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And you realize Leonard 'Bones' McCoy x Reader A/N: Hello there =3 If you can't tell, I'm giving Ichigo a break and writing a few Star Trek Reader Inserts So, yeah... Onward~
You sigh as the bartender slides another drink to you, running a hand through your (H/L) (H/C) hair. Another crappy day and another crappy breakup, just your normal routine. You aren’t sure why, but you seem to attract assholes like flies and they never stop pestering you. Speaking of which…
“Hi there, gorgeous.” A man practically purred as he slid into the seat next to you. You narrowed your (E/C) eyes in a glare, hoping to dissuade him but, of course, he was stubborn. He just grinned at you, blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he ruffled his sandy-blonde hair in a way that he must have thought was sexy. Rolling your eyes you open your mouth to tell him to leave you alone when a gruff voice stops you.
Touch and Sensation___________________________
Touch and Sensation
Sometimes he forgets. When he has been away from the ship too long, away from his t'hy'la, he forgets who he is when Jim is there.
His fingertips are so very sensitive. He runs them across Jim's cheek, allowing himself to revel in the texture of his stubble as it passes under inquisitive skin.
No matter where he is, or who he is with or who he is when he is with them this is his true essence. This person that he is, when he is with Jim, is everything he values about himself wrapped into one.
Watching as Jim wakes from the light half sleep he had entered against Spock's side, the Vulcan cannot help it when a smile hovers at the edges of his lips. Jim's hair is tossled and messy, and it makes him look even more attractive than he is when it is straightened not that Spock would ever admit that to the Human.
"How long was I out?" he asks, blinking up at Spock from where his head is resting on t
Meet Me HalfwayHis Captain is distracted.
In and of itself, this is not unusual behavior. The unpredictability of his captain's actions engendered an understandable amount of distraction. And yet, Spock considers himself the expert on Kirkish behavior. He has spent the better part of a year studying his Captain, both on and off duty.
And there is definitely something wrong with his behavior. Jim is sprawled over his command chair, unconcerned with the mission at hand: standard procedure. But his eyes are unfocused; his head leaned against the back of his chair. In his ears are the plugs of some archaic device Spock recognizes as a personal music player, and his strong, thin fingers were tapping out a beat on the chair arm.
Jim's lips are moving in a pattern, his voice too low for a Human to hear the words he is murmuring under his breath.
Suppressing a certainly un-Vulcan like start, Spock realizes he is yet again spending too much time focused on his captain, and places his attention back
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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