick cock. the silver haired male scoffed, rolling his eyes before momentarily stopping his thrusts; letting rafayel ease into you.

a screamish-moan ripped out of your throat, your walls clamping instinctively on both of their cocks; both men grunting in response as the space became tighter. your eyes swelled with tears, the salty warm fluid streaming down your cheeks as you tried to adjust to the painful stretch of having two giant cocks lodged in your cunt at the same time.

"shh... there, there, pretty girl. it's okay." rafayel tried to console you, his words barely making it to a full sentence before his voice betrayed him; a strangled whimper slipping off his tongue.

"i gotcha, sweetie." sylus mumbled against the skin of your nape, his hand snaking around your waist, fingers finding your clit as he began to rub soothing circles on the bundle of nerves to distract you.

the both of them allowed you to adjust to their cocks, providing additional stimulation to help you relax so that your walls aren't as tense. rafayel's teeth grazed your nipples, teasing and flicking the pebbled buds while sylus's fingers worked their magic to affectionately pinch and stroke your clit.

"nghh~ feels good... hnnghh- need more." you whined, moving your hips on your own accord, wincing as you could feel both of their dicks rubbing against your velvety wet walls.

"ya sure you're ready, cutie? we have all night." rafayel let out a shaky laugh, half-joking.

"moveee." you bucked your hips, making sylus chuckle.

"someone's impatient, not that i mind." with that being said, sylus once again began to slowly thrust into your pussy. he grunted, feeling his cock graze against rafayel's, the sensation feeling a little weird but he ignored that fact.

rafayel moaned at the sudden friction, his hand wrapping around your calf to push it by your head; mirroring your other leg which you still held up obediently. rafayel leaned closer, pressing against you before latching his lips onto your; kissing you senselessly.

you moaned into his mouth, feeling the both of them pistoning into your tight, dripping hole. rafayel hissed as he felt your fingers tug his hair, angling your jaw to deepend the kiss.

the room was full of wet skin slapping followed by the lewd sound of your pussy gushing out your juices; coating their cocks in your arousal as it dribbled down to their balls. rafayel's lips continued to suck and kiss at your swollen and bitten once; his tongue suckling with yours before pulling away as a string of saliva connected you two.

he pushed himself off of you, bringing the leg he held for you towards him. he kissed your ankle, running the tip of his tongue down to your calf before kitten-biting the flesh of it.

"mmphh... you taste so fucking sweet." rafayel swore under his breath, thrusting his cock deeper into your weeping hole. sylus followed in suit, both of their tips bruising your cervix.

"shit... you're taking us both so well, sweetie." sylus praised, now matching the movement of his fingers that were once leisurely rubbing your clit to the pace of his thrusts.

in seconds, everything shifted.

their gazes darkened, clouded with need and hunger. you squealed, feeling both sylus and rafayel thrusting in and out of your cunt with no mercy as their movement didn't falter.

not once.

they were so perfectly synced together, as if they were one.

"a-ahhhh~... f-fuck! please, please, please! so close... god! i'm gonna cum!" you choked on your tears as you sobbed, the pleasure you were feeling was intense.

your eyes rolled back, toes curled as you were gasping for air. both men grunted and moaned; focusing on chasing their high.

"how bad you want it, kitten?" sylus groaned, fucking his hips upward as you whimpered.

"so bad, fuck, need it so bad!" you desperately answered, convinced that you wouldn't survive another ruined orgasm.

"yeah? ask nicely, where are your manners, cutie?" rafayel snickered, driving his hips into your; pelvis meeting yours with brutal thrusts that made your body jerk.

"h-hahhhh... oh my god...- please, please, please. let me cum? i promise i'll be good, so fuckin' good. please raf... sy... need it so bad." you threw out every last ounce of dignity within yourself to beg them with your last bit of voice.

both men, clearly satisfied with your answer, feed your cunt with their cocks using an unforgiving pace of thrusts. rafayel's hips were a bit sloppier, but they were fast and needy, like he was scared that you'd disappear. in contrast, sylus's pace was slow but his thrusts were hard and deep; making sure his tip met your cervix with every movement of his hips.

"fuck, fuck, fuck..." the silver haired male let out a guttural moan, eyes screwed shut as he could feel his cock pulsate; vein twitching as blood flowed with adrenaline.

rafayel shamelessly moaned on top of you, panting like a dog as he continued to fuck his dick into your wet hole.

"open your mouth." he demanded and too fucked out to even decipher his intentions, you obeyed. rafayel spat into your mouth, the thick glob of spit coating your tongue before you swallowed it.

"good girl." rafayel grunted, feeling his balls tightening as he was close to cumming as well.

your stomach knotted, the build-up of your orgasm even more stronger as your gummy walls clamped down on their cocks viciously.

"auughh~ i'm cumming! fuck.. hnghh..." you choked out a moan, eyes screwed shut as hot liquid squirted out of your cunt; coating rafayel's lower abdomen. you creamed on their cocks, body twitching as you feel both of them creampie you; shoving their sticky and gooey cum deep into your womb.

your juices and their cum dripped down your thigh, coating sylus's balls as you could hear his breathing become uneven from the aftermath of such intense pleasure. rafayel collapsed on top of you, still mindful to not crush you with his entire weight.

"so tired..." he childishly whined, biting your nipple playfully as you huffed.

"you're heavy, raf, get off." you grumbled, making him pout as he smoothered his face between your boobs once again.

"nah, you're too soft." he argued, making you roll your eyes.

"i feel sticky and gross.." you mumbled, noticing how the room was a bit more quieter. xavier was passed out on the couch and caleb left the room a few minutes ago for whatever reason; zayne watching the whole scene intently from the edge of the bed.

you locked eyes with him, noticing the slight blush on his face. he cleared his throat, looking away.

"perhaps a hot shower might be nice." he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"yeah, it does sound tempting." you hummed.

"need some help, sweetie?" sylus offered, but his tone had a hint of mischief.

"i got it." zayne suddenly spoke up, walking over to where you were sandwhiched between rafayel and sylus. he pushed the groggy lemurian over, making him groan.

"hey! i was comfy." rafayel complained, making the doctor roll his eyes.

"it's my place, surely i know my bathroom better." sylus snickered, making zayne narrow his eyes.

"if i could perfom hundreds of heart surgeries, i'm sure i can figure out how to work your damn shower." zayne snarked back with an equal amount of bite, making the silver haired male smirk.

"touche, she's all yours, doc." sylus chuckled.

zayne sighed, scooping you up in his arms before heading into the bathroom; locking the door behind him.

"you look... fucked." he blurted out, making you laugh at his dry comment.

"wow, thanks, i didn't know." you playfully rolled your eyes, making him crack a small smile.

"that was... intense. after you shower, i could get you some painkillers to help with any soreness. can you stand?" zayne asked with a flicker of concern in his hazel orbs, settling you on your legs and lightly loosening his grip; only for your knees to wobble as you held onto his bicep for support.

"i guess not." he answered his own question, making you chuckle.

"mind helping me out, doc?" you asked, peering up at him with a girly smile. zayne felt his heart skip a beat, heat creeping up to his neck.

it's not like this would be his first time being intimate with you, but you still made him feel incredibly nervous.

"if you insist, then i don't mind." his tone was soft and gentle. you smiled at his agreement, taking off his glasses. you leaned onto the sink for support, watching him undo his tie before unbuttoning his shirt; revealing his chiseled chest.

fuck, his physique was like a greek god.

he undid his belt, zipping down his pants before kicking them off together with his boxers; his cock springing to life as his pinkish tip was a little swollen while dripping with precum. you leaned forwards, now pressed against him as your bare chest rubbed against his.

zayne groaned at the intimate skinship, his cock rubbing against your soft thighs. your hand reached down, grabbing the shaft as you experimentally gave it a few strokes.

"let me take care of you." your voice was a bare whisper, making him shudder. but, to your surprise, he shook his head.

"no, you don't have to do this for me, i'll get myself off or something. just ignore it, okay?" zayne tried to convince you, but it only made you frown.

"but i want to... i've been wanting to feel you the whole night." you pressed soft kisses along his jawline, making him swallow harshly as you saw his adam's apple bob.

"then let me make it up to you since that bastard pulled me away from you. i'll make you feel good, baby." he lifted your hips, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as his cock was now nestled between your folds.

he walked inside the shower, pulling the glass doors to close it before turning on the water; adjusting the temperature. you cupped his face, pulling him closer to yours to seal his lips with yours.

zayne moaned into your mouth, molding his lips with yours as he softly kneaded your ass. your tongue poked his bottom lip, seeking for entry which he happily granted. you kissed him with a needy vigor, sucking his tongue as you stroked his wet jet black hair.

pulling away breathlessly, zayne looked down at you with swollen lips. he attacked your neck with kisses, making your whimper as you felt his tongue graze your flesh, softly tracing the hickies left on your skin with the tip of his tongue. he moved down to your tits, sucking your nipples as your hand held the back of his head; pushing him closer as you moaned.

"mhmm... feels so good, zayne." you praised, watching him tug your nipple between his teeth before giving it a deserving suck. he soon lets go of your swollen bud, hazel eyes meeting yours.

"i'll be gentle, okay?" he assured, making your chest feel warm and fuzzy as you nodded; wrapping your arms around his neck.

zayne grabbed the base of his cock, tapping your clit a few times, making you jolt. he smirked at how responsive your body was, aligning his tip with your hole. with a firm grip on your hips, he begin to sink you down on his hard cock, slowly shoving his inches inside you.

your mouth formed an 'o' shape as your eyes shut tight, feeling full as he bottomed out.

"s-so full.." you moaned, feeling him slowly thrust inside of you as the curve of his dick molded so perfectly in your wet walls. you clenched down on him, making him grunt at the sudden tightness.

"you feel so good, babygirl." zayne whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek and temple before sliding you up and down his dick. you rested your head on his shoulder, inhaling his scent as you kissed his neck.

this felt so new compared to what happened just minutes ago. the others fought over you like you were some piece of meat to claim; but zayne treated you like you were made of glass.

he was so gentle with his touches and strokes, you could almost cry.

zayne's tip nudged your cervix with every push of his hips, now having you pressed against the wall to have a better hold of you so that he can drive his hips into yours faster. your cunt weeped with arousal, gummy walls coated with his precum.

his thrusts were sharp yet slow, making sure it applied the right amount of pressure and friction to make you feel like you were seeing stars. his balls slapped against your ass, your nipple between his lips.

"hnghh.. love your cock, zyane. g-gonna cum.." you let out a shaky breath, clenching down on him as your increased sensitivity betrayed your body, not allowing you to hold onto your orgasm for too long.

"it's okay, baby. you can cum." he grunted against the wet skin of your tits and you didn't realize how intimate and erotic the whole sight was.

a choked out whimper escaped your throat, your cunt clamping down on him as you squirted all over his cock. your body twitched and trembled at your orgasm, panting as you leaned against his chest.

"shit, please... i need you to fill me up." you begged and that's all it took him to bust a fat load of his thick, hot cum inside your hole.

"fuck.." he swore and god it sounded so hot coming from his mouth.

the bathroom was filled with the sounds of uneven breathing and the running showerhead.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

you stirred awake, groaning as you now laid on your back. sunlight beamed into your room, making your eyes burn as you tried to crack one of them.

"fuckin' hell.." you cursed under your breath, adjusting your vision as you sat up on your bed. your head was swirling as you held it in pain, wincing.

it was all a dream.

you slapped yourself, not believing how delusional you became to believe that whatever the hell that was could be reality.

"yeah, i'm losing it." you sighed deeply, scratching your head. you tapped your phone screen, reading the time as your eyes blew wide open.

fuck, it was well past noon, meaning you missed your morning classes already.

"you're kidding me." you huffed out in annoyance, leaning back on the headboard as you unlocked your phone.

you saw the many, many, many missed calls from your best friend; making you snort.

as you swiped through your applications, your eyes fell on the love and deepspace icon. memories of your strange dream replayed fresh in your memory, your body weirdly aching.

you brushed off those thoughts, clicking the icon as you wondered if infold fixed those weird bugs and glitches by now. you were surprised to see the app back into shape, running in good quality as you logged in with ease.

"huh, weird." you mumbled to yourself, calmly collecting your daily’s.

until you realized you had five unread messages.

hey pipsqueak, hope you're not still mad at me for being a bit mean to ya. i'll cook for you when you come back :p

hope you're not missing me too much, sweetie. come back and i'll take you for a joyride.

cutieeee! i miss you already :C come back soon, okay? need my personal pillow back.

if your throat is still sore, come back so we can have hotpot together. it'll be my treat.

have you taken those painkillers like i told you to?

your jaw was wide open, not believing your eyes. these texts seemed way too real to be automated.

"what the fuck." you quickly opened your front camera, only to see the faint purplish marks decorating your neck.

holy shit, all of that was real.

a smirk etched on your face as you quickly tapped the facetime app, ringing the only person you knew could stand this news and have a silver of faith in you to be convinced.

"finally decided to call me back? thought you died in your sleep or something." your best friend nagged at you, making you chuckle.

"you won't believe what happened last night." you giggle, making her roll her eyes at you.

"let me guess, you had a dream about all the lads guys fucking your brains out." she responded with a bored voice.

"even better."

---

a/n: hehe, if you made it to the end, kuddos to you cuz rereading through this was a pain the ass. if you couldn't tell by now, this was very self-indulgent, so i got carried away. hope you guys enjoyed it tho!!

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

Liz is my favorite person ever

[theonewiththefanfics]

An Itch You Can't Scratch (one-shot)

Synopsis: After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader (age-gap relationship (Reader is 26, Robby is implied 46-48))

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: descriptions of wounds (open breaks), puke, swearing, etc., SMUT

Word count: 13,319 (yeah, this sort of started out like a cute little chaotic story and became... this. I might make more parts to these two, people like it enough, because I already have some ideas, and ideas for other stories too also, let's please pretend like Robby didn't have the worst shift of his life and everyone is happy and alive :) )

Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.

Catch Pt 2 here :)

In all honesty, Y/N thought Sara was overreacting. There was no need to be hauled to the ER on a Monday morning, at seven AM. So, what if she’d slipped in the shower? So, what if she’d hit her head against the towel rack? So, what if she’d sprained her ankle? Y/N could just pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her merry way, but no.

            When Sara had heard the thud and the subsequent crash of shampoo and conditioner bottles, she’d rushed inside the bathroom only to find Y/N sprawled out in all her naked glory. She cursed the stupid bathroom latch their landlord refused to change.

After Sara had had her fill of laughter, she helped Y/N stand, get somewhat dressed (a loose cotton shirt and some shorts), and helped her hobble down the stairs of their apartment, her leg in a make-shift splint of dishtowels and left-over wood paneling from an IKEA dresser.

            A groan of protest escaped her as Sara parked in the hospital parking lot and rushed to the passenger door, opening it for Y/N and helping her get out.

            “You are worse than my mother,” she huffed as she leaned her weight onto her good leg. “I am completely fine.”

            Sara sighed, and Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming. “My love,” she said. “My other half. The Yin to my Yang, the milk to my matcha. My partner in crime for whom I would kill and/or dispose of a body. I can quite literally see the fucking bone sticking out of your lower leg.”

            “It’s a sprain,” Y/N gritted through clenched teeth.

            “It’s an open fucking break and the fact that you refused to have an ambulance called, boggles my fucking mind, yet here we are.”

            To that, Y/N had nothing to say, but still, she thought Sara was being way too overdramatic. And honestly, if she kept mentioning the real situation of her sprain, making her remember the sound of the snap, how it had been the worst sound she’d ever heard, and Y/N had spent more than twenty years listening to her brother singing in the shower, before she moved to Pittsburg for her job, she would put Sara in a hospital bed herself. And then they could be the ED besties.

            But the worst was the pain that came when Sara reminded Y/N of why she had to go to the hospital.

            It had been a miracle no neighbor had called the cops or the EMTs themselves, though it didn’t necessarily comfort Y/N either. If she could scream bloody murder like that and nobody batted an eye, it didn’t say anything good about the complex they lived in.

            One look down had confirmed Y/N’s worst fears – she had, in fact, broken her leg. Not only that, it was an open break where part of her bone was sticking right out of the meat of her calf. For the first few moments, she’d been in such a shock, that the only thought running through her head was – I look like a poor man’s version of a Disney turkey leg. Then she’d started screaming. And that had made her puke.

            Right then and there, still lying half out of the shower, half on the floor, she’d emptied her stomach. There hadn’t been much in it, just the cup of water she’d drank when she’d awoken, but still. At least Y/N had been in the bathroom when it had happened. Tiles were easier to clean up than carpet, and she already felt bad enough Sara would have to wash the floor.

            But now, as some form of punishment, no doubt, Sara was helping Y/N hobble towards the emergency department of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital, when a sad-looking man noticed them and rushed inside, grabbing a wheelchair, and getting by Y/N’s side in a matter of a second.

            “Here, sit down.” The man, Dennis Whitaker he introduced himself, took hold of her other bicep and moved the wheelchair behind her.

            “I’m fine,” she groaned. “I’m not an invalid. I can make it inside on my own. Besides, that wheelchair could be used for someone that actually needs it.”

            “You actually need it.” Sara levelled a gaze at her. “And I will make you a fucking invalid because I will clock you so hard in the head, you will have a concussion, if you don’t have one from the fall.”

             For a tense second, Y/N stood (or wobbled) her ground, Y/E/C eyes locked onto Sara’s hazel ones which were slowly narrowing with each passing moment until she cursed and said, “Alright fine.” Together Whitaker and Sara lowered the injured woman into the wheelchair. “God, I hate your mom-stares.”

            “It’s the only way to get you to do anything in terms of taking care of yourself.”

            “It’s not!” Y/N protested. “I’ll have you know, I made myself an omelet yesterday for breakfast. Veggies and all.”

            “Yeah, after I berated you that a stale Coke from three days ago, isn’t actual breakfast.” Sara walked side by side as Whitaker pushed the wheelchair into the madhouse that was the emergency department.

            It was fascinating to observe the situation as an outsider – nurses and doctors were like level-headed owls, their heads swiveling this way and that way, as they assessed the patients and their statuses, while the residents and patients themselves, not all, but quite a bunch, were like headless chickens, rushing around and trying to prioritize afflictions or become a priority to the doctors.

            Codes were called left and right, people moved from one side to the other, snapping on gloves and donning protective gear, and in the center of it all, was the command post – the nurse’s station which Whitaker had wheeled her to.

            “Dana, is there a room available?” he addressed a slim, blonde woman, probably the one in charge.

            “Room six is available, what’s the, oh,” she stopped mid-sentence as she noticed Y/N and the bone sticking out of her leg.

            “I don’t mind waiting,” she gave her a sheepish smile. “There’s probably loads of people before me. Besides, it’s just a sprain.”

            “Well, that’s probably one of the worst sprains I’ve ever seen,” Dana deadpanned as she motioned with her head towards someone behind them.

            Y/N shrugged. “Well, I am just special like that.”

            “Yeah, maybe in the head,” Sara grumbled as she gave the charge nurse all the necessary info for the moment. “Speaking of which – she also hit her head when she went down with her… sprain.”

            Dana’s lips quirked up as she hummed and tapped something on her iPad, weaving around the table, leaving Whitaker to follow her like a lost puppy as they moved to the room Y/N was now assigned to. “We’ll schedule you a CT ASAP.”

            Y/N turned her head to look at her best friend. “Given how this little trip was your idea, you’re paying off my medical debt.”

            “Just let these nice doctors and nurses take care of you.” Sara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Because quite honestly, I’m not too into the idea of searching for a new roommate. Do you know how many creeps I’d have to go through? And what if the one normal one I find has a fatal flaw?”

            “Such as?”

            “I dunno. What if they hate musicals?”

            “Oh, the tragedy.” Y/N pressed a hand against her chest as they wheeled her inside the room.

            There was another presence there, a young doctor, probably late twenties or early thirties. A cute little dimple on his chin, dark hair, and blue eyes. Reminded her a bit of the guy from Air Bud, if she squinted a bit.

            “My name’s Dr. Langdon,” he introduced himself, giving Y/N a reassuring smile. “And this is Dennis Whitaker, our fourth-year medical student. Would it be alright, if he and another one of our residents observed the situation today? This is a teaching hospital, but it is well within your rights to refuse.”

            She shook her head. “Observe away. Not much I can hide.”

            “Alright, thank you.” He ventured out for a quick second only to come back with a young woman who introduced herself as Dr. Mel King, a second-year resident. “Okay,” Dr. Langdon said. “Let’s get you onto the bed and see what we’re working with.”

            The three medical professionals surrounded her and helped Y/N move from the wheelchair on the paper-covered bed, without jostling her leg too much, but it was enough.

            So far, she’d been able to take her mind off the pain by distracting herself – she bickered with Sara, recited the script of The Hunger Games movie in her head while fantasising about a blond Josh Hutcherson, because Peeta was just elite like that. She’d even gone so far as to go over the division table, but now, as more attention was being placed on the broken leg, it started to hurt more and more. It was like Y/N mind-over-mattered an itching spot left by a mosquito by chanting “It’s not itchy” over and over in her head, but the second she stopped, the itching came back in full force.

            “So,” Dr. Dimple, she nicknamed him in her head, started. “What happened?”

            Y/N sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Can I just give you the not-humiliating version and say I’m a klutz?”

            He gave her a charming smile as a nurse prepped an IV line. “Unfortunately, we need to know beyond “clumsy”. The environment where this accident happened is important.”

"It could introduce pathogens into the wound," Mel, as Dr. King had requested to be called, said.

            Y/N chewed on her bottom lip before muttering, “I slipped in the shower and sprained my leg. And then got assaulted by some shampoo and conditioner bottles… and then I threw up.”

            “And don’t forget the head!” Sara said from the door where she still stood, observing the work happening.

            Y/N threw her a knowing smirk. “Never do. And I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

            “The throwing up could indicate a concussion,” Whitaker said. “Dana’s already scheduled a CT. And in terms of the leg, you actually have an open fra-,”

            Y/N took hold of Whitaker’s bicep like he’d done so for her when he’d helped wheel her inside the emergency department. “Please listen to me when I say this – unless you want me to hurl all over you, and trust me, I can aim, the only thing I have, is a sprain. Got it?”

            He gulped and nodded, stepping away from Y/N like a man who’d gotten sprayed by too many fluids in one day and didn’t want to be anywhere near the danger zone. “Loud and clear Miss Sprained-Ankle-Woman.”

            “Good.” The nausea that’d started creeping up her belly subsided. “Because I can deal with you people having to do things, but if I have to actually listen to any of it, or think about it, I will be sick.”

            “We can give you some anti-nausea medication for that,” Dr. Dimple soothed. “But first, we’ll get you a CT, and then we’ll have a surgery room prepped for you because you need to get this reset as quickly as possible. You will probably have some metal plates and screws to hold the uh… sprain together, and then a cast for about six to eight weeks.”

            “Great,” Y/N grumbled. “This is just fucking great. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my vacation, before, oh… oh, absolutely not.” Y/N’s eyes widened to a comically large size as she looked past her room and into the waiting area. “Sara, you need to get me out of here right the fuck now.”

            “Hey, woah, what is going on?” Dr. Langdon rushed to where Y/N was trying to get the IV line out. “Please don't do that, you'll only hurt yourself more.”

            “Y/N, what’s going on?” Sara’s brows were pulled tight in a frown, as she tried to help Dr. King get the oxygen monitor back onto her finger. “You need surgery, for fuck’s sake.”

            “It’s him,” she hissed, not taking her gaze away from where it’d locked on. “And I don’t want to spend a second anywhere near the dick.”

            “Who?” Sara swiveled her head to look beyond the glass separating them from the chaos beyond. “Who’s the dick?”

            “Him.”

            And then four pairs of eyes locked onto the man standing and talking with the charge nurse at The Hub, Y/N was glaring at.

            “Do – do you two know each other?” Dr. Dimple asked.  “Do you feel unsafe with him around?”

            “Yeah, you could say we know one another,” she scowled and crossed her arms as Mel managed to finally reattach the oxygen monitor, all of their attention onto her. “That’s the dude I hooked up with two weeks ago, and completely ghosted me that same morning.”

            Every single head snapped to look back at Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, who’d also finally noticed Y/N was at his workplace, as a patient no less. His eyebrows were right up to his hairline, brown eyes wide with disbelief and mouth agape as she glowered at the older man.

            It was quite a surreal moment – all of these capable doctors and residents and nurses, stunned by the information so bad, that they almost seemed to forget Y/N was there. She wondered what was going through their heads, as this seemed like it wasn’t a regular occurrence. Which stung even more – if Michael had been a fuckboy, she could take it, but it didn’t seem so. So, what was wrong with Y/N that had made him run away after the night they’d spent together?

            When they’d met at the bar, he had told her he was an emergency department attending. The big boss of his little duckling residents, dutifully running the hospital department with the help of the nurses.

Why, when Sara had finally managed to get Y/N inside the car, it hadn’t occurred to her, he would work in this particular hospital. Just why?

Y/N couldn’t say. Maybe she’d hoped he worked the night shifts. Maybe she’d hoped, he worked somewhere else, or even out of town, but, of course, for whatever sins she’d committed, karma couldn’t do her a solid one.

            Sara gasped, rushing by her side as Y/N watched Michael flounder and try and decide what to do – whether to interfere and face the music or run away from the hospital. He apparently chose the latter as he twisted on his heel and high-tailed it to the other end of the department, leaving a cackling Dana behind.

            “That’s him?” Sara strained her neck. “That’s the hot doctor?”

            Y/N scoffed. “The one and only. Couldn’t even leave a fucking note or something. Like I can take a hint a one-night-stand is a one-night-stand, alright? But don’t just fucking bolt out of the door like your ass is on fire before the other party wakes up. Fucking dickhead.”

            “Well, maybe it wasn’t as fun of a night for him, as you thought, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Sara raised a brow.

            “Oh, trust me,” Y/N smirked. “It was a very fun night for him. I would know. I was there, and you can’t fake the kind of shaking. Four hours will do that to a guy,” she winked and touched the tips of her pointer finger and thumb in an A-Okay sign.

            “Yeah,” it was Dr. Dimple smiling at her, the grin on his face almost wolfish in nature. “Yeah, you are absolutely my new favorite person in the world.”

            However, whatever he wanted to say or ask, was cut short when Dana returned to inform that her CT slot was coming up, and so Y/N was wheeled away, not daring to look at Michael as they passed one another in the hallway.

            As the results came back for a minor concussion, the anesthesiologist informed, that they recommended a spinal for the surgery, while the team prepper, but Y/N shot it down immediately.

            “Absolutely not. Look, I know it’s not safe to go to sleep after a concussion, but I will not be listening to the sounds of some bone-carpenter crunching on my leg. Put me under,” she gave him her most pathetic look. “Please.”

            The specialist still tried to argue, but he couldn’t do it much longer, as Y/N needed surgery as soon as possible, so after five minutes of strongly recommending the spinal, he relented and in half an hour, Y/N had managed to get hers – she was out like a light, without a sound in her ears.

            It was the best sleep she’d ever had in her life. Like floating on a cloud, surrounded by doves and angels singing her lullabies. She never wanted to wake up, but something was rousing her out of the blissful state.

            A large warm hand around her palm, thumb rubbing the top of it, was soothing her senses. It was like hot chocolate after being out in the sow. Or sitting by a fireplace with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

            “Good afternoon, Miss Sprained-Ankle,” a low, rumbly voice greeted Y/N as she floated back into consciousness. Her eyes locked onto two gentle, brown ones, and despite the medication, she knew she wasn’t hallucinating him.

            Michael’s face was beard-covered like it had been when they’d met. He still had the same worry lines on his forehead and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Y/N had said she liked those the best.

            “It shows you’ve smiled and laughed despite everything else,” she’d informed him over the rim of her Pornstar Martini.

            She couldn’t truly imagine just how draining his line of work was, both physically and mentally, but the laugh lines she could see hiding under the beard, harmonizing with those around his eyes, was a feature Y/N had noticed first.

            “So,” she slurred her tongue a swollen mass of sandpaper in her mouth, and Michael noticed that, holding a cup of water against her lips until she’d had her fill. “Do I have to keep breaking bones to wake up with you next to me?”

            “I hope not.” With gentleness Y/N knew he possessed, yet didn’t expect, he brushed away a droplet that’d slipped past her mouth, and onto her cheek. “I hope this is the only time I ever have to see you in such a state.”

            “Can’t promise that,” she shook her head. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”

            “Yeah?” amusement was evident on his weary face. “And what kind of reputation is that?”

            “When I was in first grade, on the first day of school, I broke my arm. And then like a few months later, I smashed my face against a radiator and split my lip open. Still have a scar,” she pointed right below her right nostril where a sliver of lighter skin was. “And then, but that was like third grade or something, I smashed my head against a metal railing and split my head open. I could even push my fingers inside and scrape my -,”

            “Okay, I understand,” Michael interrupted her and pulled the hand that was tapping against the hairline on her forehead. “You are an ED connoisseur, but please, don’t make this a habit.”

            “Damn, straight I am.” Y/N gave a confident nod, but before Michael could ask anything else, she said, “You know what I don’t get? Like why did my leg bone hurt while sticking out of my body, but my teeth that are sticking out right now, don’t?” She clacked them for emphasis. “They’re outside bones.”

            A soft smile bloomed on Michael’s face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. She could feel someone had put her hair in a protective style and had to wonder if it had been the man beside her. But that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he care like that for her?

            “For one,” he muttered. “You broke your fibula – the smaller bone in your lower leg, and in doing so, hurt the surrounding things like muscles and skin. That is one reason why you felt such pain. And two – if you broke a tooth, it would hurt too. Your cavities hurt, don’t they?”

            “Mmm,” a self-satisfied smile bloomed on Y/N’s face. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a cavity.”

            “That’s good. Dentists aren’t cheap.” As a response she just clacked her teeth again, making Michael laugh. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Nausea?”

            “Nope, I am A-Okay. Honestly, that was like the best sleep of my life. Well…” Y/N pouted, taking her gaze away from Michael’s. “That night when I fell asleep with you is also up in the Top 5, but then I woke up and… you know… you weren’t there.”

            She was obviously delirious from the medication being pumped through her veins, but much like when Y/N was drunk, she was a throw-up-remember-everything kind of a girl, instead of a black-out-drunk. Besides, it wasn’t like she could run anywhere. Quite literally.

            Michael sighed, dragging a hand down his face, visibly cringing at her words. “About that… I – yeah, I think the only thing I can say is I’m sorry. For, you know, ghosting, as you youngsters say.”

            “ ‘S alright.” Y/N shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, as if the second she’d seen him, she hadn’t been ready to bolt. “I’m over it.”

            “No, no it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done that. Because that night was… great. It was amazing, actually. And everything leading up to the uh, you… you know, the...” he cleared his throat, and a smirk pulled up on Y/N’s lips.

            “The sex? Come on, you can say it in your big old man age. It’s just three letters.”

            “Jesus Christ.” Michael rubbed his neck as a slight pink shade crawled up his neck, which made Y/N let out a chuckle at how uncomfortable he looked talking about this. Maybe it was time to let this go, for his sake and her own sanity.

            “Look, if it makes you feel any better,” Y/N shifted to the edge of the mattress and patted the side of her bed, so he could sit down. After asking if she was sure, he did take the offered space. “I – I’ve been treating you a bit unfairly with this. I think my ego was a bit crushed after waking up and not having you there, but, umm… you’re off the hook. Besides, I think I’m in your debt with all of this. Your team is amazing.”

            “They’re pretty great, aren’t they?” he mumbled, one of his hands having moved to toy with the wristband the hospital had assigned to Y/N. “But still, how I reacted then, and even earlier in the morning… it wasn’t right. I mean, I’m pushing fifty for fuck’s sake. That’s not what someone my age does.”

            “So what?” she raised a brow. “The issue is you think you’re a cradle-robber? Because you’re no more that than I am a grave robber. I’m twenty-six, Michael,” she turned her palm up hoping he’d accept it and slide his hand in hers. After a moment of hesitancy, he did, and Y/N squeezed it in reassurance. “I mean, if you think you’re doing something bad, by having slept with someone two decades younger than you, I’ll have you know, according to regency times, as a woman who’ll be turning twenty-seven this year, I’m pretty much a decrepit old spinster.”

            Michael let out a soft laugh as his fingers trailed the lines on Y/N’s palm. “You have your whole life ahead of you. Me? I’m your probably dad’s age.”

            “And looking hotter than ever, if you ask me.”

            “Yeah? You think so?” He asked as Y/N hummed in affirmation. “Well then, for a decrepit old spinster, you are beautiful. And acting with much more grace than I deserved or deserve.”

            Something in the way he said those last few words made her heart squeeze. “Michael… of course you deserve grace.”

            “You’re being far too good to me… you’re far too good for me…”

            Y/N’s brows furrowed at that. Slowly, she attempted to rise in a sitting position, but she didn’t get far before Michael had his arms around her waist, like they’d been two weeks ago, pushing a pillow to stabilize the small of her back. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he opened an apple juice box and handed it to her.

            “To get your sugar up.”

            But she just stared at him, only reaching for the little carton after he’d resumed his previous sitting position. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Some insecurity you think I deserve better than you? Because I can decide those things for myself. I am an adult. With a fully-developed frontal lobe, mind you.”

            He took in a deep breath, held it for a second, then released it, and Y/N watched that whatever kind of decision he’d come to, had released a certain tension that’d been accumulating in his body. “Kind of, I guess. But mostly…” he swallowed, then nodded to himself, eyes trained on her wristband. “Mostly I got scared.”

            “Of what?” Y/N tilted her head. “I mean, I know my morning breath probably isn’t that attractive, and the smeared makeup made me look like a coked-out raccoon, but -,”

            “No,” Michael shook his head, chuckling. His cheeks were reddish at her words, but as he lifted his eyes to hers, there was a grateful look to them. Like he was thankful she wasn’t making fun of him even in his ripe old age. “You,” he stumbled over his words a bit, “when I saw you there, sleeping by my side like you belonged… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than that. And that’s when I thought to myself – if I worked up the courage, could there be more mornings like that? Could I make you breakfast and coffee one day? Maybe I’d get the privilege of falling asleep next to you as we watch movies at night. And that scared me.”

            “The possible future?”

            “Wanting that possible future, because that feeling, the one that started to grow right here,” he tapped the center of his chest. “I couldn’t think straight. So, I had to go.”

            “I mean,” Y/N swallowed hard. “That is a lot to imagine after only a few hours together.”

            “Does that… creep you out? ‘Cause it’s totally understandable if it does. I mean Jesus, I’m old… and you’re so young.”

            “No, it doesn’t.” And she meant it when she said it. “I find it actually quite endearing, but you can stop being so hung-up on the age difference. If you think there might be some daddy issues on my side, I can assure you – there’s none. I quite like my dad, and I definitely don’t see you as such a figure. Not after the things you did to me. ‘Cause, quite honestly, sex with you was probably the best dicking-down I’ve had in a year.”

            If Michael had been drinking anything, Y/N was sure he would have choked with how he sputtered at her words. “Well, uh, yeah, I uh… I’m glad you… enjoyed it.”

            “I did. And I know you enjoyed it too,” her smile was nothing short of wicked.

            “Yeah, and apparently now the rest of the residents and nurses and doctors know it too?” Michael raised his brows at her.

            It took Y/N a while to realize he was talking about when she’d gotten admitted and spilt the beans on their night together, implying their copious amount of copulation. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, but I’d like to think your reputation has now gone sky-high between the female nurses and doctors. Maybe the guys and theys as well. But I do apologize for talking about your private life while at your work. In my defense, until that very moment, I didn’t know you worked here. And well, I was pissed.”

            “You and your mouth will get you in trouble one day,” Michael pointed at her.

            “Yeah? Would you like to put something in it, to shut me up? Last time, you really liked it when I -,”

            “Okay, trouble, that’s enough.” Even though his words had a finality to them, humor glowed on his features. He seemed relaxed. Content even, as he took the now empty apple juice box Y/N had been sipping on this whole time.

            “You on a break?” She started scooting down the bed once more, and Michael instantly helped her get situated.

            “Want to get rid of me so quickly?”

            “No. It’s just you’re spending an awfully long time with me. Don’t you have other patients to check in on? I don’t want you to waste your time if you need to get to someone else. Or maybe grab a bite to eat? I’m fairly sure doctors don’t know how to have a good work-life balance, despite continuously recommending it to us, mere mortals.”

            “Time with you isn’t a waste.”

            Oh.

            Oh, how badly did Y/N want to rip off the little wires connecting her to the heart monitor, because had Michael not turned the sound off, she was sure the whole hospital would be hearing it go nuts at his words, the squiggling beat of it a treat for only Michael this time, because when he noticed it, a smirk bloomed on his mouth. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to, not when he murmured, twining their fingers together, “I want to kiss you so bad.”

            “I definitely won’t be opposed to that.” Y/N’s answer might have come way too quickly, but she was beyond feeling embarrassed about wanting him. “You have permission to kiss away. For as long as possible. All day, every day, whenever you want to.”

            “Well, thank you for that,” Michael chuckled, cupping her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. “But… not right now. Let me take you out on a proper date. Let me do this right.”

            “Oh my God, seriously?” Y/N whined throwing her head back. “You’re gonna make me wait? Especially after that whole speech and whatnot? You are a cruel, cruel man Dr. Michael Robinavitch.”

            Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he leaned to hover over Y/N, a golden necklace slipping from the inside of his shirt and dangling before her. She wanted to pull it between her teeth like she’d done so during their one night together. It took every dwindling ounce of willpower not to.

            “Maybe, I just want you aching. And yearning. You were the one who said men don’t yearn enough nowadays. But I have. For you, for two whole god-damned weeks. Now it’s your turn.”

            It was pathetic how Y/N wanted to cry and whimper. “But I didn’t even do anything! You were the one that ran out! Why am I being punished for your actions?”

            “Do you – do you not want to go on a date with me?”

            “I do, but I’d rather you rail me as soon as possible.”

            “Well, for one,” Michael tried to continue on as if Y/N’s words hadn’t made heat creep up his face, but he could only do so much. He was a human, after all. “You’re not allowed any strenuous activities until you’ve got a clean bill of health. And two, all teasing aside, I want to do this properly. I want to do right by you this time.”

            “Why would you?” she exasperated. “I wasn’t complaining when you didn’t do it right by me, and I’m certainly not going to if you suddenly decide to stop being chivalrous. Maybe even right here. We could recreate some scene from Grey’s Anatomy?” Y/N wiggled her brows at him, eliciting a deep rumble of a chuckle.

            “Grey’s is just a malpractice lawsuit after a malpractice lawsuit, and I, unlike the characters there, don’t want my medical license to be revoked. Until you get discharged, I’m one of your doctors.”

            “My hot doctor, you mean.”

            The sigh that left Michael was not weary or a worn-out kind of noise. Rather it was a resigned I-guess-this-is-my-life-now kind of a sigh, especially combined with the endearing look on his face, it made Y/N feel warm all over.

            Slowly, as they talked a bit more, her eyes began to droop, exhaustion from the morning, from the surgery and the subsequent consequences settling in once more. “Will you stay?” she asked as Michael brushed a knuckle along her jaw. “Just until I fall asleep?”

            “Of course,” Michael took her hand in his, sitting down by her side again, as he pressed a kiss to her wrist. “And I… I wish I could promise I’ll be here when you wake up, but I, -”

            “I know,” Y/N interrupted him with a soft and understating smile. “By that point, you’ll probably be off saving lives. It’s why I’m not asking you to.”

            “I’ll try though.” He promised.

            “Okay.”

            And with her hand still in Michael’s, Y/N drifted off once again without even realizing it was pitch-black outside, and Michael hadn’t been wearing his shift scrubs. He should have long been home resting, and yet, he hadn’t been able to leave her. Not like he did before.

            By the time she awoke early the next morning, Y/N was clearheaded, and yet all her thoughts mulled over the conversation she’d had with Michael the previous night. Would he go back on his word? Had he only talked with her like that because she was high on pain meds, and maybe thought she wouldn’t remember their discussions?

            She knew he hadn’t promised to be there when she awoke, so Y/N didn’t hold it against him, but she couldn’t deny the sting. But that was immediately soothed by the hoodie that’d been laid over the back of a chair.

            His hoodie.

            A promise he would at least have a reason to come back and check in on her. It was Dana, the charge nurse, peeking her head inside that pulled Y/N back into the present. “How are we feeling today? Ready to be discharged? Dr. Langdon will be with you shortly for a follow-up.”

            The woman in the hospital bed groaned. “Can’t I just stay here? Like you people – you are normal. Sara will be a mother hen on crack. I am willing to brave hospital food, as long as I don’t have to go home to all that fussing. She’s probably already bullied our landlord into installing a lift or something.”

            “She cares for you,” it was Dr. Langdon piping in, as he entered her room, pulling on a pair of gloves and nodding to Dana in thanks. “You’re pretty lucky to have a friend like her.”

            “Yeah, I know,” Y/N sighed as Dr. Langdon looked over her leg, asked some questions about pain levels and talked her through the post-op care. “But in my defense, she has a tendency to overreact.”

            “I’d say you have a tendency to underreact, but that’s just my professional opinion.”

            She rolled her eyes as Dr. Langdon finished his assessment and handed off her chart to Dana, so they could start the discharge process. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.”

            “In any case, I do think the whole ED is in debt to Sara.”

            To that she raised a brow.

            “Well, had she not made you come in, I don’t know if Dr. Robby would have had a chance of seeing you again. Because, if I have to be honest, we’ve all been scratching our heads the past couple of weeks trying to figure out why he’s been in such a mood. Now we know why.”

            “You two shit-talking me?” Michael’s soft tone interrupted the conversation, as he crossed his arms and leaned against the entryway. “How are you feeling?”

            She tried and failed to hide the heat creeping up her veins. Even if Y/N had succeeded, that damned monitor, the sound no doubt having been turned back on by Michael before he left, to make sure if anything went awry at night, someone was there for her, betrayed her anyway. God, she wanted to punch the smile off both the men's faces.

            “Fine.” She turned her head to look at the wall, as a nurse stepped in and removed the IV catheter and wrapped her hand in gauze. “Not looking forward to the itching that will appear, in what? Three days?”

            “No scratching,” Dr. Dimple pointed at her with a pen. “You could injure yourself and cause a serious infection. No rulers, no knitting needles, no crochet needles, no twigs or branches, no nothing.”

            “But what about -,”

            “No nothing,” he emphasized. “Or I will have to recommend Dr. Robby make a house call on you. Though that isn’t much of a threat for you two, is it?”

            “Okay, Frank? Scram. Now. There’re patients that need checking on. I can take care of Y/N.”

            “Yeah, I bet you can,” Dr. Langdon let out a laugh but was out of the room before either she or Michael could say anything.

            The only thing Y/N was happy about, was that the comment had made not only her flustered, but Michael as well, as he shifted on his feet and rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous tick. In the end, he gave her a smile that said “Sorry about him” and padded over to where he’d left his hoodie.

            And that only made her even more flustered, because seeing a man like him, so level-headed and sure, get visibly nervous over her, did things to Y/N. Which made her want to do things to Michael, but then Dana returned, two crutches in hand, Whitaker wheeling a wheelchair once more, and all passion slipped away.

            “Right, thanks.” She eyed the crutches like they were cow-eating pythons. “I fucking hate my life.”

            Low, warm laughter filtered through the room as Dana helped Y/N get redressed and situated her in the wheelchair, crutches placed over her knees as she was rolled to the nurse’s station.

            “I uh, took the liberty of calling Sara for you,” Michael said as he leaned against the table. When Y/N raised a brow in question, he elaborated, “She’s in your emergency contacts. Should be here in fifteen or so.”

            “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

            “I know,” he smiled. “But I wanted to.”

            And there it was again, that warmth that blossomed in her chest, only this time she let it spread, let it wrap around her heart and wash away that bitterness, that’d been there since the morning Y/N had woken up cold and alone.

            It hadn’t been just the sex, though that night Michael had given her some of the most earth-shattering orgasms she’d ever had (thankfully, Sara had been away with her girlfriend, so she didn’t have to suffer through the teasing).

            It was the conversations leading up to it, the sense of ease Y/N felt around Michael. He was witty and sarcastic, his humor dry, but not at the expense of others while being engaging and thought-provoking at the same time. What had sealed the deal for her though was when he actually engaged in the debate, she presented him – if he had to kiss a fish-spider hybrid, what would he choose – fish head, spider body or fish body, spider head?

            He’d made her laugh so hard she cried, and when Y/N had deemed it was time to call an Uber and go home, she’d taken the risk and asked if he wanted to come to her place. And after a few moments where she wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole, he’d nodded.

            Together they waited for the cab, standing side by side, yet not touching. He’d opened the car door for her, before slipping in himself.

            The tension could be cut with a knife, and afterwards, Y/N had given the driver five stars for enduring it, while the whole way, one of Michael’s palms had slowly moved to rest against her thigh, and she’d had to clench them together because if she didn’t, there would be a noticeable wet spot underneath.

            After an agonizing half an hour's drive, they finally got to her place. Michael held the door open for her, and insisted on paying for the Uber, no matter how much Y/N protested.

            Every step towards the apartment she was renting on the fourth floor of the complex, was agony. As she fumbled for her keys, Michael’s fingers were slowly skimming the side of her dress where the zipper rested.

            Y/N’s whole body was a live-wire, and she wondered how in the world had the lock not melted from the heat, as it slid in place and she unlocked the door, the motion now forever having a sexual connotation, for in that moment Michael was the key that would unlock her desires.

            Together, they stepped beyond the threshold, and yet still, he never once removed his touch from her body. From that damned little black number. She’d only worn it because she’d been set up on a blind date. They were supposed to meet up at the bar for a drink before going to a play, but as it turns out, even guys who like theatre can ghost.

            When Y/N realized the situation, she wanted to go home, as her date was the one who had the tickets, pull this thing off and drink the already opened bottle of wine that was in the fridge, but she could have at least one good cocktail before that.

            That’s when Dr. Robby, or as he’d asked her to call him by his first name, Michael, slid into the seat next to her. They didn’t talk for the first five minutes, not until she’d been scrolling through Instagram and some post had caught her eye. Something about green tea enemas and glowing skin, and the man beside had released a heavy-duty sigh, accompanied by “fucking Dr. Google.”

            It’s when slowly but surely, they’d struck up a conversation, which had now resulted in Y/N having Michael towering over her, his beard scratching against the crook of her neck where he’d placed his chin.

            When his hands wove and settled against her stomach, any sort of resolve she’d had, snapped. Instantly, she turned, weaving her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers in a bruising kind of kiss. The kind that left you breathless and dizzy and wanting more.

            She felt an insatiable thrill rush down her spine as Michael responded with just as much vigor, the pads of his fingers digging deep into her hips and pulling her to be flush against his chest, so much so, that Y/N could feel his own desire growing in his groin.

            “I’ve never hated clothes more than I do right now,” she giggled as Michael grappled with the door handle and pushed it close without disconnecting from one another.

            “Then let’s get them off, shall we?”

            The way he dragged the side zipper open, was almost reverent, worshipping even. Like he wanted to prolong the build-up between them, and Y/N couldn’t lie – she was loving it, even if she was losing her mind. So many times, when she’d had hook-ups, guys tended to just get her naked as fast as possible, which was fine. She was down for it, but there was something indescribable about how Michael reveled in feeling her slowly start to tremble, in how he kissed up and down her neck, while his fingers took their sweet time. It drove her insane with want, in an amount she’d never felt before.

            His pointer finger dragged its way up Y/N’s bicep, making goosebumps erupt all over before he slowly slid a strap down. Then the other, until the dress was pooling around her waist, and still, where usually she’d be helping the guy shimmy herself out of the dress, Michael didn’t rush. He simply allowed his hands to explore her body, skimming along her ribs and up to the black lacy number she’d worn, then right back down.

            “You counting if I have all my ribs in place, Dr. Robby?” Y/N let out a shaky breath, trying to alleviate the gathered tension, for she was just about to combust, but all she got was a soft smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck where her pulse was visibly thrumming.

            “I don’t have much time in my day to stop and admire art. So please, indulge me. And art, which I’m allowed to touch, should be revered even more so.”

            Her eyes may or may not have rolled to the back of her head at his words, and he hadn’t even gotten his head between her legs yet. Yeah, Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, the attending of a trauma centre, would be the death of her.

Name of the deceased - Y/N Y/L/N. Date of death - 4th of April, 2025. Cause of death – self-combustion. Reason for self-combustion – a sexy as fuck doctor.

            Quite honestly, if that was how she was going to go, so be it.

            Finally, though, after what felt like ages, her dress was shed, leaving her only in her underwear and strappy high-heels she’d worn.

            “If there is one thing I hate, it’s not having a photographic memory,” Michael grumbled as his hands skimmed along the waistband of her panties. “But trust me when I say this, I will be picturing this moment for decades to come.”

            “You are more than welcome to have a look at what’s hiding underneath,” Y/N said. Or that is what she would have said, had she not simply whimpered in response. Not very sexy of her, but the feeling of his chest rumbling with a laugh, totally made up for it.

            She gathered enough of her bearings to step out of the fabric around her feet and move them along to her room. Never did his eyes leave her, never did his gaze waver or wander as they faced one another, her queen-sized bed behind her.

            “You are awfully overdressed,” Y/N mumbled, allowing herself the luxury of running her palms along the still-covered planed of his chest. His breathing was steady, but to feel the erratic thumping of his heart excited her beyond measure. It meant all that composure was just an act, and she was thrilled she’d be the one to crack it.

            She was just about to move her fingers to the buttons of his shirt when Michael slid down to his knees. If his hands hadn’t been resting against her thighs, she was sure she would’ve buckled and crashed. And Michael, damn the man to hell and back, knew it, if only by the smirk that stretched his face as he unlaced the strappy heels she had on and helped her stand on her feet.

            Y/N covered her face and groaned, throwing her head back. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Torturing me?”

            “Torturing you?” A kiss against her navel. “The only person being tortured tonight has been me. At the bar. In the car. Even now, you’re driving me crazy. So, if this is torture, simply consider it payback.”

            With the gentlest of touches, only a doctor could manage, Michael skimmed over Y/N’s stretchmarks, scars and blemishes – pieces of herself she didn’t particularly like, but the way he touched her… it was like he was mapping out the carve-marks of a Michelangelo statue. She was Venus and those – the history of her life.

            By the time he got back up to her mouth, she was a trembling mess, her nails digging into the muscles of his back, as finally, to her relief, he allowed her to rid him of the shirt.

            Much like he’d done to her, Y/N allowed herself the pleasure of exploring his body, mapping out the ridges and slopes of his chest and abdomen, before moving around to his back, and once they made their way to the small of it, she dug her nails against the skin there. The groan she was rewarded with, was sweeter than the cocktail he’d bought her.

            “Is it okay, if I touch you here?” Michael’s fingers slipped along the tops of her breasts before they moved to her back where they toyed with the clasp of the garment.

            “More than,” Y/N’s words were a breathless whisper by that point, and her inhale stuttered in her chest as she deftly snapped it open.

            It was clear he had experience, and not just because he was two decades her senior, but probably also because he’d done so in the trauma center, he worked at. For a brief, stupid second, she wondered how he could still find such acts pleasurable when he’d no doubt had to have done it during horrendous emergencies, yet all that was wiped away when Michael lowered his head and his teeth grazed a nipple.

            Her sharp gasp echoed around them, and Y/N weaved her fingers through his hair, pushing his face closer, as he lavished at her chest. The next day, she was sure, there would be bruises and love bites blooming like flowers across her chest and sternum, not to mention the delicious beard burn.

            Y/N moaned as he pulled the peak into his mouth, but when an uninhibited thought entered, it made her throw it back in a deep groan.

            “That feel good?”

            “So fucking good, but also, so yeah, I,” she stammered trying to get her brain to cooperate and create a coherent sentence. “Okay, so I just imagined you in glasses, and this got like ten times hotter.”

            “Glasses?” Michael chuckled, pulling slightly back and looking up at her. “That’s what does it for you?”

            “Correction – you in glasses. Though you right now are so doing it for me too. But that image just… yeah… kinda glad you don’t have any on. I’d probably be a pile of ash by this point.”

            “Now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” He said, slowly moving to her other breast, but not neglecting the one he’d already loved on, by cupping it in his large palm. “I mean, I’m just getting started.”

            Yeah, Y/N was dead and done for.

            As he continued licking at her chest, the hand that’d been fondling one of them, slid down her front and tentatively brushed against her clothed core. It was a single knuckle right against where her clit was, but it was enough for her to jolt in his grasp. Michael just steadied her and held tighter around her waist.  

            Once he deemed Y/N’s breasts worshipped enough, he trailed back up between them and covered her mouth with his, yet the knuckle, that damned fucking knuckle, still slid against her pussy. He could no doubt feel how wet she was, the material, though there wasn’t much of it anyway, soaked through so bad, her thighs were already sticky.

            “Michael please,” Y/N was now openly begging. She was way beyond feeling embarrassed for such a move when in the span of half an hour, he’d reduced her to liquid fire. No one had ever made her feel this wanted. This needed. And she desperately wanted and needed him too.

            “Tell me what you want,” he murmured, as he pushed his thumbs beyond the waistband of her panties and started to lower them down. The cool air hit her exposed core, and Y/N released a breathless moan. “You gotta tell me what you want and don’t want. I’m not gonna go any further until you do.”

            “I want you to touch me.”

            “I am touching you.”

            She could feel him smirk as his hands took hold of the globes of her ass and squeezed.

            “No, I want you to touch me there,” Y/N whined and tried to chase his mouth with hers, but Michael pulled back, shaking his head.

            “Gotta be more specific than that, sweetheart.”

            She debated on pulling away completely, on not giving him what he wanted either, but she was pathetic for this man. So, instead, she took one of his hands and guided it from where it rested against her ass, towards the front, sighing in relief as he let her do so. With her fingers guiding his, they slid to rest between her legs as Michael slowly, ever so exploratory, found her clit. She pressed her hand harder against his, so he could match the pressure on her core, and when he did so, overwhelming pleasure flooded her veins.

            “There,” Y/N breathed. “I want you to touch me there. And then,” she moved his hand deeper, by the wrist, until she could feel the pads of his fingers nudging against her entrance. “I want you to put three of your fingers inside me, while you suck on my clit, until I’m a crying mess.”

            As Y/N lifted her head back to look at him, there was absolutely no sign of the warm brown irises that’d looked at her so gently at the bar. Sure, it was dark in the apartment, yet even in bright daylight, she’d bet all her student loans, only two black abysses would be staring back at her, especially with how fast his chest was rising and falling.

            “And then?”

            God, had his voice dropped even lower? How did he manage to make it so gravelly, yet smooth as the darkest, most succulent chocolate?

            “And then…” Her fingers trembled as she moved her hands to the front of his pants, undoing the buckle and flipping open the button, lowering the zipper as she went. All the while, Michael applied steady pressure on her clit, circling the bundle of nerves just enough to drive her towards the edge, but not enough for release to come. “And uhm, then…” She pushed his pants down as far as they would go, letting them bunch around his knees.

            It took barely a moment for him to step out of them completely, kicking them to some forgotten corner of her room, leaving him in only his boxers. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the shoes and socks, but Y/N wasn’t about to go and hunt for them. Not with how he still circled her clit with those experienced appendages.

            “Yes?” He raised a brow and pressed harder against her clit, making her pull in a sharp breath.

            “And then,” Y/N trailed a teasing finger along the band of his boxers, for once delighting in how his abdomen muscles went taut, and his obviously hard dick twitched inside the confines. “And then I want you to fuck me. However, you want to. As long as by the end of it, neither of us know up from down and left from right.”

            When she cupped him over the clothes he still had left on, it seemed like it snapped something in Michael, some taut, already fragile wire, that’d begun fraying ever since she’d invited him back to her place. Because this time when he kissed Y/N, it was a hungry kiss. A man starved being served the most lavish meal of all.

            She was on the mattress in a matter of seconds, body covered by his towering frame. They molded perfectly together, Y/N thought. When she rolled her hips up to get at least some form of friction, he responded in kind, clearly searching to satiate his own desire.

            Michael’s hands slid from her shoulders down the length of her arms before intertwining their fingers and bringing them up and over Y/N’s head, not once disconnecting from the kiss.

            “You keep them there,” he instructed, breathing the words into her mouth. “And when I’m done with my appetizer, we’ll move on to the first of the main courses.”

            “Appetizer?” Y/N squeaked out. A good hook-up in her books was at least two orgasms, usually only having one. But calling eating her out an appetizer, and then having a numbered list of courses, was something else completely.

            Michael’s only response was that same damned smirk she’d learned could only mean torture, as he made his way between her legs, and without wasting another second, diving in between them.

            The first lick of his tongue was a broad, all-encompassing one. And Y/N could only hope her neighbors had some good noise-cancelling headphones at the ready.

            His forearms had settled against her hips and palms splayed themselves over her stomach to push her down against the bed, as she tried to chase his mouth.

            And what a mouth it was.

            Who knew the soft-spoken trauma doctor she’d met on a random Friday night at a bar while waiting for a date that never came, would be the creation of the Devil himself?

            But when he pushed two thick fingers inside, shortly followed by a third, just like Y/N had asked, all thoughts flew out of the window. The way he curled them in an attempt at finding that spot that made her gasp and choke on air, the way he scissored them, stretching her, preparing her for the first course he had in mind, was diabolical.

            Her first orgasm came unexpectedly. She could feel it like a wave – pushing and pulling – but she hadn’t expected the moment it crested and shattered against the rocks, swift and sharp, coming without a warning, all due to the teasing that’d happened before, no doubt.

            Michael rode it out with Y/N, until her hips stopped grinding against his mouth, and he could gently remove his fingers from her pussy.

            He placed a soft kiss against the inside of her thigh, the skin raw and tender from his beard, that now glistened with her juices.

            “ ‘M sorry,” Y/N mumbled, an arm thrown over her eyes as she came down from her high and tears streamed down to her temples, just like she’d requested.

            “Whatever for?”

            “Didn’t warn you I was coming.”

            As the aftershocks receded, and she removed her arm, she found Michael looking up at her completely puzzled. “And why would I need a warning? I could tell, you know.” He rose to hover over her. “The way you were clenching. Fucking proud of it too.”

            “No, I mean,” she huffed, trailing a hand down his chest. “Sometimes guys don’t want to… you know… have that in their mouth. They’d rather finish a girl off with their fingers and not have to… taste it.”

            Now that was one way to kill a mood, but Y/N had already opened her big mouth and the words were out.

            “And why wouldn’t I want to taste it, hmm?” Michael tilted his head at her, as his hands drifted up and down her sides, over her breasts and clavicles, to skim along her neck and finally settle on the pillow beside her head. “Why wouldn’t I want that, when it’s the end goal? You got your tears,” he kissed the corners of her eyes where the salt still lingered. “And I got my wine.”

            Her gaze drifted to the beard, the one she would be feeling for days to come, as she went about her life. The one that was glistening with the remnants of her orgasm even in the dark, and Y/N wondered, what it would be like to sit atop it. To have him pull her down by the waist as she claimed his mouth for her throne. They were such salacious thoughts, for a moment, embarrassment flushed through her, but come on! After such an eating out, Y/N was allowed to fantasize.

            “And by the end of this, if you let me,” Michael mumbled, a golden chain dangling in between them. Quickly she snatched it between her teeth and pulled, making him come closer. “I’d like to do so at least once more.”

            “You are absolutely welcome to it. Morning, noon and night.”

            But at that moment, Y/N had no intentions of allowing him to go for another round, as when he leaned down for a kiss, she lifted a leg over his hip and twisted, throwing Michael off his balance and onto his back, with her now on top.

            “But right now… you had your starter.” She gave him a wicked grin. “And I’ve yet to still have mine.”

            “Fuck me,” was all he managed to groan out as he threaded a hand through his hair, head pressed tight against her silk-covered pillows while Y/N rid him of his boxers.

            His length sprang free, thick and aching. It slapped against his abdomen and her hand curled around it immediately to give him some sort of relief, precum dripping from the tip. Or maybe, she intended to do quite the opposite.

            He’d taken his sweet fucking time riling her up. She could take hers. But it was the way he let out the smallest of “please”, the way his eyes locked onto hers, practically begging to put him out of his misery, that did her in. She’d tease him come morning. For now, she was way too aroused herself to deprive her body of his any longer.

            Y/N gathered a bit of saliva in her mouth and let it drip down onto his length, before dragging her tongue along the vein at the base of it, her lips wrapping around the tip as she made her way up and giving it a gentle, yet firm, suck.

            Michael’s hips jolted, and a hand grasped onto her head. He didn’t push it down or pull her hair in any way, more so it seemed he needed something solid to hold onto as she pulled his length into her mouth, until it hit the back of her throat, making both of them choke.

            “You don’t need to do that,” Michael started, ready to pull Y/N away if it became too much for her, but she stayed there, relaxing her muscles bit by bit, until he was so deep down her throat, her nose brushed against the hairs of his pelvis.

            “Fucking. Hell.” Those were the only two words he managed to express before Y/N trailed her mouth up and started to really suck him off. After that, it was just grunts and groans, his hand tightening and then unclenching in her hair, but never pressing, never pushing her to take more than she wanted to. Michael was completely immersed with her pace, and ready to take whatever she gave him.

            That sort of power could make anyone lightheaded, and when Y/N started to feel him twitch in her mouth, she pulled completely off.

            Instantly, his eyes snapped open, head rising to look at how she climbed his body and settled her knees around his hips, pressing her core down against his length. She was just about ready to let it slide inside when Michael’s hands closed around her waist and stopped her.

            “Condom,” he breathed out, chest rising and falling rapidly, probably the only word he could manage, which was great, because at least one of them still had some thinking skills left.

            “Shit. Fuck. Right, yeah.”

            Leaning over to her nightstand, Y/N half-fell over the bed to open the lowest drawer. In between her panties and vibrator, was a little foil packet which she fished out. She was glad of Michael’s unwavering hold, because the way she was precariously dangling over the edge, could end badly and with a stupidly gotten concussion.

            When she was back to straddling him, opening the packet and rolling the condom on his length, their eyes met.

            Michael rubbed his thumb in a circle on her hip. “We can always stop if you don’t want to go any further.”

            “I’m not a quitter,” Y/N scoffed, yet it didn’t elicit the smile she was aiming for, as he rose into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her, hers resting onto his shoulders.

            “And this isn’t some race or competition. You can revoke consent anytime you want. And so can I.”

            “I know that,” Y/N nodded, her gaze softening at his words. He could easily create a power imbalance between them. With double the decades of age and experience on her, Michael could be pushing at her limits, trying to twist things into teaching her how to properly please a guy and so on, yet throughout all of it, his focus had been zeroed in on her wants and needs. She shifted a bit in her lap at the thought that she hadn’t checked in with him. “Do you want to stop?”

            “No.” His voice was soft but sure, and then, after a moment of him searching her eyes, the smile she’d hoped for, formed on his face. “But uh, and that is obviously if you are alright with it, I wouldn’t be opposed to adding your… friend… to our activities sometime later.”

            “My friend?” Y/N tilted her head in confusion. “Oh…” A furious heat exploded through her body, and not because of the fact Michael’s cock was slowly rubbing against her clit, the head nudging just right for pleasure to zing through her.

            He’d obviously noticed her vibrator, though the bright purple shade would be hard to miss. “You’re not turned off by it?”

            “Why would I be? You’re a woman who has needs. And if that’s how you take care of them, it’s completely fine. I mean, as long as you’re being hygienic and safe about it. Besides,” Michael breathed against her neck, as his hand slid between their bodies and he grasped himself, lining the tip up with Y/N’s entrance. “Real men see them as tools to use to their advantage, not competition. And well, not to stroke my own ego,” he smirked, “but I don’t think I have any competition here.”

            Y/N wanted to call him out for that statement, but he wasn’t lying. Not with the way his length stretched her out as he pushed inside. The fingering beforehand was incomparable to the feel of Michael sliding inside at a slow and agonizing pace, but one she desperately needed and welcomed.

            He was thick and veiny, all ridges and girth, and so, so perfect for her.

            It took a minute for him to be fully sheathed, and a minute more for Y/N to adjust, her forehead pressed against his, while he rubbed his hands up and down her back while she settled.

            This wasn’t fucking. This was sex. This was intimate, and it was something she hadn’t known she’d wanted from a partner. Usually, it was fast and hard, leaving both her and the guy she was with, panting against the sheets. Satisfied in the sense that both (hopefully) had had orgasms, but something was always missing. Now, Y/N knew it was this – time.

            Time spent exploring one another, time spent learning and teaching, and time spent simply enjoying each other’s bodies.

            “You good?” Michael muttered, shifting ever so slightly and making the tip catch a spot inside of her, Y/N had only reached with her purple “friend”.

            “Yeah,” she nodded. “You?”

            “Yeah.” Michael kissed her. Whether as an affirmation of his words or simply because he could, she didn’t know. But neither did she care. He was the best kisser she’d had the opportunity to enjoy, so she’d take it.

            While they kissed, Michael started moving. At first, it was slow rolls of hips, figuring out what movements made both of their breaths hitch and hearts pound, but it wasn’t long before Michael was on his back, knees bent as Y/N bounced up and down, his thumb pressed against her clit the whole time.

            Her second orgasm of the night was a more controlled approach. She could feel the coil tightening in her abdomen, and when Michael started lifting his hips up to meet hers, Y/N listed forward, balancing herself against his chest.

            “You gonna come?” he breathed against her ear as she pressed her chest against his, Michael’s hands wrapping along the small of her back and holding onto it, so he could fuck up into her pussy. “I can feel you clenching around me. Fuck, you feel good.”

            “Michael,” Y/N moaned his name. Not Dr. Robby or Robby how he’d explained the people in his life called him, but the name he’d asked her to call him. His real name.

            One snap, two, three. That was all it took for heat to explode. The only grounding thing in the world was his scent – some form of cheap cologne, antiseptic and sweat, but she knew she still had a long way before she came down, with how he was drilling up inside of her, chasing his own release.

            It elicited another, albeit smaller orgasm, but the most pleasure she got was when she realized he’d come with her as his palms grabbed onto her ass and pulled her sharply down, her name a sweet grunt on his lips against her ear.

            Yeah. Y/N needed to go out with more doctors. At least they knew where to find the clit and not neglect it once they had.

            He brought a hand up to her face and pulled her by the cheek to meet his mouth, a satisfied sigh leaving her as he did so.          

            “That was the best one yet,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.

            “And the night’s still young.”

            They went three more rounds after that (because she only had three more condoms, and she’d rather use them on one man who knew how to make her come three more times, than three men, who would have trouble getting one out of her).

            Michael was also a man of his word, as he had her vibrator join in on the fun. Y/N had her ass up in the air while he railed her from behind, an arm wrapped around her middle, pressing the toy to her clit, the vibrations sending pleasure unlike any other through her.

            His front was flush to her back, beard having left delicious burns down her spine, as he’d kissed her there, before eating her out once more in between the rounds and pushing his again-hard cock inside.

            That was the final orgasm she could manage, and it seemed Michael knew it. It was the kind that not only made her legs, but her whole body shake, leaving Y/N a trembling mess against the sheets, while he soothed her through the aftershocks.

            “You with me, sweetheart?” he mumbled against her temple as he gathered her in his arms and laid them side by side.

            “Jus’ give me a momen’,” Y/N slurred while Michael brushed a finger from her cheek to her jaw and back. “I think I’m a medical fucking miracle with how you just fucked my brains out, and yet, I can still function. Barely though.”

            Michael’s chuckle reverberated through her body, as after she’d recovered slightly, he gathered her up and moved them to where she instructed the bathroom was, to make sure she peed and didn’t get a UTI. If these had been normal circumstances, she would have never let a guy see her peeing, but quite honestly, Y/N wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back from the toilet seat on her own.

            “You’re more than welcome to have a shower if you want. Of course, only if you’re down with smelling like peaches or passion fruit.” Y/N nudged her chin towards the shower gels lining the floor, one hers, the other Sara’s.

            “I wouldn’t be opposed to, but only if you join me.”

            She hissed, biting her lip. “I don’t have any condoms left. Besides, from what I’ve heard and read, shower sex can be quite precarious. I’m surprised that you as a trauma doctor would risk such a thing.”

            “I’m not asking to have sex,” Michale laughed and helped her stand on her still wobbly legs after she flushed. “I’m asking for you to shower with me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

            And that’s what they actually did. They simply had a shower. Michael washed her back and she washed his, along with his hair. When she did so, the blissful look on his face, the way he allowed himself to melt against her touch, sent a new kind of thrill through her. But it also made her wonder – when was the last time he allowed someone to take care of him?

            By the time they got out from under the water, it was close to four in the morning, so they dried themselves down and went to bed. Y/N’s down duvet was a warm and fluffy cloud around them. Sure, she could have asked him to leave, but why would she, when he seemed so content to be there? Whether anything came from it once they awoke, didn’t matter. If he didn’t want to leave at that moment, Y/N would be the last person to push him to.

            She drifted off almost instantly, warm and safe in Michael’s hold, but when the real morning came and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, body sore and satiated, she was met with a cold spot next to her.

            There was no fucking sign on Michael, and judging by how she’d been tucked in, he’d left a while back.

            Her dress and underwear had been neatly laid out on the chair in her room, heels tucked beneath it. As she ventured into the apartment, there were absolutely no signs of him, except for a cup of tea on the kitchenette. She knew it’d been made for her – it was filled to the brim, but much like the sheets, it was also already cold.

            Sourness settled in her mouth as she poured the liquid down the drain. Not even a single fucking note. It was like they’d never even met.

            Y/N hadn’t expected him to leave his phone number, God forbid, his address, what with how he’d laughed when she’d told him she was twenty-six, and he’d responded that he could be her father with that age gap. She knew she was some kind of spur-of-the-moment mistake he’d made. A weakness in his judgement, but fucking hell, she at least deserved an “it was great meeting you, wish you all the best,” note. Especially because he knew the only reason she’d gone to the bar was because she’d been ghosted by a date.

            And now – now Michael was also a ghost, an unscratchable, unreachable itch under her skin she couldn’t get to.

            That was the real reason Y/N’d felt so bitter for the past two weeks. If he’d been a bad lay, or maybe she’d been the bad party, she would understand the one-and-done-dump, but something about falling asleep while being wrapped up in one another, and then just leaving without so much as a goodbye, was crueler than if he’d left while she was still coming down from her release.

            Now though, as she watched him while they waited at the nurse’s station, she noted how his fingers twitched by his side. She wondered whether he wanted to touch her as badly as she wanted to touch him, but then horrible reality kicked in – there wouldn’t be any sort of touching for a while.

            She was stuck with her leg in a cast, and a scheduled check-up with Dr. Langdon in a week to take it off and remove the stitches, before it would get swaddled again for a month or more.

            Y/N cursed the day she’d met Dr. Michael Robinavitch, for he’d released a monster of carnal urges, she didn’t even really know resided in her. And he was the only one who knew how to properly tame it because even in his scrubs and hoodie, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and all sorts of bodily fluids she didn’t want to think about, all she wanted to do was grab him by the neck and get him to some supply closet to have her way with him like they were actually in Grey’s Anatomy.

            “Michael, I,” Y/N started but got cut off by Sara waltzing into the emergency department.

            “How’s my pirate doing?” She threw her arms around her shoulders and squeezed. “They assign you a parrot yet?”

             “I don’t have a fucking peg-leg.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she signed a final form. With that, Sara took the wheelchair handles, gave Dana a salute and wheeled her out of the hospital, making Y/N crane her neck back and shout a final thank you to the nurse.

            She was just about to ask Sara to slow down as she needed to talk to Michael, when she felt his presence moving with them, silent, steady and strong, his hands taking hold of the crutches as the automatic doors opened.

            He followed them out and once they got to Sara’s car, helped Y/N settle in the front seat.

            “You good?” He tucked a strand behind her ear.

            “Yeah.” She gave him a genuine smile, and her heart pounded in her chest as his eyes trailed to trace her lips. “I am. Thank you. For taking care of me in there.”

            “Honestly, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the only time I’d like to see you back here is for your check-ups.”

            Y/N nodded, suppressing a smile. “Duly noted. No shower karaoke for me.”

            “I’m serious. You have an appointment with Frank in a week, but other than that, please take care of yourself, alright?”

            “You don’t have to worry about that.” She nudged her head towards Sara who was wrangling the crutches inside the boot of the car. “Mother hen is on the job.”

            “Good.” Michael nodded and before Y/N could properly prepare herself, he’d leaned down, cupping her jaw in his hands and kissed her.

            Her brain short-circuited at that, but when his tongue probed against the seal of her lips, she had to start wondering if she’d actually died when she’d hit her head in the shower. It didn’t take more than that though for her to open up, for her arms to brush against his scrubs and weave into the salt-and-pepper hair.

            By the time Michael pulled back, both their lips were kiss-swollen.

            “Let me take you out on a date.”

            Y/N let out a breathless laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “What happened to the doctor-patient thing?”

            Michael only smirked. “You’ve been discharged. You’re no longer a patient of mine.”

            “Okay, but even so – what would we do? My leg’s in a cast, and I can barely hobble around with the crutches.”

            “I can carry you. I don’t mind.”

            “And throw out your back, old man?”

            “Hey, I’m not that old!” Michael protested, and when he noted the smile on her mouth, he pressed his against it once more.

            “How about this,” Y/N proposed, “when you’re done with your shift, you could come over to my place, and -,”

            “Our place,” Sara butted in, sliding into the driver’s seat. “So, whatever you have in mind – no hanky-panky with me next door.”

            If Y/N rolled her eyes any harder they would get stuck in the back of her head, but she returned her attention to the awaiting attendant. “And we order some take-out. We watch a movie and then just… go to sleep?”

            “It might be very late by the time I’m off.”

            When she raised her hand and cupped his rugged cheek, it took him no time at all to lean into her touch. “I can wait.” She pecked his lips. “I’m in no rush.” She could only hope he understood the double meaning behind what she meant with it.

            Later that night as Y/N sat by the TV, the glow of the screen illuminating her face, she fell asleep with her head against Michael’s chest.

            And when she awoke, her sheets were warm with the remnants of his body, even if he wasn't there anymore.

            She was alone, yes, but atop the pillow rested a note:

            Shift started at 8. Sorry, I can’t be there to wake up with you.             I’ll be home by 9.

            It was almost impossible to wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the day.

Even as the itching under the cast started.

-----

Tags: are open :) if you wish to be tagged in further fics, please drop a comment under the fic or message me or leave me an ask :)

A/N: I have arisen

if you wish to know how this man makes me feel, please listen to Slutty by The Scarlet Opera.

I am FERAL.

P.S. I hope you enjoyed it :) feedback/constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

[scho17]

“It's all Dick can do to not imagine himself in Danny's shoes. Clutching a rescued Jason as they sobbed together. But Danny got to her in time. Dick didn't.”

oh that was wicked work just OW OWWWWWWWWW MY FEELINGS WHAT THE FUCK. I feel like I got sucker punched, granted, I really did ask for it and God, did you deliver.

Tim, in the bg who has absolutely no idea who these two are or what's going on but can really only infer based on what he can barely make sense of/hear over the unintelligible dialogue through the rain: So. Human trafficking?

Neither Danny or Ellie can exactly say no because well, yes, but it's government funded and sanctioned and, well, for it to be considered human trafficking that would imply them to be considered human, sentient, something of that realm which the governing body obviously does not think them capable of being.

DEATH DEFYING!! 🔥🔥🔥 It happens later down the line and is slow going. Alfred feels like he's watching Harvey and Bruce 2.0 because here are these two incredibly intelligent witty young men who do nothing but yearn for each other and it's so clearly obvious to anyone with eyes BUT THEM. It's truly painful to watch.

Punching the air. It’s Dick watching Danny’s retreating back, Ellie in his arms sound asleep with a soft but longing smile. It’s Dick babysitting and not knowing what the fuck he’s doing but doing it anyway and it’s all worth it after he hears either of them laugh, even if it’s at his own expense. It’s Dick learning to cook and take care of himself again after Jason’s death because while his passing shattered a piece of himself there are othes who need him too. If he can’t help even himself then what use is he as either Dick Grayson or Nightwing?

Fast forward to a couple months to a year or two in the future and Dick is sitting on their shared apartments couch, staring at a photo of Jason. It’s a photo of them at a fair, Dick only about seventeen in it with an arm around the shoulders of a barely thirteen year old Jason Todd. Both of them carrying cheery twin grins on their faces as Jason held out a large floppy teddy bear for the camera. Dick had won it for him at one of those scammy ladder climbing games and Jason had smiled so hard Dick’s cheeks had ached in sympathy.

He can’t help but wonder if Jason would be happy for him. He wonders if he has the right to have any of this when his little brother who deserved so much more will forever remain fifteen. Alive only in photos.

But Dick will only grow older. He's got a father and while they're never completely on the same page, he's there. He's got two younger brothers, one in the ground and the other still flying across the grimy Gotham midnight sky, both work like Atlas, and both 60% genius and 40% scheming little shit. Dick’s got a darling boyfriend and a little girl he thinks of as his own and it's good. So, so good. 

He wonders if his parents would approve. Dick thinks they'd be happy for him. He would like to think Jason would be too. 

For all that Bruce had called him irresponsible for bringing Danny into the fold in the beginning Dick could never regret it. Not when it lead to all of this. Their apartment feels so full and homely in a way it hadn’t when it was just him alone. 

AGH OH AND THEN JASON COMES BACK. Guys. Guys. I can be. Good. Normal actually. Wait guys how do we feel about dad friends Roy and Dick because I have. Thoughts.

There are crayon drawings plastered all over the fridge, letter magnets and cartoon ones pinning them in place. A throw blanket over the couch cushions, a rack holding shoes by the door - something Dick would have never thought to buy - there are tapestries and posters hung up and an eclectic variety of plates, bowls, cups, and utensils with residency in their cupboards because their little girl flat out refuses to use the forks that have too-long prongs or spoons with broad handles (“It’s just bad vibes Pa!” “Okay, well what about this one?” “No! That ones too heavy and it has patterns on the handle,”).

In some fucked up way it was kinda funny. 

Guy on the run goes to Bludhaven to keep a low profile and catches the attention of a vigilante. The universe is laughing at him, surely. 

Everything was fine up until a month ago. Really, it was. Danny had obtained his own shitty apartment and yeah, maybe his dead end job made him want to eat dirt more than usual but everything was fine. There weren’t any eyes on him and now there were. A certain bird didn’t know how to leave him alone.

“Can I help you, Nightwing?” Danny says in a flat tone, leaning his forearms against the rails of the fire escape. He isn’t a cigarette type of guy but if ever there were a time this would be it.

“Mhum. I want names, same as always.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “We both know I can’t tell you anything.”

“But you could.”

“I could,” Danny acquiesced with a shallow nod. “And then what? When they can’t get to me, they’ll get to you.” He sighs, feeling infintely tired “in any case, the big bad bat isn’t known for leaving things he doesn’t understand alone, and I’m not really looking to be a lab rat again. Zero out of ten do not recommend. Turns out being vivisected fucking hurts, man.”

“Why won’t you let me take them out for you? Besides, I’m not weak. I can hold my own just fine.”

And thats the million dollar question, isn’t it? Dannys gaze fixes upon the ill looking moon, pallor as he peers through the smog of the dingy city and into the sky. “Because he told me to wait.”

“Who?”

Clockwork. 

Clockwork told him to wait. To do the one thing he hates more than anything in the world. To do the unforgivable - to sit idle when they had Ellie. As much as he’d love to spit venom and recite every reason why the GIW needed to be taken care of much sooner rather than whenever Clockwork had in mind, he can’t. He’s - and Ancients, he’ll never forgive himself - scared. He’s scared.

Logistically, he knows he’s strong. Stronger than anyone in any of those facilities compounded. Stronger than Vlad in terms of raw power if not in wiles, he’s stronger than Pariah Dark. Danny has tested his mettle against the worst of the worst and came out on top but he’s still fucking scared. Isn’t that something? Crown prince of the Infinite Realms is scared. 

There’s no one to magically make it better. No one to lean on because he’s the strongest, he’s it. And if the strongest can’t stand up because they’re too busy having a panic attack at the sight of a lab coat then really, what use are they?

“I can’t tell you that.” He glances down to the alleyway below them. It’s filthy. Wet newspaper plastered to the pavement, old gum cemented in place like spots on a dalmatian. It looks a lot like how Danny feels most days.

Nightwing frowns. “I can help you,” he says. It sounds painfully earnest, like he believes he really, really, could. 

“That's a nice offer, Nightwing, but I can’t take it yet.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

There he is. That’s the boy the bat raised. “Can’t.”

*

The next time Dick sees Danny it isn’t in Bludhaven. 

It’s months later in her sister city, Gotham. Crime Alley, to be specific. It was during the tail end of a joint patrol with the newly minted Robin, Tim, whom he had sent back to the cave early. His eyes snagged on the figure of a young man carrying a child in the middle of the wet season, a thin thoroughly soaked through navy blue sweater clinging to him like a second skin. It was pouring down like the heavens didn’t know how to stop grieving. 

It seemed as anguished as Dick was in the immediate absence of Jason. He blinks tiredly and washes the thought away. There’s a little girl cradled in Danny’s arms with hair just as pitch black as his own, burrowing her small face in his neck, tiny arms clinging as the man himself runs his hand soothingly on her back, murmuring apologies into her hair. “I know, I know, I’m sorry Ellie, I’m sorry. It’s okay, it's- We’re out. We’re okay.”

It’s a painfully private moment, one that he feels guilty for witnessing. The girl - Ellie, sobs into Danny’s chest. It isn’t his place to watch, to witness this. All the same, he wishes he could comfort them somehow. 

[bunni-v1]

May we get some crk thoughts, my liege? I too have a hyperfixation—

Shadow Milk Cookie Headcannons (SFW & NSFW)

🍓Thank you for the excuse to write this shit, I feel less insane being asked to do it lol. I still think this might taint my public image, so lets hope none of my future employers fuck with tumblr. Anyway only smc since he's who I'm obsessing over. I was gonna add pv, but I write wayyyy too much to include both of them on one post. Maybe I'll do him if someone asks nicely. I'll have a mix of both sfw and nsfw so beware lol.

MDNI (I'll find u)

TW: Shadow Milk Cookie; Obsessive behaviors; Stalking mentioned; Nsfw under the cut; unedited

Info: Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader; Sfw & Nsfw headcannons

Credit for Beast Bite Idea: @rollingeevee (go give them love I adore this AU)

-To start I'm gonna say, he's insane, like genuinely. He leans into a lot of yandere-esque behaviors, but I firmly believe he's not a full-on yandere, just really fucked up in the head (trauma and such, poor thing, wah wah wah.)

-Pre-Corruption Shadow Milk surely had a lot of admirers, but admiration is very different from genuine love and connection. He was, in a very literal sense, on a different level than all the cookies on earthbread. He's immortal, a god meant to care for all cookies, romantic relationships with cookies (other than the other heroes) just aren't an option in his mind. (For the sake of these, none of the beasts have had any romantic interaction with him, because I don't wanna deal with that can of worms rn.)

-All that to say, it's highly unlikely he has much experience in relationships. Maybe he's had flings, and some sexual encounters, but I doubt he would commit to someone he would inevitably lose to time. And, sure, he certainly could artificially extend their lifetime... but that's unethical and unfair to his partner. The burden of immortality is not one a regular cookie is baked to bear.

-So when he is inevitably corrupted and sealed away, romance isn't really a thought on his mind. He's very fixated on escaping that stupid tree and enacting his revenge. Which he does, at least in part, and with his freedom comes half of his powers and ensuing chaos.

-There are not many ways he could meet you if I'm quite honest, so I'll leave that up to personal interpretation. However you do meet him, though, you have to be intriguing. He gets bored of people easily, so you have to stand out -- be that in your demeanor or the way you speak or how you challenge him, it just has to be interesting. Once he's interested he's hooked.

-He's rather... mmm... obsessive? He likely stalks you for a while before he makes any moves. He wants to learn your patterns, the cookies you surround yourself with, the things you like, your job, your favorite foods, what flowers you like, and how do you feel about his chaos? He'll even manipulate things around you, just to see how you might react. (Is it fucked up? Yeah, lol! But isn't it equally endearing? He seems to think so.)

-You have frequent reoccurring dreams about him in this period of time. You've only seen him from a distance at this point, but you can't quite shake him from your thoughts. What's very important here is that you realize that your thoughts are not your own. Acknowledge that he's watching, and make sure that he's aware you're aware. Be that by purposefully doing something he could recognize as acknowledgment, or outright saying that you're aware he's messing with you. He values curiosity and intelligence in a person, if you can break yourself out of his cycle he's 100% sold on you.

-It doesn't take much longer after that for him to make his first official appearance. Bowing gracefully in front of you as he materializes from thin air, smiling like a man driven mad by infatuation.

-Believe it or not, he's really not all that creepy or pushy. He's very playful and charming, and while you have the knowledge he'd been watching you for a long time at this point, it's hard not to fall for him. He flirts with an ease that no other cookie really has, and he's so very funny never failing to get a smile out of you at his jokes.

-Now, this may go against what others characterize him as a lot, but I don't believe he's the type to steal you away and lock you up. Shadow Milk is a cookie who wants to be wanted, he doesn't want his feelings to be entirely one-sided, it would really hurt him to pour himself into someone who does not want to reciprocate his passions.

-He's unbelievably patient with you. Despite what the mental manipulation from earlier implies, he allows you to set the pace and make the moves, mostly nudging you gently in the direction he wants you to go now that he has your attention. Again, he wants you to choose him. He wants you to love him, so he will happily wait as long as it takes for you to realize and accept your longing for him.

-He gives you the flowers you like, and listens to you talk about your exceedingly boring days (with rapt attention, of course, he loves listening to you talk as much as he loves talking). If you ask, he'll take you anywhere you'd like to go on earthbread with a snap of his fingers, showing you sights you'd only dreamed of seeing. (Whether or not these are illusions are still up for debate).

-It's very hard not to fall for him with all this considered, and he knows that of course. He was just waiting for you to confess, and you have to confess. He won't do it even if you make it clear you want him to. It's not something he'd ever admit to you -- or himself -- but he doesn't want to risk even the slightest bit of rejection. It would break him more than he's already been broken, so you'll have to do it for our poor little jester.

-When you do though? Oh, he's over the moon! Practically swooning as he scoops you up and spins you around in celebration. He's so overjoyed. He is wanted, there is someone in this world who loves him genuinely. There's no false platitudes or any worshipping done, just raw affection between the two of you. (Just the tiniest bit of manipulation at the start, but obviously you've dismissed and forgiven that at this point).

-Again, he doesn't immediately take you away from your life if you don't wish to be. He does heavily encourage you to come spend your days with him, though. He can take care of you, he's literally a god, you'll never ever want for anything so long as he can control it (which he can, duh).

-I feel it very important to emphasize that in a relationship with him, you are equal. Even if you literally cannot be equal in stature and power, you are equal in the relationship -- if anything you have more sway over him than he does over you. He's very, very in love with you, and he will do just about anything you ask of him so long as it doesn't interfere with obtaining his souljam.

-Having established that, let's get to the fun stuff.

-Shadow Milk Cookie is very physically and verbally affectionate. If you are around him it's likely he's touching you in some way. Whether that's him literally hanging off you like a baby monkey or just a hand on your arm, he likes to have a physical tether to you.

-Plenty of messy wet kisses all over your cute little face, he loves seeing you get all flustered and feeling your dough burn up from his barrage of affections.

-It's also very common for him to carry you around in various different styles. Over the shoulder, piggback, princess style, like a sack of potatoes... doesn't really matter. It's also a regular occurrence that you fall asleep as he floats around the spire of all knowledge. He doesn't need sleep, and he does not sleep often, but he likes holding you while you do so. It's proof of your trust in him, and he usually uses the time you are sleeping to be more genuinely affectionate. Soft words whispered in your ears bringing you sweet dreams as he runs his hands up and down your back, kissing the crown of your head with such love it would make a grown man blush.

-He calls you cute little nicknames, like shortcake or sweet thing. The most common, and his favorites, are doll/dolly and little star. (Little star is something he hums with such affection it makes you weak in the knees. You know he's feeling more adoring when he uses it.) Talks about how cute you are, how pretty you are, how desirable you are. How any cookie would be so lucky to have you -- too bad they could never compete with him!

-That being said, most of his affections are pretty surface-level stuff at the start of the relationship. At least, what you get to see. He has a hard time opening up to others, he's a very sensitive cookie deep down in his dough. It takes quite a while to get him out of his shell and start showing you who he is as himself.

-Who he is, is a very aching cookie. He lost so much, struggled with his own corruption, and still hasn't fully accepted it himself. He feels as though he has been betrayed and discarded by everything he once loved, it's no wonder he has a hard time showing you such ugly sides of himself.

-You warm him up, melt him slowly, and you get to see peaks of genuine love and adoration behind those heterochromatic eyes. He may never allow you to see all of him at once, but you do get to know him. If you continue to love him despite seeing the uglier side of things, there is a distinct shift in the way he showers you in affection.

-Initially, he's very showy with everything, his love is a spectacle for the two of you to watch. It's almost like he's put himself outside of the relationship rather than in it. After he opens up, it's quieter, more intimate. He's more involved in it, like it's less about showing you how much he loves you, and more about sharing that mutual feeling between the two of you.

-You didn't have much room to show him how much you cared for him, but now you do. He allows you to initiate physical affection and doesn't flinch away at the touch. He accepts your words of admiration for what they are, not questioning your intentions for any reason.

-Kisses are softer, more full of emotion. Less like he's drowning you and more like he's trying to swallow you up. Desperation to have you as close to him as possible can take him over quite frequently during make-out sessions, and they leave you breathless and fuzzy rather than burning and flustered.

-Now, you can't write Shadow Milk without acknowledging how fucking jealous he is all the time. Now, I believe it's less of a jealousy thing (though, that really is something that is frequent), and more of a possessive/protective thing.

-He doesn't get jealous of the average cookie, alright, not unless you show interest for whatever reason. They're not really a threat to him, and why would they be? He's secure enough to know that you wouldn't leave him for some random half-baked simpleton. HOWEVER, he DOES get jealous of the other beasts and especially Pure Vanilla Cookie.

-The other beasts aren't as powerful as him, but they're still powerful and cunning (some of them at least). Truly, on a level of divinity and ability to care for you, they are his closest competition. Even still, he only gets jealous if one of them seems to want to stake a claim on you, or you become too fascinated with one of them.

-If neither is the case, he highly encourages you to form relationships with them. They are cookies that, seemingly, he cares for. While they can be difficult to get along with, if you are someone Shadow Milk deems worth his time, you are someone they will also deem worth their time.

-Ah, I should also mention he gets... pouty about Black Sapphire and Candy Apple. He doesn't see either of them as a threat, so I couldn't say he's jealous... he just gets annoyed when you're being attentive to them when he's around. Black Sapphire is smart enough to set hard boundaries with you to start, for both of your sakes, but your relationship with him is very positive. You are Shadow Milk Cookies partner, after all, you're a very important Cookie and Black Sapphire has no reason to be unkind to you.

-Candy Apple Cookie on the other hand is the one who's jealous here. You find her positively adorable and her little crush on Shadow Milk is nothing but endearing in your eyes, but she very much is huffy about your relationship with him. Of course, she can't do anything to you, that would only turn against her in the end so she just pouts. You can win her over slowly, though, just by being sweet to her and comforting her when Shadow Milk rejects her once again.

-Your relationship with them seemingly pleases Shadow Milk, though you can't really tell if he's happy or not. Sometimes he seems pleased, other times he's pouty, so who really knows other than him.

-However, the cookie that really seriously gets under his skin the most is Pure Vanilla. He does everything in his power to keep the two of you as far away from one another as possible, but it's almost inevitable that you meet PV, especially when he becomes Truthless Recluse.

-Pure Vanilla is everything Shadow Milk is not. Kind, gentle, patient, soft-spoken, and of course truthful. He's very afraid you may meet PV and realize that you do not want to be with him anymore. You would rather have someone like Pure Vanilla Cookie to dote on you in a fashion that he cannot bring himself to do openly yet.

-Of course, you don't, but that doesn't stop the fear from seeping into his dough. The only way to ease him is by being patient and displaying your loyalty through and through. He won't really be calm until Pure Vanilla is take care of, but you can assure him that you won't be leaving him for his other half anytime soon.

-Circling back to his possessive and protective tendencies, Shadow Milk does see you as an object of his affection. He is fully aware you are your own cookie, you are not something he ever wishes to control entirely and remove autonomy from, but you are his. His to keep and love and protect.

-He's very obsessive about your well-being and happiness. If something hurts you (alive or not), it's gone, destroyed. He won't even make a show of it, it just disappears. If you are upset, he is there doing everything to make you feel better. Whatever you want, whatever you need! He's here for you, please rely on him (he needs you to rely on him).

-If you are out and about he keeps an eye on you, which you are aware of. It's rather obvious, so even if he doesn't tell you, you can feel him watching you. Ignoring it becomes easier with time, but if anything happens to you he wastes no time in popping up and taking care of whatever happens.

-This leads into my next headcanon (inspired by the ever-talented @rollingeevee go check them out!), he has a bite of sorts that he uses as a means of monitoring you. It's something he uses to pinpoint where you are at all times, even when he's not monitoring you actively. The bite acts as a connection between you and him, emotionally and physically tying the two of you together.

-You can feel what he feels through the bite, anger, sadness, joy, pretty much anything he feels you can feel. It also acts as a reminder to you that you should not stray too far from where he is, sending an uncomfortably heavy feeling through your dough. (This is a manifestation of his worry, and it only really happens when he notices you've gone somewhere a little too far from the safety of the spire).

-However, this goes both ways. He can also feel what you feel at the same intensity that you feel it. You can, likely less so, also tell where he is. There is a pull in the back of your mind from the magic telling you where to find him at all times, and it only lets go when you are in proximity of him. If you miss him, he feels the same heavy feeling in his dough reminding him that you would like him by your side.

-Now, finally, we have to address the topic of mortality. Shadow Milk is likely more aware than you ever will be of how mortal you really are. This is why he's so very protective and possessive of you, he doesn't want to lose you prematurely.

-However, if you are okay with it, he is completely fine with artificially extending your life span. In fact, he does it happily. He might even start doing it without asking if the topic hasn't been broached in a certain amount of time. He wants to spend as long as you'll allow him by your side, and if that means breaking a few rules of magic and cookie society then so be it. He's a god after all, he doesn't have to answer to anyone (other than the witches).

-Anyway, let's get to the shit you freaks are really here for. (Me, I'm freaks.)

-I don't really think sexual intimacy is something Shadow Milk desires all that much, but he more so likes it because it's... interesting? I'm sure he derives physical pleasure from sexual intercourse, but less so than the average cookie might. Most of his enjoyment comes from seeing you enjoy yourself.

-It goes without saying, but Shadow Milk Cookie is a freak. He's into pretty much anything under the sun (except maybe one thing...), and so long as you're down to try something he's happy to oblige you.

-He is a switch, but he leans dom most of the time, and you won't get him to sub early on in your relationship. That requires a bit too much trust for him, so he'll need time to be cool with giving you that kind of control over him. But he will bottom for you as your relationship progresses, and that's a whole different side to him.

-Lets start with him in a dominant role, though, since it's more common to get from him.

-Obviously, he's a tease, through and through. He loves to watch you squirm and react to the things he does. Tantalizingly light touches drawn over your dough, teeth grazing your soft body almost piercing but never quite getting deep enough, heated breath blown over your most sensitive spots but never relieving you with his mouth as you so desperately need.

-Truthfully he could spend another thousand years just tracing over you, committing each inch to memory until he's satisfied in knowing every inch of you. Unfortunately, (or fortunately), he's not nearly as patient in the bedroom as he is outside of it. Not with all of you on display for him, so trusting and open, ready for him to defile you. Oh, his sweet, sweet little dolly~

-Even with his impatience, his teasing does not stop. His hands continue to ghost over you, making sure you're still squirming even as he succumbs to his need to taste you.

-Oh, and tastes you he does. He doesn't have to subscribe to regular cookie physical limitations, so he somehow manages to swallow you whole. Jaw unhinging so he can get as much as he needs from you, tongue splitting itself to give you attention everywhere, and god is it long and dexterous. He can reach so very deep and it moves with such precision, it makes you cum embarrassingly fast.

-That is if he allows you to cum in the first place. He's a big fan of edging, which shouldn't be a surprise. He likes to get you so close, then deny you of your pleasure. Your whining and grumbling is the cutest thing on all of earthbread, don't you know? He can't help but edge you when you're so damn cute every time.

-Your pleasure is in his hands, and it requires such relinquishing of power and trust. In a weird way it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, especially when you thank him over and over once he finally allows you to come undone after hours of teasing.

-Speaking of, he is a big fan of being praised for the work he does on you. Your moans and pleas are reward enough, but if you mumble out about how good you feel, how much you love him, how amazing he is he'll become drunk on your praise. Chasing after it with fervor, meaning he's going down on you with so much more excitement somehow.

-He's into blood (jam?) play. He likes leaving physical reminders of your relationship all over your body (yes, even ur vag/dick if you let him). With how sharp his teeth are, it's impossible for you not to bleed when he does so, and he does really like the sight of your jam. It's so pretty and so different from his own, another reminder of how different you are, and how much you trust him. (He'll lick it up and purr at the taste.)

-Bruises are also littered about your dough, his grip on you is tight, like you might slip away from him. The treatment is rough and harsh, but it feels so nice to be manhandled by him. The bruises are just nice little reminders of who you belong to. (He gets all proud when other cookies worry about them, like he's done something worthy of praise).

-He likes watching, he's very much a voyeur. Occasionally requests that you pleasure yourself for him so he can watch you struggle to get off, and he'll only help you out when you're near tears begging him.

-He prefers coming across you by himself, without having to request it. Or just feeling waves of pleasure through your bite. He'll watch you quietly fuck yourself without letting you know he's there. (Though, you most certainly can feel his eyes on you, that's what makes it so fun right?) Sometimes he'll join you after, and other and times he'll leave you be, it's 50/50 either way and regardless you still end up happy.

-If anyone else walks in on you when you're alone, he's very unpleasant. Accident or not they'll learn to be more aware of their surroundings next time.

-That doesn't mean he's against being watched though. Actually, he finds the idea of someone else seeing how well he treats you enticing (especially if it's someone like Pure Vanilla hehe). If you are together and someone walks in (or spots you in public), he won't stop. Instead, he'll lock eyes with them and smile big and wide, showing off his favorite little dolly for them.

-He's just so proud of you, and you're so very pretty beneath him, the whole world should get to see how you fall apart for him. He'll even make you look at them just to see how you fluster.

-If the offender tries to do anything other than watch, though, well... I really hope they didn't want to live for much longer. He's very much not a sharer, at all. The idea of anyone even thinking they could touch you and make you feel good both makes him laugh and want to tear them apart at once.

-He's very much into roleplaying and can get really into it. To the point, it loses the sexiness and is just the two of you playing around, which can be a bummer but is usually really fun. He likes things that lean into power dynamics but explicitly avoids god/king and worshipper/subject. A little too close to home for him, and would honestly be too boring and basic for him.

-He loves it when you dress up for him in pretty little outfits, be it lingerie or something more cutesy, he adores it regardless. Going out of your way to pretty up for him is a huge turn-on. He also loves it when you let him dress you up how he likes. Regardless of what you're wearing, it's not coming off the whole night. It will get ruined and he won't apologize for it. Besides, he can just replace it, right?

-Sex is more fun for him, but he can be intimate when he wants to be. Usually, when you're in control, he is at his most gentle. Yes, he's a brat when he bottoms and he'll fight you tooth and nail, but once you get him to submit he's the softest and sweetest you've ever seen him.

-He looks at you like you're the god, wide eyes taking in everything you do with such admiration it might make you crumble on the spot.

-He's much quieter, treating it less like a spectacle. Moans soft and squeaky, like he's not used to using his voice in such a way. He clings to you like a vice at each little movement, almost afraid you might disappear if he lets you go.

-Oh, and he praises you so much. 'So good', 'Thank you', 'You're perfect', and 'I love you' all tumble from him with such genuine gratitude.

-Being allowed to let his guard down and have you take control is cathartic for him, which is why it's so uncommon to have it happen. It's why he fights you for control so hard because this is an intimacy he isn't used to. It is hard for him to allow you to see him so weak, but you never use it against him. You're so very sweet and loving, and it makes him melt like butter in your grasp.

-If you have the bite I mentioned earlier, it only makes things so much more intense. Both of you can feel the raw emotion connecting the two of you, making the pleasure heighten further.

-In fact, when he gives you the bite it's the first time he allows you to top him. To connect you to him makes him very vulnerable, so he would naturally have to be in a vulnerable state already when he does so.

-It's unlike any of his other bites, it's far more painful when he initially bites down, but when his magic flows through it your body feels light and airy. The pleasurable feeling wrapping itself around your spine, and you feel what he's feeling. All that adoration pours into your being at once, and it's overwhelming to really feel how much he loves you.

[poisonofthepaint]

lucky you

jack calls you in on your day off, which leads to hooking up in the on-call room, which leads to him finding your tattoo.

wc: 2.5k

cw: MDNI, semi-public sex, f!reader, age gap, pinv, oral, lmk if i'm missing anything!

The date you were heading toward was less than exciting. You knew you needed a life outside of the hospital, Dana had given you a wake up call last week. You had been working doubles like it was nothing, but this was your first day off in a while, so you figured you’d download a dating app, get a free dinner on a Friday night. Not that you couldn’t afford dinner, this was more like dinner and a show. Max was a kind guy, but you could tell he didn’t take you seriously— that he underestimated you. So this was your chance to show up a man, and have him pay for your dinner. Win win.

Then, your phone rings. The ringtone that you have set for hospital staff interrupts your music and blares through the speakers. You groan, checking to see who it was. You were surprised to see that it was Jack, you figured since he was agreeing so hard with Dana last week that he would be the last person calling you.

“It’s my day off,” you answer

“I need you here.” Jack sounds out of breath. 

“Are you kidding?”

“You know I’m not. Ellis is sick, I thought we could manage but we cannot. I need you here.”

“You’re buying me dinner.” you say, exasperated.

“Gladly,” Jack ends the call. 

You know he wouldn’t call you unless it was actually an emergency, Jack wasn’t like that. He wanted to be able to manage. He wanted to be able to handle it by himself. So when he calls you, it’s important. You take off the blue dress you had on, switching it out for a plain white t-shirt before throwing your scrubs on top. You grab the bookbag full of your supplies for shifts and head out of your apartment.

The hospital is only a few blocks from your apartment, so you walk. It’s a bit chilly out; the springtime air blowing through the trees. It looks like it’s gonna storm, and you get to the hospital right before it starts, ducking your head as you walk into the entrance. 

The patients are grouchy in the waiting room, all groaning and yelling. The seats must’ve been taken up hours ago, there’s more people standing than sitting. You push your way through the front door.

“Good, you’re here.” Abbot was waiting at the doors like he had timed you. “You’re not supposed to wear perfume here.” he chastises.

“Had already sprayed it when you called me, figured I didn’t have time to shower.” 

“Right,” his eyes catch yours and he refuses to look away. “We have a lot of injuries from a car crash. A bunch of guys were speeding on the highway and about six of them were sitting in the open truck bed. A semi driver didn’t see them swerving around and knocked them off the road.”

Jack finally breaks eye contact and walks away, you follow him back into Trauma 1. There’s a young guy, probably around twenty-three, screaming in pain. His hand is holding on by a string, like, literally. It’s barely connected. 

“Noah, this is my best resident, she’s gonna take a look at you.” Jack tells him, yelling over the boy’s own screeching.

“I don’t care who she is, fix my fucking hand! I’m on a baseball scholarship!”

“I’m really glad I cancelled my date to be here.” you say, examining his arm.

“You were going on a date?” he says, you think you hear a tinge of jealousy in his voice, but you brush it off.

“Aren’t you the one who told me to go have fun?” Jack doesn’t answer, just goes back to the patient, and you do too.

There are a lot of injuries, some superficial, some very serious. Noah will lose his hand, because he was stupid. You learn that he was the driver of the truck, and that he was drinking. You try to have empathy for all of your patients, but it’s hard when they’re being willingly stupid, and killing their friends. Noah heads up into surgery, and everything is rather stable now. The ED returns to its normal business, waiting for beds upstairs, triaging emergencies from the ambulances. 

You sit at your station and chart your patients, trying to remember all that happened in the whirlwind of your arrival. Jack stands right in front of you, charting as well. He looks back once, twice.

“You need something?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“Nah, just making sure you’re good.”

“I am just peachy, although I could use some dinner.” you smile up at him brightly.

He makes a noise that’s somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, “Guess I did promise.”

Jack pulls out his phone, opening DoorDash before handing it over to you. You swipe through the restaurants before you find some Chinese place that catches your eye. You put what you want in the cart before handing his phone back to him.

  “Thank you, Dr. Abbot!” you get up from your seat and go to do a round of checkups.

You briefly see him shake his head as he looks down at his phone. 

It’s  a while before the food gets there, and even longer for the driver to argue with the nurse at triage. Jack finally sees the commotion and goes out and grabs it, apologizing to the nurse.

He calls you over and you grab the food, heading into the breakroom. You sit down and open up the paper brown bag. You think about how your night worked out, you got free dinner and a show anyway. And this was actually a show you quite enjoyed. You did love your job, maybe an unhealthy amount. But you had worked so hard to get here, and you were good at it. You were Abbot’s best resident. You were fast at assessing and scoping out which treatment would be best. You flew around the ED like it was nothing to you. 

After a few minutes of eating alone, Jack came to join you, taking what he ordered out of the bag.

“So, what’s wrong with Ellis?” you pry.

“She thinks she has the flu, super high fever and throwing up.”

“Got it, just wanted to make sure this wasn’t all a ploy to get me here on my day off.”

“And if it was?” Jack asks. 

You’re stunned for a second before you regain yourself, “Then I would say you’re very unprofessional, and that you’re interfering with my personal life.”

He shrugs– smirks, “You don’t want a healthy work life balance. Plus, we have fun together, don’t we?”

You try not to think about how he can read you; how he’s got you memorized like you’re the back of his hand. “We do.”

You finish your food and throw the empty container in the trash, excusing yourself. You swoop into the on-call room, trying to calm yourself. You rest your back against the door and swipe a hand down your face. 

The truth is, you’ve had a crush on Jack since your first day at The Pitt. it was a schoolgirl one at first, you thought he was cute. It was fun to be attracted to your boss; to have a little work crush that you could be excited about. But then, it started getting deeper, Jack paid extra attention to you, he could tell that you actually enjoyed the ED. You were always with him on cases, he picked you for his ‘team’ during busy mass casualties. He got to know you, you got to know him. He was no longer a mysterious crush who you just thought was cute. You liked him, in a way you didn’t want to. It was distracting some days. It was even more distracting when you had a feeling you weren’t being delusional. When you wondered why he called you, a second year resident, instead of one of the seniors, or another attending. 

There’s a knock at the door, and you open it, shocked to see Jack standing outside. He walks in and you allow him, moving out of the way so he can lock the door behind him. You can feel your heart in your throat. You sit down on the bed, hoping it’ll stabilize you. 

There’s silence; tension you could cut with a knife. He stands with his hands resting on a countertop. The storm rages outside the window, a big crack of thunder rings throughout the room. Jack is just looking, trying to scope you out. He pushes off and approaches you. You swallow, and look down at your feet, trying to avoid eye contact, but Jack isn’t having any of it. He grabs your chin and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him. He leans down, presses his forehead against yours. He lets his lips ghost yours— just barely.

“Tell me to stop.” he begs, out of breath, just like when he called you.

You place a hand on his neck, fingers threading lightly through the hair at the bottom, “What if I don’t want you to?” He groans, burrows his head into your neck. “I want it, Jack, of course I want it.” 

That’s all it takes. His lips are on yours without another beat. The kiss is rough— needy. Your teeth clash against each other, and his tongue explores your mouth. He lays you back onto the bed and your legs open, making room for him. He settles himself and gets to work on your neck, his hand slowly slides up your shirt, resting on your stomach.

He’s still being cautious, you think. You push his hand up and he cups your breast. He makes a strained noise when he feels the lace on your bra.

“You were gonna wear that for him?” Jack asks, right into your ear.

“No, I was wearing it for myself.” an honest answer. 

Jack rips your pants off and sees, what he assumes, is the matching thong. The underwear shifts down a bit, and you think Jack is gonna pass out.

Your small tattoo, a mistake from undergrad. A scripture on your hip that reads, ‘lucky you.’

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, kid.” he brushes his thumb over the words. Thinks about them. Doesn’t move for a minute. 

“Good thing we’re in an emergency department.” 

The nickname sends a wave of arousal through you, just like it always does. It’s how he usually referred to you during emergencies, when you’d catch something that no one else saw. It was how he praised you. You never imagined you’d hear it in this context.

Jack stands up and you whine. He quickly strips off his clothes and is back on you in a second. He rests on his stomach and kisses your tattoo sloppily.

He rips off your underwear with ferocity. You’d be smart to feel a tinge of embarrassment. He is your boss. But you don’t. This feels right, this feels good. He swipes a finger through your folds and you keen. 

“So wet for me.” he mumbles.

Jack wastes no more time. His tongue makes quick work on your clit. He moves like he knows you. Like he’s done this a million times, like there’s no room for error. And there isn’t. You both knew this needed to be quick. There were patients outside of the door, and the nurses and other doctors will be wondering where you two went. He works at your clit and you try your hardest to not make any noise. He looks up at you while his tongue is buried in you, and you let out a cry. He reaches a free hand up and covers your mouth. You bite down on it and let your head fall back on the lumpy pillow.

Then, Jack pulls away. “The fuck?” you say it into his hand, so it’s a bit muffled.

“We’ve only got time for one thing. You’re gonna come when I do. Just had to get you ready.” He says.

You want to salute. You want to scream. You don’t really know how this is happening. 

Jack pulls off his boxers and you gulp. You see why he needed to get you ready. The length alone was bigger than anything you’ve taken, but he was girthy too. 

He pulls a condom out of a drawer in the room. “Did you stash that in here?” you laugh.

“No, they keep them in here. I always wondered why, but now I see.”

He rolls it on quickly and comes back to the bed. He rests on his heels, taking you in. “Are you sure?” Jack asks again.

“I’m positive. I’ve wanted this since I met you.”

He nods slowly, small smile coming to his lips. He moves so his hands are right next to your head. Jack lines himself up with your entrance and sinks in deep. 

“Shit,” he mumbles. “So fucking tight.”

“You feel so good,” you cry.

“Yeah? This good for you?” He sets a brutalizing pace, hips never faltering. His head falls into your neck again. “Your perfume is driving me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Could smell you whipping around this hospital. Every time you passed me, I thought I was going to have to take you right there.”

He’s rambling now, you realize. Pussydrunk from how you feel. 

“Maybe I’ll have to wear it more, break the rules a bit, if it leads to this.” you say, resisting the urge to moan in the middle of your sentences.

He pants, stifles his own noises. “You’re close,” you say.

“It’s been a while, every time I went on a date, I would just think of you.” 

“Is that true?”

“I’m already in your pants, no reason to lie.” his hips start to stutter. “Y’gonna come with me?”

You scope out the feeling in your stomach and focus in on it, Jack brings a hand down between your bodies and starts rubbing your clit. “Fuck, God, yes. Yes, I am.”

The room is filled with heavy breaths, the air has gone thick. You spot a bolt of lightning run through the sky and grab Jack’s head, bringing his ear down to your mouth. “Now,” you whisper.

The thunder hits right as you both finish. It’s loud enough to mask the noises neither of you could hold back. He continues the pace until you come down. You both gasp into each other. Jack slowly pulls out, taking the condom over to the trash can and burying it under some paper towels. 

He comes back to the bed and sits on the edge, massaging your shin. “I’m gonna make an assumption and say that was the best sex of your life,” you scoff, but don’t deny it. “But, we have to get back.”

“I know,” you say, wishing you could stay in this room forever. “God, this is really gonna fuck with my work life balance.”

Jack laughs and stands up, placing a kiss on your forehead. “C’mon, lucky girl. We’ll figure it out.”

[keferon]

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

[katiascraft]

﹙MV1﹚ ── ❝ am i enough? ❞

summary: max feels insecure about his body :( (so you comfort him)

warnings: none. it's just pure fluff.

author's note: first time writting 'bout max. short but i just felt i had to write this for some reason. hope it isn't stupid. love you all <3

blog masterlist

Max was taking a shower in the in-room bathroom of our ensuite bedroom in your Monaco house. It was quiet in the monegasque night. You were getting in your pajamas not thinking much about the world and trying to tidy up the room a bit because none of you had time to actually tidy all of it up the proper way. But this will make it for now. 

You heard the shower turned off. Max seemed off all day. He was unusually quiet. You tried to comfort him as much as you could but something was going on in that head of his. But you didn’t want to pressure him nor invade his space when he feels like this. Even if you don’t know what's actually going on with him. You just knew he felt sad. The look in his eyes said it all to you but respected him and let him take his time until he wants to talk about it. 

After a few minutes Max finally gets out of the bathroom. To your surprise he is fully dressed and with the hood of his hoodie over his head. You frown a bit when you see him. This is very unlike max, you thought. He usually walks around th house in just boxers with not a single care. So this was worrying. 

He didn’t say a word. He just crawled into the bed and adjusted himself under the sheets. You looked at him a bit worried and even though you wanted to let him take his time, you needed to check in. 

“Max, are you ok?” your voice was soft and low. You didn’t want to make him feel pressured with the questions. He stopped looking at his phone. Tiktoks could be heard playing on his screen. He blocked it and paid attention to you. “You've been off all day baby, do you want to talk about it? No pressure” you continued looking at him in the eyes trying to figure out what was going on with him but unable to anyway. 

He licked his lips nervously “i’m not okay” his voice was below whisper and you thought you heard a crack. That made sirens in your head turn on. You crawled the bed and laid next to him.

“What’s wrong baby?” you said gently caressing his hair. Worry all over your eyes expecting his answer.

He took his time trying to find some comfort in your gentle gesture. He was a bit ashamed of his feelings even when it came to you. 

“I just looked in the mirror this morning and i didnt like what ive seen to be honest” his voice was shaky between hurt and anxiety. He didn't want to be judged but even though he knew you wouldn't, his pattern because of childhood trauma was still there. Triggering him all the damn time. And sometimes, like today, it takes it stoll in him. 

Your heart broke listening to him saying all of those words aloud. That’s because you got him so well. 

“Baby, I got you. But you’re so beautiful my love. Don’t let those evil voices in your head win” you said, understanding him and trying to give him some comfort. He looked at you with puppy eyes. He was in the book of crying with his lips pouting.

“You really think I'm enough?” His voice is so tiny and shaky. This is so heartbreaking. You got closer to him so you could look each other in the eye and feel you close. You grabbed his face gently, caressing his cheek sweet. 

“Maxie, my love, you’re more than enough. You’re so fucking beautiful max emilian, everytime i look at you the only thing i can see is beauty” you tried to reassured him. He couldn’t look at your eyes anymore or else he would start crying. 

“But I don't have a pretty face nor a good body. I'm not like danny or lewis or even charles.they look good, i don't. I look squishy… i don't like it at all” his voice now expressed a bit of anger. You assumed it was rustration. You shook your head looking at him and trying to find his eyes again. 

“Baby, don’t compare yourself. You’re beautiful in your own way. You have a pretty face, you have a good hell of a body. Max, you’re so hot i can’t even control myself most times” you tried to make him laugh but he smiled at best. Your heart ached for him. “I know it's hard , okay? I know you’re exposed to the world to see and to have an opinion on you. And that must be really hard for you to deal with. I know. And people are mean and will comment so much nonsense just to hurt you. That’s all they want. Don't let them win, baby. They say ugly things about you for a reason, right? Because you’re too hot, too good and a fucking world champion. They can’t cope with that much in one single person.” finally you made him giggle a little. You smiled sweetly at him. 

He hugged you, hiding his face on your neck. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, caressing his back gently. 

“So am i enough?” he asked in a whisper. Your hand on his hair makes him feel safe. 

“More than enough, maxie. You’re gorgeous and I can not be more obsessed with you. "You kissed his head softly. And you didn’t see him but he has a smile on his face now. 

“I love you, y/n” he said, pressing a soft kiss on our neck. That sent shivers down your spine and smiled sweetly. 

“Love you my super hot and fast formula one racing driver, no one can compete with you” you said cheeky and made him giggle. When he got apart you say he cried but hid. It broke your heart a little but you understood. Gently you whipped his tears with your thumb. 

“And i love my super duper beautiful, caring, loving and perfect girlfriend” he said now making you giggle. You loved that man to death. 

And he loved you until forever falls apart.

˖ ֹ੭୧ the end ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

don't forget to like, reblog and comment i you liked it! and follow me so we can be friends <3 (and drink mate together)

[thescarletfang]

don't want you like a best friend

Jack Abbot x F!reader

3.6k

Warnings: MDNI!!!!! 18+. face-sitting, oral sex (f recieving), deceased wife kinda mentioned, implied age-gap (reader mid to late 30s in my head)

Summary:

You look up to find him staring at you like he has you memorized.

Fuck it. He asked. 

“He didn’t want to go down on me.”

The air gets sucked out of the room as your statement lingers between you. To his credit, Jack keeps looking right at you. Your face is on fire but you refuse to break eye contact first. You feel absolutely insane, and you think if this goes on for one more second you are leaving and walking to PTMC and jumping off of the roof. 

Another muscle twitches in Jack’s jaw and your eyes flick to his knuckles flexing where he holds the mug, the only tells that he’s registered what you’ve said.

When he speaks, it comes out gravelly. “What?” 

or

Jack can't handle that nobody's gone down on you in years.

******

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Jack smirks at your declaration, his eyes flicking over to where you’re melting into his couch. You glare at your attending — the man who has, over the last three years, become your friend. 

“Kinda seems like you wanna talk about it,” he quips, voice full of mirth as he takes a sip of his tea. You raise your own mug to your lips, letting the English Breakfast warm you all the way to your toes. 

It’s the end of both your days but the beginning of everyone else’s. The sun has just crested over Pittsburgh, slicing through the gray, industrial smog with shimmers of a spring morning. 

It had been a hell of a night, so when Jack asked if you wanted to come back to his place for some tea to decompress, you’d agreed immediately. It’s a ritual between you, one forged from the fire of ED trauma and the feral atmosphere of working the night shift. Sometimes it’s your place. Other times – like now – it’s his. 

You’ve been friends with Jack Abbot since the second year of your residency, and now in your final year, you feel calm with him in a way you don’t feel with anyone else. 

You consistently ignore the fact that he is devastatingly handsome and the best man you’ve ever met. It’s fine. You are fine and you can compartmentalize and you do not – repeat, do not! – have something as juvenile as a crush on your night shift attending because that would just be…ludicrous. 

Which is why earlier this week you had found yourself on the first date from hell with a radiologist. Jack had asked how it’d gone, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and you’d glared at him.

Which brings you to now, hiding behind your steaming mug of tea and burrowing into Jack’s ridiculously comfortable couch. 

You sigh dramatically. “You really want me to relive the trauma?” 

Jack barks out a laugh from the other end of the couch. “Jesus. That bad? Where d’you find these guys?”

Your face burns. “At least I put myself out there.” There’s a hint of defensiveness in your statement and Jack (who you sometimes suspect knows you better than you know yourself) clocks it immediately. 

He clears his throat, eyes catching your gaze. “I’m not makin’ fun of you. C’mon, you know that.”

You narrow your eyes at him but don’t say anything for a moment. He rubs a hand along his scruff. 

“Tell me what happened,” he says in a low voice. 

“It’s embarrassing,” you mutter, draining the last of your tea. You avoid his stare as you sit your mug (the one you always use at his house, the one with a disturbing anthropomorphic stethoscope with eyelashes and lipstick, a gag gift you’d gotten for Jack’s 48th birthday last year), on his coffee table. 

Jack shrugs. “It’s just me.” 

Yeah, it’s just you. 

He doesn’t even know he’s everything to you, and that’s the beginning and end of it all. You want to extinguish these stupid feelings because the truth of it is, if Jack reciprocated anything, he’d have made a move already.

Three, going on four years of closeness and tea and meals and movies and shared life and all of it. Of panic attacks and impatience and forgiveness and everything that makes up a foundation together. 

And never once has it ever crossed a line into what you so desperately yearn for. 

So, you go on dates. You hook up with men you know you’ll never build something with, and Jack remains firmly on the side of friendship. His hand continues to burn through your lower back when he passes behind you during a procedure, and he texts you good night every single fucking night and he’s so guarded and also the warmest man you know and the contradictions are pushing you toward a breaking point. 

But at the end of the day, you cannot blame him. He lost a wife before you ever knew him, you see the shadows he carries and the pain that lives in his eyes and you think, okay. Okay.

This is enough.

Friendship is enough. 

You look up to find him staring at you like he has you memorized.

Fuck it. He asked. 

“He didn’t want to go down on me.”

The air gets sucked out of the room as your statement lingers between you. To his credit, Jack keeps looking right at you. Your face is on fire but you refuse to break eye contact first. You feel absolutely insane, and you think if this goes on for one more second you are leaving and walking to PTMC and jumping off of the roof. 

Another muscle twitches in Jack’s jaw and your eyes flick to his knuckles flexing where he holds the mug, the only tells that he’s registered what you’ve said.

When he speaks, it comes out gravelly. “What?” 

The spell is broken and you groan, closing your eyes and leaning back so far into the couch you think it’s going to swallow you up. You have never been this humiliated in your life and it’s honestly freeing in a bizarre way. The words pour out of you. 

“You heard me! He said he doesn’t do that or whatever. Got real pissed when I told him I like, cannot physically just jump into penetration and need a partner to—to get me ready—”

A loud crash cuts you off and you realize Jack’s dropped his mug. It rolls underneath the coffee table, and you note that at least it seems he’s finished his tea. 

You look at Jack and you’re startled to see his neck is flushed and there are twin pink spots on his cheeks. 

His eyes are dark. 

You suddenly feel warm in a different way. 

Your heart begins to beat too quickly and the room suddenly feels too hot, Jack’s living room too small. You stand up, flustered. You and Jack never talk about…sex or hookups or anything like that and this is unchartered territory. You feel unmoored.

“It’s fine, I can’t remember the last time I hooked up with someone who actually wanted to do that—”

Jack makes a choked noise but you’re grabbing your purse from where you’d flung it on the couch, and you’re crossing his living room toward the door.

“Anyway, thanks for the tea, I’ll see you tonight—”

Jack says your name and you pause, hand on his doorknob. You take a breath and turn around. Jack’s no longer sitting. He’s standing in front of the chair, watching you closely. And then he crosses to you slowly, deliberately, his eyes refusing to look anywhere but into your own. 

You want to die and yet you physically cannot move. 

“Don’t go,” he says, voice gravel. He stops a space away from you. 

Your chest is rising and falling too quickly and you wish the floor would swallow you up. You let out a disbelieving laugh. 

“I am…mortified,” you tell him. “I can’t believe I told you any of that—”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he tells you, softly. “Those fuckin’ assholes are the ones who should be embarrassed.” 

Your skin tingles. “Yeah?”

Jack nods, taking a step closer. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. “Yeah. Like I said before, where do you find these fuckin’ guys?”

You laugh weakly. “It’s rough out there, Abbot.”

Jack lets out a breath through his nose and he–he bites his lip for a moment, his eyes boring into yours. Your legs are quickly turning to jelly.

What. Is. Happening.

“I uh—I’m gonna ask you something,” Jack starts, voice frayed at the edges. “And you gotta promise not to slap me.”

You laugh because you can’t help it. “What?”

The corner of Jack’s mouth quirks up by just a fraction and he swallows roughly. 

“Promise you aren’t gonna slap me.”

You look at him for a beat and when you realize he’s serious, you nod. “Okay. I won’t slap you.”

Jack steps even closer, his eyes flickering over your face, his head tilted down just slightly. The sharp line of his jaw begs for your fingers but you keep your hands at your side. 

“When was the last time you came on someone’s tongue?”

Your mouth drops open and you gape at Jack, a ringing in your ears that wasn’t previously there. Did he—did he just—?

“Jack,” you choke but he doesn’t flinch. 

“Tell me,” he urges, his fucking eye contact making your entire body light up. “Tell me the last time one of those fuckin’ assholes made you come on their tongue.”

You—you actually whimper—and Jack clenches his jaw so hard you think he’s going to break his teeth.

“I can’t remember,” you tell him quietly. “Years, I think.”

Jack nods, like you just told him the guy in T-5 needs to be intubated. “I’m gonna say something else now. You really gotta promise not to slap me, okay?”

You squint at him. “When have I ever given you the impression I’d slap anyone? Jesus.”

He grins now, boyishly, and it’s so lovely that you think, please. Please feel the same way I feel. Please. 

“When Robby threatened to put you on day shift, you definitely seemed like you wanted to slap him.”

You laugh. “Robby is a little shit.”

Jack laughs right back. “Yeah, he is.” He pauses, takes a breath. The air shifts again and it’s warm and you’re in his orbit, you feel yourself gravitating toward this man always, always, always. 

“Let me.”

Two words he says to you in a broken voice you’ve never heard from him. You frown, confused. 

“Let you what?”

Jack doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Let me make you come with my tongue. Ride my face.”

“Jesus,” you practically squeal because you have never been spoken to this way before, this way that is so sexy and blunt and you never in a million years thought Jack would say this to you, no matter how many times you’ve dreamt of it. You stare at your friend, gobsmacked. 

“Let me make you feel good,” Jack says in a low voice. You study him. He looks completely sincere. “Please.”

Is he-–is Jack Abbot begging you to let him make you come?

You have died. Surely, you have ceased to exist in this realm and you are looking down on another version of you in another world because Jack—he’s never given you any indication he’s ever even looked at you in a way that wasn’t platonic. 

“You’re insane,” you tell him because he is. This man is out of his mind.

Jack throws you a challenging look, quirking his eyebrow. “Am I? ‘Cuz from where I’m standing, any guy who refuses to go down on you is fuckin’ insane.”

You have quite possibly never been more turned on in your life, but you need to Think Clearly because this could — it could —

“If you do this, this could change everything,” you tell Jack honestly, and you know he sees the trepidation in your eyes. You wonder if he can read your fears, can read how badly you want him and have always wanted him. 

Jack shrugs. “So let it.”

Your eyes prick and you really need to get it together because you cannot cry at a time like this!

“But you don’t like me like that,” you say and you might as well have shoved Jack because he stumbles back as if your words have physical force. 

“What?” This man! This man has the audacity to look affronted and you scoff at your disbelief at his reaction. 

“What do you mean ‘what?’” You wave a hand between you. “You’ve never once made a move, Abbot. Excuse me if I am shook that you want to—to tongue fuck me all of a sudden.” You practically hiss “tongue fuck” and cannot believe the words have flown out of your mouth. 

Jack groans, runs a hand down his face. “Christ. The mouth on you—” he shakes his head, puts both hands on his hips and it’s so stupidly adorable. “You’re a doctor, I know you’re smart, you gotta know why I haven't made a move.”

You glare at this sassy man in front of you because how dare he. “When a guy doesn’t make a move, it’s usually because they’re not into you! Which you clearly are not! Into me, I mean.”

Jack looks at you like you’re the biggest idiot he’s ever seen and like he’s about five seconds away from grabbing your face and bringing it to him. 

Instead he stares for a moment and swallows. Your eyes follow his Adam’s apple, the way it bobs nervously. 

“You’re—you’re—” Jack breaks off and you’re so thrown by hearing him stutter. He’s always so sure. “Fuck, look. I’m old and—and you’re so good, you’re fuckin’ everything, what the hell do you want with a bum like me?”

His voice is so broken and you read between all the lines, everything he’s not saying.

I’m old.

I lost this once. 

I’m no good.

I don’t deserve you.

“Jack,” you whisper, and your hands come to cradle his jaw. He huffs out a breath of air, closes his eyes and leans against your hands. The motion makes you brave. 

“I want everything with a bum like you,” you tell him, your bleeding heart exposed and lying on the floor between you. Jack’s eyes fly open, dart between yours. 

“Yeah?” he croaks. He lifts his hands to your wrists, holding your own hands in place as they cradle his scruffy jaw. 

“Yes, you idiot,” you say, the words floating on a little laugh. “I’ve been waiting for you for…well, for a long time.”

Jack’s eyes glisten. He swallows. “I didn’t—I couldn’t ever let myself think that you’d ever want me as anything more than your friend.” He takes a breath. “I was willing to be just that forever if it was the only way you’d ever have me.”

You grin at him. “But you offer to let me sit on your face?”

Jack’s eyes flash. “Yeah, I’m kinda doing all this backwards, huh?” Then, “I’m not good at this. I haven’t done it in awhile. Not since—”

He breaks off roughly and you skate your hands down from his jaw to rest against his chest. You look up at him and you hope your eyes ground him. 

“I’m not good at this either,” you say. “We can…figure it out together. If you want. If you want me.”

Jack twirls a lock of your hair in his hands for a moment before he tucks it behind your ear. “You have no idea how badly or how long I’ve wanted you. Jesus. I want you so bad.”

You smile. “Oh good. Cuz I want you too.”

You catch sight of the relief in Jack’s eyes for a moment before he bends down and presses his lips against yours. You squeak into the kiss, so shocked that it’s finally happening and you can feel Jack smirk against your mouth. His tongue traces your bottom lip and you open for him and oh my god.

Jack’s tongue.

It’s licking into you and all you can taste is tea and Jack and holy fuck, he is such a good kisser. You slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and his hands find a home on your waist and your bodies bend together. 

He pushes into you, and a hand comes up to cradle the back of your head just as your back hits the door. Jack breaks away from your lips, his own trailing down your throat and you gasp for air. You press into him and feel his hardness against your belly and you throb between your legs. 

“Fuck, I need to taste you,” Jack pants, resting his head on your shoulder. You run a hand through his hair, gripping those salt-and-pepper curls that drive you insane.

“So taste me,” you tell him because you are an insane person. Jack makes you feel insane.

He pulls back, looking down at you and before you can say anything, he grabs you under your thighs and picks you up with strength you are—quite frankly—shocked by. You are not a tiny human and Jack’s nearing fifty and you’re wrapping your legs around Jack’s waist and oh my god, you’d die to see the way his arms are probably straining and flexing. 

“Hold on,” he growls and begins walking you toward what you assume is his bedroom but you’re a little distracted because he’s sucking on your neck. You grind into him and he moans and you’re moaning and it’s so much.

“I can’t believe you’re carrying me right now,” you gasp as Jack shoulders his way through the bedroom door. 

“I’m in great shape,” he defends and you’re about to say some smart-ass comment but it dies in your throat when he tosses you — tosses you!!!! — onto his bed. You bounce for a second before you lie on your back. 

Jack kneels on the edge of the bed and you prop yourself up on your elbows, looking at him and trying to catch your breath. 

“Take your clothes off,” Jack says, voice low and you can actually feel yourself get wet. He’s so commanding.

You sit up, shrugging out of your t-shirt. You drop it over the edge of your bed and raise an eyebrow at Jack, who’s still just kneeling and watching you. His eyes skate over your simple cotton bra like it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“You too,” you tell him and it spurs him into action. With one hand he reaches behind his head, tugging his t-shirt off and oh my god. His chest and his broad shoulders and his tousled hair. 

He leans down, his hands meeting the mattress and he crawls over to you, caging you in as you lie back down. His lips find the spot between your shoulder and neck and then his teeth skate over your bra strap and is—-is he—yes, he is pulling your bra strap down by his teeth.

“Jack,” you whine and he grinds his clothed cock over your core, fucking you into the mattress without actually fucking you and your head buzzes. 

He must sense your desperation in the way you say his name because he leans back and clothes are shed quickly. Your bra, his shoes and pants, your shoes and pants and then finally he’s looking down at you in only his briefs and you’re completely naked, your tits rising and falling and he’s panting, holding himself up, muscles corded in his arms and neck. 

“I’m ready for you to ride my fuckin’ face,” he says, voice wrecked with need and you whimper again. He gently scooches you over and lies down on his back and you sit up, throwing a leg over him, your bare cunt meeting the skin of his chest. 

His hands grab onto the meat of the back of your thighs, drift to grab handfuls of your plush ass and he moans, “You’re so fuckin’ sexy.”

You hover above his mouth, your hands find the top of his bed-frame and you look down. The sight almost destroys you.

Jack is looking up at you, curls disheveled, mouth glistening, a red flush down his neck, and your thighs are on either side of his head. He breathes you in and you almost come from that alone.

“Come on, baby,” he growls. “Ride me.”

You don’t need to be told twice. 

You sit down — on his face — and you can feel his groan reverberate through your core. From this angle, his tongue hits so deep and you haven’t felt this in so fucking long.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you’re babbling, your hips already grinding against his face as he laps at your center. “Fuck it’s so good, Jack it’s so good.” 

Jack’s eyes are open as he eats you because the man maintains eye contact like a motherfucker. His hands dimple your ass cheeks and he rocks you over his face while his tongue fucks you deep. The sounds that fill the room are obscene, your pussy wet and dripping. You slap your own thigh as you feel yourself getting so, so close—

“Yes!” you scream, gutturally, primal, you didn’t realize you were this loud during sex but it’s never been this good. “Right fucking there, fuck me right fucking there, Jack.”

Jack’s tongue is relentless and it finds your clit and he sucks hard and you’re done for.

“Oh fuck, I’m coming, Jack—-Jack, fuck, fuck!” Your vocal chords are shredded as your hands slam against his bedroom wall, your hips grinding against his tongue as your climax hits you, your nerve-endings on fire. 

You can’t catch your breath. You’re trying to and look down as Jack licks up all your juices, kisses the inside of your thighs, looks up at you. 

He looks so debauched, lips glistening, eyes pussy-drunk on you. 

“You taste unbelievable,” he tells you, his voice husky. “I could die down here.” 

You laugh, a wild free thing dislodging itself from your throat. You’re still straddling his chest, hands still braced on the wall. You move to get off, but Jack’s hands lock into your waist, keeping you in place.

“I’m not done,” he tells you, and — is he pouting?

“Jesus,” you say because you are spent and somehow already you feel yourself throb again. “You’re not?”

“Fuck no,” he tells you, and kisses your thigh. “Ride me again.”

You lick your lips and Jack’s eyes trace the movement. “I’ll ride your tongue again but then I need you to fuck me with your cock. Deal?”

Jack chokes on a laugh, like he can’t believe you’re real. Like he can’t believe you're his. 

He leans up, and right before his tongue licks into you again, he grins. It lights up his entire face. 

 “Deal.”

[heavenlybodies333]

Daddy Issues -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

The BAU is quieter after hours. No flurry of footsteps, no clipped commands or rustling case files. Just a low hum of computers left on overnight and the distant tick of the bullpen clock.

You’re curled up in the small corner of the library, cross-legged, back hunched, arms wrapped around yourself like they might hold you together better than he ever could.

You told yourself you weren’t going to cry. Not here. Not again. But the tears crept out anyway. And now you’re here, in the place that always steals him from you, waiting—again—because he swore he’d make it up with dinner, and you believed him. Again.

The door creaks open softly. You wipe your face quickly. “Hey.”

You look up, blinking through tears, and find Spencer standing there in his cardigan and slacks, a file in one hand, a slight furrow in his brow. “What are you doing here?” you ask, trying to sound casual, even as your voice cracks.

“He got pulled into a call,” Spencer says quietly. “He told me to tell you he’d be down as soon as he wrapped it.”

You nod. “Of course he did.” You wipe your face fast. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t respond right away. Just takes in the disheveled state of your textbooks, the uneven stack of flashcards, the smeared mascara on the sleeve of your sweatshirt. He says, soft as a breath, “Tell me what he forgot.”

Your stomach twists. You shake your head. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s so stupid. I’m twenty, I shouldn’t care.”

“That’s not how people work,” Spencer says, voice warm and achingly gentle. “That’s not how you work.”

You press your lips together. Hard. Trying to hold it in. “He was supposed to come to the presentation,” you whisper finally, like the words shame you. “My psych capstone. It was today.”

Spencer’s chest tightens. “He told me he’d leave early to make it.”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “Well, something came up. Probably another profile. Another victim. Another name on a file that matters more than mine.”

“That’s not true,” Spencer says instantly, but you cut him off with a look.

“You don’t get it. You have no idea what it’s like to be the thing he always chooses last.”

Spencer’s quiet. Not because you’re wrong. But because he knows you’re not. You look away. “He texted me after it was over. Said he was proud. Said he was ‘sure I did great.’ Like I’m some intern giving a slideshow instead of his fucking daughter.”

Spencer’s voice is barely audible. “You’re not second to him.”

You whisper, “Then why do I always feel like it?” voice breaking slightly. “It was on trauma-informed profiling. I used BAU cases for the foundation. His cases.”

Spencer smiles faintly. “Of course you did. I’d like to hear it sometime.” You looked over at him.

“I mean it,” he said. “All of it. The whole thing. In order. Start to finish. I’ll sit through it as many times as you want.”

Your throat tightened. “Even the stats section?” you whispered.

He smiled, warm and soft and proud. “Especially the stats section.”

“I even quoted you, you know.” You nudge him. “Statistically, you’re the most cited member of the team.”

He nudges back. “I’ll never let him live that down.”

And for the first time that day, you laugh. Quietly. Weakly. But it’s real. He holds your hand a little tighter. “I’ll remember your paper,” he says. “And I’ll ask to read it.”

You choke back a sob, “Thanks, Spence.” You lean your head on his shoulder. And for the first time that week, the ache in your chest starts to loosen. Because even if your dad forgets sometimes…Spencer never does.

a/n: Spence is my babygirl

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