#they move in a slow measured way which looks quite odd- but is because they have very little muscle mass and are evolved to constantly save | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

makoodlesarchive · 4 years

Text

bad dragon

here i am delivering content that NO ONE ASKED FOR !! this is nasty and i got super embarrassed just writing it but i hope you enjoy it anyway

honestly no one look at me, just let me indulge in this in peace

pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

word count: 10k

warnings: blowjobs, penetrative sex, virgin kirishima, lots of cum (like, a ridiculous amount), breeding (kinda), size kink?. it’s not exactly anthro bc everyone is human here but uhh non-standard genitals, i guess? kirishima has an unusual dick: pls see here for reference OR check out the amazing fanart for kiri’s dick !!

Tip Jar!

dragon dick kiri masterlist!

»»————-　♡　————-««

Kirishima Eijirou was a perfect gentleman. He bought you flowers, he opened doors for you, he gave the sweetest goodnight kisses, he ate you out so good he had you seeing stars. You had the biggest, fattest crush on him, and you would be embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the fact that it seemed, at least for the most part, to be reciprocated.

The problem was Kirishima never let you touch him.

Whenever the two of you ended up in bed together, with the door firmly locked behind you, Kirishima insisted on sliding under the blankets and eating you out so enthusiastically he had your legs shaking in no time. It’s not like you would ever complain about that, but it definitely bothered you that he was never up for doing anything else. You would see the blanket shifting around as he jerked himself off furiously under the sheets as he tongue-fucked you, but whenever you tried to coax him out from beneath the sheets you were turned down with a soft, apologetic little smile.

You figured it must have something to do with his apparent commitment issues. Everytime you brought up the possibility of being a couple, or anything more than what you currently were (which, tragically, was nothing; just two friends occasionally getting hot and heavy) he brushed you off or changed the subject with a beautifully sunny smile and a laugh, so bright and cheery that you were successfully diverted every single time.

And it was fine, really. You liked Kirishima a lot, so you were totally willing to put up with a few odd idiosyncrasies. And okay, sure, if you were being totally honest with yourself, of course you wanted to be more than friends that flirt and kiss and mess around a bit. You couldn’t even technically call each other fuck buddies because he wouldn’t fuck you. But he was so sweet, and so handsome and kind and his tongue was so so good, that you would take whatever you could get from him.

At least, that was until one afternoon.

April had brought with it blue skies and sun showers and warm breezes, and as the weather begins to improve your friends take to lounging out the front of the apartment complex. After graduating, renting places in the same neighbourhood just seemed like the next logical step. On days like this, where you all come together just to chill out in front of the complex, it seems like the best idea in the world. As you watch Kirishima chase Kaminari around the lawn, the two of them howling with laughter, something a little wistful twists in your stomach. It’s a familiar feeling, easy enough to shove away normally, but today for some reason you just feel… melancholy.

Maybe that’s why you do something you would never normally do. You turn to Bakugou, who’s aggressively chewing on candy as though it insulted his mother, and say, “Hey, um. Does Kirishima… does Kirishima ever talk about me?”

Bakugou’s jaw stills, and he turns his head very slowly to look at you. He looks mildly disbelieving, which is understandable. The two of you get along just fine, but you’ve never asked him anything personal before. “Why the fuck are you asking me that?” he demands through a mouthful of half-chewed toffee.

You shrug jerkily, suddenly mortified. Why are you asking something like that of Bakugou, of all people? “Never mind.” you say quickly, praying that he’ll just let it go and you can both move on and forget that you had ever asked such an embarrassing question.

A silence stretches between the two of you, long and taut, broken only by Mina giggling as she shows Sero something on her phone a few metres away. You could curse yourself for making things awkward between the two of you when you had been on relatively good terms, but then Bakugou turns to look at you so abruptly that you startle a little. “Look,” he says, jaw working absently as he chews his candy. “He likes you just fine, okay. Why aren’t you having this conversation with him, huh?”

You can’t quite meet Bakugou’s eyes. You don’t know how he can be so forthright all the time. “Um. I’ve tried, but he always changes the subject.”

Bakugou swears softly, glaring out across the lawn at Kirishima as he chases Kaminari, throwing grapes at his back. “I ain’t a relationship counsellor, okay? I get that it must be hard that he doesn’t cum when he’s with you or whatever, but you seriously need to work that out with him. What am I meant to do about it?”

“Right,” you wince, your body hot with embarrassment. Your mind sticks on something he just said though, and you turn back slowly to frown at him. “He… he doesn’t cum?”

“Hah?” Bakugou scowls at you, clearly annoyed that you’re still having this conversation. You’re not about to let up though, because you hadn’t known that.

“I-I didn’t realise that he didn’t-?” you trail off, mortified and horrified in equal measures. You had assumed all those times that he was jerking off under the sheets that he was getting himself off but just didn’t want you to see. You had never questioned the lack of mess because as soon as you were done he always left for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later with damp towels to clean you up with -- you had assumed he cleaned himself up in those moments of absence. How the fuck had you never noticed? Why did Bakugou know when you didn’t? Oh god, had he and Kirishima talked about this?

Bakugou’s expression shifts as he apparently realises that he had just revealed something you hadn’t been aware of. “Oh.” he says, and his annoyance seems to have evaporated, only to be replaced by an intense discomfort. “Well. It’s not that big a deal, or whatever. I’m sure he still, uh, enjoys himself- fucking hell, can we stop talking about this?”

“Yeah.” you say a little numbly. You feel so stupid. Why had he never said anything to you? You had been under the assumption that he liked you back, but maybe you were totally mistaken. Maybe seeing your naked body turned him off to the point that he couldn’t actually cum even if hidden under the sheets and not looking at you. Maybe he never actually wanted to do any of that with you in the first place. There’s a stinging pressure building in the back of your eyes, and you have to look down at your lap and blink hard to stop yourself from doing something stupid like bursting into tears in front of Bakgou -- you don’t think either of you would live that down. “Uh. I think I’m gonna head up to my room, I’m really tired.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened a little, “Wait, are you-”

“I’ll see you later,” you smile and try to keep your voice as normal as possible, but even you can hear how forced you sound. You stand quickly and brush yourself off before heading back inside; you have to consciously slow your pace so that it doesn’t look like you’re running away, because you really don’t put it past Bakugou not to chase you down for cutting him off like that.

You bump into Jirou on the stairs and babble out an apology, escaping back upstairs to your apartment before she can ask you if you’re okay. The last thing you need is an audience for your imminent breakdown, but thankfully you don’t see a single other person on the way to your place. You shut the door to your room tight and lean your forehead against it to take a deep breath. It doesn’t do much to calm you down, so you turn and make a beeline straight for the bed. Throwing yourself dramatically on top of your bed covers feels a little cathartic, so you allow yourself the luxury of being dramatic as you bury your face into your arms and sigh.

God, you wish Kirishima would have just talked to you instead of grinning that stupidly bright smile of his and changing the subject anytime you tried to talk or ask about the thing the two of you had together. At least then you would have been able to deal with any upset that may have been caused by that conversation by yourself, and you wouldn’t have had to get all upset in front of one of Kirishima’s best friends. God, how were you ever gonna look at Bakugou again?

You know that stewing by yourself like this isn’t going to help sort this situation out, but you just can’t find the energy to start thinking about what you’re going to do next. You don’t want to start thinking about that at all. You just need some time to yourself, just a little while to relax and breathe and just not think because if you start thinking you’re pretty sure you’re going to cry. You feel impossibly stupid.

When you hear a knock coming from the door, you want to bang your head off the wall. You can’t imagine anything worse than having to talk to someone and pretend that everything is fine right now.

“Y/N? Hey, is everything alright? Bakugou said you ran off.”

Aw, shit. Maybe you can imagine something worse.

You sit up sharply, staring at the door. This was so typical. Of all the people in the building, Kirishima is the last person you want to talk to right now. So of course it stands to reason that he would be the one to follow you straight to your apartment. “Everything’s fine,” you call back quickly, trying hard to sound like you meant it, “Hey, I’m just tired right now. Can we talk later?”

“Bakugou said you were upset.”

That traitor. You clench your jaw and scowl at the wall. “I’m-”

“I’m coming in, okay?”

“Wha-?” you stand up quickly, but Kirishima is already coming in and closing the door behind him. “Kirishima, I don’t-”

“Okay look, Bakugou said you were upset with me and I’m really, really sorry,” Kirishima blurts quickly, hands up in the air as if he’s being held at gunpoint, “He’s actually pretty annoyed at me right now, but he’s right, and-”

“I’m not-” you start, then pause to gather your thoughts. Bakugou was right, especially when he said you had to talk. And it was important this time that you didn’t let Kirishima divert you like he had been doing. “It’s not that I’m upset with you. Not really. I just- what are we even doing?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, so softly that it’s almost a whisper.

“I-” you swallow hard, brace yourself, “I really like you. I like spending time with you, and I’ve told you, or at least tried to, that I’d really like to, well, be- um, be more than whatever this is. And obviously I would totally get if you don’t want that, a relationship and stuff, but I want you to just tell me! Just say it, instead of changing the subject.”

“Wait, baby, please.” Kirishima steps forward quickly and stops just short of touching you, a bare few inches between you. “I like you so much, I never wanted you to feel this way. I just- it’s difficult to explain-”

“Do you...” you start to say, then sigh. You can’t believe you’re actually going to ask this, because it makes you sound so desperate, but you really need to hear him say it, “Do you not find me attractive?”

Kirishima makes a startled choking sound, “Wha-? Are you kidding? I find you so attractive! You’re so pretty, and your body is- is really nice, why would you think-”

“You never look at me when we’re in bed and-” you start fidgeting, horribly awkward. “I just want to be able to touch you.”

Kirishima steps forward, closing the distance between you and dropping to one knee. “Baby, I’ll do whatever you want,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips as his thumbs stroke circles into your skin. “You want me to touch you?”

“No.” you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration, realising that he had misunderstood. “I mean. Bakugou told me that you never cum when we’re together.”

When you open your eyes again, you see that Kirishima has gone stock still. His mouth is a little open, and you can see his throat working as he seems to fight for something to say. Very slowly, he gets back to his feet. “He shouldn’t have said that.”

You stare at him, at a loss. “Is it because-” you start, then trail off as you realise that you don’t even know what you’re trying to ask. You just want him to start talking so that you can stop asking all these stupid questions. “If you don’t want to have sex with me, you only have to say so, I would never pressure you into-”

“No!” Kirishima blurts, jolting forward. The suddenness of the movement seems to startle the both of you, but Kirishima recovers faster. “God, no, that’s not what this is!”

“Then, why?” you whisper, thoroughly confused. You had hoped that talking it out would help get some answers, but if anything you’re even more confused and insecure than you had been before he came to your room. “Did I- I mean, if I’m doing something that’s-”

“It’s not you.” Kirishima interrupts, covering his eyes with one of his large palms and leaning away from you. His hand is trembling a little, almost imperceptibly. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

The statement hangs in the air between the two of you like it’s a tangible presence. You stare hard at Kirishima, but he doesn’t remove his hand from his face. He looks a bit like he’s going to be sick. “What do you mean?” you ask quietly.

You’re guessing that this is where you get the ‘You’re great and all but I’m just not ready for a relationship. It’s got nothing to do with you though, I need to work through my own stuff’ sort of speech, and you have to brace yourself for it. Instead, Kirishima says something that you had not prepared yourself to hear in the slightest.

“I’m sorry.” you say, a little bewildered. You’re certain that you heard that wrong. “Could you- could you say that again?”

A flush has begun to crawl steadily across Kirishima’s face, made all the more prominent by the contrast of his hand pressed to his eyes. His ears are so red that they blend right into his hair. “I said,” he says, then takes an inhale, “That you’ll break up with me if you see my dick.”

You don’t actually know how to begin replying to that. For one, breaking up would require you to be in a relationship, which is something that he has been avoiding for a while now. You decide to address the bigger problem first. “Why would I want to break up because of your dick? Why would you even think that? Do you think I’m that shallow?”

“It’s got nothing to do with you being shallow,” Kirishima says slowly. You get the impression that he’s measuring his words, and his uncharacteristic reticence has you on edge. “It’s just that- I’m not, well, normal.”

You stare at him, a little taken aback. Kirishima had always had some issues with self-confidence, ever since middle school, but you’d always thought he’d worked through that in UA. You had never heard him talk about himself like this. “What’s that supposed to mean? Eijirou, lots of people are self-conscious about what they have going on downstairs. It doesn’t mean-”

“No, you don’t get it,” he interrupts. His hands have started twisting up the hem of his shirt, wringing it out and wrinkling the material. He’s frowning, and clearly starting to get agitated. “It’s not that I’m self-conscious about it- well, I am self-conscious about it, I guess, but it’s for a reason! I mean it, it’s not exactly… standard.”

Your face scrunches up in a frown before you can stop it. Not standard? “You’re worried it’s too small?” You guess. Your gaze drops to the crotch of his pants, where he’s subconsciously folded his hands. “Too big?”

“Um.” Kirishima lets out a nervous little laugh, several octaves higher than normal. “Yeah, I guess. It’s… it looks weird.”

“Eijirou,” your voice is soft now, most of your frustration melted away by the sight of Kirishima’s anxious fidgeting, “We live in a world where physical mutations are the norm; you really don’t have anything to worry about.” You pause for a moment, but Kirishima doesn’t respond immediately. The silence builds, until you try to break it with a light-hearted, “How weird can it be, really?”

Kirishima’s throat works as he swallows hard, but he’s nodding so you at least know that he’s listening. When he does speak, his voice is so low that you have to lean closer to him to catch what he’s saying. “I just don’t want to ruin this.”

Your heart twists, and the last of your frustration straight up disappears. You take a breath to steady yourself, then step forward and place your hands gently on his chest. A tremor works its way up his spine at your touch, but you don’t remark on it. “Kirishima.” you say firmly, and when he looks up and makes eye contact you try to keep your gaze as strict as possible. “You really have no idea how much I like you, do you? God, I like you so much, it’s stupid. I’ve wanted to be with you for so long. I mean, even if you never wanted to have sex I would understand, so long as you talked to me about it. Your dick is not gonna stop me from liking you, idiot.”

The fear of rejection is still plain to see on Kirishima’s face, but there’s something lurking just underneath that looks like hope. “I’ve never… I’ve never been with anyone like that.”

“You haven’t?” you ask, genuinely surprised. Not only is Kirishima perfectly sweet, he’s also extremely attractive. As an up-and-coming sidekick in Fatgum’s hero agency, you knew that he had no shortage of admirers. Even before that, in UA, you knew there were always people who had their eyes on him. He was so bright, he was hard to miss.

He laughs, scrubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. “Uh, no. I mean, I’m not totally inexperienced. I mean, I’ve done oral and stuff, and I think I’m actually pretty good at it-”

“You are definitely pretty good at it,” you chime in, nodding and trying not to laugh at the flush crawling up his neck.

“I enjoy it, too!” he says quickly, as though trying to reassure you, “I enjoy it a lot. But I’ve never- I mean, no one’s ever touched me like that.” You feel your mouth drop open in honest shock. A little part of you couldn’t help but feel reassured that it wasn’t you he had a problem with, but that was mostly drowned out by surprise. Kirishima rushes on before you can speak, as though trying to say his piece before he runs out of steam, “It’s not that I didn’t want to, it’s just that it’s never seemed worth the fallout. Especially with you. I’m happy with being with you in whatever way I can, and I don’t want my stupid dick to scare you off or-”

“Oh my god, Kirishima, stop,” you say, and this time you really can’t hold back your laugh. “Your stupid dick isn’t going to scare me off. God, I can’t believe this is why you never let me touch you.” you step closer and press a soft, close-mouthed kiss to his lips. You hadn’t realised just how tense Kirishima was until he relaxed a little into your touch, the stiffness in his shoulders easing out as he sighed into the kiss. You pull back just a little, just enough that you can give him a cheeky smile. “Want me to give you your first blowjob?”

Kirishima’s whole body tenses right back up as his eyes shoot wide in surprise. “What?” he squeaks out, his ears turning scarlet.

You take his hand in yours and tangle your fingers together, before tugging him gently towards the bed. “I want to,” you assure him quietly, “No matter what your dick looks like, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Kirishima says as he sits at the edge of the bed. He’s breathing a little faster now, either from excitement or nerves. You’re guessing it’s a bit of both, because he’s clinging on tight to your hand even though he looks like he’s about to bolt. When you hook your fingers around the waistband of his shorts, he catches one of your wrists with his free hand. “If you- you know, if you change your mind after seeing it, just know that I won’t be mad or anything.”

He’s so quiet and earnest that you feel your heart melt a little looking at his nervously hopeful eyes. You take your hand back and climb onto his lap, pushing your fingers into his wild mop of hair. It’s the first time you’ve ever been close with him like this -- usually he would give you a sweet, gentle kiss and then dive between your legs, always keeping a frustrating amount of distance between your lower halves. This time though, he doesn’t try to divert you away. His hands grip your hips tight, and he leans his head into your touch. “I wish you would stop expecting me to push you away.” you murmur into the side of his neck, peppering little kisses into his skin. Kirishima lets out the smallest, choked off sounding whine at that, and tilts his head so that the long line of his throat is exposed. You take the hint, and start trailing kisses all along the soft skin at the base of his neck. “I told you, and I meant it; I want to be with you.”

Strong arms wind their way around your back and pull you close until you’re sat right over Kirishima’s crotch. You don’t even think it was intentional on Kirishima’s part, but you won’t pass up the opportunity when it presents itself to you. His shorts are bulging a little right in the centre where he’s starting to get hard, and you lower yourself down so that you’re grinding over him. He gasps at the contact, and his hips jerk up into you. “Oh, shit. I want you, so badly.” he gasps, his forehead dropping down to rest on your shoulder.

You have to admit, what you can feel through his shorts is… intimidating. ‘Yeah, I guess,’ he had said when you asked him if he was worried about his dick being too big. Judging by what you could feel pressing against you, that was a massive understatement, and he was only half-hard. You ghost your hands down over his sides, feeling his ribs expand with his breaths, sliding down until your hands reach the waistband of his shorts again. You push them down over his hips, and he lifts himself up to help you, and then he’s just in his impressively tented jockstrap. You smile reassuringly at him as you tug down the jockstrap, and then his cock springs free of the waistband and you pause.

“Oh.” you breathe.

“I know that it’s-” Kirishima begins to visibly panic, his hand reflexively shooting down to try and cover himself as he tries to sit up.

“It’s okay.” you say quickly, recovering from your surprise as quickly as possible. You still feel a little off-kilter as you slide off his lap to your knees in front of him. You know that you’re staring at his cock wide-eyed, but you can’t quite help yourself. It’s… well. It’s definitely not standard.

You reach out, your hand hovering uncertainly over his cock because you barely know how to begin. It’s thicker than a soda can, and long. Delicate ridges and swirls decorate the underside, with a series of bumps along the top. When you finally do grasp him in your hand, you’re rewarded with a barely stifled gasp and a hot spurt of precum that dribbles down his cockhead to your fingers. You use both your hands to explore his length, fingers trailing over all those strange ridges. The bumps along the top are apparently sensitive, because when you rub your thumbs over them Kirishima gasps and his hips thrust gracelessly into the air.

“Sorry!” he blurts as his cock dribbles even more precum. There’s so much of it that it looks like you actually used lube or something to slick up his cock, but you guess that this must be normal for him because he just looks embarrassed. “I- it’s sensitive, I guess, um- I usually put down a towel, because I tend to get, uh, messy.”

The way he says that and the connotations of it has your thighs squeezing together, and you take a deep inhale through your nose. It’s unexpectedly hot. “Gotcha.” you smile at him, trying to put him at ease as you return your attention back to his dick. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind if you make a mess.”

“Oh, shit. Uh, okay.” Kirishima says, and his breathing has gotten noticeably heavier now. He’s almost panting as he leans back on his elbows, craning his neck so he can get a look at what you’re doing. There’s a curious swell around the base of his cock that just seems to be growing. One of your hands travels down to it curiously, splaying over it and then rubbing it at it experimentally. His hips rock forward sharply, a huff of breath leaving him as he grunts a muted, “Fuck!”

The precum is oozing almost continuously now, spilling over with nearly every stroke, and your rubbing at the swollen base seems to be pushing even more out. It’s obscene, the copious amount of it and the way it’s stringing down onto your hands. If this is the amount of precum he produces, you can hardly imagine the amount of cum he’s going to produce. You wonder if ‘messy’ is another understatement.

You finally lean forward and lick an experimental stripe up the underside of his cock, lapping at the ridges and swirls. The moan that’s ripped out of him is needy and so desperate -- his stomach muscles are tensed with the effort he’s putting in to keep from rocking into your mouth, but his cheeks are flushed and his own mouth is lolling open, his eyes squeezed shut. You take that as your cue to take all of him in your mouth as best as you can, suckling at the tip before swallowing him down. You get about halfway before you have to pull back and try again. Your mouth is stretched obscenely wide around the girth of him, and you swear you can feel the weight of his dick pulsing on your tongue.

“Oh god, oh baby, oh Y/N,” Kirishima is babbling nonsensically, his head thrown as his hips make the sweetest little aborted rocking motions, like he wants nothing more than to let go but is trying his best to restrain himself for your sake. “Feels so good.”

You suck him as best as you can, but your jaw is starting to ache from being hinged so wide. You alternate between stroking his length and suckling on the head of his dick, tracing the swirls and squeezing the bottom. The swell at the base of his cock has engorged even further, and you prod at it curiously with one hand as you work his length with the other. It’s firm but oddly spongey, and everytime you poke at it Kirishima’s whole cock twitches.

When he gasps out your name you pull back and look up at him. He’s trembling, his shirt rucked up past his bellybutton and his gaze fixed unwaveringly on you. “You okay?” you ask softly, rubbing your thumb along one of the ridges under the head of his dick.

“Yeah,” he breathes, reaching down to cup your face. His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, and you realise that a string of saliva and precum is dripping down your chin. “But if you keep going I’m gonna cum.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point?” you laugh, and press a kiss right on his slit. His hips twitch and you dodge backwards just in time to avoid him taking your eye out with his hard on.

“Sorry!” he looks mortified, and you can’t help but find his nervous fumbling absolutely adorable.

“Don’t worry about it.” you smile as you kiss your way down his shaft, prepared now for the intermittent jerking of his hips. You get to that swollen part at the base and place your mouth right at the bottom of his cock, before wrapping your lips around it to the best of your ability and sucking.

You had guessed that this swollen area was sensitive thanks to his reactions earlier, but you’re not quite prepared for the shout he lets out or the way his hand grabs onto the side of your head as he damn near rides your mouth. You’re totally startled by the reaction, but given the amount of times that you’ve done the same to his mouth you’re only too happy to indulge him. Plus, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen Kirishima fall apart like this. His cock is dribbling precum at a rapid rate the more excited he gets, and thick strings of it are pouring onto your cheeks. You think you should probably feel a little grossed out, but seeing Kirishima open-mouthed and panting as he rides your face like he’s hasn’t got a single other thought in his mind has you so turned on that your panties are getting sticky and uncomfortable between your legs. You stick your own hand between your legs to try and relieve yourself of some of the heat coiling up in your stomach, but the way that Kirishima’s rutting into your face throws off your coordination.

“Oh god, please, baby, please, put it back in your mouth, I’m gonna- fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum, please-” He begs, his head thrown back as he gasps.

How could you ever deny him when he pleads like that? You pull your head out of his grasp and sink your mouth back down on his cock, and then you just hold there and breathe as steadily as you can as Kirishima’s cock throbs in your mouth. His hips spasm, pushing his cock further into your throat. It almost feels like he’s getting bigger, as if he’s growing down your throat.

Kirishima is still babbling, a steady stream of senselessness about how good you’re making him feel, how beautiful you are, how lucky he is, until he cuts himself off with a gasp of “Baby, I’m- I’m-” and then he’s silent, his mouth hanging open as his whole body strains.

You try to suck him through his orgasm, but you are utterly unprepared for the sheer quantity of cum that erupts from his dick. Despite your intentions, you have no choice but to pull off his cock, choking a little on the cum that actually managed to get up your nose. You stroke him through it, feeling dazed as you watch him cum. You know it’s dripping from your chin, running in rivulets down your face. You wonder if it’s coming out your nose.

Kirishima seems to come forever, humping into your fist and whining and moaning the whole time. When his cock finally gives its last, exhausted spurt, his body falls limp against the bed. He’s gasping for breath and staring at the ceiling, looking like his soul had been ejected from his body along with the insane amount of cum. You notice the swollen part at the base of his cock has deflated almost entirely, to the point that it’s hardly noticeable anymore.

You climb up on the bed beside him and nudge him with your knee, a little concerned. “Eijirou? You good?”

When he looks at you, there’s a goofy smile splitting his face. “I have never been so good in my whole life.” His smile freezes as he catches a proper look at your face, caught between surprise, embarrassment, and something else. He reaches out to your face and swipes his fingers through the mess on your face. “Oh god, I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be!” you hasten to assure him, squeezing his wrists. “It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Kirishima stares at you as though he almost doesn’t believe you, but his cum is painted across your face and dripping down your chest, so he’s not in the best position to argue. “I told you I tend to get messy.” he breathes out a laugh, and then leans forward to kiss you, apparently not caring about the taste of his own ejaculate.

You hum into his mouth, your thighs clenching in excitement. “Eijirou,” you whisper into the kiss. When he pulls back, you bite your lip and smile at him, “Next time, will you fuck me?”

Kirishima inhales sharply, and his grip on your hips tightens to the point that the pressure is near bruising. “You really want that?”

“God, yes.” you blurt, shifting so that you’re straddling his stomach. You lower yourself down so that you’re grinding against his bare skin, and you can see the exact moment that he realises you’ve soaked through your panties.

He groans, and pulls at your hips to encourage you to grind against his stomach harder. “Shit, sweetheart. You don’t think it’s… kind of gross?”

“I didn’t expect the amount of cum,” you confess, wiping at your face with a helpless laugh, “But no, I don’t think it’s gross. I like it.” You whimper as Kirishima’s thumb slides over your swollen clit, the glide made smooth thanks to the slickness of your own arousal.

Kirishima is looking up at you as though you had hung the moon, and it’s hard not to get a little embarrassed under the intensity of his gaze. “Okay,” he whispers, “If you’re sure.” He glances down with a small frown, his lips twisted thoughtfully, “I don’t want to hurt you, though.”

“You won’t.” you kiss his nose, grinning as it wrinkles up under your lips. “We’ll make sure I’m stretched.” you glance over your shoulder at his still wet, softening cock. Even now, the size of it is intimidating. “And lube,” you conclude, “We’ll use lots and lots of lube.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, a smile starting to light up his face. He presses a sloppy kiss to the base of your throat, and you can feel the smile against your skin, “Yeah, okay. I’d really like that.” There’s still cum everywhere, all over your hands and chest and face and splashed across Kirishima’s legs and stomach, but he doesn’t seem to care about the mess in the slightest as he rolls the two of you over so that he’s hovering over you. The kiss he presses to one of your breasts is impossibly soft, and you tilt your head back and sigh as you feel his fingers trace over the lips of your pussy. “I’m so lucky to have you.” he whispers, then pushes himself down your body.

As his tongue flicks over your clit, you smile. It’s definitely you that’s the lucky one here.

_________________________

Kirishima’s complicated relationship with his genitalia had started in middle school. Up until that point, he had managed to remain blissfully unaware that there was any kind of abnormality in his nether regions. That changed one day in the locker rooms.

Having never paid any particular attention to what he had in his pants, Kirishima hadn’t thought anything of changing out with the rest of the boys in his class, as unabashed as any middle-schooler that hadn’t developed a sense of self-consciousness yet. He didn’t notice the whispers or stares until one of his friends nudged him hard. “Dude,” he said, glancing between Kirishima’s legs and then away, curiosity and mild revulsion mingled on his face, “What’s wrong with your thingy?”

“Wrong?” Kirishima had echoed, discomfort beginning to prickle beneath his skin. He hadn’t realised there was anything wrong with his genitals. He covered up quickly and finished getting changed, but the stares lingered.

No one said anything more about it to him, but by the end of the day rumour had spread that Kirishima was weird down there.

He had, like so many boys his age, taken to the internet to do his own research. It felt like a punch to the gut when he realised that his classmates were right -- his dick looked nothing like the dicks that all the guys in the videos he found had. There were exceptions, where the person’s genitals were affected by their quirk, but they were always full-body quirks that made it pretty obvious that what you were gonna find down below would be non-standard. His genitals didn’t match his body or his quirk, so his classmates must be right when they say that he’s weird with those grossed-out little laughs.

He learned pretty quickly to keep that part of him to himself, to change out quickly and efficiently in such a way that no one would ever see the parts of him that he’d rather keep hidden. He welcomes physical contact because he’s still an affectionate guy, but he’s always careful about the distance he allows between himself and others just in case they brush up against him accidentally and somehow feel that he’s different. When the boys in his class start excitedly talking about girls and other boys, and how nice it’d be to have a girlfriend or boyfriend, Kirishima tries to stay out of it. He doesn’t want to wonder about something like that when he knows that if someone were to find out his secret they’d be totally grossed out.

High school comes hand in hand with experimentation though, and Kirishima is lonely and touch-starved. He doesn’t want to avoid touch for the rest of his life out of fear that someone’s going to know. So he allows himself to indulge a little; he’s popular with girls in UA, a fact that surprises him. Unlike the girls in middle school, they haven’t heard the rumours that there’s something wrong with him, so they smile and chat to him and even flirt. It’s exciting and new and he allows himself to have just this -- he kisses them and he makes them feel good, and then he retreats when they look for more because he just can’t give it to them.

When he tells you all this, you could swear that you feel your heart crack right down the middle. You hadn’t realised how lonely Kirishima was, wrapped up in a self-constructed blanket of self-loathing and disgust. You knew it had taken a lot of trust for him to open up to you like he had, but you hadn’t realised just how much. It makes your chest fill with some undefinable emotion, and you just want to hold him and never let go.

You’re more determined than ever now to show him exactly how much you care about him, and exactly how much any physical anomaly doesn’t affect the way you feel in the slightest. You’ve been stretching yourself methodically and carefully every night of the week that has passed since you gave him his first blowjob in preparation to finally have sex with him. You just want him to feel good, and you don’t want him to worry about hurting you. And now, tonight, you’ve decided that you’re ready for it.

Bakugou’s the one that answers the door when you knock at their shared apartment, and his face does something funny when he sees you. He lets you in without a greeting, and yells for Kirishima as you shut the door behind you. It’s definitely a little awkward, because your last proper conversation was that day when he told you that your now boyfriend didn’t get off when you were together, but you smile and ask him how he’s doing all the same.

He just grunts at you and sprawls out on the couch, his attention fixed on his phone. You don’t try to make any further conversation, because you figure he probably won’t respond and you can hear Kirishima crashing around further down the hall anyway. You’re about to slip down the hall towards Kirishima’s room when Bakugou speaks again, surprising you. “You talked.”

You pause, confused for half a moment before the memories of your last conversation come flooding back. “Oh. Uh, yeah, we did.”

Bakugou nods, still staring at his phone. You hover uncertainly, unsure of whether you should continue to Kirishima’s room or if Bakugou had something else he wanted to say. You don’t have to wait long; Bakugou puts his phone down and turns to survey you closely. “If you’re still here, then I guess you didn’t freak out.”

“There’s nothing to freak out over.” you say defensively, thinking of how sensitive Kirishima is about his body.

“I never said there was!” Bakugou snaps back instantly. You both glare at each other, but you don’t respond further. You came here for one reason, and that reason was not to start a fight with Bakugou when your boyfriend was waiting for you in the bedroom. When Bakugou speaks again, it’s with an awkward edge to his voice. “Whatever. Just don’t be an asshole to him.”

You realise that Bakugou is just trying to look out for his friend, and the revelation that you’re receiving Bakugou’s awkward attempt at a shovel talk is enough to have you reeling. “As if I would be,” you say, “I really like him.”

“Good. Fine.” Bakugou picks his phone back up and you take that as a dismissal. You’re just about to leave when he says, “By the way, keep it the fuck down. I don’t care if you’re taking dragon dick or if it’s Shitty Hair’s first time getting his dick wet, I don’t need to hear that nasty shit.”

His crudeness has you flushing hot with embarrassment, but you don’t dignify him with a response. You slip down the hall and up to Kirishima’s bedroom, knocking softly on the door before letting yourself in.

Kirishima is in the process of trying to stuff a pile of clothes into the bottom of his wardrobe, and he slams the door shut and whirls around when he hears you come in. “Hey!” he beams at you, trying to kick aside the pair of underwear that’s stuck in the edge of the wardrobe door.

“Hey, you.” you greet him. You’re still a bit flustered from Bakugou’s comment, but you hide it as best as you can as Kirishima sweeps you up in his arms and pulls you into a sweet, close-mouthed kiss.

In the week since you blew him the first time, the two of you have alternated between your apartments and spent almost every single day together. Some days you just touched each other with your hands, other days you used your mouths on each other. You still hadn’t gotten fully used to his enormous loads of cum, but he seems at least to be getting more and more comfortable with your touch. Even now, his hands trail up your sides as he presses eagerly into you; this boldness would have been unheard of coming from him only a week ago, but neither of you are under any illusions about what the two of you are going to get up to this evening.

You wind your arms around his neck and melt into the kiss, relishing the contact and the wet slide of his lips against yours. As his hands trail from your hips to your lower back to your ass, you feel the hard press of his lower abdomen nudge against you. You pull back and grin at him, “Someone’s impatient.”

Kirishima flushes, but he doesn’t pull away or deny it. Progress. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” he confesses quietly, reaching up to nudge a flyaway tuft of hair out of your eyes.

“Yeah?” you grin, delighting in his openness. You take a small step back and look down at where his bulge is tenting the front of his sweatpants. “How long have you been like this, baby?”

“Pretty much since you texted me telling me you were thinking of coming over.” he says with a cheeky little smile, nudging his face into your neck and nipping at the skin there. “So, an hour and a half? Give or take.”

You hum as you cup his hardness through the cotton of his joggers. He groans and his hips jerk into your palm, as sensitive as ever. “Hey,” you murmur, “Wanna fuck me?”

Kirishima’s whole body twitches at that, and you swear you can feel his cock jump in his hand. “Now?” he asks, his voice gone a little hoarse from surprise and arousal.

“Unless you’d like to wait?”

“No! Now is good!” Kirishima says hastily, reaching out to hold your hips as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “God, now is so good.”

It’s really hard to hold back your laugh as you watch him scramble towards the bed, tugging you along with him. He’s excited, that much is obvious, and you really can’t blame him -- he’s gone so long thinking that he would never get to have this, that he would never be accepted like this. You want to give him everything.

His hands start fidgeting with the sheets as soon as he sits back on the bed. You straddle his lap and take his hands in yours before leaning in for a kiss, hoping to distract him from any nerves or self-doubts before they can take a hold of him. He hums happily into your mouth, squeezing one of your hands in his and using the other one to wrap around your waist and pull you closer.

“I’ve thought about sex with you so many times,” you admit when you pull away from the kiss. You reach up and stroke a line down the bridge of his nose, then push back a lock of his hair; it’s freshly washed and ungelled, lying fluffy and loose around his face. He’s looking up at you like you just hung the moon, open-mouthed and soft-eyed. It’s such a sweet look on him, and you love watching it contort into pleasure as you sink down to rub yourself against his hard on. “I want you to feel good.”

Kirishima makes a choked off whining sound in his throat as he grinds up into you. “You always make me feel good.” he says. You can feel his cock thickening and filling out against you, and judging by how clearly you can feel him, he’s foregone the usual jockstrap or protective cup he uses to try and hide his shape in his pants.

You reach down and pull at his sweatpants -- you manage to get one leg off entirely, but the other gets stuck halfway down his left thigh and you’re too impatient to keep pulling at it so you just abandon it in favour of reaching for Kirishima’s now exposed cock. You’ve gotten familiar with the thick ridges and bumps of it over the past week, familiar enough for your fingers to seek out his sensitive spots without even looking.

He moans as you touch him, and dips his hands into your pants so that he can squeeze at your ass. His grip is a little too hard, bordering on painful as he bites at your neck. He pops open the button on your pants and shoves one of his hands into your panties, rubbing at your clit with his thumb and trailing his other fingers along your slit.

You rub at the bumps along the tip of his cock, and you’re rewarded with a little squirt of precum. It dribbles down your hand and onto the sheets, and you wonder if maybe you should put down some towels to try and keep the mess contained. But Kirishima is letting out the softest little moans as he tries to rut into your hand and rub at your clit at the same time, and you decide that ruining the moment to lay down towels just isn’t worth it. A little mess is a small sacrifice to make.

When his fingers finally dip inside you, you feel his whole body tense up and still. “Baby,” he says, his voice soft and a little stunned, “You..”

“I stretched myself out before I came over,” you finish for him, pushing your hips back so that his fingers sink all the way inside of you. The lube still inside of you makes the slide effortless, and the look on Kirishima’s face is absolutely priceless. “I’m ready when you are.”

Those words elicit another little spurt of precum as Kirishima’s cock twitches in your hand. When you glance down, you see that the base of his dick is engorged and painful looking, and it only seems to be swelling. You only get to look for a moment though, because then you’re being flipped on your back and Kirishima is looming over you. “Oh, baby, oh shit,” he grits out through clenched teeth as his cock rubs up against the back of your thighs. “Are you sure you want to?”

“I want to, I want to so bad,” you promise him, kissing where you can reach on his face. You reach down and grip his cock, guiding it to your entrance, “Go slow, baby.” You’re so excited when you first feel the tip of his cock press into you that you’re not sure if the gush of wetness is from your pussy or his precum. You’re so turned on that you wonder if the amount of lube you had used was overkill, but then the length of him starts to stretch you out and you decide that yes, you absolutely did need that lube.

As soon as the tip is in, Kirishima stills over you. His head drops down, forehead making contact with your shoulder as he groans. You rock your hips experimentally, your breathing gone a little ragged as you realise that you can feel all those fleshy bumps and ridges, but Kirishima snatches at your hips instantly to still you. When he speaks, his voice is strained, “I’m not gonna last.”

Affection bubbles up in your chest as you look at his flushed face, his misty eyes. He’s practically trembling from the effort of holding back. “It’s okay,” you assure him, looping your arms over his shoulders and tracing little patterns into the skin of his back, “You don’t have to, it’s your first time. We have all the time in the world to go again and again, as many times as you want.”

Kirishima makes a garbled little noise in the back of his throat, and then he’s kissing you so sloppily and enthusiastically that drool begins to slip down your chins. It’s a little gross, but considering how much cum you’re going to be covered in soon enough you can’t be too fussy. When he pulls back, it’s so that he can look down and watch where his cock is entering you in increments.

The slow, inexorable stretch of it has your breath catching in your throat. You throw your head back on the bed and focus on keeping your breathing as steady as possible as he presses into you so, so slowly. After exploring the length of him with your mouth and hands, you knew he was big, but apparently knowing and feeling are two completely separate things. You feel like you’re being stretched impossibly wide, and when you glance down you see that he’s not even halfway in.

Kirishima pauses suddenly, his breathing coming in short pants. You think that he’s just taking a moment to collect himself, to pace himself, but he’s frowning down at where the two of you are connected. “I dont- I don’t think I’ll fit.”

“Oh, you’ll fit.” you declare, jaw set stubbornly. His dick was already partly in you, and like hell were you giving up now. “Don’t worry. Keep going, Eiji.”

“You’re so…” he groans as he edges his hips forward, rocking his cock another inch inside of you, “So tight, you feel so wet and warm inside, oh god, so good, so good.”

The stretch is starting to sting, but you’ve prepared yourself well for this and it’s not so bad that you can’t breathe through it. When he bottoms out inside you, the tip of his cock hits your cervix and your whole body jerks hard at the dull ache it sends up your spine. “Fuck!” you cry out, your hips humping back into Kirishima’s of their own accord. You can feel every damn ridge and swirl grinding against your insides, and you clamp down hard around him, gasping. “Oh, shit.”

You’ve never felt so full in your life, and Kirishima’s cock doesn’t even fit all the way inside you. You wonder if you’re about to split in two. Your thighs are splayed obscenely wide, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely. Your chest is heaving as you pant for breath -- your thoughts have turned a little muddy, but even now you can see that Kirishima has frozen, his face tucked into your neck as he shudders with deep, panting breaths. Your shoulder feels wet, and you realise that he’s drooling on you.

“Eijirou,” you groan, “Move.”

His first thrust is hesitant, exploratory. He apparently likes what he feels, because he lifts his head up so that he can look at you properly. He looks totally blissed out, his eyes a little unfocused, and his expression alone shoots a bolt of heat straight between your legs. You breathe out a curse and move your hips down and into him, trying to encourage him to fuck you properly. When he thrusts forward again, the movement is accompanied by a vulgar squelching sound, and you realise that you’re probably being filled up with his precum. The thought makes you moan quietly, tightening up around him.

Kirishima grunts and dives down so that your chests are pressed together, his arms pushing your legs up and to the side, and then suddenly he’s fucking into you for real. His moans sound like they’ve come straight out of a porn video as he shoves his cock as deep inside you as possible before pulling out and doing it again. All you can do is gasp against him as the breath is driven straight out of your lungs by his desperate humping.

His movements are nearly feral, jackhammering into you at a pace that probably should feel punishing but instead has you hiccuping out moans on every stroke. The size of him and the speed at which he’s fucking at you is overwhelming in the best possible way. He keeps gasping your name in between moans, his jaw lolling open as he pants for breath. “Oh, baby girl, you feel so good, so good for me. You like this?”

“Yes!” you wheeze, clinging to his shoulders as he rails you into the mattress. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. “Oh god, don’t stop!” You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly, and you practically throw yourself down to meet his thrusts. “Please, I’m gonna cum, make me cum, Eiji!”

Kirishima practically snarls at that, his hand snaking down to your pussy even as he keeps rutting into you. His hand finds your clit and starts stroking at it hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking. “Fuck yes, I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

You know you’re starting to shake apart, his cock and his fingers too much for you. Your body is strung taut, your orgasm so close you can virtually taste it. As he feels you clamp down around him Kirishima lets out a whimpering moan, and with that you’re totally gone, head slamming back on the bed as you let out mindless, breathless little choking moans. It feels like your vision totally wipes out as you convulse in Kirishima’s arms, hips twitching wildly.

When the euphoria of your orgasm finally subsides, you feel so totally fucked out that you hardly know which way is up. It takes you a moment to become aware of the way Kirishima is humping into you desperately now, hunkering over you and groaning. Feeling his cock slide in and out of your over-sensitive and still twitching pussy is almost too much, and you know you won’t be able to take much more of his relentless pounding. You clench around him as tight as you can and cup his sweaty face in your hands, smiling at the open-mouthed look of pure need he’s giving you. “Are you gonna cum inside me, Eiji?”

Apparently that was the correct thing to say, because you can see the moment that he hurtles completely over the edge. He shoves his cock as deep as he can get inside you and then he’s crying out as he begins to empty himself inside you. He keeps rocking, even though his cock is crammed as far into you as it’s possible to get, and you tremble and gasp as you feel his cum spraying inside you. It feels totally filthy, and there’s so much of it that you can feel it leaking out and down your ass even though Kirishima’s cock is still plugging you up. There’s so much cum that you actually start to wonder if your birth control is going to still be effective. You almost expect it to start coming out of your ears.

It seems like he’s cumming forever, and eventually he has to pull out because you’re just too full. As soon as his gradually softening cock is pulled free, it seems like a veritable bucketload of cum streams out of you and makes a mess of the bedcovers. It’s simultaneously really gross and really, really hot, and you don’t have the energy to unpack that so you just lay back and watch as Kirishima’s cock continues to dribble cum all over his legs and your abdomen. The swollen base of his cock is deflated now, and his dick eventually gives one last twitch and then he’s finished.

He collapses on top of you, sweaty and soiled with his cum, but you don’t complain as he wraps you up in his arms and kisses your temples, murmuring soft, mindless praise into your hairline. “Are you okay?” he whispers, “Did I hurt you?”

You laugh a little, still winded. Your pussy is feeling achey from being stretched so wide, and you’re definitely going to have trouble walking tomorrow, but it’s the best kind of hurt imaginable. “You did everything just right.” you say, giving him a tired smile. “How was it?”

“If I could stay in your pussy forever, I would.” he says solemnly, the barest hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

You laugh properly at that, and roll over so that you’re lying across his chest. “Yeah? Well, I think you’ve just ruined me for all other cocks in the world. No one's ever gonna compare to how good yours feels.”

With your chin on his chest, you have a clear view of the way he flushes at your words, and the vulnerability that creeps into his expression as he looks at you. “Really?”

“I just came so hard it felt like the world was ending.” you grin at him, then press a teasing kiss to one of his pecs. “Yes, really.”

A smile breaks out on his face, toothy and dorky, as if he can’t believe his luck. “So… Would you want to do it again, maybe? Sometime?”

The smile you return is so wide it feels like it’s about to split your face. “Yeah, Eiji. Without question.”

It’s hard to kiss when you’re both grinning like total idiots, but the two of you make a valiant effort all the same. The ridiculous amount of cum painting the two of you is beginning to dry and flake off your skin, and it's definitely kind of gross but you’re so happy and sated and tired in that moment that you’re pretty sure nothing on earth could ruin the moment for you. Not even Bakugou when he comes pounding at the door and yelling obscenities in the form of noise complaints.

#NO ONE LOOK AT ME OK #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha kirishima #kirishima scenario #dragon dick kiri

5K notes · View notes

bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Text

like a secret in your throat

y’all asked for whump. y’all got whump. title from “Vampires Will Never Hurt You” by my all-time favorite band, My Chemical Romance

whump, hurt/comfort with a happy ending!

tw: manhandling the bard, vampire transformations (side character), non-sexy biting, blood mention, canon typical injuries/violence

---

Geralt looked up from his mug of ale when he realized that Jaskier had stopped playing. Instead, the bard was chatting merrily away with a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark cloak. The hood obscured most of the stranger’s face but Geralt caught the reflective glint of a bead or piece of metal braided into his matted black hair. An instinct tickled at the back of the Witcher’s head but Geralt couldn’t quite place the feeling. Something was wrong about this little tableau but he couldn’t figure out what it was; his medallion wasn’t reacting to anything in particular and Jaskier seemed perfectly happy, lost in conversation with the dark-haired man.

Geralt returned his gaze to his mug and let his mind wander.

Jaskier did seem perfectly happy to be without him on nights like these, when they were back in civilization and the extroverted bard could branch out and meet new people. That was the problem, in Geralt’s opinion.

Lately the Witcher had found himself contemplating what life would be like on the Path if he decided to travel alone again. Winter wasn’t close enough for him to excuse himself and go North, but he’d developed a strange and uncomfortable dependence on the bard that he needed to be weaned away from. It wasn’t healthy for either of them.

It wasn’t safe.

If he grew too close to Jaskier, then…

Wouldn’t that be a weakness? Wouldn’t that be a vulnerability and a dangerous closeness? Geralt couldn’t risk forming a connection like that. He couldn’t allow himself to hope for something so organic and pure to develop between a half-monster and a youthful, bright-eyed bard; Witchers weren’t meant to get nice things. That was not his lot in life.

And yet…

Some mornings, when he only barely cracked his eyes open and used his heightened senses to peek across their campsite, he saw Jaskier looking back at him, a curious glint in those pretty blue irises. Geralt couldn’t pinpoint the emotion the bard’s face held; he was bad at that, and the uncertainty of the younger man’s feelings scared him. He could handle rejection, but acceptance? If Jaskier was as loving and openminded as Geralt thought him to be, it could prove to be a problem. Jaskier was too good for a Witcher. He didn’t deserve to be trapped by a life on the Path, dying too young because he was foolhardy and quick to fall in love.

The Witcher’s introspection came to an abrupt halt when the Jaskier in question appeared beside him, flushed and grinning. “Geralt, dear heart, are you ready to retire for the evening?”

“Are you asking me to bed?” the Witcher smirked, smothering the very real ache in his chest at the thought of curling up next to Jaskier like that. “Or do you need to borrow our room to entertain a guest?”

“Oh, no, I have no plans of that nature.” Jaskier’s already pink face darkened a shade and Geralt’s stomach flipped. “I’m actually rather tired. I was hoping to get some decent sleep tonight before we flung ourselves back into nature tomorrow.”

“Hmm. I’ll be along shortly. Don’t wait up.”

“See you in a bit then, dear heart.”

And Jaskier disappeared up the stairs.

Unfortunately, the Witcher didn’t realize he wasn’t the only one watching Jaskier slip into their rented room with a longing expression on his face.

---

“We need to set up camp for the evening,” Geralt announced, bringing Roach to a stop and sliding gracefully down from the saddle. Jaskier loved the way his Witcher looked when he did that, like some kind of fairytale Prince or knight errant. The way his long, silver-white hair shifted and fluttered against his shoulders in the dusky light made him look more like a fantastical painting than a century-old Witcher; even with his scars and his pallid skin tone.

The unconventionally enchanting sight made ballads stir in the most romantic corners of the bard’s busy mind. Words pooled and shifted behind his eyes, arranging themselves into neat rhyming couplets or quatrains.

Geralt of Rivia, tall and fair,

With golden eyes and silver hair;

Whose glare could even douse the sun,

And send a Gryphon on the run.

The bard barely kept himself from sighing aloud as he removed his pack from across his shoulders and unfolded his bedroll and thin travel blanket. The material felt fragile between his calloused fingertips and he sighed forlornly, “I’m going to need a new blanket soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it. And I’ll get Roach some new reins while I’m in town,” the bard waved his hand nonchalantly, as if spending money was no big deal. It really wasn’t, all things considered. They would be able to travel far more comfortably if Geralt would allow them to stop in Novigrad and access his University accounts more often. Alas, Witchers are stubborn creatures. “I see the way they chafe her poor muzzle, Geralt, so don’t argue. If you really insist you can pay me back by letting me write a song about the color of your eyes.”

“My… eyes?”

“They’re rather pretty, dear heart, and I think the world could do with a ballad about how they glow when you turn your face toward the sun.”

Geralt felt the back of his neck grow hot and he glanced away, “Hmm.”

“Well, let me know what you think in the morning. I don’t need an answer right away.”

Geralt finished setting up a decent pile of firewood and brought it to life with an efficient burst of Igni. He glanced across the flames to Jaskier and grunted, “I’m going to catch us some dinner. Make tea.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier saluted, smiling. Geralt rolled his eyes, grabbed his crossbow, and disappeared into the darkening treeline. Jaskier began to hum as he set up their tea kettle and filled it with water from the waterskin. The humming turned to quiet singing as he measured out two mugs worth of tea from the sachet of dried leaves.

Singing that was cut off with a sharp, sudden cry.

---

Geralt heard the bard scream once. Only once.

The sound punctuated the air before leaving an uncomfortable, grating silence in its wake.

The Witcher took off towards their campfire without a second thought, allowing his instincts to take over and guide him safely back, the potency of Jaskier’s fear hung thick and sour in the air, growing stronger the closer he came to their clearing. When he burst back into view, chest heaving from the sprint, he widened his eyes at the sight before him:

The cloaked figure from the tavern had Jaskier wrapped in his burly arms. One large, long-fingered hand had immobilized Jaskier’s wrists by pressing them into the dip at the base of the bard’s spine, forcing his elbows out and pressing his chest even tighter against the stranger’s.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt beseechingly through his dark, damp lashes. His mouth opened in a silent cry of confusion and pain when the man tugged at his wrists and forced his arms to bend awkwardly. The bard wriggled and strained against the stranger’s iron grip in an effort to escape but the man only snarled in irritation and jerked him back into place. “Bad bard. Stay put, little thing.”

Geralt took a slow step towards his swords, trying to reassure Jaskier with his expression that: Everything will be okay. I will get you out of this. I will protect you and keep you safe… somehow.

Jaskier needed Geralt to pay attention and protect him from harm.

Geralt had failed.

The Witcher watched with wide, horrified eyes as the hulking man keeping Jaskier captive shifted slowly into a far less humanoid form. The baubles braided into his hair jangled and clinked as his nose elongated and his eyes widened. His arms lengthened to form clawed bat-wings and his face thinned and covered over with a layer of grey fur. Fangs burst forth from his gums and slid over his previously humanesque canines. His voice, which had been rasping odd little sounds in the Witcher’s direction, faded into an terrible shriek.

A Katakan.

A Katakan that had snuck in and out of civilization without Geralt so much as smelling it; one that had Jaskier pinned against its chest, the claws of its unoccupied hand sharp and dangerous as they hovered near the bard’s ribcage, ready to pierce but unwilling to waste precious blood unless absolutely necessary. It screamed again, even more shrilly. “Want him!”

Geralt dove forward and pulled his silver sword from its sheath. He swung it in an elegant arc and narrowed his eyes, “Let him go and I might let you live.”

The Witcher’s words were a lie and they both knew it.

The Katakan twitched its long ears in annoyance and hauled Jaskier even closer. It wrenched his arms painfully and the bard whimpered, blue eyes filling steadily with tears. Geralt’s heart seized wretchedly in his chest and he tried his best to ignore it; he couldn’t let his feelings distract him until Jaskier was safe.

“I want him,” the monster rasped, readjusting the bard in its grip. It turned Jaskier around until he was facing the Witcher, releasing his wrists just long enough to pull his hands around to the front before capturing them again. It grazed its two long fangs against the column of Jaskier’s throat and trilled happily. “He sings so pretty. Talks so sweet. Bet he tastes sweet like he talks.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “He does have a rather pretty singing voice. I suppose that’s why I can’t have you killing him.”

“But he will sing for me,” the vampire shrugged. It shook Jaskier like a toy and the bard’s tears finally fell. He whimpered again when the vampire leaned close and told him: “Sing, little thing. Let me pull lovely music from your veins.”

Jaskier shivered visibly. He gave a few panting, strangled sobs as he slipped into panic, too frightened to move with the vampire’s fangs so close to his neck. He wanted Geralt to finally swing that stupid sword and get this over with. He wanted to curl up in Geralt’s arms and never leave for the rest of his life. He wanted to be taken to Kaer Morhen and hidden away in safety, fuck his music career and the rest of the world. He wanted Geralt to stay in his presence forever, never letting him out of sight again. He wanted…

Before he could finish his thought there was a sharp, piercing, all-encompassing pain at the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

A keening wail filled the air once.

The vampire bit down harder, its tongue sliding against the skin of the bard’s neck in an effort to urge the blood to exit faster.

There was another high, piteous cry for help and then...

The world went black.

---

When Jaskier opened his eyes again, the world was even darker than it had been before; mostly because the light from both the moon and their campfire was being blocked out by the broad plane of Geralt’s chest, which Jaskier found himself cradled against almost… lovingly. Above him, he heard the Witcher murmuring: “Jaskier, please. Please wake up, Julek. Come on, bard, I kn-”

“G-Geralt?” he managed to croak. He followed it with a very eloquent, “Hunh?”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher sagged with relief, pressing his forehead against the bard’s and breathing in deeply. He tightened his arms around Jaskier, pulling him even closer as his frown disappeared, “Melitele be blessed, you’re alive!”

“Should I not be?” Jaskier asked. He tried to sit up on his own and winced when a bright burst of pain flared out from his shoulder.

“The Katakan- You were bleeding so much and I-” Geralt was, as always, at a loss for words. Jaskier waited patiently, still feeling drowsy and half-alive, and allowed the Witcher to gather his thoughts. His neck ached and his left arm tingled fiercely every time he tried to flex his hand on that side.

“Did it… Am I a vampire now?” he asked. The absurdity of the question broke Geralt from his confusion.

“No,” the Witcher answered swiftly. “You’re still very mortal-” a hand swept through Jaskier’s hair, calming him further “-And unfortunately still very fragile.”

“Are you going to beat yourself up over this for the next week and somehow twist it around until it’s all your fault?”

“Hmm,” Geralt looked away. Jaskier was still being held so very tenderly in his arms, laid across the Witcher’s lap like some kind of swooning maiden. He rather liked how close he was to Geralt and hoped to stay that way for just a little longer. The Witcher surprised them both by letting a full sentence slip into the air between them, “I don’t like seeing you hurt, Jaskier, especially not when… when I was close enough that I could have prevented it from happening at all.”

“Your medallion didn’t give you any hints about this thing back at the inn when I was talking to him? He seemed completely normal, if a little monosyllabic. I’m used to monosyllabic, anyway,” the bard joked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. It didn’t work; Geralt lifted his head and stared into the fire, his brow already furrowed as he slipped into his private realm of self-loathing. Jaskier was still laying across his lap, his neck and shoulder giving off pulsing aches with every beat of his heart.

Eventually the Witcher spoke again, his voice low and full of frustration. “Katakans are different, they don’t- they don’t set off my medallion the way other creatures do, and they can disguise themselves as people. They can move and talk like people; you saw it transform.”

“I did,” Jaskier grimaced. “And it wanted me to sing while it drank my blood.”

“You didn’t do very much singing,” the Witcher grumbled. “You screamed twice and fainted. It nearly dropped you.”

“If I remember correctly,” the bard smiled playfully, “Someone said my singing was too pretty for me to die.”

“Hmm.”

“It was you, Geralt. You said that.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier tried to sit up again and nearly passed out from the pain that screamed through the entire left side of his body. “I- Geralt, I-”

“What’s wrong, Julek?” the Witcher asked, adjusting the bard until he was more comfortably enclosed in Geralt’s arms, his back leaning against one of Geralt’s bent legs for support. Geralt’s other leg was straightened out before him and Jaskier let his calves fall atop the Witcher’s thick thighs. They looked like a painting, with Jaskier reclined as he was and Geralt looking at him like that.

“Everything hurts, dear heart. My whole left side feels aflame.”

“It’ll burn like that for a day or so,” Geralt shushed him. “You bled quite a lot, you were bitten, and you hit the ground pretty hard.”

“You didn’t catch me?”

“I was a little busy beheading your attacker and keeping you from becoming a member of the undead,” Geralt scoffed. “Pardon me for not carrying you to safety first.”

“Well since you let me get injured, you have to kiss it better to gain your pardon,” the bard insisted. Geralt’s eyes widened comically and his hand clenched where it was resting on Jaskier’s lower back.

“It’ll- It would hurt if I kissed your wound,” Geralt replied shakily, trying to escape while he still could. Jaskier wasn’t about to let him. Not again.

“Then you’ll just have to kiss my lips instead.”

“Jaskier?”

“Hush, Geralt. I know how you feel about me, and I feel much the same about you. Let’s skip the words bit, because I know that’s not your favorite, and get right to the kissing.”

“Oh, uh...” The Witcher allowed himself to smile. It was a soft, nervous thing but it made his eyes crinkle at the corners and Jaskier felt himself fall even further in love with his darling Geralt. “Alright.”

Geralt cupped the back of Jaskier’s head carefully, tilting his own chin down, and brought their lips together slowly. The bard’s lips were soft and plush and warm beneath his own, giving just slightly but not wilting beneath his touch. It was better than anything he could have imagined. When they pulled apart, Jaskier frowned.

“Was it bad?” Geralt asked automatically, more nervous than he had ever been with another lover.

“No,” Jaskier shook his head. “I just don’t think I’m healed yet. I may require another. Or several more.”

“Well, if the patient thinks it’s necessary,” Geralt grinned, leaning forward again. Jaskier pulled himself up a little to meet him, ignoring the lances of hurt in his arm. “I suppose...”

#geraskier #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #whump and fluff #jaskier whump #katakan #yes i know they can also turn invisible #but that wasn't really gonna help the plot here so sorry #geraskier whump #whump with a happy ending #geraskier whump and fluff #bouncey's endless getting together fics #kissing #first kiss #getting together #jaskier in trouble #wounded jaskier #protective geralt

243 notes · View notes

sundiscus · 3 years

Text

wangxian dragon age au: ficlet

[part of a larger au i’ve mapped out + started drafting, but want to post as snippets for now! i’ve taken many liberties with the worldbuilding, and as such i think most can be inferred with context if you’re unfamiliar with dragon age.

part one now here

this snippet: the meet-ugly, ~1.7k]

✨✨✨

When Lan Wangji wakes up, he isn’t alone.

He doesn’t realize it right away. The first thing he notices is that, this time, there are no shackles. He shifts his hands the slightest bit, enough to confirm they are indeed free. The movement pulls at the little cuts on his fingers and forearms from where the shackles shattered apart, already scabbing over—so he has been unconscious long enough for the magebane to burn out of his system, which he confirms, finding his meridians free and clear. He’s lying on his back, something that feels slightly too soft to be a stone floor under him and something that feels slightly too rough to be a blanket draped over him. An odd green light pulses against his eyelids and the only sound is a muted, continuous hiss, like a distant waterfall. Wherever he is, it isn’t the cell from earlier.

It doesn’t matter. He won’t be here long.

He takes one more slow breath, listening closely. There. To his left, a few paces away, he hears a tiny, cut-off inhale. Now he knows where to aim. His eyes fly open as he launches himself upright, summoning his sword into his raised hand, and—

It’s like expecting the ocean and finding only a puddle. His sword flickers into existence for the barest moment, its glow illuminating a circle of stone walls, a pallet beneath him, and then Lan Wangji’s lungs stutter, pressure squeezing his temples, as if all air has been sucked out of the room. Bichen dissipates and Lan Wangji is left gasping, one hand still raised uselessly in the air.

From the shadows, someone says: “Ah, that’s not going to work.”

Lan Wangji is already looking to the side. He sees only a figure at first, because when his sword disappeared so had the strange, omnipresent green glow. The glow returns now, slowly illuminating a young man curled against the opposite wall, his hair a dark, tangled wave over his shoulders, wrists chained together with thick iron manacles. For a moment his eyes, staring right back at Lan Wangji, are the brightest thing in the room.

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji demands, finding his voice. “Is there a suppression array?” It must be powerful to choke off his magic so finitely. If he can see it, though, he can figure out how to undo it.

The man wrinkles his nose. “Not exactly. But—ah, ah,” he says as Lan Wangji starts to stand, “don’t move too fast, the blowback from that is going to be pretty harsh.”

Lan Wangji understands almost instantly as a wave of vertigo hits him. His knees buckle before he’s halfway to his feet and he collapses back on the pallet, bracing his weight on his elbow to keep from falling entirely. When his ears stop ringing he can hear his own ragged breathing.

Enough, he thinks, and forces himself to even his breaths. To shift focus. Clearly whatever precautions Wen Chao and his soldiers have taken to secure this room go beyond magebane and a simple suppression array. He won’t be able to escape by sheer force like last time, but this will still be no more than a brief detour on his journey. He will make sure of it.

Yesterday—was it yesterday, now? The chamber has no windows, just the eerie green glow emanating from the walls—Lan Wangji had been traveling with a retinue of junior enchanters to retrieve research texts from the Circle in Hedong, where scholars claimed to have promising studies related to fade rifts. They were nearly there when a raven alighted on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, bearing the message: Siege on Gusu Circle. Reconvene to the north. He’d sent the junior enchanters ahead and turned back before the raven even took flight.

(The note had not mentioned his brother, so his brother must be alive. Rumors were already spreading outward from Gusu as he rode, saying Wen Xu had an archdemon, Wen Xu burned the Gusu library to the ground. They did not say Wen Xu killed Zewu-jun, Wen Xu killed a mage with a glowing hand. So his brother must have escaped. Knowing this did not stop Lan Wangji’s heart from racing as he spurred his horse faster, past refugee settlements and Templar camps, toward the distant gash in the sky.)

And then: a poisoned arrow biting into his arm, his horse crumpling on a hardpacked road outside Lingchuan. The Wen soldiers, ready for him. (Not ready enough, when at least six of their bodies fell before Lan Wangji did.) One day in the first cell, his failed escape attempt.

And now: magicless, trapped in a strange room with a strange, sharp-eyed prisoner watching him struggle to sit upright, the slow crawl of time a physical weight on Lan Wangji’s shoulders.

“Honestly, just ride it out,” the prisoner is saying. He has his chained hands up and open, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. “You’ll feel better in about an hour. Maybe less, if you’ve had a good meal recently.”

Lan Wangji’s head spins sickeningly. He ignores it, pushing himself up until he can prop himself against the wall, putting himself eye-level with the prisoner, at least.

“Or sit up anyway, I suppose,” the prisoner says. His voice has a ragged edge, as if it’s scraping its way out of his throat. “Sorry, I’d offer you some water, but I drank it all before I knew I’d have company. What are you doing here, anyway?”

If First Enchanter Lan wants his nephew back, he’ll have to lend us a few books, Wen Chao had mocked from outside the first cell. And if he wants you back with all your limbs attached, he’ll have to throw in trading deeds with the eastern lyrium mines for good measure. Do you think he can deliver that before you die here?

Wen Chao wanted demonic texts, Lan Wangji had guessed, the ones hidden deep within the library. No doubt for some dangerous, power-hungry scheme, and no doubt connected to the rifts. From there, it wasn’t hard to piece together that the attack on the Circle was meant to discover which texts were critical enough to be rescued and transported away, and likely steal them in transit. There are protocols for such events, Lan Wangji knows, and his presence here means the raid was unsuccessful, and he will be used as leverage for a second attempt.

If Wen Chao meant to scare Lan Wangji with his demands, he had only succeeded in doing the opposite. Because if all they want from Lan Wangji’s family are books and deeds, it means they don’t know about his brother yet.

Lan Wangji doesn’t share any of this. “Political prisoner,” is all he says.

“Ahh.” The man nods. “I figured, what with the…” He gestures at his own forehead, chains clinking as he does. “You’re obviously a Lan. Someone will pay well to have you back home.”

“They should not have to pay at all,” Lan Wangji bites out. Something about the prisoner’s casual attitude grates at him. The world outside is quite literally falling apart at the seams, and Lan Wangji doesn’t have time to be used as bait in Wen Chao’s small-minded games.

The prisoner shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s not much choice at the moment, is there? For now you’re stuck here with me. I’m—my name is Wei Ying, by the way. What should I call you, while we wait?”

“Do the Wen soldiers enter this cell often?” Lan Wangji says instead of answering. “Is there a chance of overpowering them?”

A grimace. “Often enough. And no, I’ve tried. They’re stupid, but they’re prepared.”

Lan Wangji casts another glance over the man—Wei Ying—and carefully keeps any skepticism out of his expression. Then he looks around properly for the first time. Wei Ying is right—there’s no visible array on the floor, no glyphs on the circular stone walls. The green glow fades as it climbs the wall, leaving the ceiling cloaked in shadow and dizzying to look at, like an endless tunnel. Disturbingly, there isn’t a visible door, either. There isn’t much of anything but the one straw pallet, a lidded pot against the wall, an empty bowl next to Wei Ying, bone-dry, and Wei Ying himself.

“A Lan,” Wei Ying says when Lan Wangji is silent for long enough, pitched low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I’m surprised Wen Chao would be so bold. He has to know that won’t go over well in the long run, I wonder if his father has any idea? No, he would’ve sent Wen Xu. Maybe Wen Chao thinks that by the time someone comes for you, he’ll have—” Wei Ying cuts himself off. Blinks. “You are real, aren’t you?”

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you’re not…” Wei Ying waves a hand at the room around them. “But, ah, why would I dream up a whole Knight-Enchanter? A Lan at that? You felt real enough, when I dragged you onto the pallet, but it’s still hard to tell.” Lan Wangji must have some reaction to that—to knowing this stranger’s hands have been on him, when he was unconscious—because Wei Ying adds, defensive: “What was I supposed to do? They left you on the floor.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have an answer to that.

Wei Ying tips his head back against the wall. “Well. Your Circle, they have your phylactery, right? They’ll find you. Pay the ransom, or lay siege to Wen Chao’s little fortress here. That would be nice.” He casts his gaze over Lan Wangji again. “Looks like our captors were gentle enough in the meanwhile.”

There’s dried blood tugging at the hair of Lan Wangji’s temple, and he still has the nauseating sense that if he moves too fast he might collapse again. Gentle isn’t how Lan Wangji would describe his treatment so far. But it is also far below the threshold of what he can withstand, so it doesn’t seem like a point worth arguing. “And you?” he hears himself say.

“Uh.” Wei Ying shifts and holds up his shackled hands. “Less gentle, I suppose.”

“I meant—who will be paying your ransom.”

Wei Ying drops his hands into his lap. “Oh. No one.”

“Then,” Lan Wangji says, “why are you here?”

For the first time, Wei Ying flashes a smile. A hooked dagger in the dim light.

“I have something they want.”

#poor herald lxc 😔#this au is going to be equal parts h/c + dreamsharing + Dragons #because i am nothing if not predictable #this started months and months ago as a secret santa gift for eli #eli ilu!#wangxian #ficlet #my words #DA AU

64 notes · View notes

glimmerglanger · 3 years

Note

Mer!AU prompt--Cody mentioned the difference in their refractory periods in chapter six of C+T. Any chance Obi-Wan is gonna notice as well and do something about it? :D?

OHOHOHO! Obi-Wan is very considerate that way. (Spoilers: he does something about it).

This little snippet is VERY spicy. Not safe for wizards. Happy married folks really, uh, enjoying their relationship.

~~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan spent time considering the many differences between humans and merfolk as time passed. So many of them were obvious. Others were… less so. There were some he only got to explore when Cody was with him, when they could get close to one another, tangle together.

Learning the things that Cody liked was, very much, a pleasing endeavor. Learning the things that he would have expected from a lover of his own kind took more time, partially because it meant unlearning so much Obi-Wan had grown up accepting.

But Obi-Wan knew how to adapt and very much enjoyed learning everything possible about Cody. And so he learned that Cody wanted his touch to continue, even after orgasm raced through him. He wanted to be touched all through the aftershocks and - and beyond, ideally.

Obi-Wan picked up other information - here and there - in his new home, about different species that lived in the water. He assumed, after some reading, that perhaps the merfolk also had an actual bone in their cocks.

It would explain a lot. Including Cody’s ability to...keep going, past the point when a human would have grown soft and over-sensitive.

Still, Cody never pushed for them to continue longer, never continued touching when Obi-Wan grabbed his hand to still him, though Obi-Wan’s reactions to orgasm must have seemed odd to him. He simply….accepted what they had, and, the one time Obi-Wan broached the subject of their couplings being, well, less than satisfying, he’d seemed genuinely befuddled.

He’d proceeded to demonstrate exactly how satisfying he found their joining, and Obi-Wan knew he’d made enough noise to carry through the water, based solely on the looks he got from his guards the next day.

So, Cody had no….complaints about their love-making. But that did not stop Obi-Wan from wanting to give him, well. Something closer to what he expected. What he was used to. At least occasionally. Obi-Wan considered his options for making such a thing happen while Cody was away, handling things in Sundari.

By the time Cody returned, he had a plan.

Cody ever and always enjoyed having Obi-Wan’s mouth on him, and happily collapsed back against their low bed as Obi-Wan bent over him, barely exchanging initial greetings. Obi-Wan felt impatient under his skin, keyed up with desire, which was not quite his intent.

He needed to hold off his own release as long as possible, to make any of this tenable, and so he ignored the ache of his cock, sliding his mouth further down, instead. Cody panted out his name, hand brushing back over his hair, his skin tasting of salt.

Obi-Wan enjoyed the feel of each ridge sliding over his bottom lip, over and over again, enjoyed the way Cody swore, muscle tensing in his stomach and his fin. They had been apart for nearly two weeks. Obi-Wan knew it would not take long, not the first time, and slid his mouth further down, swallowing, nose brushing scales and--

Cody groaned out a warning, tugging just a little on Obi-Wan’s hair, and Obi-Wan hummed reassuringly around his cock. The vibration must have been just enough to toss Cody over the edge; he arched, cock twitching, pulsing against the top of Obi-Wan’s tongue.

Obi-Wan stayed where he was as long as possible, his eyes watering, his throat aching. He could hold his breath quite a long time, which - he’d found - had uses besides swimming. He stroked Cody’s side, breath held in his chest, and Cody rocked sinuously up off of the bed, slow rolls of his body, working his cock in Obi-Wan’s throat, the ache of it deep and sweet and--

And Obi-Wan eventually had to slide up, sucking in a breath through his nose and resisting the urge to cough, even as another wave of come spilled into his mouth, this time.

He swallowed it, the tip of Cody’s cock between his lips, keeping him there until Cody panted out, “Fuck, Obi-Wan, come here,” and grabbed at him, pulling him up to kiss him, slick with the wet smeared all over Obi-Wan’s mouth.

Cody rubbed at his cheeks, groaning against his mouth, the hard line of his cock pressed against Obi-Wan’s thigh, where Obi-Wan had intentionally tossed a leg across him. Cody reached down, fingers sliding over Obi-Wan’s stomach, and Obi-Wan caught his wrist, tugging to the side.

“What?” Cody asked, drawing back enough to blink at him. “I want to--”

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan cut in, with a smile that felt half-wild. He’d never get to what he wanted to do if Cody started touching him. He’d get distracted, overwhelmed with pleasure. That could wait, at least for a little.

“But--” Cody started, and cut off when Obi-Wan shifted, straddling him properly, scales so cool against the insides of his thighs, Cody spread out under him, the purple light pouring off of his skin lighting up the otherwise dark room around them.

Obi-Wan ground against him, just for a moment, sending a shiver of want down his own back, leaving it pooling in his gut. It was so tempting to just continue the movement, and it had been two weeks for him, too.

He had the brief thought that he should have - perhaps - waited to attempt this until Cody had been back a few days, until they’d burned out some of their initial wants. But he’d been impatient. And so he ignored his own aching cock, sitting up a little straighter and reaching for the oil he’d set to the side.

“I missed you,” he panted out, slicking his fingers and sliding his hand down over Cody’s cock, already wet from his mouth and throat. He ached with how much he wanted, and with the preparations he’d done, earlier.

He’d left himself so close to coming, earlier, when he was getting ready for this, stretching himself out, hoping to make himself less on edge once Cody actually arrived.

Things hadn’t quite worked out that way, but… “I miss you with every breath,” Cody told him, “hold on, I can help,” he started, sliding a hand over Obi-Wan’s hip, around to his ass, and he’d been very pleased with himself for filing down two of his nails, last time he’d visited.

Obi-Wan couldn’t think of the feeling of Cody’s fingers inside of him - only to the second knuckle, because the webbing got in the way after that - or he’d spill before they even got started. He bit his bottom lip, made a ragged sound, and sank down, hoping to distract himself.

The stretch of Cody’s cock was distracting, but it did absolutely nothing to slow down the blazing rush of want in his spine. Cody made a thick, hungry sound, both hands on Obi-Wan’s hips now, squeezing as he rasped out, “You--fuck--you got ready? Ready for me?”

“I was knowing you were going to be here,” Obi-Wan managed to answer, a smile on his mouth as he considered the hunger in Cody’s expression, wondering why Cody seemed to like that information so much. “I did not wanting to wait.”

Cody’s eyes were so wide and so dark as he panted out, “I won’t make you wait, then,” and arched up, driving his cock the rest of the way inside, Obi-Wan crying out at the feel of him, half-falling forward, catching himself on his hands.

Cody no longer had to worry about hurting his stomach or agitating wounds when they were together. He moved beneath Obi-Wan, and it took Obi-Wan a dizzy moment to even think about meeting his movements.

First, he had to reach a hand down and squeeze the base of his cock, because just the feel of it after so long….

“You’re not stroking yourself,” Cody said, ragged, his gaze down by Obi-Wan’s cock, by his unmoving hand, and Obi-Wan jerked out a nod, unable to find words at the moment. “I’ll help you,” Cody added, sliding a hand over, and Obi-Wan made a rough sound.

“Not yet,” he managed to pant out, wrestling for control and managing some measure of it after a moment. Cody blinked up at him, expression questioning, and Obi-Wan added, “I want. To wait. A while longer.”

Cody opened his mouth and shut it again on a groan when Obi-Wan felt controlled enough to rise up, to sink down on him, and, oh, he felt so good.

At least, in this position, Obi-Wan could avoid direct stimulation of his prostate. But it was still so good, having Cody in him after so long denied. He was so painfully aware of his aching cock, of the need, and he could feel himself losing his rhythm, distracted and wanting and--

And it was not much of a surprise when Cody wrapped an arm around him and rolled them, rasping, “Let me, I’ve got you,” and oh, changing the angle and fucking into him. Obi-Wan groaned, wordless as Cody hooked an arm under one of his knees, hitching his leg up.

Obi-Wan had meant not to come yet. He really had, but the position dragged his cock against Cody’s stomach, and Cody drove into him so perfectly, and it had been too long, and he spilled with a ragged cry, scrambling for a grip at Cody’s shoulders and arms.

Cody hesitated, breathing hard above him, and Obi-Wan dug his free heel against Cody’s back, panting out, “Keep--keep going, it’s, keep--”

It was, apparently, all the motivation Cody needed. He rocked into motion, fucking Obi-Wan through it, mucles shifting and clenching under Obi-Wan’s hands until he cried out, as well, curling forward and coming in long, hot pulses and Obi-Wan felt them.

He’d gotten used to the way Cody rolled against him, after an orgasm. Even sensitive, he loved that slow movement, the knowledge that he could make Cody feel so good. He felt his breathing even out as Cody nuzzled against his hair, still all lit up, casting shadows on the walls around them.

Cody brushed a kiss to his mouth, long moments later, and shifted to slide out of him, murmuring, “Let me get you some--”

“Stay,” Obi-Wan panted, tugging on Cody’s arm even as he rolled. He wanted to - to see if he could wear Cody out, properly. But his hips protested the idea of trying another round on his back. He vaguely considered that he should have cleaned the come off of his stomach before smearing it all over the sheets, but it was too late to fix that now. He glanced over his shoulder and said, “Come here.”

Cody stared at him, looked down his body and then up again, eyes unfathomably dark. He said, “But… I know you’re tired.”

“Not that tired,” Obi-Wan assured him, and slid one knee a little out to the side, which was, he knew, a bit of a dirty trick.

Cody was ever so fascinated with the way he could bend and stretch his legs. And, sure enough, it had Cody sliding a hand up the back of his thigh, rolling a little closer, asking, “Should I hold you, then?”

“You should fucking me, then,” Obi-Wan told him, and Cody made a thick sound. After all, Obi-Wan wasn’t that sensitive, not yet. His plan was still manageable, and--

Cody slid against him, between his legs, settling close and all the thoughts fled Obi-Wan’s head as Cody asked, “You’re sure?”

“Come on,” Obi-Wan said, in answer, tilting his hips up, and then swore, thready, when Cody pushed forward, into him, all at once, he was already so slick and stretched and--

And Obi-Wan felt himself getting hard again, the situation getting more pressing when Cody worked a hand under him, gripping his cock, stroking in time with each thrust, panting against his shoulders, and--

Obi-Wan’s second orgasm left him shaking, face pressed against the sheets while Cody kept going, mouthing at the back of his neck, leaving his skin aching in anticipation. Obi-Wan managed to twist an arm up and back, to twist fingers into Cody’s hair, tugging him closer.

Cody bit him almost right by his neck, teeth sinking in at the end of his orgasm, when he felt most sensitive, and he cried out, blindingly aware of each slide of Cody’s cock, of each shift of his teeth, or his weight and warmth and light.

Cody blanketed him and came with a sound that was muffled against Obi-Wan’s skin.

And Obi-Wan managed to say, through the daze, before Cody could get any ideas about pulling out and getting him water, about tending to the bite, “Again.”

Cody made a ragged noise and rocked into him more purposefully, and it was--so much. Too much and at the same time not enough, as though there were some plateau in Obi-Wan’s head that he’d never reached before, and each too-much touch was driving him closer to it.

He squirmed, couldn’t stop himself, heard a whine in his throat as Cody kept his teeth set just so. There was no room for thought, for anything really. He was just his blood and his nerves and sensation, striving to see, exactly, how much he could take.

#glimmer replies #ask me anything #by the sea #codywan #flotsam and jetsam #clotsam and tetsam #spicy #not safe for wizards #not even REMOTELY #SO NOT SAFE

166 notes · View notes

jaskiersvalley · 3 years

Note

🌼~BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out.~🌼

This has been in my inbox for quite a while so I really hope you're still in the fandom XD As thank you for your kind message here is something really rather silly.

It had all started out with the stupid raccoon that rifled through Jaskier's bins. The mess it left behind was unbelievable, like a small, localised tornado had been by, specifically over Jaskier's bins. No matter what he did, how he weighed down the lids, there was a mess every morning. At first Jaskier tried to be more conscious of what he threw away, less food in the bins, even ate more healthily because the raccoon seemed more interested in sweet things most nights. Except for the time it seemed to go absolutely feral with the tiny styrofoam shapes from a delivery Jaskier had. When nothing else worked, Jaskier got locks on his bins. However, his raccoon must have been working out because the locks were forced off his bins and the jumper he'd put in the bin because of a hole in the elbow had disappeared. That was when Jaskier decided to invest in a wildlife camera, this was a raccoon he needed to see.

Setting it up, Jaskier did feel a little foolish. It wasn’t like the raccoon came by every night and this time he really wanted to see it. The plan was to catch it with the net he’d invested in and relocate the little bastard somewhere that wasn’t his bins. To make sure he got the raccoon on camera, Jaskier set out a couple of honey drenched pastries to lure it in.

Sleep was difficult, Jaskier wanted to watch the camera but he was an adult and knew he needed to sleep. With great difficulty, he managed to get some rest and even succeeded in going in to teach rather than call in sick so he could watch his tape. Instead, he invited Valdo over to watch with him, knowing that his claims of a muscly raccoon would never be believed.

“Right, drinks, wine?” He asked, already grabbing a bottle and two glasses.

“I’ll order the pizza I guess,” Valdo replied, resignedly pulling his phone out. “Your usual?”

“Darling, I’m providing booze and entertainment in my home, you know the least you can do is buy me pizza.”

It was a tradition of sorts, Jaskier hated Valdo’s place, finding it too drab and grey. It didn’t matter that Valdo had magazine to prove that it was the latest fashion. And the bastard had the gall to say Jaskier was the one who pandered to the masses.

Now, they had wine in hand, the TV on and playing. Jaskier had to admit, it was pretty boring.

“Oh look, a moth,” Valdo drawled, sipping at his wine. “Maybe it flaps its wings so hard it messes with your bins.”

“Shut up.” The wine was disappearing at a steady rate and both their cheeks were getting rosy. Perhaps alcohol before food had been a rather unwise idea. “Here, I’ll speed it up until something comes along.” And something had to, the pastries were gone by the morning. They watched as moths, the odd cat and rat scuttled by.

“There!” Valdo yelled and pointed at the screen. As quickly as he could, Jaskier slowed it back down. They leaned forwards as one, seeing something large and dark move in the corner of the screen. Suddenly the darkness became a blur and both of them screamed, clutching at each other. A man stepped up to the pastries, hunching over the plate and stuffing them in his mouth at an impressive rate.

Just as they were over the shock, the man looked up. His eyes, like a cat, reflected the light as he looked at the camera, head tilted. Once again, Jaskier and Valdo screamed, leaping towards each other for protection, wine sloshing everywhere. It seemed the man had no idea what the camera was, giving it a good, long look before turning to have a rummage in the bins.

“That’s a really big fucking raccoon,” Valdo whimpered and Jaskier smacked him on the arm. “You’re going to need a bigger net.”

Laughing nervously, Jaskier shook his head. He didn’t know what to make of it, a large, long haired man with scary eyes had made a habit of rifling through his rubbish.

“Sleepover,” he declared. “You’re staying here. And we’re putting more food out.”

“You don’t want to encourage him! What if he’s, you know-” Valdo broke off, “-a vampire.”

“They’re not seen on films and their eyes don’t do that. Could be a shifter.”

“Sasquatch’s freaky cousin.”

“An eldritch horror!”

“A cryptid!” That actually seemed to fit. Still, cryptids needed feeding, Jaskier was not going to be mean. So far, other than his bins, nothing untoward had happened. “I’ll leave him some pizza.”

Drinking, Jaskier decided, was definitely not his best idea. He groaned as he sat up, Valdo snoring away next to him. He remembered most of their previous night and cursed; they didn’t just leave pizza, they left a note too.

Dear Mr. Cryptid, Please don’t eat us, eat the pizza instead. Love, Valskier

Rushing out, Jaskier saw that the pizza was gone, the note was crumpled on the ground and there was a bite missing from it. At least he now knew the shape of the cryptid’s bite.

“Wake up!” He poked Valdo in the side. “We need to watch this before work.”

It was the right choice. Jaskier spent the rest of the day thinking about the strange man with the even stranger eyes inspecting the pizza, giving it a sniff while the note was on top of it. And taking a large bite out of it all. While the pizza was given a second and third bite, the note had been inspected, given a lick before being cast aside. The camera also gave them a very good view of the man, bulging arm muscles, long, probably white or blonde hair. In short, Jaskier was fucked. He bought a whole cake and left it out that night.

The strange cryptid began to show up more regularly but at least he stopped making a mess of the bins. Jaskier tried leaving a few more notes but, after watching the man squint at the note before trying to take a bite out of each and every single one, he gave up.

“What’s the latest on your cryptid?” Valdo asked in the staff room. Rather than reply, Jaskier pulled his phone from his pocket and hit play on the video.

This time, it wasn’t his usual long haired cryptid man. Instead, it was two others with the same creepy eyes, scurrying past, snagging the hot dogs Jaskier had left out and shoving the bins over for good measure as they ran. His usual cryptid didn’t show up that night.

“I told you!” Valdo screeched, earning a few scathing looks. “You feed one and more come along.”

The following night, Jaskier put out more food, hoping it would be enough for everyone. He was almost scared to watch the footage the next day but was so glad he did. All three of the cryptids lingered near the camera, eyes flashing. However, Jaskier’s blood chilled when he spotted another pair of eyes in the background, watching but not approaching.

Looking back on the videos, he was appalled to find that an extra pair of glowing eyes was often in the background. Maybe it was a mate or a very shy cryptid. Either way, Jaskier wanted to see.

“Oh. It’s an injured one!” Jaskier breathed, appalled. He had upgraded his camera and had managed to turn the contrast up enough to make out a face. In a way, he almost wished he hadn’t because the sight was so terrible. The shy cryptid was scarred beyond belief, lip caught in a permanent snarl. He seemed the most distrustful of the camera, never approaching. But, once, Jaskier watched as a hand reached in front of the camera, snagged the sugar laden jelly pot and the camera was knocked askew. Just about visible after a few minutes was a broad back in a striped and spiked coat as it retreated. From then on, Jaskier made sure to leave soft foods out too.

“Didn’t you say your raccoon had a field day with styrofoam pellets?” Valdo asked. The school had taken a delivery of biology samples which arrived in boxes filled with the stuff. Together, Jaskier and Valdo poured as much of the pellets into a box as they could and they were left out alongside the offering of food.

That night, Valdo stayed over and neither of them slept. Instead, the TV showed the camera’s feed. It was about 3am, both of them were drooping when there was movement.

“Look!” Jaskier nudged Valdo who woke with a snort. On the screen, the original, long haired cryptid had a hand clasped around the wrist of the injured one and was dragging him into view. Behind them were the other two Jaskier had seen before. He gasped, “They’re a family, aren’t they?”

“They’re something alright. Maybe it’s cryptid double date night?”

Fascinated, they watched as the four of them inspected the box. It was the smallest of the lot, one of the two Jaskier had only ever seen together that stepped into the box, hands digging into the pellets. The grin on his face spoke volumes. The other once jumped in too, the two of them beginning to wrestled for who got to sit in the box. All while, the pellets were tumbling out, making the original cryptid and the scarred one hop back. They stared at the styrofoam like it had personally offended them. Without sound there was no way to hear it but Jaskier was convinced they hissed at it. Hesitantly, the scarred one picked up a couple and, without and warning, threw it in the air. They all darted away from it, glaring as it dropped. Once again, the smallest crept closer, darting in to pick up a handful and toss it into the air, sending them scattering again. However, when the styrofoam didn’t attack, he got braver, his mate stepping closer too. All too soon, they were all tossing handfuls of sytrofoam in the air and running around. It was all fun and games until the larger of the pair picked up the box and tossed it. The scarred one caught it but staggered and crashed into the bins.

Jaskier jumped as the clatter of his bins falling over rudely reminded him of just how close the cryptids were. It felt much more distant when they were just on his TV. Tense, he clutched at Valdo’s sweaty hand and they watched as the cryptids ran away from the scene. The next morning, Jaskier had so much styrofoam to clean up, he regetted ever listening to Valdo.

Now that he knew that the cryptids could play, Jaskier decided that they were probably intelligent beings, it was a simple matter of finding a way to communicated.

“I’ve written a will, told my parents I love them and cleared my internet browsing history,” he told Valdo. “If anything happens, you know which box in the bedroom to burn, right?”

“You crazy bastard, don’t go out there!”

Jaskier held aloft the tray of foods, trying to look self assured. “I have new friends to meet. Wish me luck.”

With that, he marched out, ready to settle in for a long wait, confident that Valdo would keep an eye on him via the camera. As he’d said, he had new friends to meet, he just hoped they wanted to meet him too.

#jaskier & valdo #jaskier #valdo marx #geralt of rivia #lambert #aiden #eskel #modern au #tldr: jaskier feeds some cryptids

94 notes · View notes

delimeful · 3 years

Text

Healer

warnings: feeling trapped, vague experimentation, pain

fifth part of my minecraft au! for this chapter, we jump back to the past! to a first meeting :)

Patton had been walking for a long, long time.

He wasn’t sure where, or why. When he tried to recall, his thoughts would slip out of reach like sand through his fingers. The world was blurry and indistinct, and no matter how long he wandered in the dark, nothing grew any clearer.

The light burned, and the water drowned, and he walked.

Occasionally, a creature that was different would appear, and he would amble along after it with a single minded focus. He’d never caught whatever it was, despite the frantic urging in the back of his mind. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he did catch one, and that scared him as much as he could be scared, these days.

Perhaps he was right to be scared, because the next time he found one, it threw something at him!

The glass-shatter impact didn’t exactly hurt, but then there was a wetness left behind, and his limbs abruptly felt heavy and slow. The creature easily stayed out of range, but oddly enough, it didn’t leave.

No, it made sound after sound at him, staying close enough to draw him after it for much longer than any other he’d encountered.

And then, quite suddenly, he didn’t have space to walk anymore.

It took him a few moments to understand what had happened. There were cold metal walls around him, trapping him in a cell barely big enough to pace in.

He didn’t like it, the smallness. He didn’t like the way the strange creature came back again and again, close enough to make his mind turn to that strange violent urge. He especially didn’t like the creature’s glass-and-wet creations, and all the feelings that came with them.

… It was new, remembering things long enough to dislike them.

Over time, the creature’s voice became familiar, too. It would often chirp in excitement or groan in frustration. Sometimes, after a glass-and-wet test went wrong, it would come closer than usual and mumble in a way that made Patton’s chest twinge oddly.

The creature was particularly excited today, making those noises nonstop as it flitted about on the other side of the bars. It hummed the little tune that meant it was going to use a glass-and-wet, and Patton was surprised to find that he remembered this one, the way it made his balance go wobbly.

Unlike before, something cold and unfamiliar was pressed against his mouth. At the creature’s insistence, he consumed it, and immediately regretted as a sudden burning spread through him from the inside-out, as though he'd swallowed the sun itself.

Hours or days passed in a slow, roasting agony, and then, finally, it was over.

When Patton came back to consciousness, he was laying down, and everything was dark and numb. Not quite the dark of night, though.

There was a shuffle nearby, and he turned his head to the sound. He couldn't move very much.

“Ah. It seems you’re awake.” A presence settled at his side as he slowly processed the words. “Can you tap your pointer finger twice for me? It is alright if it takes some time.”

It took longer than expected to remember where his hand was, and longer still to force the space where his fingers should be into feeling. The taps ended up being more like small flickers, but there was a sense of accomplishment nonetheless.

“You—!” The presence cut off sharply, a sudden tension in their words. “Please, could you repeat that action? Two taps, no more or less.”

Patton’s brow wrinkled slightly in focus, the motions coming easier.

Tap. Tap.

There was a ragged inhale, their voice suddenly wavering. “How about three taps?”

Exhaustion was pulling at him, but he thought the voice was familiar, and desperate, and so he managed three taps, almost on an even rhythm.

“It worked.” A warm hand gently settled over his. “It worked! I did it, you can— you can hear me. You can understand me.”

There was something distressing about the hitch in their voice, but Patton was settling back into heavy sleep, and he only managed to twitch his hand under theirs before going under once more.

There were more tests, every time he woke.

Some of them were easy! He would shuffle his feet, count out taps, figure out which limb gentle pressure was being applied to. Over time, feeling came back to his numb flesh, and movement became more and more frequent.

Some of them were more difficult. He’d lose time trying to form complex sentences, feel consumed by sudden fits of claustrophobia, shy away from the sensation of the sun’s heat. He couldn’t respond to even a single question about his past, and day by day, his memories of his time as… not-so-human faded away as well.

Through it all, the stranger who had introduced himself as Logan was at his side, giving him clear instructions and careful support on every task.

He’d learned a lot about the type of person Logan was, day by day. He talked to himself a lot, sometimes clear and sometimes dipping into a thoughtful mutter. It seemed like he’d been alone for a long time. He’d often make a noise of startlement when Patton responded to his rambling, be it through a tap or a simple hum. He always told Patton what he was doing before he touched him, and explained what he was trying to learn when he ran the tests. He kept odd hours but never let himself sound tired.

Patton knew a lot about Logan, but he still didn’t know what Logan looked like. He’d been wearing the blindfold since he’d first woken up out of the cage, and it was the only restraint-- if a strip of cloth over his eyes could be called that-- to remain after all these days. It was the one thing Logan hadn’t explained.

Physically, Patton felt stronger by the day. Emotionally, he wasn’t sure where he would go or what he would do when the tests stopped being necessary. He trusted Logan, though, and more than that, he wanted to help him, after all that he’d gone through for Patton.

He wasn’t quite sure if that trust went both ways, though. Not yet.

“Logan?” he asked, shuffling his shoulders up the headboard of his bed so that he was closer to sitting upright. He reached up to touch the blindfold. “This... off?”

Across the room, the familiar sound of Logan flipping through a book cut off sharply. There was a long moment of silence.

“At your current level of motor skills, yes, you could,” Logan finally settled on, words carefully measured and even. “However, while you are staying with me, I would prefer it if… if you didn’t.”

“Why?” Patton pressed.

Another pause. “I believe that if you see me, you might become… alarmed. And I have no wish to upset or frighten you, particularly while you’re still recovering.”

“Logan,” Patton said, both concerned and a little exasperated. “Not scary. Want this... off. Help?”

“... Very well.” Logan’s voice went stiff as he moved to sit next to Patton, and when his hands carefully unknotted the blindfold, they were rigid like he was tensing for a blow. His cold demeanor was somewhat undercut by the way he automatically moved his arm to keep the day’s light from blinding Patton.

After a few blinks to adjust, the first thing that came into focus was Logan’s hand, carefully loose at his side, and the white, jagged scar lines that marked it. A witch mark, clear as anything.

The next thing he saw was Logan’s face, jaw set harshly and eyes focused on him as though waiting for the inevitable reaction. He could have hidden the mark away, but he was baring it for the world to see, even though he was sure it would be rejected. His loneliness made a lot more sense, suddenly. Patton felt a fond smile pull at his lips as he reached a shaky hand out in greeting.

“Hi, Logan.” The familiar warmth and gentleness of that hand washed away any lingering doubts about his new, not-entirely-human friend. “Still not... scary.”

Logan’s face flickered through a few strange expressions, and wasn’t that going to be interesting, learning a whole new set of tells for him? When he spoke, there was a strange, distantly familiar tremble to his words. “You may be the only one who thinks so.”

Patton frowned at him, squeezing his friend’s hand a little tighter before a flicker of motion on the windowsill caught his eye. A high pitched noise erupted from him completely involuntarily. “Cat!”

The cat in question, a little creature with sleek black fur, eyed him curiously. Logan cleared his throat, reaching out his free hand. The kitty leapt down and ambled over to butt her head into the hand like they were two magnets. “Ah, yes. This is my familiar. Her name is Glowstone.”

The excitement was too much. Patton had to take a moment to compose himself, words tripping over each other and becoming garbled nonsense. He watched with a grin as Glowstone settled gently in her witch’s lap. “Two!”

“Sorry?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Two friends,” Patton told him, gesturing quite seriously between him and the golden-eyed cat. “A good start.”

Logan shook his head, unable to hide the little amused upturn to his lips. “If you say so.”

He did say so. And if Patton had his way, there’d be many more friends to come.

#minecraft au #sanders sides #ts logan #ts patton #My writing #writing #logan's witch mark is a lichtenberg figure!

261 notes · View notes

trulycertain · 3 years

Text

small scandals

f!De Sardet/Vasco, 2.5k. One of the most disgustingly fluffy things I've written. Based on the thought that Constantin would totally have opinions on who you romance.

A carriage rattles along the cobbles outside, and she lies there, half-listening to it. The few mornings she can be in her own bed, she’s come to know it; it’s the ten o’clock grain shipment. Ordinarily, she’d already be in a meeting somewhere, or traipsing along a dirt road, perhaps with Kurt and Vasco at her back. But she had a morning free, and this… is not an ordinary morning. She’d been settling in with paperwork and then she’d heard the knock at her door and… well.

She should move. Probably. But her bed is so warm, and – unusually, but in a wonderful development – it contains Vasco.

This really was meant to be a brief assignation. And she was sure they were meant to be talking about… something. Potential routes for tomorrow, perhaps. She has no idea why they’re lying next to each other, words barely thought-out and… comfortable, somehow.

She says with a lazy half-grin, “’Important business with the legate’? Did Cécile actually believe you?” She’d close her eyes, but she likes looking at him too much to manage it for long. Softness suits him. And besides, the thought of him politely tipping his hat and lying to her housekeeper...

He tilts his head, consideringly. “She sent me upstairs.” But his voice is wry.

“Mm. She definitely knows.”

He sighs, that long-suffering thing she’s learned to like far too much, and says, “Try living on a ship.”

“Try living around nobles,” she counters, and laughs at his pained expression. “Exactly.”

He says, quietly, “They can’t all be that bad. Rumour is, there’s one that some Naut captain’s fond of.”

She says, “That legate’s always been an odd one.” But she presses her forehead to his, eyes sliding closed, and she feels his hand stroke through her hair.

The gentleness should surprise her – almost did, at first, coming from the frustrated, tattooed sailor who’d barked orders at his crew – but she realised soon into their acquaintance that he is gentle. Subtle as he tries to be, and much as he’d probably mutter something offhand and drily amused about it. That same sailor was worried for a cabin boy. And he was horrified at the Guard’s ghost camps, asked her to avoid bloodshed at every turn and stepped forward for his brother without a moment’s doubt. He tossed her antidotes in the middle of battle and held off beasts for her; he apologised for his early shortness, called her a good person without hesitation, argued to a Naut that the noble who’d caused him so much trouble was sea-born, and we always help one of our own. She'd dared to suspect, but still, that gentleness was far more than she’d ever have imagined, turned on her.

She’s half-dozing when she wakes up and says, startled, “Constantin." She reaches out of bed and gropes for her watch. "I’ve got a meeting in…” She flips it open, checking. “Ten minutes. Damn.”

A quiet, displeased noise from next to her, and Vasco mutters, “Can I at least get dressed before we have to think of your cousin?”

She pauses, looks back to him… and has some trouble looking away. “Don’t strain yourself on my account.”

He raises a brow, but there’s wryness lurking around the corners of his mouth.

She only smiles at him. She was aiming for lascivious, but it softens into something fonder before she can help it. She probably shouldn’t tell the truth quite so easily, what with being a diplomat, but around him it always slips out. Generally meetings aren’t such a trial, tired as she is - but generally she doesn’t have an unnecessarily handsome Naut stretched out in her bed, wild-haired and with the sunlight clinging to his skin.

She shifts across to kiss him, and for a golden moment, he responds in kind, a hand under her chin.

(She’s still not used to that. It was the sort of idle daydream she always told herself would never come to fruition, even if he was sarcastic in turn, even if he smiled at her and she wondered…)

Then he pulls away. “You should go,” he says. She suspects he's trying for gently chiding, but it lands in amused instead.

“I won’t be long,” she says, and the words come out too hopeful.

It’s not that she expects him to stay like some sort of bedwarmer, she just…

Well, she thinks, considering him again, she wouldn’t entirely mind.

But she knows he’s not made to be idle. Neither is she, normally; it was one of the reasons they understood each other, and one of the things she could tell surprised him at first, when he was used to the thoughtlessness of nobility. And she hadn’t quite meant to lose track of time, she’d just…

“I’ll meet you at the docks,” he says. “I need to check in on a shipment. The Guard are lying in the ledgers again.” He adds, in a mutter, “Not that that’s unusual.”

She nods. “Of course.” And then she drags herself away to hunt for her clothing.

She can feel him watching her; it prickles up her spine, a certain warmth that’s growing familiar. She should probably be more self-conscious. She was often teased about her lack of delicacy, growing up in court. She’s about six feet of lankiness and leg – excellent for her reach with a rapier, but not ideal for a court lady. Also, since she’s come here, new scars, and lean muscle that some would say makes her look like a labourer. But he’s called her beautiful more than once, kissing the word breathlessly into her skin, and somehow, she believes him. She certainly believes the way his eyes linger. She looks over her shoulder and his gaze meets hers, without a hint of shame. Then he rolls out of her bed, too.

She’s buttoning her doublet when she feels his hand against hers. She looks down, and takes her hat from him with a nod of thanks. He half-smiles at her, with the ruefulness that comes from having to snatch these moments while they can, in between governors and dantrigs and narrowly-averted civil wars. She places it on her head, idly watching him re-tie his hair and start to re-don the mantle of the quiet, hawk-eyed shadow at her back.

She tries not to be embarrassed. Neither of them is entirely used to this, not yet. They’ve only managed perhaps three occasions where the world has relented enough to give them any time together; they’ve only had one night sleeping in the same bed. And her previous dalliances were at court, not with a friend who knows her, who looks at her like… that. Not with a man who read her poetry and actually seemed to mean it.

She can’t help but step forwards, pretending to pull up the collar of his coat, adjusting a buckle. Absolutely because they’re trying for some measure of discretion, and not because she’d like to touch him again, for as long as she can.

He knows, of course. He’s spent long enough watching her back, and he’s always been good with people - differently from the way she is, but good all the same. When she looks up from her work, his eyes are warm and a little amused on hers.

And then he’s pulling her in, gently but inexorably, and kissing her. It’s a slow, lingering thing that makes them both breathless, and he holds her there, a gloved hand smoothing down her lapel. Suddenly she suspects she isn’t the only one having trouble tearing herself away.

When they part, he stares at her for a moment, dark-eyed - then reaches up and swiftly adjusts her hat where it’s been knocked askew. She can’t help grinning stupidly at him.

And then he takes his own tricorne from her bedside table and pulls it on, and they leave the house with the ease of their usual missions. She pretends not to have a spring in her step. And she certainly doesn’t look over her shoulder when they part in the square.

Constantin is, for once, not holding court. She finds him in his office, he greets her - as usual - as if she’s just come back after being thought dead at sea, and they make an itinerary of which higher-ups she’ll have to meet in Hikmet.

All in all, entirely normal, until she says, standing, “Well, I ought to be off. I’ll take Aphra and Vasco; they might be useful.”

And Constantin smiles at her and says, “Of course. Take care of yourself! And give my regards to your Naut.’”

She freezes mid-way through reaching for her hat.

Their eyes meet. She carefully doesn't say anything.

Then she breaks. “He’s not my - “

He’s lazing in his chair, with the smugness of victory. In that obnoxiously cheerful I know something you don’t way, the one that makes her fingers itch to push him out of a tree.

She raises an eyebrow. “Should I ask how you know?”

“Oh, no,” he waves a hand, “you were both being very discreet. You remember the time I asked you if you wanted to go out drinking?”

She sits down, slowly, and tries not to feel like a mouse lowering itself into a trap. She says, with gentle understatement, “There were a few.”

“Yes, well. The most recent one. The one where you refused, because you had terribly important business to attend to.” He looks like some sort of painting of innocence, and that’s how she knows she’s damned to never, ever live this down. “You might have left his poisons belt on the bannister.”

She’s too court-trained to blush, but she feels heat trying to crawl into her face all the same. “There’s more than one poisons belt in New Serene.”

“Only a few with a Naut’s compass carved into them. And what were you talking about a few weeks ago? Your painstaking modifications…”

She tries to regain her equilibrium. “I… We’re Merchants. We give gifts.”

“I know, cousin, and I’m very grateful for my last two hats. The feather was a lovely touch.” He leans his chin on his hand. “But the last time I saw you, you were inexplicably cheerful. Normally I like watching all the longing gazes, while he stares nobly elsewhere or prepares your maps. It’s the best entertainment I’ve had in years. Only, all those had stopped, and suddenly you were studiously trying not to look at him.” He tilts his head, and grins like the cat that’s caught the canary. “And you’re blushing. Adorable.”

“Constantin...” She attempts to hide from the onslaught, but there really isn’t anywhere to go.

“I only wanted to offer my congratulations.” He stands, as if propelled from his chair by the force of his own smugness. “My father would kill you, of course. It’s rather marvellous, really. You were always the one he never had to worry about. I was so certain you’d end up single, or with one of those dreadfully dull nobles from a court somewhere.” He pauses like he’s just remembered she’s there. “Nice, of course, and as long as you were happy – But to think, a Naut! Usually I’m the resident disappointment. Was it the tattoos? They are so very fascinating...” And then he must catch sight of her face, because that pulls him to a stop. “I’m sorry. I’ve got ahead of myself.” And he sits, just a little deflated.

“He’s not some scandal,” she says, quietly. “He’s my – He’s Vasco.”

He’s sober, now, watching her softly. “I know. And I really am pleased for you both.” He looks back to his own papers. “You may have to be subtle, to prevent accusations of favouritism for the Nauts, but… you certainly don’t have to hide it from me. I’ve seen how he looks at you. He’s almost worthy of you.”

She squints at that. “How does he look at me?”

“I thought you’d have noticed! That said, he is rather subtle, isn’t he?” He grins at her. “Hmm… Like a man who’s been hit about the head with something heavy. That sort of not-quite-dazed look. He looks” – and he considers the bookshelves, mouth a theatrical moue of contemplation – “like a man startled by his own luck. I’ve seen enough winners at cards. Only the odd moment, of course, and then he wipes it away and pretends to be very solemn and businesslike.”

She stares, warming at the thought despite herself. “I… he does?”

“He's not bad. I’m sure anyone else wouldn’t catch it. But we, dear cousin, were raised at court.” He looks at her - incredulous, delighted. “And you call yourself a diplomat!”

“I was… busy.”

“Yes. Throwing him your own adoring looks.”

“Being a diplomatic envoy.” She’s quite sure her shade of purple is clashing violently with her coat.

He ostentatiously checks his nails. “Do Nauts marry, perchance?”

“So help me, Constantin, I will leave your court and never come back - “

And then he’s laughing, rich and uninhibited, and it rings like a bell off the high ceiling. It’s been too long since she’s heard that.

“Constantin knows,” she announces, when they’re in a camp a quarter of the way to Hikmet, and Aphra’s left to answer a call of nature. “And he’s laughing at us both.”

Vasco’s brows raise, and then he says, flatly, “I’m not surprised. The man’s been smirking at me in the throne room for a month.”

“I…That’s just his face.”

“To you, it might be. He’s worse than my crew.”

“I... think he’s threatening to buy you a drink.” Grimacing, she admits, “I might have fled before he finished talking.”

He considers her, sharp-eyed and face carefully straight, and says, “I could poison him, if you like.”

“Please don’t. They might make me governor.”

The facade cracks, and he smiles at her, broadly and all sharp teeth. Then it fades. “Do you mind him knowing?” And his voice is quiet, that sort of carefully brisk that means he’s trying to bandage being businesslike over potential hurt. The same tentativeness she saw when he asked her what she thought of the poem, as if he had any hope of hiding what he really meant.

Her first instinct has always been to try charm, and when words fail her, to joke; that’ll end with her in a duel someday. “That I’m with a brave, dashing captain who’s one of the best in the fleet? No. I was just trying not to make him jealous.” She says, with her own uncertainty, “Why? Do you mind him knowing?”

He looks surprised at the question – and then thoughtful, and more than a little fond. ��I’ve weathered worse than a bit of scuttlebutt,” he says, stepping forwards to close the distance between them, his hand drifting upwards to map her jaw, her cheek. He smiles when she leans into it, and then he’s kissing her, gentle and far too sweet for a man who can terrify bandits. “My tempest,” he says softly, against her skin, resting there.

A man startled by his own luck.

And now she’s certain her smile must make her look like a fool and would have her pilloried at court, but she can’t bring herself to care. She just lets the silence grow for a moment, and leans into the warmth of him.

Even so, she can’t quite help herself: “I’ve changed my mind. You can poison him, if it would make you feel better.”

He laughs at that, one of her favourite sounds in the world. But he doesn’t let go of her.

#de sardet x vasco #de sardet #vasco #constantin d'orsay #greedfall #my fic #marie de sardet #idiot and fiasco #also based on how fantastically sappy vasco is when you #romance him #and how difficult it probably is to have any honeymoon period #when you're a horrendously busy diplomat and a horrendously busy captain

61 notes · View notes

egoludes · 4 years

Text

the greatest gift of all.

note: so, to be honest with y’all...i have no idea where this came from. i was just minding my business this weekend, @adorecevans and i started talking about one (1) headcanon scenario, and now here we are! this is going to be a v casual series, basically just snippets of dom!chris and sub!reader (in no particular order) building a relationship. future installments will explore the history more, but what you need to know for this one and the series overall: dom!chris meets sub!reader through a dom/sub dating app of sorts and have been engaging each other long distance for a few months. reader has no idea that it’s chris evans for the obvious reasons, and since he doesn’t give a name at all, she addresses him as Sir. i’ll explore all that background more in the future, but for now: i really hope you enjoy!

credits: unsplash for the stock image, and an anon in @honeychicanawrites‘s asks one day for the image of cevans calling his lady ‘mama’... i had to do it.

warnings: masturbation, voyeuristic vibes, intimacy over video call, dom/sub dynamics, long distance / virtual relationships, sex toys, use of title as name (sir).

wc: 2.3k

The thought comes to you on a Sunday afternoon.

You’re on your belly thumbing through texts, legs up and crossed at the ankles with Sir’s newest gift -- a pretty pink slip -- and your laptop beside you. The screen is dark, save for a grey circle with an initial in the center that lets you know he’s there, listening, when you say: “Have you ever tried one of those dildo molds, Sir?”

The initial silence is suffocating, and you worry for a second that the idea - spur of the moment, really - goes too far. You’re just learning each other, after all; still adjusting to the pictures, the calls, the gifts you model for him with pride.

But then, he speaks, a familiar rasp to the words that makes you clench in your fitting black shorts. The question comes from a place of genuine curiosity, but you’ve riled him up still, which excites you; always does. “That’s what you’re thinking about over there, huh? Feeling me?”

Your body heats, conditioned already to react to that dangerous tone in his voice; but you try to keep your expression reticent when you turn it to your camera. There’s another moment of nothing -- just you watching the lens like it’s him before you. Then, your lips curl, lids narrow, and your voice turns playfully sweet. “Well, when am I not?”

He hisses, a sharp sound that makes you preen, and you can hear him on the other end, adjusting his screen. “Easy, mama,” he growls, earning himself a giggle, “it’s too early for you to be working me up.”

You laugh again, this time with more body before resting your cheek on your palm. Without his video on -- a compromise you’ve grown used to -- you can’t know that he’s actually watching you. But you lean into it all the same, swinging your legs behind you. “But, have you?”

He clicks his tongue, a thoughtful sound, and you imagine what his features must look like, twisted by consideration. “No - I don’t think I know anyone’s who has either.”

You hum, eyes glinting with something that makes him suck in a breath. “I’ve always wondered about it. Not just the process, but just...having one,” you murmur, settling deeper into your pensive stance. There’s a dreaminess to your tone that not even you notice; but he, that ever-mindful man, takes note.

You continue on, none the wiser.

////

A week later, you come home at the top of rush hour, grateful that you’ve made it so early, but burdened all the same. Stress is a fickle, but poignant thing, and you’re feeling its weight extra today as you make your way up to your apartment. You’re excited for the time to yourself, thinking on what you might make for dinner, when you see it - a small, but noticeable box at the foot of your door.

Immediately, your expression turns, confusion and wariness turning your mouth into a scowl. You don’t remember ordering anything, nor are you expecting something for anyone else. You hope the label will give you a clue about what this could be, but to your chagrin, it has no company - just your address and a generic return location.

Still, you take it in, setting it on the kitchen counter, where it stays forgotten as you shower, eat, and pour yourself a glass of wine. You’re halfway through the second when the package re-snares your attention from the corner of your eye. You drain the rest of your drink with a gulp, wiping red off the corners of your mouth before you stand, determined, to approach it.

The box is unassuming; plain cardboard with nothing but the barebones label to distinguish it. You lift it again, this time with both hands, to measure it and feel something heavy shift inside. It’s enough to pique your curiosity, and you tear through the packaging until you can see what’s in it.

At the center is another, smaller box made of sleek black velvet. A card is attached with red ribbon, careful lettering penned in dark ink. Even before you fish it out, you can work out the message, but it doesn’t feel real until the note sits in your hand and you’re reading it up close.

For my favorite girl; so you can feel me any time you want.

Sir.

Your eyes dance over the words a few times before their meaning sinks in and you realize it’s a gift from him. Then, you’re practically rabid, tugging out the box out and flipping the lid in one motion.

When you see what’s inside, it’s all you can do not to buckle at the knees. In the middle of the box, set up almost regally on a bed of plushy silk, is a veined, pink dildo. You don’t need to touch it to know that it’s heavy, but that doesn’t stop you from doing it all the same. Your fingers take it by the base first, wrapping firmly above the balls to test the weight. And you moan at it, that delicious thickness as you lift it from the box with both hands. Your palms curve around it, twitching with want, and you realize then that this is what he looks like, what he feels like.

What you would get if he came home to you for real.

The thought is too much to bear. Your breath quickens, fingers dancing deliberately up and over the shaft to size it up. You tell yourself that this is all you need for now ---- you know better than anyone that to use this toy for the first time without him is a test of his patience you’re certain to fail. But, the more you touch, the more you need, and before you can reconsider, you’re on your hands and knees on your couch, panties pressed sloppily to the side as you guide the heft of Sir’s length past your aching entrance.

The impact is immediate. You fall forward with a gasp as every inch stretches you open and by the time it’s fully seated, your face is completely hidden in your couch cushions. The fabric muffles your voice as your hips start to move, a slow, languid grind to make sure everything is felt.

You get so lost in it, you don’t hear your phone buzzing until it’s almost too late. But, at the nth moment, you recognize the ringtone you’d chosen just for him and, despite the clear risk of answering, you reach for the device, trembling with nerves, excitement, and lust, at the dangerous game you’re about to play.

When you answer, there’s nothing but darkness from his end and your face in the corner. You’re sitting on your butt now, legs carefully spread and hips angled to keep from jostling the toy inside you. But, it’s hard not to squirm in a situation like this; even more so, when he starts to talk, voice raw from the day.

“Hi, honey,” he breathes, the endearment -- your favorite -- making your heart swell, “almost thought you were already asleep.”

You shake your head, biting back a knowing smile. “No, Sir… I’m still awake, just...watching tv.”

“Yeah?” He says, something skeptical in the tone. Even without his video on, you can almost feel his gaze burning a hole in your expression. Like he’s inspecting it, picking it apart for clues. He must find one, because he hums lowly; a dip in the sound that makes it sound like he’s smirking. “Only watching tv?”

“Y-Yes, Sir…”

“Okay, okay -- what’re you watching? Is it any good?”

Your eyes flicker towards the television to glean what’s playing, but Sir catches you before you can get a good look. “Nuh uh -- eyes over here.”

Despite your better judgment, you pout, all but caught now, and the expression makes him laugh. He’d had a number of subs before you -- people who had piqued his sexual interest, but never quite held up to any of his other, more innocent expectations. But you ---- even if he wouldn’t call you something as invested as a lover, your personality makes it hard to be anything but endeared to you. Before he knew it, he was in headlong, calling you for sessions a couple times a week, sending gifts even more than that. You’re fun to just exist with, even in this moment as he’s so deliberately toying with you.

“Can’t be too good if you can’t tell me anything about it without looking, huh?” His voice drops, a dangerous timbre taking it, and you feel your body shake. “So you gonna tell me the truth before you get yourself in more trouble?”

A whimper breaks past parted lips and you bite down a little too late to stifle the sound. “T-The toy,” you whisper, clenching around his cock despite him being hundreds or thousands of miles away. The irony isn’t lost on you - if anything, it’s making your need spike. There’s something so odd, but so enticing about the whole thing. “I couldn’t wait, Sir… your cock just looked so good.”

Sir curses near the phone, so close that you swear you can feel the breath of it on your palm. “Jesus...I knew you’d be hungry for it, but I didn’t think it’d get you this much. Breakin’ our number one rule and everything.” You shift on the couch, free hand reaching to pull out the dildo in anticipation of his punishment. It’s likely to be no orgasms for the night which, as disappointing as that is, seems almost worth it for the pleasure of this weight inside you. Then he speaks again, forcing you to pause in your motion.

“Get on your computer ---- I want to see the way I fit inside you. Then, we can talk about your punishment.”

The minutes between your phone call and the start of the call on your laptop are equal parts tantalizing and tortuous. You’ve only broken this rule once prior and ended up having to watch him fuck his hand through two sloppy orgasms before getting sent to bed without touching yourself even once. So the fact that he seems to be inclined to let you keep the dildo in gives you pause.

But it’s the sort that’s almost intoxicating. Your adrenaline is pumping, thighs slick with want, and by the time you’ve gotten the video up and running, you’ve shed your panties completely, legs wedged open with the camera trained between them as directed.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetie… look at that pussy eating me up.” You whine out for him, walls clenching visibly at his words in a reaction that makes him purr. “That good? Everything you thought it would be?”

You nod in a daze, cock drunk even with your hips still, and Sir shifts on the other end, the telltale clink of an open belt alerting you to how good it feels for him too. You’re in two minds to beg him to see, even if it’s just a view of the waist down, when he beats you to the punch. “Take it out --”

You blink, trying to focus on his words enough to make sense of his command. He can see the confusion in your face and has to try not to laugh. “Take it out,” he repeats, “and sit on it. I want to see you take it properly.”

It’s a scramble after that -- you, shifting and guiding the toy out of you until you’re hovering over the tip of it on your knees. Lidded eyes dance towards your laptop as you still there, body wound tight in anticipation, and like many times before, you hold his gaze through the lens as you sink down, down, down onto the dildo he made for you.

If you thought you were full before, you’re certainly learning your lesson. The change in angle has the cock dizzyingly deep, enough that it punches the air out of your lungs. You can feel the balls against your bare skin, a permanent reminder of how much you’ve taken, and when he calls for you again, adoration in the breathy tones, you can’t help but buzz.

You love to make him proud of you.

His tone is so tender that you nearly forget you’re in trouble and are about to lift your hips and give him a show when he stops you. “You heard what I said, honey,” he teases when your confused expression returns. “I want you to sit on it. You stay right where you are.”

The urge to beg is potent -- a searing kind of desperation that you’ve never minded indulging with him. But before you can form words in your head, let alone out loud, the dildo comes to life inside you, shaking with such force you cry out from the suddenness. Between being full, and the toy revealing itself to be a vibrator, it’s all too much, so much, and you’re falling back into the couch knees shaking beneath you.

“Now, now, don’t give up on me yet,” Sir coos, a distinct click sounding from his side of the screen and confirming your suspicions when the vibrator turns off right after, “you wanted to feel me, didn’t you?” He pauses long enough for you to nod, gasping in a breath as your teary eyes dance blindly over the screen you wish you could see him on. There’s another click, then a cry as your body arches in an involuntary jolt.

“Then, be a good girl - show me how well you can handle it.”

#chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfic #chris evans writing #dom!chris evans x reader #chris evans masterlist #honey and sir.

641 notes · View notes

pinnithin-writes · 3 years

Text

more of a feeling

Mission to Zyxx fic, mild spoilers for season 5 if you're not caught up. This started as rambling about our bodies sabotaging us and turned into a conversation about our bodies taking care of us. 2117 words.

It was simple, really. It all came down to chemistry.

C-53 knew how emotions worked, of course; he’d even go so far as to call himself a veteran by now. Every frame he’d inhabited was a different experience, but the emotions he felt in those frames were a reassuring constant. He knew the programming for joy. He could trace the source code for anger. His cube felt it all the same, and no matter how many diagnostics he had to run in an unfamiliar body, his thoughts, his feelings, and his personality grounded him through the flux.

Until, that is, the failed clone of a scientist shoved him in a meat suit without his consent.

Emotions were different when he was piloting flesh. They governed his body more than he was used to. They still generated from C-53’s cube, but now that cube was hooked up to nerves and synapses, blood and organs, and those living, breathing parts responded accordingly. He was a miracle of a machine, truly – a code given life – but he couldn’t wax poetic about something like that when his pores leaked and his muscles tired and his stomach twisted in knots.

It was hard enough dealing with a body that resisted his will at every turn. It was worse still that every fleeting feeling affected him on the molecular level. He didn’t know how organics got anything done like this. Frustration made his head pound and his guts churn. Despair burned his eyes and locked his throat. Even pleasant feelings – affection, mirth – stole his breath, made his pulse race. It was distracting at best and debilitating at worst. Surely there was a way to bypass these effects.

Unable to connect his consciousness to high speed internet, he had to go about this the old fashioned way, which made it a slow process indeed. Thankfully, the USS Synergy owned a vast library, which he took advantage of to scan every file they had on hermanns, discovering himself.

He did most of his research at night. He told himself this was because he was less likely to be interrupted, but in truth he was embarrassed at his own inefficiency. Even in the old loader frame, downloading the data would have taken all of ten seconds. And though he knew his crewmates wouldn’t humiliate him, he still didn’t want to be seen like this. Having to move his eyes across a screen, absorb and process the words they scanned, and then file that information away in his slippery maze of a brain, line after line after line after line after line.

The hours of learning made him feel childish. C-53 was tired.

But he was getting somewhere. When exhaustion pulled at his eyelids and his thoughts went fuzzy in the late, still hours on Bargie, he knew it was adenosine flooding his neural pathways and inhibiting his functionality. No code existed to override adenosine. Caffeine, however, could counteract it for a short time (with the unfortunate side effect of upsetting his stomach and tasting like tar).

C-53 pored over chemistry texts and neuroscience studies, learning what made hermanns - and thus, hermanoids - do what they did. There were no comparable texts on tellurians in this galaxy, but the science, from what he could remember, was quite similar. It was all chemicals, and those chemicals told his brain to tell his body how to act.

It was exceptionally overcomplicated. There was always some other influencing factor to his body, a sensory input or a thought or even his DNA - Jeremy’s genetic memory - that scrambled a system that could theoretically be very streamlined.

An example: he could eat something that tasted good (peanut butter and chocolate), triggering a flood of dopamine that caused him to feel happy. But Jeremy was allergic to tree nuts, so his immune system attacks him for a perceived threat that doesn’t exist, so forcefully that he could die from it. It was as fascinating as it was annoying. Who knew organics could have glitches? Too bad he hadn’t figured out how to debug anaphylactic shock.

He didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish by doing all this research. In a way, studying why his body actively sabotaged him was a comfort, but the more he learned, the more faults he discovered. Evolution was a temperamental thing. He much preferred the elegance of engineering.

At present, it was a dark hour on Bargie, docked and slumbering with her crew on the Synergy. Half awake in the conversation pit, amidst a tangle of textbooks and portable screens, C-53 sat alone under the red glow of the security lights. Sprawled as he was, C-53 didn’t immediately notice Pleck wandering into the room until he said his name.

Blurry lines of text sharpened as he startled, then relaxed. “Hm? Oh, hey Pleck,” he said.

“C-53, it’s like, three in the morning,” Pleck responded. Bare footsteps signaled his approach, and then he dropped onto the couch next to C-53, a glass of water in one hand and an orange fruit in the other. He reached over and set the glass precariously on the cushion between them. “Y’know, tellurians usually sleep around this time,” he pointed out helpfully. “What are you doing out here?”

The info tablet C-53 held was inches away from his face. “I’m learning about my pineal gland,” he announced dully.

A hormone regulator located near the brain stem. Releases melatonin and influences one’s circadian rhythm. Well, it wasn’t doing a very good job right now, was it?

“Cool, is that something like - do tellurians have that too or just, y’know,” Pleck drew his feet up to sit cross-legged, “whatever you are?”

C-53 couldn’t help but smirk mirthlessly at that. “It’s found in most vertebrates, so yes, I would imagine both you and whatever I am have one.” He set the tablet aside to look at Pleck, but the screen made him night blind, and he could only see the afterimage of a splotchy red rectangle in the darkness. “Why are you awake?”

“Oh, I woke up thirsty,” Pleck explained easily. He fiddled with the peel on his fruit as he spoke. “And then I thought, well, while I’m up I might as well grab a snack, and then I saw you sitting there so,” he shrugged, “here I am.”

It was a better explanation than what C-53 had. And it was a far better explanation than Pleck would have given several months ago, when the Allwheat was still worming into his brain and keeping him up at odd hours. C-53 was thankful those days were behind them. As the afterimage of the tablet faded and Pleck became a collection of grays and blues beside him, he quietly mourned the loss of his night vision. And his regular vision.

“You ever had one of these, C-53?” Pleck asked. He finally got his fingernails under the skin and began peeling. “The Themm grow these instead of oranges. They’re kind of sour?”

“I haven’t,” C-53 answered. He hadn’t eaten an orange before, for that matter, but he wasn’t too interested in expanding his food horizons. Most things had an unpleasant texture to him.

“Do you want some?” Pleck went on, adding pieces of rind to the small pile in his lap. He slanted C-53 a glance. “Oranges are the most shareable fruit.”

“No, thank you.”

Pleck shrugged again before separating a slice of not-orange and popping it in his mouth. As he chewed in silence, C-53 picked up the glass between them and placed it safely on the coffee table. Piles of nearby notes were scrawled in his own clumsy hand, amateur diagrams and chemical formulas with lots of arrows and exclamation marks littering the margins. Writing it down helped the nonstick pan of his brain gain some traction, he found, but the coffee table was starting to look like Nermut’s conspiracy wall after so many hours of research.

His neck ached. His head pounded out a protest.

He’d been pushing his brain and body to its limits and had what to show for it? A newfound disgust with himself? A frustration he only knew more intimately? C-53 frowned and used one of his papers as a coaster.

Beside him, Pleck happily ate his fruit, unbothered. Being organic was easy for him; he was a native to his body and didn’t know anything else. C-53 pitied and envied him in equal measure.

“You’re going to bed soon, right C-53?” Pleck asked after making his way through half the orange. He reached to retrieve his glass from the table, but condensation stuck a note about the amygdala to the bottom. “Oh,” he remarked.

C-53 peeled it off for him. “I don’t like sleeping,” he explained, crumpling the note and tossing it on the table. “So I’m reading.”

Pleck took a sip of water and frowned. “You gotta sleep sometime.”

“I know,” he answered shortly. He’d read dozens of articles about the side effects of sleeplessness. Fatigue, irritability, memory issues, hallucinations if you waited long enough. He knew he’d crash eventually, he just wasn’t especially motivated to avoid it. “It feels bad,” he went on. “Waking up is disorienting.”

There was a thoughtful crease between Pleck’s brows; C-53 could barely see it under the security lights. Pleck took a moment to set his glass back down on the table before turning the remainder of the fruit over in his hands. “Is it because you don’t feel safe?” he asked without looking up.

“I’m… sorry?”

“It’s just - y’know, when I was having trouble sleeping-”

“Pleck, I’m not a lunatic,” C-53 interrupted. “I know I’m perfectly safe on Bargie. I just don’t like sleeping. I don’t need you to teach me how to be tellurian, okay?” He gestured at the pathetic mess of research before him, scrawled in an obvious lunatic’s hand. “I’m figuring it out.”

Pleck fed himself a section of orange and didn’t answer right away. On C-53’s other side, the info tablet’s screen auto timed out and went dark. They were bathed in red completely now, one of them frustrated and exhausted, the other watchful and concerned. C-53 removed his glasses and rubbed at his stinging eyes.

“Sorry,” he said after a time. “I’m just…”

“Tired?” Pleck offered.

C-53’s sigh went through his whole body. “Yes.”

A stubborn, senseless part of him didn’t want to overcome this. He didn’t want to be an example of perseverance, some epic struggle conquered by learning to live well. He wanted to kick and bite and throw a fit over this new frame. It wasn’t fair.

“C-53,” Pleck broke quietly into his thoughts. “You don’t have to, y’know, have the answer to everything all the time. Sometimes you have to just… do what your body is telling you to do, even if you don’t want to.” He offered an orange slice in C-53’s direction. “It’s trying to take care of you.”

“You say that like this flesh suit has a soul,” C-53 grumbled, but he took the fruit anyway, staring glumly as it lay in his stupid, sweaty palm.

“Well, sure it does.” Pleck smiled and prodded his shoulder with an index finger. “It’s you.”

C-53 fell silent. It was strange, learning things from Pleck. He was used to the roles being reversed, and it shifted something uncomfortably inside him every time it happened. Dutifully, he put the orange in his mouth, felt the tart flavor burst on his tongue, and chewed past the slimy sensation until he was able to swallow it. He was unable to hide a shudder.

Pleck watched him with one hopeful eye. “Not your favorite?” he guessed.

“It’s the texture,” C-53 explained, grimacing. But he held his hand out for another slice in spite of it.

Pleck grinned. “We can find something you like to eat instead of this,” he said, scooping the orange peels out of his lap and leaving them on the coffee table for later cleanup. “It doesn’t have to all be bad. Come on,” he rose from his seat and offered C-53 his hand. “Let’s check the kitchen for something better and then, y’know, maybe try and get some sleep?”

The please was unspoken, but C-53 could see it on Pleck’s freckled face. He was trying to take care of him, just like his clunky, unfamiliar body was. C-53 didn’t like his body very much, and wasn’t sure he ever would, but he liked Pleck enough to go along with him for now. He didn’t know what kind of chemical governed trust. He didn’t even let himself ask.

C-53 took Pleck’s hand, tried not to flinch from the zing it sent up his arm, and followed him out of the pit.

#mission to zyxx #mtz #pleck decksetter #c-53 #AI in a meat suit having an understandable problem with being Flesh #do you know how fuckin hard it was to walk this Jeremy line without letting it be rpf on accident #hhhhanyway #pleck/53 #(very minor)

33 notes · View notes

male-reader-requests · 3 years

Text

City Lights

Requested by: funk-lil-death-omen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x M!Reader

Word count:1,847

Warnings: uhhh, trigger warning I guess. I don't really know how those go but this does kinda talk about panic attack/ptsd stuff. I don't know much about it, did a smidge of research but still, I apologize if this is kinda ass.

This situation was... well shit to say the least.

The entire compound was on lockdown, every single protective measure Tony had put in place was active and it was all because a cybernetically enhanced kid had gotten freaked out.

Well, kid wasn't the right term. (M/N) was old enough to take care of himself, and he did well. (M/N) was sort of a lone wolf of sorts, going off on long missions that normally took months to years, he was an enigma, no one knew much about him.

Well, no one knew much about him besides Bucky. Bucky had brought (M/N) with him when he'd moved to the compound, brought him to do everything pretty much. (M/N) hated other people and was very paranoid about everything.

That should have been a red flag to the rest of the team, but they'd written it off. Paranoia when in an area they knew was safe was not a sign of a healthy mind, the nightmares and the defensiveness weren't either but that had also been written off. Everyone in the compound had their issues and they'd thought that was the extent of (M/N)'s.

Unfortunately their writing off had lead to the situation at hand.

It had started out pretty normal, a normal afternoon where the majority of the compound was actually there instead of out on missions. Someone, Bucky can't really remember who, had been cooking lunch with (M/N) hovering behind them. Whoever it had been hadn't minded, asking him to grab things from the fridge and cupboards, showing him how to do certain things.

Bucky had seen this a couple of times, where he'd get very into whatever he was learning and basically forget about the real world so he hadn't seen the Spider kid come in with some game console. Bucky knew the kid hadn't meant to do it, knew that this would literally eat the kid from the inside out for the rest of his life but when he loaded up some game and the gunfire started to play through the speakers (M/N) blanked out and whatever soldier he had once been came into existence.

He knew what would happen, he'd seen this a few times before also, but it was never a pleasant experience. Bucky watched in horror as he pushed someone into the stove and pulled the gun from his belt up. The entire common area was falling into chaos.

Bucky dropped down, he knew that whatever the soldier in (M/N) was would recognize him, either as Bucky or as Winter neither would be good.

A shot fired out, landing where Bucky's head had once been, and then he was running. (M/N) would find somewhere high up, somewhere with a vantage point that he couldn't escape from, somewhere that if he felt it was necessary he could throw himself from.

Bucky was running after him the best that he could, but (M/N) was fast and he knew to lag behind a bit. It never took (M/N) long to come down, but it was a drop, he'd breakdown and he wouldn't be a hazard to others but he would be a hazard to himself. He had to stay behind him to make sure that he hit that drop instead of fighting against it.

He was safe here, but no matter how much that was proved to him he couldn't seem to accept it.

In all honesty, Bucky felt that he should have seen this coming. He'd known (M/N) the longest, knew him the best out of everyone there and he loved the other male. He should have noticed the sign of this creeping up, he knew the signs, he knew the tells and now all he could do was hope to be enough.

(M/N) hadn't slept in 3 days and his emotions seemed to dull a bit, which was unfortunately normal, but he'd been asking about the weather. He only asked about the weather to see if it would rain and storm and that meant he was stressed, that he was falling, and felt that he didn't have anything to hold onto.

It meant that he felt he was alone, that Bucky hadn't been there for him.

It was storming now, an odd sort of irony that he hated. It was the sort of irony to fit those stupid love novels that Stevie would read or to match his emotion but no matter how fitting he hated it.

(M/N) loved it though. He loved the rain and the thunder and the lightning, he loved it out an inborn issue with life itself.

(M/N) grew up in some tiny ass place where the motto was quite literally "Kill or be Killed". The town was dark and fucked and in all technical terms cannibalistic thanks to Hydra fucking with them. (M/N) loved the rain because it muffled everything, made hunting down others easier when you let yourself become a creature of the night.

And he looked every bit the part.

Standing on the roof with his face to the sky (M/N) stood, soaked to the bone but still beside his breathing. His (H/C) hair was plastered to his face, his shirt and pants the same but his eyes were horribly bright against the dark sky, a shining shade of (E/C) brought on by mutated genes.

He was dressed in only black, shirt stolen from Bucky's side of the closet and cargo pants, boots from when he was active in more than Avengers issues, and he still had the gun in his hand.

Lightning fell somewhere behind him and God he was beautiful, but as they stood there in silence (M/N)'s began to shake, his shoulders moving a sadly familiar fashion that tore at Bucky's heart.

He was whispering something, something he said to himself daily and Bucky knew it by heart and it broke him each morning as he listened to (M/N) utter the words to himself just to stay afloat, just to make it through the day.

"An unfair way to be taught is still a way to learn, and it is over," his voice shook, words slurred together as he struggled. "Whether they change or not is irrelevant. If you change is what you keep hold of."

Bucky watched as he took a deep breath, the gun clattering lightly as (M/N) began to shake in earnest. "You keep fighting," he cried, "Get mad if you must. Focus one what is ahead and step forward, for a life left in the same steps you have always been in is a life wasted."

"(M/N)", Bucky whispered, those bright eyes landing on him. The both of them were crying, Bucky quiet and trying his best to keep calm as (M/N) dropped, tears falling with the rain as he fell to his knees, the gun skidding across the roof.

This was the point in which Bucky would take over, the point in which he became the rock for (M/N) to lean on as the river started to rise around them.

Neither of them would make it out of the night with a good conscience, but that was fine. Bucky's job was to make sure that (M/N) was comfortable, to make are he would be taken care of, to make sure he would make it through the next 24 hours.

(M/N) never remembered these episodes, probably for the best with how much he cried during these, but he was always a mess. When Bucky got to him he fought at first. He fought against Bucky's hands as they tried to removed soaked hair from his eyes, fought against the jacket being pushed over his shoulders, against the arms wrapping around him to help him inside but he was tired. Soon he gave up, going limp and letting Bucky bring him to their room.

He let Bucky undress him, he let Bucky gently guide him into a bath and let Bucky get in with him. This was always the worst for the taller male, having to watch (M/N) practically be a doll to the world as his brain tried its best to forget things that only seemed to come up at the worst times.

The bath was hot and smelled faintly of some flower Bucky couldn't remember the name of, thanks to the bath bomb things Tony had been showing him. It was calm, and Bucky was slowly forcing himself to calm down, to relax. The more relaxed he himself was the easier it would be to get (M/N) to do the same.

He leaned back, metal arm across the edge with the flesh one curling (M/N) tight to his chest. He wanted to hold the (H/C) male, to cradle him much like one would to a child but he had to get (M/N) used to this, used to the touching again. It was slow progress, always was and always will be but Bucky'd do it over and over again just to see (M/N) happy and healthy.

Soon enough, which was actually quite a large stretch of time, Bucky had (M/N) curled against him, one arm over his shoulders with the other on his back. (M/N) had crawled into his lap, face shoved into his neck, and if this hadn't such a bad time Bucky probably would have laughed and joked about how (M/N) was more beast than man.

Unfortunately, this is how their night would go. They would sit in the bathtub well past the point of the water going cold, both of them shivering but refusing to get up or change the water. They would sit there until (M/N) was comfortable enough in his own skin for Bucky to get a towel for both of them and move them to the bed.

The room was also cold, so Bucky went about bundling (M/N) in blankets and turning the heater on, before joining the other male on the bed. His arm produced some heat, as any sort of mechanical thing will, but not much.

The shorter male protested lightly when Bucky started to unbundle him but calmed down soon enough when he situated the two of them together.

Bucky had his back to the headboard, (M/N) curled up on his side with his face shoved in his neck again, but there was strength coming back to his hands, his nails lightly digging in where he was gripping at Bucky's arms. It meant he was coming down, and that's all the Bucky ask for in all honesty.

He loved him, and that's all he needed.

#marvel x male reader #marvel #bucky barnes #sad #bucky barnes angst #angst #panic attack #ptsd mention #x male reader

115 notes · View notes

voiceless-terror · 3 years

Note

I have been seeing those posts about ep 40 jon being injured and sleep deprived in the archives interviewing the others. Jon probably hasn’t come down from that getting wormed fear/adrenaline.. maybe he’s about to have a breakdown.. but tims there. Or martin or both. Also thank you for all the good content this year :)

Thank you for the lovely message! Had fun with this one, though I think I made it a tad more angsty than I planned to. Hope you enjoy otherwise, and happy holidays!

“...It’s just pain.”

Pain. That’s all. He can work through that, he’s done it before. The pills are wearing off, his entire body throbbing and wrestling with the feeling of hundreds of frantic, wriggling worms burrowing in and feasting- no, best not to think about that. He’s got to stay in control.

Control. Control is standing in his own office, leaning against his file cabinet surrounded by the corpses of worms with his boss sitting in front of him. His boss who is currently giving him an unimpressed stare, demanding that he go home. But it’s alright, he can do this.

It’s just pain.

Elias recounts what happened when Sasha came up to his office, alerting him to Prentiss’s attack. His voice is measured and controlled, but his face betrays a level of disgust that they all feel, the living reminder of which sits in front of him, bleeding and fidgeting as he tries to stay upright, squirming not unlike the-no. Stop.

He wishes he had the tape, but Sasha lost it in the confusion. This second-hand retelling is stale and hard to swallow. Elias sounds perfectly reasonable, as always, apologizing to Jon for taking too long with the CO2 to which Jon only replies “It’s fine. We’re alive.”

Just barely.

But then he talks about the scream. And Jon hears it all over again, that impossible sound of agony and rage that sung out as his world faded to black. And then Elias talks about how he stumbled upon them, compared them to fucking swiss cheese and he’s got to stop him, raising a trembling, still-bleeding hand. He doesn’t need to be reminded of that. No, Prentiss is gone. What he needs to focus on now is Gertrude- how she died, who killed her. If the person who did it was sitting in this very room. If he’s going to be next.

He imagines his body, lying forgotten in the tunnels as Gertrude’s did all those months. No one looking for him, no one caring. He’ll never get his answers, he’ll just lie there and rot like all those worms-

Elias gives no more useful information, repeating the story as if Jon’s being irrational and urges him to go home. You can barely stand. It’s true. But if he sits, he’ll have to look Elias in the eye instead of standing over him, grasping what little high ground he can.

“Martin finding her body in the tunnels is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”

Is it?

He sighs, succumbing to exhaustion and sinking to his seat.

“Can you send in Tim?”

________

Tim’s voice is strange and detached. He sounds...traumatized, which is of course to be expected.

He’s probably still high, too.

It’s odd, how these things affect them. It’s sharpened all of Jon’s edges to an untenable degree, every movement a sharp agony of tangled nerves that sends his mind spiraling. But it dulled Tim, left him foggy and so unlike himself. He stares blankly somewhere to the left of Jon, as if meeting his eyes and seeing his own injuries laid out before him like a warped funhouse mirror would be too much, would undo this strange facsimile of a workday that Jon’s tried to conjure. Just the two of them in his office, discussing a case. Pay no mind to the dead worms or the blood coating the ground and the desk and his arm and his leg and-

“...I mean, I went full Gas-Rambo.” Tim. That sounds like Tim. His voice may be wrong but the words are there, teasing and familiar. He comes back, clears his throat and nods. But then Tim keeps going, slides back into his memories and makes them lucid for Jon.

“You know that worm smell? That earthy, rotten smell?”

Oh, yes.

It’s still there, cloying and wretched reminder that it is. Elias told him to leave the basement, told him that he and Tim needed fresh air. But Jon wouldn’t listen, he never listens. And that’s why they’re in this mess.

But the why is bigger than that, too. He needs to know why Gertrude was in the tunnels, why she was killed, why these statements disturb him so and why the Archives feel wrong, like an intruder’s in their midst. He thinks he knows where he can find the answers.

“Could you...describe the tunnels?” Tim sighs, but Jon presses on. Perhaps through someone else’s eyes he’ll find the one detail he missed, the one thing that explains it all and gives him peace of mind.

It’s quite the opposite.

Because the worms down there, in that room Tim found, weren’t trying to attack anyone. They were crawling, wrapping around each other to form a ring- no, a doorway. Jon’s mind fixates on the word and Tim stares resolutely ahead, looking weary and drained. He has to hold it together, just two more interviews and he can go home and rest (and think and weep and scream). He clears his throat, lowers his voice to the register he finds most authoritative and tells Tim to go home and get some sleep. Tim rolls his eyes at the action, but gets to his feet, slow and pained.

“Yeah. Sure.”

He starts to shuffle towards the door but something twitches out of the corner of Jon’s eye, a tiny, jumping movement like...like a worm. He lets out a whimper as his mind shuts down, starts tearing at his arms, ripping at the bandages because something’s still there, burrowing deeper into his skin and soon it’s going to hit bone and where’s the corkscrew, where’s Martin’s steady hands and strong grip, he needs help-

“Whoa, there!” Tim’s coming back but he shouldn’t be, not when there’s worms all over his desk, crawling and jumping and devouring.

“She’s- she’s still here, can’t you see?” Jon’s tripping over words, stumbling out of his seat as he tries to avoid the writhing mass he sees below him. “Get h-help, we need- Martin! Martin, are you there?” It’s hard to walk, hard to move but he does it anyway, grabbing at the wall for balance as Tim backs away- good, go, get out, get help-

Rapid footsteps sound and Martin appears in the doorway, his eyebrows knit in concern. “What’s- oh Jon, you’ve ripped your bandages, let me-”

Jon doesn’t care about that right now. Not when he can hear their song, not when Gertrude was rotting in the walls for so long and he didn’t know, he didn’t know. She became a mystery and he will too, it’s just a matter of time. He grabs onto Martin’s arm, clawing at his jumper with desperate hands.

“She’s-she’s-”

“There’s no one here, Jon. She’s gone. The ECDC took care of it,” Martin’s just trying to placate him, he can see the pity in his eyes. Maybe he needs it. But if Prentiss is gone, that doesn’t mean the danger is. Even if he can tell himself there are no worms, it’s all in his mind, there’s still that nagging voice in the back of his head- you’re next.

So he holds on tighter, dragging Martin down to his level with a movement that makes him flush. “You- you saw her, Martin. Gertrude. How did she die?”

“Jon, please, just sit down-”

He pulls harder, raises his voice. “How did she die?”

“Jon-”

“How?”

“She was shot! Three times to the chest. Th-That’s what I saw.” Martin’s eyes widen, as if the words were torn from him involuntarily.

Shot. Shot. The words echo somehow in this small, cluttered room and Jon can’t wrap his mind around them. She wasn’t attacked by Prentiss, killed by some unknowable enemy. She was shot. With a gun. A gun wielded by someone who had a reason to take the Archivist out. Someone who might still have that reason.

He staggers back, releasing Martin and collapsing with what might be a sigh or a wail- he can’t hear what’s coming out of his mouth. He dimly registers a hand on his shoulder, gentle and warm but it feels like a threat because something’s wrong here, something’s after him and maybe it’s Martin, who found the corpse. Maybe it’s Tim, collapsed silently in the chair. Maybe it’s Elias, telling him to go home where he’s alone and vulnerable and easy to get. So he scrambles back against his desk, breathing heavily with his arms thrown out in front of him.

Martin was right, there are no worms here. Prentiss is gone. And something worse, and perhaps much more human is waiting in the shadows.

“..just needs sleep and some painkillers. I can take him back, call us a cab-”

“-both full of holes, for Christ’s sake. Jon’s scratching at himself! I’m not going to leave you on your own.”

“This isn’t some fun archives sleepover, Martin, you aren’t missing out on anything, I promise-”

“Shut up!” Martin’s voice breaks through the fog, loud and commanding in a way it usually isn’t. Jon hazards a glance up to see him standing at full height and even Tim looks shocked, leaning back in his chair as much as it allows. Martin goes red, taking a deep breath and lowering his voice. “That’s not what this is about, just...just let me do this. Let me make sure you’re alright. Please.”

Tim pauses, but gives in with a sigh. “Fine. I drove in, bad day for it. You fine with driving us back, or should we take a cab? I need to sleep.”

Jon raises his voice, tired of being talked about as if he weren’t in the room and can’t make decisions for himself. “N-No. I’m not going back with either of you-”

“Quit it, Jon.” Tim gingerly rises to his feet, shooting a tired look at his hunched form. “Nobody’s out to get you, you just need to get some fucking sleep and you’ll feel better. Now get up, or we’re leaving without you.” He clearly doesn’t mean it, because he pauses and waits for them in the doorway, watching as Martin bends down to offer his hand.

Jon’s hand automatically reaches out to grab his, but he stops himself. Maybe it’s his best shot- if it’s one of them, they may not make a move if the other one’s present. If it’s someone outside of their group, their odds are better for fighting them off. But if it’s Tim and Martin, well.

Jon takes his hand. because what other choice does he have? Only bad ones, it would seem. Martin helps him to his feet. “Are you sure you can walk? I can-”

“I’m fine.” If he’s going to die, he’d rather do it on his two feet and spare himself the indignity of holding onto his killer. He lets Martin keep a hand on his back, though- he can’t walk without it.

Every slow step is agony; he ignores Sasha smirk on the way out and eventually finds himself bundled in the backseat of Tim’s beat up silver sedan. He considers asking for the passenger seat as his nausea might get the best of him back here, but thinks better of it. Better to be back here and alone.

But then he isn’t alone, because Tim hesitates and moves to the back, wincing as he sits beside him. Why would he do that? What does he want? Jon wraps his arms around himself and scoots as far as he can to the side, trying to focus on Martin fiddling with the car and not the presence beside him. The radio blasts as soon as the engine roars to life and Jon flinches back, fingers burrowing deeper into his arms.

Martin begins to drive, not saying a word as he pulls out into traffic; he knows where they’re going, but Jon doesn’t. Tim must see his confusion.

“Were you not listening? We’re going back to mine.”

Jon casts his eyes to the floor. “I-I don’t want to-”

“Do you have unexpired food at your flat, Jon?” His face heats up- he’d been living on leftovers in the Archives, so that’s a no. “Will you actually rest if you go back on your own? Will you-” There’s a hand on Jon’s own, gentle but firm as Tim pulls it away from his arm and forces it down to the seat. “-stop picking.”

“Sorry,” he whispers, but Tim doesn’t let go, just holds his hand in his and leans his head against the window, staring out at the road. Jon doesn’t pull back, no matter how much he wants to. He just looks down, staring at the larger hand on his own and wonders how easy it would be for Tim to break it. Just one good, hard squeeze and a crush of bone but no, Tim just absentmindedly runs his thumb over Jon’s knuckles and somehow this hurts more.

They must make an odd couple, he and Tim bandaged like mummies staggering up the steps with Martin at the helm. He’s been here a few times and he has to fight against the instinctive ease he feels upon walking through the threshold. Martin’s talking and Tim’s barking out short answers, dropping his belongings as he limps towards the bedroom and makes a dismissive gesture at Martin. Jon feels strangely outside of his body, looking in on a bastardized scene of domesticity through a foggy haze of pain and unreality. With a start he comes back to himself, and suddenly he’s on Tim’s couch; time must have passed for he’s wrapped in a blanket with a steaming cup of tea in his hands and a lump in his throat. And he’s talking, watching as Martin fixes his bandage with a careful hand.

“...tapes are gone, Martin. Sasha said she lost them but I don’t understand-”

“Prentiss practically destroyed the Archives, Jon, I’m surprised more aren’t missing. Look, Tim’s already asleep, you should do the same-”

Sleep? How can I sleep when- “Someone killed Gertrude,” he whispers and his hands shake, tea dripping down the side of his mug and scalding his skin. “And they’re going to get me next. Can’t you see?”

Two hands wrap around his own- big, like Tim’s but softer and unscarred. Kind, but still capable. Of what, Jon doesn’t know. He lifts his eyes towards Martin and sees it- Martin’s scared too, doesn’t know what to do with Jon’s ramblings and doesn’t know how to comfort him or make it better.

“Drink your tea.” There’s an edge of hysteria in his voice, a naked plea that Jon finds unnerving. “And I’ll keep watch. You’ve- you’ve got us, Jon.” It’s so sincere.

Jon wants to believe it. “I do?”

“Yes.”

He drinks his tea and feels the fogginess from painkillers he doesn’t remember taking slip over him, quieting the voice in his head to a barely audible whisper. The pain’s gone but the memory of it doesn’t fade; he stifles a manic giggle as a childish tune pops into his head. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out!

His eyes drift shut as the cup is pried out of his grip, a gentle hand pushing him to lay down on the sofa. He hears the dull murmur of comforting words and a sniffle- he’s going to go to sleep soon, Martin will be the only one awake, and Jon doesn’t know what he’ll do or what he’s capable of. But he’s so, so tired. And he may not trust Martin, but he wants him to stay.

He wakes only once during the night to see the outline of Martin sitting in a chair, scribbling something in a notebook. It’s so innocuous he can’t help the tiny noise of relief that slips out of his mouth.

Martin doesn’t even look over, just quietly tells him to go back to sleep as if he’s hushed him a few times already. Maybe he has. The normalcy of it is like a peek into some universe he’s not yet privy to; Jon knows he shouldn’t trust the comfort of it. And yet.

He goes back to sleep.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28252950

#prompt fills #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #cw worms #panic attacks #general grossness that comes with worms #whump #angst #hurt/comfort #jon's paranoia coming in hot #Anonymous

141 notes · View notes

icecreamsundayonajulyafternoon · 3 years

Text

Alcina Dimitrescu/f reader

+some well meaning Chris

I also posted this on my ao3 account Homoeroticmicrowave as a part of my resident evil oneshots book the link to which is : https://archiveofourown.org/works/32351686/chapters/80202100

For context in this the reader works with Chris but got kidnapped by Alcina and ended up bonding with her

Anyway behold My dignified shit post:

Alcina tilted your head up by your chin with one of her claws with a gentle sort of care “I might just be enamoured by you my little maiden” her voice had a certain air to it as the power she carried held strong though the coldness it had been coddled by withered away.

“And I am just glad to have met someone as truly brilliant as you are you make my heart feel like it’s faltering” Alcina’s tensed muscles and rigid posture seemed to deflate as her claws retracted.

“My little human girl you truly are one of a kind you are too good for this world and it’s cruelty that it afflicts you with”

Her hands incased yours as she held them so lightly ”Stay with me” Alcina’s eyes steadily gazed into your own “I want you to stay with me in this castle forever with me. I want you to marry me and be mine and let me be yours”

You almost thought she was joking but Alcina Dimitrescu would never make such a joke and to claim that she had would be ludicrous it was simply not in her nature to be so brash with her humour. However, declarations received a treatment that was a far cry to how her delicate words of amusement were handled

“I can give you a life worthy of living for you. I’ll have you adorned in whatever clothes you would see fit to clad your body and express your beauty in all of its forms, I’ll have you living a luxurious life that would make a deity envious, your every desire would be fulfilled if you only ask and I promise you I will give you everything if only to see you relish the world you live in” there was a certain warmth to her tone that she never previously expressed to you.

”It’s a pitiful world full of devastation and tyranny and I will not have it harm you from hence forth”

You released one of your hands from her gentle grasp so that your hands could reach out

“You make me feel pink and small and like I’m fluttering like my feet could rise from the ground and I’d float in the air like some sort of silly, little cartoon character when they’re smitten by someone” you felt overheated and uncomfortable as you spoke but you continued

“I would stay with you whether or not you had riches to offer me. Castles and gowns and jewellery is all very lovely but it’s not what keeps me yearning. I want you Alcina, I want you and I want to spend every moment that I can with you” you smiled despite your inability to even glimpse her face. A coward you were and yet a lovesick fool you were all the same.

“I found a home with you Alcina.” Your eyes finally reunited with hers and as she looked at you, you had never felt more loved than in that moment. “Let me be your home too….let me marry you” the words caressed her heart and she moved your arms so that they fell around her neck and she lifted you up by your waist. “I treasure every moment I have with you my love” she whispered. “Let this world we’ll build last forever”

When you had a moment alone while getting ready you radioed into whatever members of your team were still alive and had their radios still working and on them “So I’m not gonna be able to go back with you guys but everything’s pretty good so uh yeah I don’t really know how to explain the predicament- no that’s too negative a word- situation- no, no this is not a situation that makes it sound like there’s some kind of situation- what I meant to say the events that preceded my current happenings can be perceived as a little odd however everything is fine, goodbye forever”

You threw your radio out of the window and into the snow and presumed it had broke. Chances were your teammates would not have heard your message but it was still polite to let them know you were alive and well and would simply just not be joining them on their way home or anything at all again ever because you were about to be married to a giant, homocidal lady. They could be angered by your supposed ‘disrespectful’ tone concerning how you address everyone and didn’t go over formalities but you were gifted with this thing known as manner which influenced your decision to inform them of your lack of presence on the return journey before hand.

You were just considerate like that.

You gushed over the dress you had been so graciously gifted. It truly was a work of art tailored just for you. Each detail of it was made with a passionate precision that had you gawking with glee as you admired every segment of material woven into the fabric.

It was a true marvel and you felt like a piece of artwork yourself that would be displayed with great care in an art museum. You looked like a glamorous painting that was created with such integral beauty that the expertise of the artist could not be measured by any title or prideful words.

A sense of pride ghosted your senses and you found your fingertips brushing the mirror with such a light touch that you couldn’t br sure your skin had made contact with the mirror at all. You were so subconsciously convinced what you were looking into was glazed with deceit and if you touched the mirror you would break the illusion of beauty and your true form of much lesser looks would be restored. But that didn’t happen and for a moment you could sympathise with narcissus as much like them you found yourself fawning over the being of beauty that you weren’t entirely sure was yourself.

You were truly a bride who’s beauty was beyond befitting of any title that could be bestowed upon you and you thought yourself to be belonging with angels of artwork, your place was dancing with the muses who were worth more than simple adoration and worship.

You weren’t a god but you were blessed by Aphrodite’s touch and you were sure simple folk could not help but be too mesmerised to experience jealousy at your envious appearance.

If it were a sin to be enraptured in revelling in your own appearance than you would relish the hellfire that rained down to scorch your flesh and soul. You’d paint such a pretty picture dancing in the misery of hell gifted by sins. Lucifer had treated you well and you thanked them for gracing you with what God couldn’t.

Alcina’s voice rang out like a dove from behind the door and lulled you away from the mirror your attention had been stolen by. “Perhaps you could be so gracious as to adorn me with your presence”

You turned to face the direction of her voice “of course anytime my love” you said earnestly.

“I won’t look at you now nor do I want you to see me just yet but I couldn’t help but to speak to you just for a moment beforehand…I want it to be special my dear and I won’t want for it to be any less special than either of us want for it to be because you deserve everything you want and yet lover I find myself needing to be selfish and needing to hear your voice”

”Alcina it’s okay” you couldn’t help but to let a giggle escape you “I can’t help but feel nervous to see you and yet I can’t wait to I love you and tonight is special because it’s our night it’s special because it marks the first day I get to be with you forever”

You head Alcina let out a small laugh tainted by an agitating anxiousness. “So do I”

You felt breathless as you stepped out into the night. Donna your apparent personal seamstress and now flower girl guided you to where it would take place.

Alcina stared as though she had witnessed something that couldn’t be explained by any science or rationality. While she herself was a sight to take in when she saw you she felt as though her childhood dreams were coming true as you seemed mythical.

When your eyes met her you felt like you were falling and you didn’t want to stop. Not for a moment. She was gorgeous. A wedding dress perfectly fit for her graced her elegant features. She looked ethereal and you wanted to reach out to touch her. Each step you took seemed so slow. Far too slow for your liking. You wanted to be in her arms and soon.

When you did finally meet her while tradition forbid you to kiss her just yet you at least reached out to hold her hands. Your eyes glistened with joy all of the love you had barely fit in your body as it threatened to burst out of you in bounds of laughter and tears. You felt so much and you wanted to feel like that forever. You wanted for this moment to last forever. You wanted to be held by her forever.

Your hair seemed so gorgeous and lustrous in the glowing moonlight. Fairy lights decorated the trees surrounding you and fireflies twirled in the breeze. To think you would see such beauty and wonder in what had once been a placed that had brought you such terror and havoc.

Alcina held you tenderly as though she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. She wouldn’t be isolated in that feeling as you were swarmed by disbelief, you didn’t shun all of the conflicting emotions you were feeling. Not for a moment. You welcomed them and you couldn’t help but tingle with the relief of any negative thoughts or surprise being overwhelmed with ecstatic delight. You had thought of marriage in the general sense before when considering where the events of your life might lead you and while it wasn’t conventional not anything close to what you could have ever expected you would gladly spend the rest of your days residing in Dimitrescu castle with Alcina. She really was one marvellous woman.

You had insisted on certain songs being played at your wedding from fun songs you had once joked about being played at your wedding to irresistibly romantic guilty pleasures that you would have been teased mercilessly for an infinite amount of times had you ever admitted you would want played. But that was in another lifetime and while Alcina may not always understand certain aspects of your interests she was always glad to watch you indulge in them.

You two danced, chests pounding with a romantic joy you had never thought existed in the way you felt it. As your arms wrapped around her neck as she lifted you up you couldn’t help but think how a much younger version of yourself would feel giddy at knowing how in love you were. Though knowing your child self the word ‘gross’ would also most likely make an appearance as the topic of love.

You admired every detail of her face and when you kissed her you thought about how you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with her. However long you had would be amazing as long as it was spent by your side whether it be one day or one hundred years you wanted to spend it all with her. You had been bewitched by her and you couldn’t be happier.

Then your moment was interrupted by the sounds of gunfire. Violence and stubborn hatred truly had a way of ruining even the most kindest and beautiful of moments.

Alcina scooped you up and ran, throwing you over her shoulder and quickly moving so that you may escape the presence of aggression and be safe in the sanctuary she made for you.

Over her shoulder you saw Chris running, bullets blazing as he ran with a determined rage. You thought he would have been long gone by now. You had convinced Alcina to give up her part in aiding Miranda’s plan. Surely you could convince her to let these people leaves unscathed.

You moved in front of Alcina, attempting to quell her anger and bitter bloodlust with promises of trust and hope. You begged her to at least let you try to form some kind of truce so that you would not have to live knowing people you cared about destroyed each other. Hesitantly she let you go. Though her reluctance was apparent and she looked so eager to snatch you up and lock you far from those who put your life at risk.

You left the castle and approached the direction you were adamant Chris and probably his team would soon be.

Geez he really went to the effort to risk his life searching for your and stealing you back with him all so he could lecture you on your lack of formality and far too casual tone when you had radioed in as well as your blatant disrespect, poor execution of the mission and your inconsideration of the expense of the property you had been given. Sounds about right. It was a mistake to attempt some kind of means of communication really. And now look what happened your wedding was ruined.

You raised your hands up to show you meant no harm when Chris and found and approached you.

There was a moment between Chris properly processing you were there and him first catching sight of you where it felt like everything had been put on pause. He eyed you suspiciously as though you were some sort of distraction, a part of a malicious scheme Alcina had made in order to proficiently destroy any hope of Chris’s rescue attempt and mission succeeding.

”Hey” you waved awkwardly in a hopeless attempt to break through the immense pressure and tension of the situation “nice to see you’re still alive and stuff that’s cool” your voice rang out through the silence. “I’m alive too which is fun looks like we have that in common”at that point you were just throwing dumb words at him in a blatant attempt to get him to respond in a way that wouldn’t suck.

Chris grabbed you and pulled you into a vice-like hug. You felt him lift you up “It’s good to see you….Where is that thing? What did that bitch do to you?” He seethed.

”Nothing she actually had a pretty good sense of hospitality-did you come here on your own without anyone-“

He had you back on the ground but his grasp never left you as he shifted his grip so that he now had a steady hold on your shoulders. “This isn’t the time to act like nothings wrong if you’re injured or you’ve been drugged with something you need to tell me” his hold on you was just as secure as it was when he hugged you even if he no longer had you squished against him.

“I’ve not been hurt really I’m not lying to you Chris” you looked him in the eyes and tried to communicate with your facial expressions that you were telling the truth.

Chris sighed slightly but nodded “good, we need to leave we can continue this conversation when we’re safe-“

You put a hand on his chest to put some distance between you both “look Chris I’m- I’m not leaving. I’m staying here” Chris looked a mixture of perplexed and horrified.

He stepped closer to you so he was practically leering over you “what are you talking about! We’re going. Now.”

“No Chris I’m not. I love Alcina and I’m not leaving her. I won’t. You can leave I’ll make sure she won’t come after you just as I made sure she no longer interfered with Ethan finding Rose but I won’t go with you”You stared defiantly at him as you stood as tall as you could despite him towering over you.

”Alcina? Is that what that bitch got you to call her!You think you love that thing! Jesus Christ what did she do to you!” Chris looked disgusted at your words.

“Hey man I don’t ruin your weddings do I the least you could do is let me go back to her-“ Chris held your arm tightly preventing you from leaving as he radioed into someone.

”I’ve acquired S/n. Clearly they’re under some kind of influence- they must have been brainwashed or put in some form of hypnotic state!” Chris hypothesised to the person on the other end of the radio upon your immediate reluctance to leave. The moment you suggested you had no interest in leaving he stopped talking directly to you. “We’ll meet you there soon we’ll need a medic and possibly some means of restraint for them” he tucked the radio back into his pocket and turned his attention back on you.

“I’m all here I’m just genuinely okay to stay here” you implored him to recognise that you were in fact all there.

Chris ignored your attempts to defend your sanity and slung you over you shoulder. “Fuck are you doing!” You yelped at his sudden action.

“I don’t know what that freak did to you but I won’t let you suffer! I won’t leave you in this hell hole! We can fix this I promise!” He seemed so genuinely concerned and you understood why but you just needed him to listen. You knew how ugly this was going to end up if he didn’t.

”Stop calling her that! You know nothing of her! There’s nothing to fix! She’s been nothing but kind to me! Please just put me down and leave!” Your pleads were wasted as he stopped responding to you.

Panicking you thrashed in his stone like grip even going so far as to try to bite and scratch him. He grunted in response to your little attack and repositioned you so that you couldn’t easily hurt him and if you did you wouldn’t do much damage.

Your fears were ignited when you heard Alcina’s voice rampaging through the wind. Chris cursed and you began begging you to put him down and leave you. Unfortunately, he interpreted your words as an attempt to sacrifice yourself for his sake, which he refused to go along with.

He didn’t let go of you as he began running and quickly grabbing a gun which he fired at Alcina with a precision you wish he lacked. You started screaming begging for them not to fight but your words crumbled as your weeping shouts were overpowered by the insatiable violence that inevitably occurred due to both parties refusal to attempt any form of reason.

While you understood the motivation both of them had and if you heard one perspective by itself you could easily side with it if the other one remained unknown to you.

Chris set you down by a tree after tying you to it. You blubbered through your messy tears that he needed to stop and listen to you for just a moment. You were desperate for them to stop before it was too late but just as always you were ignored as Chris left you to fight Alcina.

Your thoughts flurried as paranoia and fear truly sunk in and you were sure one or both of them would die. As you were sure you would lose everything to the cruelty of bloodshed. Time seemed to drag on and you struggled to release yourself from the rope that held you securely. You were so sure that one of them were dead as horrific sounds seeped into the cold night air.

Your fears proved true when you heard Alcina’s screams rattle throughout the air. Your breath hitched. What just happened-

Your head snapped at the sound of footsteps and your whole body felt like it was burning as you saw Chris’s weathered face.

He untied you and lifted you up into his arms that seemed to tremble ever so slightly. “What-what just” you could barely get the words out of your mouth. It couldn’t have possibly meant what-no there had to be some other explanation. Any other explanation.

”She won’t hurt you anymore” with those words you fell a part.

Chris remained silent as you sobbed. He just kept walking. He was sure you were just experiencing some kind of false mourning as the result of whatever Alcina had done to you. And yet guilt threatened to creep at the doubt that teased the back of his mind. He held back his thoughts and focused on getting you home.

#lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x y/n #lady dimitrescu resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil #biohazard #chris redfield #alcina dimitrescu #lgbt girl #resident evil fanfic #angst #wlw #lgbtqia

40 notes · View notes