#so i had to add more fuel to the old man lusting fire

[cannibalspicnic]

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (2022- ) 1.02 | ...After the Phantoms of Your Former Self

Eric Bogosian as DANIEL MOLLOY

[sketchfanda]

Chestnut Stud across the Multiverse: Korra’s senpai.

Satan city locals couldn’t help but turn their heads at the couple walking hand in hand and really, who could blame. It wasn’t everyday you saw a sensational pro fighter and the ceo of a high grade mechanical manufacturing firm thst could compete with against capsule corp out in public. Especially together as a couple, not that it was scandalous or anything mind you, it just wasn’t often you saw out in the open like this, but Damn if they weren’t quite the picture perfect example of opposites attract. A stunning elements high class beauty who you know could live the good life and enjoy the finer things,and a rough tough tumble toned amazonian beauty of a tomboy. Their height difference distinct with the tomboy, Korra at 5 foot 7 and her lover Asami at an even 6 feet tall. If anything the only scandal would be what these two were getting up and the purpose for which was bringing them toeards their pending destination. One of Satan city’s 5 star hotels, with the penthouse suite booked for them and their guests for this little secret get together for the day. Yes sir,Asami Sato and her lovely gal Korra had a spicey side to their love life and this evening woild be no different. Especially for Korra who couldn’t really contain any sense of giddiness or excitement, and with good reason of course. Asami:”I have to say Korra,I don't think I've ever seen you so excited before. makes me feel rather jealous,you naughty girl you...”*walking hand in hand with her girlfriend in satan city,on their way to a high class hotel. Their choice of evening wesr stylish yet casual,her sensual feminine classy elegance in contrast to her lover. A bemused expression her face at how eager her water tribe she-stallion seemed* Korra:”What,really? Silly me,sorry babe, I just can't help it, I mean it's been a while since I’ve seen my old senpai. I Mean you’re the one who asked for the juicy details and arranged this little get together..”*the amazonian to buy teased playfully. A slight blush on her face and a catlike grin of delight on her expression.*

Asami giggled as she gave Korra a kiss on the cheek, curious to get to know this “senpai” quite well herself and likely as intimately. As they entered the hotel,getting their copy of the keycard from reception as the concierge informed them their fellow guests had arrived. Which made their pulses skyrocket as they got into the elevator,passing the time in the steady ascent of the compartment to cop a feel of one another. A simple casual makeout session as they assaulted one another’s bodies with some heavy petting to add fuel to the growing fire of lust and passion, burning between them for each other as well as what they were about to do. Faces flushed red as they stepped out the lift to make their way towards the penthouse suite door. Soon as Asami opened it with the keycard, they were greeted by the sight of a certain 5 foot compact fighter turned cop and his blonde bombshell of a wife, with Korra closing the distance gap between them as she hugged the cue ball. Her 7 inches of height different to him causing his head to be sandwiched between the valley of her bodacious boobs. Asami giggling at Krillin’s expression as did 18, before watching eith sensual delight as Korra planter her lips on his, giving him quite the passionate, lust fuelled kiss.

Korra:*purring as she broke the kiss,a little trail of saliva between them,panting slightly to control her racing heartbeat.* “Mm senpai it’s been way too long,you naughty man…”*she teased,giggling st the deadpan indigntsnt expression Krillin gave her, before she gasped and moaned as Krillin sudden,t gave her denim clad ass a swift slap,followed by grabbing and squeezing it. The well toned booty a lot more bubbly than it seemed.*”ooooh so forceful Sendai…but I’d expect nothing less from the stud who ruined me for other men…”

Krillin:*despite the grimace he wore on his face,he wasn’t hesitating in copping a feel of the tomboy’s amazonian beauty of a work of art of a body.*”There you go again, being so damn impulsive…”*rolling his eyes as Korra playfully stuck her tongue out at him and at the giggles 18 and Asami sent his way.* “but hey let’s not best around the bush huh? You came all this way and what not so let’s get right to it…”

Soon as he finished saying that,he began to strip, Asami humming sensually in approval whole Korra licked her lips with erotic anticipation. 18 herself stripping down to absolute nudity as she let the lair enjoy her compact hubby’s physique on display, a Herculean work of art with only his boxers remaining on as he sat in the edge of the mattress of the queen sized bed. Korra and Asami purring as eyed him up and down. Soon the tomboy found her lover pressing herself to her,as they began to make out. Giving Krillin a little lesbian show to which 18 added herself to the mix,her hands joining theirs in stripping them,as their lips and tongues all danced together in a blurry heat of growing passion. The sight of the erection now pitching a tent in the shirt king’s boxers spurring them on as soon Korra and Asami were now naked,their curvy bodies varying in their muscle tone,Korra’s from an intense workout routine while Asami despite her feminine grace knew her way around working and handling heavy machinery. They alongside 18 striking sensual poses for his enjoyment,before Korra strode over to kiss and make out with her senpai once more,kissing down along his torso with lusty thirst, soon kneeling on the carpeted floor as she tugged down his boxers. Removing them and throwing them aside as she licked her lips with eagerness. Rubbing his balls and grasping his raging hard cock, stroking as it as she looked at Asami like she was presenting and singing the praises of a national treasure.

Korra:*a shameless lewd look on her face,you’d swear pink hearts were glowing in her lust hazed eyes.*”Mmm just look at it asami, this length and girth..this is a real man right here. The feel,the taste, the scent….”*she couldn’t contain herself any more,as she began plant licks and kisses on Krillin’s cock. Soon latching her lips on it to suck and blow, drowning it with her saliva.*

Asami couldn’t find it in her make a witty comeback, too entranced by the sight of her butch tomboy lover acting like such a butch in what as she lavished oral worship on Krillin’s manhood. In the blink of an eye she wasted no time in joining them. Pressing her lips to his as they made out, hands massaging that muscular torso as she kissed her way down along physique, soon joining Korra in tagteaming him with a tandem blowjob. Hands rubbing her slit as she felt how wet she was, arousal skyrocketing at seeing her lover do the same. Now she can see how and why Korra had been so vivid in the details she shared about stories of her old senpai, the man she gave her first time to, a stud so amazing sexually thst it’s small wonder she proclaimed he ruined her for other men. Something she was going to thank him for,as they continued to shower his cock with lusty licks and kisses. Asami leaving red kiss marks thanks to her lip stark, marking his shaft and balls SWAK (sealed with a kiss). 18 of course licked her lips with delight at the display before her, soon joining them as she added her own mouth and tongue to the mix. Krillin could only tilt his head back to groan as the sensation and vision of his wife and two very kinky,horny lesbisexuals (bicurious lesbians) assaulted his manhood with their mouths and tongues. The 3 way blowjob soon rewarding their stunning fellatio skills as he erupted, his dick spraying with white hot scream. Catching it in their mouths and on their faces, making out with each other to clean it off as Krillin lied back on the bed, catching his breath.

Korra:*sensually grinning as she pried herself away from Asami and 18, climbing onto the bed as she straddled her former senpai, mounting him and grinding her slit against his still hard cock.*”Mmm, your protein tastes as good as I remember senpai,but I know you’re not done by a long shot…”*gasps as she felt Krillin grab and squeeze her bubbly booty.*”Oooh there we go…that’s the senpai I remember. Make sure You give Asami your A game,you sex machine you..”

Krillin:”don’t get cocky with me,You cheeky girl…”*h quipped good naturedly,as he pumped snd thrust his cock into Korra’s pussy,making her toes curl and her spine arch,glowing hesrts in her eyes once again as they smacked their loins together in the ancient intimate dance of man and woman. Bouncing her muscular form as she rode that cock,letting her senpai bring them together to the peak of ecstasy. Just like this one glorious night together so long ago..*

Asami looked in with awe and arousal at seeing her proud,powerful Korra scream like the bitch in he’s she was being taken and claimed as. Seeing her and Krillin roll around between a mating and Amazon press, the sigh of their loins connected in that lewd,intimate embrace of sexual mating. 18 sitting behind her,idly making out with her as she squeezed her tits and kissed along her neck and shoulders to lock lips with her. Their tongues dancing together as Sato Corp heiress continued to probe her own pussy with her naughty fingers. The penthouse suit filling with the echoes of erotic moans and the smacking of skin on skin. 18 knew this little get together would be fun, but who knew Krillin’s old training kouhai was such a junkie for her man and his amazing oak tree class cock? Then again this was her husband she was talking about, him having a way with women and leaving an erotic impact on them was his best way of making a first impression for a good reason. Knowing Asami would become just as much of a chestnut junkie soon as she got her turn. Breathing in the scent of her perfume, waiting for thst sweet moment when Korra would get a nice wombfull soon as Krillin blew his load, which was more or less the unofficial signal for switching and changing up.

Asami:”Oooooh fuuuuck!! This is amazing! Aahn I’m losing my mind!! Aah Korra,we should,no we need to marry this man! One night isn’t enough!! More senpai,more,fuck me,fuck me!” *Indeed Asami was hooked the moment that felt that immense length and girth penetrate her. Taking it in missionary as Krillin thrust like a jackhammer,her legs hooked around his shoulders,hands squeezing her ass as he slapped and played it like a bongo drum. Tits bouncing,mouth drooling as a few mere inches from them,Korra and 18 laid atop one another in a 69, making out with one another’s pussies, the blonde cyborg lapping away at thse overflow of excess jizz from Krillin’s prior orgasm. The heiresss experiencing truly first hand why Korra held her former senpai in such high regard.*

18:”Mmm that’s it girls,you want to make this foursome official,earn your keep and show m the effort you’re gonna put in…”*the deadly beauty quipped erotically,riding her husband in reverse cowgirl. Moaning as she rode that sick with intimate familiarity,as she fingered Asami and Korra, who kissed and licked her body with sexual worship. Making out with her with sloppy kisses or suckling away at her bouncing titties. Krillin gif course being teased with just the sight of their splendid backsides and their glistening skin.*

The foursome showed no signs of stopping, even as dusk was starting to set in, the room bathed in the colours of the sunset as they went about two pairs of swinging,swapping one on one, two on one to three on one. Little more than pornographic animals casting aside shame and inhibition as 18 hugged her man from behind. Taking delight in him fucking Korra doggy style while the tomboy ate out her girlfriend. To Asami laying atop her lover,their tits rubbing together in sensual friction as Krillin mounted and fucked the heiress from behind. Any exhausting cast aside by the thrill of their mating, as if the two lovers were driven by the impulse to want to go all night and all the way to the morning and make sure they leave this hotel kmowing they’d be knocked up and carrying this stud’s babies. Idly wondering if they might follow through on Asami’s impulsive dirty talk and make their foursome truly official. The wedding would surely be spectacular and the honeymoon would be as good as this perhaps ten,no a hundredfold. For now of course, thst was the future and this was the moment they were living for. A moment they’d never want to end.

[littlefreya]

Easy Prey

Summary: Direct sequel to Jerk. Ring or not, August promised himself that he will make you his, in whatever mean possible and he kept that promise. 

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (2nd person pov)

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+, dark, kidnapping, bondage, dubious consent, teasing, dirty talk, gunplay (yeah add this to the list of kinks I gave you), sweet degradation and praise.

A/N: You thought August is going to sweet talk this one, didn’t you? Surprise! This was a short drabble brought by a prompt, turned into a one-shot and then my beta @agniavateira suggested this as a sequel to Jerk before I posted. Since most of you may be in a thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, enjoy my own early b-day gift to you! Many thanks to @wondersofdreaming and @sapphirescrolls who convinced me to post this. 

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. Your feedback is my fuel. 🖤

Easy Prey

August Walker lived his life swinging between the two sharp edges of a sword; but then, how could he not? He had to maintain a handsome prime-alpha male reputation while hiding his true cruel nature masked beneath mist and shadows.

It took everyone by surprise once it was revealed that the slick, charming agent was a vicious, Armani-wearing monster. A hard-to-swallow pill for most, but these two diverse entities were always one and the same: 

August Walker was John Lark the way darkness followed light. 

And how unfortunate it was of you to be lured into the spider’s web, stunned by the beauty of the pearly silk; you’ve gotten too close and had your limbs caught in the sticky threads. Now captured, you’ve earned yourself a taste of August’s sweet toxin yourself. 

Fear wasn’t even close to the sensation that was gnawing in your gut.

The suite was cosy; a sleepy fire crackled in the mantle, shy beams of maple light kissed your bare breasts while you laid upon the softest pillows. It felt like a sinister joke compared to the ropes charring the supple flesh of your wrists. August had you stripped of any remnants of protection of course, save for the little jewellery circling your finger which he eyed with a blank stare that screamed in its contained silence.

Fully clothed, he stood at the fore of the bed, wearing a blue three-piece suit as if he was attending a royal wedding. A magnum was clutched in his right hand and a dagger in the other. The calmness and elegance of his appearance only made you arch and grunt in your fruitless attempts to set yourself free.

“Ropes too tight, angel?” He hummed, his voice so pleasant it felt like your lungs were floating in a void. His crystal-pale gaze dawdled upon you, invading beneath the skin, penetrating the warm crease between your legs which you fought to keep shut. 

He felt it, or maybe even smelled the arousal that wafted at his direction and chanted his name.

“I’d save my strength if I were you. We’ve already proven that no one can hear your screams and we have a long night ahead of us.”

His words covered the bones of your spine with a thick layer of frost and in your searing throat, a bitter substance reemerged. Screwing your eyes shut, you wished more than anything for this to be a nightmare; but every time the binds twisted about your hands, you remembered the dreadful meaning behind the pain. 

It was there to remind you of the harsh slap that was reality.  

August tilted his head, a smile beginning to spread from each corner of his mouth: all pleasant and  charming as if this was nothing but a couple’s naughty getaway. 

“You can’t wake up from this, this is not a dream… or a nightmare, depends on your disobedience,” he assured, boding a sudden hollow in your chest. “Now, which one do you prefer? The knife or the gun?”

“Fuck you!” 

Defiant, you gathered yourself to scream a trembling cry, sending your legs to kick the mattress in a hopeless fight. Only it made things worse as August was able to spot the little dew-kissed orchid between your legs, glistening-wet with invitation. 

Flicking a tongue over his upper lip, he crept close. His broad shoulders strained, his posture that of an elegant predator; as you saw the large outlines of his heavy cock stretching his navy-blue trousers, even hatred and horror couldn’t mask the pang of need that shot through your core.

Despite the panic, the traitorous instinct of life whispered of undisclosed, primal lust. You wished so badly you could fight or hide it, but alas there was no hiding from August. He could sense it, see it, and even taste it on his wicked tongue. 

“Gun then,” he answered and slid the knife back into the holster in his belt.

Your breath hitched as the mattress dipped beneath his weight, and you watched paralysed as he aimed the gun between your legs. Strong tremors coursed along your skin and your knees buckled and wobbled as the cold metal touched you; and yet, in that very moment, you did the impossible and moaned.

“Has it been that long since you had a dick inside you?” August observed with a vicious grin crisping his lips. It made his moustache twitch almost comically. 

“Don’t worry sweet angel, we’ll fix that soon.”

Pushing the gun between your kneecaps, he forced them open and ran the barrel feverishly down your inner thighs. The metal was freezing against your flesh, eliciting little tingles to spiral beneath the tender brush. Gasping, you looked away from him ashamed. You were terrified, not just of him, but from how much the wanton centre of your sex clenched from his ministrations.

You were bound and kidnapped by a dangerous man, and yet in your mind played the sick fantasies of him unbuckling his belt and giving you his full girth hard and wild. 

“You will soon have me in every hole,” August continued with a promise on his honeyed lips while lowering the brim of the weapon perilously close to your radiating heat and toying with the sensitive area teasingly. “I will make it hurt real bad, you’ll feel me there for days if not more,” he hummed and swerved the barrel between your engorged lips. 

“Please!” You gasped and writhed away slightly, tugging on the binds that began chafing your delicate skin. August raised his glare to meet your pleading eyes and leaned forward, his shadow looming over you entirely. Reaching one hand to your nape, he clutched you forcefully while his icy glare pierced right through your skull.

Slow and sensual he began to run the gun between your soft petals, gingerly grazing the hard shaft at the plump peak of flesh that made you cry out with both pleasure and despair. 

“Aww...” He keened and groaned. Never stopping his coaxing of your cunt with the still object, his breath huffed hot upon your cheek as he rounded his beautiful lips in faux pity. “Poor helpless little butterfly.”

Crying and dazed, you stared directly into his eyes. Words of plea kept running caged inside your head, unable to make their way out while you watched August’s large shoulder move back and forth. The movement resulting in the unwanted pleasure. Back and forth, he stroked you, gradually increasing the pace, and not without style even. Ruthless, August was keen on making you come.

You weren’t even sure what it was that you begged for at that point.

Grunts and sobs escaped your throat unwillingly. You squirmed and pushed against it, your body craving for more: not just for the rough friction that tingled at your cunt but also at the large bulge visible at his groin. The more rapture began to creep through your flowing tendons, the further you sank into delirium, wondering how he would feel like buried deep between your tight walls, fucking you the way only someone who has no boundaries would.

“Fuck!” You screamed, grinding against the metal while August leaned even closer and kissed the corner of your mouth before groaning and moaning at your lips. His hand worked hard between your thighs, the cold barrel now warm, the hollow edge coated with your elixir. 

The wall of your protests crumbled as the simmering surge of climax began pushing itself down your belly, leaving you teetering between self-loathing and ecstasy. 

“That’s right my beautiful butterfly, I’ll pluck your wings,” August promised in a husky whisper, watching you as you coiled and cried louder, your walls convulsing tightly around a sad, empty space as you came. If only you didn’t wish it was August choked between them instead.

As you slumped down, sweaty and breathless, he drawled a growl of content and slowly withdrew the gun to hold it next to your shivering face.

“I swear, Sloan’s assistants keep getting sluttier every year; the last one I fucked had a thing for me choking her,” he mocked while grazing the wet barrel against your cheek, “do you think you’d be into that too, sweetling? My hand around your throat?”  

Rounding your eyes in utter fear, you swallowed the dryness in your throat. August sighed with a malicious little grin while twisted awe danced between the blue, sparkling sapphires that examined you ecstatically, so fascinated by how easily he managed to break and bend you to his will.

Still holding the neck of the gun pressed next to your cheek, he reached the other hand above your head. A part of you was relieved for a moment, thinking he was about to untie the bind. 

But your hope quickly died as you felt his fingers rolling the ring that decorated your finger.

The diamond reflected onto the deep blue of his eyes as he examined it closely before throwing it directly into the fireplace.

“No!” You cried out brokenly, as the last memory of your old life disappeared in flames.

“Save your tears beautiful,” August retorted, his voice once again so soft it chilled your very core. He shifted his entire weight between your straddled thighs, and leaned in to kiss the wetness below your eye, “you won’t be needing it anymore.”

His tongue slipped out to collect the briny liquid that gathered on your cheek, and another hum of delight rumbled in his chest as his covered cock unmistakably ground against your mound, “I am your man from now on, might as well accept it and let me do whatever I want.”

Shivering under him, you took a deep breath, your body already swaying in demand as you felt him throbbing beneath the soft fabric of his pants. To your own horror, your head fell into a slow nod of shameful consent. 

It wasn’t just August you were afraid of, but also for yourself.    

[ciggylungz]

Benefits

Rivals blurb: 2.8k word

Request: y/n & harry go to a bar and someone from harrys office flirts with her and he gets jealous

__

Work parties were never very exciting, so when Y/n and Harry had a combined company benefit party at one of the upscale lounges in London she was hardly excited. Her publicist had decided it would be good to do it together to get more hype and press on it by proving even though their companies split years prior there was ‘no bad blood’. She only agreed because some of the profits were going to different charities and that gave her the stamina to stick out a work event, and well free booze was a plus.

She had just enough time to make a pitstop home to change into a formal appropriate cocktail dress, pumps and fixed her hair before making her way towards the bar. Upon arrival she could already hear Harry’s distinct fake laugh, her eyes rolling automatically knowing he was cheesing up to some rich beneficiary to milk as much cash out of them as he could. She headed straight to the bar, ordering a vodka soda with lime deciding she’d need a little help getting through the night If she’d be trapped with that prick in such an enclosed space.

After two vodka sodas she was feeling a good buzz, good enough that her uptight nature seemed to unravel enough for her to entertain the gentlemen who decided to start talking to her, joining her at the bar. He wasn’t too bad looking, typical business man look with a crisp suit and hair styled with some sort of product that made it stiff. He was well groomed and she had recognized him as one of Harry’s employees. Mark was his name, and as long as he kept her drinks coming, she was more than willing to keep chatting with the man. Seemed like a good trade to her, booze for flirting- a win-win for both parties.

“How old are yeh doll?” the man was giving her the typical flirty eyes, she’d typically cringe at how thick this guy was laying it on already but she was too tipsy to care. “ ‘m 23, you?” the man had a sly smirk on his face at that, rubbing his chin slightly before taking a sip of his whiskey. “I’m 46, props to you fo’ havin’ such a big company at your age. I was just getting’ coffee for asshole bosses when I was your age. A business woman is sexy you know? You like older men hun?” his game was truly weak, almost embarrassingly so for someone of his age. She questioned if he could be a 40-year-old virgin, or he was just a terrible flirt. Yet she answered truthfully, not caring much since she’d likely never see this bloke again. “Depends, been with ‘em before but it’s not a preference or anything.”

His eyes flicked over the expanse of her body, his smirk not dropping at her answer as he licked over his lips. “Oldest you’ve been with?” his question made her roll her eyes starting to get a little tired of him now, knowing full well he just wanted to bang her which wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t kiss and tell Marcus.”

The pair weren’t aware of the irritated glare that was watching their every move, reading their lips from across the room as they talked. Harry was the peeping tom in question, staring the two adults down with a strange feeling in his gut and a tingle in his palms- like he wanted to punch his employee but- why? It’s not like he had any real reason to, but still a flare of…jealousy crawled up his spine and burrowed inside the ripples of his brain. He had been in this position before, when him and the girl were younger and he’d see her makeout with another guy or her boyfriend of the time or when he’d hear them fucking in a neighboring room while a young Harry grew overly irritated at the fact someone else was feeling what he’d felt before. He was being immature he knew that, but he didn’t care as he marched over to the pair acting casual despite his mood when he leaned against the dark wood of the polished bar.

Harry rubbed his pointer finger over the wood, collecting a small amount of dust on the digit before tapping his knuckles on the wood getting the attention of the bar tender and the pair he’d been practically stalking since he noticed them together. “Gin and tonic please, love and another one of whatever Y/n had. Put it on my tab, thank yeh” he was always a polite guy, his mother truly raised him well in that aspect and it was refreshing for Y/n to hear the man talking to someone kindly instead of the usual bickering they partake in.

Y/n turned to him on her swiveling barstool, giving him a tipsy soft smile and nod in acknowledgement not noticing the side eye he was giving the man on the other side of her. “Hello Harold” she greeted him using the name she knew got on his nerves, his name was simply Harry yet everyone assumed it was a shortened version of the rather old-fashioned name typically tied to it. Yet, he didn’t bother getting irritated or retorting with something annoying no- his focus was more on the man he had an itch to fire at the moment. He managed to keep his professional nature regardless, “Evening love, hello Marcus what are you lot talkin’ about?” Y/n was more confused on the pet name he’d used towards her than about the harsh gaze he was sending toward the man on her left.

Mark seemed to sense the animosity, knowing his bosses irritated look very well. He opted to respond to his employer with an awkward chuckle a shrug added to it, “Nothin’ much, business and such. Was admiring how she’s runnin’ a company so young just like you. Would be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit jealous.” His free hand went up to scratch the back of his neck, sipping his drink to have a way to cover his nervous lips whilst Harry stared him down. Y/n was honestly a bit amused at the situation at hand, wishing she had some popcorn to go with her fifth vodka soda to enjoy the little testosterone standoff happening. She’s seen Harry get like this a couple times, so she shamelessly added fuel to the fire.

“Yea, and askin’ me if I like older men then following that up with askin’ the oldest man I’ve slept with. It’s been a very professional conversation H, no need to worry.” She knew exactly what she was doing, and she got the reaction she wanted when Mark nervously fiddled with his tie and Harry’s jaw clenched, the action still noticeable in the dim lighting. Y/n was tempted to laugh at the surge of tension she had just created, opting instead to sip her drink as she waited for what was to come next.

Harry straightened himself up, turning to look at the man with a raised eyebrow. “Oh really? That hardly seems appropriate for a work event.” Harry was trying his best not to show the possessive feelings he was having, rather opting for a reprimanding boss act to fit the occasion. “erm…uh was just some casual banter Mister Styles. Might have had one too many, wasn’t using my best judgement…I apologize Y/n” he was rushing his words, obviously anxious to escape the confrontation which Y/n found even funnier. Harry gave the man a curt dismissal with a request to see him in his office on Monday, and in true Y/n fashion she decided to add a second dose of fuel to the fire- calling out to the fleeing man- “The oldest was 54 by the way!” this of course made Mark scurry away faster and Harry lower his gaze to the woman before him with a irritated yet quizzical look.

“54?” his tongue darted out to lick over his lips, a sting of gin hitting the tip of his tongue from the drop lingering on his bottom lip. Y/n shrugged, crunching a rouge ice cube between her back molars while she nodded. “Vegas, tequila, he had major sugar daddy vibes and 19-year-old me was into it.” Y/n was always rather shameless when it came to sex, she’s been sexually active for the majority of her life so the shyness of talking about it left her long ago. Harry snorted slightly, shaking his head with an amused grin at the girl. “Naughty! you’re somethin’ else Y/n. I’m gonna tell your dad.”

“I don’t think his heart could take it, he did an awful lot of blow back in the day so I’d appreciate it if yeh didn’t do that sir.” She rolled her eyes, taking a subtle jab at her less than respectable antics of her filthy rich father. “Seems like you were doing an awful lot of a different version of blow to me.” the man smirked at his own joke getting a light slap on his bicep in return. “Shut up, I haven’t forgotten when you got gonorrhea when you were 18. You’re just as bad as me.” Y/n poked his ribs making Harry groan at the memory, “I got that treated you asshole. I’ve learned to wrap it before I tap it since then and be selective with what I put my dick in now. For the record, all my std tests have come back clean since so fuck you.”  

Y/n gave him an innocent smile back, resting her cheek on her fist. “Is that an offer?”

The response wasn’t one Harry was expecting. Not by a long shot, he hasn’t been inside her in a little over a year so her response to his jab took him by surprise. His eyes immediately met hers, finding a curious glance coming from her orbs. Setting down his glass the man turned towards her, facing her completely before responding.

“If you want it to be.”

Y/n smiled at him, standing up from her stool to get closer to the man pulling him down by his collar to talk in his ear. “Your place or mine?”

__

  After a painful ten-minute taxi ride, they’d made it to Harrys home. They were well aware of looming neighbors and press so they kept it professional till they were inside the four walls of the mansion- rushing up to his bedroom like two teenagers scared of getting caught. Anxious rushing of feet up the stairs hands struggling to stay to themselves on the way to the king-sized bed waiting for them.

After what seemed like forever, the pair burst into Harry’s bedroom the door hitting the wall with a loud bang as the man lurched forward to smash his lips against hers. It was frantic, sloppy and rough- it was fucking hot.

“you drive me up the fuckin’ wall you know that?” His voice was gruff, heavy with lust and jealous rage. Shoving the woman onto his bed with little care, he knew she liked it rough. A fact confirmed to him after he’d seen the rather violent bdsm porn she had saved to her computer and the various sex toys-including restraints, collars and clamps in a box in her closet 2 years ago when she moved into her current home and forced him to help her put everything away.

Y/n let out a small gasp when her body flew onto the mattress, kicking her heels off after she had settled with a smirk painted on her pretty lips. “Do i?” her tone way teasing, hands moving to unzip her dress while the man moved to stand before her yanking the fabric down her body to leave her in only a silk bra and matching thong, his eyes shamelessly taking in the sight of her body- intimate parts only covered with think sections of emerald green silk fabric.

“Ya know I didn’t appreciate you tellin’ that bloke about other men fuckin’ you, was rather impolite y/n.” Harry gave her a stone cold glare whilst tugging his belt out of the loops of his dress pants, tossing it carelessly behind him as the woman dove forward to work the button and zipper of his trousers undone. “Why? You jealous? Are you jealous because I let other men and women fuck me? Are you mad that you never get to taste me, fuck me and cum with me like they do?”

Y/n’s comments were soon cut off by a ring clad hand wrapped itself around her neck with enough pressure to stall her speech. “You never know when to shut the fuck up huh? We both know full well, no one can fuck yeh the way I do. Now, are you gonna quit your blabbering so I can fuck yeh or do I have to shove this skimpy excuse for underwear down that gabby throat? Hmm? Because I like to hear your dirty moans but I’m not a fan of this snarky mouth baby. Are you going to behave or shall I go have a wank instead?”

The pitiful whine accompanied by a pout coming from the woman made Harry’s cock twitch, she was so desperate for it and he had her right where he wanted her. He soon felt her hands pawing at his crotch, tugging the material of his tight dress pants down his legs before returning to pull his cock from the flap in the front of his boxers. It had been entirely too long since he’d held her small soft hands on his prick, watching with baited breath as her right hand moved to rid herself of the sorry excuse for undergarments she had on.

“Want it in, H please”

He obviously couldn’t say no to that, not when she was giving him those eyes and leaning back to show the web of wetness dripping from her slit onto the sheets below her snapping when she swiped her finger through it to rub on his already leaking tip. She had his head swimming, chest heaving and balls pulsing with every move she made.

The man tossed her body further up the bed, getting between her legs giving her no warning as he sunk completely in. The pressure and harshness of the thrust took her breath away, an overwhelming fullness almost uncomfortable as he gave her no time to adjust before driving into her beautiful body. The sound of her wetness clicking when coming in contact with his hips and filthy groans of pleasure filled the space, the slapping of skin harsh in their ears with every nailing of his pelvis into hers.

“This what yeh needed? No one else fucks yeh so good you can’t breathe do they? Got your face goin’ almost purple, feel my cock in your chest don’t you baby?”

His words were filthy, yet held truth. He pulled halfway out to give her a chance to take a few breaths, the dark redness of her oxygen starved face starting to fade to a flustered pink before he continued his rough ramming. Her nails pierced the skin of his tattooed arms, screams of pleasure rawing her throat when she felt her orgasm about to reach it’s peak.

“Holy fuck!”

Her exclamation was loud, filthy and drenched in sultry bliss as the knot in her stomach unraveled. She tried desperately to climb away from his hammering hips, the stimulation making her entire body feel like it was screaming yet his hands kept her pinned to the bed fucking her relentlessly through her orgasm.

“Fuckin’ hell! Cummin’ hard huh? No one else can make you cum like this, say it. Tell me baby, admit it”

His teeth were clenched painfully tight as he spoke, Y/n struggling to get her words out with the surge of feeling rushing through her nerves managing to ramble out the words almost incoherently.

“That’s fuckin’ right doll, only I can do this to yeh.”

Even with his body on fire, he held his cocky persona pounding into her a few more times until he jerked his hips out just in time to spill his seed onto her heaving stomach. Watching the ribbons of thick white cum paint her flushed sweaty skin, her body trembling from her orgasm violently while being painted with her ‘enemies’ hot cum.

The bed shook when Harry dropped down beside her, breathless and worn out. a proud smirk painted on his sweaty red face when he turned to the woman who was looking at him already struggling to remember how to breathe. Placing a smacking kiss to her swollen lips, a strong arm tugging her into his sticky side.

For the first time in a long time, they felt content in each other’s grasp. Making them both silently wonder if these feelings weren’t just lust, but something else entirely.

[blackmissfrizzle]

A Tale of Two Soldiers- Part 2

Title: A Tale of Two Soldiers- Part 2

Pairing: Bucky x black!reader, Erik x black!reader

Summary: Erik attends the readers birthday party.

Word Count: 5150

Warnings: SMUT (18+), cussing, Erik being Erik

Read Part 1 here.

A/N: This is my first MCU fic and Erik fic. Please don’t hate me if its trash lol! There will definitely be multiple parts.  This is set after Black Panther but before Infinity War. Please reblog if you really like it!

A/N: Sorry this is so long, but I had so many ideas for this part and I didn’t want to break it up in mini-parts.

Your birthday party was in full swing. The dj was playing a mix of 80s to current music, the food smelled delicious, and you were surrounded by family and friends. The only thing that was missing were your friends on the run: Steve, Nat, Sam, and Bucky.

Your outfit was a simple, black maxi dress with black wedges, and a gold hoop earrings, which unfortunately matched Erik’s which was, a black t-shirt with black adidas joggers and his gold canine grill, which caused your family to believe you were a couple as soon as you stepped out.

“Girl, you sure he ain’t your man,” your oldest sister, Jemilah wondered as she pointed her cup to Erik while he was talking to your brothers and brothers-in-laws.

“Yes heifer! I’m sure that he’s not my man. Why you asking that stupid ass question?”

Casey, the second youngest interjected, “Because he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since the party started.”

“Well, you need to tell him that, because the way he looking at you telling me he in love and he gon be breaking your back tonight,” Jemilah claimed.

You just told your sisters that Erik was just watching out for you, because he knew you could get a little buck wild when you drank and he didn’t want you to act a fool in front of your family. Soon, they dropped the topic to start gossiping about some of the party goers and you were thankful the attention was off of you for a while. However, your respite was short live, because your mom was strutting towards you with a man who gave you Morris Chestnut vibes with his physique and beautiful skin.

“Y/N, dear, this is Malcom. Malcom, this is my daughter, Y/N, the birthday girl.”

You shook Malcom’s hand, which was smooth unlike Erik’s or Bucky’s. While you two exchanged pleasantries, your mom listed off Malcom’s credentials like she was reading his resume. You tuned her out while seeking a way out at her blatant attempt of matchmaking, when you suddenly felt a familiar warmth behind.

“Hey princess, one of your sisters said they needed your help with something.”

You gave Erik a silent thank you and told your mom and Malcom you catch them later. Somehow your mother caught you taking a break from everyone in the kitchen. “You know, you didn’t have to have your little friend help you escape. I’m just trying to help.”

Exasperated with the same conversation with your mother you sighed, “Help with what mama? I’m not ready to settle down, especially not with some lame lawyer.”

Your mother walked up to you and grabbed your arms, “Baby, Malcom is not lame. He’s a Morehouse man, does plenty of community service for kids of color, and he worked for Obama. The Barack Obama,” she stressed. “And you ain’t getting any younger.” Of course, your mama would be the only one to consider 26 old. “I don’t understand you, Y/N. Why you must be the only one out of 6 kids to rebel against everything. You chose to go to Howard instead of Spelman like your sisters did and if you were a boy you wouldn’t go to Morehouse like your brothers, then you had the nerve to join the Marines, and when you got discharged you did something even crazier, you let my crazy ass brother and his ridiculous friend Tony Stark talk you into joining the Avengers.”

Pulling away from her, you begged your mom, “Can we not argue about this today? I just want to enjoy my friends and family and celebrate my birthday. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Is it too much for me to ask for you to be happy and safe,” your mom threw right back. After a moment of silence, surprisingly, your mom agreed to drop it but promise you two would talk more about it tomorrow.

As you made your way back outside, you joined your siblings on the dance floor and began doing the bunny hop with them. Once that ended, the dj began playing Get It Ready by DJ Jubliee and you knew you were about the cut the fuck up. You felt Erik’s familiar presence behind you and once you heard ‘walk it like a dog’ you were grinding all up Erik like y’all weren’t at a family function. When the song was over you heard your dad clear his throat to break the lust filled gazes you and Erik were giving each other.

“Sorry, daddy,” you mumbled to your dad and ran off to join your sisters and Nakia, Okyoe, and Shuri at the tables. When you joined them, you heard Jemilah mutter to the others, “Mmmhmm, ain’t my man my ass.”

“Oh, he’s not. Y/N has another suitor back home,” Shuri happily confessed.

“Traitor,” you whispered in the princess’s ear.

Casey started whipping her head around as she was in search for someone, “Why he ain’t here then?”

“James does not feel well,” Okyoe admitted while she gave you a secret wink. Thank God, she lied for you, because even though you’ve done undercover ops for some unknown reason you can’t lie to your sisters that well.

“Describe him,” Jemilah ordered.

Thinking of Bucky automatically had you in a dream-like state, “Tall. Broad shoulders. Body of a Greek God. Oh, and his eyes. They’re this deep blue—”

“BLUE?” your sisters shouted.

“You really trying to give mama a heart attack. This man white?” Casey chuckled and you shook your head yes. You knew their outburst came from the fact that your mama had this goal of all her children have a black love relationship like her and your father. It wasn’t bad that she promoted black love, you really appreciated it, but she was harsh on y’all if you tried dating someone outside your race, she and Erik had that in common. You remembered when Casey brought back her white boyfriend during Christmas break one year and your mama was so hard on the poor boy, he didn’t make it to Christmas Eve dinner.

“He is. And I obviously don’t care what she thinks, so lets drop it ok,” you demanded and thankfully the women obliged.

You and the other women discussed the Wakanda Outreach program, when Casey swore, “Aww fuck! Here comes ‘Cousin Faith’.” Now you really didn’t have a Cousin Faith, her real name was Stephanie, but you and your sisters called her Cousin Faith because she was always trying to steal one of y’alls man, even after your sisters got married.

“Y/N, how the fuck you bag a prince,” Stephanie whined.

Clearly confused you looked at her crazy, “Girl, what are you talking about? I’m not dating any prince.”

“Not yet anyway. That dread-headed nigga, Erik. He was talking to your mama and daddy about how he sees a future with you, and said his last name is ummmmm… shit….it’s something foreign.”

“Udaku,” Shuri interjected.

“Yes that’s it,” Stephanie exclaimed. “And your mama walking around saying you marrying a prince and you’re gonna be princess of a country of black people. Girl she even kicked that lame nigga, Malcom out the party. Talking about she don’t want him to mess up your chances with Erik.”

Your sisters just stared at you with slacked jaws and wide eyes at this revelation. You only told them that Erik was an American close with the Wakandan royalty and worked for the Wakanda Outreach Program out in Oakland. Jemilah was the first to say something, “Whew chile. You better get ready for that wedding, because you know mama ain’t gon let up now she knows he’s a prince.” You just rolled your eyes at her and went in search for the soon to be dead prince of Wakanda.

Erik must have known you were looking for him, because when you put your sight on him he ran the opposite direction and went inside the house. The nigga was fast because he was nowhere to be found.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. where is Mr. Stevens,” you called out to the AI.

“In the downstairs bathroom by the kitchen. I have unlocked the door for you.”

You shouted out a thanks to the AI and proceeded to find Erik rolling a blunt in the bathroom. Wasting no time, you decked that nigga in his pitbull ass face. “Oh shit, princess! That hurt. What the fuck is your problem?”

Pointing a finger at the handsome but infuriating man, you responded, “What’s my problem? My problem is you telling my mama that you a whole damn prince!”

Erik rubbed his chin and smirked at you, “So what you’re saying is, you’re mad at me for telling the truth about being a prince, but you ain’t mad that I told your parents I have plans for making you my wife.”

Oh shit, you forgot about the part. Damn, now this nigga really thought he had a chance, but somewhere inside of you knew that the prospect of being Erik’s wife sounded ideal, but you couldn’t let him know. “That’s beside the point Erik. You knew my mama thinks of herself as a so-called matchmaker and you just add fuel to her fire. She’s not gonna stop until I become Mrs. Y/N Udaku.”

Erik couldn’t stop cheesing when he heard your name in front of last name, it gave him a sense of pride that he hope would become true someday. “Baby girl, I’m sorry,” He lifted your chin so you could make eye contact with him, “But after you were throwing that ass, your parents pulled me aside and started asking a bunch of questions about you and I.” At this moment in time Erik looked nervous and unsure of himself when he rubbed the back of his neck. “And, shit princess, I couldn’t lie to them. I wanted my intentions to be clear to them and I threw in my last name so your mama could stop pushing that wack ass Morris Chestnut wannabe up on you.”

With Erik’s declaration out in the open you couldn’t really be mad at him anymore. Rubbing at your temples, you said “I guess I understand. But you don’t understand that my mama is about to work my nerves even more this weekend.”

Erik got that devilish glint in his eye when he was up to no good and presented you with the blunt. You were automatically shaking your head no, because you didn’t smoke, and Erik knew that. “Erik, I can’t smoke that. I never smoke it right and I’ll be wasting the blunt.”

“Nah, its your birthday and I caused you some trouble at your party, so imma get you high,” Erik was practically pushing the blunt in your face. You jumped on the sink counter and took the blunt to your mouth so Erik could light it up. Your first couple of inhales had you coughing, but you finally got the hang of it and it was becoming smooth.

Sensing that you were comfortable with smoking, Erik was pushing the hem of your dress up and kneeling on the ground. “Boy what are you doing,” you questioned him with half hooded eyes.

Again Erik had that damn devilish glint, “Imma help you relax even further baby, so you won’t even be aggravated by your mama.” You just let out a sigh of content and was about to hit the blunt, when you felt Erik’s tongue on your pussy. First, he was making small, slow licks and began to pick up the pace until you felt an orgasm overcome you. “Please…please,” you begged.

“Please, what,” Erik mumbled.

“Please don’t stop,” you slurred out.

And when you didn’t think it was possible began flicking your clit even faster and inserted two curled fingers inside of you. It didn’t take long for you to gush all over Erik’s mouth and fingers. You were in a world of euphoria thanks to the blunt and Erik, that you ordered Erik, “Take your dick out.”

It took him a little while for the words to register in his brain, but once they did he was pulling down his pants and boxer briefs, “Shit, you ain’t gotta tell me twice.” Erik grabbed a condom and rolled it onto his hard length. Once, he was sheathed, you grabbed Erik by his dick and guided him inside of you. When he was completely inside, you both let out a sight of content, and then he began thrusting into with wild abandonment. You both knew this little fuck session couldn’t last long, because people at the party would notice you two were missing, so Erik made quick work and had you both cumming within two minutes.

After being thoroughly fucked by Erik, you two return to the party, him to the tables and you to the food to make y’all some plates. You just sat in Erik’s lap when you put his plate in front him when your eldest brother, Thomas, interrupted y’all from eating, “Damn, nigga! What the hell you do to my baby sister?”

Both you and Erik looked at each other confused. “What do you mean by that,” Erik questioned.

“Little miss thing over here,” Thomas said while pointing at you, “has said she will never make a man’s plate, because his arms and legs works just as well as hers and she be too damn hungry to make two plates.”

Erik looked at you adoringly while you just wanted to go under a rock and die. Thankfully, Casey slapped Thomas in the back his head, stating he needed to keep his damn mouth closed. Erik just gave you a small kiss on the cheek and a quiet thank you, and then y’all resumed eating without any more embarrassing moments for you.

It was about half hour later and it was time for you to open your presents. T’Challa, Shuri, Nakia, and Okoye designed your gift. T’Challa presented you with a long skinny box that was wrapped in onyx wrapping paper. You made quick work of the wrapping paper and opened the box, which revealed a sword, your preferred weapon.

“Its completely made of vibranium. I used training footage of your fighting technique and designed the sword to compliment you. Even if someone else got ahold of it, it wouldn’t be as deadly as it is with you. Its almost like Thor’s hammer,” Shuri explained.

“Whoa, that’s badass,” your twin nephews exclaimed in unison.

“Watch y’all mouths,” your mom reprimanded the boys while you gave a thanks to Shuri, Nakia, T’Challa, and Okyoe.

“Its our turn now,” Tony announced while he Pepper approach you. You watched your mom roll her eyes as Tony presented you with a manila envelope, not even trying to hold his disdain for him.

“Before you open that, I just want to tell you something Rhodey Jr.,” Tony held up his hands and stopped you from opening your gift. “I’m proud to say its been a pleasure from watching you grow up from that annoying little brat that Rhodey would bring here during the summers to a badass, intelligent young woman. And Pepper and I want to thank you for helping with everything, so you deserve this brat.”

You were on the verge of tears, but you knew Tony didn’t do crying so you just hugged him instead. “Whoa kid, you haven’t even open it yet,” Tony exclaimed as he patted you on your back. At that you went back to the envelope to discover a document. For a while you just sat there in silence as you read over the document a couple of times just to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you.

Getting tired of your silence, your Uncle Ray demanded, “Girl tell us what it says!”

Breaking out of your trance, you mumbled, “They gave me a 20% share of Stark Industries.” Instantly you went up to Tony and Pepper and pleaded with them to take it back, even with it just being 20% they just made you a billionaire. “Guys you can’t give this to me. This is too much. What about your future kids? They deserve this more than me. You gotta take it back,” you ranted.

“Y/N, no one deserves this more than you do. You work about as much as Tony and me on Stark Industries business, so 20% is nothing,” Pepper explained to you.

You knew that you wouldn’t win the argument, so you gave the couple another thank you and sat down for your final gift. Erik approached you and set down a gift bag in front of your face. “Happy birthday, princess.”

When you reached into the bag you pulled out three tickets, three Beyoncé concert tickets to be exact.

“Beyoncé?!?!?!?” you exclaimed.

“Yeah umm, I got ‘em for you and your sisters,” Erik responded shyly. “They’re meet and greets also. But I got the whole day plan for y’all: massages, mani and pedis, hair appointments, and a shopping spree.” Your jaw dropped more when Erik listed what he had planned for us that day. You couldn’t understand how someone so aggravating, annoying, and selfish could be so thoughtful and selfless at the same time.

“Do you need a wife, girlfriend, side ho, concubine or something? Because damn nigga, that’s one hell of a birthday present,” Casey blurted out, causing her husband to tell her to shut up and sit her ass down, and Jemilah to punch her in her shoulder.

Erik chuckled and waved his hand, “Na ma, I’m good. Besides I only got eyes for one Y/L/N,” Erik stated while looking you dead in the eyes. All the women at the table practically sighed in amazement at Erik’s confession. Pointing at the gift bag, Erik mentioned there was another present in the bag. This time you brought out a small velvet box and fear overcame you. You heard your mom whisper to your dad hoping it was a ring and you were hoping for the complete opposite. Noticing the apprehension on your face, Erik calmed you down, “Chill out, its not a ring. I’m not proposing yet.”

Your mama nudged your dad in his ribs, “You hear that Charles? He’s not proposing yet.” And your dad just responded with a grunt, still not giving his full approval yet. “I like you more and more with each passing moment young man,” your mom called out to Erik.

Relief overcame you and that’s when you opened the box, revealing a necklace with a black and gold jaguar pendant inscribed with a Wakandan text.

“Warrior princess,” Erik said pulling you out of your trance.

“Huh?”

“It says warrior princess. You can kick anybody’s ass, so you’re a warrior, and you’re my princess, so you’re a warrior princess,” Erik explained.

“Girl, if you don’t marry him, imma beat your ass personally and then take him for myself,” your Aunt Charlene blurted out.

You couldn’t help but laugh at your outspoken aunt’s words, but you also knew she would keep her promise, which made you briefly think of a future with Erik. Not wanting to dwell on those thoughts too long, you gave him a kiss, thank him for your gifts, and whispered in his ear that you would properly thank him in the bedroom later on that night, which resulted in him growling in your ear and rubbing on your ass in front of your whole family.

After you finished receiving the rest of your gifts, your Uncle James pulled you to the side. “Here, this came a couple of days ago and I didn’t want you to open in front of everyone,” James declared as he handed you a package.

You knew it couldn’t be a gift from your uncle, because he already gave you his earlier. Inside of the package was a sketchbook, which confused you because you couldn’t draw for shit, but once you open it you knew exactly who sent the book. It was from Steve. He sent you a book full of drawings of you with him, Sam, Nat, or Wanda. There was a picture of you struggling doing your hair during wash day and Sam just laughing at you, another one of you and Nat flat on your asses because y’all managed to take each other down at the same time, one of you having a heart attack while Wanda lifted you in the sky with her powers, and one of you and Steve watching tv during one of your many movie nights. As you made your way through the drawings, a note fell out:

Sorry kid, we couldn’t make your birthday. Sam’s a little sad that we can’t go to the strip club, that you made me promise I would go to on your birthday. However, I’m thankful. I still don’t think I’m quite ready for that. It sucks that we’re not there but trust me we’re doing fine, which brings me to my point. Although, its very much appreciated STOP SENDING MONEY. I don’t want you to get caught, that’s the whole reason we kept you out of the fight in the first place. Don’t worry we’ll see each other soon. Happy birthday, Y/N! Love, S.R.

P.S.- Sam speaking here, I’m not little mad, I’m BIG mad that we’re not at the strip club! Don’t listen to the big guy, keep sending that money. Do you know what type of motels we’ve been staying in? Its not good for my delicate skin. Just kidding, I guess, stay safe kid and happy birthday!

Before you knew it, tears were falling onto the note. “Thanks for giving this to me Uncle James,” you mumbled in between sniffles.

Pulling you into a hug, your Uncle responded, “No problem.” You were making your way out his embrace when he pulled you back, “One more thing. Be careful with that Killmonger.”

You were about to ask your uncle how did he know about Erik’s military codename, but you remembered that he was a colonel and had access to the most sensitive information. Hugging him tighter you told Uncle James, “I will.”

You went up to your room to put away your gifts and clean your face when you got a notification from your kimoyo beads. Suddenly, Bucky’s face appeared before and he immediately took in your red and puffy eyes, “What’s wrong, doll?”

You waved him off, “Nothing. Steve sent me a birthday present, so the waterworks came.”

“That punk. I’ll make sure to beat him up the next time I see him. How’s the party?”

“Its great! Tony and Pepper gave me a 20% share of the company, Shuri—” you absentmindedly went out your room, not thinking about anyone seeing you talking to Bucky, then BOOM, you ran into your sisters in the hallway.

“Bitch, is that the Winter Soldier!?!?” Casey all but screeched. You immediately pulled them inside your room, so no one could see or hear them. “Y/N he’s fine! So, this was the James you were talking about. What kind of conditioner he use, because his hair is on point,” Casey rambled.

“I gotta handle this Buck. Talk to you later?”

Bucky saw your problem and quickly reassured you, “Yeah no problem, doll. Happy birthday and talk to you later.”

“Doll???” Both of your sisters questioned playfully.

Frustrated that they caught you talking to an international fugitive, you asked your sisters, “What the hell y’all doing up here?”

“We were coming up to say goodbye to our baby sister. What the hell you doing talking to an international fugitive,” Jemilah threw right back.

It was Casey turned to speak, “Didn’t he kidnap your ass once and kill T’Challa’s daddy?”

“Yes, to the first question, but he was brainwashed and no to the second, someone used his face as a mask and framed him,” you informed your sisters. Giving them both your puppy dog eyes, you pleaded to them, “Promise y’all won’t say anything. Even to your husbands.”

Jemilah and Casey came and sat on the bed with you and each grabbed one of your hands. “Y/N you know we won’t. If you say he didn’t do those things, then he didn’t do it. We trust you. Now you better hope mama don’t find out he’s the reason you’re not with Erik, because she would flip her shit,” Casey confided in you. Thankful for your sisters you hugged them and returned downstairs to say goodbye to the rest of the guests.

When you returned back to your room, you found Erik without his shirt laying on the bed and scrolling through his phone. Deciding to skip a shower for now you got out of your outfit, just leaving you with your bra and panties on and joined Erik on the bed. “You know, you didn’t have to give me all those presents for my birthday. I would’ve been fine with one or the other,” you whispered to Erik.

“No, baby girl. You deserve that and so much more. I just wanna show you how much I appreciate you.”

“Honestly E, I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” you said as you traced his scars.

“Are you for real,” Erik asked incredulously as he rolled your body underneath him. “Princess, you saved my life up on that mountain. I owe you my life.”

The battle was getting tiring and you didn’t know if it would ever end, even with the help of the Jabri tribe. One second, you’re knocking out one member of the Border tribe, and then the next you see all of the Border tribe on their knees surrendering to the Dora. And what a sight to see, all of those men kneeling before women. However, you didn’t get to enjoy it for too long, as T’Challa called you over the comms. “Y/N, I need you to meet me on the mountain. Erik’s hurt.”

Dropping everything you had and running towards the mountain, you replied, “I’m on my way.” On your way towards the cousins you thought about how your stay in Wakanda wasn’t suppose to be about fighting a war against your ex-fling. When you came here it was for keeping an eye out onBucky and not wanting to return to America after the way Tony and Steve fell out because of the Accords, but here you are running towards a man, who you had a brief fling but intense connection with, who was also dead set on killing his cousin, because of the sins of his father.

“Bury me in the ocean, with my ancestors that jumped from the ships, because they knew death was better than bondage,” you heard Erik declare. You made it up to the panther mountain just in the nick of time, because Erik was pulling out the spear, but thankfully you stop him. “What the hell are you doing, Y/N,” Erik grunted.

“Saving your dumbass. What do you think?”

Erik chuckled and even near death’s door he was beautiful, “I see you still got jokes. I hope you know I ain’t getting lock’d up, so let go princess.”

“No.”

“No?” Erik echoed.

“Did I stutter nigga? No.”

T’Challa interrupted yours and Erik’s banter, “Y/N, I said help him, not antagonize him.”

Turning towards the rightful king, “Chill, I got this,” you assured him. Turning your attention to the would-be usurper, you instructed Erik, “You’re not dying today, I won’t let you.”  “All the shit you’ve done was payback for you and your dad, right,” you questioned.

At that Erik just shook his head, so you continued on. “But didn’t he just want you to come to Wakanda and experience its wonders?” Again there was another head nod from Erik. “So, why would you want to die? Yeah, you might have to spend a little bit of time locked up, but it won’t be forever. Your cousin understands your pain. You were abandoned as a child with no one in your corner, let T be in your corner now. Let Shuri be in your corner, let Queen Ramonda be in your corner, let me be in your corner!”

By now, both you and Erik had tears falling down. It was a rare moment where both of you were vulnerable and both of you were crying for the boy in Oakland who lost his innocence. You were confident enough that Erik wouldn’t remove the spear, so you let it go and cupped his face instead. “What King T’Chaka did to your father was wrong, but T’Challa is not his father, just like you’re not N’Jobu. He’s T’Challa and you’re N’Jadka, y’all can be better than your fathers ever were.”

“Ok, princess, you got me. Besides I still need to take your country bumpkin ass to Oakland,” Erik joked with you.

“Thank Bas,” T’Challa murmured off to the side.

“Nigga, how many times I gotta tell you I’m from Houston and that’s a major city, not some podunk ass town. Anyways you can’t convince me Cali is better than Texas. Y’all may have Tupac but we got Beyonce and Whataburger is better than In-n-Out,” you argued back with Erik, grateful that he decided to live.

“Whatever, I’ll prove you wrong. But are either one of you niggas gon help me or y’all just gon talk me to death,” Erik questioned. Both you and T’Challa shared a look before y’all rolled your eyes at Erik’s antics and helped him up. You both knew keeping Erik alive was the right thing to do, but you also knew he would sometimes make you regret the decision.

“E, babe, I just talked to you, you responded back as you absentmindedly traced his scars.

“Well, that talk convinced me to live. Now thanks to you, I have a family, I have a home, I have a noble purpose, I get to watch those Wakandan sunsets my dad always talked about. Baby girl, I owe you everything. I’ll be with you always, even if you decide to get with tin man, even though it would be a mistake, because I’m the better choice.” You playfully slapped Erik across his chest, which he thought was an invitation for play fighting.

A couple of minutes later, you ended up on your back again, and one of Erik’s legs in between yours. He cupped your chin, “I’m serious princess. I’ll never stop being thankful,” Erik confessed. For a while the pair of you stared in each other’s eyes until you reached up to kiss him. Then, Erik made quick work of getting rid of his and yours remaining clothes. Once you were both naked, he entered inside of you and for the first time ever, you and Erik made love and not fuck. While he was giving you slow deep strokes, and whispering sweet nothings and praising you in your ear, you fully admitted to yourself that you were falling in love with Erik and being Y/N Udaku-Stevens wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

TAGLIST: @blacknthemix @cosmicmelaninflower @blackdepressoexpresso @meishaabae @pastelastronomy24 @blackreaders-assemble @sonofnjobu @canumoveurseatup-no @chaneajoyyy @purple-apricots @black-mcu-imagines @thelateliterary @marvelmaree @princessstevens

[stusbunker]

Known: Mark Your Move

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Demon!reader, Sam, Dean x Female Vessel OC

Series Masterlist // Full Masterlist

Summary: Chloe’s beginning to feel the demon inside her while Dean accepts the Mark of Cain.

Word Count: 2784

Warnings: Possession and therefore dub!con smut, angry sex, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal sex, spanking, cream pie, voyeurism (sort of?), Angst.

Location: West Newton, Pennsylvania

Time was never noted until lives were on the line. Then it was seconds and space between her and the victims, distance from her to making the kill shot or whipping her knife across a room. All her life, CC managed to avoid the business week blues and oddly nostalgic rites of passage because she had never been a normal kid. And as an adult, she lived on the schedule of the hunt, traveling and existing outside of the designated 9 to 5 concept of working hours. But now that she was losing chunks of time, every other certainty seemed to be failing her. It happened in moments of intense adrenaline, episodes where she got from one place to another without consciously making the choice to move. Vampires were decapitated, werewolves were shot, and ghosts were burned all with little to no knowledge of her contributions. Until she washed the blood and graveyard dirt from her hands, she hadn’t realized the jobs were done.

Then there was Dean, an hour white-knuckling through interchanges all because she found out Kevin Tran was dead. Because Dean Winchester let an angel infest Sam. What the hell had he been thinking? Then suddenly, nothing. She woke to a stale half eaten doughnut and two unmade beds. Chloe stayed in the motel for another day and night after Dean left, her mind leaving her with bigger and bigger questions and although it was blaringly clear this wasn’t just a particularly nasty hangover. She begrudgingly started to question her stability. Screw genetics.

January 21, 2014

Dean was getting to be too predictable, but he was on his own, which meant this rare window of opportunity was not to be ignored. Crowley kept a tail on the girl Dean left at the motel while he found himself a seat at the bar. Always the salesman, he let the juicy details of the penultimate weapon ooze from his mouth. After all the time he spent holed up in their basement, he was going to enjoy the game. All around the mulberry bush, the demon teased the squirrel.

Pierre, South Dakota

February 6, 2014

           “How you doing, Squirt?” CC leaned to look Sam in the eye as they shook hands.

           “Good, yeah, well, better,” Sam shrugged.

           “Man, I knew you were a magnet for the most extreme, but another Angel possession? That’s not something you forget. My Gran—”

           Sam cleared his throat as Dean stalked out of the precinct, notepad still in his hand. Relief evident as the line of questioning was interrupted, “So?”

           “Richard Evans, 58, healthy, died while shoveling,” Dean started. “But get this, he was frozen from the inside out.”

           “Same as the others,” CC added, not surprised.

           “Yes, but he had no beef with anyone. In fact, everyone loved the guy.” They walked to the Impala, CC following to slip into the backseat.

           “Okay, let’s start with the widow and then maybe find out more from the other families. Maybe there is a connection the locals missed?” her voice was smooth and to the point, but Dean tensed as he caught her eyes in the rear view mirror.

           “Yeah, sounds good,” Sam agreed. “We have enough going on, between the three of us it should be an easy close.”

           “Don’t say that man,” Dean sighed.

           “Wait, what else is going on?” Dean and Sam had a silent argument in the front seat as CC watched in mild amusement.

           “What Dean doesn’t want to tell you, Chloe, is that he decided to let Crowley convince him to get Marked by Cain. You know, the first murderer,” Sam snipped as Dean drove down the street.

           “You’re just jealous I didn’t bring you an autograph, Sammy,” Dean’s deflection fell on deaf ears.

           The story unfolded, the gravity of the situation and the unknown effects of the curse tossing you into a demonic tizzy. One the one hand, Crowley was free and ever present in the life of someone you wouldn’t leave be. On the other hand, an ancient primal evil now resided in Dean’s flesh, damning and devious, making you tremble with anticipation. CC was much more affected by the first hand’s affairs. Climbing out of the car, CC quickly caught up to the Winchesters on the sidewalk.

           “Dean, do you not fucking listen?! To any of us? I just told you to stop making deals with fucking monsters and what’s the next thing you do? Leave me in a motel to answer your Angel buddy’s concerns about Sam and grace tracking, only to follow it up by going on a hunt for an Old Testament villain, WITH the Goddamn King of HELL?!” She had a fair point.

“Alright, enough!” Dean glared at CC before heading into the victim’s house. “Look, you want to chew me out, fine. Not here, not now. We’ve got a case, when we have the time, you know where to find me. For now, zip it, Cease.”

If you had a jaw of your own, you would have been scraping it off the pavement. She had provoked him in a way you hadn’t seen, it sent your every nerve on fire. CC seemed almost as shocked as you were, a cold strip straightened her spine as she gaped back at Dean. He waited, chin hitching at the sudden silence. If he had more to throw at her, he held back, rapping his thick knuckles on the simple front door.

Sam quirked his head, brow pinched, and lips pursed. Even though he seemed to share your (and CC’s) sentiments, you really wanted to smack that look off his face. Luckily for every human involved, the vic’s wife answered the door.

***

Through some subtle hints and piercing glances, Dean ditched Sam for the afternoon. CC felt the heat of her anger and a pull from the power inside him, battle for her will. Some twisted judgement won bringing her to Sam and Dean’s motel room, after intentionally making Dean wait for it. Chloe knocked twice before straightening her shoulders to look him dead in the eye.

Dean’s wide palm rested against the door, barring her from entering. His heavy glare pinned her to the spot, a deep chill ran through her, clawing you awake inside her mind. Heat pinched at her temples, her body reacting as your lust fueled the fire that started within her veins. Dean watched, seeing the strain simmer in her eyes, contracting pupils and breaths giving him all he needed. The Mark was ruddy on his smooth skin, it taunted her; you longed to bite it. The fear elevated her senses as he leaned forward, his body heat hummed a forbidden melody. Menacing and meticulous.

He spoke to the door, his voice low and gravelly, eyes on the over-painted wood grain, “You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t?” she snipped back, head snapping to lock on to Dean’s darkening irises. Chloe regretted it instantly, because his lips were at her eye level instead. Dean snapped his tongue behind his teeth, licking his lips knowingly. She rolled her eyes, impetuous, while his whiskey and grease tinged breath straightened every hair on the back of her neck. She couldn’t hide the shiver, her eyes falling closed as she tried to roll the tension from her shoulders.

His amusement rumbled in his chest, the arrogance spreading her frustration across her face.

“But you want to.” Dean finished, looking down at her with a mix of playfulness and an unnamable glint.

“I’m not the only one,” she whispered once Dean’s warm lips fell on the gentle slope of her neck. He rocked his hips into her side, a hearty affirmation.

‘Bitch, do you hear yourself?!’ you balked. If she didn’t keep it together, you were taking over, this wasn’t a game. Her pornographic sigh brought you back to the surface, finding his hands now gripping her waist firmly as her hands worked his belt. In a frenzy of unfastening and some scrapping of nails, they freed each other from their clothing. She ached with want and as he led her down to the perfectly made bed, you took hold, locking her away with a single thought.

Everything was impossibly soft, except him. Dean was bulk and angles, hidden behind the smoothest of skin. His length dug into your stomach and as you felt him whole and ready in your hands at last, a visceral growl escaped your lips. He shifted, gripping your collar bone as his mouth popped open letting out the sweetest of gasps. You watched him hungrily, taking in each subtle reaction as you stroked him.

As much as you loved the show, it was time to find your seat. With a brush of your lips over his, you slid down his body, nails of your free hand leaving a delicious path down Dean’s heaving chest, stopping at his flat, yet soft stomach. Your knees fell beside his feet, and he finally opened his eyes to look down at you. His desire and reverence twisted in your gut, in attempt at averting them completely: you shoved down those thoughts that bordered on feelings.

You braced yourself against his thigh and began to drag your tongue from base to tip of his pulsing cock. When Dean hissed you repeated the motion, soon his massive hands were in your hair, pulling you closer without ceremony. You dragged your teeth over the path you had laid, and he loosened his hold, palms finding their way to rest on your shoulders, heavy and warm. You hummed in satisfaction and got to work.

His swollen head offered you a sample of his flavor, taking it with your tongue as your lips encased him.

***

Dean was trying to stay upright, his toes curled, digging into the floorboards as Chloe’s mouth pulled him into pure bliss. Her lips were strong and tongue sinful, lapping at the broad veins and channel along the underside of his dick. Her rough hand was nibble, cupping his sack with each bob of her head. Just as he slowly began to roll his hips to add to her rhythm, the softness of her mouth gave way to the burning drag of teeth, Dean pushed off reflexively. Her tongue tsking against her traitorous incisors.

She fell back on her heals, a menacing smirk settled on her face and she spread her legs wide. Fuck.

***

His eyes flashed, taking in your challenge, while staling along the glistening entrance you teased him with. Dean visibly swallowed, looked to the ceiling and swore beneath his breath.

“On the bed,” you said plainly, standing as he gathered himself. His distrust only deepened your resolve. He pursed his lips and looked down at you, in a jarring motion a firm arm pinned you to his chest.

It came out as a rumble against your ear, “Ladies first.”

Your neck rolled, exposing your throat to his hot mouth, body instinctively submitting to him, despite your every effort to control the situation. He took the opening and sucked forcefully against the sensitive muscles. He backed you into the bed, thighs hitting the mattress top and suddenly he was gone, releasing the vice like grip of his lips and his roaming hands in a calculated gesture. It was his turn to taunt you, he rubbed his long and reddened member as you debated your next move.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Dean moaned, want and frustration burning you with a mossy glare.

“Hey, you’re the one jacking off while there is a pussy wet and waiting right here,” you snapped, turning your back to him, climbing on to the bed. He didn’t disappoint. Dean grabbed your hips so fast you lost your breath. He bent you further, nipples brushing against the stiff comforter. His hand connected with your ass cheek as the opposite hand rolled his cock over your folds.

“Now that’s what I like to see,” his voice a delicious bark, as he placed his head at your aching entrance. Suddenly he thrust through, stopping before he sighed, “better than promised.”

Dean was large and forceful, every entry of his impressive length, stretching and working you from the inside out. He perched one leg on the bed behind your thigh, holding you down on the small of your back. The pressure grew as his weight pinned you in place. You melted into the fabric, the pleasure simmered in you as he hit his target over and over again. You moaned against the chill in the air, your exposed shoulders tingling against the fire that Dean stoked within you. Every sensation built on the last, your walls shook against him and Dean muttered his appreciation.

“That’s my girl,” Dean’s voice dropped into a groan as you pushed back, trying to reassert yourself. He pounded harder, his powerful hips slamming into your ass, his nuts slapping against your clit in the most audible of ways. The fluttering started before you felt the rush and soon you had fallen over the edge.

“Deeeeeeeeeaaannnnn-,” you warned, but it was too late. You clamped down on him, frozen in place. Unable to meet his ministrations or try to gain the upper hand. You had finished first, leaving him the self-righteous victor.

“That’s it, baby, you like that?” Dean’s fingertips dug into your side while his thumb bruised your ass, the bite of his short nails adding to the heat between your legs. “You’re not done here. Stay with me, C.C.”

Right, Chloe.

That’s who he was fucking, not you, not really. The maddening realization flooded you and you locked your arms, pushing him back on two feet. His cock twitched inside your core as he heaved with strain. With both feet back on the ground, you used only her natural upper body strength to balance against the bed, countering his every thrust. You fucked him back and the motion turned violent, your ass tender and clit throbbing with it all.

He landed a heavy palm on your unmarked cheek, clenching the meat between his thick fingers. You felt her clawing at your control, her name bringing her back to the forefront of her own thoughts. You grinned at her helplessness, letting her feel the burn of his cock inside your shared cunt, but not letting her see or speak. Not yet. You felt your eyes blacken as Dean huffed and let out a sob like moan.

“Fuhhhhhh-,” he almost whimpered, and as his hips locked you felt his finish coat your insides. It was thick and heady, you pitched up on your tip toes, his strong thumbs pulling your cheeks apart to watch his seed spill around his softening shaft. “Damn, that pussy takes me so good.”

You whined once he pulled completely out, the emptiness only sated by the juiciness of his spendings. You fell forward on to the bed, reveling in every spot he had marked and abused. She was going to be sore and you owed him for the reminders. His broad chest hovered above your back, his body heat radiating against your nakedness. His mouth was tender and soft, a telltale contrast to the beast you had just wrestled.

“Told ya,” you could feel his smirk against your skin.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” His chin rested on your shoulder, his face flush against your curtain of hair that had come lose.

“Good call, Tweedle Dean,” you quipped, clenching as he tickled your sides. Falling against him and the pillows, you kissed. It was short and almost timid after everything. But, all too soon he was excusing himself to shower, while you refused to move. Reveling in the freedom and the power shutting her way had granted you. She enjoyed it, loved the feel of watching him fuck her without being the one participating. It was a narcissistic form of voyeurism, you knew as well as she did. But you had also let her into your own thoughts.

Sharing on that level was dangerous. And so, you spent the remainder of the afternoon repainting her memories, reliving the events in her mind added another layer of arousal between your thighs. With eyes closed and mouth open, you feigned sleep, feeling his gaze the moment he left the bathroom. You thought of all the ways he would take you next, but her mental and physical exhaustion won out, and you let her slumber wash over you both.

Once Dean was cleaned and ready to get back to the case, he left. Meeting an annoyed Sam at the bar they had run into Chloe at the night before. He couldn’t keep the smug look from his face and Sam couldn’t keep the disapproval off of his.

Tags: @mogaruke @dontshootmespence @because-imma-lady-assface @mrswhozeewhatsis @smi727 @sassykayla255 @supernaturalboi @eve05glee @veroinnumera @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @fanfictionrecommendations-com @soullesscollection-world

Next Chapter: The Prick

[maraudersandlily20]

Enough

Remus felt as though all of the air in the room had been sucked out. His lungs contracted but could take in no new oxygen. Spots swam in front of his eyes and if there had ever been a time he had wanted to die, it was now.

“That’s not true,” He whispered, his voice hoarse. Moody looked apologetic, as if he wished he could take back his brash comments. But he couldn’t. The truth was suddenly out in the open, and Remus was clearly hearing it for the first time. He stood, swaying, as he got to his feet. His mind was swimming. The pressure against his ears made him feel like he was under water. He wished he was, instead of being there.

Remus staggered away from the group meeting, pulling out his wand, not sure what he intended to do. All he knew is who he needed to see.

“Potter! Grab the boy. I think he may lose consciousness.” Moody’s gruff voice seemed garbled, like Remus could almost hear it but not quite. Suddenly, James appeared in Remus’ eyesight, having heard the commotion from the kitchen.

“Moony? Are you alright?” Was there cotton in his ears, Remus thought. Why couldn’t he hear anyone right?

“I have to see him.” He said. James grabbed onto him, leading him out of the small cottage and into the fresh air. Feeling the oxygen surround him loosened the tension in Remus’ chest and he drew in his first deep breath in sometime. James’ hand was gently rubbing Remus’ back, try to soothe him, though he had no idea what had happened. Remus’ eyes found his friend’s. “I have to see him, James. I have to know if it’s true.”

“What are you talking about?”

He shook his head, closing his eyes against the possibility of it being true. “I… I have to see my father.”

James stared at Remus, watching as he tried, in vain, to calm his breathing and to stay up right. He had no idea what Moody had said to him, but it had rattled him more than James had thought possible. Seeing how determined he was, James took a deep breath. “Alright, Moony. We’ll go see your father.”

James pulled out his wand. He tried to recall every detail of his friend’s father’s home, and prayed that he would get them where they needed. Not knowing if Remus could handle the apparation alone, he wrapped his arm around his chest and quietly demanded that Remus hold on. He did.

The next moment, they were standing at the front of an old white gate that surrounded a small cottage, a vegetable garden, and a little fountain. James was grateful he had been able to get them safely there, though Remus’ state scared him more than he could admit.

Remus staggered forward, out of James’ arms, and pushed through the gate.

“DAD!” He yells, startling some birds on the roof. It was an eerie place in this lighting, James thought, when in the past it had always looked homely and warm. He followed his friend into the small yard.

Suddenly, the front door opened, and out stepped Remus’ father. James had only met the man a few times during their friendship. He was a widower and who didn’t much like visitors, Remus had always excused. James thought he looked exactly like a quiet, shy widower would. He wore a grey collared shirt and a tan cardigan with patches. Lily would have said he looked like a history professor. He was as quiet looking as humanly possible, and James wondered if he was even real.

Remus loved his father, greatly, and spoke very highly of his intellect and his kindness. But Remus was shaking, and he looked terribly upset.

“Hello, my light. I didn’t know to expect you, or I would have put on some tea.”

There was no answer from his son, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Remus stared at his father, trying to understand how this could have happened.

Lyall cleared his throat and smiled at James. “Hello, young Potter. A pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, Mr. Lupin.”

Lyall smiled. “Well, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

And then Remus found his voice. “Is it true?”

There was a stunned silence, and James gathered that Remus had never spoken to his father in such a manner. His voice was harsh and his words bitter, his shoulders looking so tense that it appeared as if he would simply snap.

“Is what true, my darling?”

“IS IT TRUE? Is it true that, just after my fifth birthday, you were called to a trial for Fenrir Greyback and spoke against werewolves? Is it true that your sheer bigotry toward an entire magical race fueled him forward in his decision to attack your only child and change him to what you hated? Is it true that the reason-” Remus’ voice cracked as tears spilled down his face. “The reason that I am what I am is because of you?”

Silence, again, as both James and Lyall soaked in that accusations that Remus had hurled so violently toward his father.

It was a painful silence, the one that was full of secrets and misunderstanding, of deceit and lies. The kind of silence that ruined people.

Lyall sighed, his face becoming crestfallen and the life appeared to be drained out of him. “Why don’t you both come inside and we’ll have some tea. We can talk about it.”

“I don’t want tea,” Remus spat.

Lyall looked up suddenly, a fire in his eyes that James did not think him capable of. “Nevertheless, Remus John Lupin, you will come into this house, you will sit down quietly, and you will listen to your father until I have said what I have to say. Do you understand?” They stared each other down until Remus huffed and pushed past his father into the house. James followed behind, a sheepish expression on his face, feeling the tension surround him as he walked through the door. Lyall shook his head and patted him on the back, letting him know he wasn’t at fault.

The three sat at the kitchen table, none of them looking at each other in the eyes. James, after some awkward seconds, stood to grab some water. He meandered into the kitchen and pulled a cup from the cupboard. And then he heard Lyall speak.

“I wish I could blame it all on them. Not the werewolves, mind you. I know better than to place the blame on them. I mean, “the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures”. They were a committee of talented men and I was one of the youngest among them.

“Your mother called it a great honor, which it was. She knew how hard I worked to be the top in my field. And I was receiving recognition for everything I had done, and it felt good. I got a well paying position in the ministry, I had colleagues who I respected, and I had you and your mother. By all means, the perfect life.”

He took a deep steadying breath and James walked closer, leaning against the kitchen counter, and studied the man. He looked as if he had aged 10 years just with those few sentences, and it dawned on James that Lyall Lupin had been carrying this painful secret, whatever it was, for a very long time. “I shouldn’t have even been on the committee, it wasn’t even in my field of study. They pulled us together because they needed experts and opinions, but they didn’t need singular opinions. The committee was created to discuss and interrogate a man who claimed to be a muggle. He had witnessed the murder of two muggle children by werewolves and our job as the committee was to understand why the wolves were provoked, and, more importantly, why they left this man alive.”

“He was a wonderful actor,” Lyall said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Quick on his feet with a silver tongue. He spun a marvelous tale of his terror, the bloody crime and his idea to hide himself. However, I knew a little better.

“I was never an expert on werewolves, and I still don’t claim to be, even after all I have learned. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew enough about werewolves that I knew they would have smelled him out, especially if they were in the blood-lust.” Lyall looked at his son for a moment. “I have seen first hand how blood-lust takes over wolves.” At this, Remus looked down at his scarred hands, his face darkening at some memory that James wasn’t partial to. It was too personal, too close to home, but it was too late to turn back now. Lyall continued. “His story didn’t add up with what we knew about werewolves and so I was thrown into doubt.

“And then, I started paying attention to his behavior. That meeting happened barely 24 hours before the full moon. The wolves always get twitchy before then. He couldn’t keep still, always bouncing his leg or tapping his fingers. Other members said that it was just him being nervous, having no idea that wizards existed, and suddenly being faced with the magical world. It’s enough to make any muggle nervous. But I could see it.”

The father reached over and covered his son’s hands with his own until Remus looked up at him. “As you grew older, Remus, it was clear that the wolf was gaining more control over your body when the moon came. You were always up and moving. It drove your mother mad. But you couldn’t stop yourself, almost like the wolf in you was mere seconds from breaking out.”

He paused, his eyes drifting to the back wall, becoming unfocused, almost as if he was recalling every small detail of the day, as if he could still see the man being questioned. He could look at it now through a lens of understanding, and compare what he knew now to what he had seen then. “It looked the same with him. And then, of course there were the scars. He claimed he had been in some freak accident as a child, but those scars…” Lyall quietly traced one of the scars that ran against the back of Remus’ hand. “They only come from ripping yourself apart once a month. And some were much newer than others.

“The last thing I noticed were the eyes. Werewolves eyes become more animalistic as the moon comes. They turn a bright yellow and get that reflecting ability that animals have. I noticed it and I was as far from him as possible.”

Lyall stood and turned away from them both, and James felt as though the moment of truth was coming. The accusations Remus had thrown at his father were serious, and James could feel that perhaps this was the moment that Lyall admitted to whatever horrible thing he had done. “I decided to speak up. We were going to obliviate him anyway, perhaps we should keep him in custody one more night. The moon was in 24 hours, and if he wasn’t a wolf, then no harm no foul. Better to be safe.

“They wrote me off. “Keep to yourself, Lupin” they said. “Stick to boggarts and sprites. You’re out of your depth when it comes to lycanthropy.” They were right of course, but they were all out of their depth as well. There was so much about lycanthropy that we didn’t know and keeping an updated log of active werewolves had fallen way down our list of priorities in that time. But, still. There were worries about the growing werewolf population.”

Lyall stopped and took a deep breath, hands buried deep in his pockets, before turning to face the both of them once again. His eyes were solemn and full of anguish. “I regretted the words as soon as I said them. I knew that they were wrong, that they were bred out of fear, prejudice, and a sense of superiority. I had grown up in a world where wizards were the top of the magical creature food chain and we had no time for creatures that killed and blew our cover. I had been raised in cruelty and that cultivated in me a hatred for anything that was different from me. I know better now, and if I could go back and change what happened, I would.”

“I said, in my arrogance and anger, that werewolves were inherently evil and only deserved death. Even as I said them, I knew they were wrong. But I had unleashed a fury in me that I never knew existed.”  He returned to his seat, clasping his hands tightly on top of the table, not able to look up at meet his son’s eyes. “ To be so prejudice against people for things they can’t control,” His words faded as he looked up, first at James and then to Remus. “That is what it means to be a coward.” His words held the conviction of lessons learned through experience.

“I wish I had seen his face. In that moment. I wish that the eyes of the room had been on him and not me. I can only imagine the disgust on his face at my words. For who was I to condemn an entire people to death? Who was I, indeed, than anything more than an angry wizard with prejudice bred into me. I would have hated me too.” He shook his head in disgust at his past self’s actions.

“I was escorted out of the committee and he was released. And by then, it was too late. He returned to his pack and they discussed the plan to ruin my life. To take from me the thing I loved most. You. It was simple research, really. They found where we lived, that your mother was a muggle, that you had just had your fifth birthday. They knew it all. And late at night, when we all had gone to bed, he broke into your room.

And he tried to kill you.”

The room around them was coated in silence at the words. James had no idea the circumstances of Remus’ transformation, but it was a horror story he never had thought he would have to deal with. He walked over to the table, finally leaving his place in the kitchen, and grabbed onto Remus’ hands, who responded in kind. Remus looked sick and his tight grip on his best friend made his knuckles turn white. After a moment, he took a steadying breath and looked back toward his father.

Lyall studied his son and must have seen in him some conviction, some determination to know the truth, because, for the briefest of moments, he smiled. “You screamed, of course. Months after, you were still sleeping in our bed, from the pain and the nightmares. How cruel to make so young a child experience that pain. I stopped him from killing you, but it didn’t matter. You were changed, and there was nothing we could do to help you except endure it.”

Lyall’s smile turned to one of regret. He wiped across his mouth, as if trying to remove a bitter taste, but he kept that sad smile. “You’re right, Remus,” he whispered. “It was because of me. I am the reason you are the way you are. It was because of my cruelty and my arrogance that you were targeted. Had I said nothing, had I just left it alone, this never would have happened to you. It is my fault. I am the cause of your pain.”

Remus couldn’t help himself. He reached his hand out and grabbed onto his father’s arm in a comforting gesture. Lyall patted his hand, looking that same kind of sad through a smile. He looked over to Remus, tears in his eyes. “So often I find myself thinking what I would do if I could go back. Back to that moment, when I said those awful words. I try to think what I would do differently. I wouldn’t yell or shout or try to expose him. If I could go back, all I would do is look that man in the eye, take his hand, and tell him I was sorry. So sorry, for everything he had endured, everything he had to go through. And I would beg for his forgiveness on behalf of a world that hated simply for being different. If I had treated him with kindness instead of cruelty, perhaps the world would not suffer as it does now.”

James was crying in earnest as the story reached its bitter conclusion and he could barely contain himself. The tears in Remus’ eyes were evident as well. It was a painful thing to hear, on all accounts.

“I am sorry, my light, that I have lied to you about it all these years. But I simply couldn’t be the reason for your pain. It hurt too much to watch you suffer as you did without wanting to kill myself. Having you hate me on top of all of that pain... I am not sure either you or I could have born it. You are right, Remus. I am the cause of all of this. And more. I have not been the kind of father you needed, despite all of my attempts to be so. And I am so sorry.” Lyall was staring into Remus’s eyes, his sincerity shining through as he gave the apology he had always wanted to give his son but never had had the courage to do so. Until now. “I hope you can forgive me. If not for being the cause of your pain, at least for being a coward. I just loved you too much to want to cause you additional pain. I see now that that was wrong of me. You deserved the truth. You still deserve the truth.”

It was silent as the words settled over the three men. The weight of the revelation was a great burden on all of them. Remus stood suddenly, avoiding his father in the eyes. “I need some air,” He said, trying to keep his composure. He walked quickly out the front door and stood, bent over, in the garden.

Lyall looked to James. “Check on him, will you? He needs someone now.”

James nodded, looking at Lyall with compassion. He couldn’t even imagine the feelings of guilt the older man must have experienced for so long. James made his way to the garden, stopping right next to Remus’ hunched over figure. There was silence between them, but the world went on. Noises of birds and crickets filled the air and the tall grass waved in the wind. Finally, James spoke.

“Why “my light”?” He asked.

Remus sucked in a deep breath before straightening himself. “My father loved taking me out to look at the stars during the new moon. I once told him the sky was prettier with the light of the moon. He disagreed and said “you are the most beautiful light here, my boy. You are my light.”” Remus chuckled, and James was glad to hear there wasn’t any bitterness in it. “He was always the sappiest of all of us.”

They stood side by side, admiring the rolling hills in front of them for a few moments. It was a peaceful day, almost like the world was showing them that it would keep turning, no matter what they learned there.

“I almost didn’t go to Hogwarts.” Remus said, his voice quiet. “There weren’t many options to keep Lycanthropy contained, and my father was worried that I wouldn’t be safe at school. He always made sure to emphasize that it was about my safety, never talking about any of the other students, though they should have been the worry. My father just cared about me. He had every intention to see my magical school through at home.”

“What happened? What changed?”

Remus smiled. “Albus Dumbledore himself arrived at our house and he and my father had a long discussion over two cups of tea about how they could make it work. How I could attend Hogwarts safely and keep everyone else alive in the process. Albus constantly assured him that they would take care of me and that the rest of the students would be safe and wouldn’t know anything of my condition. But my father…” Remus looked over at James, an identical sad smile to Lyall’s covering his face. “He said to the great Albus Dumbledore, “I’m not worried about the other students, Albus. We are discussing my son. That is all that matters to me.””

“Your father is a good man, Remus. He made mistakes, and he’s been paying for them all of his life. But he’s trying. You are his son and he loves you. Even I can see that.”

There was a moment and then Remus shook his head. “I’m not mad at him. Not really. And though the way he was raised should not be an excuse for his actions, I can understand why he said what he said. Underneath it all, I think he had good intentions. He just wanted to keep people safe. He’s always wanted that. It’s just… what he does.”

It was a strange moment, James thought. Remus seemed to be trying to wrap his mind around the onslaught of new information and James wasn’t sure how to help. There wasn’t really anything he could do. He had never been very good at comforting people before in situations like this. Sirius would be better support for him.

“Do you… do you want me to get Sirius for you?” Remus was already shaking his head before he even finished the sentence.

“No. He wouldn’t understand. And really, I’m not angry. I mean, a part of me is because he never told me. I had to hear it from Moody first, and no one should ever hear such big revelations from the mouth of Mad-eye Moody. But… then again, I understand why he didn’t. Growing up was never easy. My parents loved me more than I ever could have hoped for. I didn’t have to worry about being loved. We moved around a lot, to keep hidden, but I always had them. I was… content with my parents. If I had learned back then that my father’s prejudice against lycanthropy was the cause of my own disease... it would have become a tool of vindication and guilt. I would have used it against him to get what I thought I needed. But I didn’t know. All I knew was that I had a father and a mother who loved me very much and wanted to keep me and the rest of the world safe.” He ran a hand through his hair, breathing out. “He always wanted to keep me safe, James. He just… didn’t always go about it in the right way.”

“You forgive him?”

Remus looked back at his father’s house and shut his eyes. In that moment, he imagined what his life would have been like if this hadn’t been a secret. He imagined the arguments that would have happened and the distrust that would have ensued. And then he imagined a life where he didn’t forgive his father. How lonely the both of them would be now if Remus held on tightly to the anger that had brought him here. He hated what that looked like and knew it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Enough,” he whispered, walking back toward the house to find his father, to make things right between them once again.

[supersoldier-of-asgard]

Nodus Tollens (10/10)

•The realisation that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore•

Pairing : Bucky x HYDRA!reader (gender neutral) + Avengers

Summary : you’ve been practically raised by HYDRA and The Wintersoldier has been your idol, someone you looked up to. What happens when you’re send to kill him and get captured by the avengers? SLOWBURN

Warnings whole fic : language, detailed discription of fighting and blood, a whole load of torture, trauma and a lot of angst ( if you want me to add something then please message me!)

Warnings this part : detailed blood and torture, dead bodys description and revenge.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

masterlist

Somewhere between the clouds

“How long do we still have?”

“Like an hour at most,” Clint answered from his place in the control seat, flying the helicarrier through the darkning clouds of the sky.

“Alright. Once we’re there, remember to stick to the plan and go in and out as quickly as possible,” Steve ordered,” no heroic antics, no lone walkers and no sacrifices.”

Tony couldn’t help but roll his eyes,” says you.”

“Okay, don’t. We know this is probably a trap, so please don’t fight,” Natasha chimed in,” Barnes needs us.”

The place of realisation

Dawn slowly crept into the sky, the rain that had clattered with the rapid beating of your heart now quiet and serene.

Your eyes drifted over the exposed chest of the dreaming man that had calmed the rain both inside you and outside, the peaceful air that hung around preventing you from fully standing up.

His prosthetic stirred and whispered through the quiet night air, the neutrally calm expression on his face a stark contrast to the usual stern look that pulled at his features.

As you traced the curve of his eyelashes, your mind flashed to the first night you had seen him, writhing in bed with those eyes tightly pulled together to drown out the demons they had sowed in through the nerves when they had connected his metal arm.

A fire ignited within you, pain and fury tugging at your feet to make contact with the cold tile floor as you stood up and covered yourself once more in the suit.

You were going to end it. Once and for all.

Somewhere once called home

At times like this you wish you had your music with you, the soft beating of the drum a faint background soundtrack to the movie-like crime you were about to commit.

Low humming took its place instead, a familiar melodie swirling around your mind and flowing between your lips to immerse in the howling wind.

The knives between your fingers scraped against eachother as you watched like an owl how the guards surrounded the place you once belonged.

Not anymore. Not since you found a new home, a home where blue and silver were the colors of the walls and black curtains hung around the windows you hadn’t had in your old home.

You emerged from the shadows and flung your knifes with precision, the pointy ends meeting eyes and heads as they dropped dead with a whiny groan of pain.

More of them came alert, but you swiftly took them down without a sweat, a gun in each of your hands as they charged at you.

One pair of brown eyes flashed with realisation as he took in your face, a single moment of hesitation giving you space to take him down and snatch his keys before he could comprehend who you truly were.

Clearing the entrance, you face the gates that you had walked through so many times, your determined legs stepping over the bodys littering the floor.

The screech of the metal bars sliding across the floor fueled the fire behind your eyes, blinding reason and the future as you flipped more knives in your hands with every intention to shed as much blood as possible.

You stood still infront of one of the big metal doors, a quick whiff enough to know there were armed soldiers standing on the other side. You smile devilishly as you continue humming, the empty space resonating the flowing sound loudly and spreading an eerie air behind the doors.

You slowly open the doors, your eyes meeting with at least twenty other pairs, looking all too familiar and... freightened.

This was your home after all. They knew what you were capable of. They had seen you do this before.

Somewhere Bucky regrets to be

The distinction of closed eyelids and the ever consuming night is small, Bucky’s heightened vision clearing up slowly as his mind tries to fling out every possible memory he could muster into the air.

The first thing he realises is that he’s not home, this is not his bed, and he certainly doesn’t remember ever sleeping this well.

He gasped and shot up straight, his eyes tracing every inch of the room for your face but comming empty. He glanced at the beside and felt disappointment swirl through him once again as he’s left in the dust for the hundredth time. How he kept falling into this is beyond him.

He didn’t waste time as he flung his naked body out of bed, yanked on his clothes and shook the locked door off its hinges to leave. He ignored the strange looks he was given and asked for a phone, dialing the only number he had space for in his contorted mind to memorize.

“Steve? It’s me- Buck-“

“Bucky?! Where the hell are you?!”, Steve’s voice screamed, both in relief and frantic panic.

“I, uh, I don’t know. Some weird place outside the city-“

“We’ll- we’ll get you once we’re done, okay? We’re heading to one of HYDRA’s secret bases. Thank god you’re okay. I thought they had kidnapped you.”

“Well someone actually did,” he mumbled, trying to figure out where you could’ve went for godssake.” I want to come. I think my imprisoner is there, too.”

A sigh and some mumbling was heard through the line, the person which he lended the phone from awkwardly smiling at him as they made eyecontact.

“We’re apparently almost over the city, if you can come to the tower I think we can pick you up.”

He sighed exasperatedly, giving the person a pleading smile as he asked his next question.” Can I borrow some money, too?”

The eerie halls of HYDRA

The aching feeling shooting up your arms and legs went completely ignored as you flung yourself from wall to wall, bullets raining on the men before you as blood spews on your face.

The low humming whispering through the air fought with the last breath of the last man standing, fighting for their place to live. The hollow pair of eyes remained staring into nothingness, seemingly peering right through you.

You wiped your sleeve over your face, staining the black leather red as you continued down many more halls with determination. With every drop of blood, your vision stained more crimison. With every grunt and every body dropping to the ground, your movements became more out of control.

The calculated swiftness was gone, a vicious bruteness taking its place as every sense of pain and victory vanished with every slicing of a throat. You lusted for blood, the adrenaline pumping through your veins so ethereal that all else was a blur. You didn’t have to think, to pay attention to what you were doing to bring down every man on your way.

Panting with a murderous smile on your face, you stood in front of the door at the end of your red rainbow. This was the end, the moment you had waited for and the only thing standing between you and happiness.

You timidly raised your bullet induced leg, kicking the door off its hinges with not even all your force. It crashed against the opposite wall as bullets immediately flew your direction. You hid behind a wall as a stern voice barked orders, the doorway too small for two men to enter thus giving you advantage as you took them down one by one like a videogame.

When silence had stretched the whole facility, the monster of your dreams hiding inside as you lingered out, you whistled the tune you had learned when you were still a kid.

A slow step inside, and then another, and another as you continued whistling the song that had been imbedded in your brain for what felt like centuries. The frantic beating of his heart filled your ears like music, the shudder that flowed through him like a wave boosting your adrenaline as you lifted your eyes to lock onto his.

He was holding a gun in one hand, a device with a bright red button on the other. He was trying to compose himself, although his heart already told its tale. Your blood smudged face broke into a smirk as he cocked the gun, a serious look on his rimpled features.

“If you take another step, I swear to god, I will blow us both up.”

The hellicarier

Wet grass made sucking sounds under his boots as Bucky nervously glanced at the facility they just landed a few good feet away from.

It was quiet, the darkness redering them from seeing too far.

“I’m flying closer. Move slowly and wait for my word,” Tony spoke, slowly flying away as Steve led the rest foreward.

His heart was booming in his chest, Tony’s voice crackling through the comms and right through his train of thoughts.

“The guards are down, and so seem to be the rest of the first line of defense,” he hummed, intrigued but still puzzled,” I’m going in.”

“Wait, Tony-“

It all seemed so surreal. None of it made any sense to him, no matter how much Bucky thought about it. As the facility started to clear, a shudder raked through him like a wildfire, memories of torture and imprisonment washing over him with a shaky sigh.

Steve was too busy rushing after Tony to notice, and Bucky was glad he didn’t. He wouldn’t be able to explain why he didn’t want to go inside, scared of the scene they were just about to encounter.

“Shit.”

An understatement, Bucky thought. A see of bodys littered the ground, knives plunged in painfully ruthless areas and surging vomit from within him. They had to step on them to pass, wincing and keeping eyes straight to not witness the blood seeping out eyes and mouths.

It seemed never ending. Every door they opened lead to another horrifying scene, each group murdered in a different and more ruthless way than the other. It was clear that whoever did this lost complete control.

They all could guess who it was, the knives sticking out of throats similar to the ones they had obtained from you a week ago. Motives were still unclear, although Bucky might have an idea.

He hoped and prayed you changed. That you murdering your fellow agents was a sign of your rebellion against them, and that you were on your way to kill the head of it all. Bucky didn´t know who the man was, and it hadn’t struck him before now that this must be the place that you grew up in. The same space he had been kept in for a short time considering his long life and many movings.

How had you not encountered eachother? If they knew how much you admired him, why not give you the opportunity to meet him or even see him?

“It’s here,” Natasha announced, causing all to stand still and look around the crimison walls.

“Uh.. can you be more specific?”, Clint piped up, scrunching his face as he heard crunching from under his feet. He stepped way, only to step on another body and earning him another echoing crushing sound.” fucking disgusting!”

“Shut up, Clint-“

“Found it,” Bucky sighed, eyes landing on the small musicdevice poking out of one of the pockets of the men that offered their lives to HYDRA. It was splattered with blood, but still in one piece.” What now?”

“..walk further,” Steve ordered, not flinching as the body beneath his feet moved from the pressure of his weight, the cracking sound awefully defined by the hollow walls of the filled room.

A couple hallways away

“Do it. I dare you.”

His wrinkled thumb lowerd slightly, but as it almost touched the button, he retreated it with a yell.

“I give you one last chance to leave, soldat! I swear on my grave that I will blow us to pieces!”

You chuckled, taking a step foreward. He pressed the trigger of the gun in shock of your movement, but it easily past by you by both his lack of aim and your swift step to the side.

“You care too much about your life to do this,” you coo’d,” oh, I know it all too well.”

“Get back!”, he screamed,” I fucking raised you! You have no right to-“

You cut him off by slamming your hands on the wooden desk, breaking it slightly as you leaned on it and got closer to his face.” I have every right to do what I’m doing. You ruined my life and his.”

He pressed the button, scrunching his face to a ball of prune, but snapped his eyes open as he heared your devilish laughter. “ You would never dare harm yourself. You would harm anyone— a little kid without a thought— but not yourself.”

You swatted both the gun and button out of his hands, gripping his collor and yanking him close to your face.” I was a kid. At most 10 years old, when I learned what it felt like to be burned alive. You don’t do that to a kid.”

“You had extraordinary talents for such a young age.”

“Brave for you to still talk this way when your life is in my blooded hands,” you whispered, releasing one hand to gently stroke his cheek, trailing a stripe of blood down his scruffy beard,” and when I’m so tempted to make you.. extraordinary, too.”

“Why now?” He hissed, seemingly swallowing his high squeek,” all those years of torture and not once did you fight back. Why now?”

Your eyebrows relaxed, millions of thoughts flooding your brain as you gave him a pat on the cheek.” I guess someone finally managed to break me the way you never could,” you whispered.

His eyes followed your every move as you pried in one of your pockets, revealing a small object and bringing it up to his face. A screw, small but long gleaming in the yellow light as his brows furrowed in anticipation.

“I found this in my suit yesterday. It was in my pocket, bloody and slightly crooked,” you continued whispering, eyes not leaving the screw as you twisted it in the light.” You know what this is?”

Before he could answer, you yanked him to the ground with all the force you had left. His head slammed next to his desk, a strangled gasp caught in his throat as he pushed out a groan.

You sat over him, the screw hovering between his eyes.” The forgotton screw. I found it in my back after my session. You wanna know how?”

He rapidly but barely shook his head in response, not being able to keep his eyes off the metal object between your fingers.” I tried to sleep after they had pulled out all fifteen they had hammered in my back to make me extraordinary, but in my moments of pain I must have not counted clearly. The moment my back hit the matress, it sunk so deep in my back that I couldn’t take it out.”

The pointy end lightly scraped over his head, a white line trailing up his nose.” I spend the whole night trying to pluck it out with my bare hands,” you whispered, putting a little pressure and elicting a yelp,” and I kept it. As a souvenir. I didn’t know why, back then, but now I’m glad I did.´´

With one quick motion, you lifted the screw into the air and plunged it in his eye, a gut wrenching scream heard through the whole facility, the dead even flinching in horror.

 All heads seemed to turn simultaneously, Steve the first to react as he sprinted over de bodys to the source of the scream. Bucky followed soon after, his hair whipping in his face as he tried to control his breathing.

He didn´t know if he was relieved that the scream didn´t belong to you, or that he was terrified of what you were doing that elicted such a yell. He knew they probably deserved this, but at what emotinal cost?

They didn´t have to kick the door open, as it was already shook off its hinges and thrown across the room. His eyes landed on the body first, once eyes now mere black holes as scarlett seeped from them like a waterfall, mouth ripped by the edges as it strechted like a grin. The most horrifying thing above all, was the ragged breathing pushing past the blood, eyesockets pleadingly staring at them from their hollow space and sending a chill through Bucky´s spine.

Then, when he could tear his eyes away from the sickning sight, he was met with eyes filled to the brim with plain craze. He impulsively leaped from his space, brushing past the rest as he pulled you up from over the man and fell to the ground in frantic sloppiness. He cradled your motionless figure as his eyes found the dying body again, memories flooding his mind of the identification of the eyeless puppet. He was one of the men that had tried to find Bucky´s weaknesses by torturing him, convinced it would make him stronger. It never did.

After a long-stretched silence, your arms twitched at your side and lifted to embrace his chest. He held on tighter, trying to compose himself as a sob begged to escape his lips and fill the awkward air.

You pressed yourself against the warmth, a smile starting to form your lips as you focused on the heartbeat of your home. The blinding rage was slowly dripping from the edge and fading away into the blood on the ground, the adrenaline that had drummed in your veins washing away to leave you exhausted and drained. 

´´Bucky,´´ Steve softly whispered, crouching down next to them as his brain wrecked havoc to make sense of the situation and the next. He didn´t answer, burrying your face into his shirt as the blood stained his fingers. He payed no attention, closing his eyes to hear the steady breathing that left your lungs to calm him down.

It was silent again, deafning and consuming, till you breathed out a melody, humming one of the only songs that brought happiness. Happiness, the only feeling you alowed yourself to feel at this moment. Happiness and longing, longing for the future. Longing for the man that rested his chin on your crown, shielding you with his arms as you took in the scent that lingered upon him.

The plot of your life finally made sense again.

THE END

-

A/N : wow. This was it, guys. the last chapter of my first series. It has been so much fun writing this and changing course every other chapter to the point I forgot to lead to the plot. If you have questions, please ask! 

What do you think about the ending? Is it a happy one?

did you notice I put Bucky´s trigger words in every chapter, but in reverse? It´s supposed to be symbolic for the readers journey where instead of turning bad like Bucky does when he hears them in the good order, she turns (arguably) good with the reverse of it, reversing the damage of the triggerwords :) 

tags

@mariana-cb  @unicornsxfandoms @marydragneell @alilblogger @alt-er-love-er-alt

[fefiction]

ooh OOOH THE STAGES OF LOVE KILLED ME!!! Could we please get one for Xander??? I'd honestly melt 😍

Xander Stages of Love

Thirsty Note: Ienjoy stages of love stuff. It’s really cute and super fun to write tbh.

Attraction:

Xander doesn’t realize at first how much he has fallen forthat person, but when he starts to take notice of how often his gaze shiftsover to them, or how his heart uncharacteristically starts beating faster, orwhen he feels a warmth sprout from his cheeks when they make eye contact, herealizes that he is indeed in too deep.

Xander is at a loss for what to do when he realizes hisattraction. He knows he has responsibilities as the crown prince of Nohr, buthe can’t help but want to drop everything and run away with them. He quicklyrealizes that he is far too deep and he should probably do something about hisattraction but he is just so damned nervous.

Xander is a super softie towards this person, he just can’thelp himself. He feels himself falling more and more for them every day andthat only adds fuel to the fire burning within him. He feels at any secondhe’ll burst out his feelings, and the thought terrifies him.

Xander finds himself daydreaming at important meetings orduring training. His thoughts will wander to their smiling face, their sweetlaugh, to their body and the prince will stop dead in his tracks with thefaintest hint of a blush on his face. It further mortifies him when he realizesthat he just can’t help himself.

Xander falls for every small detail about them. He falls fortheir smile, their laugh, the way their hair blows in the wind, the littlequirks he has come to realize. He becomes completely enveloped in them.

Confession:

Xander knew it was time to confess his feelings when hisduties started to lack. While the thought of confessing terrified him, he knewthat he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

He isn’t the most… suave… when it comes to the confession.Let’s face it, while Xander is a fearless and terrifying man on the battlefield,when it comes to love he’s a big softie. He finds himself nervous and fidgety,and even though he wanted his confession to be romantic and elaborate… it justwasn’t. His face flushed, he stumbled across his words and his hands shook andafter he uttered the words a complete silence washed over them. It wasn’t untilhe realized he was staring at the ground did he look up to see the shocked, yethappy smile on their face and as soon as the two made eye contact they acceptedhis confession. Xander nearly shed a few tears when they flew into his arms.

Afterwards, Xander quietly asked them to keep that moment tothemselves because he knew if his siblings found out he wouldn’t hear the endof it.

First Date:

Xander is a big romantic fool. He wanted their first date tobe as romantic and memorable as he could possibly make it. It was all he couldthink about, no matter where he was or what he was doing he was going overideas in his head (and that resulted in quite a few training injuries).

Xander first decided he should go out and gather someflowers, as he’s read that is a common practice in first dates. (Yes, Xanderswallowed some pride and asked Leo to borrow a few book on romance to which hisbrother provided with a grin. He’s never going to live that down).  

Xander stresses over every last detail in the date heplanned, making sure the flowers he picked are arranged tastefully, the dinnerhe had prepared hot and ready, himself, presentable. When they finally arrivedto the dining hall where Xander was awaiting them, their eyes immediatelyfilled with tears. He had gone all out, the flowers, the food, the candles he’dplaced on the table, it was better than they would have imagined. Thankfullyfor Xander the night went on without a hitch.

First Kiss:

The first kiss took entirely too long to come, but it waswell worth the wait. After the first date the two spent as much time as theycould together, but with Xander being the crown prince, he had many duties toattend to. The nights they did get to spend time together, he felt the momentwas never right and kept his s/o waiting for that first magical kiss to come.

The night it happened was the first night Xander had tohimself in weeks, and the two were curled up in his quarters, content withspending some time together. Xander was idly talking about the tasks he hadtomorrow, and the situation with the army when his s/o leaned up and kissed himin the middle of his sentence. Xander was shocked but melted into the kiss andthey didn’t part for quite some time. When they did finally pull away from eachother, Xander pulled them into his arms and they chuckled said ‘I just couldn’twait anymore’.

There were plenty of kisses to come after that.

First Time:

It took the two some time to become intimate for manyreasons: Xander was constantly busy, and boy was he nervous for it. There was apart of him that hungered for his s/o, a raw, lustful power lurking beneath himbut that was overpowered with nerves. The dull ache he would feel every time hesaw his s/o was replaced with pure anxiety. He wanted nothing more than toscoop up his s/o and take them away to his bedroom, but he wanted to ensure thenight would be special, and that he was truly prepared to take them all theway.

The first time with Xander is everything his s/o expected.He was gentle, soft and loving, taking is time easing himself into his s/o. Hemade sure to savor every moment he possibly could with them, memorizing theshape of their body, the sound of their voice, the spots that made them tremblewith pure want, all of it he committed to memory. Xander does everything in hispower to make sure that he is enough for his lover, and he definitely delivers.

After the first soft and sweet time together, Xander letshis beast out, absolutely wrecking his lover up in the process. Of course, hefollows an intense night of love making with a heavy cuddle session afterwardsfilled with kisses and whispered ‘I love you’s’.

Proposal:

Like everything with Xander, the proposal came later thanpeople expected. Everyone wanted him to take up a queen for Nohr, and while hehad every intention of proposing to his s/o, he never felt the timing wasright. He wanted everything to be perfect for that special moment, with himbeing a big softie and all.

Xander plans the whole proposal out himself, wanting it tocome from his heart. He goes out and buys the ring himself, making the sellervow to keep his secret, as he wants this to be a private matter between him andhis soon-to-be wife.

The proposal itself isn’t anything overly elaborate, theonly thing he wanted was to be up on the balcony of a Nohrian castle at night.He brought his s/o out to look at the stars, and when they were enveloped inthe night sky, he got down on one knee. The one thing he didn’t plan was whathe was going to say, but he let the words flow out of him easily and from the deepestpart of him. When his lover said yes to his proposal, a soft smile graced hisface and yes, maybe just a few tears were shed in happiness. The very next day,it was announced that Nohr had a new Queen.

Marriage:

Married life with Xander is just as sweet as one wouldexpect. He is gentle, kind and caring, and he always makes sure his loversneeds are met. While he can definitely get busy with tasks for Nohr, he alwaysmakes sure to set some time aside to be with his lover.

Xander likes to spend the first few months of the marriage completelywrapped around his lovers finger, but soon he starts the talk of a family. (itdoesn’t help that Camilla wants a little Xander running around).

Whenever the two are together, all of Nohr can see how muchlove is shared between the two. It is painfully obvious when Xander looks athis s/o and his eyes go soft and a smile graces his stern face. Even throughtheir old age, Xander still gets that goofy, love-struck look on his facewhenever he sees his lover.

[itslovewithyouthings]

Lustful Longings by Maggie Adams The Widow finds exactly what she desires in he… http://bit.ly/2UTYeB7

Lustful Longings by Maggie Adams The Widow finds exactly what she desires in her lover and is determined to keep him at all costs. Out Feb 13th Lustful Longings by Maggie Adams Follow the blitz and enter to #win a $10 Amazon gift card or one of five digital copies of Lustful Letters! a Rafflecopter giveaway Title: Lustful Longings Author: Maggie Adams Series: Lustful Trilogy #3 Genre: Womens Erotica Release Date: February 13. 2018 Length: 76 Pages Blurb: I have found my dream lover and appropriately his name is Morpheus. He has shown me how to be truly free in my sexuality; to trust another human being with my deepest desires; and to love without reservation or fear. We have a true power exchange when we play no we do not play we live! Our lives and our sexual lifestyle have evolved so that one constantly compliments the other. I cant imagine a happier more fulfilling life. Then my world tilts on its axis. Reality returns with a vengeance. My lover becomes ill and I find myself fighting for my former happy life. Morpheus is ambivalent to his fate. He is more concerned with my future happiness without him. His abhorrence to leave me a Widow again alone and afraid leads him to formulate a plan to send me into the arms of another man. But his desperate longings to see me in passions embrace make him take the role of a cuckold. He has picked the man to help me if he should not survive but its a double-edged sword as he forces himself to watch me falling deeper into the arms of the man he has chosen to replace him in all ways. My guilt and longing for this man sends me to seek the help of an old friend. While I am welcomed with open arms the lovely Bianca has plans of her own. In the end it is up to Morpheus to either release me into the arms of new lovers or allow me to ease his Lustful Longings in a new way. Find out more at: Goodreads | Amazon Excerpt One: I lounge upon the chaise sipping sparkling champagne as the New Year begins. My lover is poised on the tufted velvet arm his fingers gliding along the exposed skin of my collarbone. The mirrored walls reflect the beauty of our surroundings and the people within. The chandeliers twinkle brightly near the mahogany ceiling the gilt and glamour of the 1920s permeates this particular party and yet the myriad collection of apparatuses for bondage pain and pleasure take up most of the room. A surrealistic interpretation of the predilections (or perhaps peculiarities is a better word) of the Master of House. And here we sit in the middle of it all my lover and me. He is adorned in the requisite tuxedo it is a formal affair after all with the only nod to the true nature of this gathering a slim crop in his hand. He told me he really should have a walking stick to complete the outfit but I wasnt quite ready for that type of fun yet. While he was the epitome of formal elegance I on the other hand was resplendent in a red satin Merrywidow with black lace overlay and pretty red bows fastening the finest silk stockings that encased my legs. Black opera gloves covered my hands and arms pearl bracelets and ruby rings adding charm. The large ruby and gold earrings that swayed when I turned my head and the diamond clip that held back my hair were the real thing. My Master was a generous man and wanted everyone to know it so for me it was jewelry; for others it was a simple offer to one and all to sample the delight he was privileged to call his own. So I sat with him the corset pushing up my breasts until my nipples tipped the edge of lace and allowed strangers to rub or pinch the raspberry perfections that my Master tasted every night. I didnt mind. There was something quite exciting about another man or woman touching me while my Master looked on. It stirred the recklessness within me and made our love play more explosive. I smiled to myself and took a sip of the champagne. If the folks back home could see me now. They would raise scandalous eyebrows to the ceiling send prayers for my sinful ways in the Sunday sermon and whisper of the Merry Widow at the local Moose club. All would be filled with righteous indignation that someone like me had ever graced their idyllic community. I parted my legs on the chaise as my Master requested the warm air hitting my nakedness. The scent of my arousal permeated the air while a woman tentatively touched my slick labia. Yes the old town would be in an outrage at my debauchery. Especially if I ever published my dear diary. More specifically if I didnt change the names to protect the not-so-innocent of their town within the pages of my sexual journal. Thats right; although many wore masks to the dungeon parties I knew who each member or guest was. After all my Master owned the most exclusive club in town. I sighed as a wave of pleasure coursed through me while the young woman licked her fingers. I raised my glass as her companion shouted To the Widow and her Morpheus! You make all our dreams come true! Excerpt Two: My hand caresses your neck my lovely widow drawing you in for a kiss and I suck your lower lip between my lips possessively and suggestively kissing you lightly then with more passion. Your kisses inflame me! My heart is pounding. I feel your lips so firm and unyielding and I melt. Yes! This! This is what I need so desperately. To be cherished adored caressedYour hand slides down the small of my back lingers on my bottom then pulls me toward you sliding me onto your lap where your arousal for me is evident… I suck your tongue into my mouth in appreciation for the tender caress and feel my head swirl in amorous intoxication. Mmm kisses the brush of your fingertips along my throat the taste of your skin on my tongue…. Do you feel the surge of arousal pumping through my veins as we begin to touch? Yes! I feel your need and I wiggle a bit to fuel the fire knowing the dampness between my legs is caused by you how you kiss me touch me desire me….it adds to my need for you. Ahh my breath hitches my stomach clenches as your fingertips glide igniting the fire along my skin. Our lips meet again and we are transported to the place where desires are like wishes granted; fulfilled at the touch of lips the subtle shifting of bodies the tender gazes of lovers entwined. I am impatient for more and yet I don’t want this moment to end…. Kiss me again and again! For there is only the moment and the two of us. You are everything to me Morpheus. I waited for his next text. It never came. After a few moments I sashayed into the living room naked of course because that was the way he liked to see me at home. I saw him sitting in the chair looking out over the ocean. Sweetheart? I approached with a laugh. I want more than texts and kisses you know. We cant role play if you dont play. It was then that he turned his head his mouth curled down and drooping. The vacant look in his eyes was chilling. Mama? With horror I grabbed the phone from his limp hand and dialed 911. About Maggie Adams:Maggie Adams is an Amazon Best Selling contemporary romance author. Her first book in the Tempered Steel Series Whistlin Dixie debuted in Amazons Top 100 for Womens Fiction humor onNovember2014. Since then she has consistently made the Amazon best seller 5-star list with Leather and Lace Somethings Gotta Give and Love Marriage & Mayhem.She is also the recipient of the Dayreader Reviews Best New Series Award for 2015. Her series has launched the tiny town of Grafton Illinois into International recognition with sales in Mexico Ireland Scotland Australia and the UK.Back home she resides in the Midwest with her high school sweetheart Ned and their children Katie (Kyle) and Ross (Valerie) and first granddaughter Lorelei otherwise known as The Boss You can connect with her online at: Website|Facebook|Twitter|Amazon|Goodreads|Instagram|Pinterest|BookBub

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Lustful Longings by Maggie Adams The Widow finds exactly what she desires in he… http://bit.ly/2UTYeB7

[hellagaymccree]

Mi Rey

Something that has been sitting in my files for a while now. In which Jesse knows just what to say to make Gabriel weak at the knees. Some soft praise sex?

Sorry for any mistakes or if Jesse’s talk is too much.

------

He had heard stories of war as he grew up. Saw images that burnt in the back of his little skull. He witnessed death at first hand and saw victims falling. He also saw heroes rise from the ashes and wreckage war left behind. He would see them reaching out to grab civilians by their pleading hands. Somehow they always managed to look good, even with sweat, dirt and blood on their uniforms.

There was the blond, blue eye poster boy. His smile bright as the sun that rose every morning for many thanks to his help. His aim was sharp, hitting targets like a madman. There was the Egyptian beauty, skin brown as tourmaline, shining like copper after a heated battle. And hair black as the void her enemies saw after a shot to the head from her riffle. Jesse saw many posters of them on the streets. People called their names like gods and planted flowers in adoration.

Jesse McCree had no time for heroes when he was on the other side. Jesse wouldn’t take his hat off for anyone. Wouldn’t say a word when his Deadlock accomplices defaced posters or statues made in the honor of Overwatch. He would even spit between the blue eyes of Jack Morrison and he would do it if he would be standing in front of him in person.

But there was one hero he didn’t notice until later on. Until the crisis was over. Jesse saw him behind Morrison, he caught him in recordings, walking amongst the shadows and between the crumbling buildings. He walked between that thin line Morrison would hardly be seen touching. He waited for death with open arms. He stood ready with two shotguns on each hand. He would take shot after shot. Moved swiftly between the smoke as his eyes locked in a target.

If Jesse admired anyone, it was Gabriel Reyes. He walked like a god amongst men. Named after an angel, spared those who were worthy. Jesse never thought he would be worthy enough to fly under his wings. He saw Gabriel as his king, with golden skin and iron fists. Someone to sing acclamations to and write poetry about. He moaned his name like a prayer, caressed his body with praises and kisses every inch of warm skin.

Jesse never imagined he had the power to get such hero on his knees.

“Darlin’,” his velvet voice drawls as his right hand brushes Gabriel’s hollowed cheek.

Gabriel’s eye are almost demonic. Pitch black and filled with lust, starring right into Jesse.

“Always so warm n’ good fer me.” Jesse grins with half lidded eyes at his lover. “Ye look beautiful on your knees fer me. Those soft, pillow lips always make me feel light as air.” A shuddered breath escapes his lips when his cock twitches in Gabriel’s mouth. “That tongue of yers is not just to write sins on my skin. Look at you, a hot mess. I love the feel of yer skin under my fingertips. I can feel you shivering under my touch. Yer muscles trembling to the sound of my voice. Oh, Gabriel, Gabriel.”

As if he was luring him into a trap, Gabriel obeys his calls. He springs forward and catches Jesse with his lips. They kiss like they need the other’s air to breath. Jesse allows Gabriel to devour him. He would let this man ravish him until there was nothing left.

“Jesse, please,” Gabriel purrs between their kiss.

Jesse smirks before moaning to his own taste on Gabriel’s slick tongue. “Your pleas are melody to my ears, sweetheart.”

Jesse knows how weak his words make Gabriel feel. His commander drinks them up like cold water on a hot day. He takes them like a remedy for a fever that never ceases. Jesse is a drug for him, too addictive to quit after months of overdosing.

“Yer built from stone n’ marvel. Yer bones are forged from iron. Gold runs through your veins. And yet I can make you break with a single touch.” Gabriel growls before he starts kissing down Jesse’s neck. He nibbles on his cinnamon skin and tastes soap. Jesse’s natural musk has vanished for now, but Gabriel still inhales his cool, minty scent.

“Everyone sees you like the big dog, the badest man on the planet. But look at you, almost kissing the ground I walk on.” A laugh growls in Jesse’s chest. “Hungry for my cock like it’ll safe your life. Thirsty for my words; you drink them like wine. I can taste myself on your tongue later. I can feel you still crave more of me, angel.”

Gabriel has reached Jesse’s hips. He keeps kissing clean skin and over old bruises his colossal fingers left nights ago. His thumb press on the same spot, repainting them.

“Yer as beautiful as a painting. I wish to have been the brush used to color your skin. I wish I had been there to carve the jewels in your eyes.” His cock is taken by Gabriel’s mouth again and he moans in weakness. “Ya know damn well what you do t’ me. And you adore to hear it. You love hearing what your body does to me. I can feel yer lust all over you, smell yer devotion. Yer falling apart so quickly, I can hardly hold you.” ---- Gabriel rides Jesse with ease. He sways his hips forward with delicacy and exhales moan after moan. His eyes are shut, but his ears pick up every sound that comes out of Jesse’s mouth. Especially his sweet words that make his skin crawl in euphoria.

Jesse keeps his eyes open to watch the way Gabriel moves on top of him. He uses his fingers to travel over every line and curve of his commander’s body. He trails every scar and bruise he comes across, adds pressure to the purple spots. “Yer gorgeous,” Jesse sighs. “Been thinking of ya since yesterday. You move like a shadow in the battlefield. Yer hands know where to go before you turn. I felt yer bullets hitting my chest; you left me breathless, Gabe.”

Gabriel’s head falls back as he shivers. Jesse’s hands rests on his hips, keeping him in place, keeping him still. “Those legs of yours are hard as stone, yet move like feathers over quaking grounds. Yer skin glazed with sweat and the sunlight outlining your profile perfectly. You were as incandescent as the sun itself, darlin’. I could be blind n’ still find my way to ya.”

“J-Jess,” Gabriel mumbles.

“Ye don’t just glow, you burn around me like pure fire. I can see the flicker of flames in your gorgeous brown eyes. I can see them forging the topazes I dream of at night. Don’t ever close your tantalizing eyes on me, Gabe. Don’t take away a man’s treasure.”

Obeying his wishes, Gabriel opens his eyes, but the pleasure weights down on his eyelids. He sees Jesse in a blur, through his dark eyelashes. He wants to answer, say something back, but Jesse words leave his throat clogged and his chest clenching. His lungs are ablaze, flames brushing his heart and starting sparks in his stomach.

Jesse sits up and wraps his arms around his lover. Both sing an ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ in harmony to the lust. Jesse caresses Gabriel’s cheek with his cool prosthetic hand and watches how his commander shivers and hisses lightly to the touch. He catches the power it takes for Gabriel to keep his eyes open on his.

“More, Jesse.” Gabriel orders and Jesse smiles.

“Love it when you order me around, Gabe. Gets my heart racing and I feel like I can take on the world. And you know this, don’t ya? I keep your voice locked in my head when I need to fight. You fuel me, I lose my damn mind. There ain’t a gunshot loud enough to silence yer harsh voice.” Jesse rubs his nose against Gabriel’s chin as he growls. “Sometimes I ain’t sure if yer the gasoline to my fire, or is the other way around. I feel unstoppable by yer side, honey.” His arms tighten around Gabriel and the older man thrusts down harshly, making Jesse groan and then smile. His canine teeth contrasting the darkness of the room.

“Yeah, fuck into me like I’m the devil itself and you want my throne. Do your greatest sin to me and I’ll hand you the crown, mi rey.” Jesse rambles on with his head spinning under the influence of passion and the aroma of lust.

[ecotone99]

[MF] Seasons of the Gunslinger

Genesis 1:3 And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

Sun-baked, sun fried, sunburned, sun destroyed. Just another goddamn day in the sun. Jesus, will this sun ever go down?

Finally the sun dips below the horizon and that ball of fire gives me the rest I’ve been hoping for. I give a tug on the reins and my horse stops.

My left hand removes my hat and my right works through my sweaty hair. A deep breath of the already cooling air fills my lungs. For the first time in many hours I really look at the country I’m passing through and appreciate its beauty. The rocks, covered with colorful lichen, poke out through the bluish sagebrush. Low juniper trees outline the washes and draws that work through this mesa like veins.

Ahead, I spot my campsite for the night. A low ridge about a mile off to the south. Ought to be some wood there and the orientation of the ridge should block the wind if it kicks up. I'll also have a great view of my back trail. Not that I am expecting pursuit but I will have plenty of good light for an hour or more anyway.

There is a cluster of large sandstone boulders that will shield the fire and a small patch of cheatgrass for my horse. My gun belt and hat are set to the side to take full advantage of the cooling air. The horse gets a rub down and then a small fire heats a large cup of water. I drop a chunk of hard tack and another of jerky in the boiling water. I eat this poor man’s soup as I watch nightfall cover my back trail. When full night arrives, I douse the fire and rinse the cup.

Time to lean against a rock and listen to the night. It is finally cool and my eyes drift closed.

I am not jerked awake. I’m just suddenly aware that I am awake. My eyes open and I see the waning gibbous moon splashing it’s silver light over the open plain. I am aware of my horse and can hear it breathing as it dozes.

I’m aware of something else. I am no longer alone.

My hand snakes out for the Walker Colt in its holster and the large pistol swings up. It settles on the dark apparition that sits against a boulder, some ten feet away.

The shadowy figure doesn't flinch. It does not react at all.

I wait. I have found it wise that when you’ve done what you need to do, waiting is the best thing to do next. It is also the hardest thing to do.

The silence stretches. I notice that it is now truly silent. A normal night, with its bugs and beasties, hums with life and quiet sounds. Now there is a true deep silence that is so rare in the natural world.

It seems odd that I can’t see the face of the figure. In the light of the moon I can see most things. This shape seems to swallow all light.

I wait.

The man-shaped thing waits.

“Alright, stranger, what brings you to my camp?” I guess I lose this waiting game but I’m still the one with the pistol.

Smoothly, the figure leans forward. Just for a moment, the hatless figure is just blackness and burning eyes. Then, as if it is moving out of a shadow that does not exist, I see fine, delicate features. Those eyes, they burn above an angelic smile for just a breath and then they resolve to a perfect black. The smile holds and I confirm my suspicion that this is a man.

“You called and I am here.” The smile remains as he speaks.

“I believe you're mistaken, friend. I’ve been actively avoiding folk for quite some time now. Can’t think of man nor beast I’d call to me.” My voice stays as steady as I would like, mostly.

“I have been called a beast, The Beast actually.” The smile seems to stretch even further, although it doesn’t seem possible. He chuckles a bit then and leans back. “And I suppose I am often mistaken for a man.”

“Listen Mister, I wouldn’t say I like killing but I have done it before. Please convince me not to shoot you just so I can go back to sleep.” I try to make sense of what the hell is going one but make no headway. I have never seen a man so comfortable with a steady hand holding a gun on him.

“Sean, let’s dispense with the banter and get down to business. I’ve had just about every threat imaginable leveled at me and yet… here I am.” My guest spreads his hands and executes a seated bow.

The name he calls me surprises me. I can’t remember the last time I was called by that name. Must have been in the old country, I am sure. Even on my Army papers I had put Michael instead. That name was easier to get rid of than my accent, but even that faded. It faded just like everything else, ground down in that war.

“Do you and I know each other, mister? ‘Cause I can’t seem to place you.” I am feeling the weight of my pistol so I lower my hand to a more comfortable position. “I haven’t heard that name in seven years or more.”

“Right, right, but I know your name, Not just the name you used in New York City and in the ‘Fightin’ 69th’. Not even the one you used back in Ireland. I know your true name. The one my Father called you when he breathed life into you.” The man tugs at his chin and looks up.”Shall I tell you some of my names or have you guessed yet?”

My mind scrambles and kicks like an armadillo digging his burrow. My heartbeats get faster and I feel something welling up inside me. A sick dizzy feeling that makes me shiver involuntarily. The gun sinks lower and I think…”Diabhal.” My mind slips to Irish in my surprise. “You’re Old Scratch aren’t you.”

The Devil’s smile seems to stretch again this time I know for sure no human could smile so wide.

“I’m not even thirty yet. Is it my time already?” My heart sinks, not sure if I want the answer.

“Oh, no. Sean Michael O’Flannery.” the way he says my name each syllable sounds like the strike of a bell reverberating in the back of my eyes. “Not your time. I’ll tell you a secret. Your choices change the time of your death all the time. Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” He begins to laugh now. A deep melodious laugh that gets just a little shrill before it cuts off.

“So what is it that I can do for you then?” I say as I put the big Walker back in it’s worn holster.

“Oh young man we’ll get to that. We’ll definitely get to that. But first things at the beginning, end things at the end and my things all along the way. Let’s talk about your call and your desires first. We can save the other bits and pieces for dessert.” His hands begin to dance around each other in a washing motion.

“I didn't call…” I start to protest. He holds up his hand and shakes his head.

“Skip the silly and frankly, childish word games. We both know you wanted me to come to make you into something else. To make you unstoppable, a force of nature to bring justice and settle old wrongs. I really thought you would call me during the war. But you held so tightly to my Father then.” He sighs and shakes his head in such an over dramatic way it is almost comical. “Now you accept reality. Even though He is omniscient and omnipresent He rarely gets involved. But I am always here.”

I feel the old familiar rush. The anger and battle lust that has made me who I am and kept me alive. “He NEVER comes! Never answers!” The venom in my voice is fueled by all those memories bubbling suddenly to the fore. My breathing is fast and my hands clench.

The man who claims to be a fallen angel just smiles and nods approvingly. “Yes, Sean. You see, that is why I came. That right there. I am eternal and I have hated for so long. It is always refreshing to see it burn anew.” A pipe seems to appear from nowhere in his left hand and a lit match in his right. He leans back and puffs. “Eternal but busy, Sean. Do you want to hear my offer or not?”

"I'll hear your words and I will keep in mind you are the Prince of Lies as you go." I say.

"The Prince of so much more than lies but I accept your sceptical condition." He puffs again at the pipe and exhales a cloud of smoke so dense it seems solid. “Sean my lad, I have seen you. Seen your heart laid bare. I have heard you. I have heard that voice inside you that speaks only the truth."

"Cease your own word games and speak plainly." I say. "I'm tired and you have said you are busy. Let's get on with this so I can deny you and go back to sleep."

His finger tips touch beneath his chin with the pipe clenched in his teeth, his shark smile stretching again. "Ah, the sweet taste of hubris." He leans in and his eyebrows arch. "Sean, my boy; faith and fear both require you to believe in something that doesn't exist. I see you have put aside your faith. My offer is to take away your fear. Fear of death, fear of hurt, fear of failure all gone. I will make you immune to disease and plague. I will make you immune to damage from accident or violence. I wish to make you the Achilles of your day. An indomitable warrior who fears nothing on the earth. I will do this, not for your soul, but for your service. My Father has cast me down for my grievous offenses and I have long ago accepted that. My goal is not to add souls to my empire of pain and torture. I will earn the forgiveness of my Father by assisting the development of his creation. The term of service will be one hundred years. You will take my directions during this time and at the completion of the term you will go to your just reward."

He leans back and his smile turns into a smirk. He curls his leg to his chest. He rests elbow on knee and cheek on hand. Waiting.

My mind races. The possibilities and opportunities fill me and I ran through the things I might do. I have wished for this exact power over death so many times. I am suddenly shocked to realize I am instantly considering this. A deal with the devil.

Cautiously, I ask, "100 years of invulnerability in exchange for me doing things for you? I cannot be your slave for a century. There is no advantage for me."

He laughs and slaps his leg "Oh, no not a slave. Just when I say something needs done or someone needs taken care of, you do it."

"Too open ended." I scoff.

"How about once a month." He counters quickly.

"Four times, once per season."I fire back.

"Done." He says.

"I get to choose whether to do it or not." I push a little.

His face goes stern and cold. "Impossible." He says flatly.

"I had to try.' I grin.

His smile returns and his hand comes toward me in one graceful flowing motion,"Seal it." He says and the words are in my head as well as in my ears.

I stare at that hand. I think of all the tales about making a deal with the devil. Have I heard of one that didn't go badly in the end? Somewhere in my memory is a story of a Saint that renounced God and turned to the underworld for power. Later he was able to have an archbishop or cardinal burn his contract. Of course I know well the story of the fool Faustus who sold his soul and wasted the magic he was given.

"I become your assassin for a century. Four times per year, one for each season. In return I keep my soul but become immune to all damage, all the time?" I attempt to state the deal as I understand it.

"Yes." He says " I have things that need done and I judge that you can do what I need. I have tried other contracts when I had different aims but now…" he shrugs."Your soul is yours to do with what you choose. It is much more...entertaining that way. Besides I have others that must be collected. So they can begin their torment and before they do too much harm."

"How long do I have to make this decision." I ask.

"Until I leave. So a few minutes." His smile is huge.

Slowly I extend my hand. Thinking about what this means for me and for the things I have fought for in my life. As I take his hand in a firm grip, I can't help smiling. The smile feels huge and I am sure it stretches impossibly far across my face.

Second Timothy 3:1-5 “But understand this, that in the last days there will come times of difficulty.

Chilled to the bone, icy as a whore’s heart...cold as ice. Just another cold empty night. Jesus is the goddamn sun ever going to come up?

Finally the sun begins to lighten the sky and the temperature begins to rise. The truck rolls to a halt in the gravel. I brush the stray pieces of windshield off my lap.

I sit alone. It’s always my preference I suppose, but today it seems particularly fitting. I’m expecting company but I will enjoy this peace while I can. I reckon I’ll come out of this deal just about the way I went in. The warm sunshine filters through the trees and the morning breeze stirs my hair.

The road I have been driving down has ended. I know I lost my pursuers some hours ago but I just kept on driving. A feeling of being on the edge of a cliff comes over me. It is the date I have thought of a million times.

I don’t bother getting out. I just lean back into the upholstered seat and stare out the ragged hole that used to hold the windshield. My pack sits on the seat next to me and I reach and pull it over. I dig in one of the side pouches and dump out a can of Hoppe’s Number 9 gun cleaning solvent and several boxes of special order pistol ammunition before I find the flask.

I have no food in the bag. I don’t need to eat. Haven’t felt hunger pangs in a century now. I still like to eat a well prepared dish, but I have learned to keep it small. I eat only rarely and when I really want to because I also don’t have to shit if I don’t eat. I can’t describe the pleasure of not having to indulge bodily functions.

I am a living stereotype when it comes to whiskey and being Irish though. The burn is familiar and I take half the contents in one drink, knowing that my “condition” will knock the buzz down almost immediately.

I don’t need to sleep anymore either but I still enjoy it quite a bit. The hum in my ears from the whiskey and the sun beam hitting my face makes me drowsy. My head lolls back on the head rest, and my eyes drift closed.

I am not jerked awake. I am simply aware of a presence where a moment ago there was thin air. Several low sounds penetrate my drowsy sleep. I haven’t been afraid for a century. I’m just curious what is happening next to me.

I look to my right and see the old bastard rifling through my pack. It appears that he is laying my worldly possessions out on the dash of the pickup. The sun is fully up now and I guess that it is probably seven thirty.

“Live hard and die young. Isn’t that the saying you used? For your plans after the war?”asks the eternal being I have come to call Samael.

“I look at you and I see what happens when you only do only the first and not the second.”He speaks a bit absently and then looks up at me.

I feel that same feeling I always get when I lock gazes with an angel. It is a strange mixture of trepidation and excitement. It is the fear of a being that is orders of magnitude more powerful than I am; combined with the sure and certain knowledge that I am in some unknowable way, a superior creation of God.

My human mind has struggled for many decades to understand the complicated and convoluted history of the choirs of angels and their presence in the many theologies of the world. Never with much success. The truth as I understand it, about the twisted blending of all religions that represents the actual situation, is that there exists in this ancient and expanding universe more than we can understand. It may be more than we should understand. Suffice it to say all the religions have it right and all of them have it wrong.

Samael looks at me and says.

”So we come full round and find ourselves in the same place. It does remind me of when I sacrificed myself to myself. Oh Sean, that was a long nine days I tell you now, but the knowledge gained was worth it all.”

He closes his right eye tightly and looks at me as if I am meant to understand his cryptic crap.

I look at him quizzically. I have seen and done so many things. Read and heard so many tales. It is difficult for my mortal mind to hold and then retrieve it all. Slowly it occurs to me. I get a mental picture of Samael as One-Eyed Odin from Norse legend. He is said to have hung himself from the magical tree, Yggdrasil, and stabbed himself with his own spear. This sacrifice of himself to himself was made to show his willingness to sacrifice everything for knowledge. The knowledge he sought was the secret of magical runes. He hung that way staring into the Well of Urd for nine days until he understood all the magic.

“An Odin reference, Samael? Are you telling me that was you as well?”

I roll my eyes and shrug.

“I guess I pictured you as more of a Loki.”

Samael takes a cartridge for my pistol, a Linebaugh .500 and makes it roll across the knuckles of his right hand. It seems to disappear from one side and reappear on the other. I know this is only the dexterity of his fingers and no magic trick. I have learned this trick and many others by watching him.”Oh no. That was Asmodeus. If you knew him better you would understand.”

I don’t bother continuing this discussion. It isn’t what either of us want to talk about.

I wait a moment and I say, “Today was 400.”

His grin disappears. He looks at me seriously and says, “Yes it is. Is it true? Does time heal all wounds?”

“100 years and four seasons in each. I have often wondered why you didn’t tell me that those years would not be consecutive. Why you never mentioned that I would be dragged willy nilly into all of history and prehistory on your errands”

My voice has the implacable push of my thoughts behind it and I ignore his questions.

“I suppose that being a timeless being, with the ability to travel in the fourth dimension you know as time, as easily as the other three; it didn’t seem all that important.”

He shrugs and looks out toward the mountains to the east of us.

“I probably would have said yes anyway. Then, I certainly would. I am not sure about now. The things I know and have seen… I don’t know.”

The weight of my heavy soul seems to crush the breath from me. I voice the thought that has been running through my mind since I lost my pursuers some time after midnight.

“Samael, the lines keep running through my head.

I will show you something different. Your shadow at morning striding behind you, Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. I was never sure what T.S. Elliot was talking about in The Wastelands poem but I think I know now.”

Suddenly Samael turns to me with an unholy intensity.

“So what now? Is that what you want to ask me? The answer is you are the one who knows that answer my boy. I spoke the truth to you when I said you can go your way and await your just reward. My Father’s gift of free will” He flips his hand in a dismissive motion.

I feel angry at this for some reason.

“So you just release me like a worn knife that cannot take another sharpening? Take the gifts away and walk off?” My voice begins to rise, “You had me put a lot of credits into your account with your Father, Yahweh! Did I commit 400 sins or 400 services? I don’t even know anymore. The lines are so blurred. I can’t see where I have been, let alone where I am going! My shadow before and behind is invisible and I fear this unknown. Goddamnit! I have seen fear in a handful of dust! I am an old man and I don’t know what comes next!”

I slump down in the seat again, the words leaving my mouth as a whisper.

“I don’t even know what I have left.”

Samael turns on the seat. He places his hand on my shoulder. He looks at me with eyes that are both patrician and paternal.

“I will help you if you want me to, Sean.”

I can’t help it. My eyes mist and my throat gets tight. I won’t cry. But Lord I want to.

“Sean, you have done me a great service, there is no doubt. Look at me, tell me what you want? Let’s use your poem as a metaphor then. Are you Sybil of Cumae that Elliot stole from an older source for his opening lines? Given the gift of long life but now trapped in a cage as a curiosity. Do you feel trapped in your long lifespan?

Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo...Do you want to die, Sean?”

His look is tender, his voice is soft, and the Latin from my favorite poem washes over me like a warm bath in winter.

“Perhaps you are the fisherman from the end of the poem? Will you be like him and use fragments to shore up the ruin? Will you carry on. Push on into the glorious land where Hercules and Beowulf await you? Will you stay with me and cross into legend as a hero?”

The energy flows in his words. Never increasing in volume but with the power of certainty, alluring and solid, infused throughout.

“I will do either for you, with an equal amount of love. For the first, just lay your head back and rest, forever. For the second, take my hand as you did once before. This time with no conditions on your immortality. Be your own man, bound to me only by, dare I say it, friendship.”

His left hand stays comfortingly on my shoulder as a symbol of the release that awaits in death. His right hand extends toward me, the same way I saw it all those years ago in the San Juan mountains of Colorado.

I think for a long time.

Slowly and deliberately I...

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BLOG TOUR - The Grand

  Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

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The Grand

by Dennis D. Wilson

on Tour October 1-31, 2017

Synopsis:

Chicago cop Dean Wister takes a forced vacation when he is on the brink of a breakdown after the death of his wife. During his summer solstice in Jackson Hole, where he met her years before, he is called in to consult by local police when a notorious Chicago mobster is found dead in the Snake River. Dean’s investigation threatens to uncover the secrets of a group of memorable suspects, ranging from rich tycoons to modern day cowboys, and threatens to derail the Presidential prospects of the Senator from Wyoming. As Dean follows the leads from Wyoming to Chicago to Washington D.C., he also struggles to cope with the personal loss that threatens his mental stability, as the nocturnal visits from his deceased wife suppress his will to let her go and make him question his purpose in life. The climactic scenes contain reveals the reader will never see coming. A funny, romantic, sexy, roller coaster thriller.

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller Published by: Water Street Press Publication Date: December 2016 Number of Pages: 304 ISBN: 978-1-62134-330-1 (ASIN: B01N682LXW) Purchase Links: Amazon 🔗 | Kindle 🔗 | Barnes & Noble 🔗 | Goodreads 🔗

Read an excerpt:

1

SENATOR THOMAS MCGRAW sat back in the hand-distressed, buffalo-hide easy chair and contemplated the room around him. This was his first visit to the brand new, custom-designed mountain home of his lover. When their affair started a little over a year ago, what a sweet and savory surprise it had been to both of them. A business relationship grew into friendship, and then suddenly and unexpectedly exploded into something else— a red-hot, cross-country, obsessive romance fueled by shared erotic tastes. The senator felt sexually liberated under the spell of his exotic lover, and he was pretty sure those feelings were mutual. True, they needed to be discreet for a variety of reasons— indiscretion had nearly cost them everything— but they had worked it out. Although hectic schedules limited their rendezvous to only a couple of weekends a month, the deprivation and anxiety of anticipation made these weekends that much more satisfying. He was generally in a frenzy by the time he could get to her.

The room was the den of a typical ten-thousand-square-foot vacation home of the rich and powerful in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Decked out in nouveau western, its reclaimed timbers, Wyoming sandstone, and river rock were either complemented by— or detracted from, depending on your esthetic point of view— the original modern paintings depicting bold and most definitely non-earth-toned western landscapes and various forms of neon-colored wildlife. As Tom sipped his twenty-three-year-old Pappy Van Winkle, he studied the visage of a purple and orange moose head sculpted from California mahogany hanging dispiritedly over the fireplace. Damn, any self-respecting Wyoming moose would be embarrassed to know that this is some guy’s idea of what a trophy moose should look like. His personal style was more traditional Western— big wooden beams and a glut of real dead animal heads on the walls. But, the sex was still new and novel, unlike anything he had felt before, and he was willing to overlook these stylistic differences for the time being or, who knew, maybe for a long time. As his mentor had told him a long time ago: “Pussy is a powerful motivator.”

“I am soooo happy we were able to start our weekend a day early,” his lover called from the other room. “I’ve been so horny this week that I’ve been bouncing off the walls. I brought back something special for you from Chicago. Just give me another minute, sweetie.” Charlotte Kidwell dressed, and undressed, to accentuate her best features: her big green eyes, her long, toned legs, and her perfect bubble butt. Her regular head-to-toe salon appointments, personal trainer, and strict dietary regimen were essentials to the healthy, put-together appearance that women of her age and social status often have, if they have the money and motivation to work at it. In her younger days, her insecure attempts to add sex appeal fell short, and she’d ended up with an oddly unfeminine look with her clumsy and unsuccessful experiments with cosmetics. But middle age had actually softened her features, and as she became more adept at the finer points of female grooming, she began to realize how much she resembled her sister. During what she referred to as “The Sexual Awakening,” she had finally developed the confidence in her sexuality to consciously emulate her sister’s makeup and dress. Her older sibling had always exuded effortless sexuality, and throughout high school and college had gone through more boys in most years than Charlotte had dated for her entire youth.

The senator had certainly surprised her. Although his belly professed his lust for food and drink and a disinclination for exercise, his face was the opposite, exuding an irresistible cowboy masculinity. At middle age, most people have to choose between a wrinkle-free face and a toned and youthful body. What was it her friend in Chicago called fat? “Nature’s botox.” He had chosen his beautiful face at the expense of his body, but that was fine with her, because he was a sexual artiste. Certainly no one who knew him could possibly conceive of the hot spring of sexuality that was percolating beneath his surface. In spite of their distinctly different personalities, she considered him her soul mate. The first man in her forty-four years who had ever laid claim to that title. The thought made her giggle.

“Hurry up, baby, and get your pretty little ass out here.”

Appearing in the doorway, she framed herself with the hand-on-the-hip pose so popular with women much younger than herself. “You like? I know this little specialty boutique in Chicago, and it ain’t Macy’s Intimate Apparel.”

He liked the look very much. The red lace push-up bra, matching thong panties, silk kimono, and six-inch stilettos appealed to the man who’d had a weakness for strippers in his younger days. Though the untied robe looked more like a cape than boudoir attire, and the entire outfit reminded him of a porn movie he once saw— Superslut, a parody of Superwoman, he had to give her an “A” for effort. “Wow, you look like a very sexy Little Red Riding Hood. And where in the world did you find a bra that makes those pretty little A cups of yours look like Cs? Now turn around and let me admire your world-class bootie.”

She did a little twirl for him, grinned, and pushed together her bra cups to emphasize her cleavage. “It’s called a miracle bra, and see, it does work miracles. Now you just sit there and sip your whiskey. I have another surprise for you.” She strutted over to the bookcase, flipped a switch, and AC/ DC’s “Shook Me All Night Long” filled the room. And she began to dance.

“Oh my.” Tom took a big swallow and relished the burn. “You are just full of surprises tonight.”

“Just sit back and enjoy, Senator. I’ve got a few more surprises coming your way.”

Watching her rehearsed moves, the familiar hunger began to stir below his opulent belly. And then, in a maneuver that would have been impressive for a woman of any age, she turned away from him, spread her legs, touched her toes, looked straight up at him from her bare inverted V, and twerked. She had been practicing all afternoon, and when she saw the image of her quivering butt in the mirror she couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

“Oh, my god, where did you learn that?” The stirring rising now to a different level. And he was also wondering… her dance routine looked really professional.

“I have a very good friend in Chicago who does this for a living, and she’s been giving me some lessons.”

“Judging from that pose, sweetie, your friend must be an instructor in ‘stripper yoga’.” The senator, feeling the fire down there, leaned forward and reached for that perfect ass. “Get over here and let me take you the way I like, the way I know you like.” Putting his hands on her bare cheeks and grabbing two hands full, he left his chubby fingerprints as indentations on her flesh. Crazed now, pulling off his pants and underwear but not bothering with his shirt and tie, he pulled her thong aside, mounted her, grunting, sighing. Both of them grunting, sighing, grunting some more. And now just the sounds of flesh slapping flesh. And AC/ DC, urging them on…

Hayden Smith was running late. He was always running late. It was common knowledge in town that you had to book every appointment with Hayden an hour early to get him to show up on time. Attorney, county commissioner, real estate broker and developer, owner of a property management company— all that, plus trying to live up to the moniker of Teton County’s most eligible bachelor as determined by Mountain Woman magazine, well, that could take a toll on a man, even a man as fit and athletic as Hayden. And it was taking its toll on Hayden today. Sometimes he thought there was little point in taking any time off because you had to work twice as hard just to clear your schedule.

The last item of the day on his long list was to make sure all was in order in the home of his newest property management client before their arrival the next morning. But what he really was thinking about, as he put the key in the door, was that he was already an hour late for a dinner date at the home of one of Teton County’s richest and most beautiful socialites. And so if he hadn’t been fantasizing about the evening’s upcoming sensual activities, and if he hadn’t assumed that it was his cleaning crew that had left that open bourbon bottle on the counter, and if he hadn’t been formulating the words he was going to use to chew Pablo’s ass about getting control of his maintenance team, and if he had checked his voicemail after his last two meetings instead of engaging in licentious banter on the phone with the young socialite, then he might have reacted differently to the pounding bass of one of the most iconic rock anthems of the 1980s. He might not have followed the mesmerizing sound of Brian Johnson’s sandpaper voice into the den, assuming that he would find some of his employees having an unauthorized party; and he might not have witnessed the sight in front of him that would not only drastically change his life but would also set in motion a chain of events that had the potential to change the course of American history.

If he had looked directly at the man’s face, he almost certainly would have recognized one of the most well-known faces in Wyoming, soon to be equally famous throughout America. However, Hayden looked everywhere but into his face. The man, still dressed for business on top but naked from the waist down, was humping a pretty redhead doggie style, and Hayden was fascinated that with each thrust, her red stilettos would come off the ground about twelve inches, and then at the end of the thrust, the tips of her heels would bang down on the pine floor. Thrust, bang, thrust, bang, thrust, bang. Later when he played that video clip back in his mind, he captioned it “porn star tap dancing.”

He looked all around the room, but his eyes kept coming back to those red shoes, maybe because he didn’t really want to look at the man’s jiggling ass, or maybe because when his eyes followed those shoes north he was treated to a pair of the finest legs and most delicious bootie that he had ever seen. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have just turned around and walked right out of the house and he would have been able to go back to his great life as Teton County’s busiest and most eligible bachelor. But for whatever reason— the shock of the scene, or his own perverse voyeurism— he did not turn back around. He knocked on the door jamb with his clipboard and stammered loudly enough to be heard over AC/ DC. “Ah, ah, ah, I thought you weren’t coming in until tomorrow. I just came to check on the house. Is everything OK? I mean, just call me if anything isn’t OK. Sorry to interrupt. I’ll just let myself out…” And then he backed out of the room and nearly sprinted out the door.

Tom jumped up with impressive agility considering his exertion and girth, partly hopping, definitely bobbing. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

Charlotte rolled over onto her side. “What the fuck, I left him a message that I was coming in today. What was he thinking?”

And the senator just kept repeating, “Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit.” Then, catching his breath, added to his mantra, “I’m sure he saw me, I’m sure he saw me, I’m sure he saw me.”

His lover, handing him the rest of his twenty-three-year-old Pappy, said, “Here, drink this,” trying not to let the panic sound in her voice. She thought for a moment. “We’ll call Mario. He’ll know what to do. If that asshole tells anyone it’ll hurt Mario as much as us. Well, maybe not quite as much as us, but you know what I mean.”

Tom sat down for a minute, his white dress shirt soaked through, wheezing from the exertion, from the excitement, from the fear, his heart a thumping kettle drum in his chest. Neither of them said a word for a minute, then two. Finally realizing the heart attack wasn’t coming, he took a huge breath and said, “OK, call him.”

Charlotte punched the number into her mobile phone. “Mario? Sorry to bother you, but we have a problem. Some asshole just walked in on the two of us. Walked in on us… you know. What do you think we were doing? How could he not recognize him? Yeah, he’s my property manager. Hold on. Honey, would you hand me that business card on the table?”

2

THE FIRST TIME Dean Wister had visited the Tetons was twelve years ago, the summer before his senior year in college. Although he said it was adventure he was looking for, it was escape that he was really seeking when he answered an ad to guide for one of the rafting companies that run whitewater trips down the Snake River, just south of Teton National Park. It was a grueling twenty-four-hour drive from his home in Chicago to Jackson Hole, the mountain town at the foot of the spectacular Teton Range, and the route that he was taking, I-90 across Illinois, Wisconsin, and South Dakota, was one of the most monotonous and boring stretches of highway across America. Hour after hour he would stare at the road between truck stops, trying to keep alert for the highway patrol and the erratic driving of drowsy long-distance truckers. He tried listening to music and audio books, but his mind wouldn’t let him focus. Lately, he had a lot of trouble focusing. He’d once tried meditation, taking a Transcendental Meditation workshop with his wife, Sara, but meditation wasn’t for him. His mind would inevitably wander from the rhythm of his breathing to some problem from work that he was trying to solve. Dean had always been more of a ruminator than a meditator. And so he ruminated for hour after hour. He ruminated about all that had happened over the last twelve years. He ruminated about the horror of the last year. And he ruminated about what the future might, or more importantly, might not, hold.

That first trip had also been a time of transition for him. His mother died after his freshman year in high school, and his dad was killed in a work accident at the lumber yard just before Dean started college. As an only child he had led a solitary existence growing up, but by the time he left for college he was officially an orphan, no parents to cheer him as the starting safety on the University of Illinois football team, and no siblings to share the empty and confused feelings of losing the only responsible adults he had ever known. His hometown of Summersville, West Virginia, was near the banks of the Gauley River, one of the most famous whitewater-rafting rivers in the East, and the gray, small-minded, and cruel little town resembled what Mayberry may have looked like if Andy hadn’t been born. Until he was seventeen, Dean had never met a college graduate outside of a classroom, and growing up with his nose stuck in a book most of the time, his peers, and even most of the adults he knew, looked down on his habit as a sign of either homosexuality, laziness, or both. Maybe it was resentment for not living the fantastic and interesting life of the characters in the books that he read, or maybe it was the bullying that he experienced from his literature-averse peers, or maybe it was his sense of insecurity and inferiority from his hillbilly background, or maybe it was just his nature— for whatever reason, there was a well of anger deep inside of Dean.

The bullying stopped the first time he stepped on a football field. He loved to play defense, and putting the hammer to the ball carrier or receiver was equally pleasurable to him, whether in practice or during an actual game. He loved the rush of power he felt when a body crushed beneath him as he delivered the blow. As he would take aim at his target coming across the field, he imagined his body as a sledge hammer and he would launch himself, helmet first, at his opponents, relishing the pain he received nearly as much as the pain he delivered. As his scrawny adolescent body matured into a six-foot, one-hundred-ninety-pound defensive back, his football hits became ever more fearsome, and attracted the attention of a recruiter for the University of Illinois. Football would end for him upon college graduation for, as a pro scout told him, “Son, you sure have the meanness for pro football, but not the speed.” But that was all right; football had served its purpose.

The first time his dad had taken him along to run the rapids of the Gauley he was only nine years old, but after that he was addicted to the river. Working as a gofer for one of the rafting companies, imagining himself as one of the cocky swaggering guides, he would do anything to be near the river. The owner of the company took a liking to him, and broke the rules to put him on as a guide at sixteen. He worked on the Gauley through high school and college. But, with the death of his father, West Virginia held too many painful memories; he needed to get away. He heard from some fellow guides that the Snake River in Wyoming, south of Jackson, could be fun. Sure, its mostly Class 2 and 3 rapids were nothing compared to the Gauley, but he had always wanted to see the Rockies, and it was about as far away from West Virginia as he could imagine. That summer on the Snake, in the Tetons, revealed another side that he didn’t know he had. He learned how to cap that well of anger, to regulate the flow, to use it instead of letting it use him, and for the next decade was able to let it out only when his job demanded it. He discovered that there was another well, an untapped well, within him. A well of love and sweetness, of kindness and generosity. And the auger that tapped that well was Sara.

He’d just sent some food back at the Pioneer Grill, the coffee shop in Jackson Lake Lodge in Teton National Park. His order of sautéed Rocky Mountain rainbow trout appeared on his plate as buffalo meatloaf. His anger rising at this inexcusable display of disrespect and incompetence, he called over the pretty blonde server and pointed at the food in front of him. “Miss, do you think you would recognize a Rocky Mountain rainbow trout if you saw one?” She’d looked first at the gravy-smothered brown glob, and then directly into his twisted angry face, and behind her best smile said, “Apparently not, but I can recognize an asshole when I see one.”

Dean was overmatched by the spunky girl with eyes of a deeper blue than the summer skies over the Grand Tetons, and he fell in love on the spot. They laughed at the story forever, and she still called him “meatloaf asshole” on occasion, either when she was feeling especially fond or, more often, particularly annoyed with him. She loved to tease him and ridicule his quirks, calling him “schizo” for the many paradoxical elements in his personality: jock/ intellectual, hot head/ sentimentalist, loner/ showoff. But when she would call him “schizo” and flash him her irresistible smile, it would always soften his mood, and he was able to laugh at himself.

As a trust-fund baby of a power couple in Chicago’s legal community, Sara’s suburban childhood was exactly the opposite of Dean’s. Her bookworm ways were admired by her parents, friends, and her community. The vivacious blond with the sharp wit and the ability to fit in with every social group was a psych major at the University of Chicago, less than a two-hour drive up the interstate from Champaign if you are a hormone-crazed college boy, more like three hours for everyone else. Her well of anger was only a fraction of Dean’s and reserved exclusively for bullies and people who abused children, animals, and the less fortunate. But if you happened to occupy that territory, her fierceness could make even Dean flinch.

When he thought of their first summer, it played back in his head like some film made from a Nicolas Sparks novel. As he watched the movie, alone in the theater seat of his Jeep Cherokee, he smiled at the “meet cute” first scene in the coffee shop, marveled at the on-location, awe-inspiring backdrops of the Snake and the Tetons, was moved to tears by the scene where he makes love to Sara for the first time. And he couldn’t criticize the filmmaker’s decision to leave every sex scene of the summer in the movie. There they are making love on the window seat in the tiny apartment shared by Dean and his four other river rat roommates. There they are making love after a picnic at Schwabacher’s landing, the Tetons reflected like a painting in the beaver pond. And there they are on their last day of the summer, on a picnic in the alpine meadow they had discovered on their long hike into the mountains. The meadow they had named “Sara’s Meadow.” The meadow where Dean proposed. The meadow they pledged to return to each year on their anniversary. They talked of it often, and relived the moment every year on that special day. But they never came back. Life, and careers, and bullshit got in the way.

Careers included the single-minded ambition they shared. Dean’s resulted in a meteoric rise to detective in the Chicago Police Department and, after being handpicked to join the Midwest Organized Crime Task Force as the only local police detective among FBI and ATF agents, his days and weeks became an unending blur of clues, criminals, and cases. Sara’s graduate degree at Northwestern led to a tenure track appointment at Loyola University. But tenure track meant running never-ending, back-to-back-to-back marathons of teaching, research, and publishing. Their career ambitions allowed no room for children, or travel, or a return to Sara’s Meadow.

And then, over the last year, came the bullshit. Dean was working eighty-hour weeks on a high-profile case involving government and police corruption, and many of the Chicago cops whom he considered friends turned away from him. And then, just when they thought they were getting close to breaking the case, the investigation was shut down and he was reassigned. He was exhausted, disappointed, stressed, and his friends treated him like a traitor.

And then there was Sara. She had been diagnosed with cancer just as Dean began the investigation from hell. After her initial treatment, she received a clean report, and he was too preoccupied to notice when she continued to lose weight. A check-up a few months later showed that the cancer had returned. The rebound was aggressive, additional treatment failed to stop the spread, and she continued to get weaker and weaker in spite of what she would call “frequent invitations for happy hour cancer cocktails with my oncologist.” She even made up names for the cocktails based on the side effects she would experience afterward. There was the Diarrhea Daiquiri, the Migraine Martini, and the Vomit-rita. No subject was out of bounds for her wicked and irreverent sense of humor. Once, when she was bedridden near the end, Dean asked her how she was feeling, and in her best Sally Field Mama Gump imitation, she said “Well, Forrest, I’ve got the cancer.”

Dean wanted to take a leave to stay at Sara’s bedside, but she made up her mind that that was not an option. And when Sara made up her mind about something, he had learned to let her have her way. So Dean was relegated to spending every hour that he wasn’t working by her side, holding her close, imagining how they would live their lives differently when she was well. The night she died, she asked him to describe that day in Sara’s Meadow. And when he finished, she said, “Promise we can go there when I get well. Will you take me there next summer?” He nodded, unable to speak. She slept peacefully that night for the first time in quite a while, and in the morning she was gone.

Strangely, although she was the center of his universe, the only person that he could say he ever truly loved, he showed little emotion when she died. He didn’t cry. He felt almost as if he were an outside observer of these terrible events. He experienced only numbness. An unrelenting, withering numbness. A numbness interrupted only by random bursts of anger that disturbed even the hardened cops he worked with. Dean was not unaware of his problem, and tried to channel the anger by hooking up with Manny Cohen, a mixed martial arts coach and self-proclaimed king of “Jew-Jitsu”. He loved the physicality of the MMA bouts, and that the jiu-jitsu moves he learned permitted him to disable much bigger and stronger fighters, even if he was on the ground being pummeled. He justified the training as part of his law-enforcement skills, but he knew what it was really about— the ability to inflict some of the horrible hurt he was feeling on others.

The changes in Dean since Sara’s death were most troubling to his boss, Carlos Alvarez. Carlos had been crushed when, on the verge of busting a Chicago mob guy who had both political and police connections, which evidently reached all the way to Washington, the whole operation had been shut down. In his heart, he knew it was those same connections he was investigating that had defeated him. He looked at Dean and watched one of the most competitive spirits he had ever known flicker out, starved for the oxygen that Sara could no longer supply. The case they had put their hearts and souls into for the last year was ripped out of their hands and Dean, who normally would be just as pissed off as he was, seemed to be only going through the motions.

But the most disturbing problem, as far as he was concerned, was Dean’s refusal to mourn Sara. Carlos watched as Dean’s isolation became extreme, and he refused all offers to talk or socialize. Dean’s robotic demeanor and increasingly unpredictable violent outbursts were scaring him. When Carlos sent him to meet with the psychologist assigned to their department, he refused to cooperate. He insisted that he was fine. But Carlos knew he wasn’t fine. He saw a man on the brink of a breakdown and finally decided that drastic action was needed to rescue the man from himself. One morning he walked into Dean’s office and handed him a letter worded as an authorization, which was actually an order, to take a three-month leave of absence.

“But where will I go? What will I do?” Dean said, seemingly incapable of entertaining any change to his barely functional routine. Carlos looked toward the picture on his desk, the one taken twelve years earlier. It showed Dean standing on a whitewater raft. Sara was sitting in the boat looking up at him with a combination of love and lust in her eyes. In the background, the grandeur of the Tetons loomed. “You have to get out of town. You have to get away from here, from all this. And I know where I would go if I had no obligations and three months off. I’ve been envying that picture since the day you moved in here.”

What his boss didn’t know, and what Dean couldn’t tell him, or anyone else for that matter, was the real reason that he wouldn’t see the psychologist— something that would make him seem crazy to outsiders. Hell, he often had that thought about himself. Not every evening, but maybe two or three nights a week, he would spend the night with Sara. He would wake up a couple of hours after he went to sleep, and she would be there, sitting in the chair next to his bed. He would get up, and they would talk just like they used to, about everything, what was happening in his life and in his job, or what was going on in the news. They would make love, and it was every bit as passionate and real as before she was sick. When he would wake up in the morning, she would be gone. At first, he tried to convince himself that it was all a dream, until one night he washed the sheets before he went to bed, and the next morning her perfume lingered on the bedding. She was really there, and she was as real as anything he had ever experienced.

He had nothing against psychologists. He had seen a therapist in college after a particularly hard break-up and had found it very helpful. In fact, he visited that same therapist when Carlos was pushing him to see the department shrink— he wasn’t about to have his craziness officially certified to his employer. And his own therapist confirmed what he instinctively knew himself. “Your hallucinations of your dead wife will go away when you allow yourself to fully mourn her.” But that was exactly the problem. Her very real apparition was the only tangible thing he had left of her. Her visits were the only thing that let him get through the day, that kept him from becoming totally out of control, and he wasn’t going to let anyone take that away from him. He was determined to hold on to whatever was left of her, for as long as he could.

Sara was the one that convinced him to take the trip. She told him during one of their nocturnal visits that he could use the time off; that she knew he was stressed out. He agreed on one condition. That she would come with him. She gave him her mischievous smile, the one that had captured him that first day in the coffee shop, and said, “That’s not a problem. I’m not going without sex for three months. And the ghosts here are too creepy to sleep with.”

That first summer twelve years ago, he had come into town from the south, getting off I-80 west of Rock Springs, approaching Jackson via Alpine and driving up through the Snake River canyon so that he could view the whitewater section he would be working. Wyoming is mostly high plains except for the northwestern part, which is an endless vista of scrub grass, prickly pear, sage brush, with occasional red-rock battleships and gargoyles. On that first trip he was able to view the Wind River Range in the distance outside his window, but he didn’t really get a good view of the Teton Range until he reached the outskirts of the town of Jackson. This time he had decided to take the Northern route via I-90, because he wanted to see the Black Hills, one of the few topographic areas of interest that is easily accessible from the interstate. So he was not really prepared for what happened when his Jeep rounded the bend on Route 26, east of Teton National Park, and he looked west. The fragrance hit him first. He had the windows in his Jeep rolled down and, as the road increased in elevation, the air turned cooler and became infused with snow runoff blended into mountain streams and the bouquet of lodgepole pine forests to form the unique perfume that his unconscious associated with his first summer there. He was looking down for a station on the radio when he felt the jolt, as if a switch was flipped in his brain, and when he turned his face back to the road, the windshield was suddenly and magically filled with the panorama of the majestic purple, snow-tipped peaks of the mountain range that symbolized all that had been true and pure in his life. All that was lost and would never ever return. The image struck him like a bullet in his chest, sucking all the air from his body. The next thing he knew, he was out of his car, on the side of the road, on his knees, gasping for air, heaving, sobbing. “Oh, Sara. My sweet, sweet, Sara.”

***

Excerpt from The Grand by Dennis D. Wilson. Copyright © 2017 by Dennis D. Wilson. Reproduced with permission from Dennis D. Wilson. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

After a career working in an international consulting firm and as a financial executive with two public companies, Dennis D. Wilson returns to the roots he established as a high school literature and writing teacher at the beginning of his career. For his debut novel, he draws upon his experiences from his hometown of Chicago, his years living, working, hiking and climbing in Jackson Hole, and secrets gleaned from time spent in corporate boardrooms to craft a political crime thriller straight from today’s headlines. Dennis lives in suburban Chicago with his wife Paula and Black Lab Jenny, but spends as much time as he can looking for adventure in the mountains and riding his motorcycle.

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