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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

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Raise the Stakes, Part 3

Ok, so this section is a lot longer than the previous ones, which is specifically what I was trying to avoid by splitting it up, but I'm certain that there was no way to insert an act break in this without it ruining the flow of the action.

If this is the first part of the story you're finding, you'll want to get caught up:

Place Your Bets (prequel)

Part one Part two

Pairing: Jay White x OFC/ David Finlay x OFC

Word count: 3,007

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, mild violence that some may find upsetting or disturbing.

“Jesus, Jay, what the hell?” You push at his chest, not that it’s going to do you a bit of good.

“Where have you been?” He hisses.

“Oh, are you seriously going to do this? You know where I’ve been. I had a date, I spent the night with him. And then I spent the day with him.”

“Didn’t bother asking for my permission.” His tone is so icy and mocking, and so uncharacteristically controlled that you’re a little frightened.

You exhale and let yourself go limp. “No, I didn’t. And you know what, I don’t give a fuck. I’ve killed myself trying to make you happy and right now I have no idea why. So if you want to try to make me feel guilty for spending every minute I can with someone who doesn’t treat me like I’m beneath contempt, if you want to punish me for running away and feeling happy for a few hours, you go right ahead.”

Your breathing is so rapid that you know he won’t believe that you actually don’t care but what’s the worst he can do? Is it really going to be any worse than what you’ve put yourself through trying to make him love you back?

He snickers quietly and slides one of his hands around the base of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze or push, just leaves it there like a silent threat. He’s more than strong enough to strangle you without even having to exert himself. That’s crazy, though, isn’t it? Yes, he’s abusive and heartless and manipulative but he’s also someone you’ve known for years. There’s no way Jay would actually hurt you. Is there?

He leans his face close so that you can hear his breath rasping in your ear. “That’s sweet. Did your little boyfriend treat you nice? Did he make you feel special?”

“Jay,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady, “you need to get off of me right now. I don’t know if you’ve been drinking or taking speed or what but it has to stop.”

His hand pushes just a little further up and feels just a little heavier.

“Answer me. Did he make you feel good?”

“This is none of your business.” You give an exasperated sigh. “Yes. I had a great time. He made me feel like the most beautiful, most desirable-“

For the first time, Jay tightens his grip on your throat, cutting off your air and your words.

“So he fucked you well? Made you come? Had you screaming his name?”

He releases you again and in the wake of the terror of the last few seconds, you’re suddenly furious.

“Yes, he did. So many times. Best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh, you want to be mean? Think you’re going to hurt my feelings like you haven’t been panting after me like some pathetic stray dog for years? I pay you, I let you get your little shots in, I fuck you which no one else has until the last week.” His hand drops from your throat but just as quickly, his other hand grabs a handful of your hair, pulling it so tight that you feel a few strands ripped out at the root. He twists your head to the side, pinning it to the pillow.

“Jay, you’re hurting me!” For the first time, the fear is in your voice. You’ve never seen him like this. You don’t know who this man in your bed is.

“You want to know what hurts?” He snarls. “I trusted you.”

“What are you talking about? What do you think is going on? It’s a couple of dates, Jay. I took a day off and didn’t tell you. Can’t you be a little happy for me?”

“I trusted you,” he repeats. “And you betrayed me.”

“Betrayed? Don’t be so dramatic. This is not about you.”

He grabs your throat again and squeezes.

“I saw you,” he drawls, biting down hard on your earlobe. “I saw you yesterday in his arms, all happy and smiling. You couldn’t even be bothered to close the fucking door.”

Your brain scrambles to catch up. Did he mean this morning? No, he wouldn’t have had any reason to be skulking around on a different floor of the hotel. Did Sanada say something after all? Then it occurs to you. Sanada hadn’t closed the door when he left the room yesterday. He probably hadn’t even thought about it. The door was almost always open. You’d closed it because you wanted to work. David had closed it because he wanted to keep your secret. Sanada had opened the door, gotten a drink, and walked out like he always did, and you and David had been so blissed out that you hadn’t noticed.

“Look,” you gasp, clawing at his hand, “we can talk about this. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

He gives a pained cry and bites down hard on your neck, making you cry out in turn.

“This is a huge fucking deal. I am not going to let that little mealworm wriggle in and take what’s mine.”

He releases your neck again and as you draw in oxygen, you frantically try to think of how to defuse the bomb on top of you. If he wants to, he can end David’s career in New Japan. He can easily stop the two of you from seeing each other. What’s clear, though, is that he’s not firing you, which would be a mercy, because if that’s what he wanted, he’d have done it already.

What’s also clear, and you hate yourself for it, is that you’ve never been more turned on in your life. Feeling the weight of him on you, the burning intensity of his expression and his words. It’s like he can barely control himself, that he’s fighting to stop himself from tearing into you. You’ve never seen him act like this about anything.

“No one’s taking anything from you, Jay,” you insist, turning to look at him when he loosens his grip a little. “I’m not going anywhere. I work myself to the bone for you and that’s not going to change.”

He gives a sardonic laugh. “And he’s so pathetically in love that he’s fine with the kind of work you do for me?”

“I didn’t mean that and you know it. That was never exactly part of the job description. But everything else stays the same.”

“Except that you’re fucking David Finlay.”

“Except that I have a life outside my job. And you won’t have to put up with me panting after you as you so delicately put it.”

“No.” He says it so loudly it startles you.

“What do you mean no?” You whine. “This is how normal people do things. Some people work together. They have relationships with other people. They don’t crawl into a coworker’s bed in the middle of the night and scare them half to death thinking-“

“No,” he repeats sharply.

“Why?” You whimper.

“You’re mine and he can’t have you.” He shoves the bedcovers out of the way and roughly runs his hands over your nude body. “He can’t have any part of you. Not your pussy, not your mouth, not your loyalty, not your feelings.”

You’re about to argue but he crushes his mouth against yours and although you know the only sane thing to do is fight him off, you reciprocate without hesitation, relishing the little moans and purrs that escape him as the kiss grows more and more passionate.

“I’ve been so terrible,” he murmurs. “My girl needs a reminder of why she puts up with me.”

He squeezes your breast, twisting his fingers around the nipple just firmly enough to make you gasp. And you know you shouldn’t, you know you should smack him in the head or scream into his ear and do whatever it takes to make him go away because you’re very aware what’s at risk. But as he kisses his way down your body, giving little hums and sighs of satisfaction when you twitch or gasp in response, it’s like the lovely memories you were clinging to when you crawled into this bed a few hours ago are becoming foggy and disjointed, like something you might have imagined to make yourself feel better about the situation you’re really in.

For the longest time, he lets his mouth hover around your pussy, just soft licks and kisses over the hollows of your hips, the inside of your thighs, and over the inner and outer lips, gently sucking on the flesh as his hot breath vibrates over your clit.

“This is the best smell in the world,” he murmurs into your skin, “and I never take the time to enjoy it.”

Your whole body is shaking by the time he starts thrusting his tongue against you. You want to push back against him but you force yourself not to, hoping to withstand his attention, to refuse to let him bring you to orgasm. The problem is that when he makes the effort, Jay is an incredible lover.

“Don’t hold back,” he cajoles, having detected what you’re trying to do. “Give into it. Let go.” He looks up at you and flashes an evil little grin. “I won’t tell, I promise.”

You try to curse at him but of course, he intensifies his actions and all you can do is grab hold of the sheet with all your might and try to stop yourself from screaming. He alternates fucking you with his tongue and lavishing attention on your clit, pausing only to keep encouraging you to relax and let it happen, to let him pleasure you and with each passing second, it seems more ridiculous to even try to stop it. You’re too far gone in every sense.

“Oh god, fuck, Jay!” Your silence gives way at the same time as your body and you blurt out his name like it’s the only thing you’re capable of saying.

He lifts his head just enough so that you can see the thick gloss of your juices on his lips and through his beard before he starts kissing you and touching you again. He stays away from your too-sensitive bud but his lips and fingers move everywhere around it, finding a whole ring of nerves outside and inside just begging for attention. You can’t even tell if it’s just powerful aftershocks you’re feeling or if you’re rolling through orgasm after orgasm. Does it matter? It does not.

Gradually he glides up your body, still rocking against you, caressing you all over as he moves, like he wants to make love to every part of you individually. You run your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp like you know he loves. You're rewarded with deep purrs of satisfaction, like he’s a big cat you’ve managed to tame. Usually, you don’t get the opportunity to touch him like this, but you figured it out early on and you’ve never forgotten.

You wonder if he knows he was the first man to make you come. You’ve certainly never told him. It’s not like you were that experienced but you’d been with enough men by the time you first got together with Jay that you’d pretty much given up hope that you’d meet a man who’d be able to figure you out. And then he’d come along and made you fall apart like it was nothing. He still can.

His kisses become more playful and ticklish, which gets you both laughing a little.

“You deserve it.” He says the phrase in the same singsong cadence that fans chant it during shows. “You deserve it.”

This gets you laughing even harder so that you’re almost caught off guard when he starts licking and nipping at your neck in earnest.

His rigid cock is sliding against your soaked pussy but he’s making no effort to enter you. You buck your hips a little to let him know he’s welcome.

“I don’t have to,” he tells you, running a finger ever so delicately down your throat and over your collarbone. “This is for you.”

“You don’t want to?”

He laughs. “More than anything. But for once I’m telling you it’s not about what I want. I mean it. You can send me back to my room if you like.”

“You know I want you.”

“Like this?” He thrusts his hips hard against yours.

“Exactly like that.”

He needs no further encouragement to guide himself into you, gasping like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt as he begins pumping into you.

“That son of a bitch fucked you all night and you’re still as tight as when I met you.”

A pained sound escapes you and the word “no” just after it. You cover your face with your hand and try not to picture where you were twenty-four hours ago.

Roughly, he pushes your hand back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You just feel so good, always so fucking good.”

He kisses you insistently but sweetly, pulling on your legs so that they curve over his broad shoulders, allowing him to push deeper inside you as he picks up his pace. As he moves, he rolls you a little further forward, to the point you think that if his arms weren’t firmly planted on either side of your head, the two of you would end up turning a summersault. The higher the angle, the deeper he’s able to get and the more contact he’s able to get with your g-spot, so that you’re practically screaming again as you feel the tension rising like lava in a volcano.

“That’s so good,” you whine, grabbing onto his bicep. You have to focus on pulling oxygen into your lungs or you’ll pass out. “I’m gonna come again, Jay.”

“I’m right with you,”

Your eyes close for a second before you feel his hand insistently rubbing at your cheek and temple.

“Open your eyes,” he rasps, obviously on the brink of losing control of himself. “I want to see those beautiful eyes when you come.”

You oblige and it’s just in time as you go to pieces, your muscles spasming and squeezing tight around him. And it’s only seconds before you feel him come hot and wet inside you, gradually slowing his movements until the two of you are still, hands running over each other as you catch your breath.

He finally rises, pushing himself down the bed and lifting one of your legs over his. You’ve never seen that look on his face before, like he can’t process what has just happened or how he’s feeling about it. He just sits there, stroking your leg as his expression goes through a series of subtle changes until his eyes come to rest on your pussy.

He’s not making any effort to conceal the hunger in his stare. His hand drifts up your thigh and he strokes at the apex of it with a calloused thumb.

“It’s perfect,” he mumbles. “Fucking perfect. The color, the shape, those gorgeous thick lips. It’s like I never want to look at anything else.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

“I wish I had. I wish I’d said it every time you let me have it.” He squeezes at the flesh just a little and teases pushing a couple of fingers inside. “I want to take a picture.”

“No way.”

“I know, I know. I’d just love to take a picture and send it to him so he could see what he’s missing. So he could see how beautiful it looks with my cum leaking out of it.”

You spring up and try to push yourself away but he instantly has a tight grip on your leg and gives a sharp bite to the inside of your knee.

“I’ll bet he was a good little boy,” he sighs, resting his head against your thigh. “I’ll bet he wore a condom for you so that you felt nice and safe.”

You can’t even speak, you're so angry.

“He did, didn’t he?”

“It’s none of your goddamned business, Jay.” You glare at him, wanting to wipe that infuriating smile off his face forever. “Yes, we used condoms. A lot of them.”

“Oh of course. I forgot what an amazing lover he is. All sweet and attentive.”

“Not as sweet as you think, asshole. But you’re right about amazing. Like I said, the best-“

“No, he isn’t.” He pushes the heel of his hand against your pussy, stimulating the nerves without making it physically painful. “Did you tell him you let me fuck you without a condom? That you stay on birth control for me?”

“Funny,” you sneer, “it didn’t come up.”

He stares at you, flicking his tongue over his lips.

“Why do you always have to be such an asshole?” You groan.

“Would you still be here if I wasn’t?”

That hits you like a glass of ice water and while you’re trying to think of a retort, he pulls you up onto his lap and starts peppering you with kisses like he hasn’t just behaved like a monster.

“You think I’m joking but I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m not letting you go away. I’m not going to settle for being the second most important man in your life. “

“I don’t think it would bother you if you weren’t thinking you were about to come second to David Finlay. Again.”

He locks his arm around you and stands up in one smooth movement. You know how hard he works on his body and how strong he is but your jaw still drops a little at how effortless it is. He doesn’t even have to hold you particularly tight to support your whole weight.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You croak.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

And with that, he whisks you off to his adjoining room.

#jay white imagine #jay white fanfic #david finlay imagine #david finlay fanfic #njpw fanfic #wrestling fanfic #wrestling imagine #wayward wrestle writing

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gallickingun · 4 years

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who i am today will love {whoever you are tomorrow} || s.k.

SUMMARY: Sugawara Koushi has managed to get you to fall in love with him once. He will not let a simple case of transient global amnesia keep him from sweeping you off of your feet time and time again, until he has you enraptured once more.

PAIRING: Sugawara Koushi x Fem!Reader RATINGS: T+ WARNINGS: angst. literally just all angst. a little fluff here and there. but mostly angst. some language, a little bit of relationship struggle, but nothing too intense! WORD COUNT: 6k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m not very happy with this, but this is my post for the Haikyuu Headquarters SFW collab centered around the prompt Amnesia! Please check out all of the other rad fics HERE! I haven’t written a full length fic for Sugawara yet, but apparently my first one is going to be Angst City. I hope you all enjoy 💔

Sugawara knew from the moment he saw you that you were going to be the puzzle he was trying to put together for the rest of his days.

He would spend moment after moment trying to piece together the parts of you that created this wonderful masterpiece, the prettiest picture he could never have even imagined would grace his life. He is careful with your sharp edges, the pieces of you that have been forged by years of difficult situations you have had to claw yourself out of.

There were pieces of you that fit into place easily, of course. The softest sides of you which you bared to him from the day you met him. Your smile, the color of your eyes, the way your cheeks lift when you grin. He knows these parts by heart, has run his fingertips over them countless times, until he has memorized the exact curve of them, until he can put them into place without looking.

You are like hieroglyphs from a long-lost language, something incomprehensible if only because you are so cryptically enticing, hiding pieces of yourself for him to discover throughout the years that you develop your friendship and eventual love.

There are days where Sugawara could spend every waking moment between the blinks of his pale lashes purely studying you, irises narrowed as he watches the way your body moves, the way your hands tense at your sides. He notices the quirk of your lips and the curl of your toes when you get anxious, how you gnaw on the inside of your cheek, and how your forehead wrinkles. At times, he breaks himself away from his study long enough to press a warm, gentle kiss to the crinkled skin of your forehead, coaxing you from the prison of your mind, begging you to relax under his ministration. You will reach out, fisting the fabric of his shirt as timidly as you can within your knuckles, and he feels your skin go lax.

When he pulls away to gaze down into the beautiful shade of your irises, Sugawara feels safe, like there is a nestled home tucked away in your pupils that he can retreat to when life becomes too much, too overwhelming. His heart patters within his chest and he knows that if you were to peel his shirt away, you’d find a bruise in the shape of the organ outlined in bright purple and blue on his porcelain skin, like a small galaxy of pain that represents the intensity of his love for you.

Koushi’s hands reach for you in the dead of night, his head resting on your shoulder so he can breathe in your familiarity, and the closeness of you settles in on him as a weighted blanket would. Your presence alone calms him, and the feel of your skin beneath the pads of his fingers only adds to the reverie. His fingerprints dance underneath the thin fabric of his tee shirt that is clad on your body, your body second nature to his touch, and he can map out your ribs and hips with ease. He kisses your shoulder and his eyelashes flutter shut, the awareness of your proximity making him feel safe.

Every day is a new day to find a new piece of your beautiful puzzle, Sugawara thinks as he drifts off into the realm of unconsciousness. And he cannot wait to wake up to discover the next, most unique piece in the morning.

Only, when his eyes peel back as the sun rises the next morning, his perfect puzzle has been ruined, torn apart and left for scraps, and now there is a piece missing.

“Wh-Who are you?” Your voice is a stutter, eyes bright and wild, feral in the worst way. You cower away from him, holding yourself together as though you might shatter if you breath a moment longer, “Why are you in my bed?”

Sugawara laughs at first, if only because he cannot believe that this is something more than a prank at best. He reaches for you, fingertips barely grazing the hem of your shirt sleeve as you skitter away from him. Your body falters as you fall from the bed, and the last thing he sees before you plummet to the floor is the way your irises are engulfed by your pupils until your orbs look inked out with darkness, a void quality to them that makes his heart wrench within his chest.

“Love, c’mon,” Sugawara crawls across the mattress so he can get a look at you, still clinging desperately to the idea that this is a sick joke that you are playing on him – where are the hidden cameras? What will Daichi and Asahi think of this when you send them the video?

Your jawline is trembling, your teeth clenched together so tightly that the muscles are quivering, and you shake your head, “I-I don’t know you, wh-who are you?”

Koushi clambers from the bed to stand near you, arms crossed over his chest as he looks down where you are still a mess of limbs on the floor, a blanket you found discarded beside the bed wrapped around your partially bare body. He shakes his head, his chin wobbling as reality sets in, “Sweetheart, this isn’t funny. Cut the crap. What’s going on?”

When you shout, voice in a frenzy because you do not recognize the man loitering over you like a thundercloud, Sugawara feels lightning strike his heart and shatter it into a thousand pieces. Shards of emotion lodge into his chest as you speak next, “Please d-don’t hurt me!”

He was unaware to the tears building up behind his lids until he feels the wetness of a saltine droplet drip down his cheek, collecting on his jaw before dripping onto the floor. Sugawara’s hands shudder and he reaches down for you, “I think we need to take you to the hospital.”

“I-I’m not going anywhere with you,” you are biting in your tone, a resonance to the fiery personality you have shown him all your natural born life.

You have known him since you were a child, infatuated with him since you were teenagers, encapsulated in love with him once you turned twenty-two, and now you have been married for three wonderful years.

And yet, the frightened look in your eyes, the tears that make your irises glassy, tells him that there may be no coming back from this, that he cannot rely on the years before this very moment to build back what seems to have broken. Sugawara’s hands shake and you can tell, but that does not keep your breath from shuddering in your lungs, busting open your teeth as you release the pent-up oxygen.

“Please, love,” Sugawara’s voice is broken, each syllable grating against his esophagus as he forces them through his throat, but you cannot notice past your own panic, “let’s just get in the car, okay?”

Your body warms at the sound of the pet name, but you cannot place the fondness he has for you with the devoid space in your heart, although there is a quiet voice in the back of your mind telling you that he cares for you, and you for him. Even still, you have been birthed into this place as a confused creature, someone who does not know their purpose or intentions, and the only thing on your one-track mind is to find some answers to the intimidating list of questions percolating in your subconscious.

You know that he will not rest until you listen, and so the fight or flight response in your mind begins to flare until you tame it, stoking the fire down to embers as you rise to your feet. You grit your teeth and shake your head, signaling your defiance, but stumble towards the car nonetheless. You are not sure just how you knew where to go, like a blueprint has been embedded within your mind, but somehow you find your way despite the confusion clouding your thoughts like a raging storm.

Usually, Sugawara would reach across the console and buckle you into the front seat. Only now, as you shy away from his hand that reaches for your elbow, flinching when he gets too close, he realizes that so many of his second-nature tasks will have to be stubbed to a halt until you remember that you are a piece of his heart. He recoils from you, drawing his wrist back against his ribs, as if capturing himself, “It’s okay. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

You should hear the sincerity in his voice, but everything is a lie to you, even his kindness. Your body trembles as you pull the belt across your body, securing it into the latch with a gentle sound. Sugawara watches you closely, trying urgently not to seem like he is hovering over you, but the mission to keep you safe is still rooted firmly in his spine and he will not waver from it, even as you sit before him unknowing to all of the times he has done this very simple action for you.

There is this insatiable desire that sits in Sugawara’s gut, bubbling beneath the surface like a grotesque acid, tumultuous enough that he is steadily reminded of it’s presence, of it’s hungering need to keep you safe and happy, to keep you reliant on him. In the smallest of ways, such as holding your hand as you climb into the car, or buckling your belt for you, it makes him feel important, necessary. He has spent too much of his life feeling like he has been sidelined to warrant other’s have their moment to shine, and you allow him to stand center stage every day, even if the platform is only your heart.

It makes you feel special and it makes him feel strong, like a protective alpha animal. Your generous reliance on him allows his pride to swell, to balloon until his chest is held high and his chin is tilted upward. It may seem silly from the outside, but the way his torso sinks into a concave position as you shy away from him creates a void cavity in his chest that Sugawara is sure nothing else will ever fill.

He has never seen you resemble a frightened animal before, like you were too afraid he would throw you into a cage given your pensive stare and shaking limbs. Sugawara could not hunt you even if he wanted to, and the idea that you believe this is his intent makes a fresh wave of tears well up behind his lids, the heat of it all giving his face a dark flush, easy to see against his pale skin.

As you close your door, Sugawara thinks of how Daichi would handle this. He stalks from one side of the car to the other, the gears of his mind turning so loudly that he startles. A thick gulp rakes against his throat, making his neck bob as he imagines the advice Sawamura might give him in a time like this.

Daichi would not falter, would not crumble. No, the captain would not have tears in his eyes and fear in his heart, rather he would bolster his shoulders and steady his feet, holding his chin high as he did whatever needed to be done to ensure that you were taken care of. And so, Sugawara tightens the chains around his heart that have your name engraved upon them, guaranteeing the organ will not float away or sink down until there is a hole in the floor of the car.

Your newfound independence mocks him, even as you take charge in the hospital and tell the front desk nurse exactly how you are feeling. How can you be so articulate when you are so far gone from the woman he knew just the night prior? Have you truly turned into someone else? Will you ever love him the same as before?

Doubt digs into the base of his shoulders and rips his dark crows wings free. The appendages stand slaughtered at the ground, his eyes unable to waver as the doctor takes a pacing step back and forth at your bedside while he reads your charts. The part of Koushi that longs to keep you safe mocks him as his wings lay crumpled beneath his amber irises, pupils dilating to try and focus on the metaphor that has manifested in front of him in his delirious state.

He reaches out and his fingertips scrape linoleum where he expects to find wings, and he realizes that he truly is a clipped little thing, fallen to the ground with nowhere to go, no way to fly.

“It is a rare form of amnesia,” the doctor’s words reverberate in his mind relentlessly once they are spoken aloud for the first time, “she has forgotten everything prior to approximately fourteen hours ago.”

And oh, Sugawara has never wished more to be able to fly.

You are surprised as ever when he looks up at you, broken irises seeking you for answers, “Would you like to go home with me? Or I can always drop you off at your mother’s.”

The room goes quiet, and Sugawara swears he could hear a feather drift to the floor.

Your voice is trembling when you answer, “I want to go home…with you.”

It would seem the glittering diamond on your left hand, in tandem with the records the hospital has found regarding you and Sugawara Koushi, has given you some semblance of relief. At least enough to be willing to ride in the car with him again, to find solace in the home you two have built.

You toy with the ring as Sugawara looks at you with his jaw unhinged slightly, just enough for you to see the pink muscle of his tongue twitching on the bed of his mouth. You giggle, the first time he’s heard you laugh since this whole escapade began, and your eyes crinkle at the sides just how he remembered, “Well, the house is half mine, is it not?”

Sugawara cracks a smile and stands to his feet, shoulders creaking as he feels his barely-there wings begin to molt into something new. Not the same, no he will never be the same, not after this, but possibly still a semblance of the old thing, a reminder that maybe life can return to what it once was.

And so, he walks you to the car, hand hovering at the base of your spine, but not touching; he does not want to push away the small amount of progress that has been made in such a short amount of time. He treats you like a glass box, opening the door and shadowing you as you climb into the front seat. You feel the ghost of his fingertips, a heat along your spine, and you do not flinch, not this time.

“I’ll order dinner,” he says when the door has shut behind the both of you. “Do you want from that dumpling place you li-”

The words reverberate in the small space of your living room, a recollection of what once was casual between the two of you that is now something far-off and forgotten. You swallow thickly, your throat bobbing as you look away from him so you don’t have to face the fallen expression on his face when he realizes that he will have to rework his entire existence around your new condition.

Your heart freezes, clogging up your lungs and making it harder to breathe. Sugawara shrugs off his jacket and slips on his house shoes, forcing himself to move toward you, “There is this dumpling place I think you’ll like. Want to try it for dinner? I doubt either of us feel like cooking.”

Licking your lips, you turn to find him quite close to you, his hands hovering by his side. You wonder if he aches to touch you, if his fingers burn with the desire to reach forward and brush your hair away from your face. You take a short breath, collecting yourself before glancing up into his amber irises, warmth seeping from them directly into your bones through what feels like osmosis.

“Y-Yeah,” your voice catches in your throat once you take him all in. “That sounds, um, that sounds nice.”

Your body screams at you to either run away or hold him closer, and you’re not sure which part to listen to. You grit your teeth to bring yourself some clarity in the form of pain, but it only serves to make your head dizzier.

Sugawara Koushi is handsome, borderline pretty, and you are enraptured by the sight of him. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body, and the irrational side of your brain wants to succumb to the heat, to be engulfed by the flames. Instead, you tuck your arms around your midsection and pray for patience, “I’m going to go take a shower, Sugawara. If that’s okay?”

He winces at the sound of his formal name coming through your teeth, turning his head so he doesn’t show you the dismay that tugs on his features. He chuckles, but the sound is forced, “Of course, the bathroom is, uh, just through the bedroom and on the right. Towels are in the closet on the left.”

“Th-Thank you,” you nod your head, stepping past him to walk toward the bedroom. Out of what must be pure instinct, you reach forward and rest your hands on his hips to guide him away from your path.

Simultaneously, you both breathe in sharply, the oxygen piercing your lungs like a dagger.

Your eyes meet amber and for a half-second, you are overwhelmed at his closeness. You breathe in the scent of his cologne and shampoo and it brings you back to some place that was previously tucked far away in your mind. You wrap your fingers around his shirt, if only to push him away.

Before Sugawara can ask you what is going on, you have blown past him towards the bedroom, the door closed and locked behind you.

You press your back into the door, relishing in the coolness of the surface, praying that it will help to bring your mind back down to this realm from where it is floating somewhere between this universe and the next. You cannot make sense of any one stream of consciousness, begging every thread of yourself to return to the nucleus so you might take a moment to collect all of your thoughts and press them back into your head.

Clambering forward on your knees, you start the bath water, flipping the level to turn on the shower. Your body is so disconnected from your brain that you almost step into the tub fully clothed, but seeing your sock clad foot makes you pause before you soak your clothes. You swallow your inhibitions, trying to keep the tears locked behind your lids, and step out of your undergarments.

You have barely stepped underneath the steaming water before you break down into sobs and tears. You crumble to the bottom of the tub, your arms around your knees, your head tucked beneath your biceps, and you release every pent-up moment from the day in the form of salty tears dripping down your cheeks to mix with the streams of clean water from the showerhead above.

“Is this my life now?” you whimper to no one in particular, your voice muffled by your forearm. You sniffle and rub at your face, although it doesn’t much matter, given the water running down it in rivulets to hide your tears. You look at your palms, stretching your fingers in front of your face, curious if you’ve always looked like this, or if there was something different from when you woke up this morning.

The knowledge that you have no knowledge of who you were before this morning makes a fresh wave of nausea and tears roll through your body, making your spine shudder as you cry into your own cocoon of a body. A sob tears through your shoulders, and you feel like your eyes might fall out of your skull, they’re throbbing so intensely. You press the heels of your hands into your sockets until you see a full galaxy of inky planets and stars behind your lids. The pain was what you were hoping would bring you back to the present, merely multiplies the devastating hole in your chest.

This is not the first time you find yourself curled up in the bottom of the shower, your head leant against the tile wall as the water runs from searing to freezing while you contemplate your entire life existence.

Of course, Sugawara has been nothing but accommodating during this strange period of time. He has moved his items to the spare bedroom, even though most nights he favors the couch, given he finds it tough to fall asleep on his own. You have woken in the middle of the night to terrible dreams only to find the television playing a show that is trying to sell a rare set of jewelry or a stellar non-stick frying pan.

There is one night, a few months after your first visit to the hospital, when you gather enough confidence to carefully step into the living room and turn off the television. Sugawara stirs at the sudden change in light, his eyes barely cracking open, irises hardly peeking from behind his lids, but he is still able to spot you from where you are stood in front of him. He sits up as best he can, forcing his stiff body to straighten when he makes limited eye contact with you.

“H-Hey,” his voice is gruff, as if it were stuck in his throat, and you can’t help the flush of embarrassment that makes your cheeks burn at the sound. “What are you doing awake?”

You run your palm along the back of your neck, rubbing at your vertebrae anxiously, unable to keep your gaze narrowed in on him when he’s making you feel this way. Your toes curl in on one another and your socks find friction against the carpet, “Just another nightmare.”

Sugawara is at full attention now, the warmth in his irises tripling at your small voice and nervous posture. He sits so he is facing you, his palms on his knees, fingertips itching at the hem of his shorts to keep himself from reaching out to take you by the hands. He licks his lips and looks upward to try and make eye contact with you to no avail, your pretty orbs still hidden from him as you look away, “You’ve been having a lot of those lately, haven’t you?”

There is a beat of silence that passes between you before he adds, “I’ve been hearing your screams.”

This is all that it takes to crumble what little resolve is left cementing your heart together. You crumble to your knees, your hands covering your face so you do not bare your pitiful, glassy eyes to him. Sugawara is quick to react, catching you before your knees can find the carpet, pulling you close to cushion your fall. You do not care that you cannot remember what his hold felt like before you lost your memories, all that matters is how safe you feel now.

He is like an anchor to your flighty soul, keeping you bound tightly to this earthly plane instead of allowing you to float away to whatever universe your subconscious has been visiting since the day your whole world was rearranged. You cling to his shirt, your fists bunching up the fabric of his tee when you lean in closer until your temple is pressed to his neck.

“It’s okay, honey,” Sugawara’s voice is warm, like honey, and you wonder if it might seep into the cracks of your broken soul and seal you back together, “I’m right here, it’s okay.”

For a moment, you pretend that this is what you are used to. You allow your mind to believe that this is your normal, that this has how things have always been. And, in some sadistic, twisted way, you might be right. Maybe before you forgot what he smelled like and how he kissed, this was how he held you – firm and secure, sturdy as a rock and kind as a beam of sunshine. Your heart hammers in your ribs and you can’t stop the tears from flowing, from the feel of both of your hearts breaking in the small space between your bodies.

You wonder if his chest feels as tight as yours, as if your ribs are the only thing keeping your hearts from bursting directly out of your skin. The beating is loud, thunderous in your ears as you cry into his shoulder, staining his shirt dark with your tears. You sob and snot and cough, but never once does he judge you or push you away. All you hear is the gentle hush of his voice in your ear, reminding you that he is here, reminding you that everything will eventually be okay.

And for a split second, you believe him.

And without inhibition, you allow your heart to speak, your throat but a conduit for the emotions bubbling within your belly like lava.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” you admit, your chest splitting open as the lava sprays through your teeth, burning your mouth to ash, but somehow you still speak, “please, Koushi, I-I think- I think I need you.”

When you look up at him, the absolute adoration reflected back to you in shades of tawny brown, dark and light swirling within his irises until it is overwhelming you like a storm cloud. You suck in a deep breath and dive back in, tucking your head underneath his chin and wrapping your arms around his shoulders until you are conjoined, unsure of where he ends and you begin as you become a mess of limbs on the sofa.

“I’m right here,” he repeats in a whisper against the crown of your head, holding you around the waist and beneath the thighs as he stands with you still in his arms. You latch onto him tighter, curled around him like a frightened animal, and your place against his neck makes it so you cannot see the way his lips stretch into a smile.

This has been what he has craved for the past few months – a genuine closeness that you chose; you choosing him. Sugawara cradles your body as tightly as he can without hurting you, walking towards your bedroom with careful steps. Your toes curl as he settles back against the mattress, slowly guiding your body down with him so you are both laid out horizontally on the bed, your knees dug tightly into his sides and your fingertips still clutching his shoulders relentlessly.

Sugawara runs his fingers through your hair, ruffling your tresses in a soothing manner as his chest begins to rumble with a melody. Your whole body buzzes as his lips maneuver in the tendrils of your hair surrounding your face, mouth pressing warm kisses to your scalp as the humming grows louder, more confident. Tears are flowing silently down your cheeks, staining your skin and his shirt, but neither of you seem to care, rather paying attention to the way you soak one another in like you have been a person starved for water and this is your first sip after days without drink.

It takes you a few minutes, but his humming in tandem with the ministrations of his hands soothes your mind into a dreamlike state. You release your grip on his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles in the fabric, if only to give yourself something else to pay attention to other than his searching eyes. Sugawara allows you a moment of exploration before his index finger is crooked underneath your chin, tilting your jaw upward so he can look you directly in the eyes.

“Stop being so hard on yourself,” he murmurs, voice kind despite the circumstances, “you’re still learning, adjusting. It won’t happen overnight.”

“And if it never happens?” Your tone is curt, words biting. You grit your teeth together and the creaking of your molars makes your bones shudder. A wobbling chin gives way to another bout of tears, but you do not falter this time, rather looking him in the eyes than succumbing to the exhausting heave of another sob, “What if I’m never the same? What if I can’t- what if you don’t love this person?”

Sugawara’s hand drifts from your chin to your cheek, his thumb brushing along the apple of your face, swooping downward to trace your jaw. A gentle smile tugs on the corners of his mouth and you want to scold him for laughing at your pain, but the faraway look in his eyes suggests that he is thinking of another time, possibly one much more simple in nature where you were sitting on his lap just like this, but there was a stream of knowledge, of combined thought, that flowed between the two of you. You knew one another, backwards and forwards and inside out, but now there is a barrier built, one that has kept him from teaching you who you are and from you allowing him to take the chance to do such a thing.

He is kind, something you suspect he has always been, when his mouth unhinges to let his words out of their cage, “Better or worse, angel. And if this is the worst life has to throw at us, then so be it.”

There is a hesitancy in his gaze, but he leans forward to brush a kiss against your cheek despite it, “I would rather go through this with you than be in a picture-perfect situation with anyone else.”

The sight of him in tandem with the brutal, raw honesty of his beautiful words overwhelms you, like a wave crashing along the shore, suffocating the sand. You want to be the beach, to be greeted with his kissing crest each time he chooses to seek you out despite the call to the sea, and it is that thought alone that ignites your need to seek purchase with your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Sugawara’s eyes go wide, if only because he does not want you to do this out of desperation or obligation, but out of choice and choice alone.

You can tell that he wants to say something, but before you lose your nerve and before he says something that will make the both of you overanalyze, you have crashed your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

His fingers are hesitant to clutch at your sides, but once he realizes that you are not going to pull away, a familiar desperation sinks into his movements and he has you caught by the waist to anchor you to him. Your thumbs press into the pulse points on either side of his neck, like you were checking to make sure his heart is still beating. Sugawara’s breath stutters and he tilts his head so your chins bump to tear you apart, “Honey, I-”

“Kou,” your voice is quiet, seeking out solace in his silence.

Your tone is exploratory, and the sound of his given name shortened in the way you have said it a dozen times makes his head spin, but you sound awkward when you say it, as if you were taking it for a test drive and it’s not the car you were comfortable driving. You swallow and try again, “K-Kou, I want you to stay here tonight, with me.”

The edges of his thumbs slip beneath the hem of your shirt, and for the first time since he pushed his lids back earlier to take you in, he realizes that you’re clad in one of his old college tees. It was one of your favorites, a staple in your sleeping collection, a comforting item you sought out when you were distressed beyond measure. He wonders if your subconscious held on to this thought, and brought you this tattered, worn piece of clothing to give you some semblance of healing in your despondent time of need.

“As you wish,” Sugawara whispers against the bow of your lips, your mouths brushing with every syllable. He smiles, a gentle pecking kiss nestled on the corner of your cheek before he speaks again, “Now, we both need to rest.”

His words are accented by his body curling around you, turned to the side so he can wrap you up in the quilt that has been strewn across the bed in your haste of sleep. Your body is encased in warmth, a mixture of his natural body heat and the cocoon the blanket creates. The two of you tuck into one another as if you were built to be together, your pieces perfectly slotting into the spaces his body creates.

Silence stretches for what feels like hours, nothing but the sound of your beating hearts and quiet breaths to fill the air. You run your thumb along the stretch of his collarbone, gnawing on your lower lip as you work up the courage to speak.

“Go ahead,” his voice is gravelly with the desire to succumb to sleep, muffled from his position of being tucked into you, lips in your hair. “What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whisper in fear, unable to recognize even your own voice. You swallow, the heat of tears welling up behind your lids already overwhelming enough without the stumble of your words to accent your anxiety, “And I’m scared I can’t be who you want me to be.”

Sugawara surprises you with a chuckle breathed into your hair, a light, lilting sound making his throat hum, “Oh, angel. You’re my everything, how could you ever be a burden to me?”

“I-I dunno,” you can feel yourself starting to panic, the darkness closing in on you until it’s choking you from the inside out, “Wh-What if I don’t laugh the way I used to? O-Or what if, uh, what if I don’t like the same foods? What if-”

You are hushed by the warmth of his mouth on yours, stealing your frightened, nonsensical words straight from your throat as you gasp against his teeth. A firm palm tilts your head upward, fingertips grazing the curve of your jaw and neck, soothing you with a simple touch. He massages his digits into your shoulder as he pulls away, watching carefully as you chase after him for another display of affection, as if you were searching for even more reassurance.

“Hush now, love,” he settles back into you, circling you in his arms and tucking your head beneath his chin. Your knee presses between his thighs and you find your hands nudging underneath his shirt, seeking out the skin-on-skin contact. Sugawara litters kisses in your hair, almost like he were planting a garden of affection, begging it to grow as he encourages it with kiss after kiss.

You are on the precipice of sleep, your body worn down from your anxious efforts of before, when you hear his next words mumbled into the skin of your neck, barely audible even in the utter silence of your bedroom. The few syllables make your heart press stiffly against your ribcage, begging to be let free, like a caged dove sitting pretty within the confines of your chest.

“And to think,” he whispers, “I get to fall in love with you all over again, every time. How exciting, right?”

You want to laugh, to indulge him in his monologue, but your body is heavy, weighed down from the tears and the pressure of all the time before this that you can remember. Finally, you feel like you are floating, the only thing keeping you tethered to this dimension is the cuff of his arms around your waist, circling you and holding you tight, piecing back together every broken part of your soul.

Sugawara’s breath tickles your ear, and you swear you hear him snore. And you might be making up the last few words that he breathes before he is overwhelmed by unconsciousness-

“I can’t wait to fall in love with whoever you are tomorrow.”

But you pray to whoever is listening that it’s the truth.

a/n: wow i wrote most of this while delirious and drinking yoohoo so please don’t come for me if it doesn’t make sense.

my original plot idea was to have reader have continuous amnesia where she forgets her memories every few years, and sugawara always manages to get her to fall in love with him every single time, but that fic would have been upwards of 20k and i didn’t allot myself enough time to write it, which i’m upset about. maybe i’ll do an extension of this fic sometime, but i just feel like it won’t be as impactful. u g h. alas, here we are. i hope that you enjoyed it! i plan to write more sugawara in the future. and thanks again to the hqhq for putting on this collab! the nsfw one is next -- i have daddy daichi for that one! 💕

#sugawara koushi #sugawara x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara x you #sugawara x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #hq x you #hq x reader #hq x y/n #morgan writes hq #my writing #haikyuucreations

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belit0 · 3 years

Note

Girrrllll any chance you could write a pegging izuna scenario??

My writer decided that I needed to learn a lesson from the way I treated you yesterday when you asked me for a baby...

Izuna had always been the dominant one, there was no doubt about it. Your relationship with him was fiery chaos of passion and problems, jealousy and insecurities. Who would have thought that an Uchiha would have so many misgivings about himself being in a relationship? His complaints reached such a ridiculous point that there was nothing left but to send him away, and yet, fuck, the sex with him was so good that you could never stop meeting him.

Your ex was a machine in bed, knowing your body as if he had devoted himself to investigate it in detail, knowing how to handle it like a finely oiled instrument, making you scream the most perverse tunes. It was impossible to leave that part of him, and as long as he stayed in line without wanting to come back, everything was fine.

But now that each of you was doing your own thing and only meeting for casual fucking, you discovered sexual appetites never before explored with him. Like how exciting it was to penetrate a man instead of being the one who was penetrated.

How outrageous it would be to have the great Izuna Uchiha, conqueror of wars and conqueror of women in everyday life, groaning and falling apart in front of you. What was even more intriguing, was the fact that he had never allowed you to take control, he always made sure that he was the one who commanded and directed, making you receive his supplies as he pleased.

Would it be possible to make him collapse in front of one of your toys and have him open up that vulnerable area for you? There is only one way to find out.

So you find yourself walking towards his home in the Uchiha district with determination and not a shred of fear, one of the places where you usually met when Madara was not around. On your shoulder, you carry a bag with what you need to display your new interest, and thinking about that challenge feels like fun.

Yes, Izuna was stronger and scarier when he was angry, but he was also open-minded when it came to sex, and was afraid of almost nothing, as long as he was the one who dominated it. You were not planning to convince him, as that would be the wrong approach, but to change roles without warning and give him a spoonful of his own medicine.

To add to your motivation, the two had fought during the day when you had inadvertently met on one of the paths of the newly founded Konoha. He was walking absent-mindedly and carelessly, and you were running at full speed so as not to be late for Hashirama's office when both of you crashed because not paying attention to the road. Of course, there were shouts and accusations, added to a strong sexual tension that ended in a quick tongue kiss and the pact that you would go to his place at nightfall, as you were doing exactly now.

When you arrived, you knocked on the door and waited. He welcomes you with a seductive smile and taking you by the waist he enters the house, closing the door and pressing you against it. His lips are immediately pressed against yours, demonstrating an almost intimidating desire and need, and he only separates when you both need air.

"I have missed you..."

"I didn't, you idiot."

Taking him by the back of the neck, you kiss him again and slam his body against the opposite wall to the front door. Violence is the language the two of you use to go through your encounters, and both turn on each other when the opponent doubles the bet and gets more abrupt.

But when Izuna wants to turn the game around again, you don't let him. Grabbing and pulling his hair, you tug at his head backward, and inform while kissing his neck.

"Today I am in charge, dirty Uchiha. I don't care if you like it or not if you don't want it, I'll leave right now.

"Senju... Who do you think you are?"

Another strong pull on his hair and his head leans back further, making him curse in pain.

"Speak up, good-for-nothing. Do you want it or not?"

Fluttering his eyes and smiling maliciously, he replies.

"Whatever..."

You release your grip sharply and push him in the direction of his room, walking behind him with your backpack on your shoulder. The Uchiha casts a murderous glance at you over his, and you feel the satisfaction running through your veins.

Once there, you put what you were carrying on a chair and observe him. Standing in front of the bed, he crosses his arms and lifts his chin, looking at you over his nose, defiant.

"What now, Senju?"

"Get completely naked. I don't want anything on your pathetic body."

Snorting with sarcasm, he obeys and being without any garment on his beautiful skin, you push him on the mattress with one hand on his chest, making him land almost on the pillows. Izuna climbs to a sitting position, with his back to the headboard, while you crawl over him in a seductive way and with eyes full of intention.

You do not sit on his lap, nor do you even undress. You hold yourself with both hands and knees at the side of his body, making him believe that at any moment you will sink with your mouth on his length.

Without him expecting it, you hold his cheeks with one hand and bite your lower lip, looking him straight in the eyes.

"Give me a kiss, Izuna..."

"Are you getting cold feet?"

When he approaches his face to yours and is about to perform the action, your other freehand hits his face, slapping him with a smack that leaves him surprised and speechless. He had expected you to loosen your dominant attitude and allow him to take control, not that.

"Did you really think I was going to touch your ugly lips? You asshole."

Every insult and denigration make his cock hard, and it's not difficult to notice. In his shock over your blow, his member contracted at his waist, showing how your action aroused him.

"Come on Zuna, give me a kiss, this time for real..."

He can't even voice or fire an attack at you this time, as his body demands that he falls into your obvious trap in order to receive another slap from you. And so he does. When your hand strikes his face again, a slight groan comes from his mouth and you know that overpowering will not be a difficult task with this Uchiha.

"Get down on your knees and show me what you've got."

"W-Wha-"

"I'm not giving you a choice, Uchiha. Do it, now."

By deciding to accept, he pleases you and puts himself in the position you demanded. Exposing his ass upwards and with his dick hanging between his legs, the view is simply flattering. An exaggeratedly forceful slap makes him grunt, and as you get out of bed and undress, you grab your backpack and its contents.

Removing the lubricant, it's time to start playing.

"You don't even deserve for me to play with that disgusting cock of yours."

But of course you do, as his attribute is huge and hard to ignore. You start massaging his shaft, in slow movements from top to bottom. Despite the position never used before, he seems to be enjoying it, as his legs relax and his thighs open up, even more, revealing the hole you would play within just a moment.

Having it completely hard, you take the liberty of applying lube to one of your fingers and between his butt. His body reacts to the cold sensation of the liquid, but before he can say or do anything, you're massaging the place, anticipating what's going to happen without having to explain it.

"[Y/N] Senju..."

"Quietly you look prettier, Izuna. Keep it up."

At the mercy of his moaning, you find the right moment to insert your finger, and the satisfaction is simply too much. The Uchiha's face is disfigured with pleasure and pain, as his body imposes resistance at first, as well as demanding more of those wonderful supplies from you.

"[Y/N] M-More..."

"Get my pretty name out of your mouth, you bastard."

At his request, you insert a second finger, adding lubricant and with great care. His back tightens at first, and in the first stabs of your hand the movement is restricted in his butt, but with the stimulation that his penis continued to receive thanks to your other hand, he eventually gave in to you.

The moans and curses of the Uchiha are enough to get you completely wet, but you are too busy ruining him and stripping him of his role to care. When it feels appropriate, you take a small dildo that you usually use on yourself in private.

Bringing it to his mouth, while you continue to move your fingers inside him, you command.

"Suck it, whore. Show me how you would do it if you were me, you fucking slut.”

Introducing the object into his mouth without waiting for a response, you move it back and forth, seeing how the saliva falls around it despite being small due to the Uchiha's lack of practice.

"You are terrible, you are not even good at sucking cocks, do you realize that? Miserable."

Removing the dildo from his cavity, you direct it towards his ass, rubbing it against his hole from top to bottom to prepare it. By exerting pressure little by little, the object enters him, and the effect is immediate. It doesn't take many stabs to bring his cheek against the mattress and his eyes tightly shut, while noisy moans escape from him involuntarily.

After a few minutes of your torture, his seed is shot from his dick without any effort, and the Uchiha falls even more in love with you.

#izuna uchiha x reader #uchiha izuna x reader #uchiha izuna #izuna uchiha #izuna scenario #izuna imagines #naruto shippuden #naruto imagines #naruto x reader #izuna

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legolaslovely · 4 years

Text

Sticks and Stones

A/N: Happy Kíli Ktuesday! It’s been too long since I spent some alone time ;) with this sweetheart. This was not meant to be smutty, but alas! He demanded it. Hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Thank you to @dreams-of-wander for indulging my Kíli love in our long chats and prompting this Iron Hills journey! <3

Pairing: Kíli x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,338

Warnings/Tags: Rated Explicit, sappy smut, comfort, fluff

Summary: Kíli is welcomed home after a long month away.

Link to this photoset

She did not expect Kíli to make love to her tonight.

He’d returned only yesterday from a four week trip to the Iron Hills. It was more than just a family visit. Kíli was sent alone- as alone as he could be with a full entourage behind him- to discuss extra tariffs on traded goods and tolls on the routes between Erebor and the Iron Hills. He and Fíli agreed that the two realms should have a friendlier relationship between their craftsman and merchants. Dain disagreed and, despite being family and a superb leader of his own people, was incredibly stubborn. Ironfoot indeed. Because of prolonged discussions, the planned week long stay warped into two.

“Then you should have seen the winter storm Mahal threw at us halfway through the journey home,” Kíli had told (Y/N) in their bed the night he’d returned. He only divested details of the trip after two rounds of passionate, bed creaking, linen ruining love making. She wrapped her arms around him as if to warm him from the treacherous gale in his story as he continued.

“You would have loved all the snow, amrâlimê. But it was troublesome- so deep not even the ponies could trudge through it and so heavy no dwarf could clear enough of it to make a hair of headway. The only option was to wait out the storm.” He looked down at her in his arms. “I know you love the snow but I despise it for keeping me from you for so much longer than planned.”

“You’re here now,” she said. “Safe.”

He kissed her. “Safe in your arms, yes.” He relished her laugh as he tucked his head down into her shoulder, playing at the affection he always felt when she held him so close.

The tales and intimacy were expected and welcomed on the night he returned. However, the next night, after weeks of travel, endless early morning council meetings and a late night together, (Y/N) planned to allow Kíli some time and space for some well deserved rest.

He’d left before dawn that morning for the throne room where he, Fíli, Thorin and his advisors would discuss plans for the upcoming spring. Crucial preparations must be carefully made for the busiest time of the year when market days turned into full weeks, trade blossomed, and the heavier hunting season began.

(Y/N) knew there was much to do and yet concern coiled in her gut as she watched the setting sun pass by her window. She ate supper alone. That’s what she would tell Kíli, but truthfully, she only nibbled, unable to shift her thoughts from what her love must be doing. Had he any chance to eat today? Or was he too distracted by laws and finances and resources to notice his nauseous stomach rumbling? She set most of her own dinner aside for him in the ice box to eat if he so desired when he returned.

She lit the candles alone. She bathed alone. It was as if Kíli had never returned.

She did not, however, turn down the bed. Instead she sat on the neatly made furs and caught up on some reading. She would tell Kíli exactly that- she was so invested and distracted by this incredible book that she couldn’t bear to close it and sleep. She would not tell him that she refused to lie in their bed one more night without him, that it was too cold and too lonely. She’d simply wait for him and ignore how weak it all made her feel.

It felt as if hours had passed and she had turned the page of her book just twice. She’d memorized the first sentence of one of the paragraphs after reading it over and over again when she caught her mind wandering.

She read of birds. She thought of a raven. Raven hair she twisted and tied back every morning, clasping it with a silver courting bead. Stubborn dark locks that fell over eyes like feathers- never blocking, only framing. Rough stubble that scratched her cheeks and fingertips. Curls that traveled over porcelain skin and peeked around clothes and tickled her nose.

She read about castles. She thought of protection. A sharp mind and strong body that fought to keep its people safe from any threat in or outside of the realm’s borders. Broad chest and tapered back that held a bow string taught with enough resistance to speed straight through a warg’s skull. Arms that surrounded her, holding his body just above hers for long hours of the night and into the morning.

It was when she read about music that she closed her book, but the thoughts crept through the cracks in her worn shield and attacked her heart and pulled at her core. Belly laughs that shook his entire body, morning growls about early meetings that could rival a grizzly’s, soft hums and content sighs that celebrated her name.

She rolled off the bed in defeat and replaced the book on the shelf.

“What are you doing awake?”

Kíli was standing in the doorway. He’d had a silent entrance, careful not to wake his love, but the effort was all for nothing. She wasn’t asleep.

“I was just going to bed,” she said, extinguishing some of the candles. “I was reading.” She watched him fold his robes over the chair by his desk and kick his boots to the side. He crossed the floor to her like a sweet predator.

“And what have you been reading?” he asked. His cheek met hers, warmly scratching, and his arms wrapped around her waist. He kissed her neck as she spoke.

“I could have been reading the story of your life with how often my thoughts strayed to you.”

The cool tip of his nose drew a well worn trail up to her ear. “And my council notes could have had your portrait drawn on them with how often I dreamed of your lips. And your cheeks, your nose, your eyes.” He landed light pecks on every feature as he said the words. “I could think of nothing else.”

“Kíli-” Her admonishing faltered when his hands fell to her bottom. She drew away, taking his face in her hands. “You look exhausted, my love.”

“Thank you. And you look absolutely gorgeous.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Do I?” he asked between kisses. “Because I’ve taken offence. And now you must find a way to seek forgiveness.”

“Kíli-”

“I have a few ideas if you’re lacking.”

She pushed at his chest. “Sit on the bed, you insatiable heathen.”

He gave her a short laugh, though she longed to hear more from him. “Throwing more sticks and stones. Is this how you beg for forgiveness?” He took off his trousers with no further suggestion from her and settled on the bed where she herself was sitting only moments ago, longing for exactly this.

“A lady never begs.” She shed her winter robe, leaving only her soft, thin nightgown to somewhat cover her.

He watched her crawl across the furs to him. “Oh, how easily you forget your words from just last night. ‘Please, Kíli, please, m-’ ”

She kissed him if only to shut him up. Kíli pulled her into his lap, draping her legs over either side of him while his rough fingertips caught on the gown around her hips. She immediately discarded his tunic, leaving him completely bare under her, but Kíli took his time with her covering.

For a few moments, he enjoyed the thin wall between his thumbs and her peaked nipples, the barely there curtain between her skin and his. He could feel her warmth even through the gown. The thought that he could take it off whenever he wanted was a satisfying thrill until she shifted and the hem tickled and teased his full erection. It made him twitch and it was then that he noticed her lack of underclothes and abundance of arousal.

He growled her name, bunching the fabric in his fists. He whipped the barrier between them away and even before his hands could return to her, his cock was completely sheathed inside her.

She kissed him through his moan before gently pushing him down to lay back in the pillows. “Relax, my love.”

He fought her. “Amrâlimê, do not make the mistake in thinking I am ever too tired for you.”

“Am I not allowed to admire my own heathen while I make love to him?” She led him down again, this time leaving marks with her lips and teeth along his jaw, neck, and chest. At this new angle, she was able to pay special attention to the tip of Kíli’s length. She teased him the way she knew he loved best: only allowing his soft, wide head in and out of her folds as she kissed, touched, and caressed every inch of the dwarf she cherished.

Kíli, though he savored the attention, the feeling of being treasured, could not take this teasing for long. He thrust up into her, desperate for more, and who was she to deny him? She sat back on him, taking him as deeply as she could, curling her hands into his belly at the sensation. So full.

But it was Kíli’s expression of desire that sent bolts of arousal through her. This was the face she’d dreamed of all the weeks he was in the Iron Hills. Eyes like pools of ink on the pages of her books. Ravens, castles, and music all before her, right at her fingertips. She stared. Watched as she moved on him and felt his hands reach and tease and knead and caress. Though she set out to be the lover tonight, Kíli always managed to make her feel adored.

His ministrations led her to the edge and neatly pushed her over it. He sat up before her- closer- and she clung to him, using every ounce of strength and determination to continue moving on him. Her walls strangled his cock and her kiss took his breath, but it was her emotion that led him to the highest of peaks. His body contracted and shivered, but he managed to lift her from his length and wrap her hand around his throbbing member.

“Please, amrâlimê, make me come,” he ground out.

She stained his neck with her mark and whispered words of praise and encouragement as she stroked him to completion. Even with her forehead pressed to his skin, she watched his claim on her spatter over her hand and both their bodies. She tenderly wrung him dry and kissed his skin as he glued his body to hers and trusted her to keep him upright. Heavily lidded eyes watched her lick her fingers clean.

“Amrâlimê,” he said, breathless.

“Yes, my love?”

“I forgive you your name calling.”

“Good.” She moved off the bed, ignoring his grabbing and slipping hands. Her legs were wobbly and her knees sore and tired. She chuckled at herself, waving away Kíli’s concerned noise.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Do not move,” she said, swiping more come off her belly. “I won’t have those furs ruined all because I couldn’t turn the bed down. Stop moving!”

“Wha- (Y/N), it is not your job to clean up my mess.”

She left anyway, ducking into the washroom to dunk a cloth into the basin. “The mess that I made, thank you very much.”

She heard him laugh. “Yes.”

As she crossed the cool floor of the chambers, the patter of her feet cued Kíli to open his eyes. They barely obeyed him and drooped like an old hound’s. Now that she wasn’t distracted by the desire there, she noticed the dark circles just above his cheeks. Since she and Kíli began their courting, she’d learned to dread the coming of spring. This was the time of year Kíli’s sense of duty came before any inkling of self care.

She reached for him, but his hand stopped the cloth from touching his skin. Before he could say anything, she cursed him. “Will you just sit there and let me do this for you? You’re so exhausted you look like the undead. You look like Thorin.”

His eyes blew wide and looked more like they actually belonged to him. “How dare you?”

“It’s true!” she laughed. “And these days you’re getting more and more like him, you stubborn thing!” She pinned his hands down the best she could and swiped away the stickiness. When she was done, Kíli threw the cloth in the general direction of the washroom and pulled her body over his and onto the bed in a flourish.

“Good gracious, amrâlimê! As soon as you clear the slate, you insult me again. How will you make it up to me this time?”

“I will think.”

“It better be good.” He kissed her.

“Well, it will only happen after you get some rest and I’m much too lazy to turn the bed down now, so you’d better get used to sleeping on furs.”

“Good thing you kept them clean, then,” Kíli said, pulling one of the heavier blankets over them both and taking (Y/N) in his arms again. “I was surprised to see you hadn’t climbed in bed yet. I know how you enjoy reading under the covers when it’s cold like this.”

She hummed.

“Why didn’t you?”

She deflated, feeling as pitiful as she did when Kíli first went away and left her in their bed alone. “You weren’t here.”

Under her head, she felt his chest freeze as his breath caught. Then he rolled over her and ran his fingertips down her cheek. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

She made a show of a sigh. “Yes. But it’s been hours since.”

He kissed her. “I love you very much, amrâlimê. Name calling and all.”

“And I love you very much, you stubborn, insatiable heathen.”

***

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#kili ktuesday #kili x reader #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fic #the hobbit fanfic #aidan turner x reader

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hopelesslygazingthestars · 3 years

Text

In Valentines Day spirit... a lil love... and a lil angst.

Fools And Love.

Since long before Ashara’s flower blossomed, she knew that love made fools of men. There were many that came and went, fell over themselves and professed love for her pretty eyes and tinkling laugh. Even a Dornish prince had played the fool for her and sworn off marriage, and instead pursued fleeting desires.

Elia broke her promises and chose Rhaegar. When she uttered the rejection, Ashara literally heard her ribcage crack from the explosion beneath her chest. She had finally conjured up the confidence to confess long-hidden feelings and Elia gave a response she never foresaw. Her sweet Elia, the one she trusted above all others, and the one that loved her like none. The irony was not lost in that, at the beginning, she had wanted to apologize in advance because she thought it would be her to accidently break Elia’s heart and run, just like she always had. Yet, in the end, it was Elia who ripped her heart out and abandoned her.

It was only in Elia’s abandonment that Ashara realised she never healed what was broken inside of her. Elia was the tourniquet to her being, and without her, she was left bleeding on the cold, hard ground.

First, came an agonising emptiness which left her powerless to rise from her bed. Then, a volatile rage she unleashed on anything in her proximity. Next, she chased an oblivion in endless goblets of wine. Lastly, came the venomous desperation, which had her acting out for Elia’s attention in the most foolish ways.

After a long confinement, when Elia had not come chasing as usual, Ashara returned to court like a hurricane, on the centre stage of the Realm’s biggest and most extravagant tourney.

Lord Whent’s tourney at Harrenhal attracted nobility from every hill, river and rock in Westeros. From the sour lords of winter to the prickly roses of the Reach; to the stags of Storm’s End, to the old keeper of the Mountains of the Moon. Even Mad King Aerys, looking haggard and unhinged, crawled out of the dragon’s den for the first time in years, much to Rhaegar’s dismay. However, noticeably, the lions of the Rock were nowhere to be seen, except the newly knighted golden cub, Ser Jaime.

The tourney was as much a political event as it was an athletic melee. Treason was in the air, and the Great Houses of Westeros had more in mind than jousting, archery, and merrymaking. Ashara knew of the great efforts Rhaegar and Elia underwent to secretly fund the tourney in guise of calling a Great Council and initiating Rhaegar’s ascension to the Iron Throne.

After the opening ceremonies, when the dancing walls were hung with magnificent tapestries, each emblazoned with the symbols of the Great Houses, the psychological games began. Aerys made his own power plays and officially named Ser Jaime the youngest knight in kingsguard history. A clear spite at his Hand, thereby claiming the heir to the Rock his own.

Nonetheless, Ashara had plots of her own in mind. Driven by foolish attempts of attention seeking and many a cup of heady Dornish Reds, Ashara dragged Prince Oberyn up after a long evening of introductions and tedious niceties.

“Now, come. Let us show these stiff Northerners how to dance properly, my prince!”

Always ready for mischief, Oberyn set aside his wine before Ashara swept him to the centre of the dance floor.

Ashara expected the many eyes which stalked them, the distrust for the Dornish and their strange ways was something she was long accustomed to. Yet, there was only one pair of dark orbs Ashara cared to attract.

She took one of Oberyn’s serpents and waved to the musicians, who picked up their instruments and began to liven up.

The technicoloured red and blue serpent slithered up her arm and down her exposed mid riff.

Ashara was a foolish maid in love, recklessly seeking the love she was deathly afraid of losing. When she gazed up at the princely couple, seemingly besotted with one another, she knew she would sooner withstand Elia’s blazing rage than her careful distance.

She brought the serpent’s head close to her face and stuck out her tongue as its forked one did the same. The music swelled and she began to mirror its movements seductively as Oberyn stalked around her gyrating form. She moved with a slow and sensuous purpose as the snake coiled around her and slithered into Oberyn’s grip. Her body wove itself lithely in tandem with the growing rhythm of the seductive beats.

To dance was her freedom, to dance was to become a shooting star, and in the crumbling ruins of Harrenhal, Ashara came alive for the first time in so long.

Her movements flowed with a dazzling grace that took away the breath of every person in her audience. She felt her soul become one with the music and she unleashed her emotions into the dance; heartbreak, jealousy, longing. In that moment, she needed to dance as badly as she needed to breath. She wanted to shine and be seen in the darkness.

When she noticed that Elia’s attention remained on her husband, despite the audience she drew, Ashara grew more desperate. She was determined to draw such spectacle that Elia had to do something. Anything. It was not a well thought out strategy, merely a frantic attempt to salvage what had been shattered between them.

When the song ended and the applause came, Ser Barristan the Bold, stepped out another fool in love.

“Lady Ashara, I must insist on the honour of dancing with you. I am no great dancer, but I am certain your talents will more than make up for my lack of skill.”

She nearly declined until she caught Elia curiously watching her. She took it as a small victory and laughed loudly, throwing her head back.

“Ser Barristan, the honour is all mine.”

She took his offered hand, and it was the first of many. She danced with an entire host of men; princes, knights, and lords alike. Ashara was in her element, gliding close to whichever man she held close in her long arms and dared hope to see vexation in Elia’s expression.

She chased Elia and they chased her.

The men would take and so would she, for it was clear love was not meant for Ashara. These men would flirt and dance, perhaps even take her to bed, or to wed, but she knew none of them meant to see her beyond the violet eyes and fair golden skin. The only eyes which had ever seen her were so dark she could scarcely breath sometimes, and now they were blinded by fire.

Despite the sparing glances, Elia made no movement towards her, and Ashara descended further.

She left behind willing partners looking forlorn as she bounced to her next conquests. She flirted outrageously and was vitalised by the scandalised looks.

She was entirely content to continue her path of self-destruction until she saw dark grey eyes watching her. She noticed them follow her as she danced with Barristan, Prince Lewyn, Ethan Glover and Jon Connington. Always watching yet without hungry lust as some, or barely disguised disgust as the others.

She knew he was a Northman from the rigid way he sat between the boisterous young storm lord Robert Baratheon and his patron, old Jon Arryn, the Lord of the Vale.

Her curiosity fell away when from the corner of her eye, she saw Elia gaze over at her before whispering something to Arthur, and when he walked over to her, she felt victorious in her rebellion.

Yet, those hopes were quickly dampened.

“Did she send you here?” She asked.

Arthur sighed and looked at her apologetically.

“No.”

Elia did not want her. Ashara feared that this new meek woman that was Rhaegar’s wife would never love her like Elia of Dorne had.

Were things the way they once were, Elia would have risen from her seat and joined in the merriment long ago, propriety be damned. Ashara yearned for Dornish nights and Rhoynar rhythms, of small soft hands and blood orange scented kisses.

Ashara was taken out of her reverie and reminded of exactly where she was. On the dancefloor of a crumbling castle with near enough every pair of eyes on her except the ones she wished for.

Arthur gently caught her hand.

“Sister, dance with me,” he prompted.

She knew Arthur’s intentions were to soothe her suffering as he always had. For the pleading in his expression, she accepted the request and rocked with him to the slowing tune.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you will learn to breathe again without her,” he explained interrupting the stillness between them.

“I don’t want anything without her.” She answered petulantly, cursing herself for sounding like a spoilt child.

She felt more childish when he leaned back slightly and peeped down at her seriously.

“Ashara, you have to learn to live for yourself, not for anyone else, not even for her. For so long you held love with an iron grip but at arm’s length. You could have had your sweet Elia long ago. Inevitably, it would still have ended the same way because duty was always going to call for the prized sun of Dorne…”

His words stirred something uncomfortable inside her. They were difficult truths to accept. She made many excuses for why she waited so long to reveal the depth of her feelings. It always came down to her own inadequacy and inability to feel deserving of love.

“…You deserve love, Asha. Just because it no longer resides where you believed it to, does not mean it is not out there for you,” he finished.

Deep down she still felt like the neglected child that begged for scraps of her mother’s attention – like the abused girl that was sullied long ago.

It was an arduous and complicated set of issues to settle, but for the first time, Ashara was confronted with the truth.

“I don’t know who I am without her,” she admitted.

“Then perhaps you ought to find out.”

She took a moment and considered Arthur’s suggestion.

She wondered if it truly was time to attempt to move on. It left her chest feeling tight because it was something she never even fathomed to consider before. It was in the unknown to exist anywhere that was not Elia’s side.

Before she could respond, she was swiftly whisked into the arms of another, the charming Brandon Stark. He had made himself as well known as the young storm lord that evening, and it would be a lie to say her eye had not wondered to him during the introductions.

“Lady Ashara,” he greeted with a mischievous smirk and mirth gleaming in his eyes.

She feigned disapproval but continued gliding along with him despite it.

“The Sword of the Morning will not take too kindly to that, lord Brandon. I fear you may have made yourself a formidable enemy in the lists tomorrow.”

Brandon was not typical of the stony-faced Northmen. He was bold and confident, which she found attractive, although she would never admit that aloud; there was a cockiness to him that raised her defences.

“It’s just harmless fun, why should he make an enemy out of me?” He countered.

He acknowledged Arthur and nodded in respect, although the twinkle in his eye remained.

“You have a sister do you not – how pleased would you be if a man took off with her?”

The smugness fell from his expression momentarily.

“I suppose for her honour, he would become my enemy,” he answered gazing towards a young dark-haired girl Ashara assumed to be his sister.

She was a pretty thing, with the same teasing glint in her eyes as Brandon.

“Then what makes you exempt from my brother’s wrath?”

His knowing smirk returned as he peered at her with his grey eyes, and she hated how it made her blush.

“For a start, you think me quite handsome, and you enjoy me.” He winked with a growing grin.

Ashara laughed despite herself.

“And that’s enough to warrant his forgiveness?” She countered.

He shrugged playfully before brushing her hair back from her shoulder, with just the right look of heat in his eyes and moving in so close she could feel his lean body pressed up against her.

“Then perhaps I ought to give him better reason to make me his enemy.”

She pretended to be indifferent to Brandon’s seduction. It would not do to allow someone with an ego like his know how much power he had. Thus, she refused to lean in or seem too keen.

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“As are you, Ashara.” He looked pointedly at the men that stood peeved in the wake of her abandonment.

“If you came over to insult me Brandon, you can surely return.” She scolded as she recoiled.

Ashara was not a stranger to rumours, men and women alike often set their tongues wagging over tall tales about her. Unlike Dorne, the rest of Westeros were prude little creatures when it came to pleasures, but she would be damned if the would-be Warden of the North, who had his own whispers of lovers and bastards, would question her integrity.

“My lady please forgive my impertinence. In fact, I truly came here to request a dance of you, with a man far more honourable than me.”

Confusion washed through her, but strangely, she was intrigued. Man after man had taken what they wanted from her this night, and it was odd that one remained reserved.

“That won’t take much… but go on, who is this poor fellow?”

A wide grin spread across his features.

“My young brother is too shy to approach you. Don’t be so hard him. Whilst I was blessed with all the charm in the family, he is good and honourable, a man worthy of your time.” He spoke with pride.

As audacious as Brandon had been, it was evident now that it was act to make his brother appear the better man.

“Very well, but I shall decide that for myself.”

Brandon returned to his table and Ashara was surprised to find that his shy brother was the stiff Northman that had been watching her all night.

Ashara could not help but chuckle endearingly when she saw the younger Stark’s back stiffen and panic wash across his features as Brandon whispered to him.

The young Stark was not as tall as his brother, just of a height with her; he kept his long hair tied back messily, and unlike Brandon, wore simple clothing unadorned with any marks of House Stark.

It would be difficult to guess they were brothers if their features were not so similar, and even then, where Brandon was always smiling, the young Stark already had frown lines across his brow.

“My lady, I thank you for the honour of a dance,” he greeted, inclining his head rigidly, and offering his hand.

She took his hand and led him to the dancefloor.

It was awkward at first, because even at their slow pace, it was clear Stark did not have the grace of a dancer. She rearranged his hands until they were in the correct position, and led the steps, anything to occupy herself from meeting his mystifyingly intense gaze.

“Do you happen to have a name?” She wondered, once they swayed in rhythm to the languid tune.

“I do.” He answered, adding nothing further even as Ashara tilted her head in curiosity.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?”

“If you might give me your name, I shall give you mine.” He said unsmiling.

When she finally met his expectant stare, she saw the beginnings of a smile pulling at his cheeks, and something akin to intrigue flared inside her.

In that moment, instead of seeking Elia, she found herself regarding Stark, questioning if he was not shy at all, but instead, reservedly confident.

“It appears you already know who I am.” She answered with a cock of her brow.

“I would rather get the name from the lady herself than the fame which precedes her.”

Ashara found herself pleasantly surprised by their exchange.

“I am Lady Ashara Dayne, lord Stark.”

“Thankfully, I shall never be lord Stark… I am Eddard Stark, although you may call Ned.”

A teeth-baring grin spread, and his face transformed. She found herself strangely attracted to the quiet wolf.

“Ned.” She said testing out the syllables on her tongue.

The song picked up pace, as did she.

Her feet struck the floor in perfect synchronisation with the building tempo and his pursued with every step. Ned’s grey eyes shone behind the shy expression as they advanced, retreated and pirouetted.

The rapidly enclosing space between them felt electric and burning. There was something she could not explain about this quiet Northman, who stared into her eyes as if he could see past all that she armoured herself with and saw the frightened girl inside. She felt admired, as one might the stars on a clear night.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” She finally asked, fascinated in his unravelling scrutiny of her.

His answer made the flirtatious grin fall from her face.

“You have danced and laughed quite a lot tonight… But I can’t help by notice, you don’t seem all that happy, my lady.”

Shaken, she abruptly halted her movements.

She remembered the pain in her chest and found Elia across the room, glaring at her with fire behind her eyes. She was confused because this was what she initially wanted, but now she had it, it felt nothing like victory. For with Ned, for just a moment, she put aside her heartache… and breathed.

“You’re very perceptive.” She answered, a slow panic filling her.

“I’ve said the wrong thing.” He commented apologetically, noticing the change in her.

She looked up at him wide-eyed, contemplating the stirring emotions inside her.

For reasons unclear to herself, she lurched to kiss him, but he pulled away just as quickly.

Embarrassment filled her and she exploded into blazing anger.

“Is this not what you wanted, Ned – to say you had an easy Dornish wench to your brother and friends?” She spat turning to walk away.

He chased her before she could escape, appearing ahead desperately.

“I meant no disrespect, lady Ashara. I would never dishonour you in such a way, only when I kiss you, I want it to be because you want it, not because you think that’s what I want.” He interrupted.

That he could read her so easily, and was not scared away by it, terrified her. Just like she always did, she crumbled under her fears and lashed out.

“What honour is there in getting your brother to do your courting? I pity you Ned, that’s why I danced with you.”

He flushed in embarrassment, and deep down, Ashara was ashamed for it.

“Then allow me to rectify my actions, may I do something no other has done today?”

Despite her urgent need to flee, she was intrigued.

“Go on.”

“Will you come sit with me, Ashara?”

“What?”

Again, she was surprised by this strange Northman.

“I want to get to know you, is that so hard to believe?”

She carefully maintained a neutral expression. Yet, even in that, he read her disbelief.

“Come on, Ashara, get to know me, take a chance on a fool in love.” He pleaded.

Love.

The word spun around in her head, and she realised, for the first time, it was something she truly yearned for.

Warmth began to spread through her blood and hammering seized her chest.

“I-I…”

Despite her epiphany, her tongue fumbled in her mouth. She did not know how to articulate such desires and succumbed to old behaviours.

“…I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Without a single glance back she fled, a maid made a fool by love.

#asoiaf fic #fanfic #ashara dayne #elia martell #dorne #house martell #elia x ashara #arthur dayne #game of thrones #ned stark #ned x ashara #house dayne #got fic #brandon stark #Brandon x ashara

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chrissystriped · 3 years

Text

For the Last Time

Dear @eveningalchemist I hope you'll enjoy your @officialtolkiensecretsanta 2020 gift!

Rating: Mature/Explict

Relationships: Mairon/Melkor, Mairon/Eonwe

Word count: ca. 2200

Summary: Melkor is a captive of the Valar's army and Mairon sneaks into the camp to find him, when he is caught by Eonwe. Now he has to try to seduce his old friend to still have a chance.

A grey cat was slinking around the tents, his fur blending in with dusk and the fine ash lying on everything. The foolish Feanorians, trying to steal those accursed gems back, had provided the perfect distraction for him to try to find his Master and see him one last time.

“Go!”, Melkor said, holding him as gently as he hadn’t done for years. “Run. Once they have me, they won’t hunt for you.”

“Come with me”, Mairon begged, clinging to him, not wanting to let him go. “Leave the Silmarils behind. Maybe they won’t follow us, once they have them.”

Melkor’s eyes flashed dangerously and he pushed him back.

“I will not give them up”, he hissed. “Go now. That’s an order.”

‘So you’d rather lose me than them?’, Mairon thought but didn’t say out loud.

It would only make his Master more furious – and he already knew the answer, had known for a while, that the damned stones had become the most important things in Melkor’s life.

Mairon had no idea where they’d taken his Master to, but he guessed he’d be in the middle of the camp, close to the leaders’ tents and where the Silmarils were guarded. He stuck his furry head under a tentflap and looked around, listening for people coming with one ear.

Melkor wasn’t here so he quickly moved to the next tent in the row. There were no guards, everyone had run to intercept the Feanorians, maybe he’d be even able to get him out...

He couldn’t bear to think about being parted from Melkor, that was the only reason he’d defied his order to run and came back here. Eru knew what the Valar would do to his Master!

A large hand closed around his neck and lifted him up by his scruff. Mairon hissed at the Maia holding him up.

“Mairon”, Eonwe sighed, “What are you doing here?”

If Eonwe was back, the business with the Feanorians must have been resolved. He looked tired, as if it hadn’t went well, and against his will Mairon felt a tenderness grip his heart. They’d been close, a long time ago – before he’d gotten to know Melkor.

He changed his shape, Eonwe’s hand tangling in fiery hair instead of grey cat’s fur. Mairon shivered slightly, a spark of pleasure shooting through his body when Eonwe tugged on his hair and berated himself for it. He shouldn’t feel like that! But he saw the same emotions he was trying to push away in Eonwe’s eyes and maybe...

“I missed you”, he said, allowing his longing to shine in his eyes and moving his naked body seductively.

Eonwe’s hand slid down and came to rest on his neck, warm and calloused, Marion felt goose-bumps race up his spine.

“You chose to leave”, Eonwe said, his voice breaking slightly, before he continued more firmly: “You chose your path and I now take you into custody, Mairon. You will be tried and sentenced for your misdeeds.”

“Misdeeds!” Mairon huffed contemptuously, but what he felt was the same ache he’d felt when he’d realised he’d never be able to convince Eonwe to come with him. “They clipped your feathers and you didn’t even notice it”, he said soflty. “You are happy flapping your wings in your gilded cage for the amusement of the Valar. Oh, what you could have been, if you’d let yourself be free!”

Eonwe was the strongest of arms among the Ainur, they could have used him in their fight. They sky would have been theirs a long time ago. Mairon’s heart clenched at the thought of Ancalagon’s broken body in the ruins of Thangorodrim.

“Freedom does not mean to fulfil your desires at the expense of others!”

Eonwe’s eyes flashed and he shook him a little, but his grip eased when Mairon laid his hand on his chest.

“Let’s not fight”, Mairon whispered, moving closer. “I’m here now and I ask your forgiveness.”

“Oh, Mairon.”

Eonwe gently caressed his cheek and Mairon’s eyes fluttered shut. It felt so good, being touched so gently. His Master had been so angry with the world and anyone in it during the war – no, since he’d brought home these damned jewels!

Mairon wished, he’d never taken them, maybe then they’d be together now instead of him being alone and not sure anymore if he was telling Eonwe a lie to get a chance to see his Master or if he meant what he said.

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the hand, stroking his cheek, his neck, his lips. He sighed softly when Eonwe’s lips met his in a feather-light kiss and clung to his strong arms, deepening it desperately. Eonwe stopped him by cupping his face between his hands.

“We shouldn’t”, he gasped. “I shouldn’t. You are my prisoner.”

‘Am I?’, a part of Mairon thought with amusement. ‘I think, you’d let me go, if I decided to leave now.’

But that other, newely woken up part of him didn’t want to leave. He ached for Eonwe’s hands on him, his tender lips on his skin, his cock... Mairon shook himself. No! He was doing this to get to Melkor. He was bribing Eonwe with is body, so he’d let him see him.

His heart didn’t beat quicker at the gentle light in Eonwe’s eyes. His body didn’t shiver with longing at the touch of Eonwe’s hands. He was just playing this!

“Please”, he whispered. “I missed you so much, Eonwe. Let me be your prisoner tomorrow. Let’s be lovers tonight.”

Eonwe took a shuddering breath and Mairon could see that he was throwing caution out of the window. He melted into Eonwe’s embrace as he pulled him close, his lips so gentle on his own. He clung to him like one drowning – drowning in a sea of loneliness that was illuminated by the cruel light of the Silmarils. Eonwe’s large, cool hands slid over his body like a summer breeze, waking a slow, molten desire inside him.

“Oh, Mairon”, Eonwe whispered as he laid him down on his bed. “I missed you, too. So much.”

He quickly got rid of his armour, letting the pieces clank to the floor. Mairon reached out his arms to embrace him when he crawled over him, covering him with his muscular body – a soldier’s body.

They kissed again, not a summer breeze now, but a warm storm coming down from the mountains and fanning his flames. Mairon jerked his hips, bringing their erections together and gasped at the sparks of pleasure making his muscles spasm. He heard Eonwe groan, his breath ghosting over his face.

“Eonwe”, he moaned. “Please...”

It startled him how much he longed for him to take him, but his pleasure-clouded mind couldn’t be bothered to care. Eonwe whispered his name again and again, while peppering his shoulders with kisses. Mairon felt him rummaging around beside the bed. And then two oily fingers slid inside him and he moved into the touch with a keen. He felt like molten gold, hot and glowing.

Eonwe entered him slowly. There was no pain, no pain at all, just intense pleasure and the feeling of being wanted – he hadn’t felt like that for such a long time.

Eonwe held him in his arms and combed his fingers through his hair. Mairon started to cry. He felt so raw, so confused. He’d wanted to seduce Eonwe in order to get to Melkor. And he still intended him to ask him about him, but... He hadn’t felt so loved in centuries, with Melkor preoccupied by the Silmarils and the war. He’d wished so often for their relationship to turn back into what it had been before the Valar razed Utumno and dragged his Master away to Aman – but it never had. Eonwe had taken one look at him and it had felt like they’d never been parted. How could that be?

Eonwe held him closer, humming softly.

“Did I hurt you?”, he asked, sounding worried.

Mairon laughed shakily. “No, not at all. I just...” He sniffed. “I’ll submit to your justice.”

“I can’t judge you”, Eonwe said sorrowfully. “Only the Valar have that right. But if you come with me, I promise, I’ll put in a good word for you with Manwe.”

“You would do that for me?” Mairon looked puzzled at him. “Why?”

“Because you were my... my friend”, Eonwe answered and kissed the tears off his face. “And I want you to have a second chance, despite all the horrible things I hear about you. You don’t seem so horrible now.”

Mairon sniffed. Horrible. Abhorred. What the elves called him.

“I suppose, I might have gone too far on occasion”, he said slowly, though he still didn’t really get it.

What he’d done to the elves had been first for science and later... well, they had been at war. He felt no remorse. But he didn’t voice his thoughts, he didn’t want to fight with Eonwe.

“Eonwe?”, he whispered, snuggling into him and letting his lids flutter seductively.

Eonwe sounded a little breathless, when he answered: “Yes?”

Mairon smiled a little sadly. “Would you let me see Melkor? I... I just want to say goodbye.”

Eonwe looked sternly at him for a moment and Mairon lowered his eyes.

“Fine”, he sighed then. “I’ll sneak you in. But... he might not be awake.”

There was something in Eonwe’s eyes that Mairon didn’t like at all, he felt his heart starting to race.

“I need to see him. I...” He’d heard him scream, felt the mountain’s shake with it. He needed to know how he was.

“It would be easier, if you’d turn into a cat again, I’ll distract the guards.”

“Thank you”, Mairon whispered and gave him a lingering kiss.

He meant it. Melkor would be so jealous, if he knew about this. But, Mairon thought, then he might finally remember what they had been before the Silmarils came between them. Eonwe stood up and dressed and Mairon changed his shape back into the grey cat.

Mairon quickly slid under the side of the tent where his Master was held, while Eonwe was engaging the two Maiar who stood on guard in a conversation. It was dark inside, but his cat’s eyes caught every bit of light and he silently moved closer to the cot. He could smell blood and felt his heart beat quicker.

His Master was unconscious, he looked pale, his face drawn with pain. Mairon jumped on the bed and nuzzled his cheek. His poor Master was injured. What had they done to him? He sniffed down his body, searching for the injury. There were a few scratches on his body, but not until he reached the end of his legs did he find what gave of that strong smell of blood.

Mairon gave a desperate little howl when he saw the stumps of his legs, bandaged tightly, where his feet should be. He raced up to his Master’s face and curled up trembling around his neck. They’d mutilated him! They’d cut off his feet! And he’d just had sex with the one responsible for this!

Was that the justice of the Valar? They were his Masters enemies! How could he have thought to submit to them even for a moment? He should never have allowed himself to let his long gone feelings for Eonwe cloud his mind. Mairon felt sick – tainted.

Melkor groaned softly, chain-links clanked as he lifted a trembling hand to stroke his fur.

“Mairon?”, he whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t just leave you, Master. I can’t live without you!”

Melkor leaned his cheek against his soft, warm fur and sighed.

“Please, my flame, you need to run. I could not bear it, if they took you, too. I need to know you are save.”

Melkor pressed a kiss to his little head and Mairon gave a loud cry that told of all his heart’s pain.

“I love you, Master”, he said. “I love you forever.”

Then he shot off the bed and through the entrance, heedless of who might see him. The two guards gave a shout and he heard the flap of wings. Eonwe was following him.

Mairon ran quicker, taking the direct routes through tents, jumping over ropes and baggage packs until he reached the end of the camp and the forest edge. His heart burned with the agony of leaving his Master behind, but he ran on. He needed to get away. Away from the cruel people who’d mutilated him so.

He would do his Master’s last wish. He’d not let those get him, who’d had no mercy for his Master. The sight of the bandaged stumps haunted him. And they called him Cruel and Abhorred!

Finally he found a hollow tree and hid inside its trunk. For a long while he could hear Eonwe searching for him, calling for him, promising him things he knew now to be lies.

Mairon curled up tightly. He’d been a fool, only for a little moment. He knew better now and he would not forget.

‘You’ll hear of me again’, he thought.

It might take centuries – millennia – to build up again what they’d lost, but he would and then he would take revenge for what they’d done to Melkor.

‘I will get you out, my love’, he thought. ‘I won’t forget you.’

#tss2020 #mairon #eonwe #melkor #sauron #silmarillion #tolkien #war of wrath #fanfiction #my writing #slash fic

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alexhogh7137 · 3 years

Text

The Battle Between Love and Fire-

Ivar the Boneless × Reader

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four: The Final Warning

Word Count 4.5k

Warnings: some smut, slight angst, mentions of brutality, fluff in between

When you locked eyes with the love of your life for the first time in weeks, you felt whole again. It was like a huge piece of you has been missing these past weeks and now that you are whole again, you feel the power rush through your veins.

Daario "Wait..so this is your husband?" He looks at you, pointing to Ivar.

Ivar "And is that a problem?" He says, walking closer to Daario.

Daario "No, of course not-"

"Yes, Naharis..this is my husband, Ivar Lothbrok." Ivar looks at you, almost surprised that he did not hear Ivar the Boneless come from your mouth. But then again, he isn't surprised at all. He knows that you respect and love him more than anyone ever has.

Daario "Lothbrok..Hvitserk's brother-"

Ivar "I am me, myself and I..this is who I am." He says with open arms. Daario, does not know what to say. So you take it upon yourself and walk up to your love and lean into him for warmth.

"My love, can we go inside, it is getting cold?"

Ivar leans down and kisses your forehead softly, "Of course, my love. Come on, let's go." He takes one look at Daario before leading you into the palace. Hvitserk stays outside with Daario to make sure that the young girl stays away from you.

Daario "How the hell did he get here?"

Hvitserk "What? Are you stupid?" Daario does not respond, "His horse!" He points at Ivar's horse and carriage.

Daario "He said "thank gods..I made it" what does he mean by that?"

Hvitserk "Us vikings have these visions that we get pretty frequently. They foretell our futures. Whether it be near or far into the future, we can see it. Good and the bad."

Daario "So you are telling me that Ivar had a vision of the young girl, killing Y/n?"

Ubbe "On the contrary," he says, coming up from behind his brother, "I had the vision."

Daario "huh..and you are?"

Ubbe "Ubbe Lothbrok, and you are?"

Daario "Daario Naharis, the leader here."

Hvitserk snickers, "Barely a leader Naharis." He let his head fall but he did not let his smirk fade.

Ubbe "I see. So you will be watching over this place when the queen is gone aye?"

Daario "That is right."

Ubbe "Mm, good. Then I am glad that I could come and meet you in person before Y/n returned home to us." He says as he gets into Daario's face, "I will say this once, if you do anything to cause destruction or chaos to this kingdom, I will make sure that you pay for ruining the kingdom that my sister is trying so hard to repair. And secondly, if you ever do anything to harm or cause my sister any ill will, I will make sure that whatever you did to her, I will do the same to you but you won't make it out alive, are we clear?" Daario simply nods, "Good." He sniffles and pats his brother on the shoulder before leaving the two men outside.

Daario looks at a smiling Hvitserk, "Are all of you this friendly?"

Hvitserk "Oh, poor Naharis.." he walks closer to him so that he can whisper in his ear, "you just met the nicest one out of all of us." He pats Daario on the back before leaving him outside with his thoughts. And those thoughts, well, let's just say that he is more scared tonight than he has been in his entire life. He takes a look around him and sees Wessex flooding with Viking warriors. He gulps and rushes inside the palace, locking his chamber door behind him.

When you were finally alone with Ivar, you practically collapsed in his arms. He did the same, you both just fell to the floor and held each other so hard that you could hear Ivar's armor start to bend.

Ivar "Oh, my heart-"

"I have missed you so much." You look into his eyes and they were the bluest of blues.

Ivar "I have missed you more-"

"I did not know that I was so weak without you until I saw you.." his eyes sparkled, "When I saw you, it was like my life source just fled back into my body!" You force a giggle to lighten up the conversation. "You are my everything Ivar, you know that..yes?"

Ivar "Yes, my love. How could I forget your love for me? Y/n, when you were gone, I was nothing but a crippled man sitting on his throne." Your smile fades, "I need you just as much as you need me, my sweet. We are nothing without each other..I think that time has proven that, no?"

"No, you are right Ivar. I should not have stayed here this long, I'm sor-"

Ivar "No no no, do not apologize for being in your own kingdom Y/n. This is your kingdom, your first home. I expected you to stay as long as you did. But I am just glad that I have you back in my arms."

"You are my home Ivar. I am home when I am in your arms." He holds back tears and kisses you over and over again. Once his lips are on your own, the spark in your soul reignited. When your lips part, he smiles and rubs small circles on your cheeks, making you blush from the affection.

"I should say good night to my people, would you like to join me?"

Ivar "Of course, my queen." You both help each other up off of the floor and make your way down stairs, where you find Hvitserk and the rest of your people. You smile when your eyes lock to Hvitserk's, and once he had your attention, he silenced everyone.

"Today was eventful to say the least. But tonight was a surprise! For one, I almost died..again." you let your head fall but for only a second, "But thankfully, I am still here because of the Gods and because of Daario." He smiles and nods, "Thank you for saving my life tonight."

Daario "Always." He shouted just loud enough. Ivar did not like that, no. Nor does he like the way he stares at you from head to toe. That will be discussed tomorrow.

"And another surprise happened on this night, my beloved husband and king of Kattegat, has arrived!" Your people started to clap, making Ivar smile and bow a tad. "With that being said, I will be leaving Wessex in two days time. I belong with my husband, where he goes, I go. He is my true home." He takes your hand in his own when he hears you say those words to your people. His heart practically explodes in his chest. Hvitserk too, smiles as he saw his brother smile be so genuine.

"However, if any of you wish to speak to me, one on one, before I leave for Kattegat, please let me know. I will gladly talk to any of you. Good night everyone." They all shout their good night's and watch you and Ivar walk back to your chambers. Hvitserk walks up and makes his way to your chambers as well, waiting for his hug.

Hvitserk "Can't go to bed without my hug." He says with his long arms out for you to wrap your arms around his waist. Ivar smiles as he takes off his armor and made his way to the bed.

"Love you so much Hvitserk, thank you for protecting me tonight. I swear, I say that everyday, for that I apologize."

Hvitserk chuckles, "Do you ever not apologize, kitten?"

"Mmm, habit I suppose." You say as you look up at him.

Hvitserk kisses your head, "Bad habit to have love. I am glad that I am able to protect someone that I love. Now get some sleep, both of you."

Ivar "Good night, my brother."

Hvitserk "Good night."

"Sweet dreams." He smiles and walks out of the door and you shut it behind him. Ivar is in bed now, just waiting for you to be in his chest. He watches and admires your figure as you undress yourself. You know that he is watching because you can feel his eyes on your skin.

"Like what you see, do you?"

Ivar chuckles, "Like is not the word."

"Then what word would you use?"

Ivar thinks for a moment, "You are my weakness, my love. As soon as I see you, my desire for you is instant." You can feel your body temperature rise and the lust you crave is getting unbearable.

"So you desire me right now, hmm?" You say as you climb in bed, inches away from his face. "Even though I am as big as a whale?" He does not laugh like you do, he just grabs your face and holds you in the palm of his hands.

Ivar "You are carrying a beautiful human being in your core, Y/n. This is a miracle of life. A life that was expecting to not make it after all that you have gone through during this pregnancy. So do not call yourself a whale, you are the most beautiful woman that I have ever laid my eyes on...with child and without child. You are my wife, my queen, my every-" you crash your lips onto his before he could finish his sentence. He breathes in deeply with hunger, waiting for your lips to part so that his tongue can make its entrance. He gently rolls you onto your back so that he can be the dominant one.

Ivar "Now let me show you, just how much I have missed my queen." You breathe heavily with the anticipation. You watch him lower his body down to your core and your eyes roll back at first contact. Your fingers intertwine with his unbraided hair as he devours you. Once you reach your climax, your energy is completely spent. Ivar knew that your climax hit you hard, maybe too hard. So once he rises from his position, he rushes to your side before your head hits the pillow. He held you close and watched you fall asleep in his arms.

Ivar "Sleep well, my love. Tomorrow will be a good day." He whispers to you as he rubs your head, easing you into a soft and deep slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Ivar awoken with you in his arms. He does not know why, but when he awoke, he feared that you would not be there. He has realized that he has always had that fear ever since you were taken. But to his much relief, you are fast asleep in his arms. He kisses your skin, waking you in the kindest and most romantic way possible.

"Mmm." You hum, half asleep.

Ivar "Good morning, my sweetheart."

"It wasn't a dream after all.."

Ivar "It was real. I am here." Your eyes open then, looking at your handsome husband.

"I am so glad." He reaches down to kiss your lips before crawling his way out of bed. "It is early, stay in bed."

Ivar "Mmm, no can do."

"Why?"

Ivar "I have some business to take care of."

"This is Wessex, Ivar. Not Kattegat."

Ivar "Oh I am aware.."

"Then what business?" Ivar looks at you and you knew instantly by his facial expressions. His face can tell you stories that words do not necessarily have to be said. "This early Ivar?"

Ivar "Earlier the better, my love."

"Fine.."

Ivar "Hey," he struggles his way to you, "I am doing what any husband should do. I am sure that Hvitserk already had a talk to him, huh?"

"Of course he did...multiple times."

Ivar "My point has been made then. I will find you when I am done, I promise."

"Love you." You say as you watch him walk towards the door.

Ivar "So much." He said, then closed the door. You sink your body back down into the mattress for a minute or two before forcing yourself to get out of the warmth. You decide to leave your hair down today, with very little braids. Your dress of choice is a no sleeve one with dragon scales on the breasts. It is a very beautiful one at that. But the last time you wore this dress, you were not with child, still you wear it. It is tight but it is durable. You look down at your belly and hold yourself and sway your legs from side to side, while humming a lullaby. You can't stop thinking about the day that you will get to welcome your's and Hvitserk's daughter into this world. How beautiful she will be and how strong of a woman that she will become. She will make you proud, you just know it. And one day, you will find her dragon eggs so that she can have her own magical creatures. You have to do that task for your daughter, she deserves this wonderful gift, the only gift that your father gave you that gave your life new meaning. Then, when she is old enough, you and Hvitserk will give them to her as a birthday gift. Just as your father did for you, but you will do it with love, not as a strategy.

"You will live a long and happy life, my child. I promise." Just then, there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" You shouted. You watch the door open and a familiar figure appears in the doorway.

Hvitserk "Good morn- oh my.." he says once he took in your appearance.

"What is it?"

Hvitserk "Sorry I wasn't expecting you to be up this early..you just look so beautiful." You let your head fall to hide your blush.

"Thank you, Hvit."

Hvitserk "Of course, Kitten. How did you sleep hmm?" He said whilst pulling you into his chest.

"Very well, and you?"

Hvitserk "Probably not as good as you but it was not the worst sleep I've had."

"You did not sleep well?"

Hvitserk "Well not extremely well. I didn't have you in my arms for the first time in weeks, that's hard to readjust to." You nod because you understand completely. But instead of responding, you just look back down to your belly. Hvitserk gently grabs your growing belly and leans down to give it a bunch of kisses. You giggle at how much his scruffies tickle.

Hvitserk "How is our little princess, hmm?"

"She is well. I was singing to her a moment a-" you pause when she kicks inside of you, taking your breath away from how strong the kick was. Hvitserk had his hand right where she kicked, and felt the brute force with his own hands.

Hvitserk "Gods...are you alright?!"

"Uhm, fine. Just fine..wasn't expecting that is all."

Hvitserk "That was the biggest kick I have ever felt!"

"Me as well. She must be getting antsy..she must want out just as much as we do." He forces a chuckle and kisses where she kicked.

Hvitserk "Hey little one," he whispers to her, "Don't kick momma so hard, aye? She is fragile-"

"Hey.."

Hvitserk laughs, "okay, she is not fragile but she is special and you need to take it easy on her alright?" He pauses to kiss it again, "Everyone is excited to meet you, little one. Your mother and I especially. We love you so so much." He rests his head on you for a second, just in case she kicked again or to hear her heartbeat for a little while. Your eyelids get heavier as Hvitserk rests on you, and you hold his head on your belly. This is one of Hvitserk's favorite things to do, ever since you started growing, he would rest his head on you and awaits to hear the heart or wait for a kick. You remember his reaction when he felt the first kick. His eyes got big and his smile formed from ear to ear. Once it sunk in, he cried tears of joy, just as you did.

Hvitserk "You here?"

"Mm, yes of course. Just adoring this moment, aren't you?"

Hvitserk "Every moment with you, I adore. But I must say, I am going to miss these moments with you when our little one is born."

"I will miss this too. But when she is here, we can hold her together, play with her, teach her together. Isn't that exciting?!"

Hvitserk "Very exciting, love-"

"My queen, what would you like for breakfast?" A maiden asked.

"Oh sweet, it does not matter to me. Whatever you feel like cooking, I am sure that it will be delicious like always." She smiles and nods before leaving the room once again.

You sigh, catching Hvitserk's attention.

Hvitserk "What is it?"

"Ivar..he is going to talk to Daario."

Hvitserk "Is that where he has gone?"

"Yes."

Hvitserk "Should we go find them, or wait it out?"

"If we hear screaming, we go towards the scream.." he smirks, "but until then, let's just go eat hmm?"

Hvitserk "Sounds good to me kit." You smile and lead the way to the dining hall.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Ivar asks your people to find Daario for him, to make it easier on himself. So while he waited, he was thinking of how he would talk to this man. Will he be kind, will he be harsh? We shall all find out together.

"King Ivar.." he got up from his seat and started walking towards the maiden when he saw a man in the doorway, "Leader Daario is here."

Ivar "Uh huhh.." he says as he pauses right before him.

Daario nods, "You wished to see me, Ivar?"

Ivar "Yes, please..would you join me?" He nods and walks where Ivar pointed. He waits for Ivar to stand in front of him to speak.

Daario "So what is it that you wanted to speak about?"

Ivar chuckles, "My wife, of course!" He said in a high pitched voice to be dramatic. "You see, I have only been here since last night and I can already hear your thoughts, Naharis." Daario's mouth opens and he is stunned by what he is hearing. 'How can he know my thoughts' he asked himself.

Ivar "I am aware that my brother Hvitserk has already spoken to you, yes?"

Daario "Yes-" he clears his throat and tries again, "Yes. He has, on a few occasions."

Ivar "Mm. That is good, hmm?" Daario does not answer, "I suppose that my brother made it very clear that if you ever did any harm to her or this kingdom, well..you know you would not survive..don't you, Naharis?"

Daario gulps, "I bet that I would not-"

Ivar "Even if you ran, we would hunt you down until we found you in a ditch somewhere. Starving, dehydrated, clinging to life..but then that is when you would really suffer-"

Daario "I get it, Ivar. I have told your brother's that that is never my intent to harm y/n or this kingdom. I am simply here to guide, nothing else." Ivar's nose rises in a cocky way.

Ivar "Hmm. But that is not completely true, is it?" He does not answer, "Everyone who can see, can see your fantasies about my wife."

Daario "I will admit to you, I have had thoughts but that was before my life got threatened every day.."

Ivar "I see," he said with a smirk, "but you have to take things from our perspective, aye? Picture this Naharis, you are married to Y/n and she goes back to her home and leaves you to stay in your own kingdom, and she writes letters to you stating, your brother is very weary of the man that is supposed to lead her people. Lastly, your other brother tells you of his vision where you lose everything that you have ever loved. And once you get here, you see your wife but then you see the man behind her, staring her down like she is a fresh meal." He said with anger and hatred in his voice. Daario knows that he is not wrong. He has very strong feelings for you, to which he can never act upon because that would be a death wish.

Daario sighs, "I see your point, and my sincere apologies." Ivar nods, "You know..you're not as evil as people think you are, Ivar."

Ivar snickers evily, "No, I'm much worse." He said and then started to walk towards him even closer. "If you find me kind, think twice Naharis. This is your warning from me, you have been warned by my brothers, so this was my own warning. My wife is a kind and gentle soul who is the most powerful queen that you will ever bare witness to. She is a mother of dragons, carrying my child. Shall I go on..?"

Daario "No-"

Ivar "Shh…" he puts his hand in the air for Daario to silence himself, "Someone is watching us." He turns around and find you coming into the room with Hvitserk and two guards close behind.

"Hello, beloved. How has you two's talk been going?"

Ivar "Ahh my sweet, very well I think." You smile and then look at up at Daario who looks like he is about to projectile vomit.

Daario "Yes, very well, my queen."

"Good, that is good to hear. Now since my boys have talked to you, I figured that it would be my place to do the same-"

Daario "Are you serious-?!"

Hvitserk "Let your queen speak Naharis!" He shouted.

"Look, I mean no ill will towards you. Men like you are all the same: eager for power, perverted in the eyes of women, and puts himself before others..but that last one is not quite true for you, Daario. You treat my people very well, and I appreciate that very much, I do. But I see your eyes linger from woman to woman in this kingdom, one being myself and for that, I cannot allow. Sadly, I cannot be two places at once so here is my warnings: if you ever harm anyone in this kingdom, whether that being violently or sexually, I will have you skinned alive. If you ever endanger my people, I will throw you in the darkest, most horrid kingdom to my knowledge. I may be kind to those I love, but if you cross me, I will make my father's legacy look like child's play." Ivar looks at his brother like 'Holy Shit!' making Hvitserk chuckle a bit.

"Now I like you Daario, or else I would have not chosen you to lead my people when need be. But as a queen, I need to set rules and boundaries. You understand?"

Daario breathes out, "Yes, of course."

"Good. I hope that things have been cleared and the air can be lighter between all of us here. I only want happiness in my kingdom, no hatred."

Daario "No hard feelings, my queen. But can I speak now?"

"You can." Ivar tenses up and gets closer to you.

Daario "I accept every word that you all have said to me. I cannot say that any of you are wrong." He forces a defensive laugh, "I can speak for any man or woman that you carry a beauty that is unique. When I first saw you, I have to admit, I had thoughts. But I promise you that that will never happen again. I care for you, my queen. You carry a special presence within you that is hard to find. And for that, I would never disobey you or cause you nor your people any harm whatsoever. You put your trust in me Y/n, I won't let you down."

"I believe you." Hvitserk calms down and lets his hand fall from his sword.

Ivar "I do not. Until you prove yourself a loyal and noble man."

Daario "I accept that. You are her husband, I respect you." Ivar nods. "And for you Hvitserk?"

Hvitserk "I just want the best for Y/n and her people. The thought of someone ruining it after everything she has done to try to save it, infuriates me. I try not to hate you, Naharis. But you are foreign to us. We know your past and your intentions but only the gods know what your true intentions are."

Daario "I can't prove myself any more than I already have. I saved her life-!"

"You did. And for that, I now trust you more than I did when I arrived." He smiles and nods.

Daario "And I would do it again."

Hvitserk "As for my opinion on you, I think that you are genuine, but you are perverted." Daario shakes his head and chuckles.

Daario "Okay, fine. Call me whatever you'd like, anyone who knows Y/n can tell you the same thing that I told you here today. She is very beautiful-"

Ivar "She is indeed. But that does not allow you to act out on your fantasies."

Daario "I told you that I would not."

Ivar "Then we can move forward, yes!?"

"Yes, my love..breakfast is ready. Come join me and Hvitserk!"

Ivar "I'd love too."

"Daario, you are welcome to join us at the table."

Daario "Thank you, my queen." You nod and take Ivar's hand as you walk out the door. Daario swallows deeply, trying to hide his fear as he sits down at the table filled with Viking warriors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The meal went well, no one went back and forth over today's discussion which pleased you. You finally feel lighter and that the matter at hand has been taken care of. Now, you can go home tomorrow with a clear state of mind.

Ivar "You are looking forward to coming home to Kattegat?"

"Mmm, more than you can know."

Ivar "Really?" You nod, "But why? This palace is luxurious, spotless even. More than I can offer you at home."

"Have you forgotten that I ran away from this place and came to you for sanctuary?"

Ivar smiles, "No."

"Kattegat is my home. It has been for over a year since I came to you Ivar. We've been through a lot together haven't we?"

Ivar "A little too much."

You giggle, "But it all made us stronger my love. We made it through it all and here we are..I'm home and you're with me! My daughter will be born any day now and that day will bring us all so much joy!"

Ivar "Oh so joyus!"

"I love you Ivar. You are my home and tomorrow we will go home to Kattegat!"

Ivar "I love you, my sweetheart."

"And I you." Daario smiles as he overhears yours and Ivar's conversation, to which Uvar notices. Ivar notices everything.

Ivar "What is it?"

Daario "Nothing, its just..you look good together. Odd. But good." You look at Ivar and he simply smiles.

You both, "Odd is perfect."

@astrape-the-weatherwitch

@heavenly1927

@youbloodymadgenius

@hvitserkmarcosource

@ivarsgoddess

@saldelys

@readsalot73

@houseoftoomanyfandoms

@dreamycream17

@a-mess-of-fandoms

@nevlahhh

@krissydclayton93

@conaionaru

#alex hogh andersen #vikings #hvitserk #ivar the boneless #marco ilsø #ubbe lothbrok #hvitserk lothbrok #the battle between love and fire

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digressfromreality · 3 years

Text

The Fall of Baby Might

Lana Yagi had been famous from the moment it was revealed who her father was, All Might, Japan’s number one hero. But had that revelation been worth it: the media scrutiny, the burden of legacy, the crippling seeds of doubt? Did Lana crumple under the pressure?

Izuku x Lana x Tomura

Part 8/Epilogue

Part 9. And when she leaves you for dead, you’ll be the last to know (Last to Know by Three Days Grace)

The hike had taken a good portion of the morning, the humid air crept across their bodies as they had sifted through the beaten pathway. Izuku and Lana were making decent time toward the plateau that they had planned to picnic in the afternoon. At this time of year, the flowers had bravely bloomed on top of the rock cliff. It was a sight worth the effort in seeing.

It was a hidden treasure that Lana and he had traveled to before, incidentally, it was the exact place Izuku had made his first proposal to her. Clutching the box hiding in his pocket, he smiled, it would be the place where he would propose to her again, replacing the ring that had been stolen from her.

They ascended in comfortable silence, the slight motions of birds perching in the trees, the rustling of critters in the underbrush, the puffs of Lana’s breath, it was pleasant.

The only thing that may ruin his plans along the way was the fourth user’s quirk, it flickered to life any time he moved closer to Lana. Perhaps, it was when she tensed up that caused the flare up. She still had a fight or flight reaction outside of their apartment.

Lana kept reaching in her hoodie pouch, hoping the cuffs wouldn’t clink together too loud, she didn’t want Izuku questioning her what she had in her pockets. Her breath was becoming short as the neared their destination. She was uncertain, was it the arduous exercise causing her lapse in oxygen or was it her anxiety constricting her airways?

She couldn’t afford the break. She had given Tomura a short time frame because she wanted to bolt as soon as she able to. Lana had taken as many precautions as she could, the cuffs were timed, she would have an hour grace period before they would fall off on their own. She had Izuku carrying both of their packs and made sure that his support items were tucked away safely so they couldn’t immediately aid him when she departed.

Finally, they had made it to the point. The flowers were as beautiful and fragrant as the last time they had came here. Lana gulped, feeling the guilt crawl up her throat. She forgot that he had proposed to her here, it had felt like eons ago. She sighed, trying to calm her nerves. She would just trample and destroy precious memory that they shared, perhaps that would make Izuku hate her like he should.

“Wooo-” Izuku placed down the pack, wiping the sweat from his brow. Lana stepped up, ready to lean into him while he was distracted. It was now or never, Lana. Do it. DO IT!

He paused, it felt like wind was knocked out of him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Lana whispered, taking several steps back. It had only taken him moments before he looked up, but she knew when they connected eyes, he was frightened.

“Lana, what’s going on? Am I making you nervous?” He could see the tears well up in her eyes, her expression turned severe. Something was wrong, he couldn’t predict what her next move was. Why was she trying to immobilize him? “Please, don’t hurt yourself.” He held his cuffed hands out toward her, “please take these off of me.”

“I can’t, Izuku.” She rubbed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. “I have to go.”

“No! Wait!” She dodged as he approached her, which she only had managed to barely do. Even with handicaps, Izuku had trained his body like a tank. If he knocked her on her ass, he would have her subdued in seconds. She couldn’t allow to leave an opening for that. “Lana, please, don’t leave.” He begged. She dodged again; she could hear his voice waver.

“I have to go, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be Izuku.”

He stopped to analyze her stance; she was in defense mode. Maybe she just needed some space, he could provide her that, but he couldn’t leave her alone, not again.

He switched gears, “Okay, it’s fine. Go. I won’t be too far behind, okay. Take the time you need.”

“That’s not what—

“But you won’t be able to find her, I’ll make sure of that.”

Izuku sneered at the intruder, “Shigaraki.”

“Don’t mind me Midoriya,” Tomura loomed over Lana, who looked away embarrassed. “I had to come pick up my belonging.” His fingers fluttered through the tips of her hair. She stood stiffly.

The sneer on Izuku’s lips was all the provocation that Tomura needed. “Time to go, Lana.”

“Don’t you dare SHIGARAKI!” Izuku’s muscles were tense, his breathing was impatient and haggard. “I will apprehend you. I’ll tear Japan apart looking for you, don’t you dare take Lana away!”

“BULLSHIT!” Lana couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her lip trembled as she glared at Izuku venomously.

“I waited every day! They never moved; I was in the same place - everyday - waiting for YOU to show up.”

Sob.

She grabbed a hold of Tomura’s sleeve like it was only thing that was going to keep her from floating away, “Tomura told me that heroes wouldn’t come when you needed them the most.

I was hoping you come for me. Each day, that’s what I told myself. Izuku will find me, wait for tomorrow.”

Sob.

“But tomorrow never came.” She nearly whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. All her negative memories were boiling to the surface.

Sob, “it never came Izuku.”

Izuku’s heart tinged with pain, he didn’t…he tried…he did everything he could to find her. He had let her down.

“And now, now, you proven Tomura right again!

Mixed in with that love was suspicion. You shouldn’t have been so nice to me if you were just going to throw me away again!

Everything I did when I came back was scorned and scoured, like there was something wrong with me. What had I done, for you to trust me so little?

How can one love-” Lana was weeping to the point it made her cough violently.

It was a mistake!

Despise your existence?

Build you in their shadow? Those words flashed in Izuku’s mind, as if he struck a clue.

The realization exasperated the little bit of air from his lungs, “you weren’t questioning my love for you...but rather.”

He paused, trying to remember her exact words from before.

“You were questioning whether you still loved me, when you were struggling with your feelings for your captor.”

Izuku’s poor handling of Lana’s recovery just aided in her growing feelings for Shigaraki as twisted and confusing as it was. Her doubt in him, his abilities, made him lose her all the same.

He gulped, his throat feeling rough like sandpaper. She loved someone else. His enemy no less.

“Lana what can I say to convince you? I will do better, please don’t leave me.”

“No, Izuku, you will carry on my father’s will, his desires. You were chosen – I’m a byproduct of poor judgment and drunken debauchery. You are his legacy – his…Izuku…”

She gritted her teeth, this was killing her inside, “Izuku believe me, I would have never asked you to love me if I knew I wouldn’t love you forever.”

“No Lana, please.” Izuku begged, his face contorted with panic.

“You can’t save everyone,” she turned, promising herself she would never look back. He couldn’t even save her.

#shigaraki x oc #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura x reader #deku x oc #deku x reader #izuku midoriya #shigaraki bnha #shigaraki mha #shigaraki imagine #midoriya bnha #midoriya mha #izuku imagine #bnha imagines #mha imagines #mha #bnha

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yixxes · 4 years

Text

Fast Car | p.p.

Warnings: Hints of alcohol abuse, promiscuity, broken household, angst kinda, swear words

Word count: 1752

Summary: You want to escape and Tom has a fast car, but things don’t always go according to plan.

“Leaving?”

You were never one to disrespect your mother or speak out of turn, but you were more than willing to fight her on this one. She was rushing down the hall as fast as she could in those loud, expensive red heels with you hot on her trail.

“What do you mean you’re leaving, where are you gonna go?”

The two of you stopped at the front door while she grabbed up her scarf and her coat. The look on her face threatened to break you down right then and there. She didn’t even look sad or remorseful, she just looked like she really waned to dart out the front door but was approaching her departure slowly as if delayed action would spare your feelings or make any of this hurt any less.

You racked your brain in a hurry, trying your best to figure out what the right thing to say was, but deep down, you already knew that your fight was lost. She hadn’t shown any signs of being interested in the small family that she had in months. She didn’t love your father anymore and she made that clear in the way that she fooled around with other men and didn’t even try to hide it, and you, she only paid attention to on the days where you’d talk her ear off until she felt she had no choice but to respond. Talking to her these days was the equivalence of talking to a bizarre friendly stranger.

“Oh, sweetheart,” her voice was eerily sweet as if explaining to you that she was walking out on you and your father was no big deal. “I know this is so out of the blue, but.. sometimes in life, you have to choose your own happiness, you have to put yourself first and decide not to worry about the people that try to hold you back.”

Ouch. You didn’t know if that number was directed towards you or your father. Or both.

“I don’t know where I’m going just yet, but I’ll call when I get there. I’m not gonna stop checking in on you, it’ll almost be like I never left.”

You shook your head, shoulders slumped and tears already welling up in your eyes. Maybe if you visibly showed her how much she was hurting you, she’d stay. Something inside of her would click and she’d apologize for being an unfaithful wife and an absent mother and she’d work really hard to make things right.

“Please don’t leave.”

Except this was reality and your mom didn’t care about anyone other than herself. She wasn’t sorry for anything and you couldn’t prompt feelings out of someone that didn’t have them.

Your mother smiled something that almost resembled regret. “I love you, sweetheart.” Almost.

“I really don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

Not talking about the thing that weighed heavily on your mind only to have someone bring it up or ask if you were okay was actually the worst thing. Tom had good intentions, you knew, but this was your second time telling him to leave you be and he just wasn’t accepting that as an answer, but hey, that was the Tom Holland way.

Thomas Holland, your best friend since childhood. He knew you like the back of his hand and while things were damaged beyond repair at the moment on the home front, he always made your life so much better.

The two of you came from opposite sides of the tracks, but he never seemed to let the wealth of his family ruin his personality in the slightest. He stayed true to himself like a pro and really seemed rather put off by his lifestyle. You never understood it, but you never questioned him either. Much like your household, there were probably things about his that you just didn’t understand.

You did know, though, that something must’ve been really bad for him to climb aboard your wild fantasies of running away. When he started telling you that he would go with you, whenever and wherever you decided to go, the fantasies converted into real plans. You didn’t understand his desire to leave what he had and you didn’t think you ever would.

Tom picked you up for work in the morning in his brand new car; A gift from his parents for no particular occasion at all. If you understood correctly, he’d spent two short weeks in his parents’ ear about it and they bought it for him just yesterday. He was now the proud owner of the 1974 Pontiac Firebird, Buccaneer Red and it ran like a top.

You didn’t have time to express your excitement before he got to badgering you about what was wrong. He knew right when he saw you that something wasn’t right (you had spent the rest of the night crying and looking after your father after all) and he wanted to help but you didn’t want his help. There wasn’t anything that he could do.

“Okay, fine,” was what he said, but you knew that you’d be shrugging him off about it again later.

Tom moved the conversation on to talking about running away, casual yet relevant seeing that it’d be a lot easier to get away in a car rather than on foot. With all that had happened last night, running away was far down on the list of things that were on your mind and it’d more than likely stay that way for a long time. Your mom didn’t just leave you last night, she also left your father who hadn’t stopped acting like a blubbering, depressed drunk since your mom’s behavior began to change earlier in the year. He had a problem and while it wasn’t directly resulting in anything physical or abusive, you couldn’t just leave him alone. He needed to get help and you seriously doubted that he’d be doing that alone.

“What do you mean?” You were sitting in the car with him in front of the diner, watching him progressively get more frustrated at how aloof and disconnected you seemed about the entire thing. You weren’t giving him the responses he wanted and you weren’t even presenting a valid reason as to why not. “It’s a great time, I’ve got the car, I’ll get us some cash, we can-”

“Jesus, Tom, no, okay? Why can’t you just take no for an answer for once?”

There was so much room to be way nicer but the family crisis plus your two whole hours of sleep that you got did not equal patience and smiles. A sharp, annoyed breath passed your lips and you grabbed your bag, opening the passenger side door and sliding out quickly.

“Thanks for the ride.” You grumbled, pushing the door closed and turning to start towards the front door of the diner.

You heard him say ‘no’ behind you followed by the sound of his door closing and you whirled around, willing yourself to think over your next few words carefully. You could be really hostile under these circumstances.

“This doesn’t make any sense, getting out of this town is all that you ever talk about and now I find a way to make it happen and you completely turn me down!”

“Tom, get back in the stupid car and go, I could not be more serious.”

“It’s not stupid, it’s cool, I thought you’d be happy for me!” Your words hurt him, but you were too far gone thinking about everything else to take it back.

“I am happy for you but I don’t need this right now, okay, I just wanna be alone!”

“Tell me what we’re missing, what are you so worried about, it’ll all work out if you let me-”

“No, Tom!” You practically shrieked. “It won’t work out, the stupid plan doesn’t need to work out, why do you even wanna leave!? Your life is something that other people could only dream of, you have everything, there isn’t anything wrong with your life, you’re just a poor little rich boy who wants to know struggle so bad that he creates fake problems that’ll validate some stupid runaway plan!”

There they were. The most hurtful words you’d ever say to your very best friend, painfully present and hanging in the air. The look on his face told you that it was much too late to take it back. The damage had already been done. Tom got back in his car and peeled off.

“Hi, Mrs. Holland, um, is Tom here, I- I really have to talk to him,” Your body was almost as tired as your mind was, your feet were hurting and all you wanted was to go home and crawl into bed but you couldn’t sleep tonight knowing that he was probably so angry with you and probably hurting because of you, too. You had to make things right, or you had to at least try.

“Oh, honey, right now isn’t a good time, he’s gone to bed early tonight, he’s still very upset.”

Your head fell in shame and you brought your hands together in front of you. “Yeah, I know, I’m..” you picked your head up to look her in the eyes. “It’s all my fault, but I was really hoping that I could-”

“Your fault?” She questioned with confusion evident in her voice. “Oh, no, honey, why would it be your fault? He’s been digging his heels in ever since we told him he’d be going to boarding school next year, says he doesn’t wanna go, but we really think that-”

“Boarding school?” you repeated warily. There was a lot going on in your life that was making your thoughts fuzzy but you definitely didn’t remember him saying anything to you about boarding school.

“Didn’t he tell you?” Her tone was patient yet cautious.

You shook your head numbly, hoping with everything in you that this boarding school was somewhere nearby.

“Sweetheart, Thomas was accepted to Western Reserve Academy.”

Your head was spinning so much thought you were going to fall out right there on their porch. “Western Reserve...” An involuntary gasp cut your sentence in two and you could feel your blood running cold. “Wh-where is Western Reserve Academy?”

She looked at you with sad eyes and you knew that her answer was gonna hit you like a ton of bricks. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what she was about to say.

“It’s in Ohio, up north in the US.”

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker #mcu imagine #mcu #avengers imagine #avengers

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papichriscnco · 4 years

Text

Best Friends

You and Richard had been friends for years and in love with each other for just as long. Neither of you wanted to admit it, both scared that you would ruin the friendship. Truth be told, if you had admitted it when you both felt it life would have been much easier. It wasn’t that you had never had moments where you almost confessed to how you felt.

About a year into the friendship, the both of you were incredibly drunk and dancing against each other. Your ass was teasing him just the right about and he spun you around pushing you against a wall in the club.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” he moaned.

“Do it then.” you spoke bluntly.

So you did. He kissed you roughly, purely sexual desire pouring from your lips onto the others. You both wanted affection but the alcohol blending with your long held desire made this entire kiss full of passion.

The next morning you were both afraid it would be awkward. You knew everything would be normal if you acted normal so you ran into his bedroom and jumped on him. Richard groaned, the hangover hitting him hard. He rolled over doing his best to ignore you and you just giggled.

“Ah, he’s playing hard-to-get. That’s cute. You weren’t last night.” you had teased causing Richard to laugh before attacking you by tickling your most sensitive areas.

The memory of his lips on yours was one that you had thought of often. The way his lips roamed your body as you danced and the excitement you felt when his lips pressed against yours. You had spent the entire night kissing and you would often get yourself off at the memory of how it felt to be with him in such an intimate way.

The next time there had been an incident, Richard had spent the day drinking with the boys. They had given him enough courage to go to your house and confess how you felt. He had a spare key to the house and snuck in knowing your family wouldn’t be home. He crawled into your bed hoping you would be home soon, he was so consumed by your scent surrounding him in your bed that he start to get turned on. He had thought about how often you would have gotten off in these sheets and he couldn’t help but palm himself. The only reason he had stopped was because you had caught him

“What are you doing in my bed?” you asked confused.

“N-nothing.” he responded embarrassed.

“You’re n-not ,um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?” you asked shakily. Richard just looked under the sheets and shrugged. He placed the sheets back roughly and without thinking showing just how hard he was.You bit your lip looking at him, “want some help?” His eyes turned dark and you stumbled into bed with him. You had started toying with his pants when you smelt the alcohol on his breath. “You’re drunk.”

“So?” he had asked guiding your hand back.

“I’m not doing this with you if you’re drunk.” you hopped out of the bed and in that very moment as you left him in a cold bed, he had lost the courage to confess how he felt.

Instead he turned to you and asked, “Would you reconsider if i was sober?”

You rolled your eyes, left the room and shut the door.

You had never spoke about that day again. Richard got off in your bed on his own, put his jeans on and feel asleep. You found him a few hours later puking in the bathroom.

You always tried your best to forget that day. It had confused you and you had wished he had explained himself. It was too awkward for both of you so you just acted like nothing happened.

The worst memory you had was when you had decided you had had enough of Richard sleeping around and it was your turn. You had dragged some boy back to your hotel. You and Richard were sharing a suite and your rooms were next to each other. You had spent the entire night trying to be as loud as possible, you were sick of hearing the girls Richard had sex with scream and keep you awake so it was your turn. Richard had seen you leaving with the stranger and immediately followed you home. He wasn’t going to let his best friend stay with alone in a hotel with some freak! Well at least that’s how he justified it. The truth was he wanted to put himself through the torture of seeing you with someone else. He thought it would help him move on. This was the first time you realised Richard loved you as much as you loved him. As soon as you had orgasmed, the guy left. You were laying on your sheet naked and peaceful when you heard the door open.

“Did you forget something?” you asked expecting to see the guy who had just left. Instead you saw Richard, nostrils flared, body tense and he was just wearing his boxers. It was three in the morning so it didn’t surprise you to see him half naked. “Oh, what?” you had asked confused by his presence.

You grabbed a sheet to cover yourself but Richard pulled it away, he grabbed your waist with one hand and picked you up. You had your body wrapped around him and instantly you were ready to have another man inside of you.

“You think you can just fuck some guy and I wouldn’t care?” he growled carrying you into his room. He threw you on the bed and pulled his shorts off. He looked at you naked sprawled along his bed and grunted. “I can see where he has marked you.” It had hurt Richard to see these love bites along your chest, your hand moved to your clit as you bit your lip watching Richard become a jealous animal.

“Fuck Richard.” you moaned throwing your head back as your arched your body.

Richard moved over to you, playing with your pussy, just as he went to push his fingers inside you and recoiled.

“Did he-?” he looked at you with fear on his face.

You were confused at first but realised he was asking if he had finished inside of you. You sat up, crawling onto his lap so that your legs were wrapped around Richard’s back.

“No. Of course not. No one’s ever-” your forehead was pressed to Richard, your noses nudging one another.

Richard breathed a sigh of relief before kissing you roughly and passionately. You had both needed this moment together.

“And he was protected?” he asked just as he was about to slip himself past your folds.

You nodded.

“Good. I want to do everything he didn’t do.” he moaned as he filled you up.You groaned softly, biting your lip to stay quiet. Richard chuckled at you. “I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.”

You blushed and instantly your volume increased to be even louder than it was with the stranger. The next morning Richard had to leave before you could wake up. He wrote a note for you.

‘Best. Night. Ever.’

That was all you both needed. If you were never going to admit to your feelings than these moments were enough to get you through the pain. At least that’s how you had felt at the time. Things were different now. You were both reaching your breaking point and couldn’t take it anymore. You should have known things would end up in a big explosion. These little moments of sex, kissing and passion were enough for the first few years, but here you were crying in your room.

Richard had left for tour and for the first time, he didn’t offer to take you with him. You had thought it would be a romantic gesture just before he got on the plane. A text saying, ‘I got you a ticket to meet us for tomorrow. Start packing.’ But nothing came and before you knew it he was a week into tour without sending you a single message.

You weren’t sure what was happening with your friendship but you were determined to find out. So with some encouragement from your girlfriends, you were on a plane to wherever the hell he was in the world. You had told Joel, not trusting the others to keep it a secret and he was waiting for you at the airport.

“Thank gosh you’re here!” he exclaimed hugging you tightly. “Rich has been such a downer without you this time around. Always sulking!”

You laughed. You were growing more and more excited that you would see Richard soon. He must have just been busy...surely that’s why he hadn’t spoken to you. Joel didn’t even bother booking a hotel room for you. Even though Richard had one bed, you both assumed you would bunk with him. At least for the first night.

“Are we going to the hotel first?” you asked checking the time, “or do we need to go straight to the venue?”

“We have time.” he smiled.

Joel had given you a key to Richard’s room and you were so giddy with excitement, you waited outside his door jumping up and down to expel the energy running through your body. Slowly you inserted they key and wandered into his hotel.

“Guess who!” you shouted putting your bags down. Richard ran out of the bathroom looking at you shocked. You smiled greatly running over and hugging him but he was different. He was keeping you at a distance, hugging you for a brief second before pulling away. “What?” you asked confused, “I thought you would be excited to see me?”

“I-I am.” he comments looking anywhere in the room expect at yours eyes.

“But?” you retorted, anger lacing your voice.

“There was a reason I didn’t invite you to this tour.” he speaks softly knowing how badly you would feel a stab in your chest at his words.

“Oh.” you took a step back. “W-what’s the reason?”

He looked in your eyes for a brief moment but the pain he felt dragged his eyes away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Just tell me.” you said chuckling to hide that he had already hurt you.

He sighed, “We’re friends, I don’t need to invite you to every tour. It ruins my vibe. Did you ever notice that I don’t get as many girls as the rest of the guys? It’s cause you’re always so close to me. It’s fine! I love that we are friends but I just wanted a wild tour.”

You weren’t hurt, you were pissed, “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” your hand reached out and slapped him across the face. Your mouth moved in front of your mouth. You were surprised but you knew that it felt good. As you started to tear up, you realised this was the moment you had to tell him everything. “We can pretend all we want that we’re best friends but we’ve never been friends. We’ve always been more. We’ve always wanted more but we were too coward to admit it. So that’s why I’m here. I’m here to tell you that I’m in love with you. If you want to be friends well I’m sorry but I just can’t pretend anymore!”

You turn around ready to leave and find some motel for the night expecting the hotel the boys were in to be booked out. You couldn’t even make it to the door because Richard spun you around, his lips pressed to yours before you could process what was happening.

“I lied.” he commented when he pulled away.

“What?”

“I didn’t invite you because I was hoping that time apart is what I needed to get over you. Seeing you walk through that door made me so happy but I needed to be cold.”

“Why?” you asked skeptical.

“Because I can’t handle what we’ve been doing. Every tour, something happens between us that just crushes me more and more. I was trying to avoid that.” his hands were holding your face and he was looking in your eyes as he spoke.

“I can’t handle it either. That’s why I’m here to-”

“To tell me you’re in love with me.” he smirks.

“Oh shut up!” you grumble pushing his chest away.

“No come back!” he takes your hand bringing you towards him. “I’m in love with you too. Way more than you are with me.” he smiles leaning down to kiss you again.

#cnco #cnco imagine #cnco smut #richard camacho smut #cnco richard #cnco angst #richard camacho #cnco camacho #cnco fan fiction #cnco one shot

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pulpwriterx · 4 years

Text

BEN SOLO ALL THESE YEARS

Rey decided to stay on Tattoine.

The desert, after all, was her home.

Poe went back into the spice business, and even branched out to include good booze and cigarillos.

Finn joined him in yo ho, you ho, a pirate's life for me.

And in their business?

They needed a good scavenger.

A year or so went by.

Finn and Poe bought themselves a posh bachelor pad in Anchorhead, but Rey preferred solitude.

She knew that that both of them would have been willing to give her a shoulder to cry on, and the benefit of a man's company.

But after the way Ben died in her arms, Rey wasn’t ready to hold a man, again.

The old Skywalker farm didn’t look like it, but it was a nice place to live.

It had been Ben’s home, after all.

He had left the outside looking run down and desolate, like no one lived there, but past the blighted door in the dusty courtayrd, it was a different story.

Typical Ben.

When you took off his mask, he had another mask on beneath that, and beneath that was a big story, a tall tale, and a pack of ever-evolving half-truths and outright lies.

He had restored the old farm, on the inside, and underneath, where the farming equipment and tanks had been, he kept a smuggler’s treasure trove.

Tunnels filled with all kinds of swag, from booze and cigarillos to old Rebel Alliance and Imperial Uniforms, and less innocent cargo like crates of blasters and pallets of coaxium.

There was also five years of food and supplies, and one of the tanks had even been converted into a vault. It was full of credits, black molded chests of Imperial gold coins, money from all over the Galaxy.

Ben had left the farm, and all it’s contents to Rey Skywalker.

He had also left the Millenium Falcon to Rey, but she hadn’t the heart to fly the ship she loved so much.

With both Ben and Han Solo dead, neither with a final resting place?

The ship was like their tomb.

The Falcon, and Ben’s secret refuge, with it’s hidden treasures; they were all, in some strange way, his legacy.

When Rey wasn’t whizzing around the stars with her friends, she led a peaceful, solitary life as the guardian of the legacy of the family that gave all for the peace that finally broke out in the Galaxy.

Besides, she wasn’t wholly alone.

Poe always let BB8 go with her, to keep tabs on her, and Threepio and Artoo were glad to finally get to go home.

It was a special place for her.

In the two years between when she and Ben killed Snoke, and when they killed the Emperor?

They used to meet at the Skywalker Farm.

Their bonds remained unbroken, even after she had rejected his offer to join him, and they had grown closer, not just through the talks, and the laughing, and the stories, most of which were lies.

Yelling.

Pointing fingers.

Sneering.

Cursing.

Stamping feet.

Breaking things.

Throwing shit about.

Lightsaber duels.

Even the bad times, even the shit times were precious to her, now.

Rey would sit, quietly, watching the twin suns, and think about the past.

Like the time they had a horrible fight through their bond, and called each other vicious names, and threw things at each other, and smashed up their own gear, in a rage.

But then Ben had said.

“I need to see you in person, Rey.”

“Why? What can we do in person that we can’t do through our little talks?”

“We can make love. Don’t you want to? I do.”

“There is nothing like love between us, Kylo Ren!”

Ben had given her the Solo shrug.

“Then we can fuck. I'd rather fuck. I was just trying to be chivalrous.”

And somewhere in their laughter, they had agreed to meet at the Skywalker farm, on Tattoine.

Rey had no idea that Ben had a home, and it became their refuge.

Rey would lie there, in Ben's big, brass bed, and close her eyes and think about when he was there, beside her.

Those stolen days and nights where they would laugh, and fight, and screw, and cuddle under the fur blanket in the cold desert night and plan for a future they both knew would never happen.

Sometimes, she could almost feel his big body, lying there beside her, and she could smell his scent.

Hear his voice.

Feel the way her little body had moved under his big, strong hands.

Of course she would also lie there and think about their lovemaking and take care of her business.

She could have had Finn, or Poe, but Ben was like an animal, like a man in the state of nature; he had been born without shame, and he had unchained a passion in her that Rey had never known she possessed.

Not that she had been a prude, but her interest in men, and her occasional dealings with them had been, well, ordinary.

Now who the hell would she find to satisfy the unchained, shameless desire that Kylo Ren Ben Solo had awakened in her?

Rey often cried, bitter tears.

But that was life.

Love is death, life is pain, and somehow you muddle through.

***

In the second year since Ben died, Rey was walking down a busy street in Anchorhead when she saw Chewie.

They hugged, and Rey was truly happy.

She took him to Poe and Finn's and they tried to get information out of him, but Chewie would only say he was working.

As he left, he asked Rey a very honest question.

“Are you happy?”

“I am content, Chewie. I have friends, work, a place to live, enough money, and I have peace.”

“But are you happy?”

“No. Happiness died with Ben. A lot of things died for me, with Ben. Love. Hope. Any interest I had in men, poor Poe, and poor Finn. But I still have life. And I can still enjoying being content with it.”

***

A few nights later, Rey had a dream about Ben.

It was a wild, sweaty, deeply pornographic wet dream that she woke up from in the throes of the kind of an orgasm women could only have in their dreams.

Or, if they were lucky, with bad men like Ben Solo.

She sat up, throwing the blanket off.

“Rey.”

Rey's heart sang an aria.

“Ben! You found your way back? When will I be able to see you?”

But there was no reply.

Leading her to believe, alas, it had only been a beautiful dream.

***

When he had come to Oneness with the Force, Ben Solo found trouble in Paradise.

Master Yoda thought he was ready for the next step.

Master Obi Wan argued that he was too young, and had resolved none of the conflict that had brought him to ruin.

Master Anakin was more direct.

“Though a man, he is still a child. And his life has been suffering and tragedy. He is young, he has found love, and we should not cheat him of the life he has fought so hard to win. Send him back. Let him be Ben Solo, and live his life. He has many years to find the New Path.”

Ben tried to speak, to say what he wanted, but found he could not.

“Young though he is, yes, but what life for him? Redeemed from Kylo Ren in our eyes. But what of the material world? If return he does, atone he must. But a bullseye on his back there will be!” Yoda insisted.

“That is a problem, Anakin.” Obi –Wan agreed.

“Then we will send my grandson back without healing his body. It will be broken. He will atone with his suffering. We will send him to a distant planet to make his recovery, alone. Dependant on the charity of strangers he once oppressed. Then let him make his way to more familiar planets, back to his identity and his home.” Anakin suggested.

“That sounds reasonable. We will give my namesake a test. But, Kylo Ren is dead. Ben Solo should not have to pay for his crimes. Then we will make it so the memory of his mask is preserved in the minds of all. But not his face. “ Obi-Wan suggested.

The others agreed.

“Speak now you may, young Skywalker. Until you find your way back, Skywalker shall you be called. Well? Back do you wish to go?” Yoda asked.

“Yes, Master Yoda. Back I wish to go.”

“Humor you have. Need it, you will.”

“But will I have to endure doctors? Needles?”

“Fear in your face, I see? Tortured you were, young Skywalker? Then your fear you must overcome. Back you still wish to go?”

“Yes, Master Yoda. I will face my fear.”

“And Ben? No cheating? If your women, strong in the Force as they are, happen to find you? Or your family? We won’t keep them away. But if you call to them? You forfeit this chance.” Anakin told him.

“Wrong that is! In his sleep, will young Skywalker’s soul cry for help! No. Also must we use the Force to interrupt his bond. Until his test is finished. Though he will call? No answer will we allow to come.” Yoda decided.

“I agree. Only by doing the evil that Kylo Ren might have done will you forfeit your chance. Good luck, Ben.” Obi-Wan said

“I have always been with you, my grandson. If you need my strength during your trial? I will answer your call.” Anakin assured Ben

Then, Ben fell into something like sleep.

***

He had a horrible dream, of waking up bloody and bruised on collapsing Exegol, limping or crawling out of the cave he was in, and then escaping in the still flyable remains of a crashed X-Wing

He woke up in a bacta tank, and panic seized him.

He started banging on the glass walls, screaming through the breather in his mouth.

The noise brought a Rodian in a white coat.

“Hey! Hey Dan, the big guy is awake! By the Force, he looks terrified.”

A guy his age with a moustache rushed into the room.

“Then let’s get him out. It’s OK, big fella. You’re safe. You’re in a Resistance hospital. There’s no more First Order. Nobody’s going to hurt you, here. Hurry up, Needo, help me, before he cracks the tank!”

The machine Ben was suspended from pulled him out, and he ripped all the wires off of his body, and crashed to the ground.

“No! No doctors! Get away from me!” he shouted.

Reduced to crawling away.

But there was nowhere to go.

“Its OK. There’s no torture droids here. You don’t have to get any injections. We're not going to bring you to the point of death, then put you in a bacta tank to fix you up, and then do it again.”

“You know about that?”

“The Empire did it to me the first time. I have a scar like the one on your other leg. But mine is only a few inches long. You must have really suffered.” The grey haired man said.

“I did. Where am I? Who are you? How much longer will this plexi-cast be on?”

The Rodian came with a long orange smock with the Resistance symbol on it, folded on a wheelchair.

“I’m Dan Antilles. I’m your doctor. You crash landed here, on Hoth. And you need another three weeks with that cast. Let me help you up. Now you might want to put this smock on, big fella. This is the size we usually use for Wookies.”

The Rodian helped Ben put the smock on.

It had long sleeves and it was fleecy and soft on the inside.

“I know you want crutches, but the break in your femur was bad. So, if you like being in the shape you’re in, and you want that leg to hold you up, later? Wheelchair. Nobody has to push you if you’d rather wheel yourself.”

Ben sat in the wheelchair, lifting his leg onto the platform for it.

“I can wheel myself.” He said.

“Good. I’ll show you around the place, and back to your bed.”

“Do you have a name, Big Guy?’

“Ben. Ben Skywalker.”

“Are you a Skywalker from Tattoine or a Skywalker from Arkanis?”

“Both. My grandfather was from Arkanis. His father died, and his mother became an indentured servant on Tattoine. We’re free, now, though.”

“Yeah, my family are from Corellia, but most of by father’s war buddies were from the Outer Rim. Tattoine, mostly. OK, Ben. It’s good to have you back. You scared us a little; we thought you might leave.”

“Me too.”

***

Snow.

Watching it snow.

Lying propped up on pillows, leaning against the wall, last cot on the ward.

A cot with a big “W” on it.

For Wookiee.

Techanically, Ben was a Wookiee, when Chewie became his godfather, he was adopted into Chewie’s clan.

Ben was thinking about Kashyyyk, actually, while watching it snow.

Thinking about how he might still be welcome, with Uncle Chewie.

Trying to get his spoon under the cast, to scratch his leg.

Watching it snow.

Blanket up to his chin, one knee up.

“...so, what happened was, there was like, a reason why Ben Solo killed Kylo Ren. More than just, you know, the war. Ben Solo and Kylo Ren, they were at the Jedi Temple together. They were friends. But they had a lightsaber fight over either the Force or a girl. I hear different things. And that's’ why Kylo Ren wore the mask because Ben Solo cut his nose off and scarred up his face...”

“Zak, can you stop talking about men? Why do you think I have my blanket pulled up?”

“You thinking about your nurse?”

“Can you stop talking to me? Forget it.”

“Sorry, Ben.”

“It’s not your fault, Zak. It’s this place.”

He looked out the window again.

Snow.

“I think about your nurse, too. She’s a big girl. She has to be six feet tall. And, like 200. But it’s in all the right places. And she’s a Twi’lek.” Zak said

“I’d like to jump into that girl and drown. Why isn’t she your nurse?” Ben asked

Zak shrugged.

Ben heaved himself off his cot and into his wheelchair.

“Well, I think I’ll go try to take a piss without pissing all over myself.”

“Good luck, man.”

***

The days bled into each other.

Ben finally looked inside the chest, under his bed, on the ward.

In the chest was his lost lightsaber, the blaster Uncle Lando had given him, his blaster belt, his lucky Sabacc dice, a couple of pair of coveralls, his boots, an X-Wing helmet, a money belt for under your clothes that had 500 credits in it, and a mess kit.

The X-Wing helmet had a number on it.

His Uncle’s.

“Humor you have. Need it, you will.” Ben muttered.

The plexi cast on his left leg came all the way up to his balls, and his leg always itched like it was on fire.

Meanwhile, no one asked him if he was related to the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker.

When two weeks, and then two more passed and no celebrated persons came to claim him, people assumed that he was some distant relation.

They didn’t release him until after the cast came off, in another week.

Nobody had come for him, and he didn’t call for anyone, so he just left on his own, on a transport with hundreds of other displaced men and women with nowhere special to go.

***

The tiniest hint of a fly in the Force Ghosts’ ointment came around the time that Ben was leaving the Resistance Hospital.

General Leia-Organa Solo, also Senator Leia Organa-Solo, returned to her office on Coruscant as Senate staffers were packing up her things.

One boy almost dropped a picture of her, and Han, and Ben, and Leia caught it.

“Don’t look so frightened. I’m not a ghost.”

“But you’re dead, Senator?”

“I’m a Skywalker. We don’t just die, like other people. We have many deaths and many births, and live many lives inbetween? Less philosophically? I have too much to do to die just now. Maybe in another forty years, or so.”

The next day, after her first appearance in the Second Republic Senate, to announce that she was running for Prime Minister, Leia had an unscheduled visit in her office from Wedge Antilles.

“This had better be really important, Wedge.”

“I think it is. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I was talking to my son, last night. He saw your broadcast and it made him think of a patient of his. A man his own age that hasn’t been far from his mind. A big guy, about two meters, nearly six and a half feet tall. Long dark hair. Dark eyes. Had lots of battle scars. This kid landed a burning X-Wing on Hoth, came out of it with his flight suit in shreds, dragging a broken leg, raving about Exegol, killing them all, and finally being a free man. Spent three weeks in a Bacta tank, recovering from a whole slew of injuries, and another three weeks in a cast up to his nuts. The patient said his name was Ben Skywalker, that his father was a Corellian starpilot and his grandfather was a Skywalker from Arkanis who grew up on Tattoine. As soon as the cast came off, Ben Skywalker got on a transport with a bunch of other kids with nowhere to go and no one to see, and left the planet. And it wasn’t until Dan saw your broadcast that he made the connection, and called me about it. Does that sound like anybody you know, Leia?”

“It does. I’ve been sitting here all day, full of blind, stupid hope. Thinking that if I’m alive, then Ben might be, too. Waiting for that call.”

“Who the hell else would it be?”

“I don’t know, Wedge. But it sounds like he’s running.”

“You need help chasing him?”

“All I can get. We need to find this Ben Skywalker. But if he is my Ben? What the hell do we do, then? Poe Dameron and Rey spread it all over the Galaxy that Ben Solo fought and killed Kylo Ren and the Knights of Ren, and then he died and became One With the Force. And the smart little bastard wore a mask, most of the time.”

“Let it go, Leia. Any way you slice the pie? Kylo Ren is dead. If Ben Solo isn’t? Give him a chance. He killed Snoke. And the Knights of Ren. He saved Rey. He saved you. And he helped Rey kill Palpatine. I think he deserves it.”

“Well, Chewie will be happy. I’ll talk to him, first.”

***

As soon as the transport landed, Ben began his wandering.

At first he figured it as a kind of penance, for his many crimes.

He stopped wearing shoes, or cutting his hair and beard, and all he wore was a black hooded robe, closed with a belt from which hung a metal bowl and cup, a holstered knife, and his lightsaber.

At first Ben just begged, and wandered, changing his robes for coveralls and working on freighters for his passage from planet to planet.

But as time went on, he slipped into a lonely madness.

He took to standing on streetcorners and preaching about the evils of the old world.

By this time a small crowd would have gathered around the very tall, very gaunt man, with wild eyes and a booming deep voice inside a nest of black hair and black beard.

“It was not the Force that did this to me! No, it was the order than we tried, for centuries to put on it. Dividing it, and ourselves into Dark and Light. Jedi and Sith. Empire and Republic. First Order and Resistance. It was this blasphemy against the balance and unity of the Force that brought our Galaxy into three generations of interplanetary war! And this Second New Republic is built on the truth! The truth there is no Dark, or Light. Jedi, or Sith. Only the Force, United. As it lives in all of us, and everything! As we find the balance, within ourselves, in accordance with our form and our nature. But I know there are those that preach the old heresies. When you hear them, think upon me!”

That’s when he would unbuckle his belt and take off his robe, showing them all his scarred, gaunt, filthy body.

Ben had even made the scar of the wound that Rey healed in the ruins iof the Death Star appear in his flesh.

“Stop and look at me! I am the mistakes of the past! My mother’s brother tried to murder me, and I murdered my father in turn! With these hands! These hands! This creature you see before you was once a man! Envied by men, desired by Women! Who desires this creature, now? Who envies this wretch, now? Who? Look on me and know it is time for old things to go. You must let the past die! Kill it, if you have to! Look upon me, and remember my words.”

Sometimes they would throw money in his bowl, sometimes throw things at him.

He hoped that a crowd would martyr him, but no one ever took him seriously enough to kill him.

He slept in alleys and doorways, stowed away on ships, and felt less than human.

Ben’s will to live left him as his madness spiralled out of control. He hardly ate and hardly slept, and his starving body devoured fifty pounds of his flesh, leaving him wiry, rawboned and gaunt.

He hardly felt human, or even humanoid, anymore, because he was hairy, and smelly, and filthy, and he scavenged through garbage to eat, like some wild animal.

At the end of a year, he ended up on Tattoine, intending to make a grand end to it.

He would give his sermon, throw off his robes and slit his wrists and his throat with a dirty piece of glass from the street.

But another vagrant warned him that the city fathers of Anchorhead had recently hired a former First Order officer as their chief of police, and although the new Chief understood smugglers were the lifeblood of Anchorhead, he was cracking down on street crime, con men, muggers, preachers, pushers, unregistered whores, and so on.

Ben quietly wished his former comrade well, and gave up the ghost.

But life clung, annoyingly to his skeletal frame.

He lay in the same doorway for three days, and three nights, and on the third night he knew that he was near death.

“Ben.”

He saw a bluish light in the cold, dark desert night, and rolled his eyes upward.

The face he looked into was very much like his own.

If not for the fair hair and light eyes, it might have been his face.

Ben knew his rescuer, immediately.

“Grandfather. Have you come to take me home?”

“No, Ben. I have come to comfort you, in your suffering. I understand suffering. I understand the peace that comes from enduring suffering, and triumphing over it. But I want you to live. You have suffered enough. I release you from the restraints that we have put on your bond with Rey Skywalker. Call for help. I will wait with you, until she comes. Rey will take you home.”

***

“Rey. Rey, I need you.”

Rey sat up in the dark, and knew this was no dream.

She saw and heard Ben; she saw him through their bond.

But what she saw and heard was horrible.

His face was drawn and filthy, and the hand that reached to her looked skeletal.

He was swathed in a filthy robe, lying in a dirty doorway, in a back street of Anchorhead.

“I see you, Ben. I hear you.”

“Help me, Rey. I want to come home.”

Rey jumped out of bed and threw on her clothes.

“I’m coming, Ben. Wait for me. Don’t leave me, again!”

***

Rey stopped her speeder by the dirty doorway and was surprised to see the tall, broad-shouldered hulking Force ghost of Anakin Skywalker.

Gently, he picked up his broken, emaciated grandson, and carried him to the speeder.

“Master Anakin!” Rey gasped.

She watched him wrap Ben in the blanket she had brought, and gently lay him in the back seat of the speeder

“Take my grandson home. And don’t let him out of your sight until he’s well, again.”

“But I don’t know anything about healing! I don’t know who to call! I don’t know what to do! Someone has to help us!”

“There’s an old man living in my friend Ben Kenobi’s old shack. He claims to be a Jedi Healer. I will go there, now, and send him along to the Skywalker Farm. I am sure that he will be able to help you.”

Anakin Skywalker walked off towards the moonlit desert, and dissappeared into a little whirly of wind-driven sand..

***

Rey sped home, in a hurry.

Threepio helped her to carry what was left of Ben Solo into the house.

“Shouldn’t Master Ben have a doctor?”

“No, Threepio! No doctor! No medical droid! No bacta tank! No needle!”

Ben was terrified, but it was the first time he had spoken.

Rey was glad that he was alive enough to speak

“Alright, Master Ben. No doctor. Master Rey, what about the man in the kitchen.”

“He’s not a doctor. Master Ben hates doctors. Don’t talk about doctors! Help me get Master Ben into the bathroom, and tell that man to start doing...whatever it is he’s going to do. Have Artoo heat up some batha broth for Master Ben. Then you and Artoo go back to the shed. It’s too much for you.”

Rey slammed the door on the dithering droid, and went through the bedroom and back into the bathroom.

Ben had managed to get his robe off and get into the bathtub.

He was covered in bruises and scratches, and you could see his ribs and his hipbones.

What was visible of his face out of the rat’s nest of tangled hair and beard was suffused with all the misery the human race had ever endured.

Rey turned the water on.

“Let me die, Rey. Now that I’m home. I don’t want to live.”

“I want you to live, Ben. This is my miracle, not yours.”

“Grandfather wants me to live. Do you? Really?”

“Yes, Ben, I do! I love you!”

“Then maybe I will live a little longer.”

He lay quietly in the warm water as she scrubbed the dirt off of him, and didn’t protest even though she had to wash his hair and comb the tangles and rats out with oil several times, and then wash it, again.

It was either that or shave his head.

One of the Skywalkers had left his straight razor there, and Rey had polished it and sharpened it; why she wasn’t sure, but now she carefully shaved the filthy, matted beard away from Ben's gaunt face.

“Don’t shave it all. Kylo Ren didn’t wear a beard.” Ben told her.

It was the only thing he said, but his sad eyes watched her movements.

She helped him get out of the tub, and dried him.

“Thank you.” Ben said.

Ben leaned heavily on her as they made there way into the bedroom; he was still much larger and heavier than her.

But Rey didn’t complain.

She propped him up with pillows, and fed him sips of milk and sips of broth.

“Glass.” He said.

She handed him the glass of milk, and he gulped it down.

“Don’t, Ben, you'll get sick!”

He reached for the bowl, and sniffed it, like a dog, then put it back down.

“No. Meat.”

“You’ll get sick!”

Ben slammed his fist angrily on the nightstand.

“I’M DYING! MEAT, GODDAMN IT, GIVE ME MEAT!”

Bellowing like an angry Wookiee.

A Wookiee.

Chewbacca was Ben's godfather; he had been adopted into Chewie’s tribe, and had a Wookie name.

Kallaurra.

Angry Wild Warrior.

But she didn’t know where Chewie was and Han and Leia were dead.

“Alright, Ben. Your Uncle Chewie taught me how to make a Wookiee stew. I’ll fix you some meat.”

Rey went out into the kitchen.

She felt helpless and alone.

I don’t know him. I don’t know him, at all.

Rey closed her eyes.

And she called to Master Leia.

As usual, there was no response.

Then she called to Master Luke.

“I’m right here. I told Ben Kenobi, and Master Yoda. Make sure Ben is with Rey. Father agreed with me. They didn’t listen.”

Rey opened her eyes.

Master Luke was sitting at the table.

“No matter where I go? I always seem to end up, right back here. On Tattoine. Now I’m here in the same house.”

“You’re the JedI Healer? When did you come back?”

“Right after I thought I died on Ahch-To. I got the same treatment Ben did. It wasn’t my time. I wasn’t ready. Next thing I knew, I was alive and well, and back on Tattoine. In Ben Kenobi’s hut.”

“I wish I would have known you were so close by.”

“I wish I would have told you.”

“Master Luke, did you ever take care of someone in Ben’s condition?”

“I don’t know what Ben’s condition is.”

Rey explained.

“I have seen men as sick as Ben, and I’ve tried to heal them. Some get better, Rey, and some don’t. They have to want to live. But I’ll do everything I can for Ben. Before I founded the new Jedi Temple, I studied Jedi healing. I wanted to save lives to atone for the hundreds of thousands I had taken. And I have taken care of Ben when he’s sick. And I also know how to get him to take medicine. You make something he likes and put it in his food.”

“But we don’t have any medicine.”

“I brought some.”

Master Luke reached into his pocket and got a white cylinder, which he put in Rey’s hands.

She opened it.

It was full of capsules.

“What are they?”

“No. The green capsules are vitamin pills. The orange ones are bacta. Just pop them open and put them in the stew I’m going to show you how to make. It’s a Wookiee recipe that Ben likes. Chewie showed me how to make it.”

Master Luke made a stew with bantha broth, vegetables, a whole nerf tenderloin, and potatoes.

He showed her also how much of the pills to put in.

“Don’t let him gobble it. Feed him a spoonful or two, and wait a half hour, to see if it makes Ben sick. If not. Let him eat the whole bowl. Don’t give him any more tonight. If he’s not sick, tonight, he can have three of these big serving bowls, tomorrow. It’s not too much. Ben’s almost the size of a Wookie, so he eats like one. If his stomach is still alright, tomorrow, then he had have some bread, too. And don’t give him anything to drink but blue milk. If his stomach gets upset, crack one of these purple capsules into some blue milk, and get him to drink it. Make some more of the stew after this pot runs out. After a week, Ben should be able to eat normally. Don’t expect him to gain weight all at once. And don’t overfeed him. The bacta and vitamins should make him well in about a week. But it might take a couple of months before he gains his weight back.”

“REY! WHERE THE HELL IS MY FOOD! MEAT! DYING!” Ben roared.

“Is that a good sign?” Rey asked.

“I think so. Don’t tell Ben I was here. We’re still not on speaking terms. I’ll come back to check on him, another day. Oh, and one more thing. As soon as he feels better, he’s going to want to make up for the time you two were apart. That’s not going to happen for him, with his body in the state it’s in. Tell him to be patient. When he’s healed and gained some weight? I’m sure everything will straighten right out.”

“I wish Ben had a Jedi healer to stay with him, tonight.”

“He has one. You are a Jedi. And you have healed him, before. But be careful, Rey. Ben’s life force is at a low ebb, and he’s very sick. You can try to ease his pain, but don’t try to heal him, entirely. It would drain too much life out of you.”

Master Luke got up.

“This is the no fun part, Rey. Ben needs you, now.”

“I don’t mind at all, Master Luke. Ben is alive. I still feel better than I have for a long time. I have hope.”

“That’s good, Rey.”

Luke stood up, as if to go

“Uncle Luke? I know you’re there. I feel your presence.” Ben called out

They both froze.

“I’m sick, Uncle Luke. Are you a Force Ghost, or are you the Jedi Healer that Grandfather was going to get to come here and help me?”

“I’m the old hermit down the road, Ben. Do you want me to come to your room? I know we didn’t part on good terms. But Rey’s nervous about being alone with you, tonight.”

“Would you mind staying with me, Uncle Luke? Everybody else is dead.”

“I don’t mind at all, Ben. I’ll stay here as long as you want me to. I remember where my room is.”

***

As Master Luke had suspected, Ben wanted to gobble the food.

His instinct to live and his hunger had overwhelmed his will to destroy himself.

“No, Ben.” Master Luke said.

More patiently than Rey would have, as he moved the bowl away.

Ben tried to grab at it.

“No means no. Don’t get grabby with me.”

“But I’m hungry!”

“You can’t gobble the food up, Ben. You’ll be sick, and that might kill you!” Rey told Ben.

It was a very long half hour.

Ben kept trying to get the bowl, and Master Luke gave it to her and she had to move away from the bed.

He cried.

“Don’t cry, Ben. If you feel alright, you can have the whole bowl, soon. And another glass of blue milk.” Rey assured him.

“I’m hungry! I’m fucking hungry, and I’m too weak to get out of bed and take it! Where’s my mother, Uncle Luke? Why won’t she talk to me?” he sobbed.

“Your mother is...always with you, Ben. And you’ll get better. Rey and I will make sure.”

The half-hour passed and Luke gave Ben the whole bowl of food, and a glass of blue milk.

“Eat slowly, kid. You start gobbling, and I’ll take the bowl away.”

As he ate, slowly, for once, Ben told them what he had done for the past year.

“Why?” Rey asked.

“Rey! Don’t ask why. Ben is suffering. He doesn’t need a reason.” Luke told her.

“I have one. I was asleep in a bunkhouse, with a bunch of other men on this freighter. And I realized that killing Snoke, and his troopers, and all his toadying fucking followers I killed on my way to slaughter the Emperor didn’t make up for killing my father. Sure, Snoke influenced me. Told me to do it. But I had a choice. And I chose to kill him. I killed my father. Whenever anyone would say that to me, that killed my father? I would just think, no, Snoke made me do it. But I did it. I did. I killed my father. I loved him more than anybody in the world, even though he was kind of a shitty father, and sometimes I hated him for it. And I killed him. In such a way that he doesn’t even have a grave. When I realized all of that? It broke my mind.”

Ben snapped the wooden spoon in half.

“Just like that.”

He handed Rey the bowl and the empty glass.

Luke took the spoon, and put both halves in his hand, and closed his palm.

When he opened it, the spoon wasn’t broken.

“Your mind will heal, Ben. Just like this And before this year is out? You will see Han and Leia again. I don’t know how. But I know you will.”

“I did see Dad. He forgave me. I just can’t forgive me.”

“Ben, you saved me. You saved the Galaxy. Without you I could never have defeated the Emperor. You’re a hero. Han is proud of you. So is Master Leia. Stop torturing yourself.” Rey begged.

“Ben, you said it was time to let old things go.You’re not taking your own advice. This is how the Sith broke you. You don’t have to break yourself. You’re free. You won.” Luke told him.

“I’m tired. I think I need to go to sleep. I had better try to get to the bathroom, first. Rey already has to take care of me like I’m a baby. I don’t want to piss the bed like one.”

Ben managed to totter into the bathroom.

Rey wanted to hover over him, but she knew he was humiliated that she was seeing him like this, at all.

She waited.

He made his way slowly back to the bed and lay down.

“I’m going to go, now Ben.To my old room. I’ll be back when you wake up to see how you are.” Luke told him.

He put his hand on Ben’s forehead.

“Sleep, now. And have good dreams.”

Ben fell asleep.

Rey walked back to the door with her Master.

“Will he die in his sleep, Master Luke?”

“No. Sleep will heal him. We’ll let him sleep as long as he wants to. I think I’ll go say hello to my droids. Let them know that they’ll be coming with me, when I go home. I could use the company. And you have Ben, now.”

“They’re your droids, Master Luke.”

Master Luke opened the door and walked out into the courtyard, and beyond.

She watched him, retreating into the setting suns, heading for the old shed.

He wanted to help Ben, but also?

He was glad to be home, in spite of himself.

Rey understood.

***

She went back to the bedroom.

Rey got undressed and got into bed with Ben.

She pulled up all the covers, so he would be warm.

He woke up, for a moment.

“I haven’t slept in a bed since I left that freighter. And I haven’t slept in my bed, here, for what seems like an age. I think I might sleep for a long time.”

“As long as you need to, Ben. I’ll be here.”

Rey stayed awake until he was asleep, and for a hour afterward, making sure he was just asleep.

But then she fell asleep, too.

***

Ben slept all through the way through another day, until the morning after that day.

Rey kept checking on him, and so did Master Luke, but he moved around in his sleep, and he snored, and once he got up and drank some water, so she knew he was just sleeping.

That morning he walked stiffly into the kitchen, dressed in a baggy cream tunic and brown trousers.

He had a cloth belt wrapped many times around the waist so that the clothes, although they were the right lengths for him, didn’t fall off him.

“Ben, those are my father’s clothes.”

“I know. They were still here, when I came here. I wear them, all the time. The desert preserves things.”

He had bathed, and dressed but he hadn’t shaved.

“I’m growing a goatee. To distinguish Ben Solo from Kylo Ren.”

“Everyone knows that Ben Solo killed Kylo Ren. Nobody’s going to come after you, Ben. You’re a free man. You earned it.” Master Luke told him.

There was a weird sense of calm, and dignity about Ben that she’d never seen in him, before.

He thanked her politely when she gave him the serving bowl of stew with the serving spoon.

Rey had gone out and bought the most fine, expensive loaf of rich, black, seeded bread that she could find, and put it on the table.

Ben snatched up the heel, and turned it over in his hands, and then he put it under his nose and sniffed it.

“I don’t remember the last time I had bread that wasn’t stale. Or mouldy.”

He ate the slice of bread, slowly.

Rey wanted to cry.

There were tears in Master Luke’s eyes.

But she didn’t want Ben to become hysterical.

So she carried on eating her cereal and blue milk.

“Have another piece. With your stew.” She encouraged him.

“Chewie used to make this for me. When I was a kid, and I’d get sick. It’s a Wookie recipe.”

“I know. He taught me how to make it.” Master Luke told Ben.

After he ate, Ben got up and walked out onto the hot sand, barefoot.

Rey supposed he was used to it, by now.

But he came back.

“I have to get used to boots again. I still have mine.”

***

Ben didn’t like to stay inside, too long.

He got restless.

And when he slept at night, it was like he was dead.

After a week, Luke was right, he was much better and he had gained some weight.

Before Master Luke went home, he brought Obi-Wan, to talk to Ben while Luke was giving him a final once-over.

Their Master returned and brought Obi-Wan with him.

He spoke with Ben while Luke was examining him.

“Were you seeking a vision, Ben? Or were you trying to be a vision?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I was trying to be a vision. I wanted to spread the word about the New Path. And the Force United. And to warn people not to go back to the old ways. I wanted to use my body to show them. So I made all the old wounds and scars reappear.”

“You’re on the right path, Ben. But you must not use suffering to make your point. Yours or that of others.” Obi-Wan told him.

Ben nodded.

Master Luke pronounced him much better.

He took Artoo and Threepio and went home.

After that, Rey and Ben were on their own.

Ben quickly started getting his body to do what he wanted, again.

He took long walks in the desert.

After two weeks, he was running, in nothing but a pair of shorts, running over the burning sand, barefoot and mostly naked.

But he stopped being antsy when he was in the house.

***

Rey had to go buy some food, and Ben wanted to drive her speeder to Anchorhead.

When they got to the store where she bought the bread, and the old baker saw Ben, he came out from behind the counter.

“I can’t believe it! Young man, what’s your name”

“Ben Skywalker.”

“Was your grandaddy Anakin Skywalker? Son of Shmi Skywalker and Kylo Skywalker, who died a warrior on Arkanis, and that started all the trouble his family got into?”

“That’s me.”

“I knew your granddaddy, then. We were both slaves, here. The Jedi took him away to become one of them. But he wanted to be a pilot. Me, I got sold to a baker. Now I’m a free man and this is my shop. But Ani used to come here to visit his mother. You look so much like him. Is he still living?”

“No. But he became a pilot. And a Jedi. He died a Jedi, at the end of Clone Wars and became one with the Force.”

“I suppose that’s what he wanted. But it still makes me glad I became a baker. Did you go to that Jedi Temple? Out on Yavin-4?”

“I did. But it wasn’t for me. Too may rules. So I left, and stuck with what I love. The stars.”

“So, you’re a starpilot too? Good for you, son. Ani would have liked that.”

“I’m sure he does.”

***

Time passed them by.

Ben continued to fight his way back from the brink of death.

He fought so hard, and regained his physique and his strength so quickly that Rey began to suspect he was healing himself, using the Force

Ben had always been strong in the Force, but he had become both more accomplished and more powerful than before. There was a new light in Ben's dark, ancient eyes, and a new kind of power animated him.

The Force was with Ben, but in a form Rey had never encountered.

But, neither she nor Ben were thinking on that, or the New Path of the Force United that they were, arguably supposed to be making a way for.

No, the weightiest problem at the Skywalker farm was much less cosmic.

Most people did not know that Rey and Kylo Ren had been star-crossed lovers.

And no one knew that it wasn’t just one last kiss that Ben Solo bestowed upon Rey before he died.

That was the elephant in the bedroom.

“Rey?’

She was asleep.

“What, Ben? Have you been awake all night?”

“I can’t sleep. What if I killed it?”

“Killed what?”

“My cock.”

“I’m sure you’d be fine with another woman.”

Ben hadn’t heard that.

“How could I just let it go, like that? Fuck, I haven’t even jerked off for six months! I don’t even remember the last time I got hard. I killed it. I lost my mind, destroyed my body, and killed my cock. And I’m ugly again, and I disgust you.”

“Ben, you are not ugly. You have never been ugly. That’s all in your mind. Go to sleep.”

“Then why are you so cold, all the sudden?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you. You were like a human skeleton.”

“I’m fine, now.”

“Go to sleep, Ben.”

Ben swore.

He got out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

He jerked the bathroom door open, angrily so that the knob smacked into the hole it had already made in the wall.

“Fuck it! I'm going to go into the bathroom and try to get it up for somebody I know who cares about how upset I am, and wants to try to make me a man, again! Me!”

But then?

He had a better idea.

And he got back into bed with Rey.

“Wait! I know what this is about. You think the last time we fucked, it killed me. That you killed me. Now, you're afraid if you touch me again, I’ll just die. Right?”

“Ben, I…you did die.”

“I was going to die anyway. I figured I might as well die hard.”

Rey couldn’t help laughing.

A little.

“Besides, how many times have you tried to kill me? As many times as I told you I was going to fuck you whether you liked it, or not. Funny how it always seems to turn me on when you try to kill me. And when I act like I’m going to fuck you whether you like it or not? You always like it. The first fight we ever had? I wish I knew that you almost cutting my face off with a lightsaber was foreplay. If I had? Instead of offering to show you the ways of the force, I would have told you that if you came with me, I was going to tie you to a table, again, and slide my tongue up your sweet Rebel cunt.”

In several years of very dirty talk, and horrible arguments and insults, that was both the dirtiest and the most horribly insulting thing Ben ever said to her.

She slapped him in the face, and he laughed.

“Don’t you dare, Ben Solo!”

“What? Don’t try that high and mighty shit on me. I’m the guy who fucks you. I know what you like. And you know, you never asked me what truths I brought back from the other side.”

He pulled the covers off the bed, and grabbed Rey by the ankles and pushed her legs open.

“Never gave a minute's thought to the Force United. Or the new path. But I’m not going to make the same mistake twice. I’m not gonna ask you if you want me to teach it to you. Because I know what you want from me.”

Ben put Rey’s legs around his shoulders.

“I’m just going to slide my tongue up your sweet Rebel cunt. I know you like that.”

If Ben's intent was to inflame them both?

It worked.

He rose to the occasion, and Rey felt anything but cold.

She was still in the throes of the orgasm he gave her as he was sitting up at the bottom of the bed, saying:

“Hard as beaker fucking steel. It worked!”

Yes.

It had.

“Ben, you horrible bastard, I’ve wanted you so much for so long!” she told him.

“Yeah. I know.” he told her.

***

All around the Skywalker farm you could hear the sound of a woman, screaming

And a man’s savage, guttural voice.

“Do you feel it now? Do you feel the raw power of the Dark Side?”

The woman’s screams grew louder and the man uttered a deep, dark, Satanic laugh.

He pinned her to the bed with his big, powerful body, and she locked her arms and legs around him screaming every time he thrust into her.

Faster.

Deeper.

Harder.

“Can you feel my power? The power of the Force United? Is this the way you want to get fucked, little scavenger? Fast and dirty and hard?”

More screams ripped from the woman’s throat.

“Yes! Yes! I feel your power. Your power! More!” the woman sobbed.

“My power? Who’s power? Say it! Fucking say it!” the man ordered, snarling through gritted teeth.

“Ben Solo! Oh, gods, gods, Ben fucking Solo!”

The woman screamed for joy, the man gave voice to another guttural laugh, and it resolved into a roar like the sound an angry Wookie makes before he tears your arms out and beats you to death with them.

Then, it was quiet, again.

***

Rather prudishly, Rey pulled the covers up to her neck.

In contrast, Ben lay on top of them, naked, his arms behind his head, his eyes closed, a happy, untroubled smile on his face.

“That was worth fucking waiting. You are one hot little piece of ass, Little Rebel Girl. You had better come out from under those covers. I’m not done with you.”

“Can’t I go back to sleep, now?”

“Why?’

“Ben, you don’t understand. You were born without shame. I’m embarrassed. People don’t…I…I mean, I enjoy making love as much as, well, any woman, but…you have no idea what I am on about, do you?”

He turned on the light.

“Rey, I understand your ‘Who? Poor little me?’ act is what’s kept you alive through all these years, and it keeps people out of your hair. But don’t play it on me. I know better. I’m also the guy who fights with you. At your side and as your opponent, remember? So you can mince around Tattoine, acting like you are the little scavenger, a little war widow, just getting by, spending her life in elegiac genteel exile. Living with the memory of her lost love. But we both know it’s bantha shit.”

“Oh, really? And how would you know, Ben?”

“Rey, you slapped my face in a room full of smoking corpses and pools of blood and told me to quit fucking talking and kiss you. Then you wanted me to fuck you, on Snoke’s throne. You hardly gave me time to get rid of the mess and drape the curtains over the throne! I mean, there I was, on my knees, with one foot resting on a dead man, and you’re pulling my hair and calling me a Sith bastard and telling me you’re going to come in my mouth, so I had better lick it up. Then, when I got up? You would have thought I poured honey all over my cock the way you went after it. You broke the zipper on my pants, getting it out. I had to hold your nose so you’d open your mouth so I could pull my cock out, because I thought if I came in your mouth before I fucked you, you’d cut me in half. I mean, I could hardly believe my luck. I felt like the luckiest man in the Galaxy. Who knew you were the kind of girl who loved to give head and liked it doggie style on the throne of the Supreme Leader? I thought I might have been in love with you before that day. After? I was done. You had me. For the first time in my life, I was crazy in love.”

Rey bit her lip, to keep in a laugh, a scream of outrage, or both.

“I was carried away in the moment.” she sniffed

“This went on for longer than a moment. Hell, the first time I told you I could take what I wanted, you looked at me like, oh, Daddy, let’s fight first, and I might kill you later, but take me now, I’m all yours.”

“So what if I was immediately attracted to you? A lot of women have been!”

“Not when they were strapped to a table, killer. Rey, I was your enemy. I was the bad guy you were fighting against. I gave the orders that almost wiped out the whole Rebel fleet! And even after that, you came here to meet me every chance you got! And we never talked, here. We talked when we were light-years away from each other. When we were together all we did was fuck. I was the Supreme Leader, I could do what I wanted. Go where I wanted. Nobody questioned me. I killed three generals who asked me what my business was with the Rebel girl. Those bloodless Imperial fucks stopped asking me stupid questions about my Little Rebel Girl after that. You were training to be a Jedi. You were the big hero of the Resistance. And you risked all that to come to Tattoine and fuck me out in the desert. When you had two guys, right there, who would have dragged their balls over hot coals just to get a shot at you. How long did the moment last? Two or three years? That’s a long karking moment, isn’t it?”

“It’s because I love you, Ben.”

“I love you too, Rey. But you are not a poor, meek, winsome little scavenger. You are a hot-blooded Force warrior. A two-tone, blood-glutted, cock-hungry hellcat who likes fast ships, bad men, high adventure, a damn good fight, and a real hot fuck. Be who you are, Rebel Girl. Some other guys might get turned off by that, but I’m Kylo Ren, remember? I love it when you’re bad. Hell, I killed myself at Exegol, satisfying our mutual battle lust. But I figured, what a way to go!”

“That’s why I was never going to touch another man, ever again. I killed you, Ben.”

“I came, and then I went.”

Ben laughed.

“It’s not funny! You gave me life and I took it back from you!”

“You didn’t kill me, Rey. Sheev Palpatine killed me. I knew I was going to die in that cave. I knew it before I brought you back. But I thought, hell, if I have to die, I might as well do it after a great victory in battle and a great fuck with the Valkryie I love. My Little Rebel Girl. And it’s not going to happen again, because I am now the most powerful Force sensitive being in the galaxy. Well, next to you. So do me a favor, and drop the act. It turns me off, and you’re insulting yourself.”

“Ben Solo, you are such a bad man!”

“Through and through. Did you think Kylo was the bad guy and Ben was the good guy? The best you can say about me is that I’m the good bad guy. Rey, my father was a ruthless pirate. My grandfather was Darth Vader. I’m bad right down to my bones.”

“You wont tell anyone else about me, will you, Ben?”

“They already know. They’re just too terrified to argue with you. Damn, I have to piss.”

He got up and went to the bathroom.

Rey shifted around a little.

Thinking about what he had said.

Ben came back to bed.

He got under the covers, kissed her, and rolled over on his back and shut out the light.

Rey was a little disappointed, until Ben hauled her on top of him.

“OK, Rebel Girl! Your turn to be on top!”

***

The one thing that people all the way to Anchorhead would tell you about Ben Skywalker was that he had to be related to Ani Skywalker, because he looked just like him.

His hair and beard were black, and hsi etse were dark, but other than that, he was Ani all over again.

He wore the same kind of desert pilot’s clothes; in fact, Ben and his wife were poor; he might have been wearing Anakin’s clothes that he found at the old Skywalker moisture farm.

Young Skywalker and his wife, who was a nameless scavenger from Jakku before he gave her his had come right from the wars.

Ben had lived out on the old place for years, but during the wars, he was always coming and going.

When he came to the cantina in the village without his wife?

Once he had a few pitchers of beer, he'd show you all his scars.

Take his pants down and everything, and the foolish boy didn’t wear underwear.

He had moods, but those scars meant he came by those moods, honestly.

He said he was a pilot, but all he seemed to be doing was getting his old wreck of a ship fixed up.

You might see him, running through the desert, barefoot, bareheaded, and slathered with sun protection, wearing only a pair of regulation Imperial exercise undershorts.

When he got to the village, he’d stop by the cantina for lunch.

“Training. I eat too much, and I drink too much, so I have to train like a goddamn Sith just to keep from turning into a big day tub of guts. That, and the Little Rebel Girl I married? She’s horny as an Askajian whore with a Twi'lek mother. She was a real killer, in the wars. If I ever quit banging her two, three times a day? She’d burn down the planet. But she keeps me in shape. Best exercise there is. Doing push-ups with girls. Before I met Rey? Hell, I had two or three women a week, just to keep me happy. Hell of a woman, my Little Rebel Girl. Better run home before she thinks I’ve got a girl on the side.”

Then he’d drink another pitcher of blue milk, finish his four sandwiches, and run home.

But what Ben was most famous for in the village was fighting a full grown Wookiee, and winning.

He made a lot of money doing it, too.

Ben Skywalker was the local character before the war was over, but taht wa sto be expected.

He was a Skywalker, after all; they were all characters.

In short?

Nobody suspected a damn thing.

***

After having lived by her wits from the time she was 14, and then becoming a Jedi, a warrior and the savior of the Galaxy?

The last thing Rey thought would make her happy was being a wife and keeping a house.

But somehow, just now?

It did.

At first Ben's moods were a problem, but when she discovered there were four of them, it became manageable.

Brooding Mystic, Wild Man, Happy-Go-Lucky Pirate, and Sexual Death Star.

Sometimes all in the same day.

And she had to admit, the fact that Sexual Death Star was a regular daily mood made it easier.

Ben naturally had a lot of stamina, and he was well endowed, but Rey always thought he had made sure to become a good lover to make it up to a woman for his moodiness.

But Ben knew himself, he had stocked his home with all wooden plates, bowls, and cups, and a stoneware pitcher that she he said he had thrown at a stone wall before buying.

So he got mad, sometimes and threw things and yelled?

It didn’t bother her.

Ben was always hungry, so he was always cooking, and there was always enough to eat.

They stayed in bed for days, sometimes, making love, and being goofy and just being together.

And she had not just a room, but a whole farm.

She and Ben had cleaned it up, and fixed everything, and even the old rusting farm machinery looked like art.

Ben worked on the Falcon, his ship now and there was a lot of work to do, because Rey had let it sit for a year.

Ben talked about getting in touch with “Uncle Chewie” he was thinking about getting back to work, with Rey as his scavenger.

He had a scheme in his heart, and that was a good sign.

But neither of them were ready to leave.

They went to the market in the old speeder, and brought fresh bread, and sometimes, when the moon was bright they had lightsaber duels out in the desert, and then they’d make love like lions, under the stars.

The stars that still belonged to them.

It was a beautiful little life, with just the two of them, but one day, the west wind from out behind Tattoine’s twin suns blew Chewbacca in to Mos Eisley, and there was a radio message from him.

He was coming out to the Skywalker Farm, and when he got there, they should be on the Falcon and ready to go.

Rey knew, then that everything was about to change.

#reylo week 2020 #destiny #resurrection #soulmates #post tros #Ben solo lives #ben solo redemption

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bleached-d-soul · 4 years

Text

Size Queen - Cuckquean: Chapter 2

for my friend @the-wayward-arc and all of you my dear readers!

Weiss made a mistake.

"Ugh, please, don't stop!"

She was raised on the belief that Schnees were always right. That they were people incapable of making a mistake by nature. Any deviation from the perfection was someone else's fault but never theirs. She was a Schnee, she could not make a bad decision.

"Harder, please, harder!"

So why was she being subjected to all of this right now?

She already apologized. She already accepted her place as a lowly miserable cuckquean. She hasn't been fucked in weeks. Jaune didn't even allow her to use toys or her fingers. Any and all pleasure she could have always came from her pathetically rubbing her swollen needy sopping wet cunt on any surface she could find. Provided that she was allowed to move, that is.

Most of the times, like right now, she wasn't.

"Oh fuuuuuck!" she watched Emerald cry out in ecstasy as the orgasm rocked her body. Her eyes followed the trails of thick semen that were running down the chocolate-skinned girl's legs. As if she didn't even exist as anything but the holder of sex toys for the two, they started making out. In their room. In her bed. How many girls had been fucked there already? How often had she been reduced to sleeping on the floor while her bed creaked under the weight of passionate and wild sex?

And how many times she wanted to rub her brains out to the sound of it.

"Hey, Schnee, come here and clean up for me."

Weiss stood back up fast and firm, her body shaking with need. Both Jaune and Emerald watched her with amusement as she made her way towards them. The viibrator Emerald stuck into her ass at the beginning of their session dangled helplessly, ready to fall any moment. Weiss felt incredibly pathetic as she forced herself to clench hard around the tip of the dildo in a desperate move to keep it inside.

Emerald promised her that, if she could hold onto the dildo till they were done, that she would be allowed to rub herself on Jaune's leg. That night when she watched Jaune and Vernal fuck like animals, something inside her simply broke. She was beyond salvation or repair. And without Jaune's presence, she couldn't cum at all. She would fuck and finger and play with herself for entire weekeneds without any result. Then Jaune would give her a firm but sharp slap across face and she was squirting like a faucet.

Which is why she was reduced to this sorry state.

For the chance to be used as a toy, she would suffer any and all humiliations and degradations. She played a good little stupid doggy for Jaune and Velvet. She was an unattractive twig-like model Coco dressed up into sexy lingerie to better show off her own ass and breasts. She cleaned off the bodies of twins from some club after they took a very heavy dose of bukkake from Jaune. She even had her holes used as a holder for Professor Goodwitch's crop.

She was everything and nothing at the same time.

And she hated how much she loved every second of it.

To have her pride shattered into pieces and stomped into dust. To have girls of lesser birth like Emerald and Malachites treat her like a two-Lien whore. To be paraded around Beacon on a leash with dildos stuck up her ass and cunt. All those who thought she was some Size Queen now knew better. Her social life was effectively ruined and she was but a toy for her betters like... Well, pretty much any girl not named Weiss Schnee.

As she approached the two, Weiss made sure to not meet their eyes. Unless they told her to, she was unworthy. One of the many lessons that were drilled into her disobedient stupid uptight cunt of a brain by days and days of education by her betters. She would always know her place thanks to them. Emerald and Jaune didn't even bother to look at her as she began cleaning Emerald's ass of any of Jaune's semen.

The moment her tongue touched his thick delicious cream, she froze. She wanted to savor it. Roll it around in her mouth, drinking in every bit of its salty and bitter flavors. But she knew better. She was not a woman or even a human when her betters were concerned. She was a toy. A tool who served her Master and Mistresses' purpose. And so she diligently ate the thief's ass, gulping down semen without a second to enjoy it.

"Oh, Schnee! Almost forgot, turn around."

Weiss did as she told, presenting her ass to Emerald. Only too late did she realize that she exposed her dangling dildo for the girl to easily yank out of her ass. Her body spasmed and she cried out in orgasm at the sudden emptiness in her tight little ass. Pitifully, she watched as Emerald held the toy in front of the heiress as if to remind her that she failed at something as simple as that.

"Now then, what was the punishment for failing, Schnee?"

Weiss looked down, barely restraining herself from crying from her sheer weakness and unimportance.

"T-Two more months of edging," she choked out, her body trembling in pain. She could already imagine the next months. "No right to cum."

"Good girl," with a sharp laughter, Emerald slapped Weiss across the cheek with the plastic phallus. Weiss groped her miniscule breasts as she tried to lap up some of her own ass juices like a complete degenerate. "Now scram, I don't want you around here when I am having sex with Jaune."

Needless to say, she wasn't allowed to take her clothes. So she walked out of her own room, naked and with derogatory words such as 'No Good Bitch' and 'Lousy Cunt Queen' adordning her body. A few weeks ago, the sight drew attention, with no end to scrolls flashing in her face. But nowadatys it was part of the norm. All guys knew she was all talk and no fuck. While girls enjoyed treating her like the piece of garbage and stress relief.

As she passed her way towards the room where she kept her spare clothesm Weiss wondered how long she could take this before she snapped. She needed more. She wanted more. She could enjoy the rough treatment. She knew she deserved nothing more or better. But she was so starved for good fucking. She didn't care if Jaune split her apart or fucked her brains out and, for the rest of her days, she would only know how to moan and beg for more sex.

She just wanted a-

"Oh, come on, Steele, don't be such a bitch!"

Weiss stood still as she tried to make herself as invisible as possible. Someone was in here. Steele, wasn't that the girl from Emerald's team? The one who always looked like she couldn't care less about anything?

"You know the rules, Onyxia. No fucking my man without my permission," Weiss watched as the dark-skinned punk girl glared at the silver-haired huntress. But to no effect. Suddenly, Steele's hand found its way into the girl's shorts and then right into her wet tight cunt. "You want Jaune's cock? You want him to make you so loose no man can ever fit in there properly? Is that what you want?"

Onyxia was the epitome of trouble. She was known to have started fights over presumed slights. Sometimes she didn't even need a reason. She was a bona fide bully, out there to cause violence for the sake of violence. And yet, as Steele roughly manhandled the shorter girl, Onyxia seemed to have neither strength nor desire to resists. Instead, she melted into a mewling mess. Kneeling down, she latched onto Steele's leg and started to plead,

"P-Please, Steele, I am sorry for being such a bitch to you. I promise I will do better! I will be better, just... Just give me another chance, please! I promise to remember who is in charge!"

Weiss' eyes widened. So she was in charge. She used to think that it was Vernal. Although her opinion was rattled when three days ago, she saw Vernal being locked in the same room as her for three hours of edging. Steele Black was the one Jaune was with. She was the Alpha of this harem. So that meant that if Weiss managed to secure position under her...

She would finally get fucked.

The thought sent shivers down her spine and right towards her needy denied pussy. She knew that Jaune wasn't capable of handling all these girls all on his own. She should have known that there would be someone behind it all. She wouldn't be surprised if it were Pyrrha or Vernal or that foreign student Cinder... But Steele? Weiss was genuinely surprised, quite impressed.

But more importantly, she was delighted beyond ahy measure.

Pyrrha was too much in love with Jaune to give him up to her. Vernal would be too territorial and a bitch to deal with. Cinder, from the few interactions they had, would definitely use her to gain access to Schnee influence and money. But Steele? Steele was an easy mark, Weiss was sure of it. The girl seemed uncaring about most of anything most of the time. And from what she observed, she was hardly one with an eye and a mouth for cut-throat bargaining.

This was almost perfect!

The plan began to brew in Weiss' sex-starved brain. Whatever humility had been drilled into her these past few weeks vanished in a blink of an eye as she saw an opportunity to gain the upper hand over all the girls. Jaune was angry at her and he would most likely not even want to fuck her. But if he loved Steele as much as she thought, then he would listen and do as she said. He would fuck her into sweet sweet daze. He would claim all her holes as his, making her impossible to satisfy for other men. Cover each and every inch of her body with his rich thick semen. And in time, he would grow to enjoy her. Want her. Addicted to her.

All she needed to do now was get Steele under her thumb.

"Just you wait, you stupid bitches..." With her pride back and stronger than before, the desire for vengeance came and burned bright in her heart. "Soon, it will be you begging me for leftovers. Just you wait...!"

She could already picture it all in her head. How much she would savor the revenge on all the girls for the humiliation and denial they had put her through. She would make them crawl. She would make them beg. She would put them through Hell and drag them back, broken and desperate. And in the end of it all, after they all suffer the same things they dealt out to her... She wouldn't let them even touch Jaune. If they would want him, they would have to settle for licking up his cold cum off the floor while she enjoyed one fresh creampie after another.

And they would love it all.

"Mistress, please," she pictured Vernal, bound to the wall. Her pussy was red and swollen, dripping with need and despair. There was no more fire in those eyes. No more bite in her mouth. Only want and obedience. Readiness to do whatever asked in return for the briefest of releases. "Please, please, please, forgive this unworthy little slut! Just a touch! Please, just let Master touch me!"

Nope. She would enjoy fucking Jaune right in front of her though.

"Mistress! I completely finished all your chores! Look, look how clean and shiny the room is!" Emerald stood, dressed in the twisted version of a maid uniform. She had indeed finished all the chores in their room. It must have taken a lot of time. Especially with her arms bound behind her back and that plug up her ass. Still, the green-haired thief looked excited, wanting. She smiled a broken smile, salivating at Jaune's exposed cock. "I-I have been a good girl, right? I promise to keep being the good girl - no! The best girl! S-So please, may I lube his cock up for you? P-Pretty please, my Mistress?"

Weiss would smile at her. Dangle the opportunity right in front of her. Just before she kicked the girl out of her room and told her to quietly edge herself while listening through the door. Emerald would then break into tears. She wouldn't stop crying even as she edged her brains out to the sounds of their passionate lovemaking. She would make sure to watch the poor pathetic girl sniff at the sheets drenched in their sweat and juices.

She would leash all her teammates for their treatment of hers. None would be allowed to speak. Only mewl, moan and cry for release.

All the exchange students would be sent a daily reminder of what they could never have. She would have Jaune fuck them extra hard before they left for home. Just so they would never forget the taste of that magnificent cock and suffer every day of not having it buried in their pussies and asses.

She would personally torture Professor Goodwitch too. The woman would be driven to the limit with days and days of denial before being forced to serve as her glorified toys and clothes rack.

"M-Mistress, may I have him for just a few minutes, please? It is our wedding night, after all..."

And then, of course, there would be Steele. She could imagine it all finally end a few years later. Once they graduated and she had Jaune completely addicted to the taste of her superior body, she would have no more need for the girl that helped her get ahold of him. She would show her some kindness, of course. She would be even merciful enough to let the silver-haired girl marry the blonde. She would pay for the wedding and their home. Make sure they never had any trouble or want in life.

All the while continuing to fuck Jaune day-in and day-out!

Steele would watch her husband tear off the dress of her as a bridesmaid. And go down on her like a wild animal, driven only by lust and hunger for flesh. While she would have to watch it all, pathetically rubbing at her pussy in a wedding dress. It would be both the reward and the punishment. The reward for being kind enough to give her the chance to steal Jaune away. And punishment for having him in the first place.

There would be no more distractions.

No more doubts or hesitation.

She would prevail, taking the boy for himself once and for all.

Because Schnees were superior.

And superior always succeeded.

Steele rolled her eyes as she watched Vernal crawl back with her freshly spanked and fingered ass exposed for all to see. A shame, really. She did like the girl quite alright, all things considered. She wasn't as bossy as Cinder. And could actually relate about lots of stuff unlike Emerald, who would usually yammer on and on about Cinder. Or Jaune, lately. But as much as she liked the bandit girl, she wasn't going to give her any special treatment.

Give a finger, lose an arm and all that.

Ever since Vernal leaked that photo of her boyfriend's dick, there was no stop to the girls trying to take him away. He even had to get a second scroll to talk to her since his last one was being constantly bombarded with nudes of girls across Beacon. Which was really dumb of those whores since now she had another leverage to use against them if they got out of line.

Steele couldn't help but feel happy at that though. If someone was trying to take something from you then that meant it was something worth having. Worth fighting for. Not that she didn't know that already.

"We are assassins, brat," her bastard of a dad said once during one of his more sober moments. Him being sober meant he didn't miss when he hit or kicked her. That particular day, the beating was extra hard. After all, what right did she have to try and go to a birthday of a boy she had a crush on, right? "We don't have friends. We don't have lovers. We don't have family. All we have are useful tools and targets. So get that shit out of your head before I break it."

He made sure to drill that lesson into her head extra hard. No surprise there, of course. Mom ran off the first chance she got. Didn't take her with her, which earned her the title of a Total Bitch for the rest of her life. Perhaps dad's abuse of a training was a way to get back at mom. To raise their only daughter into the same merciless mercenary as him. Or maybe he was just a sadistic prick that got off beating the shit out of her.

She was happy that she killed him off. Seriously, what kind of idiot abuses their child while also raising them to be an assassin, anyway? But as much as seeing his lifeless body collapse onto the ground filled her with joy, his words continued to haunt her for years after that night.

She would never be a normal girl. She would never be normal, even by the standards of hunters. Huntsmen and huntresses were also raised to fight. But they would always fight Grimm first and other humans second. Her? She was raised to see everyone as a nuisance or a potential paycheck. She was trained to kill. Not out of necessity. Not because there were no other options.

She was raised to kill as the first option.

If someone paid her, she would kill whoever the client asked her to. If a person had something she wanted, she would kill them too. If a person was annoying her, she would kill them. Hell, she was trained to even kill out of boredom. A life would be cut short simply because she had nothing better to do that day. And it was normal for her. She no longer had nightmares or doubts. She could come home drenched in blood and doze off in her bed without anything tugging at her heart.

Dad told her she would never someone to love her. Someone whom she could love in return.

"Hey there, babe."

A gentle embrace. A hot kiss. And those warm eyes.

"Hey, Jaune."

She returned it all in return.

Her dad told her she would always be his daughter? A cold and unloveable murder machine?

Well, fuck him.

She was happy when she killed him.

She was even happier now that she had proved that bastard wrong.

Because she found love for herself. Not one born out of lust and boredom, even if it started as such. What she had with Jaune was sincere. Simple and primal, but no less beatiful and addictive. She had never felt so warm and safe before. Not when she was living with her bastard of a dad. Not when she killed him. Not when Cinder took her under her wing. But now she did. And she was not going to lose that feeling any time soon.

"So, did you fuck Emerald extra hard for me?" she asked, resting her head against his chest. A separate room just for the two of them. A small piece of the world that only they knew and lived in. She would have to thank Goodwitch for that later. "Think she is hooked on you now?"

Because she would rather listen to her praise Jaune instead of Cinder.

"I would have asked but she wasn't coherent enough to answer," he grinned wickedly. She loved when he did that. He was an adorable and loving pup of a boyfriend. So she loved it when he showed off his fangs to her. "Though judging how she was clinging to me, I would say, yes. Completely hooked."

Good. She let Emerald have him not out of the goodness of heart but rather with this ulterior motive in mind. Cinder, Emerald and Neo were already desperate addicts for Jaune's cock. Just not desperate enough to call off the attack on Beacon. Steele planned to change that though. She already convinced Neo to tie up that con woman Rowan. The little psycho was feeding her boss Jaune's cum these past few days and soon the mistress of theft and crime would be just another bitch under in Jaune's palm.

And once they had Amanda Taurus and her loyal underlings fucked into submission and collared, they would have the entire thing called off.

Her happily ever after was so close.

She straddled Jaune's waist, pressing her toned ass against his stomach. She could already feel the tip of his hardening cock. She made sure to look him in the eyes as she began to strip off her clothes. She hungrily drank in the lustful gaze. He turned to move and she stopped him.

"Jaune, are you forgetting who is in charge when the two of us are alone?"

Her voice was hard, but filled with passion and hunger. She loved him. She wanted him. And she always made sure he knew that.

With other girls, he was a complete and undeniable dom. His word was the law and his presence demanded obedience.

But with her?

He was the one under her.

"N-No," he whispered, breathing heavy as he laid back down. "Not at all, Steele."

She smiled.

"Good boy."

He knew the rules. She didn;t have to remind him. So she smiled as he laid there motionless but shaking with excitement as she crawled back, pressing her face against his bulging crotch. Having released his erect cock out of the confines of his pants, she playfully flicked its head. Her boyfriend winced, his face blushing deep red. Her favorite expression of his. Well, second favorite.

"I think I can still smell Emerald's pussy on you," she said as she took a whiff of his cock. The strong smell hit her nostrils and set her loins on fire. She played it cool though. With a click of her tongue, she continued, "That's no good. That rotten bitch should know her place and clean up after herself."

She dragged her tongue across his shaft, enjoying how much he shivered from it. Emerald would, of course, be punished later for that. She loved Jaune. And she was willing to share his cock with others. But he was hers and him having the smell of another woman on any part of his body rubbed her the wrong way. Perhaps she should feed her some strong aphrodisiac and reduce her to the same sorry needy state the Schnee bitch was in nowadays.

Speaking of which...

"How was Schnee, by the way?" her fingers played around with the tip of his cock, the feeling of his thick precum making her want to gobble it all up there and then. "Did she beg you to fuck her after you were done again?"

It was almost a ritual by this point. Some girl would manage to get a permission to fuck her boyfriend. Jaune would take them up. And the Schnee would pitifully follow them wherever they went. Most girls enjoyed having the needy cuckquean watch and serve them, especially faunus girls who simply loved having a Schnee as their pitiful plaything for the night. And whenever the girls were not up for having someone watch, Schnee would be kicked out and spend the rest of the night fingering herself by the door.

It was almost sad.

"No, Emerald kicked her out," Jaune groaned as she began to give him a slow and gentle handjob. "I was surprised when I didn't see her with an ear pressed to the wall. Must hva egone off somewhere to rub her brains out."

But, as Steele said, it couldn't have happened to someone more deserving.

Weiss Schnee was the kind of person Steele would have hated even if she was raised in a normal family. Her family was rich as hell and she probably never knew what it felt like to want something but not be able to get it. Steele, who had to fight for every little bit of happiness she had in this life, hated Schnee for that. She hated her even more when she rejected Jaune like that in public.

Jaune wasn't anything more than an interest then. She didn't do crushed - not since the age of seven. She was bored and just teased the boy for the sake of it. But each and every time they met, he never stopped to inrigue her. He wasn't the strongest or the most vicious of a fighter. He was weak, in so many ways that she was surprised she spent time with him. But then she realized that it was his strong spirit that she found herself interested in.

She jokingly - though not entirely - asked him out on a date.

Only to get rejected because he loved Weiss. Not liked. Not fancied or wanted to fuck. He loved her. And, just like all else that he said, he said those words with sincerity. She hated how much it pained to hear those words. Well, whatever, she told herself back then. Not like she cared enough to be jealous or anything. She did, however, spit in venom that he could get rejected for all she cared.

When that happened, she felt awful. Not enough to angst or cry over, of course. But there was... something that she felt uncomfortable with. Something that made her seek Jaune out and offer him a comforting shoulder.

She wasn't sure why she did what she did next then. Why she kissed him and dragged him to their room. Was it pity? Just the frustration from work that she needed to release? Or was it that she saw it as her chance at happiness and love? It didn't matter then. So it didn't matter now.

"I love you, Jaune."

"I love you too."

She got her happily ever after.

Gods help any poor soul that was dumb enough to try and steal it away.

Weiss was in need of serious help. He had known that for the last few weeks ever since she decided to become his personal cuckquean. Even though he neither asked her to nor wanted her to do that in the first place.

Jaune watched the heiress come to the cafeteria with the air of pride and power she had seemingly abandoned weeks ago. Well, nothing good could come from it, he thought. And he was right when she approached Steele with the same fake polite smile and tone that she used when talking to Pyrrha at the start of the year. He used to think it was lovely. Now all he saw the selfish want for something she was denied.

"- and so, I am willing to offer you good money in exchange for making Jaune my exclusive sex slave."

Seriously, what the hell was wrong with her?

"I assure you, Steele, money is not all I offer, of course," Weiss smiled charmingly as she presented her with the image on her scroll. "My family has connections. Connections that could give you things normal people could never hope to receive. Like these."

Jaune got a glimpse of what Weiss was offering.

And he had to restrain himself from yelling at Weiss there and then.

"Proesthetics?"

Steele was quiet, her voice not quite angry or happy. It was the same voice she used when the two of them were alone. When she was hurt but refused to admit or show it. The topic of her legs was among the few things that were able to pierce through her usually iron-hard demeanor. Weiss crossed the line like that and for what? To get his dick that she couldn't even handle?

"Not just any proesthetics," Weiss grinned. "Those are the latest work of none other than Pietro Pollendina. I have seen what you work with and let me tell you, the tech that these ones have are beyond and above anything you might want. Speed, strength and even the function to store and use Dust! You won't find it anywhere on the market here. And even if you did, it would cast you a fortune."

She smiled, the same smile a predator showed its prey.

"So do we have a deal?"

"Sure."

"I see, in that case how about-"

Weiss froze, her expression impossible to tell. Somewhere between the shock and manic glee.

"Did you just agree?"

"Sure did," Jaune watched Steele whistle. "All the money and the new legs, huh? I really should start charging girls around here for Jaune's time."

Jaune wasn't sure what to make of it. Whenever the topic came to Weiss, his girlfriend hated even talking about her. And yet right now she looked as if she actually enjoyed time with her.

Their eyes met, the brief smirk she gave him along with the roll of her beatiful eyes assured Jaune that it was all some sort of plan of hers. All she wanted from him right now was to play along. And so he did. Without saying anything more, he followed the heiress and his girlfriend along towards their private room. Weiss kept talking about how Steele made the best decision in her life, continuing to list all the benefits from this arrangement.

Steele, meanwhile, hummed in agreement with only occasional word or joke that showed Weiss she was still listening. He didn't miss, however, the playful eager sway of his girlfriend's hips. Or the promise of a particularly fun night ahead.

"Now... Let's begin!" Weiss grinned, practically tearing off her dress. Her panties were positively drenched by now. "Steele, you may stay and watch us tonight. Think of it as me showing you I am worthy of your kindness."

Her words didn't match her tone. There was no gratitude or appreciation. Only the same haughty arrogance that made Jaune want to gag Weiss and keep her as such. Still, he trusted Steele's judgement so said nothing as he began to strip off his own clothes. He was halfway done with pulling off his hoodie when Weiss lunged at him, pushing him onto the bed.

She might have put on the face of a proud and strong heiress in charge. But that slipped off and was thrown out the window the moment she pulled out his cock. Without much posturing and talking, she swallowed it whole, which impressed Jaune somewhat. Last time he allowed her to try and suck him off, she choked with only a third of it down her throat before passing out.

"Ah wahm bwaininh!" she looked at him happily, too obsessed with keeping his cock in her mouth to properly speak. She looked like an animal. Dumb. Prideless. Only obsessed with getting her fill for the day. She tried to mumble something more. "Ahm ghun- AAAH!"

Steele was having none of it as she smacked Weiss' petite pale ass, leaving a quickly reddening mark.

"Don't get too full of of yourself just cause you can fit the whole thing in," she hissed in the girl's ear, her fingers playing around with her swollen folds. "If you want to impress me, you gotta deepthroat him like your life depends on it."

Or the deal was off. Even as cock-drunk and needy as she was, even Weiss understood the hidden message. And so she did her best to please him. It was clear that she trained for this, as messed up as that sounded. No more gagging or choking or breaking for air. Weiss' nostrils flared as she began to bob her head up and down his fully erect cock. Her eyes dulled, her focus drifting away as she inhaled more and more of his scent.

Jaune would lie if he said he didn't enjoy it. Her blowjob was far from his normal stuff. She lacked the skills the other girls had. But she made up for those with sheer desperation and hunger. The fact that her throat was much tighter also helped her case.

Not for long though.

"Off."

She looked at Steele confused, continuing to suck like a spoiler brat. Steele quickly reminded the girl who was in charge and pulled her off of him by her hair. Weiss yelped in pain and landed on her ass, whining about how she could feel him close to cumming. Which, to be fair, he was. Jaune got off bed and Steele started jerking his cock off. Hard full-length pumps up and down enchanted the heiress as she stared at his pulsing member with the same awe as one could stare at the divinity.

"Open wide, bitch. And don't you dare move."

Without any argument, her hands locked behind her head, Weiss stretched out her mouth as wide as she could. Her tongue lolled out in desperate need to taste his semen as she prepared herself for the load. She, however, wasn't ready for the loag as big as his. The thick fat load covered her face, tongue and her bare breasts. He continued to cum, covering more and more of her porcelain skin. He could see her shake with need to scoop up whatever cum landed away from her tongue and swallow it whole. But she resisted. She obeyed.

She still, however, looked positibely drunk, breathing in the smell and shivering with pleasure at the feeling of the heavy cream all over her body.

"Get back on the bed, Schnee," Steele slapped her across her face, bringing the heiress out of her cum-drunk stupor. "Spread your ass wide and open. Don't make me wait."

She hurried to do so, eyes full of excitement. Jaune positioned himself right at the entrance of her virgin ass shortly after, his cockhead poking against her tight rosy hole. He knew that she managed to stretch it out a bit after all the anal torture the other girls had put her through. But he doubted she was ready to handle him without breaking apart. Girls like Arslan and Blake were natural and able to take it. But arrogant sluts like Cinder and Malachites failed and now were so broken they lost any actual brain cells at the lightest of slaps across their asses.

It seemed the heiress would be joining the latter quite soon.

"Before Jaune starts fucking you, answer this one simple question for me, Schnee," Steele looked the girl straight in the eye, scooping up some of his cum with her finger before popping it into her mouth. "How easy do you think I am?"

"Wha-What are you talking about?"

"You really should stop yammering in your sleep," she hissed in her ear as she buried her fingers deep in Weiss' abused and denied cunt. "Red told me about your plans. How you want to get Jaune under your thumb. Even that sweet little wedding fantasy about me."

Even as her cheeks burned with lust, Weiss somehow managed to pale in fear and shock. Jaune had no doubt that Ruby would be rewarded though.

"I thought to myself, should I leave it be or do something? I mean, you have neither ass nor tits nor even the actual personality to hold onto a man like Jaune, let alone steal him away," she continued to play around with Weiss, dragging her tongue across her cum-coated cheek. "But then I told myself, that you are just too dumb to let go of your obsession with my man. The only way to end it is to put an end to your fantasies once and for all."

She motioned for him to act. And so he did, pushing his way inside her ass. The heiress screamed as she felt his thick pulsating cock tear its way inside of her. No lube or lovely mercy as she was forced to endure the burning sensation of his hot meatrod. Arching her back and rolling her eyes, she came then and there, squirting all over Steele's fingers as she passed out.

Almost.

"Not so fast, cunt!" a rough and fast smack across her face kept the girl from fainting on them. She looked positively afraid. "You are not leaving this place until we fuck your brains out and some manners in. Jaune?"

The wicked grin spread across his lips.

"Yes, Steele?"

She returned one of her own.

"Let's break her."

Didn't have to tell him twice.

Grabbing onto her hips, he started to thrust in and out. There were no soft kisses exchanged like he did with Steele. No tight embraces they shared. No foreplay or gentleness in his motions. Even the worst of the bunch like Cinder or Glynda weren't treated as roughly and mercilessly as she was right now. He showed her mercy the first time she tried to have sex with him. He thought that was enough to show her where she belonged. But he was wrong.

And now was the time to correct that mistake.

"How does it feel, Schnee?" Steele asked the heiress even as the girl laid there, eyes and mouth open wide in silent scream. "You thought being treated like a cuckquean was bad? Having to watch the man you rejected fuck other girls into bliss you would never know seemed like Hell to you? Now guess what."

She cupped her cheeks and planted a deep wet kiss on her lips, invading her mouth with her hungry tongue. Jaune would lie if he said watching his girlfriend violate the mouth Weiss was not hot. He made sure Weiss knew that as he began to brutally pump her up and down his cock. At this point, her pussy was gushing like a fountain, cumming every two minutes or so.

"Now you are not even that! You are nothing, Schnee! Not a slave. Not a pet. Not a cuckquean!" she grinned as she watched the heiress look at her in growing fear and awe. "You are our toy! A living and breathing fleshlight! Doesn't that feel great? To be treated like a set of holes for my boyfriend to occasionally fuck out of boredom or frustration?"

High on the insanity of it all, drunk on the smell of sex that filled their room, Steele began viciously playing with Weiss's tits. Twisting and pulling, groping and slapping them like her personal stress relief toys, Steele showed the girl no mercy even the latter begged for it incoherently. "No more! P-Please, no more! I was wrong! I was wrong! I was wrong and I am sorry! Please!" she pleaded, her face broken between two emotions. She was crying and sobbing, her eyes genuinely fearful and regretful. While at the same time her lips were stretched out in a smile, her tongue lolled out for more of Steele's kisses. "He is going to break me! I am going to break! Break and be nothing! Nothing but a whore! Please, I can feel it! I can cumming my brains out!"

As if to emphasize her point, Weiss came once more, spraying her juices all over him. She collapsed, whispering some gibberish about mercy and servitude. Heh, guess her brains did leak out just now.

"And now for the final part!"

With glee, Steele guided his cock into her cunt. Positioning herself above the heiress' face, Steele grinned as some clarity returned to the girl's eyes. Good, she wanted her conscious and coherent for that.

"Here's how things will be from now on, Schnee," she sat down on her. The girl, barely more than an animal now, began to obediently lick at her cunt. "You are no longer a student here. No longer huntress in training. I am merciful enough not to send you back home with a bastard in your belly. But your life as a human being is now officially over."

The girl began to lick more desperately as Jaune started mercilessly violating her cunt. How long has it been since she got any cock in there? Judging by how tight she clung to him, she would say way too damn long. Even as she rode the heiress face and Jaune was making her unable to be satisfied by anyone ever again, the two had no trouble sharing a kiss. After all, the girl currently struggling under them was barely more than a tool. A simple mindless toy.

"You will live here with us from now on," Steele ignored the muffled thanks and praises the heiress sang her. All she had to do was get Glynda to arrange this and it would be perfect for them. "Of course you are not allowed on bed unless we say so. Not that you will be getting much sleep anyway."

She squirted on top of her, enjoying the sheer desperation with which the heiress lapped up her juices.

"Cum inside her, Jaune! Let's give the heiress a present for her last day as a human being!" Her boyfriend smirked as he quickened his pace, brutally and shamelessly violating the girl beneath him. Finally, he reached his limit and came inside, sending the torrent of fresh potent semen into the girl's unprotected womb. And together with him, the two girls came as well. Steele's orgasm was wild, full of excitement and fire as she marked the girl under her pussy as their property. And Weiss' was just as violent as she gave up on three things.

Her quest for Jaune.

Her pride.

Her very humanity.

Who needed any of that? As long as she got fucked like that, she didn't care they treated her like a toy. Yes, this time, she learned her place for real. No more schemes or plans. No more fantasies and dreams of being Jaune's lover and Mistress. She would never be any of that. She never could be anything beyond the simple dumb toy for them to use to their heart's content.

"I love, Jaune."

"I love you, Steele."

She was pushed off the bed and onto the cold floor, catching the glimpse of the two engaging in a passionate make-out session. So warm. So alive. It was something she craved but now knew better than desire. With a dumb smile and eyes peaceful in defeat, she fingered her sloppy cum-filled cunt. Her new life was beginning now. And she buried her fingers deeper as she imagined.

Her being a Mistress? A superior to anyone?

Her mess of a brain now was in a much better place. Her a superior? Perish the thought, what a joke. She would be everyone's toy and pet. A walking and talking jizz rag and pain slut. And now there was no humiliation in that. Only love and acceptance. She would go on months or even years of keeping her holes untouched and denied. If her Master and Mistresses told her to strip, she would do so with an eager smile and no resistance.

When Winter would come and visit, she would make sure to introduce her to her betters. Because Schnee women were just submissive sluts and pets disguised as prideful warriors and royalty. She couldn't wait to bring both her sister and mom under Jaune and Steele's rule. To serve the two alongside her family. Yes... That would be a new definition of a Schnee in her mind.

Schnees were not superior or better than anyone.

They were just a bunch of inferior fools in need of a lesson.

And she would make sure that the whole Remnant knew that.

#rwby #size queen cuckquean #cuckquean au #cuckquean weiss #weiss schnee #steele black #jaune arc #commission

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venusxxlangdon · 5 years

Text

Garden of Eden

summary: beware of your wishes when you wander in the Garden of Eden, especially if the Antichrist has the keys.

pairing: outpost!Michael x fem!reader

words: 8.9k

warnings: smut, fingering, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, choking

To Katherine, Sofi, Sam & Caitlin

A big mansion loomed proudly behind the iron gates, flanked by the rows of green freshly-trimmed trees crowned in crimson blossom, swaying gently in the summer breeze. Ivy and fern grew through the crevice of the white marble of the walls that kept the secrets of the mysterious owner of the house. Michael Langdon was an exquisite neighbor, and if one dared to ask what he did for a living or who he was, nobody would be able to answer. Numerous rumors ghosted around his persona because Mr. Langdon himself was a very private man. He never honored any of the public events with his presence, for what he was deeply disliked by others. It was the paradox of life when one chose his own path, detached and aloof, and was strongly judged for it.

“He thinks he is better than us,” an old lady with her wrinkled hands adorned with heavy rings and pearl bracelets thought to herself when she stopped by Michael’s house and complimented his wonderful garden. In fact, she did not really want to say it aloud because it would squeeze her into admitting that his tenure was superior to any other yard in the neighborhood. However, the beauty of Langdon’s garden was so conspicuous that it would make anybody confess their trepidation before it and fall victim to its unbelievable excellence. The sweet, almost sickly smell of roses cut through the soft scent of the July summer. Red, pink, and white buds scattered on the bushes and ignited them with burning flames of vivid colors. In the middle of it, there was a big marble fountain with sculptures of Aphrodite, Hera, Athena, and Artemis around it. They stood like guardians, keeping a watch over the crystal flows of water that sounded like a giggle of a young nymph in the peaceful silence. No wonder everybody wanted to get inside just to look at the worldly Garden of Eden.

“Mr. Langdon?” The woman called his name again after he did not respond to her question.

A tall, stately man was sitting on a patio with his legs crossed and a volume of Voltaire in his right hand. He was holding a glass filled with blood-red wine in his left hand; the heavy bands of his rings clicked against the fine glass every time he brought it to his lips to take a sip. He slowly took his gaze off the book and dragged it to the lady who suddenly felt like an annoying schoolgirl, hungry for his attention. She shivered uncomfortably when two topazes of his piercing blue eyes stared at her. It felt like he was looking right through her, paralyzing every muscle of her decrepit body. Michael slightly tilted his head to the side, letting the sunlight caress the smooth, silky locks of his licentious hair. He found it amusing that the old cranky twat, who had spent years ruining the life of her daughter in law (she found the young girl absolutely unworthy of her son’s attention) in the most revolting ways, even dared to speak to him.

“Well, thank you, Mrs. Shepherd,” the velvet baritone if his voice reverberated through her bones, “but it’s the roses you should address your compliments to. I don’t own their beauty.”

Despite the fact she had been working in public relations for thirty years, Mrs. Shepherd found herself at loss for words. Surprisingly she felt so small and vulnerable that her only desire was to leave. She nodded and opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it again, pressing her thin lips into a tight line. Trying to gather the remaining of her confidence, she adjusted the cuffs of her dinner jacket, as if it could help her stay grounded, and lifted her chin up a bit too high than it was necessary.

“I am just wondering how you manage to keep your garden in such an impeccable state. Pardon my bluntness, Sir, but I have never seen you weed or water it.”

The corners of Michael’s lips twitched, and he put his book aside on a small table next to him, folding his hands neatly on his crossed thighs.

“You are not the Lord to see everything, are you?” He smiled, showing her his perfect white teeth.

“Excuse me?” She nervously started playing with a pearl necklace around her slender neck. It was very uncomfortable to talk to him like that when he was still sitting on a patio, and it seemed like he did not have any intentions of approaching her for a chat.

Michael ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip; a faint smirk was ghosting across his lips as he kept wandering around Mrs. Shepherd’s hectic mind, looking through her entire biography, which he could read like a picture book. What a pathetic soul stood before him! He had no interest in her; what was alluring in the lost essence of her elderly being if she had not learned a thing in her life? Nothing. There was someone else who piqued his interest a long while ago. Ignoring the awaiting expression on Mrs. Shepherd’s face, he looked away at the neighboring house. When his eyes landed on a second-floor window, he saw a shadow that flashed behind the sheer curtains. Michael smirked.

His rose was spying on him again.

Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed that Mr. Langdon turned his head in the direction of your bedroom, and you hurried to fall to your knees and crawl under the windowsill, praying that he did not see you. With the trembling fingers, you reached for the jacquard drapes and pulled them, trying to cover up the transparent organza of your curtains. You had no idea why you were doing it again after you had promised yourself not to spy on your neighbor anymore. It was wrong and creepy, and you felt embarrassed and, what was more terrifying, aroused by it. You bit on your knuckles in an attempt to suppress a whimper that got you all aflutter.

What an idiot.

You drew your knees against your chest and wrapped your arms around yourself securely, trying to calm down a swirling vortex of anxiety in your head. The effect that beautiful man had on you was indescribable: you felt strangely attracted and intimidated at the same time. The mysterious aura of Mr. Langdon kept you awake at night and made you sneak on your tiptoes to the window to look at the dim light in the window across the street every midnight. You wondered why he was always awake at such a late hour.

Asking your parents about him was pointless because they truly had not been the biggest fans of Langdon, since you moved into a new house, and wanted you to stay away from him. When you asked your dad why, he shrugged and said “He’s no good” through his gritted teeth, but could a man of no good grow such beautiful flowers in his garden?

Everybody seemed to either hate or love Michael Langdon, so the rumors about him were on the two opposite poles accordingly: either extremely notorious or suspiciously celestial. You tried to do your own research, but the only thing you managed to find out was the fact that his parents had abandoned him when he was a child, and it was his grandmother who had raised him. He was believed to have property somewhere in England, or Romania, which would be a strange choice in general.

You wanted to talk to him, but for the past six months you had spent in the new neighborhood, you did not have the guts to say hi when he was out in the backyard. You found yourself blushing and embarrassed, unable to form such an easy question as “how are you doing, Mr. Langdon?”, so what sort of a small talk one could expect from you? He looked no older than thirty, yet he made an impression of someone experienced, tempting, and even sinister.

Biting your lower lip, you reminisced about his gorgeous chiseled face, framed with the soft blond curls that reached his shoulders. He was always dressed irreproachably perfect, with no wrinkles on his ironed shirt in sight. Instead of going out with your friends and doing whatever mirth your young soul desired, you often stayed home in your small bedroom to watch his silhouette behind the thick curtains. Around 8 pm he liked to go to his garden, and you could see his lips move as if he was talking to someone, but you did not see whom. Michael most certainly did not have a dog, or a cat, although some people rumored that there were snakes in his garden, but you never had a chance to witness them. He always moved graciously around his flowers, brushing his gnarled fingers against the petals, and you once caught yourself imagining what his touch would feel like. That was a point of no return when you realized that you were unconditionally fascinated by the insanely beautiful man across the street. You felt like a stalker but could not fight the desire to keep eyeing him.

xxx

It was a regular lazy Sunday you decided to spend doing nothing in particular, especially due to the unbearable heat. Even the trees looked defeated: the leaves that should have been crispy and firm looked flaccid instead. Whenever you went outside, you felt like the sun was going to melt you as if you were nothing, but a cube of ice, so you hanged out in the kitchen with AC turned to the maximum, reading books and watching whatever there was on TV.

“I swear Langdon does something to his roses,” your mom said, wiping the drops of sweat off her forehead. Your head flew up immediately at the sound of the familiar name. “His garden looks like an oasis in the desert.”

You looked through the window, where you could see the blooming roses, irises, and hydrangeas behind the gate. She was right; it looked wonderful indeed despite the temperature.

“I’ve never seen him watering it,” you mom continued, not paying attention to an absent look on your face. You frowned when two white heaven-bound birds ricocheted as soon as they appeared in the radius of Langdon’s property. It seemed like there was an invisible shield around it. Surprised, you pulled the curtains aside to take a closer look. What the hell was that?

“Maybe he does it at night? When it’s not so hot,” you said slowly, without taking your narrowed eyes off of the door of his house.

By 9 pm the heat started to cool down, and you decided that the whole day at home was enough for you, and it would be nice to ride a bike before going to bed. Moreover, you needed an excuse to get closer to Mr. Langdon’s garden and do some investigation. You had no idea what exactly you were looking for and if there was something wrong with his mansion, but your mother’s comments and the two birds kept rewinding in your head, causing major anxiety.

“I’ll be back soon!” you shouted from a garage, hoping that your dad could hear you through a loud tv noise.

Riding a bike was one of the greatest pleasures of summer when even though you pedaled, the iron monster with a little wicker basket automatically took you down the street. The wind tangled its warm fingers in your hair and toyed with your white sundress with cherry print on the linen fabric. Your legs remained in motion, as your thoughts stayed in the moment, and you allowed them to get back to Michael.

If he were home, he would definitely notice you, and then what? You would have to explain your business and it would involve having an actual conversation with him.

You pressed the breaks, stopping the bike. Fuck. Just the thought of it made your palms sweaty. You looked across your shoulder, spotting the white walls of his mansion in the distance.

You did not know how much time you spent staying in the middle of an empty road, contemplating your plan, but eventually, it felt like your bike started living its own life, taking you back to Langdon’s property, and all you could do was to keep pedaling and trying to breathe steadily.

His imposing figure was visible from the distance way before you approached him. He was standing with his hands behind his back, his long hair tied up in a low ponytail with the loose strands of it framing his defined face. You took a tight grip on the handlebar and slowed down the bike.

“Good evening, Mr. Langdon,” you could not recognize your voice that sounded so high-pitched it made you scrunch up your nose in disgust. As your feet touched the ground, he looked up at you with a hazy smile across his full lips. He stepped forward, and your breath hitched at his appraising glance. Michael did not even try to hide the curiosity he was looking at your sundress with, examining your naked legs.

“Ah, what a great surprise,” he said in a singsong tone and outstretched his hand. You nervously gave him your palm, and he took it with just the tips of his fingers. He gently turned your hand downwards and bent at the waist until his lips were inches above your skin. He never touched it with his lips, just let his breath ghost over your hand before letting go of it. You could feel the heat spreading across your cheeks, painting them in scarlet hues. “Good evening, Ms. Y/L/N.”

You smiled, trying not to stare at the man before you. It was the first time you saw him so close, and his vibe was overwhelming. You could feel the power radiating from him in hot waves that had nothing to do with the summer heat. He towered over you despite the distance and the bike between you two. He was handsome from the depth of his cobalt blue eyes to the gentle expression of his smooth voice. You could swear he was inhumanly beautiful. Mr. Langdon was probably used to the sudden pauses in people’s natural reactions when they fell silent and just admired him.

“I’m sorry, I just...,” you stuttered, nervously tugging a piece of hair behind your ear. “I just wanted to look at the roses.”

You nodded in the direction of the beautiful flowers flowing and swaying around the men. He chuckled softly, unable to take his eyes off of your blush that accompanied your words.

“Your garden is so beautiful,” it felt like you could not stop bubbling, “even in this horrible heat. It seems like you really love it, Mr. Langdon,” you mattered. The delicate, blooming petals stood out in the grass, bathing in the radiant sunlight; the air was perfumed with the exuding scent of the flowers.

“I surely do, my dear,” Michael said, his voice low and honey-like, encapsulating your entire being. His long, aristocratic fingers brushed against the tight buds, where inside the layers of green, there were colors that, eventually, would ignite the new roses into the vibrancy of life. He slowly dragged his fingertips down a stem and picked one.

“My garden keeps a lot of secrets,” he looked at you through his heavy lids and extended his hand to give you the flower. “You know, all our desires that we wish we could hide in the darkest corners of our souls.”

A faint smirk across his full lips made your stomach flip as your mind rushed to the memories of you watching him through the window of your small bedroom. You hesitantly took the flower from his hand, and when your fingers accidentally touched his, your body jolted as if lighting pierced through you. Michael pretended that he did not notice it, gazing at you hazily with an unbothered look on his face. The only thing that could indicate his interest was the waves of a deep aquamarine polling in his eyes. Each hue seemed brighter in the reflection of the sunlight.

“Thank you,” you whispered under your breath and put the rose in the basket. You did not know what to add, especially after his remark. Was it a hint that he knew what were you doing? You put your right feet on a pedal as if you were about to leave.

“I hope you’ll have a good night, Mr. Langdon.”

Michael shook his head and made his way to the antique gate, holding a key you had not noticed in his hands before. He opened it with one swift motion of his wrist and leaned against the ornate door.

“What about the garden? I thought you would like to see it.”

You looked at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, are you sure, Sir?” You asked hesitantly, “I don’t want to be a bother, plus it’s getting late, you probably have other plans...”

“It would be my pleasure to show you around,” his velvet voice cut you off in the middle of the sentence, and you froze, enchanted by his eyes that were looking right through you.

You hopped off your bicycle and leaned the handlebar against the gate.

“That’s really nice of you, Mr. Langdon,” you smiled, stepping closer. You thought he would move, so you could follow him inside, but he waited until you were inches away, almost pressed against his chest in the small space of the doorframe.

“Please, call me Michael,” for a second it seemed like the world froze around you. As if someone in charge of winding the Great clock of time pressed the button, and everything stopped moving. All you could feel was the scent of Michael’s cologne. It was surreal. You parted your lips to say something, but his eyes got you hypnotized; you realized that you were holding your breath all that time.

Langdon was the first one to break eye contact.

xxx

Walking in Michael’s garden was one of the greatest pleasures you had ever experienced in your life. It seemed like the farther you went, the more beautiful it became. Numerous flowerbeds painted the lawns in vivid shades of watercolor. The miniature shrubs were trimmed neatly, and everything one could desire was to run among them, breathing in the exquisite sent of flowers.

He was watching you amusingly: how you bent over to brush your fingertips against the delicate petals and smell the roses, the way your cheeks turned crimson every time you caught him staring at you.

Michael could not help himself and let his magic wander around you, making its way into your radiant ephemeral mind. From the corner of his eye, he noticed his snakes crawling under the marble bench and flicked his wrist, ordering them to stay in place.

“So red and white roses are your favorite?” You asked curiously, spinning around to face him, and he hurried to fold his hands behind his back as if nothing had just happened. His eyes traveled down your body, catching the sight of your skirt flowing in the wind.

“The red rose whispers of passion,” he answered, stepping closer to you, “and the white rose breathes of love.* Yes, there are,” he took a pause, thinking if God had decided to mock him by sending an actual angel. An angel with devilish desires. “But I also have a penchant for lilies,” Michael nodded at the flowerbed next to you.

“You sound like a poet, Michael,” you said, still a bit embarrassed to call him by his name. Langdon, on the contrary, shivered every time it rolled off your tongue. His mind painted pictures of the situations where he could make you repeat his name like a mantra.

“Well, thank you, but I will have to disappoint you,” his lips curled into a fake pout, “the author of these beautiful lines is an old chap O’Reilly, not me.”

The yellow ball of the setting sun merged with the sky, changing it to the hues of orange, and then almost red. Summer sunsets, a prelude to a warm night, were well-known for being beautiful. The sun cast its golden rays down upon Michael’s blond ponytail, illuminating it like a halo. It cascaded onto the trees and his house like the glory of paradise.

“You definitely used them for the right occasion,” you chucked, “oh my God,” you sighed in pure delight, “how amazing it must be to own such a beautiful garden and wander around it every day. I think I would get lost in it!”

“Not all those who wander are lost, darling.**”

For the reasons unknown to you, your mind went back to your fantasies about Michael. You considered yourself lost in them, but what if you just wandered?

xxx

Time dissolved into itself in a blink of an eye. You did not notice how one topic of conversion flowed into another, and you most certainly missed the moment when Michael invited you into his house. Even though you understood that it was not right to abuse his hospitality, you could not say “no” to his invitation.

“Would you like some wine?” he asked you, as you walked around the dining room, observing the luxurious interior. From your location, you could also see the fireplace in the living room, the family crest adorned with the ruby red needlework hanging on the wall, the antique furniture that cost more than your college tuition. Michael was standing by the cabinet, considering his wine choice for the night.

“Yes, please,” you nodded, brushing your knuckles against the gliding surface of the oak table. On top of it, there were exquisite sets of the finest silverware. “But I’ll have to rely on your taste because I’m no expert when it comes to wine.”

Michael took a bottle out and opened it. A gold-colored Moselle was poured in two crystal glasses.

“A well-chosen wine, my dear,” you still could not understand if he really meant that nickname, or if it was his regular way to address everyone he knew. You looked away, hoping that he would not notice your wide grin. “Either sets a great mood or ruins the impression,” he took the glass and made his way to you. “Forever.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around the stem and bringing it to your lips to take the first sip. Michael watched you attentively, waiting for your reaction. The liquid tasted beautiful and rich, coating your taste buds like acerbic honey.

“That’s a really great wine, Michael,” you said, feeling the warmth spreading through every cell of your body. He smirked, and you found yourself staring at the wine drop on his bottom lip.

His lips, plump and pink, looked million times more beautiful than any rose in his garden. You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping that the pain would help you to remain sane, but the longer you looked at him, the cloudier your mind got. It was impossible to say what exactly made your head dizzy: the scent of the fine wine or Mr. Langdon who looked like the Eighth Wonder. The thoughts you had been trying to suppress all the time, were suddenly unleashed like demons and flooded your subconsciousness with the vivid images. Your breath hitched, and you had to take another sip of wine, pretending that you were enjoying the taste when instead you used it as an excuse to look away.

“I knew you would enjoy it.”

Your mind tried to come up with any topic that could cut through the electric tension between you two, but all you could think was him. Him. Him. Kissing you, savoring every inch of your exposed skin — it was an all-consuming obsession. You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling extremely hot as if the temperature increased by several degrees.

“I have noticed your family crest over there,” you nodded at the living room, “does your family have a long history?”

Michael tapped his fingers against the glass and put it aside on the dining table.

“Not really,” he scoffed, and you wondered if the topic about his family was not his favorite, “my grandmother was so obsessed with the idea of being one of the nobility that she made it come true,” he glanced over the enormous dining room.

“Your mansion is beautiful,” you said honestly, looking up at him, “so is your garden, and...oh my God, there is a snake!” You cried out at the sight of a green snake that was slowly making its way to Michael along the perfectly polished floor. The intruder was so unexpected that you knocked his glass off the table, and it shattered into pieces with a loud noise. You gasped and immediately fell to your knees to collect the remains of the wineglass in your palms. Embarrassment washed over in tides, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes, ready to spill out from the humiliation you had put yourself through. Everything felt wrong.

“I’m so sorry,” you whined in a broken voice, “Michael, I did not mean to...oh God, I am so sorry... I will pay for the glass, I promise...I just...”

“Y/N,” he interrupted you softly, but stern. Still being on your knees, you left your gaze up at him to meet the icy fire of his eyes. “Stand up.”

You gulped heavily, but obeyed, slowly standing up on your wobbly feet. He carefully took the pieces of the broken glass from your hands, making sure not to leave any cuts on your tender skin. Michael put them aside on a thick cotton napkin and grabbed a clean one to wipe off the wine off your palms.

“It’s okay,” he said, examining your skin carefully in case there were micro cuts he did not notice, “no big deal.”

The feather-light touch of his fingers was soothing. You looked across Michael’s shoulder, trying to spot the reptile, but did not see any.

“I saw a snake,” you whispered, “over there.”

He put the napkin aside but did not let go of your hands.

“I believe I have not introduced you to my pets,” the plural form made you look around as if right after his words numerous snakes would crawl out of nowhere.

“So it’s true,” the rumors sprang on your mind, and you squeezed his fingers instinctively, not actually realizing what you were doing, “you do have snakes.”

Michael’s lips curled in a smile.

“Three of them,” he took a step closer, the crystal beads of glass crunched under his shoes, but he did not seem to care. “Don’t worry, there are not poisonous,” he answered your silent question. “However, they always come where there is fear.”

You frowned. His fingers snaked up your palm to wrap around your slender wrists. You looked at him in confusion. What if other rumors were true? The snake you had just seen looked way too terrifying to be harmless, and fear creeping up on the back of your neck indicated that the worry was not pointless.

“Michael, I don’t think I understand what you mean,” you started slowly, trying to break free from the steel grip of his fingers, “It’s getting really late, I better go...”

You fell silent when the fingers of his left hand ghosted over the contour of your face, but never touching it. He hummed approvingly when you stopped talking and just stared at him in fluttering admiration.

“You talk too much, my dear,” he said, finally honoring you with his touch, dragging his fingertips along your cheekbones and a sharp line of your jaw, “but you don’t say what you really think,” his eyes twinkled in the dim light of the room.

You took a step back, but the corner of the table prevented you from moving farther. You were trapped. Michael was so close; it felt intoxicating. You looked down at the skirt of your sundress, which unfortunately got stained with wine as well.

“What do your fear, Y/N?” he caressed your cheek, the cool metal of his rings left burning kisses on your skin. They bloomed like revolutionary fire, destroying the remains of your self-control.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. The question was confusing, and Michael did not seem to care to elaborate. Human beings were cowardly by their nature, so it was impossible to understand what exactly he meant when he had asked you that. Did he want to know about your phobias or the insecurities? Or the dirty little secret of yours that you hid from him?

“Yes, that one,” your eyes fluttered open when Michael called you out on your thoughts. Again.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” you said without looking at him. Your heart was drumming so fast, you could feel the blood pumping in your temples. Michael reached for your wineglass.

“You know, darling,” he cooed, dipping his fingers into the burgundy liquid and bringing them to your lips. His every movement was dripping with mannerism and erotica. “I don’t tolerate lies,” he whispered, his breath scorching your face, as he smeared the wine across your lower lip, firmly pressing on it for you to open your mouth. You parted your lips and he slid his thumb right into the awaiting warmth, smiling devilishly when your eager tongue wrapped around his digits. The acid taste of wine burned on the tip of your tongue.

He tugged a loose strand of your hair behind your ear and leaned forward to whisper:

“Tell me, kitty, what are you scared of right now? Why are trembling, huh?” his body was pressed so close to yours you could feel the decor of his jacket living ornamental imprints on the bare skin of your arms. You were shaking with anticipation for the beautiful man before you. Dazed, you felt his lips brushing softly against your ear and sliding to the sensitive spot behind it. Your breath hitched when he left a soft kiss, and your knees buckled. If you had not clung to the lapels of his jacket, you would have probably slid down and melted into a puddle before Michael.

“I’m scared of myself,” you whispered, tilting your head to the side and letting Langdon’s lips travel to the sinew on your neck. His right hand slid up your leg, folding your dress around your waist. His palm rested on a soft flesh of your thighs.

“Why?”

His fingers wandered over the outer part of your thigh and then maneuvered between your legs to pet the inner part of it. Instinctively you tried to close your legs that Michael had possessively spread a second before to cover up the embarrassing wetness of your panties, but his firm grip prevented you from doing so. You looked up at him pleadingly.

“This is all wrong,” you could hardly form the sentences when the gorgeous men started bending over to continue kissing your neck and moving down to your cleavage, “I should not be so attracted to you, we have just met...I don’t even know you.”

Michael seemed to ignore your protests. Your body language and thoughts were telling him completely opposite things, and he drank off the euphoria that was clouding your mind. He wrapped his right arm around your waist and the next moment you were placed atop of the table with him between your legs.

“I think you know me better than anybody else,” he smirked, playing with the straps of your dress. His fingertips ran along the cotton fabric of them, making your skin crawl. “You’ve been spying on me a lot lately, haven’t you, Y/N?”

He thought it was impossible for you to blush even more, but you proved otherwise. You bowed your head low, biting the insides of your cheeks in embarrassment. There was no point in denying the truth.

“I swear I’m not a stalker,” you whimpered, shifting on the table uncomfortably. Michael carefully placed his fingers, /those goddamn fingers you wished could work you open/, under your chin forcing you to look up at him.

“I could care less about that,” he said, circling your mouth with his thumb, “it’s what you do afterward has piqued my interest.” His eyes were getting darker with every word that rolled off his tongue; the black abyss was savoring the ocean blue hues of his iris. He took your hand in his and dragged it to your core, under the folded skirt of your dress. “I want you to tell me who you think of when you touch yourself late at night.”

Your eyes widened at the vulgar words; the stern tone of his voice made you speechless. All you could do was to watch him take your hand and guide it to your core. Your knuckles brushed against the damp fabric right in the center of your panties and you knew that Michael felt the wetness too.

“Who are you?” you asked, your mouth fell open when he messaged your clit through the thin cotton.

“A man of sin, a liar and deceiver whose natural abilities Satan enhances by supernatural power in order to confuse people in the end time***.” Michael confessed.

It all felt unreal, you were falling down the rabbit hole with no chances for salvation. The trap sprang shut — you were caught between opposing needs. Your common sense was knocking on the remains of your subconsciousness in a pathetic attempt to reason you, but your soul, a detached essence of your true being, was longing for Michael. No way was he lying: every weird thing about him made sense, forming a complete picture in your head like a puzzle. There you were, locked in fear and reverence, servility and obsequiousness. His words rocked your mind, leaving you unaccustomed to a mix of emotions swirling in your head.

What if he was a maniac? A psycho?

You put your hands on his chest, trying to push him away, but none of his muscles moved.

“Haven’t you always considered yourself special?” He spoke in an alluring tone, and his words pinned you to the table. You raised your eyebrows at him, and Michael scoffed. “You have always longed for something exclusive, a big mystery that would open only for you, an immortal being,” he cupped your face in his hands, looking you in the eye, “You thought your loneliness was an omen, that something greater was coming...”

“Stop,” You pleaded, shutting your eyes.

“Look at me,” Langdon demanded, taking a fistful of your hair and slightly tugging it strong enough to get your attention, yet gentle not to hurt you. “When I’m offering you what you have wanted, you reject it. Why? Unleash the desire, darling.”

He was everywhere: his hands roaming around your body, lifting your dress higher, his lips covering yours in a passionate kiss, the scent of his cologne around you ghosted like a silvery mist. His lips were like silk, kissing you softly, but with so much confidence and determination that you were taken aback. You did not have time to comprehend what was happening. He was heaven and hell at the same time, drawing you deeper in the pond of lust and desire. You moaned into his mouth when his tongue entwined with yours, fighting for dominance and immediately winning. You were putty in the skillful hands of Michael Langdon. Surrendering to him felt wrong, especially if he was an actual Antichrist, but at that moment you were a helpless puppet in his hands.

“Michael,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck. He grinned into the kiss when you admitted your defeat and presented yourself to him. Sliding the straps of your dress off your shoulders, he stroked your soft skin, making his way to your breasts and squeezing them firmly.

“Shhh, keep still, pretty girl,” you shivered when he tucked your bra along with your dress down to your waist and covered your nipples with his palms. You were like a low-voltage coil, receptive of his touch. It was impossible to find out if he used his powers on you to help you relax in his arms when you suddenly felt brave enough to run your fingers through his soft locks and guide his head down to your breasts, hungry for the sensation of his wicked tongue. A velvet ribbon that was holding his hair in a ponytail helplessly fell on the floor beneath his feet.

Apparently, Michael was extremely good at multitasking. As he savored the pink buds of your nipples, he placed one of his hands between your thighs, pulled the panties aside and ran the tips of his index and middle fingers up and down your wet folds. You whimpered, clawing on his shoulders. He was still dressed in his perfect dinner jacket and a dress shirt as if it had not been incredibly hot all day, while you were sitting in front of him half-naked. You were practically shaking when he easily inserted the index finger inside of you, working you open for him.

“You look for this special something in everyone you meet,” he whispered in your skin and bent his finger, rubbing the knuckle against the spongy spot inside you. You gasped, your body jolted from a sudden impulse. “What is it that you need? Divine connection?” He added the second finger, stretching your tight walls out. You hissed at the unpleasant feeling that was quickly flooded with pleasure. It had been a while since you let a man touch you.

“You,” you breathed out, throwing your head back and leaning into his touch. Your hips were sliding against the polished surface of the table, meeting Michael’s fingers.

“Hm?” he arched his eyebrow and grabbed you by your chin with his free hand, brutally forcing you to stay in your place. “What was that?”

“I might have been waiting for you...oh my God,” you arched your back, bucking your hips up, letting his fingers pierce through you. Hard. Simultaneously, he pressed his thumb to your swollen clit and started massaging it in a circular motion, drawing another moan from your chest. He kept teasing the sensitive bud by rubbing, stroking, pressing on it until you turned into a soft, pliant mess beneath him.

“She might have been waiting,” he smirked. “Darling, I’ll make sure to fuck the doubt out of you,” he caught your earlobe between his teeth and playfully bit on it. He ran the tip of his nose against your scarlet cheek, and you almost lost your mind from how intimate it felt. The tight knot in the pit of your stomach swelled in anticipation.

To your disappointment, his fingers left your warm core with an obscene “pop.” Michael’s large hands hooked the crumpled fabric of your dress and pulled it down your legs, tossing it aside and leaving in you in nothing but your bra tugged under your breasts, and a pair of panties. You blushed, bowing your head low and letting your hair fall onto your chest to cover the hardening nipples. He undid the clasp, and the bra followed the destiny of your dress. Agonizingly slow, he kneeled before you and placed his palms on your kneecaps, spreading your legs. Instinctively, you shifted closer to the edge, giving him a full display of your wet undergarment and a glistening pussy pocking through it.

“I have not dined yet. What a lucky coincidence, isn’t it?”

As he spoke, his fingers drew loose patterns on the bare skin your legs. He stroked the undersides of your knees and went up to your awaiting thighs. Your heartbeat raced at the view of such a gorgeous man standing before you on his knees, yet still managing to hold great power over you. He leaned forward and trapped the hem of your panties between his teeth, slowly dragging them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. Michael wrapped his fingers around your ankles and helped you bend your legs, placing your feet on the table, so your pussy was on a full display for him. His face was so close to your throbbing center, you could feel his hot breath ghosting over it.

“Ah, Michael,” your head lolled back when he stroked your folds, slightly parting them with his fingers.

“The most beautiful rose I have ever seen,” he whispered mostly to himself. The second his tongue licked a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit, you were a goner, knocking the expensive silverware off the table in an attempt to get ahold of his hair. Langdon hummed in satisfaction, clearly giving zero fucks about the mess you were making. He began lazily encircling your clit, closing his plush lips around the sensitive bud and lightly sucking on it. You reeled forward, moaning plangently and spreading your legs wider.

“Better than any wine,” he noted, licking the beads of your arousal off your puffy folds. He placed his right hand on your stomach, stroking your lower abdomen and brought the fingers of his left hand back into your aching core. He was impossibly good at locating the most sensitive spots within you. You choked on air and your own saliva when he brushed against your g-spot, making you cry out his name. Waves of pleasure rippled through your body, becoming more and more intense with every swirl of Michael’s tongue and a push of his fingers. You started grinding against his mouth, whimpering like a bitch beneath him; you could already feel the release building up inside you.

“You feel so good,” you moaned brokenly, tugging on his hair. The feeling of euphoria was engrossing, impossible to resist. You were so touch-starved that it seemed like the tiny bit of attention to your private parts was enough to send you over the edge.

Michael pulled away, hungrily licking your juices off his lips. You moaned at the sight of him: to witness such a beautiful man giving you head was definitely worth dying for. If he ordered you to take a bullet, you would gladly do it on that very table, which was your personal deathbed. He leaned forward to kiss you and let you taste your own sweetness. While he was kissing you, Michael slid the jacket off his shoulders and started unbuttoning his shirt. You sighed heavily, pressing your forehead against his and helping him get rid of the unnecessary clothes.

“What an eager girl I’ve got here,” he teased and left a quick kiss on your lips. “Gotta be patient, kitty.”

You let your hands wander over his naked torso that looked like as if it was carved by angels and gods out of the finest marble. Michael was watching you amusingly, excited for what you could do next.

“How long has it been since you let a man touch you?”

“A while”

Michael quickly undid his belt, quickly discarding his black slacks. You ran your fingers along the prominent outline of his cock through his boxers and looked up at him as if you were seeking his permission. He nodded and you snaked your hand inside his boxer briefs, wrapping your fingers around his erect shaft.

Michael inhaled through his nose and closed his eyes, concentrating on the ethereal feeling of your soft palm around him. A deep sigh escaped your mouth when you saw him in full glory, hot and heavy with a glistening tip and beads of precum covering his glans. Your pussy quivered when you imagined how good it would make you feel, and you stroke a prominent blue vein on the underside of his shaft. Michael growled at the filthy thoughts in your head.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he impatiently slapped your hand away from his cock and spit on his palm, “as much as I would like to let you play a bit longer, I need to fill you up right fucking now,” as he spoke, Michael started smearing his saliva along the length. He could not wait to bury his cock inside you.

Langdon took ahold of your hips and pulled you a bit closer, positioning himself right between your legs. The head of his dick was pressed against your clenching entrance. He leaned forward, slowly pushing it inside and never forgetting to shower your neck and bare shoulders with kisses. You moaned at the burning stretch and clanged to Michael’s biceps, leaving crescent marks on his sweaty skin.

“You are so big,” you sobbed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“It’s okay,” he cooed stroking your cheek, “you are taking me so well, baby. Such a good girl for me.”

He froze when the last inch of his cock was savored by your pussy, giving you time to adjust. You had never felt so fucking full before. Looking down at where he and you were connected, you thought that Michael might have actually split you in two. He picked up the pace, drawing himself in and out of your pussy, leaving just the tip of his cock, and then filling you up to the hilt again. Your soft whimpers were making his head spin, and soon enough, when you fully adjusted to his length, he started slamming into you at animalistic speed.

“Michael!” You cried out and bit his shoulder to suppress your scream, even though it was too late and it escaped your throat, echoing through the dining room. He could not help himself. He needed you right there on that table. Hard and fast.

“I bet you could not reach your sweet spots with your fingers when you were playing with that pretty pussy of yours,” he growled in your ear. His voice and the wet sound of his balls slapping against your ass were the only things you could hear. Michael lifted your hips a little, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

The new angle allowed him to penetrate you deeper. You watched him going harder, fucking the living force out of you. You ran your fingers across his jaw, outlined the shape of his nose, adoring the perfectly sculpted features. He was so inhumanly beautiful. When he leaned forward to kiss you, his long blond hair brushed against your breasts, and you pulled him by the roots against your flushed chest, wishing to melt into him.

“Michael, please...” your plea contained everything you would never admit even to yourself. Michael, please, be my lover. Michael, please, do not stop. Michael, please, hold me in your arms forever.

“You are mine,” he rumbled, wrapping his hand around your throat and applying just enough pressure to make your toes curl and your eyes roll into your head. “Do you understand it? Mine.”

He whispered the last words into your open mouth and tightened the grip on your throat. You were so pliant and vulnerable, he felt like he could break you in any moment. Your pussy throbbed at his possessiveness, clenching around his cock and driving him crazy.

“Yours,” you gasped, arching your back. Skin on skin. Your bodies were moving in sync. The heavy air in the room smelled like sex and Michael’s cologne. With every sway of his hips and every thrust that aimed right at the sweet spot inside you, you were getting closer to your release, and he felt it too.

“I can feel you clenching around me,” he brought his palm to your clit and started circling it ruthlessly. “Are you close?”

He looked you in the eye, and you nodded, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation that was piercing through you. Michael was merciless, fucking you so hard that at one particularly deep thrust the table beneath you shifted.

“Y-yes, Sir.”

You felt his dick started pulsing deep inside you, and the thought that you were not using any protection crossed your mind for the first time. You looked up at him, and before you could even note it, Michael hushed you:

“Don’t worry about that,” he flicked your clit between his thumb and middle finger, “Just come for me, kitty.”

He did not have to repeat twice. Your arousal licked by the swell of pleasure finally unrevealed, crushing everything in its wake. Every cell of your body was engulfed in the burning heat of pure lust and desire for Michael who was protectively holding you in his arms. When the fireworks before your eyes started to fade away, you brought your focus back at him. He pulled out, and you whined at the empty feeling inside you. Michael pumped his cock a few times, concentrating the pressure around the bright pink head, and with a low groan came all over your stomach. His beautiful face was countered in pleasure: brows frowned, and lips slightly parted. To some extent, you even felt unworthy of watching him fall apart like that before you.

For a while, the sound of your rapid, shallow breathing was the only thing interrupting the silence between you two. With a deep sigh, Michael pulled you closer, resting your head against his chest. You still clanged to him with a death grip, afraid to burst the comfortable bubble enveloping you like a shield. Suddenly you felt so tired as if silvery fatigue was poured into your veins. Michael’s radiant warmth and the overall state of being completely fucked out made your head heavy, and you closed your eyes tiredly, nuzzling into his chest.

Michael absentmindedly ran his fingers through your hair, inhaling the scent of it. Never had he felt so calm and content. He pressed his lips to the top of your head and closed his eyes, enjoying the light touches of your fingers dancing on his bare arms. At that moment nothing mattered, his ruthless demonic nature was in peace.

“I think I should go home,” you whispered. As much as you hated yourself for ruining the mood, you remembered that your parents had been waiting for you, and to make them worry was the last thing on your list. You looked up at Michael, who brushed his knuckles against your cheek, thinking how wonderfully innocence and depravity entwined within you.

“You can spend the night with me.”

He reached for the napkin to wipe off the white stripes of cum painted on your stomach. You closed your legs wincing at the throbbing sensation in your pussy; it felt like Michael was still inside you.

“My parents will be worried,” you were genuinely sorry, and he could read it in your thoughts.

Michael took his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. You blushed, but tugged it tighter, nodding at him in a sign of gratitude. Your skin instantly absorbed his warmth.

“Please, come visit me tomorrow,” he pleaded. If it had not been for the sincere look in his eyes you would have never believed that a man such as himself wanted to see you again. You looked at him in awe, and it all seemed like a dream to you. Just the day before he was your neighbor you had been spying on for months. You needed time to think everything over and talk to him without lust clouding your vision about what he had told you moments before.

“A man of sin, a liar,” his words echoed in your head.

Michael could sense your doubt.

“Y/N,” he sighed, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing every knuckle. “Sleep it all away tonight, okay? And tomorrow I’ll tell you everything, just come to me.” His voice flowed out like a fragrance released in rain.

Of course, you would come to Michael. All he ever needed was to call for you, and you would be there, ready to present yourself with your whole being to him. You would run into his arms like a river that flowed inside the ruins of your chest; the ruins Michael left with his presence. He shattered your inner world into pieces but gave you the hope of building a new one.

The next morning when you woke up there was a white rose on your nightstand with a small card attached to it.

“Tonight at 8 pm. I will be waiting for you, my rose,” said intricate handwriting, and you smiled, pressing the piece of paper to your chest.

A single flower he sent me, since we met.

All tenderly his messenger he chose;

Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet—

One perfect rose.

Dorothy Parker

*The White Rose by John Boyle O’Reilly

** Tolkien

*** Second Epistle to the Thessalonians

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