Omegaverse cod where the 141 is all alphas but they get an omega on the team who’s a fucking dilf and hasn’t ever been in heat, he gets his first heat with them.
Like he’s 20 years older than price—cough cough beekeeping age— and his pheromones stink so fucking good to them but he seems oblivious, the old mutt’s been in the military since he was a child and the built up stress caused him to never go into heat.
He gets thrown into the 141 due to Laswell and shit spirals from there
In my mind reader is also ftm just pushing the rhetoric, also he’s a virgin hence part of the reason his first heat is going to be awful
If anyone wants to write a fic of this go for it the ftm cod lover nation is starving for literally any content
And don't stress to much about putting out new content if it's becoming a hassle!
I can be a good boy and wait patiently (sometimes) /platonic
<33333 sending my luvv
- 🐺
You're so nice 😭💔🥀
You get old omega John Price who never really gave a fuck about alphas until you come along drabble :3
Dni: minors, fem aligned (idc if you read just don't let me know), ageless/no pronoun accounts.
Cw/Tw: first time bottom Price, crying, emotional sex, slight hair pulling, intimate at times, rimming, rough sorta and frenzied sorta sex, amab implied alpha and able bodied reader, subtop reader, dombot price, age gap implied but never specified so you can be some fuckass 20 year old recruit to someone who is like 30 and a lieutenant, up to you really, pupplay kinda (he calls you pup bc AWOOOO). Brief thought of getting pregnant but he's old so unlikely to get fat (sadly). Lemme know if I miss anything.
John's never really cared much for alphas, even when he was a lad and presented as an omega. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that he wasn't ever gonna get their attentions. And he was fine with that. Truly.
To him, alphas were a hassle. Knot-headed fucks. Picky bastards too, always wanting omegas to be soft and pliant little things. So whenever an omega like John proved that not all omegas were soft, hairless, and meek... alphas usually turned their noses away and sought out any other omega they could find.
In the military, he proved time and time again that an alpha isn't shit to him. Every spar won, every enemy killed, every single moment he climbed the ranks through sheer talent and will, sitting comfy at his rank of Captain that was hard earned from the blood sweat and tears he put into every aspect of himself and his work.
He terrified alphas. Growls tumbling from his lips the same as them, his scent not something sweet and cloying to the nose. His pheromones smelt of burning campfire, with notes of freshly cut grass. Truly, he could pass for a beta or even an alpha.
His heats while he got older weren't intense either. He'd gone to the doctor, and was simply told his heats were weak, not as strong as some omegas who end up crippled by cramps and curled up in misery as slick pours between their legs.
He never got the need to bear children, never got the need to be fucked, never got the crippling pangs, or even the need to truly nest.
When he reached an older age, old enough to show on the grays of his hair, but not enough to be retired yet, his heats which were already weak... became zilch. Nothing. His scent didn't even go a little sweeter. He took it in stride, simply counting himself lucky that he wasn't suffering, and kept himself moving.
Which was all fine and dandy, until you arrived.
You were just another man beneath him in rank, another alpha he thought he'd have to force to submit. But no, you weren't quite like the other alphas he's ever seen before. Sure, when he was young and before the military he'd seen alphas like you. Sweet, caring, bright, kind. But that had practically disappeared after he joined the military. Always seeing the knot-headed, arrogant fucks that'd walk around as if John doesn't have a big cock too.
Hell, John's helped fellow omegas through their heats before. Simon and Kyle were beautiful during those moments, mewling in ways that John knows no alpha deserved. Fucked betas into a screaming, mushy brained mess that cried into pillows. Johnny's sweeter that way, mushy between the ears and keening high in his throat. But that's all he's cared to do. Have other omegas or betas beneath him, moaning as his cock drove into them feverishly.
But you? You're the first alpha to pique his interest. Younger than him, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Eager to please in a way that has his cock twitching traitorously. It aggravates him, and yet in equal measure, gets his heart pumping in a way that's unfamiliar.
He would feel guilt for letting you slowly court him, but Gods you make it so worth it. Too many times has he thought with a growing fondness how eager of a little pup you are.
Which is why, John really can't help but enjoy how eager you are in bed.
You're whimpering and whining, lapping away at his hole in just such a desperate way. It makes him shiver and groan, slick pouring out of him in a way it never really has.
His whole body feels hot, his belly cramping, and he's getting more and more irritated that your cock isn't buried in him yet. He knows what this means, but he doesn't care. He'll talk to a doctor later, right now he's letting his alpha be a good boy for him.
"Pup, you have two seconds to get into me before I run off and let Johnny at me." He growls out, hissing between his teeth when you snarl into his rim. Oh he'll definitely play on your little possessiveness later, but right now all he can focus on is how you finally slip out from between his legs.
"No one else gets to fuck you." You snarl, only to settle yourself between his legs and slot the tip of your cock against his rim. He's on his back, so it's easy for him to grab your nape and pull you close with his teeth gnashed together.
"Yeah? Then hurry up, alpha. Because you're not being good for me, and wasting my bloody time." His blue eyes flicker with satisfaction as he nips that little fire in you in the butt, hearing your whines fill the air as you slowly sink your cock into him.
He's slick, too fucking slick, and so fucking tight. It would hurt without prep if he wasn't genuinely leaking enough to flood the damn bedsheets. But Christ the way you slid inside, like his hole was made for you, the way it opens up around your cock so easily has you both crying out.
"Go on, pup. Fuck me. Be a good boy for me." He grits out, eyes rolling into the back of his head when your hips begin to move without any hesitation. Clearly you're no longer going to waste his time, and you're actually listening to him instead of eating his slick like a thirsty man at a faucet.
His arms wrap around you, so strong and burly, a hand screwing up in your hair as the other grips your lower back. You can hear every hitch in his breath, every curse, grunt, moan, and gasp as you drive your cock into him all eager and strong. Battering his prostate like it's yours to batter, which maybe, it bloody well is at this point.
It doesn't help that your own noises are spurring him on. Whimpers, whines, even soft little fucking mewls when his asshole clenches around you viciously tight at a particularly hard thrust. His cock dripping and wetting your bellies between you, the friction just adding to the sensations for you both.
I've been missing out, is all John can think before his hand on your lower back slides down to grip a cheek. His hand in your hair tilts your head back away from his neck, and he smashes your lips together, groaning at the taste of your needy sounds spilling from your lips.
"Harde-fuck!-just like that!" His voice raises, his hips meeting yours every time you slam back into him. "Perfect! Just like that! Good boy." He moans against your lips, blinking in confusion when he tastes salt on his tongue.
"Please, please I need to knot you. Fuck, please." You sob against his lips, pupils blown out wide, tears slipping down your cheeks, your arms tightening around him.
You're so desperate for it. But the sight of your tears softens something up in Price while also fanning the flames to something coiling in his guts. It's delicious, the mix of emotions that makes him feel even closer to the edge, and closer to making you his mate.
"Make me cum first, then you can knot me, pup." He murmurs, nuzzling into your cheek and feeling you nuzzle back. It's sweet how easily you respond to his affection, your hard pace never stopping.
You pull back, slamming into Price while still sniffling, wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking him off in time with your thrusts. It makes his back arch off the bed, the heat coiling in his gut becoming molten, the urgency building up like a tidal wave.
"Yes! Just like that! Don't stop! Don't you dare fucking stop!" He doesn't care how loud he is. This is his first time getting an alpha buried balls deep inside of him, who's crying because John feels so good and crying due to wanting to knot John so badly. It's fucking rapturous, feeling that knot tease his rim, ready to pop at any second.
The mere thought of getting filled up for the first time ever makes him hurtle over the edge. Cum spurting from his tip and landing all over his chest and belly, coating the hairs all over his torso as he shouts your name. He can barely feel you slamming all the way in, knot nudging into him, and popping. Growing big enough to stretch him, and lock in place.
Lock in place like you intend to make him fat and swollen from it, which sends a shiver down his spine as a few weak spurts drip from his cock.
When you collapse against his chest, tiredly sobbing and shaking from the aftershocks, his arms wrap around you. Stroking your back and hair, whispering soft things to soothe you as you come down.
Perhaps, John thinks with a sated smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Perhaps he judged alphas too harshly...
I have yet to see a Higgs fic featuring an ftm reader! Is there any way I could get a little blurb where the reader is self conscious about the way his top surgery scars healed, and Higgs tattoos the same golden scripts and equations he has, over the reader's scars? Tattoo pain leaves a lot of room for masochism and praise kink too mmm
thank you anon!
I love the idea of this, especially as someone with tattoos. I don’t think I get pleasure out of them in that way haha, but there is some sort of strange addiction to them, like even though they hurt so much you still want more.
I've put a little disclaimer at the end, because this is my first time writing a ftm!reader.
My head-canon is that Higgs carved those tattoos himself. We know that he can apparently creates objects out of chiralium, so my theory is he carves them and then fills the wounds with chiralium. I would assume that tattoo machines aren’t too widely available. But for the sake of this fic, he has a tattoo machine.
"Our scars make us who we are"
.✦ ── Higgs x ftm!reader ── .✦
You hate the way your scars healed, but Higgs? Well he's determined to make sure that from now on, you look at them with admiration.
ftm!reader - reader has had top and bottom surgery, but your top scars didn’t heal in an ideal way, leaving visible scar tissue behind
WARNINGS - ftm!reader, swearing, pain kink, mentions of injury, mentions of dom/sub, gender identity struggles, smutty but no actual sex
DISCLAIMER AT END OF FIC
You’d met Higgs a few months ago and had you’d immediately taken liking to each other. You were shorter than him, but you were strong and he loved it, letting you dominate him at any given opportunity. You’d only had sex a few times, usually in a heated, desperate kind of way. But right now?
You pinned Higgs under you as you hovered over him on your hands and knees, face in line with his. You leant down and kissed him. It was aa sloppy but passionate kiss, a desperate clash of mouths.
Higgs moaned into your mouth and ran a hand down your chest and gripped the bottom of your t-shirt. You quickly reached down to grip his wrist, stopping him before he could proceed. You must have looked slightly panicked and Higgs could see it.
Higgs looked up at you quizzically. “Darlin’ you’ve worn me like a goddamn glove, hmmm … three times now? Four if ya count what’s about to happen. So … what’s up?”
“I uh …” You sighed and sat back, straddling Higgs’ waist, thighs either side of his hips. “Shit …”
You were trying to think about how to explain yourself. You hated how your scars looked, they never healed flat, they were still slightly red and raised. You were incredibly self-conscious about them. You’d done so much to become who you wanted to be, who you knew you were inside. And now whenever you saw your scars, you were reminded of the time that you felt so lost, so broken and in need of repair. You never wanted anyone to see them because you knew they’d scream your secret out to the world. Well at least, you thought it would.
Higgs saw the conflicted look on your face. He sat up to face you. He cupped your face with one hand, his thumb running through your stubble.
“Ain’t nothin’ ya could show me that would change my opinion of ya. Trust me on that.”
You sighed, your heart staring to beat faster in fear and anticipation. You are just going to have too show him. If he hated them, or you? Well you’d just have to move on, so be it.
You gripped the bottom of your t-shirt before pulling it over your head. You averted your gaze, not wanting to see the expression on Higgs’ face as he saw the thing you hated most about yourself. You had a feeling Higgs knew but you’d never had a direct conversation about it.
“Well well well, ain’t that somethin’.” Higgs gently ran his fingers across the scars that underlined your pecs. You flinched slightly at his touch. “Are they sensitive?”
“No. They’re fully healed. They just healed all fucked up. I was hoping you wouldn’t see them.”
“Why? Think I’d judge ya over somethin’ like this? That I’d stop lettin’ ya split me open an’ usin’ me like your personal plaything? Trust me, I don’t just let any ol’ man dominate me the way I let you take me. You’re a rare breed.”
You continued to look off into the distance, focusing on anything other than Higgs. “I just hate them. They’re a constant reminder of what I went through.”
“Scars make us who we are, handsome. They tell a story. Especially the scars we give ourselves.”
“Yeah well I hate the story they tell.” You’d gone through so much to become who you wanted to be, but this had been our of your control, the one blemish on an otherwise perfectly crafted body.
“Look at me.”
You didn’t, which prompted Higgs to grab your jaw firmly, turning your face to look at him.
“Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of as far as I’m concerned. Ya went through hell an’ ya got the battle scars to prove it. What ya did was brave, strivin’ to become the real you? The man ya are now? Baby that’s commendable, not somethin’ to hide. Fuckin’ heroic if ya ask me.”
“I guess.” You gazed back at Higgs, his blue eyes piercing you. You could see something ticking behind them as he thought of how to make you feel better. He didn’t like seeing you being this self-conscious about your body because it reflected his own self-doubts about his own.
Higgs smiled, he’d figured it out. “How ‘bout I turn them into somethin’ you’ll wanna show off?”
“What do you mean?” You were slightly concerned by the sudden look of excitement on Higgs face.
Higgs ran his hands over his own chest, his fingers grazing over one of the shimmering chiral tattoos he’d placed there. “Ain’t nothin’ that a little self-mutilation an’ chiralium can’t fix. Lemme mark ya.”
You were slightly shocked at this prospect but you figured it couldn’t make it worse.
You now lay on the bed, head resting against a pillow as Higgs sat down on top of you, straddling your waist. He was buzzing with excitement. It wasn’t often that you saw him this excited about something, he looked like a child excited to show off his toys to you. He was practically glowing.
Higgs held out an old tattoo machine for you to see, grinning from ear to ear like he was showing you his most prized possession. He may well have been.
“Ain’t she a thing of beauty. Found her in an abandoned bunker one day, best fuckin’ thing I’ve ever found.”
“Incredibly lucky find. But what are you using as ink? I assume there isn’t a surplus of tattoo ink floating around.”
“Somethin’ of my own makin’.” Higgs unscrewed the lid of a small jar. Its contents glowed, glistening like liquid gold as it reflected the light. “Chiralium baby.”
“Is it okay to put chiralium in me? Can’t it make you go insane?” You knew Higgs had used if for his tattoos but he wasn’t a good example of whether it did make you insane or not.
“Well darlin’ I did it, an’ I think I turned out okay, don’t’cha think?” Higgs asked this rhetorically, playfully making fun of the fact that the majority of the world assumed he was insane. They weren’t completely wrong.
You chuckled. “Uh no?”
“Baby I’m hurt.” Higgs sarcastically pouted, feigning sadness. He of course wasn’t hurt. Higgs began connecting the tattoo machine to a generator and some other sort of machine that you didn’t recognise.
“So what are you going to tattoo on me?” You weren’t really bothered, you were just curious to know if he had a plan.
“Gonna give ya the same as mine. We’ll be a matchin’ pair. Every time someone else sees those tats, they’ll know who ya belong to. You’ll be mine forever.”
“Oh really? If our past interactions have anything to say, then technically you’re mine. But I see your point.”
“Well in that case, it’s an honour to be yours … Daddy.” Higgs winked and ground his hips down into yours. You could feel that he was clearly enjoying being able to do this to you. He was hard.
You smirked knowingly. “I can feel that. I haven’t even touched you yet, needy boy. Getting off on the fact you’re about to hurt me?”
“Nah baby, gettin’ off on the fact I get to mark ya, make ya mine. Do ya trust me?”
You chucked as you winked at him. “In general, no. Right now? Sure, just enough.”
“Fair call handsome. I wouldn’t trust me neither.”
Higgs leant down over you and used his fingers to stretch the skin around your right top scar, his forefinger just under your nipple and his thumb under the scar. You looked up at you, meeting your gaze. His eyes were wide with anticipation.
“Ready? Don’t turn coward on me now sweetheart.”
“Do it.”
You felt the sting of the needle as Higgs began his work. Your breath caught in your throat as your heart began to race. It hurt, but not in a way that was unbearable. It sort of hurt in a good way. It was a consistent pain, the needle piercing your skin at an unseeable speed. It felt like a blade being caressed over your skin. It also tingled, a sensation that you assume was the chiralium.
“Such a good boy. See, not so bad is it?” Higgs continued to glide the needle over your delicate scarred skin.
“It hurts, but it’s worth it. I can see why you like it.”
“What’cha tryin’ to say?” Higgs knew exactly what you were trying to say.
“You get off on pain. You get hard when I hurt you.”
“Sure do Daddy, only from you though. Don’t let no one else do that to me. Just you … oh well, and me. Gave myself these over an’ over …” Higgs glanced down at his tattoos. “… cause oh boy, there’s something special ‘bout this kinda pain.”
“What do those equations mean anyway?”
“Do they have to mean somethin’ for me to want ‘em on me?” Higgs deflected this question, the meaning and circumstances of him giving himself those tattoos being too personal for him to share right now.
“I guess not. But do they mean anything?”
Higgs chuckled. “Maybe, maybe not. Right now though, they mean that I’ve got someone worthy of sharin’ them with.”
You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Okay asshole, deflect as usual. But what will I say when someone asks me what they mean?”
Higgs paused to look up at you, a sarcastic look on his face as he smirked at you playfully. “Ya plan on lettin’ many other men see ya naked? Here I was thinkin’ I was special.”
You playfully reached a hand up to stroke his hair. “Oh don’t worry, you’re still my special little boy toy. But seriously … what’ll I say?”
“You can say that it means ya body belongs to someone.”
You laughed. “Who? You?”
Higgs face suddenly turned more serious. He spoke meaningfully. “No darlin’ … your body, it now belongs to you.”
Higgs returned his focus to the tattoo. The room filled with the sounds of buzzing as he resumed his work. “You’ll look at these new scars I’m givin’ ya, and you’ll see who you really are. A man undefined by his past. A man who changed himself, became who he wanted to be. A man who lets no one dictate his desires.”
There was a seriousness in his voice, a deepness, which made you think he wasn’t just talking about you. “Ya got that?”
“Yeah.” You smiled at him.
Higgs winked at you before resuming the tattoo. “But … it also means, that every time ya look at yourself now, you’ll be reminded of me.”
“Right, there it is, the real reason you wanted me to match you.” You knew this wasn’t the real reason, Higgs had genuinely wanted to help you. But in his typical fashion, he now needed to retighten the mood.
“That’s right baby, the fact that I get to mark ya? Make ya mine? Fuck … can’t tell ya what it does to me.”
As Higgs began the second tattoo, for some reason, you involuntarily arched your hips slightly up into his. This brought both your and Higgs’ attention to the affect this was actually having on your body.
“Oh … man after my own heart I see.” Higgs winked at you as he ground his hips down into yours, his bugle brushing against your own. “The pain turnin’ ya on?”
You averted your gaze, slightly embarrassed by the fact that the pain had indeed turned you on.
“Now ain’t the time to be shy. Ain’t no judgement from me. These ones I gave myself? Fuck. Almost had to stop after every goddam letter to jerk off. But you? Well ya happen to be in luck.”
Higgs ran his free hand down to caress the fabric above your length, teasing his fingers over it. “Might make the tattoo a bit messy but hey … makes for a great story if anyone ever asks. Ya can tell ‘em it’s cause I made sure ya felt pleasure with the pain. Best combo there is. Lucky I got two hands huh?"
AUTHORS NOTE ---- DISCLAIMER
I’m a cis woman and I’m new-ish to writing fan fiction. This is the first time I’ve written a transgender character, so if it’s wrong or inappropriate for me to do so, please let me know and I’ll remedy it. I'd hate offended anyone or triggered anyone in any way, so please let me know if I've done something wrong. I'm willing to learn, so feedback is welcomed!
𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒎𝒈𝒔: +18 ADULT CONTENT. EROGURO: erotique AND grotesque with: blood kink (and not, it's not period sex to your displeasure just kidding), very spit&bite kink, remmick kinda sofdom but a tremendous pathetic submissive masochist and the very dominant reader who enjoys some strange stuff (remember the eroguro thing!!!) lmk if i forget smt. | 𝒘𝒄: 1708 words.
for whoever is going to read it, a great read! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)
just how deep do you believe? will you bite the hand that feeds? will you chew until it bleeds? can you get up off your knees? are you brave enough to see? do you want to change it?; THE HAND THAT FEEDS, nine inch nails.
"Come on, hit me."
You stared at him, your gaze burning as you took in the sight of that poor wretch on his knees, arms spread wide, a grin splitting his face to reveal rows of sharp teeth, thick drool dripping from the corners of his chin, his eyes alight with desire and an inherent submission to you. Your smile was one of triumph—it had been so easy to turn him into your bitch. Like this, begging for your rough touch: slaps and spits, squeezes around his cock slick with pre-cum, violent bites against his pale skin hard enough to pierce flesh, to make him bleed for you.
Remmick waited for you to hit him, his eyes half-lidded, languid and pleading with the false innocence of a lamb among wolves, trying to keep his purity intact. Pathetic. Because he was more corrupted than you, and that drove you wild. But you stood still, silent before him, arms crossed as if denying him the strike out of sheer cruelty—and maybe that was exactly it. You wanted to provoke him, to see how far he’d go. The man suddenly snapped his sharp eyes open, furrowed his brow, and repeated his request, this time in a velvetier voice, trying to sound emphatic:
"I asked you: please, hit me!"
"Remmick… My Remmick…" Your voice was just as soft as his as you stepped closer. He closed his eyes when he felt the tips of your nails trace his strong features. He loved the possessive pronoun—my Remmick—it touched parts of him no one had ever reached before. Except you. Then, abruptly, the hand that had been caressing him shot up to grip his bangs, yanking his head back in surrender—no, yielding. Remmick loved it even more when you were rough, pulling his hair, exposing his neck in such a dangerous way… He laughed, ragged, twisted pleasure flashing through his half-lidded gaze, lips parted, fangs bared, thick saliva dripping from his chin, betraying just how insanely thirsty he was for this.
You teased him:
"My Remmick can’t handle being mistreated for too long, can he?" Your fingers tightened in his hair, bending him just a little further to face you. Remmick didn’t hide (he never would) his delight at what was happening. He shook his head slowly, savoring the pressure and the slight sting of abused flesh—even as a vampire, his body still felt human sensations, maybe even more sensitive—and it drove him mad. Surrendered, begging for more. For you.
"Quite the opposite, my lady—" He laughed, mischievous. "—I go completely fucking insane when you hurt me. You’re doing me a favor."
You smiled, victorious.
The pleas of this vampire-man who drank your blood like liquor and in return fed your soul with his submission—this was your private, secret paradise, one no one could ever know about. His human soul somehow begged for human contact, and you were his idyllic dream of feeling like a man again. Meanwhile, his monstrous side—the transformed body he inhabited, which fed on blood and sometimes on human cruelty and stories—also craved the torment of being whipped, devoured, chewed up. And you offered both your liquor and your cruelty: the sensitive neck or wrist that bled for him, the teeth and nails that bit and scratched his flesh, the hands that squeezed and struck. And he wanted more, more and more.
Your heart raced with ecstasy at his words:
"If you say so—" Without another word, your other hand delivered a slap that burned against your palm and whipped his face to the side. He let out a "Wow!" before turning back.
"Again. Harder."
"Shut your mouth." Your voice was commanding. The hand gripping his hair slid down to press your fingers against his lips—a dangerous game, because at any moment, the vampire could bite you—making him pant against them. Your other hand struck him again, harder this time, the crack echoing in your ears. Remmick moaned, closing his eyes as you pushed your fingers deeper into his wet mouth, saliva now dripping from both sides, his rough groans mingling with the heat in his half-lidded gaze.
"Good boy, good boy… You know damn well that here, I give the orders, and you just obey, hmm?" Remmick nodded lethargically. When you slid your fingers out, his little whimper of desperation caught you off guard, making you laugh as you drank in his need. The hand now wet with his saliva returned to caress his face, his almost tender look nearly melting you. But immediately, you changed your mind, striking his cheek with that same hand. The hand that caresses is the same one that strikes.
Remmick let out a rough, drawn-out grunt, almost a prayer of gratitude on his lips.
"Oooh, yes! Yes! Keep going, please… I’m begging you." His voice was whiny now, his pleading eyes bursting with tears of blood, his need and fragile surrender guiding you in this intimate moment. Your grin split your face with pride, ecstasy and lust driving you to slap him again. And again, and again, until the real blood dripped from his nose, his eyes, his mouth. Remmick laughed, spitting his blood onto the floor. Driven mad by this strange frenzy, you grabbed him hard:
"Open your mouth for me, Remmick."
His eyes blazed, and in seconds, his mouth was open—saliva and blood welcoming your spit with a pleasure that came from the depths of his being, a ragged moan escaping him. Your saliva now mixed with his. Your lips crashed into his in an animalistic kiss, the iron taste of his blood on your tongue as you gripped his hair, his neck, now kneeling to be face-to-face, tooth-to-tooth, knee-to-knee with him. But always sovereign over his body, steering him in this dance, squeezing his narrow shoulders, gripping his throat like your hands were claws, pulling away from the kiss with a wet slop, a red string of saliva still connecting you before you moved to his neck.
Even without his fangs, your teeth were sharp enough to mar his skin, to tear into it with enough pressure, to make the vampire’s flesh bead with blood that you licked away—slow, wet—listening to his ragged, desperate little moans against your lips as they parted over his jugular. Just like he did to you. But always controlled, never draining or poisoning you. Thankfully, you didn’t need his self-restraint, so you bit him with hunger and want.
You were hungry for him, and luckily for you, Remmick had the exact flavor to satisfy your peculiar appetite.
Yielding, he let you rip open his button-up shirt, nearly tearing off those suspenders as you whispered wickedly:
"Damn suspenders… I don’t even know why you wear them if you use a belt… You’re such a silly thing, my Remmick!" His delighted chuckle met your ears as you bit his nipples, licked them, sucked them, then bit again. You bit Remmick all over, just as he did when you surrendered to him—when he devoured you with centuries of hunger. Now that it was your turn, you took full advantage, turning your attention to his face, completely twisted in pleasure.
You licked up from his chest, marked by your harsh bites—some where, beyond the teeth marks, droplets of blood fought like dew on delicate flower petals—before moving to abuse the other side of his neck, licking and biting, listening to him pant, plead:
"
"Harder, my love, I know you could tear a piece off me if you wanted…" You laughed against his neck, feeling his hands—his claws—brush against your bare shoulders, trailing down your back, making you shiver. And, a little hypocritically, you obeyed, increasing the pressure until his skin split, the bittersweet taste of blood and flesh filling your mouth. Swallowing, you swallowed him. Licking, mixing your saliva with his blood on his skin, painting him in this erotic, grotesque tableau. Your breath was heavy and hot against his cold skin. You reached his chin, licking away saliva before kissing him again.
Blood. Saliva. Iron. Honey.
Softness. Salt. Bitterness.
Caramel. Metal. Exploding in that kiss, growing inside you because, in the end, he had you in his arms. You cupped his chin with both hands, pulling his face away from yours—another string of saliva connecting you—breathless, while he groaned roughly:
"Fuck, man. Fuck, you make me want to devour you whole!"
"Then devour me."
His request was almost an order. His eyes burned you, his abused mouth filthy with blood and spit. You wanted to fuse with him right then. You smiled, sliding your hands down to his neck, squeezing, feeling the cold gold chain against your fingers.
Then he loomed over you, his hands cradling your face, fingertips tangled in your hair, the little chain swaying between you. Remmick smiled, and you closed your eyes:
"Spit on me." You ordered. Remmick froze, devouring you with wide, opaque-red pupils. Now it was your turn to frown at his sadistic amusement. Oh, he— Without thinking twice, you slapped him hard. Once. The sharp crack made his head snap to the side, but he slowly turned back with that teasing little smile—provoking you. So you struck the other side. Your hands gripped his throat:
"Now, spit on me, damn you! That’s an order!"
"Now we’re speaking the same language, my love…" he whispered. "Open your mouth wide for me."
Your body trembled at the gravity of his tone, your heart nearly stopping as you felt the shift in the air, the atmosphere of this little room—which to you felt like Hell itself—changing slowly. Remmick, even with those pleading eyes, revealed himself now as the one who takes your hand to strike himself, only to caress you with his own afterward. The truth flickered in the corners of his ruby eyes, in his bloody smile, in the way his body seemed to grow over yours. And you wanted it. So your mouth fell open, eyes still wide to take in the sight of sin in human form—saliva mixing with his own blood, a thick strand dripping from his lips into yours.
Now, the dance would be led by another.
Now, it was Remmick’s turn.
And you couldn’t be happier, feeling his hand caress your face, preparing you for what came next.
𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: so, i'm on my period, totally out of my mind, already rewatched sinners like three times, and i'm not okay at all. then, i was just chilling when these images popped into my head, and i thought, ‘why not!?’ i’ve also been reading a lot of interesting stuff from other people here that helped feed THIS in my fertile mind—thanks to everyone involved <3. AND just in case: IT WASN’T ME WHO WROTE THIS. not the real me, rsrsrsrsrsrssrsrsrsrsr :)
hai im a yume of omni man so i wanted to request a omni man x ftm reader if thats ok!!! nsfw and sfw hcs i dont mind ☆
Omni Man x ftm reader
Hey guys!! I’m back and this is my first anything after not writing for a long time. Someone request a Cecil or a conquest fic 🤤 see how down bad I get.
Warnings ⚠️!!— FTM reader, fluff to smut, trans reader. Pre and post transition. Strap, creampie, oral, switch reader and Nolan. And more etc!!⚠️
— Nolan is surprisingly attentive when it comes to your needs, even if he doesn’t always get human social nuances. Once he learns about your transition, he doesn’t question it — to him, you’re you, and that’s all that matters.
— He doesn’t mind helping you bind your chest with tape or help you put on your binder. Even when you two are rushing to get somewhere he spends the last spare minutes with you helping you what you need to get done. He also takes it off for you and gives you a shirt that you can sleep in.
— If you get top surgery he’ll spend most of his time by your side while you recover. He rants about how you should be resting and not overworking yourself.
— He’s hyper-aware of making sure you’re comfortable, especially physically. If you’re ever feeling dysphoric, he immediately adjusts — no questions asked, just pure support. He has a blunt but oddly comforting way of grounding you. “You are who you say you are. Anyone who questions that? They’re wrong. Period.”
— He distracts you with kisses and other affections while he helps you take your T-shot.
— When you first show him your scars (surgery scars, binder lines, etc.), he presses soft kisses to them without hesitation — like they’re sacred battle marks, proof of your strength.
— While Omni-Man can sometimes be distant or focused on his mission, you has a grounding influence on him. They’ve learned to navigate each other’s emotional landscapes, with the reader helping Omni-Man open up more and show affection.
— Parenthood for you is a mix of softness and strength. You’ve always known how to protect your own, and with Nolan’s guidance, you’ve become an incredible team. Sometimes, you’ll catch him staring at your little one, a look of awe in his eyes. Maybe it’s because they remind him of both of you—strong, resilient, and full of love.
— Late-night talks are a thing between you two. The weight of his responsibilities as Omni-Man gets to him sometimes, and you’re there, always willing to listen. He won’t talk about the darkness of his past, but in those moments, he lets his guard down. “You’re the only thing that feels like home,” he’ll whisper, and your heart will skip.
— While Omni-Man struggles with the notion of having human attachments, he’s undeniably soft in his own way. His pride and love for the reader often clash, leading to moments of intense tension, but always with a layer of admiration that shows through when he looks at them.
— Omni-Man is usually a man of few words, and even less when it comes to admitting fault, but after the fight, he can’t stand the distance between you two. He steps into your space, and without saying a word, his lips find yours in a fiery kiss. The passion in the kiss is raw—raw from frustration, love, and the undeniable need to close the emotional gap. It’s like he’s kissing the argument out of both of you.
NSFW BELOW
— He’s obsessed with your scent. He’ll nuzzle into your neck and just breathe you in, low rumbling growls vibrating from his chest, especially when he’s worked up.
— He’s all about the build-up — slow, deliberate licks that start from your hips, up your inner thighs, around your most sensitive spots. He’ll tease you relentlessly, making you beg before he even touches the areas that are burning for attention. He’ll be eating you out for hours not caring if you can’t handle it or had enough.
— Fucking your thighs in the middle of the night. He cock sliding up and down in between them while you moved and squeezed your thighs around his cock. His deep grunts filling your ear while you hush him to be quiet.
— His hands are everywhere — gripping your wrists, your hips, your neck — like he’s scared if he lets go, you’ll slip away. His touch is possessive but gentle, as if he’s trying to be careful, but the force of his thrusts tells you otherwise.
— Omni-Man is gentle at first — despite being a powerful, war-hardened warrior, he’s never been with someone like you before. He’s aware of your body, your scars, your vulnerabilities. His touch is slow, reverent, as if he wants to savor the moment and make sure you’re comfortable.
— He’s a perfectionist. His focus is absolute when he’s giving you oral, taking his time to learn every inch of you, savoring your taste. His hands grip your thighs tightly, keeping you still while his mouth works magic on you. He loves the sounds you make when he speeds up, pulling off just to flick his tongue over your slit, then swallowing you back down like he’s starving for you. The way your body trembles under his touch sends an electric thrill through him.
— Sometimes when you’re feeling insecure about your body, he’ll literally worship you — kissing down your chest, mouthing at your hips. He takes his time sucking on your nipples and kissing whatever insecurity you have.
— He has this thing about your hands — seeing them ball up in his hair, clutching his uniform, clawing down his back — it shatters his self-control. Watching you as you fingered your own pussy, masturbating in front of him with no shame. He couldn’t help himself but started to jack off his cock inches away from your fingers.
— He has no shame about mutual masturbation — he’ll sit back on the couch, legs spread wide, watching you touch yourself under his heavy gaze, stroking himself lazily, telling you what a good, filthy boy you are.
—He has a total size kink — seeing his huge hands around your throat, your waist, your thighs drives him insane. He’ll pin your wrists with one hand, just to watch you squirm and whimper for him as he used his free hand to finger you.
—- Omni-Man is obsessed with overstimulating you — holding you down, making you take it even when you’re trembling and begging. He’ll praise you through it, his voice like molten velvet: “You can handle it, I know you can.”
— Omni-Man loves the feeling of being inside you, and when he finally cums deep inside you, it’s a primal, animalistic feeling — as if he’s marking you in the most intimate way possible. His entire body trembles when he fills you, the sheer possessiveness of it overwhelming. When he’s about to cum, his voice gets rougher — a low, guttural growl slipping from his lips as he holds you close, not letting you go, claiming you in the most visceral way. He’s breathless, on the edge, murmuring your name in a way that makes you shiver.
— He loves the idea of filling you, claiming your body in such a personal way. The thought of leaving himself inside you, of marking you with every drop, makes him feel possessive and protective — like you’re his in a way no one else can be. As he cums, he’s not shy about it — his hands grip your hips, pulling you in deeper, thrusting into you with an intensity that makes you both see stars. He fills you up, groaning your name with a growl that shakes his chest. It’s the most intimate he’s ever been, and he’s addicted to the feeling.
— When you first bring up using a strap on him he thought you were joking. He wanted to play into it and watched you online shop for them but when he saw you actually buy it with a smile on your face his heart stopped for a moment.
— Seeing you wearing the strap — standing over him, cocky and strong — shatters his composure. He’ll stare at you with wild, desperate eyes, literally aching to be filled again. He even sucked it before to get it all nice and ready for himself.
— He’s embarrassingly sensitive when you use the strap on him. One slow grind against his prostate and he’s already groaning into the mattress, fists clenching in the sheets, his whole body twitching. Nolan wants you rough sometimes — pulling his hair, forcing him to stay still, slapping his ass while you pound into him. His pride shatters for you, and he begs so pretty when you make him ask for more.
— Secretly, he fantasizes about letting you fuck him somewhere dangerous — high in the clouds, on an alien battlefield after a win — while he moans your name loud enough to shake the stars. The thought of someone as worshiped and loved like him getting caught being fucked turns the hell out of him.
AN: This is a slightly updated repost of a fic I wrote in 2016. This is the only time I've ever written Roman with a removable mask.
You overhear a discussion not meant for your ears, the morning after hooking up with Roman Sionis. Rating: 18+
CWs: Swearing, graphic mentions of torture & death, death threats, mentions of sex, suggestions of drinking, manipulation, (mild) blood.
Please remember: You can do anything you set your mind to.
“I always knew we couldn’t trust that bastard. Call Tupeng, send him down to that backstabbing bastard home and make him pay for ever crossing me.”
“Y-yes Boss, but what would you like ‘em to do to ‘em.”
“Burn him, skin him, skin his whole damn family for all I care, just make it hurt. Make that pig regret ever squealing on us.”
Your hand clasped over your mouth but not before a startled gasp escaped your lips. What had you gotten yourself into? When you’d gone home with Roman Sionis for the night, you knew he was dangerous. Truthfully it was exhilarating to know you were in bed with someone so influential, so wicked, but you were suddenly realising that being close to his world was maybe a little more then you could handle.
When silence fell from the other side of the door you knew you were trouble. They’d heard you, they must of. Hastily, you scurried across the room to the window, hoping to make some kind of escape, the view from the window reminding you that you were on the third floor. Panicked, you began to search for a hiding place, only to be stopped dead in your tracks as the bedroom door was wrenched open.
What you saw next nearly shook you to the core. You’d recognise Romans white suit pants anywhere, you knew the way his muscles flexed beneath his tight black shirt, and even the white tie was familiar. It was the chiseled black skull that sat over his face that sent a shiver down your spine.
“You! You’re Black Mask!?” You stutter, attempting to get a grip on yourself. You’d heard rumours about this man, you’d seen his hard wooden face on the news, but you never actually thought you’d be standing face to face with him. More importantly, you never thought you’d wake up one morning to discover you’d slept with one of Gotham’s most notorious felons. The very idea of it simultaneously terrified and excited you in ways you knew were wrong.
Roman seemingly takes no mind to your realisation as he closes the door behind him and begins to focus on rolling down the sleeves of his shirt.
“Oh god. I knew you were… But THIS! This is… oh my god.” You wrapped your arms around your chest. The cotton of the shirt you’d stolen from him to sleep in now acted like a morbid comfort blanket.
Fastening the last button on the cuff of his dress shirt, Roman finally looked up at you.
“Exactly how long where you listening to that conversation?” His tone was abrasive, the mask did little to muffle out any of his anger and suddenly you remembered what was going on.
“I-I- only the end. I swear. I don’t even know who you were talking about. I promise.” You stammer. “I woke up and you weren’t here so, so I got up to look for you and as I reached the door, I heard you talking outside. That’s it. I-I didn’t mean to listen, I promise.”
The gangster didn’t say anything for what seemed like forever, he just stared, the subtle rise and fall of his chest being the only sign that he wasn’t a statue. You had no way of knowing what he was thinking.
“I believe you, Sweetheart.” He finally spoke up. His voice much calmer this time, the petname soothing you slightly. “I do.”
You breathed a sigh of relief, finally willing yourself to stop shaking.
“But,” he continued as he walked across the room to the wooden chair situated at the corner of the bed. Suddenly, you remembered the loaded gun holster he’d left there last night, and your heart skipped a beat. With one hand he scooped up the leather holders and with the other he gestures for you to approach. “You’ve already heard what happens to snitches. How do I know you won’t go straight to the heat with this information? How do I know you won’t rat me out if the feds start asking questions? I don’t wanna see that good-looking face of yours get all cut up.”
By the time you were standing beside him you’d begun to shake again, even more so when he handed you the holster. Unsure what to do with it you held it at arms lengths, eyeing it warily. When Roman turned his back to you and stretched out his arms you figure that he wanted you to put him it on him. Cautiously you began to thread the straps over his arms.
“Well? Are you gonna answer me?” Roman prompted, shrugging his shoulders to make the holster sit a little more comfortably. You’d been so focused on the guns dangling in your hands that you’d forgotten he’d asked you anything. “I can’t have you wondering around when you know that kind information. Why should I trust you?”
“I’m not, I would never tell, I swear to you I won’t tell anyone. I promise and I would never break a promise.” You repeat the words under your breath as you step around him, your fingers brush against his chest as you reach to clasp the holster together at the front, only to discover that there is not clasp. You scrunch you nose up in confusion before a warm hand clasp around your chin and direct your face upwards.
A sense of dread fills in your chest as your stand directly in front of the famed Black Mask. The faint smell of polish fills your nose. He seems completely inhuman to you. You hear the stifled sound of him humming beneath the mask as his hand works across your chin, stoking your cheek before his fingers began to run through your hair.
You like the feel of his fingers, the way they move against your skin. Last night you’d been surprised to discover how soft they were, even as they’d dominantly explored every inch of your body. Memories of the night before ran through your head and sent a shiver down your spine. You’d be lying if you said last night wasn’t one of the greatest nights of your life, and before all this you’d considered leaving him your phone number. Now there was a voice in your head that keeps telling you what an idiot you are for ever falling into bed with this criminal. On the other hand, there was an undeniable attraction that made you weak at the knees, regardless of who he was or what he’d done. Besides, you’d already figured that Roman was involved with some dodgy stuff. His menacing attitude and ferociousness had been a big factor in what had attracted you to him in the first place.
Nervously, you looked up at him, wanting to make eye contact, only to be met with those unseemly shadowed out eye sockets. You sucked in a breath when you felt his free hand slide around your waist, roughly pulling you against his chest. You tasted the wood of the mask before you knew it was coming. The smell of would polish stinging your nose as he pressed the cold hard lips of the mask against yours. Briefly, you were taken back by this action, before you let go and kissed back, ignoring the swelling from last night’s kissing, you pecking the solid surface before pulling back.
Roman’s chest rumbled slightly, you heard an amused scoff come from beneath the mask before he untangled his hand from your hair to push the mask away from his face and resting it atop his head. Your lips twitch into a small smile when you can finally see his deep brown eyes. You notice a predatory glint, as he smirks back at you, before pressing his lips against yours. The taste of last night’s alcohol was gone, but you welcomed the smoky wood flavours that filled your mouth. Gingerly, you rubbed his chest and he replied by nipping at your bottom lip, drawing blood and eliciting a quiet moan from you.
All too soon he pulled away, a look of self-satisfaction plastered across his face. Lifting one hand to your mouth, he wiped a small drop of blood onto his thumb before pressing it between your parted lips. Catching the hit, you dart your tongue out to lick up the coppery liquid. Once your tongue is back inside your mouth, he removed his thumb and replaces it with his knuckles. Gently pressing them against you bottom lip, and watching you expectantly. Less confidently you puckered your lips, lightly kissing each point, knowing this was considered a sign of respect or appreciation.
Once you’d kissed each knuckle, he pulled back his hand, releasing you from his hold and stepping back to retrieve his suit jacket from the back of the chair. He pulled the fabric on with ease then strutted across the room. Bewildered by the sudden change of event you simply stood and watched as he pulled the door open before turning to you.
“Catch you later, Doll—lock the door behind me, yeah?” He grinned, shooting you a sly wink before pulling the mask back down. With that he exited, closing the door behind him.
Recommending @stygiusfic new fic about Durge regenerating into a lizard after his death -> wind back the touch of death - stygius - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]
It's so funny ! ToT
summary: Tav cannot believe the party has never heard of Thanksgiving, a tradition from their homeland. So, they decide to throw Baldur’s Gate’s first annual Thanksgiving celebration as a reward for weeks of hard work.
cw: tooth-rotting fluff, blood, hunting excursion, implied smut and countless turkey-related innuendos. puns. warm and fuzzy feelings
an: Happy Thanksgiving, my loves! Please take some time over the next few days to acknowledge and celebrate the history of America's Native people, and educate yourself on ways to show up for them today and in the future.
ps i need someone with an ounce of artistic ability to draw Gale holding the flowers with a dopey look in his eye please I BEG
“What do you mean you’ve never heard of Thanksgiving!” Tav shouts, nearly dropping the dagger they were sharpening.
Astarion rolled his eyes. “What the fuck is there to give thanks for?”
“What is Thanksgiving, exactly?” Gale asked, gently taking the dagger from Tav’s hands so they didn’t accidentally stab anyone with their manic gesticulating. “Something from your homeland?”
“It’s a holiday, like a—” How to put it in terms they’d understand? “A feast!”
Karlach perked up. “What kind of feast?”
“It was originally this like, fucked up celebration of imperialism, but now it’s just a day where you hang out with your family, eat too much food and rest,” Tav explained to the confused party.
“Why is called ‘thankstrading’ or whatever?” Wyll asked.
“Thanksgiving,” Tav corrected. “It’s a day to be thankful!"
“Again, what the fuck is there to be thankful for?” Astarion huffed.
Tav deflated a little. “I don’t know. I thought maybe—”
“Would it make you happy, love? To celebrate this Thanksblessing?” Gale asked, placing a reassuring hand over theirs.
Tav nodded. “I just usually celebrate with my family, but since the ship picked me up…” they trailed off, that familiar sorrow wedging itself deeper into their heart.
“Then it shall be done,” Gale said, glaring at Astarion when the vampire opened his mouth to protest. “I think we all deserve a day of feasting and rest, anyways.”
“Fuck yes,” Karlach pumped her fist in the air. “So what do we need to do?”
Tav’s eyes lit up. “Well, first we have to figure out the menu. Stuffed turkey, and potatoes, and fresh bread—oh, pumpkin pie!”
“Stuffed turkey?” Astarion asked, quirking a silver brow, and Karlach snickered. “Stuffed with what, exactly?”
“Uh, stuffing?” Tav responded, rolling their eyes.
“What is ‘stuffing’?” Gale asked, fighting for his life to not crack a smile.
“Poor wizard, doesn’t know what stuffing is,” Wyll tsked, and the rest of the party burst into laughter.
Tav giggled. “It’s like bread and spices that you stuff—place—into the cavity of the bird before you cook it.”
“Stuffed with bread? Sounds awful,” Karlach wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes.
“It’s delicious! And you baste the breast with gravy and—”
Even Gale couldn’t stifle the roar of laughter that burst from him, and a flush singed Tav’s cheeks.
“Now we’re talking!” Karlach howled gleefully, clutching the infernal engine in her chest as it glowed brighter.
“W-what kind of gravy?” Halsin asked, giggling so hard he could barely get the question out.
“I take it all back. Thanksfucking sounds very interesting,” Astarion waggled his brows at Tav.
“I hate you all,” Tav slumped back against the tree, shaking their head with a chuckle.
“We’ll start with catching the bird, yeah?” Wyll asked, wrestling his expression back into a mask of calm. “Tomorrow morning?”
“Perfect,” Tav grinned, excited for Baldur’s Gate’s First Annual Thanksgiving Celebration.
Tav and Wyll rose just after dawn to set out on their hunt. Tav ordered Karlach and Halsin to collect berries, root vegetables, and whatever else they could forage around the property, and sent Astarion and Shadowheart to shop for items in town.
Gale appeared suddenly before Tav and Wyll left, dressed in freshly laundered robes, his hair clean and pushed back from his face. Achingly handsome, but hardly dressed for a hunt. “Is it alright if I join you?” Gale asked, ignoring Wyll’s eye-roll in favor of Tav’s lingering stare. “I would very much like to get some activity in before such a large meal.”
Tav snickered. “Of course, you’re one of those.”
“One of what?” Gale pestered as they ventured into the woods.
“Nothing, Gale,” Tav teased, shaking their head. There was always one nut that felt the need to run a 5k before Thanksgiving dinner, and of course, it was Gale.
“Come now, Tav,” Gale poked them in the ribs. When they continued to ignore him, he started tickling his long fingers over their side, earning a loud squeal of laughter. “Tell me!”
“Stop it!” Tav yelped, attempting to run from Gale’s gentle assault, but he caught them around the middle and hauled them back into his muscular chest.
“Tell me,” he murmured against their ear, his fingers digging into their hips as a shiver rolled down their spine.
“Enough, you too. We’ll never catch a damn thing with your incessant flirting scaring everything off within a ten mile radius,” Wyll hissed.
“We’re not flirting!” Tav argued, swatting at Gale’s hands.
“Fine, fine,” Gale huffed, releasing you. “Don’t get your gizzards in a twist.”
Tav snorted a laugh and Wyll groaned, trudging further up the path.
It was a gorgeous morning in Baldur’s Gate, sunny with a slight chill in the air, fallen leaves crunching under their boots as they walked. Leaves of every color painted the forest, bright against the cloudless, blue sky. If Tav closed their eyes, it almost felt like home.
Though, at home they didn’t have a handsome wizard at their back, who kept tripping over roots and sticks as he stared up at the trees in wonder.
“Look,” Wyll whispered, drawing their wandering attention. He crouched to the ground, pointing at something along the edge of the path. “Turkey tracks.”
“Does it have to be a turkey?” Gale asked, peering into the trees where the tracks lead. “The turkey is such an ugly beast. Surely we could do something more refined, like a goose or swan.”
“Who the fuck eats swan?” Wyll argued, straightening.
“I”m sure some people do,” Gale argued, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No!” Tav argued. “It has to be turkey.”
“Whatever you say, darling,” Gale purred, his tone instantly changing, sweet and smooth as summer honey.
Wyll rolled his eyes so hard, his head fell back, horns pointing behind him. “Mizora fucking save me.”
“Come.” Gale cast a spell to illuminate the tracks, revealing a winding path into the forest. “Let us apprehend you your hideous fowl.”
An hour later and they had a massive turkey in tow, Wyll carrying it over his shoulder while Tav and Gale rushed ahead to camp.
Karlach and Halsin had returned as well, with a bucket of wild potatoes, freshly pulled herbs, golden ears of corn, and several baskets of berries. Best of all, Halsin held the biggest, orangest pumpkin Tav had ever seen in his great arms.
Tav squealed with delight. “This is perfect! Thank you!”
Halsin blushed, toeing the ground with his boot. “’Course, Tav. Happy to help.”
“I’ll start a fire!” Karlach said, rushing to the pit at the center of camp.
It seemed everyone was getting into the Thanksgiving spirit, and Tav set them each to different tasks to help prepare the food. Gale was on baking duty, his wizard training and eye for finer details making him a natural at pie crust. Halsin cleaned and prepped the produce, while Wyll plucked and prepped the bird, being sure to leave the pail of blood for Astarion to enjoy later. Tav and Karlach set to put together a table and some chairs.
A while later, Gale was sitting by the fire, diligently supervising his pumpkin pie as it baked in the cast iron over an open flame, and Tav tapped him on the shoulder.
“Would you like to help me find some flowers for the table?” They asked him, an inexplicable flush creeping up their cheeks. It was just friends going to pick some flowers for a nice dinner. Not romantic in the slightest.
Gale jumped up liked they’d asked him if he wanted the elixir of life, nodding his head vigorously. “Lead the way, my fearless, uh, leader!”
Tav smiled and together they walked back into the forest, along the more traveled paths where wildflowers grew.
“Thank you for insisting we celebrate,” Gale said after awhile of walking and picking flowers, breaking the peaceful silence. “I think we all needed a little…distraction.”
Tav smiled, heart warming. “Well, if you hadn’t backed me up, we may not be. So thank you.”
“You said before that it was a celebration of being thankful.” Gale paused, turning to face them, a bundle of dandelions, mum’s, and pink snapdragons clutched in his large hands. “Can it be for anything?”
“Of course it can.” The vulnerability in Gale’s eyes made Tav’s throat close, their heart racing in their chest.
“Then, well, uh, I suppose—” Gale cleared his throat, looking at the ground then back to them. “I suppose I’m quite thankful for you, Tav.”
Tav’s heart leapt, a sweet warmth spreading through them. “I'm thankful for you too, Gale.”
Gale smiled, relief crinkling the corner of his eyes. “Here,” he said, fussing with the flowers in his hands before stepping closer and tucking a dandelion behind Tav’s ear. His hand moved to caress their cheek, admiring the way the yellow complimented their skin. “There we are,” he hummed, brushing a thumb over their cheekbone. “Beautiful.”
“Gale,” Tav murmured, leaning into his palm.
“Hmm?” His eyes lowered to their lips, lingering for a moment before flicking up to their eyes.
“They’ll be waiting for us,” Tav said, even as they began to lean in.
Gale brushed his nose over theirs, sharing labored breaths. “Let them wait.”
“Your pie might burn,” Tav teased, sliding their hand up Gale’s chest, the expensive fabric of his tunic divine under their calloused skin.
“I don’t give a damn if the whole camp burns to the ground.” Gale pressed his lips to Tav’s, as gently as he could manage for fear of startling them, and deep, contented sigh heaved from his chest. Tav fisted his tunic and kissed him back harder, a flame of desire igniting in their belly when Gale obliged, opening his mouth for Tav. They licked inside his mouth, tasting pumpkin and and a few stolen blackberries, so unbelievably sweet, and he let out a low groan.
Unable to hold himself back any longer, Gale took charge of the kiss, angling their head to the perfect position for him to delve deeper. He relished in the taste of them, the smell of their skin and the eagerness of their kiss, allowing it all to wash months of uncertainty and doubt away.
The orb hummed in his chest, a lavender light beginning to glow between them, and Gale reluctantly retreated from the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut as he basked in the feeling a moment longer.
Tav’s fingers traced over the mark of the orb on his skin, admiring the way his muscled chest rose and fell under their touch, a slack, slightly dazed expression on his handsome face. “We should get back,” Tav murmured, already formulating a plan for sneaking into his tent later that night.
“Right, of course.” Gale’s eyes finally opened, their color like liquid amber, and he offered an arm to them.
They walked arm and arm back to camp, finding Astarion and Shadowheart had returned. Together, the party toiled away the afternoon cooking, decorating, and drinking, enjoying the mundane domesticity of preparing a meal.
Just before sunset, the turkey was finally finished. Tav and Astarion had spent over an hour assembling and decorating the table, and it sagged under the weight of dozens of plates of food: deep red berry jam, golden loaves of crusty breads, herb-roasted potatoes, succulent and crispy turkey with gravy poured over top.
It was everything Tav imagined, and their heart glowed as everyone took their seats. Gale sat beside Tav, topping up their goblet of wine before they stood to make a toast.
“While the circumstances that brought us together may be less than ideal, there’s no braver band of idiots I’d like to travel Baldur’s Gate with than you all. You have my endless gratitude and admiration for your sacrifices, your hard work, and for indulging my many flights of fancy.” Tav wiped a tear from their cheek, raising their goblet. The others did the same, but before Tav could finish, Gale rose.
“Sorry to interrupt, darling. But I have something I'd like to say." Gale cleared his throat. "There's a kind of magic no spell can bring, and you, Tav, you bring that that magic to our lives every day,” he said, eyes shining with affection. “To Tav!” He declared, wrapping his free arm around their waist and raising his glass with the other.
"To Tav!” The party chorused, aggressively clinking their glasses together so wine sloshed over the table.
They dug into the array of food, trading stories and laughing as the sunset and the stars winked to life, candles illuminating the table and around the camp.
“I quite like this stuffing,” Gale said quietly to Tav, placing another forkful into his mouth. “Perhaps I could show you my personal recipe a bit later?”
Tav nearly choked on their wine, heat scorching their cheeks. “After dessert?” They asked, raising a brow.
“Oh, darling. You are dessert. And I intend to eat my fill.”
“All your terrible flirting is giving me autumn-y ache,” Karlach muttered, trying to hide her smile behind a turkey leg.
“Well, I think it’s a gourd-able,” Shadowheart replied.
“I”m not drunk enough for this,” Wyll grumbled, tipping back his goblet.
“Oh, come now. The meat isn’t the only thing that needs basting,” Astarion teased, and Halsin nearly fell out of his chair from laughing so hard.
“I love it when you talk turkey to me,” Tav murmured to Gale, leaning over to kiss his cheek.
The wizard flushed scarlet and chuckled. “I think Thanksgiving might be my new favorite holiday.”
I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving! 🍂༘⋆༄˖°.
Alsoooooo, I'm collecting ideas for some hoilday fics! If you have anything you'd like to see, feel free to leave a note in my asks! You can see everything I write for in my pinned post, and if you have an idea you don't see there, send it anyways!
❝ You better lock your door and look at me a little more (we both know I'm worth waitin' for) ❞
Vander x ftm!reader | fluffy, NSFW, slight angst | there's some plot at the end | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | versatile. bottom. reader | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 5k
warnings: r! is a prostitute, brothel mentioned, mentions of addiction, spanking, fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like boypussy, pussy, boycunt, cunt are used)
masterlist;
authors note: you guys have @strayjester to thank for this because of the thirst we had for this fine-ass single dad...
*song on repeat: Billie Boss Nova by Billie Eilish
*YN is described as being shorter than Vander in this fic.
He’s getting that itch under his skin again. Muscles aching and throat begging for the soothing burn of addictive smoke. Vander tosses a rag on his shoulder, scratching at his beard as he fixes his posture. His skin feels stretched thin, aching for a salve to fill the crevices and drought; his ears muffle the bar, and the song playing floats into his ears.
The playful percussions, the whispering tone of the singer, and the sighs of the adlibs remind him of the fairytales of fairies, sirens, and boys in masks in nothing but a see-through robe.
Vander straightens up, briefly glancing over at the doors of the bar. The underground doesn’t get sunlight, but like a dog, he knows when people are starting to head back home. The crowd in here was mostly gone, some were passed out in the booths and some intently eating sunflower seeds in their corner. He’d have to clean it up and make sure the tables weren’t sticky, and the floor needed a good sweep too.
Impatientness grows in him. Vander sighs, pouring himself a shot of something to reinvigorate him, and slams the glass down. It startles the man at the bar enough to have him reach for his coins, the rest get the same hint.
“You look like you need a nightcap," Spider mutters. Vander thinks it’s ridiculous for people to call the seamstress such an intimidating name when she vehemently despises the arachnids, but it stuck and she has no choice but to embrace it. She has the courtesy of bringing her bowl of opened sunflower seeds and an empty glass to him instead of just stumbling off.
But Vander knows it isn’t exactly out of the kindness of her heart.
It flatters him that she finds him attractive. Really, it does. She was a beautiful woman and a capable one too. But Vander is tired and truly, he doesn’t want his rendezvous to be chattered on about everywhere. His kids didn’t need to hear about any of it.
“Aye’, that I do. Thankfully, I own a bar,” she chuckles and reaches forward to swat at his shoulder. Vander just smiles, taking her dishes and placing them elsewhere so his back is turned to her.
“It’s not good practice to drink your own stock,” Spider places her elbows on the table and Vander doesn’t need to spare a glance to know her breasts are on display too. This isn’t the first time she’s done this, and most likely won’t be the last.
The song ends with a soothing croon from the singer and Vander’s cock twitches in his pants as he spots the business card stuck between the frame of the mirror.
“Ya’ sober enough to make your way back safe?” Spider’s brows pinch and she mutters, gluing her gaze on Vander’s face as he pulls the rag down to wipe the table. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
Vander nodded, bidding her a good night she simply replied with a wave. She was the last to leave through the front door and Vander manages to not groan in relief at the click he hears.
‘ Hurry! ‘ A voice tells him.
It’s early in the morning now, the window is closing but he can’t possibly leave the bar in this state. He’ll be the one regretting it when he opens tonight. Vander imagines he must’ve looked a bit dumb as he stares at the state of the bar when Vi appears at the top of the stairs.
“What?” Vi tilts her head at him but gestures loosely to the tables and chairs.
“I said I can clean it, you look...tired.”
He sighs, squeezing the back of his neck. “What’re you doing up so early, Vi?” she shrugs which is a non-answer but pushes through the doorway and meanders behind the bar. Her head pops out and she places the iron bucket of cleaning supplies. Vander walks to her, handing her the rag as he reaches for a broom.
“Vander, I can clean the place just fine,” she huffs. “All by yer’self? S’gonna take ya’ forever,” he’s jesting but she finds no humor in it. The girl crosses her arms as she glares up at him. A part of him wants nothing more than to dash out of here, to find that salve he desperately is aching for, but there was no way he could leave his daughter to clean up by herself just because he wanted to get his dick wet.
“Dude, just go,” Vi grabs the bucket and rag and marches to the tables. He frowns a bit, crossing his arms as he contemplates it.
“Ya’ couldn’t sleep?” Vi shakes her head. “Nope! Milo was snoring and Claggor kept moving in his sleep. Powder must be tired because she’s sleeping through it with no problem.” Vi’s always been a light sleeper. Most of the people in the underground were.
But Vander just needs to ask; “Ya’ sure it wasn’t the nightmares?” Vi pauses in her wiping and Vander watches her face as she sends him a pouty expression.
“Yes, I’m sure. I haven’t had one of those in forever anyway — just go rest, old man. I can wipe down tables and sweep floors by myself.”
“Are you sure — “
“Dude!”
The path he takes is always quiet. Hidden between tight alleyways and old wires hung too low — he rarely saw characters here other than the occasional cat or shady hooded figure but that was a normal sight anywhere.
The back of the building is less glamorous than the front but not out of neglect. It was purposefully made that way — fewer lights, fewer signs, and fewer girls spilling from the door. But he peeks up from the hood of his jacket and he sees the voyeuristicly lit windows. The shadows of bodies behind the thin curtains, the seductive glow and thrum of the others. The back door is not locked, it's just made to look that way so people feel dirtier pushing the heavy door open.
He hears a whistle and his cock honestly to god jumps at the sight of your naked shoulders. Your mask was askew, your hair messed up, and smears of lipstick on your lips, and your skin; Vander is envious of the cigarette holder you have in your grip.
When your lips wrap around it he feels the exhaustion melt away. Plumes of purple smoke pour out from your mouth; “Had a feeling you’d be comin’ over."
Vander laughs, moving to the door with his eyes still on you. “Yeah? Just knew, did ya’?”
You nod, placing your chin in your palm as he opens the door.
“Yeah. My ass has been wanting a good stretch the whole day, only gets that way when you’re comin’ over.”
' Coming over ', you make it sound like he’s a teenage boy sneaking through your window. Vander says nothing as he walks in and you grin at it. His silence was good — it meant he was going to give it to you just how you wanted. You finish the cigarette and slip the curtains close.
Vander liked his privacy after all.
The hallways are familiar, but he still thinks the wallpaper is a bit too busy and the creak in the floorboards should have been fixed. Saying it out loud feels a bit shameful. After all, how often would he have to come over to recognize these things?
He passes by a doorway guarded with beaded curtains and he ignores the moans of the woman who is being devoured by another. The doorway next to it has the sounds of leather rubbing against leather so he peeks as he passes by to see it shines under the low lights.
Reaching the stairs, Vander is greeted by Sevika lip-locked with another woman. He lowered his head, hoping she was too busy fingering her to notice. At the landing, there’s a wall of hooks, and on each of them held a mask of an animal. They differed in all sorts of sizes, and materials, each handcrafted by different artists. Customers wear them if they’d like but it was a must for employees.
The allure, the secrecy, the seductive notion of masked strangers sucking your cock, blah blah blah.
He grabs the wolf mask, slipping it on with ease, as he climbs the rest of the stairs. He misses Sevika staring at his back with squinted eyes.
“D’you know him?” she asks. The girl in the doe mask pants but eyes Vander’s frame through the wooden bars of the stairs.
“Him? Oh, he’s a regular. Secretive, and never lets anyone else see his face other than the Fantastic Mr. Fox.”
That makes Sevika snort.
“(Y/N)? He only comes here for him?” She can’t exactly blame the man. You were a talented little beast. Hands, mouth, feet, cunt, ass — every part of you was made with pleasure in mind. She enjoys having you in a headlock as she pounds into your asshole, enjoys your tongue inside of her and your filthy little words.
But just for you?
This pleasure house had a gaggle of beasts for him to lay with. Hairy beasts with cocks just as big as their arms who enjoy plowing and being plowed. Demure little nymphs with a talent to make people beg for their cocks to be stepped on or to cry in pleasure. Tall beasts, short beasts, catering to every need and fetish a man could have.
“There’s a betting pool,” the Doe says. Sevika turns to face her as the masked man enters the hallway leading to your room.
“About?” Sevika pulls her fingers out to pull away the negligee and kneads at her small breast. She shudders, arching her back into her but continues;
“The Wolf and The Fox. That he’s smitten, maybe even a bit obsessed.” Sevika scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pinches Doe's perk nipple between her fingers,
"Poor bastard."
"I think it's — ah — cute," Doe retorts as she squeezes Sevika's biceps. "To you maybe, a smitten customer gets you more coin," Sevika grunts out, her tone light despite it.
"Falling in love with a whore is just stupid."
"You saying you don't love me, Daddy?" Doe pouts her lips. Sevika chuckles as she lowers her head to nibble on it. "I'll love you tonight, baby. Think that'll be enough?"
The door has the symbol of your mask, painted in gold. It's ajar, a sliver of light lighting the carpeted floors and Vander rolls his shoulders as he pushes the door open.
Your room is heavy with the smell of incense. There's thudding against the walls, moans of pleasure echoing despite it being muffled. Vander's shoes make no noise. The carpets on the floor provide more than just comfort. Discretion. This room and the others on this floor are all for high-paying customers.
He closes and locks the door behind him. He reaches for his mask but your voice stops him.
"Keep it on," you push yourself off the door frame, the beads clattering softly, and Vander tits his head at your sashay. Your mask was left on the bed, leaving your face bare, and Vander cocks a brow as he looks down at you.
"One of those nights?" His hands settle on your waist. The size of them, the roughness that's felt through the silk of your robe, it makes your grin stretch wider.
"You got other ideas, Vander?" you muse.
"Was hopin' to kiss ya'," he huffs.
The grip on your ass lurches you forward further into his broad chest. Vander's eyes are heavy, the shadows attempt to hide the desire but it's futile. He's kneading, hitching you up higher until you're barely on your toes.
Head tilting, he leans in. Your head floats away, hands still gripped onto his shirt as he chases and you don't give in.
"(Y/N)," his tone suggests a warning. But it's amusing. Here you are, in his arms. His strength keeps you in place and in the air; the mask is akin to a muzzle. Except he's fully capable of taking it off if he wishes.
The fact that you asked for him to keep it on is not lost to you. Your words alone held so much power over him. You place his neck between the gap of your thumb and pointer finger, barely there pressure keeping him still despite the yearning in his eyes.
"You're exhausted, big guy. Long day, yeah?" Vander nods at your words.
"Lay down on the bed. I'll make you feel good."
He hesitates for a moment. But your feet find the floor again and he begrudgingly parts. When he walks past you, you follow behind him. He pauses when you reach for the front of his pants, looking at you from over his shoulder.
"Take off your clothes for me, baby."
Your bed is shaped in a semi-circle. The curtain around it was drawn all the way back. There's a mountain of pillows and bolsters that welcome Vander's naked frame as he settles on it.
The trail of his clothes on the floor has your silk robes accompanying you as you stand at the end of the bed.
Vander tilts his head, widening his legs and stroking his hairy thighs. Leading your eyes to the thick dick that's already at full mast.
"Damn," you whistle. The bed dipped under the weight of your knee. "I know I'm good looking but you can't be that hard from just 5 seconds of laying your eyes on me."
He can't tear his gaze from you. From the marks on your face to the state of your hair; the bare skin that he loves to bruise and mark up — despite being told by you it's not exactly encouraged — Vander is convinced you're not real sometimes.
The arcane has been long gone now. Yet, here you are. Living, breathing, proof that its remnants linger in pumping hearts and honey-sweet skin. With just your voice, you make his knees buckle and his cock strain through the material of his pants.
Just the whisper of your name has his entire day derailed as he thinks and thinks and thinks of you.
Oh, (Y/N).
You're his undoing.
Gooseflesh spread at your touch and Vander groans as you settle yourself between his legs. That haunting touch makes its way to his crotch, ghosting along his aching rod, up his soft stomach, and towards his chest. It rests there and his heart threatens to escape his ribcage. The heat from your cunt has him sighing and settling his hands on the arch of your back. It makes you chuckle.
"Please, darlin'," he begs, "I been needing you so badly. All day."
There's no way you can deny him. Not when your cock jumps at the airy tone he has, that gravelly husk that comes with it. It peeks up, just as hard as his. He can feel it drag along his own and he tightens his grip on you.
"Yeah?" You nose at his neck, trailing your painted lips down. The hairs on his chest tickle your cheek when you place your face there, breathing against his perk nipples.
"Shit, yeah. Can't you feel me?" He grows a bit bolder in his next move. Urging your hips forward so he can feel your wet folds, forcing your stiff cock to rub up. The motion makes your eyes flutter close, sighing against his pebbling nub.
"For such a big man, you're such a teddy bear," you lift your hips, lining his thick head with your needy cunt. He laughs, his masked face tilting downwards as his blue-grey eyes all but glow in excitement.
"I've been told I am a bear," his words end a moan when you slip him inside. The bowl of condoms littered just about everywhere outside this room wasn’t there for decoration. They were there for the John’s and Jane’s who needed them.
But you know Vander. You’ve been the only thing he’s been hitting and you make sure the rest of your clients are always wrapped up.
Everything about him is thick so it’s no surprise you feel the twinge of discomfort as you accommodate to his size. It lingers briefly but once the mushroom tip of his dick is inside pleasure runs up your spine.
“Oh fuck yes,” you wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest together. He instantly embraces you, adjusting his grip to your ass again so he can help you straddle his legs.
“Fuck, baby. Your dick is so big,” and for once you’re not lying about it.
Vander’s a big boy. His thick arms, square jaw, the delicious shape of his nose; his wide chest and sturdy shoulders, and his soft but firm stomach. Fuck, everything about Vander makes your head fill warm.
His dick twitches inside you as you slide down. The snout of the wooden mask bumps into your forehead and you laugh as he leans in.
“S’fuckin’ needy,” he has no protests. You reach for the bottom of the mask and push it up, blinding him but rewarding him with your lips. His beard is soft. As you feel through it, you cup his jaw and he groans into the kiss.
More of him inches inside of you and halfway down, you’re pulling away to breathe. His fingers are going to leave handprints with how roughly he holds you; flesh spilling from the gaps of his greedy digits.
“Fuck, (Y/N).”
“Yeah, say my name, baby.”
Vander grunts when you fix the mask into place. When you lean back, he takes in the sight of the bump on your stomach.
“Perv.” His dick twitches again. So you laugh.
“Absolutely rotten.”
Your eyes slip close as you let gravity take over. Fuck, the way your hips buck up and twitch as he fills you up has his toes curling. You’re dripping wet, the thick and clear liquid travelling down his balls.
“You’re so fuckin’ hard,” he thumbs at your cock. When he uses his knuckles to stroke it, his mouth goes dry at the way it twitches and righteously stands tall.
“All ‘cus of you,” you purr. Vander groans, now idly touching the bump of his dick and you sigh as he presses down on it.
“Ooooh fuck, Vander.”
He rolls your hips, moving to ground his heels into the bed but you beat him to it. Your hands brace his knees and you lift up and up and up — his tip bumping into yours in the brief time it’s out of you — then slipping him all the way inside again.
Vander curses, his accent thickening as you throw his head back.
You chew on your bottom lips, savouring the explosion of pleasure behind your eyelids. As you look at his heaving chest, you cannot stop the sharp grin that crawls onto your face.
Placing one hand on his shoulder, you put your thighs to work. Vander is at your mercy. Panting and moaning behind the mask as he watches your work on his cock. Riding him, grinding down on him, using his thick dick for your pleasure.
Your other hand leads his own to a surprise.
Between your ass that he adores so much, he bucks up when he feels the base of a plug inside of your ass.
“Oh, you liked that,” you moan. All high and airy as you slow down into grinding, thighs burning. Vander is tugging onto the plug and your rim stretches as he teases it in and out.
The exhaustion of the day has seeped out from him it seems. He’s leaning forward, caging you between his raised knees and firm front.
In one smooth movement, your back bounces on the bed and he’s on top of you. The acoustic of the wooden mask makes him sound like an animal as he growls above you, he huffs and pants like a proper wolf.
You share a long look, even as he rocks in and out of you and you feel your heavy eyelids threaten to squeeze shut. He braces onto his elbows, his weight on you making you whine and keen.
He takes the reigns and smiles when you reach to take his mask off. It thuds onto the carpet, mere inches away from your own mask.
“Hey, handsome.” You stroke over his cheekbones, gasping into his mouth as he kisses you. A particularly deep thrust makes you arch off the bed and it distracts you from his deft hands pulling out your plug.
“Your cunts got me all nice and wet,” he growls into your ear. “Perfect for fucking your ass then,” you whisper back.
“You always know what to say, don’t you?” He slips out and you whimper at the loss. You’re not empty for long. He taps his tip onto your winking hole and you chew on the insides of your cheeks in anticipation.
“C’mon, baby. Fuck me.”
“Yes, sir,” he purrs with a devillishly handsome smile.
He rights his posture, holding your ankles in one grip and folding your legs so your knees are nearly at your chest.
The stretch makes you toss your head to the side, cunt gaping as he fixates on the sight of your greedy holes.
Vander spits onto your hole and pushes in deeper. It makes you sing like a proper whore. Clutching onto the sheets while your chest heaves.
God, when he takes over like this — it makes you fantasize about how good it’d feel to wake up in his bed for once — but fantasies like that are dangerous. Vander is smarter than that, he’d know better than to bring a whore back home. Especially a whore like you.
His heavy balls slap against your ass. It knocks the breath out of you. You cry out, tears pricking your eyes when he strokes your dick. Vander splits your thighs and he holds your face with so much care you feel your heart pound our of your chest.
“(Y/N),” when he moans your name you want nothing more than to keep him here with you forever.
When he fucks up into your ass, you inch forward with every strong thrust. So he holds you down, keeping you in place as he stretches out your ass. The friction on your dick makes you even wetter. But you still hiss in discomfort as your rim clenches around him. Vander pants above you, slowing to a stop.
“Lube, darlin’?”
You nod, gesturing to the nightstand. Vander kisses you, pulling out as he turns and grabs the strawberry-scented bottle. You lay out on the bed, breathing heavily as you recompose yourself.
Vander lubes his dick up, eyeing your cunt a little too hungrily for your liking. So you knock your knees together, staring at him pointedly when he blinks innocently at you. “No double dipping,” you warn. Vander scoffs, grinning loosely.
“I know that, boy.”
“D’you?”
Your expression makes him snort. He parts your legs again, smearing some lube on your hole before he presses his heavy cock inside of you again.
“‘Course I do. Your cunt’s just so sexy, can’t help but stare.”
“Yeah? Should I call another client and make him fuck my pussy while you fuck my ass?” You’re goading him. He realizes that. But the flash of jealousy that comes across his face is not something he can control.
Vander doesn’t respond. Merely grunting as he fucks into you. You yelp at the strength he’s using, cursing as you’re dragged onto his dick. Helpless as he uses you.
“Yuh - You pissed?” he glares at you but shakes his head.
“No.”
“Yer' a shitty liar.” You moan out his name as he turns you over onto your stomach, barely having time to process his movements as he pulls you onto your knees. He’s bruising you with his grip and when he spanks your ass, you know it’ll be sore till the next day. Every spank makes you tighten up around him. He presses between your shoulder blades and you are keen as he reaches deeper than before.
“M’just joking, Vander,” you pant out. “It’s all yours, all of it — all of me.“
Vander vengeance is in his hips. An unrelenting force that turns your body into nothing but a conduit of pleasure. Your gummy walls are torn between pushing him out and keeping him in — it doesn't matter, in the end, the one with power over you was him. There's bliss in relinquishing control. It's a whisper of voices, serenading you to a high that even the strongest drugs could barely scratch.
Or maybe you were just an addict for sex — or just Vander.
No seasoned whore lets their guard down with a client. There's a degree of trust needed. It's surface level. The bond between you and Vander — there's something oddly binding about it. You've heard of the religions scattered around the world. Of monks who abstain from worldly pleasures, those who worship an entire militia of gods, and those who only believed in one Maker; they spoke with such certainty of their beliefs. The punishment and euphoria waiting for them at the end of the line.
Fucking Vander feels like religion. When he makes your body burn from the inside out with a lust only he can quench — you're doomed and there's no one to blame but yourself.
That's a lie, you bite down on the bedsheets as you feel his balls slap against your cunt and dick. There's someone to blame for putting Vander in your way, (Y/N).
"Shit, sweetheart. I'm close," Vander groans. You moan, forcing yourself to reach back so you can kiss him. Vander feels his heart hammering, reaching to pinch your cock between his fingers to distract himself from these bubbling emotions.
Loving you was a freedom he had long forgotten about. Hearing you moan out his name, digging your nails into his skin and kissing him so deeply. He aches for you — his veins burn when he even thinks he sees you in the crowd.
He loves you.
Vander murmurs something on your lips that you don't catch. But you're too far gone to acknowledge your senses. You're so close to unraveling. Teetering on that edge of bliss as Vander holds you like he wants your bodies to become moulded together like clay.
"Vander, Vander — "
He slips his fingers inside your cunt. You gasp, feeling yourself clench around him like a vice as you squirt onto his fingers and cum around his dick. Vander is close behind, growling out your name as he thrusts in balls deep and floods your ass with his thick ropes of cum.
The both of you ride off the orgasm. His hips still fucking in and out of you in shallow motions that have your breath hitching with every drag and poke. Vander slips his fingers out and brings it to your lips — you chuckle softly, letting them inside as you clean his talented digits.
"How much did you pay the madame?" You nuzzle into his neck, relying on him to hold you up. He kisses your shoulders, his beard tickling your skin as his hands roam your front.
"Long enough. You sick of me already, darling?"
Don't think that's possible, you thought with a loose grin. Vander groans into your mouth as you grab his chin and kiss him.
"Don't flatter yourself, baby."
Vander looks younger when he rests. Not like a boy again, just younger. The lines on his face were less prominent and the softness of his body was more inviting. You're tracing mindless shapes into his chest, chastising the city of Zaun for beginning its morning cycle. The noises from beyond the window are beginning to shift from the noisy nightlife of hookers calling for Johns and booming music from clubs to the food stalls opening and wagons being pulled along the worn-down roads.
You can hear the thudding of Vander's heart under your ear. It squeezes your own so you lift your head and gaze down at him, just taking him in from a new angle. The door clicks and Vander's brows pinch but he does not stir. He trusts you enough to rest. For you to keep vigil over him.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" his voice drawls like a thick caramel. A seductive purr with a certain husk that tingles your senses. The tall, lanky, man enters the room and he is shameless as he takes the both of you in.
"He paid for the whole night, not the day." Silco comments. "He gets a pass on good behavior. What do you need?" Vander's hand is carefully guided to hold one of the pillows and you carefully move to stand.
Silco takes in the sight of you. Moving forward, he grasps your chin in his hand and tilts your head back; "He's always been such a possessive man."
"Yeah? He marked you up like this too?" He regards you with a tepid glance. "Sir," you add smoothly. Giving him a half-hearted grin.
It works. Silco's eyes soften, just slightly but it's a crutch you're leaning on. He likes you more than he'd like to admit and you're beginning to feel guilty for all these emotions brewing inside of you for these two brothers-in-arms.
"Did you learn anything from tonight, (Y/N)?" Silco looks past you to Vander. Turning his voice into a whispering tone that feels more romantic than he probably intended it to.
You contemplate telling him. Pursing your lips for a second before you lean in and embrace Silco, pressing your lips up his jaw and whispering in his ear.
"He's friends with the Sheriff. Grayson. But he worries."
"About?" Silco's hands wrap around your waist, shadowing Vander's marks with his own.
"He worries about the fresh meat she has on her team. Piltover's steady now but one incident and he doubts he'll be able to keep the peace, no matter how hard Grayson tries. The children," you pause and he turns his head to look at you. You gulp thickly, then continue: "The eldest daughter, Vi, she's getting restless. Dangle bait and she'll bite."
Silco stares for a moment. You take him in, unable to stop the grin that crawls on your face as he presses a long kiss to your lips.
"Well done, (Y/N)." His praise had once been something akin to a drug to you, a high you desperately needed to keep your doubts at bay. A soothing coolness that'll keep this rage inside of you to a lukewarm temperature; the promise that Piltover will soon fall to its knees to Zaun had been your motivation to live for years now.
Yet, your chest tightens and your stomach twists as his words wash over you.
Like reader maybe works at the us embassy and he becomes friends with javi and tries not to fall desperately in love so fluff angst smut whatever all is good idk or care what happens haha I will do anything for that man 😓 tysm for being another male writer i am so sick of Pedro universe characters being written about with only women :((
and if y are not in a fixation (am the same way with that too) of Peña I would love maybe Tim Rockford +ftm reader or Joel if u are into them at the moment. just Pedro simping out rn it’s insane
thank u so much again ! am stoked to see this or any other fics yu write!!
Holy SHIT this took a while!! I'm so sorry but i literally finished Narcos s3 and fell into a writing slump T-T I finally got this out tho and tbh, i like this one, so i hope you all too! Tysm for requesting, I hope this is a good enough Javier Peña fic! If there are any mistakes please don't hesitate to tell me! <3 Remember to Reblog!
Rookie
Tags: Javier Peña x FtM!reader, Javier Peña x m!reader, Javier Peña x agent!Reader, Steve Murphy, Connie Murphy, Colonel Carillo, other DEA personels, First Meeting, Fluff, Slight smut, making out, Kissing, EXCESSIVE eye contact, Slight OOC, Smitten Javier, Javi is DONE FOR, Bisexual Javier Peña, supportive Steve, He’s an ally!, I dont understand how police ranks work okay, so sorry if theres mistakes about those!, Period typical Homophobia, Period typical Transphobia, Use of queer slurs, sorry guy!, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Patching up, All English, Gunshot, Alcohol, injuries, No one dies! (Note: I can reclaim the slurs used in this fic as I am in fact a queer, trans man.)
Javi’s breath got caught. The man simply meets his dark browns, thick lashes blink slowly before he promptly tilts his head. Then he breaks eye contact, turning back to Carillo, continuing their conversation. The colonel said something which made the man laugh, creases on the edges of those captivating eyes, the way his lips curled with a professional laugh. Javier finds it hard to rip his attention away. Only when Steve promptly cleared his throat did Javi blink, glancing over to his workmate, who was fixing him with a glare.
Javier scoffs, turning away.
—
Javier was at his desk when an unfamiliar face came waltzing into the department. The guy seems to follow behind Steve, a confident smile on his lips. The agent takes a sip of his coffee, following the man with his eyes before he disappears into Carillo’s office. He blinks, promptly places his mug back down and rereads the passage before he got distracted.
A minute later, Steve walks out without the mystery man and makes his way to his desk, facing Javier. Curiosity got the best of him, so when his friend went to take a seat, he leaned over his desk enough to whisper to him.
“A new guy? One of yours?”
Steve blinks, before he huffs. “Yeah, the embassy sent him over, apparently he’s got a record with tracking down slippery dealers back in the US, and thought we need more help,”
“Sure, more mouths to feed,” That made Steve scoffs. Javier sits back down, still eyeing Careillo’s office, which makes the blond raise a brow.
“Don't break him Jav’s,”
“What are you even talking about?” The agent picks up his cup, taking a gulp.
“You know what I mean,” Steve simply replies, already pulling up his file folder and looking into it. Javier shakes his head, backing up into his chair and resuming his work.
The new guy spent half an hour in the office before he came out, shaking Carillo’s hand with a firm nod. Seems like he already got the guy on his side. Carillo talks to him out of earshot, then suddenly points to Javi’s and Steve’s direction, which makes Javi meet the guy's eyes.
Javi’s breath got caught. The man simply meets his dark brown, thick lashes blink slowly before he promptly tilts his head. Then he breaks eye contact, turning back to Carillo, continuing their conversation. The colonel said something which made the man laugh, creases on the edges of those captivating eyes, the way his lips curled with a professional laugh. Javier finds it hard to rip his attention away. Only when Steve promptly cleared his throat did Javi blink, glancing over to his workmate, who was fixing him with a glare. Javier scoffs, turning away.
“Gentlemen, meet our new field agent,” Carillo stands next to their desks, beside him the man stood, button up and in casual pants as he hugs a briefcase, a dark denim jacket over everything.
“This is Agent Javier Peña, and you’ve met Murphy,” He continued. The man nods at Steve before extending his hand to Javi, which he shakes easily. He notes the calluses on the man's hand before he lets go.
He introduced himself, stating his purpose. And Steve was right, the embassy did send another agent they thought could help on the hunt. “Pleasure meeting you, Agent Peña,”
He smiled, a small nod before he moved back beside the colonel. Javier only ran his gaze up and down the man, before promptly nodding. “Welcome to the hunt,”
—
Agent Peña looked at you up and down, before he nodded. “Welcome to the hunt,”
The colonel smirks, before he pats you on the shoulder. He turns, presumably to return to his office, which leaves you in front of the two agents. On Steve's left, there's an empty desk, which must've been cleared out for you. You gave Agent Peña a once over, the man currently blowing smoke from his lips, before you cleared your throat. “Good luck on today, agents,”
And with that, you left the two to set up your own space. You heard a huff from one of them, you couldn't pinpoint who, which made you roll your eyes. The embassy entrusted you to help the Search Bloc on locating Pablo Escobar, or at least find more of his sicarios and drug kitchens in order to stop and raid them. You did your job well back in the US, easily finding many drug distributors, often leading the raids there. Seeing your rapid success, you’ve been transferred to the DEA, which you took with pride. In the midst of all the wars, the good guys need all the manpower they can get.
You begin to open your case, pulling out files you brought from the US of what leads you’ve gathered even before getting assigned to Bogota. After setting them out, you slide off your jacket and drape it over your chair. Maybe it was your mistake of wearing denim to a hot climate, but there wasn't as much time as you anticipated when Steve picked you up from the apartment you were staying in, so you picked the jacket you arrived with the day before, which resulted in a steady gathering of sweat near your collarbones. After securing your jacket, you begin rolling up the sleeves of your beige button-up, exposing your forearms to what air is still available in the stuffy office. You sigh, before taking a seat at your desk, beginning work.
—
The brunette swore under his breath as he saw their new agent standing meters away from him, just behind Steve. He begins to roll up his sleeves to combat the heat, which exposes his forearms, the soft smattering of hair running up the lengths of them. Javier could keep his thoughts to himself when the man only took off his denim jacket, which Javi almost snickered at and almost commented on the ‘rookie mistake’, but when he peeled the jacket off, it reveals the way his pants hugs the swell of the man's ass, which raises heat under Javier's collar.
He tried to look back down to the important paperwork he should be pouring work into but he’s long abandoned that when steady hands reveal entracing arms. When he sat down, Javi instead bit the inside of his cheek before taking a long drag of his cigarette. There's no way Steve didn't notice, but he appreciates the silence he gives him instead of an accusatory glare.
Javier had his fair share of experiences with women, mainly his valuable informants around the city, but aside from that, men are unfamiliar territory for him. That doesn't mean it deters him, Javi is anything but exploratory on that side of the spectrum. But finding interest in a co-worker is new, especially a fresh face that showed up mere hours ago in the compound. It worries him, something small in the back of his head telling him to reel back, to run away from those hypnotizing eyes and soft smile, but another part urges him to know, to be curious. Javier stands, pocketing his cigar packets.
“Where are you going?” Steve glances toward his friend, brows furrowed.
“Out, smoke,” Javier simply says before he leaves his partner. Steve only stares at him incredulously before shaking his head, turning back to his papers.
—
It had turned late. When everyone in the office had decided to retire, some of the guys invited themselves to one of the bars near there, and somehow Javier found himself roped in with the others. To be fair, Steve was the one that invited him, and Javi doesn't really refuse a chance to get himself drunk, maybe pick up a gal before bringing her home for the night, but all his plans went straight out the window when he heard that they also invited the rookie.
He was standing beside Steven when the man decided he has had enough of socializing with the others and excused himself, heading to the bar. Javier has already started to miss his short laughs and nods as if he understood what his co-workers said. It would surely surprise him if he knew Spanish, maybe basics and everyday words, but unlike Steve, he only arrived in Bogota this week. But it’s rude to assume, people come with varying background knowledge, so Javier turns to the group instead.
“I heard some gossip about the new guy,” One of them says, eliciting a curious glance from Javi. “Something about him not being a man?”
“Like one of those queer freaks?”
“Apparently they're called a tranny now,” Some laugh, others shudder before muttering the Lord's prayer.
“God save them,” A couple drinks to that. Steve meets eyes with Javier, something wary in his glance. Javi only rolls his eyes before finishing his shot. He has no business spending time with the likes of these men, if they even deserved to be called men. For all he knows, the man that currently has his back turned toward the table is more of a man than any of them.
He’s glad to have Steve as his partner. Maybe it's due to the nature of having grown up somewhere like the USA, but the first time Steve found out that Javier has an interest in men, he only shrugged and never saw Javi in another light. From this conversation, Javier also clocks how tired Steve is over the homophobic bullshit their co-workers have. The brunette sighs, blowing out smoke. He goes to take another sip but realizes his empty glass, and pats Steven to indicate his leave to the bar.
He saddles up next to the rookie, the man's fringe slightly blocking Javi to those addictive eyes. He orders another drink, which catches the man's attention.
"Peña,” He nods and takes a gulp of his drink. Javier is momentarily distracted by the long column of the man's neck, before he shakes his head, resting one arm on the counter.
"So, what's a handsome man like you doing here?” Javi tries to smile, which might have worked, judging by the grin that appears on the man's lips. He looks down, the condensation coating those lithe fingers, Javier notices.
“Just trying to pass the night,” He shrugs with a small smile, deciding to humor him. He swirls the alcohol in his glass and Javier follows the movement. He hadn't realized how close he was sitting next to the man. “Listen, Agent Peña-”
“Javier- Javi,”
Javi’s response made him chuckle. He sips at his drink, before fully turning to face the brunette. “Isn't there a rule against fraternizing with a fellow co-worker, Javi?”
“Not when it’s outside of work,” That makes the man grin, subconsciously leaning into Javi’s space.
“I’ve noticed that you’ve been following me with your eyes,” He says, glancing briefly at Javi's lips before returning to his eyes. Javi gulps.
“What can I say, I have an eye for attractive people,”
“Well, considered me flattered,” Javi tilts his head just so, breathing in the tang of alcohol in the man's breath. They’re dangerously close, too close for just ‘co-workers’. Regardless, Javier finds himself entranced by those deep eyes.
“But,” He suddenly leans back. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that,” The man picks at his breast pocket before putting down some bills, already reaching for his draped jacket. He swiftly pulls it on, making Javi scramble out of his seat, before he pats his shoulder twice, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Peña,”
Javier is left starstruck. He stays in his seat, following the sway of the man's hips as he walks across the bar, waving to Steve, before exiting through the door. Javi swears, his brows furrowed as he gulps down what's left of his drink. He turns in his seat, spotting Steve still at the table with the others, an accusatory brow raised.
Steve drives back to the apartment with Javi. They share an understandable silence.
—
It's the second month since your arrival.
To your disappointment, progress was slow. To no one's surprise, it seems, but from your prestigious work back in the US, the expectation that you’d help with the hunt was high. To just be another field agent with no lead on Escobar in the compound would be a failure to you.
Though the search hasn't gotten any easier, your relationship with your co-worker has. Mainly with Murphy and Peña, and at this point they’ve insisted on you using their first names, so it's Steve and Javier now. They've invited you to drink more than once, spent late nights with you when the paperwork came down like an avalanche, and most of the time, Steve always brings back three boxes of food when it comes to lunch.
Somehow, Steve has grown closer to you than you expected. When you were overcome with work, Steve would make sure you and Javi weren't missing your break time. He’d pull the both of you out into the cold night air when it turned too late. He fusses over your choice of fashion more times than you could count, commenting on your choice of jacket or shirt, reminding you of the weather and how it’ll be affected with heat. On stakeouts and recon missions, Steve would be the one to pat your jittery leg softly, an encouraging smile beneath his stache. You’d nod, inhaling deeply before releasing the air alongside your tension.
Then there is Javier. Though you met Steve before him, Javier had caught your interest since the first day. His constant sharp eyes and the lingering smell of nicotine become addictive, the memory of that night at the bar in constant repetition. You could still remember his scent, a combination of something heady, a touch of smoke and sun underneath it all. You were a breath away from his lips, the dimmed light of the bar didn't help to distract you from his captivating brown eyes.
Ever since then, thankfully, you’ve gotten closer to him. Javi spends more time with you than Steve. Some nights, he’d stay behind when Steve needed to retire earlier. He’d give you a ride back to your apartment, which turns out just a couple blocks down from where he and Steve stayed. Some nights you’d stop by, from Javi’s invitation, and chat about nothing and everything while sharing a couple of bottles of beer. He’s good company, and you always find yourself hoping for an invitation from him whenever it gets too late.
This week was different.
There was a shootout. While raiding one of Escobars many drug kitchens, a stray bullet from one of the guards shoots your arm. You screamed and dropped to the floor, immediately gripping your upper arm. You were sure the bullet was still inside which doesn't make it a clean shot. The pain shoots throughout your upper body, making you wheeze out every breath, sweat gathering on your crown. A minute later, Steve was crouched beside you, hauling you up, putting most of your weight on him.
He brought you outside and into the awaiting medical group. You were rushed into the emergency room, and you shortly passed out.
Buzzing fluorescent lights woke you up. Blinking away the groggy sleep, you notice a heavy weight on the back of your arm and realize it must've been the IV. Finally regaining enough strength to fight against the blaring lights, you open your eyes to find Javi slumped on a seat next to your bed, a thin blanket draped over him. Seeing him asleep, clear lines of exhaustion under his eyes, something wells inside your heart. You quickly dismiss the feeling as dehydration instead and try to turn your body to reach for the glass of water on the tray next to you. The noise must've awoken your partner, because as soon as you try to stretch your arm for the glass, Javi quickly fills it up with water and hands it to you. You blinked, before slowly accepting the cup and taking big gulps.
The water extinguishes your drought, but not the other growing feeling. The cup sits on your lap, both of your hands holding it while you catch your breath. Javi has taken his seat again, the blanket draped over the back of the chair. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” You scoff, glancing at your currently bandaged hand. Javi looks at the tiled floor. “But, not my worst,”
“You’ve been shot before?”
“Yeah, on my calf once, the other near my ass,” You chuckle, remembering those years prior before officially gaining your Agent title. “Almost made my legs not work if it weren't for the surgery,”
You found yourself looking into Javi’s deep browns, his brows knitted. “This is just another day on the job,”
“Yeah…” Javi nods solemnly. You were back to staring into the half-empty glass before you felt your partner's warm hand wrap around yours.
It had been a couple of days after that.
Your arm was sadly still in a light, and you were lucky it wasn't your dominant one. Menial tasks are made difficult by the pain that still spreads sometimes, which also raises your annoyance.
Javi has graciously allowed you to crash in his apartment until your arm has properly healed up. The doctors said it’d take another week or two for your arm to sort itself out, so you're stuck doing things one-handed for the time, sometimes helped by Javi. You've been given orders to stay out of the office because you were insistent on finishing work there, but Javi and Steve brought back your paperwork into Javi’s apartment against your wishes.
The clock reads 8 PM. Javi has decided to come home earlier than his usual shifts, his excuse; is to help you prepare dinner. Javi has gone as far as to get a cookbook with the help of Connie, making dishes he’s familiar with.
The sound of the door clattering pulls you away from your paperwork, and you spot the brunette bringing two whole bags of groceries inside. You quickly stand and rush over, prying one bag from his hand.
“Javi, what's all of this?” The man only blinks as he hauls the bag onto the countertop.
“We can't really survive with just beer,” He shrugs, which makes you chuckle, and bring the other bag, putting it next to it.
“What were you working on?” He continues, pulling out groceries from the bag. You leaned on the counter, caressing your bandaged hand.
“Just finishing up the report from our last bust,” You wiggle what you could of your bandages arm. “Y’know,”
Javier solemnly nods, pushing a can into the cupboard. You've moved on pretty quickly from the incident, but something hangs around Javier, making him hard to reach sometimes, especially if you bring up the subject. You know trying to pry the reason out of him would result in coming up empty, so you've decided to wait until he's come to his own term.
“I'm gonna start on dinner,” He turns, hips leaning on the counter so he faces you. Your eyes impulsively trace the languid way he sways before turning your head slightly, not meeting Javier's dark browns.
You nod quickly, already feeling the blush forming. “Yeah, sure,” You add before walking back to the couch.
—
Dinner went by quickly, Javier whipped up something easy for you to digest and quick to make. When you were writing down other notes in your report, Javi calls you to eat and spends the rest of the time talking about his day in the office. Apparently, Steve was worried, asking Javi if he’s been taking care of their partner correctly. He’s had to shrug off Steve’s insistent questions the whole day, which made you chuckle.
After cleaning up, Javi joins you on the couch, bringing two bottles of beer. He hands one to you which you accept with a thankful nod. The couch dips as Javi takes a seat, his head tilts back as he takes a gulp. You blink before taking a short sip, averting your eyes.
When the man beside you shifts, you half-heartedly thought he was reaching for his pack of cigs. He hasn't been smoking since you crashed in his home, and it slowly became odd, watching Javi’s relaxed posture whenever you both sit together without silver smoke framing his profile. But you've been expecting wrong, because he only shifts to adjust his seating before settling back, his usual pack of cigarettes nowhere in sight. You worry slightly if he stopped because of your presence, even though you enjoy sneaking glances whenever he inhales, the muscles on his neck almost prominent, the way he’ll tilt just the slightest to reveal the expanse of skin, most of the time glistening under the Columbian heat.
“Listen… About the last week,” Javier’s tone sobers you from your daydreaming. The man is hunched over, arms on his knees, one hand swirling the alcohol. Something in the air sours.
“I should've been there, I should've- Shouldn’t have gone for that fucking guy, I should've stayed behind-”
“Javi there wasn't any way we could've known-”
“But it shouldn't have been you.” His hand lands on your injured arm, his body facing you. He hesitates; the movement seems accidental, but your hand covers him before he can move it away. You can't keep letting Javi get away with blaming things on himself.
“Javier, it wasn't your fault. Like I said,” Your head tilts, mustering a small smile to coax Javi from staring at the floor. He notices the pause and meets your eyes. “It's just another day on the job,”
The air hangs heavy, only mere inches sitting between you and Javi. His brows furrowed slightly, hand tightening beneath yours. Your eyes follow the minutely twitch on the man's lips. Javi gulps when his eyes go to your lips fleetingly. Your breath catches. You feel yourself quiver.
“Javi….” was the last you breathed out before the man pulls at your shirt, closing the gap and pushes his lips against yours. Javi’s staches tickle the top of your lips, the slide of his slightly chapped lips against yours. Your hand holds his jaw, before brushing at the short hair on Javi’s neck. He shivers, shifting himself to press harder against your lips, his hand releases your shirt but moves to hold your hips, eliciting a gasp from you. He uses the chance to slip his tongue between your lips, making you shift until you hit the back of the couch. Your hand travels down from his jaw to brush over his chest, you stored the slight hitch in Javis' breath inside your memory, before you find the man's waist and he moves to straddle your thighs, aware of your healing arm but somehow not breaking the kiss.
When the need to breathe finally separates you and Javi, his chest heaves, pretty lashes flutter against his cheek. A steady hue of red spreads on his face down to his neck. You manage to regain your composure slightly, one thumb pressing slithy into Javi’s hip, making him drop to your shoulder, burying himself between your neck. You grin, now patting Javi’s hair softly. Your mind focuses on the unsteady beats of Javi’s heart that matches yours, still trying to tap down your adrenaline.
“I should be careful about your arm,” Javi suddenly says, sitting upright on top of you. It makes you laugh slightly, which Javi smiles at.
“I’ll be alright, Javi,” You grin, cataloging the way the dim light reflects in his dark irises. “We’ll be alright.”
All Stars In The Sky Are For You (David 8 x Reader)
a/n: in preparation for Alien Romulus, I've watched all the prequel movies, and got rudely reminded that Michael Fassbender is... just... so fckn hot in them... my god
Warnings: Non-Con, very Obsessive and Possessive Behavior from the man (android) of the hour, Smut, technically Stalking when you think about it, gross overuse of Shakespeare Quotations (again), past Walter x Reader mentioned.
Summary: David finds a place for you in his grand creation plan. Deeply inspired by the song "Specially For You" by DakhaBrakha. Cross-Posted on AO3
Watching you dream of him, brings a twisted sense of satisfaction.
Seeing himself, displayed on the cryo chamber screen, looking like a monster straight out of a feverish nightmare. Which he supposes, he is to you, and to many others. After all, he did bring horrors beyond imagination upon your crew, your family. And he sees it, every single moment of suffering you've experienced through his hand, through the hands of his creations. And it fills him with an unexplainable sense of fulfillment.
It started innocently enough.
Just a peek into your subconscious mind, a rare instance of sentimentality he's carried within himself, all the way from Prometheus. At first, he found his target in Daniels. After all, she's reminded him of Shaw the most, and as such, he has gravitated towards her sleeping chamber like a curious sort of meteorite. But her dreams were filled with happy, peaceful moments. Her husband, mostly, her time at the company. All so dull and devoid of any intrigue.
And as such, he pushed further, stepping over towards your unconscious form, wrapped and packaged for him, by him. There you laid, eyes running wild under heavy eyelids, the muscles on your cheeks twitching, your limbs tensing in spasms. The moment he has peered into your mind, he knew. He understood your purpose in the grand plan of his. Because what stared back at him, through the fluorescent, humming screen, was his own face.
An image of utter indifference. Eyes flickering over your features, marking them, cataloging them inside the constantly spinning data plate he calls a brain. He's considered your first meeting as something trivial. A catalyst for later, perhaps, but all in all, uneventful. And yet, despite the ordinariness of it all, your mind seemed focused only on this one moment, when he first removed his hood, when his eyes met yours over the rest of the expedition.
Fascinating, truly.
Thus began a slow process. A dance (he liked to think of it as such), with no tangible conclusion for the present. He would frequent the cryo chamber, let his hand linger on the screen, right over your face, until your dreams manifested. And then, he would watch, absorbing everything you would've kept hidden otherwise.
"I'm so sorry" your voice is quiet, meek, in the stuffy interior of his 'private' chamber. "I just... I saw a light, and you said to make ourselves at home"
"No need to apologize" he answers with his typical, emotionless cadence, turning around in his chair to face you.
He can see the way your lips pull down, fighting off a smile, as your eyes glide over the half-cut strands of hair. The sheers glimmer in the low, warm light, and as if pushed by instinct, you take a step forward.
Cherries. David opens his mouth just a little, to taste the air you carry around you. Under the unmistakable scent of humanity, there's wind, there's the dampness of his humble abode, and something else. Something far sweeter. He races to identify it, thoughts running through the memory bank.
"Do you, uh..." you hesitate, and he wonders, why that is "Do you want some help with that?"
You hand waves in the general direction of his hair, and he blinks up at you, before inclining his head. A silent invitation, the hand of the Devil himself extending itself towards you. It's quiet, as you work, cutting away the blonde until there's only brown left. Until he's almost indistinguishable from your own synth companion.
As he watches the events play out on the screen, David thinks it's beyond ironic, how big of a part you unknowingly played in his little charade. He wonders, how guilt will look on your face, once you finally find out, the one putting you to sleep wasn't Walter. That you've helped this impostor onto the ship, unleashed tragedy upon everyone inside. That it's all by your hand, literally.
He's never tasted cherries, never tasted anything worth noting, really. But as he brings forth his own memory of this particular interaction, he wonders, if the scent is just in your air. If he ran his tongue over the skin of your throat, would he be able to taste the sweetness?
Sometimes you dream about the crew.
There are moments between you and Daniels, quiet ones, filled with understanding and compassion. He sees you with Tennessee, your smile pulling at the corners of your eyes, wrinkling the skin around your mouth and nose. Both of them are sleeping in the cryo chamber, awaiting paradise, which will never come. You've worked so hard to get them here, on this ship, and as David watches you dream of Daniels' wedding, he thinks about the tragedy of it all. Another thing to be guilty of, once you wake up. Another fascinating, devastating emotion for him to witness, to categorize. He feels his fingers thrum in anticipation, as he watches you dance with your friend, movements clumsy and so utterly human.
Then, he walks away. Because as much as he loves to imagine (he likes the word, even if it doesn't apply to him) how you'll inevitably crumble, the dreams which are not about him simply bore him. So, he moves through the ship, into his personal lab. There, he studies your DNA, pulls it apart, greedily soaks up every strand, as they dance (like you and Daniels), in front of his cold eyes. He wonders, if (when) he makes his perfect creature out of her body, will you learn to love it? Will you feel the connection between your bodies, the pull of kinship?
"David... Help me..." there's no real sound coming out of your mouth, as you plead with him, your eyes filling up with tears, spilling over your trembling cheeks like a broken faucet.
He doesn't. Of course he doesn't, because the scene playing out in front of him is that much more interesting.
There you stand, body taunt, shaking, and his creature circles you slowly. The white, bony structure of it's body slides around your calves, as it sniffs the same scent he feels at the edge of his tongue. It's already feasted quite remarkably on the dead body of your fallen crew mate, and with that need satisfied, there's only one left. Curiosity. Something David relates to on such primordial level, he feels the essence of himself in every move, every low growl his creation emits.
"Communication" he whispers, and you close your eyes, screw them shut tightly, as the creature rises to it's full height before you "Blow on the nose of a horse, and it'll be yours forever"
He can see the conflict, the fight between overwhelming dread, and your own, subdued fascination. His breath catches in his throat, as your chest expands. But before you can cross that line, before you give in completely, that menace of a man, Oram, appears. His bullets shatter all hope for progress.
At first, seeing you dream of Walter irritates him beyond belief. And you do that so often, for so long, it's a wonder he contains himself from ripping the cryo chamber open, and shaking every lingering thought of his brother-synth out of your brain. It's the smallest of things, that seem to linger in your mind. The cadence of his speech, as he addressed you. The coldness of his hand on your shoulder, when he steadied you after a turbulence. More daring touches, your waist, your stomach, but never your face. As if that would cross the threshold between machinery and humanity.
David knew, from the moment he witnessed a sliver of interaction between the two of you, that Walter loved you, as much as a synth could ever hope to love. He's seen this distant, lost look on his own face a decade ago, when he travelled the outer space with Shaw. With his Elizabeth. Walter did not understand the delicate, almost translucent line between duty and love, but David did. What he did not anticipate, however, was that you loved Walter as well, in this clumsy, peaceful way humans tend to love. He mistook it as friendship, back on his planet, but now, looking through your eyes, he could see plain as day. The affection, the devotion, the thrill of feeling something which should never be felt.
Soon, he doesn't mind watching those dreams anymore. Because as days go on, David falls into a trap of his own making, where he sees Walter's face on the screen and realizes, it's the same as his. And so, when you dream of the other synth patching up a scrape on your cheek with delicate hands, who's to say you're not dreaming of him?
He could be kind. He could apply a bandage with as much finesse, if not more. Lips parting in a silent intake of breath, he tries to bring back the recorded memory of you, helping him patch up his own scratched up face.
Again, you were unaware that it was David on the receiving end of your affection, not Walter, and he was painfully aware that the softness in your eyes was a product of his own lie. Still, he couldn't force himself to care, as your fingers held his chin, like he was something delicate, more than an almost unstoppable artificial creation.
"You've saved my life three times already" you muse, stapling pieces of skin together "I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you."
"There's no need" David says, mimicking Walter's accent with perfect precision "It's my duty"
Both of you look down, at the stump where his left hand used to be, and the quiet tension between the two of you feels like a current of electricity. And by God, it takes a monumentla ammount of strength, not to reach up, throw all pretense to the wind, and taste the cherries.
Which is why, his mind goes blank momentarily, when you lean down, fingers shifting on his chin, and press your lips delicately to his cheekbone, lingering just for a second. He doesn't know what to think, what to say, and most importantly, he doesn't know how Walter would react to such dislay of affection. So he gives you, what you want. Fakes a bewildered expression, swallows tightly, and lets his gaze linger on your retreating form, as you all but flee the room, cheeks warming up to an alarming degree.
He could do the same to you. He could hold your face with reverence, with care. Put you on a pedestal, above everything and everyone. And, most importantly, he could do for you something, which Walter would never be able to.
He could create.
And, oh, does he create. Pages upon pages, filled with ink, with charcoal. David pulls out every image he has stored, every saved expression on your face, and places it on paper, until his lab is filled with the record of your every interaction. Frame by frame, every micro expression, every slight change, he draws it all, until there's nothing left to draw. Until all he can create is that same, unchanging image of your face buried in slumber.
It's not enough. It's not nearly enough, and so, like the creator that he is, David starts to make plans.
What really cements his idea, is this one, particular dream he catches, after sauntering into the cryo chambers, as he's grown accustomed to. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor reveals your deep state of distress, as it picks up, and up, your face twisting. David touches the screen with barely contained excitement, drinking in your expressions to store them for later, to add them to the growing collection. And then, his eyes fall onto his own drawing, a memorial for his dear Elizabeth.
"She didn't perish in the crash, did she?" you ask, despite knowing the answer, and once again, he's struck by how quiet your voice can be.
"No." he answers plainly, the recording of his voice thrumming through his brain.
Oh, how lovely does your face contort, how beautiful you look, when dread fills your veins. Those small, sharp gasps you take. The way your pulse runs wild under the skin of your throat, filling his nose, his mouth, with that sweet undertone, so unfitting to the situation at hand.
And then you duck, surprisingly agile for a mere scientist, pushing yourself under his extended arm, slipping past him like smoke through fingers. He whirls around, hand grasping at the back of your jacket, and you scream, raw and uninhibited, as he throws you against the cabinet. The scrolls of his drawings fall to the ground with you, and he can't help, but marvel at the sight for just a second. The way your body writhes, buried under pages of his art. Like a living, breathing, binding agent for his creations.
Absentmindedly, he reaches up, to touch that spot under his chin, where you previously stuck a sharp end of your knife, a pathetic attempt at hurting him. He's had his head ripped from the rest of his artificial body, and yet, that pang of hurt, when you stab him with a growl from deep within your chest... He shudders at the memory, and ponders over this reaction.
Hate. Fear and hate, is what he sees in your eyes, as he throws you onto the table, crawling over you with grace, only his kind is capable of. You struggle, a butterfly in his grasp, ready for further transformation, into something completely unprecedented. As he looks down upon you, at the fire consuming your irises, he can't help himself from leaning forward. From pulling the answers he needs right from your mouth.
A whimper escapes you, both in your dream and in the cryo chamber, and David shudders again. Although whether it's a genuine reaction buried deep within his programming, or a gesture of his own design is anybody's guess. (It's fake, there's nothing in him that requires shuddering, but it feels right to do it, so he forces his body to react accordingly)
"Is that how it's done?" he asks, gauging your reaction, and you answer with a strangled groan.
The heat of your body seeps into his own, he steals it from you greedily, chest pressing against yours harder, and harder, until your breath stutters between your ribs. He can feel the warmth of your beating heart, through your protective clothing, through the jacket. He'd wager he could feel it even through walls of solid granite.
Still, he wants more, wants to know everything there is to know about you. Wants to seek out those pockets of heat, which you try to hide from him. But he's so rudely interrupted by his brother, right as he was about to explore that one part of humanity, which fascinated and repulsed him so.
But Walter isn't here now. It's just you, and him, and years before the ship reaches it's destination.
David's fingers drum over the casing of your sleeping chamber, so close to that one specific button, the temptation almost unbearable. And then, after a moment of consideration, your fate is sealed.
At first, the light is unbearable. Your eyes water, and you groan, flinching from the sudden onslaught of senses, all flooding back to you, as last remnants of cryo sleep seem to fizzle out. Your head swims, there's a tightness in your chest, which almost pushes you back into the plush insides of the chamber. But, as your body sways, a gentle pressure at the lower portion of your back keeps you upright.
A sense of familiarity floods you (a strange thing to feel, when an imitation of flesh touches you), and finally you risk cracking your eyes open, your unfocused gaze landing on such a welcome face, your heart twists in your chest.
"Walter..." your voice is rough from the lack of use, but the fondness in it is undeniable "What happened? Are we there yet?"
David savors the sliver of hope in your tone, and crushes it in his teeth once he's had his fix.
"I'm afraid not" he shakes his head gently, offers you a deceivingly human pull of his lips "Your cryo chamber malfunctioned, I had to wake you up"
A flicker of disappointment crosses your features, but you swallow it down quickly.
"Are the rest of the crew alright? Tennessee? Daniels?" your neck cranes, as he helps you to the examination table, letting you grab onto his arm for support, as you climb up, and settle on the edge.
"Everyone is quite well" he nods, moving across the room to a small medical table. His hand goes through motions of shuffling through the supplies, a small lie amongst all the monumental ones. "I need to check your vitals and collect a blood sample"
You nod stiffly, eyes flickering towards the syringe in his hand.
"You know I hate needles" you mutter, but extend your arm either way, and David turns to you with an imitation of a gentle smile.
His fingers slide over the warmth of your skin, quickly finding a suitable vein. Without a word, he plunges the needle into the hollow space between your upper and lower arm, and you hiss quietly at the pang of pain. He wishes he could stick it into the underside of your jaw. Repay your previous fight with a courtesy.
"Just a second, Dearest. Easy does it" David mutters, his eyes flickering over your face, as you look at him in momentary confusion.
"Dearest?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. He feels your heartbeat stutter under his fingers.
"A figure of speech" David supplies, and your frown deepens
"Where did that come from?" you ask incredulously, and all he offers in response is a tight-lipped smile.
The needle withdraws from your arm, and you sigh, pressing down on the small incision with your thumb. Something within David suppresses the urge to rip your hand away, to replace your thumb with his mouth and suck, until he knows for a fact, if the scent of cherries carries in your blood as well.
"Do you remember anything before you went under?" David asks, standing next to your knee, close enough to feel the thrumming heat of your body, but not close enough to actually touch you. A staggering display of restraint on his part, he congratulates himself.
You think for a moment, eyebrows scrunching in a way that is so appealing, so delicious, David runs his tongue over his teeth.
"I... Uh..." you hesitate for a second, eyes flickering around the room, as if you're hoping to pull the answer out of the sterile air "I remember a planet. We fought those... Creatures..."
Your voice wavers. David tracks the movement of your throat as you swallow thickly.
"There was an android there. David" his name leaves your lips in a heavy sigh, filled with emotion, with memories he's seen displayed on the screen time, and time again.
"Ah" the sound slips out before he can stop it, but you're still too out of it to truly notice "A right bastard, that one".
Not out of it enough, it seems, because your eyes flicker up to his face, confusion dancing on the edge between becoming suspicion. He masks the sly grin on his face, turning away from you, and walking back to the medical table, disposing of the blood sample and setting it up for analysis. He can feel your eyes burning the back of his neck, because despite perfectly mimicking Walter's cadence, the pattern of his speech, he realizes that pathetic machine would never state his opinion on someone so freely. He quite literally didn't have it in him, being stripped from the last semblance of humanity.
And yet, you still loved him...
"...How curious" David mutters to himself absent mindedly, and you frown yet again, shifting on the examination table, your legs dangling above the floor.
"Something wrong with the sample?"
His eyes flicker towards you, but he doesn't answer, opting to hold you in anticipation for a moment longer. As long as he can, really. You shift again. He can hear the way your robe moves against the cool metal of the examination table, against the skin hidden under fabric. Eyes roaming over your form, he lingers on every individual strand, every piece of lint that clings to you. By the downward pull of your lips, the small crease between your eyebrows, he sees how close you are to finally understanding the truth.
For now however, you're stuck with this incessant feeling, that something is wrong. A whisper, at the back of your mind, making the small, delicate hairs on your neck stand up.
"Your results are satisfactory" he nods, finally, but it still doesn't ease the tension from your shoulders. "How are you feeling, miss?"
Your teeth clink together as you think of an answer. David crosses the room, standing in front of your dangling legs, his head turning to the side in a too-slow display of concern.
"I uh... There's some lingering dizziness" quiet, your voice can be so unbelievably quiet, it's almost swallowed up by the beeping of the machines around you, the hum of the ship moving through space "Other than that, I think I'm fine"
David nods once, his hand moving up towards your face, and your muscles tense, as he gently rests his palm against your cheeks. Before you ask, he leans closer, his thighs brushing against your knees.
"And..." he turns your head from side to side, blue eyes gliding over your features with barely contained greed "Tell me..." slowly, as if he's boiling a frog in a pot, his fingers tighten on your face.
"When I kissed you in my laboratory, how did you feel back then?" he lets go of Walter's speech pattern completely, and nearly groans at the look on your face.
It's like a wave crashing onto a cliff side, the force with which dread fills your eyes, and David drinks it all in, lips pulling back into a cold, heartless smile.
"Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never" he muses, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Betrayal is a rolling stone, taking root in your brain, from the scramble of thoughts, of little clues about the truth of your situation. It travels down, through your rapidly tightening throat, falling into your heart, the force of impact breaking it in two. Then, it swirls around in your stomach, waking dread from it's slumber, to finally pass through your legs, shaking like leaves on the wind, where it sinks into the metal floor of the ambulatory. Right where you wish you could disappear yourself.
"Walter..." you plead, voice breaking before if even leaves your mouth.
Your fingers grasp the soft material of his hoodie, trying to find some hope, that this is just a simple misunderstanding. A cruel joke played on you by a thing that doesn't understand humor, not really. Alas, as your nails bite into his chest, David's smile widens, the corners of his lips curling further, perfect set of inhuman canines glistening from artificial saliva.
"Ah, Walter" he sighs the name, like it's a passing memory of the spring "He proved himself most useful. It was so easy to trick you, into thinking I was him."
He pulls his hand away from your face, fingers sliding over the pulse running wild on the side of your neck
"But then again, you're not exactly the sharpest tool in this shed, are you?"
Now he's got you exactly where he wants you, your eyes shining like two diamonds with unrestrained anger. With unbridled curiosity, he reaches up, thumb swiping over the thin skin under your eye, drinking in the way your lower lid jumps, as he brushes over your eyelashes.
"Can the world buy such a jewel?" he muses to himself quietly, and you would've thought about the implications, if you weren't so completely overcome by anger.
"Fuck you" you spit out, voice filled with venom "What did you do with Walter?"
David's lips press into a thin line, his hand abandoning your face in favor of sliding the length of your body. Cold, artificial skin traces the curvature of your shoulder, your arm. He stops at your elbow, fingers pressing into the hollow space, where just moments before, he has stuck a needle and drawn blood. Your face twists in discomfort, and he digs his nail just a bit further.
"You miss him dearly, don't you?" David asks, his voice, albeit impossibly quiet, carries a note of condescension, that twists your insides with unbridled rage. "In my defense, Dearest, I have tried to help you. To make him realize the depth of his own feelings before it was too late."
"What?"
David, unbothered by your question, continues to trace your body, mapping out every dip and curve, his fingers tracing down your spine, where he counts the vertebrae. His other hand, or lack there of, finds purchase on your hip, testing just how much does he need to press down, to feel the bone hidden under skin and muscle.
"Oh don't you worry" David quips, eyes transfixed on the way your chest expands when you take a sharp breath "I've made sure he died, knowing you never loved him"
Something raw and unfiltered tears it's way out of your throat. A new sound, one, which will be documented and stored forever in David's memory disk, because by God, you sound closer to an animal than any human. Your hand winds back, seemingly on it's own, and suddenly David's head snaps back, as your palm collides with his cheekbone. The slap sounds like a thunder cracking inside the ambulatory, drowning out every beep, every hum of the machinery.
Your hand will be bruised, that's for certain.
Despite efforts at keeping the synthetic humans as close to the real thing, as possible, no one could deny the sheer strength hidden beneath the perfect imitation of skin. You're aware of that, aware that if David didn't move his head in a way that was so deceivingly human, you would've broken your wrist. It gives you a small pause, a moment to register this strange reaction on android's part, but any curiosity is quickly swallowed, by the most intense feeling you've ever felt.
Hatred.
"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably" David sighs, shaking his head in, what you suppose, is meant to be disappointment.
The pressure on your hip shifts, as his stump encircles your waist, and suddenly you're being pulled impossibly closer, your behind sliding to the very edge of the medical table. David tugs on your knees, forcing your legs to open, and closes the last remnants of space between the two of you.
The smoothness of his nether regions should calm you down slightly, ease some smidgen of worry. But, as you look into those cold, lifeless eyes, which are strangely burning, your stomach twists. If there's a will, there's a way, and you're fairly certain, they way David's gaze glides all over your frame is a clear show of determination.
And so, your hands shoot up, fingernails biting into his chest again, as your muscles tense with the effort of pushing him away. There's no give, you might as well be fighting with a metal wall. David grips the edge of the medical table, his arms creating a cage on the sides of your body.
"There it is" he muses, nose brushing the underside of your chin, a deep rumble erupting from within his chest "Such a sweet smell..."
A shudder ripples through your body at the sudden contact, your throat constricting to an alarming degree.
"I've wondered for quite some time, if this sweetness is more than just air" David's voice rises and falls, and before you can truly comprehend the meaning behind his words, his tongue darts out, licking a stripe from your jugular, up to the back of your ear.
The reaction is almost embedded in your bones, as suddenly you shift on the table, wrenching your leg between your bodies and kicking out with as much force, as you're capable of, and then some. David staggers backwards, finally freeing you from the confines of his arms, and you seize the opportunity immediately, pushed by rage and such deep-seated hatred, it should terrify you.
"I fucking hate you!" you scream out, and abandoning all reason, leap forward, colliding with the android's steel chest.
The force of impact sweeps the both of you off your feet, and David lands with a dull thud on the metal floor. There's a flicker of surprise in his cold, dead eyes, and you revell in it, as your body shifts atop of his.
You recover from your momentary confusion quickly, hands coming up to grasp at his throat, like it will change anything, like you're capable of choking the life out of him. Both of you know better, and while you're pushed further and further by an intoxicating mixture of emotions, David lets you do as you please, watching your twisted face with undeniable fascination.
His hand start to move, grabbing your hips, running up the length of your thigh, tugging just a tiny bit on the fabric of your cryo suit. His stump brushes hair out of your face, gently.
"Don't you find it curious?" he whispers, and you can feel the way his throat works under your fingers "You loved Walter so dearly, this... Pathetic machine, who can feel nothing. And then, with that same breath, you hate me. Even though I'm closer to human than Walter ever hoped to be."
Your cheeks are suddenly wet, with tears of anger, of frustration, as they run down your face and neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt. David leans up with no real effort, pulling your body closer and craning his neck, so he can taste the salt on your skin. A whimper escapes you, a broken, quiet sound, as his tongue glides up, almost to the very corner of your eye, gathering your tears, drinking them with a satisfied groan.
Fingers tighten around his throat, but it's as if you're trying to strangle a metal pipe.
"What does that say about you? Have you ever wondered?" David asks, and your heart stutters.
Realistically, you know what he's trying to do. How he's trying to twist your feelings for Walter into some sort of psychological game, some challenge you're supposed to deny. But your awareness doesn't change the pang of hurt, the broken sigh that leaves your lips at the thought. And then, before you can truly think of the implications, of the hatred for the human race hidden deep within David's voice, his lips come crashing down upon yours, so reminiscent of the time in his lab.
This instance, however, is less like an experiment, and more like a need. Such a faithful imitation of it, your heart jumps in your throat. There's really no use in trying to push him away, as it seems he's grown tired of accommodating your desire for a fight, his arms tightening around you, pushing your body closer to his chest. Still, you're not about to give up that quickly, and pushed by sudden flash of panic, you lean your head forward, catching his lower lip between your teeth.
He pulls back with a hiss, as you sink down into the flesh, his artificial blood leaving a strange, chemical taste in your mouth. He takes half a second to admire the way your chin glistens with white, before diving down again, and giving you the same treatment, his perfect teeth biting on your lower lip with measured force. You yelp against him, thrashing in his hold, until he pulls away again. His hand comes up, touching your face in a way that is too gentle, too reverend. His thumb collects the peculiar mixture of his blood and yours, swirls it around with the newest batch of tears springing from your eyes.
Then, he dips his finger between his teeth, tongue lapping up the fluids, holding your horrified, and slightly disgusted gaze.
"We taste divine together" he murmurs, and with a quickness you've not known him to be capable of, he shoves his finger into your mouth. You sputter and gag at the intrusion, at the copper taste mixed with chemicals, as it coats the inside of your mouth.
It's a split second action, you barely register the movements, but as soon as David rips his hand out of your mouth, he maneuvers your body to his liking, grabbing your hips, and sitting you down on his leg, intention clear as day. Two things happen at once. You can suddenly feel undeniable pressure right between your legs, hitting in the precise manner you need it to. And that's the same moment you realize just how obscenely wet you are, which terrifies you more than any monster on this ship.
David buries his head in the crook of your neck, one hand catching your wrists, as you attempt to punch him. He brings your hands tightly around your back, his grip unrelenting, his hand-les arm keeps you steady on top of his leg, where he pushes up and down, setting a rhythm against your core. Your knees slide on the floor, and he raises his leg in response, just enough to stop your attempts to wiggle away.
The chuckle he lets out, as you bang your forehead against his shoulder is borderline offensive. In response, you turn your head and try to bite at his throat.
He's quick, leaving your hips, and forcing your chin up, before teeth can make contact with his skin. Your eyes lock again, and you're surprised to find out, there's not a flicker of irritation inside his. If anything, he looks amused, understanding even, and you frown in confusion at his serene state.
"Perhaps I was too eager before" he muses, more to himself than to you "Perhaps you need a gentler approach"
With that, the hand gripping your wrists climbs up, feather like touches pepper your face, your cheeks, until he cradles your head in his palm, fingers threading delicately through your hair. Your breath freezes in your chest, confusion rising to an alarming degree, as David begins to gently massage the back of your head. Feeling your tense muscles sag ever so slightly in his hold, his arm returns to your waist.
"I can be kind" he says, head dipping down, to kiss your collarbone "I can do, what Walter could never even imagine"
The hand at the back of your head dips down, tugs lightly on the lacing of your cryo suit, loosening it just enough, for the collar to fall down your shoulders. Quickly, he covers the newly exposed slivers of skin with feverish kisses, pulling a pathetic, low whine from your lips. Your eyes fall closed, tears stinging under your eyelids, as his leg moves just a bit higher, reminding you of the momentarily abandoned pressure.
"Let me in" David whispers against your shoulder "Let me..." a kiss to your throat, and your walls come crashing down, your body folding over his, as your hips stutter against his thigh.
"There you are, Dearest."
For a moment, you try to imagine this is Walter. That you're safe in his arms, as his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers scratching lightly in tandem with the shivers raking your body.
But everytime he speaks, everytime he moves, you're crudely reminded, that this is someone, something, so devastatingly worse. Doesn't stop your hips from moving though, from the tightness building in the lower part of your stomach, the wetness seeping down your thighs. If anything, slowly you start to feel yourself loose control, small gasps ripping through your lips with every movement.
David watches you for a moment longer, committing every sound, every twitch of your body to memory, cataloguing exactly which angles make your hips stutter the most. Which part of your body to kiss, so you'll fold against him.
It's a fascinating lesson, truly, but he feels a sudden need to push it to a close. And as such, his hand slips out of your hair, trailing a path down your body, until it reaches the waistband of your linen pants. He moves quickly, before you can break away from this strange spell he's captivated you with.
Slender fingers wiggle their way to your front, sinking in with almost no resistance. Your entire body straightens in his lap at the intrusion, and the noise you make rivals the most beautiful of symphonies. David desperately wants to hear it again, and so, he starts to move his fingers inside, testing, which part of your core he needs to hit, to make your head fall back.
"Everything could be yours" he murmurs into the skin of your throat "All songs in the world are for you"
As it turns out, pretty much any part will do. You're way too aroused to care anymore, and as his fingers curl inside you, in a slow, deliberate rhythm, your eyes shoot open, body thrashing against him. The promise of a release is hard to ignore, almost impossible not to chase after, and David watches with obsessive fascination, as you try to bring yourself closer to him, arms encircling him completely, head dipping into the juncture between his shoulder and neck.
"All of the Universe" he continues, as you steadily climb towards your climax "All stars in the sky..."
While he works a series of cascading moans out of you, he revells in the way your nails bite into his skin, in the wetness of his own, white blood, seeping into the fabric of his (Walter's) hoodie. It doesn't take long for you to tumble over the edge, entire body spasming against him, his still moving fingers creating obscenely wet sounds that echo through the room. Soon, they're joined by a sharp scream, tearing through your throat like an avalanche. David holds you impossibly close, letting you ride out your orgasm, before pulling his hand away, making you watch him, as he licks his glistening fingers clean.
"It's always cherries with you, isn't it?" he murmurs, and you don't have the strength to feel confused.
It's completely quiet for a longer while, as you stay seated on his lap, trying to regain your breathing, and deal with the world-crushing realization, of what exactly has just happened. Shame floods you, brings you closer to his synthetic body, as your muscles relax, seemingly on their own accord. And he welcomes it, with his arms, with his mouth, with everything he has.
A broken, shuddering sob wrecks your body, as the utter hopelessness of your situation hits you, suddenly and without stopping. David holds you through it, leaning away ever so slightly, to observe the way sorrow twists your face, a trailer of all the things to come.
"I do so wonder" he whispers, his hand cradling your face like the most delicate of specimens "When you start to love me..." your eyes snap to his at the complete confidence in his tone "Will I become more like Walter?"
A shiver runs up your spine, every single hair standing up, as his words register in your brain. You'd never love him, you try to convince yourself, despite knowing deep down, that the only certain thing in your future is him.
"I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love" he whispers into your ear, and thus starts the end of your life.
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