#almost drew the tongue and had to control myself.

[lightningant]

the worlbuilding implications of hags being a species is crazy to me personally

[mochinomnoms]

Can i ask for some NSFW scenes in the PTM universe?

If your not comfortable with that please ignore this ask

sure! honestly im surprised more people haven't asked yet lol

this is a scene that i am debating will go into the main story or be a side story since i'm not sure where i'd place it. it's not the most explicit but i still consider it nsfw

tag list: @ghousus

How you got even got to an empty classroom was a miracle, seeing as the festival was in full-blown swing.

But you weren't complaining, in fact you greatly appreciated that Jade at least had gotten you somewhere private.

“Aah!”

Especially since you were having trouble keeping quiet.

Pretty sounds! Pretty sounds! Make more my pearl, you're so enticing, I don't think I could control myself if I tried~

Jade ground your hips harder into his own, shuddering as you two dry humped against each other.

Your skin felt like it was on fire, like you were burning up from the inside, like you could feel everything twofold.

Maybe you were.

“Jade! Please, we can't—shit—not here, please—mmph!” He crashed his lips against your own, groaning as you tightened your arms around his neck and tugged him closer, pressing yourself as close to him as possible.

You could practically feel his heart beating through all the layers of clothes, right against your chest, rhythmic pounding the same as your own.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

But it wasn't enough.

Why am I so hot? Why do I feel so, so, so much? Why can't I pull away? I don't want to pull away! But I do—no—yes!

Why was the thought of pulling away from Jade so distressing? Like you could never live the thought of molding your skin with his.

I need—please!

Jade's groans were making you hot and bothered, whining as he pulled away to admire you. At this point, you two were quickly building up a dampness in the fabric between your legs.

“P-please, Jade, I'm—” You threw your head back as Jade pressed open mouth kisses against your neck, freeing a hand to pull at your tie and yanked down your shirt to expose your neck and chest.

Mine. Mine. All mine, mine to hold, mine to take!

Jade continued giving you wet kisses down your chest and navel, bringing his gloved hand to your lips, pressing the tip of his middle finger against the plush skin.

“Bite.”

A scrape of sharp teeth at the skin above your heart, a shudder rumbling through your body, a soft, breathless whine leaving your mouth as you did as told.

Feeling you take the tip between your teeth, Jade tugged his hand out of his glove. Moving up, Jade started kissing the pulse in the curve of your neck, suckling as he dragged his now bare hand into your shirt and down your exposed skin.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

“Mmh, Jaaade—” The curve of your back melted into his touch as he caressed your skin, dragging his fingers against every single bump and blemish he could find.

You felt Jade shiver, moving back up to hover his mouth over yours.

“Say—” You think he almost melted as you almost smashed your mouth against him, hands tugging at his tie in annoyance.

Say my name again, pleasepleasepleaseplease—

“Jaaaaaaade!”

Jade let out a soft, breathless chuckle as you groaned into his mouth and finally yanked off his tie and threw it behind him.

“Mm~” You taste so… “Eager, aren't we?”

You huffed, leaning back to glare at him, freeing one of your hands from around his neck to gesture at your open shirt, falling over your shoulders like a lead in a bad porno.

“You did this,”

And I'm not finished with you.

“You let me.” Taking a deep inhale, Jade's gaze drew over your exposed body. It made you feel hot, the need to swallow the drool growing in your mouth as you watched his tongue wet his lips. Slow and sensual, like he was savoring the flavor on the skin.

Savoring your flavor.

As he continued speaking, Jade gently guided you to lay down on the desk, melting along with you and grinding into you hard, making you gasp.

“That says more about you than myself, does it not?”

[fanaticsnail]

Aokiji for Kissing Booth please :3 (first time ask omg I just had to)

The Kissing Booth: Aokiji Kuzan for Skullfacedlady

Word Count: 700+

Notes: Your first time requesting, my first time writing for Aokiji. Wooh, I'll be writing for him again. His kiss had me feeling some kind of way, not gonna lie. Come and get a kiss, Skullfacedlady!

The crumbles of wafer-thin paper rustled into the jar beside your seat. The air around you began to grow unnaturally cold at a rate that raised alarms within you internally. You hastily sought out the source of the draft by gesturing your head from side to side, your silken blindfold prohibiting you from locating it more accurately. 

A deep rumbled chuckle hummed in front of you, as you heard your new guest place themselves on the seat in front of you. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. Sometimes I can’t control myself,” the smooth baritone hummed at you, his cadence soft and teasing, “Referring to the cold, that is.” You inquisitively cocked your head to the side at his confession and furrowed your brows beneath the material shroud. 

“You’re cool?” you ask him, a soft smile forming behind your pursed lips. You jolt upright at the feeling of an icy hand gently caressing your hand, the shock at such a temperature drop shaking you and puckering your skin with each subtle touch.

“Cool as they come, baby,” he offered you with a soft hum in his flirtatious tone. You felt him lean in, his glacial radiance biting at your skin before he drew himself closer. “May I?” You nod softly, fixing your posture to sit upright as he coaxes you into himself. 

His hand came up to gently cradle your face, gently smoothing over the skin at the apple of your cheek before lowering to caress your jaw. His touches felt soft, deliberate and sultry: his fingers dipping up further to touch over your lips. 

The featherlight touches from his fingers were gently replaced by his lips molding and caressing your own. His lips were cooler than his fingers were, a pleasant shock to your senses as you leaned into his touch. He gently mouthed at you, sensually and slowly coaxing more of you to open up to him. A pair of glasses brushed with your silken blindfold, almost catching the seams of the material shrouding your vision.

Intertwining fingers with yours, he gently raised your hand up to his neck and held it there with his, the other finding your hip and gently tugging you in closer to him. His kiss felt as if he was savoring every moment, no action rushed as he gently romanced you with his lips. 

Slowly drawing out his tongue, he switched angles and gently brushed his muscle with yours. At each moment, you truly felt like you were falling in love with his lingering touch, the coolness of his kiss had each fiber of your hair follicles standing to attention. 

The lingering effects of the cold touch began to numb and swell your bruised lips. With a soft groan of disappointment, he pulled away from you and assessed your lips. Clicking his tongue, he attempted to warm your lips by placing the heel of his palm against your skin. 

“Sorry, baby,” he hummed at you, chastising myself, “I find it hard to control myself around such beautiful people sometimes. Seems you’re no exception to the rule.” He pulled his hand away from your lips, witnessing the smile drawn up over your lips. 

“I don’t mind,” you exhaled in a breathy pant, a puff of cool vapor exiting your parted lips with every word, “I find your inability to control yourself alluring, honestly. Makes me feel special.”

“Oh, you are special, sweetheart,” he chuckled down at you, gently giving you a chilly kiss on the cheek before retracting himself from you completely. “You’ll still be here in an hour?”

“I’ll be here for another hour or so, yes,” you nod in confirmation, a soft giggle fleeing your lips at the admittance. He mirrored your expression, reaching down and giving your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I’ll see you again on my way back then,” he uttered to you in a slow and laid-back tone. You reclined in your stool, pursing your lips to stifle your smile from rising on your cheeks further. 

“Looking forward to it,” you confessed, feeling his aura retreat with him and reignite your body in the natural warmth of festival air. Your lips still tingled with the lingering numbness of his icy lips on yours, a beautiful memory and promise of what's to come swelling your cheeks in a flush of warmth in anticipation.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

maybe a drabble of sub!neil lewis? 🤭 and i adore your work 🫶🫶🫶

you’re so kind!!! thank u for reading!!! i love me some sub!neil so this was great!!

You sighed, slipping into bed after a long, fatiguing day of work. Y’know, shit boss, too much workload, bad pay — you were barely holding on, but you were still holding on there, grip almost deadly. 

Neil had long gone to bed - perks of being his own boss, you guessed, able to close up whenever he wanted and relax at home. Doing the exact same thing he was doing at Gumshoe Video, but still. 

You pressed a light kiss to his cheek, curling into his arms, and he lightly stirred, mumbling something vaguely resembling “hi, honey”, before going still once more. 

Your own eyes were just starting to droop, sleepiness quickly overtaking you, when you felt something, hot and thick against your inner thigh. Neil’s hands had gone stationary at his side, not pulling you closer to him like he usually did, and when his breathing got more labored as you pressed closer to him, you quickly flipped over to face him.

His eyes were open, heavy-lidded and blinking rapidly, and his hands were curled pathetically into the sheets to stop himself from touching you. Your gaze coursed over his form, amused: sure, you and Neil hadn’t had sex in a while on account of your taxing job, but you could live. However, it seemed Neil couldn’t, the greedy little thing. 

“What’s this?” You murmured lowly, your finger trailing down to his cock, which was hard and desperate for you. He bucked, slightly, at the minuscule touch, and an embarrassed groan slipped from his lips at the instinctual action.

“M’sorry, I… you’ve been coming home late and…” Neil gulped, sentence dying on his tongue when you slipped your hand into his boxers shorts, curling around his cock. 

“Go on,” you said softly, “tell me why you’re this hard, pressed up against me like some perv in a train.”

Neil pouted, something you could just barely see in the moonlight spilling from your sheer bedroom curtains, but he shuddered and continued. “Can’t… I can’t do it by myself…”

“Why not?” You teased, your thumb swiping past his slit and collecting pre-come from the aching head. Your action drew a mewl out of Neil, needy cock bobbing into your touch. 

“Please,” Neil pleaded desperately. He’d gotten to the point in this accidental celibate period where he was terribly sensitive, and could probably come if you just stroked him for a few more moments. “It - it… m’hand doesn’t feel as good as you… nothing does.”

You hummed. “So, you don’t want hands?” you said, dropping your grip from his cock.

“No- no!” Neil whimpered devastatingly, “I just want - you! Your hand, your mouth, your cunt…”

You smirked, rolling over and situating yourself between his thighs. “You have to tell me exactly what you want, baby.”

Neil’s breath hitched, “I want… I - want your… tongue, on me.”

“Atta’boy,” you murmured, before sinking down to his cock, your back arching, hips in the air. “God, you’re really fuckin’ desperate for me, aren’t you?”

“Jus’ need you,” he agreed, quickly losing his patience and practically shoving his cock in your face. 

Your hot breath on his cock made him gasp, movements going still in anticipation, and when your mouth finally enveloped his sensitive length, he moaned, breathy and loud and sounding every bit your little bitch. 

“Warm,” he choked out, head cocking back against the headboard. You chuckled, still making obnoxious slurping noises on his cock, making him feel extremely flustered. 

Your tongue flattened against his underside, cheeks hollowing as you slid him in and out of your mouth. His hands shakily gripped his own thighs, too scared he’d do something wrong and make you stop this long-needed pleasure. 

You thought otherwise, bringing his dominant hand onto your head, as you swiveled your tongue on his tip. “Show me, you fuckin’ loser. Get off the way you like it.”

He barely contained a whine: he wanted you to take control, to have your way with him, not make you do what he wanted. “But - but I…”

“But what?” you said, leaning back and letting his cock leave your mouth. “But I need you to take control of my pathetic, filthy self? But I’m just a stupid fucking whore who can’t even tell my girlfriend what I want? Huh?”

Neil groaned, both at the loss of contacts and your words, squirming in his place on your shared bed. “Please,” he begged again, honestly the only word he felt he could fucking say right now. 

“Such a spoiled fucking pillow princess.” You said that, rolling your eyes, but you went back down on him anyway, relentlessly sliding his cock extremely far down your throat, devouring his length and placing toe-curlingly delicious licks on his head. 

The sudden pleasure made Neil jolt, accidentally deepthroating you, and you stuttered at the action, choking slightly. “M’sorry, m’sorry,” Neil babbled, terrified you’d really get mad this time and fully stop. 

You laughed around his length, surprised he’d realize his wrongdoing so quickly, and instead enacted revenge by going faster, meaner, doing so many things at once Neil couldn’t comprehend each action separately, and could only moan pathetically, melting under your touch. 

When Neil’s breathing got thin, his full moans being replaced with squeaks of overstimulated pleasure, you knew he was close, and reached up under his shirt to toy with his nipples. He was definitely sensitive all over now, and your soft fingertips tweaking his pink buds wasn’t doing anything to calm him: it made him yelp, back arching, tears welling in his eyes at the torturously continual onslaught of pleasure. 

Your hot mouth coating his weeping cock with saliva, gulping down on him, your fingers roughly twisting and pressing at his abused nipples, and the way he just knew you fucking owned him, made Neil come, hips thrusting into your throat as his load shot into your mouth. 

His thick cream coated you, small dribbles slipping out of your mouth and onto your chin, and when he was done you could only grin, relishing in the filthy salty taste of him smeared within you. Neil was panting, crumpled in on himself, hair disheveled, skin clammy and sweaty. 

You swiped his hair out of his face, kissing him gently, “Missed me that much, baby?”

You both made yourselves comfortable in bed once more, and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, wanting you never to leave, not to go to work the next morning and leave him waiting at home, “Missed you more.”

[da-mous]

I stumbled out the back of the brick building into the cool night air, slamming the plain grey door behind me. Through it I could still hear the pulsing beat of the music blaring from inside, still drowning out my thoughts as it was designed to

The forest in front of me was pitch black at this hour, but I ran into it, the music quickly fading from earshot

I stumbled through the dark, calling out my own name. I felt tangibly that there was nothing left inside me but a screaming web of neglected thoughts and feelings, tangled cacophonously like cords left in a box

How long had I been in there? Are my friends still out there? Do they still love me? Do I still love me?

Finally I came upon my body, slumped against a tree. I couldn't help but look at her with disgust. Covered in dirt and grass and regret. She wouldn't look at me. She just kept her head down, hair long and grown out, obscuring her face. Piece of shit

I could have left her there

I knelt in front of her

She looked up only slightly. I could barely see her face, but it was fresh with tears. She covered it with her hands before I could get a proper look

I reached out and cupped her hand in mine, and after a moment she took her hand off of her face and let me hold it, but still she turned her face away. I helped myself up. She was wobbly on her feet, but I let myself lean on me as I walked her home

"I'm sorry," I told her as we walked through the night air

She didn't respond

I had another thing to tell her, but it wasn't true yet, so I held my tongue

We got back to our apartment at 4 AM. We'd left the lights on, and so it was clear immediately that everything was, eerily, exactly where we'd left it some weeks, months, years ago

I took myself to the bathroom to sit her down while I drew up a bath. The sound of the water running almost drowned out the tangled threads screaming in my head, but I could still hear my disdain for myself just as clearly. She still wouldn't even look at me, even after I walked her home and let her track shit all over our carpet

The water had become high enough, and so I helped myself out of her clothes and into the tub

Her frail, naked body looked pathetic under the water, but I took a washcloth and scrubbed at the dirt and mud staining her skin. I did hate her, but I liked how smooth her legs looked without all the grime. I had forgotten how soft her skin was to the touch

As I sat beside her scrubbing her back, her head still hanging down, I caught the glistening of a brown eye looking up at me through our hair. She quickly shifted her gaze back down when I noticed it, hoping I hadn't seen. I just kept scrubbing

As I cleaned her chest I could feel the pace of our breath. Slow and controlled, but shaky, like she was coming down from panicking. Still, I hated her to some degree, like bile in my heart. But I stopped scrubbing for a moment to hold her close. The mud caked into her hair got on my cheek, but I held myself until her racing heart slowed to an easy pace. For just a moment, it was all I could hear

I squirted our shampoo into my hands and pushed her hair back to start scrubbing it. I could see her face clearly now, tilted down away from me as it was. It truly was still me. As I finished lathering her hair, she tried to steal another glance up at me, but I met her gaze before she could look away again

I put my finger on our chin and tilted our head up, and now I was forced to meet my gaze. The pace of our heart quickened as she anticipated my impending judgment

"I love you," I told her

[ink-flavored]

Anthology Blast Prompt 3: How to Train Your Dragon Trainer

for the Tales from Athendrolyn Anthology Full prompt list for the Anthology Blast Tips are appreciated! Contains: mentions of vomiting, performance anxiety, sibling teasing

“Welcome back to the final day of the 345th annual Holawynn Den Club Dragon Show, and folks, it is going to be a real nail-biter this year.”

Bula stared wide-eyed up at the TV from her living room floor, her tusks almost close enough to touch the screen. She was too excited to stay on the couch, even though it was harder to see this way. She had even dragged the family dragon, Modra, down with her. He didn’t seem to mind, coiled up in her lap and snoozing through the whole affair.

“After this weekend, I can’t believe the judges have narrowed it down to just three final competitors for the acclaimed title of Best in Show,” the first announcer continued, a cardinal harpy with a perfectly coiffed crest.

“I’m having trouble believing it myself, Theleano,” the second announcer agreed. They tongue-flicked before continuing, a rat snake naga with black and yellow scales. “I’ll be honest, it’s hard to believe any one of these dragons can beat out the other.”

“Well, Lana, the rules here at Holawynn dictate there can be only one winner. That is, until the committee stops ignoring my letters.”

“I’ll tie my tail in a knot before that happens, but more importantly, let’s get back to the show floor.”

Bula sat up, smugly superior to the announcers. She knew which dragon was going to win. When the finalists were announced the previous night, she could tell from the line-up alone which dragon was the best competitor.

The camera transitioned from the announcers’ box to the arena. Thousands of people gathered in attendance to see the most prestigious dragon show in the country, from one of the oldest-established den clubs in elvish dragon husbandry history. Bula had read at least a hundred books about it. It was probably a hundred—that’s what her mom always said about her book collection. She bounced up and down in excitement, jostling Modra in her lap. He didn’t move.

“Our first competitor doing a fly-by to start us off,” Theleano said.

Curtains on one end of the stage drew up and the first dragon and handler emerged, a gray and white tabby catfolk, holding the end of a thin harness. A brilliant purple dragon with white spines along its back flew on the end of it. The audience clapped politely as she circled the show floor. Bula narrowed her eyes, watching carefully for any mistake.

“Marya and her competitor Evolet, a stunning example of the Ivoryback breed. You know, she actually competed last year and was eliminated in the Best of Breed competition.”

Evolet tilted her wings and swung around the first curve of the arena, Marya not far behind. The dragon’s short, stocky body was nearly invisible behind her wingspan, a signature of the Ivoryback. Bula nodded at the display of such a fine specimen, but something felt off about the performance.

“It certainly seems like she’s learned her lesson this year,” Lana added. “Marya and Evolet have dominated all weekend, only losing points because Evolet is almost too enthusiastic about it.”

That was it! Evolet flew too high above, Marya’s head, displaying a lack of control between dragon and trainer. Bula pointed at the screen with all the authority of her school teachers.

“Lose points for handling!” she declared.

“Bula, honey,” her mom called, poking her head in from the kitchen. Her mouth formed a stern line around her tusks. “Don’t shout at the TV.”

She retracted her arm. “Sorry, Mama.” She whispered instead, ”Lose points for handling.”

Marya and Evolet completed their circuit around the show floor, disappearing behind a second set of curtains. The second competitor emerged from the first set. The crowd clapped politely once more, but Bula clapped furiously.

Theleano started off the introduction: “Our second finalist is Yotul with his Eastern Highflyer Durza, both of them first-time competitors all the way from Athendrolyn, can you believe that, Lana?”

Bula whooped loud enough that she finally woke Modra. He blew a puff of smoke out of his nose, annoyed at the disturbance. She scooped his long-coiled body up in her short arms and tried to lift him to see the TV.

“Look, look!” she said. “Durza is just like you!”

 Yotul, an orc with dark green skin and two gold bands around his tusks, held Durza on his lead with confidence. The Eastern Highflyer on screen slithered through the air above him, high enough to show off how well he lived up to his breed’s standard but not so high that it would lose them any points. And Durza was exactly like Modra.

Well, maybe not exactly the same. Modra was a soft blue, the color of the sky, and Durza was a fiery reddish-orange, but the basics were still there! They both had long slinky bodies, thin wings meant for aerial diving, feathery tails, and long silly mustaches. They were basically the same, and more importantly—

“I won’t lie, I was surprised when I saw these two pull through,” Lana said, as the two made their lap around the show floor. “For first timers, they’ve run an almost flawless performance compared to even seasoned professionals. Honestly, I can’t say for sure who’s going to win this competition, but Yotul and Durza certainly have a higher chance than most.”

“Yes!” Bula cheered, dropping Modra back in her lap. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“If they do manage to pull this one out,” Theleano said, “I might have to visit Athendrolyn and see if there’s something in the water that causes unprecedented success.”

“Maybe the committee will finally answer your letters.”

“Hey, it’s worth a shot!”

Disgruntled, Modra uncoiled and slunk off to nap somewhere else. Bula pouted as he left, but didn’t stop him. He was old now, and didn’t like playing as much as he used to.

Yotul and Durza disappeared through the second curtain, and the first set opened once more for a halfling and muddy green dragon with prominent frills on its face, legs, and tail.

“Our third and final competitor is Molly Cotton with their Frilled Guardian, Baily. A more predictable contender, the two of them have been familiar faces here for—”

“It’s dinnertime, Bula,” her mom called again.

“Okay,” she sighed. She crawled back to the TV to grab the remote and shut it off. Her dad had made sure to record it, so she wouldn’t really missanything. She already knew who was going to win anyway.

That cheered her up enough to skip to the kitchen, where the rest of the family was waiting. Bula clambered onto her chair as her mom sat a big pot of stew in the center of the dinner table.

“How’s your dragon thing going?” Ghorza, her big sister, asked. She wore silver bands around her tusks that matched her spiky earrings.

“They award Best in Show today,” Bula explained, puffing her chest, “and Durza is definitely going to win.”

“You think so?” She held out her bowl for their dad to ladle some stew into it.

“I know it! He’s already won Best in Breed, and he’s the best trained, and he’s from Athendrolyn, which means he’s better.”

“Bowl, sweetheart,” her dad said, his tiny glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. Bula always wondered if they would fall off and hang across his tusks.

She quickly held out her dish. “Thank you.”

“It sounds like an exciting day for dragon trainers, huh?” her mom asked.

Bula put her hands on her hips. “It’s pretty boring when you already know who’s going to win.”

“What was all that shouting for, then?”

“Because it’s polite. And I had to show Modra how cool Eastern Highflyers are.”

Ghorza glanced into the living room, where Modra slumped over the arm of the couch. “He’s just a dragon,” she said.

“But he’s a special dragon! Eastern Highflyers are the best at doing air tricks, and they’re one of the only dragon breeds that has fur and scales. Oh! And also, they were bred to be pets and do tricks, so they’re really smart and easy to train for—”

“Slow down, Bula,” her dad said, tapping her bowl with his spoon. “Don’t forget to eat.”

She slumped, but scooped a spoonful of the stew into her mouth. Dragon facts were more important than dinner, in her opinion, but nobody else ever seemed to feel the same. They never wanted to watch the show with her, either.

“Well, girls,” her mom said, across the table. “The Community Contribution Show is coming up soon. Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

Bula sank closer to her strew, but Ghorza sat up tall and proud. “I’m going to do a traditional dance,” she declared, “because it shows that I value my culture and history.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!”

“Absolutely, how thoughtful,” her dad added. All three sets of eyes turned to Bula. “What about you, kiddo? Any ideas?”

“Um…” Bula put her spoon in her mouth to avoid answering.

“She’s probably nervous because of last year,” Ghorza said.

“Shut up!”

“Language,” her mom scolded, then turned to the other sister. “Don’t tease your sister, Ghorza, it was her first year presenting. Everyone’s nervous the first time, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Okay, sorry,” she muttered.

Bula frowned into her stew like she could boil it with her eyes. The art project she brought for last year’s Contribution Show was fine, but she could barely look up from her shoes. The moment she did, when she took in the crowd of her family, friends, neighbors, and classmates, all waiting to hear what she’d contributed to her community in the last year… She turned several shades greener and threw up on her art project in front of everyone. This time, she was going to prove herself. This time, her presentation would be so awesome, everyone would forget about last year.

“Go on, Bula,” her dad encouraged. “What did you have in mind this year?”

The problem was: she didn’t have any ideas. Bula scooped some more stew into her mouth to stall for time. She’d been so excited for the Holawynn Dragon Show that she hadn’t bothered to think about a presentation.

But wait. That was perfect!

“I’m going to train Modra!” she announced, sitting up straight with a wide grin. Her family exchanged confused glances.

“Train Modra?” her dad asked.

“Yeah! I’m gonna make him do an agility course and show everyone how awesome it is!”

Ghorza put her cheek on her fist. “How does that improve the community, though?”

“Uh. Because it…” Bula raced through the facts she memorized from her books. “Because dragons are part of the community too? And it’s important to build bonds with them…”

“Bula,” her mom said, gently, “that’s a really good idea. But don’t you want to do something  a little… simpler?”

“Why?”

“The dragons in your shows are a lot younger than Modra. He might not be able to do all the tricks you see on TV.”

“But the agility course isn’t tricks! It’s just running and flying, and he can do all that stuff." She looked earnestly between her parents, trying to will them to understand. “We take him on flights every day!”

“A short flight around the block is different than an agility course.”

Before Bula could protest again, her dad put a hand on her back. “We just don’t want Modra to get hurt, that’s all. That’s a lot of exercise for a little guy like him.”

“What if it’s a really short one? Please?”

Her parents looked at each other. Bula thought about holding her breath until they said yes.

“You can try a short one,” her mom conceded.

Bula cheered and jumped out of her chair.

“We can set it up tomorrow.”

She climbed back onto her chair. The dinner conversations continued all around her, but all Bula could think about was her awesome idea. She was going to train Modra, and then everyone would have to clap for her and tell her how amazing dragon training was. Every bite of stew was sweet with the promise of victory.

As soon as dinner was over and they were all excused, Bula raced to the living room to continue the Holawynn Dragon Show. Now that she was a dragon trainer, she would need to study extra hard to make sure her presentation was the best it could be.

Modra lifted his head when she sat down on the couch. Bula patted the cushion next to her. “Come on! We have to be ready for action tomorrow!”

He slunk down to coil up next to her, but it was a false start. He put his feathery tail over his face and went right back to sleep. Bula pouted, but wasn’t too bothered. They’d have plenty of time to practice before the big show.

“Goodnight, Bula,” her mom said, dimming the lights with a wave of her hand. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Goodnight, Mama, I won’t!”

She picked up the show right where she left off and was immediately enraptured again. After finishing the introduction of Molly and Baily, the three competitors were off the final challenges of the show. Having already passed the Breed Standard Judging, Obedience Trial, and  Advanced Agility Trial to even get to the finals, the last two challenges were the Master’s Agility Trial, and the most difficult test of all: the Performance Trial.

Bula watched with bated breath as each handler and their dragon ran through the complex agility course. Every display of maneuverability, control during flight, and the sheer speed at which they completed the trial was electrifying. The weave polls, magically floating and rotating hoops, the landing boxes that dove straight into a crawl space—each one was navigated with masterful grace. Bula kept her eyes peeled for any mistakes, from all competitors, but especially from Durza. She only spotted a few minor hiccups, nothing that would take out a competitor from the running. It was still anyone’s game.

“Breathtaking,” Lana said, once the course was over. “I can’t wait to see how close those scores are from the judges.”

“I’m guessing we’re in the decimal points,” said Theleano. “With only a few infractions, I think it’s all going to come down to the Performance Trial up next.”

Bula sat with her fingers crossed over her chest as the judges awarded points for the Master’s Agility Trial. Theleano was right—the differences were small, but she gasped at Marya and Evolet’s scores. They’d lost points in handling.

“I was right!” she cheered, and quickly covered her mouth when she remembered it was nighttime. She squealed into her hands, “I was right!”

But it wasn’t over yet. The Performance Trial was where everything would be decided.

A different sort of challenge, the performance part of the show was where the competitors and their dragons would show off the unique flight characteristics of the breed. It was a beautifully choregraphed air show that would truly show how well the trainers knew their dragons, and how well the dragons knew their trainers’ commands. No two Performance Trials were alike, even between the same breed of dragon, and it was where any truly skilled duo shined.

Bula knew Yotul and Durza had an advantage. Eastern Highflyers were known for their stunning flight patterns and capacity for learning tricks. But were they skilled enough to prove it?

Marya and Evolet went first. The show was impressive, but Bula could see the sloppy handling mistakes right away. Evolet really wanted to do her own thing, constrained by the limits of her handler, and it showed.

Her favorites were next. It was everything she could have hoped for, full of incredible dives, twisting flight paths, and excellent displays of what the Eastern Highflyer was bred for. She almost woke up Modra to encourage him to watch and see all the incredible things he could do, but nothing could tear her eyes off the screen. Yotul and Durza were flawless, in her eyes, and much better than Evolet.

Finally, Molly and Baily. As a Frilled Guardian, a stockier species skilled in gliding and swimming, there was a limit to what they could do during a performance. But Molly was clearly a professional, and made full use of Baily’s breed to offer a less flashy, but still honest display of the things a Frilled Guardian was capable of. Bula pulled her pigtails nervously—it wasn’t as fancy as Durza, but would the judges appreciate a more grounded, breed-sensitive performance more?

At last, the award for Best in Show was upon them. The three competitors lined up by the podiums for first, second, and third, awaiting their scores. Bula almost didn’t want to watch.

“In third place,” one of the judges announced, “Evolet, the Ivoryback, and her handler Marya.”

Bula clapped politely as they took the stand. No surprises there.

“In second place, Baily, the Frilled Guardian and her handler Molly Cotton.”

Bula jumped out of her seat. That meant—

“And congratulations to our winner of Best in Show: Durza, the Eastern Highflyer, and his handler Yotul.”

The only thing that kept Bula from screaming with happiness was that she couldn’t breathe. She watched Yotul and Durza, the orc from Athendrolyn with an Eastern Highflyer, take the first place stand and get showered with awards. Durza stood noble and upright on the podium, and Yotul grinned behind him, overjoyed. Not at the applause or the ribbon or the trophy, but at his dragon.

“Unbelievable!” Theleano laughed. “Absolutely unbelievable, I’m booking my flight tomorrow.”

“What an incredible performance,” Lana agreed. “From all three competitors, but I think those two have something special.”

“I completely agree, Lana, Yotul and Durza have truly made their mark today. They say emotional bonds dragons forge when they care about someone can be seen right on their faces, and you can absolutely see how much those two care for each other. No doubt it’s why they won today, and were able to put on such a good show for us. It’s outstanding.”

Bula knew what she had to do now. Knowing that Yotul and Durza would win wasn’t a guess, or luck, or even skill. It was destiny.

As the announcers closed out the show, Bula turned around to face her sleeping family pet. Modra still had his tail over his eyes, blinded to the truth. But Bula knew it.

She would become the greatest dragon trainer in the world.

As promised, the very next morning Bula and her dad got to work. They worked together to pull out scrap, wood, and carboard boxes from the garage so they could build their very own dragon agility course in the backyard. Bula assigned herself the role of manager—because her dad wouldn’t let her use the power tools—with the task of finding pictures of all the many types of obstacles that a good agility course needed in order for theirs to count.

By late afternoon, they’d crafted a course that had Bula beaming with pride. It wasn’t as big as the ones at the Holawynn Dragon Show—they only had a few weave poles made out of some old plastic pipes, an A-frame made of wood planks, a floating toy hoop enchanted by her mom, and an upturned box for a landing spot. It was a start, though. They could always add more obstacles when her career as the world’s greatest dragon trainer took off.

“What do you think, kiddo?” her dad asked, as they admired their finished work.

“It’s awesome!” she said. “Can I try it with Modra now?”

“Sure, if he wants to come out with us.”

Bula rushed inside, plucking Modra’s harness off the hook by the door. Her parents agreed to skip Modra’s evening walk, so he’d be full of energy for her training session. She found him in his favorite basking spot in the kitchen, coiled up on the tile.

“Modra!” she called, holding his harness triumphantly. “It’s time for your training to begin!”

Seeing the harness he unwrapped himself and stood politely to be hooked up. Bula slipped his skinny body through the loops, tightened them, and marched back outside. Modra followed at her ankles, probably thinking he was going on another walk. Bula grinned to herself—he had no idea how amazing his life was about to become.

“Ta-da!” she announced, arm spread to show off the course.

“I think he’s impressed,” her dad said, standing on the porch to observe her session.

Modra blinked and cocked his head.

Bula nodded. “He’s speechless.”

“Why don’t you show him the ropes?”

The first trial. She nodded, determined.

She approached the first obstacle with Modra: the weave poles. This should be easy for him as an Eastern Highflyer—their long, slinky bodies were ideal for the flexibility this challenge required. She stood to the side, harness held aloft, just like she’d seen the professionals do.

“Go!”

Modra sniffed the first pole. He didn’t go.

Bula tugged the harness a little. “Come on, Modra.”

“I think you have to show him first,” her dad suggested.

She wrinkled her nose—he was supposed to be good at this already. But he was an old dragon. Maybe he just forgot.

“Okay, Modra,” she said, dropping the harness. “Watch me.”

Bula waddled through the weave poles. She crossed one space to the other side, then squeezed through the next, in a zig-zag pattern, until she reached the end. Satisfied with her demonstration, she turned around with her hands on her hips.

“See? It’s easy, so now you—”

Modra had melted down into the grass, not paying attention at all. She groaned.

“Why don’t you try something easier?” her dad suggested. He pointed at the A-frame. “Modra goes up and down the stairs all the time. Maybe he’ll be better at that one.”

Bula thought about it. Modra was clearly out of practice, compared to his breed standard. Maybe doing something familiar would jog his memory about all the other things.

“Okay,” she agreed, and picked up his harness again.

The A-frame was a better challenge to show off heavier-bodied dragons. They didn’t have much flexibility, but were excellently balanced. Modra was used to running up and down the stairs in their house, so he might have an advantage over other Eastern Highflyers in that way.

Bula scooted him right at the base of the A-frame, close enough for his front claws to touch it. “Okay, Modra,” she instructed. “Go up that thing!”

She held the harness up again and waited. When nothing happened again, she tugged it forward. Modra scrambled up the first two claw grips—which were just skinnier pieces of scrap wood—and Bula gasped. He climbed up the first side of the A-frame all on his own! He perched at the top, confused, his lanky body all scrunched up to keep his balance. Now all he needed to do was climb down the other side, and he would master this obstacle!

“Come on, you can do it!” she encouraged.

Modra wiggled, put two of his paws on the other side of the A-frame…

And jumped off. Bula put a hand over her face.

“That was cool!” her dad said, clapping from the other end of the yard.

“No, no! That’s wrong!”

“Oh, whoops.” He stopped clapping.

Bula narrowed her eyes. The last obstacle was the hoop and landing box. Surely, Modra would be able to do that. Any dragon could jump through a hoop and land on a box. That would be theone.

For the third time, Bula dragged Modra to the obstacle, and set him in front of it. This time, she crouched down and explained it to him in detail.

“All you have to do,” she said, “is fly through this hoop, and land on that box.” She pointed to the cardboard box, with a white circle painted on its underside. “It’s super easy and—hey!”

Modra took off without warning. He ignored the hoop completely, raced over to the box, and nudged it until it turned on its side. The interior exposed, he crawled inside and tipped it back over, invisible except for the leash end of his harness trailing across the grass.

“Modra!” she cried.

Her dad jogged over. “Hey, Bula, maybe you should take a break for today.”

“But we didn’t do anything!”

“Well, you showed him the course right? He has to get used to it.”

She folded her arms, frustrated. “But…”

He crouched down next to her, a hand on her back. “He’s never done an agility course, kiddo. He has to learn the rules, and that might take some time. Didn’t it take you a long time to learn all the rules, too?”

She remembered. She scoured the library for books about dragon shows—their history, their trials, and more. Her teachers had to remind her to pay attention in class, because she was too busy reading about dragon shows. After all that studying, Bula had only begun to understand.

“I guess so,” she admitted.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” he said, standing up and holding out a hand. “Maybe tomorrow he’ll be ready to train.”

Bula grabbed his hand—mostly his fingers. “Maybe.”

Her dad took her inside, then he went back out to get Modra’s harness. They let him run around the course on his own, to see if he’d be any better at it the next day. But Bula wasn’t going to take any chances.

That night, she took Modra to her room and read him a book about dragon shows.

“What are you doing?” Ghorza asked. She was on the couch watching TV when Bula came down the stairs, a pile of books in her arms.

She peeked over the top of the stack. “Training Modra.”

“With books?”

“He has to learn the rules.”

“He can’t read, doofus.”

“Duh. I know that.” Bula put her books down to put her hands on her hips. “I’m going to read it to him. So he knows what to do.”

“Why don’t you just give him treats?” Bula gasped. Ghorza put a hand over her eyes. “Don’t tell me you forgot about treats.”

Bula ignored her and raced back up the stairs. “Mama!”

“I’m in the office!” her mom called back.

Bula raced down the hall to her office, skidding to a stop in the threshold. “Can I have some treats for Modra?”

Her mom looked up from a pile of floating paperwork. “For what?”

“To train him today. Modra can’t read, so I need them.”

She blinked. “Alright, just don’t give him too many.”

“Yay, thank you!”

Bula raced back down the stairs. She stopped before sprinting all the way to the kitchen, contemplating if she needed them. Even if Modra couldn’t read, it was always a good idea to have a back-up plan. She retrieved a bag of jackalope treats, placed them on top of her book pile, and heaved it all into her arms again. Unfortunately, she ran into another problem almost. She couldn’t open the back door.

“Here, I got it,” Ghorza said. She hopped off the couch and opened the door for her.

“Thank you,” Bula said, waddling outside.

“Good luck.”

The door shut before she could respond, but it was fine. Bula didn’t need luck. She had skill. And a bag of treats.

Modra was already outside, sleeping on the back porch. The sun turned him into a disco ball, a kaleidoscope of blue scale-shaped reflections speckling the porch. Bula picked up the treat bag and sat down next to him.

“Hey, Modra,” she said, in the excited voice her parents used. “Look what I have.”

She shook the treat bag, rattling the contents. Modra shot up instantly, yellow eyes trained right on the treats.

“Maybe if you come with me,” she continued, scooting down the porch, “you’ll get a bunch of yummy treats.”

Modra slunk toward her, sniffing wildly. She kept shaking the bag, all the way down into the grass. When she’d led Modra all the way to the weave poles, she reached into the bag and revealed one of the tiny brown chunks that he wanted so badly. Modra huffed, swishing his tail side to side.

“Come this way,” she said holding the treat on her side of the first gap.

With no hesitation and no trouble, Modra slipped between the first two poles. He snatched the treat out of Bula’s hand, and she happily let him. The new method was a success! Now to complete the challenge.

She ran to the other side of the weave poles to set up her next trap, but Modra followed her.

“No, stay over there,” she ordered, pointing him back to the other side. He didn’t listen, staring up at the treat bag hungrily. Bula sighed. Maybe this would be harder than she thought.

For the next hour, she tried to get Modra through the weave poles with the aid of treats. She left a piece between each pole, but he just walked on one side and ate them all one at a time. She tried to throw them, but he just jumped after them. Which was cool, but not what she wanted. Finally, she walked through the weave poles herself, using the treat as bait, which finally got him through, but she couldn’t do that for the presentation! It would look silly!

So she gave up and tried the A-frame again. It was Modra’s best, so she almost thought she wouldn’t need treats. She was wrong—Modra refused to climb it a second time. She lured him up to the top with a treat, but he wouldn’t step down. Even when she put treats on all the claw grips, he just jumped off and gobbled them up.

Getting more than a little mad, Bula held a treat on one side of the hoop. Modra spread his wings and leapt through, taking the treat from her hand as he did. But instead of landing, he whisked it away, back to the porch to eat.

The next day, Bula gave up on treats. She gave up on books, too. And as the days turned into weeks, and the Community Contribution Show drew nearer, Bula was getting scared. And frustrated. And confused as to why Modra just wouldn’t do what she asked.

In an act of desperation, she carried Modra through the entire course, locked in her arms. She walked him through the weave poles, lifted him up and down the A-frame, lowered the floating hoop so she could step through it, and set him down on the landing box. When it was over, she sat on the grass and stared at him intently.

“Can you do that?” she asked. “Can you please just do that on your own?”

Modra lowered his head to be level with hers. His eyes were big and yellow and blank. She wasn’t sure if he’d listened to her at all.

All the failed attempts bubbled up and she shouted, “Fine! Don’t do the course, I don’t care! It’s stupid anyway!”

Bula marched back into the house, slamming the back door behind her. She winced, because she wasn’t supposed to do that, but she couldn’t help it. She stomped all the way up the stairs, all the way to her room, and slammed that door too. She stood in the center of her room, fuming. Her eyes stung with tears.

All around her room, she had scattered books about dragon shows, posters, her own drawings. Her life was full of dragon shows and dragon training. She watched every recorded show she could find. Dragon training was her favorite thing in the world.

So why wasn’t she allowed to have it?

There was a knock at the door. “Bula?” her mom said.

“Go away!” she demanded. Some stupid teardrops slipped down her cheeks. She swiped them away angrily.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay, honey.”

She sniffed. Of course she wasn’t okay, what kind of question was that?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Bula shifted in place. She didn’t understand anything that happened, she didn’t know what she was doing wrong. But maybe her mom would. She shuffled to the door and opened it up. All she saw were her mom’s green feet, because she didn’t want to look up.

She didn’t have to. Her mom crouched down, taking her cheeks. “Let’s go sit down, okay?”

Bula swallowed a lump and nodded.

They sat together on her bed, Bula clutching a stuffed dragon. It was an Eastern Highflyer.

“What happened today?” her mom asked.

“Modra wouldn’t do the course,” Bula said, trying to keep her voice steady. It was hard.

“I’m sorry, honey.” She petted Bula’s hair. “Dragon training is pretty hard, huh?”

“But I know so many things! I know everything about dragon training, why isn’t it working?”

“Maybe it just takes a really long time, like going to school. You don’t think Modra would be able to learn all of your school work in a month, do you?”

“But it’s just one course.” Bula squeezed her stuffed dragon. “It’s not even that much, I don’t know why he can’t do it.”

“Maybe he’s nervous. He’s never done anything like this before.”

“He does though,” Bula protested. “He flies around. He climbs up and down the stairs. When we have rabbit for dinner, he twists around under the table to get our crumbs. Why can’t he do them now?”

“Well, let’s think about it.” Her mom put an arm around her shoulders. “Modra does all those things because he wants to. Nobody’s ever told him to do them on purpose. He’s never seen an agility course in the backyard before. He doesn’t know what they’re for.” Before Bula could protest again, she added, “He doesn’t know everything you know. He has a dragon brain, not an orc brain.” She tapped Bula’s head. “There’s different stuff up here.”

“But… But I really wanted to do it.”

She couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and they flooded down her cheeks in a hot waterfall. Her mom hugged her while she sobbed, murmuring things she didn’t hear, and didn’t really care about. There was nothing more Bula wanted than to do a dragon show for her family—for her whole community. But she just couldn’t, and it wasn’t fair.

When she got too tired to keep sobbing, her mom handed her the tissue box off the nightstand. She wiped her eyes, cheeks, and where a little drool had leaked out near her horns.

“I’m not saying you have to change your mind,” her mom said, “but maybe you can do a report on dragon shows for the presentation instead. I’m sure everyone would love to know everything you’ve learned.”

Bula couldn’t even muster the energy to be nervous. “Maybe.”

Her mom kissed the top of her head and stood up. “I’m going to make dinner, do you want to eat upstairs tonight?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright, I’ll bring it up for you.”

And Bula sat in her room for the rest of the night. She ate dinner in bed, changed right into her pajamas, and tried to sleep. It was hard, even though she was tired. When the sun set, the only light was Ghorza’s room across the hall. Eventually, even that light turned off.

When Bula was thinking about going to the kitchen for a glass of water, a slinky silhouette peered into her room. A silhouette with a funny mustache and feathery tail. She decided she was still mad and rolled over.

That didn’t stop him. Modra leapt up onto her bed, crawled over her, and tried to coil up near her chest. She scooted to the edge.

“Go away,” she muttered. “I don’t like you right now.”

Modra sniffed her cheek and made a rumbling sound. Maybe he was saying sorry.

Bula pushed up to sit and he immediately curled up in her lap. She fought back tears again.

“I don’t hate you,” she promised. “I’m just sad.”

He blinked, his wide eyes bright in the dark.

“I just wanted to do a dragon show,” she confessed. “I feel like nobody understands how cool they are. Nobody watches my shows with me or reads my books or anything and I thought—” She sniffed and had to pause. “I thought maybe if I did a cool show, everyone would like it with me.”

Modra nuzzled into her hand. She stroked his skinny neck and felt a bit in her stomach.

“I’m sorry if I made you scared. I didn’t mean to. I just think you’re a really cool dragon.”

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He was a dragon, not an orc.

“I guess I have to do something else for the presentation now.”

At that, Modra sat up. He jumped off the bed and slunk his way to her door. Bula shuffled back under the covers. He probably needed a drink of water.

But then he came back. He stood up on his back legs and nudged her face with his head. She watched him pace to the door, stop, and look at her. He… wanted Bula to follow him. Curious, she got out of bed and did just that.

Modra led her all the way downstairs and to the backdoor. She sighed, but put on her shoes. He should have woken up Ghorza if he needed to go to the bathroom. He darted out the door, again waiting for her to step outside before he moved again.

Bula expected him to dart behind the bushes, but instead, he went to the A-frame. Modra tentatively crawled up the first half and… down the second half. Shakily, unsure, but… he did it.

Speechless, Bula just stood there, in her boots and pajamas, wondering if she was dreaming. Modra flew back to her, as if to make sure she’d seen it. And she had.

“Are you,” she started, “learning?”

Modra’s yellow eyes glittered in the night. Bula suddenly remembered what the dragon show announcer had said— the emotional bonds dragons forge when they care about someone can be seen right on their faces.

Was he… trying to show her that he cared?

Bula crouched down and hugged Modra, as tight as she could without hurting him. Modra rumbled, and it vibrated his entire body.

“Tomorrow,” she declared, “we’re going to try again.”

Modra didn’t say anything, but she knew he agreed.

The Community Contribution Show was upon them.

Bula had her dad load the agility course into the trunk of the car, piece by piece. All the way there, she held Modra in her lap, and tried not to think about where they were going. She wished they had more time to practice.

“Nervous?” Ghorza asked. She was wearing a traditional orcish dancing skirt—a gift passed down by their grandparents that had been stuffed in the closet until now. It was really pretty, bright red with extra layers to make spinning and jumping look cooler. Bula felt weird wearing just a regular outfit.

“Yeah,” she admitted.

“Don’t be. You’re gonna do fine.”

Bula nodded, swallowing hard. She hoped so.

When they arrived at the park outside the community center, it was already packed. A little stage had been set up under a large tree, a floating sign instructed presenters where to store their props if they had them, and a ton of fold-out chairs were planted in the grass. There were dozens of people mingling around the park, some had brought blankets to sit on, some brought their own chairs, and others sat on their cars. Orcs made up most of the attendees, but there were other creatures there too—Bula recognized a few of her half-orcish classmates attending with both their parents. She waved out the window. Then she remembered she’d have to perform in front of all of them.

Before she could slump down, Modra perked up. He stretched his long body, and nuzzled her hand. She rubbed his head, heartened by his encouragement.

“Parking is going to be a nightmare,” her dad lamented from the driver’s seat.

“It’s a nightmare every year, Agrob,” her mom sighed back.

“Yes, Dura, I know. We are a bit later than usual, too.”

“We’ll never find a seat like this.” Her mom turned around in her seat. “Girls, let’s get out here and go find somewhere to sit while Dad parks the car.”

“What about my course?” Bula asked.

“Don’t worry,” her dad said, “I’ll get it all out of the trunk and set it up with the other props.”

With that settled, Bula got out of the car, Modra in her arms. She, Ghorza, and their mom squeezed through the crowd, stopping what felt like every five seconds to talk to a friend, neighbor, or random friendly stranger. Bula clutched Modra close to her chest to keep him from falling… and because she needed a hug.

Finally, they reached the stage. They snagged the first four seats in a row they could find, her mom planting her bag on one to save it for her dad. Bula would have used Modra to save it for him, but she couldn’t bring herself to let him go. Modra twisted around in her grip.

“Sorry,” she said, and quickly let go.

Modra put his front paws on her chest and rubbed her cheek with his face. She steeled herself. If Modra believed in her, Bula knew she could do anything.

It took a long time for the show to start. So many people had to sit down, so many more people arrived, and her dad could barely find them when he got finished transferring Bula’s props. But the noisy crowd went almost silent when someone got up on stage holding a microphone and clipboard, a big orc with golden tusk jewelry and a sundress.

“Wow, what a great turnout,” they said, peering out into the crowd with a hand over their eyes. Everyone clapped and cheered. “When I saw how many people signed up to present this year, I was worried we’d have to rent out the university stadium.”

Everyone laughed, but Bula thought that was a great idea. There would be so much room for cooler presentations. And more props!

“Since there’s so many of you, I’ll cut right to the chase. Once a year, we celebrate what we have for generations: community, togetherness, and achievement. There’s no such thing as a society without people to push it forward, and today, we have a lot of people who are ready to share what they contributed to the community in the past year.” They glanced at their clipboard. “First up: Argha, with an educational achievement.”

It went on for hours. Probably days. Bula sat, watched people come up on stage, listened to them talk about what they did, watched a demonstration if they had one, clapped, and then waited for the next person. She was worried the announcer had left her off the list—part of her hoped she’d been left off the list.

“Ghorza, with a cultural tribute.”

She stood up, the whole family wishing her good luck on her way to the stage. Everyone clapped when she got up there, and took the microphone from the announcer.

“This year, I learned to dance,” she said, proudly. “Specifically, I learned a traditional war dance from my ancestor’s clan. I want to share with my community, so we can all reflect on our history, and how far we’ve come.”

The audience clapped, but Bula tried to clap the loudest. Ghorza waited for everyone to quiet down, standing tall in the center of the stage. She handed the mic back to the announcer, and, with no music, she started her dance.

Ghorza stomped, kicked, and clapped aggressively. The skirt flew like a dragon’s wings whenever she turned, jumped, struck out with her legs as if she were actually at war. Every step beat down an invisible enemy, and the skirt flashed to clear the battlefield for another. Bula couldn’t tear her eyes away mesmerized by the performance.

When she finished, sweating and chest heaving, everyone burst into applause. Ghorza beamed at the crowd and took a bow. Bula would have jumped out of her seat if not for Modra—it was so cool!

Uh oh. It was really cool.

Ghorza left the stage and the announcer came back. “What a spectacular performance!” they said. “Only blessings to you and your ancestors, but I think I’d break a hip trying to pull of moves like that.” They paused for the audience to laugh. “Up next, we have Bula, with her tribute to entertainment.”

“Time to go, kiddo,” her dad said, and held out his hand.

“Good luck, honey,” her mom said.

Bula didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. She just nodded and took her dad’s hand as he led her through the crowd. She held Modra in the other. He draped himself over her back and around her neck like a scarf.

They passed Ghorza on the way. “Hey, good luck.”

“Th-thanks,” she managed.

All the way to the stage, Bula thought about how awesome Ghorza’s dance was. Would she be able to do something like that? Something that meaningful and that everyone loved? Was she going to ruin everything like last year again?

Before she knew it, her dad had let her hand go and she was on the stage. A sea of green faces unfolded before her eyes. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of people, watching her. Talking. About her. She dropped Modra.

Luckily for her, he was an Eastern Highflyer, and landed flawlessly. Some people murmured, a mess of voices Bula couldn’t begin to understand. She felt a little dizzy.

Modra clawed her hip, standing up on his hind legs. Bula tried to brush him off, but looking down she remembered: she prepared for this. Hurriedly, she dug into her pocket and unfolded a square of paper. She stared at it, instead of the crowd.

“Um,” she said, and stopped when the announcer rushed over and handed her the microphone. It was big. And sweaty. “Um. Th-this year, I learned dragon training. Dragons have, um, been in our community for a really long time, going back to ancient times. They’re an important part of our culture, and I think people should bond with their dragons more. By training them. Like this.”

Bula stuffed the speech back into her pocket, and spun around as people clapped politely. Her dad had set up the agility course while she was talking: a bag of treats, the weave poles, the A-frame, and the hoop and box. Standing at the very back of the stage, he gave her a double-thumbs up. She gave a weak one back.

Gripping Modra’s harness like a lifeline, Bula shuffled to the start of the agility course. It looked so different on a stage, instead of in her backyard. Almost like a real dragon show. She took a breath.

Bula unclipped Modra’s harness, and heard the crowd behind her bubble up with questions. She ignored them, with all her might, and took a treat out of the bag. Modra stepped up to the weave poles, just like they practiced. He looked up at her with his big yellow eyes, glittering, just like they had before. That night he told her that he wanted to try.

Bula wanted to try too. She stuck her arm out, holding the treat aloft, just like they practiced. And took off running.

Modra zipped along behind her, weaving through the poles like he was made of water. The curves of his body flowed between the empty spaces, not touching a single side. Behind her, the audience gasped, but they didn’t have time to process the first trick before they reached the A-frame. Modra climbed up to the center of the obstacle and stopped.

Bula let him, just like they practiced, holding the treat as high as she could. He posed on his hind legs, showing off his lanky body. It wasn’t “correct,” but Modra liked to collect himself after running up one side—Bula learned that during practice. After a few seconds, he let her guide him down the other side.

The next trick was easy. Modra leapt into the air and soared through the hoop, landing in the empty, upright cardboard box on the front corner of the stage. Bula rushed around to one side to make sure he was ready. When she saw him coiled up and ready to pounce, she tossed the treat in the air. He jumped like a spring toy, catching it out of midair.

And… that was it. They did it.

Bula turned around, only to be blasted with a soundwave of applause. People cheered for her, shouting their appreciation into the sky. She was so surprised she fell over, landing on her backside. It didn’t even hurt—she stared, in awe. She did it. She did it well! She started laughing and then couldn’t stop, thrilled and shaking and dizzy and maybe she would throw up again. But in a good way, this time.

Modra didn’t let her take all the credit. He jumped out of the box and into her lap, showing off his sparkly scales. The audience clapped even louder, and Bula threw her arms around him. He nuzzled her cheek, his eyes bright with understanding. He was happy. And she was happy too.

Even if she didn’t do it “right,” the way the professionals did, Bula got to bond with her pet. She worked with Modra, instead of making him do whatever she wanted. And then they put on the best dragon show ever.

Bula finally collected herself enough to stand up, grinning ear to ear. This was destiny. She would become the greatest dragon trainer of all time.

-

Tales from Athendrolyn Taglist: @foxys-fantasy-tales @auroblaze @thelaughingstag @auntdarth @damageinkorporated

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[songbirdtales]

Devil Spawn (AstarionxTav)

As soon as the party returned to camp, Tav slipped away to the riverbank. They fell heavy onto a smoothed flat rock, curling over to rest their head in their hands as their willow whisp eyes stared blankly into the dark. A storm cloud rolled in the mind with memories and thoughts. The storm roared so loud it blocked their senses until a familiar voice tore them back to reality. 

“Tav?” A trace of worry came through in the furrow of Astarion’s brow. He’d come over with his typical chaotic glee but when they’d ignored him completely, well that was more than unusual. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” Their voice was muffled by their hands, rubbing their eyes and keeping their gaze down to avoid his own. 

“No fever? Er… What were the other tadpole symptoms?”

“No. Sorry I… am just thinking about today. The tea house, the hag…”

“The pregnant widow and her undead husband?” He asked with a snicker as he came closer, leaning against the rock beside where they sat. The long river rock made something of a shelf that seemed strong enough to support both of their weight, but Astarion wasn’t trying to be clingy.

There was no laugh in return, no smile, just a solemn “Aye… Hit a little too close to home.” With a deep breath Tav sat back, turning their head up to open their airway as the storm cloud in their mind attempted to suffocate them.

“Which part?” He joked, trying fruitlessly to lighten the mood. Astarion held his tongue as Tav’s gaze slowly came back to the river. He studied their blank expression but he couldn’t read them. Tav had shut down to keep the storm contained. It scared him to not be able to read them. That instinctual connection they’d shared the other night was absent, and not because of him. It felt like he’d lost some form of control, and he hated that.

Tav said nothing, so Astarian continued. “So, a tiefling witch who befriends orphans. Is that where you got your soft spot?” He mused to himself, trying to imagine her, Tav’s mother. At first he imagined an ugly old hag, but Tav was far from ugly. He quickly rearranged his mental image to be more of an older, mature, more feminine version of Tav. Just as he’d painted her in his mind the image would be shattered.

“My mother wasn’t a tiefling.” The storm waned and their voice softened. Focusing on the thought of her was grounding in an odd way, even if the pain of those memories simmered at the surface in the quiver of their eyes. “She couldn’t have children of her own, so she made a pact for the magic to do so.” Tav’s eyes glanced to Astarion, and for just a moment they caught his expression. That shocked stare, he almost looked horrified. He understood exactly what they were suggesting, what their mother had done to create...

His sanguine gaze flicked away for Tav in embarrassment. He’d been caught staring. He stumbled over his words, desperate to save face as the severity of their situation settled in. “So you- your father is- a…”

“Well,” They winced at the thought. “I don’t exactly know the technicals of… all that. What I know is that there is a devil who calls me blood and would very much like me in hell with him. I’d be willing to make a deal with him before Mizora, but even then he’s still a devil,” They tsked softly at the thought.. “And just like with hags and witches, ‘deals’ are never in your favor, even when they’re ‘family’.” Their smile didn’t return, but he could feel Tav ease as Astarion’s presence drew them back out. 

“I see… that explains why you were so angry with that insufferable druid. I thought you were going to tear her throat out, it was kind of hot. I almost forgot how annoyed I was that we were still in that awful place.” He admitted. “All her devil talk, I could barely keep my eyes from rolling…” his thought trailed off and Tav naturally picked it up.

“I wouldn’t call myself particularly selfless but I can’t help but see myself in others, to see my pain in theirs, and there is this,” They brought a hand to rest over their heart as Tav searched for the words. “Anger that fires up. It screams, swearing to me that if I can do something now, it’ll change the past. And I know that’s not true, but sometimes it’s so loud I can’t hear anything else. So when I hear someone like that bitter bitch call a child a parasite,” their gaze hardened as they started off at nothing, tongue biting off each syllable as their sight stayed fixed on the storm still rolling in their mind. “I just want to drag my nails down her fucking face.”

A broad smile pulled across his lips as he leaned closer, tilting his head as white fangs caught the moonlight. “Let’s kill her.” Tav blinked a few times, taking a moment to process his words before turning towards him. His face was so much closer, their cool toned skin turning a dusty, warm violet at their cheeks as they flushed. “When we get back with this Halsin fellow, or what’s left of him, we can wait till she’s asleep and,” he ran a finger across his neck.

“Is this supposed to be your idea of a date?” Tav deflected as they leaned back ever so slightly.

“Isn’t it romantic?” He teased, leaning in further. 

“Not sure romantic is the word I’d use-“ The softest hint of a smile cracked across their lips.

“There they are!” He cut in, the sharpness of his smile waned and he’d lean back once more. “I knew you were in there somewhere.”

Tav’s smile came back more true, still soft but he could see inside just a little to the storm. He could catch glimpses of familiar expressions and inflections, but whatever was on their mind was truly troubling them.

“You mentioned the hag, what has her on your mind?” Astarion asked as if he found the idea of giving the hag a second thought utterly bazaar.

“It’s not really about the hag, just like it wasn’t really about the druid.” They explained, shaking their head as their mind turned back to the storm. “It’s about that baby. Who knows what that hag would have really done with it, but I can’t help but wonder if whatever she had planned would have been better than being born to a madwoman and a ghoul.” Their gaze hardened on the ground again as their expression grew intense. Instead of the blank stare, their brow furrowed deeply as their lips creased into a frown.

“Why should you care?” He seemed genuinely confused. “As far as we’re concerned that woman got exactly what she wanted.”

“But she didn’t.” Tav’s lips scrunched and pushed from side to side. “I know all too well that magic can’t fix everything and when people who believe it can are confronted with that reality-“ their lip twitched as their breath hitched. Tav caught their eyes welling with tears and pushed it back down, shoving it all back in. “It’s never pretty.”

Astarion studied Tav’s posture, the exasperation absent from his tone now and replaced with care. “Frankly it’s none of our business. It’s not like we will ever cross their paths again.” He said in an attempt to comfort them.

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean they stop existing.” Tav’s continued to watch the river water roll past them as Astarion stared at Tav, speechless. 

Tav’s words swam in Astarion’s head but he was bad at this. There was something he wasn’t understanding, something fundamental to Tav. It wasn’t the first time he’d been confronted with this, it wasn’t specific to Tav even, this lack of understanding empathy. For a moment he wondered if there was something broken in him. If there was, it was surely Cazidor’s doing. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to ‘win’, if there was really such a thing in this sort of situation. Maybe it wasn’t possible, but his silence made him feel so inadequate. 

Tav sighed heavily and let their eyes drift back down the riverbed. “I need to get out of my own head.” 

Sometimes all you had to do was wait. Astarion hadn’t planned this, but it wouldn’t damage his goal. If anything, it might just help him. “Well if it’s getting out of your head, I can help with that.” There was a sweetness to his whisper that seemed to draw them in. Astarion stood and offered Tav a hand. “If you trust me.”

Tav’s gaze snapped to Astarion, the storm still raging in their mind, making it hard to think What did he mean about help? It was his last words that pulled them from their frozen state.  “I do.” Their voice was soft in turn, warm and deep yet comforting like a heavy blanket. Tav took Astarion’s hand and he’d step back, leading them to their feet and down river, away from camp.

As the night settled once more at the riverside, Gale stood with his back to a tree, hiding behind it and out of sight from the other two. How long had he been listening? How much had he heard? What was he going to do with that information? He stroked his beard in thought as he contemplated everything he’d just learned, his eyes locked on the direction Astarion had led Tav. Gale hummed in contemplation.

Astarion didn’t hold Tav’s hand for long, walking a few steps ahead of them even once they’d each let go. He led them up river to the edge of the camp and into the woods. They walked for what felt like much longer than it really was. “It’s not much further.” He assured them.

The dark didn’t bother Tav, their eyes were made for darkness. Yet as the vampire led them further into the woods a fear crept up their spine. Doubt seeped into their mind as a dissonant voice whispered, ‘How naive are you? He’s hungry and you’ve followed him into the dark, alone. What do you think is going to happen next? You’re not dumb, Tav. Stop making dumb choices.’

Astarion slipped through the trees like a phantom, gliding, each stride adding distance between them as his pace picked up and Tav’s slowed. He reached out as he approached a curtain of willow branches and vanished through them.

Tav paused, the voice in their head louder now as they stood at the threshold. ‘It’s not too late to turn back. Gale’s probably looking for you. You could run back to him, he’d gladly have you.’ Tav’s expression soured at the intrusive thoughts. Where were they coming from? They knew what Astarion was, and they didn’t fear him for it. Even if he was to act by his nature, they were confident in their ability to survive, and even then he’d proven twice now he could restrain himself. So why-

The curtain of willow opened once more as Astarion poked his head back through. “Are you coming?” A splash of annoyance tinged his tone. He did not like waiting, especially when he wanted something.

Tav blinked a few times before pressing their eyes closed and shaking their head. They pushed the thoughts away and stepped through the branches to see a small clearing. They could see a tree stump long cut and a thinning in the grass in the furthest point from the nearest trees. An old camp site long left to be reclaimed by the forest. 

The foliage around the clearing blocked most views inside. The clearing was big enough to let the moonlight past the canopy but not to the forest floor. Fireflies lit the forest floor, as the ambient glow of the defused moonlight kept this part of the woods peaceful and bright. Their eyes flit from the clearing to him and back before Tav took a few steps forward, turning to look around before looking back to Astarion.

They found his own brow quirked, a grin plastered across his lips as he studied them. “I’ve noticed you’re reluctant to play your originals by the fire, I thought you might like somewhere secluded to practice.” Tav recognized his smile now. He struggled to stay composed as blood drunk glee bubbling at the surface as he waited to be rewarded. They’d thought he was getting excited to feed but now they could see what he really wanted; praise. 

Tav took a moment to gather themself before a soft smile joined their surprised eyes. “Thank you.”

Astarion scoffed. “Are you really so surprised? We’re friends, after all.” It wasn’t nearly the reaction he’d expected, but at least it was a positive one. He could use it, even if the absence of his expectations left him irritated. Their surprise waned, leaving just a smile behind. Still, there was something about how eager he was, there was surely something more in it for him. “I’m not used to having honest friends.”

“Well,” He glanced away, the confidence in his voice wavering as he was verbally cornered. “I had more ideas aside from band practice.” Of course, there was always something more. “I thought the privacy could be good for many things. For more delicate conversations, an escape route for when Wyll’s patroness decides to slaughter us in the night, keep away the peeping Gales from our more intimate moments.” He said with a flash of his fangs.

The last suggestion caught Tav off guard. “You think Gale’s been watching us?” The thought was uncomfortable and Astarion could see as much, but in what way still eluded him. What better time to push his luck. He’d done a fair job of keeping Tav’s interest, they might just tell him how much of a risk Gale really was to his plan.

“I don’t just think so.” He stalked towards them, each step agonizingly slow as he closed the gap between them. “He’s worried I’ll corrupt you.” Astarion’s amusement was on the surface yet there was a dissonance between his tone and how he moved. His gaze had sharpened, head fixed on them, like a beast on the hunt. 

Tav’s body suddenly felt so incredibly heavy, their feet and arms unable to move as he came closer. They could feel their heart racing, the sound filling their ears as they realized they were holding their breath. Tav forced themself to breath, the sharp ex and inhales making a scoff. It was just enough to pull themself from their frozen state and cross their arms. Tilting their head, Tav’s eyes stayed on Astarion. “That’s rich… but, I don’t blame him for worrying. I’d be worried too if I knew a friend was willingly feeding a vampire.”

“If you distrust me so, why follow me out into the middle of the woods?” A soft red glow came from his eyes as he got within arms reach. The dark began to obscure his face as he became backlit by what little moonlight made it down to the forest floor.

“I do trust you.” They said without hesitation. “Even if my instincts tell me not to.”

“You shouldn’t ignore those. Wouldn’t want to end up dead, would you?” He loomed over them, the shadows darkening his face as Tav’s eyes burned like willow wisps.

“That’s why I keep trusting you.” Tav’s voice was flat as the nocturnal pare stared off. “We make a good team. Makes me want to trust you.” The sound of the woods took over the gaps in Tav’s words as they paused. Even with their dark vision Tav could only make out the faintest details of his expression. His eyes stared wide, his grin gone as he was unsure how to respond so Tav continued. “Whether that’s foolish of me is up to you. Just know if you break my trust, you’ll be Kelemvor’s problem.”

He cocked his head, still processing Tav’s words. He’d underestimated them again. Truly, Tav would make a terrible enemy, all the more reason he needed them wrapped around his finger. Still, it wasn’t too late to save face. The shadow on his face lifted as he took a step back and Tav could see a composed smile on his lips, the one he wore like a mask when he was hiding something. “You’ll learn I don’t disappoint, darling.” A flash of fangs and another step back and he was once again at the willow branches. “I’ll leave to… whatever it is artists do.” He waved goodbye with a flick of his wrist as he turned.

“Astarion,” Their voice gave him pause. Those red eyes turned back over his shoulder curiously. He was met with a shy smile. “Truly, thank you for...” Their voice trailed off as they gestured to the clearing. “Sharing this with me.” Tav’s long nails pushed back stray strands of gold, tucking them behind a pointed ear. There was something so honest in their expression now that they were fully out of their head,that connection he’d been so angry to lose was back. This wasn’t exactly the praise he’d wanted so badly, yet a strange feeling filled him. What was it? If he knew at one point, the feeling was unfamiliar to him now. 

Astarion turned away to hide his face. “What are friends for?” He called back as he vanished through the curtain of willow. He took only a few steps before pausing, waiting in the dark, the panic in him starting to settle in. A hand came to rest on his sternum as Astarion tried to decipher this feeling that had just threatened to consume him. There was a pain, a tightness in his chest as if a hand was gripping his heart. It was frightening, and exhilarating. It took only that short moment for the soft plucking of strings to meet his ears. Only then did the fear wash away to leave the most incredible feeling. He felt invincible. Only then was he satisfied.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

Febuwhump Day 1 Part 2

Touch-Starved – Hunter

Warnings: Tension headache, no real warnings - just another much needed massage

WC: 2,208

The detail in their medical records was… excessive. I found myself trying not to imagine how certain details from stress tests were acquired, stomach weighing heavily in my gut for days after reading about Wrecker’s above average bone density, how quickly Crosshair’s eyes can adjust between glaring light and near perfect blackness, how long Hunter could hold his breath… Maker, there was little wonder in the reason behind their malcontent at having a medic onboard.

Still, I couldn’t let their distrust impede the very reason I was here – not as some heartless scientist, but as a healer. Unfortunately, the one who seemed most in need of my help presently was arguably the most intimidating of them. While Crosshair was constantly posturing as a dangerous, short-tempered snake, it was Hunter that I still found myself tensing around whenever he entered the room. That deep quiet he fell into, eyes narrowed as his mind worked through endless strategies and scenarios before answering a question or making a decision… It was unsettling be the subject of that intensity of focus, and if I ever gave him reason to see me as a threat…

Today, however, whatever trepidation I felt toward him would have to wait. In the past few hours, I’d watched his shoulders gradually creep up towards his ears, muscles steadily growing taut as his neck began to crane forward; watched his hand repeatedly come up toward the side of his head, pause, clawed fingers just shy of trembling, before intentionally dropping back to his side; watched his brows furrow above hard eyes as his jaw ground together.

Just as notable, I watched the others quickly fall into a heavy quiet, moving almost gingerly as they went about their work; no ceaseless teasing from the sniper nor loud retorts from their demolitions expert, and any discussions shared between Tech and Echo were kept brief, voices barely whispered. This was a regular occurrence; one I, thankfully, was familiar with.

Without a word, I tread towards the towering mass of tense muscles and too-heavy breaths. He was in the rec-room, standing over a cup of now cold caf he’d made earlier and forgotten about, eyes pinched closed. If he noticed me dim the lights to near total darkness, he made no show of it, but, when my hand settled gently over his shoulder, the ferocity in his pain-hardened glare should have been enough to make me flinch away, but I held still.

“Hunter,” I barely breathed his name before his lips twisted into a scowl.

“Not now – go play doctor with someone else.” He snapped, and I knew he felt bad about the harshness of his tone as soon as the remark leapt from his tongue. I let my expression fall pointedly blank, just raising one eyebrow as his words lingered heavily between us. Teeth still ground, he let out a nearly growled sigh, eyes slipping closed once more. “Look, I’m fine – just need t”

“Five minutes.” I didn’t care to let him struggle over the relentless tension vying to lock his jaw shut around some useless excuse. He glanced toward me, confusion briefly overruling the hurt etching deep lines into his normally stoic face. I drew a slow, controlled breath, willing some whisper of calm into him as continued. “I want you to sit down and trust me for just five minutes.”

“Doc, it’s not a trust thing – this just isn’t something your meds work for.” The exhaustion was evident in the way his voice dragged passed lips reluctant to move even the tiny amount needed for speech, and my heart ached for him. How many times had he suffered through this?

“No meds.” I promised gently, “Just five minutes.” For a long moment, he merely looked at me, and I could see the dismissal lingering in the subtle downturn of pinched lips, but the reluctant sigh that escaped flared nostrils caught me by surprised.

“Fine.” He huffed, turning his gaze pointedly back toward the cold caf. “What do you want?” How much pain was he in for his resolve to crumble so quickly? How hopeless must he have felt when the beginnings of that ache first started up? The gratitude in my sympathetic smile only made him grind his teeth harder, and I nodded to one of the chairs.

“Just sit down.” I instructed quietly. He hesitated just a moment longer before dragging himself the few steps forward and let his body nearly collapse onto the scantly padded seat. “All I want you to do is focus on your own breathing.” In the darkness of the room, my whispered words faded quickly into a gentle silence, softly returning my hand to just rest on his shoulder, anticipating the way he tensed beneath even that innocent touch.

“Slow, deep breath in for 5… 4…” It took him a second to understand what I was asking, and I felt him shuffle uncertainly, but, brows furrowing, he followed my instructions, albeit with a notable flare of impatience. “Good. Out for 1… 2… 3…” With that same exasperation, he let the air flow quickly through his nose, but was caught off-guard slightly as I continued past five. “6… 7… 8… In for 5…” Halfway through that second breath, I felt his focus finally shift to the simplicity of that movement, watched his brows just begin to relax, and I carefully set my other hand on his shoulder as well.

As he began breathing in during the third cycle, I slowly swept a hand up the back of neck. He hesitated, but, as I continued that steady count, let himself fall back into the gentle, guided rhythm. Following the motion of his breath, I dragged the heel of my palm down the painfully taut muscle stretching from the base of his skull toward his shoulder blade with just enough pressure to slowly begin working some pliability into the rigid tissue.

His entire body tensed, back twitching slightly before he wrestled himself back to stillness.

“That’s alright,” I promised softly, “In for 5…” Teeth locked into the side of his cheek, he forced himself to follow my words once more, and I wondered if he was silently timing every passing second until my five minutes ended. I repeated that simple movement once more before doing the same on the other side of his spine. That’s all it took for him to begin to relax.

Gradually, I began altering the motion slightly, starting higher on his head, shifting to use the padding of my thumb for a firmer pressure, sweeping along the top ridge of powerful muscle sloping toward his shoulder, and, slowly, his head began to tilt forward, subconsciously granting me easier access as his eyes slid shut. The meditative rhythm of my words continued ceaselessly, guiding that leisurely ebb and flow of breath that lulled him into a blessed stillness.

Movements carefully maintaining that same cadence, I tentatively let my fingers creep into his hair, just slipping over the knot of his bandana for a beat before easing it from his head as my other hand dragged once more down the length of his neck. His head shifted just enough to indicate some incentive to help rid himself of the garment, but was void of the strength for anything more, and I could hear my smile in the final count of that exhale.

The vibrant relief lighting his next inhale as my fingers slid along the sides of his head was just short of a moan, and I found myself speaking even more quietly as I slowly drew long ovals against his scalp, just firm enough to avoid pulling on the sensitive roots of his thick hair.

Listlessly, he let his head roll into me, the back of his skull absently resting against my chest. I lingered there for several cycles of breath, touch roaming absently along his temples, around his ears to the very base of his jaw, back up his neck before sending both hands firmly down that now pliant cord of muscle bordering his spine. He let his head tilt fully back beneath the movement, expression void of even the memory of tension.

“In for 5… 4…” With a blissful thoughtlessness, he continued following my slow count, and I draw my hands up the side of his neck, fingers cradling the curve of his jaw as my thumbs pressed lightly into the tender divot just behind his ears. With that next release of breath, I slowly dragged my thumbs under that delicate bone, tracing the line toward his chin. “In for 5…” My fingers traced the outer edge of his jaw back up in a circular dance. “Out for 1… 2…” His lips fell open ever so slightly.

The weight of his head gradually grew heavier against me, breaths bordering on sleep as my touch began to shift up his face, thumbs sweeping from those prominent cheekbones down to the top of his ears, along the line of now relaxed brows, and, finally working gently over his forehead, drawing meaningless circles toward his hairline.

“Keep your eyes closed.” I whispered in that same cadence, fingers slipping through his hair now for the simple glee of that tender contact. His breath hitched only slightly, but his eyes remained loosely shut, neck tensing for barely a heartbeat before melting against me once more beneath the gentle flutter of my fingertips along his scalp. “I want you to let me help you to your bed, okay?” Despite no longer having that count, Hunter continued those slow breaths in tune to the steady rhythm of my touch, head just dipping in a nod.

One hand dragged down his neck to steady him as I stepped to his side and gently eased an arm under his to wrap around his back. I knew how effortlessly pain robbed the body of energy, knew the hopelessness of being so utterly exhausted even as that hurt left you miserably incapable of sleep, and I knew how violently that exhaustion struck in the first breath of relief. In that slow shift of motion to push himself up, Hunter eagerly folded against me, feet nearly dragging beneath him as we slowly started toward the bunkroom.

The shock in each pair of eyes that turned toward us as the door hissed open threatened to send a blush up my neck, but I quickly pursed my lips in a silent ‘shush’ before nodding behind me, mouthing the word ‘out’ in a clear order, and I found myself nearly sighing with relief as they moved quietly passed me. I didn’t need to look to know it was Echo who dimmed the lights, easily catching the little smirk on his pale lips the instant he’d seen us.

“Alright, you can sit down.” I murmured once his cot was behind us and had to tense to keep him from collapsing entirely. Without a word, I carefully leaned him against me as I began slipping the heavy plates of armor from him.

“Hmm.” A weary hum caught sleepily in his throat, chest swelling with a deep breath.

“Shh,” I let the soft sound just whisper from my lips, hand gently sweeping up his neck. “I’d like you to stay here for a bit. Is that okay?” Even as I asked, touch just slipping into his hair, my other hand continued freeing him of his armor.

“Mmhmm.” I had to catch my lips between my teeth to silence myself, laughter bubbling atop my tongue. Resting his forehead against my neck, I carefully focused on one arm, setting the black and red plates at the foot of his bed before starting on the other. He barely noticed the moment I began easing him back, my muscles straining to support the bulk of his weight in a slow descent.

Finally, I started on his lower body, movements growing even softer in a desperate hope not to wake him at a decidedly unfortunate moment, but he remained unfazed beneath my ministrations. Setting the pile of heavy armor onto the floor, I eased the blanket over his limp form, and quietly started toward the door.

“Hmm… Doc.” That mumbled, sleep-draggled voice rumbled listlessly from his throat, quickly drawing me to a halt. His eyes parted only briefly to glance toward me before slipping closed once more, but his hand shifted from beneath the blanket to slip gently around my wrist. “Thank you.” My shoulders sank, air fleeing me through a wide smile. I rested my hand over his for a moment before letting that touch slip down his forearm, absently mimicking that earlier rhythm.

“You’re welcome, Hunter. Try to sleep, okay?” I whispered. He gave a lazy nod, slowly dragging his hand back under the blanket.

-

“The kriff did you do to him?” I’d barely made it back to the rec room before Crosshair took full advantage of the opening. Still, I was pleased at how he kept his voice quiet, though the implication of his tone was far less considerate. I shot him an unimpressed glance before putting away the abandoned cup of caf.

“Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll show you.” I muttered over my shoulder, stifling my giggle at the sharp snort that caught in his throat.

Next Chapter

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[dingoat]

[Ugh do you know how HARD this one was for me to figure out when we still have so much BETWEEN THEM to work out??? Have they told each other they love one another yet? Will they, would they? Anyway I did my best and it still hurt >.> ~750 words on the theme of pining for the impossible and a big big problem with bonded souls.]

You're Not Mine

She didn’t want to think about the time drawing to an end, she almost didn’t… want to keep progressing, knowing that every step forward she took in gaining control over her wild half also drew her a step closer to having to… leave.

She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to be apart. She wanted him to come with her even though she knew it was impossible, he never would, and yet she could not stay here forever, the thought of drawing out her return to the fox left her writhing with guilt. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, and yet all she could do was cling onto every moment she had  while it was still there for her to hold.

“Ahuska,” Thirteen’s voice was gently amused. “How about you not dig in those claws like you’re holding on for dear life.”

“Sorry, sorry-” she winced and pulled back her hands from around his waist, folding them self consciously against her chest only to have one of his strong, long-fingered hands wrap around hers and tug it gently back to his side.

She shivered, then sighed, and tucked her face under his chin. “It’s not fair,” she whispered, as she had countless times before.

He knew what she meant. He felt what she meant. And he softly sighed in kind, knowing he could no more lie to her than cut out his own tongue. “It isn’t,” he agreed, moving his hand to rub slow, comforting circles between her shoulderblades.

“I don’t want a life without you in it,” she murmured, her muzzle sleek and soft against his jawline.

And it hurt him, as it hurt her, and he was silent for a while as he tried to find the words that would help her understand why she yearned for the impossible. “Ahuska. I love you, but you’re not mine,” he whispered, but as sweet and earnest as his tone was, he couldn’t guard against the way her heart twisted to hear it.

“Why not, why not? Your heart is big enough for me as well, I know it, I know it…”

“Big enough for your love, maybe,” he said, his hand sliding to the back of her head, fingers weaving through her hair, hoping to soothe her before speaking further. Their hearts shared their melancholy, their wistfulness, their frustration at a galaxy that had pressed them together when they could not be. He tilted his head and kissed the bridge of her muzzle. “Your love, but not your hate.”

“What- what?” She gave her head a fierce little shake against his face. “I don’t hate you. I never hated you, you know I don’t blame you for the way anything happened…”

“Five,” Thirteen said, and the way she twisted against him, her response so deep and visceral that the revulsion echoed in his own heart, only made him more certain.

She hid her grimace by tucking her face between his neck and the cushion, but she could do nothing to keep her own feelings from him. “So what?  You’re not him.”

“But I love him,” Thirteen answered simply. “You have every right to hate him, and I would never ask you to change that, to forgive him for my sake.”

“So what’s…”

“I don’t blame you for your feelings. But I can’t stand to feel them for myself, and I’m sure you don’t appreciate sharing mine.”

She didn’t.

Opening her heart to him had been… oh, it had been everything, to know one another so perfectly, man and bothan and wolf and hawkbat, but she knew how carefully they skirted around the subject of Five. She didn’t want their bond tainted with an awareness of Thirteen’s love and loyalty for him…

And how could Thirteen go to him, with Ahuska’s seething aversion simmering in the back of his mind?

How could she do that to him?

“Don’t,” he whispered, feeling her on the verge of spiralling. “You’re bigger than the mess life made of you. You’ll be unstoppable one day, and you won’t need me.”

She shuddered, and closed her eyes as she tucked herself more closely against him. “But I want you.”

“And right now you have me,” he reminded her as he kissed her on the forehead. Please, gods. He fought to convince himself as strongly as he wished it for her. Let it be enough.

[astoldbyaja]

The Blossom surrounded by Fire - Ch. 30 (Warrior AU- HBO MAX)

This was different, kissing Li Yong, feeling his hands against me. They were filled with need and a slight aggression, but each touch transitioned from rough and soft against my body.

He was showing his power, but also showing that he would be gentle with me. Zing would never show that. Bolo doesn’t know how to show that. I found myself enjoying the taste of Li Yong’s lips, the way he licked and sucked on my lips was passionate. Every moan he drew from me, he responded with a soft growl of his own. His eyes were filled with lust, the same lust I have seen in all the men who have had me, but with this gentleness, I came to trust his lust. His arms wrapped around me and with his strength he raised me up and brought me to the pillow at the end of the couch.

He loomed over me giving me a warm smile, a smile that showed I could trust him. He pecked my lips before moving to press a warm kiss to my cheek, then they he kissed my temple until he was at my left ear. I tense a bit wondering what it was he would do. Then he presses the gentlest of kisses to the tip and I gasp softly at the sensations that begin to move through me flowing water.

I could feel heat rising in my core. My hands moving to caress his skin and slowly his body starts to shift south, moving beneath my legs and pulling my dress up over my stomach. He plants kisses around my navel before taking my left thigh and spreading it further apart. I felt my heart race a bit. I was nervous. Why? His hand disappears and I feel the sides of my panties being pulled down and mindlessly dropped to the side. His dark eyes never leave mine, as he raises one of my feet to his face removing my slippers and gently pressing a kiss to the soles of my feet. He continues to kiss down my ankle and calves before finally moving to settle between my legs.

“D-don’t.” I said moving to rest my hand over the side of his head. I don’t know why I stopped him. Maybe it was because he was moving so slow and being gentle with me. With the others it’s fast and aggressive and hot. Who knows what could happen between us. What could he possibly do that’ll be different from the others. My body only knows aggression. He looks up at me slightly bemused before giving my inner thigh a chaste kiss.

“Let me worship you, Amaka. Let me help you feel things you have never felt before. Let me help you forget about your past and replace it with only the thoughts of our future.” he said breathlessly before disappearing between my legs. For a brief second, I couldn’t help but look skeptically at the top of his head before suddenly I feel my muscles tighten around three thick fingers. My eyes widen and I let out a high-pitched moan, covering my mouth as I was surprised by noise. His fingers are curling and scraping against my insides while his tongue swirls in perfect motion around my clit. I was panting and heaving from the sudden rush of feelings. Oh god it feels good. My walls are aching and throbbing immediately, as I can feel slick juices pouring onto his mouth.

“Aahh!” I cried out feeling my hips raise. With his free hand he placed his hand flat on my stomach and lowered me.

“Unbutton your dress.” he mutters before going back to pumping away at my core. I do as I’m told, quickly unbuttoning my dress, because I was on fire. My breasts were freed from the loose bra I wore, my hardened nipples were sensitive to the air alone. I was shaking now from the pleasure. When I felt the tips of his fingers brushing against that sweet spot, I cried out more my fingers now gripping it his hair. I bit my lip hard, feeling spasms rocking into me. I can feel Li Yong’s free hand on my hip holding me to his face. He mutters something, and I don’t hear it as first.

“Rub the tip of your ear, Amaka.” he commands. What! Rub them myself? I had never done such a thing; I was almost scared to do it. My ears were… created as a means to control me. I had never touched my ears in such a way my past lovers and rapists had. “Take back your body, your pleasure. Touch them.” I look down at Li Yong, my eyes swelling with tears to show my fear, but the encouragement in his eyes as he continued to violate my clit gave me strength. I raised my hand slowly to the side of my head. Even through all this intense pleasure I felt fear.

Images of past abuse was flashing in my mind. No! I can’t let those thoughts control me. I finally feel my fingertips at the tips of my right ear, and I gasped at the stomach tightening sensations. My ear is warm and soft as I rubbed over the outer shell. I shivered more feeling my body melting into a mess. My other hand left his head and moved up to caress and massage my breasts giving the desperate attention they needed. All of these sensations were too intense.

Li Yong growled attacking my tight muscles even faster with such ferocity, my eyes rolled back, and I felt a gushing and fast throbbing sensation as I felt my orgasm hitting me hard. I yelled out hard, my legs shaking beyond my control. I panted and whimpered and moaned even as he continued to pump away at my ringing muscles. It was too much; the overstimulation had my hips trying to move back from his hold on its own. But he held my hip and continued to attack my wet folds practically devouring my orgasm. I was cumming again right after. I screamed harder, my stomach muscles tightening even more, and my vagina was exploding with overwhelming tremors.

“Ohgodohgodohgod!” I chanted and cried out. Li Yong finally withdrew from me, sitting up with a quick lick of his lips. He tore off his jacket and removed the white shirt beneath it. I was used to this motion. I sat up myself, letting my dress slide off of me and I moved to his pants, however he stopped me immediately with his hands. With his wounded hand, his grip wasn’t as tight. I looked up at him confused, and he just smiled gently at me as he shook his head.

“I told you I was worshipping you and I meant it.” he said. He did not want me to return the favor? He grinned and placed his forehead against mine giving me a gentle nuzzle and removing his hands from mine to pull down his pants himself. His gentle eyes never left mine, and while I stared into his deep rich eyes, I slid off the rest of my dress until finally we were naked together. He let out a low groan as his eyes roamed over my body, and I did the same. Like many tong members, he had scars, not many but a few across his firm abdomen and his arms. I noticed the very girthy and impressive size cock between his legs. I looked back up at him and he smiled bringing his hands to gently caress my cheek, and I found myself leaning into his touch.

His hands were calloused and hard from the numerous fights he’s been in, but here in this moment, they were the softest I had ever felt from a man. I leaned back against the couch again and spread my legs wide for him. I took hold of his hand on the way back and pulled him to me. He wasted no time in resting his chest down on my own, pushing my breasts into his pectorals.

Our eyes traces over each other’s faces ensuring both our attention were on each other. I feel the head of his cock at my entrance, and he immediately captures my lips and plunges in. I moan out into his mouth, my vaginal walls clamping down on him like a vice and he groans in response. He was bigger than I had expected. I grip his shoulders in response. He feels deep in my stomach. It feels good. Then he moves back and then pushes in again. I whimper in response and feel him start to set a steady pace. He’s churning up my insides and my stomach is twisting up. I feel my hands now scraping down his back and my head falls back to release heavy pants and moans into the air.

Li Yong moans into my neck as he starts to push faster, his cock creating waves upon waves of pleasure in my tight heat. I feel his teeth now starting to bite down in my flesh and in response, my legs lock around his hips, not wanting him to ever leave me. He looks at me with a deep, lustful gaze and I return the look, now moving my hips back to meet his thrusts. He groans at the feeling of his cock grinding deeper into me now that my body was answering his even more.

“Just like I suspect, tight and hot. I hate that other men have had you first, but I love that your body has only accepted mine.” he pants. I felt I was spiraling with each vicious and delicious thrust. I was not used to hearing such a calm and collective man speaking such dirty things into my skin.

“Do not say that! You know Long Zii could give my body to any man if he wishes!” I moaned out. I watched the look of darkness appear over his face before lust hid it again.

“You will do what you must to show loyalty to our tong. But in the end my body will be the only one your body knows and trusts to never hurt it.” he grunts. I nodded obediently holding him to me as my core was on fire once more and that deep inner sensation was staring to grow again. I his arm over my head, gripping my curls lightly.

“Ahh Li Yong… I’m so close!” I cried out.

“I feel you tightening around me. Give it all to me, Amaka.” He groans moving even faster pounding away at that sweet spot yet again inside me and I could no longer hold back. Suddenly, we both moan out hard against each other and I feel my walls ringing beyond control as he pours himself deep inside me. He holds himself firmly against me making sure all of him drips into me. He presses his forehead into mine so that we could both look the orgasmic faces we made. Our bodies bucked and shivered violently as we rode out pleasure against each other. I could feel the sweat from his brow drip down on me.

I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my lips. He mirrored it and leaned down kissing me passionately. I wrapped my arms around him returning the kiss and giving myself to him completely.

Normal POV

The night was quiet in Chinatown and the pond. Dylan Leary threw back a shot of whiskey, his head completely filled with thoughts of how he could break the Chinese scum that were coming across the water like rats and taking good American jobs from the hardworking Irish. He felt it would soon be time to start doing real damage. Their population was growing in Chinatown. Maybe that would all stop if Chinatown was no more…

“Hey Dylan.” Micky, the man behind the bar, said lowly. Dylan looked at him and noticing he was motioning toward the door. Four white men were standing there, white shirts, black overalls, big dirty jackets. They were scanning the bar. The four men approached the bar, the tallest one, leaning on it.

“What kind of bar is this?” he asked Micky. Dylan took note of his accent. He was from the south that much was for sure.

‘The hell are these bastards doing here?’ Dylan thought already starting to frown but keeping his head low to listen.

Micky scoffed.

“An Irish bar.” he said proudly. The tall man nodded.

“Niggers ever come in here?” he asked. Micky shook his head.

“Not if they want to swallow their teeth they don’t.” he said. Dylan glanced at Micky before looking down. He remembered the colored woman who was in his bar a while back. The woman with the devil ears and sharp tongue. Amaka. She was smarter than she let on and Dylan was upset she hid her smartness from her. It felt like she got the best of him.

“Where do your colored stay?” the tall man asked.

“Who do you think you are, coming in here, asking questions about niggers like I’m their keeper or something!” Micky asked offended.

“The coloreds stay on the other side of town and for the most part keep to themselves,” Dylan said lowly, not liking the way these men stood and how they looked down on Micky like he was nothing. The four men looked at him now. Dylan was giving them a sharp glare, “Don’t think they’d take too kindly four southern men like yourself going over to cause trouble.”

The tall man now turned to face Dylan who just leaned up to stand and face him. The two stared at each other with fire in their eyes. The tall man nodded slowly.

“We’re looking for a negress with pointed ears. Only one of her kind. Have you seen such a creature?” he asked. Dylan’s jaw tightened a bit. He may not care for the coloreds here, but the colored he had seen never caused trouble for him or his people and they worked hard without taking jobs from the Irish. They were humans just like him. Dylan shook his head.

“Never heard of a woman like that.” he said. Mickey looked at his boss wondering why he would lie, and the tall man looked between the two men, giving a squint. Dylan puffed out his chest a bit, his hands curling into fists. If these men wanted a brawl, he’d happily give them one. More Irish started to stand behind Dylan, sensing a possible fight.

The tall men looked around at the men and nodded slowly.

“Yeah.” he said lowly. Without saying anything else, he turned and with heavy boots he marched from the bar with the three other men following behind him. Dylan just glared heavily at the door. These men could be trouble if they weren’t handled.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

ch. 4 — timbran (to build)

summary: the arrival of princess kwentrith only brings chaos

notes: cw for graphic violence, drinking

tagged: @levithestripper, @demon-of-the-ancient-world

series masterlist | general masterlist | ao3

Alethia

The arrival of Princess Kwentrith was of such staged grandeur that Alethia almost had to laugh. She knew her kind of nobility - the one that grasped for power where it was not the right place to do so. When she looked at Kwentrith, she saw a flicker of madness.

Alethia was not sure what to think of it.

Still, she smiled at the other woman courteously as she joined King Ecbert for dinner. Seated next to Athelstan, Alethia knew she was only there because king Ecbert planned to soon make use of her. Threats surrounded Wessex, and Ecbert had already poked holes into her when it came to strategies. 

The king seemed to like what she said, but Alethia was always careful not to say too much. He knew that she had lost her child, and was not happy with it - it gave him one less thing to control over her.

“A monk amongst Northmen.” Kwenrith began, amused. “How interesting.”

The princess leaned towards Athelstan, smirking at him with a lazy smile. Alethia grabbed her knife a little tighter, reminding herself that this Kwentrith was seeking allies in every opportunity.

“Indeed.” Athelstan replied. “I learned a great deal.”

“I hear Northmen do not believe in marital fidelity.” Kwentrith continued, and Alethia watched as Athelstan grew more and more flustered. The Mercian princess did not seem to care. “It seems much more natural, no?”

“I do not know.” Athelstan replied curtly.

“But isn’t it?” 

“Their way of life is simply different.” Athelstan forced out, and Kwentrith rolled her eyes.

“How boring.” she said, and Alethia thought the discussion would end there. Instead, the princess’ eyes landed on her. 

“And you are?”

“Alethia Stahl. The woman that arrived in Wessex one day?” Alethia suggested.

“Arrived? From where?”

“I do not remember.” Alethia replied smoothly. “Many details of my home remain foggy to me until now.”

“But the English tongue is not your own.” Kwentrith noted. Alethia looked to Athelstan, who smiled in reassurance. She hoped her accent was not too strong.

“No.” Alethia admitted. “I have been learning from Athelstan.”

Kwentrith glanced back to him, and Alethia forced herself to breathe. Why was this princess so interested in Athelstan? She was staring at him like a piece of meat.

“How do they love where you are from?” Kwentrith asked in a sardonic tone. The bishop at the table cleared his throat, but Alethia ignored his pretentious holiness.

“We choose whom we love, and we can love whoever we choose, as long as they are old enough for that love.” Alethia explained curtly. Kwentrith smirked.

“What does that mean?” she inquired, her hands traveling towards Alethia’s. She drew her fingers back, forcing a smile onto her face.

“That I bed whomever I please.” Alethia replied. The bishop choked, and she thought she heard King Ecbert chuckle. “But I must disappoint you, princess. I am a widow.”

“God, how old are you?” Kwentrith continued.

“Eighteen.” Alethia said calmly. “But I have the wisdom to not throw myself into reckless danger.”

“That is debatable.” Athelstan mumbled next to her, and Alethia elbowed him playfully. She hated that Ecbert noticed the movement.

“I was shocked to hear of the death of your brother.” Ecbert said quickly, redirecting the attention of the restless princess.

“Don't worry about my brother.” Kwentrith replied. “Did you know that the Pope

has already made him a Saint? Saint Kenelm! Apparently, he lived an exemplary life!”

“Do you mean to say that he was not altogether virtuous?” Ecbert asked carefully.

“Well, he raped me when I was about 12, so you must make up your own mind.” Kwentrith said, too casually if anything. There was another choking noise from the bishop, and Alethia suddenly understood the madness in the eyes of the Mercian. She remembered when it had been reflected in her own.

A woman’s grief, a woman’s pain.

“I am sorry, princess.” Alethia said. “What was done to you was entirely and utterly wrong. If there is a hell, I would hope your brother burns in it.”

“Thank you.” Kwentrith said. “I do not think anyone has ever apologized to me for what happened. Yet, I tell so many people! They all do not seem to care!”

Kwentrith laughed again, and Alethia looked to Athelstan worriedly. She let the evening conversation trickle on for a bit longer, and when there was a small pause, Alethia took her chance.

“I am quite tired. This evening has been so eventful. If I may be excused, I wish you all well for the negotiations.”

“Of course, Alethia. You may go.” Aethelwulf said, before his father could speak. He was trying to get her to leave, and Alethia was glad for it.

“Me as well.” Athelstan said quickly, getting up too. In her mind, Alethia cursed him a bit. Could he not try to make them look a little less like they were leaving to fuck?

As soon as they were out of the room, Alethia turned to Athelstan.

“I don’t like the way she looks at you.” she said.

“Why?” Athelstan asked, walking next to her quietly.

“Because… do you really not know?”

“No… what is it?” Athelstan continued.

“She wants to fuck you. That’s why she was asking about the Northmen.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”  Alethia said, exasperated.

“Well… alright. I won’t.” Athelstan said slowly. “There’s a whole vow I am keeping to, after all.”

“Good.”  Alethia replied.

“Does it bother you?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.” Athelstan observed.

Alethia hated that he was right. She shouldn’t care, really. Why did she care? “It’s disrespectful.”

“To who?” Athelstan replied. “She’s just a little insane.”

“First of all, so am I. Respect that please. Second of all, I find it disrespectful. To your… vow.”

“Alright.” Athelstan said slowly, staring at Alethia with confusion. “I won’t sleep with her, just like before.”

“Please, stay away from her.” Alethia sighed tiredly. Perhaps it was fatigue that was driving her crazy like this. Perhaps it was simply the fact that Athelstan was her only friend in the whole entire world. 

The weight of being alone made Alethia feel like something was crushing her soul.

“Alethia?”

Athelstan’s voice brought her back to reality.

“Goodnight Athelstan.” She mumbled, turning away already. All she wanted was to bury her face in her pillow and sleep. Hopefully for a long time.

Behind her, Athelstan sighed in defeat. Alethia wanted to run to him and apologize. Instead, she went to bed.

The next morning, she ate her breakfast alone.

Athelstan

Whenever he thought he understood Alethia, she wiggled out of his grasp, changing again. It was as if she was not willing to be understood.

As if she wanted to hide herself from the world by always changing, always becoming someone else. The things that did not change about her were few. 

Her scars, her quiet smiles, her teasing jokes. Her will to learn, her eagerness to understand. That certain something in her eyes he still could not place. 

The territorial understanding of him, that was new. Athelstan thought he understood. He did not like her speaking with Prince Aethelwulf or King Ecbert either. It made sense though - they were both outsiders here, her even more than he.

Still, it hurt that she was distant after the day of Kwentrith’s arrival.

It took Athelstan a week to gather up the courage to ask her about it.

“Why does her being here bother you so much?” Athelstan asked towards the end of one of their lessons. Alethia was still struggling to understand the grammar of the Norse tongue, and Athelstan could not blame her. She mixed it up with English grammar quite often, and that was how he could tell she’d learned uite a few languages in her time.

“A Mercian princess seeking an army to win a civil war? As a woman? This means war.” Alethia replied gloomily.

“I thought you would support her claim.” Athelstan said carefully.

“I do. But the Mercians will never accept her as their ruler, not if she is a woman. Her life will not end well, and her legacy pulled through the dirt for generations to come. And I do not wish to fight in a war that is not my own. Why should I?”

“You serve the king, so you must fight for him. That is simply how it works.” Athelstan shrugged.

“Will you?”

He did not have an answer for her.

“I’ve had my share of war.” Alethia replied simply. Her green eyes looked everywhere but at him, and he knew she had gone to another place in her mind.

Athelstan returned the scrolls to their proper places in the shelves, watching as Alethia did not move from her seat. Suddenly, he noticed that she had begun to braid her hair more tightly ever since Kwentrith arrived, making it form a crown around her head. What was more, she hadn’t worn a dress since that dinner, and a knife was secured in her boot.

She truly was preparing for war, then.

Still, Alethia stuck to Athelstan like a shadow as he climbed the stairs to the main hall of the villa. 

“I am sorry for the way I’ve been treating you.” She said suddenly. “It isn’t right.”

“It’s alright.” Athelstan replied.

“No it’s not. It won’t happen again.” Alethia promised. Athelstan smiled softly. The words were kind, and had not been spoken to him often enough in his life. He reminded himself that this was what he was supposed to hear sometimes.

“Do you need me to forgive you?” He teased carefully.

“Yes, please.” Alethia replied snarkily, a smile reappearing on her face.

“Then, my lady, you are forgiven.”

“I am not a lady.” Alethia laughed.

“Oh Alethia. I knew you were one the moment you stepped foot into the courtyard.” Athelstan sighed.

“What do you mean?”

“Just… the way you act. You set boundaries some of us could not afford to set.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose I’ve always been a bit stubborn.”

Athelstan laughed. “A little?”

“Maybe a bit more than a little. Is it very bad?” Alethia asked.

“No, I like it. You know who you are and you aren’t afraid to say it.” Athelstan replied.

Alethia smiled at him, her ears turning a little red from his words. The way she looked at him made his stomach flutter uncomfortably. 

“Thank God for my stubbornness then.” She mumbled. As the two of them rounded the corner into the Great Hall, Athelstan froze. Someone was speaking Norse, just a few paces away.

Alethia had noticed it too, and it did not take Athelstan long to recognize the voice.

“Torstein?” He asked, and the Viking man turned around, a wide smile appearing on his face.

“Priest! ” He called loudly. Athelstan could feel Alethia tense behind him, her hand wandering towards her sword.

“And who are you, shieldmaiden? ” Torstein continued, speaking to her. Looking at Alethia, Athelstan knew she had understood Torstein.

“Good job.” He praised, and Alethia blushed.

“She is not a Viking woman. ” Athelstan replied. 

“What a pity. ” Torstein laughed, and Athelstan felt his hands ball into fists before he could stop the action. 

“Has Ragnar returned, then? ” Athelstan asked, and Torstein nodded.

“He sent me as an envoy… ” Torstein began, before he trailed off, staring at Alethia again. “ So, you and that woman, priest? ”

“She is my student. ” Athelstan replied calmly. “Are you still following, Alethia?”

“I am trying. I think he thinks we are together.” Alethia said. “Why does everyone seem to think that?”

Athelstan could only shrug in response.

“Torstein, what is your purpose here? ” Athelstan asked again, but before the Norseman could reply, King Ecbert strolled into the Great Hall, his son in tow.

“Athelstan, translate.” King Ecbert said, turning to Torstein. Next to Athelstan, Alethia snorted quietly.

“Earl Ragnar, Earl Ingstad and King Horik wish to negotiate terms. ” Torstein said.

Athelstan translated his words, wondering who Earl Ingstad was. He had not heard of this ruler before.

“We should kill him and be done with it.” Aethelwulf said angrily. “These heathens should not touch our ground, much less raid on it.”

“Patience, my son.” Ecbert replied. Torstein looked between them nervously, and next to Athelstan, Alethia was almost holding her breath. “We shall not allow them to raid again. Athelstan, we will keep this Viking as a hostage while my son will go and negotiate with the Northmen.”

“Torstein, you must remain here while Prince Aethelwulf delivers the king’s terms to Earl Ragnar. ” Athelstan explained.

“How will the Northmen take your word seriously?” Alethia asked. “For all they know, Torstein may as well be dead.”

King Ecbert pulled something from his pocket, and Athelstan’s eyes widened.

“My arm ring!” He exclaimed. Had King Ecbert truly had it all this time?

“What is that?” Alethia asked quietly.

“It is a token of loyalty, to Ragnar. I thought I’d lost it, but evidently…” Athelstan replied.

Alethia said something in her tongue, and from her tone, it was evident she was cussing out King Ecbert in a way that she’d be able to keep her head.

“ Smart. ” Athelstan said in Norse. Alethia smirked. Athelstan really needed to learn her tongue. He could not imagine what it was like to not be able to speak your mother tongue for years on end. Living in Kattegat like that had been difficult enough, and Ragnar had made an effort to learn the language.

God, he would learn three languages for her. Alethia was so lonely sometimes, and Athelstan knew exactly how difficult that could be. If he could help her ward it off, he would. She was his friend, after all. 

In truth, Athelstan was not so sure all the time. She made him so nervous, so afraid at times. That was not the way friends were supposed to make you feel, right?

Athelstan could barely concentrate on his job as he thought about it, Torstein’s jabs not making the situation any better. He almost breathed with relief as it was done and Alethia disappeared towards the roman bath. 

“I want to go swimming.” She said, squeezing his arms gently. “Tell me if you need me to kill anyone for you.”

“What gave you the impression?” Athelstan replied lightly.

“You seemed stressed.” She shrugged.

“King Ecbert can be… intense.”

“Regicide. Haven’t had that one so far.” Alethia laughed. Athelstan looked around nervously.

“That’s treason.”

“Don’t worry. I’d only do it for you.” Alethia joked. Then, her expression grew more serious. “If someone bothered you, you’d tell me, right? I don’t know about regicide, but I’d do a lot to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why?”

“You’re my friend, Athelstan.” Alethia replied. “That’s what friends do.”

Athelstan shouldn’t have been disappointed at that, and yet, he was.

Alethia

The day was cold when Ecbert sent for her, a servant rousing her from her sleep and dragging Alethia to the library. She was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, disgruntled to be woken this early on a Saturday when she heard Athelstan’s voice and smiled.

“ Caesar had sent his cavalry a little in advance, and was following with the rest of his forces. The battlefront was not formed according to rules of military theory, but as necessitated by the emergency and the sloping ground of the hillside. The legions were facing different ways and fighting different actions. The 9th and 10th legions were on the left,and discharged a volley of spears at the Atrebates." Athelstan translated, his finger brushing over the old scroll when Alethia slipped into the room. He looked up at her for a moment, giving Alethia a small smile.

“Yes. Always thinking, always using the terrain. Go on.” Ecbert mumbled, and Athelstan looked back down at the document.

"At the same time, the Roman cavalry and light-armed troops, seeming to appear from nowhere-"

“Ah! But he knew where. They were in here.” Ecbert interrupted. “And what of his person? What of he himself?”

"As the situation was critical, Caesar moved to the front of the line, addressed each centurion by name...And shouted encouragement to...The fragment ends here.”

“We can imagine how it really ends. We must do battle with Ragnar

Lothbrok and his allies.” Ecbert finished. “Alethia, what of your grandeur of knowledge.”

“Well, Caesar was smart to use the terrain. That’s why he’s such a decorated strategist. The terrain around the villa is not suited perfectly to the plan though. In this battle, Caesar’s enemy was at the bottom of a valley, surrounded by hills from all sides. This is not the case here.” Alethia pointed out, grabbing a map of the surroundings of the villa. She wished there was a physical map at hand.

“The villa was built atop a hill by the Romans. They considered the terrain when they did. The Northmen will be attacking from the shores, which are South. They will fight an uphill battle. Therefore, it would be smart to send the archers out first, attack them with a barrage of arrows before they can form their shieldwall.” Alethia explained. “They cannot march in that formation, so that is where they are most vulnerable.”

“I like that.” Ecbert said. “Quite a bit.”

“Well,” Alethia continued. “What we could also do is send the soldiers in waves. The Northmen may underestimate the forces the first few times, and then, if we keep sending in troops, it’ll be impossible to estimate the true size of the army.”

She shuddered involuntarily, remembering when Ramsay Bolton had used that strategy on her. “It will be difficult to surround them as Caesar did, but your men know the land. If they can figure something out, then it will be even easier to defeat them.”

“I cannot believe that Ragnar does not want to negotiate. I know him too well. He's looking for land, farming land, for his people.” Athelstan argued. Alethia suddenly felt bad, remembering that those Northmen she was helping to kill were his friends. Selfishly, Alethia also did not want to imagine how lonely she would be once Athelstan was reunited with them. She could not imagine he’d be spending much more time with her, then. 

After all, Alethia knew Old English with some sufficiency now.

“His men killed all of my envoys, sparing only my son, by which they sent me a simple but clear message.” Ecbert replied calmly.

“Why not send me to speak to him?” Athelstan suggested. Alethia knew Ecbert’s true answer. Athelstan was a hostage. She could not bring herself to tell him that.

“You are already too dear to me, and too important. Which is why, I think, they would kill you.” Ecbert lied smoothly.

“When? When will you attack?” Alethia asked.

“As soon as King Aelle returns with his warriors.” Ecbert replied, before turning to Athelstan. “I'm sure you would prefer that Earl Ragnar and I made peace. Perhaps then you could be at peace with yourself.”

Athelstan looked to the scrolls, not answering King Ecbert. Alethia made to help him clear his things, but King Ecbert stopped her.

“You will lead the attack of my men together with my son.” He said.

“I do not think your son or King Aelle would appreciate that very much.” Alethia said. “They are pious men, after all.”

“A pity I am well aware of.” Ecbert replied. “But you will do so regardlessly. Today, in the courtyard, my son will assess your fighting skills.”

And while Alethia did not want to fight a battle, she did like the idea of wiping Prince Aethelwulf’s awfully arrogant expression off his face in the yard.

She nodded.

“Will Athelstan be there?”

“Do you wish it?” Ecbert asked, a smile playing on his face.

“I do not care.” Alethia replied. “But if I am to put myself in danger, I would like one sane opinion to assess the risk of it. Athelstan has seen your men and the Northmen fight. It would be good to see what he thinks of my own capabilities.”

In the yard, Alethia secured her leather armor with one last pull at the strings holding it together. Prince Aethelwulf stared at her with narrowed eyes, twirling his sword in his hand. Alethia held her own loosely, letting it point to the ground.

She’d spent hours arguing with the blacksmith to improve the balance, and thanks to her tenacity, it was almost perfect now.

Soldiers were strolling around the yard, pretending to prepare themselves for battle, but their stares were quite obvious. Athelstan had taken his place next to King Ecbert, Princess Kwentrith whispering something into the King’s ear as Alethia readied herself to spar with the Prince.

He was good, supposedly. 

Alethia had learnt to fight in Westeros, in a time that, compared to ninth century England, was far more modern. She hoped that it would be enough, and that she would not utterly embarrass herself in front of the entirety of the court.

She wasn’t sure if her pride as a woman allowed it.

But when the spar began, intuition took over, and Alethia’s instincts emptied her head of any doubts. Athelstan was alright, a strong fighter when he needed to be, but Aethelwulf was his father’s soldier.

His fighting style was harsh, aggressive, and Alethia reveled in it. He fought with honor.

She did not.

Alethia was not herself when she fought. She felt nothing as she parried the prince’s blows and made him dance around the yard. Nothing at all.

She wondered if, perhaps, that would change should she kill the Prince. In the blink of an eye, her blade was at his throat. All she had to do was cut.

“Yield.”

Alethia stepped back. Ecbert’s sarcastic clapping brought her back to reality. And still, she could not breathe. She could barely hear what Ecbert was saying, only that she needed to go.

There was a pain in her stomach, there where her child should have grown to be born. It was always there when Alethia had difficulties with her emotions. No one knew of it, not even Athelstan.

She did not want to burden him even more than she already did. She could not meet his eyes, not even when the riders prepared themselves for battle.

Athelstan kept his distance in turn. The palpable feeling of guilt hung between them, heavy in the air as in Alethia’s limbs. How could she fight again?

And then, the battle. Alethia swore it was all condensed into one deep breath, all the mud, all the blood, all the death. The blinding pain as a sword sliced her shoulder open, hot blood drowning in her armor.

A Northman under her hands, under her claws, dead before she knew it. Alethia had lost her sword, she realized numbly, somewhere among the masses. Where was her sword?

Could she still kill without it? Would she live without it?

Alethia kept on fighting, ducking out of the way of swords and picking up the weapons of fallen soldiers. She kept going, always driving forward. Prince Aethelwulf was somewhere closeby, slaughtering almost as much as she. He was enjoying himself.

When it was over, Alethia watched the Vikings retreat. She had led King Ecbert’s troops well, but still, some of them had died under her command. They dirtied her soul.

“You fought well today.” Aethelwulf told her, patting Alethia’s injured shoulder. It was not on purpose, still, a hiss of pain escaped her. She nodded, sitting down in the battlefield. There, closeby, lied a brown-haired Northman with scars similar to her own.

“ Does Odin come for your souls now? ” she asked numbly.

“ Ours, shieldmaiden. ” the man rasped.

“ I am no Northman. ” Alethia replied.

“ You are not Saxon. ”

“ No. ” 

The man only stared at her with confusion. Alethia helped him drink. She did not have the heart to kill him, neither for mercy, nor for cruelty.

The Northman closed his eyes, his breathing getting more laboured. Alethia thought of what it would be like to lie down in the mud for a little while. A soldier walked up to them. Alethia thought she knew him. He was one of Ecbert’s.

He raised his spear, ready to kill Rollo, when, suddenly, Athelstan stopped him.

“No! Wait! Stop!”

“Athelstan, who is it?” Alethia asked.

“His name is Rollo. He's Ragnar Lothbrok's brother. We baptized him, but it made no difference.”

“It is unfortunate that he's practically dead.” Alehtia sighed.

“No. He's still alive.” Athelstan argued. “This is an important man. See what you can do to save him.

“He's badly wounded. There.” Alethia pointed. Athelstan nodded, instructing the soldiers, before he turned to her.

“You left.”

“I did.”

“Come back.” Athelstan said. He held out his hand. All she had to do was take it. Alethia stared at the scars of his crucifixion. Then, she took it. It was firm. Safe.

She returned to the villa for Athelstan.

Athelstan

He stayed close to Rollo, afraid to leave him. What if they ended up killing him anyway? And yet, Athelstan was torn. Alethia was somewhere closeby, getting her injuries cleaned. He didn’t even know what had happened to her, only that he should have tried harder to keep her from the battlefield.

“ Athelstan ?”

Athelstan turned back to Rollo. “ Rollo .”

“ Priest? Look at you. Horik was right. You betrayed us. ” he spat. “ These are your folk. Christians. You look like them. ”

“ What am I to you ?” Athelstan asked quietly.

Rollo only grunted in response.

“ You are my family .” Athelstan mumbled.

“ If I had enough strength to kill you now, I would. ” Rollo spat. Athelstan felt his heart sink, and he turned towards the Great Hall. The sounds of celebration were beginning to bleed out of the villa, and he was expected to join.

“Allies! Hmm!” Ecbert cheered as Athelstan entered. Alethia was seated next to Prince Aethelwulf, toying with a cup of wine. She was staring at the King, eyes dull.

“Allies and friends, huh?" Aelle continued. “When shall we attack again our wounded foe, huh?”

“And wipe them out? That might not be a good idea.” Ecbert warned.

Aelle snorted. “Of course it's a good idea. We've won half a victory. Now, with God's help, we'll annihilate our enemies, hmm?”

“Forgive me, King Aelle, but I might suggest that even the complete destruction of one Northern army will not lead to the end of their incursions. Probably quite the opposite. Motivated by greed and by the need for revenge, they're very likely to return with renewed strength.” Ecbert warned. Alethia took a heavy sip from her cup, and Athelstan noticed that she was shaking when she set it down. Ecbert did not. He continued. 

“And not just once or twice, but again and again, times without number. The only way to bring an end to these incursions is to negotiate an agreement that is good for both sides. But, in the meantime, King Aelle, buying the services of these Northmen as mercenaries will certainly help us to overcome Mercia.” Ecbert suggested. Aelle seemed to think for a moment.

“Very well. As you say. But someone has to take this offer to the pagans. That is if they have not yet already sailed away.” Aelle agreed. Alethia’s eyes shot up, suddenly staring at Athelstan. They were red, the only sign that she had cried. 

“Indeed.”

“Considering their treatment of our envoys so far, you're not going to have too many volunteers.” Aelle mused.

“I have a suggestion.” Ecbert began. “I think we should send Athelstan.”

He looked up at Ecbert at the mention of his name, and yet, the tick in Alethia’s jaw did not escape him.

“But they may kill him.” King Aelle noted, staring at Athelstan as well. Athelstan wanted to run. There were entirely too many eyes on him.

“Oh, I doubt that.” Ecbert reassured. He was about to open his mouth again when Alethia suddenly stood. She swayed where she stood, and Athelstan noticed that there were winestains on her sleeves and the table.

How drunk was she?

Then, she stumbled past the men, all of them taking their eyes off of Athelstan and gluing them to her. Athelstan only gave King Ecbert an apologetic nod before he followed her out of the Great Hall and outside. 

Alethia still swayed unsteadily, back to Athelstan, before she steadied herself against a fence and emptied her stomach out onto the wet ground. Athelstan hated the noise of it, and yet, he rushed to her side, pulling her freshly washed her away and almost automatically rubbing her back.

When she was done, Alethia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Athelstan could feel his face wrinkle in disgust, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

He hated it when people vomited. It had bothered him so much when the Vikings had feasted, never disturbed by their own actions.

“M’ sorry.” Alethia slurred, her words flowing together. “Too much. Lost [...] blood too [...].”

She managed what he presumed to be a curse, before she turned back towards the ground and hurled again.

“You’re alright.” Athelstan told her. “Let it out, you’ll feel better.”

Alethia began to say something, interrupted by her own stomach again, white-knuckled hand curled around the fence.

“Ecbert’s sending y’to [...]. I don’t [...]” Alethia continued, and at this point, Athelstan was not sure what language she was speaking, if any at all.

.

He practically carried her to her room, the stench of wine clinging to Alethia. In that moment, Athelstan found it hard to be close to her. Still, he made sure no one saw Alethia, and when they were in her room, he helped her clean herself.

“Go sleep.” he said, wiping the vomit off her hands and mouth.

“M’alright.” Alethia replied. Athelstan still tucked her into bed like a child, right after helping her change out of her dirtied clothes. He did not even see the beginnings of her form, and yet, he was ashamed.

It felt like he was taking advantage of her.

“Bertie wants t’send you as an envoy.” she said, and Athelstan had to smile at the King’s new nickname. 

“I know.” Athelstan said softly.

“I want to accompany you.” she managed, her voice almost masterfully even. “Protect you.”

“Sure.” Athelstan lied. There was no way in hell she was coming with him tomorrow. He would not risk it, nor would she be in shape for it. Athelstan turned for the door when Alethia stopped him again.

“Athelstan?” she asked.

“Yes?”

Alethia hiccuped. “Stay?”

“Why?” Athelstan asked carefully.

“Afraid of the dark sometimes. Bad dreams.” she replied, patting the side of her cot. She missed, her hand slipping. Alethia sighed, before she giggled.

“I can’t. You’ll be fine.” Athelstan said. Of course, he did not know that.

“Why? Do you have a wife you didn’t tell me about? Or a husband. I don’t really care. Or I do.” Alethia mused.

Why did she care? Athelstan shook his head. “No, I  don’t. Have you ever seen me with a wife?”

“No. But you are a nice person. And handsome.” Alethia said, before she burst into a fit of giggles.

“Handsome?”

“Yeah.” she replied, before she blushed furiously. “Gosh, you have nice eyes. Has anyone ever told you you have nice eyes, Athelstan?”

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” Athelstan assented, sitting in her chair. Alethia waved him closer, and Athelstan obliged, chair scraping across wooden floor. She took his hand, head buried in her pillow. 

Athelstan took a few moments to gather the courage up before he asked his question. “You think I am handsome?” he asked finally.

No reply.

“Alethia?”

She was fast asleep, snoring softly. Athelstan shook his head. Gently, he pushed her nightgown out of the way where the wound on her shoulder had already soaked through bandages. Athelstan worked quickly, replacing them.

He saw the other scars, far more than Ragnar or Rollo had had. Athelstan ignored them. It was not his place to see, or to know.

And yet, he left her room with a heavy heart. A part of him wished that he could have stayed and soothed her scars.

[nightghoul381]

Captive Heart Epilogue-Silvio POV

Read the main story here: Captive Heart

Recap: Given to the mafia as an exchange for her father's debts, the reader finds herself captive to Silvio Ricci. The chemistry between them is undeniable and as their first day together draws to a close, they can't seem to resist the temptation any longer.

Pairing: Silvio x f!Reader Warnings: Explicit, NSFW, MDNI

Tossing her down onto my bed, I couldn’t help but pause briefly, drinking in the sight of her sprawled on my sheets. The dress I had sent for her looked even better on her than I imagined. The fit accentuated her curves, the neckline dipping just enough to give a glimpse of her supple breasts without being too revealing. My eyes were drawn to the necklace sparkling around her throat and I found myself leaning over her, my tongue tracing the chain over her skin.

The way she shivered below me made my head spin.

What the hell is she doing to me?

I caught the skin beside her shoulder between my teeth, causing her to let out a sharp gasp.

Her hands, that had remained by her side, quickly came up to touch my head, causing me to draw back.

“What was that for?” I asked, grabbing her arms, and pinning them onto the bed on either side of her confused face.

“I just wanted to touch you too…” she responded breathily, her eyes staring boldly into mine.

Dammit why do you keep looking at me like that?

I cut off her reply quickly, crashing my lips against hers. I hated feeling vulnerable and her touch had me feeling far weaker than I wanted.

The heat between us escalated as she fervently returned my kisses, her tongue seeming to leap into my mouth, eagerly exploring. I sucked her tongue further into my mouth, eliciting a surprised squeak.

That’s right, I’m the one in control.

I continued to lavish her mouth with kisses, pulling her arms above her head so I could keep them pinned with one hand, allowing the other to roam free. I drew my finger along her arm before reaching the top of her dress. The satisfaction I felt at feeling the goosebumps along her skin was surprising.

I snaked my fingers under the fabric and tug it down roughly, exposing her breasts, nipples already taught with anticipation. I brushed my hand lightly over one, then the other, relishing the way she arched into my touch.

“You like that, princess?” I whispered against her lips, teasingly pressing kisses down to her jawline and along her neck.

“N-no.”

I stopped at her response.

“Whaddaya mean no?”

I felt her arms wriggling aggressively before she managed to pull one free. She quickly brought her hand to my chest and began fiddling with the buttons on my shirt.

I couldn’t help but stare as I watched the hunger in her eyes grow with each button that released. My face felt hot, but I couldn’t seem to make myself move when her fingers then lightly traced the muscles on my abdomen, slowly wandering lower until they brushed against the buckle of my belt.

Her eyes snapped up to meet mine, a sly smile spread across her swollen lips. I can feel my own eyes widen at the wicked look on her face, my breathing slow and ragged as I wait for her to make her next move. She brings her hand back up, grasping the collar of my shirt before she yanks me down, bringing our bodies together.

The feeling of her warm body against my chest seems to snap me from my trance. I pull her up off the bed with me, quickly kicking off my clothes while I watch her shimmy out of the dress. The skimpy lace panties she’s left in are dark with her obvious arousal and I reach out to pull her into my lap.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” My mind almost goes blank as I feel the soaked fabric pressing against my cock. Her arms were around my neck and she quickly took advantage of my momentary lapse in sanity to suck hungrily at the skin on my throat. I slipped my arms around her, grabbing her hips and roughly sliding her along my shaft. Her mouth drops from my neck and a soft moan escapes her lips at the friction.

My own breathing is coming in shuddering pants as I finally rip the flimsy fabric of the panties off and bury myself in her heat. Her moans are sickly sweet and wickedly sensual. I keep a firm grip on her hips as I roll her over onto her back, pounding into her desperately.

The way her hair fans out around her frames her gorgeous face as she whispers how good she feels has me losing my mind. I lean forward and capture a nipple between my teeth.

“Oh god! Yes!” she shouts, her unrestrained voice seeming to fill the room.

The biting pain of her nails digging into my back seems to unleash something inside of me and my movements become rougher and more uncontrolled.

I continue to lavish her breasts, leaving dark red and purple marks along the sensitive skin, while chasing my own high within her.

I reach down between us and bring my finger to press against her sensitive bud as our hips collide again and again. I can feel her clench around me and I press even more firmly, moving back in forth in time with my thrusts.

Soon I hear her gasps become more urgent and she brings her legs up to wrap around my hips, pulling me even closer.

“Oh god, Silvio, I’m gonna—” Her words are cut off with a loud cry as the tightly coiled spring finally snapped, sending her spiraling into her release.

I gaze down at her face, soaking in every detail of her face as she comes apart in front of me. I can feel her legs drop from my hips, trembling. The erotic sight pulls me deeper into the pleasure building in my own body.

I thrust myself into her a few more times before the tightness of her climax becomes too much and sends me over the edge. I pull out of her quickly and spill my seed along her belly before flopping onto the bed beside her.

Soon all that can be heard are our panting breaths as we both come down from our high.

“I’m glad I stayed.” She said, unaware that this was all it would take to set everything in motion once again.

Reader's POV

[thegodthief]

The beginning of the end of my involvement with Christianity was over a boy. I could see he was being spirit-bothered, and considering the church I was in at the time, I assumed that if I could see it, then so could the others. He was the nephew of one of the church-goers who was sensitive to such things.

Not my family, not my problem. I had other concerns to deal with. Like visions and visitations.

The kid was rowdy as unsupervised boys can be. Nothing out of the ordinary. But some folks began to notice that when the boy was near me, he calmed down some. And that if I asked him to do something, he would do it without much fuss but would quickly talk shit to anyone other than his family. He took to sitting next to me in potlucks and gatherings. He said I was soft to be around.

That he liked the quiet I kept with me.

(How the entire fuck he felt a quiet space around me at the time is something I will never understand.)

Back then, I didn't understand why that was happening. But it was a thing. At my workplace, which often had very rowdy and boisterous people coming through, I was known as someone "calm" to be around. Don't want to be up to some shit? Go sit in Keri's area. Okay.

His aunt didn't like that.

She didn't like that he would mind me but not her. She didn't like that he would sit quietly in the room with me. She didn't like that he was happy when I came over to visit her for drumming practice.

She really didn't like when I asked about the "shadow" hanging on his back. Oh no, she didn't like that one fucking bit.

She had all that under control, you see. And this was a family problem, nothing to do with me, you see. And I was a terrible influence on the child, causing him to disrespect her, you see. And she called me by a name I never heard and was furious that I had no idea to what she was referring to.

"I'll show you what you are!" And she drew a thing and said a thing and my scalp itched under the skin and I felt something rise from inside and...

a kid was crying

screaming

he's so afraid

somebody help this kid because I

can't

...

My face was bleeding. I had fainted and hit something on the way down. I half lean up on one elbow trying to make sense of where I am.

I look over and she's shaking him by the shoulder and he's screaming in fear and he looks at me and sees my eyes are open and shouts that I'm awake.

She looks back at me and...

(At the time, I said to myself that I would never forget the snarl on her face.)

(I forgot.)

(I remember.)

she drags him out of the room telling him that grown-up things have to happen and if he doesn't want to be eaten by the shadow-people he needs to stay locked in his room.

(I didn't understand what I was seeing then.)

(Remembering this and understanding now... such rage.)

I tried to speak but my tongue was too thick in my mouth. She came back with alcohol wipes and bandages. She was sweet and kind and sorrowful that I reacted so badly and maybe she misjudged my intent and maybe I really didn't know what I was and maybe

maybe

she could teach me.

Something was wrong, but I didn't know how to determine what was right to confront it.

Patched up, I left. The pain throbbing in my skull was enough drum work for the day.

I avoided her and her kin for two weeks. Kinda hard considering we were both heavily involved in the almost daily activities of the communal church, but I knew how to dodge bullies almost by instinct.

If only I knew how to turn instinct off.

One of the elders approached me and asked if it was true that I wanted her to take me as an apprentice for a certain path. The path that she accused me of being an initiate in. The path that I had been taught was just witchcraft under a polite veneer. Of course, not.

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

A few weeks free of incidence later, it's another church potluck Saturday. I'm sitting off to myself trying to catch up on church assigned reading because not only have the visions and visitations not eased, but they're being verified and confirmed by other seers in the church body. Things are done differently here in Protestant-Land and they wanted to make sure my latin-american upbringing did not pollute my pure gifts with that Catholic-demonic nonsense.

(Never mind that if I was brought up as such, I likely wouldn't be in this mess in the first place, but...)

The boy suddenly dashes to me out of nowhere and sits on the bench next to me! Look! He has a book to read, too! Is it okay if he sits next to me and we can read silently, together? He promises that he'll be quiet but he might need to ask my help for really hard words.

He doesn't wait for a response. He just gets comfortable with a polite space between us and starts reading. Cool. This is now the reading bench.

And we're reading our books separately together.

I watch him relax.

He's chill, so I'm more chill. I relax.

I've read the book in my hands three times already. I can give a talk about the main themes. They want me to memorize it, because they know I can. They want me to fill my head with the truth of the matter because there is something about me that I need to reject and I haven't yet because I don't know what it is or how to recognize it.

At the time, I thought I had fallen asleep sitting up. But knowing what I know now and looking back, I know exactly what happened and why I was not consciously aware of what I was doing.

I looked over and saw the shadow-thing on the boy's back. It was scratching at his eyes, interfering with his ability to see. it was the same shadow-thing that I saw on him in his aunt's apartment that day. That I had seen on him in previous social outings.

I was furious to see it.

So I snatched it.

Because instinct says to keep children safe at any cost because an adult can recover from what a child can't.

With a motion not unlike stretching, I reached out with hand and mind until I could feel it, and with no warming or preamble, I seized and ripped it right off out him.

With that same motion, I brought my hands to my mouth,

and ate it.

To those who could not see, I had a big stretch immediately followed by a deep yawn that I barely managed to stifle.

Both of our books dropped to the floor. He just felt a spider crawl up his back. I just woke up from a sudden nap. We looked at each other and then at everyone else who was staring at us from the sound and commotion. He turned around to ask me if there was a spider on me. I was still reeling from the spirit-sight I had just been through and was struggling to keep my composure. I ran my hand over his back.

"Nope. No spider here. Or anything else but your shirt."

Why did I say that? Did I see? Did I just?

Everyone was chuckling at us as he picked up both books and handed mine back to me. Everyone, except his aunt.

She came through the crowd furious and destructive.

"I SAW WHAT YOU DID TO HIM! YOU DEMONIAC!"

She snatched him from his seat and jerked him behind me.

Everyone began asking what did she see because they weren't blessed with the level of sight that she was. She pointed a finger at me, called me again by that name I did not know, and declared that I was trying to poison her nephew's soul to turn him against her and away from the one true faith.

Her nephew was screaming that she was hurting him and that I had done nothing and all he wanted to do was read his book.

I got up from the bench calmly while she continued to hurl insults and accusations at me. I had enough presence of mind not to say anything about the shadow-thing I had seen or what I had done to it. Instead, I just said that if my presence was that disruptive to the peace, I would be on my way.

Then I left.

Well, that was my intent, anyway.

Because of where I had parked, I knew a shortcut through the building that would get me to my car faster. It meant going through some rooms that were away from the main lobby, but I would be responsible and close the doors behind me as I went. I was paying close attention to the route I was taking because it was mostly in the dark. I would have to cross all the way across the conference room to turn on the overhead lights and I would still have to do the same to turn them off before exiting the room, so just better to walk in the near dark.

After all, I knew where all the furniture was and knew how to avoid stubbing my toe, considering I was one of the ones that moved the furniture there in the first place.

What I didn't know, because I was trying to flee a very socially awkward situation, was that I was being followed by some of the church elders and important persons.

Who saw me navigate several near pitch-black areas as if it was brightest of days.

As if a spirit was guiding me through.

Halfway through the last room, I heard my name called behind me. It was the voice of someone I looked up to in the church. I stopped and turned around. They asked me to come back because I needed to help with something important before I left.

"I don't know if I should. I can hear [Aunt] still screaming about me, and my presence here has been a problem from the start, and maybe I should just go for the day. We can talk later about if I should stay gone."

"That's the Devil talking, Keri. You should stay. [Aunt] has her own problems that she's letting interfere, but you should not let them rule over you."

He had turned on the lights in the room. My eyes hurt from the sudden shift and I winced slightly. He came softly to meet me in the middle of the room as I looked around trying to adjust to the change in light.

Oh. I know this room.

This Prayer Room.

This room that is isolated from most other rooms and also happens to be soundproof. I know this, because here is where we have drumming practice in mid-week sessions.

My stomach turned. My instinct said to get out by any means necessary, even if it meant never coming back, especially if it meant never coming back.

He lays a hand on my shoulder and I feel rooted to the spot. "Stay. Keri. You [have a burden] and it needs to be purged. I can't in good faith allow you to leave with what came off the boy and into you. Others saw what happened. You're so close to breaking through, and [Aunt] allowed you to be dragged back down."

On the one hand, I wanted to be the good obedient girl that I've been told to be my entire life. On the other hand, my instinct wanted nothing to do with being 'good' and everything to do with being 'gone'. I tried to pull myself away but he only tightened his grip and pulled me closer.

He said a thing and called a thing and something in my stomach lurched sideways as I double over trying not to vomit from the intense wrongness that shoved instinct out of the way.

I don't remember him catching me as I pass out.

I do remember waking up sometime later in that same room. But the chairs and pews have been rearranged and I was in the middle of the room.

I remember what happened next.

But that will not be written.

[hornyvirginkiss]

This post is about a small fantasy of mine, sorry if there's any grammatical errors, english is my second language AND iwas so fucking horny while writing this...

I need someone to treat me tenderly, i want my first time to be something that could hardly be considered sex by my friend's standards. I want it with someone i trust.

We would just be sitting together and whisper sweet things to each other.  I'd put on a boring movie and turn the heating to its highest limit so that he'd look at me as i slowly undress with the excuse of warmth, we're close after all, what's the problem?

I'd inch closer and closer to him, then puttin my head on his thighs and then straddling on his lap.

I'd look him in the eyes as i slowly feel myself  through my panties and him getting excited through his pants. I'd give him subtle little touches, slipping my hand between his legs, gripping more and more intensly at his thighs as i push myself further.

I'd act all innocent when looking at his dick being hard for me, like my tuck wasn't holding on for dear life.

He'd lean in to kiss me, id hold his head from the sides and start making out. I'd feel his neck and body with my hands, interrupting the kiss only to take his clothes off. My still cold hands sending shivers down his spine as i drew lines along his ribs through light touches from the front and from his back almost hugging him.

I'd touch his tip through his underwear and feel his shaft again still slightly growing and pulsing as i took it in my hand. I'd feel all his sweat on it and his balls as I played around with them. I'd act all bold as i saw him shivering a bit and getting nervous even though I'm just as desperate and needy as him.

I'd get off him, make him get closer to the edge of the sofa and take off his underwear finally my eyes' thirst being almost quenched as i kneeled between his legs and his smell permeated my lungs.

I still haven't even touched myself and still I'm hot and, oh, ever so close. Finally, as my heart pounded the hardest i'd ever felt, I put my lips on his tip and felt my legs quivering. It felt like kissing someone in some more exposed and new way.

In my brain a million neurons fired as i looked him in the eyes for approval, as i  let it rest it on my tongue waiting for him to do something, for some sign that what i was doing was ok with him.

He, seeing how I gazed at him, took his dick in his hand and bounced it a bit on my, oh, so wet tongue, stopping to let me feel his frenulum and the little peculiarities of his head and where it attached to the shaft. He started bouncing it all over my face, leaning more into me and taking more and more control of the situation. I'm entranced, my heart beating a million time's a second, my ears all reddened and hot and my dick slowly slipping out as the tuck finally started giving in.

After gathering the courage i grab his shaft with the tips of my fingers taking it out of his hand, again putting it in my mouth to feel it it more freely.

With it's whole head in, as i analyze all its crevices with my tongue, it starts pulsating again and he covers his mouth with his right hand for a second just to then pet my head with his other hand, which still smelled like him although i hadn't noticed as i already had him in my mouth.

I try taking it deeper as i open my mouth and close my lips around it as much as possible for fear of even as much as touching him with my teeth. 

As it pulses I feel my saliva getting saltier as it  mixes with his precum, filling me with extasy; i feel like im doing something so new, a couple of ticks down on the rice purity test.

With one hand i massage the base of his shaft, with the other i feel his balls just to smell my hand later and still get riled up and be filled with sensations I had longed for for such a long time; my head bobs up and down, towards and away from him, at times feeling him still shivering and his heart beating hard.

He looks at me as i did to him. Permission. I stop and have him do as he pleases. He gets up and gets it out of my mouth, i prepare for the apex of what i will probably be touching myself to for the next few weeks. His hands moving faster and faster up and down his own shaft with small pauses in between as i hold my mouth open, my toungue splayed out and my legs extending instinctively, following the body's desire to get ever so closer to the boy it had been servicing. Alas, as his dick pulsed with bigger and bigger pauses in between he let out a cute moan, my eyes opened wide as i started trembling, my dick fully out of its prison, bulging through my now wet panties, as he started spurting hot ropes of cum on my face. Every rope he shot out felt like heaven, making me twitch as they landed on my right cheek, tongue. mouth and eye. My eye burned a bit later but i really didn't mind. He kept going for a few seconds, letting out one last spurt straight in the back of my throat before just letting it drip out. Just then i was so excited, i grabbed his dick back with both my hands and licked it clean as best i could and then pushed my thumb against the bottom of it going from base to tip to get the last drops of cum and suck them out.

As soon as that all ended i got up and kissed him on the mouth mixing his saliva with his cum and swirling it before swallowing. He tried to touch me, wanting to reciprocate and feeling my dick being hard. I stopped his hand. I just want to savour this moment, i'll worry about that later. I kissed him on the cheek, then on his mouth as his member softened slowly, with mine following right after, less slowly.

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review by @zyafics

ok i can't contain myself to write so i will be reading (sorry for all the tiktoks send over dms hahaha) ⬇️

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

always obsessed with your descriptions and im grinning so hard knowing that's ME hehehe

It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you.

NOT FOR LONG I READ THE WARNING

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing. 

my dom girlyyy

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGG (muffled behind a pillow)

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

me rn: login who???

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

im so giddily rn, their banter is TOP TIER

 “Logan’s a lucky guy.”

OH I SPELT IT WRONG LOLLLLL

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

🤭 im like a schoolgirl rn

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

imma be so honest i thought WE were gonna be cheating but i guess HE'S cheating that scumbag

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler,  “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

I KNOW so give me that dick 😁

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

i need him to SLAM into logan ohmygod

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

ANGRY MAKEOUT SESSION LETS GOOO

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

oh im horny

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

oh HE'S horny

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on. 

ok im at a cafe, reading this smut on my 14'' screen where everyone can surely see. let me pack up and go home and i'll be back to react.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue. 

I'M BACK

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

Oh. My. God. this is so fucking hot what the FUCK

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world. 

it's me, but THAT SHOULD BE ME!!!!!!

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged. 

IM GRINNING my favorite part of public sex smut is the fact they're almost caught hahahahaa

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

my baby my baby my babyyy

final thoughts—i'm obsessed with this. ur writing. you. ohmygod, as always, the first thing that comes to my head is your descriptions. when you were describing reader, the medical training, the equipment and the environment, i always feel so immersed by your vocabulary and imagery. next, the fucking BANTER, oh you got me clutching my chest, giggling in the middle of a cafe. thank god no one was looking over my screen. but truly, i love how lowkey smitten rafe is with reader. he's always in love with her before the story truly begins and i love how much softer this version of rafe is. don't get me wrong, he's possessive and a beast on the ice, but something about him is so baby girl. thank you, gigi, for doing my request justice, i swear i want more!!!!

looking like motivation - hockey!r.c (+18)

requested by my #1 @zya4lifers

warnings: meantions of cheating; SMUT.

Rafe’s day started the same way it had for the last two months: with a groan of pain that shot up from his knee and settled into his mood like a stubborn storm cloud. 

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

At least that was what he thought when he first met you. 

But two weeks in, his hatred had morphed into something else entirely, something way more complicated. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when he caught you singing quietly along with the radio while taping up his knee, or when you’d given him that first, honest-to-God smile that wasn’t out of politeness but genuine amusement at some stupid joke he’d made. And he made a lot of those. 

Now, sitting on that same damn table, Rafe found himself looking forward to PT in a way that had nothing to do with his injury. You walked in, clipboard in hand, looking as professional as always. It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you. Rafe knew he got under your skin—hell, he made sure of it. He could tell by the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for just a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away. You tried to be cool, but he knew better.

“Alright, Cameron. How’s the knee today?”

He put on his best wounded-puppy face. “Terrible. I might never skate again.”

“Shut up.”

“And I could be better,” Rafe drawled, his lips curling into that signature smirk. “But seeing you always helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time,” he shot back, winking at you.

You tried to ignore him, busying yourself with adjusting the equipment. “Let’s focus on your knee, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Rafe said, stretching out on the table with a lazy grin.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “We’ve got to work on your pain tolerance.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to keep me on my toes.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression deadpan. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid actually doing your therapy, Cameron.”

Touché.

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing. 

The first few minutes of the session passed in relative silence as you guided him through the exercises, your hands expertly working his injured knee. Rafe winced, but it wasn’t all from the pain. It was from trying to resist the urge to say something that might actually cross the line. But resisting wasn’t really his style.

“So, what’s your boyfriend up to this weekend?” Rafe asked, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp, watching your reaction.

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

You looked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Out of town.”

Rafe snorted, unable to help himself. “Figures.”

You frowned, straightening up to give him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rafe shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

“He’s busy,” you said defensively.

“Too busy for you?” he pushed, his tone dripping with faux concern. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d make time.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, “I’m sure you would.”

“You don’t think I would?”

“I think you’ve already got your hands full with the cheerleading team.” 

He liked to pretend you sounded jealous and not critical. 

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Cheerleaders are fun and all, but they’re not really my type.”

Okay, that was half a lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t slept with anyone on the cheer squad since sophomore year. 

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as you adjusted the strap on his knee brace. “And what exactly is your type, Cameron?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “Complicated. Smart. Gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss a beat, even as your pulse quickened. “So, basically the opposite of you?”

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, his eyes locked on yours.

There was no denying the chemistry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. But you were with someone else, someone who, despite his flaws, you cared about. Still, Rafe made it hard to remember why you were trying to resist in the first place.

“Rafe, we really should focus on your PT,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Trust me, I am focusing,” he replied, his tone suggesting he wasn’t talking about his knee.

You rolled your eyes, standing up straighter to put some distance between you. 

“Right. Well, you need to focus on this next exercise. We’re going to work on your range of motion.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, watching you with a lazy smile as you moved to demonstrate the exercise. He couldn’t help but admire the way you carried yourself—confident, knowledgeable, and completely fucking beautiful. It was a challenge, and Rafe Cameron loved a challenge.

As you guided his leg through the motion, your hands firm but gentle, Rafe couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “You know, you never answered my question.”

“What question?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What you’re doing this weekend,” he said, his eyes locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch.

You glanced away, focusing on the movement of his knee, your fingers brushing against his skin as you adjusted the angle. “I’ll probably just catch up on some work. Maybe relax.”

“Sounds boring,” Rafe remarked, though there was a playful lilt to his voice. “You should let me take you out.”

You looked up sharply, caught off guard by his directness. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Taken, I know,” he interrupted, his tone still light but with an undercurrent of something more serious. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, does it? Just as friends.”

“Just as friends?” you echoed skeptically, knowing full well what his idea of ‘just friends’ probably entailed.

Rafe shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “We could get dinner, maybe hit up a bar, talk about something other than my knee for once. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before it came back stronger, more determined. He leaned back on the table, pretending to stretch as he tried to mask the sting of rejection. "No?" he echoed, as if the concept was foreign to him.

You crossed your arms, standing firm even though his eyes on you made your heart race. "No. We both know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to happen."

"And what exactly am I trying to do?" he asked, feigning innocence with a smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to get drawn into his game. "You know what. I’m here to help you with your injury, not to entertain whatever fantasy you’ve got going on."

"Who says it’s a fantasy?" he shot back, his voice lowering, taking on a more serious tone that caught you off guard. "Maybe I just want to get to know you better."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. But Rafe was hard to read when he wanted to be, his playful exterior a well-practiced mask that he rarely let slip. "Rafe, you're a good guy, but—"

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

"Fine," you conceded with a small smile. "Maybe ‘good’ is a stretch. But you’re not as bad as you want people to think."

Rafe’s smirk faded. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it made you hesitate, made you wonder if there was more to him than just the cocky, relentless flirt.

But before you could dwell on it, he was back to his usual self, flashing you that devil-may-care grin that made it hard to stay mad at him. "You know, I’d actually take that as a compliment if it came from anyone else."

"Don’t get too excited," you replied, trying to keep things light. "I still think you’re a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass," he teased, stupidly blinking his lashes up at you.

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to something I want," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Cameron, this isn’t going to happen. I have a boyfriend."

He shrugged, unbothered. "And? You’re no fun. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You handed him a water bottle, expression neutral. “You’re just out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Do you see this body?”

You didn’t take the bait. “I see a guy who’s been slacking off on his conditioning.”

He laughed, low and warm, as he took a sip of water. “You’re tough. Tougher than most of the coaches I’ve had.”

You shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

 “Logan’s a lucky guy.”

The hockey world was small, and word got around, of course he knew his name.

“Logan’s great,” you said, a little too quickly.

Rafe nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

He didn’t push it further, though. Instead, he fell back into his usual routine of teasing and flirting. Every time you guided his leg through a stretch or adjusted the equipment, he found his mind wandering, imagining what it would be like if things were different. If he were the one you were coming home to after a long day, if he were the one you smiled at without that guarded look in your eyes.

But you were with Logan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to cross that line. Not when you were clearly trying so hard to keep things professional between the two of you.

As the session wrapped up, you handed him his schedule for the next few days, your demeanor as cool and composed as ever. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Make sure you keep up with the exercises over the next couple of days, and don’t overdo it.”

He took the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. It was enough to send a jolt of electricity through him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

 “Can’t make any promises.”

He spent the weekend bored out of his mind, thinking about you—wondering if you were with Logan, if the guy was actually smart enough to know what he had.

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

The guy was too perfect, too dependable, too fucking boring. And Rafe had been praying, in a way he wouldn’t admit to anyone, that something would happen—something that would make you see Logan for the jackass he really was. It wasn’t that he thought he was a better guy; he knew his own flaws better than anyone. But he also knew that he could make you happier, make you laugh harder, make you feel things that Logan never could.

So when you walked in late to the next session, he was ready to make a joke, to tease you about finally deciding to show up. But the words died on his lips when he saw you. You weren’t looking at him, not really, just muttering a half-hearted apology as you dropped your bag in the corner. But when you finally met his gaze, his chest tightened.

Your eyes were bloodshot red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, from tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried. You looked exhausted, like you hadn’t slept in days, and your usual spark was nowhere to be found.

His first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood the way he always did, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice void of its usual cockiness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that was meant to shut someone up, not because you actually meant it. You were far from okay.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone teasing, but even he could hear the concern underneath.

“I know, sorry,” you replied, your voice small, almost defeated.

Rafe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. This wasn’t like you. You were always so put together, so in control, and seeing you like this was…so unsettling.

“What happened?” he asked, more serious now, the joking tone completely gone.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the equipment, but Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Not when he could see the pain written all over your face.

“Come on, what’s going on?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Did something happen with Logan?”

The way you flinched at his name told him everything he needed to know. His chest tightened, protectiveness swelling inside him. He’d always thought Logan was too good to be true, but seeing you like this confirmed it.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice cracking slightly as you finally looked at him, “I mean, yes, but… it’s not like that.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What did he do?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as you tried to hold it together. But there was no point in pretending anymore, not when Rafe was looking at you like that—like he actually cared, like he was ready to go to war for you if that’s what it took.

“He cheated,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as the tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill over. “I found out through a fucking DM on Instagram. Some girl… she just messaged me out of the blue and told me everything. And when I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just—just said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with red-hot anger. He wanted to find Logan and beat the shit out of him for making you cry, for being stupid enough to let you go. But more than that, he wanted to make you feel better, to make the hurt go away, even if he didn’t know how.

“That fucking asshole,” He growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “I swear to God, I’ll—let me get on that ice and I’ll wipe the entire ring with his face.”

“Rafe, don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it, okay?”

His heart twisted at the broken look in your eyes, the way your voice wavered as if you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler,  “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be so serious. But here he was, looking at you like you were the most important person in the world, and it made your heart ache even more.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you admitted, your voice small and lost.

He reached out, hesitating for just a second before he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tear that had finally escaped.

“You deserve someone who knows what they have when they have you,” he said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on yours. “Someone who would never make you cry like this. Someone who would never, ever cheat on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over at his words. “Rafe…”

“I’m serious,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re… you’re amazing, you know that? Any guy would be lucky to have you, and Logan’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but it was no use.

You started to cry, the kind of deep, gut-wrenching sobs that you’d been holding in all weekend. And before you knew it, you were collapsing into his arms, letting him hold you as you cried, his arms strong and steady around you.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to shush you or tell you everything was going to be okay. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back as you let it all out, crying into his chest until there were no more tears left.

When you finally pulled back, your face red and puffy from crying, you only uttered a small, “Thank you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes soft as he looked down at you. “Anytime.”

And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft, hesitant kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a second before pulling away. He blinked, a little stunned by the gesture, but before he could say anything, you stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?” you said quickly, your voice still shaky. “I’m not sure I-“

“Of course not.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to tell you to stay, to tell you that it was okay to not be okay, that you didn’t have to face this alone. But he knew you needed space, needed time to process everything that had happened.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

He wanted to be there for you, to be the one you turned to when everything fell apart. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to put you back together again, to show you that not all guys were like Logan—that he wasn’t like Logan.

And as you disappeared down the hallway, he made a silent promise to himself: he was going to make you see that. No matter what it took.

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

The weeks passed, each session with Rafe seamlessly flowing into the next. What started as this totally professional thing, strictly business, slowly morphed into something way more personal. His cocky jokes and playful banter had shifted into these deep conversations that actually mattered, and somewhere along the way, you found myself getting closer to him than you ever expected.

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that he might distance himself once he was back on the ice. After all, athletes had their own lives, their own routines, and you were just the therapist who had helped him get to this point. But when he invited you to his first game, the gesture came as a welcome. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he’d slowly lurked his way into your heart. 

It was after a particularly intense session, where you’d pushed him harder than ever before, that he brought it up. You were finishing up, wiping down the equipment while he caught his breath, stretching out his legs on the bench.

“You know,” Rafe started, his voice casual but with a hint of something more in it, “I’ve got my first game back tomorrow night.”

You looked up, catching the subtle edge in his tone. “Yeah, I’ve heard. You must be excited.”

“Excited? Nervous as hell, more like it.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long time coming. A lot of pressure to perform, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding him. You’d seen how hard he’d worked, how much this comeback meant to him. “You’ll do great, Cameron. You’re more than ready.”

He smiled at that, but there was something else in his expression, something hesitant. “I was thinking…maybe you could come. To the game, I mean. It’d be nice to have someone there who’s seen the whole process, who knows what it took to get back on that ice.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was what it represented. He didn’t just see you as the therapist who’d helped him heal. He saw you as someone important, someone he wanted by his side as he took this next step.

 “I’d love to, Rafe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a grin that was equal parts gratitude and something else— “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now, “because I’d hate for you to miss it. You’ve been a big part of this, more than you know.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze. 

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, but the look in his eyes told you that he saw right through your attempt to downplay it.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you,” Rafe said, his voice earnest. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the world at that moment, made it hard to breathe. This was more than just an invitation to a game. This was him telling you, in his own way, that you mattered to him—that you were more than just his therapist, that you were someone he wanted to keep around.

“I’m glad it was me too,” you whispered back, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Now, as you sit in the stands, watching Rafe skate out onto the ice, you feel a nervous anticipation that has little to do with the game itself.

Just before the puck drops, Rafe catches your eye, giving you a confident wink that sends your heart racing. He knows what this game means, not just for him, but for you as well.

Logan is there, playing on the opposite team. You haven’t seen him in exactly two months. Whatever feelings you had for him disappeared the moment you found out about his betrayal, but your ego still hurts like hell.

The energy in the arena is electric, a buzz that makes his blood hum with anticipation. His first game back, and the stakes couldn’t be higher—not just because of his injury, not just because it’s a rivalry match, but because Logan is on the other side of the ice. Rafe’s jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard, the memory of your tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

During warm-ups, he spotted Logan, skating like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him. Rafe’s grip tightens on his stick, his knuckles white against the black tape. The rage simmering beneath his skin isn’t just about the game. It’s personal.

His focus is razor-sharp, every movement precise, every play calculated. But no matter how much he tries to concentrate on the game, his eyes keep drifting back to Logan, who skates circles around the ice like he owns it.

The first period passes without incident, but by the second, the tension is boiling over. Rafe feels it building, that need to do something, to break Logan’s face in half. He doesn’t just want to beat him; he wants to humiliate him, to knock that smug look off his face once and for all.

Then it happens.

Midway through the second period, Logan makes a hard hit on one of Rafe’s teammates, sending the guy crashing into the boards. The hit is clean, but it’s the arrogance in Logan’s smirk that pushes Rafe over the edge.

He doesn’t hesitate. 

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

“You think you can just get away with that?” He snarls, his voice low and menacing as he shoves Logan hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back on his skates.

Logan’s eyes flash with surprise, quickly followed by anger. “What the hell’s your problem, Cameron?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply. 

He swings, his fist connecting solidly with Logan’s jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone is drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but Rafe doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to unleash all the pent-up anger and frustration that’s been eating away at him since the day you walked into that PT room with your heart shattered.

Logan staggers back, his expression twisting with fury. He recovers quickly, launching himself at Rafe with a wild swing, but Rafe is ready. He dodges the punch and counters with another one of his own, this time aiming for Logan’s ribs. He can feel the impact reverberate up his arm, but it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Come on!” He shouts, face red from all the pent-up anger simmering inside him. “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Logan grits his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. “You’re fucking crazy, Cameron!”

“You haven't seen shit," He spits back, landing another punch to Logan’s midsection. “But at least I know how to treat someone right.”

Logan’s eyes widen, the realization of what this is really about dawning on him. “This is about her? You’re seriously going to throw down over some girl?”

Rafe’s vision goes red at the mention of you, the casual way Logan dismisses you as “some girl.” He doesn’t care that he’s going too far, doesn’t care that the refs are probably going to break this up any second. All he cares about is making Logan feel a fraction of the pain he caused you.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” He growls, grabbing Logan by the collar and yanking him close. “You don’t even get to think about her.”

Logan tries to shove him off, but Rafe is relentless, landing punch after punch, each one fueled by the memory of you crying in his arms, by the way your voice trembled when you told him what Logan had done.

By now, the refs are on them, trying to pull Rafe away, but he isn’t finished. Not yet.

“You don’t deserve her,” He hisses through clenched teeth, his fist connecting with Logan’s face one last time before the refs finally manage to separate them. “You never did.”

Logan stumbles back, his face a bloody mess, and for a brief moment, he feels a little satisfaction. But it isn’t enough to stop the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to protect you from ever being hurt like that again.

He sits in the penalty box, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He can barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knows they’re going wild. The fight has been brutal, and he’s given Logan exactly what he deserved. But as the rush of the fight starts to fade, he starts to overthink: how will you react?

The game ends with a hard-fought win for his team, but the victory feels hollow. As his teammates celebrate on the ice, Rafe’s thoughts are miles away, fixated on you. What if you’re pissed? What if you think he’s overstepped?

After the final whistle, he makes his way to the locker room, his mind racing. He’s about to strip off his gear when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and determined. Before he can even turn around, the locker room door flies open, and there you are, marching straight toward him with a look on your face that he can’t quite read.

Shit. You’re mad.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, his voice low and uncertain as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know that might’ve looked bad out there, but I swear—”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

His mind goes blank as all he can focus on is the way your mouth moves against his. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—raw, heated, desperate.

His hands instantly find your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you flush against him, the heat of your bodies mingling in the small space between you. Your kiss is wild, all tongues and teeth, and when you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make him groan, he realizes this is real.

You’re kissing him.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your mouth, his voice ragged with need. But you don’t give him a chance to catch his breath, your hands threading through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving with a feverish intensity that makes his head spin.

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

The way you say it, half-growled, half-breathed, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help the sound that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a groan. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to keep control, but you aren’t making it easy.

You press yourself even closer, your body flush against his as you kiss him again, harder this time, more demanding. Your tongue sweeps into his mouth, claiming him, and Rafe is more than happy to let you take the lead. He’s never felt anything like this before—this urgency, this hunger that makes him want to lose himself in you completely.

You tug on his hair, tilting his head back to give yourself better access, and Rafe nearly loses it right then and there. He can feel his self-control slipping, can feel the primal need to devour you taking over, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how badly he wants you, how desperately he needs to feel more of you.

When you pull back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breathing just as ragged as his. You stare at him, your eyes dark with lust, and Rafe feels his heart hammering in his chest, each beat echoing with the desire pulsing through him.

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

Rafe’s hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he doesn’t stop. His fingers grip you there, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pressing against his.

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before moving back down to cup your ass again, pulling you even closer against him. You can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh, and it sends a wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You want him—more than you ever wanted anyone—and the way he’s looking at you tells you he feels the same.

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on. 

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue. 

His reaction is immediate. He groans, a sound so deep and full of need that it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands flex against you, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he’s trying not to loseg control completely.

 But you can feel it—the way he’s trembling, the way his breath is coming in harsh, uneven pants against your neck. He kisses you again, hard and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that matches the wild pounding of your heart

But just when you think you can’t take it any longer, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, snapping you both back to reality. You pull back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, your mind spinning with the intensity of what had just happened. He’s just staring at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips swollen and red from your kisses. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it takes everything in you not to drag him back down for more. 

But you know you shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Except there’s no fucking way Rafe is letting you go now. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with a raw need that makes your breath catch. 

He doesn’t ask; doesn’t need to. He’s done waiting, done pretending he can hold back. 

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

He presses you up against the cold tile wall, his body flushes against yours as his lips find yours again, hands running over your wet skin. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone as he kisses, licks, and nips at your sensitive skin. You whimper, fingers threading through his hair as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips trailing down your stomach. 

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the hot water and his hot mouth on your skin driving you insane. "If you don’t-" your voice trembles with need as he spreads your thighs apart, “Fuck.” 

He looks up at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

His hands grip your hips firmly. Without another word, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sudden, intense pleasure makes you cry out, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he licks and sucks, his tongue working you over with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath. It’s not fair. 

This man can’t possibly be real. The water splashes against your back, masking the sounds of your moans as he takes his time, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue. Your body trembles, your legs barely able to hold you up as he pushes you higher, his hands tightening on your hips as he holds you in place.

 "Oh my god," you moan, your voice breaking as you feel the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until you are crying out his name, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through you.

Rafe keeps his mouth on you, drawing out your release until you are trembling, your legs shaking as you struggle to catch your breath. 

Truth is, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get enough now that he has finally gotten a taste. He stands back up, his hands running up your sides as he kisses you again, the taste of you still on his lips. You can feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, and it only drives you crazier. Of course, this man had to be fucking huge. 

Without breaking the kiss, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall as his hands grip your hips, pulling them back slightly. You brace yourself against the tile, your body arching as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. 

"Oh Rafe," you groan out his name, your voice low and needy and he growls softly in response, his breath hot against your ear as he slowly pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch until he is buried to the hilt.

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world. 

“So fucking pretty.” The feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely, is almost too much to bear, and you let out a long, low moan as he begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that drives you wild. The water cascades over your bodies as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. 

Each thrust pushes you harder against the wall, the cool tile a pleasing contrast to the heat between you. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensation of Rafe moving inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with every thrust. The sound of the water mixed with the wet slap of skin against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to consume you.

 "God, you feel so fucking good," He groans, his voice rough with desire as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

 "Faster," you gasp, your voice pleading as you push back against him, needing more, needing everything. He doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickening, his thrusts coming harder and faster as he drives you both toward the edge. The intensity of it is overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he fucks you with a raw, desperate need that matches your own. Just when you think you couldn’t take any more, you heard footsteps outside the shower, followed by a voice calling out. 

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged. 

"Yeah, I’m here," he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the strain in it. 

"We’re heading downtown to the bar. You coming?"

He looks down at you, all too pleased with himself, "Not tonight," he replies, his voice thick with lust. "Got something else to take care of." 

There’s a pause, then a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Alright, man. Have fun."

 The footsteps retreat, and the moment the door closes, he’s moving again, thrusting into you with a renewed urgency, the near-interruption only heightening the intensity of the moment. You moan loudly, your body quaking as he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending you spiraling closer and closer to another orgasm.

The combination of the heat, the steam, the feel of Rafe fucking you so hard is too much, the almost getting caught. You feel yourself losing it, your entire body tightening as you reach the edge once again.

 "Come for me," He growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His words push you over, and you cry out as your orgasm tears through you, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Rafe follows right behind you, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he comes, his body shuddering as he fills you to the brim with a low, guttural groan. 

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you panting, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. The water continues to pour over you, washing away the evidence of your encounter as you slowly come down from the high. 

Finally, he pulls out, turning you around to face him as he cups your face in his hands, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss that’s so different to the rough, desperate way he just fucked you.

 "You’re a fucking idiot," you whisper against his lips, a small, breathless laugh escaping you. 

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

He was fighting every fucking player on that ice ring if it meant having you again.

[tainted-by-skeletons]

Bully Reader X Sans (Final part)

(Extremely NSFW. Do not read if you are not an adult. This one is long. Sorry.)

“Hehehe~ I can't help it. I have fun no matter what's happening. If you wanna have fun then you have to stop being a grump. Now that you look less grumpy and more cute I bet it'll be easier for you! Hehe~”

Sans averted his eyes from me. He muttered something about preferring to not spend time with girls. Seeing a small blushing boy sprawled out on a bathroom floor… I only knew of one way to approach that situation.

“I think my plan is already working. You're not nearly as annoying and controlling like this. You should give me more of a chance you know.”

“No thanks.” Sans said harshly.

I crawled over him, my hands on the ground on either side of his hips. Sans' big, worried looking eyes looked even more adorable with the blush and cute pictures drawn across his cheeks. I had no idea that I was only making it look more and more like I had a crush on him.

“Stop being so grumpy. All my hard work is going to waste~” I said softly.

But I couldn't control myself. Cornering cute boys was a part of my muscle memory by then. I can't say Sans isn't cute either. You can be cute some of the time but mostly look like a dirty grumpy old man. Like a poodle. I shifted my weight to one hand and drew my other hand across his hip. Just a finger. Sans gasped and covered his face with one hand in humiliation. He tried to back away from me but he didn't have very far to go. When he was completely cornered, he used his knee to knock out the hand I was using to keep myself up.

“Aah!”

I fell right on top of his lap. Face stuffed in his pants.

“Aaahhh!~”

His reaction made me think I was basically sucking him off then and there. But he didn't seem to have anything “down there” to do anything with. I looked up to see him gasping for breath with the most adorable aroused expression on his face. The pink blush I put on him suddenly looked blue around the edges. It was apparently the natural color hidden in his face.

“Sorry! Uh-... Sorry…”

I blinked in surprise.

That's so interesting! I think I know why that happens! With a lack of color in his skin his blood must appear blue in his face! Just like any human, the blood vessels are opening in the area around his cheeks but his vessels appear blue like in human veins! His eyes are dialing too. Oh my god I can't take how cute he looks.

“I-I don-dont. I don't wa-wanna kiss you.”

“Huh?”

“What.”

“Ahahahahaha! What are you thinking?! I was just looking at your cheeks!”

“What?!”

“They're blue. I think it's interesting. Hehehe~ Sorry. Am I too scary?~”

“No! That's not- nnn not what I-” Sans was panting through his words. I couldn't tell if he was panicked or aroused.

I decided not to back off just yet. Teasing him was fun and I deserved to have fun after he tossed me around so much. Besides, I really wanted to know if all his talk about crushes was projection. It was starting to look like it. The poor guy was nearly drooling.

“Goood~ I don't wanna scare you. That's your job right? Yeah. You're a veery scary boy. I'm terrified of you.”

I didn't get up in his face or anything, but I didn't back off him either. I was so interested in finding out why he was having such an extreme reaction to me. This wasn't considered normal to any human. And I do love my biology. Sans almost shook his head. His eyes not releasing contact with mine.

“I don't need to be scared of you though. Right? You don't wanna do anything bad to me.” I said breathily.

Sans put his head down and squeezed his eyes shut as his hips twitched upwards. Like his non-existent dick was trying to jump up to meet me. He was having trouble catching his breath. I even caught a blue tongue hanging out of his mouth for a second too.

So interesting! I wish I was still in school. I would have written an essay on this!

“Oooh?~ Hmhm~ Do you? I think that sounds fair. Do you want revenge on me for violating you?” I teased as I leaned back and spread out my legs. My short pleated skirt made it easy for me to display my silky red panties. I'm not sure what I expected, but I didn't expect Sans to push off the wall and lunge at me with a deep growly,

“Yes.”

Before he grabbed me by the shoulders and dove into my neck. He did not hold back as he bit down. Biting me and pinning me in place like an animal.

“Aaahhh!”

Once he was sure I was completely helpless, he found a free hand to press hard into my side and drag down my body until he could slide it over to my panties. I groaned in pleasure as he rubbed me. Sans excitedly explored every inch of my vulva while it was still clothed. His harsh movements and tight grip were so sexy to me. I found myself losing control too as I bucked into his hand. Moaning loudly at every movement.

The pain in my neck was unnoticeable until I became tired. But when my hips ached from the exercise, so too did my neck. I let my body relax, and that seemed enough to be a signal to Sans. He released from my neck and pulled away from me. That was enough for me to remember where I was and who I was with. But not for him. It was already too late. He pulled down my underwear and positioned himself on his knees.

“Aah!” I shrieked. “H-hey wait!”

I kicked his hand away from me. That seemed to break him out of his spell. Sans' eyes became wide and he almost fell back a bit.

“I-... I-I uh. I'm sorry.”

Unable to think of what we could possibly say, we stared at each other. Just trying to catch our breath.

“Um It's okay… Let's just like… pretend that didn't happen.”

“Uh! I don't! Um. We. No I- fuck. Uhhh.”

I couldn't tell what Sans was stammering about. So I took his hand and tried to pull him up.

“Let's start by getting out of the bathroom. Okay?”

“Uhh. Yyyeah.”

I pulled him up to me but Sans was suddenly very weak. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor again.

“What is happening to you?” I asked with a meaner tone than I meant.

“Nothing. It's not- er. I don't li- uhhh. It's not because! Um… I don't!... Like you…”

“Yeah. Totally believable. I couldn't have given a better performance. Oh wait. I actually did.”

I grabbed Sans around the chest and clumsily picked him up. We stumbled until he could steady himself against the wall. His whole body was flushed and he should have been able to catch his breath too long ago.

“Are you okay? You look like you're dying.”

“I'm not.” Sans said roughly.

“Is there something I can do? Uhhh… water?” I offered.

“Fine. Whatever.”

“You don't need to be an ass about it.”

I thought I was being awfully nice for the situation we were in. But I knew I started it. And I felt guilty. After swallowing my pride, and a bit of water for myself too, I went back upstairs to offer a truce. When I got to the top of the steps Sans was sitting on the ground outside the bathroom door, head up and eyes closed.

“Umm. I'm sorry. I kinda started that whole thing. I didn't know it would like… affect you or something.” I wanted to sound nicer than I did but I really didn't know how I possibly could. “Hey. Let's agree nobody has a crush on anybody. Okay?”

Sans nodded.

“Here.”

And I gave him the cup of water. He took it and drank it carefully. Not knowing what else to do, I awkwardly sat down next to him. I waited until I knew he could respond, and then I asked,

“If I tease another monster that much, would that happen again?”

“Not usually… but it might. I know why it happened but I'm not telling you.”

“Okay. That's fine.”

“Good.”

I would usually ask if I should leave, but it was late enough when I came into his house. Now it was so late I really couldn't afford to leave. And as if Sans read my thoughts he said,

“It's not gonna work. I don't think I'm getting this marker off my face. Just go home Y/N.”

“Hey! You can't kick me out! One: I still have one more thing we can try. And two: You can't make a girl walk home alone this late at night!"

“Yeah I can. Watch me.” Sans held up a hand and used his magic to push me against the railing on top of his stairs. “Get out.”

“Aah!" My head hit one of the rails and I fell to the ground. I took off my shoe and threw it at Sans. "I'm doing all this to help you! And I want to make up for everything!" I took a moment to breathe. "I don't know what happened but I won't tease you anymore. Okay? I promise.”

“Anymore tonight? Or…” Sans threw my shoe (which had completely missed him) to the side.

“Rrr… I'm not saying I think we should be friends or something. I still hate you. But no. I really like hanging out with Papyrus and I don't want to bully his brother if it means he won't be friends with me anymore. I'm just doing it for him!"

Sans' Pov

I have a lot of friends. They're alright people. I never invite anyone to my place or go out of my way to see them unless I really respect them. And there's only really one reason that I respect someone. It's if they get along with my brother. I can't explain why, but it just shows me they're a good person. I feel like getting along with Papyrus is extremely easy. If you can't do that you kinda suck.

“You wanna truce?”

“Yeah! Truce!”

“Fine. Truce.”

I held out my hand. When I asked for a truce, I was making a promise. If I saw Y/N picking on me or my brother again I'd consider us enemies just like before. She'd never be allowed in my house again.

“Oh... Uh. Right.”

She awkwardly took my hand and shook it. I immediately felt a surge of guilt. I wasn't surprised she was hesitant to touch me.

But why does she want to stay here so bad? She's worse off with me than outside.

“Good.”

“Now can I try that last thing?”

“You're determined, aren't cha’? Do I look that bad?”

“It's not that. I still think you look better this way. And I still don't like you! But... I just don't want you to like… hate me.”

I could tell she was lying about hating me, but I put that aside. “Why do you care all of a sudden? I thought you didn't want to be friends.”

“I don't like it when people don't like me.”

“Pft. I'm not surprised.”

“What's that supposed to mean?!”

“You seem like you want to be popular. I bet you were on the surface.”

“Uh! Um… yeah. Basically.”

I could tell she was hiding something. “Basically?”

“Uh! Uggh. How can you tell when people lie? Do you have some sorta magic for that?”

“Nope. I just don't like it and won't tolerate it.”

Suddenly she looked guilty. She even hunched up a little and gave me puppy dog eyes. I wasn't going to tell her she had to tell me the truth. But for some reason, she did.

“I was really lonely on the surface. The girls that wore lots of makeup and little skirts and had fluffy hair always got a lot of attention. I thought maybe… if I tried to act like them I wouldn't feel so lonely. And it worked. Especially down here. Don't you ever want to try to reinvent yourself when you're around new people?”

“I think that's ingenuine. Everyone changes as they get older anyway. I just let it happen naturally.”

“I think you're lucky. Some people have to change. They can't just wait for it to happen. I had to try something. Even if it wasn't perfect.”

“Hm... I guess I can respect that.”

I got off the ground finally and went into the bathroom. Ready for the worst. Just in case.

“Let's take off your blush first. Okay?” I told her.

“Hehe~ yeah! Duh!”

Y/N got the towel from before and wet it with warm water. I leaned against the counter, already feeling slightly woozy from just the idea of her getting so close to me and touching my face.

Fuck! I can't believe that happened earlier! I hate being like this. Most monsters outgrow that kinda thing. I don't know why I still can't control myself. I feel like I usually can but… she pisses me off and I want to… to…

“I hope I can get the blush off without makeup remover. I have no idea how your skull works. Hmmm. Do you have pores? It's kinda like you do. You should let me play with your face sometime. It'll be good practice.” Y/N mumbled to herself softly as she rubbed the warm towel on my cheeks.

My head started feeling light and hot from her little face massage to me. I closed my eyes, hoping I could focus on something to distract me. But it only made the hypnotic sensation feel even stronger. And soon I couldn't open my eyes back up again.

“Hehehe~ Awww you like that?” Y/N cooed as if she was talking to a puppy.

I turned my head away, unable to respond. I tried so hard to repress embarrassing noises or dirty thoughts. It got a lot harder when a felt a soft hand on my opposite cheek pull me to face Y/N again. I flinched a little when I saw her.

“Oh my god. You don't have to be afraid of me. Shouldn't I be afraid of you if anything?”

“Yeah. So why the hell are you sticking around here?”

“Oooh~ look who's edgy.” Y/N said as she continued rubbing my face with the towel. “I already told you why I'm not leaving.”

“So you're just gonna sleep on my couch?”

“Rude. You're not gonna offer a bed to your guest? Since apparently Papyrus won't be here, why can't I sleep in his bed?”

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

“If he's not here you can't see his room. That's just common sense for anyone.”

“I feel like that's kinda over the top but like, whatever.”

Before I could stop myself, I took the hand holding the towel and pulled it behind me hard. To force Y/N close to my face.

“My house. My rules.”

Her wide eyes and slightly open mouth were a little hard to resist.

“You… you know. Y-I… You're not really helping me much. I'm just trying to get the blush off.”

“No you're not. You're getting distracted too. I already warned you. Stay if you want but you're safer outside than in here with me.”

For some reason, Y/N pulled away. She averted her eyes and started fanning her face with her hand. She giggled a little for some reason.

“You're starting to sound like an edgy romance novel.”

“What?! Where the hell are you getting that?!”

“Well I doubt you've ever read one. I'm not gonna explain. You'll have to take my word.”

As if nothing had happened, Y/N wet the other side of the rag and started on my other cheek. Still as gentle as before. Without a care in the world.

“You need to leave. Or at least give up.”

She smirked to herself. “There you go again with the love interest lines. Hehe. Are you gonna tell me next that if I stay, you can't be held responsible for whatever you might do to me?~”

“I said no teasing.”

“That doesn't count. I'm flirting.”

“Wh-w-why?!”

“Because I'm having fun.”

“You shouldn't be.”

“You don't scare me when you talk like that.”

I finally had it. Her smirk, her provocative glances, the way she kept turning my cheek back towards her. I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her against the wall. Pushing my body against her chest, I kissed her.

“Mmn!”

Y/N let out a surprised squeak as I forced myself on her again. Her hands were on my chest but they weren't pushing me away. She seemed unsure. But I was done letting her take so long to make up her mind. I tilted my head and slid my tongue past her lips. She bit down on it. I couldn't tell if she wasn't ready for me to violate her mouth but I didn't care anyway. I grabbed her breast with one hand and pushed in while closing my fingers around the doughy surface.

“Aahhh!~”

I put both my hands on her cheeks to keep her head in place while I explored her mouth with my tongue. Her squeaks of surprise weren't the only noises she made. It wasn't even seconds before her startled noises turned into long needy moans. She hooked a leg behind me and grinded against my hip bone.

“Mmmnn!”

It was like she knew those were especially sensitive for me. Still pushing against her, I moved my hands down to my shorts and slid them off. I lifted up her skirt so I could feel the slightly damp fabric of her slick, smooth panties against me. Immediately I could feel an intense sensation rising in my chest. I hadn't done that for a long time, but I was going to soon.

“Fuck! I'm gonna- aaahhh!~”

In my chest, my soul appeared and expanded to twice its usual size in only a moment with a burst of blue liquid. Without any hesitation, I took my soul and attached it to my hip bones. It quickly morphed into a shape fitting for what I wanted to do.

“What was?!- what just happened?” Y/N asked.

I grabbed her forearms and tried to push her to the floor. She really seemed to hate that. Y/N kicked me away and opened the door. She tried to run down the stairs but I caught her before she reached the balcony railing. I pushed her to the ground and tore off her underwear.

“Aaahh! Hey! That's not fair!”

She reached up and grabbed the railing. But it would only serve as something to hold onto while I fucked her. I moved up to slide in and…

“Huh? Haha! It's tiny! Hmmm. Poor guy. I might as well let- aah! Oooh~”

I was mad at the comment but I didn't have the concentration available to respond to anything. All I could think about was holding her hips and ramming myself into her. Feeling her soft, wet labia against my bare hips was amazing. Addicting even. Every part of my attention was happily focused on the sensation. I sadly didn't hear her heated rant about how “small” I was.

“Uggh!~ After all that you think you look sooo sexy huh? Haaah~ Uh! Well. You're not in control alright? I'm just letting you fuck me beca- aah!~ because I feel bad for you! Mmn. With a dick that small you're probably a virgin. I bet that's why you lost it. You're old and sad and if I have-aah~ if I have to-mmnn~ if I have to take care of you then that's fine. I like taking care of cute boys~ Haaahh~ I love taking care of cute, small, pathetic boys! Aaahhh!~”

I'm especially disappointed it took me so long to notice her erotic expression. Her eyes would wander up looking at nowhere while her open mouth slowly released saliva from the corners of her funny smile. When I finally saw it I wrapped her legs around me and put my arms around her chest to pull her up to me. It didn't quite work out how I thought it would but I didn't complain. I forgot how tall she was compared to me and my face ended up snuggled in between her breasts.

“Aaahh!~ Yeah! You want my big titties? Mmn!~ Go for em!”

Y/N pulled up her shirt and unclipped her bra. Watching her hands shake as I rammed myself into her made me weirdly proud of myself. Finally she removed her bra and threw it over the banister. She twisted herself, revealing just how curvy and wet her body was as her sweat shined under the hall light. Her slightly tanned skin reminded me of a fresh baked pastry. I didn't have time to decide what to do with her delicious looking body before she put a hand on the back of my head and shoved my face into her right breast.

I wasn't actually all that into boobs before then. So I was more than happy with focusing on my own movements as I comfortably suffocated in her warm, soft mounds. That is, until she hit the back of my head.

“Fucking idiot! What are you doing!? Suck on them!”

“Hmmm?”

The idea never came to me, but I was more than willing to give it a try. I didn't actually realize girls were into that too. So I moved my mouth over her dark, erect nipples and sucked on her teat. At the same moment as I started, her walls closed in hard around me.

“Aahh!~ Yeah!”

Sucking me in like she never wanted me to leave. It was enough for me to cum a second time. Like before, my soul expanded to twice its size in one quick movement. But now that it was in its proper place, it didn't go back to its original size.

“Aaahh!~ Oooh! What is!? Ahhhh!~ Fuuuuck!”

Y/N’s body shook as I thrusted into her. Harder and with much more enjoyment on both ends than before. Her limbs were completely useless as she helplessly grabbed around for something to hold onto to comfort herself. I could feel more resistance as I slid in and out. I tried as hard as I could to control myself just enough to not hurt her. At least as much. But it seemed like she didn't really need it.

“Fuck! Sans! You're gonna make me cum too!”

Without anything else safe to hold, Y/N wrapped her arms around my shoulders and her legs around my hips. Moving her legs up opened her entrance to me more. Y/N screamed in pleasure as she hit another orgasm and clenched around me hard, causing my final climax in return.

“Aaaahhhhhhh!~”

As our bodies finally relaxed and my senses came back to me, my soul also returned to its usual size and shape. I stayed still. Afraid to move and ashamed of myself.

“I'm sorry.” I whispered into Y/N’s chest.

“It's okay... Sorry I insulted you so much.”

“What?”

“Uhhh. Let's call it even.”

“Uggh. O-okay.”

Y/N’ Pov

I'm actually a huge sucker for those edgy teen romance dramas. I would have forced myself on Sans' if he hadn't done the job for me. I assumed we'd always be enemies. But if this was the new direction our relationship was going to go in, I was completely okay with it.

“Hmhm~ Why are you holding me so tightly?”

“I… shouldn't have done that.”

“Probably not. But you're all good now right?”

Sans looked up at me. He seemed like he felt really guilty. He looked so sad and adorable with his big puppy dog eyes and little black freckles.

“That really shouldn't be the biggest problem. I-”

“We're calling it even. Alright? I totally dominated you so it's the least I could do. Just make sure it doesn't happen again.” I said as I patted his head condescendingly.

“What?”

“I'll be softer with you next time. Okay?”

“Are you fucking delusional?” Sans blurted as he sat up. “When, during that, were you “dominating” me? Go ahead. Tell me.”

“Did you not hear anything I was saying?”

“Uhhh. No. Not really. Why the hell would that matter anyway?”

“Ugh! You don't get it! That's it! Next time I'm tying you down. If you're not squirming around so much maybe you'll pay attention!”

Sans stared at me. Completely bewildered.

“You're insane.”

“I'll ease you into it. Don't worry.”

“No! We're not having sex again!”

“That's what I thought before you jumped me.”

I looked away and picked at my nails to annoy him. It was just too fun. I couldn't resist.

“What?! I- but! *Sigh* Nothing has changed between us. Alright?”

“What?! You're still gonna try to say you don't like me?”

“I don't! You're the one that likes me!”

“Not true. I said I felt bad for you. I do it all the time. You're not the cutest boy I've taken in but I'm very generous. You clearly need help so I'll date you if I need to.”

“No! What?! Is this a human thing?! You have sex with someone once and you just date?”

“Yeah. Kinda. It's what I like to do. No reason wasting your time right?”

I only did it once after becoming popular. I haven't actually had all that much sex either. I just adore teasing boys.

“You… we're not dating. And I still don't even consider us friends. We are not gonna talk about this okay?”

“Yeah. I get it. I wouldn't want anyone knowing if I was you I guess. But you'll totally have sex with me again though. Right? I'm gonna make you admit I dominated you.”

Sans shook his head and sighed.

“I think we should sleep. Use the shower or whatever you want. Just… no more talking. I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired.”

“Yeah. You probably are. You have more stamina than I thought.”

Sans refused to listen and wandered off towards his room. I stood still for a moment, wondering if I should take his offer or a shower.

“So, you coming?”

“In your room?! Like. In your bed?”

“You're surprised I'm letting you sleep in my bed with me?” Sans asked flatly.

“Well. I shouldn't be. But yeah?”

“Heh. Well I guess I shouldn't blame you. Come on. Don't make a thing about it.”

“Tch. Is there anything I can make a thing about?”

“Nope.”

“Fine then. I ought to teach you about after care anyway.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

I slipped into the bed under the covers. Sans tried to turn away from me but I put my arms around his waist and pulled him close to me. He made a cute embarrassed noise and tried to scrunch himself up.

“Hmhm~ You don't have to be embarrassed.”

I pet his head and trailed my fingers over his body. I loved getting to know my partner’s bodies. And Sans was no ordinary partner.

“Nooo~ Go away.” He mumbled. “I don't like you.”

“I think maybe we both like each other.” I whispered close to his head.

Sans rolled over to face me. But he wouldn't meet my eyes. He cautiously hugged me under my arms and nuzzled his face into my neck. His whining tone never went away.

“No we don't. Go to sleep.”

“Okay. Okay. Fine. No more talking.”

I nuzzled my marks on his cheeks. He nuzzled me back, his heated face felt comforting against mine. We slowly continued snuggling and nuzzling and even giving each other small kisses until we fell asleep in each other's arms.