#I got possessed by these headcanons years ago and now I’ve finally brought them to fruition *Wheezes*

[cldjendis66]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Promare (2019) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos Characters: Lio Fotia, Galo Thymos Additional Tags: Communication is Sexy, Character Study, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon Summary:

Lio debates putting away the hairdryer and acting like he isn’t having a crisis, but he quickly realizes how pointless that’d be once Galo sees the state of his hair, so he stays quiet and accepts his fate of being found. It isn’t long before a familiar head of blue hair peeks into the doorway with a wide grin. “There you are! I thought you were lost in another book—what are you doing, Lio?”

He shakes the hairdryer, “Wishing I could set this thing on fire.”

[buckyownsmylife]

I’ve Told You Now - Bucky Barnes smut

The one where alpha!Bucky fucks you in front of the other avengers

Warnings: smut, a/b/o dynamics, public sex, oral (f), p in v, possessiveness

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: Thank you to my lovely @wakingbeauty​ for giving this a read for me! This is strictly the product of mine and @navybrat817​‘s belief that public sex should be more common in A/B/O dynamics, so there you have it 😊 Also, I used a prompt the sweet @jbreenr​ gave me ages ago for a headcanon and I asked to save it for this story since it made such perfect sense! Hope you guys like it! I might write more public sex A/B/O smut in the very near future!

Bucky’s P.O.V.

Everyday was the same. I’d wake up and join the rest of the team for breakfast to find out that despite the fact that someone had saved me a seat, that same someone had thought of a new joke to make at my expense.

If I thought Tony’s nicknames were bad, this was a whole new level. It’s like she wanted to find all the little ways to annoy me, while still remaining mindful of my recovery process and triggers.

I’d never met an omega like that before. Back in my time, omegas were mostly prim and proper, almost shy around alphas, even if they were starting to show a little more skin and entertain the possibility of staying closer to us for longer periods of time.

I wasn’t used to someone who felt so comfortable with my intimidating aura, and the alpha in me definitely couldn’t grow used to seeing so much of her skin all the time. By now, I was sure she was doing it on purpose.

She knew how it affected me, she could smell it - every omega was able to identify when a nearby alpha was aroused. And I knew it turned her on in return. I was also biologically wired to sense that.

It was basically a game of who would break first. And I knew she thought she would win, but my resolve still wasn’t broken.

“Ah… What a lovely day. So full of possibilities… if you’re not a hundred years old,” she quickly added, throwing me a glance that had me rolling my eyes. “What do you say, grandpa? Feel like going out for a run?”

Who knows what I would have answered if she hadn’t decided to pull her hair up right at the second Wanda opened the window to look out into the field? The smile that had been on my face quickly dropped when I was hit with a heavy wave of her scent and my knees buckled as I tried to hold myself back from just jumping on top of her.

Unfortunately, because awareness was not something she seemed capable of having, she did not realize my struggle. “What’s wrong, old man? Can’t even keep up anymore?” The growl that escaped my chest at her joke was all the warning she needed to finally understand what was going on.

“I’ll show you what I can keep up.” I was on her in a second, my consciousness of our surroundings reduced to absolutely nothing. It was only her and me, and the way our lips moved as I guided her back to the couch, until we both fell on top of it.

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” I asked as I tore her shirt with a simple flick of my wrist. “Is this how you wanted it to happen? For me to lose all control and just take you right here?” All that left her was a garbled sound, her hands clawing at my back as I easily got rid of her jeans until they were nothing but scraps on the floor and then exposed her pussy to the tower’s living room.

“Fuck yes,” I growled, immediately leaning down to get a taste of her. Sweet and wet and mine, all mine. I had no idea where that possessive instinct had come from, but I would be crazy to ignore it - especially since it felt like I’d kill and die for her at that very second.

Her hips jerked up, instinctively searching for my tongue, but a breeze of clarity seemed to brush over her and make her sit up on her elbows, looking down at me. I knew what was running through her mind before she said it, and I wasn’t having any of it.

“You better lay back down and let me savor my meal,” I warned, knowing the rest of the team had gathered around to watch the show. I didn’t have to take my eyes off her debauched state to know it, but her gaze was on them, even if the rest of her body was still spread open for anyone to see, uncaring of the fact that we were being watched.

“You poked the beast, now you’ll entertain it,” Steve warned, shaking his head as if to scold us, but when I met his eyes, I could see the glint of desire in them. He wanted to be in my position, he wanted to have his own tongue shoved deep inside my girl’s pussy, and it only made me eat her more hungrily.

“Eyes on me, ‘mega,” I called out to her once I saw her eyes linger on Steve. “Let them watch, that’ll keep them away from you.” She groaned at the possessiveness in my words, but it was the sounds of someone who was relishing in it. And I was relishing in her juices.

“Fuck!” She cursed when I buried my tongue as far as it could go in her, something deep inside of me desperate to be drowning in her scent. “Should have gotten you mad before.”

The thought was amusing to me. Did she really think this was only the result of pent-up anger, and not months of desire and lust that had finally spilled from my weakened resolve?

“Well…” I started, pushing two fingers inside of her to scissor her open for me, although my scent had already made her body as prepared for an Alpha an Omega could get.

I was a bit larger than usual Alphas, though - courtesy of the serum - so I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t go through any pain whatsoever. “You keep me mad all the fucking time, kitten.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“With desire or anger, it doesn’t really care,” he continued, like it was any ordinary day and we were chatting in the living room, our usual teasing banter taking over the conversation, instead of him eating me out on the couch in front of all of our teammates while I was spread out for their eyes to take in.

“You’re always a tease to me, in one way or another.” His huge hands massaged the inside of my thighs as he finally lowered himself to suck on my nub again, making me instinctively buck my hips up in search of his tongue.

“Stay…” he ordered in his Alpha tone, and the whine that broke free from my chest was more animal than human now. The way he used his mouth was nothing short of sinful, licking me from ass to clit with an eagerness I had never expected the former Winter Soldier to have.

But I guess today I was discovering all of my fantasies about Bucky had been a bit misplaced. For one, I never thought he’d be the type of Alpha to take me in such a public environment.

In every dirty dream I’d had, Bucky was far too possessive to allow anyone to explore what was his - even if it was only visually - but what I’d come to learn was that while he was definitely dominating, there was a hint of exhibitionism in his craving.

He liked to have people see him break me into a million pieces only to glue me back together with a lick of his tongue. He liked that they were seeing his talent - and I had to admit, by what I saw in his friend’s stare, that they were also admiring me too.

And he got off on that. I didn’t expect it would make me get off too.

“Delicious,” he hummed when he finally pulled away from my cunt, having brought me to my release and licked it off of me. Still, an overwhelming amount of wetness covered the lower part of his face, prompting me to raise myself to my elbows and lick my own juices off of his lips, the omega in me begging to scent him as mine.

“You’re a nasty little bitch, aren’t you?” He chuckled once the surprise faded away, easily manhandling me onto my stomach, the sound of a zipper being opened denouncing that he had undressed.

“Keep fucking me and you’ll find out.” I heard him spitting behind me, a shiver running up my spine as I realized he was playing with himself while looking at me presenting for him.

“Oh, I’ll do much better than that.” That was all the warning I got before I felt the head of his member poking my entrance, slowly but surely sliding in until he had bottomed out.

My whines became intensified when he pulled me up by my hair, his free hand covering my breast to rub my nipple as he whispered, “I’m gonna claim you, sweetheart. You think you’re ready for that? Think you’ll be able to take it?”

I was quickly realizing I had severely underestimated the man inside of me, even if not to the extent he thought I had. I was not ready for that. I don’t think I ever would be, but fuck if I wasn’t gonna take it anyway.

Because it was so much better than I ever imagined it to be.

“No more playing hard-to-get,” Bucky continued, finally starting to move and immediately settling on a punishing pace. “No more teasing me with your short skirts and tempting scent. You’ll be mine now, ‘mega. Forever. How does that sound?”

God, I wanted him to do it. I wanted him to keep exercising this complete control over my body that he had so easily managed to take. His cock was stretching me in ways I’d never been stretched before, his inflated knot slamming against my opening with each thrust.

“Always mocking me… Am I too old for you now?” I shivered as he licked a stripe up my neck. I knew he wouldn’t actually bite me in front of everyone - a claiming ritual was a sacred ritual, even the most feral of Alphas respected the intimacy of that. But the way he was taunting me was all too arousing, I couldn’t deny it. “Tell me.”

His hand squeezed my hip, looking for an answer. I tried to open my mouth, but nothing came out. His palm slipped further down, finding my clit, and as two fingers rubbed my own juices, around it, I screamed.

“N-No!” Bucky chuckled against my neck, body continuing his onslaught against mine as he nuzzled my scent gland. “Y-you’re not too old for me. Take me, take me please.” His coos were too provoking, making me cry out loud at the mocking sound.

“Aw, kitten…” His warm mouth breathed the next words against my ear, “I already did.” He turned my face towards his with his fingers tangled in my hair, engulfing my mouth with his.

“Alright.” A familiar voice spoke from not too far, startling me for a second as I once again was reminded that we were still very much surrounded by our team. “You two might just be the sexiest mates I’ve ever seen fuck.”

A growl escaped Bucky’s chest at hearing someone refer to us as mates for the first time, and I panted in need, desperate to cum, desperate for him. “Seen a lot of mates fuck, Romanoff?” He nibbled at my ear, hands roaming over my body as if to make it very clear to every person watching that they could look all they wanted, I was still his.

“You have no idea.” Looking over a bit to the side from where she was seated, there rested Sam’s almost limp body, a hand curled over his boner as his eyes never wavered from the place I was connected to the man behind me.

“Well, I know what I’m gonna think about tonight.” Something between a laugh and a moan escaped me, making Bucky growl again, hands pushing me back down onto the couch as his hips picked up the pace with which they’d ruin me.

To say I was soaked was the understatement of the century. I could feel it, running down my thighs, drenching the couch underneath me. I don’t know how we’d be able to use it again, but that was the least of my concerns in the moment.

“I am begging you to let me lick her pussy after you guys are done,” came Tony’s voice, and I knew Bucky would growl in his direction just from the way his fingers pressed tightly on the flesh of my hips. “Not that type of Alpha, sorry, I got it.”

I heard his footsteps retreating quickly, probably scared of what Bucky would do to him once we were done, but in the Alpha’s defense, Tony seemed to disappear from his mind the second he left the room, all of his senses directed to me and his goal of making me cum around his cock.

“C’mon, kitten,” he whispered, fingers easily locating my clit to play with me as he pulled me up to rest against his chest one more. “Come for me, milk me dry.” That was all I needed to give him what he wanted, and although I was anticipating to moan loudly as I creamed his knot, his mouth covered mine to swallow all of my sounds in a deep kiss, hands protectively covering me while pawing at my breasts at the same time.

“Steve,” Bucky called after he managed to catch his breath, having fallen on top of me on the couch once his knot popped open. “I won’t be able to work out with you today.”

I looked up as best as I could to find Steve already staring at us, although red from head to toe. “That’s understandable,” he spoke in a thick, rough voice that I barely recognized as his. “You seem to have worked out enough already.”

Bucky stopped running his nose against my cheek at his friend’s attempt at teasing, a slow smirk taking over his face as he joined me and stared at his friend. “Oh, I’m not nearly done,” he warned. “You’re more than welcome to join us for some cardio, if you want to.”

The soft smile Steve sent our way told us everything we needed to know about his plans for the evening.

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

I Saw You Trying, My Love

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: ok so this is long, and angry. It all happened because I really wanted to explore the headcanon that Wilhemina would be very possessive and very jealous if she were in a relationship. How would that relationship work? Could it work? I hope you’ll enjoy this piece, lovelies <3

Word count: ~ 8 200   

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

Wilhemina’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and angry.

You ignored her. You kept shoving the contents of your wardrobe into your bag.

“I said, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I heard you the first time,” you snapped. You threw one last pair of socks – your favourite, fluffy and glittery – into your bag and gave it a shake. “I thought you’d have figured it out by now.”

You zipped up your bag and stomped past Wilhemina out of the room you had shared with her for the past two months. She must have realized how serious you were, by then, because she followed close behind you. She had never done that before when you had had a fight. She was too proud to run after you like a desperate child. Usually she would let you walk off and wait for you to blow off steam. But today, the sound of her cane followed you down the stairs and into the living room as you went around it, grabbing items you would need – your book, your glasses, your phone charger. Wilhemina’s watch. You threw that back on the couch when you realized what it was.

“Has your brain turned to mush? Where do you plan to go? You have nowhere to go to, Y/N.”

Wilhemina positioned herself in the doorway, blocking your way, both her hands gripping her cane. You came to a halt in front of her and scowled.

“I’m not a baby, Wilhemina,” you retorted, your face mere inches from hers. Your words were thick with anger. “I’ll get along just fine without you. Actually, I’ll be better off without you. Now move.”

She stood her ground, glaring back at you.

“What are you gonna do?” you hissed. “Uh? Lock me up? Bring me food once a day, torture me? Are you going to lock me up in here until you break me and turn me into the obedient pet you wish I were?” You paused to take a breath. “Is that your plan, Mina, my love?” You all but spat the last two words at her like a curse.

For a second you recoiled. You hadn’t meant to do that, turn a term of endearment, a promise of care and tenderness whispered so many times before to soothe and comfort and reassure, into poison. But on second thought, you were glad you had. She deserved the sting.

“I don’t –“she started, but you interrupted her.

“For God’s sake I have the right to spend time with my friends! Not all my life revolve around you, Wilhemina! You cannot keep me with you every minute of every day like a fucking dog!” A fresh bout of fury rose to your head and took control of you. “I can spend time with other people, I can enjoy myself without you! But what I can’t stand is you snapping at me and calling me names every time I so much as smile to someone else! I’ve had enough.” You lowered your arms in defeat, shaking your head at her. “I’ve had enough. I’m leaving. Move.”

Wilhemina’s face was hard and angry, her jaw clenched tight, her poise proud and dominating, but her eyes – you had always been able to tell what she truly felt by looking into her eyes. They were your favourite thing to stare at, not only because it was so easy to get lost in them, but because they were the key to understanding her. The key that opened the safe where she hid herself when she did not know how to communicate or thought she had to lie to keep herself safe. Her eyes were always, always honest. Especially with you. You took one look at them now and then had to look away before your resolve left you.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To Maggie’s place.”

Wilhemina scoffed bitterly. “Why, of course. Right into the arms of the daft prostitute.”

“Mina she’s my best-friend since high-school,” you growled, raising your free hand to rub your forehead in frustration. “Please don’t insult her.”

“And what a friend indeed. Always so eager to please, so eager to have you all by herself so that she can lay her dirty little hands on your arm or - ”

“This is what best-friends do!” you roared.

Wilhemina didn’t even flinch.

“Why don’t you screw her tonight?”

“Alright, you – you know what, I’ve had enough.”

You pushed past her, and you must have been too brutal, or maybe she had been unsteady to begin with; in any case, she dropped her cane, and her knees gave way. She winced as she braced herself for the fall, for the pain – but you wrapped your arms around her waist to support her, and held her against you. “I’ve got you,” you whispered into her hair.

Time froze. Silence fell. You closed your eyes, nuzzling your nose in her hair. What were you doing? Leaving her? Ridiculous. As if you could live without her. You pressed her closer against you, feeling like you could burst into laughter at your own excessive behavior. This was just like any other fight you had had with Wilhemina before, nothing you could not mend. Leaving this house, leaving this woman, had never been an option. It would mean leaving your heart. Leaving a part you wouldn’t – couldn’t – survive without.

You dropped a kiss on her forehead and were about to pull away. To cup her face and kiss her mouth and laugh with her at how stupid, how childish you were.

But then you remembered. All the times she had gone too far. All the snapping and the hurting and the possessive, jealous, unhealthy behavior. Earlier this afternoon she had slapped one of your coworkers and friends for “standing too close to you”. It was the first time she had used physical violence. The last straw.

You knew where it all came from, the insecurity and the fear and the pain. But that did not make it acceptable.  

Gently, you let her go, picked up your bag and made for the front door.

“Y/N?”

She followed you down the corridor, stopped a few inches away from you as you turned the key in the lock. You felt her hand brush your elbow, but she did not touch you. Somehow it was this, her hesitation, that broke your heart.

“Don’t come after me,” you told her over your shoulder.

“Y/N don’t you dare –“

You opened the door, ignoring her, closing your eyes against the setting sun and the tears that were starting to pool. Wilhemina’s voice rose behind you again, not angry anymore, but shaking, and terrified. She was terrified.

“Y/N don’t you – “

You slammed the door behind you and ran down the driveway to your car, afraid you’d turn back and fall into her arms if you stopped for one second.

It hurt. It felt like your heart had been torn out of your chest. You opened the door of your car with shaky hands, sobs wracking your body, barely seeing anything through your tears.

You didn’t remember much after that. You must have driven all the way to Maggie’s. Knocked on her door, with your bag in one hand and sobs bubbling out of your throat. She must have let you in, asked you, were you alright, was Wilhemina alright – perhaps she hugged you. Certainly she made you some tea, for Maggie was one of those people who believe tea can make everything better. As if you had not irremediably broken what you cherished most.  

You must have drunk your tea, to please Maggie.

The bed in her spare room was big and comfortable. The sheets smelt of fresh peaches. You spent the rest of the evening cocooned in their warmth, alternating between dozing and sobbing into the pillows. When night fell, Maggie brought you dinner on a tray. She sat beside you as you swallowed what your stomach could hold. And then she asked you what had happened.

You hadn’t been able to tell her yet. You’d thought that, perhaps, if you kept it a secret, your leaving Wilhemina wouldn’t be real. You would be able to go back home and find her there waiting for you. She would rise when she’d hear you come in, and she would smile that fond smile of hers and wrap you up in her arms and kiss you slow and sweet. Somehow, all of your problems would be gone.  

It didn’t work like that. You knew it didn’t. But still, you couldn’t help but hope.

Maggie didn’t believe you, at first. She gawked at you, then narrowed her eyes and scrutinized your face. She was naive, Maggie. Very romantic. She believed love was stronger than everything else. She had spent five minutes with you and Wilhemina and proclaimed with tears in her eyes that she had never seen two people more in love. It simply wasn’t possible for you to be without Wilhemina, and for Wilhemina to be without you. You would cease to exist. The world would explode.

But then, as you dissolved into tears again, unable to finish your story as you desperately clang to her, her face fell. She let out a small “oh” that sounded so surprised, so final, so defeated. It rang in your ears like a bell mourning death.

You didn’t go to work the day after. Nor the day after that. You knew Wilhemina would be at Kineros, knew she was too hardworking to even consider taking a day off. Hell, Wilhemina could be dying of pneumonia, she would still drive to work and sit at her desk and boss everyone around. Throwing snarky comments like knives at frightened employees, making sure everyone was doing their jobs. You could picture her, sitting straight and proud in her chair, with her cane leaning against her desk and her hair tied in that high ponytail you loved so much, for it accentuated her sharp cheekbones. Had she taken off the photograph on her desk? Of you and her, on a sunny day in the countryside a year ago, a few days after you had started dating. Your hand on her cheek, your teeth on her chin, her eyes half-closed and crinkled up with laughter.

You wouldn’t have gone to work even if Wilhemina hadn’t been there. There was no point anymore. You had never really cared for the job anyway. The only thing that had made life interesting had been Wilhemina.

So you spent hours in bed until the sheets no longer smelt of fresh peaches but of your sweat and tears. You went for a run with Maggie. You tried to keep yourself busy, read a book, watched movies, cleaned Maggie’s house. You knew you couldn’t spend the rest of your life at Maggie’s, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It became harder to get up in the morning. Harder to fall asleep at night. So you daydreamed and thought of Wilhemina. To soothe the pain of her absence. You thought of her face in the morning, still soft from sleep. That magic moment when she would wake and those big, brown, doe eyes of hers would meet yours and smile. How deftly she would do her hair, ponytail always perfectly centered. How sometimes, while she waited for the water to boil for her tea, she would stare out the window and get lost in the view.  

One day it struck you how often Maggie did touch you. She was a very touchy-feely person, had always been: she would pat your shoulder or hold your hand or stroke your arm or kiss your cheek. It was innocent, she behaved like that with everyone. But now you realized how it must have looked to someone as insecure as Wilhemina.

Maggie was beautiful. All blue eyes and soft strawberry blond locks and pink cheeks and pretty flowery dresses. She was soft, and selfless, and very kind, and everyone adored her. She taught French at the University. Had a fiancé, wanted to start a family. Exercised every day. She was normal and healthy – more than that, she was perfect in every way. No rough edges, no high walls, no back pains that kept her up all night, no early appointments to the doctor’s, no days that could be ruined by one glance at her reflection in the mirror. Maggie had found her place in the world and the world cherished her.

And yet – and yet how brighter Wilhemina shone in your head. She was a lighthouse, Maggie a candle. How much more precious and rare Wilhemina was. There were a million things in her that singled her out as one of the most fascinating person you had met. How she could make a witty comment on something the likes of Maggie would never notice in the first place. How she would stare right into the eyes of whatever scared her and defeat it with patience and determination. How deeply, how fiercely she loved.

On the eighth morning without her you woke up completely panicked and haunted by the knowledge that she was hurting on her own. She would never tell anyone she needed help, she had never allowed anyone but you to see her vulnerable. She would push on through her days as if everything was perfectly fine and go back every night to a dark, cold, lonely house where everything would remind her of you. Did she get enough sleep? Was she even eating? It seemed likely to you she would use food deprivation to punish herself. Eating the bare minimum to make it through the day without collapsing.

You asked Maggie to check on her. She drove to your house one evening and came back in a sour mood. Oh, Wilhemina was just fine, she jeered. Her usual pleasant, cheerful self. She had opened the door, taken one look at her, and sent her off with a scoff. Maggie was so angry she spilled most of her drink on the floor. And despite it all, you couldn’t help but smile.

In the morning of the tenth day, after Maggie had gone to work, you came downstairs and slumped on the living room couch. It was a beautiful, sunny day, so you had opened all the windows and the front door to let the draft in. You prayed the fresh air would take away some of the ache in your chest. Or maybe a murderer would walk into the house and put an end to your misery.  

You were starting to doze off when you heard a knock on the front door. You started, and sleepily called out “It’s open”.

Silence, as if whoever stood outside hadn’t quite made up their mind to come in yet. You yawned, scratched your head. The sound of a cane tapping on the floor filled the hall.

For a second you felt you were about to faint. Then your body sprang up, eyes wide-opened, heart pounding in your ears.

You sat down on a nearby chair facing the door. Ran a hand through your hair, straightened your clothes. You waited.

Tap. Tap. The sound of her cane brought tears to your eyes – for how you had missed it. Not so much the sound itself but the promise that came with it, seeing her, being with her. Love and happiness and everything that mattered in the world.

The tapping stopped. You raised your head. Your racing heart leaped out of your chest straight into her hands, like a fledgling that had left its nest too soon and flew back trembling and terrified to the safety of home. How stupid you had been to leave at all.

She stood in the doorway more beautiful than you remembered her, because so painfully missed, so hoped for, so loved.

She looked tired, but fine – not exhausted, not starved, not over-worked. Thank God. Some of the tension that had been building in your shoulders vanished. You searched her face for signs of emotions and truth behind her facade, but could find none. Even her eyes were inscrutable.

For a few, agonizingly long seconds you both stayed silent, glaring at each other, both of you too proud to lower your eyes or look away first. Then Wilhemina took a breath and opened her mouth, and your body leaned towards her in expectation.

“Your productivity at work this past week was astonishing,” she said.

Right. You straightened in your seat, and crossed your legs.

Wilhemina waited, but as no answer came from you she added: “Do you intend to get fired?”

“If you’ve come here to scold me, you can leave now,” you mumbled. Your hand started rubbing circles on your knee. “I’m not interested.”

Another pause. You picked a book on the coffee table and stared intently at it. The silence was painful. From the corridor came the ticking of the clock hung on the wall. You could just make out Wilhemina’s purple shoes and pale ankles out of the corner of your eye.

When the silence became intolerable, you tilted your head just enough to shoot her an angry glance and snapped: “Why are you here?”

Wilhemina tapped her cane threateningly on the floor. That didn’t faze you. Not anymore.

“I’m here,” she said in that low, slow voice she always used when she was mad, “as your superior and as Kineros Robotics’ HR manager, to remind you that you have a job and that you are expected to actually show up at your workplace.”

Was she getting enough sleep? Only now did you realize that she was leaning on her cane a bit more heavily than usual. Was her back hurting her? Did she even take her pain medicine? On several occasions before she had refused to, as a form of punishment against her disability. You had had to coax and beg for her to finally agree to swallow the pill.  

“I expect you to answer me when I talk to you.” Wilhemina’s voice, sharp and angry, brought you back from your thoughts. You glanced up at her again.

“Yes, Ms Venable.”

“If you do not go back to work tomorrow I will have to dismiss you.”

“Yes, Ms Venable.”

“Your unjustified absence is quite simply intolerable.”

“Yes, Ms Venable,” you repeated.

Another pause. You had no idea what you were feeling anymore. Anger and irritation had subsided and been replaced by a sort of numbness that still had an aftertaste of want. You stared at the book, your fingers still rubbing circles on your knee as you listened to the ticking of the clock in the corridor.

Wilhemina spoke, and this time her voice wavered on the last word. “When are you coming back?”

She meant to work, of course. You lifted your head, met her eyes. She meant come home.

“I’m not coming back,” you answered, keeping your voice casual to hide the fact that your heart was breaking yet again, small pieces drifting away and colliding with each other.

“What do you want me to do?” Wilhemina cried, her eyes widening in exasperation. “Crawl at your feet and beg for mercy?”

She barely ever raised her voice. Her anger and contempt were always expressed in a dangerously slow and low tone. A high, raised voice meant she felt cornered. It meant her self-control was slipping away. It meant her facade was breaking.

You leaned towards her in your seat, hope seeping in your veins.

“How about you start by apologizing to Pat?” you said, as casually as before.

“Who’s Pat?”

“My co-worker and friend you so kindly slapped in the face last week. And to Eva, whose fingers you threatened to clip off one by one because she had the audacity to touch my hand. And to Maggie. You called her such terrible names when all she did was being there for me. Do you see the problem, Mina?”

Your little speech had made you angry again, bad memories flooding your brain, so it was a surprise when her nickname slipped out of your mouth. It seemed to quiet her for a second. Her shoulders relaxed. She even took a tentative step towards you. But then her face hardened again, and when she spoke her voice was back under control.

“I will do no such thing,” she snapped, tapping her cane on the floor. “All those idiots you mentioned had it coming.”

You sighed and slumped back into your seat. You knew what she was doing. Suddenly you were brought back to the first time she had allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of you. It had been one evening in the second week of your relationship. She had had a bad day, and her back was hurting her, and the only way she had found to express that – the only way she had known how – had been by snapping at you for overcooking the pasta. You had been about to snap back, when an apology had slipped out of her. Soft and unexpected. You had fallen silent in surprise. Her hands had started to fidget, and she had looked angry with herself, couldn’t meet your eyes, couldn’t find anything more to say, couldn’t stop fidgeting. So you had hugged her, run her a bath, made love to her, brushed her hair until most of the tension had left her body.

Snapping was her way of protecting herself, you knew that. But still – it hurt, and you had had enough.

“Well then, please, leave,” you mumbled, closing your eyes and raising one hand to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“So you can be in the delightful company of Maggie the Cat?” she snapped.

“Oh for God’s sake, Wilhemina,” you sighed, but she didn’t seem to hear you.

“Sweet, sweet Margaret,” she sneered, taking one more step towards you, her hands shaking. “With her sweet maiden face and her cheerful disposition. So charming, so lovely. She’s part of that disgusting group of radiant fools who will lead the world to its demise with their shallowness and their stupidity.”

You jumped to your feet. “Maggie is my friend,” you growled, planting yourself a few inches from her, your whole body hot with anger. “If you loved me as you claim you do, if you had an ounce of respect for me, you wouldn’t say such things about her!”

Something on her face changed at your words. You couldn’t tell what exactly, but a feeling of dread suddenly came over you.

Wilhemina tapped her cane on the floor, raised her chin and hissed, “Maybe I don’t. Love you, at all. Maybe I only used you for company.”

You took a step back, reeling as her words echoed in your head. You knew she was lying. What you two had shared had been too strong to be fake. She had trusted you with things and parts of herself she had never told or shown anyone before. She had let you love her and trusted you would not hurt her.

In a better world you would have been able to control your anger. You would have taken a few deep breaths to calm yourself and put your hands on Wilhemina’s shoulders and told her for the hundredth time what she obviously still needed to hear – that in your heart, Maggie did not hold a candle to her. That Maggie was your friend and you loved her, but not the way you loved Wilhemina. That you would go to Hell for her and beat Lucifer’s ass if it meant keeping her safe.

But this was the real world, where battered souls keep hurting each other. Anger burnt in you like a fire and filled your brain with smoke until you could no longer think. Only fight back.  

“Maybe I did, too,” you snarled.

You saw her hesitate. You saw her snarky retort die on her lips as she took in your words. And for a moment it felt great. To know you could still affect her, still peel off her layers and press the pads of your fingers on bare skin. But you had only ever stroked before; never scratched.

The tap of her cane on the floor surprised you, for it sounded weaker than usual. It did not bounce off the walls but fell at her feet like a weak preemie and died.

“If you do not show up tomorrow at 8 then don’t bother coming back at all,” Wilhemina commanded. “Kineros will do just fine without you.”

She was staring at something above your left shoulder, and she was breathing too fast, as if she were trying very hard not to cry. When she felt your gaze on her face she briefly shifted her eyes to yours. She blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Mina,” you started, taking a step towards her. She raised one hand to stop you.

“That will be all,” she said, and wiped the tear away.

You let her turn on her heel, walk down the corridor and close the front door behind her. You stood as if petrified in the middle of Maggie’s living room, until something in you broke. You grabbed the book on the coffee table, hurled it at the wall, and screamed.

When Maggie came home that evening, she walked into your room with a moody, “What happened to Virginia Woolf?” She waved the battered book at you until you turned and she saw your face.

“Oh, babydoll, what’s wrong?”

She held you as you sobbed and wailed. She stroked your hair and whispered sweet-nothings to calm you down. It only made you cry harder, for it reminded you of all the times Wilhemina had comforted you. How she, too, had held you close and tried to find the right words to stop your tears. But Maggie was taller and stouter. Her body did not fit yours as Wilhemina’s did. When you eventually took a long breath in through your nose, her perfume smelt wrong. Too sweet, too floral.

You didn’t show up at 8 at Kineros the day after. It had been hard to care before, now it was simply impossible. You stayed in bed, wishing you could disappear into the sheets. You ignored Maggie’s encouragements and reproaches. You didn’t care.

Maggie brought you water and food, which you nibbled at mechanically. Time passed. You dozed often, but never slept.

Time kept on passing. You waited. You weren’t quite sure for what.

On the third day your phone rang. You reached out for it, and accepted the call without looking at the screen.

“Hello?” you mumbled, your voice raspy from disuse.

“Oh, Y/N?” said a familiar voice. “I thought you were dead.”

“Jeff.” You closed your eyes. “Look,” you started, “I know I haven’t – “

“What have you done to Venable?” Jeff cut you off.

Your eyes opened. “What do you mean?” you asked, your grip on your phone tightening.

“She hasn’t shown up for the past three days.” There was a loud noise at the other end of the line, then Jeff’s voice again. “Last week she was even more bitchy than usual, and now she’s gone. I don’t know where the file I need is, I missed all of my appointments and what’s worse, we’ve run out of coke. I can’t be a genius if I’m not high. Y/N?”

You barely heard him call your name. You could barely breathe from fear.

“Y/N, you still here?”

“Yeah, I –“ You swallowed around the lump in your throat.“Are you sure she’s not at Kineros?”

“I’m at Kineros, Y/N, and Venable isn’t,” Jeff answered, annoyed. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I won’t let your sapphic affairs ruin my company.”

“I – “You stood up on shaky legs. You had to move, you had to do something to keep the panic at bay. It wasn’t like Wilhemina to miss work. She’d rather die than shun her responsibilities. And three days in a row? Something must have happened to her. Your brain started making up all kinds of dreadful scenarios in which she had been hurt, hit by a car, abducted, in which she had locked herself up in her room without food or water, jumped from a bridge, bought a plane ticket to some faraway country where you would never find her.

“Y/N?” came Jeff’s voice, interrupting the mad race of your thoughts.

“Yes, I – “You forced yourself to take a deep breath. “Venable isn’t my responsibility,” you heard yourself say.

“Look, Y/N,” Jeff retorted, his voice growing angry. “You’re expendable, Venable is not. We need her. I don’t care what you do, but you better make sure she comes back tomorrow.” And with that he hung up.

For a few seconds you stood petrified with your phone still pressed against your ear. And then you jumped into action. You dressed, grabbed your handbag, flew down the stairs and in your haste nearly collided with the door of your car. You forced yourself to drive under the speed limit on your way to your house. Dying wouldn’t help.

Part of you realized that it felt good. The life pumping into your veins again. You felt like you had finally woken up.

You parked on the sidewalk in front of your house, too impatient to maneuver your car up the driveway. You ran to the door and knocked on it. You closed your eyes as you waited, panting. You sent a prayer to whomever you could think of – please let her be okay. You didn’t care how mad you were with her anymore. Just, let her be okay.

The door opened. You looked up.

Wilhemina was wearing an old, faded lilac sweater and a pair of black cotton shorts. Her hair was down. She had no make-up on. When her eyes met yours, her face didn’t harden or fall or change at all; she merely held your gaze, as if she were too tired or too numb to react.

“You’re here,” you breathed out in relief. You could have burst into tears of joy at the sight of her alive and safe.

“I only own one house,” she said dully.

“Right, of course, I know.” You scratched your head nervously. “Er, Jeff called. He’s, er, worried about you.”

Wilhemina watched you unblinkingly. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. It was all you could do to stop yourself from collapsing into her arms and kiss her senseless.

“He said you haven’t been to work for three days,” you tried.

“And why,” she said, “do you care?” There was no trace of animosity in her voice. In fact, there was nothing at all. No emotion. No life.

“He asked me to come check on you.”

Shit. You could have slapped yourself. Wilhemina’s face did harden, then, and she made as if to close the door, but before she had time to you cried out: “No, wait, that came out wrong. Please.” You held up a hand. Wilhemina waited. “He told me you hadn’t shown up in days, and I got worried. That’s why I came. Not because he asked me to.”

She watched you for a few seconds more, then lowered her gaze. Her left hand came up to fidget with the hem of her shorts. She looked so small in those clothes, so young and so fragile. Tears stung your eyes. You blinked them back.

“Can I come in?” you tried.

Her eyes met yours. Please, you begged her in your head. Please, let me in. Please, give us this chance to make it right. Your heart was beating so fast it was starting to hurt.

Eternity passed before she finally – oh what bliss! – stepped aside to let you in. You brushed past her, got a whiff of her perfume mixed with the faint smell of sweat. She ran a hand through her hair nervously, leaning slightly away from you to close the door.

The house was exactly as you had left it, and yet it looked so different. Quieter, somehow, and a bit battered, as if it had just come back from the battlefield to rest and mourn its departed friends. Your footsteps echoed loudly down the corridor as you walked to the living room. You took off your shoes and shoved them in a corner. To make a point. That you didn’t mean to leave until you had talked things through.

Wilhemina stopped in the doorway and waited.

“Um, thank you,” you mumbled. “For letting me in.” As if it weren’t your house, too. But that wasn’t the point.

Wilhemina nodded. Silence fell. You looked around the room nervously, at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” you finally blurted out. Wilhemina glared at you. “Right. Sorry, stupid question.” You swallowed hard. “Have you, um, have you eaten? I could make something.”

“Who am I to stop you?” Wilhemina answered flatly. “We both know how you need to keep yourself busy when you’re nervous.”

“It’s not about me,” you countered. “I was wondering when you last ate, that’s all.”

She held your gaze for a few more seconds, then proceeded to walk around the room to rearrange things – a candle on a shelf, the cushions on the couch, anything. You watched her, noticed the slight shaking of her hand, how tightly she was gripping her cane. Her hair fell over her eyes as she leaned forward. She briskly pushed it back.

When there was nothing left for her to tidy, she sat on the couch and opened a book.

You stared at her profile, your hands twitching at your sides. Wanting nothing more than to reach out. Sit by her side. Hold her close. Sink into her warmth.

You cleared your throat, and went into the kitchen.

It did help, having something to do with your hands. It relieved some of the ache in your chest. You were too preoccupied to be creative, so you settled on frozen Yangzhou fried rice and an endive salad. Substantial, but easy to eat. In case she was feeling as nauseous as you were.  

You were cutting the endives when you heard Wilhemina call from the other room. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Alright,” you called back, trying to catch a glimpse of her through the door. “It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

You listened to the sound of running water as the rice thawed out. Thought of the right words to say. Part of you wanted to forgive her without further ado and pretend nothing had happened. But that would only buy you more time. Until the next insult, the next fight. Anger swelled in you like a wave as you remembered Pat’s perplexed face, lifting a hand to his cheek where Wilhemina had hit him. His own outburst, “What the hell is wrong with her?!”, Wilhemina’s cold, unreadable expression. The fear in her voice when you had slammed the door behind you.

You closed your eyes and sighed. The only way you could think of to make things right was to have Wilhemina truly, fully open up to you. Convince her that sharing her fears with you would be better than lashing out on other people. Make her realize, and trust, that there was nothing you wanted in the world more than a future with her.

You turned off the heat under the rice and sat at the table as you waited for Wilhemina. Half an hour had passed since she had disappeared in the bathroom. She loved to take long showers, but she hated being late even more. You had told her she had twenty minutes; any other day, she would have made sure to be ready in fifteen.

You waited ten more minutes before you started to get truly worried. You walked to the foot of the stairs and called out her name. There was no answer. You called out again, louder. Silence mocked you.

You hurried up the stairs, your heart in your throat, and knocked on the bathroom door. “Mina? Are you alright?”

And still there was no answer. And you were starting to grow angry again, at her silence, at her shunning you, when you heard it. Faint and muffled, but unmistakable. A sob.

You opened the door and rushed into the room.

Wilhemina was sitting on the floor with her back against the tub and her face hidden in her hands. Her wet hair was dripping on her lap, soaking the purple bathrobe she was wearing. She must have dropped her cane, for it lay on the floor under the sink a few feet from her.  

You rushed up to her and dropped on your knees.

“Baby,” you called, reaching for one of her wrists, “what happened? Are you hurt?”

You tried to gently pry her hands away to get a look at her face, but she didn’t let you. If anything, she stiffened and buried her face deeper in her hands.

Her shoulders shook as she tried to stifle the low, painful sobs that wracked her frail body. You gently brushed her hair back as you waited for her to calm down, not daring to wrap your arms around her, but dying to offer her comfort.

Eventually her sobs turned into sniffles and soft hiccups, and you asked her again what had happened.

“I dropped my cane,” came her answer, weak and muffled. “As I was getting out of the tub.” A shudder ran through her.

“I’m sorry,” she went on. “This…” She lifted one of her hands, then, to gesture at her body, and you caught a glimpse of her face, red and coated with tears. “You deserve so much better than this. Please, go back to Maggie.”

You blinked at her words, at the pain and anguish they expressed. How had it come so far? How blind had you been? Not to realize how insecure she was, how convinced she was she could never be enough. To the point that she had agreed with herself to let you go.  

You shook your head sadly. “But Maggie’s not the one I want.”

She let out a small, pitiful noise at that, and dissolved into tears again. This time, you didn’t think. You scooted over and gathered her into your arms. She sank into you, her hands coming down to clutch your shirt, her face pressing against your chest. There was no restraint anymore. No trying to stifle her sobs or hold back her tears. She let it all out, sobs shaking her body as she sank deeper and deeper into you, as if she were desperate to make one, to leave herself behind and become part of you.  

Her sobs grew louder, and she seemed to have lost all control on her breathing, a gasp in and out and out again without inhaling. She was working herself up in quite a state, so you did the only thing you could think of to help her calm down. You tipped her head up. Captured her lips with yours.

Her mouth was wet and hot and salty, but you didn’t care. You wanted so much more of it. It tasted like home, and love, and safety. You had missed it so much, kissing her, feeling her. Your hands came up to cup her face, fingers pressing on her drenched cheeks as you pulled her closer, humming softy into the kiss.

It did quiet her. Her breath hitched, her shoulders tensed, but then she was kissing you back fervently, as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did. You didn’t know anymore. You were only aware of the sweet warmth of relief coursing through your veins and making your head spin. And of something else, something that ached and throbbed – want. It frightened you, this level of want. Your whole body was burning and tingling with it. It wasn’t so much lust as merely wanting to hold her. To feel her again. Love her freely and endlessly.

Again it hit you how stupid you had been to think you could ever live without her.

When you broke the kiss for air, she let out a whine and immediately chased after you. She was still crying, hiccups rippling into your mouth, drenched skin rubbing against yours. She circled her arms around your neck and bit down on your lower lip, hard, as if to mark you hers. A vampire bite, to contaminate your blood with hers and make sure you and she were the same.

After a while she broke the kiss and slumped into you. She was practically sitting on you now, arms tight around your neck, face buried in your chest, hip digging into your lap. You ran a hand through her hair as you rubbed circles on her back, humming a soft lullaby as a few last tremors shook her body.

It had started to rain outside. You suddenly became aware of the patter on the roof. You leaned your head on top of Wilhemina’s and closed your eyes.

“I didn’t mean it, you know,” came her voice, raspy but soft. “What I said the other day. I do love you.”

You hummed, dropped a kiss on her hair. “I know.” A pause. “I love you, too. Of course I love you.”

She let out a shaky breath, then sat up. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. You leaned in to kiss her burning eyelids. You kissed her forehead, a magic kiss, to soothe the throbbing in her head.  

She met your gaze, bit her lip. You gave her a smile.

“Come on, get up,” you urged.

You waited for her in the living room as she cleaned her face, dried her hair and dressed. She put on the pajama set she always wore when she wasn’t feeling confident: baggy pants and a shirt that was too big for her. It didn’t cling to her body. It hid her body completely from view.  

You managed to convince her to eat some of the rice. You ate in silence, watching her as she chewed and swallowed. She was sitting perfectly straight in her chair, head held high, eyes on her plate. When she was done, she delicately dabbed her mouth with her napkin, which she then folded on the table.

You waited. She stared at her empty plate for a moment, and then frowned.

“Look,” she finally said, “this is hard for me. I don’t know where to start.”

You nodded. “I know. That’s alright. Take your time.”

“I don’t usually… talk – “Her voice faltered. She glanced up at you, eyes dark and still rimmed red. You smiled in encouragement.

“Your friends,” she went on. Paused. As no other words came out, you got up from your seat, kneeled in front of her, and reached for one of her hands.

“I don’t hate them,” she said very quietly, staring down at her plate.

You couldn’t help but scoff. “You have a very peculiar way of showing it.”

Her lower lip quivered and her brow pushed up as if she were about to start crying again. You gave her hand a squeeze.

“Hey, none of that. Talk to me. What really bothers you about my friends?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed hard. You waited. When she opened her eyes again, they were shining with tears.

“I – “She shook her head, let out a sad laugh. “I don’t – “Her voice cracked. Her eyes met yours. “Please don’t – “

“It’s okay,” you whispered, bringing your free hand up to cup her cheek. ”I’m staying. I’m listening.”

A tear dropped from her eye, crashed between your thumb and index; and then she inhaled shakily and it all came out of her at once, words stumbling out like a panicked mob out of a room on fire.

“I’m afraid you’ll find someone better than me. All those kind, healthy people, I’m afraid you’ll truly see them one day and realize you could have so much better, so much more.” A breath out, as her face crumpled. “I don’t – I can’t – “A sob pushed out of her throat, and her breath hitched, and when she tried to inhale again she let out a noise as if she were choking. “I don’t – I don’t think I can ever be – be enough for –”

“Okay, you’re okay,” you cooed as her breathing grew frantic. “Mina, you’re okay.” She shook her head, her body slumping as fresh sobs tore their way out of her throat. “Hey,” you breathed, blinking back your own tears. You let go of her hand to cup her face.

Her cheeks were burning. You ran your thumbs over her cheekbones, catching her tears as they fell.

“Mina, I know you’re hurting,” you whispered. Your voice broke. You cleared your throat. “Baby, I want to be here for you.”

She nodded, hiccupping as she tried to wrestle her emotions back under control. One of her hands came up to wipe sloppily at her nose.

“Let’s move to the couch, ok?” you suggested. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

She didn’t let go of your hand on the very short way to the couch, her palm clammy against yours. She always did that, always had to be touching you: her ankle pressed against yours, her hand resting on your arm or on your waist, her shoulder brushing yours.

You sat down, and she hesitated before she snuggled up to you. She rested her head on your shoulder and reached for one of your hands in your lap.

There was a quiet moment, silence only broken by Wilhemina’s sniffles, and then you shook your head and teased, “What am I going to do with you?”

You felt her stiffen against you. “Because it’s such hard work and you never do a stroke of work,” she snapped.

“Mina,” you warned.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

You dropped a kiss on her head. “Okay.”

You wrapped one arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. Automatically your hand started playing with her hair.

“You know,” you went on, “it’d have been easier if you had just told me how you felt instead of taking it out on my friends.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do. From now on, you be honest with me. Whenever the bad thoughts come, whenever you feel like you could never be enough, you tell me. It doesn’t have to be with words, if that’s hard for you. We can decide on a code. Like this,” you poked her hip, and she jumped and let out a chuckle,” or this,” you leaned in, blew raspberries on her shoulder, “or this,” you stuck out your tongue and licked her cheek.

“You’re gross,” she laughed. She raised one hand to keep your face away from hers, but you dodged it and gently blew into her ear.  

“Y/N.” She had meant to sound firm, but laughter rang in her voice.

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a threat?” you teased.

“I think the real question is, what am I supposed to do with you.”

“Um.” You pretended to think that through.”Love me.” A kiss on her shoulder. “I think love me is good.”

She looked up at you with a wistful look in her eyes. Her hand came up to touch your cheek. She smiled, soft and tender and fond, the smile she only ever gave to you. “Love you is good,” she whispered.

Her eyes flicked down to your mouth. You leaned in to kiss her, pouring tenderness into her mouth. When you pulled away, she let out a soft sigh as if she were about to fall asleep.

She rested her head on your shoulder again and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s alright,” you whispered back.

It still rained outside. You listened to the patter on the roof. Leaned your head on top of Wilhemina’s.

She fit so snuggly against you. She made you feel entirely safe, entirely you. You drank from her warmth the solace you had not been able to find in the peach-scented sheets or in Maggie’s reassurances and embrace.

After a while, you felt her nudge her nose on your shoulder. She drew a shaky breath, and asked, “So you’re not leaving?”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability and fear in her voice.

“Um, no,” you answered. “I’m giving you a second chance.” A kiss on her forehead. “How long I’ll stay is entirely up to you. And Mina, please believe me when I say I hope you’ll give me reasons to stay forever.”    

“I’m not sure I’ll be content with forever,” she said.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you’re not.”

She shifted against you, moved her head to plant a lazy kiss on your neck, draped one arm loosely around you. Her hand slipped under your shirt and she dragged her nails on your skin, across your belly, down the curve of your waist.  

And then you felt it. A poke, on your left hip. Like a question.

You grinned. “Just like that, my love.”

[sarahalders]

stay wild at heart / know the end is near

A/N: After watching the finale, I felt that Sarah hesitated when Tally offered herself as as Biddy because she didn't want Tally to have to make that sacrifice. This drabble sort of explores that, and explores this new connection that the two of them share as they both navigate their mutual grief after they return to Fort Salem. So much is still unknown about Sarah and the Biddies and the nature of their linking, so a lot of this is just my interpretation of it! I can't claim credit for the idea of a whiskey cellar on base: that goes completely to the incomparable Lyne Renee, who mentioned it as a personal headcanon in a Q&A on Tumblr! I loved the idea so much that it was partly what inspired me to write this fic. Title is from the song "WLCM" by Lydia Ainsworth.

When you arrive back at base, tired and tattered and full up of nothingness, you and the others follow Tally to her old room and watch her collect her things.

It feels eerily like a funeral; and in a way, it is.

This is the death of Tally Craven.

It’s one you’ve witnessed hundreds of times, in hundreds of haunted faces just like hers. Some were called happily, like Devon. Some were called in the desperation of battle, like Tally. But they were all the same to you -- all daughters whose lives were cut unforgivably short for the sole purpose of extending yours. The life that you were only living, now, to serve this great nation that was equal parts eager and unwilling to let you go. You’ve borrowed more lifetimes than you can remember and it never gets any easier, adding to your own personal death count in the service of this country that only allows you and your kind to exist within the confines of the military. This country that still, after all these centuries, seeks to control you, to use you, to mold and shape and brand you into the face of all its victories and all its failures (anyone who looks at you and sees a choice made willingly three hundred years ago isn’t paying close enough attention). You’ve forgotten how it must feel to have a life with any sort of meaning -- a life that means anything at all beyond what it can provide for America, for the world at large. Whether as a hero or as someone to blame.

But this kind of thinking leads to despair, and despair is not a thing that you are allowed to feel. It comes to you, always, when you accept a new Biddy into the fold: and, always, you swallow it whole before it can swallow you.

“I want to be alone right now,” Tally tells you, and the broken desperation in the sound of her voice (as familiar to you as it is forbidden) is enough to remind you of where you are, what is expected of you, and what duty Tally will soon learn she now must share with you and with the others for the rest of her life.

“There is no ‘alone’ anymore, Craven,” you respond quietly. You feel the heaviness in the truth of those words now more than ever as the faces of the Camarilla appear in your mind, the profane storms they sang into being, the nightmarish weapons they unleashed to announce their unthinkable return.

You should have seen it coming. They’d been the only constant in your life since you were a child and you were arrogant to assume you’d ever be rid of them (you wonder if one could ever exist without the other -- the hunter and the hunted, the power and the powerless). That arrogance had cost you more than just your own pride, but regret was too powerful an emotion to allow yourself to feel now. You siphon it away along with the despair, the emptiness, the nothingness, the numbness coming off Tally in waves, refusing to allow it to take root in the bottom of your gut. Refusing to feel, always. Always.

Tally is silent and sedate, weighted and slowed by the sudden and unexpected burden of your years, which makes it easier to catch her gaze fixed on the quilt draped over Private Collar’s bed. A flash of something like anger, something like pity, whistles through you, and for a moment you’re unsure if it’s hers or yours.

“What will happen to their things?” Tally asks you, and it’s the first time she’s looked you in the eye for hours. “I would take this, but I don’t imagine it will pass inspection where I’m going,” she adds, ruefully.

“It shouldn’t have passed inspection here,” you tell her, matter-of-factly. It’s presence in this room is a side-effect of Anacostia’s blind eye, undoubtedly. “Any possessions left behind by Private Bellweather or Private Collar will be returned to their families. If,” you begin after a pause, a little softer, “there is something particular that you would like to take with you, I will not object. Especially something that should have been disposed of during inspection.” Before Tally can thank you, you add, “But there is a place for such things, and it will not be in your new suite. Come.”  

She follows you wordlessly out of the room and you can feel her confusion as if it were your own. You ignore it. You’re uncertain why you even offered this in the first place. Perhaps it’s because it’s the right thing to do, as Anacostia might say -- perhaps Tally’s sacrifice to you warrants a sacrifice of your own in kind. Or perhaps it is an unwelcome side-effect of the weakness you always feel when your lives are passed between daughters, made even more acute by the particular poignancy of Tally’s unique sacrifice (one made with more honor than you would have ever dreamt a cadet capable of).

The walk to the edge of Fort Salem is a slow and silent one, but one you’ve been making for hundreds of years to this very particular spot, tucked away behind a hill. You lead Tally and the others round to the other side of the incline where a pair of worn, wooden doors sits almost hidden in the overgrowth of grass and ivy. When you turn to your daughters they understand that all but you and Tally must remain outside (a distant mirroring of a similar scene some fifteen years ago when you brought Anacostia here for the first time -- another consequence of unwanted sentimentality).

“What is this?” Tally asks, disbelief etched into her face as the doors shut behind the two of you and you are alone in the dimness of the cellar. “This has been here the whole time?”

“A hobby of mine,” you confess, nodding at the rows and rows of kegs revealed in the muted lighting, stacked carefully against cobblestone walls that you laid yourself -- stone by stone -- over two hundred years ago. “I’ve been known to espouse the belief that whiskey is the one thing civilians got right.” You watch Tally as she takes in the scene unfolding around her, connecting dots that she never even knew were there. “Of course, I made it better,” you cannot stop yourself from adding, the barest suggestion of humor touching your tone. “Some might say.”

“You come here to drink?” Tally asks and accuses at the same time, clutching Collar’s blanket like a Cession churchgoer might clutch a string of pearls.

“To drink,” you concede, glancing purposefully at the blanket, “and to feel.”

Tally begins to crumble as she understands what exactly it is you are giving her -- sharing with her -- and the moisture shining in her eyes has as much to do with grief as it does gratitude. The link between you vibrates with the force of it and you find that moisture gathering at the corners of your own eyes as a result. You would normally blink it away but here, in this place, you allow yourself the privilege of feeling its presence.

“My daughters exercise control over their emotions. Master them, just as I have. Just as you will,” you tell her, not ungently. “But this place is sacred. This place does not have the watchful eyes of our sisters, nor the expectations of our country. Here,” you begin, reaching for two glasses from a cabinet carved into the wall, “we are who we are, without the pressure of who we have to be.”

Tally is soundless as she watches you fill the glasses with the sparkling amber liquid. When you offer her a glass she takes it slowly, reluctant to let go of Collar’s blanket even with just one hand.

“To honor,” you say, proposing a toast. “To duty. To sacrifice.”

“To wasted potential,” Tally adds, bitterly, and you feel that fire igniting within her again because it ignites within you, now, too.

“To wasted potential,” you echo, darkly, and drink.

When both your glasses are drained, you lead Tally through the maze of kegs to an aged door at the farthest corner of the cellar. “The others have seen this place in the shared space of our minds, but none have entered.” You tell her this because you want her to understand your sacrifice. You want her to understand this piece of privacy that none -- not even Anacostia -- have been invited to share. Tally Craven has placed an incredible amount of trust in you in an act of ultimate selflessness and bravery and it is your heart (ancient and broken and held together by obligation as it is) that tells you that she is the only witch worthy of an offering in return.

(You owe her nothing, you remind yourself: even as you feel the untruth in it, even as you open the door.)

It is a small and dusty room with a wooden table and chair positioned at its center. There are boxes and weapons and articles of clothing neatly lining the room’s perimeter, but Tally’s attention is immediately called to the table. On the table is a box, and in the box is, “All that is left of my sister,” you supply for Tally, her power of Knowing all but erased when her identity was partially absorbed into you (wasted potential, the memory of her toast echoes unbidden through your mind). “The only thing they couldn’t burn.”

Tally enters the room with a silent reverence, the tears carving paths down her pallid cheeks a mixture of hers and your own. “I see it,” she tells you, delicately. “Somehow, I see it.” A pentagram necklace, one that, thanks to the link between your minds, Tally can see -- can feel. You stand motionlessly as she draws nearer to you, as the memories continue to unfold one after another and she’s saying, “There are other things here. Other tokens. This is -- ” she falters, looks up at you, “ -- this is how you keep them alive. Everyone. Everyone that you’ve lost over the centuries. It’s a graveyard. No, no,” she stops, correcting herself, “it’s a memorial.”

“It is both,” you confirm. “It is also the safest place for the token that you carry. I cannot promise that you will be given access to this room again, but you can rest assured that here, not only will it be safe,” you promise her, solemnly, “it will also be in the most hallowed company.”

“You’ve lost everyone,” Tally whispers. “I can see them all, feel them all. How do you do it? How do you -- how do you make it go away? How do you -- stop feeling it?”

“You don’t,” you tell her, without hesitation. “You feel it and you turn those feelings into actions, and you turn those actions into honor. And you make damn sure,” you say, with a sudden, fierce intensity, “that you are worthy of carrying that honor in their name. Always.”

Tally’s eyes shine with a renewal of purpose at the mention of honor (just as you knew they would) and she hands you the quilt, nodding her consent for you to find a place for it within the room. “Thank you,” she murmurs, “for showing me how to keep her memory safe.”

“Thank you,” you answer, “for your sacrifice.”

“It is my honor.”

“No,” you correct, “it is mine.”

It will be a new challenge, you realize, and perhaps your greatest yet. One that you will face for the rest of your life.

To be worthy of that honor.

To be worthy of Tally Craven’s sacrifice.

[drawbauchery]

(fic by cate-geo!)

(I’ve had a weird and crummy night, mostly from that good shit called depression, so I’m gonna punish everyone with some angst >:) Enjoy! 

Warning, this is 8XA so there’s some abusive shit, verbally, sexually, physically, emotionally, you name it. Please read at your own risk. Also I took some liberties with the already proved group headcanon stuff for Human 8XA, but eh. Whatever. Have fun! )

Peridot sat on her bed with all of her possessions scattered around her, trying to figure out what would be worth bringing to her dorm, and what would just be clutter. She heard her biological mother in the other room on a phone meeting or something or other. Her phone constantly going off because her friend who had deemed herself her mother, despite only being a couple years older, Bell, was helping her pack by sending her nicely made checklists and giving her advice by telling Peridot what she did in her first year.

Peridot was staring at two alien printed shirts trying to decide which would be better when all of a sudden a shadow loomed over her. She looked up, annoyed, but smiled when she recognized her best friend’s sister.

“Oh! Hey Alexa. You startled me. What brings you to my humble abode?”

A very wide toothy grin that was very common in that family came on the taller girl’s face as she plopped herself down next to Peridot, making her grumble about how she was crushing her clothes, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Oh well, you know. I was giving my baby sister some advice for the next 4 years and then I remembered that you’re heading off to college too and I figured you could use my help. Now, I know you got that big brain and all. And yeah sure, maybe that’ll help you get through the boring stuff. But I’m gonna teach you how to live. What do ya say?”

Peridot sighed and placed one shirt in the suitcase, pulled it out, then finally decided and put it back down “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be alright. I know you may not like it, but I’m rather excited for the studying part.”

“Of course you are ya big nerd.” Alexa ruffled up Peridot’s hair, making her grumble and try to fix it “But you won’t get anywhere with just good grades. Come on. What will you do if a pretty girl asks you out?”

Peridot went stiff and flicked her eyes to the door, then tried to glare at the taller woman, but her face just gave away her worry and fear “Please Alexa, you know I’m not out to my biological family yet.”

“So? You’re going away to college tomorrow. Even if it makes them hate you, what are they gonna do? Kick you out?”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about. There’s just a time and a place for everything. This sort of thing needs to be treated with more of a…finesse with my mother.”

“Yeah ok. Whatever.” Alexa reached into the suitcase and pulled out an alien plushie, making a few other things fall out “You seriously are bringing this guy to college?” Peridot took a deep breath and grabbed her alien and put it back before rerolling on the clothes “Of course. Piercy goes wherever I go.”

“Dude, you’re going to be a legal adult. You can’t have an alien plushie.”

“I already am a legal adult. And as an adult, I say I can have him.”

“Wait, you’re 18?”

“Mhm, my birthday was a couple days ago.”

“Oh. Well then. Happy belated birthday then. Sorry I didn’t get you a gift.”

“It’s  alright. Honestly.”

“No no. I feel wrong. You’re an adult now. This is too important to just let it slide by.”

Peridot rolled her eyes a playful smile donned her face “Well, if you really feel all that guilty, I suppose I won’t reject a gift.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You probably know the drill. Anything alien, tech, or Camp Pining Hearts related will be perfectly acceptable.”

Alexa pulled Peridot closer so she was almost on her lap and grabbed her shoulder while shaking her “Aw come on. I can’t give you the same old junk everyone else has gotten you since you were born.”

“Why not? I like those things.”

“It just feels weird. Not only am I late, but it was also an important milestone. I gotta go above and beyond.”

“Honestly Alexa, it’s fine. You really don’t have to.”

“But I want to.”

“Fine. I’ll humor you. What do you want to get me?”

“Well, since you’re so insistent.” Peridot was suddenly laying back on her bed with Alexa hovering over her.

“Uh…what are you doing?”

“Come on, you’re 18. It’s totally legal.”

“I hardly think this is a good idea. I mean my mother is in the other room, and, like I said, she doesn’t know yet. This is even a worse way to come out to her.”

Alexa huffed and pushed Peridot harder into the bed, smirking when she made her squeak “Come on. She’s super wrapped up in her phone call. I walked through the front door and right past her, and she didn’t even notice my existence. And with how heated her arguing is getting, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get pretty heated ourselves.”

“Really Alexa, I have to pack. This really isn’t a good time.”

“So, what? You don’t like me now?” Her raising volume and harshness made Peridot flinch “Is that it?”

“O-of course I like you. You’re my friend and-“

“Some friend! You care more about packing than hanging out with me! This is even a birthday present and you won’t accept it!”

“Alexa, please don’t be mad. I swear I’m not against you. It’s just-“

“Then just let me give you my present.” Alexa let a few tears drop onto Peridot’s face “Please. I’ve just liked you for a long time, and now that you’re a legal adult…” She brought her hand down under the hem of Peridot’s shirt and started to pull it up “…it just seems like the perfect time.”

“Please don’t cry.” Peridot brought her hand up to wipe away her tears, which Alexa took as an invitation to kiss her. “Wait wait wait.”

“Oh, so you don’t want me to cry but you’re literally doing the thing that’s making me cry? You’re such a fucking tease!”

“Alexa please. I’m just really confused right n-“

“What’s so confusing? I like you. You know, I thought you would be smart enough to get that.”

“I-I’m a certified genius.”

“Some genius.”

“You know that I am!”

“Then do something useful and put two and two together. I like you. You’re 18. You need a gift. It’s as simple as that.”

“But…I don’t…want this gift.”

“Because you hate me.”

“No no, not at all. I just-“

“Please Peridot.” Alexa started kissing her neck, making Peridot squeeze her eyes shut. “Please.”

Peridot didn’t know how to respond without hurting her friend’s feeling. So she just kept her eyes and mouth shut and listened to her phone go off as Bell sent her packing advice after packing advice.

(I do have a happy ending in mind, but I highly doubt anyone would want that. Ever. >:))

[mooseintheocean]

jensen needed that hug so badly it was so sweet and jareds face was so happy during the hug and he just kind of fell into jensen's arms, I just love j2 SO MUCH

Hi Anon, yes, yes, yes. 1000000x  ^this^  

I just… Okay, so I’ve been thinking after watching so many angles of The 2k17 Hug and I hope you don’t mind me using your ask to post what I think about it. Bear with me :)

EDIT: The post turned out longer then I thought it would be, so I’ve put it under the cut, together with photographic evidence ;)  

As we all know by now, Jensen was very emotional after his meeting with a counselor from suicide hotline YANA helped set up. He actually needed a break during his autos. Then during his panel with MC he got emotional again, talking about getting emotional before.

This was kinda of what got me… So signing autographs and some of you guys were probably a part of the situation. I don’t know if you remember when Misha walked up with her [the counselor] and said, “hey, she’s one of the counselors that is part of what we set up. I hadn’t- I hadn’t actually… That hasn’t been personified for me yet. So I spoke to you for a brief second and it was something like, was it 50 hours? 50 hours you spent on the phone and, and she walked away and hit me. That was 50 hours, and it’s hitting me now, shit, that something that was span out of this [pointing at the audience] and out of this [pointing at M and himself] could help people to that degree to where there was a verified person to counsel somebody or people for that amount of time and she was one of them. And I know there’s many of them. And it hit me hard and I get to look at you and I get to see you guys and I know you all have a story and I wish I could hear and talk to every one of you. I don’t- I don’t have that opportunity but knowing that something that I was a part of, helped create that [pause] That betters people and inspires people to be a better person because, and Jared shared this with me, he’s like no one can help you but yourself. You are the only person that can help yourself, but if you get inspired by something, if something touches you and inspires you and makes you believe something that then helps you help yourself, then that’s important. And she’s doing important things and the fact that I was a small molecule of the being that helped many people. And I don’t know. It hit me really, really hard and I had to take a breather, I take a knee. And yeah, so I went upstairs to Daniela’s room. She was like, you need to come upstairs and I’m like, [pretending to cry] “Yeah, I think I do”. [people applauding] Oh right, oh right. I remember walking, walking up to her room. I didn’t make it. So I held out for like, maybe like 70 more autographs, I was like [grunts, trying not to cry] “thank you”, [grunts, trying not to cry] “thank you”, [grunts, trying not to cry] “thank you”… We were walking and I just was like, “no, no, you’re not going to make it to the elevator”. And I just sat there and Jared just like grabbed me and hugged me and it was like one of those moments where it’s like this, this shouldn’t exist. Like from a- from a point of view that is like a television show actor-fan relationship, like this probably shouldn’t exist. It exists, guys, we feel you and mean shit-ton to us. You really do.

Other than that, he seemed pretty relaxed and playful. Actually after watching that panel I finally understood why people were freaking out about the amounts of alcohol available to them - Jensen was drunk (FFS he opened up his pants without being prompt to, Jensen Ackles unzipped his pants on stage because he wanted to, like WTF?!). M wasn’t as much/at all (he was the voice of reason during that panel, which surprises me), but Jensen was already intoxicated when he got on the stage, even before Daniela brought more “apple juice”. [Side note: that lady has some major crush on Jensen, like OMG relax woman, he’s not interested, lol sorry, where were I? Ah okay] So yeah drunk. Especially behaving like one at the beginning. But no, wait, it doesn’t matter here.

The Hug!

So, Jensen was emotional and needed a hug. He got one from Jared right when he left the autos room

And Jared waited for him after the autos as well [may I just add, if Jared waited for me literally ON me I wouldn’t mind at all].

Too cute I swear [x  x]

He also got a lot of hugs from everyone backstage and on stage. So he really got a lot of love when he needed it and it’s lovely and amazing. And I’m jealous of his friends ;p

But then, not 5 minutes later something I like to refer as The 2k17 Hug happened (and it’s not even the middle of the year and yet I think it’ll be the best of 2017; I wouldn’t mind being wrong, if we’d get something even better).  And this is why wrote everything above. Because The Hug isn’t only about Jensen needing support from Jared, which he clearly needed, looking at what he said and how he said it, and his reaction. But it’s also about Jensen being so protective of his boy, giving him support as much as taking it from Jared. It’s like they’re sharing the support. Ykwim? But I also think Jensen wanted to show them Jared’s his boy, ever the possessive!husband, and seeing Jared so happy walking into the crowd, high-fiveing fans and just being good and not barely keeping it together like last year (or Chuck no, two years ago when he wasn’t even there with them and we know now it wasn’t just feeling down and needing rest, this was dead serious, literally) and I think he was just so happy his boy was right there and whole.

He very deliberately wanted to hug Jared.

Lemme show you what I mean by that:

So, they came out saying one last goodbye to fans outside the stage room (and it’s so cute, coz these people didn’t get to be in the stage room, only watching the panels on the screens outside)

[Nice hip grab, Jared. I know how necessary it is to do it when you want to go around someone. What’s funny is Jensen didn’t even flinch or move actually. #casualintimacy] Again from different angle, because it’s worth it. ;)

Okay, so the sneaky touches are out of the way and Jared’s starting his journey through the crowd - again super cute and kinda brave, even when there’s a bodyguard running behind him, some of them could be crazy fangirls, wouldn’t be surprised if one of them would just lunge at him, but anyway. This is what Jensen sees as Jared’s running away (shhh, it’s totally important, because the fans make a perfect little stage for them, and for Jensen to initiate this awesomeness):

If I had to choose the moment Jensen decided make the fans sing again and follow Jared this would be it, right after Jared runs away:

And then he put his plan into the motion:

One more time, one more time [x]

And then well, we all know what happened. Jensen follows his boy, singing to him, complete with a hand on the heart and pointing. Jared’s sings back. What a sight it must’ve been for the people witnessing it live. Them singing to each other, looking into each others eyes, like there was no one around them.

And this is it. Jensen going in for the hug. Arms open, inviting. I think Jared was maybe a little bit surprised Jensen would initiate a hug like this, so he high-fives his man, but once he realizes what Jensen asks for exactly, he just slumps over on Jensen and let’s Jensen carry his weight and hug him. And you can see the strength with which Jared fell into Jensen. The way the impact just rocks Jensen back. 

Oh that hand in his hair, super supportive and possessive af, add to that the other hand which after a little wondering ends up on his neck. Ah, it should be named one of world’s wonders. No kidding.

And that slowly rocking side to side, singing in Jared’s ear to cry no more. Especially in his arms. And those closed eyes are going to kill me some day. So much intimacy.

[THE 2k17 HUG’s GIF CREDIT]

And Jensen doesn’t want to let Jared go. Clings to him as long as he can. Jared tapping out, and my headcanon is that that second butt slap, right at the end is a promise, later Jensen, we’ll cuddle it out later, baby.

The butt slaps are a whole different conversation, but just to put it super short, I associate Js slapping each others butts with a very supportive gesture, like ‘great job’ or ‘i’m right here next to you’ depending on a context, ofc.

So the hug, yes. It’s amazing and I kinda think keeping his boy safe and happy in his arms it’s what really gives Jensen all the support he needs in that moment (giving Jared’s history with May).

Oh wow, okay, so this answer turned out a little bit different then I excepted, but *shrugs*

I hope you are okay with it, sweet Anon.

Sorry for the ramblings, it’s just… J2 tried to kill me this past weekend.

[squarehere]

Along the Path

Takes place about 5-6 years after Book 4.  Based on this headcanon.  Bolin appreciates Opal’s tattoos.  Rated M

Bolin just finished a post-dinner round of pai sho with some of the air acolytes and was going to meet Opal at the water fountain.  He found her chatting with two novice airbenders who, from what he could gather, felt discouraged at their lack of progress.  He’d wait for her to finish.  

Fairly recently, she attained mastery of airbending, earning the distinctive arrow tattoos.  Of the airbenders from Harmonic Convergence, she and Kai possessed the most natural talent with the element.  It was only a matter of time for them.  Needless to say, he was immensely proud of her.  

Even before that milestone, she’d been tasked with training new airbenders, which brought them to the Western Air Temple now. This wasn’t their first visit. 

Because of it’s unique architecture and relative quiet, this was Opal’s favorite of the temples.  It was at this very fountain at dusk that he proposed to her four years ago, marrying almost a year later.  

She finally caught his eye and wrapped things with her smiling students, exchanging bows before parting.  Strangely, they also bowed to him on their way out.  Opal looked at him sheepishly.  “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”  They shared a lingering kiss.  His incoming stubble was pleasantly course against her.  

“Tell me about it.  But unlike you, I’ve done fuck-all to deserve that,” he said, holding her close.

Opal smoothed over his shoulders.  “C’mon Bo, that’s not true.  You mastered bending well before I did.  Besides, if I have to put up with that, so do you!” She playfully tapped the tip of his nose with her finger.  

Bolin chuckled, drawing her closer.  “Whatever you say, Mrs. Beifong.  Ready to turn in?”  She nodded, feeling more tired than she thought.  “It has been a long day,” she said in agreement.

He smiled knowingly.  “Then we’d better get you to bed.”

Funny thing is, Bolin never fully appreciated the airbender tats before.  He was excited for the air kids when they received theirs, but the novelty soon wore off.  The markings became just as much a part of them as their eyes or hair.  

It was different with Opal.  He had the pleasure of seeing them intimately on a regular basis, as he did now while she undressed near their bed.  He couldn’t stop looking at them, how that particular shade of blue complimented her skin, and their graceful path over her body.  He didn’t realize how beautiful they were until she wore them.  

Even with her back turned, Opal could almost feel Bolin’s eyes raking over her, and it always made her blush.  She glanced over at him while he prepared to shave.  “If you’re going to stare that hard, take a picture!  It’ll last longer,” she teased.  Bolin, wearing only his shorts, put his shaving brush down and approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist.  She startled a bit in surprise.  “I have something better in mind,” he spoke into the crook of her neck.

Opal laughed before meeting her lips with his, melting into his arms.  “Do you really?” 

Bolin smiled at the challenge.  “Only one way to find out,” he said, both of them tumbling onto their bed.  He trailed kisses along the nape of her neck and down the arrow that adorned her spine.  Opal’s breath caught.  She badly wanted to touch him, but he was just out of her reach.  

She got her chance when Bolin kissed his way up.  Opal turned and drew him into an intense kiss, which he happily returned.  She could feel his growing excitement press into her thigh, and just to aggravate him, she ground into his bulge.  Her hands roamed his back and sides, her nails gently running over him, then further down to grope his thick rear.   He groaned into their kiss and gave her a mischievous look.  “Eager, aren’t we?”

Opal kissed the corner of his mouth.  “You have such a nice ass, I couldn’t resist.”  

Bolin laughed and kissed the arrow on her brow.  “I love it when you curse.”

“Do you want to hear more?” she smiled archly, framing his face in her hands and sweetly kissing his lips.

“You know I do!”  She rarely used such language, but he knew how to coax it out of her.  His lips travelled down her throat and to her collarbone, which were among her favorite places to be kissed.  He moved to her modest breasts, flicking and nibbling at one while he groped and teased the other, then switching.  Opal gasped and sighed at his attentions, stroking his hair and gripping his shoulder.  

Bolin continued downward, kissing her stomach and ribcage, paying special attention to a beauty mark there.  His stubble left a tingling sensation over her skin that she just loved, and it heightened when, after sliding off her underwear, his lips found that sensitive spot right above her thigh.  He was so close to where she wanted him, it drove her crazy.

Instead, he kissed along the arrows that spiraled over her legs.  He took that moment to slide his shorts off and toss them aside, freeing his erection.  He finally kissed his way up to her center, and it was so obvious that she was ready and eager for him.  She threw her leg over his shoulder to grant him better access while he tightened his grip on her hips. He smirked at her as she peered down at him, biting her lip.  He breathed softly on her wet entrance, which only frustrated her more.  “Bolin, please.”  Spirits, how her pleas turned him on! 

With that, he ended her torture and dipped his head to taste her.  Opal bucked and squirmed into Bolin’s mouth as his lips and tongue worked her over.  “Oh, fuck!” Opal called out, writhing on the bed.  He moaned his appreciation into her, the sensation shooting through her.  “Mmmm, I could do this all night.  You’re delicious.”

“I-I wouldn’t stop you,” Opal laughed in a shaky voice.  She took hold of his hand and stroked his hair, encouraging him on.  Her focus narrowed to Bolin’s flicking and suckling, and before long, she was overtaken by a powerful orgasm that left her reeling.  Feeling quite proud of himself, Bolin kissed his way up to her, their lips and tongues meeting languidly.  Opal slid her hand down his torso and stroked his length, Bolin hissing and grunting in response. She positioned him at her center, and he slowly thrust into her core, both gasping at the contact.

Although Bolin was more experienced than Opal when they started getting intimate, one valuable lesson he learned with her over time was that lovemaking wasn’t a race.  There was usually no need to hurry; the journey was just as enjoyable as the destination.  So his thrusts alternated, slower and faster, rougher and gentler.  Opal held on to him tightly, kissing along his shoulder, neck, and jaw.  “My turn,” she said softly, yet definitively.  

Bolin knew exactly what she wanted.  He was too heavy for her flip him, so he turned them over without slipping out of her.  She straddled his lap and began moving her hips, his thrusts helping her along.  “You feel so fucking good!” she breathed out, using his powerful chest to steady herself.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  

Now, Opal was beautiful under any circumstance, but none more so than she rode him, utterly lost in her own passion.  He loved the sight of his large hands gripping her small waist and traveling up to knead her breasts.  He reached up to cup her cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said reverently.  

“So are you,” she answered as she kissed the palm of his hand.  The intensity in his eyes and the way his muscles strained beneath her almost finished her.  She came undone when he sat up and crushed her against his wide, solid frame and took her breasts to his mouth.  She buried her face against his broad shoulder while she gently ground him.  This was too much for Bolin as he reached his end and spasmed inside her, losing all control.

The couple sagged against each other and laughed, both feeling weak and shivery.  “That was…OK,” Opal panted into his ear.

“OK??  Just ‘OK?’  Gee, thanks sweetie!  That really boosts my ego,” Bolin said tiredly.  

Opal chuckled.  “Anytime, dear.”

They settled into bed completely spent.  Opal pulled the covers over them and pillowed her head against his chest, draping her arm across him.  Bolin stroked her hair and wrapped his arms around her.  “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” she replied before falling into a deep and pleasant sleep.