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imagine-loki · 3 years

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Omega Mine

TITLE: Omega Mine

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 33/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Loosely based on: Imagine Loki discovers the Avengers have an omega who has healing powers living with them. He’s an Alpha and he wants her, badly.

RATING: M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 click here

Loki kissed you until you were breathless. Only then did he pull back to let you catch your breath. “You’re far too good at that,” you informed him as you were focusing on breathing again.

Loki chuckled, “I am known as Silvertongue for a reason,” he replied with a seductive purr. You kissed his nose, uninterested in anything having to do with sex after your week of heat. Loki smirked, but respected your unspoken wish. “There is something I need you to do for me,” he changed the subject, but gave you a gentle look that indicated that you probably weren’t going to like what he had to say. Though unlike a lot of other people in your life, he was treating you like an equal, not like a helpless Omega.

You looked up into his eyes. “You need me to do something for you?” You asked incredulously. What could you possibly do for him that he couldn’t do for himself?

Loki smiled. “Yes, little Omega,” he said warmly. “The mating bond is only half completed. You need to finish your half,” he informed you. He sounded like he was reminding you, but you had no idea what he was talking about. Your hand went to the mating mark on your neck. That was the only mating bond you knew about. An Alpha claimed an Omega by marking them and the mating magic bound them together. They could do so by force, though that was rare nowadays with all of the protections in place for Omegas. But the entire mating was an Alpha claiming an Omega. You’d never heard of an Omega having a part to play in the process.

“I don’t understand,” you told Loki softly. “An Alpha claims an Omega and that’s the end of it,” you reminded him.

Loki’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s…. Only half of it,” he said softly, searching your eyes for recognition of what he was talking about. He cursed softly when he didn’t get that recognition. “The bond isn’t complete until the Omega claims their Alpha in return. Midgardians have apparently forgotten that part of the bond… no wonder…” he trailed off. No wonder your society was so out of balance.

“So… you want me to mark you?” You asked him as you tried to wrap your head around the concept.

Loki nodded. “Exactly so,” he replied. “The bond remains incomplete until you do. It is… a handicap to have it incomplete,” he tried to explain. “Right now, it is only half a bond. We cannot share our strengths, nor help the other…” he shook his head when he saw the expression on your face. “Please, Elskling, please trust me,” Loki asked. He didn’t ask for a lot, but he was asking for everything now.

“But… Loki, it’ll hurt you!” You protested. You would have to bite him, to break the skin and draw blood. Alphas usually did it at the moment of orgasm to mask that moment of pain with pleasure.

“Just for a moment,” Loki agreed.

You paled and gripped one of his hands with both of yours, needing the grounding of his presence. “You’re my Alpha, I can’t hurt you!” You insisted, panicking over the thought of hurting him when he’d been nothing but kind to you.

Loki chuckled and pulled you into his arms. He stroked your hair gently to soothe you. “Elskling, it’s alright, I promise. It will only hurt for a moment and I have been through much worse pain in my life,” he reminded you. He’d been tortured by Thanos before he’d been sent to Earth to find one of the infinity stones hidden here.

“Torture?” You mewed. You didn’t want to do anything that would remind him of that pain and torture. You couldn’t stand the thought of your Alpha in pain. It was an Omega’s nature to care for and heal your Alpha.

“I need you to do this, Elskling. I know it’s hard. I know it goes against your very nature. I promise, it will only hurt for a moment,” Loki told you gently as he stroked your hair and cuddled you close to soothe you. “The bond needs to be completed,”

“Loki… I want to, but…” you couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him and marking him. It was so foreign.

Loki considered that and pressed a kiss to your hair. “I understand that you do not wish to hurt me,” he said gently. “How about a compromise?”

You looked up at him, grasping onto the hope he was giving you. “What compromise?” You asked.

“I know you have no interest in sex after you were just in heat and I respect that wholeheartedly. I would never press or force you,” Loki said quickly. “However, it might be easier on you to mark me if you use the Alpha’s technique of making the mark at the moment of orgasm,” he suggested.

You felt your cheeks heat at the suggestion and the image in your mind. But you were also inexperienced and didn’t know how Loki was suggesting this happen without you having sex. “H-how?” You finally asked stupidly. He said he wouldn’t press you to have sex…

Loki chuckled. “There are many, many ways to bring pleasure without intercourse,” he reminded you. How many times had he brought you to that pleasure with his mouth or tongue while you were in heat?

“Right…” you agreed, feeling dumb for not knowing that.

Loki placed his fingers under your chin and forced you to look up at him. He kissed you softly. “It’s alright, Elskling. We have centuries for both of us to get experience together,” he reassured you. “For now, you can use a hand,” he suggested.

A hand. That was safe. That wouldn’t hurt you when you were so repulsed by sex, but would give Loki pleasure and let you mark him when the pain would be negated by the pleasure you gave him. You nodded. “Yes. I can manage that,” you said softly.

Loki kissed your forehead. “Good girl,” he purred. You melted at the praise.

A few kisses later and Loki vanished his clothes. It left him in the vulnerable position as you were still fully dressed, especially the all-important fuzzy socks. You realized that he was doing it to help you feel more in control, safer. He guided your hand to his semi-erect cock and showed you how best to stroke, then to pump it once it was hard. When you had the hang of it, he pulled you into a kiss. The kiss didn’t stop his delicious moans of pleasure as you worked him. The skin of his cock was soft, though his erection was hard and large in your grip as you pumped. He shifted his hips and made a noise, whining for you to increase the pace. He acted like a needy Omega and you realized that was also for your benefit. He was playing a role to make you more comfortable and you loved him deeply for it. You gave him what he needed, working him hard and fast.

He finally broke the kiss and pulled your head down to his neck. You had felt his cock swell and knew he was getting close. “Now,” he rasped, his voice husky and deep with the pleasure that was building.

You hesitated a moment, unsure, but at his insistence, sank your teeth into his neck where he held you. He cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure as his orgasm hit at the same time. You tasted his blood in your mouth and had a moment of panic at what you’d done.

That panic only lasted a moment before you felt the rest of the bond settle into place. You hadn’t understood what Loki had meant until you felt the full bond. He had been right. You’d only been bound to him earlier, not the other way around. He had been able to feel you, but that was it. Now there was an open connection between you, one that couldn’t be broken, couldn’t be blocked or stopped. You would always know when the other was in danger, or needed physical or emotional support. Loki could take peace from you and you could take strength from him freely. It was so much more and so much better than the bond had been.

Peace filled you both when the bond was settled in place.

Loki pulled you close to let you rest on his chest as the wound was healing. He healed quickly so it already wasn’t bleeding any more. “You did well, Elskling. The bond is complete,” he purred.

“It’s amazing,” you agreed as you nuzzled close. Then something hit you. “Wait… did you say centuries?”

Loki laughed. “Yes, Elskling. With the bond complete, you’ll live as long as I do. Which will be a few thousand more years,”

You just gaped at that bombshell. Thousands of years?

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #Omega mine #Chapter 21 #nekoamamori

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villainship · 2 years

Note

Okay so SWTOR OC Spin the Bottle I got these matchups for my main 8 (I can’t link ‘em so you can check my blog for their profiles):

Adyllus-Xerzen

Noviitro-Lyir

Portirou-Zahied

Vanzeth-Rakine

Glondaka-Cezek

Rerfanox-TD

Lebaza-Elenir

Zinkaea-Vensys

Ooh, Hi! Let's see these profiles for the LIST --

Adyllus & Xerzen: Wary tolerance, I imagine, on the part of cat Sith toward a Jedi who he'd probably consider a reasonable-enough person. One who wouldn't outright reject him (or Ashara) is at least worth listening to if they had something they needed to discuss. (Kissing verdict: too Straight to try that, apparently lol)

Noviitro & Lyir: BH and smuggler have some things in common--they might not appreciate each other's personalities, though, if Noviitro seemed too sour / Lyir seemed too talkative! (Kissing verdict: ...that doesn't mean it's off the table for Lyir. Anyone who doesn't behave like a complete jerk in front of him probably has a chance)

Portirou & Zahied: Volatile combination where disciplined, professional soldier/officer Zahied (who likes to pretend he's stable & put-together, even at his most unhinged) would find NO respect for a rowdy, chaotic, self-absorbed criminal. As his life fell apart he stopped caring so much about rules--if breaking them would get the results he needs for the Good of the Republic, he'll let a smuggler work for his side. Nonetheless his personal disgust would be palpable interacting with some of them. hehheh (Kissing: not happening. Pointing guns at each other: one wrong move & that’s a real possibility)

Vanzeth & Rakine: Even worse. Knowing that someone is comfortable being an Imperial is all Rakine needs to know to hate (and possibly attack) someone--a nasty one is a priority target for her. (Outcome: Shoot On Sight from the saboteur, if she can't manage to blow up his entire ship first)

Glondaka & Cezek: There are very few people who don't immediately hate Cezek, and some--like a Jedi--she would go out of her way to see them repulsed by her behaviour. (Violence verdict: depends how resistant Glondaka is to being goaded toward a confrontation by someone who can't possibly beat her in a fight, but would consider it a victory to get punched in the face by a "peacekeeper")

Rerfanox & TD: The party Sith would himself say that chiss Love him, and that he has numerous hot chiss friends--but more are /always/ welcome. Whether that goes well or badly for him. . . (Kissing verdict: Tarskal wishes. Rare is the kiss opportunity he would decline)

Lebaza & Elenir: Gay trooper ladies, unite! Elenir is easily swayed into approving of cute girls with a moral code. (Kissing verdict: Perfectly plausible to me that they’d be kissing over the table at the cantina when the bottle has chosen it. . . They also just seem like they would get along well as army buddies based on common values)

Zinkaea & Vensys: Lmaoo. Vensys may be too cocky about his ability to manipulate a situation--but he also just LOVES to flirt for the game (and for the potential influence/ammunition that could come out of it. shhh). He also would say he serves an excellent cup of tea. This Agent/Watcher/Secretary/Personal Assistant is all about making winning favors & making a good impression. (Kissing verdict: even if Sith are usually a little above his simple station, he’s bold enough to try it if he thinks he can get away consequence-free)

#ask memes

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ceratonia-siliqua · 4 years

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Sweeter Than Sugar (Ch 4)

Collab fic with @send-me-your-hcs

Summary: Tony is a man of refinement. Only the best, the highest quality specimens get added to his collection. Peter, a beautiful and very rare male omega, quickly becomes his favorite of all his pets. The perfect omega deserves an equally-perfect alpha. (Or: An a/b/o au where pet owner!Tony forcibly mates Peter and Bucky together for his own enjoyment.)

Warnings: Underage, noncon, a/b/o au, dark!Tony, confinement, forced pet play dynamics, forced mating/in heat cycles, forced daddy kink, forced feminization, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

. . . .

Peter is the perfect picture of obedience after that day.

He’s still shy, of course. He’ll probably always be shy. But now, when Tony enters the boy’s kennel, he doesn’t need to use the leash to drag Peter towards him, or snap his fingers to beckon Peter to come kneel at his feet. Peter is wary of him, that much is obvious, but he seems to have finally made the connection that his quality of life drastically improves each time he shows his Daddy the proper respect and affection.

Having a mate to use as leverage just makes everything easier.

Peter seems to already be head-over-heels for his beefy alpha. Tony can’t help but wonder how much of that love is chemically-induced, a biological function honed after millions of years of evolution to ensure successfully-mated pairs stay together and procreate, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the boy’s affections are genuine. He studies the pair closely when they’re together, and Bucky is…

Bucky is a dream.

The alpha is absolutely smitten. Ridiculously, almost unbelievably soft with Tony’s princess. Every one of their interactions is peppered in little acts of love that make Tony’s heart melt.

Bucky, for instance, never eats first whenever he and Peter are fed together, despite that being an evolutionary instinct bred into most alphas. They are the protectors, the providers, the hunters – they need the most food, need to refuel often to keep their energy up, to keep their packs safe, unless of course their omega is pregnant. Bucky, however, won’t even look at the food that is brought to them until Peter has eaten first, as if he’s concerned Tony isn’t feeding his favorite pet enough throughout the day.

He’ll hand-feed his little omega so tenderly, Peter tucked into his lap, often impaled on his long dick. Peter is so short compared to his tall alpha; even in his lap, the top of his head only barely brushes Bucky’s throat, his soft curls tickling the underside of Bucky’s jaw, tucked beneath his chin like Tony built them in his lab to fit together.

Sometimes he feels like he did. The pair are a match made in heaven; Peter, soft and sweet and shy, but hiding a pair of claws sharp enough to draw blood if backed into a corner. Small and unspeakably cute, with fair, feminine features and a lithe body just begging for corruption.

The polar opposite to Bucky, whose hard-shelled exterior is rough, brutish and foreboding, a human weapon on the outside, but inside, apparently the alpha is hiding a tender heart so full of love he can’t keep it all inside now that Peter has cracked his shell. Huge, hulking muscles cover every inch of his imposing body, a body capable of doing great harm, tempered by the love he clearly feels for his smaller mate.

They are a sight to behold, and oh, Tony beholds them often. He’s generous enough to let them stay together most days, but Peter is still new to his collection, and he has to be careful to make sure the boy doesn’t forget who must always remain first in his heart. To remind him, he keeps the boy upstairs with him in his penthouse for the better part of each day, making Peter earn it if he wants to spend the evenings with his alpha.

He’s not cruel about it. He doesn’t ask for anything terrible, doesn’t make Peter do anything that would infringe upon his mating bond with Bucky. He does, however – as he does with all his pets – insist upon a certain amount of physical affection from Peter that the boy has, until now, almost completely denied him.

He’s much more handsy. In the mornings, he’ll bring Peter his breakfast and pet the boy’s hair as he sits at his little table, eating from his pet bowls. Peter still grips the dishes with both hands, holding them as if he could lift them to his mouth, seemingly unable to accept that they’re magnetically stuck to the tabletop, requiring him to bend over and eat from them like the pretty little pet he is. Peter used to flinch away and refuse to eat with Tony in the room, but now, the boy obediently slurps and consumes his meal while Tony plays with his hair, petting him and stroking down his back with soft, gentle hands.

As a thank-you for each meal, Tony expectantly bends down so Peter can kiss his cheek and mutter a soft, “Thank you, Daddy,” in his sweet little voice. Sometimes he’ll ruffle the boy’s hair in return, other times he’ll kiss the back of the boy’s hand, letting his lips linger on that supple skin. It’s all about exposure. Peter needs to get used to being touched and handled by him, until it’s as natural as being touched and handled by Bucky.

Post-meal cuddles become a daily occurrence. Once Peter has polished off his dishes, Tony takes a seat on his plush pet bed, patting his lap and beckoning the boy over to him. Peter is shy about it, but he doesn’t refuse. He knows better by now. Tony only had to – lightly, mind you – threaten him once after the boy’s punishment.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he had said, voice even, gaze locked on Peter’s worried frown. “Don’t keep Daddy waiting. Don’t you want to see your alpha tonight? Daddy would hate to have to arrange another playdate like the one you had last time.”

That was all it took to make Peter scurry forward on his knees, crawling into Tony’s lap with a level of terrified desperation that made the man smile. Since then, Peter hasn’t needed any reminders – all Tony has to do is pat his thighs, and the boy obediently crawls forward, making himself at home in his Daddy’s lap right where he belongs.

Tony cuddles him long and lovingly after each meal. He’ll trail soft, tender hands over the boy’s thighs, his hips, his sides, his shoulders, arms, neck, hair. He’ll place gentle kisses everywhere his lips can reach, smiling when Peter shivers and shifts in his lap. He wonders what he smells like to a mated omega like Peter. As a beta, does he even have any scent at all? Is it threatening the way another alpha’s would be, or repulsive due to their biological incompatibility? Does Peter have to sit there and endure the scent of someone who isn’t his mate touching him, or does the lack of any scent at all remind him that Tony is not a threat to his bond, but his loving owner who gave it to him in the first place?

He doesn’t know which he prefers.

After a full week of Peter being the most gentle, the most sweet, the most perfectly obedient little pet Tony could ask for, he decides a special treat is due. Peter still needs time to realize that Tony is a loving, generous owner when his pets have pleased him, and oh, Peter has pleased him very much over the last seven days.

After the boy’s lunch, Tony sits on Peter’s princess bed, smiling as the boy straddles his lap without being asked first. Greedy little thing, plopping into Tony’s lap like he belongs there. Tony grins and gives the boy a tender kiss on his forehead, his hands brushing over Peter’s sleek metal collar, feeling that lithe body tense and quiver beneath his fingertips.

“Easy, my love,” he soothes. His thumb brushes over the fingerprint scanner – not the shock-inducer on the right, the other one, on the left – and Peter’s chain pops free from the ring at the back of his collar with a gentle click. “Daddy has a surprise for you.”

Peter eyes him warily. The only place he’s been brought so far outside of his kennel has been Bucky’s cell, and each time, the chain stayed firmly attached. Tony hasn’t removed it once since he first brought Peter home. He can tell the unfamiliarity makes apprehensive anxiety storm inside of his princess’s tiny body, and the thought of that makes his heart clench, makes him lean forward and pepper Peter’s soft eyelids with gentle kisses.

“Don’t be frightened, my sweet, beautiful boy,” he says. “This is a reward for being such a good boy for your Daddy all week. Come along.” He hoists Peter into his arms, bridal style, carrying him through the door JARVIS so graciously opens.

He’s wanted to lounge with Peter in his lavish living room for weeks, now, and the ability to finally do so makes him giddy. He smiles at how Peter’s wide-eyed gaze instantly fixates on the glass wall, peering into his own cell from the other side for the very first time. He takes in every detail, every personalized touch, not bothering to spare the rest of the room around them so much as a glance as Tony settles in on his favorite armchair, Peter nestled firmly in his lap.

Peter gives him a sweet, uncertain glance when Tony pets the boy’s naked flank.

“Do you like it?” he asks softly. His other hand comes up and plays with the bow and bell decorating the front of Peter’s slim collar. “Daddy made it just for you, princess.”

Peter glances at his cell again. Tony can tell something about his choice in décor offends him – most likely the pastel pinks and whites, the princess theme, the overly-feminine style. He suspects Peter’s been talked down to and feminized his entire life for being unlucky enough to be born such a rare, endangered gender. He wonders if anyone has ever celebrated his masculinity in a positive, nonsexual way in the boy’s entire, very short life. He doubts it.

But Peter is his good, wonderful, perfectly obedient boy, so he nods his pretty little head and softly says, “Yes Daddy, thank you,” in a tone sweet enough for Tony to overlook the obvious lie.

“I’m glad,” he says, smiling and pecking Peter on the cheek. “Get comfy, baby, you’re going to help Daddy do some shopping today.”

Peter gives him a confused look as he’s turned, sitting with his back to Tony’s chest, relaxing as best he can in the bigger man’s lap. Tony settles in against the back of his chair and parts Peter’s legs over his thighs, loving how they’re so short, Peter’s feet don’t have a hope in hell of touching the floor. He kisses the crown of Peter’s head and picks up his tablet, holding it in front of both of them so Peter can see it as he turns on the screen.

It opens to the page Tony saved earlier; a catalogue of custom alpha cock covers. Peter sucks in a shocked breath and wiggles, excited or uncomfortable, it’s too hard to tell without seeing the boy’s face. Tony hugs him a little tighter and starts scrolling through the wide selection of items on offer as he explains, “This is your surprise, baby. For being such a good boy for me, Daddy’s going to buy you and Bucky a fun toy to play with. I know sometimes you want to be knotted without making such a mess, and that’s where these come in handy.”

He can practically feel Peter’s temperature spiking a hundred degrees as he taps on one of the covers, opening a new page that displays the item up-close, along with all its details and features.

“These are custom-made covers that some bonded pairs use to prevent pregnancy. They slip right over the head – see? Some go all the way down, some are made tight enough to keep an alpha from knotting. These ones stretch at the bottom, see that? They go right over the alpha’s knot so he can still fit it inside. Some even have a strap that goes behind the balls, but, well. Poor Bucky’s balls are just too big to fit something like that, I’m afraid.” He kisses Peter’s head again, swiping left to return to the catalogue. “You’re going to pick whichever one you want.”

Peter squirms in his lap. He doesn’t take or touch the pad, seemingly frozen. “They…” he says at last, timid, frightened. “They all…um. They all look too small, Daddy. I don’t want…if it’ll hurt Bucky, I…I don’t…”

The poor thing is scared senseless. Tony chuckles softly and hugs him, cooing instantly. “Oh, baby, my darling boy, no, you needn’t worry about that. They make each one custom based on the alpha’s size. When we order one, Daddy will send in Bucky’s exact measurements to make sure they make it comfortable and pain-free. This is a reward, okay? For being so good for me. It’s not going to hurt either of you.”

His heart melts when Peter sags with relief, perhaps the most relaxed he’s ever been in Tony’s arms. “Thank you, Daddy,” he says, genuinely grateful. “I, um. I get to pick?”

Tony grins and nuzzles the back of his princess’s neck. God, he loves him. He loves him so much. “You get to pick, sweetheart.” He hands the boy the tablet, using his now-free hands to hug and hold him tight. “Whichever one you want. Go on.”

Peter mumbles another quiet thank you as he scrolls through the selection. The tips of his ears are red where they stick through his dark, chocolatey curls. Tony shamelessly buries his face in his hair and scents those soft, bouncy curls, loving the flowery scent of Peter’s specialized shampoo. He’s glad that Peter doesn’t seem to be trying to figure out how to minimize the shopping catalogue so he can make a call or send a message – not that Tony left those features enabled, mind you. Peter has no chance of asking anyone for help, but he’s proud the boy doesn’t even think to try.

They sit together for the better part of an hour while Peter browses through the different covers on offer. He seems to take his job very seriously. Tony loves that he seems to deliberate only on covers that have dual-pleasure-enhancing features; covers with ridges both inside and out, covers that vibrate, that have increased suction for the alpha’s pleasure and increased size, length and girth for the omega’s. Peter instantly dismisses every cover that is designed to only pleasure the omega partner, and the sweetness of that absolutely warms Tony’s heart.

In the end, Peter chooses a modest but very well-designed cover with all the bells and whistles. It’s a shorter model, only 14” compared to the standard 16”, with a stretch base designed to comfortably squeeze the alpha’s knot, bumps on the outside to increase the omega’s pleasure, suction inside to increase the alpha’s, and an extra inch of girth to ensure maximum fulfillment. Peter blushes as he adds the item to their cart, selecting the desired cover in a pale blue shade that Tony notices matches Bucky’s eyes.

God, his pets are so painfully cute.

“Got the one you wanted, baby?” he asks gently. Peter nods and hands the tablet back, so that Tony can enter Bucky’s exact measurements – memorized long ago, thank you very much – and finalize the order. He makes sure to pay for same-day shipping, grinning at the thought of the look on Bucky’s face when Peter shyly hands it to him that night.

“Good job, little one, you picked a very nice cover for your alpha,” he praises, smiling as Peter blushes adorably. “I’m sure Bucky will absolutely love it.”

Peter squirms, embarrassed. “I hope so…”

“I know he will.” Tony gently turns the boy in his lap, encouraging Peter to face him, loving the sight of that red, humiliated face. “Now. What do you say to Daddy for buying you such a nice gift, princess?”

Peter shyly glances up at him, but doesn’t hesitate. He places both hands on his shoulders, whispers, “Thank you for my nice gift, Daddy,” and leans up to kiss him gently on the cheek.

Tony smiles, cups the back of the boy’s head and pulls him in close. “Anything for you, kitten,” he says, holding Peter’s head absolutely still as he presses their lips together, swallowing the surprised whimper Peter makes, drinking the sound down greedily as Peter lets him cross whatever line his Daddy wants.

A very good boy, indeed.

—

The way Peter moves is nothing short of artful. Even with the shy, unsure way he takes his steps, the look of wariness in his eyes, he always moves like every motion is a piece of a greater work. As though everything good and humble and kind is contained within his body and needs to be released into the air for the rest of the world to be a part of.

When Tony hands the boy the cock cover to give to his alpha, he wasn’t expecting to be so captivated by mere movement. His baby holds it carefully, like it’s fragile, and not a piece of platinum silicone meant to withstand a knot twice Bucky’s size comfortably. Tracing every ridge like he’ll need to remember it later, Peter is fixated on the toy. It’s the only object he’s ever seen the omega react to like this, like he doesn’t believe it’s real.

He takes Peter down to the basement, carrying his princess like the precious cargo he is, nose turned into those soft, perky curls as he takes them to Peter’s mate for their reward. His darling boy was an absolute sweetheart today. Letting Tony kiss him and pet his skin, especially over his plump little cheeks. He didn’t slip Peter any tongue, or fuck his fingers into Peter. Though… the thought does occur to him that, after this mammoth of a cock cover slips into Peter, there may be room enough for a fist inside that sweet pussy of his.

Peter’s hand is small enough that his tiny fist can wear the piece as a glove, it is utterly massive for such a small thing. It has to be rigid in order for the nubs to work as intended, but Peter keeps pushing along the center of the hollowed out toy to test its give. It folds with some resistance, but not a terrible amount, just enough so as not to collapse in on itself. It pops right back into shape when Peter releases his thumbs. The omega blushes when he realizes Daddy is watching, ceasing to toy with the sleeve in his lap.

Laid next to Peter’s cock, it really is a sight. Even hard, the sleeve wouldn’t even be able to balance on his baby cock. It’s the utter opposite and reminds him just how thoroughly his baby is about to be torn open by the girth of this thing.

Down in the basement, Bucky is already waiting for them, likely smelling Peter, if not Tony as well. The alpha is prowling along the glass, keeping in pace with them, his eyes on Peter. The beta can’t help but stop, kneeling down just enough for the pair to press against the glass.

Peter makes a noise that can only be described as pure joy, it sounds like a purr mixed with that same chirping sound from their first morning together. The omega’s hands are pressed to the glass, cheek joining in as if trying to rub against Bucky through the clear pane. Bucky does something similar with his jaw pressed to the same spot as his whole body joins in, hundreds of pounds of muscle leaning on the glass.

It is darling, absolutely adorable, but nothing prepares Tony for the near heart-exploding scene that comes next. Peter, his sweet, beautiful boy, his princess, looks up at him with those large honey irises and chirps. Not quite like a bird, but similar to a cat who’s been watching birds for too long.

His heart turns to mush and, shifting Peter from bridal style to holding him under his armpits (Peter thankfully grabbing for the sleeve before it hits the ground), Tony peppers that sweet face in kisses. Such a good boy he is, asking Daddy for what he wants without even using words, looking to Daddy to fulfil his needs. It’s progress he never thought they’d reach this soon. He knows better than to assume it’ll be permanent at this stage, but it’s a win in every possible way.

Peter is sweet enough to blush, turning his eyes away as Tony coos over him, utterly smitten.

“Such a darling boy, so sweet for Daddy. Are you ready, baby? Want Daddy to have you stuffed with your mate’s delectable cock?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Even now, so shy as to speak softly. So close to having outright begged to be with Bucky, yet he stays quiet and gentle with his voice, like Daddy has asked something of him that he doesn’t quite know how to do.

Wasting no more time, he quickly enters the room. Not wanting to interfere more than necessary, he sets Peter gently on his hands and knees. Peter, unsure where to put the sleeve, tucks it under his chin as he toddles over to his alpha. Chainless, Peter is free to move around in a way Bucky can’t. They won’t be left alone unless Peter gets hooked to the wall as well, but with his watchful eyes he assumes it’ll be fine. He is desperately curious to see what Bucky will do without the limitations of the heavy iron ropes which often kept the two tethered in an unnatural way.

Bucky strides forward, meeting him halfway. His beautiful, charming beast of an alpha tucks that little nugget under him, a massive hand reaching to corral his mate under him, in no mind to worry about the foreign object Peter has brought with him. His Bucky, always so concerned with Peter these days, wanting his mate hidden beneath his torso even as they stand. Peter rotates enough to face forward, getting comfortable under the roof his mate has so graciously provided for his comfort.

Tony is disappointed when Peter doesn’t present his gift right away. Instead he beams as a large, soft tongue runs through his curls. Still, Tony can’t stay disappointed for long. He wanted a mated pair and he got possibly the most attached set of pets he could have asked for. It really can’t just be hormones at this point. Otherwise, Bucky would already be so deep inside his omega his balls would be inching their way in.

The affection is endearing, a sign that they’ll last and fuel his enjoyment for years to come. Bucky’s obsessive grooming screams “provider,” clearly someone determined to build a relationship before sex. He can’t blame his pets, not after seeing how badly his supposed brute just needed a mate to let his guard down with, and how his princess craves the safety and emotional bonding.

After a few minutes of grooming and loving touches, Peter finally presents his gift, holding it out like an offering in his small nervous fingers. Bucky stops in his tracks.

“This for me, sweetheart?”

“U-us. Daddy let me pick it. I wanted something that would make us both feel good.”

Bucky immediately descends on his baby’s neck. Nibbling and biting as a husky, “thank you, sugar,” slips into the air. Peter is squealing and giggling, clutching the cover tightly as his shoulders and throat are lovingly assaulted.

“Can I put it on you?” Peter bats his eyelashes, clearly without thought. Those doe eyes asking so politely to let him mount his new gift on that delicious cock before riding Bucky into the sunset.

“Of course, anything you want, Peter.” It’s said with so much conviction, Tony suspects that Peter could have asked to rip Bucky’s cock clean off and the alpha would have let him. Though of course, Tony would put that to a stop immediately. Maiming is a sure-fire way to get the pair separated indefinitely.

Peter shifts to face Bucky’s groin, his little rear sticking out for Tony to see in spite of the hidden installment of the cover. He’s about to get on the speaker to tell them to adjust so Daddy can see when Bucky leans down, lapping at the omega’s hole.

It’s messy, the angle more of a swiping across than over, but the alpha has one of those ripe cheeks in his hand, pulling it aside for better access and giving Daddy a perfect view of the show. It slows Peter down, the boy clearly trying to press back against the sensation as he works, torn between the attention and his own duty.

Eventually, he manages. Bucky growls and gently nips the skin near the boy’s rim. A squeak sounds from between the man’s legs and Peter scrambles backwards, tongue sticking out in a playful way at Bucky’s crass gesture. The cock cover is perfectly visible now. The prettiest of blues and, despite the massive size, still somehow looking proportional even if a bit on the heavier side. His balls finally look nearly normal when put up against that extra four inches in length and meaty inch of additional girth. The ridges on the sleeve stand out proudly, looking delectable, and leaves Tony knowing that Peter is going to be utterly and completely wrecked to near pieces after this monster ends up inside him.

Bucky, seemingly now ready to get on with the show, stalks over to Peter. The omega knows the drill, it’s already been a week of them fucking like rabbits, as Bucky has apparently been attempting to pup his pussy for the better part of it. Peter scrambles for the bed, not wanting to be fucked into the floor today (and Tony can’t blame his princess for that). Bucky is not far behind, keeping his drawn, predator pace as the cock cover forces his shaft to point downward from the weight.

With the little time he has, Peter makes himself pretty for his mate. He pushes the blankets around to give a bit more of a nest structure before laying his lithe body out on the bed. He faces Bucky, propped up on his elbows and making enticing noises trying to draw Bucky in, like the alpha isn’t clearly thinking of every way to take Peter apart already.

The second Bucky is on the bed, everything turns downright feral.

Bucky is immediately on top of Peter, humping the boy with desperate thrusts, trying to find entrance. Little moans escape as Peter hides his face in his hands, a slight tremble running through him as the alpha tries to gain entrance. Slick had started to pool after Bucky’s lapping, but even Tony doubts it will be enough out of heat. Still, his baby doesn’t complain, laying there and ready to take it like a champ.

When Bucky finds his mark, it’s all over. Peter screams. It has Tony up and out of his chair, worried his sweet, tiny, breakable Peter has just been torn up by too much too fast. He’s moving towards the door before he hears what Peter is crying out.

“Oh, Bucky, Bucky! M’ so full – Yes, yesyesyes!” His hips shake as Peter is pounded. He shouts and cries like he is being murdered, but the pleasure is so clearly written on his face Tony forces his ass back into his seat. The pair is facing him, so he can’t see the true action, but that’s what cameras are for. He pulls up a rear angle on his tablet, setting it off to the side for when he wants to see that delicate pussy stretched out so tight his rim is nearly glued to the silicone. Admittedly, watching each ridge and bump pull and push his princess’ hole to its limit is a sight, one he’ll be jacking off to for weeks to come. But really, Peter makes facial expressions that can’t be rivaled.

Under Bucky, Peter looks like a dwarf, his frame consumed by the alpha’s to a point that he looks like he would simply be too small to exist. That acting as a backdrop for the blissed out, moaning face makes the experience orgasm-worthy all on its own. Drool rolls down from the corner of his mouth as Bucky’s hips slam inside him with enough force to bruise. Just a little hazy and cross-eyed, as if he’s so drunk on cock he’s not quite there, face flushed the most delicate dusty rose color. It’s perfect. Utterly blissed out and enjoying what his body was made for, milking a cock big enough to kill him.

Tony is so laser-focused on Peter he almost doesn’t notice what Bucky is doing. The alpha is clearly close, the stretchy cover that rests over the base of his cock already filling out with the beginnings of a knot. He seems lost in what he’s doing, ravaging Peter like he owns him and Peter can take whatever he’s given, so long as it’s Bucky handing it out. When the alpha reaches down to squeeze at his knot, Tony assumes it’s an attempt to increase the pressure and moves his gaze back to Peter’s face. Which is why he knows the exact moment Bucky rips the cover off.

Peter makes a completely different sound. This one gutted and primal, the sound of someone who is receiving bare, unadulterated cock. The cover is tossed on the bed as Bucky slams into Peter so hard, his nearly-full knot pops in with one go.

The omega shouts Bucky’s name, repeating it like a prayer as his pussy is creamed and fed. Bucky still taps his hips forward as their on-looker sits in shock.

He knows Bucky is an animal, but that…was truly something else.

#winterspider #starker #tony stark x peter parker #peter parker x bucky barnes #siliqua writes

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vorta-whore · 4 years

Text

Transition of Power, ch. 3

The two of you go for a stroll.

Weyoun 5 x female reader

Chapter 1: An Introduction | Chapter 2: A First Date | Chapter 3: A Walk Together | Chapter 4: A Night on Bajor

---

You don’t consider yourself a particularly religious woman. You have always had faith in the Prophets, of course, and you attend weekly services whenever you can afford the time. But in all your years aboard the station, you can’t recall ever stepping foot in the temple outside of service hours simply to pray.

You’ve done so three times this week.

The silence and stillness of the shrine seems to help, for a moment. As you kneel onto an empty pillow and bow your head, your chaotic thoughts begin to subside, replaced by a single, focused prayer.

Prophets, you think, though you sometimes sense you’re talking to yourself more than to them. Please, guide me. I didn’t think I had a choice, at first, with this man. He wanted me and I could not deny him, for fear of what would happen to me. But the more we talk, the clearer it is that he isn’t forcing me into anything. I’m continuing it of my own free will.

You lace your fingers together and squeeze your eyes shut in concentration.

I know he’s a dangerous man. An evil one. He represents the empire that could tear the Alpha Quadrant apart. And I know he must have committed atrocities of his own as well. I shouldn’t want to be with him – I should be repulsed. But I can’t help it. When he leaves, I miss his presence. I think about him as I lie awake at night. I wonder what kind of a man he is, under that diplomatic persona. I want to get to know him. And I...I like how I feel around him. He makes me feel interesting. And wanted. Desirable, but respected. He treats me kindly, with a gentleness I never thought him capable of, that I’ve never experienced from another lover. And I know the right course of action is to end this before it begins, to reject his advances before they can go any further...but I feel in my heart that I would regret it forever.

A heavy sigh falls from your lips.

You gifted us with the ability to love so we could appreciate being bathed in your holy light. It is the purest, most powerful force in the world. So how could it ever be wrong? Would I...be a collaborator if I continued this? Is the only moral course of action to forget this affair? Or is this part of my fate – to capture the heart of a powerful enemy and help save his soul, and maybe some lives in the process?

You pause, your heart laid bare, and wait for a response. But you don’t really expect one. The Prophets have never spoken to you – not directly, at least – and you don’t expect them to start now. Even if you are in terrible need of guidance. For a moment you consider asking the vedek for advice, but you suspect he won’t give you an entirely unbiased answer when he realizes the object of your affections is none other than the station’s Vorta oppressor.

The musky scent of incense swirls in the air around you. Quieted but still frustrated by your own uncertainty, you take a moment to breathe and center yourself as best you can before heading back out to the Promenade.

The serenity you found inside the temple begins to fade away as soon as you leave it. You pause to survey the station inhabitants shuffling to and fro, their heads bowed, their faces weary. As much weighs on their minds as on yours.

A sudden call snaps you out of your reverie.

“Y/N!” comes the excited, familiar voice, and you turn with surprise to see Weyoun flanked by his Jem’Hadar guards. Caught off-guard, you gape for a moment as he approaches.

“Hi,” you manage. He beams at you in response.

“Will you walk with me for a moment?”

Your answer follows before you can give it even a moment’s thought: “Of course.”

The Vorta turns and you fall in tow as the four of you cross the Promenade. You’re not entirely pleased to be seen in public with Weyoun – you keep glancing about as though fearful of the judgmental glares you’re bound to receive – but the majority of people you pass seem entirely uninterested in your little rendezvous. Beyond, of course, the usual uneasy glances they direct at Weyoun.

“I really did enjoy our dinner last week,” he says with a hum. “I apologize for not contacting you sooner.”

“It’s alright. I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

“Oh, you have no idea the extent of it. I’ve rarely a moment to myself, let alone time to enjoy the company of others. Which brings me to my point.”

He pauses in front of a window and turns to gaze out at the stars. You do the same, and a faint wistfulness tugs at your heartstrings as you stare at the space where the wormhole hasn’t opened in months.

“I’d like to see more of you,” Weyoun says softly.

You look over at him with such a panicked haste that he quickly adds an addendum: “If that’s alright.”

“I – you – yes, of course it’s alright,” you stutter, and feeling sheepish, you avert your eyes and tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ears.

You can hear the smile (and notes of what sound like genuine relief) in Weyoun’s voice as he replies. “I’m glad to hear it. As it happens, my meeting with Gul Dukat later this evening has been fortuitously postponed – and I can think of no greater way to spend my suddenly free time than in the pleasure of your company.”

You glance up to see he’s turned from the window to face you, and his wide eyes glimmer with anticipation as he awaits your response.

You hesitate. Something within you is begging to say no, to run away – but you can’t fathom the possibility of extinguishing the spark of excitement in those amethyst eyes...

“Unless...you have a prior engagement?” he prompts at your hesitation, and the way his eyebrows raise and his lips tug into a frown has you scrambling to comfort him.

“No! No, I’m free. I’d love to join you,” you assure, quite earnestly in fact, you realize, and Weyoun’s expression melts back into a pleased smile.

“Excellent. I was thinking perhaps a change of scenery this time; I’ve already taken the liberty of securing a holosuite reservation. I think you’re going to like the program I’ve selected.”

Before you can inquire, Weyoun reaches for your hands, and the feeling of his soft skin brushing against yours steals the words right out of your mouth. You find yourself helpless under his gaze once more as he strokes his thumbs over the back of your hands, and in that simple, paralyzing touch you completely forget the two of you are in the public eye.

“I’ll pick you up from your quarters at eighteen hundred hours. Dress for warm weather.”

He presses a quick kiss to one of your hands and then is gone, leaving you breathless by the window.

No one had been paying you much attention before. But after that public display of affection, you notice several pairs of eyes quickly dart away as you turn back toward the Promenade.

You suppose you’d better go find a dress.

---

The door-chime rings at eighteen-hundred hours exactly, and you wonder if Weyoun had perhaps been standing there waiting for the precise moment to strike. With one last glance in the mirror to straighten your hair, you answer the door, and the sight momentarily stuns you.

You hadn’t seen Weyoun in any outfit other than his typical – was it a uniform? That strange, asymmetrical garb he always wore. But as an ambassador, it made sense that he would have a variety of clothing suitable for multiple climates, and he had donned one such outfit here for the occasion. It resembled his usual attire, in all its intricately-patterned, multi-textured glory, but revealed much more skin than you were used to seeing on the Vorta. Lapels of thin leather stretched out to just barely cover his shoulders, leaving his arms completely bare. The pleated mauve undershirt (though you doubted it was its own garment entirely, more likely just a piece of fabric sewn into the vest for modesty) dipped down low to reveal both collarbones, and the asymmetrical hem of the garment jutted out just above his hips. His trousers – a shade more form-fitting than usual – were cuffed at the shin, revealing a sliver of calves between the hem and the ankle-high boots he wore.

You had worried about feeling a little too dressed-down, in your flowing sundress and delicate sandals, next to the stiff and regal Vorta. But the casual outfit assuages your fears and you both grin – you a little giddily – to see the other in a new light.

“You look stunning as always, my dear,” Weyoun notes, “but especially so tonight.”

You hesitate as he offers you his arm, but the reality is that after this morning, the whole station likely knows about the two of you; there’s no point hiding this courtship anymore. You take his arm.

“I could say the same of you,” you tease, a little emboldened by the feeling of walking on the station commander’s arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you show quite so much skin.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Weyoun’s lips, and you sense he’s debating saying something, but quickly decides against it. He simply chuckles.

“I’m glad you like it.”

A thought occurs to you and you voice it tentatively as the two of you (followed, as always, by the Jem’Hadar guards) make your way down the corridors.

“Weyoun – is it true your people don’t have a sense of aesthetics?”

“Yes. The Founders did not deem it necessary for our purposes.”

You think you detect a hint of bitterness. But he continues on cheerfully: “Personally, as a diplomat, I do see the advantages; every culture has its own unique sense of style and taste, and if I had my own personal preferences among them, I might find it more difficult to establish relations with races whose appearances or architecture I disliked.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you mutter, not really agreeing. “I just wondered – you always compliment my appearance…”

“Ah,” he chuckles, “yes. I assure you those are genuine.”

At your look of confusion, he furrows his brow, trying to find the easiest way to explain.

“...Allow me to illustrate it for you with an example. If you showed me two dresses – one horribly tacky, the other beautiful and elegant – and asked me to label which one was which, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. To me, they’re both slips of fabric in various colors and patterns woven together to make a garment. I cannot detect whether certain colors clash with one another, or if certain shapes are unflattering on one’s body. But what I can appreciate is the woman wearing the dress. Her whole demeanor often changes when she slips into a garment as beautiful as she is; she becomes more comfortable, more open, more in tune with her inner light. When I compliment her, I’m voicing my appreciation for things like...the way her smile lights up the room. The tinge of color on her cheeks and the spark in her eyes. The grace with which she carries herself. Her confidence in flaunting such a flawless appearance.”

He pauses to drive his point home by setting his free hand gently over the one you’ve laid on his arm and meeting your eyes with a suave smile. Your foundation does nothing to hide the blush that rises to your cheeks, and you to your horror a giggle bubbles up from your lips.

“Regardless,” Weyoun sighs, pleased at the response he’s elicited, “I can certainly appreciate the effort you’ve expended going out of your way to gild yourself for my enjoyment.”

Heads turn as you enter Quark’s, and for a moment you avert your eyes and stare to the ground in embarrassment – but Weyoun doesn’t falter an instant, and the sheer confidence with which he carries himself bolsters you. You lift your head with some effort, clinging just a bit more tightly onto his arm.

Quark has the data rod with your holosuite program in his hand as you approach the bar; his expression is unreadable. Weyoun thanks him and takes it, and you continue upstairs.

“I do hope you like it,” he says, a little more loudly over the noise of the bar, as he slots the data rod into the panel. “Having never been to Bajor myself, I can only hope it is a faithful reproduction.”

You turn to fix him with a questioning look, but he only bows and gestures for you to head inside.

“After you.”

The doors part and you immediately feel a blast of warm air, a welcome feeling on your bare, goosebump-prickled skin. You step inside – followed closely by Weyoun – and the Jem’Hadar take up post outside the holosuite just before the doors slide shut.

The program, to your wonder and delight, is a perfect re-creation of one of Bajor’s most famous forests. Your home planet is well-known for its natural splendor – sprawling mountains, rolling hillsides, breathtaking falls – and this woodland is a shining example. Impossibly high, purple-barked trees stretch toward the endless sky, their leaves casting a shimmering dappled shadow upon the needle- and moss-covered ground. A brook winds and weaves through the web of tree trunks and their gnarled roots, its water crystal clear, its shores adorned by smooth pebbles and stones. Small woodland creatures dart to and fro throughout the underbrush, and you watch with quiet fascination as one of them – a long-eared, round-eyed lagomorph – pauses to nibble at the bud of a crimson sunset-lily.

You’re sufficiently awed.

“I take it,” Weyoun says softly from behind you, and you startle a bit, having all but forgotten he was there, “the program passes muster?”

“More than,” you reply, and turning to face him, you offer a genuine smile of gratitude. “I feel like I’m home again.”

A warm smile touches his lips, creases the corners of his eyes.

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

As the two of you approach the trailhead, Weyoun slides a graceful arm around your shoulders. He holds you firmly, but not tightly, and his embrace – the tingling sensation of his soft skin on your bare shoulders, the feeling of safety under his grasp – transforms you into a blushing maiden, clinging onto your shining knight. You wrap a reciprocating arm around his lower back as you both begin down the dirt path.

“I’m glad to be able to see some of your homeworld,” he muses after a few moments of contented silence, interrupting the cheerful sounds of birdsong. “Even if it is only a facsimile. My occupation, unfortunately, does not allow me much vacation time.”

He says this with a chuckle, intending the comment to be light-hearted, but you can hear an undercurrent of bitterness – the same subtle tone you noticed in your earlier conversation. The polite thing to do would be to move on; talk about the places in Bajor he should visit if he ever gets the chance. But you know it would be an empty gesture. There’s an opportunity here, and you’d be remiss to let it pass you by.

“...Weyoun,” you start carefully, and he glances over to you, attentive at your sudden tone of concern. “Do you ever…wish things were different?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he fires back, a little too quickly. His eyes slide back to the path in front of you.

“Yes, you do.”

Silence stretches out between you as Weyoun contemplates his answer. His arm around your shoulders has slackened a little and you aren’t sure if this risk is paying off the way you intended it to. After several long moments, he heaves a sigh, laden with a burden you sense he’s reluctant to acknowledge.

“Sometimes…”

He stops himself. You try to decipher the expressions crossing his face but they’re entirely unreadable. He glances back to you – looks down – sighs again. When he speaks, his words are deliberate, chosen with laborious care.

“Sometimes, I do harbor thoughts of what life might be like if circumstances were...different. There are many pleasures in this world unknowable to me; the taste of a home-cooked meal, for instance. Art in any capacity. Music, especially, I wish I could appreciate.”

“You can’t even enjoy music?”

“When I listen to a song, it’s as if I’m…” – his hand dances about in the air, searching for an apt comparison – “...looking at a sheet of mathematical equations. I can pick out the individual instruments, note the changes in their pitch, recognize patterns and motifs. But the whole of the song, the heart of it, escapes me.”

You both ponder this sad reality.

“I do think it would be nice to be able to carry a tune,” he laments after a long moment. “Or to dance. I’m a truly terrible dancer.”

The image of lovely, graceful Weyoun stumbling around a dancefloor elicits a burst of laughter from you, despite the heavy subject matter; Weyoun laughs along, relieved his attempt at cutting the tension was successful.

“That’s a shame. I don’t know how the Vorta usually woo their women, but on Bajor, dinner and dancing is usually part of the package at some point.”

“Well, I’ve managed to woo you without having to resort to dancing just yet.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you retort, grinning.

Weyoun agrees with a hearty chuckle.

“Let’s hope not.”

---

The two of you make your way down the winding trail, enjoying the sights and sounds of the woodland as you go. Weyoun, ever the gentleman, leads you by a hand over the fallen logs and stepping-stones that serve as bridges across the stream, his grip a comforting assurance. He waits ever so patiently when you pause to beckon to the furry little creatures eyeing you from the underbrush, and he is adequately fascinated by your explanations of the various flora and fauna, even humoring you when you pick the occasional flower and offer it for him to smell.

“Do you even have a sense of smell?” you question him at one point, twirling the stem of a flower between your fingertips; those of your other hand are laced comfortably with his.

“I do,” he assures, a little amused by the question but understanding of its necessity. “Scent plays a pivotal role in making good first impressions; it’s one of the first things a person notices. I find it helpful, actually, to tailor my own scent to match the preferences of those with whom I wish to establish good relations. It’s a subtle enough gesture, but effective.”

“Is that why you always smell so sweet?” You give him a light jab to the ribs.

He grins at your playful tone, shoots you a look of mirthful defeat.

“You caught me.”

“How did you know I’d like that scent in particular?”

“Well…”

Weyoun trails off, and in the span of that one word the tone of the conversation has shifted to something decidedly less lighthearted. Your attention is drawn to him as he withdraws his hand from your own and clasps it with his other; you wonder if that might be a nervous habit.

“Being station commander has its...advantages. There is very little that goes on here without my knowing, and likewise very little information inaccessible to me. If I wish to know...say...a particular occupant’s work schedule...or shopping habits...”

“You stalked me!” you accuse, and although the offense rings clear in your voice, you can’t honestly say it runs all that deep. Either way, you aren’t surprised.

“Stalk is a strong word!” Weyoun insists, the pitch of his voice rising as he hurries to defend himself. “I merely – gathered some basic information – to give myself the best possible chance of ensuring the outcome I wanted.”

“Which was?”

He looks at you a little strangely. The answer is obvious, of course, but you want to hear him say it.

“To win your affection. Which, it seems, I have. Or am I mistaken?”

His turn to ask the obvious question. You smile and lower your gaze to the ground.

“You have.”

“Then the ends justified the means.”

The trail opens up into a clearing, and you come upon the shore of a vast lake. There’s a stretch of fence close to the shoreline and you lean against it as you take in the sight: the rippling surface of the water glimmers like so many gemstones, reflecting the deep orange and violet hues of the Bajoran sunset.

It occurs to you that your Vorta friend may not be able to enjoy this painterly scene to the same extent you can. You glance over to him – and startle to see his gaze is fixed intently on you. It doesn’t waver as you meet it, and the unabashed eye contact brings a sudden warmth to your cheeks.

“What?” you finally ask, a little sheepish.

Weyoun’s smile grows just a shade deeper as he answers.

“You enjoy looking at the sunset. I enjoy looking at you.”

The simplicity of the statement only excites the butterflies in your stomach. You smile nervously, self-conscious, as Weyoun studies your face with a sudden, urgent interest; his smile fades and his brow creases with concentration. He’s searching for something – and whatever it is, he’s desperate to find it.

You’re just about to ask what’s wrong when his hand lifts to your face, and the gentle hold he takes of your cheek steals your thoughts away completely. His palm is soothingly cool; his touch, comforting and still. You notice his eyes slide down to your lips and you realize with paralyzing clarity what it is, exactly, he wants.

The next few moments happen in slow motion.

You allow the hand cupping your cheek to guide your face upwards, and Weyoun’s head tilts to the side, making room for you. You spare a glance down to his lips, then back up to his eyes, tender and heavy-lidded; your lips part and you suck in a small, quiet gasp of air, the last you’ll get for the next several seconds. As Weyoun leans down to close the last inch of space between you, your eyelids flutter shut – and an infinite, breathless moment passes before you feel his soft lips press, tender and sweet, into yours.

He lingers there motionless for several moments, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek, before beginning to pull away – but you don’t let him. The instant his lips leave yours, your hands shoot up to grasp the sides of his face and pull him back down for more, and he obliges, gladly; you press up into him with more force, mashing your lips together in a hungry bid for intimacy, and he exhales heavily into the kiss, returning every ounce of passion. His hand slips from your face and you feel his arms wrap tightly around your middle, pulling your body into his, and for several long minutes the only sounds around you are the distant calls of the waterfowl and the lapping of gentle waves at the shore.

Neither of you wants to end this perfect moment. But, inevitably, one of you must break for air, and of course it happens to be you. You pull back just enough to breathe; your eyes blink open to meet Weyoun’s, and as you relocate your hands from his face to rest upon his shoulders, you notice with some amusement the faintest tinge of purple in his cheeks.

“Wow,” you exhale, lightheaded.

“Wow,” he agrees.

His grip on your waist loosens and, self-consciousness returning, you turn back toward the lake and allow the cool breeze to soothe your burning face. Weyoun releases you to instead rest a hand on the small of your back, and you lean into him, heart aflutter.

A few minutes of silence – of perfect, serendipitous peace – draw to a reluctant close as the automated voice of the computer informs you your holosuite reservation is at an end. You release the fence posts just as they disappear from beneath your hands and frown as the beautiful expanse of forest before you gives way to the cramped and machinery-cluttered interior of the holosuite.

“A pity,” sighs Weyoun, turning to you and taking your hands in his own. “I was hoping that hour might break the rules of spacetime and stretch out just a bit longer.”

It’s a little cheesy, but you giggle anyway, and he grins to have gotten to you. Lifting a hand to his lips, he presses one of his signature kisses to the back of it, and you sigh, squeeze his hand in return.

Emerging from the holosuite on Weyoun’s arm once more, you cringe at the din of the bar, so cacophonous compared to the quiet of the forest. But nothing can shake the absolute serenity now instilled within you. You practically float down the walkway, and though pairs of eyes follow your progress as they did before, this time you find it quite easy to pay them no mind.

Weyoun notes your confidence with an approving hum. “Not so self-conscious now, I see.”

You grin a little, shrug your shoulders. He responds with a chuckle and teases you in that lilting, singsong voice of his: “I wonder why.”

The walk back to your quarters is shorter than you’d like it to be, and before you know it you’re standing at the entrance to your quarters. Frowning, you turn to face Weyoun, not quite ready to part ways.

“It was a pretty short hour,” you say.

“Indeed it was.”

“It doesn’t...have to be over so soon. You could come inside…”

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” he sighs, and there’s genuine disappointment in his voice as he cradles your hands in his own. “I’m due elsewhere on the station in five minutes’ time.”

He soothes away your dejection with another quick couple of kisses to the back of your knuckles – and then, with a coy smile, one to the very corner of your lips. You turn your head to try to catch it full-on, but he dodges you deftly – ever the tease. You understand the purpose behind this tactic of leaving you wanting at the end of each of your encounters, but it frustrates you all the same, and Weyoun grins infuriatingly at your pouting.

“Try not to fret too much. I promise I’ll be in touch again very soon.”

You can only swallow, nod, and linger on his gaze as long as politely possible before allowing your hands to slip from his and turning with great reluctance to enter your quarters.

Sleep hasn’t been coming easily to you these past few weeks. But tonight, it greets you kindly, and you drift into an easy slumber with a smile on your lips.

#weyoun #weyoun 5 #weyoun x reader #series #ds9 #fanfic #star trek #vorta #reader-insert

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

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Promises Not Kept Part 27

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 27: Leah discovers what Tommy has been keeping from her and it takes a toll on her birthday.

“Mrs. Shelby.” Frances stopped Leah as she came back in with Johanna. “Mr. Shelby’s requested you meet him in the kitchen.”

Leah frowned. “The kitchen? Alright.” She bent down to kiss Johanna’s cheek. “Go up to bed, Frances will tuck you in.”

“What ‘bout daddy?” The little girl pouted. “Needs to read me bedtime story.” She protested even as she took Frances’s hand.

“He’ll come kiss you goodnight soon but he can’t tell a story tonight,” Leah replied honestly.

Johanna’s shoulders slumped in disappointment but followed Frances upstairs. Once they were gone, Leah headed downstairs to the kitchen.

“Tommy?” She turned the corner to try and find him. “Tom?”

“In here.” He called her over to one of the pantries.

She stepped inside. “Why can’t we speak upstairs?” She wondered.

Still tense, Tommy was pacing near a shelf of crystal glasses. “Needed somewhere private, the guests’ll be here soon.” He mumbled.

“Which is why we should be upstairs to greet them.” She retorted. “Now what did you have to tell me?”

He walked over to her and his face softened. “Not right now.” Gently, he grazed his hands down her arms knowing how it gave her goosebumps and sent a shiver down her spine. After years of knowing each other and a few years of marriage, Tommy knew Leah better than anyone had before and probably better than anyone ever would. It went far beyond the physical nature of their relationship. Although he knew what made her tick, he had a good insight into her thoughts as well. Even in times of trouble and during arguments they were in sync. “I just want to forget everything for a moment.”

“Tom…” She protested weakly because she knew the guests would be there any moment. But once he started to kiss her neck, she couldn’t help but follow his lead.

“We’ll be quick.” He promised.

~~~~~~~

What was meant to be quick, turned into something much longer. Before both of them knew it, they started to hear the hum of guests mingling upstairs. But both were too far gone to stop.

Leah wrapped her legs around Tommy’s waist as he rocked against her. The rhythmic movement pushing her into the cabinet, shaking the glasses on the shelves.

“Happy birthday, Mrs. Shelby.” He growled playfully into her ear.

She smiled and kissed him tenderly as they both reached their peaks moments apart.

Panting hard, the two separated for a breath. Tommy’s grip loosened around Leah, setting her back down on her feet. She fixed her dress before sitting down.

Tommy lit a cigarette and sat down beside her. He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. “We should probably talk now before we go upstairs.”

Leah nodded. “Okay.”

“The man Ada told you about, Mr. Mosley. He and I spoke a few days ago about a few things. It’s possible that he’s met you before.” Tommy explained carefully.

She frowned. “I don’t recall his name. I’m sure if you hadn’t met him before becoming an MP than I wouldn’t have met him either.”

“He said he would go to Midland often.”

The name of the hotel made Leah’s blood run cold. It was rare that she ever thought about her past. Sometimes she reminisced on the odd circumstances that brought her and Tommy together, but she didn’t like to linger on it. The worst was when she had nightmares of being forced back into one of those suites. She would scream and cry, saying she wasn’t a Midland girl anymore. She was a well-respected woman, a wife, and a mother. But no one would listen.

Those days were behind her and she never wanted to return to them again. Now Tommy was implying there was someone from her past there at her birthday party.

“Would you even remember him?” He asked.

Leah’s jaw clenched. “I drank a lot back then.” She mumbled. “I don’t remember a lot of people.”

“Well…”

“Tommy, if he told you this days ago, then why is he still invited to come tonight?” She demanded. “If you knew there was a possibility that I knew him from Midland?”

Tommy paused because in all honesty, he hadn’t considered uninviting Mosley. Would it have been nice? Probably. “I need him to endorse something.” He mumbled, knowing the excuse was pitiful.

Leah stood up with a scoff. “Endorse something. Honestly?! You couldn’t’ve done that in your office during the week?” She threw her hands up in disbelief. “I asked you twice whether you were planning something else for this party and you lied to me, twice.”

“Lee…I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to worry about anything but-”

“Worry? There’s a man upstairs who knows I was a whore!” She snapped and tears began to fill her eyes. “At my own birthday party, which my husband is treating like another day of business. I thought you were really trying to make a special occasion out of this but no, I should’ve realized you were planning something.” She left in a huff before Tommy could apologize his way out of trouble.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ada caught her sister-in-law as she came upstairs in a cloud of fury. “Where’ve you been?” She asked in disbelief. “I’ve been looking for you!”

“I need a drink,” Leah muttered.

It was clear the woman was upset. “What’s happened?” She asked.

“Nothing. Just…” Leah took a deep breath and tried to look a little happier for the sake of her party guests. “Please try to keep Mosley and my husband away from me.”

Ada nodded slowly even though the request was fairly strange. “Alright, I’ll do my best…”

Leah stopped a waiter and took two glasses of champagne off the tray he was carrying. She would need a few drinks before she was in the mood to mingle.

~~~~~~~

In the brief time before the ballet was to begin, Leah did her best to keep her distance between her, Tommy, and Mosley. She was successful and when the start of the dance was announced, Leah went outside, chatting with Polly.

Before she could really react, Tommy came up to her in the tent. “I’m sorry.” He whispered to her.

Leah found her seat and shrugged her husband off. “Save your breath, Tommy.” She retorted coldly and averted her eyes from him.

Tommy sighed and sat down next to her. He had a feeling it would take more than a simple apology to win back her trust. The whole night had put a bitter taste in his mouth but it was far from over.

~~~~~~

Halfway through the ballet, Tommy reached over and attempted to interlace his fingers with Leah’s. Instead, she pulled her hand away and crossed her arms over her chest.

Disgruntled and kicking himself for his actions, he looked over his shoulder. A flash of headlights reminded him of another one of his missions for that night. Tommy cleared his throat and tried to get Michael’s attention, jerking his chin towards Arthur who had dozed off.

Michael reached over to jostle his uncle awake and inform him of Linda’s arrival.

Leah was unaware of what was happening until Tommy made a beeline for the driveway. She hadn’t heard the gunshot over the sound of applause, but he certainly had. Other members of the family also made a speedy exit and she was left confused but trying to keep a calm face.

As the ballet dancers took their bows, Leah slipped away from the crowd and attempted to find Tommy and the rest to see what the commotion was about.

But halfway across the lawn, she came across Oswald Mosley.

To her horror, she did recognize the man. He hadn’t changed appearance-wise much since those days. It was also his nature that made him a memorable client. Leah spent the night with him maybe once or twice, but he had a reputation among the other girls who saw him far more often. They remarked that the more they got to know him, the rougher he got. Almost to the point where they considered him violent. Some girls returned with bruises that took weeks to fully heal. Another trait was his overwhelming narcissism.

He smiled devilishly when he saw her. “Mrs. Shelby, I dare say you’ve spent the entire night avoiding me. I can’t say you’ve been a very becoming hostess. Although your husband isn’t much better, to be fair.”

Leah’s jaw clenched and she looked towards the headlights in the driveway. Despite the open lawn around them, she felt trapped by the man’s presence. “I apologize, Mr. Mosley, I’ve been quite busy speaking with other guests.”

“Now see, I do remember you.” He pointed at her as if he had just sparked a memory. “The pretty blonde from Midland, just as I suspected you were.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t seem to recall you.” She replied, daintily lying to him. There was no way in hell she was giving him the satisfaction.

Instead, Mosley just looked amused. A cat playing with a mouse. “Well, if you’d like me to jog your memory, I’ll be staying the night. I was thinking I’d fuck the swan but two women at once is always a treat.”

Leah’s entire body was practically shaking with anger. “You will never ever, lay your hands on me, do you understand? I find you absolutely repulsive.” She spat.

Mosley chuckled. “I understand why Shelby married you, you’ve got quite the little bite, don’t you? He always likes a challenge, doesn’t he? Well, I hope it’s known that if your husband ever betrays me, I will destroy him and his company.” The smug smile didn’t fade off his face. In fact, it appeared he enjoyed threatening her.

Leah stepped toward him, her eyes narrowing. “Do not ever threaten my family.” She snarled. “I suggest you call your car around because you will not be staying another minute in my house.” And with that, she stormed past him and went inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Leah heard Linda screaming from inside. “What happened?” She demanded as she rushed into the dining room.

Tommy grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to guide her out of the room. “I’ll tell you later. Go check on the kids and return to the tent. Tell people nothing’s wrong.”

“I’m not going back outside.” Leah knew that Mosley was out there most likely still blocking the path to the tent. “What happened?” She asked again trying to shake off his grip and see what was going on. She thought it was her business if there was someone dying on her dining room table.

“Leah, listen to me-”

“No!” She shouted back at him. “Not after everything you’ve done tonight. Now tell me what’s happening.”

“Mumma?” Charlie was stood on the stair landing. He was trembling slightly from the noises coming from the dining room.

Tommy and Leah shared a look. “Charles, go back upstairs.” He commanded sternly.

“Go back in there.” Leah hissed at her husband and pushed his hands away from her shoulders. She headed up the stairs to console her son. “It’s okay, it’s just noises from the ballet.” She soothed softly and scooped him up into his arms. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s okay.” There was no telling how many times Leah would be able to say that until the guilt caught up to her.

Once Charlie fell back asleep, Leah closed his door and found the house was quiet again. She stood in the hallway and considered going back downstairs and joining the party again. Maybe she could put on a brave face even after everything that had happened. Then she heard her husband speaking quietly to Mosley. Their voices traveled to the big room before the door closed and their voices became muffled. The man’s voice was enough to convince her to stay upstairs. She would be ecstatic to go the rest of her life without seeing his face ever again. So, she returned to her bedroom and locked the door.

~~~~~~~~

The night passed on and Leah was comfortable in her room, far more comfortable than she would've been downstairs. She watched a few cars leaving while a few guests settled into their rooms for the night. It wasn’t long before the doorknob tried to turn but was inhibited by the lock. She didn’t move to open it; afraid it was Mosley trying to carry out his intentions. She hadn't seen whether he'd left or not.

“Leah?” Tommy knocked. “C’mon, I just want to talk.”

She considered leaving him out but knew there weren’t any empty rooms due to their guests and she didn't want him to disturb the children. With a huff, she stood up and unlocked the door before returning to her spot on the edge of the bed.

Tommy entered cautiously. He didn’t like to admit it but he was thoroughly shaken. After the confrontation with Linda and Mosley’s speech in the tent, he was afraid of what he’d gotten himself into. But it was far too late to turn back. It remained to be seen how that would affect his marriage.

“Mosley said you wouldn’t allow him to stay the night.”

“This is my house just as much as it is yours.” She replied curtly, her eyes refusing to look at him. Her arms crossed over her chest.

“I wasn't questioning that. I just wanted to know why.”

Leah tried to keep her nerve but her lower lip quivered. She was so angry and upset over the disaster of a night. “There was once a time where if a man spoke to me the way he did earlier, I would be afraid you’d kill him. Now I’m afraid that you won’t even listen to how it makes me feel. Let alone that you’d stand up for me.” She whispered.

Tommy’s stomach sank. “You did recognize him.” He surmised. And as a follow-up, he guessed that Mosley had said something to thoroughly upset his wife. That was unacceptable. The man would die.

His wife didn’t answer. Her silence was enough to confirm his suspicion. “I love you, Tommy. I’ve loved you through the worst of the worst. But I can’t understand this. I can’t understand why you’re putting your family on the line.”

He crossed the floor and sat down beside her. “Are you pregnant?”

She let out a short, bitter laugh. “I didn’t think you’d notice until I’d gone into labor.” She replied coldly.

“There are two things I can do.” He reached for her hand. She reluctantly let his fingers interlace with hers. Tommy wasn't going to talk about plan details with her. There was no reason to involve her in the gruesome bits. The further away he could keep her from such things the better. That way if anything was to come crashing down, she wouldn't have any culpability. “We can carry on. And I can promise you that things will get better once my plan goes through. Or I can take you and the kids to stay somewhere safe until then.”

“Where?”

“Purgatory, if you will.” Tommy took a deep breath. “Somewhere discrete and somewhere unknown to my enemies. You’ll be safe there and you won’t have to deal with me.”

Leah looked down at their intertwined hands. “Remember when you tried to ship Charlie and I off to May’s in Surrey, to try and avoid Luca Changretta? Do you remember what I said to you?”

He nodded. “You said you’d be home every night for me when I came home.”

“I’m angry with you, Tommy. I can’t lie to you and say that I’m not. But I know who you are, better than most people. And if I know you, that man will be dead before your plan is through.”

Tommy nodded. “He’ll be dead before our child is born.” He kissed her knuckles. “Believe me when I say that.”

She believed him. “What are you going to do until then?” She asked quietly.

“I’m moving seven tonnes of opium and starting a new party in Parliament.”

~~~~~~~~~

“Three Shelby/Gray girls pregnant.” Polly sighed when she heard the news.

Leah smiled sheepishly. “It was a surprise. We weren’t planning on it. I think we were banking on just two kids and leaving it at that.”

“Well, babies can help calm things down sometimes. Having a family reminds you of your priorities.”

Leah was at Polly’s apartment, Johanna and Charlie were playing downstairs while the two women had tea. Leah was still trying to find her bearings after her birthday party. She knew she needed to trust Tommy but it felt like something was looming over them, waiting to strike and ruin everything. Polly was always a grounding figure even during the most chaotic of times for the family. Leah was always comforted when she got advice from the older woman.

“Tommy gave me the option to take the kids somewhere safer.”

“What did you say to that?”

Leah focused on the way the milk in her tea disappeared in a swirling motion. “I told him I promised to stay with him. Family is meant to stay together.” She chewed on her lip. “Pol, am I being foolish?”

“How many times have you asked me that before?” Polly touched her arm comfortingly. “If you go through life doubting your every move then you’re bound to fail.”

She frowned. “I know you’re right, I just have trouble with-well I just don’t know how to help him anymore. Every time I feel I’ve broken through; I find another wall. It sounds like he’s so close but when I turn around, he’s so far away…”

“I can’t begin to explain love,” Polly said, her eyes wise and gentle. “It’s very strange and frankly it’s fucking idiotic. But for whatever reason God has placed you two together. Now if it’s time to separate-”

“No.” Leah blurted.

Polly raised an eyebrow. “What made you say that so quickly?” Her tone wasn’t accusing or poking fun. Instead, she was trying to turn the mirror onto Leah so she could understand herself. If she couldn’t then how could she understand Tommy? And how could he understand Leah?

“Because,” She paused and thought to herself. It was rare she got quiet time to contemplate over her relationship. Either the kids or life was begging for her attention. Or, she was too deep in an argument with her husband that it skewed her thoughts. If she was alone, she tended to curl up into herself, plagued by the thoughts of hopelessness or questioning her worth as a wife. But being with Polly, a calming presence, she was allowed to step back and think rationally. “Because I know he’s flawed. I’ve known that since I met him. But I also know that he loves me. He loves our children. But he’s so lost in this idea of what he thinks he needs to be. The things he wants from life.” She sighed and rested her forehead against her hand.

“If you want to stay here, please don’t lose focus on what’s important.” Polly reminded her.

Leah nodded and rested a hand on her abdomen. “I suppose Ada, Gina, and I have to start a little club for pregnant women.” She joked half-heartedly.

A sour look crossed Polly’s face when her daughter-in-law was mentioned. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

“Don’t worry.” She picked up on the way Polly walked on eggshells. “Ada gave me a sort of…warning.”

Polly shook her head. “I love my son but I worry about his intentions. And what influence she has over him. He’s not the same boy who left for America.”

Leah locked her fingers together over her stomach. She tended not to get involved with inter-family politics. There was a fine line that could be broken easily. Trust wasn’t abundant and she was worried bridges could be burned down with the smallest of spark. “Maybe I could meet with her? She might be worried, being in a new country with a baby on the way.”

“That girl isn’t worried.” Polly glanced up at the clock over Leah’s shoulder. “But you may cross paths with her soon.”

“Mummy! Daddy’s here!” Johanna exclaimed from the foot of the stairs.

Leah looked confused and she stood up. As far as she knew, Tommy was meant to be working the entire day. But as she got to the top of the stairs, her husband was coming in. “Tom?”

“Go upstairs, hi, not right now.” Tommy kissed Johanna’s cheek as she held her arms up to be picked up. “Go upstairs.” He repeated breathlessly. “Leah, can you come with me? Charlie and Johanna, you stay here with auntie.”

Polly came out of the parlor. “Tommy? Is something wrong?”

The two kids came skittering up the stairs going to grab onto Polly’s skirt. “Do we get to stay the night?” Johanna asked hopefully.

“Can we go visit Curly and the horses?” Charlie added.

“Hush, hush.” Leah quieted them. “You won’t be staying the night. You’ll just stay here until mum and dad get back.” She explained and went downstairs. “What’s going on?” She whispered to her husband.

He was pale in the face, his eyes wide with shock. Something had clearly rattled him and there were any number of things that could’ve happened. “I’ll explain on the way.” He mumbled back to her and helped her into her coat. “I need you to come to Ada’s with me.”

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe @evelynshelby

Tag list: @shelbyblinded

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loganscalesaurawrites · 4 years

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9/1 Prompt for @tsshipmonth2020 ‘s Soulmate September stuff. I haven’t written a lot of Sanders Sides though [... Or fanfics in general that were more than oneshots/fallen projects. so expect roughness.

[I’ll be doing a mix of platonic soulmates and romantic soulmates as this goes on [If I write more], because I’m a big fan of the sides as a big poly web with Roman and Remus being the only two not actively dating because remro/m = no.]

This one’s the full web with remus and roman as platonic soulmates! Because start with your favorite thing.

[Remus is also probably a bit ooc, but I like the headcanon that he plays up his “Depravity” as a side, and in human!Au he’s just someone with a morbid fascination with death or biology that leaves most people unnerved/is prone to blurting out what he’s thinking without really caring about other people’s comfort until he’s told off.

Soulmate Marks had been appearing for centuries at this point with very limited knowledge on how or why exactly they did, a short list of names appearing in either a dark crimson for your lovers, or a glittering emerald for those who you bond with as friends or even a found family in most cases- both darkening with an outline the moment you came in contact with your soulmates. These started forming generally early on in life as your soulmates were born and names chosen, or you were born with them if you were the youngest of your soulmates.- Though rarely were they ever more than a year or two apart, and with astonishing frequently, you started meeting your romantic soulmates a few days after your eighteenth birthday.

It was a rarity for someone to have more than one [maybe two] of both, but when they were born, the Alvarez twins had a stretch of four crimson names, and the moment their names were chosen emerald swirled on each other’s wrists.

But that was almost two decades ago, now it was eighteen years later, nearing the end of the school year a few days after the twins’ birthday and Roman, once again, was trying to figure out his soulmates.

Patton Kravitz: His last name had changed quite a lot early on, which his parents said probably meant he was bouncing around in adoption centers until he settled in a few years prior. The original name was long forgotten in his memory, but he was sure it was’t a masculine name to start- but that was fine with them both, whatever pronouns- [Roman had a hard time switching to they in his head, but was working on it![- their soulmate had they knew to respect.

Logan Sanders: A simple, regular name. [Remus even jolted up about three times in the past week hearing either of the two seperate, but had to be reminded their birthday hadn’t come up yet, it was unlikely.], unlike the

Virgil: No last name, at least not one in english, Roman no matter how hard he tried to learn japanese for the sake of this soulmate was just unable to figure out how to read the kanji [Though Remus could, and it infuriated him to no end when he never said how to read it].

Janus : No last name again, though he had disappeared for a week, before coming back in the same exact place [Remus was the most panicked about this, his more... grim worries flashing through his head before Roman calmed him down, talking about how Patton’s name flickered a few times while his name was in flux, so maybe Janus was similar to patton, just took longer.

Roman quietly stared at the names on his wrist, again pencil tapping rapidly on his desk, a few rapid bounces of his leg came before the teacher called on him, jolting him out of his reviere and rushing to catch back up on which question they were on.

His brother behind him softly snorted, tapping a rapid series of things and Roman quickly flicked forward and read the line out with a narrowed from his teacher, but the bell rung right after and he quickly rushed to get his things and dart before he could get told off for daydreaming again.

Right behind him Remus playfully chided his brother with a low tsk. “C’mon, Ro, I thought we said you only get one longing lovestruck look at your names a day, that’s the third time I caught you thinking about them and how much you-”

Roman gently elbowed the other as he snickered, “Oh please, you’re the one who daydreams about the bedroom, I’m pure and chaste and romantic.”

“Say that to your picture of Aladdin-”

“He is a god among mortals and you will shut your face before I do-”

Remus’s cackle was heard through the hallway, the two seniors bickering on their way to the car as Roman slid into the passenger’s side, flapping his hands about in excitement as Remus let him jabber on, driving their way to a nearby coffee shop during their lunchbreak. He quickly passed by their usual one, Remus deciding to try different places nearby to hopefully get his brother to shut up about them for one second.

“What absurd thing’re you going to ask them to put on your cup this time?” Roman slid out staring Remus down, ticking his latest creations. “Last name sucker, first name Dick? Boo T Chaser?”

Remus shrugged, grinning wider than Roman had seen, “Just Remus!”

There was a second, Roman waiting for the beat to drop before he blinked, frowning. “... Remus?”

“Yeah, I mean you’re obsessed with our soulmates, might as well make it easier, besides seeing the two of us together and our last names on the cups should abso fucking lutely make these people notice. You think one of our soulmates’d be willing to bang me right after we meet or should I buy them dinner fi-”

Roman threw his hands up in the air, slamming them down to his sides with a snort that betrayed his annoyance. “Your pansexual ass needs to chill.”

“And your Ace ass is the only person I can talk to about this who won’t squirm in discomfort and would dropkick me. Thank god you’re not repulsed otherwise I have no idea how we’re soulmates if you can’t reign me in, princey.” Remus stuck his tongue out, ducking a grabbing hand at the childish nickname before walking in.

The shop itself wasn’t all too unique, a simple cafe with a chalkboard menu above the counter, currently being updated by a guy in a patchwork purple hoodie doodling all sorts of plants along the frame of the board. One of the baristas- dressed complete in suspenders and the hipster aesthetic from the looks of it [who else’d wear a necktie to a casual cafe]- pratling to a customer with a cardigan around his shoulders. Remus met the light chill of the AC with a happy sigh, quickly rushing to stand behind a guy with multicolored skin [Vitiligo- Roman remembered reading about it once] and he jolted when Remus had already moved to the register.

shit.

“Hi I want your darkest roast you’ve got, black, and sunshine here’s gonna need more cream and sugar than coffee. If it’s not whiter than a sheet of paper he won’t drink it.”

“Asshole.” Roman elbowed Remus, turning to the barista. “I’d like just a latte, if you don’t mind. And I’ll pay extra for it too, but if anyone working can do that fancy latte art stuff I’d appreciate it?”

“Very well.” The barista’s tone was an odd mix of clipped formality, and warm gentleness that immediately made Roman melt, and the Barista pulled out two cups real quick, grabbing papers. “Names? And please-” he glared at Remus. “This time, do not make me call out “Luke Kinfor Cawk”

Roman ignored the soft snort from the arist above them, hearing him grumble “Is that any way to treat a customer?”

He glanced up, glaring at the smirking artist- Remus gawking at his light makeup for a second and mumbling something about needing tips from the stylish asian indivudal- “I’ve been working here for a week, I’ll do better about it.”

“God I’m joking Lo, take a hint. Though you’re leagues above where you were when we met. Sorry about that.” The hoodie wearer hopped down, dusting his shirt and picking up a pen himself. “Welcome to the Roast, since he forgot to welcome you. I can do latte art, so any requests?”

“Yeah, can I kiss you-” Roman’s hand slapped over Remus’s mouth- surprised at the safe for work flirt and he stumbled out.

“My apologies, my brother here’s... Eccentric, I apologize if he’s ever gone too far.”

The barista shrugged- and Roman noticed neither of the employees had a nametag on. Odd. “The first time yes, but I just hold it against him since we’ve had a pretty decent rapport.”

“How you can stomach all that biology I don’t know. You two start prattling off those facts in the corner like it’s a science course.” The other two customers nearby snorted, trying to hide their eavesdropping as they themselves chatted, and the artist quickly pulled the labels off. “Names?”

“Roman and Remus Alvarez-”

All at once, four different things fell over. The pencil in the artist’s hand, the mug the barista was cleaning, the coffee that the cardigan clad guy was sipping from... and the 4th individual in his entirety, who somehow litterally fell over at the name spontaneously as though it shocked him.

The twins stared at one another for about half a second, seeing things processing on the other four, before Roman grinned, hands moving up and showing the lines of red names on his wrist.

“Virgil, Logan, Patton and Janus I presume?” Artist, Barista, Cardigan, and the one currently still on the floor in shock nodded in that order, and Remus cackled like mad.

“Ok now that it’s a LOT more kosher, Specs or Chalkboy, can I kiss you now” Remus helped Janus up from the floor, dusting his shirt off while pouting at the workers and Patton giggled.

“I get the feeling we’re gonna be skipping the rest of school today, Remus.” [Don’t do that kiddo!][Please do] “There’s a lot of stuff to talk about.”

#sanders sides #soulmate september #soulmate AU

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perlukafarinn · 5 years

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Prompt: star trek-related destiel? Could be AU, canon-verse-but-magically-transported-to-st-verse, or just discussing and/or watching star trek :)

(I went with fusion, with Dean as Kirk and Cas as Spock. Also there’s pon farr, because how could I not.)

Dean’s first officer has been avoiding him for five days.

He’s showing up for his shifts, of course, because Cas is nothing if not a consummate professional but he won’t look at Dean, not even when he is speaking to him directly. He will also turn and walk the other way if they see each other in the hallways, and if he’s in the cafeteria when Dean enters he will immediately leave.

Dean is sick of it and, if he’s being honest, a little hurt. He’s not sure what he did to justify such treatment; he hasn’t broken the prime directive in months and the last three away missions they did he avoided life threatening situations all together.

On top of it, he’s apparently been acting off around other members of the crew, although not avoiding them outright. He’s been short with them, once even snapping at poor Ensign Kline.

When he brings it up with Sam, his chief medical officer and pain-in-the-ass little brother, he gets no definite answers.

“Commander Castiel is... dealing with something,” is Sam’s cryptic answer. “Look, just ask him about it. I can’t tell you anything that will violate doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Dean takes notice of that. “Cas is sick?”

“No, it’s-” Sam sighs. “Seriously, talk to him. If you ask him straight out, he’ll probably tell you. You’re his best friend.”

“Nice way he has of showing it,” Dean mutters.

Still, Sam isn’t wrong often. Dean heads down to Cas’ quarters and knocks, praying that he can’t somehow sense him on the other side of the door with his Vulcan mojo and ignore him.

A few moments later, the door slides open. Something has to be wrong with Cas, because Dean can actually see surprise flickering across his face before being replaced by the usual deadpan expression.

“Captain,” Cas greets.

“Commander,” Dean says dryly. “Can I come in?”

Cas wants to refuse him, Dean can tell, but he apparently can’t think of a good enough reason to because he inclines his head slightly and steps out of the way.

Dean enters. The room is even warmer than Cas usually keeps it, the air stale and stifling. Maybe Cas is coming down with a cold?

“I’m gonna cut right to the chase,” Dean says, turning around. He frowns when he notices that Cas has both hands behind his back, his forearms tense as if he’s clenching his fists. “You’ve been acting strange lately and I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

Cas takes a few moments to respond. “If any complaints have been lodged against me-”

Dean holds up his hand. “It’s nothing like that. I’m here as your friend, not your captain.”

“Very well. As my friend, I expect you to respect my privacy.”

Dean waits but Cas is apparently done talking. He considers saying to hell with it and just ordering Cas to tell him what’s wrong, but he can’t abuse his position like that no matter how badly he wants to.

“Cas, come on, you’re obviously upset about something. And don’t,” he adds quickly, “say that Vulcans don’t get upset. We both know that’s bullshit.”

“Then I am not sure what you want me to tell you.”

“Tell me what’s wrong!” Dean swallows. “Was it something I did?”

Cas pales. “Dean, no!” He seems taken aback in the next moment at his own outburst. “No, I - it was nothing you did, I assure you.”

“Then what is it?”

“It... has to do with biology.”

Dean narrows his eyes, confused at the unexpected answer. “What kind of biology?”

“Vulcan biology.”

“You mean the biology of Vulcans?”

Cas exhales slowly, looking very much like he’s second-guessing his decision to entrust Dean with this delicate information. “Yes. It is a deeply private matter, one that is rarely shared with outsiders.”

This is becoming more confusing by the second. Dean knows that Vulcans are a secretive bunch but what could possibly require such secrecy?

A thought suddenly strikes him.

“This is about sex, isn’t it?”

Cas purses his lips, his nostrils flaring slightly. He seems to be seriously regretting telling Dean anything, and Dean is half-expecting him to kick him out of his quarters, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he tells him everything. About pon farr. and his need to return home and take a mate. His lack of a mate, since his intended broke their bond some years ago (and Dean has to take a moment there because what the hell, Cas was engaged?).

The fact that if he doesn’t find a mate in time, the fever will kill him, which is especially scary since it would take more than three weeks for them to reach Vulcan.

“So?” Dean says. “Surely they don’t have to be a Vulcan, just look at your parents. Can’t you find someone on board the Enterprise to mate with you? I can think of more than a few who’d be happy to volunteer.”

“Dean-” Cas catches himself. “Captain, I appreciate your efforts to help but it would be highly inappropriate to solicit any member of the crew in this way, as I outrank them and they might find themselves compelled to agree.”

“Then we’ll dock at the nearest station and you’ll find someone there.” Dean throws up his hands, desperate now. He can’t let Cas die, just because they’re too far from his home planet. “Or, hell, I’ll do it, just as long as-”

Cas slams into him, cutting him off short. Dean blinks, disoriented at finding himself suddenly pinned against the wall with six feet of pissed off and horny Vulcan pressed against him (and hello, that is definitely not a phaser in his pants).

“Cas?” Dean tries. He reaches up his hand, closing it over Cas’ currently grasping tightly at his collar. “You okay?”

“You have no idea what you are offering,” Cas says. It looks like it pains him to speak, and it occurs suddenly to Dean that he’s been holding back this entire conversation.

“Hey, it’s just sex.” Dean smiles, though it probably looks half-hearted at best. “Believe it or not, I’ve done it before.”

“But it would not be just sex,” Cas tells him. “Pon farr is... a difficult time. We lose control, revert to an animalistic state. I cannot guarantee I won’t hurt you.”

Dean shifts. He’s feeling a little more affected by Cas’ proximity than he wants to let on, and this talk about animalistic sex sure isn’t helping matters. “Maybe I don’t mind it a little rough.”

Cas makes a pained noise that has no right to sound as sexy as it does.

“It also involves a mental connection, as well as physical one,” he says after a moment to gather himself. “I would need to form a bond with your mind.”

“We’ve mindmelded before,” Dean reminds him. “You told me our minds were compatible.”

Cas stares at him. Dean tugs at his hand, finally prying his fingers from clutching his shirt. He doesn’t let go of it, and Cas doesn’t pull away either.

“It would be more than a simple mindmeld. I may not be able to break it myself. We would be connected in a profound, permanent way, never again completely alone.”

And if that isn’t the scariest, most wonderful thing Dean can think of. He searches Cas’ eyes for some idea of how he feels about it, sees no sign of repulsion or despair, nothing but desperation for Dean to understand.

“Would that be so bad?”

He doesn’t get an answer. Not a verbal one, anyway, because Cas is too busy sticking his tongue down his throat. Dean responds enthusiastically, pressing his fingers against Cas’ as well in a simultaneous human and Vulcan kiss.

Cas is the one to pull away, leaving Dean breathless and a little dizzy.

“Dean, are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Dean reassures him. “I am so, so sure.”

It isn’t exactly a declaration of love but it’s as close as Dean’s emotionally repressed ass is gonna get. Besides, Cas will soon be inside his mind and he’ll know exactly what he means.

Cas kisses him again, even more desperate and heated than before. Then he is grabbing Dean and lifting him, fingers digging into his thighs. Dean automatically wraps his legs around his waist, allowing Cas to carry him across the room, to his bed where he lays him down.

He keeps standing, staring down at Dean with darkened eyes and a deep green flush on his cheeks. He has rarely looked so alien. Or so hot.

This is gonna be an interesting night.

Pon farr, apparently, can last anywhere from three days up to a week. Cas’ lasts six.

Not that Dean is complaining.

#tlakhtwritesdestiel #destiel #deancas #spn fanfic #perlukafarinn writes #prompt fill #first time #au fic #this got so much longer than expected #and yet it feels way too short #i've always wanted a fic of amok time #where that infamously ust-filled conversation about vulcan biology #resolves itself in sex #so i decided to finally write it sort of #hope this is readable

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shitty-tf2-headcanons · 5 years

Note

if requests are open! can i have hcs of each mercs ideal type for a s/o, like personality or looks wise, (if its matters to them!) im biased but i think medic, scout and sniper would really like a short partner for the feel and maybe aesthetic ansjsj

Scout-

This boy can’t be picky considering only a select few people would actually want to date him

Likes short dark brown hair, it feels and looks nicer to run his hand through

Can’t get enough of green eyes

Prefers shorter partners. Taller ones only bruise his ego

Likes slim thicc partners. Thick thighs and ass but still slim

Loves when his partners wear glasses

Wants someone who is assertive

A jokester. Someone who can help him pull pranks on Spy

Someone patient. He knows he’s a handful so he wants someone who can tolerate him at least

Definitely wants someone who is athletic or enjoys sports

Soldier-

Zhanna is the ideal

Really likes long wavy blonde hair. Especially if it can be braided

Can stare into a pair of gray eyes all day if he could

Wants a partner that just towers over him. Tall partners make him weak in the knees

Obviously prefers someone who’s muscular but also has some fat on them Zhanna

Any kind of obvious scars are gonna attract him to you. He equates them with you winning some type of battle

Wants to date someone who’s down for any kind of crazy shit

Please be an animal lover. He can’t date someone who dislikes his precious raccoons

Would like to date someone who’s super competitive and ready for any challenge

Wants someone who is very extroverted and loud. Someone who’s not afraid to announce their love for him

Pyro-

Is so lonely and desperate that they’ll date anyone to feel whole again

Really loves any kind of hair that’s been dyed a bright color

Amber eyes are so beautiful to them

Height doesn’t matter but prefers taller partners most of the time

Wants a chubby partner. They’re just so warm and soft to hold

Is drawn to people who have a pastel or pastel grunge aesthetic

Just be a sweet and caring person. That’s all they want

Wants a non judgmental partner. They’re very insecure about their body so they only want a partner who won’t be repulsed by them

Someone who’s very affectionate is needed! Just wants to be showered in love

Wants someone with a sweet tooth so they can feed them their baked treats and goods

Demo-

He’s pretty easy to date since he believes in giving everyone a chance

Goes nuts over someone with curly red hair

Brown eyes are the best eyes to him

Likes shorter partners

Actually likes thin scrawny partners. Makes it easier to tease them

Did I mention that this man adores freckles?

Gonna want someone who’s energetic. Someone who can drink with him all night long and still have energy in the morning

Be compassionate. Really wants someone who really cares for him and the team

Loves a partner who’s easy to tease or embarrass

Enjoys himself someone who is shown to be a little feisty

Heavy-

Medic is the ideal

Loves black hair that can be styled in different ways

Really likes the look of hazel eyes

Can’t really find anybody that is taller than him. So he prefers partners that are almost as tall as him

Actually prefers a plus size partner or a muscular one (why not both?)

Loves a good smile. Even if it is a maniacal one

Definitely wants a partner who’s a bookworm or enjoys reading

Intelligent or clever partners are a must

Wants someone who is a survivor. Someone who has survived certain situations (whether they be physical or psychological)

Be a good listener. His English may be broken but he still enjoys talking to you about things

Engineer-

Just like Demo, he’s open to dating just about anyone

There’s something about short light brown hair that just appeals to him so much

Sucker for blue eyes

Wants a smaller partner since he’s already so insecure about his height

Oddly enough he wants a thin partner. Just so he can keep feeding them and watch them plump up (weird I know)

Dimples are the cutest thing to him

Definitely wants someone who’s just as or even more smarter than him. Keeps the conversations interesting

Wants someone carefree and maybe just a bit naive. Someone who can help him relax more

Wants someone who loves being pampered. He just wants to take care of them

Most of all, he wants someone who’s kind to just about everyone

Medic-

Heavy is the ideal

Loves medium length red hair. Especially if it’s a bright shade of red

Enjoys how vibrant green eyes look

Prefers shorter partners (for the aesthetic!) but isn’t opposed to slightly taller lovers

Prefers someone who’s an absolute unit. Openly drools at the sight of muscle people Heavy

Gotta like his doves. If they don’t, it’s not gonna work out with him

He enjoys shy partners. They’re so cute and that cuteness inspires a sadistic desire in him

Wants someone who is interested in his work. This would also mean they’re not too squeamish

Oddly enough, he wants someone kinda clingy. Just so they could drag him away from work cause they’re feeling left out

Just like Demo, he wants someone who’s easy to fluster and embarrass

Sniper-

This boy doesn’t even know if he has a type

Really likes long dark brown hair. Especially if it reaches down to their butt (so super long in other words)

Dark brown eyes are just so radiant to him

Likes shorter partners. It feels nice to just lean down and kiss them

Chubby partners are a must! He likes to hold them and just use them as a pillow

Freckles are everything to him

Oh my god please be a animal lover

Wants someone who’s sleepy and chill. Someone who considers napping together a date

Someone who can respect his boundaries

Really wants a partner who’s not afraid to go feral sometimes

Spy-

This bitch is so damn picky about his partners

Adores medium length black hair that can be styled into updos

Blue eyes look so sweet to him

Wants a partner who’s almost as tall as him

Just like Scout, he loves himself some curvy partners

Just be Scout’s Ma and he’ll date you for a while

Demands that his partners know basic etiquette and manners. Just be classy

Prefers someone who’s not overly emotional or can process them well

Likes someone with a sharp wit. Someone who’s always ready with a comeback

Secretly though, he wants someone who can make him laugh during the worst of times

Miss Pauling-

She doesn’t have time to have a type

Loves medium length blonde hair. Wants to style it into a bun if she could

Hazel eyes are so rare and special to her

Doesn’t mind at all if her partner is slightly taller than her

Loves a bit of muscle on them and prefers if they were more slim than anything

Just wants someone who considers working with her a date

Wants someone who’s okay with being alone and on their own

Prefers someone who can crack stupid jokes that might make her crack a smile

Likes if their partner is just as hard working and dedicated as her

Overall, just wants someone who’s gonna enjoy going to a gun show with her

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 headcanons #tf2 imagines #tf2 scout #tf2 solider #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 miss pauling #asks

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melodiouswhite · 5 years

Text

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten - Ch. 50

50. The existential crisis of Mr. Hyde

By now Hyde had his own rooms in Jekyll's house (even though he rarely used them).

Tonight however, Jekyll took him along to his bedroom without so much as a word. Only to catch him by surprise, when he pinned him against the door.

“Edward, what's the matter? You've been so quiet and crestfallen since we left.”

Hyde raised an eyebrow. “And that bothers you? How many times a day do you tell me to shut up?”

But the Doctor shook his head. “You're only this quiet and clingy with me, when you're extremely distraught and seek my comfort. Please tell me what distresses you. I can't look into your head anymore.”

Instead of talking, the smaller man grabbed the larger and kissed him.

He didn't even wait for Jekyll to reciprocate, before he pulled back.

“Edward …?”

“No more word, Jekyll!”, Hyde growled.

The blond frowned, but sighed and didn't pry further.

Those three words had been the broad hint ever since he had been split off. They told the other not to ask any more questions, make no comments or remarks.

They told each other to shut up all the time, but those three words meant that it was serious.

Hyde didn't want to talk.

He wanted to forget.

So he kissed the older man again.

This time he received a kiss in return.

And with them being who they were, it didn't stay at that.

Hours later, the small brunette was lying beside his Doctor, breathing heavily and in the other's arms.

He was wide awake.

Not so Jekyll.

The blond was sleeping the sleep of the righteous, or so it seemed.

The self-righteous, Hyde deadpanned in his mind and almost laughed out loud.

The old man seemed to not be having nightmares.

Good.

At least one of them would get a good night's sleep.

Hyde felt like he was being consumed by flames. He was burning up. And why were Jekyll's arms suddenly so cold and heavy? Why did it feel like he couldn't breathe?

Then he remembered …

All the things he had heard today.

That one man, who was just like him.

What he had told him about himself and about how his creator treated him – how a deranged, gruff alchemist was kinder to him than the man who had made him.

His own relationship with Jekyll and how it had developed over the last year.

Edward Hyde had always known that his relationship to his other half was dysfunctional.

Jekyll was a hypocritical, lying, unstable and obsessive old bastard, while he himself was ruthless, wrathful and repulsed by the very concept of emotional attachment. As for the things he had in common with Jekyll … of course he did. He was a manifestation of all the Doctor's vices and desires. He was the way he was, because that was how Jekyll truly was. He just couldn't help it.

However … Jekyll wasn't superficial, at least not much. Even though he was an incredibly handsome man.

Sure, he loved beautiful things and people (who didn't?), but seeing ugly ones didn't make him run away screaming. No, he had the ability of seeing beauty in ugliness and that was one of his genuinely good qualities.

“It worked! I did it! Welcome to the world, Edward Hyde!”

Welcome to the world.

Welcome.

Welcome …

He bit his lip and swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew, no matter how silently he cried, Jekyll would sense it and wake up. Fifteen years with Lanyon (who had cried every time after they had done it) had kind of sensitised him to this. It was the weirdest kind of sixth sense to have.

Unfortunately, Hyde's plan of not crying was foiled, when he thought of all the things his creator had given him; he had a name, a nicely-furnished flat, clothes, a bank account, money for his nightly activities …

Now those things could be used to indulge Jekyll's pleasures, but he also owned a lot of things that had nothing to do with this.

Things that Jekyll hadn't bought him for his own benefit.

He had bought them, just for the sake of spoiling him once in a while, like a father spoiled his child or a loving husband his wife. Because he loved seeing him happy because of something simple and innocent, because …

Hyde bit his lip harder, but the only thing it lead to was blood running down his chin.

Jekyll, you fool! You hopelessly romantic, sentimental, old fool!

Predictably enough, the crying – even though it was silent – woke the blond Doctor up.

In the darkness, the brunette could see his chocolate brown eyes widen in shock.

“Edward! Why are you cry-?”

“I'm not crying, you're crying!”, Hyde snapped angrily and vehemently rubbed his eyes.

Jekyll just shook his head and wiped away the blood and tears.

Later, when the blond finally was sleeping for real, Hyde was contemplating what would happen now.

Meeting Adam had made him question a lot of things.

Until almost a month ago, Jekyll had kept Hyde around, because there was no other way. They had been one and the same man.

But now Edward Hyde was completely separated. He was his own entity now – right? Was he really a human being of his own now or would he never be more than the alter ego of Henry Jekyll? Would he ever be his own master? And most importantly – did he want to?

Until their complete separation, he had been the outlet for his creator's desires, a tool for tension relief and a way to freedom … that was all he had been, really. Even though Jekyll and the others said otherwise. It had been simple; he was Edward Hyde, the darker half and alter ego of the “respectable” Dr. Henry Jekyll, the wicked side, the mask and disguise that was more real than the man himself.

But what was he now? Who was he now?

Who was he, if not the darker alter ego of Henry Jekyll?

And why was Jekyll still keeping him around?

They were no longer in the same body. Jekyll couldn't live out his wishes and desires through him and he couldn't hide (heh!) behind him.

He had nothing to offer. Everything that was his ultimately belonged to the Doctor, even the money on his bank account and the clothes he owned.

No wonder Utterson thought that I'm just a gigolo, before he knew the truth.

He owed Jekyll everything, even his naked existence.

The blond had never tired to remind him of it.

What more could he possibly want from him?

His body, probably. Likely.

Hyde knew that Jekyll loved him, wanted him in every possible way. Hell, he was lying naked next to him right now, had been for almost every night in the last weeks!

He hadn't minded – he liked the fuck way too much and the old man was fantastic for his age.

But was that all he was good for?

Did Jekyll only want him for his body?

It had to be so.

What else could he want from him?

He had nothing else.

The brunette heaved a sigh and made up his mind.

Forgive me, Jekyll.

He bent down and planted a gentle kiss onto the sleeping man's eyelids.

Perhaps it would be the last.

#The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll #henry jekyll #Mr. Hyde #edward hyde #jekyde #jekyllxhyde

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ladynuwanda · 6 years

Text

A Ride on the Other Side (Sub!Duncan ShepherdXDom!Female Reader)

A/N: (Thank you @alexcornerblog for trusting me again with your request, Babe! <3) Bored Dom!Duncan wants to try something new, and luckily he has his Bestie to teach him “the ways of the Force”.

Warnings: Smut. DomXSub play. Unprotected sex (as the Spice Girls would say, “be a little bit wiser, baby, put it on”). And, since I wrote this, get ready to watch some feelings being felt! ;)

Word Count: 4,5 K.

I had been friends with Duncan Shepherd for most of my adult life. We met at College, I noticed he was one of the brightest students in class, a real teacher’s favourite, and decided to get close to him. That’s how my competitive thinking works: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If I wanted to be the best, I’d better join the best... instead of fighting them. There was nothing even remotely romantic about our relationship. Except for that one stupid night, in freshman year. But once we got the sexual tension out of the way, with disastrous results for everyone involved, we were free to be good friends.

After graduation we moved to DC together. Duncan had always felt a burning passion for politics, I was just in love with the city. We both got our internships during the same Summer, him at the Capitol, me at the Smithsonian. And all these years we’ve lived in Washington made us develop a few weekly rituals. One of my favourites was going to his apartment in the morning when we both had the day off. I’d take fresh brewed coffee with me, and some pastry for Duncan’s sugar cravings. We’d have breakfast together and then he’d let me enjoy the view from the balcony of his penthouse while I read a book. He was pleased to share the comforts his family’s money could buy with a friend, and I was glad to keep him company.

“‘Morning, Shepherd!”, the more hungover he looked the more I’d use an annoying sing-song tone to greet him.

“Really, tho? Are you sure it’s already morning?”, I had grown desensitised to Duncan’s attractiveness over the years, his baby-blue eyes and light scruff felt simply mundane to me.

“It’s almost afternoon, to be honest...”, I let myself in, while he sleepily rubbed his eyes, “they were out of cherry danish, so I got you cheese, I hope that’s ok.”

“Cheese is fine... please, come on in.”, that was his attempt at sarcasm, I was already halfway into the kitchen.

“For the love of God, drink your coffee, you’re grumpier than usual this morning... and that’s saying a lot!”

I’d never have to worry about walking in on him with company. He’d rarely take his hookups to his place, he preferred expansive hotels. That way he could show off his wealth, estabilishing dominance, but also “avoid giving off a false sense of intimacy”, as he said. “So who’s your date this morning? Fitzgerald? Yeats? Or are you back to your goth phase with that Poe compilation?”, he seemed instantly more alive after his first sip of coffee, he was almost smiling. “Shakespeare. I felt like revisiting Hamlet... sometimes you just gotta give your first love a second chance.”, I smiled showing him my old leather-bound copy of Tragedies by Shakespeare.

“But I’m expecting an e-mail from work... do you mind if I use your computer? I thought my phone was charging last night but it wasn’t, it’s dead as a doorknob...”, I was already walking towards his home office, without waiting for a reply.

“Sure...”, he mumbled while taking a cheese danish from the paper-bag I’d brought, “good morning, you beauty!”. “I’m gonna pretend I’m not offended that you’re greeting your breakfast with a lot more enthusiasm than you greeted me...”, I shouted towards the kitchen, while I was sitting on his desk and pulling the laptop open.

The computer was already on, it was just closed, and that was unusual for someone as highly organised as Duncan. “You forgot to turn it off last night, are you ok...”, I was saying when I heart a loud “OH SHIT” from the kitchen. I looked at the screen and “oh shit”, indeed. There was a cheap-looking porn video playing in full volume. I’ve always thought Duncan was a man of more refined tastes, but that was not the weirdest thing about it. The leather-clad couple onscreen was already going to town but it was the girl, wearing a stereotypical dominatrix outfit and a harness, that was thrusting mercilessly into a guy on all fours, with a ball gag in his mouth.

Duncan shot into the room, now fully awake. His eyes were wide and his mouth agape, looking more terrified than I’d ever seen him. He hastily shut the laptop again, not daring to look at me. I just sat there with a blank expression, looking at my old friend, waiting for an explanation. “I’m gonna lend you a chord, you can charge your phone and check your e-mails... ok?”, with the most awkward little grin he left the room, blushing bright-red. I followed him, still unable to speak.

The thing is, Duncan had always been a proud Dom. It was part of who he was, being an influential man, from a prominent family. He had a reputation. The girls who threw themselves at his feet were already expecting that from him. He had things done his way in absolutely every aspect of his life. Always. I think he actually got off on that power. It seemed impossible that the famous Duncan Shepherd would be fantasising about being pegged by a girl in what could only be described as a dominatrix costume. And we were both very similar in our tastes that way, and we’ve always respected each other too much to try and change one another. That was also part of what made us incompatible in the bedroom, and kept our friendship safe from any unwanted sexual tension all these years.

“Duncan, what... why... are you ok?”

“Can we just... never talk about it again, please?”

“Yes.”, I lowered my eyes in second-hand embarrassment.

“I’m just... I’m so tired!”, he ran his hands over his own face, and sat heavily down on the couch.

“Of what? Not having your ass split in half?”, I chuckled, he didn’t, “come on, Duncan... it’s me! You know I won’t judge... I just wanna understand.”, I sat on the couch by his side, and I though about putting a hand to his shoulder, but decided against it. For some reason it felt inappropriate to touch him now.

“It’s just... it’s always the same, y’know... all those girls, always willing to lick my boots on command, all of them so eager to please...”

“Poor you, Duncan! It must be a nightmare...”, he narrowed his eyes at me, “I’m sorry, go on.”

“You really are a pain in my ass, you know...”, he sighed deeply before continuing, “I’m just sick of standing up to other people’s expectations... I wanted to know what it’s like. The other side. To be free to just... enjoy the moment. Does that make sense?”, his clear blue eyes fell on me, full of honesty, in a way I knew he wouldn’t with anyone else.

“It does make sense. I just... I don’t understand why you wouldn’t talk to me about it, instead of resorting to cheap internet porn. That’s so tacky, Duncan...”

“You’ve always made it perfectly clear that you found me the most unappealing man on Earth... I saw no reason to.”

“I never said you’re unappealing... I said you can’t handle me.”

“Oh, I can handle you.”, he smirked trying to regain the upper hand.

“Oh, really, Mr. Three Minutes? I don’t think you can...”

“It was just that one time! I was very young... and I was drunk.”

“Finishing early was not the problem... but did you have to go and fall asleep right afterwards?”

“I was tired! It was exam week!”

“You’re always tired, grandpa! Were you too young, or too old... you gotta pick one!”

We just laughed it off, as we usually did. That’s how this conversation always ended, it was our way of not letting that incident get in the way of our relationship. And it also worked to ease the tension from what had just happened. We were ok, again. The awkwardness was gone.

“Anyway... that’s not something I wanted to discuss with the only girl who will never let me forget how completely unsatisfied she was the one time she shared my bed.”

“Or you could use this opportunity to clean your reputation...”

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

“I could be.”

“My best friend is willing to... dom... me?”

It was just too cute, the way he called me his best friend! Duncan could be so precious when he thought no one was paying attention...

“Why not? We’ve known each other forever... We trust each other. You’re decent looking, if I squint my eyes and forget you’re a Republican. If you don’t find me completely repulsive, this could work!”

“I don’t find you repulsive at all.”, and at that, the bastard unleashed the full power of his gaze on me. And I realised that it wasn’t that I was desensitised to his charms, he’d simply stopped trying to seduce me. Until that moment.

“Ok.”, I took a deep breath, steadying myself, “how about I come back here tonight, and give you a tour on ‘the other side’, as you called it?”

“You would do that?”

“It doesn’t have to be such a big deal... we could just play a little, get you a taste of it... we don’t even need go as far as undressing, if it feels too awkward! I think I’ll survive without seeing those cute little buttocks... again.”

“Sounds like a plan...”, he nodded thoughtfully, a familiar crease between his eyebrows, the one he had when he was already thinking about a thousand future scenarios for something.

I got up from the couch, surprising even myself, “ok, so I’m gonna take off, now... I’ll come back later?”, he just nodded and I did the last thing I thought I would do when I entered his apartment this morning. I leaned over, running my fingers through his soft curls, still a little disheveled from sleep, and kissed him full on the mouth. His soft lips parted a little in surprise, and I pushed my tongue between them, massaging his. I tightened my grip on his hair, our tongues still pressing flat against each other, and heard a soft moan vibrating on his throat. I ended the kiss nibbling gently on his lower lip, and flashed him my brightest smile, “see you tonight, Big D.”

It was just so Duncan how he made a project out of it. If he was going to be a Sub for one night, then he was going to be the best Sub in the entire history of Subs. He spent most of the afternoon texting me, asking questions about the proper attire, music, lighting... he asked me if champagne was ok, or did I prefer something stronger. I felt tempted to reply “black Earl Grey tea”, just to mess with him. On his latest text he was asking if I thought scented candles were better than unscented ones. I texted him back saying he should buy the ones that melt at a bearable temperature. He could just go to the candle shop and bother someone else, I was beginning to feel a little nervous with all those texts, and that was not part of the plan.

I arrived at the building precisely at the arranged time. I wore a trench-coat over my black dress, and thigh-high black stockings under it. If he was into the stereotype, and judging by the video he’d been watching he was, I didn’t want to disappoint him from the get go. He opened the door and I wondered how I could’ve ever thought I was immune to this man. There was no other word to describe him, he looked perfect. The hair, the clothes, the expansive fragrance emanating from his body in just the right amount. And the gorgeous smile he greeted me with was just the cherry on top!

“You look very nice... the trench-coat was a nice touch!”, he took my hand after shutting the door and gave it a gentle kiss, his eyes fixed on mine. After a second of intense eye-contact, that felt like it lasted for at least a couple of weeks, he started leading me towards his bedroom by the hand he had never let go of. Duncan’s bedroom: the Final Frontier. I was about to boldly go where no girl has gone before. The room looked carefully arranged to be seductively comfortable. His attention to detail was truly remarkable. The candles, the cloud-soft bed linen, the fire crackling pleasantly in the fireplace, my favourite flowers everywhere and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. The butterflies in my stomach told me that maybe I should have chosen the “something stronger” option of beverage, after all.

He poured champagne in two crystal flutes as I left my handbag on an arm chair and began unbuttoning my trench-coat. “What’s in the bag?”, the deliberately cool tone he used suggested that he might have been feeling just a tad more nervous than he wanted me to know. “Stuff. You know. Things.”, I gave him a half-smile raising an eyebrow.

“A mysterious handbag... You’re like a naughty Mary Poppins!”, it was his time to look at me with an eyebrow raised.

“Whatever flies your kite... so to speak.”, I took the flute he offered me and was already about to down its content when I realised he wanted to make a toast.

“To the bonds of friendship... and new boundaries.”, he smirked lightly.

“To not limiting yourself.”, I added clinking the glasses.

I emptied the flute a little faster than what would be considered elegant for a young lady, and handed it back to him for a refill, “Safe word?” I asked taking the full flute back. He pondered the question for a moment, his face lighting up when he found an answer “Kite.”, he gave me a most devilish grin, before he began to drain his second flute of champagne as well.

“Should I call you by any particular name?”

“Sure. Call me Madam President.”

“What???”

“I’m kidding, Duncan, relax... Ma’am usually does it.”

Setting both empty flutes aside, I approached him. I pressed me whole body against his, and grabbing a fistful of his hair I kissed him again, I used my teeth this time and I sucked hard on his full lips, until they were red and slightly swollen. “Shoes and socks off. And be a darling and remove that overpriced shirt you’re wearing, dear.” I took my time walking around him, my fingertips barely brushing his naked chest and back. His skin was so smooth and slightly tanned. I stood behind him and left a wet kiss in the middle of his back, my fingers ghosting the length of his arms, and he shivered in a very satisfying way “Your belt.”

I tied the belt he handed me around his wrists, behind his back, and went to stand in front of him again. I slowly removed my lacy black panties and placed them inside his front pocket with a wink, then I took a candle in one hand and the bottle of champagne in the other. I blew the candle out slowly, watching the flame reflected in his eyes wavering and being extinguished “I hope for your own good that you got the right kind of candle”, and I let some of the wax drop on Duncan’s naked chest. He hissed and I poured some of the icy cold champagne over the wax, and licked the droplets of the cool drink off his nipples, suckling and biting ever so gently on the sensitive skin. Looking up I saw him biting onto his lower lip to try and muffle a moan. “Do you like it?”, he merely nodded in response, “you better start using your words, Shepherd.”, I dropped some more wax, on his shoulder this time, and poured a little more champagne over it, stopping the liquid from dripping down his arm with my tongue. “Yes, Ma’am. I like it.”

“So you like a little pain, hm? I always thought that was a healthy mindset...”, I picked a riding crop from inside my bag and, without a warning, his the back of Duncan’s thighs hard with it. He gasped loudly in shock. “Now, don’t be such a baby, that can’t possibly have hurt that bad. Not with your pants on.”, I hit him again, “Tell me: Did I hurt you?” - “No, Ma’am.”, I used the leather tip of the crop under his chin to make him look at me “Do you want me to?”. He looked in my eyes like he was seeing me for the first time, his cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink “I do. I wouldn’t want anyone else to.”, the way his eyes widened told me he wasn’t expecting this answer any more than I was.

I undid his pants and let them fall to his ankles “Step out of them and bend over the edge of the bed.”, I was sure the skin on the back of his thighs was stinging pretty bad, now, every blow of the crop was marking him in a vivid red. But Duncan took it like a soldier, barely whimpering at all. I was surprised to see that he was actually bucking his hips against the bed, trying to get whatever friction he could, between the hits. “Shepherd, are you really humping the bed? Like a dog?”, I did my best not to laugh at his embarrassed expression, “Maybe. Would that be... wrong?”, I had to actually bite on my own tongue to keep myself from laughing. “Kneel on the floor, Shepherd... Away from the bed!”

I kicked my stylettos off and went on my knees in front of him, running my fingernails over his inner thighs while kissing his neck. I deliberately avoided touching the hard bulge in his boxer briefs for now, and felt him softly nuzzling the curve of my neck, dragging his nose over my jawline, his lips desperately searching for mine, his chest heaving more with every breath. “Please”, he whimpered in my ear. “‘Please’, what?”, I pulled back to look at him. “Please... touch me. Ma’am.”, his voice was just a breathy whisper.

“Oh, I don’t think so.”, I got up from my knees and sat on the bed right in front of him slowly removing my stockings, my parted legs giving him the front row view as a touched myself, instead of him. He exhaled shakily, incapable of shutting his plump lips again, a feverish look in his eyes as he watched my fingers working. I took one finger from my core to his lips and he obediently sucked it clean. With one hand in his hair, I pulled his face towards one of my thighs. He left a trail of wet kisses as he went, the grazing of his stubble on my inner thighs almost enough to send me over the edge, before his lips connected to the wetness between my legs.

So Duncan Shepherd could eat pussy, after all. Who’d have thought? And he wasn’t bad at it, either! Lapping up my juices like a starved puppy, eagerly pushing his tongue between my folds... if he felt like hitting my cervix with his tongue, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him he couldn’t. By all means, young man, try! But I had to use one of my feet against his chest to gently push him away, pulling on his hair to make him look at me “Will you stop dry-humping my leg like a mongrel, Shepherd?”, he just nodded his parted lips deliciously pink and wet, and I allowed him to go back to work.

With his soft lips closing around my clit, suckling hard, and his tongue giving hungry licks to the sensitive bundle, it wasn’t long before I was rocking my hips against his face, my entire body shaking in a toe-curling orgasm. I came back from my high to find a very satisfied-looking Duncan smirking at me from between my thighs “And you thought I couldn’t handle you”, he wiggled his eyebrows. I didn’t know if I wanted to slap his face or kiss him. So I did both.

Tasting myself on his lips and tongue, I helped him get rid of his boxer briefs, running my hands on his round butt-cheeks, letting my fingers slip between them and teasing his entrance. He jumped and broke the kiss, his eyes round “Whoa!! What the hell?!”, his voice an octave higher than usual “Are you serious?!”, he was staring at me in startled disbelief. “Duncan, I’m a Dom, not a rapist... I won’t force anything upon you.”

I made us both stand up and removed the belt from his wrists. I held him from behind, pressing my body on his back, running my hands over his chest and belly, feeling the muscles of his abdomen flex at my touch, while he ran his own hands over his bruised wrists. “I would never force you to do anything you don’t want to. But I am here to help you experiment things you would never allow yourself to try, otherwise... those who have experienced prostatic orgasm say it’s a most extremely intense sensation. It’s a powerful source of pleasure you know nothing about.”, I ran one hand over a soft butt-cheek again “Aren’t you... curious, Duncan?”, I asked in a whisper against his ear, letting my lips touch his earlobe, one finger brushing the crease on the curve where his butt met his thigh.

He turned around to face me very slowly. His eyes burning on mine. He simply let out a sigh and cupped my face in his hands, kissing me slow and deeply “Yes.”, he whispered against my lips. I could not believe this was actually happening. I was in a dazed dream-like state as I walked to my bag and picked up the strap-on, feeling slightly light-headed as I adjusted the harness around my hips. Duncan poured more champagne in the flutes and we drained three of them without a word. I pointed towards the bed with a tilt of my head and he laid himself on his stomach, obediently.

I applied a generous amount of lube to my rubber appendix and joined him on the bed. I couldn’t help saying “Now... let’s pop that cherry, shall we?” and giving him a light slap to his ass, to try and ease the tension that was building up inside me as well. Unsuccessfully, it only made me more nervous and I’m pretty sure it didn’t have a calming effect on him, either. I lifted his hips slightly towards me, and pushed the piece of rubber into him, as slow and gently as I could. He moaned very softly, but the knuckles of the hands that grabbed the sheets were already white. I pulled out a little and pushed back in a few times, before I felt his hips trembling under my hands and heard a louder moan escaping his lips, and I knew I was finally hitting that sweet spot inside him. Duncan turned his head around a little to look at me, a fire I had never seen before - not even on election night 2016 - burning in his eyes. With that piercing blue gaze staring into my soul, I heard his voice in a raspy tone that was completely new to me “Harder.”

I turned Duncan around to make him lie on his back, and lifted his hips, so I could keep fucking into him from between his legs, facing him. I wanted to look at him. I wanted to see his pleasure building up. To see the surprise in his eyes at the new sensation, the way he was biting onto the back of his hand to muffle his moans. I thrust hard and steady, watching the mighty Duncan Shepherd coming undone beneath me. Writhing his entire body in ecstasy, his eyes shut tight, his full lips curling up when an animalistic groan escaped him during his climax.

I pulled out and threw the strap away, laying myself by his side and kissing his lips, one gentle hand caressing his face. He looked completely fucked out and that was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. His hair was sticking a little to his sweaty forehead, his cheeks were adorably flushed. His eyes were glowing on mine and an awed grin was dancing on his lips. “That was amazing!!”, his voice came out a little louder than usual between sharp gasps, and I kissed him again. “You know, it doesn’t have to be over, yet...”, I ran my fingertips over his cock, still impossibly hard after his dry orgasm.

The look of surprised wonder on his face when I straddled his hips was just priceless! I pulled the little black dress out above my head and eased myself on him, letting Duncan fill me up for the first time since that one night, all those years ago, and I wondered what had taken us so long to get there. He sat up, one hand firm on the small of my back, the other entangled in my hair and looked into my eyes, for what felt like a very long time, before whispering “Finally”, one corner of his mouth going up. I felt tears stinging my eyes at the intense feeling that was held in that single word, and I heard myself whispering “Welcome home, Duncan” back at him.

He thrust his hips up, eyes still on mine, and buried his face on my breasts while I bounced on his lap, and I cupped his face in my hands and kissed his lips while I rocked my own hips against his. I felt myself clenching around him at the same time his throbbing cock released his warm load inside me. I could have screamed from pleasure, and I’m pretty sure I did. And so did Duncan. We held each other in our arms for a long time after I felt him go soft inside me. We just wouldn’t dare to move, we were too comfortable like that: Finally where we belonged. Running our fingertips over each others backs, giving each other soft kisses on shoulders, necks and lips. Just listening to our own breathing growing steadier in unison, and the gentle crackle of the fire.

I fell asleep in Duncan Shepherd’s warm embrace, something I would have said was absolutely impossible, if someone had asked me twelve hours before. We’d have to go out to get coffee and danishes together the next morning. But if this was to become our new weekly ritual, I thought I could live with that.

Taglist: @1-800-bitchcraft @antichristinq @are-you-lilith-or-eve @babydollcake @bbyduncan @ccodyfern @cocosfern @hellxblade @langdonsdemon @langdonsinferno @langdonsoceaneyes @lathraios @mega-combusken @michael-langdon-appreciation @sojournmichael @queencocoakimmie

#Duncan Shephers smut #House of Cards fanfiction #Cody Fern fandom #Sub!Duncan Shepherd #Duncan ShepherdXFemale Reader #A Ride on the Other Side

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