#no anxious negotiating of what must be done & must not be done to keep it all cishet ''enough'' lol. congrats to them all

[unproduciblesmackdown]

billions could only have a gay man, who was married, and died by the end of that season; only deal with taylor's upending of presumed cishettery by having everyone who's not terrible be automatically down without putting some crisis about it on them, as the better approach to trying to have people talk about it (true, certainly in this case); extent of its room for rian's latent nonbinariness being "never wearing skirts/dresses, always wearing makeup though"....all that is to say, even with neither of them allowed to be "truly" cishet, b/c that's the rewarded realm for superior people, billions could never do winstuk. but they could be kissing right now

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

The Waves are Rising and Rising

|Beginning|

Chapter 2

(We're posting every Monday and Friday!)

--//--

They eat breakfast together in Nie Mingjue's private receiving room the next morning. When Jin Guangyao had visited with Lan Xichen before, they'd always shared mealtimes with Nie Huaisang, but… well. Jin Guangyao has no desire to discuss this in front of him.

"I'll do it," he says immediately, as soon as the servant taking away their empty bowls closes the door behind them. It's a little rude perhaps but he wants this conversation over and done with.

Lan Xichen sets down his tea and shoots Jin Guangyao an anxious look. "Are you sure, A-Yao?"

"I won't have you changing your mind later and acting like you were forced," Nie Mingjue says, folding his arms and scowling despite the fact that Jin Guangyao has just agreed to help him with potentially life-saving medical treatment. The nerve of that man. "There's no room for maybe here, it's yes or no."

"Yes, then. But I have some conditions."

"Why does that not surprise me," Nie Mingjue mutters, but Lan Xichen glances sharply at him before flashing Jin Guangyao an encouraging smile.

"What are your conditions, A-Yao?"

Jin Guangyao smooths his robes across his lap, determined to be as businesslike as possible to bury the anxiety gnawing at his stomach and push through the overall weirdness of this whole situation. "Condition one — we do not speak of this to anyone. As far as the rest of the jianghu is concerned, er-ge and I are still just playing Cleansing for da-ge. That’s…" he swallows, resisting the urge to squeeze his hands together, “that’s non-negotiable for me.”

“Huaisang knows,” Nie Mingjue says immediately. Jin Guangyao feels himself freeze up inside, and something about it must be obvious in his posture, because Nie Mingjue shrugs almost apologetically in response. “He was there when the doctor suggested it, there was no avoiding it. But rest assured…” he wrinkles his nose, mouth pursing, “I have no intention of discussing anything more of this with him.”

That’s not difficult to believe. Jin Guangyao tries to imagine talking about this with Jin Zixuan and has to hold back a full-body shudder (the one consolation is that his half-brother would likely be the more embarrassed out of the two of them). He feels the ice inside of him thaw a little; Nie Huaisang is an unrepentant gossip, but he’s the sort of irritant who will take more glee in hiding a juicy secret than revealing it. Even he wouldn’t tarnish his brother’s reputation by spreading something as scandalous as this. He cares too much about Nie Mingjue’s health to put it at risk. And — he cares about Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen too. He can be trusted with the information, as much as anyone can.

Jin Guangyao glances to Lan Xichen, who gives him a wry smile. “As far as I’m concerned, the only people who need to know about what we’re doing are the three of us who are involved and the doctor, so I have no issue with condition one.”

Jin Guangyao didn’t think either of them would have an issue with keeping things quiet, but it still lifts a huge weight off his shoulders to know this is a secret they’re keeping together, and basic privacy won’t be something he has to fight for.

"Condition two — we do not do dual cultivation anywhere other than in Bujing Shi. Jinlintai does not have reliable privacy, and Cloud Recesses… forgive me, er-ge, if I have misjudged, but I feel like the necessary subterfuge that would be required to hide this from your family might cause you some distress?"

Lan Xichen's eyes curve into crescent moons and crinkle at the corners in the very particular way that always makes Jin Guangyao's knees go a bit wobbly. "A-Yao is so thoughtful," he says, as if Jin Guangyao has just poured his tea rather than suggest it might be stressful to sneak around behind his uncle's back like horny teenagers. "And A-Yao makes another valid point, which I agree with."

They both turn to Nie Mingjue who acquiesces with a grunt and a shrug. "No difference to me. You two have always come here to play Cleansing for me anyway, makes sense to keep things happening here if you want it to look like nothing’s changed.”

“Not a bad point,” Jin Guangyao murmurs. Never let it be said he does not give praise where it's due.

“Any other conditions, A-Yao?”

There is one final one, and insisting on it feels like carving out his own heart — but he cannot go ahead with such a huge risk if he cannot keep as much control over it as possible. He has to keep himself safe. A little pain is worth that. A lot of pain is worth that.

"Just one more. It is important that there are no misunderstandings here — that nobody… misconstrues exactly what is going on between us."

Jin Guangyao is many things but he is not and has never been a coward; he looks Lan Xichen in the eye as he speaks, and in his heart he wails I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you are the one person in this world I never wanted to hurt. "We have to all agree that this is just sex, and no one will have any expectations about anything more, or any ideas about what us sleeping together means. It doesn't change anything. We are sworn brothers aiding da-ge in a medical procedure to help mitigate the symptoms of qi-deviation. That's it."

He sees the flash of deep sadness in Lan Xichen's eyes, and he also sees the moment that sadness gets whisked away to be hidden behind a flat diplomatic smile. He forgets sometimes, with how genuine Lan Xichen is with his affection and kindness, how good he is at totally hiding any feeling he deems inappropriate for external visibility. Jin Guangyao desperately wants to clutch at his robes and take it all back, wipe that horrible flat smile away and tell him he doesn’t mean it, it's nothing more than an elaborate smokescreen he is building around himself for protection because things with Nie Mingjue are so dangerously complicated and things with Lan Xichen are so temptingly simple that he cannot trust himself (or either of them) with something as terrifying as possibility.

"Of course, that's totally understandable," Lan Xichen says. His voice is level though not quite natural. "Whatever A-Yao needs to feel comfortable."

His focus on Lan Xichen means that he doesn’t catch Nie Mingjue's immediate reaction, but the man's irritated huff makes Jin Guangyao's eyes snap straight to him.

"Don't flatter yourself," he mutters, flicking his braids over his shoulder as he folds his arms. "You're not doing this for fun, we get it. Anything else?"

Jin Guangyao pushes down his own huff of irritation and runs through the situation in his head, searching for anything else, feeling very much like he ought to be putting up more of a fight (out of principle if nothing else) over this, that there should be more things he can specify to keep as much control over this as he can before it all spirals, but everything he can think of feels either too petty, or else too vulnerable to admit that he doesn’t want. He comes up with nothing.

He tries to play it off casually, an unaffected shrug. “No, that’s the extent of it.”

Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue both nod. And… that seems to be the end of the negotiations.

“So,” Lan Xichen says brightly, lacing his fingers where his hands sit flat on the tea table and smiling at both of them with a tinge of awkwardness, “it seems like we’re all agreed that we’re happy to proceed with this, correct?”

Jin Guangyao wouldn’t exactly use the word happy but — he’ll do it. That’s the important thing. He’s agreeing to do it. He glances at Nie Mingjue, whose eyebrows are furrowed enough that Jin Guangyao suspects they agree over the dubious word choice, but he does nod.

“Good!” Lan Xichen says, his smile increasing in both brightness and awkwardness. “So, ah…”

He trails off. The three of them sit there in tense silence as it fully dawns on Jin Guangyao what exactly Lan Xichen is trying to lead to.

Now they’re all in agreement, there is nothing to stop them… filling out the agreement. The agreement to have sex.

An excruciating silence continues for several more mortifying minutes until Nie Mingjue clears his throat and climbs to his feet.

"Well. No use wasting time."

Lan Xichen stands and follows him, and, feeling somewhat dazed, Jin Guangyao follows them both.

When he and Lan Xichen had been on the run from the Wens, they’d shared a strange kind of intimacy that felt like living in their own tiny world, just spending day by day side by side, working and eating and living as equals. In all of the horror and despair of the war, it had been an oasis, it had been a beautiful, untarnished thing. Despite the palpable yearning in the air, nothing had happened between them, but that hadn’t stopped Meng Yao fantasising during haunting lonely nights in Qishan about what might have happened had Lan Xichen been less concerned about not pushing his boundaries, and had Meng Yao been more open to having his boundaries pushed. There wasn’t any consistent theme about who was doing what to whom, though what was consistent was an ever-present sense of… tenderness, of genuine care. Not necessarily gentleness (he was very open indeed to the prospect of more athletic, vigorous endeavours) it was a sense of being treated like he mattered, like his pleasure and comfort mattered.

Very sad that the peak of his sexual fantasies so far has turned out to be basic respect and kindness, but one thing he learnt from living in the brothel was that people rarely have any choice in what gets them off, so he forces away the mild embarrassment.

All of that to say, it makes walking down the short corridor and into Nie Mingjue’s bedroom with the purpose of having sex as if they’re settling down to a meeting to hash out an inter-sect trade agreement somewhat… jarring. There’s no mood, there’s no buildup — the three of them walk into the room, Nie Mingjue closes the door then makes a sharp gesture at it with his hand to activate the privacy wards, he marches over to the large and thankfully very sturdy-looking wooden bed, and immediately begins to unbuckle his heavy beast-head belt.

Jin Guangyao glances at Lan Xichen, who offers him a smile that he would describe as ‘bemused but willing’, before following Nie Mingjue towards the bed and beginning to unpin his guan.

Well. This is happening then.

He feels like he’s floating outside of his own body as he takes off his hat then begins to unbuckle his leather belt (carefully removing and curling up Hensheng first) and untie his sash. Anxiety buzzes under his skin at the prospect of taking off his clothes in front of two such spectacular specimens of cultivator masculinity; there was no discussion at any point about attraction being a relevant aspect of this agreement, and yet…

He's so bad at being bad at things. If he takes off his clothes and does not see a single spark of interest in their eyes — or worse, if he sees anything like pity or revulsion — then he might just shrivel up entirely out of humiliation.

(He is used to the way the eyes of men tend to linger on him, the appeal of a pretty mouth and a slim waist apparently seem to transcend gender preference, and it has taken years for him to learn how to ignore the way such attention so often makes his skin crawl, but this is different in a way he can’t entirely articulate; he wants their eyes to linger, it’s normal to want someone you want to want you back, isn’t it? It must-)

"A-Yao?"

Jin Guangyao startles out of his spiralling thoughts, half-folded inner robes in his hands, to find-

Oh. Oh.

Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen are both already naked and kneeling on the bed. Jin Guangyao doesn't yelp, but it's a close thing. There's just… so much skin. Instinctively, he wants to look away and apologise, but — that would rather be defeating the point of what they're intending to do.

Which is ‘have sex’. Which he needs to take his clothes off to do.

He swallows heavily and, refusing to think too much about it, he hurriedly steps out of his trousers, hangs them over the privacy screen beside him with the rest of his robes, and walks over to join them on the bed. He can't bring himself to look at their faces, where he knows he'll find out what exactly they think of his scrawny, scarred body, but the alternative is letting his gaze wander elsewhere, and — god, he is not starting this bizarre encounter by staring at their dicks! He has to retain some sort of dignity!

Chests seem a safe enough place to fix his gaze, and so he does. He's seen both of them before so he's entirely prepared for the sight of firm, rippling muscle; Lan Xichen's skin is pearly pale from a lifetime lived on a mountain surrounded by clouds, and his body is broad but lean with no excess, like a true Lan ascetic; Nie Mingjue has lines from various overlapping tans tinting his skin from pale around his belly to gradually browner on his neck and face, and his chest and stomach are covered in a light layer of hair and soft fat that insulates the strength held underneath.

In short, despite their differences, they’re both absolutely gorgeous.

“Is everything alright, A-Yao?” Lan Xichen asks gently, as Jin Guangyao clambers up onto the bed (and it is very much clambering up, as, like most things in Bujing Shi, the bed is built sturdy and tall).

He smiles as, well, normally as he can when he’s trying very hard to keep his gaze fixed upwards and away from the swathes of naked flesh before him, and kneels beside the other two of them, as if they’re sat around an invisible table.

"Everything's fine it's just…” he gives a short self-deprecating laugh, “da-ge and er-ge are very handsome, this A-Yao is a little intimidated.”

It’s a very carefully crafted response, the sort he’s become an expert in weaving; enough of the truth that Lan Xichen is satisfied in his concern, but not so much as to reveal any real vulnerability.

“A-Yao has no reason at all to be intimidated,” Lan Xichen says, reaching out a hand to press against Jin Guangyao’s shoulder (oh, gods, he’s never going to survive this if just the touch of a hand against an entirely innocent part of his body gives him such a rush, but he could never have predicted how incredibly, wildly different it feels without all his layers of robes, how was he supposed to know?) and tilting his head with a wry smile, “he is very handsome too.”

Jin Guangyao can’t help it; Lan Xichen’s lap is in his peripheral vision and there’s no way he can’t look and-

Well. Okay. It seems Lan Xichen was being entirely honest about finding him handsome.

That’s. Ah. That’s good to know.

“Yeah, yeah, everyone’s very handsome, sure, sure,” Nie Mingjue grumbles. “Can we get on with it?” He turns towards Jin Guangyao. “Have you done this before?"

"No," Jin Guangyao responds quickly. Too quickly, damn, he doesn’t want them to think he's lying or being defensive — although a small part of him can’t help but feel oddly touched that he asked rather than assumed. A rare occasion for a son of a whore. "Ah… have either of you?"

Lan Xichen glances at Nie Mingjue, then when he turns back to Jin Guangyao his smile is charmingly mischievous. "When we were teenagers, da-ge and I tried a few things together. We never got as far as this kind of sex, though."

"Not for lack of interest," Nie Mingjue mutters — his tone is irritable, but there's a little smile curling the corner of his mouth, like he’s thinking of a funny memory. Lan Xichen chuckles.

"The only real privacy we were able to get was out on night hunts, and the idea of trying to figure out sex whilst camping in a forest somewhere did not… especially appeal. And then when we both became sect leaders, everything became a lot more complicated.”

Jin Guangyao tries to imagine what they might have been like back then — Lan Xichen, still getting used to his height, coltish and wiry and still on the boyishly pretty side of handsome — and Nie Mingjue, growing taller and wider each day, with the unflattering beginnings of a moustache and a playful cheerfulness that would almost completely disappear after his father’s traumatic death.

And who had Meng Yao been, back then? A poor starving nobody dragged out of childhood too soon to desperately try and provide for his already ailing mother, who’d worked herself to death trying to provide for him. The thought douses all of the warm endearment in his chest and he has to quickly push it away, lest it drag him down.

“So none of us actually know what we’re doing,” Nie Mingjue says, rubbing his forehead exasperatedly with the heel of his hand. “Brilliant. Well, how hard can it be?”

Had anyone else said it Jin Guangyao might have been inclined to agree; not having done anything himself doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how, he’s seen and read his fair share of instructions both practical and more fantastic. It shouldn’t be hard at all, but the flippant irritation in Nie Mingjue’s voice makes it difficult to want to voice his support.

Lan Xichen gives a delicate cough that Jin Guangyao suspects is to hide a laugh, from the way his eyes have creased, and when Nie Mingjue huffs, Lan Xichen quickly clears his throat.

“I’ll, ah… I’ll go first, shall I?” He suggests.

It’s frankly excruciating, sitting in the unfortunate middle zone between entirely personal and purely business whilst being not quite either, and Jin Guangyao has to work hard to suppress the way he wants to cringe. If they were doing this… recreationally, they could start with kissing and foreplay and building up a good mood, and if they were at a brothel, they could dispense with all formality and just do it, but…

How the hell does one begin fucking another man in the ass, for purely medical reasons?

Lan Xichen clearly has an idea of what he wants; he presses a hand to Nie Mingjue’s cheek, leaning forwards to kiss him, softly and almost chastely. Sour jealousy creeps up Jin Guangyao’s throat and he quickly looks away, hands balling into fists where they rest against his thighs. He is abruptly hit with the miserable realisation that he’s not certain he wants to watch this happen, whilst he’s stuck on the outside, the one left out — but he’s already agreed to it all and he’s made his damn bed so now he has to… watch Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen fuck in it, he supposes.

He feels a light touch against his wrist that’s sudden enough to make him jolt a little, and when he looks up he sees Lan Xichen watching him with something horrifyingly close to understanding in his eyes, which is utterly mortifying.

Mortifying right up until Lan Xichen rests his palm (the other hand, not the one that had cupped Nie Mingjue’s face) against Jin Guangyao’s cheek with enough light pressure to tilt his head, and as he leans in towards him, he has just enough time to see the kiss-dazed expression on Nie Mingjue’s face morph into something almost startled and-

When Lan Xichen kisses him, all other thoughts flee and for a few glorious seconds, Jin Guangyao knows nothing but the warmth of the hand on his cheek, the softness of the lips against his. The kiss he receives is also gentle and chaste, and before he can lose control over his willpower and desperately chase something more, Lan Xichen is pulling back.

Technically, kisses ought to be considered more personal than what should be allowed in their strange little arrangement, but… well, Jin Guangyao isn’t complaining, and Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem to have an issue with it either, and it’s fair that there isn’t really a normal way of beginning this. When Lan Xichen sits back on his heels, his eyes dart quickly between the other two of them, and Jin Guangyao’s stomach drops. He can’t really be expecting them to kiss too, surely? Jin Guangyao’s mouth goes dry and he instinctively wets his lips, watching Nie Mingjue’s reaction.

Nie Mingjue shoots Lan Xichen an unimpressed look, and Jin Guangyao barely has a moment to realise the swooping feeling in his gut is disappointment before the man is shifting around to get on his hands and knees and grumbling at Lan Xichen to ‘get on with it’.

Oh gods. It really is happening.

Jin Guangyao looks away again, feeling — well, less like an interloper since Lan Xichen made the point of kissing him too, but still like this is something a little too intimate for him to be watching at such close quarters. It occurs to him (something he’d stupidly not even considered for the whole of his miserable night spent debating himself) that even if he doesn’t look, he’ll be able to hear everything. And probably feel a certain amount too, as Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue are both large men, even on a frankly luxuriously sized bed it’ll be impossible not to feel the way the whole piece of furniture shakes with them… moving.

Gods. Gods. What the hell has he gotten himself into here? He curls his hands into the blanket and tries to marshal his spiralling thoughts.

“Come on, Xichen.”

“Isn’t there…” the somewhat anxious note in Lan Xichen’s tone drags Jin Guangyao’s attention immediately back. He’s kneeling behind Nie Mingjue, sat back on his heels with one hand resting somewhat awkwardly on the other man’s ankle, the other holding a small bottle of what Jin Guangyao assumes (hopes) is oil. “Isn’t there supposed to be some sort of preparation for you, first? It seems a little, ah…”

“I told you, it’s fine,” Nie Mingjue says, neck craning to look back over his shoulder, the scowl visible even from where Jin Guangyao is sitting.

“I don’t want to hurt you, though.”

This at least gets Nie Mingjue to soften his expression a little. “You won’t. It’s fine. Let’s just get this over and done with, alright?”

Lan Xichen looks doubtfully down at the bottle in his hand, shoulders still tense, as he dutifully opens it and pours some of its contents out into his palm, ready to slick himself up.

Jin Guangyao should let them just go ahead — should leave Nie Mingjue to the consequences of his stupid bravado — but he finds himself surging forwards to intervene purely out of principle. He may not have any practical experience himself, but he knows far more than he would ever want to about badly executed penetration. Even aside from whatever unpleasantness Nie Mingjue may suffer, he hates the idea of how much it would upset Lan Xichen when he does, inevitably, hurt him quite a bit.

“No! No, I -” Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue both turn towards him, startled, and he quickly dials down his reaction with the best smile he can manage, pulling his outstretched hands back to himself. “I really wouldn’t recommend skipping the preparation. That’s really not a good idea when you've never done it before.”

Lan Xichen makes a low sound in the back of his throat and fumbles the bottle in his alarm, tipping a little of the oil on to the blanket, and he’s distracted for a few moments as he attempts to blot it. Nie Mingjue rolls onto his side to look at Jin Guangyao with narrowed eyes, frustration writ clear across his features. Jin Guangyao is immediately frustrated back; what underhanded scheming does he really think Jin Guangyao is trying to achieve by insisting on pre-sexual prep? Will the Nie sect crumble around them if Nie Mingjue waits a few moments to get fingered? Is trying to help him avoid unnecessary pain from taking a dick to the ass a manipulative political tactic now? Or is this really just some ridiculous bullheaded macho method of attempting to assert control over the situation? Good gods.

“I promise that this will be a far more pleasant experience for everyone involved if you just let him use his fingers first,” Jin Guangyao says, forcing the frustration down, as much as Nie Mingjue doesn’t deserve his quiet patience. “I am not trying to drag this out and make you uncomfortable, it just seems wrong not to say something when I know what happens if you don’t stretch first.”

“Please, ge,” Lan Xichen says quietly (and something strange happens in Jin Guangyao’s stomach to see the way Nie Mingjue’s eyes go a little darker and his half-hard cock twitches against his thigh at Lan Xichen’s use of the endearment), “can we just try it? If it isn’t helpful we don’t have to do it next time.”

Next time. Jin Guangyao swallows. They haven’t even made it to the fucking and his head is already spinning at the prospect of next time.

“Fine,” Nie Mingjue growls, immediately turning over to return to his previous position on his hands and knees — Jin Guangyao suspects to hide his embarrassment at how quickly he caved to Lan Xichen. It’s an easy embarrassment to empathise with.

Lan Xichen carefully drizzles oil onto his fingers, warming it up between his hands, before resting one hand on Nie Mingjue’s hip to hold him still, rubbing his thumb up and down like he’s trying to soothe a spooked animal.

It hadn’t occurred to Jin Guangyao that some of Nie Mingjue’s snappishness and desire to move quickly might actually be nerves. A burst of reluctant sympathy hits him; it can’t have been easy to ask for this, not only admitting that he requires such extensive help, but also in such an intimate way — in such a taboo way.

Nie Mingjue doesn’t have to be so cranky about it, though.

Jin Guangyao looks away as Lan Xichen slips his fingers between Nie Mingjue’s cheeks, and fights down the heat rushing to his face. It’s ridiculous feeling like he ought to be giving them privacy when he was specifically asked to be here, and yet it feels wrong to watch them too closely. In his peripheral vision he sees Lan Xichen drape himself over Nie Mingjue’s back, one hand busy between them and the other running up and down his side; he can hear Lan Xichen talking softly and he deliberately avoids discerning the words, not wanting to feed the fierce jealousy bubbling in his belly. He can hear the way Nie Mingjue’s breathing has changed, too, not necessarily laboured but definitely deeper and a little erratic.

Nie Mingjue makes a low sound of surprise — clearly entirely involuntary by the way it’s bit off at the end — and the delight in Lan Xichen’s equally surprised, “does that feel good?” is impossible to miss, no matter how much Jin Guangyao is studiously trying to ignore it.

He spends another few minutes staring into the middle distance and definitely not watching the steady pumping of Lan Xichen’s arm, and the way Nie Mingjue’s broad muscular back flexes as he begins to tilt and shift his hips in response, until he feels the bed move with Lan Xichen shuffling back.

“Do you think you’re ready?” Lan Xichen asks, reaching across the bed for the oil that he’d set down earlier. It’s impossible to miss that he’s fully hard now, and Jin Guangyao once again does his best to keep his eyes averted, as ridiculous as it feels.

Nie Mingjue looks back over his shoulder; it’s impossible to miss for him that he’s looking somewhat dazed, face flushed along his cheekbones. “I’m ready. Go for it.”

His voice is a little rougher than usual. Jin Guangyao’s horrible, terrible brain somehow manages to pull his jealousy in two directions at once; how would it feel to have Lan Xichen make him feel that way — or, worse, how would it feel to have been the one to make Nie Mingjue feel that way? He wants both, and also simultaneously for his honoured ancestors to open up a hole in the middle of the bed for him to fall into and get out of this situation immediately before he just combusts.

Bizarrely, Lan Xichen takes a moment to look to him, in all of this; they’ve known each other long enough that Jin Guangyao recognises the familiar quick anxious glance that means Are You Okay?

It’s very kind, and appreciated, but what on earth is he meant to respond to it with? ‘Of course I’m okay, er-ge, please go ahead and fuck da-ge, because that is obviously entirely conditional on how okay I am’? He decides that a reassuring smile will have to do and, thankfully, he seems to come up with something believable enough that Lan Xichen smiles back.

He also reaches out and takes Jin Guangyao’s arm, and very gently tugs him in closer.

Jin Guangyao has always been helpless within Lan Xichen’s orbit, and therefore helplessly shuffles towards Nie Mingjue on his knees until he is sat right at his side, with the kind of view that could only be more vivid if Jin Guangyao were right in the middle of the two of them — which is a mental image that he immediately preemptively bans his brain from conjuring.

“Alright, da-ge,” Lan Xichen murmurs, and Jin Guangyao’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him carefully slicking himself up with the oil. For a wild, ridiculous moment, he actually considers offering to help. “Just try to relax.”

Jin Guangyao swallows heavily as Lan Xichen adjusts his position on his knees, braces Nie Mingjue’s hips with one hand, and guides himself in with his other. From where he’s sat, he sees both the way Nie Mingjue’s eyes widen before scrunching shut, and the way Lan Xichen’s mouth drops open. The slow, careful slide seems to take forever, and Jin Guangyao feels like he’s floating outside of his own body as he watches because… well, there’s no way this can be real. This is the sort of thing that happens in Nie Huaisang’s spring books, sitting next to his sworn brothers as they fuck isn’t something that real people would do, and especially not him, and yet…

Nie Mingjue shudders all over and, without thinking, Jin Guangyao reaches out a hand to press it against his side, stroking lightly up and down the way Lan Xichen had been doing. Nie Mingjue’s eyes immediately snap open and as their gazes meet, Jin Guangyao fights the urge to cringe away. He’s not doing anything wrong. He’s trying to be kind. He pulls his hand back slowly, keeping eye contact, and is gratified in a miserable sort of way when Nie Mingjue looks away first, hiding his face in his folded arms with another shudder.

Finally, Lan Xichen must be fully inside, because his hips stop against Nie Mingjue’s. He exhales heavily, curving over Nie Mingjue’s back, posture uncharacteristically slumped, and stays there, breathing tight, fast little breaths. His eyes are screwed shut.

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue says, voice muffled. Lan Xichen does not respond, so Nie Mingjue repeats, impatient, “Xichen.”

Lan Xichen makes a rather undignified strangled sound and his hands scrabble to clutch at Nie Mingjue’s hips. “Just- just give me a moment-”

“It’s fine,” Nie Mingjue lifts his head, “I’m fine, just move.”

“I said,” Lan Xichen growls between his teeth, and Jin Guangyao’s pulse jumps at how rough his voice is, “give me a moment.”

“A-Huan,” Nie Mingjue snaps, lifting up a little on his elbows to get leverage to push his hips back, and abruptly Lan Xichen doubles over with a choking, gasping ah sound.

Jin Guangyao stares, mouth hanging open, as Lan Xichen’s eyelids flutter and he pants in the aftermath of his climax, because that was definitely what that just was.

“Shit,” Nie Mingjue says, looking back over his shoulder, “wait, did you just-?”

Lan Xichen catches his breath and kneels up properly, running his hand down his face. His fingers catch a little on the metal cloud of his forehead ribbon, and somehow the fact that he’s still wearing it makes the moment more obscene. “I told you,” he gasps, “to give me a moment, da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue turns back and drops his forehead down onto his crossed arms. “Shit. Ah, shit.”

“It’s alright,” Jin Guangyao says, quickly clearing his throat when he realises how embarrassingly hoarse his voice sounds, “don’t worry, er-ge, we can try again later.”

“It’s not a problem,” Lan Xichen shakes his head, puffs out a breath, then gives them a shaky smile, “I can- I can keep going.”

“Keep going? What-” Nie Mingjue abruptly lifts his head and looks sharply back over his shoulder again. “Wait, are you still-?”

Lan Xichen blinks, eyebrows furrowing as he looks between Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, “Yes?”

Nie Mingjue turns his head and meets Jin Guangyao’s gaze, and without needing to speak, they share a moment of bemused incredulity. Lans, Nie Mingjue’s wide eyes convey, and Jin Guangyao can do nothing but shrug back. For Lan Xichen, refractory periods are apparently something that happen to other people.

It occurs to Jin Guangyao, as Lan Xichen readjusts himself and gets ready to begin again — after just a few moments of recovery — that he may possibly be getting in over his head here by falling into bed with the most powerful men in the jianghu.

He still feels like he’s having an out of body experience as he watches his sworn brothers… well… get back to business, and realises that…

They’re just not very good at it.

Sex, specifically, and it’s actually a little embarrassing to have to witness. They can’t seem to quite get into a mutual rhythm; despite the fact that both of them are awe-inspiring when it comes to fighting and carrying their bodies in combat, when it comes to the bedroom they struggle to move in-sync, with Lan Xichen often slipping out when they misjudge their timing, and neither of them appearing to be in any sort of coital bliss or even really enjoying themselves much at all. Both of them have to keep pausing to push loose hair from their faces.

People have been having perfectly functional sex for thousands of years, and if brothels are any evidence, most people seem to have a pretty good time doing it. Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen are both obviously attracted to each other, so… what the hell are they doing so wrong? How are they fucking this up so badly?

“So — so how do we do the dual cultivation part?” Nie Mingjue asks. He is, at the very least, a little out of breath.

Lan Xichen stops moving entirely, staring incredulously down at Nie Mingjue’s back. “Did your doctor not explain?”

“Well,” Nie Mingjue coughs, then looks back over his shoulder again, “no, I just- I assumed you’d know, so I didn’t-”

“Why would I know?”

“The Lan library has books on basically everything to do with cultivation, you’re telling me there isn’t one on dual cultivation?”

“There might have been, before the war, but-”

Of all the things Jin Guangyao might have expected from being close by whilst his two sworn brothers had sex, getting a front seat to them bickering wasn’t one of them.

“Da-ge,” he cuts in, trying to force down the frustration building inside of him with a smile that he suspects might be turning a little manic, “did you really ask us to agree to do this without actually knowing what exactly we would need to do?”

As always, Lan Xichen jumps in to try and defuse the tension. "I do know the theory — at its most basic dual cultivation is about syncing up your golden cores and moving the energy through your meridians to promote healthy qi flow."

He pauses to flick some loose hair and one strand of his forehead ribbon back over his bare shoulder, and Jin Guangyao is once again reminded that they are having this whole conversation totally naked, with Lan Xichen still fully inside Nie Mingjue. He wonders if he is perhaps in the midst of a particularly graphic dream, but no, if that were the case he'd likely be actually having a good time.

“I suppose if you apply that to penetrative sex, then that means…” Lan Xichen looks down at where he and Nie Mingjue are joined, expression thoughtful of all things, “Theoretically passing my qi into you via this particular meridian would mean that I can more effectively help your golden core spin, and the movement would help us get our-”

“There’s no point in theorising — let’s just try it, and see what works,” Nie Mingjue cuts in with a huff. “This isn’t exactly comfortable.”

Lan Xichen’s whole posture droops and his expression creases in concern, lips pursing and his hands anxiously withdrawing from their grip on Nie Mingjue’s hips, as if they might be adding to the discomfort. Jin Guangyao has an immediate and violent urge to glower at Nie Mingjue for doing something as utterly unforgivably heinous as upsetting er-ge, and wrestles it down with nothing short of monumental willpower. Of course it’s probably not comfortable, but that’s exactly why he should be sensible and repress his need for comfort and put on a brave face! Because they both love Lan Xichen and don’t want him to feel bad for something he’s been literally asked to do!

Nie Mingjue must sense some of Jin Guangyao’s silent fury, as he sighs and glances back at Lan Xichen with a look that’s almost… soft. “It’s fine, it’s bearable. Let’s just get on with it, yeah?”

They start up with their awkward stilted rhythm again. Jin Guangyao makes the executive decision to move himself further up the bed, away from Nie Mingjue and closer to Lan Xichen — who, at the very least, won’t fucking glare at him for touching him. It feels rather invasive to watch them struggle, yet it would be weirder still to just sit and stare into the distance, so he takes the opportunity to catalogue details about the two men that he couldn’t have learned without the current state of undress; the particular contours of the curve of Lan Xichen’s thigh; the old pale scar on Nie Mingjue’s calf that looks like a crescent moon; the small brownish birthmark that makes a perfectly imperfect blemish on the jade expanse of Lan Xichen’s shoulderblade; the freckles on the back of Nie Mingjue’s neck that are usually hidden by the heavy curtain of his thick hair, exposed now as he hangs his head.

(Small, intimate details that he can collect and squirrel away, things that no one could begrudge him or punish him for taking and keeping all to himself.)

Things to hold tightly to prove that he’s not an outsider here, even as he feels more and more so as they begin speaking in half sentences to discuss their progress.

“I’m passing you my qi, is it-?”

“I can feel it, try a bit faster-”

“You mean-?”

“Both, both.”

“Okay, how about now?”

"Nearly just a bit-"

Jin Guangyao knows the moment they are successful because both of them make low vocalisations of surprise. He looks between their faces, then shoots a quick glance at Nie Mingjue’s lower dantian, just in case there might be anything externally visible at the moment of achieving dual cultivation.

There isn't. It's just flexing abdominal muscles, dark hair, and Nie Mingjue’s cock. He can't be in that much discomfort because he's still at least half hard.

Jin Guangyao quickly looks away. A thought occurs to him that he's glad it'll be him fucking Nie Mingjue today, not the other way around because… gods. That kind of dick should have at least a 24 hour warning.

"I think that's it," Lan Xichen says, hips stilling. "Our qi flow is connected. Do you… feel anything?"

The two of them kneel there on the bed, Lan Xichen upright and Nie Mingjue on all fours, silent and unmoving as they search their spiritual energy for any sort of change.

"Not really," Nie Mingjue admits. Frustration is evident in his voice.

It's… anticlimactic, if Jin Guangyao is honest. Nie Huaisang’s spring books (that Meng Yao definitely absolutely never perused during their arrangement) all painted sexual dual cultivation as the ultimate height of pleasure, capable of making a person come in a way that seventeen year old Meng Yao had privately thought seemed more alarming than titillating.

"Is this all we need to do? Are we done?" Nie Mingjue asks.

"I'm not sure. Maybe it's the sort of treatment where you don't feel the benefit until you've done it multiple times?" Lan Xichen glances at Jin Guangyao, "Perhaps we can take a quick break, and then A-Yao can try, and we can see if there's any sort of compounded effect?"

Nie Mingjue acquiesces, and as Lan Xichen pulls out he rolls onto his side with a groan, but Jin Guangyao hears none of it; his stomach has dropped and there's a rushing in his ears because it's his turn next. In all the weirdness of watching his sworn brothers be pretty terrible at sex, he'd… not exactly forgotten, but it certainly hadn't been at the forefront of his mind that he'd be doing it too. Or trying to do it, anyway.

You'll be fine, he reassures himself frantically. You know the basic logistics, you're a fast learner, and people much less intelligent than you have been managing to have perfectly adequate sex since the dawn of time. You can definitely manage it.

Either he spaces out as his thoughts spiral again, or Nie Mingjue doesn't care about taking much of a break (either scenario is plausible), because it feels like only a few seconds before the man is pushing back up onto his hands and knees expectantly.

"Let’s get this over with," he mutters.

Jin Guangyao swallows. He can't help feeling a sting; he knows he wouldn’t exactly be Nie Mingjue’s first or even second partner choice for medicinal sex, but there's no need to make it so glaringly obvious. At least Jin Guangyao has been polite.

And then, as he kneels up, a slightly more pressing issue than wounded pride occurs to him.

He's not really hard anymore, for the one part of this whole thing when he actually needs to be hard. Shit.

The close proximity of two very naked very attractive men has kept him interested enough to not go fully soft, but the somewhat miserable mood has left him flagging, to say the least. The resulting panic does absolutely nothing to help. Nie Mingjue, thank the gods, is facing away so does not notice, but-

"Here, A-Yao, you'll need the oil," Lan Xichen says. Jin Guangyao turns towards him, ready to be passed the small bottle — and his panicking brain stutters to a screeching halt when what he receives instead is Lan Xichen’s big, warm, oil-slick hand giving him several firm strokes.

He is fully hard fast enough that he feels a little dizzy, and Lan Xichen’s bright, pleased smile does not help one bit. Is he going to be obsessing over how good Lan Xichen's hand felt on his dick for the rest of his life? Maybe so!

"Thanks," Jin Guangyao wheezes.

"You're welcome," Lan Xichen responds, looking somewhat self-satisfied. There's probably a Lan precept against being smug but Jin Guangyao’s head feels like it's full of fluffy clouds, so he has no idea which number it might be, let alone the inclination to reprimand.

He shakes off the horny fog so that he can focus on (and he is aware of the irony in a distant sort of way) the task at hand. At the very least, being so abruptly turned on has helped shake off the worst of his nerves, so kneeling up behind Nie Mingjue is only a little intimidating.

Whenever he’d imagined his first sexual experience he’d always imagined it would be with someone he truly cared about — not because he had any specific ideas of needing to save himself or anything, purely because the life he has lived has proved to him that sex is nothing if not a huge social risk for someone with a fragile reputation. And such risks should not be taken unless they’re really, really worth it. As such, with those preconceptions and expectations in place, as he takes himself in hand and lines up to push inside of Nie Mingjue, there’s a tiny part of him that feels oddly bereft about the lack of intimacy — the lack of closeness and care and romance. He was the one who put the rule in place, of course, and it was entirely necessary to make sure this whole thing doesn’t spiral out of control, but he finds himself yearning to a far greater extent than he expected.

The rest of him is not yearning at all, just entirely focused on ignoring any and all sensation he’s getting from his dick, because unlike Lan Xichen, he won’t be ready to go another round after a moment to catch his breath, and if he lets himself think about how good the tight heat feels then he’s not going to get even close to dual cultivation.

Jin Guangyao has gotten to the point of frantically running through every Lan sect rule he can dredge up from the depths of his mind when he feels his hips press against Nie Mingjue’s ass, and he realises he’s fully inside of him. He swallows heavily and takes a few grounding breaths.

He’s fine. He can do this.

“Alright, da-ge? A-Yao?” Lan Xichen prompts, searching both of their faces somewhat anxiously. Nie Mingjue grunts vaguely from somewhere in front of Jin Guangyao, and Jin Guangyao himself gives Lan Xichen a weak smile.

Alright. So — time for the actual sex part. It’s easier if he compartmentalises everything into simple, clear steps. That’s fine. He leans in a little, resting one palm flat on the small of Nie Mingjue’s back; the man had reacted pretty negatively when Jin Guangyao had attempted to touch him earlier, but it’s going to be difficult to thrust with any sort of precision or speed without bracing himself so Nie Mingjue will just have to deal with it. He tentatively pulls his hips back a little, then pushes back in, testing the movement and trapping a gasp behind his teeth until he’s used to the way the sensation sends sparks up to feed the heat low in his belly. Tentatively he rocks back and forth again, familiarising himself with the rolling movement of his hips, and then he tries a little faster.

It feels… good? Not as mind-blowing as he might have hoped, and somewhat clinical in its awkwardness, but he can feel the beginnings of pleasure building that he could chase, if he were free to abandon himself to hedonism.

He isn't. He has a job here.

“How do we-” he clears his throat, “ah, how do we begin dual cultivation, then?”

“You just have to reach your qi out to join mine,” Nie Mingjue says. He doesn’t sound remotely winded or out of breath or even at all distracted, like he had been with Lan Xichen, which Jin Guangyao can’t help feeling a little put out about. He sounds like he’s discussing sect matters over tea.

“And how do I do that?”

Jin Guangyao realises that was entirely the wrong thing to say when he sees Lan Xichen’s brows furrow in his peripherals, and Nie Mingjue turns to look at him over his shoulder for the first time, expression incredulous. His blood starts to thunder in his ears.

“You don’t know how to-?”

“Da-ge,” Lan Xichen cuts in, the slightest hint of a warning tone enough to stop Nie Mingjue mid-snap and drop his head with an irritated huff. Lan Xichen turns to Jin Guangyao with an awkward, horrible, apologetic expression and he knows what the man is about to say before he even opens his mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry, A-Yao, I had no idea that you didn’t… ah, you see, learning how to extend your qi is a lesson most cultivators are taught quite early on, we just didn’t realise…”

He knows that Lan Xichen is being kind. Most likely this is a lesson that is taught to children. Hot, suffocating humiliation floods through him and sweat prickles all over his body. If he weren’t currently naked and inside of Nie Mingjue, he would flee the room immediately and wallow in his mortification back in his own guest quarters, dual cultivation be damned. For the second time that day, he begs his venerated ancestors to open up a giant sinkhole in the middle of the bed for him to throw himself into.

“I see,” Jin Guangyao says through gritted teeth. His face is probably as red as his vermillion dot.

“I’m sorry,” Lan Xichen presses a hand to his shoulder, expression agonised. “We shouldn’t have assumed, it wasn’t fair — nevermind, it’ll be fine, here, let me — perhaps I can help and act as a sort of conduit?”

“What do you mean?”

Lan Xichen shuffles closer on his knees until he’s right next to them — Nie Mingjue turns his head to watch him, expression now curious — and reaches out both hands. Jin Guangyao watches one disappear under Nie Mingjue’s body, presumably to rest on his stomach, and the other presses flat against Jin Guangyao’s lower dantian, just below his belly button. It’s an intimate enough touch that he has to catch his breath (ridiculous how Lan Xichen’s hand on his stomach can feel somehow more sensual than having his dick inside Nie Mingjue, but the heart — and dick, apparently — wants what it wants).

“Alright, I’m going to try and act like a bridge, to connect your cores,” Lan Xichen says, “Let me know if this works.”

Jin Guangyao barely has a second to prepare himself before he feels a bright, icy cold jolt of qi shooting into his golden core, the sensation something like how he imagines it might feel to be hit by lightning, if a lightning bolt could bestow a sharp blast of pleasure rather than pain, and it’s not until he’s lying on his back, gasping for breath through the ringing in his ears and the spinning of his head that he realises he’s come. Blinking rapidly to try and bring himself back to the world, he turns his head and sees, to his relief, Nie Mingjue also sprawled out looking somewhat concussed flat on his back next to him, and there’s no doubt that he’s come as well.

Well. Thank the gods he wasn’t the only one, at least, Jin Guangyao thinks vaguely and maybe a little hysterically.

Lan Xichen is still kneeling up, staring down at them both, biting his lip against what appears to be a grin. The bastard found it funny, Jin Guangyao realises, but he can’t bring himself to be genuinely annoyed whilst his brain is still floating lazily in a soup of pleasure.

“Ah,” Lan Xichen says. “Sorry. Maybe that was too much.”

“You think?” Nie Mingjue wheezes, slapping a hand against his forehead then running it down over his face. “Maybe… we should call it a day for now. Maybe do some more research and try another time.”

“Good idea,” Jin Guangyao mumbles, levering himself up to a sitting position and wrinkling his nose at the half dried mess of oil and bodily fluids around his crotch. Gross. How did it never occur to him that sex was going to be gross?

“Of course, of course,” Lan Xichen says quickly. “If I head home after lunch then I can search the Lan library and see what we have on the topic of dual cultivation. And then… maybe in a week or two, we could try again?” He glances quickly at Jin Guangyao, “If A-Yao’s busy schedule allows, of course.”

Jin Guangyao nods, “I’m sure I can make that work.”

“Good,” Nie Mingjue says.

“Good,” Jin Guangyao repeats, stupidly.

A somewhat awkward silence grows in the room.

What on earth do they do now? It’s not even midday, and post-coital cuddling is clearly not on the table here. Do they just head off their separate ways, and go about the rest of their day pretending that they haven’t just shared — well — this? As uncomfortable and bizarre and utterly un-sexy as it was, it has still fundamentally changed something between them. And they all now have to interact in society as if they aren’t…

There’s no good word for it. Lovers, he supposes, is accurate, even as the implied romantic aspect of the word makes his heart twinge.

Nie Mingjue rolls off the side of the bed and stands to his feet, staggering just a little. “I need a bath,” he mutters, “I have a meeting later and I’m not talking to Wu-zongzhu with-”

He cuts himself off; apparently even Nie Mingjue with his famous bluntness can't quite bring himself to label the particular bodily fluids and the parts of him where they’re currently residing. Jin Guangyao can’t really blame him.

It’s a dismissal, and a surprisingly indirect one for Nie Mingjue. Lan Xichen is the first to react to it, quickly scooping up his robes from where he must have dropped them in a pile on the floor in his haste to get undressed. Jin Guangyao takes a moment to mourn as he watches the beautiful body disappear under pale silk underrobes before he hops off the bed and goes to retrieve his own from where he’d carefully draped them over a privacy screen. Thankfully, his own personal grossness is quite localised, so as long as he’s able to get back to his rooms quickly he should be able to scrub any transference off the inside of his trousers, and the Koi Tower laundry service will be none the wiser. He’s worked hard to be on good terms with the Jin sect servants, but gossip is gossip, and he hasn’t gotten where he is today without preemptive thinking.

Nie Mingjue has already left through a side door leading to the baths by the time Jin Guangyao is pulling on his socks and boots, and realising it makes the twinge in his chest worse. Sneaking out of the sect leader’s rooms without so much as an acknowledgement or a goodbye makes him feel like a dirty secret, which… well, this is, and he was the one who demanded this be nothing other than medicinal treatment, and yet…

And yet here he is. Tender and raw in a bizarre way, and he wasn’t even the one who got fucked.

Lan Xichen waits for him by the door as he checks his hair in the mirror and sets his hat on his head, and that eases the ache inside of him a little. His er-ge cares, at least.

“Ready?” he asks, with a small encouraging smile. Jin Guangyao reaches out to adjust the lapels of Lan Xichen’s thick outer-robe (a gesture that would have felt far, far too intimate and utterly inappropriate just a few hours ago, but now just makes Jin Guangyao feel slightly daring) so they fall perfectly straight, then — when Lan Xichen’s smile widens to be softer and a little more affectionate — Jin Guangyao takes a deep breath and opens the door.

The world on the other side is still the same. Nothing has changed for anyone else. People barely spare them a second look after giving perfunctory bows and greetings.

They make it to Jin Guangyao’s guest room first, and Lan Xichen pauses at the door, glancing up and down the corridor before setting a hand gently on his elbow. He remembers their conversation the night before, when Lan Xichen had been so kind and understanding, and the urge to curl himself up against the man’s chest and wrap himself in his overrobe grows inside of him.

“I hope our… session today has not put you off,” he says, voice low. “And that your experience was not too unpleasant.”

Oh, er-ge.

Jin Guangyao smiles and presses just a little closer, because there’s no one else around. “This er-ge does not need to worry about his A-Yao. I’m quite alright.”

“I will do as much research as I can,” Lan Xichen promises.

“I do not doubt it.”

“And perhaps,” Lan Xichen’s smile goes a little coy, “the experience will improve with further practise.”

I hope so, Jin Guangyao thinks, as he slips through his door and watches Lan Xichen glide away down the corridor, I really fucking hope so.

|NEXT|

[noelleai]

"What do you mean we're being held here?" Noelle asked, trying not to sound too panicked. She took another look around. This was some kind of giant spaceship or something, judging by the whole 'space' thing. They had been sitting in a room with a couple other people who were also looking at them suspiciously. One of the guys seemed vaguely familiar but she couldn't place him. The others looked just as confused as they did. "I don't remember signing up for anything like this."

Susie gave her friend an irritated look. "They didn't exactly give us much choice," she said. "We've all been kidnapped and brought here because we're so important."

"Who are these guys? What's this about?" Noelle was getting anxious, especially since no one had answered any of her questions yet. It wasn't normal to be kidnapped out of nowhere without your knowledge. Her stomach turned over again when she noticed the big guy standing near the door. He must have been part of the group that had abducted them; he looked like a professional muscle man if ever there was one. His muscles bulged under his tight uniform and he had a gun on his hip. That was definitely a bad sign. "Why are we even here? What's going on?"

The guy with the gun—he looked like some kind of cop or something—turned toward her and smiled broadly. "Welcome to the Intergalactic Police Force, ladies," he said, flashing his badge. "I'm Officer First Class Jake Sutterman and I'm afraid I can only answer part of those questions right now."

He looked at each of them in turn before continuing. "You see, some time ago, it came to our attention that someone might try to use you to further their own goals against ours. We couldn't risk letting such a thing happen. You, however—" He pointed the gun at Susie and nodded slowly. "—are more interesting than we thought. A lot more."

Noelle swallowed hard and tried to keep her voice steady. She'd seen enough movies with villainous henchmen to know what would come next: her friends were about to be killed in front of her eyes. She felt herself freeze up and then finally shake her head furiously. "Don't! Don't kill my friends!" she cried. "Please… we'll do whatever you want…"

Jake shrugged and shot the door open. Both Noelle and Susie looked at each other nervously before following after him into the hallway beyond. There was a long corridor ahead of them, lined with doors leading off to other rooms. Some of the doors were closed, while others were wide open, revealing what could only be described as prisons. Prisoners of all kinds sat on benches or slept on thin mats spread out on the floor. None of them looked happy and many of them looked scared. Most of the prisoners were dressed in ragged clothing and looked like they hadn't eaten in days.

Jake motioned for the two women to stop. He walked back down the hall toward one of the open rooms. Inside, a tall man in a tailored suit stood behind an old-fashioned desk. He wore glasses and looked like a mild mannered doctor.

"Kryon," he said. "I believe you wanted to speak to these young ladies?" Kryon scowled briefly at his boss but nodded. "Right, well, the Intergalactic Police Force is ready to negotiate with you. In return for your cooperation, you will be returned to your home planet. Otherwise, we may have no choice but to… do something unpleasant."

"What do you mean by 'do something unpleasant?'" Noelle asked quietly. She kept her hands close to her sides, hoping to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. Kryon sighed and continued.

"The police force has always maintained its neutrality in interstellar politics. However, when we find someone interfering with our missions—as you have done—we have to make sure they understand that they are not welcome anywhere in the galaxy. Your actions have put you on notice. Now you will either cooperate fully or else we will take measures to ensure your cooperation."

"That sounds rather ominous," Susie whispered.

"It's the Intergalactic Police Force for a reason," Kryon replied curtly. "Now, as I was saying, we have two options available to us. If you cooperate with our efforts, we will take you safely back to your world. You will be free of any threats and nobody need ever know that you got involved in matters of galactic importance. On the other hand…" He paused and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Noelle glanced quickly at Susie and then nodded hesitantly. Even though she was still shaking with fear, she knew there was no way she could get away. She had already taken action; now there was no turning back.

"On the other hand?" she said carefully.

"If you refuse to cooperate with us and our investigations, we will do something unpleasant. But rest assured, the result won't be pleasant for you or your friends." With that, he turned and walked back down the hall. The other cops followed behind him, leaving the two girls alone in the room.

"Okay, we know how this goes," Susie said. "We're going to play along until we figure out a better plan. How's that sound?"

Noelle nodded, relieved that Susie was taking charge. They had to figure out a way to get out of this mess. While she was glad that Susie was keeping her cool, she couldn't help feeling nervous. She'd seen too many horror movies to feel safe anywhere these days. { TYPE: Long-form story * M2 }

[clayhuthealing]

Protecting Your Energy

Coping Strategies for Sensitive People

Being highly empathic is a beautiful gift that allows you to deeply connect with others and understand their emotions. However, it also means that you are more susceptible to picking up the energy of those around you, which can be draining and overwhelming. It is crucial to protect your energy and set boundaries to maintain your emotional well-being. In this blog post, we will explore some effective strategies for protecting your energy from people who drain you.

Recognize Your Energy Drain

The first step in protecting your energy is to recognize the people and situations that drain you. Take some time to reflect on your interactions and notice how you feel after spending time with certain individuals. Do you feel exhausted, anxious, or emotionally depleted? These are signs that someone may be draining your energy. Pay attention to the patterns and dynamics in your relationships. Are there certain people who consistently leave you feeling drained? Are there specific situations or environments that leave you feeling overwhelmed? Identifying these energy drains is essential in taking proactive steps to protect yourself.

Set Clear Boundaries

Setting clear boundaries is crucial when it comes to protecting your energy. Communicate your needs and limits to others, and don't be afraid to say no when necessary. It's important to prioritize your well-being and not overextend yourself. Establishing boundaries is an essential aspect of maintaining healthy relationships and personal well-being. Clearly communicate your needs, expectations, and limits to others. This can be done by expressing your feelings assertively, using "I" statements, and being consistent in enforcing your boundaries. Establishing boundaries can be challenging, especially if you are a natural people-pleaser or afraid of conflict. However, remember that setting boundaries is not selfish; it is an act of self-care. Healthy boundaries help to create a balance between giving and receiving energy in your relationships. You must prioritize your own mental and emotional health.

Practice Self-Care Regularly

Self-care is vital for maintaining your energy and emotional well-being. Make sure to prioritize activities that replenish and recharge you. This can include activities such as meditation, yoga, spending time in nature, journaling, or engaging in hobbies that bring you joy. Find what works best for you and make self-care a non-negotiable part of your routine. By taking care of your own needs, you will have more energy to give to others without feeling depleted.

Surround Yourself with Positive Energy

One of the most effective ways to protect your energy is to surround yourself with positive and uplifting individuals. Seek out relationships with people who support and uplift you, rather than draining your energy. Take note of the people in your life who bring you joy, inspire you, and make you feel energized. Cultivate those relationships and spend more time with those individuals. Surrounding yourself with positive energy will help to counterbalance any draining interactions you may have.

Use Affirmations

Using positive statements can help safeguard your energy and maintain your well-being. By incorporating affirmations into your daily routine, you can create a shield of positivity around yourself, helping you to stay grounded and protected from negative influences. Remember to repeat these affirmations regularly to reinforce their power and keep your energy levels high. "I am safe, strong, healthy, happy, and resilient." "I am powerfully protected at all times by divine light." "I am free of everything that is not mine, and everything that does not serve my highest good." "I am lovingly looking after myself." "I am responsible for my happiness, not the happiness of others."

Cut Cords of Fear

Cutting, or better yet removing, cords with people who drain you or bring you stress, also helps. Cutting or removing energetic cords can be done by visualizing a cutting tool (i.e. scissors, sword, lightsaber) and mentally severing the connection between you and the other person. You can also imagine a bright light surrounding you and burning away any cords that are draining your energy. Another method is to ask for help from your spirit guides or call on Archangels Michael and Raphael to assist you in releasing these cords and protecting your energy field. It is important to ensure that this cutting comes from a place of love. You can set the intention for Spirit / Source to send the person love and bolster their energy while removing the cords with them.The intention is to remove only cords of fear, not love bonds. It's important to focus on self-care and protection after removing these cords to prevent them from reattaching.

Practice Grounding Techniques

Grounding techniques can be helpful in releasing any negative energy you may have absorbed from others. These techniques involve connecting with the present moment and your own energy, rather than being influenced by external factors. Some grounding techniques you can try include deep breathing exercises, visualization, and physical activities such as walking barefoot in nature or practicing yoga. Experiment with different techniques and find what works best for you.

Limit Exposure to Energy Drains

If certain people or situations consistently drain your energy, it may be necessary to limit your exposure to them. This doesn't mean cutting people out of your life completely, but rather being mindful of the amount of time and energy you invest in those relationships. Set boundaries around how often you interact with energy-draining individuals and create distance when needed. It's important to prioritize your own well-being and not feel obligated to constantly be available to others at the expense of your own energy.

Conclusion

Being highly empathic can be both a blessing and a challenge. While it allows you to deeply connect with others, it also means that you are more susceptible to picking up their energy, which can be draining. By recognizing your energy drains, setting clear boundaries, practicing self-care, surrounding yourself with positive energy, practicing grounding techniques, and limiting exposure to energy drains, you can protect your energy and maintain your emotional well-being. Remember, protecting your energy is not selfish; it is essential for your own health and happiness. Prioritize self-care and create a supportive environment that allows you to thrive as an empathic individual. Read the full article

[venting-and-dreaming]

Realisations from therapy I

25/11-22

Ketchup and cheese. Everything has to be done in a very specific way in the way that either dad or mom thinks is right. There can be no doubles of ketchup, the first slice of cheese isn’t wax and must be eaten, the dishwasher has to be loaded a certain way. Bathroom doors have to be closed at all times, you can’t touch door handles when you’ve just entered the house, bacteria and sharing is lethal. I can’t have my tea cups in the kitchen cupboard. I have to learn to perform all necessary skills. We’re different and more intelligent than anyone else.

There’s no space for individual habits or error, everyone has to follow the same non negotiable habits and if they’re not followed there is tension rather than earnest conversation. There is no room for error. There is no room for error. The space I control is my room. The space I inhabit is my room. That’s where I make my mistakes and do my thought crimes. No one can come inside because it’ll break my habits. Cup placement on the shelf, dry trash under desk and wet trash in bathroom, clothes than have been sat down in in the kitchen are soiled and cannot be sat with in bed but can be sat with in the armchair if it’s empty. There is no room for error. Clothes that you want to keep clean should be changed out of before exiting room. Exceptions are only acceptable when the kitchen is guaranteed to be empty and there will be no sitting down. Door handles cannot be grasped firmly with a whole hand. Other people cannot be grasped firmly with a w hole hand (what if my touch is undesired? This makes it undesirable). What if I make someone uncomfortable? There is no room for error.

One comment placed wrong can ruin a dinner. Two comments placed wrong can ruin the night (especially if there’s a response. I can defuse it. I can translate so the comments aren’t so wrong anymore. I can make it better by paying witness. There is no room for error. Error: fight breaks out. Error: the week is ruined. And that’s all in my head now and that’s why I’m always angry. That’s why I’m always apathetic. That’s why I’m always anxious. There is no room for me.

[ravendust7]

Smartest Tips Of Disposing Of Your Junk Car

Secondly, these companies must have a great reputation keeping appointments. They will deal with the clients with proper implementation of terms and conditions. Most people opt for junk car removal services because they pay you good money for the car they are taking away from you. If you contact a service, they will ask you details about your car and then quote the price that they are willing to pay you. If you agree with the price, they will give you a date on which they will come to collect the vehicle from your garage. The service is reliable, quick and free of tension, so you don't have to be anxious about what to expect, even if it is your first time using such a service. sell your junk car for cash would not be responsible for the condition of the car after it is purchased by the company either. The next step in getting cash for cars in Queens is typically a trip to the car wash. Or at the very least, some soapy water and a garden hose to knock off that build-up of dirt and grime. While all of us drive our car dirty from time to time, no one wants to pay good money for a dirty car. And a dirty car can send a signal that its owner has not done the best job of taking care of other aspects of the car. A car that isn't clean can be a real turn off to a prospective buyer regardless of the car being in good mechanical condition.

Get online. First things first -- you'll want to determine what the value of your car is. Even if it isn't running or has some major problems, it could be worth a few hundred to a few thousand dollars. Check with Kelley Blue Book or NADAGuides to find out what your car is worth. B. Know your car: When you have a buyer you will need to tell them about the specifications it. Hence you should know your car well and also the parts that are in good condition regardless of your use. Most people tend to hire a car mechanic and get it thoroughly checked and write down it's conditions on paper. You can simply produce this paper to your buyers when they want to know about the condition of your car. You will also need to clear away with any dents or minor damages that your car might have suffered during your use. This is because any visible damage might give the buyer a chance to negotiate the price for it. Not all businessmen in all places give you the correct value on resale of your vans, trucks, automobiles or two wheelers. It all depends upon the market value of the particular vehicle. If you are expecting good cash for junk cars youngstown, Denver in Colorado has many honest dealers which can give you proper resale value for your car. They can help you save some money. That's why it's important to step back and weigh the options when you get the urge to "sell my car for cash now." If you sell to a dealer, he naturally will be trying to find a buyer who will pay more for the car than he paid you. When the dealer sets his selling price, he has to factor in a profit margin. That is to say, what can he reasonably sell it for? If you're willing to take several hundred dollars less than what you might be able to get from a private buyer, then do it. If not, try the online classifieds to get your car in front of lots of people quickly and with little expense to you. Once you have entered this information, you will get a figure from each of these sites. Average these prices out and you will have a fair market value for your vehicle.

[hamiltonwynn5]

If You Are Trying To Sell Real Estate You Need To Read This

When you are trying to sell your real estate property, it is important that you have the information you need to get the most of your sale. This applies to profit and ease of transaction. This article will provide you with the real estate sales information that you need to do your best. If you own a specialized piece of property such as multi-family or rural land, you will want to hire a Realtor who specializes in the sale of that type of property. While any agent could do it, you will have more success with someone who has done that specific type many many times. When selling your home, have a real estate appraisal done before you meet with a realtor. An appraiser uses some of the same information that a real estate agent does, but is an independent assessor of value. SEO Services can give you a reasonable idea of what you can expect for your home, as well as show you proof of his or her findings. If you are working with a home seller personally, do not let him or her in on any information about your move. This information could be used against you in negotiations that are held in the future. If they know about how anxious you are to get into the home, they are less likely to come down on the asking price. Before listing a home for sale, the savvy homeowner will make sure all of his or her appliances are modern. Replacing old appliances may be expensive. It might even be painful, if the old appliances function satisfactorily. Installing cutting-edge appliances is worth the expense, though. Potential home buyers will appreciate the convenience of having new appliances so that they won't have to worry about replacing them. Your home must be priced in line with the market and area or lower. You may think your house is worth that extra 100 grand, but buyers will be turned off. Going a little above market rate can work out but be careful. There are a lot of homes on the market and if your price too high, you won't have any hits from prospective buyers. If you are selling your house then you should make your property very accessible to potential buyers. Trying to find parking or finding the home hard to get into may make a potential buyer change their mind about taking a look at your property and look for something else. Whether you decide to sell your home on your own or through an agent, a well-placed sign with an attached brochure or flyer box is an effective and convenient way to create a memorable sales pitch. The flyer should include key information, such as square footage, contact info, and number of bedrooms, bathrooms, and living areas. If you're selling property, remember that going the extra mile to find reliable people will always be time well spent. While you may have a trustworthy agent, you might want to second-guess referrals. This is a huge purchase and many real estate agencies are out to get every cent they can. Do your research so you can keep more of the money you've earned through your sale. Do not let your guard down. No matter how long it has been since your last showing, be sure to keep your house clean and tidy all the time because you never know when someone will call to have a look at your place. It is too easy to let things go when nothing has happened in a while. When trying to find a real estate agent, it is best to start by walking around your neighborhood. Check out all of the for sale signs to see who is selling the most homes in the area. Try to pay attention to how long it takes a sign to go from for sale to sold. If one real estate agent is selling many properties in your area, and they are sold in a timely manner, this may tell you if the agent is any good. Don't be wishing you would have done your research earlier once you realize you made a mistake selling your real estate property before you were prepared. Apply this knowledge from the article that you have read to make sure that you will be doing the best that you can be.

[mypoisonedvine]

Making Ends Meet | dark!Mandalorian x reader

summary: you’re just a simple woman trying to make your way in the universe, with the universe’s oldest profession.  unfortunately for you, a new customer doesn’t plan on going easy on you.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: smut (dub con), kidnapping (?? kinda), prostitution, rough sex, pain kink, lots and lots of degradation, ooc mando being a meanie

please do not read if this content would be triggering or upsetting for you, dark fics aren’t for everyone and it is your responsibility to manage your own content consumption

If you were going to have any hope of making rent this month, you needed to book someone tonight— and not a cheapskate who’d try to stiff you after he’d already stiffed you, no, you needed a big spender, a high roller.  You needed somebody who had extra credits to throw around and wore it on his sleeve.

You needed a guy like the one who had just walked in— with beskar on his sleeve.  That’ll do quite nicely, you thought to yourself as you watched the Mandalorian cross the room to talk to the bartender.  

Seemed like he was here on business, unfortunately, from the way he didn’t even venture a glance at you or any of the other women skulking about; but then again, you couldn’t be entirely sure where he was looking with that big helmet covering his face.  It might not be the easiest sell, but you were determined to get this guy for the night— and, more importantly, his money.

Walking up to the bar with your best sultry saunter, you leaned in beside him and smiled as he turned his head to look at you.  "Hey," you purred.  "Haven't seen you around before.  We don't get a lot of new faces around here… even when they're hidden."

He didn't say anything, which was a little concerning, but his head tilted down a bit as if he was looking at your body, which was a good sign.

“What brings you to Tatooine, hm?  Business…” you trailed off as you ghosted your fingertips over his armor-clad forearm, “or pleasure?”

“Business is my pleasure,” he informed you sternly.

“And pleasure is my business,” you countered with a smirk.  Before you could say anything else, the bartender returned with a sack in his palm that he tossed into the Mandalorian’s hands, something metallic jingling inside.

“For a job well done,” he explained with a crooked, toothy smile, “as promised.”

“Payday, huh?” you noticed, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.  “Never comes often enough, amirite?”

Your quip was met with tense silence as he slipped the bag into a sack at his waist.  He turned to leave, but you reached out for his shoulder and stopped him.  

“Wait,” you requested, desperation starting to taint your tone of voice.  He spun and faced you again, and you tried to keep your body language relaxed and sensual in spite of your stress.  “What are you gonna spend all that on?”

“My ship,” he decided after a quick moment.

“Why not spend it on yourself?  You must be tired after working a long, hard day,” you sighed sympathetically, stepping a little closer.  “Why don’t you stay a bit longer and take a moment to relax?”

It didn’t seem like he knew what to do with that, and you motioned to a wide, cushioned chair nearby.  Amazingly, it worked; he walked to the chair with that swagger of his, the blaster at his hip suddenly so much more obvious with the way it swung with every step.  As soon as he sat down, you put a leg up beside him, straddling him slightly but leaving enough space to (hopefully) have him wanting more.

“You must be getting hot under there,” you smiled, making sure the double entendre was obvious.

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged.

“All this heavy armor... does it get uncomfortable?”

“I’m comfortable,” he denied.

“Good,” you purred before biting down on your lip as you rubbed his chest— or, rather, his chestplate.  “You know, I’ve heard that Mandalorians are even harder underneath the steel.”

He paused a little before he answered.  “Only in a few key places,” he finally replied, his gloved hand reaching to brush over your thigh.  You grinned, knowing you finally had him.

“Why don’t you come to my room and show me?” you suggested.

“I imagine your time isn’t free,” he observed.

“Fifty credits for an hour, or a hundred for the whole night,” you enumerated.

“That’s a little steep,” he noted with a tone of irritation.

“It’s my price,” you shrugged, “take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it,” he decided, shoving you back and standing up to leave.

“No, wait,” you blurted out, “eighty for the night.”

“I don’t have all night,” he informed you sternly.  “Twenty for the hour.”

“Twenty?!” you squawked.  “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

He grabbed your wrist tightly, suddenly, and pulled you into him.  “A whore,” he answered with a rough growl, “and apparently not as cheap as you look.”

You swallowed dryly, irritated by his attitude but desperate for the cash you knew he had.  “How often do you come through Mos Eisley?” you asked quietly.

“As rarely as I can manage,” he replied.

“If you pay a hundred now, I’ll be here every time you come in, for as long as you need,” you offered.  “Standing order, permanently.”

It was difficult to negotiate with someone whose face you couldn’t see: you weren’t sure if the silence was him considering it, or just watching you squirm in his grasp for fun.  

“A hundred,” he repeated slowly, “for whatever I want.”

“Whatever you want,” you nodded quickly.

“Whenever I want,” he added.

“Whenever you want.”

He let go of your wrist and you stumbled back, rubbing the sore skin with your other hand.  “Show me to your room,” he requested suddenly.

You led him back behind a few tattered curtains, past the hall and up the stairs to your cramped apartment.  It wasn't much, but the red silk draped everywhere and the incense burning in the corner certainly set the mood for the work you did.  Your door slid shut automatically behind him, and normally this is the part where he’d kiss you or you’d kiss him, but that was sort of impossible in his current state.  With an awkward pause, you waited for him to undress.

“Take off your clothes,” he instructed instead— and it was even more dominant than you expected, but you were happy to oblige as you untied the strip of fabric keeping your flowy tunic together, letting it fall off of your shoulders and onto the floor.  You didn’t have anything else on, just for the sake of simplicity, and he said nothing as he stepped forward until he was just inches away from you.

He quickly disposed of his gloves to touch you with his bare hands; his rough, warm skin over your waist and hips and breasts was a strong contrast to the worn leather, and even moreso to the hard, cold beskar.  His skin was tan, especially considering that it rarely saw the sun, and you let yourself imagine what the rest of him would look like based on that long with the subtle dusting of dark hair that extended from his arms.  Of course, in your mind, he was stunningly gorgeous, because it was more fun for you that way.  The way he spun you around quickly and forced you to bend over the edge of your bed made you realize he wasn’t as interested in your fun, though.

You yelped a little at the unexpected force, and again when he slapped your ass out of nowhere.  

“You’d better make it worth my while, after I paid a hundred credits,” he grunted.

“Of course,” you agreed quickly, looking back to see him slipping to fingers underneath the edge of his helmet.

“Don’t turn around,” he growled.  “Don’t look back.”

“Okay,” you nodded nervously as you whipped your head back to face in front of you, staring diligently at the dark red comforter beneath you, “I— I won’t.”

You heard the rustle of clothing and a sigh of relief— noticeably one not modulated through the helmet speaker.  Unceremoniously, his helmet was tossed down onto the bed beside you, bouncing and rolling a bit before it found purchase on your quilt.

Next must have been his trousers, as you heard his heavily-equipped belt fall to the floor just before the subtle little grunt you’d come to know as the sure sign that a man had freed a throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers.  He roughly kicked your legs apart, grabbing your hips and using them to hold you up as he started to grind his bare cock against your slickened folds.  You could tell by the way his shaft spread your lips that you had no chance of taking him— he was too thick, you couldn't even tell how long he was yet but he was definitely too thick.

He must have realized something similar, because he pushed you forward a bit; you realized he was looking down at your pussy, which made your face burn with embarrassment.

"Get yourself wet for me," he instructed firmly.  

You didn't think you would ever be able to get wet enough to fit him.  "How?" you asked.

"I don't care how, just do it.  You have thirty seconds."

You gasped a bit but shoved your hand between your legs and frantically rubbed your clit— it didn't really feel that good, with the pressure and fear overwhelming your senses instead of pleasure.  And he didn't make it any easier on you by literally counting each second.  You got a bit wetter, sure, and you'd already been turned on from earlier, but it was still not gonna do you much good against the monster he intended on putting inside you at any moment.

"Fifteen," he continued counting, his voice dropping so much deeper all of a sudden.  "Fourteen."

Halfway out of time already and you weren't that much more wet than when you started.  Your mind was racing with thoughts of everything sexy you could manage to conjure— his voice did help, the deep timbre reverberating right up your spine as anxious fear started to blend in with forced arousal.  You tried to focus on the ways that being fucked by a faceless, mysterious stranger was sexy, rather than the ways it was terrifying.

"Ten," he counted, his voice changing as you heard him smile— you weren't sure how you could hear it, but you could.  "There you go, I can see it now."

You whimpered a little, the sound catching in your throat as fingers suddenly teased your entrance, not quite pushing in but threatening to.  As they swirled around your folds, a lewd wet sound filled the air, mixing in with your heavy breathing and his dark chuckle.

"You hear that?" he asked, and you nodded quickly.  "Just a few seconds left, make them count."

Rubbing faster, you felt your hips start to rock of their own volition, similarly to the way your walls were clenching around nothing in search of being filled.  

"Three, two, one," he finished as you felt the thick head of his cock start to push against you.  You dropped your hand, knowing you'd need both to stabilize yourself.  "You want it?" he asked roughly.

"Yes," you answered, your voice coming out weaker than expected.

"Beg for it," he instructed coldly.

"Put your cock in me, please—" was all you could get out before the words stopped in your throat as he suddenly pushed in.  You were barely processing the first inch as he barreled past your resistance to shove the next few in.  It already felt like you would run out of room inside your body before he ran out of cock.

"F-fuck," you hissed, "slow down.  You're too big."  You hoped maybe he'd take pity on you if you phrased it as a compliment.  You were wrong.

"You're a whore," he reminded you, "can't you take it?  It's all you're good for, anyways."

That got you to shut your mouth as he thrust himself completely into you, finding the end of you easily with the head of his cock while your hands clutched the bedsheets for dear life.  You winced but managed to suppress a cry as he started to fuck you, not quite fast yet but so much deeper than your brain could process.  "Ffffuu-uuck," you stammered, the sting starting to fade but the overwhelming pressure never really letting up.

"How's it feel?" he asked, almost sounding like he could moan but holding back.  "Don't lie."

You realized, then, that he didn't want you to fake pleasure like most clients did— he wanted to see your pain, and know he caused it.  He enjoyed hurting you.  You swallowed the lump in your throat and whimpered your honest reply: "Hurts."

"Good."

His balls slapping against your clit only added to the overwhelming sensations you were trying so hard to ignore, pain and pleasure becoming indistinguishable all of a sudden.  You could tell your walls were clamping down on him as pressure built in your gut and threatened to push past the point of no return.  Your moan was so much louder than you expected it to be, broken and guttural and animalistic. 

He pulled your hair roughly, making you yelp.  “That’s right,” he instructed through his teeth, “fuckin’ scream for it.”

“Fuck!” you sobbed loudly.  

He leaned forward and it felt like his body would surround yours, somehow, especially when he reached down to roughly grope one breast and then another.  He never stopped thrusting through it all, even when his head fell exhaustedly between your shoulder blades— it was so odd to be able to feel his forehead and hair on your skin but have no idea what his face looked like at all.

The telltale signs of orgasm were arriving in your body— your thighs quivered, your voice cracked, your walls and clit throbbed with need.  It felt like you could read every detail of his cock inside your silky wet heat, like the ridge of his leaking head was rubbing up against your swollen g-spot with every thrust.  You felt as if being so full of him had forced you to vacate your mind, too, to accommodate his size— as if that were possible.  

Either he sensed your peak approaching as well, or he just had convenient timing.  "Wanna feel you come around it," he grunted.  "Can you come for me?  Or are you completely useless?"

“‘M close,” you warned him as your answer, shame sending a shiver up your spine even though you felt guilty for it.

“Then come,” he ordered, “right fuckin’ now.”

It was odd how that actually did push you over the edge, his brutal thrusts and degrading words creating a perfect storm inside you as the friction became too much to bear.  You sobbed as it wracked through you, arching your back absent-mindedly, clenching your legs together as best you could with his legs in between them.  He didn’t stop fucking you through it, which meant that the sensation built to the point of ‘too much’ extremely quickly as your attempts at begging for mercy were lost to breathless moans.  Overwhelmed, your body collapsed onto the bed limply, your hips only staying up because he held them up, like your weight was nothing to him at all.

"Yeah, just like that,” he taunted, “fuckin' come on my cock, fuck— you're just a dumb slut, huh?  You love getting fucked like the desperate, needy fucktoy you are, is that it?"

"Y-yes," you whined weakly, cheeks burning at the feeling of him using your body— or maybe it was from the head rush caused by the afterglow of your orgasm. 

"You like it when it hurts,” he posited.  “You want me to hurt you."

"Yes— don't stop, please…" you whimpered, quiet but definitely loud enough for him to hear.

“Not gonna stop,” he promised, “‘til you’re full of my come.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, voice sounding hoarse and thin.  It had been a while since you lost your voice because of a session… and since you had walked funny for a few days afterwards.  This one was definitely going to do both.

As his hips started to slam harder and faster into yours, you really hoped it was a sign that he was close; his raspy groans made you sure of it, though.  You could feel his cock swelling and flexing, incredibly, and it made you a little light-headed but it made your overstimulated walls throb around him as well.

With one deep, exhausted growl from the man behind you, a warmth began to spread through you from the inside out.  When he released his grip on your hips, you fell onto the bed with a sigh and a thud.  A hand appeared in your peripheral vision to snatch the helmet off of your bed, and it only took him a few moments to stuff his softening cock back into his trousers and magically be dressed again.  Funny how he looked exactly the same as he had half an hour ago, meanwhile you were confident you looked totally fucked-out and fucked-up.

“You’re a good fuck,” he offered a monotone compliment as he pulled on his gloves, staring down at you as you slipped your robe back on and tried to ignore the warm sticky feeling between your legs.

“You’re… intense,” you replied, chuckling a little.  “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

He didn’t respond, or leave, but just stood there looking at you for a minute as you stood up and adjusted yourself, trying not to limp noticeably because you figured he didn’t need any more ego.  “‘Whenever I want’ only applies when I’m on this planet,” he observed suddenly, interrupting the silence, “which I try not to be.”

“You can come around as often as you like,” you explained.  You froze when he appeared behind you, reaching his arms out and caging you in against the wall the second you'd turned to face him.

“But wouldn’t it be so much more cost-effective if you were with me all the time?  On my ship?”

You whimpered a little as he leaned in closer, and you felt his gaze on you through the dark visor of his helmet even though you couldn’t see it.  “That… that wasn’t the deal,” you whispered nervously.

“The deal’s changed,” he growled, ignoring your yelps of pain as he manhandled you and pinned you to the wall by your neck before you could even try to fight back.  “Whatever I want, whenever I want,” he growled, “that’s what you said.  I’ll hold you to that.”

The leather gloves creaked softly as he tightened his grip on the sides of your neck, forcing your lips to fall into a useless gasp for air.  Your hands reached out to claw at his chest, a silent plea for release, but he wasn’t having it.  

“Whatever you want,” you barely managed to croak out as your vision started to go dark.  “Please, Mando…”

“Whenever I want?”

“Whenever, please,” you cried, tears stinging your eyes.  He let go, finally, and you crumpled at his feet.  Somehow, you’d managed to sell yourself into slavery— for a measly hundred credits.  This whole thing had begun with you needing to make rent, and it ended with you realizing you wouldn’t return to your apartment again at all.  

He didn't need to shackle or bind you to make you follow him to his ship; his power over you was nauseatingly effortless, but you weren't about to try to run from an unhinged warrior like him.  

You'd always wanted to leave Tatooine and explore the galaxy… this wasn't exactly how you'd imagined doing it, as a Mandalorian's whore, but there were worse fates.  Like being a Mandalorian's target.  And you planned on doing whatever he wanted you to if it meant avoiding that.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XVII

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader and Zemo try to figure out what’s next.

Note: Hey, I banged this out quicker than expected. This part went longer than I expected to not as much happened as I thought hahaha. But here we go, again.(I will try to update the masterlist asap)

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

Two Summers Later

The sun raised beads of sweat across your brow, even in the shadow of the tree. A gentle breeze rolled over the grass now and again, a soft sort of heat. You laid across the blanket in your thin dress, a subtle movement beside you, low babbling and grasping fingers. You breathed in the scent of pollen and watched the lush leaves sway above.

The footsteps were light but he was careful not to frighten you. The baby girl murmured, over a year old now. She stood, unsteadily, and he caught her before she stumbled too far. His shadow loomed above you as he lifted Elina and smiled at her round cheeks.

“How is my little baroness?” he cooed as he bounced her and her gibberish grew louder as she grabbed at his pale tunic, “my lady?” he peered down at you, “you look… serene.”

“She likes to watch the cloud but it’s much too bright today,” you sat up and grabbed your cane from against the trunk. Lord Zemo offered his hand and helped you to your feet, “so we have watched the bloom instead.”

“She is getting big. More agile,” he commented as she tugged at his beard. He’d grown it over the winter but hadn’t cut it even in the heat. She liked to pet it and you suspected that was the reason for his obstinacy, “how will you keep up with her?”

“I have learned,” you poked him with the tip of your cane, “still learning.”

“Very quickly,” he praised, “the accent is better,” he pinched two fingers together, “I almost believe you a woman of this land.”

“Sometimes I believe it myself,” you went to the bench and sat heavily. Your hip never healed quite as it had been before so you limped with the carved wood capped with silver and made the best of it, “bring her here,” you set the can aside and pulled the thin scarf over your shoulders, “she should eat.”

“I told you, a wet nurse would do her better,” he neared and handed her over after a final peck on her cheek, “and she is getting older. She eats at the table now.”

“She will have some proper food when we get in,” you covered her against your chest and unlaced the front of your gown, “I like having her close.”

He nodded and paced through the grass. He removed his silk cap and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He was anxious as of late, you noticed only because it was an unusual trait for him. He sighed as he tucked his hat into his belt.

“Would you tell me?” you asked sharply as Elina latched.

“Tell you what?” he tilted his head coyly.

“What makes you uneasy?” you urged.

The tugging in your chest calmed you as you cradled your daughter close. When she was born, that had been difficult. She reminded you of her father then but now she was yours. She was the only gift he’d ever given you.

“It is… complicated,” he said with a frown, “I think it best we put the child down before we talk on it.”

“If you wish,” you relented, “Werner says she is doing well. I went to him this morning.”

“And you?” Zemo crossed his arms, “does he say you are doing well?”

You kept one arm around Elina and unthinkingly brushed the scar that stretched from your hairline to your chin, a rippled line along your cheek, one of a dozen markers of that fateful day. You still dreamed of it but they weren’t so much nightmares as vague memories.

“I will need the cane so long as I live,” you said and dropped your arm back under the scarf, “the scars will fade but not entirely. I suppose none of that matters.”

He nodded and rubbed his chin as he began to pace again, “back from the dead,” he mused, “we have a legend here, about a woman, a queen…” he went on, “she married a king who did not love her nor she him. He wanted another and he was… quite intent on it. So he accused her of adultery and witchery and passed on her the harshest sentence; she was drawn and quartered, pulled apart by horses.

“We have since done away with such punishments, too savage, but the legend goes that they buried the parts of her and the king married his lover on her grave. The gods saw it as an affront, the lies, the trial held in their names, the death imparted in the same vein, and then a mocking marriage on the site of their sins…

“In her casket, her body reformed though she still showed the signs of her fate. She climbed out of her resting place and visited her king in the night. She’d never done that before you see because he had no love for her, he never even tried, and she tore him piece by piece, worse even then the horses. Fingers, toes, tongue… balls, every bit of him plucked little by little until he was nothing.

“The legend never did say where she went after that, her grave was found disturbed and her body gone. Those women who suffer with violent or cruel men, they pray to her, they burn candles for her, and even, they kill their men for her.”

“Why are you saying all this?” you interrupted as you wiped up your chest and clumsily tied up the laces of your dress as Elina slobbered down it.

“Because I see you are reformed like the queen but I wonder, where is your sense of vengeance?”

You were quiet as you fixed your dress and lifted Elina above the scarf to pat her back. Soon she would no longer take the nipple and you were stubborn to keep it up for so long but the time passed and the thought of separation frightened you. Soon she would be old enough to realise how odd everything was and she would ask questions. You weren’t sure if you could ever answer them.

“Take her please,” you held her out and he came to lift her. He set her down on her feet instead and held her hand as she took some steps. She grew more bold by the minute. He bent as he ushered her around. You planted your cane in the ground and stood, “vengeance,” you said carefully, “I remember you warned me not to trust you, is that why? Are you ready to use me against him?”

“I always knew you were clever,” he smiled as Elina bent her legs and bounced in place. He chuckled at her and suddenly scooped her up. He tossed her and caught her as she trilled in excitement, “the time comes closer but the path is not clearer.”

You watched him as he stilled your daughter and balanced her against his side, “I don’t know if I can ever face him again,” you confessed.

“That is not what I ask,” he said, “it is not what I intend but...the winds begin to blow and I must let them carry me.”

You followed him as he set off towards the castle, The Tower Zemo, a bastion of brick among the grasslands. It was so tall one could see for miles in any direction and it could be seen in turn from just as far. He was patient as your cane plunked down after each step and he made silly faces at Elina.

“You have bided me longer than I expected. And her,” you said as you approached the open doors of the castle. The stairs were another task but you’d learned to take them with your hip.

“Her? You think I forsake her her father? She is nothing like him,” he replied as he waited at the tip of the steps, “and she is all the good parts of you. All that he didn’t take.”

“I am indebted to you, I am aware of that, but you do not attempt to collect your dues,” you challenged as you came level to him, “it makes me wary.”

“Would it be too… ridiculous to say that she is payment enough,” he smiled at your daughter, “she has brightened many of my days here.”

“It is because I know how things are. How it works among you noblemen,” you countered, “there is something more you want.”

“Tess,” he called and the pudgy maid appeared, “she is hungry, see that she is fed before she is laid down.”

“My lord,” Tess took the child eagerly and poked her nose playfully, “come here, little poppy.”

You watched her go as she began to sing to Elina. Her voice carried through the corridors as her wide hips swayed and her white hair wisped from under her cap. The old woman had seen your daughter into the world and since helped keep her there.

“So what is it you haven’t told me?” you turned on Zemo.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit?” he asked slyly.

“You are welcome to recline, sir, but I would hear you now. I’ve waited long enough,” you insisted.

“Well…” he took a deep breath and walked ahead of you. He turned back and clapped his hand together as the summer flowed in through the open doors, “I must send you away.”

“Send me away?” you gulped and looked to the door which Tess had just taken your daughter through.

“You will have Elina, I am not heartless,” he said, “though I will miss the little baroness.”

“Where are we going?” you quivered in relief.

“I have a castle on the lake, Heinrich’s Creek,” he explained, “it is a lovely little place. My mother’s favourite of my family’s holds. It is far away from court, further than this, and safe. Only my blood knows where it lies and… so only me and those who I would have escort you.”

“And why? Why do we have to go? Why now?” you prodded.

“I have received a letter from your King Samuel, co-signed by my own king. A party is on the road already and I have been once more tasked with hosting the negotiations. Your people are persistent. They will come here and I will represent the kingdom in these meetings and hopefully I can appease them quick enough that I needn’t worry about them sniffing around,” Zemo bristled, “I have not been allowed the privilege to know of who I host but any in the capital for the tournament, they would know the woman who gave them such a violent finale.”

“And after?”

“We will see how it unfolds first. It will be a chance to gain a measure of the climate. I might even hear after your former keeper, then I will decide what needs be done,” his dark eyes narrowed as mischief ticked in his cheek.

“Why?” you asked, “why cling to it?”

“I am as stubborn as he,” he said carefully, “I was willing to set it aside but he could not. And, my lady, if you haven’t the fire left for your vengeance then I can simply take it upon my own wrath. 

“Perhaps it is low of me but how he treated me, how he chased me out even if it did prove convenient to my deceit, it cannot be forgotten. And your people, the war I fought against them, they come to us for help and yet they still boast of their victory. I was there, no one won those battles.”

“So it is all a game of war?”

“Oh, no, I do not long for another war but… retribution leaves few options for the wronged,” he said.

You lowered your chin and moved around him. You sat on the stool by the wall and leaned back against the stone. “And if it put Elina in danger?”

“That is the last thing I want to do. That is why I would send you away.”

“But you said it yourself, you will have need for me… what then?”

He sniffed and his sole scuffed on the floor, “I promised you Elina’s safety, her life. You knew yours wasn’t part of the bargain.”

“I know but… if you--”

“I have friends who can see to the girl. I have made arrangements for the little baroness.”

“But--”

“It was never a title I gave her lightly,” he intoned, “she has noble blood and I have no heir. She will grow, she will live, she will flourish.”

You gripped your cane tightly and ran your nails along your skirt, “when do we leave?”

“Within the month. The party will not be here so soon, their progress will be hampered by the heat. There are droughts in the west.”

“And we will be safe at the Creek?”

“Impenetrable,” he assured, “enjoy your time there with your daughter.”

“While it lasts, right?” you uttered.

He looked away grimly and brushed his knuckles against this beard, “we both knew this wouldn’t go on forever.”

“Yes, we knew,” you stood and held your hip, “but you can’t blame me for hoping it would.”

[contemplativepancakes]

enough to drive a man mad

~7k geraskier fake dating, because that is what this fandom needs. read on ao3 here!

Jaskier smells anxious. He reeked of apprehension all of yesterday, not to mention the fact that he hasn’t been able to sit still or stop tapping his foot on the wooden floorboards this morning. 

It’s grating on Geralt’s last nerve. 

“What, Jaskier?” he finally growls. 

Jaskier jumps, almost falling out of his chair from where he sits tapping his quill idly in his notebook. 

“What?”

“What has you so worked up?”

Jaskier looks Geralt in the eyes before glancing away again. He clears his throat. “Nothing.”

Geralt grunts. 

“Oh, don’t sound so unconvinced,” Jaskier complains. 

Geralt rolls his eyes, turning his back to Jaskier to finish settling all of his things into his pack. He wraps the glass jars carefully and tucks them between Jaskier’s shirts, so they don’t break. “If nothing is wrong, you’re ready to go then, right?”

Jaskier grumbles, but he tucks his notebook away and gets to his feet. 

They make it about three hours before Jaskier finally broaches the subject. 

“So, Geralt,” he starts. “Dear friend of mine.”

Geralt doesn’t even bother to look back at him. Nothing good can come with this as a conversation starter. 

“Have I ever told you about my parents?”

“No.”

Jaskier sighs. “I suppose not. Well, they’ve written to me. They want me to visit.”

Geralt thinks back to the letter an innkeeper had handed to Jaskier a few weeks ago, the one that made him eerily quiet the rest of the night and that he had clammed up about when Geralt questioned him. Jaskier was perky and practically completely back to normal the next morning, so Geralt had almost forgotten about it. Apparently, Jaskier had not done the same. 

“Hmm.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Dreadfully inconvenient for you. What will you do without your loyal companion?”

Geralt frowns. He hadn’t even thought about that, just registered the smell of unhappiness coming off of Jaskier at the thought of his parents. Jaskier  is  rather helpful, though. He’s never afraid to step in the middle of pay negotiations, inevitably getting Geralt more coin, and he’s certain Jaskier has stopped them from getting kicked out of at least three towns after Geralt had stumbled back to the inn covered in viscera. 

“Do you want to visit them?”

Jaskier trips over his feet, and Geralt dutifully looks away, pretending not to have noticed. “Not particularly. But I have to.”

Geralt won’t pretend to understand how a typical human family works, so he just accepts Jaskier’s words at face value. He’s never felt  obliged  to return to Kaer Morhen every winter; it’s something he looks forward to—to seeing his patchwork family. But Jaskier deliberately never speaks of his family, and gets twitchy every time anyone brings them up, so Geralt had accepted it as one of Jaskier’s many quirks and moved on. 

“Hmm. Well, I can travel with you there, at least. I’m sure there will be contracts in the area somewhere.”

Jaskier flushes red. “I was...I was actually hoping you would come with me.”

“What? I’m sure that’s not what your parents had in mind when they wanted you to visit. They wouldn’t want to meet  me .”

“Well, they said it’s unbecoming for someone of my age to be a bachelor. And, so I. I, um.” Jaskier scratches the back of his neck. “I told them I wasn’t. And I maybe sort of perhaps insinuated we were together.”

Geralt can feel a stress headache brewing.

-

Marilla looks down at the letter in shock. 

Dear Mother,

I fear I am not quite as much of a bachelor as you suppose. Have you heard any of my songs? I have gone and fallen head first into my muse. Typical, foolish me, but I’ve never been happier. We’ll visit soon. 

Julian

She doesn’t like to think about Julian’s songs, about how he couldn’t even keep the name she had given him. She thrusts the letter to her husband. “He’s coming to visit,” she says in disbelief. “When’s the last time we saw him?”

Ethbert considers this as he reads the letter. “At least five years.”

“And I can’t believe he hasn’t spoken of this ‘muse’ any sooner. I’m not sure I believe him.”

Ethbert gave Marilla a placating smile. “He’s probably just ashamed he hasn’t found himself a wife yet. We’ll find out when he comes, doubtless with an excuse about where his beloved is.”

Marilla sniffs. “You’re right.”

Nell looks down at the scene in the kitchen with wide eyes from her spot crouched down between the banisters at the top of the stairs. Her brother? With a wife? She could scarcely imagine it. She thinks back to the last time Julian was here, the way he had boasted to her about his conquests for hours, away from the prying ears of their parents. 

Well, surely if he had someone, he’d have talked about her in his songs. She resolves to get her hands on some of his music. She’ll solve this mystery before Julian even gets here.

-

“The first thing to know is that they’re awful,” Jaskier says, ticking down one of his fingers as he walks along beside Roach, seemingly uncaring of the dust that’s drifting up from her hooves and onto his doublet. “Well, except for my sister. Be nice to my sister, please, Geralt.”

“I’m nice to everyone.”

Jaskier stifles a laugh. “Mm. Be extra nice to her, then.”          

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You need to loosen up, too. They’re never going to think we’re together when you look all...constipated like that.”

Geralt huffs. 

“You’re lucky opposites attract,” Jaskier says, before dragging a hand down his face. “This is never going to work, is it?” 

-

Nell squints at the lyrics spread out before her. This doesn’t sound very romantic to her at all. Maybe a breakup song?  She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss , Nell hums. She can’t help but notice there’s three different people the song is talking about, though. Odd. She shakes her head and moves onto the next song. 

This one is just a ditty, so Nell turns the page to see a song about the witcher Jaskier travels with. And then another, and another. Is he all Julian writes about? She expected to see love songs, not this nonsense. She goes through more of his catalogue, briefly regretting spending her allowance on the songbook, but she supposes it supports her brother, after all. 

She’ll just have to see what she can wheedle out of him while he’s here. 

Finally, after flipping through no less than four more songs about the witcher, she lands on one titled “The Eternal Flame.” 

Interesting. 

Around your house, now white from frost

Sparkles ice on pond and marsh

Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh

  Spring will return, on the road the rain will fall

Hearts will be warmed by the heat of the sun

It must be thus, for fire still smolders in us all

An eternal fire, hope for each one

There, Nell can read some romance in. She rubs the ends of her hair together in thought. This one song certainly isn’t enough proof that Julian has actually found a wife. More like he’s still pining over some old flame. It doesn’t seem like he’s written very many good love songs at all. 

Nell rolls her eyes, thinking back to all the raunchy songs in his catalogue. Typical. 

There’s the squeak of the door opening downstairs, and Nell hastily slams the book shut and hides it under her mattress. She doesn’t want Julian seeing and getting a bigger head, after all. 

She straightens her dress and runs down the steps, eager to see if Julian’s by himself, which is her guess. She comes to a skidding halt when she sees who is with him. 

Oh.

She supposes he does write love songs, after all. 

-

Geralt shifts uncomfortably from the scrutiny Jaskier’s family is giving him. He wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, hoping he doesn’t look as awkward as he feels. He looks over to Jaskier for help, and Jaskier shrugs off his arm and takes Geralt by the hand, leading him forward to meet them. 

“Mother, Father, this is Geralt. Nell, this is a very large, scary witcher who will eat you up if you don’t behave.”

Geralt frowns. He thought Jaskier told him to be extra nice to his sister?

Nell laughs, a delightful, tinkling thing that reminds him of Jaskier’s. “He’s going to like me better than you by the time he leaves.”

Geralt looks back to Jaskier, only to see him sticking his tongue out at her. Right. Their relationship is definitely more antagonistic than Jaskier had prepared him for, so Geralt is glad he had Lambert to prepare him for these things. 

He’s not sure his interactions with Lambert would be appropriate to apply to Jaskier’s sister, though, so Geralt will let Jaskier handle the ribbing. 

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt finally says. “Jaskier’s told me a lot about you.”

Which, of course, is a lie, but Geralt knows that’s the polite thing to say. 

“He’s never even mentioned me, has he?” 

When Geralt waffles, Nell sniffs dramatically and casts Jaskier a betrayed look. 

Jaskier shoots that look right back to Geralt, and Geralt is so impossibly out of his depth right now. “Hmm.”

“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve made him regret agreeing to meet you in the first place!” Jaskier cries. 

“That’s quite enough, Julian,” Jaskier’s mother cuts in, and—Julian? 

He shoots Jaskier a puzzled look. Obviously, there was a little more he should have told Geralt before they came here. 

“Well, I’m afraid we are absolutely knackered; we’ve been riding all day. I’m going to head upstairs…” 

Geralt shoots him a look. 

“I mean,  we are going to head out to the stables and make sure that Geralt’s very polite mare is taken care of.”

“We have someone—”

“No, no, Geralt is very picky about who cares for his horse.”

With that, Jaskier drags Geralt out of the house and to the barn. “I thought the goal was for them to like me?” Geralt asks. 

Jaskier snorts. “Gods, no. The goal is to have them believe that we’re in a relationship, and they would never believe I would choose anyone they actually  liked .”

“Hmm.” 

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Geralt. It’ll be fine. Just stop acting like you’re terrified of me every time I touch you. Maybe we should practice.”

Jaskier gets a gleam in his eye as he darts a glance back to the house, and then his very warm mouth is on Geralt’s. Geralt’s surprised for a second before he relaxes and kisses Jaskier back. He’ll show Jaskier he’s not  terrified of him. Geralt would scoff if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. 

Geralt brings one hand up to rest on Jaskier’s jaw and one to wind through his soft hair. Geralt strokes his thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone, and Jaskier melts against him, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and tugging him closer. 

“What was that for?” Geralt says, trying to keep his breathing even after they pull away. 

Jaskier peers around him and looks back up at the house. “Well, they  were  watching through the window. Figured we’d give them a show. Alas.”

Jaskier turns and heads to the stables. Geralt trails behind him, surreptitiously bringing a hand up to his medallion to make sure it’s not vibrating. 

He is in way over his head. 

-

Nell stares at them with wide eyes from her bedroom window. She had...not exactly doubted them when Julian showed up with his witcher in tow, but she hadn’t exactly believed them, either. Who could let Julian trail around after them for years and not get sick of him? 

If she hadn’t witnessed them kissing with her own two eyes, she never would have believed it. She pulls the book out from under the mattress and looks at the songs again, this time with a more critical eye. She can’t believe she didn’t see it before. Especially “Her Sweet Kiss.” She’d never admit it to Julian, but she’s glad he won over whoever this  her  is. He looks happy, in a way that he never did while he was here. 

Her mother calls for her, so Nell sighs and puts away the book. She runs down the stairs. “Yes?”

“I need help with supper.”

Nell sets the table, noting they’re using the fancy silverware, which is a surprise, because her mother has never taken a particular interest of what Julian thinks of her before this, so this is an interesting time to start. She’s sure their meal is going to be a very uncomfortable affair. Well, not for her, unless it starts to become painful to hold her laughter in. 

She can’t wait. 

She’s just finishing arranging the cutlery when her mother turns back to her. “Can you believe Julian? I knew witchers were for hire, but I didn’t think their services extended to...this.”

Nell barely holds back a snort. 

-

Jaskier looks over to Geralt and suppresses a sigh. He had just planted a hand on Geralt’s thigh, and he’s sure his parents think that he just stabbed Geralt, from his reaction. He scoots his chair closer over to Geralt and drapes an arm over his shoulders. “Relax,” he whispers into Geralt’s ear. 

Geralt does, marginally, but Jaskier can still see the doubt on his parent’s faces. 

Jaskier’s father clears his throat. “So, Geralt, um. I suppose we know what you do, but, um. Um.”

“Honestly, haven’t you heard any of my songs? They are all the very true accounts of what Geralt gets up to,” Jaskier butts in. 

Geralt takes a gulp of wine from his goblet to avoid commenting. 

Jaskier notices, and elbows him in the ribs. “Geralt loves my songs, right?”

Jaskier’s parents are staring right at him, and it’s more than a little unnerving. “Right. They’re...very romantic.”

Jaskier’s grip around Geralt’s shoulders tightens. “Thank you, darling.”

Geralt is sure Vesemir once told him witchers can’t blush, but his face feels hot all of a sudden, and everyone is looking at him expectantly. 

Geralt takes another drink. 

Jaskier shakes his head. “Geralt’s been so nervous about meeting all of you. The poor dear is overwhelmed.”

Geralt shoots him a glare, before softening the look into something more akin to convincing Jaskier’s parents that they’re very happily together. Jaskier hastily bolts down the rest of his dinner before he drags Geralt up the stairs and to his room. 

He shuts the door behind them, leaning against and tugging at his hair. “There’s no way they’re buying this,” he moans. 

“I thought I was being rather convincing.”

The corner of Geralt’s lips twitch, so Jaskier hits him with a pillow. “You did not, you brute! Geralt if you’re doing this on purpose—”

“Hey, hey,” Geralt soothes. “I’m not. It’s just. Acting is not exactly on my list of talents.”

Jaskier crosses his arms and huffs. Geralt tugs him over to the bed and makes him sit down, plopping beside him. “What can I do?”

Jaskier throws his arm over his eyes and lays back, rather over dramatically, if you ask Geralt. “Nothi—Well, actually.”

Geralt does not like the sound of that. He was offering more to be nice than anything. 

“We have to have sex.”

Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “What?”

Jaskier scoffs. “This is no time to act the blushing virgin, Geralt,” he says, before his hands are on Geralt’s clothes, tugging them and unbuttoning. 

Geralt jerks back, but Jaskier is already done. “There. Nice and dishevelled.”

Geralt gapes at him for a moment, giving Jaskier the opportunity to muss his hair. Geralt growls.

“I know, I know. That took you hours to accomplish.”

Geralt catches his wrist. “Just, hold on a second. What are we doing?”

“We have to consummate my childhood bed, Geralt,” Jaskier says, completely seriously. “Or at least make my parents think we did.”

Jaskier starts moving his hips on the bed, making the headboard brush up against the wall with every gyration. “Mmm, fuck, Geralt, right there!” he cries.

“ Jaskier!”  Geralt hisses, but Jaskier pays him no mind. 

“You feel so good, darling!” He throws Geralt a wink, and Geralt tries not to combust. 

Jaskier undoes three of the buttons of his doublet, revealing a thicket of chest hair. Geralt casts his eyes to the ceiling. Gods help him. “You know, you don’t have to be so stoic all the time, dear heart. You can let me hear you,” Jaskier says, pointedly prodding at Geralt. 

Geralt shakes his head furiously. This is  not  what he agreed to. 

Jaskier gives Geralt a put on sigh before clearing his throat quietly. “Oh, Jaskier,” he says in a deep voice. 

“That doesn’t even sound like me,” Geralt whispers furiously. 

Jaskier just arches an eyebrow, and Geralt knows that’s a challenge. He swings his leg over Jaskier, straddling him and trying to ignore both of their pounding hearts. It’s the heat of carrying out their plan, Geralt is sure, and not at all Jaskier’s proximity. 

Geralt rocks the bed back and forth, making the headboard  slam against the wall now. 

Gearlt gives a half hearted moan, and Jaskier gives him a glare. “You’re making me sound like a terrible lover who’s left you horribly unfulfilled!” he hisses. 

Geralt rolls his eyes and gives a more enthusiastic moan this time. Geralt begrudgingly keeps this up for a few more minutes before he grunts and clambers off of Jaskier. “A little quick to the finish line?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt shoots him a rude hand gesture. 

Jaskier gasps in mock offense. “Why don’t you go get me a wash rag?” he suggests. 

Geralt glares at him; this is taking the charade much too far, if you ask Geralt, but he follows Jaskier’s direction to the bathroom—where Jaskier’s mother is standing. Geralt suddenly becomes conscious of what a mess he must look like right now, thanks to Jaskier. “Hello again,” Marilla says. 

Geralt grunts and nods to her, before remembering he should probably say something, anything. “Hi.”

Geralt grabs a washcloth and flees. 

When he gets back to Jaskier, Jaskier is sitting on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, scribbling away in his notebook, the inkwell balancing precariously on the mattress. He still has his buttons undone, and Geralt curses himself for even noticing. 

“Did you run into anyone?” Jaskier asks. 

Geralt’s disgruntled expression must be answer enough, because Jaskier rubs his hands together in delight. “Excellent.”

-

Marilla scurries back to her room, completely scandalized. She can’t believe they would...defile her home like this. It’s bad enough that Julian couldn’t choose anyone they suggested for himself, and now he brings home a  witcher ? He’s trying to make her gray even faster. 

She shuts the bedroom door behind her and looks to Ethbert. Her expression must linger on her face, because he asks her, “What?”

“They—” She makes a floppy hand gesture. 

“Are you sure? What would a witcher want with Julian? There’s something not right about this.”

Marilla fans herself. “I know. They’re not even wed. It’s impropriety, is what it is.”

Ethbert squints doubtfully. 

-

Geralt is not a morning person. When Jaskier first discovered this, he was puzzled. Geralt is the only person who dictates his schedule, so no one would yell at  him  if he chose to sleep until midday. 

The more Jaskier thinks about it, though, the more it makes sense. Of course Geralt would wake up at the asscrack of dawn; he probably thinks of it as a punishment or some other such self loathing nonsense. 

It’s certainly more of a punishment for Jaskier, because he’s the one that has to put up with Geralt’s bearish attitude every morning. 

Geralt blinks awake and squints at the rising sun like it’s personally offended him, and Jaskier closes his eyes, not wanting to be caught staring. 

“Morning,” Geralt grates out. 

Jaskier’s lips twist into a wry smile. “Good morning.”

“I know you weren’t asleep,” Geralt says, sounding annoyed. “You could have woken me up.”

“Mm. And deal with a grumpy witcher first thing in the morning? I don’t think so.”

Geralt scoffs. “I’m not grumpy.”

“Right.”

Geralt swings his legs out of the bed and begins getting dressed. Jaskier stretches into the warmth Geralt left behind, tugging the blankets up over him. 

What? He never said  he was a morning person, either. “Where are you going?”

“Into town.”

“For what? Do you need things for potions? I’ll go with you.”

“No, no, I’m just going to see if there’s any contracts; you stay here.”

Jaskier gives a sly grin. “Does my family make you nervous?”

“ No .”

“Hmm,” Jaskier says. 

“Shut up.”

“Well, don’t go gallivanting off without telling me where. You know I worry.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “No need.”

Jaskier adopts a high pitched voice. “Why, thank you, Jaskier, my dearest friend. I’m so touched to know someone is looking out for me.”

“It’s pretty sad if you have to imagine someone to be your friend.”

Jaskier splutters as Geralt walks out of the room, a smile tugging at his lips. 

Jaskier sighs as the door shuts behind him, wanting to bundle himself back in the blankets and Geralt’s scent, but he resists the urge and stumbles out of bed to pull on his clothes. 

He makes it down the stairs and to the kitchen, picking up a bowl of eggs and whisking them, the need to be helpful overriding his desire to collapse in a chair and go back to sleep. 

“Good morning, Julian,” his mother says stiffly. “Where’s your beau?”

Jaskier lets himself smile at the image of Geralt’s reaction to being heard of himself referred to as Jaskier’s  beau . 

“He’s out looking for a contract. He’ll be back for lunch, I’m sure.” 

He gives his mother a bright grin. He thinks he should have made Geralt suck a hickey on his neck, but, to be honest, he’s not sure if he could have beared that. Geralt had already been so unbearably close to Jaskier when he  straddled  him. Jaskier’s not sure what had possessed Geralt to do that, all the while expecting Jaskier to keep his hands to himself. 

He’s not sure Geralt’s looked in a mirror anytime in the past fifty years because of the whole monster-staring-back-at-him thing (complete horse shit, in Jaskier’s humble opinion, not that Geralt cares to listen to it), but Jaskier is forced to look at him every day, and he suffers. 

He suffers every time he trails behind Geralt atop Roach, watching the subtle shift of his back muscles as he rides, and he’s devastated when Geralt deems Roach too tired to carry him and leads her in his tight leather pants. If Geralt hadn’t been wearing just such a thing when Jaskier met him, Jaskier would be convinced Geralt does it just to personally spite Jaskier. 

To doom him to look but not touch for the rest of his life. As such, he had never expected Geralt to actually agree to this whole charade. But, he did, and now here they are. Here they are, with Jaskier knowing exactly what Geralt tastes like (less onion than one would expect), but still having to not just kiss the blank looks Geralt likes to give him right off his face. 

It’s enough to drive a man mad. 

-

Geralt looks at the pitiful notice board and sighs. He tugs down the one prospect to examine it more closely. Something is stealing a farmer’s sheep. There’s a few possibilities for what it could be, ranging from minor nuisances to things that he shouldn’t even mention to Jaskier because he’ll nag at Geralt until he lets him tag along, and those are always the kind of jobs that Jaskier should be nowhere near. 

Geralt’s not sure how someone with the survival instinct of a fly larva is still alive, especially when he insists on following Geralt around, but Geralt’s not going to let Jaskier get hurt on his watch. 

Geralt pockets the notice and goes to talk to the farmer who set the contract, but he has very little useful information to tell Geralt. All he offers is that the sheep have been disappearing without a trace. Geralt walks the edges of the property and a bit into the woods, doing a cursory inspection for the carcasses, but he doesn’t find them, either. 

Hmm. 

Geralt turns and heads back to Jaskier. 

-

Geralt’s acting out of sorts when he returns from town, so Jaskier tugs him aside. “What’s wrong?”

Geralt just grunts and shakes his head. 

Jaskier sighs. Typical. “Weren’t there any contracts?”

“There were, just—I don’t know what it is. But I’m sure it will be fine.”

Geralt even tries to give him a bracing smile, and even though it looks more like a grimace, Jaskier knows it’s not good if Geralt has stooped to trying to comfort him. 

Jaskier hums at him and leads him to the table where his family are waiting on them for lunch. Jaskier keeps a hand on Geralt’s knee, because he’s allowed to, at the moment. 

He delights in watching Geralt make awkward conversation with Nell, but it seems like they’re quickly warming up to each other. Jaskier’s mouth goes dry at the thought of them teaming up on him. They would truly be a menace. 

Jaskier’s mood is quickly soured when they finish eating and Geralt insists on heading back out. 

“Shouldn’t you wait until the morning? You know, be well rested?”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s been taking the animals at night. Better chance of finding it if I go now.”

“Geralt, we’re not exactly short on coin right now. Why even go?”

“If I don’t take care of this, who will?” Geralt huffs. “This farmer’s livelihood is at risk.”

Jaskier grins. “Geralt, you unbearable softie. You make me look callous.”

Jaskier darts a glance over to his family, who are pretending not to watch them. He takes that as license to tug Geralt in for a chaste kiss. Geralt stiffens against him, and Jaskier is just about ready to pull away, before Geralt starts kissing him back. He makes it  decidedly  less chaste, and Jaskier puts a hand on his chest. He lets himself savor it for one, two, three seconds before he takes a step back. 

“Geralt, there are children present!” he says in a scandalized tone, grinning at Nell. 

She glares, and he shoots her a wink. 

Geralt clears his throat, and Jaskier jerks his attention back to him. “Right. Well, if I’m not going to talk you out of it, be safe.”

“I always am.”

-

Ethbert watches as Julian paces back and forth as he waits for the witcher to return. “Sit down,” he says gruffly. 

Julian looks at the clock, then out the window, completely ignoring him. Ethbert snorts. Good to know nothing’s changed, then. 

“Surely it can’t take this long to murder one measly little thing,” Julian mutters. 

“He’s fine,” Ethbert says. “It’d take a lot to overpower a witcher, right?”

Jaskier sits down in a huff, and Ethbert starts to wonder if maybe their relationship is less of a farce than he thought. It’s certainly an odd one, and he’s still clueless as to what they could possibly have in common, but Julian is painting a convincing picture right now, especially as he tugs his cloak off the hook and settles it around his shoulders. 

“Where are you going?”

“To find him!”

Ethbert jerks out of his seat with a splutter. “You can’t be serious. You think you’re going to be able to handle whatever a witcher couldn’t?”

Julian pauses. “Well, no. He’s probably lying in a ditch somewhere, slowly bleeding to death. Oh gods, what if he’s out there bleeding to death?”

Julian becomes even more frantic and rushes out the door and to the stables. 

Ethbert resigns himself to a long night. 

-

Jaskier clambers onto one of the smaller mares. He doesn’t have the patience to go through the whole process of putting all the tack on, so he clings to the horse’s neck and prays he doesn’t fall off. He digs into her with his knees, and away they go. 

Jaskier has no idea which way Geralt went, but there’s some fairly fresh hoof tracks in the wet dirt of the road, so he follows them and hopes they’re Roach’s. Eventually, they go off the road, and Jaskier is left to squint at trampled grass. He wonders if Geralt would be proud of his tracking abilities, and he smiles thinking about the inevitable jab. Jaskier would respond with something about how Geralt was no better than a dog sniffing the air, and all would be well.

But first, he has to find him. Jaskier slows the horse to a walk as the trail becomes fainter, squinting as he looks at the ground. He comes to an outcrop of rocks with an opening just big enough to go inside, and he dismounts his horse cautiously. He certainly doesn’t want to deal with whatever calls this place its home. 

Jaskier notices blood, and his heart kicks up a notch. It’s a rust red color, so it’s not very recent. Jaskier follows the splatters, and as he goes, they get brighter and brighter, until Jaskier’s heart threatens to burst out of his chest with the panicked tap dance it’s doing. 

It certainly doesn’t help matters when he finds Roach wandering through the woods by herself. “Where’s Geralt?” he asks, and she snorts at him helpfully. 

Jaskier casts a look at the blood glistening under the leaves underfoot and knows Geralt has to be close. Roach gives an agitated whinny before she turns and trots off, and Jaskier rushes after her. 

In the end, Geralt’s not all that far away. Jaskier sees his hair before he sees anything else, and then he’s sprinting over to him with little thought for anything else. Jaskier drops to his knees beside Geralt. He looks paler than normal, even though Jaskier hadn’t known that was possible 

There’s so much blood, and he’s not moving. Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Geralt? Geralt?” he asks, his voice getting louder and more panicked. “Geralt?”

Jaskier resists the urge to shake him and jostle whatever injuries he has, but there’s bile rising in his throat, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do—

His eyes latch on to the infinitesimal rise of Geralt’s chest, and the pressure on his own suddenly lifts. He shuts his eyes for a moment. Geralt isn’t dead, and he can work with that. 

Jaskier takes a closer look at Geralt and finds there’s a chunk missing from his side. It’s still bleeding freely, and Jaskier tries to resist the urge to be sick. He works Geralt free of his armor with shaky hands, so he can take a closer look. 

Geralt moans and starts to stir, and Jaskier plants his hands on Geralt’s chest. “Just stay still; you’re going to be fine.”

“Jask?” Geralt slurs. 

“Yes, yes, it’s me, and you know I’m far too stubborn to let you die.”

“My pack—”

Jaskier could slap himself for not thinking of that. “Right. Um, your potions.” 

He whistles for Roach, and she approaches skittishly. Jaskier glances back down at Geralt, and his eyes are slipping shut. Jaskier tightens his grip on Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt! You have to stay awake. Do you hear me?”

Geralt murmurs something Jaskier doesn’t quite catch, but his eyes open wider. Geralt’s pupils are so dilated, there’s barely a ring of yellow left around the outsides. Jaskier clambers up to look through Roach’s saddlebags, and his heart clenches when Geralt’s hand comes up to clutch at him as he moves away. “I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes. 

He rustles through the saddlebag. “Fuck, Geralt, do you really need so many tiny bottles?”

Geralt gives him a weak chuckle before he hisses in pain. 

“Which one do you need?” Jaskier asks, hoping Geralt is coherent enough that he’s not about to poison himself. 

Jaskier pulls the pouch out of the saddle bag to show him the options. Geralt points to a few, and Jaskier eyes them doubtfully. He uncorks them anyway, sitting back down and settling Geralt’s head into his lap, helping him get the elixirs down, even when Geralt tries to bat his hands away. 

“Save your energy for something useful, would you?” Jaskier tuts. 

Jaskier prods at the wound in Geralt’s side, jerking his hand back when Geralt winces. “I forgot just how delicate you were, my apologies.”

Geralt barely manages a huff at that, and Jaskier furrows his brows in worry. He pulls Geralt’s shirt away from the wound, biting his lip as it pulls skin away. The wound looks a sickly green underneath all the blood, and Jaskier gasps a little. This is much worse than he thought. 

“Geralt, it’s—Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes have slipped shut, and Jaskier scrabbles at him, trying to make him wake up again, but he stays stubbornly still. The only thing giving Jaskier even a tiny glimmer of peace is that his chest is still rising and falling. 

Tears are threatening to burst to Jaskier’s eyes, but he pushes them down and takes a deep breath. Somehow, he manages to heave Geralt across Roach. Roach snorts, disgruntled, and Jaskier runs a hand over her flank, trying to soothe her. 

He looks around, but he has no idea where the mare he rode out here went. Oops. Hopefully it will wander back to his parent’s estate, but if not, well, will they even miss it?

Jaskier gathers Roach’s reins in his hand and leads her back towards town at a steady trot. 

-

When Geralt comes to, he’s sweltering. He seems to be in a tomb of blankets, and the fire is roaring in the corner of the room. The room? He’s not quite sure how he got here; he would have expected to be lying on the cold ground instead of a soft and yielding bed. There’s even less lumps than he’s accustomed to.

He groans when he tries to move, and there’s a rustling from beside him. Geralt looks over to see Jaskier jerking from his chair to fuss over him. Jaskier’s eyes are red when he finally looks up.

“You promised me you were going to be safe, you terror,” Jaskier sniffs. 

Geralt doesn’t have his wits about him enough yet to be dealing with crying bards. “Hmm.”

“Geralt, you—What was it?”

“A cockatrice. It got me with its tail; spit a little poison at me just for fun.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you in the ass.”

This makes Geralt look even grumpier, if possible. Jaskier’s glad; he much prefers that to the slack expression Geralt had had while he was sleeping, and Jaskier was terrified he wouldn’t wake up. 

Jaskier looks back at him, and Geralt can’t help himself when he reaches out to swipe away Jaskier’s tears with his thumb. “I’m fine,” he murmurs. 

Geralt tosses the covers off himself so he can see his wound. It’s wrapped rather nicely, and when Geralt pokes at it, it feels like there’s some kind of poultice under the bandages. He raises his eyebrows at Jaskier, waiting for an explanation. 

“A healer.”

Geralt’s surprised Jaskier found someone who would treat him; most people aren’t too keen on helping witchers. 

“I yelled at him until he helped you,” Jaskier admits. 

Geralt huffs a laugh. “I’m sure he was terrified.”

Jaskier finally cracks a grin. “Hey, you’re not the only scary one around here.”

Jaskier’s eyes drop to his hand, the one that was just on his face, and fuck, what was Geralt even thinking, but Jaskier reaches out and puts his hand over Geralt’s. 

“I was worried,” he says softly. And then, sharper, “Don’t you dare say  hmm .”

“Hmm.”

Geralt laughs, and there’s a warmth that settles in his chest when Jaskier does the same. 

“You’re incorrigible,” Jaskier finally says. 

There’s a lengthy silence, and when Geralt looks up, Jaskier is staring back at him.  

“You got the trophy, right?” 

“Geralt, my ears must be deceiving me. You cannot possibly be worried about that right now.”

“How else am I going to get paid? Last time I checked, you liked to eat. It needs done before something else drags the carcass away.”

Jaskier sighs and huffs and does everything short of stomping his feet before he gathers his cloak from the back of his chair. He glares at Geralt before he slams the door shut behind him. 

Geralt rubs a shaky hand down his face. 

He’s an idiot. 

-

Jaskier grumbles to himself as he makes his way back out into the chilly night. His advances are obviously unwelcome, if this is the kind of punishment Geralt is doling out to him. Well, that’s fine. Jaskier will just let him bleed out next time. 

Okay, he won’t, but that doesn’t mean he won’t consider it for a few seconds. 

Stupid emotionally repressed witchers. He can’t say he wasn’t hoping something would happen with Geralt while they were here, but he should have known better. 

Jaskier trudges all the way back to near where he found Geralt, pointedly not looking at the blood stain on the grass.  He’s fine , he reminds himself. Jaskier pokes around for a little bit until he remembers the cave he had seen earlier and some vague knowledge that cockatrices prefer them. 

He’s half expecting another to show up as he plucks some feathers and cuts off the head, for good measure. He almost gags as his knife goes roughly through the bone and sinew, but he manages to keep his supper. He looks around for any last creatures that are just waiting to murder him, but none appear. 

He sighs and makes the trek back. 

When he arrives, Geralt is sitting at the table, talking to his family, and Jaskier wonders for a moment if he should be concerned about a doppler. Nell is eating up every word Geralt says, and Jaskier hopes she has pried some good stories out of him that Jaskier can repurpose as songs later. 

For now, he swings the cockatrice head up onto the table, and silence falls. “There you go, love,” he says cheerfully. 

Geralt is looking back at him with a peculiar expression, and he rises from his chair stiffly. Jaskier rushes over to him to help, and Geralt reluctantly drapes an arm over his shoulder. Geralt leads him to the bathroom, and Jaskier makes sure to say loudly enough for the rest of his family to hear, “Well, if you needed help holding it you only had to ask.”

Geralt huffs in exasperation and shuts the door behind him. Jaskier raises his eyebrows in question. “Did you actually need help, or…” Jaskier trails off, and then Geralt’s lips are on his, warm and hungry, and anymore of Jaskier’s thoughts fly out of his brain. 

His arms automatically come up to wrap around Geralt’s waist, until he registers that this is  Geralt , and he puts a hand on his chest. “Um. Do you need your head checked out, as well? I thought it was your side, but I can go get the healer again.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt growls. 

Jaskier’s not convinced Geralt hasn’t sustained a lasting brain injury, but then Geralt is saying, “I should have done this a long time ago,” and kissing him again. 

What is Jaskier to do but kiss him back? It’d be terribly impolite not to, after all. When Geralt finally pulls away, Jaskier asks breathlessly, “What was that for?”

Geralt shrugs, considering. “You looked kind of hot carrying that cockatrice head. The trachea hanging down really got me going.”

Jaskier stares at him in disbelief for a beat before they both dissolve into laughter. 

“You’re an idiot,” Jaskier says. “You’re  my idiot.”

-

Ethbert looks across the table, where what his son is doing can only be called  terrorizing  his witcher, and harrumphs to himself. This is not exactly who he pictured Julian ending up with, to say the least. 

He wonders the etiquette for having a son in law older than he is. He supposes he’s going to have to find out. 

[buckyownsmylife]

daddy issues - chapter xii

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

We had been tucked in for the night for a long time when I felt Ransom’s body twisting and turning in bed. I was almost asleep already, so I didn’t even process it until his arm curled over my body, hand resting over my grown belly to pull me closer to him.

The proximity woke me up a bit in surprise, but then the warmth of his body started to lull me back to slumber, only for him to huff and turn around, leaving me alone once more.

“Huh? No, don’t go…” I whined, blindly reaching behind me in search of the comfort he had provided until his hand caught mine and raised it to his lips so he could kiss my palm.

“You awake?” He whispered, and something in his tone felt almost urgent, instantly wiping the sleepiness from my eyes. I sat up, rubbing them so I could completely focus, worried about the man beside me all of a sudden.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Ransom mirrored my movements, also sitting up in bed before turning his body to face mine. He stayed quiet for a while, seemingly thinking over his words before sighing.

“You don’t want to date me, that’s fine.” The sudden affirmation felt like a punch to the stomach, especially after the night we had shared. Thankfully, he wasn’t done talking and what he said next made it pretty clear where his head was at.

“Move in with me.” It was a breathy suggestion, a blurted-out invitation, but it was obvious that he had thought about this for a while. “These past few days at your parents’ house were incredible. I was able to see so much, be around for so much.”

His eyes fell to my exposed stomach - I didn’t really have any nightwear that was appropriate for my pregnancy, but all the nights we spent together in this bed, he didn’t seem to mind. “I- I want to be able to help you when you want chocolate again.” He chukled. “Please?”

It was silent in the room while I tried to come to terms with what he had asked of me. It’s not that I didn’t like it, I just hadn’t anticipated it at all. It honestly caught me by surprise, so it took me a while to be able to answer.

“Okay.” It was almost frightening, the way my heart warmed at the huge grin that split open Ransom’s face as his eyebrows shot up in surprise. But it reminded me that I had to establish some boundaries straight away.

“Really?” His difficulty to believe it was endearing, as the reasoning he used to try to get me to accept his proposition. He had every right to want to be around for more, be a more active part of the experience of getting his child into the world, as I had the right to keep some boundaries to make me feel comfortable with the entire experience.

But he really had been making the most of it during our trip. And in the time I’d allowed him to dip his feet in the waters of parenthood - or the part of parenthood that involved taking care of me while I was pregnant - he really had rose up to the challenge.

I trusted him a lot more now - enough to grant him even more space to grow and enjoy this experience alongside me.

I couldn’t stop myself from leaning over and depositing a quick kiss on his lips, staying there to brush them with mine for a while longer as I gathered the courage to talk about something I didn’t really want to - particularly after the impromptu kiss.

“Yes, really. I want your help with chocolate too, I’ve been trying to keep my desires at bay for too long,” I jokingly huffed, making an act out of rolling my eyes.

“Have you?” The question had me laughing, and his laughter soon joined mine. It really was no secret how often I had asked him to go buy food for me, and he always did so diligently, with no complaints. So to say that I’d been holding back could only really be seen as a joke.

I wasn’t talking about that though. There was a different type of craving, a specific type of hunger that I hadn’t been able to satiate before this trip, and as much as I didn’t want to voice it and make this the permanent arrangement he was hoping to get out of me, I was happy to have a way to take care of it.

There was just one little thing.

“I do have one condition, though.” That had the amusement disappearing from his eyes quickly, and he straightened out to listen to me with a serious expression I hadn’t expected Ransom Drysdale to be able to pull off when we first met.

“I- You- I’m sorry, Ransom, but I really don’t want to have to deal with you bringing girls home all the time. You can date all you want, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t want to have to share a roof with your one-night stands.” I watched him blink a few times, his hand that was holding mine suddenly freezing as he took in my words and I waited with bated breath.

I knew I was handing him the conditions to negotiate what he insisted he wanted on a silver platter, but I wasn’t ready for that. And I knew he had every right to turn the table on me and make it clear that, if I wasn’t going to give in and get in a relationship with him, I had no right to limit how and where he got involved with the women he dated - not on his own house.

But Ransom really must have grown because all I got was a firm nod - a firm, decided nod.

“I’m okay with that.”

I let out the breath I was holding, closing my eyes momentarily as I thanked the stars, the universe for this outcome. Finally allowing myself to relax again, I laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in quiet contemplation as Ransom observed me until he decided to join.

I’d never been a fan of the quiet. As a lawyer, I knew its importance, the role it played in getting people to reveal their deepest, darkest secrets - or at least their pressing concerns. So I had the ability to anticipate that, stop myself from spilling out too much and reveal yet another part of my soul to a person who could very well take it and ruin it… but I didn’t.

I remembered that night in his car, when I let him catch a glimpse of what was going through my head, how this whole situation was very much affecting me because of its unusualness. I remembered how relieved he felt at seeing through my mask, if only for a second. So I decided to, just for once, take it off entirely.

“I’m glad you asked me to move in,” I interrupted the silence that had taken over the room. My eyes kept fixated on the ceiling lamp - the same ceiling lamp I’d stared at for so many years, so many moments of teenage angst, never imagining one day I’d do the same next to the father of my child. “I... It makes me feel… protected.”

Ransom’s body rolled to the side, now fully turned to stare at me. His arms were under his head, I could feel his eyes burning my skin. “Ransom…” I breathed out, still trying to think about what I was going to say, thinking of talking myself out of it. Should I really say it? Should I really be this vulnerable in front of a guy who seemed to hate it? “… I’m terrified.”

There. I said it. And in the silence that followed, I felt incredibly comforted by the weight of his head as it fell on my chest, his arms embracing me tightly against his body.

“I’m so happy that we can be terrified together now.”

I hid my laughter on his shoulder, kissing it softly before letting my head fall back against the pillow. My nails absentmindedly drew patterns across Ransom’s back, my mind taking flight as I began to think I’d fall asleep again. Once more, his voice resonated around the room, “So, how do you think we’ll do this?”

It took me a while to understand what he meant, and I didn’t stop caressing him while I thought.

“You mean… co-parenting?” My only response was a soft hum, murmured against my skin. The edges of my lips curled up, fascinated by the idea of Ransom Drysdale anxiously starting to plan something that was still months away from becoming a problem (if it ever would).

“We’ll learn on the job,” I assured him because really, it’s the only thing I could do and say. I was just as anxious, just as inexperienced on the subject as he was. But the thought that now I could be anxious and inexperienced by his side consoled me to no end. “Right now, I’m more worried about how we’ll be as roommates.”

“I just assumed you’d treat me as your personal butler,” he joked. Once again, it was exactly what I needed to break the intensity of the moment, and his entire body began to shake as I broke down in a fit of giggles underneath him.

“You know me so well, already,” I teased, feeling him relax against me once more, lulling me to sleep alongside him and fall in a blissful dream I never wanted to wake up from.

[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 14

A Sihtric x OC story

AN: We’re coming to the close of this story. There will be one more chapter after this. I may do a few more one-shots with Cwen and Sihtric and depending on how season 5 plays out I may continue their story further. Thanks for reading everyone! Moodboard made by the wonderful @serasvictoria

Previous chapters here

My masterlist

Warnings: Canon style battle imagery, trauma response from previous abuses, I believe that is all

Word Count: 4,217

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

Cwen ran through the streets of Winchester until she reached the back entrance to the kitchens. Stopping in the doorway, she quickly scanned the room for any sign of Eadith. Cwen did not spy the fiery headed woman in the main kitchen and she was nowhere to be found in the halls most closely surrounding the kitchens either. Cwen had no idea how much time had passed since she left to bring Storria her food. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Quickly, Cwen made her way back to the kitchens, seeking out Frig.

Spying her near the stove, forming loaves for the next day's bread, she swiftly walked over to the large woman.

“Frig, do you know where Eadith is?”

“Who’s Eadith, girl? You think I know your names?” Frig was tall and wide. Cwen would have wagered she would make an intimidating opponent in a battle. She certainly commanded attention and obedience in the kitchens.

But Cwen did not let the woman’s gruff demeanour stall her search.

“She’s my friend. The redhead.”

“Oh, her. I sent her with rations for the prisoners. Come to think on it, she should probably be back by now. She left close after you did. Now wait here, girl…” but Cwen wasn’t listening as Frig called after her. She raced out of the kitchen and along the corridor towards the chapel, eyes scanning everywhere for any sign of Eadith.

When she reached the chapel, she rapped her palm on the heavy wooden door and whispered loudly through the window for Lady Aelswith before trying to slow the hammering in her chest and catch her breath.

She gasped, realizing that she still had Eardwulf’s blood staining her hands. Glancing down at herself, there were traces of his blood all over her clothes. The sight brought back the panic and Cwen felt her breathing becoming erratic once again.

“Cwen,” a voice broke through her thoughts, “Cwen, what is it?”

She shook her head and realized Lady Aelswith had made it over to the door and was trying to get her attention.

“Cwen, dear, you’re trembling. What has happened?”

Cwen stared through the bars of the window in the door for a moment before speaking, her mouth dry.

“I...I’ve killed Eardwulf,” Aelswith’s eyes snapped up to meet Cwen’s face, shocked at her admission. Cwen continued, her words coming out in rushed breaths, “He was trying to force the King’s hand to act. And… and Sigtryggr was there.. He knows I am here as a spy, but… he let me go to find Eadith.”

“The boys, Aethelstan, Sigtrygr took them. Did you see them, Cwen?” Aelswith’s voice was strained, trying to remain composed but clearly she was worried about the boys.

“I did. They were with him. He’s...,” Cwen struggled to find a way to describe her encounter with the man who was responsible for taking Winchester from the hands of Saxons. “He does not want to harm them. He told me so. I tried to keep them with me, but…,” Cwen paused and looked into Aelswith’s eyes, urging her to believe her, “I believe he truly does not want to harm them. Or any of us, if he can avoid it.”

Aelswith didn’t reply, but neither did her face hold to typical rebuke and scorn that Cwen would have expected.

Shaking her head, Cwen asked, “Eadith? Did you see Eadith? She should have brought you food, but she has not returned to the kitchen.”

“She hasn’t been here,” Lady Aelswith sighed.

Cwen felt a tingling sense of dread creep back up her fingertips and into her chest. She took a shaky breath and grasped Lady Aelswith’s hand around the bars in the window.

“I need to keep looking for her.”

“I know. Be safe, Cwen.”

Cwen turned and marched back the way she had come, sneaking past the kitchen and into the courtyard.

Thinking Eadith may have heard about the events on the ramparts, she headed back towards the Eastern gate to be met with a startling sight.

Lord Uhtred was being ushered in through the gate behind a self-satisfied looking Sigtryggr.

Cwen started forward towards her friend, but slowed to look at Sigtryggr. Silently, he gave her the slightest of nods before she sped forward to embrace Uhtred.

Speaking into Cwen’s hair, she heard Uhtred’s muffled voice, “You are alright? Let me see you.” He stepped back to take in her appearance, her blood stained clothes and hands. Uhtred took her chin in his hand and turned her so he could better look at her face, scowling at the scratches along her brow from where Eardwulf had pressed her bodily into the stone of the parapet.

Ignoring Uhtred’s hardened stare, Cwen spoke to both Sigtryggr and Uhtred in turn, “The boys? Athelstan. Are they alright?”

Before Uhtred could speak, Sigtryggr’s voice answered her concerns, firm yet gentle.

“Both children are back in their father’s embrace. Your Lord, the Dane Slayer has traded himself willingly for their release,” he folded his hands behind his back, stepped closer to speak in a lowerer tone, and added, “It would seem the gods saw fit to indulge my wish to see them unharmed.” The man stepped back now, meeting Cwen’s eye.

Uhtred watched the exchange silently, before addressing Sigtryggr.

“The boys are unharmed, but what about Cwen? Look at her face, her hands and clothes. Is this how women are to be treated in your Winchester?”

“Cwen has the heart of a survivor. Not a battle warrior perhaps, but she is strong. Aside from the scratches, the blood belongs to her enemy. A man lower than a snake,” Sigtryggr spoke with that same calm, yet commanding voice.

“That enemy was your ally,” Uhtred’s voice grew louder, etched with concern and irritation over how Cwen had been treated.

Now it was Cwen’s turn to speak, cutting off Sigtryggr's reply and trying to still the rising tension.

“I was offered care and a chance to clean up, but I refused. I needed to find Eadith.”

“And where is she?” Uhtred questioned, only then turning his studying gaze from Sigtryggr to Cwen once more.

“I do not know,” her voice was desperate and wavering, “ I was coming here to look for her. She should have brought food to Lady Aelswith, but she never made it there.”

Cwen held her fingers up to her lips, turning to scan the streets, looking for any sign of Eadith. Her breaths began to quicken once more and she turned round, wide eyed to look at Uhtred.

“I am sure she is alright, Cwen.”

“You can not know that,” Cwen cut him off.

“Excuse me, both of you,” Sigtryggr interjected, “but Uhtred must come with me. We did not allow you into the city to go on a goose hunt. You are here to meet and discuss with me.”

“Sigtryggr is right,” Uhtred agreed, cutting Cwen off before she could protest further. But turning to face Sigtryggr, his voice leaving no room for argument, “but Cwen will come with us. I will not risk another I care for being vulnerable in this city.”

“As you wish,” Sigtryggr acquiesced with a nod, then turned on his heel to walk back towards the palace, clearly expecting Uhtred and Cwen to follow him.

Alarm and panic lacing her voice, Cwen protested giving up the search for Eadith.

Uhtred took hold of her arm and began to escort her alongside him, “Winchester is large and I will not have you look in the streets alone. His lord or not, Sihtric would have my head.”

Cwen paused, gently pulling her arm back to stop Uhtred from moving further.

“My Lord, how is he?” Her words were small, anxious.

Uhtred bowed his head before looking up and taking in Cwen’s concerned expression.

“Sihtric is in agony, Cwen. The man has done nothing but fret since you left his sight, walking into the city,” Uhtred paused. His grip on her arm loosened and moved to squeeze her shoulder in comfort, “Seeing you up there has nearly broken him. He will fight every man here, Saxon or Dane, to see you back in his arms.”

Tears welled in Cwen’s eyes as she listened to Uhtred’s words. She reached her hand up to hold Uhtred’s arm on hers. Sniffling, she wiped a stray tear away.

“Come along, Dane Slayer.” Sigtryggr’s voice brought an irritated sigh from Uhtred as he and Cwen resumed their path.

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

Cwen lifted her head groggily and sat up from the bench she had been resting on.

After arriving in the throne room, Uhtred and Sigtryggr had commenced to fight, throw insults, and banter back and forth before coming to common ground. The rest of the night consisted of developing plans to help formulate negotiations and division of lands.

It would seem Sigtryggr really did wish to be a better man than his forebears. He wanted only land and a chance for his people to thrive. A chance to prosper.

At some point, a woman had brought them food and Cwen had asked for some water to wash the blood from her hands and clean up her face.

Feeling slightly less soiled, she had laid down upon a bench pushed against the side of the hall. Almost immediately, she had felt the exhaustion of the day's events wash over her. Her body and mind were fatigued, both in equal measure.

Fretful, Cwen succumbed to sleep. But her mind was not fit for restful slumber. Flashes of images raged across her dreams.

Eardwulf’s face as blood pooled out of his mouth, his eyes full of shock and anger.

Feet, her own - she could not tell - running along city streets, turning this way and that.

Her hands clinging to a dazed Aethelstan. Still flecked with dried blood, they moved to cover the child’s eyes.

And Sihtric. His eyes. Watching her, his face stoic and careworn. Those eyes that covered her like a gentle blanket, usually full of care and comfort. Now shifting as his face broke into screams, cries filled with torment and sorrow.

Slowly, Cwen felt herself relax back into wakefulness. Her heart, along with her limbs, felt heavy. Leaden. As if she had not slept at all. The images from her mind continued to play over.

Only the knocking on the great oak doors just moments before had awoken her.

Still dazed from sleep, Cwen stood to walk over to Uhtred’s side, her hands running over her face, trying to erase her dreams..

Lord Uhtred stood bent over, his fists resting against the long table scattered with maps and documents.

“I am glad you were able to rest.”

“My body betrayed me. It was not a conscious decision,” Cwen voiced, “Nor would I consider it restful.”

Uhtred turned to look at the woman, placing a comforting hand on her back.

Cwen offered him a small smile before looking down to the maps. She reached out a hand, absentmindedly tracing the length of some river.

At that moment, Sigtryggr returned with news from his guards. Edward had attacked the city and would soon breach the walls.

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

Urgently, Sigtryggr, Uhtred, and Cwen moved along the hallways of the palace and out into the courtyard, followed closely by several of Sigtryggr’s oathmen.

The city gates had already been breached and Saxon warriors were flowing into the courtyard to be met with the shield and swords of the Danes scrambling from all corners of the city to join the fray. The clamor of battle, swords and axes crashing against shields, men screaming and yelling with battle lust was deafening.

Cwen was met with Uhtred’s arm pushing her to stand behind him while he pleaded with Sigtryggr.

Frantically, Cwen scanned the crowd searching for Sihtric. Or anyone of her companions. But the scene was utter chaos. All she could make out was blurs of bodies whirling and clashing in a bloody dance.

Cwen’s attention was snapped back to the men in front of her as she heard Sigtryggr order one of his men to kill Uhtred if he should harm any Danes.

Next thing she was aware of, Cwen was thrust aside by large hands as Uhtred and Sigtryggr’s man began stalking their way through the fight towards King Edward.

Cwen righted herself and continued to search the crowd, looking for him. She watched the chaos as Sigtryggr prowled like a wolf on the steps beside her.

Her heart hammered in her chest and she felt the clash and reverberation of the fight in front of her ringing in her ears. The adrenaline and fear pulsed out along her limbs as she felt the grip of panic racing through her blood.

She winced when Sigtryggr called for the shield wall to be formed.

His cry lost amongst the din of the violence, Cwen covered her ears instinctively and watched while a horn blower signaled the shield wall and Sigtryggr called once more, his voice now louder and impassioned.

She saw as Edward raised his sword arm and called for Saxon’s to form the wall as well.

It felt like time slowed as Cwen watched the melee stop and the shields form the barrier along both sides of the fight.

A man stepped out from the Saxon line reaching towards something on the ground. It was Finan. Cwen watched as he stooped to pick up a figure. She recognized Eadith’s red hair and gasped as she watched men part for Finan to retreat carrying her limp body.

Then there he was, closing the hole after Finan, beside Osferth.

Cwen grasped onto Sigtryggr’s arm, from behind where he had stepped in front of her protectively.

He turned and observed her gaze, locked onto Sihtric.

“It is your man?” Sigtryggr questioned.

Not daring to take her eyes from him, Cwen gave the slightest nod.

“Come with me,” he instructed as he began moving down the stairs, Cwen continuing to hold onto his arm as they moved through the warriors.

“You will let us pass,” Sigtryggr commanded his men who shuffled out of their way to form a slender path.

Breaking through into the clearing between the shields, he saw her. His face was a mask of fierce battle rage, but his eyes softened when they met Cwen’s.

He took a step forward, pulled to reach her, before Osferth’s sword arm blocked his way.

Cwen still stood slightly behind Sigtryggr grasping his arm.

The man looked back to her, “Go,” he said. Cwen dragged her eyes away from Sihtric to glance at Sigtryggr. He nodded his head in the direction of the Saxons, towards Sihtric, “Go on.”

And the next instant, Cwen was rushing into Sihtric’s arms, crashing into him.

Still prepared for a fight, Sihtric stepped to the side, bringing her around himself, saying, “Behind me, Cwen. Stay behind me.”

He kept her arm in his grasp as she stood behind his right side, hands grasping at him, clinging to his armor.

Cwen felt him pull her hand up to his mouth, pressing a firm kiss against her knuckles and squeezing. His hand still gripped his axe as well and the feel of the wood crushed against her fingers was bruising. But it did not matter. Being back where she could find his grounding touch, Cwen felt her world right itself finally.

She pressed herself firmly against his back. Peering around his shoulder, she could see Edward and Aethelflaed had approached the center of the courtyard along with Uhtred. Sigtryggr and Edward stood staring at one another. The tension was thick as the leaders sized each other up.

Eventually, Edward and Aethelflaed agreed to enter the palace with Sigtryggr and begin negotiations.

Once the respective parties had shifted inside, the opposing armies slowly melted away to opposite portions of the city.

Cwen felt the tension slowly release in Sihtric’s shoulders as he lowered his shield and slid his axe into his belt.

She heard Osferth from somewhere nearby, questioning Sihtric. Cwen kept her eyes closed, hands fisted into his mail and leather, gripping anywhere she could find purchase.

“Where would Finan have taken Eadith?”

“Hild,” Sihtric replied, his voice low and husky, “likely, he took her to Hild.”

Without another word, the three moved along the streets passing other soldiers and frightened townsfolk milling about.

Sihtric’s arm never lost contact with Cwen, but his eye kept scanning and searching. Cwen imagined he was still on the watch for a fight, a threat. Or looking for Finan and Eadith. But she desperately yearned for his eyes to find her again.

After many twists and turns along wide streets, Cwen having no idea where they were leading, they stopped outside of a church.

Osferth only paused, noticing that Sihtric had stilled with Cwen.

Glancing between his two friends, Osferth’s lips twitched upwards into a small grin before he turned and continued up the steps and through the large oaken door.

Sihtric turned, taking Cwen’s arm in his hand and led her to the alley beside the church.

Once he turned the corner, he swept Cwen into his arms in a crushing embrace and lifted her off of the ground.

Cwen felt the seams of her composure that had been slowly unraveling rip apart. She threw her arms desperately around his shoulders as she buried her face against his neck. Strangled sobs overcame her and she started voicing incoherent apologies and fears.

Gently, Sihtric lowered her feet to the ground and ran his fingers soothingly through her tangled, chestnut hair, giving her the time to be broken.

Cwen pulled her face back from his body, her hands moving to rest along his jaw and bringing his forehead to rest against hers.

“It is alright, Cwen. I have you, now. I have you,” he chanted over and over.

In time, Cwen’s breathing slowed and her sobs ceased to wrack her entire body, to be replaced with still slightly shaky gasps.

She felt as Sihtric’s lips placed soft kisses on her forehead, down to her eyes, wiping away her tears.

Finally, his kiss found her lips. And she felt the world pause as they both melted into one another, his fingers tracing soothing lines where he cupped her neck.

When they pulled apart, Cwen met his eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His lips pulled into a wide grin, but she continued before he could respond, “I do. I love you, Sihtric. And I am sorry for leaving with harsh words or feelings,” but it was Sihtric’s turn to hush her with a kiss.

When he pulled back, he made sure to look into her eyes before speaking.

“Do not apologize. What you have done takes courage. There are more ways to be strong and brave than by wielding a sword or an axe. I should not have spoken as I did. I was scared for you and let it cloud my mind and my words.”

“But you were right to be frightened,” Cwen interrupted him, “Eardwulf…” Her voice quivered when speaking his name, betraying her.

“Is dead, Cwen.” Sihtric took her face in both hands. “He can no longer harm you. You have freed yourself of him, my love.”

His eyes burned into Cwen’s own with such an intensity, she dropped her face to rest on his chest, overwhelmed.

“I was so afraid, Sihtric.”

She felt as Sihtric rested his chin on top of her head before he replied.

“Cwen, I have been in more battles than I can remember, escaped death.” he placed a kiss on the top of her head before he continued, “but I have never felt fear like that before.”

He pulled her back and took her chin in his hand, tilting her face so he could brush his thumb over the scratches and bruises forming along her cheek and brow.

“I was terrified that I would lose you. But you saved yourself. And we are together now.”

Cwen smiled at him, “I used your knife and what you taught me.”

Sihtric kissed her fiercely before he remarked, “When this is over, we will find time alone where I can love you. Where I can show my woman how she is cherished.”

Cwen felt heat rise in her cheeks. “You cherish me?” She questioned, leaning her face back towards him.

“I do, my lady,” he answered with a smirk before kissing her once more and chuckling as he felt Cwen hum against him deep in her throat.

“Do you think Osferth found them?” Cwen pondered when they finally broke apart.

Sihtric laughed, “He must have or he would have come and awkwardly interrupted us.”

Sihtric took her hand, leading her back towards the entrance of the church.

“Who is Hild?” she questioned.

Sihtric answered her as they walked, “A friend. An abbess. The first time I met her, she was sawing the head off a Dane.”

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

Cwen’s mouth was still hung open in shock when they entered the church to be approached by Osferth and an older woman with dirty blonde hair, dressed in the plain robes of the clergy.

“Cwen, this is Hild, a friend.” Osferth introduced the woman who took in Cwen’s expression and appearance.

“Was Sihtric just telling you of the first time we met? Trust me, it was not as bad as you imagine. The Dane was already dead.” Hild’s smile was genuine and caring. Osferth and Sihtric both laughed good naturedly at her jest.

Still smiling, Hild brought Sihtric in for a hug, “It is good to see you, Sihtric.”

“And you, Hild. Is Finan here?”

Hild answered him, while stepping back to stand by Osferth once more, “He is. And the lady, Eadith. I have patched her up as best I could.”

Cwen interrupted, concern lacing her voice, “will she be alright? Was she badly injured?”

“Not too badly. Some bruised and maybe broken ribs, but that is all. She needs rest, but will be fine,” Hild took hold of Cwen’s hand as she spoke, giving it a comforting squeeze, “would you like to see her?”

“I…” but Cwen hesitated.

Guessing the reason for her hesitation, Osferth interrupted, “She knows about Eardwulf, Cwen. She was more concerned with your well-being than with grief over her brother.” Cwen frowned and looked down at the floor for a moment before looking back to Hild, who gave her hand another comforting squeeze and nodded her head.

“Come on then. Follow me,” she said while releasing Cwen’s hand and turning to walk back the way they had come.

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

They entered the room to find Eadith sitting up with some bandages wrapped around her torso. She was holding onto Finan for support to stand. Cwen noticed the care and concern etched in the Irish warrior’s face as he stood firm by her side.

She stopped short when Eadith looked up from the floor at their entrance. But Cwen did not have long to ponder any hard feelings Eadith might hold against her for killing her brother.

Eadith exclaimed, “Cwen, oh thank God,” as she reached out the arm not steadying herself on Finan, beckoning her friend towards her.

Cwen let out a little laugh, fighting back yet more tears as she closed the few steps between them and gingerly embraced Eadith before stepping back and taking her hand.

“You’re safe,” Finan interjected, placing a chase kiss to Cwen’s temple, never losing hold of Eadith’s waist.

“As are you,” Cwen commented nodding to Eadith, “I tried to find you after,” but the words died on her lips as she met her friend's eye.

To Cwen’s amazement, Eadith gave her a genial smile before she spoke.

“I lost the man I called my brother some time ago, Cwen. I am happy you are safe. Truly, my friend.”

Shaking her head to clear the emotions rushing to her face, Cwen took a breath before their reunion was interrupted by Hild, who cleared her throat before speaking.

“I can offer you all a bit of bread and may be able to find some cheese. It won’t be much, given the siege, but I know you must be hungry.”

Osferth replied for the group, “That would be lovely, Hild. Thank you. But we also should see if we can find out how things go with Lord Uhtred.”

The companions agreed some food would be best before Sihtric and Osferth would leave to find out how negotiations progressed.

Cwen tried to protest and go with them.

“I do not wish to be parted from you again,” she whispered as Sihtric took her aside by the arm.

“I know, Cwen. But you are exhausted. A moment ago you were almost asleep on your feet. Finan is staying to care for Eadith. You will not be alone. But you need rest.” Sihtric’s voice was low and soothing. His face close to hers and she felt the tenderness and concern in his words. “Let Hild care for your face and find you some clean clothes. I will come back to you as soon as I can.”

The idea of clean clothes and rest compelled Cwen more than she would have anticipated. But the weight of the past days events was still heavy on her and Sihtric was right, she needed the rest.

“Ok, but please don’t be away long.”

“I won’t, love. Believe me.” He kissed her softly before leaving with Osferth.

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

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[teddy06writes]

nonono I need more ANGST part 3 for out of his grasp/out of their grasp were reader comes back as a ghost like Ghostbur but remembers bad memories so she doesn’t remember Dream or George

Out of Their Grasp

{THIS IS THE NEW UPDATED VERSION BECAUSE APARENTLY THE FIRST VERSION WASN”T ANGSTY ENOUGH}

{real talk though I thought maybe I could change this to be more angsty cause I didn’t think the ghost thing would work}

requested by this anon: “hey hey I was wondering if you could do dream x George x reader fantasy/royal au (bc I just read "for his hand" and I love it so much!!) where reader and dream go to battle but only dream returns from it. and he has to tell George that reader died. the more angst the better😝💅”

and also this one: “will there be a part 2 of For His Hand? It’s so good, i loved it!”

{Technically you don’t have to read part one but I would recommend it because this one takes place in the same universe}

Dream x George x reader

trigger warnings: swearing, yelling, major character death, aGnSt

premise: war breaks out near the borders of the SMP, you and Dream are sent ahead of the royal party to the front lines in an attempt to stop any further battles until a peace can be reached when disaster strikes, leaving your partners to deal with the repercussions.

{dude I’m like manically laughing right now}

(y/n/n)- your nickname

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It was just skirmishes, here and there for the last few weeks,” Sam gestured to a few spots near the northern boarder on the map spread out across the table, before pointing to another in the center of the rest, “But then, yesterday there was a huge attack on the villages, and our military bases in this valley.”

You glanced around the room, from person to person, gauging there reactions.

George had visibly stiffened in his seat, and behind him Dream seemed equal tense.

“Have we taken any measures to fight back?” Sapnap asked impatiently.

“How bad are the damages?” George asked, ignoring him.

Eret looked down at the report they’d been given, “There seems to have been more pillaging than raiding, they were breaking into peoples house, causing general destruction and looting, when our forces attempted to stop them they began to fight. All in all 30 of ours were killed and there was an estimated 10,000 in damages.”

George frowned, as Niki spoke up, “We should pay the people reparation's and help them with any reconstruction that needs to be done.”

Many people nodded, but next to you Sapnap was still unhappy, “Are we doing anything about the invaders? We cannot just sit here and allow them to attack the people!”

“Pushing, pushing.” You muttered.

The king looked at him for a long moment, before turning to Callahan, the scribe, “Attempt to negotiate a peace. I don’t want anymore bloodshed to curse this land.”

The man beside you groaned, and you were quick to elbow him in the side and Sam ended the meeting and everyone began to file out of the room, hissing, “I don’t know how they do things where you’re from but that is no way to behave in an advisory meeting. Next time you pull that shit you won’t be allowed back to one.”

-You had taken the new coming warrior on as a sort of apprentice after he’d first arrived at the palace, and it was clear the change of pace wasn’t something he was ready for-

“They can’t just stand by! The King is a fool if he thinks a peace can be reached like this!”

You glared at him. “The King is no fool.”

“You only say that out of obligation.” Sapnap fired back.

You recoiled, burned, before crossing your arms and starting out of the room, “You may be a trained mercenary but you haven’t the faintest idea as to how to hold yourself among this crowd. It will be the death of you.”

He followed you back toward your office, listening as you continued, “King George is a good and just man, to say that he is a fool is to say the sun is square. He has wiped this kingdom clean of many years of bloodshed.

“The Kings advisors, and cabinet are kind, respectable people, you must remember to hold your tongue  unless spoken too, and never say anything brash as you have done now, lest you make a greater fool of yourself.”

He huffed, “If I must stay silent in those meetings than how can I get my point across? Sending a messege to the enemy through force may be the only way!”

“Now you sound like Tommy, just as foolhardy and headstrong as the child,” You pushed the door to your office open, “I’m sure that Technoblade agrees with you, though he knows better than to speak freely.”

“If he agrees with me than perhaps it’s the right move.”

You turned to look at him quizzically, finally saying, “A wise king does not seek out war, no matter what his knights advise.”

Sapnap turned, “Then the lot of them are fools.”

“I have told you once to never disrespect the king, I suggest you don’t do it again. This land has seen it’s share of unjust rulers, be thankful you have not come here under worse authority.”

~~ That night, when the palace grew quiet, and the sky dark, you found yourself back in Dream’s quarters, an overtired, overstressed George having wedged himself between you two and refusing to move.

You sighed as Dream ran a hand through your sleeping partners hair, “He’s anxious.”

“I mean, can you blame him? War may be on the horizon.” Dream murmured.

“I meant even now- in the time of sleep. I think Sapnap is just adding fuel to the fire.”

Dream sighed, “If he has another outburst like that-”

“He’ll be cast out,” You nodded, “I know. He just needs to be willing to learn the way things go around here. In time he will learn.”

Your boyfriend chuckled to himself, “Fucking hotshot.”

“I think you’d like him, if you were able to spend more time with him.” You smiled.

“Well someone had to go snatch him up as an apprentice!”

“Well it was him or Ranboo, and Ranboo is far too- forgetful, for this sort of thing. I’d’ve had Tubbo but he and Tommy are a package set an you took ‘em.”

“What about Purpled?”

You rolled your eyes, “He started an apprenticeship with Punz ages ago.”

“SHHhhhhhhh, ‘m tryin’ to sleep.” George muttered, burying his face in your shoulder.

In the darkness of the chamber you could barley make out Dream’s eyes sparkling as he took your hand, “Course love, course.”

~~

As the weeks continued the damages on the northern boarder only seemed to grow, the new invaders claiming three of the villages there own.

There was yet another large attack on the town that had been damaged the first time, this time a direct threat left etched on the walls, ‘You have made my people suffer, and now yours shall feel the same’

“Militia, both local and our own soldiers have taken it upon themselves to fight back, almost a hundred lived lost to each side.” The silence in the room grew deafening as Sam finished reading his report, not even Sapnap daring to speak.

“Your Majesty?” Bad hazarded, “What is our next course of action?”

George frowned, glancing around the room, “Peace is still the priority. Maybe- maybe we call a ceasefire, I could meet with there ruler-”

“No,” Dream interrupted, drawing all eyes to him, “It would be too dangerous. How do we know they can be trusted to lay down there arms?”

George shot him a look, “How do we know that we haven’t done anything to provoke them? Whatever we have done wrong we need to fix it. If we can work something out then people will be spared on both sides.”

“Shall we arrange for a ceasefire?” Eret asked.

The King nodded as Wilbur spoke up, “We could set up a meeting place, on neutral ground, possibly similar to the holy lands, so there would be no worry of a security breech.”

Dream seemed to relax at this, and then eyes were turned to you and Sapnap, representing the royal guard, “We can, but even so we should stay vigilant, perhaps send a group ahead with the runners to see too it.” You said, noting the gratitude on Dream’s face, as well as the slight annoyance on George’s.

“Well I see no one better to attend to the King’s safety than you,” Bad said, “You shall go with the party, and Technoblade with you, Sapnap can remain here to take over your day to day duties.”

The man in question quietly shot you a pleading look, at which you sighed, “With all do respect I think Sapnap could be better severing to the crown if he joined the running party.”

Bad glanced around to the others, looking for any objections before shrugging, “We can find someone else to do the work. So that’ll be you, Technoblade, Sapnap, and we can send the usual scouting party, and Sam shall go with again.”

~~

You sighed, tracing an absent pattern on George’s side, listening to Dream’s ramble about how dangerous the idea that had been decided on at the meeting was.

“Finding peace is the priority, you can’t can’t change that.” George mumbled.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous!” Dream protested.

“It’ll be fine, We’ll have a perimeter set up with guards and everything. I’ll make sure none of them can even get near him with such intent.” You yawned.

The blonde huffed, “That just makes me more worried.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Your hand blindly sought his, “I’m going to do everything in my power to keep the ceasefire from being broken.”

“I know.” Was the only quiet response you received.

The next morning found you suiting up and heading out to the stables to tack up your horse. Techno was already down there, idly chatting with Phil as he readied Carl for the journey, and out in the courtyard you could see Sapnap talking to two men.

“Good morning, (y/n)!” Phil chirped, waving your direction.

“Morning Phil.” You moved down the row, reaching out and letting Beckerson nuzzle into your palm.

After getting your horse cared for and saddled, the rest of the party had headed out of the stables as your partners entered.

George took your hand, “Don’t start any more trouble.”

“Sounds like your talking to Dream not me.” You chuckled.

“Hey!” Dream protested.

“I’m not wrong!” You teased.

George rolled his eyes, quickly pulling you in for a kiss, “Make things good for me to be out there.”

“Stay out of trouble.” Dream advised, pulling you away from George to kiss you himself.

“You underestimate me.” You smirked, grabbing Bekerson’s reigns.

Dream rolled his eyes as you started to lead the horse out of the stable, calling, “And stay safe!”

“I’ll see you in five days!” You chuckled, heading out of the stables and quickly mounting your horse, kicking at his sides to catch up with the others.

~~ The last few days had been spent anxiously waiting, and now the journey to the norther board was coming to a close.

Dream rode alongside the carriage, eyes following the strange trail of smoke on the horizon; something was wrong, he could feel it.

The quiet, almost calm of the morning was slowly being cut through by a growing noise, and then finally shattered as one of the runners sent ahead to signal their arrival came crashing through the trees looking panicked.

“What’s going on?” Punz asked.

“They attacked! They broke the ceasefire!”

Dream’s brain surged with panic as he turned to where George and his advisors were starting to climb out of the carriage asking why they had stopped, “Turn around! It isn’t safe here! Go! Punz! Tommy! Ponk! Get them out of here!”

Before he could even stop to see if they were following his orders he was rushing forward down the road, urging Spirit to go faster as the road widened into the village.

Dream was met with nothing but chaos, the royal insignia’s on the tents set up in the field were aflame, and the clashing of swords filled his ears as the royal army and the few commoners who could fought back against the pillaging people.

“About time you showed up!” Sapnap yelled from halfway across the field, “We could use some fucking help!”

“No shit!” Dream yelled back, dismounting and unsheathing his sword.

Almost immediately another person came barley towards him, throwing him into combat.

He cut his way across the field, taking down people here and there, still searching the carnage for you.

Eventually he made it to where Sapnap had just disarmed and knocked out another opponent, “Where are they?”

His eyes danced around the wreckage, “Could be anywhere, saw ‘em trying to get the townspeople out of the way.”

Dream cursed, running off the direction of the village, calling you name.

The fighting continued, the addition of the extra royal guardsmen helping turn the tide of the battle, though Dream still couldn’t locate you on the battle field.

The invaders, or what was left of there battalion began to retreat, but still Dream could find no sign of you, the now all too quiet valley erupted into noise as another skirmish broke out.

Taking off at a sprint he made it up the hill to find you locked in combat with another warrior.

You panted, throwing up you shield to block another strike from his axe before shoving forward and swing your sword at his spear wielding hand.

He wasn’t excepting this, and the spear clatter out of his hand, the shock on his face giving you enough momentum to keep pushing forward, throwing attack after attack at the man as he edged backward.

You had just managed to shove him to the ground when a cry broke your attention.

“(Y/N)!!”

You turned to see Dream, smiling, words starting to form on your lips as a spear suddenly drove through your chest.

“NO!!!!!” Dream shrieked, charging forward and quickly slashing at the mans throat before turning to where you had fallen in the grass.

“T-that one was your fault.” You mumbled as he did his best to pull your shaking body into his arms, “You-ou had t-to go distract-ing me.”

“I know,” tears flooded his eyes, “It’s gonna be okay, I’m gonna get help.”

You did your best to smile through your fear, “What would G-George say if he saw you here cuddling m- m- me without him? Huh?”

“(Y/n)....”

“Bad time for a joke I guess,” you shaky voice was disrupted by a painful cough wracking your body, “Never real-really planned on being r-r-ran through with a spear this morning.”

“It’s gonna be okay! It’s- it’s gonna be okay!” Dream desperately pushed your hair out of your face, head whipping around to where the royal soldiers were beginning to regroup, “WE- I need a medic! Please! We need a medic!”

It was the first time you’d ever heard him sound so distraught, gently you reached up to his face, “Dream- Clay, leave it alone, they won’t be able to- to do anythi-ng.”

You coughed again as he turned back to you, “Don’t say that! Don’t say that!”

“It’s just my time d-d-darling,” You gasped at the pain brought by him trying to pull you closer, “You- you gotta let go.”

“NO! You’re not gonna die! You’re not gonna leave! I won’t let you!”

“I d- don’t have your permission to d-die?” The spots floating in your vision began to grow larger, blocking out spot of his face, and the sky.

“No! You don’t! You’re not leaving! I’m not letting you!” He said desperately.

“You’ve- g-got too...”

He glared down through the valley, barking out, “I said I need a medic! Someone! Please! They need help!”

There were people hurrying up the hill now, not that you could see, as Dream continued to yell.

The spots began to grow even bigger, merging together until darkness fully overtook you and you slipped from there grasp, “I’m sorry...”

Dream tore his gaze from the approaching medical team, looking down at your now limp body, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no-”

“You can’t leave! You- your not allowed to leave us! You- you can’t- I- I didn’t give you permission to die!”

He blubbered, still trying to pull you closer to him, as if he held you tighter you wouldn’t have slipped away.

“You can’t go! I didn’t say you could go! You can’t leave! You can’t.....”

Then people were pulling you away from him, and Sapnap was pulling him up, and leading him away.

~~

“Your highness, news of the attack on the boarder has returned.”

George stopped his anxious pacing a Wilbur led in a scarily calm Technoblade and a visibly shaking Dream into the room, Sapnap still with a firm grip on his shoulder.

“What happened? Where’s (y/n)?”

Dream started to shake more at the mention of your name, and Techno stepped forward, “(y/n)- died in combat two days ago.”

George stayed silent, so he continued, “They died a hero’s death defending our kingdom.”

The king waved them away, “Out, please.”

Wilbur nodded, and quickly Sapnap and Technoblade followed him out of the room, leaving Dream to slowly move toward George, pulling him into his arms, tears coming from both men.

“It was my fault. They were fighting- an- and I distracted them.”

“You- you what?” George croaked.

“I wasn’t thinking,” He said quietly, ducking his head as George pulled away, “Th- they died in my arms George!”

“Wh- what have you done?”

Dream looked at him in shock, “What do you mean?”

“Tell me what happened.” It was a command, said in a way Dream had never heard directed at him.

“I got there- there was fighting, when the fighting died down I still couldn’t find them- then I heard another fight- on the ridge, I got up there, and It seemed like they had won, I yelled there name- and-” He broke off, barley muffling a sob.

“You all but killed them yourself.” George muttered.

“I didn’t- th- I- George.” Dream grappled for words.

“You killed them.”

“I didn’t! George I know it’s my fault, but-”

The King just shook his head, turning and silently stalking out of the room.

~~

The castle seemed to stay in mourning for weeks, the kings council having to take over as the king stayed shut up in his chambers, refusing to talk to anyone.

The King’s Knight became more and more vocal during meetings, providing insight on how to get back at the enemy, amplifying Sapnap’s voice.

Then, as plans were being finalized, Dream was met by another figure as he sat in front of your grave.

“You think this will make up for what you’ve done?” Georges voice was horse, rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in days, though still laced with the same venom as when he’d found out.

Dream nodded, remaining quiet as he traced the hilt of his blade.

“Tomorrow then?”

Again Dream nodded, looking down at the copy of the note that had been sent to the enemy:

‘Holy water cannot stop me now, a thousand armies couldn’t keep me out. I don’t want your money, I don’t want your crown, see I’ve come to burn your kingdom down’

[kendo413]

ValVarez headcanons pt 1

Here are Judy/Fem!V (or ValVarez as I have started calling them in my head) headcanons that kind of took on a narrative, and then kind of lost the plot along the way. These were the result of possibly the worst migraine of my life. I needed a distraction, so I started typing up some headcanons I thought of for the streetkid!V I was playing at the time, and then kept expanding it until I could finally fall asleep.

I will try say there are some spoilers for the game in here, and I will try to hide them under the fold or whatever. None of this is likely unique at this point, so if anything feels like it should be in your fic, have at it. Will be at least two parts after I realized just how much I had typed up during the migraine.

Something is off about this Merc. She isn't posturing, or boasting - she doesn't even seem to be wearing clothes that fit. When she speaks Judy can reluctantly admit that she does so without even a trace of guile.

The merc - V - is a BD virgin. Judy was confused about this turn, to say the least. Not many make it to her age, or at least as old as V appears to be, without at least making use of an educational BD.

Judy has never seen someone as strong as V, or at least, not someone with 'ganic limbs. Even the Animals probably haven't put as much steroid-free effort into their body as V clearly has. Judy has a lot of opportunity to admire her while V is in the test BD.

Evelyn has to convince V not to bolt from the chair the second the trial BD concludes. The merc shifts with anxious energy, looking a little green around the gills, and any doubts Judy had that V may have been lying about being a BD virgin go right out the window. She is intrigued, despite herself.

A netrunner is brought in, and Judy spends the whole of the Konpeki BD scowling at her monitors.

Not many people say "Thank you" in Night City. Somehow it fits that V, the big bad merc that she is, makes a point to say thanks despite how nauseas the BD experience has clearly made her. Maybe it was a mistake to give her that BD wreath.

Evelyn thinks she's sweet, and Judy is all too quick to remind her of her terrible judgement when it comes to people. Present company excluded of course.

Judy thinks this is all a terrible idea. Capable or not, nothing good can come from putting faith in the candid merc. Evie insists that V is an adorable murder machine regardless.

Judy was right in the end. She wasn't happy about it though. Not when Evelyn went back to Clouds a few days later.

V is back, Evelyn is missing, and they need each other right now. Judy doesn't have to like it.

It was terrifying to watch V work. Like a switch flipped and all of the restless, shifting energy she returned from wherever-the-fuck with was exchanged for focus.

V is uncommonly fast as well as strong, apparently. Her blade sings through the air with merciless precision, and her footsteps only make noise when she wants them to. V is is like a vengeful specter, and Judy is glad they're on the same side.

V enjoys her work, and seems more alive than ever leaving a trail of scav bodies behind her. She also stops to check every broken and discarded corpse along the way to make sure it isn't Evie's so that Judy doesn't have to.

After they rescue Evelyn and bring her safely to Judy's apartment, Judy realizes she can still hear the echoes of screams and gunfire left over from the rescue. She can't feel an ounce of remorse even now, hours after V sent heads and limbs flying as they hacked their way to Evelyn.

Judy is grateful to V for the care she's shown. For listening to Judy's direction in the scroller den, for saving Evelyn's interrogation for another day despite how desperate she was to find the Doll when they first made contact. For the first time, Judy feels ashamed of her snap judgement of V. Yes, her clothes never match or even fit her on any of the occasions they've interacted, and yeah, she has personally watched V pick up a discarded can of Chromanticore and finish it off, but she is also kinder than anyone Judy has met in years.

Evelyn is dead, and V is the only one she can call. V who is terrible with words but somehow knows exactly what to say to help Judy focus on the important things. She's helpful, and trying so hard to keep them both together.

V distracts her when the badges come. Tells her about meeting Jackie - how he shoved a gun in her face, then brought her home for lunch a few hours later. By the time they leave Judy isn't in cuffs, so the distraction must have helped.

Judy begins making plans. Wallowing in sadness never helped anyone in this city.

She's getting the feeling that V may have a crush on her. She also gets the feeling that V didn't like whatever she found while snooping on Maiko's comp, if the line of not-subtle-at-all questions as they leave are any indication.

They kill Woodman, and Judy doesn't feel any better. V tries her best to help, and it's the earnestness that Judy once found so off-putting that helps more than the words themselves.

V checks in on Judy in between jobs. She sends pictures from the Badlands that she thinks Judy would like to see. Judy ignores the way it bothers her to see some other woman in the background of more than a few.

Maiko makes it clear that she doesn't want the "freak merc" anywhere near this revolution. Judy is extra pleased to inform her that V is a vital, non-negotiable part of the mission.

V is dying, and Judy feels like someone pulled the rug out from under her. She thought V was being dramatic the first time she said so, but now she knows better. V falls asleep on her couch while Judy tells her about the unsuccessful line of BD blooper reels Sue had her work on a few months back.

V invites Judy to El Coyote Cojo a few days later for dinner. Rather, she invites Judy to Mama Welles's place for dinner, because V can't cook to save her life.

Mama Welles has endless stories about V and Jackie's misadventures. Judy is impressed that neither of them ended up in jail based on the amount of times they've had to pull each other out of the fire. By the end of the night, Mama Welles insists Judy call her when she needs to.

Sometimes, on a particularly bad night, Judy idly wonders how many people V has murdered that day. It seems she is always finding trouble to get into the middle of even just walking down the street. She doesn't want a number, but on very bad days it comforts her to know that if nothing else, they all at least had it coming. Maybe the world is a little bit better because V is in it, doing her thing.

V disappears without a trace for a few days. No pictures, no texts, not even a blip on the street about that sword wielding merc jumping into save some random citizens from gang violence. Judy tries not to worry but ends up going through a whole pack of cigs anyway.

Judy ends up calling Mama Welles who reassures her that V is probably just sick. V gets sick a lot with the way she eats whatever she finds but it's a habit they've not been able to break. Judy still can't reach V on the holo, but she does get an invite to dinner so she at least has company in her worry.

When V reappears, she is only slightly worse for wear and closed off about her whereabouts. Rumors start to surface about a massacre in a Pacifica church, and Judy doesn't ask.

Despite Maiko's best efforts, Clouds is liberated. Judy visits Evelyn's niche to tell her it's done, and finds V has left her cigarette case there.

Judy begins planning something new.

Judy gets a call from V, but not V. Panam on V's holo, the woman in the background of the photos. Panam is rude, but seems terrified and keeps going off on tangents about how V doesn't even have a security pin on her holo. "Doesn't she realize how dangerous it is when anyone can just access all her shit if she loses it?"

V is getting worse, and Judy feels helpless when all she can really tell Panam is to let V sleep it off. Panam thanks Judy for "being so helpful, truly appreciate the insight." If Judy weren't so sure Panam was V's output, she would admire how much "Fuck you" the feisty woman managed to inject into every syllable.

V stops by late the next day and apologizes for Panam. Judy suspects it's on Panam's advice when V not-so-subtly insists, on six separate occasions during the visit, that she and Panam are just friends.

Later, Panam calls Judy herself and apologizes. Judy makes a joke about V surrounding herself with temperamental women, which sets off teasing on Panam's followed by bickering between the nomads Judy wasn't aware could hear them chatting. She thinks she understands what V sees in Panam, now. It must feel like coming home, having to pull Panam out of the fires she creates after losing Jackie.

Judy invites V to Laguna Bend, and aside from V nearly drowning, the evening is perfect.

[wevegottogetaway]

I love you

First I love yous...do I need to say more? Anyway, please don’t hesitate to reach out for anything, whether that be comments, requests, feedback or just to have a chat! Happy reading xx

It’s been three days of utter pandemonium ripping through your brain in complete disarray. Three days of pent up stress storming through your mind as you ran like a headless chicken to try and find a handle on a situation that frankly, you didn’t give a rat’s ass about.

It all started when your boss had called you in his office, his signature tyrant-resting face on, solid frown drafting his features in a look of severity. Well, this can’t be good, you’d immediately thought once you took a hesitant seat across his desk. You’d hoped for a benign reason behind the sudden meeting, and that the scowl on his face was merely a residual of some other trouble that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

Your prayers had fallen on deaf ears however, as the summoning proved to be a twenty minutes angry diatribe about how one of your most recent client had expressed their wish to withdraw from their deal and de facto, the company. Though it hadn’t been your fault per se, your boss didn’t have any reservations about reminding you of your supposed responsibility to keep your clients sated and on the company’s leash. He’d given you three days to fix it after that. Three days to persuade the client not to pull out of the deal, or you risked some serious downgrading if not redundancy.  

You’d called Harry for support the minute you got home and spent the whole evening brainstorming the craziest ideas to him. He’d listened patiently, holding your hand on the table as you both indulged in the Thai take-out he’d picked up on his way over. That first night, you’d barely slept as you laid in his strong arms, back to his chest. Your reeling mind had still been trying to conjure up any sort of plan that would help you out of this chaos; but for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, your hopes had dwindled some.

You hadn’t known then, but Harry couldn’t find rest either as he spooned you against him. You two hadn’t been dating long, several months at best, but already your distress was unbearable to him and every bone in his body ached to do something to help you. This feeling of powerlessness was crawling out of his skin and swimming around like a shark amidst his prevalent thoughts of support, admiration and love. Because, while he’d shown you the first and conveyed the second countless times in the past, the third had yet to tumble out of his lips, despite the confession burning their flesh a bit stronger every day.

What really had had his mind reeling though, was knowing that maybe, just maybe, he had the power to make this situation go away; and for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, his hopes grew some.

Your earlier utterance of the client’s name had been ringing through his mind in faint recognition, an itch starting to fester at his fingertips. Dialing a phone number was all it could take. A couple choice words and if he played his cards right, the deal would be back on the table. He’d known interfering was arguably a bad idea, and truthfully he’d always made a point of honor not to use his connections to serve ulterior motives (his or anyone else’s), but how was he supposed to do nothing when the person that caused you trouble was in fact a friend of a friend that might reevaluate their stance if he pitched in with a bit of charm and compelling words? How was he supposed to stay idle, watch you dissolve in an anxious mess, if he wasn’t as powerless as he thought?

So he didn’t. 

He’d originally planned on keeping you in the loop, but you’d been gone by the time his forest green eyes had fluttered back to consciousness the next morning. After a quick shower, a large mug of the coffee you’d left for him before running back to work, and locking your apartment with the spare key you’d given him a couple weeks back, he’d pulled out his phone. Two minutes was all it took for his friend to pass him your client’s number and without hesitation, he’d launched the call and brought his phone to his ear.

It took a bit longer than a couple of minutes for that conversation to take effect, but eventually his words hit their target. After all, his lovely nature could pierce through the most robust walls and stubborn minds. He didn’t even have to put on the charm that much, instead drawing earnest sentiments about your impeccable skills and rambling about how there was no better person to keep their account safe in the business. He’d gnawed at his lips the whole time, desperate to pull through but still scared to fail you somehow. You’d already been let down by the client and your boss, you certainly didn’t need your boyfriend added to the list.

The call had ended with their promise to reassess and consider your undeniable abilities in the equation, yet the next day you were once again convoked to your boss’ office with a snarly bark of your name. Puzzlement washed over you as you speed-walked after him. Why was he still so resentful with you when you’d gotten the client to reenter the contract?

Another twenty minutes of intense scolding provided you with that answer. With a disdainful gaze puncturing your poise, your boss told you that while your job was no longer on the line, you’d been given a firm warning about using your boyfriend as negotiator for the company’s dealings.

How he knew when you yourself weren’t aware of the fact, you didn’t know. In retrospect, your talk with the client had been suspiciously easy for someone who’d made their will to ditch the company crystal clear. You’d merely laid out your arguments, expecting resistance and some pushing, but were only met with a squinted look and cautious acceptance. Now you know your case had already been pleaded once, by the man who was taking more and more space for himself inside the chambers of your heart.

You didn’t quite know how to feel about it; didn’t know if you should be mad or grateful. You were specifically stunned because you knew it was out of character for Harry. Your boyfriend was the most generous being you’d ever met, but humility was even more so a prevailing layer of his beautiful nature. You certainly didn’t expect it, didn’t wish for it to happen again because you were always adamant not to ever use anyone for their assets. Yet there was a tingling, a mixture of discomfort and gratefulness, sloshing in the pit of your stomach. 

This whole thing was a mind-fuckery of emotions you were too tired to process.

What you did feel though, was the pure frustration at your boss’ hypocrisy. You both knew he didn’t really care how you’d gotten the deal back, just that you did, but his intolerable disposition wouldn’t allow him to applaud your efforts and move on.

Wanting to put this all mess behind you, you bit back the retorts that you craved to force down his throat, simply nodded through his chastising charade, and leaped to your feet as soon as the dismissing words left his stupid trap.

Now that you’re making your way inside your home, your nose is hit by a waft of delicious aromas traveling from the kitchen. Your mind is still fuzzy with every trouble and startling revelation that transpired in the past three days, but as your eyes settle on your apron-clad boyfriend, you take a moment to appreciate the sight of his soft figure stirring the content of what must be a pan on the gas. His back is facing you, but you can hear the gentle humming under his breath, as he hasn’t registered your arrival yet.

After another minute of whistling, he finally twists around and his eyes almost pop out of their socket when they find your timid stance a couple feet away. "Jesus, pet, didn’t know you were home yet," he chuckles softly before taking in your somewhat moony features. Your expression is hard to pinpoint, your delicate traits blank of any emotions yet your eyes have the same sparkle that greets him every morning and every night when he pulls you for a deep kiss in his warm embrace. "Everythin’ okay, love?"

The query snaps you out of your semblance of trance, your head looking down to the floor to gather your wits before you level your gaze back to his. "Yeah it is. Umm, my boss called me in again today," your bite your lip, not knowing how to navigate the conversation. In all honesty, you just want to be done with the whole thing, would rather spend an evening full of cuddles and potentially mind-blowing sex, but you know this ought to be acknowledged.

"Oh," his brows pull together with the same confusion you’d experienced when your boss ushered you to his office. "Did he thank you for the big save?"

"Not exactly," you clear your throat bracing yourself and Harry’s face tenses at the realization about where this is going. "My job is safe and I’m still working on the account," hie loosens up in relief, but your next words have him stiffen right back up in alarm. "But I got a warning for a certain someone’s involvement in the company’s operations. Apparently, my boyfriend called the client on my behalf and forgot to clue me in…"

Your voice is calm and doesn’t carry any reproachful tone, but Harry’s pulse is suddenly speeding with dread regardless. The fact that he could have lost you your jobs is the only thing registering in his frenzied mind, as he sets the dish towel from his shoulder down on the counter and steps closer to you. His eyes are bouncing off yours in a frantic back and forth, as he gulps his remorse down. Before you can appease him with reassuring words, and show your lack of anger, he launches in an apologetic rant, enclosing both your hands between his palms.

"M’so sorry, love. I didn’t mean to put you in a bad position. Fuck I just- I kept thinkin’ I could help since your client was a friend of a friend. And, the more I thought about it, the more I kept thinking 'I can’t do nothin’. Cause I hate seein’ you in pain an’ I really want to be here fo’ you and I know this was probably the wrong way to go about it, but damn y/n, I couldn’t stand doin’ nothing, m’sorry-"

"I love you."

The words come fast but distinct, airy but firm, not an ounce of doubt laced through their utterance. An eerie silence permeate the small space surrounding them, as Harry tries to find his own words back. It took three of them to steal all of his, but in his defense they were the ones he’d been dying to hear and to deliver himself. His eyes are wide, blinking in total surprise. He’d expected irritation, disappointment perhaps, maybe even anger, but definitely not the sweetest words he’s been keeping at the forefront of his mind. "I- you do?"

You still have that wondrous look on your face, but this time a bright smile enlivens your features, "I really do." You take your hands out of his grip to hold onto his wrists and pull him closer to you. You have to look up since he towers over you but you’ve always liked that about your relationship; the way he always seems to dwarf you in his embraces, whether because of his height or his bear-paw hands. "I mean, don’t that again," you let out a soft laugh, "but I know why you did it, and I love you for it." 

Harry smiles rivals your own now, as your hands smooth up his arms to clasp at the nape of his neck, "plus, my boss is a jerk anyway so, who cares?" You pull him in a loving kiss then and his arms wrap themselves around your shoulders in a tight lock. His lips are as soft as ever between your own, and you detect the faintest taste of pepper and other exotic herbs lingering on their edge, from his cooking endeavors. He’s always been one to have a taste or two while he’s working, whether that be in the kitchen or other rooms…and regardless, you always like it when you get your share from his supple lips.

He feels slightly distracted against your mouth though, his technique not as ravishing as it usually is. and before you can wonder why, he’s pulling an inch away from your swollen lips, hurriedly whispering your tender confession back to you as though the words couldn’t be out of his mouth and into your heart fast enough, "I love you too, pet. So much." His hands are cajoling your face, thumbs drawing soothing circles across your cheeks, and his beaming smile is melting your heart in a goo of pleasure after all the strain it suffered in the past couple of days.

"Fuck, c’mere, don’t ever wanna stop kissing you," Harry mutters against your lips before diving in for a real mind-bending, soul-shaking, tantalizing kiss this time. Just like that, all your worries and sorrow evaporate into thin air, only to be replaced by an intoxicating pink loving brume. You two definitely spend the most perfect evening with lots of cuddles and endless mind-blowing lovemaking. Screw everything else.

➪ Masterlist

[donutloverxo]

The proposition

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork asked for "hmm. Gentle fluff or smut, can be both. Whatever your in the mood for babes. Long or short as you would like." Ok I know the story doesn't really fit the gif or the request but I love it so much🥺🥺

Summary - Wilford has a proposition for you and Curtis.

Warnings - smut, virgin reader, blood/cum play, dark themes, technically non con/dub con since it is coercion

Pairing - Curtis Everett x reader

Word count - 3.5k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You looked at the wooden board contemplating your next move. You had gotten somewhat better at playing, after practicing for so many years. But you still weren’t nearly as good as Wilford.

“Check” You warned and grinned as you trapped his king with your knight.

“Hm” he hummed staring off into the distance. He was really out of it throughout the game.

“Is something wrong?” You spoke casually and felt a shiver go down your spine. Suddenly on edge again.

You often forgot that you’re supposed to hate him. After everything he’s done to so many people, even if he was somewhat kind to you, he was far from a good person.

You never even knew about the state of the tail section. Not until the revolution that happened months ago. Their conditions had gotten considerably better. But they and their leader were still struggling and fighting for their rights.

“Well if you really want to know...” He paused chewing on his finger while he supported the weight of his head with his palm. “There’s Curtis. He’s clearly not happy. He’s making it difficult for me to mould him into a perfect heir.”

“Oh” You let out. The disdain Curtis held for Wilford was really obvious. You had never spoken to him but you accompanied Wilford to several of his meetings. “Maybe you can meet him in the middle? Give into his needs a bit?” You said your voice strained. You didn’t need him second guessing your loyalty.

“I’ve been more than generous with him.” He scoffed “We have to maintain equilibrium. Perfect balance.” He went on his usual lecture taking out your knight with his queen “If only you were a bit smarter... and a man I wouldn’t even need Curtis.” He stated his eyes staring at the board.

“I’m sorry.” You hung your head in shame. Ashamed that you couldn’t be enough to satisfy him, be of any use to him. And that you craved his approval in the first place.

“At the end of the day” He said finally looking at you “How devoted are you? How far would you go for me?” He asked and looked at you expectedly.

“I – I’ll do anything for you sir. You know that.” You stammered. He had yet to ask you to do any tasks for him. Expect for keeping him company. You doubted he'd ask for anything too extreme from you. Not when he had so many skilled people do the job for him.

“That’s all I needed to hear.” He said giving you a chillingly warm smile that highlighted the wrinkles around his eyes.

***

Curtis struggled to not punch a hole into a wall to let the anger bubbling inside him out. Every time Wilford called him up to the ‘sacred engine’ it was for something incredibly stupid.

Like fucking tea parties with macaroons or mini sandwiches. The pompous ass called himself ‘A man of taste. That’s how I know you’re special.’

Now Curtis would have to eat those ridiculous cookies or sliders or whatever he serves him and listen to his bullshit.

But he knew that had no right to complain. This was a small price to pay for all the work he had been doing to help HIS people.

They were given five more sections of the train. Proper food and clean water. It was acceptable. But it still wasn’t enough.

He had his own spacious room since he’s 'one of the big guys now'. He felt guilty living in it. To have clean water to shower everyday, have more than enough food to keep him full.

It had been 17 years since he was alone in a room. With his thoughts. Now he got to sleep on his plush mattress all by himself. It should feel good. But he was guilty. He wouldn’t rest until his people got the same privileges. No matter how long it takes.

Wilford agreed to his terms, and negotiated with him for hours, when he had him over a barrel. It was either that or Curtis blows up the train.

The first few weeks were rough. He felt completely hopeless and crushed. Knowing from then on that he could only trust himself in this dog eats dog world. The people he did love and care for were now all dead.

So he did what he had been doing for the past two decades. Threw himself into work and planning with a clear goal in mind.

He finally reached his destination finding Wilford waiting for him. Welcoming him with a smile.

“Why don’t you sit down for a while?” He asked when Curtis merely stood there glaring at him.

“Can we make this quick.” He snapped.

“Why do you have places to be?” Wilford laughed calling for you to come out of the corner. Where you usually stood and watched his meetings take place. He introduced you to Curtis “But you must know her by now.” He inquired raising a grey eyebrow at him.

“Yeah.” Curtis gave you a small nod glaring at you as if he was ready to cut you up then and there. You had no idea why he seemed more angry with you than he did with Wilford.

“Well you’ve been on edge. And you know men have needs...” He trailed off shrugging “You can have her as your own. You’ll need an heir soon enough.” He continued.

Leaving you completely stunned. He wanted to sell you off as if you were a breeding mare.

When your father ‘gave' you to Wilford ,just over 4 years ago, you thought you’d have to do that with him. Keep him satisfied like the prostitutes in section 5 do.

But you were surprised to find that Wilford never really cared much for sex. Not with you or anyone else. He decided to ‘keep' you even went far as to call you a pet. Someone adorably stupid he liked to teach things and impart his wisdom to.

The thought of being with Curtis in that way wasn’t repulsive, not as much as it was with Wilford, but you were sure that he’d hurt you. That he hated your guts.

“That won’t be necessary.” Curtis stated “is that all?” He said completely done with this whole situation. And needing to get out of this place that just stinks of Wilford.

“Now now what’s the rush? Is she not enough? I thought you’d like someone simpler or I would’ve called for a professional.” To which Curtis shook his head dryly laughing at the ridiculous proposition. “Do you have someone else in mind? Someone in the tail section? No one there would be healthy enough to bare a child.”

To which Curtis gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw.

He did you a once over. He could see your curvy and plump figure even through your baggy clothes. That’s what he hated about you the most. The fact that he was so attracted to you. And that you always looked so goddamn irresistible.

“I don’t need a whore.” He spit.

“How about you watch your language and your tone” Wilford frowned “She won’t be a whore. She’ll be the mother of your children. You can marry her if you want to. Not that it would mean anything.” Wilford paused letting him process his words. “I’ll tell you what. You can have any woman you want.”

“How about no?” He snarked even though he knew better.

“I wasn’t really asking.” he sighed. Irritated at just how annoyingly stubborn Curtis could be. “You do this and maybe I’ll be more open to negotiating.”

Curtis shook his head in disbelief and looked at you. You had been quiet the entire time. Just like you always are. He had never heard your voice. He would certainly remember it if he did.

“And you’re okay with this?” He asked you.

Your eyes darted back and forth between both of them. “Ye – yes” You stammered. Feeling as if you were suddenly put on the spot. You didn’t really have much of a choice.

“Does tonight sound good to you?” Wilford asked you and you gave him a small nod. “Well then you should go on and get ready sweetheart” He cooed at you softly and you followed. Looking at Curtis one last time before going back to your room.

“Is this really necessary?” Curtis asked as he watched you leave.

“You’re still in your prime. This is the best time to have a baby that’d healthy. You know what they said better late.”

Curtis stayed for a bit discussing these ‘negotiations' Wilford had promised. But he was sure of one thing. No way in hell is he fucking a front sectioner. Let alone have a kid with one. He wouldn’t be caught dead trying to bring a child in this fucked up world.

You seemed impressionable. He could easily convince you to lie.

***

Your roommate Laura helped you pick out a dress for the night. Giving you some pointers on how to please men.

“And don’t forget to remind him to pull out.” She warned. Knowing the penalty for birthing more than one baby, in most cases, is very high. “Oh yeah you wouldn’t need to do that...” She trailed off feeling sympathy for you “Then I’ve heard that you should keep his cum in you for as long as you can. Let gravity do the work.”

You zoned her out. Needing her to stop talking because you were anxious enough.

“Aren’t you nervous though? To be a mom? I’d be terrified.”

Terrified. Yeah that’s what you should be. But you felt eerily calm. “I’m taking it one day at a time. Or I’d go crazy.” You muttered out in response to her.

Your steps were slow as you made your way to Curtis. What happens if he finds you lacking? Or so repulsive that he can’t even get it up. Would Wilford forgive you. How grave would his punishment even be.

You found yourself worrying more for Curtis. Wilford still held a soft spot for you. But as much as he claimed to be smitten by Curtis, it was clear that he held a bias. Like most front sectioners did against the tail Enders.

You knocked on his door before letting yourself in. Looking around for him. His room was, as you expected, much larger than yours. It held a king bed in the middle of it, unlike your twin beds. It was much cleaner and organised as well.

Your eyes fell on an old worn out paper which held what looked like a charcoal drawing. You held it up studying it.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You jumped as you heard him growl. You turned around to see him standing just a few feet away from you, dressed only with a towel hanging low on his hips.

“Uh I’m here for... the...you know...” What the hell were you supposed to call it? Babymaking?

“We won’t be doing that. You will sit there, quietly, for a few hours and leave.” He ordered looking through his dressed for his clothes.

Even though water was abundant to him now, he wasn’t going to be wasteful with it. So he only showered in the evenings. To wash the whole day off of him.

Maybe a part of him knew you’d be here. And wanted to look presentable to him. Which, he knew, was stupid. You’d never see him that way. And he didn’t need to work to impress someone like you.

“We can’t do that.” You mumbled taking in his naked torso. His shoulders were broad and he And you were pleasantly surprised to see just how huge he was.

“Why?” He asked pulling a shirt and some pants out. He looked back at you expecting an answer.

“He – a doctor will be examining me tomorrow. They’ll probably figure it out.” You said hugging yourself to make yourself small. Averting your gaze to avoid the intensity of his eyes.

“Fine then.” He huffed. He looked through the dresser to search for the lotion that came with the room. He could probably use it as lube, get it over with. It wouldn’t be too hard for him to do it and he wasn’t really looking to hurt you either. “Lay down on the bed” He instructed handing you the bottle as you settled on top of his mattress.

He opened his mouth about to tell you to apply it between your legs but then “I’ve never done this before you know. Just thought you should know.” You confessed still unable to look him in the eye.

“What? That’s not possible.” He frowned at you “Aren’t you supposed to be Wilfords whore?” He snapped.

Which set you off. This was the second time today he had called you a whore. “You really think you have the moral high ground to call me that?” you swallowed as he looked taken aback by your words. “I don’t know what I am to Wilford. What I do know is – if we don’t do as he says we’ll have to pay.”

“I’ll take my chances.” He scoffed.

“Don’t. You’ll regret it.” You said gravely. Shedding off your clothes. There was no point in prolonging it. “Can we turn the lights off?” You asked.

“No.” He let out as he looked at your dress. Bunched up around your waist. Giving him a generous look at your thick thighs.

He loosened his towel a bit as he felt himself harden at just the thought of you naked.

He hadn’t been with a woman in decades. Too afraid to bring a child in this world. There were offers from many to suck him off. But he was never particularly interested. He took care of himself as hastily and as quietly as he could, in his bunk late at night.

Despite everything, how lucky he was right now to have the things he had, how far he had come, he had also suffered a lot. Gave up a lot. Maybe he deserved something he took just for himself.

He dropped his towel onto the floor, revealing his erection to you. He climbed on the bed and crawled to you.

You stared at his long length, how scary and angry it looked pressed hard against this taut abs. “I uh what do I do with this?” You asked looking at the lotion.

“Forget about it.” He tossed the bottle away and worked on rolling your panties down your legs.

You shivered as cold air touched your exposed core. “Oh” You gasped as you felt his fingers nudge your warm folds.

“Off with this too.” He demanded taking your dress off your head.

You quickly brought your hands up to cover your exposed chest. Shifting in your place. The reality of the situation suddenly hit you. This was really happening. It was all too quick. There wasn’t nearly enough time for you to process your emotions.

He pushed you on your back and quickly settled between your legs. Smelling a whiff of your arousal. He knew he was being hasty. If he wasn’t patient it would be over too soon. But he was so damn hard he felt as he’d bust right then and there. He rolled his hips into the mattress to relieve some of the pressure from his groins.

He groaned at the sight of your naked body above him. Your soft stomach, your breast laid flat as your chest heaved. He dove in for a taste. Pleased with just how wet you already were and at the way you squirmed. He almost let himself believe that you wanted him. That you were so aroused just for him.

But he knew better than to believe that. It was far from the truth. You were just as forced into this situation as he was. He was just trying to make the best of it.

Before he could eat you properly you lightly pushed at his head. “Wait.” Your voice scratchy. You propped yourself on your elbows so you could look at him “I don’t... want it to hurt. Please.” You pleaded.

“That depends on how much you cooperate.” He threatened and you laid back. You whimpered as he sucked your clit, wrapping his mouth around it. He pushed a finger inside you and then another. Holding a hand flat on your stomach to stop you from moving. It was different than when you played with yourself with your fingers.

You cried out loud for the whole train to hear when he rolled your bundle of nerves between his fingers while fucking you with his tongue. You came on his tongue. Feeling more intense than you had ever before.

He lapped up everything you gave him. Not wanting to waste a single drop. He trailed kisses up your nipping just under your breasts and wrapping his lips around one dark hard bud. He sucked it harshly gently pulling on your other nipple, just to get a reaction out of you. You whimpered cradling his head close to your chest.

All too soon he released your nipple and supported his weight on his forearms to look down at you.

You looked so perfectly dazed. Staring at him hazily through your hooded eyes. Your lips bruised and bleeding. Were you biting them so hard to keep, and fail, from making those singular noises?

He couldn’t help it. He knew he’d regret it the second he thought of it. But he needed to know what your mouth tasted like. He nibbled on your bottom lip for a bit before capturing your lips for a kiss.

His first one as far as he can remember. He wondered if he was your first kiss too. He tilted his head to get an angle that would allow him to explore your mouth the best. Moaning into it he brought his hands up to cradle your face. Somehow kissing your mouth felt more intimate than kissing your cunt.

He finally pulled away so you could both breathe. He took in a few deep breathes before nudging your lips with his tip, before seething himself into you.

He was deliberately slow. Drawing out the pleasure for both of you because he didn’t want to hurt you. Far from it. He wanted you to scream his name just like you were minutes before.

He groaned into your ear as he bottomed out. Giving you all the time you needed to adjust to his length. He pulled your earlobe between his teeth. Snaking a hand beneath your hips he raised them so he could thrust deeper inside you.

You mewled and moaned under him, chanting his name as if it was a prayer, as he slowly rutted into you. He wondered, if it was because of him. Or it wouldn’t really make much of a difference to you of it was some front sectioners cock instead of his.

Your walls were so snug and tight around him. He knew he wouldn’t last long. He tried to think of all the work he had to do, hell even thought of Wilford just to hold off.

But he couldn’t. Not with the way you were squeezing him. He quickly pulled out and stroked himself to completion. Ropes of his cum painted your stomach. He felt strangely possessive at that. As if he marked you as his own.

He sat up on his knees, looking down at you and stroking your thighs, he admire his work.

“What did you do?” You asked as you felt his warm spend on your stomach. It had been feeling so good for you, you were almost at the edge when he pulled out. You knew he was supposed to finish inside you.

He didn’t bother to answer you before his broad shoulders nudged the inside of your thighs to fit him. He lapped up at your cunt again. Determined to bring you off at least once more. He moaned at the tangy taste of your blood, and your juices mixed with his.

It didn’t take long for him to work up your sensitive and overworked folds and cunt. This orgasm was somehow more intense, if that was even possible.

Curtis settled beside you. Wiping his mouth off with his hand he turned off the light. He thought about asking you to go back to your room.

But then you curled up against his arm, wrapping your little hands around it. You settled your head in the crook of his neck. He would get up later to clean you both up later. Right now he just needed to commit this moment to memory. So he’d never forget it.

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Yayyy I finally wrote for Curtis! Idk if there will be a part two to this. Snowpiercer is just too dark for a soft girl like me🥺🥺

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