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sundrop-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Meddle About

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

‘Cause it's not just a figure of speech - you got me down on my knees.

It's gettin' harder to b r e a t h e .

Summary:

You hate it when Morgan teases Reid. So when Morgan says that you are Reid's 'Mommy' - you verbally fire back without even thinking about it.

Reid vastly overthinks it.

So much so that he ends up calling you Mommy by mistake. And you definitely don't hate the sound of that word coming off his lips.

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season One.

Word Count: 6,300

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general smut fic - porn with some plot; dom/sub dynamics (but this isn't a pre-discussed dom/sub relationship, the characters just fall into these roles naturally), Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; the main theme is Mommy kink - Spencer discovers that he has a Mommy kink after a joke that Morgan makes, referring to the reader character as Spencer's Mommy; Spencer calls the reader 'Mommy' and the reader also refers to herself with that title; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and breasts); it could be interpreted that the reader has larger breasts/is plus sized (but I think anyone of any size could enjoy this fic); the reader is part of the BAU; this is meant to take place during season one (baby Spence my beloved) but there are no other major canon events mentioned and the case being discussed is one that I have made up; some very background typical elements of Criminal Minds - murder, killing, systemic vicimization of women/violence from men towards women (passing mention of bodies being consumed by wild animals); the reader and Spencer fuck while on a case (but they aren't endangering anyone's lives from lack of their attention, so it's fine); mentions of potential injuries from a car accident (theoretical - doesn't actually happen during the fic); very slight threads of Morgan x Reader (mentions of Morgan being attracted to the reader - it could be one-sided); very passing mention of Reid having breeding kink (doesn't take place during the fic, just one of his thoughts); for the actual smut section: this could be interpreted as virgin!Spencer but that's not explicitly stated here (at most, this is just inexperienced!Spencer) (the reader is definitely way more sexually experienced than him); praise kink (we all known Spencer is so eager to be praised); mentions of breastfeeding - Morgan makes a joke about the reader breastfeeding Reid, which later turns into faux breastfeeding kink (the reader doesn't actually lactate, but she lets Spencer suck on her tits and calls it breastfeeding); the reader calls Spencer: 'baby', 'good boy',; descriptions of subspace - but it's not specifically called 'subspace' in the text; thigh humping - Spencer humps the reader's thigh; cumming in pants (Spencer); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Spencer receiving); handjob - the reader jacks Spencer off while he is sensitive after his first orgasm; using lube as cum; dumbification kink - the reader calls Spencer 'dumb baby' and generally enjoys seeing his intellect drop the more turned on he becomes (Spencer also likes being called this); technically the reader doesn't get to cum, but she gets turned on from treating Spencer like the good boy that he is (and this is more about him). I think that's everything.

A/N: This was directly inspired by the scene from Reid's birthday party, where Morgan says 'Mommy to the rescue!' (talking about JJ) and then Spencer says '...Mommy?' and it seems like he is discovering his Mommy kink in real time. Especially because he is then trapped between Elle and JJ and he makes direct eye contact with their boobs, and he just has such a look of scared kink realization in his eyes. I considered copying that moment exactly and just replacing JJ with the reader character, but this seemed like more fun lmao. I had so much fun writing this and I think this is one of my best fics in a while. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

...

Generally, you hated being stuck with grunt work.

You knew that it was all part of the job - an important part of it. Paperwork, side interviews, background checks. Sifting through someone’s apartment looking for aspects of what kind of person they were based on their everyday life.

But you thrived more on being right in the middle of things. You preferred interacting with suspects, chasing people down, harsh confrontation.

Gideon said that you were overly controlling, impatient, brutally honest - that you had an ‘abrasive personality’ that put most men off. But that was why he often brought you into interrogations with male suspects. Many of the people you caught - men with superiority complexes who targeted the weak to make themselves feel powerful - they hated that you weren’t intimidated by them. That aspect of abrasion between you and the suspects often brought out a lot of information - things they spewed out trying to intimidate you.

But you weren’t needed on that front today.

No - instead, you were doing grunt work. The kind of work that made you impatient and generally aggravated.

The only upside was that you got to do it with Spencer.

He was one of the only men that voluntarily worked so closely with you so often, because he wasn’t intimidated by you. He took orders from you very well and naturally fell under your authority, bringing a natural chemistry to your partnership when you worked with him. Plus - his seemingly endless stream of ‘fun facts’ was like listening to the radio, which did help to soothe your boredom during these kinds of mindless tasks.

You were on a case in Texas. Five women raped and tortured before having their bodies hung from a tree and consumed by cotoyes that the UnSub knew lived in the area. Since police had closed in on him, he had gone on the run. He had killed three more women since fleeing, while leaving no clues as to what his ultimate endgame would be or where he would be going next.

Hotch sent you and Reid to find that out while the rest of the team worked victimology and profiled the scenes of the most recent murders, following the trail he was leaving.

After spending hours sifting through the suspect’s house, looking for any small clue about where he might be going - you came up empty. When you touched base with Hotch, he told you that you and Reid would be going to visit the suspect’s ex-wife - who lived four hours away. You needed to interview her to see if she could give you any further insight to the man, and perhaps - beat him to the house if she was the ultimate target.

(A lot of the victims looked like her, and it couldn’t really be a coincidence.)

You knew that lives were at risk, and it was juvenile of you, but all you heard was: long, boring drive. Boring day. You hoped that Reid would be good company through it.

Now, you were waiting outside of the police station in the bureau-issued SUV, waiting for Morgan to come and give you the file with the ex-wife’s address and contact information.

“Did you know that over forty-six percent of Texans own a gun? Texas is second only to Montana in registered gun ownership, where over sixty-six percent of citizens proudly tote their right to bear arms.” Reid told you, continuing to look over the case files that were sitting in his lap.

When you looked over toward him to reply to this odd factoid, your mind got caught up on something else.

“Reid, come on, take your feet off the dashboard!” You told him, reaching over to gently smack his knee, trying to encourage his legs down from the awkward position.

It bothered you for several reasons - the idea that he would leave shoe prints on the dashboard, which was minor and cosmetic, but still annoying. And the fact that if the car did happen to get hit head-on, the air-bag would explode out and push his knees into his chest, causing his shattered leg bones to pierce his organs and possibly kill him. (At the very least, he would never walk again.)

Speaking of which:

“And put your seatbelt on!” You barked, now noticing that he wasn’t wearing it past all of the files he had piled into his lap. “You of all people should know how many deaths are caused by not wearing a seatbelt.”

Spencer opened his mouth to spout out this exact statistic, but before he could get the words out, another voice entered the conversation.

“Aw, Reid, listen to your Mommy.”

You were almost startled by Morgan’s voice coming from the open driver’s side window so suddenly. His appearance there as if out of nowhere was so jarring that you couldn’t get caught up on the way he had called you Reid’s Mommy. Your head whipped toward Morgan so quickly that you didn’t notice the flash across Spencer’s features - worry, dawning. You didn’t take note of the way he rushed to comply with putting on his seatbelt. As if he was rushing to please you, even unconsciously.

“I bet if you’re a good boy, she might even breastfeed you when you get there.”

Morgan then pursed his lips and made loudly suckling noises, clearly imitating breastfeeding in what he thought was a comedic way.

Again - glaring at the muscled man through the open window, you didn’t see Spencer’s reaction. You didn’t see the way his large, glassy eyes flickered to your breasts (only emphasized by your own seatbelt crossed over the center of your chest) before he forced himself to focus on the files in front of him so that he wouldn’t feel so caught.

“Shut up.” You told Morgan, your voice so commanding and firm that his simple order was enough to get him to stop his antics.

“And give me the address already.” You held out your hand expectantly, and Morgan handed you the file, which you placed onto the center console.

Then, you turned back to him for one last point, determined to have the final word in the conversation.

“Besides, we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts, anyway. Just because you stare while wearing sunglasses, doesn’t mean I don’t notice. My eyes are up here, pal.” You told him sharply.

He let out a scoff at this, and rolled his eyes behind his dark frames - but he made no clever comeback.

You had successfully bested him. And with that knowledge, you rolled up the window and left him standing dumbly in the parking lot as you sped off.

…

You pulled over later to put the address into the GPS system, and you let out a long-winded groan when you found that it was more than four hours away. Four hours and twenty five minutes.

So you pulled over again to get gas and stocked up on snacks, and you were surprised that Reid wasn’t giving you some lesson about the colloquial use of ‘soda’ and ‘pop’ (thinking that you hadn’t listened the other ten times when he had gone on the same rambling point about linguistics and how language evolves).

He was being far too quiet for your liking.

But he was keeping his eyes glued to the files, and you guessed that he was churning over something in that big brain of his, like he usually was.

You were entirely surprised when the next time he spoke - it wasn’t about the case at all.

“How - how do you know that Morgan likes your breasts?” He asked, his voice low and mousy, looking straight ahead as he fidgeted with his hands in his lap.

“What?” You gaped, the word flying out of your mouth as your brain was utterly slow to process what he had just said.

Hearing Spencer use the word ‘breasts’ was jarring, but somehow utterly adorable. You found it stirring a slight heat within you. Especially because he was still so shy. The whole thing made you want to pin him down and force the shyness out of him.

Spencer felt the need to further explain himself.

“When - when you were talking to him, you said: ‘we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts.’” He said, repeating back what you had said, word for word, using that perfect memory of his.

You wondered if that’s what he had been doing, sitting there in his seat so silently for the past hour of the car ride - going over the conversation again and again in his head, trying to make sense of it. And because he couldn’t make any sense of it by himself, now he was consulting you.

Again, you found it so utterly adorable.

“Morgan didn’t deny it. So - was it a hypothesis based on something, or did you just call him out hoping that you weren’t wrong?” Reid continued, sparing only a singular glance in your direction, a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye with your gaze still mostly focused ahead on the road.

You found it intensely cute that he was using the word ‘hypothesis’ in this situation. You wondered if he ever turned it off - the textbook big words and the intellect that he always carried himself with. You wondered if you could make him turn it off. You wondered if there was any situation where Spencer Reid could be as stupid as any other man - chasing a bone, desperate to get his nut off.

For the first time ever - you imagined Spencer Reid underneath you, blabbering nonsense, begging for release with your hand around his cock as you pumped him, red and aching, so slick in your palm. Desperate, empty-headed, beautifully stupid.

(See, this was what happened when you were forced to do grunt work. You got bored. And when you got bored - you had to entertain yourself somehow.)

“It was a pretty well-informed hypothesis.” You replied. Now that Spencer had brought the topic up, you certainly weren’t going to shy away from the discussion. “Morgan often brings up my sex life, and wants to engage in detailed discussions about my sexual encounters with me. So I assume that he spends a fair amount of time thinking about me in a sexual way.”

Reid let out a choked-off noise at this.

You continued.

“Plus, he’s always staring down my top. He’s not exactly subtle.”

“You - you actually notice that kind of thing?” He chirped, his voice becoming a few octaves higher as worry flooded him.

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin.

Of course, you had noticed the times that Spencer stared at your breasts as well. He was even less subtle about it than Morgan was. You didn’t mind it when he did it, because you knew that Spencer wasn’t exactly casanova. He didn’t have a different girl every other week like Morgan did, so taking a glance down your shirt when he passed you a morning coffee was probably about as much action as he got.

Secretly, letting him get away with it was your gift to him.

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” You told him, the pet name slipping out mindlessly as you reached over and gently patted his knee as a form of reassurance.

This movement unintentionally drew his eyes toward your chest, especially in his desperation to look anywhere but your face, not wanting to make eye contact with you. But he found his eyes glued to the swell of your breasts once again - hating how perfect they looked, even through the simple cotton shirt and plain bra that you wore.

“Sorry, Mommy.” The word slipped out before he could even consciously process it. “Sorry!”

Spencer raised a hand to smack his own face at lightning speed, and slumped down into his seat in embarrassment.

You bit your lip to suppress a grin. It stirred a filthy heat in your belly. But you knew that Spencer likely needed a while to sit with this and wouldn’t want to talk about it - not yet. So you reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the space so that the silence wasn’t so awkward and gutting.

…

Spencer didn’t talk for the entirety of the rest of the car ride, which didn’t surprise you.

When you finally arrived at the ex-wife’s house, his hands were shaking with nerves as he tried to unlatch his seatbelt. You probably should have just left him alone to struggle, but an evil spark, likely fueled by the boredom of the day, flared up inside of you. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over the console, very purposefully showing off your breasts as you gently pushed his hands away and undid the belt for him.

“Here, let Mommy get that for you.” You said, distinct teasing on your breath as you mumbled the words into his ear.

Spencer huffed out a deep sigh and collapsed back into his seat, and pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. But he didn’t say anything more as you gathered the files in preparation for the interview.

He only spoke when you moved to get out of the car.

“Look, I-” He began a half assed explanation, and you easily cut him off.

“You let Morgan get in your head too much.” You told him with a chuckle, opening your door and getting out.

But as he forced himself to follow you with numb limbs - he knew that this definitely wasn’t all Morgan’s fault.

…

The ex-wife didn’t know much.

She described the marriage as hell - the suspect exhibited all the typical behaviors as a husband that they would have expected. He hated women, and he wanted full control over his wife at the time, which eventually led down the path of divorce. They had to sell the house they had bought together, but neither of them had moved out of Texas since. But he hadn’t contacted her in years.

She had two young kids from a new relationship, and when the woman stepped out to take a call, you picked one of them up to soothe his cries, hushing him gently while you rubbed his back.

Because of this, Spencer found himself even more dizzy and confused.

He knew that it was Frueadian - some deep, misguided part of his psychology - something broken and missing inside of him because of his own fractured childhood.

But seeing you being so sweet with a kid, especially after the day he’d had - he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be your baby, or if he wanted to shoot his cum so deep inside you that it would ensure he could give you one.

(Ultimately, he knew that it was likely both - and that didn’t answer any questions for him. It just gave him far more questions.)

…

Even though the ex-wife couldn’t give you guys much more than you already knew, Hotch wanted you and Spencer to stay close by in case the suspect decided to make his ex-wife the end game. The two of you would be able to make it to her first if she called for help.

So you and Spencer had dinner at a random local barbeque place off the highway and Spencer still didn’t talk much through it, other than posing some theories about the case. Even though he was a bit more talkative, he still refused to look at you - he stared down at his plate the whole time. Though whenever he did look up, you noticed that his eyes lingered on your chest - and he still wouldn’t look you in the eye.

By the time the bill came around and the two of you were ready to leave, you knew exactly what you had to do.

…

Spencer waited by the car with his bag while you checked in and got a motel room (needing to stay in town, you got a room for the night). When you came back, you handed him the room key and then moved to get your bag out of the car.

“Do… you already have yours?” He asked quietly.

“Hmm?” You hummed in reply, slinging the strap of your go-bag over your shoulder before you closed the back door and used the remote to lock up the car.

“Your room key?”

You suppressed another grin.

“I only got one room.” You told him. “You don’t mind sharing with me, right?”

You gave him a purposeful look - looked at him through your lashes, bit your lip slightly, and subtly squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, emphasizing them. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but hopefully it seemed subtle.

“I - uh - no.” Spencer stuttered. “It’s fine. We can share.” He gave a grin, not wanting to appear upset, even though his entire body was racked with nerves.

Spencer followed you to the room and he fumbled with the key with shaking hands for a moment before he sighed and then handed it to you.

His insides quaked when he saw that there was only one bed.

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about it. The two of you had slept in the same room before, but you had never shared a bed before. Sure, you had slept near each other before. He had accidentally fallen asleep on your shoulder on the plane or vice versa. But you had never crawled into bed together with the intention of sleeping together.

And yes, just the entendre behind it made Reid’s head spin.

He had a heavy knot in his gut, and hatefully - a distinct stirring in his crotch. He could only imagine how embarrassing it would be for you to wake up and see him compromised in some way. Or god forbid, if you caught him moaning in his sleep because of unconscious dreams that he couldn’t stop - for you to think that he was some kind of dirty sex pervert because of it.

He felt an overwhelming need to clear the air overtake him. He had no clue how to broach the subject, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to spend the night like this. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with this anxiety hanging over his head.

He studied you carefully as you sat down on the edge of the bed, ditching your bag off to the side and heaving out a tired sigh as you began taking off your shoes.

Spencer put down his own bag and then stood there, fidgeting nervously as he searched for words.

“I - uh - I am sorry about earlier.” He mumbled out the beginnings of an apology. “What Morgan said was stupid, and I-”

“I don’t think it was stupid.”

You let out a chuckle, and reached up the back of your shirt. Spencer found himself frozen, his eyes tracing your every moment as you unhooked your bra underneath your shirt and then moved to maneuver the straps out from your short sleeves while you kept talking.

“I think he had a point.” You added on. “Good boys should get a reward. And I think you were fairly good today. You didn’t eat all your veggies at dinner, but you kept your feet off the dashboard and you were quiet during the car ride. You definitely get points for being patient during such a long trip, baby.”

Your voice smoothed into a soothing tone, that word - baby - melting like butter over your tongue in a way that made Spencer’s knees wobble. He hadn’t known it until right now, but you calling him a ‘good boy’ and listing off such mundane things he had done that made him worthy of a reward fired off sparks inside of his brain.

A breath choked off inside of his throat as you stood up off the bed and peeled your bra completely out from under your shirt. Somehow it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen, revealing the hard peaks of your nipples and the beautiful natural teardrop shape of your breasts to him through the cotton fabric.

Spencer wanted to speak, but his tongue felt so heavy and dry inside of his mouth. He knew that he was staring at your chest so blatantly now, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away. He couldn’t even feel ashamed anymore.

That dull tingle in his crotch had turned into a full on stinging interest, and he unconsciously pulled at the fabric of his pants, trying to loosen some of the tension that was growing, not even considering how it might look to you - him dumbly reaching for his crotch to make it look looser when his hardening bulge was becoming more obvious by the second.

It was one of the most ‘caveman’ things he had ever done in front of you - standing there with his mouth hanging slightly agape, pulling at his crotch without caring how it looked. You definitely wanted more, wanted to see how dumb he could get. How far you could make him devolve.

“So what do you say, baby boy?” You hummed, stepping close into his personal space now, causing him to get a whiff of your perfume - something that was only a dull trace after such a long day, but still smelled so good. “Do you want Mommy to breastfeed you? Do you wanna suck on my tits as your reward?”

You gently ran a thumb across his cheek, and paired with the words, Spencer’s brain short-circuited.

He knew realistically that you weren’t actually offering to breastfeed him. There was no evidence in your life to say that your body could actually support the production of milk currently - but you were offering to let him play pretend. To suck on your tits with a very sexual air, to call you Mommy without the teasing humiliation behind it that Morgan had hinted at (or maybe Spencer liked that humiliation, he wasn’t even sure). (He hadn’t even known before this morning that he liked the idea of calling you Mommy, but here he was).

All he could conjure in response was the dumbest, non-human sound.

“Nngh.”

It was a grunt from the back of his throat - too much blood swelling to his cock all at once and too much direct attention from you making him dizzy.

You giggled quietly.

“Come on, baby. Just say the word. And Mommy will give you everything you need.”

Spencer inhaled sharply. At this point, he was desperate to get some oxygen to his brain.

His mind was racing, chanting out:

‘Yes! God, yes! I want it so badly, Mommy! I want anything you’ll give me. I need you. I need you so badly.’

But all his lips could form in the wake of such dizzying lust was:

“Please.”

“Good boy.” You sighed.

You used a hand on his chin to tilt his face up to meet yours, and you consumed him in a kiss - he was hungry and eager to meet your touch, moaning loudly into your mouth, his hands racing to touch you now, rushing up to grip on your hips in the most utterly needy way. He balled the fabric of your shirt in his fists, like he couldn’t get enough of you - like he was afraid you would dissolve away if he let go of you for even a second.

It was cute, to say the least.

You only let the kiss last for a moment, though. You pulled away to a disappointed whine from Spencer, which you quietly hushed.

“Hey, it’s okay baby.” You soothed him. “Come here. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.”

You lead him toward the bed, getting rid of his tie in the process, and Spencer stepped out of his shoes along the way. You slid onto the bed and laid up on the pillows on your back, Spencer clumsily following you, crawling on all fours. The two of you had barely started, but he was full-on panting now, racing to catch his breath while his blood hammered through his veins.

He watched on with eager curiosity while you got comfortable, fluffing the pillow under your head before you then reached down and pulled up your shirt. You pulled the fabric to sit up under your chin, finally revealing your gorgeous breasts to him.

If he was lost for words before, then he had receded back to a total neanderthal now.

His mouth fell open and his salivary glands started working overtime as his eyes raked hungrily over your chest - enjoying the pure beauty of the fatty mounds, striped with zig-zagging stretch marks and completed by your hard peaked nipples.

“Here, come on, baby.”

You had to remind Spencer what the goal was, guiding him into place with a hand on the back of his head. You helped ease his body to lay on top of yours as he relaxed into you - and his mouth finally found its rightful place on your breast. He became greedy, suctioning hard on your nipple as though he might actually get something out of it.

Truthfully, he did get something out of this.

It definitely wasn’t any form of nutrition, but it was something that drove him lustfully insane and made his head fuzzy and warm in the best way. This was the only time in his entire life that he didn’t have ten thousand thoughts running through his mind like the news blasting on television in the background. This was the only time since his first conscious memory that he had actually known his mind to be quiet.

He felt intensely thankful for it. Intensely thankful toward you for giving him this feeling.

In that moment, without all the noise, all he knew was the comforting feeling of your fat tit under his mouth, the heat of your body under his own as you cradled him. The soothing firmness of your hands through his hair and down his back - and the distant, sweet purring of your voice in his ears.

“Good boy.” You hummed, loving the feeling of him moaning around your nipple - so constant and so greedy now that you were sure he didn’t even know that he was doing it. “Such a good boy for me. Such a good boy for Mommy.”

Your cunt was humming between your thighs, aching so hard at seeing Spencer like this. The usually composed, intelligent, practically robotic Doctor Reid reduced down to a blubbering, moaning, needy mess just because he wanted to suck on your tits.

Just because you had called yourself Mommy a few times in his presence.

It was so utterly beautiful, and you wanted more.

(You didn’t think that you could ever let him go after this. You probably wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of another woman touching him after this. But you would have to think on that more later.)

You noticed Spencer canting his hips, unconsciously seeking friction against his hard cock while he continued to suck on your breast. With his eyes closed blissfully, drool gathering around his lips where they met your skin in the most utterly adorable way. You couldn’t help yourself - you scooted your knee between his thighs. You then used a hand to help his hips into place, adjusting him so that he was getting good friction against your denim-clad thigh.

“There you go. There you go, sweet boy.” You hummed, feeling another jolt through your body when he let out a sharper moan against your tit, and began humping your leg in earnest.

You were quick to encourage him, putting both hands on his hips and helping him along while he greedily hung onto you. He had on your hip, the other hand slipping up to cup fingers around the bottom of your breast, making sure you didn’t escape him while he moved his body against you so frantically.

“That’s just what you needed, isn’t it, baby?” You moaned out, your voice wavering slightly as the pleasure of it all thrummed through you. “Just a dumb little baby who needed Mommy’s tit.”

The term ‘dumb little baby’ came flying out of your mouth before you could stop it. Though you knew exactly why it happened. Seeing such a brilliant genius reduced down to this truly did something to your ego. And apparently hearing those words from you did something to him, too.

He whined sharply against your skin and his hips stuttered abruptly. You knew it wouldn’t be long before he came in his pants, his cock throbbing against the friction of your thigh. And this thought alone caused your mouth to run off without restraint.

“Such a needy little thing.” You sighed. “You love being Mommy’s dumb baby, don’t you? Not a single fucking thought between your ears, just sucking on Mommy’s tit without a care in the world.”

Spencer moaned and it sent another jolt through your body - another harsh pang through your cunt. You loved how much he needed you. You loved how much he was clearly eating this up.

You didn’t even care if you got to cum tonight; you just wanted to exhaust him for all he was worth. Because he was so fucking pretty like this.

“You gonna cum for me, baby boy? You gonna cum for Mommy? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

These words were what ultimately sent him over the edge. Well that along with your strong hands on his hips, encouraging him along while he was mindless and busy mouthing on your breast.

His jaw dropped open, finally loosening that desperate suction on your now slightly sore nipple as he began to pant frantically over your now spit-soaked skin. He moaned hotly while he humped you in an entirely adorable, almost distraught manner - absolutely desperate to have the most friction on his cock while his orgasm overtook him.

You could feel his needy cock throbbing against you, trapped inside of his pants, shooting off hot ropes of cum that quickly soaked into his underwear and even then, seeped into the fabric of his slacks. You grinned and bit your lip as you felt that wetness even beginning to soak into your jeans, knowing he must have set off quite a big load.

Spencer soon collapsed on top of you, gulping in air as he tried to catch his breath.

Any normal person would have taken pity on him (seeing as he was clearly nervous and inexperienced) and wound things down to end the night here. Anyone else would have likely let him rest.

But again, you felt devilish temptation overtake you. (It was a feeling that seemed to be much more ripe around Spencer Reid.)

You just felt thankful that your temptation and inclination toward chaos came in the form of lust, rather than something more violent, like the people you studied every single day. Everyone around you should be thankful for that.

You used your leverage (and the fact that you weren’t nearly as exhausted from the experience) to flip him over onto his back. He let out a surprised sound as his back made contact with the mattress - blinking up at you with shocked, glassy eyes as you moved down his body slightly.

“Wha-?” He mumbled out the question, only getting out part of the word before you reached for the zipper on the front of his now wet pants.

“Hey, shh, baby. I just wanna see you.” You told him quietly, causing him to stare down the length of his own body at your hands as you worked.

You got the button and zipper undone quickly and you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ as you peeled back the wet fabric of his grey slacks to reveal the sight of his simplistic (very Reid) white cotton underwear slightly transparent and stuck tight to his cock, coated in wet, sticky cum.

“So pretty baby.”

He only whined in response.

You couldn’t help yourself - you reached up and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, feeling more lust pricking through you as he was truly revealed to your eyes. He was perfect. Glossy and wet with his own release, his cock pinky red from the exertion and friction, still half hard. You pulled the clothes down over his hips and he lifted his body to help you, clearly glad to be rid of the mess, and the second you untangled the fabric from his ankles and ditched everything aside, you were back on him.

You skimmed the tips of your fingers oh-so-lightly up his shaft where it was sprawled across his pelvis, and his hips jolted. He let out a bitter gasp - as though cold water had been splashed across him.

“You said-” He choked on the words as you ran your thumb right underneath the crown, gently pressing into the head, causing him to choke on a moan while his knees quaked.

You sat on his knees to keep him still and his head became so fuzzy once again.

‘You said that you only wanted to look.’

The sentence died off in his lungs somewhere, and truthfully - he didn’t want to protest. He didn’t want you to stop.

“Sens-sensitive.” He whined. “Too much.”

“But you’re so pretty, baby.” You replied, your voice turning smooth and warm like butter again, melting over his whole body, causing all of his muscles to go soft and pliant for you. “Your cock is so pretty. I need to touch you.”

He let out another strangled noise when you cupped your hand and took him fully in your grip this time, giving one good tug across his cock from root to tip. When you did this again, faster this time, his lungs seized inside his chest - trying to take in oxygen so quickly, as though he were drowning on dry land.

“You gonna be good for me, baby?”

“Yes.” He gargled back in response. “Yes, Mommy.”

He was already so wet from cumming in his pants, and he let out a pathetic dribble of precum as you continued to move your hand - so it was an easy, slick slide. One that sent harsh shockwaves through him from overstimulation. Against his own will, he soon ballooned back to full hardness - becoming painfully swollen in your hand while you sped up your touch and closed your fist tighter around him. It caused the most wonderful hurt between his legs, and made a downright filthy wet sound as you pumped your grip faster along his needy cock.

Spencer heard wailing and felt the soreness against his throat before he realized that he was the one making those desperate sounds. He distantly wondered what it might sound like to someone else, if the rooms on either side were occupied, if the motel would receive a noise complaint about some frail woman getting fucked to death by her husband next door - because that’s what he sounded like in his own ears.

But any of those half-thoughts were chased out of his brain the second you flicked your thumb up over the head of his cock and your dirty mouth filled his ears once again.

“Gonna milk this pretty cock, baby.” You told him, your voice firm. “You gonna show Mommy how much you can cum for me? Gonna show me what a good boy you are?”

Spencer let out another pathetic sound, his body singing with pleasure at his pure need to prove to you that - yes, he was a good boy.

He felt tears wet on the side of his face before he realized that he was crying, but it was all too good to ask you to stop.

You used your other hand to cradle his balls and you swooped down to capture his gasping mouth in another kiss (a very messy, open mouthed kiss that Spencer could barely pay attention to). Spencer screamed into your mouth while he painted his stomach with cum once again.

You only stopped jerking his cock once you had truly milked every last drop from him, his hips seizing up off the bed and your hand almost slipping off him completely from how sloppily wet it was with more of his cum added to the mix.

He was purely exhausted then. His eyes blinked heavily, struggling to stay open. He vaguely remembered you cleaning him off and tucking him into bed - but he definitely enjoyed falling asleep curled up next to your warmth.

…

The next morning, Spencer felt hungover.

He wondered if that’s what good sex always felt like - the combination of endorphins rushing through your body and physical exertion tackling you over. His legs were sore, as though he had run several miles. (Which wasn’t even something he could make a bold comparison to anyway, because he didn’t exercise nearly as much as he should for someone with this job). He woke up starving, grateful when you drove to a diner down the road after checking out of the motel and planted him in one of the booths before going outside to call Hotch in order to touch base with the rest of the team.

You came back with a small grin on your face.

“Turns out that tip the ex-wife gave us about their first house in Arlington was pretty solid.” You told Reid. “They caught the guy on his way there. He had another girl in the trunk. They got her back mostly unarmed, and took him into custody.”

Spencer nodded. “That’s good.”

When he moved to grab another sugar packet out of the caddy on the side of the table, three of them already open and empty beside his cup of coffee, you grabbed him by the wrist.

“That’s enough, baby.” You told him.

His stomach curled, that distinct feeling running through him again. And against his will, that word slipped out - again.

“Yes, Mommy.”

...

A/N: This is a standalone oneshot. There won't be a sequel or a continuation, so please do not ask for one. If you liked the fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written, or consider reblogging to show your appreciation. If you want to see more Spencer Reid fics that I have written, you can check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist, or you can check out my Masterlists for other fandoms to see if anything catches your eye. Thank you for reading!

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #sub!spencer #sub!spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

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mossadspypigeon · 5 months ago

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whenever i see people quote “people love dead jews”:

a. i think ‘excellent choice of book’ because dara is a queen.

b. i remember when i went to buy it at my local barnes and noble and it wasnt in any logical section, so i asked for help and the dude, while looking at my large magen david, proceeded to start spewing antisemitic nonsense about rich jews who fired his dad and how “they’re all in power.”

very predictable experience honestly.

#jumblr #antisemitism

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oh-no-its-bird · 2 days ago

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Shikamaru accidentally becomes the second coming of Jiraiya via anonymously publishing BL novels with Sakura and Ino as his managers and editors

HEAR ME OUT. HEAR ME OUT.

Ok so, Shikamaru's grandfather passes away (aka my oc Shikasada, for those in the know) and among his things is a very old diary dating back to Konoha's founding. Shikamaru opens it to fund uhh. Many things. Many things he could have gone without knowing. Mostly revolving around his grandpa's apparent years long slow burn affair w some Hatake boy.

Shikamaru, sort of horrified but in too deep to back out now, resolves to at least finish the diary-- and despite himself, besides some of the more painful to read sections, there really is a lot of really interesting information in the diary.

Which brings Shikamaru to being unable to set down the diary, and bringing it to the academy with him in the morning.

(Quick note, lets set this like two or three months before graduation, so Shikamaru is like, ~13 I think)

SO, SHIKAMARU IS IN CLASS AND READING HIS GRANDFATHERS DIARY IN THE BACK OF THE CLASS (his first mistake, tbh) And he doesnt notice as Ino and Sakura appear behind him and Ino starts reading over his shoulder. And Ino, proud fujo, after a minute of reading goes really loudly,

"is that YAOI???"

And now Shikamaru essentially has two options. Both of them a uniquely kind of terrible. Does he,

a) admit this is his grandfathers very gay, very sappy, very depressing, kind of steamy diary about how he cheated on his fiance with a Hatake boy and even briefly debated running away from his wedding to be with him instead (but ultimately didnt)

or, b) let his classmates think hes a fan of doomed yaoi romance novels.

He decides that option b at least doesnt invoke a possible scandle for his clan (which his mom would kill him for) and says its a book.

Sakura immediately points out the fact that its hand written.

On pure reflex, Shikamaru blurts, "I wrote it."

(Instant regret.)

So anyways Ino and Sakura (mostly Ino) bully Shikamaru into letting them read 'his' book. And they come back to him with it going "omg, this is amazing! It's just as good-- maybe even better than most of the things on the market right now!!!"

And Shikamaru is like, "great can I have it back please."

And they're like "Shikamaru, you cant just let this kind of masterpiece rot in your closet!!!! This is incredible!!!! Heart wrenching!!! Hair raising!!! Super dramatic and filled with tension and drama and history and 𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 !"

And Shikamaru, again, is like, "Great. Can I have it back please."

"Shikamaru, you don't understand. You have a gift."

"Can I please have it back now."

So. One thing leads to another and after much peer pressure (and maybe some light threats of blackmail because Ino and Sakura have totally realized that Shikamaru didn't actually write the diary, and it instead belonged to his grandfather. (Mostly because Ino had actually met the man before, and obviously recognized his name)) Shikamaru has now gained:

a) two very eager 13 year old publishing managers / editors

b) the contact information of Sakura's cousin, who coincidentally works at one of the biggest publishing houses in Fire counry.

c) somehow, some way, the obligation to edit and publish his grandfathers diary as a bl romance novel.

Shikamaru hates his fucking life.

SO. THEY PUBLISH IT AFTER SOME EDITING AND CHANGING OF CLAN NAMES AND ITS A WILD SUCCESS. SHIKAMARU IS KIND OF MAD AT HOW MUCH OF A WILD SUCCES IT IS.

(Though, laying in his bed of money that now rivals his father's personal funds as the Nara clan head, he can't bring himself to be... as mad as he might have otherwise been.)

(Sakura and Ino, also with their giant piles of money, are also very satisfied.)

But the satisfaction doesnt last for long bc soon the girls are scheming to get Shikamaru to write something new for them to publish.

"But I didn't write the diary to begin with!" Shikamaru argues.

"What does it matter?" Ino insists. "You still edited it, and it was your grandfather who wrote it! Some of the talent has to be there!"

(depressingly enough for Shikamaru, some of the talent does seem to be there.)

And thus begins Shikamaru's life of becoming a famous romance author with his (blackmailers) managers Ino and Sakura <3

(In the pure lands, Shikamaru's grandfather is screaming into a pillow as his Hatake boy in question laughs his ass off and insists this is exactly what he deserves after keeping them a secret for so long. Really, Shika, you should be proud for having such a resourceful grandson.)

So anyways, this brings me to the fact that Sakura's first ever encounter with her new sensei, Kakashi, would have gone WILDLY different on her end. Because she saw the original diary. She, unlike the general public, didn't get the edited version of the story with changed clan names.

So when her teacher walks into the room and introduces himself, her very first thought is omg like the yaoi.

And her first act is to start giggling maniacally in the corner of the room like a little freak. In Sakura we stan

Kakashi meanwhile has no fucking clue what kind of drugs that little girl is on, but finds that he probably doesn't want to know.

WHICH ALSO BRINGS ME TO THE FACT THAT LIKE. Theres something profoundly funny about known icha-icha lover Kakashi reading this novel and becoming a huge fan-- absolutey 100% unaware that it's about HIS direct cousin, only two generations back.

Shikamaru put way more effort into disguising the Nara clan's involvement in the book-- both because he cares more about the Nara and because he kinda uhh... was under the impression that the Hatake were all dead, like, for real. In the book, the Nara's clan name is changed, the character names are changed, their sacred animal is changed to a rabbit and their traditions are all altered-- but the Hatake clan just becomes the Hasake clan and is largely left alone bc Shikamaru is 13 and can't really be bothered to go the extra mile.

(Editing so much is such a bother, Ino. You just dont get it)

So like, Shikamaru has no idea who Kakashi is, he only learns he exists when Sakura fucking bodyslams into him and Ino screaming about how HER NEW TEACHER IS RELATED TO THAT GUY YOUR GRANDPA HAD NASTY GAY SEX WITH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"THE ONE LIKE IN THE DIARY ONE???" Ino screams

"IS THERE ANOTHER GUY WHO HAD NASTY GAY SEX WITH SHIKAMARU'S GRANDPA WHO I'M SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT??!?!?" Sakura screams back

Shikamaru just screams into his pillow. The girls both ignore him.

Meanwhile, Kakashi knows SHIT about his clan and recognizes nothing in the novel. Which is a special kind of tragic because as he reads it, he's being given more information than he's ever been given about his clan. And even specific stories and in depth recorded conversations about his grandmother-- and even occasional mentions of his own father as a baby, and he just... has no idea.

Man is literally reading about his ancestors, getting stories of his family only a single generation before him, going: "Wow something about this clan just speaks to me. Probably the dogs."

Literally getting his fathers childhood stories. Not a single clue.

Hes going on a mission going "Hmm, what would Haruka Hasake from hit bl series XXX do" like that isnt secretly his fucking GRANDMA

Meanwhile, all three of the kids are acting SO shady around him. Ino and Shikamaru specifically are so fucking suspicious bc they are largely successful in avoiding him like the plague-- so when they do interact, it's an Event(tm) for them, while Sakura is forced to learn to be normal near him via exposure.

Tho not even the sage himself can save Sakura from the day Kakashi pulls out THE book during training instead of his usual icha-icha. Sakura fucks up her aim on a body flicker and flies straight into a tree, giving herself a concussion. Rip!!

Anyways yeah. Let Shikamaru discover his grandfathers old, scandal filled diary and be blackmailed by Ino and Sakura into publishing it-- setting him on his journey of becoming the next big thing in naruto romance publishing. It'd be funny as hell.

Special thanks to @imsosleepyofyourbull and @halsaph for talking to me about this on discord, this is so fucking stupid and I had so much fun with it

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vgmthatmademe · 4 months ago

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Legend of the Mystical Ninja King Ryukyu's Secret Kazuhiko Uehara, Harumi Ueko Konami 1991

#vgm #snes vgm #ganbare goemon #B section is so fire #music

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mayasaurusss · 2 months ago

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transfem! Lucy Maclean on her and reader’s wedding night…🤭🤭

Rocket 69

-Contains: arranged marriage, very heavily plot driven, switch! transfem Lucy MacLean, smut (big time), switch! afab reader, possible grammar mistakes or foreign idioms (saying, phrases). -Word count: 8k, 16 pages.

-Guide: Fallout in-game lore, Fallout show lore, objects and characters found in the Fallout games and show, original bestfriend character.

-A/N: Hello anon! I am very sorry to having delayed this for so long, but your request gave me so many ideas, so like the insane person I am, I had to pour every single one of them into this -hence the 16 pages long oneshot-. The 'guide' section contains a series of things that will be mentioned in the oneshot. I have been hurrying up so that I could publish this before the Easter holidays, as a kind of gift for you all for making me reach 500 followers. Thank you all so much😊❤️. Enjoy!

‘Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Repeat.

Were you born in any other time period, you wouldn't have minded this cyclic routine too much. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. It's what humankind has been doing since the dawn of time, without breaking a sweat. But, unlike the other billions of people who lived before you, your life is an especially strange one. Ever since the bombs dropped on October 23, 2077, life as it was known on earth ended. Fire melted the world's cities, radiation chipped away at human's lives and the fallout rained from the sky, coating the soil in a heavy dust. Only a selected lucky few managed to escape the bombs devastating consequences, accessing what would be known as one of America's most important successes: the vaults. Shelters lodged deep inside the earth, safe from radiation from the outside world. Life there is a continuous cycle: Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Repeat.

But today is different, today is special.

You sit on your bed for the last time, fingers tightening in your locks, finding solace in curling the strands of hair and knotting them. The white dress is tight on your body, constricting your chest and making you breathe with fatigue.

You try to calm down, breathing slowly and thinking that in the end, it’s not that big of a change, right? You will simply move to another vault and life will continue; of course, you will not know anyone and you will lose all the affections and ties you had before, but life will be the same, no? You’ll just have to be brave, get out there and try to make friends. Everyone will be nice to you, right? It’s all the same. You will have a husband to give children to, you will spend your life underground with him and the others, you will make friends…right?

A knock echoes hear from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?" she asks, and you heave a sigh and let her in, falling back on the mattress.

Jen falls back with you on the bed, placing her hand atop yours, "So, how's the bride?" she asks with a sly smile, but you can see sadness behind it. "I think I am alright. Just a bit... stressed, you know?" she nods in understanding, already having known what you were going through. "I remember when I got married" she says, remembering the way the white dress tightened on her curves. "I was so scared! But I got through it..." her hands curl on the naked skin of your shoulders, her warmth dispersing in the cold of your own body.

"And you will too" Jen's smile had always put an end to your worries. Among everyone, she always was the one person who you could count on. "I just got married off so the Overseer would have one mouth less to feed" you say bitterly, tasting the bile that man gives you in your tongue

"Not counting the one that I would have to raise..." the thought of leaving a place you learned to call home, simply for the fact that the higher ups decided to hand you over to a group of strangers makes your blood boil and your heart ache. It doesn't help that your only role will be that of a caregiver, likely to be forgotten or hated by your husband and left to raise a child on your own.

"Oh come on, you seem to view marriage simply as a commodity" Jen has always been a romantic, ever since you have known her. She viewed everything in a beautiful, unrealistic way. "Isn't it? In these times..." at the end of the day, this was just a way to drive a mouth less away from the shelter and into the arms of someone else.

"... Don't be so dramatic" Jen's eyes scan yours, veiled annoyance swimming in them. "Come on, let's go" you feel your heart close itself the moment the last syllable is spoken, a lump nudging inside your throat. How can you leave?

"...Yes".

You let Jen guide you through the silent halls of Vault 32, two sets of steps echoing inside the hollow chambers. You find solace in the warmth of your best friend's hands, trying to calm yourself by counting each one of your heartbeats. You stop in front of a metal door, the one that will lead you to the last room, where everyone is waiting for you to step inside. This is the first and last time you'll ever walk through this door.

"Are you ready"?

Are you?

"Yes" you try to swallow your fears, but they manage to be far more powerful than you, lodged deep inside your throath. Just before you enter, Jen turns to you, takes your cheeks in her hands and kisses them with tender sadness. "This is the last time I'll have you all to myself" she says, placing a final kiss atop your nose. "I am so proud of you" smiling to her proves difficult, and you only manage to do so after calming your breath several times. "Dry your tears" you only manage to smudge your makeup a bit, reshaped thanks to Jenny's quick hand.

"Come on, let's welcome you in your new life".

The chamber is barely illuminated by a flickering light above you. Everyone that you've known during your life is here. Hank, Gina, Honey, even little Timmy. Some look at you with hope in their eyes, others with a barely veiled disdain. Waiting by the vault door is the overseer, Ian Jackson: a dumb old man who you could not stand. And it seemed the feeling was mutual. "Overseer Jackson" the man mumbles something under his lips, before turning to you and squaring you up from head to toe. He didn't even bother to call you by your first name, "I am happy to introduce you to your new life. This marriage will serve both vault 32 and 33 well". Of course it would. For this exchange, vault 33 promised 32 maize and crops lasting up to six months. And, underlined deep inside the marriage contract, lifting the weight of one more mouth to feed off of Ian's back.

"Of course, overseer", it's no use begin bitchy to him right now. In just a few hours, you're never going to see him again. "I trust you will behave correctly. I wouldn't want overseer MacLean to regret his decision. It was kind of him to allow this marriage".

He's talking to you like you're livestock. "I will" it's your simple response, hate and anger dripping from every letter. The tension is palpable, and someone tries to fill it with chitter chatter. Jenny takes your hand, winks at you and steps back as Jackson throws one of his famous snares in her direction. Ian is a hated man inside the vault. His greed will be the one to consume him whole. It's only a matter of time before someone throws the first rock at him.

Your thoughts are put to silence when a loud, booming sound echoes from behind the door. Slowly, the gears move the heavy metal door and unpeeles a lit room. You can't see behind all the figures in front of you, and try to tip toe to see your new spouse.

"Welcome neighbors from vault 32. I am Hank MacLean, overseer of vault 33". Heavy steps bounce across the walls, Ian Jackson steps outside and greets the man in front of him. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Hank" he says, disregarding the overseers' greetings and approaching Hank like an old friend would.

"How's life been treating you?" you can hear Ian sucking air in between his teeth, resilience in his voice. "Same as always" he turns to look at the whole lot of dwellers behind him. His disdain is met with equal passion. "Insubordination spreads throughout them like mushrooms after a rainstorm".

Hank seems to be a little uncomfortable, from the tone of his voice, and quickly tries to change the subject: "We give you maize, cucumbers and beans rations, enough to be consumed in six months" he gestures towards countless linen bags slumped against the wall.

"We give you wheat and a... breeder" so you are livestock.

"Soooo, who am I marrying?" what? Was that a woman's voice?

Slowly, you're peeled back from the wall of people, exposed to the light from the other side of the room. Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness, burning at your sclera.

Everyone's eyes are on you. You hear their reaction before you see it: stunned silence is broken by whispers, most of them directed at you and your new spouse. When, finally, you can see again, you're met with a puzzling image: in front of you stand a crowd of new faces, all obscured by the woman in front of you.

She wears a dress that's the same shade of white as yours. A veil covers her long, dark hair, free from any tie, falling just beneath her shoulders. Big, brown eyes bore into yours, looking somewhere deep inside your heart. She then offers you a small, shy smile, which quickly gets erased by your next question.

"This is who I am marrying? But...she's a-" the burning look Ian gives you is enough to shut you up before saying anything more. Her eyes widen and pain flashes through them, now searching anything to look at but you. "I know that this might seem...odd, to most of you" overseer Hank explains, a protective hand draped over the woman's shoulder. "But we have reasons to allow this marriage. Reasons only we, and the new spouses, know" you'd want to argue with Hank that you don't know a damn thing; hell, you've been left in the dark about the details of this relationship since it was first stipulated by overseer Jackson. He simply walked in on you and Jen working in the water depuration centre one day and announced "You will be soon married off to one of vault's 33 residents. Please, pack your bags accordingly". How were you supposed to not act surprised?

"We will now proceed on with the ceremony" Hank had a way with words, quickly shutting all whispers and chit chat down. He gestured to everyone in the room with a big swoop of his hand in the air, then, with a less than pleased look, walks in the direction of vault's 33 hallways. Everyone followed suit, and in the midst of it, you feel a strong hand clamping down painfully at your wrist. Ian's famous hateful scowl paints his face. "I told you to behave. Can't you do that one fucking time?" he whisper-yells at you, drawing eyes to the both of you. "I...I am sorry, I-" his grip on your wrist tightens, bruising at your skin, damaging the blood vessels underneath it.

"Don't make me look bad" as if he hasn't done that himself already.

"Hey!" you crane your neck just enough to see the woman who would become your wife stomp into your direction, heels echoing loudly.

"This isn't how we were taught here in the vault. You can't treat people like this!" you can't help but think that she looks comically cute with that frown on her face and her hands on her hips. Ian doesn't answer, simply stares at her with disdain and the look of someone who knows has screwed up. It's only a matter of time until somebody tells in on him to Hank MacLean.

"Do unto others as you would have done unto you. That's the Golden Rule" at those words, Ian rolls his eyes and pushes your arm away, grunting as he enters the tunnels of the vault, leaving you alone with your new to-be bride.

"Wow, he can be a real jerk huh?" she hops next to you, watching Ian disappear behind the corner. "Yeah, he can. Nobody ever liked him" you join in on mocking him, momentarily forgetting who the woman beside you is. "Yeah, I can see why" an uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you, but lasts only a second, before it's filled again by her voice.

"I am Lucy, by the way".

The venue is filled to the brim with people, some talking, some silent, all watching as you and your new spouse exchange your vows. "By the authority invested in me, I pronounce that you are joined together, under the love of God. You may now kiss".

The kiss you exchange with Lucy, while people around you are cheering, is brief and chaste, but in that moment it feels like a dream; simple and serene.

Placed all over the tables sits plates full of as much food as you can possibly imagine: yumyum deviled eggs, mac&cheese, cram and a giant wedding cake. You could lose yourself in all of this food, and probably feed at least a small village on the surface. You stay clear of the deviled eggs, wanting to at least make yourself presentable to your new bride. Speaking of, Miss MacLean has been watching you eat for the entirety of dinner; you don't dislike it, of course, but you'd be more at ease if she didn't look at you while you were stuffing yourself with cram and mashed potatoes.

Jen sits next to you, directly mimicking Lucy and her blonde-lady-friend. Despite how loud the dinner party is, in your little corner there's tension, desperately wanting to be filled. Beneath the table, Jen nudges at your foot, getting your attention. You rise from the plate, watching her with confusion, before her lips spread in that little smug smirk that she always does before throwing you under the bus, in one way or the other. "Soooo Lucy" there she goes. "How fertile are you?" you choke on the mashed potatoes, feeling some traces of it traveling to your nose, before you pinch it between your fingers. Lucy seems a bit confused, but without too much thought, answers as if it was a normal question. "Oh, uhm, the exams suggest that I am more than fertile. The doctors were actually quite surprised" oh great. That's... good news, right? "I see, I see" Jen simply smiles, nudging the tip of her thumb in the corner of her lips, restraining herself to laugh at your embarrassment. That little devil! Blonde-lady-friend similarly has some problems containing a laugh in, skewering a pickle on her fork before eating it with a pleased face. Lucy doesn't seem to pick up on the hidden context of the situation, rolling her shoulders before resuming her dinner, looking at you with curiosity from time to time.

"Good evening and welcome!" oh thank God. Overseer Hank MacLean, who you now know to be your soon to be father in law, draws the attention of all the dwellers. "We are bonded, not just as neighbors, but by a shared duty: to keep the candle of civilzation's lit, while the rest of the world has been cast into darkness" sure, if you count as civilized the way here everyone is a ticking time bomb.

"Soon, if our calculations are correct, radiation's level on the surface fast enough, that the next generation, their children-" he says, pointing his finger at you, "-will be able to recolonize!" Did he really have to say that? Your blushing bride smiles, laughing while taking your hands in hers. She seems so enthusiastic to see what the future will hold for her.

"After two hundred years, we don't know much about what's out there: desperation, violence, lawlessness. These survivors will need to be shown a better way". Hank seems sure of himself, when he talks about the surface's world like that. During your life in vault 32, you had always been taught history as the books wrote it. But growing up, seeing the occasional merchant from the outside world enter, you can't help but ask yourself if all that you had been taught was a lie. Lucy at least seems pretty sure of herself.

"I'll admit, I am sometimes afraid, that mean old world will change us instead; but then I look at my daughter, such a beautiful bride, and her spouse, and I am not afraid: I feel hope. To Lucy MacLean, and to this marriage, and to hope!" from the venue arises a wave of cheers, followed by the turning of the projector's gears and the southern afternoon's lights dimming to a summer's night deep blue hues.

Lucy, ever so gracious and sweet, leaves your table, but before going off to the first dance, she halts, as if suddenly remembering something. She turns, a smile as warm as a summer day, before placing a kiss on your nose. A choir of woos and cheers leaves the tables, earning a strangled sound from your throat as a response. You can feel your face heating up from the simple act. "Don't worry" Lucy says, whispering while looking directly in your eyes, "I'll be back with you as soon as possible". You could melt only from her words, so sweet and soft you can't help but slowly fall in love head over heels with the woman. Taking her father's hands, the two of them start to dance. Together, they form the portrait of the perfect family. It's selfish, but watching them dance together, so happily only makes you wish you were able to do the same tonight. "Hey" you look up from the table to see Jen eyeing you with a hint of sadness in her voice. "Hey" talking has never been your strongest suit, especially when feeling down or lost, and Jen has learnt that throughout the years. "So...how are you feeling?" comes her question, one that you dreaded for the entire night. "I am... alright, I think" underneath the notes of a serene song, people dance without a thought in the world.

"I am scared" you admit to Jen, your pride crumbling away. Life has always been a cyclic routine for you: wake up, work, eat, sleep. You never thought that something new would be presented to you, and when it came, it scared you.

The artificial sound of crickets hums underneath songs and chatter, so faint you could miss it; but, if you focus on it enough, you can hear the skipping of the record and the many sounds they had made two hundred years ago, on a summer night like this could have been. You sigh, craning your neck onto Jen's shoulder; "I am gonna miss you", you say, a layer of tears on your eyes. Her hand sneaks on your shoulder, keeping you close to her. She had never been this sad, too used to be the upbeat one between you two; but as the realization that this will be the last time she'll spend with her best friend, "I will miss you too".

You're taken by surprise by Lucy's sudden entrance. "Hi! May I borrow her for a moment?" your body jolts up a bit, startled by her presence. You barely miss the way Lucy's hand tightens in a closed fist, irrational jealousy showing itself in the way her knuckles turn white. You feel like you have been caught doing something wrong and hide your face, turning it away from your bride. "Sure!" sensing the opportunity to make your wedding night less grimm, Jen wastes no time in pushing you up into the waiting arms of your wife.

Lucy, on the other hand, has no problems catching your weight, transforming your messy movement into the flow of your first dance. Not even a minute has passed since you began dancing, yet she already has questions for you. "How are you feeling? You look sad" she asks while you try to follow her, barely able to keep yourself on your feet. You didn't expect her to understand you so fast. "Huh? How did you-" someone bumps into you from behind, faltering the dance for a moment. Lucy leans closer to you, her eyes focused on your face, making you feel studied under her gaze. "You haven't danced at all," her arms, draped over your shoulders, tightening briefly, pressing you against her. "And you've been spending time with your friend over here" she gestures towards Jen, who now seems to be hitting it off with Lucy's lady-friend, with a motion of her chin.

She seems to consider something, and pauses, before she looks up at you. "Are you scared of me?" she asks, and there's almost a taste of fear behind her eyes. Your throath tightens, your tongue unable to articulate words properly. "N-No!" but your stammering betrays you, and Lucy isn't an idiot.

Are you afraid of her? "…A little". There is a flicker of something behind her eyes, as if your words have hurt her more than they should have, but she quickly slips back her charming persona on. "Well, don't be. I don't bite" she tells you, before she inches just a little closer "Unless you'll want me to".

Oh. Wow.

Her gaze skims to your lips, a flirty look in her eyes suggests that she's thinking of more than what she lets out. The way she seems to be so enamoured with your features makes your heart lose a beat. Wow. Ok.

"Ok uhm, thank you Lucy!" the brunette doesn't have the time to react before you wrench your hands out of hers, shake invisible dust off of your dress and run off, leaving her puzzled behind you. Oh God, you are such a loser.

It's evening now. An old 50's song buzzes from the radio, covered by chatter. You are busy chatting your head off with Jen, when you are interrupted by Lucy. You feel her presence before you hear her. "Want me to show you to your new room?" she asks you, a sly smile that you know hides a -very- specific meaning behind it. You look away to see Jen shooting you with a knowing look in her eyes. You are about to make up a ridiculous excuse in your mind, when Jen gives you a smack on the shoulder “Oh come on, just go!”. And this is where you find yourself: walking down the hallways of vault 33, hand in hand with your blushing bride. The walls and floor all look the same -all vaults do-, like a never ending maze. You get so used to walking that the stop to your new room’s door is abrupt and wakes you from your alcohol induced coma. “This is it” Lucy turns around to scan at your face and finds interest and hesitance. But the way she smiles at you warms your heart enough to follow her into the room. You’re met with bluish hues on the wall and furniture: on your left a small living room, directly connected to the kitchen and on your right, a bedroom overlooking a patio, where the fake sky glimmers above. Lucy is the first to talk, eagerness oozing from her like a fountain. “Isn’t it great? Every big moment of our lives is gonna happen right here” she seems to be enamoured at the prospect of spending her life here. Meanwhile, while she talks, you start to get undressed: you peel away at the layers of clothes, until your skin meets the air. And Lucy doesn’t seem to notice right away. “Just picture the Christmas mornings around the tree…” when she turns back to search for your face, she instead is greeted by the sight of your naked self, standing in the room with your arms behind your back. You’ve always been taught that spouses expect sex the night of the wedding. Was this…weird? Should you have done something else?

Oh, you are a certified creep now. How are you gonna look her in the eyes when she-. The only thing you hear before begin shoved on the wall by a -actually pretty strong- eager Lucy is an ‘okey-dokey’, her hands already all over you. She kisses you like she has been craving it for the past twenty years, nipping at your bottom lip with her teeth. Lucy pushes you against the wall by her crotch, without taking too much into account the growing mass beneath her dress. But you notice that, and it weirds you out. What is it? She opens her eyes just enough to see yours, confusingly looking at where your bodies touch: then, as if stung by a wasp, she remembers, and you feel her pull back from you, your body left cold. You watch, a little dumbfounded, as Lucy paces around the room, in clear distress. She mumbles something under her breath, and you can only make so many words, before she interrupts you when you ask her what’s wrong. “There…” she swallows “There is something you should know”. There are traces of tears in her eyes, and she seems to be having to accept a harsh, terrible reality. “I used to be a boy, once” she tells you, not daring to look you in the eyes. “What?” you ask her, a little confused by her words at first, until it hits you. Oh! “I used to look different, talk different” her body feels as if it’s being charged with electricity and is digging a pit where her stomach is. “The whole reason my father agreed to arrange this marriage was because there was a woman who was ready to be married: you”. You don’t like what this implies. No matter how much she tries, she can’t physically stop herself from talking, before it’s too late. “He wouldn’t have allowed this if there wasn’t someone to procreate with” Ouch.

"Oh... wow," you murmur, taken aback. Lucy spins around, her eyes wide with regret and panic as she realizes what has just revealed. “No, I didn’t mean-” but the damage is done: she has hurt someone, comparing her to nothing more than a breeding machine, and made herself look like a monster. “I am sorry” she steps away from you, making her way to the door with her head hung in shame. “I-I’ll go. I will tell my father that you won’t-” you don’t know what she would have said next, because you kiss her worries away, words dying in her throath. “You’re not going anywhere”.

You kiss her again, and again and again, until your lips are sore, until her breath is heavy on your skin. You don’t have a lot of time to react, before she pushes you until your naked back is pressed against a cold surface. Oh come on, on the table?!

Her fingers tail up from their place on your stomach to your chest, taking a hold of your flesh and pinching your nipple. Actually, you quite like this. Lucy pushes you flat against the table with her crotch pressed right where yours is: you can feel her getting harder by the second beneath the wedding dress. You sneak your hand right where she needs it the most and palm her through the fabric: she’s warm and big in your hand, not too hard nor too soft. You feel her heavy sighs on your face as you slowly shake her to life. Shivers run down her spine when she feels your breath on her ear, urging her to “Take it off”, which she immediately does. It’s funny how fast she lets the dress fall to the floor and undoes her bra, letting her chest free. She’s back on you in an instant, her arms sneaking under your body and breasts pushed against yours. You don’t miss the way her hips subtly grind against the table’s edge. Sneaking a glance below, you have to physically stop yourself from clenching your thighs against her sides: here, between her legs and under white lace fabric, sits Lucy’s length, big and hot and so inviting. You could take it in your hands, right? After all, by the looks of it, it seems as if she desperately needs it. So your fingers stop just where she needs them the most, placed against her growing erection. Both of you moan, each from a different sensation: you from feeling her grow beneath your touch, and she from the overwhelming pleasure washing over her. She begins to grind on your hand, helping you get her off and preparing her for you; you feel her slowly hardening under the fabric, growing larger by the second. Your fingers catch on the edge of something, and when they do, you hear Lucy’s hitched breath in your ear. Next thing you know, she’s stripping herself off of her panties, revealing herself in all her nude glory. You can’t help but think of how beautiful she is in this moment: skin reddened by the blood flowing beneath it, goosebumps traveling along her body and messy hair falling at either side of her neck. You don’t pay too much mind on what lies between her legs, only acknowledging to yourself that it looks painfully red, desperate to be pleased by someone. And that someone happens to be you.

Lucy just can’t help herself. You look so good beneath her, warm and inviting. Just how is she supposed to contain herself? And before you know it, she’s pressing her body against yours again, her length nestled between your legs.

Well, you expected more foreplay, but this is good too. Only she starts to grind herself on your entrance, gradually wetting herself with your own arousal. Oh. Wow. This…isn’t what you though she’d do, but damn, it’s so fucking hot.

“L-Lucy, wait…” your voice is small and trembles in your throat, and she pauses, eyes hazy with need, barely processing your words. Gently, you guide her back, turning her so she rests against the edge of the table. She blinks at you, confused, until you slowly sink to your knees.

Something shifts in her expression. Seeing you like this, looking up at her… Well, she was never truly sure what she liked, having spent most of her sex life with strange partners, to say the least, but damn it, it does things to her. She can only focus on those lips of yours, so, so close to her, just a couple of inches away.

But nothing can prepare her for when she first feels them on her, kissing away at the goosebumps that shake her length. Oh, how could she have known it would’ve felt so good? You kiss her eagerly, lavishing every inch of her, trailing up, up until you stop at her tip, crimson with pleasure and need. You can’t just leave her there wanting, can you?

When you finally take her inside of your mouth, Lucy is sure she’s about to pass out and reach the heavens. Each movement, each inching of her cock into your mouth sends waves of electricity to Lucy’s brain. Is this how sex was supposed to feel like, all along? If only she had met you before… You stop only when you reach around her base, unable to get more of her in you without gagging. That’s when you start to travel up on her length and fall back down again. Over and over and over…

Every kiss, every lick of yours builds her towards that edge that she has been desperately craving ever since you stripped down for her. She can feel herself losing it, her blood warming her from head to toe, preparing her to cum by your lips’ work. She’s so, so close… Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging and catching your attention. You look up at her, and the moment you do, you taste a drop of cum falling on your tongue. You can only imagine what seeing you like this does to her. Her lip trembles, her eyes are unfocused and teary, her skin as red as beetroots. “Wait, wait” she tugs you up by your hair, prompting you to follow her and let her cock fall from your lips. Lucy is quick to catch your lips between hers, kissing you so hard that her lipstick smudges, spreading colour all over you and her. And all the while, she presses herself right between your legs, sliding in and out, right below your… She seems to read your mind, and sighs “I need more”, now pushing you until your back meets the soft mattress of your new bed. She’s on you again, pushing her tongue between your lips, straddling your body so that she can have more space to move.

She seems to read your mind. Her nails imprint half shaped moons into the flesh of your cheeks, her breath heavy and hot on your skin, and she sighs “I need more, I need you”, pushes you until your back meets the soft mattress of your new bed. Her legs push your body close together, so that you are nicely trapped under her, free to watch how her cock bounces every time she watches your chest, or when you kiss her a little too good. It’s hypnotizing: Lucy must be very, very into you, otherwise you can’t explain the continuous trusts she makes in the air, her tip so red you think all her blood flowed to it. It looks painful and you want to help, but instead you stop when Lucy’s fingers hook beneath your crotch, right on top of your pussy. Her middle and ring finger dance around, playing with your clit and lips, delving just deep enough for the tip to tease you open. It’s embarrassing how quickly you give into pleasure, already aided thanks to sucking Lucy off. You can still taste her on your tongue, feel the empty space she left in your throath. To have the flavour of her skin and sweat swirling inside of your mouth and her fingers deep inside you is as transcendental as it is sinful. It doesn’t take you long at all to fall apart, all pleasure zapping electricity into your brain, giving you goosebumps and coming in waves, right then and there on your new bed, in your new sheets. You’re barely responsive after that, feeling as if you’ve melted. After what felt like an eternity, but were really only a few seconds, you hear your spouse's worried voice come from somewhere in the room. “Hey, hey? Are you good there?” she pats your thigh repeatedly, waking you up from your pleasure induced coma. “Ugh… yeah” you’re not really sure if you’re okay; after all, you feel as if you’ve lost all the strength in your bones and your brain has become mush. But God, even in this state, you need her to touch you again, immediatley. You want her all over you, to feel her skin on yours, to feel her cock-.

“Good! Because, uh-” Lucy really, really doesn’t want to sound selfish, but she really, really needs to be inside of you. Her dick is rock hard and red as a tomato, stinging each second it’s not nestled in its rightful place: you. “I would hate it if you passed out. I’d have to go and search for help, and people would see you-, and you know…”; it’s true, she really would prefer to have your naked image all to herself, to cherish it when she’s alone. But now she’s with you, and God only knows how much she needs you. A couple of minutes pass, and the more you start to ‘come back’ from your trance, the more Lucy squirms, her dick pressing between her legs and the mattress. You can see the pain she feels in her face, hardened, the bridge of her nose scrunched and her forehead’s skin drawing furrows on it. Just as you’re about to move, to reach for Lucy, she does it first, taking your elbow in her hand and begging you, “I need- I need inside. Can I, please?”.

Oh you’re so getting fucked tonight.

You do the first thing that you can think of, and move so that you rest on your elbows and your spine forms an arch, leaving you open and ready to be taken. Lucy’s breath hitches behind your back, and you know you must have done something nice, but rather than feeling her crotch pressed down on yours, or even better, her length nestled between your legs, Lucy’s hands are the ones that guide you until you’re face to face with her. “As much as I’d love to have sex with you like that” she says, “and believe me, I really do, I’d rather watch you. Is that okay?”. It’s okay, oh God yes, it’s so, so okay. You are ready for everything that she’ll give to you. But as her fingers come down to tease your opening once again, you realize you’re not wet enough, not to let her slide in at least. That’s when an idea comes to mind: living in a vault, you were thankfully teached the basics of having sex, but in post nuclear war America, it was treated as simple procreation, without the pleasures that come with it. But the rumors run fast in the vaults, and as soon as you begun to grow into adulthood, you heard more and more about the different sides of sex. It was Jen and the others who told you about all the different positions one and their spouse can take, and one did strike you as interesting. Maybe it could have helped with your little problem.

You watch as Lucy scrunches her nose and teases your clit, hoping to wetten you further but to no avail. The devilish sparkle in your eyes should scare her, but it does nothing other than make her harder than she already is. “I have an idea” you say, and command her with a flick of your finger to get next to you, closer to your face. “Sit on my face, facing the end of the bed” and Lucy does, admittedly a bit confused. “What are you-” but her voice dies in her throath, once you guide her back into your mouth. It’s hard taking her like this, because she’s pressing hard against your chest and gives you no space to suck her properly. And most of all, you’re not getting any wetter.

“You shouldn’t keep a girl waiting, you know?” at first, she can’t quite make out what you mean, but as you press your legs together, skin rubbing against skin, she reaches beneath, allowing the air to fill the space between your face and her crotch. You can finally take her in your mouth again, lavishing her, preparing her to enter you; and her, to lick and suck and tease every part of you, to eat you out like you’re her last meal.

It really helps your cause when Lucy, who’s so deep into pleasure she can’t think clearly, absentmindedly moves and feels a jolt of pleasure spark from her cock to her brain, and so she starts to trust into your mouth from above, pressing her dick farther than your mouth could before. There’s something about Lucy using you like this that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. She presses and presses and presses until you can feel your world shake with her thrusts and your pleasure. “Fuck, fuck, shit!” your lover repeats in a mantra, her mouth a mess of juices and spit, exhaling heavily against your cunt everytime she comes back for air. She seems to forget that you too are supposed to breathe, until you choke on her dick and gag loudly. Her cock leaves your throath as soon as she hears you struggling. “I’m so sorry!” her hands are on your neck and face, checking to see if everything is alright. “Are you okay?!”. For God’s sake! Before she can even react, you place your hand on her shoulder, fingers squeezing her soft skin hard. If she doesn’t take your right here and now, you’re gonna become insane. “Please, just…” you barely whisper, your voice strained with want, “Just take me”. Now it’s your turn to be surprised. Throughout the past few hours, you’ve learnt that Lucy, despite begin a frail woman, is really fucking strong, and despite that, you’re still surprised when she just takes you, pushes you flat against the bed and takes you by the hips, raising you until you’re met with her cock. With the way she’s watching where your sexes join, you’d think she was in contemplation of the divine.

She presses her cock between your folds, sliding her red tip up and down. A nice appetizer for a long night.

She’s right there, right there, you just need to… A whine escapes you when Lucy finally enters you. The intrusion feels alien, hurts and draws a trickle of blood from your cunt, pooling at the base of her cock. You see panic on Lucy’s face, tears of sweat falling from her temple, both fueled by pleasure and fear. “Shit! Are you-” she’s about to exit you, far too fast and harsh after just having penetrated you, but you keep her close, placing wet kisses on her neck to reassure her. “I am fine, just need… a couple of minutes” her features rest serene now, the small creases of age and worry fading. A couple of minutes go by, your body tired and focusing all its strength on adjusting to Lucy's girth. You test the waters, moving with her cock nestled deep inside of you. All your nerves catch aflame the moment her tip nudges against your walls, so deep and big and hot-. “Can I?” your spouse’s voice comes from above, full of want and expectation. And how can you deny her that? “Yes-” the very second you say that, Lucy’s hips start to move, drawing half circles in the air. The motion comes natural to her, as if she had been fucking you for her whole life. “Fuck… Oh God” she grunts, her voice sounding raspy for a second, making her somehow even hotter than she already is. She’s panting heavily above you, drops of sweat falling down her skin, making her abs look delicious. You’d do anything to touch and lick those muscles right now. Opposite to you, focused on piercing into your tight wet opening, it takes all of Lucy’s self restraint to not take you hard and fast. She sighs into the air “You’re so tight…”, while being so gentle and sweet that it makes you mad. You know that this gentle persona she put on is just a facade, that she yearns to feel you tightening up on her cock and scream; so why doesn’t she just fuck you properly? But you have your ways of getting what you want: you trap Lucy by locking your legs behind her, hug her close to your body and angle your back and hips so that you can meet her trusts, fucking yourself on her now that she is too stunned to move.

“Take me, fuck me. I know you want to” you sigh into her ear, sending goosebumps traveling down her spine. And how can she resist you? You are her siren and she’s just a poor, helpless sailor.

You only get a couple of seconds before she starts to absolutely ravish you. As if you’ve put her under a spell, Lucy fucks you at a speed that has your toes curling and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. She fucks you in so deep and hard that you think for a moment you’re gonna break apart on her length. “Oh you are just perfect” she almost whispers, her voice cracking as you clench around her. She throws her head back, a delirious look in her eyes, laced with pleasure and an almost undetectable need for possession. Looking at you crying beneath her, your skin wetted by sweat, your breath short and hot, it suddenly dawns on her: she’s doing this to you. She’s the one who is making you scream to go deeper, faster, harder. She’s the one who you beg. She’s the one whose cock is breaking you. The realization only makes her fuck you faster, her lips drawning back into a smile. “Thank God it was you, you’re just so, so perfect and beautiful” her fingers stroke the skin of your cheek, a harsh contrast with the way her crotch meets your ass. How can she says such pretty words when she’s fucking you so wildly? “And you’ve got a pretty tight pussy too”. Ah, there it is. Her attempt at joking quickly fades when you push your legs, shutting her up, that cocky look of hers replaced by unfocused, glazed eyes. “Shit!” you can tell by the way she picked up her pace and by the tension in her jaw, that she’s about to cum. Every thrust into your core builds her up, pushing her incredibly close to the edge. “I- I think I am about to-” her crotch burns with desire and pleasure, a fire begging to be put out by your grip. And you can’t help it too, the strength and passion that she puts into every movement has you tightening your fist on the sheets and your pussy on her cock, your throath desperately holding screams and moans of pleasure. “What do you say, huh, love? Can I, please?”; that’s when you finally lose it, your orgasm so close you can practically already taste the way your body will quiver under Lucy’s lovely touches. “Please, please do it, please Lucy, come in me” you sigh into her ear, no amount of shame holding you back from stating what you want anymore. For a brief second, before her world shatters from bliss, Lucy sees the artificial starlight that shines outside dancing in your eyes, making you more beautiful than anything she has ever seen. She’s glad it was you. Maybe, stars only look pretty in your eyes.

Lucy comes with a long, high whine, her hips stuttering for the final time, hot cum filling you until there’s no more left for her to stuff you with. The feeling of her warmth inside is enough for you to finally come with her, a moan so loud that it bounces on the room’s walls, and you’re sure whoever might be walking outside knows that you’re getting your world absolutely rocked by your lovely spouse. When the last spurts of cum flow inside of your cunt, Lucy can finally let herself fall on top of you, her body shivering as if electricity is streaming down her veins. You stay there for what feels like an eternity, cuddled together in a mess of limbs and sweat and pants and heartbeats. Enough strength now fuels Lucy, giving her the energy to get up, partially at least, and to heave a sigh.

“Holy moly…”. Lucy is shocked when you let out a maniacal laugh, throwing your head back, with your lips facing the ceiling. “W-what’s so funny?!” you really don’t want to laugh, but you can’t help it; how could you not? It comes off of you in waves, shaking your body so much that for a moment, Lucy thinks you are having a seizure. “Tell me… do you always say things like that?” you ask her, her eyes furrowed in a confused expression, a nervous smile spreading on her lips. “Y-yeah?”. Your smile gives her butterflies. Funny, considering she has just finished fucking like a wild animal. “It’s funny”. She is silent for a moment, blinking repeatedly as if her brain is processing your words; then her skin grows from its pale colour to a red tomato and she hides her face in her hands. “No no, I liked it!” but Lucy is already too deep into her shame, now pushing a pillow onto her face and kicking her legs. Your only answer is a string of babbles and muffled curses coming from a very embarrassed Lucy. Resting next to her on the bed while giggling when she’s so shy and silent only manages to make heat rise into her face further. But it’s all in good humor, when she gets to smile with you.

She might be the luckiest girl in this world.

A few minutes pass by, sweat now cooled by the coolness of the room. “Come on, we have to go: the party is still going on” you say, and it takes all of your will power to stir from your position and move out of the bed. “Mhm, but I don’t wanna…” says your spouse, her mouth pressed against the soft fabric of the pillowcase. Just as you’re about to walk to the door to reach your discarded wedding dress, you’re pulled back by your arms, a flurry of sheets and pillows and white filling your vision, until you’re face to face with Lucy again. “Let them party if they want to,” she whispers, reaching down next to your ear. “The night is still young”.

#fallout x reader #fallout x you #lucy maclean x you #lucy maclean x reader #smut oneshot

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mintmatcha · 2 months ago

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MALACHITE AND OBI!! How are my beautiful dragon boys doing, Minty? 🎤

When you awake, the room is cold. It's winter here, in the northern country, and snow has piled up by the windows. Without Obi next to you, the piles of blankets doesn't seem to be enough.

By the time you urge yourself up, your feet frigid against the floor, the sun is still down. There's no shine of fire coming from the hall, no candles to illuminate your way, just the shine of the moon against the ice covered land.

Obsidian is in his own room. Things are different here: generations of a family stay under one roof. Obsidian, his brothers, his mother, and soon his brother's children. You've been sectioned off in the guest room, smothered in blankets and furs.

You creek open your door. Down the hallway, doorway cracked, is Obi's room. The house is silent as you tiptoe in, shutting the door behind you with a click.

"My princess," Obi rises from his bed, clearly already awake. His voice rumbles low, but soft. He's completely undressed; no need to when his core temperature runs so hot. You suspect he polished his scales last night; the air smells of the orange oil he prefers to use and his black scales glint in the moonlight.

"My mother would be appalled to see you in my room like this." Despite what he says, Obsidian presses his "My brother as well."

That's another difference. Dragonborn culture is more conservative than you expected. 'Mating' is expected after marriage; you two aren't even supposed to share a room. If his family had any idea what the two of you did on nights on the road...

(Jasper's recreational activities would kill the family.)

Trimmed claws run up your sides, their smooth edges gliding across your silken nightgown. They go up and up, all the way until they run over the curve of your tit, flicking over your pebbled nipple. "They are already scandalized by these."

"It's cold without you in my bed," you whisper. You curve your chest into his touch and he follows your lead, caressing and squeezing and touching your breasts, exploring them for his pleasure and yours. Experience has made him a perfect lover for you, it's only a moment before his touch has you vocalizing, nothing more than an open mouthed hum-

"Shh," Obi whispers. "Quiet, my fawn. Malachite is up to watch the fire."

And yet he's hitching up your dress, gathering it above your tits so it stays in place. You're grabbing at his cock, helping guide it from it's sheath, admiring it's ridged size in your hands. Looping an arm around each leg, Obi picks you up from the ground and presses you back against the door.

"Imagine if they knew-" Together, you guide his cock inside you. No matter how many times you take it, the fit is tight. The tapered end of his cock makes taking it easy at first, but each bump and ridge slides into you and rubs against sensitive areas. "How often you are underneath me."

His strokes are slow. When he moves too quickly, the floor squeaks under foot, so it's all you can do to take every careful thrust. You hang from his horns and nudge your nose into his muzzle, over and over again. It's the way dragonborns kiss, an ode to his kind.

"How often I fill you with my seed." Obi's grasp gets tighter. His scales catch against your sensitive skin as he pulls his hips away from you.. "How terribly I love you."

This time, you kiss him the way humans do. Right on his mouth, licking into his teeth. His lips can't pucker the same way yours do, but he licks up into your mouth anyway, letting you suck on his tongue for a moment.

You continue like this for a while, secretly enjoying each other. By the time you come undone, he's right behind you, spilling deep inside your guts. You hold each other longer, enjoying the warmth trapped between your bodies.

"If they knew," he says wistfully, after a long period of silence. "We would have to get married."

"We would have to," you agree. "Then we've have to settle down, find a home. Have a couple babies with your pretty black scales."

"That's funny." Obi's nose scrunches as he smiles. "Whenever I picture our children, they look just like you."

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nobodysuspectsthebutterfly · 2 years ago

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Interestingly, the in-universe Fire & Blood may have only just come out, if it even has at all! When Maester Yandel began writing The World of Ice & Fire, he included some of Archmaester Gyldayn's words from his great unpublished work, with his permission.

But in one thing, I have taken a liberty: the account of Aegon’s Conquest is not my own work but something lately shared with me in the Citadel, an as-yet complete work by the Archmaester Gyldayn. This fragment—part of a greater work that is intended as a history of the Targaryen kings—was first brought to my attention by the Archmaester Perestan, who regards his efforts (and his prose) highly. The learned archmaester is most hesitant to share more until his labors are concluded, but has permitted (after some persuasion, I will admit) the use of certain passages in mine own, more modest effort. —TWOIAF, Preface (revised edition)

So other than the few archmaesters and maesters who know of the very existence of Gyldayn's masterwork, Fire & Blood is probably not even a matter of academic study yet in the Citadel.

Now, mind you, Yandel wanted his book to be a mass appeal popular history text:

...but my greatest desire was to create a work of mine own, a work that humble but lettered men might read—and read to their wives and children—so that they would learn of things both good and wicked, just and unjust, great and small, and grow wiser as I had grown wiser amidst the learning of the Citadel. And so I set myself to work once more at my forge, to make new and notable matter around the masterworks of the long-dead maesters who came before me. —TWOIAF, Preface

So it's possible that Fire & Blood was intended to be the same sort of text. The inclusion of such popular but highly questionable texts like Mushroom's Testimony and Coryanne Wylde's A Caution For Young Girls may especially lead to that conclusion. Unfortunately, Gyldayn's book lacks a preface like Yandel's (probably since it may have been published posthumously, as Yandel has been working on his own book for a while, and per GRRM Gyldayn only lived into the early years of Robert's reign), so we may never know for sure what Gyldayn meant it to be. But maybe the second part of Fire & Blood will have an afterword, to clarify matters?

in universe do you think fire and blood is considered a by academics for academics serious history text or a mass appeal popular history text. would you be embarrassed to cite it

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #valyrianscrolls #fire and blood #the world of ice and fire #archmaester gyldayn #maester yandel #archmaester perestan #the citadel #historiography #academia #note grrm originally imagined (and put into twoiaf) that gyldayn died at summerhall but then he changed his mind #revised editions of twoiaf are per above with yandel getting gyldayn's permission to use his text in his own book #and it's maester corso who was at summerhall and who wrote that quote about the eggs and the fire and dunk's valor and all #also note re the canonicity question i've seen some wonder about re twoiaf due to yandel not being grrm-#no worries e&l did not make anything up. they just transcribed grrm's notes (that he gave them) into their own words #grrm has the right to change his mind before any twoiaf-only info gets put in the core books but otherwise it's all canon #though yandel *is* still a twit who writes to flatter the king (whoever he may be) and also quotes unreliable maester sources #and the “here be dragons” nature of the far east sections makes them *highly* unreliable. but it's canon that they're unreliable lol #anyway my maester oc probably would be embarassed to cite f&b but mostly because he dislikes perestan (but not as much as he hates ebrose)#queue and me we're in this together now

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eviesaurusrex · 2 months ago

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"I am here." | B. Sorrengail

Brennan Sorrengail x Riorson!Reader

summary: Brennan knows she can handle herself and keep herself nurtured—but why should she if he can easily take care of her?

word count: 1.8k

warnings: pure fluff, reader is described as being independent and doesn’t accept any help at all, acts of services as a love language, Brennan is a softie, reader has the cold, cooking, short mention of clairvoyant abilities as a signet, mention of a not ideal childhood

author’s note: This idea came to life thanks to this post from @theseinfernalangels Thank you for the inspiration! <3 The dividers are made by @enchanthings-a

dragon name—Mór-ríoghan | Mór

Ever since they had first met in front of the parapet, Brennan Sorrengail had known.

He had known how hard he would fall for her—already happening after one glance from her and the slight tip of her lips despite the situation they soon had faced. It had gotten worse over the course of the following passing weeks until he hadn’t held back any longer. Not after they both had survived Threshing with a bonded dragon as their prize—and a few new scars as proof of their overcoming.

Even then, YN had been independent to a fault, only ever letting go of it when they flew formations. It was no surprise to him when she was named Section Leader and Wing Leader and continued on with her career after their graduation. Not with that signet of hers. Brennan still felt guilt gnawing at him in moments of retrospection, knowing she must have known of the day of his presumed death before he had even left for the battle. The guilt turned all-consuming every time she woke crying in the depth of night, startled by yet another nightmare of his death, her hands grasping for his body and clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

He did not mind, obviously. Those rare moments of helplessness, of being unable to hold herself together… Brennan did not relish in them, of course not, but he felt needed in a way she rarely expressed because YN wasn’t the type of woman who needed anyone. And yet, she had confessed her love to him all those years ago and had waited for him despite not knowing for certain if he would ever come back to her.

He had only left Riorson House for not more than an hour. He had headed to the market in the early morning after waking up to a coughing and wheezing YN; her body flushed with a fever, her cheeks warm to the touch. Brennan hadn’t imagined for her to wake up in the next couple of hours, not with the cold running havoc within her body after the last patrol she flew, but he was proven differently when he closed the door behind him, a pack of vegetables and herbs resting comfortably in the crook of his arm.

The clatter of knives, pots, and plates traveled through the hallway, and his eyes landed on Xaden, Violet, and Garrick standing on the threshold of the sunlit kitchen, watching something or someone. “Is Bodhi trying to bake again?” His question made them turn their heads one at a time before his sister looked back again, her forehead furrowed. “Not particularly…?”

Relief flooded the eldest Sorrengail because that disaster was something neither of them needed another time, especially if it involved fire and smoke poisoning again.

But the relief was short-lived when the familiar cough was heard between pots clattering and a mumbled swear. He was quick and stepped next to his friends, eyes raking over the kitchen, and found YN within a heartbeat, wrapped in her favorite blanket that dragged across the floor like a train behind her, her nose obviously being through a lot since he had left her in bed this morning.

“I offered to help, but…,” Garrick started and trailed off. “You know how she is,” Xaden ended the sentence with a grumble, obviously not fond of his older sister dragging herself around in such a state, arms crossed in front of his chest. Violet nudged Brennan softly. “I tried to get her back to bed, offered some of that tea Mira brought, but all she did was grumbling and mumbling No. She’s so much like you.” The last part was directed at Xaden hovering in her back, and he only rolled his eyes at that. “Well, they do share blood. And Fen wasn’t the most present father.” Garrick’s comment made Brennan’s heart clench just like every time YN had told him about her childhood and growing up as the firstborn Riorson—and not being the boy that was demanded by some ludicrous wedding contract.

Xaden stared at him, almost unblinking, and Brennan cocked a brow in return before pushing through the small group and nudging them back into the hallway. “Stop hovering and let me do my job, all right?” The other Riorson huffed at that, but Violet was quick to take his arm and lead him away, distracting him from wanting to beat Brennan up again. The Sorrengail didn’t need another one of his beatings, not when YN was still trying to cook herself a meal despite him being able to do it just fine for her.

With a soft sigh, he stepped into the kitchen and placed his purchase on the countertop, rounding the island with slow, measured steps in order not to startle her. His eyes raked over her form, taking in her slumped posture, the shake of her shoulders every time another cough rattled her tired body, her voice barely audible when she softly spoke to her dragon.

“I am as bright as day, Mór. I can make me some bloody soup without passing out.”

But Brennan didn’t believe that for one second, so his hands got a gentle hold of her shoulders, his thumbs caressing the soft fabric of her blanket. She didn’t even flinch, probably already anticipating him because they certainly weren’t quite when they had watched her rummaging in here, trying to cook something.

“Why aren’t you in bed, darling? Where you belong with that cold, might I add?” His voice was soft, and Brennan pressed a gentle kiss on the curve between shoulder and neck, feeling the heat of her body warring against the cold on his skin. A raspy groan was heard from her while she tried to hold onto the knife in her hand, which slightly shook with every cough. “Not you as well,” YN mumbled with a frown thrown his way across her shoulder, but his hand closing softly around the knife handle made her pause. “Love, I have every right to be concerned for your wellbeing. Let me help.” The Sorrengail tried to be as gentle and soft as possible, trying to coax her into finally letting him step up and help her for once, but the suspicion in her eyes wouldn’t vanish.

“Why would I let you cook when I am clearly capable of doing it myself? I’m not dying, Brennan, I am just sick. It's barely worth mentioning.” YN tried to cut through the first carrot she had found in the pantry but was forced to stop when another bone-rattling cough wracked her body, her fingers grasping for purchase at the edge of the wooden countertop. Brennan was right there, wrapping his arms supportively around her shaking and softly swaying body, holding her upright and steady. “Why would you need to cook yourself when I’m here, offering my help? You don’t have to do everything on your own, my love. Not anymore, at least. I am here, and I am here to stay and to help whenever and wherever I can if you’d just allow it.”

He wasn’t sure if the eldest Riorson even knew how useless he sometimes felt in the wake of her independence. Yes, Brennan was drawn to it—unmistakably so—but he needed to do things for her. He had started sorting their clothes and handling their leathers; he mended her boots as soon as the sole was thinning, and washed her hair after a particularly long day when she was too tired to even mutter a single word. Most things he did for her were quiet ones, ones she wouldn’t suspect, but Brennan wanted to do more.

So much more.

After a childhood where she had to raise not only herself but her brother as well, she deserved nothing less, in his opinion.

Slowly turning in his arms, YN looked up at him, brows still furrowed in uncertainty, eyes still holding that suspicious gleam he had grown to love just as well over the years. His fingers gently pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, still tangled from the restless sleep, watching her analyzing his plea. “You can command me around to your heart’s content, Major Riorson,” he teased quietly, a smirk playing across his lips and a soft laugh escaping him when he felt her hitting his shoulder without force. “You know how to cook the chicken soup my grandmother used to make?” Skepticism laced YN’s words, and Brennan couldn’t hold back but tap the tip of her nose with one of his fingers. “I’m sure I can learn while doing it.”

Huffing at his lack of experience, the Riorson allowed him to lead her to the chair right at the vast kitchen island in the middle of the room, eyeing the vegetables and herbs he had brought from the market scrutinizingly. “You could’ve chosen a better-looking thyme.” Brennan smiled brightly at the comment while washing his hands and returning to the carrots waiting to be diced, a kettle now starting to boil next to him. “Don’t be a grump, my love,” the man smiled across his shoulder, grinning to himself at the roll of her eyes but the smile tucking at her lips.

“We are getting somewhere, Marbh,” he chuckled down their bond and felt his dragon huff in relief in the back of his mind. “Finally. Mór would not let me sleep in peace because she is worried for YN. I will let her know.”

Humming while he chopped the vegetables, YN lectured him with soft words and an even softer tone, and he felt her gaze on the back of his neck, letting pleasant goosebumps erupt on his body and a pleased shiver run across his back. It felt good doing this for her—more than good.

When the water boiled, the Sorrengail grabbed a mug and steeped some tea, placing it right in front of her folded hands, and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of her head. “Do you need sugar? Honey?” Her eyes softened even more when YN looked up at him then, and without thinking, let one of her hands raise and cup his cheek lovingly. “Honey, please,” she whispered raspily, smiling gently when Brennan got a hold of her wrist and kissed the palm of her hand, quickly returning with the small jar of gathered honey from the bees right outside the city. “Thank you.”

The words fell so softly from her lips, the copper-haired giant almost could’ve missed them if he wasn’t so tuned in on YN after the years they had spent together. “You will never have to thank me for anything, my love. This will always come freely.” Another kiss was pressed to her head before he returned to the preparation of her soup, and while he chopped and sliced and diced, YN told him step for step what he had to do next, watching him with the unwavering warmth spreading inside her body that certainly wasn’t the making of the tea cupped by her hands.

Thank you so much for reading my silly little fanfiction! Please consider leaving a like, a comment, and a reblog—it would mean the world to me <3

#brennan sorrengail #brennan sorrengail x reader #brennan sorrengail x riorson!reader #brennan x reader #brennan x riorson!reader #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing fluff #fourth wing x riorson!reader #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing fic #fourth wing fanfiction #brennan sorrengail fic #brennan sorrengail fanfic #brennan sorrengail fanfiction #brennan sorrengail fluff

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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 months ago

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A Gathering of Waters by Uzumaki Rebellion

Characters: Elijah "Smoke" Moore and Elias "Stack" Moore (characters in the Michael B. Jordan movie "Sinners"). Taiwo Moore and Cash "Big Smoke" Moore (OC).

Warning(s): Mentions of Hoodoo, Yoruba Orishas, Mississippi Share Cropping Life, a Stillborn Death, Supernatural Elements, Slight Romance (if you squint), Sex, Some Violence, and Angst. Pre-Sinners movie.

Summary: Clarksdale, Mississippi. 1897. Taiwo Moore recently gave birth to twin boys, Elijah and Elias. Haunted by lucid dreams foreshadowing danger for the babies, Taiwo hopes to use conjuring magic to protect her sons from the supernatural tricksters who want to snatch the children's uncertain futures away.

Word Count: 15.1K

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"Come to your river, wash myself

I will come to your river, wash myself

I will come to your river, wash my soul again"

Ibeyi – "River"

Ibeji

Taiwo Smoke carried her babies low and heavy in the first five months of her pregnancy. Hummingbirds followed her around as she hung laundry all of November, fluttering their rapid wings near her ears before their winter migration. All signs that twin boys were coming in the early spring. During their first year of life, otherworldly tricksters soon plagued her days and nights, trying to steal her babies, Elijah and Elias.

The boys tore out her body with the force of the raging storm that rattled their newly built tenement cabin. Rainwater fell from the sky in an icy deluge as if the mighty Mississippi River had flipped upside down and emptied itself over their heads. It threatened to overflow the section of the Big Sunflower River near their home surrounded by a thick forest that tapered off into the cotton fields her family sharecropped.

Taiwo's husband Cash stood watch at the front window, plucking on his banjo, staying alert for signs if they needed to move to higher ground because of flooding. When they were courting, he used to brag that he could play his banjo and stop raindrops in mid-air if he wanted to. But they needed the rain this year after a long drought, and Cash played a soft song for her birthing time to soothe and coax the babies out.

Elijah came out first in a rush of warm birth waters, eyes closed and mouth silent. The midwife, his grandmother that shared the same name as his mother, had to make sure he was breathing because his entry into the world was much too calm for a rainy night. Elias, on the other hand…well, that one roared out of her aching vagina two minutes later, wailing and shaking his wet, blood-smeared limbs in protest. His eyes were all wide open and searching around for the culprit who interrupted his secure peace in the womb.

Wo-Ma, as the younger Taiwo called her mother, chuckled and rubbed the traces of blood and pale, greasy coating of the vernix caseosa into Elias's skin. They wouldn't wash the babies off until after twelve hours or more. Wo-Ma said it protected the baby's ruddy complexion, and they needed time to adjust away from their old home in the belly slowly as they entered the new one outside of it.

"This one here is Taiwo, in honor of all the Taiwos in our bloodline," Wo-Ma said. "And this loud baby over here…he is Kehinde."

The name Taiwo meant "the firstborn to taste the world" in the old language of Wo-Ma's ancestors. They came from some long gone and often mis-remembered part of West Africa where Orishas still wept for them. Passed down generation to generation that revered the numerous double births in their family as blessings from the divine twins—Ibeji—Taiwo's people always named the first twin that way. The second twin was always called Kehinde and nicknamed Meji. Wo-Ma said it meant "two" or maybe "second". Language of the old world faded, and so did accurate understandings.

Elias still fretted, refusing to latch onto her left nipple.

"He carry fire in his mouth," Wo-Ma said.

Taiwo nodded and glanced at Elijah. His nature, the opposite of his fiery younger brother, reflected the energy of the unseen depths of big water, lying cool and calm. Wo-Ma studied Elijah's features first and then Elias's.

"Mirrors of each other. Gonna be hard telling them apart until we know them real good. But I'm prepared," Wo-Ma said, walking over to a bureau.

She opened a drawer and pulled out two white, hand-sewn birthing gowns. One had red stitching of little stars; the other blue.

"I give them the colors to match their natures. Blue for Elijah…and red for Elias."

"Mama, how you have those colors ready before they were even born?"

"All twins in our family come out this way. One is always blue, and the other is always red. That's how it be."

"So you were the red one?"

"Sho'nuff. The way I was taught is…twins are divine gifts. They tell the world that you have abundance in store for you. Each twin is fire or water. I was the fire. When you and your twin sister were born together, I knew you were water."

Taiwo noticed the shadow of her husband shift the light of the kerosene lamps in the small bedroom. His tall, sinewy body filled up the room like an extra wall, but his eyes looked small and helpless in the glow of fireplace light from the next room. The lush hair on his head was as soft as fresh cotton bursting from its boll.

"You alright, Taiwo?" he asked.

She smiled. Wo-Ma had already cleaned and covered her lower half. The room smelled of afterbirth, sweat, and tears. Taiwo sat upright with both babies propped under each arm. Elijah suckled a heavy brown breast, and Elias kept fretting. She watched her husband's eyes water with his question.

"I'm fine Cash…we're all fine."

Cash let out a loud exhale and sat next to her on the lumpy bed to look at his boys. He leaned the banjo against the mattress. His fingers trembled as he touched the new life they created. He was terrified of losing Taiwo since her own twin sister, Kehinde, had passed away giving birth to a stillborn a year ago in a Philadelphia hospital.

She gazed at Cash's face that she went soft for at an informal dance where she hiked up her legs doing the cakewalk with him. He had bright, playful eyes and a seductive smile. A true ladies' man that sent hearts racing across three plantation properties. She hoped their babies would have his sun-burnt umber skin color and full lips. Their soft tufts of black hair laid flat on their tiny scalps, looking like her daddy Papa Will who probably worried about her back at her parent's old shack. He was half Choctaw and told her it was bad luck for a man to be around a woman giving birth. Wo-Ma said that was a lie. He feared watching her struggle to give birth to his first grandchildren. They were only the second generation of children to be born free in their family. Papa Will's own Choctaw grandfather owned him until the end of the Civil War when Freedmen slaves and Black mixed bloods could claim their own lives for themselves.

"Cash, I want you to say their names first. They hear you say it, and they'll grow up strong and handsome like you."

He grinned and his lips curled into a half moon. She glanced at their firstborn and Cash looked down at the baby.

"Hello Elijah Smoke…and hello to you too, Elias Smoke."

Wo-Ma lowered her eyes. The corners of her lips turned down with disappointment.

"Wo-Ma, me and Cash think the boys need Christian first names. Times are different and it might be hard for them to carry our old names without people looking at them funny."

"You mean white people," Wo-Ma huffed.

Cash lifted Elijah from her breast. The baby looked so tiny cradled in the nook of his arm. He grinned so hard that Taiwo could see the gums above his teeth.

"Elijah Taiwo Smoke and Elias Kehinde Smoke. They still carry the names Wo-Ma, just in a new order," Cash said.

Wo-Ma fixed her lips into a delicate smirk after hearing the boys still kept the naming tradition for twins.

"Lemme go fix you some soup. Don't worry none if the babies don't eat a lot right now. They may wanna sleep the next few hours," Wo-Mo said.

She lifted a bucket from the floor where she tossed their shared placenta. Taiwo would bury it in the yard once the rain stopped. Wo-Ma headed for their stove in the other room, humming to herself.

Cash lowered his head and kissed her on the forehead. He never displayed too much affection around her parents. Especially Wo-Ma. He was still nervous around his mother-in-law and the quiet Hoodoo power that resonated within her like a hidden torch.

"Tell the boys how we met," Taiwo said.

She loved listening to Cash tell stories. He could spin a tall tale like a spider weaving intricate patterns in the corners of their cabin or relay the juiciest gossip from town about the white folks as if you'd been there to watch it all play out. He'd keep a porch full of drunk men enraptured for hours, all animated a full of charisma. The tone and lilt of his voice gave her shivers whenever he sang songs to her in that romantic, delta-born cadence of his.

He glanced at Elias as he rocked Elijah.

"No, I think you should tell them. I want to hear how you see it."

"I might fall asleep in the middle of it," she said.

"Well, if you do that, I'll pick up the rest and finish it for them. Deal?"

She nodded.

"Elijah…Elias. You see that banjo? Your daddy used that thing to win me over."

Taiwo could see her reflection in Cash's soulful brown eyes.

"He saw me dancing in a ring of young ladies at a barn dance over on the Lexington plantation. Your daddy played his banjo so good to try and impress me. He could make those strings talk! Uncle Beatty played his harmonica…there was a jug player and Mr. Abe played an old washboard. The fiddler sounded so pretty mixing in with the banjo. Oh! I had so much fun that night. Dancing around a fire and relaxing after a hard harvest season. There was only one problem…"

Taiwo looked at her babies and wondered if it was okay to mention her dead twin sister. They would never meet her, and she hadn't been gone that long in order for Taiwo to say her name out loud without tears welling up. Elijah opened his eyes for the first time, and she took it as a sign that the boys wanted to know everything.

"The problem?" Cash said, urging her to continue.

"Your daddy thought I was my sister, Kehinde. See, he met her earlier that day at the merchant store. He invited her to come out and sees me dancing in the ring… thinks he knows me already!"

Cash chuckled, showing gums again. She warmed up to the telling.

"He asked me to cakewalk to the next song he wasn't playing the banjo for and we gets to kicking our feet and strutting with everyone. Ooh lawd, I had so much fun dancing with him! I took a break to get some water from the well at the back of the barn, and when I come back, he's dancing with my sister!"

"Honest mistake."

"We had on two different dresses!"

"I was looking at faces, not dresses."

"Mmhmm."

Elias opened his mouth and his tiny pink tongue flicked in and out. She offered him a nipple again, and this time he eagerly took it. His plump cheeks hallowed, trying to get the hang of sucking. Taiwo rested her fingers above her nipple, helping him secure his mouth on her. He gurgled and suckled while she gently stroked his hair.

"Boys, trust me," Cash said. "I couldn't tell them apart. They both had their hair out, all long and big, like giant black rain clouds all the way down to their waists. I ain't never seen that much hair on a woman in my life!"

Cash reached out and touched a thick rope of hair that hung down her side. Elijah squirmed on his father's arm impatiently, wanting the story to go on. He was learning Taiwo's voice outside of his womb water. Her husband put their firstborn against her other breast and watched boy boys feed from her. Fatigue settled on Taiwo's shoulders.

"Well, then…I marched myself right up to him and said, 'Now you after my sister?' If y'all coulda seen his face…my word!"

"I honestly ain't know there were two of 'em. I just thought it was strange how your Aunt Meji could dance so good one minute, and then the next time, she got two left feet and lost all sense of rhythm."

"Your auntie was a terrible dancer. We looked the same…talked the same…even walked the same…but that girl could never catch a beat to save her life!"

Taiwo laughed, and it was the first time she'd laughed with a memory of her sister. Progress.

"After we cleared up the confusion and Meji stopped fussing with Cash, I danced the rest of the night with him. The only time he let go of my hand was when he had to play the banjo, but he kept his eyes on me, studying me hard so he'd know he had the right one. Now your auntie, she stayed upset for a couple of months until she found her own beau and ran off to Philadelphia. Ain't a finer man around than Cash Smoke. I loves every part of him."

Cash darted his eyes away, embarrassed by her words. She never understood why he acted so bashful about her bragging on him. He truly was a fine catch. Even though he was married to her nearing three years, she still caught other women eyeing him, wondering if he was a tip toeing man. He wasn't. Although he'd still drink a bit of corn liquor with his friends, hoot and holler at celebratory gatherings, he was always straight and narrow with her. His personality often outshined his good looks, and she couldn't get mad at other women for desiring that type of heady concoction. Hell, even men wanted to be around him all the time. Something about his nature attracted people to him.

The day she knew for sure she was making babies, she cried and walked all the way to the cotton field to tell him. He shouted so loud and bragged all nine months about having children coming from her.

A lot of men tried to court Papa Will's girls. She and Meji were hard workers, sturdy in the hips, and as pretty as the dusk at twilight. Only Cash stole her heart. The way he played his banjo with tender care showed her how he would be with her.

"That's the long and short of it. Been a good three years for us. The rains have come back. We have this new cabin your daddy built for us. Now that we have you two, I see only more wonderful things coming our way."

Wo-Ma swept back in, carrying a steaming bowl of chicken and potato soup. Cash stood from the bed.

"I'ma go on over to see Papa Will. Let him know the boys got here safe and you're resting," Cash said.

He lifted a coat and his dark brown hat from a chair in the bedroom. Glancing back at her, his eyes softened.

"You look real pretty feeding them like that, Taiwo. I'm mighty proud to be your husband."

Wo-Ma grinned and sat at the edge of the bed, holding out a spoon to her filled with chunks of chicken and broth.

"Be careful, Cash," she said.

He tipped his hat to her and set off into the rain.

Taiwo's tired body settled into a deep and restless slumber after eating the soup. She flailed in the bed and Cash had to wake her up because she kept hitting his arm in her sleep, waking him.

"Taiwo, you're dreaming," he said, shaking her awake.

His dusky eyes held her gaze in the kerosene light. The babies were in the main room with Wo-Ma, where the fire still crackled near the hearth where they slept to keep warm.

The ends of Cash's hair still held the corkscrew curls from the rain when he went to see her father hours ago. Wo-Ma hustled into the room wearing her long white flannel nightgown.

"Taiwo? Are you in pain?" Wo-Ma asked.

"No, Mama. I had a dream. A bad one."

Wo-Ma crept closer to Taiwo's left side of the bed and touched her forehead.

"What did you dream about that has you so upset?"

"Upset?"

Wo-Ma wiped tears from Taiwo's cheeks.

"Quickly child, before it fades," Wo-Ma said.

Taiwo touched her face, surprised to feel wet teardrops pooling under her lids. She closed her eyes and the remnants of the dream came into tight focus, like she was still bound to it by tenuous silvery threads.

"I'm near the old Indian mounds…and I can hear the rushing of water coming close…but I caint see it none. It smells wet all around me…there's no sunlight, but there ain't really no darkness either…just gray…all gray, and I see a tall man. No…not a man…wait…it's a man, but he's like a rabbit, Mama. Head of a jackrabbit, all furry…all over, but he stands tall on two dark furry legs like a man. Right next to him is a bear…large and black and he's standing upright, too…with eyes like a man looking right at me…they comin' toward me and I caint move, Mama…I caint move…!"

Cash hugged her tight against him and rocked her in safety and comfort. The heat from his body reassured her that the dream world had vanished. But she could still smell the scent of icy river water in her nostrils.

"What it mean, Wo-Ma?" Cash asked.

Wo-Ma placed her hands on her thighs.

"It means we gotta keep an eye on them twins. She done seen Brother Rabbit and Brother Bear. They only come when we need protectin'."

Wo-Ma rubbed her brow and sighed.

"Keep them babies indoors until I put things together for 'em, hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cash said.

Taiwo touched her breasts through her gown.

"Babies are ready to eat," Taiwo said.

Elias's loud squall echoed in the next room.

Wo-Ma brought them back into the bedroom. Taiwo fed them and rested her head on Cash's shoulder. But Wo-Ma paced all that night burning small bundles of sweetgrass in the fire until the rain finally stopped.

2. Meji

Taiwo used her long, nimble, chestnut brown fingers to wrap Elijah in a snug baby blanket. She swiped his forehead and hair with a pungent golden oil she made for her sons.

"This one here gonna be a charmer, Taiwo."

Taiwo's best friend, Mavis, held Elias in her arms. The little brown bundle squirmed in Mavis's hands. After three months, Elias had become the more attention-seeking of the two boys. The loudest crier, and prone to seeking her breast milk again, even when his belly was bloated and hanging out of his baby shirts, Elias could never settle down like his brother and give her one moment of rest without fussing to be picked up and played with. Elijah often scrunched his face up whenever Elias's antics annoyed him. Despite being identical in every way, Taiwo only needed to glance at their impish eyes to know who was who.

"Here, give him to me," Taiwo said.

Mavis handed the boy over and Taiwo clucked her tongue to catch his attention. Big, shiny brown eyes peered up at her. Elijah rested cozily next to her hip on the bed, bundled up tight from the morning draft sneaking under the door of their cabin.

Taiwo smeared more prayed over cotton-seed oil steeped with marigold flowers across the second born baby, and wrapped him carefully. She placed him next to Elijah in their crib.

"Hopefully, they'll go to sleep soon. Call me if they get hungry," Taiwo said.

Mavis rubbed the protruding bulge in her expectant belly.

"Girl, I don't know how you handle two at a time. Having one soon is making me nervous for all you gotta do for 'em," Mavis said.

"You get used to it."

Taiwo went back outside. The clean clothes and sheets she hung up earlier to dry flapped gently in the breeze. Two neighbor's children she looked after while their parents worked the fields lingered near the side of the cabin playing with ants. The June sun hung above them in a pale blue sky with no cloud in sight.

A giant black pot boiled above a fire pit. Filled with white sheets, she stirred it with a large smooth stick. Wo-Ma taught Taiwo how to make money cleaning clothes for the white townsfolk. She had plenty of customers to keep her busy during the week while she babysat, too. She hired Mavis to watch over the twins so she could keep working while Cash tended to the fields. They were saving to buy a plot of land for themselves, and that would only happen if Taiwo kept working. White women in town hired out for everything: childcare, cooking and cleaning, plus their laundry. But they still had the nerve to call Black folks lazy good-for-nothings while they sat indoors pampered. Even the white tenement farmers near them acted like they were better than negroes while they walked around barefoot and unclean with lice in their stringy hair and bedbugs in their mangy clothes.

Wo-Ma said the more well-off whites were no different with uncleanliness, hence the boiling of their laundry to make sure nothing jumped onto Taiwo's clothes. She always greased her scalp down with added cornrows and a hair covering to prevent lice from trying to latch onto her hair.

All morning she boiled clothes, scrubbed them in a tub near the creek water before rinsing them clean, and toting them back in a wagon to the cabin for line hanging. In between those chores, she fed her babies, and shared an early hearty lunch with the older children and Mavis.

While packing up a hot lunch of stew and rice for her husband, she debated about bringing the boys with her in the wagon after they finally went to sleep.

"The babies are sleeping Taiwo, don't wake them. It took me a long time to get Elias quiet," Mavis groaned.

Cash loved lunch visits with his sons, but Mavis was right. If Elias slept well for the next two hours, she could spend some time with her husband alone. Maybe even sneak in some kisses.

She took a deep breath and left them behind. The grandmother of the young girl and boy she cared for came to get them early after cleaning a home in town all morning. Taiwo grinned, carrying a small basket of the stew and rice with leftover bread baked the night before. A jug of cool well water tapped against her thigh. She changed into a pretty dress for Cash, and took off the scarf on her head, letting the four long cornrows bounce on her back. Her body healed enough so they could be frisky again if they wanted. She missed grown up time with her husband.

Taiwo headed toward the far end of the cotton field where she could see her husband in the distance. Cash worked their large plot, weeding and tilling between the rows. It would be a plentiful harvest that year, according to him.

"My stomach just started grumbling," Cash said.

He tossed down his hoe and kissed Taiwo on her lips. She handed him the fresh jug of cool water and he guzzled it down, wetting his lips.

"You didn't bring my babies?"

"They sleep."

Cash's eyes grew wide with surprise.

"What?"

"Mavis somehow got them down in their bed. They look so cute. Big chubby cheeks."

He looked inside the basket.

"There was some stew left? I thought for 'sho Mavis would eat it all up."

"I hid it from her before she could."

They sat on a blanket under a tree where Cash rested throughout the day from the heat. Taiwo watched him eat and lick his fingers, dripping with brown gravy meat. He rinsed off his hands with some of the jug water.

"I'm making fried chicken tonight," she said.

"Oh, yeah?"

"I cooked okra, and I made some cornbread."

"In between all that washing?"

"Yeah. The Claytons are gone this week visiting relatives, so that freed me up with less work today. I'll have a lot to do next week when they return…that'll make up for the loss."

"I'm renting out Brownie Boy to Pete next month for some late planting. His mule died this morning. He can't afford a new one, so I offered Brownie."

"As long as it's Brownie and not Esther."

"Nah, Esther ain't going nowhere. She only likes me and won't pull a plow for anyone else."

"People thinkin' we're rich now since we got Esther."

"It's because of them twins bringing good luck. Just think…a month ago Jake Mathis went on to glory, leaving us Esther, them chickens, and five pigs. Man turns one hundred years old the same day our sons are born and promised to give us all he owned after seeing them one time. Ain't that somethin'?"

Cash stared at her.

"I like this dress on you."

He fingered a button on the top part, admiring the yellow color, and glanced over her shoulder to look at their home further away.

"We're by ourselves," he said.

His seductive eyes drank in the new shape of her figure the babies gave her. He kissed her lips softly and waited for her to allow more to happen. She encouraged it with a slip of the tongue in his mouth and they remembered the touches and sighs that led to them having babies in the first place.

They pulled off their clothes and made love under the shade tree.

Taiwo ignored the discomfort of the hard earth pressing into her back. The strain of arousal lining Cash's face stoked her passion. His dick was harder than the wooden stick she used to stir laundry. He moved above her like a desperate man in need of release.

"Taiwo," he grunted, thrusting to the hilt.

To lessen the chance of impregnating her again too soon, Cash pulled out when he reached his brink. Taiwo scrambled to her knees before he ejaculated on her stomach.

"Whatchu doin'?" he yelped.

She held his erection by the root, took a deep breath, and put her mouth on the wide head. Cash held still and gasped loud enough to arouse her more. She wasn't concerned with her own orgasm. Her focus was on pleasing her husband with something new in her repertoire.

Mavis told her all month about the rumors of a woman named Ruby Lee who blew into Clarksdale stealing husbands. She was known to do nasty things for money that had men far and wide sneaking around with her. Taiwo ran into her once in passing after a church service where she noticed the menfolk cutting eyes at the woman, and she at them. She had voluptuous breasts like Taiwo, but lacked the pretty face to seem like a threat to most women. But she had a sway in her wide hips and fleshy lips with a penchant for what Mavis gossiped about: sucking dick.

The filthiness intrigued Taiwo. Putting a mouth on a man's privates was scandalous. Unchristian-like. She imagined Ruby Lee sitting in a church pew with a pungent whore's breath full of semen. Nasty work.

However…

Listening to Mavis screech about Ruby Lee riding on a horse-drawn wagon throughout Clarksdale selling her granny's laundry soap and hair grease forced Taiwo to turn her attention to Cash. He hung out with the men who enjoyed Ruby Lee's favors. Had he been tempted to see what all the fuss was about? Last Friday, after delivering laundry with the mule Esther on her own wagon cart, Taiwo noticed a wrapped chunk of laundry soap left on her kitchen table. She made her own laundry soap and questioned Cash immediately.

"Oh, that soap gal… Ruby Lee… left free samples. I told her you made your own, but she insisted I try hers," Cash said off-handedly while sharpening their house knives with leather.

"She insisted?"

"She gave it to me and I said 'thank you' and put it on the table for you."

"And then?"

"And then what?"

Cash's eyebrows fixed themselves into two diagonal black lines on his forehead.

"Did she come in the house?"

"For what?"

His tone eased the height of her up-raised shoulders. He genuinely looked perplexed.

"To see the babies or something?"

"The boys were asleep. I don't know her well enough to let her in anyway."

Taiwo's relief tampered down her suspicions. But the woman did come to their home without her there. Brazen.

Ruby's snooping around Taiwo's hearth planted a defensive seed in her gut. Cash was the best looking man in Clarksdale, Black, white, or Native. Those extra pigs, chickens, and two mules probably made him appear enticing and flush with extra cash to toss around. Plus…men were weak.

Ruby could catch Cash at a gathering on a porch somewhere where Taiwo wasn't around. If he were playing his banjo at a jump-up, drinking a little bit, and not rushing to come home, a wily woman could take advantage. She tried something to ensure Cash would have no desire to stray.

The taste of his dick in her mouth mixed with her natural lubrication created an intoxicating sense of power. Cash groaned deep in his throat and she lowered her lips further, sliding them down the slick girth as she whimpered, adjusting to a male organ moving against her tongue.

She went down too far and gagged when his tip hit the back of her throat. Fighting her gag reflex, Taiwo raised back up, and went down again, making sure not to go too far. He hissed when she grazed dick skin with her teeth. She pressed her lips tighter around his penis and bobbed her head as she worked her neck, hoping that was the correct form.

"Taiwo…where you learn that girl? Huh? Keep sucking…keep sucking!"

Pleasure rippled all across her skin and her pussy throbbed, enjoying his pants and pleads to keep going. He shouted God's name and her mouth filled with his release, the blast of warm semen coursing down her throat.

She swallowed every drop.

Removing her mouth from his dick, she looked up at his face. Cash's eyes had narrowed and his brows furrowed looking down at her. Still panting, he stared at his dick as it turned soft in his hand.

"You like that?" she asked.

He threw his head back and looked up at the tree canopy. Laughter fell from his lips.

"Yes," he said.

He touched his chest.

"My heart is beating so fast right now," he said.

A coy smile lifted her lips. She pulled her clothes back on.

"Wayment…it's your turn. I gotta make you feel good, too," he insisted.

"Later," she said. "I have to go check on the babies. I was gone longer than I planned."

Cash reached for her arms and pulled her in close.

"Later, huh?"

She nodded. Reaching for the jug, Taiwo discreetly sipped water and rinsed her mouth. The taste of semen was something she'd have to get used to.

Taiwo meandered back to the cabin carrying her basket and jug.

The hairs on her arms rose, and she stopped walking. She turned to face the direction she came from, and the air crackled with a charge of energy that rushed across her entire body from head to toe, giving her the sensation of being folded inside out like the laundry she cleaned all day. The surrounding colors became saturated and objects in her sight came into sharp focus, as if she stepped into a freshly painted landscape. Her tongue felt thick and burdensome in her mouth. A scent of lavender perfume crinkled her nose, and the familiarity pumped the blood faster in her veins.

Kehinde.

That's what the air smelled like for seven seconds: Kehinde's perfume that her lover bought for her before he swept her off to the east, and an early grave. The odor permeated her dreams the last couple of weeks and it didn't startle her like a portent of grave circumstances in her sleep like it did now. In dreams, anything was possible. But in a waking state? No one else wore that particular scent of perfume. It smelled of sickly sweet foreboding. Only Kehinde—

Taiwo glimpsed a floating blue orb of bright light darting past her cabin. She dropped her basket and jug on the uneven earth and dashed for her home.

Coming upon the outhouse, the wooden door flung open, and Mavis stepped out. She rinsed her hands with a bucket of water left by the outhouse door and shook the excess away.

"Taiwo?"

Mavis stopped shaking her hands and stared at Taiwo.

"You done feeding them already?"

Taiwo ran around the side of the house, searching for signs of flickering blue amidst the flapping of cloud white sheets. Mavis approached her.

"You alright?"

Taiwo touched her arms. The hairs there still reached for the sky.

"I came back from being with Cash…"

Mavis's lips pressed into a line and she glanced back toward the rows of cotton plants.

"Came back?" Mavis huffed, "But you were inside a minute ago, feeding Elijah—"

The pitiful, wailing sounds of her babies pierced the air. Taiwo rushed past Mavis and ran up the porch steps. Bursting through the door, she noticed her rocking chair still moving near the open window. Elijah was face-down on the floor wearing only his cloth diaper, struggling to lift his weak neck up with a tight face bathed in hot tears.

"Why is he on the floor?!" Taiwo shouted.

"I didn't leave him there. You fed him in the chair and told me to take a break. I just went to relieve myself!"

"Mavis…I came back from the field! I didn't…"

Mavis's eyes were round and wide. Her small mouth twitched, and she wrung her hands. A creeping dread cooled Taiwo's forehead. She lifted Elijah and put him back in the crib next to Elias.

"This heat must be getting to me. I probably should rest…"

She touched the baby all over his exposed skin, checking for bruising or itchy, red bites from pesky chiggers that irritated everyone during the summer. He looked fine, and she gave him kisses to soothe his fright at being left unattended on the hard floor. Her fingers trembled when she sniffed lavender on his hair and cheeks. She crossed the room to dig into a coffee can hidden behind a small bag of flour above her stove. Pulling out Mavis's pay for the week, she handed over three coins, and took a deep inhale to calm her nerves in front of her friend.

"I'm gonna stay inside and sleep with the boys. You can go on home now. I'll be fine until Cash comes back."

"What about the laundry? Want me to take it down later?"

"I can do that. Go on home…and thank you for watching them today. Appreciate it."

"Is something wrong? Are you feeling sick?"

"A little under the weather. I'll be fine after I sleep a bit."

Mavis looked unsure, but she patted Taiwo's arm and left the cabin.

Taiwo fetched a clean cloth and used it to wipe down the twins with marigold oil all over. She grabbed some braided sweetgrass from above the fireplace mantle that rested in front of the small wood-carved Ibeji figures Wo-Ma gave her after the babies were born.

They rested snug inside a brown and orange beaded pouch. One identical figure represented Elijah and the other Elias, and as long as she kept those totems together safe, the old spirits from Africa would intercede on her children's behalf if needed. Using a match to burn the sweetgrass, she smudged the totems and the entire interior before quickly moving outside with the burning plant bundle. She circled the cabin three times, waving the smoke around, creating a sacred barrier.

Glancing around, she checked for any signs of her twin sister. The last time she laid eyes on her, Kehinde had worn a pretty golden yellow dress with her hair pinned back from her face. She glowed with love in her eyes, and Taiwo missed her dearly. Her twin flitted in and out of her lucid dreams, a pleasant memory occasionally since she gave birth. It made Taiwo feel like she could visit with her sister from time to time, and that their bond had never truly broken, even in death.

She allowed the last of the sweetgrass to burn up on the ground in front of the bottom step of the porch. Instead of sleeping, she ironed sheets and dresses, and when she needed to urinate, she skipped the outhouse and pissed in a chamber pot, dumping the liquid on the ground in a line from the porch.

When the last of the laundry finally dried, she put the babies in her small wagon and kept them right next to her as she pulled down her last items of the day, along with clean diapers. She remained vigilant as the sunlight faded. Frying the chicken Mavis plucked for her, Taiwo prepared dinner and had food on the table right as Cash dragged in, stretching his back and rubbing his stomach.

They ate together, and he noticed her tense stance between bites of cornbread and fried okra.

"What's troubling you?"

Taiwo swallowed her food.

"Tired, that's all. So hot today."

"No hotter than it was yesterday. The boys give you trouble?'

"No. They've been good. Elijah wasn't too hungry for his dinner."

"What about Elias?"

"His usual self. Want more?"

Cash pushed back his plate.

"Nah, I'm full. Good meal, thank you, honey."

Taiwo grinned. She stood to collect their empty plates, but Cash gathered them up and washed them for her.

"Go get some sleep early. I'll put everything away and look after the boys."

She kissed his cheek and changed into an old slip for her night clothes. Her breasts ached from Elijah not feeding from her and she rubbed her nipples, wondering if she should try to feed him again. Cash walked back into the room carrying their eldest.

"He's moving around like he's hungry," he said.

Taiwo took Elijah in her arms and sat on the edge of the bed, revealing a breast for him to take. He latched onto her and suckled for a few seconds before he pulled away, bursting into tears. His face turned a raging red-brown.

"What's wrong, huh Elijah? You're hungry. Come on and eat."

Elijah turned his face away from her breast and Taiwo checked his diaper to see if it needed changing before bed. He was clean and dry. Cash came back into the room and looked at their son.

"That cry doesn't sound so good."

"He won't eat, but he's hungry."

"Is he sick?"

"He doesn't have a fever…"

Taiwo cooed and gently rocked him, but Elijah would not stop wailing. She stood and walked around their bedroom, giving comforting words. He kept screaming.

"Elijah, please…" she said.

Elias heard his brother and started fussing in the crib. Cash looked after him and Taiwo clucked her tongue, hummed, and bounced him against her breasts. Nothing worked. It was too soon for teething. She stuck a finger in his mouth and rubbed around his gums. He started sucking on her finger, thinking something was on it, and then erupting into earsplitting shrieks.

She took him into the main room and held him near his brother who stared at him with enormous eyes from Cash's arms. The moment Elias heard another shriek from Elijah, he joined right in.

"Let's put them in the crib together," she suggested.

Side by side, the boys continued squawking like frightened birds in a nest. Cash brought out his banjo and started plucking a lullaby for them. Elias jammed his tiny lips together and whimpered, his discomfort broken by the sounds of his daddy playing music for them. Elijah kept screaming.

And then he stopped.

Tears like dewdrops shined on his heated brown cheeks, and his wet eyes looked past her to the corner where he finally cracked a smile, the pitiful whimpers no longer escaping his mouth. His face became bathed in a radiating blue light that danced across his plump cheeks. Cash didn't see it at all.

Taiwo's body thrummed with the sense of being folded again, like someone squeezing her body in on itself. Elijah laughed, but he didn't laugh for Taiwo. He laughed for the entity that joined them in the room. Someone who stepped through the void when they shouldn't have.

The scent of lavender pervaded the front room.

"You smell that?" Cash asked, sniffing the air.

"Yes."

"Like flowers."

"Lavender."

"Yeah, lavender."

Taiwo reached out and grabbed Cash's shirt sleeve, stopping him from moving.

"Keep playing music for them," she whispered.

She focused her eyes on the Ibeji above the fireplace.

"Sing to them."

The tone of her voice prompted Cash to play a soft tune, and he sang about summer sunshine and marigolds. While he entertained their twin sons, she turned to face her own twin.

Mustering the poise and strength of Wo-Ma, Taiwo uttered a spell of protection that she learned as a child to ward off unwanted ghosts, because that was needed as she locked eyes with Kehinde standing in the corner. Her sister looked as alive as the last day of her stay in Mississippi. A blue ring of ghostly flames surrounded her form. The banjo music sounded like it was in a vacuum and far away as Taiwo stepped into a tear of the ancestral realm. No warmth emitted from the blue fire, only a bone-deep cold that divided the living from the dead.

"You shouldn't be here, Kehinde. Not like this. Dreams are one thing, but here? In the world like this?"

A ripple in the ghostly fire made Kehinde look fuzzy before she snapped back to full clarity. The dead twin stared past Taiwo and fixed her gaze on the crib.

"I lost my baby," Kehinde gasped, reaching her arms out, not for her sister, but for the boys.

"I know, and I'm sorry, sister. We miss you, but you caint be here."

"You have two…lemme have one of them. I'll take care of him. See? He wants me…he cried for me, not you."

Kehinde touched her left breast, and milk leaked from it, wetting the ghostly dress.

"He so cute, and quiet and he took my milk. He knows me now—"

"Meji, you must go."

Taiwo clutched at her mojo bag around her neck with her left hand, and outstretched her right, pointing three fingers at Kehinde's face.

"Ibeji will keep us from all harm…they will watch over our lives and your comings and goings both now and forevermore…"

"Taiwo, please, let me have him. You can keep Elias…"

The brightness of Kehinde's skin dulled, the crisp outline of her form slowly faded as Taiwo stepped forward holding tight to her mojo, and her fear of unwanted spirits. Her voice rang out true and clear. Meji wasn't welcome there. By the time she reached the exact spot where Kehinde once stood, her sister had vanished back into the void, and Taiwo's skin stopped prickling with gooseflesh. The tear in the void had sealed back up.

"Thank you…thank you…" she murmured.

Turning back to Cash, she listened to him finish his song. Both boys had calmed down. She joined her husband at the crib and looked down at two peaceful little faces.

Taiwo sought her mother the next morning, and Wo-ma gave her a block of indigo, some milk, and a bag of lemons. She spent the morning mixing the items into a thick paint of haint blue that she brushed all over the front door and the porch steps. After the first coat dried, she painted another layer to keep Kehinde out of her house.

Wo-Ma didn't act surprised when Taiwo told her about Meji. She seemed prepared for it actually, like she'd been waiting for the day to come and had the supplies ready just in case. Cash didn't question her about it, accepting that she and her people did different things because of Hoodoo. No one spoke about it out loud, and he knew that people sometimes visited Wo-Ma for "special" talks in her home with Papa Will. Even her father went off to spend time among the old Choctaw Indian mounds to commune with nature and his own people's spirits.

She didn't tell Cash about seeing her sister, and her prayer the previous night sounded no different from the ones he heard her saying on any occasion when she sought help for a problem. In his mind, he probably thought she was praying for Elijah to get better.

Unfortunately, he didn't.

Day by day, he grew weaker from not taking her milk. After two days, his body became thinner than his brother's and she asked for Wo-Ma's help. By the fifth day, his diapers didn't fit. The sweetgrass, haint blue paint, and spells worked to keep Kehinde out of the house, but it didn't stop her connection to Elijah who didn't even want Taiwo picking him up anymore, his fretful eyes searching for an elusive new mother who abandoned him to the mundane world. Wo-Ma moved back into the house and gave her various spells to cast for her son, but nothing worked on their side of the veil. Elias thrived, getting fatter and happy while Elijah withered down to where she could see gauntness in his cheeks. They tried feeding him cow's milk diluted with water and mixed with honey. The boy ate nothing and didn't want to be touched by people. He cried during his diaper changes and cried whenever he looked around the room for Meji.

"He tasted your sister's milk. She created a bond with him I caint break just yet," Wo-Ma said.

Taiwo's mother sat in the kitchen area and cried, unhappy that she couldn't save her grandchild from her own dead daughter. Seven long, worrisome days had passed.

Cash pretended to stay strong, but each morning he hugged Elijah as if he wouldn't see him again by his noon lunch. He spent most days rushing back and forth from the cabin and the field, barely getting any work done to sustain them as a family. Taiwo told her laundry customers that she was too sick to wash clothes. She worried about their finances dwindling. Papa Will even broached the topic with Wo-Ma of preparing for another death in their family if Elijah didn't get better. He thought she didn't hear him as they whispered in the front room while she rested in her bedroom. Wo-Ma scolded him for saying it and stayed up every night on the front porch meditating and praying. She threw conjuring bones on the kitchen table every morning, seeking answers until she finally found one.

When Taiwo thought she had to give up hope, Wo-Ma took her and the babies outside, washing them thoroughly in a tub. She made them wear all white and packed them into her mule cart and carried them off to her shack. On her kitchen table, unwrapped and hardened from two decades of burial, sat a gray mass.

"That right there wrapped you and Meji in me before your birth. We must take it to your daddy's people…their sacred place where the power is stronger. I'll break the bond there," Wo-Ma said.

She took out her pouch of bones and threw them on her table next to the dried placenta of Taiwo and Kehinde. Pieces of rabbit, raccoon, and chicken bones scattered in a wide arc. Wo-Ma read the bones and Papa Will burned sweetgrass to maintain a connection to the spirit world his wife tried to pick a message from.

"Come, we have to go now. We'll go on the river and not by foot. Meji caint cross the water to get him out in the open before we reach the mounds," Wo-Ma said.

Papa Will tucked some tobacco inside his shirt wrapped in an old kerchief. They left Cash behind to watch over the home he built for Taiwo, and ventured to the river with the babies to catch a flatboat that would carry them upriver to the Indian mounds.

Elias fussed inside the basket Taiwo used for their travel bed while Elijah's gaunt face remained quiet. They arrived at an empty landing in the late afternoon. Papa Will paid a wagon driver passing by to carry them in the sweltering sun a little ways ahead. They soon trudged through a dense meadow where a male Choctaw elder with a weathered, light brown face stood watch, guarding the area. Papa Will passed on the tobacco and a few coins. The elder accepted the offering without a word and led them toward where they wanted to be, like some clandestine meeting in broad daylight. Along the edge of a row of tall, poplar trees, three Choctaw women tended to pulling weeds in a clearing. A sizeable mound of green covered earth rose out of the ground like the curve of a whale's back surrounded by smaller mounds the size of hitched wagons at cardinal points.

Papa Will spoke to the women privately, and they accepted something from him that Taiwo couldn't see and left the clearing silently.

"Feel it?" Wo-Ma asked.

"Yes," Taiwo answered in a reverent tone.

The earth hummed with a sound that no human could hear, but Taiwo and Wo-Ma sensed it on their skin like subtle vibrations itching the flesh. It nipped at them in waves.

"There is a mighty power here. The old ones in this place say the door is here. We need them to close it for her," Wo-Ma whispered. "Put the basket there and keep close to your babies."

Taiwo set the basket upon the soft earth and Papa Will lingered near it, his watchful eyes stuck on the largest mound.

Wo-Ma prayed out loud for a long, long time. Her voice carried a beseeching quality, and it echoed across the mounds until she began speaking in tongues, the language of spirits. Papa Will burnt sweetgrass and left the smoking bundle two feet in front of Wo-Ma. Eventually, Wo-Ma's incoherent speech slowed down and sounded like plain English again. She pointed to the twins.

"See here…these my grandbabies. Freshly born and new to this world. My dead daughter, Kehinde, has a hold on one of them and she won't let him go. He's dying. Hear me? Little Elijah. I need your help. You my husband's people…his kinfolk. Will, he's Chahta Lusa…Black Choctaw. His papa come from you…tell them, Will."

Papa Will, who didn't like to talk much, shuffled forward and pulled off his hat. He held Wo-Ma's trembling hand.

"She's tellin' the truth. Aia-ali. I am from this place…this…yakni."

"Show 'em, honey," Wo-Ma said.

Papa Will pulled out a small paring blade and cut his palm open. He knelt down and squeezed his hand in a fist, letting his blood drip onto the ground. The brown dirt absorbed the scarlet liquid until there was nothing visible. Taiwo handed her father a handkerchief, and he bound up the wound.

"See? He yours, and these babies here are yours, too. Meji…Kehinde, she yours…Taiwo is yours. But Kehinde won't leave Elijah be. I need to bury her spirit here, where the barrier is stronger."

Wo-Ma gestured for Taiwo to show Elijah. Her oldest son hovered on the precipice of a cold, untimely death, and her hot tears fell on his face. She wiped them away.

"Wo-Ma, look," Taiwo said.

A flickering blue ball of light swooped down from up high and hovered in front of Wo-Ma. It was the size of Taiwo's good china plate that she cherished, passed down from her great-grandmother.

Papa Will lifted Elias and crept away with him as they had planned, to keep the spirits from mistaking him for Elijah. He left Taiwo to guard her firstborn. She smothered him down in marigold oil and herbs, his sickly expression worrying her more.

A disembodied voice called out from the blue orb that floated before them like a small alien sun.

"Wo-Ma…please…let me have Elijah…"

"No. I love you, Meji, but he caint go to where you are. That's not fair to your sister. You can watch over him, but you caint keep him for yourself. He don't belong to you. I gotta plant you here because you're killing him."

Taiwo held her son against her chest, feeling a new flow of tears running down her cheeks.

"This my baby. He came outta me…you caint just take him Meji!"

The shriek of her voice made Wo-Ma wince and Elijah wiggled in her arms from the sound of pent up rage.

"I want him!" Meji screamed.

The orb of watery blue light surrounded Elijah and ripped him out of Taiwo's arms. The boy's weak body floated out of reach above Taiwo's head. She jumped up several times, trying to grab him.

Wo-Ma settled onto her knees quickly and dug a hole in the ground with her bare hands. She unwrapped the placenta bundle, cut it in half with her own small knife from her conjure bag hooked to her dress belt, and buried it carefully, smoothing the dirt above it. The conjuring spell she spoke with a ferocious tone frightened Taiwo.

The orb froze in place, and Elijah stayed suspended in the air.

"Wo-Ma, noooo!" Kehinde shrieked, her voice shattering the peace of the woods and scaring birds out of the trees.

"Stay…behind the veil…you will not come for Elijah or anyone else again!" Wo-Ma shouted.

She poured an oil from her work bag over the small mound of dirt that held the placenta half that belonged to Kehinde.

A crack of thunder rattled the sunny sky above them and a silvery lightning flash from out of nowhere slashed across the glowing blue ball. Elijah fell down into Taiwo's outstretched arms. He hollered like he had seen too much for his itty bitty age and Taiwo offered him a nipple and he latched on to it and sucked away, his chipmunk cheeks puffing in and out. She cried out with joy.

The pungent odor of sizzling ozone drenched the air and Taiwo witnessed the rippling of the scenery in front of her, as if she'd taken her hand and swiped it across water and the reflection there spiraled out in layers then snapped back to normal like the sudden slamming of a heavy door.

"Don't move yet. We don't want to attract others who may have slipped through," Wo-Ma warned.

Silent and immobile like statues, they remained in place until the scent of the otherworldly had passed.

"Will she stay gone, Wo-Ma?" Taiwo asked.

Wo-Ma nodded confidently.

Taiwo carried Elijah against her breast and fed him all the way back home.

Cash met them at their front door and cried like a baby himself once the healthy color returned to Elijah's cheeks. They all breathed easy, listening to the squalling noise he did, announcing he wanted more milk to drink down into his undernourished belly. Cash kissed Taiwo all over her face and held his son close between feedings.

When they placed the well-fed boys in their bed together, the little ones faced each other and gurgled peacefully.

But Taiwo kept painting the front door and the porch steps with fresh coats of haint blue every two weeks. She kept them coated down in protective oils, too.

Just in case.

3. The Watermelon Man

At six months old, the twins were fat, heavy, and the most adorable babies in Clarksdale. Taiwo was a proud momma and Cash a proud papa.

Hard work during harvest season and nursing hungry boys kept her days hectic. But Cash had her busy in the evening too, wanting to touch and kiss her as much as possible. The babies learned to sleep through the night, so that meant Taiwo had time to be up under her husband hot and sweaty like they did before they had the boys.

Cash started dreaming about opening a juke joint. Taiwo would've preferred a small mercantile attached to their cabin, but Cash doubted they could rely on a steady harvest to support a store's needed goods and buy property at the same time. He also thought it unwise to compete with the white landowner, who also ran his own mercantile operation that kept sharecroppers in debt through overpriced goods and freely given, unrepayable credit.

Taiwo didn't want to wash clothes anymore. She desired more time with her babies and friends.

"You'll have plenty of friends if we put up a juke. Corn liquor is cheap and easy to make and free money is better than borrowed money from a cracka bank," he said.

She worried about the stigma.

Cash's family already hated that he married a Hoodoo woman from a long line of Hoodoo women. His people were stalwart Christians that looked down on her already. Opening a juke would make it seem like she was leading him further astray from the Lord.

No one in his family gave her credit for keeping Cash on the straight and narrow. Before he married her, he'd been on the run for some nefarious dealings in New Orleans. Rumors said he killed a few people over gambling and women. Cash was what the folks were calling a wandering bluesman, and that was sin enough in his mother's eyes. His family accused her of putting a root on him, tricking him to stay under her. Taiwo could only laugh at that. Whatever devilment he got into in his past was already in him. Taiwo tamed him of all that wandering, but let him keep singing. He sang songs of fucking, fighting, and losing good women. Field hollers and spirituals never came out of his mouth anymore. Her husband told bawdy stories with his banjo and looked forward to teaching his sons how to play. As long as he kept the foolishness in the music, she didn't mind.

One early morning Taiwo drank a special herbal mixture that her mother instructed her to drink if she wanted to prevent having more babies too soon. Cash did his best to pull out or use her mouth for his release, but he was a horny man in love with his wife. Taiwo got it in her head that she'd probably end up pregnant come winter when there was nothing to do but wait for spring to arrive again during the long, cold months. The twins were already a handful and she couldn't bear carrying another child so soon like most of her friends did.

She sipped on the concoction, then busied herself making corn cakes. Twins making it to six months could only be celebrated by gifting friends the fried goods from her skillet to share in the abundance of the Ibeji. Mavis stopped by with her newborn, eager to have a taste of the food herself fresh from the stove.

She fried all morning, and after the cooling time, wrapped up several piles of flat circular cakes to deliver. Mavis left after her fill, taking a few extras home to her husband.

Taiwo bundled the twins up in her small wagon next to the three plates of covered corn cakes.

"You takin' them hoecakes now?" Cash asked.

He rinsed his face from a leftover bucket of water on the porch.

"Yeah, I should be back in a few hours. I think it's time for the boys to get some fresh air and let people see them."

"Wo-Ma okay with that? Thought she wanted them kept indoors for a few more months."

"We can't hide them in the house forever. Besides, Elijah has healed up nice and plump again. He's strong and I want them both to get some sun along the way."

Cash stepped from the porch and kissed her forehead.

"Keep 'em in the shade if it gets too warm and rest if you need to."

"I will."

Taiwo clasped the handle of the wagon.

"And don't buy up all that penny candy from Mrs. Morgan if you see her. I know you'll pass by them people selling at the crossroads."

"One little bag…I promise."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Taiwo tied her sun hat tighter under her neck and blew him a kiss. She tugged on the wagon handle, rolling the babies behind her.

The fall sunshine on her skin felt pleasant. It wasn't too hot for the twins, so she loosened up their swaddling, letting fresh air pour over them. Warm yellow rays added more color to their cheeks. Their eyes stared up at the big blue sky until she moved them closer to the trees as a few mule-drawn wagons rattled by on their way to town. She fanned her face from the gnats that flew under the tree canopies and stopped to check her babies as dust kicked up from the road along with more foot-traffic and carts. Strangers fawned over her children and she kept on her journey.

A few vendors peppered the way, some selling fish sandwiches and slices of sweet potato pie. She didn't see Mrs. Morgan out with her sugary sweets and kept walking the path that led to her friends.

She noticed an old man with balding grayish-white hair selling watermelon slices. The bright red of the innards dotted with vivid black seeds drew her near. A pile of watermelons sat stacked neatly on the side of the road with an old blanket, keeping them from touching the ground.

"I gots the sweetest, juiciest watermelons you'll ever taste!" he blurted to every passerby.

Taiwo had a taste for something sweet. Most of the vendors stayed out until late afternoon. If she couldn't have candy, then some sweet bites of watermelon would do. The watermelon man sliced chunks for customers who sampled his goods, and their smacking lips convinced Taiwo it was worth buying.

"Hey, pretty lady. Come on over here and try summa this melon. The best you ever had, I can promise you that!"

He sliced a fresh melon in half, and then carefully cut the green rind from the fruit.

The younger man next to him selling green apples looked annoyed. His baskets of fruit didn't attract as much attention from buyers.

"I have errands to run. I'll be by later," she said.

Her feet still carried her over to look at the fruit up close.

"Here, try a piece. I bet I can fit a whole watermelon right in your wagon…oh my, what do we have here? Are those twins?"

Taiwo grinned.

"Yes, my boys."

"Fine looking ones, too," he said, peering down at their chubby faces that peeked out at the fascinating new world.

Taiwo eyed the watermelon.

"Here."

The man handed her a chunk. She popped it into her mouth and it burst with a flavor so sweet and cooling that she gasped with delight. Some of the juice ran down her chin and she wiped it with her fingers.

"So good!' she said.

"Told ya."

"Ain't seen you 'round here before."

"I'm just passing through during the harvest. I heard the folks around here ain't had good watermelon in ages."

"Where you from?"

"Oh, from here and there…everywhere," he said with a sing-song voice.

Taiwo studied his face. Dark brown skin like the tobacco her daddy smoked. Teeth worn down and yellowed. Just enough wrinkles to obscure his true age. His overalls were clean, no trace of dust or dirt, and his shoes were made of sturdy dark leather that looked brand new. Both of his eyes were clouded over with a gray film, and she wondered how well he could see with them. Unlike the other vendors, he didn't have a wagon to move his product. Nor a wide cart he could pull himself.

"Here darlin', have another piece," he said, carving another chunk for her.

"I'll get some on my way back home," she said.

The large knife in his hand made her nervous with his poor eyesight.

"I'll be here waiting for you…and these cute lil boys."

Taiwo pulled her wagon and trudged away from the watermelon man and carried on about her business.

She stopped at her friend Louise's house first and gifted her with the most corn cakes since she had six children and a husband. They chatted for a few minutes and she let Louise hold each twin. Next, she walked over to her childhood friend Ora's home, where she lived with her parents and husband. Ora also had a baby a month older than Elijah and Elias, and the women traded baby tips on keeping rashes at bay and also looking out for constipation.

Her last delivery was to a cousin on her mother's side. Flossy didn't bother waiting to eat the corn cakes. She poured honey over them and feasted on two before her husband and children returned from fishing.

"If I don't eat some now, won't be none left when they get back," Flossy said.

Taiwo visited with her the longest and fed her babies. While she changed wet diapers, they talked about family, the weather, and the harvest party a mutual friend was throwing in a week.

"Girl, I ain't been out dancing in so long," Taiwo sighed.

"Let my oldest Peaches watch the babies and you and Cash come out for a good time. She fifteen and responsible. You can feed them here and come out with me and Dexter for a few hours. Be good to see you out. We'd love to hear Cash play. He still talkin' 'bout opening that juke?"

"He is. But I would rather we open another business."

Flossy ate another corn cake and put the rest inside her oven for safe-keeping. They hugged and Taiwo retraced her steps toward home. The boys slept soundly with the gentle rocking motion of the wagon and the humming she did. She stopped to cover them with another blanket as the air grew cooler.

Most of the vendors had left the crossroads, and the few remaining packed up and rolled away in carts and wagons.

Not the watermelon man.

He stayed soliciting and slicing chunks.

The old man sniffed the air before she approached him.

"I can smell those sweet babies. Such a delicious aroma. Are you ready to buy from me pretty lady?"

Taiwo didn't like what he said. She kept her sons hidden from him.

Cautiously, she moved her wagon further into the road and away from the vendor. He held out a thick slice of watermelon for her to take.

"No, thank you…I don't have any money on me today," she said.

The grin on the old man's face faltered. He sniffed the air once more and his nostrils twitched like a feral animal smelling the subtle whiff of prey.

"Well, I'm sure you'll be by here again with those babies. Why don't you take a whole one home with you?"

"That's a kind offer, but I'm not sure when I'll be back again."

She kept moving until she passed him. He pointed the knife at her.

"I have no problem with you paying me later. I'll be here for awhile. Good business in these parts. Maybe…maybe you could let me hold one of them babies, huh? They are so cute…and fat."

He ogled Elias. She pretended not to hear him, as if the people leaving the area further ahead distracted her.

Pulling the wagon faster, she quickly forged on. Once she had some safe distance between herself and the watermelon man, she breathed a little easier and her chest didn't feel so tight. She glanced over her shoulder and didn't see anyone following her.

Her shoulders relaxed the closer she came to familiar landmarks. She closed in on their plot of sharecropping land.

"Taiwo!"

The anger in the voice calling to her from the dense trees near the right side of the road didn't stop her from moving. Papa Will taught her about answering strange voices she didn't know. If she looked, whatever called her would know she was the owner of the name. If she answered, it would follow her home. Or worse.

She walked faster.

The wagon shook the boys awake, and they babbled at her.

The dark nature of that faceless voice propelled her to go even faster.

She reached her home and carefully lifted her children. Entering the safety of the cabin spilled relief throughout her rigid body. She kissed the boys and fed them in her rocking chair while watching for any signs of trouble through the window.

Cash walked in from the bedroom and looked at the kitchen table.

"No candy?" he teased.

She shook her head.

"What's the matter? You look spooked."

"An old man selling watermelons scared me."

"How?"

"He acted strange…well, he said something strange, and it bothered me. He said he could smell my babies. But I wasn't close enough for him to do that. The boys were covered up. I hadn't even got close enough for him to know I was there. He made me feel uncomfortable… I could feel the badness in my stomach and chest."

Cash rubbed his chin and concern crossed over his features. He sat down and spoke with a steady voice.

"Did you show him the twins?" Cash asked.

"He saw part of their faces."

"Ben came by here right after you left. He dropped off some tools and told me about a baby that was stolen over in Rolling Fork four days ago. A mother turned her back on a man selling pecans for a minute and her baby was gone from her yard. Next time you go out, I'm coming with you."

Taiwo nodded.

A few days passed by and Taiwo rode with Cash on their wagon to see his parents. She didn't want to be around them and their critical gaze, but Cash didn't want to leave her alone at the cabin with the boys.

Taiwo held the twins on her lap, and the couple enjoyed the outing. They made plans to look for land to buy soon. Cash sang to her and her cheeks warmed up from the salacious nature of the lyrics. Her belly ached from laughing at the humorous way he changed the sound of his voice to sing falsetto like a woman. The babies grinned every time she giggled.

Blinking twice, she nudged Cash's arm.

The watermelon man sat on the side of the road not too far from the crossroads. Another stack of bright green melons enticed buyers, and he used his sharp knife to cut the fruit samples.

"Pretty lady. I see you're back."

His cloudy eyes focused in on the twins. His nose twitched.

"Brought those babies, too," he said.

"That's him," she whispered to Cash.

The watermelon man lifted a chunk of dripping sweetness that trailed a line of juice, looking like pale pink blood on his arm. His body appeared smaller and more hunched over than the last time Taiwo met him.

"We don't want none," Cash said.

He snapped the reins, and their mule, Esther, skedaddled along, pulling them away.

They tried to ignore the sighting of the old man and continued on with their day, but uneasiness chilled their once pleasant mood.

Another week passed and a trip home from church with Wo-Ma and Papa Will in their wagon brought them face-to-face with the watermelon man again. This time, he was about two hundred yards from their home and held one melon in his left hand and the knife in his right.

None of them acknowledged the man, simply passed him right by without a sound, even as he called to them about purchasing his fruit.

"That's who I told you about, Wo-Ma," Taiwo said inside her kitchen.

Her parents drank coffee with Cash, and she fretted over how long it would take for the watermelon man to find their cabin. Cash's forehead crinkled.

"He more different from before. Even smaller…older," Cash said.

"It's a trickster. Not even human, Cash. It used the watermelon Taiwo ate to stick to her. It won't leave until it gets what it wants. There's something about those babies that attracts things that shouldn't be around us," Wo-Ma said.

"What can we do? I done tried every root I know to cast it away from me, but it keeps coming closer," Taiwo asked.

"Give him what he wants. Give him the twins," Papa Will said.

Taiwo balked and stared at her father liked he'd gone mad. Papa Will patted her hand.

"We trick him into thinking he's got the twins. It cain't see good, but it can smell an ant fart."

Wo-Ma and Cash laughed. Taiwo didn't crack a smile.

"He's one of the little people," Papa Will said. "They steal babies and then leave you with one that looks like yours behind. Only that new baby ain't right. It'll suck the life outta you because it ain't a real baby. Just misery."

Papa Will looked at Wo-Ma and winked, then gestured for them all to move in closer around the kitchen table.

"This what we do," Papa Will whispered.

"I hope this works," Cash said.

"It has to," Taiwo answered.

She held onto the squirming bundle in her arms.

"Even if he caint see for shit, he can sure tell a piglet from a baby by how that thing is making noise."

Taiwo glanced at the suckling pig in her arms, wrapped in her children's baby blanket.

"Papa Will said to treat them just like I would Elijah and Elias. Go about my business and let that man see me doing it."

"I should come with you."

"No…you caint. You gotta stay with Elijah and Elias. He'll know we're up to something if you show up. I can do this, Cash."

The second piglet that was also dressed in the twin's baby clothes and a blanket grunted and squirmed underneath the abnormal covering for its smelly skin. For two weeks, they didn't wash any of the children's spare clothing, so their scent would permeate the cotton. Then they dressed and carried the piglets around the house and outside as if they were the babies. Taiwo washed clothes with the piglets by her side. Cash chopped wood and worked on repairs around the cabin to prepare for winter, singing them songs he made up like he did his real babies.

The time came to venture out and lay the scheme on the watermelon man.

Taiwo kissed Cash goodbye, and he pretended to kiss the piglets. Earlier, she let the fat sow in her pen feed them. The trip wouldn't take long. She just had to be seen by the old man taking her children out for errands.

She pulled the wagon and hummed, trying to act normal. She stopped to peer at the piglets, acting like she was checking on their comfort. With each squeal, she pretended they babbled to her, and she cooed and kissed their pink snouts.

Mavis and her husband passed her by on the road.

"Where you headed Taiwo?" Mavis asked.

"Taking the boys for a walk," she said, dashing past them.

Mavis glanced into the wagon but Taiwo didn't give her a chance to ask about seeing the babies. The wagon wheels groaned from the sudden movement.

Her eyes darted from side to side as she sang a lullaby to pass the time. Eventually she glimpsed the figure of the watermelon man squatted on the ground further down the road, shielded by the low-hanging branch of a tupelo tree.

He had no more watermelons. Only the knife in his hand. He scraped it against the dirt between his legs.

"Pretty lady, I'm all outta melons today…and patience, too," he said.

Taiwo stayed calm. His appearance had become sinister, the cloudy eyes sunken in on his face and the aged yellow teeth more prominent in his mouth. Longer. Sharper at the tips. The clothing on his body became ill-fitting and tattered. There were no more shoes on his feet and the flesh of his toes looked like hard ashy stones. Even the tone of his voice had become harsh and scratchy to the ear.

"I'm not buying anything today. I have people to see," Taiwo blurted.

She strolled past him with the wagon and paused for a second, peering into the faces of her piglet children.

"You boys are being so good for me," she said, making sure the old man heard her.

Following Papa Will's instructions, she traveled far from her home to search for foxgloves flowers. Wo-Ma never allowed them to grow around their homes. The small purple bell shapes attracted magical beings, and she was positive that the old man came from the bulk that thrived among the brush area near the crossroads.

It didn't take long for her to find a thick overgrowth.

She tugged on the wagon handle and pulled the piglets into the center of the flowers.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured to the animals.

Lifting her skirt, she walked away from the wagon and acted like she had to urinate behind some trees. Hidden away, she closed her eyes tight and hugged her legs into her chest with her back jammed against the bark.

Soon, both piglets squealed in terror…then silence.

Taiwo waited longer before she emerged from her hiding place. Fear gripped her throat, and she held her breath. From across the way, she could see the disheveled blankets in the wagon. She crept closer.

The piglets were gone.

Taiwo ran back home without looking back.

Cash gripped his shotgun inside the cabin. Elijah and Elias slept soundly in their crib. When Taiwo burst through the door, he jumped up from a chair placed in front of it.

"He took 'em! The pigs…they gone!"

Cash nodded and hugged her with one arm.

"Now we wait until tomorrow," he said.

They slept with their boys between them on the bed. Neither of them could sleep a wink. Every sound outside became cause for alarm. A loon wailing hitched their breath. Crickets suddenly going quiet, their wings no longer rubbing together to chirp mating calls chilled their blood. The baying of a loose hound dog roaming the field wrenched them away from much needed rest.

By the crack of dawn, Taiwo could catnap while Cash stayed alert for signs of the trickster.

She fed the babies early and her parents arrived to lend their support. They would watch the children while Cash and Taiwo fetched the wagon.

"Don't take the shotgun, it'll attract attention," Papa Will said.

Cash lifted his axe from under the cabin and clasped Taiwo's hand.

"You musn't speak at all, not until you finish the task at the river," Wo-Ma said.

The couple set off with the sun on their backs. Taiwo sucked in a nervous breath as they arrived at the place where she left the wagon off-road. Two lumpy bundles rested under the blankets that had been empty before. Cash pointed toward the river and Taiwo carefully pulled the wagon handle.

What rested under the blankets squirmed and elicited throaty warbles trying to imitate the sounds of the piglets. Taiwo's hands shook once they reached the water's edge. She took a small bag of salt from the rucksack she carried and sprinkled it in a large circle around the wagon.

Cash signaled for her to step aside.

He reached down and pulled back the faded blanket.

The abomination in the wagon brought Taiwo to her knees. Even Cash retched. She vomited on the ground and held her nose, the stench so overpowering that her eyes welled up with tears. More bile rose in her throat and she nearly screamed before Cash slammed his hand over her mouth. They couldn't let on that the creatures lying in the wagon weren't their babies.

The putrid odor reminded her of rotted meat and burning sulfur. Twisted bloody flesh made a vile mockery of anything that God had created on earth. Skinless with black worm-like protrusions pulsing all over them, the offerings in the wagon in no way resembled living pigs. More like something had vaguely assembled inside-out beings from scraps of diseased tissue they thought could pass for babies. The worst part was the lifeless, silvery eyes bulging out of the sockets on stalks like slugs seeking moisture.

Taiwo shook Cash's arm and pointed into the wagon.

The creatures changed.

A slow blooming of pink skin crawled across the lumpish muscles and wiggling sinew whose foul odor lessened in the air. The transformation from bloody cryptids into sprightly piglets astonished them. Had they arrived later than they did, no one would've been able to convince them of the deceit.

Cash raised the axe and butchered them.

He hissed when a splash of fluid from a piglet dripped down his arm. It sizzled and blistered with yellow pus oozing from it, and he cried out in pain. Taiwo snatched the kerchief she wore off her head and drenched it in cool river water. She wiped down his arm, but the piglet's blood scorched down into the second layer of skin. Cash inhaled his pain and continued chopping up the bodies, careful to avoid any more pig liquid from touching him or Taiwo.

His work complete, Cash collected kindling, covering the decimated creatures. He lit a match.

The bodies blazed. Taiwo covered her nose and stood back from the dark gray smoke that turned an ominous sanguine color. The red fumes rose high and drifted across the water.

Cash pushed the wagon into the river, and its contents flowed downstream before sinking from sight.

Taiwo let out a loud gasp and moaned into Cash's chest as he held her close. The pain in his arm increased, and he grimaced. She ripped a piece of her skirt off and wrapped the wound. Afterward, she reached into her bag again and pulled out a silver dollar. She planted it in the center of the salt circle and buried it with dirt and more salt. She settled the debt to the old man for eating his watermelon. Taiwo spoke an incantation over it to seal the circle.

"Let's go home…get back to our real babies," Cash said through gritted teeth.

Life went on.

Cash's wounds never healed properly and turned into slippery black keloids that remained as a testament to the watermelon man's attempt to ruin their lives.

Elijah and Elias grew bigger, learned to crawl, and that brought on more challenges to keep up with them. Taiwo's conjuring powers and Cash's watchful eye in the world protected them.

When the twins turned a year old, a great flood swept through Clarksdale. A heavy rainstorm planted its watery arms above them and gathered the power of two mighty tributaries that swelled up the river beds and poured out onto the fertile fields. Many people drowned. The churning, muddy waters damaged homes and washed others away forever.

Taiwo and Cash barely had enough time to gather the children and her parents before the roar of water rushed through the plantation land. They used two wagons to transport people, a few chickens, and their pigs. Papa Will kept them somewhat prepared by reading the weather and water level signs early, forcing them to move inland toward higher ground when others doubted the severity of the storm.

Days later, when the waters receded, they returned to salvage what they could. Taiwo found her wooden Ibeji figures stuck in mud outside their home.

Luckily, the cabin remained despite the water damage inside. Cash figured that the trees and brush helped protect their home from being dragged into oblivion. It would need some rebuilding and fortifying, but at least they had a roof over their heads.

Taiwo gazed at the broken doorway and water-logged porch. A new coating of haint blue was needed. She clutched the Ibeji figures as the twins sat on a dry blanket covering the porch. Stroking the wood, she fretted a little. The figure representing Elias had a tiny nick on the neck. Her finger worried the marking and a sliver of wood splintered and cut her skin. She bled. Sucking on her finger, she glanced at Elias, who crawled across the porch trying to get to Cash, who checked the walls outside. Her youngest grabbed Cash's leg and pulled himself up to stand on his own feet.

Taiwo looked at the wooden figure again.

"Taiwo, hey! Taiwo! Cash!"

Mavis and her husband Roy rolled in on their creaky, mule-drawn wagon.

"We came to check on y'all," Mavis said.

Mavis held her deep brown baby girl Annie on her lap. A yellow bonnet covered the baby's curly hair, and her bright eyes were as big as her smile.

"Hey Annie, you sure is pretty," Taiwo said.

She lifted the girl from her friend's arms and carried her over to the porch where she plopped her rump on the top damp step. Mavis joined her and Elijah crawled over to Taiwo and hoisted himself up by her shoulder. He reached for Annie's bonnet and the baby girl squealed in delight.

Cash held Elias and spoke to Roy, and Taiwo chatted with Mavis. Elijah and Annie gurgled and babbled together as the sun rose higher, drying the water left on the land. Eventually Taiwo lifted the Ibeji figures and took them back inside the house, placing them above the fireplace where they belonged. She didn't bother to wipe the mud off, wanting to keep the memory of the flood on them so she would know her babies survived when some didn't.

Mavis and Roy headed out back to their place. They were part of the blessed few who still had a home to return to.

Taiwo and Cash held their children and watched their friends' wagon get pulled slowly by their stubborn mule.

A breeze blew across her hair, and the stale scent of foreboding returned. Cash bounced Elijah in his arms and Taiwo held Elias close to her bosom. A new flood would come again one day in the future. Not one made from a gathering of waters out of the river, but from a different place. It seeped into her marrow. Taunting her.

A battle was coming.

All Taiwo could do was stay vigilant and love on her babies. Lean on her husband.

She prayed that whatever wickedness came their way, God, her conjuring skills, and calls to their ancestors could withstand it.

It had to. It just had to.

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@carlakeks

Author's Note:

1. My story title "A Gathering of Waters" is the Anishinaabeg translation for the word "Mississippi" which they named the Mississippi River after.

2. Ibeji is the term for "Divine Twins" in the Yoruba Orisha Pantheon from southwest Nigeria (Naija!). Their colors are associated with red and blue because they are said to have been born of Shango (the Orisha of thunder, lightning, and fire = red), and Yemayá (The Goddess of the primal waters, nurturing, and protective= blue.)

3. Clarksdale, Mississippi is widely known as the birthplace of the Blues and has its well-known supernatural Black American folk tales and myths about blues singer Robert Johnson and his deal with the devil at the crossroads.

4. There are real Indian mounds throughout Mississippi that are sacred to the original Indigenous Mississippians. Black folks descended from Choctaw people would be known as Chahta Lusa, Chahta = Choctaw and Lusa = Black.

5. Hoodoo (which I practice) is not the same as Voodoo (Vodun), but they both have their roots (like Santeria, Obeah, Lucumi, Candomble etc) under the umbrella of African spiritualist traditions. Enslaved Africans carried their belief systems throughout the Black diaspora. Wherever they landed, they transformed, and synthesized with other African Traditional Religions (ATR) from the other west African cultures they were forced into bondage with, often hiding their old "gods" under new names and new ways of worship. This is why Wo-Ma and Taiwo in my story can have some ancestral memories of the Ibeji passed down to them, but they use Hoodoo methods to work their conjuring after nearly two hundred years of Black people being in America.

6. The banjo is an African instrument carried over from enslavement into the Caribbean and America. Please don't think white Americans invented it. They didn't. It's used so often in country music (that Black people created too) that folks think it's a European instrument. Originally made from gourds, it has been a staple in blues music until we started using more guitars.

7. I will be writing more fics in this world. I want to get another quick one out before I see the "Sinners" movie a few days after it comes out. My fics in this new fandom will be called the "Ibeji Series".

#sinners movie #michael b. jordan #ryan coogler #sinners #sinners movie fanfiction #wunmi mosaku #smoke and stack

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13tinysocks · 2 months ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

After two weeks in the desert and nearly dying multiple times, you start to soften up- a tad, only after a drowning a guy.

[Part one] [Ao3] [9] [11] [Full Piece Here - It's Mine!] [Chapter Index]

10 * Fill'er [10k]

Suggestive themes + third base (NSFW) We don't care about safe sex or pregnancy! It ain't happenin' here, baby!

"You were oh so kind,

You thawed my heart of the ice,

Now get the fuck out of my mind."

The Sweetest Bone - Go Hang

Day Eighteen.

You rose from your mess of a bed, unfurling from Omni's cape that you'd been using as a blanket in the night. He'd yet to acknowledge the behavior and you hoped it'd stay that way. You didn't want him or anything of his, you wanted warmth. The comfortable familiarity of a blanket. The fire kept you warm enough but it was normalcy you craved.

The GDA issue armor set was near complete on your body. Baldie found the top a few days back but you'd been too out of it to remember him putting it on you. The chest plate was left by the bed, ready whenever you needed it. You were lucid now, which was a relief to the boys, but a burden you were struggling to carry.

You couldn't stop thinking about it. The taste lingered in the back of your throat. The muscles that moved his body were now fueling yours. The empty stool no one had sat in since. The blood stain on your bed that Maskless couldn't get off with just water. The lack of his pinched voice and constant threat of wanting to kill you for being even mildly defiant. It wasn't grief or sadness, just a loss, a strange, hollowing thing to know he died and you lived, and you were only alive because you ate part of him.

You were able to speak and but chose not to as much as possible these last two days. You didn't trust yourself not to kill one of them and for the rest to tie you down, shut you up, and force feed you until they all died or somehow escaped the desert. You wanted them to die suffering and scared, but you also knew they were the only reason you were alive in this cool cave with food in your stomach. Again the murders were pushed back.

You stop behind Maskless who is hunched over a swath of fabric scavenged from above. A sprawling map is laid before his hands, drawn with Emperor's fancy pen. Sections are lettered and numbered. The central piece of fabric was this very cave, with the immediate outliers listed as A with a number that must mean some degree north or south. They were all sewn together with scrap wire or loose threads, stitches hasty and puckered.

"Where can I take a bath?" You ask him. You'd been down and out those starving days, but not deaf. You'd heard a few of them talk about it. Return from it looking slightly less like shit.

He doesn't turn, good. You don't want to see Mark's face. You'd been doing a pretty good job avoiding looking at all of them this whole time.

The pen stops moving on a quadrant labeled G60. Fingers hover over the fabric until they pause, come down on, "B-seventy." He goes back to mapping.

You study the map a few minutes longer. Trying to understand which exit and subsequent turns would lead to B70. Then you remember. You pull out your phone, still largely charged from unuse, and snapped a photo. If you got lost, you'd look at the picture. Easy. You pick the entrance that looks like most B70-ish and walk toward it, flashlight prematurely flicked on.

"Where do you think you're going?" Scars says from his post, leaned against the wall, standing guard and watching.

"Out." You don't stop.

He's stepped in front of you, making you pause. "To where?"

"What are you, my dad?" You hope the mention of a dad hurts him but his exposed eye doesn't glitter with malice or sadness. He's not moving so you hit him with, "Get out of my way."

Your body swayed slightly, the dizziness easy enough to ignore. Now that you weren't actively dying or burnt out, your powers were more evened out. Lucky for you, they were working as usual, and he moved out of your way and does not chase. You knew he wouldn't hold long but it was about control with him, and you'd taken it, if only for a second.

Five steps later, there was another Mark in front of you. You hadn't even made it out of the main cavern yet. "You're not going anywhere unaccompanied."

Omni, up from bed. Beard thick and speckled with gray. You'd found his salt and pepper hair on your side of the bed despite your efforts to uphold boundaries. You would put things between you when you slept, the chestplate, a rock, anything you could find, but he found his way back to your side. Such a huge man but you never sensed the shared garbage cot move, waking up with your back pressed to his.

You side step him silently, hoping your rejection was enough, but he continued, "I will gladly-"

"No." You were depressed but not stupid. He'd been sizing you up ever since he got back. Something shifted in him up there, and you weren't ready to be alone with the guy. You didn't sense any ill-intent and that made you nervous. You wanted him off your back almost as much as Scars.

You pulled the knife out of the GDA belt, pinched the blade between your fingers, and held it out to him. "You look like shit, shave."

He took the knife and moves a step before stopping with a frown. "Don't do that."

"Leave me alone."

He doesn't budge. He's tense, like hard muscle could stop your power, sadly it seemed to work. "I understand you do not want my company. I respect that, however," he turned, scanning for someone not busy sleeping or drawing maps or making more water basins, "Hey, Seven." He didn't trust the little fucker far as he could throw him, but morale and productivity needed to stay high- and Seven was doing jack.

Lensless lifted his head from the jerky he was gnawing on. Omni jerked his head, and he came over. A piece stuck out between his lips, wriggling while he chewed. "Yeah?"

"Stay with (Y/n)," Omni said.

"Go sit down." You try.

Lensless, apparently the seventh variant Angstrom Levy recruited into his ranks, trotted back to his stool. Sat. Got up again when Omni said, "Get over here."

The control snapped, the deed done, you hadn't been specific enough. Lensless came back.

Omni turned to you, "We can go back and forth all day or you can go bathe." There was an implied 'Or I help,' he didn't say.

The thought of any of them holding your body naked in the water made you rethink sending Lensless back. But you don't want Omni to think he's won. So you let Lensless come before saying, "Fine. We'll go but you? Shave." You didn't particularly care how he looked just that he looked freakishly like Nolan. Brought back too many memories of meeting Mark's parents over dinner.

Omni frowns. "Your trick will not work on me, but I will respect your wishes. Thank you." He watches as you go, using your phone as a guide. Lensless nipping at your heels. He didn't like it, but he would respect that you didn't want him in particular around. He'd knew he'd find a way to change your mind.

He found Tracksuit sleeping against a stalactite. Gray had finished more of the cots, lining the wall by the fire, but he hadn't gotten one yet.

"Hey." Omni gently knocked the mans leg with his boot.

Tracksuit stirred, mask shifting as his head bobbed. "What?"

Omni pointed down the cave you'd just disappeared into. "Follow them." He assumes Tracksuit would concentrate, force his ears to pick up the joint footsteps and one-sided conversation.

Instead, the yellow of his lenses flashes in the pale moonlight as he scoffs, "Fuck off." His head nodded back down and he was asleep.

He searched for others to follow you. Maskless was busy and uncaring. Scars scoffed, clearly feeling rejected. Phantom was gone, exploring off on his own. As were Gray and Mohawk in separate quadrants. The only variant that would cooperate was Baldie, who shot up from sleep in a panic when he heard. He was down the cave in a blink.

Omni leaned over the still water and held the knife to his cheek.

***

"I said, turn around." The fourth fucking time. Why did Omni choose this stupid, perverted little fucker?

He does, shoulder shaking as he says to himself, "Boobies."

You slide deeper into the water. Pool waist deep. Water tepid, the room lit by your phone flashlight pointed at the ceiling. Underclothes in the water with you to be squeezed and scrubbed after you were done with your body. It took an hour to find the place on the map and Lensless was no help.

You were trying, really, you were, but the sand was everywhere and you could barely get a good scrub in before Lensless was turning around again to stare.

You pressed your body to the edge of the pool, where he could only see your head and shoulders.

"Are you always this creepy?" You spit at him because using your power so many times today was starting to make you dizzy.

"Pretty much." He says. "I'll stop if you use your powers on me again."

"Yeah, for five fucking seconds."

He clasped his hands together, batting his lashes, "One more time? I promise I'll stay this time."

"Freak." You said before dipping your whole head under. Hearing him talk through water but not being able to understand was pure bliss.

Your head barely broke the surface tension before knocking into Lesless's nose. He was on his hands and knees, peaking over the ledge, smiling big. "Will you use 'em now?"

You start a, "Back o-" then you see it. The bulge pressing against his thighs, not even trying to hide it. You push away from the side. Legs pressed together, arms crossed over chest. "What the fuck is wrong with you, like actually?"

"A lot of things." He chirped. Fingers leaving the edge to touch the gently rippling water. "You, mostly."

You warred between using your powers, giving him what he wanted and feeling violated, or not using your powers and still feeling tread on. In the low gravity of the water, you crawled backwards to the opposite edge of the pool. "I'm not your dead girlfriend."

"I know." His hand sinks into the water, then his wrist, then his elbow until his whole arm is in the pool. "Because you're meant for me." His ass in the air as the other enters the pool, prowling into the water like a leopard. "Before this, everything was so... boring, so normal. I couldn't figure out what was off." His torso kissed the surface as his legs slid in, crawling slowly through the water towards you. "I was a superhero, I had the girl, I had the friends, the life, and then-"

The taser was at the other end of the pool, it'd do nothing but it'd feel good to use it on him. "Back up, I'm serious."

"Then Dad killed you and I killed him right back." Lensless was halfway across the pool now, not even listening to your threats. He moved purposefully slow, every roll of the muscles under his tight suit a warning he wanted you to see. "I didn't disagree with him or even hate him. I loved my Dad but killing him was so much fun, I couldn't just stop. When the Viltrumites came, they said I killed too much of the population to make Earth a viable breeding camp, but things still worked out for me in the end. Cuz now I'm here, with you, and you get it." He was closing in now.

Forcing you to pick between staying in the water with him or to get out and expose yourself. Either way, he had you where he wanted you. "Another inch closer and I'll fucking kill you."

He paused, hand poised to grab your ankle. Already shit-eating grin spread further, "You better stop me then." You swallow, gathering power in your throat, as much as you could muster. His hand passes over your ankle, angling to take you by the meat of your thigh. "Or do you not want me to?"

"Drown."

His head went under. At first, you thought he was unaffected, head floating toward your legs but when you moved out of the way he didn't shift to follow. He sunk to the bottom, face down. You pulled yourself out of the pool, limbs heavy with the sudden drain. Blood dripped out of your nose. Still, Lensless did not resurface.

You knelt by the poolside, nakedly air drying for a few minutes. Wringing out your solider underclothes, agitating them against the rock to get out as many stains as you could. When it was done, Lensless was still unmoving in the water.

You put the armor back on. Underclothes slung over shoulder. No way were you putting on wet cotton and covering it with the unbreathing material. You grabbed your phone and left Lensless's body in the dark.

You catch him because he wanted to be caught. Baldie not quite hiding behind a pillar of rock on your way back to the main cave.

"I can see you." You tell him.

He swings out. "Sorry, Three told me to follow you guys."

Your brows knit a moment then remember the numbers Angstrom had given them. "Of course he did. You see any of that?"

"Enough to want Seven dead just as much as you."

Your eyes narrow, "You saw me naked?"

"No, I was only listening. Was going to jump in but then you..." His gait pauses. "Did you hear that?"

You take two more steps before stopping, "No?"

Baldie's head whips left, then right. "Really? You- you don't?"

"I don't have super hearing." You say. "What is it?"

"What does super hearing have to do with it? It's right there." His hand goes up to the low ceiling, touches bare fingers to rock. Soon as he touched the cool surface, he paused. "Oh," and started walking again. Distraction forgotten.

You had to trot to keep up with him, now power walking, "What was that?"

"Nothing," he waves you off, "nothing, just sand moving above us, I think."

"You think?"

"I'm not used to being around so many living, moving things at once." He says, looking dead ahead, not at you, anywhere but you, "It still surprises me sometimes. I can hear your heart beating and I don't believe it. I-" His head snaps to the side, ear up. "Come on." He takes your hand and speed navigates you out of the caves. Not quick enough to be in danger, but fast enough for you to ask questions. Questions he does not answer.

You're dropped off in the main room, sat atop your cot. Phone flashlight still glowing in your hand, he wouldn't look at you before turning and rising out of the porthole entrance into the dim, early evening. He looked every which way, brow furrowed before flying off to investigate. The others gathered below.

"Is that guy okay?" Tracksuit said.

"I don't know." You switched off your phone and stuffed it into your pocket. "He just started acting weird."

"It is uncommon for a Viltrumite to be found in our own prisons." Gray swept the rock debris off his kilt. A new basin freshly carved in front of him. "But it is always a good opportunity to test experimental medicines and procedures on them until they wither away." He left out a detail, that despite the Viltrumite resistance to age and diseases, the prisoners never lasted long.

Tracksuit ran a hand through his greasy hair, "Jesus. He's gotta be buttfuck crazy."

Your lips twist, and you think of saying he's better than the rest of them before remembering how he let them force-feed you man meat. Who gave a shit if he was nice to you- he was Mark Grayson.

"Thank you for letting me borrow this." His voice pulls your eyes and mind away from Baldie. Omni held the knife out to you, handle first. Beard gone but stubble still peaked through his skin. Most black, some gray. The knife was made for throat slitting, not shaving.

"Sure." You reach out only for the blade to be snatched away.

"Watch it." Omni snaps, the edge nearly swiping your chestplate as it passed by.

"Mind if I borrow this?" Mohawk said, already holding the knife. "My shit's been growing." He zipped by the poolside. Knife edge pressed to the grown-out buzzcut around his mohawk.

"Give it back." You hiss without power. Everything you had left was used on keeping Lensless's eyes off you, then killing him.

Mohawk swiped the blade down his scalp, leaving an even trail, he'd done this before. Hair fell to the dark shoulders of his suit. "Nah."

Another swipe and Omni stepped in front of you, "She said-"

"Dude, she definitely doesn't want your help." Another swipe and the right side of his head was shaved down clean. You hated that he was right. You were quite literally just about to tell Omni to piss off. He looks at you through dark lenses, lips pulled taught. Waiting for you to say it. Mohawk doesn't look but wiggles around knowing there's drama afoot, the pot-stirring fuck.

"I swear to God, Mohawk." You point at his back as more fuzz falls away. "Give me that back or-"

The knife sweeps his hair one last time. When he turns he is clean shaven, mohawk seeming perkier with the shorter buzz around it. "What did you just call me?" His tone is mischievous, eyes dancing. That look paired with a knife brought back bad memories.

Omni moves in front of you but you walk around him. "Give it."

Mohawk sticks out the blade, edge first. If you wanted the handle, you'd have to take his hand. You take it by the blade, let it sink into the cut-proof material of the GDA gloves. A frown flickers as his grip falls away. You turn to sit by the fire Maskless was building. He didn't need it whatsoever but the chores had begun to naturally fall onto whoever got back to camp first. He could stand to freeze for days but in truth, he liked the warmth and light, it made him feel a little more human.

Mohawk followed as you set your wet underclothes to hang over a rock, "Wait, say it again."

"I didn't say anything." You plopped down on a stool on the opposite side of the fire. If you sat on the cot he'd make some gross innuendo and try to lick you or smell you or some other freaky alien thing.

Mohawk sat himself on the damp ground at your feet. Scooted close as he could to the stool, shoulder centimeters away from touching yours. Fine with his ass being cold as long as he was beside you. "You heard her call me that too, right?" He asked Maskless.

Maskless let the fire crack. "I wasn't listening."

"Bullshit, you have super hearing like the rest of us."

"I was trying to ignore you guys." Maskless sat himself across the fire. Staring into it thinking about the color of William's eyes and the heat of his naked skin.

Mohawk chuffed out his nose. "Okay, you hate fun, got it." He turned back to you, firelight accentuating his wide smile. "You've got'a nickname for me, huh? Not very creative but I can let it slide."

"It's not a nickname." You say. Head following Baldie as he returned from the surface. Tense but calm. He sat by the waters edge. Unwilling to look at anything else but his reflection.

Tracksuit flops onto a seat a few stools down. "It's a nickname."

Mohawk's head snapped to him, flirty stupidity suddenly gone off his face, "None of your business, dipshit."

Tracksuit held up his hands in mock surrender, "Super hearing like you said, guy."

Mohawk unwound, legs sprawled out in front of him, arms behind him to lean on, "You agree then?"

"I mean, yeah." Tracksuit paused as his stomach growled. "Ugh, I just sat-" Omni was above ground and back in a blink. He held out a piece of jerky to him with something like a smile. "Thanks, man." He bit into the meat, holding his veil off to the side. Tracksuit gave in the same day you did, because Baldie did too and he couldn't be the only non-cannibal. Said it felt like bad juju. The worst juju was him enjoying the meat because whatever Gray did to cook the stuff beat anything he'd had from the grocery store.

Omni took the chance to sit on the stool closest to you, opposite Mohawk. "What do you think of me as?" The question was silly, stupid, but he sounded so serious saying it, you almost laugh.

You point to his chest, the color combo that was iconic in your reality.

"Isn't it obvious?" You said with little bite. Killing Lensless had left you in a better mood.

His face fell as he said, "Omni Man."

Jesus, he looked so sad at the thought. You wondered if his Omni Man also beat the shit out of him, if he won that fight unlike your Mark. "Just Omni." You corrected, "You're not your dad." That makes his face a little less depressing to look at.

"Babe, Omni-Mark is right there." Mohawk says. "Oh my God, did you go by that?"

"No," Omni says, "I kept the name Invincible."

Mohawk rolls his eyes but concedes, "Invincible is a cool name."

Scars doesn't move off the wall. "What do you call me?"

"Dickhead." You lied.

"Heartbeat picked up, you're lying."

Phantom comes down from the roof entrance, holding two slices of jerky. One is for you, you know it is. He always seemed to be the one to feed you, but without force. None of them had tried since the first time. You didn't want a repeat, so you'd eat in small bites once a day. You tried not to look at the meat in his hand, though your stomach was empty and aching. You weren't desperate enough to cave. Yet.

He notices, slipping the extra slice into his suit to be held onto for awhile. He sat on the stool second closest by your side. Rolled up the bottom of his mask, unveiling sweat-slicked skin with longer stubble than you remembered. Lips parted to bite into the jerky when the knife is pulled from your belt.

"Need to take care'a that?" Mohawk pulls the blade off your waist and holds it out to Phantom. You were happy about the distraction from Scars so you didn't bite.

You feel Phantom's eyes slide to you for approval. You sneer. "Fine, whatever, too many of you have touched it now. I don't want it anymore." Mohawk laughed but Phantom didn't smile. He took the knife only because it retained some of your body heat.

Tracksuit swallowed a thick wad of jerky, "Whadda'bout me? Shiesty, right?" He didn't particularly care in earnest, but this conversation was leagues better than the nights of contemplative silence he endured while you were on strike and refusing to talk to anyone.

"What the fuck is a shiesty?" You said.

He tugged on the blue sheet on his face, "My mask, duh."

"Oh. Huh. I've never heard that. I just call you Tracksuit." You gesture to the very bright and very obvious outfit.

"Tracksuit." He sounded offended, deeply. "That's fuckin' dumb."

You shrug, "Can't call all of you Mark in my head."

"So who do you call Mark?" Mohawk leaned his head to rest on the side of your shoulder. Snickering when you leaned away. All this was a push-pull game of hard-to-get to him.

"None of you." Hangs in the air. "Too weird."

Mohawk leaned even further into your personal space, almost laying his head on your lap. "Come on, tell us what happened between you guys."

"None of your business." You push off the stool to get out of his range, knocking into Gray's boots, who you hadn't even realized was standing guard beside you. Looking down at Mohawk like shit under his shoe.

"You're Gray." You say to change to subject.

Gray's hands, perpetually laced behind his back, unfurl so he can point a finger to his own chest. "Me?"

"Like Grayson, duh." When you look back, Mohawk is back where he started, trying to lure you back onto the stool with his distance. Just so he could invade your space again.

"I guess, but it's mostly the outfit." You only settle back on the cut rock because the way Gray is looking down at you, so intensely, is starting to get uncomfortable. To crack the pressure, you add, "It's not a bad look."

His face does something weird. Shifts. Smiles. Eyes gone soft, cheeks a tinge of pink. "You like my uniform?"

"I didn't say that." You lean back onto your palms. Feeling a little warm in the face yourself. Mark Grayson smiling at you, blushing because of you. Brought back nostalgic feelings, good ones, then bitter ones. You don't look at him or his charming smile again.

"You're Maskless." You say to the man who looked like he couldn't care less. Then your gaze rolls onto, "Phantom."

"What!?" Mohawk barks, "Why does he get the cool name!?"

"Because he kept his mouth shut when we met." You say. "Snuck up on me way easier than you getting up in my face with the 'babe this, babe that' bullshit."

"Babe-"

"Exactly."

Phantom made himself swallow. Not one to look stupid while being clearly flirted with. His smile was more a shift in the shadows on his face than Gray's.

"I like it." The lack of modulator left his voice sounding raw, scratchy, but stronger than it'd been when you'd first arrived.

Mohawk pointed like a child seeing someone slightly outside the norm, "You can actually fucking talk?"

Phantom did not dignify that with a response.

You knew Scars was behind you because so many of them tensed. "Are you avoiding me on purpose because you call me Sexy?"

"How about walking jail sentence?" You shoot back.

"You're avoiding the question." Scars breath wafted past your ear. His cape fallen onto your shoulder as he leaned over you. The flesh on the back of your neck prickled. Mohawk's knuckles crack, already forgetting that this place was fragile. Walls couldn't be broken in stupid fights willy-nilly.

"Scars." You answer quieter than you meant to, and you know he's moving as Mohawk's eyes follow him.

"Scars?" He walks around the front of you, assessing your face for the truth he can hear in your heart. A wicked, knowing, deeply wanting grin stretched his face. "Good choice." The words were slick with desire, spoken like a dirty little secret. It felt like one to you, the way he talked about the bombs dropped on his head, the cheek-kiss of getting his face partly blown off.

Your leg shoots between his, kicking his loose cape into the fire. Sadly, it doesn't catch. "Hurting me was never that easy, my dear." He tuts. Slinking back to shadows like the creep he was, sporting a semi.

"Fucking-" Tracksuit shook his head, like even he felt violated. "-Guy, man."

"What about me?" Baldie said, fingers idling in the pool.

You feel instantly shitty. He'd been better to you than most of these animals who'd laugh if they heard the name. He'd let you become a cannibal. He'd saved your life from Swimcap. You couldn't say it.

"I don't want to make the others jealous." The humiliation could be personal, face to face, alone. Not here.

Mohawk snorts, "Jealous?"

"Is it 'cuz he's Sexy?" Echoed off the cave walls he from which emerged. Completely alive, not blue in the face at all, but dripping wet. Lensless. "I was hoping I'd be Sexy."

"How the fuck are you alive?" You're on your feet going for the taser you wish you'd used on him earlier.

"Is he supposed to be dead?" Tracksuit asked.

"It was a good try," Lensless shakes out his leg, splattering water across the floor, "but you should know we can go without breathing for two weeks."

"When I tell most people to drown they usually breathe in the water, you fucking idiot."

Lensless chuckled, pushing the hair stuck to his mask back. Lashes darker wet. Suit somehow sticking closer to his body. "I'm not most people."

"You tried to kill him?" Omni asked.

"He was being a freak!" You hold the taser out over Mohawk's head. Lensless comes closer, firelight flicking orange on his wet body. You let the prongs release to make contact with his water-sodden throat. You know it won't work but you just needed to do it, for prosperity's sake.

He doesn't feel it but the effort makes him blush. He sits down next to Maskless as the prongs retract into the taser. "What do you call meeee?" His toes flex in his boots. Acting like he hadn't been soaking at the bottom of a pool for hours.

"Freak."

He lights up, "Really?" Ugh. His smile is brighter and bigger than Gray's- it's stupid and cute and you hate how it gives you butterflies.

You fucking hate butterflies. "No. It's Lensless," You point to your eye, the side where he no longer has one because of you.

He partly deflates. "Why not Freak?"

"Because it'd give you a boner."

"Oh speaking of! I was in that pool awhile and you held control for a really long time. Like, really long! It was strong." The praise was good news but you had a feeling this was going south. "Like, good job, you're stronger than I thought- But it wasn't strong enough."

You lean forward, brows knit. "What do you-" The memory of his hard-on hits you like a grenade, you have to sit down, "Oh Jesus Christ."

"What?" Tracksuit asked.

You run your hand down your face. "That's not possible. How did you even-"

"Cum?" He finishes painfully for you, "I dunno! It was like magic. Dick magic! You should do it again."

The situation hits the Marks like a wave. Omni had Lensless by the neck, holding him overhead. Phantom had Lensless's arm out to the side, his own arm raised, poised to chop the thing off if he touched you with it. They turn to you for approval.

"If anybody's killing him, I am." You say, but Lensless is not dropped.

Tracksuit didn't know to laugh or scream, so he did both, "He came in the fucking bath water!"

"There are other pools," Gray says stiffly.

"It's the principal!" Tracksuit argues. "You can't just do that, dude!"

"Put him down." You tell the duo. "Before he cums on you both."

Phantom releases him quick, as if stung. Omni is still holding Lensless by the throat, but lowers him until his feet touch the floor. "If you ever talk to my wife like that again-"

"Not your wife."

"For the record," Lensless held up a finger as Omni slipped back, "I would not cum on you guys. That's weird. I've jerked off plenty of different ways, but I don't think I could fuck my clone. That's like, too much, even for me."

"Cumming because I've tried to kill you on two separate occasions is fucking weird." You never thought you'd be having this stupid conversation but here you were, having it.

"Two?" Omni raises a brow under his mask. "Two times?" Rage taught in the flex of his tensions.

Your palms press to your eyes. "Can we talk about literally anything else?"

Scars is merciless. "I'd also like to hear about those two times."

They begin to bicker among themselves, questioning Lenseless who giggled like his life wasn't in danger. You couldn't listen to it anymore. It was up to you to turn this around. "Hey," You look directly at Maskless, hoping to grab his attention. His eyes don't leave the fire. "Hey Dummy, you wanna hear about William from my universe?" This time his eyes flicker up to you, honey brown eyes lit golden by the fire while Tracksuit goes onto the rest of the group about the principles of jerking off in the desert.

His gaze is a heat sinking missile. "I thought it was Maskless."

"Thought you weren't listening, didn't think you'd respond."

He tapped his ear, "Heard something that wasn't lame. Tell me."

You remembered little of William. He was spunky, nice to be around the few times you met while dating Mark. He was always welcoming and you could appreciae that. The one thing you really remember is, "He's lethal at bowling."

A smile cracks his too-serious face, "He was, yeah. Couldn't beat him even with my powers."

"I couldn't beat him with mine." Though you never tried. Mark and him were to remain in the dark, you had hoped forever before things went south.

A smile cracks his too-serious face, "He was, yeah. Couldn't beat him even with my powers."

"I couldn't beat him with mine." Though you never tried. Mark and him were to remain in the dark, you had hoped forever before things went south.

"Shit, I haven't thought about that guy in forever." Mohawk stretched his arms over his head, bringing them behind him and trying to catch you by the waist. When you dodged out of the way he smirked. An 'I'll get you one day' kind of look. "He was crazy with those strikes n' shit."

"He was good." Phantom fiddled with the remaining jerky in his hands. He had more to say, but couldn't bring it to come out.

"I used to go to the alley every weekend with Mom when I was younger." Omni said, having long since tuned out Tracksuit and Lensless' rambling, "Just so I could get better and beat him one day." He doesn't say how Dad thought it was a waste of his time, made him stop just for those few precious hours of training. How Mom let it happen.

"Did you ever?" Maskless asks.

"No." Omni forced away the memories. William didn't matter anymore. He hadn't mattered in a long time. Nothing had.

Tracksuit noticed his audience had waned and said, "That guy abused those lanes."

"'S gotta be a universal constant that he's crazy good at bowling." Lensless said, though nobody acknowledged him. Everyone still a little tiffed about the cum water thing.

Something in Maskless seemed to unspool. "Yeah, I guess it is."

There was comfortable quiet a moment. Quiet where Gray wondered who this William character was. Friends were not something Viltrumites had. He was odd for his culture, yes, but he had still stuck by that notion. Across the room, Scars vaguely remembered a kid who's homework he'd steal and company he'd tolerate when necessary.

"Baby girl, you're my universal constant." Mohawk bumped his freshly shaved side against your shoulder.

"I'm literally not constant." You gestured to Maskless, to Tracksuit.

"I mean, yeah, but everywhere else you're like..." The words fall off his tongue and his eyes dart around the room looking for a nice way to say it. Because you were not some moral, goody-two-shoes here and that was strange for everyone. But hell, that's what he liked about you. "My super hot and sexy wife-bitch." He doesn't bring up his planned proposal. The failure was too humiliating to share, even with other versions of himself.

You could tell he'd thought of something else, how there was something fundamentally wrong compared to his (Y/n) and it sours the small moment of bonding. "She had time to care about those things didn't she?" You do your best to cover up the bitterness but it's hard, so hard. When Mohawk is staring at you with Mark's fucking face, enamored by every word. You hated that Mark was still attractive to you, that his opinion of you mattered at all.

"I mean, yeah, I ran the empire, she looked hot. It was like a full time job."

Your lips twist. "How hot was she when you killed her?"

His head jerks away. Offense flashing in his eyes as his face tenses. Got 'em.

He hits you back with a low hiss, "How bad did it hurt when you got gutted?"

He wants you to remember him doing it, knows you won't. Wants you to remember pain and misery for everything you put him through, even though it wasn't you. Just reminding him of you was enough to warrant punishment.

It's your turn to be surprised. Everyone's turn to be surprised.

"Gutted?" Lensless sounded hopeful.

You want to throttle Mohawk. Slap him around the room till he's red but nothing you could do would hurt him. Not even drowning apparently. "Like shit."

You had just turned nineteen. A few months into your second go-around with Machine Head. He'd sent you to chase a rat down. Some kid your age who kept selling on Machine Head's block, a few of his men had gone missing before you.

"Describe it." Mohawk says, "I wanna know exactly what you felt when I did the same fuckin' thing to you."

So you did. Machine Head didn't warn you because he didn't know. Psychics were a sheltered bunch. Didn't often make themselves known to the public or criminal enterprises. So when you caught the kid selling in the depths of some alleyway, you didn't except it to happen- nothing. He didn't listen to your commands, and you didn't get knocked back into a trashcan by his invisible push. He grinned then, said, "Oh good, I was wondering when I could do this again."

He opened you up low with a box cutter. Deep and fast. You stumbled back, holding your cut guts through your slashed open hoodie. He waited, wanted to watch you fall to your knees, onto your face and die by his hands. You whipped the gun out of the back of your pants and brained him right there. Somebody must have heard the shot, because an ambulance was there before you passed out from the pain.

"Happy?" You enjoyed Mohawk's rigid expression. How hard he had to focus to feign cool satisfaction when you could feel the agitation roiling under his skin. You were hurt, almost died, and he wasn't there to be the killer or savior or whatever bullshit his twisted brain thought up.

"I wanna see the scar." Lensless says. "No proof or it didn't happen."

You turn on him. "Proof? You want proof?"

"Yeah, that's what I asked."

You were tempted to lift the armor, but didn't. You wouldn't be able to deal with the sad puppy dog eyes on the old wound that sometimes still ached. Didn't want to tell them how much time Machine Head added to your sentence when he had to pay off the hospital staff for stitching you back together. All those corrective surgeries meant you'd be working for him at least another five years on top of everything else.

So you hit him with the classic, "I can't have kids, you fucking asshole." It always shut people up.

The room is still.

"What?" Omni says.

Oh good! He looked upset! But not for you, not the usual pity you got and hated, he was upset for himself, and you loved ruining their expectations of you.

"He gutted me, idiot." Your hand followed the scar path, memorized well, "Angled the knife so deep inside me it almost cut my uterus in half. Missed most of the important shit but got that. Isn't it funny?" You relish in the misery that falls heavy over his shoulders. "Didn't even get to start considering having kids," you add just to see him crumple, "before the option was literally cut out of me."

"Are you-" He grips at his hair, struck through with gray stress, "Are you sure?"

He could sense more gray coming in soon. This was too much. You two had been talking about starting a family when everything had happened. You had to be lying to get at him. Yet you heartbeat was steady, if only a little elevated with the pleasure of upsetting him.

Here comes the home run, baby. "Pretty sure. Been around plenty and not a single scare." His hand goes over his googles like you'd see the tears under them. Wham, crack, pow right in the kisser.

"I need a moment." He didn't move a muscle but floated up and out of the cave. You smiled at the thought of him crying.

Scars liked how mean you were. Lensless too. Mohawk was conflicted. Phantom was concerned. Baldie wasn't upset, moreso shocked you were talking about the apparent trauma with them of all people. Maskless didn't care. Tracksuit quietly enjoyed his personal drama TV.

Then there was Gray who'd taken his version of you to Viltrum to specifically breed a child into. If you could not procreate, what was the point? Sure, he'd come to your reality for the glory of Viltrum, but you were an added sweetener, a trophy to cement his victory. This you wasn't weak or humanly moral, he liked you a lot, but put simply, what was the point of winning your favor if you couldn't give him a child? That was one of his main duties to the empire, how could he leave it unfulfilled? He said nothing and tried to keep his expression blank.

"So you learned that through what? Getting ran through by a bunch'a guys?" Mohawk elbowed your side, trying to win you back.

"Now that's an image." Scars muses though he hated the idea, he loved seeing you squirm.

Mohawk took it a step further, "Ever been fucked by a Viltrumite, baby? I bet I could-"

You had. The memory was sweet and clumsy, though stung to remember.

"Not interested." You finally feel the weight of all their eyes on you, the reason some of them were upset and why some of them weren't. You stand and he almost falls after leaning so hard into you.

"I'm going to piss." You didn't wait for reply, just turned and moved. Phone flashlight on, map pulled up on your screen, no piss sloshing in your bladder.

You heard some protest, but no one stopped you. No one wanted to be the bad guy. Scars did, but he wanted you to brew awhile in your own angst.

Omni returned maybe five minutes later. Right when Lensless was saying to himself, "She's been peeing awhile."

He looks across the fire, sees none of them gone, only you, and asks, "Which way did she go?"

He pointed, Omni went.

***

This was stupid. These caves were stupid. So dark and wet and echoey. You considered downing some codeine just to feel something else besides a dull roiling anger made sharper by hunger you couldn't stand to sate. You'd been running on fumes and rage for so long, you'd grown almost used to it but here- in these caves? Surrounded by reminders of everything that went wrong? It was starting to wear you down.

With Machine Head you always went home to be alone at the end of the day. Sat with your cat, watched stupid TV on your laptop. Life sucked, but it was good enough. Now you were sitting on a wet ledge you almost fell down a few minutes ago. Drop so deep your flashlight couldn't penetrate the bottom. There was something introspective there, you think, but couldn't be bothered to chase it.

You were vulnerable and sad, but at least you were alone.

"There you are." Omni's behind you. Of course he came for you.

"Go away."

You don't hear him leave. Hopefully he floated back to camp. But when you turn he's there, hovering in the laid-down phone light, over the ground your ass was freezing on. "I won't leave you again." He said. "I apologize for my... response."

Your eyes narrow. "Jus' gonna stalk me like the rest, huh?"

"I'm not going to-" He swallowed the words because they're partly true. He retries, "I want to protect you. And I can't protect you from the past. It upset me to hear that."

Now, that was funny. "You force fed me human meat."

His lip twitched, not the response he was looking for. "Two did that." Meaning Scars.

"You helped."

"Because I care about you (Y/n)," It's said soft, an olive branch, an apology without actually saying it.

"You cared so much you killed the (Y/n) in your dimension, right? Even though she was your wife. Some doting husband you were." Pow, right in the kisser, again.

"(Y/n) I-"

You exploded, why did he get to look at you like a kicked puppy when you knew he killed a version of you he apparently loved. "No, dude! This is fucking crazy! You killed her- me- and now you're like- rebounding with me. It's fucking insane!"

"That's not what this is. Let me explain." His tone was still soft. It pissed you off.

"I don't give a fuck how you feel! I'm not your dumb, bitch wife!" You stand and spin, fast, too fast. Your foot slips on the edge and you tip back, back, back, until there is no ground beneath your feet. You fall, you are falling. Still falling because he hesitates catching you. He's out of view and all you can think is you were going to die because of him again. There are arms strong under your back, body heat curling around you as you gasp. He floats down to the bottom, where the air is even colder and damper, the rock smoother.

You can't see anything. Phone light left at the ledge. You are vulnerable and he holds you despite everything he knows you've done, everything you know he's done.

"Put me down." He only does because your voice warbled. Knife fights and stabbings were one thing, falling almost to your death was another. You'd never get used to almost dying.

You stumble until you're leaned against a wall, chanting to nobody, "You almost let me die."

"I didn't." He says.

"You almost let me die."

You hear him come closer, cape fluttering behind him, "I would never let you die." This version, anyhow.

"You thought about it."

Omni is quiet. "You're just so... different." The admission is a leaden weight, only to be dropped in absolute dark. "I wasn't expecting a different person, different circumstances. You complicate things."

You swallow the bile that'd been creeping up. "This doesn't have to be complicated." You turn to face the sound of his voice. Eyes widen to try and find his frame in the dark, but you see nothing. "It's always been simple. I'm a different person and so are you. I'm nothing like her and you're nothing like him."

In this instance you are the same as she was. Eyes wide in the dark, searching, while he can make you out tangled in the sheets of his bed. Disappointed in him but still open looking for an option to make it all better. Vulnerable and wanting in the darkness before he takes you. The scenes of then and now mash together like his lips upon yours. Your back is pressed flush to the wall, surprised hands not yet tightened to fists on his chest. His gentle yet firm touch holding your head in place, knee parting your legs.

You hadn't known to resist, it happened so quickly. One second you were bitching, the next he was sucking on your lip. The gasp you let out is a welcome into your mouth, for his tongue to find and wind around yours. The friction melts something inside you. His groan and tightening grip only melts it quicker.

He moves his head with yours, nipping at your lip. His tongue lathes over yours. It's the first time he's kissed you, but you know its also not, because knows how to gently tear you apart.

Mark never got to know you this well, nobody in your reality did, you'd never had a partner for more than a few months. But Omni had, he knew you. It brings on a wave of nostalgia for something you never had, of sadness, of angst, of desire to know the other side of what he knew.

Your hands fold in and out of fists. One second bumping against his chest, the next gripping his shoulders. You hate him but feeling his knee press so hard between your legs softens the feeling.

"Tell me to stop." He says breathlessly between the heated exchange, spit making both your lips slippery. As he says it, his other hand is undoing the buttons of your pants. Hasty but careful not to rip the fabric.

All he gets in reply is a, "Fuck you," which isn't stop.

He takes it as permission, licking a hot stripe up the side of your neck. Which earns him your arms thrown over his shoulder and your clothed cunt dragging up and down his armored knee. The drag stutters when his lips find their home in the nape of your neck, his teeth teasing the skin. You twitch and gasp, the sound different from his wife but the reaction similar.

His gloved hand slips into your pants and finding no resistance. You were bare. He pressed his palm to the pulsing flesh, just making sure what's his was there. He could feel the heat, the silken softness through the kevlar of his gloves. You buck, needily against his unmoving hand, trying to take what you wanted. The already pulsing flesh of his cock began to ache.

Omni tore off his gloves, needing to feel skin to slick. At the same time you claw off his stupid mask, pushing it to hang around his neck like a limp hood. You couldn't see his face, you didn't want to, but the lenses were a barrier between you. You find his hair, twisting it in your grasp, pulling hard at the dried gelled strands for a reaction but get none.

His touch returned. He hadn't felt you in months and when he did, you were so hot it burned, so wet his fingers slipped, blood rushing to his dick so fast he almost blacked out.

"God." He breathed against your neck, exploring with fingerpads. Testing if the same buttons did the same things. They did.

You had no clue how he was working you like this. Hookups were fun, and part of the fun was the exploratory nature of it, directing someone how to please you. Learning just enough to reach your end and never having to think about it again. But Omni knew, there was nothing tentative about his touch. It was knowing, he was perfectly circling your clit with two lazy fingers and you were mewling embarrassingly into his neck. Scratching at his scalp. He had wiped your mind blank.

He was in complete control of your body and it pissed you off as much as it made you needily grind against his knee. You unwound your hands from his hair, trailing down the hard mass of his chest, over the bulge you knew was there. Because you knew hookups were always a two way street. You had just barley began to grope him when he pulled your arm back over his shoulder.

He hissed between teeth. "Don't." He's right back to circling your clit. Breath hot on your face. "This is for me." To prove something to himself. That you were the same person in the very core of your being if not the surface. If some part of you was the same, he could live. He would live for you.

"That doesn't make any-" Thick finger tips press into your entrance. Not even past the first knuckle and you're gasping, words forgotten.

Satisfaction hums in his chest. "I want to focus on you." He pushes two digits in, tortuously slow. Relishing in the way you twitch and gasp at every gained fraction of skin. His palm met your slickened cunt, rough padded thumb pressed to your clit. He moved, slow, curling his fingers against your insides.

"Fuck!" Your thighs go up, around his hips like a vice.

"Quiet." He swallows your moans in an open-mouthed kiss. You were louder than her, but he didn't mind because feeling you around him, warm, wet, and welcoming, cemented the idea inside him. You were her, in some removed yet fundamental way, you were her and she was you. No other human would allow a monster like him to touch them, but she had been brave to love him, and you were brave for standing against him. Taking him like this.

For giving him the gift for his wife, alive and whole again, he pulls his fingers out only to ram them right back in. You'd always liked things on the rougher side and he liked to deliver. It seemed you liked it a whole hell of a lot here too. Practically crying into his mouth which meant he just had to keep viciously stuffing your cunt with his fingers. Thumb messily slipping back and forth across your clit. He knew you were close by how uncoordinated your kiss became. Your breath coming out in hot pants against his lips.

Your hands didn't know where to go, spasming on his back, twisting in the cape or his hair.

"Ma-Mar-Mmmh-haaa!" Your walls tightened around him, but he didn't slow. Viltrumite strength was good for something.

Orgasm hit you, a sledgehammer to the cunt. So hard you were paralyzed in his grip. Pussy clenching against his fingers like it never wanted him to leave. He pumped right on through it, muttering praise, "Good. Good job."

Your body started to go limp but he held you up. Fingers never breaking pace even as your insides tried to slow him in the aftershocks. You hadn't cum so fast with a partner in... ever. You didn't know how to handle this kind of pleasure, given as a brutal gift by someone else. You wanted to choke him out with his stupid cape. You wanted him to fuck you literally forever.

His fingers adjusted the tiniest amount and you threw your head back against the rock. His tongue back on your neck. "Mmm-haaa-!"

"Markus." He kissed into your throat, "Call me Markus."

The thrusts dwindle into slow, rolling pumps. He waits for you to be desperate enough to say it but you won't. It's too intimate, too much. You buck your hips into his hand, "Come on, come on, faster." You just manage not to tack on a desperate please. You weren't that far gone yet.

Instead, he buried his fingers against your g-spot and rubbed viciously at your clit with his thumb. Your back jerked involuntarily up, name ripping out, "Markus!" God, you were going to regret this later.

Pleased, he pulls his fingers out, and two becomes three, and you are filled to the brim. But it feels right, like he'd fucked you this way a million times. A strangled cry is torn from your throat, pushed back in by his tongue in your mouth. His thumb has fallen, hand focused on ramming you full. Whole arm flexing, shaking you both. Palm slapping harsh against your swollen clit.

Your second coming is a lot different than what's in the Bible. Lots more, "Oh fuck's" muttered against his spit-slicked mouth.

His pace followed the spasm of your muscle. First erratic, then dwindling, slipping out of your pulsing body when it was done, though you had more to give. He let you go slack in his hold, allowing himself a still moment to taste you on his flesh. He sucked his fingers nearly down to the bone as your feet found purchase. That familiar sour tang that reminded him of home, his cock throbbing. His point was proven. His meaning refound.

Your heartbeat still pitter-pattered, your body still wanting, still open to him. You could go another round. He considered the idea. He still had you against the wall. A no still hadn't come off your lips but a, "What the fuck is wrong with you," just had, so it was about time to pack it up.

"Did you not enjoy that?"

"What- I- Tch-"

You can't see it but he smiles soft. You'd come around and there'd be more where that came from.

"Well?" He goaded, hoping you'd say it. How right that felt. How inexplicably well he knew your body.

"I'm still mad at you." Came out with little bite. He'd dulled your teeth.

You feel rather than hear his chuckle, his hand coming to your waist.

"Are you?" It's teasing in a way you'd never heard before, but she had. Before you both had done the same song and dance. Something stupid was done or said and you were on the verge of argument. Then he'd bend you over a counter or table, and fuck the fight right out of you. Worked like a charm. Happy wife, happy life, dad had once said.

"Yes." You don't give into his teasing, don't lean into the fingers tracing your body but don't move away.

Markus pulls his mask up and over his head. He knows if he says nothing you'll dig your grave deeper in three, two, one... "I'm not calling you that in front of everyone. It's a stupid name."

"It's our full name." You try stepping over his knee, still perched between your legs but nearly trip. He catches you by the arm, shifts you easily to rest over his forearms.

You tried to keep your voice from wavering, “I know that. Nobody calls you that in any universe.”

"I know, that’s why it'll be our secret," He lifts off the ground easily, feeling lighter than air.

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