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THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : fluff, betrayal, fluff, fluff, mentions of pregnancy.

A/N : 8.3k words omg I’m proud of myself. I like this chapter because it’s pure fluff with plot. Anyway there’s only three chapters left after this one 😭.

꧁ Chapter 6 : A Life Begins ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The flesh is weak, yet burns divine,

A hunger shared, a sacred sign.

In whispered touch, the world unwinds,

Desire consumes, as hearts entwine.

Two Months Later

The signs had been subtle at first, easy to dismiss amidst the chaos of court life and the lingering shadows of betrayal. You had felt the change before you fully understood it—a gentle tiredness that seemed to settle into your bones, the way your body rebelled at certain foods, and a strange, unfamiliar ache deep within you. But it wasn’t until one quiet evening in the solitude of your chambers, painting at your easel, that the realization had struck with the force of a storm.

You had paused mid-stroke, the brush trembling in your hand as you pressed a palm to your abdomen, instinctively protective of the life you now knew was growing there. A child. Anakin’s child. Your chest had tightened with a mix of wonder and fear, tears slipping unbidden down your cheeks as the weight of the revelation settled over you.

But how could you tell him?

Days had passed, and the secret felt like a flame in your chest, burning brighter with every glance he gave you, every touch of his hand, every stolen kiss. You waited for the right moment, for the perfect words, but they never seemed to come. And now, lying in the soft cocoon of your shared bed as the morning sun painted gold over the walls, you knew you couldn’t wait any longer.

The bedchamber was bathed in the soft glow of early morning, sunlight filtering through the gauzy curtains, painting the walls in golden hues. Anakin stirred beside you, the warmth of his arm draped possessively over your waist. For the first time in months, there was no urgency, no danger clawing at the edges of your lives—only the fragile peace that had settled between you like a long-awaited truce.

He opened his eyes slowly, their stormy depths softening as they found you already awake. A rare, unguarded smile curved his lips, and he reached to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"You’re watching me again," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

"I am," you admitted with a teasing smile. "You’re easier to study when you’re not scowling."

He huffed a soft laugh, his hand slipping to your cheek. "And you’re easier to adore when you’re smiling like that."

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you turned your face slightly, pressing a kiss to his palm. Anakin shifted, propping himself up on one elbow so he could watch you more fully. The intensity of his gaze had always unsettled you before, but now, it made your heart race for entirely different reasons.

"Why do you look at me like that?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"Because I can," he said simply, his thumb brushing over your lips. "Because I don’t want to waste a single moment."

A comfortable silence followed as you lay there, tangled in the quiet intimacy of shared breaths and fleeting touches. It was in this moment, with his love laid bare and your heart so full it felt as though it might burst, that you knew you couldn’t keep your secret any longer.

"Anakin," you began, your voice trembling slightly.

He tilted his head, concern flickering across his face. "What is it?"

You hesitated, nerves tightening in your chest. Then, with a deep breath, you placed his hand gently over your abdomen. "We’re not alone anymore."

For a moment, there was only silence. Anakin stared at you, his brows knitting together in confusion before realization dawned. His hand tensed against you, his eyes widening.

"You mean…" His voice faltered, and he sat up fully, his gaze darting between your face and the place where his hand rested. "You mean there’s…?"

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes. "A child. Our child."

A strangled sound escaped him—a mixture of disbelief and unbridled joy. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand trembling against your stomach.

"A child," he whispered, as if saying the words aloud would make them real. "Our child."

His other hand cupped your face, his lips finding yours in a kiss so tender it left you breathless. When he pulled back, his eyes were damp, his expression unguarded in a way you’d rarely seen.

"I never thought…" He shook his head, his voice breaking. "I never thought I’d have this. That I’d deserve this."

"You do," you said firmly, your own tears spilling over. "You deserve this, Anakin. You deserve everything."

He kissed you again, his hand never leaving your abdomen as if he feared the moment might vanish. When he finally pulled back, a mischievous grin tugged at his lips.

"I suppose this means I’ll have to be even more careful with you now," he said, his voice light but full of meaning.

"And you’ll have to stop taking so many arrows," you countered with a laugh, wiping at your cheeks.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through you like a promise of brighter days. Then, with all the reverence of a man who had finally found something worth living for, he rested his head against your stomach and whispered, "I’ll protect you both. Always."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He pressed his forehead against your abdomen, his hands cradling you as though he could somehow shield both you and the child within.

"I’ll protect you both," he repeated, his voice low and fierce. "I swear it. Nothing will ever harm you."

You ran your fingers through his hair, your heart swelling with love for this man who had so carefully guarded his heart until now. "I know," you whispered.

In that moment, with his arms wrapped around you and his love radiating so fiercely it felt like a shield, you believed him. For the first time, you dared to dream of a future beyond war, beyond duty—a future where love, not fear, shaped your lives.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Beneath my hand her womb softly sings,

A fragile promise, the weight of all things.

A vessel of stars with her body divine,

Carrying the future, forever entwined.

The morning sun cast long rays of light across the castle courtyard, gilding the stone walls and brightening the faces of the assembled crowd. Nobles in silk and armor lined the balconies, their curiosity veiled behind composed expressions. Below, commoners packed the square, their chatter a rising tide of speculation. The air was thick with expectation, the kind that settled before great moments.

Anakin Skywalker stood on the dais, his broad shoulders cloaked in a formal mantle, though his armor still bore the scratches and dents of battle. The sight of him commanded respect—his presence, forged in countless wars, left no room for doubt that this was a man of action, even amidst diplomacy.

Behind him, you lingered, draped in a gown of deep crimson that framed your figure elegantly. Your hands rested gently on your stomach, though the gesture was discreet. You were still adjusting to the weight of the news, the sheer gravity of what was to come.

Anakin turned slightly, his sharp blue gaze finding yours. The flicker of a smile softened the resolute lines of his face, a private exchange amid the public spectacle. Then, he faced the crowd and raised his hand, commanding silence.

“My people,” he began, his deep voice carrying effortlessly over the gathered throng, “we stand today in the fragile peace that follows war. These stones underfoot have borne witness to centuries of bloodshed and strife, of alliances forged and broken. Yet, today, I bring you a new promise—a reason to look beyond the scars of the past.”

The murmurs quieted entirely, the crowd hanging on his every word.

“It is with pride and humility that I announce a union not only between lands but within my own house. My wife,”—he paused, gesturing toward you with a reverence that made your breath catch—“carries within her a child.”

A ripple of astonishment coursed through the crowd. Gasps escaped lips, eyes widened, and an audible shift of energy swept through the courtyard. The nobles exchanged glances, their veiled thoughts unreadable, while the common folk clutched at their neighbors, whispering fervently.

“A child,” Anakin continued, his voice unyielding as he cut through the rising murmur, “born of two nations. A symbol of unity in a time when division would seek to undo us. This child will embody not only the blood of two kingdoms but the hope of peace that binds us all.”

The crowd’s reaction was a mixture of awe and uncertainty. Applause began hesitantly, building into a crescendo of cheers. Yet not all faces were jubilant. Among the French nobles, Count Aulbry’s expression tightened, his calculating gaze fixed on Anakin. Nearby, a cluster of English lords exchanged furtive looks, their smiles forced.

Anakin stepped closer to you, his hand extending. You accepted it without hesitation, your fingers trembling slightly in his firm grasp. He turned to face the crowd with you at his side, his voice now softer, yet no less commanding.

“This child is more than a bond of blood. It is a covenant,” he said, his eyes sweeping the audience before returning to you. “Let this life be a bridge, a reminder that no force of man or steel can sever what love and hope have built.”

The cheers erupted anew, though you could still sense the undercurrent of tension among the nobles. Even as their voices rose, clapping hands and ringing bells filling the air, you caught sight of Count Aulbry turning away, his lips a thin, displeased line.

You squeezed Anakin’s hand, grounding yourself in his steady presence. He glanced down at you, his expression softening in a way few had the privilege to see. His thumb brushed your knuckles, a silent reassurance.

As the crowd’s cheers continued, Anakin leaned closer, his words meant only for you. “Their faces betray their smiles,” he murmured. “This news binds us together, my rose, but it also stirs those who would see us fall. Be vigilant.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. For a fleeting moment, you longed to retreat from the weight of it all, to find solace in the quiet of your chambers, where the world’s scrutiny could not follow.

As the crowd slowly began to disperse, Anakin led you back toward the castle. The walk through the corridors was quieter than you had expected. His hand never left yours, his touch an anchor against the storm brewing in your mind.

Once you were alone in the warmth of the great hall, he paused, turning to face you fully. His hands framed your face, roughened palms gentle against your skin.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the intensity in his voice making you blink.

“For what?” you whispered, overwhelmed by the depth of his gaze.

“For giving me this,” he replied, his hand dropping to your abdomen. “For giving us this.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the way it cracked under the weight of his emotions, made your eyes well with tears.

“And thank you,” you whispered back, “for standing beside me when the world watches and whispers.”

He kissed you then, deeply, as though trying to etch that moment into his soul. The world outside the castle walls could rage and plot, but in that instant, nothing else existed but the two of you.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Within her womb, a kingdom stirs,

A bridge of blood, where hope confers.

The wars may rage, the world may scheme,

But here we stand, love’s quiet dream.

The soft glow of candlelight filled the room, casting long shadows on the walls as Anakin held you close. The sound of murmurs from the bustling servants outside seemed a distant hum. It was just the two of you, in a world where only your love existed.

His hand moved from the curve of your waist to wrap around you, pulling you nearer. The women outside the chamber whispered their gossip, but none of it mattered now. He only cared for you.

Anakin placed his chin on the top of your head, inhaling your scent. His breath was warm against the crown of your hair, and for a moment, there was silence between you both. He just wanted to feel you close, to savor this rare peace.

"I love you, more than my own life," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You leaned back slightly, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you smacked his chest playfully. "Don't say that," you protested. "It’s bad luck."

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. Instead, his arm tightened around you, pulling you even closer, his breath fanning across your neck. A quiet sigh escaped his lips, and he spoke again, this time softer, as though surrendering to his own feelings. "I love you… more than my own life."

You bit your lip, the weight of his words pressing against your heart. "It’s not something you should say," you whispered. "Saying you value someone over your own life is a serious thing."

He nodded, a hint of seriousness creeping into his eyes. Gently, he turned your chin so that your gazes met. His blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a long moment, neither of you moved. "I know," he said, his voice low, "and I mean it."

His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing under your eye, tracing the outline of your cheek. "I mean it," he repeated, his gaze unwavering. "I would rather die a thousand deaths than live without you."

His words struck you, not with fear but with the deepest affection you had ever known. A small tremor passed through you as you tried to find something to say, something to counteract the weight of his promise. "You shouldn’t say that, Anakin," you whispered, shaking your head. "It’s wrong on so many levels."

He nodded again, knowing the truth of your words but unable to keep from speaking them. His thumb slid gently over your lips, as if tracing the very words he had just spoken. He leaned in, his voice a whisper now, close enough that his breath brushed your skin. "I know. But I’m being honest. I do love you more than my own life."

A soft sigh escaped you, and you closed your eyes, the tenderness of the moment overwhelming you. "Did you come here to recite poetry, Lord Skywalker ?" you asked playfully, a smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, his fingers brushing along your cheek and jaw, moving with the ease of someone who knew you better than anyone else. "No," he replied with a smirk, his voice playful yet sincere. "I didn’t come for poetry." He held your chin gently, looking deep into your eyes, his thumb caressing your lips once more. "I came back to see you," he murmured, his voice softening. "I wanted to see my wife after hours apart."

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at the thought. "Isn’t that worth a little poem from you?" you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, his smile broadening as he kissed your forehead. His fingers lingered on your waist before he pulled you closer, his hands soft on your skin. "A poem for my wife ?" he repeated, his voice playful. "Hmm, I’ll have to think about what to write." He acted as though deep in thought, then looked at you with a smirk that made your heart race.

"I hum softly to your beauty, love, and grace," he began, his voice taking on a tender note. "I will search for your heart, if you take it elsewhеre. Even if in your dances, othеrs fill your hours. I will search for your soul, in the cold, in the flames. I will cast magic spells at you, for you to love me forever."

The words hung in the air, like a promise, like a vow. He kissed the tip of your nose, and you closed your eyes, feeling the depth of his feelings wrap around you.

"You got me used to better, Lord Skywalker," you said softly, the words tinged with amusement.

He chuckled, shaking his head. His thumb moved to your lips once more, brushing them softly. "You are my better," he said with quiet confidence, his voice low and tender. "Don’t doubt that for a second. I am a better man around you. I’m softer, gentler... and I like being gentle with you."

His words warmed your heart, and as his thumb gently traced the outline of your lips, you couldn’t help but smile. "Am I worth your poetry then?" you asked, a teasing tone in your voice.

He smiled, his eyes gleaming with affection. "You are worth more than that," he said, his voice serious now. "I could write a whole damn book full of poetry about you. Every single page would be filled with words about the love I feel for you... and it still wouldn’t be enough to express it all."

You laughed softly, your heart swelling with the love he poured into you. "Did you write that in your little poetry notebook ?" you teased, giving him a playful smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No," he replied, his voice warm and full of affection. "I said it from memory... for how many times I’ve thought about it, for how many times I’ve said it to myself."

His hand slipped from your lips, and he kissed your forehead once more. "For how many times I’ve wanted to write it down," he whispered, his words lingering in the air between you.

He pulled you into a gentle hug, his arms surrounding you as he pressed his chin to your head. And in that moment, you knew, without a doubt, that the love you shared was something beyond anything you had ever dreamed.

Three Weeks Later

The grand ballroom shimmered in the soft light of hundreds of candles, their flames flickering like little stars suspended in time. The rich, velvet tapestries that adorned the walls caught the light, painting the room in hues of deep red and gold. The melodies of a string quartet filled the air, gentle but with an underlying tension that seemed to hum just beneath the surface. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, a grand ball thrown in honor of the child you carried for now three months, a moment of joy in a world shadowed by war and betrayal.

Anakin, looking every bit the warrior he was, stood at your side as the evening unfolded. His gaze, though warm when it met yours, seemed to flicker with something else—a restlessness that had become more pronounced in recent weeks. His hand, ever so gentle on your waist, was the only anchor you felt in the sea of polite chatter and forced smiles. But even his touch could not mask the distance that had been growing between you both. Anakin was a man of action, of purpose, and the palace's ornate dances—both literal and political—had never been kind to him.

The music played on as Anakin stepped away from you with an apologetic look, his lips curling into a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Please enjoy yourself, my rose," he murmured, the words laced with affection but also an unspoken understanding. He had to leave you—duty called. As the host, it was his responsibility to oversee the evening, but it was more than that. Anakin had his eyes on a different prize tonight: the King.

You watched him slip away, his figure becoming a blur in the crowd of dancers and courtiers. He moved with purpose, his sharp gaze scanning the room as he made his way to the King. Your heart sank just slightly, not from jealousy, but from the ache of knowing what awaited him in the King's chambers. Another attempt to open the monarch’s eyes to the treachery festering within his own court. You knew he would fail again, just as he always did. The King, blinded by his pride and political games, refused to acknowledge the threat that lurked at their doorstep.

You had no intention of following him, not tonight. Instead, you sought refuge in the dimmer corners of the ballroom. But even as you tried to lose yourself in the music and the laughter of the nobility, your mind kept drifting back to him.

The King’s chambers were draped in opulence, a grand, imposing space filled with the weight of centuries of power. Rich velvet curtains hung over tall windows that overlooked the expansive gardens, their vibrant colors muted in the late afternoon light. The room smelled faintly of incense and old parchment, a blend of history and authority that had long been unchallenged. And yet, in the midst of it all, Anakin felt a weight heavier than the gold on the walls, a suffocating pressure that was more than the King's physical presence—it was the weight of his ignorance.

King Edward sat at the head of an immense wooden table, his posture regal, but his eyes were distant, unfocused, as though he were far from the matters at hand. A goblet of wine sat before him, untouched, a symbol of his disinterest in the serious matters his kingdom faced. His advisors, those loyal sycophants who hovered like vultures, waited in silence for their King to speak, but it was clear they, too, were tired of this endless charade.

Anakin stepped forward, his boots scraping against the cold stone floor, breaking the silence with the weight of his own presence. His heart thudded in his chest—not from fear, but from the anger that simmered beneath his skin. He had seen enough, heard enough, and he was ready to lay it all bare.

“Your Majesty,” Anakin began, his voice a low, controlled growl that betrayed the tension in his body. “The French are preparing to strike. Their treachery has already begun. If we do not act now, the bloodshed will be on our hands. My sources—”

King Edward raised a hand lazily, his fingers brushing the surface of his goblet, the motion more dismissive than anything else. “General, please.” His voice was smooth, like silk slipping over stone, but it held none of the urgency or gravitas that the situation demanded. “I do not need to hear your reports of spies and rumors. I have dealt with these matters before.”

Anakin clenched his jaw, the need to maintain his composure burning inside him like a wildfire. He was no fool. He knew the King’s mind, and it was as stubborn and inflexible as the walls of the castle itself. But even so, he pressed on, his words a sharpened weapon.

“The reports are not rumors,” he insisted, his gaze steady and unflinching. “I have seen their movements myself. The French are gathering forces. They have spies within our borders, and I have witnessed their military preparations. This is not just a skirmish; this is the beginning of something far worse. We cannot wait any longer. War is coming, and we must be ready.”

The King’s eyes flickered, but he did not rise from his chair. He took a languid sip from his goblet, his gaze never leaving Anakin. “War, you say? And who exactly are we supposed to declare war on? The French nobility? The King of France himself? No, Skywalker. I will not throw this kingdom into chaos over the whispers of an unsettled general.”

Anakin’s hands balled into fists at his sides. His pulse quickened, blood rushing to his head, but he held back the fury that was threatening to explode. “The French have made their intentions clear. We cannot sit idle and hope this resolves itself. They will attack. If you do not act now, there will be no kingdom left to protect!”

King Edward set his goblet down slowly, his eyes narrowing, his voice dripping with condescension. “And what of my kingdom? What of the people I rule?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he studied Anakin. “Your zeal for battle is admirable, but you fail to see the bigger picture. I will not waste resources, time, and men on a war that is not yet upon us. You speak of French treachery, but what of our own treachery? What if this is nothing more than a product of your own paranoia?”

Anakin’s patience snapped.

“Paranoia?” he spat, his voice rising with a dangerous intensity. “I’ve fought on the frontlines, Your Majesty. I have bled for this kingdom, for you. You sit here, comfortable in your ivory tower, while the world around us burns. You think this is paranoia? These are facts, not delusions!”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension thickening with each passing second. The King’s face hardened, his eyes cold as they met Anakin’s. For a moment, it seemed as though the two men might tear at each other, their differences too vast to bridge.

“You forget your place, Anakin,” the King said, his tone low and dangerous, a warning that rang louder than any shouted command. “You are a soldier. You have no right to question me, to demand anything from me. You are my subject, nothing more.”

Anakin’s chest heaved with a deep, ragged breath. How humiliating the King was by calling him by his name. The truth of it hit him then—the King was not just blind to the truth; he was willfully blind, choosing to live in ignorance for the sake of his own comfort. Anakin could feel the weight of the crown’s power in the room, but it was not a weight that humbled the King. No, it was a weight that corrupted him, twisted him into something less than a leader and more like a petty tyrant.

“If you refuse to see reason,” Anakin said, his voice a low, dangerous promise, “then I will take this to the people. I will not sit back and watch while you put us all in danger.”

The King’s lips twisted into a humorless smile. “And what exactly do you think you’ll do, Anakin? You’ve no power here. You’re a soldier, nothing more. You may have been given a title, but you forget who holds the power in this kingdom.”

Anakin took a step forward, his gaze unwavering, his body tense with suppressed rage. “Then let me remind you, Your Majesty. I have the loyalty of your soldiers, the respect of the people. And when the time comes, it will not be your gold and your title that will protect you. It will be the strength of those who stand with what is right. And right now, that is not you.”

The room was still, deathly silent. The King’s eyes flared with anger, but he did not move. He simply looked at Anakin with the same cold detachment he had displayed all evening, as though this was all some game.

“You will regret this, General,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Mark my words.”

Anakin’s lips tightened into a grim line. “Perhaps. But history will remember the truth, Your Majesty. And it will remember those who acted in the face of it.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the chamber, his footsteps echoing through the silence, the weight of the King’s indifference following him like a shadow.

Outside the chamber doors, Anakin’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with fury. He knew the King would never change. But he also knew that the battle was not over, not by a long shot. The kingdom was on the brink of destruction, and no matter how many times Anakin tried to warn him, the King would not listen until it was too late.

And by then, it would be Anakin’s job to pick up the pieces.

Hours passed, but no word came. The night seemed to drag on, each moment more strained than the last. Anakin had not returned, and you felt the weight of his absence in your chest. The idea of him facing the King, alone, with nothing but words to defend a kingdom, made your stomach twist. You knew he would be met with the same stone wall, his words unheard in the face of the King’s stubbornness.

And then, just as you began to wonder if perhaps you should find him, the doors to the ballroom burst open. Anakin stormed in, his jaw clenched, his expression fierce and unreadable. The room, once alive with conversation, fell silent at his entrance. All eyes turned to him, but none dared approach. He was a tempest contained in human form, his anger a palpable force that hung in the air. He moved toward you, not stopping to acknowledge the curious gazes or hushed whispers, his stride unyielding.

You were already rising from your seat, but before you could speak, he reached you, his hand gripping your arm tightly, as though needing to anchor himself to something—someone. His breath came in quick, shallow bursts, his chest heaving as though he had just been in a fight, though the only battle he’d faced had been with words.

“Anakin…” you murmured, your voice soft, laced with concern. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, a desperate attempt to reach him, to soothe the storm that raged inside him.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze seemed to bore into yours, as if seeking comfort in the only place that still made sense to him. His free hand clenched into a fist, then released, only to repeat the process. Finally, he exhaled a shaky breath and spoke, his voice thick with anger.

“The King,” he spat, his words sharp as daggers. “He refuses to see reason. He will not declare war against the French, despite the clear treachery, despite the evidence that—” He broke off, shaking his head in disbelief. “He refuses to act, and all because he is more concerned with his own image, his own power, than the safety of his people!”

You reached out, touching his arm gently, a small, grounding gesture, but Anakin didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were wild, as though the weight of his failures had become too much to bear. His voice, usually so controlled, cracked under the strain of his frustration.

“Did you see him?” he demanded, his face flushed with the intensity of his emotions. “Did you see the way he dismissed my warnings? As though my words are nothing, as though the fate of this kingdom is nothing but a game to him. He can’t see beyond his own damn selfishness.”

You could feel his frustration building with each word, the heat of his anger radiating off him. And though your heart ached for him, you knew that there was little you could say to ease the pain of his disillusionment. The King’s refusal to act had cost him far more than political approval; it had cost him faith in the very system he had fought so hard to protect.

“Anakin…” You said his name again, this time with more force, as if to pull him out of his spiraling thoughts. “You did everything you could. You tried. But if he will not listen, if he will not see reason, then you cannot force him.”

He shook his head, his eyes dark with frustration. “And what of the people? What of our people? What of your people, my rose? Shall we sit idle while they are slaughtered in the streets?” His voice had softened on the last words, his gaze flickering down to where your hand rested on his arm.

You stood in silence for a moment, unsure of how to offer comfort when there was so little hope to offer. You had known the King’s stubbornness well enough to understand that his refusal to act wasn’t about ignorance—it was about fear. Fear of losing his power, fear of facing the consequences of his decisions. And now, that fear was condemning the very kingdom they had sworn to protect.

Anakin’s grip on your arm tightened for a moment, and then, just as quickly, it loosened. He exhaled a breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as though the weight of the evening had finally taken its toll on him. He looked up at you, his eyes darkened with exhaustion and a new kind of bitterness.

“Tonight was supposed to be about celebrating,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, a stark contrast to the fiery anger that had gripped him moments before. “And yet, all I feel is…betrayed.”

The word hung in the air between you, a silent acknowledgment of the emotional toll the night had taken on him. You felt the ache of his weariness, the deep-seated frustration that gnawed at him, and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to take away his pain, to make it disappear.

You took a step closer to him, your hand reaching up to touch his cheek. He didn’t flinch, but his eyes closed briefly at your touch, as though your presence was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“It’ll be okay…you’re resourceful, General,” you said softly, your voice a promise, a balm to his wounded heart. “And I trust you.”

Anakin’s eyes flickered open, and for the first time that night, something softer seemed to stir within them. A silent gratitude, an unspoken understanding.

For a moment, it felt as though the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders, if only just a little.

But even in that fleeting moment of peace, the reality remained unchanged. The King had made his decision, and Anakin’s fight was far from over.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

A soldier’s loyalty, a leader’s pride,

Can only go so far before worlds collide.

The King’s blindness is his greatest chain,

As his strength breaks free from his reign.

Unknown POV, Unknown Day

In the dimly lit chamber of the King of France, the air was heavy, thick with the scent of wax and velvet, with shadows draping over the stone walls. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shapes across the floor, but it did nothing to warm the chill that had settled in the room. Count Aulbry stood before the King, his presence a calculated weight in the silence. His gaze was steady, unwavering as he watched the monarch, who sat slumped upon his throne, the weight of the world seemingly pressing upon his shoulders. The King had aged since Aulbry’s last visit, his once-proud stature now marked by the growing weight of doubt, fear, and the heavy responsibilities of a reign threatened on all sides.

“Your Majesty,” Aulbry’s voice sliced through the stillness, rich and low, his words curling like smoke around the King’s consciousness. He had long since learned the art of speaking in half-truths, a skill that would serve him well in the game he played.

King Phillip’s gaze was sharp, though his weariness showed in the slouch of his shoulders, the way his hand rested weakly upon the arm of the throne. He had not answered Aulbry’s greeting but instead regarded the count with a long, careful stare. Finally, the King spoke, his voice gravelly, tired.

“What is it you want, Aulbry?”

The Count smiled, a practiced, predatory smile that had served him well in his rise to power. He knew how to make men bend to him without them realizing it. “I want to offer you a solution, Majesty. A way to reclaim everything that is rightfully yours.”

Phillip’s eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his bones like a snake. “What are you speaking of?”

Aulbry stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. He lowered his voice, though there was no need—he knew the King was already listening intently. “The General. Anakin Skywalker. Your daughter’s husband.”

Phillip’s face twitched at the mention of Anakin’s name. There was a deep resentment in those eyes, something far darker than simple dislike. There was fear there too. Fear of losing control, fear of a man whose power seemed to grow by the day, a man whose strength was respected and feared not just by the French but by all who knew him. But it was also that power—Anakin’s influence—that was now the crux of their problem.

“You have a plan,” the King murmured, more to himself than to Aulbry.

“Indeed,” Aulbry said smoothly, his voice like silk wrapping around the King’s nerves. “A plan that will see you regain everything you’ve lost. You see, the news I bring will shake the very foundation of their alliance.” He paused for a moment, letting the tension in the room build like a storm. “The Princess is with child, Your Majesty. The General’s child.”

Phillip blinked, a flicker of surprise—then quickly replaced by anger—flashing across his features. He straightened in his chair, his hand tightening around the armrest. “A child? This changes nothing. The treaty is sealed. Their union is a farce.”

Aulbry stepped forward, speaking more urgently now. “It changes everything. This child—this heir—makes the union all the more permanent. It ties your daughter irrevocably to him, to the General. And that, Your Majesty, is what we can use to our advantage.”

Phillip’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing together in thought. “What are you suggesting?”

Aulbry’s eyes gleamed with a predator’s hunger. He knew the King was wavering, his thoughts clouded by emotion, fear, and frustration. Aulbry had dealt with such men before. He would break him down.

“You have a chance here, Your Majesty,” Aulbry said, lowering his voice, leaning in closer to the King. “Anakin Skywalker’s influence is growing, and it is no longer just a matter of politics. His presence, his marriage to your daughter—it’s a symbol of strength, of power. But it also presents an opportunity. A weakness.”

“A weakness?” the King repeated, his voice low, cautious.

Aulbry smiled, sensing his moment. “Yes. The child, your daughter’s pregnancy. That’s where we strike. You must act before the General grows too strong. You see, the General may have won his battles, but in this case, it is not his strength that matters. It is his heart. He is blinded by love for your daughter and for the child she carries. His loyalty is torn between family and duty, and the moment he becomes too distracted, too weak, we strike.”

Aulbry’s gaze hardened, his voice growing more deliberate. “The General would lay down his life for your daughter, and he would defend her child as fiercely as he would defend his men. You know this.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. “But that is precisely why he will fall. His people love him. They would die for him. He has built something—something that will never be torn down by force alone.”

The King’s brow furrowed. “The General loyalty to his people…” he muttered under his breath. “His army is an extension of him. They would follow him to the ends of the earth. The Brits love their General, and he’s won their hearts with his courage.”

“Yes,” Aulbry said, almost quietly, as though speaking a dangerous truth. “His love for his people and their devotion to him are his strength. But it is also his vulnerability. He cannot bear the thought of failing them. And this is where we can strike.”

Aulbry took a step forward, his voice lowering to a near whisper, as though revealing a carefully guarded secret. “The Scots are not as united as they seem. There are traitors within their ranks, bought by the French crown. They have been undermining the Scottish leadership, feeding us information, causing strife in the ranks. It’s a delicate web we’ve spun, but one that will unravel when the time is right.”

Phillip sat silent for a long moment, staring into the flames. The weight of Aulbry’s words settled heavily in the room, thickening the air with dark possibility. Finally, he spoke, his voice a low murmur. “And what do you propose?”

“I propose that we take advantage of this moment, Your Majesty. Skywalker’s love for your daughter will blind him. His attachment will be his downfall. The General will fall, and you—will regain what is rightfully yours.”

The King’s expression hardened, and Aulbry knew he had him. The desperation, the fear of losing control, the relentless need for power—it was all too much to ignore. In that moment, the King could feel his grip on the throne loosening, slipping away like sand through his fingers. He needed to regain control. He needed to act.

Aulbry stepped back, letting the King absorb his words. “An ambush, Your Majesty. It is the only way.”

Phillip looked up at him, his face unreadable now. “How?”

Aulbry smiled, his voice soft and menacing. “You already have soldiers loyal to you, my King. You already have the means. We strike swiftly, decisively. The General won’t know what hit him.”

The King took a deep breath, his mind racing. The idea was seductive—simple, almost too easy. His daughter and her unborn child would be used as bait. The General’s love for her would make him vulnerable. And once Anakin was removed from the equation, the throne would be his again.

“Yes,” King Phillip said at last, the decision made. His voice was cold now, final. “We strike before the child is born. We do this quickly.”

Aulbry nodded, his face lit with a quiet triumph. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

And with that, the plans for betrayal were set in motion. What had begun as a carefully orchestrated plan to use a marriage for peace had now spiraled into a dark, dangerous game. A game in which the stakes were higher than ever, where loyalty was nothing more than a fleeting illusion, and where betrayal would come at the cost of blood, love, and a kingdom’s soul.

As Aulbry left the King’s chamber, the weight of the upcoming attack settled on him, the sense of impending danger thick in his chest. He had won for now, but he knew it was only the beginning. The General would not fall without a fight. And when the bloodshed began, it would be nothing short of catastrophic.

But for now, the stage was set. The King’s power would be restored, and the Princess’s happiness was a casualty in the war for control.

Extract from an anonymous letter, dated 1294.

…and word has reached us of a significant movement of troops from France—seven thousand men, marching swiftly under the cover of darkness, now shifting direction toward England. Their intentions remain veiled, yet their numbers and sudden reorientation suggest a calculated strike. It is clear that they have been set with the aim to disrupt the delicate balance of power in the Isles. We must act swiftly before the full strength of their forces can converge towards…

The morning sun filtered softly through the canopy of trees in the royal garden, casting dappled light across the ground. The air was warm with the scent of blooming roses and the fresh earth after an early morning rain. A gentle breeze whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the soft melodies of birds singing high above. It was a perfect day, a moment of quiet peace in a world that often felt too full of noise and chaos.

You sat on a weathered stone bench near a fountain, your eyes following the gentle ripples of water as it flowed over the carved stone. The garden, with its wild yet carefully tended beauty, seemed to encapsulate everything you had come to love about this place. It was calm, it was sacred, and it was your shared space. The air between you and Anakin was filled with a quiet, gentle happiness. The world felt still for the first time in so long, as if it was holding its breath in anticipation of something new—something beautiful.

Anakin, shirtless and with a focused look on his face, was kneeling beside a pile of smooth oak wood. The rhythmic sound of his carving echoed in the peaceful air as he worked meticulously on a crib, each stroke of the blade purposeful, each curve of the wood thoughtful. His broad, muscled back rippled with each movement, and his hair, damp with the summer heat, clung to his neck in soft tendrils.

You watched him with a soft smile, your heart swelling with a mix of love and wonder. He had never seemed more at peace than he did in this moment. It wasn’t the warrior, the general, the man who fought with all his might—this was the man who, despite the weight of the world on his shoulders, wanted to carve out a space of safety for the child you carried, for the family you were about to become.

His hands worked steadily, the delicate carving slowly coming to life beneath his touch. The sight of him so absorbed in the task, his brow furrowed in concentration, filled you with a quiet joy. You had often imagined this moment—life, love, and the promise of something new—yet it was better than you could have ever dreamed.

He paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Then, as if sensing your gaze, he turned his head and smiled at you, the smile that always made your heart skip a beat. His eyes, dark and stormy with the depth of his feelings, softened as he looked at you.

"How does it look so far?" he asked, his voice deep but tinged with a hint of something softer, something tender.

You rose from the bench and walked over to him, your hand resting lightly on your rounded belly, your gaze fixed on the crib he was shaping. The smooth wood, still rough around the edges, already had a certain elegance to it. It wasn’t finished, but it was something you could already imagine your child sleeping in—your child, his child, the child that would grow in your arms, with the love and strength of both of you surrounding them.

"It looks perfect," you said softly, kneeling beside him. "You’ve done something beautiful, Anakin."

He smiled again, the warmth of his expression making your chest tighten. "I want everything to be perfect for them. For you. For our future."

He set the carving tool down and leaned back, stretching his arms above his head before letting out a small, satisfied sigh. His gaze shifted from the crib to you, and there was a moment of quiet before he spoke again. This time, his voice was quieter, more reflective.

"I keep thinking about the future," he said, his eyes looking out at the distant horizon as though he were imagining a world beyond the war, beyond the bloodshed and the pain. "I dream of a world where we don’t have to fight anymore. A world where our child can grow up in peace. A world where the only thing that matters is love."

You met his gaze, your heart filling with a tenderness that you could hardly put into words. You hadn’t realized how much you had craved that same hope—that same dream of peace—until you heard him speak it aloud. It was a dream you hadn’t dared to let yourself believe in fully, but now, in this quiet moment, it felt possible. It felt within reach.

"I dream of that too," you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers laced through yours, the touch grounding you in the moment.

He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soothing, steady rhythm. "I’ll do whatever it takes to make that dream real. For you, for me, for our child. I’ll fight to the end to give us a world where peace is more than just a dream. I’ll carve it into being, just like I’m carving this crib."

You smiled softly, your fingers moving to rest over your heart. "And I’ll be here, with you, every step of the way."

Anakin leaned closer, his lips brushing your forehead in a soft kiss. You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his love surrounding you. In that moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of you, together, preparing for the future you had yet to see, but were determined to create.

As he returned to his work, carving out the future with his hands, you found yourself lost in the beauty of the moment. The crib would be ready in time. Your love would grow in time. And despite everything—the danger, the uncertainty—you knew one thing for certain: together, you and Anakin would make a world worth living in, a world where love and peace would finally reign.

And the baby—your baby—would know nothing but that love.

The air around them stilled as a young servitor rushed toward them, breathless and pale. With a trembling voice, he delivered the news, “My lord... Sir Obi-Wan... he’s been found dead, just beyond the village. They say it was an ambush... he didn’t make it.”

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

I wonder if she’ll be like you, my love, A little girl with a soul from above. Her laughter a sound that fills the air, A reflection of you, so gentle, so fair.

I can feel her in dreams, though she’s not yet here, Her tiny hands, her voice so clear. Will she have your eyes, the warmth of your smile? I long to hold her, even if just for a while.

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gummifrogs · 1 day ago

Text

Santa Tell Me (A.J. x Button!Reader)

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and you except your boyfriend of year to pop the question…again. However, before he can…you surprise him with a special gift of your own.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the fluff with a bit of the smut. Fun from behind (giddy up), misuse of a jolly old elf’s hat, size diff, ho ho hoe lingerie, and… A.J.’s big, fat dick.

Notes: Happy Holidays, lovelies! Welcome to track seven of my special holiday mix, Santa Tell Me! ❤️💚

(Merry Christmas, @everydaydreamer! And thank you for making the perfect pic for this! 🎅)

- ‘Santa, tell me if you're really there… Don't make me fall in love again if he won't be here next year…’

- One big hand comes to settle on your hip, squeezing gently. The other taking your smaller one, lazily lacing and intertwining your fingers together. Swaying you both slowly back and forth to the familiar, festive music. Blue eyes locked with yours in the mirror’s reflection; gaze warm, affectionate…loving.

- “Look absolutely flawless, doll,” he mutters. Voice low and gravelly, rumbling deep in his chest…through your petite frame. Goosebumps forming on your skin…and not from the nonexistent chill in the air. “Gorgeous like always, ‘cept it’s missin’ one thing.”

- You knew all too well where the conversation was going. In the short year you two have been an item, you’ve heard it at least a dozen or so times. The same sweet, endearing request; accompanied by the same little, velvet box. That he seems to make appear out of nowhere, just like…

- “Oh, baby,” you sigh, hint of sadness in your words. Watching A.J. pull it out from his vest pocket, fiddle and roll it with his long digits. “I know you want to marry me bad, but…”

- Words fall short when he pops the lid open. Revealing not a ring. Instead what was easily the most beautiful, breathtaking opal necklace you’ve ever seen.

- “I know, I know…‘we’ll see’,” he chuckles. Repeating your usual response, while helping you put it on. Calloused fingertips brushing, lingering for an extra moment or two on the nape of your neck. “Someday though, it’s gonna be…‘yes’.”

- Slight smile pulling at the corners of your pink tinted lips. As you admire the way it sparkles in the twinkling light, the fact he remembered the significance of this stone. At the amount of faith, patience he has in and when it comes to you. Plus a few other things. “Yeah…we’ll see.”

- Shrugging, leaning down he places a tender kiss on your cheek…the top of your head. “Come on, we better get goin’.” Before straightening up once more, giving a quick tap to your perfect bottom. “Don’t wanna be too late to the party.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- All evening long, you’re very much an inseparable pair. Never one without the other, practically glued together at the hip.

- With you holding onto, pressing into his side. Peppermint swirled nails occasionally trailing up his spine, gently scratching a certain spot between his shoulder blades. That has him grunting softly in appreciation…those lean muscles contorting, relaxing beneath your welcomed touch.

- As for him, well… Hardly a minute passes when he doesn't have an arm wrapped around your waist or a palm resting on the small of your back. Fingers rubbing, massaging. Sometimes traveling a bit lower, under the hem of your cocktail dress when he thinks no one is looking…drawing out a tiny, muffled squeak from you each time.

- But on the rare instance when you weren’t attached to your better half. You could be spotted with the rest of the ladies. Mingling, being asked, more like grilled, on whether you finally caved…finally gave him the answer he wants to hear and officially join their patchwork family.

- “We’ll see,” you would reply simply and politely. Smiling coyly over the rim of your glass, at his turned back from across the room. Watching as he folded another hand in the guys’ silly card game. Listening to him echo your own words, undoubtedly given the same question.

- All in all, he whole night went by in what feels like a blur. Of hearty laughs, variety of decadent treats, one too many cups of good cheer…a few stolen kisses below the mistletoe. And, soon enough, you find yourself tugging on A.J.’s hand. Bring him level, whispering in his ear for you to be whisked home. Where the real party could begin, the best part yet to come…his last gift.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Crashing through the front door, nearly chipping the paint and knocking a picture off the wall. Tongues tangled, lips meshed together in perfect harmony. With your digits unabashedly pulling at his belt, fumbling for his fly. And his slipping beneath the folds of your skirt; seeking out that string of mysterious, elusive lace felt during his earlier escapades.

- “Don’t be stingy, sweetheart,” he murmurs between heated kisses. Hand inching ever higher, palm cupping and kneading a sweet cheek. “It’s already after midnight.” Thumb nonchalantly hooking, fiddling with the delicate fabric teasingly…letting it snap. “Wanna open my present.”

- Jumping slightly, a squeal mixed with an excited giggle bubble up from your throat. “Mmmh, all right.” All the while rubbing, massaging that delectable bulge; enticing it to grow, strain the front of his trousers. “Since you’ve been such a good boy this year.” Giving it one last gentle squeeze, earning one more grunt. Before…

- Gone for only a hot minute or two, you return to find him lounging naked on the couch. Arms draped over the back lazily, long legs spread casually. Santa hat perched perfectly, barely covering his candy cane and sack of goodies. “That’s certainly a look, J.”

- Smirking, rising to his feet. He keeps the jolly old elf’s cap securely in place as he saunters over, comes to meet you in front of the panoramic window. Fingertips tangling, playing with the ribbon wound and tied perfectly around… “Says the woman wearin’ paper like a dress.”

- Anticipating the inevitable sassy quip that would undoubtedly come, he acts quickly and smoothly. “Not that I’m complain’.” Bending, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Lavishing your sugar cookie scented skin in love bites and nips. “Or grateful.”

-As he tears away, takes his time. Savoring, slowly and carefully unwrapping. “Musta been real good.” Revealing the sexy, little ho-ho-hoe number that lay beneath. “To deserve somethin’ this sweet…”

- Skillfully and in a single, fluid motion. A.J. whirls, twirls you to the music that plays softly in the background. “…exquisite…” Pushing you against the cool glass. Pinning and holding, encompassing completely with his larger frame. Stocking hat left forgotten on the floor, laying amongst the shreds of discarded paper. “…wonderful like ya.”

- Eyes hungrily sweep and take in your red, tulle clad form. Meeting, locking with yours in the reflective surface. “Now, on them tip-toes, baby doll…” Palm smoothing down your semi- clothed back, following the intricate details and patterns of the bustier. Settling on your hip, tugging on them a bit too roughly. “…lemme try out my new toy.”

- Eagerly you ease, precariously balance on them. Sparks of anticipation bursting, bemused smile crossing your face. Watching him still have to slouch, crouch slightly. To align himself with your aching entrance. “Sure you’re not too big for this one?”

- Laying tender, adoring kisses along your spine. His free hand finds, gropes a pert breast. “Nah, not too big.” Thumb swirls, fingertips rolls and pinches your pebbled bud. Fat tip prods, teases at your soaked folds core. “Always liked my playthings to be a little on the small…” Surging forward, steadily stretching. Forcing your tight cunny to open with his thick cock. “Fuck…side.”

- Moaning, whimpering…nails scramble, scratch lightly. Palms flatten, brace against the steamed-up glass. While he thrusts, pounds into you unbridled and wild. Toned chest pressed to, resting his full weight onto you. A.J. looms above, grunting and groaning in your ear each time he bottoms out. Increasing his pace with every powerful drive.

- “So…shit…” Bullying and hitting, bruising your cervix over and over. “Lemme get…” The heat rises, pools in the pit of your stomach. “Lemme get this straight…” Peak approaching swiftly, gummy walls fluttering and burning. “You’ll become the Clause Man’s wife before m-mine?”

- Body tenses, goes ridged. Starts to shake from all the overwhelming pleasure that courses through. “Who…who said that wasn’t you…” You can feel him twitching and throbbing. Shuddering as he draws closer to his own release, mind-numbing orgasm. “That you’re not San-San…”

- Slamming hard, you both cry out in bliss. You clamping and clenching, gushing all over him. While he paints your insides a sticky, snowy white; stuffing your little stocking nice and full.

- Panting, knees shaking. He helps you back down onto your feet. Immediately wrapping, swallowing up your unsteady form in his strong arms. Laughing happily and joyfully. Peppering the top of your crown in frantic, loving kisses. All because you finally agreed. Said the one thing he’s been waiting to hear since he first presented you with that little, velvet box. “Then I guess ya better call me Santa… Mrs. Clause.”

- Bursting out into a fit of giggles, sporting an elated grin. You tilt your head back, teasing playfully…finally getting in a smart remark. “So, Santa…tell me what else you want?”

- “Yeah, actually.” Mirroring your smile, he starts to lazily rock…buck and rut again. “I could think of one thing or two. Maybe even three.”

- Santa, tell me if he really cares… 'Cause I can't give it all away if he won't be here next year…’

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @lotte08, @rafeswifeyy2, @exsamlockwood-kate, @sythethecarrot, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @fuckmyskywalker, @everydaydreamer, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @erosmutt, @xhunnybeeex, @vaderswifey, @anakinstwinklebunny

@hearts4sammonroe, @pitas-star, @sythethecarrot, @naberriess, @steven-grants-world, @valyna27, @elcaballerodragon, @yayyy5678, @anakinsrilgirlfriend, @padme-urlove, @brattyyybbg, @mrschr1stensen, @rosie-chan92, @beresfordsgirl, @darthdaddi, @icosmiclou, @whoisgiinaa, @kentaviax, @arcj

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gummifrogs · 3 days ago

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Had to revisit because it’s that good.😮

thinking about a tied up james kelly 🤤

Author's note: that man whimpers 🔝

JAMES KELLY was wrecked. Absolutely, undeniably wrecked. Wrists strained against the silk ties binding them to the headboard, knuckles white as he clenched his fists in helplessness he had never felt. All his life he thought he was the one to keep things in control; in bed, in public life. But he did not thought about a possibility where you'd just straightforward hypnotize him, tying him up before he could even protest. Now his eyes were wide, as if frightened, looking at you as if you were his salvation..

You stood at the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a this twisted, proud of yourself smirk, savoring the vulnerable (for now) sight of him. His stormy eyes burned with frustration, flickering between your face and the soft curves of your body that he loved so much. Slowly, you climbed onto the bed, like a cat, straddling his thighs and running your fingers over his broad chest. His skin was hot under your touch, his muscles twitching.

“That mouth of yours, James,” you mused, dragging your nails down his torso until you reached the trail of hair leading to his cock. “Always running. Maybe I should’ve tied it shut too.”

He sighed a breath of turmoil inside of him, hips bucking up in a futile attempt to get some friction. “Untie me, baby,” he rasped in this begging tone. “Let me show you what this mouth can really do.”

You leaned in close, so your lips could graze over his ear. “Oh, no,” you whispered, grinding your wetness against his length, teasing him with every slow roll of your hips. “You’re not in charge here, James. I am.”

His breath hitched at the way you pronounced his name, a deep groan escaping him. “Fucking hell,” he muttered. “You’re so hot right now”

“Goddamn it,” he groaned as if he was both frustrated and in pain “Stop fuckin’ teasing and take it, baby. You know you need it as bad as I do.”

You laughed softly, kissing along the line of his jaw before pulling back to look into his desperate, hungry eyes with a smirk painted across your face. Sliding back, you positioned yourself above him, letting his thick cock press against your folds yet in a way that won't give him the satisfaction of fully sinking in. His head fell back against the headboard, a string of curses falling from his lips.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider his demand, before shaking your head. “You don’t get to give orders tonight, James,” you said, dragging the slick head of his cock through your folds, making him shudder. “You’ll get what I decide to give you. When I decide to give it to you.”

“Fuck, baby,” voice breaking. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just let me feel you.”

You smirked, finally sinking down onto him, inch by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt inside you. His head snapped forward, jaw clenching as he watched you take him, his cock stretching you so perfectly it had you moaning aloud.

“aghh--uhhhg” he hissed, arms pulling uselessly at the restraints till veins were visible under his skin. “You’re so damn tight. Feels like you’re trying to milk me dry already.”

You began to move, slow and deliberate, grinding your hips as his cock hit every spot that made you see stars. James was a mess beneath you, his breathing ragged, his head thrown back as he fought to keep himself from losing it.

“Look at you,” you run your hands over his chest. “Big, tough James Kelly, being a pathetic boy"

“Don’t get used to it,” he ground out, voice strained, face flushing red. “Soon as I’m free, I’m flipping you over and fucking you until you forget your own name.”

You smirked, picking up the pace, the sound of your slick arousal and his choked groans filling the room. “Big talk for a man tied up and helpless,” you teased, dragging your nails down his abs.

James glared up at you. “Untie me,” voice dropping an octave. “I dare you.”

You ignored him, rolling your hips faster, leaning back to give him a perfect view of your body. His eyes locked onto where his cock disappeared into you, breath catching, mouth opening to let another set of moans and whimpers.

“Fuck" he gasped, eyes not leaving the scene unfolding before him "..look at this greedy little cunt,” he bit out, voice a mix of awe and frustration. “Swallowing me whole..just takin' me so good, baby. Damn..”

You threw your head back, moaning as you chased your soon-to-come release, the sight of James tied up and at your mercy sending you hurtling towards the edge. He watched you, jaw slack, and suddenly, as if he came up with something smart - he bucked his hips up to meet your movements as best as he could, just to make you as desperate and helpless as he was

“That’s it,” he rasped in this gaspy way, lifting his hips faster “Come on, baby. Let me feel you come all over my cock..”

His words pushed you over the edge, and you cried out, body trembling as you came, clenching around him. James groaned loudly, his hips jerking as he spilled inside you, filling you to the brim with his release, the liquids mixing in your body.

As you came down from your high, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Good boy,” you murmured, reaching up to untie his wrists.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @rssmary @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne

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gummifrogs · 3 days ago

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I absolutely need the most disgusting Kurt fic, like missionary hand on my throat legs over his shoulders. Then getting flipped over and his hand digging into my hair smushing my face into the pillows and his other hand holding my hip or something. And you know he’s VOCALLL

Author's note: Nonnie you're getting bold

“You’ve been a real fucking brat today,” KURT mumbled, lips brushing yours as he spoke. “Haven’t you, you cock-teasing little girl?” hands travelling over your body, stroking the soft skin here and there

Breath hitching, cheeks flushing, before you could answer, Kurt’s other hand gripped your thighs, hoisting your legs around his broad shoulders.

You yelped at the suddenness, his large hand roaming up to gently squeeze your throat, just enough to make your pupils grow

And just like that, there was a round one. Slow, deep yet so teasing for what was about to come. First moans, whimpers and cries left your mouth as the pleasurable wave of orgasm hit you hard and soft. After some small break, with him kissing your neck, holding your trembling thighs before he flipped you over on your stomach, hips up to the air, making you whine

“O-One…” you whimpered, voice muffled by the fabric.

“Shut that bratty mouth of yours,” he spat, hand tangling in your hair before shoving your face into the soft pillows. His free hand delivered a sharp smack to your ass, making you cry out, body jolting with each punishing slap. “Count them,” Kurt demanded, fingers digging into the plushy skin, massaging the redness that started to appear

“Louder” another spank delivered on your right cheek

“T-Two!” you sobbed, core dripping and clenching with absolute need

By the time he was satisfied, your cheeks were red and burning, and his handprint was clearly visible. “Fuck,” Kurt muttered, mouth opening in awe at the sign of your ass. His hand tenderly moving down to your sensitive spot “Look at that.. this greedy little pussy, soaking wet and begging for me to ruin it already.”

You whimpered, and before you knew it, his hand moved away. The sound of unzipped jeans touched your ears. He freed his thick, throbbing cock from his pants, the swollen head already glistening with precum. Teasing you, he moved forward, rubbing the tip along your slit, smirking as you whimpered and pushed your back against him.

Your nails clawed at the mattress, desperate to ground yourself when pleasure built like a tidal wave. "Kurt, I--agghh, I can't--"

“Take it, you filthy little thing,” he snarled, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave a bruise. “This pussy belongs to me, and I’m going to destroy it, make it remember this cock forever”

Your cries only spurred him on, his cock pounding into you without mercy (as if you even wanted one) as he claimed you, over and over, until your name was the only sound leaving his lips.

His other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he slammed back into you. The new angle had you seeing stars, your moans muffled against the pillow. "Goddamn, I don't remember you being so tight, baby" he hissed, hips snapping against you with brutal precision. "You're mine, you hear me? All fucking mine."

"I'm yours," you gasped, walls clenching, squeezing around him

He moaned "That's my girl," pace growing almost erratic, animalistic. Hand left your hair, sliding down to grip your throat - squeezing it harder, taking your breath away, making your eyes roll behind your head as he buried himself to the hilt, making you feel like he was right in your insides/organs

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gummifrogs · 3 days ago

Note

Hey I saw that you write for Scott Barringer and I was wondering if you would write a dabble for bunnycember about him because there aren't enough fics on him. Could it possibly be about decorating a Christmas tree together and Scott acts like he isn't bothered but he keeps moving the ornaments when the reader isn't looking. Thank you

"Scott," you called, glancing at him over your shoulder as you carefully unwrapped another ornament. "Are you going to help, or are you just going to sit there looking pretty?"

Scott smirked, leaning back against the couch, arms crossed over his chest. "Pretty? That's a new one. I thought I was rugged and manly."

"Pretty and rugged," a teasing leaving your lips before you turned back to the tree. "Now, grab an ornament and start hanging. This tree isn't going to decorate itself."

With a dramatic sigh and an eye roll, SCOTT BARRINGER pushed himself off the couch and walked over. He plucked an ornament from the box and held it up like it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen-a glittery reindeer with a broken antler.

"Really?" brow raised.

"Yes, really," you took it from his hand and placed it on a lower branch. "It has character" you muttered

Scott hummed noncommittally but didn't say anything. Instead, he grabbed another ornament - a snowflake - and hung it with an air of disinterest. You smiled to yourself, pleased he was joining in, even if he acted like he didn't care.

But as the evening went on, you started to notice something odd. Every time you turned back to the tree after stepping away for more ornaments or lights, certain decorations had... shifted.

The snowflake you hung dead center? Moved two branches higher.

The glittery reindeer? Suddenly on the opposite side.

"Scott," you said slowly, narrowing your eyes at him. He was crouched by the tree now, his back to you. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he said, far too quickly to sound innocent

You stepped closer, catching him red-handed as he carefully repositioned a silver bauble. He froze like a kid caught stealing cookies, his lips twitching as if he was trying to come up with an excuse.

"Are you... rearranging the ornaments?" you asked, crossing your arms, raising a brow

"No," he said, straightening up. "I'm just... optimizing."

"Optimizing?" you repeated, brow raising

"They were uneven," he explained, gesturing vaguely at the tree. "You had all the big ones on one side and all the shiny ones up top. It was driving me nuts."

You couldn't help it - you broke into a laughter, catching Scott by surprise "Scott Barringer, I didn't know you were such a perfectionist."

"I'm not," he grumbled, though his ears were turning pink. "I just like things to look good."

Shaking your head fondly, you grabbed a tinsel garland and handed it to him. "Here, Mr. Optimizer. You can handle the tinsel."

He took it with a grumble, of course, but as you stepped back to watch him work, you couldn't stop smiling. For someone who claimed not to care, Scott sure seemed determined to make this tree absolutely perfect.

And honestly? It was perfect - cause it was yours; made together.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddict @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @rssmary @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne

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gummifrogs · 3 days ago

Text

the red skirt

Pairing: Sam Monroe x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: sam looks way too pretty in a skirt Tags: drabble / sam's messy gender (if he even has any) / comfort / based on a talk with @bimbo-baggins17

MASTER LIST

Seeing Sam in a skirt was uncommon—well, relatively, because he’d been wearing that plaid, pleated red skirt quite often ever since he got his hands on it a few weeks ago—, but it also felt very natural. Like something that had been missing until now. Or something being put back in place. Either way, there he was, with that black eyeshadow, black shirt, the skirt with a black belt and some chains hanging from it, and the cherry on the top, the fishnets. They contrasted so well with his pale skin.

Looking away from Sam was difficult. You lay on your stomach on his bed. It smelled nice; like his skin, his shampoo, with a hint of the perfume you’d gifted him a while ago with the message ‘for the best girlfriend ever’, and the look he had on his face when he read it then turned to you, giddy and like he’d make out with you until you fainted. He did, almost.

You came back to reality, watching Sam go around his bedroom for… whatever it was—your eyes easily followed how the hem of his skirt rode up whenever he bent over to grab something from the ground, exposing more of the back of his thighs. It wasn’t like it revealed much, though, even if he did pull the skirt further up.

Sam did wear the skirt often, but that didn’t mean he knew how to behave in it. He scrunched it up and revealed the black boxers underneath as he tried to do whatever, stepping on a stool to look on the top shelf of the closet.

“Are you listening to me, dumbass?” Sam’s voice cut through your thoughts, and your eyes went from his ass to his blue ones that glanced at you over his shoulder.

“Don’t call me dumbass,” you mumbled, muffling a chuckle against his pillow, and you had to take a moment to inhale his scent once again.

“Love of my life, light of my darkness, sweetheart,” Sam said as he stepped down from the stool and sat beside you. “I…” he trailed off, following your gaze to his skirt, before he played lightly with the hem between his fingers. “Does it look…?”

“No,” you said too fast, too harsh, too sharply compared to his small voice. “No,” you repeated softly and placed your hand over his. “You look perfect,” you whispered. His hand moved away, so you pushed his skirt up, observing the outline of his cock under such dainty fishnets, though you didn’t want to escalate things and break the spell. “I really like it.” You pushed your head under his skirt, ignoring how he gasped and cursed when your face pressed to his thighs. It wasn’t a sexual manner, no; doing that was weirdly comforting, feeling his warm skin and the texture of the fishnets against your cheek. “You gotta wear that for our next date. So hot.”

Sam was staring at you blankly with his hands in the air, not knowing what to do, and he finally let out the breath he’d been holding to let his hands over you, your shoulder, your head, hesitantly. “…Fucking pervert. Yeah, sure.” He let a small smile tug on his lip, betraying his sharp exhale when patting your shoulder. The thought you wanted him to wear the skin in public, with you, made his heart flutter. “I’ll think about it.”

⋆°｡⋆🎧🎸★ 𝖇𝖆𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖕𝖚𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 ★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

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gummifrogs · 3 days ago

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THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : kissing, deaths, injuries, stitching, descriptions of battle, stabbing, fluff.

A/N : 7.1k words damn I can’t get enough of these two and it’s only chapter 5 💀. Anyway y’all are thirsty asf for this fic so here’s chapter 5 that I sprinkled with some ✨DRAMA✨ to sent y’all into orbit. MAMA IS FEEDING YOU TODAY !!!

꧁ Chapter 5 : The Enemy Hides in Lies ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The dawn breaks soft on battered lands,

A fleeting peace in trembling hands.

Yet love, like spring, begins to grow,

A fragile bloom through frost and woe.

The great hall was a theater of shadows, the flickering torchlight casting distorted shapes along the walls as nobles gathered around the grand oak table. The air was heavy with the scent of wax and wine, but beneath the surface, an invisible current of tension rippled through the room. Anakin stood at the head of the table, his posture commanding, his eyes sharp. Every face he looked upon was a puzzle to be solved—a potential piece in a game of betrayal he was only beginning to decipher.

Count Aulbry was the first to speak, as Anakin expected. The man always seized the moment, his voice a blend of false concern and barely veiled condescension. "My lord, your victories on the northern front are, of course, commendable. Few could have led our armies with such skill against Wallace and his men."

There was a pause, artfully calculated.

"But it does leave me wondering… Has our focus on the Scots left the kingdom vulnerable to other threats? A prolonged absence of leadership often invites… instability."

Anakin’s expression remained stony, though his grip tightened ever so slightly on the armrest of his chair. "Instability arises when men forget where their loyalties lie, Count," he said, his voice low but cutting. "Is there something specific you fear, or are these merely idle musings?"

Aulbry smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "Idle musings, perhaps. One cannot help but notice certain… tensions in the southern provinces. Grain shipments have been delayed, and a few towns have reported unrest. A minor matter, I’m sure, but in times of peace, even minor matters deserve attention."

The mention of the grain shipments was not new to Anakin—he had already received reports from his stewards—but hearing it from Aulbry made the matter feel calculated, as if the Count was laying a trap with his words. Anakin’s gaze swept the room, noting the subtle shifts in posture among the other nobles. Whispers had begun to circulate in court—whispers that spoke of dissatisfaction, of plots brewing in the shadows.

"Minor matters, indeed," Anakin replied, his voice measured. "Rest assured, I have already taken steps to address them. The people will not starve under my watch."

"And yet," Aulbry pressed, "it is curious that such disruptions would occur now, so soon after your triumphant return. It almost seems as if—"

"Almost seems as if what, Count?" Anakin interrupted, his tone cold and final.

Aulbry hesitated, his smile faltering for the briefest moment. "Only that perhaps certain… elements may be testing the limits of this fragile peace. We must all remain vigilant, my lord. Especially you."

The words hung in the air like smoke. Anakin held Aulbry’s gaze, his silence more oppressive than any retort. When he finally spoke, his words were deliberate. "Vigilance is a duty I take seriously, Count. Perhaps you should do the same."

Aulbry bowed his head slightly, but Anakin saw the flicker of frustration in his eyes. The Count was testing boundaries, pushing at the edges of loyalty and decorum. And he was not alone.

The meeting concluded with the scrape of chairs and murmured pleasantries as the nobles filtered out. Anakin remained seated, his eyes following each man and woman as they departed. Only Aulbry lingered, his steps slow and deliberate as he approached the head of the table.

"My lord," the Count said, his tone dripping with false sincerity. "I hope you do not take my concerns as criticism. I only wish to see the kingdom prosper under your leadership."

"Prosperity does not grow from doubt, Count," Anakin replied, standing to his full height. "If you truly wish to see the kingdom flourish, you might begin by trusting the men who fight to protect it."

Aulbry’s lips twitched into a tight smile. "Wise words, my lord. I shall take them to heart."

Anakin watched as the Count left, the tension in the room finally breaking with his departure. But the unease in Anakin’s chest did not fade.

Later that night, Anakin stood on the battlements, the cold wind tugging at his cloak. Below, the village was a patchwork of flickering lights, its quiet hum a stark contrast to the silent storm raging in his mind. He could feel it—an undercurrent of unrest threading its way through the kingdom, subtle but insistent. The signs were everywhere: delays in supplies, vague reports of unrest, the growing boldness of men like Aulbry.

War had taught him to trust his instincts, and they were screaming now. He did not yet have proof, but he knew—knew—that something was amiss.

The crown weighed heavier on him with each passing day. He had fought for peace, had bled for it, but peace was proving to be a battlefield of its own. The enemy was not an army but a shadow, shifting and elusive. And shadows, he knew, could only be banished by light.

He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, its familiar weight grounding him. He would find the truth, and when he did, there would be no room for mercy. For now, he would play their game, but he would play to win.

The castle felt colder tonight, the stone walls seeming to echo every hesitant footstep you took. A fire crackled in the hearth of your chambers, but its warmth did little to ease the chill that had settled deep within you. You sat at your desk, a blank sheet of parchment before you, the quill in your hand trembling as you contemplated what you were about to do.

How much could you tell him? How much should you tell him?

The betrayal weighed heavily on your chest, a burden you could no longer ignore. Your father’s plans had become clearer with each passing day, his letters to Count Aulbry a chilling reminder that you were nothing more than a pawn in a game of power. And yet, to expose him would mean condemning your family—your blood.

But Anakin...

Anakin, with his unyielding strength and sharp mind, had become more than just a reluctant husband. He was your partner, your protector, your anchor in a world that seemed to shift beneath your feet. The thought of betraying him, even through silence, filled you with a guilt so fierce it was almost unbearable.

You dipped the quill into the ink and began to write, the words flowing out in a code you hoped he would understand.

"Beware the hand that offers peace but hides a dagger. Trust not the smile that does not reach the eyes. The enemy within wears the guise of a friend."

You hesitated, then folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with wax. The message was cryptic enough to avoid suspicion should it fall into the wrong hands, but you prayed Anakin’s sharp mind would unravel its meaning.

The castle’s long corridors seemed quieter than ever that morning, the weight of your secrets pressing down on every step you took. You carried a tray of tea in your hands, the porcelain rattling faintly against the silver as your fingers trembled.

Anakin had returned just days ago, his presence both a comfort and a torment. He was closer now than ever before, yet the chasm between your love and the truths you withheld felt insurmountable. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word only deepened the ache inside you.

You paused outside his study, steadying yourself before entering. The door creaked softly as you pushed it open, revealing him hunched over the table, his broad shoulders tense as he studied the maps and reports before him. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting golden highlights in his dark hair.

When he looked up, the weariness in his expression softened instantly, replaced by something warmer. Something reserved for you.

“You shouldn’t carry such things yourself,” he said, standing quickly to meet you. His voice was firm, but the faint curve of a smile betrayed his gratitude.

“And yet I wished to,” you replied with a small smile of your own.

You crossed the room to set the tray on the table, your movements deliberate, though your heart raced with the anticipation of what you were about to do. As you placed the tea before him, your fingers brushed his—just a fleeting touch, but one that sent warmth spiraling through you.

“You spoil me,” he said, his tone quiet but tinged with humor.

“You deserve spoiling,” you replied, your words light but sincere.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, and you could feel the weight of his attention. Your breath hitched as you stepped back, sliding the folded note beneath one of the maps. Your hand hovered for a moment, but then you turned, ready to leave before your courage faltered.

But Anakin’s hand caught yours, his grip firm yet tender, halting you in your tracks.

“Stay,” he said, his voice low, but with a quiet insistence that left no room for refusal.

You hesitated only a moment before nodding, allowing him to guide you to a seat beside him. The distance between you closed, and suddenly the room felt smaller, the world beyond the study’s walls forgotten.

For a time, there was only silence between you, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. You could feel his presence beside you, solid and grounding, yet there was an unspoken tension in the air—a weight neither of you could name.

Finally, he broke the quiet.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as though confessing a forbidden truth. “More than I realized I could.”

The words struck something deep within you, and you turned to face him fully, searching his face for any trace of doubt. There was none—only sincerity, tinged with a vulnerability you had rarely seen in him.

“I missed you too,” you admitted, your voice trembling. It was the truth, but it felt inadequate to capture the depth of your longing.

Anakin reached out then, his hand brushing against your cheek, his touch achingly gentle. The callouses on his fingers spoke of battles and hardships, yet his touch was softer than anything you had ever known. You leaned into his hand, your eyes fluttering closed as you allowed yourself a moment of reprieve.

When his lips met yours, it was slow, almost hesitant, as though testing the fragile bond that had formed between you. The kiss deepened, carrying with it an unspoken promise—a vow neither of you could yet put into words.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“There’s so much I don’t say,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “But you have to know—”

“I do,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his chest. Beneath your palm, you felt the steady beat of his heart—a reminder of his strength, his humanity. “I know.”

For a long moment, the two of you simply sat there, the world outside the study forgotten. You wanted to tell him everything, to unburden yourself of the secrets that threatened to consume you. But fear held you back—fear of what your revelations might do to the fragile trust you had built.

Later, as he returned to his work, his attention fell on the maps and reports scattered across the table. His sharp eyes caught the folded parchment tucked beneath the edges of the papers, and his brow furrowed as he reached for it.

From the doorway, you watched as he unfolded the note, his gaze scanning the words you had written. His expression darkened slightly, his fingers tightening around the parchment.

He looked up then, his eyes meeting yours across the room. There was no accusation in his gaze, only a quiet question—a plea for understanding.

You offered him a faint smile before slipping away, your heart heavy with the weight of what you had done. You prayed he would understand the warning you had left for him.

And you prayed, too, that the love you had begun to share would be strong enough to weather the storms that lay ahead.

The midday sun cast golden light through the stained-glass windows of your chamber as you sat by the desk, attempting to focus on a new canvas. But the brush in your hand felt heavier than usual, and the colors blurred together, your thoughts elsewhere.

Anakin had left at dawn for a hunt, his absence stretching like a shadow over the castle. You found yourself restless, unsettled by a creeping sense of unease that had lingered since his departure.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. One of the castle’s attendants entered, carrying a folded piece of parchment sealed with no crest. The lack of identification immediately caught your attention.

“This arrived for you, my lady,” the attendant said, bowing as they set the letter on your desk.

“Who delivered it?” you asked, but the attendant only shook their head.

“It was left with the guards at the gate, my lady. No messenger lingered.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the parchment, the faint scent of ash and wax clinging to it. Unfolding the letter, you read the hurried scrawl within:

“Beware the serpent that coils close to the lion. Tonight, blades will be drawn in shadows, and blood will stain the throne. Protect him, or all will be lost.”

Your breath caught. The words were cryptic yet chillingly clear—a warning of betrayal, danger aimed at Anakin, and treachery from someone within the castle walls.

The sound of boots echoed in the corridor outside, and you quickly folded the letter, tucking it beneath the edge of your desk. A moment later, Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped into the room.

He had returned to the castle only days before, bringing with him reports of the Scots' retreat. His presence had initially been a comfort, his calm demeanor reassuring amid the chaos of court politics. But as Anakin’s trusted right-hand man, his arrival had also coincided with a strange tension.

“My lady,” Obi-Wan said, inclining his head. “I trust the day finds you well?”

“Well enough,” you replied, though your voice betrayed the unease tightening your chest.

He stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Anakin will return soon, I presume?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “He should be back before nightfall.”

“And yet, you seem troubled,” Obi-Wan observed, his tone casual but sharp. “Is there something amiss?”

You hesitated, your mind racing. Could Obi-Wan be the serpent the letter warned of? Or was this paranoia taking root, fed by the growing web of deceit surrounding you?

“I have much on my mind,” you said carefully. “The court’s whispers, the growing unrest. Surely you’ve noticed it too.”

Obi-Wan’s expression softened, and he took a step closer, his voice lowering. “The court is always restless. But if there is something specific troubling you, you need only say the word. Anakin would want me to protect you in his absence.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a pang of guilt through you, but the memory of the letter’s warning gnawed at your resolve.

“I’ll manage,” you said, your tone firmer. “Thank you, Sir Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, as though weighing your words, before nodding and stepping back. “As you wish, my lady. But do not hesitate to summon me if you need anything.”

With that, he left the room, the door closing softly behind him.

You had just resolved to wait for Anakin’s return when a knock at the door startled you. It was one of the chambermaids, her face pale and her hands wringing nervously.

“My lady,” she said, “I thought you should know... Sir Kenobi and Count Aulbry were seen riding out together just now. They seemed... urgent.”

The words sent a chill through you. “Did they say where they were going?”

The maid shook her head. “No, my lady. But they rode toward the northern woods.”

Toward the royal hunting grounds.

Panic gripped you. Anakin had ridden there with the king this morning, and now his supposed ally and his most vocal opponent had followed, shrouded in secrecy.

You clenched your hands into fists, your mind racing. The letter’s warning, Obi-Wan’s strange behavior, Aulbry’s open hostility—it all aligned too perfectly. If they meant to harm Anakin, you couldn’t sit idly by.

The stable smelled of hay and cold earth as you approached, your breath visible in the crisp air. The stable master startled at the sight of you, his eyes wide with alarm as you strode toward the nearest horse.

“My lady, what are you—”

“Prepare her,” you interrupted, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you. “The mare, now.”

He hesitated, hands trembling as he fumbled with the tack. “It isn’t safe, my lady. You can’t ride alone.”

“Safe?” The word cracked from your lips, harsh and bitter. “Safe is a word I can no longer afford. Saddle her, or I’ll do it myself.”

His protests faltered as he moved quickly, his fear of disobedience outweighing his confusion. The mare was readied within minutes, her dark eyes reflecting your own urgency.

Your skirts snagged as you mounted, but you paid it no mind, gripping the reins and spurring the horse forward before the stable master could voice another word.

The wind sliced through you as the mare thundered over the frost-covered earth. Each hoofbeat echoed like the drum of war, steady and relentless, driving you closer to the woods. The trees loomed ahead, their bare branches clawing at the sky, and with them came the weight of your growing dread.

Anakin. His name was a heartbeat in your mind, a mantra that propelled you forward. You could see him in your mind’s eye—strong, resolute, his brow furrowed in thought as he stood apart from the world, carrying its burdens alone.

Would he believe you?

The question clawed at you as you rode, your fingers trembling against the reins. Would he see your desperation as weakness? Would he blame you for suspecting Obi-Wan, the man who had fought beside him in countless battles?

Or worse—what if you were wrong?

The thought was unbearable, but the image of the letter was sharper still. Its words were a call to action, and inaction felt like betrayal.

You pushed the mare harder, her breaths coming in sharp bursts as you entered the woods. The hunting party’s distant voices reached your ears, their tones hushed but unmistakable.

“Almost there,” you whispered, your words carried away by the wind.

The mare slowed as you approached the clearing, and you dismounted swiftly, your boots crunching against the frosted ground. The shadows of men and horses flickered through the trees, their forms half-obscured by the fading light.

You hesitated, your pulse quickening as you moved closer, the forest around you suddenly heavy with silence.

The words from the letter echoed in your mind, louder than ever. “Blades will be drawn in shadows...”

You glanced over your shoulder at the mare, now tethered to a low-hanging branch, and took a deep breath. The weight of what you had to do pressed against your chest like armor.

Somewhere in this forest, Anakin was unaware of the knife poised at his back. And you would move heaven and earth to ensure it never reached him.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The foe you see is not the hand,

That strikes unseen, or makes its stand.

Deceit is woven through their guise,

The truest battle hides in lies.

The early morning fog clung to the trees like a damp veil, shrouding the forest in an eerie stillness. Anakin’s boots sank into the earth with each step of his horse, the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves resonating beneath the thick canopy. His mind wasn’t on the hunt, not really. He had ridden out on the king’s orders, ostensibly to track game through the thick woods, but every instinct in his body told him something was wrong. A nagging feeling of unease gnawed at the edge of his thoughts.

The cold air cut through his cloak, yet the discomfort of the chill was nothing compared to the unease stirring deep within him. He had tried to ignore it—after all, he had faced far worse than a simple hunting expedition. But it was there, a persistent presence, an itch under the skin that he couldn’t shake.

"Stay alert, Anakin," he muttered to himself, his breath misting in the cold morning air. His instincts had never been wrong before.

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the underbrush. Anakin’s hand immediately went to the hilt of his sword, his gaze scanning the surroundings. The forest was quiet again, unnervingly so. He heard the faintest snap of a twig, too far to his left to be a deer. His eyes narrowed, and his breath held as he dismounted silently, glancing at the trees above for any sign of movement.

The shadows were his enemies now. He couldn’t risk being ambushed.

He was barely aware of the first movement—a swift motion to his right, a shadow crossing his line of vision—before he heard the unmistakable sound of steel scraping against leather. A flash of cold metal, a blur of movement, and then—nothing.

It all happened so fast. He had learned long ago that the most dangerous threats were often the ones you couldn’t see until it was too late.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the blur of a figure darting toward him, and without hesitation, Anakin spun around, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. A man lunged at him from the trees, the assassin’s blade aimed at his side, but Anakin deflected it with a practiced swing, their swords clashing with a ringing sound that reverberated through the dense woods.

But then, as if from every direction, more figures emerged—six, no, eight men surrounding him. They were silent, fast, moving with the precision of a well-coordinated attack. His heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline surging as the battle instincts kicked in. Anakin’s eyes scanned the men, calculating, assessing, his hand moving as if it had a life of its own. His sword met the blade of another attacker, their weapons locked in a deadly struggle.

The noise of the fight was deafening—the clash of steel, the grunts of exertion, the sharp cries of men falling as they tried to overcome him. But there was something different about this attack. The men didn’t move like mercenaries; they moved with the fluidity of soldiers trained in the art of war, and they seemed to have been waiting for him. The very ground beneath him seemed to tremble with their numbers.

His breath came ragged, his eyes darting between enemies, trying to predict the next move. He didn’t have much time. The trees provided little cover, and every swing of his sword was an invitation for another blow. He gritted his teeth and blocked another strike, parrying to the side before slashing his blade through the chest of one man. His breath was heavy now, the sweat dripping down his brow despite the cold.

But then the realization hit him, cold as ice.

They weren’t after the hunt.

They were after him.

The words echoed in his mind, but he didn’t have time to process them. A sword sliced across his chest, just missing his vital organs. He staggered back, breath stolen for a moment, his blood staining his tunic. The rush of pain barely registered as his instincts kicked in, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword as he batted another attack aside.

One man dropped to the ground with a grunt, but that didn’t matter. There were still too many, and they were closing in, pushing him toward the dense underbrush. A few were already injured, but not enough to halt their assault.

The moon hung high in the sky, barely visible through the dense canopy of trees as the darkness swallowed Anakin whole. He had been fighting for hours now—bloodied, exhausted, but resolute. The twelve men who had attacked him had already taken down several of his own, and the forest felt like a battleground in hell. The night air was thick with the smell of blood and smoke. The forest echoed with the sound of sword clashing, of desperate men shouting orders.

But it was still quiet. Too quiet.

Anakin felt the familiar presence of danger creeping closer, but it wasn’t just the attackers that gnawed at him. His heart was pounding in his chest as he thought of you. His thoughts were filled with the images of your face, your soft voice calling his name, and he feared for you. He had never been afraid in a fight, not in all the battles he had seen—but this was different. He feared for your safety.

Where are you?

He couldn’t shake the thought. He tried to push it away, tried to concentrate on the men surrounding him, but it wasn’t easy. His body was aching, blood flowing freely from the multiple cuts across his torso. He had barely managed to keep the attackers at bay, and now, with each passing second, they grew closer. They had surrounded him.

With a burst of adrenaline, Anakin swung his sword again, cutting through another man, but his vision was starting to blur. His grip on his sword was weakening, but he could feel his determination growing stronger. I must survive, for her.

That’s when he heard it.

The sound of hooves, distant at first, but growing louder, faster. The unmistakable sound of a rider galloping in the woods.

No, not you. His heart raced even faster. He could feel your presence getting closer, but he had no way of stopping you.

He couldn’t keep fighting and get to you in time. But you were so close now, he couldn’t wait.

Meanwhile, you had galloped through the woods, panic clawing at your chest with every thundering beat of the horse’s hooves beneath you. You could hear the faint echoes of battle in the distance—the clash of swords, the guttural cries of men. Your blood ran cold. You urged the horse onward, desperate to reach him, to stop whatever this madness was before it consumed him.

The woods were a maze of shadow and mist. You couldn’t see through the trees, couldn’t hear over the thundering of the horse’s hooves beneath you. It felt like you were racing against time, but what was worse was the gnawing, suffocating fear in your chest.

Please, Anakin, please be safe.

As the sounds of the battle grew louder, you felt your heartbeat in your throat. You could hear the shouts of soldiers. Then, without warning, a shadow leapt out from the trees.

Before you could react, a man grabbed your reins, yanking your horse’s head sharply to the side. He lunged at you, sword raised high.

Your heart froze. You reached up instinctively, fingers fumbling for the tiny dagger you had tucked in your hair for moments like this. The cold metal of the dagger was a comfort in your hand, but it was nothing compared to the weight of the situation. The man’s face was twisted in anger as he raised the sword, preparing to strike.

Fear clawed at you, but you refused to let it control you. You slashed the dagger across the man’s arm, but he hardly flinched. The blow wasn’t enough to stop him, and the sword came down at you again, too fast for you to dodge.

But before the blade could reach you, a roar split the air.

“DON’T TOUCH MY WIFE!” Anakin’s voice thundered through the trees, furious and primal.

You barely had time to register his words before his form appeared in front of you, bloodied and furious. His sword cut through the air in a flash, knocking the would-be attacker aside with a force that left no room for mercy.

You didn’t have time to breathe, didn’t have time to think. Anakin’s eyes were locked on you, fierce and protective, but his face was pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His chest was covered in blood, and yet his gaze never left you.

He turned back to face the remaining attackers, his anger and pain mingling in a way that made your heart ache. You reached out, desperate to touch him, but as your hand brushed against his, he pushed you back.

“I said stay back!” His voice was hoarse, but filled with a raw, desperate need to protect you. “It’s not over.”

You watched helplessly as Anakin stepped forward, meeting the four men who had remained hidden in the shadows. Each strike was met with a new burst of agony, a struggle against the men who relentlessly attacked him. His movements were slower now, each swing of his sword weaker than the last. But even as his body betrayed him, his will never faltered.

The battle felt like it went on for an eternity, each second stretched thin by the raw tension and fear that swelled inside of you. You couldn’t watch any longer. It felt like you were suffocating under the weight of the moment. But even then, you saw him—he was still fighting.

And then, the final blow came.

One of the men drew his bow and released an arrow with deadly accuracy. You saw it happen in slow motion. The arrow soared through the air, and for a brief, horrified second, you knew what was about to happen.

It struck Anakin in the chest.

The sound that escaped his mouth was one of pure agony as the arrow buried deep into his lung. He staggered back, his sword faltering in his hand as he fought for balance.

“No!” you cried, rushing toward him despite the danger. But as you approached, you saw him fall to his knees, blood pouring from the wound. His face was pale, his lips already tinged with the blue of a wound too deep to ignore.

But even then, he didn’t give in.

“Anakin…” you whispered, dropping to your knees beside him. Your hands shook as you pressed against his chest, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

He looked up at you, eyes filled with pain but a fierce determination still burning behind them.

“I’m not dying,” he whispered between labored breaths, the words strained and weak. “I won’t leave you.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you tore at the hem of your dress, ripping it to pieces to use as a makeshift bandage. Your hands were trembling, but you pressed the fabric to his chest, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

“I won’t let you die,” you said through clenched teeth, your voice trembling.

He took your hand then, squeezing it gently despite the agony that wracked his body.

“You’re all that matters,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’ll live… because of you.”

His words, though weak, fueled your resolve. You kept applying pressure to his chest, watching as his color slowly returned, watching as he breathed deeply again, fighting the weariness in his limbs.

It was then that he finally stirred, groaning as he attempted to rise. He pushed himself to his feet with your help, his body shaking with the effort. Despite the pain, despite everything, he managed to stand tall.

“We need to get back to the king,” he said, his voice hoarse but filled with purpose. His gaze locked onto you, and for a moment, you could see nothing but the depth of his devotion in his eyes.

The two of you walked—no, staggered—back toward the camp, where the king’s men were gathered in stunned silence. As Anakin limped toward the center of the camp, still holding your hand, he confronted Count Aulbry. The nobleman, who had been so sly and quiet up until now, stood with a calm demeanor, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt.

Anakin’s voice rang out, cutting through the air like steel.

“Did you think you could hide your treachery?” he demanded. “Did you think this would break me? You were wrong.”

Count Aulbry’s face remained impassive, but his jaw tightened as he denied any involvement. Yet the doubt lingered in his eyes, a dangerous sign that made Anakin even more resolute.

“I will uncover the truth,” Anakin declared, blood still soaking his chest as he glared at Aulbry with unyielding determination.

The confrontation had only just begun, and Anakin was more resolved than ever to expose the traitor for what he truly was.

The dim glow of the campfire flickered through the canvas of the tent, casting soft shadows that danced against the fabric walls. You sat next to Anakin, the firelight tracing the contours of his tired face, his features drawn with pain yet softened by the intimate stillness that surrounded you both. His chest heaved with each breath, though you could see the slow but steady recovery beginning as you gently unwound the bandage around his chest.

His wound, though grave, had been patched up. The bleeding had stopped, but the pain in his eyes lingered. You had tried to banish the worst of it by offering whatever comfort you could, but you knew that a part of him—one that he would never fully reveal—was still at war within.

"You’re relentless," you whispered softly, carefully peeling back the fabric of his shirt. “These arrows... They always manage to find your most vital points.”

Anakin looked down at the wound, his gaze thoughtful but distant. He gave a half-hearted chuckle, though it was edged with a touch of bitterness. "It's almost as if they know where to strike, isn't it?" His voice was rough, with a quiet humor trying to mask the ache that still lingered in him. His hand gripped the edge of the cot, and you could see the tension in his posture, a mixture of exhaustion and frustration.

“Or maybe it’s that you’re too quick to put yourself in harm’s way," you said with a teasing smile, the movement of your hands steady and sure as you replaced his bloodied bandage with fresh linen.

He chuckled softly, but his expression grew more serious as he leaned back against the pillows, his gaze never leaving yours. There was a weight to the silence that hung between you now, a heaviness that pulled at the edges of his soul. And you could feel it too—the depth of everything unspoken, the fragile trust between you now intertwined with something far deeper.

“You know, I’ve always thought I could protect myself,” Anakin began, his voice quiet, the words coming with a painful honesty that you hadn’t heard from him before. “But now… Now, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been so focused on fighting everyone else that I’ve missed something closer to home.”

Your hands stilled as you finished tying off the bandage. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. He looked vulnerable, even though he would never fully allow anyone to see it. The man who had always been a soldier, a leader, was now confiding in you—not just as a lover but as someone he trusted more than anyone else.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice soft, inviting him to share the heavy burden he was carrying.

His lips pressed together for a moment, and when he spoke again, it was with the weight of his suspicions, the quiet recognition that something was wrong—something much bigger than the battle they had fought.

“I think Count Aulbry... I think he’s behind all of this. I can feel it. Something about him doesn’t sit right with me.” His voice was low, almost hesitant, as though sharing this part of himself made him more vulnerable than any of the cuts that marred his skin.

Your heart ached for him. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the sharp intelligence that had always served him so well in battle was now clouded with doubt. It wasn’t just the wound that pained him. It was the fear that he was no longer in control, no longer able to protect those he loved, especially you.

“Anakin,” you whispered, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You don’t always have to carry the weight alone.”

He looked at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if looking for something—something that he needed but wasn’t sure how to ask for. His lips parted, but before he could speak, the silence between you was filled with the quiet rustle of the forest, the distant cry of a bird in the dark, the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

“I’ve seen too many men lose themselves,” Anakin began, his voice distant. “Too many battles where it wasn’t the enemy I was fighting—it was what I had to give up to win.” He hesitated, as if weighing the significance of his words, before adding, “I’m beginning to wonder if the price of victory is too high.”

His words hung in the air between you like an unspoken truth, an ache that neither of you could escape. You knew what he meant. You understood the weight of his soul, the endless struggle of a man who had given everything—too much—and still couldn’t find peace.

“The price... is never too high,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his as you steadied his hand. “As long as we face it together.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving yours. It was as though, in that moment, he finally allowed himself to breathe, to let the walls around him fall just a little. His eyes softened, a rawness there that hadn’t been present before, and it struck you like a physical blow. The tenderness in him, buried beneath so many layers of strength and duty, was finally being revealed.

Without a word, his hand slid to your cheek, the touch tender and intimate. The contact was slow, deliberate, as if he were memorizing the feel of your skin against his. He leaned in, and for a moment, you were suspended in the space between you, where the world seemed to hold its breath.

And in that moment, with the weight of the world hanging over them, the kiss came—gentle at first, as if testing the waters, as if seeking permission to finally release all that had been held in for so long. His lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative, the tenderness of it shocking in its simplicity. But that kiss was enough to set your heart on fire.

You responded without hesitation, pulling him closer, letting your lips meet his with a desperate kind of sweetness, as if you were both trying to breathe life back into one another. His hand slid to the back of your neck, gently urging you closer, the firelight dancing across his face as you kissed him deeply.

The world around you fell away as his warmth enveloped you. His lips were insistent, demanding now, as if every kiss was a promise, every touch a vow that he would never let go of you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as if to reassure yourself that this moment, this love, was real.

You broke away for a moment, both of you breathless, gazing at each other with an intensity that made your heart ache. His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as the world outside ceased to matter.

“I never wanted to pull you into this,” Anakin murmured, his voice hoarse, a quiet confession. “This war... it’s not something I can protect you from. Although, I would fight in a dozen wars to shield you, my rose. In a dozen liftetimes… if I ever fail to protect you…I… I could not live with it. If you fall I fall, I swear it on my honor, on my blood and on the gods.”

You smiled softly, running your hand through his hair, feeling the dampness of sweat and blood still clinging to his skin. “You don’t have to protect me, Anakin,” you whispered, your voice thick with a tenderness that threatened to break you. “We protect each other. That’s what this is.”

His eyes searched yours, his lips parting as if to speak, but he hesitated. Instead, he pulled you closer, holding you tight against him, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. It was as though the world had stopped moving, leaving only the two of you in this space—this fragile, intimate moment where everything else faded into the background.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his chest. “You deserve everything, Anakin. Everything I can give.”

And in that moment, something shifted between you both. It wasn’t just love—it was trust. A promise that no matter how dark the days ahead might get, you would face them together. There was no fear, no hesitation now. Just the two of you, bound in this shared understanding.

You kissed him again, this time with the weight of everything you both held. The world outside could burn, and it wouldn’t matter. All that mattered was this—this connection, this bond that neither of you could name, but both of you knew would endure.

As you pulled away, Anakin’s eyes softened, a small but meaningful smile pulling at his lips. “I’ll face whatever comes, for you.” he whispered, his voice steady, yet filled with a quiet certainty.

And with that promise, you knew that no matter what storm might come, you would stand together, unwavering, your love a flame that could never be extinguished.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

In the silence, my heart stopped to bleed,

For her breath was the air that I’d need.

If she fell, the world would cease its song,

For in her death, my life would be gone.

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gummifrogs · 4 days ago

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The Perks

➪the one where you get to experience all the perks that come with being james’ wife and biggest supporter.

Warnings: smut, fluff, oral (f receiving), semi-public smut, swearing, hair pulling

Word Count: 1.8k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

It was nearing one in the afternoon when you arrived at J Kelly Auto, a takeout bag in hand and a dumb smile on your face as you waved at one of the mechanics. You walk past the garage and pull open the door to the lobby part of the building, your smile growing when you catch sight of James.

He was leaning against the front of the desk, his arm crossed over his chest as he listened to someone on the phone. The arms of his work jumpsuit were tied around his waist, his toned biceps on full display as the white muscle tee he wore under it did nothing to hide them. His various tattoos were on full display as well and your eyes trail over every one of them as you waited for him to be done with the call.

His shirt was stained with oil already, despite you spending more than half an hour the previous night trying to get it clean again once he came home smelling like motor oil and cigarettes.

James slumped back a bit more as the person rambled on, but as his gaze swept around the room before landing on you, he stood up again. “Hi,” he mouthed, grinning over at you while you swayed on your heels by the door. “Uh huh. Well, what you can do right now is bring it in and we’ll see if we have the parts you need. If we don’t, I’ll send in an order for them. Alright, no problem. See you soon.”

He reached behind him and set the phone down before reaching out to you, his hands finding their home on your waist once you were standing in front of him. “Hi,” you greet him with a small smile, kissing him quickly afterwards.

“Hi, baby,” he said back, bunching up the fabric of your dress as he pulled you a bit closer. “You look pretty.”

You smile at him, sliding your free hand up his arm until your fingers are able to wrap less than halfway around his bicep. “Thanks, Jamie,” you blush under his gaze as you look around the near-empty room. “Slow day?”

“If by slow day you mean we’ve had three customers today, then yeah, it’s a slow day,” he answered, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling your body up against his. His eyes raked downwards, pausing at your somewhat exposed chest before going further. You knew what you were doing when you chose to wear your white sundress with the small blue flowers that matched his eye color almost perfectly. It never failed to drive him crazy, and you could tell he was holding himself back right now.

While he was pretty into PDA, James still didn’t want the few customers in the lobby to witness his inability of keeping his hands to himself whenever you are around. “I brought you lunch,” you tell him and hold the bag up, the logo of his favorite fast food place making him smile.

“You brought me lunch?” He teased, trailing his hands lower down your back.

You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and standing on the tips of your toes to be able to kiss him. He pulled you closer to him and tried to deepen the kiss, making you laugh at the way his lips chased yours. “I did,”

“You’re too good to me,” he mumbles, kissing you again quickly.

Laughing, you pull away and hold up the bag again. “I’m just proud of you,” he smiles at your words, taking it from you. “Always.”

“Thanks, baby,” he murmured, taking your left hand in his free one. His thumb turned your rings as he added, “Now I’m starving.”

You perk up at that, “Oh, good, because I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten or not-”

The shaking of his head made your words die on your tongue, and you watched as he looked around before walking backwards to the office door, pulling you with him as he went. “I’m not hungry for food,”

You get the hint pretty much instantly, a blush taking over your face as you glance back at the customers who seemed to have no idea of the words that were being exchanged between you and James. “Right now? Here?”

James pulled you into the office that was labeled as his own before closing and locking the door. “Right now,” he confirmed, shutting the blinds on the doors window and setting the fast food bag onto the table next to it before making his way over to you in three strides. His hands grab hold of your hips and he pushes you against the side of the desk, his fingers bunching up the fabric of your dress as he sinks to his knees. “Here.”

Your eyes widen as he pulls down your panties with one quick tug before he wraps his lips around your clit. “Oh, my God,” you gasp as he sucks on your bundle of nerves harshly. “Jesus, do you have any self control at all?”

James smirks up at you with a shrug, “Not when it comes to you,” he answered, nudging your right thigh to rest on his shoulder as he licked a stripe up your folds. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your engagement ring and wedding band being barely visible in the dark strands.

“You’re on the clock, Jamie,” you point out in a breathless tone. “This is what you’re getting paid for?”

He raised his brow at you as he used the tattooed fingers of his free hand to gently split your slick entrance. “I think you’re forgetting that I’m my own boss,” he rasped, slowly fucking his index and middle fingers into you.

You whine a bit as you grip the edge of the desk. “How could I ever forget that?” You ask, biting down harshly on your lip to stifle the loud moan that threatened to escape you. “Don’t you know how proud I am of you?”

James nodded, kissing your inner thigh as he fucked his digits into you. “Of course I do,” he answered. “You tell me it everyday.”

“Because it’s true,” you whisper then moan. “Jamie.”

“I know,” he hummed, staring up at you with dark blue eyes. You didn’t need much of a build up for you to be ready to fall apart for him, and he knew this. The way you were helplessly clenching around his fingers told him all he needed to know, and he sped up a bit, making sure to brush his thumb against your clit with every thrust of his hand. “My wife is the prettiest thing in the world.”

His compliment makes your face flush as you grip onto the hair on the back of his head, squeezing your eyes shut. “Fuck,” he knew what he does to you, and you didn’t have to open your eyes to know he is smirking. “James.”

Your voice held a sense of warning, but he didn’t need to hear it to know that you are close. After being together for nearly six years and married for just under one, you and James knew each other like the backs of your hands. “I know,” he repeated his previous words, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue as you squirmed against him.

Your walls clenched around his fingers and your stomach flexed as you felt the knot begin to steadily form. “Oh, God,” you murmur, not wanting to be too loud since he still had customers in the other room.

James looked effortlessly hot right now, with his face buried against you, his fingers deep inside you and his movements slow. He wasn’t rushing even though he is currently at work and will probably be needed soon by one of the other mechanics. He was taking his time with you, getting you off slowly in the way he knows you love.

You reach down and brush your thumb against his cheek, wiping away the smudge of dirt and oil that had collected there since he started his shift. “If you think I’m pretty,” you struggle to say as he curls his fingers, the tips brushing against your sweet spot. “You must have no idea how perfect you are, Jamie.”

He shook his head, pulling away from you but keeping his fingers deep within you. “I’m not the perfect one, baby,” he brushes you off, but all you could focus on was the wetness that coated his lips and chin. “You’re so fucking perfect, and you’re all mine.”

You moan and grip his hair again, making him grin up at you as he raises his left hand.

“I made sure of that,” he added, wiggling his fingers and showing off his wedding band.

“James,” you gasped loudly, feeling the knot tighten even more. He just shook his head and wrapped his mouth around your clit again, sucking the bud harshly. You buck against him and push him closer to you with your foot on his back. “I’m close.”

You lean further back on the desk and accidentally knock over the lamp that was sitting on it. James didn’t seem to care at all about the well-being of it as he just pulled your body closer to him as his fingers inched even deeper in you. “I know, pretty girl,” he rasped, quickening the pace of his hand in a way that had you gripping onto him with everything you had in you as you felt your walls spasm. “I want you to come for me. All over my hand.”

His words make your head spin as you writhe against him before the knot unravels. You moan rather loudly as you come on his fingers and then again when you saw the wetness that dripped down his hand as he fucked you through your high. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper and watch as he slowly pulls his fingers out and kept eye contact with you when he brought them up to his mouth and licked them clean. “Fuck, James.”

He grins up at you before standing to his full height and walking over to the door. “You okay?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say as you try to control your breathing. “Give me a sec and I’ll get you off, too.”

James just waved you off as he grabbed the takeout bag before walking back over to the desk and sitting down on the chair. “Don’t worry about it, baby,”

You watch with wide eyes as he pats his thigh and opens the bag, a surprised laugh escaping you. “You’re eating right now?”

He shrugged as he reached over and wrapped his arm around your middle, pulling you onto his lap as he leaned back. “That was a lot of work,” he teased, giving you a chaste kiss before reaching into the bag. “Let me get my strength back and then we’ll talk about you getting me off.”

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gummifrogs · 4 days ago

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Sound of Your Heart

➪the one where you take care of clay after his surgery.

Warnings: mentions of surgery, descriptions of wounds, swearing, fluff to the max because clay is such a sweetheart and deserves everything good in the world

Word Count: 2.1k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

“Fuck,” Clay grunted as he sat up in bed. His arm instinctively reached out to you, but he found your side of the bed empty. Judging by the indentation and the warmth his hand was met with, he knew you hadn’t been up for long, and it was most likely your absence that caused him to wake up so abruptly. He never could sleep for long without you. “Y/n?” He called out to you, and not even a second later your head was peeking out from the bathroom doorway.

When you furrowed your brows in question, he reached out for you as he slumped back against the headboard.

“Baby,”

You were crossing the room instantly after tossing your toothbrush onto the bathroom counter, forgoing your previous plan to brush your teeth so you could instead check on your wounded boyfriend. Sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, you take his hand in yours as you give him a concerned look. “What? What’s the matter, baby?”

He grunted quietly as he placed his free hand against his chest, his fingers picking at the edges of the bandage that was covering his incision mark.

You understood without him actually saying anything and moved closer so you could push away his hair that fell over his forehead. “Is it hurting bad today?” You ask in a soft voice as you move your hand down to massage his shoulder.

He shook his head a bit as he laced his fingers with yours and squeezed them. “Just sore,” he tried to play it off, but you knew him better than that. He was clearly in pain, but wasn’t telling you just how much, as if that would make him look weak or vulnerable or something.

You give him an unimpressed look as you reach over to grab his pain meds from off the nightstand. “You don’t need to lie to me, Clay,” you tell him as you grab his hand and place two of the pills onto his palm. “I’ve been with you for how long now? Almost three years? I know when you’re lying, so I’m not sure why you still try to do it to me.”

He huffed and took the glass of water you held out to him from off the nightstand as well. “I’m not lying,” he tried but knew it was no use. You simply knew him too well. Sighing, he took the meds before putting the glass aside. “It’s not bad. It was worse yesterday.”

You nod and run the tip of your finger along the edge of the tape on his chest. “Okay, that’s good,” you murmur and lean down to press a kiss to the skin of where his heart is. “It should only hurt for a few more days, then you’ll be a whole new man.”

He gave you a boyish grin, your attempt at lightening the mood helping more than you probably knew. “I’m feeling better already,” he said and lifted his arms. “Lay with me.”

You give him a look of warning, one he’s seen you wear a lot since he got off that surgery table. “No,” you reply and move away from him, but he doesn’t drop his arms as he stares at you. “I don’t want to hurt you, that’s why I’m not sleeping on you like I usually do at night. I don’t want to put pressure on your chest.”

He drops his arms to his sides at that as a laugh escapes him. “Oh, so that’s why you won’t touch me when we’re in bed,” he laughed again while you rolled your eyes. “Come here, baby, please? Your rejection is hurting my heart.”

You gasp and lean over to slap his leg through the thin sheet that still covered it. “Don’t say that to me,” you scold but can’t help the grin that took over your face at the sound of his laugh. “God.”

“I’m just kidding,” he assured you and leaned over to place his hands on your waist in a gentle tug.

“I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to joke around,” you mutter and stay still, despite him trying to pull you onto his lap.

“Come here,” he nearly begged when you still weren’t giving in to the pull of his hands. “Please? I miss you.”

You laughed and moved the smallest bit closer to him. “I’ve been by your side for the last eight days, Clay,” you point out and brace yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders and keeping your body away from his chest. “How could you possibly miss me?”

“I miss you all the time,” he answered, leaning forward and running his nose along your collarbone. “I miss feeling you against me. I’m not broken, Y/n, you won’t hurt me if you touch me.”

“I know, but,” you trail off as he gives you a pleading look. You never were good at saying no to him, and he was always way too good at getting you to give in to him. “Fine, but I need you to tell me if it hurts, okay? Promise me.”

Clay lit up at that and leaned back against the headboard, lifting his arms once more. “I promise,” he says quickly. “Come here, sweet girl.”

Of course, you give in.

Moving to the middle of the bed, you situate yourself so your front is pressing against his side. His arms immediately wrap around you and pull your body closer to his, seeming to be unconcerned about the way he is putting a bit of a strain on his chest.

If there is one thing Clay liked about needing to take those meds, it was that they kicked in fast. Now he could hold you in his arms and press you up against his chest without feeling any pain at all.

You settle against him and place your head on his shoulder with a light pressure. “Is this okay?” You ask when he places a kiss on your forehead. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt, baby,” he assures you and holds you a bit tighter against him.

He missed this. You had been so careful around him, and while he appreciated that and absolutely adored the fact that you didn’t want to hurt him, he craved the physical touch he was used to receiving from you. Your relationship had pretty much been built on touch, whether that be hand holding, kisses on every inch of your skin, or wrapping each other up when it was time for bed.

Maybe he was greedy, but he had been craving that sense of normalcy ever since he returned home from the hospital. He had finally managed to convince his mother that he was fine and that you were going above and beyond to make sure he was doing well, and all he wanted to do was spend the rest of his recovery process with you in his arms.

He couldn’t do much, and even getting up to go to the bathroom or changing his clothing proved to be hard tasks at times,but he would gladly toughen up and take that pain rather than have you too afraid to go near him.

“I missed this,” he sighed and placed another kiss on the top of your head. “I missed holding you.”

You smiled up at him. “I missed it, too,” you admitted and placed your hand over his mouth when he leaned down to kiss you. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet. You interrupted me before I could.”

He scoffed quietly, a teasing grin on his lips. “I don’t care,” he said and moved your hand so he could place a kiss on your mouth. When you pulled away after a quick peck, he groaned. “You’re killing me here.”

You raise a brow and begin to lift yourself up. “What did I say about you joking like that?”

“No,” he quickly pulled you back down onto him. “I’m sorry. No more, okay?”

Giving him a skeptical look, you settle back against him and gently rub the skin next to the bandage. “I know I’m probably being a bit overbearing right now, but I just worry about you. Plus, your mom calls me everyday to make sure I’m taking proper care of you since you won’t let her,”

He laughs and the sound vibrates his body against yours. “Yeah, that sounds like her,” he mumbled, running his hand up and down your back. “She gets to pick the surgeon if you get to take care of me. That was the deal, and she chose her doctor friend she’s known for years. Now you get to do your part and look after me.”

“She was very persistent that her friend needed to be the one to do it, huh?”

“That’s my mother for you,” he replied and you laughed.

“I like your mom,” you mumble. “She doesn’t put up with any bullshit when it comes to you. We have that in common.”

Clay hummed, very aware of just how protective his mom had been over him since he was informed of his condition. “That’s why you and her are the best women in my life,”

“We’re the only women in your life,” you correct him with a side glance before leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “And don’t ever forget that.”

He grinned down at you, reaching one hand up to brush away the hair from your face. “I love you,”

“I love you more,” you tell him and kiss him on the lips, despite your previous excuse of why you didn’t want to kiss him right now. Honestly, fuck morning breath when your boyfriend is this hot.

He kisses you back, deepening it as he lets his need for you pour from his mouth to yours. He wasn’t lying when he said he missed touching you, and that included with his lips.

When he leaned further in, you gently pushed him back against the headboard. “Don’t wear yourself out,” you remind him and trail light kisses from his jaw down to the base of his throat. He refrained from moaning at just how good it felt since he clearly was in no shape to get laid at the moment, and he didn’t want to turn you on then not be able to properly take care of you. “Your meds should be kicking in any minute now and they make you drowsy.”

“I know,” he rasped, tilting his head when you began peppering his neck with quick kisses. “That’s why I hate them. I just woke up and I’m already tired again.”

You hum and pull away from him completely. He opens his mouth in protest, but you silence him with a raise of your hand. “That’s a good thing, it makes you sleep off the pain,” you grinned and lifted yourself off the bed. Clay’s eyes trail up and down your body, his teeth getting caught between his teeth as he takes in the sight of your bare legs. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He lifted a brow as he continued to admire your body. “Like what?”

“That,” you point at him. “Like you want to pounce on me or something.”

“You’re wearing nothing but my shirt, sweet girl,” he stated the obvious as he slumped back against the pillow. “Of course I want to pounce on you. You know I would if I had the energy.”

That had you holding back your own sound of pleasure as you turned towards the door. “There will be a lot more time for that once you’re fully healed,” you really weren’t sure who you were trying to reassure with that one. “Please try to stay awake while I go make your breakfast. You can go back to sleep once it’s done.”

Clay groaned and buried himself under the covers. “I could just go with you,”

“No way,” you said immediately as you grabbed a pair of sweats to wear around the house. “No leaving that bed unless you absolutely have to. We’ve been over this.”

Clay rolled his eyes as he snuggled into your pillow and inhaled the sweet scent of your conditioner. “Whatever you say, mom,” he mumbled as he tried to keep his eyes open. “I expect you to spend at least another hour in bed with me after breakfast, just so you know.”

You shake your head and open the door, glancing back at him as he burrowed further under the covers. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,”

for you, my sweet @everydaydreamer

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gummifrogs · 4 days ago

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I’m addicted and janitor hates to see me coming. 🙂‍↕️

j.ai says I’m typing too fast. 😭

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gummifrogs · 5 days ago

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AH, I love this and Scott so much. I wouldn’t like to be called stupid but he absolutely would even if he doesn’t mean it.😂

I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas (Scott x ChubbyFemReader)

Summary: Yes, granted, you’re a bit ditzy at most of the times. So when your boyfriend says that he only wants one thing for Christmas this year, you're bound and determined to give it to him…in a big way! Stuffing yourself with all kinds of sweet treats and high calorie foods while he’s away at college; fattening up, transforming yourself into a perfect hippo hero. At least, that’s what you think he was going for…that he wasn’t being sarcastic at all.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut. Missionary (with them legs up in the air, like you just don't care), a few harsh pet names, mentions of wanting to fatten/knock up reader, and…Scott's big, fat cock. (Pretty Baby is aged up for this, early 20s)

Notes: Happy Holidays, lovelies! Welcome to track six of my special holiday mix, I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas! ❤️💚

- “Fuck…fuck…” Bottoming out, Scott groans. The sound low, gruff. Emanating from the depths of his toned chest. “Didn’t think…shit…” While big hands squeeze, grip your wide hips a bit tighter. Supple, pillowy flesh overflowing. Spilling out between the gaps of his long fingers. “Didn’t think you’d take me seriously when I…”

- Laying beneath, chunky legs tossed…thrown up over his broad shoulders. Your such a pretty, little mess. With lips swollen from his rough, hungry kisses. Eyes scrunched, adverted and looking away in embarrassment. Chubby cheeks shining from the remnants of hastily wiped tears. Hiccupping and babbling weakly, words nearly incoherent. “I-I know. Went to-too far. Turned myself in-into a literal-”

- “Shut…up…” Lewd squelches of juices. Gasping mewls of flustered, pleasurable pain. The soft crack, slap of a firm yet gentle blow landing on your bruised love handle. Ring out, fill the vanilla scented air of your tiny apartment. “Shut up…stupid…”

- Wasting no time, he quickens his pace. Bullying your cute cunt with his fat length, bulbous tip roughly kisses that sweet spot of yours. “Said I don’t wanna doll…” Your loving boyfriend puts his weight behind each strong, powerful thrust. Causing your now softer, fuller body to ripple and jiggle. Bounce like the perfect ball that you’ve transformed yourself into. “No stupid, dinky tinkertoy…”

- Warm palm trails, descends your thick thighs. Kneading and fondling your ample bottom. “Wanna hippo to play wit…” Fingertips swirl around, dip slightly into those delectable dimples. Before settling, pushing on your round tummy. “Enjoy…”

- Squirming, you whimper meekly. Feeling how deep he’s buried, the pressure of him baring down on your not so tiny paunch. “Mmmh, but ya know what…” Gummy walls fluttering and clenching. Burning from the stretch, from the continuous barrage and onslaught of blissful abuse. “Think ya might still be too small for me…”

- Surprised, alarmed squeak bubbles up from your throat. “Don’t worry gonna fix that though…” Gaze locks with his, both sets of colored orbs blown wide. “Gonna stuff ya full…day ‘n night…” His in feral, raw desire of his fantasy coming to life. “Wit all sorts of junk foods…” Yours in shock and awe, arousing intrigue and undeniable rush. “Wit a brat or two…”

- Soaked core tightens, clamps hard. Stray drops of slick spurt out, trickle along the curve of your meaty behind. “Yeah…like that, huh…” Splatter onto, soiling the festive sheets even further. Feeble wail, mixed with a muffled moan escapes. “Want me to make ya into a real hippo hero…”

- Face and body grow flush. Your tiny fingers wrap, cling to his bulging bicep desperately. Pearly painted nails sinking, leaving crescent shaped marks behind. “All big and bloated…” Trying to anchor yourself from the flood of thoughts. Images of the fuller future that leave your head spinning, pussy throbbing. “All helpless and needin’ me for shit…shit…”

- String of needy pleas fly from your lips, accompanied by his endless stream of curses. “Don’t…fuck…” Neck strains deliciously, veins pop enticingly. Boisterous balls slap heavily. “Don’t worry, dum-dum…” As his hips slam harshly into you one last time. Creamy, sticky seed pouring in; painting your insides snowy white, stomach inching a smidge higher into the air. “Will have ya nice and huge by next year…”

- Panting, sobbing, laughing. “Then…fuck…” Skin glistens with a sheen of sweat under the twinkling lights. “Then I really will have me da perfect hippo fo-for Christmas…” Lovesick grin adorns Scott’s handsome face, which you can’t help but mimic. “But, ya know, this is a good star-start… Just sayin’…”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @t03soup, @princessswifie, @jediavengers, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @loverforoldermen, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @anakinstwinklebunny, @xhunnybeeex, @sapphirefrog-blog, @khoatic-with-no-energy, @valyna27, @googie-jeon, @modsmm, @thefallenlittlebloodyangel, @hearts4sammonroe, @lostboys1987girl, @starwh0r33s, @igalol, @arabellaamore, @starsoldier077, @luciiaagarrigos, @enchant5d, @anakinca, @iluvmyesti

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gummifrogs · 5 days ago

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THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : mdni, smut, pussy eating, PiV.

A/N : erm…8.2k words guys ??? Is this too long ? Idk but this chapter is very Shakespearean I reckon…anyway here’s your smut @anisangeldust try not to cheer too loud, you’re gonna wake the kids up.

꧁ Chapter 4 : Letters in the Dark ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The ink whispers secrets the tongue cannot bare,

A fragile bridge between despair and care.

In shadows, hearts awaken to yearn,

Letters ignite what words cannot discern.

The mist clung to the rolling hills, softening the edges of the battlefield that had been marked by blood and valor. Anakin Skywalker stood at the crest of a hill, his dark cloak brushing against his boots, a sharp contrast to the pale light of dawn. The air was still, thick with the aftermath of war and the unspoken tension of what was to come. He waited, hands resting loosely on his belt, his sharp gaze scanning the horizon.

A lone figure emerged from the fog, his steps deliberate and his broad frame unmistakable. William Wallace, the Guardian of Scotland, approached with the bearing of a man who carried the weight of his people’s dreams on his shoulders. He wore no armor, only a simple cloak, the fabric frayed but dignified. His weathered face bore the scars of countless battles, his blue eyes sharp and unyielding.

When they met, there were no guards, no banners, no intermediaries—only two men who had come to speak plainly in the fragile quiet of dawn.

"You came alone," Wallace said, his voice rough but not unfriendly.

"As did you," Anakin replied. "It’s the least we could do, given the blood that’s already been spilled."

Wallace nodded, his gaze sweeping the hills. "Aye, too much blood. And for what? Kings with greed in their hearts and chains for their people."

Anakin’s jaw tightened. "I didn’t come here to defend my king, nor to apologize for the crown I serve. But I agree—wars are seldom fought for noble reasons, even when noble men die in them."

Wallace turned to face him fully, his towering presence unyielding but calm. "Then why do you fight, Skywalker? You’re no tyrant’s lapdog—I can see that much. So why march under his banner?"

Anakin hesitated, the weight of the question settling on him. His hand brushed against the hilt of his sword, not out of threat but as if seeking an anchor. "I fight for the men who follow me. For the farmers turned soldiers who trust me to bring them home. For the people who want nothing more than to live without fear."

"And yet, you march into Scotland, where those same people bleed for their land," Wallace countered, his voice steady but laced with quiet fury. "Do you see the irony in that, General?"

Anakin met his gaze, unflinching. "I do. But if I laid down my sword, another would take my place—one who cares nothing for mercy or reason. At least I can temper the madness."

Wallace studied him for a long moment, the silence between them heavy with understanding. "You’re a good man caught in a bad war," he said finally. "But no amount of tempering will change the truth—Scotland will never bow to England. We’ll fight until there’s nothing left of us, because freedom is worth more than our lives."

Anakin’s voice softened, a trace of respect in his tone. "You fight for freedom. I fight for peace. And yet, here we are, enemies on the same field."

"A cruel jest by the gods," Wallace said with a bitter chuckle.

They stood in silence for a moment, two warriors bound by the same honor, the same burden of leading men into battle.

"Do you ever wonder," Anakin said quietly, "if all of this will be remembered? If the men who die for us, the families torn apart—if any of it will matter in the end?"

Wallace’s expression hardened, but his voice was tinged with sorrow. "Aye, I wonder. But I’d rather die fighting for something than live on my knees for nothing."

Anakin nodded slowly, his respect for the man before him deepening. "I wish we’d met under different circumstances, Wallace. Perhaps in another life, we’d have fought side by side instead of against each other."

Wallace smiled faintly, the expression fleeting but genuine. "Aye, perhaps. But in this life, we fight. And if I fall, I’ll fall knowing I stood for what mattered."

The sun began to rise, its light breaking through the mist and casting long shadows across the hills. The moment of fragile peace between them passed, the inevitability of their roles pulling them back into their separate paths.

"Until the next battle," Wallace said, turning to leave.

"Until then," Anakin replied, watching as the Scottish leader disappeared into the mist.

As the first rays of sunlight warmed the earth, Anakin stood alone on the hill, the words of their conversation echoing in his mind. A good man caught in a bad war. And for the first time in years, he felt the weight of those words press against his soul.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Chains may bind the flesh, but not the fire,

A dream that climbs, relentless, higher.

Through blood and stone, through ash and pain,

Freedom is the breath we fight to regain.

Anakin sat at a rough-hewn table in his tent, the candle’s weak flame flickering against the soft night breeze that crept through the seams of the fabric. The clamor of the camp had begun to fade, soldiers retreating to their bedrolls after another day of skirmishes and hard marches. Yet for Anakin, rest remained elusive.

His armor lay discarded in the corner, the dented metal a testament to the brutality of recent battles. Dirt and blood clung to his hands, faint smudges smearing across the blank parchment before him. He hadn’t written a letter in years—not since his mother passed. Words weren’t his craft; they never had been.

And yet, here he sat, quill in hand, staring down at the blank page as though it were an adversary.

The faintest image of you surfaced in his mind—the way your fingers had moved over your canvas as if weaving life into color, the soft arch of your brow as you’d stolen glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking. He shook his head, willing the memory away. But it clung stubbornly to him, just as your presence had lingered in the halls of the castle long after he’d left.

With a sigh, he pressed the quill to the page. The first words came haltingly, their formality feeling both a shield and a chain.

“My rose, I trust this letter reaches you swiftly and in good health.”

He stared at the words, his jaw tightening. Too cold, too distant. But wasn’t that safer? Still, something inside him rebelled against leaving it there.

“The days here are long and unforgiving, but it is the nights that weigh heaviest. When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

Anakin paused, his brow furrowing. He had always been a man of action, not introspection. But the words seemed to pour from a place within him he didn’t fully understand.

“I am no poet, nor a man given to sentiment. Yet, as the days pass, I find myself curious. You are not what I expected. Your quiet strength is a balm I did not know I needed, though I lacked the grace to see it before I left.”

The quill hovered over the page, its tip trembling as he fought against the vulnerability clawing its way into his chest. He thought of the way your eyes had flickered with defiance during the wedding reception when Count Aulbry had dared to slight him. The memory stirred something deep within him—a flicker of admiration and something else he dared not name.

“Perhaps you see me as a hard man. I would not blame you for it. The battlefield has no room for softness, and I have worn that truth like armor for many years. But in the quiet moments, I begin to wonder—what might a life beyond war look like? What might it be to know peace? To know you?”

Anakin leaned back, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The words felt foreign, almost too raw, but there was no taking them back now.

“When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

He glanced at the folded leather notebook lying on the edge of the table, the same one he had taken to scribbling in after long days of battle. It was filled with fragments—half-formed thoughts, lines of poetry he would never dare to share. He briefly considered copying a verse into the letter but shook his head. That would be too much.

Instead, he signed the letter with practiced precision.

“Yours sincerely, General Anakin Skywalker”

He folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with his family’s insignia. As he handed it to his most trusted messenger, his voice was low and firm. “This is for Lady Skywalker. Ensure it reaches her swiftly and safely. Do not linger.”

The messenger saluted and disappeared into the darkness. Anakin stood alone in the dim glow of the tent, staring at the candle’s flame as it danced and sputtered.

Why had he written to you? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was guilt for the way he’d left, or perhaps it was the way your painting had lingered in his mind’s eye, haunting him with its quiet beauty. Whatever the reason, the act of putting his thoughts to paper felt like loosening a knot in his chest.

He reached for the notebook and opened it to the last page, where a half-finished poem lay scrawled in his uneven hand. The words seemed to taunt him, unfinished and raw, but they felt truer than anything he had spoken aloud.

“Beneath the armor, beneath the steel, Lies a yearning I dare not reveal. For peace, for light, for a hand to hold, In her gaze, I find my soul.”

Anakin snapped the notebook shut, tossing it onto the table. His gaze lingered on the shadows dancing across the walls, his thoughts torn between the battlefield before him and the woman he had left behind.

The letter arrived two days later, just as the sun was setting, its light spilling through the tall, narrow windows of your chamber. You sat at your desk, your brush poised above the unfinished painting of Anakin, the colors of his armor muted and incomplete. The messenger bowed as he handed you the parchment, sealed with the unmistakable insignia of House Skywalker.

Your heart stumbled. Anakin had never written to you before.

The wax seal broke easily under your trembling fingers. You unfolded the letter, your eyes scanning the elegant but reserved handwriting. The first words were formal, distant even, but as you read on, the tone shifted. Subtle hints of longing emerged between the lines, soft admissions cloaked in restraint.

A breath caught in your throat. You reread the words, each line piercing through the defenses you had built around your heart. There was something unspoken here—something fragile.

The letter ended simply: “Yours sincerely, General Anakin Skywalker.”

The parchment fluttered slightly in your hands as you set it down, the weight of his words pressing against the knowledge you carried. Your father’s betrayal.

The intercepted letter was still hidden in the bottom of a chest in the corner of your room. Its contents had unraveled the delicate threads of trust you had begun to weave with Anakin. Your father had plotted to manipulate both sides, using your marriage as a pawn in his schemes. If Anakin knew, would he believe you complicit?

You rose from the desk and began to pace, your gown brushing softly against the stone floor. The walls of your chamber seemed to close in around you as the dilemma clawed at your mind.

Anakin’s words lingered. “I begin to wonder—what might a life beyond war look like? What might it be to know peace? To know you?”

Could you risk breaking this fragile connection by telling him the truth? Would he see you as a spy for your father, as another piece in a game of politics and power? The thought of losing whatever tenuous bond was forming between you left a hollow ache in your chest.

But silence, too, was its own betrayal.

You moved back to your desk, reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the room as you dipped your quill into the inkwell.

“Dear Husband,” you began, the words coming slowly, each one weighed with care.

“Your letter reached me as the sun was setting, casting the castle in hues of gold and crimson. I find it fitting, for your words carried a similar light—unexpected and strangely warming.”

You hesitated, your quill hovering above the page. How much could you reveal without unraveling everything? How much of your heart could you show?

“You speak of carving paths through stone and steel, of wondering what might lie beyond them. I, too, have wondered. Perhaps we are not so different in this—both searching for something that feels just out of reach.”

The quill paused again. You closed your eyes, picturing Anakin as you had last seen him: the determined set of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes, the unspoken weight he carried.

“I hope this letter brings you some measure of comfort, as yours has brought me. Though we are apart, know that my thoughts are with you. May the stars guide you safely home.”

You signed the letter with a simple “Yours,” leaving the rest unspoken.

As you sealed the parchment, the weight of the intercepted letter still loomed in the back of your mind. The decision to remain silent gnawed at your conscience, but for now, you pushed it aside.

The messenger was summoned again, his footsteps echoing through the corridor as he carried your words back to the man who haunted your thoughts.

You returned to your desk, your gaze falling on the unfinished painting. The armor was only half-complete, the strokes hesitant, as if you feared finishing it would solidify the distance between you. You reached for your brush, but your hands trembled too much to paint.

Instead, you turned to the window, staring out into the growing darkness. Somewhere out there, Anakin was reading your words, just as you had read his. And somewhere within that exchange, a fragile thread of connection began to form, even as shadows of doubt lingered on the edges.

The first letter had been cautious, a measured exchange of pleasantries cloaked in formality. But as weeks turned into months, and the battles stretched endlessly across the rugged Scottish terrain, the tone of the letters began to change.

“Lady Skywalker,

The campaign against Wallace progresses steadily. Though victory is within reach, the cost has been high. I trust the castle remains secure and that you are well.

Yours,

Anakin Skywalker”

The letter had been brief, almost impersonal, yet it was the first time he had reached out since departing. It stirred something in you, a faint flicker of hope. You responded in kind, careful not to reveal too much of yourself.

“General,

The castle remains quiet, though I must admit its halls feel emptier in your absence. I hope the tides of battle turn in your favor soon. Yours, Your Wife”

The next letter came weeks later, its tone slightly warmer. His words hinted at exhaustion but carried a thread of something more personal.

“My Lady,

The battles are fierce, and the Scots fight with the desperation of men who have nothing left to lose. There is an honesty to their resistance that I cannot help but respect, though it makes victory no less bitter. In the quiet moments, I think of the castle—of its stillness and the sanctuary it must offer. I hope you find peace within its walls, even as I find none here.”

His words lingered in your mind long after you read them. You wrote back that night, pouring a small piece of yourself into the ink.

“My Dear Husband,

The castle is peaceful, though it is a hollow peace. The roses have begun to bloom again, their petals bright against the gray walls. They remind me of you—unyielding, even amidst hardship. I hope you return soon to see them for yourself.”

The letters became a lifeline, weaving an intimacy neither of you had anticipated. Anakin began writing more frequently, his words shedding their rigid armor. Each letter revealed a man wrestling with the weight of his role, his responsibilities, and the yearning for something he could not name.

“My Rose,

The days are long, the nights longer still. In the quiet hours, I find myself thinking not of the battles but of the life I might have had—one without swords or blood. It is foolish, perhaps, but I wonder what such a life would have looked like, and whether you might have been part of it.”

You read his letters with trembling hands, your heart caught between longing and fear. His vulnerability was disarming, his words a window into the man hidden beneath the hardened general.

Your responses grew bolder, though you still held back the secret of your father’s betrayal. That knowledge weighed heavily on you, a dark cloud over your growing bond with Anakin. Yet in your letters, you allowed yourself to dream, to share pieces of a future you knew might never come.

“Anakin,

Your words are not foolish. I, too, wonder what our lives might have been if the world were kinder. I see glimpses of that life in your letters—in the tenderness you try to hide, in the dreams you dare to share. Perhaps there is a part of us that can still claim it, even amidst the chaos.”

In the heart of the Scottish highlands, Anakin read your letter beneath the dim light of a lantern in his tent. He traced your words with calloused fingers, his chest tightening. For years, he had buried his softer inclinations beneath layers of duty and discipline. Yet your letters stirred something he had thought long dead: hope.

One evening, his letter arrived with a small addition—a fragment of poetry hastily scrawled at the bottom of the page.

“I do not know if these words are worthy of your eyes, But they carry the echoes of nights I cannot sleep. In their frailty, they whisper of the stars, And of a face I see in every dream.”

You read those lines over and over, your heart pounding. His words were unpolished but raw, a glimpse into a side of him he had kept hidden even from himself.

Anakin’s words grew softer, more unguarded, like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. Each letter carried with it the weight of exhaustion and longing, but also a vulnerability he hadn’t shown before.

"The days blur into one another—steel clashing, men falling, the air thick with smoke. Yet amidst it all, your image anchors me. Your words remind me there is a world beyond this chaos, a reason to hope."

You read his letters in the quiet of your chambers, clutching the parchment like it was a lifeline. Each line drew you closer to the man you had once seen only as a distant, stoic general. In his words, you found a soul searching for meaning amidst the violence, a man yearning for something gentler, even if he didn’t know how to name it.

Your own responses began to mirror his, shedding the formality that had first marked them. Where his letters spoke of the horrors of war, you offered solace, painting images of the castle’s gardens in bloom, of the birds nesting in the eaves outside your window, of the peaceful moments you dreamed of sharing with him.

“I wish you could see the roses this spring—they climb higher than ever, their petals like drops of blood against the gray stone. I think of you when I walk among them, wondering if you are safe, if you feel the warmth of the sun through the armor you wear.”

Anakin's next letter arrived on a rain-soaked evening, its ink slightly smudged but his words unmistakably clear.

"You write of roses, and I think of the ones that grow wild near the fields we fight on. They are stubborn things, surviving against all odds. I wonder if that is why I thought of you, unyielding in your strength, even in a place where others might falter."

You traced the words with your fingers, your heart tightening at his unexpected tenderness. Each exchange stripped away another layer of distance between you, revealing the raw humanity beneath.

As the weeks wore on, the letters grew bolder. Anakin began sharing fragments of the poetry he wrote in his leather notebook, words he had once kept hidden from everyone, even himself.

"I do not know if these words are worthy of your eyes, but they have been my solace on nights when sleep refuses to come. Perhaps you will find in them some small measure of the man I wish to be, rather than the one I am."

His poetry spoke of the stars, of fleeting dreams, of longing that burned like a fire too fierce to contain.

"You haunt me in sleep—your eyes in a thousand forms, your voice a melody that slips through my grasp. I am a fool to cling to such visions, yet they are the only peace I know."

Your letters in return began to echo his vulnerability, though always with a touch of guardedness. You had not yet told him of your father’s betrayal, the weight of that knowledge still pressing against your chest.

One evening, you sat by the fire, Anakin’s latest letter spread before you. The castle was quiet, the servants retired for the night. You dipped your quill into ink and wrote with a courage you hadn’t known you possessed.

“There is a line in your last letter that has stayed with me: ‘Perhaps you will find in them some small measure of the man I wish to be.’ I want you to know that I do. In your words, I see someone who yearns for more than war and bloodshed, someone who carries the weight of others' burdens yet still dreams of a gentler world. That man is already worthy, though he may not yet believe it.”

You hesitated, then added a final line: “I, too, dream of that world, though I am not sure I will ever know it.”

As you sealed the letter, you felt the sting of unshed tears. For the first time, you wondered if you and Anakin might have been different people, had the world been kinder.

The letters continued, carrying your words back and forth like a bridge over an unspoken chasm. Though you remained separated by miles, the distance between your hearts began to shrink. In the ink-stained pages, you found something you had both longed for, though neither dared to name it yet: connection.

The castle was bathed in the faint hues of dawn when the sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard. The guards rushed to the gates, startled by the unannounced arrival of riders cloaked in frost and exhaustion. At their head was Anakin Skywalker, his armor dulled by battle and travel, his features shadowed by fatigue.

The news of his return spread quickly through the castle. You were still in your chamber, seated at your easel, a brush poised over the canvas. The unfinished painting of Anakin stood before you, a labor of longing and frustration. You had been adding the slightest details to his eyes, trying to capture the sharpness and sorrow you remembered, when the knock came at your door.

"My lady," a servant announced, "the general has returned."

The brush slipped from your fingers, leaving a streak of paint across the edge of the canvas. Your heart leapt and then sank. You hadn’t expected him back—not yet, not like this. A thousand emotions surged through you: relief, excitement, fear. How would he look at you after all these months? Would the intimacy of your letters translate into the flesh, or would the distance you had felt before his departure return?

You stood, smoothing your gown and composing yourself as best you could. When you descended to the great hall, Anakin was already there, speaking in low tones with his second-in-command. His presence was magnetic, as always, drawing every eye in the room.

For a moment, you hesitated at the edge of the hall, watching him. His face was sharper, leaner than when he had left, and there was a new weight in his gaze. Yet when his eyes found yours across the room, something shifted. His stern expression softened, just for an instant, before he turned back to his conversation.

When he finally approached you, he gave a slight bow. “My lady,” he said, his voice formal but warm.

“General,” you replied, feeling the strange distance of titles again.

“I trust you have been well?” he asked, searching your face.

You nodded, unsure what to say. His presence was overwhelming, and you couldn’t reconcile the man standing before you with the one whose tender words had filled your letters.

"I must speak with the king," he said after a pause, his tone turning serious. "There are matters of unrest in the kingdom. Whispers among the courtiers, rumors spreading like fire. I sense that something is brewing in the shadows. It is not just the threat of external enemies; it's the court itself that is beginning to fracture."

His words sent a chill through you, and the weight of them lingered. Anakin’s sharp instincts had always been his strength. He was never one to ignore the subtle stirrings of danger.

“I will find out what is happening, my lady,” he continued, his gaze hardening. “But for now, I must meet with the king. I trust you will be well while I’m away?”

You nodded again, though your mind was already swirling with thoughts. What did this unrest mean? Could your father’s machinations already be coming to a head?

Anakin hesitated, then stepped closer. “Later, we will talk,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed you.”

He turned and walked briskly toward the king’s chambers, leaving you standing in the hall, torn between the need to understand his sudden tension and the fear that you might already be too late to prevent the kingdom’s ruin.

Later that evening, after he had met with the king and addressed the court, Anakin wandered through the castle, finding himself drawn to the tower where your chambers were. He had meant to wait, to give you time to adjust to his return, but something pulled him forward.

The door to your chamber was slightly ajar, and he hesitated before stepping inside. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

The room was filled with paintings—of landscapes, of still lifes—but most prominently, of him. There were sketches of his profile, studies of his hands, and in the center of it all, the large, unfinished portrait.

It was him as you remembered him, clad in his armor, his expression resolute yet touched by something softer. The details were painstaking: the curve of his jaw, the strands of his hair, the sharp focus in his eyes. But it wasn’t complete. His gauntlets were left as rough outlines, and the background faded into blank canvas.

Anakin moved closer, his breath caught in his chest. He reached out, his fingers hovering over the painted surface as if afraid to disturb it.

Behind him, you entered the room quietly, startled to find him there. “Anakin?” you said softly.

He turned, his eyes meeting yours. “You painted these,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, stepping closer. “I... I wanted to keep you close, even when you were far away.”

He looked back at the painting, his expression unreadable. “You see me differently than I see myself,” he said after a long pause. “In your eyes, I am... more than I feel I am.”

“You are more,” you replied without hesitation. “You’ve carried so much, fought so hard. I see it in every line of you.”

His gaze flickered to you, and for a moment, the stoic mask he wore fell away. “Your letters kept me alive,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “And now this... I don’t know if I deserve it.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You do.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, as if breaking from a trance, Anakin straightened. “I should let you rest,” he said, his voice once again guarded. “Thank you, my lady.”

He left before you could stop him, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Yet as he walked away, you saw him glance back, his eyes lingering on the painting one last time.

The weight of the day’s events hung heavily between you, the silence stretching longer than either of you was comfortable with. Anakin had returned to the castle, but the shadow of the kingdom’s unrest still loomed over him, and the tension in the air was palpable. He had been gone for so long, and now, with the sharp edges of his absence still fresh, it was difficult to reconcile the man before you with the man who had filled the pages of your letters.

You watched him from across the room, his back to you as he examined a map of the kingdom, his fingers tracing the contours of the land, drawing lines of strategy and war. There was a distance between you now—one that you both seemed to carry, unspoken but undeniable.

You couldn't bear it anymore. Not the cold, not the distance, not the gnawing feeling in your chest that kept you awake at night. You couldn’t stand to watch him walk out again, leaving your heart behind. Without thinking, you pushed yourself off the chair and crossed the room, stopping just behind him. Your breath caught in your throat, but you forced yourself to speak.

“Anakin,” you said softly, the name slipping from your lips like a plea. His head turned slightly, eyes narrowing as he saw the resolve in your face. It was as if he had already known what was coming, and yet he was unwilling to acknowledge it.

“I cannot let you leave again,” you continued, voice trembling with something you could not name. “Not like this. I… I have missed you. Every day, every moment you were gone, I felt it.”

He took a step closer to you, his eyes searching your face, his expression unreadable. “I know you have, my lady. But there is much that must be done—there is unrest in the kingdom, and there are threats that must be confronted.”

“I understand that,” you whispered, “But I—” You hesitated, unable to say what you truly felt. Your heart felt torn between the loyalty to your father, who you still feared, and the love that had slowly, painfully, bloomed in the cracks of your isolation. You had learned so much during his absence, and yet you felt as though your trust was slipping through your fingers like sand.

He reached for your hand, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through you. “You don’t have to explain,” he murmured. “I know. It’s never easy, being torn between duty and love.”

“I can’t,” you said quickly, almost pleading with him. “I can’t lose you, Anakin. Not now, not after everything that has happened. But I—I don’t know if I can trust anyone anymore. Not even my own blood.” You let out a shaky breath, the confession more difficult than you had imagined.

Anakin stepped closer, his hand lifting to gently cradle your cheek. “Trust is fragile,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “But love… love is built on it. And I want you to know, whatever happens, I am here. I will stand by you. But you must be honest with me, Aurelia. All of it. No more hiding.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you closed your eyes, unable to hold it back. “I don’t know how to tell you,” you whispered, “What if you look at me like I’m just another pawn in this cruel game? What if you—”

He placed his fingers against your lips, silencing your fears. His voice was low, filled with a raw tenderness that cut through the tension. “You’re not a pawn. You’re the woman I’ve come to love. And nothing will change that.”

For a moment, you stood there in the silence, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket, warm and secure. And then, as if the storm inside your chest had finally subsided, you closed the distance between you. Your hands reached up to pull him close, your lips finding his in a kiss that was both desperate and tender.

Anakin's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. He held you tightly, his fingers splaying across your back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you with a hunger that stole your breath away.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips on yours, his body pressed against your own. The world fell away, the weight of the day's revelations and fears momentarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the taste and feel of him.

Anakin's hands roamed over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on the swell of your hips. He pulled you impossibly closer, his hips rocking against your own in a slow, sensual rhythm that sent molten heat coursing through your veins.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless, your chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Anakin's eyes were dark, filled with a desire that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

"My rose…" he murmured, his voice rough with want.

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your cheeks. "I know the path ahead will not be an easy one. But I swear to you, here and now, that I will stand by your side. Through whatever trials and tribulations may come, I will be your constant companion and your fiercest protector."

His gaze bored into yours, intense and unwavering. "And I need you to trust me, my love. To be honest with me, always. Hold nothing back, no matter how painful or frightening it may be. We can withstand anything - but only if we face it together."

You nodded, your voice thick with emotion as you spoke. "I trust you, Anakin. With my life, with my heart... with everything I have. I know the road ahead is uncertain and fraught with peril, but I choose to walk it with you. Always."

Anakin's hands roamed your curves, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your gown to caress the smooth skin beneath. He tugged at the fastenings of his armor, impatiently loosening the straps and buckles until the heavy plates fell away, clattering to the floor.

His lips trailed down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive flesh. You arched into him, your head falling back to grant him better access as a breathy moan escaped your lips.

Anakin's hands slid lower, his fingers splaying across your lower back before gripping the globes of your rear. He lifted you effortlessly, his strength evident in the way he positioned you on the edge of the strategy table, the maps and parchment crinkling beneath you.

He stepped between your parted thighs, his hips nestling against your core as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue delved deep, tangling with your own in a dance of passion and desperation.

Your husband’s hands roamed your body with reverent fervor, his touch a balm to your weary soul. He traced the delicate lines of your face, marveling at the beauty he found there. "My rose," he whispered, "a bloom of purest grace, your beauty far outshines the fairest flower's face."

His fingers trailed down your neck, skimming over the delicate curve of your collarbone. "These hands, once stained with battle's crimson hue, now tremble to unbind the silken threads that cloak your tender form. A sacred trust, a privilege I've earned by love's own code."

Anakin's gaze smoldered with adoration and unspoken promises as he slowly peeled away the layers of your gown, revealing the creamy skin beneath. "As I lay bare your flesh, I swear to lay bare my heart, to open wide the chamber where it beats for you alone."

He leaned in to press fervent kisses along your shoulder, his lips a brand of branding love upon your skin. "Behold, I am the thorn entwined within your stem, the guard and shield that shall defend you evermore. My life, my honor, my eternal troth, I pledge in this moment to love's eternal shore."

Anakin's hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks. "These buds of beauty, tender and unrivaled, shall be my constant stars, my north and south in life's vast sea. I'll cherish them, as I shall cherish you, until the end of days, our hearts entwined as one eternity."

As he lowered his head to worship at the altar of your flesh, his voice rumbled with solemn vows. "Fair lady, my sweet rose, I am your loyal knight, your champion, your eternal friend. With every breath, with every beat of this heart that beats for you, I vow to love you, honor you, and stand by you, forevermore. Let no foe, no fate, no force on heaven or earth sunder the bond that joins us now and evermore."

His hand pressed gently on your stomach lowering you on the table as he send sweeping all his strategy papers off. “Wait…your plans…” you whispered trying to stop him.

Anakin paused, his hands stilling on your waist as he sensed your gentle protest. He looked up at you, his gaze intense and filled with a fierce, burning love. A slow, sensual smile curved his lips as he took in your flushed cheeks and heaving chest.

"My rose," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, "No strategy, no plan, no matter how carefully crafted or vital to the kingdom's fate, could ever be as precious or as worth the sight of my beloved wife laid out before me like a feast for the senses."

Anakin's hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the last remnants of your tears. "I would gladly burn my maps and scatter my plans to the wind, if it meant I could hold you like this for eternity. You are my everything, my reason for living, my love."

He leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his ardor and desire into the caress. "Let the world wait, let the kingdoms crumble, let the wars rage on," he declared fervently. "For in this moment, with your sweet body beneath me and your loving heart entwined with my own, I have found paradise. And I will cherish it, and you, above all else."

Anakin knelt between your parted thighs, his gaze locked onto your glistening sex. The flickering candlelight cast a dance of shadows across your curves, illuminating the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "I could spend a lifetime exploring every inch of you."

Slowly, reverently, he leaned forward, his breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. The first touch of his tongue was electric, a bolt of lightning that shot straight through you.

"Anakin!" you gasped, your fingers fisting in his hair.

He hummed against you, the vibrations adding to the pleasure that already threatened to overwhelm you. His tongue delved deeper, stroking along your slit, teasing your entrance.

"What do you want, my rose?" he asked, his voice low and intimate. "Tell me what you need."

His fingers teased your thighs, his thumbs brushing against the tender skin of your inner thighs. He could feel your muscles quivering, your body coiled tight with anticipation.

"Please," you whimpered, your hips rocking slightly as you sought more of his touch. "Please, Anakin..."

He smiled against your flesh, the action sending a new wave of sensation crashing over you. "Please what, my love? I need you to tell me."

His fingers slid higher, brushing against your sensitive clit. The touch was fleeting, a promise of more to come.

"I want...I want you to make me come," you gasped out, your cheeks flushing hotly at your own boldness. "I want to feel your mouth on me, your tongue inside me, your fingers filling me...please, Anakin, make me come."

Anakin licked a long, slow stripe up your dripping slit, savoring your essence on his tongue. At the top, he found your sensitive clit, swollen and throbbing with need. He flicked his tongue over the tender bud, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

"Anakin!" you cried out, your fingers tightening in his hair as pleasure sparked through you.

Emboldened by your response, Anakin sucked your clit between his lips, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. He could feel you trembling beneath him, your body winding tighter and tighter.

As he pleasured you with his mouth, Anakin tugged down his trousers, freeing his aching cock. It sprang forth, long and hard, the thick length pulsing with each beat of his heart. The sight of his manhood, so powerful and ready, sent a fresh surge of arousal coursing through your veins.

Anakin's hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking himself as he continued his ministrations between your thighs. His tongue delved deeper, thrusting into your entrance, fucking you with his mouth.

The dual sensations of his lips and tongue on your most sensitive spots, combined with the erotic sight of him pleasuring himself, pushed you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Anakin, I'm...I'm going to..." you panted, your body tensing as your climax approached.

He could feel your walls fluttering around his invading tongue, your body desperate for release. With a low groan, he suckled your clit harder, determined to bring you to your peak.

"Come for me, my love," he growled against your sex. "Let me feel you come undone."

He thrust two fingers deep inside you, pumping in and out, as his tongue and lips worked in tandem to drive you wild. The combined stimulation was too much, and with a scream of his name, you shattered in his arms.

Anakin held you close as you rode out the waves of your intense climax, your body trembling and quaking against his. He gentled you through it, his strong arms wrapped around you like a protective cocoon.

"Shh, I have you," he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble in your ear. "You're safe with me."

As your trembling subsided, Anakin pressed soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, his touch reverent and tender. He could feel the pounding of your heart, the way your skin glistened with a sheen of sweat.

"Beautiful," he breathed, his eyes shining with admiration and desire. "You're exquisite when you let go."

His hand slid up your side, cupping the curve of your breast. He could feel the soft weight of it in his palm, the way your nipple pebbled beneath his touch.

"Tell me, my rose," he asked softly, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. "Did that feel good?"

He knew the answer, of course. He could feel the way your body had responded, the way you'd cried out his name in ecstasy. But he wanted to hear it from your own lips, wanted to cement the connection that had begun to blossom between you.

Anakin's own need was a throbbing ache, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh. But he held himself back, determined to focus on your pleasure first. This moment was about you, about the trust and intimacy you were building.

He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, for your response. Whatever you said, whatever you chose, Anakin knew he would follow. This was your journey now, as much as his own.

“Anakin….please…take me…”You whispered, clinging to his strong back. You probably left crescent marks in his shoulder but he didn’t care. He wanted you to brand him with every single part of your body.

“Anakin, ”you cried out his name, your voice resembling a divine plea in his ears “Don’t stop…” you gasped.

Anakin's heart swelled at the desperate, needy sound of his name falling from your lips. With a primal growl, he redoubled his efforts, his hips slamming against yours with increasing force and speed.

"Never, my love," he rasped, his voice strained with exertion and desire. "I'll never stop. I'll take you again and again until you're fully satisfied."

His fingers continued their relentless assault on your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in tight, rapid circles. The combination of his thick cock driving into you and his fingers stroking your most sensitive spot pushed you closer and closer to the brink of another shattering climax.

Anakin could feel your walls starting to flutter around his plunging length, your body tensing as your peak approached. He leaned down to capture your nipple between his teeth, biting and sucking the hardened peak as he fucked you with abandon.

"That's it, my rose," he urged, his hot breath washing over your skin. "Come for me. Scream my name as you shatter. Let all the world hear who you belong to."

His words, rough and raw with passion, sent a fresh surge of arousal coursing through you. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"Anakin!" you cried out, your voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber. "Oh God, Anakin!"

Your body convulsed beneath his, your inner muscles clenching and rippling around his pistoning cock. The sensation was exquisite, your silken heat gripping him like a velvet vise.

"Yes, my love!" Anakin roared, his own release fast approaching. "Milk my cock. Take every last drop of my seed."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. His cock jerked and throbbed as he spilled his hot, thick essence deep within your spasming channel. He continued to grind against you, working you through the aftershocks of your shared climax.

Anakin collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the table as he struggled to catch his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, his skin slick with sweat from the exertion of their lovemaking.

He could feel your nails raking down his back, the slight pain only heightening his pleasure. The marks you left on his skin would be a badge of honor, a reminder of your passion and desire.

"My love," he murmured, his voice rough and sated. "That was...transcendent."

He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a satisfied smile. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes glazed with post-coital bliss. The sight of you, disheveled and glowing, filled him with a profound sense of masculine pride.

Anakin leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It was a kiss of thanks, of gratitude, of deepening affection. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As they kissed, Anakin's hand slid down your side, tracing the curve of your hip, the flare of your waist. He marveled at the softness of your skin, the way you yielded beneath his touch.

"You're exquisite," he whispered against your lips. "A goddess, made of flesh."

He knew he was being overly sentimental, but he couldn't help himself. In your arms, he felt a sense of peace, of belonging, that he had never known before. It was a feeling he wanted to hold onto, to nurture, to let grow.

Anakin's hand slid lower, cupping the rounded globe of your buttock. He squeezed gently, pulling your hip forward to grind against his own. Even in the aftermath of their lovemaking, he could feel his spent cock beginning to stir, to harden once more.

"Again?" you asked, your voice breathless with surprise and a hint of trepidation.

Anakin smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. "Is that a challenge, my rose?" he teased, his voice low and intimate. "Because I assure you, I'm up for it."

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

In your eyes, the heavens rest,

A goddess clothed in love’s caress.

You walk the earth with light divine,

And in your heart, the stars align.

86 notes · View notes

gummifrogs · 5 days ago

Text

THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : Heavy description of a battle, deaths, injuries, weapons. Historic inaccuracies (sorry it breaks my historian heart 😭)

A/N ; GUYYYYYSSS LATE CHRISTMAS GIFT : CHAPTER 3 with 3.7k words. The plot thickens ! As an history student I couldn’t resist writing a battle with none other than one of my favorite film : BRAVEHEART. So William Wallace is here my dear. (I kinda had a crush on Mel Gibson when I was little but shh). Anyway I just reread it and damnnn I cooked with Anakin’s dream you’ll see it. (Self praise is the best improvement). Enjoyyy 💕💕

꧁ Chapter 3 : Cathedrals of Wails ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

"In the clash of blades, a kinship grew,

Respect in the eyes of the fiercest few.

Though bound by war, we share the flame,

Two lives entwined in honor's name."

The battlefield was a storm of chaos and resolve, stretching across the moors under a sky heavy with gray clouds. Smoke and mist mingled in the cold air, and the clash of steel rang out like a grim symphony. Anakin Skywalker rode at the head of his forces, his black cloak snapping in the wind, his eyes scanning the enemy lines with the precision of a predator.

Opposing him stood William Wallace, the legendary Guardian of Scotland. The towering Scotsman was a figure of unyielding defiance, his face painted with the blue streaks of war, his broadsword resting easily in his massive hands. Around him, the Scottish forces formed a wall of raw determination, their banners snapping defiantly in the wind.

Anakin’s gaze locked with Wallace’s across the battlefield. There was no hatred in those blue eyes, only purpose—and a glimmer of something Anakin recognized: respect. Wallace inclined his head slightly, a warrior’s acknowledgment of an equal.

There was no time for words. Anakin raised his arm, signaling his archers to loose their volley. The sky darkened with arrows, their deadly rain slicing through the air. The Scots responded with their own barrage, their archers firing from behind crude barricades. Screams and shouts erupted as men fell on both sides, but neither line wavered.

Wallace strode forward, his booming voice carrying over the battlefield. “Hold, men! Stand firm! Today, we fight for freedom!”

His words ignited a fire in his troops, their war cries rising in unison. The Scots charged, a tidal wave of fury and resolve crashing toward the English line.

Anakin spurred his horse forward, his sword raised high. “Shields up! Hold the line!”

The English knights braced themselves, their shields locking together as the Scottish warriors slammed into them. The impact was thunderous, the clash of metal and flesh reverberating through the air. Anakin dismounted in one fluid motion, his boots sinking into the muddy ground as he joined the fray.

A Scotsman came at him, his axe arcing through the air. Anakin sidestepped, his blade flashing in a swift counterstrike. The man fell, clutching his side, but there was no time to linger. Another came at him, then another, each strike met with the precision of a seasoned warrior.

Another came at him, a wild-eyed warrior wielding a spear. Anakin dismounted in one fluid motion, his boots sinking into the sodden ground. He ducked beneath the thrust of the spear, stepping into the man’s guard. His blade flashed, severing the spearhead before driving into the Scotsman’s chest.

Around him, the battle raged. His soldiers held the line, but barely. The Scots were fierce, their war cries echoing across the moor. Anakin fought like a man possessed, his movements precise and lethal. He was a blur of black and silver, his blade cutting down enemies with an efficiency born of years of war.

Across the battlefield, Wallace fought with unmatched ferocity, his broadsword cleaving through the air. He moved like a force of nature, his strikes powerful yet controlled, his commands rallying his men even as they began to falter.

“Push forward!” Anakin roared, his deep voice carrying over the battlefield.

His men surged, their shields and swords crashing into the Scottish line. The tide of the battle began to turn, the Scots faltering under the relentless assault. Anakin fought at the front, his blade a constant blur, his movements a dance of death.

Anakin cut his way toward Wallace, the two warriors inexorably drawn together. The fighting around them seemed to recede as they faced each other, swords raised, mud and blood spattered across their armor.

Wallace studied him for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Skywalker. They say you’re a ghost on the battlefield. Let’s see if ghosts bleed.”

Anakin didn’t respond with words. He lunged, his blade meeting Wallace’s broadsword in a resounding clash. The force of the impact reverberated through his arms, but he held firm, his movements swift and precise. Wallace countered with the strength of a man who fought not for glory but for a cause, each strike carrying the weight of his people’s hopes.

The duel was a dance of skill and will, neither man gaining the upper hand for long. Anakin’s speed was matched by Wallace’s sheer power, their blades flashing in a blur of silver. Around them, the battle raged, but for a moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

Finally, Wallace stepped back, breathing heavily, his sword lowered slightly. “You fight well, Skywalker. Better than most of your kind.”

“And you fight with honor,” Anakin replied, his voice steady despite the burning in his side where an arrow had grazed him earlier.

Wallace nodded, respect shining briefly in his eyes before he raised his sword again. Their blades met once more, but the tide of the battle was shifting. The Scots were being pushed back, their lines breaking under the relentless pressure of the English forces.

Wallace raised his voice, calling for a retreat. “Fall back! Regroup at the ridge!”

Anakin didn’t pursue. He stood amidst the chaos, his sword lowered as he watched Wallace and his men withdraw. The respect between them remained unspoken but tangible, a bond forged in the crucible of battle.

As the cries of the retreating Scots faded, Anakin turned to his men, his voice calm but firm. “See to the wounded. This fight is over—for now.”

He sheathed his sword, the weight of the day settling over him. Blood trickled from the arrow wound in his side, but he paid it little mind. His thoughts lingered on Wallace, a man who fought with a fire Anakin couldn’t help but admire, even as they stood on opposite sides of a war.

Victory belonged to the English that day, but Anakin knew it was only a momentary respite. The war was far from over, and his path would inevitably cross with Wallace’s again.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

"Victory tastes of ash and steel, A hollow triumph I cannot feel. For every life my blade has claimed, I bear the weight, my soul is stained.

The banners fly, the crowds still cheer, Yet silence grows where none can hear. Is the glory worth the blood-soaked way, When shadows haunt both night and day?"

The battlefield’s roar had long faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the night. In his tent, the air was heavy with the scent of blood and sweat, the residue of a hard-fought day. Anakin sat alone, the flickering light of a lantern casting shadows across the canvas walls.

He removed his gauntlets with slow, deliberate movements, flexing his fingers as if the stiffness in his hands might ease the tightness in his chest. His wound—shallow but angry—throbbed beneath his tunic, but he barely noticed it. His mind was elsewhere.

The small leather notebook lay on the makeshift desk before him, its cover worn from years of service. It had once been a tool for mapping strategies and sketching plans, but now it served a different purpose. A quill sat beside it, its tip poised like a question he wasn’t yet ready to answer.

Anakin leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. He could still hear the clash of swords, the cries of men falling, the steady rhythm of his own breathing as he fought. But beneath those memories, another image surfaced: your face.

He saw the softness of your expression as you watched him leave, the way your fingers brushed the edge of your gown when you thought no one was looking. He recalled the faint scent of lavender that lingered near you, a contrast to the grit and grime of his world.

Opening his eyes, he reached for the quill and dipped it into the inkwell. The first words came slowly, hesitant and uneven.

"She lingers in the quiet spaces of my mind, A shadow soft and fleeting, yet unkind. For how can one so gentle haunt me still, When all my life has bent to war’s cruel will?"

The lines startled him. He hadn’t intended to write about you, but there you were, emerging from the depths of his thoughts like a persistent flame. He set the quill down, running a hand through his hair.

Anakin hadn’t wanted this marriage. It was a treaty, a necessity, nothing more. Or so he had told himself. But the more he thought of you, the more that belief unraveled. You were more than a treaty, more than a pawn in a game of kings and generals.

He picked up the quill again, his hand steadier this time.

"She stands a world away from steel and fire, A quiet strength beneath her heart’s desire. And yet, I falter, caught within her gaze, A man unworthy of her gentle ways."

He paused, his jaw tightening. Was he unworthy? The question gnawed at him. You were so unlike the world he knew—soft where he was hard, quiet where he was loud. Yet in your softness, there was a strength he couldn’t deny.

Closing the notebook, Anakin leaned back in his chair and stared at the lantern’s flickering flame. For the first time in years, he felt something unfamiliar—hope, fragile and unsteady, but real.

Perhaps this marriage was more than a duty. Perhaps, despite himself, he was beginning to see you not as a symbol of peace, but as something far more dangerous.

Someone worth fighting for.

The light of the afternoon waned, stretching golden rays through the narrow windows of the tower studio. Your hands moved instinctively, the brush in your grasp guided by memory and longing. Each stroke built the shape of him—the strong line of his jaw, the determined set of his brow, the curve of his armor catching light.

The unfinished painting loomed before you, half-realized yet already brimming with life. His eyes were incomplete, shadowed outlines awaiting the weight of detail. They haunted you the most, those eyes, vivid even now in your mind. You had seen them blaze with frustration, glint with cold calculation, and—just once—soften as he regarded you before he left.

You paused, setting the brush down with a sigh. The studio was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the hearth and the soft rustle of the wind beyond the stone walls. It was a silence you had grown accustomed to, but one that seemed heavier now.

Isolation clung to you like a second skin. Since Anakin’s departure, the castle had grown emptier, despite the presence of bustling servants and noble visitors. Their voices were distant, their laughter hollow. None of it mattered. None of them mattered.

Your gaze returned to the painting. It was maddening, this pull he had over you, even from miles away. You tried to focus on your anger, the frustration of his coldness, his guarded demeanor. He was a man of stone and steel, a soldier who saw you as nothing more than a duty.

And yet, your fingers yearned to trace the lines of his face. Your mind clung to the rare moments when his facade cracked—the softness in his voice when he spoke to his men, the unspoken apology in his gaze when he had mounted his horse to leave.

As you picked up the brush again, your thoughts blurred, a haze of longing and anger intertwining.

That night, your dreams were vivid.

He stood before you in the castle courtyard, his armor glinting in the moonlight, his expression unreadable. You reached out to touch him, but the distance between you stretched impossibly far. The harder you tried to reach him, the more the space widened, until he disappeared into the shadows.

When you woke, the ache in your chest was as real as the cool dawn air seeping through the tower walls. You rose, lit a candle, and returned to the painting.

It wasn’t enough to ease the loneliness, but it was something.

The castle halls were quiet in the early evening, the fading light casting long shadows along the cold stone walls. You had been walking aimlessly, your thoughts tangled in loneliness and frustration, when a flicker of movement caught your eye.

A servant, hurrying through a side corridor, clutching a scroll adorned with the royal seal of your father, King Phillip of France. There was nothing unusual about correspondence in the castle, but the servant’s furtive glances and rapid steps made your heart beat faster. You followed quietly, staying just out of sight.

The servant stopped at the door to Count Aulbry’s chambers, rapping quickly before disappearing down the corridor. Suspicion gnawed at you. Count Aulbry had been a close advisor to your father for years, but something about his presence here had always unsettled you. He spoke in slippery tones, his words polished but never quite sincere.

You waited until the hallway was empty before stepping toward the door. It was slightly ajar, and from within, you could hear the rustle of parchment and the low murmur of Aulbry’s voice.

“Your Majesty’s plan is bold,” Aulbry said, his tone laced with intrigue. “The General will never suspect.”

A pause, then the sound of a quill scratching against paper.

“Yes, of course. The treaty was always a means to an end. Once the English army is stretched thin in Scotland, the betrayal will be swift. The princess? A mere pawn, as intended.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Betrayal. The word echoed in your mind like a thunderclap. You pressed yourself against the wall, straining to hear more.

“The Princess is naive,” Aulbry continued, his voice dismissive. “She will remain loyal to her husband, and in doing so, unwittingly secure our advantage. The General will fall, and the balance of power will tip in France’s favor.”

Rage and disbelief surged through you. Your father had orchestrated this marriage not for peace but for manipulation. He intended to exploit Anakin, to shatter the fragile truce between England and France. And you—his own daughter—were nothing more than a tool in his game.

Your fingers curled into fists as you stepped away from the door, your mind racing. You needed to see the letter.

Later that night, when the castle had grown still, you slipped into Count Aulbry’s chambers. The door creaked faintly as you pushed it open, and the faint scent of ink and parchment filled the air. His desk was cluttered with maps and letters, but it didn’t take long to find the one bearing your father’s seal.

Your hands trembled as you unrolled the parchment.

To Count Aulbry,

The treaty is a foundation upon which we will build our triumph. Skywalker is a formidable opponent, but even he cannot fight battles on two fronts. Scotland will drain their resources, and when the time is right, our forces will strike England's weakened strongholds. The Barbarian leader of Scotland will keep him occupied and the crown made sure to pay her allies handsomely. He must never know of the alliance or the possibility of his rallying with the General is great.

The Princess must remain unaware of our intentions. Her loyalty to her husband will be our greatest asset. Continue to monitor the situation and ensure the plan proceeds without deviation.

IV LE BEL

The words blurred as tears pricked your eyes. Your father had betrayed not only Anakin but you as well. This wasn’t peace—it was deceit.

You rolled the letter carefully and tucked it into your gown. What should you do? The question loomed large, its weight almost unbearable. Anakin—cold as he often was toward you—deserved to know the truth. But could you trust him with it? Could you trust anyone?

For now, you decided, this secret would remain yours alone. The risk was too great, the stakes too high. You couldn’t act without a plan, and the tangled web of politics and betrayal demanded caution.

Slipping back into your chambers, you locked the door and leaned against it, your heart pounding. You pulled out the letter once more, reading it under the dim light of a candle.

The game your father played was dangerous, and you were caught in the center of it. But you were no longer the naive pawn Aulbry believed you to be.

You folded the letter carefully, tucking it away in a hidden compartment of your desk. The weight of what you knew settled heavily on your shoulders, but resolve burned in your chest.

For now, you would watch, listen, and wait. If your father sought to use you as a weapon, he had underestimated the strength of the blade.

The night stretched long, cloaked in restless silence. The world seemed to hold its breath, and in the stillness, two hearts, separated by miles of cold earth and bloodied battlefields, beat in unison, tethered by invisible threads.

Anakin lay stiff on the hard cot in his tent, the air thick with the mingling scents of sweat, damp earth, and the smoldering embers of campfires. His armor, dented and streaked with the grime of war, rested against the far wall, catching the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the canvas. He drifted into sleep slowly, unwillingly, his mind clawing at the waking world before giving way to exhaustion.

The dream came quickly.

He stood amidst a battlefield that was no longer a battlefield. The ground beneath his feet shifted from mud soaked in blood to the cold stone floors of a cathedral. The air smelled of iron and incense. Church bells rang out, their mournful tones blending with the distant wails of the wounded. Above him, stained glass windows cast fractured light across the ground, painting his armor in hues of crimson and gold.

Vultures perched on the rafters, their beady eyes gleaming, watching, waiting. Anakin’s hand moved instinctively to the hilt of his sword, but when he looked down, he found it missing.

Ahead, you appeared, standing at the altar. Your hands were folded, your figure bathed in an otherworldly glow. The softness of your gaze contrasted sharply with the jagged edges of this warped place.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice hollow, reverberating off the cathedral walls.

“I am always here,” you replied, stepping closer.

As you moved, the cathedral twisted again. The stained glass shattered, raining shards that dissolved before they touched the ground. The bells grew louder, their toll turning into the shriek of metal clashing. He reached out to you, but the space between you stretched impossibly far.

The vultures swooped down, their forms changing mid-flight into soldiers with faces he recognized—brothers, enemies, and ghosts of his past. They surrounded him, their hands grasping, pulling him back.

“Anakin!” you called, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. He roared your name in return, fighting to reach you, but his hands closed around nothing but smoke.

When he woke, the air in his tent was frigid. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, and his heart thundered against his ribs. The moonlight cast long shadows across the canvas walls, their shifting forms reminding him too much of the dream.

He sat up, his hand brushing against the small leather notebook he had tucked beneath his pillow. It was your notebook, left behind on your desk the day he departed. He had taken it without thinking, intending to use it to record military strategies, but instead, it had become something else entirely.

Anakin lit a lantern and opened the notebook, staring at the blank page before him. His fingers hesitated, the pen hovering over the paper. What could he say? How could he name this ache, this pull toward you that he neither understood nor welcomed?

Finally, the words came, spilling out in raw, uneven lines.

"Enemies can shapeshift from slaughterhouses to cathedrals, Ringing with church bells, echoing with wails, filled with vultures. But your face remains, unyielding against the storm, A light in a place where light was never meant to be."

He stared at the words for a long time before closing the notebook. The night stretched on, but sleep did not return.

Back at the castle, the world was no kinder to you. The wind howled outside the tower walls, and the fire in the hearth struggled against the cold. You stood before your easel, the unfinished painting of Anakin dominating your vision.

The brush trembled in your hand as you tried to capture his likeness. His eyes—those piercing, unreadable eyes—remained the most elusive. Every stroke felt wrong, every attempt at completing them futile.

Your dreams had been plagued by him again. You had seen him standing on a battlefield, surrounded by shadowed figures. He was reaching for you, his expression torn between rage and despair. You had called out to him, but the storm had swallowed your voice.

Now, as you stared at the canvas, the memory of the dream lingered. He had appeared vulnerable, stripped of the cold armor he wore in his waking hours. You hated him for the way he made you feel—this unbearable longing, this ache that twisted in your chest.

And yet, you painted. Stroke by stroke, you poured your anger, your yearning, your confusion into the image of him. When exhaustion finally claimed you, the painting was still unfinished, his eyes nothing more than shadowed outlines.

In the quiet of the castle, as the fire died and the wind stilled, the two of you, separated by miles, carried the weight of unspoken words and unacknowledged truths, dreaming of each other in the silence.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The vultures cry where the church bells toll,

Between slaughtered earth and a fractured soul.

Smoke rises where roses should bloom,

A battlefield cursed, a cathedral’s tomb.

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gummifrogs · 6 days ago

Text

CHERRY PIE—

JAMES KELLY

james takes a liking to a waitress. you.

CONTAINS: potentially dead dove, stalking, pervy james, legal age gap (21, 43), naive reader, language, smoking, sexual content but no smut, driving under the influence -> please do not to that!, short, not proofread

requested by: @d1lfenthusi4st <- love this idea omg

after a long day at work, james needed a nice refreshment. he headed down to a local diner. the bell chimed as he opened the door. a few regulars already seated and eating away. there were only a few waitresses there that evening so he sat at the counter seat. he sat there for about a minute, staring at the menu, before a waitress came up to him. “hi, sir. i’m y/n, i’ll be your waitress for today.” he looked up and saw you with that beautiful smile on your face. “h-hi.” was all he could mutter out and he cursed himself for it.

you didn’t even notice how he stuttered out of the nervousness coursing through his body, knees wobbling as it was perched up on the bar of the chair. “would you like anything to drink?” you had an apron on with your pen and notepad in the pocket. “diet pepsi?” he asked as he nervously rubbed his chin. “okay. are you ready to order yet? or do you need a moment?” you seemed like such a good girl. momma and daddy raised you well. “uh- still looking.” he chuckles nervously. “okay. i’ll get that pepsi for you!” you smiled and walked away, heading to the kitchen.

james’ palms rubbed his hands against his jean clad thigh. he scanned the menu once again, just needing something quick and simple. his eyes landed on something and agreed, by that time you were back with his drink. “here you go, sir.” you placed the pepsi on the counter and pulled out a straw and placed it next to it. “have you decided yet?” you pull out the notepad, james loved the way your hands gripped the book, his mind ventured but he quickly came back to reality. “just some cherry pie.” he smiled, his blue eyes making you flushed. you scribble it down and put it back in your pocket, “just the cherry pie?” — “yes, ma'am” his voice quieted and you swore your knees wobbled a bit. you nod and go over to the back.

you come back, pie in hand you place the plate down, “here you are.” you smile. “thank you, sweetheart.” he pulls the plate towards him and pick up a fork as he smiles at you again.

almost everyday since that diner visit he went there and ordered the same thing. a diet pepsi and a cherry pie. always greeting you and you’d always be his waitress. he always tipped you handsomely, no matter how much you’d tell him. the next time he’d come in you would say that he didn’t need to— “sir, you really didn’t have to.” he’d shake his head, “it’s nothing, sweetheart. and please, it’s james.”

you smile so sweetly at him, so oblivious to his advances. “well, thank you very much, james.” oh. my. god. he choked out a groan, covering it with a cough, and gave a smirk.

one day he was driving around, going to buy some beer to drink sorrowfully at home when he saw you standing outside the diner talking to a guy. he pulled into the parking lot and decided just to watch what happened because what harm could that do?

he sat there, watching the both of you interacting. he opened one of the beers and took a swig. he took the pack of cigs from his pocket and lighting one of them. he pulled the smoke into his mouth and blew it out, watching. his knees bounced up and down as he watched you talk to him. he wasn’t even that good looking. he was probably some boy who didn’t know anything about a nice girl like you. james could take such good care of you. that boy probably couldn’t even make you cum.

he watched as you gave the guy a hug. what the fuck? he put the car in drive and drove away. he looked into rear view mirror and he saw you walk back inside. he drove back home, the car rumbling with the speed he was driving at. he pulled into his parking and went in the house, slamming the door behind him.

he spent the rest of the night drinking and smoking his anger off. one day you’d be his and this wouldn’t matter at all. he’ll return everyday to that diner until you’re his— all his.

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gummifrogs · 6 days ago

Text

Cuff Me - James Kelly Smut

Summary: You and your boyfriend, James, get into a fight after he almost runs into trouble with the police. Not liking his pissy attitude, you decide to teach him a lesson in restraint.

Warnings: unprotected sex, penetrative sex, bondage, bratty!James, teasing, James is a switch when the circumstances are right, masturbation (reader receiving), edging, denial, begging, degradation, praise, lots of pet names (pretty baby, baby, doll, etc.), James is a yapper, angst, angry sex, cock warming, multiple orgasms (reader receiving), face-sitting, handjob (James receiving), oral sex (James and reader receiving), James is a lil mean at first but reader puts him in his place.

Masterlist

You could hear the faint sounds of sirens in the distance as your stomach tied in knots. You chewed worriedly on your bottom lip, watching outside the window of the car you’d parked behind an old, rundown pub.

You sighed, rubbing your face with your hands as you closed your eyes. When you’d gotten a call from your boyfriend that he was in trouble and needed you to pick him up, you’d dropped everything to go to him. Now, as you waited, you felt the anxiety growing inside of you.

What had he gotten caught up in now?

You jumped as you heard a banging on the passenger window, opening your eyes to see James with his hood up. You quickly unlocked the car, letting him get in. He pushed his hood back, leaning against the headrest as he caught his breath.

James had a reddened bruise on his cheekbone, and his knuckles were a bit bloody. You sighed to yourself, making sure the coast was clear before beginning to drive back to the house you shared.

Knowing he was at least safe, the worry started to melt into anger as you asked, “What happened this time?”

“Frankie said he needed some help,” James sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “I was just takin’ a drive with him, to talk. I didn’t know he’d stolen the fuckin’ car.”

“Jesus, James,” you said, exasperated. “How many times are you gonna let him rope you into these situations, huh?”

“He’s my brother,” James argued, turning to you with a defensive expression hardened onto his face. “It’s what brothers do, okay? They look out for each other.”

“He doesn’t look out for you,” you retorted, turning down the street to your neighborhood. “When has he ever sacrificed anything for your wellbeing? He doesn’t, James. All he ever does is drag you into his mess. Yet, still, every time he calls, you run to him.”

James’ jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything — knowing that you were right. His fingers fiddled with the hem of his hoodie as he turned to look out the window, watching the houses go by.

“Things are good for you right now, James,” you said, pulling into your driveway and parking the car. “You opened up your own shop, we got our own place, we’re not in any debt anymore. Why would you want to jeopardize all of that when you’ve worked so hard to get it?”

James didn’t answer, getting out of the car and slamming the door as he walked into the house. Seething, you followed after him, storming through the front door.

“What the fuck are you mad at me for?” you yelled, grabbing his arm and spinning him around to face you. “I didn’t have to come save your ass, you know? I could’ve fucking left you to deal with your own shit. What would you have done then, hm?”

His eyes were burning with intensity and you clenched your thighs together. He was so fucking sexy when he was angry. You fought to keep your resolve, to remember why you were arguing in the first place.

James noticed the brief flash of desire in your eyes, smirking as he walked closer to you. You stood your ground, trying to keep your glare strong as he stalked toward you. He dipped his head low, caressing your cheek with a tattooed hand.

“Pretty baby,” he whispered, holding your face gently. “Gettin’ all mad at me. ‘S cute.”

He tilted your head to the side, kissing slowly down your neck. You sucked in a breath, your eyes fluttering shut as your stomach stirred with need.

“James,” you groaned, forming a weak, half-assed attempt to push him off of you. “I…I’m trying to talk to you about this.”

He raised his head back up, brushing his lips against yours as he whispered, “I’m done talkin’.”

He devoured your mouth in a hungry, heated kiss that you instantly melted into. His tongue laid claim, tasting your own as you released a breathy sigh. His hands trailed down your body, gripping your waist tightly and pulling you against him.

His movements were rough and angry. Not enough to hurt — never that — but enough for you to know that this wasn’t going to be the gentle love-making the two of you often shared.

He nipped at your lips, backing you up until you were pinned against the wall. All thoughts of your fight had flown out the window as you pushed his hoodie off of his shoulders. He raised his arms, allowing you to pull the white tank top over his head.

Your hands roamed over the expanse of his toned chest as he laughed against your lips and whispered, “You’re so easy, baby.”

Easy?

You pulled away from his mouth, shoving at his chest to push him off of you. He groaned, discontentedly, as you paced back and forth in the living room, feeling your blood boil.

“You can be such a fucking asshole sometimes,” you grumbled, resting your hands on your hips as you turned back to face him.

You tried to ignore how good he looked in that moment. His bare chest was rising and falling with heavy, angry breaths and his jeans hung dangerously low on his hips.

“C’mon,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I was joking.”

“This isn’t a fucking joke, James,” you bit back, walking closer to him. “This is your life at stake — our life at stake. You think you can just smooth talk your way out of anything, that you can just avoid it and it’ll go away, but it won’t always work that way.”

“Okay! Fine! I fucked up! I’m sorry!” James yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. “Can you just get over here ‘n let me fuck you so we can go back to normal?”

You laughed, dryly, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You think you can just look at me with those pretty little eyes and I’ll get on my knees for you?” You asked, cocking your head as you walked back over to him. “Is that how you think this is going to go?”

“I think that’s how this usually goes,” he smirked, arrogance dripping from his tone.

You wanted to wipe that smug look clean off of his face. He thought that he had you wrapped around his finger. He thought that you’d respond to his every beck and call. Normally, that was right — but, this time, things were going to happen a little differently.

“Well, I think that you need a little reminder that you don’t always get to be in control,” you said, trailing the tip of your fingers down his abdomen. You smirked, feeling the muscles ripple beneath your touch. “I think that you need a lesson in restraint.”

James chuckled, raising a mocking brow as he asked, “Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do, cuff me?”

You turned around, walking toward the bedroom and smiling to yourself as he mindlessly followed. You reached into one of the drawers in the bedside table and bit your lip as your fingers grazed cold metal.

You held up a pair of handcuffs, twirling them around as you gave him a challenging look. He stared at you, incredulously, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Real funny, doll,” he grumbled, crossing his strong arms over his chest. “Now put ‘em away.”

You shook your head, and said, “Put your arms out in front of you.”

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” he huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is cute ‘n all, baby, but we both know that you can’t put those to proper use.”

You quirked a brow and asked, “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a fact, sweetheart,” he shrugged, a smug smile pulling at his lips. “If you want us to use ‘em, give ‘em here, but you’re not lockin’ those things around me.”

“Really? Because you seemed to be perfectly fine with the prospect of ending up in cuffs when you got involved in Frankie’s bullshit,” you said, matter-of-factly. “How about this — you either cooperate, or you can go sleep on the couch and we can continue this fight in the morning.”

James seethed, glaring at you, but he didn’t walk away. You smirked triumphantly and said, “Good. Now put your hands out.”

He hesitated, but eventually obliged with another roll of his eyes. You couldn’t wait to make his eyes roll in an entirely different way. Begrudgingly, he held his wrists out in front of him.

You clamped the metal cuffs around both wrists — not so tight that it would cause him pain, but tight enough to be a nuisance. You tugged on the chain that connected them, pulling him toward you. He stumbled forward with a huff, clenching his jaw in quiet anger.

“Once you’re begging all pretty for me, maybe then I’ll think about forgiving you,” you said, sweetly, rubbing your fingers through his hair.

His eyes narrowed at you as he growled, “I don’t fuckin’ beg.”

You smirked and said, “We’ll see about that.”

You pushed him back onto the bed, giggling as he flopped and grumbled to himself. You removed your shirt and jeans, watching his eyes darken as he stared at your half-naked form. You slowly crawled over him, grabbing his wrists and raising them above his head. You hooked the cuffs around a beam in your headboard, making sure he wouldn’t be able to move them.

You sat back, biting your lip as you admired him. His muscles were flexed and tense in this position and his eyes were swimming with a mixture of anger and lust.

You placed a hand on either side of his head, leaning down to gently brush your lips against his. When he raised his head to try and kiss you, you dodged him and kissed across his jaw instead.

He released an unhappy groan that turned into a shaky sigh as your lips began to move down his neck. You took your time, placing slow, open-mouthed kisses across his throat. You’d stop to linger on the places that made him shiver beneath you, nipping and sucking dark marks into his skin.

Your mouth made its way down his chest, following a trail down his stomach. James tensed, pulling against the restraints with a groan.

“So sensitive, baby,” you cooed, smirking at his pissed off expression.

His breathing was labored as you kissed his hips, your tongue grazing the skin just above the waistband of his boxers. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as you unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down his legs. You tossed them to the side, rubbing your hands up and down his thighs.

His erection was strained against the thin material of his briefs. You used your fingers to lightly trace the large outline, giggling at the way his hips squirmed. You pressed down gently against the area where a small wet spot had already begun forming before placing a kiss to the clothed member. James’ hips bucked up, chasing your lips as you sat back on your heels and watched him with amusement.

“C’mon, baby, don’t fuckin’ tease me,” he groaned, releasing a shaky breath.

“Aw, Jamie,” you pouted, mocking him. “I’m just getting started.”

You hooked your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down his legs, watching his pulsing erection spring free. Licking your lips, you leaned down to kiss the top of one of his muscular thighs, then the other. You moved up to pepper kisses onto his hips, careful to avoid touching him where you knew he wanted you to.

James groaned, gritting his teeth as he complained, “I get it, okay? You’ve proven your point, baby. You’re in control — whatever. Just fuckin’ get on with it—oh, fuck.”

He gasped, cursing as your fist wrapped around his dick, slowly stroking it. You swiped your thumb over his tip, gathering the pre-cum that had started dripping down his shaft to aid your movements.

“Is this what you wanted, Jamie?” You asked, cocking your head as you watched him squirm. When he didn’t respond, you squeezed your fist, causing him to arch his back as his hips thrusted up into your touch. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” he breathed, glaring up at you with indignation. “This is what I want.”

You moved your fist faster, earning a strained moan from him. You used your other hand to cup his balls, gently massaging them.

“Fuck, yeah, keep doin’ that,” he groaned, humming in appreciation.

“Yeah? You like that?” you asked, grinning as he nodded furiously. “What about this?”

You leaned down and placed a teasing kiss to the tip of his dick, slowly swirling your tongue around it as you continued to stroke him.

“Shit,” he moaned, pulling against the hold of the handcuffs. “Yeah. Fuck, I like that.”

You continued to tease him, sucking the tip into your mouth just to pull back off again. He groaned, thrusting his hips in an attempt to push himself further past your lips.

“Baby, just let me feel your mouth,” he protested, panting as he pouted at you. “Take it all, baby, don’t make me wait. You can take it all, I know you can.”

“What’s the magic word, Jamie?” you taunted, continuing your languid strokes. “You gotta ask nicely.”

James clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth as he ground out, “Please.”

“Please, what?” you asked, batting your lashes innocently.

“Please, suck my dick,” he huffed, glaring at you. “There. Is that what you want me to say?”

“It’s a good start,” you smirked, lowering your head to take him into your mouth.

“Fuck,” James moaned, watching as he disappeared between your lips. “Just like that, baby. God, those pretty lips always feel so fuckin’ good wrapped around me.”

You hummed at the praise, causing his hips to twitch. You took him as far as you could, using your hand to work what couldn’t fit. Your tongue traced the underside of his shaft, swirling around the tip each time you’d come up.

James’ back arched as he panted, strings of lewd moans falling from his lips. You could feel him getting closer. His hips began to stutter and his breathing grew rough and ragged. You took him as far down your throat as you could manage, swallowing around him.

“Ah, shit,” he cried out, throwing his head back against the pillows. “I’m so close, baby. I’m almost there, just keep goin’.”

You pulled off of him with a smirk, watching as his hips desperately rutted into the air. He groaned, pulling against the restraints in frustration.

“I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson just yet,” you tutted, moving back to stand at the foot of the bed.

His words of protest stopped in his throat the moment you unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor. His mouth hung open as he took in the sight of you, dick twitching as your fingers traced along your chest. When you moved your hands down to the waistband of your underwear, pushing them down with a wiggle of your hips, he let out a strangled groan as he desperately tried to reach out to you.

“You’ve had your fun, okay?” James choked out, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “Stop torturing me.”

You crawled back over him, straddling his chest. He licked his lips as he ogled at the delicious view you were granting him.

“Actually,” you started, a mischievous glint in your eyes, “I haven’t even started having my fun yet.”

You slowly rubbed your hands up and down your thighs in a teasing motion. You let one hand move up toward your chest while the other drifted down between your legs. James’ eyes widened and his breathing grew faster as the realization of what you were doing set in.

“No,” he breathed, his eyebrows pinching together in desperation. “No, baby, c’mon. Don’t do this to me.”

“Mm, but I need to be touched so badly, Jamie,” you taunted, trailing your fingers further up the inside of your thigh. “Such a shame you can’t help me out.”

He pulled against the cuffs again, panting as he said, “Let me out of these ‘n I can help you. You know it feels so much better when I do it, baby. Just let me out. Let me touch you.”

“You aren’t getting out that easily,” you said, shaking your head.

He groaned in exasperation, still struggling in the hold of the restraints. You brought your fingers down to circle your clit, sighing in pleasure. His eyebrows scrunched together as he let out a noise that resembled a whine. You knew that it drove him insane — watching you get pleasure from anything that wasn’t him. You wanted him to break, you wanted him to cave in to the desperation. His noises of protest grew louder as you pushed two fingers inside yourself, curling them with an exaggerated moan.

“Stop,” he panted, eyes wide with urgency. “You don’t have to let me go, just…let me help you. You can still be in control, baby, just use my mouth. It’ll feel so much better, promise.”

You quirked a brow, leaning over him as you asked, “You wanna taste me, Jamie?”

He nodded his head frantically, licking his lips at the mere prospect of getting his mouth on you. His breaths were shaky and unstable as he peered up at you with pleading eyes.

“C’mere,” he panted. “Let me show you how sorry I am.”

You moved further up the bed, your knees resting on either side of his head. You hovered above his face, practically dripping onto him.

James wasted no time, lifting his head up and latching his mouth onto you. You let out a shaky breath, gripping the headboard to keep yourself stable. His stubble was rough against the skin of your thighs. His tongue licked a stripe from slit to clit, swirling around the sensitive bundle before gently sucking it into his mouth. He lapped at you like a starved man, his groans sending vibrations through your core.

His eyes stayed locked onto you, watching every reaction. He didn’t want to blink, he barely took breaks to breathe. If he was suffocated between your legs, it would be a happy way to go.

“Mm, so good, Jamie,” you breathed, running your fingers through his hair and pushing it out of his eyes. “It’s so much better when your mouth is put to good use instead of talkin’ a bunch of shit.”

A wicked glint shone in his eyes as he nipped at your clit with his teeth. You yelped, tightening your grip in his hair as you tilted your head.

“Careful, Jamie,” you warned. “I could still leave you locked up like this and not give you anything at all.”

He flattened his tongue, soothing the swollen bud before returning to his eager ministrations. He knew your body as well as you did, knowing exactly what to do to bring you to the precipice of pleasure.

You felt that coil in the pit of your stomach tighten, threatening to snap as he effortlessly brought you to the edge.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, Jamie,” you moaned, moving your hips in time with his actions. “Is that what you want? Want me to come all over your pretty fuckin’ face?”

“Mhm,” he hummed against you, eyes darkening as he waited in anticipation for you to come undone.

The sensation of his mouth combined with the vibrations of his voice were all you needed to fall apart. The searing pleasure coursed through your veins as you rode out your release, James eagerly lapping up every drop of it.

Catching your breath, you moved back down his body. You nearly came again at the sight of him. His lips were red and swollen, glistening with the remnants of your desire. He licked them, greedily, staring at you with a predatory glint in his eyes.

His hips writhed on the bed, pre-cum pooled at the base of his dick. You leaned down, licking it off of him. James gasped at the contact. He was desperate for any touch from you.

You sat back on his hips, slowly beginning to grind against the length of him. A strangled groan sounded from his lips as he yanked on the handcuffs. He could feel the wet heat between your legs, torturously close to giving him what he craved.

“Let me be inside you, doll,” he panted, bucking his hips up into you. “I’ll make you feel so good. I’ll fill you up just how you like it.”

You could tell he was close to breaking, his need getting the better of him. You couldn’t fight the pulsing desire either, wanting to feel him stretching you out in the way that only he could.

You raised up on your knees, lining him up with your entrance before sinking down onto him until your hips sat flesh against his.

You gasped, softly, as he cried out, “Fuck!”

He looked at you, biting his lip until it drew blood as he waited impatiently for you to move. His chest was heaving with strangled breaths, every muscle in his body tense with need.

“You gotta move, baby,” he said, breathlessly. “Do something, anything.”

You smiled sweetly at him, batting your lashes as you asked, “You want me to fuck you, Jamie?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “I want you to fuck me, baby.”

“Beg,” you told him, dropping the innocent smile. “Beg me to fuck you.”

His jaw clenched, his resolve wearing thin, as he growled, “I don’t fuckin’ beg.”

You raised your brow in a challenge, lifting your hips up so that just his tip remained inside of you before sinking back down onto him and stopping again.

His eyes rolled back as he tugged again on the restraints. His breaths were shaky, coming out in noises that dangerously resembled whimpers. He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut before finally giving in.

“Please, baby, fuck me,” he begged, his voice raw with desperation. “I need to feel you. I can’t take it anymore. I promise, I’ll do anything you want. I’ll be good, okay? I’ll be so good, just please fuck me.”

“That’s it, Jamie,” you cooed, finally moving your hips as you began to ride him. He cried out your name, his voice breaking as you gave him what he so desperately needed. “See what happens when you follow the rules? You get rewarded with the things you want.”

His head fell back against the pillows, his hips thrusting up to meet yours as he moaned. His eyebrows pinched together in pleasure as he watched his dick disappearing between your legs.

“Fuck me, baby,” he groaned, using all of his remaining strength to fuck up into you. “You feel so fuckin’ good. Always so tight ‘n wet for me, aren’t you, angel?”

“Just for you, Jamie,” you breathed, nails digging into the skin of his hips as each thrust brought you closer to that wave of ecstasy. “Always for you.”

You knew he wouldn’t last long, having been too worked up. You clenched around him, nearing the edge as well as he whimpered with the strain of holding back.

“Please, don’t stop,” be begged, eyes shiny with the need to get his release. “Gonna let me come inside you, right? Not gonna stop this time?”

“I’m not gonna stop,” you reassured him. “You can let go, Jamie.”

With your permission, he let the waves of pleasure overtake him. His hips bucked wildly as he came with a cry of your name. You were soon to follow, squeezing around him as the both of you fell over the edge together.

Your legs nearly gave out as you rode through your mutual high. Coming down, you braced your hands on his chest to stabilize yourself. You both caught your breath, James’ head lulling against the pillows with a satiated smile.

You leaned over to grab the key off of the bedside table and undid the handcuffs, gently grabbing his arms and lowering them back down. You placed tender kisses against the raw skin of his wrists, the budding anger you’d felt dissipating.

James sat up and wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips against yours, sweetly. He pulled back for a moment, looking at you, before kissing your forehead, then your nose, then each cheek, then your lips again.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, bringing one hand up to gently cup your face. “I shoulda known better. I just wanted to help him.”

“I know you did, Jamie,” you said, softly, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I just worry about you. I don’t want you getting hurt again because of him.”

“I know,” he nodded, smiling at you. “You’ve always been so good to me. I’m not gonna worry you anymore, okay? I promise. I wanna do things right with you. I want our life to be a clean slate.”

You sighed, gratefully, touching your forehead to his as you relaxed in his arms. You could never stay mad at him for very long. You wouldn’t want to.

“I mean…not everything has to be clean,” you grinned, playfully. “It’s okay to play a little dirty sometimes.”

James chuckled, kissing you again as he rolled you over so that he was lying on top of you. One hand trailed down to your hip while the other one remained holding your face.

“My pretty baby,” he cooed, kissing down your neck. “Such a dirty girl.”

He grabbed the handcuffs, raising your hands above your head with a devious smirk as he whispered, “Your turn.”

You knew you were both in for a very long night.

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gummifrogs · 6 days ago

Text

What We Do In The Shadows - James Kelly Smut

Summary: You meet James at a club that your friends had dragged you to and you both find what you’ve been looking for, hidden in the depth of the shadows.

Warnings: unprotected sex, penetrative sex, public sex, reader and James get freaky in a dark corner of a club, exhibitionism, handjob (James receiving), fingering (reader receiving), grinding, alcohol consumption, drink sharing, use of pet names (doll, baby, etc.), teasing, begging, mentions of smoking, as always James is a constant yapper.

Masterlist

The low thumping of a gritty bass vibrated through your body as you idly sipped on the remnants of your drink.

Your friends danced around you, laughing and jumping beneath the haze of fog and strobe lighting. You swayed along with them, trying to match their energy but not quite hitting the mark.

They had dragged you out to this club after staging a makeshift intervention about how you were supposedly turning into a hermit. They swore that you were far too young and hot to be spending every night hulled away in your home and insisted you come out with them tonight to let loose and ‘get some’.

You’d begrudgingly agreed and went with them on the pretense that you’d just be hanging out and not searching for any random hookup. However, now that you were here, you found yourself scanning the dark room for anyone that would catch your attention.

It was pointless, though. Every face you saw looked just like the repetitive boring supply that drove you to reclusiveness in the first place.

It wasn’t that you weren’t interested in having some fun. It was just that nothing seemed to spark your interest. Every guy felt the same, forcing you into a monotonous rhythm that was unfulfilling and unsatisfying.

You wanted something that would excite you, that would make you feel alive again, but that conquest was growing more and more hopeless with every passing moment.

James had a headache.

The pounding of the overly loud music was hammering against his skull and the too bright flashes of lights in the otherwise dark room were disorienting.

God, he was getting old.

He took a swig of his beer, rubbing his thumb against the drops of condensation on the glass bottle.

His coworker, Adam, had tricked him into coming out tonight — much to James’ disdain. This was not his usual scene. In fact, his usual scene was relaxing on his couch in the comfort of his own home.

“You could at least pretend to be having fun,” Adam sighed, giving him a pointed look.

“You said we were goin’ out for drinks,” James retorted, leaning against the small table they were standing beside.

“Are we not drinking?” Adam asked, gesturing to the beers they each had in their hands.

James rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he said, “I thought we were goin’ to a bar. Somewhere we could watch the game or somethin’. Not some place this…chaotic.”

“Look, man, someone had to drag you out of that cave you’re always hiding in,” Adam shrugged, taking another drink of his beer. “You need to go out, see people. You need friends.”

“I have friends…” James scoffed, though even he didn’t sound convinced. “I mean, we’re friends.”

“We’re work friends,” Adam corrected him. “That doesn’t count. Besides, dude, you gotta get laid. When was the last time you got any?”

James felt his cheeks warm at the question and he didn’t feel particularly inclined to answer. Instead, he raised his empty bottle and said, “I’m gonna go get another drink.”

He weaved through the sweaty crowd, grimacing to himself as he made his way to the bar. He rubbed his temples as he waited for another beer, thanking the bartender once he was given a fresh bottle.

His eyes scanned the crowd briefly, looking for anyone that might pique his interest before he shook his head with a sigh.

Truthfully, James really hadn’t gotten any in a long time. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be getting laid — he was a man, after all — or that women weren’t interested in him. He’d had plenty of girls show him interest, it just all seemed like too much work.

He didn’t understand why there were so many steps nowadays to gauge whether or not you even wanted to pursue something with someone. Maybe it was old fashioned, but James missed the feeling of just connecting with someone.

He let out a huff, taking a swig of his drink and turning to go back and tell Adam he was going to go home.

He stopped in his tracks when his eyes landed on someone across the room.

You felt his eyes on you before you saw him.

The ruggedly handsome man at the bar looked somewhat startled when your gaze locked with his, but he didn’t break the eye contact. Instead, he tilted his head to the side as his lips pulled up in an intrigued smile.

Something about the way he was looking at you ignited a spark in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time. You noticed yourself swaying to the music a little more sensually, relishing in the way his eyes slowly trailed up and down your body, appreciatively.

You looked away from him momentarily, turning to your friends as you said, “I’m gonna go grab a drink.”

You made your way through the crowd, watching his grin widen as he raised his bottle to his lips. He looked at you expectantly as you approached him, seemingly waiting for you to make the first move.

With a smirk, you turned away from him and faced the bar like you’d only walked over to order a drink. He nodded, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he let out a deep chuckle.

He leaned in closer to you, his lips hovering near your ear as he said, “If the goal is to get me beggin’ for your attention…it’s workin’.”

You glanced over at him with a raised brow, making a show of giving him a scrutinizing once over.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, grinning up at him, “didn’t see you there.”

“Right, right…” he drawled, biting back an amused smile. “Well, since I’ve got you here now, I’m James.” He waited, eyebrows raised as silence passed between you. “Are you gonna tell me your name, or…?”

“You haven’t earned my name yet, James,” you told him, leaning against the bar with a tilt of your head. “Although, that begging you mentioned earlier might give you an advantage.”

James breathed out a laugh, shaking his head as his eyes sparkled with interest. He focused on your face, narrowing his gaze as if he was trying to figure you out.

“Can I at least buy you a drink?” James asked, gesturing to the bar.

You looked down at the beer in his hand, smirking as you took it from him and said, “This one will do, thanks.”

James blinked as his mouth opened and closed, caught off guard by your boldness. His attention was quickly redirected to the way your lips wrapped around the bottle as you downed the rest of the drink. He fought back a groan as you licked the remaining droplets from your lips, slamming the empty bottle on the counter and taking a step closer to him.

You trailed your fingers down his arm before grabbing his hand, pulling him with you as you said, “Dance with me, James.”

James wasn’t a dancer — never had been — but, as you asked him to dance, he couldn’t possibly refuse. He felt entranced, like you’d bewitched him somehow and trapped him under your spell. He didn’t have a single complaint about it, though.

He followed you out to the dance floor, his eyes never once leaving yours. There was a growing tension between you, a heated tether that was pulling you closer together.

As you melded in with the crowd of moving bodies, you gripped the front of James’ shirt and pulled him into you. His hands gripped your hips as he glanced around at the rest of the crowd before looking back down at you, a sheepish grin on his face.

“I don’t really know what I’m doin’ out here, doll,” he said, though he made no move to leave. His thumb rubbed the fabric of your dress as he leaned down closer and asked, “You gonna show me?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you,” you smirked, reaching up to trace your fingers over his brow. “Close your eyes.”

James’ eyes fluttered shut as he released a shaky breath, waiting eagerly for your next move.

You ran your fingers along the edges of his ears as you said, “Listen to the sound of the music. Focus on it. Block out all the other chatter.” James shivered, but did as you said. You moved your touch down the sides of his neck, placing your hands flat on his chest. “Feel the pulsing of the bass inside of you, like a heartbeat. Let it meld with your own.” James all but groaned at the feeling of your soft hands rubbing against his chest, but he focused on the task at hand. He honed in on the deep vibrations, unable to tell where his heartbeat ended and the bass began. You wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your tip-toes to whisper in his ear. “Now, feel the person in your arms. Feel how my body molds against yours. Move with it, with the music.”

James’ breath hitched as you placed a soft kiss beneath his ear. His eyes opened, blown pupils staring down at you with a mix of desire and curiosity.

Slowly, you began to move with the music. His body moved in time with yours as his hands slid around to your lower back, pressing you closer against him.

His body felt firm against your own, the faint scent of smoke and cedar swirling around you. His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost as if he was afraid he’d break you. He quickly fell into the rhythm, letting himself go as the heat built between you.

“See? You’re a natural,” you grinned, swaying your hips to the rhythm.

“It helps havin’ a hot teacher,” James smirked, leaning down until his face was a few inches from yours. “Although, it kinda makes a guy wanna misbehave.”

The friction of your bodies was tantalizing, wrapping you both in a haze that had nothing to do with the fog and smoke in the air.

James’ gaze flickered down to your lips as his tongue darted out to wet his own. He leaned in, slowly, and you could feel your body humming with anticipation. He let his lips just barely brush against yours before he gripped your hips and turned you around, pressing your back against his chest.

Your breath caught in your throat as he wrapped his arms around your waist, brushing his lips against your ear.

“Do you feel what you’re doin’ to me, doll?” James breathed, pressing his hips against your ass to let you feel the growing hardness beneath his jeans. “You’ve got me hypnotized.”

You bit your lip as he nipped at your earlobe, feeling scatters of goosebumps erupt along your skin. His breath fanned against your neck as he trailed soft kisses down to your shoulder.

“Maybe that was my plan all along,” you quipped, reaching back to tangle your fingers in his hair. It was softer than you’d expected, feeling silky to the touch. “To seduce you and lure you into my clutches.”

You danced to the music, intentionally grinding your ass back against him. James groaned in your neck, gripping your hips as he rocked into you.

“Fuck, baby,” he cursed, feeling desire burning through him like a wildfire. “You won’t hear me complainin’.”

James’ cock pulsed in time with his heart, nestled against the curve of your ass. He had to fight the urge to rip your dress off and fuck you right there — in the middle of the dance floor. He hadn’t felt this kind of raw need in a very long time and he was quickly losing his resolve.

Everywhere James touched felt electric as his hands roamed across the fabric of your dress. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had chemistry this natural with someone. It was like your bodies had known each other for a lifetime, and god did they want to reunite.

You tightened your fist in his hair as he grazed his teeth along your shoulder, using your free hand to guide one of his down your thigh.

He caught the hint, chuckling against your ear as he gripped the plush flesh. He let his hand disappear beneath the skirt of your dress, softly trailing his fingertips up and down the inside of your thigh.

Your skin felt hot beneath his teasing touch, flushed and glistening with sweat. There was a tightness growing in your lower belly, nearly making you forget where you were. Your head leaned back against his shoulder as your eyes fluttered shut, the pounding of your heart nearly drowning out the music.

James could feel the heat of your desire between your thighs and his mind was filled with thoughts of touching you, feeling you, tasting you. He noticed how your breathing quickened and the subtle way you parted your legs, and he couldn’t resist moving his hand a little higher to brush against the damp fabric of your panties.

Your eyes shot open as you gasped, tugging sharply on his hair. His touch was fleeting, teasing you before moving down your other thigh.

You turned back around to face him, your knees nearly buckling beneath the look of want in his eyes.

“That’s awfully bold,” you said, sounding as breathless as you felt. “Copping a feel of a stranger in a crowded club.”

He gripped your chin, tilting your head back and pulling your face close to his as he whispered, “Wanna see what else I can do in a crowded club?”

He trailed his thumb along your bottom lip, pulling it down as he leaned forward and took it between his teeth. You inhaled a sharp breath, peering up at him through your lashes. He raised an eyebrow, waiting on your answer.

You nodded at him, too dizzy with need to form a verbal response. His lips spread into a primal grin as he led you through the crowd. You followed him toward the dark corner where the shadows could hide your secrets. Finding an alcove, he spun you around and pressed your back against the wall.

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest as you gripped the front of his shirt, gazing up at him. His mouth turned up in a smug smirk as he leaned in to trail soft kisses along your jaw.

“Where’d that chatty personality go, hm?” James teased, his breath hot against your ear. “You were such a smooth talker, doll, what happened? Cat got your tongue?”

Your face flushed at his teasing, but you couldn’t find the words to argue your case. Instead, you grabbed his face and captured his lips in a hungry kiss.

James groaned, pressing you harder against the wall as his lips devoured yours. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you licked into his mouth. He hummed in approval as you tugged on the strands, rocking his hips against yours.

Your eyes shot open with a gasp as you felt his hand snake beneath your dress, teasing you over your panties with his fingertips.

He stared down at you through hooded eyes, breathing heavily as he watched you squirm against his touch. He grinned, wickedly, as he felt the fabric dampen even more with his soft touch.

“What’s got you so wet, baby?” James taunted, playfully, nipping at your bottom lip. He dropped his voice to a husky whisper as he said, “Gettin’ all hot ‘n bothered hidin’ in the shadows like this?”

You released a shaky breath as he kissed down your neck, sucking softly against your pulse point. He slowly started sinking to his knees, gazing up at you as he trailed his lips down the fabric of your dress.

“James, someone might see,” you whispered, feeling your heart race as you warred between watching him and glancing around to make sure nobody was looking.

He looked up at you with a smirk as he reached under your dress, slowly peeling your panties down your legs.

“Let ‘em watch,” he shrugged, stuffing the garment in his back pocket as he stood up again.

He grabbed the back of your thigh, hooking your leg around his waist to open you up for him. He kissed you, slowly and deeply, as he pressed you back against the wall and shielded your body.

“Relax, doll,” he murmured, moving to kiss your neck. “Nobody can tell what’s happenin’, even if they do look this way. Besides, they’re all too drunk to care.”

A soft moan escaped your lips as he began to circle your clit. The callouses on his fingers made for a delicious friction, building the ache that was growing in your belly.

“Fuck,” you breathed, gripping onto his shoulders for support. You leaned your head back against the wall, giving his mouth better access. “That feels so good.”

James chuckled against your neck, his warm breath making you shiver.

“Yeah? Feels good?” James asked, lifting his head back up to look at you. “What about this?” You gasped as James eased a finger inside of you, stretching you out before adding a second one. James grinned, curling his fingers. “Does that feel good?”

A soft mewling sound resonated in your throat as you fisted the fabric of his shirt. He was watching you with rapt attention, taking in every little reaction he was pulling out of you. His thumb circled your clit as two of his fingers pumped inside of you, curling against that spot that made you see stars. He was working your body with expert precision, like he’d unraveled you time and time before.

“Yeah, feels good,” you panted, trying to get ahold of yourself. His touch was making you dizzy, filling you with an untamed desire. “I can’t let you do all the work, though.”

James raised an eyebrow as you spoke, rubbing your hands down his chest. You smirked up at him, undoing the button of his jeans. His eyes grew darker as a groan escaped his lips, his hips bucking forward instinctively. He chewed on his lip as you slowly undid the zipper, letting your finger trail down the bulge in his boxers.

“Fuck, doll,” he hissed, his cock twitching in his boxers. “You wanna touch me? Wanna wrap those soft hands around me, make me feel good?”

You nodded, dipping your hand past the waistband to wrap your fingers around his cock. You began to slowly stroke him, making a deep groan sound in his throat. He was already slick with pre-cum, his length throbbing in your hand.

“Good thing I decided not to wait any longer,” you purred, squeezing him tighter. “Feels like you were about to explode any second there.”

“Shit, baby,” he moaned, thrusting into your fist. “You have no idea. Coulda came just from touchin’ you, from feelin’ you squeezin’ my fingers all tight.”

His fingers were still pumping in and out of you, coaxing you closer to the edge. You used your free hand to push the front of his boxers down, exposing his cock to the thick air between your bodies.

Your hand looked small around it as you twisted your fist over him. You clenched around his fingers just at the sight of him, almost drooling at his size.

A cocky smirk pulled at James’ lips as he said, “Like what you see, baby? Thinkin’ about how good it would feel buried in that tight little pussy of yours?”

Your eyes fluttered as you whimpered, dripping onto his hand. He pulled his fingers out of you, earning a whine of protest as your walls clenched around the sudden emptiness. His eyes glimmered with lust as he brought his fingers up to his lips, sucking them clean.

“Mm,” he moaned, breathing deeply. “You taste so good, doll. So fuckin’ sweet. I wanna bury my face between your thighs until you’re screamin’ my name…but we can’t risk that.”

You wanted to tell him to risk it all, not caring if anyone saw, but you knew you couldn’t. Still, it didn’t stop your body from trembling at the thought.

Instead, you gripped the back of his head and pulled his lips back onto yours. You moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue.

His kiss was desperate and hungry, matching the boiling heat inside of you. He replaced your hand on his cock as he kissed you, rubbing the damp tip against your swollen clit.

“Ah,” you gasped, instantly rocking your hips forward.

James tilted his head to the side, grinning as he said, “Oh, that’s what you want, huh? You want me to fuck you? Want me to fill you up so full that nobody else will ever feel as good?”

“Yes,” you moaned, gripping his shirt as you swallowed thickly. “I want you to fuck me. I’ve wanted you to since I saw you by the bar.”

“Are you sure, doll?” James asked, taunting you. He teased his tip around your entrance, nudging forward without actually pushing inside of you. “I can stop if I need to…”

“I’m sure! I’m sure, just…please, fuck me, James,” you begged, desperately tugging at his hips to try and make him move forward.

“Eager baby,” James cooed, chuckling lowly. “I’ve got you, doll, don’t worry. Gonna make you feel so good, I swear.”

He eased his hips forward, slowly sinking into you. Once he was buried to the hilt, feeling you snugly wrapped around him, he let out a shaky moan.

“Oh my god…” you breathed, letting out soft sounds of pleasure as you clung to him. He was stretching you out in a way that made your knees buckle. “Please, move. Fuck me.”

“Gladly, baby,” he said, wasting no time in setting a steady pace.

His hips snapped against yours, thrusting into you relentlessly as your eyes rolled back. Your toes curled as you clutched his shirt tightly, unable to stop the lewd strings of moans and whines spilling from your lips.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, doll,” he groaned, leaning his forehead against yours. “Nice ‘n wet, too. God, you’re fuckin’ soaked. All for me, hm?”

“James,” you mewled, digging your nails into his shoulders.

Every thrust was angled perfectly, like his cock was made to fit inside of you. He cradled the back of your head to keep it from hitting the hard wall, a gentle gesture in contrast to the way he was fucking you. He hiked your leg up higher, pushing in deeper as you let out a loud moan.

“Oh, god,” you whined, scrunching up your eyebrows. “Don’t stop. Fuck, just like that.”

“Shh, baby,” James whispered, kissing you softly as he grinned. “We can’t have you drawin’ everyone’s attention, can we?”

You bit down on your lip to keep quiet, suddenly reminded of the fact that you were still in public. A thrill coursed through you, making you clench around him as your heart pounded.

“Oh, you like that, doll?” James asked, brushing his lips against your ear. “You like knowin’ that I’m fuckin’ you right here where anyone could see us?”

You gasped, nodding your head as you whispered, “Yes.”

He nipped at your earlobe, bringing his hand down to rub fast circles against your clit as he thrust into you.

“Such a dirty girl,” he purred, licking the shell of your ear. “Gettin’ off on the risk of bein’ caught with a stranger’s cock buried deep inside you? Shoulda just bent you over the bar n’ fucked you right there like I wanted to.”

Your lips parted in a silent cry as you panted, feeling a rush of heat through your bloodstream as you lost the rest of your resolve.

“I’m gonna come,” you breathed, moving your hips to meet his thrusts. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Come for me, doll,” he groaned, snapping his hips harder against yours. “Wanna feel you squeezin’ my cock, milkin’ it dry.”

White hot pleasure washed over you in waves as you came around him. James fucked you through it, kissing you roughly to swallow down your moans. His hips stuttered as he followed after you, biting down on your lip as his release spilled inside of you.

James’ thrusts slowed to a stop as the both of you came down. He kissed your temple, breathing heavily as he tried to regain his composure.

You gazed up at him through slightly blurred vision, taking in the deep blue of his eyes and the bright flush of his cheeks. He reached a gentle hand up to brush back the hair that had clung to your forehead as he leaned in to kiss you softly.

You melted against his lips, drowning in his kiss.

He eased out of you, holding you steady as he helped you fix your dress. You could feel him dripping down your thighs, causing a heat to creep up your neck.

Glancing over his shoulder, you spotted your friends searching for you by the bar. You let out a shaky breath, looking back up at James with a sheepish smile.

“I gotta get going,” you told him, placing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for the dance.”

James begrudgingly let you go, his eyes following you with longing as you walked away from him. His heart was still racing, completely captivated by you.

When you rejoined your friends, they all gave you curious looks and immediately questioned your whereabouts. You rolled your eyes and laughed, walking toward the door as they pestered you relentlessly for answers.

As you stepped outside, the cool air felt nice against your flushed skin. The gentle breeze did, however, remind you of your current lack of underwear — thanks to a certain thief.

Before you could walk toward the car waiting for you, you felt a hand on your arm. You turned around to see James, grinning as he held out a cigarette toward you.

You quirked a brow, shaking your head as you said, “I don’t smoke.”

“It wasn’t intended for you to smoke,” he shrugged, handing it to you anyways.

You glanced down at it, seeing that he’d scrawled his number on the side of it.

He leaned in to your ear and whispered, “Call me ‘n tell me if I earned your name.”

He smirked as he pulled back, giving you a wink before disappearing back into the dark club.

You bit your lip to conceal your grin as you turned back to your friends, meeting their shocked and thrilled faces.

You spent the entire car ride back filling them in on every detail, listening to their squeals and gasps of excitement.

It was safe to say that you’d found the thing you hadn’t even realized you’d been looking for and, as you clutched the unlit cigarette in your hand, you couldn’t wait to see him again.

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