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jinned · 3 years

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handsy | taehyung | m

snippet: Then, looking into your eyes, he speaks firmly, “Before we begin, let’s establish some ground rules.”

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader

genre: smut, pwp

au: roommates, f2l

rating: explicit/18+

word count: 3.7k

warnings: there’s a deep conversation about feelings, love confessions. yuck (UNEDITED)

sexual warnings: masturbation (female receiving), mutual pining, begging, rule making, dirty talk, non penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), body worship, light foot worship, the entire thing is based off getting reader off, taehyung doesn’t get off :(, taehyung is bossy, praise kink, taehyung calls reader babygirl, overstimulation, .001% of aftercare, moaning, hair pulling, marking, punishment kink?, dom/sub dynamics, orgasm...guilt?, daddy/baby kink (i’m so sorry)

The frustration builds quicker than you wanted, the groans coming from your mouth grow louder each time you feel your body give up on itself. You’re too god damn horny, but your body is too tired to properly masturbate.

This is probably the fifth time now that you've attempted to get yourself off only to abandon ship seconds after. Your muscles ache and sleep calls to you. Despite this, every time you try to just sleep it off, the aching throb from your clit keeps you awake.

It takes everything in you to keep yourself from throwing a tantrum like a toddler.

The clock now reads just after three in the morning, you let out one last angered breath. It comes out louder than you intended, the grunt raising in pitch before you can even stop yourself.

Moments later, your sleep-drunk roommate opens your door, rubbing his eyes with one fist as he holds himself up with the other hand gripping the doorway.

“Are you okay or whatever?” Taehyung sighs, slight annoyance laced in his tone.

Your eyes are wide with embarrassment as Taehyung’s sleepy eyes jolt awake with alertness as he finally sees you.

You’re laying on top of your comforter completely naked with one hand still draped across your womanhood.

Taehyung shifts his body against the door frame, the moonlight now flickering down his face. The shadows of your air-guided drapes chase that light, new depths illuminating across his nose and cheekbones. You’re not sure why your brain is trying so hard to think of metaphors and similes, anything to compare Taehyung to. It would be too easy to blame it on the lack of sleep. Then again, you’ve never truly looked at him this way before and it’s killing you that you can’t read the expression on his face.

In this moment, you realize you have neither fight nor flight instincts as you lay frozen in your bed, nothing willing you to cover yourself up.

Taehyung’s tongue pokes out of his mouth, moving slowly against his bottom lip as his eyes flick frantically from your body to the wall across the room. Raising a hand to cover his mouth, he clears his throat and brushes his thumb against his bottom lip to wipe away the remnants from his tongue.

Clearing his throat once more, his shoulder relaxes against the doorframe, his eyes continue to debate where to look. “Wha-whatcha doing there?” He immediately turns away from you after speaking, facing the wall as he aggressively rubs at the nape of his neck.

“Oh...you know...just trying to sleep.”

There’s a brief silence- minus the light flapping of your curtains. That and the mental beating you’re giving yourself for trying to joke about the situation at hand. There is no hiding it. You’ve been caught red-handed.

“Y/n,” Taehyung warns.

Shutting your eyes tightly, your brain moves at hyper-speed trying to figure out what to do or say next. A million scenarios flood in and all you want is to pick the option that lets you keep your roommate and not have to live with exploding embarrassment for the rest of your life.

You’re about to open your mouth and just say the first thing that comes to mind, perhaps brutal honesty will help you out in the end when Taehyung beats you to the punch.

“Do you...do you need help?”

It takes you a moment to register what he’s said. You’re finally able to move your hand away from your cunt and you slowly sit up and lay your back against your headboard, grabbing one of your pillows and hugging it tightly to your chest.

“I guess talking about it might help. Have you ever just been so horny and tired at the same time but you’re unable to do either of those things? I’ve been struggling for hours now trying to sleep but I can’t sleep because...you know, and then when I try to do that I’m just too tired to actually do it right and-”

“No, I mean-” Taehyung cuts himself off with a sigh, quickly followed by a slow intake of air, puffing his cheeks out as he releases it and walks towards your bed. Determination and bravery are written all over his face, despite the fact that he’s still trying to respectively not look at you.

“I can help you.”

A few more moments pass before you finally understand what he’s trying to say.

“Oh...OH!” You can’t help but gasp as it finally clicks in your head exactly what he’s offering to you.

“Wouldn’t that,” you gulp, your face feeling painfully warm, “wouldn’t that make things weird? Between us?”

Taehyung’s jaw is tight, his muscles jutting forward as he looks towards your bedroom door. “It doesn’t have to be weird...if you don’t want them to be. I mean, I can honestly say I haven’t ever...you know, not thought of you in this way before.” He lets out another long puff of air, hand grasping at the back of his neck as he tries to massage the tension away.

You feel embarrassed and flattered all at once. Your roommate of three years, best friend of over ten years, has admitted to thinking of you in a sexual way.

Taehyung lets you think for a moment. But it only allows you more time to realize that you can’t feign innocence here either. There was that major crush you had on him in high school or the time you walked in on him in the shower. There’s definitely been a handful of times where he’s crept into your thoughts while you were with someone else or even times when you were alone.

There are a million things that could go wrong if you accept his offer.

Or, a million things that could go right.

“Okay,” you say bravely, “please help me.”

Turning his head slowly, Taehyung finally looks at you, his eyes roaming every inch of your body slowly. He inhales, his jaw clenching once more as his gaze falls upon your uncovered chest.

Then, looking into your eyes, he speaks firmly, “Before we begin, let’s establish some ground rules.”

Gulping slowly, you nod your head, trying not to think about the lack of friction going on below.

"Rule number one," Taehyung starts with a smile, "you will not touch me."

"What?-"

"Nuh, uh." He interrupts you, finally taking a seat at the end of your bed. Without looking, he picks up your bare feet and places them in his lap, his hands roaming over your calves and down to your toes. The touch of his skin on yours alone is sending the signals in your body into overdrive. That mixed with the tiredness you're feeling, it's making it nearly impossible to think straight.

"I've been thinking about a night like this for a while. Respectfully, of course," he adds quickly. "I never wanted to do anything to ruin what we have. But damn, I really can't deny it. I've thought about making you cum over and over and over again so many times it was like a movie in my mind." Taehyung continues to stroke your feet and legs sensually as he speaks. It takes everything in your power not to pounce on him.

Instead, you bite your bottom lip and close your eyes, letting the deep grumble of Taehyung's voice soothe your body along with all the places he's trailing his fingers on.

“Anyways,” he says with a quirk of his eyebrow, “back to our rules.”

His domineering tone sends chills throughout your body and you try your best to ignore the white noise ringing in your ears.

“Rule number two: you will not call me by my name.”

The urge to question him again is strong, but his stare makes you shut your mouth tightly.

He knows the question is hanging off the tip of your tongue, you know that he knows. Instead of throwing you a bone, he sits there smirking at you, sitting on his high horse while also looking like he knows the punchline to the joke you’ve been waiting to get.

Finally, he beckons you closer, his pointer finger slowly enticing you in. As soon as you’re close enough to see the dark flecks in his eyes, he leans in himself until his lips are hovering just over your ear.

“Baby gets to call me Daddy, and Daddy only.”

Admittedly, your first instinct is to laugh, the sheer shock of his words not fully settling in. But then, after a moment, you can tell just how much his words affected your body; your legs feel shakier, the core of your womanhood pulsates quicker, and you start to feel the dripping of your arousal moving down your thighs.

It only makes sense that your childhood friend, the love of your life, would also turn out to be the kinkiest person you’ve ever met.

It only makes sense.

“Okay...Daddy.”

The smugness on Taehyung’s face only increases.

“Good girl.”

“Are there any other rules...Daddy?” The word still feels odd coming out of your mouth. But it’s all worth it when you notice the growing tent in Taehyung’s sweatpants

Taehyung gets off the bed and walks closer to you, his hands behind his back. He appears so nonchalant and unbothered, almost like he’s ignoring the fact that he’s sporting the hardest erection he’s ever had in his life.

It makes you nervous in the best of ways.

Removing one hand from behind his back, he places it on one of your knees, caressing your flesh gently before opening your legs, spreading them wide to expose your dripping cunt. He nods his head with approval, biting his bottom lip hard as his eyes sweep over your entire naked body.

It feels like the room’s temperature went up another ten degrees.

Taehyung dips his hand lower, hovering over your cunt. Each time it looks like he’s about to touch you, your vagina pulses with anticipation, only for Taehyung to deceivingly pull away at the last second.

“Please, Daddy! Please touch me! I just want to cum, I’ll do anything!”

With a slight chuckle, Taehyung humors you and dips one of his fingers down, lightly petting the tops of your folds.

The small touch makes you shiver, the small amount of juices he accumulates on his fingers captures the now cold air in the room.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” And with that said, Taehyung's fingers glide over your folds, soaking in your slick juices. Your head falls back against your pillow and you wish you could sink in deeper; into the bed, the pillow, into him. He's murmuring something in your ears, but your mind is too focused on what's happening to your body, there's not enough mental capacity in there to comprehend words at the moment. The urge to reach out to him and feel his skin against the palm of your hand spurs deep in your chest, but not strong enough to act upon. Instead, you let your eyes flutter shut, sighing blissfully as he continues to massage and soothe your bud.

Taehyung continues a slow, sensual pace, one that you could arguably fall asleep to. It feels like every stress cell in your body slowly floats away with every stroke of his fingers.

"Just like that? Hmm?" You hear him say.

"Huh?" You manage out, your voice sounding weak and far away.

"I just didn't think you would react to me that quickly."

You open your eyes and look at him. Taehyung is propped up on one elbow, his hand cradling his jawline. His other hand continues to make brushstroke movements in between your folds. He looks at your vagina with wonder, and like he has something more to say.

But you're too tired and enjoying him too much to ask.

Moments later, Taehyung is picking up speed, beckoning your uncoming.

You don't feel ready to give up the warmth you feel with his touch, not ready to reach the top and climb back down.

Grasping onto Taehyung's shoulder, your fingernails dig into him as you bite down on your bottom lip, fighting desperately at the orgasm crashing down on you.

"There you go, baby. That's it. Come undone on my fingers." Taehyung's sweet demeanor is long gone as he watches you with sinful eyes.

A small moan leaves your lips as you let go; your legs shake vigorously underneath Taehyung's grasp and you feel the painful twist of a muscle spasm deep in your hamstrings.

Short gasps are all you can manage in response, your mind feeling more awake than before.

And in that brief pause between ministrations, your mind increases its speed tenfold.

This is your best friend you're laying in front of. The same guy you used to collect bugs with when you were younger, the same guy you were embarrassed in front of when he found out you started wearing a training bra.

And you just came in front of him.

"I'm so sorry, Taehyung!" you cry out, sitting up quickly and burying your face in your hands as you fight back hot tears from falling down your cheeks. "We can forget this ever happened!"

Taehyung is quiet behind you as you imagine yourself shrinking into a spec of nothing.

Then, tenderly, his hand is on top of yours, coaxing it away from your face. And you let him do it.

Taehyung holds your hands in his, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles before whispering, "Did I do something wrong?"

Immediately you want to scream no, but your words catch in your throat. His bottom lip is jutting out slightly and he's avoiding your eyes. And then you remember that you know him, you know him more than anyone, hell, sometimes you know him more than you know yourself. And right now, this Taehyung in front of you is just as embarrassed and emotional as you are.

"No," you say bravely, "I don't regret it at all. I'm sorry, I just-" you sigh and lean back, struggling to find the right words to say while fighting against your own embarrassment, "-I just never thought we would get to this point. And to hear you say all those things you were saying? I just don't understand. Why didn't you ever tell me? Why me to begin with?" That's when you realize where all of this insecurity is coming from. Taehyung has been with gorgeous people in the past, gorgeous, successful people. And the thought of him liking you? It must feel like a step down for him.

"It's always been you, Y/n. Ever since we first met. How could I ever for a second not want to be with you? You're my best friend, the person I go to for comfort. And because of that, I was always afraid to tell you about my feelings. Because just being in your life as your friend and your roommate, that was more than enough for me. And this doesn't have to go anywhere if you don't want it to be. I want it to go somewhere. Hell, Y/n I want to be with you. But if you don't want to be with me like that? I'll be okay."

His words swirl around your body, not quite processing into complacent thoughts. There are about a million different emotions coursing through your veins, and each one is battling to come to surface.

It feels selfish, the position he’s put you in. Because now, it’s all on you. Your choice will determine how your relationship with Taehyung changes forever. And, let’s be real, no matter what happens after this moment, things will never be the same. The weight of that realization is pushing you down into the mattress you sit on.

On the other hand, there’s excitement, joy, happiness, relief all bundled into one giant heart floating around you. Your best friend, the person you’ve been in love with for over a century now, feels the same way you do.

Taehyung waits in front of you patiently while you figure out exactly what to say.

You’re too tired for words, too tired for thoughts, too tired for almost everything it seems.

Well, everything, except…

You lean forward slowly, placing your weight on your hands as you close the space between you and Taehyung and place a tender kiss on his lips.

Taehyung sighs and closes his eyes, completely melting into your touch.

How could you not do the same?

All of the tiredness, all of the frustrations from before Taehyung entered your bedroom, it was all worth it to get to this moment. And you’d go through it every night for the rest of your life if it meant you got to kiss him just like this.

The kiss deepens quickly, your mouths moving with an intensity you’ve never experienced before. Without thinking, you let your body take full control, not second-guessing any natural movement. So you let your hand find its way to the nape of Taehyung’s hair, delicately pulling at the ends until his neck is forced back and a moan ripples through his throat. It was so unexpected and out of character, but you liked having this control.

It doesn’t last long. Taehyung quickly comes to his senses and knocks you onto your back, pushing you with one hand on your chest. He chuckles low and menacingly, his eyes staring deep into yours.

“What did we say about touching?” His voice is so low you swear you can feel it rumbling in your chest.

Taehyung doesn’t allow you enough time to answer. Before you can even open your mouth, his tongue is attached to your lips.

But not the lips on your face.

Your eyes immediately roll back as his tongue writes beautiful nothingness against your cunt and you desperately want to reach out and grip his hair again. By some sheer force of will, you’re able to restrain yourself and settle for gripping the sheets instead.

The tongue movements start slow, but it seems you’re not the only impatient one here. Taehyung picks up speed as he laps up your juices, his hand snaking up to insert a few digits inside you. His other hand is gripping one of your hips, his entire forearm pressing against your pelvic bone, holding you into place. His grip on you only seems to make your body want to shake more.

“You that close already, baby?” Taehyung lifts his head up for a moment, your juices glistening on his cheekbones and the tip of his nose. It seems like a sight you would only have in your dreams. It’s hard to believe this is happening in real life.

“Answer me,” he commands, but there’s a tinge of softness behind his words.

“I can’t help it.” You pant out, “Been building up all these years now. I could have came just by you touching my shoulder.”

Taehyung chuckles at this, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“You can cum whenever you want, baby. Daddy’s not going to stop you,” he says casually.

Almost...too casually.

But you don’t think twice, you’re too tired to think twice. Quiet moans slip past your lips and Taehyung takes that as his cue. His fingers move faster, scissoring inside your body as his thumb swipes against your clit.

It’s almost too easy to come undone.

White hot heat spreads throughout your body as everything around you starts to shake. Taehyung is watching you with careful eyes as you orgasm the fastest you’ve ever orgasmed in your life.

Your breathing only gets heavier as you come back from your high. But then, a blissful pain makes your thigh muscles jolt, a new wave of uncontainable cries escape you.

“Daddy said he wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to cum,” Taehyung devilishly proclaims, his fingers moving faster than ever, “but that didn’t mean Daddy was going to stop.”

Your eyes shut tight as you pull at the sheets gripped tightly in your hands, too afraid to speak because of the moans you’re currently swallowing back. Small whimpers make it out as you desperately try to focus on anything other than the torture you’re going through.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby,” Taehyung coes, focusing almost all of his attention on your clit now. “Let it all out. Daddy wants to hear your pretty voice.”

There are no logical thoughts left in your brain. All you know is that you’re desperately exhausted and it’s taking too much of your energy to fight against the natural cries your body wants to release as this overstimulation continues.

So, you let go.

“Fuck! Daddy that feels so good! I’m gonna come again- I’m gonna- I’m gonna-”

A small scream is all you can manage as the pressure in your core finally releases. You thought your previous orgasm was intense? Nothing will ever be able to top this one.

“Damn that was fucking sexy.” Taehyung stands and wipes his face with the back of his hand. Your legs are still trembling and it feels like every muscle in your body is frozen in place. Warm liquid coats your inner thighs and drips down onto your sheets.

“Did I just…?” You ask with shock. Taehyung laughs and nods his head, walking towards your door.

“Hell yeah you did. Have you ever squirted before?”

“Only once. But it never felt as good as that did,” you whisper, but Taehyung is already out of the room. Your eyes flutter shut, sleep threatening to take over.

Taehyung returns with a towel, throwing it so it lands right beside you.

“Goodnight, babygirl,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“Wait!” You call out just as he reaches the doorway. “What about you?” You point at his very obvious erection.

Taehyung waves you off casually, “We’ll have plenty more nights in the future. But for now, sleep. Don’t worry about me.” He winks. “I can take care of myself just fine. Get some sleep. Goodnight, Y/n.”

Before Taehyung even closes the door, your eyes are shut, sleep finally welcoming you into its arms.

let me know what you think! :)

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

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ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her · 2 years

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Hello as someone who was considering picking up Nevernight I would love to read a post describing all the reasons one might justifiably hate those books! Thanks in advance :))

Okay, the very first thing I want to say is that I really love Nevernight. It has excellent dark grey characters, found family through the roof, a lot of people choosing love (of all kinds) in situations where that's really, really dangerous, getting burned for it, and then choosing to do it again because it's fucking worth it. The main character is on a single-minded revenge quest, and they do a very good job making it so you don't just understand her, you share in her rage, and it takes you with her on the rollercoaster of emotions she experiences as she has to decide what she's willing to risk or sacrifice for that quest. The world building is fascinating, the larger scope of the plot is revealed slowly and organically and is absolutely fascinating once it's all revealed. And, in spite of the grim tone, and the narration straight up telling us that there will not be a happy ending, the ending is deeply satisfying and is very respectful of the characters themselves and we the audience who have come to love them.

I know I'm beating around the bush, but I do really like these books, and I want you to have the good stuff to consider as well, not just the bad.

First, there are some things that are just going to be a matter of personal taste. The setting of the books is a grimdark crapsack of a world where the average stranger is as likely to harm you as help you. The book has no qualms about depicting the ever-present threats of torture, murder, animal cruelty, rape (although only the threat is ever on page), nationalism, racism, class exploitation, and, to a lesser degree, homophobia. It often approaches the ubiquity of these things with gallows humor, and whether that lands is going to vary from person to person, though it does also give these things the gravity and horror they deserve, where appropriate.

Second, there’s a good bit of explicit sex in these books, and as its main characters are teenagers, some people are going to be uncomfortable with that. It isn’t something that bothers me personally - teenagers do have sex, none of the sex scenes are too terribly written (although I’ve certainly read better), and the emotions of the characters involved are always foregrounded, which means that they do work for the story beyond being titillating. Again, gonna come down to a matter of personal taste.

The bigger problems come from the author’s own privilege and blindspots. It’s not that white, male, presumably cishet authors can’t write stuff that rings true to female, queer, or non-white experiences, but in a lot of cases, their unexamined biases get in the way a bit, and I think that happens here. The main character, and most of the main cast, are women, but there are a fair number of moments where their dialogue or actions don’t ring true to my own experiences of womanhood. There’s a particular speech in the first book that feels very “male author soapboxing about feminism through the mouth of a female character,” in a way that I found pretty jarring, and there are smaller moments throughout the series that just knock me out of the fiction for a bit. There’s also some uncomfortable treatment of black characters - some of the word choice used to describe black characters is a little uncomfortable, a larger proportion of black main and secondary characters die by the end than nonblack ones, and there’s the common fantasy problem of having all black people in the setting belong to a monoculture that is both distinctly different from that of the main setting and not very well-developed.

I also want to touch a moment on how the book handles queerness, because it’s a little strange. The writing makes it clear that there is some level of societal prejudice against queer people, but it doesn’t really explore that, and it doesn’t even come up incidentally in the general nastiness that the characters navigate throughout the story. It’s just sorta implied to be there, and it strikes me as lazy worldbuilding. The general integration of queerness throughout the world just seems a little lackluster, although that might just be me griping that there are more straight people than feels strictly necessary.

All of that being the case, though, it wasn’t a deal breaker for me. To me it rang more of a well-intentioned, good-faith effort by someone who still has some growing to do than anything deliberately exploitative or pejorative. I really liked the core of the story, and I really liked the characters. I liked following a messy, complicated queer woman through an unflinchingly dark story. I liked a lot of elements about the book that I could sit here listing until I went blue in the face. But it’s not going to be everybody’s cup of tea, and some of the things that were mildly unpleasant but tolerable for me are going to be much more serious for other people.

If you’re still unsure about the book, I’d recommend heading over to Google Play and reading the free sample, containing the book’s first couple chapters. The first couple chapters are a pretty representative sample of the book’s flaws, and if you want to read more after finishing them, you will probably enjoy Nevernight.

Thanks for the ask, and I hope that helps!

#asks #the wlw review #not tlt

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sonderrow-moved · 3 years

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ROY’S BIO IS FINALLY UP ! It is available on his about page, mobile about or under the cut !

♚ “AND LATER MY MACABRE JOY SOURS AND I’M WEEPING FOR MYSELF, UNABLE TO FIND SOLACE IN ANY OF THIS, CRYING OUT, SOBBING, “I JUST WANT TO BE LOVED,” CURSING THE EARTH AND EVERYTHING I HAVE BEEN TAUGHT: PRINCIPLES, DISTINCTIONS, CHOICES, MORALS, COMPROMISES, KNOWLEDGE, UNITY, PRAYER - ALL OF IT WAS WRONG, WITHOUT ANY FINAL PURPOSE.”

This man has lived too long. A classic concept written, imagined by artists. To comfort them about their mortality, explore the ins and outs of an alien narrative full of ifs. How would this even work ? Even the people with the best memories, to a genius level even, eventually forgets, for the brain can only retain so much. This feeling people gets as they grow older, the biased nostalgia of glorified items they saw through their pure, untainted, still developing eyes and the resentment towards new trends as they cannot see anything without any scum anymore. The yearning not for those movements, but for this soft sensation, of looking, admiring something and think, for a moment, that it’s idealistic form was real.

This sweet, unadulterated notion became only a distant, forgotten memory as time hardened the one known today as Roy. For years. Decades. Centuries. Millenniums.

A man who was born during another civilization, another time, long forgotten with only myths remaining of it. Not even a relic to be talked about, as everything had disintegrated, returned to earth for another life cycle.

♚ “THE PAST ISN’T REAL. IT’S JUST A DREAM,” I SAY. “DON’T MENTION THE PAST.”

Roy was born under another name, one he still remembers, but has long buried away, as it is not his name anymore. No one remembers it. It is not him anymore, as much as he might like to. It is only an appellation to let go of. As humankind developed its technology to a peak, so did their power, as they yielded control over nature people nowadays couldn’t imagine. It wasn’t as clear as one making a motion to have the waves, wind and earth respond to it. It was a much more fundamental, rawer sense to it. Where the energy of the world could be used to build even new life.

Always the diligent person who only lived to serve, executing tasks exactly as he was asked to, Roy had been appointed to be the Right Hand of the High Priestess. A young female who had only recently bloomed into womanhood. So perfect in existence, like a bright, pale, white being given to their kind in exchange of their discovery over worldly power. She had embraced her role as a symbol since birth, and he was to accompany her every step of the way as she rose to an official position. To inspire and love. Untouched by anything, for her importance was too great as people shook the world order in their insatiable human curiosity. Nowadays, Roy could have been defined as a bodyguard, yet, in this time, there was no fear of another person’s mishap. Only was he to protect her from accidental injuries, get more menial tasks off her shoulder and, most of all, as they understood this aspect deeply, have her emotional and social needs satisfied.

The way she was so beautiful, the way she would only crack a laugh at his shenanigans, the way he knew how to soothe her and she, in her infinite kindness, learned to soothe him back when a crack of worry grew between his impeccable … how could he not fall in love ?

He loved the way she would recite poetry while he slowly got used to her wanting him to caress her head, and she loved the way he would sing her verses in his smooth, sultry voice. The way she would eye him while someone else was talking on stage with a soft smile while he was guarding the entrance and he’d let a smile crack.

It wasn’t a consummated love like you would see in the current, modern days. There were, of course, pairings who held deep affection towards one another and brought in the next generation, but she had a role where she would never have the chance to do so, for her symbolism was not to replicate, only to be a happenstance, a gift which mustn’t be tainted by an attempt to be artificially redone. She accepted her role with no issue, and so did Roy. And the two of them were perfectly happy with this.

This was a time before the continents even started to noticeably separate on Earth, or even before the initial ground became more and more flooded by the waters. A time where Roy’s kind felt so unified, at peace… until this built up, free of conflict power shattered in on itself.

Raw abominations started roaming, not in the form of creatures, not exactly. So ephemeral, yet spreading chaos and distortion at every corner, fueled by the abuse and infighting of those who had gathered too much and only yearned for more. Years and generations of peace had made civilization take harmony for granted, and the couple was powerless as they saw it unfold. As the world balance collapsed, Roy was approached by a group of pacifists, trusted people for outside the conflicts, everyone knew anyone, respect one another, grew with one another. And as sickly dear ones, growing tainted by the plague pleaded with him, for his position had him perfect for what needed to be done for the greater good: kill the priestess, so the good in her would spread across the land, calm the spirits through their weeps, and save them.

Someone like Roy, of unfathomable loyalty, had a decision to make. And despite the tugs at his heart, it was an easy one. For he believed that, if the Priestess was present, the choice would be simple. That she would understand, because, in her infinite goodness, she could forgive them, forgive him, in the end. And as his trust towards her was strong, it is during a bright morning, away from the war, in the beautiful temple they inhabited, up in the mountains, away from civilization, that he entrusted her with what the people wished of them… and like the great woman she always had been, she kept a serene, albeit slightly sorrowful expression as she accepted. If there was a chance the power built inside her since birth could save more than one person, she would die.

But when his blade pierced her heart, tainting her white, ceremonial clothing in the middle of the garden, she only clanged onto him, eyes wide with desperate sorrow, an expression she, and he, never ever witnessed in anyone before. Fear and betrayal spread across her dark eyes as they grew more and more obscure.

I don’t want to die. My love, I don’t want to die…

―were her last words before, as she wept and choked, the High Priestess expired in her guardian’s blood soaked arms, him wearing too stunned an expression for her to ever hear an answer for him.

Just like beliefs and idolization are made-up by man for comfort and, ultimately, are fake, so was the glorification that one death, from someone incredibly beautiful from the inside out, would be a solution to mankind creating their own demise.

And so, it was at his feet that Roy saw the last of humans slowly die out, first from their endless conflict, so harsh they forgot where it even started, and then to the unforgiving nature, taking back the life they had abused off her.

Only, as he himself felt like he was expiring, with all lifeforce living him in the deserted, now ruined temple he had taken cared of with his beloved.

♚ “THIS IS TRUE: THE WORLD IS BETTER OFF WITH SOME PEOPLE GONE. OUR LIVES ARE NOT ALL INTERCONNECTED. THAT THEORY IS CROCK. SOME PEOPLE TRULY DO NOT NEED TO BE HERE.”

And with the end of this first Humankind was the land so dry of its lifeforce that the cycle of resurrection immortality and resurrection ended. It was quite simple at the time, and helped with the utopia free of grief and unnecessary sadness for their knowledge-seeking kind. If happenstance had you gone, your aether would go back to the earth, only to rise again in the next year, century, no one knew, but they would rise again, the same people, to meet the ones they knew in another life again, with hazy memories, but just enough to recognize your loved ones, and find them again. The more time passed, the less did people come back from this dormant phase, millions and millions now sleeping under the crust of the Earth, never to awaken again. Only the one who had gathered more power could come back more quickly, not the servants, no matter how strong they were, like Roy, who was only, despite all his strengths, a support to a higher one.

Only, as their kind ended, in her last breath, was he given the last link to the cycle, to be connected to his brethren, when he wasn’t supposed to be the one to live again to better the world.

She gave it to him, as her last gift. As the forgiveness she could never give him while she clung to dear life so desperately.

For the greatest gift to give to someone where inevitable death surround them is to still live……… isn’t it ?

I have seen too little, did too little to be of any solace in chaos. You, my love, have seen, experienced. I cannot think of a finer person to carry out our legacy, for I trust that only the best will come out of you.

♚ “PEOPLE CAN GET ACCUSTOMED TO ANYTHING, RIGHT? HABIT DOES THINGS TO PEOPLE.”

Life went back to its natural course. Ancient structure became ruins as vegetation took over, and, strong as it ever was, mankind rose again from the ashes. At the dawn of a new civilization, an orphan would be found at a nearby river, taken in by farmers and eventually would be a child raised by the whole humble village… a child who hadn’t forgotten a thing, and worked towards the dawn of a new age where he could protect what was dear to him.

And so, the one these days called Roy, grew up like he did before, to train and refine his ways. Only, this time, he didn’t only focus on his personal growth, but on others’ too. Estranged from other children like he had always been, with adulthood reaching his mind too quickly, only devoted to his craft. Despite snarl from the youth, his reputation grew amongst the adults and elders, and the communities beyond. As soon as his body was barely out of its formative years, did the boy set home in the mountains. Out of the leftover ruins his past life would let him have. A strong foundation to not lose sight of his objective.

Discipline. Commitment. Responsibility. Peace of mind. Realism. Alongside harsh but fair mental and physical training, all from what he had been taught and remembered, Roy kept exploring martial disciplines he even hadn’t touched in the past, wanting to reestablish what had been lost, and, before he knew it, he was known nearly as a Sage Deity across the land. A man coming from another world, who set up his temple atop the mountains made of smooth boulders eroded with time, near a clear water source, in the middle of a blossoming garden full of colors and hybrid one never knew how such an abundance of different species naturally grew alongside one another in this location, like it was enchanted.

Often, the village elders sought Roy’s advice, which he hoped have given sparingly, in neutrality, since he couldn’t guide mankind every step of the way, only show them a flourishing path. Travelers would come from afar to seek both his teaching and words, with glorified stories growing slightly intimidating to the young man. Despite this, he did his best to carry on his duty, taking care of the new temple grounds he assembled himself, wearing flowing clothes he sew himself; all loyal to the form and aesthetic of the woman he cherished, adorning the same attire she did and flowing, long hair. He wasn’t hoping for them to meet again, only honor her memory. He had grieved and grieved, wept and wept before she gave him the gift of eternity. His salvation was throwing himself into his training, contemplating his sorrow, and so on and on again until he only felt peace.

Roy’s stories of a lady in white with the darkest of eyes became legends, tales of kindness, bravery and adventure. And, amongst his own legacy growing, did Roy decide, after much deliberation, to take in disciples. One, then two. People under his tutelage, who would, in return, vow to spread and defend what the temple fought for, alongside taking equal parts in temple duties. And as the young people he accepted under his wing grew, Roy would soon be surrounded by four bright students he deeply loved. Unable to truly have a father’s touch, he, at least, believed he was a good guardian, hoping that, with time, his students would become masters, and that humanity could flourish.

It was then that, surrounded by his disciples, minus one, actually, that Roy had just finished drinking light tea and eating some sweets. He sighed as a cloud formed in front of his thin lips, the cold air announcing the winter to come. Even as his eldest disciple spoke, Roy didn’t reply. He stayed still, unmoving, silent, for there was nothing to say about what he felt was to come.

He didn’t even groan when he felt the ornate blades of his disciples pass through him, all three at the same time, for they were bound to be guilty together. While the screeching pain enveloped his senses, he wondered if this was what she felt, when he betrayed her.

That night, the Sage’s remains were cut to pieces, scattered far and wide, while his head was burned in the courtyard bonfire, all in an attempt to stop the link he had with his brethren, to cease the “gift” he had been given and for the cycle carried by the billions sleeping to come to an end.

But, unlike what men thought, Roy’s cycle was only part of nature, and he was to rise once more.

♚ “MY NIGHTLY BLOOD LUST OVERFLOWED INTO MY DAYS AND I HAD TO LEAVE THE CITY. MY MASK OF SANITY WAS A VICTIM OF IMPENDING SLIPPAGE.”

It was always the same. Again and again. He would be reborn, train, work, bond, and die at the hands of the very ones he had linked himself. The only reliable companion Roy ever had was nature outside of mankind, harsh but fair, just like him. With a behavior he could coexist with peacefully. It started eating him from the inside out. This time around, Roy had come back from the dead a few decades after his murder, found stark naked in a rice field even farther East, still in a young adult form, regenerated. Mankind hadn’t been doomed yet, and so, he vowed to save it by himself.

Roy would travel far and wide as mankind spread its territory and the continents started separating, being the only one of his kind which could still read the flow of life, its remaining corruption, and how to neutralize them. He would never stay in one spot for too long, only focusing on what he had to do. Because if he didn’t do it, who would ? If he didn’t do anything, he would only be left seeing the same amount of suffering and death, all by himself.

He couldn’t sit down. He couldn’t lose hope.

But Roy’s respect for life took the better of him. As he helped others with his abilities, presenting himself as somewhat of a medium as others also showed special traits, he hadn’t seen how darker human’s hearts had become. So much more quickly than the society he had known in the past. People turned envious of his abilities, and, soon enough, he needed to fight and run for his own life, at the risk of being torn apart yet again.

This fight and flight narrative happened again. And again. Until Roy’s duty had no time to be done; if he wasn’t around, there was no way anything could be done. He had to survive. And as the world grew around him, his mind and memories became muddied, and the depravity surrounding his person slowly creeped into his mind, as any remainder of his initial purpose was muddled with a constant years of bloodshed. An age of decades where he was to be burned and tortured, captured again and again before he’d lay waste to entire villages for his own safety. So no witness was to remain, and less people were to go after him. His training was used in a way he had never done before. For a cause he couldn’t decide to stop. He learned how to kill as efficiently as possible, how to decimate communities, destroy morale through underhanded means. Jumping from one allegiance to another as he either killed or fled before they’d go after him. For the first time, Roy could see how much his raw abilities could be of use in carnage, with no ceremony, no cause behind them. Only death. The very somber death he swore to stop.

He didn’t even stop to wonder at the technology men came up with, using the growing devices as meant for an end, anger and rage creeping into his very soul, indulging in vices he was being offered by humans which morals he always despised. There was no relief in this life, no moment of quiet, only screams and chaos, and only sins could provide a moment of respite. Roy, actually, never remembered how he died, but he did, at some point, in some time, after all sane people had left the territory, and only savagery had roamed the land he had loved so dearly.

During this time, he had forgotten her name, even her face.

♚ “THE CONVERSATION FOLLOWS ITS OWN ROLLING ACCORD - NO REAL STRUCTURE OR TOPIC OR INTERNAL LOGIC OR FEELING; EXCEPT, OF COURSE, FOR ITS OWN HIDDEN, CONSPIRATORIAL ONE. JUST WORDS, AND LIKE IN A MOVIE, BUT ONE THAT HAS BEEN TRANSCRIBED IMPROPERLY, MOST OF IT OVERLAPS.”

At some point, Roy had no recognition if he had been in the same world, the same plane of existence amongst the cycles when he awoke once again. This time in a white, desperately empty desert. With no one at his side. He was still, somehow, a fully grown person, with the fresh memories of violence he had laid, and the scent of blood into all his pores, and the grotesque weapons he had used with no ceremony.

Yet, in this newly regenerated body, in this empty space by himself, his mind centered itself. His discipline kicked in between the silence and hunt for sustenance. He had spent so long a time by himself, alone, in the most chaotic of scenarios. With no one who remembered him, no one who remembered his loved ones, no one who remembered who everyone he even knew were.

After spending time and time, he couldn’t count how long, to rebalance his person, reshape his senses and skills yet again, Roy readied himself to reach civilization once more… yet when he started his journey again, he stopped, the sudden weight of his contact with humankind anchoring him to the ground, unable now to stand. His body was trembling, and everything he had packed fell to the ground. He knew what would happen if he gave up. What he would need to go through and experience. Again and again. He tried. He tried so hard. But no matter how good he could be, it seemed so… hopeless. However, even if it was an impossible endeavor, he couldn’t stop, or else he would have nothing.

He wouldn’t be able to, maybe, one day, see everyone again. How many times had it been ? His memory couldn’t bear so much, what important things could he not recall ? He could start counting, but there was no way to say if entire lifetimes were not thrown into the abyss, and if forgotten crucial knowledge would end up with yet another failure…

This is when, hunched onto himself in this deserted, white horizon, Roy held his head in his hand. He groaned of pain as his mind was strained to its limits, drooling as he agonized, and images faded far, far away as he life flow was being torn apart from him by his own hands. He could hear the screams of his brethren, their legacy being desecrated. Useless. Useless. He didn’t need to remember their names. He didn’t need to remember their faces. Everything deemed useless to the core of his mission was shred out of his very soul, making the pain, the worries fade away, for he only needed to focus on what needed to be done.

Discipline. Commitment. Responsibility. Peace of mind. Realism. For those virtues to lead mankind to a greater part. And maybe, just maybe, recover part of everything he had lost.

For it was the one thing she had not accounted for, for she saw this man as someone so perfect through her affection for him.

That, ultimately, he did all of this so he could see them, see her again if he ever succeeded, and mankind could doom itself if it wasn’t the only way he knew to move onwards. That he did what was needed of him, without taking it so much to heart, that, in the deep of his heart, laid a hidden, selfish reason for all of this. Yet, it may not be this one anymore, he couldn’t tell.

And as Roy literally lost his mind, all by himself, with not a soul around to witness his sorrow, he laid there, vegetable from the trauma, feeling but unable to move, in a haze of horror and pain, before, finally, dehydration took him, and he was back in the cycle again.

Only, this time, there would be no memories. Only physical ones. No loneliness, only fake memories pieced by the world to balance his existence. Only a man, his training, his virtues, and an impossible task that is his only defense against despair and insanity.

♚ “THERE IS NO TIME FOR THE INNOCENT.”

#.ooc #im so happy i can tell my boi's story ;;#hope you guys like it !#he's the one who's lived the longest so... long bio sorry O)-(#tl;dr it's just depression

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jungcity · 4 years

Text

bane of the devil. | v

genre: vampire!jaehyun [angst | fluff | smut]

pairings: jaehyun x female reader

note: bane of the devil deals with themes of physical, mental, and sexual abuse as well as toxic relationships. which may be upsetting for some readers. you are advised not to continue if you feel uncomfortable to these types of plots.

words: 5.2k

“father,

he smelled like

blood,

wrath,

and battlefield

father,

he could rival

the sun

by how bright he burns

but

sunlight is poison

in his veins

sunlight is death in

his eyes

every crevice

every corner

was made to be feared.

then he smiled,

oh, father, he smiled

and whispered

“i am scared of myself, too.”

and that’s when i realized

monsters are lonely too.”

— bane of the devil // v

The blood from your body cascaded down the tiled floors to the shower drain as you harshly rubbed your skin. You did not want to cry. But as you recalled the encounter with the unknown vampire, you could not help but sob in the bathroom.

Dread fired up in your chest. You were so close to being bitten. So close. And even the comfort of Jaehyun’s rescue could not rub off the fear. More so, it had only amplified your agitation. You closed your eyes, skin wrinkling like folded papers by how tight you had shut them close. Tears once again fell down your cheeks, the warmness of it contrasting the cold waters you splashed on your face from the faucet.

Your mind drew the vision of Jaehyun holding the vampire’s heart with his bare hand. A sudden jolt sent your stomach recoiling, causing you to drop on your knees and hurl all your guts out in the toilet bowl. You regurgitated for minutes, saliva tasting like vomit after you were finished. With your knees slightly shaking, you stood up and rinsed your mouth over and over again.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. As expected, the reflection pitifully stared at you; eyes red rimmed, lips blanched, hair as messy as a bird’s nest with little amounts of blood on your neck. The echo of image triggered the fear, and before you knew it, you were crying again.

With shaky breaths, you sauntered up to the shower and discarded all your bloody clothes on the floor. You have no idea about what to do and what you need. A cold shower to wake you up, or a hot one to erase all the trace of vampire blood on your skin? You started to soap your body, the blood coating the white color of it red. With little sobs and hiccups, you tried to lather your hair with shampoo, the smell barely reaching your nostrils.

You only know one thing, you only feel one thing; fear. And the world feels like a blur. You never want to feel this fear again.

Yes, you have no idea how your parents spent their last minutes together. Did they cry? Did they beg? But one thing is for sure, no matter how terrifying vampires could be, no matter how much fear they could inflict to a human being, you will vow not to crumble like this— ever again.

Was this real? Was everything real? It feels like a nightmare. The one where you could truly feel every single thing; fear, paranoia, thrill.

Madame Juana’s voice rang in your mind. All her proposals, all her plans; they appeared to make sense right now.

Despite that, could you truly kill? You stared down at your hands. How could these parts of your body, so delicate looking, could hurt someone? But Jaehyun had done it himself. He pulled out the vampire’s heart with his bare hands only. However, you are not like him. You are a mortal. You are like Lucas.

And by that, you could not be a vampire. But you could be a vampire hunter.

You roughly wiped your tears and breathed deeply. You let the thoughts fade in your mind, until all was blank and you could think clearly again. That’s it. There is no more thinking about it, there is no more succumbing to fear. Tomorrow, you would exactly be how you wanted yourself to be the first time you saw your parents’ dead bodies; fearless.

—

Jaehyun zipped his pants closed, forcing his mind to wander off at some place except here. Except here in Alena’s bed, with her body sprawled naked in her red mattress.

“Leaving so soon?” she purred, crawling like a cat towards Jaehyun.

It had always made him uncomfortable; the naked body of Alena. She was too white, there was not a trace of veins in her body. She almost appeared like a blank white paper, without anything written on it. But unlike all vampires in the world, her skin does not feel chalky. Jaehyun supposed it’s because of his blood running in her system.

Her arms found their way around Jaehyun’s torso, her soft breasts pressing in on his back as she tightened her hold. “Let’s do it again,” she whispered in his ear.

Months ago, Jaehyun would have been salivating like a mad dog by that statement only. He would have been jumping on her bed, discarding all his clothes, to have sex with her over and over again. But times are different. He wasn’t that lucid and naïve vampire any more.

Jaehyun stood up, not caring whether Alena would fall from the bed. “I’m going,” was his impassive words.

“My love, please?” Alena pleaded.

A sudden thought came crashing back in his mind. Lucas’ words. She’s the most powerful vampire right now. Why would you do that? He said. But why is the most powerful vampire in this town begging for Jaehyun’s manhood like it is her lifeline? Why is she sprawled naked on her own bed, touching herself while pleading for Jaehyun to stay?

Sensual moans echoed from Alena’s mouth as she inserted her middle finger in her womanhood. Jaehyun stared at her, dead-panned. Then he walked, propped his knee on the bed, and leaned closer to Alena’s frame. When he was finally looking down straight at her eyes, she sucked her middle finger, tasting herself.

“Fuck yourself,” Jaehyun spat as if she wasn’t already doing that. But he wanted her to feel that he was— not even the slightest bit— interested in all her plays anymore.

In the blink of an eye, Alena was behind Jaehyun. When he turned around to face her, her fist had already collided against Jaehyun’s jaw.

“You were nothing, Jaehyun. I’ve created you,” she said through gritted teeth.

Jaehyun recollected himself from the blow, standing on his feet as proudly as he could muster. “Who gives a fuck, really? You are just a psychopathic bitch—” Then another blow. This time, she hit his stomach. Jaehyun doubled over and crashed against Alena’s vanity.

She sauntered up to him, all naked, and crouched in front of Jaehyun.

“What were you before? A piece-of-shit of a man, who makes a living by riding a motorbike. You are pathetic, Jaehyun. Utterly, hopelessly, pathetic.” Then she spat vampire venom on his face. “Your mother did not even weep when you died.” She almost sing-songed the sentence, tasting every drip of poison laced with it. Jaehyun tried to stand up, but Alena stood up first, pressing her soles against Jaehyun’s cheek. He felt as if his skull would burst open by how much force Alena had drawn out.

“Oh, what about your father? Who had literally thrown a party when he found out that his bastard died in an accident!” Alena laughed so joyously.

Jaehyun gritted his teeth, his anger would burn down this mansion. It would. But the consumption of his blood by Alena had rendered him weak. This is all happening because he foolishly let Alena consume his blood again.

“I am all that you have, Jaehyun.” She pressed her soles further down Jaehyun’s cheek, his head burrowing on her lush carpet.

Baby steps. He heard your voice.

“No.” Jaehyun had bitten his tongue as he tried to let the word fly from his mouth. It was hard to speak in his situation, but he did anyway.

“No?!” Alena snarled before withdrawing her soles from Jaehyun’s face and grabbing his back collar. “No?!” she screamed at his face again. Then she slackened her hold and started to caress Jaehyun’s cheeks. “My love, I am all that you have, right? You are all that I have, too. Remember our promise? My love!” Then she kissed Jaehyun. His mouth didn’t move, but the woman continued her penetration. She grabbed Jaehyun’s hands and used it to grope her own breasts. “Touch me, my love. Fuck me. I am yours.”

Her eyes are frantic as she led Jaehyun’s hands towards her womanhood. “Please!” Her pupils are dilating, fangs elongating.

“No,” Jaehyun uttered.

Alena’s face dropped instantly. Her eyes clear, mouth in a thin line before speaking again. “Get out of my mansion.”

Jaehyun, for the longest time in his life, felt relieved and ready to dash away from the wretched place Alena called home.

“Do whatever you like, Jaehyun. Mingle with all the girls in the world. But you know, we both know, it’s you and me even if the world crumbles to dust.”

Jaehyun did not answer. But he knows, in the deepest parts of his rotten soul, he’s doing everything he could to change that.

Your mother did not even weep when you died. A poisonous smile had spread on his lips as he remembered. Of course, everything Alena had spat out on his face was true. Who would have cried for Jaehyun? He was nothing. A bastard of a business-man. A son of a prostitute. No, he had never insulted his mother’s work. It was her life, it was her body. She could do anything with it. But what Jaehyun looked down at was her ability to love. She’d provided him a roof, food, a chance to study— but all of it was responsibility. It was not out of love.

Jaehyun remembered the times when she would literally sell her own son to her friends for money. Luckily, Jaehyun was old enough to understand everything. So he ran away from home, from everything related to her parents. And started out his own wicked life of chasing death.

His father? Oh, his father was a son-of-a-bitch. There’s no explanation for that character. Jaehyun believes his father’s soul is more vile than that of his. But who could really tell, right?

Jaehyun could sprint away from this mansion as far as he could. But he preferred to walk out of the vicinity. Inside the many rooms of this mansion, there lays his own bedroom, and Alena’s torture room. For him.

He could still feel everything as if it was yesterday. Vampires could not feel pain. Shoot them and they would feel the bullet penetrating their flesh, but the searing pain it brings would feel nothing against their power and immortality. However, Alena had her own ways to hurt Jaehyun. The memories were foggy, but he could make out two clear tube inserted on both his wrists. His blood flowing into a large bucket, with Alena grabbing a glass full of his blood, drinking it like it was the finest of wines.

After those agonizing moments of Alena squeezing him out of blood, he would sleep. For hours. Days. Only waking up to please Alena again. And then the same thing would happen. It went in circles. At first, Jaehyun welcomed it with open arms. In Alena’s embrace, he felt like a king. Sex with her made him feel powerful.

Or so he thought.

As time goes by, with the same scenario happening again and again, Jaehyun felt like a toy. He felt weak. He wanted more. He wanted to be the king. A real one. But that won’t happen if Alena’s alive and using him like a favorite doll.

All the wretchedness he had gone through Alena’s hands were nightmares that visits him whenever he closed his eyes. Then he does not want to be king anymore.

He only wanted to be free.

Alena did not allow that to happen. It was ignominious. But Jaehyun could still remember the way he begged for Alena not to cage him.

She kept him in a dungeon, refusing to give him blood. Jaehyun had reached the point where he had experienced the ‘bleeds’. An incident where a vampire bleeds from his ears and nose by blood abstinence.

After that, Jaehyun did everything to please Alena. He did not dare escape again. But he made himself powerful. He struggled to be strong. Strong enough for Alena to want him like her life depended on his blood. He’s strived and achieved his goal. Now, he was free.

Alena could not kill him— could not harm him. Jaehyun’s blood was powerful in its own eccentricities. He did not know what is it, he could not understand it himself. But ever since he became a vampire, he never felt more human. Vinegar, garlic, rosaries, prayers, silvers— they could not affect him at all. Sunlight could singed him, but not scorch him to death, just enough to enfeeble him. But he remains vulnerable to fire, a stake at the heart, decapitation, or to sangue debolezza which translates to ‘blood weakness’. It is a rare type of vampire disease with an unknown origin, but it is still a way to kill vampires nonetheless.

And consuming Jaehyun’s blood gives Alena the same power. She won’t dispose someone as precious as him. It won’t kill her if she ever did, but Alena has been a woman born with an intense penchant for power. Jaehyun provides her that ascendancy.

Jaehyun only needs to stay alive until someone, until you, kills Alena. With the thought of your fierceness and determination of finding the vampire who killed your parents, Jaehyun took a lingering glance at the moon, before sprinting towards home and towards you.

—

“Hey, Johnny.”

You sat on the bed, phone pressed against your ear. You heard the rummaging of Johnny’s things before he answered.

“Hi, Y/N!” He greeted.

The optimism in his voice made you uncertain for a moment. You have decided to tell— lie— to Johnny about your plans regarding Madame Juana’s offers. This is what you have been waiting for all your life. A chance to know what truly happened to your parents and avenge their deaths. Johnny need not bother himself about it. You do not have to tell him. To keep him safe. To keep him sane. He would never believe you, anyways.

After minutes of being unforthcoming, you finally told him about your plan.

“Is it really needed? Like… would you really fail if you don’t join that trip?”

You sighed, trying to muster indifference. “Yes, Johnny. You know how it’s done. I don’t even know why it’s a three-month long trip! Gosh!” Just right after the words slid out of your mouth, you bit your lower lip as hard as you can. They were right when they said lies slides easily and more smoothly than truths.

“Three-month trip?! Is that really necessary?”

You heard the apprehension coating Johnny’s question. This won’t be easy for him. Not when he took the mother and father figure ever since your parents had died. But you also know that he would let you go at the end of the discussion. You just need to convince him that you will be fine.

“According to my prof, yes.” You cleared your throat, preparing yourself to tell yet another lie. “Oh, and I’ve already asked Haechan’s mom to sign my parent’s consent.”

Johnny sighed from the other line, “Alright, then. I still don’t understand why it’s a three-month long trip, but keep me updated, m’kay? I want to know everything. The hotel, the details—”

“Copy that, John. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Okay…” Johnny wavered, “Do you need any money?”

A certain sadness enveloped you. You are absolutely aware of your tightness when it comes to financial matters, and you won’t squeeze Johnny’s pockets for this ‘trip’. You would have to rely on your and your parents’ fund for assistance.

“No, John. I’m okay. Just… keep the money for yourself.” You tried to sound positive as possible. “When are you coming back, though?”

“I still don’t know. And I won’t tell you the dates. It’s a surprise!”

You laughed. A big part of you has been missing your big brother’s goofy side. It’s been months since you last saw him. “Just keep safe, Johnny. That is all I want.”

“You too, little sis. Take care of yourself.”

For hours, you’ve talked. The fear that has been nagging on you seemed to vanish as Johnny threw banters from the other line. You miss having him around. You miss the normalcy of life before seeing a bloodied Jaehyun in your doorstep.

Johnny had bid you good night, reminding you to take care and inform him about the details of your educational trip.

Three months is a long time. Your professors, for sure, won’t give you that much of a consideration even if you make an excuse letter. Nevertheless, there was no harm in trying. So you sat on your bed, your laptop’s screen blinding you.

“Ma’am and Sir…”

You started to type in your excuse letter, squinting your eyes as you skimmed the words for any loopholes and grammatical errors. You’ve decided to tell your professors the same thing you told Johnny. A trip. Family trip. Reunion. Or… maybe you could just tell them that you are currently arranging your documents that you would need to migrate to a different country. Migrating is a hectic process, it’s more believable than a reunion. No family would reunite for three months.

As the printer did its job, you waited with a sweaty forehead. Am I really doing this? You bit your lip as you stared at the letter. This is insane. But life requires a little bit of insanity. After folding the letter inside an envelope, you decided to call your friends. Another lie for another person.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Mark asked as you told him about the three-month trip that you’d also used as an excuse to obtain Johnny’s approval. Of course, you didn’t tell him about the real reasons. But Mark is a kind and respectful man, he won’t barge in your business especially when you make it clear that you won’t entertain questions.

“It’s not. I just really need to unwind. You know. Find myself.” You forced a chuckle. Losing yourself would have been the better description for your trip. But, of course, you didn’t tell Mark about that.

“I think that’s… cool. Three months is a long time, and I’m gonna miss you. But, you should go for it. I do hope you find whatever you’re looking for in your trip, Y/N.”

“Mark, you’re the sweetest.”

Of course, after talking to the kindest person you’ve ever met, you need to talk to the brat-est person God allowed you to meet in your lifetime— Haechan.

“I don’t believe this is a trip to unwind,” he said. And you could literally see his dead-panned expression from the other line. “Tell me, you’re running away with that Jaehyun guy.”

“Haechan! You’re ridiculous!” You hissed, but forcing yourself not to laugh nonetheless. “I’m serious, though. It really is a trip to unwind and find myself.” No, it’s not.

“Whatever you say. Just… take care, you bimbo.”

“Do not call me bimbo!”

“Bimbo!” he shouted. You winced and pulled the phone away. Too late for that. Then his tone changed to that of a serious one. “Call me, call us, whenever you need someone to talk to. Take care. And please! Return! I know Jaehyun’s— oh wait— who would take care of Jaehyun, then?”

Haechan’s question caught you off guard. No, no, no. Think, Y/N. Think. Sweats literally formed in your forehead as you think about whatever reason to tell Haechan.

“He’s… well… his relatives had known about his current situation. And they… they called me! Told me they’d pick up Jaehyun, then they did! It’s heart-wrenching to see them reunite after all these years.” You fake a sob.

“Wow, that’s amazing. I’m glad he’s found a family that would take care of him.”

“Yeah…” you played with your pillow. Not being able to see two of your most precious friends sent a sudden jolt of sadness to wash through you. Haechan, Mark, and Johnny are your tether to the real life. Turning your back against them means completely enveloping the mysteries laid for you by a witch, a vampire hunter, and a vampire.

“Y/N, I’m gonna miss you,” Haechan declared.

“I’m gonna miss you, too.” You nodded and wiped the sides of your eyes. Then Haechan dropped the phone call after saying good bye.

You stood up, the full moon hanging and glaring at you from the heavens. So beautiful. So captivating. Yet so portentous. You pursed your lips and shook your head before departing your room to the kitchen.

The cold water jug bit on your palms. It’s one a.m. and Jaehyun was still nowhere to be found. Where has he gone to? Yet you aren’t sure if you are ready to see his face after all that has happened.

You checked your social medias and scrolled down your feed. To be a reminder that you are still you. Normal. Somehow. When a loud bang of the door startled you from your seat. Before you could stand up, Jaehyun’s frame greeted you in the kitchen.

You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. He wasn’t looking bedraggled. He looked alive, and well. Despite the blood that still adorns his skin and clothes.

“We need to go.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Pack your things and let’s go to Juana.” He started to pace, hands on his waists.

“I don’t understand. Where have you been?”

He drew in a halt and stared at you, “None of your business.”

You raised a brow. “Well? After you left me in the middle of the street, bloody and sca—” You shut your mouth close. No, you won’t admit that you were scared. Jaehyun raised his own brow, waiting for your next words. “Bloody and alone— I, at least, have the rights to know where were you.” Then you straightened your back and pretended to tower him.

“Trust me, you won’t like the answer.”

“Am I in danger?” You fisted your palms and waited for his answer. Jaehyun, for a second, didn’t know what to say. It was clear by the way he opened and closed his mouth.

“No. It’s me. He was coming for me.”

“Why?”

Jaehyun sighed deeply. “No more questions, Y/N. Let’s just go!” He hissed.

No more questions? How could he? As far as you could remember, he was the one who practically told Madame Juana to give you enough time to decide. And now he’s here, all jumpy, asking you to pack your things, giving you no chance to ask why.

“You will explain to me everything once I’ve finished packing.” You clenched your jaw, pointing your forefinger at his face. Jaehyun attempted to speak, but you have already made your way to your own room.

Two luggages were what you pulled from your bedroom to the living room. It contains your clothes and necessities. Jaehyun was sitting, freshly bathed, on the sofa. He eyes your luggages and then you.

“Seriously? That many?” He quipped.

You frowned and stared at your luggages. “Do you have the slightest idea how many womanly necessities I have to bring?”

“No, I don’t.” He shrugged.

You ignored his scrutinizing. He is a man, a vampire one at that. He won’t ever understand how it is to be a woman. “Then stop your scrutiny and focused on your— wait a minute. Why haven’t you packed your things yet?” You raised a brow while locking your luggages. After that, you roamed your eyes inside the house and sauntered up to the windows to check the locks.

“I don’t have any clothes other than what you’ve bought for me.”

Oh, yes. Jaehyun is a homeless guy without any relatives. The sudden thought made you inquisitive. Where is his parents? Are they still alive? But you shook your head, erasing your questions.

“Well, that’s a problem.” As you finished checking the locks of every possible way for a robber to enter your house, you have finally focused on Jaehyun.

He leaned on the sofa, eyeing you. “I don’t think so. Remember our deal?”

“Oh, please! You didn’t even want to join us—”

“But I did. I would.”

You bit your lips, calculating the cost if you ever decide to buy Jaehyun his own necessities. It would surely take up a big chunk off your money.

“We won’t be able to eat at the villa if I dare buy you everything you need.”

“That’s your problem, not mine. I don’t eat, Y/N.” He had the audacity to roll his eyes at you then.

Right. Vampires do not eat.

You straightened your back and leaned on the window frame, ignoring Jaehyun’s snarky comments. “Where have you been, Jaehyun?” Then you crossed your arms to tell him you would not back down unless he tells you what really happened.

“Alena,” he replied incisively.

You gulped. You weren’t expecting that name to roll off his mouth. “That’s unexpected.” Trying to sound as apathetic as possible, you focused your attention in checking the locks again. “I thought you’d burn the—” You took a deep breath, “— the vampire’s body.”

“I dumped him exactly where he came from.”

Your brows knotted instantly, reckoning his words. “Are you saying Alena sent him? For you?” This time, you had stopped pretending to check the window locks, and faced Jaehyun with inquisitiveness etched on your face.

“Partially. He sent him for me… and for you.”

You sat down yourself to the nearest sofa and tried to recollect your thoughts. Why would she do that? “For me? I don’t understand.”

“She knows I’m living here, Y/N. And she’s not happy about it.” Jaehyun pursed his lips. You were absolutely certain that he was hiding something from you.

“Oh, heavens. I— I don’t know what to say… I… Jaehyun, she’s your fiancée, right? Perhaps she got it all wrong. We’re not doing something disgraceful!” You waved your hands to the air to shake off your trepidation. Well, that’s not exactly true. On his first night in your house, he’d already kissed you.

The look Jaehyun gave you told you he was thinking about the kiss too. But he shrugged and brushed it off. “Yeah, we’re not doing something.”

“I think you should explain it to her…?”

Jaehyun snorted, “Y/N, didn’t you hear me earlier? I’m trying to severe our betrothal. I don’t give two fucks about what she thinks.”

“And why is that?”

He went silent for a moment, his eyes clear. As if remembering some horrible scene in his mind. “Do you really think I’d tell you everything? C’mon. We’re on our what? One-half step of being friends.”

“I just want to understand why would she send a vampire to harm us. Especially, me.” You pointed at yourself. “Well… perhaps she’s known about our plan.” Heavens. The thought was too terrifying for you to bear.

“No. She didn’t tell me anything about that.” Jaehyun stood up then, “So we better get moving before she sends her vampires again to kill us. Earlier was already a warning.”

When you attempted to speak, Jaehyun raised a finger to stop you. “Please, baby. No more questions.”

So you shut your mouth with a hope that you could do the same with your thudding heart.

On the way to Madame Juana’s mansion, you have separated the money for Jaehyun’s needs. In the end, you have decided to buy him his necessities. You supposed it won’t be that costly, considering his nature. Clothes are all he needs.

“You’ve decided the right thing, Y/N.”

Even in the stark of dawn, Madame Juana was ready to accept you in her home. She looked immaculate as always, her silk robes hugging her frame as she greeted you.

“I… hope so.” You smiled at her, heart beating loudly for what lays behind all your decisions. Jaehyun remained leaning on one of the pillar inside Madame Juana’s hall, observing you and the witch.

“To be honest, some part of me didn’t expect to see you at all. That’s why I’m so glad to see you, darling.” She caressed your cheek like how mothers do to their children. You fought the urge to lean on her hand, suddenly remembering your mother with a twinge of pain in your chest.

“Well, this is my only chance to know who killed my parents. I couldn’t simply let this slip.”

Jaehyun had convinced you not to tell Madame Juana about your encounter with the vampire earlier. He nagged and reminded you to be more careful especially to friendly faces. And now that you are walking through a path cloaked with darkness. Those were his exact words. You would’ve laughed by the way he delivered it, but he was so serious that you resulted in gulping down your chuckles instead.

Madame smiled. In that moment, you wanted to ask her if she could enchant Hubert already. It’s not like you would run away from her and bail on your deal. But an uncertainty made its way on you. You still have no idea about her true nature; her patience and her attitude. It would be careless to ask such favors. Especially to a witch.

“Excellent, darling.” Then she pulled her hand away, “I’ll get ready. Mr. Jones will—”

“I… still wanna talk to you about some things.” You took a quick glance at Jaehyun, who raised his brow at you, “Privately.” Then he frowned and walked away, fishing something in his pockets. You could only pray that he won’t pry with his sharp hearing.

“Go on, Y/N. What is it?”

You hesitated for a moment, before sighing deeply and focusing your eyes at Madame’s own. “Can you… I mean, I want to block Jaehyun from reading my mind.”

Madame’s brow shot up to her forehead, the side of her mouth twitching upwards. “Interesting favor, darling. But understandable. I know how insufferable it is for someone to infiltrate your mind without permission.” She held the sides of your forehead with both her hands, “This might hurt a little. Like a migraine.”

You shut your eyes closed and readied yourself for the pain. Enchantments rolled off her tongue. It sounded like Latin mixed with a language you haven’t heard before. A grumble of pain echoed from you as you felt the ache of the magic. It was exactly like what she told you; a migraine, but a sharp one.

“Done,” Madame stated.

You felt the absence of her fingers, resulting on you clutching a handful of your hair to prevent the pulsating pain. As you grip your hair with your hand, you lifted the other one to tell Madame that you still have one remaining thing to say.

“One more thing, Madame.”

“Now, now. What is it, darling? Are you going to ask me to block your heart from falling in love with the vampire?”

At her bold statement, your eyes widened, heart somersaulting inside your chest. “No!” You shouted, voice bouncing off the walls of her mansion.

A low chuckle resonated from the Madame’s throat. “Don’t be so upset and defensive, little dove. It’s written all over you—”

It’s dangerous to cut off a witch’s sentence, but you could not bear to hear the end of her statement. “I actually wanted to tell you that I want to become a vampire hunter.”

Madame’s grinning face changed to that of a surprised one. But she quickly regained herself, her grin spreading wider than the last time. “Then I guess my villa isn’t the right place for you. But the Academy.”

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#jung jaehyun au #jung jaehyun imagines #neowritingsnet #jung jaehyun smut #jaehyun au #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun smut #nct 127 au #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 smut #nct au #nct imagines #jaehyun nct au #jaehyun #jung yuno imagines

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capsized-heart · 4 years

Text

Warbirds

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Summary: Ships and planes and weapons of war named after women and dubbed she, her. Powerful, deadly. Yet, the real thing, the real body is demeaned and made less than man. When you and Carol are up in the sky and screaming through the air in your metal birds, they will see just how fragile you are.

Following Carol and Reader throughout their training in the Air Force.

Word count: 4.6k+

Warnings: smut, mild violence

A/N: It feels so good to post again! I’m so sorry I haven’t written anything in a bit, my finals this semester have been c r a z y, I’ve written 20 pages worth of papers and I still have one more left before I’m fully on winter break :’) but almost there!

I’ve had this idea for a while and....I honestly had too much fun with this. I did a lot of research and watched some documentaries on what trainees experience through basic training and I find military uniforms more attractive than I should so I didn’t hold back on this one.

Please enjoy my girl Carol!!!

“Wake up! Wake up! Open that day room door! Lights on! PT uniform of the day, PT shorts and shirt!”

The piercing voice of Dorm Chief Williams shatters the air. Fluorescent white blinds you, pulse thundering as you’re jerked from sleep, kicking off your covers. Your muscles scream, vision blurred and swimming and you stagger to your feet.

Cadets around you are already making their beds and changing into their gear. You reach for your own combat uniform, pull on the deep navy tracksuit with the reflective insignia of the U.S. Air Force glowing over your left breast.

You turn and see your bunkmate starting to stir. You feel your heart hammer in your throat and push at her shoulder.

“Carol. Get up. Hey, let’s go, Warbird.”

Williams, a tall and intimidating woman personifying dread itself, marches over to your bunk.

“Danvers, am I keeping you from your beauty sleep?” Williams barks with the most intensity you’ve ever heard from her at 0600. “Should I call the canteen and have them bring you breakfast since you’re so busy slowing down my whole squadron?”

Carol jolts to attention. “No, ma’am!”

“Then get the hell away from me and into gear. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Williams scowls, watching Carol fly to her post to dress before she turns on her heel and makes her rounds through the rest of the dorm. Finished with your own tasks, you help with Carol’s bed, smooth out her uniform, secure her hair in a tight bun. She gives you a tired smile.

“Fall out!” Williams calls.

You’re out the door in a minute flat. The short, sharp blasts of Reveille drive motion around you as you fall in line with the male recruits.

The morning is brisk, stimulating, turning your breath into puffs of steam as sweeps of indigo crack open the sky like the pearly, iridescent insides of seashells. It’s pretty, the color reminding you of waves and ocean.

Maybe you should have joined the Navy instead, Carol would say, a quick quip about how you would make such a charming sailor girl bobbing away on a ship. She always likes to tease you for your love of beautiful, superficial things.

From the moment you shed your civilian status, the Academy taught you to appreciate the little things in life; the glow of morning that tints the clouds with amber and cream as you watch the world from your cockpit. Chirping birdsong, a sort of secret you like to think that exists only between birds and Airmen, the few humans capable of sharing the sky.

You loathe how much Carol affects you, since day zero, the very start of BMT. How you can hear her voice in your mind this goddamn early.

Your MTI picks up a cadence and you match your step to the young men and women beside you, your wingmen. You feel unity, harmony beating through your bloodstream as you jog in time with your sergeant’s calls, the crisp air making you feel well rested and energized despite getting your usual four hours of sleep.

Moments like these that give you purpose, the indescribable excitement of being a part of something bigger than yourself. Of belonging.

“Lookin’ good and feelin’ good! Who are we?” Your drill instructor booms.

“USAF! Aim high! Fly, fight, win!” The squadron sounds off in unison.

You’re three weeks into BMT. Twenty-one days of primal shock, verbal abuse, blood, sweat, tears. Four weeks, twenty-eight more days until you graduate from the ranks of cadet, four weeks until your MTI awards you your dog tags and the title of Airman. The start of your career as a fighter pilot.

But until then, you’ll have to survive the next twenty-eight days.

You’ve learned more about yourself in these three weeks than you have in your entire life, your mind and body hardened with discipline. Broken down psychologically and physically and molded into the young woman your squadron needs you to be.

You and Carol are reminded of your womanhood every day. You and the others have to push yourselves harder, faster just to prove you can keep up. O’Neill, a petite little firecracker of a girl and fresh out of school, had gotten her period last week. You’d watched her wretch up bile after morning drill, the exertion and stress and cramps too much for her body to handle. The MTI had screamed at her, blue in the face, ordered her to drop on her stomach right there and crank fifteen pushups.

You cannot separate your femininity from your body, even in a military unit that declares that all are treated equal as soldiers. You are not an equal by default.

It’s belittling. Exhausting.

But you’ve shown that you can hold your own against the boys. You’ve learned how to shoot clean and fight with your bare hands, how to assemble, disassemble, and repair your M-16. You could do it in your sleep, the sharp click-click of a reloading magazine heard in your dreams.

This week, along with your usual physical conditioning, you have CBRNE training, MOPP training. You’ll be exposed to CS gas and simulations of biological warfare, your leadership skills put to the test.

You can do this. With Carol by your side, you feel like you can do anything. Little fledglings earning your wings, pushed from the nest, learning to fly when the ground is rushing up to meet you. Make or break.

Twenty-eight more days.

The gas is meant to simulate suffocation, they tell you.

“Masks off! Break the seal! Break, break, break!”

You’re already dizzy, head spinning from the chamber exercises when you stick your fingers in between the small space of your mask and pull hard.

The seal breaks with a sharp hiss.

Fire floods your eyes, your sinuses, down your throat, constricting tight like smoke and flames and hellfire. You taste fireworks, poison. Your eyes instinctively shut, blurry with tears and you cough hard, sputter, hear the echoes of other cadets hacking and gasping.

The simulation is meant to put trust in your equipment, to make you vividly remember that your mask and gear will save your life. And as you stand there with your lungs struggling to expand and the MTIs rounding on each of you in the hazy, cloying smoke, you believe it.

“Airman Recruit Danvers, Division 164!” You hear Carol pant somewhere in the fumes, along the walls of the chamber where you’re all lined up. You keep your mask raised above your head as instructed, waiting, suffocating in silence until it is your turn to state your name and division number. The MTIs move down the line with their masks still fixed. Haunting, weaving through the gas and toxins like plague doctors. The image of death. Vultures tearing fledglings apart with pointed beaks and white bone as you watch cadets choke on their own breath.

The primal impulse of fear trickles from your hypothalamus as the minutes tick on, until your lips and tongue buzz like fire ants, until you can no longer feel the tips of your fingers. You’re sweat-slicked and gasping when an MTI turns to you, screams for your identification.

You sound off. Your entire body is shaking, fevered. You are the last in your row.

You burst through the doors and out into the afternoon air with a stream of cadets behind you, taking flight as you thunder on the asphalt to the open courtyard.

You all cough, spit, clear out your lungs with curses and muted laughter as your squadron stands together beneath cotton clouds and blue sky.

Carol finds you in the mix, the few precious seconds where you’re not forced to fall in line. Seconds to catch your breath. Her skin is flushed and wisps of hair fall to frame her face, her bun messy. She grins and the two of you bump fists, playful.

Your cheeks redden, lungs tight with something other than CS gas. It’s strange seeing Carol disheveled when you’ve been so hardwired with self-control, down to how you’re expected to wear your hair, present yourself.

You like seeing her like this.

“Do we have confidence in that gear?” MTI Galloway emerges from the chambers and asks of you all.

“Yes, Chief!” You roar.

Carol calls you Phoenix after that, running so fast out the chamber and looking like a fire had been lit up your ass.

The nickname is fitting for a duo like you. Raptors, birds of prey, fierce and skilled and yet simultaneously embracing and shielding your femininity with unfurled wings.

Have women not been compared to birds in art and literature throughout history as a means to show fragility? Fleeting beauty?

Why not strength? Why ever not for sleeker attributes, or as hunters?

It’s curious. Ships and planes and weapons of war named after women and dubbed she, her. Powerful, deadly. Yet, the real thing, the real body is demeaned and made less than man.

When you and Carol are up in the sky and screaming through the air in your metal birds, they will see just how fragile you are.

You hit the ground so hard that the air rushes out your lungs in a loud wheeze. You can’t breathe. Your face burns, ears ringing. You can hear the screams of your MTI. You’d rather die of embarrassment right here.

The rope dangles in front of you, fifteen feet straight up, still swaying from where you’d fallen, taunting. Physical conditioning for your Basic Expeditionary Airman Skills Training examination next week, fittingly dubbed the BEAST. Rope climbing and complicated field obstacle courses after you’ve crawled through miles of sand and dirt, navigated through tactical drills with your full pack of gear.

Your arms tremble, your entire upper body drained of all strength, skin biting from the sand. Weak, exhausted. Your palms raw from the rope. Tears of frustration sting at your eyes as your MTI screams out your surname in another bloodcurdling roar to get your ass up out of that dirt.

Yet, the low scoff of a nearby cadet is what piques your attention.

Dalquist. A boy a few years older than yourself with an ugly, crooked grin and sandy hair. A show-off, a boy who thinks himself a man. He smirks again with crossed arms, tuts his tongue as his eyes flicker over you.

“They’ll never let you fly.” He snickers.

Then, Carol is there beside you. She grips your waist strongly, shifting your weight and the two of you slowly rise together amidst the swirling dust. You draw in a shuddering breath.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe they’re all right. Maybe you don’t belong here.

You feel Carol’s muscles tense and manage to squeeze her arm in a silent warning. The entire squadron watches the three of you. The last thing you need is falling to Dalquist’s level and getting punished for it.

So she hits him with a reply quite enough only for the three of you to hear.

“You better hope not.” She rasps.

Your time in the classroom is a welcome break from the stresses of field training. You meet Dr. Wendy Lawson, an incredibly gifted and terrifying brilliant quantum physics scientist when she’s brought in to give you post-deployment training. She teaches you flight mechanics, squadron resources and financial management. You learn about her research on quantum energy.

Lawson is especially kind to you and Carol upon hearing your aspirations to take to the skies as fighter flyers. Her standards are higher for you and she encourages you to speak out when you’ve been too timid to respond to the whole class, the twinkle in her eye giving you courage, a voice for the first time in your life.

Together, Lawson and Carol work to coax you out of your shell.

The days trudge on. You throw Dalquist’s remark behind every new simulation you’re given, every mile, every pushup of your physical conditioning.

And it shows.

Your endurance and stamina have nearly doubled, bringing out new muscles in your back, your arms. You’re stronger than you’ve ever been, strong enough to grapple an unsuspecting Dalquist to the ground during field training. He stares up at you in humiliation and horror and you push him harder into the dirt, until your MTI snorts and tells you to let him up.

The mile and a half lap you take known as the Airman’s Run the week of your graduation is a breeze. Your body is familiar with the motion and exertion, the rest of the cadets who’ve made it through BMT with you dressed in new uniforms of pressed blue shirts and the trademark navy garrison cap.

Family and friends watch as your squadron marches in a parade of waving flag and timed step. Your heart swells with pride, with unparalleled accomplishment.

You’re finally presented with the Airman’s Coin and your dog tags. You’ve completed Basic Training. You are no longer a cadet, a trainee, but an oath-sworn member of the Air Force. Next weekend, you’ll be moved into dorms and officially begin your pilot training.

And then you’re free. For the first time in seven weeks, you are dismissed after the ceremony and to spend the rest of the weekend however you please.

Free time. Privacy. Privileges you took for granted as a civilian. You feel giddy, excited.

“We did it, birdie.” Carol’s voice sounds from behind you. You turn, her smile radiant as ever and mirroring yours.

She looks like she was born to wear the uniform, her shirt crisp and cap perfectly straightened atop her pinned back hair. Your pulse stutters, you find it difficult to swallow.

“We did it.” You laugh, a little too breathless with the way she’s looking down at you with that mischievous glint in her eyes. Her gaze catches your lips, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

God, so self-assured. So confident.

Honestly, you could use a little of that confidence.

“What do you say we get out of here? Go see what this city has to offer aside from base?” She says.

Your knees nearly buckle. You have a feeling that you know what will happen off base, at least, what you hope will happen.

Technically, you wouldn’t be breaking protocol.

And with the two of you buzzing with adrenaline and boosted egos, how can you even think of saying no? You deserve to celebrate.

You leave Lackland Base and head to downtown San Antonio for the rest of the weekend, for two whole days all to yourselves.

You visit the River Walk and explore as much of the fifteen-mile long city park as you can, strolling along the banks and gorging yourselves on street food and local cuisine. No curfew, no officers screaming orders, just the two of you leisurely enjoying a Friday night beneath a soft sunset and twinkling fairy lights.

You have dinner and drinks at a quaint little steakhouse with a live band and music, the musicians donning cowboy hats, boots, chaps and all. It’s corny. It’s absolutely perfect.

The lime juice is sharp and bitter on your tongue as you throw back your third shot of tequila, lap up the salt you’ve sprinkled over your knuckles. Carol isn’t far behind you. Pretty soon, the tavern lanterns swim pleasantly before you and you sway gently to the music in your seat, blissed out, flushed, content.

Carol’s fingers fondly brush your cheek and she laughs, her eyes crinkling and you think it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. You grin back, a bit too eager and lopsided, lean across the wooden table to grasp her hand.

You drag her to the attached karaoke bar next door and slide a few quarters into the jukebox before she can stop you. The two of you belt out your renditions of Nirvana, Heart, Elastica. Your blood is warm and Carol dances beside you with wired microphone in hand, laughing so hard you’re both crying, pulse pounding behind your temples until finally the jukebox clicks with the last of your change and the next requested song is queued up.

The hotel you check into is just down the street and you practically fall through the doorway trying to get each other out of your uniforms. It’s jumbled and chaotic as you slip out of your combat gear, tripping over boots and pants as you finally touch overheated skin, giggling like children.

Disorderly when your lips meet, her hands coming to cradle your face, holding you still with a low groan, a grip that surprises you. It heightens the flush of alcohol sitting in the pool of your lower belly as you kiss her back, wind your arms around her.

You gasp when she tightens a hand in your hair and pulls, mouth ravaging the skin of your neck with tongue and teeth. She walks you blindly until you’re flush against the wall, turns you around with her frame pressing hard against your back.

Her fingers are sure and true when they cup, caress your heated flesh, not an ounce of hesitation in her. You keen, circle your hips hard into her as she works at unraveling you, forearm circling your neck, leaning to put her lips at your ear, breath hot.

“So pretty. My birdie is so pretty.”

It’s been so long since you’ve last been intimate. The military discipline over your physique has made you forget what it’s like to treat your body with love, to feel pleasure, to be touched by a young woman you’d do anything for.

“Let’s see you fly high, hmm?” She breathes. “You want it faster? I wanna see my little birdie soar. Can you do that for me?”

It’s so easy to let go.

Your flesh clenches around her and you sigh, your entire being quivering. Carol braces you, holds you close as you tremble with aftershocks, burning and burning.

Your world is hazy, melting when Carol leads you to the bed and hoists you on top of her, thighs straddling her lap. The liquid courage returns, coy when you grasp the cool metal of the dogtags between her breasts and yank her forward for another breathless kiss.

Her arms are strong, hard with muscle and hands splayed against the naked skin of your back as she coaxes you to earth shattering heights again and again. Until the grey light of day.

Sunday morning, you sleep in until ten o’clock, roused by streaming sunlight and birdsong. Peaceful quiet, a treat in itself with Carol’s arms lazily draped around you.

Your stomach drops when the sergeant cracks open the C-17 door and the atmosphere shrieks into the aircraft. Your gear is heavy, you’re sweating hard, and your Airborne Division is about to jump. You find it hard to breathe and try not to lock your knees, try not to faint. Gut wrenching, everything inside you screaming that this is suicide. Leaping from a roaring aircraft with nothing but a kevlar sac to break your fall.

You see the Airman in front of you subtly cross himself, pretending to scratch his chin.

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Fingers grip your waist. Carol stands beside you.

It’s too loud for conversation, the air and engine pressing down on your eardrums with tight pressure, but she gives you a nod, another squeeze of your hip. Her lips mouth a single word.

Fly.

Then, the men in front of you are rushing towards the yawning mouth of the plane and you and Carol are running together, side by side, fearless. And then you jump, spreading your arms, dive like hawks.

The sky is a dome of robin’s egg blue, sun shining and tipping the edge of your gloved fingers with liquid gold. You fall fast, hard. Wind rips through and around you, weightless as gravity pulls you to earth.

Pulse ramming, pure adrenaline, ten agonizing seconds of freefall. You pull the pin and your parachute deploys, rocking you backwards as the fabric unfurls and catches the air. You grip your harness tight, float through the heavens and watch as dozens of parachutes dot the horizon around you.

You whoop, shoot Carol a “hang loose”, smiling wide, goofy and vibrating with excitement.

Her laughter carries across the sky.

You’re there beside her when the two of you are promoted to officer rank. First in your class, looking out over a sea of grim, bored looking faces that stare back at you with quiet hostility.

Your officer uniforms are sharp, handsome. Crisp navy suits decorated with shining medals and visible proof that you have fought tooth and nail to be on the stage where you stand now. You wouldn’t want anyone else here with you but Carol. Your wingman. Your everything.

Your names are called and you rise together in unison as Senior Airman Dalquist pins your new patches to your uniforms.

Weeks later, you learn that Dr. Lawson’s plane has gone down. It punches a hole straight through your chest, wrenches up your insides when the news is broken to you.

After BMT, you’d lost contact with her. You wish you could have told Lawson that you’ve done it, that you and Carol are dominating the skies.

And now she’s missing.

You’re in the hangar and up in the air before anyone can stop you.

The crash site is still smoldering when you touch down at a hidden lake surrounded by a halo of pine and sand. You and Carol rip off your helmets, jump out of the cockpit as soon as your wheels are on solid ground, racing towards the wreckage of an eerily familiar F-16 Fighting Falcon.

Lawson lies slumped forward, still strapped into her seat. The glass of the cockpit has exploded all around her, leaving her open and exposed. It looks grim.

“Doc?” You say. Your voice shakes a bit, but you quickly will all fear out of your mind, take a deep breath and allow your body, your muscle memory to take over. Let your training come back to you.

You push back at her helmet visor, sit her upright. Press three fingers against the artery of her neck.

Cold. No pulse.

Then, you see the smoking hole in her chest, where plasma energy has burned through her jacket and blood drips bold and blue onto her lap.

You exhale hard, ignore the strangeness of the latter to check Lawson’s dashboard for any working electrical machinery. No luck. All fried, all scrambled from the crash.

“Carol, we need pararescue stat. Get them here.” You order.

Carol nods wordlessly, composed, turns on her heel to radio them from your own plane.

You brace yourself against the frame of the cockpit, hang your head in shock. You can’t bear to look at Lawson like this. You don’t want to remember her like this.

In those tense moments of silence, a soft, strange humming reaches your ears, seeming to emulate from the F-16 itself. You take a step back to fully survey the wreckage.

The crash has exposed most of the plane’s wiring and paneling, including the engine. Though, this is no engine like you’ve ever seen.

Monstrous, pulsing with blue light and an aura that draws you closer, pulling at your curiosity. It distracts you long enough for you to almost miss the approaching silhouette of a man from behind the suffocating smoke.

He’s dressed in a bizarre emerald jumpsuit with a blazing yellow star in the center of his chest. His step is charismatic, unfaltering.

And what scares you most is the unholstered gun in his hand.

Carol calls your name in a frantic shout.

You put two and two together. Lawson’s killer.

“We have no interest in hurting you.” He tells you, finally pausing at the crest of the crash site. His voice is surprisingly charming and it sends a chill straight down your spine.

We?

You’re afraid. Your old commanding officer, one of the strongest women you’ve ever known, lies shot and killed with blood the color of toxic waste. Her engine looks foreign, otherworldly. Your mind begins to race.

“The energy core. Where is it?” The man asks and brandishes his gun. You force your breathing to steady, to find a sense of calm. You have to focus. Questioning will make him irritable, panicking will get you killed.

Intuition is enough to tell you that the core is not to leave in this man’s hands by any means.

You catch sight of the glinting handle of a pistol resting between Lawson’s knees. You flicker your gaze away and to the proximity of the engine. Then, you look to Carol.

Her eyes shine with tears in the shimmering heat. Her body is tense, drawn tight like a bow, fight-or-flight. You fear she’ll run to you, that she’ll get herself killed trying to protect you. If the roles were switched, you know you would do just that.

So you act before she has the chance to. In one fluid motion, you draw Lawson’s gun and fire a single shot at the exposed engine.

It explodes like heat and magma. Azure energy engulfs you in a millisecond. Like lightning striking your bones, fire that scorches through your entire being and condemning a blazing death of unbearable, burning power, collapsing like a supernova reborn.

Your nerve-endings detonate, a fusion of flesh and skin and pyro that incinerates you to your very core, destroys you from the inside.

You scream, high and horrible. You’ve never felt such pain.

Your eyes ignite in crimson, red hot, flaring with light. Everything inside you rushing upwards and expanding until your mortal frame can no longer contain this threshold and you burst, combust with starfire.

The blast hits Carol next, lifting her up and dissipating, coiling like mist through her skin in synergy. She glows like an iridescent comet, blue light rolling off of her like water and waves, her own eyes flaring turquoise, then white.

When the two of you hit the ground, trees and sand bend and blow around you, knocking the man unconscious as the inertia from your combined energy throws him backwards.

You cry out as you try and hold yourself, crumpled. You are charred, your body humming with poison, radiation and flame, eager to crackle out of you at your slightest impulse, eyes still flaring powerfully.

“I-It hurts..” you gasp weakly.

A true phoenix. Broken and born from ashes.

Carol is there cradling you as tears leak down your face. Wisps of magenta and teal ripple around her with every movement, glittering with cosmic potential, like she contains her very own galaxy. Achingly beautiful.

“I know, birdie.” Carol murmurs as you choke, sputter from the pain. “Fight it. Give it to me.” She says and reaches for your hands.

Carol yelps softly when you push a bit of your glowing gold into her, as she trades starpower for fire and you watch the cage of her chest bloom like a lantern, veins and eyes rimming with ember. She does the same, giving you the moon and stars and the gleaming, lavender milky way.

You let go and Carol gasps as she absorbs a new piece of you. Your mind clears, the pain nothing more than a dull ache.

Exhaustion and shot nerves finally set in as the two of you lie there, quiet enough to hear the wind whistling through pine. You throw your arms around her, your kiss tasting like tears and sand and flushed sunlight.

Carol braces you against her, hoists your arm around her shoulders and lifts you upright. Side by side until the very end.

Then, you take to the skies, blazing like comet streaks and crimson hawks.

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x you #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel x female reader #captain marvel x you #carol danvers fanfiction #captain marvel fanfictio #carol danvers fanfic #carol danvers imagine #captain marvel drabble #captain marvel fic #carol danvers #captain marvel #marvel fanfic #reader insert

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bravebatgirl · 4 years

Text

‘I Look Like My Mother’ (a preview of the new chapter of Anne’s unfinished story

Heya Kindred Spirits. Still salty over AWAE’s cancellation? Because same. There’s still so much more to the story of our beloved fiery red-head, and I’ve decided to write my version of what I believe will encompass the next chapter in Anne’s life.

Here is a little snippet, a prologue if you will, to what will become a 15-chapter story posted on AO3. Please enjoy, and remember to keep tagging #renewannewithane on twitter

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

Dear Gilbert,

I look like my mother. My goodness… Just writing that sets my heart alight; warms my soul to its very core in a way I would never have thought possible. You’re probably rather confused at how I came to realise I resembled my long-lost mother. I should offer further explanation as to how I acquired this knowledge.

Matthew and Marilla, bless their hearts, journeyed to Nova Scotia, all with the intent of meeting with an elderly woman who knew my parents personally. They recovered a book that my father, Walter, had gifted to my mother, Bertha, and my dearest Matthew and Marilla saw to it that it was once again in the possession of a Shirley. Me! The very last of the Shirleys. It was titled ‘The Language of Flowers’, and on the very last page was the most treasured gift I could ever ask for: a portrait of my mother, drawn so faithfully by my father. She looked so beautiful, Gilbert. So regal and wondrous. Once, my freckled complexion, pale skin and, most grievously, my horrid red hair haunted me every waking and sleeping moment. Marilla called me vain for obsessing so over my disastrous looks, and she rightfully so. I placed far great an importance that necessary on my outer appearance, when it is the character that matters most. Yet, despite this, knowing that I share my mother’s own red-haired genes brought a new sense of gratefulness to me. For if I even share a fraction of her beauty, I’ll be quite content in never obsessing over frivolous things such as appearance again (plus, hers appeared auburn. Auburn! There is hope for me yet.).

Oh Gilbert, my heart has never felt so undoubtedly whole as it has this day; it seems as though all the jumbled puzzle pieces of my life are finally slotting into place. Along with this incredible revelation of my past, Diana is sleeping across from me and we are mere hours away from beginning the next chapter of our life together! The Women of Tomorrow, embarking on their educational endeavour side by side. Ruby, Josie, Tillie and Jane are also in this boarding house, just down from the hall from us. I feel so blessed that I get to continue my story with a comforting, familiar fragment of my past right by me, every step of the way. Entering womanhood seems less daunting when doing so with these girls.

Of course, another, very significant piece; one I never dreamed of acquiring, is you. I should tell you I have kept pinching myself ever since we bade farewell this after-noon. It still seems surreal, something of a figment of my imagination, that someone like you could ever be interested in someone like me. But it was real, wasn’t it? We finally stopped running away from each other and ran toward each other, finding each other in a twist of fate, time being on our side for once. My cheeks are currently aching from smiling so much. It’s a most welcome ache, though.

In regards to our follow-up questions, I’ll do my best to answer what I imagine yours may be, whilst asking some of my own. First of all, Diana relayed to me that you never received the letter I left for you. Oh, Fortuna, you do work in mysterious ways. While we may never know just how such a significant piece of paper was so heinously misplaced, I want to make it transparently known what its contents were…

That night in which you approached me at the ruins… I must apologise. I was the furthest thing from a clear mind – you can thank Moody’s moonshine for that – and I’m afraid I was rather thrown by your bold yet cryptic words. I’d been confused of my feelings since we practised the White Sergeant (though, if I’m being honest with myself, feelings had existed far longer than that), and I was still reeling from the startling divulgence at the fair that you were courting Winifred. Here was this young, intelligent, persistent man, one who had, in his own words, his future presented to him on a silver platter: the beautiful, elegant woman of high-class, the blessing of her father to enter a marriage, one that would ensure him the less-than-once-in-a-lifetime chance to study at the very most prestigious of schools. Here he was, the most promising future on one hand, and on the other… me. Who was I to stand in the way? Why would I even try to stand in your way? My response was panicked flurry of words, and I was so terribly confused. Yet, not long after… I came to the realisation that I no longer was confused, and my feelings toward you were so transparently obvious, it was as though they’d been written in the stars themselves.

I love you, Gilbert Blythe. I love your unwavering ambition, courage and persistence in striving to achieve everything your heart desires. I love the way you care so deeply for everyone close to you. I love how even though you can be daft at times, you fight for justice, and never judge a person unfairly. I love your handsome eyes and how they always seem to find mine. I’m sorry it took me so long to realise it; and even though we are a thousand miles apart, I am more than prepared to make up for lost time.

Which brings me to the first of my follow-up questions: when did you first realise you had feelings for me? And to what extent are they currently? And finally… are we courting now? Is that something we can do from such a distance? I have many more churning in my mind, but I fear I have taken up too much of your time and far too much paper. I shall save them for our future correspondences.

Oh my goodness, would you believe that I have stayed awake until almost 3am? I simply cannot wait to see what Queen’s has in store for me tomorrow, but I really must rest now if I’m to make an appropriate first impression. I’ve already a plethora of plans for making my place in this town; you may recall I told you I must be a relentless thorn in the side of those who refuse to amend the status quo? Well, my first order of business, along with getting acquainted with my fellow students, is to see what change can be brought about the treatment of the indigenous children at those poor, pathetic excuses of schools. I’ll indulge you further on my progress in later letters, but my first action is to write to ‘The Globe’ and inform them of this discriminatory injustice. Something must be done, Gilbert, and if no one else will make a stance, then I must.

I’m sure by the time this letter reaches you, you’ll have well and truly settled into your medicinal studies at Toronto; but nevertheless, best of luck, Future Doctor Blythe. Don’t let your academic drive slip just because I’m not there to provide competitive stimulation.

I wait in elated trepidation for your response, and am eager to hear just how extraordinary your new life is.

With highest sincerity,

Your Anne

P.S. Suitors are allowed to visit the parlour on Saturday afternoons between 2 and 4. If that knowledge interests you in any way.

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

Flower: Forsythia, represents Anticipation

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imagines-forthe-soul · 5 years

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YO AM I ALLOWED TO ASK FOR FATGUM AND TAMAKI AND FACESITTING BECAUSE JESUS I WOULD LET THOSE BOYS VORE THE FUCK OUT OF THIS PUSS

Tamaki Amajiki:

His fingers dug into your hips as you hovered above his face, your hands gripping the headboard of the bed with all your strength as your boyfriend worked his tongue and mouth against you. The slippery wet sounds of his mouth moving against your sopping wet cunt filled your mind with a buzzing pleasure that made you halfway hysterical, your mind not being able to piece together just why and how he was making you feel so good. However, the feeling of it all made your body feel as though it had been lit aflame as his teeth skimmed against your wet folds, his tongue lapping up at all your juices as he ate you out. Never had you felt like this when he ate you out normally, but sitting above his face with his mouth so hungrily ravishing you was a feeling you could and would probably never be able to describe. Not that you could at the moment anyway, your loud moans and cries of pleasure being the only things you could sputter out, all words being a mess of jumbled words in your mind and lost in your throat. As his tongue suddenly swiveled around your throbbing clit, a sharp moan left you, your body jerking forwards against his face as you felt the mind numbing sensation of your orgasm hit you. Waves upon waves of pleasure came crashing down onto you as you gyrated and withered above Tamaki, but his actions didn’t stop. Mercilessly, he continue to assault your clenching womanhood with his tongue, thrusting it into you as you rode out your orgasm, body burning, mind turning, and moans pouring out of you faster and louder than you could contain them.

Taishirou Toyomitsu:

You could feel his grin against your folds as he ate you out from below, his mouth moving in slow, clever moments that would be sure to tease you, only giving you flashes of white hot pleasure before he stopped his motions to pepper kisses around your thighs as you calmed down. You wish you could say you hated this, that you just wanted to get this over with so that you could get to your release and be overcome with pleasure, but you quite liked this slow game he was playing. It excited you to be above his face like this, not being able to see what tricks he could possibly have up his sleeve when his face was deep in your pussy, tongue gliding over your wet slit, tasting the sweet juices you had to offer and up towards your aching clit before sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves. It drove you wild how slow he was being but with each tiny bit of that intense pure pleasure he gave you excited you enough to keep going, to let him tease you like this until you finally got what you wanted. Before too long, Taishiro was finally satisfied with how he had been teasing you, the quivering and pulsating of your cunt being a clear indicator that you were getting beyond close to your sweet release. Swiftly, his tongue flicked against your clit, repeating the motion at such a fast rate that you could hardly keep yourself from jerking against his tongue, riding it to match his pace. The sudden change in pace made you feel as though you were flying, your mouth open wide as moans slipped out of you, your hands coming down to rest on Taishiro’s head as you felt your release fast approaching. When you finally snapped, he made sure to encase your throbbing clit in his mouth and suck hard on it as you came undone, your pleasure like a thick blanket falling around you and filling you with warmth as more of your womanly fluid poured from you, coating your boyfriend’s face and he happily took it all, his smile still ever present on his face.

Wanna see some other shit I’ve written?

#tamaki amajiki #tamaki amajiki x reader #taishiro toyomitsu #bnha tamaki #bnha amajiki #bnha fatgum #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia imagines #boku no hero academia scenarios #mha #mha x reader #mha imagines

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braincoins · 4 years

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for @yslanam, who keeps encouraging me in Dragon Age stuff, here’s more stuff from the Schism-verse that may or may not ever see the light of day. >_> (don’t get cancer, kids) Originally, I wrote this in an email to @tybunnythehellmoose, but they’re okay with sharing.

For reference, this is long, long after what’s currently published (or written [cough]); Kivral & Alistair adopted a girl named Guinevere whose parents were abusive, and basically all the Wardens have been sort of co-raising her at his point. She’s ~15 years old or so here.

Cut for brief mentions of naughty sexy times happening where we can’t really see them, and also because not everyone is interested in all this nonsense.

"You sure this'll work, mage?" Oghren grunted, holding the small statue up to his eye. It was shaped like an eye itself, though it was the size of his fist. It was carved from a smooth white stone. "Good craftsmanship, at least." Anders snatched it away from him. "Only one way to find out. The other one's in place, yes?" "Yes, yes," Nathaniel grunted. "I do know how to sneak around, thank you very much. And I actually got some help in distracting her from Alistair, not that he knew it." He grinned just a little. "He's so damn predictable." "Yes, well, he was a Templar," Anders groused. "I try not to hold that against him, though." He set the eye on a table. There were three chairs set up in a row a small distance away, and Oghren and Nathaniel each claimed a seat. Ser Pounce-a-lot was already curled up on the center chair, warming it for his human. "Now, let's see if I've got this right..." "By all the gods, I am exhausted," Kiv sighed, shutting the bedroom door by practically falling against it. She closed her eyes and soaked in the knowledge that there was strong oak between her and the rest of the world. Well, most of it. She could feel Alistair drawing near, and she tried not to smile. "Well, I promised you a back rub, and if you stay like that, it's going to be rather difficult." She considered. On one hand, Alistair's strong hands would be excellent therapy for her tense shoulders and back. On the other hand, it was unlikely this would be just a back rub. Oghren liked to exaggerate when he talked about... well, almost anything, but especially her and Alistair's sex life. If she were being honest, though, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Oh, it wasn't quite the ardor it had been in the beginning, but the right smile or look from Alistair still melted her, and by now the damnably-smug love of her life knew it. And he'd been looking at her earlier... not quite that way, but close. He'd been considering giving her one of those looks, she'd thought. He'd been scheming. And this was almost certainly part of that scheme. "I know what you're up to," she said, keeping her eyes closed. "I'm just trying to decide whether to 'fall' for your little trap or not." "Trap?! You wound me, madam! You're the sneaky rogue here, not I!" The heat of his body settled in next to hers as his hands went either side of her against the door, so she couldn't leave. He nuzzled her cheek and added softly, "You know I would never do anything you didn't want, my love." She exhaled. "But you're very good at changing my mind, ma vhenan." And then he was kissing her cheek, one hand resting itself on her hip as he pressed himself against her. She slid her arms around him almost out of reflex, and was happy to feel his bare skin beneath her fingertips; he'd already gotten rid of his shirt, at least. "Am I?" he whispered against her ear. "How good?" She tsked and mock-whined, "Oh, fine, but you do have to give me the back rub first." She finally opened her eyes as he straightened up to catch her gaze. Her smirk mirrored his own as she leaned up to kiss him. With their eyes on each other (and Alistair's back to the rest of the room), neither noticed the small, white, eye-shaped statue on the desk, with its blank, unblinking gaze turned towards the bed. "Sound's not that great," Nathaniel commented. "Who needs sound?" Oghren said, grinning at the images being projected by the eye onto the nearest wall. "They talk too much anyway." "It's sort of... strange, thinking of her as our leader when you see her like this," Anders said, petting the cat on his lap. "I mean... it's clearly her, but I'm used to..." "Her being armored?" Nate finished. "Or at least clothed." "You get used to it," Oghren told him, not taking his eyes from the scene unfolding for them. "Not that we ever got to see 'em back in camp, but we sure did hear 'em well enough. All the more reason I don't need sound." "Well it'd be nice for the rest of us," Nate put in with a faint pout. All three of them fell silent, eyes widening as things... progressed in the commander's bedroom. "Not that I have a problem with the view." "Hehe, for an elf, she's not bad, is she? Needs a bit more meat on her, but the legs are a good feature. 'Course I know how you like those elf women, Howe." "Shut it." "We have to get that man some better pants," Anders mused. "It's a shame not to show that ass off more." "Ugh!” Ogren groaned. “Look, mage, I know you swing both ways, but at least leave the comments about him inside your own head?" "I can always shut it down,” he threatened. "Don't you dare!" And Anders grinned at having won against the lecherous dwarf. Nate’s eyebrows went up. "Damn. He's... surprisingly flexible for a warrior." "Oh not you, too!" Oghren huffed. "No, no, I'm not... “ Nate protested, “I'm just saying, could you manage THAT?" He pointed at the scene. "Have you seen me?" Oghren grunted. "No wonder she can't keep her hands off him." There was a suddenly-hushed "OH" from all three of them before Anders added in, "...and no wonder he can't keep his hands off her, either." "Well, she is a rogue." Nate sounded almost proud. "What are you three doing?" All three of them jumped, so much so that Ser Pounce-a-lot skittered off of Anders's legs and ran off. Anders waved a hand and the images vanished quickly. When they saw who it was, all three of them couldn't help blushing (though Oghren slightly less so than the two humans). "Nothing!" Anders declared quickly. "Just... um..." "Testing out a magical artifact we found, that's all," Nathaniel said, not quite as smoothly as he would've liked. Because, of course, of all the people to be caught by, it had to be Guinevere. She had, in the ensuing years, become more than just an "apprentice" or a "recruit" to all of them. She was like a little sister or a niece to most of them, and Kiv and Alistair's formal adoption of her had only cemented that feeling of family. They were all protective of the girl, even as she grew into womanhood. And, apparently, despite being trained primarily as a warrior, she was still good at being a little sneak when she wanted to. Either that, or Nate'd been so distracted by the show that he hadn't been paying attention. "Uh huh. Of course." She didn't entirely seem to buy it, but she left them be, closing the door behind her again. They all sighed in relief, but Nate held a hand up to keep Anders from starting the artifact up again. He listened, straining his senses through the door. She'd yet to go through the Joining, so the rogue couldn't have the sense of her that he'd have of the other Wardens. But after awhile he nodded. Coast clear. Anders glanced between Nate and the door even after given the go-ahead, but then reactivated the device. Oghren settled back into the show happily, while Nate and Anders eased down out of their adrenaline a bit more slowly. If nothing else, the commander and her lover certainly hadn't been interrupted, it seemed. Guinevere walked as quietly as she could down the hallway. To all outward appearances, she seemed calm and unconcerned, but in her head she was chewing out her pervy "uncles". Well, her mom & dad (her current ones, not those things she'd been born to) had raised her to do the right thing, and she intended to do it. She marched straight to the door of their room (and tried not to think about what was going on on the other side of that door) and knocked. They both stopped dead at the knock. Kiv, having the most breath at the moment (barely), responded. "Yes?" She tried not to sound put out, though, frankly, it was getting on to bedtime, so even if she and Alistair weren't... well, they could have been sleeping, dammit. Or about to be sleeping. If she did sound upset, she had good reason, yes? Guinevere's voice said, "Dad, you might want to Cleanse the room." "What?" he asked. "Why?" "Just trust me. G'night." Kiv and Alistair shared a look, and he shrugged and sat up. He had to take a moment to catch his breath and focus on something more mental than physical, but then there was a wave of magic through the room and a faint "bzzt". "What was that?" he asked, looking around. "I'm not sure, but I will find out," she promised. "In the morning. Now, where were we?" In the projection, Kivral and Alistair paused and looked towards the door. "We've been sold out!" Oghren yelped. "You don't know that," Nate put in. "It's probably Garevel." "At this time of night? He knows better," Anders replied, "unless it's an emergency, and if it were, he'd've just sounded the alarm." And, sure enough, the images disappeared, leaving only blank wall. Anders flopped back against the chair. "We're doomed." "Worth it." Oghren stood up. "I got plenty of material to fill in the rest for myself, hehe." He went to leave but was stopped cold when he opened the door. Guinevere was standing in the middle of the doorway, arms folded, looking Very Disappointed - a look she'd perfected after seeing her adopted mother do it enough times. The girl had grown in all sorts of ways since she'd first come to them, but physically, she was still nothing compared to most of them (though she was much, much taller than the dwarf, of course). Still, between combat and leadership training from her very-skilled parents, she radiated a presence that seemed to fill the doorway and shove its way into the room, despite her standing still. "Did you really think I'd let you just get away with that?" "You told them?" Nate said, rising to his feet. "I told Dad to Cleanse the room." Anders groaned something about Templars ruining everything, but she ignored him. "I didn't say why, but I'm pretty sure I don't have to... do I?" She arched one eyebrow, continuing the Very Disappointed glare. "You expect us to confess?!" Anders exclaimed. "Have you met us?" Nate continued. "Still say it's worth it." "Shut up, Oghren," all three humans said at the same time. He just grinned and shoved his way past Guinevere, headed back to his room. She rolled her eyes. "She'll find out one way or another. It'll be better on all of you if you come forward first." "Ugh. I suppose you're right." That was Nathaniel, who was slightly more used to accepting his fate than the runaway mage was. "Out of curiosity, how'd you know what we were even up to?" "Sekh was trying to get at Ser Pounce-a-lot again, and he'd tracked him to this room. I shooed him off, but then I heard you three talking." Nate facepalmed so hard there was an audible SMACK! "You and that damn cat, Anders..." "Don't you blame Ser Pounce-a-lot! It's not his fault that stupid dog won't leave him alone!" "Good night, uncles," she sing-songed. "Enjoy your last night amongst the living!" Nate's lips twisted in a sardonic grin. "Ha ha. Good night, Guinevere." "Thanks for ratting us out!" Anders called after her as she walked towards her own room. "Love you too!" she called back over her shoulder.

#Dragon Age #Origins and Awakening #Schism-verse #AU #Alistair/Warden #found family #because really what the Grey Wardens needed was Found Family Shenanigans #'it doesn't have to be deadly serious all the time'

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yourmomisastrongwoman · 5 years

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How Science Fiction and the Theoretical coexist Within Feminism.

My first piece of writing that I’m submitting to this blog, journal, log (what ever this collection of my thoughts and opinions should be called), is a comparison of two texts. Over the span of a couple of weeks, my First Year Seminar course was assigned to read author James Tiptree, Jr’s: “The Women Men Don’t See”, as well as a collection of writer and poet, Audre Lorde’s work. From Lorde’s essays, I decided to focus on “Poetry Is Not a Luxury” in order to think and to discuss how different themes of feminism overlap with Tiptree, Jr’s “The Women Men Don’t See”.

The texts differ in genre - In Tiptree, Jr’s story, we’re brought along on a journey from the perspective of Don (your token, small minded, white man trope), as we read how he goes about reluctantly coexisting, let alone surviving, with three other victims (Ruth, Althea, and Esteban) through a spontaneous plane crash in Mexico. Tiptree writes an engaging story written from her take on a cis, hetero, white male perspective, that dives into the subconscious snap judgments made on women in society everyday. Lorde, on the other hand, writes a powerful essay on her feminist beliefs, more specifically how she believes that art - even more specifically - poetry, is a means of emotional communication that is too often ignored, or put on the back burner.

In both Tiptree and Lorde’s texts, the authors explore the process of finding stability in things that are alien (literally in Tiptree’s) in relation to the #strongindependentwoman - more eloquently put: the female autonomy. One wouldn’t immediately think that these two pieces of writing are similar due to the obvious fact that, on the surface, they’re wildly different from one another. However, the two unite/communicate surprisingly cohesively.

I was reluctant to love Alice B. Sheldon’s (more commonly known under her pen name “James Tiptree, Jr”) story, “The Women Men Don’t See”. Initially, I was slightly hesitant to read on as I, a 17 year old self identifying feminist, was caught off guard by the irritatingly familiar “mansplainy” tone in which it was written. Within the first page of Jr’s story, we get Don Fenton, our narrator’s, descriptions of female characters which include, but are not limited to: “small, plain, and neutral-colored”, as well as “I see the girl has what could be an attractive body if there was any spark at all” (1). Right off the bat we’re coming in strong with a problematic approach to merely existing with women. Don’s character doesn’t stray from comments like these throughout the story; it’s his point of view, it’s constant, and it’s annoying. (Yet, also simultaneously a little funny because the female reader understands that some people actually do think this way, and that is … ridiculous). What enables (and heightens) Don’s line of thinking, is his current situation and the equalizing of powers. Don is a white man; his privilege protects him on a daily basis. However, he’s currently just experienced a plane crash, accompanied by two women (Ruth and her daughter Althea), and their Pilot, Esteban (who is routinely referred to by Don as “The Maya”, unpacking a whole host of other problematic things). It’s clear that he can not stand the fact that all previous structures of a gender/racial social hierarchy have been stripped from the four, and now all are equal in survival mode.

As the story continues, Don and Ruth end up leaving camp in search for fresh water. On their separate journey Don becomes increasingly annoyed that Ruth doesn’t seem to uphold a woman’s “typical characteristics”, while his thoughts regarding her become more and more sexual. “Mrs. Ruth Parsons of Bethesda, this thrumming, private woman. How crazy can I get? … I blink away the fantasies and see a scared little woman in a mangrove swamp … she sits obediently, like a kid in a dentist chair … she nibbles her lip” (16).

The culmination of Tiptree’s story ends with literal Aliens arriving at Ruth and Don’s camp. Within the alien’s presence, Ruth’s instinct reaction is to empathize with the agitated creatures, while Don’s instinct reaction is conquer them (colonialism at its finest).

NOW HOW DOES ALL OF THIS CONNECT TO THE WONDERFUL AUDRE LORDE, AND HER INCREDIBLE ESSAY ON HOW ART IS A MEANS OF ENHANCING OUR WOMANHOOD? Well, I’m so happy this finally got brought up! Lorde spends “Poetry is Not a Luxury” detailing how by devoting time and energy into poetry, the woman equips herself with a multiplicity of tools, helping her dismantle the patriarchy that affects her everyday.

One of the biggest ways in which Lorde and Tiptree’s texts overlap, are the overarching themes of devoting oneself to something alien in order to distract. Lorde writes: “As we become more in touch with our own ancient, black, non european view of living … we learn more and more to cherish our feelings, and to respect those hidden sources of our power from where true knowledge and therefore lasting action comes” (1). This quote exists in harmony when paired with the culmination of “The Women Men Don’t See”. Ruth’s character doesn’t reach to find her “ancient, non european” roots, however, she does reach - metaphorically - and ends up exhibiting her inherent character values which include empathy. Ruth’s been so caged by Don’s male presence, when the aliens arrive it’s clear that she prefers the company from strange, extraterrestrial beings, to the white man. “‘Ruth, get over here behind me!’ She doesn’t look at me, only keeps sidling farther away. My terror detonates into anger. ‘Come back here!’ … she doesn’t turn but straightens up warily, still hugging the thing … is she actually trying to talk to them? ‘Please…’she swallows. ‘Please speak to me. I need your help’” (23). Through the natural act of empathy, Ruth is able to easily connect with the creatures through “the hidden sources of power from where true knowledge and … lasting action comes” (to quote Lorde).

Another connection between Lorde and Tiptree’s texts are the effects of power on women, and how we survive experiencing them everyday in society. Lorde writes: “As we learn to bear the intimacy of scrutiny, and to flourish within it, as we learn to use the products of that scrutiny for power within our living, those fears which rule our lives and form our silences begin to lose their control over us” (Lorde, 1). We know as women, that even though Don in “The Women Men Don’t See”, never flat out says the diminutive things that he thinks about Ruth, and frankly, women in general, it’s clear that his demeanor and overall (and I’m putting this in what I feel is best described as) “aggressive manly man white male trope’s” presence, has an effect on Ruth that she’s all too familiar with. It’s obvious that if this story was written from the perspective of Ruth, or truthfully any woman, his mannerisms would be picked up on immediately, and we would have insight on why Ruth’s character acts the way she acts. We, the female reader understand her soft, non intrusive demeanor, because everyone of us has experienced the looming presence and energy of an overly confident, stubborn, male. We sympathize with Ruth’s thoughtfulness, and end up relating to the strength that she displays by the end of the story. Lorde’s words perfectly summarize the way in which women (in this case Ruth), become accustomed to the sexist and demeaning language, portrayed through tone and energy. However, through patronization Ruth flourishes, creating bonds with the creatures, as well as ultimately escaping with her daughter to another universe. As Lorde promotes, Ruth literally devotes herself to an alien idea to distract herself from the white patriarchy, and only until she does that, she becomes free.

Through Lorde’s theoretical, and James Tiptree Jr’s sci-fi/fictional texts, we as women can learn, as well as relate to the ideas and the strategies that these authors spell out for us. Tiptree paints a character that every one of us, in one way or another, is familiar with. While Lorde stresses the importance of experiencing as well as identifying emotions along with what enables them. Both are thought provoking works that every woman is able to absorb and connect with.

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siriusordo · 5 years

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Fireside Chats

A/N: This one was inspired and written for @alyssalenko. It took me a little longer than I liked but I hope you enjoy it. I’d also like to thank my beta, @erisjadeblack!! You rock!

Fireside Chats

“Kira?” Kaidan kicked the snow off his boots and entered the dimly lit cabin. “Kira?” he called again as he brushed the snow off his jacket and took off his gloves, shoving them into the pockets of his coat. He took it off and hung it on the hook next to the door. Finally he leaned down and untied his boots, putting them on the mat under the coat hooks.

“In here Kaidan.”

“What’s going on?” he asked, following the sound of her voice through the kitchen towards the great room.

“Waiting for you,”

“Why are the lights off?” The only light in the large room was coming from a fire in the fireplace. “Is the power off?”

“Nope,” Shepard answered, “Nothing’s wrong with the power. Just setting the mood.”

“The mood?” he started to ask, just as he stepped around a high back chair and got a clear view of Shepard in front of the hearth. Kaidan’s mouth was suddenly dry as an arid desert at high noon and his words caught in the back of this throat. The only sound he could make was a strangled groan as the blood rushed to his other head. For More Read Below or: Ffnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13189167/1/Fireside-Chats AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17545550

She was like an image out of his wet dreams come to life. Kira was stretched on her side on a large black bear skin rug in front of the fire. She was wearing nothing but a sheer red lace teddy. The cups of the single tiny piece of fabric barely covered the nipples of her voluptuous breasts. It had keyhole openings down the front and four dainty bows accents. A strip of fabric disappeared between her legs and just covering the red riotous curls of hair on her womanhood.

“You ok Kaidan?” she asked with a small smile. She knew exactly what she was doing to him.

The sweat breaking out on his brow and the large bulge in his pants gave his feelings away. She couldn’t stop herself from teasing him a little more. “It’s crotchless.”

A strangled groan was Kaidan’s only answer. He could manage anything else, his body having seemingly betrayed him.

“K?” A bit of apprehension tingeing her tone.

The sound of her worried voice broke through the haze of lust and desire clouding his mind. He finally drew in a shaky breath and close his eyes against the image that would forever be burned into his memory. With a second gulp of air, and he could drag a shaky hand through his damp curls. After a third deep breath he’d managed to regain some control over his body and answered with a weak smile, “You’re beautiful and so fucking hot in that teddy but what did I do to deserve this welcome.”

“You’re you. Do I need a reason to surprise the man I love?” she asked, picking up a glass of wine that had been sitting on the floor next to her. “I just thought we could have a quiet evening together in front of the fire.”

“Oh I promise,” he started, stepping around the chair and sitting down on the edge of it, “it will be anything but quiet this evening,” a cocky smile quirked his lips.

This time Kira inhaled sharply and her cheeks had a nice rosy glow. Licking her lips she said, “You better follow through on that.”

“Oh I will,” he reassured her with a wink, leaving her speechless, just imagining what he had in mind for her later. A hunger filled the air between them until Kaidan finally broke it, changing the subject. He nodded to the coffee table and asked, “What’ve you got there?”

“Snacks,” she answered, “some figs, strawberries, chocolate and whipped cream,” naming off the foods, “A few other things.” Kira picked up a small bar of chocolate and tossed into her mouth, savoring the smooth, chocolatey taste on her tongue.

“Some interesting choices.”

“Finger foods, easy to eat and,” she stopped for a second and gave him a lustful grin, “play with. Plus, most of them have a supposed aphrodisiac property.”

“Are you trying to imply something about my,” he teased, “sexual prowess?

“Not at all, it’s just nourishment for,” she picked up a strawberry off a tray. She moved on her knees until she was in front of Kaidan. They locked eyes as she slowly reached up and fed him the berry, her grin growing. “...the long hard,” her voice dropped an octave and her fingertips lingered on her lips, “night ahead.”

Kaidan’s cock twitched at the sound of Kira’s voice, pressing against the zipper of his jeans. He moaned and chewed the fruit in his mouth, a bit of juice running down from the corner of his mouth.

Well aware of what she was doing to him, Kira dragged a finger along his lower lip and captured the errant liquid. She swiped it up with a fingertip and sucked it into her mouth.

“Kira,” he moaned warningly.

“Hmmmm?” she looked up at him, trying for an innocent look.

“Playing with fire,” he warned, voice cracking with passion.

Not saying a word, Kira continued to suck and winked at him.

Kaidan growled, a rumbling sound in the back of his throat, and reached out, wrapping his hand in Kira’s hair. She inhaled at the action, pulling her finger from her mouth and he took advantage. He pulled her towards them, crashing their lips together in a heated kiss. Things quickly escalated as Kaidan deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue in her mouth and plundered her mouth, making her moan wantonly. He explored and tasted, savoring every moment until the need for air forced him to break the kiss. He rested his forehead against hers, trying to catch his breath.

When she could think clearly again, Kira grabbed Kaidan’s hand before moving back towards the fur rug on the floor, pulling him with her. “Come down here, near the fire.”

“Yes ma’am,” he answered, happily following her to the floor.

“It’s warmer closer to the fire,” Kira grasped the hem of Kaidan’s sweater, “You don’t need this,” and she pulled it off. She scowled at the long-sleeved shirt he had been wearing underneath.

“Something wrong?” he teased.

“You’re still wearing to many clothes.” She gripped the shirttails in her hands and yanked it over his head, this time leaving him shirtless. Dragging the tips of her fingers across a nipple and down over his abs, she mumbled, “Getting better.” She traced a finger along the edge of his waistline before undoing his belt and unfastening the snap. “Lay back.”

He didn’t take his eyes off her as he lay back on the rug and rested his head on a pillow. He watched as her breath caught at the sight of the larger bulge under the fabric and she tantalizingly slowly pulled his zipper down. She grabbed two handfuls of fabric at the top of his jeans and he lifted his hips as she pulled them down, along with his boxers. He watched as her eyes glittered at the sight of his engorged cock springing free of its constraints. Sitting back, she picked up the can of whipped cream but Kaidan took it from her hand. “Not the kind of cream I want,” he said, “But it will do...for now.” Tipping up the bottle, he squeezed the tip and shot a large dollop of cream into his mouth. “Mmmmmm.”

Kira bit her lower lip and tried to reign in her rampaging hormones. She felt the heat between her legs burn out of control. She desperately wanted to straddle him, impale herself on his hard length and ride him to her orgasm but she held out. A war of wanton lust was raging inside her. A deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth and she regained some semblance of control of her body. She decided to turn the tables on him.

Grabbing the can of whipped cream out of Kaidan’s hand, Shepard tipped it over and squeezed out a small amount onto each nipple. She leaned in and licked at the cream and sucked the pebbling flesh into her mouth, making Kaidan inhale sharply. After circling his nipple one more time, Kira moved on to the other, repeating the action, licking it clean. After she finished, she sat back, looked at him and licked her lips. She was going to enjoy this. Pressing the tip on the can, Shepard placed a large dollop of cream on the end of his cock, making Kaidan inhale at the feeling of cold cream on heated flesh. She moved in and swirled her tongue around his tip, savoring the sugary treat.

“Kira,” Kaidan’s hips bucked but it ended quickly, the white cream cleaned off. “Need more.”

Unable to resist, Kira used the whipped cream to coat Kaidan’s cock from root to tip and all the way around. After she finished, she grabbed a chocolate from the tray and topped off her work, making his length look like a sundae.

“You’ve made a mess.”

“Don’t worry,” Kira straddled his chest in a reverse cowgirl, so she faced her sugar coated treat. She leaned in and rested again his chest, putting her overheated womanhood in his face and within easy reach. “I plan on cleaning it up.”

Without further warning, she took Kaidan’s member into her mouth. Surprised, Kaidan bucked underneath of her, back arching off the fur rug as he moaned in pleasure.

Kira couldn’t stop the giggle as she slid out to his tip. Taking her time. Kira used her tongue and licked him like a lollipop from top to bottom and back. She worked her way around his cock, cleaning off the whipped cream. She sucked him in a second time, taking as much of his length into her mouth as possible, until he hit the back of her throat.

“God.” he thrust up into her warm, welcoming mouth.

Encouraged by his response, Kira wrapped her hand around what was left, and began to work his length, up and down, in and out.

Trying to reign in his rampaging body and failing miserably, Kaidan attempted to focus on something else to distract himself. That ‘something else’ was right in front of him, Kira and her crotchless teddy. After taking a deep breath to try to steady his breathing, he reached out with a hand and gently pushed back her folds, exposing her small bud. He tentatively touched the sensitive flesh with the tip of his tongue, sending a jolt of electricity through Kira’s body. Encouraged he continued his explorations, licking and tasting her, lavishing her with attention.

“Mmmmm,” Kira moaned around the cock in her mouth, as her hips bucked back pushing her womanhood closer to Kaidan’s face.

She hummed around his member as it hit the back of her throat again. She wrapped her hand around the base and began to work his cock up and down with her mouth and hand. Up and down, in and out, Kira worked his length harder and faster with each stroke. They weren’t going to last long but what a way to go.

He laved more attention to Kira’s greedy center, tasting and savoring her. Kaidan felt her stop breathing for just as second when he thrust a finger deep into her womanhood. He slipped it in and out as he continued to suck her sensitive flesh. As Kaidan added a second finger, Kira’s hips rocked into him without conscious thought, keeping time with his motions. A third digit nearly made her come undone.

A needy whimper was torn from Kira’s body as she redoubled her efforts to make Kaidan come first. Kira’s head bobbed up until just the very tip of his cock was left in her mouth. For a few strokes, she sucked it in and out until she suddenly plunged down again, deep throating his length.

“Kira!” Her shouted name was the only warning she got as Kaidan’s orgasm slammed into him. He exploded into her mouth and down the back of her throat.

Savoring the taste of his essence on her tongue, Kira swallowed all he gave her until his body went slack underneath of her. She released his length with a pop and licked his saltiness from her lips, nearly purring with satisfaction.

After a few gulps of air, Kaidan decided to turn the tables and finish what he’d started, redoubling his efforts and thrusting a third finger into Kira’s willing body, pushing deeper than ever, in and out hard and fast.

“K!” she cried, rocking back on his finger. “Need…,” he words trailing off in her haze of want and need. She was so close…

...And then he changed tactics.

“No,” she whined, pressing her womanhood back into his face, desperately not wanting him to stop.

Grabbing her hips with both hands, Kaidan pulled her back and steady her until her womanhood was perfectly positioned. He shoved his tongue deeply into her overheated body as possible, in and out, mimicking the movement of his fingers earlier. He relished the sweet salty taste of her on his tongue and filling his mouth.

The edge of the abyss was so achingly close, and she desperately needed a release. Her body was taut and sweaty with need. Just a little more….in the perfect spot…. right there. The last of her control snapped as her orgasm rolled over her. She felt like she was in heaven as he continued to lap at her center. “Yes!”

Sated and exhausted, Kira lay on top of him and tried to catch her breath. After regaining some control over her body, she carefully rolled off of him and sat on the floor, resting back against the sofa. Trying to relax, she took a deep breath in and let it out slowly before she tried to start, “I…,” but words failed her.

“I know,” Kaidan said, sitting up and moving toward the treat laden coffee table. Opening the bottle of wine, he poured some into a pair of wine glasses. He picked them up and handed one to Kira before sitting down next to her. “The night’s still young,” he added with a lecherous grin before taking a sip of his wine.

“And I plan to make the most of it,” Kira retorted, making Kaidan nearly choke on a second sip. She giggled and took a second swallow too.

“We will,” Kaidan promised her with a wink, “but a snack first.” He picked up a strawberry from a tray and slowly took a bite, almost teasing Kira, savoring the sweetness.

Kira gulped. She could still feel the tingling in her womanhood and was completely aware of what Kaidan could do with that mouth and tongue. She desperately wanted more. Shaking her head to clear the haze, she decided to turn the tables because two could play this game. Grabbing a chocolate covered berry of her own, she slowly brought it to her lips. She touched the tip of the berry with her tongue, licking and tasting it. She heard Kaidan moan in response. She slowly put it in her mouth and bit through the chocolate coating. She slowly chewed and let the juice dribble down her chin.

“Damn Kira,” Kaidan shifted in his seat.

She couldn’t miss the effect that she was having on his body; his cock twitching between them and half erect. She smiled, wiped the juice off her chin with her thumb and sucked it clean. “Here,” she said. She picked up a fig and offered it to him. He took it and slowly started to chew. “Have a pussy,” she added, making him choke on it.

“What?” she innocently asked. “It looks like one.”

“It may,” he conceded after he’d swallowed. The fruit did have a startling similarity to the female body part if you looked for it. “But that’s not the kind of pussy I want to eat,” he teased back.

“And what kind do you want?” she played along.

He carefully grasped her arm and gently encouraged her to lay back on the rug. He situated himself between her legs. With one hand he pulled back her folds and exposed Kira’s hot center. “This kind,” he said huskily as he leaned in and lavished attention on her flesh.

“God K,” she moaned, “please.” She fisted her hands in the fur of the rug beneath her and thrust her hips into his face.

He didn’t respond, instead Kaidan licked and sucked her sensitive flesh, driving her to ever higher heights of passion. He licked and sucked, harder and faster, loving the effect he was having on her. Kira’s back arched off the rug when she felt his tongue dart into her heated core.

“Need,” she whimpered and tossed her head back and forth, her hips thrusting into his tongue, urging him ever deeper.

Seeming to sense what she needed, Kaidan pushed his tongue deeper into her, tasting even more of her. He slipped it in and out, faster and harder, driving them both wild with need. She was a sweaty, wanton, needy mess when he swept a finger over her swollen clit.

With a few more strokes of his tongue, Kaidan drove over the cliff and she flew apart, coming hard and gasping for breath as she thrust her hips, meeting him stroke for hard stroke. Kira’s orgasm rolled over in waves, each one stronger than the last. Finally, as she slowly came down from her high, Kaidan slid up her body and positioned himself at her ready entrance, his tip slipping into her heat.

“Yes,” she pleaded, stroking his back with her fingertips, “please. Need you in me.”

Resting his weight on a forearm, Kaidan leaned in and crashed their lips together. His tongue shoved past her lips, pillaging her mouth and taking what he needed, making Kira moan in pleasure. When he had her sufficiently distracted with the kiss, Kaidan sheathed himself fully inside of her heat in one powerful stroke. She screamed into the ksis, back arching off the rug beneath her. The feeling of being inside her was paradise and it felt like home. Pulling all of himself out but the tip, he waited a moment before thrusting back into her, filling her to capacity and more.

This time Kira broke the kiss, pressing her head back into the fur, she cried out her passion. “Kaidan...yes!”

He set a fast pace, thrusting his hips into her and driving himself deeper into her with each powerful stroke. He was pushing them ever closer to oblivion. “Close,” he mumbled lowly.

“Please,” she agreed, kissing him. She met him stroke for stroke.

“Fuck,” he said, burying his face in her neck. His movement became uncoordinated and his pace erratic. “Kira!” he shouted as his orgasm hit him and he shattered inside of her. With a final thrust he came hard, filling her. The feeling of his hot cum was deep inside of her body was all it took.

“Kaidan!” she moaned in return as she clenched down on his hard member and her orgasm sweeping away any other thoughts.

The feeling of her walls clamping down on his length and milking him for everything he had caused Kaidan to arch his back and call out in turn. “God.” After a few more thrusts and finally spent, Kaidan’s arms gave out and he lay down on top of Kira, covering her with his larger body. He gasped, trying to catch his breath.

“That was,” she said, kissing his shoulder.

“Just the beginning,” he added as he slipped his cock out of her, making them both feel the loss keenly. He rolled off from her and lay on his side next to her. He pulled her close, facing the fire, his back to her front. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her back into her. “The night’s still young.”

“Love you,” Kira said.

“I love you too,” he answered, kissing the top of her sweaty head.

Wrapped up together, they watched the fire burn in the hearth. Nothing else mattered. Just this moment, here together. Slowly they relaxed and drifted off into a light slumber...together….

The End….

#Mass Effect #female shepard #Kaidan Alenko #fshenko #fanfiction #my stories

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vardasvapors · 6 years

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u kno. that first description of Elrond (and Arwen!) in imladris.......

Thanks for allowing me to select an actually-500-word snippet!! :P I decided on this bit:

In the middle of the table, against the woven cloths upon the wall, there wasa chair under a canopy, and there sat a lady fair to look upon, and so like wasshe in form of womanhood to Elrond that Frodo guessed that she was one of hisclose kindred.

I know I’ve already joked about the arwen = luthien + arwen = elrond thing and gotten a ton of appreciative notes on that one post, but this amuses me EVERY TIME.

Idk enough about uh, medieval? or smth? feast culture to know if the canopy is something significant or not. Anyway I like how this is specifically singled out as a high day and a feast, not a regular dinner.

Young she was and yet not so. The braids of her dark hair weretouched by no frost, her white arms and clear face were flawless and smooth, andthe light of stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night;

Sometimes I wish Tolkien wasn’t so hopelessly soft-hetero – we NEVER get this kind of sigh-worthy description of male characters, even the super elaborate descriptions of men’s good looks has an intractably un-gay (not no homo) vibe

I really like and appreciate again the focus on the eyes – the descriptions of arwen and elrond’s eyes – grey as a clear evening/night, with a light of stars in them – contrasts very sharply with the description of glorfindel’s (”bright and keen”) and gandalf’s (”under great snowy brows his dark eyes were set like coals that could leap suddenly into fire”), and was definitely not a trivial detail. I also really love how observant frodo is. ofc his impressions were probably consolidated by additional later interaction, but still.

yetqueenly she looked,

heeheeheehee sorry i’m just. so taken with the finduilas parallels. they’re so much more actually character and plot-existent (rather than conceptual on a completely different level) than the luthien ones, and so overlooked.

and thought and knowledge were in her glance, as of one whohas known many things that the years bring.

again i really like how this sharply contrasts as well as compares with elrond (”was written the memory of many things both glad and sorrowful”) and glorfindel (”young and fearless”). Arwen is very different from them both, in different ways.

Above her brow her head was coveredwith a cap of silver lace netted with small gems, glittering white; but her softgrey raiment had no ornament save a girdle of leaves wrought in silver.

Tolkien does the texture and flavor of images so well with words….ALSO….I had a crush long before i ever saw either an illustration or the movies, neither of which compare, or knew i was remotely bi, so.

So it was that Frodo saw her whom few mortals had yet seen; Arwen, daughterof Elrond, in whom it was said that the likeness of Lúthien had come onearth again; and she was called Undómiel, for she was the Evenstar of herpeople. Long she had been in the land of her mother’s kin, in Lórienbeyond the mountains, and was but lately returned to Rivendell to her father’shouse.

This “her whom few mortals had yet seen” combines SO fascinatingly with the repeated emphasis of her association with (preference for?) lothlorien as being as central to her character as her luthien and peredhil heritage; the fact that “Arwen” breaks from the El- scheme of all the rest of her family related by blood to her father’s side (not to mention is literally just another form of galadriel’s father-name “Artanis”), and with lines betraying a wildly different opinion of the dunedain and level of familiarity with human death than her father and presumably her brothers (”not till now did I understand the story of [the numenoreans] and their fall, as wicked fools i scorned them, but now i pity them at last”).

(I’m also like 100% sure this, plus the lothlorien thing, is what elrond meant about her regarding aragorn (”Lady of Imladris and of Lórien, Evenstar of her people, she is of lineage greater than yours, and she has lived in the world already so long that to her you are but as a yearling shoot beside a young birch of many summers. She is too far above you. And so, I think, it may well seem to her”), as far as he wasn’t wildly bullshitting an excuse (imo not very far :p) but that’s more conjecture.)

BUT STILL the Undomiel/Evenstar of her people is SOOOOO linguistically delightful

But her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, were out upon errantry: for theyrode often far afield with the Rangers of the North, forgetting never theirmother’s torment in the dens of the orcs.

LMAO THANKS JIRT. WHAT’S MOMS. WHO’S FEMALE CHARACTER. uh anyway. this kind of random “btw also this horrible thing in the middle of this dreamy passage” is i THINK a patented recurring tolkien Thing. i can’t actually recall other examples at this moment in lotr rather than the silm, but it’s good. Um, anyway. I REALLY like this immediate sharp contrast between arwen and her brothers’ relationship with the dunedain rangers, see above. And the very strong and memorable hint about Elladan and Elrohir’s characters in such a brief phrase. A+ job.

One of my less divergent gripes about Celebrian here is that imo the very affecting foreshadowing/parallel to Frodo is woefully minimized, even though LOTR, especially the pre-fellowship-formation section, is absolutely loaded with foreshadowing of Frodo’s arc and fate.

Such loveliness in living thing Frodo had never seen before nor imagined inhis mind

FRODO/ARWEN IS A GOOD SHIP I WON’T HEAR ANYTHING AGAINST IT. no really like, the few brief interactions, observations, and exchanged glances of Knowing that are exchanged between Frodo and Arwen are imo some of the most piercing and memorable and affecting passages in the books.

#ivanaskye #vaporous answers #arwen

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coraliviaith · 3 years

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Jane the Virgin- Chapter Twenty-Three

In Season 2, Episode 1 of Jane the Virgin, Jane has just given birth to her and Rafael’s son, Mateo. Not long after he is born, however, Mateo is kidnapped for a ransom by Sin Rostro, the show’s antagonist. Michael, Jane’s ex-fiance, quickly uses his position as a detective to help return Mateo to Jane and Rafael. Meanwhile, Jane’s dad (a famous telenovela star) spreads the news of Mateo’s kidnapping, and accidentally ends up sensationalizing Jane’s virgin birth. When Mateo is found safe, Jane spends the rest of the episode anxiously worrying over the well-being of her newborn son, turning to the counsel of her mom and abuela for breastfeeding advice, while Rafael, feeling left out, turns to Michael for advice on how to assert himself as a new part of the Villanueva family and as Mateo’s father. In a separate, but connected story-line, Rafael’s ex-wife, Petra, debates secretly inseminating herself with Rafael’s sperm so she can have him in her life again.

Jane, a 23-year-old Venezuelan American, is the main character of the show, and it's clear that her identity as a Latina woman is central to her understanding of herself. The show itself is loosely based off of a Venezuelan telenovela, and so, in many ways, has foundations in dramatized Latinx tropes and stereotypes. Jane’s mom, Xiomara, represents the sassy and sexy Latina, while Jane’s grandmother, Alba, fits the devoutly Catholic and excessively strict archetype, thoroughly invested in protecting the virginity of her granddaughter, moreover. But while the show might at first present them in this seemingly narrow-minded way, their centralization as the main characters of the show actually allows for them to explore the complexities of these characters and challenge the stereotypes in which we’re meant to think they represent. The show, thus, takes on an essentially Latinx perspective—and arguably a mostly Latina one, as it centers itself on the unique experiences of Latina womanhood and sexuality. While the main male characters, Rafael and Michael, are both white, Latina women remain at the forefront of this narrative.

Furthermore, while the show doesn’t venture far outside the gender binary—with no trans or gender non-conforming characters mentioned—it still seeks to represent gender and sexuality in a meaningful way. Jane’s sexuality is a central theme of the show. Her grandmother instills a fear in her about protecting the sacredness of her virginity that lasts even through her pregnancy. While it was meant as a well-intentioned way to prevent Jane from facing the same challenges her mother Xiomara faced with a teen pregnancy, it serves as a representation of the ways in which women’s sexuality is used against them as a means of control. The importance of Jane’s virginity as a function of her worth is further solidified through her Latina-ness and its relation to Catholicism. Other female characters in the show, like Petra, a white woman, for example, do not experience the same degree of anxiety over the relation between their worth and sexuality as Jane does because of her identity as Latina.

Petra’s womanhood is different to that of Jane’s, but still remains central to the show. She is conventionally beautiful and feminine, yet known for her cold and calculated, arguably non-feminine nature. In this episode, we see Petra questioning her worth because of her undesirability to a man, her ex-husband Rafael, who is now in love with Jane. Her desperate plan to get him back by secretly inseminating herself with his sperm is her way of becoming desirable again through another mode of femininity. Petra doesn’t see herself as very motherly or even wanting kids in the first place, but motherhood seems to her the only possible next step in validating her womanhood. Similarly, in this episode, Jane struggles with her self-worth as a new mother in her challenges with breastfeeding Mateo. Breastfeeding is often described as a difficult and rewarding journey for most moms, and this episode does well to represent it as such, watching Jane struggle and enlist the help of other women in her life. The episode didn’t spend much time reflecting on the masculinity or gender of the male characters, but its focus on the different experiences of womanhood and sexuality were an important function of this episode specifically.

Finally, Jane the Virgin’s structure as a telenovela posits it in an inherently Latinx context, which means its thematic content involves Latinx problems. While this episode may not have been very politically motivated, others focus on issues of immigration or reflect on the economic stability of the main female characters living in the working/middle class. This episode lacks a serious political focus, but the sensationalization of Jane’s virgin birth serves as a reflection of the ways in which women’s value is shaped and commodified. Nuns who were once cruel to Jane capitalize off of her story and sensationalize it further to promote Catholicism. Jane has no say in the narrative she’s a part of, and paparazzi violates her privacy to sell a good story. The episode doesn’t portray this whole scenario as anything more than a comical and absurd inconvenience, but it is still an interesting examination of sexuality and womanhood as it relates to shaping narratives about women and their value in society.

— Admin Olivia

Works Cited:

“Chapter Twenty-Three.” Jane the Virgin, written by Jennie Snyder Urman, directed by Brad Silberling, CBS and Warner Brothers, 2015.

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distant-rose-archive-blog · 7 years

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I'm not going to lie, I'm trash for the concept of Hook and Emma's daughter being with Gideon and I totally want to see some Beth and Gideon action but I am super intrigued by the mention of Jim Hawkins as Beth's SO and how that plays out. If you're not too busy and are up to it, would you mind giving us a taste of that relationship?

You and a lot of other people have made comments about Beth/Gideon interaction in the Little Pirates universe. Unfortunately (I guess), that will never be a serious romance in either Little Pirates or Ever After series. Though I did think about it and Beth/Gideon is something that happens very, very briefly and it’s something neither party had an invested interest in. The first romance I ever conceived for Beth was actually with Ariel and Eric’s son. However, this was nixed when I decided to fully commit to my pirate outline for Beth and I decided to really work on her having those types of adventures.

Out of all the ships I’ve worked on for either series, Beth and Jim is probably the most fun and the most frustrating because it takes them FOREVER. They meet when Beth is 19 (Jim is 27. He’s 8 years older than her) and finds herself stranded in the Enchanted Forrest, looking for a way to get back home. It’s this adventure that really kicks off Beth as an individual and gives her an actual identity that she’s proud of. Jim and Beth are not an immediate ship by any means. It literally takes them five years to admit they have “chemistry.” However, the two lovely ladies who actually know all of my plans/ideas for the Ever After series will both tell you that Jim and Beth (or JimBeth as we’ve calling it) is one of their favorite ships for this universe. I have a lot written for these two already, which is why it’s jumping my queue. So with that being said, here is 2,300+ words written from Jim’s POV on the first meeting between 19 year old Beth Jones and 27 year old Jim Hawkins in the Enchanted Forest. Rated: T+

Jim Hawkins was twenty-seven and four years out of the navy when Elizabeth Snow Jones caught his eye for the first time. She was a willowy creature who looked like she just entered womanhood, with wild dark hair and cunning green eyes, sitting at Captain Isaac’s card table with an over confident smirk on her face. She was dressed like no woman or whore he had ever seen, but it didn’t necessarily bother him or any of the other patrons. They were in a ship port after all and people from all walks of life stopped and took temporary sanctuary here. She was just another exotic creature; a temporary fascination really. A dangerous one too, Jim noted almost right away as he watched her play cards with some of the nastiest bunch of cheats that Jim had the displeasure of knowing. Just by looking at her, he knew that she was more of a card shark than a pretty face; there was strategy in the way she held cards against her chest but low enough that the men at the table had an ample view of her exposed cleavage. Everything about her screamed trouble.

“That’s tragedy waiting to happen right there,” his boatswain Falken remarked, following Jim’s gaze. “She either naive or overly confident if she thinks Isaac is going to let her leave this tavern with both the gold and her virtue. Pity because she’s a young pretty thing.”

Jim made noise of agreement, but his brow troubled at the thought. He knew Falken was right. Captain Isaac had a horrible reputation of not only disemboweling anyone who “cheated” him of his winnings, but also one of being rough with women. Jim had found everything about him distasteful but knew better than to make it his business. He tried to play hero many times before when he was in the navy and when he started out again as a pirate. It always ended badly, especially for him. John Silver had always told him that his sense of justice, honor and duty would get him killed someday and it had taken Jim nearly four years to agree with his old mentor and foster father. Still, he watched the game anxiously with a knot in his stomach growing with every round she won.

“Well, it’s been fun, boys!” The young woman smirked as she drew all the gold into a leather pouch, which had been stored inside her strange leather jacket. “But it’s late and time for me to leave.”

Jim nearly groaned when she stood up from the table. He knew exactly what was coming and he had no desire to witness this. It was one of the things he really hated about this life. Jim had no stomach or tolerance for senseless and unwarranted violence. He had kicked many a talented crewman off of his ship for such unsavory behavior. She was half way through her escape when Isaac and his men stood up, one of them lunging forward and catching her by her long hair. She let out a surprised yelp as she was pulled backwards. The entire tavern turned to watch the ugly scene, but no one made a move to stop them. Jim’s hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles turning white.

“Oh, but the fun is only beginning, lass,” Isaac sneered, roughly grabbing her cheek and pushing his thumb into her flesh; hard enough that Jim knew it would leave a bruise. Her eyes went wide as she caught the implication in his words. “Did you really think I was going to let a cheating whore like you leave?”

A protective angry flare caught aflame inside of him. It was a curious thing to realize that there was still a sense of honor in him after all these years. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sit by and watch Isaac roughen up this young woman. Jim was reaching for his saber before even giving conscious thought to it. Jim was a military trained swordsman as well as a large man whose strength was rarely matched by his peers. If anyone could handle Isaac and his men, it would be him.

“Jim, don’t,” Falken warned, placing an arm on Jim’s shoulder. He paid his boatswain no mind, allowing the righteous fury to fuel him as he brushed the hand away and pushed forward. He could hear the man muttering about navy men and misplaced honor, but Jim disagreed. There was no way he was going to let Isaac violate a woman who was barely more than a child.

Jim pushed his way forward, sword in hand and eyes blazing with anger. Isaac and his men stared at him in shock, not used to anyone interfering with their affairs. The girl in their custody also appeared to be taken aback as well. She obviously hadn’t expected anyone who to help her. Perhaps she wasn’t that much of a fool after all.

“Leave her be,” Jim commanded hotly.

“You really want to fight us, Hawkins?” Isaac laughed in astonishment. “Over some cheating and whoring doxy? I’m not sure if you remember, but you’re not a navy boy anymore, you self-righteous prick! You’re a bloody deserter and I will gut you like the scum you are and fuck her right on top of your corpse.”

At his words, Jim saw red and he moved forward to spear Isaac with his sword when the girl speared him instead. She had pulled a knife that appeared to have been stored beneath her leather jacket and stabbed Isaac in his soft part of his belly. It was obviously to Jim that she was comfort handling a knife, but he could tell by the expression she made as she pierced his flesh that this was her first time actually stabbing someone. Her face was reflection of horror, shock, hysteria and, more eerily, fascination. However, she didn’t let these emotions completely over take her as she kicked backwards to free herself from the crewman’s grip on her hair. Someone had taught this young woman to fight and they had taught her well.

Isaac fell onto his knees. His scream of agony made the hairs on the back of Jim’s neck stand on edge. Jim didn’t allow himself to ponder too much on Isaac. He knew from experience that the wound was a fatal one. He was more worried about the woman child getting out alive. He reached forward, bringing his saber down on a man’s arm as he tried to grab her. As the man clutched his now bloody stump with incredulous expression, Jim saw his own crew leap into action and join in on the fray. The girl whirled around, watching the action around her with a look of shock before she met Jim’s gaze with almost feral eyes.

“Come with me if you want to live,” Jim barked at her, gesturing towards the door with the nod of his head and making an impatient movement with his bloodied sword. He watched her eyes bounce between the blood covered sword to his face. Her expression on her face made her decision clear.

“If you say so, Arnold,” she replied faintly and Jim decided not to acknowledge her odd response with words, but rather took a firm grip of her arm and forced her towards the door as all hell broke loose. She trailed after him, masterfully dodging the bloody brawl that was happening around them, though Jim could feel her shaking a bit under his grasp. He hoped she didn’t go into shock.

Once they had safely left the tavern and were good way down the docks near his ship, Jim released his hold on the girl and glared at her in annoyance; pushing her away from him slightly. She was trouble, he knew it and he got something involved anyway. He had been stupid and impulsive, getting himself tangled with her mess and endangering his crew alongside himself. Silver was right. His misplaced sense of honor and justice was really going to get himself in trouble someday.

“What in blazes were you thinking playing cards against Isaac? If I hadn’t stepped in, his men would have raped and murdered you regardless of that little knife stunt back there,” he shouted out her, reaching forward to grasp her shoulders and give her a firm bodily shake.

She surprised him once more by slapping his hands away, straightening her back and glaring back at him. Her eyes narrowed into slits and flashing dangerously. Jim watched as her nostrils flaring like an angry bull’s. Instead of wilting under his frustration and looking at him in fear like he expected her too, she looked pissed off. She was a strong one, he had to give her that.

“Forgive me, but I didn’t know that. I was in dire need of cash and just in case you haven’t noticed, but I’m not exactly from around here!” She shouted back at him, gesturing to her clothing.

It was a strange ensemble of a short leather coat, scandalous skintight green shirt, a pair of odd blue trousers and the most bizarre pair of boots that Jim had ever seen. The most curious thing that caught his eye however was the necklace. Around her neck on a silver chain sat a dark steel fishing hook that was shaped in an odd way. He had absently noted her strange clothing before, but it had been pushed to the back of his mind in favor of focusing on the angry wasps nest she had created inside the tavern. Her clothing was fitted in ways that weren’t necessarily fashionable in the Enchanted Forrest and he had never seen such material used to make clothes before.

“What the hell has you so desperate that you’re playing cards with criminals?” He asked, studying her hard. She shifted under his gaze uncomfortably, the first sign of possible weakness that he had seen from her all night.

“I am in desperate need of finding something and I was hoping to raise enough money to get myself an expedition crew,” she responded vaguely.

“And what exactly are you looking for?” He asked, curiosity taking over anger for a moment as he regarded her with a raised eyebrow. She was a strange girl from a different land with a spine of steel, eyes for mischief and a penchant for trouble. He found her fascinating in all the ways that Silver would disapprove. He wouldn’t do anything about it however. She was far too young for him; at least nine or ten years his junior he was willing to bet.

She seemed troubled by the question and Jim could tell by her expression that she was debating whether or not it was worth it for her to tell him what she was looking for. He couldn’t possibly imagine what this girl would want that was so dire or valuable that she couldn’t tell him. There wasn’t much left to the Enchanted Forrest in the decades that had passed since the Dark Curse.

“A magic bean,” she replied in a hush tone. “Like I said, I’m not from around here. I didn’t necessarily come here willingly and I just need to get back home.”

Jim’s eyes went wide and he immediately thought of the secret treasure that went beyond just Florin gold back on Flint’s Treasure Island. He pushed back on his heels for a moment, contemplating his options while studying the look on her face. She still looked annoyed but in her eyes, he could see her sincerity alongside fear and determination. In the end, it wasn’t much of an option for Jim at all; misjudged sense of honor indeed.

“I know where to find a magic bean,” Jim started, pausing to lick his cracked lips. He could see by her expression that her proverbial ears had perked. “I could take you to one if you like…” He trailed off, firmly pausing the ball into her court.

“Really?”

“Aye,” Jim replied firmly. “And I will take all of that lovely gold there alongside something else as payment.”

The girl’s green eyes went even wider from a moment before she narrowed them at him, anger and wariness lurking behind the surface. He watched her fingers fidget and recognized it for it was, the movements of someone who was ready to fight tooth and nail in order to survive. She left her knife behind in Isaac’s stomach, but Jim wasn’t sure what else she had stored underneath the jacket. He didn’t know whether to be offended or amused at the obvious dark place that her mind had taken her to. However, he couldn’t necessarily blame her. She was in a tough spot and she didn’t know him. She couldn’t afford to trust him though he was being entirely genuine.

“Oh,” she said, almost sounding casual. “And what would that be?”

“Your name,” Jim replied with a small chuckle. She looked at him in disbelief.

“My name?” She repeated incredulously.

“Your name,” he affirmed, slightly amused.

“Elizabeth Swann,” she replied cooly, and she said it with such conviction that it didn’t register to him at that moment that she had lied to him. The wariness in her eyes and posture dissipated but the annoyance remained. It was obvious to him that this “Elizabeth Swann” had a backbone of complete steel.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Swann. My name is James Hawkins. Most people call me Jim, but you can call me Captain of the Silver’s Spell.”

#asks #anon #answered #little pirates #beth jones #jim hawkins #ouat future fic #captain swan daughter #jimbeth #my fic #my shit #ever after fic #little pirates fic #jim meet beth #ever after

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