#errant buttock

[herobsidianheart]

Here is a one shot story from my Led Zeppelin + Dungeons and Dragons cross over series 😆😆

The Westernborne Mystery

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. According to the map Kara gave us, this is Westernborne.” Jimmy replied sharply from the depths of his hood. He spread the map out with his long, thin fingers. Bonzo and Robert nudged their horses closer to look.

“Busy township, my buttocks,” Bonzo chuckled. “They probably still throw their shit out the windows here.”

Robert looked down at the town spread out before them from the peak of Presston Hill and closed his eyes. He focused his energy to summon the image of a magnificent hawk sailing on air currents. When he opened his eyes again, they were as golden as his hair and large. Beside him, Bonzo shivered, still unaccustomed to the Golden Ones’ new abilities.

“They indeed do." he said quietly, studying the town. "And there’s no sign of any damage or the folk being scared. Everyone seems to be going about their day.” Robert blinked, his eyes were blue and normal again.

With a snort, Bonzo laughed “That crooky wizard put us on a wild goose chase!”

“There's more to this, I’m sure of it.” Jimmy replied, his tone cutting into Bonzos laughter. He steered Dubh away from the others and started down the hill towards the town.

Clopping up beside Robert and Bonzo, Jonesy was quiet for a moment before speaking, “I think this is less of a quest and more of a measure. Those robes are weighing heavy on him.”

“They would for me too if it meant no shagging for a year or more.” Robert sighed.

“We could just not tell anyone if he does.” Bonzo offered.

“Jimmy's integrity would never allow…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Without another word, the three followed quickly behind the gray robed wizard. As they neared, Bonzo led his horse beside Dubh.

“You're not a cooky wizard, just to be clear.” he said quietly.

Jimmy's gray hood turned towards him and Bonzo knew the look of thought that was inside. He'd seen it plenty of times when they were weaving a song or concept together.

“I’m not sure I’m any type of wizard.”

“‘Course you are, Jim. Don’t you doubt that at all.” Bonzo looked over his shoulder at Jonesy and Robert each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. “Your magic, it’s different than Jonesys walking up a wall or Robert becoming a bloody wolf or me swinging ‘bout an ax. It’s training and books and the words…” Bonzo waved his hands around and it brought a chuckle from inside of the hood. “And all that sort. You have the magic, Jimmy, you always have. That I know.” Bonzo smiled. "Now let's go find these geese."

“Excuse me.”

The man carrying a bushel of apples looked up at the source of the voice. A man of striking beauty smiled down at him from a top, a pure white stead. The sun shone on him so lovingly, that it was impossible to tell where the sunlight ended and his glowing curls began. “Yes?” replied the townsman coarsely blinking his eyes.

“Can you tell me where’s the best traven?” Robert asked.

“And the second best traven.” Jimmy added.

From somewhere behind him, there came the whisper, “...cranky miser…”.

The townsman snorted, “Tis only one traven here now, ‘cause the trouble. Down the road.” With that, he spat and started off in the opposite direction.

Dodging errant toss of a chamberpot and ogling townsfolk, the four hitched their horses in front of a questionable looking building. The faded wooden sign hanging on a single chain over the door marked it as the traven in question. The building itself seemed to be drunk as it appeared to lean shoveling on the building beside which appeared to have been an apothecary.

The barmaid inside nearly dropped her serving jug upon seeing the four. She was bosom and fair, with a hint of some ogre lineage as her skin had a greenish tint, sharp ears and two lower tusks. She scurried to them, smoothing her bodice as she did. “Here!” she said, pulling an old human male out of a booth. She wiped the table top with her arm and gestured at the booth.

The four slid in and she hurried away to the half hazard looking bar.

Jimmy meticulously folded down his hood and took in the traven. It smelled like old sweat, stale ale and vomit. The patrons of the traven didn’t seem any better. There were about half a dozen, all seemingly filthy, drunk with some coherent enough to stare at the interlopers openly.

“Never mind ‘em, we never get visitors, besides the trouble type.” the barmaid said. She set down four cracked and dirty mugs and poured what smelled like ale into them. She made quite a show to leave her cleavage in full view of Robert as she poured.

“What trouble do you speak of?” Jimmy asked peering questionably into his mug.

“Well, our men folk are disappearing. At least four or three a night. None returned. The search parties we send out never return either.”

“But not all the men folk.” Robert gestured to the other men in the traven.

As they spoke, Jimmy looked at anything in the traven but the barmaid. In a corner near the door, he saw three men huddled together, one raised his head and looked over at their table with a grin before returning to the conversation. Under the table, the wizard nudged Jonesy's foot with a slight toss of his head.

Over the rim of his mug, Jonesy watched as one of the men slipped out of the door.

“Do you have a stable in town?” Jonesy asked suddenly.

“No, but the smithy acts as one when we do get visitors. He might have rooms too, if you're staying.” the barmaid added with a smile at Robert.

“Bonzo, can you help with the horses?” Jonesy asked, sliding out of the booth followed by Bonzo.

“Action?Finally?” Bonzo smiled as they made their way to the door. One of the remaining trio slipped out of the traven ahead of them.

“Have I ever disappointed you?” Jonesys purred.

“As I was saying, no not all the men folk. Only the young and fit are disappearing. Our boy disappeared from the traven two nights ago and he wasn’t more than 16. Splendid boy he was too.” the barmaid sighed.

“And you mentioned search parties? How many have gone out and do they know what directions?” the wizard asked.

Taking a moment to push mousy brown hair from her face, the barmaid looked at Jimmy. She had never seen anyone so intent on studying his mug of ale. Leaning passed Robert, she peered down into his mug too, thinking maybe the wizard had done something magical inside of it.

With her bosom in his full view, Jimmy sank away.

“He’s.. he’s a little shy with the women kind.” Robert said with a forced laugh. He wedged himslef between her and the wizard with a giant grin. “But I am not.”

“Now, isn’t that funny Jonesy? I thought that was my horse and bags with it.”

The middle aged would-be thieves turned to Joensy and Bonzo, their hands literally in the bands belongings. One of the thieves raised his hands in peace but the other snatched a book and pouces from Dubh and ran off.

Bonzo and Jonsey looked at each other with a grin. “Go on, I'll get the next one.” Bonzo said, jerking his head down the road where the thief had disappeared.

“You're far too kind, Bonzo but if you insist. I shalln’t be but a moment.” Stretching his arms Jonesy nodded at Bonzo and leapt up, grabbing a hold of the beam the sign swung from.

Jonesy scampered from the beam to a window sill to another window sill. With the enchanting grace of a butterfly, Jonesy swung himself on to the roof's ledge then on to it. He moved deftly over the thatched roof coming to its peak where he squatted for a moment. Seeing his prey darting down an alley, Jonesy rose and ran down the angle of the roof. As he neared the edge, he closed his eyes and drew all his energy within him. As his foot stepped from the ledge there was a flash of silvery mist and his next step was on to the roof of the shop across the road.

With a Ha! the thief spilled the contents of the porches onto the hard packed dirt ground of the alleyway. His grin soured as he shifted through the other smaller pouches and babbles. As he took the book in his hands there was a sound of rippling cloth.

“I do believe that belongs to my friend.”

The thief stared from the strawberry blonde monk before him to the mouth of the alley behind him.

John Paul Jones shook his head, a smile spreading over his sharp features. He nodded his head at the roof overhead.

The thief flung the spell book to the ground and drew a dagger out of his belt.

“That wasn’t very nice of you.” Jonesy said with a sigh.

The thief ran at him only to be sidestepped, hip checked and found himself face first flat in the dirt, the hand holding the dagger twisted behind him.

“And that's all you know?”

“Yes, sir.”

Releasing the hand he had clamped on the thief 's shoulder, Bonzo smiled at him. “You'll be keeping your hands to yourself now, won’t you?” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, make yourself scarce.”

Without another word, the thief and his one remaining friend that had remained in the traven hurried out the door.

“That's becoming more common, now with the garda gone.” the barmaid said before sweeping away to the bar. A moment later, Jonesy entered carrying their packs.

“I secured the horses and a room for tonight. Have you gotten any information?” he asked.

“There's a legend that has happened before." Robert said.

"Nothing but vague bedtime stories and gossip. The only thing that is certain is that whatever it is, it affects males of a common age group.” Jimmy added.

"Namely, those that are willing and able." Bonzo smirked.

“Some of the women folk have attempted to follow their husbands or sons but the seemingly spell bound men lead them into the woods where they are quickly lost.”

Sitting, Jonesy asked “Any ideas then?”

“We wait til night fall, two of us shall wait at the Western entrance to town, the other the east. If any men begin to wander off, the team spotting him shall alert the other.”

“What if we begin to wonder off? What if this is truly a spell drawing men out?” Bonzo asked regarding his empty mug rudely.

“Well, I have a resistance to charms, if that is what this is.” Robert added.

Jonesy nodded, “I may be able to resist, possibly. I have yet to fully master the ability though.”

“Then Robert and Jimmy to the West and Jonesy and I to the east.” Bonzo nodded.

The barmaid returned with four bowls of meat and potatoes soup. It appeared greasy and the meat questionable.

“Right, we shall retire to the room and rest til dusk.” Jimmy said, picking out the potatoes in the soup.

At dusk, they set out with a sending stones and each a pair of darkvision goggles.

At the Eastern entrance, Bonzo and Jonesy waited in the fading light.

“It’s just like waiting to go on stage, isn’t it?” Bonzo said, leaning against the wall.

“Very, but without those two preening at the mirrors.” They laughed then a heavy silence fell.

After a few moments, Bonzo sighed. “Do you believe what the dragon said? That our time is frozen til we return?”

“I have to believe it is.” Jonesy replied softly. As he opened his mouth to speak but a chill washed over him. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his Ki, the all binding force of life he had been training to harness. The wave washed over him again, but cooler and longer.

Near him, Bonzo spoke strained “What is it?”

“You feel that Pagey?” Robert asked with a slight shiver.

Jimmy opened his mouth to speak but a crackle from the stone in Robert's pocket interrupted him.

“John’s been affected. Headed north. Following closely. Come at once.” Jonesys strained voice said.

The two sprinted down the empty and dark main road of Westernborne. There were a few other men stumbling and making their way to the Easten entrance. Jimmy stopped and studied them.

“They are charmed by some means.” he said, hurrying to catch up with Robert.

“Can we do anything?” he asked.

“Not without knowing the nature of the charm. Let's get to the others, I may have an idea.”

When they caught up to Jonesy and Bonzo just as they were about to enter the tree line of the ominous forest.

“Keep an eye on him!” Jonesy said, stopping to dig into his pack. Robert hurried forward and caught the drummer's arm allowing Bonzo to still walk but keeping a firm grip on him. A moment later, Jonesy fastened a length of rope around Bonzos waist.

“Yeah!” Robert chuckled.

They followed Bonzo deeper and deeper intot he forest. One by one, the other men began to disappear. As the last of the other men disappeared, Robert clamped onto Bonzos arm again.

“You're not going anywhere I can’t follow this time.” he said quietly.

After a time, they began to see a faint red glow among the trees. As they neared, they could see their breath before them. The trees began to glow. They grew sparse as they drew closer to the source of the light.

“Any ideas?” Robert asked, looking over to Jimmy.

“Yes,” from where he had been examining a tree, Jimmy hurried to the others. “I believe we’re dealing with a malicious fey. These trees are infested with a type of magic normal beings can't cast. Once we get to the hub of this charm, we must..” Jimmy's words were cut off by a slender abnormally long hand that wrapped around his mouth.

“You talk too much.” a shrill voice said.

Looking around, Robert realized they were surrounded and Jonesy was struggling to keep Bonzo from moving forward. Grabbing the rope, the golden one turned to the ring of creatures.

The creatures were a mix of alluring and repulsive. Their bodies ranged from pettie to well figured with every variation that one would find attractive, but their features were sharp, with gnashing teeth, slits for noses and overly large fish-like eyes.

“What is this about?”

One of the creatures closest to Robert stepped forward.

“Take them to Mother.” she said, tossing her head.

It only took them a few moments to come to a clearing. They found a horrid sight-The bodies and remains of men littered the ground, in various states of decomposition. Some showed no signs of damage while some were headless or had pieces of flesh missing. Thinking of the creature's wicked teeth, Jonesy was disgusted.

At the center, it was worse. There was a boulder, large and flat enough to sit on. Surrounding it were the heads of men on crude pikes with various coins and trinkets littering the ground below them. Around clearing bobbed floating balls of red and white lights, much like those Jimmy casted. Before the boulder stood three men, stooped on their knees, over them stood a larger creature. Her features more repulsive than the others. She seemed to be judging them and to one she held her long clawed hand over his chest, closed her eyes and after a moment, shook her head.

“No, no, no.” she hissed, before dragging her claws across his throat sending a spray of blood over her. She then turned her attention to the group. She gave no attention to the body that had crumpled to the ground behind her. “What's this? This? This?” she sang, stepping closer.

“Interloper's Mother! They followed their friend here.” the creature who had spoken up earlier replied.

Coming inches away from Robert, Mother smiled. “They still might have a use.”

“What are you and why are you killing the townsmen?” he asked, daring to meet her gaze.

Mother sautered before them. She seemed to be sizing them up and, smiling, announced; “Kill the others. We will use them.”

Two creatures ran forward and slit the throats of the two remaining townsmen. Mother held her hand over Bonzos chest and nodded, “Yes. Yes, they are perfect.” she sang. Next she moved to Jonesy who knocked away her hand. “How dare you? Dare you?”

“How dare you kill these people?” Jonesy spat back at her staring defiantly into her face. He could see in her eyes that she was quite insane.

Moving quietly close to Bonzo, Jimmy put his hand on the hilt of the dagger hidden in the voluous sleeve of his robe. “I’m sorry Bonzo.” he whispered before driving the dagger into the fleshy part of Bonzos shoulder.

The creature that spoke lunged at Jimmy, who darted out of her grasp. He took a small strip of leather from his pocket and spoke “Armis.” touching his own chest. Around him flared the faint glowing orange and red outline of dragons. Near him, Robert cupped his hands to his mouth and spoke, instantaneously, Mother shrieked, clutching her long pointy ears. In her head, she heard a symphony of hellish noise. She scrambled back away from Robert, nearly falling over the boulder and heads as she did.

“What the bloody fuck!” Bonzo snapped holding his shoulder.

Another of the creatures swiped at Jimmy but missed altogether. Yet another ran after Mother.

Jonesy ran after Mother too but as he neared her, he leapt into the air and landed a flying kick to her chest. “As a gentleman, I do not believe in striking women, but you are a vile critter which we will return to the fiery depth from which you crawled out.” He growled, landing a pouch to her jaw and another to her middle.

Screaming in terror, two of the creatures turned and fled.

One of the two who had killed the townsmen swiped at Robert who casually swatted her hand away. “We will win, I assure you. For the moment we’re allowing you the chance to return to your plane.” he said with his best smile. At that, two more creatures disappeared with a flash of red. The creature that had covered Jimmy's mouth before began to sing. Instandly, the wave of coldness washed over the four. Dropping his hands, Bonzo took a step nearer her. As he neared, another of the creatures swiped on him, leaving a wound on his neck. The one that had begun singing stopped and yelled something in their language at the one that had just struck Bonzo, who was now shaking his head.

“Ok, what the hell is going on?” he roared, feeling the neck wound.

“Kill them Bonzo.” Jimmy yelled, dodging a swipe.

More creatures appeared out of the woods, some rushing to the fight while others disappeared back to their plane. Running forward, Jimmy called out “Ignis.” while holding an unlit match in between two of his fingers. From his outstretched hand grew a sphere of fire that flew at Mother. As the flames bustered upon her, Mother crawled over the boulder with a wail. Drawing out his rapier, Robert slashed at the creature who was beginning to sing, missing but scaring the creature enough for her to snap her mouth shut. Robert moved to run at Mother but seeing this, Mother disappeared in a flash of light. Seconds later, the rest disappeared and the four were left standing there blinking in the now dark clearing.

“I ask your forgiveness for stabbing you, Bonzo.” Jimmy said, turning to him. Bonzo swung an arm around Jimmy's shoulders.

“That was some impressive work there, Wizard.” Bonzo said.

“Blighted Forest Nymphs.” the golden dragonborn said, sliding a slim book to Jonesy.

The four had returned to Bloodforged Enclave and now stood before Kara the gold dragonborn Wizard, Angelina the tabaxi Monk, and Krag the Mountain dwarf.

“Considering how stubborn and slippery those…nymphs can be, I’m very …relieved and grateful you returned.” Kara added.

“Yes, that could have ended badly. You did good boys.” Krag chuckled. “Come on, I had Deedee put on a roast for your return.” he added, knocking Robert and Bonzo on the back. As the others exited Karas office, the dragonborn gestured to her apprentice.

“Yes, Ma’am?” Jimmy asked once everyone had cleared away.

“I sensed much confusion and frustration in you before you left and now I sense a lesser degree of both. Tell me, James, are you resolute in your choice to become a Wizard?”

Folding his arms inside his sleeves, Jimmy nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. If anything I am even more set on it. The only regret in me is not having studied since childhood as the other Wizard apprentices have.”

Steepling her fingers, Kara nodded. “Yes, but James, first and most importantly, you must remember- Training and learning only go so far. You have a gift, a great one. Even with the disadvantage of age, culture and of course, being otherworldly you have excelled and flourished. Of course, I'm perfectly aware of the other source of your frustration but as I stated when you asked to be my apprentice, I have lofty standards. Other teachers do not, and no one, even I, would look any less upon you for leaving my service for theirs.” she smiled displaying rows of sharp and gleaming fangs and teeth, "So I ask you again, are you certain?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm more certain than most things I have faced in life." Jimmy replied quickly.

“You are blessed by what many, many lack." Kara mused, "You have friends who are capable and care greatly for you.”

“Yes.” Jimmy smiled.

“Yes, a band of pathwork brothers if there ever was one. Now,” with the wave of her finger Kara opened her door. “Go feast and be merry.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jimmy smiled then turned on his heel leaving Kara's office.

#led zeppelin #robert plant #jimmy page #john bonham #john paul jones #dungeons and dragons #led zeppelin fanfic

[builder051]

Whumptober 2020 day 9: run

Nat on Fire

All the usual TWs apply, but today especially gun violence and prostitution.

_____________

Nat rarely gets in over her head.  Occasionally, though, her missions begin to go very wrong.  

The target she’s stalking fails to pick her up at the hotel bar.  He goes for the Latina instead, with the soft black curls falling around her shoulders and a glistening gold dress that barely falls past her full, round buttocks.  Nat huffs as she watches them retreat up to his room, then orders herself a shot of vodka.

She’d been planning to use the silk ties in his suitcase to lash him to the bed frame, then interrogate him with her gun under his chin, but now the idea’s a bust.  All Nat really needs is the memory stick inside his briefcase, though it would be nice to collect the extra intel while he pleads for mercy.  And maybe to leave a bullet in his head, depending on what he tells.

Nat gets up from the bar, ignoring the businessman who tries to grab her arm, and slips out onto the veranda.  It’s chilly, so on one’s taking cocktails outside tonight.  Nat touches the gun tucked away in her thigh holster, then takes a breath, and moves on with her new plan.

She leaves her heels behind a potted palm tree, then stands on the veranda’s railing, the strap of her handbag clasped between her teeth.  Nat bends her knees and jumps, easily taking hold of the bottom bar of the balcony above and swinging herself up, letting go briefly and reestablishing her grip on the top bar instead.  Lithe as a a gymnast, she rolls forward and lands catlike on the balcony proper.  

Nat repeats the maneuver six times, five up and one over, till she reaches her destination.  The target and his choice from the bar have closed the curtains over their balcony door, but they’ve failed to completely shut the glass over the screen.  Once Nat’s close enough, she can hear the quiet moans that must mean their transaction is in progress.

After wrapping the strap of her bag around her wrist and pulling out and cocking her weapon, Nat silently slips two fingers in the gap of the balcony door.  She shoves, praying to no one that it’ll move silently.  It doesn’t, but the room is a suite, and the couple seems too distracted to notice the errant noise.

Once inside, Nat glances around.  The area she’s entered is something of a living room, with a bathroom off to one side, and the occupied bedroom off to the other.  If she had any luck, the briefcase would be left out for her to collect, unseen, then slip back out and leave the way she came.  That would be a decent outcome.  Not ideal by any means, but a success nonetheless.

It turns out that luck is not on Nat’s side, though.  The briefcase is nowhere to be seen.  It must be in the bedroom, still in the target’s line of sight, even as he’s getting fucked.  Nat has to give him a little credit where credit is due.  Not all her targets are complete idiots.

Nat takes a breath, then moves toward the bedroom door.  It’s halfway open, for those inside can’t possibly be expecting visitors.  Nat gives herself no time to hesitate.  She silently pushes the door the rest of the way open, keeping her weapon pointed straight out in front of her.  

The couple in the bed is entwined face-to-face, so they both look up in shock when Nat steps out of the shadows.  

“Hand it over, or you’re dead,” she says tonelessly.  There’s no need to elaborate.  He knows what she’s talking about.  He’s HYDRA.  He has to.

“Mm.”  The man grunts as the woman shifts beside him, effectively unsheathing him beneath the blankets.  “No.”

Nat doesn’t care much who he’s addressing.  “Ok.”  She lines up the sight on her weapon with the center of his forehead.  Then she addresses the woman.  “Don’t scream.” And releases the shot.

The target falls back against the pillows, eyes blank and open.  The woman jars beside him, looks at Nat, then opens her mouth.  “Fire!” she yells.  “Fire!”

So Nat does.

The woman’s hair falls across the pillow, now sticky with a spray of blood.  Nat would have let her go, just to keep the collateral damage off her mission report.  But what’s done is done, and now Nat has to wash her hands of it.

She rifles through the briefcase until she finds the memory stick, then stows it in her purse.  Nat heads to the bathroom, where she leaves a deposit of vodka and bile in the toilet, then examines her reflection in the mirror for any evidence of blood spatter.  There is none, though Nat’s pale and sallow-looking, so she borrows the deep mauve lipstick the woman must’ve left on the countertop and refreshes her face.

Then Nat holsters her weapon, jams her feet into the woman’s slightly too small shoes, and leaves the room through the front door.  It may be throwing caution to the wind, but tonight it’s what she needs.  Tonight it’s what she deserves.  Tonight she’ll take the walk of shame.  And once she gets outside, she’ll run.

#whumptober #whumptober 2020 #day 9 #run #marvel #mcu #fanfic #fanfiction #mission fic #sickfic #nat on fire #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #Black Widow #hurt no comfort #whump #tw gun violence #tw prostitution #tw sex #emeto #emetophilia #illumivomi #tw alcohol

[kickingitwithkirk]

Beyond Seduction: pt II

Pairing: Artist!Sam Winchester x Isobella Tennant

Warnings: cursing, flirting, touching, sexual innuendos, low self esteem, domineering mother

WC:2508

A/N: So in this part Isobella implements the next step in her plan and the slow burn starts building between Sam and her.

Part I

Mobile masterlist

*no beta, all mistakes are mine

***

The new boy had scurried off the fetch more coal as the door knocker sounded. Sam opened it and was stunned to see who was standing there.

“Are you still interested in painting me?”

Sam blinked a few times thinking he was imagining her standing there but no, she hadn’t disappeared. “Did Crowley seek you out to jolly me from the doldrums?” He chided her as he leisurely leaned against the door jam.

Izzy stood up ramrod straight, pushing her shoulders back and jutted out her jaw, “Who’s Crowley? Obviously, you were not serious, I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She tursley replies, marching back down his walkway before he knew it.

“Wait!” Sam called out louder than intended, making her pause as he rushed out the door barefoot wincing from the cold and stopped in front of her, “I’m sorry, you took me by surprise, I was beginning to think I had imagined you.” She raised an eyebrow at that remark.

“Perhaps you should seek help from Doktor Freud,” It was Sam’s turn to raise an eyebrow, surprised she knew about the famous psychoanalyst, “if all you can imagine is someone who looks like me.” He was set back at the disparaging comment about herself.

“How about we discuss it inside before my neighbors think I’m even madder than they already believe.” He glances down drawing her attention to his inappropriate outdoor attire.

“Oh hell, how are you not freezing?”

“Actually, I am but I wasn’t gonna let you disappear again.” She lets out a little huff before proceeding him across the threshold into his brightly lit home.

All the gas lights are turned up as evening sets in, illuminating the area almost as brightly as daytime. Izzy lingers in the entryway looking around at the sumptuous if eclectic furnishings enhanced by the lighter colored walls.

Sam quietly observers her. The coat is way too big, swallowing her frame, gloves are almost worn out and the wool wrapper is hiding most of her head.

She stops, turned in profile in front of a statue of Anubis, running a gloved finger over the engravings along its base. Sam can clearly see the curve of cheekbones and the strong cut of her jaw. Sensing him watching, she turns to face him full on.

Sam steps closer as his artist's eyes continue cataloguing her features. A small smile plays on his lips at an errant smudge of soot on a cheek, the cinnamon freckles dusted across her face standing out against her creamy skin, even her full lips possess them. The nondescript nose is the same.

He remembers her being well above the normal height of most women, realizing it’s not from the heels of her indecently revealed boots under that god awful orange dress, it’s all her.

He moves scant inches in front of her, forcing her to tip her head back to continue making eye contact with him.

Sam’s stomach free falls in disbelief at their color, even her long lashes are exactly like Dean’s.

Were like Dean’s...Sam mentally having to remind himself his beloved older brother has been gone for nearly sixteen years.

“Fuck, your very tall!” She blurts out, snapping him from his dark musings.

“So are you and a lady does not use such language.” Sam gently admonishes, making her snort in a very unladylike manner, “Then you haven’t spent much time around real ladies if you believe they don’t curse.”

Sam chuckles knowing all too well those real ladies. Lady De Burgh did erotic things with him that would have even the lowest prostitute blushing. “You are very free with your opinions.”

She shrugged, “I prefer to be truthful than a sycophant like most of the queen's court.”

“Touché. Now that we are done exchanging the pleasantries,” Sam reached for the top button of the overcoat she stiffened, “I am not a whore even if my employer has cast me off.”

Sam lightly traced the button with his index finger, “He cast you off because of what happened that night?” His voice took a hard edge at how she had been treated by the Duke.

She bit her lower lip looking down, “None of that,” Sam touched her lip gently pulling it free and rubbed his thumb across it, enjoying its plumpness, “I’d rather you didn’t damage yourself and you’ve done nothing wrong to warrant dismissal, even if he has had his fill of you.”

It had always elicited anger in him at how the aristocracy thought they were above reproach for the way they treated those in their employment. Too many times he had seen women dismissed when the lord of the manor was done with them, moving on to the next young chit.

She looked up at him, “I know what is expected of a model...” blushing, she was unable to finish.

“I have never asked any woman to give more than she’s willing. I won’t deny I want you to warm my bed,” her eyes widened as Sam slowly licked his pink lips suggestively, distracting her as he unbuttoned the coat and moving behind her, slips it off, dropping it onto a nearby chair, and lowered his voice saying, “but only because it’s what you want too.”

Sam tipped his head down a bit, close enough she could feel him breathing against her cheek, the heat of him radiating on her back barely a hands width away, making her tremble, getting a sense of how imposing he really is as he takes the end of her scarf and untwined it to reveal her messy, barely held up by a few pins, hair. He gives into temptation and removed them.

Her hair was even more glorious than he remembered, luxuriously thick waves, kinked from the damp weather, tumbled past her waist, below her buttocks, brushing her thighs in a fiery mixture of reds and golds.

Sam walked in front of her watching her shiver, delighted he was already having an affect on her. “You’ve caught a chill. Let me show you to your room where you can freshen up.”

Sam lead her up three flights of stairs to the servants quarters in the attic. “You have the floor to yourself. Mrs. Mills has her own house, the maid lives with an aunt, the new boy is in the carriage house and of course Crowley is in the basement,” Izzy squinted at the amused way he said it, “the butlers quarters.”

“The WC is across the hall.” Sam remarks opening the door for Izzy to enter into the cupboard sized room typical for a governess and leans against the jam crossing his arms.

Upon the washstand sat a chipped basin and pitcher, the dresser had a fine layer of dust on it but the floor was recently swept, the linens laying on the narrow bed appear freshly laundered.

“The stove draws but we don’t skimp on coal, not that I’d expect you to light your own fire unless you want to.” Sam dropped a hand to rest on his thigh emphasizing his actual meaning. “I missed lunch, if you’re hungry, join me in the Blue room in a half hour.”

“You want me to sup with you?” Izzy asked confusedly, assuming she would be taking her meals with his other servants.

“Of course, even though I’m employing you, I prefer my models to dine with me, as would any guest would in my home. I’m afraid it will be whatever Crowley comes up with, Mrs. Mills won’t be back till Monday. If you prefer, I can have something sent up.”

Izzy was about to answer when her stomach rumbled loudly in the quiet quarters making Sam laugh, “I’m guessing you’ll join me?” She nodded in response. “Good, I’ll see you shortly Izzy Morgan.” Sam's eyes raked over her one more time before closing the door. Izzy sat in the bed shaking but not from the cool room.

Whether it was from her adrenaline tapering off or the sheer arousal Sam made her feel she wasn’t sure of. One thing she did know, one way or another, she wouldn’t leave his home an unsullied woman.

Dinner turned out to be sausage, rewarmed biscuits and a gravy that looked strange but was tasty. Sam lounged in his chair watching Izzy eat like a well mannered lady, she obviously had picked that up from being in service, but cleaned her plate like a dock worker. He had to add being a pinch penny to the Duke's growing list of faults when it came to his staff, judging by the way the awful orange dress was to short and hung loosely on her frame.

“I can get Crowley to fix you something else,” a confused expression crossed Izzy features wondering why he said that after she had already finished her dinner, “I noticed you cleared your plate.”

Oh.

Izzy felt her stomach clench so hard it hurt, once again hearing her mother’s voice running through her head about her unladylike appetite, eating everything in front of her as if she was some common field hand instead of a titled lady.

Lavinia Tennant never missed an opportunity to chastise her unladylike daughter.

A true lady eats like a bird, only a few tiny bits of each course out of politeness. No gentlemen would ever want a wife who eats more than him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eat this much, I won’t do it again.” Izzy automatically apologized using the tone that always placates her mother, staring at the table.

Sam sat up in surprise watching Izzy rapidly blinking, regaining control of herself realizing he had unwittingly triggered something in her. What had happened to her ? “I didn’t mean to imply you ate too much,” he reached over placing a finger under her chin and gently lifted up trying to get her to look at him, “I thought perhaps you were still hungry and would like something else. I’m not chastising you.”

Izzy finally looked up and Sam was saddened by the expression he found.

“In my home no one goes without what they need, do not be afraid to ask. And you’re welcome to raid my kitchen anytime, day or night. Do you understand me Izzy?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, and it’s Sam. And do not think it has slipped my notice that you brought nothing, not even a toothbrush. I keep a few clothes on hand for my models but I doubt they’ll fit. If you can survive till Monday, I’ll take you to a dressmaker I know for something that’s not...this.” Sam finished gesturing the dress making him develop a hatred for the color orange.

“I feel like an orange nightmare.” Izzy comments, sounding more like herself.

She was intriguing him more and more. He knew she was made of sterner stuff but wondered what had happened to create the dichotomy he just witnessed.

“If you’re not too tired I want to get you in my studio and do some preliminary sketches tonight.”

***

Izzy wandered around the large room with high ceilings covered in tin refracting the lighting from the towering candelabras Sam lit. He didn’t use the gas lighting in here, something about the way the light cast something or another. She shivered slightly wondering why the room was cooler than the rest of the house.

As Sam pulled out a sketch pad and charcoal from a cabinet watching her moving in the periphery, examining everything with the same curiosity she had shown earlier stopping in front of a small copy of Venus and Cupid with a Saytar. “Did you do this?”

“Yes,” Sam said as he sat down on the stool he had placed near the raised platform covered in pillows, “it was the only one I have left from Italy. The Master would toss all of our works in the fire when he had to much to drink”

“You traveled quite a bit in your studies?”

“I was lucky that I had a chance to study with several Masters around Europe.”

“I’ve only been to Scotland once. Weather was dreadful but I wouldn't have traded it for a month of sunny days.” Izzy moved over to the platform and stood in front of it, “So how do you want me?”

Sam swallowed feeling himself becoming aroused at the innocent question as several ideas ran through his mind. “Please sit, I want to do a few preliminary sketches, familiarize myself with your features.” He watched as she stepped up and sat cross legged on the pillows keeping the ramrod straight posture like a duchess, something ladies were trained to do from childhood.

After about an hour she was wiggling around more than a professional model, “Can you sit still for more than a minute?” Sam huffed out ripping off another sheet, adding it to the growing pile around his feet. “Let's take a break.” Izzy stood up and arched her back stretching that awful dress taught over her revealing some interesting curves under its bagginess.

“That dress has gotten on my last nerve,” Sam barked out and pulled his shirt off handing it to her, “put this on.”

Izzy froze staring at him. She had seen men’s bare chests before, all her brothers weren't the most modest, but their figures were nothing compared to Sam’s.

He possessed musculature that could have been used for an anatomy manual, long chestnut hair brushed his broad shoulders encased in sun kissed golden skin, random beauty marks dotted his torso, a light smattering of hair sat between his nipples, toned stomach accented by the deep v of his hips.

Izzy already thought he was extremely attractive but after seeing Sam like this, he was breathtakingly beautiful.

Reluctantly taking the shirt she moved behind the carved screen participating a corner and unbuttoned her dress with shaking fingers. “Don’t forget to remove your chemise too.” Sam said standing directly on the other side.

“I know that Sam.” Izzy irritably tossed her dress over the screen hearing Sam curse after it landed on his head making her giggle.

She peeked around the screen at the sound of the candelabras being moved behind the platform. “I need to see you in a different lighting angle.” Sam tells her before perching on the stool again.

“Whenever your ready.”

Izzy feels her breathing becoming rapid as her nerves take over. She’s never been this undressed in front of any man before, not even Greyson and Sam Winchester was definitely not just any man.

“I know your nervous but I will only look at you as an artist and their subject. I won’t do anything untoward you unless you want it too.” Sam emphasizes again.

Izzy took a deep breath and came around the screen, walked to the platform and stepped on it.

“Don’t sit yet, move to the center in front of me please.” She moved to the designated spot.

“Turn around slowly,”

Sam felt his breath catch as the lighting behind her turned his white shirt translucent and he could see her figure.

Forevers: @donnaintx

#artist!sam winchester x isobella tennant #romance #sam winchester x ofc #slow burn #sam winchester fanfiction #victorian era #artist!sam winchester #sam winchester #sam winchester au

[tikoy]

Kinktober Day 8

Day 8: Bukkake

Series: The Arcana game

Nadia, Asra, Julian, and unnamed gender-neutral apprentice

Second person POV

Warnings: Slight sexual dominance, swearing, spanking

Rating: Explicit

--

The rose wine had you giddy and warm. Everything felt wonderful and fragrant. You nuzzled against Nadia as she lay with you in bed, breathing in the scented oils she applied nightly. She groaned and tried to roll over away from you. You chased after her, peppering her cheeks with kisses. She trembled. Warm hands fondled your body, easing you out of your clothes. You captured Nadia’s lips with yours, tasting and savoring her. Your hands drifted down, tugging away at her dress clasps, eager to leave her bare as she did you. Her skin was flushed, a beautiful dusky rose, immaculate. Before you could descend however, a sharp sting bloomed behind you. Hissing, you turned to see Asra and Julian smirking down at both of you. Neither of them even bothered pulling their hand away from your stinging buttocks.

“Dear sweet apprentice,” Asra cooed, “what have I told you about sharing?”

You pouted prettily at both of them. “But Nadi looks so good~ And both of you were taking too long in the baths.”

Julian chuckled and pulled you up and away from Nadia. He grabbed hold of your sore bottom, fondling it gently.

“Sounds like you need a reminder of the importance of patience, dear,” he teased, squeezing slightly at the tender flesh. “You can’t always expect us to play nice when you go ahead and leave us behind~”

He turned to Asra. “Ten should do the trick, no?”

“Hmm. I say fifteen. Repeat offenders shouldn’t get off easily,” came Asra’s reply.

You winced and glanced over at him. His smirk was still light, but his eyes were determined. No amount of begging or pouting would get you out of this one this time. Julian then led you over to a corner of the room and sat down on a wooden chair. Without prompt, you lay yourself across his legs, squirming only slightly. He hadn’t done anything yet but you were already feeling heady. As you waited, you watched Asra and Nadia on the bed. Asra had already taken Nadia’s nightgown off. He kissed across her neck while his hands wandered. She moaned beautifully as he squeezed her breasts. You felt your mouth start to water. Julian gently rubbed at your buttocks.

“They look good, don’t they?”

“Y-yeah… Nadi looks so pretty…”

“Makes you want to go over there and join, doesn’t it?”

“Ye- AHH OWWW!”

You squealed and shuddered. Your buttocks tingled. The spank was hardly painful but the shock of it nearly sent you in tears. You shook, barely able to balance yourself on his legs. On the bed, the pair glanced at both of you. Nadia looked worried while Asra merely looked amused. Warmth bloomed in your cheeks under their gaze.

“Does the dear apprentice need a lesson in counting too?” Julian crooned. “We can take it up to twenty if need be~”

“N-No! I can count, please.”

“Start counting properly then, dear. We’re starting over.”

Another spank landed, slightly harder than the one before. You wheezed. “ONE!”

As the spanks continued to rain down, you felt even more light-headed and relaxed. You still continued to count each blow, but your mind focused on the two on the bed. Nadia shivered and shook deliciously as Asra pleasured her. You drank in each moan, each quiver, each sigh. She trembled whenever your gazes met. She reached out and mouthed your name before she was lost in pleasure once more. The two of them finished long before your punishment ended. With nothing else to watch, nothing else to distract you, your mind started to blank out. You felt utterly boneless, feeling more and more relaxed with each blow. At the end of it, you felt so weak that Julian had to partially lift you to shift you off. Your bottom was sorer than ever before but you barely processed it. Julian lifted your chin up to make you look at him.

“Ah dear, why do you look so fucked out already? We’ve barely done anything yet.”

He licked his lips and shifted his legs. His arousal was peeking through the folds of his robe. Angry and swollen, it stood out against the pearly white fabric. One hand grabbed hold of his penis and gave a few languid strokes. You groaned. The sight of it tantalizing. He guided you closer to his penis and pressed it flush against your lips. He let out a slow exhale and idly rubbed it against you. You gave it a long lick before engulfing it in your mouth. Both of you groaned at the sensation. The tip hit the back of your throat deliciously. You stroked whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth with your hand. You set a slow pace but Julian was impatient. After the first few strokes, he started bucking against your mouth.

“Ahh~ your mouth feels so good. So warm and soft,” he hissed. “You love the taste of my cock, don’t you dear?”

You moaned. The lack of air and his dirty words nearly tipped you over the edge. Your arousal prickled and burned between your legs. Desperate for some relief, you let your idle hand drift down to rub and stroke at your own arousal. As he started to fuck your mouth even faster, you tried to match his pace. However, your hand was tugged away. You looked up at Asra, smiling down at you as he wrapped your hand around his dick.

“Naughty, naughty,” he chided. “You’re still being punished.”

His dick was still slick with juices, smelling both of his and Nadia’s arousal. He pushed and pulled, encouraging you to stroke him faster.

“Good, good. Ah, Julian, don’t you think they make such a good cocksucker?” he teased. He reached out and tucked an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Such a pretty little hole for us to stuff our cocks into.”

Julian hissed and started to buck even faster. You blinked back tears and tried your best to keep from gagging. You could feel him even further down your throat. Even through all of this, Asra didn’t relent.

“Such an eager little dear. So hungry for our cum. If you beg properly, we’ll even paint you up all pretty in white.”

“Is that true?” huffed Julian. “Our dear little apprentice is going to beg us to paint them up?”

He pulled away suddenly from your mouth and tipped your chin up again. He looked near delirious in his arousal. His hand continued to stroke himself.

Your jaw ached. Your throat was sore. Your eyes watered. And your arousal still burned unsatisfied. Still you managed a weak smile and nodded.

“Y-Yes,” you rasped. “Please cover me up with your hot cum.” You bit your lower lip and panted. “I need it, please.”

Julian all but howled, stroking himself feverishly towards completion. Thick ropes of cum landed on you, coating your face and hair. You shuddered. The sight of his desperation tingled you to your core. Asra meanwhile tugged you closer after Julian finished. He pushed your hand away and started stroking himself. He pressed a thumb into your mouth, a wordless command to suck. You obeyed, eagerly sucking and licking, all the while gazing straight into his eyes. He started to shudder and buck.

“C-come closer, dear” he ordered.

His release was less explosive than Julian’s. He pressed his dick against your neck. Globs of cum spurted in bursts, decorating your neck in large beads. He pressed a brief kiss against your forehead, the sweetest he’d been tonight.

“What do you think Nadi? Don’t you think pearls look good on them?” Asra asked.

You leaned against Julian’s legs in order to turn back. Nadia stood there in all her glory, more clothed than all of you combined. She bent down to inspect you, her eyes full of tenderness.

“Yes, but they look lovely in everything. It still isn’t enough to convince me yet, Asra,” she concluded. “How are you feeling, dear?”

You smiled up at her. “Tired and sticky and sore.”

She smiled back and helped you stand up. “I understand. Let’s get you back into the baths to get you cleaned up before bed.”

Amusement vanished and your smile dropped. “W-wait! But I haven’t even cum a single time yet!”

But Nadia merely laughed. “Ah, but you’re still being punished. If you’re good, maybe we’ll let you cum tomorrow.”

--

I say this still counts as a bukkake. *wheezes*

Not entirely happy with this, but well it’s something.

#Kinktober 2020 #Kinktober 2020 Day 8 #The Arcana #The arcana game #Asra Alnazar #Julian Devorak #Nadia Satrinava #Non SFW #tikoy writes

[eschergirls]

When you gotta go you gotta go. >_>

I feel like this picture has one really obvious caption, but I'm curious what others come up with.

So let's do a caption contest!  What's she doing/saying?  What's happening?  Be creative!

Captions can be submitted here through reblog or reply, on the main site using Disqus, or through email at [email protected]!

Funniest/most creative captions win! I'll pick the winners in 2 weeks.  Winners can choose a prize if they want (from extra Steam codes I've collected over the years) but you don't have to claim a prize if you just want to participate for fun!

Good luck everybody!

(Cover of Lady Death: Treacherous Infamy, Coffin Comics, submitted by anonymous)

#Lady Death #gratuitous butts #coffin comics #errant buttock #detached legs #gratuitous crotch #comics #comic books #odd poses #caption contest

[ravenryblack]

Sleep, Perchance...

A one-off fic - mostly CAOS canon Spellwood set after the birth of Judas with additional character and Faustus having not a very nice time. (Because because he’s a massive shit-lark) Liberties taken with his back story because basically nothing is said in the show.

Nothing explicit - mainly because it’s a very good writer indeed who can do well-written squealchy. 

Whilst the large, wrought-iron bath filled he undressed, hanging up his frock coat and trousers, hung up his tie on the tie rack, placed cufflinks into the tray, boots onto the shoe rack. His white undershirt was spotted with blood; he balled it up and took it into the bathroom, where he threw it into the laundry hamper. He added his underwear to the hamper and then lowered himself into the warm water, wincing as it reached the top of his back. Allowing his eyes to close he basked in the pleasure of the second-hand pain stretching out his legs beside the taps, extending his toes, becoming hard as he relived the afternoon with Zelda.

The sound of the baby crying cut through his reverie and he opened his eyes, moment ruined. And now Constance entered his thoughts. The child could have been conceived in this bath; she had liked to bathe with him, to wash his skin and his hair. Especially his hair, like it was her little secret that he had a thick mass of really curly hair, which he despised. He had indulged her in that, let her run her hands through it. She had never much indulged his excesses, she had wanted long, slow, gentle love making, constant reassurances that he cared only for her.  

He had often wondered why she had even married him, he had never hidden who and what he was, she could surely not have hoped to change him. Yet she had railed against him at every turn. He had married her, that should have been enough. Why hadn’t it been enough? For all his many dalliances he went home to her, she was the woman who bore his child.

He dunked his head under the water, wiping his hands through his hair and down his face as he reemerged. His son was still crying in the other room, louder and more shrill now. Pulling himself up and out of the bath he walked through his room and opened the door, ‘Arabella,’ he yelled, then walked down the corridor, shedding water, as he barged into the nursery.

Arabella was by the window, holding the boy who was wailing, ‘What are you doing woman?’ he demanded, ‘He sounds distressed.’

‘I’ve fed him, changed him, he’s warm.’ The young woman was rocking back and forth, trying to soothe the shrieking boy, her eyes wide at the sight of the priest, dripping wet, naked and angry. This was a prestigious role to have taken but she was frightened of Blackwood. He was demanding and impatient, wanting only the best for his son and not certain she was supplying it.

‘Give him to me,’ he demanded, holding out his hands, those hands with the huge nails. Cautiously she held out the baby and Blackwood took him, gathering up the blanket against his wet chest. Judas struggled a little, still screaming, his little hands pressing to his father’s bare skin. Blackwood took away the blanket, bringing the child’s bare legs and arms against his skin, then sitting down in the arm chair. Arabella remained by the window, trembling, fearing that she would be sacked so soon after her arrival. Her previous employers had offered her services to the High Priest after the death of his wife, praised her diligent work with their own children. Of course he had accepted and she had found herself here, in this place with Faustus Blackwood, looking after the little boy.

Not that he spoke to her that often. He liked to spend time with the child in the evenings but seemed happy to hand him back to her. Her work had never been questioned and he had not made her feel as uncomfortable as she currently did. He was always so deftly styled, his clothing just so, his black hair slicked and side parted. Here he sat naked, with his hair falling forward over his face, great red marks across the his back.

‘He wants skin contact,’ Blackwood stood and crossed to her, tugging at her blouse She recoiled as if he’d burnt her. ‘I want to put him against your skin, not caress your breasts you silly woman.’

She opened her blouse a little and took the boy from him. Blackwood regarded the young woman. She had worked for the Starlings for 6 years, straight out of the Academy. He barely remembered her as a student so unremarkable had she been. She was a lumpen, plain woman who seemed frightened of her own shadow but until tonight she had been good with the boy. The Starlings had insisted she come to him given his circumstances; she had done sterling work with their three children after all.

‘Have you ever been with a man?’ he asked. She looked up, meeting his gaze with large, dark eyes.

‘No.’

It did not surprise him, she barely spoke and seemed content to sit and read rather than socialise. She was not an attractive woman although she was soft and rounded in all the right places.

‘I saw you looking at me…’

‘Looking at you, Father Blackwood?’ she asked incredulously. Where was she supposed to look. He was standing there without any clothes on after all.

‘Do you like what you see?’ He knew there was plenty to like, apart from perhaps his hair, but that was still wet and had not yet sprung up in errant curls. He raked his fingers through it, brushing it back into some semblance of the style he sported when it was dry and oiled.

Arabella’s eyes widened and she shook her head, then nodded, then made a weird noise.

‘You should not be ashamed to look, the Dark Lord encourages our nature.’

‘I wasn’t ashamed...I just...do they all look like that?’

‘What?’

She nodded downward.’Um...what were you expecting? Mine is moderately larger than most. Women enjoy…’

‘So they all look that...funny…’

‘Funny?’

‘Like an afterthought....’ she blurted, nodding at the ‘afterthought’.

‘A…’ he opened his mouth, then closed it again, ‘I am going back to my bath.’

‘Your back looks sore. I have a balm...if you wanted…’

‘No…’ He pulled the door closed behind him and headed back to his bath. With more hot water added he settled in once more. Cheeky bloody woman. He’d been too flabbergasted to manage a response. Although perhaps it served him right for cornering her in such a way when she was obviously uncomfortable. Funny though. Funny!

He did not stay in the bath much longer, washing his hair and skin, then brushing his teeth. The bed beckoned once he was dry but he still felt irritated with the annoying woman. Lying in the darkness he felt the emptiness of the bed, the absence of the woman he had shared it with for so long. He had married her for all the wrong reasons of course, because she was from the right family and not because he loved her but he’d cared for her in his own way and her death had left a yawning gap in his life.

His back ached; Zelda had been especially harsh with her punishment catching the top of his buttocks and he was struggling to get comfortable. First one side, then the other but the skin was taut and sore. Now he was too hot. He pushed the bedclothes away and a cool breeze played across his skin; until he was then cold and dragged the bedding back.

Sleep eventually dragged him into its embrace but he found himself in the wood, naked, alone. Mist swirled around his feet, chill creeping up his body, a sense of someone nearby.

‘Who’s there?’ he demanded, turning around several times.

Laughter. Several women laughing; mocking laughter.

‘You didn’t really think she’d come did you?’ the voice called, ‘To be with you.’

Something struck his shoulder and bounced off, scraping skin and spraying blood as it collided with him. He tried not to cry out as another rock struck him in the back of the head but he felt suddenly sick and faint, dropping to his knees as he clutched his head, blood running freely through his fingers.

He was awake then, sweat slicked, his heart pounding. These things were sent by Dark Lord to test his resolve, to remind him of his human weakness. There was a glass of water on the bedside table and he drank several mouthfuls before rising from the bed and opening the window, allowing the night air cool his skin.

He could hear his son crying again, and walked along the hallway to the nursery. Only Judas was fast asleep, his eyes moving back and forth beneath the lids. He stroked his fingers across the boy’s soft black hair, wondering what he was dreaming about.

‘Father Blackwood?’ the stupid girl asked sleepily from her bed by the window.

‘I heard crying.’

‘No, he’s been fast asleep for hours.’

‘I definitely heard crying…’

‘Are there ghosts here? Your wife miscarried also…’

‘Why would unborn children haunt this house. The Dark Lord will have taken them into his care. You didn’t hear anything?’

‘No.’

‘Maybe I dreamt it then. Go back to sleep.’ He returned to his own room, even more unsettled now. He lay in the darkness, waiting to hear the child once more but there was only the hoot of an owl outside.

Dark Lord let me sleep.

Maybe self pleasure would relax him enough to sleep. If the damn thing would show any interest. It perked up a bit but his mind was swirling with thoughts of a nature that were not conducive to an erection and it flopped back defiantly soft.

Bedding off, bedding on, left side, right side, back, one pillow, two pillows.

Fuck it.

He got up, dragged on his bathrobe and went down the stairs to his library where he switched on a lamp and settled into his armchair to read.

Which was where Arabella found him the following morning, asleep in the chair. She was loathe to wake him but the housekeeper,Mrs Orwell had asked where he was as breakfast was to be served. He looked peaceful, his hands on top of a book in his lap, His hair was sticking up at all angles in soft springy curls. No wonder he oiled it all down. It softened his face considerably, made him look less harsh. Not the image he wanted to present.

She touched his hand and his eyes opened with a start. The book clattered to the floor, narrowly avoiding his bare feet.

‘Breakfast is served,’ she said. He stood, tightened the belt on his robe and hurried away. Arabella went to feed Judas and get him ready for the day, wondering if she would be keeping her job after her ridiculously blurted comment. But what had he wanted her to say. She supposed that she found him nice to look at, which she didn’t. She couldn’t imagine wanting him to touch her. With his funny thing. He had actually looked upset when she had said that.

When he appeared to say good morning to his son he was back in control of everything, his clothing and hair just so. She wondered if she should apologise. He took the boy from her and held him for a while, walking to the window, talking to the child quietly.

Arabella tidied up a little, although the room was already tidy.

‘Zelda Spellman is coming later, to check on him. Ensure he is presentable.’ He handed her back the boy.

‘You look tired, Father Blackwood.’

‘You’re not paid to make comments about me, girl. You’re paid to take care of my son.’

‘It was an observation...not a criticism…’

He moved a step closer to her, ‘You need to learn your place. I wonder now if I was offered you as you caused problems to your previous employer.’

‘I assure you I did not.’ She had liked them. They had treated her like one of the family, not a servant. Mr Starling had never appeared in her room with his maleness on display and asked if she liked the look of it. ‘I was considered one of the family.’ Maybe if he sacked her she could go back there.

‘I will be in my study most of the day. Bring him to me at 1.’

‘And Madam Spellman?’

‘She and I have...matters to discuss beforehand.’

*

Zelda was shown into his study and found him asleep in the chair. She stood for some time, watching him there, his hands folded in his lap, his head resting against the winged side of the chair. His eyes were moving beneath their lids, long eyelashes dark against his pale skin. Her lust for him was profound, as was her equal dislike of him. She wondered what was running through his mind as he slept and she hoped he was being quietly tormented. She had hurt him the previous day, the pleasure not so pleasurable for he had asked her to stop as the tails had licked around his lower back and across his pale buttocks. She had ridden him afterwards, knowing that his skin was abrading on the carpet with every delicious movement. He’d even given a little whimper at one point.

She sat down in the chair opposite. Perhaps she should simply let him rest and visit the baby instead. Or perhaps not. She moved behind the chair and trailed her fingers through his hair, leaning down to whisper his name. He woke with a start, turning to look up at her. “Zelda. How long have you been there? You should have woken me.’

‘I just have,’ she smiled. ‘I wanted you well rested.’

He stood, traced his nails through his hair, ‘I thought we might avail ourselves of my bed today.’

‘Are you sore, Faustus?’

‘I thought it would make a change. We could share a bath first if that takes your liking?’

Yes, he was sore.

He led her up the stairs and into his private chamber, the room he had shared with Constance until recently. There were still traces of her about the place, including a photograph of the two of them. He saw her eyes alight on it and immediately placed it face down.

‘Guilt, Faustus?’

He gave a dry laugh as he pulled off his tie, ‘None.’ He flung the tie behind  him as he went into the bathroom and began to run the bath. Zelda unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, tracing her finger down his sternum, through the valley of dark hair nestled there and on down.

‘I heard a baby crying last night,’ he said as she reached the waistband of his trousers.

‘Judas?’

‘It wasn’t Judas. He was fast asleep.’

‘A dream then.’

‘The twin…’

‘The twin?’ Zelda struggled to keep the concern from her voice.

‘You said there was a twin, that it was absorbed…’

‘Yes...it was probably just a dream, Faustus, a phantasm.’

‘The girl...the stupid girl suggested it was the unborn children...but they will be with the Dark Lord.’

What was this? Doubt? Guilt? Certainly confusion.

‘The Dark Lord will have taken care of them, Faustus. You know this.’ She stopped the taps.

‘I am burdening you with my thoughts, Zelda. I apologise.’ he gave a slight smile, ‘When you have come for pleasure.’

She watched him as he climbed into the bath, traced the marks across his back with her eyes, the blood scabbed across his lower back where she had been at her most devoted.

‘Are you not coming in?’ he asked.

‘Of course I am.’ She undressed and stepped into the tub, at first facing him but he turned her around, drew her down between his raised knees and then back against his chest.

What was this? She wondered. His cheek was pressed against hers, ‘You know that I’m trying to do the Dark Lords will don’t you Zelda, to strengthen the Church of Night.’

‘Faustus, are you having a crisis of faith?’

‘No...I just want you to understand. I need your strength whilst I make the changes necessary.’

Zelda no more believed that than he did. What he needed, wanted, was someone to satisfy his lust for a while. It suited her to be here, not least because she enjoyed it. Faustus faults were many and varied but his arrogance would not allow him to be anything but indulgent with his lovers. To imagine that he left them unsatisfied would be a sin in his eyes.

The sound of the bedroom door made them both jump and he rose quickly from the bath and out into the bedroom, shouting, “What are you doing here?’ then ‘ Answer me.’

‘I was looking for Judas teddy bear...I can’t find it and he’s upset.’

‘Why would it be in here?’

‘I didn’t know if you brought him in here.’

‘If you want to join me in my bed just ask girl, not make excuses, and don’t sneak around.’

‘I don’t...I wasn’t…’

‘I’ll expect you later then. When Judas is asleep.’ he gave a wicked laugh.

‘No...I…’

He opened the door and let her out, her face a mask of consternation.

‘Faustus that was cruel. That poor girl is obviously still a virgin. Such  a plain little thing.’ Zelda said behind him. ‘Don’t make her think she’s expected to attend to you as well as your son. It’s not very becoming of a High Priest. It was unnecessarily cruel.’

‘She irritates me. She’s so so insipid, more like a mortal than a witch. What man would want that. She’s frightened of her own shadow.’

Zelda picked something up off the floor and threw it toward him. It was a small, plush bear. Faustus caught it and then placed it on the bedside table. He would return it later. When he had finished here.

*

Zelda left him half dozing in the bed and walked along to the nursery where the sad faced, dumpy girl was playing with Judas. ‘Madam Spellman, I was unaware you were here.’

‘Let me look at him,’

Arabella handed the child to the older woman, suspecting the reason Father Blackwood had been undressed in the middle of the day had somehow involved Zelda Spellman.

Zelda talked to the boy for a while, pointing at things out of the window and naming them. ‘Are you frightened of Father Blackwood?’ She asked suddenly.

‘A little.’

‘He would not force himself upon you. He would see that as…’ she pondered a moment, ‘A failure of his allure.’

‘His allure? Is that what he has? Did you know he has very curly hair? It’s quite ridiculous.’

‘What’s ridiculous?’ Blackwood growled from the door.

‘We we’re discussing the mortals and their false god,’ Zelda said casually.

‘Well yes that is ridiculous,’ he agreed, walking across to Zelda and taking his son from her, smiling at the boy as he handed Judas the little bear. He handled the child with genuine care and delight. Zelda suspected Judas would be a spoilt brat but that was not her concern. She regarded the dumpy nanny who was tidying up some toys from the floor and suspected all was not as it seemed. The girl had come highly recommended from another high ranking family but despite her seeming meekness Zelda was not so sure. She also could not get the idea of him with curly hair out of her mind. It just didn’t go with his carefully crafted veneer - no wonder he slicked it all down. She could barely contain her amusement at the imagery.

‘He’s looking well anyway, Father Blackwood. I will leave you to your work.’

‘I have some lessons to review before Monday,’ he agreed and handed his child to Arabella.

‘Probably time for some lunch for you,’ she said to the baby and set to her work.

*

It was snowing, great flakes of white landing on his bare skin and melting. Holding his arms across his bare chest to try and contain the warmth he waded through the snow that was up to his ankles, barely able to feel his feet anymore, disorientated, fear rising.

Trees crowded in around him, every direction indistinguishable from another, the only sound that of his ragged breathing and the crunch of his feet through the fallen snow. He kept on walking, hoping to arrive somewhere he would recognise, a clearing or a path, some way out of this interminable forest. Snowflakes settled on his eyelashes and he brushed them away, pushing his sodden hair back from his face also.

Then he saw the flicker of movement amongst the trees and stopped, again wiping snow from his face to better look. Another movement amongst the falling snow and he moved himself behind the wide trunk of an oak, leaning back against the gnarled bark, trying to control his breathing and his racing heart.

After a moment he peered around the tree but there was only the silently falling snow. Then a voice, barely audible, calling, ‘Faustus.’ in a soft, mocking tone. ‘How did you get to be High Priest then? Someone like you?’

He closed his eyes, he could not simply stand here. He would freeze to death. Pushing away from the safety of the tree he started to walk once more.

‘Where are you going little Faustus?’ the voice laughed, ‘Running away?’

Movement in the trees once more, closer this time and it took all his resolve not to run. ‘Your father is with the Dark Lord. He still thinks you’re a whiny little failure. How much better it would have been for everyone if your brother have survived. You were always the second best. How long did it take you to make your wife pregnant and even then you gave her babies that could not survive. Never quite good enough as always.’

A shape ran across in front of him and this time he did turn and run, flailing through the trees, hearing the laughter behind him, getting closer and closer.

And then the ground fell away from him and he was falling down an embankment, rolling over and over, snow filling his mouth and nose until he came to a rest, laying on his back, gasping for air, blood in his mouth.

‘You’re a fraud, Faustus.’

‘Why don’t you face me,’ he called back, ‘You coward.’

‘You were the one who ran like a terrified little girl. Look at you laying there. You tell yourself that you are something special but you’re just the same pathetic little boy who could never be as good as his brother. Whose father despised him.’

‘I’m the High Priest. I have a son…’ Faustus raged.

‘And what will he be like I wonder? Pathetic and second best. Just like his father.’

A baby was crying. His baby. His son.

He was awake then, lying in his bed, the sound of the crying baby still ringing in his ears. He was drenched in sweat, his heart banging against his chest, breathing ragged and loud in the darkness.

He waited for Arabella to get up to tend to the boy but the crying only intensified so he slid from the bed, pulling on a gown before walking along the hallway to the nursery. Opening the door the crying ceased. Judas lay in his cot fast asleep, his little fists balled up beside his head, the black teddy beside him, his blanket tucked in still suggesting that he’d not been troubled recently.

Arabella too was asleep, curled on her side. He sat on the edge of the bed and touched her shoulder to wake her. ‘I heard the baby crying again.’

‘I didn’t wake, is he alright?’ she said anxiously

‘He’s asleep. You didn’t hear the baby?’

‘No. I was dreaming.’

‘What about?’

‘I was on a beach in the sunshine. There were 4 people, far away along the beach, a couple and two children.’

‘Did you know them?’

‘No. It just seemed that the parents had lavished all of their care on the older boy. The other was left with the scraps of their regard and he stood apart from them despite being part of their group. The older boy was almost beautiful in appearance with blond hair, the other boy dark, lugubrious, with curls. As if they were light and shade.’

‘We are all light and shade. We are flesh and weakness. And the Dark Lord forgives us that, because he recognises that is our nature.’ He was shivering, despite the robe he wore. He lay down and pulled her covers over himself, facing away from her, knowing that he would near the ghostly crying in here.  

Arabella lay looking at the back of his head for some time, listening for the change in his breathing, knowing finally when he had fallen back to sleep.

She reached out her hand and pushed it through the soft curls of his earlier washed hair, ‘Sweet dreams, Faustus,’ she whispered and then rolled over with a small smile, closing her own eyes once more.

#spellwood #faustus blackwood #caos fanfiction #zelda x faustus #zelda spellman #the chilling adventures of sabrina

[romantic-hero]

Sexy Saturday Story..

Ross was in one of his moods. He didn’t look at Demelza when he came in and strode straight to his library and shut the door. Demelza wondered what was troubling him. Was it the mine or George Warleggan or perhaps nothing at all.  Ross was temperamental and just a mere thought could send him into a black humor that might last for days. But Demelza didn’t have days. Tonight was the first time she and Ross were having friends to dine with them, and she needed her husband in a good mood before Dwight and Caroline and John and that horrible Ruth Treneglos arrived. How she had ever let Caroline and Ross talk her into this she didn’t know, but she had and now Ross was being difficult.

All the food was ready. She only had a few last minute preparations that she would take care of once her guests had arrived. She slowly stirred the custard that she was making to serve with her cherry almond cake.

***smutty***

As they so often did, her thoughts turned to Ross and the bedroom. Just that morning Ross had been in good spirits when he had awoken. Ross had rolled over on his side and pulled her to him, his hands finding her breasts as his lips kissed the back of her neck. She had groaned with pleasure and pushed her hips back until she felt his hard cock against her buttocks. Just as he had started to lift her nightdress, Prudie had screeched up the stairs that Zacky Martin was there needing to see Ross and he had left her in bed, longing for him. Now he was home and her longing had returned as an ache between her legs. The creamy custard was giving her some errant thoughts, which if she believed in hell would surely send her there.

She carefully took the pot from the fire. She hoped she wasn’t ruining her sweet dish, but the thought of Ross and what she could do overpowered all reason. Prudie had taken the children to the Martin’s and if she hurried, she felt she could ensure that Ross would be in a better mood before their guests arrived.

Demelza poured some custard in a shallow dish, then ran upstairs and changed out of her clothes and into her newest nightdress. The fine linen was trimmed with lace and the dainty fabric clung to her curves. She took down her hair and brushed her long hair into a curtain of curls that hung half way down her back.

Back in the kitchen, Demelza put her finger in the dish of custard. It was just a bit warm and if she did say so herself, delicious. She poured Ross a generous glass of port and went into the library.

The sunlight from the window shone through Ross’s wild hair. His brow was furrowed as he read the mining book on the desk before. He looked up at her and frowned. “Are you unwell? Why are you in your nightdress?”

“I’m fine, Ross. We had some unfinished dealings from this morning that I thought we should take care of.” She handed him the port and took another finger full of custard and slowly sucked it from her finger, whilst looking straight into his dark eyes.

Ross tossed back his drink and set the glass on his desk. “What are you thinking, Demelza?”

“Well, you seem so out of sorts and I thought I might cheer you up.”

“And how do propose to do that?” he asked. While his voice was gruff, his body was now relaxed and and he leaned back in his chair and looked up at his wife.

“I propose you do take off those boots and britches.”

“Yes, my lady,” said Ross and he did as she bid him.

“And perhaps that shirt, too.” Ross obeyed and soon was sitting naked before her. Demelza stood in front of Ross and took a deep breath for her husband was quite handsome and manly. Thick black hair covered his muscular chest, and his strong thighs always made her quiver with desire.

Ross reached for her and she didn’t resist as he lifted her gown above her hips, pulled her closer and kissed her bower. Demelza took a step back and her gown fell back into place covering her once again.

“Now Ross, I reckon you have a lot on your mind. And I was thinking since you invited guests for dinner it’s only fair to them that you be in a more pleasant state of mind before they arrive. I thought that maybe you would like to try this custard that I was planning for our last course.” Demelza again scooped up some custard and this time put her finger in Ross’s mouth. She shivered as she felt his tongue lick all the custard off her finger. “Is it good enough for Ruth Treneglos?” she asked.

“Yes. It’s delicious.” Ross told her. “Let me have some more,” he demanded.

“Oh, no! Why you’ll spoil your supper, Ross! I’m not sure it’s quite good enough. I think I’ll need to taste it again.” Demelza knelt in front of Ross and dipped two fingers into the custard. She slowly slurped the creamy confection. “Oh, dear! I’ve spilled some!” She looked down at her nightdress with mock distress. “I suppose I should take this off.” She pulled her gown off and and then smeared some custard on her nipples. “Well, maybe a tiny taste more would be ok.” Demelza  cupped her breasts and offered them to Ross. He leaned forward and took first one and then the other  and sucked all the sweet custard from them, his dark face stubble only adding to her delight.

“Now, Ross I can tell you think the custard is good enough for our company, but I really should test it myself.” Demelza gently wiped a small amount on Ross’s throbbing credentials. She held her hair back with one hand and slowly lowered her head until she had Ross in her mouth. “Mmmmmm,” she hummed and she knew the vibration from her throat only added to Ross’s pleasure.

Ross had thrown his head back and was holding on to the armrests of his chair. “Yes, this custard is quite delicious,” Demelza mused. “I better finish it up!” Ross was filling up her mouth and her free hand held him steady as her mouth sucked and teased Ross into a more agreeable frame of mind.

Just as he was about to let go, Demelza stopped. She looked up at her husband. His chest was heaving his eyes were closed. “Now,Ross, I’m going to get every last drop.” She smiled with pleasure when she heard him moan and with a deep breath for courage, for though she loved the taste of Ross and the feel of him pushing last her lips, there was still that element of hot surprise to  come. Her tongue was busy and then the feel of Ross’s trusts hitting the back of her throat. With a gulp she swallowed, and when he had regained some composure she looked up a Ross with a smile. “It is delicious!” she told him. She licked her lips. Then without thinking, she leaned over and nipped Ross on the inside of his thigh.

His gasp made her laugh and she jumped to her feet. “Judas, Ross!” She snatched up her nightdress and turned when she reached the door. “Make haste! We have company coming!”

#poldark #romelza #sexy fanfiction #smutty fanfiction #fanfiction

[marquis-teren-kiden]

“You shouldn’t.”

                                                                           05/21/37

The Western Porch Teren’s Mansion in the Nishan Marche

Stepping out onto the Western porch, Teren looks out toward the Great Garden with a soft sigh. Having dressed in navy blue slacks, a loosely buttoned powder blue shirt, and little else when he left Lycan's bedroom in the pre-dawn twilight, it seemed a meaningless waste of a beautiful sunrise to return for more suitable attire. Moving beyond the immediacy of the perfectly manicured landscaping, the nobleman arrives to stand amidst the lush green grasses beyond his porch, dropping his sapphire hues to the lush lawn as morning dew soaks his bare feet, eliciting a soothing sound from deep within him.

Depositing himself on his buttocks in the wet greenery, Teren soon sprawls his long limbs outward, closing his eyes as his body soaks up the icy chill with the same relaxed acceptance others might a warm bath. With a look of abject serenity on his face, his eyelids part felinely, shut enough to allow him to take in the first rays of sunlight cresting over the horizon.

The tumult his own thoughts had set him in for the last several weeks seemed somehow to still in those first few moments where he was alone in every meaningful sense to simply bask in the present - the moment - without being doused in conflicting necessities.

He was not, however, alone in his own mind for long. Soon, new thoughts - not his own - focused themselves on the Psionicist, sending him once more into the tumult of confusion that had suffered him for several hours over the last two days.

Adilynia Silverfall. 

A month ago the name meant absolutely nothing to him, and with it - the woman who bore it. 

Three weeks ago, she was a lifeline to his Twin, albeit inadvertantly so; and his sibling’s salvation as well.

Two weeks ago, she was wholly initiated into his household. Invited to partake in the lives of those he most cherished, and to make herself comfortable within the Mansion; with clear caveats for those matters which might lead her to personal harm or injury. 

A week ago, he felt a kinship to the wounded spirit she safeguarded. So much of Lochlyn in the little Paladin; though the two were clearly born of differentiations in appearance and position, there was no denying that the two Shieldmaidens would have been fast and steady comrades on any front line.

In that understanding, it had been easy to speak to her as he did. To treat her as another budding and soon to be cherished friend. 

And then...it all came crashing down around them in a single moment of insecurity. In no other moment between them had she so crisply defined the proverbial battle lines between them than to flee from him the way she had, as he attempted to liberate her from his Lover’s relentless teasing. 

Not Lycan.

Him.

That a Lord of the Marche - any Lord in the Nishan Federation - should find themselves incapable of instilling the sense of calm and safety she deserved was a bitter pill. To be the failing noble in question left him feeling exhausted and impotent. 

Long after their last discussion, he’d settled himself on a new course. That he should eliminate all but the most chaste displays of effection between himself and any other in his home, unless those actions were to take place within the discretion of his Study, or more practicably, Lycan’s suite within the Mansion. To that end, he’d spent much of his birthday confined to his Study, taking time with Lycan, Annest and the Twins, while leaving the remainder of his home for the Quel’Dorei to take liberty with. 

A weighty sigh falls from his lips as he continues to watch the thin veil of warm lighting drift lazily up along the horizon to birth a new day for several minutes to come. He could hear the ambient emotions trickling through her as she caught sight of him, fixing him with her teal gaze, and while he could have made effort to acknowledge her arrival, he’d no intention of feeding that nervous energy that seemed to wrap around her every time she took notice of him. Ah, to want and want and never say a word. 

She was utterly foreign to him. Not only as an Elf - for he knew not many, and only one other Quel’Dorei Knight - but also as a woman. He knew women who felt such hungers toward him; some he took, others he left as they had been - unharmed and unmolested by his affections - with little more thought than he might have considered in taking up or leaving behind a bottle of fine wine. 

Though others might have argued it, he was equally familiar with those women who held no particular desire or interest in him, and they, too, he left to their own preferences with no wounded pride to show. Sexuality was, perhaps, the most subjective reality of all, and he’d never seen reason to interject opinion on another’s affairs in that regard; save only those few he’d encountered who did seek such concourse without consent from their partners. 

Adilynia, however, was somehow both, and neither. For she clearly held a hunger to touch and be touched by him. She seemed struck upon each encounter when her own body sought his, even for the vaguest touch of a hand, or the briefest hug. Yet, in all other means, she abstained his keeping, and it was those conscious choices, he took his understanding of how best he ought proceed.

Until the soft rustle of wet grasses shifting caught his ear, and the bustle of a mult-tiered pixie-ish sundress swished into view before him as she inexplicably settled herself beside him on the dew laden lawn.

Without a word shared between them, the two lay on their backs with their respective gazes set upon the sunlight as it crested over the verdant landscape set before them. For that brief and shimmering moment, they held the same pristine belief that the Light of a new Dawn had blessed them. 

As Adilynia rises up on one elbow, her focus shifts from the sunlight shimmering pearlescently along her pale skin to the dew-soaked nobleman beside her, beckoning him with a hand. The weight of that curious entreaty is more than enough indication that it is, perhaps, time for a strategic retreat on Teren’s part. Languidly returning to his feet, he accepts her offered hand, if only to offer her a proper choice to enter inside the Mansion or remain planted in the nearby grass at her will.

The way she accepts his offered hand - interlacing their fingers as she stands, drawing their conjoined digits to rest at her left breast above the thready pulse of her heart beating haphazardly in her chest - garners a curiously lofted brow. Despite the protracted silence which had continued long enough that even the ever-astute Priest couldn’t have hazarded a guess as to why, though it was clearly a gesture intended to offer meaningful contact. To reassure him in some way that she would not lose her composure if he removed the edict he’d set forth to limit affections in his own home for her sake. 

If she’d understood the effect of setting a man’s hand - even inverse to the norm - against her modest breasts, she’d likely have fled him all over again. 

Then the little Paladin bowed to press her lips to the knuckles of his hand as they held one another’s gazes in utter silence; requiring yet more restraint on the part of the Priest as the electricity of that minor connection sent a thrill coursing from his flesh to his groin with adamant conviction; stealing his breath for a single compelling moment as he perused the teal-eyed woman for something more intelligible than the mixed assortment of communications she’d compiled in their last few moments. 

He’d have brought life to the myriad questions roaring through his mind, but her own were so incomplete. She didn’t have words in her mind. Only feelings. An assortment which left her frightened and convicted to return to his grace, despite having not given forethought to what form such recompense might take.

As her lips had lingered on his knuckles, Teren took several moments for his own sapphire hues to drift slowly downward, taking in the plump meat of her pink lips, tapered neck and pale decolletage appreciatively before continuing to the shapely rounds of her modest breasts and tapered waistline, halting there to return along that same path to meet her unwavering look of trust as rose petals bloomed across Adilynia’s cheeks and the narrow bridge of her nose as if she’d been kissed by one of the flowers in his garden.

True to the norm for most of his people, the Nishanian Lord was honest enough with himself about what he felt in the moment. The errant spark she’d inadertantly delivered had caught flame, and his sapphire hues had already begun to smolder with a fire he had every intention of quelling by returning to his Paramour and sating it there. 

Turning away from Adilynia, Teren coughs lightly, trying and failing to find suitable words to chide or coerce her to mind the words being spoken by her body as she so often preferenced in her spoken communications. Absent a polite turn of phrase, however, he merely waited in silence for her to relinquish his hand so he could take his leave.

She didn’t. Instead, she’d set her fingertips to stroke lighty along the stubble of his jaw, waiting for him to return his errant gaze to her, and leaving him on the verge of ransacking her mind for whatever answers seemed to be eluding them both, yet that seemed a far cry from the ambient awareness he held for surface thoughts. He couldn’t bring himself to take further liberty absent her becoming a threat. Instead, he simply asked her to speak plainly. “What would you have of me?”

The halting response showed integrity of thought in the moment, though little to indicate she’d stirred his loins for any specific purpose. "This... Listening to you breathe. Allowing yourself even a moment of peace." the Elf explains, continuing the warmth of her touch along the Priest’s jaw as she speaks in that hushed and lilting Thalassian cadence that wasn’t quite proper Common. After a brief pause she continued the thought. "That you would answer that same question in regards to me. Candidly....honestly...without thinking you will cause offense."

The initial response he understood. In it were words she’d strung across other conversations they had shared over the last few weeks. The latter words, however, were a disaster waiting to happen.

Relinquishing the exploratory fixation she’d had along Teren’s jaw, Adilynia drops her hand and her chin, all too aware of the destructive potential of the words she’d just spoken, but unwilling to retreat from them. Instead - after a protracted silence - the little Paladin... doubled down. "What... would you have of me?"

A loaded question if ever one had been posed to the man before her. Thus far she'd given every subtle sign of a woman seeking the affections of a man she only dared hope would take her notice, and the physical urges settling like fire in the nobleman’s veins and loins required significant effort on his part to quell. 

Given the question she’d posed, Teren understood that if he chose to answer as truthfully as requested, it would almonst certainly have sent the poor woman scurrying back to Quel'thalas. 

Which left him to offer only silence. Long, drawn out, and utterly uninterrupted by either party for several minutes. 

By the time the Priest has anything approaching an honest answer fit to speak, it seems almost pointless to do so, but he does. In a hushed baritone, the noble whispers life into the words spoken recalcitrantly. "I wish you to find your place within my home, in such a way that you feel safe to dwell within it while you remain." Was it the truth in the moment? No. In the moment, he felt desire suitable for few beyond his chosen Paramour. But, it was a truth. A thing he desired of and for her. He settled himself that, for now, the answer given would have to suffice for both of them.

"It should be an easy wish to make come true... now that I'm settled with the idea that I have a place..." Adilynia’s quiet admission came with her own far off look cast somewhere along the mansions exterior walls as her brows knit with another tangent of thought.  A new silence takes hold as she lets her thoughts drift; her eyes, too. As the teal hues return to their interlaced fingers, so do the Nobleman’s. With little thought as to the consequence of her own curious intention, the Quel’Dorei raises their clapsed hands higher, taking in the scent of lavender, sage, mint, patchouli and white rose petals which clung faintly from his skin, and the hinted at lemon of her own with a tranquil expression on her face.

Another crooked tip of her lips brings an unexpected admission. "Holding your hand.... makes me feel safe..." The first hint of her nervous disposition manifests in the form of a hitched breath at her own confession, followed almost immediately by teal orbs darting upward to meet Teren’s sapphire hues, as if waiting for the nobleman’s reaction.

The way she took in his scent caught at Teren's senses, the intimacy of the gesture hitching his breath and making him hyper aware of every other innocuous shift and sound that took place between them. The cadence of Adilynia's voice hushed just above a whisper of her own as she speaks imparts an ease to the concerns that had turned his spirits inward to chide and rend at him, even as he slept. 

The tease of her teal gaze along their interlaced digits and curling along the edges of her mouth reminds him - physically - that she is still speaking two languages when they are together. Her words and behavior still not in alignment with one another. As the first fires of her anxiety spark, he sets his now smoldering sapphire hues to her teal orbs with apology etched into his features, for he recognizes how much she has struggled to offer plain words without war to him. Adilynia’s softly spoken declaration arrives like a sin set against parched and hungry lips. 

Turning himself to properly face her, Teren shakes his head, even as the fingers of his free hand rise to gently settle along her cheek and he bows to lower his sapphire eyes level with her own. "You shouldn't." He murmurs softly, before pressing his mouth tenderly to hers, his fingers curling like spider's feet along the side of her jaw - resting along the side of her neck and beneath her ear lobe - while his tongue slips forward to tease her lips apart and sample the savory organ within.

[ @adilynia ]

#The Trinity SL #Ly Canthos x Teren Kiden #x Adilynia Silverfall?