#reverent touches and life affirming sex and a lot of feels

[bellarnyblakc]

let’s stop running from love

For anon who asked for bellarke finally having a quiet moment to process the fact that they’re both here.

Bellamy and Clarke don’t wake the others from cryo-sleep immediately, and instead use these few minutes of peace and quiet to talk and attempt to resolve all the things that are broken between them. explicit, 3.9k, [ao3]

Jordan slips out around the same time they stood staring at the sunrise of the second sun over their new planet, their new home, their new chance. Bellamy looks around in concern, but before he can make to follow Jordan, Clarke grasps his hand in hers.

“Leave him be – he needs a few minutes.” She urges, and she can see Bellamy’s conflicting feelings, his heart telling him he shouldn’t leave someone who was in pain, and his head telling him that Jordan needs time to process. Slowly, he nods and the tension in his shoulders abates slightly even as the redness in his eyes doesn’t disappear. “So, what now?” she asks, slightly breathless from the sheer impossibility of it all.

“We wake Raven,” he says decisively. “She’ll know how to get us down.” Clarke tries to ignore the flare of hope at his words. We, he’d said and maybe he didn’t mean it the way she did in her thoughts but maybe, just maybe, he did. Maybe his we was the same as hers, the two of them together again. Partners and companions despite everything that had come before.

“How do we tell them all?” she wonders aloud, hoping he’ll put the tremor in her voice down to this overwhelming path in front of them instead of her yearning and hoping for them to be okay again.

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“I guess first we need to figure out how to open the pods.” She takes a bracing breath and makes to go back to the cryo room.

“Wait,” he says, and this time he’s the one who grabs her hand. “Just. They’ve been asleep for a hundred and twenty-five years. What’s a few more minutes? Let’s just be -” he trails off but she immediately understands the desire for a few more uninterrupted, peaceful minutes of no responsibility before they faced whatever was down there.

“Be what?” she prompts with a smirk. Lazy, she thinks he’ll snark back, but when she looks at him, his eyes are full of a myriad of emotions that makes her heart clench and arms ache to pull him to her, if only to let him know that whatever he was going through, he wasn’t alone. Bellamy, who had closed his eyes for what felt like only a moment and opened them again to find out two of his closest friends had lived and loved and died while he was asleep.

“Let’s just be Bellamy and Clarke for a bit. No sides; no wars; no decisions; no betrayals. The way it was always meant to be.” She feels hollow at his words, longing for a universe in which they could have been normal, with nothing pulling them apart over and over. It’s almost incomprehensible, how easily she’s able to imagine a happier life with him and how much she mourns the way it could have been, should have been when her relationship with Bellamy has been nothing except full of trials and tribulations.

His eyes are boring into hers, searching and hesitant and her whole body feels wound tight; the air around them electric; the two of them just waiting for the lightning to strike.

She swallows and looks away, edging away from the precipice she’s become so familiar with since meeting him. There’s still too much between them, too much uncertainty and hurt that they’re both holding back. She feels, rather than sees, his sigh and casts around desperately for something to lighten the mood.

“Funny,” she huffs a laugh, “Longest sleep I’ve ever had and I feel like I could use a nap right about now.” All traces of melancholy hidden, he grins at her; boyish and charming and something aches in her stomach for all the time she lost with him in which to watch him grow and evolve into the spectacular man he is today – time she’ll never be able to get back.

“Come on.” He pulls her by the hand back to the window and settles down on the cold metal floor, her hand still in his resting on his thigh, sending warmth all the way down her arm to her whole body. They sit in contemplative silence for a few minutes.

“Do you think we’ll be better, this time round?” she asks quietly despite her previous disinclination to talk about anything gloomy, she can’t help but seek reassurance that he still has hope that they won’t make the same mistakes and underneath that; a subtle, unspoken question of whether they both will be able to find their way back to each other across the chasm of misunderstanding and miscommunication and six long years apart that had opened up between them.

“We have to. For – for Monty and Harper and everyone else we’ve lost along the way.” He says earnestly. “We have to. We will.” He pauses to swallow and glances at her from under his lashes and answers her “We have each other.” She nods, and this time even her natural cynicism can’t dampen the flare of hope she has for their relationship to mend and take them back to when they trusted each other implicitly.

The silence between them is companionable and easy, despite everything unsaid and hanging in the air. She’s able to study him for the first time since he returned; the indentation between his brows has smoothed, his shoulders were more relaxed, his movements freer and less tight. The mantle of responsibility still lay heavy his shoulders but the blame he used to carry had been shrugged off. The darkness in his eyes had gone, and though there is deep sorrow, there is also a brightness to his gaze that hadn’t been there six years ago, a galaxy unveiled in his tired eyes.

“I really am sorry, you know.” She murmurs quietly, half hoping he was too preoccupied in his thoughts to hear. His gaze catches hers and the vulnerability in them makes her breath catch in her throat. “There wasn’t enough time to – to think. I had to protect Madi.” His thumb strokes across her skin, giving her the strength to carry on and let her walls down. “I didn’t think Octavia would actually…” he gives a sardonic, bitter laugh.

“Yeah, bit of a hard pill to swallow when the sister you’ve given up your whole life for sentences you to death.” She can hear the undercurrent of anguish in his voice and she can’t stop herself from surging to him and taking him in her arms, bodies pressed together, her nose resting in the hollow of his throat, his head resting on the crown of her head.

“You deserve so much better than her.” She says fiercely, slightly muffled by the warmth of his bare skin. “You deserve…” she trails off, unable to find words to articulate just how incredible she thinks he is. “You deserve the world.” She finishes lamely, aware of how meagre it is, but the way his embrace tightens around her, like no one’s ever told him this before makes the hole in her chest widen. God, she wants to press her hands to his chest and push all the love she has for him into his skin so he will never forget it. “You deserve someone who adores you and knows what an incredible man you are. I hope Echo is that person for you.”

He clears this throat awkwardly and pulls away from her slightly, hands settling on her shoulders.

“Actually, Echo and I broke up.” She makes a small, shocked noise, searching his eyes for any sign of pain, feeling wretched for the wave of happiness and relief. “It just wasn’t working. Not with… everything else.”

“Oh, Bellamy. I didn’t know.”

“It is what it is.” He shrugs, and pulls her closer again. “Everything changed when we got to the ground.”

She tries not to let this knowledge change anything, but she can’t help but be hyper-aware of every point of contact between their bodies (of which there are many – she’s practically sitting in his lap). That same feeling of electricity hums under her skin and she grows hot when his hands brush the small of her back.

“I still can’t quite believe you’re here.” She says in a whisper, and hesitantly brings her hand to cup his jaw in the same place that – just a few short days ago – she had slapped. His rough stubble abrades at her sensitive palm. She can’t help the thrill that goes through her as, despite herself, she imagines what it would feel like on other, more sensitive parts of her.

“Madi told me you used to talk to me on the radio.” His voice is gentle but even so, her face burns at Madi laying her soul bare for him to see. “God, Clarke. If I’d known you were alive, I wouldn’t have stopped til we fixed that radio. I’m so sorry-”

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry…” He places a finger to her lips, quieting her and she looked at him in surprise.

“Don’t apologise again. We’ve both done things that we would take back if we could. We can’t change the past, we just have to make a better future.” She swallows as the magnitude of his words hit her. He was granting her – not forgiveness, exactly – but a chance to prove herself to him and earn the trust that he had already given back to her.

In the light of the two suns, Bellamy’s eyes are sparkling, the golden light revealing flecks of amber. His eyes dart to her lips and self-consciously, she licks them, watching as his pupils blow wide.

She wants to lean forward, let their lips meet. She’s tired of fighting this magnetic pull between them but she doesn’t want to ruin the fragile, tentative balance they’ve found. If it was a choice between having Bellamy in her life as friends, or not having him at all, she’d choose his friendship every time.

“Clarke,” he breathes, and his voice is shot. Clarke has to dig her nails into her palm to ground herself, remind herself of all the reasons that this shouldn’t happen. But, Echo was out of the picture now and even though they’d both hurt each other more than they’ve ever done before, after laying it all out in the open, she knows it was never a question of whether they would find their way back to each other, only whether they would take the long way round or the short way. There was nothing in this world – in this universe – that would keep the two of them apart, not when they had both proved time and time again that they would fight their way back to each other through battles and betrayals and heartbreak. Bellamy was right, all they needed was a bit of time to just be Bellamy and Clarke.

But it was her who would have to take the first step, the first risky jump into the unknown. For all the times that she’d taken the first step away from him, all the times she’d turned her back and left him, it was her turn to take that first step towards him.

She presses her lips to his so gently it’s barely more than a brush of skin. She pulls back and stares at him searchingly. His hand comes up to cup her head and he pulls her back in for a deeper kiss, lips opening under hers, tongues sliding against each other desperately.

“It’s not too soon after Echo?” she asks against his mouth as she breaks away for air. She can taste his chuckle as he presses soft kisses against the corner of her lips.

“It’s been a hundred and twenty-five years, Clarke.” He murmurs. “And six years before that, and God knows how long before that.”

“Really?”

“Of course, Clarke. How could you not know?” and she did, she does. Six years ago, she knew without a doubt that he felt the same as she did. Six years ago, she saw the same love and admiration in his eyes that she felt in her chest every time she looked at him. Six years ago, she thought they would have had half a decade for them to reach their inevitable conclusion and their new beginning. But six years happened and so much had gone wrong after their reunion. She can’t help the burn in the back of her throat at the incomprehensibility that he’s loved her through it all, just as long, just as deeply as she does him. She burrows her head into the warm skin of his neck before he can see her eyes growing red.

He can sense her tears and nuzzles into her hair.

“What’s wrong?” he urges.

“I just… I love you.” She confesses, like it was ever a secret. His fingers clench on her waist and he brings one to tilt her face up so he can kiss her again, deep and searing.

“In case it wasn’t obvious, I love you too.”

Clarke draws his lower lip into her mouth, sucking with enough force that it makes him shiver and groan. His hands work their way under her shirt, deft, calloused fingers exploring the divots of her spine.

“I want this off.” He murmurs distractedly as his lips map out the expanse of her neck. He growls when her fingers twist tighter in his curls and she barely pulls back enough to let him wrestle her top off her.

Her heart beats unsteadily in her chest as he gazes at her, full of adoration and openness. She wants to say something, wants to tell him everything she’s kept locked up for so long, but no words will do justice to the enormity of her emotions, so she just pulls him to her again and locks his lips in hers, nibbling and licking, trying to pour the depths of her love into his mouth so he will taste it.

He hauls her onto his lap so she’s straddling him, wrapping his arms around her like a vice so tight she almost can’t breathe. She feels close to tears again, not quite able to process that he’s here, he’s in her arms and she can touch him like this.

“I love you.” She repeats, stroking the dimple of his chin affectionately and her eyes are so soft and so blue and heartache and happiness bloom in his chest. He can’t find his voice to return the sentiment so he presses a light, lingering kiss to the swell of her breast, right above her heart. He mouths his way to her nipple and takes the bud of it into his hot mouth over the threadbare bra. He sucks lightly and she arches into him, unable to quell the moan that slips out.

Suddenly, she needs to feel Bellamy’s skin on hers, needs to feel the reality of his presence, let his skin burn itself into hers and she tugs at his shirt until he lifts his arms obediently for her to toss it away.

Softly, like he’ll disappear if she touches him too hard, she traces the lines of his muscles, swallowing his huff as she traces over his nipples and mesmerized at the way his abs twitch under the gentle scratch of her fingernails. When she reaches the soft trail of dark hair under his belly button, he takes her hand and presses it to his lips, not quite kissing, just holding it there so she can feel his breaths, coming unsteady and shaky. His chest feels hollow and full all at once and he wonders how he can feel such contentment and sorrow at the same time.

“I missed you, so much. Every day.” And really, there is nothing she can say to that. She missed him too, so much she ached with it but he knows, and she knows and now all there’s left to do is to speak out loud everything that was raw and bleeding inside them so they could heal.

He runs his hands gently down her arms and up her torso, over the swell of her breasts, mesmerized by the soft skin of her and she sighs dreamily against his mouth. He can’t help but rock up into her, seeking friction and her sigh turns into a gasp as she feels his hardening cock against her centre.

“Bellamy,” she whimpers into the skin of his temple and he silences her with a scorching kiss. His hands snake around her back to work at the clasp her bra and he pauses to pull it away from her body, air leaving his lungs in a soft whoosh as her breasts are bared to him, nipples flushes and beaded. When he meets her eyes, his gaze is tender and soft and something in her heart feels bruised with longing.

“You’re gorgeous.” He mutters as his teeth nibble the sensitive skin, hard enough to leave a mark “I can’t believe I get to…” he trails off, closing his mouth over her nipple and caressing the other between his finger and thumb, watching her expression to see what she likes. Heat builds between her legs, the slow working of his hands and mouth not nearly enough sensation for her. She bucks her hips against him, feeling him hard and hot underneath her.

“Bellamy, I need – I need –“ she rocks faster desperately searching for the right angle to soothe the ache between her legs, but Bellamy places firm hands on her hips to slow her movement.

“Shhh, s’okay. I’m gonna take care of you.” He breathes.

She bites at his chin, hoping the dirty flick of her tongue over the cleft and the hard sucking will encourage him to speed up, to lose control a little but when her hand snakes down to dip below the waistband of his trousers and jerk him off, quick and hard, he grasps her face in his and peppers kisses lightly over her jaw.

“Wait, let’s just…” Bellamy trails off against her temple, unable to express what he wants, but she slows down and searches his eyes and seems to understand anyway. He wants to savour this moment, wants to etch it into his memory, wants to catalogue her every gasp and moan and shiver, wants to memorise exactly where he should touch her to make her twitch against him. He wants to hold her in his arms and never let go, he wants to climb inside her and make a home for himself in her chest, like she has in him. He wants to touch and touch and be touched and pour every ounce of himself out for her to see. He wants so much he burns with it.

When he looks up and meets her eyes again, he has to bury his nose into her heaving chest, breathing in her scent, unable to face the raw honesty and love. He busies himself with tracing a path across her collarbone with his tongue instead, sparks racing down his spine as she rubs his scalp with her fingertips.

They kiss again, a slow, sweet slide of tongues, biting and sucking. He lets himself get lost in her again, the slow roll of their hips keeping pace with their kisses, the friction maddeningly sweet; too much and yet not enough at all.

Soon, Clarke can’t stand it, the pressure between her legs too much to bear. She kneels enough that he can pull her leggings down. He ducks down to nose at her bellybutton as he does so, then dips his tongue inside so that she gasps with it. She has to do a weird, awkward contortion to remove her leggings completely whilst not breaking contact with Bellamy, but when his fingers brush over her wet cunt, she grasps his shoulders and dips her forehead down to rest on his. His fingers circle her clit, and she keens, low and lingering, keyed up so much that even just his gentle touch makes sparks fly behind her eyelids.

“I want your dick inside me.” She gasps as his fingers just barely dip into her entrance. She urges him to lift his hips so she can slide his pants down and when his cock springs free, she takes a moment to trace the vein with her fingertips reverently. His harsh gasp punctures the air, hand flying to her hip leaving a smear of her own wetness on her skin and she lets herself smile, meeting his eyes.

He pulls her to him again, resting his head in her neck, feeling her pulse against his temple. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, I’m alive, it beats against his skin, and God, he thought she was dead for so long, but she’s not; she’s here in his arms, alive and warm and soft and pliant under his hands. If his eyes grow glassy with tears, she doesn’t mention it, just presses a soft kiss to the tip of his nose as she positions herself over him, hovering, the head of his dick just barely brushing her centre.

“Clarke,” he exhales, that one word loaded with so many things she can’t begin to comprehend.

“Bellamy,” she responds softly, and sinks down on him, taking him completely.

She’s slick and tight and mind-numbingly warm. His mind blanks out for a second. Her arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair and he just wants to hold her and never never never let go.

“God, you feel so good,” she pants and jerks her hips so that he drags inside her.

They find a rhythm, her barely lifting off him enough for him to thrust back, instead just soft rocking of hips so he’s nudging a spot inside her that makes her vision spotty. She clenches around him and he moans with it, biting his lip to try and regain some semblance of sanity as she murmurs his name like a prayer.

Clarke begins to lose track of time, lost in the grind of his pubic bone against her clit and how the head of his cock is angled in just the right way to drag against her in just the right place. Her vision begins to grow hazy, her awareness narrowing down to just them, just this; Bellamy’s heavy breaths against her neck, his arms banded around her waist, holding her impossible close, the slick of sweat and her own wetness between them.

Her orgasm creeps up slowly, a fire in her belly that grows and grows until it encompasses her whole body, warm and slow like syrup. She’s clenching around him, breath stuttering in her chest and it’s drawn-out so much that she doesn’t know when it begins or ends, only that it grows hotter and more intense when she feels him twitch inside her, spilling out into her while his hands press so hard into her hips she knows they’ll leave marks.

They stay joined for a while, nuzzling into each other, basking in the afterglow. When she lifts off him, Bellamy hands her his t-shirt to clean off and then raises his chin expectantly with half lidded eyes for a soft, lazy, satisfied kiss, and they dress languidly, grinning at each other stupidly as they hand each other pieces of clothing.

“We’re okay, right?” she prods once they’re standing next to each other fully dressed once again. He tugs on a loose, sex-mussed strand of hair and nods.

“We’re okay.” He promises. “We’ll all be okay.”

[asset35-maya]

REED900 LOVE LANGUAGES:

1) ACTS OF SERVICE

Gavin Reed was a simple man. He always said and did what he thought was right. He never bothered with niceties and took a very practical approach to the relationships in his life. No frills, no fancy gestures.

He showed the people around him that he cared by just being there unconditionally. He was ride or die. If you ever needed him, personally or professionally, Gavin would show up. No questions asked.

Feelings were not matters he delved into very often. He kept them well hidden if he could help it. But the lack of expressiveness didn’t bother the people who dared to get close enough. They knew exactly who he was and they appreciated him deeply.

For years, this was the way things were.

And then Gavin met Nines.

For the first time, he felt a powerful, pressing need to externalise his emotions. Like he’d burst if he didn’t find some way of expressing the passion that threatened to consume him from within.

Gavin had never given into sentimentality before. He had never let himself dwell on romanticism. So at first, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He definitely couldn’t talk about it (just thinking about it made him want to empty a bucket of ice water on his head). He considered writing (because his therapist told him that documenting mental journeys could be a helpful exercise), but he completely lacked the vocabulary (and just ended up sketching pair after pair of piercing blue eyes in his diary).

After a while, he decided to fall back on what he knew best… what he did best.

Gavin Reed was a man of action.

If someone was important to him, he made sure they damn well knew it.

So it came to be that Nines and Gavin’s paperwork was always done on time… that the office fridge was always replete with thirium packs… that Nines’ dry cleaning was always picked up for him and laid neatly on his chair (“The laundry’s two blocks from my place and two from here, Tincan. It’s not a big deal.”)

2)GIVING GIFTS

And then the boxes began to appear.

Cuff links. Cologne. Cravats.

(“I just saw it in the store window and had an impulse. It ain’t my style, but I know you can pull it off so here ya go.”)

And then flowers. Actual fucking flowers.

(“What? It brightens the place up.”)

Nines eventually took mercy on him and asked him out. The massive bouquet that greeted him the next day had all the receptionist androids gossiping for weeks. Things actually got a lot worse before Nines hacked into the bank and cancelled Gavin’s credit card.

(“Now how am I gonna show you how phcking special you are to me?”

“Just spend time with me, Gavin. That would mean the world.”)

3)QUALITY TIME

Gavin took it upon himself to share every facet of his life with the android. He couldn’t always figure out how to tell the different parts of his story, but he found ways to show it.

Gavin took Nines to his elementary school and showed him the yard he spent many happy hours playing cops and robbers. He took him to his childhood home… the Police Academy… the scenes of his first few homicide cases.

He also made sure Nines understood exactly what people meant when they said Gavin was the life of the party. Reliving the human’s youth, they crashed local frat parties and kissed in the middle of thronging music festival crowds.

4)PHYSICAL TOUCH

And then there was the sex.

What Gavin still did not know how to put into words, he demonstrated physically.

Regardless of which position they ended up in, Nines found himself mainly on the receiving end of pleasure. The kisses peppered onto his collarbone were nothing short of reverent. The tongue sliding against his nether regions… the hands gripping his hipbones… the soft caresses of his face… were all deliberate acts of devotion.

Gavin himself didn’t know he had it in him. For most of his teen and adult years, he had the reputation of being a selfish lover. Of always coming first, and then finding some half-assed way to get his partner off.

But with Nines,he was careful to a fault.

He treated each chance to touch the android as a special privilege. He was exceedingly generous… gentle… slow, even… until Nines made it loud and clear that his body was Gavin’s for the taking.

It wasn’t just in the bedroom that Gavin poured his heart into the sensation of touch. From a casual flick of fingers against Nines’ cheek… to a lingering hand on his thigh… and a rather lengthy good morning kiss in the break-room, Gavin became prone to PDA that he had spent most of his life judging others for.

He legitimately could not keep his hands off his partner. Even his colleagues’ eye rolls and teasing didn’t stop him. Not when Nines would immediately lean into his side and reciprocate.

The feeling of skin on skin, the warmth and weight of a strong hand… and in Nines’ case, the high quality tactile sensor data… were what kept them grounded and anchored.

5)WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

For an emotionally repressed man and an android without a built-in social program, they communicated pretty well.

The odd disagreement was unavoidable, but for the most part, they managed well. Neither was ever in doubt of how the other felt.

It had started small. With gratitude.

“Thanks for picking up my white shirt from the cleaners. You’re a lifesaver.”

“That smells amazing. How do you always know exactly what I want to eat.”

Then it moved onto deep compliments.

“That’s incredible. It wouldn’t have occurred to me at all. I’d be lost without you, Gavin.”

“You’re the first person I’ve met who doesn’t just nod and pretend like they understand what I’m saying. You never agree to something to just humour me or get me to shut up. Even if it doesn’t make sense in the beginning, you always get to the bottom of what I wanna say… and well damn… how’d I get so lucky, babe?”

The daily check ins… the thank yous… the random “you’re so phcking hot”… the “I’m listening”… all added up.

And when the time finally came…

one rainy Sunday afternoon in bed, with Nines sprawled across his chest while he ran his hands through his hair…

Gavin couldn’t remember why he’d ever struggled with the words.

“I love you.”

[baldwin-montclair]

Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 17)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY with some S2, Shadow of Night and Book of Life.

Summary: Alisha learns that there’s more to her nature than she initially realised and a surprising death of an adversary brings its own problems.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326 @wonderlander594 @madamquacklemore @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @she-who-is-named-katie @ordinarymom1 @fuzzyflowervoid @maybelightning @lady-lazarus-declermont

The Story So Far

———

Baldwin remained silent as she spoke, listening intently to the torrent of pent up worries regarding her sudden linguistic abilities.

He only moved to gather the bedcovers around her shoulders when he sensed her temperature lowering from the high of their previous exertions.

“It’s an old building,” he explained his actions when she stopped speaking in surprise, “I don’t want you to be cold.”

She took a deep breath, in part because of the length of time she had spoken but also to defeat the tears stinging her ducts, touched by the tender gesture.

“Thank you,” she gave him a faint smile, clearing her throat, “but that’s everything up until now, I didn’t even realise you had been speaking...Italian?” She asked.

“Yes, although it was a slightly archaic version. I spent a lot of time in Florence in the late 1500’s.” He mused.

“So, what do you think this means?” She asked, her eyes brimming with hope that he had an explanation.

“Not to discount your distress or concern,” he asked before lightly stroking his knuckles over her cheek tenderly, “as they are both clearly very real, I simply ask for clarification, is that the total measure of your stress at this moment.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll be glad to alleviate it,” he looked relieved, an expression that confused her, “there’s nothing wrong with you, nothing in you has changed, you are a daemon.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“My brother hypothesises it has to do with the daemon’s innate drive to communicate,” he started, “he discovered that daemons have an instinctual proficiency for understanding more than their native tongue. I suppose this is the first time I can be grateful for his little sociological study, if only because I can use it to reassure you.”

“But, I never had a talent for languages.”

“Apparently you do.”

Alisha opened her mouth to argue but the sense in his words reverberated in her mind. In truth, she hadn’t really tried before. Any language classes in school were so boring they all blended into the other subjects she had no interest in.

Which was all of them.

Trying to differentiate one experience from another in high school usually just led to a dull grey haze.

She looked away sheepishly, feeling the rising warmth of her cheeks.

“It’s not widely known, at least not at a confirmed scientific level, there’s no reason you should have known this, so there’s no reason for being ashamed of it.”

“I still feel like an idiot for not realising sooner,” she shook her head, “you already have a crisis on your hands with the vampire killing.”

“It’s real enough to upset you so it’s real enough to be a problem.”

“You have more important things to worry about.”

“Not more important than you.”

She nodded but still averted her eyes.

“Alisha,” he spoke quietly, “you are my wife, not my servant, my underling or my employee, you can share your concerns with me, it doesn’t matter how major or minor you deem them to be. Do you understand?”

Somehow, Baldwin knew that the inhale of breath she took was not to affirm her understanding but to protest.

Before she could give voice to her disagreement, he cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her attention.

“Tell me that you understand.”

“I understand.”

Upon receiving the answer he wanted, his own attention wandered down to her lips and he leant down to press a soft kiss there.

His domineering manner fired a predictable impulse within her, one which prompted her to return his kiss with fervour, pressing her body into him.

Baldwin’s hand moved from her chin to the side of her neck as the other slid up her back to hold her firm against him.

“What’s this?” He asked between kisses as she moved to straddle his lap.

“Don’t think you can handle not being in charge for a while?” She teased, pushing him down onto the mattress.

“I am always in charge, little nightingale. You should know that.”

“Maybe, but I’m sure it’s not everyday that Baldwin de Clermont is put on his back.” She clasped his hands in hers and leant forward, kissing him whilst moving his hands over his head and pressing them down onto the mattress.

“It isn’t but I am exactly where I want to be, the view is exquisite.” He countered, allowing his gaze to sweep her naked form in admiration.

“If I let you go will you take over?”

“I haven’t yet, have I?”

The intimation was clear, her position over him was a temporary allowance, but an allowance nonetheless.

“I don’t know if you’re allowing this because you trust me or because you don’t perceive me to be a threat.”

“My dearest wife, you are very much a threat,” he chuckled, “in two thousand years there has been no-one as capable of distracting me so thoroughly. I think you could convince me to destroy empires, if you were so inclined.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she giggled, releasing his hands to lightly drag her fingers down his chest, “I was told that vampires are part wolf, is that’s true?”

“We do have some shared traits.” He admitted.

“The hunting and the growling?”

“Does it bother you?”

“The growling bothers me, but not in a bad way, I find it actually kinda hot!”

“Is that a fact,” He placed his hands on her thighs, “what else ‘bothers’ you?”

“You’re the vampire, can’t you tell.”

“Of course I can but I like to hear you say it.”

“Why?”

“Because you get the sweetest blush in your cheeks when you discuss intimate things,” he cocked his head to the side and reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, “yes, just like that.”

“Do I,” she teased, biting her lip as she shifted to sink down onto him, slowly, less to torture him and more to let herself accommodate his size in the unfamiliar position.

“Yes,” he groaned lightly in triumph, sliding his hands up her back as he sat up, “and I need to be closer to admire it.”

He murmured, moving to wrap her legs around his waist, somehow deepening himself within her, making her shudder with the sensation.

“A compromise?” He suggested, brushing the hair from her shoulder to place a kiss there.

“I knew you couldn’t help it.”

She kissed him, moving slowly, gradually finding a rhythm that kept them as connected as possible.

“You’re always so warm,” he observed with wonder.

Baldwin steered clear of warm-bloods in terms of intimate partners. There was too much risk of exposure if they weren’t a creature and too high a risk of manipulation if they were.

Vampire sex tended to be a much more competitive event with both sides vying for dominance and that definitely had its advantages in terms of satisfaction.

This was different, even for him.

The blood rushing to bloom under the skin of her cheeks and chest irradiated his entire being with intense heat.

He had previously observed that her sweet apricot scent became stronger when they made love but again, there was something else he sensed, something even more overpowering yet somehow hidden.

Instinctively he knew it wasn’t the result of the mate bond and yet it was also something that he had sensed before.

He swiftly chided himself for allowing his mind to overpower the moment that he had been craving whilst they were apart.

Growing more bold, she leant back, bracing her hands on his thighs and using the extra leverage to increase the tempo.

Initially missing the direct contact of her chest against his, he could not object to the sight of her body pulled taut before him.

He effortlessly moved to support the small of her back with his hand as the other rested on the side of her neck.

He reached up and stroked his thumb across her bottom lip, subtly suppressing a groan when she opened her mouth and closed her lips around it, sucking whilst keeping his gaze.

With the digit sufficiently lubricated, he reluctantly withdrew from her welcoming mouth and swept it lightly across her clitoris, feeling her clench in an attempt to keep building the high he was pushing her towards.

“Very good little nightingale,” he praised, “hold it for me, until I say you can let go, can you do that?”

“As you command my lord, my husband,” she sat up, again bringing her body flush against his and kisses him deeply, “my king!”

The growl that escaped his throat tested her resolve, it was so deep, primal and rippled straight through her core.

“My apologies, sweetheart.” He rasped.

In an instant, she was on her back.

Despite the contrition and show of dominance, he caught her gaze, looking for any indication she was uncomfortable or displeased.

Instead, she gave him an enthusiastic nod to continue.

Baldwin leant forward, his lips just ghosting over hers as he reached under their pillow and produced the sewn favour she had made him as a wedding gift.

“Bound by your heart to my will?”

“Always,” she replied instantly, “just tell me, what is your will and I will happily obey it.”

Baldwin’s gaze fleeted around their bed for a brief moment.

“There’s a bedpost just behind your head, reach behind you and feel it.”

“Got it!” She grinned, in the heat of excitement and anticipation.

In reply, he proceeded to tie her wrists together around the post with the favour.

When he was satisfied that she couldn’t move away, he again rejoined her on the bed.

“If I have to leave for a short while again, it is this scene I want in my head,” he entered her again, “you are completely bare to me, open and honest.”

His motion was deliberate and slow, almost reverent, especially in the way he admired her body.

“I am yours, all of me.”

“Yes, you are,” the almost animalistic, possessive nature of his words somehow spoke to a dangerous and hidden part inside her heart.

He resumed his attention to her clit, gradually slowing his strokes as she grew closer and quickening after letting the impending climax fade.

“Please,” she whined after the third trip to the edge and back again.

“Anything, ask for anything my darling and it’s yours, you need only ask!”

“Let me, please?”

He shook his head with a tut.

“Be specific, let you do what?” He leant down, taking her nipple into his mouth before releasing it and blowing his cold breath over the puckered flesh.

Erotic talk was not her forte, it felt fake and vaguely pornographic to her. But she was desperate, he was challenging her and he wasn’t giving in for anything less than a spirited plea.

“Let me cum,” she blurted out, “please.”

“Such a polite little thing but still such a sinful mouth,” he teased.

“Baldwin-“ she pleaded, desperation in her eyes and he knew he could not deny her longer, not when she gave that look.

“Sweet Nightingale, you can fly, go on.”

The release was all the more powerful for the brief denial that she didn’t even feel him release her wrists from the bindings.

Still, he must have because when her senses returned, he was placing the tenderest kiss on first one then tying the favour around the other in a bow.

“Now, I want to please you.” She moved to sit up but he shook his head.

“I’m sure you will but I am not done with you yet.”

“But-“ she protested.

“Consider this a teachable moment,” he kissed her lips, then between her breasts, “you begged me to let you, what was the word?” He teased, his kisses trailing down her stomach.

“I can’t say it now.” She blushed furiously and he stopped to look up.

“Trust me, you will, teachable moment, remember,” he settled between her thighs and licked a light strip over the still sensitive bundle of nerves, “be careful what you wish for.”

Alisha woke up to find the bed empty, the sound of hushed argument coming from the lower levels of the chateau.

A short time later, a decidedly annoyed Baldwin returned to their room as the sound of a departing motorcycle echoed back down the large driveway.

“Was that Gallowglass?” She asked sleepily.

“Unfortunately it was.” He sat on the edge of the bed.

“Is everyone okay?” She asked, the worry evident in her voice.

“Everyone who matters is fine, the one person who isn’t is Peter Knox, a witch and a fairly powerful one.”

“What happened to him?”

“Killed by a vampire. Luckily I have an alibi and as omnipresent as the witches believe me to be, it would be impossible to both kill him in London and satisfy my wife here, all at the same time.”

“In that case,” she yawned. “you must be innocent because I can barely move.”

“Is that a good thing or-“

“Definitely a good thing .”

“Alisha-“ he started, his tone contrite, “we need to-“

“Return to Sept-Tours, I know,” she stopped him with a comforting smile, “I’ll go get ready.”

“Thank you,” he placed a kiss on the top of her head, “for being so patient with me.”

“I know who I married.”

It was a day later that she finally saw him, having been locked in meetings with his Knights, the other de Claremont’s, hunting.

Alisha barely even heard the door open as she repacked her overnight bag, just in case.

“Did you find Miyako?” She asked, turning to look at Baldwin.

The vampire had left before they arrived, a fact that had greatly aggravated Baldwin.

“I spoke to her, briefly,” he nodded, offering nothing more, clearly in his ‘War General’ frame of mind.

Alisha approached him carefully, stopping to place a kiss on his cheek.

He looked down at her and for a fraction of a moment, his stony expression cracked.

“Baldwin, I think-“ she started.

“The grounds aren’t safe,” he interrupted instead, “stay within the walls of Sept Tours.”

“Alright.”

He looked away for a moment, his mind clearly fixed on something.

“But there’s something else,” she prodded.

“Hmm, yes, I forgot to ask, do you know when Michael found out about the murals? I don’t think he would have trusted Peter enough to discuss it with him. If they plan on pinning it on us, I’d like to at least have an alternative suspect.”

“Well, I know Michael was not in the Congregation when he took me in and if he dropped off the map like Christina said, that was at least twelve years ago.”

“You moved in with Michael after your parents’ death, yes?”

“Yes, I already told you that, our first date, I know a lot’s happened since but it was only a few weeks ago.” She teased.

“I remember, of course, I am sorry.”

“Baldwin, that was a joke, you have a lot of spinning plates. I understand that.”

“You really are too good to be true.” He placed a gentle kiss on her temple and headed to a side table to pour himself some wine from a decanter.

“This is a sample from one of my - sorry - our Tuscan vineyards, would you like to try it.”

“Of course I would but, word of warning, I’m not good with wine. I’m afraid my critique won’t be more sophisticated that ‘good’ or ‘bleugh’.” She warned, taking a seat at a small table.

He chuckled a little as he approached, placing a glass of wine in her hand.

“Thank you.” She took a drink and nodded, “hmm, oaky, earthy, freshly cut lawn-”

“Okay, point made,” he gave her a smile that was almost sad.

“No, but wait, I’m getting subtle notes of tyre fire,” she took another drink, “hot air balloon-“

“Be serious, for a moment.” He asked.

“Fine. It honestly tastes a bit metallic but other than that, perfectly fine.”

“I didn’t mean the wine,” he placed his hand over hers, “you know that I love you and would do anything to protect you?”

“Yes, I think you said that you would protect and adore me.”

“And what was your obligation in return?”

“That I would love and obey you,” she noted that he was avoiding her gaze.

“Baldwin, what is it?”

He stood, collecting their empty glasses and placed them on a table, his back to her.

“Michael disappeared out of the blue, he just left one day, but that was two years ago, not fifteen.” Baldwin told her evenly.

“No, he was in New York, with me.”

“He had a secure posting at Cambridge University in England, he was well celebrated in his faculty until one day he just fell off the face of the earth.”

“So, what are you saying? If only the last two years are possible, everything that I remember from before that...“ she trailed off.

“We could find no trace of an accident at the time you said, not one with the surname Black, or caused by a drunk driver.”

“I-I don’t-“

“Alisha, if you can give me any details about your parents that will help narrow it down.”

“There are photos of them in my home, in New York-“

“Yes, I had them sent over for you,” he nodded towards her small frames on a table, “go look, tell me what you see.”

“These are my frames...” she picked one up and turned to look at him, “but what is this symbol, where are my photos?”

“Do you not recognise the symbol?”

“No, I, wait-“ she realised, “it’s the same one on my violin but why are they in here, where are the photos that were here?”

“We don’t believe there ever were any.”

“I’m sorry, we?”

“Sarah and Emily,” he answered carefully, “it looks like a binding spell, perhaps even a memory spell.”

“I thought only witches could be spellbound, not daemons.”

“You couldn’t be spellbound as a witch, because you’re not one.”

“Exactly, I-“

“Nor are you a daemon,” he interrupted, “Alisha, you are not a daemon either, Marcus was checking the effect of the solution you took, comparing it to DNA profiles from daemons in their study, yours does not match theirs, or witches, or vampires, or humans.”

“This’ insane, I’m a daemon, of course I am, what else could I be?”

She swayed, a sudden fatigue started lapping at the edges of her mind. Baldwin was there in an instant to steady and lead her to sit on the edge of their bed.

The feeling was sickeningly familiar, when Christina had drugged her with vampire blood to get her to safety.

The metallic tang of the wine suddenly made sense.

“Baldwin, what am I?” She asked, hoping to play off her realisation of her husband drugging her as understandable panic about her situation.

She had to get away, not knowing how or why, all she knew is that she had to escape from him in that moment.

“You are my wife, that’s all that matters right now but you must tell me,” he framed her face in his hands, a genuinely earnest look on his face, “is there anything about your past, about your parents that you have not told me?”

“No,” she answered truthfully, “everything I know I have told you already.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer and answered in a language she did not recognise.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he noted her confusion, “it is a quote by a very old friend, it means ‘those who are sincere are always in a state of worry’, I never realised how true that was until now.”

The fatigue seemed to be spreading more slowly than before, evidently, Baldwin gave her a lower dose in order to interrogate her before she passed out. Still, the undertow was pulling stronger with every passing moment.

“Can I have some water, please?” She asked.

“Yes, of course.” He got up to retrieve the filled, and iced, water jug Francois had brought to the room.

With his back turned, she bolted for the door, opening it a crack before his hand pushed it closed.

“Those are stone steps,” he cautioned from behind her, “you wouldn’t make it to the ground floor before passing out and the fall would kill you, that’s not happening.”

Her shoulders sagging in defeat, she leant her head against the heavy oak door.

“You drugged me.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact, a recrimination.

“I had no choice, please, come lie down.” He placed his hand on her arm but she wretched it from his grasp.

“Let go!”

She backed away from him, unsteadily.

“Alisha, listen to me-“ his calm, measured tone was infuriating.

“You betrayed me.” She hissed.

“Never,” he answered firmly, “I promised to protect you and that is what I am doing.”

“By knocking me out cold, how do I know any of this is even true, its all just your word and now I know how much I can trust that.” She swayed, taking another step back when he moved forward.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“When you fall I will catch you, I really don’t care how you feel about that! I will not let you get hurt.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I need you to trust me and if believing that what I say is the truth will convince you then I am sorry to do this, knowing it will hurt you.”

“How much more could you possibly hurt me?”

“By asking you,” he sighed, “Alisha, tell me the names of your parents?”

She laughed at the ridiculous assertion that she wouldn’t be able to and opened her mouth, fully expecting herself to speak their names, as though on automatic pilot.

But there was nothing, no names, no faces.

It was as though waking from an extremely vivid dream, those first few seconds of confusion and disbelief that what had happened was not real.

It had to be real, she was there, she felt it.

A whooshing darkness clouded her senses, accompanied by the sensation of floating.

She fought to stay present for no other reason than sheer defiance.

When she managed to open her eyes again, she was on the bed, a comforter pulled over her as Baldwin sat in silent contemplation by the bed.

“Baldwin-”

“Sweetheart,” he took her hand in his, “I promise that everything will be well, and in time, you will understand why this was necessary. On that day I will beg for your forgiveness but right now, I will do what I must.”

She shook her head, willing herself to yell, scream, fight but she had lost the battle and the warm lure of unconsciousness was proving hard to resist.

“I will see you soon, my little nightingale.” She faintly heard him speak before feeling a light, cooling kiss on her forehead.

Gallowglass looked between the heavy locked door and Baldwin as the older vampire outlined his instructions.

“It’s easier to contain her in a few rooms on the same level than in my tower.” Baldwin explained.

“You’re asking me to be the lass’ jailer, ‘easier’ really doesn’t come into it.”

“I’m not asking you anything,” Baldwin answered coldly, “I’m telling you to keep her contained in those rooms, she is not to leave, no-one is to go in, save Francois for meals.”

“I imagine they will protest at her being kept a prisoner.”

“If they do not wish to reside here under those conditions, there is a simple remedy for that.”

“Marcus has given them sanctuary.”

“And I don’t intend on revoking it, but it does not mean they get to dictate what happens while they are here.”

“And what if you can’t find out where she actually came from, what will you do?”

Baldwin froze him with a glare and turned to leave.

“If you’re considering what I think you are, just know that not only will I not do it for you, I won’t let you do it either.” Gallowglass called after him.

“There is no record of her existing before two years ago, her memories are a constructed fiction, she can speak and read languages that she has never learned and is not any creature that still exists today. Now, if someone plans on using her to try to destroy us-”

“Then they will not have to lift a finger, because If you kill her, it will destroy you.”

Baldwin stared in response.

“Under protest,” Gallowglass added with a visible exhale, “I will do as you command, I’ll keep her safe.”

Baldwin gave a definitive nod.

“Thank you, I-“

“Even from you, if I have to,” Gallowglass added, “because I could not bear to be under orders of the sort of monster killing that lassie would turn you into!”

Baldwin glanced at the locked door before leaving without another word.

[cultivatxr]

@giftofthegodess​ whispered: silence. 

nsfw prompt list || our muses having to keep down during sex.

Laughter lingered in the balmy evening air, the melody of young love flourishing in the wake of earlier frivolity. She could’ve just said goodnight and been on her way; but there had been so much promise in the sway of hips and the deviancy of a smile, it would be rude to just abandon him. And so the impulse had been born, a beckoning finger having  lured him in and led him, like a piper from the bright lights of a dancefloor and out into the streets of Midgar. It wasn’t something she made a habit of, but there was a time for spontaneity and this was apparently it.

Fingers intertwined against the warm sanctuary of a palm, Aerith had led him home; barely checked carnality residing in the slew of open mouthed kisses upon her doorstep, hands knotting in strands of copper while she’d tried so hard to stifle the breathless amusement that had ensued. Gaia, she was happy. Intoxicated and high on his heady mix of love and distraction. “Shhhh.” She warned with a finger to her lips, hoping to avoid waking her mother and explaining this irritatingly handsome house guest as she led him inside and stumbled into her own umbrella stand in the process.

“You’re the one making the noise, love.” It’s a purr against her neck and she can’t even argue, teeth biting down into her lip to stop the giggle that wants to ripple forth. Her hand tugged his own, footsteps measured and well practiced to avoid creaking floorboards as she leads her beloved Freckle up the staircase, with an expression that is far more mischievous than it ought to be. She’s almost sorry he’s not getting the full house tour, although perhaps a little glad too that the blanketing shroud of darkness has masked a multitude of cluttered sins.

It isn’t a long journey and yet it feels like an age, seconds stretching into what feels like days until the door of her bedroom can safely click closed behind them and usher the redhead into her own little piece of the world. It’s all down hill from there; restraint forgotten in a flurry of hands and lips, clothes shirked off beneath wandering digits and scattering themselves across a darkened floor. As frantic as it is frenetic, her mouth claimed his throat, nipping at tender flesh, marking out all the promises she’d made earlier in the evening, until he returned the favour.

It’s carnality plain and simple; when Genesis snaked his arms beneath her thighs and hoisted her up, legs encircling his waist with a hitch of breath that was unexpectedly sinful. The feel of him was dizzyingly addictive; the warmth of his skin, the sturdiness of his chest, the insistent hardness pressing just shy of where she’d very much like him to be. It was maddening - and he knew it.  

Their eyes locked briefly, even beneath the inky shroud of her unlit room; vibrant green drowning in storm flecked blue to affirm consent before everything becomes a sordid blur. There was never really any doubt, but there’s an understanding there, a mutual respect and consideration underpinning the more provocative of actions. The act warranted a kiss, something drawn out and sensual, tongue probing, exploring the intricate caverns of an overly dramatic mouth until her backside met with the cold grain of a paper strewn desk.

Aerith had barely realised they were moving until she was there; rolled her eyes too at the complete disregard for her bed some six feet away, but there was excitement in the spontaneity, something distinctly Freckle about it too, although she didn’t have much time to tell him. Groping sideways for her bedside lamp, soon the room was awash with a muted yellow, light casting streaks of shadow across his toned musculature and her own corresponding curves. Yet it was a magazine that had served to distract, smug amusement stretching far and wide across the First’s face at the image of himself daubed on the cover of Firaga, the resident gossip rag, just shy of their position.

“Think about me a lot in your bedroom, do you?” The tease was inevitable, the barest hint of a whisper against her skin accompanied by an intrepid hand sliding between her legs. “About these hands…” His mouth found her neck. “…and this mouth…”   It earned him a smack. Or rather a stuffed panda to the head, as it’s all she can reach, but there’s no denial in it, just the subtle arch into his touch and half stifled laughter against his shoulder. It’s all it takes in the end, flirtation paving the way to action as hands had seized her hips, drawing her down onto his throbbing length in a single fluid motion.

Lips part in a satisfying ‘oh’, nails clamouring at his shoulders as the flower girl leant back, tugging him with her in a tangle of warm limbs and lust strewn debauchery. It takes more effort than she’d like to bite back the sounds he conjures, his body playing her own like a harp with every well timed thrust. Aerith’s breath falls in delicate pants, chest rising and falling, until the beginnings of a moan part her lips and she has to bite down to stop it, red blooming across her own flesh in a sanguine smear.

The salve to her own self inflicted injury came in the form of a kiss, a soft and tender thing amidst such lubricity; but it was also a mouth to muffle her moans as he continues to conjure them, the rhythmic rock of his hips remarkably soundless, all too well practiced in the art of covert affection. The thought made the ancient blush, pelvis rising to meet him, to deepen that connection and edge closer to a release. Knotting her fingers in strands of vivid copper absentmindedly, there’s no hiding the moment it hits, her tug suddenly involuntarily sharp as her back arched and she clenched around him, wordless prayers sung against his lips in a connection forged of tongue and teeth.

In the throes of an orgasmic haze, her arms slackened against him, fingers splayed across his back, holding him there, so intimately connected as Genesis sought his own release. Ever obliging, the brunette rolled her hips, rising to meet him as much as their position would allow, coaxing out a hard won degree of mutual satisfaction until at last she could feel the tension ebb and the warm glow of post coital contentment danced across freckle strewn cheeks. Aerith exhaled as he withdrew, trailing sticky life down her thigh as a lofty sigh ensued. She shouldn’t pout at his absence, but it was inevitable, an unconscious act, forged from the sudden loss of contact in a way that was so intimately vulnerable it held a meaning that transcended mere carnality.

The pout warranted another kiss; a blessing of lips far more sedate than all that had come before. Maybe it was a come down, but it was still enjoyable, still cherished and pivotal even in the wake of such an improvised high. Coiling his arms around the brunette’s form, the redhead stepped back, tugging her with him towards the softer promise of a mattress, plushies unceremoniously knocked to the floor to make room for them both beneath a patchwork shroud. There was only one thing left for it; fingertips dancing up and down a bare arm, heralding sleep in a sweat slicked tangle of limbs as he became a defacto pillow.

He’d definitely slept in worse places and with worse company; and while the occasional mouthful of curls nearly strangling him had proven to be a small health hazard, there was something sweet about the tranquility of falling asleep with someone in his arms. Particularly when that someone had stolen his heart from his chest the very first moment they’d met and was now a welcome dose of sunlight in a sea of clouds. For a good five hours he’d managed to stay like that, nose pressed to the slope of a creamy neck, his own eyes closed and content in this, the most innocuous of pastimes. Yet like any good thing, it couldn’t last forever.

As the sun began to creep across the horizon and birds began their incessant cheep, Genesis stirred, a quiet kiss blessing a sleepy temple, as he pried himself from their contortion worthy sleeping arrangement. “Blossom, where’s the bathroom?”  Without cracking open an eye, Aerith gestured vaguely sideways, her face buried in the pillow as she mumbled her own response. “Second door on the left.”

Resisting the urge to chuckle, the auburn soldier rose to his feet, eyes scanning the room for something to lessen the likelihood of streaking through the unfamiliar house. While he certainly had no problem with displays of nudity; there was still an element of good manners to be had while occupying someone else’s space. Besides, there was an awfully tempting looking bath robe just begging to be modelled for his sleepy-headed paramour.

And so it went, the famed and revered Genesis Rhapsodos, clad in a fuzzy lilac robe that didn’t strictly cover all that much, had emerged from the recesses of a flower girl’s bedroom, after a night of being magnanimously and dare he say it, diligently discreet only to come face to face with the stern and unyielding face of her mother. A lesser man might’ve panicked. Might’ve dropped everything and simply run; but where was the sense in that? He may as well own it. Sheepishly the first grinned, hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he ignored the glaring daggers being burned into his soul.

“Good Morning; where’s your coffee maker?”

[musicprincess655]

A gift for the lovely @harvestmoonpeoples happy birthday babe!

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“As okay as I can feel while I’m bloated to hell and back,” Shigeru sighed. Kentarou was still hovering and trying to look like he wasn’t hovering.

“It’s just…you were really sick a few weeks ago, and it feels like you haven’t recovered yet,” Kentarou insisted. Shigeru grimaced at the mention of the extreme nausea he hadn’t felt in a good two weeks. Though he hadn’t been throwing up, and though no one around him had been sick, it had still unnerved him. It had come out of nowhere and made his working life annoying.

“I’m mostly fine,” Shigeru assured him. “Except for a bloated belly that you could definitely be massaging right now.”

Kentarou took the dismissal for what it was, and instead sat on their couch. Shigeru sat between his legs, relishing in the warmth radiating from his mate’s chest into his back.

“Ugh, I feel huge,” he complained, swiping a hand over his stomach. It was protruding more than usual, and the fluttery feelings he’d been having probably meant he was bloated and maybe gassy. He could probably just pop a pill, but he’d rather let Kentarou massage his belly until he felt better.

“You kind of are,” Kentarou agreed, and Shigeru thought about smacking him for that comment, but then he started rubbing his fingers in, and Shigeru didn’t think expending the effort would be worth it. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Maybe we should schedule an appointment with the doctor.”

“I’m sure the doctor is sick of seeing me,” Shigeru countered, feeling blissed out as Kentarou’s hands rubbed gentle circles into his abdomen. He let his head loll back until it was resting on Kentarou’s shoulder.

“You are kind of a doctor’s worst nightmare,” Kentarou said. “Irregular heats, and you get sick a lot. How are they supposed to know when you’re actually sick and when your body is just acting up on you?”

Shigeru hummed, too busy enjoying the massage to really answer. Kentarou’s words bounced around in his head, though. Irregular heats…irregular heats…

He’d been assured that his heats would stabilize as he got older, but nothing of the sort had happened. He’d had two last year, one in the summer and one in the winter, and that was the closest thing he’d gotten to regularity. He hadn’t had one at all this year, and it was well into autumn, approaching winter. He had just turned thirty, and his body was just as messed up as it had been when he was a teenager.

Shigeru tried to relax into the massage, sometimes giggling when Kentarou’s hands skimmed up his sides. It was calm and quiet in their living room, not much sound besides their breathing and the little hums and giggles Shigeru couldn’t keep down when he was being touched and didn’t bother trying to after all these years. If years of marriage and being mated had given him anything, it was complete comfort around Kentarou.

Then he felt the same fluttery feeling that he’d associated with gas for the past few days. It was a new feeling, and pretty annoying, but he’d mostly been ignoring it.

Kentarou, however, froze.

“Did you…” he started, and Shigeru could feel him gulp, leaning against his neck. “Did you feel that?”

“Yes?” Shigeru asked, more question than answer. “What about it?”

“I think…” Shigeru was going to punch him if he couldn’t finish a damn thought. “I think…I just felt a baby kick?”

It was Shigeru’s turn to freeze. There was no way…right?

He started counting in his head. His last heat had been in December, and it was the beginning of November now. Forget noticing a baby bump, he would’ve had the baby by now if he’d gotten pregnant during his last heat.

Still…

Last year his heat had come at the end of June. This year, he had felt what he’d thought were the symptoms of preheat around the same time, and had even thought to be happy that maybe he was finally starting to get regular. No heat had come, though. But…

But it was possible that he had gotten pregnant in a preheat. After all, it was possible for omegas to get pregnant completely out of heat, and preheat increased fertility in preparation for a full heat. He and Kentarou hadn’t bothered with birth control or condoms in a while, in a low-key effort to have a baby. Neither were ready to start trying in earnest, tracking cycles and trying to find ovulation times, but going off birth control and saying “if it happens, it happens” seemed like a good way to ease into it.

They’d had sex around the middle of June, right around when Shigeru had felt what he thought was preheat. He could’ve gotten pregnant.

He could be pregnant.

He started counting again, this time from when he thought the date they’d had sex was – hard to guess which specific day, considering they had a perfectly healthy sex life for a still-young married couple. If his math was right, he was around twenty weeks pregnant.

“I think I should schedule that doctor’s appointment after all,” he said weakly.

***

In the week that led up to the earliest available appointment, Shigeru had religiously avoided taking a pregnancy test. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, or start panicking over nothing. The store tests could be wrong. A blood test from the doctor wouldn’t be.

“You’re not upset about this, are you?” Kentarou asked. “The fact that you might be pregnant?”

“Of course not,” Shigeru assured him. “I agreed to going off birth control, this is something I wanted. I’m just surprised, if I am pregnant. It would make the nausea make more sense, but I really haven’t had any symptoms.”

“You’re starting to get a bump,” Kentarou offered helpfully. Shigeru gave him a deadpan stare. Now he was starting to get his hopes up.

The doctor came back in, and they both instantly snapped to attention. She startled a little at two pairs of eyes focused on her, but brushed it off with what looked like practiced ease.

“So, the first order of business is that you are indeed pregnant,” she said. “Congratulations.”

Shigeru couldn’t breathe. It was real. He was pregnant.

“Is it healthy?” Kentarou asked breathlessly. “Is…are they healthy?”

“As far as I can tell, yes,” the doctor said firmly. “I’m setting up the ultrasound now. If what you told me in your medical history is true, you might be far enough along for me to check primary gender.”

Shigeru was having a hard time keeping up. He hadn’t even thought he could be pregnant a week ago, and now he was going to be able to look at his baby. He took a deep, bracing breath, grabbing for Kentarou’s hand.

“You okay?”

Shigeru nodded. He lifted up his shirt when prompted, flinching when the gel was spread over his stomach.

“Sorry,” the doctor said, turning to the monitor. Shigeru watched her with bated breath, Kentarou tight as a bow string beside him. “Oh!”

“Oh?” Shigeru asked, finally speaking. What was wrong? Was there already something wrong? Had he somehow already messed up? He wracked his brain for every alcoholic beverage he had so much as glanced at in the past few months.

“It appears you won’t be having one baby,” she said softly. “I’m seeing two here.”

Shigeru gasped.

“Twins?” he asked. She nodded. “I’m pregnant with twins?”

“Look,” she said, gesturing at the monitor. “This one right here, this is a boy,” she said, pointing at something that actually resembled a human shape. “And this one, this is a girl.”

Shigeru heard Kentarou take a shuddering breath next to him, and turned to see tears rolling down his husband’s face.

“Kentarou?”

“We’re having twins,” he said, reverent and barely believing. “We’re having a girl and a boy.”

“Yeah,” Shigeru agreed. He was feeling shuddery and maybe a little teary, too. “Yeah, we are.”

***

Four months later, Kentarou was rushing them to the hospital, trying to soothe Shigeru while he drove.

“We’re almost there,” he tried to say calmly, but Shigeru was having none of it.

“THESE BABIES NEED TO COME OUT NOW!” he shrieked. Kentarou winced, but kept driving. “Everything hurts and I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying,” Kentarou assured him, although he was looking significantly less calm.

“I won’t if you get me to the hospital now.”

“We’re in the parking lot!”

They bickered all the way in the door, Shigeru gasping as a contraction wracked his body. The closest nurse took one look at them and got Shigeru into a wheelchair.

After a few of what might have been the worst hours of Shigeru’s life, he was exhausted, but happy. His son was in his arms, and Kentarou hadn’t been able to take his eyes off their daughter’s face.

“We did good,” he sighed. Kentarou murmured an affirmative, too taken Hikaru to really respond. Shigeru absently stroked his thumb over Kazuki’s cheek. He leaned on Kentarou’s shoulder, too tired to sit up on his own.

He dozed, surrounded by his family.

[katesloan]

some favorite journal entries from 2017

January 9th. I have not had sex in over three weeks, I have not really flirted with anyone in 2017 so far, and there was one incident where I reinstalled Tinder and Bumble on my phone again but deleted them literally within the minute. I am abstaining from love and sex and it doesn't feel difficult; it feels needed, nourishing. I am finding ways to generate my own joy and excitement, and if that means having a frankly insane creative output, I am okay with that. (Is a dick detox like doing morning pages? Does it clear the cobwebs from the rafters of my brain? Does it make me sharper, clearer, smarter, happier?)

January 10th. In the afternoon I got together with T___ for coffee and we talked about a lot of stuff but mostly about my recent love-addiction feelz. She has been through alcoholism as well as sex addiction in the past, so she was a good and sympathetic person to talk to about this. She had a lot of wisdom to share about how addiction often occurs due to a combination of social isolation, past trauma(s), and uncomfortable feelings we will go to great lengths to avoid feeling/processing. Our conversation got me thinking about how I use romantic attention to buoy my mood when I feel depressed, unattractive, unaccomplished, etc. and that probably stems from the many years of my life for which that type of attention was nearly nonexistent, which felt like a deeply wounding personal failure at the time and still sometimes to this day. When I feel those feelings of unworthiness and stagnancy, sometimes my brain morphs them into feelings of loneliness and maybe then I might reach out to someone for reassurance and attention, often in the form of flirting or sexting, when I could instead just sit with those feelings, feel them, accept them, and let them pass in their own time. It is not inherently bad to feel negative feelings. You don't always have to DO anything with negative feelings. You can just feel them. That's okay.

(CN: suicidal ideations in this one.) January 26th. Bex kept me alive last night. I missed my return flight due to a public transportation fuckup that slowed me down, and proceeded to have a weepy anxiety attack at JFK as I tried to get them to rebook me and found out that they would not (at least, not for free or cheap). I spoke to Dad, Max, and Brent, but it was Bex who reminded me to breathe, Bex who booked me the next available flight when I was too frozen with panic to do anything but cry, Bex who sent me detailed instructions for getting back to their apartment on the subway, Bex who reminded me not to stand too close to the train tracks when I was having suicidal ideations, and Bex who showed up at the subway stop in their Batman onesie pajamas and leather collar, carrying a yellow box of Kleenex for me and calmly informing me that everything was going to be fine. My literal hero, in a cotton yellow cape.

February 19th. I am always surprised by that visceral, pheromonal, not-at-all-controllable type of attraction, even though I develop crushes on people all the time. It's disorienting to find yourself wanting to touch someone that badly, wanting to close the gap between the two of you, wanting to press your nose to their skin and inhale their scent forever. I know objectively that J___ is a weirdo and kind of a creep and not the greatest person but I am always intoxicated by his cuteness and I guess the way his molecules complement mine.

February 20th. Thinking a lot today about the separation between my sex drive and my kink drive. In part because I haven't masturbated in a few days, despite having near-constant sexual fantasies about J___ and therefore theoretically being more prone to horniness. But my actual libido has taken a bit of a dip instead (brief, I'm sure), while I've been craving the psychological nourishment I would get from doing kink stuff with, say, J___: the affirmation of doing a good job for someone, the strength of taking a spanking like a pro, the safety of being swaddled in a dom's arms. The notion of masturbating holds no appeal for me right now, but if someone were to sternly boss me into it, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Kink is weird.

April 8th. Last night was a weird mental health night. And I haven't slept yet so I guess it's still going on. I went out for drinks with Anais and we talked about boys, etc., and I got all drunkenly amped up to go give my barista crush my number, and I went, but he wasn't working, and I went home and couldn't help sadly thinking about how everyone I've dated/banged recently has very explicitly told me they were not looking for a serious romantic thing, and how frustrating that is to me because I am seeking something more romantic and committed... I read all these articles about Tinder psychology and the evils of hookup culture and it all just made me want to give up on dating forever because I'm too crazy to date and no one wants to date me anyway. And then M___ texted me at almost 2 in the morning to tell me he was browsing a porn subreddit I had recommended, and we talked a bit but it wasn't even sexting. I feel like I can't sustain any man's interest in me even if I play the dutiful role of the cool chill girl and it's very frustrating. I just want someone I can have regular good sex with and laugh with and cuddle with and have some sense of consistency with.

April 10th. I think a lot about how, what often made me feel gross about men when I was younger, and sometimes still today, is that I'd just be one of a million to them. I wanted to feel like we had a special connection that set me apart in their eyes from all of the other girls they'd flirted with or boned. But I have had different types of special connections with lots of different people and it hasn't made any of it less real. True, some people are "REALLY special" but it's not like there is a binary whereby I either wholly connect with someone or don't at all.

(CN: This is a sexy one.) May 1st. G___ and I had planned for him to come over next weekend... and then we moved it up to Tuesday... and then we were both horny and impatient so he ended up coming over last night after work. "Lots of Taurus energy," as he would say. "We're a couple of keeners," as I would say.

We had sex for HOURS... He spanked me with his hand and a paddle for a long time, and then fucked me, finding my A-spot with his dick while I used my Tango on my clit until I came all over his cock and he called me a good girl. There was more stuff: fucking with toys, and blowjobs, and cunnilingus. ("Am I grinding against your face too much?" "I fucking love it.") I don't want to forget: him sing-songing "I made you come twiiiice!" with utter glee. Him telling me a story, to illustrate the beginnings of his consciously dominant tendencies, wherein he got so turned on while fucking a partner that he (consensually) fucked her face until he came in her mouth, then pinned her down and fucked her til he came again (woof). Him pinching my nipple hard and whispering in my ear, "Just breathe. That's it. Good girl." Him reverently scratching welts onto my back with my metal clip-on claws. Him gently tugging my hair to guide my mouth to take more of his dick, while mumbling deepthroating encouragements.

May 3rd. I am soooo New Relationship Energy-hazy. Nothing fucking matters. My emails and deadlines and unreturned texts are utterly insignificant and I will get to them when I get to them. All I want to do is flirt and fuck and cuddle and touch and talk about Feeelingz and smile at each other like a couple of goons. It's ridiculous. Somebody save me from this silliness. Except actually don't; I'm happy.

(CN: food, weight.) May 6th. I am struggling to remember how long it took when I started seeing D___ for me to stop feeling totally fucking insane around him. Not eating, not sleeping, worrying constantly if I was being too clingy or too cold (mostly too clingy, let's be real). I lost weight because NRE made me nauseous and also made all of my body's core needs feel superfluous or simply forgettable. I neglected my work, my responsibilities, my other relationships. But at some point it must have calmed down. I remember feeling rock-solidly certain, in the latter half or so of our relationship, that he loved me and would continue to love me, that I didn't need to worry or prove myself or put on an elaborate show of goodness. I knew I could just be me and he would love that, whatever that was. I wonder how long it took me to get there, and if I can do it again.

May 10th. I already strongly suspect I am going to fall in love devastatingly hard with this person and it is going to push me to be better, braver, stronger. I feel up to that challenge now but there will be times when I do not. That is okay. Learning is not always linear. It will be hard work and I will work hard.

June 22nd. G___ asked me today why I fell in love with C___, given that he's vanilla. I don't know that I really have an answer for that. I don't think it was a consideration for me at the time. I wonder if it would be now; I wonder if my kinks are baked into me so deeply now that they'd affect my romantic perceptions of a person just as powerfully as my sexual ones. I fell for him because he is smart, funny, charming, dazzling, good in bed, and consistently made me feel focused on whenever I spent time with him. Plus that elusive magic factor that makes you fall for someone despite all logic. Whatever that is, he had it. Or maybe I just met him at a time in my life when I was vulnerable to such things.

August 3rd. In about a month, I get to see C___, and probably introduce him to G___, and that's making me think a lot about those two worlds colliding and the ways in which they intersect. I believe that falling in love with G___ made me fall out of love with C___; it wasn't the whole reason I did, but it was the final push. I remember crying in G___'s arms because it felt scary to be falling so hard so fast, and part of that pain and fear was the sensation that I was leaving an old chapter behind, the one in which I loved C___, the one in which I was mired in casual heartbreak all the time but it was at least a familiar heartbreak, one I knew how to navigate. Requited love is a whole different type of minefield because when the thing you have is good to begin with, losing it would be even more catastrophic. Commitment is also scary because it forces you to give up on the dream of waiting for something perfect and lifechanging; you're already in a good thing, and though it may be good, it probably isn't perfect, and you have to reconcile yourself to that, which is scary and a bit sad. No love will ever be the love of which you frothily fantasize, and that's actually fine, but it is an adjustment to learn that.

September 2nd. I am excited and happy about my date with B___ next week but not reaching extremes of either, like I often would in this situation previously. I think my capacity for crushy feelings is somewhat dulled at the moment, because of depression, and heartbreak, and defensiveness of my vulnerability. I feel like I gave so much of my excitement and dedication and passion to my relationship with G___ and then all of that just suddenly disintegrated into thin air, so what's the point of ever investing that much in anyone again? But I know this feeling will pass and someday I will want to open myself up again.

Part of my recovery process from this breakup has been coming to realize that G___ is not actually the authority on how to "do poly right" and that disagreeing with some elements of his approach to poly doesn't necessarily mean I'm ill-suited to non-monogamy as a whole.

September 22nd. I keep coming back to this idea that I need to stop externalizing my hope into romantic prospects and expecting them to save me from my own unhappiness and rootlessness and boredom and fear. NO ONE WILL SAVE ME BUT ME. Rejections and breakups and missed connections hurt so much more when I mistakenly believe my eternal perfect happiness was lurking just on the other side of those mishaps. I am so fucking strong and accomplished and capable when I let myself be; there is no reason to depend on MEN (most of whom can barely take care of themselves) to take care of me, emotionally or sexually or otherwise. I DON'T NEED THEM. Destroy that fiction. It isn't real and it never has been

December 10th. Something I have learned from Dick and some other kink mentors in my periphery is that your kinks don't have to line up perfectly with someone else's for you to have a good time with them or even a fulfilling relationship. Key incompatibilities can cause issues, yeah, but two people can be different and still play within their similarities – and the places where your circles don't overlap in the Venn diagram can perhaps be fulfilled by other partners, hence the argument for kinky people being poly. This was an important concept for me to ponder – hell, still is – given that a BIG part of my sadness about G___ has been about our nearly perfect kink compatibility and the fear that I will never find someone like that again. I probably will, actually, but also it's okay if I don't. There are workarounds and stopgaps and alternatives and they don't even necessarily feel like consolation prizes – just treats of a different flavor.