#its a little late at night to post this but i must speak my mind | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ourtearsofrain · 9 months

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Save a Horse (D.R.W/S.F.K)

Summary: Danny convinces Sam to go to a new line dancing bar in town. A gay bar. On a steal night. When they’re both secretly head over heels in love with each other. What could go wrong?

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, smut (minors DNI), some angst

Word Count: 11.3 k

Warnings: they’re both oblivious idiots so it takes them a fat minute to confess their feelings, major douche oc, non-consensual touching (not graphic), smut, oral sex, anal sex (fingering and penetration), Sam’s a bottom what’s new

A/N: I would like to thank hearts-hunger for posting a short blurb about Danny dragging Sam along to a line dancing bar, that was what first put the idea in my head that led to… all this. Thank you for reading!

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“Will you please just come with me tonight, Sam? You have nothing better to do anyways!” Danny pleads with the other man.

"For the last time, Daniel,” Sam replied, stressing his name as he closes the empty cabinet usually filled with alcohol and turns towards him, “You know me, I don’t line dance. I don’t even listen to country music.”

“It’s easy, just let me lead? Listen I really want to check this new place out, Austin told me about it last week, and I can’t go alone. He said tonight is bring your own partner night and to be honest, I’m a little embarrassed to ask anyone else.” He says quietly, looking down at the countertop as he mindlessly traces shapes onto the surface of it with his finger. “I’ve never been, but Austin promised it’s not like, too ‘hick’ of a bar.”

Sam sighs, bracing himself on the same counter with both hands as he leans towards Danny. “Fine. BUT, before you go looking too excited its only because; one, I’m out of all my good alcohol, two, you keep flashing those big doe eyes at me and you know I always give in when you look all sad like that, and three, I’m taking Austin’s word that it’s not ‘too hick’.” Danny beams at the other man, mood already lifting as Sam continues, “What’s this place called anyways? Have I ever heard of it?”

“I doubt you have, Austin told me it’s downtown and pretty underground, even for a new place.” He scratches the back of his head, focusing once again on the counter in front of him as he mumbles the rest of his answer. “He said it’s called uh… Bradley’s Honky Tonk.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, “I’m sorry you might have to speak up because, to me, it sounded like you just said this bar wasn’t ‘too hick’ and right after, told me that it was called fucking Bradley’s Honky Tonk.”

Danny briskly makes his way towards the front door as Sam trails behind him, speaking fast enough to prevent Sam from interrupting him, but not so fast he would have to stop and repeat himself. “You already agreed to go, I promise it’ll be fun, I’ll pick you up at 8, kay byeee.” He blurts out, shutting the door in Sams’ face.

“Thanks Daniel, alright see you then Daniel.” Sam grumbles out, voice laced with annoyance at his friends speedy departure. He catches his reflection in the mirror by his door, noticing his old band tee and unbrushed hair for the first time that day. “Oh god. What the fuck do I even wear?”

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Pulling into Sam’s driveway at 8:26 pm, only 26 minutes late (which Danny was considering record speed), he sat nervously in the driver’s seat waiting on his friend. He fidgets with a few strands of hair, his racing mind fueled by anxiety suddenly deciding that it must look horrible down, despite the time he spent in front of his mirror at home fixing almost every single curl until it sat just perfect. Flipping the cover up on the mirror of his sun visor he begins pulling his hair into a loose ponytail, leaving the bottom half out as he feared the old hair tie he kept in his car for emergencies wouldn’t be strong enough to hold all of it. Making eye contact with himself in the small mirror, he lets out a shaky breath. “Relax Danny, this is fine, it’s fine. Are you going line dancing with your best friend who you’ve stupidly been in love with since 8th grade? Yeah, but it’s fine. Completely platonic…right?”

He slams the visor up, groaning as his head falls back in frustration, hitting the head rest. “Yeah, I am so fucked.” he whispers before the passenger door swings open and Sam all but throws himself into the seat.

“Well, well, well,” Sam says in an exaggerated Southern accent, “Lookin’ mighty fine there Daniel.” He eyes the other man, attention going from the black crystal necklace Danny rarely took off, to his Howlin’ Wolf muscle tee, down his long legs clad in loose fit dark blue jeans, and finally catching a glimpse of his black lace-up combat boots. Sam secretly adored when Danny wore them around him, as the soles made him an inch or two taller than he already was, causing Sam to have to look up ever so slightly at Danny when in close proximity. “Surprised to see you’re not in cowboy boots. Your pair too classy for Bradley’s Honky Tonk?”

Danny rolls his eyes, putting his car into reverse and backing out of Sam’s driveway. He almost misses Sam’s sharp inhale as he places his hand on the shoulder of the passenger seat, allowing him to turn enough to look out the back window; instead he ignores it, thinking he must have imagined something out of hope.

“Shut the fuck up Sam.” Danny replies with no real malice or annoyance behind his words. “And I was thinking about wearing them but changed my mind, didn’t like how they looked with these jeans.” He glances over at Sam as he puts his car into drive, taking in the tiger’s eye pendant around his throat, his maroon button up with only the bottom two buttons done, down to his faded blue jeans and brown Chelsea boots, his eyes finally coming back up to settle on Sam’s freshly washed hair, now held back in a loose French braid. “You can’t say shit about my outfit, Sammy. Button that shirt a little more and swap those Chelsea boots for a worn pair of cowboy boots and you’ll fit right in with half the crowd.”

Sam dramatically gasps, slapping his hand over his heart and putting on his best act at being offended by the other man’s jest. “How could you say that to me Daniel? Comparing me to true Tennessee country boys; and I thought we were friends.” He gives Danny one last sad look before he drops the bit, and lets a full grin spread across his face.

Danny gives him an amused chuckle, keeping his eyes on the road as he lightheartedly grumbles, “God you’re such a drama queen.” under his breath.

“True, but that’s why you love me.”

Danny feels his face heat, sure that his cheeks are tinted pink from Sam’s passing comment. Lucky for him, Sam doesn’t notice as his attention is caught by something sitting on the back seat.

“No. Fucking. Way.” Sam says, confusing Danny momentarily before he reaches behind the driver’s seat and pulls out the worn black leather cowboy hat Danny had decided to grab at the last minute. With a shit-eating grin plastered on his face he settles the hat on his own head, causing Danny to choke on his own spit after looking over. His face turns an even fiercer shade of pink as he not only coughs for air, but also tries to keep the fluttering of his heart at bay.

“You brought a fucking cowboy hat? Yeah, ok and I’m the one that could ‘fit right in’.” Sam teases, too amused to question the state of his best friend.

After regaining the ability to fully breathe, Danny reaches over, snatching the hat off his head and tossing it behind him and out of Sam’s reach. “Hey, what the fuck-“ Sam starts.

He’s cut off by Danny, still blushing vividly and trying to keep his voice even. “Uh there’s kind of this ‘rule’ that you should know about. With cowboy hats. So you don’t accidently give someone the wrong vibe tonight.” He glances nervously over at Sam, who’s staring at him with mild confusion painted across his face. “They say, ‘wear the hat, ride the cowboy’. Uh, basically it means if someone puts their cowboy hat on you, or you take someone else’s hat, it means that they, and/or you, want to… fuck.”

“Oh.” Sam replies, staring out the windshield. Oh. A blush creeps across his cheeks and he clears his throat, hoping to ease the tension that had settled between them. “Well uhm, thanks for the heads up.”

“Yep, mhm, yeah uh no problem.” Danny mumbles out. Well that was fucking smooth. God you’re such an idiot, he probably knows and just never wanted to say anything. He’s pulled from his thoughts as they arrive at the bar, its name illuminated in neon rainbow lights. Struggling to find a parking spot, he drives a block down, eventually finding an empty space in the lot of a random mom and pop stop style restaurant already closed for the night. “Busier than I thought it would be.” Danny comments half to himself as the men get out of the car.

“Hey Danny boy,” Sam calls over the hood of the car, “Don’t forget that cowboy hat, partner.”

Danny rolls his eyes, smiling despite himself. “Fuck off Sam.” he replies, before opening the back door of his car and grabbing the hat off the floor where it had fallen. He places the hat on his head, earning a teasing wolf whistle from Sam, before he locks his doors and makes his way towards his friend.

The pair start towards the bar, passing small groups of people and couples already leaving the bar, stepping out for a smoke break, or heading inside like Sam and Danny were. They pass a group of women all standing around in a semi-circle laughing and talking while puffing on various cigarettes and vape pens. In their platform heels, they were all taller than both boys, with flashy and over the top outfits, hair, and makeup.

A woman near the center of the group with blond hair piled impossibly tall on her head eyes Danny. Her long nails are painted blood red, the end of a cigarette between her fingers, burning dangerously close to the lacquer. She wore a cropped leather jacket in a similar shade almost fully zipped up, and tight leather shorts with fishnet stockings. Her cowgirl boots gave her maybe an inch of height, yet she still towered over Sam and Danny as they passed.

“Love the hat, sweetie.” She says in Danny’s direction, winking at the end of her sentence, surprising both boys with a voice deeper than either expected.

“Oh uhm, thank you ma’am.” Danny replies nervously, continuing along the path with Sam by his side.

Once out of the earshot of the group, Sam voices what both men were thinking. “So that was a drag queen, yeah?”

“Yeah, think they all were.” answers Danny, nerves creeping into him.

Sure, Austin was gay, but he didn’t want to assume that it was a gay bar just because he was. And he would have told Danny it was a gay bar… right? Whatever, he thought, either way it was too late to back down now.

The pair arrive at the door and, after showing one of the bouncers stationed at the entrance their ID’s, enter the building. Their senses are immediately bombarded, from the rainbow strobe lights, to the intense smell of sweat, to the blaring music. Danny manages to recognize the song, despite the cacophony of noise surrounding him.

“But I’m gonna be where the lights are shinin’ on me

Like a rhinestone cowboy

Ridin’ out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo.”

Ok, definitely more of a queer country song but that doesn’t mean anything. Right?

Unlike Danny, Sam does not recognize the song or pay any mind to it, instead taking in the room before him. It’s interesting, Sam thinks to himself, most of the people dancing together are same sex couples. Huh, wouldn’t expect to see that in a Tennessee line dancing bar.

Danny clears his throat, grabbing the other boys attention as he leans in to talk over the music; “Want to go get a drink first?”

“Do you even have to ask?” he replies, already making his way towards the bar.

They find it packed, and Danny just manages to squeeze in as a woman with short, buzzed hair and dark purple lipstick walks away drink in hand, leaving a spot open. Sam presses himself against Danny’s back, leaning in to talk right into Danny’s ear. He doesn’t hear the hitch in Danny’s breath as their bodies make contact, music and conversation drowning it out as he begins to speak. “Hey, I think I just saw a table for two open up, I’ll go save us some seats. Order me something? I don’t care what, surprise me.”

Danny half turns to respond, but Sam is already halfway across the room, making a beeline for the only empty table left in the venue. He smiles at his friend’s dedication, turning again towards the wall of alcohol behind the counter and catches the eye of one of the bartenders as she makes her way towards him.

“What can I get you tonight, hun?” she questions, drying her hands on a bar rag as she waits for his answer.

“Uh Rum and Coke for me, please.” He starts.

She grabs a nearby glass, reaching for a bottle behind her. “And for your boyfriend?”

Danny’s heart skips a beat. “What?”

She looks at him expectantly. “That man that just walked away from you, maroon shirt, long hair in a braid. You ordering for him?”

She thinks Sam and I are a couple. Danny’s cheeks flush as he tries to organize his thoughts enough to order something for Sam. “Oh uh, yeah. He’ll have a Dirty Shirley.”

“You got it.” She sets Danny’s drink down in front of him, replacing the bottles she had used and grabbing new ones from the heavily stocked shelf behind her.

“Oh, and can you put 4 Maraschino Cherries in instead of just one or two?”

She smiles at him, “Of course, hun. Your man got a sweet tooth?”

He looks down at his drink, indulging himself in the idea of Sam being his man for a few seconds. “Yeah, something like that.”

He glances in Sam’s direction as she makes his drink, only to find Sam already staring directly at him. He quickly looks away when he makes eye contact with Danny, seeming to be extremely intrigued by the lights near the DJ’s table all of a sudden.

Why was he staring at me? Maybe I’m taking too long. Did he blush? No, don’t be stupid Danny, it’s just the lighting.

The bartender pulls Danny’s attention away from the man across the room still avoiding his gaze by setting Sam’s drink down in front of him. “Here ya are, hun.”

Danny thanks her, pays for the drinks, and makes his way through the various throngs of people gathered here and there, both drinks in hand. He approaches the table, setting down their glasses as Sam looks at his, and finally looks at Danny again, a wide smile on his face.

“A Dirty Shirley with 4 Maraschino Cherries, how’d you know?”

Danny returns his smile and shrugs, “It’s your favorite. And the last time Jake came back with our drinks and yours only had 2 cherries instead of 4 like you asked, you got all pouty for like 30 minutes, how could I forget?”

Sam’s smile softens as he takes in Danny’s features, watching the path of his hand bring his glass to his mouth to take a sip. His eyes linger on Danny’s lips for longer than he cares to admit, watching his tongue flit out to lick them. He tears his gaze away, looking upwards to find Danny already softly looking at him. Sam’s cheeks redden as he looks down at his own drink, praying that Danny didn’t notice the bright blush on his face in this light, or the fact that he was not-so-platonically staring at his lips.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick, hopefully the line isn’t too long.” Danny starts. “Watch my drink for me, will you?”

Sam looks up at his friend again and attempts to ignore what had just happened by nonchalantly popping one of the cherries into his mouth. “You got it.”

With that Danny walks away from the table, following the signs pointing towards the bathroom until he disappears out of sight. Sam groans, leaning forward until his forehead hits the cool resin of the table.

I need to not be sober to make it through the rest of this night, jesus christ. He sits up again, grabbing his glass and bypassing the thin straw intended for sipping, instead taking a large gulp of his drink, letting the familiar refreshing taste calm his nerves momentarily.

He places the glass back on the table, too focused on the action and his nerves still making his stomach twist to notice the, quite sparkly, man approaching him.

“Howdy there, sugar. Such a damn shame to see such a sad look on such a pretty man’s face.” He smiles at Sam, before continuing. “Been watchin’ you since you walked in here. What happened? Your boyfriend leave you all on your lonesome?”

Sam looks the man up and down, from the white cowboy hat on top of his head, to the embroidered and bedazzled black button up shirt, down to his slim black bootcut jeans, adorned with the largest and flashiest belt buckle Sam had ever seen, and finally landing on the expensive looking black cowboy boots on his feet, complete with silver heel and toe fittings.

He sits in the seat across from Sam, the one he had saved for Danny. Sam eyes the man, reaching over and sliding Danny’s glass away from the stranger, towards his now half-empty drink. He looks the man straight in the eye, still not returning his smile. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Well it looks like he ain’t tryin hard to be, leavin you all alone and all.”

Sam rolls his eyes, looking down at his drink in his hand, absentmindedly swirling the contents around. “It’s not like that, he’s just a friend. And I’m sorry I don’t mean to sound rude but, can I help you?”

The man barks out a laugh. “Hell that was just about the funniest damn thing I’ve heard all day. ‘He’s just a friend’. You’re tellin’ me he brought you to a gay line dancin’ bar, on a steal night, and he ain’t tryin’ to get any further than ‘just friends’. I’m sorry but that is bull fucking shit, sugar.”

Sam zones the man’s voice out for a second, too lost in thought.

Oh my god. This is a gay bar. That explains… so much. Wait did… did Danny know this was a gay bar? No, he would have told me if he knew.

“Anyways, darlin’, I was actually hoping you could help me. My name’s Dawson. Dallas Dawson.”

Sam gives Dallas a blank stare, mind still caught up with all the new information he had provided to Sam about the bar, his mind unintentionally wandering to Danny’s intentions.

Where the fuck is Danny?

“This is the part where you tell me your name, doll.” Dallas laughs, it feels cruel to Sam, as if it’s at his expense. “Sure as hell is a good thing you’re pretty.”

There it is. God this guy is an asshole.

“Samuel. My name is Samuel.” He responds, not caring if he sounded cold to Dallas.

“Well then Sammy boy, pleased to make your acquaintance. This your first time at a line dancin’ joint?”

Danny’s the only one that can call me Sammy.

He clears his throat, offering a brief, “Yep.”, and nothing else.

“Well then, looks like we can help each other, sugar. Since your friend ain’t here, and ‘don’t got any intentions with you’, how’s about I buy you a cold Budweiser and we get to know each other better. Maybe get a dance or two in, I can show you the ropes.” He punctuates his last sentence with a wink, smugly smiling at Sam as if he just used the world’s best pick up line.

God I fucking hate Budweiser.

“Actually, we just got drinks, although I’m sure he appreciates the offer.” Relief floods Sam as he sees Danny approach their table. “And, he agreed to be designated driver tonight so probably shouldn’t have more than what he’s already got.”

Dallas looks between Sam and Danny, scoffing as he sizes Daniel up. “Well looky here folks, looks like Sammy boys keeper came back for him.”

“Not his keeper, just an old friend. Which, speaking of, I sure would love for you to stay and chat but,” the sarcasm in his voice is almost palpable, and Sam begins to worry that Dallas might try to start something with Danny based off the way his jaw is clenched as he stares the other man down. “Sam and I haven’t seen each other in a while, have a lot of catching up to do.” Danny flashes Dallas a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and steps to the side, signaling for Dallas to get out of his chair.

Dallas looks over at Sam, offering a genuine smile. “Well darlin’, I know when I’m not wanted.” He stands up, winking at Sam before continuing. “Hope to see you around, Sammy.” He takes one final look at Danny before walking off into the crowd.

Sam lets out a sigh of relief and slides Danny’s drink back across the table towards him as he takes the seat previously occupied by Dallas.

“Are you ok, Sammy?” Daniel asks, genuine concern in his voice and painted across his features. He resists the urge to reach out and take Sam’s hand in his own; to gently rub his knuckles with his thumb to comfort him.

He looks at Danny, forcing a smile onto his face. “Yeah, that guy was such a douche, am I right?” He laughs lightly, trying to clear his mind and the air between them. “You are surprisingly good at lying, Daniel Wagner. Care to explain that?” He cocks his eyebrow at the other man, awaiting his response.

Danny shrugs, “Anything to get that asshole away from you.”

Sam offers a small smile to him, “Thank you, I appreciate it. So uh, subject change but, this is a gay bar.”

“Yeah, kinda have pieced that together over the evening. I promise, I didn’t know. Austin just told me this was a new line dancing bar, I swear he never mentioned anything about it being a gay bar.” Danny blurts out, worried that Sam might think he’s trying to make unwanted advances.

“Don’t worry, I believe you.” He smiles at Danny, a genuine smile, which helps ease the anxiety building in the other man. “Also, Dallas the Douchebag Dawson said something about this being a steal night? Do you know what that means?”

Danny’s face drops as suddenly, all the pieces click together.

Oh, I am going to kill Austin. He is pretty much the only person that knows about my feelings for Sam, and now that I think about it, he was the one to suggest I ask Sam to come with me tonight. Slick bastard.

“Uh, yeah I do actually. Sometimes bars will hold ‘steal nights’, where the whole point of it is to steal someone else’s partner mid dance. There’s a rule where you’re not supposed to steal someone’s partner if they’re new to it, but if you’d like to leave I completely understand.” Danny avoids looking at Sam by taking a long swig of his slightly watered-down drink.

“I know how much you wanted to come tonight, Danny. I’m fine staying.” Sam says as softly as he can while still being able to be heard over the noise surrounding them.

Danny looks at Sam surprised, furrowing his eyebrows. “Are you sure? I know this wasn’t your scene anyways and after that asshat and the whole misunderstanding about the bar, I don’t want to make you stay if you don’t want to.”

“Yes Daniel, I’m sure.” he reassures. “Besides, you need to show me how to line dance. You wouldn’t make me come all the way out here just to go home without a dance, would you?”

Danny’s face lights up, “Really?” he questions eagerly.

“No, I was just fucking with you for shits and giggles.” Sam deadpans before letting a smile grace his features once more. “Yes, really. After we finish our drinks, I expect you to swoop me off my feet on that dance floor.”

Danny laughs, full and bright, “Alright then, sounds like a deal then, Sammy.” His gaze lingers on his best friend for a few moments longer, before he forces himself to look out at the sea of people occupying the dance space as they sip their drinks in comfortable silence. Sam is the first one to break it when a song he recognizes starts playing.

“Holy shit Danny, I actually know this one.” he says, grinning at his friend.

“Well then, sounds like the perfect song to start teaching you the basics of line dancing. That is, if you’re finished with your drink.”

Sam dramatically stands, swooping his hands out in front of him in a grand gesture and bowing slightly. “Lead the way, Daniel.”

Danny laughs, hopping off his chair and grabbing Sam’s wrist as he passes him, pulling him along behind him as they make their way to the dance floor. He finds a corner of the room that isn’t too populated, hoping that the pair would have a little extra wiggle room for Sam to get the hang of it. Still holding onto Sam’s wrist, he pulls him closer, leaning down slightly to make sure Sam can hear him over the music, now louder on the dance floor.

“Ok so all I can say is, go with the flow, twirls and spins are like half of it, let me lead, and make sure you have at least one hand on me at all times. That’s like the main contact point of line dancing.” Danny looks at Sam, obvious nerves and slight panic written on his face. He brings the hand not holding his wrist up to his opposite bicep and gives him a comforting squeeze, waiting until Sam brings his gaze up to Danny’s to continue. “Hey, it’ll be fine, I promise. Feel the music, let me lead.” He smiles reassuringly down at him, feeling warmth rise in his chest when Sam does the same.

“Yeah, ok. Let you lead. Alright. I got this. I’m ready.” Sam’s heart flutters in his chest when Danny brings his hands down to hold Sam’s before he’s suddenly pushed away from him, both men holding the other at arm’s length. Danny pulls him right back in almost immediately, letting go of one of his hands and placing it on Sam’s hip to guide him into a spin. He slightly stumbles at the end and falls into Danny, not expecting the sudden turn and having almost no traction in his boots. His unoccupied right hand flies up to Danny’s pec, as Danny’s left hand finds a place on Sam’s lower back, steadying him against his front.

Danny stares down at him, their faces mere inches away from each other, and is sure his heart is racing. He prays to every god who will listen in that moment that Sam can’t feel it from where his hand rests on his chest. He is… so beautiful.

Holy shit, why is his heart beating so fast? He’s probably just worried I’ll fall or make a fool out of him. With this thought Sam immediately straightens, slightly pulling away from the other man.

“Sorry, I should have given you a warning.” Danny apologizes. Sam doesn’t miss the way his hand leaves his lower back, moving to hover near Sam’s free hand before he asks, “You alright to continue?”

With the comfort of Danny checking in with him, Sam finds a small amount of confidence and makes the first move, slotting his hand into Danny’s and taking a step towards him again. “Yeah, thanks. When I said I expected you to sweep me off my feet, I didn’t mean literally.”

Danny laughs lightly, “Yeah, again my bad. I’ll give you a warning next time.” He smiles and repeats his previous moves, pausing before spinning Sam again to offer a heads up to the other man. This time Sam doesn’t slip, and his hand perfectly lands right back into Danny’s at the end of his turn. “Hey that was great! You’re a natural, Sammy.”

Sam laughs, looking up at his best friend, “I think you’re giving me too much credit but, I’ll take it. Thanks.” He starts to feel the flow of the music as he moves with Danny who spins him again, this time around his back as he turns slightly to meet Sam. Before Sam realizes what’s happening, he’s spun again, landing with his back pressing flush against Danny’s front at the end. Danny’s left arm is holding Sam’s right hand across his body, his right-hand abandoning Sam’s to instead rest on his hip.

“So I remember when we were driving, driving in your car

Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk.

City lights lay out before us

And your arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulder.”

Too caught up in the moment, Sam turns in Danny’s arms and without thinking, brings his arms up to rest on his shoulders, crossing his wrists behind Danny’s head as he tries not to knock his hat off.

He looks incredible in this light. I mean, he looks incredible in any light but…

“And I, I, had a feeling that I belonged

I, I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone.”

The men gaze at each other as the song ends, too lost in the moment to realize they had stopped dancing. The song changing to something faster paced pulls them out of their trance, and Danny is the first to pull away, stepping back slightly and moving Sam’s arms so that he’s lightly holding his wrists at a “safe” distance.

Fuck. He knows how I feel about him. I made him uncomfortable, and he knows. He’s going to hate me. He must hate me.

Sam feels the sting of tears at this thought, considering excusing himself to the bathroom to spare himself the embarrassment of crying in front of Danny.

“You doing ok, Sammy? Want to keep dancing?” Danny asks, sensing the shift in his best friend.

Ok, maybe… maybe he doesn’t hate me? Sam clears his throat, keeping his tears at bay by reasoning with himself that if Danny recognized Sam’s feelings for him and hated him for it or felt uncomfortable, he wouldn’t ask him to keep dancing. “Yeah… yeah I want to keep dancing.”

Danny looks at him expectantly, as if waiting for elaboration. “And you’re ok, right?”

Moving his hands into Danny’s, he tries for a smile, “Yeah, and I’m ok.” Hoping to move past the subject, Sam begins swaying himself and Danny along to the music as he builds up his courage, until he finally finds the right moment and spins Danny behind him, just as the other boy had done to him moments prior. Going with the flow like Danny had said, he spins him twice with one hand after he makes his initial turn around Sam, catching Danny off guard but not enough to knock him off his feet like he had for Sam.

“Nothing but you can make me feel alive

Set my heart on fire, turn this silver sky

Into a California blue, fireworks in July.”

Danny beams at him, continuing their various spins and steps as he praises the other man. “That was amazing, Sammy! You went with the flow perfectly, just like I said!”

Sam grins, “Yeah well, I guess I had an amazing teacher. That or I’m just a natural. Born to line dance I think.” Danny snorts at this, much to Sam’s delight.

I’ll never stop making stupid jokes if it means I might make him laugh.

“Yeah, something like that.” He laughs, shaking his head in amusement at Sam’s joke.

He could say the least funny joke in the world, and I think I’d still laugh.

They dance through the rest of the song and when it switches to what Danny recognizes as Turn on the Radio, they dance through that too; perfecting their flow and rhythm, although still occasionally bursting into fits of laughter after bumping into each other while trying to do the same move to the other multiple times. After the song ends the pair pauses, leaning against the wall as they take a moment to catch their breath.

“Y’know, I’m having a lot more fun than I thought I would.” Sam admits, taking shallow breaths as he fans himself. "Thank you for asking me to come tonight."

Danny looks down at his shoes to hide his blush, taking a brief moment to collect himself before looking over to the boy at his side, “Of course, thank you for coming. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“She’s poppin’ right out of the South Georgia water

Thought, ‘Oh, good Lord, she had them long tanned legs’

Couldn’t help myself so I walked up and said...”

Sam laughs, the one that made his sound like he was high and giggly, “Hey just like you in the summer, Danny. ‘Long tanned legs’.”

Despite his racing heart and mind, Danny manages to chuckle out, “You lookin’ at my legs, Kiszka?”

“Maybe.” Sam looks over at the other boy, his expression sincere. “Care to dance again? I’ve taken a long enough break.”

What the fuck? Was he… flirting? Danny decides to move on past the remark, just as Sam had. “Uh, yeah. Although I think our spots been taken.” he comments, noticing that “their” corner had been filled by another pair of men passionately dancing.

“That’s fine, we can move further out onto the floor.” he responds, already grabbing Danny’s hand and pulling him towards the edge of the dance floor. They come to a temporary stop and once again, he takes the lead and resumes their dance, spinning himself under Danny’s arm.

Danny continues the conversation as they move together, trying to keep Sam as close as possible in order to be heard over the music.

“You sure you’re alright out here? We aren’t as, I don’t know, hidden.” Realizing what his statement could have implied, he rushes his words out to clarify. “Not that I want us to be hidden or anything! Just because you’re still new, I want you to feel comfortable.”

Sam smiles at him, feeling his heart soar at the fact that Danny was continuously making sure Sam felt safe and comfortable in this new situation and environment. “Yeah, I think I’ve gotten the hang of it enough to not be so worried out here. I appreciate you making sure though.”

They dance until the song ends, only a moments pause before the next song comes blaring over the speakers.

“Last night, I got served a little bit too much of that poison baby.

Last night, I did things I’m not proud of and I got a little crazy.

Last night, I met a guy on the dance floor,

And I let him call me ‘baby’.”

Danny spins Sam behind him as he had done many times that night, and suddenly, he doesn’t feel Sam’s hand in his own anymore. Thinking he must have accidentally let go he turns, expecting to see Sam close behind him. Instead, he sees his friend being swept away by a man in an infuriatingly familiar white cowboy hat. The pair are swallowed by the movement of couples on the dance floor as Danny is pushed to the edge of the room, watching helplessly as the white hat disappears into the crowd.

“Fancy runnin’ into you again, sugar. Hope I wasn’t interruptin’ anythin’ important there.”

Fucking. Dallas.

He grins at Sam, who’s already trying to loosen the other man’s grip on him. “You just looked too good bein’ spun around like that, doll. I saw my opportunity and just had to steal you, get a taste of you for myself.” He winks at Sam, grip surprisingly firm on his hands.

“Actually, you kind of fucking did interrupt us.” Sam shoots back, his tone thick with anger. “Let go of me.” He continues to struggle against his grip, now taking a step back to distance himself from Dallas. He takes a step forward towards Sam, grip unfaltering as he manages to “dance” with Sam without letting go of either hand.

“Now don’t be rude and go off leavin’ me mid dance, darlin’. You gotta give me till at least the end of the song. Besides, why would you want to go back to pretty boy over there. He ain’t gonna give you what you want.” He leans in, grinning suggestively at Sam with a fire in his eyes that almost frightens him. “I can, sugar. I can give you everything you want and more.”

Sam continues his attempts at escaping Dallas, a look of disgust painted across his features. “Fuck all of the way off, asshole.”

Offense is painted clearly across Dallas’ face as he continues, “Woah woah woah, sugar. No need to get so hostile. Now I may not wear shorts in the summer, and may not be as tall as your pretty boy but I still got mighty fine legs that you are free to ogle all you want, darlin’. Won’t even have to work too hard to see them without these jeans on.”

Sam’s confusion only lasts for a second, before he remembers the brief flirty comment he had given Danny before they resumed their dance. “Wait a fucking minute, were you listening to our conversation?? What the actual fuck, what’s wrong with you?”

“I told you earlier that I had my eye on you since you came through that door, doll. Been trying to get close enough to shoot my shot without pretty boy noticin’.” He shrugs innocently, “Couldn’t help but overhear a thing or two.”

The song changes, but Sam is too lost in his fury at what Dallas had so casually confessed to him to tell him that his dance was over. “What kind of a fucking creep-“ he trails off as he spots Danny across the room, making brief eye contact and praying that Danny can feel his silent cry for help before Dallas turns them and Danny is lost from his sight.

Dallas tightens his grip, anger flashing across his features momentarily. “I told you not to get hostile, darlin’.”

“And I can easily understand how you could easily take my man.

But you don’t know what he means to me, Jolene.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

I’m begging of you, please don’t take my man.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene

Please don’t take him just because you can.”

He gasps slightly at the motion, pain shooting through his fingers.

I don’t know what the fuck he’s going to try if Danny doesn’t get here soon. Danny. Where the fuck is Danny?

Voice tinted with fear, he manages to form a sentence despite his racing thoughts. “Let go. You’re… you’re hurting me.”

“What are you gonna do, huh? Run back to your pretty boy? Hell, he don’t even want you.” He laughs cruelly. Dallas feels a firm grip on his shoulder before he hears him.

“He said. Let. Go. You’re hurting him.” With rage dripping from his words, Danny pulls Dallas away from Sam. In his surprise, he loosens his grip enough for Sam to make his escape, immediately finding a home in Danny’s arms as he swoops in to “steal” Sam back. He gently takes Sam’s hands in his own as he maneuvers the pair away from Dallas without drawing too much attention to the situation unfolding.

“If you bring your Buckle Bunny ass near us again, we’re going to have more of a fucking problem between us, you pile of absolute horse shit.” Danny fires at Dallas before continuing their path away from him.

Enraged, Dallas follows them off the dance floor, trialing Danny as he guides Sam in front of him with a soft hand on his back.

“Who the fuck do you think you are talkin’ to me like that, pretty boy? Where do you get off controlin’ him like that, huh? You ain’t even his boyfriend or nothin’, I can dance with him if I fuckin’ please.” He shouts after them.

Danny turns, shielding Sam from him with his own body, preparing for the worst. I have no fucking idea what I’ll do if he swings, but at least his attention isn’t on Sammy anymore.

Before he can get to the pair, the muscular bouncer that had checked Sam and Danny’s IDs appears, seemingly out of nowhere, drawn to the commotion that Dallas’ yelling had caused.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” He asks, looking from Dallas fuming to Danny’s furious but collected expression, and finally landing on Sam behind him, eyes wide with panic and darting between the other three men.

Danny starts before Dallas can even form a coherent excuse or explanation. “This man has been harassing my friend all night. Doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Why you lyin’ piece of SHIT-“ Dallas starts towards Danny, finding his path suddenly blocked by the bouncer, his hand pushing against Dallas’ chest. “He’s lyin’ I swear to it! I’m just tryin’ to enjoy my night, dance with his friend, and his jealous ass keeps interruptin’ us! Sammy boy didn’t have no problem with us dancin’,” he peeks over the bouncer and Danny’s shoulders, trying to catch Sam’s eye. “Ain’t that right, sugar?”

“I’ve heard enough, c’mon, I’ll walk you out.” The man steps to the side and motions with his arm towards the exit, signaling to Dallas to start walking.

“ME?! You’re kickin’ me out?” his voice raises, drawing the attention of several patrons dancing nearby. “How fuckin’ dare you kick ME out!”

He raises his eyebrows at Dallas, “Either you can leave now on your own terms and hold on to whatever dignity you have left, or I can drag you out by those fancy lookin’ boots, y’hear me?”

Dallas sputters, face turning tomato red before he turns on his heel, storming out and yelling a final, “FUCK YOU! FUCK ALL OF YOU!” before being trailed out the door by the bouncer.

Danny’s grateful that all the attention drawn to them dissipates with Dallas’ departure as couples resume their dancing. He turns back to Sam, delicately taking a hold of one of his wrists and leading him to a quieter corner of the bar. Danny places his hands lightly on Sam’s shoulders, waiting for the shorter man to look him in the eyes. He softens his gaze and tone to speak to Sam, not wanting his anger at Dallas to be directed at Sam.

“Are you ok?”

Sam clears his throat, attempting to find the words to express everything he was feeling in that moment. “Yeah. I mean, no, but… yeah I’m alright. Thank you for stepping in when you did. I… I didn’t know how I was going to get away from him.” He looks down at his shoes, and a massive wave of fear and embarrassment that Danny had to step in and help, that he wasn’t able to do it himself, washes over him.

Danny gives a slight squeeze of comfort to Sam’s shoulders, causing him to look back up at him. “Of course, Sammy.” He looks around the bar briefly before turning his attention back to Sam. “Listen, we can leave if you want. Maybe wait a few minutes and then ask that bouncer if he’d walk us to our car. I know it’s crowded and,” he exhales a deep sigh through his nose, “all that just happened. So I’m ok with leaving if you want.”

“No, please. I want to stay. Other than that, I was having a lot of fun all night and I don’t want it ruined by that douchebag.” He offers a small smile to Danny, hoping it will help convince him that he truly does want to stay.

“Alright… but if you want to leave at any point, just tell me and we can go.” He expresses, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. “Do you want to dance again or go get another drink? We can do whatever you feel up for, just say the words.”

Sam pauses, thinking back on the past five minutes and allowing himself to feel everything that had been overshadowed by the anxiety and fear that Dallas had caused.

Did I find it kind of… hot, how Danny reacted to and dealt with Dallas? And the way that he keeps checking in to make sure I’m ok kind of makes me want to cry, but also… kiss him?

Sam’s head swims with confusion as the realization hits him like a truck.

Shit. I knew I was attracted to him, but I think maybe I’m in fucking love with him.

His thoughts race between this realization, to all the signs that should have tipped him off earlier, to how Danny might feel about him, and finally landing on what he should do.

He has been dropping some hints over the night, now that I think about it. You never know unless you try. Fuck what if he hates me for it. That’s insane, Danny could never hate me. I have to try.

“Can I..” Sam starts, gaining the courage to go forward with his spontaneous plan. He collects himself enough to continue, “Can I have a hug? Please, Danny?”

The look of confusion and worry at Sam’s demeanor drops from his face and is replaced by a shy grin. “Of course you can Sammy-“

Danny barely has enough time to slightly lift his arms before he is tackled around the middle by Sam, his arms clinging to Danny’s abdomen and face quickly finding a home in the crook of his neck. Danny wastes no time wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders, placing his left hand in the center of his mid-back, his right resting at the base of his neck, laying over his braid.

The pair stay this way for a few minutes, and Danny begins absentmindedly rubbing the other man’s back with his left hand as his right slowly comes up to cradle the back of Sam’s head.

When Danny feels Sam begin to pull away, he loosens his hold on him, leaning back to look at his friend. Sam comes to a stop with his face just inches away from Danny’s, the pair so close that he can feel Danny’s warm breath on his lips. Sam manages to tear his eyes away from Danny’s lips, moving upwards and seeing Danny staring right back at him, pupils blown so wide his irises are almost all black.

“Remember how you said we could do anything I felt up for?” he questions, voice barely above a whisper.

Danny swallows, mind racing between so many thoughts that the only coherent sound he manages to make is, “Mhm…”.

Sam takes a deep breath, attempting to calm the excited butterflies and nervous ball of energy in the pit of his stomach.

“Well, I have an idea. Of what I want, of what I feel up for.” There’s no going back after this. It’s now or never, I just need to rip the band aid off. “Kiss me. Please, Danny.”

There’s a fleeting moment of utter terror where Sam thinks that Danny doesn’t feel the same as he takes a second to process what he had just said. He suddenly snaps back into the moment, his body acting on its own accord as his mind blanks of everything but the thought of Sam.

Their lips crash together as Danny’s hand comes up to grasp Sam’s jaw, his other hand holding onto his bicep. Sam brings his hands to Danny’s sides, grasping at his bare skin through the cut outs of his muscle tee. They lose themselves in each other for what felt like hours, drinking the other up as the bustling crowd around them fades into nothing but background noise. They finally pull away, breathless and panting, as they rest their foreheads against the other, still holding each other close.

What if I open my eyes and this was all a dream, it never even happened. Sam’s mind flies from worry to worry at a mile a minute. Even worse, what if he looks like he regrets it. What if I just ruined everything and nothing will ever be the same between us. What if-

He’s ripped from his thoughts by Danny slightly tilting his head forward, his nose bumping into Sam’s. He feels Danny lean back, the loss of contact causing him to finally open his eyes despite the residual fears of what he may see. His eyes roam over Danny’s pink, plush lips, up to his blush tinted cheeks and nose, and finally finding his soft gaze, where he’s met with a look so full of warmth and love that it knocks the wind out of him.

“I can’t even tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Danny chuckles. “Not to rush anything but… do you want to get out of here?” he asks. His nerves get the best of him, causing him to continue his thought, stuttering out “… Not that we have to do anything! I didn’t mean it to suggest anything if you don’t want to do that.”

“Don’t worry, Danny. I’m fine with leaving soon. Although, I don’t want my last dance of the night to have been with, what did you call him? That ‘Buckle Bunny’ so,” Sam dons his horrible Southern accent to continue, “Will you give me one last dance, partner.”

Danny snorts, rolling his eyes playfully before he responds. “Yeah, of course.” He puts on the same accent to amuse the other boy, his attempt barely better than Sam’s. “I would be honored, sweetheart.”

Despite it being part of a bit, Sam blushes at the pet name, breaking eye contact to let his head fall against Danny’s shoulder in an attempt to hide the lovesick grin on his face. Sam hones back into the background sounds of the club he had been ignoring as the song playing over the speakers ends, and another one he actually recognized starts blaring over the speakers.

“Well, I walk into the room

Passing out hundred-dollar bills

And it kills and it thrills, like the horns on my Silverado grill.”

Sam’s head snaps up and he sees the recognition of the song painted across Danny’s face as well. Oh my fucking god, what a perfect coincidence.

“We have to dance to this one-“ he starts, dragging Danny behind him as he quickly makes his way to an empty space on the dance floor. They resume the flow they previously had while dancing as if there had been no interruption in the first place, grinning at each other as they spun and twirled until they felt dizzy.

Sam spins Danny behind him, knocking his hat off in the process and Sam fumbles for it, not wanting his hat to get trampled in the packed crowd. He manages to catch it, and suddenly remembers the rule Danny had explained to him in the car ride over. He makes sure the other man is looking at him before he places it on his own head just as the end of the chorus plays, singing along with it.

“Everybody says,

‘Save a horse, Ride a cowboy’”

Despite the dim lighting, Sam sees Danny’s pupils blow impossibly wider as his breath catches in his throat. He pulls Sam towards him by the waist, leaning towards him to be heard over the music.

“Do you want to leave now?” he asks, voice sultry and breath uneven.

“Lead the way, Danny.”

The pair exit the dance floor, Danny in front holding Sam’s hand so they didn’t get separated in the crowd as they make a beeline for the exit. The fresh air hits them like a punch as they step into the chilly night and away from the muggy, cramped club. Sam has to almost jog to keep up with Danny as he speeds down the block to where they parked. The two men practically throw themselves into the car immediately after Danny unlocks it, putting their seatbelts on as fast as possible as Danny shifts the car into reverse.

They ride in silence, the air thick with anticipation. Danny’s the first to break it, clearing his throat and glancing at Sam who is nervously chewing on his cuticles in the passenger seat.

“So, uh… I want you to know that, whatever happens, I don’t want it to be a one and done thing. I want to be with you, Sam. I want to be your boyfriend… I have for years. And if this is just an experiment, or you don’t want that then please tell me now.”

Sam drops his hand from his mouth, looking at Danny who had turned his focus back to the road. “This isn’t an experiment, I promise.” He reaches over, placing his hand on Danny’s thigh. “I want to be with you, Danny. Both in a relationship and… y'know... intimately.”

Danny steals a look at Sam, shooting him a small smile as he registers what he had said. “Good, great… that’s great.” Anxiety creeps in as his mind wanders to the implications of their conversation. He clears his throat, once again grabbing the attention of Sam.

“So uh… I have to ask.” Danny grips the steering wheel, white knuckled as nerves flood him. “Have you ever… have you ever been with another man before?”

Sam removes his hand from Danny’s leg and begins fidgeting with it in his lap, suddenly shy and slightly reserved. “No, I haven’t. I never… experimented, because the only man I’ve ever wanted to be with like that has been you.”

Danny reaches over and takes one of Sam’s hands in his own, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze as he turns into the entrance of his neighborhood. “That’s ok, we can do as much or as little as you’re comfortable with, Sammy. And I… I have… experimented before.” Sam’s head shoots up as Danny rushes to explain. “Not with another guy! I’ve just… done ‘research’, you could say. Experimented in case… in case we ever… or I ever wanted to… do that… with another man. I don’t know if you knowing that… changes how you feel… or anything.”

They pull up to Danny’s house as he finishes his explanation, Danny turning the car off and looking over at Sam to see his reaction to his confession.

“That actually makes me feel better, Danny. I know… I know you’ll take care of me, I trust you.” He offers a small smile as the pair sit in now comfortable silence, taking in the other’s features and the new dynamic between them. “Not to rush anything but, we should go inside. Like I said earlier, ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy.’ And I am still wearing your hat.” Sam winks, then promptly exits the car and saunters up to Danny’s front door, leaving the poor man speechless in his seat, with a growing problem in his jeans.

He rushes after him, locking his car as he resists the urge to sprint up the driveway towards Sam. Both feel the new, pent-up energy between them as Danny fumbles with his keys as he tries to unlock the door, finally opening it and pulling Sam inside. The second he clicks the lock back into place, his hands are on Sam, shoving him against the wall as their lips collide, the pace and urgency much faster than it had been back at the bar.

Danny slots himself in between Sam’s legs, grinding into him and feeling his hardening dick against his own. Both men groan at the action, spurring them on even more as Danny playfully bites down on Sam’s lower lip. He gasps at the slight pain mixing with the pleasure, and Danny’s hat falls off as Sam’s head falls back against the wall. The hat is left abandoned on the floor as Danny trails a combination of soft bites and soothing kisses down the other man’s neck, pulling Sam with him as he backs down the hall in the direction of his room.

The pair break apart long enough for them to kick their shoes off halfway down the hall, hands returning to each other’s bodies as Danny pushes Sam backwards into his room. His hands trail lightly across the hem of Sam’s shirt, his fingers ghosting across the soft skin of Sam’s stomach, causing an anticipatory shiver to run through him. Danny raises his eyebrows at Sam, silently asking for the permission that is immediately granted with an eager nod. Danny pulls the other man’s shirt over his head, his own shirt following in quick pursuit, and their lips reconnect as Danny’s muscle tee joins Sam’s button up on the floor.

Sam’s hands fumble at the button on Danny’s jeans as he’s backed against the bed, the backs of his knees hitting the edge, and he breaks their kiss to prevent himself from falling. Danny finishes the job Sam had started, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down his legs, attempting to step out of them as his hands find the button on Sam’s pants, both of their jeans ending up in a crumpled pile on the floor.

Both men hastily climb onto the bed, and Danny quickly finds a spot on top of Sam between his legs, pinning him to the bed with his body as he sucks what are sure to become hickeys into his neck and chest. Sam’s hands tangle in Danny’s hair, giving a slight tug at his roots causing Danny to groan softly and grind against him. Danny trails his way back up to Sam’s lips, giving him one final kiss before he pulls away, looking at the man below him.

In between shaky breaths, Danny manages to form a coherent sentence amidst his racing thoughts. “Listen… I know you said ‘ride a cowboy’… but considering this is your first time with another man… I understand if you don’t want to try that tonight… I want you to be completely comfortable, Sammy.”

The other man looks up at him with adoration at how considerate and understanding he was, smiling at him as he props himself up on his elbows, placing a gentle kiss to Danny’s lips. “I trust you, Danny. I want to go all the way with you. Like I said earlier, I know you’ll take care of me.”

Danny’s heart soars at his response, returning his smile before his lips are on Sam’s once more. He pulls away, eliciting a whine of protest from Sam, confusion written on his face as he watches Danny get up and disappear into his bathroom. Sam’s confusion furthers when he hears the sink turn on for a few seconds, Danny coming back into the bedroom moments later, a wet washcloth in hand. He sets it on top of the small table next to his bed as he opens the bottom drawer, Sam’s jaw dropping slightly and his breath catching in his throat as he sees what’s in Danny’s hand. He places a condom and small bottom of lube next to the washcloth and returns to his position over Sam.

“Now,” Danny starts, “Where was I?” His mouth returns to Sam’s neck as he resumes his previous actions of peppering light bites across his skin, soothing them with kisses or the flick of his tongue. Sam’s hands find their way back into Danny’s hair as he begins trailing downwards, his mouth grazing over Sam’s collarbone, then down the center of his chest, finally stopping at his stomach, just above the waistband of his underwear.

“What’s… what’s the towel for? Why do you need lube if there’s a condom?” Sam pants out.

“Well, Sammy.” Danny makes his way back up, stopping just inches away from Sam’s face as he looks at the other man. “There’s a little more prep work than you might be used to… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh… ok.“

“We can stop whenever, I don’t want you to do something you’re uncomfortable doing.” Danny starts, worry that he could be rushing Sam flooding into him.

Sam sees the change in demeanor and is quick to reach up and give Danny’s biceps a gentle squeeze. “I know. I don’t want to stop, but if I do I promise I’ll tell you.”

Danny gives him a small smile with this reassurance, all anxiety leaving his body at Sam’s words, before ducking his head down to give Sam a quick kiss. He looks at the man below him as his fingertips begin to trace the band of his boxers, cocking his eyebrow as he questions, “Can I?”

“Please do.”

Danny needs no other confirmation as he pulls the fabric down off his legs, quickly joining the rest of their clothes on the floor. His eyes roam over Sam’s body, starting at his face and moving south as he sucks a breath in through his mouth.

I feel so… exposed. As if Danny could read Sam’s mind, he pulls off his own briefs and chucks them towards the growing pile of their clothes.

Danny reaches for the bottle of lube, squirting it liberally onto the fingers of his right hand. He caps the bottle again and places it back on the table as he evenly spreads the lube on his fingers. He finds himself back in between Sam’s legs and begins to press soft kisses to the insides of his thighs as he looks up at him.

“You ready, Sammy?”

“Please fuck me, Danny.”

With that, Danny brings his hand up to Sam’s entrance, circling his middle finger there before slowly pushing the digit in. Sam’s mouth falls open as his head tilts back, his hands fisting the sheets as Danny pauses to let him get used to the feeling.

“You ok, sweetheart?”

Sam’s heart skips a beat at the pet name. “Yeah, please move, I swear I’m ok. I just need you to fuck me, please.”

Sam’s words make Danny grind against the bed, searching for any friction to relieve the ache in between his legs, his cock so hard that was almost painful. He slowly pulls his finger out, thrusting it back in carefully as Sam whines and clenches around him. He steadily picks up his pace as he’s met with an almost constant stream of whines and breathy moans from Sam’s mouth.

“Is it ok if I add another? I want to get to 3 before you ride me.”

Sam moans, “Oh FUCK, please Danny, please, I fucking need you.”

On his next pump in, Danny’s ring finger joins his middle as Sam groans at the additional digit. Danny slows his movement, scissoring his fingers inside Sam to slowly stretch him out. He notices Sam’s cock leaking precum onto his stomach, the tip a deep red from neglect. He grabs the base with his unoccupied hand, bringing his mouth up and circling his head with his tongue. The moan that leaves Sam’s mouth is what Danny can only describe as pornographic, his hips involuntarily jutting forward as he groans around Sam’s dick. Danny experimentally bobs his head up and down, drawing more moans and curses to fall from Sam’s lips.

“FUCK- Danny- as much as I- shit- as much as I’m enjoying this, I’m not going to last… shit, I’m not going to last much longer like this- please- please add another-“ Sam pants out.

Danny obliges, pulling himself off of Sam as he adds his index finger to Sam’s ass. He bites and kisses marks into Sam’s thighs as he pumps his fingers in and out, stretching them to make sure he wouldn’t hurt Sam with the size of his cock.

After a minute, Sam is practically coming undone around Danny’s fingers, “Danny please, please I’m ready. I can’t last much longer, please just fuck me.” He whimpers, breath uneven and shallow as he tries his best not to fall over the edge.

He removes his fingers, and Sam sighs at the loss as Danny wipes his hand with the washcloth, grabbing the condom and tearing it open after his hands have been cleaned. He tosses the wrapper into a small trash can next to the table as he rolls the condom on.

“You want to get on top, Sammy? You can control how much you take that way.” Danny asks sincerely. He smirks before continuing, “That and you did say ‘ride a cowboy’.”

Without saying anything, Sam flips the pair and straddles Danny, now looking up at him with wide eyes, pupils blown wide from desire. Sam reaches behind him and grabs Danny’s cock, lining it up with his entrance before slowly sinking down onto him. Both men moan loudly at their shared pleasure, as Sam continues slowly down until Danny is completely buried in him.

Sam gives himself a moment to adjust to Danny’s size before he begins working himself up and down on his dick. Danny's hands come up to grip Sam’s hips, guiding him as he picks up his speed. Sam’s hands find a place on Danny’s shoulders as he continues his movement, squeezing his muscled skin so hard he was sure he would leave marks from his nails.

Sam lowers himself onto Danny once more and suddenly, his cock hits a spot in Sam that causes his entire body to be set on fire, alight with a surge of pleasure he had never felt before. The only sound he manages to make is a gravelly, “Oh FUCK-“ before he begins to coat Danny’s stomach and chest with his release.

He clenches around Danny as he rides his way through his orgasm, the added pressure causing Danny to follow suit as he arches his back off the mattress, filling the condom up as pleasure crashes over him.

They both come down from their high, panting and spent as Sam raises himself off Danny and comments in an almost awestruck tone, “I think you hit my prostate- holy fuck-“ before collapsing onto the bed next to him. The pair lay there to catch their breath for a moment, and Danny is the first to move as he takes off the used condom and tosses it into the trash, next reaching for the washcloth and wiping Sam’s cum from his stomach. He returns to Sam, gently cleaning him off as he lays on the bed, exhausted from their activities.

Danny finishes and tosses the towel onto the pile of their clothes on the floor, telling himself that that would be his problem tomorrow. He gently pulls the sheets down under Sam, trying to get him under the covers without disturbing him too much.

“Hey, Sammy. You fine crashing now and just saving the shower for tomorrow morning?” he questions softly as he settles himself in next to Sam and pulls the covers over them.

Sam cracks his eyes open, immediately wrapping his arms around Danny’s torso and pulling him close. “Mhm.” he mumbles sleepily, “My legs feel like jello, I think you’d have to carry me to the shower and hold me up.”

Danny laughs lightly, wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I wouldn’t mind that.” He responds before reaching over and turning the light off, returning to the embrace of his best friend, now boyfriend, as their limbs tangle together.

Sam yawns, nuzzling his face into Danny’s chest before mumbling, “Maybe next time, we’re definitely going back to that club.”, voice muffled from both exhaustion and his position against Danny.

He smiles, the feeling of Sam’s body against his slowly pulling him towards a much needed slumber. He manages to mutter out a quiet, “Maybe next time I’ll do the riding, cowboy.”, before he gives in to the feeling and drifts into a deep sleep, comfortable and safe with Sammy tucked against him in his arms.

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A/N: I would like it to be known there is genuinely a line dancing bar in Nashville called Layla’s Honky Tonk, I was not making that hick ass name up, just changed it to “Bradley’s” to make it a bit gayer.

Also my friends wanted me to mention that we almost solely referred to Dallas as “Buckle Bunny” the entire time I was writing and asking them for input on his character.

All the songs mentioned, in chronological order:

Rhinestone Cowboy- Glen Campbell

Fast Car- Luke Combs

(Fast Car will forever and always be their song to me now)

Nothing But You- Leaving Austin

Turn on the Radio- Reba McEntire

Cruise- Florida Georgia Line

Last Name- Carrie Underwood

Jolene- Dolly Parton

Save a Horse- Big & Rich

Thanks again for reading :)

#fic #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fic #greta van fluff #daniel gvf #greta van smut #gvf smut #sammy gvf #sanny gvf #cowboy sanny #cowboy danny

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hesawifebeaterdanusethegun · 2 months

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Part Four of my as yet untitled Dark City Doctor Schreber fic! Idk why I keep posting these but maybe some of you will enjoy them :3

Part One

Part Two

It was hard to believe that Kat had only worked at Doctor Schreber’s office for about three weeks. It felt like she’d been there for years. Things were going well for her lately. She had a great new job, she could pay her rent and afford to eat on one paycheck, and she was even able to start paying down her debts. And her boss wasn’t a creep, she couldn’t forget about that. Finally working for someone who seemed to actually respect her as a person had changed her for the better, and it showed in her outlook.

Before she’d gotten this job, life hadn’t always been kind to her. She had no family, no friends to speak of, in the City or anywhere else. She was on her own. Usually she liked it that way, being on her own was what she knew, just getting by without the help of anyone else was how she lived. She’d been proud of making it on her own for the time that she had, before that last job threw it all in the gutter.

She had been walking absentmindedly for a few minutes, her mind wandering through these thoughts as easily as she wound through the streets of the City she’d grown up in. She was lost in though when a man stepped in front of her, blocking her way out of the alley she’d been walking down. He was tall, heavyset but not fat, wearing a long duster coat and sporting a black fedora on his head.

“Where do you think you’re goin’ little lady?” He grinned, revealing a gold tooth on the right side of his mouth. He smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in several days and in that time had gone a bit overboard on the liquor, though these details she wouldn’t remember later to relay to the police, her panic sending her into fight or flight. Or freeze apparently because that’s all she’d done so far during this encounter. He slid behind her, an arm around her neck, and led her backwards into the shadow of the alley.

“I was just gonna rob ya, but now I think I’ll have a little fun while I’m at it.” He chuckled as she felt the blade of a small knife at her throat. She panicked at this, slamming her body backward into the man, throwing him off balance and freeing herself from his grip. She turned, kicking him hard in the groin before running away as fast as she could (faster than she thought she could, for that matter). She heard him grunt and hit the ground as she ran. She hoped she’d left the bastard with at least a nasty bruise for his trouble, she’d realize later she’d also left him her bag as a consolation prize, but at least she’d gotten away safely.

She was closer to work than she was home, so she went there, it was the only place she could think of to go, hoping the Doctor would be there. She didn’t want to be alone right now. The elevator attendant eyed her strangely as he pulled the lever to take them to the third floor.

“Bit late for you to be here isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She replied shortly before giving a nervous laugh. They’d arrived at the third floor. She got out of the car and thanked him.

“Well have a good night, little lady,” he said before disappearing into the floor.

His words sent a fresh wave of panic through her and she slid to the floor, back to the wall, while she attempted to catch her breath. The doctor must have heard the elevator door clanging on its way down, as he appeared at the door of his lab a moment later. He looked around, confused and a little worried as to who might be visiting him at this hour, expecting the worst.

Then he saw Kat, hunched over with her back against the wall. He rushed over to her, kneeling in front of her.

“Katherine, can you hear me?” a bit of panic tinged his voice as he spoke. He took her hands in his, they were cold. She was breathing rapidly and he felt as if he could hear her heart hammering. She was in shock. He gently helped her up and led her to the room where they’d conducted that first interview, helping her to sit down on the overstuffed leather couch and wrapping a blanket he’d found in his lab around her back. He pulled his chair up close and checked her pulse, it was slowing.

“Katherine, can you hear me?” he repeated after he’d situated her as comfortably as he could. She slowly looked up at him as if seeing him for the first time. She nodded.

“I can hear you,” she stated flatly, tiredly.

“Katherine, what happened?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Doctor, I just… I didn’t know where else to go,” her voice was choked as if she were holding back a sob. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

Gently he coaxed the story of what happened from her, his anger growing over what she’d been through that night. He wouldn’t let this happen again. Once she’d calmed down he called the police. About a half hour later two officers finally showed up to take her account of what happened. He stayed with her while they questioned her, his hand on her shoulder and a protective eye on her.

After the ordeal was over and the police report filed, they found themselves alone again.

“I’m so sorry about this, Doctor, I’ll just-”

“Daniel.”

“I’m sorry?” “You can call me Daniel, Katherine.”

“I guess this means you should call me Kat,” she responded with a small smile.

Part Four Section One

#dark city #doctor daniel schreber #kiefer sutherland #kieferposting #my writing

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yandere-sins · 2 years

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Illusion and Reality

I got a bit lazy yesterday with correction, so today is a late post! Finally got the chance to write for my boy Tighnari ♥ I also crowned him yesterday so this is a special piece for my fav bow character ♥ [Referencing this post]

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Tighnari x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Themes, Hallucinations (Mushrooms), Blowjob, Obsessiveness, Non-Con Actions towards the end

Prompt: Intoxication - Drugs, alcohol, hormones running rampant and space sex pollen, the senses are not quite lost, but the will to struggle is gone. @sintember

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

“Be careful!” you called after him as Tighnari made his way into the wilderness. Cheerful, sweet, your voice was just like you, and it haunted him even when he finally sat down after scavenging the lush forest he swore to protect. Truth be told, it had been hard to leave this morning. Especially when you called after him, still with a bit of drowsiness in your eyes since you two did a late round along the trails yesterday. Tighnari wasn’t especially tired, but he would have preferred staying back and crawling into bed with you for another nap.

Actually, he could need some sleep after watching over you the rest of the night.

But no could do. His studies, a lifelong commitment and passion, were only trumped by you now. As much as it hurt him not to spend every second by your side, he had a good reason to indulge in his other favorite pastime. Especially now that he learned about a very new sort of mushrooms with peculiar effects on one’s perception.

The taste was rather bland, the consistency crumbling away under his fangs. But when he opened his eyes again, Tighnari was in heaven. It must have been heaven—you were there. Standing before him, a slight breeze blew through your hair as you turned around, smiling at him. With wide-open arms, you ran towards him, and he caught you, felt the warmth of your body pressing against his, and heard your heart beat excitedly as you nuzzled your face into his shoulder.

Archons, he could smell you.

This illusion, madness, was palpable for all his senses. His ears were large enough to hear you breathe, his fingers not too calloused to caress your skin. He smelled Sumeru Rose on you when he pushed his nose into your hair, and if he were to stick out his tongue, he could have probably tasted apples on your lips. This mushroom was fucking amazing in its impact on those who consumed it.

“Are you just going to hug me?” he chuckled, filling his senses with your smell one more time before allowing your head to fall back, your eyes meeting his. You were exactly how he remembered you, the days he spent memorizing every little detail about you finally paying off as his mind created this perfect replica of you. The only thing it couldn’t do… was talk. But you let your body speak for you instead, rising upwards to meet his lips. Letting out an excited moan, Tighnari leaned in, licking over your lips until you parted them, allowing him to deepen the kiss as he pleased. Until you both were too breathless to continue.

You were so fucking alluring, rubbing your body against his while his hands fell to your ass, gripping and squeezing it through your clothes. Your eyes hooded as you wrapped your arms around his neck, granting him to move you as he pleased. Tighnari wasted no time pulling you on his lap, parting your legs until your hips fit snugly on top of his, the throbbing of his cock already too much to bear for the usual so composed forest watcher.

It was true. Tighnari loved you. He loved you from the moment you came to Gandharva Village, spinning a tale about how you needed to get out of the city for a while and maybe wanted to take your chance as a forest watcher. It was all a lie. He could see from your clothes that you weren’t a citizen of Sumeru City but a treasure hoarder from archons-know-where. And still, he fell in love with you, your scent, your smile, the excited jumps you did whenever he took you out to learn something new. Even though he knew you’d leave once you found what you were searching for in his forest, he loved you. He needed you.

Desperately rutting upwards into this illusion of you, he imagined all the ways he’d sprawl you out on the forest floor, let the sun lick over your body that shone with sweat as you two mingled. He had imagined countless times by now where he’d take you—by the river, near the waterfall, against the side of a mountain. Nothing would be safe of you two if only he had his way, and your fluids would leave behind waypoints he could remember even long after you were gone.

But instead, he had to resort to this, a mere illusion slipping down his body, brushing aside his hair and gently biting into the side of his neck, claiming him as he wished you would. Your hands wandered lower while his caressed you upwards, eventually finding hold at the back of your neck and his fingers tangling in your hair. You worked away at his pants, knowing exactly where to reach and what to unbuckle, just like he did. No one knew it better than his own mind, after all.

Soon enough, his cock sprung free, teased by the wind blowing against the hot flesh, leaving nothing about his desire for you to anyone else’s imagination. You grinned, looking up at him teasingly. Gripping your hair, he forced your lips to his once more, indulging in the kiss before nibbling your lips like a silent order. When he finally released you, you lowered your head, wasting no time passing on the kiss to the tip of his cock. Then, with long, deliberate strokes, you licked him from his balls to his tip, your tongue slipping side to side after a few straight lines, spreading your wetness accompanied by your hot breath.

After waiting for you for so long, never getting to satisfy even the smallest of his desires in the real world, he couldn’t wait. Tightening his grip on you, Tighnari forced you down his length, listening to the slurps and imagining the unrestrained sound of moans that should have accompanied it. You were so wet, your tongue doing its best to wrap around and please his shaft while he bopped your head up and down. His hips couldn’t hold back from jerking into the motion, spit collecting around his base every time your face smacked into his skin.

Tighnari wished this was real.

Deep down, he knew it wasn’t. But if it was better than this, then it might be his personal way of surrendering. He would do anything if it meant having just half as good of an experience as this with you. And with every sloppy smack, he wished he could invade something else of yours too. Between your legs instead of your mouth, the seed that was threatening to splurt out any second almost waisted between your lips.

Regardless, he couldn’t stop his pending orgasm, his hand pulling your lips off him once he unloaded all the pent-up jizz down your throat. The most obscene sight unraveled in front of him, your expression full of lust while his seed dripped from your mouth. Tighnari quickly pushed it back in with his fingers, watching your tongue lap out to lick it off hungrily.

A growl—a sound so feral and ancient—formed in his throat as he watched you lap up his essence. He wanted nothing more but to push you back into the soft grass and take your body like you had taken his heart—completely. But before he could, your mouth opened again, and a single word fell from your lips.

“Tighnari?”

No, it couldn’t be. This illusion of yours couldn’t speak, couldn’t utilize your sweet, tender voice, even if the memory of it was ingrained in his brain. Even if his name coming from your lips made his cock jolt right upwards again, desperate and needy for attention, Tighnari knew something wasn’t right. And unfortunately, as much as he didn’t want to stop the experiment here, he couldn’t ignore this turn of events.

Forcing himself out of the illusion, he opened his eyes. His gaze wasn’t focusing as fast as he wished it would, making him vulnerable to the wildlife and dangers of the forest. But it allowed him to hear it again, his favorite word from your lips. “Tighnari, are you okay?”

Fuck.

His name sounded like a prayer from your lips. Succulent like the juiciest apples and the worry threading throughout it was like another maddening illusion at its finest. Rolling his head to the side, he faced you, and you breathed a sigh of relief, placing your hand over your heart as you recovered. “You took a long time to come back. Had me worried there for a sec,” you sighed before a smile crossed your features again. “I thought you were a goner.”

Your joke was lost on the way your body relaxed now that you knew he was alive. You shouldn’t have been in the forest; he forbid it. Once again, you were trying to search for the treasure you wanted. A treasure that would take you from him. You got up again, stretching, before looking down at him, and he swore, one step closer, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to bury his face between your thighs and show you just how much of a goner he really was. Having gone completely mad like this was new to him too, and he hated how his head thrummed with the aftereffects of the mushroom he ate, denying him reasonable thoughts.

The only thing that got through to him was need. He needed you. On the ground, below him, on your back, your stomach, legs wrapped around his waist, moaning and choking on his cock. All while clenching around his shaft tightly with every thrust while he rutted his seed deep inside you. And he needed you now. Now, tonight, tomorrow, for the rest of his damn life. Needed you in his bed, to build a nest for you, keep you there, naked and ready for him. Such… animalistic instincts that he never had before were now plaguing his mind.

Maybe he was still under the effects of the illusion. Maybe the spores of the fungi had gotten to his head. Right, it wasn’t him. This version of him wasn’t who he was! Well… unless… What if it was? What if it was the real him? The one that was overshadowed by rationality and sanity most of the time? The true desires deep inside him?

When you turned around, prompting him to return to the village, you were so vulnerable, trusting. Tighnari snatched your ankle before you could even see it coming, bringing you down to the ground close to him. And just a second later, he was on top of you, panting, admiring the way you were submissive beneath him. Him, Tighnari. Worse than any Rishboland Tiger. If they were territorial, then what was he?

And as his cock urged him on, the growl he had bitten back before returned to the once domesticated fox, and he let it, your eyes widening at the sound.

“Mine.”

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hannahhbahng · 4 months

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Youtiful | Lee Felix x Reader

Summary: basically a fanfic to half (the lyrics) of youtiful

Notes: i was bored. i came up with this at school, lollllll~ umm i asked a bunch of people and they said felix matches this song the most soooooo~ yeah, its felix guys !! <3

Warnings: none but can yall please press play on the video bc its meant to be a gif but didn't save properly? :sobs: my first attempt, im sorry its so bad. and uhm- its a lil' long

Looking at yourself

you stared at the outfit in the photo.

"hmmm..." y/h/c hair fell over your eyes as you shook your head, pulling the outfit off and throwing it on the bed.

A lot goes in your mind

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, glaring at your abdomen. "i haven't been to the gym in ages-" you sigh.

"I don't know if I'm ready to show myself"

your finger hovers over the post button of your post. the outfit looks nice enough but- you delete the post, tossing your phone to the side before pulling your boyfriend's hoodie and sweatpants on.

You worry day and night

your phone buzzes and you check it, a worried frown on your face as you see felix's message.

felix: my love how do you feel about coming to the concert tonight? i managed to get tickets !!

the concert. tonight. wait- you check your messages again. tonight?! you run your hands though your hair.

Look at the stars fall

pulling the hoodie over your head, you flash a smile at the security guard, holding up your backstage pass and entering the backstage area. its a busy place with staff and backup dancers scurrying around.

"y/n!" you turn at the sound of changbin's loud voice, flashing him a smile.

"hey bin!"

"felix said you'd be coming and cos he's with the hair and makeup team right now, sent the one and only changbin to take you to him." changbin flexed his muscles jokingly before leading you down the corridor.

felix spins around in the makeup chair, pointing to the window. you tilt your head, more than a little confused.

"huh?"

"shooting stars !!" felix sounds so excited as you peer out the window. a star streaks down from the sky.

They leave the sky, goodbye

"shooting stars are kinda sad, don't you think?" you ask quietly. felix looks at you, linking his hand with yours and squeezing lightly.

"why's that jagi?" he asks softly.

"i mean, they're so beautiful up there in the sky and then they fall to the ground, leaving the sky." you touch the window.

Must be an oracle, like a waterfall

"at the same time, that's kinda pretty." you look at felix, more than a little confused. "i mean, they look pretty, imagine if a few of them fell down at the same time in a row, they'd look like a glowing waterfall. but you'd obviously be the brightest star."

They shower you with love tonight

"FELIX!" you look at him before nodding slowly. "yeah, i can see that waterfall though." you smile at felix before catching sight of the clock behind him.

"oh gosh, felix, you're gonna miss the start of the show !" you gasp. felix turns on his heel to face the clock and nods.

"you're right jagi." he leans forward to press a kiss onto your forehead and then you cheeks before pressing a gentle peck to your lips. you feel your face heat up as you gently push him toward the door.

"lix, you're gonna be late."

'Cause you are You're perfect in my eyes

you quickly exit the backstage area, hurrying to make it to your seat before the concert starts. you plonk onto your (front row) seat and rummage through your bag, in search of your lightstick. waving it madly as the stadium lights turn darker and familiar silhouettes appear onstage. loud cheers almost drown out the first two songs earning the audience a loud sigh from seungmin as they greet the stays. felix finds you in the audience and as your eyes meet his, he speaks into his mic.

"you're perfect." he shouts. stays cheer around you but you have a warm feeling in your chest, knowing that he's talking to you.

Don't ever doubt yourself

you're in front of that same mirror, the next day, scrutinising your reflection, eyes narrowed. you're so hyper focused that you don't hear the bedroom door open or felix's padding footsteps until arms wrap around your waist and felix stares at you through the mirror.

"lix!" you spin around, facing him. his face looks a little confused and worried.

"jagi, why are you staring at the mirror?" he asks gently. you shrug.

"just- deciding where to work on when i go to the gym." felix sighed. he already knew where this was going.

I know that feeling too, I've been inside the dark I've never been so empty, hopeless.

"i mean what i said at the concert, my love." felix's arms tightened around your waist as he led you away from the mirror.

"what?" you laughed. "that i'm perfect?" felix nods eagerly.

"you are, completely and utterly perfect."

"b- but i look no where close to you, visually and-"

But no, it isn't true

felix rolled his eyes, slapping a hand over your mouth.

"y/n y/l/n take that back right now. you know that's not true." he said half-serious and half-jokingly.

"but i-"

'Cause know that all the stars are by your side

"no buts. you're amazing. repeat after me. i am y/n y/l/n , felix's soulmate and loml and i am perfect and amazing." felix orders.

"i am y/n y/l/n , felix's soulmate and loml and i am perfect and amazing." you say obediently. a wide grin breaks across felix's face as he hears you say those words.

You know, whenever there's a chance

"you know, i'm going to make you repeat that over and over again whenever i get the chance until you believe them, right?" felix said.

"i knowww~" you smile up at him. "i'm one step closer to believing it."

I will tell you that you're amazing as you are

#felix x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #skz x reader #skz #felix #lee felix #lee yongbok #skz felix x reader #youtiful #skz felix #stray kids felix #skz comfort #harper ☆☆☆☆☆#harperharper #harper harper #harperharper writing

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shivunin · 5 months

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @brother-genitivi and @greypetrel over the past week---Thank you both (and I am tagging you back if you have something to share)! Tagging in turn @daggerbean @dungeons-and-dragon-age @zenstrike @transprincecaspian @nightwardenminthara @ndostairlyrium @dreadfutures @star--nymph @pinayelf @vakarians-babe @heniareth @idolsgf @buchimgay @jtownnn if you have something you'd like to share! No pressure, as always. I've been working on my "Hawke in the Fade" story again--something I was listening to jogged my memory c: So it's back to pain city once more! I don't think I've posted this bit yet, but if so... "very well then, I contradict myself; I contain multitudes" etc. (CW: Blood, spiders)

Fenris fell into a restless sleep sometime after night became day again.

He’d found a safe enough perch in a great tree, sheltered by the numerous lower branches from any watchers. It was nothing like the comfort of home (home, home, home; he could not think of home or he would climb down and turn for Antiva and its ships at once), but it was as safe a place to rest as any he’d found so far. He’d been beset by some formless restlessness for the last several hours, but exhaustion had a way of taking its due regardless of one’s comfort. Between one blink and the next, he was asleep.

A great spider rose, blotting out the sky. There was something wrong with this place; something uncanny that set his skin to crawling. Far beneath the monster, three running shapes drew to an abrupt halt. Two mages and a man in armor; he did not know them.

No—wait—

“We need to clear a path,” the man shouted, and one of the mages half-turned so he could see her profile more clearly.

Fenris dreamt of Hawke often; he was not surprised to see her now. But there was something wrong about this dream. It had none of the blurriness of ordinary dreams and nightmares. Instead, it was almost painfully crisp around the edges, hyper-real. He was abruptly close enough to see the blood drying in her hair, clotting at her shoulder. For a moment, there was something horrible in her face.

He had seen that look before. There’d been a moment, right before she’d cast aside her cloak and turned to fight the Arishok, when she had looked at him just like that.

“Hawke, no,” Fenris said, straining to reach for her. This must be some sort of nightmare, for though he could feel himself speaking, no sound rose from his lips.

“Go,” Hawke said to the others, resolution settling into the dear lines of her face. “I’ll cover you.”

“No,” Fenris said, and the man echoed him.

“You were right,” the man went on, “the Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must—”

It was too late; Fenris could see it in the stubborn set of her chin. She had decided. Once Hawke had decided something, there was little that could change her mind.

“A Warden must help them rebuild,” she snapped. “That’s your job. Corypheus is mine.”

Corypheus—but they had killed Corypheus, he and Hawke and Carver and Anders. Why should he dream this now? She was safe, she was at home; she’d promised him she would be there when he got back—she’d promised.

It was a nightmare; it was only a nightmare.

“Hawke…” the unfamiliar elven woman said, her face twisting at the word, and Maria nodded in return. Her shoulders…relaxed, as if the decision was easier to bear now that it had been made in truth. Hawke rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder briefly, glancing beyond them at the massive spider. Fenris tried to touch her, tried to move her anywhere but here, but his hand passed through without force.

“Don’t do this,” he told her with every ounce of feeling in his soul; Hawke was safe, she was safe, this was only a nightmare, but it felt so real, so present, and he could not bear this. He had borne the distance and the time away; he had borne countless physical pains, for none of it had ever measured greater than the lyrium markings had.

Fenris could not bear this.

“Say goodbye to Varric for me,” Hawke told the elf, and had the gall to smile—smile as if nothing was wrong—even as the others turned away and began to run for the rift in the sky behind her.

Hawke lifted her staff and sprinted the other direction, the smile fading as soon as she turned. The spider loomed over her, vast as the sky and twice as avaricious, and Fenris felt the familiar tug of magic as she called it to her.

“I’m sorry, Fenris,” she said, and he tried again and in vain to touch her; he tried—

Fenris woke in Tevinter with a start, grateful that he had tied himself to the tree with a belt. He would have fallen to the bracken below otherwise.

While he’d slept, it had begun to rain. That was what had woken him, he thought, from some nebulous nightmare. He shifted uneasily, mind still cloudy with some undefined doom, and reached into his vest to touch the oiled cloth that held Hawke’s letter safe. He didn’t need to take it out to know what it said; he’d long since memorized it in its entirety.

I will be here waiting when you come back. I swear it.

He could swear he heard her voice saying the words as he recalled them. He missed her voice; missed it even more intensely on nights like this, when all the forest felt like it was bent against him. Fenris drew his cloak over his head, curled his knees up against his chest, and tried not to think of home.

Hawke must certainly be sleeping in their bed now, curly hair tucked neatly in its silk or strewn across the pillow. There would be a fire in the hearth and her hound curled up before it. If he thought about it too hard, he could smell the oils she brushed into her hair, could feel the press of cool sheets against his skin.

No; no, he would not think of it. That way lay madness.

Though he shut his eyes once more, Fenris did not sleep that night.

#fenhawke #maria hawke #wip wednesday #shivunin scrivening

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josefavomjaaga · 7 months

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Saint-Chamans about Soult and the "roi Nicolas" affair

So I did it. Here is the testimony of the public prosecutor's crown witness against "roi Nicolas Soult" 😁. Taken from Saint-Chamans' memoirs, translated to the best of my and DeepL's abilities. I'm posting this mostly for @cadmusfly but read at your own risk. As I warned before, this is very long, rather convoluted and may be quite boring. Also, of course I could not resist jumping in to defend Soult at several points.

[…] we advanced cheerfully towards the borders of Portugal, not doubting the success of our expedition; Marshal Soult, following the instructions given to him by the Emperor, flooded the country with proclamations, but we soon saw that they had little effect on a fanatical people who were exhorted by their priests to make a stubborn defence; the excesses, theft and bad conduct of the Duke of Abrantès's army during the first expedition had, moreover, stirred up all the Portuguese against the French name.

Saint-Chamans may not always be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but these observations of his are interesting. Napoleon ordering a flood of proclamations hints at an attempt to peacefully win over the population to the French side from the very beginning (an attempt that Soult would, in his mind, continue in Oporto with different means). It is to be noted that Portugal as a whole had already been occupied and for some time administered by Junot from late 1807 to mid-1808. There must have been a francophile party within Portugal.

While I am not much familiar with Junot’s occupation of Portugal and its "excesses" (@snowv88, do you happen to know if Junot's occupation of Portugal was in some way worse than what had happened in other countries before?), and while this may to a large degree just be Saint-Chamans trying to pass the buck by pointing his finger at somebody else, it is true that a whole bunch of generals who had belonged to Junot’s army during the first occupation of Portugal now were under Soult’s command, re-entering a country that already despised them (this would in particular be so for general Loison, nicknamed "Maneta" and hated with a passion by the Portuguese). Moreover, these generals, whom Napoleon had ordered Soult to take with him, now had entered Soult's staff as supernumerary members without specific duties. So not only did Soult have to take over an army corps that he had never commanded before (his own corps had remained in Germany), and men he did not know and who did not know him, but he also had to deal with a large group of bored officers, with lots of time on their hands to feel ignored or badly treated by their new commander-in-chief.

But I’m already digressing. What I wanted to translate was Saint-Chamans’ opinion of Soult’s alleged attempt to make himself king. Here’s another remark on what Soult’s state of mind may have been like, once the French had managed to enter Portugal and become master of at least some parts of the country. Saint-Chamans has just returned from a journey to general Franceschi, and had barely avoided getting killed in attacks by Portuguese peasants several times on the way.

I took care, when I saw Marshal Soult again, not to tell him about all the misfortunes of my last night: I knew that he became seriously angry when anyone tried to give him an idea of the dangers that accompanied the French in this dreadful country, and of the exasperation of the Portuguese against us; he was extremely persistent in his resolutions and in his undertakings, and he was very annoyed with those who tried, either directly or indirectly, to divert him from them and to make him see the disadvantages. He could not, however, conceal them from himself for long, and this knowledge of his dangerous position threw him into false and hazardous political steps, the gist of which has never been properly grasped and which perhaps only he could have fully explained; but I will speak at greater length about this circumstance in a moment, and I will say frankly what I have seen and what I believe.

Which he then does some pages later, after having related the horrible scenes during the capture of Oporto:

Indeed, despite this brilliant victory, our position was very critical; the army of Sir Arthur Wellesley (since so famous under the name of the Duke of Wellington), 30,000 strong and united with the Portuguese army, was in Lisbon and preparing to march on Oporto; they were commanded by the Portuguese General Sylveira and the English General Sir Robert Wilson (the same man who has since been tried in Paris for having helped escape Lavalette). These latter corps were intended to intercept any communication with Spain.

Here, I believe, Saint-Chamans makes a rather dishonest argument, or at least argues in hindsight, because I do not think the French at the time were even aware of the strong British presence in Portugal. They only figured it out when they tried to go south from Oporto.

If Marshal Soult had not been absorbed by ideas of ambition, which dominated all others in him at the time, he would have realised that his position was untenable and that he had only one course of action to take: to regard Oporto as a conquest which he needed to take advantage of to feed his army well for a fortnight and recover from its fatigues; then to retreat with all his forces to the Minho, to seize Valença, a fortified town in Portugal, on this river, opposite Tuy, of which he would have made an excellent bridgehead which would have communicated from one to the other of these last two towns; he would thus have linked up with the corps of Marshal Ney, whose headquarters were in Coruña, and whose troops occupied Tuy and Santiago; in this way, he could have safely evacuated his wounded and sick to good hospitals established in well-closed towns, instead of being obliged to abandon them to the fury of the Portuguese, as he did when he hastily evacuated Oporto; he would have kept all his artillery, lost at the same time; he would make the part of Portugal between the Minho and the Douro his tributary; he would re-establish direct communication with the French army in Spain and France; his own army, which numbered only 24,000 men, would have lived in abundance; he would preserve for the French army the best entrance into Portugal for the time when they would have been in a position to conquer this country, and until then he could wage a war of exploration there [...].

While it is quite possible that this plan, developped by a Saint-Chamans writing some 15 or 20 years after the events, could have proven successful (even if it does assume that Wellesley would just have watched the French gaining a secure foothold in the country and puts a little too much faith into the forces of Ney who barely was able to hold onto Galicia at this point), it was unfortunately not at all in accordance with the orders Soult had received from Napoleon. These orders simply stated that Soult was to march into Portugal from the north, conquer it and seize Lissabon, for which Berthier in his last dispatches deemed Soult’s single corps sufficient. But if he really needed support, he should receive it from Ney (from the north) or Victor (from the east). A retreat however, by giving up an important city that had been conquered, was simply not an option.

And so Soult, sticking to his orders, remained in Oporto and tried to contact the two corps that were supposed to support him: Ney and Victor (by sending Loison east to Amarante, as we will hear). Unfortunately, both of them had their hands full with problems of their own, Ney had lost contact with Madrid himself, Victor never showed up and may not even have fully understood what he was supposed to do, and since by now Joseph in Madrid was in charge, who paid little attention to what was going on in Portugal, Soult was left utterly alone.

Continuing with Saint-Chamans’ account:

[…] But all these considerations were not in harmony with Marshal Soult's plans, and so he did not give them a second thought. No sooner had he established himself in Oporto than he began to unmask his plan; an officer, half-French, half-Portuguese, named Laffitte, a schemer if ever there was one, who had been sent to his staff for the expedition to Portugal, ostensibly as an interpreter, for he spoke Portuguese fairly well, but in reality as a spy, was his main agent with the Portuguese in this circumstance; at Oporto, this wretch discovered a Portuguese priest named Veloso, who was as rich as he was narrow-minded, and who was promised heaven and earth, provided that Marshal Soult became King of Portugal; at the same time, this ignorant priest was persuaded that he was not a bad man, and that all this was for the greater good of his country; he believed it, and this idea, combined with the fine promises made to him, made him one of the Marshal's most zealous supporters; he acted accordingly. He addressed the people in the streets and public squares; he preached in the churches, he spread money to make supporters for the Marshal, and led by the advice of Laffitte, he succeeded in giving this party, in Oporto and the surrounding area, a certain stability; deputations arrived from Braga, Guimaraens, Olivera, and other towns of which we were the masters, and where part of the population had returned to, soliciting the Marshall to ascend the throne of Portugal; registers were opened in the town of Oporto to receive the votes of the inhabitants, the number of which was very considerable, and General Ricard, Marshal Soult's chief of staff, who had been his aide-de-camp, wrote circulars to the divisional generals insinuating the matter, for the Marshal, despite the affection for him of the good inhabitants of his good cities of Oporto and Braga, felt that he could do nothing without the consent and cooperation of the French army.

So, this is the main testimony that modern historians base their accusation on when it comes to Soult and the »roi Nicolas« issue. Admittedly, it is a damning one. Saint-Chamans obviously is convinced that Soult really wanted to seize the crown and was intriguing on his own behalf, and his testimony carries particular weight, as, being Soult’s aide-de-camp, having his marshal’s trust and being in his inner circle, Saint-Chamans was in a position to witness everything that was going on in Oporto at close quarters …

While all this intrigue was going on, I was on a mission twelve leagues from Oporto near generals Loison and Delaborde […]

Oh. Or maybe he wasn’t.

So, what Saint-Chamans relates above is not something he has witnessed himself, it is what he has heard during the time he spent with generals Loison and Delaborde – who would later be among the main gossips about precisely this topic (Thiébault seems to have gotten the story from Loison; Delaborde, as to him, apparently backpedalled somewhat on his accusations when he was called upon directly to testify). But I’m sorry, I have interrupted Saint-Chamans again:

While all this intrigue was going on, I was on a mission twelve leagues from Oporto near Generals Loison and Delaborde who, with an infantry division and some cavalry, were charged with taking Amarante, and especially the bridge there (over the Tameyra); Marshal Soult announced loudly that, from there, this head of column would move towards Zamora, in order to communicate with the French army in Castile; but he was too good a military man to seriously entertain this project; if he had really wanted to communicate with French troops, it was towards Galicia, where he positively knew that Marshal Ney's corps was, that he would have manoeuvred; he had only twenty leagues to go, and he would have found himself opposite Tuy, which was to have been occupied by the French of Marshal Ney's corps.

Whenever I reflected on the military movements of Marshal Soult in this circumstance, I became convinced that he did not want to communicate with the French army in Spain; above all he wanted to avoid all relations with Marshal Ney, whose enmity against him and violent character he knew: he had every reason to believe that this Marshal would hasten to say loudly and to write to France that he, Soult, had sacrificed the interests of the Emperor and of the army to his personal ambition in this circumstance; and this is what did not fail to happen. A few days after our entry into Oporto, I had been sent to Amarante; I had come back for a while, and then returned a second time; there was still only vague talk of the Marshal's plans; [...].

Leaving out the relation of poor Lameth’s death of which Saint-Chamans heard at this time and which moved him profoundly.

These reflections, which struck me even more on learning of his death than at the time I am writing these lines, had inspired in me a certain distaste for the military career and the uncertainties it presented; moreover, the grief I felt at having been for several months without any news of my family or my country added to my gloomy mood; I imagined that the greatest happiness I could aspire to in the future was to return to France and live there peacefully at home.

These »dispositions moroses«, the gloomy mood Saint-Chamans alludes to, in my opinion is also not to be disregarded. Saint-Chamans hardly was the only one who felt that way, this rather may have been the general feeling of the whole army, including its marshal. The men were alone in a hostile country, barely holding out, without instructions, support or clue what to do next.

It was in these circumstances that I returned to Oporto; there I found Marshal Soult completely immersed in his political combinations, and seemingly little concerned with military events; I wanted to ask him about this several times, but he always stopped me by telling me that in Portugal it was from his office that he was waging war. It was hardly the time, but I was so accustomed to seeing him as a very superior genius that, from his apparent tranquillity, I still had the good faith, in this alarming crisis, to hope for a favourable outcome.

Here again I can’t help but wonder if, at the time, Saint-Chamans really saw an »alarming crisis«, or of he was writing in hindsight.

But his actions were becoming so ambiguous that we didn't know what to make of them ourselves, and one day when we were joking about it at the table of the aides-de-camp, all of us young men who liked to laugh, we distributed the great offices of his court among ourselves; I was immediately named grand equerry, because of all his aides-de-camp, I was the one who knew horses best and had served most in the cavalry; another was grand chamberlain, that one grand veneur, etc. Finally, we laughed and joked a lot about this subject, because despite what we saw and heard, none of us could imagine that such an absurd project as that of making himself king of Portugal had seriously entered the mind of the Marshal, that until then we had seen so sharp.

Here Saint-Chamans kind of confirms my suspicion that much of what he writes in his memoirs is argued in hindsight. At the time, the rumours apparently were there, but were seen as so ridiculous by everyone, including Saint-Chamans, that they merely served to amuse Soult’s (as usual very outspoken and exuberant) ADCs over supper. If they had truly taken the allegations serious, would they not have needed to take measures, to at least talk to Soult's chief-of-staff about it?

This table talk caused a stir in the army; the staff officers who were present, the officers on guard duty, even the servants, commented on it; I think that this conversation (1), reported to the Marshal by his associates, gave him food for thought, and a few days later he sent for me in the afternoon and took me for a walk with him in an orange garden where he sometimes went to relax from his work in the cabinet.

Footnote (1) seems to be a remark by Saint-Chamans himself that I am not quite sure how to translate:

On nous en fit un crime en France. - One turned this into a crime of us in France. (We were made to feel like criminals because of it? - By whom? Soult? Napoleon? And when? Most of the guys joking at that table would not return to France for years?)

We were alone, and he wasted no time in starting up a conversation: he had made the right choice, for I have never known how to make courtship at the expense of truth; he knew that better than anyone, and perhaps that was why he had chosen me. He got straight to the point: - What do they say about me here? - I've only been back a short time, but I'm hearing everywhere that you want to make yourself King of Portugal. He looked at me fixedly, but without appearing surprised or angry; I remained cold and did not give him the explanation he seemed to be expecting, because I wanted to be questioned; that's the way to avoid saying more than you're being asked. - I can imagine that, he continued. But why was I sent here? why was I put in the awful position I am in now? I can only get out of this by dividing the Portuguese amongst themselves, and to do that I am using the best political means in my power, because I have no money to throw at them. - Do you think, Marshal, that these means will not be misinterpreted in the Tuileries, and that they will not try to frame you as a criminal? - You're right, but I repeat that I have no other way of getting out of this, and the Emperor will do me justice. After a few moments of silence, during which he seemed painfully agitated, he added: - There will be many more cries in France when it is known that I tolerate the inhabitants of Oporto continuing their trade with the English, when people can say that I myself sell them wines, as I am currently trying to sell them some of those we took on our way here. - There is no shortage of people in France, or even in Spain, I would say, who, in order to harm you, will represent these steps in very black colours. - I'm expecting it, he continued in a sort of violent despair; I may have to put my head on the scaffold, but when I go up there, I'll have the consolation of telling myself that I've done all that I could to save 20,000 Frenchmen from the sad position to which they are reduced! Do what you must, come what may. It was one of his favourite maxims, either because it was truly in his character, or because he wanted to persuade people that it was the rule of his conduct. We had reached this point in our conversation, which could have become interesting, for he was ready to be trusting and I to talk, something that did not happen to both of us every day, and I was beginning a question about his military movements, to ask him why he was not setting off to cross the Minho again, when we were joined, at the bend in the path where we were walking, by General Ricard, who was coming towards us with a bundle of papers: These were urgent reports from the generals commanding our outposts at various points; the Marshal returned to give orders, and our conversation ended there; I never took it up again with him on this subject.

Which, my dear Saint-Chamans, is a shame.

The idea that I have formed of Marshal Soult's conduct in this circumstance has always been that he wanted to be asked to be king of Portugal by the inhabitants of the part of this country of which he was master; that then, having taken this first step, he would have solicited the votes of the army that he commanded; these would have been recorded in registers for each corps or staff, and he would then have placed all these documents before the Emperor, asking for his approval and making him aware that this was the only way to keep the Portuguese in the interests of France; perhaps in this way he would have succeeded, at least for a while, in his plans.

Whereas the idea that I get from this relation is that:

Saint-Chamans heard all the malicious rumours from Loison and Delaborde, but, being Saint-Chamans, did not think much about it.

Back at headquarters, Saint-Chamans immediately shared the stories he had heard with his fellow ADCs, who found them hilarious and joked endlessly - and loudly - about them during the all-night-party they held on account of Saint-Chamans's return.

An exasperated Soult, informed of what his aides had been up to this time, called for Saint-Chamans (whom he genuinely liked) in order to set him straight, but was interrupted by daily events.

Some twenty years later, when Soult had thrown in with the July Monarchy and supported Louis Philippe, thus - in Saint-Chamans's mind - breaking his vows to Charles X and the older branch of the Bourbons, Saint-Chamans decided that Soult had been an ambitious egotist all along, and wrote his memoirs accordingly.

But that's me. As I said, I am hardly unbiased. It is, however, interesting that Saint-Chamans, despite this event, would not break off relations with his marshal. And also, that we have another ADC, who in his memoirs states just as clearly that all these rumours were bullshit. That aide would be Petiet - not always well-disposed towards Soult, but in this case ready to defend him against all accusations. But I have rarely seen Petiet's testimony taken into account.

Make of it what you want 😊

#napoleon's marshals #jean de dieu soult #Oporto 1809 #roi nicolas #Saint-Chamans #peninsular war

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ask-humphrey-bone · 5 months

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Humphrey can you please do a quick explanation of Tudor fashion?

Hello to you! That I can try. I’m known to run my mouth so I’ll apologise in advance. Basically, the Tudor court dressing up box was a mind field, has to be said!!

First off, I must say, like in current times, fashion comes and goes, constantly changing. Though, not quite like in modern times, or rather not so strictly, what we could and couldn’t wear depended on rank and earnings. This means that, for example, certain folk couldn’t wear red. Some could only wear silk and damask. Some were permit to wear furs and jewels.

Therefore, for this ask I’ll go with what was in in my later years, so the 1560s onwards. You know, when myself and the wife were able to dress up abit should we so fancy it!

For the blokes to start with, you’d first have your shirt. It can be silk, linen, and embroidered upon the ruched cuffs and neck with black work. Upper class ladies learned to sew at a very young age, and black work was a favoured flirtation, as it were. Wives would gift shirts, embroidered by their fine hand, for Christmastide - that sort of thing. Gifting shirts was somewhat the gifting men socks of its day!

Then, you have your hose. Stockings, should you prefer. Tights, basically. But, of course, they aren’t so covering as ladies may wear today!

For the shoes, you’d have a sort of velveteen slipper for the every day stuff. Riding boots of leather were a necessity. Around the house late at night you’d typically just walk around barefoot or in your stockings. Wooden floors are always a bitch!

Then comes for the breeches. Think big balloon pants they bounce when you move! Sometimes they’d have slashes in to reveal the fabric, and or the tightness of your thighs, beneath. The ones I died in have those slashes, they really do add to the look. Of course there’s a codpiece, but in my time, those weren’t so in your face. Thank the Lord. In my time it more did its job of protection and gave you a little movement, so to speak.

Now for ontop of your shirt, you’d have your doublet. Think of it as a tight waist coat type thing; sometimes it had sleeves, sometimes not. And your button fastenings, could be gold or silver if you’re lucky, up the front. It may have slashes, pockets, such as mine. Think of my golden ‘diamonds’, there.

If it’s a cold day, or you just fancy being fancy, you’ll add a cloak to your doublet. This may have a fur trim, it may also have slits for your arms. Depends on the style and the comfort really, and whether or not you need your sword. Typically, yes. You always need your sword. So slits in the sides make it handy for you to grasp it quickly. There was a point which springs to mind that wearing a cloak in court was actually illegal. Elizabeth needed all her soldiers right on the money with their weapons, in case some fool tried to attack her.

Moving further up the neck comes the ruff. That white, bouncy thing you see around the neck on my body. If the git happens to show up!! This accessory was basically pressed fabric, and was a right bitch to wear. Over the decades the ruffs only seemed to get tighter, larger; and more elaborate. A very questionable invention, I must say.

Maybe I could make a separate post on this some day. But you can’t forget your jewels; even as a bloke. Jewels - or rather the collar you see in all Tudor period dramas - depicts that of your status. You’d be lost to the court without it. Mine is that red, blue and gold chain you see crossing my chest. That means I’m a knight of the garter, at the very least was.

Up top comes the hat. Headgear was vital. You’d keep your caps on as a sign of respect. Though, in my day, hats were becoming less popular. I think the addition of the ruff and neck detailing was what took over. A little while after my death came the Stuart’s: you associate hats with feathers and frills a little more with James VI/I’s time, and velvet caps with brooches covered the longer hair of those in Henry VIII’s. You may recall seeing may father in one of those, it really completed the ensemble.

Goodness me, I’ve prattled on there as I said I would!! Sorry for that anon. For the sake of your sanity I’ll wrap it up here. There may be another post of the Tudor lady’s wardrobe at a later date. This was a nice trip down memory lane, as it were; reliving the highs and lows of early Elizabethan fashion. Thank you again for your ask. ❤️

Humphrey x

#mr cheese has spoken #bbc ghosts #sir humphrey bone #humphrey bone #the tudor dynasty #16th century

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blackberrysummerblog · 1 year

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Six Sentence Sunday

Thanks for the tag @captain-aralias! And thank you so much @aristocratic-otter, @shrekgogurt and @thehoneyedhufflepuff for tagging me on Wednesday. I’ve been a little down on myself this week for not getting more writing done, and I hate that I haven’t completed anything in a good month and a half. I guess that’s not true, I did manage to get my erotic gropefest entry in under the wire, I just haven’t been able to look at it since, lol. Anyway, no one wants to hear me whine.

I’d kind of like to talk about the crucible-marriage AU I keep posting bits from, but I doubt anyone needs to hear about my struggles with that either. The process has been very different from how I usually write, so maybe thinking out loud about it would help get me past the couple of issues I’m having and/or help me finish it, but I don’t know. I’ll hold off on unloading about it for now. In the meantime, so. No new writing to speak of, so I’m posting a little bit from earlier in the fic. It’s more than six sentences, sorry 😑 Simon discovered the Pitch’s pool and is gung-ho to get in, even though he can’t swim.

It’s true, the pool is well hidden, even from most of the house. You’d have to be looking out from the upstairs windows to make it out at all, and even then it’s fairly well obscured. It would be impossible to see if someone were skinny-dipping late at night, with the lights out…I cough, adjusting myself in my trunks. That line of thinking can only make things worse. I emerge from my own stall at the same moment that Simon thunders out of his, head and wings trapped inside his t-shirt. “Fucking hell!” he exclaims furiously.

I bite my lip. His legs and chest aren’t as pale as mine, but they’re a few shades lighter than his golden face and forearms. Simon’s thighs are thick and muscular, his shoulders and chest broad, but there’s just the faintest hint of pudge above the waistband of his trunks; Crowley, I would die for him. His curls are bouncing wildly over the top of the shirt’s neckhole as he careens from one side of the changing room to the next. Laughing, I grab him by the waist. “Snow! Breathe.”

He lifts his arms up and growls at me through thin white cotton. I pat where I think his cheek is and then stroke his shoulders. “Surely you get out of your shirts every night without help,” I say.

He struggles a moment, then stops once more. “I got overexcited,” he mumbles in an embarrassed voice. “I think one of my spikes is hooked in the cloth.”

“Let me check.” Fuck me, Simon Snow’s arse should be illegal. Not only is his decidedly bubble-shaped backside done every favor in the world by snug swim trunks, but said trunks are also resting low on his hips to let his tail swing loose. It coils firmly around my calf as I begin inspecting the lumpy, spiky heap of rucked-up cotton on his back. “Yes…here. I think I have it. Calm down and stay still, please.” Against my expectations, Snow actually does as I ask, though his tail does tighten its grip while I pick his wings free from the t-shirt. “There we go!”

Simon glances back at me sheepishly after pulling the shirt off. “Thanks, Baz.”

“Mm.” I rest my palm between his wings, feeling the taut muscles he must need to achieve flight. “You’re welcome, Snow.”

He turns toward me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him as though he were made of fire. At this angle, he has to tip his chin up to look into my face, and I trace the underside of his lower lip with the pad of my thumb. His eyes flutter closed. ‘Baz…” he whispers.

“So,” I say, breaking away and digging through a bin by the door. “Water wings.” Snow recoils when I hold up a pair of bright yellow arm bands. I’m certain the vests we have wouldn’t fit his broad shoulders, never mind his very real wings. “Don’t give me that face; I’ll teach you how to swim!”

He fights me, and in the end the water wings prove sized only for the spindly arms of my young sisters, so Simon escapes through the poolhouse door, brimming with laughter and ready to sink.

Edited: I have literally no idea why tumblr keeps cutting off the parts of my posts where I write something after the snippet. I’m sorry I didn’t tag anyone, but I really do love reading/seeing everything you all post! It’s a bright spot in my day ❤️

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #six sentence sunday #wip wednesday #really dragging my ass with writing these days #blah #crucible marriage au #crucible au

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sergeant-spoons · 1 year

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Fool For Love

Pairing: George Luz x Female OC

Word count: 5144

Tone: Friends to lovers, pining, angst, late-night phone calls, risky decisions, is it too late?

Summary: She’s more than a little tired at work, but then he comes on the line, after all this time, and she can’t hang up. They get to talking about their days in the war and upcoming reunions, and as it becomes increasingly clear she is hiding from him (and everyone), he resolves to bring her back to them as best he knows how—with his unerring love.

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @thoughpoppiesblow @victoryrollsandredlips @now-im-a-belieber @50svibes @mgdln97 @tina1938 @drinkwhiskeyandsmile @ask-you-what-sir @indecisiveimpatience @whovian45810 @brokennerdalert @holdingforgeneralhugs @onlyyouexisthere

I originally wrote this with Nixon but found it worked much better with George; I was also inspired to write more of George and Talbert’s friendship by the scene in “Points” where they play cards and George’s soothes Tab’s unease. This is also partially a fix-it fic, I must admit, because Talbert all but disappeared from Easy post-war. In this fic, he sticks around.

"Yes, that's exactly it."

George peered down the hall, spying the phone that was usually latched neatly over the kitchen counter now placed to Talbert's ear. His friend nodded slowly, listening to the speaker on the other end.

"Right, you're... busy."

A muffled something from the other end that might have been 'got to run' or 'give him my love', George couldn't quite tell. Tab swiveled, shuffling over the threshold into the hall. He peered one way, missing the eavesdropper, then spotted him down the other. Waving George over, he pressed the phone to his shoulder.

"Somebody from Easy's on the line. Come say 'hi'."

George grinned. It would be good to hear from one of the guys. The annual reunion was swiftly approaching, and the time of year had rolled about when he really missed the men and the camaraderie they had shared. Sloughing off his jacket, he draped it over the countertop stools as he came up to the phone. Tab held up a finger as he fronted an introduction.

"Yeah, hey, do you have another minute?" A beat, listening. "Great. I've got somebody here who wants to speak to you." A half-smile. "Yes, it's George. Uh-huh. Okay. Talk soon."

"Heya."

Silence for a beat and George had made up his mind to repeat the greeting when:

"Hey, George."

His heart leaped into his throat, and he smoothed his palm over the receiver, swallowing hard.

"Leah." He pinched his nose. "Uh, Corporal Hedgecomb."

"Hey. Hey, how are you?"

"Good." Better now that I'm hearing your voice again.

Had she always sounded this weary? For most of the war, yes, he remembered well, but he would have thought peacetime would restore her spirits and vigor. He missed the lightheartedness she'd born all throughout Toccoa and Aldbourne, despite Sobel, despite the war, despite the back-breaking sexism she had to carry on top of it all every damn day.

"Look, George, I'd love to chat, but I'm real busy-"

"Please don't go."

He could almost picture her pursing her lips, those sweet lips, the ones he should have kissed so long ago.

"Oh, alright."

She leaned away from the receiver and called to someone nearby, her voice distant as she pleaded with an apparent coworker to take up her station for another few minutes.

"I can stay a little longer."

"Good. Great." He searched for something to say that wouldn't scare her away. Realizing too late he hadn't returned the cordial question, he extended it now: "How're you, Corporal?"

"Busy," she said, and it seemed almost a joke but for the strain present in her voice when she answered. "It's not bad, though, work keeps me occupied."

He smiled fondly down at his shoes. "You haven't changed, then."

"What do you mean?"

"You said that a lot back in, uh, Mourmelon, and Hemmen."

"Did I? It seems like so long ago."

"But not long enough."

They both knew he meant the absence of war, not the distance its end put between them.

"Hear-hear. Oh, and George—you don't need to call me ‘Corporal’. We're not in the service anymore."

"Ah. Right."

A few seconds as George considered whether or not to just be out with it already or mention something less monumental. On one hand, he was running out of time, on the other, he could mess this all up with three little words and listen to the phone click off, his ardor dismissing him from her cares.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Leah asked, soothing the tension steadily rising like a high tide up to their chests and their hearts.

"It's good to hear your voice."

"Yeah, yours, too."

He glanced at a split envelope on the counter and gathered a question he hadn't realized was burning him up until that very instant.

"About the reunion...?"

"Yeah, yeah. I got your letter, and the one from Sink, with the fancy seal and the flag stamp and the big, official heading-"

"You're not coming."

A long, long pause, broken only by a sigh that barely bled through the wiring.

"Yeah."

"That's not really an answer, Leah."

"No, I'm not coming."

"Why not?"

"I- it just doesn't- it wouldn't work out."

George squared his jaw, scared she was implying what he feared she always might.

"I mean, business really kicks up around here this time of the year, and I don't know if they can spare me. Not that I'm vital to the department, or anything, but any personnel they can keep will help."

"Uh-huh."

At her slow sigh, he gathered she'd easily picked up on his skepticism.

"What's the real reason, Leah?"

She didn't answer for a good fifteen seconds. George attended his watch to distract himself from the weight of her silence.

"George, I'm sorry, but d'you really think any of the fellas wanna remember they served with a broad? No."

"What? That's bullshit! Why the hell would you think that?"

"Watch your mouth, buster, you're a bad influence."

"What?"

"If you go off like that, I'll do it, too, and I can't be swearing like a sailor anymore. I've gotta be all proper in the office."

"What about out of it?"

"Since when am I ever not at work, these days?" She scoffed wryly, drily. "Nevermind."

"Corporal Hedgecomb, I swear to God, if I have to send Bill Guarnere and Babe Heffron to kidnap you from whatever martyr's pit you've dug for yourself, I will."

She managed a chuckle, and he could tell it was more for his sake than her own. "Nah, no more foxholes for me. Or for you."

"Or Bill or Babe."

"Don't send them," she warned. "They've got families of their own, right? Kiddos to tend to and others on the way, not to mention their wives, the lovely ladies with enough smarts to handle the three brain cells those two split amongst themselves."

George snorted. "So, no envoys. Alright, I'll drive up there myself and take Perconte with me. God knows he could use the break. Can you believe he doesn't even get Christmas off?"

"No!"

"I know, right? It's the post office, not the goddamn army-"

"No, no, it's not..." Leah audibly cleared her throat. "I meant about you, um..."

"Oh."

"What I mean to say is it's alright. I don't need the persuasion in person."

"Without it, you won't come to the reunion."

"With it, I'm more likely to stay put. So we're at an impasse."

"Alright, fine, but still, you never answered my question."

"Your question?"

"Why the heck-" He hoped she was smiling. "-would you think the men wouldn't want to remember you?"

"... If I was a man, it'd be different."

"Yeah, no shit, but I just don't get it, Leah. You were everybody's sister, cousin—heck, mother. Without you, Jackson wouldn't still have his face and Hoobler would be missing a whole lot more than a foot."

"But-"

"No. You really should come, doll, you haven't been to the last two."

"And nobody but Lip's seemed to care," she blurted in a voice small even for her five-foot-one frame. "Ignore that, please."

"No, I definitely will not." George glowered at the begonias in the calendar that hung opposite the kitchen counter. "Whoever told you I didn't care is a lying sonuva-"

"George."

It was by her tone that he abruptly understood: no one had imposed this opinion on her, she had conjured it for herself.

His cheeks flamed, akin to his heart. "Goddamnit, Leah, the only people I care as much about as you are Tab and Lip, and you know with them, it's not- it's not the same."

He knew he'd said too much when she didn't try a joke or a chuckle or even a dismissive cough. Instead, she remained silent. A muted voice, another woman's, asked her something and she replied she'd be there in a minute. Her voice returned to him as she brought it back to the receiver.

"I know you tried to find me, once."

George tried and failed to steady his breathing. He hoped Leah couldn't hear just how anxious he'd become.

"How'd you figure that out?"

"You sent Lipton to my door with the biggest bouquet in the state of New York. Now, I've never seen a man more committed to his wife than the good lieutenant, and he doesn't even live up here. What the hell could he be doing so far north other than carrying out some favor for somebody we both knew?"

"And you figured it was me?"

"I didn't have to think too hard on it once I saw the flowers."

"You remember them?"

"They were lilacs, George," she all but whispered. "You're the only one I ever told about those being my favorite."

George sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his shoulders stiffening as the breeze against the roof of his mouth went straight to his brain.

"Lip told me you'd just about vanished."

"I wasn't home that day."

A frown creased his brow. "But you saw the flowers."

"A neighbor did, out the window-"

"Don't lie to me, Leah." He set his jaw, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "You never were a good liar."

"Fine! I was there and I didn't open the door. Happy?"

"You hid from him."

The accusation caused her to deflate, signifying its truth. He could sense the change even from the receiving end, her face invisible to his eyes, miles and miles away.

"I thought it was for the best-"

Feeling unable to endure another voice crack from the cage of weary isolation Leah had forced herself into, George interrupted.

"The best? For who?"

"For you!"

"But not for you."

She choked on her words and coughed to regain them.

"I'm not some pretty little housewife, George!” she cried. “The war was the only time in my life I felt reasonably put together, and like I could do something. Even better, something worth doing. Really, I don't know what I expected, after it was all over. I can hardly keep myself afloat, nevertheless- no, shit, no, pretend you didn't hear that."

"So that's it." His finger, twirling the spiraling cord around each knuckle, stilled. "You won't come because you don't want their pity."

"Or yours," she reminded with a sternness he knew she rarely possessed. "I want them to remember me better."

"If they can't see you're still our beloved-" My beloved. "-Leah, with a chocolate bar always at hand for some poor homesick sap and the best hugs in the company, then they've all gone crazy and they don't deserve the honor of knowing you."

"The honor?" She scoffed. "Come on, George."

"I mean it. They'll be glad—no, overjoyed—to see you, and if they're not, then- then I'll-"

"What am I supposed to do, pretend everything's fine? While they're off getting married and having families and buying houses and securing steady, profitable occupations, I'm wasting away in the middle of fuck-all nowhere, so far up New York state, you'd be surprised it wasn't Canada, trying not to end up on the streets and so bitterly alone I've started writing poetry! I’m writing sonnets, George, sonnets!”

Leah laughed a sob. George was already reaching for his car keys.

"I'll be there tonight."

"What?"

"I will be there-"

"No. No, you won't."

"Yes, I will. I don't care if it's a five-and-a-half-hour drive. I don't care if you're scared. I don't care if I'm the last person you want to see."

Silence for long enough he guessed she might have hung up. He'd begun to fiddle with the left cuff of his button-down when Leah finally spoke.

"You know how long it would take you to get here."

"What kind of enamored moron would I be if I didn't?"

She laughed, and George wished he could believe it was the call signal that made her sound so hopeless.

"Only if you bring Tab along with you," she said, and he got the sense she was only playing along. "Roll down the windows, the fresh air'll do him good."

"It's December. He'd rather sit in a sauna for five hours."

"Remind me why he still hasn't moved out to California yet?"

"Me," George joked half honestly. "But hey, you're getting me sidetracked. So I'll bring Tab... anything else you want me to pick up on the road?"

"Um." A pause, amid which he could guess she tried to swallow but found her throat too dry. "No."

"If you say so." He checked his watch again, something of a nervous habit. "Y'know, I could probably make it in five hours. The traffic's bound to be lighter the later it gets."

"Uh-huh. You might have to wake me, depending on how late you get here."

"You won't wait up?"

"I work three shifts for two different jobs, George. Sleep is a blessing."

"Right." He swallowed. "Well, you can call in sick tomorrow. To both jobs. And maybe for all the days after that."

"No. No, I can't do that."

"You don't think I'll actually come."

"No, I don't, because I'm really not worth the trip."

Her words sounded like a hammer falling upon a bare anvil, the elements rebounding off of each other with a deafening, heartwrenching clang.

"Leah?"

"Yeah?"

"There's one thing I won't stand from you, and it's that kind of bullshit."

"Wha- what?"

"Don't ever talk like that about my future Mrs. Luz again."

She inhaled sharply into the phone. George squeezed his wrist and prayed that what he was about to do wasn't the most reckless undertaking of his life.

"I'll see you tonight. Probably with a ring. No, not probably. Definitely."

Leah squeaked.

"Damnit, I love you, and I'm not about to stand here while your neverending, wonderful, harmful selflessness keeps you away from the great thing we could be. And from your friends! And happiness! But mostly me. Because I'm selfish like that. But hey, if it means saving you-"

He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

"-then I'll be the most selfish man in the world."

"George-"

"I love you. See you in five hours."

He shoved the phone so jaggedly into its cusp that he missed the latch entirely and the implement took a bungee jump toward the kitchen floor. Yelping a curse, he swung it back up and placed it where it belonged, stepping back from the counter with a long sigh. He glanced at the liquor cabinet above the sink in wistfulness but didn't bother to address it further. He'd drive better if he could see straight. Still, the thought of going to her like he'd wanted to all these months and the absurdity of what he was about to do combined were more than enough to make him dizzy. Tab might have to take over for the last of the journey—or, even better, the first, the middle, and the last.

Speaking of the devil's best friend, he'd vanished upstairs to the third-floor study. He never listened in when someone made phone calls like this, even if they were from his own line. Kind of funny, how George wouldn't think twice about eavesdropping whereas Tab went out of his way to avoid overhearing.

"Floyd! Floyd, get down here!"

Swift, steady footsteps, barely preceded by the scrambling scuffs of a chair being shoved backward.

"What is it?" queried his friend from the top of the stairs.

"No time to explain, just get down here!"

Tab proceeded to make his way speedily down, taking the steps two at a time. He followed George around the corner to the garage door, calling his name with another question mark to follow when he received no direct answer. George spun the car keys around so they pressed into his palm, feeling the metal indent his skin as he opened and pushed through the narrow aperture.

"I'm going to go bring my future home, and you're coming with me."

Tab's sigh was almost feigned as he reached back through the doorway to retrieve his coat as well as his friend's. "George, it's almost seven p.m. And I have work tomorrow, as do you."

"So? Love won't wait, my friend." He twirled the keys again and tossed them over the hood of the first of the three vehicles before them. "Besides, you get to drive."

Tab shook his head. "I get to?"

George flashed him a lopsided smile and slid into the passenger's seat. After a beat's more hesitation, his friend followed his prediction and joined him in the car. Tab turned the ignition and they each settled into their accommodations, preparing for the lengthy drive ahead. The garage door rumbled upward—only the most up-to-date technology for friends of the Nixons—and they pulled out into the fading light, the wet afternoon bleeding into a thankfully drier evening.

"How much did you have to drink before deciding on this mad chase?" Tab asked as he leaned over the backseat to watch where he was reversing.

"None."

"None?"

"None," George repeated, and whatever he'd mustered in his tone to guarantee the truth softened something in Tab's tired eyes. His friend sat up a little straighter, and the energy so often sapped from him by hours clerking behind a desk began to return in increments as they drove. At first, they spoke of the usual things; the clearing clouds, an unruly driver here and there, the meaning of life and what changes peace had brought to their world in the past three years.

"Three," George mused after a time, "isn't that a strange number to decide on a reunion? One, I understand for a high school, two for a college, but three doesn't fit anything. A birthday, maybe, but-"

"It's one for me," Tab reminded him with no shortage of gentle reprehension. "I skipped the last two."

"So did she. But she won't be skipping this time, and neither will you."

"... Yeah. About that—what's your plan, here?"

"With what?"

Tab glanced off the road for just an instant to shoot George that disbelieving eyebrow that had always been able to pry any damn thing out of him, all the way back to Toccoa.

"I know, I know, with Leah." George swallowed. "Leah Hedgecomb."

"Yeah, with Leah."

George waved his hand in front of his face as if reading aloud a banner. "Hopefully the future Mrs. Leah Lowry Hedgecomb Luz." He couldn't help a small smile. "Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He snapped, remembering something vital to his mission. "Oh, shit, right, I've gotta get a- Why are you looking at me like that?"

Tab's spine had gone so taut, it almost seemed to be imitating the straightness of the lampposts they were driving beneath on this long, northbound route. The light from each lamp faded into and back out of the car within a half-second. Once the darkness of the night truly settled it, they would seem ever the brighter and the quicker, keeping the men awake and alert but allowing them no more than a passing glance at each other's expressions.

"Does she know that?"

"Know what?"

"That you're gunning for her to be your wife?"

"As of, uh-" George studied his wristwatch. "-an hour and ten minutes ago, yes."

"Jesus Christ."

His daredevil friend gave a low whistle. "Well, now I know this is a crazy plan. What else could make the pious Floyd Talbert take the savior's name in vain?"

"Oh, come on, Luz. Me? Pious?"

George snickered, and Tab sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry, but you gotta admit this is nuts! You're in love with a woman you haven't seen in a year—a woman who's been purposefully avoiding you, I might add."

"She loves me, too."

"What?"

"She told me back in Austria the day she left." George thumbed his belt loops anxiously. "She told me she loved me and I oughta come find her after the war if I felt the same."

"And you did, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but we never spoke of it again." George licked his lips, then confessed, "I have to believe she meant it. It's all I've got, Floyd."

"You need to stop for a minute and think this through."

"And you," his determined compatriot contested, "need to shut up and turn left."

"Why?" Tab asked, nonetheless rounding the requested corner.

"Because we need to make a detour to Cartier before they close at eight-thirty, and right now, it's eight-o'-one."

"Woah, woah, woah."

Tab pulled over to the side of the otherwise empty street. He shifted the car into park and turned as fully as he could in his seat toward George.

"Are you serious about this?"

"Floyd," George replied softly, almost timidly, "this is the first time I haven't second-guessed myself in three years. Yes, I'm serious."

His friend considered, glancing out the windshield onto the pavement and gravel of the road and its side.

"Besides, this is partially your fault."

"What?"

"You know I've loved her since Benning."

Tab's brow twitched. "Well, yes..."

"And you put me on the phone with her just like that, like you knew it was the best thing for us both."

"Um..."

"Come on, Floyd," George pleaded, flashing a smile, "help me out just this once-"

Tab visibly stifled a snort of laughter.

"-and you can be the best man—nay, the officiant—at our wedding."

"Sometimes, I think you've finally gone mad." Tab smiled as he shifted the car back into drive. "Alright. Let's go get the ring, and then the girl."

George let out a whoop, tossing his hands up and smacking them on the ceiling. He winced, shaking out his fingers, though his grin never faltered.

"By the way, I meant it, about the wedding."

"I'm not ordained."

"So? I don't particularly care what denomination ya are, so long as you can marry us."

"... I don't know if that's legal, Luz."

"What, freedom of religion?" His friend shot him a skeptical look. "So sayeth the Quaker's best friend."

"What- George, he's not-"

Tab huffed and went quiet, giving in (and up).

"I'll look it up and figure it out when we get back," he relented. "Dick probably knows something or somebody..."

George smirked, turning his face toward the window to hide the true warmth of his enthusiasm.

"Yeah. He prob'ly does."

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

Leah meant to stay up, to wait. She knew she'd feel like the worst idiot in the world should morning come and she was still sitting in her dark living room, alone; nevertheless, she allowed herself hope and trust for the first time in many years. She tried to keep her eyes open, but seeing the toll of midnight after a sixteen-hour shift proved a difficult task, and she drifted off in her old, raggedy armchair with a blanket over her legs and one shoe half-off her foot.

When the rapping on her door startled her awake, it was precisely 12:46 a.m. When she stepped up to the door, it was 12:50. When she gathered up enough courage to actually turn the knob and pull, it was 12:52.

"-so let's just go and come back in the morning, she's clearly not-"

The two men standing under her porch light, their heads and shoulders dusted with snow, froze and stared at her. Talbert's hand dropped from the back of his neck. George looked like he was trying to convince himself she was more than a memory.

"... home."

"George?"

He stumbled forward and she couldn't help but lurch into his embrace.

"What- what are you doing here?!" she gasped, wide awake now that he was really here with her, his arms sending shockwaves up and down her body. "George, you drove all this way?"

"I drove," Tab suggested sheepishly, raising his hand in a sheepish wave, and Leah forced herself to let go of George to hug him.

"I didn't believe- You actually- How? Why?"

"He loves you," Tab chuckled, nodding at George. "Thought that was pretty clear by now. You mind if I come in? I thought it couldn't get any colder than Rhode Island, but sheesh, New York's something else..."

Leah started nodding without really understanding what he'd asked, and he started humming “White Christmas” as he stepped past her and into the semi-heated house. Left alone on the porch, George and Leah stared at each other for a beat. Once they'd remembered the other was truly here, they all but leaped back into each other's arms. Leah's chest felt tight. She heaved each exhalation into his shoulder like it just might be her last. How long ago was it that such a fear could become their reality at the drop of a hairpin, or, in their case, the flick of a grenade pin? Too recent, too fresh.

"Hey, hey, catch your breath," George said, stepping back to cup her cheeks in his hands, scanning her face worriedly. "You cold? You want my scarf? My coat? My sweater? Hell, I'll give you my socks, if you want, though I don't think you do-"

"You came."

"Of course, I came," he cut himself off. "I brought Tab, just like I promised, and a ring to boot."

Leah flushed. "You didn't."

George dropped down on one knee.

"I did."

Leah squeaked. George beamed to hide the terrific pounding of his heart.

"Leah? Sweetheart?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Marry me."

She couldn't seem to speak, but she was nodding so fast George could only take it to mean yes. He put the ring on her finger, and she promptly flung herself into his arms and knocked them both off the porch into the nearest snowbank. George burst into such laughter that it woke the neighbors.

"Screw them," he muttered as the complaining started from an upstairs window. "I'm not afraid of nobody and nothing anymore."

"Oh, yeah?" Leah giggled, still half-certain she was dreaming, shivering a little. "When'd you get so brave?"

George smiled, drawing his thumb tenderly across her cheek to brush away a wispy curl.

"When I got you."

A beat.

"You will marry me, right?"

Leah turned and kissed his cheek, then his lips, and George felt like he could take on the world.

"I love you," she whispered, "and I've waited six years for you to ask me that question, so yes, George Luz, yes, I will marry you."

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

"You drove how far to get to her?"

Leah and George shared an amused smile. No matter how many times they told this story, there was always someone who'd only heard snippets and couldn't quite believe it until they got the straight facts from the source itself. This time—most entertainingly—it was Speirs, their former captain. The humor of his confusion was only added to by Lipton, who was standing beside him with such an expression of This is the farthest thing from a surprise, Ronald that it made Leah stifle a laugh against her hand.

"As far as I had to," George answered Speirs, squeezing Leah's hip affectionately. "I'd have driven all the way to California if I had to. Up through Canada, down into Mexico, or all the way into South America—I'd go anywhere. I'd even sneak aboard a ship if she was somewhere overseas."

"So... how far?"

"Five hours," Leah chuckled. "Five hours and them some, 'cause he had to stop to get the ring."

"And I was the one behind the wheel," Tab reminded with a twinkle in his eye, and George lit up, delighted that he'd made it to the reunion after all.

"And you still get to officiate, Floyd!"

"Yeah, yeah. Just tell me when I'm needed, and I'll be there."

"Huh." Speirs paused to think, then took a sip from his whiskey glass. "I'll admit, I never pictured..." He waved at George and Leah, though not at all rudely. "This."

George's arm was slung around Leah's waist and her cardigan was tied just above his hips—the only thing more obviously signifying their relationship was the silver band gleaming on Leah's left hand. Leah pressed a kiss to George's cheek, and as Speirs shook his head, astonished, George let loose a delirious peal of laughter.

"Stop that," Leah giggled, ruffling his hair. "You sound like you're already drunk."

"Oh, honey, I am."

She quirked a brow. "Oh, yeah? Since when? You’ve only had one- oop!"

He'd dipped her toward the floor, his lips ghosting over hers, and when she realized she was not, in fact, falling, she smiled.

"Drunk off you, sweetheart," he whispered as their friends started to holler, noticing the couple's open display of affection.

"Then kiss me, Mr. Luz."

"Happily, Mrs. Luz."

"Wait-" She put her finger against his lips, teasing him. "I'm not the missus just yet."

He groaned. "Why must you remind me? Cruel woman..."

A slight shift in his stance let Leah know he was starting to strain himself by holding her there, so she grabbed him by the collar and pressed a searing kiss to his lips, bolstered by their friends' whistling and cheering.

"I don't think I can wait much longer," George admitted as he brought his fiancée back up to stand. "Literally and figuratively. What with you in that dress, and everybody here—heck, why don't we do it tonight?"

"Do it? Get married, you mean?"

"Get married, run away, honeymoon, hook the moon and drag it down to earth," George hummed, swaying her to an imaginary tune. "You name it, I'll make it happen, sweetheart."

Leah looked at him, and her eyes, brimming with tears of gratitude, struck him with so much love he felt faint.

"So? Whaddaya say, my dearest Leah?"

"Yes. Tonight!"

"Huzzah!" George leaned over his shoulder. "Floyd! It would seem your services are needed much sooner than planned!"

Tab looked up from the buffet table, a slice of chocolate cake halfway to his mouth. George and Leah shared a look, then burst into teary laughter, holding on to each other with no intent to ever let go.

"I think they're really gonna do it."

"About time." Dick Winters sidled up to his friend, then nodded at the cake in his hand. "Is that any good?"

Still watching George and Leah, Tab wordlessly passed the cake to Dick, who, in turn, Dick handed it off to a salivating Frank Perconte.

"Dick," Tab queried, "do you know how to officiate an elopement?"

"Not officially-"

"Didn't think so."

"-but I know a guy."

"Of course, you do."

They eyed the happy couple, now dancing to the music Lipton had conjured from the radio, and shared a small smile despite themselves.

"Think you could get him here within the next half-hour?"

Dick checked his watch.

"Uh..."

"Correction: think you could call him up and have him teach me this whole honorary pastor business on the fly?"

Smiling, Dick started for the payphone on the other end of the bar.

"Now that, I can do."

#george luz #george luz x oc #george luz fanfiction #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers one shot #hbo war show #hbo war show one shot #hbo war show fanfiction #one shot #fanfiction

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ibrithir-was-here · 2 years

Text

Ok! New Endless Heirs! Decided to actually post this one instead of just doing a link as I finished it before midnight so I have time to re edit it x) Another one where I went off the prompt vaugly but didnt actually use the word. But its an important one as its how Wish got their name!

Bespoke

Technically, no other Endless should have been allowed into another's realm without their ruler's permission. Daniel and his cousin had been lucky enough to find a small stretch of Beach hidden in a cove on the border of the Dreaming and Desire's realm that both monarchs seemed to have forgotten about.

The Rules that governed the realms of the Endless didn't seem to mind them meeting up there, with neither of their guardians none the wiser. Daniel had discovered it soon after meeting the young Endless for the first time at the family dinner.

Daniel knew he wasn't allowed on the border, but he'd wanted to see his new friend again, and he knew that given Dream's past with Desire he wasn't likely to be sending any invitations over to the Threshold for a play date. Dream was suspicious of Desire's newest whim, the child-self they'd created from parts of their own essence; unsure as to what deeper plots they could be part of besides being a physical manifestation of Desire's vanity.

But all Daniel knew is that he'd wanted to see his friend again, and they must have wanted to see him too. For one night upon entering the Dreaming, his feet had carried him not to the Castle as usual, but to this hidden cove, pulled by the tug of that something he'd felt before, something reaching out towards him from Desire's realm.

He'd rounded the corner leading into the cove at the same time his cousin had from the other side. They'd stood frozen for a moment, staring at each other under the bright moonlight, before both breaking into grins and running up to each other.

"I thought it might be you I was feeling before!" Daniel said joyfully, taking their hands in his.

"You've been daydreaming about the Dreaming!"

The smaller Desire blushed a little at this observation but smiled back. "Yes, and then about seeing you again. I had so much fun talking to you at dinner!"

"Me too! I wanted to see you again too"

"I know, I could feel you wanting to from all the way in the Threshold. So I snuck out and started following the feeling and…"

And they'd found each other.

That had been over a year ago now, and they'd kept meeting up at their cove almost every week since then, or as often at least as the smaller Desire managed to sneak away from their parent's notice. They'd play in the sand and the surf and just talk for hours, it was some of the most fun Daniel had ever had, and he'd ridden a gryphon.

Today though, something had happened.

"I-I want to be called something else"

Daniel stopped in his tracks, turning to look at his cousin, who up until that point had been following behind him as they wandered along the Beach.

Daniel had been chatting away about something, he didn't even recall what he'd said, except that he'd ended it by saying their name, "Desire".

And now they were standing stock still, looking down at their feet and trembling slightly, as though they were regretting having said anything at all but knowing it was too late to take it back.

Daniel walked so that he was standing in front of them, and they sank even more into themselves. Daniel reached out and took their hands in his and said softly and as encouragingly as he could "Ok, what do you want to be called?"

His cousin looked up quickly, surprise and relief and some worry still flickering across their golden eyes. "I--I don't know really. It's not even…I don't really…I just--just want my own name."

They squeezed Daniel's hands tight, looking down at them as they went on, seeming to find it easier to speak without eye contact.

"I don't feel like Desire anymore, or…I do but not, not in the way that They're Desire, you know?"

"Yeah" Daniel said softly, squeezing their hands back "Yeah I think I get it. You want something that means you, not just 'Desire but the smaller version'?"

"Yes! That's it exactly. I want to be me." They said looking up with the first smile Daniel had seen cross their face all day. The sheer relief in their exclamation, at being understood and seen, broke his heart a little, and he pulled them in for a tight hug.

They stood there for a moment, the waves of the dream sea coming up to play around their ankles before back out, before they finally broke the hug and Daniel said with a grin; "Right, let's find you a name then".

***

"Longing?"

"Hmm, no it feels too sad"

"Passion?"

"Definitely not."

"You said you kinda liked Aspiration?"

"Yeah that feels close but not quite?"

"Not Want though?"

"No, Want feels too desperate?"

Daniel frowned, he'd tried to copy down all the synonyms of Desire he could from the thesaurus at home, slipping the paper into his pocket before he'd fallen asleep that night. But they hadn't found something satisfactory yet.

"What sort of feeling do you want your name to have? Like, as closely as you can figure out? "

To his surprise, his cousin turned a deep shade of red, and looked away from him with something like a grimace and a grin in one, pulling on a loose curl as they said so softly he almost didn't catch it:

"Well, something like…Dream"

Daniel couldn't help but laugh out loud. But he quickly tackled his cousin with a hug when he saw their hands coming up to cover their face and how they looked ready to disappear on the spot.

"Hey hey no! I'm sorry I laughed, I was just surprised was all. Why Dream?"

"Cuz dreams are, are happy." His cousin finally mumbled from behind their hands. "I mean, good dreams make people happy. They get--they get excited and hopeful when they dream about things they want that go well and…and I want to make people feel that…That their dreams can come true if they try."

They looked up at Daniel finally, and his heart squeezed a bit as he saw there were tears forming in their eyes. "Desire always seems to make people feel anxious and desperate and-and miserable. Always wanting but never satisfied and it's always about people wanting…"

Their face turned red again but in a different way, and Daniel felt his face flush a little too.

"Anyway, I just know there's got to be more to it than that. Right? People desire so many things. And I just…I want to help them get their desires, not just tease and torment them about it…"

His cousin's face paled then, as though realizing just how much they'd said. And they quickly began to stammer, "I mean, I know They're just doing Their job, and They're my parent and I do love them I do I just--I didn't mean--"

Daniel quickly pulled tjm into another hug, and though they didn't have a pulse like a human child would, he could feel their metaphorical heart racing as he held them close.

"No no, you're totally right. And I think it's awesome you want to help people. It's a really good thing, ok? Don't ever think it's not."

He held them close until they felt a bit calmer, as Daniel thought over what they'd said. Something like Dream, something that made people feel better, feel happy and motivated…

And suddenly, a line from a song he'd heard in an old movie once played across his mind, so clearly it was as if he was hearing it echoing around the cove itself.

"A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches, whatever you wish for, you keep…"

"Hey," Daniel said softly, giving his cousin a friendly shake to the shoulders so they'd look up at him.

"How about, Wish?"

#my writing #endless heirs au #i couldn't resist using the Cinderella song it just worked too well xD #the sandman #daniel hall #the dreaming #dream of the endless #desire of the endless #wish of the endless #sandman oc #sandman fic

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afairmaiden · 2 years

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Unfortunately, this is not for the Inklings Challenge (though I have been working on that all week.) But a couple of years ago, I had this idea for a story similar to The Pilgrim's Progress, and after a long hiatus, it's finally complete. I will be posting a few chapters here and plan on self-publishing in a few weeks' time. The book will include illustrations by @evelynmlewis, so please check out her page as well. Without further ado, I present to you:

The Pilgrims’ Daughters

A continuation of The Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan

Chapter 1: Desolation

Late one night as I sat by my fire and read a familiar book, I found myself overcome by sleep, and as I dreamed, I saw the book before me coming to life before my eyes, transporting me from my living room to a world both familiar and foreign.

I saw in my dream a girl whose name was Christian, who had fled with her family from the City of Destruction, and wore the clothes of a pilgrim on the way to the Celestial City, and carried with her a key called Promise and a scroll called Assurance, which she had received at the cross. It was there that her mother, once Fearful, became Valiant, and her father, who had been called Stubborn, became Steadfast. Even her younger sister had been changed from Sullen to Joyful. Yet Christian was simply Christian, and she was not ashamed of her name or the One she represented.

They had gone a good way down the straight, narrow path when they came to the town of Vanity and passed through its great Fair, where their refusal to buy of the Fair’s goods had enraged the people beyond reason, and they set out to persecute and kill them. It was in that town that Christian’s parents and sister died, and Christian alone was taken to a far country and sold as a slave.

She was brought to the heart of Desolation, to a great house called Decadence owned by one Lawless, who set her to work in the fields and among the animals. There were in the house two sisters about Christian’s age. The younger of the two was a lively, sympathetic creature, who quickly took to Christian and tried by various means to distract her from her grief. Though she was no longer exactly a child, she had not yet received her proper name, nor made one for herself. But as there were only two young ladies in the house and one did not speak, Christian did not find this particularly troublesome.

The elder girl was rarely seen outside her room, though Christian often saw her at her window, looking out over the field. She wore a very stately gown and a great deal of jewelry, and the sight of Christian often made her start back, as if in horror.

“Don’t mind her,” the younger girl said of her sister. “She’s hopeless.”

And it seemed that Hopeless was indeed her name, for she always went about with such a look of defeat and despair as to depress the spirits of the merriest person, so that Christian was rather relieved to be spared her company.

It was, therefore, with great surprise that Christian discovered her in her room late one afternoon, looking over a little book, which was one of the few possessions Christian had in all the world. When she saw that Christian had come in, she quickly closed the book and leapt to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to pry, but I hoped to speak with you a moment, and I couldn’t help noticing—”

She stood holding the book for a moment as if unsure whether or not to give it up.

“Is this yours?” she asked finally.

Christian looked at her warily and said that it was.

“And…do you really believe everything that it says?”

Christian affirmed that she did.

“Then,” —here the girl’s voice dropped to a whisper— “are you really going to the Celestial City?”

As Christian stared in amazement, the girl continued, “Do you know the way? Will you take me with you?”

Now Christian was sorry to disappoint the girl, and had just opened her mouth to admit that she was not at all sure of the way to the gate, which she knew must be the first step on the path, as she had been only a child when she had first come to it. But as she was about to speak, she looked out the window and saw to her surprise a light shining in the growing darkness, and there, at the far end of the field, where moments before there had been only a line of trees, now stood a little wicket gate.

#my writing #pilgrim's progress #the pilgrims' daughters

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queer-triple-a · 1 year

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A Victorian Scheme

Introduction

Hello and Happy New Year!

This is going to be a little different than the other stories I’ve posted. Not only was Chitra the one who found this story (by searching her name in an archive), but it is significantly longer than the others. Because of that I’ve decided to make this two posts. You’ll find out how this story ends when part two is released in two weeks.

This story is told through the letters exchanged between two women whose families belong to English nobility. Their correspondence surely stretches beyond these letters, but these were the ones which made their way into a museum’s collection. They are said to showcase the friendly bond between women at the time...

Anyway, here’s a Victorian Era Love story.

Content warnings are located at the bottom and apply to both parts, so they contain minor spoilers.

Chitra and Nancy's Letters

Dearest Chitra,

Forgive my writing you this letter so soon after the last. You must think me dreadful for not even giving you a chance to reply. I waited but one day after sending you my last letter before I penned one anew. I trust once you have read what I must say to you the purpose of such an act will be clear. As I lay in bed I thought of you (as I often do). More than this I thought of us and our futures together.

We often speak of our future without a sense of reality. We joke of sharing a home (and perhaps a bed). We talk of this future as if it is not just possible, but likely. Chitra this may sound bleak but do not retire from this letter before its completion for it will return to you the hope of these fantasies. The facts of our lives and our families lead me to conclude that we will be discouraged from a life without the influence of a man. I have not expressed any interest in men, yet my mother has made plans that I may engage several at our home this season.

I do not yearn for a husband, Chitra. I yearn for you. Yet I know of no women who have escaped age 25 without their fathers intervening. I do not wish to have my future determined by the man who would not call the doctor as my late sister Elizabeth wilted in bed. He agreed to let Richard have my sister Victoria; each time I see my sister, she seems to regret it more. I fear my other sisters’ matches have been no better. I do not wish these fates for myself. Therefore I’ve come to know I must choose for myself which bachelor I’ll entice with my family's promise of higher rank. I trust you too could win whichever man you wanted for none which we know are blind and therefore shall be honored to have the hand of a woman as beautiful as yourself.

As these thoughts arranged themselves in my mind last night the solution came to me. I trust your memory to recall the Marshall family. You and I danced with both the eldest sons at the wedding of your brother Earnest. The heir to the land is Samuel and his younger brother (who is but two years our junior) is also single.

My Chitra, should we be women of enough stature, beauty, and spirit to win the hearts of these men then our lives will be entwined. I do not recall much of Samuel or Jacob, but their brotherly bond was clear. They do not seem likely to behave as your brothers have. There would be little risk of a fight so great as to cause a rift in the family and in their title and property. I asked my mother of their prospects this morning. She ensures me the Marshall family is well enough endowed to guarantee an easy life for the wife of Samuel and of Jacob. It seems the perfect solution.

How often does my father’s brother come to stay at the family home? I know your uncle would visit your father with much greater frequency if there were not such a great distance between them. We shall be destined to remain in each other’s lives and at what little cost! Since we must marry (and it must be a man), why not marry these men we’ve chosen?

Though I eagerly await your response I shall admit I caught the attention of my mother when asking after them this morning. They will be invited to dine with us as the month ends. I asked my mother to extend your parents an invitation as well. I hope you will join us. Please write.

With all my love,

Nancy Robinson

Dear Nancy,

To receive two missives in quick succession brought me delight. The harsh look at reality with which your letter began did naught to encourage this delight. I did gather joy from the rest of its contents, but I admit to feeling something akin to despair at the reminder. It is true, we likely will not get the joy of living our lives alone together, but I find value and peace in that dream. As you lay awake in search of solutions my sleeping mind crafts images of two brides promised to each other for life in a blending of traditions. The word “wife” brings your gentle smile to my thoughts. My Nancy, does your mind do the same? You speak of our world as it is, but do you ever dare to imagine what we would do if it were different?

Nancy, I do appreciate your solution. In fact, I believe it could be the answer to the problem we face. If Simon and Jacob are men of good character then we have a plan which shall succeed. I trust your mother’s knowledge of their financial standings. This shall be enough to satisfy my father in his quest to marry me well. My Nancy, do you know much of these men? Will they make tolerable life partners? You mentioned your sister’s husband and her ill fitting match. Do you think our matches to Simon and Jacob hold more promise? What of our match to each other? Will these men grow jealous if I have more interest in your enchanting charm than I will ever show to their modest beauty?

I do trust your plan Nancy, but to commit to a life with anyone but you, daunts me.

I have spoken to my mother. We shall dine with you and the Marshalls. I wish to make a good impression on these men. You have seen me in every dress I own. Which do you find me most stunning in?

Before I set down my pen I must clarify one thing. Which man shall we take? Do I know you well enough to predict you will want the eldest son and heir? Have no shame if I am correct, for I wish you this honor as well.

Love,

A. Chitra

Dearest Chitra,

In response to your inquiries:

My mind does long to place the words “my wife” before your name. I would marry you if that path was available to us. Let that never be in doubt in your mind again. You ask if I often imagine the world if it were different. I do with some frequency, but I find dwelling on the fantasy of marrying you makes it more difficult to know I never will. However, if these imaginations bring you joy, I hope you dream them every night.

I inquired after my sisters about the nature of Simon and Jacob. This information shall occupy much of my letter. First I shall answer the other questions you asked of me.

I do not worry that our charm for each other will be a cause of jealousy in the eyes of men. You have lived a lie much like mine. Men pay no heed to the friendships women hold with each other. Why, I could kiss your mouth in the presence of my brother-in-law, and he would still think us silly young girls who know each other through the friendship of our fathers.

Chitra, I trust you know what you are doing when in your letter you ask me to choose an outfit for the dinner. I lost much of an afternoon’s embroidery work. How am I to focus on daisies for this cloth when my mind is full of images of the dresses which hug your waist and adorn your arms? You wear fine things well, Chitra, and I can do nothing but imagine your beauty. It will not shock you to read my recommendation. The jade green dress which holds your deep brown chest high and which has the train with fabric embroidered by my own golden thread. It shall stop my breath to see you in this again. I shall wear my golden dress with green embellishments to match. Let our beauty and grace shine before these men that they will have no wants but us.

My answer to your final question will not shock you. I would prefer to be with the heir to this fortune. Do you truly not find this greedy of me? I expect you too would want the land to yourself. Will your brothers not receive your father’s full inheritance? Do you not also long to exit the shadow of your family? Though as I write this I know your answer. I know you’ve nothing to prove. In your family's eyes, you are special because you are a girl. You need not prove your worth to them through a righteous marriage. Chitra, know that I see what you have done for me in allowing me to woo Simon. I see what this means for you as you see what it would mean for me. I hope you do not grow to regret your kindness or resent my fortune should our plans come to pass. You are the one in my life for whom I am most grateful.

Now I shall tell you of the men you will meet (likely before your next able to send me a letter).

I shall spare you the history of their family. Needless to say, the Marshall home and land have been owned by a Lord Marshall since 1650. His father was the eldest of two sons, and from the gossip my sisters have heard, his wife hasn’t shared a bed with him since Jacob was born. I have heard nothing to suspect the boys had anything but a normal upbringing.

Both boys are white with tawny brown hair. They are regarded by many within our family circles to be attractive. Simon is two years our elder and therefore, as you may expect, his father is desperate to see him married so that he may have children and heirs. None of my sisters nor my mother knew why he was still a bachelor. They have heard no unsavory rumors about his temper, yet I myself have witnessed his cold behavior at balls. He does not attract women because he does not engage in conversation or dance with them. No woman has yet been desperate enough to marry a man who holds little interest in her. My Chitra, you make me desperate enough. Perhaps his lack of interest is similar to our own. I hope that his behavior is not with ill intent.

Now to Jacob. I know less of him in some ways and more in others. He is two years younger than us and slightly taller than his brother. He has spent less time in social events than his brother, yet he has made an impact. I have heard he is kind, and though I have not yet danced with him, I have seen him dance. He does not seem to have the same aversion to the act his brother exhibits. I do not know anything else of Jacob except that he is kind. He is but 23, yet already there are whispers of why he is not yet wed, for he is a man whom many women find endearing. My sister speculates he is either picky, effeminate, or of too low of status and thus one party in any relationship may deem it unwise to continue.

In short, I do not think they will be intolerable, but I do not promise you a life of marital bliss. I will say the signs I saw in Victoria’s husband do not seem present in Simon and Jacob. Neither is known for their temper. Temper can be hidden though. When they come to visit I shall have my lady’s maid enquire upon any gossip of the true nature of these men. Perhaps you will think this action an invasion of their privacy. I hope you will not judge me too harshly. I am only doing this to ensure our future contentment. If this reason is not enough for you then I shall have to ask for your forgiveness. You, my Chitra, have more care for the secrets of others than I do. I believe I inherited my mother's need to inquire about the business and relationships of each person we meet. I struggle to hold back from these questions as you do so gracefully. If my desire to know this information about these men and to ask it of the staff creates discomfort in you I apologize. I do believe there is enough chance that you find my actions acceptable that I will move forth with my plans. I need to ask them before we shall see each other at dinner, for I must give my maid time to make inquiries while the Marshall’s staff is still with us (which will only be for two nights).

My darling I do not ask you many questions in this letter for I shall speak to you in person soon. Until that day, know my heart aches with memories of your simple smile and your wondrous gentle hands.

All my love,

Nancy Robinson

My love Nancy,

Radiant breathtaking Nancy, boisterous and charming Nancy, elegant and sure-footed Nancy, gentle and reassuring Nancy, how was I to focus on Jacob Marshall when you were by my side.

It is a shame your mother's room is so close to your own, and her sleep is so delicate. I would have loved to slip into your chambers after dinner. We might have had this conversation quickly between ourselves instead of over mail which takes at least a day to deliver. Alas, I had to suffice to see you only in situations where others were present, therefore I shall lay out my opinions of the evening for you now.

Jacob shall suffice. I engaged him in conversation for much of the evening. I did not find him lacking. From his smile, I believe it is not vane to say he enjoyed my company too. This match appears to have every chance of ending in a marriage.

He is not you though. When he speaks I am intrigued. He is smart, and the words he says have value. However, when I speak to you I am on the edge of my seat to hear what thoughts you choose to share with me. More than this you remember to include me in the conversation. I am not trained in speaking of myself. I am so used to listening to the thoughts of others, of men. You are one of few in the world who finds value in my simple thoughts. I cannot yet say for certain whether Jacob values my input. I do not think he knew how to ask for it. The closest he came to asking about my life was asking where in India my parents are from. When my answer gave him no new insight (he does not seem to know much of the country) he quickly moved on.

I will not blame him if he does not come to me for opinions though. He speaks well of what he does know, the business of owning an estate. It was good of him to speak to me about such things at all. That I understood him is a testament to his communication skills. I think he appreciated my interest as well. I hope he did. If our plan is to succeed I will need to make him happy enough to marry me. Nancy, from what you observed of us do you think I made him happy? Do you think I am capable of making any man happy? I have so little practice in this endeavor.

I do not worry about your ability to make Simon happy. Not only did his eyes light up when he looked at you across the table, but I heard him laugh at what you said. I could tell from your demeanor the conversation did not bring you equivalent amounts of joy. Was Simon unkind to you Nancy? Did he treat you poorly? You deserve more than someone who will not make you happy. Please do not remain in an ill matched relationship on my account. I trust you to inform me of how you wish to proceed in your next letter.

I also hope to hear the gossip you learned. You do not need to beg for my forgiveness on this matter for I hold no anger. It is true I do not seek out these rumors myself. I do not like the way I feel when I do such things. In the past, it has upset me because you asked me to inquire after this information. Now that I know you may have this information, I am ever so curious about it. Please write soon, my beautiful love.

Yours now and forever,

A. Chitra

My heart Chitra,

You speak of me with a kindness that brings a blush to my cheeks. Know that when I think of you the same emotions come to my heart, even if my words do not hold the same elegance.

None of the questions you asked of me have short answers, so their response shall take the whole letter. I shall tell you the gossip first, that it may frame my opinions about Jacob and Simon later in my letter.

Most importantly the gossip revealed neither violent pasts nor skeletons in the closets of these men. This is not to assume they do not have secrets. No one is without their secrets, but whatever these men cannot hide from the staff did not warrant a warning in their maid’s eyes when she spoke to my lady's maid. Take relief in this my Chitra. These men, whatever their flaws, seem unlikely to inflict us with pain.

There was little gossip of Jacob, and all of it was kind. He knows the names of the staff and treats them with dignity. He is kind at home as well.

There was more said of Simon. Though he is not violent he is known by the staff to be sharp of tongue. He grows lazy and irritable some days, yet he is forgiving and active on others. The staff was hesitant to speak ill of him. My maid said she suspected there was a secret that they would not spread outside their household. I do not know what to do with this knowledge.

I shall return to Simon in a moment, but first, let me address your concerns about Jacob. You claim to have no experience in making men happy, yet your whole life has been spent as an observer of the conversations and ramblings of men. In addition, I think you are capable of making most people happy. Your dedicated attentiveness to the passions of those around you brings light to the lives of those who know you. I feel certain in my claims that Jacob is not immune to your charm. He seemed to enjoy his conversation with you and was pleased by your company. I do hope in time he grows to value and request your input. You, as always, underestimate yourself. Your thoughts on every topic I’ve discussed with you have been intelligent and meaningful. You do not speak without purpose as I often do. When you contribute I am frequently reminded of your singular mind and your daring optimism. I hope in time Jacob will come to treasure these things as well. I am so glad you found Jacob an amenable partner. I hope your prediction of a content marriage comes to pass. I do truly wish you every happiness with Jacob.

Now I shall speak to his brother, Simon. The evening was fine. Your intuition was accurate. I believe it is accurate to say Simon enjoyed my wit and charm. He does not have a laugh which causes my heart to quicken as yours does, but it will suffice. Despite my attempts, he bore no responsibility for the topics of conversation. I not only led the conversation but upheld it with my own trains of thought. He did laugh with me and seemed interested in what I had to say, but he was not providing me any insight into his own thoughts on the matters discussed.

I spent several minutes telling him the story of when my sister Martha thought her husband brought home a dog when in fact it was a rather large cat.

He did, as I said, seem to appreciate the story. He laughed and asked questions, inquiring at the end if they still had the cat, but when I asked if he ever had pets he responded “My family has always had a dog.”

He then waited for me to pick up the conversation again. I asked what it looked like.

He told me it was a black hunting lab.

I asked if he hunted.

He just said, “not often.”

My darling Chitra, you are often quiet during a conversation, but you do not make me feel as though I am required to say twenty sentences to gain a hint at your personality or interests. I tell you all of this, so you see what I mean when I say I am not as certain of Simon as you are of Jacob. Perhaps he will open up to me in time. But this is a hope, not a prediction. If I had your optimism I would be excited for the invitation I received to dine at the Marshall’s home next week. As it stands I do not look forward to meeting him again. I fear his quiet demeanor hides an irritable man. The gossip from the maids does naught to quell these nerves.

Do not take my hesitancy with Simon to mean our plan is in jeopardy. You seem well suited for marriage with Jacob. I have no desire to pull you away from this contented future you have before you. If things do not fit between Simon and myself we shall find another way. Perhaps I shall be a spinster. I could find a cause to be the patron of and make myself useful to society in a way other than rearing the child of an heir. This plan, of course, includes a space for you in my life. No matter whether we marry these brothers it is not unseemly for a woman to remain in close contact with her childhood friend. The world does not need to know that I remain single because I will not suffer any match that is without you.

I’m sorry Chitra. Forgive this flight of fancy. I know as well as you that to be a spinster and to live my life with only you by my side is not a route forward. I know my mother has a list of men vetted by my father whose status is agreeable. I know Simon is on that list and even if I do not grow to enjoy his company I may still be married to him. I know these facts, yet at night I dream only of you and I.

I let my mind wander before dreams take me. I follow your lead as I imagine the hope you’ve described and the dreams you spoke of where we get to call each other “wife.” as sleep becomes me I maintain this fantasy in my nightly journey to unreal worlds. A life with you composes my waking and sleeping dreams. All dreams of my life include a future with you. You are my dream girl.

All my love,

Nancy Robinson

End of part 1

Outroduction

Content Warnings:

Period typical homophobia (background)

Discussions of and fear of abusive relationships

Miscarriage (mentioned)

Ablism (background)

Tune in in two weeks to see what these BFF’s get up to!

Thanks again to Chitra for finding this story!

Notes

Thank you so much to @intricaitly for the doodles on these letters!

You're legally required to ignore the grammatical discrepancies between the images and the text... I forgot to grammar check before I sent them to intricaitly to do the doodles, and editing them now is too much effort.... sorry about that

#an assumptive anthology #fiction #lgbt #queer triple a #epistolary #historical fiction #lgbtq history #lgbtq+ story #queer story #lesbian #lesbian story #letters #victorian romance #pining #gay beards #love letters

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virgosjukebox · 11 months

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I still wanted to do this post so I’m redoing it.  Reblog/Repost with 6 songs that help you write your muse(s)

1. Chandelier—Sia/Moulin Rouge! The Musical

One, two, three, one, two, three drink/ Throw 'em back until I lose count/ Keep my glass full until morning light/ 'Cause I'm just holding on for tonight

2. Firework—Katy Perry/Moulin Rouge! The Musical

You don’t have to feel like a waste of space/ You’re an original, cannot be replaced

3. As Long as You’re Mine—From Wicked

And just for this moment/ As long as you’re mine/ I’ve lost all resistance/ And crossed some border line/ And if it turns out/ It’s over too fast/ I’ll make every last moment last/ As long as you’re mine

4. Heat Waves—Glass Animals

Sometimes, all I think about is you/ Late nights in the middle of June/ Heat waves been faking me out/ Can’t make you happier now

5. All Up in Your Mind—Beyonce

My eyes, yeah, I really like your smile/ It stops the time, yeah, I think I’ll stay here for a while/ You give me that real good feeling that I need/ Be careful what you ask for ‘cause I just might comply

6. Headlines—Drake   I might be too strung out on compliments/ Overdosed on confidence/ Started not to give a fuck and stopped fearing the consequence

Reblog/Repost with 6 Quotes that Help you Write your Muse(s)

I forgot how good Erin's monologues were in the last ep which is why there is a bonus quote.

Trigger Warnings for Quotes: Religious ties, Interpretation of Death

1. Shakespeare—As You Like It: Rosalind Act 3, Scene 2—Also featured in my bio

"Do you not know I am a woman? When I think I must speak."

2. Shakespeare—As You Like It: Orlando Act 5, Scene 3

“Oh, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man’s eyes!”

3. Edgar Allan Poe—A Dream Within A Dream

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”

4. From Ludwig Bemelmans’ Madeline

“In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.”

5. From Mike Flanagan’s Midnight Mass—Father Paul

“That is what it means to have Faith. That in the darkness, in the worst of it, in the absence of Light and Hope, we sing.”

6. Also from Mike Flanagan’s Midnight Mass—Erin Greene

“The electrons of my body mingle and dance with the electrons of the ground below me and the air. I am no longer breathing. And I remember there is no point where any of that ends and I begin. I remember I am energy. Not memory. Not self. My name, my personality, my choices, all came after me. I was before them, and I will be after, and everything else is pictures, picking up along the way. Fleeting little dreamless printed on the tissue of my dying brain. And I am the lightning that jumps between. I am the energy firing the neurons, and I’m returning. Just by remembering, I’m returning home.”

7. Bonus also from Mike Flanagan’s Midnight Mass—Erin Greene

“More galaxies in the universe than grains of sand on the beach. And that’s what we’re talking about when we say God. The one. The cosmos, and its infinite dreams. We are the cosmos dreaming of itself. It’s simply a dream that I think is my life, every time. But I’ll forget this. I always do. I always forget my dreams. But now, in this split-second, in the moment I remember, the instant I remember, I comprehend everything at once. There is no time. There is no death. Life is a dream. It’s a wish. Made again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and on into eternity. And I am all of it. I am everything. I am all. I am that I am.”

#this took a lot longer for me to format than I wanted #seph💞#out of character.

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

Text

The Arrangement (Ivar x reader x Hvitserk)

Oh boy, so I don’t normally write smut but this idea came to me and would not let me write anything else. So here we are, friends. (I’m honestly so nervous to post this.)

A huge shout out to @geekandbooknerd for beta-reading this for me and listening to my ranting. You are the best, you beautiful person!

Warnings: SMUT, some feels, Ivar being Ivar

Words: 5200

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius

The fierce, blue eyes of Kattegat's king surveyed the Great Hall, full of people as they ate the evening meal. Jovial conversations, yells for more ale, the pop and crackle of the large fire, even the fist fight that broke out…. none of it attracted his attention. No, instead his clever mind wrestled with one simple problem. Something he was certain no other man ever had to worry about. This problem had lately been at the forefront of his mind, slithering through his thoughts like vipers, distracting him from his duties. Weeks now he mentally wrestled with seeking a solution. Wracking his brain as what to do. He even considered going to the Seer, but quickly rejected that idea. The Seer only ever spoke in riddles and it would only further muddle his already troubled mind. He cursed the gods with his lack of a solution, for putting him in this predicament.

But this morning as he lay in bed, willing the pain in his legs to diminish, a solution came to mind. It was so simple, something he should have considered long ago…. but one that required trust. Something which admittedly was not his strongest suit. But for this solution to work, to gain what he yearned for, he must trust. There was no other way. It was like the gods came to him, spoke into his mind during his slumber, explaining what he must do. Though he trusted no one completely, there was one who he could trust with this solution. And the rewards…. oh, the rewards would be well worth it.

Besides, it could be fun.

He observed where his brother sat at a nearby table, talking and laughing with some of their warriors. A broad grin lit up his face as he freely drank and shared stories. Although Hvitserk seemed to be fully invested in the conversation around him, from where Ivar reclined on his throne, he could see the way his brother's gaze darted frequently to another table nearby. Quick looks, never lingering, almost indiscernible from how his gaze shifted to his companions around him. But Ivar could see it. Many times he had witnessed his brother's secret looks. Now was the time to test it.

With a sharp order, Ivar sent a nearby thrall to summon the other Ragnarsson. Hvitserk glanced at Ivar with a confused expression before giving a single nod. As he rose from his spot at the tables, Ivar had a nearby thrall fill up his ale horn, eyes shifting from his brother to the one who continued to unknowingly entice the elder Ragnarsson. When Hvitserk stood at the bottom of the dais, leading up to the thrones, Ivar waved his hand, signaling for his brother to sit on the throne next to him. The Queen's throne. Your throne.

Surprise flashed across the face of the flaxen-haired Ragnarsson, eyes darting between the two thrones for a moment in surprise. Ivar wondered if thoughts of their beautiful mother crossed his brother's mind as he saw the throne as often as they did his own. After a second, Hvitserk shrugged and seated himself on the other throne. Silence persisted as they nursed their ales.

Looking over the crowd, Ivar returned his gaze to the one person who, beside his mother, he was most devoted to. You were smiling in a way that made his heart clench and his lips twitch, wanting to mirror your joy. He never understood your need to mingle with others during meals instead of remaining on your throne. At times, jealousy reared its head in his mind, but you always returned to his side, to his bed, sharing the latest gossip you heard or a particularly funny story. He would grumble but never admit how he enjoyed listening to you, or how he used that gossip to his benefit.

Now you sat with a few women he recognized as wives to wealthy traders in Kattegat. A baby lay in your arms as you spoke with enthusiasm to one of the women. With the light from the flames dancing across your face and the joy radiating from you as you cooed at the baby in your arms, Ivar knew there was no one as beautiful as you. Even more so than his mother. Every day he still found himself in awe that you chose him, you agreed to be his wife, that you loved him. It was enough to make him feel invincible. To conquer the world and lay it at your feet as an offering.

Without moving his head, Ivar peeked over at his brother, unsurprised to see him staring in the same direction. The horn of ale at his lips helped mask where his lingering gaze lay, but Ivar could see. He knew.

"I see how you look at her." Ivar said nonchalantly.

"Who?" Hvitserk questioned, eyes pretending to roam over the Great Hall.

Ivar smirked, fingers lightly tapping on the armrest of his throne. "My queen…. y/n."

"She is a beautiful woman. Is it wrong now to admire someone so clearly blessed by Freyja?"

"Ah, but I see your mind. You want to do more than admire, dear brother."

Hvitserk shifted uncomfortably, head snapping to the side to eye his younger brother warily. "What is this, Ivar?"

The young king leaned back, smirk still in place. After a tense moment of watching Hvitserk squirm, he dropped his voice so he knew only his brother could hear him. "I have a proposition for you."

"What?"

"I need your help with a…. sensitive matter."

The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson scoffed. "Is this Ivar the Boneless actually asking for help?"

"Will you help me or not?" He sharply retorted, trying to force down the rising anger that bubbled under his skin.

"Of course." He said with a sigh. "What is it?"

Ivar pushed off his throne, tossing back the rest of his ale and handing his horn off to a nearby thrall. "Come. We will discuss this in my bedroom."

He did not wait for his brother, already leaning on his crutch as he walked down the steps and down the corridor to the royal rooms. He hoped his plan worked. He needed it to work. Even if it meant trusting his brother with what was most precious to him.

*****

Your steps were sure as you left the Great Hall and walked down the corridor to your bedroom. You had seen Ivar and Hvitserk leave the evening meal some time ago, but assumed they went to discuss important matters somewhere quiet. So, you stayed to talk with your friends, something you cherished. It was important to you that even though you were their queen, they could be comfortable in your presence and feel free to speak to you. Plus, you enjoyed the juicy gossip passed around.

One of the guards opened the bedroom door for you. You nodded a brief thanks and walked in…. only for your feet to stutter to a stop after you entered. Surprise flooded you to see your husband and his older brother both in your bedroom. Ivar reclined on his favorite, wide chair near the lit fireplace but what was most perplexing was how Hvitserk sat on the end of your bed, elbows on his knees with a guarded expression.

"My wife will not be needing your assistance tonight." Ivar stated to the thrall who had followed you into the room. "You may leave us….and inform the guards we do not wish to be disturbed for any reason."

The thrall glanced over to you, since she was yours. The routine of helping you undress and prepare for bed, a regular occurrence most nights. At your murmured acceptance, she nodded her head and left, closing the door behind her.

"Is everything alright, Ivar? Have you heard something from your spies?" You quickly asked once the three of you were alone. Worry gnawed in your stomach. He had confessed to you late one night that there was a nearby earl he thought might try to attack and overtake Kattegat.

"Come here, my love." He held his leather-clad hand out for you to take, something you did without question. He guided you to stand between his open, brace-covered legs. With his other hand, he tapped his lips, a cheeky glint in his eyes. You giggled but obliged, pressing a sweet and tender kiss to his mouth in response to his wordless demand.

His hands on your hips, he looked up at you with devotion in those piercing blue eyes. A sight that made your heart melt every time without him even having to say a word.

"What is going on?"

"You know I love you, yes?" He softly questioned, still staring up at you like you were the moon and stars.

You cupped his cheek, his sideburns tickling your fingers. "Of course. And I love you."

"Mmmm…. the gods have given me wisdom as how to solve our problem."

"Our problem?" Your brows furrowed, confused by what he was talking about.

He pointedly looked at your belly then back up at you.

Then it hit you, and your heart broke a little at the heartache in his gaze. "Oh, Ivar, I told you…."

"It's been a year, y/n." He interrupted, the grief slipping into his voice, even as he struggled to hide it. "We've been trying for a year and there is nothing to show for it. I never thought I could pleasure a woman until you came along and I hoped…. I hoped I could give you a child. Our child. But it seems the gods still will not grant me that ability. I need an heir, and I want to see you grow round with a child. I want a family with you. Something I never dreamed of before."

Realization dawned on you as to why Hvitserk was in your bedroom. Eyes wide, you peeked over your shoulder at the other Ragnarsson, who was staring at the ground between his feet, then looked back at your husband.

"Ivar…."

"Hvitty has agreed. He will be my cock and plant a baby in you in my name."

This time you fully turned around to stare at the flaxen-haired brother. "Hvitserk, are you sure you want to do this?"

Gods, this sounded like something your husband would force his brother to do. Actually, you were beyond astounded that Ivar would even let another man touch you. Before your thoughts could follow that trail, Ivar's voice brought you back.

He chuckled darkly, an edge to his tone like he was confessing someone else's secret. "My brother can barely keep his eyes off you whenever you are around….and when I told him my idea, he agreed without hesitation."

You witnessed an adorable blush rise to Hvitserk's cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled under his breath. For a moment he looked like a young boy again, caught staring at his latest crush. It was so innocent and precious. Yet with the rumors you heard from some of the women of Kattegat, you knew he was far from innocent. There had been a handful of times you secretly noticed the Ragnarsson's heated gaze on you, but your mind played it off, thinking he must have truly been looking at someone else or he was just admiring your dress. Now your mind flipped through those memories with a different lens.

After giving your husband's hands a quick squeeze, you stepped out of his embrace. Heart hammering away in your chest, you watched the elder brother with a new understanding as you approached. This time you did not miss the way his eyes raked over your form or how he licked his lips almost in anticipation. The shiver that rolled down your spine startled you, but not unpleasantly so.

Almost in a mirror image, you stood between Hvitserk's legs, his hands automatically landing on your hips, just like how you stood with Ivar; but the way his hands felt unbound by leather and almost hesitant to touch you, was a reminder this was not your husband. After a moment, you cupped his face, his beautiful brown eyes meeting yours with such naked want in them, heat coursed through you.

"Are you sure, Hvitty?" You whispered.

"I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about laying with you." He confessed, a naughty smirk teasing his lips. His voice stayed low as you two traded secrets. "Are you alright with this…. arrangement? I know you love my brother, and I don't want to ruin that. Not for either one of you."

You continued to stroke his cheek as you pondered his question. There was no doubt that you loved Ivar with all your heart. He was the love of your life and you knew you were his. Hvitserk easily was the brother you always wished for. You enjoyed his flirtatious teasing, especially when it made the jealous side of your husband come out because the sex after that was always mind-blowing. The blond was someone you trusted wholeheartedly. Your life was perfect, you were happier than you ever thought you would be. But there was one thing you always imagined, one thing you silently yearned for. So it was with that in mind, your answer, your decision was an easy one to make.

"I want a baby."

His smirk grew, "I'll try my best to help with that."

You laughed. "Oh, so gracious of you."

He winked cheekily, taking one of your hands to kiss your palm slowly.

You shifted to meet your husband's cool gaze, with Hvitserk's hands gently kneading your hips. "Ivar, you are certain this is what you want? This won't cause jealousy between you and your brother?"

Ivar scoffed. "Why would it?"

"You threatened last month to gouge a trader's eyes out for staring at y/n too long." Hvitserk deadpanned. In the next second, he leaned over to lay a kiss on your hip meanwhile, his hand shifted to grab a handful of your ass cheek. You squeaked, surprised by the bold move in front of Ivar. As you tried to wriggle away, he only chuckled and pulled you to sit directly on his lap. It should not surprise you anymore how strong Hvitserk was, but somehow it always managed to catch you off guard. Though your mind certainly took notice of the bulge in his pants underneath you.

"He was talking only to her breasts. He is lucky I did not take at least one eye for his disrespect." Ivar leaned back in his seat. "You agree to this, my love?"

"I do." You answered.

"Excellent. Come here for a moment." He beckoned you to him once again.

Hvitserk released you, not before palming your ass as you stood up. You swatted at his hands, but the smile on your lips let him know you were not truly upset.

That smile only grew as you glided over to your husband. For all of his anger and wrath, none of it ever touched you. Instead he treated you delicately, reverently. As if you were a dream and with one wrong move, you would vanish. Or a goddess he vowed to continuously worship. You thrived under his tender touches, drawing you further and further into the ocean of his profound love.

He guided you to stand between his legs again and for a brief moment you felt like a ball the brothers were taking turns passing back and forth. You dashed the thought away before it made you giggle.

"I have one condition for our arrangement." Ivar said, intently watching your face. His finger traced the edges of your lips, as if to memorize them. "Only I own your mouth. I was your first kiss. So as I live and breathe, only I get the pleasure of your kisses. Hvitserk can kiss and touch you anywhere else but there. Agreed?"

You nodded mutely. The growing desire in his eyes caused your womb to clench and fire to begin warming your veins.

"Brother?"

"Agreed." Hvitserk said from his perch on the bed behind you, his voice sounding a bit gruffer than a minute ago.

Ivar turned those piercing, passionate eyes back to you. "My love…." He placed a kiss to the valley between your breasts, allowing his face to linger there a moment. You carded your fingers through his loosened hair, feeling his hands gently holding your hips. When he looked up, gone was the sweet, loving devotion in his eyes, replaced with something wicked. "Shall we teach Hvitty what you like first?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Take off your dress."

"I need help with the laces." You reminded him as he was the one to demand your thrall leave earlier.

"Ah, you are right. Go to Hvitserk, he will help."

Obediently, you walked the few steps back to the elder Ragnarsson wondering what game your husband was playing, but you could not deny the excitement thrumming in your veins. Without a word, you turned around to allow him access to the lacing on the back of your dress. You thought he would hesitate or his fingers would tremble knowing your husband was watching on. Instead they deftly plucked and tugged at the laces like he had done this many times. Once your back was exposed, his hand traced down your spine, causing you to shiver under the sensual touch.

Holding the front of the dress to your chest, you made your way back over to Ivar. Standing in front of him, his hands claimed your fingers from holding your dress to entwine with his own. Immediately, your dress slipped down your body to pool at your feet, leaving you completely bare before the two Ragnarssons.

Ivar's hands landed on your hips but instead of pulling you to straddle him, like you expected, he slowly spun you around and had you sit on his lap, facing his brother. What met your gaze was the wolfish look of Hvitserk, staring at you like you were something he wanted to devour. Ivar's hands slide up from your hips to cup your breasts as if offering them to his brother.

"Look at you, my goddess, my wife." Ivar whispered against your skin as he left hot, open-mouth kisses along the column of your throat. You could not help but whimper, your body so in tune with his. He barely had to touch you before your body begged for him to fill you. A dampness already coated your core. Without taking his eyes off of you, his hands fondling you in the way that made you breathless, he addressed his brother. "Is she not perfect, Hvitty? A goddess begging to be worshiped."

"Gods, yes. Perfect."

Normally you would be embarrassed by the praises. Now though, you felt like a lamb being toyed with by two wolves. Trapped by the lustful gaze of one and the feverish touches of the other.

Ivar's hands continued to fondle and pluck at your nipples, causing your head to fall back onto his shoulder. "That's right, you love these perfect breasts being played with, don't you?"

"Ivar…." His name was a needy whine coming off your tongue.

"Yes, my love. So sensitive. Just imagine it's Hvitty's mouth on them."

An unexpected, wanton moan escaped you at the thought. Your hips started rolling against your husband's lap, desperate for friction.

"Open your eyes." Ivar whispered into your ear. "Look at Hvitty."

You obeyed even though your body demanded to close your eyes and wallow in the pleasure Ivar could induce in you. As your gaze locked with the elder Ragnarsson, you felt one of Ivar's hands skim down your stomach to part your legs, exposing your core.

Instinctively, you started to close your legs only for Ivar to tsk and bite the junction of your neck and shoulder. "Don't be shy. Let him see that sweet pussy."

Your legs fell back open, allowing his hand free reign to touch you where you most needed it. Your body automatically arched into his hand, silently begging for more. Sweat already began to dampen you as the heat burned hotter under your skin.

"I swear Valhalla is between her legs, brother."

Hvitserk spoke up, his voice coming out rough and husky. "Touch her, Ivar."

"You hear that, y/n?" Your husband teased, licking a stripe up the column of your throat. "Should I touch you?"

"Please." You begged, too far along to care how needy you sounded.

He chuckled darkly, his hand dipped to your core, cupping and teasing you. You tensed as his skilled fingers played with your folds and clit but never entering you. He could tease you for hours, leave you on the brink as you begged for relief. It was a favorite game of his. You started to grind against him, your blood boiling with desire and the need for relief.

Somehow, he always knew when you were close, as if it was a sixth sense.

"She is close, Hvitty. Her pussy is weeping to be filled." He squeezed your breast, causing you to loudly moan.

"Do you want my fingers or my cock, my queen?"

"I want you, beloved." You answered in a breathy sigh.

His teasing ceased, almost making you whine. Gently, he cupped your chin, turning your head to gaze lovingly into your eyes. It always seemed to astound him that you desired him, not just physically but as a person, as a friend, as a lover and a soul mate. He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, pouring in all of his devotion in a way you understood since words always failed him.

Slowly you rose to your feet but instead of walking away, you turned to face him. This was a dance the two of you had done before. Knowing what he wanted, you straddled his lap without fear of the wide chair breaking under your combined weight. This was not the first time you had made love on this particular chair by the fire.

Still gazing at you in awe and adoration, Ivar cupped your breasts. His thumbs teased your nipples. A low moan fell from your lips as your head tipped back. His mouth then descended on your chest, first leaving small kisses before taking one of your peaked nipples into his mouth.

"Ivar…." You groaned. "Yes, yes."

In an action well practiced, you were already reaching between your bodies to fumble with the laces of his pants. Without hesitation, you sank down onto him, being filled in the best way possible. Your lips sought out his, drawing pleasure from his mouth just as much as his cock. Your tongues swirled as your hips rolled. It was delirium. This pleasure he could bring out of you. It was all-consuming. No matter how much he teased, he was always gentle and reverent when it came to worshipping you. A slow, sweet burn that sunk into every fiber of your body, called forth your very soul to dance with his, just as much as your bodies writhed together.

You unlocked your mouth, throwing your head back with a loud moan as your pace increased, riding his cock, seeking your peak. His growls and words of praise only spurred you on.

Finally it came, crashing over you, eliciting a cry of Ivar's name loud enough the guards outside the door probably heard. Three more quick thrusts and you could feel Ivar spill his empty seed inside you. His head dropped onto your chest, both of you panting and sweaty.

"You're mine." He murmured against your skin as if reminding himself or branding the words into your naked skin. "You're my goddess, my queen, mine."

"Always." You whispered back.

After both of you came down from your erotic high, Ivar leaned up, pressing a toe-curling kiss to your already swollen lips.

"She's ready for you, brother." He loudly announced.

It was then you remembered Hvitserk in the room. So caught up in making love with your husband, you had momentarily forgotten what was to happen. You stared down at your husband, silently asking him if he was sure.

Ivar rolled his eyes but caressed your cheek with his calloused fingers. "It's alright. Besides, if you don't go take care of him, he'll probably blow his load in his pants soon."

You smiled, kissing him once more before carefully rising off his lap. As you turned to look at the flaxen-haired warrior, never before had you felt the seductress until now. With your husband's seed spilling down your thigh, you slowly walked the few paces to stand in front Hvitserk. With each step closer, his ravenous gaze devoured your nakedness; a predatory look that made your thighs clench and put a quiver in your belly.

"How do you want me?" You softly asked, standing before him.

He swallowed thickly, fists clenching and releasing before he cleared his throat and answered hoarsely. "Lie down on your back."

Embracing the inner seductress in you, you crawled across your bed, giving your husband and his brother a spectacular view of your ass. Nerves aflutter, you laid down on your large marital bed. Yet you could feel the longing ache between your legs growing the more you thought about what was to come.

Soon, Hvitserk hovered above you, completely naked. Although you loved your husband and his body, the sight of Hvitserk in all his glory made your mouth water and core clench in anticipation.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He confessed, barely above a whisper. "Gods…." His mouth landed on your neck, lavishing his affections using both teeth and tongue. Sweeping downward, his ministrations continued, drawing soft cries from you as he equally used his mouth and hands to caress all the curves of your body. Each touch, each caress, each bite and lick, all felt like he was trying to get himself drunk on the feel of your soft skin, your scent and the sounds of pleasure coming from you.

It did not take long for you to begin writhing underneath him, clawing at his back, utterly at his mercy. This desire he invoked in you was molten and drugging. Your eyelids fluttered closed as you fought to remember to breathe.

Pulling back slightly, he lined himself up. Then instead of gradually easing into you, he slammed into you until he was fully sheathed in your womanhood. A cry left your mouth at the same time as he groaned. You expected pain but instead your body readily welcomed the intrusion, hot and wet, waiting for him.

He pressed his forehead to yours, remaining frozen, giving you both time to adjust. "Gods…. this is Valhalla." He whispered with a touch of awe in his voice.

You rolled your hips; your body begging for more, for release, for him to bring you to new heights. "Hvitty…."

"Say my name." He grunted, a slow thrust accompanying it.

"Hvitserk."

"Again." This thrust was a little faster and harder.

"Hvitserk."

"Say it."

His name rolled off your tongue in a gasp as he slammed into you, stars appearing in your vision. "Hvitserk."

As a key unlocking, your fervid gasp seemed to unleash him. In the next moment, he began thrusting with abandon, almost animalistic in his pleasurable fury. He grabbed your hips, lifting them off the bed to begin pounding into you like a man possessed.

Never before had Ivar done anything like this and to your surprise…. you liked it. A lot.

Your hands clawed at the bed, desperate for something to hold onto. Cries of pleasure flowed freely from you. An inferno lived inside of you, threatening to burn you with ecstasy. Sluggishly you opened your eyes to be met with the sight of Hvitserk cradled between your thighs, sweat glistening on his flushed skin as he rocked into you, sending jolts of electricity each time. Those brown eyes stared down at you like he wanted to own your body and soul.

With a silent scream, your peak overwhelmed you. Your eyes slammed shut as your back arched, delicious waves of pleasure making your mind cease to function.

Hvitserk followed quickly, a growl splitting the air between you as his thrusts stuttered to an end and his seed filled your womb. He all but collapsed on top of you after, both for you sweaty and sated.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked, his voice raspy and content. His head laid on your chest, his body seeming to be the only thing to keep you from floating away on waves of bliss.

"No." You mumbled languishly, too pleasure-drunk to say more.

He tipped his head to look at you, a lazy smirk on his face. "I really want to kiss you."

"You know the one rule." You reminded him, brushing a hand over his frazzled braids.

He hummed, then with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he leaned forward and licked your lips. At first you just stared as he grinned at you, but giggles soon fell from your mouth.

"Hvitserk! What did I say?" Ivar demanded, walking over to sit on the opposite side of the bed.

Hvitserk rolled his head to look at his brother, but kept it on your naked chest. "I didn't kiss her. You never said anything about not licking her lips."

Ivar rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, as he unstrapped his braces and flopped onto the bed. His hand reached out for you, possessively tugging you out from underneath his brother and into his side. Not that you minded. You immediately curled against him, your eyelids straining to stay open.

"I'm alright." You answered the question you could see lingering in his eyes. "Just sleepy now."

He smiled fondly down at you, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead. Sleep called to you as you lay in your husband's arms. So wonderfully relaxed, your muscles were loose and your womanhood ached in the best way from the lasting effects of your pleasure.

The sound of movement made you tip your head to the side, only to see Hvitserk getting off the bed and reaching for his clothes.

"Where are you going?" You asked, your voice lethargic as if already infused by sleep.

Those brown eyes jumped from you to your husband and back. "I figured Ivar would want me to leave now so you two can go to sleep."

"Stay, Hvitty. The hour is late." Ivar replied, running a hand up and down your bare back. "Besides I plan on this arrangement until y/n is with child. You can stay with us."

With a tilt of his head, the brothers regarded each other for a long moment before Hvitserk chuckled, tossing his tunic back to the ground and crawling into bed in just his pants.

"Thank the gods. This bed is ridiculously comfortable."

You smiled, rolling over so your back was pressed to Ivar's chest, snuggling closer to him. His arm settled around your waist comfortably as he placed a kiss on the back of your neck. Snaking a hand over the covers, you reach over and entwine the elder brother's fingers with yours. Hvitserk startled initially but quickly brought your hand to his lips, a brief kiss on your knuckles, then laid it back on the bed, keeping your fingers entangled.

Sleep found you within minutes, tucked between the two Ragnarssons, one being your husband and the other who would give you a child.

Your last thought was wondering if Fate would allow this arrangement to work….and maybe continue.

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