#mccoy's tongue

[chernobog13]

Scenes from the special Star Trek episode Mr. Spock's 3D House of Pancakes.

[blueeyeddarkknight]

He eats like a 5 year old 👶🏻😆❤️.. Help! This man will be the death of me. 😩🥰

Bonus

[chekovsvwodka]

I don’t know if there’s much of an editing community here but THEM

[writingoddess1125]

Window Visit

Masterlist <<

>> Kofi cause I'm Poor

Kurt Wagner x GN Reader

Fluffy Fluff Ass Fluff!

Soft snores filled your small one bedroom apartment, you having had a rather long day had been dead to the world- Drool staining your pillow as you were off in the land of fluffy clouds.

Tap Tap...

Why were the clouds making a tapping noise?

Tap Tap Tap..

The Fuc-

Tap Tap Tap Tap!

You wake up from your odd dream with a start, looking around confused as you hear the tapping sound once again. Looking to your window as you just saw- Darkness? Turning on your light quickly you almost give a soft shriek as you see Kurt, AKA The Amazing Nightcrawler and your dear friend on your window seal waving at you with a clearly busted face and cheeky smile.

"Oh my God Kurt!" You rush over falling from your bed and to the floor to the window and slide it open quickly, pulling the blue man inside as he holds his side and chuckles.

"Surprise!" He says far too cheerfully for your taste.

"Why didn't you just teleport inside!? Youre injured!" You hiss at him still a bit asleep as you look over him a bit frantically, luckily you saw only a few scraps and probably some bruising however nothing seemed to serious off first glance.

"Its Rude to just appear in someone's home Schatz" He said with a chuckle before wincing softly, You shaking your head at his antics.

"Think anything is broken or are you just bruised?" You ask, Kurt gives a soft shrug. "Bruised mostly, a few nice cuts. Nothing too bad"

You nod, leading him towards the bathroom.

"Best to get you washed up first, then I can get you bandaged up" You say, Kurt nodding as he followed you, watching you grab some stuff for him.

"Come on, Pop the top" You say as you wave your hand for his shirt, he chuckles and peels it off and hands it to you, being mindful of his injuries. You exchanging it for a fluffy towel, spare toothbrush and a wash cloth.

"Wanting to stare?" He teased as he gestured to his naked torso, You rolling your eyes and giving a fake purr at him.

"Of course Blue~ Now. Freshen Up, You smell" You say sticking your tongue out at him which made Kurt laugh and wave you away. You taking his top with you and close the bathroom door behind you, chucking his shirt in the wash as you hear some water running.

Kurt sighs as he looks around your space- Seeing the different products you kept and such before jumping in the shower to get cleaned up.

He spent a good 20 minutes in the shower, which allowed you time to grab some extra blankets and pillows to toss on your bed. Making sure to also lock the window. When the water shut off you walked back over and knocked, The door swinging open as Kurt stood with the towel around his waist brushing his teeth.

"Vo 'ou 'always ha'e 'xtra tuu'th 'rushes?" (Do you always have extra tooth brushes?) He asked taking time to get his fangs and spitting-

"Yes your suppose to get a new one ever 3 months blue-" His brows raised at this in surprise as he set the brush down.

"3 Monate?!" He exclaimed as you nod.

"Come on, sit on the throne, it will be easier to get you bandaged anyway" You say as you walk into your bathroom turning on the warm water and grab the med kit under the sink, Kurt chuckles as he takes a seat on the closed toilet while keeping the towel around his waist tighter to keep modest, you beginning to take a warm rag to any noticeable cuts, making the man hiss in pain.

"Big Baby- Now why aren't you at Xavier's were Doc Mccoy can give you some proper medical care" You question, cleaning a would would some rubbing alcohol as you placed a large bandage across it.

"Ah Meine bessere Hälfte, you make it sound like you don't want me vere" He said with a cheeky smile, You giving him a playful glare as you began to wrap his torso in a thick bandage.

"You know that's not what I meant Fuzzy-"

"Nein, I was on the way back and we flew near by your place. Decided to stop by and visit" He admitted, while you wanted to be mad at him for doing something like that you couldn't. Instead going and placing some bandages on his face after wiping the blood clean.

"Well- Next time just teleport in, Id hate for you to catch a cold trying to visit" You say, shooting him a smile as you wrap up his fingers last- seeing a few cuts on them most likely from the handle of his sword.

"And All done! There!" You beam a smile at him which he returns, wiggling his three fingers at you.

"Danke"

You slide the med kit back and clean up the bits of trash from the counter. Kurt rolling up with a sigh as he followed you out still in his towel as he saw you chuck his pants into the wash having grabbed them from the floor on your way out.

"Uhh Engel my-" He gestured to his clothes in the wash.

"Ill give you something to wear, besides its late anyway- Just spend the night" You call out from your room, the sound of shuffling going on as Kurt turned to your tiny apartment couch.

"Ah Do you want me on the Couc-"

He was cut off as a pair of your shorts hit his face, Him pulling it off with his tail as he glanced in your direction. Seeing you already climbing in bed as you pat the space next to you.

"Get in the Bed Fuzzy-"

You call out, Kurt seeming to freeze for a moment before smiling- Stepping just out of your view to slip into the shorts before teleporting himself next to your bed.

"Goodnight Engel" Kurt said softly, his tail wrapping around your waist as you yawn closing your eyes and letting sleep reclaim you, a smile now on your lips.

Kurt slowly sliding into your bed as he gave a loud groan- clearly his body exhausted from his mission and a soft bed was more then welcome, Pulling the blankets over both of you as you cuddle into the Blue man, he hesitates but only for a second as he wraps his arms around you with a content sigh.

"Goodnight Blue"

[withahappyrefrain]

Ruin the Friendship- Bob Floyd

Warnings: Best friends to lovers trope, it’s so obvious they love each other they’re stupid, language, filth, some angst (why not?), unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), Bob being pussy drunk.

Summary: The night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he's learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He's determined to fix that.

Words: 4.8K

This is for @attapullman's Bob Fucks celebration!

When you've been friends with someone since preschool, you get to know them like the back of your hand. Certain quirks and sayings that no longer surprise you. 

“God, I wish that were me.”

It wasn't the first time Bob heard you say that. Usually there was a cute dog around, or a sushi boat being delivered at a restaurant when you said it. 

But saying it during an oral sex scene in a movie was new. 

It also brought up many questions. 

Questions Bob shouldn't ask, considering he's known you since preschool. Questions Bob couldn't ask right now, because he was too preoccupied looking at you. 

Your eyes were fixated on the screen, focused on the actress withering. Occasionally, they would dart to the other actor who was between the actress’ thighs. Bob noticed the increased rise and fall of your chest, how your front teeth dug into your bottom lip, how when you lean forward, the v-line cut of your shirt showed off the tops of your breasts. The soft glow of the lamps highlighted the beautiful features on your face. 

All things he shouldn’t be noticing about his best friend. But then again, best friends shouldn’t be watching a French film together whose plot line focused on sexual liberation before he went off to Navy boot camp. 

Granted, you and Bob haven’t had a conventional best friend relationship in a while, if at all, considering both sets of parents claimed you two promised to marry each other at the age of four. 

Promises or not, best friends shouldn’t be one another’s first kiss. Or make out practice partners. Or each other’s New Year's kiss when y'all were single. Or spend Valentine's Day together at the local dinner. 

The line between friends and something more was blurry, saved by a comment that ensured the other to think that the feelings that had been brewing weren't reciprocated. 

“You’re a good kisser. Kelsey McCoy is going to think so too.”

“If Tommy Delaine doesn't like you, he's a dumbass.” 

“I’m sure next year you’ll have someone.”

“If I had to spend it with anyone, I want it to be with my best friend.”

“You’re an amazing friend, you know that?”

Why say that if you harbor romantic feelings? Surely, all those kisses and talk of marriage meant nothing to them. 

At least that's what the other thought. 

It's because of this blurry line that Bob doesn't bite his tongue, doesn't throw away the comment to be forgotten. Instead, he speaks up. 

“Been awhile?” 

And because it's Bob, the guy you've known your whole life, the guy you tell everything to, your response rolls off your tongue without a second thought. 

“Try never.” 

It takes Bob a moment to process your words as the way your lips wrap around the beer bottle is far too distracting. But just like processing a car accident, once it registers, your words bring his brain to a screeching halt. 

“Wait, never?” The shrug you give isn’t satisfactory. He grabs the remote to pause the movie, ignoring your cries of protest. 

“Real talk; are you saying that no one has ever gone down on you?” 

You sigh, regretting saying anything in the first place. One would think that after years of friendship, you’d know well enough that once Bob set his mind to something, he wouldn't relent until satisfied. 

You down the remnants of your beer, mentally preparing for this conversation. 

“No Robby. I've never had someone eat me out. Happy now?” Reaching for the remote was all in vain, as he just held it further away from you. 

Darn those long limbs. 

“But you've been with people…..so what did they do?” When you looked at him, there was no malice, just Bob looking genuinely baffled. His gentle blue eyes put you at ease, giving you the comfort to explain. 

“They would touch me,” you motioned to the lower half of your body, “And like finger me. Enough to get me ready, I guess.” 

Bob raised an eyebrow, “You guess?” 

College was supposed to be a time for you to explore, to figure yourself out, to interact with new people. 

And yet, when it came to the relationship aspect, everything had fizzled. You were now going into your junior year having yet to experience a meaningful romantic relationship. 

Did you just have shit luck? Or was it because your mind would wander back to a bespectacled best friend when you were in bed with someone else? 

“So instead of eating you out, which would actually be enjoyable on your end, you're telling me they just stuck their hand down there and hoped they were rubbing your clit? You didn't ever ask them to do something else?” 

Bob didn't have the pristine mouth that parents thought he possessed. You knew, and had known for a while. And yet, hearing him say the phrase your clit in his deep, slightly twangy voice felt different. 

You rubbed your thighs together. 

“Are you shaming the people I've been with or me?” 

Bob closed the difference between you and him on the couch, placing a hand on your bare knee. 

Have his hands always been so big and veiny? 

Fuck, did you have a thing for hands? 

“I'm not shaming you. I’m shaming the people you've been with because well,” he ran a hand up and down the back of his neck, “Well, I enjoy giving….I like doing it. So I guess I'm surprised other people don't?” 

His statement was shocking because everyone else you had been with viewed it as a chore, as something to use every excuse in the book to avoid doing. 

Too tired. Takes too long. Wet enough so what's the point? 

“You…like doing it?” 

The tops of his cheeks reddened, despite a smirk beginning to form, “Yeah. I like giving and I like making them feel good. It's also a confidence booster, being able to make someone fall apart with your mouth.” 

It shouldn't come as a surprise, it was Bob after all. The same Bob who always brought an extra pencil with him to algebra, in case you forgot yours. The same Bob who shared his Dunkaroos because your mom refused to buy them. The same Bob who made his dream of serving his country finally come true after years of hard work. 

He was selfless. But this didn't feel like selflessness. Hearing him talk about giving pleasure, making someone fall apart with his mouth, was different. Even his voice when he said it was different, raspier than usual. 

“Well,” you scooted closer to the edge of the couch, trying to widen the gap so he couldn't feel how hot your body was, “I can't wait ‘til I meet someone who feels the same way.” 

“You don't have to wait.” 

The grip on your beer bottle tightened, the alcohol getting caught in your throat. There's no way he could have just said that, no way he could be implying what you're thinking. 

But when you look at Bob, he was staring back with raised eyebrows and thin lips curled into a little smirk. The same look he’s given you countless times before when he mumbles a smartass comment only your ears were privy to hear. 

You heard me. 

“What-are you…” You stared at him, mouth agape. Bob appeared unphase by it, like he had just offered something totally normal and rational. 

Perhaps it was the three beers he had downed. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline kicking in after realizing this was his last chance at making a move before he left. 

“Wouldn't that be like crossing a line?” Your head was racing, alternating between flashbacks of when you kissed Bob and imagining what it would be like to have his mouth on your body. 

“Wouldn't be much different from what we’ve already done.” 

All the air was sucked out of the room by his comment. Because of course he wasn't doing this because he wanted to, because he wanted you. This would be meaningless, just like everything else. If you went through with this, you’d wake up the next day to Bob leaving with nothing changed, still in this seemingly endless limbo. 

Long, nimble fingers hooked themselves under your chin, gently forcing you to look up. 

The look he gave you was unfamiliar. His eyes remained focused on your face, though it seemed like they were searching. 

For what, you couldn't tell. 

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Do you want it to be different?” 

What good was telling him if he didn’t feel the same way, thus ruining a great friendship?

“Do you want it to be different Robby?” You countered back. 

He leaned in, his breath hot on your face, “I asked you first.”

He thought he had the upper hand. But you were like a lightning bug, faster.  

“I asked you second, Robby.”

Like a rubber band, the tension snapped as Bob was unable to hold back a snort of laughter. The tension left your shoulders, the sight of him laughing familiar and safe. 

“I’m going to really miss your resounding maturity,” Bob deadpanned after gaining the ability to compose himself, though a sweet crooked smile remained. 

It was now your turn to roll your eyes, though it didn’t stop the smile currently forming on your face. Seeing this side of Bob was always fun; most folks thought he was quiet and meek. The truth was that he liked to observe and didn’t find value in speaking when it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t hold back with you, didn’t feel the need to sit and observe. He truly conversed with you and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel special. 

He was never that way with the other girls he dated. 

“You love me,” you teased back. It was a comment you've said countless times, always with that sweet, albeit mischievous smile that made Bob's heart flutter. 

But this time instead of shaking his head or rolling his eyes, he leaned forward until your foreheads were touching. 

Seeing him up close took your breath away. You could see how his roots were beginning to darken, the blonde fading as he got older. The little scar on his chin from a BB Gun incident when he was ten. Eyes bluer than the ocean. The ends of his hair were beginning to curl, something you'd greatly miss when he'd get the military mandated buzz cut. 

“Yeah, I do.” There was no teasing in his voice. No mischief in his eyes. Instead of playfully shaking your shoulder, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, fingers cupping your warm skin. He was moving quickly, making you unable to truly process what he had just said. 

Despite it being new territory, he was handling it beautifully. You, on the other hand, were torn between wondering if your increased heart beat was medically concerning and how large Bob’s hands were. 

“You gotta….if you want to stop, tell me,” His breathing had increased, like it did when he had finished his part in the marching band. But this wasn’t marching band practice and y’all weren’t on the high school field. You were in your parents’ basement, with Bob’s lips quickly closing the gap between yours and his. 

It wasn’t your first time kissing Bob, but it might as well have been. Years of experience had given him more confidence. He knew where to put his hands now, one still on your neck to guide you, the other gripping the soft flesh of your hip. He didn’t hesitate to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, successfully driving you wild. 

When the rounded tip of his nose brushed against yours, a soft laugh escaped your lips. Bob didn’t mind, using the chance to let his tongue explore your mouth. Your body leaned towards him, hands gripping the soft fabric of his old Warped Tour T-shirt. 

“I thought you,” your words were slurred, a weak moan interrupting your speech due to his lips moving down to your neck, “Thought you were gonna eat me out.” 

Bob’s moan vibrated against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands traveled to your breasts, gripping them through your T-shirt. It wasn't a hard squeeze, which is what you were used to. 

It was pleasurable. Bob was pleasurable. 

“Did none of the guys you were with do foreplay?” He asked, his hands continuing their ministrations. 

“I-fuck- yes they did, it just never took this long,” you grunted against his lips. 

“God, you have terrible taste in men.”

You wanted to let Bob know that he was now included in that group. But then his fingers hooked themselves around the band of your shorts, pulling them down. Had you known what tonight would entail, you would have opted for underwear that wasn't so worn. The long hairs on his arms tickled your sensitive skin as he moved to kneel on the floor, the cool basement air making you realize just how wet you were. 

How could he do that so quickly? 

He pinned your hips against the soft couch cushions. With anyone else, you would complain with how hard he was gripping your soft skin. But with Bob, you’d love it. It meant hand-shaped bruises that would stay after he left, reminding you of tonight. 

When his sharp nose nudged your clothed slit, a loud gasp erupted from your mouth. 

Thank god your parents were on vacation. 

His tongue was so wide as it stroked the quickly dampening fabric. How was he able to find your clit so quickly? Most struggled to find it even after your panties had been taken off. 

Bob couldn’t help but chuckle upon hearing your strained whimpers. You were practically squirming, hips erratically jerking with every touch. 

“Wha-why did you stop?” You whined, looking down to find him staring up to you. 

“Are you-I just need to know, do you still want this?” God, he was so fucking considerate. In any other moment, you’d find it endearingly sweet. 

But if his tongue felt that good against your covered cunt, you were dying to feel it without the barrier. 

“Robby, I swear to god, if you don’t eat me out, I’m going upstairs and using my vibrator,” Your voice was strained, your knuckles turning white from gripping the couch cushions.  

He laughed.  Bob knew you were bluffing. He had just gotten started and you were already so wet. 

Slowly, he took his glasses off, placing them on the coffee table behind him, making a show of it. 

“Won’t need those. I’m nearsighted after all.”

“You little-” The insult remained unsaid, as Bob pushed your underwear to the side, his mouth instantly latching onto your swollen clit. 

His mouth was warm. The pressure wasn’t too much, just enough to make you wither in pleasure. It felt so good, so fucking good. When Bob looked up, he found your mouth open, despite no sounds coming out. 

Good. 

You deserved to know what it was like, to have someone care about your pleasure, to focus solely on making you feel incredible. 

God, he could feel his cock throbbed. You looked so pretty with your eyes glazed over, mouth agape as you watched him, completely enthralled. 

And he had just gotten started. 

He wanted to do more than make you come, he wanted to blow your mind. Call it selfish, but Bob wanted to ruin you for anyone else. He had always held back his tongue when it came to the people you dated, knowing sooner or later you'd realized they weren't worth your time. 

But now he had his chance and Bob sure as hell wasn't going to let it slip away. 

The loud sound of fabric ripping broke you out of the pleasure filled haze you were in. Before you could make a sound about your now ripped underwear, your knees were pinned to your chest, giving Bob complete access to your soaked core.

“So fucking sweet,” He groaned against your cunt, sending vibrations all through your body, “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” 

“Robby.” 

To say Bob dreamed of hearing you moan his name would be the understatement of the fucking century. 

Your whole body was on fire, unable to do anything else but take everything Bob was giving. 

A resounding moan fell from your lips as Bob thrusted two fingers inside you, your walls struggling to accommodate the unexpected stretch. 

Was he this thick elsewhere?

You wanted to find out. Wanted to feel it inside you, in your mouth. You shamelessly wanted it all. But you couldn’t even voice that because Bob was tracing figure eights on your clit, his fingers brushing against a spot you thought Cosmo had made up. 

Fuck, he was doing a number on you. His soft hair threaded through your fingers as you gripped the strands. Your hips involuntarily jerked upwards, desperate to get as much of Bob as possible. 

You kept expecting him to stop, considering you were wet enough for him to fuck you. That's what everyone else did. 

But Bob Floyd wasn't like everyone else. Far from it. 

He was fucking delighted to hear all the cute, strained noises coming from you as he continued.  Each time you tugged on his hair, a groan would fall from his lips. It was the prettiest sound you had ever heard. 

Why did either of you wait this long? 

You tried to communicate, to let him know you were close, tugging on his hair, trying to move away from his mouth. 

But Bob was deceivingly strong, using his free hand to pin your hip back to the couch, his mouth firmly on your pussy. 

When you looked down, you were in awe of how blissed Bob looked. His eyes were closed as his mouth remained latched to your clit. The sounds of your own wetness were obscene, but barely audible over the moans Bob was letting out. 

He really did enjoy it.

“Come. Wanna taste ya,” His voice was muffled as he added a third finger inside you. 

Worried thoughts of coming on his face left your brain as pleasure coursed through your veins. Without any warning, the band that had been tightening came undone.

Bob used both hands to hold your hips firmly in place, his tongue lapping up your release. 

You don't recall coming this hard or this long before. It wasn't a small wave, it felt like the whole damn ocean was taking you under. 

His fingers continued to stretch you open, prolonging your high. The Navy was the perfect fit for him, considering he could apparently hold his breath for an impressive amount of time. 

The soft fabric of the couch cushions brushed as the back of your head, your eyes half closed. You couldn't even voice an acknowledge when Bob’s mouth and fingers withdrew from your abused cunt. 

“You're so pretty when you come,” Bob murmured, his lips brushing against yours. 

Your hands tugged on the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“M-my turn,” you whined, hips jerking up towards his. 

Bob shook his head, “Wanna be inside ya.” 

How was this the same guy who feared clowns as a kid? 

Before you could even question it, Bob had sat down on the couch, gripping your hips to help you straddle his lap. When had he taken off his jeans? How was he so quick- 

Jesus Christ, he was huge. 

“Fuck, she was right.” 

Bob looked up from where you two were about to connect, a very confused look on his face, “Excuse me?” 

“Betsey Thomas said you had a huge dick,” you confessed, wishing that you'd think before speaking for once. 

Bob’s brows knitted together in confusion, “Betsey Thomas has never seen my dick, the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Said she could tell you were packing because of the gym shorts you'd wear for PE class.” Bob signed, shaking his head as he muttered something about the required uniform. 

“I….we can unpack this later-” 

You snorted, “Why? Too busy packing here?” 

Your laughter was cut short by Bob rubbing his cock against your soaked cunt. Memories of high school escaped your brain, the only thing you could focus on now was Bob and his huge dick. 

Curious wasn't accurate. Frankly, you were desperate for him. Had been since middle school, if you were being truthful. 

“Woah, hey. Easy baby, easy,” his voice made your thighs clench, made you whine into his shoulder as you tried to line your aching hole with his cock. 

Finally, you felt him at your entrance. Slowly, he filled you up inch by inch. Every time you tried to urge him to go faster, Bob would simply shake his head before pressing a kiss against your cheek. 

“Don't want to hurt ya darlin’.” 

Darlin. You were his darlin. 

He made you feel so full, and you didn't even have it all inside of you yet. All you could do was cling to him as he whispered praises in your ears. 

Once you reached the base, it felt like you and Bob were the only ones in the world. At least, that’s what you pretended. It was better than thinking about how he would be gone for who knows how long after tonight. After boot camp was done, he would be off to train for the Navy. 

Even he didn't know when he would return home. 

It wasn't fair, finally expressing your feelings for one another just to be separated immediately after. You wanted him to stay, to go on dates with him, to visit him on the weekends when school started, just like everyone else in a long distance relationship. 

“Hey, what's wrong? Do you- we can stop if you want, it's okay.” Bob’s voice was soft, full of concern. 

His hand lifted your chin up from his shoulder, revealing your watery eyes. 

“I don't want you to go.” 

“I know,” his voice was barely a whisper, matching your volume. Long fingers gently traced over your face, as if he was trying to memorize them. 

“I know it's horrible timing, but we'll figure it out, okay? I want to figure it out with you, I promise,” He peppered your face with soft kisses, earning a small smile out of you. 

“But for now, can I make ya feel good? Because I'm willing to bet no guy has made you come while fucking ya.” 

Unlike in the past, where Bob’s smartass comments earned him a shove, you pressed your lips against his. 

“I'm gonna start moving now, okay?” Even though he warned you, nothing could have prepared you for how full Bob made you when his hips thrusted upwards. 

“You're-fuck- you feel so good, oh my God.” 

Your fingers tangled into Bob’s hair, trying to commit the feeling to memory. 

Bob was trying to do the same, his hands roaming over your body as he took in your scent. Maybe if he asked nicely, you'd let him take a bottle of your perfume with him. 

He was going to need it for the next few months. 

Your mouth clashed against his, tongue desperate to taste him. Wandering hands desperate to feel everything everywhere. 

“When-fuck- when I come back, wanna take you out. W-we can go to that Italian place by your school. The one where you have to wear a tie.” How Bob was able to talk coherently while fucking you was beyond comprehension. 

The Navy will be lucky to have his great ability to multitask. 

“Gonna bring ya flowers too. Sunflowers ‘cause they're-oh my god- you're favorite.” You didn't think you could recall your full name with the way Bob is thrusting into you, much less favorite things. 

Your walls clench around Bob’s thick cock, eliciting a desperate groan from him, rather than the instant ejaculation you were used to. 

“If you keep doing that, I'm gonna come,” Bob whined into the crook of your neck.

“That’s-shit- the point,” you grunted, your hips picking up speed. 

Bob shook his head, “Need you to come first.” 

Confusion caused you to still your hips, “Bob, I already-” 

“Don't finish that sentence, don't you dare,” Bob ended his command with a strong thrust that made you feel as if he was splitting you open on his cock. 

Your head dropped down to the crook of his neck. His skin was so warm and the smell of sage was nearly overwhelming. You knew exactly what body wash he had used, as it was the same one he wore ever since junior year, when you commented on how nice it was. 

In hindsight, it was painfully obvious. 

His lips found yours, capturing them in a desperate kiss. When you felt his fingers draw circles on your clit, you saw stars. 

You didn't know it could feel this good with someone. This was more than a quick fuck, as you actually felt cared for. It was intense, the sensitivity of your first orgasm still echoing every time the thick head of his cock brushed against your walls. 

It's audible how wet you are for Bob. He can feel it at the base of his cock, which makes him wonder what it would be like to have you on your knees, or better, your back, all spread out for him. 

“C’mon sweet girl,” he’s panting, voice desperate and raspy, “Wanna-fuck! Wanna feel you come s’bad, please, please baby.” 

Each circle drawn on your clit causes the band in your stomach to tighten. Combined with Bob’s words, you knew you wouldn't last much longer. 

“You're incredible, shit, I-fuck. All yours. Wanna be all yours. Fuck fuck fuck, clenching me so hard, fuck, don't stop.” Obscene was not a word many, if any, would use to describe Bob Floyd. 

Up until thirty minutes ago, you would have considered yourself part of that group. 

But now? Now you were falling apart on his cock. The rush of pleasure had hit like a brick, coursing through your veins. It hit harder than anything else, harder than the now banned alcohol caffeine combo drink, or any controlled substance doctors had prescribed to help you focus. 

His finger-fuck, usually you had to use two of your own- didn’t stop rubbing your clit, nor does he stop thrusting in and out of your pulsing cunt. It's almost as if-no, you know Bob’s enjoying making you feel euphoria. 

That's what blows your mind. His laser focus on your pleasure, rather than his own. Truthfully, he could have come already and you wouldn't have thought twice about it. 

But now it was all you could think about. How much he cared, how good he felt. How incredible it was for him to pull your hips flushed against his, filling you to the brim with his cock. 

“Holy shit you're so tight-I, sh-should I pull out?” 

Instead of answering, you used all your strength to rock your hips against him. Considering he made you come twice, the least you could do was help him find his release. 

Your fingers gripped his hair, tugging on the strands as your mouth clashed against his. 

The downright guttural groan he releases against your mouth has you clamping down on his cock. The motion finally leads to Bob’s undoing, causing him to come deep inside you, warmth flooding your body. 

His arms are wrapped around your body, clinging onto you as if he thinks you'll disappear if he lets go. 

You’d be a damn fool to. 

The basement is now quiet, apart from the heavy breathing coming from both you and Bob. 

After several minutes pass by, you gather the courage to break the silence, “Did you mean all that? Taking me out on a date and being mine?” 

Bob’s cheek burned a bright red as he timidly nodded his head, “I….yeah. I didn't mean to say it when we were, you know. I'm sorry.” 

You pressed a reassuring kiss to his warm cheek, “Robby, what do you feel the need to apologize for?” 

He looked up to you, those earnest blue eyes sparkling, “Shit timing?” 

“You're not wrong about that, but like you said earlier, I want to work it out with you.” Your words brought comfort, giving Bob the confidence to place a sweet kiss right on your lips. His smile was burning into yours, causing your stomach to flutter. 

“I know it's not that Italian restaurant, but can I take you out to breakfast tomorrow?” 

The local diner had been a go-to since y'all were thirteen. But this time would be different. This time you wouldn't feel the urge to look away when he caught you staring. This time neither one would correct the waitress when she'd make a comment about y'all being a cute couple. 

The soft call of your name pulled you out of your thoughts. 

“Uh can I….eat you out again? Tomorrow obviously! Like before we go to the diner?” 

Good Lord this man was going to be the death of you.

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

@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @attapullman @ryebecca @sio-ina-bottle @rhettabbotts @callsignspark @roosterforme @lewmagoo @hangmanapologist @justabovewater20 @theharddeck @cumholland @bobfloydsbabe @sometimesanalice @heartfairy @auroralightsthesky

[theflowerofhumanity]

Razor Valentine

It all began after an incident just outside the Bridge that sent one man to the morgue and sent Spock to Sickbay. The Vulcan the first officer of the ISS Enterprise didn’t spend much time there. He rarely needed medical attention, not only because he was tall, strong, and intimidating on his own but also because he, like the captain, was usually accompanied by his personal guard. In this case, he’d been attacked from an angle and so failed to unsheathe his own dagger in time to avoid having his upper arm gashed by his attacker. He had debated on the necessity of visiting Sickbay at all after dispatching the man. The last thing Spock wanted to do was spend any time around that drunken butcher McCoy, especially since he always had something disparaging to say about Vulcans. But the bandage he’d wrapped around his arm quickly became saturated, green blood oozing down his sleeve and onto the floor, so it was with some reluctance he made his way to McCoy’s lair.

Happily, the doctor hadn’t been there at all. The sharp-tongued head nurse had taken charge in his stead. You would have thought, to Spock’s slight amusement, that she was the superior officer the way she ordered him to “strip” and to “sit down on the damn bed”. I don’t care what happened, and I’m not going to ask, she’d told him. In fewer than sixty seconds, she had staunched the bleeding and rebandaged his wound much more competently and securely than he had.

Spock spent that brief time considering Christine Chapel. The way her platinum-blonde hair curled subtly around her chin framed her long features perfectly. He had a very un-Vulcanlike preference for blonde, human women, and there were plenty such women aboard if he wanted to admire one from afar...or, more improbably, take one as his lover. Until now, however, he could count the number of encounters he’d had with this blonde crewman on one hand. He rarely had any reason to be here, and he avoided interacting with McCoy whenever possible. Her work in Sickbay likewise kept her quite busy. There was always someone who needed to be metaphorically stitched up and sent back into the violent world that was the Enterprise. In short, their paths seldom crossed.

Something about the curiosity and low-level, thrumming excitement he’d felt when Christine Chapel’s fingers skimmed against his skin made him take particular notice now. He had remained seated on the bed for a few more moments after she had dismissed him. His deep-set brown eyes met her crystalline blue ones as she said, “Well, are you waiting for an official discharge, Commander? I’d advise you to leave while you can.”

Flexing his wounded arm, he picked up his stained and discarded uniform shirt from the floor and swept past her. At the door, he turned to get a better look at her long, shapely legs only to find her looking back at him as well. Her top teeth had sunk into her bottom lip. The gesture made her look surprisingly girlish and vulnerable, and the sight made Spock want nothing more than to turn back, pin her against the wall, and taste those lips himself. It wasn’t logical. It was...instinctual. Instead, he simply inclined his head and went on his way.

Since then, both Spock and Christine Chapel had made a point of manufacturing reasons to run across one another for a few seconds here and there. This contact always occurred while both were on duty, and they seldom exchanged anything but a heated glance or, on Christine’s part, an occasional smirk or a sassy one-liner. Both of them knew what being wanted looked like, and both could read it all over the other. But Spock also knew that the dance was just as alluring as the end result. As a Vulcan, he had a great deal of patience, even in a world that didn’t much value that virtue or any other. He would stay alive and wait.

@multirptrash

[writers-requiem]

Title: Confession

Pairing: Hank McCoy x Reader

Genre: Romantic fluff

TW: None.

Summary: You finally work up the courage to tell your crush how you feel.

Request: No

A/N: This takes place in my own little AU where they found and brought back Charles. Just for context. Also, things get a little spicy, but not NSFW.

Okay, let's take it back to where it started.

About two years ago, you had joined the X-Men. Yes, you, a non-mutant.

They had repeatedly tried to convince you not to, but the professor saw a great potential in you that need only manifest with the right trigger.

Regardless, you went on a myriad of missions while paired with some of the other X-Men; Cyclops, Gambit, Ice Man, Rouge, Jean Gray, Wolverine, Colossus, Shadow Cat, and most notably, our focus for this story, Beast. In other words, your crush, Dr. Hank McCoy.

Whenever it was you two on missions, you felt unbeatable, yet at the same time, exceptionally worried. Of course you were worried about your other teammates. But when it was you and Hank, your anxiety hit an all-time high. This caused you to slip up at times and even get hit yourself. That of course made Hank upset. But when you were conscious when that happened, you saw him unleash an almost primal rage on the enemy, namely the MRD soldiers that showed no remorse for what they did to you.

There were a couple times when the MRD captured you and tortured you for info on the professor and the X-Men. You didn't talk and were nearly killed for it. But who came to your rescue? Hank. Alone. No plan, no fancy displays, just bulldozing through the hoard of soldiers and guards. And when he left with you in tow, he carried you bridal style, like a cliche action hero carrying their love interest after a big rescue mission.

But the anxiety of the battlefield and getting kidnapped is easily trounced by the social anxiety you felt when it was just you and Hank in a more laid back situation. Namely when you were in his lab.

No matter how long it had been since you had first developed your crush on him, you still felt insecure about opening up. But you already knew that Charles would've read your mind to find out, but he respected your wishes and kept quiet.

Back to present day however.

You were just sitting in the lab, unsure of what to say or do since he was busy and you didn't feel like interrupting his work. Besides, even if you did want to talk, you couldn't think of what to talk about since you were always so afraid to spend any amount of time with him outside of missions. So you just played with your hair and thumbs somewhat awkwardly. That was until he spoke up.

Hank: "If you have something that you feel must be said, speak it. There's no need to be so shy with me, my friend."

His kind words of encouragement only made you even more nervous than before. You dared not move or speak, fearing that you would say or do something inappropriate.

But he surprises you first by standing up from his desk and then swiftly pulling you close to his chest.

Hank: "I'm not oblivious to your feelings, sweetheart."

He gently caresses your cheek and plants a soft kiss on your lips. An action that you never thought he'd do for you.

In that one moment you felt a storm of emotions take you all at once. Relief, bliss and ecstasy. Finally, after nearly two years, he noticed your feelings, acknowledged them and reciprocated them. You felt whole.

You held each other closer and kissed again. This time it was a longer, deeper, more passionate kiss.

One of his hands held you by the waist and the other on the back of your head, gently caressing it.

His tongue was pushing against yours in a one-sided struggle for dominance. His coming out on top.

Your hands however were too preoccupied feeling up his torso, starting at the waist and going up. First passing his solid six pack abs, then higher before stopping to caress and scratch his rock hard pecs that were still visible underneath his green shirt.

He instinctively and hastily removes his lab coat and pins you to the wall, one arm resting against it and above your head. While the other slid up your torso, only he went inside your shirt.

You could feel his furry hand and the razor sharp claws slid up until stopping at your middle section.

The combination of both of your moans through your kissing filled the room with a hot and heavy atmosphere. You couldn't help yourself and squeezed his pecs hungrily before having them crawl up to scratch his cheeks and mutton chops.

But eventually, you two pulled away from each other to give yourselves some air. Leaving you two gasping and panting, out of breath.

You then shared a quick peck on your lips and hugged each other.

Hank: "I love you."

Y/N: "I love you too, Hank."

End

[sleepymccoy]

Please enjoy this fairly horny spones scene I wrote last night. I'm unlikely to ever write more of it, but it's still fun

And that seemed to wrap things up.

“Mr. Spock,” McCoy said quickly, before he took the cowards way out and said nothing.

Kirk and Chapel looked at him, their expressions as curious as Spock's was blank.

“Yessir?” Spock asked.

McCoy smiled with banality. “Do you have a minute for me?”

“Ah, I have nothing pressing.” Spock looked at Kirk and raised his eyebrows for permission. “Captain?”

“Everything alright, Bones?”

“I think I have my nanoscope setting wrong,” McCoy lied. He'd prepared this lie in the last few minutes of their impromptu meeting and it flowed of his tongue easily. He grinned sheepishly. “Spock's better with this newfangled shit than I am. Not that you heard me say it.”

Kirk smirked and mimed zipping his lips shut. “Mum’s the word.” He invited Chapel to leave, muttering to her on the way out.

Spock craned his neck, peering behind McCoy. “Your nanoscope, Doctor?”

“What's wrong with you?” McCoy asked.

Spock stopped craning. “Pardon me?”

McCoy walked quickly to Spock's side and placed his hand on his forehead. Slightly warm, as usual. He looked into Spock's eyes and found his pupils dilated wide. The pulse in his throat was high.

“Doctor, what are you -?”

“You're off kilter.” McCoy slipped his medscanner out and began going over the readings. Pulse was high, temperature normal. Blood flow to his extremities was a bit low.

McCoy took Spock's hand and pressed his thumb into Spock's wrist. Spock gasped quietly. He wasn't fighting McCoy's medical attention, he must know something was wrong too. He must need help. McCoy found his pulse and compared the manual reading to the scanners results.

It was fine, slightly varied reading showed in the strengths of diastolic, but nothing to worry about. That may just be from McCoy taking the pulse at his wrist where the scanner took a body average.

“Doctor,” Spock breathed.

His temperature blinked orange. McCoy double checked that he was on Spock's settings. It hadn't been orange earlier, it had raised. “What the fuck?” McCoy muttered. It didn't make sense. He put the scanner down and dropped Spock's wrist, stalking back over to his desk.

Returning to face Spock he found him rubbing his own wrist, where McCoy's thumb had been pressed.

“C’mere,” McCoy ordered absentmindedly as he cleaned the thermometer he'd pulled from his desk drawer. He cleaned it after use, of course, but he always cleaned it beforehand anyway.

Spock staggered forward. Flushed skin, pupils wide, flakey pulse, and now a high temperature?

“How are you feeling?” McCoy asked.

“This is unnecessary,” Spock whispered. He stopped closer to McCoy then he usually would. Was his balance off? He had been walking weakly.

“Unless you're going to volunteer matters to me, it's completely necessary.”

McCoy held Spock's chin between his finger and thumb and eased his mouth open. “Lift your tongue.”

Spock did so, and McCoy slipped the thermometer in. Spock groaned, then winced and shut his eyes as McCoy gently closed his mouth around the thermometer.

Briefly, a theory presented itself. Based in drunken memories, hot nights shared at conference weekends or diplomatic missions away. The sound Spock made when undone, wrapped around McCoy and perfectly willing to express just how much more he wanted.

It wasn't something he and Spock did on the Enterprise. No, it was saved for shoreleaved where they happened to run into one another, or unexpected nights in hotels as the ship was repaired.

Never here, with no excuse, no separation. Hell, right now they were both on duty. It wouldn't be.

Unless it was-

No, even if Spock was, heaven forbid, turned on, the fact of that was a symptom not the cause.

But still a symptom worth testing. As they stood there, Spock's eyes closed, resting his weight in McCoy's hand, McCoy slid his thumb up slightly. He scratched the underside of Spock's lip. Spock’s eyes flew open at the contact, bright and alive.

McCoy hesitated, but he had good cause for his suspicion. So he pushed up and pressed his thumb to Spock's lower lip, dragging it down enough to catch a hint of teeth.

Nothing physical changed, but the energy shifted immediately. A rumble in the air and the heat from Spock's chest suddenly felt scorching. His eye contact lost that hesitant touch and McCoy felt like he was halfway to bring fucked already. The thermometer in Spock's mouth twitched and rolled.

McCoy took a deep breath. He let go of Spock's chin and removed the thermometer, checking the reading automatically. Same as the scanner, there was no instrument error.

He put the thermometer down next to them, not looking to move away from the gasping Vulcan.

“What's brought this on?” McCoy muttered.

“I-” Spock gasped. His mouth snapped with saliva. Lord, he looked desperate.

“Spock,” McCoy said quietly after Spock didn't continue to speak.

Spock groaned, an echo of his most intimate sounds, and swayed forward. McCoy caught his arms, repositioning himself to keep Spock standing.

Well, this was at least concerning enough that anyone looking in would assume a medical need.

“What's going on?”

“It is perfectly natural,” Spock said, his mouth my McCoy's ear, his breath hot.

“Pon farr?” McCoy guessed. The timing was off, but half Vulcan, who knew?

“Not so serious, merely an inconvenience.” Spock's chest heaved. “I apologise, it is unprofessional of me.

McCoy laughed despite himself. “Sure is,” he admitted. He swung Spock around so he was sitting on the edge of McCoy's desk. He leaned past him to get his med scanner but on the way Spock turned in towards him. Slightly too hot lips pressed against McCoy's neck in a simple kiss.

McCoy waited a moment, let Spock kiss him, then stood up straight. He began scanning, focusing instead on hormonal imbalance. If there was anything dangerous, anything spiking in an alarming way, he wanted to know. Horny was one thing, Pon farr was another.

McCoy did not meet Spock's eyes, but from his focused gaze on the scanner read outs he could see Spock's chest heaving.

“Is it need or want?” McCoy asked.

Spock took a deep breath. “I need to orgasm,” he said quietly. “I want you.”

He was barely reading the bloody scanner. And he was standing too close, Spock's knees pressed against the outside edge of his thighs. “Do you-” McCoy felt slightly breathless, just slightly dizzy. Fuck, he was meant to be working. He clamped down on his writhing gut, his eager hips.

“Ah, would anyone do?” McCoy asked. And, mercy, his voice had deepened. He wasn't just turned on, he was communicating it.

Spock didn't point it out, but his attention shifted. His eyes dragged heavily down McCoy's face, his throat, to his hands. “If you do not wish to have me,” Spock said, his voice dripping with honeyed meaning, “I would rather my own fist than any other.”

McCoy went to speak but his voice had dried up. He cleared his throat, then cleared his throat again. The sound snapped him out of it slightly, even if he had pressed his thighs against Spock's knees as he spoke. Fuck, he was used to Spock playing hard to get until they were near a bed. Or at least near some furniture to bend over. This eager man was quite different.

“Ah,” McCoy said wildly. He looked around his office, trying to find meaning in something he saw. A clock. Four-thirty. “I'm off in an hour and a half.”

Spock blinked, then leaned back. When had he leaned forward? It was hot. McCoy took a step away.

“I will meet you,” Spock said.

McCoy fixed his shirt and tried to smile at Spock. Spock stood, shakily, and met his gaze with customary dourness.

“You're sure it's natural, Spock?” he asked.

Spock nodded once. “It is lunar.”

“Right.”

McCoy looked at the instruments across his desk and ignored Spock as he left. Jesus, time to see how long ninety minutes can take.

[brw]

Every time a marvel movie comes out where two men stand in the same room or they make gay jokes that get more homophobic every time they make one and people are like "OHHHOHO MY GOD THIS IS SO GAY THEYRE SO GAY WHAT IS THE HETEROSEXUAL EXPLANATION" I get so sad. Come take my hand, I'll show you the comic where Hank McCoy Beast tongued down a D-list actor in front of the entire Avengers Mansion and God.

[moonlightshaiku]

Kissing Mccoy

Mccoy is 100% southern gentleman with all but his words, but if you're together, he is handsy. PDA on the Enterprise is a no-go, as it's his work place, but he's okay with it almost anywhere else.

He loves sitting out in the sunlight, maybe in a park, kissing your cheek. He likes slow kisses, and casual kisses, and the occasional rough one.

Basically, this man is so touch starved that anything works.

Anything with tongue is probably because of/leads to sex, and he's not much for biting lips (neck is a different story). All in all, he's pretty gentle until he's not. Even when he's in a bad mood. He tends to use casual affection to calm down, in fact.

Treats you like his personal weighted blanket (and shield against Jim's atrocities, sometimes).

His arms lay heavy on your shoulders as you sway together. He hums to music that isn't there, pressing kisses to your lips every few seconds.

He presses them to your face, too. Chaste, sweet little things.

He grabs your face, still swaying, pressing his face to yours more firmly. You feel his teeth as he forces away his smile, the kiss cool and close-mouthed.

He pulls away from your lips, breathing along your cheek. He smells like rubbing alcohol, bleach and his breath like warm whisky.

He rests his lips on yours again, drained of energy with no need to go further than simple kisses.

"Darlin'?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for always being here."

[holodeck-enthusiast]

All You Have is Printed Circuits

.

(Context: TOS episode - "This Side of Paradise")

As the characteristic of being dangerously confident was in every cell of his body, Kirk was sure he'd succesfully gaslight Spock in order to help him build anger and fight against the alien infection that had already taken over Spock's mind.

"All you have is printed circuits!"

"Captain...I..."

"...you devil-eared freak!.....a planet of traitors.....never had an ounce of integrity...a carcass full of memory banks...."

"Jim.."

...

Kirk feels the selfloath all over his body generating from the very core of his mind. Every words leaving his tongue, backfired at his heart. In front of his eyes, Spock was turning paler each second....the disbelief on his face, his eyes, his beautiful sparkling eyes....Kirk wanted to hold Spock and mind meld with him, speak with him, that none of these mean anything except he just has to invoke a strong emotion and kick the spores out of his system. If it were the other way round, if it were Kirk, it would have taken seconds for Spock to mind meld with the captain and make him aware of the situation.

But all Kirk has got, is that insane hope that Spock WILL understand why he's doing this...Spock will recognise Jim through all these opaque curtains of words that Jim would never, in any universe, think of for real.

...

Spock grabbed Kirk's torso and threw him against the wall. He forced himself back to the moment and kept yelling at Spock.

"You belong in a circus, Spock, not a starship.."

Spock's whole face went green. He was trembling. He closed his eyes and submit to the tsunami of hormones breaking onto him like a cloudburst. He picked up a chair and walked a few steps towards Kirk who was at that moment, still lying on the floor, still looking back at Spock. He wasn't capable of moving his literally bloody mouth.

*Wake up Spock! Wake the fuck up!!!*

Spock wasn't seeing.

Spock wasn't thinking.

Spock wasn't listening anymore.

Spock lifted the chair above his head.

"H-had enough?" Kirk tried to speak out faintly. His chest rising at its best to catch some air for him. Spock put his arms down in a lightning speed and smashed the chair onto James Tiberius Kirk, his captain, his T'hy'la.

...

Spock felt like rising his head above the waves! He doesn't remember much, only some auditory montage of words, pain all over his body...and then it all started coming to him episodically, incidents one after another. Even the Vulcan part of his brain took 4-5 seconds to get a grab of the situation. Then he looked down.

Jim was there. Lying on the floor on his back. his whole body was shaking. His head was turned to one side, with eyes closed...blood sipping from the corner of his mouth. Broken pieces of that chair covered his chest and abdomen forming a messy pile. Spock desperately hunched over him and shook him by grabbing his shoulders.

"Jim!"

Spock didn't waste a second. He dragged Jim somewhat closer to the wall. Jim's shirt from chest to abdomen was blood-soaked..torn in different places. Everything was going too fast for Spock.

"Captain..please.....Jim"

Spock patted on his cheeks. Almost like a slap. He knew Jim's just unconscious for now but he needs immediate medical attention to check for internal injuries.

Spock pulled Jim into his arms from behind and tried to make his torso stay upright.

His eyes were fixed on Jim, whose head was now resting on Spock's chest. On many occasions he had been either sassy or rude about Jim's recent weight again. At this moment almost the half of his body was rested against Spock's and Spock didn't feel a thing. Jim looked so tired, so very still, alarmingly still....and small. Spock felt like he can wait for an eternity with Jim on his lap if that's what it's gonna take before Jim gains consciousness.

Why is it taking so long! Spock was checking his pulses frequently. He needs him to wake up! He needs his help to at least make McCoy come aboard and start the necessary treatments.

For the first time Spock felt somewhat helpless and his human side missed Leonard like hell!

"...Sp.."

Spock turned his heads to Jim in a millisecond!!!

"Spock.."

Jim finally opened his eyes. If one can look closely enough, the relief in Spock's eyes was quite prominent. He slowly, very carefully moved Jim to lie him down on his back on the floor.

"I am sorry Spock. But I had to."...Jim pauses to catch a breath.

"Jim, I understand" he takes Jim's left hand into his. "You deliberately did that and that was a dazzling display of logic, my captain"

"None of those words are real. It can never be. I am so so sohr-ry.......I..can't....breathe Spock!"

Spock realised in a second that Jim was having a panic attack.

"Jim! Look at me!" Spock held him close

"Captain try to focus on your breathing. Follow me as I say.....in...out...in....out..."

Jim tried his best to keep eye contact with Spock. All those years of extreme training, even all the shitty situations he and his crew had faced in recent past....and THIS is the very first time he is having a panic attack. Scared the hell out of him. And it was quite visible on his face.

As the situation got slightly under control...Jim was breathing normally but still shivering, Spock lifted him up again and held him tightly into his arms.

"Those words...Spock..I..."

Apparently he was fixated on those words and was facing an uncontrollable guilt, although it was the only reasonable action at the particular moment....bt it's... it's Spock. And it was just as painful to Jim as it was to Spock.

Spock didn't let Jim finish his sentence. He held Jim's face into his palms and placed a very soft, warm and passionate kiss on his lips.

...

A few moments later, as the symptoms of that panic attack with an aweful sense of timing, faded away, Captain Kirk stood up on his feet, rigged a plan with Spock and they executed it in a very smooth Spirkly way. All the affected crew including McCoy was cured from the effects of the spores. McCoy started treating Kirk at sickbay as soon as he was transported back on the ship. Kirk told him everything later, on listening to which McCoy had the best laugh in his life. Of course Jim had skipped a part about a kiss..very human.

[whumpbug]

new ocs!!!

hi gang!!!!!!!!!!!! i've been hinting at more characters for a bit and HERE THEY ARE!!! i might try to use the whumperless event to intro them a bit more, but if anyone has any drabble requests until then feel free to send em in! and if you have any clarifying questions, PLEASE ask them!!!

as you can tell, i love westerns. i love cowboys. i NEEDED a cowboy/wild west setting to whump in so i made these guys (yes i am aware their color palletes are just simon and archie in a different font. i am a one trick pony.)

sidenote: rdr2 fans, you're gonna love this (these two are practically rdr2 ocs) (′ꈍᴗꈍ‵)

onto the boys (men?? we'll go with men.) this post is embarassingly long. strap in guys.

picrew here (though i couldn't find one that captured their looks the way i envisioned.... sigh i need to start drawing again. anyways, i included some outfits to go along with them!

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eugene (gene) delaney

age: 28

height: 6'2

occupation: deputy sherriff (his town is called Whiteridge)

description: gene is. well, for lack of better words, he has a stick up his ass. that is to say that he is very particular about things, namely the safety of his town and the activities that go down in it. he cares very much about keeping the streets safe from gangs and criminals because his mother was killed by a gang when he was just a child and he knows the dangers of having bad people run around unrestrained. also, the sherriff he works under is crooked and useless, so gene is left with a lot of responsibility in terms of managing Whiteridge. he's strong-willed and intelligent, but very morally conflicted about many things. he wants whats best for his people, but is controlling everything with an iron grip really the best way to go about it?

here is his outfit that you'll usually see him in!

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cassidy "silver" mccoy

age: 27

height: 6'0

occupation: outlaw/one of "montana's boys"

description: cassidy gets his nickname "silver" from his silver tongue. he's been known to talk his way out of death more times than he can count. he runs with a gang lead by a man named welles montana, and he is one of montana's most respected men. he was taken in by montana when he was very young, and believes he owes him his life. he trusts him blindly and is convinced evetything he does is for a good cause, even if sometimes it's questionable. he greatly enjoys his job and loves seeing the fruits of his labor in the form of hungry kids getting to eat for the first time in weeks, or single mothers able to afford a new dress. he did not grow up wealthy, so what he does is very personal. despite wanting to appear smooth and charismatic, he is a deeply feeling person that sort of lets his emotions rule him.

here is his typical outfit!

a bit about montana's gang: they lead robin hood-esque type heists where they exclusively take from the wealthy to give to the poor, but their methods are often violent and destructive. also, montana himself is not a very good man but cassidy doesn't necessarily know that. montana is sort of leading a double life where he spends part of his time with his gang and the other part with the wealthy assholes they're trying to take down. none of his gang know he is getting the best of both worlds and betraying them all. he's very manipulative and acts as a whumper in this story. cassidy is at his beck and call, and follows orders often without question.

also, there is a rival gang lead by a man named o'malley. they are your typical old western gang with no strict morals, sort of just trying to get the most money they can. members of o'malley's gang act mostly as whumpers as they are much more harmful and destructive than montana's boys, and have it out for cassidy specifically.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

their relationship/more background info:

cassidy and gene have a bit of a cat and mouse thing going on. cassidy often pulls heists with his boys in plain sight and since gene is the deputy, he's the one sent to bring him into custody. the two spend quite a bit of time together because of it. (cassidy is an escape artist. he is never locked up for more than a few days. gene hates this.) to gene, cassidy is infuriating. he believes you can't fight fire with fire and that cassidy is just causing more problems with his violent approach to "helping others"

cassidy on the other hand, loves to tease and provoke gene. when they first meet, it's while cassidy is locked up in a jail cell. he clocks how "stuck up" gene is, and sees it as a challege to try and piss of gene as much as he can and get away with it. he knows and he and gene actually have very similar goals: protect the people that can't protect themselves, but gene's approach feels too slow and ineffective to cassidy. still, he respects his dedication and never actively wants to cause him harm. regardless, cassidy's loyalty to montana is stronger than any respect he has for gene (AT FIRST), so the two have an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers type thing going on

as for a silly detail, even though the two men are less than fond of eachother, their horses are infatuated with eachother. they seriously have the biggest crushes on eachother, and make it known that they are upset when they have to be seperated.

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BONUS here are their respective horses:

this is calliope, gene's mare. she is sweet as sweet can be, very gentle and extremely, totally spoiled by gene.

this is scotch, cassidy's gelding. he is opinionated and stubborn and only answers to cassidy (and even then, it's only about half the time)

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thank you so much for listening to be ramble! i plan to have at least one fic of these guys during the event, maybe more, but i'm honestly so excited for them. i've been wanting to make ocs like them for a LONG time and here they finally are!! i hope you all enjoy!

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[veryace-ficrecs]

Star Trek Hurt/Comfort Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

As a General Rule by kcscribbler - Rated T

Five times Jim Kirk protected his crew, and one time they returned the favor

Liquid Courage by TheAsexualofSpades - Rated G

Everyone keeps their secrets in different places. Some keep them in their bellies, some in their chests, some in their throats. James T. Kirk keeps his secrets under his tongue.

Living in the Shadows by kcscribbler - Rated T

Five times Jim noticed one of his officers wasn't doing well, and one time they returned the favor.

Touch Me, Tell Me All Is Forgiven by BeautyGraceOuterSpace - Not Rated

He stops trying, after everything. Frank. Tarsus. Years of conditioning against contact. He never initiates touch, and is wary of receiving it. He’s had his flinch response well in hand for years by the time a couple of Starfleet cadets go head to head with him in the bar in Riverside. Hell, a fist to the face feels like home. He almost craves the touch. Almost.

We pick ourselves undone by Mellaithwen - Rated M

Jim meets the Commander of the Yorktown.

Commander Frank Finnegan. Frank. How the hell could he have forgotten that? The man met Winona Kirk at a conference on a starship for god's sake, of course he’s a member of the goddamn ‘fleet.

Medical Advice by ValmureEld (InkSiren) - Rated M

Jim and Leonard are stranded. That always goes well, doesn't it? At least Leonard knows how to treat just about anything. Too bad this time Leonard is also the one in danger. AKA I really wanted the medic to have to explain how to save himself. Rated only for bad language.

Put Me Back Together by Elivira - Rated G

Next to joining Starfleet Jim thinks that befriending the unwilling southern doctor has been the best decision he's ever made. Leonard McCoy is always putting him back together.

The prison of your mind by EternalSheWolf - Rated T

The kid takes him to the ground, hard and fast, and the knife punches right through his throat. The man gurgles and blood sprays, and the kid’s head snaps up, blond hair flying everywhere, as he gives the blade a final, savage, twist and pulls it free. He’d know those eyes anywhere. It’s Jim Kirk.

Long Road Home by EternalSheWolf - Rated G

“It’s the greatest ship ever built.” His voice cracks, and he tells himself it’s because he’s been speaking for probably days now and he’s thirsty and his throat is probably bleeding and Bones will kill him, goddamit, Jim – A tear leaks out of the corner of his eye. “I want to go home.” He whispers.

[onwhatcaptain]

hello I am doing such a bad job at sharing occasional chapter previews from my k/s novel consistently so here's one from last week

“I beg your pardon, Doctor?” “At Spock’s wedding,” he says. “You weren’t there. Matter of fact, you weren’t there for decades. So what if my mind, my grief is loud? Maybe yours should be louder. I was there for him and as a matter of fact, it smarts like hell and I’ll be damned if I apologize for that.” “You speak of things you do not understand, Doctor,” Sarek says with considerable acid. “I suggest you hold your tongue.” And now he’s in too deep to back out. He’s embarrassing himself and he doesn’t care. “Do I? Is that condescension because I’m the species you couldn’t stand your son being half?”

If you want to know why McCoy is arguing with Sarek, my fic "I Shall Do Neither" is here at AO3. <3

I Shall Do Neither (102548 words) by onwhatcaptain Chapters: 18/26 Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Leonard "Bones" McCoy Additional Tags: Romance, Angst, Heavy Angst, Loss of Control, Psychological Trauma, Mutual Pining, Five Year Mission (Star Trek), Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Post-Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Pon Farr, Pon Farr Aftermath (Star Trek), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Friendship, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, Vulcan Biology, Tarsus IV (Star Trek), Vulcan Mind Melds, Non-Linear Narrative, Storytelling Through Vignettes, Missing Scenes Between Episodes, Plot, Cover Art, Canon Divergence, Digital Art, Illustrations, In spite of the description Kirk features heavily in this novel Summary: In the wake of the kal-if-fee on Vulcan, Kirk is dead. When T’Pau tells Spock to live long and prosper, he knows he shall do neither. This is a story about men who love each other, and the lengths they will go to for one another. - Foolish, he thinks. I have been a fool. How he had wanted so desperately to prove his Vulcan side. How all his life it had felt like a performance, and yet, to be finally subject to the most Vulcan thing of all destroyed him. The stripping of logic. All sense torn from him. His carefully constructed barriers had collapsed like a flimsy house of cards. To be granted his wish this way was a type of mockery. How he had wanted to be fully Vulcan. To prove that the blood which runs through his veins was not so human. How wanting had been better than having. - This story is told in two parts across 25 chapters, and will be updated on Sundays.

[justlittlelandonorris]

“Right here, darlin’…”

Summary: You try to look after Leonard McCoy after he gets hurt on a mission.

Main Character(s): Leonard “Bones” McCoy and Montgomery “Scotty” Scott

Notes: I’ve never actually seen any original Star Trek shows or movies, but I did finally watch the reboots a few days ago and honestly, I absolutely adore Leonard McCoy. Anyway, this little idea was stuck in my head so hopefully you guys like it… live long and prosper 🖖🏼

Warning: Mentions of wounds and stitches?

“Beam him up, Scotty!” You shout, turning towards the Scotsman.

“But-“

“I don’t care what Captain Kirk ordered you to do… beam him up, now.” You command, your voice dropping to a low and threatening tone.

“Aye, lassie.”

The moment the man in question materialises, you mutter a quiet thank you to the engineer before running towards him. “Doctor McCoy…” Your eyes glide over his body, taking in the wounds and bruises. “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” He asks, wincing in pain as he steps off the platform.

“There’s no need to take that tone with me, Doctor.” He turns to you with a glare as you try to support his weight. “Send a message to Kirk,” you turn towards Scotty, “let him know I’m taking Bones to MedBay.”

“Will do, lassie.”

-

With your arm firmly grasped around his torso, you ease the CMO onto a bed as you make your way into MedBay.

“Watch it,” he grumbles in pain as he pushes your arm away. Mirroring his glare, you scoff at his unpleasantness before noticing the wound carved into his side.

“I need to get this stitched up before it gets infected…” You mention, grabbing some supplies from the cabinet. You tug on the fabric of his uniform as he closes his eyes, a deep groan of pain rumbling in his throat. “Sorry,” you sigh. “Is there any part of you that doesn’t hurt?” There’s a subtle hint of humour in your voice as you finally throw the torn shirt onto the floor.

“Here.” He says, voice heavy with sarcasm as he points to his shoulder.

Watching him readjust himself on the bed, eyes still closed tight from the pain, your expression softens as you begin to sympathise with your superior. All of a sudden, a thought pops into your head as you allow it to ruminate.

A playful smile plays on your lips before you slowly lean closer towards the man and place a soft kiss on his bare shoulder. Opening his eyes, he turns towards you with a raised eyebrow as he watches you thread the stitches through the wound.

After a moment of contemplation, he allows a charming smirk to grace his handsome features before pointing to his cheek. “Here.”

With a quiet laugh, you indulge him by placing another soft kiss on his cheek, lingering for a moment longer than before. As you pull away, you realise how intimately close you are to the doctor before meeting his gaze, those dark mahogany eyes melting into golden lagoons of honey.

“Right here, darlin’…” He drawls in that southern accent, beckoning you towards him and tapping his lips with his finger. Placing the desired kiss on his lips, you feel his tongue glide over the soft flesh of your lips, begging for more. Allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth, his hands delicately brush against the exposed skin of your body, his wounds and sullen temperament long forgotten.

[chewbokachoi]

🎂 <3

No pressure!

I am so sorry for the delay! I wanted to do a song challenge and it took a few tries to get into the TOS groove.

He was on his fourth shot, but that was nothing to old Bones.

He knew how much he could take, and it was going to be another two before he could feel the effects. Anything to wipe the memory of the last week from his mind. The blood and guts and  screams he could handle. It was the literal-dead silence after that always unnerved him. But what tipped him over the edge was the total callousness of the generals. The numbers were just that to them–and they were acceptable losses.

McCoy slammed the glass down. "Two more," he said sternly.

The bartender shrugged and reached for the bottle. But just as he tipped it down, a pale hand covered the mouth of the bottle with his thumb.

"I think you've had enough, doctor," Spock said.

"Pah!" McCoy pried Spock's thumb off–or tried.

"That will be enough for him," Spock said to the bartender.

The man behind the counter knew better. He nodded and tilted the bottle up and away from McCoy.

"Oh, what makes you so sure you know what's good for me? You the one with all the degrees?" McCoy snarled.

"It is my job to look out for the crewman of the Enterprise," Spock replied in his typical, disinterested tone.

McCoy spat and stood up. He took two steps before falling.

Spock caught him. "I noticed how little you have eaten and drunk this whole week, Doctor. You cannot possibly think drinking in this state would be good for you?"

"Who said I cared about what was good for me?" McCoy snarled, struggling to get out of Spock's grip and walk off just fine.

Written to "Tongues and Teeth" by The Crane Wives