#i cannot draw teeth yet shhh

[killjo-q]

Fangs

[genjipegger]

GENCIO — SILENCE

summary : it's not every day that lúcio finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place.

short gencio smut drabble featuring a small handful of kinks.

18+/PUBLIC/TRANS LÚCIO

this short fic is relatively old, and stolen from my ao3, but i wanted to post something so i decided to just throw this out there!

Lúcio’s hands are pressed firm and flat to the wall, back bent to curve his spine beautifully into the steady grasp of cybernetic digits. Oh, how he got himself in this situation, he does not know.

It started as every other mission, the ordinary, the usual. Lúcio had heard of Genji, though never met him in person. Steam had hissed from the sliding door, Athena’s voice a loud overhead beckon to attack. Yet, all Lúcio’s wallriding skills were good for was locating Genji. The second they laid eyes upon each other, it had been settled, and the DJ was fully, entirely captivated. As was the looming ninja on the enemy team. Inseparable, in love. Lúcio didn’t even hesitate to let Genji grab him by the wrists and drag him off from the horrors of battle that continued to rage on behind them. In that moment, nothing mattered, nothing but the sweet caress of his hands and the lull of his accented voice.

Genji’s hips rock against his ass, and he trembles, breathes hard at the cybernetic cock that pushes slowly yet deeply inside of him, the cyborg glued to his back, securing him by the waist. Had it not been for those strong, nimble palms, Lúcio was sure he would have already collapsed. He’s slow and sweet, taking his time, drawing out shy cries from the quivering musician. Every delicate thrust of his hips elicits another moan, Lúcio’s thighs quaking against the steady rock of cybernetic enhancements.

“You feel so good,” a Japanese voice murmurs directly behind his ear, soft and sultry, “you’re taking me so well, Lúcio.”

Footsteps approach, fade, then increase in number. Genji groans, doubles his efforts, ramming his cock deep inside of the hole that takes him so eagerly. Slick pools from where their bodies interject, gradually forming a milky white puddle on the ground. Every time the cyborg pushes back into him, it happens with a lewd, wet sound, Lúcio tightening around him ever so slightly. The DJ curls a hand over his mouth, digs his trimmed fingernails into his skin, presses his palm to wet lips to muffle his ecstatic pleas. Despite his efforts, he is still incredibly loud.

“Shhh.” Genji coos in a guttural growl behind him, scarred lips finding the side of his neck in light, loving kisses. Kisses quickly turn to teeth and tongue, the cyber-ninja working effortlessly to mark him all whilst Lúcio does his best not to make a peep. The ruthless stretch of Genji’s pounding cock certainly isn’t helping, but he cannot find it in himself to complain.

“Genji..” He moans desperately into his palm, eyebrows knitting in a deep furrow over his soft, dark, round eyes. The knot in his stomach pulsates ever so threateningly- as does Genji’s girth between his walls. He grows louder, whiny and frantic, body rocking back against that of the cyborg. The voices that linger behind them slowly disappear altogether, and Genji heaves out a breath, forcing his hips hard against the small man beneath him.

“That was close..” He murmurs, tugging Lúcio impossibly closer by the waist. His thrusts grow erratic and sloppy, no longer caring to draw out the moment. All he wants is to fuck Lúcio to completion.

The vocal DJ notices, and grips the wall with his free hand, releasing the suffocating press over his lips with a loud, relieved moan. The second the presence of people fades, he picks up tremendously in volume, body rocking in fervor in time with Genji’s thrusts, crying and wailing in lewd moans and desperate whimpers. “Genji, I’m so close..”

Genji’s eyes lift, scan the side of his face, then inevitably light up. “You gonna cum for me, my sweet kaeru?” The nickname rolls off his tongue without so much as a second thought, and he moans, growling under his breath as he feels the way Lúcio clamps down on his cock.

“Yes, oh Genji- yes!” Lúcio pants, lips parted as he turns his head sideways to gaze back at Genji, who meets his longing eyes almost instantly. For but a fraction of a second, time seems to still around them, focusing on nothing but the passionate thrill of their bodies locking together in such a dangerous array. Genji finds he cannot hold on for much longer, either.

“Fuck, Lú.. In or out?”

“Please, please inside..”

The cyborg needs not another plea of encouragement. He grips onto Lúcio tight, fucks him so hard against the wall that he starts to press him against it, his body locked between the merciless thrusts of the cyborg and the bricks at his face. All it takes for the DJ is one calculated brush of Genji’s cock inside of him for him to break, the knot in his stomach tipping over to result in what had to be one of his strongest orgasms in a very long time. Stars momentarily dance in his vision as his eyes tip into the back of his skull, releasing all over the stretch of Genji’s cock with a loud cry of his name. Every part of him winces and quivers, and the sight alone is plenty for the cyborg. With Lúcio clamping down on his pulsating girth, he too reaches his end, burying himself to the hilt as ropes of thick cum paint the insides of Lúcio’s pussy.

Heat explodes in his stomach, and the musician mewls, slowly beginning to go slack in Genji’s grasp. He feels full, spent, and exhausted. Genji’s cock throbs lazily inside of him as he rides out his climax, and it takes all of the cyborg’s strength to keep him upright.

“Oh, dear. How am I going to get you back to your team like this?”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 7

Summary: In order to win, she might have to lose.

Warnings: angst, swearing, bit of fluff, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six  

=================================

Waking up to skies lit by the wintry sun is what Y/N expected. In the back of her mind, she remembers opening her eyes. Perhaps it’s her mind playing tricks on her, but she could swear she heard Aleksander’s voice softly speaking to her. 

Telling dreams from reality felt like an impossible task, but if it were a dream, would she really dream of him?

Death never crossed her mind. She was a soldier in an expendable army for most of her life, yet she never feared death. There was never a lingering sense of what if when they asked her if she believed in life after death, but she wondered now. Looking death in the eye had forced a realization upon her – she would die and achieve nothing. She married arguably the most powerful man in all of Ravka and she failed to utilize it. In the end, her name would be forgotten in history for her plans would all die with her.

Inhaling sharply, she wanted to open her eyes. A heaviness settles on her eyelids, making her groan. Her entire body felt dismantled, every nerve bare, inflicting pain.

“It’s alright”, a hand pressed to her forehead and Y/N frowns. Breathing heavily, she felt vulnerable, exposed.

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flutter open. With blurry vision, she looked up at the dark presence looming above her. Blinking fast, her lips part and before she can ask, cool liquid runs down her parched throat.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes closed again. She needed a moment to collect herself, to stop the world from spinning.

“It hurts”, she mumbles meekly.

“Shhh”, his voice reaches her. “I’m here”, she feels a gentle squeeze of his hand, “You’re safe.”

Resisting sleep, she opened her eyes once more. The sight of his tormented gaze leaves her nearly breathless. He’s still handsome, but it looks as if he’s aged ten years in just a few days.

“What happened?” Her voice is hoarse, still raspy from thirst and sleep.

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a week”, his forehead wrinkles, “We’ve just made it back.”

Despite the little voice in his head, the Darkling held onto his wife throughout the night. He kept her close to his chest, running his fingers through her hair. She was exhausted, injured so badly he could hear the strain her body was under with every breath she took.

Her eyes remained closed, her lips slightly parted and his pressed in a thin line. Absurd. It was absurd to think that someone like that – so delicate, so fragile, could have any power over him. It baffles him just how quickly he found himself attached to this woman who was unremarkable in every possible way – or so he told himself.

Truth be told, he couldn’t take his eyes off her since he first saw her. She radiates genuine beauty few possess, a confidence he’s never found in anyone in hundreds of years, and an air of mystery he couldn’t quite understand.

By the time morning light reached their tent, the Darkling just stared at her with care, studying every inch of her face as if it could be the last time he’ll ever be given a chance. He memorized the way she fit in his embrace, the rhythm of her beating heart in the dead of night and every labored breath as it threatened his sanity.

Anger was his best friend for so long, his shield against humanity, but his anger wasn’t all-consuming as it once was – it was directed to those who caused the swelling around her eyes and cuts across her cheekbones.

“General”, Ivan’s head peaked inside the tent only to swiftly disappear once he caught sight of a moment he was sure wasn’t meant for his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, the Darkling gently laid her head down. Caressing her cheek, he let a heavy sigh pass his lips. It’s been too long since he last felt so defenseless and helpless as he did now. He promised himself he’d never feel that way again and yet he found himself in the same cursed whirlwind of emotions as he was in when the fold came to be.

Biting his lower lip, he pushed it all down. If he’s distraught, his people would know. He cannot be emotional and still lead an army. He has to be strong – for Grisha and for Y/N.

“Ivan, we’ll have to find a healer soon”, Kirigan spoke in a hushed tone. Glancing at the tent, he felt a lump growing at the back of his throat. “I believe she’s developed a fever too.”

“Fedyor can try to cool her temperature”, Ivan offers, “He’ll slow her heart and keep her breathing. I’ll trade with him if necessary.”

Nodding, the general was satisfied with Ivan’s solution. For once, Ivan didn’t question why he wanted to protect her. This time, he was offered aid rather than words of discouragement.

“I’ll have to leave some of our own here”, Kirigan looks at the direction they came from. “The Fjerdans came too close and I need to know why. Why would they take my wife?”

Ivan lowers his voice, making sure he doesn’t wake up Y/N, “Perhaps it was a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. Not when her safety is at stake.”

Nodding, Ivan glances at Fedyor. He’d be the same if anyone touched his beloved. Suppressing a smile, Ivan finally realized it – no matter how vehemently the general denies it, his heart is no longer his.

“What are the orders? I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“Take back what they took, place their heads on a stake and wait. More should come soon and when they do, I want to know why they came so close to Little Palace and who ordered them to take my wife.”

Squinting, not in anger but to see him better, Y/N frowns, “A week?”

“Winter made it hard for us to move faster and you were in no shape to ride back.”

Letting out a shaky breath of air, she raised an eyebrow, “So you carried me?”

“Ivan and Fedyor kept you alive too.”

Wetting her chapped lips, she hesitated. Her fingers burned, itching to touch him, to intertwine with his.

“A healer should be here any minute now”, Aleksander informed, pulling his hand out of hers as if he could sense her inner battles and decided to help her by removing himself from it entirely.

“No”, she decided.

Standing abruptly, his jaw clenched. Despite his stern expression, his eyes hold all the sadness in the world, pleading eyes that both threaten and adore.

“No?” He repeats with disdain, “What do you mean by no?”

Holding her breath, she endures a sharp pain in her ribcage as she propped herself up on her elbows. Breathing heavily, she directed her determined gaze on him. “I’m human, am I not?”

Squinting at her, his lips part, “And?”

Struggling to prevent herself from laughing at the way he looked at her now, Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Humans aren’t allowed aid of a healer. We go to the medics.”

“You’re my wife”, he remarks almost instantaneously, slightly wishing she remained unconscious for a while longer. If she slept, the healer would have done their job and there would be no argument. There was no doubt about it, their truce was over.

“But I’m still a human. The rest of my kind don’t have the privilege of being married to you.” Her voice is stern, low and frustratingly righteous.

“You need a healer or you might not survive”, Aleksander insisted.

“Then let me die.” She stared at him, no signs of crumbling and it made him feel like he’s drowning.

Rubbing his forehead, the Darkling shut his eyes in frustration. After all the sleepless nights, his head felt like it would implode. All he had on his mind was her safety and now when he brought her home, she refused help.

“What do you want?”

Knitting her eyebrows, she glanced at his jaw as it clenched. “What?”

Her voice is higher, almost confused but he knew better than that. “I’ve known you for almost two months.” Two months too long, he thought. “I know when you’re trying to extort me.”

Covering her mouth, Y/N suppressed a laugh. Truth be told, it’s exactly what she’s doing, she just didn’t expect him to cave so quickly.

“Healers for the First army”, her lips twitch. Pursing her lips, she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her mouth to stop herself from smiling at all costs.

“No”, he spoke through gritted teeth.

Shrugging, she laid back down. “Alright then. I only regret I won’t be here to hear you explain my death to the Tsar and my father.”

Growling under his breath, he swipes his hand down his face. “One healer.”

“Two”, she argued, sitting up with a pained expression on her face.

“We can’t spare two”, the Darkling crosses his arms, his eyes darker than ever before.

Lifting her chin in defiance, she narrowed her eyes at her husband. “Two healers or no deal.”

Releasing a long, heavy breath in frustration, the Darkling felt his insides turn. “Two healers but only for those who can’t get better with a week long rest on their own.”

“Two healers for those who can’t get better in a few days of rest AND the same amount of food and water for the First army.”

Running a hand through his hair, the general’s nostrils flare. Cracking his neck to the left, to the right, he turned his death glare back on his wife. “Food and water are limited for Grisha as well.”

“I saw them eat grapes”, Y/N deadpans. “You have enough, so share. If the First army dies out, who will protect your precious Grisha?”

Folding her hands in her lap, she maintained eye contact with the general who refused to blink. He stared back at her, aghast. The woman was impossible! She made every word that passed her lips a contest of wills.

His jaw set, he moved closer to stand before her. He looked formidable with the relentless, firm pools of black ink for eyes devouring her with intensity, too hard in comparison to what she had seen in the tent. He looked like he could kill her without even putting a hand on her…something she still expected him to do.

What was stopping him? She was far behind enemy lines, no reinforcements and she saw what he can do – he could kill everyone who stood in his way.

“Fine”, he huffs. “Under one condition.”

Rolling her eyes, she nods, “What is it?”

“I want a kiss.”

Her eyes flashed to his. Ringed with golden bruises, she was still alluring – like a wildfire or a storm. No…she is wildfire, a storm. She is deadly and uncontrollable and slightly out of her wits and he’s asking her to be his ruination. It isn’t love, he tells himself, it’s obsession.

Raising her eyebrows, Y/N didn’t bother hiding her surprise. A kiss? Of all the things he could have asked, the big bad general who can summon shadows is asking for a kiss?

A part of her trusted Aleksander and that trust demanded intimacy. She wanted his hands on her – in her hair, his lips on her neck. She longed to be vulnerable and that’s what worried her. Trusting him, needing him, it’s bound to breed love and self-inflicted madness. If it were anything else, she would outright refuse him, but she has so many lives dependent on her answer.

“Tonight”, she decided. If her own sanity is the price to pay, she will do what she has to do.

Nodding, the Darkling retreated. Leaving the room, he opened the door for the healer to enter. Sparing her a quick look, he swallowed thickly as the thought of her willingly kissing him made his heart slam into the rib cage. Even his heart wanted to escape him as it too longed for her hands’ touch.

He didn’t make more than two steps outside the room when a Grisha joined him - one of his many spies.

“What do you have for me?”

The spy beckons him to the side, looking around wildly. “This could change everything.”

“What is it?” The Darkling speaks through gritted teeth, demanding an answer.

“There is talk”, the spy pauses, “Of a Sun Summoner.”

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

Healed, bathed and properly fed, Y/N had paced their room in anticipation of his arrival. She had seen the look in his eyes earlier that day – something between them has changed.

As the door opens, her breath halts inside her throat.

“I thought you were lost”, Genya admitted. “When they found your mare, I lost hope.”

Smiling, Y/N cupped her cheek. “I did too”, she sniffled.

The Darkling felt, more than saw, her presence as he entered the room. He turned slowly, his breath held. Her hair looked darker in the candlelight, its rich color gleaming against the green velvet of fresh sheets on the bed she leaned against. He could hardly speak. The nearness of her, the quiet room, the candlelight made him question the reality of what he was looking at.

“You look better”, Aleksander managed a curt smile, looking at Y/N and her attire. The sheer nightdress she wore was back, perfectly outlining her figure.

“Why did they take you?” Genya asked, unshead tears weighing heavily on her eyes. “Did they know?”

“No”, Y/N shakes her head, “But they found out.”

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter. Kirigan killed them all.” Y/N glanced at the door where she expected her husband to appear later on.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Y/N felt her heart flip. “It helped me realize something.”

Frowning, Genya waited for Y/N to explain.

“Your General does have a heart”, she states. His request for a kiss lingered in every thought her mind could concoct.

She stared at him then slowly untied the belt of her robe and it glided languidly over her smooth skin, falling to her feet.

His gaze roamed over her as if he is unable to fully comprehend her beauty. Only when he looked back at her eyes did he see she was troubled. 

“Of course he does”, Genya chuckles, “He was most worried when you were taken. He promised he’d kill them all and bathe in their blood.”

“I think I can use that.”

Knitting her eyebrows, Genya’s frown deepened. “How?”

Pressing her lips, Y/N sighed. “In order for me to win”, she paused, “He needs to believe he did.”

“Husband”, she spoke clearly. She feigned confidence, but inside she quivered.

She had barely finished the syllable when she was in his arms, being carried to their bed, his lips already fastened to hers. She felt his lips hit hers like a tornado, his admission of burning the world in her name spinning in her head. It could have been a fever dream, but she would bet her life it wasn’t.

Holding her chin in place, he rested his forehead on hers, heaving from the kiss. She couldn’t open her eyes, clinging to him for dear life, but even with eyes closed, Y/N could hear the emotions thick in his voice.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not willing.” He whispered against his lips, all too prepared for his hands to roam her body now.

Y/N was afraid of herself as well as of him. He could sense it as he kissed her. He’d waited a long time for her to come to him and now it seems she was more than ready to give herself to him without his talk of her marital duty.

He expected anything but to find her with her arms wide open.  But even now, as he held her, he felt no great sense of triumph.

Pulling the sheet over her, he stood. “I can wait.”

The sheet accented her shoulders and the full swelling of her breasts. The candlelight deepened the shadow above the sheet. Her bare throat pulsed with life. Her face was set in a firm, serious expression that caused her eyes to darken. Her lips were hard, as if carved of marble and he ached to part them into a smile.

Turning away, he began undressing himself for bed, wondering how he could survive a night beside her if she remains as she is now.

She averts her gaze, whispering under her breath in confusion, “Wait?”

He laid beside her, barely dressed at all. She found herself achingly aware of his presence. The only light in the room was from the flames of candles she placed across the room. The light danced on her hair, played with the shadows of her delicate collarbones. At this moment, he remembered nothing of the arrangement their marriage was meant to be. He knew only that he was in bed with a desirable woman, one he never expected to claim. She seemed too headstrong to ever give into his charm, yet she bared herself before him and he couldn’t take advantage of her.

“Why don’t you want me?” She sat up, glaring at him. She let the sheet fall as his eyes met hers, bravely fixing him with her fiery gaze.

Rolling his eyes, he looks away. How can she torment him like this with no shame?

If anything, he felt like she’s attacking him. “I don’t want to hear about how a demon took you by force for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not force if I’m giving myself willingly, is it?” She raised an eyebrow, deciding on a tactic finally. Aleksander is a general, a conqueror at heart and she saw the desire in his eyes. If there was any hope of her plan to work, she had to harness his desire to convince him he won.

Licking his lips as he cracked a smile, Aleksander nodded in surprise, unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her breasts. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He wanted to possess her, to claim this difficult, headstrong woman for himself. His mouth came down brutally hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them.

Y/N fumbled with the sheet that wrapped around her, making Aleksander chuckle into the kiss.

“Let me help you,” Aleksander purred and tore the sheet away, pulling it from under the mattress.

Wrapping his hand around Y/N’s neck, his grip was oddly weak, gentle even. She laid nude before him, his gaze fixed on her. He stared at her in wonder; her full breasts, curvy waist, round hips. Then he looked back at her face, her eyes blazing. Her lips were reddened from his kiss, and suddenly there was no power on earth that could stop him from taking her.

“You make me feel”, he pauses in anguish, “You make me feel”, he said quietly, fiercely, “And I don’t like it. I want it to stop. Now.”

He pushed her into the mattress and Y/N saw the ruthless general in his eyes and for a moment she feared it. A general isn’t gentle at all, not like Aleksander could be. She feared the pain he’d cause and the tears that would follow. She feared what he’d do to her, but then the fear she felt dissipated as he spoke against her lips.

“I’ll go slowly.” Aleksander stopped himself, remembering she’s never had a man in her bed before and once he saw the fear in her eyes extinguish the flame he already adored, he reeled himself in.

“Your hands are bloody from murder”, she paused, “But I trust them completely.” Her voice had never been smaller, her hands never as desperate as she clung to him. She wanted to trust the sudden, overwhelming warmth in his unrelentingly tender gaze, but she still awaited the pain that was yet to come. He moved on top of her, his lips attaching to her neck gently as he pressed a kiss above her pulsating carotid, knowing she’s nervous as he felt the pace of her pulse.

With one thigh, Aleksander parted hers. He kissed her again, passionate and slow, distracting her as his hand moves lower, down to the intimate parts she never allowed another only man to see, to feel. Slipping his finger between her folds, he found if applied enough pressure a desperate moan escapes her without a fail. He feels her breathing change as he begins to rub circles, her thighs trying to push against his in a need of more friction. And that’s when control escapes her and she closes her eyes completely, letting the pleasure take over.

Unable to wait any longer, Aleksander pushed the head of his hardened length between the folds, feeling her wetness pooling over as nature’s lubricant. Feeling the membrane, he stops for a moment. Looking at her carefully for any signs of distress, he wonders if she even realizes what is about to happen.

“Do you want this?” He asks again, fearing she may change her mind.

Gripping his arm, she nods. “Yes”, she replies, breathless.

Pressing himself inside, he bows his head in the crook of her neck, growling lowly in pleasure. It’s not the first virgin he had, but it’s the first one that made him want to come on the first thrust.

“Go on.” She encourages him, surprising them both. Swallowing thickly, she sinks her nails into his back, anticipating the next thrust. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t in pain, but she knew it would get easier as he moves again and she would feel the pleasure again – and she wanted the pleasure more than the pain.

Nodding, Aleksander starts moving in and out slowly, refusing to risk her pain for a little more pleasure he’d find in speed and his untimely release. Instead, he’s using deep, slow strokes with a relentless care for the nerve bundle between her folds. Every passing second draws louder moans from her until he feels her clench around him, his own mind blackening as he feels himself nearing the edge. She’s holding him so tightly to her body, so desperately as she unravels beneath him. Picking up pace, he finally loses control, jerking his hips to meet hers in a deep thrust only to finish deep inside her, allowing them both to breathe.

Rolling off her, Aleksander decided to stay quiet, allowing her to have control of the moment. If she wants his embrace, he’d do it for her and if she wants to talk, he’d talk to her, otherwise, he’d just sleep. It’s been so long since he truly slept – since the day they went for that ride.

He placed an arm around her for comfort alone, not pressing himself closer than necessary, closing his eyes once he realizes she’s not interested in him at all after she came down from her high.

Waiting for a few minutes, Y/N pretended to sleep. After the hurricane of emotions he’d given her, Y/N didn’t know how to feel. She wanted to relax, to sleep in bliss, but a part of her ached. She ached for who she used to be. Would her father hate her for what she just did? Would her people denounce her for sleeping with the enemy?

Her eyes opened wide, finding his are still closed. Lips quivering, she felt herself crumble as tears fled her eyes. She watched his sleeping figure and sighed deeply, telling herself to stop crying. She was supposed to be in control of him, to make him want her and crave her, yet she found it was the opposite. She didn’t love him, but she did feel a connection…perhaps it’s the kindness he showed her when he rescued her or the pleasure he had given her, but something inside her changed and the heart she hardened on purpose found a soft spot for the general.

=============================

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon  @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06  @whatthefluffrichard @aami98 @britriestbr @itsfangirlmendes @padme-parker @readingsssssssss @runawayolives @thehighladyofasgard @emlynblack @keithseabrook27 @dailydoseofchoices @deceivedeer​

Part 8

[mmvalentine]

You're Home | Jurdan

Canon divergent. Scene lift from TWK. The smut I wanted but was not given...

I slip into Cardan's room. Though it is not yet dawn, I am lucky. The room is empty of revelry. No courtiers doze on the cushions or in his bed. I walk to where he sleeps and press my hand over his mouth.

He wakes, fighting against my grip. I press down hard enough that I can feel his teeth against my skin. He grabs for my throat, and for a moment, I'm scared that I'm not strong enough, that my training isn't good enough. Then his body relaxes utterly, as though realising who I am.

He shouldn't relax like that. "He sent me to kill you," I whisper against his ear.

A shiver goes through his body, and his hand goes to my waist, but instead of pushing me away, he pulls me into the bed with him, rolling my body across him onto the heavily embroidered coverlets.

My hand slips from his mouth, and I am unnerved to find myself here, in the new High King's new bed- one I am still too human to lie in, beside someone who terrifies me the more I feel for him.

"Balekin and Orlagh are planning your murder," I say, flustered.

"Yes," he says lazily. "So why did I wake up at all?"

I am awkwardly conscious of his physicality, of the moment when he was half awake and pulled me against him. "Because I am difficult to charm," I say.

That makes him give a soft laugh. He reaches out and touches my hair, traces the hollow of my cheekbone. "I could have told my brother that," he says, with a softness in his voice that I am utterly unprepared for. "Where have you been?" he asks me. I don't know how to answer.

"Madoc says you've been ill," Cardan goes on, when I say nothing. His fingers still move lightly over my face. "Must you take your convalescence so far from me?"

"I must," I say stiffly, "since you've allowed Madoc to bar me from seeing you. I have information that cannot wait."

Cardan shakes his head. "I know not of what you speak. Madoc told me you were resting and that we should let you heal."

I frown. "I see. And in the interim, Madoc would no doubt take my place as your advisor," I tell Cardan. "He gave your guards orders to keep me out of the palace."

"I will give them different orders," Cardan says.

"See that you do," I say. "Now, I need to tell you about the plans from the Undersea."

But Cardan just tugs me closer, moves the cover over me so I am under it with him. "I don't care," he says.

"You need to care," I tell him. "Your life is in danger, and we need to make a plan."

"Later," Cardan says. "We have all the time in the world for planning. There's only one thing I've learned tonight that has been worthy of note."

"And, what, pray tell, is that?" I ask him impatiently. I am all too aware that the warmth now enveloping me is Cardan's own body heat, that I'm here in the cocoon of his sleep and his breath. That he is completely naked beneath the sheets, and is not at all shy about it.

"You're home," he says simply. "You're home and that's all that matters." And then he draws me into his arms, and just holds me to him, and I am so surprised that I don't move at all for a moment.

And then my arms are moving, quite without me telling them to, to wrap around his shoulders and to hug him back. His hands stroke at my back and my fingers curl in the hair at the back of his neck. He tangles his legs in mine.

I've been so focused on plotting and scheming and keeping ahead of the enemy, that it only now occurs to me what a relief it is to actually be here, with Cardan, in the silent hours of the early morning.

My arms tighten around his neck and before I know it I'm clinging onto him for dear life, and the horror of the days and weeks I spent under water figuring out how I was going to get back to him, if I was ever going to get back to him starts streaming in from whatever small corner of my mind I had crammed it into. I start shaking in Cardan's arms, and he just smooths circles between my shoulder blades and says "Shhh, you're home now." And that gentleness just freaks me out more, and it is minutes before I can relax.

When I am finally still again, Cardan pulls back just enough to study my face.

"What's this?" he asks gently, and wipes his thumbs across my face. They come away wet, and I realise I've been crying. I'm mortified, and I start to pull away from him, but Cardan put his hands on my face and stops me.

"I'm so sorry I let you get taken," he whispers. "I'm sorry I did not keep you safe." He leans forward and kisses the tears from my face. "And I've been wanting to tell you for so long now that I'm sorry I've always been unkind to you. I realised, when you were gone, truly gone beneath the waves and I hated myself as I never have before, that I've never apologised to you for that. For any of it."

He is so unlike himself in this moment that I cannot help but look for the trick in his words. I am aware that I am just gaping at him like an idiot, but I can't for the life of me conjure coherent words to say. Cardan laughs, his bed-warmed hand going to my shoulder.

"Either I've surprised you or you are as ill as Madoc claimed. Perhaps I am foolish, but I am not a fool. You like something about me," he says, mischief lighting his face, making its planes more familiar. "The challenge? My pretty eyes? No matter, because there is more you do not like and I know it."

And although this Cardan is the Cardan I know, I feel sorry to break the moment. So I shoot back at him, "Not your eyes. It's your lips. You have a cruel but lovely mouth. That's the reason I like you."

Cardan's eyes light. "So you admit you do like me," he says. His hand strokes down my side now. "If only for my beautiful features. I suppose I cannot blame you, for I am a sight to behold."

I go to smack his arm then, but he catches my hand and links his fingers through mine.

"Still," he murmurs, face only inches from mine. "Whatever you like me for. I'll take it. And if it's my lips you like, you can have them."

And then he leans in and presses his mouth to mine.

Desire floods instantly through me, and I am shocked by the strength of it. My lips part for him, and his tongue is hot and lush against mine. And as we kiss I realise that I've missed him, so much, and his kisses are like the piles of food I devoured after starving so long.

Cardan's hands slide beneath my shirt- his own doublet, it occurs to me, stolen only hours ago from his old bedroom. They find the shape of me, and tell my skin secret things that only our bodies know. Soon I'm sliding out of the jacket, and he's tugging off my hose, and although I am very warm in Cardan's bed, I shiver under his fingers.

Yet my skin knows his touch. I am still inexperienced, but we've been here before and this time, my body knows where to expect him. Arches up to meet him as he gets there. This time, my hands know better what to do.

This time, it is both of us breathing raggedly as we spin closer and closer together.

Kissing Cardan has always felt vaguely horrifying but he's right. I just don't care anymore. I'm home, and he's here, and all that's in my mind is chasing the pleasure that he's trailing along my lips, down my throat, across my belly, and between my legs. It's a molten heat that travels wherever Cardan's silvery skin touches mine.

And now his tongue is moving under my ear as he rolls to cage me in his long limbs. His lips descend down my sternum and his teeth catch under my navel. He kisses across my hips and I think I might die from the pleasure. I reach forward and run my hands through the curls of his hair, and he makes a pleased murmuring sounds that vibrates across my skin. I'm so comfortable here that I'm utterly unprepared when he dips his head and licks his tongue between my thighs.

My hips buck off the bed and stars burst before my eyes. I gasp, and see nothing, and my fingers tighten involuntarily against Cardan's scalp. He repeats the motion, over and over and I'm too overwhelmed to be self-conscious about the moans that he's pulling from my lips. Then he slides his fingers into me and I'm dead. I'm sure I'm dead because the world has ceased to exist and I float in boundless rapture. I couldn't say how long for.

Cardan moves back up my body like a wave of heat. He settles over me and his naked cock presses against me where his tongue was moments ago, and I still can't move.

"Jude," he whispers. I don't recognise my name. "Jude." He kisses my lips and still I float. "Are you alright?" I manage to nod. Cardan slides himself against me, wet from his mouth, and asks, "Do you want me to keep going?"

It's enough to bring me back, to meet his eyes as I nod again, and now he's nudging at my entrance. My legs slide up and curl around his hips. His tail coils around my lower leg, and my hands tangle in his hair once more. I can't stop touching it, it's soft like nothing else.

And then he's sliding inside me, incredibly slowly, and the world drops away once more.

In this moment, there's only me and Cardan and the sweetest ache between us, and he's whispering my name like a mantra. "Jude," he says, letting his head drop on my shoulder. "Jude," and this time it's a moan as his fingers interlace with mine and hold them against the mattress. "Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude..."

After that I stop hearing him, because blood is rushing in my ears as his hips start to speed up, and although I feel full to breaking with him inside me, I find all I want is more and more and more.

In that moment I wonder briefly if lust and power and love and hate might all be the same thing after all.

Cardan pulls out of me, and for a second I'm empty and dismayed. Then he's rolling me onto my side, curving his body around mine and pulling my hips back toward him. All I want is to have him back inside me, and I am gratified a second later when he pushes into me from behind.

Cardan has his mouth on my neck, and his hand is pulling my top leg over his hip so he can reach my clit with his fingers. Before I know it, I'm coming undone there in the High King's bed, my fingers grabbing at nothing.

I start to scream and Cardan leans up to cover my mouth with his, kissing me over and over until he, too, is shaking and coming and gripping my hip so hard I'm sure the marks of his fingers will be there for days to come.

We lie there, curled together in the dark and for the first time I'm not at all angry at the command he has over my body.

In fact I'm not angry at anything, and I don't know when else that has ever been true. I just have this bone-deep calm, and it's never, ever been like this with Cardan. It would scare me, if I wasn't so damn calm.

Cardan wipes my legs down and then kisses the back of my neck, and seems to settle back to sleep with ease.

I lie awake for a little longer, wondering what Cardan will be like in the morning, and how we will scheme ourselves out of the Undersea danger.

But Cardan is so warm around me that I do not scheme for long.

****

Soft jurdan, for once in their lives 🥺🥺🥺 My babies.

@asteria-of-mars and @swankii-art-teacher!

JURDAN MASTERLIST

[shorkbrian]

How would kiri or bakugo (or anyone you feel like tbh) react to a reader kinkier than them? Yan is into body worship, but she wants to use harsh nipple clamps. Hes is into humiliation, so is she, but she also wants to try some sensory deprivation. He's is into bondage, she wants mummification or cbt (with her doming). I cant stop thinking about their reactions to just how kinky I am, and knowing you youd twist it wonderfully! Sorry if this is too specific or a squick, but I couldnt stop thinking

So I wanna yeet this out of Yandere territory and into consensual, but maybe not safe or sane.

I’m thinking Bokuto.

Big, dumb Bokubabe.

And hooooooolsy crap what I cannot stop thotting about is cbt!!

(What to expect  - NSFW, CBT obvs lol, consensual, ruined orgasms, hand jobs, orgasm denial, Bokuto being a trooper)

Just imagine tying Bo into a chair, wrists pulled back behind the back of the chair, legs spread and tied to each leg. Tight enough to cut into his skin if he moves too much, but he doesn’t mind, it just adds to the sensory experience.

His range of motion is limited to only being able to hunch forward slightly, which he does often, babbling with tears in his eyes as you edge him over and over, a ribbed, lubed sleeve wrapped tight around his cock.

Bokuto can’t close his legs, no matter how much they ache, no matter how much he twitches and whines and bucks his hips. Your grip on the sleeve is unrelenting, stroking him with it slowly, steadily. 

The head of his cock is practically purple, shiny with lube, dribbling out sticky precum. You can feel it throbbing in your hold, pulsing and throbbing when he gets too close.

It’s easy to know when to remove your hand - Bokuto’s hips buck forward slightly, his cock spasms, and you can see his abs clench and tighten. He usually takes to throwing his head back, biting his lips as he cuts to stop the litany of loud, manly moans from spilling out.

But he’s trying to be sneaky now, trying to cum. He’s desperate, on the verge of tears, begging you so sweetly.

“Baby, baby please. Please lemme cum, I’ve been good! Lemme cum, wanna cum, please? I’ll-mmmhhmm ohhh-” He can’t finish his sentence, you leaning forward to pop the top of his dick into your mouth, immediately hollowing out your cheeks and sucking.

“Fuck, fuck! Gonna cum, yes, yes!” But then you pull back, withdrawing all stimulation and Bokuto cries out, hips rutting against thin air, a pathetic dribble of precum spurting from the tip. “Baby noo-oo! Please, oh god, I’m gonna die baby, you gotta lemme cum. I’ll do anything! I’ll eat you out, suck your tits, I’ll make you squirt, I’ll-I’ll....” 

It was hard for the man to think straight, the constant tease of stimulation, the buildup of an orgasm, then the immediate withdrawal made his head spin, his tongue feel thick and heavy in his mouth, his eyes wet, chest tight.

“Babyyy!” He whined when you pulled the sleeve off his cock, giving the tip a cute little kiss, letting the lube and precum wet your lips as you giggled at Bokuto’s twitching cock.

“Bokie, you gotta be patient. If you cum without permission, I’ll lock you in a cage for the rest of the week, got it?”

The man whined again, jiggling his leg up and down in frustration at the threat. What he was going through was torture, but being locked in a cage? that was hell.

“’M’kay baby, ‘m sorry, just wanna cum really bad, so so bad.” He mumbled.

You ignored him, reaching to your side to pick up the vibrator you had pulled out earlier, watching Bokuto’s face as you switched it on. At the sound of the whirring, Bokuto’s head snapped forward, eyes wide as he took in the toy in your hand.

“No, no baby no, I won’t be able to last, we gotta slow down. I’ll cum, I’ll cu-hnnNNH!” His sentence trailed off into a choked sob as you pressed the tip of the vibrator to his fat balls, letting it rest there before slowly massaging over the fleshy spheres.

“Don’t cum Bokie.” You warned, watching his body closely so you could pull the vibe away the second his stomach started tensing.

He was shaking now, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clamped hard around his lip, so hard that a bit of blood was smeared onto them.

When he gasped out a breath, begging incoherently for permission, you shook your head, removing the vibe, watching the muscular man struggle against his binds fruitlessly, tortured cock bobbing in the air.

You repeated the process a few more times, letting Bokuto lose his mind, become a babbling mess as you slowly upped the vibrations, moving the toy from his balls, to the base of his cock, and then further upwards on each subsequent run.

But you never pressed it to the tip - that was his most sensitive spot, and you were familiar with his limits - if you pressed it there, he’d cum immediately, and you wanted to play a bit longer.

The vibe got switched off, tied to the side, and your husband let out a sigh of relief, although his muscles never ceased shaking, his body keyed up, nerves frayed.

“Alright, I’m going to let you cum now, okay? Don’t hold back.” You smiled up at him, hands coming to wrap around the base of his cock, loosely jerking him off as you watched his face.

“Ohhh, ohhh thank you, thank you baby, thank-than’ you.” He babbled, trying to shove his dick between your hands faster, encouraging you to tighten your fist.

With a nod, you took him in your mouth, sucking hard and fast right off the bat, determined to make him cum after denying him for so long.

It didn’t take more than a minute. 

“Fuck, gonna cum! Yes! Yes! Feels so good baby ‘m gonna cum down your throat-”

But as you felt his balls tighten, throbbing as they pumped his release up into his dick, you pulled off his length with a laugh.

Bokuto writhed in the chair as his orgasm was ruined, the buildup so delicious but the reward so unpleasant.  HIs hips worked furiously, cock slapping against his own stomach as he struggled through the ruined orgasm, the smallest amount of cum spraying from his dick.

“Ah! n-nooo!” 

“Shhh, It’s okay Bokuto.” You reassured him, creeping closer to lay a hand against his cheek. Both of you loved getting him worked up like this, seeing him fall apart under your care. Bokuto knew the waiting was worth it, and that no matter how his cock cried for release, you’d make it up to him in a bit.

“Just a few more times, then I’ll let you really cum, okay?”

“Mm, Mmmhm, okay.” He nodded, eyes glassy as you took his cock in your hands again, fist tighter this time.

“I’ll untie you, yeah? That’ll feel nice. And then you can have me however you want, and you can cum however many times feels good.”

The promise had his mouth watering, fists clenching in their binds as he visualized grabbing you, fucking into you so hard that you couldn’t take a breath, could only gasp and clutch at his shoulders.

“You can push me against the wall... onto the floor, make me ride you..... I’ll do whatever you want Bokie, and you’ll feel so nice.” Your fist was squelching as you pumped his cock, feeling his balls draw up again, the man entirely gone with the picture you were painting with your words.

Your hands dropped his cock, and they went to stroking his chest, leaving him with another ruined orgasm that made the man whine and cry out in anger, frustration, completely overwhelmed. 

“But not yet, I still wanna play with you some more.”

[notyetneedcoffee]

Stitches, Part 3

A/N: Yep, I’ve ventured off the Marvel path and penned a few tales for The Witcher!

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut and cannon level violence

Stiches Part 1 & Stitched Part 2

The light of day began to be swallowed by the shadows of night as you walked behind the Witcher to the outskirts of town. You stared at the massive sword across his broad back, trying to remind yourself he would keep you safe. Yet, you were following him to the one place you found most terrifying.

“Keep up,” He grunted. “I want to have enough light to look around without starting a fire.”

You nearly ran to catch up with his long strides. Geralt looked over his shoulder, seeing the wide-eyed glances you shot to the darkest recesses of the woods. He paused, cupping your cheek in his gloved hand. You took a shuttered breath and tried to look brave. Nerves attempted to crawl out of your stomach.

“I won’t let it hurt you.” He leaned his forehead close to yours.

“But I’m still the bait.” Your voice came out small, little more than a whisper.

“A hym will only appear in the right circumstances, so yes, you are there to draw it out.” He stood to his full, impressive height. “Then I will destroy it.”

Geralt turned back to the road. The smithie’s old home and workshop could be seen just ahead. Brush and grass grew out of control with no one in residence. The door to the workshop appeared to be partially off its hinges, as if someone tore it open. You placed a hand on the Witcher’s back as he stepped inside.

Boxes and bins had been over-turned, ransacked for anything valuable. Rusted nails, twisted chains, and bent shoes scattered the floor. The forge was a black pit against the far wall. Geralt moved to the open door leading into the house. Darker inside, you stayed close as he moved from abandoned room to abandoned room.

Racoons and mice nested in furniture and corners. The sound of their movements made you twitch. Geralt kicked over a table in the main living area and pushed the top against the far wall. He shoved the broken chair and bench to the corner as well.

“Here should do.” He pointed to the interior corner of the room, furthest from the doors and windows. “Stay in that corner. Stay low.” He gripped your upper arm in a firm hand. His face leaned close to yours and spoke quietly. “Do not run, little dove. I will protect you. It’s only fear projected by the hym. Whatever you do, stay in the corner. Don’t get in my way. I need to focus on the hym, so I need you to stay put. Understand?”

You nodded. The anxiety and nervousness already churned your stomach and made your hands sweat. His golden eyes remained locked on yours until you took a deep breath and said, “I’ll stay in the corner. I trust you to protect me.”

His jaw clenched and he gave a single nod before turning you around and giving you a subtle push. You wedged your back into the corner and sunk to crouch on your heels. Beside you, the remnants of a chair littered the floor. You picked up a wooden leg. It wasn’t much, but it felt weighty in your hands.

Geralt drew his sword, balancing it easily in his grip with point up and the blade parallel to the back of his arm. He stood, relaxed but aware, as he waited. You could not see his face, but his head moved slightly as his glance shifted from the door to workshop to the door the outside. The room darkened as the minutes ticked by.

Your breath hitched. Something cold, terrifying, battered your senses. The need to run became overwhelming. You couldn’t see anything, but you knew it was there. A whine escaped your throat as you pushed backed into the corner harder.

Geralt’s head tipped, catching the change in your behavior. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. His breath slowed even more.

A shadow lurched forward. You screamed. A dark beast lunged. Vaguely humanoid in shape, with arms reaching the ground, hairless and skin like aged leather, it rushed at you with mouth open wide. You screamed again, seeing only the long needle like teeth.

A giant sword curved down in a blur. The hym dodged, catching the blade upon its shoulder. Its screeched, the sound making your ears ring. It jumped, bouncing off the wall and crashing across the room and through the door to the workshop, moving like a gigantic jumping spider.

“Don’t move!” Geralt shouted, running after the beast.

The crash of bodies against the wall, made louder by rattling chains and clanging horseshoes, left you shaking. A force hit so hard plaster flew from the wall. You closed your eyes against the dust. The hym wailed again. You covered your head with your arms, screaming.

Every instinct, every urge, insisted you run and get as far away as possible. Tears streamed down your face. The otherworldly terror made you shake. “He’ll protect me. He’ll protect me. He’ll protect me.” You chanted.

The wall gave way with a crash, Geralt and the hym tumbled into the room, black gore spraying along the wall and floor. With a roar, the Witcher swung his sword down to behead the beast. You scurried up and moved along the wall to avoid the flow of thick black blood.

Your keening whine dissolved to rapid pant as you stared at the head.

Geralt let out a heavy breath, rolling his shoulders back. With habitual movements, he wiped the blade before securing it to his back. He turned to you. Other than some hair pulled free of its ties and dirt upon his clothes, he looked no different than he had an hour before.

Approaching you slowly, as if you’d rabbit at a sudden movement, Geralt held out a hand. “It’s over.”

You focused on his face, eye glinting in the darkness. They softened, as he said your name. You took two quick steps and wrapped your arms around his chest. His hands gentle soothed your back. A tremor began in your stomach and it grew to fill your limbs. You couldn’t stop it.

“Shhh.” He breathed into your hair. “It’s the fear passing. You’ll be fine. I’ve got you.”

You lost track of how long you stood there. Eventually, you pulled back. “I need – Can we go outside? I need air.”

“Come,” Geralt led you through the dark to the road outside. The air smelled better. Someone nearby had a fire going in their hearth. The breeze blew the scent through the trees. After a few moments of breathing fresh air, your legs no longer felt like jelly.

“What now?” You peeked around his broad shoulder to the front of the abandoned home.

“Hym bodies turn to dust quickly. A day or two and it will be nothing by grime.” He gave you a rueful smile. “It’s not like there was a bounty on the beast.”

You rested your forehead against his bicep, clutched his forearm. “I cannot thank you enough.” He touched your head with his other hand, prompting you to gaze up to his eyes. “Is your wound alright? Should I check your stitches?”

With a wicked curve of his lip, Geralt rumbled. “You may have to take a very close look, just to be sure.” His tease brought out a giggle. You felt his strong hand rub along the small of your back. His low gravely voice brushed your ear. “We should return to the inn, I can hear the bath and bed calling.”

He led you past the few patrons in the dining room. Rulla, the innkeeper, looked up. You could see the concern in her eyes melt away to relief as you nodded to her. She knew of the night’s adventure. Geralt paused beside her, requesting hot water for the bath.

The fear and adrenaline left you in something of a daze by the time you found yourself sitting beside the large tub in the bedroom. Geralt stripped off his sword and armor, he knelt before you and took your left boot in his hand to unlace the ties.

You were vaguely aware of a tap at the door, but he reply with a gruff “yes”.

Rulla and two boys came in all carrying heavy buckets of steaming water. She asked the Witcher if you were alright, he nodded. “She had a scare, but did well…just needs a bath and a sleep without nightmares.”

“Good, good.” She patted Geralt’s shoulder. “Leave her in your care, then?”

He grunted an affirmative. As the door closed, he set aside you shoes and stood to strip off his own clothing. You watched, a lazy smile growing on your face. He pulled at your hands, prompting you to stand. “Like what you see?”

“Mmm, yes.” You leaned forward to rubbed your nose into the hair covering his muscular chest. He smell of sweat, and man, and your favorite rosemary mint soap. Your hands drifted along his sides, but he push you away enough to loosen your dress.

Geralt removed your clothes. He groaned a bit as he stepped into the tub. Hold out a hand, he drew you into the hot water with him. Arranging you between his legs, Geralt took up the soft cloth and your soap. He quickly washed away his own sweat as you rested your chin upon you updrawn knees.

“Come here.” He eased you back to rest against his chest. With careful strokes, he cleaned away the scent of fear. Soon he abandoned the cloth, to allow his hands to roam over your warm, wet flesh.

Rough, calloused fingers examined the length of your neck. Hands slid along your sides, to encircle you and pull you tight against the bulk of his body. His hot breath tickled your ear before his teeth grazed the skin. Giant palms covered your breasts, kneading and teasing your hard nipples.

You gave a deep sigh. It turned to a moan as his erection rocked against your ass. His mouth latched on to the conjunction of your neck and shoulder, sending a shiver down your body. Geralt rumbled his delight. One of his hand slipped between your legs to bury into your slick core, the other circled your neck to stretch your body along his.

“Mmm, little dove,” He growled. “I’m going to fuck you into a dreamless sleep.”

“Gods, yes.” You panted, already feeling the spiraling tension at your core. His thick fingers buried deep. Your legs spread as far as the tub would permit.

He pulled you up, tightening the hold on your throat, until you felt the head of his cock slip against your core. He guided you down on to himself, slowly a first. Your fingers grasped his arm and moaned, the stretch divine. His fingers danced across your sensitive clit, drawing mewls from you throat.

You were completely in his control. His hips rocked up, gaining speed and force, sloshing water. The vibration of his growl shot through you as he bit down on your shoulder. Your thighs shook. His hand moved to your hip as he slammed into you. Powerful, strong, fast. You orgasm hit you hard, stealing your breath, making you quake.

“Yes,” He growled, fucking you with brutal intensity, not allowing you to come down. Water sprayed. Bodies slapped. He planted his feet against tub wall, arching up and slamming your pliant body onto his cock. You moaned and cried, overwhelmed. His groans and grunts filled your ears. Your legs curled up, coming again, milking his cock and pulling him with you. His arms wrapped around you tight, pushing deep, and filling you.

Geralt moaned and collapse into the now cool water. He looked over the room and chuckled, you felt it through your whole body. Limp, you could only manage a quiet “hm?”.

“It’s a good thing we’re not upstairs and floor is stone.” His voice rumbled in your ear. “We would have flooded anyone below us.”

You couldn’t open your eyes enough to look, but smiled weakly.

“Are you alright, little dove?” His hands reverted back to their soft caresses.

“M’good.” You mumbled. Body limp, nerves tingly, exhaustion pulled at you.

He chuckled again and maneuvered you off of him. He smiled at your moan and small frown as his cock slipped from your body. Geralt sat you forward so he could stand. Then he picked you up and carried you to the bed. Throwing back the covers, he stretch you both out naked to the warm evening air.

You curled against his massive chest, almost asleep immediately.

Geralt sighed, his eyes drifting closed. Tracing shapes on your bare skin with his fingertips, he whispered as he drifted off, “Sleep well, little dove. I’ll keep you safe.”

TAGS:

@night-cereus​ / @peter-pan-hoe​ / @davidbuddbg​ / @saiyanprincessswanie​ 

If you wish to be added to my Witcher tags, please message me!

If you are on my “Everything” Tag list for Marvel stuff, please let me know you want to be on this stuff too!

My Masterlist

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

I’ve Yet To Taste, You’ve Yet To Indulge (Allow Me to Remedy Both)

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Summary: Before leaving England, you and Lewis enjoy the last few weeks of relative normalcy exploring each other.

Warnings: It’s pure smut, Lewis is a sex fiend with a penchant for pretty words, oral sex (f!receiving), poorly written attempts at intimacy, mentions of arachnophobia (unrelated to sexy times, fear not!)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The curls of smoke slip through her lips, the faint smell of tobacco coming from the sleek rolled cigarette in her hand. The low light of the room had grown hazy from her indulgence, and Lewis Nixon found himself studying her again.

She was sitting up against the pillows, having grabbed a white t-shirt since he had fallen asleep and had comfortably lounged against the pillows while she read. 

Something about seeing her so relaxed in his bed made his chest feel tight, a sweet pain that hurt the more he thought about it. 

He didn’t understand why he hadn’t seen her as beautiful before, and if he could go back in time and smack himself for his stupidity he would. 

A sex-mussed and heavy eyed Y/F/N was a sight he’d remember for the rest of his life.

When his fingers first touched her ankle she startled abruptly, gasping as she dropped her small book onto her collarbone with a muffled thunk. 

As soon as she discovered what was lazily drawing spirals up her leg, she huffed out a sigh of relief before shooting him a hollow glare.

“I thought it was a spider, you jerk.”

“Mmm, get a lot of spiders crawling around your bed sheets, Y/N?” he groaned quietly as he kissed his way up to her bent knee. 

“I mean... no more than, what? Three, four? Definitely no more than five. Better than before, at least. This is an old barn house I’ve been billeted in, so it’s got its fair share of—”

“Wait…WHAT?!”

Instantly Nixon vaults out of the bed, the top sheet and comforter springing up like a snapping flag in a sharp wind with the sheer force of his escape. 

If this had been a cartoon, he would’ve left a cloud silhouette of himself behind. 

Y/N cannot keep the laugh behind her lips any longer when he starts frantically brushing himself off in a desperate attempt to rid himself of ‘spiders’. At the sound of her burst of laughter, Lewis whips his head up so fast she starts to giggle in earnest. 

Realization dawns on him and she watches his body morph before her eyes. 

He stands straighter, lifting his chin a bit so he appears even taller. 

Lewis’s bemused smirk has a bite of fire in it, and her laughter begins to trail off into hearty chuckles.

“That’s really funny, Y/N.” he all but growls, cocking a brow as he starts to walk back to the bed. 

Unable to hide his amusement any longer, he descends on her with an exaggerated growl, pinning her hands beside her head as he begins pressing kisses all over her face, she snorts a laugh at him.

“Think you’re so funny, don’t ya? I fucking hate spiders, you wicked, evil girl…”

With a self-satisfied sigh she opened her legs wide enough for him to rest between them, looking up at him with a smirk.

“I didn’t think you could move that fast, Nixy.” Her voice was teasing, and in retaliation he pressed a harsh, quick kiss to her lips in order to shut her up. 

“And I didn’t peg you as a ‘smoking in bed after sex’ type, yet here we are.”

Y/N’s  lips quirked into upward in a grin, shaking her head with good-natured amusement.

“Still not too late to change your mind. The door’s right there.”

He knew she was giving him an out. She was always giving him an out.

It broke Lewis’s heart to learn how easily she assumed he’d regretted any moment of what they’d done, when she was easily the most desirable woman he’d ever met.

“Do you want me to go, Ma’am?” he looked down at her, rubbing the soft skin if her wrists with his thumbs. 

Her y/e/c eyes narrowed slightly beneath furrowed brows, searching his face with a look of disbelief and mild surprise.

Gently, she shook her head from side to side, looking slightly bashful. 

“No... I don’t think I want that at all.”

Unable to hide the grin on his mouth, she snorted a laugh.

“Such a dork,” she mumbled before leaning up to press her own quick kiss to his lips. As she began to pull away Lewis pulled her back and kissed her with such thoroughness and sweetness she had to turn away to catch her breath.

Not that he let her go far. Threading his fingers through her hair, he held her mouth possessively against his.

When she whispered his name lifted his head away so he could look smugly down at her.

“Only for you.” he cooed, taking his hands from her hair and draggins his right hand down her chest and intentionally giving her goosebumps. 

“Only for you...” 

With one final loving look, he brings his mouth to hers and makes the decision to show rather than tell.

Y/N gasped attractively against his lips, the muscles in her stomach jumping at the first touch of his fingers across her ribs.

“What’re you—?”

“Shhh…”

He plucked at her lips again, knowing her face was probably drawn in confusion at his sudden sweetness. Her hands take Lewis’s face and pull him back enough to get a good look at him.

She whispers his name like a question, one that suddenly makes her feel small and vulnerable beneath him. 

“I don’t know what you want me to do, please tell me…”

Lew shakes his head vehemently before she finishes speaking, bringing his hands back to hold smooth the wrinkles of confusion out of her brow.

“Sweetheart…. I want to give. I want to taste. I want you to take.”

The breathy whimper that escaped Y/N’s throat killed him. Without wasting another second, he swooped down and kissed her again, preening internally as she tangled their legs together. 

“You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” Y/N muttered as she arched her back compliantly, her breath hitching as he laved at the hollow of her throat. “I don’t want you to feel obligated, OH—!”

Lewis didn’t want to hear anymore of her nervous self doubt, so he scraped his teeth on the palest skin between her breasts to refocus her.

“Won’t you let me enjoy you?” he groaned into her left breast, trickling his fingertips around her nipple and holding her through the sudden lurch that rolled through her. 

When she didn’t answer with anything more than another airy whimper, Lewis decided to continue his earlier pilgrimage down her hyper-sensitized body. 

“You’re the most overwhelmingly beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he kissed beneath her right nipple.

“I can’t imagine being without you.” He nibbled down her sternum.

“You get me so hard I can’t breathe.” He muttered as he sucked a pretty mark over your rib.

“Do I make you feel good, sweetest girl? I need to make you feel good, darling.”

“Fuck…!” Y/N whines when he latches on to the soft of her inner thigh with hungry lips, Lewis smiling against her skin at her breathy lapse in composure.  

Her hands find his hair and twist, pulling his head up so she can look down her body at him. 

When she sees the lust-drunk look on his face she curses airily again.

“I, uhh, I haven’t had anyone….well, uh…. down there before…” she pants at him, the information nearly making his eyes roll back in his head as his cock throbbed painfully. 

He looked at her as if she had punched him in the gut, the moan he released at her comment making her heart flutter in arousal. 

Ignoring the hot twinge in her belly, she continues. “I haven’t, uh, prepped the area?”

Lewis snorts a laugh, resting his forehead against her hip and kissing the skin there in some desperate attempt to hold his amusement inside. 

She finds herself chuckling too, despite the seriousness of the previous moments. 

Covering her face in her hands she lays back and giggles, fueling Lewis’s own fit of laughter until both of their stomachs hurt.

Y/N had never known that intimacy could be like this

“Okay, Dr. Y/L/N,” he grinned up at her when they had finally calmed down enough to stop giggling like idiots. “The preparedness of your pussy has been noted for the record.”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what to do here!” she gestures over her lower half vaguely. “None of this was covered in basic training! And if it was, I missed that day in school!”

With a sinful smile he once again crawled up to silence her nervous rambling with a deep kiss. 

She only hesitated for a moment before she kissed him back, slowly sitting up so Lewis didn’t have to over exert himself. 

God she liked the way he felt under her fingertips, the strands of his hair coarse as she raked her fingers through them. And, if his responding groan was anything to go off of, he didn’t seem to mind it either.

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” Nix mumbled against her mouth between kisses. “But I need you to shut up and trust me.”

Instantly, she stopped kissing him, pulling away and furrowing her brows. “Elaborate on that, please?” Y/N’s words are barely above a whisper.

He smiles. “ I mean- I wouldn’t do something, touch something, taste something that I didn’t absolutely and whole-heartedly want to. Believe it or not, Y/F/N, I’m not here by accident.” He pressed another quick kiss to her swollen mouth before ducking back down her body and returning to his spot between her legs, placing another set of kisses to the juts of her hip bones. 

“I’m here because I can’t believe someone as stunning, as incredible as you thinks I’m worth a moment of their time. I’m here because- for some insane reason, you want to let me touch you…”

She scoffed down at him, affectionately smoothing his hair away from his face. “Ivy Leaguers” she chided, the easy smile on her face paired with her heavy lidded eyes making his chest tighten. “Did you study waxing poetry at Yale, because damn—“

“Didn’t I say something about you shutting up?”

She catches a glimmer of something darker in his eyes, something that made a flood of heat rush between her legs. 

Carnal, she thought to herself. He looks like he wants to eat me alive.

“Give me something else to do, then.”

When their eyes met, she saw the question in his eyes. 

Are you sure about this? 

She nodded gently, reaching behind her and grabbing a pillow to prop herself up so she could get a better view.

Yes, I want this. I want you to destroy me.

With very little hesitation, Lewis Nixon descended upon her, working her thighs over his shoulders as he began to kiss at her wettest parts. 

It was the strangest, sweetest tickle, the texture of his talented tongue against the smooth slide of her sex. When his eyes flicked up to meet her gaze she openly whimpered, her stomach muscles clenching as she looked down her body at him. 

When he began to suckle on her clit, Y/N nearly shot straight up on the bed.

“Oh!”

As if he were waiting for that very utterance, he consumes her, one of his hands sliding up to the thudding skin between her ribs and pressing down gently, coaxing her back into a lying position. 

Y/N wasn’t sure when she had last blinked, nor was she certain of the last time she properly breathed. 

Drawing a shaking gasp, she felt her body roll unexpectedly at the addition of his fingers. 

Like some sort of dark, sexual maestro, he locates the spot inside of her she had only just begun to explore and presses at her so perfectly that she can barely speak.

The new spike of arousal caught her off guard, a pathetic cry escaping her lips.

“Fuck, oh…god! Lew, I feel like—“

“Are you getting ready to come, good girl?”

His response caught both of them off guard, his tone something that she’d never heard him use before. 

Simultaneously, her sex clenched audibly around his fingers, robbing her of any words as their eyes meet.

Apparently, she didn’t mind the pet name as much as she’d thought.

They watched each other in surprise, their mouths gaping from arousal and she couldn’t stop the moan when she saw him nearly rutting against the mattress.

He’s hard, just from this? How can he enjoy such an act, I’ve done nothing to…. help him get there.

Her confusion must show on her face, because he releases her clit and pulls away again

“We can stop—”

“No!”she shook her head vehemently, rolling her hips in some desperate search for friction. “Please, don’t stop! Please…let me cum. Show me how you make me come. Lewis, you’re so good…. you make me feel so good…”

Y/N watches as he seems to ponder something within himself, and without hesitation she curls down and takes her face in her hands. 

When he refocuses, she smiles desperately at him.

“I like it, Nix. I like it all. I—shit, I want you so badly I think I may genuinely burst into flame. I liked when you called me that. Come back to me.”

He leans into her, groaning at her words.

“God, you’re perfect.”

With renewed vigor he swoops down to feast on her, fueled by her whined praise.

“oh my god Nix please don’t stop I feel it coming again shit do that again fuck that’s good. You’re amazing, making me feel so ahh good. Oh, shit. Fuck fuck fuck Lew I’m going to cum. Don’t stop. I, I just…ohhHH!”

She effectively blacked out, aware of her body writhing and Lewis holding her through it as he worked her through the aftershocks that rolled through her body.

She was floating and falling at the same time, breathless mewls bubbling up from her chest despite her willing them not to.

Distantly, Y/N heard words of praise being kissed into her skin and shivers at the feeling of Nix’s once cruel hands running over her flushed skin with care. 

She keened with desire when he moved up her body and slotted his clothed hips against hers.

“Can you take more, sweet girl?” his lips are soft at her temple, a near-whine in his voice when she instantly bucked against his cotton-covered cock. “Can I give you more?”

She pathetically whines an affirmation, trying to move her phantom limbs to pull him closer.

“I, I can’t move.” She admitted pathetically, unable to muffle the chuckle at the ridiculousness of it. 

He snorts a laugh with her, smiling into the damp skin of her cheek. 

“I’m being serious, Lew. You’re gonna have to move me—“

“Like some sexual rag-doll?”

She fixed him with the meanest glare she could muster. 

“Don’t make me do some passive-aggressive shit when I regain use of my limbs. ‘Cause you know I will.”

He rolled his eyes at her as he sat back to take off the pair of boxers around his hips, groaning aloud when he’s finally as naked as she is. 

When Y/N tries to bring her hands to his cock, he shakes his head lightly and guides them up to his face instead.

“If you so much as touch it, I’m going to embarrass myself—”

She frowned. “But...I want to make you feel good, too…”

As he buries himself inside of her, Lewis makes sure his lips are at her ear so she can hear the catch in his breath as he moaned so deeply she felt it in her chest.

“Oh, honey. If you haven’t figured out how completely wrecked you make me by now, I clearly haven’t been doing my job.”

When he pulled back to look at her, she purposefully clenches around him and wiggles her hips.

He smirks wickedly, and when Y/N looks into his eyes she sees nothing but devotion.

“Now, allow me to redeem myself….”

And, because it’s his work ethic on the line, she knows that she’ll be nothing less than ruined by this man.

Y/N wouldn't have it any other way.

“As you were, Sir”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

TAG LIST: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​

IT’S NONSENSE BUT I HOPE IT WAS, in the very least, SEXY NONSENSE!

[hisbluemonarch]

A Bram Stoker night

Eve’s lips curled at both sides when the movie ended. Her favourite. Carved by the hand of the Bram Stoker book she had read over and over again. She turned her head shyly to the side to see Asa next to her on the sofa. He was close even though there was sufficient space for them both but she didn’t mind it in the slightest. He was quiet as always, just looking back at her, maybe even scanning her thoughts, which made starting a conversation even more difficult for the librarian. She wasn’t good at that but still tried with the enthusiasm of the shared moment:

“Have you found it enjoyable, Doctor?”

Asa took a second to appreciate the brightness in her eyes. How to catch a spirit.

“For the most part”.

“Oh”, Eve’s voice was so transparent that it wasn’t hard to notice her worry. “What was missing?”

“Science”, Asa let himself show a smirk. “I don’t think Van Helsing methods would be approved nowadays. But, who am I to judge about stakes in people’s bodies? Doesn’t seem to be my field”.

Eve let out a silent giggle. “I believe you are right, Doctor Emory. However, I’m sure the movie is intended to show the sacrifice true love requires”.

Oh? Please continue, butterfly.  

“To search for someone through oceans of time. To feel torn apart when you lose them. To be utterly in their hands, begging for them to take you to their darkness because you cannot stand to live in a sun field where they are not in it”.  

Asa smirked again, then purposefully shortened the distance even more so that both faces were separated just by mere centimeters. It was amusing how responsive she was, the redness on her cheeks quickly to show.

“I’m- I’m sorry, is this boring?”

“Not in the slightest, Eve”, he moved his index finger to tilt her chin up so that her anxious eyes making an effort to avoid him were forced to look into his.  

“My…”, Eve swallowed. The digit was already burning her skin but there was a universe full of new unnamed stars in the doctor’s gaze and she wondered if it was possible to get lost. “My favorite scene is precisely that one. When she- when she begs him to bite her so-so that they could… be together… for the end of times”.

“Hm”, Asa let out with just his exhalation, lips now a millimeter away from Eve’s mouth, his finger on the chin now changing into the gentlest grip he could elaborate for her jaw.

Eve felt about to explode with an unforgivable heartbeat. It was torturous to have him closer and closer yet she couldn’t move. Just like an insect knowing the spider is coming closer but still trapped in the web. This beautiful web of unspoken words.

“Did you find a favorite scene, Doctor?”, she asked with a shaky voice. It was silly but still pushed by her anxiety.

“I sure did”, Asa murmured and finally kissed her. Eve stood frozen for just a few seconds, brain trying to process the new reality of his wonderful, warm, sweet lips. It felt like tasting a forbidden apple, something too far away from her nature but still presented before her, tempting her to surrender. And she did, because her pale hands went for Asa’s face, caressing the contour of his cheeks as well as the strawberry hair. His gentleness quickly progressed into roughness gripping her tiny neck with a bit more strength yet still trying to control his urges not to scare her, conscious of the fragility of her wings.

However, Eve’s response was unexpected. His touch sent her to move her body close to his and increase the intensity of her kissing, needy whimpers escaping her nose working as traitors for Asa’s weight to push her to lie on the sofa. He stopped kissing her for a moment to look into her eyes once more, one hand exploring the side of her body and grabbing a hold on her hip, experimenting if she complained. She didn’t, her arms only strengthening their embrace around the doctor’s head, shyly pulling him closer.

Asa continued staying still, observing her gestures before letting out: “Ask me to bite you, Eve”.

Eve gasped. She though he was asking for consent and was fascinated by the idea of being bitten with love after Dracula. With a barely audible voice, she said: “Would you bite me, doctor?”.

That seemed to press a key of inner satisfaction for Asa. He moved to her neck, tantalizing her skin with kisses before front teeth and fangs bit the surface. Eve let out an unwilling moan. It felt tingly as well as the hand moving her dress upwards. Asa moved his lips to her ear to whisper: “Ask me to bite you again, Eve”.

“Would you bite me, doctor?” Eve asked and a moment later, her toes contracted at the increased intensity. It was slightly painful and full of warmth, not to mention the same hand caressing her inner thigh.

“Ask me again”, Asa let out with a groan.

It started to feel dangerous yet more than captivating. When she obeyed and he deliberately bit her this time, something was woken in her. Her hips moved up at the pain and a waterfall of whimpers and moans receive his fingers on her sex, allowing them to start tracing circles on her clit.

“Beg, Eve”. Asa demanded locking her into a trap of desire that went against her basic instincts.

“Would you bite me?”, was the best Eve could say this time and Asa went for the hearbeat in the crock of her neck biting it as if he could drink from her bloody heart. Eve whined, confused between the pleasure she was feeling between her legs and the pain he was inflicting. She tugged from his hair trying to alleviate it. Asa stopped all actions but just to grab her wrists and slowly moving them to lie on the sofa’s arm above her head, making her understand they were supposed to stay there.

“Doctor…”, she whimpered when his fingers masturbated her again; too many gasps to think properly.

“Shhh”, he hushed above her earlobe. “That’s not begging”.

“Please?”, Eve said not sure about what she was asking for.

He let out a silent chuckle. “That’s better”. He bit her again, drawing out a pair of blood drops that had her crying out.

Asa looked again into her eyes. Tears were threatening to spill from their corners but she was still immersed in the pleasurable friction. “You are so good for me, Eve”.

He didn’t want to break her yet but he wanted to show her the abyss. One day she was going to jump and fall into his claws. For now, he was just going to fuse with her carnally and conquer more of her delicious moans.

As long as she still kept saying “please”.  

[marshmallow--3]

Imagine - Jacob Frye suffering from a werewolf curse.

Frye Cottage, Surrey, October 1873

Softly, you're roused by the ambient sounds of the forest encompassing the house: owls hooting, tree branches rapping on the windows, fierce winds howling into the night.

You couldn't say what time it is. You doubt you could even hazard a guess. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness consuming the room, rendering any attempt to read the clock a fruitless endeavour.

A brief glance at the window confirms that dawn is yet to break.

Perfect.

Sitting upright in bed, you fumble in the dark for a moment until your hands happen upon the knob belonging to the drawer of the nightstand. With only a trickle of moonbeams lending you the faculty of sight, you open the drawer, reach for the only object inside, and strike a match.

You hold it by your face, tilting the matchstick downward and watching as the flame dances and swells. Using the light the match provides, you ignite the oil lamp atop the nightstand, extinguishing the match with a shake of your hand as the room is bathed in a warm, amber glow.

The cottage, for all intents and purposes, is without ornament - and rightly so. The single-storey cabin may be the only building for several miles, as per your intentions. The interior is functional, pragmatic, an open-plan room comprised of a bed tucked away in a corner and a kitchenette. A chimney and burning stove looks across from your sleeping area, supplementary to a table and two chairs.

A Welsh dresser is half-filled with plates and mugs, its cupboards and drawers stowing bits of food and medical goods - bandages, a needle and thread, a bottle of gin, though you're yet to use any of it, thank the Lord.

A wolf howls in the distance, prompting you to take a peek outside from behind the curtains. The full moon is fading, you note, compelling you to rise and begin your preparations for the long day ahead.

After making the bed, you cross the room and burn wood at the stove, boiling herbal tea in a cast-iron kettle. You fix some cold cuts of bread, cheese and meat, managing to eat a little yourself while saving a second portion.

A short time later, a figure comes stumbling in through the door, slamming it shut. You're hesitant to look up, knowing from previous months the heart-wrenching sight that awaits.

A creature paces with convulsing legs, looking ready to collapse at any moment. It bears the form of a man, but the mental state of a wolf. A blanket is draped around its heaving shoulders, its naked, hairy body shivering violently. Brown hair is thoroughly dishevelled, small sticks and leaves clinging to the strands. Sickly pale skin gleams wet with sweat, dirt markings littering its face. Wild, glassy eyes frantically dart around the room.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you rise from your seat as slowly as possible, yearning to draw the weeping man into your bosom.

He's still an animal, you have to remind yourself, though it does little to patch your broken heart.

You avoid prolonged eye contact, letting your eyes look past him instead of lingering on him.

"Jacob," you murmur, your voice soft and quiet so as not to alarm him further.

Taking a miniscule step forward, you approach him gingerly, repeating your internal mantra of stay calm. You shrink your body and repeat his name while observing his body language, keeping an eye out for any signs of injury.

He's panicked, hysterical, gripping his head and yowling, those wide eyes reminiscent of an animal caught in a trap.

You hold your hand out palm down, and croon, "Jacob, it's okay. I'm going to help you."

By now you've crossed the room, though a good distance remains between you. His back stiffens, the air shifting around him, his nose crinkling as he picks up the Scent. He visibly calms somewhat, blinking as his eyes soften to their usual melliferous hazel.

Watching him stagger towards you, you take a few final steps towards him, catching him as he falls into you, the blanket falling from his shoulders as his arms crush you into a tight hug. You remember to hold your breath, to remain perfectly still as he buries his nose in the dip of your shoulder.

He inhales sharply, memories of his human life flashing behind his eyelids. Merry laughter rings in his head like a bell, faces of loved ones appearing and overlaying one another at the speed of lightning.

In verifying the Scent, his arms loosen around you, his breathing heavy against your skin.

The Scent comforts his wolf form, he'd once explained. It's a blend of your smell and his, a product of your... prior carnal union, so to speak, serving as a catalyst that completes the reconstruction of his brain.

You continue to shush him, now free to move your hand and stroke his damp hair, pacifying him until the shaking subsides.

Lifting his head, he meets your gaze and wets his lips in an attempt to speak.

"Hi."

You cup his face, tears forming in your eyes at the humanity present in his face, at the way his eyes gleam in recognising you.

"Hi." Your response comes with lumps in your throat.

He chuckles to break the ice, immediately wincing and breaking out in a fit of coughing. Prying yourself from his embrace, you help him hobble over to the table and take a seat. Working swiftly, you pour a cup of the tea, retrieving the laudanum from a drawer in the dresser and setting it down in front of him.

He tests his coordination for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fist and wiggling his fingers before trusting himself with handling a cup of hot liquid. He blows the drink before sipping, swallowing quickly to avoid the bitter taste.

His speech is slow, hesitant. "Is that, the same, same stuff as last time?"

You nod. He grimaces.

"Doesn't work."

"It's the highest dose the doctor will prescribe me." It took little effort convincing the physician that the pills were for you - dramatising your menstrual pain is far preferable to telling the truth. "Please, take it. Something is better than nothing."

Jacob glances up at you, taking in the sight of your eyes glossy with tears, your forehead creased with concern, your brows angled upwards as you plead.

Agreeing silently, he takes the tablet and swallows it down with the bitter brew, spluttering as the taste lingers on his taste buds. You rub his back to help him keep it down, drawing his attention to the plate of food; perhaps it could cover the horrid taste.

He takes stock of the plate's contents, sniffing tentatively. The cuts of meat smells appetising at the very least, and he almost reaches for it before his head swims with intrusive images of sleeping deer, the sound of snarling wolves surrounding him as though they're present in the room. Nausea rises from his stomach, he heaves and retches before pushing the plate away with a forceful shove.

"I need to lie down."

He staggers in standing up, knocking cutlery to the ground with a clatter. He grits his teeth, distributing a little too much of his weight onto you as you help him limp towards the bed.

Every step is pure agony for him; although you haven't experienced his curse, you can imagine the torture he must go through - his skeleton changing shape, his organs moving position, his flesh and muscles being torn to shreds by his own claws.

All that, and probably far more that your imagination simply cannot comprehend, three nights a month.

He doesn't peel the duvet back to clamber into bed, instead laying himself on top of the bedclothes. And judging from the heat radiating from his body, you can understand why.

You get a proper look at his face for the first time: his skin is off-colour and boiling hot to the touch, and the whites of his eyes are bloodshot. Sweat trickles down his forehead, red welts marring his skin. You dab his forehead with a cold, wet towel, conscious of the pressure you apply.

He grunts, a fresh wave of throbbing spasms coursing through his jerking body.

"Shhh, Jacob, you're okay. You're alright."

It's silly, but... Despite all of the ways you help him, you feel helpless, wishing you could do more to take his pain away for good. Watching on as he pants and yells, his body convulsing like a seizure, you find yourself singing a lullaby, stroking his cheek in hopes of pacifying him even a little.

"I love you," Jacob manages to wheeze when your song comes to an end.

"I love you too, my darling man."

@sassenach-on-the-rocks @aikeia @yourchepazworld @iceboundstar @the-purple-rook @unprofessional-bard @witch-of-letters @disneymarina @thero0ks @assassins-and-hidden-blades @ass-sass-sin-o @ladye11e @deviousspleen

[thecleverdame]

Sleepy Hollow - Chapter Ten

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta:  ilikaicalie

This series is completed. You can read it on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room

The doctor works by candlelight. Sam’s shirtless on the bed, feverish and sweating with open eyes staring at the ceiling, but seeing nothing except his injury-induced delusions. The wound at the top of his chest is raw but with the edge sealed shut.

Doctor Lancaster bends over him, Baltus and Dean observing.   “Remarkable. A wound like this should have killed him. But it needs no stitches, and there’s much less blood loss than one would expect.”

“He’ll live.” Dean steps forward, brow furrowed.

“The fever is the thing to beat now. He’s young and strong, he has a good chance.”

They watch Sam's eyes blink again and again, his body jerking. “He’s awake?” Dean looks to the doctor. Sam tries to rise, looking around, collapsing in pain. “You must be still, a fever is upon you.” Sam head lolls to the side, sweat dripping down his face and he says your name. “Y/N.”

--

You’re trying not to panic, bent over the hearth, chanting. You attend to the boiling beaker of milk and green leaves. There is a dead crow on the hearth, with one foot chopped off and a sharp knife lying alongside.

You don’t much care if Sam believes in magic, you believe enough for the both of you.

It was your mother who taught you the old ways, conjuring and divination. It was she that taught you witchcraft was nothing to be feared. For the ones who seek only the light, the love, the healing that flows in all creation, your magic isn't yours at all. You are not as conductors of an orchestra with a wand, but more as the soft music of the flute. You are one of duty, filled with love, moving with nature, inspired by the beauty of creation. You’re moved by the loving hands of the creator, yours and Sam’s, and have the power to resist the negative forces in life. The chaos of the universe has synchronicity that can only be seen by those committed to either the positive or negative side, the forces beyond what Sam would call 'reality.' Closing your eyes, you hold a hand over the concoction.  “Nostradamus Mediamus, Milk Of Mercy In Media Nos Laudamas.” Carefully pouring the drink in a mug you hurry upstairs, entering Sam’s room with the medicine. His brother, your father and Doctor Lancaster are bent over Sam. “Here,” Lancaster takes the drink from you, offering it to Sam. “Drink, it will restore you.” Sam closes his lips tight and refuses the drink, he doesn't trust Lancaster. You pat the doctor on the shoulder, taking his place, sitting on the edge of the bed.  He sees you, his eyes lighting up through pain and fever. The notion that he cares for you the way you have come to care for him makes your heart swell.

“I...I...tried to stop Brom but…” he sputters, imploring you to understand.

Leaning forward you run a hand through the sweat of his forehead. “Shhh, no one could have done more. Drink this down, it will make you sleep.” “The horseman was not set to kill Brom, or me,” Sam tries to explain, swallowing hard as his throat bobs. “If Brom had not attacked him...” “Later,” you coo, taking his clammy hand between the two of yours. “Rest now.”

“I have discovered something,” Sam whispers, eyes closing as the pain surges. Baltus and Doctor Lancaster glance at each other, a look that doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean. “These are ravings.” Baltus shakes his head. “The Horseman does not kill for the sake of killing, he chooses his victims.” “Drink,” you murmur, holding the mug to Sam’s lips. He drinks it all and falls back against the pillow, closing his eyes. Your father turns as your stepmother, Lady Van Tassel enters. She comes to him, anxiously gripping his hand.

“What is it, Baltas?” she asks.

“Nothing, nothing, don’t be troubled my love.” He pats her hands, as they both stare at Sam who’s now fallen asleep.

Sam’s Dream An empty church. Young Sam enters, he hears a sound and ducks down to hide in one of the rows.

Ahead, across the church, a red door opens. His father, John and the villainous third man steps out, shutting the door, speaking quietly.

The third man holds a piece of parchment paper as his father stands by, ever emotionless. Sam watches them, ducking down to keep hidden. John and the Man walk to leave down the aisle, passing close to Sam without seeing him. They exit, leaving Young Sam alone in the silent church. Sam rises, begins moving fearfully forward, sneaking to the red door and opening it. The room contains torture devices: iron cuffs, thumb screws, knives, and long, thick needles. There is a spiked chair, fitted with sharp spikes, adorned with straps for holding down the "accused." Sam backs away, terrified, then sees it. A shaft of light cuts across a large, sarcophagus, like an iron maiden. To his horror, he can see his mother’s eyes through the slit in the Iron Maiden's face.

Open eyes.

Dead eyes. He lets out a strangled cry, runs to the metal coffin, trying to pull it open, clawing at the lock. When he finally backs away he’s choking on misery. He looks around in despair before falling to his knees at the spiked chair, placing his hands on the spikes, pressing down. As he sobs, blood runs down from his hands. He looks down and sees the cat is there, looking up at him. The cat reaches up to rub its head against his face. -

Sam jerks awake, bolting upright, covered in sweat. His eyes are burning wild in the low candlelight of the room. He’s crying, tears falling from the corners of his swollen, red eyes. You take one look at him and wrap yourself around his damp, fever-hot body.

After several minutes you pull back, reaching down to take his hands when you notice blood on his palms. You carefully use a handkerchief to clean him up.

“Hush, hush, you were dreaming,” you whisper, keeping your voice low and calm. He draws in a breath, laying back on the pillow.

“Yes, things I had forgotten and would prefer not to remember.” He blinks several times, pulling himself from the grip of sleep. “Perhaps the remembering is the hard road to peace of mind. What ails you, Sam?”

“I was well in my dream. It was the world that was ill, but since I came here my dreams have turned dark...dark memories I fear.” “You were not a happy man when you arrived in Sleepy Hollow. I think your wound was deeper than the wound you received from the horseman.” You place a hand on his forehead. “But your fever is broken. And though I cannot cure the world I would make you happy to live in it. Tell me what you dreamed.” “How I found my mother dead. How good and evil sometimes wear each other’s clothes. She was an innocent, a child of nature condemned, murdered by my father.” “Murder?” You stare in horror, heart breaking for him at such a thought. “By your father?” “Yes. Murdered to save her soul! By a bible-black tyrant behind a mask of righteousness. I was seven when I lost my faith.” “Surely there must be something you believe in, Sam…”

“There is. Sense and reason, cause and consequence. An ordered universe. Oh lord, I should not have come to this place where my rational mind has been so controverted by the spirit world.” You can’t help but bristle at his words. “Is there nothing you will take from Sleepy Hollow that was worth the coming here?”

He stares at you in silence, one large hand finding yours and holding it tight. “No, not nothing. A kiss, and how rare a thing, affection from a lovely woman before she ever saw my face or new my name.” “Yes, without sense or reason.” You smile, looking down at his fingers entwined with your own. “The first kiss was a kiss on account.”

“And the ones that come after?” His eyebrows shoot up, a gentle pull at the corner of his mouth.

“A plan to lure you into my arms.” You grin slyly and he chuckles. “It seems to have worked.” “Oh, God forgive me, I talk of kisses and you have lost your brave man Brom.” Sam shakes his head, brow furrowing. “You had known him your entire life.” “I have shed my tears for Brom...and yet my heart is not broken. Do you think me wicked?” you ask carefully, awaiting his reaction. “No, but perhaps there is a little bit of the witch in you, Y/N.” “Why do you say that?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. “Because you have bewitched me.” He smiles this time, a full smile that pulls pink lips back over white teeth. “I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon. Not to mention brave and opinionated. If the only thing to come out of this awful place is meeting you, then I considered myself a lucky man.”

“Such flattery.” There’s heat in your cheeks, and you look away, but only for a moment. “I don’t want to appear too...bold, but…”

“Bold is not robust enough a word to describe you, my sweet Y/N. What is it?”

“We,” you pause, forcing yourself to look at him despite your embarrassment. “We are alone for the night. And I was hoping, despite your injury, that I might have another kiss.”

“You may have whatever you like from me.” His eyes shine, happy as the grin on his mouth as he leans forward, catching your lips in a simple, sweet kiss. Resting his forehead against yours he stays close as he speaks. “And if I wanted more than a kiss?”

“But you are hurt,” you whisper, placing one hand on his firm chest.

“I have been in much worse condition than this.” He kisses you again, this time his tongue sliding just past your lips, letting you taste him. You comb both hands into his hair, using the grip to keep him close.

“Then I would say we are a good match, because you may have whatever you like from me as well.”

He pulls you close with his uninjured arm, cupping your jaw before sliding his fingers into your hair in return. After a few more eager kisses you squeal in surprise when he turns and pushes you quickly onto your back with a flex of muscle. In peak condition he must be a force to be reckoned with because even now he’s powerful as he hovers above you, letting the weight of his hips press your thighs open for him.

“This dress is problematic,” he mutters, mouth ghosting across the swell of your breasts.

“Then we should remove it,” you gasp as he sucks at the skin under your jaw, drawing out pleasure in prickling excitement.

“Roll over.” Sam lifts his weight as you roll onto your belly. His fingers are immediately working on the corset tie at the back your dress, pulling silk ribbon out of the eyelets until it’s loose enough for you to shimmy out of.

Rolling back over, you sit up and look at Sam, clad in nothing but your simple sheath dress. His eyes are fixed on you like a hungry fox who’s spied a field mouse. Gathering confidence, you lift your backside off the bed pulling the material over your head, leaving you stark naked sitting in the constable's bed.

“My God,” he breathes, eyes falling from your breasts to your belly, then lower. “Every inch of you is perfection.”

“You think me flawless?” You blush, fighting the urge to cover yourself with your hands.

“Absolutely.”

“I want to see you.” You’re suddenly eager, apprehension fading into the background.

Reaching out you help him pull his shirt over his head, revealing a well-muscled chest, and the strong arms that picked you up in the woods as if you weighed nothing at all. He stands up to take off his trousers, shoving them down his legs.

You’re sitting in the middle of the bed, eyes fixed on his magnificent cock, standing at attention, curved up toward his belly.

He’s one to talk to about perfection.

“I wish I could kiss every inch of your body,” he confesses, kneeing his way back onto the bed. You lie back, spreading your legs as an invitation for him to crawl between them. An invitation he accepts eagerly. “But I don’t know that we have the time for that kind of indulgence when we’re in your father’s house.”

His cock is trapped between your stomachs, warm, hard flesh pressing over your belly as he swallows your gentle sigh, thick tongue once again filling your mouth.

“If not now, when will we ever find the time?” You hum against his lips as he moves down your neck.

“When I take you home with me.” He buzzes against your throat, lifting up enough to gauge your reaction. “When I have you in my bed and I can take you the way I’d like to.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” You smile, holding back a squeal of utter joy at the thought of him planning to abscond with you in tow.

Most of his weight is being supported by his good arm, so you grow bold, reaching between your bodies to wrap your fingers around his massive shaft, shifting up enough to let the head catch between the lips of your sex.

“Be gentle with me.” He grins, catching your lips with his as he slides forward, burying his cock inside your tight channel until he can’t get any deeper. The weight and heat of him on top of you is delicious torture, pushing the air from your lungs as he pins you to the bed.

His hips meet your thighs with one powerful thrust that solidifies just how strong he really is. Injury or not he could fuck you until you begged for mercy. He mouth doesn’t leave yours for the first dozen thrusts of his hips, stretching your wet flesh open and filling up the space inside with his thick cock.

You’re tight and wet, unbelievably wet as the sound of your cunt taking his cock fills the room. He hasn’t been with a woman for more than a single night in years. Every woman he’s been with since Jessica was the result of a monetary transaction or a fleeting night fueled by liquor and loneliness. But in stark contrast you are warm and soft underneath him, a beauty beyond compare that has seen darkness and chosen to stand beside him instead of run in fear. You’re one of a kind and he can scarcely believe that you’re real.

“Careful,” he breathes hot against your breast. Long fingers curl under the clammy flesh of your knee, attempting to break the grip of your legs locked around his hips. “I’m close and I must not finish inside you.”

“You don’t want to be inside me?” you gasp, as he grinds deep, holding himself against your womb.

“I do,” he grunts, placing a kiss on your collar bone before lifting up to look down at you. His mouth is open, tongue darting over pink lips. “More than anything but we can’t.”

“Why not?” You moan in protest as his hand cups your breast. “I want to feel you. Just this one time, please Sam. Please. Just once.”

If you take this chance and his seed takes root in your belly there’s not much that could be done. But your need overrules all sense of logic as you wiggle under his weight.

“You’ll do me in if you keep begging like that.” His lip curls, eyes fluttering shut at the combination of pain from his shoulder and the squeeze of your walls around his cock.

“Please.” You claw at his back, nails digging in on either side of his spine. “Just this time.”

“Just this time.” He gives in, bracing himself as his hips move faster, his cock working your wet hole tip to base with every punishing stroke.

The scrape of his pubic hair over your clit is more than enough, but combined with the sensation of being so full you come undone almost immediately. It’s a quiet orgasm. You do everything you can to hold back the torrential rush of pleasure that rocks your entire body, sealing your mouth closed as you hold onto him.

Sam feels it, your cunt squeezing around him, clammy thighs locked around his hips and he’s done for. You’re making little strained sounds, whimpers caught in your throat that only seems to fuel his desperation. Two more pumps and he cums. His whole body jerks forward, filling you with every inch of his cock as he empties inside you.

-

“I should go.” You nuzzle your nose against the scruff of his jaw, wiggling close as his arm tightens around you.

“Already?” He sighs, looking toward the clock. It’s nearly four and the sun will be up in a few hours. “Shouldn’t I be the one sneaking from your room at all hours of the night?”

“In another life.” You smile, lips pressed into his cheek. “I wish I could sleep here with you. Wake up in your arms…”

“As do I,” he confesses, turning his head to kiss you. It’s a gentle kiss, sweet and chaste.

“Aren’t you afraid?” you whisper, tucking yourself back into his side, not yet ready to abandon the warmth of the bed.

“Of what? The Horseman?” he asks and you nod. “Perhaps a little, but there are far greater horrors in life. Our father believed evil lurked around every corner. He raised Dean and I to be ready for anything. While I hate the man that he became, I do thank him for giving us the tools to defeat such creatures. Most beasts that stalk the night turn out to be nothing more than men, but when the threat is indeed supernatural, we’re just as ready. The Hessian might be the nastiest ghoul we’ve encountered, but certainly not the first.”

“You’ve seen a ghost before?” you whisper, fingers threading through his chest hair, the pads of your fingers pressing down into his skin.

“A few.” He rubs his open palm over the curve of your naked hip. “Most of the time they’re just echoes of the past. Like a memory that gets stuck between the world of the living and dead. They end up trapped in a moment, reenacting the events over and over. They don’t interact, don’t even know you’re there. It’s sad.”

“What of the others? You said most are echoes.”

“The others are something else entirely. Tortured souls with unfinished business that rot and twist into something dark. I believe that’s what the Hessian is. A lost soul that turned rancid in death. He’s out for revenge and won’t stop until he gets it.”

You shiver at the thought, burrowing into Sam’s side. You saw the horseman burst from his resting place, you’ve seen first hand the terrible power of the black horse and headless rider.

“Do you think he will stop killing of his own accord?”

“I doubt it. Something brought him back to life and until his need is satisfied he will continue killing.” The hand on your hip grips your flesh, giving a squeeze. “Dean and I will stop him, some cases just take a little longer than others.”

“While I shudder at the thought of more murder, I will admit that I hope you’re required to stay in Sleepy Hollow as long as possible.”

“I meant what I said.” He cups the back of your head, kissing your hair. “When we leave this place, I’ll take you with me. If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” you sit up, enough to look at his face. “I want that very much. I know we have not known each other long but I feel such a connection between us.”

“As do I.” His fingers trail along your jaw.

Glancing at the clock you grin, getting onto your knees and sliding your legs over his waist. He watches, a hand settling on your hip as you lean down to kiss him.

“I think we have time for just one more indulgence, don’t you constable?”

His cock is already hard and you eagerly take it into your hand, lifting up enough take him inside you, sinking down.

He sits up, shifting your position in his lap, twisting a hand into your hair. “Plenty of time.”

Porch Young Masbath slowly opens the door to peer out. He walks out onto the porch, watching as across the lawn, a cloaked figure walks carrying a lantern.

The figure heads onto the long straight road, into the forest, lantern light dissipating. Young Masbath steps off the porch, in cautious pursuit.

[lostinthewiind]

A Happy Birthday Indeed

Johnny Martin - Band of Brothers

THIS IS A BIRTHDAY GIFT FOR THE LOVELY AND AMAZING @warmommy WHOM I LOVE SOOOO MUCH! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RACHEL! 29 NEVER LOOKED SO GOOD, BABE ;) 

Warnings: ***SEXY TIME***

Tag List: @warmommy @gottapenny @croatianbagudna @wexhappyxfew @scissorsfordoc @curraheev @mayhem24-7forever @one-who-hunts-eagles @bandofmarvels @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @wildwilliamguarnere @majwinters @theonetryingtolive @higgles123 @those-dusty-jump-wings @medievalfangirl

With a box full of rations that you were supposed to be taking to the kitchen in your arms, you jumped from the sidewalk and onto the grass when you heard the familiar sound of stampeding footfalls behind you. Moments later, Easy Company jogged past; dressed in their PT gear with looks of exhaustion and frustration on their faces, it was obvious they were heading to run Currahee yet again. 

If there was one company at Toccoa that got it the worst, it was without a doubt Easy. Their Captain, Sobel, was an absolute jackass and on more than one occasion you had witnessed him handing out tasks and punishments for no other reason than to fuck with the men. 

“Have fun, boys.” you waved as you waited for them to pass. Shifting the box into one arm and letting it rest on your hip, you kept your eyes peeled for the one trooper you knew you wanted to give a very special and personal hello to. 

Bringing up the rear, Johnny Martin spotted you and his face lit up. With a quick check to make sure none of the other guys were watching, he jumped from the path as well and pulled you back between the two nearest buildings so the two of you were out of sight. 

Martin couldn’t risk the other Paratroopers knowing that he did indeed have a soft side. As far as they knew, he had never smiled once in his entire life. You knew differently, however. 

Letting out a small, surprised shriek, you dropped the box of rations to the ground as the man pinned you against the exterior of one of the wooden barracks and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Happy birthday,” Martin whispered, his face dawning a mischevious smirk all the while.

Your eyes widened slightly and you cocked a single brow. “How did you know it was my birthday today? I never told you.” you let out a small chuckle. “Did you read my file or something?”

“Nope.” Martin was still sporting his smirk. “I cannot reveal my sources though.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Of course you can’t. That would make it too easy for me. Anyway, we don’t have to make a big deal about it. I’m not really a birthday person.”

Knowing he only had a few more minutes before someone noticed he was missing, Martin hooked your waistband with his fingers and yanked you flush against himself. “Well, maybe I’m a birthday person.” he began to pepper your neck with quick, open-mouthed kisses. “When I’m done with this fucking run we are gonna celebrate.”

“Okay,” you felt the agreement slip from your lips without even thinking about it. Martin knew how to make you putty in his hands in mere seconds, and that moment was no different. 

“Okay,” he echoed before letting you go and beginning to walk off.

“Wait,” you called to him before he could leave, your eyes narrowing at him as you licked your bottom lip. “If you’re gonna find me later, make sure you’re wearing the PT gear. I find the short shorts extremely sexy.”

Martin let out a small laugh and shrugged. “Whatever you want, babe. It’s your birthday.”

                 __________________________________________

An hour or so later you found yourself in the kitchen. After dropping off the box of rations you had found that the cabinets had been left in a mess and had decided to stick around for a while to clean them out. 

You weren’t sure how long it would be until Martin was finished with his day, but the sun was already beginning to set so you figured he would be looking for you soon; you just hoped he thought to look for you in the kitchen. 

Thankfully, your hopes were fulfilled because about ten minutes later the back door of the kitchen that was mainly used for delivery men and kitchen staff flew open. A gust of the cool evening breeze drifted into the room, and with it, Martin. 

Still dressed in his PT gear, just as you had requested, and practically dripping with sweat, Martin stormed over to you with a look of lust and determination on his face. 

“You look like-” you started, but before you could even finish your sentence, Martin captured your face in his rough hands and kissed you hard. 

Before you knew it, your lower back was pressing into the edge of the counter and you were snaking your arms around the hot and sweaty man’s neck. “Happy birthday, gorgeous,” he muttered into your mouth before backing away a step or two and pulling something out of his pocket. 

Presenting the small, rectangular box to you with a hopeful smile on his face, Martin panted hard, obviously still tired from whatever Sobel had put them through. “I hope you like it,” he told you.

Taking the box from him, you flipped it open and immediately gasped. Your free hand flew to your chest to grasp at the area over your heart as you stared down at the beautiful, glimmering necklace that sat inside the black box. “Johnny.” you had to pause for a second to find your words again. “This…this is beautiful. Thank you.”

“It’s okay?” he asked. 

“It’s more than okay.” you smiled wide, a sudden realization wiping it from your face moments later. “Oh, but this must have cost a small fortune. I-I can’t accept this. This is too much.”

You closed the box and tried to hand it back, but Martin refused to take it. “No, no.” he pushed it back to you. “I want you to have it, really. Happy birthday.”

“Martin-” you started to feel guilty about the extravagant gift. 

“Y/N.” Martin opened the box in your hands and plucked the necklace out before spinning you around. “I knew what I was doing when I bought this for you.” he began to put the necklace on you, the cool metal making you shiver as it brushed against your neck; Martin’s fingers have much of the same effect. “You’re not some temporary thing for me.” he secured the necklace around your neck before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I plan on spending many more birthdays with you where I will shower you with gifts just like this.”

Turning back around, you glanced down at the jewelry before meeting Martin’s gaze. “I love it.” you could feel your heart bursting at the seams. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” he took the empty box from your hands before tossing it onto the counter behind you, his eyes suddenly darkening. “Now, it’s time for your second gift.”

“Second gift?” you questioned.

“Yes.” Martin nodded. “It will require something first, though.”

“What would that be?”

“You to be wearing nothing but that necklace.”

Stalking towards you, Martin reached for the hem of your shirt before pulling it over your head and throwing it to the floor. Once your skin was exposed his mouth went right to the top of your breasts while his hands moved to work on the clasp of your bra. 

Letting your head fall back slightly, you let out an airy moan that turned into a sharp gasp when his tongue flickered over your already hard nipples. As his mouth worked on your breasts, Martin’s hands relocated to your ass, giving the pliable flesh a squeeze before picking you up and placing you on top of the counter. 

Martin’s eyes drifted up to look at you while he worked his mouth down your stomach. With one hand steadying yourself and the other in his hair, you watched the man before you intently as he left saliva trails all over your body. 

Sensing what was about to happen next, you kicked your boots off and let them tumble to the kitchen floor below you. 

Fingers hooking your waistband, much like they had done earlier that day, Martin yanked your pants and panties down your legs in one quick motion, discarding them on the floor just like he had done previously with your shirt and bra. 

Then, just like he had wanted, you were in nothing but the necklace that he had gifted you. “I think you should be like this always.” he bent down, his arms hooking around your legs and pulling you to the edge of the counter as he started kissing and nipping his way up your inner thighs. 

“I think you should be like this always.” you retorted in between ragged breaths, thoroughly enjoying the sight of him between your legs. 

Martin didn’t speak but instead decided to move up and lick a single stripe between your folds as a response. Gripping hard onto the edge of the counter, you had to bite down on your tongue to stifle the cry that nearly escaped. 

“John,” you warned him, fully aware that he knew what he was doing to you.

Lifting his head, he looked up at you with his best impression of puppy-dog eyes. “What? Should I stop?”

“No…” you answered.

His expression switched back to devious in an instant. “Didn’t think so.” he dipped his head back down and captured your clit between his teeth lightly, flicking his tongue over it again and again. 

Throwing your head back once more, you smacked your skull into the cabinets by accident, but you couldn’t even feel the pain because the pleasure was so overwhelming. “Shit!” you cursed anyway as a force of habit. 

“Shhh!” Martin spoke into your core, the vibrations of his voice sending waves of euphoria through your body. 

Just as the familiar sensation began to build inside of you in the pit of your stomach, Martin stood up straight again, drawing a whimper out of you due to the loss of contact. 

“Don’t worry, Doll.” he began to untie the drawstring of his shorts. “We’re nowhere near done yet.”

Dropping his pants and boxers, Martin kicked them into the quickly building pile of clothes before wrapping a hand around his already stiff member. With his free hand, he stuck two fingers into his mouth — his eyes never leaving yours — and then approached you. As soon as those two fingers pushed their way between your folds and inside of you, you had to throw your palm over your mouth to keep from being too loud. 

It really wouldn’t be a good thing for something passing by to hear you. Technically speaking, you weren’t really supposed to fuck in the kitchen, believe it or not. 

Martin’s hands worked tirelessly, one pumping his own length while the other pumped two fingers in and out of you. His skin was still shining from the sweat of running Currahee, but the sight of him in his PT shirt and nothing else and covered in sweat was something you couldn’t get enough of. 

“God, I’m gonna miss you so much when you go away,” you spoke softly, not able to trust your voice enough to speak any louder.

“Then I better make sure you have some really good memories of me.” he pulled his fingers from you suddenly. He didn’t leave you empty for long though, because before you could even complain about the absence of contact, he was standing between your legs and pushing his cock into you slowly, inch by inch. 

Feeling a shock course through your body, your hands moved to grab onto Martin’s biceps for stability. “Johnny.” your face was millimeters away from his. “Please,” you begged without even having to be asked. 

“Are you having a good birthday?” he stopped as soon as he was buried all the way inside of you and refused to move again until you answered.

You nodded, but that obviously wasn’t good enough. “Yes.” you finally spoke. “Yes, this has been the best birthday ever.”

“Good.” he smiled before closing the gap between your mouths. With your bottom lip trapped between his teeth, he grabbed onto your hips hard — his fingertips digging deep into your skin — and he began to fuck you just the way he knew you liked it; fast and rough. 

Allowing one hand to leave your side, Martin reached up and tangled his fingers into your hair, collecting a fistful of it so he could hold your head in place. While Martin pounded into you over and over again, his pace relentless, he made sure you looked him in the eyes the entire time. 

“Look at me, baby,” he ordered even though his tone was anything but aggressive. “Look me in the eyes while I fuck you.”

You did as he said, and within a matter of minutes, you could feel the pressure building up in your core again. “I’m getting close.” you encouraged him. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured you. 

Grabbing your legs again, he lifted them both up so they were resting on his shoulders. In that new position, he was able to hit your G-spot every single time he entered you. 

Holding onto Martin for dear life, you let him fuck you into ecstasy. While you came, your body shaking with the tidal waves of pleasure that ran through your entire being, Martin reached his own high and buried his head in your neck. 

Biting down hard on your shoulder to muffle his grunts, he gave a few more sloppy thrusts before falling still, his breathing even more labored than it had been after his trip up and down Currahee. 

“Happy birthday.” he pressed a kiss over the teeth marks he had left. 

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, you took note of the time and smiled. “There are still three hours left of my birthday.” you hinted with a suggestive wiggle of your eyebrows. “Let’s put that good ‘ol Paratrooper stamina to the test, shall we?”

“God, I wish every day was your birthday.” 

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Vernon Roche | Baby

"I have to tell you something, I'm pregnant."

Word count: 2400+ Warnings: Smut, swearing, implied abortion, pregnant sex

I guess I could have seen it coming from a mile away. First I skipped my period once. Than twice, and my nipples had became sore. The morning sickness assured me of my state, and yet, I was anxious to tell my husband, Vernon Roche. How would the commander react? We had never discussed the fact of having children, so it was always a bit concerning whenever I was late with my cyclus, and the relief that often washed over me when there were finally the first drops of blood flowing from within was way too comforting than I liked to admit, but now, there was none. It had to be on the table as soon as was possible, and I decided to break the news whilst he was at work, so I could speak to him alone, no prying soldiers lurking around.

I paced back and forth in the tent that served as a temporary study to the commander nervously, the mace that was strapped to my hip hitting my thigh with every step I took. The armor I wore was way too tight all of a sudden and I dragged a hand through my (h/c) locks as the man I swore my vows to entered the room, smiling at me with that smirk that always made my knees buckle, yet now it was something else that was making me weak in the legs. The pile of parchment files Vernon was holding was plopped onto the wooden desk with a thud, making me jump slightly. My husband of course noticed that something was off, and his dark eyes flickered with concern. 'Is something the matter, (Y/n)?' My bottom lip slipped in between my teeth and I let out a hum. 'Did somebody hurt you?' Vernon walked up to me, taking my hand in his. '(Y/n), did somebody hurt you?' he repeated, searching my face for any sign of hurt. Taking a deep breath, I simply blurted it out.

"I have to tell you something, I'm pregnant." Vernon's eyes widened as the grip on my hand became a bit tighter. 'Really?' I felt my face become pale, because I could not see in his reaction if he was happy or not. A small nod and a large smile grew onto his face. 'That's fantastic!' he cheered. A relieved sigh left me, a grin tugging at the corner of my lips. Vernon swept me up in a hug, spinning me around in his arms. I laughed, holding onto him for I cherished those moments with him like nothing else. 'My dearest, that is amazing! A little Vernon or (Y/n) running around here in nine months, we...' He fell silent, putting me down on the floor as a frown had found its way onto both our faces. 'We...' I began, my breath hitching in my throat. 'We are at a camp. A bloody army camp. We cannot have a baby here!' I exclaimed, realization hitting me. Vernon rubbed his chin, looking around the room. 'Do not worry, my dear. We will figure something out...' He wrapped me into an embrace and I buried my face in his chest, inhaling the scent that lingered in his armor. 'I doubt it, Vernon...' He pulled back from the hug, cupping my cheek in his gloved hand, stroking it softly with his large thumb. '(Y/n), look at me.' he whispered, even though I was fully looking at him already. I didn't notice that a tear had escaped my eye until he wiped it away. 'Vernon, we are at war! We cannot raise a child in a war ridden camp!' 'I am positive that we can make this work, love.' 'There are swords everywhere!' 'The soldiers can look out for the child. They aren't fully stupid.' I bit on my lip, shaking my head. Vernons hand that was holding my face fell to his side. I swallowed thickly, letting out a shaky breath. 'Will it be safe to keep it, Vernon?' His cheerful expression faltered. 'Shut up. Don't say that.' 'What if we don't have a choi-' 'THAT IS MY CHILD IN THERE!' he pointed at my stomach, bewildered. I backed away, afraid of his darkened eyes. As soon as Vernon realized that he had yelled at me, he gasped. 'Fuck, (Y/n), I am so sorry, I didn't mean to do that.' He tried to grab my arm, but I turned away from him, pacing towards the exit of the tent. 'I... I need air.' '(Y/n), wait.' Before I could leave the tent, he grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me into him. 'You're right.' he whispered in my hair. 'This is not a safe place for a child.' I hummed, wrapping my arms around him. A light laugh escaped Vernon before he kissed me on the top of my head. 'You know, I already love that little thing even though it isn't even fully grown yet.' My face was pressed against him as he pulled me closer into him. 'I will protect you, my beloved (Y/n). As I promised.' I sighed lightly, turning my head so I could breathe again, my cheek now resting against his chest. 'We have to settle down somewhere.' I muttered, drawing circles on his back with my palm in a reassuring manner. Vernon released me, cupping my cheeks before pulled me into a loving kiss. 'Of course.' I frowned. 'Just like that? Is it that easy to convince you?' Vernon smiled, stroking my cheek lovingly. 'Yes, my love. I know what I signed up for when I told you I would be with you until death do us part. As for tonight, we will go to the nearest inn, I will rent you a room and you will be able to stay there, safe from battle whilst I do some unfinished business around here. I will give Ves instructions to take up my work as soon as the baby is born. I want to be the father to him or her that I never had.' 'Oh, Vernon...' 'Shhh, don't say anything, (Y/n). I will do it gladly for you. Come on, let me help you pack your things. We will leave before dusk.' ~

Novigrad was the city closest to the camp we were in, and we made our way towards the Kingfisher. Vernon had insisted that I had to be on the back of the horse whilst he walked next to it, as if I was about to be in labor already. It was kind of adorable. He rented a room, told the innkeep that I was to stay for as long as possible until he had found a proper residence for me to go, and helped me haul the bags I had packed upstairs towards the room where I had to stay. I smiled, plopping down onto the bed. 'You know, you don't have to do this for me, Vernon. I could stay at the camp for a few months at least.' He sat down next to me, putting his hand on mine, then on my stomach, which was still flat. 'It is too risky. I insist that you stay here for a while. I will try to visit daily, but I cannot abandon my men now, I hope you understand.' I nodded, kissing him on the cheek. He turned his head so I could kiss him on the lips, and he pulled me into his lap. His mouth moved against mine in sync, the stubble of his beard roughing against my skin, and I liked it. A soft moan left my throat and my cheeks flushed. Vernon's arms circled my waist, holding me close. 'I need you now more than ever.' I whispered, peppering kisses over his face whilst I spoke. 'Are you sure you aren't too tired?' 'Fucking hell, Vernon, it isn't like I am about to give birth.' A low chuckle left him and he turned to lay me down on the soft duvet. Crawling over me, he started kissing my neck, slowly peeling off all the layers of clothing we wore. He did it slow and sensually, as if I was a fragile porcelain doll that would break if he was too rough. It wasn't like the usual steamy sex that we had, and I smiled, for it was a kind of love-making that I was glad to try out. I shivered as he reached the point that he took off the wrapping around my chest that served as a bra, his fingertips stroking against my skin lightly with every inch he moved his hands. 'They've grown larger.' Vernon said, a smirk plastered on his features as he gave my breasts a firm squeeze, making me yelp. His expression faded into a concerned one. 'Are you alright?' I nodded. 'They're just a bit... Sensitive.' 'I will be careful.' he promised, bending down to lick around my nipples slowly. A heavy sigh of pleasure left me, my hands reaching for his chaperone to take it off his head so I could tangle my fingers in his hair. 'Hm, you like that?' I nodded, biting on my lip as he sucked softly. A trail of hot kisses left saliva between the mounds of flesh as he moved down, kissing my stomach a few times. 'In a few months, I will be able to feel our child move. Can you imagine that?' I giggled at Vernon's remark, blushing like crazy when he started pecking the skin around the edge of my panties. A low hum left him as I started to wiggle my hips in an attempt to make him hurry up. 'Someone is getting impatient.' he whispered, toying with the fabric that was still covering my core, that had grown damp with excitement. 'Here, let me help you have a good time.' He started undoing me of the underwear, causing me to completely lay naked underneath his shirtless form. The hairs on his chest shone lightly in the light of the candles that illuminated the room, and I arched my back to grind against his face, but to no avail, he pulled back. 'Don't want anyone coming in, do we?' he uttered, standing up to move towards the door in order to lock it. I pouted, tilting my head slightly. 'Even though I am pregnant, you never fail to tease me.' 'It is just fun to make you wait a bit. Makes the look of pleasure on your face even more rewarding.' He took place between my legs again and bent down to peck the soft (s/c) skin of my thighs. He lifted my hips, spreading my legs so I was laying there in a rather lewd way in front of his eyes. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before he finally bent down to attach his lips to my folds. I moaned as he softly sucked on them, the sensitive lips gliding through his mouth as his saliva mixed with my own essence. He hummed lowly, smiling as he looked at me, locking eyes as his tongue started to play with my clitoris. My stomach tingled at the feeling, the vibrations of his hum rippling through my spine towards my brain, putting me into a blissful haze. I slowly exhaled, inhaling sharply again as his tongue darted across my womanhood to gather everything that he could get there, kissing it a few times before sliding the wet muscle into my core, my toes curling at the feel. 'Vernon...' I breathed, wanting to rub myself against his face, but my position prevented me from doing that. 'Just fuck me.' 'No, tonight is about you, I do not matter.' 'Of course you mat- Oh, right there!' He hit a spot I particularly liked and he continued stimulating it. I pinched my own nipples, which hurt from all the attention that they had already received. The feeling of an orgasm was approaching, making me want to moan out. 'Lay... Down... Vernon...' I grunted, making him pull back. Strings of my juices were still attached to his tongue as he pulled back, another long lick across my folds before he obeyed my orders. He laid down, smiling as I straddled his face. 'Take a deep breath, darling.' I sighed, lowering myself onto his mouth, that was eagerly awaiting the presence of my dripping core. That same feeling was tight in my stomach again, my hips being able to grind against his face now. His tongue made long, quick strokes against me as I was now directing the pace of my stimulation myself. I moaned loudly, grabbing the headboard tightly, digging my nails into it as I felt Vernon grab my ass, squeezing it. The tip of his nose hit my clitoris every few moments and it drove me wild, I wanted it to be rubbed at all times, so I re-positioned myself in a way that he could suck on it. As I looked down at him, I could see his eyes closed, his chin and cheeks slick with my essence. I smiled, quivering as his tongue darted around my clit. My husband opened his eyes, looking at me with a dark, loving gaze. 'I am going to cum...' I whined, making him slide his tongue inside me yet again, but this time he curled it to give me more pleasure. I moaned his name, my high washing over me as I sat there on his face, trembling blissfully. My juices were released onto him, his face getting more stained than it already was. He hummed, making the feeling all the more pleasurable. A few moments after my climax had finished, I lifted myself off his face, exhaustion taking pleasure's place. The commander smiled, wiping his face, making sure to lick up as many of my juices as possible. 'You seem tired, (Y/n).' he uttered after cleaning himself up, his gaze looking me up and down as I tiredly laid sprawled out on top of the duvet. I sighed, a satisfied smile crossing my features. 'I am.' 'Want to rest?' 'But I haven't pleasured you yet.' 'I just had enough pleasure of myself, dearest. You should sleep now.' He bent down to kiss my forehead. A loose strand of (h/c) hair was tucked behind my ear. My eyes fluttered shut. 'Do you need to get back to camp?' He hummed in agreement, but my grip on him tightened as soon as he was about to get up. 'Stay with me tonight.' He relaxed, laying an arm around me. 'Okay.' he said, putting his hand on my bare stomach, drawing slow circles over it. At the sound of his breath and the feel of his bare skin against mine, I fell asleep.

[aleapoffaithfiction]

VII.

"You learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control." ― Megan Chance

“See, Jesus was crucified, just for me.”

While leaning over to the side, I slyly slid another piece of my usual Mentos Pure Fresh “Fresh Mint” flavored gum into my mouth and sighed in relief at the immediate jolt of energy I felt as my teeth broke its round shape apart and the flavoring hit my taste buds. I had to sneak it, because like the child she often thinks that I am, but mother would have held out her gloved hand and viciously eyed me until I defeatedly spit it. According to her, it’s not ladylike to chew gum and especially in church, but I’m going to chew it regardless and I doubt God is concerned with that minuscule vice in my life.

“Give me a piece.” Celeste leaned over and whispered in my ear as she held her hand out and I dropped the bottle into her lap. She didn’t have as much of a chance of being caught as I did because I was sitting in the middle of both she and mommy.

We’re members of Emmanuel Baptist Church over on Lafayette Avenue. It’s right on the corner of St. James Place in the Clinton Hill section of Brooklyn and is under the leadership of Reverend Anthony L. Trufant and his wife Muriel. We’ve been fellows of this church for as long as I can remember and my mother is a good friend of the family; as was my father when he was living. There was even a point in time when I had somewhat of a friendship with their daughters but it was short lived because in my younger years I had far less of a tolerance for people who I cannot relate to. Celeste and I were baptized in this church, daddy’s memorial was here, and Celeste wed her now husband Preston here two years ago. Though I dreaded it, we used to come here every Sunday bright and early so that I wouldn’t miss Sunday school. I was in the youth group for a while but eventually bailed out on having to attend it because I heavily got into sports.

Every holiday season, I was forced to participate in the Christmas Nativity play, where I would play Mary no matter how much I wanted to be one of the Three Wise Men. I met the first guy I would have a crush on here, though it lasted all of a week. I was even apart of the choir for a short run and I’m not even sure why, because I’m no vocal powerhouse. I’m not even a vocal power shed if you let me tell it. Despite my lessening attendance over these last couple of years, I still consider this place to be my church home and it is where I will come back to until further notice.

“Sing it.” I glanced over at my mother as she raised a hand in response to Lucinda Moore’s voice. After days of calling and convincing me to come to Saturday night’s service simply for this concert, I finally agreed for the sake of appeasing her and I can’t say that I’m mad at it. Lucinda can sing from the depths of her gut and never fails to take a praise moment to its highest peak. She’s been in between singing and preaching for about an hour now with a sermon that calls for us all to “meet God all the way” because half-way isn’t going to cut it for anything that we do in life.

“Look at Mr. Weston.” As Lucinda continued to belt her way through “The Old Rugged Cross”, my eyes followed the direction of Celeste’s head and I instantly snickered at the sight of the older man ogling over my mother and her glimmering chocolate skin. Mr. Weston’s been trying his hardest to take my mother’s hand in marriage and yet she won’t even give him enough attention for him to take her out on a Saturday night date. I don’t think it’s her internal yearning for daddy that causes it.

Mr. Weston doesn’t even have finesse within his aging bones to woo her into sitting next to him during Sunday service. Then again, it might be the trifling aspects of who he is. When he received the phone call that his wife had been rushed to the hospital after having a sudden heart attack, he’d been out with his mistress and had the audacity to drive over to the hospital with the mistress still in the car with him. Mrs. Weston passed away that day, but every damn body sat up in here side eying the hell out of him as he wailed over her during the funeral. If it’s up to me, he’ll never date my mother because of all of that nonsense.

Mrs. Williams is the one who wants him. Or is it Mrs. Davis? Maybe Mrs. Wright? I lost count after the third husband. And then there’s her sister Denise who is about the most judgmental person I know. The woman has something to say about everyone’s kids except her own, especially her daughter Tiffany, who has made it her business and life’s mission to snag a baller. She may have secured a couple of hotel stays for some middle of the night fun, but a ring? Not even a Ring Pop. Church is where you’ll find the most hypocrisy but I suppose it makes perfect sense why that is.

“We should grab a bite to eat at The Food Sermon after this.” I’m all for healthy eating but there are just certain dishes that I’m not having in a healthy manner and Caribbean food is that. I’ll be damned if I eat pan seared jerked tofu as a jerk chicken substitute. Celeste and Preston are suddenly super obsessive with their newly started vegan lifestyle and I’m not joining them. It’ll probably be temporary anyway. He’s only doing it because she wants him to.

“Or we can go to Glady’s. Mommy won’t agree with you about that one, because she prefers Glady’s too.”

“Fine, brat.”

“I’ll be that.” I could have chosen somewhere that wouldn’t be in consideration of her new diet if I really wanted to be a brat, but I didn’t. Glady’s has vegetable dishes that should work out for the both of them.

“Shhh.”

I knew it was coming. If her hands weren’t covered with gloves, she might have pinched my arm. I’m always sat in the middle just so she can keep an eye on me because I’m known to find ways to distract myself in church if my mind isn’t completely focused on the sermon or choir. The Lord knows me well. I doubt he have as much of an issue with it as my mother does.

While buttoning the front of my Alexander Wang loose fitting blazer, I couldn’t help but to regret opting out of putting on the wool trench coat that I had laying across the backseat of the car. The nearly end of October air is a lot chillier than I thought it would be. Despite not being someone who enjoys extremely warm or cold weather, I always look forward to the fall because it’s when fashion is at its peak. There’s nothing like a sickening jacket with nice pop of autumn coloring in it, all entirely black look that is sleek, or heavy denim. Oh, and a thigh high heeled boot? Don’t even get me started. Tonight’s dress is a long-sleeved calf length Lowe piece with deep tan, red-orange, and white stripes cascading down it’s form. What really sold me on it is the black lace accents. It’s church friendly and yet if I were going on a lunch outing with Taylor, I’d be just as fine in it.

“Sarai.” Quinton’s hand immediately grazed my shoulder as our eyes met and though I smiled, it was in no way as big as the one gracing his caramel face. Quinton and I went to school together and yet never had any interactions until his father died in the same war that mine did, nearly a year apart. I suppose us dealing with the same level of grief is what served as the foundation of the friendship that we formed. We simply didn’t harbor it as life went on. We barely speak nowadays but I’m sure he’ll say that it’s my doing.

“Quinton. How are you?” We shared an appropriate hug and the fume of his strong cologne instantly made me draw back. It’s not pleasant.

“I’m well. How are you? I see you doing big things.”

“I’m the same. And I’m doing big things? Is that so Mr. Councilman?” He was elected a year ago and is over the Fort Greene, Clinton Hill, Crown Heights, Prospect Heights, and Bedford Stuyvesant neighborhoods. I definitely consider him to be a man of the people, because he could have run for a position within areas like Williamsburg, Dumbo, and Fulton Ferry and won. He’s that well celebrated within these streets.

“I’m not on ESPN though.”

“That’s nothing in comparison to the news coverage about you, the mentoring that I’m hearing you’re receiving from President Obama so that you can run for the Senate, and maybe even the Presidency later on down the line? I think you just want me to brag on you a bit.”

“I won’t stand here and pretend like I’m not flattered.” We shared a laugh that attracted the attention of a few others. I could see my mother eyes lighting up from the corners of my eyes. She’s barely paying attention to what Denise is saying to her.

“You know we’re all proud of you.”

“But you’ve yet to be proud of enough of me to allow me to take you out to dinner. You know we have history.”

That history he speaks of is not our friendship. The summer before we went off to college, we pity fucked one another after having had a conversation about our daddies that left the both of us emotionally drained. Though he wasn’t a virgin, he might as well had been because it was far more of an awkward encounter than it was anything else.

I won’t hold anything about that hot summer evening against him though. No seventeen-year-old boy has the stamina of a stallion and the skills of a veteran porn star within the bedroom. Quinton barely knew who he was personally, so how could he have known who he was as a pleaser? The same could be said for myself.

It was me who decided that we should go on as if it never happened. Hell, it still feels like it never happened. While Quinton is a nice-looking man, I’ve yet to have even the slightest interest in him beyond our occasional run ins.

“Here you go. It’s a timing issue more than anything.” See? I’m a hypocrite too. First, premarital sex. Second? I’m lying right here in the house of God. No matter what the circumstances are, a person will make time for who or whatever it is that they want.

“It can’t always be timing right? We should plan it out so that we won’t run into scheduling issues. I know you’re up there in Bristol a lot and your schedule can be just as crazy when you’re not and you know I’m quite busy myself but I’m willing to make the time for you Sarai.”

Whenever he asks me out, I find myself pondering if we share anything in common beyond what we already know or what we’ll speak about while sitting across from one another at some upscale restaurant of his choosing and I always draw a blank. From there, I snicker at the thought of whispered words about Brooklyn’s fiscal year preliminary budget or development with the deeper urban areas being his dirty talk or pillow talk within the bedroom. That aside, I’m not interested in being his First Lady. I don’t want to play that role, because that’s exactly what it is. Politics is full of actors with empty promises. I’m not saying that Quinton cannot be genuine, but even those type of politicians are just as good of liars as the crooked ones.

“You have my number. Call me. We’ll figure it out.”

“I will. Just make sure you pick up.” That was a cheap jab, but I’ll take it. Out of all of the women within this church who are vying for a chance to be Mrs. Quinton Jeremy Marshall, he constantly comes my way. Maybe that’s something? I don’t know. Only time will tell, but right now, it’s not saying much because I don’t feel anything.

“I will.”

“Hopefully I’ll be able to convince you that we’re a good match before some NBA guy does.” And there it is; the assumptions about what goes on in my life pertaining to athletes beyond work obligations.

“I don’t date athletes.”

“I’m not saying that you do, but there’s no denying that they’re interested in dating you. Unfortunately, I don’t catch the show often, but sometimes I do catch a couple of those one on one interviews you conduct on YouTube and they usually feel like one big lust fest. Doesn’t that make you uncomfortable?”

“I don’t notice it. Also, I feel like people overexaggerate things. These days, you can’t sit a male or female of no relation in the same room without people creating sexual scenarios. That just shows you how screwed up people’s mentalities are.” And that includes you Quinton. I’m not sure if it’s jealousy or indifferent written all over his face, but it’s something. And this is yet another reason why we cannot date. He’s the worst version of an alpha male because there are plenty of sexist undertones within the way he thinks and what he says. He’d expect me to diminish enough of myself in order for him to feel like the man when he’s parading me around some fundraiser or while I’m standing in his shadow as if he gives some speech.

“Or maybe you’re downplaying things. I watched Odell Beckham Jr. stare at you like you’re some type of rare species. I know what those type of looks are about. I am a man after all.” Are you?

“Maybe I am a rare species. We’re not all cut from the same cloth, right Quinton?”

“Maybe so.”

“I’ll see you around though. My stomach is growling and my folks are waiting for me.”

“Don’t forget what I said”

“About timing? I won’t. As I said, give me a call. We’ll figure something out.” And with that, I left him to stare at me as I walked towards the back of the church.

I didn’t feel compelled to hug him again because it would have been lingering on his end and easily would have attracted more attention than I would’ve liked. Despite there being a number of women around here who would love to be claimed by him, oddly, there are people who advocate for us. Even Reverend Trufant snuck in a joke about being willing to officiate our nuptials when the time is right. I’d rather not give Quinton or anyone else any false hope tonight or any other.

Rather than taking three cars, I drove everyone from mommy’s house over to the church. While it may have sounded pointless to them, I insisted that we go back and get Preston’s car so that I’ll be able to drive back to Edgewater right after dinner. I’m tired, cold, and I’m not staying out here tonight. She may have convinced me to come to service but spending the night at either one of their houses can quickly turn into a night of aggravation. I’m so used to living on my own that personality clashes happen as soon as my element is interrupted.

“That Quinton sure is fine.” I knew it was coming. It’d been on the tip of her tongue the entire time she sat in the passenger seat of my car, but I purposefully drowned her out with a couple of classics from Richard Smallwood. I knew she’d quickly began to sing along and forget about hounding me about him, but I should have known she’d only briefly put the thought aside. I can’t even enjoy this peppered shrimp and side of plantains now. Within a couple of minutes, the know it all will add in her warped opinion.

“Isn’t he?” How can she agree with her husband sitting right there alongside her?

“Is he still running for the Senate?” Preston directed that question to me as if I should know. I’ve only heard the rumors and it makes sense. I’m sure councilmen is only a stepping stone for a long running career in politics.

“I’m sure he will at some point.”

“And he’s looking for this one here to be his Michelle Obama and yet she’s running from it.”

“I’m not running from anything. I’m simply not interested. Michelle Obama is amazing and I admire the hell out of her, but not to the point of wanting to mirror her life. I doubt she’d want that for me either. This is a woman who has advocated for women to work hard to be exactly who it is that they want to be.” Michelle was never caught up into the dated traditionalisms of a woman needing a husband in order to look proper in society. She was already a lawyer when she met her now husband.

“And yet here she is, pushing away the one man who actually wants her enough to continue pursuing her.” If I were some tacky reality show chick, I would have made a scene in this restaurant but I won’t for the sake of my reputation.

“The one man who wants me?” I had to made sure I heard her correctly.

“That’s not how I meant it and you know it. You barely put yourself into situations to find someone.”

“I’m not looking.”

“And that’s the problem right there.” As soon as my mother interjected, I dropped my fork into the plate and rested against the back of the seat.

“For who? You?”

“She lives in a house about three times the size of mine and yet she’s in it alone.”

“I live in a house three times the size of yours because it’s what I worked for. I didn’t have to find a man to give it to me. I wanted it and went and got it. It’s not my fault that you can’t relate.”

Initially, I didn’t want to take any shots at her because I respect her lifestyle. She has a career, but it’s no secret that Preston is the breadwinner in their marriage and it works for them. They’re settled, happy, and are beginning to work on trying to have a baby. I rarely if ever label myself with the feminist title, but if I did, I wouldn’t be the type to frown down on women who want to be in the boardroom closing deals or at home raising their children and keeping the house put together. For as long as it is a choice, there is no judgement from me. But Celeste? She takes me there.

“Well lucky for me, I have a man who loves me enough to want to give me amazing things and the best part of it is we enjoy it together. I don’t live in a house three times smaller than yours alone. I don’t go to bed alone. I don’t travel alone. I don’t celebrate my birthdays alone. I don’t have to do everything for myself, whether I’m tired or not, because I live my life without anyone else in it. I have a life partner here with me. Where’s yours? Or did you have hopes that dad would always be the man in your life?”

And this is why whenever people ask me if we’re close, I laugh it off and shrug. I don’t know what we are. After the tragedy within our lives, we continued to grow further apart from the once closeness that we used to have. Even with her gravitating towards mom, we didn’t clash as much then as we do now. Our clashes are typically started by her. It’s the manner in which she seems to pick apart who I am that instantly rubs me the wrong way. It’s not even constructive criticism. It’s simply her being a bitch.

“Your dependency on men has always been at the forefront of your life. If it wasn’t Preston, it would have been someone else. And if it wasn’t that someone else, it would have been another person. I don’t ever remember any point in my life when you were single. So, I’m not impressed. Ya’ll can have this shit, honestly.” I dropped my napkin into the barely halfway eaten plate and immediately stood to my feet. I’d already paid for everyone’s meal as a treat, so I didn’t have to wait for some server to come over with the checkbook.

“Sarai, sit down.”

“I’d rather go and I am. Enjoy yourselves.”

“And this is why I call you a brat. Whenever someone says something that you don’t like or calls you out on your shit, you run.”

“Goodnight.”

“Sarai!” Not even my mother’s stern summoning could influence me to turn around as I walked out in the night. My car served as my solace and the sounds of a Musiq Soulchild Essentials playlist from Apple Music was my soundtrack for my drive home. A blessing of no traffic at any point allowed my arrival time to be just a couple of minutes under an hour.

Let me ask you something. You really think I can come back from this injury? It’s not even a matter of getting back on my feet again because I’m sure that’s possible, but will I be the same player I once was? I’ve been thinking about it and the more I do, the more I really don’t know.

I hadn’t even gotten out of the car when his message came through and as I sat in my seat reading it, I immediately scoffed because I know that is nothing more than his own sulking with a couple of droplets of Scott’s ridiculously biased and purposefully controversial take about some players never being who they once were within their respective sports after surgeries that don’t exactly fix what may be permanent damage.

You’re going to be even better than you were before. We all know that everyone gets a thrill out of a good comeback story but this is more than that for you. You have something to prove to yourself more than anyone or anything else. Your determined spirit will carry you through this and next year, we’re all going to celebrate what you worked so hard for more than we’ve ever celebrated you before. You got this and you know you do. It’s what we’re all a fan of when we speak of Odell Beckham Jr; your keen awareness of who you are and what you’re capable of.

And just like that, I was starting the car. I hadn’t even gone inside to get out of the pumps that are now starting to cause my toes to ache.

Have someone open the door for me. I should be there in about twenty.

It took five minutes over the twenty I estimated because I stopped at Dunkin Donuts for a hot chocolate. I wasn’t cold anymore because the heat in the car had already warmed me up, but I had a taste for it. I even grabbed Beckham a cup.

“Why are you the one answering the door?” I rang the doorbell about two minutes ago. No wonder it took so long for anyone to come and get it. As he leaned against the crutches, Khan and Blackjack were standing alongside him in a protective stance as Mowgli lingered around in the background.

“Nobody’s here but me.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’re never home alone.”

“You’ll be surprised how much I actually am home alone.” As he crutched himself backwards, the dogs moved alongside him in unison to allow me entry into the home. I think they’re starting to get used to me and I’m not sure if it’s a bad or a good thing. I’ve found myself bonding with Eris, who is technically the lady of the house.

“I got you a hot chocolate from Dunkin.”

“Thank you.”

“Uhm.” I noticed we weren’t going downstairs as I trailed behind him. Instead, he made his way into the living room and flopped down on the couch. He’d been playing video games before I arrived.

“Why are you so dressed up?”

“I’m coming from Saturday service.”

“Church?” His eyes widened and he couldn’t mask the few chuckles that followed. What’s so hard to believe about that?

“Why is that so shocking to you?”

“It’s not shocking, but I just can’t picture you going to church on a Saturday night. Maybe Sunday service, but Saturday night? No one under forty is going to a Saturday night service.” Alright. He got me there.

“I went with my mother, sister, and brother-in-law.”

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Celeste.” I tossed my jacket on the arm of the couch right after placing the Styrofoam cup filled with hot chocolate on the glass coffee table.

“Lace? You sure you just went to church? Lace is more date night.” The lace is in places that most wouldn’t consider sexy. There is no cleavage on display; not even a bit of thigh. I would have been scolded endlessly had I done that.

“Why does lace have to be for a date night? Lace is universal. I used to wear white lace gloves to church when I was about five.”

“You’re certainly not five now.” Our eyes met and I took yet another sip of the warm sweetened drink. Suddenly, I wish it was a frozen hot chocolate.

“Someone did try to take me on a date though.” I’m not sure why I’m sharing this, but we’ve developed enough of a connection to the point where we share a lot of random and sometimes private information with one another.

“Who?” He hadn’t taken the game off of pause yet; didn’t reach for the hot chocolate either.

“Remember the friend who I mentioned to you? The one whose father died in the same war that mine did? Him. His name is Quinton.”

“I figured he was more than a friend when you mentioned him.”

“Why?” We were kids at the time. I didn’t emphasize much more than that.

“I don’t know. I just felt it.”

“Well, believe me when I tell you that we’re just friends. I’m not interested. There was a point in time when we crossed a boundary but nothing more came out of it.”

“Okay.” I was surprised that he didn’t question me about the boundary but then again, he’s just as intuitive as I am most times. He knows what boundary that was.

“He’s a councilman in Brooklyn now. He’s going to run for a seat in the Senate soon enough. Politics are his thing. He’s been trying to take me out for a while. For whatever reason, he thinks we’re a good fit for one another.”

“And you don’t?” As he stretched out his lengthy fingers, I could hear the sounds of a few of them cracking.

“No. I don’t think we relate much. We gel well as distant friends more than anything else. He’s looking for a wife. I don’t want to be that.”

“His wife or anyone’s wife?”

“I don’t know. Marriage isn’t something that I’ve made a part of my plans when I mapped them out. It’s not something that I’ve ruled out, but I’m not necessarily yearning for it either. It’s more of an it is what it is situation for me. You?”

“Initially, it was a big ass no. I wasn’t pressed for it. I watched my pop marry someone and I knew he didn’t want to get married. Ultimately, it didn’t work out for him. Now, I’m not against it. Whenever that day comes, it’ll come. I just want to do it one time when it does come. When I get down on one knee, I have to absolutely know that this is it and this person is going to be the one I’m growing towards wrinkles and diapers with. That shit has to work out.”

I’m sure everyone who stands at an alter and vows their life to someone feels exactly the same way he does. It’s supposed to be final; that moment to seal the deal between your soul and someone else’s. It’s tricky though. That honeymoon bliss eventually turns into tests of tolerance and plenty of trials and tribulations. In being around my parents, I was exposed to many of their friends’ marriages. Sure, they were in love, but I’m not sure if a few of them were genuinely happy.

“That’s fair.”

“So, this Quinton guy, he’s never getting a chance to prove himself? Not even one date?”

“Probably not.”

“What about me?” I didn’t expect it to go that route, but I know it’s been lingering on his mind since we began to bond with one another.

“Everything about us will never make sense and we both know this. Even what we’re doing right now wouldn’t go without question. I’m not supposed to be here or anywhere near you.” He sighed, not in defeat, but in disappointment at the words that I’d chosen as a response.

“How is that?”

“Because it’s a conflict of interest. Did you think that I was speaking in jest when I said that the night, we all hung out after your game? Having a personal relationship with you will easily have me viewed as someone who has a bias towards you and all that you do. I already catch hell for what I said about you, so can you imagine what would happen if TMZ happened to catch up the two us leaving some restaurant or nightclub together? Do you understand what would happen if you were to post or say anything about me on social media beyond whatever it is that I say about you in a professional setting? I would not only be ripped to shreds, but I’d be fired. Why do you think I kept stressing you and the guys about not post anything whenever I was visiting you at the hospital? Why do you think I was sneaking in, so bundled up?” The pictures and videos that are on his phone and everyone else’s are for personal memories. I don’t mind that. I figured they’d be something to put a smile on his face whenever he needs one, just as they do for me.

“Does it say in your contact that you will be fired for any of this?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t against the ethical code and conduct of the company? I would be forced to resign. Not only that, but do you realize how hard it is to be taken seriously as a female sports journalist? If you let the public tell it, I’m screwing every single athlete that I’m standing within five feet of. I’m not supposed to know about sports. You know how many ‘get in the kitchen’ comments I get? Hell, the NFL fans are the harshest. They tell me that I don’t know shit and I belong on my back for a living.”

“Because they’re fucking ignorant.”

“And yet it’s my reality. I’m not trying to nag you about this because I know what I signed up for and I can handle it, but how do I handle standing in front of the president of ESPN and him telling me to write my resignation letter before they’re forced to publicly embarrass me by firing me?”

“Within all that you said, you know you’re also saying that we can’t be friends and yet here you are, sitting here with me. I didn’t tell you to come here tonight. You came on your own.”

“Because I figured you were a bit upset. It’s the vibe I’d gotten in the text messages.”

“That’s the excuse you’re going with? You could have kept texting me. You came because you care and because you wanted to.”

“I do care about you. I just have to wonder how much do you care about me if you’re okay with me jeopardizing everything that I have and everything that I am for you and only you.” Instantly, he turned his head in my direction and narrowed his eyes.

“Me and only me? So, I’m in this alone?”

“In what?” I had to stand up. Not only had the tension in the room thickened, but my legs refused to remain settled. I kept bouncing them in an anxiousness that I couldn’t comprehend.

“Sarai. Seriously? And I’m not asking you to jeopardize your career.”

“Then what are you asking me to do?”

“I don’t…” His ran his hands threw his blonde curls and tightly closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was only dropping by to check on you. I’m going to go.”

“Sarai.”

He frowned as I grabbed my jacket from the arm the chair and threw it over my shoulders. The quicker I leave, the better off we’ll both be in terms of riding ourselves of the steam. I’m tired anyway.

“It’s fine. I’ll give you a call to see how you’re doing soon.”

“You don’t have to go. That’s not what any of that was supposed to cause.”

“But I do. I need to go.”

Once my clutch bag was secured under my arm, I grabbed my keys off of the table.

“Sarai.”

“Be safe in here. Stay off of your foot.”

I was out of his door before we could exchange another set of words with one another and quite frankly, I’m not sure when I’ll ever walk through it again. I don’t have much, despite whatever people may see or believe. There are plenty of question marks next to a lot of the emotional aspects of life’s necessities but I do have my sanity and everything that I worked damn hard for. If that’s suddenly snatched away from me, then what’s left? A mother who doesn’t know much about me beyond what she assumes or wishes I were and an older sister who doesn’t take me seriously? Much like Beckham, I’m chasing a legacy and I have a lot more to do to make it eternally standing.

One date. We’ll do it somewhere around our old stomping grounds; it’ll feel nostalgic. Next week. I’ll get back to you with the day. Here’s your time.

If I have to choose right now, that’s the choice that makes the most sense.

[mahizli]

Linked (Obi-Wan & Shaak Ti, 54 BBY)

Part 1 of ‘Sparks of Hope - A Star Wars Advent-Calendar’, illustration by Jan Duursema, from the Star-Wars:Jedi Comic ‘Shaak Ti’.

***

Master Shaak Ti gently opened the blinds and watched as the light kissed the ten small Initiates awake. Her fellow crèche-master Adi was currently doing the same in the girls’ wing, and Shaak smiled as she watched young Kit stretch, beady eyes sparkling as they met the sun. Little Quin on the contrary was wrinkling his nose in displeasure, covers firmly wrapped around his body with no intention of budging. Fortunately, Shaak knew how to draw him out.

“Hot rolls and marmalade, Quin-o’-Quin…”, she whispered, hand finding his small arm, gently tickling him as her fingers moved to his shoulder, electing a giggle.

He soon flung himself at her, dark locks whipping the air, small body warm as baked bread as he hugged her.

“Good morning Master Ti”, he smiled at her, and then his finger moved to his lips and he nearly-whispered: “Shhh. Obi is still asleep.”

Master Ti carded her fingers through Quin’s hair, marvelling once more at the fascination the little one seemed to have for the newly-arrived baby-boy, who was indeed still deep in slumber, lips parted in such abandonment that waking him was almost painful.

“Obi dearest?”, Shaak said, gently stroking his back, then brushing his shields with her Force-signature, watching the little one slowly leave sleep’s shores to come back to them. “Time to wake, sweetheart.”

She felt him reach out with the Force first, distinctly catching impressions of safety, no-need-to-run, still here, and then his tiny face was peering up at her, fist rubbing at sleepy grey eyes.

“Good morning Master Ti”, he whispered, throwing the covers back and getting up like the independent little soul he was, hair still mussed by sleep.

The small boy had adapted amazingly fast, and as she watched them get dressed and ready themselves for breakfast, she realised it was because Kit and Quin were never leaving his side, spurning him on and showing him everything. Both were among the most energetic and eldest of the small clan, yet Obi seemed perfectly content and at ease with them and young Luminara, allowing them to drag him around and following them everywhere.

The little one was tired, though. For a few days now, Shaak had noticed that his strength seemed to flag right before their afternoon nap, and in the early evening – that was usually the time they would be reading stories, and she had noticed that Obi barely seemed to follow the words, second and middle finger placed between his lips, left hand rubbing the hem of his tunic rhythmically.

He had to be coaxed into finishing his dinner, as well, eyelids usually starting to droop mid-meal, and Shaak realised that day, as she watched him play and interact and try to adjust, just what tremendous efforts it meant for a baby-boy who was almost a year younger than the rest.

Especially one who had not grown up in the safety of the Temple, and had been forced to leave his brother behind only a month ago.

That day she decided she would let Obi-Wan nap as long as he needed, and congratulated herself when she realised that two full hours had passed since the others had woken, before she felt him stir in the nearby room.

She was not prepared, though, for the feelings of absolute terror-I’m alone-they all left that met her as soon as Obi realised no one was with him, nor for the wave of complete relief washing over him as she cradled him, shushing his tears with hands and Force both.

“I’m there, we are all there, we did not leave, Obi dearest, we just let you sleep…”, she soothed, feeling the little one reach out for them, anguish abating slowly as he checked her signature, and Quin’s, and Kit’s, and Nara’s – and the whole clan’s, reaching out for what seemed the entire Temple before he huddled against her.

And Shaak realised, then. That the little boy was still defining himself in the Force, among them all. That he needed the closeness and the feeling of fellow-Jedi nearby so badly he was unwilling to let them out of sight, because he had not learned yet that he was one among others who were all one with the Force.

“Obi dearest? Sweetheart? Sweetest pea on Coruscant?”

She rubbed her nose against his hair, softly, very tenderly – baby Humans had no lekku to probe the Force and assess the world around them, but Shaak had learnt that they craved touch all the more, and she felt Obi calm down, going almost boneless against her.

“The Force always links us. When we are awake. When we sleep. When we dream. And even when we pass. It cannot go away. Those links you feel, those links you love… They may seem to fade, sometimes, but the Force will always be there, and we are all one in the Force.”

That day, she kept Obi on her lap during story time. She had chosen an old holovid, because the theme seemed fitting, watching Obi’s fingers return to his mouth as the story began – this time however his grey eyes never wavered from the images, small body still with rapture and awe.

It was an Old World’s tale, about a young boy playing in the snow, inviting a snow-man into his house, learning to know him and befriending him, entering a wintery dreamworld, then letting his friend go, with an open ending that left everybody wonder what had been real.

“I think it was a dream”, Luminara said, quietly.

- No, I think it was real, because of the speeder taking him away into the air!”

Quin was almost bouncing with enthusiasm and Kit supplied:

“And he still had his shawl, so I think the snow-man was a Jedi!

- I think the little boy looked a lot like Obi”, a small Rodian-girl named Eryn said, and everybody giggled, Obi himself smiling behind his fingers.

“What do you like most in this story, Initiates?”, Master Ti asked, and ere long she had a bunch of excited answers thrown at her.

“When the snowman changes his nose with all the fruits!

- When he puts red on his cheeks”, Quinlan giggled.

“When they dance in the little boy’s room”, Nara said.

“When they fly in the air like Jedi”, Kit added.

“When they see the Aiwha in the air!

- When he sneezes!”, young Stass Allie laughed, tendrils shaking in amusement.

“And you, Obi?”, Shaak asked the little boy who had stayed silent on her lap, following the exchange. “What did you like best, playing with your friend the snowman, making fun of us all?”

That made Obi smile again, removing his fingers from his lips.

“The song”, he answered, astonishing even Shaak. “It’s beautiful.

- Yes!

- Yes!

- It’s true, it’s beautiful!

- But I have already forgotten how it goes”, Eryn observed, somewhat sadly.

“Do you remember it, Obi?”, Shaak asked, sensing something change in the small boy’s signature – and she had the surprise to see him nod. “Can you sing it for us? I can help you with the words, if you want. I love the song as well.”

The little boy stilled for a while, and then he nodded, shyly, looking up at her, grey eyes wide and trusting. The Initiates had all sat down cross-legged around them, and after a few seconds, Obi-Wan’s voice rose, tiny at first but getting surer as he sang, feeling the Force settle around them.

“We’re walking in the air… We’re floating in the la la sky… The people far below are sleeping as we fly…”

His pitch was absolutely in tune, Obi only faltering when he reached a difficult word.

“We’re holding very tight… I’m riding in the midnight blue… I’m finding la la la, so high above with you…”

The little boy paused then, shyly hiding his face into her tunic once more. And Shaak realised that the rest of the clan had gone silent, signatures relaxed and open in the Force.

“I think we should learn the song”, Master Ti suggested, wrapping a lekku around Obi-Wan, smiling at them. “I think we should sing it together. That way we won’t forget it, and remember the way it made us feel.”

And that evening, as small Initiates brushed their teeth and went through their sleeping routine, it was not uncommon to hear some of them hum quiet words from a long-gone world. Until they were all asleep under their covers, save for a small, auburn-haired Initiate who reached out, one last time, through the Force, whispering:

“And everyone who sees us greats us as we fly.”

His signature quietly touched the others, brushing them, seeking reassurance and bestowing love, and then Obi-Wan closed his eyes, curling up under the sheets. Soon lost into dreams.

[helioheliks]

Left in a Cell

[[So, with Derelict being the first big bad of my titular Exalted game, a man named the Jailer came in at the half-way mark to become the real big bad. He was sent to reel Derelict in, but ended up just going ahead and doing the job for him. Since then, he’s been used in FF by @enambris and was at a time restrained. This is the introduction to his return, as he goes after Moth’s sister.]]

“Nah ain't chu summin.” The voice like asphalt on a chalkboard filled the small cell and echoed out into the long hallway beyond the barred doors. The chorus of musings fell away and was replaced by the slow, deliberate *click click click* of rusted spurs as the man paced a circle around his captive, slowly filling the room with languid smoke from a foul-smelling hand-rolled cigarette. He didn't stare at her - in fact, he only took passing glances at her, quickly averting his eyes again as if he somehow found the sight distasteful.

A inky black length of chain stood rigid from the floor, and he had hung his wide-brimmed hat on it when he had entered the cell, so his ruin of a face was in full-view. He looked as if at some point in his life he was savagely and deliberately beaten, but rather than healing his wounds, he had just had them repaired. Criss-crossed stitches from the gut of something certainly not feline held together a jagged tear from mouth to ear on either side of his face, though the sutures were rotted and sagging, so when he spoke, his back teeth and working muscles showed through any time he worked his jaw. The tobacco-stained yellow crags that remained of his teeth conjured imaginings of an open mouth crushed against stone. The apparent crescent shape of a permanent smile was a delusion - the thin line of his lips held no sign of mirth.

The flesh around one eye seemed to have simply been torn away by blunt, ineffectual human nails, and so the full, white orb of one eye swiveled freely in an open socket. He had no lids there, and so the eye always seemed hot and bloodshot.

He was scraps and tatters, and even below his tunic, small clouds of smoke escaped directly from his chest with every drag of his cigarette.

He ran thin fingers through his short, patchy hair, and finally stopped pacing to meet the girl face-to-face. The same sort of black chains that held his hat latched onto the girl’s wrists and held her tight to the floor. A sort of steam rose from where chain touched flesh, but it was not burning, and it didn't seem to be harming her.

She was tallow-white of flesh with blue hair shaved to a single row from front to back. It was long enough to fall over one side and partially obscure her face. She wore what appeared to be a black and gray striped one-piece jumpsuit with a zipper up the back. Though it appeared freshly laundered, it was obvious she was not the first one to wear it. Not by decades.

The sallow, patchwork man took a long drag on his cigarette, burning it from halfway to his lips in one pull, then seemed to expel it from himself in a huge sigh - smoke billowing out from his nostrils, his gash of a mouth, and straight from his chest. He flicked the smoldering butt to the side, where another chain reared from a nearby shadow to crush it out; retracting back to the somewhere once the deed was done.

“Now, les’ start from’a beginning:” he said, not unkindly, “Ah put a warrant out for your immediate arrest. Soon as ah I heard 'bout’cha. You wasn't too hard ta find, to be honest. Ya got the stink of ya maker on ya. And what was that name again? Your pappy’s? Mr. Craft Man?”

At the drop of the name, the girl chained to the floor changed demeanor entirely. She whipped her head up, compound eyes reflecting her captor a thousand times, and the proboscis-mandible combination she had in place of a mouth began flexing and clacking furiously and loudly.

Her Jailer flinched back from the racket, and then opened his ears to the Old Ones he represented. They translated the incoherent noise and overlayed the noise with their interpretation: “CRAFTSMAN IS NO FATHER TO ME. CRAFTSMAN IS NO MAKER. CRAFTSMAN IS NO-ONE.” Over and over and over.

The Jailer flexed his pinky finger, and the chains that held her wrists tightened and jerked her down till she was on hands and knees, her insectoid face covered by her disheveled hair and pointed at the ground once more. “Shhhh,” he insisted, “shhhh shhh shhh. That’ll be enough’a that. To the point: I don’t care a wit what he is to ya, I just know that he’s in my sights, and that I know you got a… sista? Who may be of some use ta me. But she’s surrounded, and that’s an issue.” He knelt down on one knee, and a chain rose from the shadow he cast over her to take her chin and tilt it up so her strange eyes could meet his. “When ya after someone at the top, you gotta start low and work your way through. An’ so we start with you, missy. Now, don’ you worry your pretty little head, I’m not gonna torture you for information or nothin’. I don’ deal in punishment beyond crime.” The chain moved her alien face closer to his, and his breath came out fettid and thick, “I believe you’re gonna lead me right to these two folks who consider themselves “editors” of a sort to the true Authors of all Creation - to this man who would tamper with the core of life and spirit, and to this fancied Queen who thinks she can tear the Author’s work to pieces on her own whim. I cannot suffer these lawless sons of bitches to continue their work.” His breathing had become harder and harder as he went on, some sort of fervor driving hot adrenaline through his veins. He suddenly realized that the girl had not been commenting - chattering, rather - because in his passion, he had allowed the chains to wind up around her neck, and were slowly choking the life from her.

He stood immediately, the chain around her throat vanishing in a puff of ash, sulfur, and shade. He brushed the dust from the knees of his trousers and then straightened up. “Terribly sorry, missy, that was unbecomin’ of me.” His tone seemed genuine, though his face was nearly impossible to read. He cleared his throat, then drew a pouch of tobacco and a rolling paper from his lapel. With deft fingers, he had the cigarette rolled, licked, and between his lips in a matter of seconds. He cupped his hands around the end and began to puff, as if he were lighting it against a wind; and yet, seemingly without flame, the tobacco lit, and he began to draw in deep- lung-fulls at a time. “Enough is enough. I, Warden of Black Shackle, hereby commit you to this penitentiary as a prisoner. Your sentence term is twenty years - once again your current age - for the crime of your existence. You’re a creature born of works that go against the grain of the Authors’ wishes, and so you will be punished. However,” he held up one thin, boney finger, “one year will be removed for your sentence for every step you bring me closer to the activities and whereabouts of the culprits named ‘Ana’ and ‘Gramr.’”

As he turned and walked to the cell door, snatching his hat from the chain that held it and placing it back on his head, more angry chattering was hurled at his back. The Old Ones interpreted again: “CANNOT LEAVE ME. WHAT WILL YOU DO. I KNOW NOTHING. CANNOT LEAVE ME. WHAT HAPPENS.”

“Your punishment?” he hissed through his teeth amidst a gout of acrid smoke, “Every day you’ll sit in that cell with an image of the woman you coulda been if you hadn’t been made this… moth creature. You’ll live with the way you shoulda been made, and you’ll think about what it is to be human.” He walked out of the cell, and the black, wrought-iron doors slammed shut behind him, “Who knows, maybe at the end of your term, we’ll find a way to rehabilitate you and your sister.”

With that, all the smokey chains in the cell disappeared, dropping her to the floor, and the Jailer made his way back down the hall to the warden’s office amidst a slow progression of *click click click.*

[pandabearlikes]

No News

Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5

Chapter o5. Epilogue

My eyes flicker, my body succumbs to paralysis.  His question repeats over and over again in my mind and I almost hypnotize myself into thinking this is a dream.  But YiXing’s presence is so real; his soft but direct gaze leaves me breathless.  After another moment, I honestly nod.  He takes it a lot calmer than I had expected.

“Is he Chanyeol?” YiXing keeps his stare on me and inquires.  I peer up, meeting his gaze with my own that is both filled with relief and guilt.  Of course.  How did I ever think an army captain, awarded multiple times for his keen observation skills, wouldn’t have caught on?  

Again, I nod.  YiXing nods too.  “Since when?”

I bite my lower lip to reduce the tremble.  He’s so calm that it heightens my own nervousness.  “Right before he left for the rescue mission.  I didn’t know he went to scout for news about you.”

My husband nods again, quietly absorbing the information.  His grip on my hand is extremely tight.  I try to squeeze his hand too but his hold has left my hand numb.

“Doe-Does he treat you well?” the half-quake of the kind-hearted, altruistic man’s voice leaves a crack on my heart.  

Blinking back tears, I nod again.  Enlarged pupils dart about, scanning YiXing for signs of anger…but he nods again and sniffles back tears.  The corners of his eyes tinge bright pink.  Naturally, I reach a palm to caress his face but he turns just a little, enough to make me realize it is over.  Ten years of partnership could not beat the passion of one night, the longing of four months, the friendship of two decades.  

“YiXing…I’m sorry,” I say between trembles.  My hand falls back down onto the table.  

The heartbroken man shakes his head and takes a sharp inhale of air.  Neither of us had notice we had been holding in our own breaths until now.  YiXing spins his head around, searching, looking for something neither of us know.  Perhaps, an escape.  Then, he lets go of my hand.  Mine remains stiffen, throbbing once, twice…three times in rhythm to the rapid beating of my heart.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he corrects.

His consideration only makes me feel guiltier.  Wordlessly, he strides toward the door.  His footsteps are heavy and thumps against my chest.  I reach an arm out, instinctively yearning to pull him back to my side but they stay afloat amidst thin air as the door closes shut.  My head drops onto my spawned out arms against the dining table.  Sobs echo through the empty house.

"`*•.♩ ♪ ♫ ♬♥ .¸.•*” my phone rings a few minutes later.  It is Chanyeol.  I hesitate before picking up.

“Hello?” I murmur.

“Is something wrong?  Are you crying?” Chanyeol immediately recognizes from my stuffy voice.

“YiXing knows…” I decide to inform.

Momentarily, Chanyeol grows quiet.  “What did he say?”

“Nothing.  He just asked if you treated me well and said I didn’t do anything wrong,” I notify, “Chanyeol-ah…” I swallow the lump in my throat, “I’m so worried.  I don’t know where he went.  He still hasn’t fully healed from his PTSD and I…I…just…” I say in a jumble mess.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go look for him.  I think I know where he is,” my lover assures and hangs up.

`

Just as Chanyeol hypothesized, he discovers YiXing perched on a large rock outlooking the suburban beach.  A beer in one hand, the other subconsciously drawing circles on the glass sand.  Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Chanyeol advances forward, intruding YiXing’s momentary refuge.  

They don’t say a word as the younger takes the seat beside his mentor.  Ocean waves decorate the land with a new layer of calm, earthly whistles swirl into their eardrums.  Outside, it is calm. Inside, both fight wars with themselves.  

Chanyeol parts his lips over and over again, but cannot seem to find the right words to disturb the silence.  

“I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“For…?” his sworn brother instantly ask, as if he too had been waiting for the deceptive calm to end.

Staring out into the sea, Chanyeol answers, “For taking her…” he swallows, “…from you.”

YiXing only nods and sips his beer.  Another strong wave brushes wet sand onto their shoes. 

“It shouldn’t have continued after your return…” Chanyeol whispers sadly to himself, a reality he had been desperately try to avoid, “It can’t continue…now that you’ve returned.”

But his words aren’t met by a considerate YiXing, but a raging one.  Abruptly, the older grabs his brother’s collar, lifts up a fist, and aims it at his jaw.  The uncharacteristic move takes Chanyeol by surprise.  Beer splashes all over, crushed under YiXing’s shoe.  

After the calm, comes the storm.  

Somehow, without a word, they stare at each other with similar eyes of determination seconds before the battle ensues.  Each take a jab at one another; YiXing pierces Chanyeol’s wounded abdomen, Chanyeol takes a piece at YiXing’s shoulder blade.

“Do you know what you are saying?!” YiXing snaps, dodging his opponent’s punch.

“There can only be one,” Chanyeol shouts back, in fury.  His lower lip takes a hit from YiXing’s fist.  

 “Are you stupid?!”  Bruises form along their recently healed skin.  They end up rolling along the sand while exchanging blows.  

“We shouldn’t have been together,” Chanyeol’s hoarse voice admits.

“YES, you shouldn’t have!” YiXing agrees as he takes the upper hand and locks his opponent in a death grip.  “But you are!”

“But I love her!” Chanyeol wheezes out his confession as he struggles to free from YiXing’s hold. 

`

I pace around the living room over and over again with anxiety that just seemed to multiply tenfolds each breath I took.  In fact, my breathing had gone from slow to laborious and the muscles on my stomach tightened with stress.  Closing my eyes, I bring both my palms to massage the ache to no avail.  On.  Off. On.  Off.  I continue to check my phone every other second hoping for news from either Chanyeol or YiXing.

“No news…no news…is good new…shhh…shh…” I try to pacify my fearful heart.  

At the strike of 12, a flicker lit in my brain.  The beach.  It was the place where the three of us hung out after school everyday as students.  It was the place where YiXing confessed his feelings and asked Chanyeol for his blessing.  

Clawing my hair out of my face, I throw on a jacket and whiz toward the door.

`

Another punch busts Chanyeol’s lower lip.  Two raging forces collide, unable to admit that they are hurt - that they are sad, and not as their warrior-wired brains interpret, as anger.  

“I love her.  Since we were children,” Chanyeol tearfully spills.  “But she was happy with hyung…”

YiXing’s attacks slow down and gradually comes to a halt as his brother’s confession sinks in.  Both of them collapse against the sandy surface.  

“I know,” YiXing mouths.  Memories flash through his mind and a moment of guilt humbles him.  In truth, he knew of Chanyeol’s feelings toward me for a while now.

“But she chose you,” Chanyeol concludes, still heaving for air from the intense fistfight.

She chose you!” YiXing bites back.

The younger grimaces, shakes his head, and closes his eyes.  

“Park.  Chanyeol,” YiXing jerks up and seethes through his teeth.  

“Hyung…” Chanyeol calls as tears seep from the corners of his eyes.  YiXing falls back against the sand.  “I…” the former chokes, “I love her…”  It is his plea… His comrade tilts his head back, allowing the sand to mold against his body.

“…I know…” he whispers, silently listening to Chanyeol’s quiet cry.  Heavens fade to bluish gray as storms settle to quiet drizzles.  Peeps of sunlight shine through small holes between clouds.  “I know…” YiXing admits.  “You loved her enough to let her go with another…” he lets the ache sink against his heart.  “…and now I must do the same.”

Chanyeol’s eyes snap open in shock.

“Will you treat her well?” YiXing inquires as he gathers a fistful of sand and lets each grain fall through the valleys of his fingers.

Furrow brows frame large round orbs.  It takes a moment longer for Chanyeol to fully process YiXing’s decision to give our relationship his blessing.  He firmly nods.

“Good.  Because that wasn’t a question,” the older smacks the younger's stomach.  Chanyeol groans and points to his still healing gunshot wound.  “You deserved it,” YiXing jokes, “It took you two years to come get me.”

“Hey!  All the higher ups filed reports; everyone thought you were dead.  I was the only one who was brave enough to venture into the concentration camps even when there wasn’t a grain of hope!” Chanyeol scoffs.

“I know…I know…” his comrade chuckles and then earnestly concludes, “That is why I cannot be mad at you.”

Chanyeol turns to face YiXing.

“…We went through so much together at the front lines…no one else would understand.  You had no obligation to return back to the field after sustaining your permanent injuries, and yet, you did to search for me,” YiXing vocalizes his gratefulness towards this comrade.  “Not to mention, I know she waited for me…waited a long, long time.”

“She did,” Chanyeol confirms.

YiXing squeezes his eyes shut to swallow down his emotions.  “In fact, if something were to happen to me, I wish for her to find someone else, who would love her just as much as I had loved her.”  Opening his eyes, he turns to Chanyeol, “I think you can do that and more?”

“More,” Chanyeol smiles.

YiXing chuckles and nods.  “Then you have my blessing.”

“YiXing!  Chanyeol!  Chanyeol-ah!” I strain my voice and cry as I desperately hop from one rock to another in search for the two men.  

“She’s here,” my lover announces.

“She called for me first,” YiXing jokes as he stretches out a hand.

Taking it, Chanyeol scoffs, “Are you serious, Hyung? I clearly heard her calling for me, twice in a row. 

“Chanyeol!” I gasp as I spot their two small figures from the top of the rock cliff.  Holding my stomach, I prepare to squat and slide down to meet up with them.  Both of them immediately freak out.

“Don’t.  Don’t!” Chanyeol rasp as he hastily climbs the terrain, two rocky steps at a time to get to me faster.

“Stay right there,” YiXing instructs as he heads up from the opposite side.

The two of them arrive at the same time, one to my right, one to my left.  Instinctively, my heart runs to Chanyeol.  He catches me within his arms.  YiXing sighs and nods to himself.  From the close distance, I finally notice the bruises and busted lip.  I turn from Chanyeol to YiXing with a look of exasperation.  

“Did you two fight?!” I interrogate.  

Both men turn away to avoid my stare.

“I can’t believe this,” I cross my arms and grumble.  With a pout, I enunciate, “Bad boy.”  Chanyeol chokes.  I shuffle over to YiXing and narrow my eyes, “Bad boy,” I give him the same treatment and stalk off.  

The two men-pups exchange looks of amusement.  Chanyeol tosses an arm over YiXing’s shoulder and trail my steps, nodding, and agreeing to all my scoldings.  

~

“Do you have to go back on duty that fast?” I frown as I cradle my about-to-pop stomach.  Chanyeol has one palm against the small of my back and another on the top of my bump.  

“Hm…since I practically lived there for two years, I know the place inside out and am the best candidate to lead the refugee rescue mission,” YiXing explains, perhaps, for the fifth time.

I gaze up to Chanyeol, who squeezes my shoulder and nods.  

“Hyung, stay safe,” Chanyeol sends his well wishes to his best friend and comrade.

“Mm, definitely.  I can’t die before I meet my godson,” he reassures.  “I’ll try to make it back before his half birthday,” he takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

~

“He hasn’t called in a month,” I absent-mindedly sigh as I breastfeed my 1 month old baby.  My husband, who had been busily making silly faces at his son, stops, brings a hand up to stroke my hair, and sighs.

“Didn’t someone say, no news is good news?” Chanyeol reminds.

It calms my restless heart.  When it comes to the land of turbulence, no new is good news.  

“That’s right,” I agree, as I gaze out the window into the Heavens in wishful prayers for the safety of YiXing and all the service mans putting themselves at risk to keep those at home, safe.

A/N: O.o…did I just setup for a sequel in YiXing’s POV? :p (Actually was going to make the last scene him doing a radio call and saying, “Roger.  The tracker has been implanted on Park Chanyeol.” to hint an espionage sequel xD but I decided against it since YiXing and politics is such a sensitive topic right now…)

Thank you, Everyone who has followed this series!  Will be back with more soon!

>>Story Master Archive<<