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whitedarkmoonflower · 1 month

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The promise

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female) Authors note: am I back on my angst track? yeah, probably so and I love it. Sorry 😅 Warnings: angst, hurt with very little comfort, implied sexual abuse, attempted suicide - yes it has a happy ending 😉 Summary: for his own good you wrung a promise from Sihtric that left your both hearts bleeding Word Count: 3,8 K

"Come with me, and I'll show you the world," the wind whispered, playfully tousling your hair. You reached out as if trying to grasp the warm air swirling around you. Mischievous, it only chuckled at your futile attempt, echoing the birds' songs heralding the dawn of a new day. It tangled in the tattered remnants of your dress, gathering fallen leaves from the ground and whisking them into a wild dance before carrying them away, allowing them to cascade onto the jagged rocks below the cliff.

"I can't fly," you murmured, tilting your head and marveling at the way your fingers shimmered in the light of the rising sun. Your slender, weathered hand, adorned with blisters and scratches, suddenly appeared fragile and exquisite, almost translucent and aglow in the gentle blue and orange hues of the early sunlight.

"Don't worry, I'll catch you," the playful breeze assured, its caress gentle against your cheeks, almost imperceptible in its fleeting softness. It stirred a memory, a distant echo of tender touches long forgotten, as if they'd never existed.

You flinched at the sound of small stones loosening, merrily cascading down into the abyss, while you adjusted your weight and shuffled your bare, dirt-stained feet, as you leaned against the rough logs of the fortress's sturdy outer wall.

"Can I trust you?" you wondered, eyes wide open, captivated by the soft hues painting the horizon.

"I'll lead you to him. Just one more step, and you'll be free," the wind enticed, its gentle laughter fading into the distance.

A silent exhale escaped your lips, swallowed by the hushed whisper of the wind. "Wait for me. I'm coming with you."

You had faithfully kept your promise, day after day, mustering the strength to carry on. Day after day of waning hope, hope that never truly had the right to exist. Had he kept his promise? A single tear traced its path down your cheek, leaving a salty trail in its wake. Yes, he had. And that’s why you were here now, determined to finally break yours.

"Please, let me see it," rough yet gentle fingers cradled your chin, lifting your head as they carefully swept back the strands of hair obscuring your face.

He was too close, his breath lingering heavily upon your skin, the scent of ale from his lips wafting to your nostrils. You loved the warmth of his body, a stark contrast to your perpetually cold hands. You loved his arms enveloping your shoulders, drawing you close in an embrace, an unfailing source of comfort for you. You lived for that shy smile of his mismatched eyes, as he affectionately tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear or brushed imaginary dirt from your cheeks, too timid to touch you otherwise.

The first time he had dared to kiss you, your breaths mingling as his lips weightlessly hovered over yours, made your heart skip a beat. But not today.

You struggled to maintain shallow breaths, attempting to alleviate the dull ache that persisted each time your lungs expanded, stretching your ribs. With eyes tightly shut, the grinding sound of your gritted teeth echoing in your ears, you sensed his fingers trembling ever so slightly as they delicately traversed the purple and blue marks around your eyes, and traced the red lines etched across your cheeks, halting at the corner of your mouth. His thumb's touch, as he sought to remove dried blood, elicited a wince, the sharp sting from the pressure on your swollen lip for a short moment overshadowing the ache in your ribs.

You had refused to cry. Not when the weighty ringed hand struck your face, sending you sprawling. Not when the coarse fingers, like iron claws, tangled in your hair and forcefully yanked your head back, the repugnant stench from the rotten, yellow-toothed mouth assaulting your senses. Not when…

No, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you broken. Your body could bear the bruises, your body might be his, your soul and mind remained your own.

It was only later that you realised it wasn't your brokenness he had sought. It wasn't your tears he had yearned to extract.

You didn’t want to cry now either, but the tears betrayed you, burning in the corners of your eyes despite all your efforts.

"Did he do that to you?" It sounded like a question, but both of you knew the answer all too well. The pounding of your heart intensified with each passing moment. You tried to calm it, to quiet its thunderous beats, but it refused to heed your silent pleas, transforming into a tumultuous roar of war drums in your ears.

You trembled, the sensation starting deep within, a subtle quiver that steadily expanded, wresting control of your body from your grasp.

"It's my fault," a whisper reached your ears, and you snapped your eyes open, Sihtric’s trembling voice cutting through the deafening thud of your heart.

You wanted to speak, but the words got caught in your throat, only a loud sob managing to escape through gritted teeth as you took a step back. The rough surface of the stable wall brushed against your skin through the thin layer of your ragged clothes, denying you an escape.

You had always found solace in the scent of fresh straw, the rhythmic snorts of the animals, and the comforting warmth emanating from their bodies. This was your hidden refuge, where you sought shelter night after night. It was here that Sihtric had found you, his gaze almost passing over you until the traitorous moon slipped out from behind the clouds, revealing your presence as you held your breath in the farthest corner.

Your own weight suddenly unbearable, you sank to the ground, leaning against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around your knees as you buried your face.

"Go away," you demanded, your breath catching in your chest. You attempted to sound resolute, even angry, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. "Please, just leave me alone," your voice cracked, morphing into a soft, pleading sob.

Sihtric’s arms hung awkwardly by his sides, his entire body tense, his fists clenched and unclenched with anger, his gaze caressing your crouched and trembling form on the ground, unsure whether he could approach you, whether he could touch you.

He had tried to protect you, to care for you, quietly and unobtrusively. Yet, in doing so, he had unwittingly become your doom.

The sight of you shattered his heart, again. He hadn’t realised it could be broken more than once. He had believed it dead, burned by the flames that had greedily consumed the pyre, erasing the last remnants of the only person who had ever shown him kindness and love.

He had believed himself incapable of love, of caring for another, of feeling anything beyond the all consuming hatred, anger and thirst for revenge. That was all before he had met you.

There was something in your eyes as you glanced up at him, your dishevelled hair cascading loosely over your shoulders and falling across your smudged face, as you were towed in a line of new slaves behind the sturdy black stallion carrying Tekil.

Your hands were bound, your clothes half-torn and soiled, your bare feet stumbling as you made your way forward. He felt the urge to turn away, to hasten down from the ramparts to attend to his new master. The horse needed care, the weapons required cleaning.

You looked up, and your gazes met fleetingly, like a wounded deer gazing in terror at the encroaching predator.

But there was more than fear and despair in those deep, wide eyes. A hint of defiance mingled with resilience and a spark of life. There was such a strong will to live, a resolve to survive in those large, tearful eyes that seemed to bore into his mind, glimpsing into his very soul.

He knew the life awaiting you would shatter that resolve, break you, erase even the faintest trace of your own will, wrapping you in suffering and self-loathing like a glove wraps the hand. And he couldn't bear the thought of it. He couldn’t bear that there was nothing he could do about it. Or could he?

You lingered too long, gazing at the young boy on the upper ramparts. The sudden tug on the rope fastened to you caught you off guard, causing you to lose your balance and emit a cry of pain as your knees collided with the hard ground.

Sihtric’s hands instinctively clasped Thor's hammer around his neck, his lips forming silent words of an unspoken promise, a vow, to not let that happen, to not let that spark be wiped off. Not letting go of the pendant, he prayed to the gods for the day he could whisk you away from this accursed place and witness a smile lighting up those beautiful eyes.

From that day forward, his seemingly futile existence had acquired a new purpose. A hesitant smile exchanged in the hallways, a warm, compassionate glance shared in the great hall, a hand that didn’t take a swing, but stretched out to help you back on your feet, that was all he dared to offer at first.

He saw your red, swollen eyes, your diminishing frame with each passing week, the trembling of your hands as you served ale, and the deepening darkness in your gaze. It was not enough. He knew he was miserably failing to uphold the promise he had made to himself and to the gods.

The feast in the great hall of Dunholm was in full swing. Laughter filled the room, mingling with drunken revelry, boasting of recent victories and tales of triumphs. Sihtric sat at the long table on the left, squeezed between Tekil’s men. It was his first time being permitted to join them there.

Tekil wasn't a cruel man; he was a steely, battle hardened warrior, yes, but not one who reveled in the suffering of others. He had taken Sihtric in after the execution of his mother. He had vouched for him before Kjartan, pledging to mould him into a warrior. And there Sihtric sat in his father's great hall, striving to remain unnoticed, to hide himself behind the sturdy frames of the other warriors, his fingers wrapped around the ale mug, yet hesitating to lift it to his lips.

You were in the midst of serving ale, shuddering each time a rough palm landed on your buttocks, laughter echoing through the hall as you refilled mugs and set pitchers on the tables. Sihtric's eyes tracked your movements between the tables, hastily averting his gaze each time you seemingly turned his way. As you approached his table, a sudden warmth flooded Sihtric's cheeks, his heartbeat quickening.

"I see you've taken a liking to this little bird," Sihtric nearly jumped from his seat, hearing that all too familiar voice in his ear, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder. "She's far too bony for my taste; you can have her," a sly smile curved Kjartan's lips as he turned to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you roughly closer with one swift motion.

A soft yelp trembled on your lips, causing Kjartan's smile to widen into a grin. "Come on, boy. Saddle this mare, show me you're a man. Tekil promised he'd shape you into one."

With a forceful shove from Kjartan, you stumbled into Sihtric's lap, the laughter from all sides echoing through the air, assaulting your ears. Two strong arms encircled your waist and effortlessly lifted you. Desperate to break free, you attempted to wriggle out of the grip, but the jovial laughter in the hall only grew louder as you were hoisted over a broad shoulder and carried away.

Sihtric slammed shut the door of his tiny, windowless room, setting you down on your feet. You retreated instantly and your back collided with the solid door, eyes fixed on Sihtric, unable to quell the shaking of your limbs. By now, you knew he was Kjartan’s son—a bastard, yet his own flesh and blood, surely eager to please his father and earn his recognition.

"Please," it was barely a whisper, a silent breath trembling on your lips, your voice caught in your dried-up throat as you lowered your gaze, unwilling to appear as though you were challenging him. "Don't hurt me."

You understood your plea was likely in vain, that he didn't care. But there was nothing else you could do, so you begged, hoping to strike some hidden chord behind those large, oddly mismatched eyes that had followed you so many times.

You had thought them kind, seeking solace in them amidst the crowded hall, grounding yourself in the warmth of their gaze, clinging to the hope of having found a soul not tainted by malevolence, perhaps even a friendly one to guide you through your misery.

It had all been an illusion—a dream twisted into a nightmare, as you felt Sihtric’s rapid breath on your neck, his well built frame looming over you. "Please," you repeated, your voice trembling uncontrollably, words dissolving into soft sobs as your hands panickedly crumpled your skirt.

The terror in your voice sent a shiver down Sihtric’s spine. You saw him as the enemy. You thought him like his father—someone who relished in the suffering of others, ready to assert dominance through force for his own amusement. And he couldn’t blame you for that. As much as he cursed the legacy running through his veins, he was who he was. His father’s son. Shame burning him from within, like that pyre fire, erasing his sweetest memories, he reached out to place his hands on your shoulders.

"I won't hurt you. Do you hear me?" But you didn't. Panic had engulfed you entirely, the rush of blood in your ears deafening, the frantic pounding of your heart pushing you to the brink of consciousness, your senses sharpened to a painful clarity.

This was the moment the other women had warned you about, the moment they had tried to prepare you for. "Don't resist; it will only make it worse," they had told you.

"Don't resist," their warning echoed in your mind. But you couldn't. The moment two rough palms landed on your shoulders, you screamed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you fought in fury against them, your cries ringing through the room.

Sihtric released you instantly, hastily stepping back with his hands raised in the air, trying to show he meant no harm.

"Please, just listen to me," he pleaded, but you were too consumed by fear to register his words. Your eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for an escape, but finding none, they settled back on Sihtric. Meeting his gaze, you bared your teeth like a wild animal, your breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps, as if preparing for a leap.

"I won't touch you," Sihtric's soft voice gently washed over your alerted senses. Why would he say that? What kind of trap was this? Thoughts fluttered through your mind like startled birds. "I… I'm not like my father. I mean you no harm, I swear," Sihtric took another step back, giving you space.

"W-what do you mean?" you stuttered, pressing yourself even harder against the door as if trying to meld with it.

"You are safe with me, I promise," Sihtric's eyes searched your face expectantly, hoping for some sign that you might consider believing him.

And oddly enough you did. Against reason, against everything you had been told and warned about, you believed him. You wanted to believe him; you had nothing left in this world to believe in, and so you chose to believe in the young man standing before you, in that warm, friendly, and inexplicably sad fire burning in his eyes.

You placed your small, cold hand in his outstretched palm, slowly and carefully, holding your breath in anticipation, your heart pounding against the cage of your ribs. He took a step closer, leaning in until his forehead touched yours.

"Please, don't be afraid of me," he whispered, his arms tentatively finding their way around your shoulders, as if afraid you would push them away again. But you didn't. You allowed yourself to melt into his strong embrace, burying your nose in Sihtric's broad chest as tears of relief soaked his leather armour.

"Stupid boy, you didn’t even hump her," Kjartan's words struck Sihtric like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. "The bitch was still a virgin."

Sihtric's legs turned into heavy logs, a desperate urge to flee coursing through him, yet he remained rooted to the spot under his father's scrutinising gaze. "Maybe I was mistaken and you didn't even fancy her?" Kjartan continued with a grin. "Tell me, scum, do you prefer boys instead?"

Not a muscle twitched in Sihtric's face as Kjartan's hand rested heavily on his shoulder. "No, I was right. You desire her, you crave her," his hot breath in Sihtric's ear seared him.

"You should have heard her. A feisty little thing, squealing like a pig. You know I enjoy it when they resist. It makes it much more enjoyable," Kjartan patted him consolingly on the shoulder, a wicked smirk forming on his lips, then turned to leave. "Tekil has a task, and he's taking you with him. You're departing at dawn tomorrow. Now, go fetch your little bird and enjoy her before it's too late."

It had all been in vain. Those hidden lingering glances, those fleeting touches, those stolen kisses in the secluded corners of the kitchen away from prying eyes—they all amounted to nothing. He had failed to protect you, to shield you from harm. Instead, he had inadvertently brought about your downfall, as he hadn’t managed to hide how much you mattered to him.

"Go away," you cried out once more, lifting your head to meet his gaze. The pain in his large, searching eyes squeezed your racing heart, prompting you to quickly look away. You didn't blame him; he was the sole reason your existence in this place had felt somewhat bearable. But it was all too much. Your own pain was enough, and you couldn't bear to add his to the burden.

"I can't," a throaty whisper escaped his lips as he lowered himself to the ground, aligning his height with yours, and gently crouched by your side. You shuddered at the touch of his arms around your trembling frame, yet you couldn't muster the strength to push him away.

You sat in the moonlight, surrounded by eerie shadows that danced around you each time an impish cloud attempted to obscure the large, pale disc in the dark sky. No words were needed; the enveloping silence spoke volumes, conveying more than any sound ever could.

"I'm leaving tomorrow at dawn," Sihtric's hoarse voice seemed to come from another world, and you heart stopped beating. The darkness crept from the corners, slowly enveloping you, draining the remaining colours from your life. "Tekil is taking me with him. It’s going to be a long trip, not just an ordinary patrol."

Turning your head, you reached out and cupped his face, your thumb gliding over his wet cheeks as Sihtric leaned into your touch.

"Promise me something," you whispered, summoning strength you didn't know you possessed.

"I will come back to you, I swear. I'll return, and one day I'll take you away from here," Sihtric's hand found yours, pulling your palm to his lips where he placed tender kisses upon your wrist.

"No," you vehemently shook your head. "No, this is your chance, Sihtric. Promise me you will not return. Promise me you'll do everything in your power to escape, to leave this cursed place behind and never look back. Promise me," your voice grew louder, your eyes searching his. "Promise me!" you demanded, desperation creeping into your tone.

"What? I... I can't... Don't you see it? Don't you feel it? I love you. Do you understand what you're asking of me?"

"I know. And God is my witness, I love you too. But if you love me, you'll promise me this. And you'll keep that promise, Sihtric Kjartansson. Knowing that you have a chance for a new life away from this hell on earth is the only thing that will keep me alive," your voice quivered with excitement.

Will he miss me? Will he remember me? You bit down on your tongue, forbidding yourself from voicing these questions that swirled in your mind. You had to let go. You had to set him free. This was the only way, the only chance, at least for one of you.

"Promise me," you insisted, your gaze locked with Sihtric's, glowing with a hint of madness.

"I'll give you that promise, if you swear to keep waiting. If you swear to not give up on this life," Sihtric's fingers squeezed yours painfully.

"I promise to keep waiting for you never coming back," you pledged without a moment's hesitation. "I promise to carry on, to endure. For you."

"I promise," Sihtric's voice broke as he tried to speak the next words, but your expectant, feverish gaze compelled him to continue. "Then I promise not to come back."

"Swear it," you demanded, wrapping his fingers around the pendant on his neck.

"I swear," it was barely a whisper, just a silent breath, escaping his lips as he gave the oath that was breaking his heart. He pulled you into his embrace, lips nuzzling your hair, inhaling your scent and feeling your soft skin under his fingertips, as he tried to store it all in his memory forever, not feeling ashamed for the tears trailing down his cheeks and disappearing into your dishevelled hair.

Weird sounds emanating from within the fortress drew your attention away from your memories—men shouting and hounds howling. You covered your ears with both hands, attempting to stifle the daunting sounds. It wasn't the first time Kjartan entertained himself by setting his hellhounds on some poor soul who had earned his wrath.

It was time. You were ready. Straightening yourself, you parted from the rough, grounding wall behind your back.

"One step, just one more step into freedom," you whispered to yourself, closing your eyes.

You shuddered upon hearing your name being called, the sound reaching you from the other side of the wall, oddly familiar. No, it couldn't be. You shook your head in an attempt to dispel the illusion your mind was conjuring to confuse you.

With eyes closed, you raised your foot for your last step, feeling the ground disappearing from beneath you, ready to fly away, to trust the alluring promise of the wind you knew to be insidious.

You cried out in despair as you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back. Eyes still shut, you fought against them, believing Kjartan’s men had found you, until a soft voice from your dreams spoke your name again, causing you to finally open your eyes wide with disbelief and fear as if seeing a ghost.

“Why did you break your promise?” was all you managed to whisper.

“To prevent you from breaking yours,” two mismatched eyes sadly smiled at you. “Kjartan is dead. You are free.”

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07 @mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw @siimonesvensson @sigtryggrswifey

#sihtric x reader #sihtric #the last kingdom #tlk #tlk fic #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom fic #sihtric fic #angst #hurt #sihtric x you

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thankyouforbeingsowrong · 8 months

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i realised that i never sent you an ask and was horrified -- so, how about sweater weather or if someone already sent that in "this is a very long hug now sort of hug" (a bitch is trying to romanticise autumn and all the dark days and rain it will bring😭)

Don’t be horrified haha, I still haven’t finished your last prompt from forever ago, SORRY XD

BUT I will say it was extra motivating to come up with something to help you through the autumn blues. Also, I took sweater weather quite literally here, and it's decidedly not rainy, but I hope you like it! (I’m thinking thoughts about that long hug though...I might do another autumn ficlet with that, for your health of course 😉)

[Soft prompts list is here if anyone else wants to suggest something 😊]

James straddles the bench seat of the picnic table, watching the smoke from his cigarette drift away on a crisp breeze. September has brought more changes than just the season this year, though he still appreciates the colours of the trees as they gently sway, the early falling leaves fluttering gracefully to the ground.

Quiet Sunday evenings always seem to possess an aimless, ephemeral quality to James; caught between the past and the future, but somehow disconnected from the present. It’s a calming sort of feeling, when he’s in a receptive mood. He closes his eyes and exhales another slow stream of smoke, feeling the wind ruffle his hair.

James turns at the sound of approaching footsteps, smiling his thanks when Robbie hands him a pint, before he catches on to Robbie’s barely concealed smirk.

“New jumper?” Robbie asks, his tone light and teasing.

“What?” James looks down at himself and groans internally.

“No, it’s nice, just not your usual style.”

The jumper in question is a perfectly sensible dark green knit, but he will concede that there is a large, bright orange cat emblazoned across the chest. Not his usual style indeed, or even particularly well-fitting, but it is surprisingly comfortable—one might go so far as to call it cosy, even.

“It was a birthday gift.” James sniffs, turning his glass on the table.

“From who, your gran?” Robbie chuckles into his pint.

James makes a pinched face and Robbie grins. “No—was it really?”

“I think her eyesight’s going.”

James had come straight from visiting her to the pub, forgetting he’d put the bloody thing on before he left. He’d wanted to show her he appreciated it, knowing she must have had to ask someone at the care home to help her get it for him.

“Well, I think it’s sweet, did she tuck a fiver in the card as well?”

“Not quite.” James reaches into his pocket and pulls out a 50p coin. Robbie laughs again, the sound slips like a warm sip of whisky into James’ belly.

“She’s got the right idea, about the jumper at least—it is starting to get a bit nippy.”

James stubs out his cigarette in the ash tray on the table. “Did you want to move inside?”

“Nah, ‘s nice out here.” Robbie gestures around them with his glass. “All the colours. I like this time of year.”

“Well, if you get too cold, let me know—you can take a turn with the jumper, it’s a bit wide around middle for me.”

“Oi, watch it. You’re in your mid-thirties now, lad. It’s all downhill from here.”

James squints ahead. The sun is beginning to sink towards the horizon, casting long shadows of the trees that shiver and ripple like water across the grass.

“I don’t know.” James lights another cigarette, tipping his head back and blowing the smoke above him, hoping the wind might carry it high over Robbie’s head. “It feels rather the opposite to me. Full of possibilities.”

He looks over, gratified to see the warm affection in Robbie’s gaze.

“Aye, no age limit to possibilities, that’s for sure.”

They sit for a while in comfortable silence, sipping their drinks and watching the world move around them, until James starts to feel a restless energy welling up.

“I think I need a walk.”

“It’ll be dark soon.” Robbie warns.

“All the better to hide my jumper, lest some feline-obsessed mugger tries to take it for himself.”

Robbie rolls his eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”

James inhales with surprise as the honest answer jumps to the tip of his tongue, twisting his hands in his lap to steel his resolve.

“Whatever you like.”

Robbie smiles softly at him and finishes his drink.

“Well, who am I to argue with the birthday boy? Where to, James?”

“The destination’s not really the point,” he muses, picking the direction with the least resistance out of the beer garden.

As they set off together towards the river, Robbie puts a hand on James’ shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“It’s actually quite soft this, I like it.”

He runs his hand up and down James’ back a few times, the feel of it like an electric current running through whole left side of James’ body. It’s all he can do to put one foot in front of the other, matching Robbie’s pace, step for step.

James reaches out, their hands finding each other by touch, fingers weaving easily together. He looks up at the sky above them as it blooms into vibrant streaks of pink and orange, and they wander on, with the invigorating autumn breeze fluttering at their backs.

#fic prompt #itv lewis #robbie/james #this just poured out of me this afternoon Alex #i hope it makes you feel hopeful <3 #I'll tidy up these prompt fills and put them on AO3 when I'm no longer dying of a chest infection x

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valkeakuulas · 9 months

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1. Slow dancing with Rex/Gregor or 36. Giggling during sex with Wolffe/Fox 😉😉

I honestly had to flip a coin in order to choose the prompt. 😂 Here, have some old men being soft and still very much in love.

1. Slow dancing + Rex/Gregor (Rebels Era)

Rex sat outside one of the containers-turned-housing, watching impassively as the setting sun bathed the huge coralline formations surrounding the Chopper Base in deep reds and oranges. Were it not for the unique shapes of the giant coral mesa, Rex could've sworn he was once more back on Geonosis.

The fingers of his right hand curled, forming a fist as the memories of the two battles Rex had fought on that cursed dust ball surged forward, faces of vode long gone passing through his mind's eye.

A hand on his shoulder startled Rex from his brooding and he turned to find Gregor standing in front of him, blocking Rex's view. The other man was looking down at him with a knowing but sad expression that told Rex that Gregor knew he had been thinking of.

Gregor didn't ask if he was alright since they both knew the answer. Wolffe might be the one to show his bitterness most openly but the two former Captains were no strangers to moments of melancholy.

Instead, Gregor slid his hand to cup the back of Rex's head and Rex let himself be pulled forward, resting his forehead against Gregor's midsection. He breathed in Gregor's scent, a mix of dust and the weird tangy soap Gregor liked to use. Rex used it and the warm hand resting against his scalp to pull himself from the past and into the now.

"Thanks," Rex said after a moment.

Gregor hummed, using his thumb to caress the back of Rex's neck.

They might've stayed like that for a bit longer (Rex wouldn't have minded that) but then the music started to float inside the housing containers. It wasn't what Garazeb enjoyed listening to, so someone else must've commandeered the receiver: a soft, velvety voice crooned words of yearning and long nights missing their loved one.

Rex snorted and nearly said how cheesy the song was when Gregor shifted, stepping back.

"Up, I want to dance with you," Gregor informed the other clone with a grin.

"Dance? Now?" Rex asked, confused but letting himself be pulled up to his feet.

"Yeah. It's been a while since we danced together."

There was a sparkle in Gregor's eyes and, as it was so common these days, Rex found himself unable to deny his partner.

After all, it had been quite some time since they had had the chance to dance together. The last time must've been some months before the Phoenix Squad hit Seelos, dragging the old veterans out of the desert and back into another battle.

Chuckling, Gregor tugged Rex right against him, their chests pressed together, and placed his hands on Rex's hips. "C'mon, let's show me that footwork, Captain," Gregor teased, "need to find out if you're still nimble enough."

Huffing, Rex wrapped his arms around Gregor's shoulders, giving the other man a wry look. "And what if I don't meet the muster? Are you going to give some extra training, Captain?" he asked in return, smiling as it made Gregor snicker.

"Is that what it's called these days?" he mused, cheeky, and it was Rex's turn to laugh.

Gregor started to sway them in time with the music, holding them in place. Rex sighed and pressed his face into the crook of Gregor's neck, closing his eyes as he enjoyed their closeness.

He and Gregor might no longer be as young as they once were. They might have a lot less hair these days and their youthful leanness had been replaced by much more comfortable padding but Rex still loved every bit of Gregor as much as he had back in the Clone Wars.

The sun touched the horizon, casting its last rays on the Chopper Base.

The song had changed some time ago but the two old clones kept dancing, following the gentle rhythm only they could hear.

#Captain Rex #Captain Gregor #Star Wars: The Clone Wars #Star Wars: Rebels #catsarefurrypeople #asks #askbox writing prompts #valkeakuulas writes AKA butchers English grammar

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dreamsinthewitchouse · 1 year

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Hiiii my beautiful, angelic baby dino 💓💫🥰💘

I know I've pestered you with plenty of messages today already, but what's one more, right? So for that fic ask game you reblogged, I am thinking I remember you saying you probably would never write a kid fic, or a cowboy AU, and I think you probably also wouldn't write lactation kink 😂 (I am so sorry, I just had to think of sometbing extreme lmao)

Any of those you wanna give a whirl? 😉 I love you, my sweets!! 💕💕💕

Baby giraffe! 🥰💕💕💕

Look, I know you know I know what you were doing, giving me these particular tropes, so I'm just... gonna give you exactly what you wanted, okay? 🥺💗 Okay.

So pls enjoy some soft™ vibes from this Stucky kidfic cowboy AU I dreamed up for our beloved @otp-holic 💘

Steve followed Bucky into the stables, where Mackenzie was sitting on a folding chair in front of Sunflower’s stall.

“He was beginning to be afraid he had come to the wrong planet, when a coil of gold, the color of the moonlight, flashed across the sand.” She looked up from her book, blinking slowly. “Oh. hi.”

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Steve said, walking over to Mackenzie and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You up for a little chat?”

She nodded, closing the book and pressing it against her chest, her eyes now fixed on Bucky.

Bucky took a few careful, measured steps towards her, scooting down on his haunches. “Hey there. I’m Bucky. Your dad told me your name is Mackenzie?”

Mackenzie nodded again, glancing sideways at Steve. He smiled at her, reaching over the door of Sunflower’s stall and scratching him behind the ears.

“Yeah,” she eventually said, picking at the tattered corner of the book.��

“That’s a nice name.”

“Yours is funny.”

“Mac, come on,” Steve chided, very gently, his fingers slowly unraveling a knot in the horse’s mane.

Bucky huffed a soft laugh, tilting his head to the side. “Bucky? Yeah, it is. My name is actually James, but my sister started calling me that before I could even walk, and it stuck.”

Steve let out a breath he didn’t realize he'd been holding, something tugging at his heart. Mackenzie looked like she was trying her best not to smile.

“What were you reading to him?” Bucky went on, nodding towards Sunflower.

“The Little Prince.” She showed Bucky the cover, well-loved and worn. “He likes it when I read to him.”

“I’m sure he does. Do you mind telling me what else he likes?”

“Apples,” Mackenzie said after some deliberation. “Especially red ones.”

Bucky nodded solemnly, his eyes so kind Steve forgot what he was doing. Sunflower flicked his ears, leaning demandingly into his touch.

“Yeah, they’re my favorite, too.”

“She’s a really great kid.”

The sun had dropped low, hanging lazily over the orange-washed horizon.

“Yeah, she is.” Steve looked at the beer in his hand, the edge of the label peeling away with condensation. “I just hope I’m doing a good enough job with her.”

“From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re doing an amazing job.” Bucky took a long pull from his bottle, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

Steve tried, and failed, not to stare.

“Uh, thanks.” He felt a flush creeping up his cheeks, and he busied himself with fidgeting with the cuff of his flannel. “It’s just been tough, y’know, since her mom passed. My nephew Peter is helping me homeschool her, and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“You’d do just fine, Steve,” Bucky said, his voice soft and low. “But I’m glad you’ve got people helping you. You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

Steve looked up at him, frowning.

Bucky rubbed his knuckles across his mouth, the look on his face turning inwards. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean it like— just, forget it. I was out of line.”

“No, c’mon.” Steve finished his beer, lowering the bottle on the porch by his chair. “I think I need someone reminding me of that.” He hummed under his breath, looking out across the paddocks. “I mean, I can be a bit stubborn, sometimes.”

“You don’t say,” Bucky deadpanned, his voice light with poorly hidden laughter.

#cowboy stucky #tumblr writing #writing asks #minnie 💖💖💖#t 💛💛💛

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thereluctantherosrose · 1 year

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Horizon Zero Dawn/Forbidden West: Alvad Doodle Comp

Sooooo *cough* ya I'm back at my Alvad antics cuz I love them sm and they both deserve so much love.

Was playing FW the other day and just like thinking about like the different convos happening in game. Like Aloy seeing how really alone Elizabet was even though there were people around her that loved her, she kept pushing them away. I mean, look at just how loyal Tate was to her, he had multiple opportunities to betray her, but he didn't. He remained loyal. And despite how cold Liz could be, he never stopped believing in her vision, and in her. Aloy sees that she is following a similar pattern by pushing away her friends.

When she sees Zo and Varl together, I saw some people thinking that Aloy was jealous because she wanted Varl, but I moreso interpreted it as she is realizing how much she has become isolated by her own actions and how much she wishes she had that sort of close and deep connection with someone. You can also see it when she is speaking to Talanah about Amadis. Of course she is happy for her friends and such, But it is making her reflect on the mistakes she has made and the repeating pattern that Elizabet started years ago.

She isn't invulnerable, and that's so very evident in her first encounter with the Far Zenith. Up until now, she has been up against people (Shadow Carja) that were on a similar playing field in which Aloy had the advantage.

But now you have these new intelligent beings with technology way beyond her comprehension, and she realizes just how vulnerable she is. She can no longer do this alone.

A quote from Game of Thrones comes to mind actually " The lone wolf may die, but the pack survives". The Nora may have made her an outcast at first, but now she is the one who is making herself an outcast now. But it doesn't need to be. Her friends understand that she is worried about them, but it's their choice to follow her and risk their lives. Why should Aloy be the only one having to make sacrifices? They are equally as worried for her safety. She isn't just a tool to be used and disposed of, which she has been treating herself as such. And I believe Forbidden West really does open up her eyes to this, and truly thinking about "the after" that she has been avoiding thinking about. She is only a young 20 year old woman who does want a normal life for herself, Beta and her friends, and that is an even stronger motivator than she even originally had.

And this is where romance can truly happen. She wasn't in the right mindset before, and had almost closed herself off from any possibility of human connection because she only had that one goal in mind and only put the burden of it all on her shoulders alone. Through this self discovery journey in FW, she really sees how much she wants connection, and one of those connection may end up being Romance.

Sorry about my ramblings hahaha anyways. I really hope that Aloy can have the love she deserves, and if that ends up being Avad, i will be super super happy, because I think they really complement each other like the Sun and Moon @flamehairedsiren 😉 hehe (btw check out her Sun and Moon Alvad fic. I swear I've read it 1000000 times lmfao 😆) Both Avad and Aloy have been through so much deserve good things ;; 💖 (Also *pushes Beta and Erend together* you two kiss too lmfao)

#horizon: zero dawn #horizon forbidden west #alvad #sun king avad #aloy #aloy of the nora #avad x aloy #erend x beta #elizabet #travis tate

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blossom-adventures · 1 year

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Character Themes!

I was tagged by @bougainvillea-and-saltwater to share the themes I have in mind for my characters (you can find hers here) thank you for the tag my dear ☺️💙

Now, I almost exclusively listen to soundtracks so you’d think this would be easy for me, but unfortunately not, I have that many to choose from on the playlist I made for Far Horizons & Ancient Stones that I was spoilt for choice on which to pick 😆

You’ll notice I like the soundtracks for Final Fantasy games 😄 they are incredible and they work so well for my characters

You can find some more of my playlist choices here ☺️

Hopefully the links on the tracks work too 😉

Jaina

One of the many tracks I have chosen for Jaina is The Face of Boe from Doctor Who, by Murray Gold. It’s such a lovely piece of music that shows a side to Jaina that is more gentle and caring, rather that the strong and fierce Dragonborn, I think it shows her vulnerability too

Kaidan

As Kaidan is Jaina’s sword and shield as well as a close friend of hers I knew that the following track would work really well for him. Of Muscle and Mettle from Final Fantasy 15 (Episode Gladio) by Yoko Shimomura. It’s an incredible piece that I love listening to

Kristof

Kristof is a character who still hasn’t turned up in my story yet, but he will be a very prominent character, eventually joining Jaina and Kaidan on their journeys, he is my Dawnguard Protagonist and I have planned his backstory a little, so I think this track would work the best for him. The Price of Freedom from Final Fantasy 7: Crisis Core by Takeharu Ishimoto. This piece… it just works for him so well and I love listening to it so much

Jaina, Kaidan & Kristof (Team Dragonborn)

The track that I think works best for my “Team Dragonborn” theme would be… Living Legacy from Final Fantasy 7: Crisis Core by Takeharu Ishimoto. It’s got most of the themes from the game which I have also incorporated into my own playlist here and there so it just feels right to use it as well

Skjor

Ok, this track is specifically for moments between Skjor and Jaina, it works so well (I seem to say that for a lot of them don’t I 😆 but it does) Homecoming from Final Fantasy 15 by Yoko Shimomura. It’s is such a beautiful piece and I can just imagine Jaina and Skjor sitting on the steps of Jorrvaskr having a quiet chat 🥰

Farkas & Vilkas

I have tracks for the twins separately but I thought I’d share one of them that I have for them both. Auridon Sunrise from Elder Scrolls Online by Brad Derrick. Like the track I’ve chosen for Skjor, this is more of a theme for them and Jaina, I really enjoy listening to this track

Ulfric

When I made this playlist, Ulfric was the hardest character to find themes for, it was such a challenge but I think I’ve managed it with this track. Vestige of Hope from Elder Scrolls Online by Brad Derrick. This track works well for Ulfric before he and Jaina become close, it shows his power and title really well, it’s a very bold track.

Ulfric & Jaina

Because I couldn’t choose between two I thought I’d share them both, they both work so well for moments between Jaina and Ulfric in different ways, I couldn’t leave one of them out. Living Sculptures of Pemberley from Pride & Prejudice by Dario Marianelli. And True Love from Final Fantasy 15 by Yoko Shimomura. They are both perfect for moments between Jaina and Ulfric (honestly I could have put 3 or 4 tracks on here for these 2 but I have to show some restraint 😆)

Thanks again for the tag… I got a little carried away 😆 ☺️ 💙 🌸

#blossom rambles #skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #oc: jaina #dragonborn #blossom’s oc #ulfric stormcloak #kaidan skyrim #skjor #farkas #vilkas #blossom’s oc kristof

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sam-glade · 11 months

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Happy WBW! Are there any fun or interesting physical geographic features in your setting that you'd like to tell us about?

-moonluringfrost

Hi Frost, thank you💜

Of course I put something fun in the setting of The Fulcrum, who do you take me for?😉

Lornai, the Fulcrum, the sacred city, lies within the Fracture. Outside the Fracture is a uniform plateau, with its Southern cliffs diving into the sea. However, a perfectly circular section of it looks like it has sunk to the sea level. That's the Fracture - a wall of cliffs that encircles the land surrounding the city, almost impossible to scale. It's opened up access to copper and tin deposits, but at the same time it makes land access to the area very difficult.

The Fracture intersects a river - Lornai is located at the mouth of this river. And while yes, there's a waterfall as one might expect (and a lift powered by a waterwheel), there's also a curious feature known as the Shattered Skies.

Here's a description of the view from the top of the waterfall:

… stands over the precipice. Her talons curl over the edge, gripping the clumps of grass there. She closes her eyes, lifts her head, opens them again. She looks straight ahead, towards the horizon. It is a crisp line, past the parasol forest, past Lornai, past the mouth of the Radiant Bay. Past eerily flat, smooth sea, smoother than the stones of the highway. She has never looked so far, and she now considers it underwhelming.

It isn’t much different from the view from the higher levels of the ziggurats or the sight she was treated to on the way up to the Shattered Skies. In fairness, she enjoys it more when she can see the intricacies of the patterns on the upsides of the parasol caps, and the details of the ever-moving waves on the water. From so high up, the details blur, blend together. It certainly is grand, but at the same time intangible.

So she turns around. More forests part to make way for the river - the same one that plunges down from below the Shattered Skies to feed the Radiant Bay. The forests are familiar - the same parasol mushrooms grow up here as down below. Similarly, the river is no different. … cranes her neck, looks upstream, only to see more forests in the distance, blanketing the flatlands.

She then looks up, at the sky, and her knees go weak. Overhead, lumps of rock that form the Shattered Skies, loom, hover, unreal and terrifying. She flinches, struck by a panicked thought that they will come crashing down, squashing her, and the Peacemakers, and the Land Treader with her raptor. The rocks’ undersides are dark, the descending sun illuminates their sides, casting their shadows far towards the East. The rocks are angled, pointing to the top of the waterfall. No, not towards, but away from it. They look like a spray of sparks from a smith’s hammer, suspended in time and space.

#the fulcrum #snippet #wbw #ask and i shall answer

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zusy-hunter · 2 years

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This is just a oneshot about MC and the mwaf that wouldn't let me go since yesterday, special thanks to @duskwoodfanfic for plantig that in my brain 😉

Hypnotized

You walk on this lonely dirt road, the sun is still below the horizon and fog plays around every single-minded step you take.

You didn't tell anyone where you were going, you wouldn't have known how and deep down you just didn't want them to know.

Earlier this morning your cell phone woke you up, someone had sent you a message. A location and the comment "If you want me, here I am". You didn't think about it for a second, you just got up, put on the first thing you saw and set off.

Something had changed in the last few days, you hardly understand it yourself, it is as if something is pulling you to him, as if it were predetermined. And that feeling is yours alone. You protected it like a treasure, you kept it a secret, what should you have said to the other anyway? That he had crept slowly into your head, lodged himself in your thoughts and was unwilling to leave and you don't want him to. It's like you've stood on the edge of the abyss for so long that you want to let yourself fall into it, just to see what is waiting there for you.

Before you reach the edge of the forest you check the location on your phone. He has to be very close, you're sure of that. Not only because of the location he sent you, you can literally feel his eyes on you.

Slowly you search the forest with your eyes until your gaze meets his. He is hard to make out through the mist that flows from the forest like water, but for you there is no doubt. There he was, leaning casually against a tree, wearing the same mask as always, not moving a bit, waiting for you to make the first step.

You feel like you can't breathe, your heart is beating up to your neck and it's like everything else is blurring around you. You know you should be afraid, you should call Jake or someone from the gang, but right now you have only one goal, only one thing that matters ... Him. Your phone slowly slips out of your hand and falls to the ground as you take the first steps in his direction.

It's not like you have a choice, you just have to answer his call, no you WANT to answer his call, there is this deep desire in you that pushes you forward and so you follow him into the depths of the forest, just like hypnotized.

#Duskwood #mwaf #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fandom

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mysticsparklewings · 2 years

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Whew! I did it, Sparklers!✨   Anyone remember a post very similar to this one back in mid-November?

If not, a recap: Last month I played Animal Crossing: New Horizons when I could and used the game to keep up with a daily theme challenge hosted by ProjectEducate over on DeviantArt. Each day I designed either a room, outdoor area, or clothing item that somehow ties back to that day’s theme.

This was a fun challenge, but I figured a “batch post” would be a little easier to overlook if this isn’t content that interests you, but still show I have been flexing my creative muscles at least a little bit while I’ve be relatively quiet online.

So here’s Days 16-30, the last half of the Challenge! And I am SO GLAD to be done with it so I can hopefully take a nice long break from daily creative commitments for a while! 🥳

There were several times where I came close to missing that midnight deadline and even a few points where I considered just not bothering anymore…But I’m too stubborn for my own good. 😆

That said, I also hope to spend December now focusing on getting back to some more “normal” art, which I’ve been missing since…Oh, maybe mid-September or so.

But if you guys wouldn’t mind me posting Animal Crossing stuff like this intermittently going forward, definitely let me know! 😉

If you’d like a little more detail on my thought process for each day, I did post them as I finished them to to my DeviantArt with descriptions!

#animal crossing new horizons #animal crossing #acnh #30 day challenge #video games #theme challenge #acnhupdate #happy home paradise #ac new horizons #phantasiaisland #phantasia #acnhdesigns #mysticsparklewings #xxmysticwingsxx #nintendo switch #nintendo #ac designs #dress address #creator code

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sevilemar · 2 years

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Bird Primary/Bird Secondary

Alright, nonny of the many submissions, let's get into your secondary. Just a general note so you know where I come from and what I'm looking for: I think a lot of the behaviours you told me about are survival strategies that you use to protect yourself. I recognise a few of them myself, but because I am not trained in any kind of psychological work at all, I am often not sure where survival and self-protection stops and your sorting begins.

For the purpose of sorting you to the best of my ability, I'm focusing on the parts that give me the most sorting vibes. That does not mean that your survival strategies are unimportant or invalid. It only means that I am not qualified to discuss them or validate them in any way. If that is what you're looking for, maybe give professional therapy a try? Shc is a powerful tool, but compared to the life-changing effects of professional therapy with a therapist you trust, it's just an incredibly fun way to pass the time 😉

I guess one can get/ be used to someones behaviour patterns so one knows, can predict, predicts whatever they might or will do next, because of the familiar patterns. I hate not predicting whatever comes out in the exam papers / whatever comes next in life, even though there are so many possibilities, dealing with not knowing wtv could come out for exams is stressful as hell.

I do feel that i always wanted to help people. I feel that knowledge power so knowing that i can predict peoples behaviour and be in control of the situation gives me power. I feel when im in control of the situation it gives me power.

And i can see right through bullshit peoples facades whichs related to having emotional understanding predicting peoples shit after getting close to them + knowing what to expect( familiar patterns) .

Being most comfortable in situations you know and can predict is human nature to a degree, but it's most common in bird secondaries. Especially when the opposite is so stressful to you.

And you use pattern recognition for social interaction, which is not something a fluid secondary would say, but it's very typical for actor birds.

I would say that I am quite investigative, I am questioning why, possibly to understand the situation a bit better.

I think this is a mix of your bird primary who needs outside information to build your system, and a circumventing secondary who needs information about the situation/the obstacle to find a way around it.

Sometimes I don't know where to start in life, so depending on my mood, i can fall back on whatever I do know, because that's safe and comfortable for me.

Birds rely on their own skills and tools, it reassures them to know they have whatever the situation needs in their skillset or toolbox.

Also sometimes i wish to let go of the perfectionism, try to be spontaneous, adventurous, not follow by the book always.

The way you phrased it makes me think you are more comfortable with situations you can plan for and predict, but you also value getting out of your comfort zone now and then to try something new. This could be an improv secondary stretching their wings, or a build secondary broadening their horizon.

I dislike [...] people who expect me to fucking explain crap to them just because they don't have the braincells to have the imagination to connect the dots, infer, predict wtv i need comprehended wtv i want, expecting me to point shit out to them.

I do see the good in others therefore i give them chances to acknowledge, own up to their bullshit, on their own, before i call them out on it( explosive anger) , while holding myself back from doing so ( whichs related to me not expressing my anger + desires at first while repressing my shit + holding myself back having control on my feelings hoping theyll connect the fucking dots, do some fucking self reflection + understand why im annoyed without me pointing it out for them verbally) .

Also i can place other peoples needs, feelings, them before my own, wisely giving them chances to self reflect, realise, acknowledge their shit on their own,while maybe being calm, repressing my feelings about it, then eventually having explosive anger ( calling them out on their bullshit.) While repressing my anger i hope to have control of my feelings which means to have control of the situation. Whenever i have control of the situation, in a way i feel perhaps i can be assertive.

I am trying to find the post where someone talks about the fallacy of birds, where they expect everyone else to be as focused on truth and getting information and figuring things out on their own, because I can't remember if it was something bird primaries or bird secondaries do. In any case, your obvious frustration with your fellow humans reads bird to me.

To get shadowhunters, my fav tv show, saved i sent a carrd link which has petitions to get not only shadowhunters, also other tv shows,( because i understand that finding out that your tv show has been cancelled is a wholeass shitty piece of news, its like having a piece of yourself being taken away, i sure do as hell feel like that due to shadowhunters getting cancelled) that got cancelled, saved to people, asking them to sign them n spread them to others to sign them + repeat the cycle.

Good use of a community, badger style, and also idealistic-primary flavoured.

I feel when I'm in control of the situation it gives me power. Backstabbing peoples related to asserting myself secretly. Backstabbing people who i hates usually me being close to them so i can get info, paying attention to their behaviour, knowing how they behave, say etc, evidence, which i can use to expose their fucking stupid asses. Its related to getting revenge + when i expose ^ they don't know what's coming. When im close to the person ik that they expect cooperation, me to be submissive, weak so i trick them into thinking that im submissive n weak, that im cooperating with their shit so i can get enough info and backstab them later on. Its usually done after they backstab me first.

I think what you call backstabbing is one of your protection strategies. Why I chose it anyway is because you describe how you do it. Usually "tricking" people by showing them what they want to see is associated with snake secondary face shifting. However, for a snake sec, shifting is not dishonest, it's not tricking, it's just the way we express ourselves.

We already know you use pattern recognition for your social interactions, and I suspect a number of actor bird roles for situations you know well. I think your backstabbing persona is another one of these roles. You describe exactly how it looks (submissive and weak), and I feel like that's a very narrowly defined behaviour for you, with very clear rules on how it looks, like a very restrictive role you have to play.

You take pride in knowing exactly what to do to get the desired result because your pattern recognition works and you predicted the situation correctly, which gives you control and power over it. That is the actor bird's triumph. If a snake had told the story, their pride would be in the methods itself: how cleverly they reacted to xy, or what they told the asshole to get the information, etc.

And there we have it, nonny. You're a bird primary who needs outside information and affirmation like air or water, and a bird secondary who is most comfortable in predictable situations where you know which actor bird role to use. Your primary helps you recognise that other methods like using the community or being spontaneous once in a while are also valid and good, but you prefer to stick to your tried and true bird.

#sortinghatchats #bird secondary #ask answers #submissions #sevil sorts

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tetsurousharlot · 2 years

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uwu hi baby 👉👈 idk why i said uwu but no backsies now

for your selfship event, may i pretty please request the loml kenma?

•my pronouns are she/her

•kenma and i would spend halloween handing out candy and streaming the animal crossing halloween event

•my favourite fall activity is either baking, carving pumpkins even though i’m terrible at it, or taking photographs of the leaves

•my favourite halloween candy is the tiny lil pull n peel twizzlers

•for a colour, let’s go with blue!

hourly reminder that i love u and u deserve the world 💗

Thank you for joining! Here's your moodboard. . . and a little something under the cut. 😉

In between your streaming of the animal crossing new horizon event, you and Kenma are handing out candy - all the good stuff, too. Everyone loves coming to your house for trick-or-treating - dressed up as Zelda and Link from Breath of the Wild.

Prior to Halloween, you're going to the pumpkin patch to pick out pumpkins and, when you're taking numerous fall photos, he suggests putting the camera on a timer so he can take a photo with you in the fall foliage.

Since Kenma knows you're not the best at carving pumpkins, he suggests you paint them, instead. . . with Halloween couple puns.

You also set aside a day for decorating, done very last minute because of your busy schedules but you go all out.

You also use this as a baking day to make cute, little pumpkin shaped pies and stick the pull and peel twizzler strings into oreos and stick m&m's on them to make cute little spider cookies.

EVENT IS CLOSED. NO LONGER ACCEPTING APPLICATIONS.

#🦇.parties in the center of babylon #🦇.sinners #🍄.kenma’s sammy

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waywardrose-archive · 5 years

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Omg could you do young!Abe eating out his partner for the first time? I presume, given the era, she would be very shy, and Abe would 100% love it, helping her become more comfortable before making her cum over and over 😍

Oh boy, could I!? 😉 I think I followed your brief pretty well. I think I captured the spirit, in any case. I hope you enjoy it, babe! Thank you for the prompt!

pairing: abraham h. parnassus x reader

rating: e

warning/tags: rich people, sheltered-artist reader, vaguely 1950s, no ~*vintage*~ racism, written with old-fashioned sensibilities, and euphemisms, at least at the beginning [wink-wink], just humor me, PIV sex, oral sex

EXPANDING ONE’S HORIZONS

“My love,” Abe said as he closed the front door behind the last of the catering staff. “You were magnificent.”

You waved a dismissive hand. “I didn’t do much.”

“Nonsense! You organized a perfect dinner party. Guests will be talking about it for the next month.”

You silently demurred and felt heat infuse your cheeks. All you had done was organize the party. You’d gotten catering, a caricaturist, a troupe of belly dancers, and a band from the Village to play on the patio. The maid, an absolute sweetheart, had helped you rearrange the double parlor.

There had been a gorgeous feast and dancing and rubbing elbows with Abe’s jolly fellow oilmen. Their wives were friendly, too. You’d been invited to a luncheon next week and a trunk show at Winston’s after that. At the end of the month you were to join the organizing committee for a gala to benefit refugee children.

Abe continued, “No one will doubt our place in the upper echelons now, my dearest! You got them to eat— What was that again?”

“Sushi.”

“Sushi! How novel! My clever wife.”

“And pickled rattlesnake,” you added with a grin.

His smile turned sly. “And pickled rattlesnake.”

“We all need to expand our horizons,” you said as you went to the dining room to turn off the lights.

“Indeed we do, my love.”

Abe followed you from room to room, helping you tidy the first floor. The cleaning crew was coming tomorrow, but you couldn’t leave it completely untouched for them. Maybe that was your lower-class upbringing at play. Abe said nothing about your fussing.

Once the first floor was dark, he came up behind you and stopped you with an arm around your middle. He kissed your neck and slowly rocked you from side to side. His other hand smoothed around your ribcage, right under your breasts. It was approaching indecent. However, you forced yourself to relax because he was your loving husband and you adored him.

“I overheard you talking to Delilah Davenport about your sculptures in the backyard,” he led.

“She was surprised I did anything of the sort.”

“Of course, she was. Delilah’s never once gotten her hands dirty. Let alone played with mud.”

“Or concrete.”

“Perish the thought,” he fondly murmured and kissed the exposed expanse of your shoulder.

Your hands were sculptor’s hands. It was one of the first things Abe had noticed about you. In the beginning, you tried to hide them with gloves or the pockets of your skirt. But he’d kissed them and told you how much he loved them. You’d been slathering on lotions in anticipation of tonight, knowing you couldn’t wear gloves during dinner. You’d even gone so far as to get a manicure. Your nails were Revlon’s Cherries in the Snow. You thought the color looked good with your black organza-and-lace cocktail dress.

Somehow, all your hard work disguising your hands was a success. No one suspected you were one of those bohemian artistic types. Well, until you told Delilah Davenport you’d fabricated the three large sculptures in the back. You weren’t ashamed, of course. You just didn’t want your art to affect Abe’s business.

Abe kept kissing and tasting your skin. It made your head spin. He was so demonstrative—more so than any man you’d dated before. His big hands were on the top swells of your hips. Your crinoline crinkled under them as he pulled you tight to his front.

You put your hands over his. “Abe, please, we’re in the foyer.”

“Of our home. Can’t I love my wife in our home?”

“Of course, but—”

“No one can see us. The only light is coming from the street.”

You wanted to tell him how embarrassing it was—being salacious, yearning for your husband—out in the open. You didn’t want to push him away. On the contrary, you wanted to grind back against him. He’d awoken in you such hunger it was distressing. You thought about him when he was gone. You dreamed about when he’d come home and put himself inside you.

He was quiet for a second before saying: “You must be tired.”

It was an out. You could take it, but you didn’t. You turned in his hold and put your hands at the nape of his neck. His unfashionable longer hair hung heavy over your fingers, and his eyes glittered in the murky foyer.

“I’m not tired,” you said.

He outright smirked before swooping in to kiss you. Your lipstick smeared over his lips all waxy and blood red. You pressed yourself against him, feeling the hard lines of him through his suit. His touch was muted through the layers of your dress, but it hardly mattered.

The second his tongue touched yours, you moaned. You sounded wanton and shameless to your ears. Abe cupped your rear and walked you to the wall by the stairs. The plaster was cool against your back while Abe was a living furnace at your front.

You fisted his suit as you dragged a knee up his outer thigh. He made an encouraging noise and pushed his hand under your crinoline. His touch burned all the way up your thigh.

When he reached your underwear, he pulled back looking surprised. “You’re not wearing a girdle.”

“The skirt, it’s so full… I didn’t think it was necessary.”

He hummed, “You little minx. Walking around like this.” He tucked his face under your jaw and kissed your hammering pulse. “So wild.”

“H-hardly,” you gasped. “Keep going.”

He snaked his palm over the garter stay at the side of your thigh and deftly unclipped it. You stiffened then, unsure if you were up to what he had in mind. At least, what you assumed he had in mind.

“Turn around, my love,” he whispered and released your leg.

“But, Abe…”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll take care of you.”

You gazed up at him for a moment. His lips were colored red from your lipstick. Yours were probably in an equally messy state. If you thought it wasn’t going to be obvious what he’d been doing to you, you could see now you were mistaken.

“Go on now,” he encouraged.

Taking a deep breath, you turned to the wall. He lifted your skirt and pulled your hips back. You teetered on your heels, but held yourself upright by spreading feet and clinging to the wall. The weight of the different fabrics rested at the small of your back. He forced his hips against your rear, and his hardness was unmistakeable. It was a warm bulge rocking in the cleft between your legs.

He undid your garter’s other side stay, and your stockings sagged. He palmed your bottom through the silky material of your underwear. You bit your lip and shimmied, because you couldn’t help yourself. His touch was electric.

“That’s it. Let go.”

You whined and arched your back.

His warmth disappeared from your rear. You braced yourself, waiting for him to pull down your underwear and slide inside you. He shifted behind you, and you looked over your shoulder to see him drop to his knees.

“Abe!” You threw your hips towards the wall, and your skirt flopped over his arms. “What are you doing?”

“I’m loving you.”

He threw your skirt over his head. His fingers hooked over the waistband of your underwear, dragging it down until it were caught on the still-attached front garter stays.

“So beautiful.” His voice was muffled, and he pulled your rear back.

He was going to kiss you. There. He couldn’t do that. You hadn’t bathed since the morning. It was unheard of. It was dirty.

The first touch of his lips to your nether regions had you squirming to get away.

“Abe, no, please! You can’t!”

His fingers forcibly spread you open. His hot breath flowed over your wetness. It was the only warning you had before his tongue was on you. You cried out in denial and tried to get away. He held you firm and licked you.

Your knees buckled in shock. It was so crude, so far beyond decent. You couldn’t bear it.

“I can’t!” you yelped. “Please!”

Abe pushed your skirts onto your lower back. He shushed you and kissed the crease at the top of your leg. His lips were wet with more than just saliva. You hid your face against your forearm. He must be revolted. You were so wet.

“Was that too much?” he asked.

“It’s obscene.”

He straightened and folded himself around you. “If it’s between a husband and wife, it’s not. And I love every inch of you.”

“Can’t we just— Can you just…”

“Fuck you like I always do?”

Your head jerked up, and your eyes got big at his words. He’d never cursed in front of you. And while you knew men were prone to that, and you yourself had used the occasional damn when something went awry, he never used coarse language.

“I’ll give you what you want tonight, but I’m going to taste more of that gorgeous honeypot of yours, my darling wife. And soon.”

It sounded like the most tender threat you’d ever heard. It immobilized you, but it didn’t frighten you. Abe had never hurt you. Even your first time had been gentle and painless. He had touched you between your legs, massaging and stroking until you reached climax.

It had been a revelation. Oh, you’d heard about men getting their rocks off, but never women. Afterwards, Abe became determined in his pursuit of your satisfaction. When he had time, he made love with you and took his time giving you pleasure.

The sound of a zipper brought you back into the moment. You knew what that meant. You arched your back once more, eager to have him in you. This was what you needed: him inside you.

There were fabric sounds and then you felt the heat, the heft of his manhood thud against your rear. You bit your bottom lip, tasting waxy lipstick, to keep yourself from whining for him. His warm hands fondled your rear as he rubbed against you.

“Do you want my cock, my love?”

Your ears burned at his vulgarity. “Yes,” you mumbled.

“Say it.”

“I want— I want your…” You squeezed your eyes closed. “Iwantyourcock.”

“Please, again. You know how I love your voice.”

“Abe, please don’t make me say it.”

“If you don’t state what you want—” He rocked against you, his manhood sliding in the cleft of your rear. “—I certainly can’t give it to you.”

“Abe!”

He rocked your bodies together in mimicry of what you wanted. His hands gripped your hips. You wanted him to slide them around you and touch between your legs. You were almost aching now, beyond all logical thought.

He leaned his chest against your back to whisper, “Tell me what you need, darling.”

“I need it—you.”

“What’s ‘it’?”

“You—your… You know.”

“My dick?”

You nodded.

He pulled away, and you felt the tip of him ease down your body. He prodded your entrance with it, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted him all the way inside you, filling you up, making you feel loved.

You whined then, because ecstasy was this close. He grip tightened and controlled you.

“Say it,” he ordered and rocked the crown of his manhood against you.

“I want it, Abe, please! Give it to me!”

He only tsked.

You shook your head because you couldn’t say it. Ladies didn’t say that. You were supposed to be a lady. That’s what Abe wanted, right? He wanted a lady to assist him in society. You wore fancy dresses and went to garden parties because that was your duty. You were never rude or indelicate. You didn’t allow your hobby to interfere with his work. Because you were a lady.

“Dearest, you’re hurting us both.” He was against your back again. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you want me to fuck you with my hard cock?”

“I do!”

“Then you must tell me.”

You swooned against the wall and sobbed, “I want your cock!”

Like a present, he pushed inside you. He gave you that feeling once more: of fullness, of love. He took you hard. The lewd, sloppy sounds of your bodies coming together measured out the seconds.

You pressed your cheek to the wall and braced yourself. His thrusts were getting wilder, harder. His harsh breathing echoed in your ear, you could feel it on your bare shoulder.

And then Abe snaked a hand to your front. His fingers went between your legs and stroked your sensitive, wet flesh. The flash of pleasure bloomed low in your belly. You whined and locked your legs. He lovingly shushed you and told you he’d take care of you. It was easy to trust him when he was making you feel so good.

That tight, squirmy feeling increased as he thrust inside you and caressed you. You turned your knees inward and rocked with his movements. It didn’t matter what you two looked like as long as he kept going.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he groaned.

You nodded before feeling your lower half start to strain around him. Abe’s manhood—his cock—felt bigger as he took you with powerful, bone-jarring thrusts. It was as though he was working your bodies towards a precipice you couldn’t see. You knew what it meant. You knew you were approaching climax.

He rolled his clever, strong fingers harder against you, which had you gasping. You clawed at the wall because you couldn’t escape it. You didn’t want to, either.

He stroked you one more time, and that was all you needed. You keened as you crested that sharp pinnacle. Your body throbbed in a devastating rhythm, your ears rang, you lost all sense of decorum. He held you tight through it and kissed you—never letting you go.

The slap of his hands on the wall had you opening your eyes. He raggedly drove into you once, twice, three more times before you felt him seize behind you. He groaned against your shoulder. The hot flood of his milky love filled you until it overflowed and dripped onto your underwear.

As Abe pulled out of your pounding body, you wilted—enfeebled and overcome by his passions. He caught you against him and briskly swept you into his arms. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, feeling as weak as a kitten.

He tenderly smiled at you. “My sweet wife.”

Abe didn’t bring up the afterparty sex. It had been days. He missed two dinners by staying late at the office, in the meantime. He’d been collapsing in bed every evening. There had been the barest of conversations.

Perhaps you’d done something wrong.

You wanted to talk to someone about married relations. Abe had said what happened between husband and wife wasn’t obscene. And you didn’t want to disappoint him. After all, you were the chief factor in your husband’s happiness. It was your job to foster a good marriage. At least, that’s what you’d read in Good Housekeeping and Ladies Home Journal.

What he’d done wasn’t terrible, either. It hadn’t felt bad. You couldn’t figure out why he wanted to lick you down there. That gave you pause. You wondered if he wanted you to put your mouth on his… cock.

You let out a sigh. His cock, dick, erection, genitals, pecker. Weiner.

You laughed at yourself and headed to your studio at the back of the house. You had on your work clothes and your hair up. Since Abe wasn’t home, you didn’t have to worry about being pretty. You were in the middle of sculpting the relief for a smaller, two-part project—each sculpture being only two feet tall. The pair was in the Cubist style and inspired by a cardinal couple who’d taken residence in the ginkgo in the garden.

You were working on perfecting the seed the male had in his beak when you heard the front door bang open and shut. You cleaned your hands off on a rag and poked your head into the hallway. There were heavy footsteps that sounded like they stomped into the dining room. You thought you recognized that gait.

You gave your hands another wipe and stepped out of your studio. Before you’d even made it to the stairs, Abe bellowed for you. He sounded irate, but his anger couldn’t be about you. You breathed deep as you smoothed back your hair and straightened your clay-smeared smock.

There was no point in dolling up. You didn’t have the time, anyway.

Abe was indeed in the dining room, empty crystal tumbler in hand. His tie was loose, and his navy-blue suit jacket was tossed over one of the chairs. There was a strained look on his face as he stared out the Palladian window.

He fully turned to you with eyes like dark flames and held out his free hand. You rubbed your palms on a clean bit of your smock as you approached. He gently took your hand in both of his.

“Is everything alright?” you asked.

“Yes, of course, my love. The wells are deep, profits are up. The board is still an itchy sweater I yearn to shred.”

You shared a grin. “So business as usual.”

“More or less—which is why I left after the morning meeting.”

“Well, it’s good to have you home. Would you like something to eat?”

His look turned lascivious, and he drew you closer. “I would.”

“Abe, I’m covered in clay,” you reasoned and put a hand on his chest to keep your distance. You didn’t want to ruin one of his suits with mud.

“Then why don’t you go clean yourself up for me.”

You knew what he meant. “In the middle of the day?”

Was that even done outside of the honeymoon? It seemed so imprudent to indulge in sex. There was work to do and meals to plan and calls to make.

He put a knuckle under your chin to tilt your head up. You gazed into his honey-brown eyes, seeing affection and full-out lust. You realized you’d missed his kisses. He hadn’t kissed you in days. Yes, it was because of work, but some small part of you feared you’d pushed him away.

He moved in and kissed you, putting his all into it. He tasted like bourbon. You surrendered to him and held his cheek. His lips were so soft yet strong. His kisses made you forget yourself.

When he pulled away, his eyes were so dark.

“Indulge your husband,” he urged.

You nodded, speechless, as you wet your bottom lip. You stepped back, hurrying to the master suite. You turned on a bedside lamp, closed the heavy drapes, and shed your clothes in the hamper in the closet. You rearranged your hair in a more pleasing updo and showered thoroughly, moisturizing all over afterwards. You applied the barest amount of Vol de Nuit to your pulse points and slipped on a pink silk dressing gown. You briefly debated with yourself about makeup, but Abe liked you fresh-faced, so you opted to forego it.

The bedroom was aglow in golden amber light. The gilded crystal chandelier above the bed sparkled, and the peach-toned walls were mellow. All this lovely light gave you confidence you looked as pleasing as possible.

You padded across the huge Persian rug and sat at the edge of the bed. You’d barely settled the folds of your robe around you when Abe knocked once and came in. He stared at you as he blindly locked the door behind him.

He threw his suit jacket on the chaise in the corner as he came to you and got on his knees when he was close. He put his hands on your thighs and leaned up to offer a kiss. You cradled his face in your palms and kissed him. He deepened the kiss almost immediately. His tongue teased yours, and he sucked on your lip. It was like he was trying to pull some ineffable something, some essence, of you inside him.

He parted the lower folds of your dressing gown and slid his hands up your outer thighs. When he reached your bare bottom, he pulled you closer to the edge. You broke the kiss to ask him what he was doing.

“I’m going to love every part of you, my darling.”

You smiled. “Then get on the bed with me.”

“You misunderstand.” He parted your knees and installed himself between them. “I’m going to taste you everywhere.”

He wanted to try… what he’d begun after the party. “That’s not— You don’t have to.”

“I’m going to savor your pussy.”

Your face blazed. “Abe!”

“I’m going to lick that sweet pussy of yours and finger you. I’m going to make you come, my love.”

You ducked your head and tried to scoot back, but his hold was unyielding. No one had ever talked like that to you. You didn’t know how to feel. There was a part of you that was mortified by his language and another was all agog to understand. Because Abe had only ever given you pleasure.

What if this was just another way to please?

He loosened the sash of your dressing gown. “Will you indulge me again?”

You looked into his eyes, saw his love. His cheeks were flushed. He appeared to want this. And you had just bathed, you mentally pointed out. You were clean and scented. The worst that could happen was that he discovered he didn’t like it. Then you could go back to making love like you had.

You nodded and kissed him again. He groaned as he tugged open your gown. His hands massaged your hips, pulling you closer. Kissing down your jaw and neck, he cupped your breasts. His hands were so big and hot on your skin. His thumbs haloed your nipples until they hardened.

He glanced up at you. “What a feast you are, my darling,” he softly said before kissing and nipping at your breasts.

His sharp teeth grazed your nipples, sending a pleasured shiver down your spine. He pulled at them, which had you gasping and holding the hair at the back of his head. He mouthed at the undersides of your breasts and kissed your sternum.

Slowly, he lowered your upper body to the bed. He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your torso. His hands smoothed over your sides before he straightened.

You watched him undo his cufflinks, ruck up his sleeves, and release the knot in his tie. You became aware of how naked you were. You stretched out before him, the only part of you covered were your arms. He threw his tie to the side and undid the first couple of buttons of his crisp white shirt.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting this.”

He bent to kiss your belly as he caressed your thighs. You put your hands on his shoulders and closed your eyes. If it kept like this, you’d be delighted.

Abe spread your legs and moved lower. You held your breath, waiting for him to do something. The first touch of his lips to your inner thigh made you twitch. His kisses were delicate, almost teasing. Your lower half clenched reflexively.

His warm hands skimmed between your legs and covered the apex. You bit your lip and fisted the heavy silk on either side of you. He pulled you open and groaned. You replied with a questioning sound and looked down your body at him. You felt so exposed despite the cooler air being a titillating sensation.

“Beautiful,” he growled and buried his face between your legs.

You moaned in shock at the slippery feel of his tongue. It felt interesting and good. He lapped over an extra sensitive part, and your hips jerked. That was more than good. That had to be what he stroked to make you climax. He traced lines with the tip of his tongue before pushing it inside you. It made you hungry to be filled by his manhood. It seemed to open you more for him, too, as he licked up your body again.

“How is that, darling? Do you like it?”

You nodded and angled your hips to him.

“Do you want me to continue?”

“Yes, please.”

“Where do you want me to kiss you?”

“B-between my legs?” you offered.

He kissed the hair there. “You want me lick your pussy some more?”

Again, you nodded.

“Please instruct me, dearest.”

“Li— Lick…” You squeezed your eyes close. You couldn’t say it, though you wanted him to continue.

He waited, ever patient. You could feel his breath on your wet… pussy.

“Lick my pussy,” you whispered.

Abe had mercy and did just that. He kissed and licked and sucked at your pussy. He found that sensitive part again and put his mouth over it. He rhythmically sucked at it, and you cried out in unexpected pleasure. He pushed your legs out and up, pinning you to the edge of the bed.

He was relentless. He was pushing your body to climax. You couldn’t slow it down. You couldn’t catch your breath.

You reached for him, you hands landing on the back of his head. He moaned and sucked harder. You almost convulsed right off the bed at that. Your whole body was starting to quiver and tense. It was the best you’d ever felt during sex.

“Oh God!” you wailed as that quivering morphed into throbbing ecstasy.

You threw your head back as you drowned in the sheer satisfaction your husband was giving you. It was more than just the fluttering of a typical climax, it was a surge of bliss. Your pussy thrummed, and your head swam. You could feel your heartbeat all the way down to your toes.

Abe eased off and gently kissed the tender folds of your pussy. You didn’t know what to say as you let him go. You’d been so wrong. Or at least partially wrong. It might be obscene, but it felt wonderful.

“Did you like that?” he asked.

You nodded and wet your dry throat.

“Would you like to continue?”

“Continue?”

In silent reply, he eased a finger inside you. Your breath caught—it felt bigger than it usually did. Maybe you were oversensitive now. And your pussy was so wet, you feared you were dripping onto the rug.

“Just relax, my love.”

You took a deep breath and unclenched your hips and legs. He hummed in approval while edging his finger in and out. This you were familiar with. This felt like sex. It made you want his cock.

“Abraham…” you whined.

He lowly shushed you. “How about another?”

You gasped when two fingers began pumping inside you. The squelch of it was so unmistakably carnal.

“Your sweet pussy’s so hot and wet around my fingers,” he crooned.

Your cheeks heated anew, and you covered your face with a hand. He bent over your leg, pulled your hand to the side, and kissed the palm. You held his face and tried not to be ashamed. He was doing this with you.

“I love it,” he proclaimed, and you could smell yourself on him. “I love you.”

You gnawed your lip before giving him a minute nod. It felt good. He felt good. “I love you, too.”

“Shall I continue?”

“Yes, please.”

He sunk back onto the floor and kissed your inner thigh again, telling you to remain spread for him. He kept easing his fingers inside you as deep as he could. With his other hand he spread your pussy. Before you could ask what he was doing, his tongue was back on you.

You moaned as he swirled his tongue over your pussy. Your hands went back to his hair. You had to anchor yourself some way. He focused once more on that sensitive bundle of nerves.

At first, he lapped at it like he was coaxing it. He pressed at the walls of your pussy as he pushed his fingers deep. Then he found some primal, perfect rhythm between his fingers and tongue.

Your mouth opened in shock, and you squealed, “There!”

You hadn’t meant to demand. It just happened. Abe didn’t stop to reprimand, though. He sucked at you again, and it was just this side of too much. His fingers plunged in with every pull. He was unflagging as he took you again and again with mouth and hand.

There was no quivering this time. Your body didn’t have time. You went from a tense shiver to total convulsions. Your pussy was clenching around his fingers. You couldn’t stop the noises you were making. Everything was heat and urgency and unabating furious rapture.

Abe pushed you to the brink, pushed you until you were thrashing under him. Your heels thumped against his shoulderblades. It was too much. There were tears rolling down your temples and wetting your hair, pooling in your ears. You cried in protest because you couldn’t survive much more.

He kissed your trembling pussy one last time before resting his head on your thigh. His fingers stilled inside you, but didn’t pull out. Somehow, that made it easier to calm, though you secretly wished it was his cock instead.

You panted and spread your hands over the bed as you let your other leg flop down. You stared up in shock at the ornamental plaster work on the ceiling. You couldn’t believe your body had pulled through that. Because that had been more than a climax. You didn’t know what that had been.

You looked down at Abe and gave him a smile when he met your gaze. That had been astounding and alarming at times, but wonderful.

His eyes twinkled as he asked, “Shall we continue?”

#abraham h parnassus x reader #abraham h parnassus #Saturday Night Live #mbjcfm #waywardrose writes

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chiaroscuroverse · 6 years

Text

Civil Twilight

Nine x Rose Rated: E for explicit Summary: “What’s day or night to us, anyway?” Post-Dalek, some time for earthly beauty and healing touch. AO3 / TSP ~5000 words Notes: Dedicated to @deathlyfandoms on the occasion of her birthday!! Thank you, Grace, for being my dear friend and saltmate, and making me want to go to Alaska on a regular basis. 😉

Fills this first Nine prompt at @doctorroseprompts Thanks to @fleurdeneuf for the beta read. Any subsequent errors are mine, including the inevitable scientific ones :P Inspiration photo (which I got courtesy of Grace, it’s a real place I’ve taken liberties with)

Rose decides not to guess where they’ve landed, only to let the Doctor do his reveal in the way that makes him the happiest. She turns a circle in the low sunlight and meets his soft smile with a bigger one of her own, realizing it’s the first time he’s cracked one in--how long has it been since they left the Utah bunker? Twenty-four hours? Thirty-six? He gestures out over the purple wildflowers and other grasses rising halfway up his body. “Shall we?”

She hesitates, hating to mention it, but-- “What about...him?” Her head jerks back toward the open TARDIS door.

The Doctor’s smile fades before returning with a false note that makes her heart ache. “He’s not invited. At the moment.” His eyes pass along the horizon, where Rose turns to see purple and green mountains meeting the clouds and dropping into a river bed as low as the timbre of his voice by the time he asks, “If that’s all right?”

“Of course, yeah! Just us.” Her hair blows across her face while she grasps his hand and squeezes with both of hers, hoping he really understands. “But, what if he tries to find us?”

It’s only a day later and she has no more nerves to spend on Adam.

The Doctor’s closed mouth quirks up as he catches her eyes and she’s flooded with relief at the faint return of the familiar twinkle. “He won’t. He’ll find himself making a complete circle to his room again. Maybe he’ll find the galley or game room--if he behaves.” She might have guessed. The chance to mess with a less-than-wanted passenger would be the thing giving him back a little spark.

He takes her hand and leads them into the grasses, and it feels so very nearly, but not quite normal. Her arm tingles with the slight wrongness and she watches his body closely, trying to pinpoint the problem. Maybe it’s shorter steps, maybe the way his smile has yet to reach full bloom, or maybe the edge of awkwardness in the way he’s hunching his back. She swallows more regret for not noticing anything was wrong when she turned up at the TARDIS with company.

It will be okay, because they’re here now, together, alone in a temperate wilderness, and he wants to show her something.

“Here we are, a room with a view,” announces the Doctor, and Rose sees it--a small log cabin on stilts, rising out of the brush. He’s let her hand go to stalk ahead and give the stilts and ladder a good shake and a few smacks from the palm of his hand. “Fantastic. Solid as I remember.” He steps back and waves at the ladder. “Go on!”

Rose’s delight overflows into her face, and finally--finally--a real, full, Doctorish smile fills his. She climbs the ladder in a hurry as the Doctor calls to her about getting the door open. No problem. There’s only a leather string latch, and then she swings it wide. No cloud of dust--the tiny room is clean, as well as brighter than she expected--an orange glow spills from a window built into the side. She crawls over the threshold and stands.

Most of the space is occupied by a pallet bed with a dust cover. There is a small spigot and a few lockers, possibly holding supplies, she speculates. Not much else. She turns back to look for the Doctor, having expected him to be right behind her. More suspicions confirmed. He’s moving too slowly up the ladder--for him.

She waits until he leans heavily on the wooden door frame, long legs stretched across the log platform between the room and the ladder. She sits next to him and nuzzles into his leather jacket.

“You’re hurt.”

He doesn’t deny it, or say anything at all. Slowly, his shoulder shrugs under her cheek.

“I think we should talk about what happened.”

A moment passes before he responds. “Didn’t we say enough in front of the Dalek?”

She swallows some frustration. “Not really--look, I wasn’t thinkin’, when I invited Adam, just wanted to--I don’t even know. But I didn’t know you needed help.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re not fine. I can see.”

“A little sore.” He waves dismissively. “But here’s what I wanted to show you.” He gestures at the horizon. “What time do you think it is?”

“Trick question, are we on Earth? Then late afternoon.”

“Yes.” His chest rumbles with a laugh. “Though I suppose it’s still a trick question. It’s actually after 21:30.”

By now she knows to wait, so she tilts her head and indulges in tracing the lines of his profile with her eyes.

“The summer solstice is approaching, which means night will never completely fall. We’re in Alaska, 20th century, no one within a hundred miles, and absolutely nothing should be happening that requires our attention anywhere else.” He turns to her, glancing ever so quickly at the teeth biting her lower lip. “I thought we could use a sunset.”

She squeezes the closest thing to her hand, which turns out to be his thigh. “Thank you, Doctor. It’s gorgeous.”

He hums a pleased note while she she takes in the vast wilderness surrounding their retreat.

“But why make the cabin so high?”

He shrugs again. “Bears?”

“Oi! You didn’t tell me that on the ground!”

“I know how fast you can run.” The teasing is back in his voice and she wants to laugh hysterically and also bite him. So she settles for burrowing harder into his side. He makes a nearly imperceptible sound, and she moves, afraid she’d caused some discomfort, but he adjusts himself against the doorway and firmly resettles her in his arms.

The sun skims the mountains and they breathe together for long enough that she fancies herself melting into him and experiencing their motion relative to the sun in the exact way he can. She’s almost, almost caught hold of this ephemeral string when he speaks.

“It’s time.” As he says it, the sun dips under the horizon, spreading pinks and purples and streaks of gold. She sighs happily and gets a squeeze in return. “And that’s about where it will stay. We’ll have hours of this half-light now before it rises again. As long as the sun is less than 6 degrees under the horizon, they call it civil twilight and it’s officially part of the daytime.”

She can still see for a long way in the dim light, and she tells him the bears can feel free to come by now, since their spot feels nearly as protected as when they observe from the TARDIS. She lays a hand on his chest, aiming to rest it on his jacket, but where she lands the lapels have spilled open, and her fingers drop inside and skim maroon wool. If she were to press into his flesh, would it be his lowest rib or belly? She ponders this for a moment and dares to lightly drag her fingertips back and forth across the fabric. The light feels more surreal the longer it doesn’t grow darker, like they’ve stopped time, held back the night.

All is quiet but the background hum of nature, until he inhales deeply, and she gets an answer to what lies beneath when his rib cage meets her fingers. But he’s pushing her to sit up. “You’ll love this. Look at the sky--as far around this side as you can get.”

She has to clamber over him a bit to get to it. He steadies her hips and encourages her to go farther, and she sees. “Oh!”

That side of the sky is dark, and a half moon shines in the center. She comes back, using him for leverage, to look the other way. There, twilight--and the sky still shimmers with sunset rays, after all this time. The Doctor smiles proudly.

“It’s day and night at the same time!” she says happily. “And right here on Earth!”

“Wonders you didn’t even know you had.”

“It’s amazing! You’re right, we did need this. After...everything.”

His smile never fails but by now she can recognize the shadow falling across his eyes. She tilts her head and holds his gaze, asks the question silently, her mouth moving to form Doctor and she can see when he relents, chest falling, tension draining, going slack into the door frame. She’s still kneeling in front of him.

“Rose,” he says, and it’s the mildest protest.

“Adam said something--Van Statten treated the Dalek like all his specimens. And he had you…”

“Rose.”

“I know he hurt you. I can see it in the way you’re moving.”

“S’nothing. Lingering effects of muscle spasms from his--” His hand flips dismissively-- “device. The rest, well, it’s over and done with.”

She gives him a doubtful frown.

“Trust me, been hurt a lot worse than this.”

“Yeah? But it still hurts now, doesn’t it? Maybe I can help. I can try an’ massage it out?”

His eyes widen and she sees it, right before he shutters it.

Hope.

But shutter it he does, and flips to a tease. “You? With those little hands?”

She glares exaggeratedly, because that’s her part to play, but her heart had skipped over the way he said it, and she feels fairly certain about waiting him out.

“I should go to the masseurs on Vega Space Station, hands the size of platters, and you should see the forearms!” He’s taken her hand, and makes a show of examining it with his own, turning it palm up and back, dragging his fingers across her wrist.

“Pity you don’t have one of those masseurs, willing and in this cabin right now.”

“I suppose you’ve got decent enough muscle tone here.” He pokes at the pad of her palm.

“You’re about to find out how much muscle tone I have.” She makes a fist and flexes while her tongue goes to her teeth.

She expects a retort, but he pauses and locks her with his eyes, her hand trapped top and bottom by his, fingers moving on her wrist, and goose bumps spill up her arms and across the back of her neck. “Oh, I do know how strong you are,” he says, and she flashes on the memory of how he threw himself on her after the Dalek died. He draws fingers across the back of her hand, once and again (“you have to be delicate”). “I don’t know if I should accept that. After everything, I should be the one taking care of you.”

“But do you want to? Accept it?” She watches his eyes. The barrier is palpable, but he’s dismantling it himself, from the inside, even though he sits slumped, stripped of his usual commanding posture. “‘Sides, you always take care of me, when I’m sick or hurt or whinging. Doctor...you don’t have to hide pain from me.”

His brows draw together quickly, then smooth. “‘Fraid it’s been getting bad, and might get worse before it gets better.”

“Please, let me help you. I mean, if I can.” Doubt pours through her. “It might not help at all. Or if you don’t want me to be, I dunno, so close, it’s fine.”

That hopeful, desperate look crosses his features again and she’s reminded of his face in the alley on the estate, asking her to come with him. “I think--it might help, if you really want to. You mean, here?” He glances into the shack. “Now?”

“Why not? Looks like a comfy spot. Nothing around to bother us and apparently the light is here to stay,” she gestures at the grayish glow of sky. “I don’t have any oil or anything though, but I can do it without.”

“Might have something in my pocket.”

“Course you do.” She grins happily at him and goes to see about the bed. Linens are stacked in a locker and she whips off the dust cover and rolls out a sheet across it, tosses a blanket on one corner, and pares down to her comfortable vest and jeans. “Come on then. Let’s see what we’re working with.” Lighthearted, but she’s afraid.

He never stands--rolls to his hands and knees to get across the few feet between the door and the pallet, and sits on the edge. He takes his coat off slowly, guarding--he’s stopped trying to hide it. He unlaces and kicks off his boots. She hides her surprise when he reaches to his back to drag his jumper off. For all her cajoling, she hadn’t expected him to actually do this. Undress, right in front of her, vulnerable yet unashamed. She kneels in front of him, at first thinking the twilight is playing tricks on her eyes, making dark striations appear down his chest and abdomen. She touches one, unthinkingly, and he winces.

“Oh,” she breathes, “‘m sorry, are you sure this will be ok?”

“Yeah. Let me--” he gestures past her to the bed and crawls over to lie on his belly. “Oh, left pocket,” he says, on a relieved exhale.

It’s not far down--she finds a pink glass bottle of oil with a ribbon tied around the top. She can’t read the writing etched into the glass, and even after a few blinks it doesn’t translate.

“It’s from a plant that doesn’t grow here, sort of like almonds. Anyway, I bought it for you. Before. Made me think of you, how it smells.”

Tears well in her eyes, but she blinks them away. “You’re gonna smell like me then.” His eyes are closed but she can see his lopsided grin in profile.

“I can live with that. If you don’t mind sharing.”

“Not a bit. Ok, here goes.” She spreads a generous amount of oil on her hands, contemplates the positioning, and shrugs and crawls next to him. The shape of his back takes her breath for a moment. She has to start somewhere, so she decides to work from the dip between his hips. It gives her a great view of the tantalizing roundness of his arse under the black trousers and the belt still in place, like a barrier, a reminder.

She drizzles enough oil to cover him with a few swoops of her hands. It’s minty in a sort of deep way, a hint of flowers, maybe? She’s not quite sure why this smell would be her to him, but then with all his alien senses, who knew how how things came across to him. She returns to the small of his back and begins her strokes, thumbs from spine on out, and watches where his face is turned to the side. He doesn’t react until she’s a bit higher and presses into a very tight set of muscles outside his spine, and a grimace crosses his face.

“Lighter?” She pauses, hands splayed.

“No, no, it’s very good. Necessary. You can go deeper if you want.”

She throws more weight into her hand, considers leverage, and swings her leg over his hips. She presses deeply and upward with the palm of her hand, spine and out, and his breath comes out in a soft ‘oof.’ He shifts back and forth, back pockets rolling against the inside of her thighs. She’s accelerated the intimacy, but he’s leaning into it. For a moment she’s dumbstruck, continuing her pattern, watching his skin spring out from under her fingers. He turns his head to the other side, and his fingers twitch against the sheet, next to his face, but his eyes don’t open.

“Is this--is this okay?” Her voice wavers.

“Yes. Very. Thank you.”

A giggle overflows. “My pleasure.” She scoots forward a little, has a wild notion to sit back on his bum and rest a minute, but ignores it to continue working up and out from his spine. The taxed muscles do relax under her fingertips in a satisfying way, so she searches out more knots in her pattern, making sure not to miss any skin. To that end, just at the point her thumbs pass under his shoulderblades, she decides work her way back down his sides. She counts ribs while her fingers drop one by one.

When she digs into the soft fleshiness after his last rib is the first time he groans audibly. She pauses. “Doctor?”

“Go on, go on. I need it. If you could...make your hands wide?”

“K. This?”

He nods and she continues with flat hands, spreading pressure and affection into each touch. When she’s gotten so far around his waist that the tips of her fingers graze the sheets, she decides she’s pushed it enough and slides back to his shoulders and neck. It’s when she’s scooted over the small of his back she notices it--how much hotter his skin is getting where it’s been touched. There isn’t enough light to see if it’s turned pink, but she thinks it must be. She plays with his shoulder blades, rolling her thumb around and under and back to his spine. He’d been breathing deeply and evenly, but now didn’t seem to be at all, and she’d almost worry if it weren’t for the radiating heat. The silence is soft, rich, and she becomes aware of wind outside, rustling grasses, the calls of birds, river rushing away in the distance. Her hands have grown accustomed to the smooth drag of his skin underneath them. She fancies if she were to lift them now, she’d still feel it.

Maybe the world could stop turning and she can stay here longer, touching him, able to look her fill of his body in this half light. And with that she takes the opportunity to gaze, wishing she could rub with more than her hands, and the familiar ache doubles her over. Her hair brushes his skin, and she wants to kiss him right along the path of her hands. Maybe a light kiss to the back of the neck...

She shakes it off. Her fingers dance up and down the back of his neck, spread and rise onto his scalp, and slip around his ears. He shudders, hard, under her, and it almost throws her off balance.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, whipping her hands away.

“No, it’s good! Well, I should maybe explain--”

“You’re hot, you know!” She’d meant to deflect from her own lustful thoughts, but that was a failure. She laughs nervously, “I mean, your skin is warming up. I didn’t know you could, the way you usually feel.”

“Ah. Well, it’s alien to you. It’s a feature of touch telepathy, you’re literally helping me more than you know. It’s not magic, but--”

“Wait, what do you mean, ’m doing telepathy?”

“Not like--you’re not transmitting thoughts or anything. But--how can I explain? I can and would heal on my own, but it’ll be speeded because of the stimulation. Nerve contact and another psychic presence. I--should have said--”

He rolls over, cautiously, and she drops her hands for balance, finding herself on all fours above his torso, his face inches from hers, his ears are definitely red, eyes searching hers, and lips--

She tears her eyes from his lips and sits back, not quite able to even out her breaths. “It’s okay, you didn’t need to explain, I wanted to make you feel better, however it works best for you.”

“I do feel better. Much. Too much even.” He drops his hands onto her knees. She imagines them traveling up.

“Do you need more work on this side? This is where he hit you, didn’t he? I think I’ve figured out how it went.”

His jaw clenches. “Nevermind the details. Now we’re here. No Daleks, no megalomaniacs.”

She hums a comforting sound and feels a breeze lift her hair. “But, what about the, um, psychic healing. Here.” She drums fingers lightly on his collarbone and drags them across the bruise. His eyes close briefly.

“If you want.” He pauses. “But your hands must be tired.” He picks one up in both of his and rubs circles across her palm with his thumbs. Tingles follow in his wake. She sighs, and he continues out to her fingertips. He repeats the motions on her other hand and this time presses her wrist to his lips and his tongue darts out. “That’s what I thought.”

“What?”

This time he catches two fingertips between his lips. “It’s perfect on you.”

“On both of us, apparently.” She brushes her oily hands on his cheeks to get the message across and drops a kiss on his forehead. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

She scoots down his body, hovering, and touches the line of each bruise with a frown. She fights the urge to kiss them. She’s over his thighs again, and she knows--she won’t look or touch directly, not the way his eyes are resting on her--but she knows there’s a hard outline under his trousers, under his belt. It would be the confirmation she desperately craves, that he wants the way she wants, but she can’t bring herself to try changing the scene yet. And maybe...maybe it’s just a physical reflex. Even if not, it’s not to say he’d want to do anything about it, maybe he would want to live in the moment, take up the entire not-night swimming in the longing, the way she already is. She shifts enough to feel how her own body has reacted to his proximity and wants to groan loudly.

But she holds it in. She takes more oil and makes her hands flat--the way he’d requested before--and strokes from the center outward. Psychic nerve connections, stimulating healing... She’s not sure what it all means, but surely thoughts are a part of it, so she imagines her love flowing from her heart to her fingertips. She doesn’t risk giving any extra time to his nipples as they pass under her palms, but watches them tighten in her wake. She’s gentle as silk passing over his belly, enjoying the way the oil glistens ever so slightly in this light. Her hands travel as far as she dares--thumbs rub across his hipbones. There’s no avoiding seeing his arousal now and she could easily brush her wrist against it while moving, but she carefully doesn’t. His eyes are closing as she looks back at his face.

“Rose. Just one more thing, if you would. Go up again, like you did, but would you press harder? I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

“K. I’ll try.” She grips his legs with her knees for leverage and leans in, and her hands begin. He’s engaged all his stomach muscles, and again doesn’t seem to be inhaling, abdomen rock-hard where she’d been so careful not to hurt him on the way down. She presses harder, trying to give him exactly what he needs, and when she’s once again reached his ribs, he releases a breath with a loud groan.

He nods at the “ok?” question in her eyes. She passes over his chest again and continues up to give his shoulders as much pressure as she can. Her body is starting to flatten and come in contact with his hips. Then his hands are on her legs, now on her back, one of her hands goes under his neck, she glances from the way his eyes lock on her lips to the way his chin is rising toward her, and her decision is made before she stops to think about it. Already accepting the kiss, slanting over him, feeling the moan in his throat. His hands have risen to the back of her head now, guiding her, he opens his mouth, invites her to take and she does.

By the time she pulls away to suck in air, she’s lying on him fully. Awareness penetrates the buzz in her head and she whispers something about not wanting to hurt him and starts to roll away, but he wraps arms around her and begs her to stay.

“It doesn’t hurt--not in a bad way. An--you’re here and you’re ok, and somehow you don’t hate me.” One hand tightens in her hair.

“I could never hate you. Told you--”

“I keep seeing you running for a closing door, behind my eyes. And I’m the one who did it.”

Instead of arguing, she kisses his cheek and the side of his neck and burrows her hands further around him.

“When I thought you were gone. I thought--”

“Shh, ‘m right here.”

His arms, wrapping her up. “Wish I could pull you inside me and keep you safe.”

All she can do is kiss him again, deeper, tongues playing until he bites her lip. She groans and whispers his name.

He responds to that sound with a grip that makes her gasp, and he pulls at her with a sort of desperation, guiding her body higher on his, taking advantage of access to her throat, collarbone. He murmurs something she barely recognizes except for the pleading and yanks at her top, and she’s whispering “anything, anything.”

His tongue passes over the swell of one breast, and he pulls down hard on her vest and bra together and catches a nipple in his mouth and sucks—hard, a moan in response to hers. She wants to scream, instead curls in, tucking her head against him, and closes her eyes to revel in the touch of his hands and tongue.

Eventually he takes his mouth away, long enough to say, “Off?” and he’s helping pull her clothes over her head and greedily pulling her back for more until what she wants second-most is to scream with joy, and most--

She reaches down to curl her fingers around his belt. “Can we get rid of all this?”

His head lifts, mouth still open, dazed, and she drags a hand across the stubble on his cheeks while he searches her eyes. “You want me naked, Rose Tyler?”

She grins. “I really do!”

“You get to have anything you want.” His smile grows until he’s beaming, then turns a little sly. “At least until the sun comes up.”

She laughs, and the buckle is already falling open to her hands. “I s’pose we’ll see.”

When the last of the clothes have fallen, she descends on him with kisses and wraps her hand around his cock. He makes a sound and she pulls back to find his eyes closed.

“Can I do this?” she asks. He nods and his mouth falls open just enough that she’s compelled to suck at his bottom lip as she rolls her hand slowly toward the tip and back down. He shudders and seems so overwhelmed at being touched--it’s making her quiver too, but she takes the opportunity to look at his body, all appearing very human, except for the way his skin heats in her wake and how he doesn’t seem to breathe at all sometimes. His hands have stopped moving on her skin, now digging fingertips harder and harder--

With a gasp, he stops her hand. He starts to roll toward her, but she sees pain wash the fierce determination off his face. He shakes it off and relaxes to the bed. “Please, Rose?”

“I’ve got you,” she whispers, and covers him with her body. She can’t stop kissing him, not the way he returns such passion. One of his hands tangles in her hair, the other goes between her legs to caress and explore, dip inside her. She moans into his mouth when his fingers reach her clit. After a few moments she’s had all she can stand and rolls her hips until they find each other and she’s finally pushing herself down onto his cock.

She holds him, squeezes him, not caring about the sounds she’s making into his mouth, because he’s moaning with her. His hand is now on her hip, pulsing her onto him. She wants to be wild. She doesn’t want to hurt him. She starts to move, pushing off him a little, forming long strokes, watching his eyes close and brow knit. She wants it to last. She wants to come on him, so hard.

She decides to drop her head and kiss wherever she can reach, neck, collarbone, following the rhythm he guides with his hands on her hips, riding the edge now for as long as she can.

Then she’s sitting up, riding him, before realizing it’s because he was softly begging “more.” He places one of her hands near his ear. “Touch me here?” he whispers, and she does it without question, amazed to find him grow harder in response. She leverages her other hand onto his shoulder and fucks him harder, letting her eyes close to concentrate on the feel of him. When she opens them, he’s watching her and he’s glowing golden, and she realizes it’s sunshine spilling through the window. He fills his hands with her breasts, rolls thumbs across her nipples and she comes with a scream, not stopping, taking him faster even as pleasure continues to shudder through her, until she makes him come inside her, shouting her name.

And only then she slows and falls to his chest, hair sticking to her face. She doesn’t want to leave him yet. “Did I hurt you?”

Laughter rumbles through his chest. “On the contrary, I’m pretty sure you’ve healed me.”

“Yeah?”

“Could do with a kip to make it stick.” He yawns--she’s never seen that before--and continues mumbling about hormonal cocktails and energy depletion, so she grabs her knickers for a flannel and settles into the crook of his arm. “It’s still the middle of the night for you,” he says.

She looks at the sunshine, before fully rolling the other way, and tucks her face into him. “What’s day or night to us, anyway?”

He squeezes her hip in reply, and his hand goes slack. She closes her eyes, bathed in warmth and light, and lets the rise and fall of his chest lull her.

~fin~

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #nine x rose #post dalek #deathlyfandoms #happy birthday #hurt comfort #massage #alaska #csv writes #civil twilight #is this enough tags #to make it safe to put #lemons #smut #tumblr please let this readmore work i do not want to fill any dashes #meanwhileinpetesworld #thanks for the encouragement many months ago ;)

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