#and it's meant to be a big moment of vulnerability & intimacy to be naked like that together

[multishipper-baby]

Hope this isn't a weird question, but since you're probably one of, if not the biggest eakwynn stan, I wanted to ask; what do you think of Oleander by Mother Mother as an eakwynn song? Don't know if you've ever heard it but I think it fits them a little and if it's not weird I wanted to know what you think about it?

I heard a few songs by Mother Mother but never this one and oh, I really see it. I've always had the headcanon that Owynn has trouble making connections with others, half because of trauma/mental illness and half because he's so destructive (both towards himself and others) that basically no one stays beside him long enough for him to become attached to them.

Enter Eak, who's forced to be by his side due to Owynn's convoluted plan- and sticks around long enough for them to actually start caring about each other. The first real connection Owynn has made in years, in almost a decade.

I don't think Owynn would ever voice the idea that he would die if Eak left, because he's too proud for that, but he'd definitely feel it. Especially because he's been so awful to Eak and his friends, so there's a good reason for him to leave. A part of him acknowledges how horrible he's been and wants to fix it, be a better lover, while another part just wants to double down, terrified that Eak will slip away from him if he doesn't keep him under his thumb. He's trapped at a crossroads between getting better, and getting so much worse.

Anyway, thank you for your suggestion! I liked it so much that it's going in my eakwynn playlist :)

[mswyrr]

Rhaenyra has a type when it comes to women

The common thread for me between Rhaenyra's desire for Alicent and Mysaria is that both women play the role of "lady wife" (or we could call it the role of "the beloved" to a lover) to her. I went into this as it relates to her loving Alicent in a prior meta. But here I want to focus on what they have in common that seems to compel Rhaenyra.

Between the two of them, we have a portrait now of what her "type" is in women. She likes a femme woman who is intelligent and capable of advising her, who cares about her goals and standing in the realm and who she can trust to act on her behalf, a woman who recognizes and basks in the love of Rhaenyra's desire to be knightly and noble and act as a monarch - to hold power and use it to act and protect and cherish. A woman who wishes to be caring and affectionate with her, who shares her body in acts of erotic intimacy as well as comfort and tenderness - young Rhaenyra really meant it when she told Alicent that she loved lying with her head on Alicent's lap as Alicent read to her in shared moments of peace and tranquility. She leaned into to Alicent's touch; she casually held her hand or touched her or stared at Alicent like she was the whole world; she grounded herself with her girl's love.

Mature Rhaenyra awakens at the way Mysaria appreciates her; tells her she's noble and worthy. Tells her she looks good with a sword, expressing those knightly/butch or masc leanings Rhaenyra had in her youth and never got the chance to explore. When Mysaria tells her that, in a lifetime of learning not to trust the world because it has been so cruel to her, Rhaenyra is a rare person she trusts and believes in - a safe haven, a heroic figure, Rhaenyra moves quickly to hug her and keeps hugging her, her urgency to connect growing more intense, fingers digging into her flesh in need, and strokes her cheek across Mysaria's skin like she's found an oasis in the desert.

I relate to that; I feel that way about women too. While watching the way Rhaenyra just *blossoms* under Mysaria's admiration and appreciation I felt teary eyed - Rhaenyra has been starved of recognition and love of whole parts of herself since she lost Alicent. It's terribly sad. It's also why she seems so painfully young in the Sept scene and so thirsty but also vulnerable and emotionally naked with Mysaria - the parts of her that are open to women have never gotten to be satisfied, to grow and come of age.

I consider the feelings in myself Rhaenyra's behavior speaks to toppy and gnc, because I am a gnc female top, but Rhaenyra is a switch and hasn't had a chance to explore gender/sexuality much at all and doesn't have language for it so I'm not sure what labels she'd decide upon if she had the opportunity to relax and enjoy herself and her partner(s). From the text we have, there's many different potential readings of Rhaenyra's complex gender AND sexuality feelings. Is Rhaenyra masc and if so in what way? Bi with a split attraction that actually leans to women or 50/50? 50/50 switch or leaning top or bottom or differently with different genders of partner or different partners? Monogamous or polyamorous?

None of these possibilities have been foreclosed, all have been rather more opened up. Much to the consternation of the bigots who are review bombing the episode!! And the antis in fandom who have harassed artists for drawing masc Rhaenyra and shamed and degraded Rhaenicent for years now.

I think that's a good thing, since LGBTQ lead character representation on a big show like this is so rare. It also is in character for the setting and world Rhaenyra lives in: there's simply little opportunity to explore, sadly. But, at the same time, it's great that so many people can connect to Rhaenyra - can feel that sense of kinship I got to feel watching on Sunday. It's great that Emma and Sonoya had the courage and love to come together to make this happen - so this part of Rhaenyra can have a little more time to live and breathe and we can appreciate it.

I am not certain of one gender/sexuality reading of the character, though of course I have my preferences. The one thing I am certain of now, though, is Rhaenyra's (main or possibly only?) type in women. And I think it's pretty gorgeous. I think the way she loves women is breathtaking and achingly beautiful. I relate to it and it makes the tragedy even more poignant to me that her society denies her the opportunity to have a lifetime with the kind of woman who draws on her heart so powerfully.

[davnittbraes]

I actually had to take a couple days to process this comment because it meant so much to me. I’m gonna frame this entire reblog 😭😭😭. Sending you the biggest, most bone-crushing virtual hug you can imagine X 1000000.

Re: their autonomy issues

You are absolutely right and I think it’s subtle because I haven’t really drawn attention to it yet but yes, both of them have a certain level of dissociation with their bodies, a misplaced understanding that their bodies are not really theirs, they have belonged to others in one way or another for much of, if not all, of their lives. I think that’s why they can have this mutual understanding and total respect for each other’s boundaries, because even if they have different limits they do have limits that are stricter than what society deems normal. And both of them have faced negativity about their limits before, so for them to have found that understanding and respect in each other is part of what makes their relationship as intimate as it is. And relatable - we all want to find that person(s) who just gets us, right? Like on some quantum level.

Re: his reaction to her undressing

I think that’s why his reaction as it is was so important to me, when writing this. Because he truly does give her control over the situation, knowing without needing to hear it in words just how big of a moment this is for her, and how she still struggles with her own autonomy. Plus, I love seeing that infamous restraint at work, especially when it breaks 😉

Re: her speaking Mando’a

Her callback to that moment when he said she sees him was actually a last minute addition but I think it worked out 😅. I just thought she would remember that time as a moment when he was being open and vulnerable with her, and would want to remind him of that, show him that’s how deep she wants to go with him, down to that soul-baring naked intimacy that is so rare to find with another person.

And she’s also clearly picked up on his begging kink, his reaction every time she’s says please makes it pretty obvious 😂. So she gladly pocket that lil gedet’ye and will bring it out for future use whenever possible.

Re: quiet moments after One of the things I’m trying to do most with these two is show those soft moments afterward, with no rush to clean up or get back to life. Because neither of them have had that luxury before, and it means so so much to me that they find it now with each other.

Re: sexytimes 😙😌

Ok maybe like a random note but I’m actually SO HAPPY these sexytimes felt different than the hotel’s, because I try really hard to make sure the tone of the scene is getting across what they’re going through in the moment. Omg I’d love to just let them bang it out sometimes 😂 but I really love showing their emotional growth through smutty smut smut, it’s way more fun and I think more relevant to their story in a way ☺️.

I think you’ve read enough of my work (incl I’m Here) to see that I’m also a huge fan of naked-woman-clothed-man, and what better character to indulge myself with than a man who isn’t comfortable removing his armour 😅😂

Re: Din’s characterization I know there’s a TON of different characterizations of Din out there - he’s such a mysterious character, we writers cannot help but farm fertile soil and see what grows 😆. But I’m trying to portray this Din as someone who doesn’t demand respect, because he just inherently commands it. He’s not brash or aggressive with his authority, he just owns it. And he’s slowly coaxing her around to doing that herself, being confident enough in her own being that she can accept help when it’s offered without feeling like she owes that person or like she’s useless, and to keep bringing her out of her head and into her body - hence the (sort of) eye contact, the quiet command to look at him. He wants her to be present in the moment with him, the desire to have her look at him isn’t just for his own pleasure (though maybe a lil bit because he wants her to know who it is that she is with right then, to validate his own sense of self-worth 😌)

Re: shirks seeing into my SOUL

Whoooo girl let me tell you that last paragraph has me feeling SEEN 😂😅. This is one of those instances where a reader is like “oh hey I see what you did there that’s so cool” and the writer is like “I did what now” except in this case I’m like “OH OK SURE DAVNITT JUST GO AHEAD AND PUT YOUR DEEPEST TRAUMA OUT THERE FOR THE ENTIRE WORLD TO SEE” 🤣. Ah, beans. Welp I’m happy you took that away because it really does summarize what she’s feeling in that moment better than I could have.

Re: shirks being the BPFOAT (best pocket friend of all time)

As always, I appreciate every single letter you type about this lil story o’mine. I could not ask for a better pocket friend 🥰❤️😊

The Third Step - Chapter Nineteen

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5400

Warnings etc.: smut, ridiculously sappy post-coital convo, fairly graphic description of a burn wound I guess, angst, anxiety, reference to past trauma, why do these two always make me cry, ok FUN STUFF - stripping (sans cheesy club music,) Mando’s Fingering Skills™️, squirting, one (1) nipple pinch, otherwise non-rough nipple play

Notes: @fellow writers - you ever plot out a chapter like “ok, so I need to cover this this and this, and they need to do this and this” and then you sit down to write it and literally NONE of that happens? Lol yeah, that’s this chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

“Kriffing ow.”

Your fingers tremble, a sharp spike of pain jolting through your entire body, and you grit your teeth through the tiny pinpricks that follow as you continue to pull back your shirt. Thankfully you’d put on a simple button down, you could peel away one side to get to the wound by just undoing a few of the top buttons. 

If only it didn’t hurt so much. 

Stop whining. Patch up and go help Mando. 

You throw a frown in the direction of the bunk. Fat chance of that. He’d kicked you out of the cockpit just after you made the jump to hyperspace, insisted you start tending your wound while he put the kid to bed. 

A part of you could admit it was nice having someone care about you like that. But guilt still roiled in your stomach, hot and sickly. You aren’t used to sitting idle when others were busy. 

The fabric of your shirt clings tight to a small patch of burnt skin and a jab of pain pulls your attention. 

Pfassk, the bolt burned right through your jacket, shirt and a bit of your skin. It’s not a wound you can stitch close, you should really put some bacta on it… but there’s only a little left in the medkit, and who knows what might happen between now and the next town? If you clean it really well, it’ll probably be fine. 

“Want help?”

Mando’s quiet modulated voice accompanies his soft bootsteps, heading toward you from the other end of the hold.

The shirt finally comes free of the wound and you sigh in relief as the pain ebbs. “Nah, I got it. How’s the kid?”

“Fine. Sleeping.” He rifles through the medkit on the crate beside you, pulling out the bacta spray. 

“Oh, it’s ok, I don’t need -“

He holds it out, black visor steady on you, silent command obvious in the stillness of his frame.

For a moment you just look at it, the little silver cylinder grasped between orange-tipped fingers, debating on dragging this out, see who wins. Then your wound gives a particularly strong pulse of pain and you can’t stop the subsequent flinch. 

The helmet tilts. 

Dank farrik. 

Taking the bacta spray, you start applying it to the wound. “When will he wake up?”

“Not sure. It’s different every time.”

The bacta soothes the burn instantly, cooling burnt flesh and numbing the pain to the point where you can breathe easy again. “How many times has he done something like that?”

Mando takes the bacta spray as you hold it out for him, digging into the medkit again. “Twice, that I’ve seen. And once he used his powers to heal Karga from a venomous bite.”

Twice. In all the time Mando and the kid have been together, the kid has only done that twice. Kriff, in the months that you’ve been with them, he’s never even used his powers. 

And given his reaction to using them, you can guess it’s not easy for him to do so. 

Guilt churns in your stomach again. “He didn’t have to do that. For me.”

Mando pulls a square adhesive bandage from the medkit, peeling it open and turning to you with an authority that silently says there’s no use arguing with him. You let him press the bandage over the wound, touch firm but gentle, smoothing out the edges to make sure it seals properly. 

His hand lingers, gloved thumb tracing the bandage, voice dropping low and soft. “He saved my life, too.”

You blink in surprise, surge of panic at the thought of Mando in danger - in life-threatening danger - squeezing your lungs tight. Silly, he’s been in those sorts of situations many times and he’s capable of taking care of himself.

But based on how he just said those words… maybe there was one time when he wasn’t. 

A deep breath shifts through the modulator. “It was shortly after I found the kid. A mudhorn, a beast at least fifty times my size. Tried to kill me, and almost succeeded. One more blow and I would have been dead, but the kid stopped it. Lifted it right into the air. I killed it, and the kid slept for almost a full day.”

Your hand flies to grasp his, clasping tightly. If it weren’t for the kid, he wouldn’t be here, with you, right now. 

If it weren’t for the kid, you wouldn’t be here right now. 

Something heavy and cold drops into the pit of your stomach. 

You hadn’t realized - too caught up in getting off Savareen and cleaning up to get back to normal.

A normal you would not have if it weren’t for a little green dude. 

You almost died today. 

One inch deeper and the bolt would have dug into your heart. 

And a blink, a breath, a single fraction of a moment in time was all it took.

You’ve had brushes with death before. Too many to count, actually - between how far the slavers pushed your physical limits to whatever scuffles or brawls you got yourself into throughout your life, there were many times you’d faced death and barely avoided it. 

But you’d never cared about what you would be leaving behind. 

Until now. 

The movement of Mando’s thumb gliding along your collarbone suddenly feels like so much, a reminder of the life that runs through his veins and yours, a life that you almost lost. 

Warmth blooms along your skin under his touch and your focus shifts. 

In an instant you’re aware of how much of your skin is bared - not much, by most standards, you only undid the buttons down to just below your breasts. 

But certainly more than you usually expose. 

Sure, there had been a couple times when he’d seen more of you - Nevarro, when you’d shown him your scars and later that night he’d seen you in a nightshirt for a brief moment. 

But all of your… intimate encounters with Mando have been in the dark, as his lack of helmet necessitates. 

The little shiver of anxiety mixed with arousal flares, runs over your entire body, prickles along your skin. 

Keeping your gaze fixed to the visor, you lift a hand to pull the collar of your shirt open just a bit more. 

He starts, yanking his hand back as if only just now realizing what he’d been doing. 

Your heart flutters. So endearing, this sudden nervousness from the man who just last night had his head between your thighs. 

You try to keep your voice level amid the flush of adoration and anticipation, not wanting him to hear anything but absolute certainty. “Do you want to see?”

His breath catches through the modulator. A moment, then he takes the slightest step back, though his hands twitch as if tempted to reach for you. “I would never ask you for something I cannot give myself.”

This man. This beautiful mass of contrasts. One who kills and holds those he cares for with the same hands. One who fucks you against a refresher wall but balks at the thought of seeing you naked, only because of his sense of fairness. 

Slowly, you take a step, close the distance between you. “You’re not asking. I am.”

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears but you can still hear him swallow thickly, see the slight tremor run through his frame. 

And yet, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. 

What does he need?

Something nudges your thoughts, an idea, a memory… there, after he had shared the box found in the sewers of Nevarro, full of remnants of his people. What had he said to you? 

Gar haat’taylir ni. 

You see me. 

Reaching for his hand, you bring it to your shirt, curl his fingers over the first button still fastened, force your mouth to form the foreign words. “Haat’taylir ni. Please.”

His fingers clench under yours, breath shuddering through the modulator. 

A spike of anxiety pierces your chest. Does that mean something else in this context? Kriff, should you have even said them? Did you just cross a line - maybe his language was sacred, and non-Mandalorians weren’t allowed to -

His free hand slides along your jaw, tilts your head back just slightly with a firm grip on the back of your neck, thumb gliding over your bottom lip, leather of his glove soft. “‘Gedet’ye.’ Please.”

Oh pfassk. 

The rush of arousal is dizzying, your thighs squeezing tight against the pulse of it in your core, blasting anxiety away in its intensity. 

Your voice quivers just a little as the word falls from your lips. “Gedet’ye.”

His soft groan shoots straight through you, sparks into the heat of your arousal, dims the anxiety and nervousness at the thought of what you’re about to do. 

He pulls away, and your stomach sinks, embarrassment sour on your tongue. 

What… I thought… 

Then he speaks, voice dropping low, rasping with his own arousal. 

“Show me.”

The sudden shift from spiralling shame to fierce desire shades the edges of your vision, stutters your heartbeat. 

Ok. You’re doing this. 

You force your trembling hands to steady as you reach for your buttons. One by one your fingers slide them free, the fabric of your shirt falling open as your hands move down your midriff.

The black visor stays on you the entire time. 

It’s hard to breathe, your chest tight, heart pounding so quickly it almost hurts.

Your fingers loosen the last button and freeze.

Dank farrik. 

Why didn’t you think of this?

Your back. Your scars. 

You couldn’t… no, no way, there’s was no way you could -

Panic wells up underneath your ribs. Stupid, you’d gone ahead and promised him something you couldn’t give, what were you thinking -

“Tionas.”

The softly spoken word yanks you out of your spiral. He takes both of your hands in his, strength of them familiar and grounding. “Only what you’re comfortable with.”

Your breath leaves your lungs in a rushed exhale - you hadn’t realized you were holding it. 

Anxiety dissipates, leaving only affection. Of course. This is him. Unlike most, he will never expect anything more from you than what you’re willing to give. 

The warm bright thing in your chest flares. 

You want this. You want to give him this. 

An idea flits across your thoughts. 

Your lips curves into a smile, tugging on his hands until he follows your silent command, letting you move him to the storage crate beside you and guide him to sit. 

You pause, just admiring how he looks sitting there, long legs bent at the knee and spread, hands resting on his thighs, all broad strength and incredible power and unmatched intuition that lets him see parts of you that no one else has seen. 

Mandalorian, hunter, warrior - man. Patiently waiting. 

For you. 

For you to give him something you’ve never given anyone else. 

The coals of your arousal flare to life so intensely your thighs clench with it. 

Lifting your hands, you pull your shirt open, let it hang loose, framing the curves of your body. The chill air of the hold swirls over your skin, pebbles your nipples through the cups of your bra, the pricks of sensation shooting straight to your core. 

The orange-tipped fingers of his gloves flex just slightly on his thighs. 

You tilt your head to the side, running your gaze down his form. He could reach out and touch you, he’s close enough. So why the restraint?

Whatever the reason, you want to see how far he’ll take it. What will make that infamous restraint crack. 

The thought is so arousing and exhilarating you have to bite your lip to stop from grinning. 

Reaching up, you hook your fingertips into the cups of your bra and tug them down, breath catching as your breasts spill out and the cool air rushes over your nipples. 

A hiss flows through the modulator, those gloved fingers curling into fists. 

Getting there. 

You trail your fingers down your midriff, back arching into the touch.

The leather of his gloves creaks.

You toe off your boots, push them aside with one foot, and slip your fingertips under the hem of your leggings. 

A tremor runs through his frame, armour glinting in the light of the hold with the movement. 

Closer. 

Slowly, you pull your leggings down, letting them glide down your thighs. Bending to push them past your knees and down your calves, you catch the sharp intake of breath through the modulator as your breasts fall further out of the cups of your bra. 

So close, now. 

You meet the black visor’s gaze as you step out of your leggings, fingers smoothing over the tops of your thighs. Goosebumps break out over your skin, body bared to the air except where your shirt and underwear cover. A shiver races down your spine, pools in your core, sends a rush of arousal that clenches your inner walls in anticipation. 

But he doesn’t move. 

Your hands twitch with the desire to touch him, pull him close, feel him. The same need forces your feet to move, take a step toward him until you’re standing between his knees, looking down at the black visor, senses filling with the scent and the closeness of him. It only makes you need him more. 

And still, he doesn’t break.

He’s staring up at you, unseen gaze heavy on yours, shoulders rising and falling quickly with obvious rapid breath. His hands are curled into fists, pressed tight against his thigh plates. 

Maybe he’s waiting for permission?

Maybe he doesn’t think you’re attractive. 

Pfassk, maybe he’s repulsed by what he sees, and here you are, shoving it in his face -

A pained groan filters through the modulator. “Are you done? I need to touch you, mesh’la, please.”

Your lips fall open, pussy throbbing as his words sink into your skin. 

The anxiety spiral fizzles out as quickly as it began, confidence surging to take its place. 

His words, the desperation in his voice - you’ve never felt more beautiful in your entire life. 

You smile crookedly, playful elation light in your chest, arousal hot between your thighs. “Not yet.”

Spinning around with all the grace you can muster, you hook your fingers under the hem of your underwear and tug them down over your hips. 

The sound he makes as you bend over to slide them down your legs yanks a moan of your own from your throat. 

You straighten up, look at him over your shoulder. He’s nearly shaking, hands splayed over his thighs, black visor fixed to your bare ass. 

Crikking hells, his reaction to your nakedness is hot. 

You’re done teasing. 

Shifting, you spread your feet just a bit so your pussy is exposed to his view - pfassk, you’re already so wet, the cool air rushes over your slick folds - and open your mouth to speak, tell him to touch you.  

There’s a whirlwind of movement and his gloves are tugged off and hitting the floor and yes his hands are on you, one grabbing the curve of your hip while the other dives between your thighs. A moan punches from your chest, head falling back at the feel of his fingers sliding through your folds. 

He groans, low and rough. “Fuck, you’re so wet already.”

“For you. I want you, always want -“ your words choke off as a thick fingertip glides over your clit. 

His hand on your hip shifts, holds you as his fingertip circles your clit firmly. “I know. Me too, cyar’ika.”

He starts a steady rhythm and sparks of pleasure swarm down your body, curling your toes against the cold durasteel floor, parting your thighs even more. 

Oh pfassk that feels so kriffing good -

Your hands cup your breasts, a shudder running down your entire body as the warmth of your palms envelopes your peaked nipples, hips rolling back and pleasure arcing up with the combined sensation of his fingers moving just right over your clit -

Then he stops, and you cry out, rising pleasure shuddering to a halt. But he isn’t pulling away, his hands are grasping your hips and pushing, turning you to face him, pulling you down onto his lap. 

Stumbling with the movement, you manage to get your legs on either side of his, gripping his arms as he settles back against the wall, the cold of his armour biting deliciously into your inner thighs.

The helmet tilts, black visor clearly taking in the sight of you. His voice rasps through the modulator. “Want to watch you come for me.”

Oh pfassk. 

A fresh wave of arousal flushes through your core. Your hands move to curl around his wrists, bringing one hand to a breast and the other to your aching cunt. “I want you to watch, too, see how good you make me feel.”

His groan bites off as his hand cups your breast, the other your pussy, fingers slipping through your slick. “Fuck, only want to make you feel good, mesh’la.”

Your hips press down into his palm, your hand curving his tighter to your breast. “Make me come for you, please, gedet’ye -“

He thrusts two fingers deep into your cunt and your back bows with the stretch, words cutting off with a broken moan. His palm grinds over your clit as his hand on your breast flexes, squeezing, fingertips digging into soft flesh. 

Pleasure courses through your veins, dizzying, rocking your body with the force of it, hips rolling with each wave. Your hand lets go of his wrist, clings to his arm for balance, a whimper slips from your mouth at the feel of his muscles flexing under his clothes with every thrust of his fingers into your wet heat. 

His hand on your breast slides out from under yours, shifting to pull your nipple between his finger and thumb, and cricking hells  -

Your entire body shakes with pleasure, so intense it sets you reeling, both hands now grabbing at his arms to keep from falling backward.

A low hum filters through the modulator. “Does that feel good, mesh’la?”

He does it again, tugging your hardened nipple just right as his fingers curl deep inside your cunt and press against some spot and your panting breath chokes in your throat, pleasure so bright it’s blinding shooting through your entire body. “Oh pfassk yes like that - “

“Fuck, look at you.” His voice is so low, so rough it’s almost a growl. “So fucking beautiful like this, like always. Come for me, I want to see you come.”

Your orgasm suddenly looms, drawing tight across your hips and thighs and his fingers pulse against that spot inside you as he rolls your nipple between his thumb and finger and -

Words fall from you, rushed and broken, eyelids closing and head falling back as pleasure becomes overwhelming. “Please don’t stop I’m gonna come -“

A sharp pinch to your nipple makes you gasp, eyes finding the black visor in surprise and you can’t look away, gaze fixed to him. 

His palm presses over your clit and his fingertips flutter inside your cunt, pulling you right to the edge. “Eyes open, cyar’ika. I want to see.”

Oh kriff. 

Pleasure breaks and it’s -

Blinding white and silver and black -

A rush of hot slick heat squelches with the movement of his fingers - 

It’s so much and your brow furrows with the effort of keeping your eyes open, whimper pushing from your throat -

Thighs tremble and you can’t breathe and still his fingers pulse inside your cunt, pressing against your inner walls as they flutter and squeeze and -

The low rasp of his voice breaks through the throbbing of your heartbeat in your ears. “Look at me, almost -“

Something cracks and gushes and a cry tears from your chest, your entire body shudders hard, his hand leaving your breast to move around your back, keep you there, keep you on his fingers as pleasure shatters over you. 

Wet slick throb heat -

Then there’s the release and you’re falling, crumpling against his chest and it’s too much, so much still, waves of pleasure sending tremors through your muscles and pulling another rush from your cunt and everything narrows into that moment, the feeling of his fingers still inside you as you flutter and clench and hot slick pools in his palm, engulfs your throbbing clit and it feels so good -

A high-pitched sob - yours, muffled in his cowl as you scramble to pull him closer, needing an anchor, a final wave of pleasure ripping through your body and stealing every ounce of strength you have left. 

Your lungs gasp for air, filling for the first time in who knows how long, catching once as he gently slips his fingers from your pussy. Quiet words are falling above you, Mando’s low rasp full of something like awe. 

“So beautiful when you come, fuck I could watch you forever…”

Your heart skips a beat, squeezes tight, so tight it hurts and tears sting in the corners of your eyes. Thoughts still scattered, you pull together enough words to say what you want him to hear. “Want you… inside me please… want you to see what you do to me…”

His moan is soft and broken through the modulator, a large hand cupping your cheek to gently pull your face to look at him. “What I do to - fuck, tionas, you destroy me and heal me in the same breath.”

The warm bright thing in your chest shoves a needy cry from your throat. 

You push yourself up right with your hands pressed against his breastplate, shifting forward so you straddle his hips closer, moaning when your naked pussy presses against the hard length of his cloth-covered cock. His hands grasp your waist, holding you there as his hips flex under yours, push his cock against your cunt, sparks of arousal flexing back to life with the grind of fabric, rough and soaking wet with your release, on your sensitive clit.

Your gaze flits over the helmet, catches on the black visor, sees your reflection there - features contorted in pleasure limned with something like need but deeper, a primal desire for connection. For him. 

His hips arch up under yours again and echoing groans fall in the small space between you. 

It’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

You paw at his cowl, tugging as if it would bring him closer, thoughts so clouded with need it’s hard to focus on anything but the emptiness of your cunt. “Need your cock inside me now, gedet’ye.”

His growl is deep even through the modulator and a strong arm bands under your ass to lift you up for a moment, his free hand fumbling beneath you, then there’s the press of his bare cock to your folds and your hips rock forward to pull the smooth head to your entrance and he bites out another groan as you push against the hold of his arm to sink down onto his cock. 

The stretch is everything, slick walls easing the way, the thick of his cock divine and you stop breathing again until your thighs are flush with his once more. He’s deep - so deep - and your pussy pulses around his length and pfassk it’s so good -

Then his hips flex and the arm under your ass lifts and your eyes widen in shock at how good that feels, the weight of his cock pulling slowly along your inner walls before he lets you slide back down into him again.

You want more, more of the and more of him.

Your thighs strain with the effort but you find a rhythm, his arm aiding your movements, and you lose yourself in the drag and thrust, the repeated empty and full, pleasure thrumming through your veins.

His hand cups your cheek, draws your gaze to the black visor - when had you closed your eyes? It fills your vision, blends with your pleasure until the sight of him becomes a physical sensation itself, stroking a part of you that you didn’t know existed. 

A calloused thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “Can you feel it, mar’eyce?”

You know he’s talking about that, the source of that strange primal need, the thing that’s been pulling you toward each other since your first meeting, always there but now brought into the open, glimmering under the warm light of the hold, evidenced there in the glint of his armour and the faint tremor of his golden-skinned hand and the open, vulnerable expression on your face, reflected in the black visor. 

As his cock sinks into your heat once more, words drift from your lips. “Yes I feel it, I feel you, and me, right here where we belong.”

His cock throbs inside you, an answer pulse of your pussy pulling moans from both of you. Pfassk, your thighs are screaming for rest but you can’t stop, the need to feel him come inside you driving your movements faster. 

His hand falls from your face to grab desperately at your hip. “Fuck, yes just like that -“

“Please come for me need to feel you -“ Your voice cuts off as his hips suddenly drive into yours, head of his cock pressing tight against that bright point of pleasure-pain, tearing all ability to speak from your thoughts. 

Again he draws out and back in and there right there oh pfassk -

Again and again -

Your core flexes and squeezes and you’re going to come again -

His voice stutters with every thrust. “Do it, come again for me, let me see you come on my cock.”

It blindsides you, pleasure rips through your body out of nowhere and your cunt pulses around the thick of him, drawing his cock deep to shove against that spot and it’s so much -

He grunts once, twice, again and his cock throbs against your walls as he comes, fingers digging deep into the softness of your hip. 

Bright wet heat and then -

The drop and you’re sobbing as it finally releases you, reeling, but he’s pulling you close and tucking you into his chest and you’re safe. 

Time passes quietly. The only sounds are your slowly steadying breaths and the hum of the ship’s engines. Nothing moves while you hurtle through hyperspace together, embedded in this moment, just the two of you.

Eventually your thoughts pull together, start to pick through what just happened. 

What… did just happen?

Your body is satiated, pleasantly wrung out, drifting on the remnants of the haze of pleasure. Yet there’s a raw ache in your chest, a sense of vulnerability that draws down the corners of your mouth, makes you want to curl up in a ball and never look at the world again. 

But his hands are on your back, warm and firm and stroking smooth lines up and down, pausing occasionally to brush a thumb over the back of your neck or the curve of your spine, as if seeking to reassure those vulnerable parts of you. 

His touch curves around that raw ache until you can’t feel it any more. 

And you suddenly realize you’re freezing.

Legs still bare, the chill air of the hold sends tiny shivers along your skin. 

“Pfassk.” You burrow closer to him, seeking his warmth beneath the hard lines of his armour. “Cold.”

He moves beneath you, a rustle of movement then he’s draping his cowl around your waist, pulling the fabric over your legs. “Better?”

You hum in acknowledgment, though common sense provides a logical option. “Could just get dressed again.”

His hands pause their journey on your back, arms tightening around you. “I’ll keep you warm, cyar’ika.”

A little huff of laughter vibrates through your words. “And naked.” 

“Exactly.”

His hands start up their motion again, and the shift of the cloth of your shirt over your back makes your throat close over. 

Swallowing hard, you turn your face into the curve of his neck, the words too hard to say with any force of volume. “Thank you. For not… for letting me keep my shirt on. I can’t - I can’t do… that… “

One of his hands finds your cheek again, fingers tucking under your jaw to bring your gaze to his, words falling soft through the modulator. “I didn’t ‘let’ you do anything. You have the power to choose what you give to me.”

You’re staring at him, you know it. 

But what else are you supposed to do?

No one has ever spoken to you like that before. 

Power? 

You’ve never had power. At one point, you thought you did, thought you were choosing the life you had. But you only did it was because of the power someone else has held over you. All of your different lives and identities, they weren’t chosen because you wanted them - they were an escape, a means of hiding from those who would do you harm. 

They were aliases, false fronts, make believe. A way to hide your true self.

All because of the power others held over you, the power to take your life away from you. 

A life you realize you don’t want to ever let go of. 

And now you’re sitting here, naked and spread open in his lap, as vulnerable as you can be, and he’s saying you have power. 

That warm bright thing in your chest grows, expands until you can barely breathe, barely say the words building up on your tongue. “How do you do that? How do you make me feel so strong and alive and real?” 

He pauses, and you can almost feel his gaze tracing your features, noting the open plea in your expression. “Because you do the same to me, tionas.”

Oh. 

No one has ever made you feel this way before.

Or him. You tilt your forehead to rest against his, cool beskar soothing. “Everything is different with you.”

A soft sigh filters through the modulator. “Yes. Everything is different with you.”

*****

Mando’a translations:

Mesh’la - beautiful

Cyar’ika - sweetheart

Tionas - question

Gedet’ye - please

Mar’eyce - something wonderful discovered, a state of heaven

*****

Previous Chapter

[misscorn]

Day 6 Takaritsu Day/Confession

I can't believe @takaritsuweek is almost over yet again. It always goes by in such a whirlwind lol enjoy <3

***

"You know what I regret most about our high school relationship?" Masamune asked, Ritsu's back currently to him as they snuggled up under the covers, both of them naked from previous nighttime activities.

It was pillow-talk moments like these before Ritsu inevitably fell asleep that Masamune could attempt to open up without Ritsu fleeing the room in fear of emotional intimacy. Ritsu was shy about physical intimacy, but it seemed as though vulnerability was his kryptonite.

"The fact that it happened at all?" Ritsu mumbled tiredly, hoping Masamune would drop it at that and let him go to bed. Masamune gently pinched his side, apparently not appreciating his cheekiness at the moment.  "Well, I thought it was funny..." Ritsu grumbled, too tired to realize that thought had made it past the filter.

"Don't even joke about that." Masamune scolded, entirely too serious. Like he could ever regret meeting and falling in love with Ritsu. "My biggest regret is that I never properly confessed to you. I mean, I know I said I love you that night in my room the first time we-"

"Spare me the details." Ritsu interrupted, still only sounding half awake.

"Fine, skipping the details." Masamune said with a roll of his eyes. "Basically, my confession never meant anything because you obviously didn't hear it." Otherwise there would've been no need for the 'big question' that had torn them apart. "And it's not because it could've saved us ten years of separation-well, at least that's not completely why. It's because you deserved a confession; a big, grand, heart-pounding confession. You loved me so much and so intensely and never asked for anything back."

It wasn't inaccurate to compare Ritsu to rain or the ocean or even a hurricane with how he had fully enveloped Masamune in the waves of his love. But never had it felt like drowning, no, it had been like floating without a worry in the world. Masamune couldn't recall a time he had felt like that before Ritsu, but all Masamune had done to reciprocate that love was promise himself that he'd crush Ritsu's 'delusions'. The worst part was he then accidentally followed through with that promise.

"Every day there were little reminders about how much you cared about me, if you weren't just outright confessing again. You were so thoughtful and kind and I...couldn't even say I love you and make sure that you heard it. You deserved an epic high school sweetheart romance. You had so much love to give and for some reason you gave it to me and I never returned the favor." Masamune finished, hoping he was making some kind of sense.

It was quiet for a few moments, in fact it was quiet for longer than Masamune would've liked, and for a second Masamune worried that Ritsu had fallen asleep halfway through his rambling. I swear I will bully him so badly at work tomorrow... However, just as Masamune started to stew in frustration, a very awake Ritsu turned over to face him.

"It wasn't a 'favor' and I wasn't doing anything out of the kindness my heart-"

"That's a lie." Masamune said. "Only an extremely kind person would've put up with me for as long as you did, even if in the end you did run off. Some days I seriously thought you had to be some kind of saint." Especially after that outburst in the library that neither he or Ritsu liked talking about. That topic was even more forbidden than The Laugh.

"You are exaggerating. Yes, I did nice things, and yes it was mostly because I wanted to see you happy and healthy, but it was also because I loved you and very selfishly wanted you to love me back." Ritsu said.

"Wanting to be loved back isn't selfish." Masamune said.

Ritsu snorted. "Please, it's totally selfish, especially with the way you tend to go about it." He said, gently pushing Masamune for emphasis. "You don't need someone to love you back in order to keep loving them and taking care of them, but you want it anyway because it'll make you happy. I think that's selfish." He said. "And I wanted you to love me back more than anything. Maybe I 'deserved' something out of a romance movie, but people don't always get what they deserve. Even if I had gotten some confession out of a fairytale, it wouldn't have meant anything if it wasn't from you. I just wanted you, at whatever level you were willing to meet me at, and I had you. At least for a little bit." Ritsu said, getting quieter and quieter the longer he spoke. "Besides, maybe it's better that we separated. We both had a lot of growing up to do." He added, the strength in his voice returning.

"We could've grown together. We might be even better than we are now if we had stayed together." Masamune said.

"Maybe." Ritsu shrugged. "But this is where we are."

"And where is this?" Masamune asked. "Obviously, the literal where is in my bed, but what does that mean for us, Ritsu? Is you being here with me a good sign? Are we any closer to being together than we were yesterday or is this another step forward before we take two more steps back?"

Ritsu took a deep, slow breath, carefully contemplating Masamune's question. "I know what you want me to say-"

"I want you to be honest." Masamune said. "I love you. I'm going to love you for the rest of my life. Even if you never get to where I am, I'm going to love you. So, where are you?"

Ritsu took another deep breath, thankful for the darkness that hid him somewhat. "I'm with you." He answered. "I'm wherever you are." I always have been, haven't I? Peeking around a corner, waiting for you to give me the time of day...I've always been here.

Masamune gently ran his fingers through Ritsu's hair, admiring him as best he could in the low light provided by the moon shining through his bedroom window before he kissed him.

"I love you."

"...I love you too."

[searchingwardrobes]

Valentine Throwbacks: Day 3

This Valentine’s fic was also written for the Tumblr Valentine’s prompts back in 2018. This one was day 8: First “I love you.” I don’t know if this qualifies as canon or canon divergent. I think of it as “filling in a plot hole.” Dark Hook’s words to Emma in Broken Heart about how he always said it first made no sense to me. After all, from what we saw on screen, Emma said it first and Killian had only ever said it indirectly. I know some people explain it by saying the darkness twists the truth, but I got to thinking . . . In Operation Mongoose, all Emma said was that she never told him how she felt. Maybe he threw the “L” word around all the time. I know people have very strong feelings about this topic, but this isn’t me portraying Killian as “taking away Emma’s agency” (because that would imply a man can never say “I love you” first, which is ridiculous, or that saying the words at all are somehow manipulative, which is also ridiculous). This is just me doing what fanfic writers do - taking canon and going, I wonder . . .

Can you tell I had to delete a nasty comment about this fic back in 2018? I still love it, though, and wanted to share it again.

Summary: Three times Killian Jones tells Emma Swan he loves her, and one time he doesn't.

Words: 2k and some change

Rating: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  @snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @let-it-raines​ @teamhook​ @bethacaciakay​ @xhookswenchx​ @tiganasummertree​ @shireness-says​ @stahlop​ @scientificapricot​ @welllpthisishappening​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @kday426​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @carpedzem​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @branlovestowrite​ @superchocovian​ @sherlockwhovian​ @vvbooklady1256​ @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @jennjenn615​ @snidgetsafan​ @xsajx​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @spartanguard​ @hookedonapirate​

One: The First Date

The sea always calmed Killian, and while calm was an odd way to feel when he was finally on a date with Emma Swan, it was the best word he could use to describe how he felt right now. Despite his worries over his supposedly cursed hand, despite the ice witch who was out there somewhere, Killian felt deliciously content in this moment. Emma’s hand was in his, he could hear the soothing beat of the waves beneath the docks, and Emma’s hair glittered like gold in the moonlight.

She let go of his hand to lean against the railing of the boardwalk, and as she did, he noted the elegant curve of her neck, the way her ponytail swished against her shoulder blades, the almost girlish way she popped her foot and dug her toe into the old, wet boards. She shivered, and he inwardly berated himself for not thinking of the dropping temperatures or her bare shoulders (aside from admiring her soft skin, that is).

He shrugged out of his leather jacket and quickly draped it over her. “Here love, you have more need of this than I do.”

Emma accepted it gladly with a soft thank you, slipping her arms into the sleeves and hugging her torso. She was uncharacteristically vulnerable tonight, and he hoped that was because she felt safe with him.

She shivered still as she drew the jacket tighter around herself, and Killian came closer to wrap his arms around her from behind. She sighed and leaned back into him. Words didn’t seem necessary for the moment as they simply stood there, wrapped up in one another, gazing at the stars. Killian lowered his head to nuzzle into her neck, the scent of her shampoo making his heart thud loudly in his chest.

“I love you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if it was the quiet, or her softness in his arms, but the words just slipped out.

She stiffened slightly, and he held his breath, fearful that he had spoken too soon. She turned, still in the circle of his arms, her face flushed, eyes shining and darting to and fro. The moment stretched out, marked by the undulating sound of the waves below.

Finally, she raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him. He kissed her back, knowing it was the only answer she could give. At least for now.

 Two: Valentine’s Day

“Swan!” Killian shouted, as he burst into the loft. His fear ratcheted up a few more notches when he saw that the place was empty. It had been weeks since the Crocodile left town, and therefore weeks since there had been a crisis, but Emma’s text message had him falling right back into that mode. He glanced down at his screen to read the message again.

Come to the loft. Hurry.

He heard a laugh from the top of the stairs, and when he lifted his gaze from his phone, he saw Emma standing there, a bright smile on her face. Killian let out a huge sigh of relief as he pocketed his phone.

“Bloody hell, Swan, you scared me to death!”

“I scared Captain Hook?” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her head. “Yay me. Now get up here, pirate.”

Killian did as she asked without further complaint. Belle had teased him about being whipped, and when she explained to him what that meant, he couldn’t really argue. He’d traded his ship for this woman, jumped through a time portal for her. Anything else was a trifle, really.

When he reached the second floor of the loft, Emma stood in front of her bathroom door with her hands behind her back grasping the doorknob. She wore an eager grin and there was delight shining in her eyes.

“Do you know what today is?”

Killian scratched his jaw with the curve of his hook. “Aye, Valentine’s Day, a holiday which requires Granny to decorate the diner with tacky red hearts and naked babies with bows and arrows.”

Emma chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah, I know, it’s kind of cheesy. But you’ve done so much for me, I wanted to do a little something for you . . . so . . . “

With that she flung the door open, simultaneously grabbing his hook and pulling him through the door. The claw foot tub in the corner was filled to almost overflowing with big, frothy bubbles.

“It’s a bubble bath,” Emma explained, shaking his arm excitedly. “You were so thrilled with showers, and my parents said there were no bubble baths in the Enchanted Forest, not like this, sooo . . ta-da!”

Killian grinned at the thought she had apparently put into this. He approached the tub cautiously, dipping his hand in to find the water invitingly warm. It was difficult to keep water at such a perfect temperature back in the Enchanted Forest. He glanced around and also saw candles burning all over the room.

“Come on,” Emma said, yanking on his arm, “before the water gets cold and the bubbles disappear.”

She had already yanked off his jacket and tossed it on the floor. He was blushing, which was slightly embarrassing. “You, uh, talked to your parents about this?”

Emma rolled her eyes as she unbuttoned his vest. “Are you kidding? My dad would have a coronary. After he pulled his gun on you, that is. I just asked for a few hours without the baby. I think mom suspected something, but my dad seems to be a little clueless about that sort of thing. Or at least when it involves me.”

Killian’s vest was cast aside, and he watched Emma as she worked on the buttons of his shirt. Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she worked them. “How do you do this with one hand?” She muttered. “These buttons are tiny.”

Killian cleared his throat nervously as he closed his hand around Emma’s, “I think I can handle it from here.”

“No way, sailor,” Emma corrected him with a heated stare, “that tub is big enough for two.”

His blush only increased as he gazed into her eyes. Not only was this a new step in their own relationship, but it was a level of intimacy he had never shared with anyone after losing his hand. Sex became nothing more than a rough, quick release with nameless, faceless women who craved a night to forget just as much as he did. While some women had seen him without his hook, no living person had seen him without his brace since that horrible, painful day on his ship so long ago. And he hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was ashamed.

“Emma,” was all he managed to choke out as he rubbed his thumb nervously along the inside of her wrist. He wasn’t sure how to put what he was feeling into words. He just stood there, staring at the floor and clenching his jaw.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, reaching up with both hands to cup his face. She eased his chin up until his eyes met hers, and what he saw there stole his breath. Understanding. Patience. And above all, acceptance. She ran her thumbs wordlessly across his cheeks for a moment, then her hands drifted down to finish the buttons. She eased his shirt off his shoulders and one arm, then carefully worked the other sleeve around his hook. Then she ran her hand over the leather straps, almost as if she were admiring them.

“It’s okay,” she whispered as she unbuckled them. Her voice soothed him, but he still closed his eyes as she eased the brace completely from his torso. He kept them closed as her hands mapped his chest, his shoulders, his arms. Then she was cradling his stump in both hands, running her thumbs over the scars. His eyes finally opened to see her do what he had thought was unthinkable. She lifted his arm to her lips and placed a soft kiss at the end of it. His own breath came out in a shaky hiss.

“It’s okay,” she said again, pressing his stump against her to rest between her breasts. She stepped closer, her free arm encircling his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest, his bad arm wedged between them.

Killian, almost overcome with the tenderness of the moment, brought his hand up shakily to run his one hand through her hair. He lowered his face to breathe in the softness of her hair. “I love you so much,” he told her huskily.

She lifted her head to look at him, her mouth agape. Her eyes were awash with intensity, and he waited with bated breath for her words to come.

But Emma’s expression changed to a smirk as she yanked at the zipper of his jeans instead.

 Three: The Cabin in the Woods

He stands there, simply gazing at her in amazement. He can’t believe she doesn’t know. Tears prick at his eyes. Is it that hard for her to believe she’s enough?

“Don’t you know, Emma?” he finally manages to say around the lump in his throat. “It’s you.”

The look on her face almost kills him. So shocked and full of wonder. They are drawn together slowly, tenderly, and as he kisses her, he can taste a tear in the corner of her mouth. He turns to kiss the salty path on her cheek.

“I love you,” he breathes against her petal soft skin.

She just buries her face in the crook of his neck and sighs.

 Four: The Loft

One moment, lowly deckhand Hook feels cold steel slice through skin, muscle, and sinew. He reaches his one hand out to Emma Swan, regretting that he hadn’t grabbed hold of the moment offered him earlier. That he hadn’t leaned down and kissed her. Because no one has ever looked at him that way before. And no one has ever looked as devastated as Emma Swan does right now as he falls to the ground, the life bleeding out of him.

The next moment, his eyes are opening and he’s on his back on a hardwood floor. He’s Captain Hook again. No, he’s Killian Jones, hero and the man who loves Emma Swan. He smiles. They did it. Henry and Emma did it!

Henry! He leaps to his feet, ignoring the groans of Snow and David still on the floor behind him as he races upstairs to be sure the lad is ok. He doesn’t even have time to look for the boy when Emma bursts in, “Hook!” the first word on her lips.

He can tell she’s frantic and distraught, so he plays cocky and comedic. It was the right choice, as her face lights up with joy. She comes racing up the stairs, his given name now spoken with delight as she tackles him with a hug. It takes him by surprise when she tumbles with him onto the bed, knocking the breath out of him in the process. But he delights in the weight of her pressing him into the mattress and he enjoys it even more when she pins his arms on either side of his head, propping herself up to grin down at him. He really wishes her parents weren’t right downstairs.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you, love,” he tells her, “when I woke, I came up here to check on your boy.”

“He’s fine, Henry’s fine . . . “ She trails off, her smile faltering, and her eyes getting a sort of far-off look.

Concerned, he sits up, his forehead creasing as he searches her suddenly pale expression. “What is it, love?”

“It’s just . . . when I saw you die . . . I was afraid I would never get to tell you . . . “

Killian thinks he knows where she’s going with this. He understands her walls, her fears, her insecurities. Mostly because he’s felt them too. He tries to encourage her, but feels he only succeeds in plastering a ridiculously broad grin on his face.

“To tell you . . . thank you.”

For a brief moment, his heart drops all the way to his stomach. He died for her, and still she holds back. But he swallows down the hurt and disappointment. It has to be on her terms, he only wants it on her terms, and so he smiles. He barely hears the rest of her babbling thank you.

“All in a day’s work for a hero,” he tells her when she finishes. She presses her forehead to his, burying her fingers in his hair. He wonders if she expects him to say it like he always does: I love you. But this time, he can’t.

Killian Jones is a patient man. One day, perhaps, she’ll simply say it. Those three little words he longs to hear from her lips.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Head Over Heels

HEADCANON 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Words: 1,340 

Summary: Dating the one and only, Bucky Barnes, would include... 

Warnings: fluff overload, mentions of overprotective Bucky, smut, dom!Bucky, mentions of sugar Daddy!Bucky, NSFW!!! 

A/N - I just felt the urge to write for Bucky... I miss my main man <3 

The first time you’d recall ever coming across Bucky was through the national televised news... He was a tad bit of a hot topic in the day, especially during his time as the notorious, Winter Soldier. 

Before then, you would have never believed in the slightest that you’d ever end up being with him, let alone actually, personally know him. 

You’d met through a mutual friend, that friend being Natasha. You’d met Natasha when she'd first moved to America, and you were one of the few people she’d let help her to adjust to this new, foreign lifestyle. And ultimately, you were one of the few closest to her... She knew you’d be perfect for him. 

When you’d both had first introduced yourselves, the two of you were nervous. Bucky had anticipated the worst, considering his horrendously tragic past was exposed, he knew with certainty that you’d want no part in having to deal with him... And yet, it was wrong for him to assume. 

He fell in love with you gradually. The more often he saw you, and the more often he’d talked to you, meant the more comfortable he’d become.

And that was what he needed, was time. 

You knew better than to rush with Bucky, Natasha had cautioned you, “he can be a bit of a flight risk.”

“How about we change that!” 

Simultaneously, the more frequently you’d seen Bucky, the more you felt yourself physically and mentally falling for him. 

You cared for him in ways you’d never encountered before in any previous relationship. You worried about him, yet you’d come to realise his capability in handling himself. 

He lived alone for quite sometime in his life, you’d learnt... He developed the necessary skills needed to overcome his own personal issues. 

And you were incredibly proud... You made sure he knew. 

Bucky loved intimacy: you realised that through the progression of the relationship. 

He loved being alone with you, he loved being close to you physically. Knowing that you were there with him, protected by him, safe and out of harms way, was all he needed to get a peaceful and plentiful sleep at night. 

And to be quite honest, you clinged to that. You admired how seriously protective he'd become over you... Which was one of the earliest signs you'd encountered, of realising just how deeply you could trust him. 

Which is why you feared not for yourself, although for the safety of others, where people would either intentionally or unknowingly dare to cross the boundary Bucky created in his mind.

Whether it be the local drunk at the bar, desperately trying to flirt or a fellow Avenger/S.H.I.E.L.D agent innocently trying to spark up a simple conversation with you... Bucky was never the ideal fan. 

He’d have a quick temper, that you’d never get used to, the way he'd barge his way through towards you, and directly question the intention of the person... The man was accustomed to not showing remorse. 

You could tell almost immediately when he’d be pissed: his fists would curl tightly, making his knuckles glow white, his metal arm making that familiar whirling sound whenever it tensed with pressure, and his face would just contort in pure rage. His entire demeanour would change and stiffen throughout the day, and it was difficult to reverse that. 

“Did you see the way that pathetic low life was looking at you, Y/N? It’s disgusting... I could tell just exactly what was running through his fucking mind.” 

No matter how many times you’d reassure him that it was never in your nature to neither hurt nor to leave him, it was a struggle to convince Bucky. 

That was until you’d first uttered the words “I love you.” 

You’d be the first in the relationship to admit it, and it was simply in the spur of the moment...Almost felt instinct to say it. 

Bucky would have definitely have mutual feelings, and would admit that he’d always intended on saying it, although was ultimately fearful of rejection. 

And yet, you had a solid feeling there was no chance of leaving Bucky... You were in it with him for the long run, and you were certain no matter the costs, nor the toll it take, you wanted to stick by Bucky. 

Nonetheless, being in a relationship with Bucky meant you’d be close to his dearest friends, Steve and Sam. 

“So you're the one he’s been driving us crazy about, talking non-stop about Y/N this, Y/N that... You must be one heck of a girl, to have the Winter Soldier head over heels for-,” Sam had mentioned the moment you'd initially met him.

You blushed to the sincere thought that Bucky would persistently talk about you to his fellow peers. A small smile would appear every time you'd think about it, and you felt no shame about it... Like Sam said, it meant he was head over heels for you.

And you’d come to know exactly what he meant, the first time Bucky and you had ever really gotten physically intimate. 

He was gentle with you at first, as he had introduced himself to be when he’d first gotten to know you. His intention was to not scare you away, and the same rules applied in bed... Initially. 

After some time, once you’d both familiarised yourselves with each other’s rhythms and naked bodies... Bucky become a little more adventurous in bed. 

Another side came out of him, that you'd thought never existed, that he had his so well. 

He ultimately loved being dominant, taking over the situation with sheer force and control. 

He loved how vulnerable you’d get against him and drooled over the way you’d whimper and moan his name. 

Being a super soldier, you'd come to understand, everything for Bucky was heightened: his senses, his feelings and his sheer body mass... Meaning he was BIG.

He’d known without a doubt that it would hurt: the penetration into your tight cunt, his sheer bulge even made you wet, dripping with cum, as he firmly rubbed himself either against your ass cheeks or just above your cunt. 

He was a HUGE fan of hickeys, any way of showing his raw affection, especially the fact that he’d be able to leave HIS mark all over you... He had no shame. Once he'd lose himself during the sex, he’d often spank your ass hard, loving the jiggle underneath his hand, leaving nothing but a red mark of where his palm smacked all over. 

He was a passionate lover, and loved taking his time with you: he wasn't a fan of quickies however, it’s not like he had ever said no, nor denied you sex.

In fact, he was often the one instigating it, whenever possible, however as said before, he loved the privacy of just you two, and preferred spaces where no one could invade. 

Bucky loved to spoil you also. Anything to sweeten you up, and brighten your day, he'd bend his back for you without a doubt. 

His gifts always had more sentiment than commercial value to it: although on the special occasions, such as your birthday, or your anniversaries, he’d buy anything and everything you either touched or laid your hands on. 

You often would joke and tease him about being a Sugar Daddy, and yet he thrived off the idea discretely. 

Undoubtedly, you’d return the favour in bed... And that was all he could ask for. He especially was a major fan of your thigh riding: the way you sat prompted up on top of him, the slight bounce of your tits, as your body specifically your hips swaying back and forth against his thighs and bulging erection. He loved pushing you deeper down against it, and the warm feeling of your wetness just seeping through his jeans... He loved every intricate detail of you. 

Nonetheless, he was all yours and you were all his, and you both were madly head over heels for each other. 

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Day Twelve

Hi darlings, I hope you are all well! Stay safe and LOUD! If you need a little break, here is something to read! Love to you all, and my boo @dirtystyles for being my friend and beta!

Reblogs are love!

Day 12: The One With The Request

"Babe?" Harry called from the door.

Elise barely heard him from the inside of the shower cubicle. Her shower cubicle.

"Sorry, love!" He cooed when he opened the door and she jumped. His voice did little to calm her racing heart. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She turned her head to look at him, keeping her naughty bits pointed at the shower head instead of in his line of sight. "It's alright. Now I don't have to workout today thanks to this adrenaline rush."

"You were gonna work out with me today?" He was pouting.

"Well, no." She laughed despite feeling slightly uncomfortable, him fully clothed and her naked as the day in the shower. "But it sounds better than I knew I was gonna be lazy, doncha think?"

He smiled for her. "I thought I'd missed an opportunity. Any way I can convince you?" He settled his thumb into the waist band of his sweatpants and his large hand covered most of his bulge. Harry was a morning person. He liked getting up early, well early for quarantine. And he -liked- mornings, the last two days had taught her.  While she'd always thought of sex as a night time activity, at least for normal people not sneaking around, she was learning the different flavors to pleasure, the soft glow of morning, playful delights of afternoons, and intense connection of late nights. Of all these, Harry seemed most interested in slow rolling morning fucks.

She'd snuck away this dawn to shower by herself before he roused. He had effectively wiped her nerves, well any and all negative things, from her mind last night after their Friends marathon. All of the thoughts that had invaded after his comments about finishing all ten seasons in three days got to her. Elise was glad he really only turned to look at her face when he asked if she was hungry, before making them sandwiches, on the remaining bread, and smoothies. Afterwards, she'd laid on his chest and he wasn't able to see that her mind was not on the televised shenanigans, but that they had an expiration date. Once the show was over, they were too.

They had always had an expiration date she supposed, from that sneeze, but things had changed for her. Elise had been developing more than a crush on him since the minute they crossed his threshold. She knew it was more when he'd joked about shaving his head, the curls, just to see the online response and her brain had commented, hot. Harry without his curls still totally appealed to her. She was sunk. And then, they'd cuddled, and flirted. And that was before they got to the kissing and the cavorting.

Did cavorting cover what they had been doing? He'd had her on multiple flat surfaces by this point, and the stairs had been too long to make it up them the night before. Her neck was not thanking her. And his bed. The hours they'd whiled away in bed. All the eye contact and sweet nothings meant something to her.

She'd woken up hazy and high. The love he'd made, and she had no other way to describe it, to her last night was different than the slow and precise focus on her pleasure the day before, the bread making shenanigans and the couch fumble and stair fuck.

He'd been patient like the morning one, and silly like in the kitchen, and insatiable like on the sofa, but he'd been all of them simultaneously and worshipful too.

Elise was smiling when she woke up. Their heads were on the same pillow, his bigger body wrapped around her and creating a buffer from everything outside. All the nothing outside. Even emptier after this. He had shut off her worries last night, but doubled her fear of loss doing it.

Elise now had something to lose.

Once she'd truly woken up, she needed some distance. Either she was gonna have to detach and take this for what it was, a 14 day  fever dream, with the last three being particularly fanfic worthy. Or she was going to have to have a conversation with Harry about what came next.

Elise was not sure which was more terrifying. She supposed she had opportunity for the talk now, though she was not sure she could feel more vulnerable.

"Right." Harry suddenly said and shucked his shorts off like a husk of corn.

"What are you doing?" She noted his dick was flaccid. Which made her feel sad and relieved. A brain scrambling or the intimacy his hard cock led to was more than she could cope with while she found her words.

"Well I was going to get in the shower with you. If that's ok?" God, why did he always ask!? It put the ball in her court, and she was horrible at sports, and it made him more wonderful every time.

"Um, I'm kind of sore." She was. If she was honest.

He palmed himself, he'd chubbed up a little by now. "Honestly, I'm assuming from the color of your skin, I'm gonna have some shrinkage from the scalding—"

"You could use it." She grinned.

"You want my dick to be smaller?" God, his damn face.

She shrugged. "Might help with the soreness."

"But not the orgasms." He pointed like a gun.

"I'm confident you would find a way to use it well."

"Ah! I'll take the implied compliment!" He squared his shoulders and bloomed, his dimples filling up with negative space and his jaw getting more geometric. "Now, can I come in?"

"Yeah, why are you standing in the cold, dork?" She couldn't resist him. Did she really want to? Out of fear?

"Dork! Alright, onto the name calling portion of the morning!" He curled up to her back. "Don't hold back, tell me how you feel."

She laughed and stood with the showers spray on her front and Harry's solid warmth on her back.

"Really," he said a moment later, in the vicinity of her neck. "Tell me how you feel."

"What?"

"You get shy in the morning." He kissed her ear. "Talk to me. It's important."

"I'm nervous." She would have jostled her shoulders up and down, but his weight was on them.

"I can tell. Am I that intimidating?"

"No, not anymore." She revolved in his arms and wrapped hers around his middle. The bread pudge offering a handle.

"Don't be nervous. Just relax and tell me what you're thinking." He tilted her chin up to look at him. "When you can."

She came up on her tippy toes and kissed him then. It led to a lovely make up session that proved how water did not cause permanent shrinkage. She raised her eyebrows at the presence between them. Elise was way more open by now, but Harry just said, "it'll go down." And kept kissing her until the water went cold, a pruny feat with such a large water heater. She hadn't talked though. She was working up to it.

"C'mon. Let's go downstairs. I want to cook you breakfast."

"You want to cook ME breakfast?" He said and google eyed at her. "Should I be scared?"

"Terrified!" She laughed and set about making French toast with the shop bought bread they had abandoned for his homemade loaf.

She still was scared, but he made her forget. He always made her forget her fears. She was gonna have to find some time alone to come up with what she was gonna say, how she felt exactly, so she could tell him. That was way scarier than anything else, but she was gonna pull up her big girl panties, cover them in the security of real clothes and then talk. No matter how scary, she had to do some emotional lifting here too. And despite her misgivings, she knew she was safe.

Even if she didn't get the answer she wanted, that this was her new address, and Harry was crazy about her, and they were getting married as soon as she could meet Anne.

Ok, well, that was a little crazy and not what she wanted either.

The relationship, or dating, and maybe meeting Anne someday in the nearish future did sound pretty amazing though. Getting to be with Harry sounded like a life she didn't know she wanted. Couldn't dream up.

But, if he said, "I like you, but we should take this as what it was, the beginning of a beautiful friendship with some delightful fringe benefits," and then eyed her up and loved her goodbye, she would be ok. And she would have been honest with somebody and they hadn't turned her away or ignored her. In fact, this time would be healing. She'd shown all her Dorian Gray style invisible scars and been accepted. Elise would have gained something, a chance at the future. Acceptance, the opportunity to forgive herself.

Just not everything she wanted. But who got everything they wanted? And once you got it, was it a dream or a curse?

Maybe she got to have it right now because this was ephemeral. A half life of some sort where time and decisions didn't stick.

In any case, whatever he said, the point was naming what she wanted and then being open and honest about it despite the outcome. She needed to do that.

Her decision was made once she had clothes on, and through the French toast she whipped the hell out of to get the fluffy edges she liked. Through his smile and extra extra moans of enthusiasm. Their couch make out session and his tongue between her legs, "it'll help the soreness."

It didn't, not necessarily, but it didn't hurt, and it distracted her from the high wire act she was performing. Her need to tell him, and supreme reluctance to at the same time.

All she could compare it to was being in Costa Rica three years ago and standing on the edge of the waterfall. She was the last one to jump. Well, her mother had  entirely sat that day out. Derided them for even wanting to go. Her sister had made a show, but she'd been a swimmer and liked everybody looking at her on the ledge of the rock in her bikini. Her dad faced down guns, this wasn't scary to him. They'd both gone before her.

It was scary to her. It was exhilarating too. What was beneath the water? Would she come out clean? A different person? Braver?

She'd desperately wanted to blithely hop off with a pirouette, a flounce or show on her way to absolution. She hadn't. Of course, but she done it, held her nose and closed her eyes as she jumped. But she got to feel the rush of the air around her and the chill of the water's embrace. Clean.

Her heart pounded in that familiar rhythm while she lay on Harry's couch with him and through the take out.

"Harry?" She asked. Elise had found all of her courage bundled up, thrown it in a kerchief over her shoulder to prepare for this talk. It was time.

He didn't respond. And she wasn't sure she could do the talking looking at him. She stretched up from her chest pillows and planted her face above his birds. "Harry?" She was closer to his neck now. Hopefully he would hear her.

Then she heard him let out a piggie snort.

Oh, he was napping. She should have known, he hadn't moved his hands down over her ass or made a comment about anything, or suggested they do something like make a huge obstacle course or try the Murph challenge in at least 5 minutes. A still Harry was a sleeping Harry.

Well, she supposed that meant the talk was out. Elise retreated to her room to read.

To worry and freak out, and lose her nerve. Who knew she was so good at multitasking? She chuckled at herself as she read her 6th chapter.

"Hey babe." She looked up from where she was sat in the window to see his post nap face, lined from the unsatisfactory pillows on the couch and swollen. His eyes ringed with fluid like an alien baby. "Where'd you go?"

He walked all the way in and sat on the bed, her bed.

"You predictably fell asleep, so I came to read so I wouldn't disturb you." She closed her book, but kept her body away from him.

"You don't disturb me." He casually threw out. He stretched, she watched, of course, and caught sight of the lush planes of his hips. "Why're you in here?" He said after a little shiver.

"Um, well, ya see, my things are in here and it's my room." Elise tried for blithe and bonny.

"Hmmm, we should move your stuff into the master. It's more comfortable—"

"Than the couch?"

"Well, obviously." He rolled his eyes and reached for her hand. She was mirroring his postion without deciding to turn to him. "It would be easier if you just had your things in with me. You'll be sleeping in there anyways."

"Will I?"

He made a weird face at her. "Not if you don't want to, but I really wish you would." He turned her hand over and traced her palm. "We don't have to have sex, if you don't want to. But, I'd like you close." Then he looked back up at her with the full power of his green tractor beam eyes and slow blinked in his hypnotic way.

Wait, why wouldn't she want to have sex. "Why wouldn't I want you?" She let slip.

He grinned shyly. "If you want me, all you have to do is ask."

"And if I'm not brave enough?" She was not brave enough for the rest of this conversation today.

"I think you are brave enough, you just have to let yourself be, but if you aren't," he stood up and pulled her gently to him, "then just kiss me, like this—"

His illustration was thorough, and varied and moved down her neck and under her top.

They hadn't done it on this bed before.

"I've never had sex in here." He commented when he was pulling down her shorts and withdrawing a condom from his pocket as he pushed his down.

"That's convenient." She pointed at the skin in his fingers. She was gonna ignore the other comment.

"Seems like it was good planning on my part." He shrugged.

"You planned this?" She was being brave, and climbing up to straddle him. He was heavy and full in her hand.

"Hoped." He put his hand to her mouth and she wet his fingers like he liked. He spread the saliva over the head of his cock and then dipsticked her, petting her clit until she writhed. "You ready?"

"I don't know, you tell me." She placed him at her entrance, and slid down until the pressure prevented her. She wasn't sure she'd ever be totally ready for him right off the bat. His hands caught her hips and helped her inch off and in until she was resting on his laurels. Her head fell back.

"Yeah, you're ready." He smiled. His hands stayed on her hips, occasionally plucking at her nipples or caressing her back and ass while she set the pace. Rocking up and down on him like a boat making its way to the harbor. The waves got rougher and Elise leaned forward to go with them. His hands offering more help as she surfed her way to shore.  She leaned back when her destination was within reach and his thumb found a rhythm over her wet crux that helped her go the last bit of the distance.

"Harry!" She cried and lost her rhythm, was pulled under the waves and brought to the horizon. He rolled them over and lifted her leg up over his shoulder to maneuver her to his own end. His weather was rougher and had she not already come it might have been too much. As it was, she gripped his shoulder and went with him, shaking and pulsing while he stilled and filled her.

"Oh Elise." He said into her hair. He pulled back and gave her a hazy look. The soft smile that played on his lips was one she'd never seen before. He looked like a warm bun. He kissed her mouth once more and buried his face in her neck. Elise knew his propensity for falling asleep, had seen it in action. She did not want to become glued to him, well, not really. She'd thought about entwining their fingers like when she twisted up paper clips as a child, so they'd never come apart, but that had been a fantasy. You didn't want to be that close to anyone all the time she reckoned. Even if you loved them.

Loved?

Holy shit! HOLY SHIT!  Did she just think she loved Harry. Did she love Harry? Could you love someone so quickly? Her hand was in his hair still. It had stopped moving and she was afraid she might have jerked at it. Woken him. He seemed content though, heavy and sleepy. She ran her fingers through his downy curls, for the pleasure of it, like pressing on a bruise, she redoubled her masHer lips drifted down to kiss the top of his head. Elise was about to wiggle away from him to freak out. She needed to freak out. Fuck! Three days?!? She had three days to get over it. And now the conversation she had been psyching herself up for was much scarier.

Harry's breathing wasn't even and deep, and she was starting to worry about the condom full of spunk inside her. Just as she was about to make her move he startled her. "Arghhhh!" Was what came up when he lifted his head and his body away, wilting away from her.

"Jesus! You scared me!" He gave a nervous chuckle.

"I scared you! You woke from the dead on top of me and I scared you?" She joined in his laughter.

"The dead? I wasn't even asleep! I was listening to your heart rate." He bussed her lips and pulled off the condom, tied it. "It got all crazy. And they aren't serious when they call it a little death. It's more like a little life right? I mean it's the engine of life and such, is sex."

He was on a ramble. "I'm too fucked out for you to be this philosophical." Elise sighed.

"Well, you know what I mean?" He looked at her.

"Nobody ever knows what you mean!" She laughed, but she actualll did get him here. Why a little death when it was the act that made life? Made you feel most alive.

"Anyways," he rolled his eyes. "Your heart got all crazy, so I figured we needed to get moving, or you needed to poo or something."

Her face conveyed her disgust. "Harry!"

He laughed at her response. "Go to the bathroom, then I have a very serious choice for you! Scrabble, or the hot tub."

"I'm not playing Scrabble with you! I know you're a ringer."

"Naked hot tub it is!" He celebrated.

Elise thought of her nethers and reconsidered. "Tell me more about Scrabble."

She shouldn't have even bothered giving herself a choice.  Elise wound up in the same place. She wasn't sure she would be able to walk tomorrow; she winced when he pulled out, but stayed atop her caging her body in.

"Let the record show, I won!" Harry smiled down at her, a bead of sweat rolling down his nose.

"I won at Scrabble." She was offended!

"Yeah, maybe." He put his nose into her neck and took a big inhale. "But I won at life."

She felt like a winner too.

[holeinotomemind]

MLQC Fanfic: Hearts of Storm - Ch 6 - Turning Point

WARNING: NSFW/18+ fic. No smut this chapter. Dub/non-con, eventual 3P, spoilers, long dragged out fic and angst. Not morally correct. Turn away if this is not your thing. Pairing: Shaw x MC, Gavin x MC, Shaw x MC x Gavin AO3 Link: [here]

Notes: [See full notes on AO3] Catch up post. Big thanks to Lutz and sushikitty (aka Aelyxandra) for betaing this chapter again! A longer chapter here. Gotta repair some damage I caused before things can move on. So we're still in plot territory.

Yui leaned forward to wipe the steam off the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, this time cleared of the blood and dirt that covered her before she stepped into the shower.

She couldn’t remember exactly how she got here. She was in a state of shock when Shaw led her away from the scene and by the time she realized, she was already at one of his workshops. Now, only her sore arms told the story of how tightly she must have held onto him during what was no doubt a high-speed skateboard trip.

“Get cleaned up. Don’t get my workshop dirty and stinky.” He said contemptuously, throwing her a towel along with some fresh clothes, before practically dumping her inside the bathroom.

She was going to protest until she saw herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was grey, covered in dust and her dress, hands, and legs stained dark red from the dried blood. She looked like she stepped out of a horror movie, except the horror was real.

Now that she scrubbed herself clean in the shower, she felt a bit calmer than before. Though still sporting hollowed cheeks and dark circles from the lack of food and sleep in the previous few days, she looked a bit more like herself.

She stared at the clothes sitting on top of the vanity. A black t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She didn’t realize earlier, but neither of the items was for women and, judging by their size, they probably belonged to Shaw. She didn’t want to put them on. Wearing a man’s clothes denotes some kind of intimacy between them. She didn’t want that intimacy.

Picking up her dress, she contemplated putting it back on, but the bloodstains and the ripped holes reminded her too much of the earlier carnage.

Sighing, she discarded the dress into the garbage and reluctantly put on Shaw’s t-shirt and shorts.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Shaw looked up from his phone and immediately burst out in laughter.

Yui stared daggers at him. Of course, she knew how ridiculous she looked in his clothes. His fitted t-shirt engulfed her, its neckline so wide one side almost fell off her shoulder and its helm reaching her mid-thighs. The shorts, luckily, had a string to tie around its waist to prevent it from falling off her hips, but it wore so long on her that they covered her knees.

A red object flew towards her. Yui barely had time to reflexively hold out her hands to catch it before it hit her face.

A can of Coca Cola.

“Drink.” He jerked his chin towards it before he took a sip from his own glass while standing in the kitchen.

Yui had a feeling he was drinking his favorite Coca Cola mixed with Pepsi again. She tried it before but didn't see the appeal. It tasted just like Coke.

Shaw’s workshop was more like a studio apartment than anything, fully equipped with a kitchen, a bathroom, a bed, a sofa, and a TV. The only thing that made it a workshop was the large table in one corner with a computer and some machinery that she didn’t recognize.

She didn’t ask him what they were for; didn’t think she would want to know.

Walking over to the living area, she sat on the sofa against the graffitied wall. She was thankful that Shaw protected her, saving her from the horrendous scene of the explosion, but she was still uncomfortable with being so close to him. She wanted to put some distance between them.

Pulling out her phone, she checked the news. The incident dominated the headlines of multiple media outlets, but other than reporting the preliminary number of injuries and deaths still under investigation, no insights were revealed.

“There was a total of seven bombs,” Shaw said casually as he dug through a cupboard.

“Seven?” She exclaimed. Did more people get hurt or killed? Did Gavin get hurt?

“The NW took care of the rest. No further injuries.” He told her as if reading her mind.

Yui sighed in relief. She didn’t know how Shaw got his information, but having worked with him for over half a year, she knew she could trust the integrity of it. Still, she worried about Gavin.

Gavin was built to protect. Even if he was physically unharmed, he would surely blame himself for not being able to prevent so many innocents from injury and death. In the past, she was able to stay by his side to share his burden, but now, he was alone, by himself.

She was so deep in thought when Shaw suddenly plopped down on the other side of the sofa that she almost jumped.

“They timed it for maximum casualties. Hard to say if they had a specific person in mind as their target though.” Compared to the seriousness of the issue discussed, his tone was casual, almost relaxed. But the dangerous glint in his eyes made her wonder if, deep inside, he was just as upset about the bombing as she was.

“Who would have done something like that?” She continued the conversation while attempting to move away from him discreetly, trying to put some distance between them.

He frowned at her action as he quickly reached out to grab her, his long fingers encircled her delicate wrist. “What are you backing up for?”

“Let go! What are you trying to do?” Yui yelled, turning her wrist the way Gavin taught her when they did the self-defense shoot.

Knowing exactly what she was trying to do, Shaw easily diffused her movements. Her wrists remained firmly in his grasp.

“Trying to patch you up.” He chuckled amusingly. “What did you think I was going to do?”

“Huh?” It was only then that she noticed the first aid kit he laid out on the coffee table and the tweezer he was holding with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball at the end. She felt awkward for overreacting, but considering what had happened between them only a few days ago, she was hardly to blame. “I… I can do it myself.”

“Stop struggling.” He held on tighter without hurting her, that amused smile still plastered on his face. “It’s not like you can break away anyway.”

Yui was still not quite comfortable with his proximity but knew he spoke the truth. If the self-defense moves Gavin taught her didn’t work on Shaw, she had no chance of getting away from him. Giving up, she sighed and let him treat the cuts on her hand and forearm.

It stung a bit when he applied the alcohol to her wound, but she could feel that he was taking care not to hurt her unnecessarily.

She didn’t understand him. Shaw could be selfish. Often, he did whatever he wanted without the consideration of others, but at times like these, he was surprisingly gentle. She wondered if there was a side of him that she didn’t know or didn’t care to get to know before because she was so absorbed in her own grief of losing Gavin.

“Was it because of me not picking up the phone?” She asked softly after a long moment of staring at the lavender-colored hair on the top of his head.

“What was?”

“The information I got from working in the amusement park. It didn’t specify the location, no?” Her fingers unconsciously curled to hold on to his, stopping him from applying antiseptic cream on her wounds. “You were calling me to try to get me back in there to get that information, no?”

Yui could feel his hands froze for a moment before he lifted his head to stare straight into her eyes. Those amber eyes seemed to be able to look right through her. She felt naked with all her vulnerabilities exposed under his gaze, but she refused to look away. The questions had been eating away at her since she was at the scene of the explosion. She needed to know.

Instead of a straight answer, she got a flick on her forehead.

“Ouch! What did you do that for?” Rubbing her forehead, she complained.

“For being dumb,” Shaw took her wrist again, pulling her hand back down before wrapping gauze around her injured hands. “Haven’t I told you I have other informants?”

“But I was the one who got the original information. It would have been easier if I got back in than to send someone else to start all over again.”

“Guess you really didn’t notice him.”

“Him? You mean you sent more than just me there?”

“You think I’d send you in by yourself?” He arched his broken eyebrow and gave her a look that screamed “duh”.

Yui frowned. She wasn’t sure if he meant that he wouldn’t send her in by herself because it was an important mission and he didn’t want to risk her messing it up or whether he thought it was dangerous and wanted her to have back up.

She decided it was probably a bit of both.

“Then why were you calling me?”

“To get you back in, of course.” He said matter-of-factly.

This conversation was going nowhere and was giving her a headache. There was no point in asking him about whether she played a part in the inability to prevent the bombing. He wasn’t about to give her a straight answer. Besides, what kind of an answer was she fishing for anyway?

Did she want him to tell her that there was no chance of changing today’s outcome even if she had picked up the phone and went back to the amusement park in an attempt to collect more information?

Or did she simply want him to confirm that by not answering her phone, she lost any chance of preventing all the injuries and deaths today?

What good would either answer do?

The truth was that ever since she came to this dimension, she was so overwhelmed by the grief of losing Gavin that the only thing she could think about was how to make him regain the memory of her again. That had been her one and only goal - her sole focus - and because of that she lived in her own bubble. She was detached and uncaring of what was happening in the world.

She hadn’t been the compassionate person who fought for justice alongside Gavin. The old her would have investigated as soon as she saw the list of chemicals in the data she stole, but she had been so wrapped up in her own turmoil that she didn’t even give it a second thought of what they might be used for.

Annoyed and disappointed at herself for letting despair overwhelm her to the point of losing sight of what was important, Yui raised her hand wanting to shove it through her hair in frustration, when, belatedly, she realized they were bound together. Shaw had wrapped the bandage around her wrists while she was being distracted by her self-loathing.

“Untie me!” She demanded.

“Nope.” He chuckled as he reached under her knees and yanked her calves up to rest on his thighs.

“This is not funny!”

“The more you struggle, the longer this is going to take. So, be a good girl and let me finish.” He said as he began to roll up her shorts to reveal her scratched up knees. “And, yes. It is funny.”

As she contemplated whether she should kick that annoying smirk off his face, she suddenly realized that he might have done this for a purpose beyond his own amusement.

Of course, he was amused by it, but was it truly a coincidence that he did it while she was in the middle of self-loathing? Could it be that he did it to snap her out of it?

She snuck a peek at him. Although he still held that stupid smirk on his face, he was concentrating on treating her scraped knee. There was no telling whether she was right in her guess.

Either way, she was thankful for the distraction.

There was no point in beating herself up for what she didn’t do. Instead, she needed to get her act together moving forward.

There were clearly bigger issues at play in this dimension than her own. While she wouldn’t give up on her pursuit of righting the memories of those around her, she shouldn’t remain a bystander anymore.

She would work to help and protect innocents as much as she could from now on, just like she did with Gavin in the past. She couldn’t let herself be overwhelmed by her own despair to the point where she lost sight of what was important anymore.

“I won’t ignore your calls anymore,” she told him resolutely.

Shaw didn’t look at her, but his thin lips curved into an approving smile.

True to his word, it didn’t take long for Shaw to finish treating the wounds on her legs. She moved her legs off of him and held out her wrists so that he could untie her. To her surprise, he complied without making a fuss.

It wasn’t until he stood up to go put the first aid kit back that Yui noticed it. There was a huge gash on the back of his leather jacket at his right shoulder blade.

“Wait!” She instinctively grabbed his sleeve to halt him from leaving. “Are you injured?”

“Huh?” He turned his head to see where she was looking and shrugged. “It’s probably just a scratch.”

“Take off your jacket. Let me see.” She wouldn’t believe him unless she saw for herself. She had been with Gavin long enough to know that men had a tendency to try to downplay these things.

“Oh, so impatient to see me naked?” He teased, putting on an overly exaggerated flirtatious expression.

“Not funny,” Yui said in a stern manner. This might have been an acceptable joke before, but considering their current relationship, she was in no mood for it.

Perhaps he too realized his joke was inappropriate, Shaw obeyed without any further teasing. A large area with dark red bloodstain was revealed once he took off his jacket.

“I knew it.” Gasping at the sight, she gently pulled him to sit back on the sofa.

As he peeled his bloodstained tops off, the long angry gash appeared in front of her. The cut extended from the mid-shoulder blade up and ran the length of her hand. She couldn’t see how deep it was since it was mostly covered in dried blood now, but he must have torn it open just now as small drops of blood began to trickle down his back.

“You need stitches for this.” She frowned.

Shaw fished his phone out of his pocket, reached back and took a photo of his injury. He took a brief moment to look at the picture and declared, “It’s just a scratch.”

Yui looked at him disapprovingly. She wanted to drag him to the doctor to get it properly treated, but the way he dismissed it reminded her too much of Gavin. There was no convincing Gavin to go to the doctors when he thought the injury was minor, she had a feeling that Shaw would be the same.

Sighing for the nth time today, she gave up on the thought of arguing with him and instead told him to stay put.

She was well aware of his eyes focusing on her as she got up to head to the bathroom. He was probably unsure what she planned to do until she came back out with a wet towel and sat behind him.

Gently, she pressed the towel against his wound.

“What are you doing?”

“Returning the favor.” With careful hands, she wiped the dried blood off him. “I’ll patch you up.”

Twisting around, he looked at her with his eyebrows raised. It was almost as if she said something he had never heard before and it amused him. It was strange. She expected him to question her first aid ability instead.

“Turn around. Stop looking at me.” She ordered as she grabbed the first aid kit from his hands.

She had seen him fight other evolvers before. Unlike Gavin, who always held back and refrained from unnecessarily injuring his opponents, Shaw’s victories were always overwhelming. So, she was surprised to see his first aid kit so well-stocked.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he had to bandage his own wounds more often than she previously thought.

The gash on his shoulder looked even more gruesome once she cleaned off the dried blood and dirt covering it. The skin had split open, revealing dark pink flesh. While the bleeding had mostly stopped, some blood was still trickling out from the parts with a deeper cut.

Carefully, Yui applied antiseptic onto the open wound, her face scrunched up. “Let me know if it hurts.”

Shaw reached back and pinched her cheek.

“Hey! What was that for?” Protesting, she pushed away his hand and rubbed her slightly reddened cheek with the back of her hand.

“You were making a stupid face.” He chuckled; eyes full of amusement. “Hey, I’m the injured one here. Why are you the one making the face?”

“But it looks so painful!”

“This? It’s nothing.” He shrugged his shoulders. The movement stretched the skin around his wound, restarting a trickle of blood from it again.

“Stop moving!” She glared at him for a moment before putting more antiseptic on him and leaning in to gently blow on it to help it dry faster.

As she wasn’t responding further, he turned back around. He was about to reach for his phone to see if there were any more updates from his informants, when he heard her say, “Thank you for saving me.”

Her voice was soft, so soft that he almost didn’t hear her.

“Good that you realized.” His teasing started immediately again. “You were wiggling so hard I almost dropped you.”

She almost retorted, asking him who’s fault did he think it was? If it wasn’t because of what happened a few days ago, she probably wouldn’t have responded the same way.

She thought better of it, didn’t want to broach the subject. She would much rather put her head in the sand and pretend that night never happened and if she didn't talk about it, hopefully, Shaw wouldn’t either.

Although it still looked incredibly painful, his back now looked a lot less like a scene from a horror movie since she closed it with the wound mending kit.

Picking up the roll of gauze, she wrapped it around his shoulder several times before reaching around his broad chest, but soon realized she was sitting too far and her arms were too short to go all the way around him.

Reluctantly, she leaned in closer, then closer. By the time she was finally able to reach around and pass the gauze to her other hand, she was almost leaning directly on his back she could feel the heat emanating from his bare skin on her face.

“You turned into a tomato,” Shaw laughed when he saw her flushed face as she reached for the tape to secure the gauze in place.

As she taped the loose end of the wrap in place Yui glared at him, for the umpteenth time today, silently telling him to shut the hell up.

Completely ignoring her dirty look, he leaned close to her and whispered, “What were you thinking that got your face so red?”

Giving him yet another glare, she slowly tore off another short piece of tape. Looking him straight in the eyes, Yui smiled, then with an audible smack, slapped the tape over his infuriating smirk.

For a moment, Shaw paused in surprise, then, to Yui’s annoyance, his eyes lit up and he chuckled even louder.

[evoedbd]

Forevers

Summery:  Kya had long since accepted that she was in love with a scarred soul. That she would go to the ends of the world to see Helena smile. To be the reason. The depth of her dedication was no longer a tidal wave, or rather, Kya was no longer beneath the crest of that wave. She rode it, above its overwhelming power and yet helpless to alter its course. A gentle awakening where some realizations are made between snuggles. Purely fluff. ************** The morning was lazy. Sunlight spilled through the windows, dancing across the tangled sheets of their bed. Helena was the first to wake, for once not roused by nightmares. She felt light, bathing in a cautious happiness as her arm wrapped a little tighter around the woman snuggled into her side. Kya was a mess, as usual. Her dark hair was tangled and frizzy in its specific places, falling over her sweetly flushed face. Her cheek swelled, with half of her face smooshed against Helena’s breast. A minuscule pile of drool gathered at the corner of Kya’s lip, trickling down onto Helena’s naked skin. The American’s cheek was sweaty, overheated from being pressed against Helena’s skin all night. The shorter woman’s curves tucked perfectly into Helena’s body, pressed so tightly that Helena could feel the dampness of sweat down her entire left side. It was part of her magic, that she was always warm. Kya too was a warm person, meaning that the thin layers of sweat where they touched for hours on end were not uncommon. There was a blissfulness, waking in such a state. Reminded that these small discomforts existed because the love of her life was snuggling into her. That they were safe. Kya had always been a cuddler, even when Helena had tried to reject her. Despite sheets between them like barriers, somehow Helena had always woken with the girl snuggled up to her. Mornings in the castle when Helena had been forced to untangle without waking the stubborn girl had been the hardest fight of her life. Once their relationship had evolved into romance, Kya’s snuggling had been more welcomed. Still, that had been clothed to a degree. Now, Helena felt safe enough to shed all her attire. Kya always matched her, touched by the intimacy. Thus, two space heaters had formed a cuddle puddle. “Stop thinking so hard.” Kya’s sleepy voice was muffled by Helena’s flesh. At that, the Sorceress blinked, reaching out in an effort to untangle Kya’s hair. Helena always cradled Kya’s head to her chest, holding her lover close. Due to her unsettled dreams, Helena often clenched her fist in her sleep, or tangled her fingers in Kya’s hair for comfort. “Forgive me. I do not mean to concern you, my love.” Helena’s voice was equally as soft, as if any louder would disturb the blanket of lazy peace surrounding them. Slender fingers began to tuck raven locks behind Kya’s ear, always lingering in the affectionate touch. There was an absent mindedness to Helena’s actions, as if she were stepping through the routine as her mind wondered. Kya quietly pressed her lips to Helena’s skin, offering the gesture with the same sleepy look of awe she had every morning she woke beside her lover. “I wasn’t looking for an apology, Helena.” “So you remind me every time I offer one.” The Sorceress chuckled. The sound was hollow, an attempt to convince the world that she was perfectly fine in her moment of bliss. However, doubts began to creep. Memories of the castle nipping at the heels of sweet dreams and loving kisses. “And I’ll do it every day until I die. As your girl, I take my role very seriously.   I must constantly remind you how fantastically wonderful you are, even if you can’t see it.” Kya declared in a mock serious tone. She meant every word, that was evident, yet there was an underlying playfulness that drew Helena in. Kya had a way of disarming the Sorceress without overwhelming her entirely. Kya could be serious, so serious that Helena’s mind couldn’t roam beyond the woman’s words. Kya could become her existence, offering the love she had never experienced before. Other times, Kya could deliver her reassurances in such a casual way that Helena might have missed them if she didn’t hang on every sound to leave the American’s mouth. It perplexed her how these deep and serious confessions could be delivered with such a casual acceptance. Kya had long since accepted that she was in love with a scarred soul. That she would go to the ends of the world to see Helena smile. To be the reason. The depth of her dedication was no longer a tidal wave, or rather, Kya was no longer beneath the crest of that wave. She rode it, above its overwhelming power and yet helpless to alter its course. “You are beautiful, Helena. All of you.” Kya declared, her playfulness falling away as she propped herself up on a single arm. Her stone coloured eyes roamed over the expanse of Helena’s body, taking in the luscious curves and battle forged muscle. Even scarred, Helena was the most perfect woman that Kya had ever laid eyes on. Real with her imperfections, yet almost ethereal with her radiance in the morning light. The mix of powerful and vulnerable was intoxicating, pulling Kya closer even when there was no space between them. “Your hair is like moonlight. Its so soft. Whenever you lean close, it tickles my face, hides me from the world so I can only see your eyes.” Kya began, reaching out to take some of the strands between her fingers. She carefully brought the ends to Helena’s face, delicately using the platinum locks as a brush across the Mage’s features. It tickled, that was obvious by the way Helena’s nose crinkled and her brows twitched. Despite that, a soft smile began to form and quiet chuckles escaped, indulging her otherworldly lover’s strange behaviour. Kya kept her strokes slow, taking time to memorise every single detail of the masterpiece that was Helena’s face. “Your eyes are so...” Kya trailed off, seemingly lost in the Mage’s gaze. Helena watched Kya’s throat bob, swallowing down her own emotions as Kya finally found her voice. “Wow... I mean, they can be more blue than a sapphire, or the sea. Then they can go black when you’re closer to your more primal magic. When you’re protecting me. It’s like, your own way of telling the world nobody is going to hurt your family. Your magic doesn’t scare me, Helena, because I know you. Its a part of you, and you would never want to use it to hurt me.” Once again, Kya allowed her words to trail off, her lips curled into a somewhat coy smile, tinged with flirtatious mischief as if she were about to say something meant only for Helena’s ears. “You know, I totally had a thing for Willow as a teen so... I actually find your magic eyes really sexy. Different, but, well you know..? Exotic?” Kya’s words earned a soft gasp from Helena. The Sorceress opened her mouth to speak, yet no sound could escape but a soft squeak. Meek as a mouse with its voice stolen by the sweetest kiss of magic and wonder. Could she ever fully explain how deeply such a simple gesture rendered her defenceless? How each compliment was an infusion of love that left her ready to burst? How had she found a woman so perfect and yet so insane? A woman who could see tenderness in dangerous spells. Who could look at the element of destruction itself and think it beautiful? Sexy? Desirable in a partner? “Your lips are so soft they should be illegal. Your kisses always make me feel loved.” Kya continued to leave Helena speechless, leaning down to lock her lips with the blushing Sorceress’. Helena’s response was instant, pressing into the gesture as if seeking more. The kiss was gentle, simple, given both women were too busy smiling, yet the message was delivered. Kya tenderly broke away, shifting to pepper chaste kisses over Helena’s face. A playful nip to the chin earned a gasp, whereas a peck on the nose earned a chuckle. Each kiss was a spark, leaving Helena’s skin tingling in its wake. The Sorceress missed the feeling of Kya’s lips, even as the next kiss was delivered. It was impossible, to long so desperately for something already in her grasp. Addiction and craving paled in comparison to the raw need simmering in Helena’s veins. “Kya...” Helena tried to speak, her voice catching in her throat. The need was stronger than anything Helena had known. It was not just for the carnal pleasures she had been exposed to. It was for the smell of Kya’s hair. The annoying ways it tickled her nose in the night, or tangled around her fingers. It was for the sweat between their bodies, the discomfort when her arm went numb from Kya’s weight over it. For the times they disagreed, for their awkward fumbles and differences. For the agony that being parted caused. Helena craved everything of the woman beside her, positive and negative alike. Kya’s mere existence was her addiction... but how could she even put that into words? “Oh no. If I am being this gay, I am going all out. I’m not half assing my big, loving confessions.” Kya interrupted, brows lowering in mock disapproval as she pouted. Helena stared, utterly confounded at being at a loss for words. It was adorable, the way Helena’s lips parted and her cheeks flushed. It was moments like these where her true vulnerability came to light. Helena was powerful, composed and a few years older than Kya. Yet, for her years, she was almost like a teenager learning her womanly body when it came to gentle moments like these. Where Kya could find something else to admire that Helena herself seemed so unable to understand. In love, Kya was the guide, leading Helena through the highs and lows. The Sorceress took several moments to process, simply allowing Kya to continue brushing her face. Then, she smiled, a silent surrender more radiant than the sun. “I love your neck. Its warm and always smells like you. Its safe. Every night I want to come home and snuggle. Just breathe you in. Cuddle the woman of my dreams.” Kya continued, shifting to rest her nose against Helena’s throat. The Sorceress brought her arms around Kya, taking a moment to embrace the girl before she pulled Kya over her chest, between the brackets of long legs. At this, Kya’s breath caught, leaving her trembling above Helena. “-Holy shit.-“ Kya interned, processing her alarm. She could feel the warmth of her Mage’s core pressed so closely just below her belly. Kya was hyperaware of every smoother texture that betrayed scars along with the prickles of regrowing hair. She felt the ripple of muscles that had been forged by practicality, thighs tensing around her hips as Helena processed the moment. A reflex reaction to having someone laying over her. “-Holy Shit!-“ Kya internally cheered, mentally repeating the words before falling into wordless gushing. This was huge! A pure moment of trust from the Sorceress that blew Kya’s mind and heart to pieces. Shards of happiness cut her to the bone, filling her with such giddiness that she couldn’t help but press a loving kiss to the hammering pulse beneath her lips before leaning back enough to gaze down at Helena. “-Wow. Yep. I like this. Best view in the world.-“ Kya concluded. She had been like this with other people, yet never had she anticipated the intimacy she would feel when it was Helena. Breathtakingly gorgeous Helena, with chaotic morning hair and sleep filled eyes, touched with the softest curious amusement and quiet content. Her eyes promised seduction and love along with the disgustingly domestic feelings all wrapped into a jumbled mess of bliss.    What was best was that there was no fear in those sapphire depths. Her lips curled into a tender smile, shyly inviting Kya’s into a gentle kiss. One became more, long and drawn out between them as Helena’s arms tightened around Kya’s body, hands leisurely roaming up and down the American’s unmarred back. “-I can’t believe we’ve come this far. She’s so amazing. I love her!-“ Helena sat up, taking Kya with her. Their breasts pressed together, the curves of their bodies melting into each other. Beating heart to beating heart. Kya surrendered to her racing pulse, offering her an ecstatic smile. She rested on her knees, aiming to take her weight off of Helena despite their closeness. One of Kya’s arms wrapped around Helena’s shoulders, earning the softest hum of approval as the Sorceress returned the embrace with tender yet firm arms wrapped around The American’s waist. Helena’s scent was home, enough to lure Kya towards peaceful dreams. Contentment was heavy in her limbs, drawing her eyes closed as she continued to breath. For the sleepiness she felt, an equally powerful spark drove her on, reminding Kya that the task was incomplete. She had yet to map Helena’s body. Yet to give her cheesy list. To complete her daily devotions. Cautiously, her other hand ran down Helena’s neck, trailing down until Kya’s palm pressed over her heart. Words were not needed, not when Kya could feel Helena’s heart leaping to greet her. Attempting to burst through the Mage’s chest. “Your heart is so strong. Even as everything was crushed and torn from you, you held your kindness. Like a treasure hidden away, a light in that dark place you were left. Every time I feel your heartbeat I remember how you fought for me. How even when you wanted to die, you chose to live because you promised me forever.” Kya had to take a moment, struck by the seriousness of her words. She had meant for this to be light, to just love Helena, yet the weight of her words suddenly rested on her shoulders. This was more than love. It was more than just enjoying the moment or fantasising about forever. It was beyond simply dating. The way Kya felt was commitment. The desire for their forever. Not just fanciful words and longing, but a legal forever. A show to all the world that Helena Klein was HERS. That SHE was Helena Klein’s. “-I don’t want to wait for forever. I want now.-“ The realisation led to a flood of words. “Helena, if waiting for forever means I miss the now, then why should we keep saying forever? I want to be with you. I want to see how many years it takes for your hair to go from moonlight to white. I want to be the first to notice every new grey hair, or wrinkle. I want to become that annoying old couple that shouts to one another. Every now I will have until the day I die, I want you to have,” “My love-“ Helena began, only to have Kya’s rambling continue. “And we have so much to work out, but I couldn’t hold that in anymore. I don’t know if marriage and kids is our thing, but I lo-“ This time, Helena was the one to intervene, pressing forwards to seal her lips over Kya’s. The dark haired woman let out a muffled sound of alarm. Her body reacted before her brain could catch up, leaning into the Sorceress. It took Kya a few moments before she settled, surrendering to her love’s guidance with a content sigh. Helena responded with a hum of her own, smiling into the kiss as her hands roamed along Kya’s spine. Her fingers sought out every bump, circling each bone gently before climbing higher. The touch was rather slow, calm despite the emotions packed into their kiss. One of Helena’s hands massaged with firm fingertips, seeking out every tension in Kya’s back. The other was light fingernails, scratching the most beautiful patterns into Kya’s flesh that left her tingling. “Kya...” Helena murmured, pulling away from Kya. The smaller woman made a soft sound of disappointment, whining a little at the loss. With the kiss broken, sense came rushing back. The world was no longer a haze of pearlescent hair and warmth. Kya could make out the seriousness in Helena’s sapphire eyes, mixing with the traces of content happiness that lingered from waking. The Mage’s subtly swollen lips were curled into an almost shy smile, softened by her lack of dark lipgloss. She felt the soft hairs at the base of Helena’s head, tickling her fingers as she clung to her lover. It was so tempting, to pull Helena back and relish in the moment. To forget the world and time in favour of pure bliss and endless love. Instead, Kya swallowed, waiting for the Sorceress to catch her breath. “What moments I have in this life are yours, Kya. We are walking this path together, even if we do not know the road ahead. Of that, I have no doubts. No regrets.” “Yeah?” Kya questioned in an awestruck tone, pulling away enough to inspect Helena’s face. “You’d agree to marry me?” She breathed in absolute amazement. In a single moment, all her thoughts latched onto the idea of their wedding. How would Helena look in a flowing white gown? That line of thought left Kya’s lips trembling in an effort to keep what was left of her composure. She knew Helena was far from the virgin that white gowns were made for. So sinfully, wonderfully far... “With one stipulation...” Helena’s words left Kya’s soul floating. No condition could be too much, no request too extreme. One tiny condition to meet and a new life could unfold with Helena. One little thing and Kya Klein would no longer be a fantasy scribbled in the pages of a diary, no longer bound in the dreams of a hopelessly in love woman in the middle of a war. “Tell me about this Willow who contends for your heart.” All at once, Kya’s cheeks flared even as her laughter tumbled free. This was sure to be embarrassing.

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 23

~*~Emma~*~

 Well . . .

That was some pretty aggressive oral sex. I’m not complaining. One would think after a blow job Sebastian would have been pretty chill, but he went the other way. I need to figure out how to make that happen again. I fell back on the bed because I was afraid my legs were going to collapse. I lay there, legs spread with one draped over him, and I swear I could still feel his mouth between my legs. There was still a delicious buzz going on. “Fuck, that was amazing.” He kissed my ankle and I felt parts of me quiver.

 “Says the woman who just blew my mind.”  

I let out a weak laugh, “We’re having a good night.”

“Yes, we are.”  He laid a hand on my leg, ensuring it stayed resting on his chest.

 Sebastian’s voice was weird. I raised my head, pried my eyes open, and looked toward him. I suddenly realized that “legs spread with one draped over him” meant he was getting quite the view. Sure, he’d been very close up twice now, but he wasn’t really looking then. Now, he was looking, and that’s why his voice sounded weird. I laid my head back down. Modesty at this point is, well, pointless. I’m amused with the crack in his voice though. Men are such visual creatures. He can look as long as he wants. I’m willing to bet the looking won’t last long before it becomes touching.

I didn’t like not touching him. I reached out my hand and laid it on his thigh, just above his knee. “I like your legs.”

“I like yours too.” He elucidated his point by running his hand over my calf. “Ouch, I think I got a splinter.”

“Ha fucking ha.” I crossed my arms over my chest like I was mad. “I should go in the bathroom and use your razor to shave them.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I can’t use your razor?”

“I don’t care if you use my razor.” He grabbed my hand and pulled it away. “Don’t cross your arms. You’re blocking my view.”

I put my hand back on his leg, the other I tucked under my head, propping me up just enough to see him. “Better?”

He nodded with a smile, “Much.”  His eyebrows drew in and his lips pursed like he was thinking.

I think I’m about to win my bet.

Less than a breath later I felt a single finger exploring me. His touch was gentle as he checked out places where his mouth was well acquainted. I hummed my approval. His eyes met mine for an instant while he smiled, then his attention went back between my legs. My whole body shivered, not from his touch, but the look we just exchanged. His eyes and smile say more than most people can with a whole paragraph. He liked this and that I liked it too.

I like the intimacy. As I’d said earlier about sunsets, I like the after when you’re letting the moment sink in. There’s been a lot of moments since that conversation. Laying here with him touching me was incredibly intimate. There was a vulnerability in being laid out naked in front of someone. Still, I felt perfectly safe. I moved my hand from his leg to his cock. He wasn’t hard. It hit me that wasn’t the point. I touched him as gently as he did me. Sebastian didn’t look up, but he nodded slightly. Although I had no doubt this would turn into sex, it wasn’t sex. It was different. It was more. It was being comfortable and being together.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt like this. I keep thinking the word accepted, but it doesn’t feel right. Still, I think it is. Whatever it is, I know for sure it’s right and it’s good and it’s Sebastian.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice startled me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

I shook off his apology, “I was thinking how laying here quietly touching each other feels very good. Emotionally.” I nodded, “Feels good.”

I know I just opened a door to a potentially dangerous conversation. We’ve had sex and now I mention emotions. Podcasts, magazine, and groups of girlfriends would be screaming at me to shut up and take it back. Usually, I’d agree. Right now, I don’t. I don’t quite know why I don’t, which is why I said it out loud. He’s in this with me.

“Yeah.” He licked his lips and played with his tongue, thinking. He looked up to the light on the ceiling, “The lights are on and I look over and can see everything of you.” He emphasized the word everything. “Besides being sexy as fuck there’s something very . . . I don’t know.”

It was nice how he didn’t know either. Suddenly the word came to me, “Intimate.”

He smiled and nodded his agreement, “Intimate. I don’t think it’s about the sex. It’s about talking for hours, playing and laughing, and working together at the house.”

Sebastian was right. The intimacy came before the sex. Sex didn’t make you feel comfortable. I’ve had sex where I wasn’t comfortable just being naked, where once it’s over you pull up the sheet. Naked during sex is different from just naked.

“I keep thinking the word accepted, but I can’t figure out why.”

He was getting hard and I needed to change the position of my hand. When I did that, he pushed a finger inside me. There were a few seconds of silence while we took in the new sensations.

“Good word. We’ve talked about things, told each other things . . . like when I told you I struggle with self-confidence. You didn’t think it was stupid. I guess I do feel like you accept me as I am and I trust you. Why wouldn’t laying here feel like no big deal? Only it is.”

I was reminded of the conversation from earlier about being brave enough to be vulnerable. We were both being brave. Except I wasn’t scared.  “I like you.”

He scrunched up his nose, “I like you too.”

“No, I mean I like you. Not because you’re fun to be with, we have great conversations, and the smoking hot sex.” He laughed with me then I got serious again. “I just like you.”

Sebastian’s face went serious in a way I hadn’t seen before. Serious, but soft. He moved my leg from across his chest and joined me upside down on the bed. His eyes searched my face, his fingers soft on my cheek, “I like you too.”

We lay there staring at each other. The look on his face stayed intense. I thought I read a lot of things in that look. I wasn’t reading this any more wrong than I had his attraction despite us not having kissed. I don’t know what my expression was telling him, but I hoped it was close. I noticed his breathing had increased. We were barely touching. I noticed mine had too.  I raised up to kiss him but stopped to look at him again. I smiled a little bit and Sebastian broke out in a huge grin that ended when our mouths met.

“Don’t move,” Sebastian whispered against my lips before sitting up to grab a condom and quickly put it one. He was back laying next to in no time. “I don’t wanna stop once we get started.” He trailed his fingers from my temple to my chin then over my lips. I opened my mouth and caught one of his fingers, closing my lips and circling the digit with my tongue. Tilting my face to his he moved closer, mouth open, and we were kissing again. His soft tongue teased and tangled with mine.

“We haven’t spent nearly enough time just kissing.”

“We’ll fix it.”

I moaned into his mouth and our kiss became more intense. I ran my hand down from his shoulder to his hand and put his hand back between my legs.

Sebastian slid his fingers inside me with a groan. I raised my leg, planting a foot on the bed to help me work myself against his hand. He broke the kiss and lowered his head to suck my breast. My hand flew to the back of his head, “God, Sebastian.”

Smiling as he looked up, Sebastian said, “I want you close. I don’t think I’m gonna last long.”  He continued playing with me, alternating for a few minutes between fucking me with his fingers and rubbing circles around my clit before just focusing there. He left my breast to kiss on my neck, “You’re so beautiful.”

A jolt of pleasure shot through me, “I need you inside me.”

“Roll over.” Sebastian moved behind me as I went on hands and knees. He leaned over my back, his hands moving from my hips to my shoulders as he kissed the back of my neck. “Want you.”

I turned my head to kiss him, but it didn’t last long. He went back to my neck then I felt his tongue drag down the length of my spine to the crack of my ass. My arms nearly collapsed. If that wasn’t the most erotic thing ever I didn’t know what was. He punctuated the end of his journey with an open-mouthed kiss on my hip that turned into a nibble. I heard myself make an incredibly needy sound.

Sebastian moved behind me, one hand holding my hip, and I felt the head of his cock rub over me once or twice before he pushed into me. His fingers dug in while he rocked his hips, going deeper and deeper. Once he was fully inside me he reached around to finger me again. His strokes were slow and very controlled. I can’t imagine the restraint that was taking. He made these little groaning noises interspersed with “oh fuck” and “yes” and “Emma”.

I felt him so deep inside me, each stroke of his cock and movement of his fingers bringing me closer and closer. I arched my back, changing the angle for both of us. Sebastian’s stroke stuttered. I looked over my shoulder to see him biting his lower lip, eyes squeezed shut, and his head back. Pleasure was written all over his face. “I’m gonna come. Harder, fuck me harder.”

Doing as I asked, he slammed into me. His fingers stopped moving and pressed against my clit, letting the force of his hips keep up the stimulation. My head dropped to the bed when my orgasm hit and I cried out for him.

“Feels so good to be inside you when you come.” Both his hands held onto my hips now, steadying me as he thrust harder and faster. More mumbled curse words, moans, and my name. I loved how lost in it he was. When his fingers tightened so much that I knew he’d leave marks, I tightened my inner muscles as much as I could. “Fuck!” One last thrust and he held me tight to him, releasing himself deep in me.  He leaned back over me, kissing along my back, while barely moving inside me before pulling out.

Sebastian was back in the bed by the time I managed to roll over, still mostly wrong ways in the bed. Righting myself just seemed like too much effort right now. I was covered in sweat, my chest was bursting, and my stomach was full of butterflies. My closed eyes flew open when I realized tonight was the best sex of my life. And it’s not just the sex. It's astounding how this man, this man I've known for three days, made sure I knew what we did was my choice. He didn't assume. He did it in a way, so easily, that I'm sure this was not the first time he'd made sure consent was clear. Hell, the day we met he didn't assume I'd let him know where I live. No one had ever been this way with me. None of my friends had ever talked about a man being like this with them. This is a good man.

I reached for his hand and laced our fingers. I turned my head and squeezed his hand to get his attention. He looked over, his lips parted with breathing that hadn't returned to normal, with sweat-dampened hair against his forehead. I started laughing because it felt so good. "Is it crazy to think you might be falling for someone after only three days?"

Sebastian’s laugh was immediate. He threw his head back, arching his neck against the bed, while his laughter filled the room. He looked back at me, his face lit up with his smile, "Fuck, I hope not." He rolled on top of me and kissed me. "Or I’m crazy too."

[espoirmerveilleux]

You’d think I would’ve learned by now

I’m going to be good. Sensible. Post this and then put the laptop away, the phone on the charger for the night and go watch football and not worry. So she says. And if you believe that I’ve got a lovely piece of oceanfront property in South Dakota, but it comes at a price.

Anyroad, I haven’t exactly got an update yet, but I’ve got a lot, and a big chunk of it from today alone. I’m happy with it, by and large. So I’m being foolish once again and sharing the newest bit (which I don’t think I’ll edit much in the end).

Right. So eventually this will be a part of the next chapter of Look After You. Which is taking on a life of it’s own and I’m kind of just along for the ride.

If you’re interested, you can read more below the cut.

He is gasping. “Isobel. Fuck, baby.” Like he’s every bit as much in disbelief as she. 

“Yes,” she agrees softly, finding her voice. It’s husky now; she’s given it quite a workout. She laughs at that, at the realisation that it’s just like it is when he’s there beside her, and she feels so good now, like everything is right with the universe. “Oh, my darling man, I love you!”

“And I love you. And whatever that was …” His voice is full and gravelly; she can hear sleep closing in on him. She loves him in these moments; there’s a bald sort of intimacy that comes after sex and just before sleep and she’d be hard pressed to quantify it, except to say that it’s pure. There’s a stillness of heart and a clear certainty that this is right; they are right. They are for each other. 

“We’ll have to do that again,” she tells him, “only I can’t figure how, seeing as you belong to me for good come Friday.”

“Oi,” he rumbles, “you’re wrong you know.” He allows it to sit there between them, and she could swear he can see her ire rising because he comes back with, “I’ve been yours for years now. You just needed to come to it in your own time,” at just the right juncture. 

She chuckles, hums her agreement. “I suppose you could always ring me when you’re out mowing the lawn. Start things going on the phone and then finish inside. Best of both worlds.”

“That turns you on, does it: axle grease on my shirt and bits of grass in my hair?” The grin he wears is audible and her heart does a funny little hiccup. 

She is caught on the back foot by the effervescent joy he radiates through the telephone line; she makes him happy. It’s still such a novel thought, and a part of her hopes that the wonderment will linger indefinitely. 

“As a matter of fact, yes, it does rather. As does finishing. With you inside …” She laughs in oversensitised agreement when he moans softly. “Better watch out or you’ll get me going again!”

“If that’s what you want, I'm happy to oblige, but I reckon I need a good few hours of sleep before a repeat performance.” He is slurring words now, clearly hitting a wall, and she wonders whether he’ll clean up first or simply collapse where he lies. 

“I’m so glad we played tonight, love. I took a big risk—“

“Tell me you weren’t thinking I’d be cross—“

“No; not cross, exactly, just … Look, we’re still new enough at this; there wasn’t a precedent. I suppose I thought perhaps you’d find me overly eager, or … I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter now because it went well and—“

“Isobel?” he interrupts. “Beauty, I say this … in the kindest way I know how … Do shut up.”

“I— Okay— I don’t—“ Whatever she thought he might say, that wasn’t it. 

“That was the single most erotic experience of my entire life. Don’t you dare go and try to qualify what you did. It was every fantasy I’ve ever had, all rolled into one, and you’d best be ready when I get home on Friday because, this quickly, I need you again. Alright?”

“What a hardship. However shall I bear it?”

“Are you ready, sweetheart? Because get ready—“ he tells her, but a yawn overtakes him, swallowing up the last few words. 

She laughs, full of joy and free of inhibition. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Major.”

“Oh, I’ll make a believer of ye.” He yawns again. “But now I’m for bed, and ye’d best be as well.”

She can see him stretched out amongst the covers, all loose-limbed and still bare, looking good enough to eat and warm and wonderful to lie with. The weight of distance rushes in, settles heavy on her heart. “I am, I— I will, soon. Just going to put the lad out, make sure we’re locked up. The trouble is, your pillow doesn’t hold me, or wake me up with a coffee and a kiss. Or wake me for other reasons entirely.”

“What can I do for you? Ring you in the morning?” He is so sincere; she can see the look in his eyes that accompanies his words. 

She swallows hard round the lump in her throat. “Only if it fits into your schedule. You know I’m alright. I’ll be fine.”

“Quite right; I do know. But you don’t sound convinced.”

“No, no; I’ll be brilliant. Elsie’s here and as soon as the tradesmen go we’ve plans to go shopping.  And I’ll cook something splendid in our brand new kitchen, and we’ll get squiffy together and it’ll be great fun. Alright?”

“There’s my girl,” he agrees. 

“ … But you’ll be on my mind the entire time, and I’ll be wondering what you’re doing whilst I’m getting breakfast, and trying on things I intend to buy for your enjoyment, and getting drunk and stupid.”

“That’s exactly as it’s meant to be, then. You know I’ll be waking up, wondering why you’re not there, soft and warm beside me, all sexy, sleepy eyes. And there’ll be a cold shower that’ll just succeed at taking the edge off, and after I’m through bitching about traffic and substandard coffee I’ll miss you beside me in theatre. Those looks you give that reassure me I’m still on my game; even the ones that say I’m making a hash of it and I’d best step aside. And when it’s all over and you’re not there to work the kinks out of my shoulders, or to lie on the couch with your head on my chest whilst the rugby’s on. You think it’s just you feeling out of sorts but it’s not, love. I’m only half myself when you’re not around.”

She’s silent for a moment, long enough that he calls her name. “Oh, hell, Richard. I hadn’t cried since early morning, and now that’s right out. I don’t deserve you, wonderful man.”

“That son of yours would beg to differ.”

He is referring, of course, to the conversation he had with Matthew in the pub as he was psyching himself up to propose to Isobel. The one during which Matthew told Richard that his mother was as happy with him in her life as she’d been with Matthew’s father. He’d also asserted that, between Isobel’s hand-wringing over whether he’d ever get round to asking, and Richard’s doubting that she’d ever accept him, they absolutely deserved one another. 

“Best not challenge him on that score then, eh? Right you are.” A conversational pause, and then, “You’re shattered, darling. I hear it in your voice. You’re a love to keep chatting to me, but I shan’t keep you any longer.”

“No, no; do stay on the line with me, please. I can’t feel you beside me, but you sound as if you’re right here. You haven’t got to say anything if you don’t want. Just listening to you breathe is lovely. Unless you think me exceedingly soppy, that is …”

“Hush, my love. There’s nothing I’d rather do. Now, are you comfortable? Not going to sleep on the wet spot, are you?”

He barks a laugh. “Nope. That’s what my t-shirt is for.”

“Ah. Very good.” She grins. “Alright, so we’ve just made love and you’re all … like you get—“

“Oh? And how’s that?”

“No more talking, pet. You’re all … lax and tousled. Sexy. Warm. Vulnerable. And you’re too sensitive, so you’ve turned on your side, facing away. But you fuss at me about wanting me close—“

“I do not fuss,” he objects. 

“I said, ‘hush.’ And you do so fuss, but luckily for you I find it endearing, so I press up against your back—“

“Still naked, I hope—“

“Oi. Whose story is this? I’m not the one has to be up for work in six hours. Now shall I continue, or what?”

“I’m a lovely man, remember. It’s what you said. And wonderful.” When she says nothing, he adds, “And I’m shutting up now.”

“Right. Yes, fine, I’m still naked, and I’m pressed up against your back, kissing the freckles on your shoulder blade. Running my fingers through your hair, across your forehead. Telling you all the things nobody else knows: that I love you, our life together. Who I am now that you’re with me, how you see the world.” She is rambling, but it’s just what she does when he’s there in her arms, both of them giddy with exhaustion. So she closes her eyes, breathing deep and becoming the story she’s telling. 

“I love the sound of your breath and the silk of your hair between my fingers, the way your heart beats through your back and into my chest. Like we’re one being. I love the way your brow smoothens out as you drop off to sleep, the way you breathe deeper, more freely. I love knowing that you trust me enough to let me hold you, your body and your heart, all the secrets you’ve shared with me. Just me. I’m so thankful that you’ve opened yourself up to me: your heart and your arms, your bed. Your life, present and future. I’m grateful to be where you are, darling man. I’ll always be yours. Your lover; your friend. Anything; everything that you need me to be.”

“I love you, Isobel,” she hears him breathe, barely conscious. 

“I know, husband mine. Sleep now. I’m with you. I am. And I love you so. With all I have and all that I am, I love you.”

[losing-my-will]

Unspoken

Words: 3.786

Explicit/Mature

Warning: Menstruation talk.

A/N: I’ve created this monstrosity back in June whilst I was in the middle of one of my worst cramps. I don’t know why but it simply came to my mind. This drabble/one-shot heavily mentions menstruation; so! If you’re not comfortable with this topic I advise you to back off.  No smut, I’m not ready to write that stuff (even if I consumed it like crack) *I also want to believe that woman’s bleedings was treated as a taboo back in Berk*.

I want to apologize every mistake (grammatically) that you might find in this… thing. And keep in mind that English is not my mother tongue *laughs nervously*

Takes place in Rtte.  

Summary: She felt as her womb punches itself and her insides ripple apart, she senses the sick nausea, and the spinning surroundings. And through the suffering, she mutters her prays: “Thor finish this Hel!”

Indeed, he sends help.

 .

.

A bad odor wakes him up; raw fish flesh with a mix of chicken floods his nasals. Confusion crawl on his mind when, once again, the warm breath hit his face, sending the reek of animal’s guts. Though not the worst of the smells, if is compared with the inners of a yak, is not anybody likely first choice for a good-morning-slash-welcome-to-your-nose. True is the repugnance stirred him, and so he completely sat up on the wooden mattress.

The boy’s eyelids slide open and soon his whole vision field came occupied by a blue, scaly head, “Stormfly?” He greeted happy and confused at the same time, “What brought you here, girl? Everything okay?” he petted her snout looking for answers on those pair of anxious, yellows eyes.  

The dragon squeaked, and the boy soon recognizes; it wasn’t a good replied. His current visit started trotting around his room, like she was impatient.

“Is it Toothless?” Eyeing up his fellow friend to make sure he was there, he was; asleep on his rock, not affected by the tumultuousness. Confusion strikes again.

“No…?” the boy continue without understand the eagerness in Stormfly’s behavior.  There was only one answer left, but he doesn’t want to ponder in worry too much.

“Is it… is it Astrid?” He asks carefully. There’s no other reason her dragon would be in his hut. Astrid could have sent Stormfly to search him, like he did countless time with Toothless. Maybe she was stuck in a little trouble. He asks to the dragon, but the creature squeaked again with the same tone. “Stormy… does Astrid has a problem?” He insists.  

She cranes her neck to one side to another whilst stretching her wings, appearing done with his questions. This causes a sleepy Toothless growl in his sleep.

“Okay, okay. I got it. Take me to her.” As soon the words leave him, the dragon wrapped his slim arms with her talons. She takes a leapt and in no minute both were in the entrance of Astrid’s hut. Hiccup is still proud for this subconscious decision. Yes, he had his feelings for her well accepted and well evolved, but when he came to organized Dragon’s Edge, a tingling, distant voice on the back of his mind told him to put Astrid as close to him he could. And he obeyed, leaving it as a normal thing, she was after all his most trusty friend (alongside Toothless) she came as his natural second choice for an advice or simply company. Astrid was and will always be his second-in-command.    

So when the seriousness of this situation finally hit on him, his heart swells and in his stomach placed a sentiment of unease.

He hurried to the open door and hastily runs inside; all other thoughts disappeared except for the one and only coherent one yelling at him for a blonde with sapphire eyes.

“Astrid!” no replied… but whines, “Astrid?” he tries again.

In the heavy silence of the cold hut he distinguish vaguely, if his thoughts could shut up, feminine breathy moans. Hiccup blushes in an instant, “Ahh, Stormfly… why-why did you… brought me here?” The Nadder pushes him to keep going, but the boy was reluctant, “N-no. Girl, A-Astrid has no problem…. I think”

The dragon ignored him once again a proceeded on her insistence. Hiccup could only hold his breath.

‘Fine’

Hiccup conjured all kinds of Vikings songs to block the enticing noises coming from the illuminated loft, concentrate in their words and rhythm so he could hums them to himself while climbing the ladder.

The way up felt like an eternity, but he finally makes it. The sounds didn’t stopped though, so when Hiccup finished with the last steps and planted his metal food on the floor the auburn haired man covered his eyes in a swift move.

“Hiccup!” the maiden-shield shrieked.

“A-Astrid! I’m so sorry, so sorry, forgive me please. Don’t cut any part of my being! I already lost a foot. Stormfly practically kidnapped me and brought me here. I swear to all the gods I didn’t want to interrupt you!” the poor boy stammered like never before, flustered and ashamed and honestly scared to shit, it was just yesterday when he gladly sharpened Astrid’s axe.

It was long moment before any of the young adults said something, not even the crickets were heard. Then a rare bravery came to Hiccup, a boldness that for sure would sign the future of his maleness.

… Or so he thought.

He carefully unwrapped his palms away from his face, but before taken a few steps back just to be sure.  

The sight was… unbelievable.

Astrid Hofferson, best warrior of Berk, ideal shield-maiden with an aim flawless like any adult. Childhood crush and his second-hand. Stood in the middle of her loft on wobbly legs, with a shame imprinted across her beautiful face and her puffy, red eyes. Her hands cupped her crotch with a fierce grasp and… and her bare thighs were smeared in blood.  Thick, crimson blood; all way down to her glued knees. She wasn’t wearing her leggings nor her skirt. The clothes were thrown at the bottom of her bed aside with her metal shoulder pads that leave her only with her blue vest and nothing more, none wrist-covers to make her feel less naked.

“Hiccup” she whispers, a sob manages to escape mingled with her pleads. “Get out” she commands, but no authority stands with it. Another sob build up on her throat and the boy was motionless as a rock, “Hiccup, I said get the fuck off”

“Astrid-”

The girl seems like she find her strength within the mess her mind was at the moment, “What the fuck you’re doing here?”

“Storm-”

“Yes, I know! I heard you the first time”

“Please-” but he was interrupted again.

“Why are you still here?” she barks the question, expecting a quick answer so she could reach her axe and chop his head off. Tears sprinted out and furiously streamed down her flushed cheeks.

“You need help” was his last statement.

“I don’t need the help of anybody” she retorts with an angriness capable to make Stoick the Vast shiver.

With great courage, the Viking boy took two steps close to the young girl, “I heard you”

“Yeah? So your nosy being decided to come up as an intruder?! I’ve been dealing with this since I was twelve. Get out!”

Hiccup ignored all what she was saying, “No”

“Hicc-” she meant to scream at the annoying, stubborn handsome man who; with all good intentions wanted to help her- that she was fine and he could fuck himself. However, her body saw appropriated to contradict her words and make her bend over her belly, “Shit!” she screeches.

“Astrid!” he caught her before the shield maiden could land on her face, “See!” it was his turn to yell at her, “You’re not okay! Quit that attitude of toughness! And accept me!” thank to all the Gods above none of the two have the chance to see the double meaning his words could signify.  

“I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s never this bad-” another rush of pain cut off her apolitically sentence, the agonic yelp tore his heart.  

“This’s not the first time?” Hiccup asks with widen eyes. ‘How many times?’

Astrid shakes her head, “Mmf! N-no!” she struggles to say. Hiccup doesn’t need her to talk if she’s apparently suffering this much.

“It’s okay! It’s okay. Don’t speak, you shouldn’t-”

Nonetheless, the Viking girl was thick in the head just like every proud Viking, “Bath! I need a bath! Please Hiccup” The boy nods. In hope she’s not going to gash his limbs later, he picks her up with one arm holding her back and the other hooked under her knees.

“Astrid, cling your arms around my neck” he softly suggested.

“No” at the mention of such –very scandalous- idea, the shield-maiden spin her head towards him, horror clear as water in the blue of her eyes.

Hiccup tries with a reassuring smile whilst he explains, “Astrid, is for the better”

“How?”

“You’re uncomfortable in this position, you’ll not if you do what I tell you” Is not like he desires to see there like a lecherous creep, though probably that’s exactly what Astrid’s thinking.

“You know nothing” she claims.

“My lady, do you trust me?” Emerald locks with sapphire, sincerity pours over the two Vikings. Of course she trusts him, as much as he does on her. They rely in each other. They’d knowledge for a long time ago that, in the future- they’ll be connected in a level of intimacy above the current. But not yet. And Astrid was afraid of showing that vulnerability, or in general.

“Astrid…” the girl knew she had to do a decision, he was here to offer a hand, and she was more than aware that Hiccup wouldn’t harm her, nor physically or in the emotional ambit. Hiccup wouldn’t take an advantage not even if he were drunk. This bareness and taking-care matter was just for this one night. Just for tonight.

“Okay” she mutters.  

She slowly raises the only hand that protects her intimacy, revealing the source of the red patches now dried on the smooth skin. Her fingertips were too stained with the curious smelly blood.

“My Lady, don’t cry” Hiccup swept away the lonely tear running down with his thumb. Continuing as he wraps a blond lock and twirls it with his pinky; at the corny action Astrid can only giggle.

The first months on the Edge, the group and their dragons found a refreshing spring within the forest of the island, surrounded with big rocks and thick bush to give a better privacy to whoever ever comes there and takes a bath. It was like that for maybe the first six months, with the idea that winter didn’t hit strong in that zone; inside baths weren’t planned. And then the seven month came, they were surprised when a blizzard arrived full force; a unique in their kind.  

Hiccup instantly started the additional construction in all the huts. The first he made was for Astrid (for birthday occasion) a secret gift well hidden under the circumstances. “Hiccup, down the hall, left” Astrid guides. He knows where it is.

They stride down the ladder, with restless thoughts if this was a fantasy, if the Gods were just playing with them out of boredom. Stormfly was behind them, prepared for any duty she’ll be ordered to do. “Sit me on stool” Astrid says sweetly, “the buckets are under that table, they’re already filled with water” The boy smiles, she was responsible as ever. Every rider has to fill their buckets every night, so they’d have water equipped in any case during midnight. Astrid, Fishlegs and he were, as expected, the only ones who remembered.  

In the next minutes, Hiccup rolled up sleeves and started his task in prepare the bath following Astrid’s instructions. The Viking boy gush two water buckets onto the tiny wooden tub, and asked nicely to the blue dragon to light up a small flame underneath. Astrid sighs once she sees steam coming out.

“I think is ready” Hiccup proclaims when he takes out the middle finger he sank previously, confirming the water was heated enough not to burn her skin.  

“Good” she grins excited, desperate to disappear in the warmth of the object-of-her-relieves, though faltered when she felt a spurt. Astrid chewed her bottom lip to calm herself when anew tears treated to dart.

He notice her stiffness; “Astrid, It’s okay” He simpered.

“Hiccup- you know nothing” the shield-maiden gives up. For some reason Hiccup flinches at the disappointed tone in her voice.

“Not if you don’t explain me”

But Astrid clamped shut her lips, not wanting to slip any information. She resolute her inner angst and with a tired sigh rose from the chair, her hands were back to her loins.

“Wanna help?”

She shook her head ‘I can do this alone’. But four steps tell otherwise. Hiccup hastens towards the petite figure who shudders violently on the floor. “No” she pushes him away, trying for a second time.  

“Astrid, please” Both young adults wrestle for a moment.

Why it is so difficult to her? Hiccup questions himself while he seeks for that face contorted in a grimace of discomfort.  

Why he insist so much?  Astrid wants to guess.

“Wait right here” And leaves Astrid alone; kneeling over her own puddle and with an incredible soreness.  Without his presence by her side the shield-maiden surprisingly sees herself much smaller, unprotected… no, she has watched her back since her first axe was giving to her in her fourth birthday.  But this boy here… maybe she has to thank all the gods for this amazing human being by her side; who obviously tries to make the situation less rigid and less awkward, he’s here for her as a good friend, isn’t he?

That same realization makes Astrid talk, “Hurry up”

“Yeah, just… looking… where do you put them? … Oh!”

“What are you doing?” Through the painful flex of her lower muscles she actually laughs. Hiccup’s good vibes sometimes can be very contagious.

“Cloths”

“Oh”  

“Yeah, uh. It’s just, that- well… a lot is coming out of you-”

“Shut up and help me”

“Yes, my lady” With a tenderness he only uses when training dragons- lays a hand on her shoulder blade and the right embraced around her narrow ribcage, both Vikings walked unceremoniously till the awaited bath.

“Don’t look” she snaps. Hiccup turns around; a crack in the opposite wall suddenly becomes more interesting. “Um…” lazy rustles are listens behind him, “I want to- fuck!”

He blushes, “Everything okay there?” How many times she had cursed this night? Well, Clan Hofferson is mostly known for their courage, loyalty, their fearlessness, have generation after generation where the majority born boys –a great (and half unpleasant) surprise in Astrid’s birth- had gave to Berk excellent warriors, and own quite the filthy mouth.

“Y-yes…just- just minor inconveniences”

“If you say so”

More movements combined with low whines and soft groans, more water shiftiness next to pleasure sighs, “Pass me those cloths you collected, please” When turning on his heel, Hiccup gape at the marvelous scene; Astrid in bindings, she had discharged her vest at some point. He shakily handles her the ragged pieces, trying his best not to graze not even his nail with her hot skin. Thankfully the ambiance has fogged a bit, blocking southern view of the tub.

The blonde caught his stare though, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “What?” he exhales.

“You don’t look like you’re okay” He shrugs as a reply, “Hiccup-!”

“Astrid you’re naked! Wait! Before you kill me” he quickly amends, rising palms like he is surrendering, probably at her mighty rage, “It’s hard to bear, uh… it’ll best if I go”  

“No!” she answers fast.

He halts, furrowing browns and taking further steps towards her, “You want me here?”

“First I want to thank you. Even if this situation is the weirdest, per say bizarre we’ve been together, I can’t ask for a better companion. I’m sure by now you’re conscious of the differences in my treatment with each one of you, and though I care for you all, I-” she sighs, “I trust blindly on you, Hiccup. You show me a possibility to change this world back then when I was only fifthteen. I kept your greatest secret and you confident me the craziest plan I’ve heard, even knowing I could you beat you up for putting your life in the line. I was one of the first and few to see your amputee leg and cure your charred skin … and look over your stump. So thank you, due I’m not allowed to ask the Gods for a better friend because it’s already here, I earned it and …” She beckoned him closer with a gesture of her wrist, “… It’s you”

He kneels besides the tub, fiddling inside the water to hold her hands, “You’re not dying, are you?”

She simpered, “No, Hiccup, I’m not dying” but she scowls, “I thought you knew about this thing. You are amongst us the most highly educated, ya’ know, being future chief and all that…” she waves it of letting her point settle, “… your education was far superior”  

“Exactly, I was educated to be a chief; oratory to refine speeches and geography to carry out the invasions those speeches spoke of”

“But your father never told-”

“Grandfather” he clarifies, “and his father, and his grand-grandfather; all who came before. I was instructed with old books”

“Still, he taught you to read and write at the age of four”

“Yes-”

“Meanwhile, my younger self had have to wait at her seven years old”

He chuckles, “I couldn’t do anything back then”

“Maybe advice your father” she growls and punches him hard.

“I wasn’t even aware” he continues laughing.

“Anyways, I did thought you knew about the blood moons”

“Well” he scratches behind his neck, “when my father gave me the talk of swords and sheds, he mentioned of a time in which men cannot touch woman”

Astrid nods.

“But you’re not going to bleed to death, are you?” His concern anchor a spring in her heart. He is so sweet to her. And Astrid hates when the throbbing grows with such a potent vigor.

“No. You can leave it, seriously. I’m good” and she smiles, “Gothi calls it Blood Moons, they last three to five days, and every woman has it”

“Is there a cure?” Before answering, Astrid burst in an uncontrollable attack of cackles- much to Hiccup bemuse.

“Once you reach the forties, for some reason” she shrugs, “Its stops”

“But you’re hurt”

“Not… quite. Symptoms are unstoppable bleeds, extremely hurtful cramps, swings moods, and more and more bullshit. It also stops when a woman gets pregnant, but comes back when the stage is over” while she briefly explains a sudden urgent to hide her body overwhelms her; Astrid conveys deeper in the water, her breast bindings dampening, “It’s just one of the many obstacles of being a woman. I’ve carried it since I’m twelve. I know what to do when this Hel whips in” she gives him the widen of her smirks, “I comfort myself with the knowledge that this’s just for a short moment”

“You said this time was worse” Hiccup scowls.

“Yes. Gothi once informed me that if I pressure myself too much in training sessions, exists a possibility that my cramps might be worst later”

“And as the stubborn Viking you are, didn’t listen to her”

“You think I’m gonna let this stupidity stalls me?” she spats.

“That’s certainly not you”

“Exactly!”

Both Vikings chuckles, Hiccup’s glad to see Astrid more relaxed, though still baffle that she let him in and care for her, “Thanks for trust so much in me. Even if you’re not entirely naked, I-”

“Confused? Because I’m not ripping you apart?”

He nods.

She shrugs, “I’m just happy. Now I can really say that I have someone who tolerates”

He was about to ask what about Ruff, but he doesn’t want a picture of the female twin bleeding on his brain now, “Perhaps you are wishing for your mother to be here”

“True, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll chose you out the equation”

Hiccup raised his head and thick brows at her. Have he heard well?

“I have to finish scrub. Could you do me favor?”

“Anything”

“Bring clean clothes. There’s a trunk in my room where I keep my stuff. You’ll find a green tunic in plain sight”

“Something else?”

“White bands” He gulps. She is practically asking for undergarments. Hiccup rushed stairs up, concentrating in what he was told; at least this solitude gifts a wee freedom for his thoughts. This whole night has been a perpetual incident after incident. Trust reaffirmed but unspoken words continue hanging between both dragon riders. Soon, he hopes.

“Here it is! Tunic and und- bands” He says whilst holding each in each hand. Water brackets around her toned legs as she shifts within the tub receiving her possessions with an appreciative glint in her eyes

“Thank you. Turn around, please”

“Yep”

A few minutes passes before Astrid finalize, “I’m done”

Hiccup confronts her again. A smile spreads over his freckled face. She looks so cute; soft and cute really, the tunic barely reaches her creamy thighs, and she had released her long, wavy golden hair from her usually eccentric braid. “You’re good, my lady?”

“I feel so tired, but I’m hungry too” explains resting her palms over her tummy.

“I got apples from our last visit to the Northern Market”

She beams, “You do?”

“In my hut”

“Oh, nah, I don’t wanna wait. I have better” She cocked her hip one side; her usual arrogance was coming slowly, but secured.

“What can possibly win apples?”

“Honey”

The pair smirks.

“You proclaimed it, my lady”

“Shut up, dork”

The young adults sat on the table situated close the hearth, which Stormfly has had lighted a while ago, thankfully.

“Listen, I’m gonna be blunt” she sighs, “I don’t think this is going to happen again, but believe me when I say: I’m so, so grateful to have you here. I owe Stormfly a lot”

“No, I’m not going to take you for granted when this night’s over if you think that. A friend’s duty is care for its friends; even if they’re annoying, or spits facts like no end or if they’re stubborn…” he trails it off and Astrid snorts, “I do wish you’ve told me this… particular problem before”

“Well, partially. Not yet”

“Of course, I didn’t intently push you, did I?”

Her bloody-pumping organ broadens once more, “May I hug you?”

He barely nods before he realizes having a shuddering blonde-headed figure within his lanky arms.

“Thank you so much, Hiccup” she whispers against his muscled chest. She thanked not only because she went lack of speak, but because this moments; briefs occasions- were so difficult to her. Her mother understood to a point, but Ingrid Hofferson taught her daughter to be stronger than that, and his father was unbeknownst as any other Viking male. Therefore, her silly mind thought the auburn-haired boy would ran as soon he saw her weakness. But she smacked herself for even let that cross her head; of all the things Astrid Hofferson had learned is that Hiccup Haddock was no traditional man. With that affirmation settling, she snuggled tightly to him.

That night at the Edge, two wild hearts fluttered together at a same tempo.

[charlotteloveandfilm-blog]

If Beale Street Could Talk

Barry Jenkins’ If Beale Street Could Talk (2018) is one of the most stunning and heartbreaking movies I have seen in a long time. I was struck by how well it tied in with a lot of the big concepts we have been talking about thus far in the course, most clearly with the ideas of Platonic love and the ladder of love. The film is explicitly concerned with physical love and how sex factors into a relationship.

Tish, in her narration as well as in her normal dialogue, talks about the connection that she and Fonny share—both emotional and physical. Early on, she talks about how they had bathed together as children, how she had “dumped water over Fonny’s head.” This image is so interesting to me because it calls up the concept of baptism. Baptism is an act of purification and it often accompanies name-giving when performed on children. It is as though Tish purified Fonny in that moment as kids, just as she does now. She spends the film trying to clear Fonny’s name. It is also, obviously, a religious ceremony. The sharing of this religious moment between them points to Tish’s feelings of emotional connection to Fonny—a connection far more profound than the physical. She goes on to say “I don’t remember that we had any curiosity concerning each other’s bodies. Fonny loved me too much. And that meant that there had never been any occasion for shame between us.” Their emotional connection is not only more profound than their physical connection, it also precedes it. We live in a world in which the opposite is often true, and even in the ladder of love, it is the love of beautiful bodies that comes first. For these two, they start at the top of the ladder. This is reinforced by the idea that Fonny loved her too much to be curious about her body—as though they are already beyond that kind of love. Tish also ties shame to physical love. This is another Biblical reference—Adam and Eve ate from the tree of knowledge and realized they were naked, and they were ashamed. Fonny and Tish are like Adam and Eve before they eat the apple. They are unashamed, but also ignorant. Naïve. I think that continues throughout much of the film. They live in their own perfect world, but when other people invade that world, that is when things start to go wrong. More on this later, I want to talk about all the 4th wall breaks, but first I want to finish talking about the scene at hand.

Tish goes on to say, “We were a part of each other, flesh of each other’s flesh, which we so took for granted that we never thought of the flesh.” This is a clear reference to Aristophanes myth of the origin of love—Tish and Fonny are two halves of a whole. But, they are somewhat divorced from their bodies. They are soulmates. Their love transcends the physical altogether, to the point that they are simply unconcerned with. However, this is not always the case. When they do finally have sex, Tish seems afraid. Fonny consoles her by telling her, “I belong to you.” This is a very interesting inversion of the typical attitude around virginity (and Tish is a virgin before Fonny)—that for a man to have sex with a woman is to take something from her, to possess her in some way. But, in this moment, it is Tish who takes a part of Fonny (which, not to be crude, is a more accurate rendering of what happens during the action of sex, isn’t it?). He later asks her if she likes it when he makes love to her, and she dodges the question. When he presses the issue, she responds, “I just know that I love you.” She does not seem particularly enthused by sex, perhaps because she sees it as unnecessary or secondary to loving Fonny. It is Fonny who is more interested in sex and in the physical generally. After all, he is a sculptor. He communicates through the physical, through objects he can make with his hands. In fact, Tish first knew Fonny was in love with her when he gave her mother and sculpture he had made. Baldwin, in most of his novels, is extremely concerned with sex and how people engage with each other physically. In the article we read this week, “Baldwin and the Occasion of Love” by Christopher Freeburg, Freeburg brings up a quotation from Soren Kierkegaard, “Love’s hidden live is in the innermost being, unfathomable, and then in turn is an unfathomable connectedness with all existence” (191). This is a sort of Platonic take on love: the idea that love eventually extends to all beautiful things, namely the forms. Freeburg claims that “Baldwin fashions a similar vision through a relentless commitment to the individual’s materiality—through nakedness, sex, and a mysterious vulnerability. Baldwin’s version of ‘all existence’ is materialized as the texture of history…” (191). I think Jenkins is extraordinarily true to this Baldwinian view of love in his adaptation. Tish and Fonny are at once ethereal and physical. Fonny, in particular, seems able to access the ethereal via the physical. And, of course, it is crucial that we, the audience are able to access the internal lives of these characters via film, an inherently physical medium.

So! To loop around to what I wanted to talk about earlier: the dozens of times this film breaks the 4th wall. As I mentioned earlier, things go wrong for these characters when other people, situations, circumstance invade their private world—when the serpent enters Eden, as it were. But, we are invading their private world just by watching this movie, and Jenkins wants us to feel that. These characters are constantly talking to the lens (and, by extension, us) during otherwise typical moments of dialogue. This places the audience, quite literally, in the character’s shoes. The first instance of this happens when Tish tells her mother that she is pregnant. We are not made to simply watch Tish as she tells her mother this news. We, too, must look into Tish’s anxious eyes. We, too, are forced to endure her mother’s expectant gaze.

This kind of camera work is an exercise in empathy, but also in voyeurism. It forces us to ask ourselves: what right do we have to bear witness to this story? To these private moments between characters? Another example that stands out to me is when Tish looks into the camera over Fonny’s shoulder while the two have sex. It is extremely uncomfortable, and it also makes us consider why normal sex scenes without 4th wall breaks don’t bother us. Shouldn’t that be just as uncomfortable to watch? But no, it is only when someone looks back at us that we become aware of our position as voyeur. In that way, the movie is emphatically confrontational. It is refusing to sit back and be watched. It watches us back.

To conclude, If Beale Street Could Talk is a movie interested in questions of physicality, spirituality, and intimacy, among many, many other things that I, unfortunately, do not have the time or space to cover. It is always a joy to watch such a rich and carefully constructed film. I will not be forgetting it soon.

[heartofsnark]

NSFW Alphabet: Ota

Note: It is here, the final one for the bidders. (Or at least until I manage to play Luke, Shuichi, and Hikaru’s routes/ also figure out how to write Rhion). Ota is the only one who didn’t get a sex injury for his dirty secret, so good for him. As I said before, Ota along with Eisuke are the two I feel the least confident about in terms of writing. But, everyone who commented on my Eisuke said it felt in character. So, fingers crossed I did okay here too. If not, sorry...

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s domming most of the time, though not always, so he pretty much just goes right into taking care of MC after sex, its’ borderline instinctual. Cleaning them up a bit, looking over any marks he left, etc. He doesn’t even asks just jumps to it, “It’s a master’s job to take care of his pet,” he’ll tease. Truth is he likes tending to his MC and it makes him feel just as good as it does them. Once he’s done, he’ll want some serious cuddles. He’s a pretty soft cuddle bug post orgasm, though if you point it out he’ll pout.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His hands are his favorite on him, mostly because as an artist they’re very important to him. He’s kind of protective of them at times, sometimes he uses it as a cop out to get out of doing things, but he does generally worry about damaging them. Plus, he uses them to give his Koro pets and love, also extremely important.

On his partner, their ass. Don’t get him wrong, his MC is adorable all over, but his hands tend to gravitate towards her  ass the most. It’s also easier to touch and tease his partner’s ass in public without being noticed. He likes rubbing and giving small grabs to their backside to tease them throughout the day, each time acting like he’s not doing anything.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

During blowjobs he likes pulling out right as he’s about to cum and shooting his load into their open mouth, it’s messier but he loves it. He likes seeing his MC swallow, but he wants to see his cum landing on their tongue and lips. It’s not quite a facial, he’s aiming for the mouth, though he’s not opposed to giving facials either. He likes calling his dick and cum a treat, seeing his MC eagerly swallowing it down in front of him. He also likes cumming on MC, it feels more claiming to him, like he’s leaving them ruined for him. Watching them swallow and cumming on their ass is his favorites.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

During the period of time between Doi stealing his art and joining the auctions; he had a brief worry about income. He was discredited from the world of fine art and had yet to rebuild himself as the “Angelic Artist” or start getting money from the auctions. So, he created an online account that couldn’t be linked to him and started doing commissions. He’s done a lot of furry and fetish art for people. It meant he could keep making art and supplement his income if needed. There is someone out there with a picture of their fursona jerking off and they have no idea it was done by the Angelic Artist.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s never had a serious long term relationship, but he has had a fair amount of one night stands. Before he gets with MC, he tended to be get bored really easy and never really bothered with anything more than having some fun with people. So, he has a fair amount of experience in terms of sex, he knows how to tease and play with partner.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He likes doggy style, c’mon, you knew this was coming. It might be memey or predictable, cause of his Koro stuff. But, he legitimately likes doggy style positions. He struggles with vulnerability even when he’s with MC and usually tries to hide his face when he’s particularly overwhelmed with feelings, so he likes she can’t really see his face and see how much he’s enjoying himself. He likes being in charge most of the time and he likes his MC’s ass. He’ll also likes draping himself over his partner’s back in that position when he wants more skin on skin contact.

Doggy (duh): http://sexpositions.club/positions/140.html

Plain: http://sexpositions.club/positions/131.html  

Concubine: http://sexpositions.club/positions/236.html

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He likes playful teasing of his partner, but his focus is to make them blush; not to make them laugh. He wants sex to be fun but not funny, if that makes sense. He wants to make his partner feel good and loved, he also tends to be more insecure than he likes to let on. If he feels like he’s being laughed at or mocked, he’ll probably get upset. Though once his partner apologizes and explains they weren’t being cruel, which to some extent he already knew, he’ll just use it as an excuse to “punish” his dear Koro

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

I personally like the headcanon of him bleaching his hair, I think maidofstars was the person I saw who came up with it. Both of his parents have darker brown hair and he does have that brassy strawberry blonde you get when you bleach dark hair and don’t use any toner. I also, don’t think he has a lot of body hair. Voltage generally tends to make all the men look like they have no body hair in their cgs (which doesn’t always suit the character), but I honestly don’t think Ota grows much body hair. A fact he’s fine with. So, his pubic hair is a small slightly thin patch of darker brown hair. It doesn’t require much upkeep.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Unless something has happened to make Ota feel like him or his partner really need that during sex, he prefers for it to be more dirty and fun. He’d rather show his romantic love through subtle actions in day to day life, he likes sex to be more about just enjoying themselves and the fact he loves them should just be known.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t masturbate much, before he got with his partner, he had casual sex whenever he really needed to get off. Now that he’s with them, he still doesn’t masturbate much. Once in a while, but nothing major. Usually when they’re apart, it’s because he’s working on some artwork. He gets very into his work, so he’s not too concerned about his dick when he’s caught up in his art. If his partner is at work and he starts to feel turned on is, he’d rather go tease them or see if he can get them to take a break than jerk off. He has a few videos bookmarked in a hidden folder on his computer.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Petplay is going to be a big one for Ota and everyone knew this was coming. He likes treating his significant other like a puppy. He’d be completely into them wearing a collar, ears, and a buttplug tail. If they do it without prompting, like he just comes home to them running around as a puppy, it will make him a little weak in the knees. 

Grooming/Taking Care of his partner’s appearance, this might be a little to do with his petplay kink, but he loves grooming his partner. Brushing and blow-drying their hair or cleaning them in the bathtub. He’ll never admit it, but he likes when they return the favor too, remember when he played pet for an epilogue. In the same fine, he finds something very weirdly arousing/intimate about doing MC makeup and hair, he just loves it. 

Assplay, I don’t why I just headcanon him as really liking his MC’s ass. If they’re into it, he wants to finger, eat out, and use toys on their ass. Ota eats ass and no one can tell me otherwise. I don’t know why this is stuck in my brainbox, it just is. 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

The bathroom is a favorite, he really likes bathing with his MC and cleaning each other. So, once they’re both naked and wet, it’s fun to play. His other favorite would be in his art studio, where he and MC first had sex.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing his partner embarrassed and flustered, he thinks it’s so cute and endears them to him. He likes teasing them and their reactions just make him want to keep going. 

Cuddling, he almost has a kink for cuddling, there’s just something so nice about his partner wanting to snuggle into him. Then he feels their body nice and close, so his hands start to wander. 

When he sketches and paints his partner, it almost happens naturally sometimes when his mind wanders while doing art. It catches him off guard that he just unconsciously creates images of them, it makes him want to go find them and get closer to the real thing.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Super dangerous and/or painful kinks are out as well as the grosser ones, He might act and talk like he’s a sadist, but he doesn’t like seeing his partner in pain. He’s not into the really heavy forms of petplay, likes once you start getting into the rubber muzzles or fursuits, he’s out.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He loves getting his dick sucked. He likes giving head too, but watching MC suck him off is irresistible. He does like playing up the pet and the master thing. So, sloppy face fucks are a favorite of his. He likes telling his Koro to come get their treat; his diiiiick. I’m sorry.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Unpredictable. He likes keeping his partner on their toes and driving them crazy, so he doesn’t keep his pace too consistent. Slow and sensual, then suddenly he’s pounding brutally just to slow down before they can hit their climax. Maybe he’ll let them cum next time, maybe not. Such a tease.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s always teasing and working up his partner when they’re going about their day. So, it’s not uncommon for them to have to get to his suite because he drove them crazy. He loves when he can get his partner’s mind off work and have a quickie. If his partner wants to come by his studio and give him some “inspiration” real quick, he’s not going to turn them down.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He loves playing with his partner in public, he doesn’t really want to deal with any repercussions if they get caught, but his Koro’s reactions are too cute for him to resist. Remember, in the butler café substory he basically tried to shove his hand down MC’s underwear in the middle of the café. He gives very few fucks. In terms of experimenting, he likes bringing different things up to try. He likes finding out what his partner might like. If they mention something, he’ll probably tease them and act disinterested, but they’re definitely trying it unless it’s a hard no for him.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Despite having a fair amount of experience, Ota is still pretty young. So, I imagine he’s a case of not lasting particularly long but having next to no refractory time. He’s probably about average give or take on how long it takes him to cum, but he can easily cum four times before he needs a real break. Even then his break won’t be long. Benefits of being young.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He starts to amass a small collection of toys once he’s with his MC. He likes teasing his partner with vibes, toys for assplay are also pretty common. Even if they’re not doing the pet play, he likes them having a princess plug or something in. He likes making them feel completely full when they have sex.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Biggest tease to ever tease. He loves finding them during work and just feeling them up in whatever way he can, then walking away like he didn’t do anything. Making them find him once they get desperate enough. He also likes edging them and slight orgasm denial.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s slightly embarrassed about making noises during sex, but he’s definitely a bit noisy. He usually tries to dirty talk to cover it, but he makes a lot of soft gasping type noise, says ‘fuck’ a lot. And sometimes, when it’s more romantic and intimate, he can make noises that sound almost like soft little whines and whimpers. He’ll deny it though.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He’s definitely into remote control vibrators in his partner that he randomly plays with. He likes having as much of his partner’s attention as possible. So, if he can from a distance still be able to steal their attention and tease them, it turns him on. He also likes doing it while they’re in the penthouse lounge and watching them try to work, seeing them frustrated is just too entertaining.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

His cock is kind of pretty, if a dick can in fact be pretty. It’s not super long or thick. Around 6-6.5 inches, straight with just a very slight upward tilt. The girth is proportional with the length, not overly thick, but not thin. No super noticeable veins and a rounded head.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

High sex drive, he's young and constantly ready to have sex. The only times hes not really into he’s really not into sex is if him and his partner are fighting, he’ hyperfocused on an art piece, or in the mornings. He’s not a morning guy and tends to feel grumpy when he first wakes up.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He usually gives some form of after care, so he stays awake for that. But, once he’s officially done for the night, he only stays up for a while longer for conscious cuddling. Though they cuddle in their sleep too, but he likes to be awake for a bit to fully enjoy it, then he drifts off.

[blooblooded]

Marty goes through Lee's files

Ajax Guttierez’s face was shiny with sweat when he called Marty back. “Man, that was close,” he said. He straightened the collar of his shirt. “I don’t think he suspected anything though. But, what he said in there, at the end...he looked like he wanted to hit me. His eyes went all dead and shit, what a fucking freak.”

“That guy couldn’t punch through wet tissue paper,” replied Marty, as he sat in his chair with his legs drawn up. He had been so stressed out during the period of radio silence where AJ had presumably made copies of every file on Lee Harlan’s laptop that he had snapped every pencil he owned. Not that he had been worried about AJ’s safety. No, he just desperately wanted to figure out whatever it was that Lee was hiding. “You got it right? You got all of it?”

“I got it.”

“Tres bien,” Upon hearing him speak his native language, AJ furrowed his eyebrows. Marty ignored that. “Send it to the email address I gave you. I have a feeling it’s going to take me all night to go through everything.”

“Right.” AJ paused. He passed a hand over his face. “You think there’s something on there that will pin him, get the cops on his ass? Because if there isn’t, if he goes near my kids one more time, I think I’m going to kill him. I’m really going to kill him.”

Would it really be so bad if AJ killed Lee? Marty allowed himself to imagine it, brass knuckles breaking his glasses and smashing his nose. It was the least he deserved, after all the things he knew he had done. Giving underage teenagers alcohol. Messing with Kip’s mind, convincing him to stop taking his medicine. Scaring Esther’s dad, hitting Eddie Bellamy. Making Rome roll up his sleeves to show him the bruises on his body. Probably worse things too. Someone who was capable of doing what he knew Lee had already done, was also capable of doing worse things.

Marty wished he had another pencil to break.

“Yeah,” he said, with finality. “I’ll find something on him. I know that.”

###

It turned out that AJ had copied 500gb of data from Lee’s computer. The process of going through it was taking hours, agonizingly slow work. Determined to work through the night, Marty went into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. He made it quietly so that he didn’t attract Jules, or worse, Dog. Talking to them would only delay his discovery of whatever fucked up shit he knew that Lee must be hiding. Even a small delay would get in the way of the pleasure he would feel when he anonymously sent evidence of Lee’s formerly unknown crimes-- whatever they were-- to every detective in Eden.

Before he returned to his bedroom, he had already drunk half a mug of coffee.

A lot of it was writing. Which tracked, since Lee was always going on and on about being a writer. Or journalist, or whatever he was. There were no journalists in the Northern Territories, so Marty didn’t fully understand all that. To him, it seemed like an unimportant profession. He read a lot of Lee’s work anyway. Maybe it was good-- he had no way of knowing the quality of the writing, since English was not his first language.

Soon, Marty grew bored of reading about Lee’s idiotic political beliefs. Compared to the fiery diatribes he had heard from Florence Gauthier as he had grown up, Lee’s words seemed tepid. He did not know what he was talking about, how could he-- he had not lived what he was talking about. He went to the folder that contained his pictures and clicked through them. The majority were selfies; Lee in various outfits that were increasingly fussy, always tight pants and stupid looking scarves, color coordinated sweaters. What kind of man cared that much about fashion and the way he looked? The vanity. It was basically like being a woman, it was embarrassing and effete.

He continued to click through pictures, and a greater understanding of Lee’s life formed inside his mind. This was a person who cared a lot about appearances, but rarely seemed to have the same friend in more than one picture. He took a lot of pictures of his food, of different coffee drinks. Pictures at various rallies and protests. It all seemed very empty, almost performative.

At one point, he came to a picture of Lee as a child, hugging a woman that was probably his mother. Lee was maybe 10, and lacked the fussy pretension he had developed as an adult-- no, as a child he appeared dweeby and scruffy. His glasses were cracked and there were patches in his jeans. Still, he looked truly happy, smiling a full smile that showed his crooked front teeth, so unlike the sly, closed mouthed smiles of his adulthood. His mother looked a lot like him, same mousy brown hair and eyes. She wore a jean jacket with lots of pins on it, her fist was raised up into the air, Lee’s small fist was raised in mimicry. So this was the mother who had hung herself in prison. It was hard not to feel something for the child who had lost his mother that day.

So Lee had had a mother who had loved him. Marty didn’t know what that was like. Their similarities ended with the shared experience of having mothers who were dead.

As he clicked through hundreds of pictures, he discovered that Lee liked to take pictures of himself and of other guys who were naked. Sex stuff. Marty had heard about people taking pictures with their partners, it wasn’t particularly abnormal, but still gave him a shock the first time he opened a picture to see Lee had taken a nude. Marty stared for a second and felt his ears get hot and embarrassed. Lee looked a lot different without any clothes on, all pink and skinny, but with a little bit of a belly that was otherwise hidden. He had seen naked men before, but was suddenly uncomfortable seeing his enemy in a vulnerable state.

There were a lot of nudes. Of course there were, considering how vain he was. Lee had had a lot of boyfriends, and as with the pictures of his friends, none of them seemed to hang around for very long. Marty suddenly felt uncomfortable. He was looking at pictures that were not meant for him, intimate moments shared between Lee and various strangers. It was voyeuristic, but wasn’t this what he was supposed to be looking at? Surely there was something here, some indication of great perversion? The selfie pictures of Lee, taken while embracing various guys in his bed, didn't resemble him at all. He looked happy.

This was, of course, jealousy. Marty knew that he would never be able to have it, but he desired love and intimacy with another boy someday. This was not a possibility in his Colony. Seeing someone he hated have something unattainable was hurting him.

He drank the rest of his coffee, telling himself to pull it together. There was no reason for him to feel jealous.

There was no reason for him to feel the other shameful thing either: a strange, hateful attraction towards Lee. Marty pushed that down, chalking it up to being 13 years old and sexually frustrated due to puberty.

There was a picture of AJ in there too. Marty wished he hadn’t seen that.

Of course, there were also videos. Marty knew the content of these from glancing at the first frozen frame. He did not believe he had the mental fortitude to watch them yet. This was also not completely abnormal. Being 13 years old and completely wracked by puberty, he had watched a lot of pornography, but it was different when it was someone he knew. Eventually he would have to watch them, he just hoped that his brain wouldn’t be into it.

This was all normal. If Lee was just a normal guy, just a weird guy who had never done anything wrong, then this was all for nothing. He had convinced AJ to steal the data for nothing.

But it couldn’t be nothing. Lee was hiding something. Marty kept clicking through files. The night grew longer. He made more coffee, careful so that he would not wake Jules.

By 2am, he discovered something bad enough to make him grit his teeth, but not bad enough to send to the police. Or was it? He didn’t know. It appeared that when Lee had cornered Rome Prospas, claiming to be concerned about him, he had taken several pictures of him. Maybe this had been out of concern, or as evidence to send to social services, but it didn’t sit right with Marty. It didn’t seem normal. And Rome looked scared.

He had known that it had happened when Rome had been by himself in Kip’s bathroom. He knew that Lee had seemed worried and had asked Rome to roll up his sleeves to show him the bruises that had formed on his arms after his dad had grabbed him. But seeing pictures of his friend looking all scared like that made Marty feel angry. There were three pictures. In the first, Rome’s big yellow eyes were watery, looking directly at the camera, or directly into Lee’s face, with his arms held out in front of him. The other two were close ups on the purple bruising, and one of Lee’s white thumbs was visible, as if for scale. So Lee had put his hands on him. Marty felt himself bristling, knowing that Rome was more scared of Lee than he was of his dad. At least he knew what to expect when it came to his dad.

It was bad, it was, that Lee had been alone with a kid and made him roll up his sleeves, then took pictures of him. But it wasn’t bad enough. It wasn’t like he had told him to take off his shirt or had done anything that could not be filed away under the category of ‘concerned, responsible adult’. Marty kept gritting his teeth. He thought about calling Rome and checking in on him, but didn’t want to give the wrong impression, calling in the middle of the night. Rome liked Marty a little too much.

Still, it was something. Marty grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down the file names, just in case.

Another hour passed before Marty found anything of note. What he did find made him feel even more upset.

It was a video, like the others. And like the others, Marty would have clicked past it, if Kip had not been so clearly in the first frame.

For a second, Marty saw red and he clenched one hand into a fist. All this time, he had known that Kip was obsessed with Lee, that he would do anything to make him like him more. It was evident in the way that he looked at him, in the way that he was always talking about him like he was some kind of genius. In his heart, Marty knew that Kip wanted to sleep with Lee, but up until now, he had believed that Kip was too scared and inexperienced to follow through. If they had done anything, if they had messed around, surely Kip would have bragged about it to at least one of his friends. He was not a person who was capable of keeping secrets. Why the silence? Was he ashamed?

Marty’s finger hesitated over the mouse. If he watched a video of Kip having sex with Lee, he would never be able to look at his friend the same way. And of course, deep down in his most private thoughts, Marty often found himself wishing that he lived in Eden, because maybe, one day, Kip would see him as more than just a friend. If he lived in Eden, maybe one day Kip might touch him or kiss him, maybe more. It wasn’t like the constant low-level horniness that every teenage boy experienced. Marty liked Kip. He really liked him, and it was his first time really liking anyone. He didn’t want to see him being intimate with anyone.

But he also wanted to screw over Lee in any way he could. If there was anything weird on this video, anything at all and even though Kip was 18 years old, he could send it to Kip’s mom. Kip would hate him forever, but at least Lee would be out of the picture.

He pressed play and steeled himself to watch something that he knew would upset and horrify him.

Lee held the camera and pointed it down at Kip, who knelt on the floor in front of him. Kip still had all of his clothes on. In the dim light of Lee’s apartment, his face was shadowed and the dark circles under his eyes were exaggerated, making him look sick. He was smiling nervously.

“You still want to do this?” asked Lee. Hearing his voice, so smug and self-satisfied, made Marty’s heart pound. Hate. He hated him. It would be easy to stop watching this, he knew he needed to stop watching this, but could not bring himself to turn it off.

Kip nodded. “Uh-huh. I want to. It’s just-- I don’t know how--”

“It’s OK.” At the bottom of the screen, Marty could see Lee unzip his trousers and pull his dick out, jerking himself off to get hard. Marty could hear his own blood pounding in his head as he watched this and was aware of how hard he was clenching his teeth. He shouldn’t be watching this, it was like a train wreck he couldn’t look away from. “Put your hand here.”

His friend’s face was eager, but unsure, and Marty watched Kip’s eyes glaze over as he clumsily fondled Lee. He had seen this before. One minute, Kip would be there, the next, he had a thousand-yard stare and was blank, like he was somewhere far away. The only times that Kip got like that were when he was scared or upset. Marty would have strangled Lee for not noticing that, for being too stupid and wrapped up in himself to notice that. How could you not notice that?

If he sent this to Kip’s mom, it would be all over.

“OK, good,” Lee was saying, and he was putting his hand on the back of Kip’s head to pull his face towards his crotch. “Good. Now, please don’t bite me.” He laughed, like he was laughing at Kip or making fun of him, making fun of his teeth. Marty’s mind was filled with hate.

Light suddenly gleamed back into Kip’s eyes, which widened in alarm. He jerked away from Lee with great strength, scooted back on the floor, then stood up, shaking, his arms held defensively in front of him. He shook his head several times. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked in alarm. “Don’t touch me! Stay away from me!” He wiped his hand on his pants, watching Lee like a wild animal.

“Kip?” Lee asked. “What’s wrong?”

Kip hit his own head. He looked at Lee savagely. “Were you gonna try to fuck me?” he asked. “Huh? You fucking freak. Are you kidding me? I’m your friend! I’m your friend! Who does that? Huh?”

“If you don’t want to do this, it’s OK, I don’t want you to feel upset, I just--”

Kip’s face contorted when he looked at the communication device that was still trained on him. “Don’t fucking film me!” The camera was suddenly obscured by opaque blue, and the video ended.

For several moments, Marty sat there without moving. “What the fuck,” he said, confused by his friend’s sudden mood swing, but glad that he had seemed to come to his senses before he got in over his head and lost his virginity to a loser like Lee Harlan. “What the fuck.”

It was disturbing. He leaned back in his chair. 4:30 am. In the kitchen, he could hear Jules rustling around, she always woke up so early, she always had so much to do. The smart thing would be to try and get some sleep so that he could look through Lee’s files with fresh eyes. When he did not get enough sleep, he was more prone to seizures. But he also had so much to do.

Marty rubbed his face. He did not want to make himself sick and exhausted, but still did not want to go to sleep. A sense of dogged determination had overtaken him at this point. A singular desire to destroy a man who lived hundreds of miles away was his only thought. If he could get something on Lee, he could ensure that his friends were no longer bothered by him. They were unable to see him for what he truly was. They were unable to do anything about his presence in their lives; by some method of psychic charisma, Lee had pulled a blind over all of their eyes. But not Marty’s.

This was not his responsibility. He was just a kid.

Sleep was not an option. Marty clicked out of the pictures and went back to Lee’s writing.

Meaningless words and treatises on economics bored him to tears but he kept reading, reading and reading. Finished articles, works in process. Grocery lists. Journal entries. The private life of a man whose true face was kept carefully hidden. By now, Marty knew him about as well as he knew himself.

He had been right about him. For the most part. He had been right about how he was shallow and angry, someone who wanted to lash out at systems that he perceived as unfair, but was mostly helpless to do so. This was not so much different than the types of people Marty had grown up around during the civil war, except Lee lacked the power of will that they all had to make considerable changes.

To make true change, a person had to act in ways that were drastic. Lee did not have it in him.

That’s what Marty believed, anyway, until he found a receipt for the purchase of 200 pounds of nitrate fertilizer.

As Marty looked at this receipt, the only thing that struck him as odd was the knowledge that Eden was completely underground, and had no space for large scale agriculture. Most of the food that they ate there was grown from cells in laboratories, unless someone had enough money to buy the rare real stuff. And Lee was a writer with no interest in things that could grow. Why would he even need fertilizer?

Something inside of him became scared and he didn’t know why. What could someone do with that much fertilizer? Marty leaned back in his chair.

Something bad, that’s what. He thought back to the nonsensical vision he had had a few weeks ago of buildings in Eden crumbling onto streets below. It hadn’t made sense then. Now, the vague memories of listening to Florence’s Partisans talk about the improvised explosive devices they had set beneath roads the Royalist armies marched down came flooding back to him. A few years ago, they had blown up a school with a home-made explosive. Bombs. You could blow stuff up with fertilizer. You couldn’t do it well, but you could do it.

That was crazy. Lee didn’t have it in him to actually hurt people. He was a creep, and he had crazy political beliefs, but he was not a killer. Marty had grown up around killers. He could see it in their dead eyes. Men like Field Marshal Anatole Surkhov had killed dozens. Reed Kimble was a killer. Even Beatrice Kosarin had killed, and she was only a woman. Lee lacked what they had. He was just some dorky, creepy journalist with ideas that were too big for him.

But what would he be doing with that much fertilizer?

Anxiety grew inside of him. This was crazy. He had started the night looking for proof that Lee was some kind of sex criminal, found nothing, and now had made himself so paranoid that he was starting to think he was some kind of terrorist. This was what lack of sleep and stress were doing to him. Marty got up and left his bedroom so that he could reset his brain.

In the kitchen, Jules was busy cooking breakfast. She still wore her shapeless undershift that she slept in, and her limp black hair was unbraided. She clattered around at an alarming speed, stirring a pot of oatmeal and frying eggs as the coffee pot squealed. When she saw Marty, she glared at him.

“You stayed up all night again on that computer,” she said accusingly, and crossed her skinny arms in front of her like a bat. They spoke French at home, and Marty’s mind subconsciously made the change away from English. “Really? I don’t understand why you do that to yourself, Mari, I don’t understand why you don’t take care of yourself. Sit down, what do you want to eat?”

Marty sat down at the table numbly, images of explosions replaying in his head. Jules tried to smooth down his fluffy hair and he flinched away from her. He hated people touching his head. It was 5 am.

“I worry about you,” said the gristle-sharp woman who had raised him. “What happens if you have another big seizure and I’m not there, huh? The Prime Minister has me working at the hospital in Ill de Matane too much, I’ll see if she’ll let me stay here with you more.”

“I’m not sick. You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll do it if I want to.”

Explosions. There was no way that Lee would do that. He was a bad person but he wasn’t that bad. Marty suddenly felt like laughing.

Jules poured steaming coffee into 3 unmatching, chipped mugs. She watched him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“You look upset.”

Marty took a cup of coffee from her and didn’t answer. His brain felt like it wasn’t working anymore, the way it got when he was overstimulated. In an hour or so, Ayda would wake up for school and he could talk to her about this. She would be able to talk some sense into him. Ayda was good at that. He drank the coffee and felt it warm him from the inside.

Dog, the big quiet man who lived with them in the quarters that Florence Gauthier had so… generously given to them on her vast estate, came into the kitchen, sensing that breakfast was almost ready. His weak chin and round eyes made him appear nervously rabbit-like, despite being almost seven feet tall and broad shouldered. He sat down next to Marty and Jules handed him a cup of coffee without a word.

There was something going on between Dog-- Ivan Kosarin-- and Jules, and Marty didn’t like it. Sometimes Jules would say things to make Dog blush, or sometimes he would put one big hand on her lower back. Marty accepted that she had a life outside of being a sort of elder sister figure in his life, but he still worried. When he watched Jules rattle around the kitchen, cooking breakfast for more than just the two of them, it made him worried that she would get hurt. Yes, Dog was a gentle person and had never given Marty any reason to distrust him. Except--

“You fought with Florence’s Partisans,” Marty said, directly to Dog. Although he had known him since he was 6, they rarely spoke to one another. “When the fighting was bad.”

Dog seemed taken aback by Marty’s blunt question. Both his hands grasped his mug of coffee. “I followed the Blue Army.”

“Right. Surkhov fought alongside the Partisans.”

“Mari,” scolded Jules. Her mouth twisted in distaste.

“So you know all about Partisan tactics.”

Dog’s watery eyes moved from his mug of coffee and up to Jules, then back. His mouth tightened. The war was not something often discussed in this household, although it had raged for nearly a decade. Even now, the dead king’s Loyalists still gathered in the Hinterland forests.

Jules shook her head. “This isn’t something to talk about at breakfast. Florence Gauthier’s men were- are-- animals, she had no control over them. Why are you even thinking about this, Mari? You spend too much time looking at that computer. Eat.”

But Marty could not eat. “Ivan,” he said, using Dog’s given name, the name that he despised, his voice accelerating with emotion. “Three years ago, when that school was bombed in Ille de Matane--“

The mere mention of the act made Dog’s face turn white. Marty had only been 10 at the time, but he could remember hearing about how Anatole Surkhov and his men had dug through the rubble for two days, looking for survivors. The Partisans had been disbanded immediately after that, and Florence had hung many of her own people. At 10 years old, his imagination had held onto the images of little kids getting blown to bits. Now, he could only think of the same thing happening in Eden.

Lee Harlan was no Partisan, no desperate soldier. Or was he?

He continued: “They used bombs they built themselves, right? They used fertilizer because the embargo made gunpowder so scarce.”

The coffee was scalding hot but Dog drank it anyway. There were lines under his eyes. “People will use whatever they can get their hands on when they are desperate and angry,” he said carefully. Behind him, Jules fiddled with a crystal she wore around her neck, movements tense. “That’s-- it’s over now. That was a horrible time, it should have never happened. The Prime Minister should have never let that happen. I don’t know why you’re thinking about it. It’s over.”

“I just want to know how it works.”

“Ammonium nitrate can be manufactured from fertilizer.” Jules was growing angry, maybe even protective over her friend. She shook her head and made the sign against evil, her thumb pressed to her blackened middle and ring fingers. “It’s easy to make, even for an idiot. That’s why it’s so dangerous. Gauthier’s men annihilated that school with only 30 kilograms of ANFO, they stole it from a farm and were able to build a bomb that killed 24 children the next week. Is that what you wanted to know, Mari? You should feel blessed for the privilege of not knowing these things. The war is ending, we don’t have to think about this anymore. Eat your breakfast.”

Easy to make, even for an idiot.

Marty felt very sick. He stood up and realized that his knees were shaking. Suddenly, all he could think about was the people he cared about in Eden. Ayda. Kip. Rome. All he could think about was how far he was from them, how helpless he was to do anything if something went wrong.

Easy to make, even for an idiot…

This was wrong, of course it was. He was being paranoid, crazy. He had no reason to think that Lee would do something like that, or be involved with something like that. This paranoia was the byproduct of his obsessive thoughts, of his constant fixation on Lee Harlan. In trying to sniff out something that he had done wrong, he had created problems in his mind. Problems that didn’t exist.

But Marty had been right about things before. He had seen things before, things that ended up happening. He thought about the vision he had had, the vision where huge buildings crumbled into chunks.

He got up from the table and did not realize that he had knocked over his mug of coffee. Both Dog and Jules jumped, looked at him like he was crazy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jules demanded. “Mari, you have to eat.”

Suddenly delirious, suddenly sick, he shook his head, pushing his way back to his bedroom and his devices. “No,” he said. “No, I have to call someone. I have to call Kip.”

[searchingwardrobes]

CS Valentine's One Shots: Day Eight

Prompt: First “I love you”

I don’t know if this qualifies as canon or canon divergent. I think of it as “filling in a plot hole.” Dark Hook’s words to Emma in Broken Heart about how he always said it first made no sense. After all, from what we saw on screen Emma said it first and Killian had only ever said it indirectly. I know some people explain it by saying the darkness twists truth, but I got to thinking about all those “off screen conversations” A&E are always saying happened. And in Operation Mongoose, all Emma said was that she never told him how she felt. Maybe he threw the “L” word around all the time . . .

And warning: this got a little angsty, especially the ending. I swear I’m not doing this on purpose . . .

Three Little Words

Three Times Killian Jones told Emma Swan he loved her and one time he didn’t.

One: First Date

              The sea always calmed Killian, and while calm was an odd way to feel when he was finally on a date with Emma Swan, it was the best word he could use to describe how he felt right now. Despite his worries over his supposedly cursed hand, despite the ice witch who was out there somewhere, Killian felt deliciously content in this moment. Emma’s hand was in his, he could hear the soothing beat of the waves beneath the docks, and Emma’s hair glittered like gold in the moonlight.

              She let go of his hand to lean against the railing of the boardwalk, and as she did, he noted the elegant curve of her neck, the way her ponytail swished against her shoulder blades, the almost girlish way she popped her foot and dug her toe into the old, wet boards. She shivered, and he inwardly berated himself for not thinking of the dropping temperatures or her bare shoulders (aside from admiring her soft skin, that is).

              He shrugged out of his leather jacket and quickly draped it over her. “Here love, you have more need of this than I do.”

              Emma accepted it gladly with a soft thank you, slipping her arms into the sleeves and hugging her torso. She was uncharacteristically vulnerable tonight, and he hoped that was because she felt safe with him.

              She shivered still as she drew the jacket tighter around herself, and Killian came closer to wrap his arms around her from behind. She sighed and leaned back into him. Words didn’t seem necessary for the moment as they simply stood there, wrapped up in one another, gazing at the stars. Killian lowered his head to nuzzle into her neck, the scent of her shampoo making his heart thud loudly in his chest.

              “I love you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if it was the quiet, or her softness in his arms, but the words just slipped out.

              She stiffened slightly, and he held his breath, fearful that he had spoken too soon. She turned, still in the circle of his arms, her face flushed, eyes shining and darting to and fro. The moment stretched out, marked by the undulating sound of the waves below.

              Finally, she raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him. He kissed her back, knowing it was the only answer she could give. At least for now.

Two: Valentine’s Day

              “Swan!” Killian shouted, as he burst into the loft. His fear ratcheted up a few more notches when he saw that the place was empty. It had been weeks since the Crocodile left town, and therefore weeks since there had been a crisis, but Emma’s text message had him falling right back into that mode. He glanced down at his screen to read the message again.

              Come to the loft. Hurry.

              He heard a laugh from the top of the stairs, and when he lifted his gaze from his phone, he saw Emma standing there, a bright smile on her face. Killian let out a huge sigh of relief as he pocketed his phone.

              “Bloody hell, Swan, you scared me to death!”

              “I scared Captain Hook?” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her head. “Yay me. Now get up here, pirate.”

              Killian did as she asked without further complaint. Belle had teased him about being whipped, and when she explained to him what that meant, he couldn’t really argue. He’d traded his ship for this woman, jumped through a time portal for her. Anything else was a trifle, really.

              When he reached the second floor of the loft, Emma stood in front of her bathroom door with her hands behind her back grasping the doorknob. She wore an eager grin and there was delight shining in her eyes.

              “Do you know what today is?”

              Killian scratched his jaw with the curve of his hook. “Aye, Valentine’s Day, a holiday which requires Granny to decorate the diner with tacky red hearts and naked babies with bows and arrows.”

              Emma chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah, I know, it’s kind of cheesy. But you’ve done so much for me, I wanted to do a little something for you . . . so . . . “

              With that she flung the door open, simultaneously grabbing his hook and pulling him through the door. The claw foot tub in the corner was filled to almost overflowing with big, frothy bubbles.

              “It’s a bubble bath,” Emma explained, shaking his arm excitedly. “You were so thrilled with showers, and my parents said there were no bubble baths in the Enchanted Forest, not like this, sooo  . . ta-da!”

              Killian grinned at the thought she had apparently put into this. He approached the tub cautiously, dipping his hand in to find the water invitingly warm. It was difficult to keep water at such a perfect temperature back in the Enchanted Forest. He glanced around and also saw candles burning all over the room.

              “Come on,” Emma said, yanking on his arm, “before the water gets cold and the bubbles disappear.”

              She had already yanked off his jacket and tossed it on the floor. He was blushing, which was slightly embarrassing. “You, uh, talked to your parents about this?”

              Emma rolled her eyes as she unbuttoned his vest. “Are you kidding? My dad would have a coronary. After he pulled his gun on you, that is. I just asked for a few hours without the baby. I think mom suspected something, but my dad seems to be a little clueless about that sort of thing. Or at least when it involves me.”

              Killian’s vest was cast aside, and he watched Emma as she worked on the buttons of his shirt. Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she worked them. “How do you do this with one hand?” She muttered. “These buttons are tiny.”

              Killian cleared his throat nervously as he closed his hand around Emma’s, “I think I can handle it from here.”

              “No way, sailor,” Emma corrected him with a heated stare, “that tub is big enough for two.”

              His blush only increased as he gazed into her eyes. Not only was this a new step in their own relationship, but it was a level of intimacy he had never shared with anyone after losing his hand. Sex became nothing more than a rough, quick release with nameless, faceless women who craved a night to forget just as much as he did. While some women had seen him without his hook, no living person had seen him without his brace since that horrible, painful day on his ship so long ago. And he hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was ashamed.

              “Emma,” was all he managed to choke out as he rubbed his thumb nervously along the inside of her wrist. He wasn’t sure how to put what he was feeling into words. He just stood there, staring at the floor and clenching his jaw.

              “Hey,” Emma said softly, reaching up with both hands to cup his face. She eased his chin up until his eyes met hers, and what he saw there stole his breath. Understanding. Patience. And above all, acceptance. She ran her thumbs wordlessly across his cheeks for a moment, then her hands drifted down to finish the buttons. She eased his shirt off his shoulders and one arm, then carefully worked the other sleeve around his hook. Then she ran her hand over the leather straps, almost as if she were admiring them.

              “It’s okay,” she whispered as she unbuckled them. Her voice soothed him, but he still closed his eyes as she eased the brace completely from his torso. He kept them closed as her hands mapped his chest, his shoulders, his arms. Then she was cradling his stump in both hands, running her thumbs over the scars. His eyes finally opened to see her do what he had thought was unthinkable. She lifted his arm to her lips and placed a soft kiss at the end of it. His own breath came out in a shaky hiss.

              “It’s okay,” she said again, pressing his stump against her to rest between her breasts. She stepped closer, her free arm encircling his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest, his bad arm wedged between them.

              Killian, almost overcome with the tenderness of the moment, brought his hand up shakily to run his one hand through her hair. He lowered his face to breathe in the softness of her hair. “I love you so much,” he told her huskily.

              She lifted her head to look at him, her mouth agape. Her eyes were awash with intensity, and he waited with bated breath for her words to come.

              But Emma’s expression changed to a smirk as she yanked at the zipper of his jeans instead.

  Three: The Cabin in the Woods

              He stands there, simply gazing at her in amazement. He can’t believe she doesn’t know. Tears prick at his eyes. Is it that hard for her to believe she’s enough?

              “Don’t you know, Emma?” he finally manages to say around the lump in his throat. “It’s you.”

              The look on her face almost kills him. So shocked and full of wonder. They are drawn together slowly, tenderly, and as he kisses her, he can taste a tear in the corner of her mouth. He turns to kiss the salty path on her cheek.

              “I love you,” he breathes against her petal soft skin.

              She just buries her face in the crook of his neck and sighs.

  Four: The Loft

              One moment, lowly deckhand Hook feels cold steel slice through skin, muscle, and sinew. He reaches his one hand out to Emma Swan, regretting that he hadn’t grabbed hold of the moment offered him earlier. That he hadn’t leaned down and kissed her. Because no one has ever looked at him that way before. And no one has ever looked as devastated as Emma Swan does right now as he falls to the ground, the life bleeding out of him.

              The next moment, his eyes are opening and he’s on his back on a hardwood floor. He’s Captain Hook again. No, he’s Killian Jones, hero and the man who loves Emma Swan. He smiles. They did it. Henry and Emma did it!

Henry! He leaps to his feet, ignoring the groans of Snow and David still on the floor behind him as he races upstairs to be sure the lad is ok. He doesn’t even have time to look for the boy when Emma bursts in, “Hook!” the first word on her lips.

              He can tell she’s frantic and distraught, so he plays cocky and comedic. It was the right choice, as her face lights up with joy. She comes racing up the stairs, his given name now spoken with delight as she tackles him with a hug. It takes him by surprise when she tumbles with him onto the bed, knocking the breath out of him in the process. But he delights in the weight of her pressing him into the mattress and he enjoys it even more when she pins his arms on either side of his head, propping herself up to grin down at him. He really wishes her parents weren’t right downstairs.

              “Didn’t mean to frighten you, love,” he tells her, “when I woke, I came up here to check on your boy.”

              “He’s fine, Henry’s fine . . . “ She trails off, her smile faltering, and her eyes getting a sort of far-off look.

              Concerned, he sits up, his forehead creasing as he searches her suddenly pale expression. “What is it, love?”

              “It’s just . . . when I saw you die . . . I was afraid I would never get to tell you . . . “

              Killian thinks he knows where she’s going with this. He understands her walls, her fears, her insecurities. Mostly because he’s felt them too. He tries to encourage her, but feels he only succeeds in plastering a ridiculously broad grin on his face.

              “To tell you . . . thank you.”

              For a brief moment, his heart drops all the way to his stomach. He died for her, and still she holds back. But he swallows down the hurt and disappointment. It has to be on her terms, he only wants it on her terms, and so he smiles. He barely hears the rest of her babbling thank you.

              “All in a day’s work for a hero,” he tells her when she finishes. She presses her forehead to his, burying her fingers in his hair. He wonders if she expects him to say it like he always does: I love you. But this time, he can’t. 

              Killian Jones is a patient man. One day, perhaps, she’ll simply say it. Those three little words he longs to hear from her lips.