i just want to give a switch an aphrodesiac and see who they become as they pound into me. a sub who needs to chase that high or a domme needing to put me in my place.
CISHET MEN, MINORS, AGELESS + FEEDERS/GAINERS GO SOMEWHERE ELSE
(CW for dub con, blackmail, aphrodesiacs, threats, ect ect. Here’s a thing that I wrote for Hammerlock for an RP if anyone’s interested 👀 I won’t rlly provide context unless asked, but if you like some juicy juicy size difference smut here you go! Forgive the formatting cause it was done for discord lolol)
"I... Agree." It felt - so hard to get that out. But he saw - saw no other option. He didn't. Know-
“Come now, Hammer dear." Diamondback's voice was sickly sweet, the exact tone that made Hammerlock want to *run*. "You would do this for me, yes? You wouldn't back out on our bargain, would you?"
Hammerlock shivered. He wanted to back out. Wanted to more than anything. He barely came up to Slugshot's waist. It didn't matter that Windjumper - barely a few inches taller than Hammerlock - took Slugshot's spike on the regular. No matter how much Windjumper had reassured him back in the transport that Slugshot always took time to be careful. None of that *mattered*. After he’d seen the two of them interface in the transport, witnessed how lost Windjumper got within Slugshot’s clutches - saw how he’d taken that enormous corkscrew spike until his abdominal plating had bulged -
(And Hammerlock had watched it and felt sick. His spark had been in his throat. His interface equipment had *throbbed*, and it had been all he could do to keep himself in check. He’d never thought he could be aroused by such a thing, never thought-)
Diamondback’s lips curled, revealing sharp fangs that Hammerlock knew dripped with venom. A similar venom that Slugshot’s saliva carried - paralytic… and aphrodisiac. He hated how he trembled when the beastformer reached out with a clawed servo and skirted his digits along the underside of Hammerlock’s jaw, tilting his helm up, forcing him to meet the beastformer’s eyes.
*Hated it-*
“Would you, Hammerlock?” Diamondback prompted again. He was losing patience, poisonous green optics narrowed to slits.
“... No, boss.” Hammerlock finally replied, voice strained, but even.
“Good.” Diamondback gave his helm an appreciative stroke, and it took all Hammerlock had not to shiver in disgust. “Kneel, then.”
He took a step back.
Hammerlock sunk to his knees.
His awareness seemed to ficker. Suddenly he felt a presence above him, large and radiating heat. Hammerlock’s frame locked tight, and it was like he couldn’t vent. Panic surged, his spark pulsing a frightened, erratic rhythm - and something thick, wet, and glowing a bright purple dripped down onto his chest.
Hammer ceased venting all together.
The liquid seemed to *burn*. From that point of contact, a heat seemed to spread throughout his entire frame, causing his limbs to weaken gradually - until they lost strength altogether, and he swayed forwards, servos barely catching his fall - barely holding his weight for all of five seconds, before they gave out all together, and he landed on his front with a whoosh of air escaping his vents.
Static filled his audials. He thought he heard Windjumper’s voice, but couldn’t make out the words. He wanted to snap at the other ‘copter, tell him to leave him be lest Diamondback grow suspicious but - but his mouth couldn’t form the words he wanted to say. His vision was hazy. All he could make out before him were the tapered black claws that made up Diamondback’s pedes, and a tail that curled absently behind him in a way that indicated amusement.
He felt so hot. He couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t think. His HUD was flashing warnings that he couldn’t decipher. Something large wrapped around his waist, and lifted him with no effort whatsoever, and a punched out noise escaped his vocaliser when something *hot* and *wet* and *thick* laped over his closed interface panels - causing chills to spread across his frame, causing the heat to grow - causing his panel to snap open without a command.
*Slugshot’s glossa,* he thought blankly, mouth falling open. He remembered watching it, on the transport. Watching as it had licked over Windjumper and stretched his valve right open with so much ease. That - that was what he felt lap over his valve, hot and wet and *so much, too much*-
Hammerlock had always had an over-sensitive valve. So sensitive that he had barely had to touch it before he was overloading, back when he first discovered the joys of self servicing. He had brought himself to many a satisfying end, thinking about Windjumper’s brother Strikecloud, imaging all sorts of devious, pleasurable things that mech could do to him. Childish imaginations from a childish mech who had yet to discover the true cruelties of the world, who had yet to realise that a silly, unrequited crush was far from the worst thing to experience.
(~~Oh how Hammerlock wished for those days, when things were so so simple, and he had a family and friends and people he could rely on and trust.~~)
The overload took him by surprise. Barely a lick or two - he’d been so built up since the transport, had been trying so hard to ignore how pent up he was, *how wet he was* - that swipe of Slugshot’s glossa was all it took for his limbs to seize and white-hot pleasure to sweep through his frame, causing his processor to go utterly blank. A noise escaped him - a strangled keen - and Slugshot *didn’t stop*.
That tongue - that hateful, *glorious tongue* simply lapped up the spill of lubricant his release had created, curling up between his thighs, across sparking, glowing nodes. He spat static, sensitive to the point of pain, but he couldn’t struggle, couldn’t move, couldn’t even lift his damn helm -
And then that tongue was prodding at his valve lips, and *pushing in*.
Hammerlock’s mouth fell open, optic fritzing. He’d seen the size of that glossa. He knew how big it was. For it to simply push in - with no pain, no resistance, only a pleasure so intense it confused his sensornet, had the charge hiking so high it pushed him head long into another mind wiping overload. His valve clenched down, calipers rippling around the glossa, trying to draw it in deeper - and Slugshot acquiesced. That glossa pushed in deeper and deeper and *deeper*, gliding over his ceiling node, brushing over the spiraled closed entrance of his gestation chamber, and it was so much - *too much* - he couldn’t handle it-
There were servos cupping his helm. Hammerlock couldn’t focus - his vision swam with a blur of colours and pixels, and it took too long for it to register that the mech hovering before him was *Windjumper*.
He was talking. Saying something that hammerlock couldn’t even begin to understand. His spark sank, and he wanted to tell him to go away - to let go, because Diamondback shouldn’t see that Windjumper obviously cared for him, but he couldnt - couldn’t focus -
He saw Dimanondback shift behind Windjumper. He was carrying something - a familiar object that had the energon go cold within Hammerlock’s lines. The blinking red light indicated the camera was recording, Diamondback eager to get yet more blackmail material on his second in command, to stash away in his person library - and Hammerlock felt like he was choking-
“Focus on me.” Windjumper’s voice, finally heard over the static in his audials. The other ‘copter raised his helm, forcing their optics to meet, and Hammerlock couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Windjumper was smiling - sad, tired, he knew without Hammer having to tell him that he was just as trapped in this situation as he and Slugshot were and - that no matter what, they were now in this together.
They were strong. They would endure.
Eventually, they would be *free*.
(~~And Hammerlock was going to see Diamondback dead with his own bare servos.~~)
The tongue withdrew, and Hammerlock had never felt so empty. He ached, deep down to his very struts, to be filled once more. His valve felt so cold, so empty, it clenched down on nothing, and he was unaware of the whine that escaped him. But Windjumper hushed him. Fingers wiped at his wet cheeks - Hammerlock hadn’t realised he was crying. It was just - all so much, too much, he almost begged - would have, maybe, if he’d had control of his glossa. He couldn’t even control his own drooling.
(He knew that the moment Slugshot spiked him, there was a very high chance that he could become sparked, even without the spark sharing. This was what Slugshot had been created for - to be the ultimate breeding mech, and Hammerlock was so afraid, *but so desperate for it-*)
And there it was. Finally. A point of heat, sliding over his throbbing valve lips. Hammerlock had no warning before it was pressing *inside*, thin and tapered but then - it just got thicker. And thicker. And *thicker* and Hammerlock’s mouth fell open in a choking, overwhelmed cry as he was suddenly stretched out more than he ever had been before. The spike rubbed over inner nodes that had never been touched. It scraped insistently, consistently against his ceiling node. More kept pushing in, stretching his valve so much wider, beyond capacity-
And then he was moving.
Hammerlock was lost. Lost in a storm of sensation of too much - too much pleasure, too much stretch, too much charge, too much *everything*. Slugshot had both servos wrapped around him, using him as a living frag toy-
*It was too much-*
Hammerlock overloaded, and was thrown into a hard reboot.
The purpose of this recipe is to enhance someones passions. There may be consequences of and, that is part of using this. It has also been known to increase fertility, even though that is not it’s primary purpose, so user beware.
1 bottle dry red wine (A Burgundy is best)
8 g. ginger, freshly crushed
1 cinnamon stick
10 grains of paradise, freshly ground
10 black peppercorns, freshly ground
5 cloves, whole
2 coriander seeds, crushed
1 3/4 c. sugar
Non-aluminum saucepan or slow cooker
Cheesecloth or muslin bag.
Add wine to a non-aluminum saucepan or slow cooker. Bring to a simmer, keeping it on medium-low. Arrange your spices in the cheesecloth or muslin bag and cinch tightly. Place the bundle of spices into the wine, cover and simmer for three hours. Remove the cheesecloth and serve or consume warm.
Summary: Rose has her work cut out for her as she struggles with the threat of killer cherubs and the advances of a love-sick Doctor.
Notes: Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!
What follows is a heap of fluff, a scoop of drama, topped off with a dollop of angst!
Hope you enjoy!
For @caedmonfaith, who has told me this one of her favourite stories of mine. ((((hugs)))) darling.
Also read at AO3
The Cupid’s Arrow (Revised Edition): Chapter 2
Several of the customers were already seriously wounded. Rose frantically attempted to track the cherubs flitting around, looking positively… angelic as they hurled deadly darts at the hysterical clientele of The Cupid’s Arrow. The restaurant, it seemed, was living up to its name.
“How are they getting’ through the forcefield? Doctor? How?” Rose desperately clung to her mind’s remnants of calm and rationality, but between the killer cherubs and the love-sick Doctor, it was frankly, a bit of a challenge.
“No forcefield can keep me from you, my love…”
“Oh, it’s one way, isn’t it? Like one-way glass. The robot was able to deliver our food, and the cherubs’ arrows can get through, too!” She grinned at her revelation.
“Oh, Rose, always thinking. Fantastic, you are! You and your brilliant mind!”
“Doctor, I need you to concentrate, please!” She glanced through the confetti once more and saw that Zoorgraps was darting maniacally around, eagerly watching the progress of the cherubs, egging them on in his shrill, piping voice, seemingly controlling them from his touchscreen device. “Zoorgraps,” she shouted, “please stop this! This is wrong. Please, listen to me!”
The purple-skinned alien turned his thin face toward her, madness flashing in his eyes. “See! Look at your booooyfriend,” he wheezed at Rose. “And you said you weren’t in love. Everyone who comes here is in love. You cannot deny it! But who loves Zoorgraps? No one! No one will ever be right for me. And you lot deny your love; complain about how complicated love is, when it’s so easy for you. After tonight, though, after tonight you’ll never complain again…”
Rose quickly determined that the Maître-d’ was not only controlling the cherubs but was also most likely responsible for tampering with the Doctor’s drink. She was just fortunate she hadn’t taken a sip of her own beverage: one of the two of them needed to be able to concentrate on stopping the massacre that was developing around them, and the Doctor, it seemed, was currently incapable of rational thought. She tried to keep her mind focussed as he pressed kisses up the inside of her arm. “Oh for the love of…” she muttered to herself.
“Love, Rose? Did you say you love me too?” the Doctor crooned.
Zoorgraps’ hysterical voice fluted up from below. “You will die along with all the rest of the lovers. You are nothing… undeserving of love! So unwilling to accept what is right in front of you, when it is so simple just to reach out and take it.” With that he adjusted the cherubs’ course towards Rose and the Doctor.
Rose, very aware of the danger that she and the Doctor were facing, strived to reason with the insane, violet alien. “Zoorgraps, there is someone out there for everyone. Really, there is. You just have to find the right person for you. It’ll happen. This isn’t helping anyone. Listen to me! Please stop!” She glanced up to see a cherub flying directly for their table. “Doctor! Duck!” As the cherub took aim, Rose flung her arms around the Doctor’s neck, pulling him to one side. She felt the breeze of the arrow as it passed over her right shoulder: too close by half!
“Oh, Rose! You’re such an enthusiastic lover! I can hardly wait either. I just want to get my hands on your, might I say, very lovely–”
“Doctor,” Rose whispered urgently in his ear, “your screwdriver!”
“You naughty little minx, you! I like the way you think.”
Out of sheer desperation, Rose decided to humour the Doctor and schooled her voice to a provocative tone. “Doctor, I know what you want,” she sighed. “I want it too, yeah.”
“Oh, yeah!”
The love-struck expression on his face told Rose that reasoning logically with him would be challenging, but she was determined to get through to him. “But we need to get out of here first: then we can head back to the TARDIS.”
He leered at her. “Yes, the TARDIS! Against the console, Rose. I’ve always pictured you–”
“Doctor!” She shoved him to one side again, as another arrow missed them by mere inches. She collected her scrambled thoughts before she spoke to the Time Lord again. “Doctor, Zoorgraps won’t bring our table down.” She forced her voice to tones of heavy sensuality, as much as she could, considering the panic that was threatening to overwhelm her. “Maybe you could… I dunno… override his controls with your screwdriver… get us down. And then…” She coaxed her mouth into a lascivious smile, deliberately allowing her tongue to poke through her teeth at the corner of her mouth: she was sure that drove him crazy even when he was sober.
His eyes immediately sought her lips (success!) “A plan, love! Well done! Fantastic!”
“Well, get on with it then!” she spluttered as a cherub spun around to aim at them from below.
“Patience, love.” He pulled out his sonic, wrapping his arm around Rose as he aimed it at the menu panel.
“Doctor! Hurry! God, if only the forcefield worked the other way ‘round, so that the arrows couldn’t hit us.”
“Oh, but that’s too easy, Rose! Genius, that I am, I could do that before you could say Raxacoricofallapatorius,” the Doctor boasted.
“Blimey, we don’t have that long! But, impress me, Doctor. Go on, then.”
The screwdriver activated. “Done!” the Doctor announced.
Rose sighed in relief. “But now we could fall. Am I right?”
“Yup. Now about that plan for getting back to the TARDIS: yes, Rose, against the console; specifically, you naked against the console.”
“A bit cold for that, don’t you think, Doctor,” Rose squeaked.
“You could wear my jacket, love. I’m a gentleman: I’d lend you my jacket.”
Screams from the rest of the restaurant diverted Rose’s attention from the amorous Time Lord. “They’re attacking everyone! Can’t we help them?”
“Only if we get down there,” he pointed to Zoorgraps, “and get a hold of that controller of his.”
“Well? What are we waiting for?” Rose yelped, hoping the Doctor was showing a glimmer of returning to a state common sense. “Let’s go!”
“Rose, what about us? The TARDIS? Naked?” Rose felt her hopes plunging to the floor where Zoorgraps stomped around hysterically.
“Well, we need to get down there, yeah! Save the day! And then, Doctor, we can celebrate…” She licked her lips enticingly, and fluttered her lashes.
“Eh, they can look after themselves. I think our needs are more important than these… strangers.” He waved his hand dismissively at the panicked people around them.
Rose rolled her eyes, her exasperation at the single-minded alien peaking, and devised some desperate measures she felt might charm him to take appropriate action: “Doctor,” she hummed his name, placing a warm hand between his hearts. “God, it turns me on when you take charge: when you act so brave and bring villains to justice! You are so fit. Fit and manly... and just, well… hot!” She cringed in horror at her words. Not because she didn’t mean them: just the opposite. But, the real truth was that he would be terribly embarrassed when the potion wore off, and he would think she was having him on, when really… Not that she would actually say that kind of thing out loud (on a normal day,) but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel it, fantasize about it, hope that… just, not like this, with him affected by an aphrodisiac.
“Well, what are we waiting for then, Rose Tyler? Prepare to be turned on!” He adjusted the settings on his sonic and pointed it at the touch screen again. “Going down, love. Now, when we get to the bottom, the forcefield should deactivate automatically, leaving us open to attack. Take shelter! I will protect you!”
“Got it,” she acknowledged, making a solemn vow to herself to disregard his instructions completely. As if she would hide somewhere like some coward while he put his life on the line. “Let’s go!” she urged.
The blue light flashed and Rose heard the screwdriver buzz next to her ear. The table lurched a little and began its descent. Rose kept her eyes on Zoorgraps, ready to take action the second the table landed and the forcefield deactivated. “Doctor,” Rose inquired, “what species is Zoorgraps? Never seen one of them before.”
“That’s what I love about you, Rose. Always thinking. Nothing gets my hearts thumping like a great mind. Ah, and you’re gorgeous, too! A perfect package… The things I want to do to you, Rose, when we get back–”
“His species, Doctor?”
“I was rather surprised to see him here, actually. They hardly ever leave their planet, the Spredifriat-mwooguds. It’s really unusual.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Well, I was starting to tell you about them earlier, and while I’d love to impress you with my extensive knowledge–”
“Oh, I love to hear you speakin’ all intelligent-like and sciencey. God, Doctor, just thinkin’ about listenin’ to your voice makes me all…” She bravely reached out and stroked his cheek, pulling herself closer to him. “Tell me,” she commanded in a whisper that brushed his parted lips.
“Blimey, I was starting to tell you about them earlier, but you must have distracted me with your sexy–”
“Gah! Doctor, we’re already half way down! Jus’ the facts, yeah.”
“Your wish is my command, Miss Tyler!”
“Get on with it, then, yeah! Before we land!”
“Ahhhh, Rose the dominatrix! So strong and forceful! My fantasy girl!” He rumbled, “Maybe the TARDIS can find you a nice, tight, leather–”
“Oh, my God! Doctor, we’ll be landin’ any second! Quick, tell me about the Spredy-moomoo-whatsits. Jus’ the basics.”
“Not your basic species, Rose. Their mating practices are extremely complicated.” The Doctor began a discourse with no apparent sense of urgency. “Five bonded individuals, of five different genders. Just imagine! And each of them must contribute genetic material in order to produce offspring. The ultra-female is the ultimate host to the offspring, but they go through different larval forms, carried by the primary and secondary females, both of whom receive genetic material from the primary male, before the larvae are transferred to their incubation pouches. The females provide their combined genetic material once the larva has attached itself to her. The ultra-male contributes genetic material only to the ultra-female, but all five must be present and working together through each sexual act. The love they all feel for one another is very strong.”
Rose squinted at the Doctor as she rapidly tried to absorb the information he was throwing at her. “But…”
“Oh, it’s very complicated, Rose. Each member of the bond has a different role in each stage of genetic transfer, but each one must be present every time. Beyond that, very little is known: very mysterious the Spredifriat-mwooguds are! They hardly ever leave their planet, because it’s just so difficult to find compatible bond-mates. It is very odd to find one on its own. And they’re usually so peaceable… with four other partners you have to be. This one is plain bonkers!”
“Poor Zoorgraps! We have to help him, Doctor, yeah? Bein’ alone must be makin’ him go completely spare,” Rose sympathized. As the table landed and the forcefield dissipated, her eyes shot to Zoorgraps whose face was flushed with indigo blotches, his green eyes wild as he furiously tapped in commands for the cherubs. Screams from the customers rang through the air with each shot, somewhat moderating Rose’s compassionate sentiments toward the mad alien, and urging her to action. “We need to get a hold of that touch screen of his!”
“Keep behind the table, Rose,” the Doctor responded curtly, pushing her down to conceal her presence from the maniacal Maître-d’. At the tone of his command, her gaze snapped to his. The look in his eyes told her he had overcome the worst of the effects of the aphrodisiac. This was the real Doctor, her Doctor, who was trying to keep her safe. He strode toward Zoorgraps, bristling with authority, screwdriver brandished like a weapon.
Rose’s eyes roved the restaurant and she realized all the cherubs were now trained on the Doctor, closing fast from all directions. “Doctor! Look out!” she yelped, leaping up from her place of safety to go to his aid.
“Stay where you are, Rose!”
She froze, but found herself muttering under her breath, “Not bloody likely.” How could he expect her to stay hidden when she could be out there helping him; helping the people panicking all around her. Rose moved out from behind the table stealthily, keeping an eye on the cherubs.
“Look, Zoorgraps, you don’t have to do this. I can help,” the Doctor spoke in a firm, quiet voice. With a nonchalance only he could master, he responded to an incoming arrow with a casual flick of the sonic screwdriver. The arrow zinged harmlessly out of the air. Followed by another. The Doctor smiled self-assuredly. “Is that all you’ve got then, Zoorgraps? Little arrows shot by little naked angels?” Zoorgraps’ mouth worked silently in frustration and he rapidly tapped additional commands into his controller, sending more arrows flying at the Doctor.
Rose having stolen a quick glance at the Doctor, and having seen that, for now, he was dispatching the threat of Zoorgraps’ arrows with ease, turned her attention to the frantic people around her. With the arrows all now aimed at one target, the customers and staff who had been at ground level were wasting no time in using the reprieve to their benefit and were beginning to race from the restaurant, assisting others or dragging injured companions with them.
Rose rushed to the side of a man who was desperately trying to haul his unconscious partner, who had an arrow protruding from his shoulder, toward the door. “C’mon, mate,” she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, “lemme help, yeah.”
The man nodded, eagerly accepting her aid. Together they lifted the injured man and took him outside. “You’re safe now, I think. Make sure you apply pressure to that wound. And don’t move him again until proper help comes,” Rose instructed, turning to run back to the centre of the conflict.
As she reached the doorway, Rose had to fight her way past the people struggling to get out. Several minutes had passed since the Doctor had tried to engage Zoorgraps, and a quick glance told her that the Maître-d’ still had possession of the control pad. Rose quickly ushered the rest of the frightened customers out, offering reassurances where she could. The customers high in the air at their tables were still trapped, though, and she knew many of them were injured as Zoorgraps had concentrated most of his initial attack at those who had been helplessly confined to the floating platforms. Their broken whimpers and pleas for aid interrupted the now relative stillness of the room. She needed to get that pad!
The Doctor was occupying Zoorgraps’ full attention, and Rose was able to slip past the two combatants, behind the last, straggling customers leaving the building. The cries of the injured people above her, and the zing of deflected arrows muffled any noise she made. Sneaking up behind a display cabinet, she peered out, ready to pounce at the tall, thin Maître-d’. Watching for an opportunity to attack, and observing the Doctor’s movements, Rose noticed the Doctor was attempting to target the control pad with his sonic between attacks. It seemed that getting a hold of the pad was not, in fact, imperative: just distracting Zoorgraps might be enough. She heaved a sigh of relief. Looking at the sheer size of her target in comparison to herself, she didn’t think she would be very successful in any attempt, however unexpected, to overpower the big, wiry alien.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the cabinet. The Doctor’s eyes, widening in terror, locked on hers. “Rose, no!”
She ignored him. “Zoorgraps,” she struggled to maintain a steady voice, “please, listen to the Doctor. He can help. We can help. ‘S what we do.”
The alien wheeled around, his eyes sparking with madness, face contorted with fury. He pounced toward Rose, towering over her, and she shrank back in alarm. He hissed at her, “You can’t help me! No one can. I am alone.”
“We could take you home… back to… back to your family. Back home. You don’t have to be alone.”
In a chilling response to her entreaty, he smirked at her, his fingers flying across the control pad. Suddenly one of the cherubs was veering toward her, its deadly dart poised to fly. “Now we shall see how easily your heart can be broken,” Zoorgraps sneered in a demented wheeze.
She stood frozen to the spot, barely able to breathe, eyes fixed on the arrow that was aimed directly for her heart. Briefly, her eyes flitted to the Doctor’s and took in his agonized expression, as he countered the attacks of the other cherubs but still managed to hold her gaze.
Zoorgraps didn’t miss the exchange. He cackled, addressing the Doctor, “Your heart will be broken, too, if this one dies! Not in love? We shall see.”
“No, I don’t think we shall,” the Doctor intoned dispassionately.
The arrow flew. Rose’s instincts screamed at her to move, to dive to one side, to get the hell out of there. But she was in a stupor, her body immobilized with terror, despair, disbelief. Everything seemed to slow down around her, and all she could make sense of was the dart hurtling toward her heart, and the anguish on the Doctor’s face.
I wouldn’t have missed it for the world…
The arrow never struck. It veered harmlessly away, clattering to the floor, the sharp sound instantly rousing her from her trance. In horror, she realized the Doctor had deflected the arrow trained at her, leaving himself open to direct attack. She watched helplessly as he lunged to one side, dodging the arrows and thrusting the sonic screwdriver over the floor toward her. A shriek ripped from her throat as she dove face first, past Zoorgraps’ feet, to snatch the device as it skittered towards her. Feeling the comforting weight of it in her hands, she rolled onto her back and aimed it up at the underside of the control pad, and activated it.
Everything went quiet, the air still and tense. The holographic cherubs fizzled from existence, the clatter of the little silver arrows on the floor the only sound in the hushed room.
It seemed like an eternity before Rose remembered to breathe, scrabbling desperately on hands and knees to where the Doctor knelt on the ground. “God, Doctor, you okay?” she inquired, voice low, but urgent. Worry consuming her, she began inspecting the Doctor’s back, convinced she’d find arrows protruding from him like porcupine quills. There was only one, embedded in the sole of his shoe, directly below his heel.
He yanked it out, and handed it to her. “There you go, Rose,” he ground out, “a souvenir.” He sprang to his feet, Rose scrambling up beside him, pointedly leaving the arrow behind.
Suddenly a strange keening noise filled the air. Rose turned toward the sound: Zoorgraps crumpled into a heap on the ground, wailing. With a reassuring touch to the Doctor’s arm, she stepped forward, and tentatively crouched down beside the distraught Maître-d’. “Hey… shhhh. It’s all over, yeah.” She tugged the control pad out of the alien’s limp fingers and passed it to the Doctor, who immediately activated the pad to bring the stranded customers to safety.
“You be careful,” the Doctor’s gruff voice cautioned her. She nodded at him mutely, as he turned away and stalked off to help the victims disembark from their tables.
As medics finally arrived to take care of the injured patrons, Rose turned her attention back to the distraught Zoorgraps. “We’ll get you home; get you back to your family. The Doctor can be very persuasive when it comes to dealin’ with the law…”
“I can’t go back! Never! There’s nothing left for me there,” he bemoaned in his fluting voice, now quivering with distress.
Rose comforted him as best she could. She placed an arm around his shoulders, causing him to shrink away from her touch. Despite his initial reaction, he didn’t specifically tell her to stop, so she persevered, and eventually he relaxed into her arms.
“I should not feel comfort from this… it is wrong…”
“Why?”
“You are not family… only family are permitted to touch so intimately.”
Rose immediately withdrew. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know… didn’t mean…”
“No… thank-you, Miss Rose. You are kind, and you have made me feel more like myself than I have done for several years now.”
She smiled cheerlessly at him, “Glad I could help.” They sat together, just talking, for several long minutes more.
“Rose,” the Doctor approached, speaking quietly, “the police are here.”
Zoorgraps rose to his full height, seeming to unfold before Rose’s eyes, and with quiet dignity, submitted himself to the authorities.
--oOo--
“Can’t we help him? He’s so lonely.” Rose trotted after the Doctor as he strode through the showers of rose petals back to the TARDIS.
“Rose, he’s just lucky nobody got killed today,” the Doctor reproved impatiently.
“He’s lost everyone… all his family in a fire. His life-mates; his children… everyone gone…”
The Doctor stopped and turned toward her, his eyes haunted by the parallels of Zoorgraps’ story and his own.
The similarities were not lost on Rose either. “He feels like he’s to blame, yeah, ‘cause he couldn’t stop it. He feels like he can’t ever go home again… He doesn’t think he deserves a second chance or that he’ll ever find love again.” She grasped the Doctor’s hand. “But I told him…,” she cast her eyes downward, unable to meet the Time Lord’s gaze, “…that, while no one could ever completely fill the hole left by his family, some people might just come along that could make it a little less deep, and maybe make a place for themselves in his heart…”
With a huff, the Doctor continued on toward the TARDIS, dismissing her entreaties with a curt shake of his head.
“Please! Is there nothing we can do?”
Abruptly, he stopped again and spoke gruffly: “What would you have me do, Rose?”
Her thumb flew to her lips and she nibbled indecisively on the nail. “I dunno… convince ‘em that he’d be better off on his home planet. You said before that his people, they’re peaceful, yeah. They must have loads of ways to help him that he could never get in a prison on some human-run penal colony.”
“Humph…”
“I’ve seen those places… you showed me. How could they even begin to know how to help him in a place like that? Please, Doctor…” She fluttered her lashes at him and put on an unrestrained show of what she hoped were her most beseeching expressions.
“That won’t work on me anymore, you,” he admonished, pointedly tapping his temple with a humourless grimace. “No more aphrodisiac to muddle up my thoughts.”
Despite his claims, she persisted with her efforts, entreating him with sad smiles and puppy-dog eyes.
“Oh, alright! We’ll go back,” he finally relented. “But no guarantees.”
“Yes!” she squeaked triumphantly. She began to lean in on her toes to deliver the Doctor a peck on the cheek, but was brought up short by the grim, icy look in his eyes.
He turned away from her, beginning the trek back along the main street, toward the police station.
--oOo--
It was a silent walk back to the TARDIS. The Doctor’s hands remained firmly stuffed inside his pockets, and his strides were long and determined. Rose struggled to keep up. While she was feeling chuffed at their success in convincing the local authorities to permit Zoorgraps to be transferred back to his home planet, she was very concerned about the Doctor: he was taciturn and closed off, resolutely not making eye contact and keeping a significant distance between them.
“Doctor…?” she surged ahead to walk by his side as they approached the time ship. “I just wanted to thank you for doing that for Zoorgraps. It means a lot, ya know. You didn’t need to–”
“Yeah, I didn’t need to! And don’t you forget it!” he cut her off with a snarl.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Like you don’t know.”
“No, actually I don’t! Care to enlighten me?” she snapped back, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Trying to take advantage of me while you thought I was still under the influence of that drug. ‘Oh, please, Doctor…’” his voice rose to a girlish pitch as he imitated her. “And the big, sad eyes and eyelash fluttering... Pathetic apes. You’re all the same, thinking sex is the solution to everything.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearin’! That’s not fair! I would never…” Her voice trailed away. She had taken advantage when they were being attacked at their table in the restaurant, but she had been at her wits’ end. “Well… when Zoorgraps was attacking us, I needed you to get us down from there, so maybe I did take some liberties… but it was so we wouldn’t be killed…!”
He gave a self-satisfied snort.
“What? D’ya think I felt good about it? And, by the way, before, when I was tryin’ to get you to talk to the police about Zoorgraps… I knew… I knew you weren’t drugged anymore. So don’t you go accusin’ me of takin’ advantage of you! You have no right!” She stormed ahead of him, unlocking the TARDIS and thrusting the doors open as she stepped into the warm, greenish glow.
Following her in, he shut the doors firmly behind him. “Go pack your things. I’m taking you home.”
Her jaw dropped. “Think you’re goin’ to try that again? Leavin’ me behind? Didn’t work out so well las’ time, did it?” She shook her head incredulously. “Is this what’s gonna happen every time we row? You gonna threaten to drop me off or… or leave me behind?”
“It’s not a threat. It’s a decision. I’ve lived for over nine hundred years without you, thank you very much! I’m sure I’ll manage the next nine hundred. Now, go pack,” he growled. “And you can give me back that key.”
Rose was stunned, her heart broken, as she fumbled incredulously for the key that dangled from a chain around her neck. Her lower lip trembled as she placed it into the Doctor’s waiting, open hand. Tears pooled in her eyes. “Doctor…” she whispered.
“Go!” he commanded, pocketing the key and turning away from her, toward the TARDIS console.
She dragged her feet to the passageway that led to her room, turning back hesitantly before proceeding. “Jus’ so you know… in the restaurant… I – I never said anything I didn’t mean. I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m just… I’m sorry.” She continued slowly down the hall.
Several long seconds later, the Doctor’s voice brought her to a halt: “Wait, Rose! Wait!”
She turned to find him standing at the entrance to the passageway, silhouetted by the glow of the TARDIS’ central column, and she stepped back toward him, eyes downturned.
His hand gently cupped her cheek, tipping her head up so their eyes would meet, and she lost herself in the blue depths, in the insecurities and fears he so rarely allowed her to see. Then she felt him press the TARDIS key into her palm. “Promise me, Rose, you’ll try to stay safe. And not wander off…”
She rolled her damp eyes at him, snorting sarcastically, “Yeah, right.”
“Rose…” he reproached under his breath, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.
Swallowing hard, forcing back her own tears, she muttered: “Valentine’s really is a rubbish celebration, yeah?”
He brightened, chuckling. “I don’t think much of it, myself, but I’ll tell you what: let’s make the most of it!” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together in delight. “What do you say we watch one of your silly rom-coms tonight? Just you and me, some popcorn, and some really great hot chocolate… minus the aphrodisiac?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Placing a hand on either side of her head, he gently pulled her face towards his and firmly kissed her forehead. When he pulled away, his eyes roamed her face as though memorizing it, and he smiled tenderly.
“Do you mind if I have a shower first, get in my jimjams?”
“Nah, you go ahead. I’ll get everything set up. Meet me in the entertainment room in twenty.”
Rose skipped away toward her room, spinning to grin back at him every few steps until the passageway bent and she couldn’t see him anymore.
--oOo--
Half an hour later, Rose came out of her ensuite, hair damp and dressed in cozy pyjamas. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a huge, glittering, tulle-wrapped package, sitting amongst the pillows on her bed. She burst into delighted laughter and scurried over to open it. Inside was a bouquet of a dozen red, Verdurian everlasting roses in a no-spill vase; an enormous box of fudge and a box of chocolates, both from the Cupid’s Arrow; a scrolled piece of parchment tied with a red ribbon; and a hand-written note:
There you go, Rose: chocolates and roses and (not very poetic, me but…) a dumb poem too. Sorry I put you through all of that, today. You deserve better. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: ‘I’m so glad I met you.’
Happy Valentine’s Day,
~The Doctor
Carefully untying the ribbon from around the parchment, Rose unfurled the paper to read the poem:
Rose, you’re fantastic!
The TARDIS is blue,
And all space and time
Is better with you.
With a huge grin, she grabbed the fudge and the chocolate, and humming a cheerful tune, danced down the hall to the entertainment room. Maybe, she thought to herself, Valentine’s Day wasn’t completely rubbish after all, as long as she was willing to do as Zoorgraps had suggested: accept what was right in front of her. Although the Doctor was not exactly her “boyfriend” (he was so much better than that!), and their relationship would probably never be conventional, she realized all that didn’t matter. Her search for one decent bloke was over, and had been for a long time.
In which the reader is dosed with a kind of sex pollen, and Nat helps her solve the problem.
———
With one more stroke of luck
Sweet mother of fuck
I became a god
Sappho by delian
You opened the dusty desk drawer and rifled through its contents, looking for anything useful. Suddenly, a coughing fit consumed you.
“Woah, you ok?” Natasha asked, concerned.
“I’m fine,” you wheezed. “Just a dust bomb.”
“Everything alright?” came Steve’s voice over comms.
“All good,” you replied.
“Come on,” Nat said. “They took everything important. We’re not going to find anything.”
“Just gimme a minute. I have a feeling we’re going to get lucky,” you replied, quirking the corner of your mouth.
Nat rolled her eyes, unable to argue with your luck. It had proven itself time and time again, and everyone knew it was best to let you do your thing.
You shut the drawer and scanned the room. Everything seemed normal, despite the years of dust building up. This was Hydra’s lab from a few years ago, but you hoped to find something to hint at their current whereabouts or plans.
Nat was busy searching a file cabinet. You crossed the room to a framed painting on the wall that seemed extremely out of place for a Hydra laboratory. Running your fingers along the edges, you found a barely noticeable button and pressed it.
The frame clicked and swung out from the wall to reveal a safe. You started turning the dial. You kept going until it felt right before tugging on the handle. The door clicked open.
You reached into the safe to pull out a cube-shaped metal case. You flipped the latch and opened the lid, taking out an empty, sealed vial.
You set the box down but could only hold the glass tube for a few seconds before it started burning.
“Ow, fuck! That’s hot,” you exclaimed, dropping the tube in surprise. It fell, shattering on impact.
Nat rushed over at the noise.
“What happened? Are you ok?” she asked, concerned.
“The fuckin’ thing burnt me!” you replied, sucking on your stinging fingers.
“Was there anything in it?” she asked.
“No,” you shook your head.
“Are you positive? Nothing that could have splattered on you?”
“Nuh-uh,” you replied. “I still want to get a sample for Bruce, though,” you said, taking a small bag from your pocket. You carefully used the plastic to grab a piece of the broken glass and seal it up.
Despite your best efforts, the glass pierced through the bag and drew a drop of blood from the tip of your finger.
“Shit,” you muttered, trying to hide what had happened. There was no need to worry everyone about something that was nothing.
“Did you cut yourself?” Nat asked, hearing you.
“Oh, no, I’m good,” you lied smoothly.
“Ok. Let’s get out of here. This place gives me a weird feeling,” she replied, tugging you to your feet.
The two of you headed back to the quinjet to meet with the rest of the team, who had been searching various places around the base.
You were the last group to rejoin the others, you noticed, taking your seat on the jet.
“Did you find anything?” Tony asked as the jet took off.
“Just an empty vial,” you replied. “It shattered, but we got a piece to test it.” You handed the bag to him.
“Good work.”
“Thanks.” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “Clint, can you turn the AC up?”
“Really? It’s already pretty high,” he responded.
“Oh, it’s alright. Never mind.”
Nat looked at you questioningly from her seat opposite you. You shook your head just a little to indicate everything was fine.
You pulled out your phone to see how long the flight to the compound was. Six minutes, it said. That wasn’t too bad. You could lie in your bed with the AC on max soon enough.
You tugged at the collar of your suit. Suddenly, it started to feel suffocatingly tight around your neck. You unzipped it a little and took a deep breath.
You sat like that for another couple of minutes before a clang startled you out of your reverie. You visibly jumped at the noise, and the people closest to you looked concerned.
“Sorry, just surprised me,” you explained. You looked around for the source of the noise. It was just Steve, propping his shield up against the metal wall. Why had it sounded so loud?
You reached a hand up to wipe a bead of sweat from where it was trickling down your temple.
“Are you feeling ok?” came Wanda’s kind voice to your right.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. I think I need something to eat,” you replied, flashing her a reassuring smile.
“I have a granola bar. Do you want it?” she asked, reaching into her bag.
“No, that’s alright. I’ll grab something when we get back.”
“If you’re sure,” she hesitated, leaning back into her seat.
“I’m sure. Thanks, though.”
She smiled in acknowledgment.
“Landing,” Clint called from the pilot’s seat, and you breathed a sigh of relief.
After the jet had touched ground once again, everyone started heading inside. You and Nat were the last people to leave. You stood and instantly reached out to steady yourself against the wall.
“I think you should go to the infirmary. You’re super flushed,” Nat said, coming to stand by you. She reached up a hand and held it to your forehead.
You jolted at the contact, immediately pulling away from her touch.
What the fuck was that? Why were all your senses so sensitive?
Nat frowned. “You’re burning up. Come on, let’s go. I’m taking you to the infirmary.”
“Nat, I’m fine. Really. I just need some dinner,” you reiterated.
She sighed. “Alright. But let me at least walk you to your room.”
“I’m fine. Just leave me alone,” you snapped, pushing past her.
She reached out and grabbed your wrist. You clenched your fists in frustration, twisting your arm out of her grip.
“You’re just making it worse,” you blurted before you could think about what you were saying.
“What?” she asked, confused.
You ignored her and stalked off the jet to your rooms.
As soon as the door shut behind you, you tore off your clothes, desperate to remove the uncomfortable, restricting fabric. The next thing you did was crank the AC to high. You sighed as the blast of cool air hit your skin.
Unfortunately, it didn’t do much to quell the aching heat radiating through your body.
You paced the length of the hall, trying to rid yourself of the overwhelming feeling. Frustration consumed you as you tried and tried to identify exactly what you felt.
“Fuck,” you screamed. “Friday, what are my vitals?”
“Your blood pressure is 144/96, your temperature is 99.8 degrees, and your heart rate is 148 beats per minute. Would you like me to send a medical professional to your room?” the AI asked calmly.
“No, no, don’t do that. I’m fine.”
“All of your vitals are elevated. Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone? I can call Dr. Banner if you’d prefer.”
“I said no,” you shouted.
You ran your hands through your hair, still pacing the hallway.
You probably did need food. You walked to your kitchen, grabbed a banana, and hopped up to sit on the counter.
Well, fuck. That was the problem.
Natasha
I rushed to the door, the constant banging becoming frustrating. I yanked it open, fully prepared to verbally berate whoever had disrupted my evening. As soon as I saw her standing there, every word on the tip of my tongue vanished.
She’d haphazardly pulled on a pair of sleep shorts, not even bothering to put a shirt over her sports bra. She was sweating, breathing heavily, and her entire body was flushed.
“Oh my god! We need to go to the infirmary, like right now,” I exclaimed.
She pushed past me into my entryway. She slammed the door shut, locked it and pressed her back against it.
“No,” she breathed. “Please, Nat, you gotta help me,” she whispered.
“The vial. Shit, did it cut you? Don’t lie to me,” I warned.
She held out a finger. On the tip of it was a tiny cut, the area around it painfully red.
“You need a doctor. I am not a doctor,” I protested.
“I know, it’s just—” she groaned, pressing a hand to her abdomen and buckling over.
“Oh fuck,” I exclaimed. “I’m going to call a doctor.” I pulled out my phone.
“No!” she cried, looking at me with pleading eyes. The pain seemed to lessen a bit, and she spoke again, lowering her gaze once more. “I keep trying, but it’s not good enough. Please, Nat, help me.”
“What’s not good enough?” I asked, completely confused. I knelt and guided her face to look at mine.
She sobbed and pulled away from my touch. “You can’t touch me like that, please. It’s torture,” she whispered.
I backed off a little. “What the fuck was in that vial,” I muttered.
“Please, it has to be you. I need you,” she whimpered.
“What’s not good enough?” I asked again.
She shifted, her leg sliding under her. She moaned loudly, crumpling over and clutching her abdomen.
It took her a second before she could speak again. She carefully pushed herself off the floor and looked at me.
“It hurts, Nat. Please, you have to make it stop,” she begged.
Realization washed over me like a tidal wave.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
“Please,” she pleaded.
“No, no, I can’t, not like this. I’m sure Bruce has a cure or something. We can ask him. I-I can’t do that to you when you’re like this. You’re not thinking clearly,” I rambled.
Her body shook with a sob as tears streamed down her cheeks.
I hesitated. “Tell me. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Fuck me. Please, Nat, make me cum. It hurts so badly. I need it; I need you.”
———
You tried to keep eye contact with Nat, but the way she was looking at you made it incredibly difficult.
You felt fresh tears make their way down your cheeks, dripping onto the floor. She wouldn’t do it. She wasn’t going to help you.
You collapsed onto the ground in resignation, desperately trying to ignore the raging fire inside your core. You tried to distract yourself. You tried to think of anything but the woman you’d been in love with for ages kneeling in front of you.
“Ok,” breathed Nat. Your gaze shot to meet hers.
Before you could get a word in, her mouth was on yours, her hands exploring every inch of your body.
Her mouth swallowed the scream that flew from your throat. It was so good and so painful. Her tongue licked at your lips, demanding entry. You were nothing but putty in her hands and glad of it.
Her hands, mouth, and eyes exuded control. Your hands clutched at her, grabbing anything you could reach. They landed on top of her hands. You threaded your fingers through hers and shoved her hand down the front of your shorts.
She pulled away from the kiss.
“Please,” you whimpered.
She gently dragged a finger across your clit, and you bucked into her hand. You were so sensitive that just that tiny touch sent you spiraling over the edge.
Your orgasm ripped through your veins, leaving your muscles shaking and your cunt clenching around empty air.
She pulled her hand away from your core and looked at you sympathetically.
“Shit, Princess,” she groaned.
“More, please,” you begged.
She wrapped her arms around you, quickly carrying you to her bed. Before you realized she’d pulled out a knife, your bra, shorts, and panties had been discarded, and the knife disappeared.
She moved onto you, slamming her lips to yours. One hand moved to your breast, roughly toying with your aching nipple, while the other was suddenly plunging two fingers into your dripping hole.
Once again, her mouth swallowed your ragged scream. All it took was one perfect curl of her fingers before your head was thrown against the pillow, electricity burning its way through your veins.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Nat hissed.
Her words only served to send you hurtling through another orgasm. Your cunt convulsed around her fingers as she gently helped you ride it out. She eased her fingers out of you and gave you a quick kiss.
“I’m going to taste you now,” she purred, sliding down your body until she was level with your core. Her eyes drifted to your swollen clit, and her eyes widened.
Before she could do or say anything, your hands fisted in her hair and shoved her between your legs. She groaned, her lips attaching around the painful bundle of nerves.
“F-f-fuck,” you screamed, thrusting your hips into her face. She moaned at the taste of you, and you tumbled into another orgasm. She didn’t stop her movements; she only increased their brutality.
She flattened her tongue against your clit and pushed two fingers into you. Your mouth opened in a silent scream. She coaxed you to yet another orgasm before slowing down.
She pulled her face and fingers from between your legs, and you whined at the loss of her body against yours. She lifted her fingers to your mouth and pressed them against your lips.
You eagerly parted them, allowing her to slip them inside. You swirled your tongue around her slender digits, groaning at the taste of your own pleasure on her skin.
She wiped the slick off her face and licked her lips. She pulled her fingers from your mouth, rolling off of you.
“No, wait,” you whispered, tears rising once again.
“I’m not leaving,” she reassured gently, walking to the closet. She rifled around, pulled out a box, and brought it to the bed.
She made quick work of the packaging and pulled out a strap-on.
“Is this ok?” she asked, watching your reaction.
Your eyes widened at the toy, and you nodded excitedly. Nat smiled. Your shaky hands reached for the buttons of her shirt, but she stopped you, tugging it over her head. Her pants were soon to follow, and you marveled at the sight of her in her simple black bra and panties.
You grabbed her waist, unable to wait any longer, and tugged her back onto your lap. You pulled her face to yours and slammed your lips to hers. She moaned softly at the action, and you squeezed her ass in approval.
Your hands drifted up her back, undoing the hook and pulling her bra off her shoulders. You pulled away to look at her, and your eyes filled with an almost animalistic hunger. You dove at her neck, leaving marks all down her chest.
She pulled away and shifted to the side, tearing off her panties. She quickly fastened the strap to her hips before flipping you over with the ease of a master assassin. She yanked your hips up with one hand, the other going to grip the back of your neck.
You were pulled onto your hands and knees before you felt the strap pressing against your dripping folds.
“You ok?” Nat checked in breathlessly.
“Please,” you whimpered, pushing your hips back against her. The fake cock slipped inside you, and you moaned at the feeling.
“M-more,” you gasped, trying to slam your hips to meet hers.
She pushed a bit more into you just as you shoved yourself backward. You felt the cock slide in, rocking against her, desperate for more.
“I’m not going to be gentle,” she warned. “Tell me to stop if you need to.”
You nodded, and her grip on the back of your neck slid to grab your hips. She pulled almost all the way out of you before plunging it back inside you, pulling your hips to her with the movement.
You screamed as her cock smashed into your g-spot, triggering your orgasm. You felt your muscles tense as if someone had electrocuted you, the pleasure spiraling through your body. Your nerves were on fire, being plunged into icy water, and ripped apart all at the same time.
Just as suddenly as it came, it faded. Your muscles slackened, and you fell to the bed, unable to hold your weight any longer. You lay there, panting and choking back moans.
It was only seconds before you felt it again, that painful, desperate ache in your core.
You whimpered at the sensation, and Nat pulled out of you, flipping you onto your back.
“No, again,” you whispered.
“Are you sure?” she asked, and you nodded.
“Please,” you panted.
She moved so quickly that you barely registered it. You were suddenly lying at the edge of the bed, your legs wrapped around Nat’s waist.
In an instant, her cock was deep inside you, eliciting an earth-shattering scream. You stuttered out moans and choked out cries, gasping the only thing you could think at that moment.
“Nat, Nat, Nat,” you chanted, her name shining like a neon sign in your mind. She leaned over you, her thrusts becoming increasingly faster and harder, and wiped a tear you hadn’t realized was there from your cheek.
“I’m here, Princess. Let go for me. I’ve got you,” she cooed.
Her words were the final straw. If you’d thought that last orgasm was amazing, this one was better than heaven itself.
Your walls convulsed around Nat’s cock, your hands clutching at her wrists like a lifeline. Fireworks exploded in the depths of your body, sending shockwaves screaming through every part of you. No noises would leave your throat, so you resorted to your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your head hitting the bed behind you just as your back left it.
Nat slowed her thrusts, letting you ride out your orgasm. As the final current escaped your fingertips, your body fell to the bed, entirely spent. Your chest heaved with gasped breaths, your muscles shaking violently.
She gently pulled out of you, tossing the strap to the floor.
Your eyes drifted shut, exhaustion creeping through your bones.
“Hey, Princess, don’t fall asleep yet. I need to clean you up, and then we can cuddle.”
You mumbled something incoherently as your breathing evened out.
Nat chuckled softly, “Poor girl.”
She went to the bathroom, wet a washcloth, and returned to bed. She gently wiped you clean before doing the same to herself. After discarding the rag, she carefully moved you to the middle of the bed and flipped off the lights, the lamp on the nightstand just bright enough not to trip over the scattered clothes.
She climbed into bed beside you and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close to her. She nuzzled her face in your hair, letting you relax into her hold.
She kissed the top of your head and whispered, “I love you, Princess. I’ve always loved you.”
———
BONUS CHAPTER
You woke to the sound of a door opening. It took a moment for you to remember the events of the previous night. You shifted, trying to sit up.
You suddenly clutched at your abdomen, hissing at the instant ache.
A figure rushed toward you from the bathroom, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“Woah, Princess, take it easy,” Natasha coaxed, crouching beside you.
“Mh-hm,” you hummed, taking a breath as you tried not to move.
“There you go. Are you ok?” she asked gently.
“Yeah. Just sore,” you answered.
“Here you go,” she said, holding out a bottle of advil. She grabbed a glass off the nightstand and handed it to you. “This is fresh, don’t worry.”
You looked at her gratefully. “Thank you. You’re amazing.” You quickly downed the pills. “What time is it?” you muttered, fumbling for your phone.
“It’s eleven.”
“Eleven in the morning?” you asked, dumbfounded.
She nodded, smiling.
“Oh my god! What about the briefing? Steve’s going to be furious with us.”
“Relax. I already talked to him about it.”
You froze. “Talked… about what?”
She made a face. “Not about that, you weirdo! I just told him you weren’t feeling great and that I was making sure you were ok.”
You sighed. “Oh. Right. Of course.”
“I would like it if you could be examined, though, now that the worst of it’s over. I want to make sure you’re actually ok.”
Groaning, you said, “Do I have to? That’d be mortifying.”
“They’re doctors. I’m sure they’ve heard worse.”
“What, worse than me being dosed with a sex drug that made me so goddamn horny that I jumped your bones and kept going until I was so exhausted that I literally couldn’t go anymore?”
She snorted, and you swatted at her arm. “Hey!”
“I’m sorry. But, I mean, it’s kind of funny when you think about it.”
“Not for me! That shit hurt!”
“Fuck,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry. That sounds shitty.”
“Yeah.” Just then, your brain started to catch up with you.
“No, uh-uh. Stop that. I can see the thoughts starting to spiral in your mind. Talk to me.”
You looked back at her nervously.
“I fucked up. I really shouldn’t have made you do that last night. That was really awful of me to do, and I’m really sorry that I pressured you into it. I should’ve just gone to see Bruce or something. I never meant to make you do that, I swear. I-I just wasn’t thinking clearly, but now I realize that was so fucking shitty to do. I’m so sorry. I really value our friendship, and I would never do something intentionally to ruin that. I’m sorry, Nat.”
“Stop!” she blurted, and you shut your mouth. “Just stop. You didn’t make me do anything! I could have made you leave or taken you to a doctor or something, but I didn’t. Now that I think about it, I was really just taking advantage of you not thinking clearly and using it as an excuse to fuck you. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake! I was sobbing on your floor, begging you to fuck me. I don’t think you were taking advantage of me. If anything, I was taking advantage of the fact that you’re too sweet and amazing to do anything other than help me.”
She flopped dramatically back onto the bed and sighed.
“You didn’t take advantage of me. I wouldn’t have fucked you if I didn’t already have feelings for you. The only reason I hesitated was because I didn’t want the first time we did that to be while you were under the influence,” she rambled.
You paused. “Really?”
She sat back up. “Yes, of course! God, how have you not noticed? I love you, Princess, and it just sucks that it all happened like this.”
You couldn’t hide the smile that crept at your lips.
“Can we just pretend that last night didn’t happen and just start over with the whole feelings thing?” she asked.
You snorted. “I’m not sure that I can pretend you aren’t a literal goddess when it comes to eating pussy, but I guess I can try,” you shrugged.
She glanced away but couldn’t quite hide the grin that covered her face at your words.
“You’re giving me too much credit,” she protested. “You would’ve thought anything was good in the state you were in.”
“I mean, we can try it again and figure it out,” you suggested slyly.
“As much as I would love that, and I would love that,” she purred, “your body needs at least twenty-four hours to recover.”
You pouted, moving to sit up. A wince took over your face, and you sighed. “You know what, I changed my mind. I think I probably need a bit of time before we try that again,” you said.
She rolled her eyes at your obvious avoidance of admitting she was right.
“Hey, Nat?” you asked suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“Would you like to go on a date with me?” you asked casually.
Her face broke into a shit-eating grin, which she instantly masked with her best neutral face.
“Hm, let me think about that,” she said. You gave her a look, and she dropped the act. “Alright, alright. Yes, I will most certainly go on a date with you.”
You smiled. “Cool. Cool cool cool.”
She chuckled.
You tried to lean in for a kiss, but the pain stopped you. She noticed and frowned.
You made grabby hands at her, and she scooted closer. You grabbed the front of her shirt and yanked her to your face.
“Hi,” she whispered, her lips inches from yours.
“Hi,” you replied.
“Did you want something?” she asked, smirking.
“Hm, let me think about that,” you said, repeating her words. “I want to kiss you.”
“Oh, do you now?” she teased. “I couldn’t tell.”
“Fuck off,” you whispered.
“You know you love it,” she said, winking.
“Maybe I do,” you breathed, finally pressing your lips to hers.
Maq's Breakfast Cocktail, or Pimm's Wish - Gin-based potation. A variant first served at the Bismark, in Limsa. Made from dry gin, liqueur, fruit juices, and spices with, naturally, a hint of euphoria inducing narcotic (Maqali's morning blend). Served with lemon soda or ginger ale, it becomes a Pimm’s Cup. It has relatively low alcohol content (25-35%), so it is ideal for those who plan on having another. The ginger and cucumber add a sharp freshness perfect for sporting events (from the gladiatorial to the flirtatious). Recipe: 1/2-inch thick Limsan cucumber wheel 1/2-inch thick lemon wheel 2 ounces Pimm’s No. 1 Spices and the Maqali 'Bright Morning' seasoning. 4 ounces lemon-lime soda, or ginger ale lemon twist
