#''i will lift your skirts over your face. i will show your nakedness to the nations and your shame to the kingdoms.

[nulfaga]

detail from the Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (after 1740)

[cal-puddies]

a million little times // ashton irwin

big shout out to @kindahoping4forever for letting me work this out and coming in with the last minute help for re-ordering. i hope she was surprised because i started this so she would be. (old convo a while ago, i didn’t forget!)

word count: 2169

warnings: angsty, mentions of cheating/infidelity, mentions of sex

Masterlist // Ko-Fi

Let me know what you think!

Ash falls onto his bed. Your smell surrounds him, from the last time you were there; a tawdry 2 weeks of nakedness and sex, kissing and talking and showing you everything he could be for you. 

But you still left when Logan came back. 

Him and the band were in rehearsal for tour and he knew it’d be months before he could see you again. He wouldn’t get to see you until he was home or if Logan left and you could get away.

He catches the green toothbrush, next to his pink one out of the corner of his eye; you’d immediately gone for the green when presented with the choices and Ash happily took the pink because he was with you. He kept all of your travel stuff since he was single and if it wasn’t around at home it couldn’t raise any questions. Again, Ash was happy to, because it meant he was with you. 

He remembers the way the sheets wrapped around your body and it gave and gave and gave, and he couldn’t imagine any man not giving you absolutely everything. 

He thinks about you just in his shirt, so undone and pretty, the hours and hours of talking. Spilling all your secrets to each other, you told him about what you’d wanted in life and he told you how he wanted a family. 

Even though he subconsciously knew you were someone else’s, you always made him feel like you were his, like Logan didn’t exist, unless he brought him up first. 

*****

Logan places his cufflinks while he watches you finish your makeup, “we could have paid someone.” He mentions, checking his tie. 

“Why? it’s just a party.” You shrug. 

“You never let me spoil you.” He groans. 

“You only want it because I’m the girl on your arm.” You roll your eyes, the air was tense, like it always is anymore. “And I don’t need to be spoiled.” 

“Fine.” He huffs. 

He watches you reach for perfume, he grabs the one he got you most recently, but you reach for the one you bought for Ashton, without even thinking. 

“When did you even get that?” Logan asks, seeming to really notice it for the first time. 

“I’m not sure, a couple years ago?” You reach for Ashton’s earrings and walk out to get yourself dressed. 

When you get to the party, Ashton is the first person you look for, he’s in the middle of the room, surrounded by his friends, he smiles softly when you make eye contact.

“Should we get drinks?” Logan asks. 

You nod, leading him toward the middle of the room before heading to the bar. When you pass Ash you tuck your hair behind your ear, so he sees the earrings and gets a whiff of you. He knows that means to find you later. 

You excuse yourself to fix your makeup, Ash locks the door behind him a few minutes later, pressing himself against your back. “What do you want?” He whispers. 

“You, just you.” You murmur, turning into him, kissing him. 

It’s instantly needy, he can’t keep you in here long and you both know that. You immediately start undoing his belt, and he lifts you onto the counter, pulling your skirt up over your waist and pushing your panties to the side. 

Logan spots you when you walk back in from outside. You glance at Ashton, back with his friends like 10 minutes ago you weren’t wrapped around him. His cheeks were a little pink, but you were downright still flushed. 

Logan’s arm scoops around your back, “there you are.” Is tightly whispered in your ear. 

“It’s just a little warm, stepped out for some air.” 

“Well are you ok? You still look flushed.”

*****

Ash can’t wait, you can sense it the second you open the door to his car, leaving yours in the office lot again. 

You were heading to the Beverly Wilshire, where you spent most of your multi day sessions with him. Especially back when it was New, 5 years ago. 

His hand slides up your thigh and you glance at him. He smiles and his eyes soften, the look he gave you when you first met; Before he knew you were married, or what you did, before putting all the moves on you. It inevitably worked. You could say for certain. 

Which is why you were here now. 

You wrap your hand around the back of his neck and he puts the car in drive. 

“I hate the rules.” He murmurs, while you’re laying in bed together. 

“I know. They aren’t my favorite either.” You admit, looking up at him. “But, they keep us from overstepping.” 

“You mean they keep me from asking you to leave him again.” 

“Ashton.” You move away, pushing yourself off the bed. You grab his button down and pull it on. “We can’t do this again. You know all the reasons why…” 

Ash gets on his knees and crawls across the bed, grabbing you by the waist, “Yes, I know all the reasons why we shouldn’t have this conversation, but I have one why we should.” He presses his lips to yours. You make a “hmmm” noise, “because I love you, and you love me. And we’re great together. And you told me 3 years ago that you weren’t in love with him anymore.” 

“Yes and we almost went through with that plan and someone got cold feet.” You remind him, tapping his chest before pulling away, heading for the bathroom. 

“Does he make you cum like I do?” He calls after you. 

“You know he doesn’t.” You say, closing the door. 

Ash collapses face first on the bed, sighing. 

*****

There was barely enough space for Ash in the backseat of the SUV, and it was only now that you were twisting his curls between your fingers, head on your chest, draped over your body like a blanket that you really took notice.

“That dress looked incredible.” He murmurs. 

“Oh, did you even see it?” You breathe out a laugh, “before we got cum all over it?” You tease.

“I’m sorry, it’s been too long.” He smiles at you. 

“I know, that’s why I agreed to a parking lot meetup… didn’t know I needed a change of clothes though.” You smirk. 

“You can come back to mine?” Ash offers, knowing you’d likely say no and you should say no.

“Bubba.” You murmur. “I think I’d love that. But that doesn’t solve the ‘what will I wear home?’ Situation.” You point out. 

“Couldn’t you stay? Say you went out with the girls or stayed downtown because you worked late?”  

“I’d be pushing it.” You sigh. 

“Let me have you for the night, please?” He's so close to begging, sitting up to unleash the full power of his pout and green eyes. 

“Ash…” you reach up, resting your palm on his cheek, “you know I want that too.” 

“You’ll have to shower anyway, I’m all over you. You have stuff at my place.” He reminds you. 

“We agreed not at your place anymore… too personal, too many emotions in that bed, too easy for your friends to just pop by.” 

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just hard you know? I want you around.” 

“I know.” You nod. 

“What do you say? Just come shower.” He tries again.

“Ok,” You agree, sitting up and reaching for your panties. You know going to his place means you’ll give in and stay the night. It’s why it became off limits in the first place. 

Ash pulls on his undershirt and pants, handing over his button down for you to put on instead of the cum covered dress. 

He gets you to stay, coaxing you to the bed so he can hold you before you shower. 

“Can I see you again this week?” He asks. 

You look over his face, he looks so unsure, lacking the confidence he normally has. “Maybe, I think Logan might be out of town this weekend. I’ll let you know.” You promise. You peck him on the lips, breathing in deep and trying to remember every bit of this night.

You text Logan that you’d be staying downtown due to working late. 

*****

Ashton knew it was wrong, the second you gave him a second glance though, he was gone. You flicked your hair off your shoulder and he saw the wedding ring, but it didn’t stop him from approaching you at the bar. 

He brushes his fingertips over your bare shoulder. “Doesn’t a pretty little thing like you have someone to fetch her drinks?” 

He can feel your eyes roll. “Yeah, sure. But did it cross your mind that I needed to get away?” You smirk. 

“Ashton.” He holds out his hand and you turn to shake it, he’s immediately breathless, staring in your eyes. You introduce yourself and occupy your time talking to him, maybe another 20 minutes. 

You lose yourself, not noticing the other people around trying to get drinks, but you notice when he puts himself in between you and a glass of wine you’d knocked with your elbow, catching the spill himself. Your eyes go wide, “I’m so so sorry!” You say, grabbing for napkins being handed to you by the bartender. 

“It’s ok… for you? I’d ruin myself a million little times.” He hushes you, giving you a sweet smile. 

He asks for your number as you get ready to move on, “Bold, since I saw you looking at my wedding ring.” You tease. 

“Just wanna talk to you again.” He shrugs, handing over his phone so you can punch in the number. 

*****

I can’t meet at the hotel. I have to meet L for dinner. 

We need to talk. 

He didn’t respond, but Ashton was waiting in your parking lot, from the early days. It sat near the beach, and you were very familiar with the traffic patterns of it. 

You see he’s not in his car so you head out to the beach and see him there, alone. 

“Hey baby.” You say quietly, standing just behind him.

“This is it, isn’t it?” He asks.

“I’m not sure. Logan’s job wants him to move… to the UK.” 

“You know we go there sometimes.” He points out. “What about your job?”

“We haven’t talked about what it means for us yet. That’s why I had to cancel our night.” You admit. 

“So, what… you wanted to come here and break my heart, kid?” He snarks back, looking back over his shoulder at you.

“Don’t be an asshole, Ash. You’ve known this thing had a time limit.” 

He sighs and stands in front of you, “I’ll always wish we’d met before you met him. Because I do think you’d be with me.” 

“Ash…” you say softly. “We can’t…” 

“Yeah… I know. Call me or don’t at this point.” He shrugs, squeezing your shoulder as he walks off. 

*****

Ash looks at himself in the mirror, it was a typically rainy day in London and he had the night off, so he was heading out to meet you at a hotel you’d picked. 

He hadn’t seen you six months, since your move to London. He knew you were miserable and hated it, you’d emailed him a bunch and he’d send the bare minimum in replies. Having the distance and the beach moment gave him clarity. 

He sighs, slipping on a jacket and then taking the elevator to slide into a car. 

He spots you immediately, and he can almost smell your perfume at the door. 

“Hi.” He mentions, standing next to you at the bar. 

“Hey,” you smile softly, moving to hug him and he looks around and shakes his head so you stop and course correct. “I’ve missed you.” You offer. 

“Yeah? My life’s been different without you.” He agrees. And then he’s quiet. He lets you talk at him a bit, but doesn’t offer anything up. 

“What’s going on?” You ask. 

He’s silent for a while longer and then swirls the glass in his hand, “You know how sometimes the world stops? And it’s like… big life changing moments? I’ve had a few of them. But 3 have been with you, and only one has been truly positive, and I don’t know if it’s meeting you, or leaving you.” He tips the glass of whiskey back against his lips. 

He slips off the stool and throws a few bills on the bar to pay for all the drinks. 

“Wait… Ashton?” You ask, confused. He can see the tears in your eyes and any other time, that’d stop him. 

“Go home to Logan…” he murmurs, “you’ll never be mine and I’m not ok with second best any more.” 

“You were never second best.” You whisper, biting your lip, holding back tears. 

“I was never gonna be the one you chose.” He shrugs. “And I’ve accepted that.” He turns on his heel to walk away. 

“I came here to choose you.” You whisper to his back.

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[for-a-muse-of-fire]

and that kind of love

the wench and the witcher

“and that kind of love”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader

Summary: Geralt hits town in the middle of the Lammastide festival, Reader is a handsy, toppy drunk, and the witcher is here for it.

Warnings: NSFW/18+ ONLY - Reader is a slutty drunk with a dirty mouth. Subby!Geralt if you squint a little.

A/N: I love these two so muuuuuch, they are a blast and soft!Geralt is probably my new favorite thing to write. Getting him back to taciturn and grumpy is going to be a feat, I can tell you that much, but the bastard deserves to have something like real affection in his life. Fully written with Hozier’s “Dinner and Diatribes” on repeat. Have fun, y’all!

@c-s-stars; @pantrashtic; @onyour-right; @coconutxraikage; @gczanetti1​; @ly-canthrope​; @alwaysnatz​; @kianya-loves​; @kingniazx​

Honey I laugh when it sinks in

A pillar I am upright

Scarcely can speak for my thinking

What you’ll do to me tonight.

He hears the revelry before he sees it. Music drifts in clips and phrases from the town square, accompanied by shouts of mirth and rhythymed applause. He’s tempted to take the long way about, avoid stares and whispers, but curiosity gets the better of him. No harm in a look.

 “C’mon, Roach,” he mutters to the mare at his side.

 Garlands of wheat and autumn blooms decorate some of the archways over the homes he passes. He can smell cider, mulled wine, and roasting meat as he follows the noise. An alley cat sees him coming, hissing and darting away, but the first human he encounters actually waves in greeting. The next few people follow suit, and Geralt tries to respond normally – he’s been coming through for months, most folks seem to have gotten used to him, but the lack of bald-faced hostility still throws him for a loop.

 Witcher and horse round the corner and it’s quite a sight. The setting sun casts everything in warm, golden light and the music coming from the small troupe set up nearby is lively and loud. A knot of villagers have opted to dance, bobbing and weaving in swirling circles in tempo with the upbeat gavotte. Those who aren’t dancing clap along and shout encouragement. Tables have been dragged out from homes, festooned with woven stalks of wheat and piled high with the spoils of the harvest. The witcher hangs back from the vaguely organized chaos, content to be spectator while he searches the cheerful masses for a familiar – and much missed – face.

 “Geralt!”

 He hears the crow of your voice, sees a flash of wild curly hair dart through the crowd, and then you are actively leaping at him. You hit hard enough to rock him back a step, arms flung tight around his neck; Roach gives an irritated whinny of surprise, but the borderline violent affection makes Geralt grunt out a laugh. He wraps his free arm around your waist, lifting until your toes just dangle off the ground.

 “Hello,” he replies with only a slight wheeze. He takes a moment to bury his face in your hair and inhale the scent of honey and sweet herbs before you lunge in and kiss him, hard. Geralt’s eyes shoot wide open, then drift closed. You lick at his lower lip – he opens his mouth to you with a rumbling sigh, brain going a little fuzzy when he feels your fingers tangle in his hair.

 You taste like brandy. Good brandy.

 Ah, the enthusiastic greeting makes sense now.

 “You’re drunk,” he mumbles against your lips.

 You pull away with an actual giggle and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. You’re very drunk – bright-eyed and slightly uncoordinated once he sets you down. It’s fucking adorable.

 “I am…” you start to argue, and immediately dissolve into giggles again. “Well, yes, yes I am drunk but it’s Lammas and I’m having fun and gods, you’re back!”

 He accepts another brutal show of affection laughing into your hair as you seem to be attempting to crush his ribs in. A snort from Roach draws you away – you give a delighted gasp, as if you’ve never seen his damned horse before and something around his heart squeezes tight. You take the bay mare’s lead from his hand and she nickers happily, nuzzling at your skirt for treats.

 “Hello, Roachie,” you coo sweetly. “How’s my favorite girl? Hello, gorgeous…”

 Geralt never imagined he would ever be jealous of a horse, but here he is.

 Roach gives you an insistent thump with her long head, making you squawk out a laugh before you finally pull an apple from your pocket. Your graceful brown fingers scratch the horse’s forelock as she munches happily on the fruit, and Geralt is certain that he looks like a bit of a fool, staring at you like he is. You manage to stop fawning over Roach long enough to catch the witcher looking; the smile that spreads over your face makes his slow heartbeat kick.

 “Let’s get you two home, hm?” you murmur. “You must be tired.”

 He clears his throat, nodding back to the festivities. “You don’t want to stay?”

 Something mischievous flashes behind your dark eyes. Your teeth catch at the fullness of your lower lip; Geralt finds he has to clear his throat again.

 “No,” you tell him softly. “I don’t think I do.”

 He takes Roach’s lead and follows you out of the square. Your stride is a bit loose, a bit meandering and he tries to listen when you talk, really, but you keep wandering ahead of him and the sway of your backside is distracting. Roach is settled in the small stable off of the tavern, and then you’re pulling him through the back door with a low laugh.

 The heavy door slams shut behind him and suddenly he’s pushed up against it with your mouth on his and your fingers in his hair. He grunts, startled, until those clever fingers of yours tug and make him shiver. With a low groan, he wraps his arms around your waist to crush you closer. You kiss him with a selfish kind of hunger that steals the very breath from his lungs. The hands in his hair start to wander, relieving him of his sword belts, and then his cloak – both end up on the floor somewhere – before you cup his face, thumbs running over his cheekbones. He licks the taste of brandy from your mouth, swallows down your breathless little noises and then you’re grabbing at his waist, pulling the shirt up from the waistband of his trousers.

 Your hands slip around his back before taking a firm grip on his ass – it makes him jump and laugh against your lips. “Never pictured you for a handsy drunk,” he mutters.

 You grope him again with a positively sinful giggle and Geralt feels the remaining blood in his brain rush due south. He nearly stumbles forward when you pull away, but you promptly grab at his hand, all but dragging him through the empty tavern and up the stairs. You manage to squirm away each time he gropes at you, much to his annoyance, but he doesn’t mind so much when you haul him into your bedroom and shove him back against the door. A few desperate tugs on his shirt and he gets the hint, pulls back just enough to whip the fabric over his head and toss it gods know where. You’re panting against mouth, grabbing at his waist and his ass before your hand finds its way into the front of his trousers.

 Geralt’s head thuds back against the door and you hum low in his ear. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to remember how breathing works as you lay biting kisses from his neck to shoulder, then all the way down his torso. You scrape your teeth at his hip bone and he swears. He feels you pull at the laces of his trousers; there’s a rush of blessedly cool air over his cock, followed by heat and wet and –

 "Oh, fuck.”

 His eyes fly open and very nearly chokes on his own tongue. The sight of you on your knees, lips stretched around him is something he wants to burn into his memory forever. You stare up at him with wide, dark eyes; he feels the hot press of your tongue on the underside of his cock and grits out a moan. One shaking hand reaches down to tangle in your curls and you hum at the feeling. The noise buzzes over him and dear gods, he’s going to embarrass himself if you do that again.

 You start to move. He curses lowly. Heat flickers sharply up his spine and Geralt has to fight to keep from thrusting into the wet suction of your mouth, but then you push forward until your nose brushes his pelvis. His legs shake and you do it again, humming once more, and he swears he’s going to keel over. His hips arch towards you almost of their own accord.

 “Sweetheart,” he groans brokenly. “M’gonna – fuck me – you’re gonna want to stop before…”

 He looks down at you. You pull back, grip him in your hand, and meet him with a smile so sweet it makes his heart stop.

 “I want you to,” is all you tell him before you swallow him down.

 Geralt gives a shout and comes - hard - on your tongue. He’s grateful for the solid door at his back, because he can’t feel his legs. Panting, he forces his eyes open as you stand and back away. You hold his gaze, absolutely brazen as you strip out of your bodice, skirts, and slip before toeing off your boots. There’s just enough daylight left for him to stare, take in your glorious nakedness, and stare he does.

 You meet his gaze, biting at your spit-slick bottom lip and he’s half hard already. “I missed you, Geralt of Rivia,” you all but purr. “Did you miss me?”

 “Yes,” he growls out.

 “Then come here to me.”

 He does as he’s told.

 You are soft and warm, smelling of sweet, clean skin along with the heavy scent of your arousal. The last of his clothing is all but torn away, boots kicked across the room and then he presses you back until you’re spread out for him on the bed. He covers you with his weight, spreading your thighs open with his knees, but you only let him have the upper hand for a moment. You give him all of a heartbeat to be impressed by the way you push him onto his back, and then he feels the hot, slick press of your cunt against him.

 He watches breathlessly as you take hold of his cock, shift back, and sink down. The gripping heat makes him swear and clutch at your hips as you settle your weight. Your face is slack with pleasure, brow furrowed and beautiful mouth dropped open as you gasp. He feels you flutter hotly around him and it makes the breath catch in his throat; he squeezes at your hips. You stare down at him, pink tongue darting out to wet your lips before you take his hands, prying them away from you.

 You press his wrists down to either side of his head and roll your hips. Geralt grits out your name on a moan.

 The rhythm you find is slow, a steady grind of your hips against his and all he can do is watch as you take what you want. You’re hot, and wet and so gods damned tight around him, clenching and moaning when you find an angle that suits you. It would be so easy to take back control, but when you lean forward to bite your way along his jaw, he finds that that is the last thing he wants to do.

 When you finally kiss him again it’s filthy, all tongue and mingled breath. He bites at your lip before licking the sting away – it makes you grip around his cock with a gasp, and he groans in return. Your pace quickens.

 “Geralt,” you whine against his mouth – fuck, you’re going to be the death of him. “Gods, Geralt, you feel so good. Always feel so fucking good inside of me – fuck, yes.”

 In the growing twilight, your skin glistens with sweat. The grip on his wrists finally lets up when you move to cup his face instead; you push back hard against him and he chokes on a moan. He feels your thighs begin to tremble around his hips, the noises spilling from your mouth climb higher in both pitch and volume. He grips one hand at the back of your head, tugging sharply at your hair – the other hand slides between your sweat-slick bodies to find the swollen little bud at the top of your sex.

 “Come on, sweetheart,” he hears himself snarl. “Come on – give it to me, come on.”

 You crash your lips down onto his, muffling your scream as you come. The pulsing clutch of your cunt drags him along with you; Geralt gives a ragged shout, as his body goes taught and his eyes screw shut. His ears are fucking ringing.

 He definitely can’t feel his legs.

 It takes a good amount of time before he can breathe without gasping and actually pry his eyes open. You are sleepy-eyed and sated on top of him, curls limp with sweat. He gives a low, pleased hum when you stretch out over him, hands braced over his shoulders. The skin of your legs is wonderfully smooth under his palms.

 “Did I mention how much I missed you?” you whisper.

 “Hmm,” he chuckles roughly. “I think you might’ve, yes.”

 The smile you give him is… heart-stopping. Geralt finds himself staring outright, a little awestruck by how damned lovely you are. He lifts a hand, brushing his knuckles softly over your cheek before taking gentle hold of your chin.

 “Better show me again,” he rumbles against your lips.

[holeinotomemind]

MLQC Fanfic: Hearts of Storm - Ch 10 - Warmth

WARNING: NSFW/18+ fic. Angst! Smut! Prev chapter dub/non-con, eventual 3P, spoilers, long dragged out fic and angst. Not morally correct. Turn away if this is not your thing. Pairing: Shaw x MC, Gavin x MC, Shaw x MC x Gavin AO3 Link: [here]

Notes: [See full notes on AO3] Big thanks to Lutz, sushikitty (aka Aelyxandra) and Sonicaj for betaing this chapter again!Sorry for the long wait between the last chapter and this one. School started back up again and I barely had any time to do anything other than class and assignments. I'm barely 1/3 way through the term and I feel like I'm burning out already. T_T  This is one of the chapters that I knew I was going to write from the very beginning. Some things have changed due to how the story progressed, but most of how I originally pictured it was still in tact. I hope you liked it as much as I did.

When their lips met, it was the softest of caresses, delicate like the wings of a butterfly, a mingling of breaths. Pulling back slightly, Shaw’s amber eyes scanned and took in her expression before leaning back in for more.

Her heart fluttered as he invaded her senses. His fresh scent enveloped her. She felt the warmth of his lips radiating through her body, like the rising sun on an early summer morning.

Bit by small bit, the block of ice that sat in her chest began to crack and thaw.

She stopped crying a moment ago, but when he ended their kiss, a single tear rolled down her cheek once again. A tear of relief. Somehow that huge, gaping hollow in her chest had shrunk a little. The simple act of breathing no longer debilitated her.

Unease flashed across Shaw’s eyes. He froze as he noticed her tear. As if with great restraint, he straightened himself and stepped back from her. The hand that touched her a moment ago balled into a tight fist, held at his side.

The sudden loss of his warmth caused her to quickly raise her head, only to see him turning his back to her. Panicked, her hand shot out to clutch the hem of his t-shirt with her slender fingers.

He turned his head back to look at her, giving her a stern look as if telling her to let go.

Yui’s hand shook at his rejection, but she refused to let go. Looking up at him, she gazed into his eyes of molten gold as if silently begging him to stay with her, to not take that precious warmth away from her.

Shaw’s brows furrowed as they stared at each other, neither looking away.

“Do you know what this means?” He said, breaking the long silence between them as he turned to face her again.

Casting her eyes downwards, she didn’t answer his question. Neither did she release her hand. She held on even tighter.

He spread his fingers under her chin and clasped her jaw, forcing her to face him again. His eyes bore into hers as he repeated with a low voice, “Do you know what this means?”

For the last nine months, she had known him, she had seen his many faces. She had seen him laugh and joke. She had seen him surprised, annoyed, and angry, but she had never seen him so serious. It was as if he had placed so much significance into his question that his subsequent actions would depend entirely on her answer.

She was a woman who asked a man to stay and comfort her. Did she know what that meant? Yes.

But was she ready to face the consequences? She didn’t know. In spite of it, she could feel the gentle warmth emanating from his large hand that was firmly holding her jaw right now. If there was one thing she was sure of at this very moment, it was that she didn’t want to let it go.

Didn’t want to let him go.

Holding his gaze firmly, Yui nodded.

Narrowing his eyes at her answer, Shaw bent towards until his face was mere inches away from hers.

“Who am I?” His deep voice resounded, cold and controlled.

“Shaw.”

Before she could say another word, his lips crashed into hers. The pressure of his grip increased. As soon as her jaw slackened, his tongue pushed past her teeth and caressed hers with wicked strokes. This was nothing like the delicate soft kiss they shared just minutes ago. Instead, it was a pure demand, an invasion of her senses.

Heart pounding in her chest, she felt as if her once-frozen blood began to pump through her veins again, chasing away the chill in her bones little by little.

Yes, this was the warmth she was searching for. Shaw was the buoy in the middle of the sea that she had found and grasped onto with the last of her strength. And now, she must hold onto him with every fiber of her being if she wanted to survive.

As she slanted her head to allow him better access, she vaguely registered that the milk tea was being taken out of her hand before her back was pressed against the window.

She should have felt the cold bite of the glass when the blanket slipped off her shoulders. But as she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him even closer to her, all she could feel was his mouth on hers and the burning heat of his skin.

When he finally broke the kiss and rested his forehead on hers, they were both gasping for breath. Slowly, the corner of his mouth turned up into a cocky smirk.

“So this is what it takes to stop you crying, huh?” He chuckled softly as his fingers slipped under her sweater.

She let out a small gasp as he brushed her bare skin just above the waistband. Back and forth, his finger lingered before lightly tracing up her waist.

Leaning his forearm on the window, he pressed his lips onto her delicate ear. Yui could feel his every single hot breath and the movements of his soft lips when he said, “But I can’t guarantee not to make you cry again for a different reason tonight.”

Shivering, she inhaled sharply at the harsh sting of his bite on her earlobe. His deep chuckles vibrated in her ear as he took it into his mouth, licking and biting the most sensitive parts, repeating the sensual assaults every time her quivering intensified.

Still trapping her between his body and the window, he pushed her sweater up to reveal her soft breasts covered only by the thin fabric of her pink bra. Tracing his finger from the center up on the neckline, he watched as her chest fell up and down from her every breath. Then, with a hook of his finger, he pulled the cup of her bra down to reveal her pink nipple.

Cupping her breast in his large hand, he bent his head and flicked her nipple with his tongue before taking it in his mouth. Her body jerked as Shaw sucked hard at it, squeezing and kneading her breast at the same time. She let out small whimpers, but she quickly covered her mouth with a hand to muffle the sound.

“Still so sensitive,” he teased.

She squirmed every time he pulled on her nipple with his teeth, but the hand she had on his shoulder remained, never attempting to push him away.

As Yui felt herself dampening from the way he was playing with her body, a wave of guilt washed over her, but the feeling of his feverish skin on hers quickly pushed all other thoughts away.

All she wanted was to feel more of his touch, more of his warmth on her. All she wanted to feel was that she was no longer alone.

When he finally pulled back to straighten to his full height, he loomed over her and took in the visuals. Her face flushed red as her mouth parted slightly with quickened breaths. Her clothes disheveled with one breast naked in front of him and her now-hardened nipple glistened with his saliva.

Seemingly satisfied with his handy work, the amber in Shaw’s eyes darkened as a smirk flashed across his face. He shrugged off his jacket and threw it aside before he went back to unbutton his shirt, all the while holding her gaze.

It was as if he was making a show of it, daring her to look away as every undone button revealed more of his muscular chest and defined abs.

The blush on her cheeks grew impossibly darker. Her heart pounded in her chest and blood rushed through her veins. The way he looked at her made her feel like a prey trapped under the claws of a predator. And the predator was about to devour her whole. Raising her arms in front of her chest, she tried to hide her nakedness from him.

“Why are you hiding your tits now when you just let me suck on them a minute ago?” He tutted as he threw his shirt on the ground, annoyed that he was denied the view.

Reaching down with his hands, he lifted her hips slightly off from the bench, then in one swift move yanked her skirt down, baring her creamy thighs. Yui yelped, but before she could squeeze her thighs together, he already wedged his knee between hers forcing them open.

Hovering over her, he squeezed her neglected breast, kneading it with a rough hand while shoving his other hand inside her matching pink panties.

A small mewl escaped from her mouth as the tip of his finger stroked over her damp folds. She grabbed onto his wrist in an attempt to push his hand away but ended up digging her fingers in his skin as his rough fingertips brushed over her clit.

Narrowing his eyes, he yanked at the remaining fabric of her bra so that both of her breasts became fully exposed. Leaning down again, he took her nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting on it as he had done with the other one earlier. But this time, he seemed to be rougher with her.

The strange feeling that he was mad at her rose in her mind, but before she could give it any more thought, the tip of his finger slipped past her folds into her. She clenched her thighs around his hand as he continued to push his digit deeper inside.

“Tsk, you’re not as wet as last time.”

His thumb rubbed the hard nub of her clit. Involuntarily, Yui’s hips jerked, causing his finger to slide even further into her core. Her toes curled at the sensation and it became harder for her to contain her voice with each of the strokes he made.

Locking eyes with her, he watched her expressions intensely while he inserted a second finger in her, then a third, all the while still sucking and teasing her nipple.

Embarrassed at his intense gaze, she quickly covered his eyes with her hand. “S-stop looking at me.”

“Didn’t take you for a kinky one,” he chuckled.

“W-what?”

“It does add to the thrill when you can’t see,” he said as he pulled her hand from his eyes and took the tip of her index finger into his mouth. Sucking on it, he twirled his tongue around the sensitive pad of her finger. “But I’d prefer to have you blindfolded instead.”

“Who said anything about blindfolding?” She pushed his face away from her. “You perv!”

“Perv, huh?” Raising his broken brow, his fingers inside her curled without warning as his thumb flicked her sensitive clit.

She let out a pleasured cry as she writhed against his hand and her core grew more slippery at every thrust of his fingers, every stroke at her most sensitive spot. She could feel tension building inside her and bit by bit her cohesive thoughts were lost to pleasure.

“Who’s the perv now?” He smirked when he finally withdrew his fingers from her and it was slick with her juices.

Just as he parted his lips and was about to lick his fingers clean, Yui turned her head away squeezing her eyes shut. It was too embarrassing to see.

He laughed softly again, seemingly entertained by her reaction.

Perhaps it was due to the loss of vision that her hearing enhanced, she could hear every little sound of him undoing his belt buckle, his zipper, his jeans falling onto the floor, and him kicking them aside.

By the time she gingerly opened her eyes again, he was fully naked in front of her, his hard length proclaiming his desire for her.

Her lips quivered.

She watched as he hooked his fingers on the sides of her wet panties, pulling it down to reveal the curls between her legs, glistening with the evidence of her own desires. Her heart pounded in her chest as he yanked her sweater above her head and slipped off her bra, leaving her completely naked in front of him.

She could feel the cold bite of the window on her bareback. She shivered.

Was she really going to do this?

His hot length pressed against her core, and the warmth from him chased away the fleeting thoughts of doubts from her mind. Shaw ran his length along her slick folds, teasing her, rubbing against her sensitive flesh, the muscles on his abs contracting at every move.

Yui whimpered softly every time he brushed over her clit and her juice quickly covered the underside of his shaft. With a satisfactory smile, he pushed the head of his erection against her opening.

“Wait!”

“What?” He spat out, clearly unhappy to be stopped mid-motion.

“Can we…” she said with a voice so low that he barely heard her. “Can we use a condom?”

He stared at her for a moment before he clicked his tongue in annoyance. She thought he was going to refuse, but instead, he turned to pick up his wallet and fished out a small packet. Biting a corner with his teeth, he ripped it open. With skillful hands, he quickly rolled the condom on his erection.

Gripping his rigid length in his hand, he pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance again. This time, he didn’t waste any more time teasing her. With one hand pressing on her knee, he spread her wide beneath him. In one powerful thrust, he pushed inside her.

Her brows knitted, letting out a small gasp as he filled and stretched the heated core in her body. Without giving her any time to adjust, he pulled out almost entirely, then plunged back deep into her, pressing her harder into the window with his every thrust.

“Ah, you’re as tight as I remembered,” he said between soft grunts.

Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him towards her, greedy for the skin contact, for how hot he was making her. Her nails dug into his back every time he slammed back into her, feminine moans escaping her opened lips uncontrollably.

She heard him laugh softly again before he pressed his lips onto her ear and said, “You know, if someone walks past this alley right now, they’ll get a show of me fucking you.”

It took a minute for his words to register through the haze of her passion. She stiffened at the reminder that the window of this workshop was on the ground floor facing a narrow alley. In a panic, she struggled against him, trying to push him away. But no matter how she pushed at his chest, he wouldn’t budge an inch.

“Shaw,” she begged. “Please… C-can we move… to the bed?”

“No,” he rejected her, thrusting even deeper and faster into her. His hand reached up to squeeze her breast. “You’re excited at the thought of being watched, aren’t you? Such a naughty girl.”

She shook her head.

“No? Then why would a good girl’s pussy get so tight at the thought of being watched? Or is your pussy practically strangling my cock a sign of you being turned off, huh?”

She wanted to argue, but when she opened her mouth all that came out was breathless cries, one louder than another. Yui didn’t know if it was the fear of being seen but every single thrust made her body tremble harder in ecstasy.

Chuckling, he placed his hand on the back of her head and pressed it against his chest. With a surprisingly gentle voice, he said, “Now nobody will see it’s you.”

Her mind was no longer coherent as tension built inside of her, barely remembering what she was objecting to a moment ago. Following her last rational thought, she buried her head in his chest before her mind went completely blank.

Guiding her legs to wrap around his narrow hips, he pumped inside her faster and faster, until her body suddenly stiffened. Rapture crashed into her like a wave, coursing through her body. Her vision blurred as she cried out her release. Her core spasmed around his cock as he buried himself deep inside her.

It took a while before her frantic heartbeat slowed and she realized he had held her close to him through her orgasm. Rubbing her hand over the hard muscles on his back where she dug her nails deep into a moment ago, she eased away from him to see another aggravating smirk plastered on his face as he pulled out from her.

“Told you I’d make you cry,” he said, leaning in to kiss the tears on her cheek. She hadn’t realize she had cried at all.

Frustrated at his endless teasing, her hand landed on his chest with an audible smack. But she knew it wouldn’t have fazed him. She gasped as he lifted her up as if she weighed nothing by cupping a large hand on her ass. Reflexively, she latched onto him as if a koala to a tree.

Carrying her over to the bed, he dropped her on the soft mattress before flipping her over on her stomach. He took in the sight of her fair skin against the black linens on his bed before wedging one knee between her thighs, spreading them apart as his weight dipped the mattress.

Before she was able to prop herself up, Shaw was already on top of her, pinning her down with his whole body, the tip of his still-hard length pushing apart her slick folds once again.

“Shaw, I…”

“Selfish girl,” he cut her off, thrusting himself back into her core. “Trying to kick me to the curb right after you came all by yourself?”

“That’s not…”

“Good,” he bent her knee to spread her wider before slamming back into her again. “‘Cuz I’m not finished with you yet.”

Not giving her any time to adjust, he pumped into her again and again. The new position allowed him to get even deeper inside her. The sound of his pelvis slapping onto her cheeks rang in her ears.

Shaw was like a storm. There was no fighting him. Her only option was to hold on and follow wherever he decided to take her.

Her hands clawed at the bedsheet. She turned her head against the pillow to muffle her voice. She couldn’t control it. Her moans were getting so loud that it was embarrassing to hear them herself.

He pressed his lips to the back of her neck, kissing and licking her down the curve of her shoulder. Whenever her mewling got louder, he lingered at that spot and sucked, until small marks began to form on her skin.

Yui could hear his breathing became heavier and his groans getting louder as his thrusts quickened. He laced his fingers with hers and in return, she squeezed them tight. Her body began to quiver uncontrollably, her back arched, and her hips helplessly rocked back against him as she reached her orgasm once again.

Letting out a growl, his muscles tensed in an instant. Shaw gave into the sensation of her pulsing around his shaft and let her milk him as he came. His body shuddered at the release.

Looking at the girl lying boneless beneath him, he smiled as he turned her face away from the pillow. Wiping the tears off her cheek, he leaned in to gently kiss her soft lips.

They stayed like that for a long moment, with him crushing her with his body weight. All those muscles on his body made him heavier than he looked, but she didn’t complain. He felt like a large heavy blanket, covering her and keeping her warm.

It wasn’t until both of their breathing returned to normal that he finally pulled himself completely out of her and rolled onto his back. His long arm snaked around her waist and pulled her against him. Her head rested on his chest, her arm across his torso.

Yui squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to empty her mind of all other raising thoughts, to just focus on his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his body.

[8emmy]

Friends with Benefits AU

AO3 links: Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

Song 1

Song 2

Feyre was showing off the paintings she was going to be putting her gallery before brunch was to be served. They were lovely, still lifes and landscapes. They were a few portraits. One was a pairing of the three Archeron sisters depicted as goddesses—Feyre with her arrows shown as Artemis. Elian, surrounded by flowers and in her hand, she held a pomegranate as Persephone. And Nesta held a sword in her hand and her eyes she had fire as Athena. Cassian stared at that painting for a while, looking at Nesta's posture and how oddly right it was for her to hold a sword.

And then there was the one under the blanket that Rhys stood next to grinning like a fiend. Rhys would whisper in Feyre's ear, making her blush darken before she lightly whacked Rhys into laughter. "If you're going to act like this, I will burn that painting," she threatens only to make Rhys whisper something else that made Feyre redder. "You prick, that is the last time I ever use you as a model." She walks off towards Mor to vent.

Cassian moves over to Rhys. "Is that what I think that is?" Cassian points with his half-full mimosa towards the covered painting. He can feel his friend puff up his chest. "Fuck, and you're going to show that to your cousin and sisters-in-law?" Cassian harshly whispers.

Rhys smirk falters, "No, I will show you, though." Cassian shakes his head. He has seen Rhys naked plenty enough through the years of friendship and Rhys had seen him naked twice as much. He follows Rhys to the left side of the painting further away from their friends and family. Rhys's smile was wicked as he lifts the corner showing a portion of the painting but enough of the good stuff showing. Cassian whistles.

"You did right in marrying an artist. She sure did a good job photoshopping you," Cassian whispers. Feyre did a great job. Rhysand stood on a mountain top with enormous bat-like wings flaring from his back as if he was about to fly off. He wore nothing, showing off his flaccid penis that was partially hidden by his hand. His six-pack was gleaming as if it was recently oiled. In his other hand was a hand mirror encrusted in jewels—Feyre's apparent attempt to show that her subject was vain.

"There was no photoshop needed for this perfection, Cas. You're jealous because you wouldn't look half as handsome naked as me on canvas." Rhys huffs, lifting the covering higher to look at himself some more. Vain was too small of a word for Rhys's obsession with his looks. "You would need a woman next to you for anyone to look at you nude."

"To show my superior bedding skills?" Cassian asks, looking at the landscape that surrounded Rhys's nakedness.

"Gross," Nesta's voice of disgust jolts both men to stand up straight. Rhys drops the cover as he looks at his sister-in-law. Nesta scrunched up her nose, her eyes full of disgust staring at Rhys. "I could have had a normal life, not knowing what you look like naked."

"Nesta," Rhys's voice was strained after getting caught staring at his penis.  "How are you?"

"Disgusted, no wonder that thing is covered." Nesta crosses her arms. She had no drink in her hand, which was out of place when everyone else was taking advantage of the free booze. But not out of character, Nesta didn't drink not since university.

Cassian scratches his neck, a blush threatening to rise up his neck. He was embarrassed to be caught looking at his friend's painted penis. He takes a long sip of his mimosa. Nesta's eyes flick over to him. It was only one day ago that she was all over him naked. Nesta would look amazing, standing next to him in a portrait of their own. Not painted by her sister, of course.

Nesta was wearing her hair down with a portion of her hair braided at her crown to make a makeshift headband. He loved it when her hair was down. It was easier for him to play with not worrying about her needing to fix it up after sex. She wore one of her shorter summer dresses too. All Cassian was waiting for is her signal to follow her up to the bathroom or guestroom. Cassian gulped, and Nesta's pouty lips lift at the edges giving him a glimpse of nirvana and silk sheets. Armen shouts Nesta's name, and with that, Nesta slips away.

"That was mortifying," Rhys sighs before lifting the sheet again as if to make sure that Nesta didn't find a way to ruin his picture. He sighs again from relief.

"Mother above Rhys," Cassian drawls not watching his brother but watching Nesta leaning slightly to listen to Armen hissing about something.

"Oh, after brunch, I would like to talk to you, Mor and Az. Az got some new intel on the breach." Rhys says, straightening up. ______

Brunch was not as fun as the last time. Cassian found himself on the opposite end of the table to Nesta. Rhys decided that he needed Cassian as close to him as possible. Cassian darted his eyes throughout the meal, trying to catch Nesta's eyes but never did. He would catch, however, the eyes of Az and Mor. Mor's eyebrow raised in concern and mouthed "what," angrier and angrier as he would shake his head. Finally, she threw her napkin down on the table.

"What do you want, Cassian? Do I have something on my face," she hisses. Her golden locks look like they were raising like a cat threatened.

"No, I was looking out the window," Cassian tries to cover. Mor glares at him and places her napkin back on her lap before turning to Az to ask him if she had anything on her face.

Nesta looks at him and shakes her head. He could almost hear her chastise him about his lack of subtlety. Cassian looks back down at his plate, hearing Feyre giggle and whisper something in Rhys's ear.

He felt his phone buzz after the plates were cleared, and everyone started to converse over coffee and pastries. He slips his phone out of his pocket, still engaging in small talk with Feyre and Rhys before glimpsing down at his phone to see a text from Nesta.

'Meet me upstairs in the guestroom in three'

He looks up to see Nesta already out of the room. He slowly withdraws from his conversation with Feyre and Rhys as naturally as possible. Making a point to say he needed the bathroom. No one looked up to see him slip out of the dining room and up the stairs towards his favourite benefit.

Nesta was already on the bed when he comes in. Her shoes are off; she sits watching the door. "We got to make this quick," he says, making his way over to Nesta. He kneels beside the bed, kissing her as he moved her legs apart.

She spreads her legs and helps push her dress skirt up higher past her hips so he can see her wearing his third favourite pair of underwear. Dark red and lacy. He groans, running a finger against the material. "We got to make this quick," she repeats to him with a smirk. She had somehow taken down the straps of her dress, so her breast were out in the open while he was engrossed in her underwear choice.

"Did I ever tell you that I love this dress?" Cassian asks as he kisses her inner leg. "And your red lacy underwear." he plants a closed mouth kiss to the center of her underwear. Nesta runs her fingers through his hair, making sure to grip him and push him further into her heat.

"I thought you liked me naked?" Nesta teases.

"I like you in whatever you wear or not wear," Cassian sighs, taking a finger and moving her underwear to the side. Her smell was strong. He licks his lips.

"Am I better looking naked than Rhys?" Nesta asks. Cassian shots up to look at her red-faced and glaring.

"One hundred percent better looking than Rhys," he tells her.

She hums, pretending not to believe him. "The way you were admiring his portrait this morning tells me a different story." Cassian's glare is harder. He takes his thumb, wets it with his tongue and brings it down upon her clitoris. Nesta rotates her hips at the pressure.

"If you want us to continue," Cassian's voice was low, "I would suggest not bringing up my friend's penis." He rubs a circle and presses back down, hearing a clear whimper from Nesta.

She looks at him with want. Want, of course, for pleasure and not him; he reminds himself. "It's fine if you find your best friend attractive, batboy," she teases. "Anyways, from what the girls say, Az supposedly has the biggest dick between you three."

Cassian lifts his thumb from her clit. He looks at her, still lusting for her but was not having it with the teasing. "And here you are wanting mine," he says harshly, gripping his erection for Nesta to see. Her prize. "And you won't be getting it if you keep this up."

Nesta rolls her eyes. "You can hardly say no to me. Especially when you are straining for release," Nesta says, laying down and spreading her legs further, inviting him in. Cassian hovers over her, putting his thumb back on her clit.

"One of these days, you will tease me out of an erection," he tells her as he starts a rhythm on to her. She moans. He plants a kiss on her. "You need to be quiet. We don't want anyone discovering this treason." She groans into his mouth as Cassian sinks a finger into her, still rubbing circles on her clit. Her eyes roll up in pure pleasure. It was his master plan, making her have the best orgasms of her life with him, and she would be ruined. No man would ever pleasure her as well as him.

She slips her hands under his sweater raking his back with her nails. And now it's Cassian's turn to stifle his own groan. Nesta smirks into his lips. Cassian dips his head over to a nipple, sucking biting at it. He knows she's close to her first orgasm. He just needs to push a little harder and go a bit faster, and now she's withering. She arches her back and pushes her hips lower, trying to get him in deeper. "Cas," she moans, "don't you dare fucking stop."  

He could be mean. Give her a lesson on teasing. But that's not his style. He continues and pushes through as she groans her release gripping a pillow over her face. Cassian gets back down on his knees and starts to lick up her folds, tasting her orgasm on his tongue. But before he starts on her second orgasm, Nesta takes him by the hair and pulls him back up. "We got to be quick, no time for playing," she says, taking the lead and unzipping his jeans, freeing him from his pants. Cassian goes to his back pocket, pulling out his wallet where he stores his extra condom only for times he knows he would be meeting with Nesta.

Nesta slips it on to him. "Do you want me to ride you?" She asks. Cassian shakes his head and lays on top of her. He would rather do it the old fashion vanilla way. He sinks back into her, and he closes his eyes. It never stops surprising him how warm she was. He stills for a second before Nesta hooks her legs around his back and pushes him farther into her. He gets the hint and starts moving. They start off slow and then build, making sure that they are still quiet. Nesta grips his scalp with one hand and her other she digs her nails into his shoulder. He doesn't mind pain during sex, not with Nesta.

"Batboy, you need to be quiet," she whispers into his ear. "You need to be quiet."

"It's hard when you feel so fucking good," he says through his teeth. He raises to his hands, trying not to lay fully on her. He rocks back and forth, trying to get her closer to her second release before he goes.

This position wasn't working. He slides out of her. "What are you doing," she growls, looking at him angrily. He tells her to flip onto her stomach. She does still glaring at him over her shoulder. He lifts up her hips and sheaths his penis back into her. And that was better. Nesta grabs for a pillow putting it under her chest as he pounds into her.

Her ass felt wonderful under his hands. If they were back in his apartment, he would have given them a nice spanking, but in fear of the noise, he gropes them instead. He is near his climax. He leans down, biting not too hard on to her shoulder, muffling his groan of release. Nesta sighs contently. Cassian gets up and slips the condom off. He looks around and goes to throw it out in the ensuite bathroom trash, making sure to hide it in a wad of tissue. He comes back into the bedroom and kisses Nesta. She pats his cheek.

"As all ways, great work," she says, getting up and fixes her self. She goes into the bathroom to check her makeup and hair. Cassian zips up his fly and straightens out his sweater.

Nesta comes out of the bathroom. "I'll go out first, wait for two minutes and then slip out." She kisses his cheek and heads out of the guestroom. Cassian sits on the bed, pulling out his phone. He looks to see a message from Az, just a winky face from ten minutes ago. Cassian holds back a groan. Great, just fucking great.

[vampcubus]

Expectations (Lucio/Reader)

a/n: lmao this mess of a fic oof, written before lucio’s route was finished and a bit of an older writing style so be wary! 

synopsis: being the count’s magician was one thing, but his lover...? you find yourself smothered by your insecurities whilst trying to live up to your new title.

warnings: sfw, angst, self-doubt, lucio not knowing how to comfort people™

words: 3.8k+

You were never the type to worry too heavily about your appearance, seeing as not many people bothered to notice you before you’d been invited to the palace. Back then you were just the Count’s Magician, and the only things the servants thought of you was how mysterious you were. Though, now that you’ve been lavished in such rich attention, been exposed to the luxury of palace living and self-image, you couldn’t help but feel… plain.

Plain, boring, nothing special. And yet you had captured the attention of your polar opposite, the lascivious, prim, perfect, and pretty Count that had swept you off your feet and into one big mess. You were still at a loss about that, even after the mess had been cleaned and, your blooming courtship with the arrogant Count had polished you to what he called “perfection”. 

Every day it seemed a servant was at your door with expensive silks and jewels to bury you in, dressing you up like a queen. Nevermind the way all these things clashed with your style, what was more important is that you didn’t belong in them. You belonged in comfortably well-worn clothes that rarely matched, dancing with your uneven skirts with Asra as your inexpensive jewelry glittered and clinked cheaply against your neck. And yet here you were, being dolled up like royalty and given the most beautiful things to wear every morning to compliment Lucio’s own choice of dress that day.

You carded your gold-ringed fingers through your hair with a sigh, taking in your reflection in the floor-length mirror you stood before. You held the dress up to your chest, still on its hanger, and untouched since it arrived. You smoothed the skirts over your legs to eyeball how it would the fit, and you guessed pretty well, but again you sighed and tore yourself away from your reflection, laying the beautiful garment on your bed and making your way into the oversized bathroom attached to your room.

When you’d first used it, you’d almost leaped right into the tub, your clothes still in the air as you tipped into the warm water eagerly. Now the size and elegance of the room swallowed you in its hugeness, and not in a good way. Still, you changed into your bathrobes and stepped into the warm water, soothed by the heat, and yet distressed by how comfortable it was. 

You could still remember hanging up beach towels out behind the shop to act as curtains as you and Asra splashed one another with buckets of lukewarm water, using your magic to rinse the dirt and the grime of a good few days worth of traveling.

You never stayed in the water long, simply dipping your body into to wash your skin and hair before you were toeing out of the heavenly pool of scented luxury and drying yourself off with too-white-and-too-soft towels.

You make the mistake of catching your reflection in the mirror above one of the vanities as you were tying a dry robe around your nakedness. You stopped to stare for a while, watching the tiny drops of water drip from your still-damp hair down your forehead, past your boring eyes, and plain features into the crevice of your chapped lips despite all the spa treatments you were offered. 

Shaking yourself out of it before you could get carried away, you blinked your eyes a few times as you made your way back into the bedroom. You couldn’t put it aside any longer, you had to get dressed. Sighing to yourself for what felt like the thousandth time, you gingerly lifted the intricately embroidered garment and let the silk robe fall from your hips onto the floor in a pile of expensive fabric.

A few hiccups and a bashful call for a maid to help you lace up, you stood before the mirror in a full-length, ballroom dress, a bloody, crimson in color with many black and gold embellishments. The chill of Prakran gold around your neck and dangling from your ears, similarly intricate gold bands around your wrists that bit lightly into the flesh.

You stare into the mirror, drinking in your appearance, the dress is indeed beautiful… but…

You sink to your knees in front of your reflection, the skirt of the crimson garment pillowing around you as you slide down until you’re seated gracelessly on the panels of the floor, your still heel-less feet buried beneath the heap of fabric. 

You close your eyes as the familiar dread creeps into your chest, and suddenly you’re back in the shop, looking hastily in the mirror as you smooth down your colorful skirts. 

Faust is corded around your forearm, and Asra is just across the room adjusting the strap of his satchel.

“Pretty!” You hear Faust squeak, and you can’t help but chuckle turning on your heel to slip into a pair of chunky sandals. Asra turns and you just about toss a sandal in his direction when he careens back and laughs.

“Here, let me help,” The magician teases as he skirts around the bed to adjust the straps thrown clumsily over your shoulders and roll up the insanely longs sleeves to your elbows, Faust slithers up to your shoulder to dangle around your neck glancing upside down at Asra as he rights your dress. “There, now are you ready?”

“Yes.”

You and the ivory-haired boy danced the night away while you were at the autumn festival, looking ravenously at the many food stands that were set up down the street, a bread-shop drawing the both of you in almost immediately after arriving. You left with a few boxes of freshly-baked goods, and shamefully lighter coin-purses. 

You remember waking up in a tangle of both of your limbs, your skirts, and Faust the next morning, the makeup you’d worn still smeared across your face as you and Asra made breakfast together.

When you open your eyes again, you are met with the devastatingly dolled-up version of your reflection. As if on cue, you hear three crisp knocks sound from behind the door and an all too familiar voice all but singing to you through the wooden barrier.

“Pet, you know I loathe when you keep me waiting~ have you tried on the new dress I had commissioned for you?” You hear Lucio’s voice call, and your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach at the thought of leaving your sanctuary now. The Count was always delighted to see you dressed up in the things he picked for you, and normally you quite enjoyed his attention but you didn’t feel like being showered in compliments right now. Not even his. 

When you don’t respond, Lucio takes it upon himself to open the door and waltz in anyways. you can just barely see his reflection approaching, but you can clearly hear the clicks of his heels against the floors of your bedroom. He seems to be taken aback by your position on the ground, and even more so when you don’t even turn away from the mirror to look at him as he enters. 

And you’re not the only one who knows how much he hates not being the center of attention, in any circumstance. As you meet his black-lined eyes in the mirror it looks like he was going to open his mouth and say something smart about, or joke about how gorgeous you look on your knees, but it dies with his breath when he realizes that you are upset.

“Whatever is the matter, Dove? Do you not like the dress?” Lucio inquires with an almost incredulous look on his face as he speaks, inspecting the expensive garment with wandering eyes, trying to nit-pick out any reasons why you might not like it. You only shake your head and shift your gaze to your hands folded in your lap. Lucio purses his lips into a thin line, as if deep in thought, “Well, then what is it that troubles you?”

“I feel out of place,” You sigh, there was no use in beating around the bush, so you decided to be bluntly honest, even if you doubted he’d understand. Actually, you fully expected him to laugh at you like the very suggestion was absurd. “Don’t laugh.”

You don’t know why you felt the need to say it, nor the reason why your eyes start watering. Why were you crying? There was no reason for you to be, and yet you felt the salt bubble beneath your eyes an start to drip leisurely down the side of your face.

Lucio is frozen in place behind you, at a complete loss of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what brought this mood swing on but he certainly knows he doesn’t like the solemn look you now wear.

“No one is laughing, my dear, I assure you that,” The recovered Count assures, but you don’t miss the hesitant lilt in his voice as he speaks. Clearly, he’s never been faced with the task of comforting someone, and it shows because he’s not very good at it. 

He isn’t eager to get on the floor with you, but he leans down just enough to place both hands over your shoulders, the sharp points of his golden fingers trace up your neck and take a hold of your jaw, tilting your head from side to side.

“I don’t see what the problem is, you fit me quite well.” Lucio purrs, his breath suddenly close to your ear, and you normally would have laughed at the potential double meaning of the phrase, but you find you don’t have it in you.

“A pretty face, good bone structure, healthy complexion… and I don’t think another can fill that dress as well as you,” Your face is heating up quickly, compliments were still quite alien to you, and therefore even the smallest ones had you breathless and redder than the sun. “I truly can’t imagine why you feel out of place, Pet.” All things considered, he thinks.

“I can conclude that you’re nothing short of ravishing—”

“Stop.” Comes the sudden solidity of your voice as it barks the order, and Lucio only looks down at you with raised brows. And then his lips twist into a sultry grin, the edges of his golden fingers tracing the contours of your face.

“Why? you should feel privileged to be receiving such praise from—”

“Stop.” Your voice shakes as you say it this time, you twist out of his grip and return your gaze to your lap, where your gold-ringed knuckles are going pale with the pressure. Your body shakes with an involuntary choke of a sob, even though you try to contain it.

The Count looks more than shaken up bearing witness to your unusually emotional state, and even more so that you are refusing not only his touch but also his thought out words of empowerment. How rude. His eyes narrow and his lips scrunch into a pout, irritation flaring up in his chest upon being ignored.

Before he can open his big mouth to complain about you being difficult, you’re seething out a question he isn’t prepared to hear.

“How can you even look at me—” You’ve never been particularly sensitive, so this mental breakdown of yours was surprising you even more than it was him it seemed. “—and say those things?”

“Like…” You waved your hand, searching for the right words, “Like you mean them!” You sobbed, finally burying your face in your hands, embarrassed and angry at the way you’d so easily melted into his praise before as if he’d meant a single word of it. You knew better.

Lucio baffled and speechless is a sight to see, in fact, it almost makes you want to laugh, even if only bitterly. He is forced to quickly come up with plan B, something he’s never had to even waste a single careless thought about before meeting you. Flattery obviously isn’t working, so he’ll have to try something else. Something in the very back of his mind is tugging at the strings for his attention, murmuring something along the lines of “honesty”, and Lucio scoffs at the word.

“I disagree, I am many things, but I am no liar—” Lucio starts and you whip your head around with an angry, accusatory glare, and he snaps his mouth shut wisely. “Okay, so maybe I’m not entirely clean, but I do mean it when I say I never settle for anything less than perfection. And why would I? I mean look at me, do you think someone this beautiful is going—”

He trails off from his self-appraising rant when you sigh and turn away from him again, disinterested. Lucio deflates slightly, eyes darting around as if looking for something else to sway you with, though comes out of it empty-handed. The Count lets out a frustrated grumble of something you don’t quite catch underneath his breath, and he rolls his shoulders with a distasteful grimace and a deep breath as if he’s trying to push himself to say something.

None too quietly, he steps around you so he can unceremoniously—and a bit clumsily if you do say so yourself—drops down to sit beside you in front of the mirror, flicking a stray dust bunny from the bottom of his boots with a mildly disgusted grunt. You find yourself constantly glancing at him in the corner of your eye as he fiddles with the fur along his cloak, though you avert your eyes as soon as he realizes it.

“Forgive me, I’m not good at this sort of thing,” That much was already obvious, you want to say, that is until it dawns on you that he just apologized. Him, the most self-centered, and entitled person you’ve ever met, apologizing and admitting he wasn’t the best at something. When you shift your eyes over to him, he seems to be stealing glances every five seconds, looking to you for some sort of guidance. 

It’s a little frustrating that you already find your anger starting to subside, seeing as he truly had no idea how to go about helping you, and even openly admitting so—or well as close to it as possible, it is Lucio after all. It’s strange how watching your lover struggle to do the simplest of human-like things makes you sympathize with him, given that he is the reason you’re upset in the first place. 

But could you even say that much was true? I mean it can’t be entirely his fault if you’re feeling self-conscious, even if he constantly preached about how high his standards were, he’s never truly forced you to wear lavish things. If you constantly allowed it, how’s he supposed to know doing so makes you feel like you aren’t appealing in anything else than gold and expensive silks? You sigh, defeatedly, you didn’t want to make it seem like you weren’t still frustrated with him but at the same time, it seems silly for you to play hard to get because you’re sad and insist he figures it out on his own. You weren’t that girl.

“I know, I’m just—ugh—having a bad day I suppose,” You relent, rubbing the back of your neck that’s grown stiff from being titled down too long, “I just—It’s hard for me to believe that you even… that you could have anyone in Vesuvia you want, and you want me.” You sigh, leaning back on your palms and meeting his eyes in the mirror again. 

He’s letting you speak, and he’s listening, for once. Encouraged slightly by that revelation you continue, “And I just don’t know If I can live up to this spontaneous, perfect, and gorgeous person you’re always saying that I am.” 

Lucio looks a bit startled that you’ve been doubting yourself like this, he hadn’t known that you were taking all his ramblings of perfection and high standards of living and relationship goals to heart like this. 

Expectations. If there’s anything Lucio knows well, it’s that, if his childhood had anything to say about it. Back then he had constantly tried again and again to impress his parents, especially his mother. But he was never good enough for her it seemed, she was always disappointed in him throughout his early years as Montag, someone he hasn’t been for a very long time.

“Oh Darling, you should’ve said! I’m not as really particular as I say, you don’t have to go out of your way to impress me—” He frowns distastefully and sounds just a bit embarrassed when he adds, ”—especially considering that I was a blubbering, dead goat for three years with no purpose, and you still put up with me.”

To that, you can’t help but chuckle, and the Count’s playful grin returns in full, his ego soaring to have won you over with his charms once again. He couldn’t blame you, he was irresistible. You could almost hear how loud his grin was, and despite it being anything if not shit-eating you’re comforted by it returning. 

You had to admit, looking lost wasn’t a good look for him.

“Aaannd that you’re still insufferable now, and I put up with you.” You add with a sly grin, watching his face twist into a pout, he hmmph!’s and crosses his arms as he turns away.

“You don’t have to milk it, Dove, you should be happy I went so far as to insult myself for your own entertainment!” The count argued, giving you the stink eyes as you only continue to laugh at his expense. He can’t deny that his heart feels a little lighter now that you seem to be your old smiling self again, even if he is offended. 

Though he does feel the need to say,

“You’re beautiful you know that, don’t you, darling? Even without my... fashionable influence.” He quipped, but you could tell he was being genuine.

If only he knew how attractive he was when he was being sincere.

You don’t agree with him but bump his shoulder with yours affectionately, a smile creepingly itself onto your lips as his human hand slithered around to grasp your side and pull you in closer against his broad figure.  

“You sap.” You tease, but he’s not taking that for a proper answer.

“Nooo, I wanna hear you say it, come on! I deserve that much at least!” He whines, both arms capturing you within their grasp and dragging you into his lap as you squeal, tugging at his arms as your back pressed against his front. 

His nose buries itself into your neck, and he nuzzles fluttering kisses from your shoulder to your jaw, and you squirm at the ticklish feeling of his hair against your pulse.

“You don’t deserve shit!” You’re nothing but giggles now because he starts attacking your sides with his fleshy hand, and you can’t stifle your squealing laugh as you try in vain to squirm away from his tickling. “Knock it off—pff aha-hah!—L-Let me go, wretched goatman!” You seethe through your teeth as the giggles continue to spill from them.

“Just say the magic words and will gladly release you, sweetling,” You hear Lucio purr into your ear as his teeth just barely graze your shoulder, pulling small bits of your smooth skin between them to leave light marks wherever he went. 

You didn’t last long.

“Okay—okay! I get it, I’m great! Imma fucking magical goddess of your dreams—now let me go!” You shouted in defeat, cheeks burning with color from not only laughing so hard but because of the satisfies hum he vibrates onto your skin at your submission of power. He releases you suddenly and you only tumble back into him, knocking you both onto the floor in the process.

“That’s all I wanted to hear.” Lucio teases breathlessly as he lays flat on his back with you draped over him as you caught your breath. You huffed and turned yourself over so you could face him without actually getting up and off of him, planting your elbows against his chest to lean your chin against her palms and smirk down at the blonde.

“You’re insufferable, I can’t stand you sometimes I swear.” You jab, mouth twisted to feign irritation, though the way the corners of your mouth keep twitching up to resist give you away immediately. The count’s grin only widens, he didn’t need to see your expression slipping to know that was a bunch of shit and you loved it when you had moments like these. He sure did anyways.

“No, you love me.” You want to laugh in his face and say ‘Hogwash, you’re despicable’, but you refrain despite the temptation because he’s not wrong. And he did just go out of his way to cheer you up you supposed.

You lean down to peck his lips with your own, pulling away much too soon for his liking but he makes no effort to chase you.

“Unfortunately,” The smugness of the smirk he gives you once the word leaves your mouth is almost enough for you to enact your revenge and tickle him while his chest is puffed out so much, but instead you add, “but you’re still not off the hook yet, you still owe me dinner after yesterday’s episode, Lucio.”

Long story short, the count got sloshed yesterday evening with some guests, and you ended up dining with the courtiers instead, not an ideal experience. And on top of that, you had to drag an annoyingly drunk Lucio to bed, listen to him getting personal with the waste bin and then the toilet afterward because some ignorant servant let him have whiskey when can't stomach it at all.

Nevermind the fact that Lucio is a whiney baby whenever he gets that wasted and demanded you feel sorry for him because he couldn’t handle his alcohol.

“I don’t recall—” You smack his cheek none too lightly and he looks like he’s just remembered something, “Oh, right… that.”

“I said I was sorry,” He pouts, arms wrapping around you as if to somehow sway you and sweet-talk his way out of this. Though your stern look shoves whatever smooth talk he had in mind right back down his throat, he knows better than to try and negotiate with you. “Alright, I give. What did you have in mind, dove?”

You smile a devilish, sinister smile and Lucio looks a bit nervous beneath you.

“The shop, we’re gonna cook our own dinner, together.” Lucio groans dramatically and his head falls back onto the floor with a thump, obviously not thrilled since he couldn't be bothered to even think about cooking for himself. He wants to complain, but he thinks back to the little bits and pieces of last night he could remember where you’d put up with him almost the entire night. Stupid whiskey, stupid friends getting him in trouble...

“Fine, I suppose that’s fair.”

[xfandomwritingsx]

Scars - F!Hawke/Varric

Description: 5 times Hawke's clothes came off. (A prequel of sorts to Reuniting. Not necessary to read Reuniting to read this.)

Warnings/Labels: Nakedness? No smut. The smallest mentions of depression? Really there aren’t many warnings here.

Approx. Word Count: 3,400

A/N: I posted this on AO3 a while ago but figured I’d post it here too.

1. The first time Hawke stripped out of her clothes in front of him was down in the Deep Roads. It had been at least a week since Bartrand had trapped them down there and they’d wandered into a heat pocket. The sweltering heat slowed their pace even more than the quickly growing hunger did. Carver looked the worst of them all, but the rest of them weren’t fairing much better.

They’d stopped traveling to take a break, the entire group’s energy level draining. Isabela leaned down to Carver as he sat and propped himself against a stone, trying to get him to drink a little more water. Varric watched as they argued about it quietly and wiped his sleeve along his forehead.

Hawke stood off to the side of him. He watched her slip her staff off of her back and set it on the ground. Her long, black hair was tied up messily on top of her head with one of his spare hair bands he’d given her when she’d lost hers over the edge of a bridge. He caught himself staring blankly at her, dehydration making his vision a little fuzzy and tired.

His vision cleared again when he noticed her unbuttoning her robe.

“Uhh, Hawke?” he called out curiously as he approached her. “You okay?” She had an angry, frustrated look painted on her face. She ignored him completely as she opened the robe down to her waist and shrugged it off her shoulders.

“It’s way too hot for this,” she told him bitterly. She tied the sleeves around her waist, effectively making her robe a bulky skirt and leaving her top in only her breast binding. The relief was minimal, but she sighed happily anyways.

“Is that the best idea?” It wasn’t that he had a problem with her lack of clothing. He wasn’t a man to blush at a little pale flesh presented in front of him, but he did worry it wasn’t the best choice for their situation. “There’s still a whole lot of darkspawn roaming around down here.” She shot a sideways glance at him.

“A lecture about armor?” she snapped at him a little rougher than she meant. “Coming from the man who leaves nothing but skin and chest hair between a blade and his heart?” He chuckled at her and nodded.

“Point taken.” A small smile tempted her face and her irritation seemed to fade.

“Although, it’d probably be best if you watched my back instead of Isabela for now.” She threw a look over her shoulder at her and Carver before looking at Varric again. “I don’t think I can handle her staring and making comments about my rippling back muscles.”

“So, I shouldn’t stand behind you and narrate every graceful movement?” he teased. Her laugh may have been dry, but it was good to hear nonetheless. She leaned down to pick up her staff, turning just enough for him to see the small, deep gash on the back of her shoulder. “You should clean that,” he mentioned. She didn’t even look up.

“With what? The little drinking water we have?” She shrugged before standing back up. “I brush the dirt off it once in a while and that’s about as good as it’ll get for now.” He twisted her neck in an attempt to look at it before conceding she couldn’t bend that way. “Scars are sexy anyways, right?”

“Well I was more worried about impending death due to infection, but I see where your concerns lie.” They smiled at each other and Hawke threw a friendly wink in his direction before walking towards her brother to aid Isabela’s cause to hydrate him.

2. “I do believe you owe me an article of clothing,” Isabela gloated, laying her cards down on the table.  She had been cheating, which Varric suspected she did at least ninety percent of the time, but this time he actually saw the cards hidden in her bodice. He kept his mouth shut though. He wasn’t actually partaking in the festivities this time.

The group of them had been down by the bar for their usual night of Wicked Grace, but a small lot of them had somehow inhabited his room after hours to continue on with more risqué rules. He’d had enough ale to know he was going to be sloppy and enough sense to decline the invite. He didn’t need to end up in his smallclothes in front of everyone tonight. Maybe another time. For now, he sat at his desk alternating between watching them and trying to write.

“Alright, alright.” Hawke was already lacking her tunic shirt and her boots and the table was clearly interested in seeing what she was going to choose to remove next. Varric noticed Ander’s eyes do a once over on her chest binding and he chuckled to himself. Blondie wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was. (Though subtly wasn’t exactly needed since Hawke had made direct eye contact with him when she lifted the tunic over her head earlier.)

“What’s it going to be, Hawke?” Fenris asked. Varric admitted, it was nice to see the guy enjoy a good time once in a while. He found his attention was drawn to the table, curious himself to see how this played out.

Hawke had a wicked smile on her face which only enthralled the group more. Isabela rested on her elbows, leaning forward towards the woman across the table from her. One of these days she was just going to end up crawling across the top of it, Varric believed. He just hoped it was on one downstairs instead of his personal one.

Hawke leaned back and slid her hands under the table. Her eyes danced between her three opponents who waited with a high amount of anticipation. From Varric’s angle, he was the only who could see that, despite her wiggling of her hips and act of difficulty, the only thing she was doing, was pulling a piece of clothing out of her pocket. He had to bite his tongue to keep the grin off his face.

With one last show of bending at the waist, as though she was freeing clothing from her lower half, she lifted her hand with pride and dangled a pair men’s underwear. They were slim shorts that would have hung low on her lips had she actually worn them, the waist being too wide. The group was shocked and impressed at her maneuver, missing her deception entirely. Hawke triumphantly tossed the underwear onto the middle of the table as the questions started pouring in.

“How did you do that?” A confused Fenris.

“Whose are they?” Anders trying to hide his jealousy.

“Are they comfortable? They look comfortable.” Isabela already picking them up and inspecting them.

It took Varric a few more moments than it would have sober to realize that the underwear displayed on the table, that had been hidden away in Hawke’s pocket for Maker knows how long, were in fact his. The grin he had slowly fell off, melting into confusion. When had she gotten those? He could tell they were clean (thank the Maker) but how did she get them? Hawke looked at him from the corner of her eye and gave him a quick wink. It didn’t matter he supposed. The bafflement of the party was entertaining enough to let them keep his underwear.

Hawke put a stop to the game after that, knowing that if they kept going, she’d be forced to end up removing her bottoms which would reveal that she had not been wearing those underwear and would unravel her entire rouse. She waited until everyone vacated before handing them back to Varric.

“I grabbed them from your drawer when I went to the bathroom,” she explained for him.

“You mean you aren’t a crazy stalker? Well now I’m disappointed,” he teased, putting his underwear on his desk and making a mental note to wash them again. “Put a shirt on before you leave.” He wouldn’t be surprised if she forgot in her state and started wandering the Lowtown streets without it.

“Yes, yes, fine.” It took her a moment to find it and during her search, his eyes glanced over her body. Her time in Kirkwall had peppered her skin with imperfections. Dark spots, bruises, small scars. It suited her appearance. “Are you leering Serah Tethras?” she teased, words slurring just slightly.

“Told you, you should have cleaned it.” He pointed to the small scar on the back of her shoulder. Really, he was surprised that was the only physically mark remaining from their time in the deep roads. Could have been worse.

“And I thought I told you, scars are sexy.” She wiggled her shoulders in an overly exaggerated way and he wasn’t sure if the absurdity of it was on purpose or simply ale fueled. Either way, he chuckled.

“Get your ass home to bed.”

3. Blood was everywhere. Her blood was everywhere. Varric willed his hands to stay still as Fenris and Anders carried her. It was a wonder how she was still alive, let alone conscious and making smartass remarks. He walked swiftly in front of them, ushering a path and trying desperately not to stare at her blood on his hands.

The Arishok had stabbed her clear through her middle in a last ditch attempted to win their duel. Varric had felt his entire body go weak and numb, watching her hoisted up on his blade. He, like everyone else, thought for sure that was it. That was the end of Hawke, the end of his best friend. Against all odds, she somehow not only survived, but triumphed. He suspected Anders did something, sent some subtle healing spell her way or something, but he didn’t know. He didn’t particularly care right then either.

They laid her on a cot in Ander’s clinic and she made a joke about them jostling her to cop a feel. No one so much as smiled. Blondie’s hands were all over her in an instant, feeling and prodding, making her wince. Everyone was surrounding her bed, but Varric made sure he stood at her head, out of the way, but closer enough to tear off his glove and hold her hand. Her skin was cold.

“So, when you tell this story,” she said to him, holding weakly onto his hand. “You better make it sound epic.” He coughed out a laugh for her benefit and started stroking her hair.

“Chuckles, I won’t even have to exaggerate,” he assured. “This is crazier than the Ogre.” She smiled, coughed, and then winced. Anders was tearing at her robes, trying to open them to see the wound, but wasn’t getting very far.

“Move,” Isabela commanded, quickly unsheathing a blade from her bodice and pushing her way up to Hawke. She sliced open the thick robes right down the middle in a single motion, the tattered edges billowing away from Hawke’s body in the places where the blood hadn’t soaked through. The fabric stuck to the wound and Anders had to carefully peel it away.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when it was revealed that she hadn’t been speared straight through the middle. It was slightly off to the right, which probably managed to save her life. Varric held onto her hand tighter and brought her knuckles to his lips.

“She’s going to be okay,” Anders said, mostly to himself as he worked. “She’s going to be okay.”

“Hear that?” Varric asked her. Her eyes were bright as she looked at him and that, more than Ander’s words, gave him a feeling of hope. “You’ll be fine.” She opened her mouth to say something, but hands pressed on her and she cringed.

“I have to…” Anders faltered in his words. “Her breast bind.” A bloody hand pointed to the dirty wrappings. “It’s in the way.” Hawke’s eyes rolled upwards and she groaned. “Alright, everyone out.” His voice dropped into that commanding tone and with quick kisses and touches of affection, everyone started filing out without question.

Varric went to take his leave as well, but when he went to release her hand, she just held on tighter. He and Anders exchanged a single look and they both knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Anders nodded briefly before turning his attention to her breast bind. And Maker, was he slow and ginger about it. Varric knew he’d seen her naked before and now was no time to be shy about it.

“You are not to exaggerate those,” Hawke teased, giving his hand a weak, but playful squeeze. Anders was finally done with her binding and Varric made sure to keep watching her eyes, partly out of decency, but mostly to make sure she was still okay.

“Well now you’re just being stingy.” He really didn’t feel like teasing her, but he’d do anything to keep her smiling right then. “What good is a story without a busty heroine?”

“You have my full permission to make Bethany extra voluptuous.” The smile faded just a little bit. “She died a hero.” She looked away from him and looked up instead, wincing again. He saw the glisten of tears in her eyes. “Carver’s dead too. And Mother.” He patted her hand and ran his thumb over her skin.

“How about I make sure to give Carver the juiciest chest of all of you?” That seemed to pull her back to him, the smile slipping back onto her face.

“This next part is going to hurt. A lot,” Anders warned. “I think it might be time to put you to sleep. You’ll need the rest anyways.” Varric saw a flash of fear in her eyes and he squeezed her hand.

“We’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promised because by the Maker, she would wake up. She took a deep breath before looking down at Anders and nodding. When he came up the table to place a kiss on her lips, Varric looked away to give them privacy. He would have stepped back completely, but her hand still clutched his and he wasn’t about to let go.

Anders pulled back and gave her a flask filled with what Varric assumed was the potion to make her sleep. She grimaced when she drank from it and sputtered through a cough, but she got it down.

She gave Varric one last smile before her eyes fell shut.

4. Two main things led to Hawke stripping away all her clothes and climbing into Varric’s bed. The first being she was very drunk. The second being that she was sad and lonely, practically bordering on depressed, though she would never admit it.

Anders had abandoned her again that night, something he was making a habit of doing which in turn was making Varric want to punch him in the mouth. He didn’t know what was going on with that guy, but he was dragging Hawke down into his moping and Varric didn’t like it. So, he never denied her when she showed up at his door alone, that night being no exception.

Either Corff’s drinks were extra strong or she had drunk more than he’d realized because she by the late hours of the evening, Hawke was stumbling through his room and slurring her words. Usually her drunkenness was something of amusement, but tonight she had a sad, empty look in her glassy eyes that made Varric sink.

“Do I need to leave?” she asked as she plopped herself down onto his bed. She didn’t ask out of courtesy, but rather a suppressed desire for validation. She wanted someone, anyone, to tell her she was welcome and wanted. Varric smiled softly at her before crouching down in front of her and unlacing her boots.

“Chuckles, there is no way I’m letting you leave this room tonight.” She returned his smile and helped wiggle her feet free from the confines of her boots. “If we put aside the fact that you’d probably end up passed out in an alleyway if you tried to get home, I would be greatly offended that you thought my company not fit to remain in anymore.” He could tell she wasn’t quite following his words, the sound of his voice probably a little wishy-washy and broken in her drunken head, but that was okay. The point was that she knew she could stay.

He tossed her boots aside and left to straighten up his desk a little. He heard her shuffling about and when he turned around, she was stark naked and crawling under his covers. Varric averted his eyes to the ceiling and held back a laugh, but before unintentionally noticing that the intimate parts of her skin were much paler than he thought.

“What-chya doing there, Hawke?” He heard her say something in response, but her face was already buried into a pillow and her voice was too muffled to understand. “Yes, of course. Makes perfect sense,” he muttered to himself, chancing a look back towards her. She was covered for the most part, sprawled on her stomach with the covers up to around the middle of her back.

Normally, he would have just made up his little cot on the floor like he used to do when she spent the night, before she insisted he could share the bed, but her war hound (if one would even call that slobbering doofus of a dog a war hound) had destroyed it with copious amounts of drool. He toyed with the idea of getting into bed next to her. It wouldn’t be that absurd, but there was some kind of line he felt he would be crossing, even if he wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

So, instead he settled for his desk chair. He could make do for one night. He paused to look at her before swiping his pillow from his bed. She was already passed out, snoring softly. He smiled lightly at her, finding a comfort in the simple look of peace on her face. He didn’t even care if it had been the ale or his company that put her at such ease. The woman deserved it.

He pulled a spare blanket out and set up his chair to sleep in and found it much easier than he thought it would be to fall asleep to the sound of her snoring.

5. Hawke had more scars now. As he stripped her of her clothes, he took notice. He laid her back on his bed and gently pulled at the layers of fabric that covered her and noticed all the scars freckling her body. Some of them he recognized, others were new.

As he slid her tunic up her belly, he ran his fingers over the red puffy line that marked where the Arishock had skewered her. He dipped down and kissed it before letting his mouth follow his hands up her body. There was a new scar beneath her left breast and he kissed that one too. He placed his lips over every scar he ran across; the one on her shoulder, the new slash on the back of her thigh, the small and nearly insignificant mark on her left hand.

Hawke moaned and ran her hands through his hair as he took his time with her, relearning her body after so long apart. He took a pride in the way he knew her body without ever actually having it before this night. He suspected she knew his own nearly the same when he found himself on his back with a naked Hawke gently running her fingers over the small white mark on his lower back that she instinctively knew was there.

He asked himself once again how he didn’t see this coming. How did he not realize how intimately they had always known each other? It was so clear and yet through all those battles, all the long nights together, the drinks and laughs and conversations, he never realized it.

She made a twisting motion with her hand wrapped around him and his took a deep intake of breath, or tried to anyways. With his lips on her neck, all he did was suck on her skin. It sent them in a short cycle. She would moan and twist causing him to suck harder on her until he gave in and pulled away from her.

She had a sly smile on her face and a purplish bruise bubbling up on her skin. Varric smirked to himself. Even if it was a temporary one, he was going to leave his own mark on her. Add one more onto her body that for once wasn’t brought on by hate or fear or violence.

And by the seductive sparkle in her eyes, he assumed she was going to do the same to him.

[eyehairs-blog]

Black Hole Sun, Ch. 6 - Manifold

Summary: can be read as a stand-alone or as part of the series. Bella dreams of Edythe. Smutty times are had. The red Chevy stands witness.

Smut under the cut.

I guess Edythe was my friend. Yes. Friends definitely feel these things for each other - right?

My fluffy blanket encased me in a warm cocoon and lured me towards sleep, but I continued to thumb through Inkheart and neglected to retain any of the words. My mind kept drifting to the day before, when we sat in my truck, water dripping off my jacket and from the hem of her dress, how her translucent skin looked while wet...

The truck was running this time. Warm air puffed from the vents, drying our wet clothes, and the windshield looked foggy on my side of the cab. The world beyond the windows seemed fuzzy - half-formed, misty even - but everything important in this moment was inside with me.

I lifted down my hood. My backpack was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn't important because Edythe was on the seat next to me. Her clothes were sopping wet, her hair bedraggling down her shoulders, her eyes intense and dark and fixed on mine. She followed my gaze as it traced her pointed chin, followed a drop of water down to her collarbone, the collar of her dress, the daisy perfectly outlining -

I took a deep, shuddering breath and closed my eyes.

"Bella?" Her voice was soft, close. I detected the telltale creaking and clicking of her joints as she moved closer, and suddenly a waft of cool air touched my nose. "Bella, it's okay."

A cold, firm hand took mine, and suddenly it was being moved from my lap up, out, to touch -

My eyes flew open. Edythe's were mere inches from mine, black as pitch and twisted into an expression of frustration, concentration, and something else I didn't recognize.

I tightened my hand, took over from the cold one like a vise on mine and moved it against her body, against the breast she'd pressed it to. I found a nipple, tight and raised under her wet dress, and lightly brushed my thumb over it. Her eyes rolled back and she released a moan in response.

The sound of her voice, colored with want, made the hair on my arms stand on end. The familiar feeling of horror, of the urge to run, encouraged my heartbeats to multiply and my breath to hitch - or, maybe, this feeling was something only slightly different.

I slid my hand from her breast to the small of her back, pulling her against my body with a thud. She offered no resistance, but knowing her she would've been more than strong enough to stay still. Her eyes, focused once more on mine, slid down to my lips.

"Bella, can I kiss you?"

The words were nothing but air. I answered by leaning in, eyes fluttering shut, and closing my mouth on hers.

She was still for a moment, then became a flurry of movement. She groaned against my lips, then laced her arms around me and up into my hair. Her cool, firm lips moved against mine, nipping, sucking, pulling back for a breath and diving in for more. I returned her fervor in kind - blood rushed to my face and elsewhere, my body growing hot against her slim, wet, cold one. Her hands found my zipper, stripped my jacket from my torso, down my arms, then went for the buttons of my flannel shirt.

I growled and shook her off, keeping an arm braced around her waist and supporting her back. "No - " breath hitched - "Let me."

I pulled away, making room on the wide leather seat, and laid her down on her back. She wrapped her legs around my waist and pulled me to her. Her skirt hiked to her waist.

I sat up, both hands on her legs, drawing the flats of my palms up and down her papery-white thighs. The shadows of her dress hid her hips, her sex, from me, but I knew she wore nothing besides this flimsy wet sundress and thin yellow cardigan. I dragged both palms southward, sliding beneath the dampness of the cotton fabric, until I cupped one firm ass-cheek in each hand.

I fixed my eyes on her, completely still. Seeing her like this - spread out on the seat, her drying hair splayed like a splash of blood, legs spread and eyes dark with hunger - sent all my synapses firing.

"You're beautiful," I whispered.

I caught a glimpse of her face crumpling as I leaned down to take the collar of her dress into my mouth. I pulled it down, finally exposing an alert red nipple, then wrapped my lips around as much of her breast as I could fit. Her skin was cold, and it had no give, but her nipple was obviously sensitive - she bucked against my face, a mewling cry escaping her lips. The taste of her moldering rose scent filled my mouth, almost rancid in its intensity, and beneath it I could smell musk, the need in the shadowed region of her skirt, a smell as familiar to me as that of my own strawberry shampoo.

She liked this.

Her hands scrabbled against my back, pulling at my shirt until it was lifted nearly over my head. I dislodged my mouth from her breast just long enough to let her pull my top off. I hated those few seconds - any time without that tit on my tongue is wasted - but soon enough she let me take her body back, her left nipple this time.

Her damp dress was cold against my skin. My sports bra felt restrictive in this moment of nakedness, but there was no time, no urgency, to take it off. The dress though, I thought. It needs to go.

Edythe's mewling cries grew more intense as I nipped at her nipple once, twice, three times. I moved my hands from her ass to the bunched fabric at her waist, clumsily pulling it towards her head. She tried to help by shimmying back and forth, using the friction of the seat against the skin of her back to pull the dress (and the cardigan) up and off.

I lost contact with the nipple again. I sat back up, her clothes clutched in my hands, and just looked at her. She watched me do it, eyes guarded, chest heaving, her hair nearly dry and tangled up under her arms, her face, through the door handle.

I dragged my eyes down from the nipples I'd been so obsessed with, down across the ribs showing through her skin. Down to her perfect, flat belly, her belly-button a tiny pockmark. Down to the swell of her hips, her legs wrapped so tight around me, her legs culminating in a wild, curly, bronzed bush.

She squirmed, then whimpered, her eyes begging. “Please.”

I inched my right hand up the inside of her thigh, sending shivers rippling up my arm. “Please what?”

She ground her hips against my pelvis, pressing her sex to the zipper of my jeans. Her rosy musk grew stronger. “Please Bella,” she grunted, eyes screwed shut.

I danced my finger along the porcelain surface of her skin, following the line where her leg met her body. The urge to slide my hand down, to cup her cunt, to slide fingers inside, was almost overpowering.

“Do you want me to touch you?” I said, deathly low.

She flashed her eyes towards me, enraged and wanting. She spat, “Oh god, yes.”

I dragged all five fingers up and through her bush, savoring how wet it was, how musky. I slid two fingers down over her lips, feeling their coolness and unrelenting firmness. The tip of my index finger barely brushed the hood of her clit.

Edythe thrashed, hips twitching, hands buried in her own mess of hair. Unearthly cries ripped from her throat - “oh god please, Bella, touch me, fuck me with your hand, god - ” and it took all I had to continue teasing her. I wanted to give her everything she asked for, kiss her, fuck her, love her until she broke.

I slid my left hand up her body to grasp her breast, tweak her nipple, and rise to her throat. Her eyes widened but she gave it to me, lifting her head to meet me.

”Bella,” she rasped, as much as her low, velvety voice was capable of rasping. “I’m begging you.”

I returned her desperate gaze with a satisfied one. My hands were frozen on her throat and on her clit - she was mine, utterly broken, desperate for me. Exactly how I wanted her.

I positioned my fingers over her wet slit, sending shivers through Edythe’s body with every millimeter of her skin I touched. I locked eyes with her again, pausing, relishing the desperation, frustration, and fear in her eyes, before thrusting my fingers home -

"Bella?"

I jerked awake with a snort, sending Inkheart to the floor. "Mmmyeah? Huh?"

Charlie crossed the room and picked up my book, returning it to my hand with a smile. "Feeling any better? It's about noon. You've been asleep for a while."

"Oh." I squinted out the window. The clouds had returned, but it was almost imperceptibly lighter out.

Charlie smiled again, grunted, and rose, grabbing my melted ice-pack on the way out. "I'll let you get your bearings. If you're feeling well enough we can go down to the diner and get some grub."

He didn't wait for a response - I heard my door click shut again. I sighed, reassembling the bits and pieces of my dream, feeling my face grow hot the more I remembered.

[mentallyinwalmart]

‘life of the party’

A Cressworth St Patricks Day Fic. Follow up to ‘Locked Out’ and apart of my modern AU ‘Neighbors’.

I sit up in bed, wrapping a sheet around my chest as Thomas opens the window and let’s in the sound of the city.

It had been two weeks since our first hookup, and in the last fourteen nights, Thomas had spent eleven in my bed.

He claimed it was because he had earlier classes, so it was easier for him to slip out in the mornings, but I think it was because he was embarrassed of the constant state of mess that ruled his apartment.

Thomas crashes onto the bed beside me, dropping his head into my lap. He grins up at me, bare except for his pajama pants. He reaches up, and I smile, but then, he catches me off guard by pinching me.

“Ow, Thomas! What was that for?” I demand, smacking his hand away.

“You aren’t wearing green.” He gestures to his green striped pajama pants. “Happy St Patrick’s Day.” He presses a kiss to where he had pinched me before sitting up in bed.

“My eyes are green.” I fire back, leaning over to pinch his bicep.

“Doesn’t count, you aren’t wearing your eyes.” He pinches me back, softer and more playful this time. “At least I hope you never take them off.”

I shake my head and push him away. He grins and stands up, walking towards the kitchen. I hear him turn on the tap, fill something, then I hear the click of the electric kettle snapping on.

“Just make yourself at home why don’t you!” I yell down the hall.

A laugh comes from the kitchen and my skin tingles slightly. I curl my toes as a lazy smile spreads across my face.

He reenters a moment later holding a cup of black coffee and a cup of tea. He offers the tea to me before settling back into bed beside me.

“What’s got you so chipper?” He asks, a smile playing at his own lips.

“I’m just excited about the party.” I say, cocking my head as I smile up at him.

“Oh right about that. I won’t be able to make it to your party tonight.” He says, turning serious, “I’ve got a date.”

I feel my mouth drop open and move my lips, but no words come out. Thomas’ drops his facade and grins.

“I’m kidding, Wadsworth.” He says, “Though I am glad to see that you are glad I don’t have a date.”

“Date whoever you want.” I mumble, taking a deep sip from my teacup and praying the heat I feel rising to my cheeks isn’t noticeable.

“Well…” Thomas pauses, and I lift my gaze from the content of my cup to meet his soft eyes, “The only person I want to date is you.”

I choke on my tea. We haven’t had that conversation. True, I’ve thought about doing something more with him, something beyond enjoying his body, and the feelings it could inspire in mine.

But my fears overwhelm my desire, and I swallow the tea along with the lump in my throat.

“You should really get going.” I say, standing up, still holding the sheet around me, suddenly self concious of my nakedness. “I have a lot of prep for the party. Plus Liza will be here in less than two hours and I need to make myself, presentable.”

Where I would normally expect a quip about how good I looked in nothing but a sheet, Thomas was silent. He just nods, then pulls on his t shirt and silently leaves my room.

I hear him rattle with his keys before the door opens then shuts. I lean against the door frame, wishing we hadn’t left it that way. I grab my pajama shorts and slip them on, quickly grabbing a shirt off the top of my dresser. My heart sinks as I look at it.

It was the shirt Thomas had on the night of the spider incident. The night we had talked in his kitchen til the early hours of the morning.

I run my fingers across the soft fabric. Thomas likes to joke that everytime he managed to steal one of his shirt back, I took three more in its place.

I smile as I press the balled up shirt to my nose, hoping against hope it may still smell like his body wash, or his cologne. But it doesn’t. The only scent that clings to the shirt is oh my perfume, and faintly, our commingled sweat.

I set the shirt down on the bed, resolving to deal with that, and my feelings, later. I pull on a green tank top from my top drawer and walk to the kitchen, rinsing our cups and putting them in the dishwasher before turning on the oven and the crock pot. I pull some meat and butter from the refrigerator, setting a timer before I leave them to defrost on the counter.

I grab my phone and my Bluetooth speaker, checking my messages as I walk to the shower. A few texts from Liza, letting me know when she planned to come over to help me prep. But none from Thomas. I don’t even know if I want him to call me. I shrug it off and hop in the shower, humming along to the music as I clean myself, starting with my hair and working my way down.

When I get out I check my phone again:

No new messages.

I try to stop my heart from sinking at the thought of hearing nothing from Thomas. It hasn’t even been an hour since he left. I remind myself, wrapping my hair in a towel before slipping into my bathrobe.

—

A knock at my door pulls me from my haze of singing and baking in the kitchen and I dash across the room.

Thomas. I think as I open the door wide to reveal:

My cousin, dressed in a green pleated mini skirt and a black halter top. She grins, throwing her arms around me.

“Audreyyyy!!” She exclaims, squealing so loud I fear she may send Mrs Harvey’s cats into a frenzy.

“Liza!” I reply, letting her embrace me.

I tuck my head into her shoulder, but keep one eye focused on the door across the hall. Just open it just open it just open it. But alas, my begging does nothing but heighten the disappointment in the pit of my stomach as I close the door after Liza bounces in, two bags of decorations, and three bottles of whisky in her wake.

“Sooooo.” Liza says, “Do you think Will is going to show up tonight?”

My heart thuds as I stare blankly at her. Will, Christ I forgot about Will!

Liza looks at me, raising an eyebrow in skepticism,

“You know, Will, Will Blackburn,” she pauses, searching my eyes, discovering the secrets within them as only she can. “You’ve moved on.”

It’s not a question, but even so I nod.

Liza lets out a breathe, a sort of low whistle as she flops onto my couch.

“Is it your mystery hookup? Mr The Best Sex You’ve Ever Had?” She grins as I blush, burying my face in my hands.

“Yea.” I fess up, looking at her over the tips of my fingers. “But, well, I don’t know what’s going to happen now.”

“Why, what did you do?”

“Hey!” I protest, but she just gives me a knowing look and I sigh, “Yea okay it is my fault.”

I explain what had happened this morning, the coffee, the flutters in my chest, the sadness as the idea of him being with anyone but me, and then the way I had just completely shut down when he had all but asked me out.

Liza sits for a long moment, calculating it would seem, exactly how to get me out of this mess.

“Well what do you feel?” I had expected advice, some sage wisdom on how to get him to forgive me. But her question stumps me.

“I don’t know, Liza. It feels so soon! I mean, Will and I broke up three weeks ago, I’m worried I just miss dating, and that I may wake up one morning and realize that I feel nothing for him.” I pause, “Well besides ridiculous attraction.”

“You have chemistry, from what I hear,” She says, “you’re clearly compatible sexually, and it would seem emotionally.”

I raise an eyebrow as she continues,

“I mean come on Audrey. You spent hours together the night you first met. You were comfortable enough with him to sleep in his apartment that night you were locked out, and then, even though you barely knew him, you managed to tell him exactly what you wanted.”

“But that’s because I knew what I wanted!” I say, leaning forward to rest my chin in my hands.

Liza sighs.

“You don’t want him to date other girls Audrey, obviously that’s an indicator that, on some level, you want him to be with you.” She pauses, “Look, I’m not going to tell you how to play this. I know you’re just going to do what you want anyways, so I’m not gonna bother wasting my breathe.” She grins and I groan. “So think about it, I assume he’s coming to the party, so see how you feel when you interact with him in a non-bedroom setting.”

I smile and toss my arms around her. Despite the fact that I wish she could’ve just made all the choices for me, I love her for seeming to really get my feelings.

“Those feelings aren’t confined to the bedroom.” I give her a wicked grin and look between her and the couch she’s sitting on.

“Gross, Audrey.” She says, but I see her shift in her seat, as though she wants to touch the couch as little as possible. “Please tell me the kitchen is safe.”

I wink at her in response and she fakes a gagging sound.

—

We are just putting the finishing touches on the clover cookies when Liza finally dares to ask.

“This kitchen is so small, how did you even—”

I lean over the counter in response, it’s lip resting perfectly at my hips, the perfect height for Thomas to bend me over it and—

“God damnit Audrey Rose!” She says, smacking me with a dish towel, “you horny little slut.”

I giggle as I place the last cookie on the platter and survey the place.

It looks great, green table cloths spread across the counter and coffee table, shot glasses on beaded necklaces scattered throughout the room, the bottles of whisky on the counter, next to the plates of cookies, the bowl of chips, and the other entrees.

Liza moves across the room to adjust the hanging banner that boasts of the drinking to come.

“So,” she calls from across the room, “what are you wearing.”

I raise an eyebrow,

“This.” I say, gesturing to the green tank top and denim overall shorts I’m wearing.

But Liza just shakes her head.

“Absolutely not.” She says, grabbing me hand and dragging me to the bedroom, grabbing her purse as we head in.

“Okay,” she dumps the purses contents and out comes a bag of Bobby pins and mini hair spray, a green scrunchie, and a push up bra. “Now let’s get one thing straight, you are not wearing that.”

Before I can protest she throws open my closet doors, rifling through for something, I don’t bother asking what.

“Here!” She exclaims after a moment, pulling out something she had lent me long ago that I had never been bold enough to wear.

The dress is small, with a plunging neckline and capped sleeves. The hem goes down barely to my mid thighs and it looks as if it would hug every curve of me. Very different than my normal clothing choices.

“Liza I don’t know.” I say, leaning against the wall as I nervously twist a curl around my finger, “I worry ill just look awkward.”

But my cousin shakes her head and pushes the dress towards me.

“Just try it.” She says, backing out of the room before I can protest.

I consider it for a long moment before unclipping my overalls and peeling off my shorts, then pulling off my tank top. I replace my bra with the push up one Liza had brought and pause to marvel at how my breasts look all pushed up.

I pull the dress on before I can sike myself out, and call for Liza to come in and help me zip.

“Oh Audrey, yes.” Is all she says as she enters, her eyes darting across my whole dorm.

I smile at her in the mirror as she stands behind me, zipping me up.

“I do look good, don’t I.” I say with a smile, enjoying the way my figure looks fuller.

“Yes. You’ll kill your hookup before he even has the chance to say ‘let’s—’”

I smack her on the arm before she can finish.

“His name is Thomas.” I say, shaking my head, “I’ll point him out when he gets here.”

Liza beams as I surrender my hair and makeup to her, letting her put on gold eyeshadow, thick black eyeliner, pink lipstick, and a ridiculous amount of glitter on my cheekbones and collar bones. She pulls my hair into a half ponytail atop my head with the green scrunchie, and finishes me off with a few puffs of hairspray and a pair of gold hoops.

I hardly recognize myself in the mirror, but I like the changes I see before me. It almost feels like a disguise, like I might somehow be able to face Thomas after what happened this morning if this is how I’ll look from the outside.

The doorbell rings just as Liza is putting away everything.

“First of our guests!!” She exclaims, dashing to the door.

I strain my gaze, but Thomas is not among the group of my grad school friends that enter. I check the clock above my bed and see that it’s only nine, that the party had only just begun.

But nine turns into ten, and ten to eleven.

Though the party is nowhere near close to winding down, I’m starting to worry he may not show.

Liza pushes a fifth shot of whisky into my hand and clinks me before knocking hers back.

“Do you think I should go get him?” I ask, and she looks back at me, her cheeks flushed from booze, but her eyes as fiery as normal.

“Do you want him here?” She asks, and before I can think to sike myself out I nod.

“I do, Liza. I haven’t even been able to enjoy the party. There’s no one else I want to dance with, no one else I want to even talk to…” I pause as she glowers at me, “besides you of course!” I add quickly

She doesn’t even pause, simply taking the shot from my hand and setting it on the counter.

“Then you better go get him.” She says, squeezing my hand before pushing me in the direction of the door.

I close the door behind me as I step into the hall, taking a deep breath and doing my best not to stumble as I cross the hall in my heels, coming to rest just in front of his door. I raise my hand, but can’t seem to find the courage to knock. I groan, and let my head drop forward and rest against the door. However, I hadn’t accounted for the noise it would make, and as I pull away to rub my forehead, I can hear footsteps coming from inside the apartment.

I square my shoulders, smoothing my hair and adjusting my boobs inside the bra. I plaster on my best smile, trying to push away my nerves when the door opens to reveal--

A girl. Not his sister, and not someone I have ever seen before. My cheeks flush and my blood runs hot in my veins as I stumble back from the door.

“Who’s at the door Ileana?” Thomas’ voice calls from somewhere in the room. I blink back tears as I taking in her clothes, or lack thereof. She stands in an oversized t shirt and a pair of short cloth shorts.

“I’m not sure Tommy.” She says, and I begin to backpedal away from the door “Looks like she’s just come from the party.”

But as I hear Thomas’ heavy steps come towards the door I turn and begin quickly walking away, blinking furiously.

“Audrey Rose?” Thomas calls, and I freeze. “What are you doing here?”

I turn and see he is full clothed and he doesn’t look too disheveled. I take a small comfort in that as he looks me up and down, his eyes widening as he takes in the low neckline of the dress and my breasts that are practically popping out.

“I was just coming to see why you hadn’t,” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat and doing my best to steady my voice, “shown up to the party.”

“So we were invited to the party!” The sultry voice from the first day I met him comes from the apartment, and soon there is a third dark haired individual standing in the doorway.

Daciana Cresswell’s hair hangs in long waves of black, the dark green of her dress making her skin look even more fair than it had the day I met her.

“Yes.” I manage to get out, my eyes once again trailing over to Ileana, the girl who is now threading her hand through Daciana’s.

“Thomas you liar.” Daciana smacks her brother in the arm before stepping out of the apartment. She smiles at me, her hand still holding the other girls. “I’m Daciana, and it is a pleasure to meet you for real Audrey Rose.” She says with a grin, “This is my girlfriend Ileana.” She pauses, eyes searching my face as a wave of understanding washes over me, and suddenly I feel very foolish. “It was so kind of you to invite us, I only wish Thomas had been kind enough to pass along the message.” She shakes her head in her brothers direction.

“No worries.” I say, a smile sliding across my face as I step to my door and open it, allowing Daciana and Ileana to cross the threshold and join the mob of people inside my apartment.

I stand next to the door, lifting my gaze back to meet Thomas’s. He leans against his doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. I want to cross to him and kiss the last remnants of his sadness this morning off of his face, but I hold myself back.

“You coming?” I ask, gesturing to the open door beside me.

He sizes me up for a long moment, our eyes battling for dominance the way our lips had so many times before. After a long moment, he nods, and I watch him slip his keys into his pocket before closing his door and taking a step towards me.

I extend my hand to him and he takes it. We enter the party together, and I close the door behind us.

I lose him briefly as he goes to the drink table and I go to exchange a few quick words with Liza, but he finds me again on the dance floor a moment later, his normal scent now laced with a hint of whisky.

I smile and take his hands in mine, pulling him close as we dance together. His hands find a place to rest on my backside, and I am content with settling mine around his neck. We do not speak, not as we dance, nor after he kisses me, giving my ass a good squeeze. We just share smiles and lazy kisses. I realize in these moments of silence as the party rages on around us that I could be content to have nothing but this.

We dance as the party dwindles, as slowly but surely, my friends and Liza’s are all gone, until the only people left on the floor is me, him, his sister, and Ileana. Liza is passed out on the couch, and only after I finally tear my gaze from his captivating eyes do I realize how tired I am, and how late it is.

I turn off the stereo and toss a blanket over Liza, surveying the messy apartment around me. I sigh as Thomas exchanges a few words with his sister, moving to grab a trash bag. But Liza stirs on the couch.

“We’ll deal with it in the morning, Audrey.” She drawls before turning over and burrowing into her blankets.

I move to her, unstrapping her shoes, and doing my best to wipe off her lipstick with a napkin. When I look up from her face, Thomas is ushering the girls from my apartment. I weigh my options, stay and just turn in, or chase him down.

Five shots of whisky and my need overrule my nerves and I stand up, kicking my heels off before dashing across the room.

“Thomas wait.” I say, grabbing his hand. I realize that his sister and the other girl are beside him in the hall, and their inquisitive looks make me flush. But it’s long past the time for being shy. I thread my fingers through Thomas’s. “Come with me to the roof?”

He fishes his keys from his pockets and offers them to his sister, not even looking at her as she mumbles goodnight, simply keeping his gaze on me as I lead us to the roof.

The cool breeze of the summer night causes gooseflesh to form on my arms and I shiver, leaning into him slightly for warmth. He obliges me by wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

“Thomas.” I murmur, looking up at him, his eyes dancing in the moonlight. “Do you really want to go out with me?”

He pauses for a long moment,

“Audrey Rose like I said before, I’m happy to do as much or as little as you want. I know you are still getting over Will and I don’t want to rush you--”

But I silence him by gently putting a finger over his lips.

“I haven’t thought about Will in weeks.” I bite my lip as I trace his jawline with my fingertips. Now it is his turn to shiver, and the want in his eyes lights a fire inside of me. “I realized tonight, when I felt incomplete without you at the party, when I thought that girl was someone you were also hooking up with,” I swallow, “when you held me in your arms when we danced. I feel at home when you are with me.” I trace his cheekbone with my hand, “Can we agree to see each other during the day? And to not, do what we do, with anyone else?”

For a moment, as another grin plays at his lips, I worry he is going to retort with a sassy comment, but when he smiles and covers my hand on his cheek with his, I see all the humor melt away in his eyes.

“Audrey Rose Wadsworth, I would like nothing more than that.” He says with a gentle smile, using his other hand to brush a stray curl from my eyes.

I grasp the hand he had settled on my cheek and press a kiss to his palm.

The whole galaxy seems to twirl around us as he takes my face in his hands and kisses me. Softer, purer than any other kiss we have shared before. He leaves me breathless and wanting more as he pulls away.

---

as always thanks a literal million for reading :) Please let me know if you want more from this series 

xx

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@lizziehatter @city-of-fae @beasnotebook @shaewony @nish247 @schmlip-scribble

[god-whispers]

mar 12

good morning people.  i know this doesn't affect everyone who receives these briefings (whatever one calls them), but here in the neck of the woods where i live, we will be shifting time.  we will be turning our clocks up one hour in order to, supposedly, save daylight as it becomes more abundant in the transition from winter to spring.  all we're really doing is getting up an hour earlier.  to serve as a friendly reminder, the quote how one may "fall back" or spring "forward".

this all appears as an innocent way for man to manipulate time and "feel" as though they have more of it.  agreed, it seems harmless enough.  those who exist in the futility of their mind that there is no here-after, decidedly want to feel they have a sense of control of it; even to the merging of man, animal and machine together to extend it.  we willingly submit to organ transplants from animals or machines to subsidize human life.  if we consider it truthfully, how is that different different from what the fallen angels did?  they sought to manipulate mankind from God's original intent.

this world is always seeking a means to do things their own way and the devil is willingly urging them on.  to be as God.  the original lie.  what was the intro to the old show, six million dollar man?  we can built him better, stronger, faster.

yes, better than even God could.  actually, we have no idea how much man has fallen from God's original creation.  God set him over all of His creation and gave him dominion.  how much of creation now dominates mankind instead?  even in revelation 6 when a fourth of the earth is killed, many will be by the beasts of the earth as they apparently lose all fear of man.

still, in man's "supposedly" enlightened state, we bear witness in today's world of how man seeks more and is willing to destroy others to get it.  it is an unquenchable appetite than can never be satisfied.  it is man in his fallen state.

whatever one does to manipulate or control things God has set in motion, is ultimately doomed to failure.  why?  because God's way is always the best way.  what is the end of man's way without God?  i would like to quote a few verses from nahum about nineveh.  nahum 3:1-7

"woe to the bloody city!  it is all full of lies and robbery.  its victim never departs.  the noise of a whip and the noise of rattling wheels, of galloping horses, of clattering chariots!  horsemen charge with bright sword and glittering spear.  there is a multitude of slain, a great number of bodies, countless corpses — they stumble over the corpses — because of the multitude of harlotries of the seductive harlot, the mistress of sorceries, who sells nations through her harlotries, and families through her sorceries.

"behold, I am against you,” says the Lord of hosts; 'I will lift your skirts over your face, I will show the nations your nakedness, and the kingdoms your shame.  I will cast abominable filth upon you, make you vile, and make you a spectacle.  it shall come to pass that all who look upon you will flee from you, and say, ‘nineveh is laid waste!  who will bemoan her?'  where shall I seek comforters for you?"

perhaps this is not the loving God we all perceive.  love separates the vile from the innocent and judges it.  it's very condemnation is an act of love for those seeking His mercy.  it was love that destroyed the world in a flood, saving only eight.  He destroyed the entirety of mankind before the eight remaining of pure bloodline could be soiled and prevent the coming seed of redemption.

the wrath of God - does it exist?  although the wrath may not be in God, even a with holding of His grace is sufficient for death and destruction to ensue.  a cessation of light ensures darkness.  a cessation of life leaves only death.  not a death of void and nothingness; that's what many believe, even hope for.  it will mean a life of separation from all that is good into all that is bad.  the right must be separated from the wrong; the good from the bad.

if i have driven fear and terror into anyone's heart, i am glad.  the only good fear is the fear of God.  if one recognizes that, it will eventually turn to love.   "but we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord."  2 cor 3:18

i used to have a pastor that referred to 2 pet 1:5-9 as our "exercise program".  "but also for this very reason, giving all diligence, add to your faith virtue, to virtue knowledge, to knowledge self-control, to self-control perseverance, to perseverance godliness, to godliness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness love.  for if these things are yours and abound, you will be neither barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.  for he who lacks these things is shortsighted, even to blindness, and has forgotten that he was cleansed from his old sins."

so let us "exercise" our righteousness.  let us "walk in the way of goodness, and keep to the paths of righteousness."  prov 2:20  Jesus is "the way, the truth, and the life".  john 14:6

remember ever as our world sinks into the darkness and judgment of nineveh, "your redemption draweth near."  luke 21:28  our king is coming!

linda

[fanfic-scribbles]

More Than the Sum of Our Parts

Fandom: Avengers (MCU)

Summary: You trust Steve with your life, but not your body. Maybe it’s time for that to change.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female [Overweight] Reader

Warnings: Body issues/self-confidence issues. There is nakedness but this is way more about body issues than sexing.

Words: 1969

A/N: (Skip after the several empty line breaks if you just want the story; this is a way-too-long author’s note.) This is a week where the things I want to turn out don’t come out as I expect? Still, I started this account with the idea that imperfect is better than nothing and I get upset when other authors call their stuff ‘trash’ when I end up really loving it. So! Not trash, but not what I expected. Basically, I wanted a ‘you’re not perfect or gorgeous and that’s still okay’ fic. I wanted to write a fic where Reader doesn’t get called ‘beautiful’ because of reasons (I have many issues and this AN is too long as it is). I may have missed the mark a little bit because along the way I also got an idea for a StuckyxReader fic (that I still want to do eventually) where everybody gets to have body issues because I imagine Steve and Bucky both have different kinds of body dysmorphia (because duh, that is entirely reasonable) and I got a little sidetracked. As an aside, for a reference maybe not everyone will get: Carole Lombard was a beautiful lady of 1930s cinema who was married to Clark Gable (and died in a tragic plane crash in the 40s while selling war bonds; v. sad). (Also, I gotta admit I waffled between Jean Harlow and Carole Lombard because they’re both gorgeous but Lombard inched out. Myrna Loy was also a top contender ‘cause hot damn.) Anyways. Done rambling. Please enjoy (or not; that is your prerogative).

    You walk into your little studio apartment and drop your keys and bag on the table next to the door. The day hadn’t been especially hard but it was long enough that it’s dark out now, and all you want is to relax.

Or, you realize with a growing smile as you see your boyfriend lying on the bed, something else. Steve glances over and smiles at you, setting aside his book and sitting up in a succession of smooth movements. He has issues with his body, sometimes, but he really knows how to use it. “Hey sweetheart,” he says and stays as you walk over to him. You eye his lap but sit next to him, and he pulls you in closer with an arm around your back. “Long day?”

“Kind of,” you admit. You could easily lean in and fall asleep like this, so you turn your head and pull him in for a kiss. Your boyfriend is an incredibly good kisser. It took a little practice to get him there, but now Steve maneuvers around your mouth as easily as he moves about a battlefield. The blunt force of his lips and tongue can leave you breathless, but when he skirts the edges, nipping up and down your neck…

He pulls back, breathing a little heavier. “We should, uh, eat dinner first. You’re probably starving.”

“Nah,” you say and pull your nails down his back, outside his thin, tight shirt. “I could work up an appetite.” You grin and lean up to nibble up his neck. “But you do look good enough to eat…”

He huffs a laugh and lies down, bringing you with him. You’re careful not to bring all your weight with you, though, because Steve is strong enough to lift a car and you don’t ever want to hear how you’re ‘heavier than you look’ even in jest.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

You go to turn off the lamp next to the bed but Steve says, “Wait,” and grabs your hand before it reaches the switch. “Can we do something a little different?”

Talk about intriguing. Sex with Steve never stops being amazing whether it’s fueled by fevered need or gentle desire, and maybe that’s why neither of you have switched it up yet. But oh the possibilities. “What do you have in mind?”

He smiles in the way he knows makes you weak in the knees, the scheming bastard, and he pulls you up and over to straddle him. He runs his hands over your thighs, up your hips, and slips his hands just under the bottom of your shirt. “Let’s leave the light on.”

You blink, feeling a creeping edge of dread that you can’t seem to put into words. “That…I don’t…that doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

Steve, of course, looks shrewd. Scheming bastard indeed. “Why not?”

“It’s because…I’m not…well…” You gesture helplessly at your body.

“We’ve been having sex for a while now. I’ve felt almost every part of you.”

He drags his short nails down your sides and you shudder. “It’s different,” you protest, even as he rubs his hands over your skin. “It’s even different just normally because yeah you see me but you see me in clothes. You see me how I want to be seen.” Mostly.

“What do you think is so wrong that I wouldn’t want to see you?” he asks.

You roll your eyes. “I’m fat.”

“That’s it?”

You shoot him a dirty look. “I have been self-conscious of my body since I was a child Steve; don’t act like that’s nothing.”

His expression softens. “You know I understand that,” he says and reaches up to touch your face. You lean into it. “I never felt completely small like I was and even now I don’t feel like this is my body, sometimes. But you help me when I feel out of place in my skin. Maybe I can help you.”

You take his hand and kiss it, and let out a little sigh. “Except sometimes I don’t want to be in my own skin,” you admit. “Sometimes I want to be someone else. To know what it’s like to not be heavy. To…do things smaller girls can do.”

He frowns, like he’s figuring something out. “Is that– wait, is that why you won’t lie on top of me? Why you won't sit on my lap even when you look like you’re about to?”

You flinch away. “You notice that?”

“Sweetheart, it’s hard not to,” he says gently. “You, uh, do know I occasionally lift vehicles for my day job, right?”

You giggle at the thought of Steve randomly lifting a car at a 9-to-5. “Yeah but…”

In one swift motion he stands with you in his arms, making you shriek and cling to him. When your heart slows back down he’s standing, holding you as you have your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms behind his neck. You study him, seeking any kind of strain, any increase of breath, but he holds your gaze.

Finally, you breathe. “I swear if you make one Goddamn joke about how I really am heavier than I look…”

“How about lighter than you look?” he asks, his smirk small and his eyes bright with amusement.

You think about that. “Still not helpful,” you admit.

“Fair enough,” he says. But he moves his face closer to yours. “Are you okay?”

“Are you okay?” Because you don’t know how to answer that.

“Better than okay.” He licks his lips. “I actually really like this.”

“Hm.” You’re not sure you do, but you don’t want to count it out quite yet.

Steve brings you both to the bed and sits down again. This time though he makes sure you sit in his lap, no hovering allowed. “Tell me this– if I was still sickly, scrawny Steve, would you still love me?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. You’ve had your own ‘am I shallow’ freak-out long before now but landed pretty firmly on the decision that, if Steve has always had the good heart he does now, you’d still have loved him.

“Then why do you think I can’t love you as you are?”

“I don–…” You sigh. “I don’t know. I guess it’s not fair, it’s just…in my head, you know?”

He lets out a slight “hm.” Then he smiles again. “A lifetime of body issues doesn’t just go away.”

He’s quoting you, the brat. “Sounds like a smart person told you that.”

“Oh, the smartest.” He starts kissing you again. Not your lips though; seemingly everywhere but. He starts telling you about yourself– the things he loves. Your sense of humor, bits of personality you don’t show anyone but him. The little jokes you share that can make him laugh just thinking of. Your chest swells with the almost uncomfortable amount of praise

“And I love the way she touches me,” he says, settling to look in your eyes. “I love how she knows just where to touch to drive me crazy. I love how she pulls my face when she wants a kiss. I love how she pulls my arm when she gets excited and just knows I’ll come along.” He strokes your face. “And I love the way she lets me touch her. I love that she lets me touch the places no one else does, how she lets me close when she’s so vulnerable, how she trusts me with almost anything.”

He doesn’t put any extra emphasis on it, and if you know Steve then you know he didn’t even mean to, but that ‘almost’ is like a brick in your head. It’s true. Of all the things you’ve trusted him with– your home, your safety, your body– you haven’t trusted him with all of you. The first time you had sex was sort of an accident, a moment of passion, and you made sure you were wearing something before he woke up the next morning. He was none the wiser then, still punch-drunk on endorphins and love confessions, and so you kept it up.  You’ve trusted him to have you, but you haven’t yet trusted him to look at you and not run away.

You stare at him for several, long, quiet seconds.

You stand up and move back. He starts to say your name but stops when you pull off your shirt. It’s now or never, you think, and though that’s not quite true, you’re going with it. It’s the unsexiest strip tease ever, especially when you’re down to your undergarments, but even though your hands shake on your bra clasp, you need to see this through. So you do, until you’re standing in front of him, utterly exposed, and letting him take in the sight you have so far denied him.

He looks you up and down, poker face in full effect. You hold your arms out, do a full turn, and shrug. “It’s…me.”

He’s still staring when he smiles slowly and crooks a finger for you to ‘come hither’. You do, taking back the position you just left. He suddenly inhales deeply and you feel a definite rise in his pants that makes you gasp in surprise. He chuckles and nuzzles your neck. “Yeah. Still plenty for me to like, sweetheart. Especially knowing you’re my girl and I’m the only one that gets to see you like this?” He starts kissing your neck, trading between teeth, tongue, and lips. “So what if you’re not perfect? You don’t have to look like Carole Lombard to be worth something.”

You let out a breathless laugh and when he pulls back to look at you, you look right back at him. “Eh,” you say with a little shrug. “You’re no Clark Gable.”

He grins. “Nope,” he says and turns so that you’re lying back on the bed. “I’m Steve. And you’re (y/n). And I love you as you are– even the parts I don’t always like.”

“Oh really?” you ask as he moves down and starts kissing up your stomach.

“Yeah. Your stubbornness…”

“Your stubbornness,” you grumble.

“…the way you close up sometimes when I wanna talk it out…

“How self-righteous you can be.”

“…how defensive you can get…”

You snort as you try to clamp down a laugh at that, but he rests his head on your chest and smiles up at you. It takes your breath away– not because his head is especially heavy, but because it feels so comfortable, even despite it being an unflattering angle. You run your fingers through his hair. “Mm…I see your point. There’s always good and bad.”

“Exactly.” He kisses your lips. “I don’t have to love everything to love you.”

He sits up and takes his shirt off. It is quite a nice sight to behold– mostly because you’re looking at his chest and thinking about dragging your fingers down it roughly in the way that always makes him shudder. You’re thinking about how you can’t wait to nibble on his ear and pull his hair, because he always lets out the sweetest moans then.

He gets naked and looms over you, beautiful and imperfect in ways only he can tell you about. Only the ways you can notice. And now that he’s staring at you, you quash as much of your insecurities as you can and ask, “What are you seeing?”

“My dream girl.” He gets on the bed and hovers over you with that impossible arm strength. “Every part of her.” He lowers himself and kisses you, and you feel him, all of him, skin to glorious skin. Ragged bits and bumps and smoothness and untrimmed hair and all. “What are you seeing?”

“Mm, my dream guy.” You look into his eyes and smile. “The whole of him.”

[holdonendure]

WOE to the bloody city! it is all full of lies and robbery; the prey departs not; The noise of a whip, and the noise of the rattling of the wheels, and of the pransing horses, and of the jumping chariots. The horseman lifts up both the bright sword and the glittering spear: and there is a multitude of slain, and a great number of carcases; and there is none end of their corpses; they stumble upon their corpses: Because of the multitude of the whoredoms of the wellfavored harlot, the mistress of witchcrafts, that sells nations through her whoredoms, and families through her witchcrafts. Behold, I am against you, says Yahuah Tseva'oth; and I will discover your skirts upon your face, and I will show the nations your nakedness, and the kingdoms your shame. And I will cast abominable filth upon you, and make you vile, and will set you as a gazingstock. And it shall come to pass, that all they that look upon you shall flee from you, and say, Niyneveh is laid waste: who will bemoan her? whence shall I seek comforters for you? Are you better than populous No, that was situate among the rivers, that had the waters round about it, whose rampart was the sea, and her wall was from the sea? Kush and Mitsrayim were her strength, and it was infinite; Put and Luviym were your helpers. Yet was she carried away, she went into captivity: her young children also were dashed in pieces at the top of all the streets: and they cast lots for her honorable men, and all her great men were bound in chains. You also shall be drunken: you shall be hid, you also shall seek strength because of the enemy. All your strongholds shall be like fig trees with the firstripe figs: if they be shaken, they shall even fall into the mouth of the eater. Behold, your people in the midst of you are women: the gates of your land shall be set wide open unto your enemies: the fire shall devour your bars. Draw waters for the siege, fortify your strongholds: go into clay, and tread the mortar, make strong the brickkiln. There shall the fire devour you; the sword shall cut you off, it shall eat you up like the cankerworm: make yourself many as the cankerworm, make yourself many as the locusts. You have multiplied your merchants above the stars of heaven: the cankerworm spoils, and flies away. Your crowned are as the locusts, and your captains as the great grasshoppers, which camp in the hedges in the cold day, but when the sun arises they flee away, and their place is not known where they are. Your shepherds slumber, O king of Ashshur: your nobles shall dwell in the dust: your people is scattered upon the mountains, and no man gathers them. There is no healing of your bruise; your wound is grievous: all that hear the bruit of you shall clap the hands over you: for upon whom has not your wickedness passed continually?

NACHUM (NAHUM) 3 את CEPHER

[rachelsiwafan]

Good morning 🇹🇿🇬🇧🌏#Cupoftea☕️The Woe of Nineveh 1 Woe to the bloody city! It is all full of lies and robbery. Its victim never departs. 2 The noise of a whip And the noise of rattling wheels, Of galloping horses, Of clattering chariots! 3 Horsemen charge with bright sword and glittering spear. There is a multitude of slain, A great number of bodies, Countless corpses— They stumble over the corpses— 4 Because of the multitude of harlotries of the seductive harlot, The mistress of sorceries, Who sells nations through her harlotries, And families through her sorceries. 5 “Behold, I am against you,” says the LORD of hosts; “I will lift your skirts over your face, I will show the nations your nakedness, And the kingdoms your shame. 6 I will cast abominable filth upon you, Make you vile, And make you a spectacle. 7 It shall come to pass that all who look upon you Will flee from you, and say, ‘Nineveh is laid waste! Who will bemoan her?’ Where shall I seek comforters for you?” 8 Are you better than No Amon That was situated by the River, That had the waters around her, Whose rampart was the sea, Whose wall was the sea? 9 Ethiopia and Egypt were her strength, And it was boundless; Put and Lubim were your helpers. 10 Yet she was carried away, She went into captivity; Her young children also were dashed to pieces At the head of every street; They cast lots for her honorable men, And all her great men were bound in chains. 11 You also will be drunk; You will be hidden; You also will seek refuge from the enemy. 12 All your strongholds are fig trees with ripened figs: If they are shaken, They fall into the mouth of the eater. 13 Surely, your people in your midst are women! The gates of your land are wide open for your enemies; Fire shall devour the bars of your gates. 14 Draw your water for the siege! Fortify your stronghold..#Nahum‬3:1-19#PraisetheLord#WordofGod#wordoftheday#versesoftheday#bibleverses#biblestudy#qoutesoftheday#prayernetwork#beblessedShalom#anzanamiBwanaYesu#biblia#NenolaMungu#Nenolaleo#Yona#barikiwa🙏 #eastafrica#tanzania🇹🇿 #asubuhinjema#chai#Coventry🇬🇧#lifestyleblogger#vlogger #mswahili🇹🇿#rachelsiwa🙏🏽❤️☕️ https://www.instagram.com/p/CCYEFY9HJhJ/?igshid=7n0ez5z2go41

[joyfullynervouscreator]

The Walkers pt 7

Another installment of ‘The Walkers’, the thrilling tale of Ullrae and Beorn, the last Skinwalkers in Middle-Earth.

“Athelstan!” you cry out, waking yourself up, looking around wildly.

“Ullrae?” Beorn asks quietly, carefully reaching for you, pulling you close as the tears come again. “Who is Athelstan?” he murmurs.

“Farmer,” you whisper, weeping into his chest. Beorn growls darkly. You look up at him, confused by the anger in his eyes.

“I’m going to kill him,” he hisses, looking south. You reach up, cupping his face to bring it back to you.

“You can’t kill my Athelstan,” you growl, before snuggling into his chest again. “My Athelstan is dead.” Beorn’s arms wrap around you, hushing you gently as he rocks you, waiting for the spell of grief to pass.

“It was his grave?” he asks. You nod, tracing light patterns into the skin of his chest, resting your palm above his heart.

“I was surprised by the needing,” you admit sadly, brushing a kiss against his throat. “I didn’t have time to bury him, or bring anything with me.”

“Then who was the Man I spoke to?” Beorn frowns. You rub your face against his neck, comforted by the smell of him.

“Ordred,” you scowl, hissing out the name like a curse. “He wants me. He is… a bad Man.” Beorn growls, clutching you tightly, possessively. You mewl into his neck, rubbing your nose against his throat.

“Do you want me to go in your place?” he asks, pushing you away slightly so he can study your face. You hesitate. You left behind everything when you fled, and part of you worries that Ordred will have taken out his anger at your departure on your things. You’d like to have a keepsake of Athelstan’s, though the thought of seeing Ordred again fills you with echoes of dread. On the other hand, you don’t really want to be alone, either, still feeling the need to stay close to your mate, and Beorn wouldn’t know what to take anyway. You sigh, knowing that you have to go back to the farm where, once, you had been happy. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Beorn swears, cupping your face and kissing you gently. You nod decisively, steeling yourself.

 Shifting, you lead the way, detouring to hunt down a proper meal. You’re still weakened, but getting stronger. Pushing away the needing was not healthy, Beorn told you, though he understands why you did it, even if it nearly killed you; would have killed you if he’d been much slower or further away. It haunts his dreams at night, you know, hearing him whimper at you to wake up, waking himself up often to check on your breathing, feel the beat of your heart against his skin. You feel content to once more spend each night in his arms, though you remain in your animal skins to ward off the chill of the night.

 Seeing the farm again is peculiar. You almost expect Athelstan to hobble out the door, greeting you with a smile like he always did when you returned from a successful hunt. Beside you, Beorn sniffs the air. You can smell blood, faint, but fresh. Worried, you set off for the house, remaining in your lynx body; all senses on high alert. There is only one person inside; it is not Ordred. Shouldering the door open – Athelstan made a clever latch you can undo with your paw – you push inside. Someone whimpers. Your eyes widen. Behind you, Beorn growls.

“Mildwyn!” you cry, falling to your knees beside her. Her right eye is swollen shut, but the other one focuses blearily on you. “Beorn, get water!” Mildwyn reaches for you, catching a lock of your brown hair. The door clatters against the frame behind you.

“Ullr…” she wheezes. You run your hands frantically over her body, looking for other injuries. Beorn dips a cup in the bucket of fresh water, offering Milwyn a drink. She gulps it thirstily. “Ullrae?” she asks wonderingly, as she reaches for your face again. “You came… back.” Looking behind you, her good eye widens, taking in Beorn who has turned to light the hearth, the flickering flames illuminating his nakedness and turning his skin bronze. You lick your lips, a frisson of desire curling low in your belly. “He… he found you?” Mildwyn say, and you realise she must have seen Beorn before when he came to the farm. You nod. You hadn’t expected her to still be here, being an innkeeper’s wife is a busy life, even if Aldburg is not as large as Edoras.

“Who is she?” Beorn asks.

“My Athelstan’s sister,” you reply, helping Mildwyn sip slowly. Wetting a rag, you carefully wipe her face, making her hiss in pain. “Who did this to you, Mildwyn?” you whisper, horrified that anyone would hurt someone as kind and gentle as Mildwyn.

“Ordred,” she mutters, and you catch the fright in her eyes when Beorn’s snarl rips through the silence of the kitchen. A log cracks in the hearth.

“This is Beorn,” you say, smiling up at him. “My husband.” You catch the pleased look on his face at the introduction, smiling as you rise and press a kiss to his shoulder.

“Her leg is broken,” Beorn says quietly, gesturing at Mildwyn’s skirt. He easily lifts her, placing her on the table and lifts her skirt to show you. Milwyn stares at him, dumbstruck. You try not to chuckle at the look on her face. A Man would have at least asked first, you know. “We need to set her leg,” he rumbles. “Go find some bandages and something we can use for a splint, my wild thing.” He runs his large palm up Mildwyn’s leg, pulling down her hose. Mildwyn gasps. So do you, if not for the same reason. Mildwyn is weeping in pain, while you’re staring at her leg in disbelief that a son could hurt his mother so badly. Whirling, you turn to the small chest of medicines you’ve carefully maintained in the years you’ve lived here. Mildwyn screams when the bone snaps back in place, but Beorn hushes her calmly, rumbling soothingly like she’s one of his dogs. You hide a smile. Handing him wooden slats to use for splinting, you begin to wrap Mildwyn’s broken leg.

“Why are you both… naked?” Mildwyn finally asks, blushing furiously, when you’re done with the bandages. You look up, catching her staring at you, determined not to look anywhere but your face, even as you see her dart a glance at Beorn’s powerful build. You smile, proud of your strong mate. Beorn nods at you; you know the woman better – telling her is your choice.

“Because we didn’t have any clothes. We are Gengende, Mildwyn,” you say, shifting and rubbing your body along Beorn’s legs once before shifting back. Mildwyn screams.

“She’s fainted,” Beorn points out, huffing a laugh. You aren’t really surprised, Mildwyn is a down-to-earth type of person, who has little time for fairy stories, and she was bound to be scared of a giant cat – even though the bear would have been worse – standing in the kitchen. Even Athelstan was a little scared the first time you shifted, though his curiosity and fascination with seeing a legend before him overrode the fear almost immediately. You nod, swaying lightly; shifting that quickly that often takes a lot of energy. Beorn catches you easily, keeping you steady on your feet with a slight frown on his face.

“Make some food, will you. I’ll go see if I can find a pair of pants for you.” You mumble, heading into your bedroom – the farm isn’t really large enough for several bedrooms, but Athelstan was weird about you sleeping in his bed, so you helped each other build the small addition when it became clear that you were staying. Picking up a shift for yourself, you head into Athelstan’s room, feeling weepy at the lingering smell of him that hangs in the few spare clothes he possessed. Ordred – or maybe Mildwyn – has begun sorting out the clothes; Athelstan’s trousers are good only for an amputee, but the shirts will probably fit Ordred if some fabric is added in the back. Rohirrim are thrifty people; it is not unlikely that Mildwyn knows of someone who’d be pleased to receive the trousers, you think, picking up a pair.

 When you return to the kitchen, there’s a pail of steaming water waiting for you, and Beorn is gone. Mildwyn stares at you. Beorn apparently lifted her off the table and into a chair – or she managed to move herself – and set three bowls on the sand-scrubbed surface.

“Did he beat you for running away?” she whispers, frightened, when you step back into the light. You laugh throatily. Looking down at your skin – the bruises have faded some, but you can still see some discoloration in places – you dunk a washrag in the water, lathering up the cloth with a small piece of soap.

“No, Mildwyn, it is not in his nature to commit violence against a female,” you say, amused that the thought even crossed her mind, but of course she doesn’t know anything about your kin. To you – and to Beorn – the idea is so foreign as to be preposterous.

“I did not think it was in my son’s,” Mildwyn replies, wincing, and belatedly you remember that this is Ordred’s mother, “but I was wrong.” You give her a small smile, squeezing her hand for comfort.

“It’s not your fault,” you begin softly, rinsing the soap off your skin. You cleaned yourself with water while you travelled here, but it is not the same.

“Your cow does not like me.” Beorn states with an affronted growl, interrupting your conversation as he steps back into the house holding a bucket. Mildwyn shies away from him, obviously fearful. You break into helpless laughter at the expression on his face.

“Cows here do not like us, my bear,” you murmur, stretching to kiss him gently.

“Clearly an inferior breed of cow,” he mutters darkly, pouring milk into the small kettle you use for porridge. “Daft creature. Tirwald would have been appalled.” Grabbing the large pot of rolled oats, he scoops a few cups into the kettle, hanging it over the fire. “Feeling better?” he asks, tipping your face up to trace your eyebrow with his thumb. You nod. Slipping a clean shift over your head – you wish you could wash your hair, but it can wait till you’ve eaten – you hand him a lopsided pair of Athelstan’s oldest trousers. They’ll be snug, but it’s the best you can do. Beorn raises an eyebrow at you, holding up the garment.

“My brother had only one leg, Master Beorn,” Mildwyn explains quietly, leaning back in the chair. He shrugs, struggling into the clothes. You find you enjoy the way the trousers fit around his arse, though you can see him struggling with the buttons. Wrapping your arms around him in a hug from behind, you kiss his shoulder softly, sneaking a peak down his front. Beorn growls, giving up on fastening the buttons on the trousers, though he tugs them up before turning around to wrap his arms around you. You smirk, though secretly you’re pleased with the dishevelled look; it’s almost a ready-for-bed look.

“This could be better, Ullrae,” he grumbles. You give him a kiss for his troubles. He smiles against your lips.

“You only have to wear them until I can stitch in some extra fabric?” you offer, yawning lightly.

“You need rest, sweetling,” he murmurs, “and I can do my own stitching.” Turning back to the kettle, he quickly manages a nice porridge. Ladling the food into the three bowls, stirring a spoonful of honey through yours just the way you like it, he pushes one towards each of you, watching you until you begin eating. When you dig in, he rumbles happily, turning his attention to his own bowl. You know Mildwyn is staring, obviously not used to the animalistic noises you often use to communicate emotion, but she eats the porridge with good appetite, apparently less frightened of Beorn now. The thought makes you smile, knowing that he really is quite gentle unless truly riled. Even then, Mildwyn would have nothing to fear, but you don’t know if explaining how male Walkers work will help her truly understand, so you keep silent, concentrating on your food.

“Where is Ordred?” you ask, when you’ve nearly finished your bowl, your stomach growling at the food. Though you fed twice before arriving, you still feel the bite of hunger, needing to replenish your reserves of energy. Beorn pushes a mug of milk at you with a wry smile. You gulp it down thirstily, licking your lips happily. Yawning, you spoon up the last of your porridge.

“Looking for you,” Mildwyn admits, seemingly losing her appetite and pushing her bowl away. Beorn pushes it back towards her. “It would be better if you were not here when he returns. Take your things and get away before he comes back.”

“And let him beat you again?” Beorn growls, anger making his voice take on more of the bear’s timbre. Mildwyn squeaks in fright. You pat her hand gently.

“Ordred would know I had been here,” you tell her quietly, “even if only for the fact that someone cared for you.”

“I could tell him it was Gyda,” she offers, but you shake your head.

“He would only go to her next,” you worry. If he would break his own mother’s leg, who’s to say what he’d do to his late Uncle’s sweetheart and his young cousin?

“You should sleep, Ullrae,” Beorn says, when you yawn again. “You’re still not healed.” When you nod, he simply picks you up, carrying you into the small room that holds your bed. You murmur sleepily against his skin, protesting when he loosens your grip, wanting him to join you in bed. “Hush, wild thing,” he mumbles, kissing you softly, “I’ll keep watch over you and Mildwyn, don’t worry.” You nod, even if you would prefer to sleep in his arms.

  “I feel I should warn you that I may kill your son,” Beorn says, startling the Mildwyn woman who had been staring into the fire with a far-off look on her face.

“Why?” she whispers, turning to face him; one eye is still swollen shut, blackened with bruising. Beorn gestures at her.

“Ullrae calls you kin,” he rumbled, dipping a cloth in the cool bucket of water and holding it against her eye. “Which makes you my kin. My kin does not get beaten. Not unless someone wants to be punished for it.” It is Walker logic, but more than that it is the blood of a long line of Scildere speaking. This woman is weak – only slightly stronger than a cub, to his mind – which makes him responsible for her protection, and even if she wasn’t his to care for when the bruises were made or her leg broken, he feels responsible for exacting vengeance. “It is our way,” he tries to explain, keeping his voice gentle, trying not to scare her, “unless you would rather your own mate seek vengeance for you.”

“But he is my son,” she whispers, and he can see the pain of that fact in her eyes. “I don’t know… I don’t think I know him, anymore.” She breathes in, shuddering as tears start rolling down her cheeks. “I should have gone home with my husband.” Beorn hadn’t been certain she had a mate, wondering why he would leave his woman alone with a man who smelled like anger, until he remembered that humans couldn’t smell the slight scent of emotions rising from their skin. Sitting on the floor by the fire, instinctively keeping his body between Mildwyn and the door, Beorn sighed, staring into the flames.

 “I saw you…” Mildwyn says, after long silence. “By the grave. You cried for her, for Ullrae. I wanted to tell you… but Ordred wouldn’t let me.” Beorn snarls at that, the memory of believing her dead still far too vivid in his mind, even two days after finding her on the forest floor. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and he knows she is, guilt and sorrow surrounding her. It does not appease his anger towards her son. “I’m glad you found her… who attacked her?” she asks, making him realise that she really hadn’t known anything about them.

“Ullrae was in heat,” he says gently, “it is a dangerous time without someone to care for her. The bruises and cuts were made by her own hands, trying to claw her burning skin off. Needing is painful without a male, for her kind, but she knew if she stayed here, she would have come out of it worse, fearing what Ordred would do to her. When I found her, she was…” he swallows hard, remembering the weak sound of her heart beating, “nearly dead.”

“You saved her,” Mildwyn says, and he hears a smile in the words as she dares to pat his shoulder. The gesture makes him chuckle; she is braver than she looks, he thinks. “I’m glad. Ullrae seems… happy… with you.”

“She was happy here, too,” he claims, knowing it is true. She has told him stories of Athelstan, of life here, of the troubles with a cheesemaking woman. “But I long to take her home. She wanted to come back to say proper goodbye to your brother, pack up the few things she owns here.”

“Athelstan loved her like a daughter,” Mildwyn says, “and Ordred doesn’t deserve to inherit this land; in my opinion, it should go to Wilrun when she’s grown. Take whatever Ullrae wants to keep with you. I am going to press charges against my son with the Marshal in Aldburg when I get home.”

  The next morning – Ordred has not returned – the three of you decide to herd Athelstan’s cow to the next farm; Mildwyn will be taking one of the horses for her trip to Aldburg, and the last mare will come with you and Beorn, along with most of the chickens. Beorn has made hutches for the animals, which will be strapped to the horse, but you’ve decided to drop a few off at Gyda’s brother; Wilrun may not be old enough to inherit much from her father, but the eggs will help her grow. Other than that, however, you take only a sack of wheat and one of barley; most of it will be seed-grain for next year, as you and Beorn are more than capable of keeping yourselves fed through winter with hunting. The clothes you have made over the years, as well as a few of the things Athelstan carved, you bundle up along with your green cloak, stowing it in a small kettle. The rest has no particular attachment to you; the pots and pans will be another inheritance for Wilrun, and the clothes will be given to those who need them. Mildwyn will see to it.

 The road to Aldburg isn’t long, though it is a few days’ journey; Mildwyn’s leg pains her when she rides, so you take it slow. Beorn has managed to resew some of Athelstan’s clothes; in a linen shirt and trousers – with two legs – he can pass for a Man. The roads are too busy for either one of you to walk in animal skin, but you refused to let Mildwyn travel alone, and Beorn seems to have adopted her like a stray cat needing protection, you think wryly.

“Will the Marshal take the farm from Ordred?” you ask, when you’ve left your former home behind. Mildwyn sighs.

“I will certainly try to; Wilrun is a child of the Blessing – as good as a trueborn heir – while Ordred,” you’ve noticed that she has stopped referring to him as her son, “is a nephew. Most likely, the farm will go to Gyda to hold until Wilrun can inherit it properly. We’ll see about finding someone willing to lease the land or farm it for her,” Mildwyn muses.

 “Ullrae!” a little girl cries, running up to you and wrapping her arms around your legs. “Auntie Mildwyn!”

“Wilrun,” you murmur, bending to set her on your hip. “Where is your mother?” Beside you, Beorn makes a small happy growl. You smile at him. “Wilrun, meet Beorn, he’s my husband,” you say, turning towards him. Wilrun stares.

“Up.” She reaches for him; you grin. Handing over the small child, you watch Beorn hold her carefully. “Up!” she cries again.

“It’s her favourite game, love, and you’re even taller than me,” you wink, laughing when he finally understands, putting Wilrun on his shoulders and rising to his full height. The little girl shrieks happily.

“Wilrun! Where have you run off to?!” a woman calls.

“Here, Gyda!” you reply, waving when she turns the corner.

“Ullrae!” she exclaims, staring at you. “You’re back!... what happened to you, Mildwyn?” she gasps, hurrying towards the three of you.

“Look, moder, I’m tall!” Wilrun crows, waving from her perch.

“My husband, Beorn,” you say, when Gyda looks startled for a moment. Beorn gives her a friendly smile.

“Ordred happened to me, Gyda,” Mildwyn sighs. “May we come in for a rest? We’ve things to discuss.”

 For once, Gyda’s brother, Gram, isn’t glaring at you – you rather think it has to do with the way Beorn’s arm remains draped around you, pulling you close to rest against him, even as he tells stories to little Wilrun. You recognise the story of his human daughter Álmbera, though Beorn makes it into a fantastical tale – to these people, of course, it would be fantastical enough even by the addition of Walkers – calling her a princess rescued from evil by the great warrior bear and who eventually falls in love with a golden prince. Mildwyn does most of the speaking with the adults; she is a woman of some standing, after all, though you will go to Aldburg with her to give testimony against Ordred. She easily navigates around the whole tangle of why Beorn was looking for you, making the audience – swelled to include Gyda’s good-sister and nephews as well as the village Alderman – gasp in horror when she explains how Ordred told him you were dead. Beorn's arm tightens around you at that point, an angry growl escaping him. You turn, kissing his furry cheek softly.

“My growly bear,” you tease, making him chuckle. You wish you were home already, but you feel responsible for sorting out things the way Athelstan would have wanted. Beorn kisses your forehead.

“Well, there’s certainly a case for you, Mildwyn,” the Alderman states – you think his name is Sewine – stroking his long beard thoughtfully. He is old, but he is still spry and his mind is quicker than many who are decades younger. “As for the idea of Wilrun inheriting all of Athelstan’s estate, while there is precedent in the case of a child of the Blessing, I believe the dead at the time had no other heirs.”

“When Ordred is convicted, he won’t be able to hold the land,” you say quietly, certainly. “If he tried to take it… the rough music would play for him ere long.” Around the table, the menfolk nod slowly, and Gyda’s face tightens; the rough music came for her first husband, after he beat the child from her body. No one knows how it starts, but all people of Rohan believe it nearly a mythical beast, though you know it is simply the anger of men at violence against someone weaker. You cannot call the rough music, but when it comes, it cannot be stopped either, and anyone who hears it pass by their home would do best to stay abed and have heard nothing come morning if they do not join the march themselves. A small satisfied growl escaped you at the thought; you’d never told her, but you had marched for Gyda’s husband – you don’t think even her brother ever knew that, and you’re not about to tell him. Beside you, Beorn does his best to look like he knows what is going on, but you know he is lost.

“Mistress Ullrae has a point,” the Alderman concedes with a nod in your direction, “but I was not speaking of Ordred.”

“Athelstan had no other children,” you object, “nor would one of Mildwyn’s come; Folcwine the younger is his fæder’s heir, and her daughters are already settled with husbands and families of their own.” Ordred was the youngest, which was why he had been eager enough to inherit a farm instead of having to work for someone else nearer to Aldburg.

“No, Athelstan had no other trueborn child,” Alderman Sewine replies, his eyes glittering with mirth, “but he did have you. I have in my possession a letter of intent to adopt, signed by Athelstan nearly four years ago; he stopped by my house on his way to the battle. Did he never speak of it?” You shake your head, feeling suddenly emotional. Beorn abruptly interrupts his story to pull you closer stroking your arm and turning your face into his neck. You breathe deeply, the smell of him comfort enough to still your tears before they fall.

“No. I knew he thought of me as a daughter, but not… not like this,” you whisper. Mildwyn squeezes your hand.

“Never-the-less, Athelstan’s foresight means the farm would have passed into your keeping, an equal share going to Wilrun upon her coming of age; to be paid in livestock or coin as you see fit.” Alderman Sewine states, looking at you. You squeeze Beorn’s hand.

“Do you want to stay, Ullrae?” he murmurs, startling you. Looking at the assembled Men, he clarifies, “Our home lies further north, beyond the golden wood, where I own a large tract of land that has belonged to my family for centuries.” It has belonged to him for centuries, but of course he can’t tell a group of Men that. The Eorlingas do not have the blood of Númenor of old, and they are lucky to reach the age of 60, even fewer making it all the way to 70.

“I don’t know…” you whisper. “I want to go home, Beorn, but I also want to fulfil Athelstan’s last wishes.” Beorn simply hums. In your heart of hearts, you know you couldn’t stay more than five years at the most before people, who don’t see you every day, would begin to notice that you did not age as they did, but you still long to remain here, feeling melancholy at the thought of leaving these people behind without ways to find out how they’re doing.

“We can visit,” Beorn offers, knowing the same things you know; if these Men begin talking about un-aging wild-looking people, it is only a matter of time before Orcs will hear it and figure out what you are, leading them to hunt you down as they once did.

“Can I leave my share in trust for Gyda and Wilrun?” you ask. “To be passed to Wilrun’s issue as she sees fit upon her death.”

“You do not want it?” They all seem surprised. You chuckle.

“Our home is more than 10 days journey north of here,” Beorn says quietly, “Ullrae wanted to see some of the world before we married, which was how she ended up here. Among our people, it is a right of passage, shall we say, for the man to leave his home in search of his wife. If he cannot find her, he does not know her well enough to deserve her.” He keeps a completely straight face, though you have to struggle not to laugh; Beorn has a gift for story-telling, but this is a tall tale even for him.

“I had nine years of roaming before Beorn was allowed to go after me,” you continue, looking up at him with a mischievous smile, “we age slowly. Wilrun will have grandchildren while I wll still look much the same as I do now.”

“The blood of the Shipkings?” the Alderman wonders. You shrug. Númenorians had long lives because of their diluted Elven blood; Walkers have always lived long lives – often choosing to die by becoming a true animal if they did not perish in battle or by accident.

“My younger brother would come with his wife from Edoras to help me run the farm for Wilrun,” Gyda interjects, getting you back on track. Around the table, nods of assent could be seen. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“It is agreed, then,” Alderman Sewine says, “Mistress Ullrae will need to sign an affirmation of her intent to declare her intentions, but then I believe the matter is as straightforward as sending a missive to the Marshal in Edoras, which we might prevail upon mistress Mildwyn to deliver.” Mildwyn nodded.

“I intend to journey with Mildwyn to Aldburg, to lay charge against Ordred,” you declared.

 The rest of the afternoon was lost to writing up the paperwork and by the time you had finished it was too late to bother moving on, so you were offered space in Gram’s barn, while Mildwyn got the children’s bed on account of her leg.

Feeling Beorn’s arms wrap around you in the middle of the night, his strong body gluing itself to your back as his legs tangle with yours is surprisingly familiar. One of his hands wrapping around the small curve of your breast is not, but you sigh and relax into his hold. The last few days he has spent the night as a bear, though you know he has not had much rest; too anxious to sleep for long.

“Beorn,” you murmur sleepily, pressing back against him. Beorn nuzzles your neck, his teeth closing lightly over the carotid artery in your neck. You hiss, tilting your head back and offering him the rest of your throat. Beorn growled, the submission pleasing him immensely; you feel it in the scent of his skin, the call of the wild echoing in your own blood. You want to be taken by this strong male; it’s not mindless like the needing, but it is almost as overpowering. You whimper.

“Not tonight,” he whispers, though you can feel his desire pressing against you; somehow that’s not unfamiliar either, though he was always careful when you lived with him. You smirk.

“Soon,” you agree. You’ve no desire to explain the bruises in the morning, after all; Beorn’s new shirt leaves less to be desired than his first pair of trousers, but it is by no means well-fitting. Turning around in his arms, you trace a line from his throat down his bare chest, resting your head above his heart when he rolls onto his back.

 @life-is-righteous @thebakerstboyskeeper @queendarkmuffin

[brianfawley]

all because of the wanton lust of a prostitute, alluring, the mistress of sorceries, who enslaved nations by her prostitution and peoples by her witchcraft. “I am against you,” declares the Lord Almighty. “I will lift your skirts over your face. I will show the nations your nakedness and the kingdoms your shame. I will pelt you with filth, I will treat you with contempt and make you a spectacle. 11)You too will become drunk; 19)Nothing can heal you; your wound is fatal. All who hear the news about you clap their hands at your fall,

Nahum 3:4‭-‬6‭, ‬11‭a, ‬19a WE PRAY

[nuggalolisk]

Up The Ladder

Cullen x Inquisitor 

Words: 5070

Nsfw

Read on Ao3

Fleur doesn’t know how she wound up in this…Position: Cullen over the top of her, his hips grinding into hers and the tops of her thighs, his lips pressing against hers. It was a blur. She was talking to him about…What was I talking to him about? And then she was on the desk and his mouth was on hers. 

Oh, his mouth. 

It’s softer than she had imagined. He’s such a hard man that she only assumed every aspect of him would be: not that there aren’t certain hard parts. His tongue traces the seam of her lips, gently, not prodding, before he takes her lower lip between his again.  She makes a noise in the back of her throat, an altogether embarrassing, needy noise that has her cheeks turning bright red. She feels him smile against her. 

“You can touch me, Fleur.” His lips ghost over hers when he talks. 

She opens her mouth to say something. 

His hand cups her full face. “You can look at me too.” 

She slowly opens her eyes to see that he is smiling at her, his eyes holding a warmth she seldom sees directed at her. She’s closing in on herself: suddenly hyper-aware of her double chin looking huge, her eyes looking smaller, smushed by the plump of her cheeks, of her thighs, the rolls in her stomach. 

Cullen frowns at her, his lips pull downward in a way that is still annoyingly attractive. “Fleur,” he pushes himself off of her, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “if I have pushed myself on you, that is if I have done something that has made you uncomfortable–”

“That was my first kiss.” She admits it without thinking about it. Without thinking of the implications of being a twenty-six year old woman who has never been kissed. Who has never been loved. 

Cullen blinks, surprised by the confession. “I…” He isn’t sure what to say. All he knows is he’s making it worse by being silent. “Fleur, if you wish to leave… we never have to speak of this again.” 

She’s looking down at her hands: they’re large with fat stubby fingers. They aren’t even soft anymore, the cold mountain air drying them. She can feel him watching her. Gray eyes focus on the floor. She can hear herself breathing quickly, forcing the air in and out of her lungs. She should run. Even if she wouldn’t get far. Cullen’s pristinely polished boots come into view. His hand is on her chin, lifting her face towards his. 

His eyes are still kind. They always are, even when he’s angry. She noticed that the first time she saw him at Haven. Still he frowned at her. 

“Fleur,” he whispers. He says her name like she’s a delicate maiden from a fairytale who will break if addressed by anything louder than a whisper. 

Fleur wants to kiss him again, but fear strikes her body cold. He’s changed his mind. He won’t want me now. He thinks I’m pathetic. “I should go.” 

“If that’s what you want, then I won’t stop you.” 

She sits still on his desk. Her eyes dart from his face to random places around the room. He is too intimidating to stare at for too long: like the sun. She runs her pink tongue across her lips before dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. Her gaze snaps back to him when Cullen lets out a moan. 

“You really…” 

“Maker, yes.” Now he blushes. It creeps over his cheeks and spreads over his ears. Even his neck turns red in his embarrassment. 

Fleur finds herself smiling at him. She’s never had this kind of effect on men, not even when she got boobs. Hesitantly, she leans forward, eyes drawn back to his lips, to that scar. 

“Fleur, do you want this?” 

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” 

He closes his lips over hers. She lets her eyes slip closed again. There’s too much happening at once, too many sensations: their quickened breathing, Cullen’s lips on hers, his hands on her face and in her hair, his hips pressing between her legs. Bravely, she slips her hands into his hair. It’s soft like silk between her fingers. His lips move down to her jaw and she stops, frozen in her tracks. He nips the skin there gently before he kisses. 

This close to him, she can smell him fully, not just in wafts like she does in passing. Parchment. Ink. Snow. Is that… Amber Aoud from Orlais. Oh I won’t let him live this down. An indignant squeak slips from her lips when he nips tightly again at the base of her neck. In retaliation, she turns her head and bites the shell of his ear. What she didn’t expect was his soft whimper. 

“I think,” he pulls back from her again, “I don’t want– That is to say that I– Maker’s breath this never gets any easier.” 

Fleur chuckles and let her hands drop to his chest. “Well I’ll take your word for it.” 

Her Commander draws his thumb over her cheek, fingers sliding back into her hair. “I just don’t want your first time to be on my desk. It’s not very...Romantic.” 

“Are you a romantic? That’s adorable.” 

He removes himself from between her legs and smirks at her. “Up the ladder with you, Babineaux.” 

Her stomach flutters a little at his request. She slides off of his desk slowly, her feet struggling to find the stone floor. She watches him go to the west side door and lock it before she sets herself to climb his ladder. I swear to the Maker if this thing breaks under me it had better kill me, or I shall be forced to throw myself off of the battlements. Blessedly it holds, and she quickly climbs until her feet are on solid floor. 

Should I get undressed now? Should I wait and let him undress me? Guys find that sexy, right? Or maybe–. 

The ladder is creaking under his weight. She breathes out and lays her head back on her shoulders. Her head tilts to the side, shifting her brown bangs across her cheeks. “Cullen? There’s a hole in your roof.” 

“Ah. Yes. That.” 

Fleur turns to face him and finds the Commander standing stiffly with his hand on the back of his neck. She can’t help but to smile at him. 

“I don’t like the heat.” 

Fleur nods. She can understand not liking the heat, often she opens one of the doors in her room to get a breeze. 

The aura in the room was pregnant with awkwardness. The pair stare at each other for a few moments before Cullen initiates movement. He turns his back to Fleur, sensing her embarrassment, her fear. He wants to give her the opportunity to undress without him scrutinizing her. 

Fleur takes the opportunity and quickly tries to unlace the back of her dress. It’s from Val Royeux and a gift from her grand-mère. It is a beautiful shade of pink, the light color is supposed to be flattering on a girl of ‘her size’. Regardless of the intention behind the dress, Fleur loves it. It’s made of the finest silk and has blush colored fur around the collar. The v-neck shows a great deal of cleavage, and the skirt flows away from her body and moves like water when she walks. It is one of her few garments that make her feel beautiful. And Maker be damned, she can not get it unlaced. 

She turns, hands falling to her side in a loss to the laces. “Cullen–” The question fades on her lips as she caught sight of him removing his shirt over his head. His back is covered in thick scars that run from the tops of his shoulders to the bottom of his shoulder blades. They look almost like claw marks. Still, his back is strong, muscles well defined and a crease down the center. There were two dimples in his hips, just above the swell of his ass. 

“Yes?” He turns to face her, an eyebrow raised. 

Fleur swallows before she speaks. “My dress… I can’t get it unlaced. Could you…?” 

He nods, hands already sweating at the idea. He watches her walk to him, head raised high, but eyes focused on the floor. He gently turns her around, hands trailing over her shoulders as he does so. 

“There’s, uh, there’s a clasp hidden in the fur.”

She is so beautiful. 

Cullen leans forward, lips trailing the side of her neck and the tiny portion of exposed shoulder. She smells like lilac and sea air. He finds the clasp after a few moments, unsnapping it with a grunt after struggling with it. His fingers set to the laces and begin untying them slowly. Underneath the pink silk he catches a glimpse of mint colored lace. Gently he pushes the dress from her shoulders and down her arms, kissing the back of her neck when he leans in. The garment drops to the floor in a silky pool and Fleur is left standing in a sheer lace corset. The noblewoman bites her bottom lip. She can feel his eyes on her, looking her over, memorizing every dip and flaw she has. She never should have come up to his loft. She should have left and died of embarrassment in her room. It was a mistake to think a man like Cullen could ever desire a woman who was fat.

“Wow.” He’s left breathless looking at her.

Her head snaps up and she turns her head to look back at her Commander. There’s a blush on his cheeks and desire in his eyes. 

“May I take this off you?” If she is more comfortable with it on, he won’t push. Though he wants to feel her, wants to touch her, to memorize every glorious inch of her. At her nod, he begins pulling out the laces of the cruel binding. He throbs at the pleased sound of her exhale the looser the corset gets. When it’s finally unlaced, he throws it away from the both of them. 

“Commander Rutherford, that was expensive!” She turns to face him, nakedness completely forgotten. 

Cullen smiles and pulls her against him, capturing her lips with his. “I’ll buy you a new one.” His hands grab gently at her stomach, at her hips, the softness of her rump. “I want to devour you,” he whispers in her ear when he finally stops kissing her. 

The Inquisitor shudders, feeling his breath tingling her ear. This time it’s Fleur that moves her head to the side to kiss him. He’s curling his hand around the back of her neck, pressing her closer to his body. Her gut clinches when she feels his hardness press against her hip. She runs her hands over every inch of him that she can, feeling the muscles move under her fingers.

  He slides his fingers into her lace underwear, pulling his lips away from hers. “I would very much like to kiss you,” his fingers slide against her sex, “right here.” He watches her gasp. His finger presses against her clit with just a hint of pressure. “And here.” 

Fleur bites her lip and looks away from him, embarrassment rising on her cheeks. 

“Is that alright?” He slowly slides his finger across her, avoiding direct touch where she wants it most. 

“Oui.” Her pink nails dig into his shoulders and her head drops back. He was teasing her, mercilessly moving his finger against her. “Cullen, please.” 

The commander removes his finger and drops to his knees in front of her, kissing her stomach and her hips. He notices her tense; her hands clenching into fists by her side. His hands run over her thighs and bottom. “Oh, Fleur.” He leans forward and kisses a roll above her hip. 

She’s not looking at him, eyes trained on the ceiling as she shivers in the cold air. She feels his lips trail over every inch of her skin. Calloused hands trail down the back of her thighs and then slide inward. He grips her tightly, pulling her forward. She tries to relax, to enjoy what he’s doing. His teeth drag over the skin above the lace underwear. Her walls clench, hands finding his hair and digging in. 

“Can I take them off?” He sits back on his heels to look up at her face, to watch her expression. Her bottom lip is caught harshly between her teeth, her eyes are shut lightly, cheeks flushed dark pink. He draws his hands back up and around to her hips and he rolls the flesh in his hands. “Fleur?” 

She nods before she can remember her words. “Yes.” 

Cullen hooks his fingers through the sides of the garment before he glides his hands around to finally feel the flesh beneath them. He pulls her cheeks apart before drawing his hands down and freeing her from the lace. Nails drag across his scalp and he moans at the sensation. Her legs are shaking under his touch. When he leans forward to slide the lace down to her feet, he places a kiss on her inner thigh. 

Fleur moves away from him and quickly makes her way towards the bed. Mercifully, Cullen lets her go so she can slide under the covers of his bed. When she looks back at him, she finds him slowly unlacing his trousers, watching her with eyes full of passion. She licks her lips and lets the blanket droop down to her waist exposing her breasts. Cullen’s eyes rake over her. 

I can do this. I can be sexy.

Fleur trails her fingers over her breasts and nipples, pinching them slightly. She rolls her head back and slides her hands over her stomach and back up to her neck, her lips. 

Cullen’s eyes follow her hands, fingers at his laces completely forgotten. She’s enthralling, enrapturing, gorgeous. He catches himself whimpering when her hand drops below the blanket and her mouth opens in a silent ‘o’. His boots are toed off quickly so he can shove his pants off his hips. The Commander of the Inquisition wants nothing more than to serve his Inquisitor, to taste her lips, her breasts, her clit, her thighs. He wants to bury himself in her, to lose himself so completely in a woman he would give everything. 

The brunette lets her fingers slip between her folds and she finds her clit with expert ease. His whimper goes straight to her chatte. She can feel him watching her, and she fights to stave off embarrassment. He wants me. He wants me. He wants me. His finger feels better, she decides. 

“Cullen.” 

His name slipping from her lips is all it takes before he’s pulling the blanket back and kneeling between her spread legs. He removes her fingers from her clit and draws them up to his mouth. Slate eyes watch him carefully as he takes her finger into his mouth. He could smile at her embarrassed look, but he doesn’t. Keeps his eyes on hers and withdrawing her finger slowly, gently biting the pad before dropping her hand back to her side. He pushes her to lay down on her back, his hands resting on the bed beside her breasts. 

Fleur knows she looks terrible at this angle. She has to. And yet…Cullen is still here, still smirking down at her, pupils dilated with lust, his cock still hard and pressing into her. Her Commander leans down and she expects him to kiss her lips again, feels foolish when his lips settle on her shoulder. His scruff tickles. Fleur closes her eyes and threads her fingers through his hair. She can feel his mouth getting closer and closer to her nipple, and gasps when he closes his lips over her. Her groan is held back in her throat when he sucks at her. He burns her clear through. 

His left hand trails over her other breast, pinches her nipple between his fingers before moving them over her stomach. Thick and calloused fingers trace lightly over the seam of her sex, making them both shudder with anticipation. Cullen removes his mouth and kisses a sloppy trail over to the other side. She feels so soft under him, so warm and inviting. He pushes a finger into her gently and feels her tense. 

“Relax. Relax, I have you. I have you, Fleur. I won’t hurt you.” His voice is deep when he speaks to her, rough with lust. He raises his eyes to meet hers, catches her embarrassed gaze and locks his on her. Her hair is tousled, cheeks bright pink, mouth open, her full lower lip caught between her teeth. He moans looking at her. “The ways I want to make love to you, Fleur.” 

She swallows when he drags his stubble over the swell of her stomach before he wiggles down between her thighs. His breath ghosts over her and she clenches her hands into fists beside her. What if he can’t find it? What if I’m too fat for him to do it prop- oh. He places a kiss over her opening.

“C-Cullen, you don’t have to if you–” She exhales when his tongue flattens over her and licks slowly up “–Maker.” 

Fleur kicks his leg when he chuckles. His hands trail up and down her thighs, gripping the flesh in handfuls before he spreads her open. She is about to say something, something she forgets as soon as his tongue finds her clit. Her legs tremble from being kept open so long, for resisting closing around his head. I could smother him. When he takes her clit into his mouth she reaches for him, struggling to find his hand, his hair, anything she can grab a hold of. Her fingers finally find his head and she grips the short locks there tightly. 

Cullen continues to suck and lick at her like he’s never tasted anything quite as good as she is. He moans loudly, proudly, when she twists his hair on accident. He knows she’s probably blushing and her eyes are clamped shut. His tongue circles the fascinating bundle of nerves before he works his way down and slides it into her. She’s quiet, but he’s been with quiet before. One hand keeps her spread open for him and the other he trails up her stomach to pinch and roll a nipple between fingers. She bucks into his mouth, a quiet moan slipping from her. 

Her chest shakes with noises she’s trying to hold in. A hand twists into his sheet, clenching so tightly that her fingers start to ache. In all her fantasies, this was never once part of them. Never allowed herself to believe that he could want this, want her. Her orgasm is climbing, a forest fire sweeping through veins. His fingers pull at her breast, roll the flesh like dough, his mouth sucks and holds her clit firmly, pushing her towards that proverbial cliff. The rise is sharp and she breathes in high-pitched staccato. She whines when he takes his hand from her breast and trails it back down to join his mouth. He slips a finger in and then suddenly a second. 

He thrusts them shallowly, pulling his mouth away from her so his thumb can rub her in circles. His fingers are curve upwards dragging along her upper walls. Lips trail over her fat thighs as he watches her react to him. Her hair is spilled over his bed like a halo, plump cheeks are a brighter red than normal, and her gray eyes are still closed to the world. The hand in his hair tugs sharply. Her back arches when his fingers press against that rough bit of flesh inside her and he knows he’s found it. Fingers tighten in his hair and he bites her nips her inner thigh, sucking a mark into her flesh. 

“Maker, you are divine.” He listens to her groan. “Come for me, love.” 

She tries to speak, her mouth opens and air comes out but no sound. His fingers are thumb are pressing against nerves and sending her reeling. “I want,” she pushes out. 

“What do you want, love? Tell me what you want.” 

Fleur opens her eyes and finds his face between her spread legs. “Your mouth,” she says it before she has a chance to lose her nerve. 

The moan Cullen lets out as he descends upon her once again is nearly enough to send her over the edge. He is sin incarnate. She doesn’t have time to morn the loss of his thumb before his mouth takes its place. Her toes curl and uncurl as the fire burns hotter. Each breath she lets out is a high pitched short whine. Cullen stops himself from grinding into the mattress. His cock aches with the want of being inside her. 

The attention he gives her is nearly painful before she finally comes against him, hips and legs shaking from trying to stop herself from bucking into his face. His fingers keep pushing in and out of her gently, curling against her. The sucking noise of his mouth on her would make Iron Bull blush. Her cupid’s bow lips open in a silent ‘o’ until finally she breaks and cries out sharply into the room. Cullen keeps his fingers moving, keeps licking her gently for a few moments until she whimpers and pushes at his shoulder. He kisses every inch of her he can as he crawls back up her, marveling at her shaking thighs. Fleur breathes in and out sharply and brings a hand up to wipe across her forehead, down her cheek, over her neck and chest before Cullen links his up with hers. He takes a nipple into her mouth and she sighs pleasantly, her free hand trailing over his back. When she draws up his back with her nails pressing against him, he shudders under her, looks pained for a moment. She stops, retreating to just her fingertips against his flexing muscles. 

He pulls from her, his hand massaging her thigh, and looks at her. Fleur stares back and for a moment they are not Commander and Inquisitor. They are two lovers spanning across time and titles, forgetting the chaos that threatens to burn everything to cinders. He smiles at her, that smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth. He pulls their joined hands up and kisses her knuckles before moving to suck gently at her wrist. 

There’s a muffled knock at the door and the Commander reappears, looking over his shoulder towards the ladder. Fleur moves her hand from his back and grabs his jaw, turning his face back to hers so she can kiss him. He forgets the sound of the door as he kisses her back deeply, trailing his tongue across her bottom lip. She follows him when he moves up and draws her hand over his chest. Her lips curl into a smile when she drags a thumb nail across his nipple lightly and he whimpers before biting her lip. She moves on, fingers trailing across clenching abs before she wraps them around his jutting cock. 

Cullen gasps against her mouth, squeezes his eyes tighter and bucks into her hand. He can feel the precum leaking from him, dripping onto her stomach. He’s thick and heavy in her hand, warm and twitching against her grasp. She strokes him slow and soft, unsure of how much pressure will hurt him. 

“Stop,” he gasps, untwining their hands so he can grab per wrist. “Not yet. I want–” he drops his head to her shoulder. 

“What do you want, love? Tell me what you want.” She throws his own words back at him, squeezing her hand still around his member. 

Cullen mewls before jerking her hand from him and pinning it by her head. “You want to know what I want?” When she swallows and gives a short nod he continues, “I want to be inside you. I want to hear my name fall from your lips because you can’t remember any other words.” He keeps his eyes locked onto hers as he speaks. “I want to lay claim to you.” He leans down so his lips are centimeters from hers. “I want you to lay claim to me.” 

Fleur closes the distance first. Her hands strain against his where he has them pinned to his bed, where he has her pinned to his bed. He rolls his hips against hers, pressing hard against her. Then he lets go, pulls away from her and leaves her panting on the bed beneath him. He takes his cock in his hand, licks his lips and strokes himself. 

“Cullen.” His name is want on her tongue, another name for desire. 

“You’re sure you want this?” He has to ask, has to make sure. 

“Yes.” 

He grabs her hips and gently pulls her down his bed towards him. Her lover takes his cock in one hand and places the other by her head. She closes her eyes when he starts to watch her, too embarrassed, too intimate to keep watching. He leans forward and places a kiss to each of her eyelids. 

How is this real? 

She feels him rub his cock against her folds before he’s slowly pushing in, gently spreading her apart beneath him. She bites her lower lip, the sting pulling her mind away from the stretch around his cock. Cullen pulls out before pushing in again, getting her used to his girth, and it is torture for the both of them. Her name is a whimper from his lips. Gray eyes open at the sound, finding his face just above hers, eyes clenched shut his mouth parted as he pushes forward and then retreats. She moves her hands and trails them up his thick arms to cup his face. He lets her pull his mouth down to her raised head. The kiss is fierce, full of teeth nipping lips, tongues soothing the bites. 

Finally, he pushes completely in her and relishes in her groan, in the way her nails dig into his shoulders. He breaks the kiss, to plant one on her jaw, then a bite to her ear before he pulls his head back to watch her. Brown hair clings to the sweat on her forehead, cheeks are flushed bright pink in the fading light of the day. Every gentle thrust is accompanied by a soft exhale from her lips.

  “Please, faster. S’il te plaît, amour.” 

Cullen smiles and continues his pace. “Orlesian sounds so much better coming from you.” 

Fleur whimpers, tossing her head back and baring her throat to him. “Alors Je vais parler tout ce que tu veux, juste s’il te plaît aller plus vite.” 

The man has the nerve to chuckle, but he picks up his pace regardless. Each hard thrust into her pushes a cry from her. Cullen drops his head back to her shoulder, harshly sucking and nipping a mark into her skin. She moves her hands down his back to the curve of his ass and digs her nails in gently. He growls in her ear and locks his eyes on hers. Fleur smiles at him and does it again, watching his eyes narrow and that sinful smirk to pass over his lips again. She cries out when he presses his thumb to her clit once more, rolling and pushing the group of nerves until she’s nearly sobbing beneath him, thrusting her hips as much as she can to meet his thrusts. 

“Fleur, Maker you’re so beautiful.” He’s breathless watching her. He can feel his orgasm swiftly approaching, balls tightening against him. 

All she can say is his name, over and over again like she’s reciting the chant. He feels so good it nearly hurts. His cock stretches her, lays her bare before him, neck thrown back so he can take what he wants from her, however he wants. She loves him. The realization forces her to look at him. He feels it too. Cullen holds her gaze in his, sees the fear of a new emotion, knows just what she’s feeling. He loves her. 

She comes, her muscles spasming and clenching. Her orgasm has her crying his name, gripping at any part of him she can get her hands on: his lower back, his hips, his arms, his shoulders, his head. He works her through it, keeps his thumb rolling over her clit gently, her rocking hips helping with the work. Fleur bucks her hips into him, cries out as a seemingly endless wave of pleasure crashes over her again and again. Cullen’s ass clenches and he spills into her, groaning as his orgasm rolls through him. He throws his head back and thrusts erratically into her, letting her milk him. Teeth close around the side of his neck before lips start sucking the skin into her mouth. He gasps and lets her mark him, lets her claim him like he did her. 

When he lays his heavy body onto hers, she relaxes under him. Her hands trail over his back, one venturing into his hair. They both pant heavily into the quiet room around them. When he tries to move off of her she pulls him back against her, wraps a leg around his. 

“I’ll crush you,” he whispers against her neck. His voice is gravely and low. 

“Hush.” 

Cullen hums and kisses her cheek before moving to slide his relaxing member out of her. His chuckle reverberates through him when she grumbles at the loss. He rolls onto his back and opens his arm for her when she rolls to her side. Her hand rests on his chest and her lips kiss his side before closing her eyes. 

“They’ll come looking for us.” His hand draws patterns in her back. 

“Tell them I died.” 

“La petit mort?” The Orlesian is clumsy on his tongue, but she laughs nonetheless. 

“Yes, but nothing about that was little.” She tries not to feel embarrassed about the way her body jiggles when she laughs. She should leave him before things get awkward. Before he realizes what just happened and with who. 

“Stay with me?” He kisses the top of her head, curls his body closer to hers. 

“Always.”