#day i think what he's feeling for you may be closer to unbridled lust | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rodeo-boots · 3 years

Note

omg u opened ur requests!!! may i please get some flaco x reader smut? any gender for the reader :^) thank you <3

it's been an absolute pleasure to write for Flaco, and I hope you'll enjoy it!! I picked a gender-neutral reader for this one :')

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1844

AO3

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Snowflakes whirled behind you as the heavy door to the cabin fell closed, your eyes needing a couple blinks until they had fully adjusted to the darkness within. You released a deep breath, one you hadn't noticed you've held in the first place, dropping the bag with the take to the floor.

"Back already?" The voice permeated through the shadows, a deep tenor that had your little hairs stand on edge. Flaco hadn't moved from his spot, huddled in the corner of his cabin, tucked away where the worst of the wind wouldn't reach him. His hat hid his eyes well, the glass upon the table indicating what he'd been doing during your absence.

You pulled the gloves off your hands, stuffing them into the deep pockets of your coat. "Wasn't hard," you answered, remembering the fright in the traveler's eyes, their readiness to give you all they had at the point of your gun. It left you feeling on clouds, the rush of adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin.

And maybe you had ridden a little harder than needed. Maybe the prospect of seeing Flaco as soon as possible had driven you more than you cared to admit.

The man stood, floorboards creaking under his heavy boots as he moved closer, picking the bag off the ground to inspect the valuables within. He whistled, weighing his head in a satisfied fashion. "You've done well." His praise got to you as it always did, made the exhaustion and strain dissipate right off your shoulders. After a job done well, there was nothing else you needed than some validation, and Flaco had always been one to supply.

"What're you thinkin' about?" He had caught onto your silence, reaching for your chin to tilt it upwards, dark eyes meeting your own. The bag in his hands seemed forgotten, carelessly dropped again while the contents within clanked and jingled.

Your lips quirked up into a sly smile, the apples of your cheeks cold like your nose. "I'm thinking 'bout my reward," you answered, your hands easily finding their way to his upper arms, fingers digging into the thickness of his coat. He knew how to dress accordingly, seemingly never running into trouble to stay warm – though this man was a furnace all by himself.

His warm breath hit your face, your eyes fluttering shut in expectancy of a kiss. The next gust of hot air left him as a chuckle, however, Flaco reaching up to take the hat off your head and place it aside. "All in due time," he muttered, removing his own next to join yours.

You would never complain about sharing a drink and a talk, about basking in the company of the older gunslinger. He was more to you than a source of income, than a partner in crime. His tips were helpful, sure, but even if he didn't have a job for you, you'd still seek him out at the end of the day. Because no matter what you gave him, the attention and companionship you were more than happy to offer, he would always return it tenfold.

Up here, you were his alone, and you would always know to cherish that.

Teasing never lasted long between you, Flaco being as unwilling to waste his time as you were, straight-forward in more ways than one. Where you had made the first step initially, he preferred taking the lead from there-on out, but who were you to complain?

"That's it." He hadn't waited long after denying your first kiss, had crowded you back against the wall to work on your coat, your own hands mirroring the actions of his. His lips were on your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive and cool skin, your breath hitching when he sucked down over your pulse.

The whiskey on his breath was undeniable, but it was just another part of him, another addition to the intoxication man you couldn't get enough of.

You wanted to touch him, pushing at the heavy coat around his shoulders, fingertips raking up the nape of his neck to slip into his hair. There were too many possible places for your hands to be, a small frustrated noise slipping past your lips when you couldn't feel everything all at once.

Flaco tossed his coat to the floor eventually, not minding the dust and the dirt you had dragged inside, the snow now molten and leaving muddy puddles behind. It all didn't matter to him, nor did it to you, both your minds entirely encaptured with the press of one pair of lips against another, Flaco finally giving you what you'd yearned for ever since stepping into the cabin.

"Let's move this to the bed," you muttered, hands lowering to work on the man's belt, impatiently pulling the leather from it's loops. You palmed him through his trousers, got a good grip on him just to squeeze, sighing at the familiar weight of his heavy cock behind the fabric.

He bit back a curse, muffled his voice in the crook of your neck. By the time you had freed his cock, he was getting ready to speak again. "Why should we?" He asked low and deep, kissing the magical spot behind your ear before briefly nibbling on your earlobe. "If I can take you right here?"

That sent a shiver down your spine, the excitement within you welling up and doubling in intensity, your nod too quick and needy to be brushed off. "Please–" But you didn't get farther than that, Flaco's lips returning to your neck as his fingers slipped under your shirt, warm palms roaming cool skin, eliciting goosebumps and a soft moan from your throat.

He caressed you like you were some treasure, leaving not an inch of skin untouched as he gave your body all the attention it could ever need. While you had loosely stroked his cock all this time, he only gradually began to open your pants now, encouraging you to step out of the fabric before pressing you back against the wall.

You whimpered when your tender skin met the cold air, your arousal bared for Flaco to see. There was no shame in it, however, not when the man in front of you looked like he was ready to consume you entirely.

"Wrap your legs 'round me," he directed, still clad with only his flushed cock on display, standing proud and erected while droplets of pre-cum already rolled off the tip. He held onto you, lifting you in time with your legs finding their designated spot. "Good?" Flaco searched your face for signs of discomfort, humming at the nod of your head.

His fingers dipped low, finding their target right away as he focused on your sex, giving you a taste of the pleasure he would soon allow you to feel. You gasped at the first touch, hips inching closer to his hand, no matter how much you were locked in place by the position.

"C'mon," the tone of your voice was more of a plea than a demand, every part of you aching for more – for everything Flaco would give you. "N-Need you inside," you muttered, your head lolling back at his continuous but slow caress, of the stimulation that barely fell short of being enough.

He hummed again, leaning in to soothe you with a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to distract you from the finger entering you. "F-Fuck-" your walls clenched around the intrusion, slowly relaxing when Flaco started to work you open. He added one more finger and another, preparing you thoroughly for what was to come, the sensation of his hard cock against your skin reminding you just how dearly you needed to be stretched beforehand.

You whined when his fingers grazed the tender spot inside of you, instantaneously canting your hips to chase that delightful pressure. But Flaco didn't want you to come without him, pulling his fingers out to replace them with his cock, pushing in steadily to let you adjust to his size.

"Doin' so well," he grunted, resting his forehead against your own when he bottomed out, holding onto the back of your thighs with his balls pressing against your sensitive skin.

He breathed deeply, getting used to the heat and tightness of your walls, gyrating his hips experimentally to watch your response. When all you showed him was unbridled pleasure and need, however, he knew that he had no more reason to hold back.

Your back dug into the wall behind yourself, hands clutching Flaco's shoulders for dear life, holding on as he started to move his hips. He didn't start out slow, didn't build up any more than he already had, his cock dragging out only to be pushed back inside, balls smacking against your skin the more he repeated the action.

The breath was knocked from your lungs just like that, the man's cock hitting all the right spots inside of you, filling you in the exact way you needed. You couldn't hold back the noises from your throat, couldn't withhold anything as you tossed your head back again, eyes fluttering from the sudden rush of pleasure.

Flaco wasn't one to be overly vocal, none to scream his lust into the world for all to hear. But right now, he seemed as lost in his ardor as you were, grunting and groaning, staring at your face to miss none of the expressions that passed over it. "Eyes on me," he demanded, momentarily slowing to reach up and tilt your chin to him, locking your gazes as he continued to fuck you.

You didn't feel cold any longer, didn't feel much else than his cock moving inside of you, the rocking motions that pressed you closer to the wall with each passing moment. The pleasure had built within you all this time, first at the anticipation and now the pay-off, your head spinning while you inched closer and closer to the edge.

Flaco caught on to your impending fulfillment, dutifully reaching down between your legs to stroke you to completion, his fingers dancing over you with practiced ease. "Go on, I'll follow" he buried his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his own sounds of enjoyment, the vibrations of his voice driving you off the wall and into your orgasm.

You came with a sharp moan of Flaco's name, the taste of it still upon your tongue as your pulsing walls made him lose himself inside of you. His hips gave a couple more jerks, breathless curses filtering through to your clouded brain. He still held you in his arms, only slowly letting go of your legs to let you place them on the ground again.

His spent dripped down your thighs after his softening cock had left you, your muscles trembling but pleasantly warm.

"Now, we can move to the bed," he spoke up, his voice a little hoarse and rough, but you loved it either way. After all, you couldn't get enough of everything this infamous gunslinger was.

#Requests #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #flaco hernández #flaco hernandez x reader #reader insert #nsft #nsft fanfic #mallr4ts

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zabrak-show · 3 years

Text

Vacation on Concordia

Maul x nightbrother!OC

A/N: This is a gift for a dear friend on twitter, Zennybb!! (ilysm thanks for trusting me to write this) Vex Var is their OC, an AFAB nonbinary (they/she) nightbrother. Art and OC characteristics etc are all theirs! I just write the smut, LOL

Summary: Maul asks Vex to meet him on Concordia for a little getaway.

Length: 2.4k words, ~10min reading time

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Smut, NSFW, 18+, lots of sexy grinding/humping, skinny dipping, fun in the sun, maul has his chicken legs, biting/marking, tiny bit of blood play, no robodick, just good ol fashion oral and dry (tho technically it’s wet...idk just read the damn story lmao) humping

AO3

link to the art

Concordia was a strange mix of industrial mining complexes and lush forests sprawling out through the moon. Vines and trees snaked their way through the abandoned mining facilities. Once booming with the life of miners' hard endless toil, their distress could still be felt all around. Or was it the grief of nature being almost choked out on the once brimming with life moon? Likely both. Needless to say, the planet was a juxtaposition of feelings and scenery.

That wasn't to say it was terrible- there were still forests to get lost in, rivers, waterfalls, mountains, and hot springs. What more could one want from a moon? The abandoned mines were a curiosity as well. Though not one so sought after as a luxurious hot spring. The hot springs were what everyone gushed about to Vex Var anyway. Vex, a nightbrother turned smuggler herself, knew all too well about the secret mines of Concordia, and was no stranger to the moon of Mandalore. Why Lord Maul had asked them to meet here was an entirely different question.

The air on Concordia was pleasant and airy on its own but radiant in the direct sun. Vex's black jacket, baggy maroon pants tapered at the bottom into black linen, and dark red shoes soaked up all the sun's heat. The intensity of the beaming light almost overheating the Zabrak. They found respite from the heat by ducking into shady areas as they walked down well-worn paths.

Lord Maul sauntered alongside them in his signature walk. Towering over Vex from the height gained by his metal prosthetic legs. He wore only a leather collar and wrist gauntlets. The heat didn't phase him. Figuring his metal legs were pants on their own, he never felt the need for much clothing. Vex would tease him about it at times, usually in a playful attempt to learn about this strange Zabrak. If it bothered him, he never let it show and perhaps refused clothing now on spite alone. Vex wouldn't put it past him. That much at least they knew about him.

The curiosity nipping away her insides about what exactly they were doing here. And alone. Memories of the last time they were alone together flooded their mind. The interrupted kiss and awkwardness that followed. Was it getting hotter out here? No, and in fact, she was still walking in the shade.

"What exactly are we doing here, Lord Maul?"

Vex's voice, lean and sturdy as their physicality, cut through the chatter of birds and critters. Maul stopped in his tracks to look down at Vex, blocking the sun from their eyes.

"Last time we spoke, you were stressed out. I am told this," Maul gestured to their surroundings, "can help with that."

"Concordia?"

"No," he started to get perturbed but caught himself, "no, I mean, like getting away. I believe some are quite fond of the hot springs here."

"You brought us here to relax? Lord Maul, I thought it not something possible for you!" Vex jabbed his side with their elbow accompanied by a light laugh.

Maul growled back, baring his sharp teeth. It would take more than that to scare Vex away. She rolled her eyes and pressed on down the trail, following Maul's lead.

------

The first stop was a gorgeous cascading waterfall. The water rushed down, filling the air with its unbridled noise and cool mist. It pooled into the river where Maul and Vex stood at the banks into a dreamlike hue of hyaline aquamarine. The energy was powerful and calm.

The cool mist hit Vex's face in a welcome diversion to the sun's taxing heat.

"Is it safe to swim?" Vex turned back to Maul, who stood under a tree with his arms crossed.

"Yes, unlike Dathomir, not everything is a death trap to the unsuspecting traveler here."

Before Maul finished speaking, Vex was already stripping down to jump into the calm waters. A light splash and their naked form was under the glass-like waters. The cool water was chillier than the Zabrak was expecting, but swimming around in it a bit and it felt perfect.

"Come on, Lord Maul!"

"Hmmm…" He dipped a metal toe in, and Vex giggled.

"The water's fine. Get in!"

He entered the water with trepidation. Though half of him was metal cybernetics, they contained Dathomir magick. He could still feel everything but in a more subdued way. Once the water reached his stomach and chest, his skin pebbled at the temperature change.

"The water's freezing," he complained.

Vex responded with a splash, "Not if you keep moving around."

After several minutes of swimming around, it became evident to Vex she was the only one having fun.

"I don't see how this is supposed to be relaxing."

"Well, we can lay out in the sun for a bit. When the sun starts to go down, we can try the hot springs out. Maybe you'll like those better." Vex, ever the pragmatic negotiator, and well, it seemed they had a bit of a soft spot for the Sith Lord.

"Very well." Maul climbed out of the river and perched himself on a grassy knoll. Vex followed close behind, the water rushing off their tattooed skin, glistening in the bright afternoon sun. Maul tried not to stare.

"I guess we should have brought some towels," Vex suggested as water poured off their skin.

They plopped down next to Maul with a grin. If he could walk around naked all the time, then what was there to be nervous about for Vex?

"Oh, I didn't realize. Should I go back to the ship?"

"Maybe before we go to the hot springs, but for now, the sun will dry us just fine."

Vex squinted into the sun, the warm rays already evaporating the water off their golden skin and sepia tattoos. Maul stared straight ahead, not wanting to make Vex uncomfortable with the lingering gaze he so longed to do.

"How do your legs do in the water anyway? Is it bad for them?"

"No, Mother made sure to waterproof them in her magickal construction of them. Though, I fear, it may not always be the case for them."

Vex held their hand out and over his thigh, "May I?"

"Yes, go ahead."

Dropping their hand down on the cold, wet metal, and it was clear his legs held a robust magickal power. Almost like static electricity around them, but not quite. Still, it was the best descriptor Vex could think of.

"And you can feel?"

"Of course I can feel! I feel your hand on me. Though it is not the same as skin on skin contact, it's...hard to explain."

"Like static?"

"Yes, I suppose."

Vex took their hand away and stared ahead at the waterfall and picturesque river. Their eyes narrowed on a mining structure. It stuck out like a sore thumb against the vibrant colors of nature with its dull dark gray stone frame. Yet still holding its own raw beauty as a juxtaposition against the moon's natural environment.

Using her hand as a brim to shield her eyes from the sun, she turned to look at Maul, staring at him.

"Do they hurt?"

"Sometimes."

Vex looked down again with her big expressive eyes, and Maul lost himself in the moment. The sun sparkling off their still damp skin, he studied their tattoos, similar to his own, but with their own unique story to tell. Maul had yet to see so much of them, it was hard not to stare. He decided to give up trying and absorbed their handsome, athletic figure into his mind. Nothing seemed to ever last long for the Sith Lord, save for pain and suffering. Something this good would be gone before long. He needed to remember it all. Remember Vex and the moments they shared together always.

"You shouldn't stare so much, Lord Maul. It's quite rude."

Maul turned his face away and grumbled something incoherent under his breath.

"We should move to the next spot. Are you dry enough yet?"

Vex climbed Maul's seated body on all fours, her face lined up in front of his, though he refused to look at her for a moment. The tension was too much, and he had to turn to face them, finally.

"I think we should stay right here," Vex responded at last, "I'm not dry at all."

She leaned into him with her face, enveloping him in a passionate kiss. It didn't take him long to reciprocate. They were soon consuming each other's mouths, teeth clashing against each other. All insecurities either may have felt earlier in the day washed away in the clear blue river. It was only lust and passion now.

Maul reached a hand up to Vex's, holding her face in a sweet embrace while he studied her exquisite features. They leaned into his hand and looked into his glowing amber eyes.

"What is it?" they asked.

"Nothing, I, I, don't want to forget this is all." He trailed a thumb down to their lips and dragged it along their lower lip before grasping their chin and pulling her face back into his. Vex dug her knees into the soft ground at either side of Maul's hips and sat on his lap with her arms around his neck. Their adventuring hands made their way up to Maul's crown of horns. Massaging the base of his horns and scratching the skin between them with her long nails. His breath hitched with a moan. He ran his hands down their back and grabbed their ass to pull them even closer into him.

"Fuck, I want you so bad," he whispered in their ear.

"You have me," they whispered back, "all of me."

The kisses now getting sloppier. Too consumed with desire for each other's bodies. Vex's hands unable to settle anywhere, all his body so perfect for touching, his horns, his neck, his back, his pecs, his arms, his prosthetics. She wanted it all.

Maul struggled in a similar fit. How was their skin so soft? And they smelled so good, floral and citrus, he was ravenous for them. Biting into Vex's neck with his sharp teeth and they let out a small groan of pain. Droplets of blood spilled down her neck, and he lapped it up, flattening his rough tongue around the afflicted area, careful to not let any go to waste.

The stinging sensation brought forth by the bite and subsequent licking of the wound sent a rush of desire through Vex's blood. The arousal was now almost more than they could stand. They rocked their hips back and forth onto Maul's metal groin. Gyrating around for a moment, before long, they found that magic spot where his metal prosthesis rubbed their clit with perfection. The static feel of the cool metal, now warming up against their heated core, was unlike anything they'd ever experienced.

Maul's eyes grew big as he watched Vex come undone on top of him.

"You're so sexy," she breathed out. Their foreheads touched, and their horns clashed together in a soft show of dominance.

"I need to taste you," Maul moaned and picked them up by their ribcage to flip positions.

Vex's back now on the damp mossy ground. Maul prowled on top of them like a predator. Starting at their neck, he licked the wound that still throbbed with a dull intensity. Making his way down their body with his tongue and hands. Stopping for small moments to suck a nipple or bite their divine skin as he went down. Leaving a trail of saliva on his way down along with scratches from his long nails, clawing down their toned physique. Vex arched their back and moaned at each kiss going lower and lower. Until at last, Maul reached his destination and buried his face in their pussy.

Vex was already throbbing in delirious arousal. Once Maul's soft lips and rough tongue caressed their soaked cunt, all control disappeared. He was a gift from the gods as far as Vex was concerned at this moment. Grabbing his head between his horns and pulling him further into herself, she moaned in a heated lust. His tongue traced all along the trails and valleys of her wet lips. Any moment now and she'd explode in orgasm, yet never wanting this sensation to end all the same.

"Please, Maul, oh maker, don't stop!"

Maul had no intention of stopping, that much was certain. He consumed their aching cunt with a hunger that may never feel satiated. Swirling his tongue around in tasty patterns, Maul couldn't get enough of them on his tongue. As he paused a moment to suck on her clit, they pulled his head off and up.

"I want to cum looking into your eyes," she explained as she pulled him on top of herself, "and I want to taste myself on you."

She met his lips with her own. His entire bottom half of his face was slick with their arousal. The taste of themself on him was delicious. She found a position again where she could grind up against his leg and hit that perfect spot. They continued their messy wet kisses, stopping only for a moment here and there to gaze into each other's eyes. It was as if they each needed a moment of clarity to make sure the other really was there, and this wasn't all a dream.

Vex convulsed faster and faster onto his metal leg. The static sensation coupled with the wetness Maul's mouth had left on them had them at the precipice of explosion.

"I'm going to cum," they paused kissing, breathless, to inform Maul.

He took their face into his hands and looked into their eyes, foreheads touching. Vex yelped out in utter exasperation, letting herself come undone by the sheer pleasure and love at the moment. They gyrated themself against Maul in dramatic pulses while clutching Maul closer and closer to themself. Their cunt, still impossibly wet, flooded even more as they ejaculated onto themself and Maul's leg.The power of their orgasm spread to Maul, as he let out his own infernal groans of pleasure.

As the convulsions of the orgasm slowed, Vex, still holding the back of Maul's head, rubbed her cheek against his.

"I'm glad your legs are waterproof for now."

For the first time ever, Vex heard Maul laugh in happiness.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

this was a gift so i’m not tagging anyone, but thank you so much for reading! feel free to reblog and comment if you liked it xoxox

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draggingthedregs · 4 years

Note

Ok, here's a prompt then! 😊 "A quiet night. The Crows are staring at the stars in Wylan's house garden. Kaz notices Wesper and Helnik are cuddling, so he tries to win his fears and do the same with Inej."

a/n : hi! i loved this prompt so muchhh. and i had way too much fun with writing it which is why it took a bit longer then i had anticipated. but i am kinda proud of how it came out! i hope you enjoy what i did with it!

word count : 2667

~~~

As much as Kaz would have liked to pretend otherwise, he looked forward to their dinners at Wylan’s.

No one could really remember how they began. First it was a dinner to celebrate a tricky job in the Financial District. Then, the next weekend, it was to talk over possible ideas for the Crow Club renovation. They continued this way nearly every week since, sometimes missing a person or two, but never without a good reason. It was a constant for them; despite the dangerous jobs and greedy gangs and petty criminals of Ketterdam, they always had each other.

That night had been the first dinner since Inej returned from sea. She’d been gone for nearly six months, her absence felt like a gaping hole for the rest of the gang. For a girl who was so good at being invisible, she was impossible not to miss.

Kaz sat at his desk, his toe tapping an anxious rhythm against the wooden leg. He knew that she was to be back today, she had written weeks ago, promising to return in time for the first weekly dinner of the month. Was her ship sailing into Fifth Harbor? Had she already docked? Was she walking to the Slat or Wylan’s estate? Or had she been stuck at sea for longer then expected?

He let out a frustrated sigh, which coming from him, sounded closer to a growl. Too many damned questions swam about in his brain. Kaz scrubbed a hand over his face, running it back through his hair. He debated on leaving for dinner. Did he want to be early to greet her when she arrived? Would it be better to wait? To let her talk with the others?

You are a damned fool, Brekker.

Here he was, focused on whether or not to be fashionably late to a house he’d visited more times then he could count. And for what? Inej was just a girl, the same girl she had always been. Kaz was sure upon first glance, she’d smile and make a remark on how tired he looked and how the saints had intended for their people to sleep. She would hug the others, let Jesper lean an elbow on her shoulder, gift everyone with some trinket from her travels, and she would complete them.

Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if there would be more, specifically where he was concerned. Before she left, they had tried to hold one another, he had tried. The gloves were discarded, his hands trailing up her arms to her bare shoulders, landing at the nape of her neck and the bottom of her jaw. It was slow and gentle, for his sake and hers. Inej responded with a gentle hand on the crook of his elbow, a silent ask for permission to touch in return.

Kaz gave a small nod, whatever pain he felt, being pushed away as he focused on her warmth, the glow of her steady gaze. She set her palms flush against his chest, her thumb running over the collar of his shirt. Her hand slid upward, warm against his neck. The other moved to his side and, whether she had meant to or not, nearly pressed her front against his.

The cold water crept into his lungs, his breath catching. He couldn’t feel her warmth through his shirt, couldn’t feel his hands on her skin, only felt nausea crawling through his veins. Inej noticed immediately, pulling herself back, the look on her face apologetic. Kaz took a deep breath and forced himself to look at her, It’s Inej, Inej is warm, Inej wouldn’t let you drown. When he felt ready, he reached for her hand.

She took it cautiously, afraid to hurt him again; he could see the guilt swimming in her eyes. Kaz simply gave a gentle squeeze, pulling her close enough to lean down and nudge the tip of her nose with his. It was small but it was something, a way to explain that he wasn’t angry, that he would be ready someday. He just didn’t know when.

Finally, tired of debating it, he shoved up from his desk. He would leave for Wylan and Jesper’s, arrive whenever he did, and that would be that. Kaz reached for his cane, throwing his suit jacket on. The walk from the Slat to the estate wasn’t horrible, and he’d certainly done worse, but it gave him just enough time to think, something he wasn’t sure he needed.

A thought crossed his mind as he started on his way: maybe he’d never make it to dinner, maybe he’d throw himself into the canal before ever getting there.

The house was always warm. No matter the season, no matter their pain, it was a safe place from it all. There was a soft glow emanating from the front windows, similar to the pubs and pleasure houses of the Barrel yet… so very different. This glow was made of life and comfort, a home cooked meal and bright candles; the Barrel’s light was built of greed and lust, a smokey imitation of contentment.

Kaz looked either direction before swiftly picking the lock to their front door. He himself had designed it, a complex system of locks and gears, ensuring their safety and ensuring that he’d never have to wait for Jesper to answer the door. After he entered, he clicked it shut behind him, turning the series of locks once more.

There was a bright raucous of chatter and laughter. It floated through the halls, accompanied by the smell of warm waffles, to reach him in the foyer. As he turned through the maze of corridors, coming upon the dining room, a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

Wylan was making an attempt at setting the table, forcing Jesper to help, trying to set trays around Nina, who had taken to sitting directly on the table. She plucked a cinnamon covered waffle from its plate, popping a chunk in her mouth, hoping Wylan wouldn’t notice.

“Nina!”

She spoke with a full mouth, forming words around the half chewed waffle. “Wha-?”

Jesper let out a laugh, “There will never be a day when Nina Zenik doesn’t get the first and last waffle.”

Matthias spoke up, throwing an arm around Nina’s shoulders. “And you’d better not fight her for them either.”

“I’m sure Zenik wouldn’t let you walk away with all ten fingers.” Kaz finally spoke up, walking closer to the table.

They all turned, Nina scowling at him, as per usual.

“Look who decided to join us!” Jesper put a disapproving hand on his hip, looking bare without his gunbelt.

“I didn’t realize I was late. Actually, if I’m not mistaken, we’re still missing another person.”

Wylan smiled, “You’re fine, Kaz. Sit.” He added a last remark before turning to get the silverware, “Shove Nina off the table while you’re at it.”

Her distaste for Kaz seemed to have disappeared, replaced by a bubbling excitement. “Do you know when her ship’s supposed to dock? Is she on her way here?”

“I don’t work on the docks. I know what she said in the letter which means, I know as much as you do.”

She grumbled, stepping off the table to sit in the seat across from where Kaz stood. Matthias settled in next to her, reaching over for her hand.

Suddenly, Kaz was keenly aware of something behind him, an unsettled silence ebbing into his peripheral; his spine stiffened, ever-so-slightly. It was a familiar feeling, a presence he hadn’t realized he missed this much. He felt it like a punch to the gut, all the wind nearly knocked from his lungs. After all these months, it was a wonder he hadn’t lost his sense for her.

Inej’s voice came first. “I hope I’m not too late.” She stepped up next to him, pulling back her hood, a soft smile on her lips.

Kaz felt as though his knees may give way. He let his eyes rove over her, paying careful attention to new scars on her arms, the long braid laying against her shoulder, her keen gaze that met his before anyone else’s.

He searched for something to say, his voice awestruck and near disbelief, coming out in a breathless gasp. She was really here, she was really home. “Wraith.”

Inej gave a bright and knowing smile, “Kaz.”

He had just managed to give a grin in return when Nina tackled her into a hug. Inej laughed, hugging back and then, she was swept away from him. Kaz watched as she smiled and greeted everyone, felt everything brighten when she laughed, the laugh that nearly made him drunk with bliss. With Inej came a sense of completion, the closing of a door just slightly ajar; everything felt right with her there.

Dinner was mostly used as time to bombard Inej with questions about being on the sea, asking for stories of her adventures as if they were a group of children listening intently to bed time stories. She obliged happily, telling of swordfights and rescues, naming all the people she saved from each ship. Kaz sat it silent amazement of her. Inej was always too good for the Barrel, too good to be just another spider crawling through the sludge, but now she was living it, and she was thriving.

After they finished eating and stacking their dishes on trays to be returned to the kitchen, Wylan suggested they go out to the garden. Ketterdam hadn’t reached the peak of summer yet, bringing with it an unbearable heat. The air around them still cooled as the sun descended in the sky, allowing for a comfortable evening.

The six of them sat down on the grass and, in the soft glow of the moon and their half formed circle, they looked like the children that they were. It was easy to forget that the oldest of them barely pushed eighteen, especially after all they’d been through, after all they’d done. And yet, here they were; a group of teenagers staring at the stars together.

Kaz looked over at the others, paying close attention to their unbridled affections in the safety of the garden walls.

Jesper pulled Wylan onto his lap, the smaller boy leaning his head gently against his chest, blushing and giggling at whatever obscenities Jes whispered into his ear.

Matthias and Nina laid back against the grass, his arm wrapped around her body, pulling her tight against him. His arm was pointed to the sky as he talked to her softly, tracing the shapes of constellations with his finger and telling her their stories from memory.

Kaz looked to Inej at his right. She looked content, her chin lifted and her eyes closed, breathing in deeply, as if this were the first time she’d ever experienced a night like this. He realized this was close to the first moment they’d had to themselves since she’d arrived and he found himself struggling with what to say once more.

Inej turned a bit in his direction, the corners of her lips upturned. “I can feel you staring.” Her words came out like a forgotten melody he was hearing for the first time in years.

“You’re aware as ever then.”

Her smile widened and she opened her eyes, “The sea doesn’t change your instincts, just makes you adapt them.” Then, her gaze met his. “Had you hoped you could start sneaking up on me?”

In all honesty, Kaz wasn’t sure what he had hoped for. But he knew that having her home, having her next to him, was certainly near the top. “Ketterdam would never be ready for the day when a crip like me could sneak up on the Wraith.”

Inej laughed, and again Kaz thought he could survive on that sound alone. A comfortable silence sat between them yet, he couldn’t help but remember all there was to discuss.

“Inej…”

“You don’t have to.”

A sigh escaped him. He took another moment before whispering what he’d really been thinking all night. “I missed you.”

Inej realized that she had wanted to hear those words from him, she had been waiting for them. Not expectantly, not as if she believed he owed it to give her as much; she simply craved them. She had waited to see him like this, to be near him again. Her eyes met his again, the look in them just as desperate and starved as his. “I missed you too.”

Kaz gently reached for her hand, giving her space to pull away if that was what she wanted. But she wanted the exact opposite; she wanted to be as close as their minds would allow. It was then she noticed that he hadn’t been wearing his gloves. A smile spread as their bare fingers intertwined.

For a moment, they both stared at their hands. The touch, after so long of being apart, felt like thousands of stars exploding between them. They were burning alongside the sparkling constellations they were studying in the night sky, mere minutes ago.

After he was sure they both felt comfortable, he moved closer. Kaz kissed the back of her hand before letting it go, wrapping the same arm around her back, letting it fall against her hip. He was careful to listen for any change in her breathing, feel for her stiffening or beginning to inch away. But she remained, letting her head fall against his shoulder.

Kaz waited for the worst. He waited for the cold water to wash through him, her warmth turning clammy beneath his touch. But it never came. The garden remained around him; Inej, a steady beat of life, pressed to his side.

His thumb moved up and down against the back of her arm. It caught the edge of a thick, raised scar he didn’t remember being there. He let his fingers explore it at her mercy.

Inej simply smiled, “A rough privateer.”

“I don’t remember hearing of a privateer in your stories?”

“Seemed a bit bloody for the dinner table.”

“Will you tell me?”

And so she did. She told him everything, from how he’d tried to take her ship to how he then decided he’d take her arm instead.

Kaz felt anger bubble up within him at the image of his Wraith, bleeding on the ships deck. Perhaps because it was something he was all-too-familiar with. “Where is he now?”

Inej looked up and smiled, giving a small shrug. “The bottom of the ocean.” A crooked and true smile spread on Kaz’s lips. She registered it as pride; it made her heart stutter in her chest. Her chin lifted, the tip of her nose barely touching his.

With the tilt of his head, their lips met. It was only a soft brush, testing it for the both of them. When neither pulled away, he tried again. This time deeper and longer, as if the months apart had finally caught up to them. They just wanted to hold one another, even if this was as far as they could ever go, it didn’t matter for them. This was all they needed.

Inej smiled into his lips, breaking them apart. Kaz felt himself smile in return.

A laugh escaped him, filled with pure joy he never thought was possible. “What is it, Wraith?”

She shrugged, a blush settling on the tops of her cheeks. “I just- I didn’t realize it could be like that.”

He pressed his lips to her hair and she settled into the crook of his neck.

In that moment, Kaz realized he felt happy, a feeling he of all people, surely didn’t deserve. But even if he didn’t, he would earn it. He would be a better man, even if it was only for her. Inej would be his exception, his anchor, his reason, and he would do anything possible to ensure that he deserved her.

Dirtyhands and the Wraith… what a pair they made.

fin.

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bisexualiteaa · 3 years

Text

Cloud 9

Jaskier x fem reader

Warnings: none, other than maybe a little angst?

I do not own the song or the show, but I wanted to try my hand at something new! :) please pardon any grammatical or spelling errors. Enjoy!

Key: Italics means the reader is singing.

You sat in a deeper part of the woods, sitting by the coursing river that flowed over a bed of river rock. You sat by yourself, picking flowers, your body resting against a tree, taking purchase in it's shade from the harsh sun. You had stepped away from your camp as Geralt went out to hunt for a monster that the locals paid him to get rid of. Jaskier was off gathering wood for the fire, taking forever, likely having gotten lost or found someone along the way back. The idea made your chest ache. Why did you leave when you were already alone at the camp? Well, because you wanted to make sure you would be truly alone, and away from them both as you indulged in your moment of unbridled emotion. Your moment of self realisation that was rather hard for you to wrap your head around. You were in love. Madly at that.

*"I don't wanna seem the way I do'*

*"But I'm confident when I'm with you"*

*"Lately all I feel is bad and bruised"*

*"Tired of tripping on my shoes"*

You started to sing as you looked at your reflection off the beautifully clear water. Catching yourself for a moment in a day dream of him next to you. You both sitting like this, only in your dreams, you weren't alone by the water's edge. In your dreams, his arm was draped around you, holding you close, sharing in each other's body heat as you spoke of nonsensical things. Your feet dipped into the water together. In your dreams, you were the subject of his songs like he is in yours. In your dreams, he was yours.

*"But when he loves me I feel like I'm floating"*

*"When he calls me pretty I feel like somebody"*

*"Even when we fade eventually to nothing"*

*"You will always be my favorite form of loving"*

You sang as you held a flower in your hands that you had picked from beside you, leaning your head back against the tree behind you as you continued to daydream. The white flower seemed to shine in the light. It was so pure, so pretty. You dreamt of the time he placed a similar looking flower in your hair, proud that he had found you your favorite flower on a trip you all shared some time ago.

Deep in the woods, Jaskier gathered a pile of sticks, twigs, pinecones and any other things that he could think of that could keep a fire kindled through the night. He was on the hunt for more, for bigger and better options, when he heard a voice in the heart of the woods he was searching in. He was weary at first, unsure of whether to approach the voice or not. He knew better than anyone else, after traveling with the witcher, that not everything is always as they seem. He was weary of possibly walking into a trap, but he couldn't help but to feel entranced by the voice. Pulled towards it even. It wasn't until he drew close did he realise it was someone singing. A woman singing at that.

*"When I start to tumble from the sky"*

*"You remind me how to fly"*

*"Lately, I've been feeling un-alive"*

*"But you bring me back to life"*

You continue to sing, your emotions taking over you like a giant wave crashing along the shore. Your heart clenched in it's place in your chest, a tightness growing from it as you began to wonder if he could ever feel the same for you as you did for him. Time and time again he was called the fool. A, seemingly shameless, fool who carelessly falls in love with women on a whim, only for it to pass like the seasons do. Perhaps you were the fool. A fool for thinking someone like him could love someone like you. Someone who yearns for stability and life long love. Someone to be there for you as much as you for them. Your heart told you it was possible, yet that voice in the back of your head, was ever present, spouting tales of the opposite. For just a moment you wished to shut it out, to drown in the possibility of reciprocated love. For now, it was nothing more than a possibility.

Little did you know, you were no longer alone. Jaskier approached the voice that seemed to call out to him. He creeped behind the trees and hid behind the shrubs, trying to keep his distance, not wanting to stumble across something that could cause trouble, but also not wanting to disturb or disrupt the alluring voice. Their song was beautiful, and he found himself wanting it to never end. He found himself wanting to sit there all day long, just listening to them sing. He'd never heard someone with as beautiful a voice as this mysterious woman had. He had to get closer. See who this woman was.

*"But when he loves me, I feel like I'm floating"*

*"When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody"*

*"Even when we fade eventually, to nothing"*

*"You will always be my favorite form of loving"*

You sang, putting your all into it, your emotions getting the better of you as tears began to well to your eyes. You closed your eyes as you sang, a tear or two rolling down your soft cheeks, landing on the petals of the beautiful flower you had in hand. Tears brought about by sorrow filled thoughts of a love that would likely never be. You were so new to these feelings, to these desires, all of it. You were never one to see what was so appealing about the romances they spesk of in story books. They were all so unrealistic and filled with false hopes. How could you when the world around you told you it could never happen? Nobody truly ever had a happily ever after. Did they..? At least, you wondered if you ever could.

Jaskier quietly moved closer, finally catching sight of the woman that dat under the tree. The sight shocked him. It was you. That gorgeous voice, that entrancing song, it was coming from you. Your eyes were closed as you seemed to pour your all into the song that tugged at his heart strings. He'd never seen you so full of emotion before, so enveloped into something. He had no idea you even knew how to sing, let alone that you sounded this good. It made him wish you would do it more often around him. Sadly, he found your song coming to an end, watching as small tears ran down your cheeks. The sunlight caught them perfectly from this angle, making them seem to sparkle in the light. You were beautiful even when you cried. You looked no less than a river goddess sitting by her river, singing a siren's song as she ran her hands through the flowers. You were always beautiful in his eyes, but like this? You were truly otherworldly.

*"But when he loves me, I feel like I'm floating"*

*"When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody"*

*"Even when we fade eventually, to nothing"*

*"You will always be my favorite form of loving"*

You finished, the lyrics softer this time, a little more drawn out than the previous verse. You opened your eyes to look at the sky, your eyes scanning the fluffy clouds that seemed to hold no distinguishable shape as they traveled across the sky. The bright blue sky. It's hue reminded you of his eyes. Those gorgeous eyes that could hold you as if you were casted under a spell. Those eyes that held concern for you when you were hurt. Eyes that would light up at a joke, a compliment, or a story told by the fire. Eyes that would tear up and cry when he was overcome with sorrow. You could stare into them all day long and never grow tired of it. They told a story, a almost never ending story of love, lust, pain, and adventure. If only he knew. If only he knew how you wished you could be special in his eyes.

He sat there, beyond words at your performance. You were blissfully unaware of his presence, yet he couldn't be more honored that you had graced him with such a show. Nothing is more beautiful than a song from the heart, and this one sounded full of it. He wondered who the subject of your song was, wondered who it was that claimed your loving heart and kind soul to the point you could only admit it through a ballad deep in the woods. Was it someone from your past? Someone you haven't spoken of before that you still harbored feelings for? Or perhaps was it Geralt? The strong and brooding witcher that could draw in any woman with his skills, looks, and guarded personality? He hoped to himself, however greedy it may sound, that your song was about him. That you held him so close to your heart that you would create such a song just about your adoration. He would be honored if that was the case, but he wondered if a fool like him could pull someone as wonderful as you. Someone so happy, so caring, so full of life. Someone who loves with all of their heart, mind, and soul. You offer something no one else ever has. Stability. It scared him. In a life filled with adventure and curiosity that was too often over taken by his sexual desires. You were the first of anyone to make him consider spending the rest of his life with one person. The first to show him so much care through everything you all had been through. You weren't merely a fling like the rest, you were someone he wanted to pour all his time into. Someone he wanted to overcome his fear with. He wished he could know if he was special in your eyes as you are in his. If only you knew. If only you knew how much he truly longed for you.

#jaskier #the witcher #jaskier x reader

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 14

Warnings: possible body dysmorphia, mentions of past trauma and abuse

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip

Author’s Note: I have a serious case of extremely low self esteem (thanks anon hate!) and I can’t promise when the next chapter will be out. I’m hoping within the next few days. Fingers crossed! So I’d post the one I was holding ‘hostage’.

“I’m not too sure about this, Des,” Esme grumbles from behind a change room door in Bloomingdales.

It’s the last stop of the afternoon before a well deserved lunch; highly praised Thai food at a restaurant near Rockefeller that Desi had to book weeks in advance. It’s been years since she’d been THAT engrossed in a shopping trip; her feet aching and her cheeks hurting from laughing so much and dozens of bags in her possession. For twelve years she’s been caught up in her role as a mother; putting her own needs and wants on the back burner in favour of always making sure the kids never went without. Even with a ridiculous amount of money in the bank, she’d never concentrated on herself; perfectly content with her quiet and unassuming life in Australia, living rather simply and not needing much more than shorts, t-shirts, a small selection of bathing suits and a handful of jeans. It feels strange to be out in something other than her normal and preferred attire; used to choosing comfort over actual style and doing little more than throwing her hair up into a ponytail or messy bun. It had been nice to experience all of that again and had found herself most missing those younger days. When she’d pass the time with hours of window shopping and mindless browsing; daydreaming about all of the designer clothes and shoes and handbags she’d one day purchase if she ever won the lottery. But back then, it had been just that: daydreaming. And she can’t help but feel slightly guilty for splurging and buying things just for the sake of having them; outfits she may likely never wear and will hang in the closet with their original price tags still attached.

It’s hard to break free of that line of thinking; easily remembering the hard times when there’d been hardly any food in the cupboards and there’d been real worry about whether the utilities would be shut off or not. When Millie was still growing inside of her and she’d been trying to adjust to her new life in a new country; living with a man she barely knew but she already was already falling madly and crazily in love with. Materialistic things have never truly mattered; never heartbroken when she couldn’t afford brand new clothes or when their little apartment was filled with mismatched second hand furniture. Despite the financial concerns, they’d been truly happy. Engrossed in a ‘honeymoon stage’ of unbridled passion and lust; finding themselves thoroughly exploring and enjoying one another’s bodies while getting to know each other. It hadn’t been the most conventional of lifestyles; two broken people finding solace and healing in one another in Dhaka, an unplanned pregnancy, and quick and hasty cohabitation. And there’d been hard times; little quirks and hangs up the other had that annoyed them, heated arguments over stupid things, lingering trauma and plenty of nightmares thanks to their harrowing experience in Bangladesh. But somehow they’d made it work; a temperamental and moody Australian and a feisty and over emotional American. Falling in love despite their often enormous differences and making something so beautiful and lasting out of almost nothing.

“I don't know if this dress is my thing,” she frets, and smooths her hands down the side of the ridiculously expensive dress. It’s far more than she’d ever imagined paying for a single piece of clothing; immediately checking the price tag and having a small coronary when Desi had shoved the garment in her direction. Money is of no concern; in a thousand lifetimes the personal bank account will never run dry, nor will there never be a steady flow of impressive income coming in. But it just isn’t who she is; a woman with her wardrobe filled with designer apparel, far more comfortable in sweats from Target and one of her husband’s ratty t-shirts. “I’m just not too sure about it.”

“What is there NOT to be sure about?” Her friend’s voice filters in from the waiting area. “It’s Herve Leger. One of his best pieces yet. And it’s fabulous and it will look even more fabulous on you.”

“It’s too short,” she laments, and tries in vain to pull the hem down closer to her knees. “I don’t have the legs for this.”

“You don’t need legs for days to slay in that dress. And Big E, I’ve seen you in shorts. I know you’ve got killer stems. You can definitely pull this off. You’re worrying over nothing.”

“But it’s too tight. Way too tight.”

Desi sighs in exasperation. “It’s supposed to be tight. It’s a bandage dress.”

“It shows my rolls.”

“Excuse you? WHAT roles? Like you have rolls. Bitch, please.”

“I’ve had seven kids. Believe me, I have rolls. I’m twenty pounds heavier than when I first met Tyler. Twenty-two, actually.”

“And does he give a shit? No. I bet he likes the curves. I don’t see him complaining. Or looking at other women. He only has eyes for you.”

“Most biased man on earth,” she mutters, and studies her form from all sides. Easily remembering what her body had looked like almost thirteen years ago; thin and toned and extremely fit. A far cry from the ‘softness’ she possesses now; dips and valleys and curves where none had ever existed before.

“Isn’t his opinion the only one that really matters? Doesn’t he find you a straight up hottie?”

“That is not the point. He could be just trying to spare my feelings, you know.”

Desi gives a derisive snort. “Isn’t he still tripping over himself trying to get into her pants every available chance he gets? Quit your bitching. You’ve got a beautiful man that worships at the temple of YOU. Now get out here and let me see you.”

“Rolls, Desi. I have rolls.”

“Bullshit. And even if you did, that dress is like a corset. All the different bands built in? They hold everything. And I doubt you have anything to hold in the first place. Don’t make me break down the door and drag you out here. I am not above creating a scene. You should know this by now.”

“Don’t you dare go full queen diva on me.”

“Oh, I will. I will kick that door in and drag your tiny ass on out here for the world to see. Desmond Brownell does not play games. He’s on a mission. And his mission is to see you in that Herve Leger. Don’t make me pull a mommy move. Don’t make me count to three.”

“I tend to go with five, but…”

“Five then. Don’t make me go that direction. Because it will not end well for you. Or me. There’ll be tears. And not on my part. And most likely security guards tossing us both out on our asses. So we do this either the easy way or the hard way. And believe me, you don’t want the hard way.”

Sighing heavily, she smooths down the back and sides of the dress and once more tries to pull the bottom closer to her knees. To no avail. It is so far out of her comfort zone; a woman that insists on always covering her bathing suit with a t-shirt and refuses to remove it. “I am going to sneak into your house at night and kill you in your sleep,” she declares, as she undoes the hook latch on the door and swings it open. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Keep your eyes closed. Until I tell you to open them.”

“I can’t believe YOU don’t realize that you’re a bonafide MILF. Even if it’s not for you, how bad could it be?”

“Ever seen a sausage when you try and stuff too much into the casing?”

“Have you ever talked to a shrink? You do not look the way you think you look. What DO you see when you look in the damn mirror?”

“I see gray hair, wrinkles, and stretch marks. I see frumpy and plain and boring and just…” sighing, she steps into the middle of the waiting area and frowns at her reflection being cast in several different mirrors. “...old. I see old.”

“I think you’ve done lost your damn mind. Shred brains cell with every baby you had. Because you sure as hell don’t look old. Not even close. Can I look yet?”

“Do you want to be traumatized?”

“Do you WANT me to beat your ass? Tell on you? I’ll tell your hubby. Don’t underestimate me. Then both of us will get on your ass and then what?”

“He’s hardly a good judge. He’d tell me I look good in a garbage bag. He is proof that love IS blind.”

“He is proof that there’s good men out there. Good loyal, faithful men. That love every inch of their woman. Inside and out. You know how lucky you are? To have someone like that? Do you see anyone strong enough to drag him off? I’m sure he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

“If the thirsty housewives back home and the new neighbour had their way, he’d be getting all kinds of ass. All kinds of variety.”

“What new neighbour?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over lunch. But yeah, he’s got a harem of women that would love for him to be tapping it.”

“But he loves tapping YOUR ass. And only your ass. Does he have a brother? Have I ever asked that? A gay brother by chance? Or a gay friend? Bi friend? Help me out here.”

“No brothers. No siblings at all. No gay friends. Not that I know of. But you know who WOULD have a gay friend? My sister in law.”

“I thought he didn’t have siblings?”

“Not Tyler. My sister’s wife. Shaena. She’d for sure have gay friends. And hot ones. You’ve met her.”

“Both her and your sister are fine as hell. I wouldn’t mind getting in the middle of THAT. Hook a brother up. Make it happen. I’ll be at your little Aussie Christmas. Score me a date for then. In the meantime, can I open my eyes now? Don’t leave a brother hanging.”

“As long as you promise you won’t laugh.”

“I am calling you a psychiatrist. You need help.”

“Fine,” she turns her back towards her friends, hands perched upon her hips. “ Look. But no smart ass comments and no laughing. My confidence can’t take it.”

“Your confidence needs a serious makeover. Now let me see.”

She watches through the mirror as his eyes flutter opening; slowly widening as far as they possibly can, followed by a dramatic collapse back into his seat and a hand placed over his heart.

“Fuck…” she grimaces. “...that bad?”

“That bad? That GOOD. Desmond Brownell approves. You look…” he gives two chef’s kisses. “...delicious. I’d bang you. And I have high standards.”

“I’ve seen some of your dates. Your standards are questionable at best.”

“You wound me, Big E. Mortally wound me. That…” he nods in her direction. “...was made for you. Your body is tighter and hotter than you obviously realize. Curves like a back road. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“You don’t think it’s too much? Or should I say, too little? I am forty-one.”

“Who gives a shit? You look amazing.”

“I’ve had seven kids.”

“Especially amazing for someone that’s popped out that many crotch goblins. Sold. The dress is sold. This isn’t up for debate.”

“I can’t buy something like this. It’s just...not me.”

“It damn well is YOU. I’ll buy it for you. A little extra Christmas gift.”

“A thousand dollar dress is hardly a little Christmas gift. And it’s a little pricey, don’t you think? For fabric?”

“Honey, you really need to get out of Target and up your shopping game. I know how much money you all have, I know you can afford it. I know you could probably afford this whole store. And then some.”

“It isn’t about money. It’s about me. And being out of my comfort zone. I don’t dress like this. I live on the beach. In Australia. We wear shorts and tanks and never wear shoes. Where the hell would I wear this?”

“Date night.”

“Like we have places I could wear this to. I mean, I guess we could go to Cairns. I’ve seen women in some pretty expensive clothes there. I could always talk him into a weekend away. It wouldn’t be hard. And we are going to Santorini in April.”

“That’d be perfect for Santorini. Hell, just wear it in the house. In the bedroom. Just to spice things up a bit. I’m sure he doesn’t see you dressed up very often.”

“Try like never,” Esme laughs. “Okay, maybe that’s a lie. I DO wear makeup when we go out. And cute little sundresses.”

“What about when you got married?”

“I wore something off the clearance rack at a bridal store in Sydney. Cost a hundred bucks. It was nothing fancy.”

“But you wore a little tiara and veil and all that, right?”

“It wasn’t that kind of wedding. I was five months pregnant with Millie. It was a little wedding chapel. We had six guests. It wasn’t fancy.”

“E, you’ve been robbed. You need that bride moment. What about the first time?”

“Las Vegas. Even more casual. Zero out of five stars. Would not recommend.”

“Oh no, honey. No. That’s wrong. So wrong. You deserve so much better. You deserve a big day. You deserve to be a bride. A REAL bride. Poofy white dress, little bling in your hair, fancy little shoes…”

“Seven kids and I’m going to wear white? I think not.”

“I’m having a serious talk with that man of yours. Vow renewals are a thing you know.”

“He’s brought it up. A couple of times. Which is weird, because I never thought he’d ever think of something like that. This is Tyler we’re talking about. This is a man that can kill people with his bare hands. Who has his own brand of romance. Which I love, by the way. But it’s very odd he’d bring up something like that. Getting married again.”

“Maybe he wants to see you all done up. Looking like a bride.”

“Trust me, Des. Tyler doesn’t care about that stuff. That isn’t him.”

“Maybe he’s come to care about that stuff. Maybe he’s getting a softer side to him. Or, his soft side is getting even more soft.”

“Don’t ever tell him that. He’d kill YOU with his bare hands. Do you really think I should get this dress?”

“I think you’d be stupid not to. And you, are NOT a stupid woman. Treat yourself. You deserve it.”

“You know what? I do. I DO deserve it. And I think he’ll really like it. Maybe I’ll even give him a little sneak peek later. You know, to judge his reaction to it.”

“Oh I think I know what his reaction is going to be. Don’t wear any underwear. Just let him yank the dress up and have his way with you.”

“Maybe you know him better than I realize,” Esme laughs. “Fine. I’ll buy it. But if he hates it, I am totally throwing you under the bus.”

“Alright...alright…” Desi holds his hands up in surrender. “...I’ll take one for the team. Now get your little ass in there and get changed. This big man needs to eat.”

*****

“So this neighbour you mentioned,” Desi says, as he nods his appreciation at the hostess who seats them at their table, then gallantly pulls Esme’s chair out and waits for her to sit. “What’s that about?”

She rolls her eyes. “Natalie. She just moved in a few doors down. Her and her little girl.”

“Are you talking about the blond that has the goddamn gall to wear real fur?” Desi slides into the seat across from her. “The one that needs a chisel to take off her makeup at the end of the night?”

“That’s her. The one who looks like Sephora threw up on her face. Too bad you can’t apply makeup on the inside to make something more attractive. Because she is a real peach.”

“Bottle of your best house red,” Desi requests, and then flips open the leather bound menu placed in front of him. “How’d you meet her?”

“Well, it turns out she doesn’t just have the gall to wear real fur. She also has the gall to go after married men. And in this case, MY man.”

“Uh oh. Something tells me this didn’t end well.”

“I’m very protective of what’s mine. Maybe some people would call it possessive.”

“I definitely would call it that. Not that I blame you. I’d be the same way. Hell, I’d probably never let him leave the damn house.”

“I know what a good thing I have. I know how hot my husband is. I’ve seen him naked. Many times. What’s underneath? Even better than what’s on top. And what’s on top? That’s really damn good, know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean. And I’m just saying, I wouldn’t protest if you sent me nudes of him. Our little secret.”

“My husband IS hot. And he’s beautiful and he’s amazing and he’s this walking study in masculinity. But he’s just that. MY husband. I don’t share. With anyone.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve spent three years begging you just to let me cop a feel.”

“So I don’t appreciate some thirsty female from five doors down, honing in my territory. No one is pissing in my front yard. No one. And it’s not just that I’m possessive and there’s no way in hell I’m sharing great dick, but Tyler isn’t like that. He doesn’t do shit like that. He is a lot of things, but a cheater is not one of them. That is one thing I’ve never had to worry about. He is loyal. Fiercely loyal. And he’s had his chances. If he wanted to stray, he would have. Easily.”

“Never struck me as the type who would. He’s way too in love with you. Way too faithful. I see the way he looks at you. Stars and hearts in his eyes. He definitely thinks rainbows and butterflies fly out your ass. So this Natalie…”

“They met at the park. He took Tanner there; after their morning out. And this Natalie was there. Tyler made small talk. And small talk is even exaggerating. Tyler doesn’t do small talk. Any talk, for that matter.”

Desi nods in agreement. “Took me damn near a whole weekend just to get him to say two words. That voice though? Woody. Instant.”

“Well I guess Natalie took his small talk for something else entirely. Which I don’t get, because Tyler is civil, at best. He’s just not a people person. He tries. But you know what he’s like. How he comes across. He’s very rough around the edges and doesn’t take shit and doesn’t care for formalities. He’s a man of very few words. Whatever words he said, she read way too much into. She showed up at the house. Looking for him.”

Desi looks up from his menu, a scowl forming on his face. “She did not.”

“Oh, she very much did. And get this. She made him cookies.”

“What kind of cookies?”

Esme stares at him pointedly.

“I like details. I’m detail oriented. I can’t help it.”

“Oatmeal raisin.”

“The most traitorous cookie out of them all. For shame. I’m disappointed. If you want a man to climb in your bed, you don’t lead with oatmeal raisin. Please tell me your man don’t like that shit.”

“Rest assured, he hates them and your opinion and lust for him can stay intact. But you can believe that? She came calling on my husband. She brought him cookies. And I’m pretty sure if he’d been home, she would have offered him HER cookie.”

“Probably just as nasty as the ones she makes. Probably got cobwebs and dust bunnies and all that shit. Maybe even a barbed wire fence blocking the entrance. So what happened?”

“Well, she got the cold shoulder and snarkiness from Millie first.”

“That’s my girl.”

“And then I talked to her and she was bitchy and off hand and she’s lucky I didn’t throat punch her. She had all kinds of snarky things to say. About my name, about my appearance, about having so many kids. I let her know that I wasn’t having any of her shit. That I was onto her. I told her I didn’t know what kind of married men she was used to, but my husband isn’t one of them. That he wasn’t...and never would be...interested.”

“And?”

“And she left. We fed the cookies to the dogs. Or tried to. Even they didn’t like them. Man’s best friend, indeed.”

A waitress brings the wine; cheerfully introducing herself before taking their orders. Desi waits until she leaves before uncorking the bottle and filling both glasses. Offering a toast to a warm and safe Christmas holiday and the perks and perils of love and friendships. And they’re in the middle of sharing stories of his last trip to Australia -his encounters with the both the ‘friendly neighbourhood Aussies’ and the wildlife that so freely roams and enjoys their stretch of land- when her cell phone loudly vibrates within the confines of her purse. Had Tyler not been out with all of the children and it not been a common thing to often run into some kind of issues with handling so many bodies, she would have just ignored it. And she wishes she had; frowning at the number splashed across the screen and then dropping the phone back into her bag.

“Your mom again?”

Nodding, she takes a swallow of wine. “Third time already today. Only four or five more to go. Maybe she’ll even make it an even dozen before sundown.”

“Can she not read the signs? It’s quite obvious you don’t want to speak to her. What’s her issue?”

“It’s probably easier to ask ‘what isn’t her issue?’. There’s many. So very, very, VERY many.”

“I already know about what she was like you when were growing up. I’m surprised you turned out as normal and sane as you are. It’s more than that?”

“So much more, Des. Where do you want me to start?”

“Start with the biggest one. Or most recent.”

“She hates Tyler. With the passion of a thousand fiery suns. The seventh layer of hell? I don’t think that even burns as hot as her hate for him.”

“Why? He’s a good guy. Treats you right, loves his kids. Will fight like hell to protect what’s us. Die for it, even. What’s to hate?”

“So you know how Tyler and I met. The whole ‘pretend husband and wife’ thing.”

“Yeah, to find Ovi and save him. What about it?”

“Well you also know what happened. During those five days in Dhaka. Between Tyler and I. Believe me when I say that I’m not normally like that. Spend nearly a week banging a guy I barely know. Unprotected, at that. And at the risk of too much information, Tyler was only the third guy I’d ever been with. Sexually speaking. So what happened between us? Totally uncharacteristic for me. It was unconventional. How we met. But, it worked out. We wanted more. We wanted to get to know each other. See if we could make something out of nothing. And we did. We made a life. A beautiful life. And seven little human beings.”

“And she’s got a problem with that because…?”

“After what happened on the bridge, I decided to stay. At the hospital he was flown to in Mumbai. It was touch and go and he didn’t have anyone else and if he wasn’t going to make it, I didn’t want him to be alone. He deserved better than that. And a week later they brought him out of the medically induced coma and he was breathing on his own and he woke up and he was so happy to see me. You should have seen how he smiled at me, Des. He has a beautiful smile. But that? That smile he gave when he realized I was real and I was actually sitting there? By his bed? I had never seen anything like that and I’ve never seen anything like it since. He was happy and relieved and he wanted me there. He even said he was scared to close his eyes at night because he was afraid I wouldn’t be there when he woke up.”

“He was already head over heels for ya. Guess that was his way of telling you.”

“When the hospital said they were shipping him to another back in Australia, he asked if I would go with him. By then I was already invested. I mean, it was three weeks later and I’d already spent time helping him feed himself and getting him on his feet and to the bathroom and taking him to in-patient physio and all of that. I was already in love with him. Of course I was going to Australia. It was never in doubt.”

“And let me guess, it ruffled your mother’s feathers.”

Nodding, Esme takes a long sip of wine. “She wasn’t in control. Of me. And she couldn’t stand it. Neither she or my brothers no longer had in any say in how I was going to live my life. The Esme they knew? She died on that bridge. Or maybe she was left behind. I had a chance. To make a new life for myself. And I took it. I went to Australia and I decided that was where I wanted to be. I wanted to be with HIM. So I took what money we had and I got us an apartment and he put me in charge of handling everything; medical decisions, financial stuff. And then, I found out I was having Millie. Which, to be honest, wasn’t a huge surprise because what do you expect when you spend five days having totally unprotected sex? And I told Tyler and I gave him a choice. If he didn’t want me or the baby, I’d walk away and I’d go home and I’d never contact him again. I told him I didn’t expect anything from him. And I didn’t want him feeling obligated to me or the baby.”

“That must have went over well.”

“Well, needless to say, he wanted the baby. And me. So I stuck around. I was by his side through his whole hospital stay and through all the therapy and his stint in rehab and then we settled down in our new life. And we got married and had Millie. My family? They couldn’t stand it. They couldn’t accept it. They couldn’t accept HIM.”

“All because you decided to make a new life for yourself?”

“That was it. Tyler became public enemy number one. My mom convinced everyone that he stole me away. That he was manipulative and abusive and that I was scared to leave him.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Right? Tyler is so far from manipulative or abusive. He lived that life. He was on the receiving end of that. And he’s tried his hardest not to walk in his father’s footsteps. And believe me, he’s nothing like his old man. Not in the slightest. But no matter how much or how hard I argue, she doesn’t listen to me. She sees him as this horrible person. That took her baby girl away. And when he had the nerve to stick up for me? Against her and my brothers? That made things worse! You think they would have been happy. I found this amazing man who’s totally in love with me; who sees past all my bullshit and my ugly parts. That should have been enough for them. A guy that’s made me the centre of his universe. Who makes me happy and who I love more than I ever thought I COULD love someone. Who helped me make seven incredible little human beings. Why isn’t any of that enough?”

“I don’t know,” Desi says. “I wish I did. I wish I had the answers. ALL the answers.”

“Yet they practically idolize Mark. It makes no sense. They knew what he was like. They knew he was abusive. And they enabled him. They gaslighted me just as much as he did. And I would have left a thousand times over had they not constantly pressured me into giving him another chance. Had they not convinced me that everything was my fault. My mom stayed friends with him. Right up until he died. What kind of sick person does that? Stays friends with their own kid’s abuser?”

“You hit the nail on the head. A sick one.”

“Constantly kissing his ass and making him out to be some kind of white knight yet having all this shit to say about Tyler. They hate him because he refuses to be like them. Because he stands up to them. Because for once, someone loves me enough to have my back. That’s it. That’s why they hate him. And the things they’ve said? Especially since finding out he’s a mercenary? Constantly wishing death on him? Saying him dying would be the best thing to happen to me and the kids? Who says things like that? I almost lost Addie because of her. I came back from Ireland because I found out I was pregnant and my mom got on her bullshit and I almost lost my baby. Tyler came all the way back just to make sure I was okay. He wouldn’t have done it if he’s even a fraction as evil as they claim he is.”

“You realize it that isn’t really about him, right? That it’s all them. Because they don’t have that control. Over you.”

“I thought it would be all over and done with when we kicked my brother to the curb. I thought once he and Tyler had it out and Tyler kicked the shit out of him, that would be it. That we’d never hear from any of them again. You know how peaceful it’s been? Five years of no phone calls, no text messages, no emails. Five years of pure bliss. And now this…” she nods down at the purse sitting in her lap. “...her on my ass every day, multiple times a day. Isn’t it enough that I acknowledge that the kids received their Christmas gifts? That I showed appreciation and I said they’d send thank you cards? You think that would be enough. Our lives have been so good. Quiet and happy and peaceful. And it’s like she knows that. It’s like she knows how good things are and just has to screw it all up.”

“Normally I say just ignore them. Just wash toxic people out of your life and keep them out of your life. But if she’s as determined as she is, it’s only going to get worse. She won’t stop trying to get a hold of you. And as hard as it’ll be to talk to her, that might be the only way to get her to stop. Let her know. Say ‘thanks, but no thanks’.”

“I can not allow her back into my life. OUR lives. I can’t allow any of them back in. I will NOT have my kids surrounded by that ugliness. I will not have people around them that talk shit about their father. Because you know what? I know he’s not perfect. I know he has his issues. He’s the first one to admit it. But he is an amazing dad and he is totally devoted to those kids and they love him beyond all comprehension. And I won’t allow people to talk about him like that. I won’t allow them to break my kids’ hearts…” her voice cracks with emotion, and she takes a swallow of wine to clear away the lump sitting square in her throat. “....I won’t let anyone talk about Tyler like that. He’s not a perfect man, but he’s a good man. And he loves me and he loves his kids. He saved me, Des. In every way a person can be saved. And I won’t let anyone disrespect him like that.”

“Tell them that. Tell them EXACTLY that.”

“I have. I have said it until I was practically blue in the face. They don’t care. They say I’m ‘defending my abuser’. In what alternate universe is he considered an abuser? He has never...ever...raised a hand to me. He’s always said he’d kill himself before he ever let things get that out of control. That he’d never be able to live with himself if he even thought about hurting me like that. And maybe in a way, I DO understand some of the way they think. He’s lived a hard life. A violent life. First the military, then as a mercenary. Yes, he’s killed people. With his bare hands. But he’s never done it because he wanted to. Or because he enjoyed it. He did it because he HAD to. Because it was either him or them. He is not a monster. Regardless of what they think. Or even he thinks sometimes.”

“You’ve never been scared of him?”

“Never. And you know what? If he WANTED to, he could do some serious damage to me. He could kill me. No question about it. But that thought has never, ever crossed my mind. I’ve never been afraid of him. Not even at his worst. When he went back to drinking all the time and abusing the pain meds and we fought constantly. And yeah, there were times he DID lose it. Where he put a fist through the wall or grabbed me trying to stop me from walking away or trying to calm me down and talk some sense into me. But I’ve never been scared of him. Because even at his worst, I knew he loved me. I knew none of his issues were about me. That was him and his brain and not knowing how to cope. And they just don’t get it. They think he’s somehow frightened me into sticking around. That he’s been forcing me to have children. Because it somehow keeps me around.”

“Sounds more like they have the issues. Not you guys.” Desi reaches for the bottle of wine, refilling both their glasses.

“We’re not perfect. And Lord knows we have had some really shitty times. Where we didn’t think we were going to make it. But you know what? We did. We fixed our shit and we made things work. We both busted our asses to change. And he still busts his ass every day to make up for all the bad. We work at it, Des. Every day we work at it. Because we love each other and we both know what it's like to be from a broken home. And we won’t do that to our kids. We won’t let them grow up like that. So we work at it. And it hasn’t been easy. But there’s been more great times than bad times.”

“You two are strong. What you got is strong. No one can deny that. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.”

“I will not let my family ruin us. They tried. And in Colorado, they almost succeeded. But we got away. We moved back home. Our REAL home. And we never looked back. I won’t let them destroy things for us. Not when we’ve worked so hard to get where we are.”

“You’re going to have to deal with her, Esme. She isn’t going to go away. Not from what I’ve seen.”

“And I will. I WILL talk to her. After Christmas. I just want to get through the holiday. I just want things to be happy and peaceful. Especially for the kids. I don’t want anyone ruining Christmas for them. Once it’s over and things calm down, I WILL talk to her. But right now? I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“It’s all going to be alright,” Desi assures her, and reaches across the table to give her hand a comforting squeeze. “Everything’s going to work out.”

“Tyler isn’t perfect. He’s the first one to admit that. In the same way I’m not. But you know what? We’re perfect for each other. And in the end, that’s all that matters.”

*****

When she arrives home she finds the three littlest fast asleep; tightly snuggled together on the area rug in front of the Christmas tree and covered by the knitted throw usually draped over the back of the sofa. Saju and Mac nap close by; curled up together in front of the front of the fireplace and merely blinking their eyes in a form of acknowledging her presence. She can hear Millie and Alannah upstairs; giggling and chattering, their feet stomping overhead as they play a dance game on the XBox. The three oldest boys are out in the backyard; laughter drifting inside as they hide behind ‘fortress’ walls and lob snowballs at one another. It's rare to see the three of them enjoying time together. Tanner normally not comfortable with the more raucous play and choosing quiet time; up in his room reading a book or writing stories or building intricate lego scenes in front of the fireplace.

She stands in the sunroom and watches them; smiling at how jovial and lighthearted they are. Their faces bright and happy; no cares in the world aside from the balls of snow and ice being tossed in their direction. Despite everything they’d been through, they’re spirits so brilliant and bubbly, continuing to love the world and everyone in it. Tanner and TJ (along with Millie) are able to remember the more difficult times in Colorado and being whisked to Mumbai under false pretenses; told they were going on a family vacation only to be sent back to Australia without either parent and then told their father very well might never come home. They still talk about it from time to time; how scary it had been to be away from both mom AND dad and how worried they’d been when they thought their daddy may never make it back to them. They’re able to vividly recall visiting him in the hospital; the scars and bruises on his face that had been in various stages of healing, the sling keeping his badly wounded and surgically repaired shoulder in place, the ‘cage’ that had encased his right thigh, the tremendous amount of weight and muscle he had lost. It HAD been traumatic; more than two months without their father under the same roof and seeing him so wounded and vulnerable.

They’d needed their own therapy; the trauma manifesting itself through moments of rage and aggression and troubles sleeping at night. A child psychologist recommended to them by Doctor Klein had done them all a world of good; disguising therapy with music and play and helping them express their emotions and their fears. And within six months they were back to their old selves; grades climbing and their social skills improving, the rage and aggression diminishing. It still haunts them from time to time; a fear that returns whenever daddy has to leave home for work. But for the most part they’ve healed exceptionally well; full of energy and light and humour and possessing enormous amounts of compassion and empathy.

She finds Tyler in the main floor office; a central area of the main floor that had been the previous owner’s sewing and craft room. It’s close enough to keep an ear out for the kids; able to hear them both inside and out. And a security system enables him to keep an eye on any area of the house; live images cast back to the flat screen television mounted on the wall above the desk. Five years years ago she would have called him paranoid for insisting on such measures. Overprotective, even. But that was until someone had gotten close enough to Addie to steal a stuffed animal right out of her crib. Had the culprit wanted her, she would have been long gone in the middle of the night. And they most likely never would have seen her again. The terror of that night is still very real; the thought of someone reaching across her tiny body to take something so simple in the course of sending a very clear message.

After that, Esme had vowed to never call him paranoid or overprotective again. Evil had gotten too close. WAY too close. And she now understands his fierce and rabid determination to do whatever it takes to keep his family safe.

She watches him from the doorway; intently working at the computer. Admiring the glasses perched upon his face and the lines of his profile; the strong, stubbled jaw and the curve of his lips and the bump in the bridge of his nose. The scars that had long ago become part of him. Marring the left side of his forehead and by his left eye; old wounds that he’d possessed when they’d first met. A handful of others have been added since then. The edge of a metal shovel cutting wide and deep; the scar travelling from the very corner of his right eye and up his forehead and snaking up into his hairline. And the ones left behind from Nathan. The one above his eyebrow thin and faint, the one below his eye much wider and jagged and stretching all the way to his temple. That one had been the worst; deep enough for the knife blade to hit bone and cause irreparable damage to nerves and muscle. And while most would see them as blemishes and flaws, she sees it as adding to his beauty; souvenirs of not only a hard and dangerous life, but of survival.

“Hey,” she greets as she wanders into the room. “What’cha doing, handsome?”

“Just some shit that came up. I would have ignored it, but…”

She stands at the back of his chair. Fingers and thumbs rubbing at tense shoulder muscles before wrapping both arms around his neck; leaning over him and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, followed by his temple. “Everything alright?”

“Koen ran into some issues. On the job he took. Not going as smooth as we’d hoped it would. Just had to send him some extra cash. And put him in contact with someone who could get him some extra gear.”

“He’s alright though? He’s not in any trouble?”

“He’s fine. Nothing he can’t handle. I know I said I wouldn’t bother with work stuff until we go back home, but…”

“Sometimes it can’t be helped. It’s the nature of the beast. It isn't the most predictable of careers. I’m glad to see you survived your day out with the spawn. Is your sanity still intact?”

“What was left of it. I don’t know how much I had to begin with.”

“I also noticed all seven AND Alannah made it back. Success.”

“They were good. No trouble. They all behaved themselves. Shockingly.”

“Your feral offspring all behaving at once? Hell must have frozen over.”

He gives a small chuckle, then turns his face into her and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. A frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pulls back to look at her.

“What’s that look for?”

“Why do you still have your hat on? It’s fucking boiling in here.”

“It’s part of my surprise. I have something to show you.”

“Yeah?” A slow grin begins to spread across his face. “I’ve already seen you naked. Many times. Not that it’s not awesome each time it happens. I’m not complaining.”

“As much as I’d love to just drop my clothes right here and rock your world, it’s something else. I did something. While I was out.”

“New ink?”

“Nope.”

“You got something pierced, didn’t you. Something naughty. Something very naughty.”

“You wish. Those days are long behind me. But it is a surprise. And I want you to promise you won’t freak out. When you see it.”

“How bad is it? Usually when you tell me not to freak out, it’s pretty fucking bad.”

“It’s not bad. It’s just...surprising. You ready?”

“Is it a good thing I’m already sitting down?”

“It’s probably for the best. Turn your chair towards me and close your eyes.”

“Esme…”

“Tyler…”

“What the hell have you done?”

“Just do it. Humour me. Please.”

“Fine.” Turning his back towards the computer, he closes his eyes. “This isn’t where you tell me you want to try pegging is it? Because I thought I’ve already made it perfectly clear that there is no fucking chance of that happening. EVER.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s nothing sexual. Get your mind out the gutter, sheesh.”

“I’m sorry, have we met? It permanently lives in the gutter.”

“Never mind viagra. Maybe they can give you something to calm your dick down.”

“You’d miss it. Don’t deny it. It would hurt you just as much as it would hurt me. Are we going to do this surprise sometime today or…?”

Removing the knit beanie from her head, she tosses it out the desk and then runs her fingers through her hair. She feels naked and exposed; the dark tresses that had once reached the middle of her back now shorn and styled into a side parted, sleek bob that skims her earlobes. “Promise you won’t freak out.”

“I promise I won’t lose my shit.”

“Okay...open them...but remember, no freaking out.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is. If it’s nothing dirty or kinky or piercing of some kind…” His eyes flutter open, then slowly widen as the reality of what’s before him sets in.

“You hate it don’t you.”

“I don’t hate it. I just...wow...that’s...NOT what I was expecting.”

“You do, don’t you. Hate it. I knew you would. You always hate when I do something with my hair. Like when I decided to get bangs.”

“In all fairness, I didn’t hate them. I just wasn’t a fan.”

“But you HATE this? This haircut. You hate it being so short, don’t you.”

“Actually…” he slides the chair closer to her and lays his hands on her hips. “...I love it.”

“Yeah?” A smile replaces the nervous frown. “Really?”

“Really. I wouldn’t lie to you, Me. That’s not who I am. Not anymore, anyway.”

“You sure you like it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I think you look beautiful. It suits you. You got this cute, tiny little face. Your hair shows it off. I really do love it. You look amazing.”

Placing her hands on the sides of his face, she leans down to kiss him. “It was time for a change. Something different. Something I didn’t have to spend hours on when we go out. You’re sure? One hundred percent? You really do love it?”

“I do. You look beautiful.” Laying a palm on the back of her head, he pulls her down into a kiss. And she laughs into his mouth when his free hand latches onto her hip and she loses her balance and topples into him. “You’re beautiful, Me. Always.”

“I really was worried you wouldn’t like it,” she says, as she settles herself sideways on his thighs. “So you’ve made my day. My year, actually.”

“It suits you. You look amazing, baby. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“Speaking of making my year, I’m about to make yours.”

“We’re talking about butt stuff, aren’t we.”

“No!” she laughs, and playfully tousles his hair. “I mean, maybe later. When the kids are out.”

“Where are they going? You banishing them to the backyard?”

“Desi offered to take them.”

“All of them?”

“Every last one. Even Alannah. He’s going to take them out for dinner and to Central Park. To see Santa and the reindeer. Maybe do some skating. And then, he’s going to take them to his place. They’re going to have a camp out. In the living room.”

“So we get the house to ourselves? All night?”

“All night,” she confirms. “And well into the morning. You know what that means?”

“Butt stuff.”

She sighs in exasperation. “I means you don’t have to wait until New Years Eve for wild and crazy AND noisy sex with your wife.”

“We might have to tone down the noise. The kids will be right next door. They could still hear us.”

“That’s a fair point. So noisy is out. But wild and crazy are definitely in.”

Tyler grins. “I can do wild and crazy.”

“Oh, I know you can. You’re a master at it. A master at anything sexual, now that I think about it. Man, did I ever luck out. Landing you.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m the lucky one. Girl like you putting up with my shit? You’re one in a million, babe. No doubt about it.”

“I love you,” she says, pressing a kiss to his ear and then nuzzling his temple with the tip of her nose. “More than you could ever know. And thank you. For being you. And for loving me the way you do.”

Smiling, he turns his face into hers and places his lips to her brow; a hand coming up to comb through her hair, palm settling on the nape of her neck. “You’ve made it pretty damn easy.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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gaycrouton · 4 years

Note

Could you write some hot msr porn with mulder seeing scully masturbate through a window, then comes over and fucks her hard?

Thank you for the prompt!!! Huge thanks to @admiralty-xfd for the beta

Mulder needed to tell her. He had to tell her. But in this moment he felt inexplicably frozen. His feet were lead, his legs heavy, the only perceivable movement in his entire body was the blood starting to pulse through his veins and his eyes frantically absorbing the sight in front of him, unsure which point to land on.

Scully must not have noticed the curtains were paper thin or that there were no blinds on the motel windows. Of course she wouldn't have noticed, from her perspective she wouldn't have seen anything different - the illumination of her room creating a one way mirror against the blackness of the night outside.

He, on the other hand, could see everything. Scully's body on the bed, the flickering of the television, the way her clothes were haphazardly strewn about the room. His first thought had been concern; Scully was a private woman, and the fact he could see her plain as day through the motel curtains meant any passerby could.

But then he really saw her and his thoughts were reduced to monosyllabic utterances: Fuck. Hot. Naked. Scully. Masturbating.

Mulder felt arousal swell up in him with a startling force. The crinkly wrapper of the candy bar he'd gone out to get from the vending machine was now slippery in his palm. To be honest, he felt a little faint. This all felt like one of his fantasies being played out in front of his eyes - his own home movie. Only this time window panes replaced the sides of his television box.

He took one furtive glance around him to make sure he was alone in the parking lot, relieved to see it appeared that all the other patrons were asleep. At least that's what he hoped. As much as he didn't want anyone watching Scully in a moment of private, self-indulgent gratification, he also didn't want anyone seeing him do exactly that.

The gravel beneath his feet shifted under his weight and the sound was deafening against the stillness of the night. His head shot back to the sole beacon of light, sure Scully would be looking in his direction, her vantage point the complete, opaque opposite of his own. But she wasn't. Her chest was heaving as she seemed to sink even deeper into the motel blankets - fingers moving deftly in between her bent legs.

Mulder had seen her no less than twenty minutes ago. Twenty minutes ago when she'd feigned a yawn and told him she was exhausted. "I just want to get to the motel and go straight to bed."

It was a sentiment she'd repeated for the last hour of the car ride. However, before, he'd just assumed she said it to cut the tension from their conversation about childhood crushes which had somehow managed to take a dirtier route than originally intended. She'd seemed antsy after that, fidgety even, but he assumed she was tired. Now he wasn't so sure.

He watched as her back arched off the mattress, pushing her body weight into her hand while the other reached up to grab her left breast. Scully's mouth dropped open in what he assumed was a silent cry as she tweaked and pinched her nipple.

He didn't realize he was starting to rub himself through his dress pants until he felt his cock twitch against his palm. His instincts told him to stop, that being added to the sex offender registy for public masturbation was the last thing his reputation needed, but he couldn't help but idly squeeze his shaft as he watched her fingers move from her sex to her mouth and then back down.

Fuck.

Suddenly she stilled and lifted herself on her elbow, careening her body so it was more visible to him while she appeared to listen for a noise coming from the other side of the wall. Where he should technically be.

The moment of stillness continued as she panted, presumably waiting to make sure he wasn't awake. She had no idea just how awake he was. From her new angle he could see her entire lithe frame, from the way her breasts hung on her chest to the thatch of trimmed hair on her mons to the way her fingers glistened against the illumination of the motel lamps.

Her face was flushed with arousal and her hair was askew from lolling her head back and forth against her pillow. Scully seemed to decide the noise was a fluke as she eased herself back down on the bed, her hair fanning out on the pillow underneath her head. Her legs, seeming longer than possible for her diminutive height, bent so that the soles of her feet were planted on the bed as she continued her ministrations. She bit her lip as her brow started to furrow and he knew she was falling back into her rhythm, steady waves of pleasure pulsing through her body evidenced by the tightening of her abdominal muscles. The hand not between her legs started absently touching her collarbone, fingering the flesh like it was velvet.

The pose reminded him instantly of a baroque painting and the framing of the window helped set the scene. What would she be named? "The Pleasure of Woman"? "Venus in Ecstasy?" Every time she moved, he couldn't help but think that he'd never seen her as beautiful as she was then. He wasn't sure what it was about the situation that was making him so impossibly hard: if it was the pure eroticism of seeing a woman pleasure herself as she would in private, or if it was seeing Scully doing this while she was under the assumption he was in the next room. Undoubtedly it was a mixture of both. He watched as she tilted her head back against the pillow, writhing under her movements.

He shouldn't be watching this.

The thought that had been floating around in his head since he stumbled across her came back in full force after realizing just how close she was. Or-how close she looked like she was. His stance hadn't changed in the past five minutes; he had to tell her. The thought that some stranger might walk past her window and watch her while she was changing or doing something like this made his stomach turn. He realized he was being a hypocrite, but he wanted to blame part of it on being shell-shocked. It wasn't every day something like this happened. But while he knew watching her in a moment of intimacy was bad, watching her come felt like more of a monumental trespass.

As he walked to her door on unsteady legs, he took off his coat and draped it over his arm, trying in vain to cover his erection. Mulder paused while at the doorstep, feeling another wave of arousal rush through him as he heard a few soft, barely suppressed whimpers come from the other side of the door. If he hadn't gone out to get a candy bar, he was sure he never would have suspected the sounds were coming from Scully. They sounded high pitched, desperate, and full of unbridled lust - almost as if her body couldn't contain them.

Raising a sweaty hand, he knocked on the door and heard a soft, breathy 'fuck' come from the other side before hearing her call out, "Just a minute!" Mulder stood stock still, staring intently at the thick coat of paint coating the door. He was struck by the thought of seeing her this up close. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Scully aroused before. Maybe he had. He hadn't realized she was getting turned on by their conversation earlier, so who knew what else he had missed. But what he did know was that in a few moments, he'd be less than a foot away from a Scully who was on the brink of orgasm.

She whipped open the door after unlocking the deadbolt, and if he hadn't just seen the little show in the window, he'd assume she was sick. There was a sheet of sweat coating her brow, her cheeks were flushed red, and her breath was coming out in shallow pants. He wondered, if he hadn't been looking for it, if he would have noticed the way she was desperately wiping one of her hands on the back of her loosely tied robe.

"What is it Mulder?" she asked, trying hard to suppress her panting, swallowing thickly while trying to appear unbothered.

"I saw you," he murmured lowly, locking eyes with her.

Her mouth dropped open as if to respond, but she was at a loss for words. "W-what?" she stammered.

"Look," he instructed, leaning forward into her personal space and pointing towards the window. He could smell a mixture of sweat and sex on her person, the perfume she'd put on earlier in the day exaggerated from the heat of her body.

She didn't look immediately. Instead, she gasped almost inaudibly and kept her eyes on him as he got closer. When she met his eyes, she followed his finger and he watched as realization dawned in her gaze. "Oh my god," she whispered in horror.

"I just wanted to let you know. I-uh," he paused, unsure how to continue without making her feel bad or making himself look like a pervert. "I didn't mean to see or violate your privacy. I just thought you'd want to know," he explained, still not taking his eyes off her. Her blush looked even darker than before, and he knew she was embarrassed.

"I-I'm sorry," she mumbled, looking down at her feet.

"Hey," he prompted, letting his hand fall to his side even though his fingers burned to touch her cheek. He wanted her to see in his eyes how much she shouldn't be sorry.

Mulder waited for a moment, but Scully didn't look up. "You shouldn't apologize. We all do it."

She looked up at him through heavy lashes with a small frown tugging on her lips. "While that may be true, usually one's partner doesn't get a front row seat to it," she murmured.

"Are you mad?" he asked without thinking, prompted by the directness of her words.

"No, I'm embarrassed, Mulder," she proclaimed, raising her voice and meeting his eye. Her focus was glassy and her cheeks were still pink. All the emotions she was feeling barely contained within her small frame. "You just saw me masturbating! Why were you even out there?"

"I was getting a candy bar," he explained. In his rush to answer her, he thoughtlessly raised his arm to show her the candy bar in question, not realizing he exposed his still obvious hard on.

He didn't realize until she didn't respond, then following her gaze to see what she was focused on. Mulder dropped his arm back down, his coat fruitlessly covering his lower half. The movement caused Scully's gaze to flicker back towards his and he immediately noticed there was a shift from embarrassment to curiosity in their depths. "How long were you out there?" she asked measuredly.

"To be honest, I was distracted. Maybe five seconds, maybe ten minutes. I wasn't keeping track," he responded. "I'm sorry," he added in response to her silence.

She just looked at him curiously. He couldn't what she was thinking, but he could tell her mind was racing a mile a minute. Her gaze went from his face to his chest to the parking lot behind him. Then, without warning, she took a step towards him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Mulder's body lurched towards hers, instinctively seeking out her warmth. His arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her to him while his erection pressed into her belly. Without her heels she felt so tiny in his arms, his neck had to crane down to meet her eager lips and he felt like he barely had to open his arms to encase her fully.

His tongue slid against hers with nervous eagerness while her fingernails scraped against the nape of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. She felt like a radiator in his arms and he couldn't believe this was happening. The wind blew behind him and he remembered they were on the threshold of her motel room, so he picked her up from her middle and walked the remaining few feet into her room, kicking the door shut with his foot.

Scully laughed huskily into his mouth before wrapping her legs around his hips, clinging to him while sucking on his bottom lip. He knew if he went deeper into the room, they'd be on display for any person walking around, so he instead pivoted his body around and walked forward so that her back was against the door, keeping them secure in the little anteroom. This position allowed for his erection to grind into her arousal, now exposed from the loosening of the sash around her waist.

He moaned as she squirmed against him, and she took the opportunity to pull back and look at his face. She was panting again, her eyes roaming his expression and drinking in the signs of arousal he'd just enjoyed seeing on her. He swallowed thickly and moved so that his hands were beneath her thighs, helping support her weight more. "While I'm thrilled at this turn of events, I still want to say I'm sorry for watching," he apologized.

She shifted herself on his hips, rubbing herself against him in the effort while she licked her lips. "It's okay. It's you," she whispered, brushing back some of his hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. He was still digesting her words when she smiled at him and recaptured his lips with her own.

He returned the kiss fervently, bucking into her a few times as he enjoyed the silken sensation of her tongue against his own. Then, he slowly lowered them to the floor, so that she was standing while he kneeled in front of her. He grabbed the sash of her robe and tugged on it so that the flaps fell on either side of her body, revealing her flushed skin to him. He looked up at her to make sure he wasn't over stepping and was glad to see she was biting her lip, looking down at him in complete anticipation of what was to come.

What he wanted to come most of all was her, so he grabbed the back of one of her legs and encouraged her to throw it over his shoulder so that her sex was completly revealed to him. Her folds opened with a slick sound as she glistened in eager desire. Mulder exhaled against her and couldn't help but smile as he watched and felt her whole body shiver, goosebumps rising on her flesh. He heard her ragged breathing pick up before he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her.

It sounded like all the breath was stolen from her lungs as she gasped and thrust against him. He accepted her eagerly, opening his mouth and running the length of his tongue over her slit, plunging it inside her before coming up to circle her clit. "M-Mulder," she whined, sinking a little against the door as if to gain more pressure against his mouth.

He reached up, cupping her ass with his free hand in an attempt to stabilize her as she grabbed his hair. "Ohmygodohmygod," she rambled as he ran his tongue back and forth against her clit with pointed attention. He knew she was close from earlier, and he could tell that was still true as her muscles twitched and quivered under his hands. He felt her arousal spreading down his cheeks and on to his chin while he thrust his tongue into her.

Resuming his attention back up to her clit, he kept up a steady pace for a while as he listened to her breath start to crescendo. He looked up and was pleasantly surprised to see she had been watching him, a look a pure rapture on her face. He squeezed her ass with his hand and pressed her impossibly closer to his face, grinding his tongue against her. He watched as her jaw dropped open and her eyes rolled back, her hips spasmodically undulating against his mouth. "Muldermuldermuldermulder," she chanted while she came, riding out the orgasm as he continued his ministrations. He only stopped when she eased herself up on her shaky leg and put a hand on his shoulder.

He looked up at her and smiled at her goofy, sated grin. With a shaky hand, she pushed against his shoulder so that he fell back onto his butt in between her legs. "You're so beautiful," he praised, his eyes greedily roaming the exposed expanse of her body.

With a smile, she pushed her shoulders back so the robe fell down her arms so she could shuck it off, leaving her completely bare in front of him. The erection that had been throbbing since this all started felt like it was threatening to tear through his pants. She fell down onto her knees, straddling his lower thighs as she looked down in between them.

Mulder followed her gaze and saw there was a wet spot on his front, presumably left by their earlier union. She made quick work of undoing his belt and fly while he unbuttoned his shirt. He was throwing his undershirt off when he felt her dainty hand grab his length. "Fuck," he gasped, bucking his hips, and inadvertenly her, upwards.

She exhaled a breathy laugh at his reaction and gently squeezed him again. He grabbed her body and pulled her closer to him so he could place another deep kiss to her lips. Scully wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss in kind, pressing her breasts against his chest with purposeful intent.

Of all the ways he'd pictured this moment, it hadn't been in the alcove of a motel doorway. He wished he could take her to the bed, make it better for her. But from the way she was moaning and squirming in his lap, she didn't seem to mind.

With one hand around her back and the other grabbing her ass, he lifted her slightly so he could put her on her back, grabbing their discarded clothes so he could quickly put the small barrier between the cold tile and her delicate skin. He kept his forearm under her head for cushion and adjusted until he was in between her legs, looming over her.

Her hair fanned over his arm as she looked up at him with a content, excited smirk. He could feel her body heat radiating against his skin and he couldn't believe this was really Scully in his arms. "Is this okay?" he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. This was all so sudden, yet the oddness of it all felt so right.

She smiled at him and nodded, "I want you." It was direct. What would happen after was a mystery right now, but they were too deep to go back now. They'd come this far, they might as well go all the way and figure it out later. He knew they would.

He smiled down at her and kissed her sweetly on the lips. A kiss that he hoped conveyed that this wasn't just necessarily a heat of the moment thing for him. She kissed back before breaking away to smatter another series of kisses across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Then she raised her legs up and shifted her weight, arching her pelvis up against him.

He reached his free hand between them and grabbed himself, gathering some of her wetness before aligning their sexes. "Let me know if you need me to slow down," he rasped as he started easing forward, spreading her apart around his cock while resisting the urge to plunge himself all the way in.

She gasped and was clearly having to use all her strength to keep her eyes open so they could share this moment. The moment where they were finally together. Scully felt incredible and he felt a shiver of pleasure wash over his body in waves as he continued plunging into her inch by inch. He paused once or twice when he felt her body tense up or when he saw her brow furrow in discomfort, but after kissing her for a while, she'd press her heel into his lower back to encourage him.

They continued like that until his balls were pressed against the flesh of her ass, his cock completely sheathed inside her. He bowed his head into the crook of her neck, breathing heavily as he enjoyed the equisite torture of being inside her and unable to move. He stayed like that, kissing her shoulder until she started rocking gently underneath him.

He raised himself up and saw her biting her lip as she moved one leg down from his hips, bending it and placing it firmly on the floor so she could help thrust against him. Feeling confident now, he pulled out so that his tip was almost out of her before plunging all the way back in.

"Oh my god!" she moaned, her head falling back as her back arched.

He did that a few more times before finding a vigorous pace they both seemed to like. Mulder tried to make sure his pubic bone was angled in a way that would brush against her clit with every thrust and, by the way her brows her furrowing and her nails were scoring his back, she seemed to enjoy it.

Mulder raised his free hand and started palming her breasts, reveling in the weight of them in his hands and the way they'd bounce when he released them. He shifted himself higher on his knees so that he was almost kneeling again, allowing him to plunge deeper inside of her than he was able to before. "S-Scully," he groaned, her name sounding like a prayer on his lips.

"I-I wanna be on top," she moaned, squirming against him.

With an eager smile, he leaned away from her and fell onto his back. His cock fell out of her only for a moment and he hissed as his sensitive, wet skin was robbed of her warmth and the cool air of the room hit him. But she was quick to straddle him and reach between them, aligning them once more before impaling herself back down onto him.

From this vantage point, he could see all of her. Every muscle in her body as she raised herself up and down, riding him like her life depended on it. His sure felt like it did. Every cell in his body felt like it was on fire for her, anticipating her next move. He probably could have come a long time ago, but he was determined to make her come once again before succumbing to pleasure. He started meeting her thrust for thrust at the same time he began reaching for her clit. It was hard to maintain hold because of her movements, but after a moment he was able to find a groove to place his hand so that he could circle her clit while she ground herself against him.

She started to make those little breathy, panting noises and he suspected she was close. "You feel so good," she groaned, taking a little extra time on that downward thrust to feel him plunge all the way inside her.

"I've wanted this for so long," he admitted, watching her bottom lip as she sucked it into her mouth.

Scully released it as she cried out when he thrust into her in rapid succession and he could feel her body starting to lose some of its dexterity. Then, he felt her hand join his as they both touched her while her other hand went up to cup her breast.

"That's it, Scully," he praised while feeling the telltale tightening of his balls.

Luckily for him, he angled his hips to hit her just right and she cried out his name, her inner walls clamping down around him like a vice as he came. He kept burying himself inside her, thrusting upwards to help them both ride out their orgasms, not caring how their joined orgasms started leaking out of her and pooling in between them with each thrust.

Eventually, like last time, Scully grabbed his hand with her own and he knew she was too oversensitized for his touch. He eased up the movement of his hips too until they came to a resting halt. The only sound in the room now was that of their mingled heavy breathing. Scully looked down at him with sated eyes, smiling at him before falling down onto his body and nuzzling herself against him. He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed one of his hands up and down her back soothingly, enjoying the feeling of having his own Scully-blanket covering him.

They stayed like that for quite a while, neither of them saying anything until Mulder eventually spoke up. "I was actually trying to convince myself to lay off the candy bars. I'm so glad I didn't," he joked lamely.

He knew it wasn't his best, but he was concerned when she didn't say anything at all. "Scully?" he prompted, leaning away to look at her. He felt his heart tighten when he saw she'd fallen asleep on top of him.

With as much ease as he could, he got up while carrying her, and walked them over to the bed, turning off the lamp as he passed. For a moment he considered going back to his own room, not wanting to push her too far by overstaying his welcome. But a tiny hand grabbing at his own told him this was a welcome change.

He slid under the motel comforter with her as they lay facing each other. Her eyelids barely cracked open, only revealing enough of her eyes to allow her to find his hand and grab it again with her own, bringing it close to her bare chest so she could hug it against herself.

Doing her one better, he shifted on his hip so that he was almost flush to her, entangling their legs while he wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her closer to him. "G'night, Muller," her sleepy voice mumbled against his chest.

"Good night, Scully," he whispered back, watching the moonlight stream from behind the curtains and illuminate her once again.

#gaycrouton #msr #msr smut #x files fanfic #x files smut #mulder #scully #my fanfiction

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kingasly · 5 years

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OK SO IN THIS ONE PROF SAINZ TEACHES ???????? SOMETHING FUCKED UP FOR SURE BECAUSE HE RAWS YOU IN FRONT OF YOUR CLASS AS THEY TAKE NOTES LMAO, VERY NSFW, THANKS FOR THIS SUBMISSION ANON YOU ABSOLUTE LEGEND!!!!!!!!!

As the student took their seats, Carlos made his way to the podium. He gave you a sly look, then addressed the class.

“Today students, we are going to have a visual demonstration on wanton sexuality. We will discuss how to seduce and enrapture your lover. We will talk about foreplay, specifically fallatio and cunnilingus.” There was a collective gasp from the students, and you even joined in. Just what the fuck did he mean by visual demonstration? You looked at him from the corner of your eye, and the look on his face had you even more confused. He had a flat affect, no sign of what was going through his mind at that time. You crossed your legs tightly, already feeling the hint of dampness in your silk panties. You shuddered noticeably, hoping the rest of the class didn’t see. Your head snapped up when you heard him say your name.

“Could you please join me up here?” You felt all eyes on you as your rose from your desk and joined him in the middle of the stage. “Now, she is going to help me with the demonstration. Pay attention class, there may be a test on this.” He gave a wink, the class going silent as they got their pens and pencils ready for notes. Carlos took your hand and guided you to stand in front of the table he set up. Placing his hands on either side of your waist, he hoisted you up, seetling you on the side of the table.

“Now class, imagine that you have this beautiful woman before you. You want her, and you want her desperately. You want to show her who’s in control. So what do you do?” He scanned the boy and girls, nodding at their various answers. “Those were all good choices. Now lets put one into practice, I want you on your knees.” He turned to you. Something changed in his eyes. They were dark and dangerous, and you felt your legs quiver in anticipation. You quickly obeyed, sliding of the table and onto your knees. He positioned himself in front fo you,his pelvis at eye level.

“Now, take the zipper in your teeth and unzip my pants without using your hands.” You looked up at him through your lashes, searching for any sign that he was playing. You leaned forward, using your tongue to place the zipper pull between your teeth, slowly lowering your head as you heard the zipper unlatching. He undid his belt and unbuttoned the single button, leaving his pants now laid open. You could see the black of his boxers, you mouth watering at the sight.

“Now, pull my pants down with your hands, then place your hands on your lap.” You did as you were told, resting your now trembling hands on your lap as you waited for his next command. “As you can see class, her hands are slightly shaking. Is it from anticipation, want, fear? This is where communication is vital.” He looked down at you, his voice becoming soft as he spoke to you.

“If you ever want me to stop, just say so. I want you to always feel safe, and know that I would never do anything to hurt you.” You nodded in assent, desire evident in your gaze as you watched him.

“Now, be a good girl and pull my boxers down with your teeth, that’s it, just like that. Using only your tongue, I want you to guide my cock into your mouth.” The second your warm, wet, tongue touched the head of his cock, he let out a breathy sigh. His legs tensed,the muscles stretching tight under his heated flesh. He was heavy on your tongue and you could feel him growing harder in the warm cavern of your mouth. It was mind shattering how his filthy words, mixed with the salty taste of precum, made you hungry for more. In the background, you could hear the scuffling of seats as the students leaned forward. The thought of you on full display, letting someone watch you, had your body buzzing with need. The idea of you pleasuring someone, and having others know it was you doing this to him, and not them, made you feel empowered. His voice brought you back to the present, and you were ready to oblige his next orders.

“Hollow your cheeks, princess. I want to feel the back of your throat. I want to feel it tighten as you swallow around me.” You wondered if you could take in the entirety of his length and girth, but you were damned and determined to make it happen. You felt the prick of tears in your eyes, but you had lost all sense to back off. You wanted, no, you needed, to feel all of him in your mouth.

“Now class, see how compliant she is. She wants this just as much as you do. She wants to please you, because she knows you will please her in return. Watch carefully as I then fist my fingers in her hair, holding her head still as I begin to thrust my hips and fuck into her hot, wet mouth.” The groan that escaped his lungs filled the large room. You could barely hear the clearing of throats and feminine sighs over the thrumming of your heart in your ears.

“See how well she takes me, my cock fully sheathed until I can feel the back of her throat. At this point—Fuck. At this point, i can already feel my orgasm building, just from watching that pretty little head moving back and forth as I set the pace. But,I’m not ready yet. She deserves some much needed attention too. Right?”

Everyone agreed, their own voices strained and thick. Without warning, he pulled his hips back, slipping out of your mouth with a sloppy wet pop. His fingers untangled themselves from your hair. You watched as he offered his hand to you, wrapping long slender fingers around yours as you took his hand. He helped you up, his eyes running up and down your body, finally settling on your lust blown pupils.

“Alright babygirl, up on the table.” He easily lifted you up, gently setting you back down where you had started. With a gentle push, he had you laying back on the table. He reached under each knee, pulling you towards him. You felt him move your legs as he told the class your next moves. “Legs apart and spread them wide for me princess. Good, now just close your eyes and don’t open them until I say so.” You shut your eyes tight, every nerve fiber at the ready for a touch, for anything.

“Come closer everyone. I want you to really see what happens when she is worshipped and touched in the most intimate of ways. Watch how she reacts when I do this.” Your entire body shook with need, wanting to feel any part of him touching you. You almost came when you felt his tongue, wide and flat, run up along the seam of your folds which were already dripping and coated in your sweet juices. His hands were hot on your flesh as they held your legs apart, exposing your bare cunt to the class. Feeling you shake, he smiled against you. “Don’t move baby or else I’m going to have to smack that pretty little ass of yours.” The ‘oohs’ and snickers had your head spinning. “Now class, watch and learn. She’s now laid open and needy, hungry for my lips to latch onto her clit. It’s buzzing and tingling, craving for attention, isn’t princess?” You nodded quickly, unable to make coherent words form in your head or on your lips. He darts his tongue out, barely flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves. You can’t help the low breathy moan that falls from your lips in a whimper. Your back arches off the table, hands searching for purchase on something, anything, to keep you grounded. “Did you see that? She how she shows me, without words, thats she wants more? Now lets see how she does when I do this, shall we?” He pulls your clit between his teeth, nipping at it gingerly. Your hands find the tousled dark locks of his hair, gathering them in your fists as you push his head down further. He laps at your clit, the tip swirling tight hard circles over your nub as your begin to moan louder. He leans his head back, his mouth and chin glistening from your slick juices.

“Hear those sounds? That’s what pleasure sounds like. Those are needy desire filled moans.” You shook the desk with the force of your body shuddering. His voice was deep, almost menacing, as he spoke. You nearly cum as he dips a finger inside you, slowly dragging it along your walls. When he take a second finger, entering you and scissoring them apart. You mewl and keen without caring who heard. You could feel the sting and stretch as he opens you up, making you ready to welcome him inside of you.

You are bereft of contact, suddenly cold with the absence of his lips on your dripping wet pussy. You turn your head left and right, searching for any indication of where he was. His voice guided your senses until your head was looking in his direction.

“Let’s watch her come undone class. Let’s watch her as she become raw and unbridled. I want to watch her as she looks at me. Let’s learn together, okay. But, I won’t let her cum until you all tell me if you think she’s ready.” He is looking at you, your skirt up around your waist, your panties at your ankles. He situates himself between your legs, the warm, a welcomed intrusion. He puts his fingers in his mouth, tasting your sweetness before hie dips them under the lining of your bralette. He brings the edges down, exposing your breast to the cool air. Your nipples harden as he blows cool air across them, taking one is his hand and twisting it harshly between his fingers while his mouth suckles on the other. You grip his arms, digging your nails into his strong biceps. He frees one breast from his hold as they trail down your sides and to your hips. His fingers dig in, hard enough to know you will have bruises later that day. He drags you across the table until your ass is just on the ledge. You feel his hard cock coming to nestle between your folds, slicking it from base to head.

“Open your eyes babygirl. Look me in the eyes, and don’t look away.” He wraps his hand around his cock, the head a deep purple, as he gives it a few slow languid strokes. His other hand is still buried between your legs, pumping in and out of you, bringing you dangerously close to release. Your eyes open, focusing in on his. His pupil are full blown, dark and dangerous if you didn’t know what he was planning to do to you. But you did know, and that hint of danger had you thriving for more. You had to have him filling you up, claiming you as his, if only for this moment.

“P-please prof” it was barely a whisper, but he had heard your words. Something changed when he heard you. It was no longer a carnal need, but something more that made him want to have you. It was the long pent up feelings he had for you that made him want to claim you as his, and his alone. He placed the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you until you were a writhing mess. Forgetting about the class, he rolled his hips forward, inching deeper and deeper inside of you. You felt like home, the way hit fit inside you, your velvet wals stretching the closing around his length like you two were made for each other. The surroundings disappeared as he looked down at you. You were beautiful, in the throws of pure unadulterated passion, and he had never seen such raw unhinged beauty as he saw now.

“Fuck—Do you even know how purely sexy you look right now? I will never get enough of looking at you, claiming your body as mine.” He could care less if the class was privy to the fact that he wanted you, craved you. He bent down over you, ghosting his lips over yours. When they parted in a sigh, he claimed your mouth in a fevered kiss. You could taste the heady mixture of your juices and him. Tongues danced and sought to claim dominance. You were lost in him. To hell with holding back your feelings, to hell with the risk that could come with wanting to be his. He set a tortuous rhythm, your back lifting off the table to meet him thrust for thrust. You didn’t care about the hardness of the table as it dug into you ass cheeks, you only cared about how he was filling you and driving you to your apex. The coil tightened in your gut, burning with a need to snap. He reached under one knee, lifting your leg up and over his shoulder as he angled deeper, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust of his hips. He was faltering in his pace, his own orgasm closing in. He wanted to hold out, wanted to see you come undone beneath him. “Come on baby, cum for me. Let me watch you was you come undone because of me.” HIs words pushed you over the crest, rising like a phoenix from the ashes, before you were weightless and falling. Flashes of stars, in every color, filled your vision behind closed lids. The moment your walls clenched down around him, he was lost in the feeling. His cock pulsed and twitched, his seed spilling into you hot and thick. He collapsed onto your chest, both of you panting and gasping for precious air. Opening your eyes, you knew it, you knew you loved him, and from the look in his eyes, he felt the same way. He let his forehead fall against yours, hip lips pressing tenderly to yours. As the realization that there was a class full of people watching, you let out a small giggle. “Umm, we better finish class, professor carlos.” you whispered. He looked around cautiously, a smile curling at his lips. The females were fanning themselves with their folders, and the guys were wide-eyed and slack jawed. The was utter silence as Carlos began to talk. “Well, umm, class. That is how you can tell if you are giving and receiving proper oral from someone you’re with. Review your notes, and if you get the chance, practice what your learned. I may give, pardon the pun, an oral test is next week.

Class is dismissed.

#submission #what the FUCK was this tho #eye am w*t #BYE

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multifandom--imagine · 5 years

Photo

(requested by anon)

➽ How did you meet

• Well…what about, everything started when you created your Instagram account.

• and this shitty-boy started to follow you and stalk you.

• he loves your account so much that you forget about the missions entrusted to him by Mr world.

• Probably New Media would take him on the fact and advise him to come forward with you.

• Does he take the first step? When ever?

• But when he finds out that you follow some nice guys on instagram, his jealousy would burst like a firecracker and immediately run to you to come forward.

• So he will start writing to you in private chat

• “ Hello (y/n), don’t fuck with me “

• “ Excuse me? ”

• Well yes … as a start it wasn’t one of the best, but apparently this guy has somehow caught your attention.

• Mysterious, no photos and the voice messages he was sending you had strange metallic sounds.

• So one day you took the initiative

• “And if a fine day on the Catfish program - false identities?” • “ What do you mean? ” • “In the sense that I don’t know how your face is, your voice could be a pedophile maniac 😂 ”

• And that was how the unlikely happened.

• Technical boy took it personally and as soon as he knew you were using your computer, his bust came out of the screen making you take a fucking heart attack.

•“Do you still think I’m a pedophile maniac?” he asked with a sarcastic smile.

• “Oh fuck! A ghost!” you shouted slamming the keyboard in his face.

• Obviously it took a while before you could figure out who she really was, also because they were more times that you fainted than those where you knew.

• “So … are you the god of technology?”

• “Exactly”

• “So the god of technology enjoys stalking a common mortal?” you asked jokingly making him blush.

• “THIS IS NOT FuCkInG TRUE!”

➽ Skinship n’ cuddles

• Probably in public he wouldn’t be very affectionate with you. He is a god after all, he cannot be seen “weak” in front of others.

• But when you are alone you two alone……..oh jesus.

• If you are in his limousine, he likes to put his head on your thighs, while you stroke his hair or trace the outline of his face with his fingers.

• He will never admit it…but he loves hugging you from behind. He especially loves catching you off guard, feeling a jolt escaping between your lips, while his arms softly wrap your hips.

• And his kisses, even if rare, would be fabulous. Technical boy is not a rude or hungry guy when he kisses (maybe only when he is slightly nervous). He would never hurt his partner.

• He would caress the contour of your cheekbones or your jaw with his fingers before gently grasping your chin and matching your lips.

• He’d probably love to touch your breast or lean his head on it

• He would like to place his lips on your neck, while the tip of his nose would caress your skin, savoring your scent

➽ Arguments

• aaaaah this brat. It is touchy as it is powerful.

• You probably don’t want to talk to him much when he has had a heavy day with Mr World.

• Otherwise it would end up venting all his frustration about you and believe me, he can be really pungent and contemptible if he loses his temper.

• Your quarrels could end in two cases.

• Or you both end up yelling at each other, but then your tension will turn into an unbridled passion and lust (probably the next day some neighbors will complain about the mess you’ve made)

• Or his pungent comments would leave you puzzled and hurt, causing you a river of tears. Aaah Technical Boy. He would feel the most painful god in history…

• He would like to apologize to you, but seeing you in that state has caused him to collapse his securities.

• So it would disappear in a blink of an eye and when you have calmed down and fallen asleep under the covers, he would reappear, slipping silently into your bed and holding you tightly, would whisper in your ear: “I’m so fucking sorry, baby”

➽ Dates

• Your first date would have been inside a cutting-edge planetarium.

• Seeing your eyes shine was worth more to him than any star on that fucking projector.

• Timidly he would have brought his fingers closer to your hand and when you squeezed them, the poor god let out a cough to mask his astonishment.

• He promised you that one day he will take you to an luna park, but he is too afraid that some ancient god may attack you.

• when you told him that you would like to visit some museum, the young god gave you a reluctant look, but in the end, after much discussion, you managed to involve him in this extravagant adventure.

➽ Some of your conversations

tech: “Let me understand…would you like to take me to a fucking museum?” you: “Yes” tech: “Fuck you” you: “How can you think of progress if you don’t know the past first? How can you think of improving the present if you don’t have a bit of culture?” tech: “…only contemporary art museums” you: “it’s already a beginning…”

***

tech: “I’m not saying that I love you, I’m just saying I’ll open the sacred ass of every fucking god that will allow you to twist just one hair”

you: “I’ll take it as a “I love you””

#09

– Taiga 🐯

#american gods #american gods imagine #american gods imagines #mad sweeney #shadow moon #mr wednesday #mr nancy #anansi #technical boy #mr world #smut #preference #fluff #love

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choiceswreckedme · 5 years

Text

Soulmate

@choicesnovemberchallenge Day 3: Soulmate

Book: The Royal Romance

Warning for sexual content and swearing.

Tagging some beautiful people: @debramcg1106 @burnsoslow @cora-nova @thequeenofcronuts @dcbbw @cordonianroyalty @janezillow

If I missed you, please let me know!! 😘

“I just think . . . I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Penelope lifted the delicate champagne flute to her lips and took a generous sip. Sighing dreamily, she turned to Kiara.

“You think so too, right?”

Kiara tried not to roll her eyes with marginal success. Averting her gaze so Penny didn’t see the flash of annoyance cross her face, she instead chose to look out across the ballroom to where the three men stood, each of them so handsome she knew every noble woman in the room was panting at the thought of being with just one of them, let alone all three. Good thing Kiara had more than thoughts - she had memories.

“Oui, Penelope, I think dogs and humans can be soulmates. It makes perfect sense to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a refill.” Kiara stood, leaving her best friend behind to further ruminate on the powerful connection between canine and man. Penelope was lovable and loyal, no doubt, but the dog thing was starting to verge on the unhealthy.

Striding confidently to the bar, she kept the men in her peripheral vision to gauge their interest and smiled coyly when she felt their eyes on her lithe form. The social season had just begun and while she knew she should be focused on becoming the object of Liam’s affections, there was nothing stopping her from having a little fun. Besides, it was clear that Riley had quickly become the front-runner for the Prince’s heart. No matter; she didn’t really want to be Queen anyway.

“May I have another glass?” Kiara proffered her empty flute to the bartender, who slipped it from her fingers and replaced it with a fresh glass. “Merci,” she smiled flirtatiously at the man before turning back to the room. Now, the three men were looking at her unabashedly. Parfait.

Sauntering over to the trio, Kiara made sure to twist her hips just so, ensuring their eyes were drawn exactly where she wanted them. Two sets of brown eyes and one of blue flickered with interest as they watched her approach.

“Having a good evening?” She cocked a perfectly arched eyebrow while daintily sipping her champagne. The men shifted to make room for her in their circle.

Maxwell grinned and took a pull off the icy bottle he held, enjoying the cold slide of the imported ale down his throat. He really liked when Kiara came around court. She was gorgeous, fun, and discreet.

“It’s better now that you’re here, Beautiful.” Maxwell stepped closer as Drake snorted in derision on her other side.

“Jesus, Beaumont, have you ever spoken to a woman without using some douchey line?” He slid an arm around Kiara’s waist and leaned in to gently kiss her cheek. “It’s good to see you, Ki. You’ve been away too long.”

She grimaced and motioned around the room with her flute. “Now that I’m part of Liam’s dog and pony show, I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of me.” A coquettish smile lifted the corner of her lips. “I think I’ll be able to make time for you all.”

Rashad pressed twin kisses to both her cheeks. “Looking gorgeous as always, Kiara.” His chocolatey eyes twinkled with mischief as he looked down at her. Smiling back, she trailed a hand subtly down his chest, stopping just before his belt. Rashad’s eyes darkened a shade, the temptation of another night with Kiara stirring lust through his veins.

Drake watched the exchange with interest, feeling his cock swell slightly in his pants. The last time they’d been with Kiara had left him sated, dehydrated, and begging for more. Now, with her staying in the palace during the social season, she’d soon be in one of their beds every night of the week. One of the things he liked about Kiara was her confidence. She was a woman who loved sex and wasn’t afraid to admit it. She gave in to her carnal desires, yet she didn’t give her body indiscriminately. Friends first, then fucking. Kiara was just as attracted to the mind as the body. Luckily for Drake, he had both.

“So what were you and Penelope talking about earlier? She looked a little...euphoric?” Maxwell peered across the room thoughtfully, seeking out the delicate Portaviran. Penelope, with her creamy skin, that raven hair, and innocent blue eyes? Maxwell often fantasized about gripping that dark hair in his fist, watching as those pouty pink lips devoured his cock...maybe with Kiara underneath her, pointed little tongue tracing circles on Penny’s tight little cunt…..

“...And somehow, she’s come up with the notion that her dogs are her soulmates.” Kiara snorted disgustedly and drained the last of the champagne in her glass. “I love her dearly, but mon dieu she is absolutely obsessed.” She shook her head, the thick tresses wrapping softly around her shoulders, draping down to skim the tops of her breasts. Conservatively covered in a navy blue sheath dress, the men used their intimate knowledge of her to imagine the way her cocoa-colored swells looked.

“Soulmates?” Maxwell discreetly adjusted himself, the thick ridge of his dick pressing uncomfortably against his zipper. He shouldn’t have gone commando tonight. “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

Kiara rolled her eyes. “Goodness, no. I refuse to believe my future is controlled by anyone but me. If I marry, it will be because I want to and because it will be advantageous.”

“Romantic,” Rashad commented wryly, a smirk on his lips.

“I think soulmates are bullshit,” Drake chimed in, smiling knowingly at Kiara. “There’s no way one person out there is going to ‘complete me’ or some shit like that. Nah, I’m in charge of things. If I end up with someone it will be because we’ve worked hard to get there. Love isn’t some cosmic, hippy-dippy connection.”

Kiara looked up at Drake fondly. “I always knew you were the sensible one.” she caught sight of Liam and Riley across the room, staring into each others’ eyes as though they were alone in the room. “Although,” she continued, “clearly the two of them have some kind of connection. They’ve known each other, what, four days?”

The four nobles stood together and stared at the couple for a moment, a brief tugging at their collective hearts watching the perfect intimacy the pair shared. Riley laughed up at Liam, who held her close as they waltzed, the pure joy on her face unmistakable. Liam’s eyes shone like diamonds as he looked down at her, the unbridled love in them basking Riley in a glow.

Kiara swallowed thickly. She was in charge. She would fall in love someday, on her own terms. She would not become a simpering, giggling fool who let themselves be controlled by their emotions and the sight of a gorgeous man. She needed to remember that she was better off being alone…

Blinking her eyes to clear them of moisture (such dry air in the palace!) Kiara placed a hand on Maxwell’s bicep, a seductive smile lifting her full lips.

“I think I’m ready to retire for the evening, gentlemen.”

She placed her empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter and lifted her eyes to meet the hungry gaze of all three men.

“I’m sure you all remember which room I’m in.” She sauntered away, the little smile on her face spreading into a full-blown grin as she left the ballroom.

Who needed a man to warm your heart when you had Drake, Rashad, and Maxwell warming your bed?

#choices november challenge #choices fanfic #choices fanfiction #the royal romance fanfic #choices trr #the royal romance #drake walker #maxwell beaumont

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webcricket · 6 years

Text

Looking Glass

Chapter 12 - A Funny Thing Happened on the Road to Amarillo

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 2913

Summary: On route to Texas hot on the heels of an archangel, the consequences of a kiss and a fateful choice begin to unfold.

A/N: Next week’s chapter will be delayed until Saturday 8/18. Thank you to those of you still reading this little adventure! Your “likes” and feedback are mush appreciated!

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

Everything happened so fast.

Flinching from the scald of water running over fingers ruddy with heat, you jab shakily at the faucet and reach up to swipe at the film of soap and steam clouding the mirror above the sink. Stopped at a diner less than a stone’s throw from Amarillo – a kitschy Tex-Mex joint named The Cool Cactus which, when you last laid eyes on it in another world fleeing from the city with your family, stood as an ironically lobular cactus-like heap of rubble with protruding steal rebar for thorns – you understand the ruse has already gone too far. It should have ended at the bunker before it began; Cas would’ve understood then, but now . . . it’s evolved into something you can’t undo without hurting him.

Leaning nearer the smeared glass surface, you peer at the dull reflection therein; the squared edge of porcelain bites painfully at your hips as you angle closer to search the hazy recesses of your face for evidence of the lie. With the heaviness weighing on your soul, it shocks you to find absolute blankness of expression staring back; no visible confession is scrolled in the fine lines etched thereon – no shapes of unspoken words lodge at the angular corners of your mouth waiting for life’s breath to give any indication something is amiss.

Given what’s at stake, the passive calm of your façade – a mask refined over many years of fighting hardship and finagling survival – shocks you. You wonder when you became this person; if, perhaps, you were always so selfish and this is the reason you survived. Time and again, that fickle bitch fate provided you alone another path forward. Alone. Only now, for the first time in a long time, you’re not alone – love of an angel, of all the unlikely beings it could beat out a song for, drums your heart. You dab the pink swell of your trembling lips; the delicate flesh blanches under the pressure. You close your eyes in feeble shield against the waterworks threatening to erupt along with the blissful memory of his kiss.

Knelt at your feet, forgotten feather strewn aside, tears of pain streaming his unshaven cheeks, the spark of something worshipful kindling in a gaze imploring mercy, his vulnerability pulls you in; as soon as the warmth of your lips caress his – the tender kiss barely a brush of breath – any hesitation Cas harbors concerning the revelation of his own emotion dissipates. Latent love unbridled by your advance, he abandons controlled celestial resolve in favor of the reactive desire instinctually driving his vessel.

Dispelling all space separating you, he suspends, it seems, time itself; for a breathless interlude the energy of his grace envelopes you beyond the purely physical in a corporeally transcendent blaze of devotion so luminous it would appear to anyone outside the intimate vantage point that the whole of creation revolves around your magnetically tangled figures – surely no star burns brighter in the universe. Within this light burst of entwined eternity there exists only the wet heat of his mouth ravishing yours, the pulse of your flesh rising beneath his scrabbling fingers, and the cushioned crush of your spine against the wall of wings encasing you unyieldingly in his embrace.

In your heart you know you need to tell him; he needs to hear it from you. Perhaps then . . . you twist the flats of your palms to daub weepy eyes. It’s not your lie, and yet you’re not exactly an unwitting accomplice. Silence makes you complicit; continued silence means you deserve whatever happens next. But part of you wanted this – wants it still even at the real risk of losing a love you never imagined. Crackle of a sob catching in your throat, your bleary focus falls to the mustard yellow plastic plaque mounted above the tap reminding employees to wash their hands before returning to work. The black letters blend as tears cascade over your lashes to splash the sink without a sound. Damn temptation. Damn weakness. Damn the witch.

Cas groans low at the interrupting thud of knuckles rapping on the door.

The sonorous gravel rub of the sound courses through your body to curl your toes.

“You okay in there?” Dean demands through the wood. He jiggles the locked knob.

Releasing the kiss-bruised tract of flesh above your clavicle with a soft suck, the angel nuzzles and scrapes the scruff of his chin along the exposed column of your throat.

You whimper partly in protest over the ill-timed interruption and partly in response to the sting of pleasure delighting sensitive skin.

The hunter knocks again. “Come on Cas. Open up. How long does it take to pull one out? I figure two, three minutes tops given your lack of feathery action these days.”

Giggling, you grab a fistful of Cas’ hair to swivel his lust-blown concentration from where he scatters tiny ticklish kisses into the hollow of your neck to your love-drunk grinning countenance. “I don’t think he’s planning on leaving without that feather,” you simper.

“No,” Cas grumbles and steals a quick peck of pliant lips when you loosen your grip on his locks. “I suppose he’s not.” Sighing in resignation, conflict creasing his crestfallen mouth, he rolls his half-clothed body to one side of the bed. “And he’s right not to – finding Gabriel takes precedence over all else. Even-”

“Pleasure?” You don’t hide your disappointed frown. Sitting up, you fumble for and shrug on the evidently too hastily discarded sweatshirt and smooth your fingers through disheveled hair.

Observing your fidgeting form, it occurs to the angel, in times of war, the regret infused in those certain regrettable actions applies not only to the ones actually undertaken, but also to the ones denied. He reaches for your hand and presses his fingers into your palm to reassure you the adjournment of his affection isn’t on permanent hiatus.

You squeeze his hand in return to let him know you expect him to make up for it at a sooner, rather than later, date; first a rainstorm, then a Winchester – the third time is sure to be the charm. “Do you boys ever get to have any fun?”

“Historically speaking?” Mollified by your discreet acceptance of the delay despite his dissenting vessel visibly begging more tangible terms of satisfaction, Cas swings his legs off the mattress and unsuccessfully tries to tame the bulge of his trousers into submission by buckling his belt. He peers back over his shoulder before standing, sheer solemnity shrouds his expression. “No.”

“Are you-” Shadow shifting beneath the door, Dean’s voice cracks, “is Y/N in there?”

Blues rolling in response to the astonishment lacing the tone of Dean’s deduction, Cas circles to the end of the bed and lifts his damp dress shirt from where it drapes over the corner; he scowls at the limp garment and shakes it out.

“I got this.” You leap to the floor, retrieve the feather, and move to the door. Hand poised over the knob, you spin to flash a suggestive smile at the seraph and wink. “Might as well finish at least one thing I started tonight, eh?” You fling wide the door.

For an awkward few seconds, Dean’s arms undulate like tentacles at your sudden appearance until he decides shoving them in his pockets is the appropriate course of action. “You two, uh, too busy to open the door or something?”

“Or something,” your smile resets into a sardonic half-grin.

Amusement dimpling his mien, Dean totters sideways on one foot to peer beyond you into the dim room where his friend struggles to shove a soggy suit coat over his shoulders.

Clearing your throat, you ask, “You looking for this?” You hold up the coal black-colored plume and rotate the translucent barb between your fingertips as it glints, tip to base, a metallic silvery-grey hue in the hall light.

Dean’s greens divert back to you. He hums in approval. “That kinky winged bastard.”

When he attempts to pluck the shimmering feather from your grasp, you clutch it to your heart and scoldingly narrow your gaze. “I’ll deliver it myself, thanks. Where is she?”

Blaming Rowena is childish. You had a choice; and across the anxiety-filled miles stretching between the bunker and Texas – Cas’ adorable attempts at conversation, the sweet small strokes of his fingers at your knee entreating you to take his hand, the abiding concern for your comfort, happiness, hunger, thirst, tiredness, current state of your bladder, and inquiries as to the source of your uncharacteristic quietude – you realize you chose wrong. Sniffling sharply, the rough intake of salty tears scratches and sears your sinuses. Swallowing, they stir sickeningly with the bile in your stomach.

“Ah child, good evening.” Rowena’s heavy lashes flit upward in elegant profile to eye you and the feather with equal levels of disinterest. “I see you’ve got the final ingredient for our little spell. Must’ve spent some time cavorting with that dashing angel then.”

Regard roving over the assemblage of odd ingredients and an oversized ancient tome sprawled on the surface of the table filling the expanse between you and the witch, you shrug in matched overt indifference. “Yes, I guess I must’ve.”

Rising, she sashays in a fluid choreography of motion around the table to extend her upturned palm toward you. Pursing her crimson mouth, she says knowingly, “Feeling a wee more relaxed, are we?” Eggplant purple painted nails gleam as she waves her fingers beseechingly.

You drop the feather into the lily white palm. “What’s it to you?”

She spins, curt. “Simply a bit of friendly banter, dear. If it’s more to your fancy, you may scurry off and let the boys know I’m nearly ready.” A bird-like cluck passes her lips suggesting that’s that and she tosses the feather in a wide-brimmed wooden bowl to resume consulting the book.

Wondering about the feather’s role in the mix, you dawdle.

Sensing your continued curious presence in spite of a coolness of conduct on both sides, she marks her place in the text with a fine-boned finger and looks up. Suspicions confirmed of your stubborn intent to linger as you prod at the gnarled remnants of a mandrake root, she inhales a bothered breath. “So . . . where’re you from?”

You steady a wobbling vial of unidentified putrid-smelling olive-brown liquid knocked by your sleeve before glancing up, stupefied by the question. “I-I thought they told you – I’m from the other world.”

Gold-dusted lids dart upward to summon patience and nicety from the thin air for the blundering human that is you. She sighs, “Yes, yes, of course you are, but the world’s a big place, isn’t it? Surely you must be from somewhere a sight smaller than a whole planet.”

“Amarillo,” you mumble, not a particular fan of the mundanity of such small talk.

The mishap of her own motherhood rooted within the redemption on her mind, she meditates aloud, “And your family’s there? Your mum?”

“I imagine what’s left of them is there, if the angel’s left anything at all after the bombing.” You should have been with them. “You know, I never even got to say-” you choke up. It’s a fluke you weren’t with them; you got left behind in a medical camp – back when those beacons of hope still existed – with a taped up injured ankle while your family backtracked home after the initial chaos of the apocalypse to see what remained of your lives there and to determine if it was safe. None of you had any way of knowing about the bomb – a last ditch nuclear effort by some unknown person with their finger on a powerful button to destroy angels en masse where they were rumored to be gathered in Houston planning the next massacre of humankind. Turns out the angels weren’t the ones responsible for that particular massacre of millions.

Blenching, Rowena tucks her chin to her chest. A sincerely somber note lilts her voice, “Ach, that’s terrible.”

Hiding your horror from her at the freshened memory, you flee the room without another word to fetch the brothers and Cas.

Lashes fluttering, a contemplative trickle of a smile twitches the witch’s cheek in your absence. “Truly, truly terrible to never have the chance to say goodbye. To have resolution.” Wistful, she swipes a tendril of red hair behind her ear and redoubles her examination of the book.

Shock, fear, and the part of you holding out hope of seeing the family you thought you lost forever kept you quiet when Rowena grandiosely proclaimed upon completion of the spell’s incantation and smoky climax that Gabriel was in one of two locations. “Central City, Colorado and wait . . . possibly, yes, possibly Amarillo, Texas,” she cooed the name of the second city to everyone’s collective surprise, no one more stunned than you. Smiling, she reserved a special twinkle of her eye for you indicating the rest was in your hands. Wink wink.

Sam questioned the precision of a spell so, well, imprecise. Dean declared it to be the best lead in weeks regardless. The brothers could’ve just as easily laid claim to Amarillo, but they didn’t; Dean called dibs on Colorado after Sam’s knotted brow wordlessly warned his brother this was an archangel hunt, not an episode of Gunsmoke. Cas advocated you join him for the road trip to Amarillo if you felt up to it and as long as you agreed to stay out of the fracas when it came to confronting Gabriel. Dazedly, you agreed. The pieces of the puzzle fitted together so perfectly without your meddling it seemed like destiny, and not the angel you deceived by doing nothing, drove you here.

A tray of dishes clatters to the tile outside the bathroom door. Jeers. Laughter. The tinny clinking of cracked glass and clay being swept into a metal dustpan. You push open the door slowly and peek toward the seating area. The angel waits for you in a booth along the UV-tinted row of front windows. Hands folded on the faux-granite tabletop, his gaze swerves outside.

“I said excuse me!” A waitress in a retro cactus-green dress crowds past you in a hurry.

“Sorry,” you mumble. When your eyes alight again on the angel, he’s peering at you with the sparkle of a smile subverting his stoic visage. You dislodge yourself from the door and stride toward him, weakly endeavoring to emulate his delight. He stands – stands! – trench-coated frame oozing chivalrous charm when you approach the booth and slide in the seat across; this heavenly knight in black-winged armor shtick he has going on for your benefit isn’t making what you need to say any easier. “Cas, there’s something I-”

“One double stack of blueberry flapjacks, extra whipped cream, extra blueberries for the lady, and one cup of coffee, black, for you, sir,” the server interrupts, plopping a plate of scrumptious pancakes under your nose. “Can I get you anything else?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“Enjoy!” The server smiles and drifts away to check on another customer.

“I hope you don’t mind – I took the liberty of ordering for you. Dean said women find the gesture romantic. I know it’s only a diner, but-” Cas reaches for your hand across the table, stumbling over his words when you yank it out of reach.

“It’s perfect, thank you.” You state mechanically, sinking further down into your seat to commence poking at the contents of the plate with a fork – sugary blue syrup swirls into the cloudy foam of cream and all you can think about are the pair of gentle blues fixed on you, caring but confused, and how that shade of kindness will change to anger once he knows the truth.

He might be oblivious to some social cues, but your avoidance and disquiet are too obvious to mistake or ignore. He defaults to the assumption he’s at fault. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything. I-” you falter. You didn’t do anything either, which is the problem. “I-”

His cell phone rings; sitting up straighter, he rifles through his pockets to locate the device.

Pain circles and compresses your temples. A wave of dizziness washes over you and tunnels your vision.

“It’s Dean.” Squinting and tapping at the screen, he sends the call to voicemail. “I’ll call him back.” Gaze returning to you, he rushes to his feet to move next to you. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“My head.” You push aside the plate, overwhelmed by nausea and the situation – stress, exhaustion, dehydration, low blood-sugar, it’s a toxic combination.

He flattens a fretful calloused palm to your forehead. “You said the headaches had stopped.”

You swat him away and put a distance of several more inches between you by moving flush to the window. “They did – this, it’s just a regular headache, okay? I get them too . . . just need a couple of Aspirin, not an angel.” You fear if he touches you, he’ll sense the unsaid. You’re not wrong.

He studies you for a moment as you practically cower in the corner of the booth. “You’re afraid.” Unease hardens his aspect. “There’s something you wanted to say to me . . . before the waitress came, before Dean called.” He motions to lay his hand on your leg; on final approach he decides better of it. “Y/N, you don’t have to be afraid. Not of me.”

Next: Ch. 13 - Lost & Found

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel series #castiel x y/n #castiel reader insert #castiel fluff #castielxreader #castielxyou #cas x reader #cas x you #you x castiel #reader x castiel #spn x reader #castiel fanfiction #spn reader insert #castiel fanfic #castiel x au!reader #spn fanfiction #cricket writes cas

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fiftyeightminutes · 7 years

Text

@faenies asked for the prompt:

“Relatively early into their relationship, Person A and Person B are having sex, and for the first time, they’re so into the moment that they leave the lights on, which they don’t usually do. Person A starts undressing Person B, but B stops them when they reach a certain article of clothing that conceals their scars. Whether or not B ends up removing the clothing or A accepts it and they continue (+ A’s reaction to these) is up to you.”

with Blueski and stretchmarks.

I’m sorry, I know it’s been forever since you sent me this prompt. But I hope it’s everything you wanted! Set partway through 2.03 (Obligate Mutualisms), after Whispers is taken away and the cluster have saved Sun, but before the end of the episode when Croome gets stabbed lol.

---

After so long in the murky half-consciousness of heroin, Will revels in the ability to fully feel his cluster again. Once Whispers is on ice and Sun is safe with Min-Jung, Will grins and pulls Riley close to him. “I missed this,” he says softly, resting his forehead against hers as his mind brushes against those of his other selves’. He shares with them each briefly in turn, just enjoying the fact that he can. After a moment with each of the others, Will focuses all of his attention on Riley. Sitting on the ratty mattress in their Amsterdam safe house, the two of them allow their consciousnesses to completely overlap. For a few moments, it’s almost overwhelming, having gone so long without being able to experience this fully. When Will catches his breath and settles back into his own body, he leans forward to kiss Riley gently. “I missed you.”

Riley gives him one of her brilliant smiles. (The kind of smile he saw that first day back in the church in Chicago, a smile that shines brighter than the sun and makes Will go weak in the knees.) “I missed you, too,” she replies before peppering small kisses along his jawline, enjoying the smoothness there for the first time in months.

“Careful,” Will teases as her lips get closer to his neck. “You keep going that way and I may just have to tear your clothes off.”

“Who said that wasn’t the goal?” Riley jokes back. He laughs, but it catches and becomes a groan as she brings her lips to the hollow of his throat. This kiss is much less chaste. She sucks at his skin, loving the heavy breaths this draws out of Will. He clutches at her, one arm wrapped around Riley’s waist while his other hand finds its way to her ass. She slowly licks down his neck, only stopping when she comes up against the collar of his t-shirt.

Will doesn’t need to their connection to know what Riley’s thinking. He sits back quickly and pulls his shirt off, and then she’s sucking on his collarbone before the garment even hits the floor. He lies back on the mattress, letting the sensations roll over him in a way they haven’t for months. Riley moves up and straddles him. Now that they are finally allowing themselves to share again, it feels like any space between them is too much. She is licking and sucking her way down his chest, and Will can’t help gripping her hair to keep her against him. Riley moans at the tug, loving that she can feel how the sound affects him. Smirking against his skin, she grinds her hips down on him and takes pride in the way he gently bucks under her.

“Fuck, Riley.” He sits up, moving her with him so he can kiss her and start taking her red sweater off. Reluctantly, he breaks away from her to pull it over her head. Now there are only two layers - her tank top and bra - keeping them from being skin to skin. Will’s fingers find their way to the hem of her shirt, and he’s about to begin lifting it when he feels a small wave of anxiety from Riley. (If he weren’t so in tune with her, he might not have even recognized it for what it was. Will can’t quite put his finger on what the cause is, but it feels like something deeply buried.) Immediately, he pulls his hands away from her. “What’s wrong?” His lets his concern flow into her, trying to make sure she knows he would never do anything she doesn’t want to do.

Riley looks down and bites her lip. “It’s silly,” she answers.

“No,” Will replies. “It’s not.” He slowly brings his hands up, giving her time to pull away before he reaches her face in case this isn’t okay. Not feeling any discomfort coming from her at this, Will lifts her chin so she’s meeting his eyes. “I don’t want to do anything with you if you aren’t 100% okay. You being alright isn’t silly.” He gives her a serious look. “Not to me.”

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Riley nods in acceptance. “It’s just that...I realized the lights are on,” she says hesitantly.

Will blinks, surprised at this statement. “Is that not okay? I can turn them off if you want.”

“No, that’s not - I just mean - we’ve never had sex with the lights on before. You haven’t seen….” She trails off, but the sentence doesn’t need to be finished for Will to understand. Wisps of recollection flash from Riley’s mind into his, and he knows. He sees her, younger and sadder and with brown hair. Watches her shakily touch her belly, noticing after the accident in the mountains that it is getting smaller again. He pulls himself out of the memory, not wanting to intrude and see what she is already worried about showing him. But even as he retreats back into his own mind, the word lingers. Stretchmarks.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead. “You don’t have to show me anything you don’t want to. Not now, not ever,” Will murmurs.

Riley thinks about it for a moment, then pulls him down so their lips meet. When she pulls away, she says, “I think...I think I want to.”

“You positive?” He can sense her trust for him, but he still needs to be sure. It would kill him if she felt pressured into anything.

Nodding, Riley reaches out with her mind to him. She concentrates on everything Will makes her feel - worthwhile, safe, loved - and does her best to share that with him. Riley focuses on how meeting Will in person had made her feel that maybe she could be whole again. How even through all they’ve struggled in their short time together, being strong for Will and their cluster has made her want to live.

Will lets Riley’s senses eclipse his completely, crashing over him like a wave. Her awareness fills him with security and contentment. He allows it to consume him, sharing his unbridled joy in return. Having had to endure so much pain over their time together, he would have understood if this was too much too soon. Instead, though, Riley’s trust and affection for him are enough that she is willing to share something so personal. Will is practically over the moon.

Through him, Riley guides Will’s hands to the hem of her tank top. They lift it slowly, as one. Without having to say anything, Riley brings her hands to meet his and finishes removing the shirt, having a better angle for it. Before she even has it all the way over her head, Will has tentatively brought his hands to her hips. He feels her nod of affirmation more than sees it, but it’s enough. There in the light of their shabby room, he sees her stretchmarks for the first time. They’re faded now, but Will can see the thin lines snaking up from under her jeans. Gently, he begins to run his fingers over the marks. She watches, bathing in the love and acceptance that roll off of him. Will follows the pale white ribbons from her stomach to her hips, until he’s traced all of the stretchmarks he can see. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her against him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and Riley can’t help kissing him in reply. It starts out soft, slow, an expression of everything between them in the moment. But then Riley brings her hands up to Will’s face, and after caressing him her hands find their way into his hair. Soon she’s tugging at it, Will’s licking her lips, and they’re moaning into each other’s mouths. He slides his hands up her back until he reaches her bra. Riley lends him her muscle memory as consent, allowing him to deftly unhook the clasps.

Will finally pulls back from the kiss so he can take the bra off of her. Once they’re apart, he takes a moment to really look at Riley. Normally, this would make her feel like she was under scrutiny, but not with Will. With him, she can see the awe in his eyes, knows how every day he thanks every deity he’s heard of that he’s lucky enough to have her. Their connection is at its strongest in months, and Riley experiences Will’s wonder as her own.

Through the emotion, though, there is also a shared lust. It pulses, a slow beat in both of them, ready to pick up pace at a moment’s notice. Hands back at Riley’s waist, Will starts undoing the buttons of her pants. She takes the cue, moving off his waist to lay beside him. Turning to face her, he grabs the waistbands of her jeans and underwear, pulling both slowly off of her.

Leaning up, he holds himself above Riley to kiss her. She brings her hands to his waistline, eagerly fiddling with the zipper on his pants. “Can’t wait?” Will chuckles against her lips.

“You have on more clothes than me,” she replies with a smirk. “It’s not fair.”

Will sits back, his hands joining hers to help remove the last offending garments. “You’re right,” he says, pulling them off and tossing them over the side of the bed. “Can’t have that.”

Rather than moving to kiss her again, he scoots back before leaning down so he can kiss her thighs. He can see that there are more stretchmarks here, and he brushes his lips across them. He means for it to be tender, but the placement of the kisses just sends heat straight through Riley. The pace of the beat between them hastens. He licks up the last couple of inches of her thighs, teasing her even as her need fills him.

“Will, please,” she breathes, and he doesn’t have it in him to resist any longer. Will runs his tongue up her slit, reaching her clit and sucking on it. They both groan at the sensation. Hot arousal spikes through Will, and Riley tastes herself when she bites her lip. Working her with his mouth, he brings a hand up to start teasing at her folds. Riley’s hips thrust toward him, and he places his other hand on one to steady her. “Will,” she whines. His cock twitches in response. Appeasing them both, he steadily slides a finger into her. She’s slick with her wetness and his spit, and he moves it easily in time with his tongue.

(He’s still not used to this part, feeling something so good that he can’t physically experience in his own body. But of all the weird things that come with being a sensate, this certainly isn’t one he’s heard anyone in the cluster complain about.)

Without letting up on his rhythm, Will slides a second finger into Riley. She moans. He continues to lick and suck at her clit, his cock growing harder as her pleasure runs into him. Their minds slip into each other, sharing completely. Will clutches at the pillows with Riley’s hands, writhing as she licks him with his own tongue.

They both shudder, and neither is quite sure which of them sits Will’s body up to reach the nightstand and grab a condom. Will knows it’s him who rolls it on. Slowly, he pushes his cock into her, Moaning, Riley wraps her legs around his waist to pull him closer. He is all the way inside her soon, and he waits a moment to let her adjust. It’s not long. though, before she’s rotating her hips, aching for friction. Will obliges, rocking against her in a steady rhythm.

As their pace quickens, the line where one of them ends and the other begins blurs. Riley pulls him down to kiss her. Will gasps, each thrust of his cock into her filling him up. She feels his cock moving as an extension of herself, lost in the way her own cunt feels around him.

“God, Riley,” he groans. She reaches one hand down to brush fingers against her clit, smiling as Will shudders in response.

Seeing her grin, he decides two can play at that game. He lifts her legs a bit, angling his hips just right so Riley’s screwing her eyes shut and throwing her head back. “Will,” she cries, the shared pleasure almost too much for either of them. Riley reaches up the hand that isn’t circling her clit, pulling Will’s head down so they’re kissing again.

The pressure builds in them, their pleasure indistinguishable from each other’s. The shared experience only serves to heighten it, both of them hyperaware of every pulse of arousal. They hasten their thrusts, mouths open and panting against each other. Before they know it, their orgasms overtake them. Holding each other tight, Riley and Will ride it out together, bodies shaking in time.

Once they’ve settled back into themselves, Will pulls out of Riley and removes the condom. He ties it off and tosses it into the trashcan before lying down next to her.

Riley turns on her side to face him, wrapping one arm around his waist. He holds her close, planting soft kisses on the top of her head. “Thank you,” he says after a few minutes.

“For what?” she asks, kissing him on the cheek.

Will smiles, answering, “For trusting me,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Thank you,” she replies, kissing him on the lips this time.

“For what?” Will asks, mirroring her.

Riley smiles. “For being worth trusting.”

#riley blue #will gorski #blueski #blueski fic #sense8 #sense8 fic #faenies #my stuff

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wristic · 7 years

Text

Torch of Bellona (Part 3)

Pairing: Ivar X Reader

Word Count: 1800

Warnings: being aroused by things you should most certainly not be, mainly pointed objects, blood, and a bad attitude

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3- -Part 4- -Part 5- -Part 6-

The night before Ragnar and Ivar are prepared to leave, you finally convince Ecbert to at least let you see the son. While Ivar had been so hospitable before, it made you naive to the darker side of him, and you fall like a rabbit into a wolves den.

“Please! It could be my only chance to be in civil company with a Northman!” Begging was never the most dignified way of persuasion, but at this point it was all you had left.

“He can't even speak to you-” Ecbert didn't look up from his dinner, looking like he might fall asleep in his plate rather than finish it.

“You let Alfred see him!” He didn't answer, acting like he didn't hear. “Judith!”

Judith only smirked, looking up behind her lashes in a mischievous way. “I don't think ‘being civil’ is all you want to do with him.”

You begin a heated bout of stuttering in a bad attempt to deny it, only making you frustrated with yourself. Giving a panicked yell to gather your wits and continue calmly, you gave what would have been a believable explanation had your sister not thrown you for a hell of a loop. But Ecbert had stilled, his fingers rubbing together in thought.

“I suppose it couldn't hurt.” Your eyes jumped up. Ecbert was finally grinning, a certain flicker of light in his eyes that showed up so rarely these days. Waving to a guard he nodded. “It couldn't hurt for a future Queen of Northumbria to know what a potential enemy is like. Just don't tell your father.”

You sprang out of your seat, straightening your dress with a big smile and joyfully followed the guard. Ecbert watching you leave very closely before turning back to his food.

“You're sure she has that kind of interest in him? She’s a little twisted in the head but to fall for a… barbarian.” The word didn't sit right on the tongue as he thought back to Ragnar. “… a crippled barbarian-”

“A handsome young man.” Judith corrected while picking her food. She flashed a coy smile to Ecbert. “And is there not a special kind of romance forbidden between enemies?”

Ecbert smiled, not having enough energy to laugh. “I suppose that is the whims of a young girls heart.”

You were so excited you were paces in front of the guard, the torches to stave off the night passing by in a blur. The perturbed look from him as he opened the door vexed you. It was none of his business but he was going to tell someone, spread some sort of rumor. Inevitable you decided. There were more important things on your mind.

Seeing Ivar flinch to hide something had you amused and glad you were the one to enter first. Looking back you waved the guard off.

“But miss-”

“It’s fine.” You waved again, giving him a shove out the door. “I’ll be fine!” slamming the door in his face.

Ivar had since relaxed back on his bed, pulling out a sharp piece of metal and a piece of wood he’d been carving into what may have been one of his deities. The smirk he flashed knocked you breathless.

“Worried you would not see me again?”

You sighed into a smile, every step closer making your heart race faster. “You are leaving tomorrow and I fear if we meet again, it’ll be on opposite ends of a battlefield.”

As you sat on the bed he came forward from his relaxed position, bringing the two of you a breath away, the candle making the atmosphere into a romantic side. Before Ivar could say anything, you took the metal piece, still warm from his grip, and examined it. “Is this from the trunk?” you motioned behind at the beds end where a wooden trunk that used to have a metal latch rested.

Taking the piece back, his fingers brushing yours was all you needed to feel utterly charmed, his voice sending you a shiver. “Felt safer with it.”

“Oh like you couldn't take on all these guards with your bare hands.”

Ivar straightened his back, chin up from receiving the highest praise. “I could, it's more merciful with a blade. Kills them quicker.”

“So charitable of you!” you cooed with a wistful hand on your cheek. Ivar broke into a laugh, slouching back against the headboard again. Watching him blush and instinctively but subtly try to cover his face, it was then you realized he must not be used to girls talking to him like that. Your face heated a bit feeling it a shame, he had a darling smile. It spurred a certain confidence you knew could be dangerous. All the same you scooted closer to him, missing the taste of his breath. “Do you have a girl back home?”

Like you expected he was hesitant to answer, having to force up that wall of bravado first. “No. I am a Prince of Ragnar Lothbrok, very few women are worthy of me.” There was a bitterness in his smile and he gulped hard as if to keep something down.

“Oh, do tell, what would make a woman worthy to love a Prince of Ragnar?” you inched yourself closer, eyes getting distracted by his full lips and the shadows dancing along his neck and exposed collarbone between the low cut of his shirt.

Ivar seemed tense under the flirtation, leaned back as far as he could go, eyes dodging around the dark room. His brow seemed to start falling into one of agitation and anger before asking, a darkness in such beautiful eyes. “Is this a trick?”

You were taken back and immediately offended. “What?”

“This is a trick right?” The more he convinced himself the more vexed he sounded. The more chaffed you became. “You said yourself you like lying to people. You already lead me once into revealing secrets, what's to stop you from doing it again, for fun?”

Being denied the benefit of the doubt when you were so genuine always ripped you up. But pain wasn't something you were accustomed to showing with grace.

You kept the closeness between you too but your glower was just as steep as his. “Toying with a cripple? Now that would take a special kind of wickedness. A wickedness I don't think is worthy of me.”

You went to get up and make some grand exit but as soon as you stood a harsh grip took your wrist and ripped you back down. Nearly falling into his lap the small shiv pressed sharply near the pulse of your neck.

It was racing in a way it never had before. Your chest stung with every quick breath and the hairs of your skin could feel the chill of the air, the fabric of your clothes, the pinching of the grip on your wrist and the blade on your neck. The candle light was suddenly sharp and vibrant, the depths of the world revealing themselves only in this highest spike of fear.

You smirked, trying to sound resolute and condescending when you were so breathless. Even you felt you’d gone out of your mind to start testing him. “You're really going to kill a Princess?”

You never imagined fear and excitement could be one in the same, but when he wretched you in, your hand slamming with a deep thud on his chest in protest, the blade burning into your flesh. The breath that left your beaming smile was shaking with unbridled thrill.

It confused him. Looking between your satisfied grin and your trembling hand. Though trembling it was, you loved the feel of how solid he was beneath it, how your elbow and shoulder ached to hold him off but Ivar was only using a fraction of his strength.

You two stared at each other, his face slowly mirroring yours as it started to dawn on him that you liked what he was doing. Licking his lips he looked at the closed door like the guard was ready to burst in. Coming back uncertainty took over again, but his wolfish smile didn't leave. “What kind of game is this?” the grip on your wrist twisted, pulling you closer while the blade remained still, cutting just a touch deeper. “You can not tell me you like this.”

Your laugh was quiet, “I wish I could tell you what’s happening. I’m very confused myself.”

Ivar looked down on your neck, “You know you are bleeding?”

“I can feel it.” God you could feel everything. The small trickle of blood tickling down your collar and the knife still stinging like a bad burn. It only kept your heart at its break-neck pace, your body lightly shaking with over-stimulation, your legs suffering the worst to the point you had to move them they were so restless. Yet when they moved a heat flashed up your belly.

You had been waiting for something exciting all your life. Something unpredictable and could bathed the world in the most rawest forms of energy. Something savage. Something merciless. Your father promised you everyday that would happen one day and the world would be forever changed.

But it didn't happen. Ivar’s hands fell from you and he relaxed on the headboard, entirely too pleased with the hurt disappointment on your face. He motioned to the door. “You should get back to your room. I would hate to get you in trouble. I know how you Christian's cherish your… virtues.”

But you pushed, like a starving dog being kept from its food. “I’m a good liar.”

He chuckled, pausing to take in your lustful eyes and body still giving a few small shakes from the aftermath of your arousal. He then nodded to the door, his face full of devilish satisfaction. “Go.”

“I don't even get a goodbye kiss?” You whined, trying your best to look so utterly helpless without it.

He shrugged. “What have you done to be worthy of it?”

You gasped at the affront only making him laugh. “You're so cruel!” You cried, stomping up in an angry huff. “Have it your way, but I’m not finished with you!” he was beaming so much below you it was tempting to just take a kiss from him. At the same time that's not what you wanted. He was the Northmen, he should be the one taking. A little lightning jolted your bones at the thought.

Adjusting your clothes and hair, you covered up the cut on your neck. It wasn't until you were back in your room, lighting a candle and looking into the mirror that you disturbed the red line reaching into the breast of your dress. Trailing your fingers up the still warm trail, the sensation causing a shudder in your spine, you got a good look at the cut on your neck. It was small and thin, but a bit deep. Certainly not deep enough to kill but the blood you wiped away was replaced in a small tear shape. Cleaning up only seemed to exhilarate you more preventing you from getting much sleep that night. Your head was swimming in adrenaline and the soaked core between your legs keeping you from your dearly awaited dreams.

#ivar the boneless #Ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar imagine #Vikings imagine #vikings #my stuff #should change my name to Wristic: Cockblocker of the Century #tw: blood #whats the trigger tag for just being dicks to each other?#Torch of Bellona #tw: knife

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

Link

Justin Bieber may now be a family man.

The pop star and his fiancée, model Hailey Baldwin, are rumored to have gotten married in a secret civil ceremony at a New York City courthouse, People reported in September. Other sources, including TMZ, report that Bieber and Baldwin were just at City Hall to pick up a marriage license. Either way, wedding bells are in Bieber and Baldwin’s future, as they are now planning a bigger religious service and celebration, according to Vanity Fair.

Bieber’s nuptials mark yet another tentpole for the pop star’s transformation from drug-addled, womanizing bad boy to squeaky-clean, presumably monogamous husband. Central to that narrative is Bieber’s well-documented embrace of evangelical Christianity.

Since 2014, when Bieber was baptized in an NBA player’s bathtub by Pastor Carl Lentz, his relationship with the evangelical megachurch Hillsong has been an essential part of his personal brand. And with his marriage — impending or otherwise — to fellow Hillsong member Baldwin, Bieber enters a new stage of his narrative: faithful, honorable Christian husband.

Bieber and Hillsong’s relationship has been, since its inception, a symbiotic one. The wildly popular Hillsong, which boasts 100,000 weekly attendees in churches in 21 countries, came to international prominence the same way plenty of celebrities do: by creating an easily marketable persona, curating a brand custom-made for social media, and advertising an identity both accessible and aspirational.

Hillsong is the “chill” church where pastors wear skinny jeans. Showing up hungover to Sunday service is not considered the worst thing. Hillsong’s sermons, influenced by the self-help-style theology of the “prosperity gospel,” promise adherents a life full of material as well as spiritual blessings.

Bieber’s presence in the pews has ensured Hillsong and its media-friendly pastors a place in the tabloids. And in return, Hillsong has granted Bieber a rebirth both religious and reputational.

There is nothing new about Christianity providing certain pop stars a veneer of respectability, especially when they’re trying to rehabilitate a “bad boy” or “bad girl” image. As Ellis Cashmore, author of Elizabeth Taylor: A Private Life for Public Consumption and a sociologist of celebrity culture, pointed out to Vox, ’70s singer Donna Summer famously transformed her public persona from that of a “slithery sexual” siren to a “slightly too pious symbol of purity” after she was born again in the 1980s. UK pop star Cliff Richard, likewise, came to prominence as an Elvis-esque rock-and-roller in the 1950s, only to pivot to Christian music and a softer image in the mid-1960s.

“Today’s culture has a few spots open for holier-than-thou celebs,” Cashmore said. “They’re almost reassuringly pure in the midst of unbridled debauchery, degeneracy, and all-round immorality.”

But in Bieber’s case, the relationship with Hillsong is a two-way street. Each bolsters the other’s personal brand.

Justin Bieber and his fiancée, Hailey Baldwin, spotted at a delicatessen in Brooklyn on July 30, 2018. James Devaney/GC Images via Getty Images

Back in 2014, Justin Bieber was a mess: drinking too much, doing too many drugs. He was a reliable tabloid train wreck, making headlines for trying to illegally import a pet monkey and spending a night in jail for underage drag racing. He’d been raised an evangelical Christian by his mother back in Canada, but lost connection with his faith.

Enter Carl Lentz, pastor of the New York City branch of the international Hillsong megachurch. Bieber had known the young pastor since they’d met at one of his concerts in 2008, according to the New York Post. Lentz and Bieber had another pastor friend in common: Judah Smith, known for befriending celebrities. But they’d only started to get closer recently, around the time Bieber’s life started falling apart. Lentz declined to comment for this story; Bieber has not responded to requests for comment through a representative.

By 2014, Bieber was hitting rock bottom. According to celebrity lore, best recounted in this GQ story by Taffy Brodesser-Akner, Bieber was desperate for a way out of his downward spiral. Lentz convinced him Jesus might be the way. And so, one night at 3 in the morning, a despondent Bieber begged Lentz to baptize him immediately. Unable to find a place safe from the prying eyes of paparazzi, Lentz ultimately baptized the pop star in the bathtub of Lentz’s friend NBA player Tyson Chandler.

Hillsong Pastor Carl Lentz and Justin Bieber talk at the 2017 Aces Charity Celebrity Basketball Game at Madison Square Garden. Shareif Ziyadat/Getty Images

And just like that, Bieber was transformed. He became, as in Psalm 51, “washed clean … whiter than snow.” Now, Bieber’s Instagram feed is full of Bible verses and devotional texts, not selfies with monkeys. His personal brand and his conversion comeback are inextricable from one another.

Since then, Bieber has been both a vocal Christian and a vocal Hillsong supporter, appearing at Hillsong events and conferences, as well as frequently appearing alongside Lentz on social media.

For example, a video from April 12, posted to Bieber’s Instagram Live and later reposted to YouTube, perfectly captures the new, “purer” Bieber. At first, it seems just like any other social media post, designed to foster a celebrity’s sense of intimacy with his fans: hands tinkling piano keys; a breathy, even erotic, melancholy croon.

The lyrics, too, sound at first like a conventional love song: I breathe You in / I lean into Your love / Oh, Your love. Then Bieber gets to the point. His voice all but breaks. Drawing close / Stirred by grace / And all my heart is yours.

It’s a Hillsong United song — written by the church’s flagship band. It’s not about Baldwin, but about Jesus.

The video captures the essence of Bieber’s current celebrity persona. The boy who once sang, “Coffee table, girl, get ready, I’mma put you down / All the way down,” with disgraced R&B singer R. Kelly is now embracing a gentler, even teenybopper romantic rhetoric.

He’s safely, endearingly Christian, but he’s also not too Christian. (Tellingly, Bieber leaves out some of the song’s most explicitly Christian lyrics — You are my everything / Jesus Christ / You are my one desire.) His song is a song of religious praise, but it also doubles in its secularized reworking as an accessible, tame melody for fans who would rather imagine themselves as objects of Bieber’s love than lust. His Christianity and his reformed, “safer” public image are inseparable.

O. Alan Noble, editor-in-chief of the website Christ and Pop Culture, told me that Bieber’s approach to that song ties into a wider divide within evangelical culture over the extent to which Christians should engage with the tools of secular media, such as pop music.

“That’s the joke among evangelicals who are very critical of [pop-style] worship music,” Noble said, “that it just sounds like a love song, and that if you took out Jesus, it would just sound like any other love song.”

However, Cashmore warns that when it comes to our celebrities, at least, our culture tends to easily get bored of Bieber’s redemption narrative. Hillsong may have solidified its prominence due to its affiliation with celebrities we love, like Nick Jonas, Selena Gomez, and Hailee Steinfeld, but Cashmore argues that ultimately, we as a culture gravitate toward celebrities who titillate, not preach.

“We stay interested in celebrities because they’re mostly the opposite of pure,” he noted, “the more sullied, the better. I think celeb culture tolerates a limited number of evangelical types, but not too many or they become tiresome. We like our celebs dirty, flawed, contaminated, disgraced, tainted, and, yes, impure.”

Nonetheless, Bieber is reflective of a bigger trend, Noble says. Churches like Hillsong, and “crossover” celebrities like Bieber, are the new normal. “There’s a lot less siloing going on than there was in the early ’90s and 2000s,” Noble said, referring to the separation of Christian and secular media. Evangelical college kids these days will “listen to an artist talk about loving God, and [also] talk about going clubbing.” In general, he says, the evangelical world has moved away from a suspicion of the corrupting influence of media and pop culture, and toward a desire to engage with it.

Hillsong, and Bieber’s role within it, is perfectly representative of that trend.

Given its extraordinary spread, with branches as far afield as Kiev and Buenos Aires, and its pop culture-savvy vibe, it makes sense that Hillsong would be the church of choice for a young, evangelically minded pop star like Bieber.

The church’s wholesale adoption of what has come to be known in church circles as a “seeker-sensitive” model — maximizing outreach through feel-good rhetoric and the veneer of accessibility — combined with its “the Lord will provide” prosperity gospel, has allowed it to spread across more than 80 cities, 21 countries, and five continents, resulting in an estimated 50 million people a week singing Hillsong-branded music across the globe.

Hillsong’s ethos, while distinctive, is not unique or unprecedented. It involves an approach to worship shared by many other churches: an aesthetic characterized by intense emotional outbursts and a firm faith in the sanctity of everyday experience. Its theology is relatively, though not extremely, conservative from an evangelical perspective. And its near purpose-built appeal to younger audiences is also shared by a number of other megachurches across the world.

Hillsong is rooted in an Australian church called the Sydney Christian Life Centre, created in 1977 by Rev. Frank Houston. The church was Pentecostal, which is an umbrella term for any one of a number of evangelical movements that emphasize the direct action of the Holy Spirit in a worshipper’s life (often through acts like miracles of healing, or believers speaking in tongues). Pentecostal churches tend to stress members’ displays of extreme emotion, as well as a highly charged atmosphere — including music, dancing, and clapping — designed to foster the worshipper’s connection to God.

When Frank Houston left the church in 1999 under undisclosed circumstances (more on that later), his son Brian Houston and daughter-in-law Bobbi Houston, both pastors, folded Sydney Christian Life Centre into their own emerging church, called Hillsong.

From the beginning, Hillsong was characterized by its focus on Christian pop music as a means of attracting a younger, pop culture-savvy audience. Under the younger Houston, Hillsong had been releasing Christian music since 1992, annually producing what would come to be millions of dollars’ worth of albums and singles.

Hillsong added a healthy dose of prosperity gospel theology, adhering to the belief that spiritual purity, “positive thinking,” and expressions of unswerving faith will yield immediate material benefits for true believers.

As Brian Houston proclaimed in one sermon: “The only people who ever talk about a prosperity gospel are people who are threatened by God’s blessing in people’s lives.”

Hillsong’s services are both high-tech and minimalist, equal parts rock concert and TED talk. In services and sermons available for streaming on Hillsong’s website, with motivational titles like “Your Dream Is Your Destiny” and “Relevance: Hole-y Jeans or Holy Life?”

In one sermon, which was filmed in Hillsong’s headquarters outside Sydney, Houston appears in front of an LED-lit screen, dressed in a blue button-down shirt and jeans. “I encourage everyone here to dream a dream,” he tells listeners, “so much God-given potential perishes because of a lack of a dream!”

Later, he becomes more animated. “Never, ever discourage people and their dreams, because you know what God can do with dreams,” he exclaims, clutching the microphone. “Dreamers understand other dreamers! That’s why it’s good to come along with a church that’s filled with vision!”

Carl Lentz leads a Hillsong NYC Church service at Irving on July 14, 2013. Tina Fineberg/AP

Hillsong both holds to, and generally underplays, a conservative evangelical theology, although its leaders have in recent years generally been reluctant to speak out on hot-button issues. The church appears to have a quiet “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy on LGBTQ issues, and hot-button issues like abortion and homosexuality are rarely, if ever, weighed in on from the pulpit.

Its celebrity adherents, such as Bieber and his ex, performer Selena Gomez, tend not to focus on these elements of Hillsong’s ethos when prompted. Instead, Bieber, for example, encouraged a queer fan to come to Hillsong, promising she’d be welcome at the church.

What’s striking about Hillsong, however, is less the fact that it holds conservative views — plenty of evangelical churches do — and more that it’s successfully refocused its look, feel, and rhetoric to cater specifically to the #blessed. It’s managed to market a feel-good Christianity, using the branding of progressivism to do so. And, insofar as Bieber’s Christianity has given him a solid tabloid redemption arc, he has benefited from that marketing — even if the church’s leaders haven’t been as fortunate.

Despite (or because of) its popularity, Hillsong has not been immune to scandal. As early as 1999, according to Australia’s Daily Telegraph, rumors had spread that Frank Houston had molested boys in his community. These rumors, of which Brian Houston was reportedly aware, may have contributed to the elder Houston’s abrupt retirement. A year later, Frank Houston confessed to his son that he abused a young boy 30 years prior. The matter was never formally reported to police. The elder Houston died in 2004, after having drawn a consistent pension from Hillsong since his retirement.

In 2014, an Australian police commission found that Frank Houston had molested up to nine boys. The British newspaper the Guardian reported that he offered $10,000 to one victim, saying, “I don’t want this on my head before God.” Brian Houston also failed to inform police of his discovery. He has maintained that he has always acted in the best interest of his father’s victims.

While there is no documented link whatsoever between pedophilia and homosexuality, Houston maintained this as a potential reason for his father’s acts. “I think my father was homosexual, a closet homosexual,” he later told an interviewer. “I’m no psychiatrist … but I think whatever frustrations he had, he took out on children.”

Pastor Brian Houston (right) with Bob Carr, former premier of New South Wales, during an annual Hillsong convention at the Sydney Superdome on July 4, 2005. Fairfax Media via Getty Images

Hillsong’s views on homosexuality, which mirror those of typical evangelical churches, clash with its vibe that is seemingly youthful and therefore overtly welcoming to LGBTQ people. Like many, if not most, evangelical churches, Hillsong formally holds that the only legitimate and godly sexual relationships are between married heterosexual couples.

Outside of same-sex marriage, though, the manner in which Hillsong treats its LGBTQ members is less clear.

On the one hand, Frank Houston started Exit Ministries, a so-called ex-gay ministry, which was devoted to using therapeutic methods to essentially try to make LGBTQ people straight. After that shuttered, Hillsong outsourced its conversion therapies to outside companies throughout the 2000s.

But around 2011, that changed. Brian Houston decided that a church at which young LGBTQ people did not feel they could pray was a church that could not grow, and he started distancing himself and Hillsong from conversion ministries altogether. He also started adopting more LGBTQ-sympathetic rhetoric, talking more and more about the difficulty of being LGBTQ in the church and advocating compassion for LGBTQ teens. (As an example of how LGBTQ attitudes among evangelicals are changing, 53 percent of white evangelicals ages 18 to 30 support same-sex marriage.)

Lentz has, in interviews, stressed that Hillsong does not treat homosexuality as markedly different from what evangelicals might consider other sins, including premarital sex between a man and a woman. LGBTQ issues rarely come up explicitly in the pulpit at Hillsong, though some former members report the church’s tone having “mixed messages.”

Ben Fenlon, an ex-member, described his experience at the church’s London branch for the Huffington Post: “When I first started attending I questioned those around me about how the church felt about homosexuality having read conflicting reports. The answers were always vague, telling me that God loves everyone and that everyone is welcome to come and worship. There was never a clear answer on the gay issue.”

In practice, this has created a tension within Hillsong’s pews. Often, LGBTQ members are welcomed as parishioners, but, according to ex-members, those in same-sex relationships are discouraged from seeking leadership positions. When it came out that a male church leader in the New York choir was in a same-sex relationship (something the couple says was an open secret with the church), Houston and Lentz quickly clarified the formal position of the church: that being gay is, indeed, a sin. They wrote in a 2015 blog post

Hillsong Church welcomes ALL people but does not affirm all lifestyles. Put clearly, we do not affirm a gay lifestyle and because of this we do not knowingly have actively gay people in positions of leadership, either paid or unpaid.

Celebrities affiliated with the church, including Bieber, have often tried to walk back the more politically controversial statements of Hillsong. He’s told queer fans, who’ve expressed sorrow over homophobia in other churches, that they’d be more than welcome at Hillsong: “That’s not okay. If you ever want to come to any of the [Hillsong] services, we’d love to have you in there. You’re more than welcome to come any time.”

Bieber has never commented specifically on Hillsong’s stance toward LGBTQ people. While his words to his fan were approvingly quoted in the secular press, other Christians, including former Christian rocker Trey Pearson, who is openly gay, pointed out that Hillsong is not an LGBTQ-affirming church.

Still, despite criticism, Hillsong has made itself into an astounding financial and social media success.

Central to Hillsong’s success, of course, are its high-profile ambassadors, such as Bieber.

It makes sense that Hillsong would appeal to celebrities. It demands neither vows of poverty nor renouncing the glitz-and-glamour lifestyle that characterizes the celebrity experience, even as it offers a kind of structure and meaning inherently absent from, say, a drug-fueled life on a tour bus.

It’s social media-friendly, its leaders’ impeccably curated Instagram aesthetic of self-care and self-acceptance perfectly dovetailing with the #inspirational messages of its most famous member.

Lentz has appeared, for example, on Oprah Winfrey’s show Super Soul Sunday. His highly appealing, easily marketable narrative of Christianity — though it differs in content from Oprah’s more vaguely spiritual mantras of self-care — is, like hers, accessible, consumer-friendly, and social media-savvy. The blessings it provides are a mixture of spiritual, communal, and aspirational. Who wouldn’t want to look like Carl Lentz, or have the happy marriage he seems to have?

It would be easy to be cynical about Hillsong, and the degree to which Lentz’s Instagram content informs the church’s aesthetic as a whole. But for Kelly Bollmann, 31, the aspirational nature of Hillsong’s leadership, and the way the leaders represent Hillsong’s branding, is part of its appeal. Bollmann has been involved on the volunteer creative team of Hillsong New York since the beginning, when Lentz, the pastor at Bollmann’s old nondenominational church in Virginia Beach, Virginia, left to start the New York branch of Hillsong in 2009.

“I wouldn’t be part of the church if I didn’t know the leadership was that much more of a beautiful representation of the church off-platform than just preaching it,” Bollmann told me. Hillsong’s “platform” may be its services, but its “off-platform” identity — as curated on social media and in the personas of its pastors — creates a holistic sense of Hillsong as a Christian identity that transcends Sunday morning. For Bollmann, that “off-platform” identity was enough to lead him to follow Lentz to New York and help plant Hillsong as a member of the initial creative team.

Carl Lentz prepares to lead a Hillsong church service. Tina Fineberg/AP

In this way, Hillsong is the apotheosis of both the prosperity gospel movements and the seeker-sensitive church movement. It’s a place where the language of #blessed is re-sanctified and renewed. It’s certainly possible to ask whether a church that relies as much on Instagram branding and photogenic pastors as Hillsong is a good thing. But that might be missing the point.

Hillsong, with its talk of “off-platform” pastor behavior and its curated Instagram feed, is successful precisely because it ties into an existing cultural need. It embraces a spiritual life that infuses our social media as much as our souls. It uses the language and rhetoric of the millennial experience to win millennial souls.

For Bollmann, Hillsong’s message of welcome is one that transcends the specifics of its theology. Jesus, he says, “made everybody feel welcome” — especially the sinners.

Sure, he sees plenty of Beliebers, as Bieber’s fans are known, show up at Hillsong in the hopes of catching a glimpse of their icon. But he doesn’t mind. Even if people come to church for the wrong reasons, he says, it’s still an opportunity for them to see the love that Hillsong has to offer. “You’re going to find that you love what our relationship with Jesus is all about … they’re quickly just reminded, hey, there’s people that have a certain status, but they want to just come here and praise Jesus just like you.”

For Bollmann, who grew up in a multiracial family of 11, Hillsong’s image as a diverse, young, and welcoming church is a vital part of its Christian ethos. “You see more cultures in one subway car in New York City than you do in whole cities,” he says. And Hillsong — youth-focused, informal, multiracial — reflected that diversity. “What it enabled a lot of people to do when they saw such a beautiful community come around so many people, and it’s all welcoming of any gender, color, sex, everything. And they saw there’s absolutely no judgment.”

Justin Bieber performs at Hyde Park in London on July 2, 2017. Samir Hussein/Redferns via Getty Images

It makes sense that Bieber and Hillsong would engage in a spiritual and — in effect, if not in intent — commercial partnership. Hillsong provides Bieber not only with spiritual fulfillment but with a tabloid-perfect redemption narrative. Bieber provides Hillsong with publicity.

But, viewed another way, the partnership is as natural as it is seemingly transactional. In an age in which our “on-platform” and “off-platform” selves converge, Hillsong offers something, well, holistic. The Christian identity and sense of fellowship it provides its largely young, smartphone-savvy parishioners is designed to transcend Sunday morning services. It’s designed to go on Instagram, or Snapchat, precisely because that’s where its worshippers are exploring their own identities.

While it’s certainly possible to critique the perhaps packaged nature of Hillsong’s theology — its reliance on motivational speech and prosperity gospel narratives of success, for instance — it’s also worth asking the bigger question: Why do these narratives work?

For a church to be as successful, as much of a phenomenon, as Hillsong is, does its theology have to lend itself to the rhetoric and imagery of social media? Does Christian identity have to root itself in personal identity?

After all, the most enduring Christian movements in America have allied themselves most prominently with other, more insidious, kinds of identity politics and identity formation. All across America, we’ve seen the rise of a white evangelical Christian nationalism that equates Christianity with a particular notion of whiteness, as well as with GOP party politics.

If religion and faith are as much about how we see ourselves — our identities, our personal brand — as they are about what we believe, then Hillsong has cornered the market on a particular kind of self-identification for young Christians.

It’s fair to ask whether a church as social media-engineered as Hillsong represents the “real” Christianity. But it’s also fair to ask the reverse. If it didn’t use its mass-market appeal to spread the gospel, would anybody listen?

Original Source -> Hillsong: the evangelical megachurch that helped save Justin Bieber’s soul — and image

via The Conservative Brief

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nathalieofearth · 7 years

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Chapter 3: The Start of Self Destruction.

During the early days, I remember getting to know him. I first met him one fateful day at TGI Fridays. Yeah, not incredibly romantic, but of all the times, I was dating Odin for a little while now and this was one of the first times we hung out with our mutual friends as a couple. I had not met Sir Lancelot yet but when I finally sat down at a large table, he happened to sit next to me that night. We were introduced and conversed the whole evening, laughing and having a great night with what seemed like just the two of us. Now, it may have been that Odin was too excited to have friends to talk to about his video games but in this brief evening, it seemed that the world revolved around us, and I knew that this would be the beginning of something new.

Over the next few times we hung out, I got to know Sir Lancelot better. It seemed that he was in and out of relationships quite often, but he certainly was a charmer. One evening while out at a bar, Sir Lancelot kept me company the whole night while Odin was off getting drunk. He didn’t seem to notice that Sir Lancelot never left my side that night. However, he must have noticed the sadness my eyes gave away. I could feel his intense gaze look into my soul like it was piercing the walls and chains I had built and saw my naked, true self. I noticed that in this one moment, the whole world silenced for a minute, and it became another deeply intimate moment in a crowd of belligerents and strangers.

It’s strange, isn’t it? During these months, I felt so sure and secure in my relationship with Odin that it didn’t occur to me that I might have gained feelings for Sir Lancelot. I kept thinking that I was dreaming that Sir Lancelot would really care about my happiness. I was happy, wasn’t I? Odin was taking care of me, providing me with a place to live, placing food on the table and making sure I was doing everything I could to get a job. However, during these trying months, I was unemployed and was still awaiting my fate to go back to school. So basically, I had nothing to do in my little prison. I was bored and didn’t have much money to go out. In these times, it felt like Sir Lancelot was a breath of fresh air, a reprieve of my loneliness, and even more so, someone willing to listen to my stories. It began innocently enough, until that one fateful night I decided to act on my inhibitions. The fire inside me was building and I needed a release, a way to let my passions come crashing through, unbridled and fierce. I was willing to risk everything on this chance that Sir Lancelot might feel the same way. But instead of that moment being as satisfying as it should have been, I felt even more scarce, yearning for water in a boundless desert.

The kiss didn’t leave my lips for days. I would rub gently against it and close my eyes, wondering if that would be the last day I would ever get to kiss those lips again. When I went to sleep at night, I would be standing in front of that hotel door, looking up at his intense gaze and still not trying to look at his shirtless torso. I was becoming desperate for his touch again, or anything to get closer to him.

I am left with a sense of wanting I haven’t felt for a long time. How do I handle it? What can I do, especially me being in a relationship with Odin at this point for almost 8 months? I feel that maybe it’s an infatuation, a simple crush, that maybe what I really yearn for is attention. Or maybe, just maybe, it could be a soul-crushing feeling that I wasn’t happy in my situation. It’s been almost 8 months since my last job too, so things weren’t really looking up at this point. Could this really be fair to any one of these guys? I find myself unsure and trying to find a starting point of when I started feeling this way. It began at some point in the previous year, when I was still between my feelings for Odin and Quetzalcoatl. But only now, after this incident, I feel that this only serves to torture me, to continue to question my loyalty to Odin and of course, my sanity. This lustful, yearning wanting of a man I cannot have, who almost certainly does not want a relationship with me, and me, in an unhappy situation and with a man who does not appreciate what he has. Yet, the irony is that I don’t seem to being happier when I’m single; I like being in relationship, being loved and wanted. Or could it be as simple as that I just don’t know what I want: the struggle of any woman trying to find her place in the world.

Also, it could be that I don’t like being committed in a relationship. After all, I’ve been in and out of relationships since I started dating and I’ve never had a serious relationship like the one I currently have with Odin. Maybe this crush could be what I need to take the edge off my life, something that could have the potential to make me happy, however brief. Could the start of this be the end of me, the end of everything I know about myself? It sure seems like a dark path to take, betraying the love and trust of a man who does love me, albeit in his own way. This also has the potential to change me for the better, regardless of how self-destructive it could be.

From what I’ve seen, Sir Lancelot does like the attention, and there could be an attraction to me. What does he see when his intense eyes fall on me? That will always be on my mind. I mean, after all, Sir Lancelot is an old friend of Odin, and his loyalty could be to him and not towards me. There’s always been hints or comments made to me in the past where I’ve questioned his intentions towards me. He could have just made these general comments about what he likes in women, but oddly enough, he would always mention them when I was around. It could just be a mere coincidence, or me just taking things out of context, like I always do. But I would always “poke the bear,” so to speak, as I would usually reply with a provocative response or make flirtatious comments towards him. One particular time he flat out told me how sexy it was for a woman to be dominant, like a femme fatale. This brought about the idea of mine of to research everything I knew about femme fatales, yet I already knew that the way my confidence oozed out of me made me at least somewhat attractive to him.

In many ways, even after knowing him for a while and dating other men, I never have lost my attraction towards him. I’ve always felt that I was never really a woman he would be with because I had seen him with different girls and the key word here is girls. I was a woman in my own right and he chose little girls that were immature, full of insecurities and a demure appearance. In essence, these girls were nothing like me. Granted, I’m biased and I could quite possibly fit the description, but the fire burning within my soul, this long revered self-confidence and the embodiment of perseverance cannot match with girls still trying to grow into their own being, when I had long since conquered who I was and was proud to show everyone my being.

I grew anxious at the thought that he might somehow want to be with me. I built him up inside my head to be this perfect knight, when the reality was; he was full of flaws and insecurities himself. I could see them, see the core of his soul, barred naked whenever we would talk and to me, as time passed, he was nothing like I pictured him to be. At this point, my devotion as a faithful and loving girlfriend was the only thing I could hold on to, but I felt like a bird caged, longing to be free from Odin’s dependence. I saw all the choices I had in front of me like a hand of cards and Odin held the Ace. However, I promised myself that if Sir Lancelot would grant me some form of happiness, I would relinquish my Queen to him. In other words, I would let him hold my heart to safeguard. I would love him in my own way, just as he would love me, if he were to have me.

Around this time as well I faced other problems, mostly because I haunted by my past decisions of dating in the same circle of friends. Link, Odin, Sir Lancelot and Quetzalcoatl were all mutual friends and I could walk into any room they were in and know what they looked like naked. It brought both a sense of amusement and embarrassment every time we hung out together. But as a female knowing each one of them has had a little piece of my heart, it brought about a sadness that made me wonder, which one of them was the one that had the real piece to shape and heal my heart. I began feeling guilty that I had lingering thoughts about other men but at the same time, it brought me a sense of serenity knowing that I had made these past decisions and the wonder of possibilities ahead, which one of these men could bring me the longing of peace within my soul. No matter how you looked at it from the outside, I looked like the woman who played with men heart’s like toys, and just like Hester Prynne, I carried the adulterous “A” in a metaphorical sense across my chest. This heavy burden only brought me a deep, crushing loneliness in my soul that no man could bring me from.

The lingering thoughts of Sir Lancelot ran across my mind for weeks after that first kiss. I felt like I was on a euphoric cloud that no one could take me from. I carried that brief, intimate moment from the minute I woke up to the minute I went to sleep with my dreams. I would rub my lips every time I thought about it. I became obsessed with a kiss that serves only as a gentle reminder of the passion that I truly longed for in my heart. The thing I should have been more concerned with was a fiery passion that one should be careful with in order to avoid getting burned.

I finally got my chance to see Sir Lancelot again when a mutual friend of ours, Link, invited me to his house to hang out after picking him up from work. It is late June and there’s a storm coming, bad enough to make anyone stay at home. I thought it would just be a casual hangout, but as soon as I arrived, Sir Lancelot came over. I tried to act naturally, but inside, I was bursting with excitement. The pulse of my heart grew faster as the distance between us faded. My face lit up with energy and it spread around the room like a plague. Link, Sir Lancelot and I soon became enemies as we played on the video game console. We took turns, switching out controllers when the player lost. Eventually, Link became tired from working all day and decided to take a nap. Sir Lancelot and I had a moment alone and I couldn’t find any words to say to him. You could feel the tension in the room and cut it with a knife. But with his natural charm, he had me talking about everything and catching up with each other and by the time we had to say our goodbyes, I found it difficult to leave. Yet, I could not bear leaving things as they were, much less walk away from him without somehow getting near those lips again. Time became irrelevant and I was determined to get his kiss again. I lingered for as long as I could, Sir Lancelot giving no indication that he wanted me to stay or leave. So I finally mustered defeat, said goodbye and walked away…a heart-drenched goodbye that hurt in every physical and mental way. As I drive away, the more I dreaded in thinking that kiss was a solitary one and decided to give up my pursuit of Sir Lancelot.

On my drive home, not even five minutes after I had left, I decide to call him and let Sir Lancelot know how I really feel about him. Everything that had been boiling inside me was let out. He revealed his mutual feelings, much to my surprise and we agreed to meet up at fast-food restaurant, which was the half way between our two houses. He speaks hurriedly and out of breath, as if time is of the essence. From the manner that he spoke to me, it gave me a slight chance to hope that there could be something to his feelings towards me. When I arrived, he was already waiting. He rolls down the window and asks me to go in his car. I jump in the passenger seat and we try light conversation, like what voice actors we liked and my tattoos, to try to maintain some sense of sanity between us, since insanity seemed like the only thing to call this meet-up. He lingers now, asking me if I could stay a little longer. I curiously ask why and wait for his explanation. He said he wanted to kiss me, and for a moment, I thought I was dreaming. Would he really just say that to me after all this time, after fantasizing of this moment for so long? But my body responded for me, gesturing with my hands what he was waiting for to make his move.

But for a full minute, I realized I wasn’t imagining things. I’m sitting next to him, and before I could say anything else, he lets go of his self-control and lets his mouth do the talking. He kissed me, hard, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer. I didn’t mind it and let go of all my inhibitions. I kissed him back, holding him warmly and close to me as if I were to never let go. He’s holding me by my back and pushing me towards him. He goes for my neck and moves up and down my body, as if exploring every inch of it with his mouth. The intensity of the kiss is only heightened as my body yearns for some form of release from this madness and I breathe out a little yelp and try to focus on the moment. My mind was soaring but the underlying guilt of it all wrenched through me, eating away at my happiness. This brief moment becomes clear to me as he satisfies me with his comfort and his embrace. It’s become a feeling of oneness and desire of not being alone. He kisses me with hunger, as if he needs me and my body reciprocates by letting it do the talking. I become overwhelmed with emotions that I came close to getting an orgasm, so I push him away from me so I can grab a breath of fresh air.

The windows have become foggy from the exhaling of our breaths, but I grab him and push him towards me again so I didn’t have to go back to the reality that faced me. My legs become numb at this point, and all I could feel is the center of my being increasing with every pulse, as if his kissing would release everything I was holding back. We become intertwined within each other and I just wanted to scream because I wanted more. I scratch his back, give him kisses between his face and ears, and he squeezes me even more tightly as if he had become the corset wrapping my body. His moans give off a sense of pleasure and my body becomes even more lustful to the point where my body just breaks down and softly my voice comes back to me and tells him to please stop.

He pulls away from me immediately. We stop and I close my eyes and put my hands behind my neck. I’m trying to take in everything about this moment. I sit there, awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. He speaks however, and it breaks the tension of the atmosphere. He tells me how soft my skin is, which is something I wasn’t expecting, that makes me blush and make me look even more flushed. My gaze couldn’t even meet his; almost as if I was too embarrassed to respond or maybe he would notice the way I was really feeling at this moment. I start looking outward thinking about the kiss we just shared.

It was just as intense as the first kiss went, and in all the ways that connected us even closer. It was this intimate moment that lasted forever, but when I checked the clock for a moment to breathe, only 30 minutes had passed. We share even more intimate secrets, but somehow it felt like they were more stories to help give us more reasons to bond.

I once again give in and he continues to kiss me, not as passionately, but as simple gestures, keeping me close to him. He briefly hesitates and tells me I’m perfect, and it’s as if new life has reawakened me. He softly checks my skin to make sure there was no mark left on it and I’m not sure if he could see just how flushed I really looked. I ran out of time and could no longer stay. I begin to get anxious at leaving his side. He smiles gently and tells me he’ll sleep soundly tonight and make plans to meet again soon. There’s a need to reassure ourselves again that it will be kept secret and discreet. I kiss him one brief and final time; giving him the assurance that what happens between us will stay between us. I bid him good night and goodbye. And the silence that followed from that point until I arrived home became one of the scariest things of my life. I sat there, evaluating all my choices ahead of me and only one thing became certain: whatever happens next in my life, good, bad, beautiful, horrifying, anything, I want him to be a part of it. But the question is, what happens next?

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