Summary: In which everything changes when you discover Bucky’s true feelings for you in a very unconventional manner.
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 2,880
A/N: The goal is to make this a mini-series. Fingers crossed that it stays that way.
“All clear,” you whisper. For anyone else, those words would’ve been indiscernible because of how softly they were spoken. Luckily for you, you’re not with just anyone. You’re with a super soldier equipped with enhanced hearing.
From across the empty hallway, Bucky abandons his spot behind a tall filing cabinet and runs towards you, keeping his gun up and ready to shoot at any given moment.
Warning: Graphic hybrid smut. Please don’t read this if you’re not into it because I don’t want to scar you.
Summary: Dogboy Tae gets extremely possessive when “that time of the month” rolls around and find’s it hard to control his natural instincts and his dominating nature during the monthly occurrence.
Note: Ah, okay, so this is my first time ever writing about Hybrids and stuff like that, so please bear with me. The idea came to mind while I was surfing the interwebz, so I just thought I’d write it up. What a thing to be my first post lol, but oh well.. Idgaf. I’m pretty much uneducated on “Dogboys” but I’m giving it my best shot.. HUZZAH!!~
You were driving him insane. The intoxicating scent of you calling out to him, begging for him to mount you and claim you as his own before any other male could get to you. It was hard to fight his natural instincts, but he knew better than to force you into anything and you had told him you didn’t feel well, stating you had ‘cramps’ or something along those lines. But your body was crying out for him to dominate you, your body needed him, he could sense it, and it was taking every ounce of his willpower to refrain from mounting you whenever he was in your presence. And that was quite a lot.
It was already hard enough not to mount you, so he really couldn’t help his need to follow you around everywhere, his possessive nature having to make sure no other male could get near you, his precious bitch. Just the thought of it made the hair on the back of his neck raise, his hands clench into fists and a snarl appear on his lips, slightly revealing his canines hid beneath.
He was in no mood to be tested today in particular. He could sense you were at your peak of ovulation, which was when it was most hard for him to suppress his feral desires. It was so strange to him how humans were so unaware to what their bodies needed. Couldn’t you sense even a little bit how badly your body was yearning for him? He could only shake his head, perplexed by your utter oblivion.
Your busy schedules have left Tom in desperate need of your touch, and you decide to shake things up a bit…
Warnings: smut, language, the usual
A/N: I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OMG but hey midterms are DONE. hopefully I’ll be posting Part Two of A New Hero in Queens, so stay posted and as always, REQUESTS ARE OPEN
Your favorite thing about moving out of the apartment with your roommates and into one with Tom was easily the fact that you never had to wear pants. On days when you didn’t work, you could just lounge around in underwear and one of Tom’s sweatshirts. Not only did you love it, but so did Tom. He loved hearing you squeal and giggle whenever he’d give your ass an unexpected squeeze while you were making breakfast or playing with Tess.
◇ pairing: jungkook | reader ◇ genre: angst ◇ word count: 3.291 ◇ warnings: none ◇ author’s note: I know I know, another soulmate au, I’m trash. :’) this is just a small story I started working on this afternoon, to get me back on track so I can start working on my bigger projects again. nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!
You don’t know when the dreams begin — but once they do, it feels like they’ve been there since you were born.
The first dream of him revolves around coffee beans. The heavy scent of the morning beverage tangles with the rich shade of chestnut hair and chocolate eyes, turning almost hazel under the glowing sunlight. You can remember a gaze, a nose and full lips turned upwards, but your mind is unable to piece it all together. The face as a whole is blurry in your mind, indistinct, frustratingly vague.
But the memory of those lips moving and pronouncing your name is remarkably sharp, and it almost fools you into believing it is not a dream, but a real memory — that the warmth accompanying his stare existed at some point in your life, that your body did feel the bedsheets tangling around your bare legs as you struggled to move closer to him. That the sound of his voice, rough and mellow, belongs to a living, breathing person and not a figment of your vivid imagination.
Hoseok and you always had this love/hate relationship going on; one moment you’d both be super chill, joking around with one another then the next you’d be at each other’s throats.
This was one of those times.
“Fuck off..” You muttered as Hoseok called you a bitch while he plopped himself down onto the couch beside you. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes in pure annoyance at the situation you were in; just having to be alone with him pissed you off.
Hoseok turned to you, “Why are you always like this with me?” He asked, combing his fingers through his parted brunette hair. “I’m always so nice to you, y/n. What makes you wanna be so damn rude all the time?”
As soon as you heard the false innocence his voice, you scoff in disbelief; Was he really trying to pull that shit with you? “Do you really want to fucking know Hoseok?” You practically shouted as you turned to face him.
Part II of the Empathy Series, Part I is found here.
Synopsis: Born with the ability to feel others’ emotions through touch, you are overwhelmed when an enemy comes into contact with you during battle. Even though Thor and Tony are there, the only person you know you need is Loki.
A/N: I went to see Thor: Ragnarok again tonight and it was just the inspiration I needed! I don’t think I’m quite done with this little series yet, so keep an eye out for more!
The Virgin and The Sex God: Chapter Nine- Dean x Reader
The Virgin and The Sex God: Chapter Nine
finds out you’re a virgin and begins to try to charm his way into your
pants. Little does he know he’s about to fall in love. Word Count: 2,110 Warnings: Sexual Content (Very gentle smut. But still smut.) Language.
SERIES MASTERLIST I’m so addicted to all the things you do When you’re rollin’ round with me in between the sheets Oh the sounds you make, with every breath you take It’s unlike anything, when you’re lovin’ me… From Addicted by Saving Abel
Dean gently kissed his way up your body before stopping to admire you. Your body flushed under his gaze as he drank in every inch of you. You let out a little gasp and shook from the nerves that were threatening to overtake you again. He knelt between your parted legs, hovering dangerously close. Dean’s mouth kissing at your collarbone made you sigh lowly and contently. His hands roaming over the curve of your hips as he let out a moan.
“Goddamn. Every inch of you is beautiful.” He murmured as he pressed his forehead over yours. You hummed lovingly as your hands moved to roam over his clothed back. Your fingers slipping under the fabric and giving it a tug.
“Off.” You demanded with a giggle. Your body quaking as you tried to be bold for him. You always giggled when you were nervous. You bit your bottom lips back to stifle them and Dean took the opportunity to kiss the tip of your nose.
“Please don’t be nervous. I promise that this will be perfect, baby.” He whispered to you the reassuring words again. You nodded slowly and tried to make yourself calm down. This was overwhelming to every sense you had and you swallowed the lump in your throat. Dean’s touches were light and loving as he pressed his lips to yours softly. The fourth kiss was longing and benevolent. His lips lingering there as he worked through the emotions that came with it. When he pulled away, he smiled at you a bit mischievously as he sat up to yank his shirt over his head.
You sighed lowly as he looked down over you adoringly. This man was almost too perfect to be real. You finally allowed yourself to enjoy him fully as your eyes roamed over his body. Hissing through your teeth, as the shock of desire shot through you. His harden cock stood straining against his boxer as his breath became more ragged. You couldn’t help but take in how his abdominal muscles clenched and flexed with the pace of his breath.
“Are you even real?.” You murmured as you grunted lowly. The pain from the throbbing at your core was pronouncing itself loudly. Your hand moving to sweep down his bare stomach and gently running a finger above the waistband of his boxers.
Dean moaned lowly at the touch and couldn’t help but to pump himself slowly. You looked on at him curiously and wonder just what it would be like to touch him. Sitting up, you brought both hands to him as you brushed them down his bare torso. Hooking both sets of fingers into his boxers, you pulled them down to his knees. You blushed hotly when you came face to face with his freed member. It was long, thick, and stood pressed against his stomach. Your eyes flew open and the panic you had felt earlier was back with vengeance. How in the world was that going to fit? You sank back to sit on your feet as you looked at him questionably.
“Ummm. Ehhhh. Hehehehehehe.” You giggled out as your hand hovered over him. Dean automatically leaned forward as he prayed you would finally touched him. Nearly choking on your nerves, you reached out and gently took him into your hand. Your fingers curling around him as you slowly slide your hand over his full length. He was hot to the touch and you moaned when you felt just how hard he was.
“Is this ok?” You murmured completely unsure of yourself. With Dean’s eager nod of approval you continued to allow your fingers to move up and down him.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Dean groaned as you fingers slowly creeped up and down him. You seemed curious and your touch was so soft it was almost painful. By now, with any other woman, he would have been half-way through the process. He would have been getting what he was looking for. A cheap thrill for the night. Then there was you. The way you shuddered under a simple look. How sweet but daring you were. He wanted so much more from you. He could only hope that you would be willing to give him that.
The ever so light touch from your curled fingers was going to send him over the edge. He had been dreaming of this touch since that first night at the bar. Everything he had been feeling was wrapped up in the way you were looking into him. Your eyes hadn’t left his and he felt his breath becoming shorter with each stroke of your hand.
You smiled so painfully sweetly before you bent over and place a kiss on his tip. It was red and swollen as a bitter liquid leaked onto your lips. Your tongue darted out to taste it in curiosity. The moan that came from deep within Dean cut straight through you. Your sex throbbed between your legs and you decided that for right now that was enough exploring. You needed him. You need Dean to make you all his.
Moving away from him, you reached behind you and unclasped your bra. Allowing it to fall away, you laid back and your legs spread wide. Your fingers running down your own body and stopping at your swollen clit. Pressing there, like Dean had a few night ago, you swirl your finger there. Dean quickly got rid of his boxers and moved to lay beside you. His hand gently ghosting over your arms before settling on your hand. Moaning when you let out a cry, his hand gently removed yours. “Let me sweetheart.” He murmured as gently moved you to lay with your back against him. You groaned lowly when his thumb began to circle over your nub slowly at first. When you began to muttered increasingly dirty words, the pressure and frequency increased. The waves of pleasure that spiraled through you made you cry his name. Dean’s touch putting the perfect amount of out of control into your mind. You whimpered when he gave you a harsher swirl of his thumb while kissing your shoulder. He smiled against it as your cries of his name made him twitch in anticipation.
You shook a bit when his other hand skimmed down to your breast. He gently pinched and rolled your nipple in time with his touches of your clit. His fingers began to flick with an increased fever as your hips begin to lift off the bed. You cried lowly as the coil in your belly grew tighter and tighter. His fingers worked quickly to bring you to your undoing. Pressing harshly and almost frantically a few more times, Dean moaned against your ear.
“Cum for me, Y/N. I need you to cum for me.”
The coil in your belly clenched and seized from his words- warmth washing over you as you cried out his name in climax. Your hand landed on top of his as he help you ride out your first orgasm. You swayed under him as he pressed himself against. You opened your legs and allowed for him to slipped his cock between your thighs. He thrust gently forward and grunted at the contact.
Dean’s heart was swelling as he watched you coming down from your high. Your body flushed pink while you parted your lips. Little moans continued to tumble out of you and Dean couldn’t help but wish for this to never end. He could spend the rest of his life giving you everything. Not understanding the feelings fully, he simply accepted them as they were. He was tired of fighting every damn good thing to happen to him. Maybe just this fucking once he would let the Fates have their way.
Kissing the top of your head, he gently rolled away from you. Standing up, he went to his duffel bag to rummage through the side zipper. You turned to look at him and took in the sight. He leaned over the office table in the room with his back to you. You could see every ripple and movement of his back muscle and you groaned. You prayed to whomever was listening and thank them for sending him to you. Your feelings were undeniable now. You wanted to be with Dean Winchester. You needed to be with Dean Winchester.
Dean sighed in relief as he finally found the condom at the bottom of his bag. He turned slowly to look at you and he nearly lost it. You sat looking at him with a look that made his stomach twist into a knot. You looked so lost as you looked to him unsure.
The thoughts that ran through your mind weren’t what you thought they would be. They weren’t dirty and you had no desire to call him daddy. You just wanted him to make you his. You wanted him to hold you close and take what was meant to be his all along.
“Ummmm. Dean. Dean. I need you. Please.” You muttered innocently. Though you didn’t understand the feelings fully. You craved the connection that you felt this would bring.
Your words hit Dean straight in the cock and he moaned your name. He could no longer wait and your sweet words were all the encouragement he needed. Ripping the wrapper open and rolling on the condom, he moved to the bed again. You laid back onto your back and allowed for him to spread your legs apart. Dean kissed your lips for a fifth time and this time it was full of desire. His tongue dragging across your bottom lip as he gently brought the tip of his cock to your dripping entrance.
He moved his hand down to your weeping womanhood as prepared you. His ran down to your slicked slit and gently spread you open. The sensation caused your body to jerk against his and you cried into the kiss. Breaking away he whispered loving words to you.
“I’m sorry, baby girl. This might hurt.” He sighed against your ear. Slowly he began to rock forward, allowing you to stretch around him. His mind reeled from the intensity of the pleasure as he slipped forward into you. You were so tight and sweet that it took all his restraint not to fuck you into the mattress. He knew well that this was going to be at least uncomfortable for you.
You hadn’t expected the sharp pain that knife its way through you. As Dean stretched you, all you could do was hissed in pain. The same pain snaked its way up and into your belly. Tears stung your eyes and you bite your lip to keep from crying as Dean sunk all the way to the hilt. His lips moving to rain kisses onto your face. He kissed your forehead, nose, and finally your lips. His words were soft, adoring, and doting. He shook with the resistant it took to pump slowly into you. His lips kissed away your tears as he move into you again and again. The pain fading into a dull ache as you stretch with each gentle thrust. His hips moving into you in a rhythmic pattern.
Groaning as you squeezed him so deliciously and he tried his damnedest to be gentle. He bent down and caught your nipple in his mouth. When he sucked softly, you moaned as the sensation rippled through you. Dean’s tongue swirled around the tip before grazing it with his teeth. Your hands tangled into his hair as you pressed yourself closer to him. The feeling of being filled to the brim made your soul sing. You hadn’t understood what everyone was always going on about until Dean Winchester came along. Even back five years ago, you had known there was something about him. Something that made your heart happy. You would have never guessed that he might be the one.
The one to help you feel love again. As Dean’s hips rocked forward and his lips pressed to yours for a seventh kiss, you couldn’t help but hope that this would never stop. You had never felt something more incredible than to share yourself with someone like him.
Dean’s own feelings had shifted quickly through this experience. When the first meet you, there had been an instant attraction. Then throughout the years, he had found himself developing a crush on you. It hadn’t made much since to tell you at the time. Too much shit was happening when it had finally occurred to him. But now?
Now he was going to fall in love.
AN: This was painful to write guys. I just hope its half decent. T_T Like it took me days to just sit down and write this. I was just not feelin it. I hope it came out to your liking. Feeback for this chapter would really help. I will be
back with an update on FRIDAY. See you then and enjoy your week!
Tags are under the cut. If you want to be added to the list please send me an ask.
Sometimes tumblr is a cunt and eats my notes. I might not see your
comment. :) I’m going to close the tag list for this series after a
few more updates. If your tag doesn’t work please let me know. I’ll
try to fix it. It might help if you follow me if you are aren’t
Relationships: Stiles Stilinski x Reader/Stiles Stilinski x OFC/Theo Raeken x Reader/Theo Raeken x OFC
Warnings: Making Out, A Smug Stiles Stilinski Talking About Sex, Swearing, Physical and Verbal Violence, Abusive Relationship, AND REALLY FUCKING ADORABLE STILES STILINSKI SERIOUSLY HE IS SUCH A CUTIE YOU’LL FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM ALL OVER AGAIN.
A/N: Thank you so much for loving part one y’all. Here’s part two that also ends with another cliffhanger because I’m addicted to making you guys go crazy lol
“Oh, shit.” Stiles gasped, letting go of me as I stood on my own.
The room remained full of life and color even though he was no longer touching me. My skin, however, felt lost without Stiles. His touch left a lingering burn in my body and I was already craving it again. I longed for someone I just met and, for some reason, it felt right.
“W-We’re-” I stuttered, my mind completely overwhelmed with what we just discovered.
“Soulmates.” He finished my sentence, his warm colored eyes piercing into mine.
Stiles Stilinski, the boy my boyfriend secretly despises, is my soulmate. It’s funny just how sadistic the universe really is.
Summary: When unfortunate circumstances force you to seek help from one of the dancers in a stripping club, your life gives a sudden turn for the unexpected.
Warnings: swearing. Strupper! Bucky which is a warning in itself… anyways this is dirty yo! 18+ Only
Word count: 4757
A/N: This is my submission for @marvelous-fvcks writing challenge! My prompt was “lap dance” and while this isn’t specifically a lap dance it certainly gets very, very close… *ahem*
I’m so exited a bout this and how it turned out… hope you enjoy!
A thousand thanks to my sweet yogurt wife Kumi @rotisserierogers for betaing this for me… I love you.
He is breathtaking. The stage lights shine bright
above his head, drawing all the attention in the room to him in his black pants
and shirt, hair tousled and falling over his eyes in soft curls. He looks
almost angelic, standing in the middle of the crowded place.
It’s only too bad that he’s anything
The room comes alive the moment the lights turn on, the
slight smell of sweat floating through the air, carrying a mixture of scents
that you know all too well; excitement, drunkenness, lust. It’s a full
house tonight; an important night. You see it in the glasses, filled almost to
the brim with sweet liquor, in the delicate lace barely covering the girls’
bodies and the hooded eyes of the men who beckon them with their fingers; it’s
in the soft moans and grunts that fill the room and in the hooded gazes thrown
around like confetti. It’s in the very air of the place, sticking to your skin
like perspiration and making your body tingle; hyper aware of every nerve in
your body as you’re overwhelmed with the atmosphere of the club.
You don’t like it.
Every single cell in your body is practically screaming at
you to leave, unease bubbling in your stomach with every passing second and
your heart beating faster every time the waitresses as much as graze a hair on
your body. Even through your multiple layers of clothes, you still feel naked
under the people’s gazes. But the second the lights dim and the reflectors come
to life over the round stage, it’s as if time was pulling to a sudden stop.
He’s the reason you’re here—the man walking up to the stage—and
judging by the way the room grows silent at the sight of him, you can guess
you’re not the only one particularly interested in seeing him. Even if your
motives are entirely different than everyone else’s.
She weighed next to nothing in his arms. So fragile yet strong at the same time. They were breathing each other so deeply… The heat of the fire in their room had nothing on them. It was about comfort, it was about healing and it turned into so much more so fast. They were the extension of the fire at that moment.
“Let’s go bed.”
Jamie slowly walked the distance between where they stood and the bed, like he was walking on clouds. His hands running from her backside to her thighs and just holding her up as he did, had left a trail of tingling sensation that Claire was still reeling from. She needed his big hands on her again, lighting up her every nerve. There was a time not long ago that she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel it, or wanted to feel it, or that she could. But only those hands, made for her, given to him for her, like he had once said, could heal her.
She was running her smooth delicate fingers on his nape and upper back, drawing patterns and words they could not utter, since breathing was turning into a hardship at this point. Claire needed out of her stays, she felt restrained. All she wanted was his weight on her, his burning hot skin against her. She wanted to feel his muscles and scars, to kiss them, to lick his perfect worked stomach. Tonight she was hungry for him in a way that only love filled with lust could explain. And he is mine.
How is this woman mine? Jamie asked himself that question many times and caging Claire with his toned arms atop the bed just reminded him yet again of the wonder of her love for him. That flushed beauty, her mouth semi-open for his kisses, her teasing eyes… He ran his nose along her neck and caught her lips. She tugged on his hair for dear life and her tongue came out to dance with his, to claim him. Like any person else could compare… If he could, he would be claimed like this every single day of his life.
And the flames went higher…
Jamie held himself up on his elbows, close to the precipice of losing balance altogether, as Claire started running her foot up his calf, lifting the kilt ever so slightly. Biting him gently on the lower lip, she released the auburn curls and sat on the mattress. Like on their wedding night, he helped her untie the restraining stays, and exactly like on their wedding night their gazes didn’t leave one another. Only difference was, the desire was stronger, the air was heavier.
After removing the stays, Claire unbuckled the kilt’s belt and maddeningly teasing, slowly removed the plaid in all his glorious folds aside. He was intensely ready himself. It overwhelmed all her senses like always. If it weren’t Jamie, this lack of control would have left Claire nervous, but it could never happen with Jamie… “Jamie.” She breathed.
“I’m here, Sorcha.”
He lifted her shift over her head, the sudden gush of cool air caused by the movement of it making her nipples stiffen. That and the dark blue gaze that didn’t fail to shake her to her core. She was still in her stockings, one loose and one still fastened with a flimsy pink tie. She made a move to take them off but he didn’t let her, holding her hands, he placed them around his neck again, while he ran his hands up her glorious round arse and held her tight around the waist, closer to him. Not one inch of room left to breathe anything else but the sweet scent of each other, enhanced by the flames that only went higher.
He started kissing and sucking on her neck, tasting her herbal sweetness, moving one hand to comb her curls away. The only sound in Jamie’s ears were Claire’s exquisite soft moans. Those sounds that made him go mad, also made him relinquish all his senses to her incredibly smooth skin. Moving to her lips again, the intense and slow kiss held a promise of contained words. Words that were not enough to describe the chemistry that happened between them in these moments. He wanted to watch her lose herself.
Feeling Jamie peeling his beautiful mouth away from her, Claire whimpered. He replied by putting his forehead against hers and swayed for a bit holding her in place. One hand tucked her hair behind her ear and a cheeky smirk came upon his face as he dragged his hands over her arms and laid down. She knew what he wanted. And she wanted to give it to him.
That bed and its magic blue quilt was their sanctuary, a place that held many whispers and sweet nothings, said in the dark of the night and in the fresh light of the dawn.
Jamie lay down and placed a hand on his wife, his goddess, guiding her to climb on top of him. The sensations was overwhelmingly satisfying, it was a lightning coursing through them, echoes of thunder reverberating through their limbs. Smiling at her, he put both hands on her shoulders as she started to rock. Slowly, he let his arms run along hers and up again. Their breathing was erratic.
She was supporting herself on him, the marble of his torso feeling like an anchor in a sea of blue quilt. “You feel so good, Jamie.”
“Mo nighean donn”, he said in a whisper like sob. “Don’t stop, Claire…” Moaning, their hearts and bodies rode each other. Jamie placed his hand in the center of Claire’s chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart, slowly reaching for her ivory breasts, kneading and teasing her.
He loved watching her - her head dropping backwards as she started to lose herself in the moment - trying to remain “bodily sober” enough to see her face change a thousand beautifully different ways with their lovemaking, but he too was about to lose it as well.
Claire leaned forward gifting her breasts to him and Jamie thought heaven was upon him. Taking one nipple in his mouth, he sucked and softly bit and felt Claire shiver under her hands. She held his head with some force and if Jamie were to die for lack of air, he would have died one happy man.
“You’re so beautiful, Claire. Please don’t stop mo nighean donn, more.”
“Oh Jamie, my love.”
Claire was starting to lose herself entirely, holding onto Jamie’s neck and shoulders wanting to kiss him, but not wanting him to take his mouth from where it was. Jamie groaned and sat up completely. She kissed him urging for his tongue to meet hers, trying to get into him and he was getting into her. So deep, so passionate, so so so much, but never enough.
Claire caressed his face, marveling at his furrowing brow, smoothing it, kissing it. They were still riding thunder as Jamie brought one hand down to touch the place, hot enough as to make metal melt, as to turn coal into diamond. Then, he buried his face in her neck, she burying her nails in his back, and ecstasy ensued. Together, they became one. Jamie kept his face on her neck, Claire was overdone with one long sob leaving her lips as the aftershocks came through. She couldn’t let go, she couldn’t breathe and neither could he.
After the lingering effects washed over them, Jamie held his well rested wife against him. She propped herself on her elbow, kissed and caressed his pecs and whispered, smiling, “Tha gaol agam ort, mo Seaumais”.
Connected | It’s 2009. Dan and Phil are in a long distance relationship, and while they’ve had more sex than they count on one hand, they’ve never properly done it. Dan’s tired of waiting, but Phil’s not so ready to let them go all the way, so he gives Dan the next best thing. | Phan | Mature | Intercrural, Smut, PWP | 3.5K Words
Disclaimer: In no way do I pretend that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil.
My anons asked for thigh fucking, and they got thigh fucking.
Summary: No plot. Literally zero. This is straight up porn. With both Winchesters (no wincest).
Word Count: 2704
Warnings: A whole lotta fuckin’.
Tags are at the bottom. There is still room on my Forever Tag List, you can add yourselfhere. Thanks!
Isn’t A Dream
This isn’t a dream.
This is really happening.
Dean’s lips are soft and pliant against my willing mouth. Sam’s kisses skim the delicate skin below my earlobe, his hair dusting my collarbone.
Sam’s mouth travels upward, his warm breath tickling when he whispers into my ear. “Do you trust us?”
My heart skips a beat but it knows the answer. The answer is yes. Implicitly. There isn’t a person alive or dead that I trust more than the Winchesters.
“Yes.” The word rolls of my tongue and vibrates against Dean’s mouth, which turns up into a sexy grin when he hears my answer, his green eyes sparkling.
Sam’s chuckle is throaty, rumbling in his chest. I tilt my head and turn to look at him and once again, I can’t believe this is really happening. Dean reaches up a finger and hooks it under my chin, directing my gaze back to his. Perhaps a competition for my affections is brewing. I can’t say the idea doesn’t thrill me.
“We’re going to take good care of you, (Y/N).” Dean says it like a promise with a hint of threat. It sends a wave of lust from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.
“Hell yeah, we are,” Sam reaffirms Dean’s promise. Sam loosens the knot on the tie at the base of his throat while Dean lifts the hem of my shirt. His hand caresses my skin as he works the shirt up and over my head.
Finally, it was done. 8 years of research, months of preparation, and a menagerie of deceased mice, but at last he held in his hand the formula that he had sought for most of his adult life. Dr. Walker felt an incredible excitement building within him as he inspected the tiny vial. He was so close to realizing his dream that he could almost taste it, taking all his willpower to stop himself from downing the vial’s contents right then and there. No, mad scientist he may be, however he was not so mad as to administer a still as of yet unproven cocktail to himself without any kind of human testing.
Unfortunately for him, this formula was being done off the books, without any knowledge of the university, so he couldn’t just announce his findings to the world and start human trials. Jon also knew he couldn’t simply spike someone’s drink with the formula to observe the results. If it proved toxic he’d have to hide a body, a subject he had skipped in his mad scientist studies and had no idea how to handle. If it proved effective, the unwitting dupe would likely be largely upset at the outcome, and he wasn’t so sure he would be able to remove all evidence that would lead back to him anyway. He would have to find a guinea pig that was as enthused about his results as he was, but also willing to sacrifice some safety to achieve his goal.
Fortunately, the internet was a vast place, and home to many, many diverse interests.
Mikey was sauntering home after morning classes. The fall leaves were just beginning to turn red and brown, and he was already feeling slightly overwhelmed as assignments piled up at the beginning of his sophomore year. Things like cooking and eating healthy had long since gone out the window, as the freshly punched notches on his belt could attest. However, Mikey wasn’t exactly distressed at these developments, and he made his way back to his dorm already salivating at the thought of a frozen pizza lunch. Maybe even two pizzas, he thought, giving his small belly a pat.
Finally reaching his dorm, he kicked off his shoes, gave a courteous hello to his dorm-mates, dropped off his pack in his room, then made his way to the shared kitchen to pop the tops on two frozen pizzas. Safely set to bake for 20 minutes, he made his way back to his room to sit down, check his email, and surf the usual sites. Homework could wait until after lunch.
He’d always loved food. He’d always loved eating, but more than that, Mikey wanted to grow, to become huge, the biggest he could ever be. Growing up in a very health-conscious household had meant there’d never really been the opportunity to truly pig out. Now that Mikey had left the nest, he was going to make the most of his new-found freedom and eat whenever and whatever he wanted, and finally realize his dream of becoming bigger. He’d already gained the freshman 15 and then some, and was well on his way to packing away the sophomore thirty. A few more weeks and he’d have to buy bigger pants.
Still, progress was too slow for his liking; he wanted to get big, now. Luckily the internet was a big place, filled with many diverse interest. After checking his email, Mikey logged into Gnosher to check his messages there. Mikey had stumbled across the gainer community some years ago, and was surprised to find out there were a lot of people that actually shared his desires. Gnosher was just one such site where people could congregate, share tips, and just generally encourage one another to grow as big as they wanted. Mikey was in touch with several inspiring individuals, and he scrolled through a few messages congratulating him on nearly outgrowing his belt.
The message that caught his eye today was something he’d never received before. There was the usual congratulations for his steady gains, but after that was the question, “How would you like to get much much bigger, much much faster?” It sounded like he was going to be given a pitch for some sort of new weight gain protein mix, something that Mikey had so far avoided on a university budget, but he was intrigued enough to at least reply back asking for the details. Already putting it out of his mind and finishing up his online perusal, he made his way back to the kitchen to begin scarfing his now cooked pizzas.
Upon re-entering his room, Mikey was surprised to see on his still open Gnosher page that he’d already gotten a reply. Curiosity won out over hunger, and he clicked the message open to read it. It turned out the writer was a local, working at the university, and he’d been working on a weight gain formula that was now ready for human testing. After reading Mikey’s profile, he thought he’d be eager to take part in trials, and was wondering if he’d like to sign up. It all seemed too good to be true, and Mikey felt a healthy dose of skepticism, but once again curiosity won out and Mikey replied with positive enthusiasm. Again, a few short minutes later, he was provided instructions to come to professor Jon Walker’s lab this afternoon and he’d be given further instructions.
Bewildered, but excited, Mikey quickly ate his pizzas, stowed his homework for later this evening, and made his way to the Biotechnology building where professor Walker’s lab was.
Now he wondered if he truly was mad. Test the formula here? Now? And with a student here at the university? What if something went wrong? What if the boy screamed and went to the authorities? Or worse, what if it killed him? How would he drag a body out of this office, in the middle of the afternoon? The more the professor fraught and fretted the more insane he thought his plan to be. How could he let his own ego get the better of him to do something so reckless?
Professor Walker sighed, and slumped back behind his desk, the image of a young sophomore still displayed on his screen. Brown hair, blue eyes, boyish looks, and a budding belly; who was he kidding? It wasn’t just his ego that made him message this boy. A life devoted to science had left the professor desperately lonely, and he had jumped at the chance of not only fulfilling his life’s work, but also actually meeting someone with the same desires as his own. He sighed again at his own folly, but at the same time there was the building fire of anticipation. What if it all worked?
The voice was quiet, coming from the other end of the lab adjoining his office. Steeling himself, he put on his best professor face, and walked out the door to greet his subject.
“Professor?” Mikey called out, wondering if the professor may still be on lunch, but after a few moments he heard a bustling from the small office next to the lab, and then a small, bespectacled, middle-aged man walked out to greet him.
“Ah, Michael, so good you could make it,” he said warmly, extending his hand in greeting.
Mikey took the hand and shook. “Thank you for contacting me. I was surprised that this was something the university even studied.”
“Indeed, the biotechnology laboratory has many concurrent studies being done.”
“I’m in computer sciences, so I had no idea. I’d have certainly signed up if this was a posted study! So, do I have to sign anything?”
The professor paused and them seemed to stammer nervously. “Ah, yes, well, this is something of a personal passion of mine. Off the school’s records, so to speak.”
Mikey raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So… what is it? Some sort of new protein powder?”
“No no no, nothing of the sort. What I have created is a chemical formula able to completely alter the subjects fundamental genetics in such a way that it’s almost like they’re a new person.”
“That sounds… a little dangerous? Look, I’d like to fill out, not become a totally different person.” Mikey said, taking a caution half-step back.
“Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry, I misspoke. The formula doesn’t change everything, like your hair or eye colour, but actually targets and edits some very specific genes. You’ve heard of course of certain ethnicities being more prone to weight gain and obesity?”
“You mean like, Samoans?” Mikey offered, still skeptical.
“Yes, precisely, very good! Polynesian men simply have higher percentage of adipose tissue than the general population. What my formula does is take those specific genome sequences and edits them into the host, essentially changing their heritage slightly, but without changing anything else like skin or hair colour.” Mikey was about to reply, but the professor exuberantly continued, “But that’s just one example of what the formula does; obesity is a much more complex syndrome than any one gene. There is also the hereditary genetics passed from parents and especially the mother, there is epigenetics when a child is overweight and carries that weight into puberty and then adulthood - all these things are contained and subtly changed in this formula. It’s truly a marvel, if I do say so myself!” Concluded the professor, clearly proud of himself.
“But you haven’t tested it on people yet.” Mikey added flatly.
The professor seemed to shrink bank in on himself. “Well, no, not as of yet, that’s why you’re here of course. However, studies on laboratory animals have been very promising.”
“Like, how promising?”
“98% of subjects have doubled their initial mass after ingestion.”
“And the other 2%?”
“Um, well most of the rest were simply ineffective, and a statistically insignificant percentage suffered mild cardiac events.”
Mikey’s eyes narrowed. “How insignificant?”
“It was one. Out of hundreds of subjects,” the professor grumped. “I have a defibrillator in my office. I promise you this will be perfectly safe.”
Mikey crossed his arms, but a coy smile crept into his face. “Doubled their mass, huh?”
The professor nodded. “Yes, that’s what my studies showed.”
“Alright then, how do we do this?”
The professor visibly relaxed, and then beamed enthusiasm once more. “Splendid! Well, first, we’ll take a measurement so we have a baseline comparison of course. Take off your shoes and jacket and follow me.” Professor Walker then made his way back to his office, and Mikey quickly kicked off his shoes and jacket and followed him in. “Please close the door behind you, would you?” Mikey did, and then lay his shoes and jacket on the floor near the door.
Once inside the professor moved to a physician’s scale and motioned for Mikey to get on. “Now please remove your effects and we’ll weigh you in.” This brought Mikey up short, but he brought his shirt over his head, undid his belt and slid out of his jeans, and lay the pile of clothes near the door with his shoes and jacket. The professor coughed slightly and waved a hand at Mikey’s groin, “and your boxers I’m afraid.”
Wringing his hands, professor Walker replied, “well, you could keep them on, but it will likely become very uncomfortable quite soon.”
This made Mikey’s eyes widen, but he obeyed and woodenly removed his boxers, standing there naked, hands over his groin. The display of modesty made professor Walker chuckle. “Now now, don’t feel embarrassed. I am a doctor, after all.”
“Oh yeah? What’s your doctorate in?” Mikey shot back.
The professor shrugged. “Molecular biology, but I’d like to think I’d bring the same level of professionalism and courtesy as an MD.”
Mikey snarked, but removed his hands and made his way to get on the scale. The professor wasn’t sure what the young man had to be ashamed of; the boy was more than adequately hung. Impressively hung, even.
Moving behind Mikey, Dr. Walker moved the scale’s weights back and forth, slowly zeroing in on the young man’s weight, while surreptitiously sneaking glances at his subject’s form. An average frame, but possessing a certain softness and a rounded middle suggesting the boy had been skipping the gym and snacking a little too much during late-night study sessions. This, along with his shyness, made him absolutely adorable. It almost made the professor regret the circumstances by which he’d found the boy naked in his office. Almost.
“About 220 pounds, or thereabouts,” the professor announced, and then marked it down on a paper on his desk. Then, he reached into a drawer in his desk, retrieved a small vial of blue liquid and grandly announced, “Now for the fun part, as they say!”
Mikey gulped. He was really doing this. If this worked, he’d put every other gainer on Gnosher to shame. If it didn’t, well, it probably wouldn’t kill him. Hopefully. “Do I just drink it?”
“Indeed, my boy, indeed,” he said handing the vial over to the young man.
Mikey sighed, “Well, here goes,” and drank the vial in one gulp. He stood there for a few moments, not sure what he was expecting to feel, before finally asking, “so how long does this stuff take?”
“Well, in mice it was metabolized in approximately 5 minutes or so. There’s no rushing science,” the professor added, waggling his finger for scholarly emphasis.
Mikey was beginning to wonder if the professor put on this much of a show during his classes, when he started to feel a wave of warmth build up inside, before gently crashing over him, only to do it again moments later. “Uh, professor? I feel something.”
“Yes? How do you feel? Describe the sensation.”
“Uh, warm? Like I have a fever, only it’s in my stomach. And something- urgh!” Mikey doubled over, clutching his stomach in pain, but while he did he found there was more stomach to clutch, and after a moment there was more still. His belly was rounding out more and more, the flesh expanding beneath his fingers like an inflating ball.
“Michael, are you alright?” Dr. Walker sounded genuinely alarmed and took a step forward, however Mikey waved him off and slowly righted himself. As he did he took a slight stumbling step backwards, causing the newly formed flesh of his belly to jiggle slightly. The completely alien sensation of a part of him moving well after he had stopped made his eyes widen in astonishment.
“Oh man, this is happening! I’m getting bigger!” Mikey exclaimed, ecstatic, all pain forgotten as he grabbed his belly to bounce and jiggle it in his hands. In moments it was large enough to have a fold over his waist, and he could lift and drop it with a faint slap of flesh meeting flesh. Then, another wave of heat, this time diffuse and all-encompassing, but without any pain at all. Mikey let it wash over him in rapt anticipation.
For his part, Dr. Walker was even more ecstatic than Mikey was. It was working! This boy was blimping up before his very eyes! First in the gut, but he could see the rest of him was slowly catching up. His previously flat chest was budding into a pair of perky man tits, tiny areolas stretching wider as his new mammaries inflated with soft flesh. His entire chest now began to rise outwards like inflating dough, the skin softening with adipose as it accumulated beneath it. The softness then spread to his shoulders, down his arms, then up his neck and face, all of it becoming noticeably thicker with growth. In moments the boy had a double chin, round moon cheeks, and a fold of flesh at the back of his neck just where his short brown hair tapered off.
Soon It seemed as though his body was reaching capacity as folds and creases were appearing beneath his chest, arms and arm-pits, the billowing fat unable to be contained beneath the skin. It was then that the growth changed tack, now causing his frame to visibly broaden. Dr. Walker could almost hear the creak of bones as his hips, shoulders and torso enlarged and expanded, making him wide, heavy-set, and barrel chested. The folds of flesh disappeared momentarily as the fat spread out to cover the enlarging canvas, but soon reappeared as the expansion of his skeleton slowed, only now much further apart. With wider hips, Mikey was forced to shuffle his feet and widen his stance, thicker feet now splayed diagonally in order to balance the heavier load.
Mikey could not have been happier feeling each new curve and roll, each new bounce and jiggle as his frame packed on more and more and more. He rubbed his hands over his torso over and over, each time the sensation bringing something new, and becoming intensely erotic. He could tell between his much wider set thighs and beneath his protruding middle he was becoming aroused in front of an audience, but he was too turned on to care. He was getting everything he’d ever wanted all at once, and he was more than happy to ignore a spectator and simply enjoy each new sensation as he grew.
As incredibly erotic as the whole scene was for Mikey, it was even more so for Dr. Walker. The adorable young man was becoming the hunk of his dreams right in front of him, and it was becoming increasingly obvious as the well hung cock began to stiffen and rise to it’s full length, almost slapping the belly hanging above it. It really was impressive, and the sight of this hulking tank blissfully rubbing his chest and belly while his huge cock bounced beneath was more than enough to get the good professor hard as steel in his slacks.
“Oh god, this feels sooo goood,” Mikey moaned, hands never leaving his torso, and the professor could see a drop of pre began to form at the tip of his now turgid member. Doctor Walker was working up the nerve to reach out and touch the leaking organ, when he noticed Mikey’s growth was now redirecting south, his legs, ass and feet puffing up and filling out. Within moments each of his thunder thighs were the size of a normal man’s waist, but unlike the billowy flab of his torso each lower limb was a near solid ham as Mikey’s musculature became better able to handle the heavy burden he’d be carrying from now on. The only exception to this seemed to be his glutes, which not only blew up to this size of two basketballs but also retained a certain wobbliness, the massive globes fighting for space on Mikey’s backside.
Another moan brought the professor’s attention back to the young man’s groin. As each thigh grew thicker they began to press together, leaving less and less space for Mikey’s nuts. Each ball was now stretching the scrotum so thin the veins were clearly visible, and the professor was concerned if he didn’t do something the skin might tear. However, his concerns were expunged as just like the rest of his skin it stretched and grew, letting each teste rest lower and lower until they dangled halfway to his knees. It was then the professor noticed each teste not only sagged lower in a far more loose and dangly scrotum, but seemed larger than before, having gone from quail eggs to those of large chickens. This was certainly not something he had programmed into the formula, however he wasn’t complaining.
Fat began to accumulate in the boy’s groin, swallowing up more and more of the leaking spire, making it appear inches shorter than when he had walked into the office earlier. Yet as the professor leaned in to better observe the changes, he noticed he’d been wrong. Not only had the fat of the man’s pubis swallowed much of his length, his cock had indeed lost a fair bit of circumference, seeming much less massive than before. In moments the young man’s member was much more modest in size, and with the rest of him having grown so large it seemed seemed almost small. Mikey’s burgeoning middle prevented him from seeing this new development, and judging by the blissed out expression still painted all over his face he didn’t seem to notice, or care, about his loss in manhood. The professor hoped the expansion of the boy’s testicles would make up for it.
The complete alteration in frame, shape and the arrangement of fat on the body was all expected and shown in previous testing on laboratory mice, but the changes in his genitalia were never something the professor investigated in his previous trials. With these unexpected developments, the professor began to look out for other unintended side effects of the formula. Stepping back, he took stock of the much larger man Mikey was becoming. He was easily over 350 pounds, and while the growth of his skeletal structure and musculature seemed to have stopped, he could see the accumulation of adipose was still going strong. The boy’s face was nearly circular, chubby cheeks rounding out into a prominent double chin, that seemed to flow into the inflating chest, the young man’s neck having been swallowed up by the expanding tides of flesh. His chest had expanded from perky breasts to much larger man-mammaries, now sagging under their own weight, each eraser-head capped peak propped up by the tremendous tank below it. And what a tank it was, having gone from mere cask to barrel in the intervening period. Framed by love handles as thick as bread loafs and beginning to surge over the boy’s waist, it was a sight to behold. Mikey was more than enamoured with it as he jiggled and grabbed his wobbling middle, oblivious to the world and all that was happening around him.
“Eyes up here, professor.”
Or so Dr. Walker thought, but now Mikey was staring right at him, hands cupping each breast so they would squish into a provocative bosom. Above them the round, boyish face was just as provocative, a sly smile painted on his lips. “I see you’re enjoying the show,” he remarked, eyes pointedly looking at the obvious tent in the professor’s slacks.
For the first time that afternoon it was the professor who felt embarrassed, like a child with his hand in the cookie jar. He floundered, mouth moving but no words coming out, only stopping once Mikey swayed much larger hips. He gulped, frozen, his entire being overcome by lust. Finally Mikey walked towards him, his gait now an odd swagger as each titanic thigh was forced to move circularly around the other with every step. His entire body shook with each lumbering foot fall, an earthquake of flesh growing larger with each passing moment.
Mikey reached him and just stood there, belly mere inches from bumping the professor backward, seductive eyes still staring into his. Then the professor felt something soft and warm pressing into his torso and groin; it was Mikey’s belly. It had surged forward in the few seconds he’d been standing in front of him, and now his belly sagged enough that the lowest portions were rubbing against the professor’s hardon. Mikey tittered and then swayed his hips again, the soft flesh seeming to caress his aching cock.
“Why don’t you touch it?” He asked, grasping the professor’s arm to bring it to the warm flesh of his side. It was so soft, so smooth, his hand sinking in as he pressed further, encouraged by the now colossal college student. After sinking in an inch the two moaned simultaneously, the professor unable to hold himself back any longer. He brought his mouth down to smash into the young man’s chest, lips and tongue seeking the enormous nipple atop the pendulous moobs, slathering saliva all over the pale expanse before finally latching on to suckle with abandon. The professor’s free hands grasped and fondled the yielding fat of Mikey’s belly while he stood there, an unmoving edifice, moaning appreciatively as the older man worshipped his voluminous form.
Had the professor been paying attention he may have noticed the change in tone that had come over Mikey. His manner towards Dr. Walker was mostly ambivalent earlier, but now he was gratefully accepting his unbridled lust with eager enthusiasm. However the professor was beyond thinking rationally at this point. He licked and nibbled and bit the meat of Mikey’s chest, groping at his belly and love-handles as far as he could reach, noticing how hard it was to reach the entire circumference of his waist. He licked lower and lower on the mountainous middle, mashing his face as far into the yielding fat as it would go, eventually descending to his knees, a worshipper having reached mecca. Finally, he reached up to lift the tremendous belly to view the prize now hidden beneath the cascading tide of flesh.
Mikey was already hard as a rock from the professor’s attention, however even at full mast, and even considering the exorbitant flesh that surrounded it, he could tell that Mikey had lost much of his impressive length and girth. Even with his hand pressing against his now impressive fat pad, Mikey extended perhaps 4 inches at best. Resting the behemoth belly on his forehead, the professor leaned into the hot, humid groin to swallow Mikey whole.
He wasn’t sure how the professor was able to deep-throat him, but Mikey couldn’t deny it felt amazing. While the professor eagerly took his entire length over and over, Mikey stood with legs splayed, playing with each doughy breast and the huge nipples at their ends. He knew he was enormous now, larger than he’d ever thought he could gain naturally, and it felt so good to push and fondle and mold his own body, the feeling of size and weight and power. He began to thrust into the professor’s mouth, each movement causing his entire body to quake while sending his pendulous balls to slap into the professor’s chin.
For Mikey each thrust was the barest jerk forward, but for Dr. Walker it had the momentum of over 450 pounds of man bearing down on his face. The first thrust nearly knocked him over, causing him to lose his grip on the colossal belly, smothering him in a tidal wave of fat. He recovered though, and redoubled his efforts, both hands now holding up the prodigious paunch while meeting the next thrust with his open and accepting mouth.
The slap of Mikey’s balls on the professor’s chin filled the office, and while Mikey found he was able to thrust as easily as he could when he was thin, he was working up a substantial sweat after only a few minutes. Liquid dripped on his nose and forehead to gather into rivulets formed on the vast expanse of chest and belly, and he could only imagine how the pressor felt beneath the horizon of his middle.
The professor was more concerned with simply holding on, and only noticed the taste of precum on his lips as Mikey’s thrusting picked up pace. Each battering of balls and groin meat left him covered in the fat man’s sweat. However, the enormous, dangling orbs (that would surely leave bruises once this was over) were beginning to pull upward, and he knew Mikey’s climax was imminent.
Mikey knew he couldn’t last. The professor’s magic mouth took him to the root with each thrust, and the feeling of his entire body jiggling in tune with his lovemaking was simply beyond words. With a bellowing moan, Mikey squeezed each of his love-handles as hard as he could and came.
Even though he could feel the twitching of the dick in his mouth and the ascent of the gigantic balls, the professor was completely unprepared for the torrent of cum that gushed forth from Mikey’s diminished manhood. The first gush filled his mouth completely, while the second overfilled it, and the third made jizz come sputtering out comically from his nose and mouth. The sound of Mikey’s seed splattering on the linoleum floor of the professor’s office was more akin to a dropped cup of coffee than the missed remnants of an impromptu blowjob, and the professor wondered if this was yet another side effect of the formula or if the young man had possessed this ability all along.
After what seemed an eternity, the gushing of Mikey’s geyser slowed to a trickle, giving the professor time to swallow and, more importantly, breathe. He fell backward on his ass, the propped-up belly falling forward and jiggling Mikey’s front while the last drops of his orgasm fell to join the small puddle that had formed beneath him. He calmed down and took stock of his enormity once more, and sighed a deep, satisfied sound.
“Looks like your formula worked, professor.”
Still catching his breath, the good doctor could only manage, “Evidently.”
Mikey wobbled back to the professor’s desk, his lumbering gait somewhat more awkward than a man of his size already would be as he was getting used to his vastness. Noticing something, he bent sideways and picked up a distinct blue vial. “You know professor, there seems to be enough formula left for one more.”
The professor thought about it for a moment, acknowledging mentally that neither he nor his young charge had any clothes that would fit and would have to trundle home, jiggling and naked. He’d have to provide some sort of explanation to his friends and colleagues, and he could even be subjecting himself to the same sort of bizarre mental changes and even possible alterations of his genitalia as the deity of excess that was beckoning him onward.
He downed the vial without a second thought, and as he grew and burst from his clothes, Mikey fondling and groping each new roll as it appeared on his body, he knew without doubt that this was the climax of his professional career.
Summary: On a night out with your friends, you accidentally text the wrong number for advice. The guy on the other end of the phone is abrupt, harsh and kind of an ass - but he also happens to be right. Which explains why you keep texting him. Right?
Honestly, it really shows how far their relationship has come that Franziska is willing to give Miles a chance here.
I mean, when you take a second to think about everything with Miles for the last few years from Fran’s perspective- REALLY think of it- it’s just heartbreaking and it shows a strong bond between them that she’s trusting him enough to even hear him out after all of it.
She’s already stated that it hurt her and she felt abandoned when Miles just sort of left to be prosecutor at his home country and presumably didn’t even keep in touch with her. She was in another country and after not hearing from him or her dad for what was probably quite a while. Then out of the blue she gets a call that like. “So yeah, your dad’s been found guilty of murder. Turns out he killed your adoptive brother’s dad. He actually only adopted your brother in the first place so he could frame him for murder, apparently. And he nearly succeeded, your brother went on trial and everything and nearly got the death penalty, but then your brother’s defense attorney friend exposed your dad as the real killer”.
And you KNOW Miles did not contact her about any of this. This is Miles. He would have been afraid of what her reaction would be to break the news to her. Heck, part of him was probably scared she’d take von Karma’s side and blame him for getting her father arrested. If she tried to call him after hearing this, he would have ignored her calls, being too afraid and overwhelmed to deal with it. So she gets this huge bombshell unloaded on her and isn’t even able to talk to her brother like that. (And in a reflection of Miles’ fears, I can totally see Fran wondering if HE blamed HER and felt she was somehow complicit in her father’s actions)
Then would have also gotten a call that was like” Um, yeah, your brother is he’s missing right now. He left what appears to be a suicide note and we can’t find him.The note says “Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death” so I guess he feels like a failure as a prosecutor after everything? He lost quite a few trials to his defense attorney friend. Yeah, the same one that got your dad convicted.”
So here it is. Not only has she lost her dad, her brother has apparently completely fallen apart in response to everything, given up on his career he worked so hard to and vanished without bothering to talk to her. He didn’t talk to her about anything that happened, he didn’t tell her he was going to do this, even after all they’ve been through and how they studied together to become prosecutors, he didn’t feel she was important enough to talk to about any of this.
So she directs all her anger at the defense attorney who beat him, blaming him for driving Miles to do this, vowing her “revenge”. She refuses to accept he’s dead, he clearly just ran away (I wonder if Miles ever ran away and left weird notes behind when they were kids? I could see that.) Once she beats him, Miles will have to come back and acknowledge her.
When Miles DOES come back, she is angry at him for leaving without saying anything the same way Phoenix is and even expresses it the same way, telling him she never wants to see him again even though that’s specifically what she came here for. She couches it in him being a “disgrace” but the later admits she feels abandoned. And she finds once again Miles has moved on and decided something without her- he doesn’t care about winning anymore, he’s given up on being a “prosecutor” the way they’re supposed to be, once again, leaving her behind. So she gives up. She feels like a failure for not winning, for losing her father and its clear to her she’s lost Miles too, that he doesn’t care about her or how hard she’s trying to prove herself, that he’s left everything that tied them together behind.
But then he comes after her for once.He tells her that he’s not actually giving up on being a prosecutor, that he’s just doing it his way, that he’s continuing down this path he has chosen and he’ll never give up on it again. So if she wants to continue being a prosecutor too, he’ll be there, walking the same path. That’s still something that still binds them. He’s not giving up on all they’ve worked for and he’s not running away again.
And that’s enough reassurance to Franziska for her to keep going. He isn’t abandoning their childhood goal, their dream. And he knows she’s following that path too. She still has that piece of her childhood, that reassurance. She can compete against him and work with him and know she still has a family, that there’s someone else carrying the burden her father had left. As long as he doesn’t give up, she can’t let herself give up either- partly out of spite, partly out of that childhood competitiveness and partly of that desire to keep having a connection to her family as she pursues her goal.
They start to rebuild their relationship after this. They solve cases together, he even backs her up when she’s accused of murder and she starts to trust him again. That he really won’t leave her this time, that they’re actually starting to communicate.
Then Miles just quits being a prosecutor, like it’s nothing, directly going against what he’s promised her. That must feel like such a huge betrayal. She even says it feels like he’s abandoning her again.
But this time, her reaction is different. Franziska decides just because he gives up doesn’t mean she’s going to.She’s accomplished a lot on her own while working for Interpol, without him or her dad. She doesn’t need him to continue forward on her path, she’s going to continue to be a prosecutor for herself.
And then Miles reassures that he actually HASN’T given up, that he is going to keep doing what he did as a prosecutor even without the badge. He’s not running away and he’s still pursuing the truth. They’ve still got that same goal.
it says a LOT that Franziska trusts him enough now to accept this explanation and gives him the chance to prove it to her, even after all that. It says a lot about the bond between them and how much they’ve both grown. She takes him at his word that he’s not going back on the convictions that bind them together and thinks highly enough of him to accept the possibility he can accomplish things even without his badge. And she’s secure enough in their relationship and in herself now to accept this decision if that’s the case, even if she can’t help but feel angry or hurt.
I just…love Franziska. She’s come so far and it makes me proud. And even though it can be hard to tell, she and Miles really have come a long way and trust and believe in each other a lot at this point, in their own way. so I’m also just proud of these loser siblings and love that their relationship has been able to survive all this despite what huge disasters they both are and all the shit that’s happened to them.
When John opens his eyes, everything is white and silent.
His first feeling is shock. Shock over this surreal environment. The sand, the heat, the tanks and the death have disappeared. No screams and no helicopter sounds can be heard. Instead, quiet, friendly voices around him. Birds singing somewhere. Well, outside. Outside where the sun shines. Where there is a daily life. Around him is the smell of disinfectants and mild detergent.
John blinks at the bright light in the room. He realizes he’s in a bed. No narrow, hard cot. It is a large, soft bed. A thick pillow under his head. A blanket pulled up to his chin. It’s warm.
He also notes that he can hardly move. It’s like a heavy weight is pushing him down. John grunts, and wiggles tentatively with his toes under the blanket. This works very well. But as he tries to lift his head, an unpleasant, throbbing pain passes through his shoulder. At the same time, it occurres to him that he has been shot. Shot. In Afghanistan.
John lets his head sink back into the pillow and breathes in the cool air in the room. I was shot … Pictures before his eyes make him swallow. Running soldiers, screams, shots, an explosion. A hand on his arm, a whisper, a groan as eyes close forever … And then the sharp pain as the bullet pierces him. Pain, so much pain, he falls into the sand and he can hear his name. Someones shouting his name … A moment later it’s all gone.
John knows he’s been taken to a hospital. For the initial treatment. And then. Home.
Home, meaning this hospital.
He sighs, and licks his dry lips. Thirst. His gaze falls to the side of the wall, where a call button is. He presses it. A few minutes later, a young nurse comes into the room. She smiles the certain standard smile, which is so common in a hospital. “Ah, Dr. Watson, you are awake. Very good. The doctor will want to see your wound soon. Do you need something?” “Water,” John can only croak with difficulty. And he points his finger vaguely at the bed. “Could you … raise it please?” “Yes, of course.” The nurse pushes a button on the bed and it slowly lifts. “I’ll bring you water.”
Then she is gone again.
John can see the room better now. And when he looks aside, he sees that he is not alone. Next to him is another bed. And there is a man in it. The face half hidden by an oxygen mask. John can see thick, dark locks. And pale, almost white skin. He judges the man to be in his mid-thirties. He stares at the completely motionless body and swallows. Something is drawing him to this unknown man … something he can not explain. John notes that he is fascinated. Fascinated without really having a reason for it. He shakes his head slightly.
The nurse comes back with a mug and a water bottle. She pours him water into the mug and John takes it with a still unsteady hand. He drinks, relieved. Then he says softly, “Who is that?” The nurse follows his gaze and says with a sad undertone, “Oh, this is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. He’s been here for a long time. Almost half a year. He’s in a coma.” “Ah,” John says, swallowing. Half a year. That’s a long time. “How …?” “How it happened? He overdosed on cocain. We
… well, we can’t ask him, but we think it was a suicide attempt.” She gently shakes her head and takes the empty mug from John. “It’s really a shame. He never gets any visitors. Never. The thought that no one in the world is there for him … Who knows if he will ever wake up again. Perhaps there is simply nothing worth it for … Oye, I talk too much.” She seems a little embarrassed and clears her throat. “If you need anything, just call, ok? The doctor should be here any minute.” “Thank you. Yes.” The nurse leaves. John does not look away from the sleeping man in the other bed.
Half a year. No visit. Jesus. * The days pass at a quiet, slow pace, which both soothes and disturbs John. He is not used to it. He almost expects to be suddenly torn from the calm routine by a shrill siren. Or suddenly lie back in the hot, bloody sand of the desert. But of course it doesn’t happen. Instead, he wakes up around 9 in the morning, receives his breakfast and is examined. The doctor is friendly and passive. Nodding pleased at the sight of John’s wound, while John himself stares at the hole in his shoulder with a growing nausea. After that, he can only watch TV, or watch Sherlock being fed. It’s hard to watch. No reaction comes from the comatose man, when the nurses lift his limbs off the bed to wash him. Turn him to his side. Dress him again. The motionless body doesn’t resist. It reminds John of a doll. He does not like this thought. At noon, they bring John food again. For Sherlock, of course, nothing comes. He is fed artificially. In the evening, more food. And more TV. A lot of rest. A little too much, John thinks once, and feels strangely guilty at the thought. On the third day of this routine, he talks to Sherlock for the first time. It’s because a James Bond movie is on. John always liked James Bond. And that’s what he says. “This is a good movie. A really good movie. Lots of action. And the women are pretty, the men too,” he says aloud in the room. And laughs. There’s no answer. And he feels a little stupid.
After a while, John realizes that he will not get any visitors either. It’s not really that surprising. Harry is … well, he doesn’t even know where his sister lives. His mother is dead. And he does not want to see his father. Not that he thinks, his father would want to see him … Once, he receives a call from the leader of his unit. From Afghanistan. He says something like, “it’s a shame” and “get back on your feet soon”. John doesn’t say much. He only murmurs “Yes, sir” now and then. His hand is trembling as he holds the phone. A tremor. It hasn’t stopped since he woke up. He doesn’t get any visitors. Just like Sherlock. Only the nurses and the doctor enter the room. “Here we are, huh?” John says to Sherlock while eating his bland soup. “We’re alone together here.”
And then the nightmares start. About the war. About death and pain. About men he could not save. Distorted faces in the dark. Eyes full of despair. He wakes up in the middle of the night. Heavily breathing. Bathed in sweat. He moans and sits up with difficulty. Runs a hand over his face. He looks at Sherlock. Sherlock, who is, as always, motionless in bed. A part of his face lit from the machine that measures his heartbeat. John swallows. He must … He feels the overwhelming desire to talk to someone. It needs to stop. He can not … Oh, hell, he has no one and it’s not like Sherlock would complain, right? He clears his throat and begins.
“Well, uh, Sherlock. How do you feel? Um, I hope I didn’t wake you. Sorry, haha, bad joke … I had a nightmare, which is quite obviously, right? Well, uhm, I hope it doesn’t bother you if I just talk a little. Yes. I’ll talk. So make yourself comfortable. Haha. Sometimes I think I’ve gone the wrong way. I became a doctor because I wanted to help people. And the army … Well, it was just a whim. An idea that me and my friends had. One of them is dead, by the way. Mmh. I … it was not always bad. The training was exhausting though. Sometimes I thought I could not make it. My family was not much help either. My father is an asshole. There is no other word. My sister was thrown out. My mother died. It was all … a mess, you know? Anyway, I’ve been struggling. I wanted to do it. This one thing. And I did it. I’ve become a doctor. I went to Afghanistan and treated soldiers. I’ve seen things that would turn your stomach. Wounds that seemed like death sentences. I’ve looked into hopeless, desperate eyes. Sometimes I saved them. Sometimes I couldn’t. And the faces of those I could not save, they haunt me now, you know? In my dreams. God. I’m so sorry. I really am … Do you see that? I’m crying. That hasn’t happened for a long time. It seems to make you sentimental when you get a bullet in your shoulder … "
"Thank you for listening to me all the time, Sherlock. All this blabbering must be terrible. I thought about James today. Who that is? Well, good question. We were more than friends. But never more than … no idea. I kissed him. Well. In the desert, watching the sunset. Once. Just once. Do you think that is romantic? Shit, yes. Mabye it is. ”
* “My middle name is Hamish. I hate it. I mean, who calls their child John Hamish? My father chose my name. There we have it again. This bastard. Hamish. I always avoid telling people that name. So, I guess that makes us mates? Hey, buddy, haha. No. That just sounds wrong. Sorry.” * "I can get up today. Great, huh? I feel like an old man. My damn shoulder, my trembling hand … a pretty sad picture I make, huh? ”
“It was not so bad. I mean, I for some reason I’m limping, quite badly, but the fresh air was great. I was down in the park. And imagine, a woman spoke to me. She’s called Mary. She said she’s working here. She is nice. And you know what, I asked her if we could go for a coffee. She said yes. Can I get a ‘well done’? No? All right. ” * “Do you know, that you’re pretty? Really, you are. I maybe would have asked you out, if I met you somewhere else before. Oh God, sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I … Maybe I’m just afraid. Because … well. I’ll have to leave here soon, I guess. And I don’t know what to do then …” * “Well, that’s it. I … tomorrow I can go. I don’t know exactly where, but I can go. Mmh. I think I’m really scared. Mary said I should do therapy. No idea if that would help. I guess, I can try it. Maybe. Well, I’ll pack my things. You know … you really could wake up to say good-bye to me. It would be nice …” * “Surprise! Yes, here I am again. I … I missed you, Sherlock. You’re a good listener, you know? Better than my therapist … So, what happened since I left, tell me, haha.” * “I will marry Mary. That’s … yes, that’s good, right? She is … she gives me a certain hold in life. I would not know where else to go. What else could I do? So. We are getting married.” * “Oh God. Fuck Hey, Sherlock. I … She’s pregnant. She … she’s really pregnant. Did you hear that? I’m having a baby. I’m going to be a father. I. Can you belive that? No, me neither. I … Oh my God, what am I doing?” * “This is not what I wanted, do you hear me Sherlock? That … my God, I can not do that. That’s … That’s not me. Fuck. ” * “I love her … Really, I do. I mean, I married her. But … I just do not know what I’m doing. I’m … This is not me. I don’t want a quiet family life in a terraced area. I want … I don’t even really know what I want … But, I hate all of this. I … I thought I was going the right way this time, but that … that’s not what I want. I’m not a family man, Sherlock. ” * “You know, Sherlock, you can just wake up once. So … so we could really talk. Because, well … You listen to me here as I talk every day. Aren’t you bored. Jesus. I know it would be a miracle if you woke up. I have … I’ve heard the nurses talking. They’ve given up on you. It would be a miracle. But … I don’t know, maybe you can just make the miracle happen for me? Simply … Oh God, I don’t know what I’m talking about. Good bye, Sherlock. Until tomorrow.” * 6 weeks later.
“Hello, Dr. Watson. I’m sorry to call you so late, but he … he’s asking for you.”
“Who? Who is asking for me?”
“Sherlock Holmes. The coma patient you have been visiting. He woke up and now he’s asking for you. Very urgently.”
John hurried to the hospital. He doesn’t even notice that he left his cane at home. Until Sherlock points it out. Sherlock, sitting upright in bed, an exhausted, oblique smile on his face. Sherlock,
who says quietly, “Hello, John.” Sherlock, who steals John’s heart within a second and opens the door to a whole new, completely different
story. Who shows John a new way. Which is finally