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[after-witch]

Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Title: Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One: The Last Day] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: Years ago, you were the captive of a serial killer named Strade. And you weren't the only one he kept. After Strade was killed by one of his victims, you ran away--and now your past is finally catching up with you. Chapter one is set during Boyfriend to Death.

Word count: 6352

Chapter notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, past noncon, graphic violence, descriptions of blood, violence and gore, descriptions of death (not reader)

AO3 LINK

She was crying again. Well, no wonder. There were holes in her feet, dotting the top of her thighs. Blood had dribbled down from the gored holes in her flesh like little streams, then dried out. 

The thin, wavy dried out trickles made you think, abruptly, of unfettered period blood, then of Carrie by Stephen King. The scene in the shower, where she gets her period and freaks out. The other girls threw tampons and sticky pads at her and shrieked, chanting, bonded by a morbid commiseration of the entrance to so-called womanhood: Plug it up! Plug it up! Plug it up!

Plug it up, you thought.

But she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Her hands were bound behind her. Did he tie them back like that so that she couldn’t try to hurt him, or because it gave him easier access to her flesh? Maybe a bit of both.

She looked uglier when she cried. Snot bubbled out of her nose and joined a dried streak of blood that went from her nose down to her chin. Her nose was probably broken, hence the blood; the flesh of it was black and blue and an awful shade of green.

One part of you longed to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer and hold it to the bruised, swollen flesh. Hush her cries. Give her an ounce of humanity that might carry her for another few hours, the way Ren once did to you. 

Another part of you, the new you forged under Strade’s knife (and boots and hammers and power drill) wished she’d just die already, so you wouldn’t have to hear her cry or be standing here obediently, waiting for Strade to come back down. You were probably going to have to participate in this next stream–why else would he call you down in the middle of one of his “projects”? 

Unless he was lonely. But even so, he could always kill two birds with one stone. You, here to give him company; and you, here to entertain his horrid audience. And himself, above all. Himself, always.

 The basement door at the top of the stairs creaked open and you heard his heavy bootsteps–thump, thump, thump–before he called out jovially.

“Are you still there, Liebling? You didn’t run off, did you?” 

As if you were stupid enough to do that. You were many things now. Stressed. Afraid. Desperate. Tired. More selfish. Maybe a little bit masochistic, a trick of your brain to keep you from totally losing your mind as you were tortured. All these things and more besides, but stupid was not one of them. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” You called back, lightening your tone. It was important not to sound too scared. Strade wanted you scared, yes, but he didn’t want you to be some obedient, squeaky little mouse. That was too boring. It was best to act as normally as you could, considering the circumstances. That seemed to please him more, at least on most days. Some days nothing you did was right and you went to bed with a swollen eye and broken fingers, eased by frozen peas that Ren snuck you from the kitchen before he went to sleep. 

You’re not the only one who noticed him coming down. The woman in front of you began to tremble and sob more violently, pulling at her bound wrists. It wouldn’t do any good. It never did. How long did she have to live? How long did any of you in this house have to live? 

By the time Strade made it down the stairs, her cries were practically at a fever-pitch. You didn’t want to look to see what he’d run off to fetch, but he didn’t give you a choice.

He called your name. “Come here, darling, I need your help with this.” And oh, you kept your eyes downcast until all you could see was his boots. But then it was time to look up, and you did, and no matter how many times you witnessed him preparing to torture another person, it still made your stomach roil.

He’d brought down a p[ot of boiling water, which he carefully held by the handle with both hands. Tucked underneath his armpit was the bag of frozen peas. The bag, you thought, because for as long as you’d been here, no one ever cooked them. They got passed around between you and Ren under cover of night.

Here they were, in the light of day. You suspect you wouldn’t want to re-use them after this. 

“Be my Lamm and take the peas, won’t you?” The sensible part of you eyed him warily; it wouldn’t be below him to toss the pot of boiling water at you while you reached for them, just to fuck with you. But you didn’t disobey him, either. You carefully leaned over and slid the bag from underneath his armpit, and held it in your hand.

He smiled. Grinned, really, which was a bad sign for the sobbing woman tied to the pole. His good moods and bad moods were both equally shitty, but in your unfortunately well-experienced opinion, it was his good moods that produced the most painful scenarios.

“Now!” He crouched down in front of the crying woman and grabbed her chin. She shrieked and tried to jerk her face away, but he held her tight. “I’m sure your wounds are sore, aren’t they?” She sobbed out something–meaningless pleading that you’d long since lost the ability to discern–and he tsked.

“Oh, poor thing. I know just what might help!” He snapped his fingers and looked back at you. “My lovely friend here will give you some ice to help you feel better. Won’t you?” He grinned wider and you nodded, feeling both scared and numb in a confusingly equal measure, as you crouched down next to him.

She yelped when you placed the frozen bag on a group of puncture wounds on her thigh, but you held it fast. It probably hurt more than it soothed. An icy bag right up against wounded skin didn’t sound pleasant. But maybe it would numb it a little. That might be better than nothing. 

“Perfect! Now…” He reached over and picked up the steaming pot of water, still bubbling from its boil on the stove. “Hold still, my Lamm… wouldn’t want to splash you.” 

It was so strange, the way that your time with Strade had made it possible for you to actually keep your hand there, despite the fact that you knew he was about to pour boiling water on the skin of this poor woman. Pour it right where it would surely splash on you a little, if not a lot. Probably a lot. Two birds, one stone, and all that.

It didn’t matter if it was strange. Your fingers flexed and your muscles tensed as you saw him turn the pot over slowly, and steaming water came flying down, pouring over the woman’s wounds.

She screamed. It was loud. It hurt your ears. The irritation of it distracted you from seeing Strade move the pot around so that the water trailed over the frozen peas–and your hand keeping it pressed against her–as he covered her thigh in the water.

“Fuck!” You said, biting your cheek hard. Your fingers danced on the bag but you didn’t dare pull away. You could see your own skin turning a shade of red. Her thighs had taken the brunt of it, though. There were even blisters forming on her skin already as she sobbed and cried and begged for someone, anyone, to help her.

You were someone.  You were anyone.

You couldn’t help her.

“Language, liebchen,” Strade said, teasingly. You mumbled out an apology, although you doubt he actually cared. 

He sighed when the pot was emptied, and tossed it on the floor.

“I don’t know… I just don’t think it’s enough. Do you?” He grasped your burned hand and you couldn’t stifle the sound of yelping pain as he gripped it hard. Your skin would blister too–it was already peeling a little. 

“What…whatever you think is best,” you stammered. 

“That’s right,” he said, grinning. He gave your hand a squeeze and you groaned. “I think I’ll work a little more on this project myself before dinner.” He let your fingers go, and you cradled your hand against your chest. “Have Ren take care of that. Come back down when it’s wrapped up.” his free hand grabbed the chin of the sobbing, bleeding, blistered woman again. “I think we’ll make a movie, and I need my prettiest co-star to help me out.”

“Of course.” You gave her one half-pitiful glance–the way her frightened, bloodshot eyes darted to you with a mixture of anger and pity made you want to hurl–and went up the stairs.

By the time you’d made it to the top, you already heard Strade pulling out his video equipment.

—

“It… doesn’t look too bad,” Ren said quietly. He held your hand underneath the sink, letting the cold water soothe your burn. But every time your hand trembled and the stream went just out of reach, it burned again, and you winced.

“Most of it hit her thigh,” you whispered. Though you didn’t need to, since both of you were well aware that Strade was busy in the basement. Old habits die hard, however. “She got it worse.”

Ren hummed. “They usually do.” He told you to keep your hand in place while he fumbled in the cabinet under the sink, looking for supplies. “I don’t know if he has–oh!” His ears twitched and perked up as he found what he’d been looking for.

It was a tube of burn relief ointment. He flipped it over and read the back, mumbling all the while. “It’s expired but…”

You smiled, just a little, and finished his sentence for him.

“Better than nothing, right?”

Ren smiled, and you caught sight of his tail curling behind him as he turned off the sink and told you to sit down on the toilet so she could wrap you up.

Was it wrong that some of the most pleasant moments in this house, if you could call them pleasant, were with Ren? Especially quiet moments like this, where he took care of you, or you took care of him. You were both well acquainted with fixing up the results of your time with Strade by now. 

He’d cleaned out deep cuts on your back, and you’d iced and splinted his broken toes. He let you curl up in his nest of a bed after a particularly awful night of torture, and you let him slide under your covers when he’d had an nightmare about the last time Strade made him kill someone.

It was transactional in some ways, you supposed. But when you saw his ears perk up or his tail swoosh or the way his eyes seemed to light with something genuine behind them while you talked with him, you realized it wasn’t all practical. It couldn’t be. Not when you were in this together.

Ren made quick work of bandaging your hand. The cream was smoothed over the reddened, flaking parts of your skin and he wrapped your hand up with a bandage. It hurt, still, but nothing to write home about. Hah! As if you’d ever be allowed to write home.

Hell, if by some miracle  you could write home, how would you even word the letter? 

“Dear mom and dad, last night my captor-who-also-fucks me made me keep my hand on a table while he hammered nails underneath my fingernails and asked me which one hurt the most. P.S. The milk in the fridge is expired and he’s threatening to make me or Ren drink it because of the waste.”

The thought made you snort. Ren looked up from his spot on the floor, where he’d taken to impromptu digging through the cabinet to look for some undisclosed item. 

“What’s funny?”

You mulled it over. Sometimes, you didn’t like to tell Ren what you were thinking. You trusted him, to an extent. You liked him, to an extent. You were friends, to an extent. How far did that extent go? It depended. 

He was here first, and sometimes, the tension between the two of you was too taut and fraught to ignore. There was always that underlying worry, an electric buzz you couldn’t turn off all the way: what if Strade decided he didn’t want two captives? Or what if he felt two was his limit, and he wanted to bring someone new in?

Which one of you would get the ax–literally?

But this was maybe not the type of thing that Ren might murmur to Strade in a moment of weakness. It was harmless, wasn’t it, to make a joke about writing home?

“I was just imagining what I might write home in a letter to my parents.” You flexed your bandaged hand. “I mean, if we were allowed to write home.”

“Like from a summer camp?” Ren asked. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them. 

“I guess,” you replied, smiling a little. “Although this would be one…” Fucked up, disgusting, hellish– “Specialty summer camp.”

Ren snorted a little. “Definitely not like the ones in movies.”

“Maybe horror movies,” you added with a grin. One of your front teeth–not from the center two, thank hell–was missing now, so you rarely grinned. But it felt different when it was just you and Ren alone. It was okay to let him see those imperfections, because he had them too. Maybe not missing teeth, but…

“Sleepaway Camp!” He blurted. “Or Friday the 13th…” 

You started to open your mouth, ready to tell him that you once saw a screening of the first Friday the 13th at a summer camp, when an all-too-familiar sound came wafting up from the cracked open basement door.

“Liebling! It doesn’t take that long to bandage a little burn! I hope I don't have to come get you.”

Ren’s tail went straight up at the sound of Strade’s voice. The sing-song nature of his words did not hide the danger in them. If you had a tail, yours would be standing stock straight too. But your body had to make do with your muscles tensing and your bowels clenching hard.

“I have to go,” you murmured, hopping off the toilet seat. 

You paused in the doorway. Ren had his knees hugged to his chest, his ears flat against his head. No doubt he was wondering if Strade would call him down, too. Or if he’d be pissed off about something and take it out on Ren later.

“Thanks for patching me up, Ren.” His ears twitched, and he glanced up at you. “Really, I mean it.” You smiled–grinned, showing off one of your missing teeth. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

His tail relaxed a little and he smiled back, an almost puppy-like grin crossing his expression for a moment, and it was enough to give you some vague emotional relief as you left the bathroom before Strade was forced to come up the stairs and retrieve you. 

–

She wouldn’t last another day. That much was clear. Her blood was everywhere now. On the floor. Smeared on her skin. On Strade’s hands–on yours.

Of course he’d made you participate. You were his lovely assistant, after all. Although he always said Ren was better at the work, when it came down to it. You were too prone to trembling and hesitation. To say nothing of your occasional habit of vomiting at the sight of anything more than blood–guts, in particular, were your weakness. 

Hers, too, by the way she quivered at the sight of the large hunting knife Strade twirled in his hands.

“I think this has gone on long enough. Don’t you, Schatz?” He looked back at you with a thoughtful smile. “Shall we end it?”

Without thinking much, you nodded. Yes, it had gone on long enough. Yes, you wanted her to just die already. Yes, you wanted to go over to the sink and scrub your hands until they were pruney and wrinkled and there was no trace of her visceral fluids on your skin.

“Go on,” he told you, gesturing at the trembling woman. Covered in cuts and gouges and burns. Where there had been dried blood earlier today, there were now smears of fresh gore. From Strade’s boots and the knife. Strade had even taken a blow torch to the burns caused by the boiling water, making them go from peeling and red to a series of gouged, pus-like craters in her flesh.

Cold seeped into your socks from the floor as you walked over to her. She regarded you with dull, dying eyes. She opened her mouth, maybe to say something, but whatever word she might have come up with wouldn’t come. Her swollen, bruised lip trembled as blood dribbled out of it. 

One of the handcuff keys was taped to the back of the poll. Strade always liked to keep extras around, in case he lost the original but still wanted to uncuff someone. He usually didn’t uncuff people unless they were being bound in some other way (usually not a good sign) or he was just about finished with them (definitely a bad sign); and in this case, you knew she was being released only to make killing her a little more fun.

Her hands flopped forward as soon as the cuffs were undone. There was a brief moment where you saw her regard her wrists, all reddened and cut from where the metal handcuffs dug into them. 

But the moment was over as soon as Strade stepped forward and pulled her close with a decisive yank of her hair. She yelped–you were surprised she had the yelp in her, her voice should have been shot from all the screaming–and he twisted her hair tight to keep her still.

“It’s been fun, but it’s time to go now. Don’t take this personally, hm? Or do, actually, it might make you feel better.”

She didn’t have time to respond. He rarely wanted them to say anything, you thought. It was just part of his internal script, a set of syllables that gave him extra pleasure as he snuffed out someone’s internal light. 

He stuck the hunting knife into her gut and twisted. She didn’t scream. She barely shouted. The sound, instead, was one of strangled horror. Like she couldn’t believe what was happening to her. He twisted again, and she grunted and gasped, a sound that was almost like a deep, gaping hiccup.

“Shh,” he murmured, a sick grin splitting his face. His eyes darted over her face, and you got a front-row view of how his expression was gleefully illuminated by the sight of her own life fading away. He enjoyed it so much, he even let go of the knife handle so that he could grasp her face with both hands and keep her dying gaze in his sights.

Who was she? What had she been, before the basement? Was she thinking about her friends, her family? Did she have children that were going to be left behind? Maybe she was in college, maybe she’d been studying for exams that would never happen. There would be uneaten prepared lunches in her fridge, a bookmark that would never move past a certain page. 

Her hands went tremblingly to the handle of the knife sticking out of her. She held the handle tenderly with bruised, bloody hands. Didn’t Strade see it? No, he was too focused on her face. But he didn’t even see the way her expression shifted. 

No, he saw it. But maybe he didn’t know what it meant, because he’d never been on the other end. The way she went from looking confused and horrified to determined. 

She didn’t act right away. 

You could have said something. You could have called out a warning. 

But instead you watched as the dying woman yanked the knife out of her gut, viscera and blood coming out with it, and stabbed it right into Strade’s neck.

He gasped now. A gaping, strangled sound. His hands went instinctively to his neck and it took him a few slow, trembling tries to pull it out. You saw the blood arch and spurt–an artery–and he fell to his knees.

The woman stepped away with what must have been her last ounce of energy. She had only enough life left in her to turn to you and smile–she was missing teeth, too–before she collapsed on the ground. She was still alive, but her shock would come soon after.

It wasn’t her you were watching, anyway. It was Strade.

His eyes darted to and fro until they landed on you. He had his hand pressed against the wound now, but it wasn’t doing much good. He would need a proper compress… an ambulance… surgery of some kind. 

You don’t know why you called him. To help Strade? To help you? 

“Ren.”

Not loud enough.

“Ren.”

Still not loud enough.

“Ren!” 

Before you knew it,  you were simply screaming his name, filling the basement with a different pitch of scream than it was used to. Your own voice was barely recognizable.

The basement door slammed open and you heard frantic footsteps pounding down the stairs. You saw Ren, only a blur of orange in your shock, take in the scene. His own mouth slowly gaped open, but unlike Strade and the unfortunate woman on the floor and your own panting lips, no sound came out.

Ren said your name. You think it was Ren, because Strade was surely in no position to talk. It shook you out of your stupor and you ran to him, clinging to his arm, crying fitfully. He wrapped one arm around you and the two of you stood, together, watching Strade bleed.

“What do we do?” The inside of your elbow pressed hard against Ren’s back as you held him. You wanted to snuggle, like the way you did on good nights. You wanted him to make it all go away. 

Maybe he sensed this. Because while the two of you had clung together in so many occasions, this time, he stood up taller. He held you tighter. And then he assessed the situation.

Ren watched Strade quietly for a long moment. Strade gazed up at him–at you, too, but mostly Ren–with wide-eyed helplessness. The look didn’t suit him at all. He seemed to know it. 

“Help me,” Strade managed. It almost didn’t feel like speech. Maybe the knife had grazed his vocal chords. 

Neither of you moved at first. There was a long moment in which either of you could have sprung into action; could have ran to the supply cabinet and grabbed thick gauze to press against the wound, while the other could have bounded up the stairs to call an ambulance.

But you didn’t. And Ren didn’t. 

And then Ren looked at you, and took a step backward. He pulled you with him, and you went willingly, taking another step, and another, until the two of you were standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“You…” Strade gurgled out the word, and blood came bubbling out in between the fingers pressed against his neck with it. “You…”

He didn’t get to finish. His eyes widened and you saw the light leave them before he collapsed on the floor. 

For the first time since you’d been brought here, the basement was truly silent. 

Strade was dead.

Neither of you moved for a while. And then you felt a hoarse sob coming on. Relief, terror, and shock coursed through you, fighting for the surface in a way that could only result in tears. 

Ren regarded you with an unreadable expression and slowly removed his arm from your shoulder. You whimpered–don’t leave me, you wanted to say–and he smiled, a soft, little thing. 

“Don’t worry. I’m just going to make sure he’s dead.”

Oh. That was a good idea. But what if he wasn’t? What if Strade got to his feet and oh, the two of you would be in for it. He’d probably kill both of you–or at least you–and it would be slow and awful and you’d beg, beg, for death.

“Ren,” you said, almost stammering, swallowing a thick lump in your throat.

He turned back towards you, curious.

You pointed to the table of tools at Strade’s disposal. “Take something. Just in case.”

Ren stared at the weapons that had been used to kill countless people. At the blades and torches and nails that had been used to hurt him, and you. Then he grabbed a heavy hammer and slowly approached the bleeding corpse (please let it be a corpse) of Strade.

Strade didn’t move as Ren approached him. Or when Ren knelt down, hammer at the ready. Or when Ren’s fingers slowly reached out and pressed against his neck, his wrist. 

“No pulse,” said Ren.

Ren set the hammer down and used both hands to shove Strade’s body until it was fully on his back. His eyes, dull and dead, stared up at the ceiling without seeing anything.

He was dead. Truly dead. 

Really most sincerely dead, your thoughts echoed in a half-mimic of the Munchkins in The Wizard of Oz.

You barely registered Ren digging around in Strade’s pocket before he returned to you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he began to lead you upstairs.

“Let’s not stay down here,” he said. He gave Strade’s corpse one last look before staring ahead at the basement door. How many times had the two of you gone up and down these stairs at Strade’s whim? It always meant you would get hurt, or you would help Strade hurt others. It was never willing, going up these stairs. Never a choice.

And now the two of you were going up them together, Ren leading you, of your own free will.

Free will! What a concept. One you thought you’d lost forever. And yet here it is, given by the hands of a woman whose last days were filled with unnecessary, unfair agony. You wish you knew her name, so you could thank her properly.

Ren shut the basement door. It sounded louder than it ever had before. Or was it because the house was so quiet now? 

“Come here,” Ren said. And you didn’t know why he said it–shock, confusion, uncertainty still reigned–until you saw what was in his hand. 

His collar. It was… off. But how and–

Ren held up the key he’d taken from Strade’s pocket and shook it back and forth, like a well-earned prize. That’s what it was, in some ways. 

You stepped towards Ren and turned around, breathing heavily at the thought of being truly free from the collar. Strade only took them off the pair of you when you were showering and, once you had learned to behave well enough, when you slept. But they always went back on first thing in the morning, and their threat was an ever-constant presence in your mind, just like the metal was ever-constant around your neck.

Ren’s fingers brushed the back of your shoulder. You heard him breathing just as heavily. For a moment, he didn’t do anything. Wasn’t he going to…?

“Ren?” You asked, voice quivering. The air felt suddenly too heavy, your collar weighing you down more than normal. There was an awful thought, then: What if he doesn’t take your collar off? What if Ren is… what if, what if…

But then you felt the pressure from him sticking the key into the back of the metal contraption, heard it twist, and felt cool relief on your neck as Ren lifted the collar away from your neck and set it down on the coffee table. 

Both hands went to your neck. The skin was sensitive, bruised. A few days ago, Strade had come into your room at night for a session of “fun,” which ended with you being choked into unconsciousness. You’d woken up to Ren splashing cold water on your face. “Thought I’d lost you,” he’d said. 

The bruises Strade gave you would fade away in time. At least the ones on the outside.

And Ren…

You turned around and gave him a fractured smile. You leaned in, and Ren leaned in, and you hugged each other tenderly. Not just because it was the nicest way to hug, but because Ren’s rib fracture was still healing, and your back hurt, and both of you were littered with scars and cuts and bumps and bruises.

After a while, Ren pulled away. “Let’s… sit down.” 

He sat down on the sofa, which was dotted with sprinkles of Ren’s orange fur; no matter how much you lint-rolled the furniture, you could never quite get all of it out. 

Well, that didn’t matter now. You’d never have to clean up this living room, or the kitchen, or the brain matter and blood stains in the basement, again. You could go home.

And Ren could go home. 

And the nightmare would be over.

For now, you sat, side by side, on a sofa that had never seemed more ordinary. The house had never seemed more ordinary. Its secrets were primarily down in the basement. The rest of the house was bland and boring by comparison. Unless you counted upstairs, as it was not unheard of for Strade to take his particular brand of “fun” into your respective rooms. 

And now? It was quiet. Still. There was no chance that Strade would come walking up the stairs. No chance that you’d be called down them to torture someone.

Certainly no chance that he’d call both of you down, which never ended well. He liked to see Ren hurt you, because it seemed to hurt Ren. But sometimes, sometimes, you thought… there was a glimmer of something in Ren’s eyes in those moments. 

Something that reminded you too much of pleasure to ignore. Just a spark of it, but that was enough, when you were bound to a table and he was clawing open your thighs at Strade’s behest.

“Ren?” You forced yourself to stop thinking like that. That was the past. This was now. No, more than that: this was the future. A future without Strade, without this house, without pain. 

Ren looked over at you, slowly. The realization of what had just happened, and what it meant, seemed to be catching up to him, too. “... Yeah?”

Your fingers scratched at some of Ren’s stray fur on the couch. Some of the orange fur had already started clinging to your bandage. 

“What do we do now?” A simple question for you to ask. Several plans rushed through your head but it was hard to make sense of them. What was the best course to take; which authorities did you appeal to, when there was a dead serial killer and one of his victims in the basement, but your hands were on the torture tools, yet the same tools had been used to hurt you? 

You swallowed hard, shaking your head, willing the dizzying thoughts to quiet down.  “Do we call the police first? Or… an ambulance? Or–or–” 

Ren gripped the hand that idly scratched the couch. He intertwined his fingers in yours, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were wide. And just a bit wild.

“We could stay here.”

Your heart thudded. Once, twice. A third time.

“What?” You shifted on the couch, facing Ren more clearly. “We… we can’t, it’s–”

Ren squeezed your hand, a little too hard–the burn–and you winced. He didn’t let up, but he didn’t know you were hurting, did he? It was all just a rush right now, confusing, scary.

“We can,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. His mouth broke into an almost childish grin as he continued. “Strade’s got a lot of money, we can use that to keep up the bills. Buy whatever we want. We won’t have to worry about anything!” His tail swished behind him, thumping into your side. 

When you didn’t respond–words weren’t coming–his grin deflated a little. “I’m… I’m a good roommate,” he said, ears flattening. “I’ll take care of you.” He squeezed even tighter now. “We’ll do everything together, and we don’t have to worry about Strade getting mad about it. We’ll watch movies or-or play games or whatever you want.” He swallowed and you watched his throat bob. “And I promise I won’t leave fur everywhere.”

“Ren–” It was your turn to give his hand a squeeze, and you took his other in your free hand and clasped them both. “I’m not worried about your fur.”

His ears perked up and his smile came back.

“It’s… we can’t stay here,” you said, voice wobbling but gaining more firmness as you went on. “We need to leave. We need to call the police.”

Ren’s ears twitched. He looked thoughtful, opening his mouth, and shutting it. He was just confused, that’s all. Like you were. He needed to be reminded that if Strade was gone, the both of you were free. You’d go home, and he’d go home, and you could call or text or email or something but…

“Don’t be stupid.” 

The firmness in Ren’s voice shook you a little. More than that, it made you worry. He frowned at the sight of your tense shoulders, the quirk in your mouth. “Think about it,” he said, gently saying your name. “Remember all the people who watch his videos? Don’t you know who’s in those chats?”

The reminder of the chatrooms came hurtling straight into your guts. The chat… the people there paid money to watch people suffer. Watch them die. How many times had they encouraged Strade to indulge in some fucked up torture? Hell, they’d asked him countless times to string you up, cut you open, pull out your guts while you were still alive. Strade had danced away the requests with a teasing lilt, but the threat was never gone.

Ren let go of your bandaged hand and gently cupped your cheek. He spoke slowly, almost sweetly. “They’re rich. Important. Mayors. Politicians. Doctors. Police.” 

The anguish your stomach began to stretch. Ren didn’t stop talking.

“They know both our faces. Do you know what they’ll do to us, if they find us?” 

Tears pricked, unwanted and unbidden, at your eyes. He was right. You couldn’t go to the police. You couldn’t go to the media. This could never get out. But that didn’t mean you had to stay here. More than that: you couldn’t stay here. 

It would be another type of collar, to find yourself stuck here with Ren. And the collar might not be electric, but it would be just as dangerous. 

“Okay,” you said slowly. “No police.”

Ren grinned hopefully.

“But,” you continued. “We can’t stay here. I want to go home. And you–you get to go home now, too.” Ren had never talked much about his life before Strade, but surely he had friends. A family. An apartment or a house. A life. Just like you. 

“You want to leave–” His voice was thin and there was a fissure in it, ready to crack.

The hand on your cheek pressed harder, and you felt the thin press of his claws against your skin. Your eyes must have widened or perhaps you flinched, you don’t know, but Ren saw–and yanked away.

“S-Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”

No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He was upset, he was scared, hell, you didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry or start belting out show tunes right now. 

Freedom was confusing as hell. 

“I know,” you said, slowly. “It’s okay.”

Ren stared down at the ground. Then he stood up and fished Strade’s keyring out of his pocket and set it down on the coffee table with a jingling rattle. 

“I’m going to get us some water. And maybe a snack. We’ll… we’ll talk about this more. We can talk about it, and not make a decision right away. Okay?” He fumbled with both his hands in front of him, looking like the meek young man you’d met that first night, when he cleaned your wounds and gave you water to drink. 

You stared at him, perhaps for too long.

“Okay, Ren, we’ll talk about it,” you lied. 

You watched him walk into the kitchen, where Strade would never saunter in for a case of beer again. You heard him open the cabinet for an empty glass, none of which would ever again find themselves dashed into tiny shards that could be ground into your skin for fun. 

And then you leaned forward, grabbed the keyring off the countertop, pulled out the key to the front door, and softly padded your way to the threshold that neither of you had been able to cross in ages.

Your heart thudded. Your stomach heaved. But you unlocked the door and bolted, socked feet aching on the concrete sidewalk.

Ren said your name after the third step you took beyond the door of Strade’s house of horrors.

You could have kept running. Maybe you should have.

But instead, you turned around, to look at Ren standing in the doorway. There were no glasses of water in his hand–you don’t remember registering the sound of the sink at all, in fact. It was just Ren, with his hands at his sides, looking at you with an expression that was equally pitiful, agonizing, and worrying.

He said your name again.

You felt hot tears squeeze out of your eyes as you shook your head, turned around, and ran for your life.

[weaselle]

Let's talk chef knives

somebody in the comments on a cooking post is talking to me about knives and i figure, why not make a whole post about it

I worked in restaurants for two decades, and that means i was mostly too poor to buy expensive knives.. but i did learn EXACTLY what i was looking for in a knife, and eventually i did spend about $150 on one.

Now, you can easily spend $500 or more on a chef knife if you are the kind of person who cares about having the chef knife equivilent of a porche or lamborghini and i don't think many of you are looking for that, so I'm going to tell you what i looked for in my really-good-but-not-too-expensive chef knife

First of all, you don't need that block set of knives you see in like every kitchen ever. You know, this thing

You don't need that. Listen, theoretically each of those knives has a specific thing it is used for, but in all the restaurants i worked at, 99.9% of the stuff i did was done with one of these

We didn't go looking for a specific kind of knife, we just used one of these -- often a bunch of those were all that was provided. I uh, i didn't work at a lot of high end restaurants. But even in the nicer ones, most of what we used was a chef's knife.

So. In my opinion, instead of spending $100-$200 on a bunch of kind of shitty knives, spend the same money on one really nice chef knife, and a wetstone or some other sharpener you feel you can use. But really, like, just look at a wetstone tutorial on youtube, it's not hard, and it will make your life better.

NOW let me tell you what i looked for in my knife

This is the knife i use. It's a six inch Zwilling Pro

if you shop around, you can probably find it for close to 100 bucks. It's not Fancy™, it's just Quite Good. You can, if you want, find a chef knife for a couple grand, and that plastic-handled one in the first pic will run you less than ten dollars, so, this is a pretty good price point, on the low side of middle, with a knife quality on the high side of middle. If you take care of this knife, it could last you your whole life

Now let's talk about specific features I was looking for. First, inb4, metal quality. Zwilling is a good company, so the quality of their actual metal is pretty decent, and that's all you really need to know -- if you're getting your knife from a known decent knife company it's probably good enough quality. In this case Zwilling uses forged high-carbon German steel, which are some good key words to look for. That's all i have to say about that.

Now there are four specific things i was looking for that led me to choose this specific knife

1

Depth. This refers to how far the heel of the blade juts out from the handle (the heel of the blade is the part of the blade closest to your hand). When you have the blade resting with the edge flush against the cutting board, you want there to be plenty of room for the hand gripping the handle without knocking your knuckles against the board. A classic pinch grip doesn't need much room, but that's not the only grip you'll ever use, so give yourself some decent knuckle clearance. But not TOO much. Too much and your blade will kind of feel like it wants to flop over on its side when the edge hits the board.

2

Length. As an edgy 20 year old in restaurant kitchens, i always went for the biggest knife i could find, but because you're going to be using your chef's knife for everything, you actually want it short enough to use as a paring knife or whatever. The shorter the blade, the more control over the tip you have. Me, i never really need anything longer than six inches. I was a little bit worried when i first got it, but i've never wound up wishing it was longer.

3

Weight. Even though it's just about as short as a chef's knife can be, my knife has a good amount of weight to it. A somewhat heavy blade helps with chopping, and provides a good balance for other knife skills. When you are chopping and slicing, a decent amount of weight helps a lot. It doesn't have to be heavy heavy, but when you pick it up, it should definitely feel like a chunk of steel, not like a pressed aluminum toy. Plus, some of the weight will come from thickness, and a thicker blade will stand up to more sharpening and last you longer too.

4

Bolster Shape

If you look at the Zwilling Pro's bolster, it has a bolster that is sort of beveled into the heel of the blade with a nice curve. Right right, what's a bolster, hold on, here's the anatomy of a knife

on this knife, you can see that where the bolster meets the blade it makes basically a right angle where it goes from thick to thin. This is distressingly common in chef knives

now look at the bolster on the Zwilling Pro

and here's a similar bolster shape from a different angle

First of all, the bolster is diagonal, which is the right shape for me to hold in a classic grip. Every chef has their own grip, but it's always a variation on pinching the blade just above the bolster, and a diagonal bevel works better for my grip.

And just as important to me, it might be hard to tell, but the metal curves from the thickness of the handle to the thinness of the blade instead of using a right angled edge to go from thick to thin. This curve sort of follows the movement your knife makes against the knuckle you use to guide the blade when you do this

I tend to use the deepest part of the heel a lot, and, depending on what i'm doing with the knife, my grip can often be nearly off the blade it's so far back, so i have a tendency to knock a straight bolster directly against my index knuckle. Just a little, but after a few dozen times in half a minute it starts to irritate my finger. A curved bolster like on the Zwilling Pro sort of glides to a stop against my guiding knuckle instead of banging into it, provides a comfortable pinch, and makes my life in the kitchen better.

That might not be true for everyone, it's just important to pay attention to how you use a knife, especially if you find yourself thinking something like "it would be better for me if this part of the knife was different in this way" or "this knife would be easier to grip if it was shaped like this instead" or "i wish the shape of this knife didn't mean this was always happening" or whatever. Could even be how your knife fits in your dishwasher, just pay attention to what works and doesn't work for you personally so you know What you're looking for. But you for sure want to look at the Depth, Weight, Length, and Shape.

So. There you have it. Some things to pay attention to when selecting a knife that may allow you to get a good knife for yourself without spending tooooo much money.

[cecilyv]

New Fic: the chain I forged (9-1-1, buck/tommy)

Happy Holidays, my friends. @liminalmemories21 and I had Tommy get Christmas Caroled just for y'all. Wherein he meets some ghosts (or possibly hallucinates as a result of whatever was in those shots Lucy handed him last night). Either way, he’s too old for this shit.

"I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it." — Jacob Marley, in Charles Dicken's, A Christmas Carol

11.6k | General Audiences

[Read here on Ao3]

He comes awake abruptly, the hair on the back of his arms standing straight up. He lays there, trying to get his breathing back under control, when he hears the chair creak on the other side of the room. Shit. Fuck. Damn. There’s someone here. And not in the fun kind of way, the way he'd gotten used to with Evan — shit, Buck (he still gets that wrong in his head, when he's half asleep, still a little drunk). He'd gotten used to Buck getting up in the middle of the night, and then pausing before he got back into bed to take a sip of water, put on chapstick. Six months shouldn't have been enough to overwrite the pattern of a lifetime of sleeping alone. But— He still reaches for Evan — fuck. Buck. He still reaches for Buck when he wakes up, expects the heat of him next to him in bed, expects his pillow to smell like Buck’s shampoo and aftershave.

This time though, there's a person in his room and it's not Buck; doesn’t sound like him, smell like him. He breathes and smells dirt and cold and rot. He keeps his eyes closed, facing the ceiling, trying to remember what he might have on hand to defend himself with. Tries to figure out how this person got into his house without setting off the alarms. What he's here to steal.

"I know you're awake," whoever it is says, voice low and raspy like he doesn’t use it much. There's a rustle of fabric as the guy shifts position. "I ain't here to hurt you. You can go on and sit up, open your eyes."

He pushes himself up warily, flicks on the light and blinks in the sudden brightness. Blinks again. A burglar in a Halloween costume was not on his list of possible scenarios. And why, he wonders, if you're going to dress up to break into people's houses, wouldn't you wear a mask?

He’s wearing a cowboy hat, and a vest, but what Tommy can’t look away from (and doesn’t want to look at at all, honestly) is his skin so tight across his face it’s translucent ( like butter scraped over too much bread, a voice in his mind echoes). And the guy has— He squints, and then shakes his head. Looks back. Those look a lot like the inflamed boils Evan — Buck — had had. This seems very specific for a Halloween costume robbery. He would have expected more dead president masks.

"Uh. You're welcome to take whatever you want. I'm not going to fight you on it." It's just stuff.

The guy — the cowboy? — crosses his arms and looks annoyed. "Ain't here for your stuff."

Tommy glances at his bedside table like that's going to reveal that he'd gone to bed with a kitchen knife, or a hammer, or something useful. There's a glass of water and a book he's been saying he's going to read for going on a year now. "Okay. So, why are you here?" Keep him talking, he thinks.

The guy rolls his eyes. "Ain't here to kill you either. Didn't I just say I weren't here to hurt you? Keep up."

He's not sober enough for this. "Okay. I give. Why are you here?"

The guy relaxes, like he's been waiting for this cue. "I'm here to show you what has been, what is, and what is yet to come." And Tommy thinks, okay, Galadriel.

Tommy gives him a blank look, and the guy elaborates. "I owe a debt." He stops, like that’s all the explanation he thinks Tommy should need.

Tommy wracks his brain, but, "I think I would remember meeting you. Was it on a call?"

"Didn't say it was to you.” Pauses and says reflectively, “I wasn't always a good man, but I always paid my debts, and no one can say different." There's another pause and then, “Unless it was to a bank."

Okay, sure. This seems … nope, he’s got nothing. This seems like nothing he can possibly put a name to. This is clearly what he gets for letting Lucy talk him into going out after their last shift, and then letting her buy them shots. The wages of sin. Or something. "Are you seriously telling me you’re here as the Ghost of Christmas Past? Because you owe a life debt? To someone? Who is not me?"

The Ghost — sure, why not — nods, like he's glad Tommy is finally catching up.

He looks closer at the guy, really looks and — leather vest, chaps, boots, boils. Just fuck his life. "You're Billy Boils, aren’t you?"

Billy makes a face, like he tasted something nasty. "William James McCurdy. At your service.”

[mytheoristavenue]

Day 11-

BES Mizu x Reader - Winter Proposal

Summary: Mizu has to ask you something before leaving for London.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, sad, rushed/short, spoilers, takes place days after the last episode, grammar

Yesterday's events still played fresh in your mind. The sounds of gunfire, screaming, and metal clanging rang in your ears like a broken record. You'd sustained some injuries, thankfully not from any man-made weapon. You'd been trapped in a collapsing building and pinned under a burning beam. Luckily, Ringo found you and dragged you to safety, before hauling you back to where Master Eiji lived.

The night was spent with Ringo tending to your wounds and delivering news of Mizu's death to her father, who pretended not to be phased. You were unprofessionally diagnosed with a shattered ankle and varying degrees of burning on your legs and waist. Nothing fatal, thank God.

In your short time with Ringo and Eiji, you'd taken to being placed out in the nearby forest. Close enough to yell for help, but far enough to get away from the noise and heat of the forge. Of course, you still had to contribute in some way, so every morning, Ringo would set you outside with a task, usually washing clothes or dishes in a rudimentary tub, and let you watch the woods for anyone looking for trouble. In the evenings, he'd come back and hang the clothes on the line if needed, as you were in no shape to walk.

-----

On the third day, you sat in your chair on the edge of the forest, humming and mending clothes when you finally did spot trouble. A slender figure came hobbling through the woods, peaking out from behind trees when it heard a twig snap. You eyed the shadow cautiously, ready to scream out for the men to protect you at a moment's notice.

"Leave us be, stranger," you warned, brandishing a kitchen knife you kept to cut stray scraps of fabric for patches. "I may be vulnerable, but I'm deadly with a blade even still."

"I know you are," a tired, hoarse voice croaked. "I taught you that."

Your heart skipped a beat at the possibility before you shook the hope away. "You haven't taught me anything, stranger," you rebuked. "The one who trained me is dead."

Just then, the knife plummetted to the snow, let go of by your trembling hands. The stranger finally had inched close enough for their face to be unobscured by the light shining through the trees. Glacier eyes peered down at you from under shaggy chocolate fringe as she leaned against the nearest tree, waiting for you to react.

Without another thought, you left out of your chair, forgetting entirely about the searing pain in your brutalized body, but crumbled at her feet, clinging to her pants.

"My darling," she gasped softly, falling to her knees with you to hold you in her arms. "You're hurt, I'm so sorry, I didn't even know-"

"Where were you?!" you sobbed into her shoulder, making her fall silent. "I thought you were dead- we all thought you were dead!"

"I am," she corrected, bringing your hands from her shoulders to cradle them in hers. "For now, at least. You can't tell anyone I came to you."

"I-I don't understand..." you sniffled, (e/c) gems boring into her very soul. "You only came to see me?"

Her face softened and she smiled. "Yes, my love, I did. I couldn't leave without telling you where I was going."

"You..." you froze in her grasp. "You're leaving again? B-But-"

"But nothing," she corrected, sternly but with love. "I'm going to London to continue my mission." she confessed.

"London..." you repeated. "W-What's that? Where is that? Why can't we go with you?" Your head was spinning, you were so hurt and overjoyed and confused all at the same time.

"It's very far away, in another country. But I promise I'll be back." Mizu swore, pressing a kiss to your forehead with her palms on either temple. "I'm gonna finish my mission and I'll be back before you know it, and we're gonna live a normal life."

"We can't, you know that!" you argued but melted at her soothing touch. "Women can't be wed with one another, women can't buy property, women can't have kids together..." you trailed. "Besides, I know you'll never be done with this endless path of vengence..."

"I hate when you say things like that, my love," Mizu cooed. "Lips as lovely as yours have no place uttering words so violent. You leave all that talk to me." A moment of silence passed between the two of you before she mushed you away enough to hold you at arm's length. "I promise you that I'll be back, and when I am, I'm going to marry you, (Y/N)."

"But how..." you sighed, immense sadness for the death of a dream making your chest hurt.

"I'm a man in the eyes of the law." she smirked. "I can travel unaccompanied, own land and property, and marry who I damn well choose. And...I choose to marry you. If you'll have me?"

You'd never seen Mizu so enthusiastically sure of anything, short of destroying her bloodline. It made you feel incredibly special, the amount of passion she seemed to carry for this. "I'll have you, but I have a few conditions."

"Which are?" she cocked a brow.

You reached up and cupped her cheeks with both hands. "Come back to me in one piece, promise me you will."

Mizu smiled, studying your face lovingly. "I promise I will."

"And I want a farm near Osaka so I can see my family, and I want children to chase around the yard." you dreamed.

"A farm in Osaka, got it," she snickered. "Though knocking you up may be a different story."

"We'll adopt some!" you chirped.

"I think I can do that," Mizu sighed happily, nuzzling into your throat. "I promise a thousand times, my love."

Almost as quickly as she appeared, she was leaving again, begrudgingly tearing herself away from you. "Promise to write me," you sniffled, getting ready to cry again as she helped you back into your chair.

"I will, but it'll be under an alias." she agreed, brushing the hair out of your face and gathering your things to put within your reach. "But you gotta promise me something too."

"Anything."

"Darling, wait for me."

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 15: Baggage

“Sorry about your dinner plans.” Rook murmured as Lucanis fell in step beside her. “I can make you dinner any time,” he said with a grin. “Never apologize for ending a meal early to kill Venatori.” “After what they did to you and Spite, to Neve and the Shadow Dragons, to Minrathous…” Rook reached down and squeezed his hand. “I intend to cleanse Tevinter of every single one.” WANT TO WATCH ROOK KILL . AND THEN- Lucanis’ skin heated as she let go of his hand, forging ahead to give directives. He kept a careful distance as Spite ranted and raved in his mind about all the things he could do to Rook, some things he wasn’t even certain he knew how to do…

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x Spite???

Summary: Fiamma recalls her final night at Villa Dellamorte, Lucanis uses food to show appreciation while Spite would prefer other methods, Rook does her best to stomach an encounter with the Venatori while rescuing kidnapped Dalish, and Solas becomes suspiciously cooperative.

Word count: 3.8k

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! Blood of Arlathan quest. warnings: ritual/innocent animal sacrifice, mild sexually/physically aggressive Illario, horny Spite, yearning (but oblivious) Lucanis, Solas. Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

As Fiamma sorted through Caterina’s mail with gloved hands, her fingertips hesitated over an envelope bearing no Crow letterhead or seal. Unfamiliar penmanship scrawled her name in dark ink, and while Viago would immediately suspect an attempted poisoning, she found herself slipping off her gloves, brow furrowing as she deposited the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter.

No one outside of the Crows should have any knowledge of her residence at the villa, yet someone had known to send correspondence here. They’d also known that if her mail went to Viago’s, he’d snoop. All the mail sent to the villa passed through Fiamma first. The sender intended for her to get her hands on it without intervention.

Lucanis had been off for some time. Perhaps he wanted a message to get to his grandmother discreetly? Or perhaps it was a trap laid by her cousin, testing how she was exercising caution these days. With a frown, she slipped a knife from her waistband and sliced underneath the wax seal, anyway. 

Hey kid, You might not remember us little people after single-handedly taking down 20 Antaam, but you left an impression on me I can’t seem to shake. I’m working on looking for an old friend who’s gotten themselves into some pretty deep shit. I could use someone with your skill set and grit to help me find him and, maybe, beat some sense into him. If you’re up for the job, and things aren’t too cushy where you’re at, you can find me every evening for the next ten-day at the Lamplighter in Minrathous. Look for the guy with a loud mouth and a chessboard. -Varric 

Varric. One of the prisoners she freed the night she ruined an entire Crow operation - the very misstep that landed her here at Villa Dellamorte. His proposition wasn’t a new one - he’d made the same offer the night she rescued him, but Viago hauled her off before she could even consider it. Undoubtedly, Varric had powerful allies and discreet surveillance on her. She was unnerved that she hadn’t noticed. Though she found herself somewhat impressed. Intrigued, even.

Fiamma folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket, setting a kettle on the stove as she continued tending to her evening duties. While the water for Caterina’s evening tea boiled, she contemplated Varric’s offer. Viago had sidelined her for three full moons now, with no promise of letting her return home, or to her own contracts anytime soon. In that period, Illario had become more insufferable, more forward, and more tormenting. After Lucanis departed for a prolonged contract last week, Illario had formed a habit of returning home drunk every night, melancholy and distraught, howling belligerently outside her door to be let in. If the villa weren’t so large, and Fiamma’s chambers weren’t in the opposite wing, Caterina would have caned him for making so much noise. It seemed his luck was in his grandmother’s declining hearing. 

She shook her head, preparing a cup of tea and arranging it on a bed tray alongside the rest of Caterina’s mail. Carrying it up the stairs, she wound through long hallways and several bare rooms. Cloth draped so much of the villa’s furniture to protect it from dust that she often felt surrounded by ghosts. In many ways, she was. Caterina had watched her entire family die, save her two remaining grandchildren. What joy was left inside these walls? Why decorate a space better left vacant, much like the unmarked graves near the rose garden? 

The First Talon was in a rocking chair before the fire when Fiamma knocked on her bedroom door. Caterina never could quite sit still. Even at rest, she was restless. Normal people rocked their grandbabies to sleep, but she raised hers to be killers. Good ones at that. The back and forth of her chair was meant to soothe her own worry. 

“Lots of mail today.” Fiamma said, setting the tray on a desk near the balcony. The old woman glanced at her, the glimmer of hope in her eyes betraying her mask of indifference. 

“Anything from Lucanis?”

“Are you expecting word from him? I could send-”

“I’ll handle it.” Caterina waved, cutting her off. “Leave me.”

Typically, the two would exchange a few teasing comments or Caterina would gloat about Lucanis’ most recent accomplishment (or how Illario had most recently vexed her), but Fiamma knew better than to pry. Caterina was prone to sour moods, and where she came from, dismissal was just as good as praise most of the time. After all, to be noticed often meant death in her line of work.

With a polite dip of her chin, she backed out of the room and closed the door. Absentmindedly, her hand returned to her pocket, brushing against the edge of the folded parchment there. The click of her boots echoed against the marble as she walked down the dimly lit corridor to her room. It would be unconscionable to leave Caterina now. Once Lucanis’ contract in Minrathous was finished, she’d take her leave in the night. But surely he’d return soon. What harm was there in leaving her with Illario for a few days? A lead assassin was more than capable of fending for herself…

She could barely count the steps left to her door when she heard something behind her, turning and preparing for an ambush. A small gasp escaped her as her back hit the wall, Illario’s face coming only a breath from her own. So drunk she could smell the alcohol on his skin, she turned her head to the side and wrinkled her nose. 

“Fiammetta…don’t tell me you’re avoiding me?” Illario slurred, clumsily dragging a hand down her cheek. 

“Go to bed.” She braced her palms on his chest to create distance between them. 

“Not without you.” He took her by the wrists and pressed his mouth sloppily against the corner of her own.  

“You pig!” She shoved him off, spitting and wiping her lips with her sleeve. 

“How long will we do this dance, Fi?” Illario asked in a sultry voice. 

“As long as it takes for you to get it through your head that the kiss before was a thank you, not an oath of my devotion.”

Illario narrowed his eyes. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“Is it so hard to fathom that I just don’t want you?” 

“No, no, come on. Who is it? You and Teia have some secrets that I should know about?” He leaned in closer. “What about my cousin? He’s sweet on you, I can tell.”

“Listen to yourself.” Fiamma sneered. “You just can’t believe I would say no to you unless I was saying yes to someone else.”

Illario stumbled into her, pulling her closer. “Lucanis is inexperienced.” He whispered against the shell of her ear, “You want me, someone who can show you the ropes-” 

Fiamma instinctively reeled back and decked him square in the jaw, her knuckles grazing his bottom teeth. With a hiss of pain, she recoiled, shaking the impact from her fist as he held his chin, opening his mouth wide to check the joint. 

“Maybe I deserved that one.” He mumbled, wiping at his bloodied lip. 

Before the exchange could carry on another moment, Fiamma wrenched the doors of her bedroom open and slammed them shut behind her, turning the lock and sliding her sword through the handles for extra security. 

“I didn’t stand a chance, did I?” Illario asked through the door as his body audibly slumped against it. 

Ignoring him, she pulled a bag from under the bed. When she first arrived, Fiamma never fully unpacked. Her own way of keeping one foot out the door, as De Rivas always did. She swept the room, gathering her remaining belongings and throwing them inside. For good measure, she snatched a couple of offerings from the guest wardrobe. Caterina wouldn’t miss them. Though she might miss her . That wasn’t Fiamma’s problem anymore, though.  

“I’ve done terrible things, Fiammetta…” Illario’s muffled voice cried. “But I had to…”

With a heavy sigh, Fiamma hoisted her pack onto her shoulder, retrieved her sword from the door, and opened her bedroom window. No longer willing to entertain another night of self-pitying theatrics, she launched herself over the ledge, scaling a trellis to the gardens and sneaking through the hidden passage across the courtyard. 

By morning, she’d secured a spot on a ship to Minrathous, to search for a man with a loud mouth and a chessboard. With a brief pang of guilt, she wondered who would bring Caterina her morning coffee. 

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook found Viago poised over the kitchen counter, precariously refilling his toxin vials. Framed by the glass balcony doors, the setting sun glowed over the city skyline behind him, turning the den a faint orange. Her cousin glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, decanting a clear liquid into an empty container. 

“Your friends tired of hovering by your bedside and returned home.”

Rook took a seat, watching him work. “Teia too?”

“She had work to do at the casino. She left once I assured her you’d live.”

Neither of them spoke for several minutes as Viago corked a glass cylinder and nestled it inside his case with care. He snapped it shut and braced his palms on the counter, staring at the stone surface.

“Go back to your Lighthouse. I’ll keep an eye on Illario and update you when I know more. Once you go through that eluvian of yours, I’m facing it towards the wall.” 

“What if I need you?”

“Lucanis seems more than eager to make you his problem. Let him carry the burden for a little while.”

Rook buried her reaction to his disappointment deep within herself. “What makes you say that?”

“Because he was the last to leave and keeps reappearing through that damned mirror every hour to check in.” Viago stood up straight and took off towards his room without sparing her a second look. 

“Whatever is going on between the two of you, keep it out of my house.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

AMBER. AND HONEY! ROOK. CLOSE .  

Lucanis glanced up just before she opened the kitchen doors. Relief and another potent emotion, something akin to the rush just before an assassination, coursed through his veins. 

“Rook! You’re back.” He breathed, lifting the pasta cooking on the stovetop off the flame and setting it aside to cool. “How are you feeling?”

“Well rested.” She crossed the room as he wiped his hands on his apron, discarding it on a nearby chair. As she joined him near the stove, his eyes met hers, and he forced a smile, feeling a bit dazed. He turned around quickly, twirling a forkful of pasta in the pan and offering her a bite. 

“Come here, try something for me.” 

One brow arched, she held his gaze, lips dragging down the metal prongs as she allowed him to feed her a mouthful. Chewing thoughtfully, she threw her head back with a moan. Lucanis watched her features attentively, assessing what the dish might need based on her reaction.  

OTHER WAYS TO MAKE HER MOAN, LUCANIS. BETTER WAYS.  

He shoveled a forkful of hot pasta into his own mouth, as if he could silence Spite by burning his own tongue. 

“I’m trying something new.” The noodles scalded his throat as he swallowed them whole. “The trick is in the pasta water…” He returned his attention to dinner, dividing it amongst an assortment of plates on the counter. 

“You’re in a surprisingly cheerful mood today.” Rook snuck a fork from the counter and began eating directly out of the pan. 

“I’m cautiously optimistic about Caterina, and I wanted to do something nice for you, show my appreciation for all your help…” He snatched the fork from her grasp. “Save your appetite. There’s a tort in the oven, too.” 

Rook smiled, and the warmth of her brown irises brought out by the light of the fireplace. “Did you do all this for me, Lucanis?”

“There’s plenty to share.” Tension grew in his chest, a sensation of static rising in his throat. “But…I did make it with you in mind.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Yes, I did,” He said matter-of-factly, shoving his hands in his pockets and averting his eyes. “I still haven’t found a way to apologize for everything, and…”

“I’m the one who owes you an apology, Lucanis.” She said, reaching for his wrists. “I should have listened to you. Should have told you my plans, never should have…”

ROOK. TOUCHING. US. DO IT BACK!  

Lucanis let her tug him closer, blinking in surprise as she flung her arms around his neck. One hand fell to her waist, while the other found her hip.

“You and me? We’re good, Rook.” He said, tearing his attention away from her and returning to the stove, wordlessly plating their meal as Rook set the table. She brushed past him; filling a cup of coffee for each of them before settling into her seat. It was wonderfully domestic, and he welcomed the distraction from the trouble that waited for them in Treviso. It would be hard to trust anyone again, but after his moment with Rook yesterday, he’d unveiled a trust in her he’d never allowed himself to have in anyone.  

The others soon arrived, Bellara and Neve bringing news of kidnapped Dalish, taken by Venatori, for a ritual sacrifice. A pang of disappointment hit Lucanis as he realized their brief respite from the terror of the gods would soon be over…and the tort he’d labored over all afternoon would likely go untouched. 

“The gods will want more power,” Bellara said, picking at her food. “They won’t waste any time getting it.”

A phantom scratch came from behind Lucanis’ eyeballs at the mention of blood magic. 

“Then we strike while they’re weak.” He lowered his fork, looking up from his half-finished plate and holding Rook’s gaze. She set her mouth in a line with a firm nod. 

“He’s right.” She said, pushing up from her seat. The others followed suit, departing in the direction of the eluvian.

“Sorry about your dinner plans.” Rook murmured as Lucanis fell in step beside her.

“I can make you dinner any time,” he said with a grin. “Never apologize for ending a meal early to kill Venatori.”

“After what they did to you and Spite, to Neve and the Shadow Dragons, to Minrathous…” Rook reached down and squeezed his hand. “I intend to cleanse Tevinter of every single one.”

WANT TO WATCH ROOK KILL . AND THEN-

Lucanis’ skin heated as she let go of his hand, forging ahead to give directives. He kept a careful distance as Spite ranted and raved in his mind about all the things he could do to Rook, some things he wasn’t even certain he knew how to do…

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Safer to venture into such a large gathering of Venatori in small groups, Neve, Lucanis, and Rook opted to move in the open, disguised, while the others went through the trees with the Veil Jumpers. 

“This robe stinks of Venatori. It makes my eyeballs itch.” 

Lucanis stood with his arms crossed as he waited for Neve to reach the opposite end of the zip line. White fog seeped up from the deep canyon before them, concealing several roaring waterfalls in the distance. Rook bit her lip as she examined the large gap between them and the opposite bank. 

“If you’re not too uncomfortable…I could use a favor.” 

Lucanis raised an eyebrow as she held up her palms. The injuries she sustained from her escape from the villa were still red and inflamed as she tugged a pair of thick gloves over them with a grimace. 

Lucanis smirked and offered her his back. “Need a lift?”

“You sure you can carry both of us?” She asked with some uncertainty, “I can catch up with the others if…”

Lucanis scoffed. “I can handle you.” 

“Rescued twice in less than a fortnight. I’m a lucky girl.” Rook’s arms encircled his middle, and she rested her chin on his shoulder, hiking her legs up around his waist. “Are you sure about this?”

He stiffened, tightening his grip on the handles. “I’ll keep my reservations to myself until we reach the other side.”

Lucanis kicked off the ground, and they soared over the canyon, Rook’s stomach plummeting as she looked at the drop below. With her arms locked tightly around Lucanis’ chest, she feared he’d suffocate and pass out, sending them both to their deaths amongst the jagged rocks below. Eyes squeezed shut, she became attuned to the scent of his shaving oil lingering on his neck as she buried her face there. The telltale jolt of them hitting the end of the zipline ripped every thought from her mind and she released a held breath, letting her shaking legs detach themselves from around Lucanis. As her boots hit solid ground, she swallowed hard to avoid retching.

“Took you long enough,” Neve said, inclining her head towards the Venatori camp. “Come on.” 

They weaved through a sea of Red Cloaks and excited chatter. Rook caught the sound of her own name a few times, resisting the urge to turn her head towards it. 

“You’re popular.” Neve murmured. 

“Not comforting.” Rook replied. From her peripheral, she watched Lucanis scan the crowd, hands flexing at his sides. 

“They’re going to bleed a Dalish deer!” A nearby Venatori squealed. 

Rook’s throat tightened as she recalled the disposition of the gentle creature she’d encountered with Assan and Davrin. “They’re going after Halla?”

She turned to a platform where the creature was drug forward on a rope, weak and struggling to resist. Could it be the same one from before? 

Lucanis reached out and caught her around the waist as she jolted forward, bringing his lips to her ear. 

“We can’t do anything that will draw attention, Rook.” He warned in a low voice. Tears stung her eyes as she realized he was right. Lucanis discreetly reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. 

“You don’t have to watch this,” Neve said as the Halla bleated in terror, but Rook couldn’t tear her gaze away, no matter how badly she wanted to. She squeezed Lucanis’ hand, fingernails digging into his skin unintentionally. When she noticed and tried to relax her grip, his only tightened. Face set in a facade of indifference, fury simmered beneath his features. 

“They will pay, one way or another.” 

The Halla exploded into a mess of blood and carrion and she stifled a gasp, turning into Lucanis’ shoulder. She’d seen all she needed to, and not a second more. 

“Are you alright?” Lucanis asked softly. 

“This whole place makes my skin crawl.” She said through gritted teeth, releasing his hand with some difficulty and storming through the Venatori camp.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“The Dalish prisoners…they escaped safely?”

Covered in blood and dirt after the events at the Venatori camp, Rook stood across Solas in their usual meeting spot, each on one side of an enormous expanse in the Fade. His prison.

“For now.”

They’d barely been successful. Elgar’nan had shown up with an unexpected archdemon, and soon detected their presence, bringing to light his alliances with both the Venatori and the Antaam. If not for Solas’ intervention, they, nor the Dalish, would have made it out alive.

“Whatever my frustration with them, it feels good to have helped my people again. Thank you for allowing me to. The chance to infuriate Elgar’nan was a reminder of simpler times.” Solas spoke more warmly than she was used to. It felt like a change she shouldn’t trust. 

“We share a set of similar goals, but our endgame is not the same.” Rook said, folding her arms over her chest, “And I still haven’t forgiven you for hurting Varric.”

“Varric…” Solas echoed, regret weighing on his features. “How is he?”

“Out of commission, for now. His recovery is slow, thanks to you, but his condition seems to be….improving.” Rook said, worry gnawing at her gut. 

“And you? I can’t help but notice you bear some injuries of your own.” Solas nodded at the contusion on her temple and where her wounds had reopened on her palms. She’d had no choice but to draw her weapons and fight, undoubtedly prolonging her healing time. 

“I’ll be fine.” She muttered, pulling her gloves from out of her pockets and slipping them on, careful to keep a straight face. Solas wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her suffer today. 

“You lead your allies well, Rook. When we first met, I saw you only as a foolish child who disrupted my plans. You were…an irritant.” He said, crossing his arms behind his back. “I expected you to be nothing more than a tool, but you’ve proven me wrong at every turn. Perhaps Varric was not misguided, placing his faith in you.”

“You’d do well not to underestimate me.” Rook said, “Most come to regret it…given they survive long enough.” 

“Spoken like someone who kills for a living.”

“Let’s not pretend my death toll is anywhere close to yours.” Rook growled. 

Solas hummed in acknowledgement, uncrossing his arms and beginning to pace. 

“Your team trusts you, and you listen to them. It is impressive…and enviable. You work together with a camaraderie that took me centuries to build in my rebellion.”

“I care about them. I don’t use them as…how did you put it… tools?”

“I caution you not to allow feelings to distract you from your goal. What little time you have left, you should make certain you, and the team that trusts you, are ready for whatever comes. This might be your last chance. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are preparing their ritual to pierce the Veil during the next eclipse, as Elgar’nan’s power is tied to light and darkness.”

“My allies will be ready.” Rook said, walking through dust and rubble towards the other end of the Fade’s nothingness. Anything to be further from Solas. 

“Are you?” He called after her. “I know that you will do everything in your power not to fail them , but what are you doing to ensure you will not fail yourself ? I have gleaned insight into some of your baggage, the complicated feelings you carry for fellow Crows, including the one on your own team. Have you grappled with your own shame? The regrets that haunt you in your sleep?”

“The Lighthouse is a shrine to your regret, Solas.” Rook said over her shoulder as the world around them faded to white. “Keep your words of wisdom and try heeding them yourself.”

[bruhnze]

Personal Records - Chapter 5

Summary: (this chapter took me a MONTH to write and its still bad) basically this is the evening after Chapter 4. Personal Records Masterlist.

Warnings: smut.

Wc: 17k

The party had been perfect, just the way Lucy liked it. Not too crowded, just an evening with the people she cared about most in her life. Of course, her brother and sister and their families hadn’t been able to make it, but aside from them everyone she loved had been there.

After an evening full of catching up with everyone and celebrating her birthday, the guests had slowly trickled out one by one. It was late, rudely late, and the house had quieted down more and more. Lucy’s parents had gone to bed, taking Lucas with them, who had technically been supposed to be asleep for hours. Oliver had managed to convince his cousins to beg with him for a sleepover and had gone home with uncle Joan a while ago.

Just now Lucy had shut the door behind Soph and her latest man. They saw the guy every now and then, and he seemed nice enough. Ona and her sometimes joked that Sophia had been single for too long to tolerate another person in her life permanently, but maybe this one would stick, who knew.

Now there were just four guests left; two other couples with who they had become close friends during her and Ona’s early years of living here - Carmen and Rosa, and Sonia and Elena.

Carmen, in particular, had become one of Lucy’s closest friends after starting work at one of Lucy’s gyms years ago. These days, Carmen managed her own branch and had contributed to the growth of Bronze Fitness Forge a lot.

They’d met Sonia and Elena through Ona selling them a house and having a couple dinners in the process. After a couple months of knowing both, they had introduced the two couples to eachother and ever since they had a fun friend group with regular meet ups. Well.. to be fair, they had been lacking a little bit these last months, everyone was just so busy.

The house was messy in the aftermath of the celebration. The six of them lounged on the couches around the coffee table in the main living room. A couple of bottle’s nice wine were within reach, blankets were draped over their laps as they chatted and laughed around while watching Lucy unwrap her birthday presents.

“Okay, next one,” Lucy said, reaching for a medium-sized box wrapped with a green bow around it. She opened it, and set it down before holding up a knitted plaid. “Ooooh, this is lovely. Who’s this from?” she asked, reaching for the card that was in the box as well.

“It’s from us,” Rosa said, leaning further against Carmen, “to be real with you, we really didn’t know what to give you,’’ she chuckled, ‘’but it’s a blanket from Egyptian cotton.”

“It feels nice, I love it. Thank you both,” Lucy said with a warm smile, running her fingers over the soft material of the new blanket. She adjusted the one that had been covering both her and Ona, gently tucking it snugly around just Ona instead. Then, she unfolded her new blanket, draping it over herself before she reached for the next present.

Ona glanced at Lucy, a small pout tugging at her lips by this action. She didn’t say anything though—she just watched Lucy unwrap the next present quietly.

Lucy unwrapped an expensive set of kitchen knifes.

“Ohhh, we can put those in the guesthouse,” Ona said, scooting closer and slipping under Lucy’s new blanket with her. She nestled back into Lucy’s side, her legs sliding over one of Lucy’s as she reclaimed her place.

 “Or,” Lucy said, “we put ours in the guesthouse and keep these here. It’s a nice set.” She set it next to the couch near the other presents she’d unpacked.

Ona nodded, her head settling naturally against Lucy’s shoulder as Lucy leaned back into the couch. It wasn’t until a quiet moment passed that Lucy noticed the way Ona’s fingers fidgeted slightly, seeking hers. A smile spread across Lucy’s face as recognized Ona’s need for nearness, she reached for Ona’s hand, threading their fingers together. Her thumb brushed soothingly over Ona’s knuckles.

“What’s next?” Elena asked impatiently, her voice slightly slurred from the wine. She leaned forward, eyes bright with tipsy excitement, thoroughly enjoying the unwrapping chaos.

Lucy laughed at her friend’s enthusiasm, but she had to admit, this was fun. She let Ona’s hand loose again and leaned forward, “Hmm, let’s see,” she murmured, reaching for a smaller present wrapped in bright pink paper. The tag caught her eye immediately, a very recognizable handwriting said xx Soph.

“Another one?” she mused aloud, recalling the earlier gift from Sophia, that had been a great gift, it was a book she’d been wanting to read. “I knew she couldn’t keep it normal for a year. Bet there’s something silly in here.” Lucy shook her head sighing exaggeratedly.

She tore the wrapping and braced herself for whatever quirky gift Sophia had came up with this time, she kind of had a habit of giving weird gifts, it was sweet thought, she put time and effort into it, but Lucy knew better then to open Soph’s presents infront of family.

Inside was a small box with bold, cheeky lettering. It was black with pink and gold, a little too tacky for her taste. She frowned, turning it over in her hands, it looked like a game. Definitely a eighteen and up game, if she was to judge by the drawn pictures and quotes on the box.

“What is it?” Elena asked, leaning over with curiosity.

Lucy blushed and looked up, ‘’ehhh.’’

Sonia plucked the box from Lucy’s hands before she could protest and read aloud. “101 Cards of Spicy Questions: Get to know your friends in a whole new way.’’ She chuckled, ‘’Ranked from number 1, ‘Least Spicy,’ to number 101, ‘Most Spicy.’ Perfect for an unforgettable night of laughter, blushing, and surprising dirty revelations you’d never expect from your friends.”

“Oh my god, Soph,” Lucy groaned, slapping her forehead dramatically.

The group burst into laughter.

Sonia opened the box and inside was a note, she read that one out loud too, “A little college game for the person who thinks she’s forever 21, happy birthday mate.”

Another ripple of laughter sounded through the room.

“Crazy Soph,” Carmen chuckled. After these years, their friends had gotten to know Ona’s PA too, and during one particular late night, they’d even been treated to some of the outrageous stories about what Soph had endured when, the lovebirds, as she called them, had first gotten together. Most memorably, there was the infamous Paris incident, where she’d carried on a conversation with her boss, while she was... occupied otherwise.

Sonia took the cards out and handed them to Elena, who started flipping through them with a growing smirk. ‘’Number 8.’’ She took the card from the stack, ‘’Do you ever sleep naked? If so do you have a story to tell about it? For example: Someone woke you up and saw you.’’

‘’Was all that on the card?’’ Ona asked, ‘’or did you add that example?’’ she chuckled.

‘’No, it was on the card.’’ Elena said, ‘’look.’’ She leaned over her wife and handed the card to Ona and Lucy.

Ona took the card and read it too. Lucy groaned, covering her face. “You’re not actually thinking about playing that, are you?” She asked.

Rosa chuckled and answered even though Lucy had been asking Ona. “Why not? Could be fun Lucía, what’s the harm?”

‘’If Soph ever hears about this she’d get way too happy with herself.’’ Lucy shook her head as she leaned back in the couch. ‘’Besides, there’s more presents to unwrap.’’

‘’Ahh let’s play, babe,’’ Ona said cheekily, looking at Lucy while she handed the card to Sonia who was now holding the cards.

Carmen leaned forward, setting her wine glass back on the table, “See, Ona wants to play too, come on.’’ She nagged.

Everyone joined in, trying to convince Lucy.

‘’Guys, are we seriously going to play a game that says spicy questions, and question eight is ‘do you sleep naked’,’’ She laughed, looking at her wine glass before taking another sip.

“Speaking of spicy questions…” Carmen said, her voice taking on a teasing tone, clearly emboldened by all the alcohol she’d consumed. “Did the birthday girl get properly celebrated yesterday? Or does that kind of thing not happen anymore after eight years?”

Laughter rippled through the group.

Lucy’s gaze flicked to Ona, and the two shared a look. A small, self-satisfied smirk tugged at Lucy’s lips, though she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Yeah, she’d gotten birthday sex, and it had been damn good. Still, the directness of Carmen’s question made her stomach flutter with embarrassment.

“Well, it worked out in the end,” Ona said, referring to the chaotic start of their morning the day before.

Ona didn’t mind talking about her intimate life. Lucy knew it, she knew Ona had friends she told everything to, in great detail even. But that weren’t really these friends, well, at least Lucy didn’t think so. Well, maybe with Rosa or Sonia. She actually didn’t really want to think about that, it was a little out of her comfort zone for other to know details like that about her, well, their intimate life.

“What happened?” Sonia asked, her curiosity piqued just like the other three women waiting for Ona to elaborate.

Ona glanced at Lucy, checking for any sign that she should hold back. But Lucy gave her a small shrug, the faintest nod of permission. Taking that as permission, Ona grinned while she told the story. “Well I woke her up in the morning,” she began, nudging Lucy playfully with her elbow, earning a round of chuckles. “But before we could even get started, we got interrupted because Lucas wet the bed.”

“Oh, brutal!” Sonia groaned, shaking her head laughingly but sympathetic.

“Classic,” Rosa added with a laugh.

“But we made up for it later,” Ona continued with a nonchalant shrug. “We let the boys have a sleepover in the guesthouse with grandma and grandpa.”

The group erupted into laughter again, and Lucy felt her cheeks heat up, the attention making her squirm slightly.

“Lucy, don’t get shy on us now,” Elena teased. “Especially since we’re definitely playing this game.”

Ona chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to Lucy’s shoulder. “L'anglesa és vergonyosa,” she teased softly in Catalan, the one language only five out of the six women in this room knew. (tr: the English women is prude)

Lucy frowned, narrowing her eyes at Ona. She didn’t understand the words, but she could guess the tone and she knew by the look on Ona’s face that she was being mocked.

“Ah, come on, Bronzey,” Carmen chimed in, using Lucy’s gym nickname. “Don’t chicken out, it’s just a game.” She said, knowing Lucy was easily egged on.

Lucy rolled her eyes, a wry smile breaking through. “Alright, alright,” she muttered, shaking her head, though she couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Sharing details wasn’t really the ending to the evening she’d envisioned, but she didn’t want to seem boring, so she guessed she was doing this now, especially as Ona didn’t seem to be phased at all.

Carmen leaned back with a triumphant smile, clearly pleased with herself.

Lucy sat a bit stiffly, still adjusting to the idea of this game. It wasn’t like her to open up like this, not in a group setting. Sure, she could share the occasional thing with Carmen one-on-one, but yet, as uncomfortable as it was, she couldn’t deny there was also a thrill to it.

“We could do the ‘if you don’t want to answer, you drink’ rule,” Rosa suggested, pouring more wine into her and Carmen’s glasses.

“Ohhh, yes!” Elena cheered excitingly. “That’s fun! It reminds me of back in college.” She leaned forward to accept the bottle Rosa handed her, topping off both her and Sonia’s glasses, then turning to fill Ona and Lucy’s.

Ona had tilted her head to look up at Lucy. "If you don’t want me to answer something, just tell me, mkay?" she said quietly.

Lucy chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to Ona’s forehead. "Of course. But I think you can say whatever, we don’t really have anything strange to hide, besides, those questions sound dumb anyways, but we’ll see." She took Ona’s hand in hers and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

Ona smiled softly. "Mhm, we will see."

"So, who’s starting?" Rosa asked, making Lucy look back at the group.

"Should I put the cards back in order?" Sonia offered.

Lucy chuckled. "Mmm, maybe let’s just keep them as they are now. I think you started with number eight, so you can start and after that we can just go clockwise."

Carmen laughed, amused by how Lucy could be shy on one hand but still such a natural leader. "Feeling enthusiastic after all, Bronzey?"

Lucy rolled her eyes, ‘’shut up,’’ threatening she held a nearby pillow up, pretending to throw it, but not actually doing it, because she was afraid for the glasses of wine to spill.

‘’Okay..,’’ Sonia started, ‘’and are we answering per couple or individually?’’

Lucy reached for the carton package, but there was nothing about it on the box.

‘’Maybe we can just pull one card as a couple and both answer it?’’ Rosa said while she shifted, kicking her heels off and laying more comfortably on the sofa, now completely against Carmen.

Everyone hummed agreeing.

‘’Well, I sleep naked often.’’ Sonia said, ‘’and Elena almost never, only when its very hot in the summer, but most of the times she will still wear underwear then even.’’

‘’I just don’t like the feeling.’’ Elena chuckled, ‘’but from time to time we fall asleep naked..’’

‘’True.’’ Sonia nodded, ‘’and a story about it.. hmmm..’’ she sucked in her bottom lip as she looked at her wife and thought about it.

‘’You spilled coffee on your tit once.’’ Elena snorted thinking back to the event.

The group laughed.

‘’What?’’ Carmen laughed out, ‘’how?’’

‘’I made a cute valentines breakfast and then it went horribly wrong.’’ Elena explained, ‘’we had to interrupt breakfast in bed with a cold shower.’’

The group laughed harder.

‘’Uff, did it leave you with anything or was it fine?’’ Lucy asked, trying not to laugh while speaking, ‘’did you get a blister?’’ she clarified.

Sonia shook her head, ‘’luckily I was fine, we showered.’’ She put her arm around Elena, ‘’and she kissed it better.’’

Lucy shook her head laughing, ‘’well I’m glad you where fine.’’ She shifted and leaned to the stack of cards, ‘’I guess its our turn then.’’ 

The top card had the number eleven on the back, she took the card and turned it to Ona, wanting her to read it.

"Have you ever kissed someone in this room? If yes, how was it.. could they kiss well? If no, what’s the wildest place you’ve ever made out with someone?" Ona read out and chuckled, it was an easy question, in this friend group there where no mixes, never had been, all of the couples had been together before they’d become friends. ‘’Mhm yes, I’ve kissed one person in this room,’’ she said theatrically, ‘’and I’d say they knew what they where doing, a good kisser.’’

Lucy grinned, ‘’yeah, for me the same, also kissed one person in this room.’’

‘’Pfft, we already knew this,’’ Rosa laughed, ‘’add the make out story too.’’ She proposed.

The group agreed.

Ona and Lucy looked at eachother, thinking.  

‘’the boys school?’’ Lucy asked.

‘’your office?’’ Ona asked at the same time.

‘’Oh, I’d say the school is crazier.’’ Carmen laughed, ‘’but just for my info.. did you guys do more in Lucy’s office?’’ she asked, faking a disgusted face, ‘’Because I sit behind that computer too sometimes.’’

‘’That wasn’t the question.’’ Lucy quickly shot back, laughing cheekily. ‘’anyways, the boys school was maybe our most recent ‘crazy place’ to kiss I think.’’

‘’Mhm true,’’ Ona agreed, ‘’I hadn’t thought about that one, it was after a parent teacher night, and after that I had to go to the bathroom and then we where in an empty hall, we where just proud I guess.’’ She explained to the others before smiling and looking at Lucy, ‘’you where talking sweet to me about the kids.’’

Lucy smiled at the memory, looking back in Ona’s eyes. If they where alone she would’ve kissed her now, she thought.

Sonia cleared her throat, ‘’how can they still be so in love, I mean they u-hauled after a couple weeks of knowing eachother and they still look at eachother like this.’’

Lucy and Ona looked up, confused. ‘’What?’’

‘’that you two can forget the world around you when you look at eachother.’’

Ona and Lucy rolled their eyes at the sentence that got thrown at them from time to time, ‘’aight, you two pick a card then,’’ Lucy said, sliding the stack of cards towards Rosa and Carmen.

The number thirty five laid on top of the stack, but Carmen took it without batting an eye. If it was their turn she would’ve tried to get a lower number from the stack, Lucy thought.

"Have you ever faked an orgasm? If not, have you ever come up with an excuse to avoid having sex?" she read out loud.

Her and Rosa looked at eachother.

‘’Well not with eachother I think,’’ Rosa said, ‘’the faking I mean.’’

Carmen nodded, ‘’mhm, I haven’t.’’

‘’But an excuse..’’ Rosa thought about it, ‘’well, I don’t think its an excuse, but sometimes just saying I’m tired or something, but yeah if you’re actually tired, is it really an excuse then?’’

Carmen nodded, ‘’I mean excuse sounds kinda weird yeah, because if you don’t want to, you shouldn’t do it.’’

‘’Mhm I agree,’’ Sonia hummed.

‘’Lets just skip it,’’ Elena said, ‘’come, I’ll take the next card.’’

..

After a couple of rounds Lucy had actually started to enjoy it. Maybe it was also the wine she had in her system, but it was pretty fun.

Sonia pulled the next card from the stack, number fifty-two written on the back. “What’s the riskiest text you’ve ever sent?” she read out loud.

She and Elena exchanged a quick look, Sonia raising an eyebrow in amusement. ‘’Well, you guys already kinda know this story.’’ Elena grinned. “It’s probably that time I accidentally sent Sonia a message meant for someone else,” she admitted, her cheeks faintly reddening at the memory, even though everyone in the room knew the story.

“Yeah that was pretty wild,” Sonia chuckled, leaning forward to grab her glass of wine again.

‘’Ahhh but you have to tell what the text said, now’’ Rosa protested, ‘’because we already knew this.’’

Sonia laughed, “I believe it said something like, ‘I can’t stop thinking about your hands on me like last night. Come over now?’”

The group burst into laughter, Elena covering her face as Sonia continued, “She wasn’t trying to sext me. It was meant for one of her other hookups. I called her immediately, because I was like ‘huh, we didn’t fuck yesterday’, and the rest is history.”

“Well, it worked out in the end,” Elena said, her face still hidden behind her hands.

The group laughed again.

‘’Still the wildest way I’ve heard anyone get together.’’ Lucy muttered as she laughed, ‘’how did you explain yourself El?’’

Elena grimaced, ‘’well, she knew we weren’t exclusive.. so I just said oh fuck I’m so so fucking sorry.’’ She shook her head, ‘’God, I was so embarrassed.’’

‘’But I just said, don’t text the other one, I’ll come.’’ Sonia chuckled proudly, ‘’and then I teased her about’’ she air quoted with her fingers ‘’us hook ups‘’ she laughed, ‘’not meaning anything to her.. and then she couldn’t forget me.’’ Sonia shrugged, ‘’and that girl missed out big time, because that night was fucking great.’’

“By the way, Lucy, are you seriously saying the way you and Ona got together wasn’t crazy?” Rosa called out. “I think Carmen and I are the only ones here who got together in a normal way.”

Lucy laughed, leaning back. “What? You think a twenty-something businesswoman letting her PA hire the personal trainer she fancies outside office hours is crazy?” she joked, dragging out the absurdity. She made jokes like this often, it helped ground her, a small way of keeping herself in touch with reality.

The group erupted into laughter.

Lucy and Ona were still chuckling as they flipped over their card. Number fifty-seven. “Have you ever had a friends-with-benefits situation?”

Ona tilted her head thoughtfully. “No,” she said, glancing at Lucy. “Not really my thing. For me, it was either a relationship or a one-time thing.”

“I have,” Lucy admitted, her tone measured. “I hadn’t really had a girlfriend before Ona, ever.”

“How many people did you sleep with before Ona again?” Carmen teased, a mischievous grin on her face. She knew Lucy had shared the number in confidence and that it wasn't exactly a topic Lucy was proud of.

Lucy rolled her eyes and groaned. “Oh, piss off,” she said, her English accent coming out thickly. “Let’s stick to the cards, yeah.”

“What?” Sonia laughed, her eyebrows shooting up. “The good Lucy was a slut in her younger years?”

Lucy’s cheeks flushed, and she opened her mouth, but Rosa interjected with a playful shake of her head. “Guys, you can’t say slut anymore,” Rosa said lightly, trying to defuse the tension. “And body count wasn’t on the card.”

“Oh, come on,” Sonia pressed with a grin. “There’s no shame in it! I’m wasn’t judging, just curious.”

“I think my body count’s the highest anyway,” Elena chimed in. “My younger years were… pretty wild.”

Lucy cleared her throat, eager to move on. ‘’Mkay, lets continue.’’

‘’Yeah okay, maybe it’ll be on a card later,’’ Carmen said, feeling a little bit bad for putting Lucy on the spot like that.

Rosa picked up the next card. Number sixty-eight. “What’s the longest you’ve gone without wearing underwear?”

Carmen thought about it and then laughed. “Okay, I have an answer for this one. We were on vacation, and wore swim shorts for three days straight.”

“Oh I remember that, I begged her to dress up for dinners but she literally didn’t want to.” Rosa acted annoyed.

‘’I was comfy.’’ Carmen shrugged.

Elena chuckled. “Why are you proud of it too?”

Carmen grinned. “Well, it’s quite the accomplishment, no? I survived three days of begging from her before I bended.”

The group laughed but kept from questioning further as Sonia grabbed the next card. Number fifty-nine. “Have you ever hooked up with more than one person in the same week?”

Sonia shook her head. “Not me.”

Elena tilted her head thoughtfully. “I have,’’ she thought about it, ‘’maybe even three, but that was a long time ago,’’ she glanced at her partner, ‘’but now I have the best wife ever and I don’t even need to think about it anymore.”

“Well, lucky me,” Sonia teased, kissing Elena on the cheek.

Lucy and Ona drew their next card. Number sixty-four. Ona read it aloud, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Do you like to talk dirty?” Ona snorted, clearly amused as she saw Lucy’s cheeks turning pink like she’d expected.

Lucy tipped her wine back in one go.

“Yeah, I’m skipping that,” she announced as she saw the group waiting for an answer.

The group looked at Ona, who hadn’t taken a sip.

‘’Lucy drank,’’ Ona offered, although her voice lacked any real protest.

‘’Yeah but you haven’t, and it’s individual answers.’’ Rosa smirked, ‘’come on tell us.’’ She pushed, trying to pursue Ona.

“Okay, well, I think I’m terrible at it,” she admitted. ‘’but I like it when Luce does it.’’ She blushed and looked at Lucy cheekily, hoping Lucy didn’t mind.

Lucy blushed too, but the small tug at the corner of her mouth told Ona that Lucy wasn’t hating it. She pushed it a bit further, ‘’or at least I liked it when she used to.’’

The group chuckled.

‘’Ohhhh,’’ Carmen exclaimed, ‘’is your game getting weak Luce.’’ She mirrored the nickname Ona used for Lucy.

Lucy scoffed, ‘’I do that still.’’ She said, although her tone sounded questioning as she looked at Ona.

Ona laughed. “I know, I was kidding,” she said, unable to resist teasing Lucy - it was just too much fun. But as the laughter settled, she realized that perhaps this wasn’t the best time or place to push her buttons, especially in front of their friends. Of course, that realization only dawned on her after the words had already left her mouth, the alcohol having loosened her up.

The group chuckled, sensing the subject was definitely going to be picked up again later by the couple. But they didn’t want to stir.

Rosa quickly reached for the next card. Number eighty-five. “Have you ever roleplayed?”

Lucy breathed unsteadily, damn was she really playing this game with her friends.. why had she agreed again.

Carmen and Rosa looked at each other, clearly thinking back to the some encounters.

“Yeah,” Rosa said simply.

Carmen nodded. “Yeah I won’t scar you guys with the details, but... yeah and it’s great.”

The group chuckled.

‘’I mean are we really surprised,’’ Ona laughed, ‘’I think you’ve even told us this before.’’

‘’Probably,’’ Rosa chuckled, ‘’I mean, I’m an actor so it isn’t the weirdest thing, I like-’’

‘’Okay! lets continue,’’ Carmen said laughingly, but apparently thinking her wife had said enough.

Elena laughed and picked up the next card. Number seventy-four. “Have you ever been caught walked in on during having sex?”

Elena groaned. “I have.’’  

Sonia chuckled, turning to her wife. “That one when you still lived at home?” she asked.

‘’Yeah it was by my mom.’’ She explained to the rest, ‘’It was mortifying. I can never forget it, she walked into my bedroom without knocking, and-” she winced, covering her face. ‘’she saw like.. everything.’’

Carmen laughed loudly. “That poor woman.”

‘’And you?’’ Ona asked directed to Sonia.

Lucy was surprised Ona was asking questions.. was she enjoying the game?

‘’No, I haven’t,’’ Sonia said, ‘’I only started having sex when I had already left the house.’’

‘’Mm same,’’ Ona agreed.

Lucy’s cheeks flushed in anticipation as she drew the next card, she definitely liked to hear these story’s better then to have to tell them. “Seventy-two,’’ she read, ‘’have you..’’ she breathed in as she read the rest of the sentence and smirked, ‘’ever been blindfolded?”

“Well not me,” Lucy added quickly, glancing at Ona smugly.

Ona mirrored her expression, she wasn’t embarrassed. ‘’I have been blindfolded, sí. Back when you where still adventures.” She added teasingly.

“I am still adventures,” Lucy protested, her face getting red from the embarrassment Ona was putting her in.

“Right,” Ona teased.

‘’Seems like your wifey is trying to tell you something,’’ Elena teased, earning her a nudge from her wife.

Lucy frowned, looking at Ona. Yes, this wasn’t the first remark like this this evening.. why was Ona putting her on the spot like this? A dirty thought crossed her mind, maybe Ona was being a brat on purpose.. but she thought she’d fucked her pretty well yesterday.. was Ona still dissatisfied? Or maybe it was just the wine. Yes, she told herself it was just the first time in a long while that Ona had drank alcohol again.

Not lingering on teasing Lucy, Carmen and Rosa drew the next card. Number seventy-six. Carmen read it aloud; “Do you like morning or night sex more?”

Rosa shrugged casually. “Night. Mornings are too chaotic with work and the kids and everything.”

Carmen nodded in agreement. “Same. I don’t even have the energy for morning sex unless we’re on vacation or something.”

The rest hummed agreeing. Nighttime was definitely the easiest at this stage of life.

“But it can be hot to start the day with it,” Lucy said, thinking out loud.

All eyes turned to her in surprise. Lucy hadn’t spoke up unprompted up until now.

“What?” Lucy asked, blushing as she realized everyone was staring. “Maybe it’s logistically harder, but it’s definitely worth it. It’s hot.” She offered.

“Damn,” Carmen teased with a overly dramatic grimace. “Do you also dirty talk like that?’’

‘’Like what?’’ Lucy challenged.

‘’You know, like you’re running a board meeting?” Carmen joked.

Lucy scoffed in mock offense. “Just because I’m a little awkward talking about this stuff with you guys doesn’t mean I’m a bad lay. Do you think I’d have kept this” she put her arm around Ona to pull her closer, “ten out of ten, all these years if I didn’t satisfy her?”

The group burst into laughter, while Ona leaned into Lucy with a smile, her hand finding Lucy’s leg beneath the blanket. Maybe her teasing had been a good decision after all, she hoped Lucy didn’t mind.

Carmen and Lucy had a habit of riling eachother up sometimes, they trained together outside of office hours and had a whole system of records they worked on breaking, always one upping the other.

When the group’s laughter finally settled, Elena and Sonia drew their next card. Number fifty-six. “Have you ever had sex with more than one person at the same time?”

Sonia shook her head without hesitation. “Nope.”

Elena hesitated, her lips quirking into a half-smile. “Not exactly…”

The group erupted into laughter at her noncommittal answer, but Elena waved them off with a sigh. “It’s not as exciting as you’re imagining, trust me.”

“Now I’m even more curious,” Rosa teased with a laugh. “Come on, spill it.”

Elena rolled her eyes but gave in. “Alright, fine. I had sex in a dorm room where the roommate of the girl I was with was also… busy doing the same thing. Same room, different sides.”

“Damn,” Carmen snickered. “Is that the closest you’ve come?”

“Carmen,” Rosa interjected with mock sternness. “Stop teasing.”

“Well, what about you?” Elena shot back, grinning. “Ever had a threesome?”

Carmen shrugged. “I didn’t pull the card, did I?”

Elena raised an eyebrow. “But you’re asking questions outside of the cards. Seems only fair.”

Carmen glanced at Rosa, silently seeking permission. Rosa shrugged with a small smile.

“Well,” Carmen said nonchalantly, “we’ve had a third… a couple of times.”

Lucy, mid-sip of her wine, nearly choked. She coughed, eyes wide in surprise. This was very much news to her, Carmen never told her this.

“Uff, I could never,” Sonia said, taking Elena’s hand.

“Yeah, it’s not for everyone,” Rosa agreed with a nod. “We’ve only done it abroad, though. With people we’d never meet in our day-to-day lives.”

“On vacation?” Ona asked with an intrigued smile. “Is that why you two take trips without the kids?”

“Well, it’s not the reason, but those vacations are for our relationship, yes,” Rosa admitted.

“Wow, the game was right” Ona chuckled, shaking her head as she looked at the couple. “Surprising dirty revelations you’d never expect from your friends.’’ She quoted what Sonia had read up from the box earlier this evening, ‘’I wouldn’t have guessed that about you two.”

Carmen and Rosa shrugged. Lucy couldn’t understand how they could look like the picture of comfort while talking about this subject.

“Everyone’s different,” Carmen said casually.

Lucy smiled wryly, finally chiming in, “Well, it’s definitely not for us. We established that pretty early on.”

Ona nodded in agreement.

Rosa raised an eyebrow, tilting her head curiously. “So you two really plan to never have anyone else for the rest of your lives?”

“Yes,” Lucy said simply, her voice soft but certain. She glanced at Ona, her smile deepening. “I hope so.”

Ona looked up at her, meeting her gaze with an expression so full of quiet love that it made Lucy’s cheeks flush.

“I really hope so,” Lucy murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, making Ona the only one to hear it.

The group got silent, the kind of stillness that comes from a moment of shared affection that everyone could feel. Lucy and Ona where just that couple. Made for eachother.

‘’Allright,’’ Rosa chuckled, ‘’next,’’ she slurred, having maybe her sixth drink of the night in her hand.  

Elena laughed as she reached over Sonia to pick their next card. Number sixty-two. “What’s the longest dry spell you’ve gone through?” she read.

Elena tilted her head. “Together or apart?”

“Either,” Carmen said.

Elena and Sonia looked at eachother, “..together, maybe two weeks?” Sonia said. “Apart… I think I went almost a year once.”

‘’Uhh..’’ Elena laughed, ‘’did you forget the time you were pregnant?’’

‘’Oh shit you’re right.’’ Sonia laughed, ‘’yeah, a couple months.’’

Rosa nodded. “Same.”

Lucy absentmindedly traced patterns over the blanket on Ona’s leg, her thoughts drifting to memories of Ona’s pregnancies, which felt as vivid as if they’d happened yesterday. Both times had been a little different from eachother. During the first, Ona had been... well, unusually worked up, all of the time up until late into the third semester. The second, however, had been more challenging. Ona had been dealing with persistent backaches, frequent stomach cramps, and ofcourse they already had a little one running around then.

That second pregnancy was probably the longest stretch in their relationship without much physical intimacy, but their focus had been on eachother in other ways. Their thoughts had been entirely on the pregnancy and caring for Oliver. Even so, Lucy never once felt Ona left her unsatisfied.

Ona leaning forward to draw their next card pulled her back from her thoughts.

Number eighty-six. “What’s your favorite bedroom accessory or toy?” Ona read out loud, she paused, glancing at Lucy with a chuckle.

Lucy raised an eyebrow at her, a smile creeping across her face. “What? you really want me to answer that in front of everyone?”

“Why not?” Ona shrugged innocently, though her tone betrayed she had something up her sleeve. “Unless you’d rather just take a drink and be boring.” She whispered, though the rest of the room probably heard it too.

Lucy gave her an exaggerated eye roll but didn’t back down. Instead, she leaned forward. “Alright, fine..’’ she pretended to think for a moment, ‘’I think my favorite is the strap, and I think your favorite is definitely my strap, too.”

For a moment, the room froze as the words hung in the air. Then, a burst of laughter broke the tension.

Ona didn’t so much as flinch. She nodded casually, “mhm.” Her lack of embarrassment seemed to catch the others off guard, making them laugh even harder.

“See El,” Sonia pointed at Elena, her tone triumphant. “I told you Lucy was top.”

Elena giggled. “Aye, I said switch for both of them, I can still be right.”

Carmen leaned forward, eyebrows raised, looking between them. “Wait, wait, wait - you two bet on this? What the fuck?” she laughed.

Sonia shrugged. “It’s just a fun little game.”

Elena nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, and we made bets about you two, too. We have bets on all our friends.”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “Okay well, do tell, what did you guess about us?”

Sonia grinned mischievously, looking to Elena for backup. “Oh, we actually agreed on that one. We both said you´re a little subby top.”

Rosa burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hand.

‘’what?’’ Carmen asked.

“I’m impressed,’’ Rosa wheezed, ‘’they hit the nail on it´s head.”

Carmen huffed, crossing her arms. “Nah, they’re wrong. Those words mean nothing anyways, it’s a myth.”

Rosa gave her wife a look. Carmen rolled her eyes under the silent exchange, then looked away and fell quiet, which made everyone else laugh even harder.

Lucy shook her head, trying not to join in on the laughing, but failing. She turned back to Ona, still smiling. “Well? Was I right?”

Ona hummed. “Well, if your hands don’t count as an accessory... yeah, I’d say the strap.”

Lucy blushed, her grin widening despite herself.

Rosa leaned back, shaking her head. “Not good at dirty talk, you said? Then why does it feel like the two of you are in some kind of foreplay right now?”

Ona tilted her head and smiled cheekily, she was about to take this even further. “No, no, it can’t be foreplay. We had sex yesterday, so I’ll probably have to wait a week and a half before anything happens again.” She looked at Lucy as she said it, her tone teasing yet calm, speaking as if she wasn’t even there.

The statement hung in the air for a moment, and Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. For a second, it seemed like she might take the bait, but then she bit her lip, leaned back and took a sip of her wine.

“Okay, next card,” Sonia interjected, her voice sounding tight with the awkwardness of someone trying to redirect the tension.

Lucy leaned toward Ona, her voice low as she whispered, “Keep up this attitude and see what happens.”

Ona giggled softly, leaning close to whisper back, “Is that a promise?”

…

The stack of cards was almost empty now but question 101 hadn’t come yet. She hoped it would be pulled by Sonia or Carmen, not them… but to be honest, the questions weren’t that bad.. you could answer as much as you felt comfortable sharing.

Sonia leaned forward to pull a next card from the deck. “Number sixty seven, do you like playing rough?” she read.

Elena pulled a silly face. “Shall we drink.”

Sonia snorted, “mhm, lets drink.”

The group erupted into laughter. ‘’Oh come on!’’ Lucy joked.

Sonia leaned back into the couch, grinning smugly. “What? We choose to drink.”

‘’What was that look about,’’ Ona cackled, joining her wife.

“Next one!” Rosa called, defending the game rules as Lucy didn’t have to answer when she drank earlier, she shoved the deck dramatically to Lucy and Ona.

‘’Okay,’’ Lucy accepted, as she was only joking anyways. She leaned forward, taking the top card. “Number eighty three, have you ever used handcuffs or restraints?” Lucy read. She grinned, tilting her head towards Ona. “Yes, we have.”

The group started making exaggerated oohing noises.

“Well,” Sonia teased, ‘’anything more to add?’’

Ona shrugged, biting her lip. “What more is there to say,” she said nonchalantly, though the spark in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

“You two are no fun either,” Rosa groaned dramatically as Carmen laughed, reaching out to draw the next card.

“Number seventy nine, what’s the hottest compliment you’ve received about your skills in bed?” Carmen read, turning to Rosa with a raised eyebrow.

Rosa smiled and took a sip of her wine. “Hottest compliment? Let me think…” She hummed.

‘’Ahh, I know what it is, someone once said that ‘I ruined them for anyone else’ that was quite hot, but that was because of the moment too." Rosa finally said, sending a wink to her wife.

Carmen smirked, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Yeah, and I still stand by that.”

“Awww” the group cooed tipsily as if it was the cutest thing ever.

Lucy threw a pillow in their direction as they kissed each other.  

“Ohh, there’s exactly three cards left,” Sonia said, grabbing the next card of the deck and seeing there’s only two under. “Number eighty-nine, do you like giving or receiving more?” She glanced at Elena, raising her eyebrows.

Lucy bit her lip as she saw the next number was 101, meaning her and Ona had it.  

“Both,” Elena said easily.

Sonia tilted her head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Hmm. I guess I’d say the same.. maybe giving a bit more”

‘’But if you have to choose El?’’ Rosa asked, ‘’imagine you can only have one for the rest of your life.’’

‘’Hmm,’’ Elena looked at the ceiling before looking at her wife, ‘’I guess receiving.’’

‘’Cough, bottom, cough.’’ Lucy joked.

Elena laughed and rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Sonia laughed, pulling her wife closer, ‘’okay go on, take the next card, you’re two are the lucky ones, you have 101.’’ She smirked.

“Okay, number 101.’’ Ona said, her eyes skimming over the card after she turned it over, ‘’Do you have kinks? What are they?”

Lucy immediately leaned forward to take her glass. “Pfft, I want to drink,” she said, making everyone laugh.

‘’And you Ona?’’ Rosa asked, seeing Ona didn’t seem hesitant to answer like Lucy.

Ona thought about it, then hummed softly. “Hmm, okay. I’ll share one my therapist and I were talking about recently.” Lucy’s head turned sharply toward her wife, surprised. Ona continued, “It’s completely giving up control.”

The room fell quiet for a moment before Sonia snorted. “Damn girl.”

Ona laughed lightly. “yeah my, therapist says it probably has to do with all the stress and responsibility I deal with in real life.”

Lucy frowned, Ona had never shared this before, why was she learning about this only now.. at the same time their friends did..

“Well, do tell,” Sonia pressed. “How does it show? What do you like, then?”

Ona hesitated, looking carefully at Lucy. She knew Lucy hated the idea of sharing intimate details with anyone but her. It had probably already been a bridge too far to bring something like this up here instead of privately first.

Ona blushed, taking another sip of her drink. “Uhh, that’s for me to know. Well, us,” she said, snuggling closer to Lucy. “And for you guys to probably never find out... just you know.. ”

‘’just you know what?’’ Rosa asked, laughing as Ona’s words had died down.

‘’I don’t know.. just giving up control,’’ Ona laughed a little awkwardly, ‘’I’m sure you guys have plenty imagination to fill the blanks.’’

Everyone laughed, except for Lucy, she didn’t like the thought of anyone imagining anything about Ona for one bit.

The group groaned in frustration when they realized they weren’t going to get any further information, but Rosa continued and took the last card.

“Number hundred, if you had to choose one person to hook up with from this room, who would it be?” Rosa read aloud.

“Great last one!” Carmen said quickly. “Let’s skip it and just call it a night.”

“No way,” Sonia said. “Answer it!”

‘’Or drink’’ Lucy said, she definitely did not want Carmen to even think about Ona, let alone there be a chance she’d say her name. This number 100 was worst then 101 if she’d been involved in making the game she had turned it around.

Carmen hesitated, glancing at the group. “Uh… okay, fine I’ll answer.’’ She thought about it for a second as she looked around the group, ‘’hmmm, I’d say Ona. Because she’s the most like Rosa.” She offered as an explanation.

Lucy stiffened at those words, her thoughts immediately running wild. Ona with Carmen? Wtf?

Before Lucy could spiral further, Rosa’s voice cut in. “Okay I’d say Lucy then. Because she’s the most like Carmen.”

Sonia and Elena burst into laughter. “Get a room, you four!”

Lucy and Ona both blushed.

“You guys can have them,” Lucy said, waving her hand and rolling her eyes, trying to shake off the strange tension.

The room dissolved into more laughter and teasing.

‘’No, this is a set up.’’ Sonia joked, almost shouting to get her voice above the noise in the room, ‘’first they told us about having a third sometimes, and now this.. they’re inviting you two to swing!’’

‘’Ew,’’ Lucy slapped her hand infront of her mouth as soon as it had slipped out, she wasn’t trying to call their friends gross. ‘’I’m sorry, I’m..’’ she laughed at the thought, ‘’we’re just very monogamous.’’

Ona chuckled, but pulled herself together quickly too, ‘’yeah sorry guys, we have to decline.’’

‘’Oh please,’’ Carmen rolled her eyes, ‘’it was hypothetical.’’

‘’You could’ve drank tía,’’ Lucy laughed as she reached for her own glass.

‘Yeah.’’ Rosa looked at Carmen and burst out in laughing, ‘’maybe we should’ve, but I think Car and I have drank enough.’’

‘’too much probably.’’ Carmen nodded, ‘’I was supposed to be the designated driver.’’ She giggled.

‘’Yeah there’s no chance you’re not getting behind the wheel.’’ Lucy said, caring about her friends safety and recognizing Carmen was not in the state to drive at all.

Sonia and Elena exchanged a glance before Elena spoke up. “We are going to call a cab,” she said, pulling out her phone.

Carmen groaned dramatically. “Ugh, my car…” she muttered, shaking her head as if it only now dawned on her that she had been drinking and couldn’t drive them home.

“Go ahead and order the cab,” Lucy said with a chuckle. “I’ll drive your car to work on Monday, no problem.”

Carmen raised an eyebrow. “Yeah that would’ve been great Bronzey, but I need the car Sunday.”

Lucy laughed tipsily as she took out her phone. “You mean today?” She waved her screen at Carmen, pointing to the time. “It’s already Sunday. For a while now, actually.”

Before Carmen could respond, Lucy’s attention shifted to a notification on her phone. Joan had sent her a picture of Oliver and her son fast asleep earlier that night. Lucy’s heart melted a little as looked at the photo and smiled, tilting the phone to show Ona.

Ona glanced over briefly, her own smile softening at the sight, but she was mid-conversation with their friends. “You two can just stay here,” Ona was saying to Carmen and Rosa. “It’s no problem at all. Oliver’s has a queen-sized, I’d offer a room in the guesthouse, but I don’t want to startle Lucas or Lucy’s parents.”

Carmen and Rosa exchanged looks and nodded in agreement. “Okay, yeah, that works,” Carmen said, her voice slightly groggy from the wine.

Meanwhile, Sonia and Elena confirmed their cab ride. “We really should head home,” Sonia admitted. “We still have the babysitter there. She is staying the night, but we originally told her we’d be back hours ago, I didn’t even know it was this late.”

As their friends finalized their plans, Lucy lingered on the photo, only now she started realizing she felt a little tipsy. She’d been staring at the picture for longer than she intended, the warmth of the wine mingling with the fuzzy feeling the image gave her. A sudden wave of laughter from Ona and the others brought her back to reality.

She tuned her attention on the conversation, trying to piece it together - Carmen and Rosa would be crashing at their house, and Sonia and Elena had decided to head home.

…

Sonia and Elena’s cab pulled into the driveway. “Text us when you’re home safe,” Ona said, wrapping Sonia in a hug. Lucy exchanged a warm smile with Elena, who promised they would. The cold night air swept into the house briefly as the door closed behind their friends.

With the house now quieter, Lucy glanced around at the living room. She and Ona had cleaned up a little while waiting for the cab, most of the dishes were already in the washer that was running a program now, and the counters were wiped down, but the house wasn’t back in its original state yet.

“Let’s clean up the rest tomorrow,” Lucy said with a yawn. She leaned over, brushing a light kiss on Ona’s cheek. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Ona nodded, she’d show their friends Olivers room. “Alright,” she said, turning toward Carmen and Rosa, who were still lounging on the couch. “Come on, I’ll show you guys your bed.”

Lucy gave a quick, “Goodnight, guys,” to their friends before heading upstairs.

By the time Lucy reached the bedroom, she was walking with a full on smirk on her face, she had some plans for this night still.

She went in to their clothing room, heading straight to a particular drawer. She pulled it open searching for some items she had in mind. A collar. Hand restraints. Blindfold. She picked them up, biting her lip as she ran her fingers along the material while memories of times they’d used them flooded her mind.

She closed the drawer and turned to walk back in to the bedroom, but as she walked out, her eyes caught the standing mirror in the corner.

She paused, another thought taking shape in her head. Setting the items she was holding down on the dresser, she grabbed the mirror first instead and carried it to the bedroom.

She set the up mirror in the bedroom, adjusting the angle until she was happy with it. Pleased, she grabbed the other items from the walk-in closet and dropped them onto the bed.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, Ona still wasn’t back.

Lucy felt impatient, Ona was taking too long, their friends already knew their house, how long could it take.

She walked back to the closet and rummaged through a box, searching for a harness designed for a specific kind of strap. They didn’t use this one as often because Ona preferred their other ones. With this one, she might not be able to fuck Ona as good as with the others, but she could feel everything and more, this strap had an internal part.

She slipped it on and once it was in place, she pulled her underwear back over the strap, zipped up her pants, and returned to the bedroom. She glanced in the mirror to make sure the bulge wasn’t really noticeable.

The sound of footsteps approaching the bedroom signaled Ona’s return.

Lucy’s heart raced. She was excited but a little bit of doubt crept in. What if Ona wasn’t up for it right now after all.. she had been giving hints all night right? but shouldn’t they first have a good talk about what Ona had said first?

But there wasn’t much time to second-guess herself. The door opened, and Ona slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her.

“They’re all settled,” Ona said, before pausing as her eyes scanned over the room, taking in the changes and Lucy, who was awkwardly standing in the middle of the room.

Lucy looked at her with shy smile playing on her lips. “Good,” she murmured, stepping closer. Her fingers found Ona’s wrists as she added, “now we’re finally alone.” She took Ona’s hands, pulling her close.

“What are you up to? It’s late, Luce,” Ona chuckled, but let herself be pulled in anyways. “Chica loca.”

"I know it's late, babe," Lucy said, gently cupping Ona's cheeks. Her voice softened, but a hint of a smirk tugged at her lips as she looked at Ona. "But I think you've kind of asked for this, haven't you?"

Alright, Lucy assured to herself, she just didn’t need to overthink it.

Before Ona could reply, she spun her around, guiding her toward the mirror.

Ona was still in the dress she’d worn that evening and the small vest she had put over it halfway the evening to cover her bare shoulders and arms when she got chilly. The delicate necklace Lucy had gifted her a couple years back hung against her collarbone, catching the light.

Lucy looked over Ona's shoulder into the mirror, her eyes locking on their reflection as her fingers slid beneath the vest, brushing against the warmth of Ona’s skin. She slid the fabric down her shoulder, letting it fall to the floor. “And now you want to sleep?” she murmured, a smirk played at her lips. “I don’t believe it.”

Ona’s lips parted, about to say something, but Lucy didn’t give her the chance.

“On my birthday, of all nights,” Lucy continued, “you suddenly want to be fucked like a slut.. talking about the old days?’’ she pressed a kiss to Ona’s bare shoulder, ‘’and now, telling me, in front of our friends, above anything, that I don’t satisfy you?”

Her hands moved to Ona’s waist, pulling her closer, ‘’but it didn’t just come to mind just yesterday? Did it? Why does your therapist know before I do?’’ she asked, daring Ona to answer.

Her fingers trailed up Ona’s neck, pausing to wrap firmly around her throat. She gave a gentle squeeze, testing the waters, but what was she expecting.. Ona not to like it? Lucy smirked at Ona’s reaction and tightened her grip just enough. Holding her firmly, she leaned in, her mouth brushing the shell of Ona’s ear.

“I have forgotten who you really are a little bit, haven’t I?” Lucy whispered, leaning down to bite Ona’s earlobe. It wasn’t hard, but hard enough to make Ona gasp. “Haven’t seen you for the dirty little slut you really are.”

“Luce,” Ona breathed, her voice slightly strained as her hands came up to hold Lucy’s wrist. “We really should sleep.”

Lucy chuckled against the skin of Ona’s neck. “Do you really think that?” she asked as she felt the goosebumps that appeared below her lips.   

Ona didn’t respond, her eyes locked on Lucy’s reflection in the mirror.

Lucy kept her eyes on Ona’s as she slid her hands down Ona’s sides, taking the hem of her dress and shuffling it upward over her hips. The fabric brushed Ona’s thighs as Lucy’s hand slipped beneath, fingers gliding teasingly over the waistband of her panties and just above.

She maintained eye contact, searching for any sign of hesitation, but seeing none, she slowly slid her hand inside.

The heat met her first, then the slickness. God, this would never get old. Lucy exhaled sharply, her lips parting as she felt just how wet Ona already was. “Fuck,” she breathed, her voice coming out low and rough as her fingers explored. She pressed her fingers further, spreading Ona’s wetness teasingly. She bit her lip at the way Ona’s body reacted.

Ona’s breath hitched, her body leaning back instinctively against Lucy as two fingers teased at her entrance.

‘’but we will talk about it tomorrow okay?’’ Lucy breathed.

Ona nodded.

‘’Good,’’ Lucy chuckled, leaning into her ear. “Now I want to know.. are you really this wet from playing that silly game?” she asked, as her fingers brushed over Ona’s clit just lightly enough to make her squirm.

Ona shook her head quickly, her lips parting to speak, but nothing came out.

Lucy chuckled, a low, knowing sound that vibrated against Ona’s neck. “Lost your tongue, bub?” Her fingers teased, pressing against Ona but never quite giving her what she needed.

Ona let out a quiet, involuntary whimper, and Lucy grinned, finding confidence in the way Ona´s attitude seemed to have crumbled.

“You’re such a dirty little thing,” Lucy whispered, tightening her grip on Ona’s waist with her free hand. “You´re gonna let me use you however I want, aren’t you?” Lucy taunted, ‘’that’s what you’ve been thinking about, right?’’

When Ona didn’t answer she withdrew her fingers slightly, making Ona gasp at the sudden loss of stimulation.

“Say it,” Lucy demanded. “Say you want this, or I’ll stop right now.”

Ona shivered, her head tilting back to rest against Lucy’s shoulder.

“Say it,” Lucy repeated firmly, her hand tightening its grip on Ona’s hip as her other hovered just over Ona´s heat.

“I want this,” Ona finally whispered, her voice cracking from how turned on she was.

Lucy smirked, satisfied. “That’s what I thought,” she murmured, before suddenly pulling her hand away, leaving Ona empty.

Ona whimpered, her eyes snapping open wide as she searched for Lucy’s face in the reflection. “I said yes,” she cried out, frustration clear in her voice.

Lucy chuckled softly. “Oh, don’t worry.” She wiped her fingers on Ona’s dress before grabbing her neck again, pulling her closer and pressing her front flush against Ona’s ass, grinding into her. “Feel what you do to me?”

Ona swallowed hard, her eyes still locked on their reflection as Lucy leaned back again, pushing the dress higher to reveal her ass, clothed in black panties.

‘’Such a perfect ass,’’ Lucy said as she let her hand wander along Ona’s skin.

A cracking sound of skin on skin echoed in the room as Lucy slapped Ona’s ass.

Lucy unzipped her pants, pulling down her boxers to reveal the strap.

Ona tried to glance back, but Lucy shook her head disapprovingly. “Nuh-uh, keep looking in the mirror. I want you to watch yourself when you get what you’ve been begging for.”

Lucy’s left hand found the roots of Ona’s hair, forcing her to keep her gaze in the mirror, while her right hand she pushed Ona´s panties aside before she guided the strap along her slick center.

With barely any resistance, Lucy slipped inside, her breath catching yet again at how wet and ready Ona was for her. She drew her hips back slightly before pushing in completely. “So fucking ready for me,” Lucy whispered under her breath.

Ona swallowed her moans as she focused on taking Lucy, who was picking up her pace quickly. Ona saw Lucy looking down, probably having a great view of where they were connected.

Lucy glanced up and met Ona’s eyes, she smirked, her hand left Ona’s hair, gripping her hips as she started moving faster, all while keeping her eyes locked on Ona’s, whispering dirty words as she did so, making Ona blush, but Ona couldn’t look away.

Ona’s knees started to buckle from how good she felt, threatening to give out under the relentless pleasure Lucy was giving her. The combination of Lucy’s unrelenting thrusts, her filthy mouth, and the way she took full control, using her body for her own pleasure, was overwhelming in the best way. It was too much, and somehow not nearly enough.

Lucy’s own pleasure was building, her breath hitching every time Ona clenched around her, it sent jolts of heat through her core, edging her closer to a release that left her desperate to keep going.

But her arms were straining under the effort of supporting half of Ona’s weight. “Get on the bed,” she  commanded.  

She pulled out, letting Ona turn around. Their heavy breaths mingled in the air as they locked eyes. Lucy smirked. “Hands and knees, baby,” she instructed in a low voice low and stepped out of Ona’s way.

Ona obeyed, moving to the edge of the bed. She stopped to take her underwear off, but as her hands reached for the waistband of her panties, Lucy stopped her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lucy asked, her face hovering inches from Ona’s, her breath warm against Ona’s skin.

“Luce-” Ona began, attempting to free her wrist from Lucy’s grasp.

Lucy chuckled softly into Ona’s ear. “I’ll decide when we take those off,” she murmured, before gently pushing Ona forward onto the bed. Ona got onto the bed, her body automatically giving up any resistance under Lucy’s touch.

“Right?” Lucy pressed, though her tone left no room for argument.

“Yes,” Ona replied breathlessly over her shoulder.

“That’s right.” Lucy smirked, her hands gliding over the curve of Ona’s ass, pressing the fabric of Ona’s dress up further. “Cus it’d be a shame if I had to punish you.” Lucy hummed as her fingertips pressed into the warm skin. "I know you want to be a good girl for me."

Ona whimpered, her body trembling as she felt the wetness pooling at her core, the ache almost unbearable. She needed more. Needed Lucy. Inside. Now.

Lucy’s hands continued their path, massaging and spreading Ona’s cheeks as her fingers hooked behind the fabric of Ona’s panties, pulling it further to the side.

“Luce,” Ona whined into the mattress, her voice muffled but clearly desperate. She leaned forward onto her elbows, her back arching to offer Lucy an even better view.

A dull crack echoed through the room as Lucy’s hand met Ona’s skin, the sound lingering in the air. Ona shivered from the impact, a groan spilling from her lips as her body tensed momentarily.

“No begging yet,” Lucy said firmly, her voice dripping with authority. She leaned closer, her hand smoothing over the tender mark she’d just left. “I don’t think you understand what we’re doing here.” Her gaze dropped to Ona’s center, where her slickness was evident, glistening in the low light.

“Look at your needy cunt,” Lucy murmured, her tone laced with mockery. Ona’s entrance clenched at nothing, desperate and wanting.

Lucy spread Ona’s ass cheeks, and spat directly down her center. The sensation made Ona whimper as her grip on the bedsheets tightened.

“Acting like a whore,” Lucy murmured, her voice dripping with amusement. She bit her lip as her hand slid between Ona’s thighs. “But don’t worry, you’ll get what you’re begging for.”

Lucy’s hand went to her strap and she guided it through Ona’s slick heat, the wetness coating the thick rubber further. She paused just at her entrance, hovering, taunting.

“Tell me,” Lucy asked, letting her other hand sooth over the skin of Ona’s back below the crumbled up fabric of the dress, “this is what you want, isn’t it? My cock, filling you until you can’t think of anything else?”

Ona let her face fall against the mattress, a groan escaping her lips. This woman was going to be the death of her.

“Ahhhh, it’s okay, baby. You don’t even have to say it.’’ Lucy said, pushing the strap inside. She bit back a groan, "I already know. You’re just here to be used.” She said through her teeth.

Lucy thrust into Ona, building her rhythm up again quickly. Her pants fell to her knees and with a couple more thrusts it fell to her ankles, sweat prickled her skin.

Ona moaned loudly. Lucy leaned over her, “taking me so well baby,’’ her breath brushing against Ona’s shoulder as she spoke. ‘’made for this.” She grunted.

Ona whimpered, her body responding helplessly to Lucy’s words and movements. She tried to turn her head to look back at Lucy, but Lucy leaned back again and put one of her hands in Ona’s neck, keeping her in place against the mattress.

 “Just focus on taking me.’’ Lucy ordered, her voice low and commanding.

Ona cried out, her body trembling, the pressure inside her building dangerously close to a release. Lucy could feel the way Ona’s walls tightened around the strap, her convulsions signaling how close she was.

Lucy pulled out suddenly, leaving Ona gasping and empty.

“You’re not coming,” Lucy said, her voice sounding calm but her chest was raising and falling heavily. “Get over here.” She stepped out of her pants.

Seeing Ona was still a bit dazed she took her hand and guided her off the bed and onto her knees. Lucy’s hand threaded into Ona’s hair, tugging her head back just enough to meet her gaze.

“Open,” Lucy demanded, her left hand at the base of the strap as she traced it from Ona’s cheek to her mouth.

Ona obeyed, her lips parting as Lucy slid the strap into her mouth, fucking her with slow movements before Ona took over, gripping the back of Lucy’s thighs doing so.

“Look at you,” Lucy grunted. “So desperate to please. Mi puta perfecta.” She picked up the pace, her hips moving in rhythm as Ona’s eyes started to water, her muffled moans vibrating around the strap.

Lucy’s breathing quickened, her arousal was peaking as she watched Ona submit to her completely.

She looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes as she focused on the orgasm that inched closer and closer.

Finally she came, her fingers tightened in Ona’s hair, holding her in place as she rode out her orgasm.

After the waves of pleasure faded Lucy pulled out, she tilted Ona’s face upward, her thumb brushing over Ona’s swollen lips. “That´s my good girl,” she whispered, her voice a mix of dominance and affection.

Suddenly her facade broke, she saw that perfect face looking up at her, maybe it was the orgasm she just had. But she just felt an overwhelming amount of love, for Ona, the woman she called her wife, the woman who carried their children.

She unclasped the strap and let it drop to the floor as she helped Ona up, she smiled at Ona, pulling her close for a kiss, as they kissed her hands roamed Ona’s back, eventually finding the zipper, she pulled it down and helped Ona out of the dress.

Ona chuckled as Lucy lifted her and carefully laid her on her back on the bed, ‘’you wanted this gone right?’’ Lucy asked as she hooked her fingers in Ona’s underwear.

Ona giggled as she lifted her hips from the mattress, ‘’yes.’’

Lucy removed the garment and climbed over Ona, hovering above her kissing her way up until they were face to face, ‘’I wasn’t too harsh was I? was that wh-

Ona rolled her eyes and lifted her head to meet Lucy’s lips in a kiss, she reached for the stuff that was still laying on the edge of the bed, she got ahold of the blindfold and the collar. She let her head fell back on the bed and pouted, ‘’was that really all you got?’’ she held the accessories up, ‘’I’m so sad its over, wanted to see u use these..’’ she looked into Lucy’s eyes with a pout ‘’or did you only put these out for show, because-

Lucy let out a breathless laugh off disbelieve, ‘’and to think I was going to let you come however you wanted.’’

She sat up, taking the blindfold and slipping it over Ona’s sparkling eyes. Even as the dark fabric covered the top half of her face, Ona’s cheeky smile was still visible.

“Are you going to tie me to the bed too?” Ona asked, knowing full well she was playing a dangerous game. She stretched out her arms, playfully waving her hands at Lucy.

Lucy’s lips twitched, she wasn’t amused. “Change of plans,” she growled, ripping the blindfold off Ona’s head with a measured tug. Her piercing gaze locked onto Ona’s. “Get out of bed and fetch my strap.”

The sudden shift in Lucy’s tone sent a thrill coursing through Ona. She scrambled out of bed, her bare feet padding against the floor as she moved to the dresser quickly.

Lucy got of the bed too, peeling off the last items of her clothing except for her bra. Her eyes never left Ona as she rummaged through the drawer, she seemed hesitant.

It was taking too long. Impatience flared in Lucy, and she made her way towards her wife.

Sliding up behind her, Lucy pressed herself against Ona’s back, her arms wrapping possessively around her waist. She leaned in, her lips brushing the sensitive spot just below Ona’s ear.

“What are you waiting for?” Lucy asked.

“I… no sé cuál elegir,” Ona said, her hands lingering indecisively over the different straps in their drawer.

Lucy let out a frustrated sigh, her patience wearing thin. Ona’s little habit of purchasing toys had become a running joke between them—one drawer near their bed for favorites, and three more drawers tucked away in the walk-in closet for the more experimental choices. A luxury problem, indeed.

“Oh, you can’t choose?” Lucy’s tone was mockingly sweet as she stepped closer, pulling Ona away from the dresser and pressing her firmly against the wall.

The sudden force made Ona stumble slightly, her palms flattening against the cool surface for support.

“You’re a piece of work,” Lucy murmured darkly against Ona’s ear, her lips brushing the sensitive skin as her hands gripped Ona’s shoulders. “But fine. If you can’t choose, we’ll use none.”

Ona’s breath caught in her throat, her body trapped between the cold wall and. She gasped softly as Lucy’s hands trailed over her body, finding the clasp of her bra and unhooking it easily.

After dropping the bra to the floor Lucy’s hands captured Ona’s wrists and pulled them behind her back. Her lips hovered just above Ona’s ear. “Keep them there.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Ona protested, though the breathy, playful lilt in her voice betrayed she was anything but innocent.

Lucy let out a dark chuckle, her fingers tracing the curve of Ona’s spine. “You took too long,” she said simply, her lips grazing the line of Ona’s jaw.

Ona bit her lip, the corners of her mouth curling into a guilty smile. “was just trying to pick which one,” she murmured.

Lucy’s hand tightened on Ona’s wrists. “I think you’re playing with me.” She said.

Before Ona could respond, Lucy grind her hips against Ona’s ass, sending a shiver down Ona’s spine. Her lips trailed to Ona’s neck, leaving a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses that made Ona shiver.

“but you’ll take whatever I give you anyways, won’t you?” Lucy murmured, her free hand sliding between Ona’s thighs. It was hard as Ona’s arms were caught between their body’s, but Lucy could just reach.

Ona whimpered as Lucy pressed two fingers inside her, her body arching instinctively.

“That’s it,” Lucy growled, her other hand releasing Ona’s wrists to wrap firmly around her throat. Her grip was possessive yet measured, not actually choking her, her fingers applying just enough pressure to make Ona’s breath hitch. “See how good you can be? Not so hard, is it?”

Ona’s cheek pressed against the wall, her breath coming in ragged pants. Her focus was solely on the tightness building in her stomach, trying to not let it take over yet.

But Lucy’s movements had her teetering on the edge, her body straining to hold back.

“Lucy,” Ona gasped, her voice cracking with need. “I’m so close… Please, I need more,” she pleaded, her hand slipping between her legs in desperation.

Lucy’s rhythm faltered, her hand tightening slightly on Ona’s throat to stop her. “No,” she said in a low, commanding tone.

Ona whimpered softly, her head turning as to look at her wife. “Don’t stop,” she begged again, her voice trembling. “I’ll be good, Lucy. I’ll be so good for you. Just… please don’t stop.”

But Lucy did stop. Deliberately she pulled her fingers away, leaving Ona trembling with frustration.

Spinning Ona around to face her, Lucy locked their gazes for a charged moment before guiding Ona backward toward the bed. Her hands gripped Ona’s waist to push her down onto the mattress.

Lucy climbed on top of her and pressed Ona’s wrists above her head, holding them firmly in place. Her lips hovered inches from Ona’s.

“If you act like a brat, I’ll treat you like one,’’ she warned, though her lips twitched with a hint of a smile. Her gaze softened briefly, her face inches from Ona’s as if she might kiss her.

But instead of giving in to her urges, Lucy leaned back and grabbed the blindfold. She slipped it over Ona’s eyes again.

“You can’t look at me like that,” Lucy said as she secured the fabric. Ona’s lips parted in protest, but the words dissolved into a sharp inhale when Lucy’s hands left her.

“Now, hands up,” Lucy instructed, she leaned over to take the wrist restraints.

Ona obeyed, trembling with anticipation as Lucy manhandled her in to position and eventually secured her wrists to the bed.

Lucy took a second to take in the sight.

“Don’t you look so perfect like this,” Lucy murmured, her hands trailing over Ona’s body. “Tied up, blindfolded… all mine.”

Lucy’s hands glided down Ona’s body, starting at her shoulders and tracing a path along her sides, over the curve of her breasts, and down to her hips. She paused to knead the soft skin, her fingers digging in just enough to make Ona squirm.

A soft whimper escaped Ona’s lips, her body arching into Lucy’s touch.

“always so responsive,” Lucy purred, her tone almost admiring but laced with mockery. Her hands roamed further, sliding down the tops of Ona’s thighs before skimming back up the inside, deliberately stopping short of the heat between her legs and then leaving all together.

Ona whimpered again, her head tipping back against the pillows.

“You’re so needy,” Lucy teased, her lips ghosting over Ona’s collarbone. “you want your pretty cunt filled don’t you? I know you’re dripping for my cock.”

Ona let out a groan, her hips shifting trying to seek contact with Lucy in any way possible.

Lucy leaned down and smirked against Ona’s skin, her teeth grazing the curve of her neck. She began placing open-mouthed kisses along her throat, alternating between soft, wet kisses and gentle bites. Each nip drew a quiet whine from Ona, who was struggling to stay still. It was sweet torture. Lucy knew what she was doing.

“Stay still,” Lucy said, her teeth scraping a sensitive spot just above Ona’s shoulder.

Ona let out a shaky breath.

Lucy moved lower, her mouth finding the swell of Ona’s breasts, biting lightly at the soft skin before soothing it with her tongue. Ona whimpered again, her body trembling with every teasing touch.

“Love the sounds you make,” Lucy murmured, ‘’don’t be shy.’’

Before Ona could respond, Lucy moved down, getting between Ona’s thighs to pin them open. Her strong legs held Ona in place, vulnerable and exposed. Ona’s breath quickened, a mixture of excitement and desperation bursting through her veins.

Lucy leaned forward, letting Ona feel the heat of her body without actually touching her. She hovered there, her lips just inches from Ona’s, her breath warm against her face.

Ona squirmed beneath her, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she tried to close the distance.

“Mhm, d’you feel that?” Lucy asked smugly as she leaned back. “That’s me deciding exactly what you get and when you get it.”

Ona let out a shaky groan, her hips lifting instinctively. “Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking with need.

Lucy hummed, satisfied with Ona’s reaction.

“You’ll get what you want, baby,” Lucy leaned closer, her breath ghosting over Ona’s ear as she pressed her hips forward just a little more. “Remember that first time I put a blindfold on you?... since you’re so eager to talk about the past…”

Ona whimpered, nodding frantically, her hands curling helplessly against the restraints as her body arched in frustration. “Yes,” she gasped, her voice trembling.

‘’The beautiful house in Rome,’’ Lucy dragged out.

“Yes,” Ona whined, her voice cracking with desperation. “I remember.”

Lucy’s lips curled into a smug grin. “Are you going to let me sit on your pretty face like that again?” she murmured.

Ona let out a shaky laugh, though it turned into a moan as Lucy shifted her hips just enough to keep her throbbing with need.

“Seems you really like my face,” Ona finally managed as she pulled herself together to make the comment, a weak attempt to egg Lucy on.

Lucy chuckled darkly, her fingers gripping Ona’s chin to tilt her face upward. “Oh, baby, I’m just looking for ways to shut up that pretty mouth of yours. Put it to good use for once,” she purred, letting her thumb brush against Ona’s bottom lip before letting it plop back into place.

Before Ona could respond, Lucy moved to inch forward. She hovered over Ona’s face, her cunt glistening from her earlier climax.

“Open,” Lucy commanded softly but firmly, her hand stroking Ona’s head as she positioned herself. Ona obeyed instantly, her mouth opening wide as her hands instinctively reached for Lucy to pull her closer, only for the restraints to keep her arms in place.

Ona let her hands fall back on the bed, submitting to Lucy completely.

“Good girl,” Lucy murmured, lowering herself just enough to let Ona taste her. Ona’s tongue flicked out, her mouth enveloping lucy’s clit eagerly. The sound that escaped Lucy was half a moan, half a growl, her head tilting back as she braced her hands on the headboard for support.

“Fuckkk that’s it,” Lucy breathed, rolling her hips slightly. “Show me how much you love it.” Her voice was laced with satisfaction as Ona sucked and licked away at her, her tongue exploring every inch with sloppy devotion.

Lucy’s pace grew more erratic, her thighs trembling as Ona’s mouth worked. The tension in her body coiled tighter. The sight of Ona beneath her—flushed, bound, blindfolded, and completely consumed - combined with the wet sounds only spurred Lucy further. ‘’you’re so good to me,” she gasped, her hand sliding into Ona’s hair to guide her movements with an urgency that left no room for misinterpretation.

Ona’s muffled moans sent vibrations through Lucy’s clit, driving her higher. Her hips ground down harder, her rhythm erratic as she chased the high building within her. “Yes, just like that,” Lucy gasped, her voice breaking into a plea as her thighs began to shake. “Don’t stop, baby. Don’t—fuck, don’t stop.”

Lucy’s thighs quivered as she tipped over the edge, her orgasm crashing through her in waves that left her biting her lip to stifle a moan. She rode out her climax against Ona’s mouth, her hips slowing only as the aftershocks rippled through her.

Lucy finally lifted herself, her chest heaving as she gazed down at Ona with a wicked, sated smile. “You were brought to this earth to fuck,” she murmured breathlessly, collapsing beside Ona with a satisfied sigh, her back pressing against the headboard. “Magic mouth,” she added. It was something she said more often, but she meant it every time, Ona’s mouth was... she couldn’t even begin to describe it.  

Lucy was pulled from her thoughts as Ona turned her head toward her, her blindfolded face flush with heat, her swollen lips glistening with Lucy’s cum... the sight sent a fresh wave of arousal through her.

Lucy let the moment linger for a beat before recovering her composure and leaning back over Ona’s body. She captured Ona’s lips in a deep, languid kiss, savoring the taste of herself on Ona’s tongue.

“Now,” she whispered against Ona’s lips, after breaking the kiss, ‘’let’s see what we’re going to do with you.”

Lucy slipped out of bed, retrieving a harness and a strap from the dresser. The soft sound of the straps tightening echoed in the room as she secured it around her hips. She didn’t care to do it quietly though, Ona could know what was coming. The thick rubber cock stood proudly, for good measure Lucy took a bit of lube in her palm. As she turned back around to the bed she spread the lube around the length of it.

Her gaze fell to Ona, who lay stretched out on the bed. Her arms were bound securely above her head, the dark fabric of the blindfold obscuring her sight.

Ona’s breaths came in shallow, trembling gasps, her body shifting restlessly as she awaited Lucy’s next move.

Lucy climbed back onto the bed, her knees sinking into the mattress as she settled between Ona’s thighs.

The head of the toy positioned barely against Ona’s slick entrance, drawing a needy whine from her throat. Her entire body tensed, her hips tilting up instinctively, seeking for more.

“you’re so eager,” Lucy murmured, her voice low and teasing. She pressed the tip just slightly further, sliding along Ona’s folds without entering her. The teasing pressure sent a jolt of sensation straight to Ona’s core, her breath hitching audibly.

“Lucy,” Ona whimpered, the desperation in her voice evident. “Please.. I need.. I want.”

Lucy smirked, her hands gripping Ona’s thighs firmly, keeping her in place. “You need it?” she repeated mockingly. “Tell me how bad you need it, baby. Let me hear you beg.”

Ona swallowed hard, her body trembling with a mix of frustration and arousal. “I—please, Lucy,” she stammered, her words tumbling out in a high-pitched rush. “I need you so bad. I’ll be good—I’ll take it so good. Please, just give it to me.”

The corner of Lucy’s mouth curved into a wicked smile. She loved the way Ona sounded when she was desperate, her voice trembling with raw need.

“yeah you will,” Lucy murmured.

Finally, she pushed in, the thick toy stretching Ona slowly, inch by inch. Ona’s mouth fell open in a silent cry, her body arching as the sensation overwhelmed her. The fullness was exquisite, the slight burn of the stretch only adding to the pleasure.

“Fuck,” Ona gasped, her voice breaking as Lucy sank deeper. The toy filled her completely, the unrelenting pressure driving every nerve in her body to attention.

Lucy paused, letting Ona adjust, her hands gripping Ona’s hips possessively. “Feels good?” Lucy whispered, her gaze was fixed on their connected hips.

“Yes,” Ona sobbed, her hips moving of their own accord as she tried to draw Lucy in deeper. The restraints on her wrists kept her from touching Lucy, leaving her feeling deliciously helpless. This was it. This was what she wanted.

Lucy began to move, pulling back slowly before thrusting forward again, her hips rolling with deliberate precision. Each thrust was measured, the rhythm slow enough to tease but just enough to build the heath inside Ona.

The thick toy pressed against all the right spots, sending waves of pleasure radiating through her body.

Ona’s breathing grew erratic, her moans rising in pitch as Lucy’s movements quickened. The sensation was overwhelming, the fullness combined with the friction pushing her closer to the edge with every thrust. Her toes curled, her legs trembling as she felt the orgasm building deep within her.

“Lucy—I’m—oh God, I’m so close,” Ona cried, her voice trembling. The blindfold heightened every sensation, leaving her completely at the mercy of Lucy’s touch.

“Come for me,” Lucy commanded, speaking through gritted teeth as she focused on keeping up the rhythm.

Ona shattered, her body arching as her orgasm tore through her in a powerful unrelenting rush. Her cries filled the room, her muscles trembling as pleasure coursed through her veins. Lucy didn’t stop, her thrusts slowing but maintaining enough pressure to draw out every last tremor of Ona’s release.

When Ona finally stilled, her chest heaving, Lucy withdrew slowly, smirking at the soft whimper it drew from her lover.

“m’not done yet,” Lucy said, her voice thick with anticipation. She slid down Ona’s body, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs. Ona was still trembling, her skin hypersensitive as Lucy’s lips trailed closer to her center.

Lucy’s tongue flicked out, teasing Ona’s clit with light, feathery strokes. Ona’s body jerked in response, her hips bucking instinctively. “Luce,” she whimpered, her voice tinged with both desperation and overstimulation.

Lucy’s mouth worked her clit, her tongue circling and flicking in a maddening rhythm. Her hands gripped Ona’s thighs, holding her in place as she added a finger, then another, sliding inside her with ease. Ona’s walls clenched around her fingers, her moans growing louder with every thrust.

“Fuck, Lucy,” Ona gasped, her voice breaking. The combination of Lucy’s mouth and fingers was almost too much, the sensations building with an intensity that left her breathless. ‘’no, I-

“Sshh, you can take it,” Lucy murmured, her voice muffled against Ona’s slick skin. “Let me hear you.”

Ona’s second orgasm came hard and fast, her thighs trembling uncontrollably as her cries echoed in the room. The pleasure was blinding, her entire body writhing as Lucy pushed her higher and higher.

When Ona’s body collapsed weakly against the bed, Lucy pulled away briefly, her lips and chin glistening. “One more,” she murmured as she kept looking at Ona’s dripping center.

“I can’t,” Ona whimpered, shaking her head weakly.

“Yes, you can,” Lucy insisted, her hands stroking Ona’s trembling thighs tenderly. She leaned in again, this time using only her mouth. Her tongue moved slowly, lapping at Ona’s entrance.

Ona writhed beneath her, her body hypersensitive and overwhelmed. Lucy knew she got like this with the blindfold. She loved it and hated it at the same time. It felt like all her nerves where on high alert.

Lucy shifted, struggling the harness from her hips, kicking it out of the bed as she kept her head between Ona’s thighs.

The slow, unrelenting attention pushed her toward the edge again, her protests dissolving into desperate moans.

The third orgasm hit like a tidal wave, her entire body convulsing as she cried out Lucy’s name. Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes, her body shaking with the force of her release.

Finally, Lucy pulled back, kissing Ona’s trembling thighs as she soothed her with soft words. She hovered over her wife and removed the blindfold carefully, pressing a kiss to Ona’s forehead after.

“You’re so perfect,” Lucy whispered, taking off the restraints from Ona’s wrists. Kissing the skin after.

Lucy ran her fingers through Ona’s hair, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. “That’s my good girl,” she murmured lovingly.

“You did so good,” Lucy whispered, pulling Ona into her arms. Ona nestled into Lucy’s neck, her breath still shaky as she clung to her.

Lucy’s fingers lazily traced circles on Ona’s skin, smiling as she felt the steady rise and fall of Ona’s chest. The warmth of their bodies pressed together made it almost impossible not to surrender and sink into the blissful haze.

“That was definitely a record of some sorts,” Lucy hummed as she allowed herself to think back to what they’d just did.

Ona stirred slightly but didn’t respond. She was too far gone, her body heavy with exhaustion, her breathing soft and even. Lucy smiled contently, her hand stilling for a moment as she glanced at the alarm clock on their nightstand.

7:04 a.m.

“Holy fuck,” Lucy muttered. It wasn’t even late anymore, it was early. Horrible. She wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and let the warmth of Ona’s body lull her into oblivion. But a quick glance around the room reminded her of the chaos they’d left behind. The mirror, the cuffs, the harnesses - everything was still scattered about.

Lucy sighed, carefully sliding out from under Ona. Ona groaned softly, reaching out instinctively as if searching for her. “Shh, I’ll be right back,” Lucy murmured, brushing a kiss against Ona’s temple.

Yawning, Lucy steadied herself on her feet, the cool air prickling against her clammy skin. She scanned over the room and decided to start with setting away the mirror.

Dragging it back to the closet, she put that back where it belonged first.

Next, she turned to the accessories strewn across the bed and floor. She picked them up one by one, she bit her lip as she picked up the collar, damn, they hadn’t even got to use that.

After having collected everything and their dirty clothes, she took them to the bathroom. The open design of the space was sleek and modern, but right now it felt like a curse. What if someone would come in to their room this morning.

Lucy put the ruined clothes in the laundry basket and saw a solution to her problem, she grabbed a towel and wrapped their toys in it before placing it on top in the laundry basket as well. A problem for later.

As she was done, the fatigue caught up with her, making her blink a few times to keep her eyes focused. Letting out another yawn, she headed to the toilet.

She was just about to finish when she heard soft footsteps coming towards her.

Turning her head slightly, she saw Ona, her hair a wild mess, standing in the doorway with a sleepy, silly smile.

“Hey,” Ona mumbled.

Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey.”

Without hesitation, Ona walked over and sat on Lucy’s lap, wrapping her arms loosely around her neck. “That was so good,” Ona murmured, her voice drowsy but sincere.

Lucy smirked, brushing her hand over Ona’s back. “Mhm,” she agreed, her tone light. “Why are you—uh, what are you doing?”

Ona leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Lucy’s lips before standing again. “Sorry, I had to pee too. And I missed you.”

Lucy chuckled, shaking her head as she used the space Ona had given her to finish wiping and flush. “I thought it was really good too,” she said, standing up and stepping aside to give Ona space.

“Do you know how late.. well, how early it is?” Lucy asked, leaning against the sink as Ona settled onto the toilet.

“No?” Ona yawned, looking up at her groggily. “How late is it?”

Lucy smiled, reaching out to gently untangle some of the knots in Ona’s messy hair, her fingers brushing through it carefully. “Past seven in the morning.”

The corners of Ona’s mouth dropped in mock horror. “ah dios.”

“I know, right?” Lucy said with a breathy laugh. Turning to the cabinet, she grabbed a washcloth and wet it under the tap. “I’ll try to make sure no one wakes you up later, okay?”

Ona gave a sleepy nod.

…

After Lucy had cleaned them both up, she slipped into a pair of clean boxers. She grabbed a pair for Ona as well, gently coaxing her to lift her feet as she slid them on. Then she reached for one of her oversized shirts, pulling it over Ona’s head. Ona mumbled something incoherent but let Lucy dress her, too tired to protest.

Lucy considered changing out of her sports bra but dismissed the thought, too exhausted to bother. Instead, she walked out infront of Ona to the bed and pulled the covers back, she helped Ona settle into bed before climbing in beside her.

The two of them curled up together, seeking the warmth they’d momentarily lost. Ona nestled against Lucy’s chest, pressing soft, lazy kisses to her collarbone.

“t'amo,” Ona murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Te amo más,” Lucy whispered, her lips brushing Ona’s forehead.

As the minutes stretched on, Ona turned her back to Lucy, tugging Lucy’s arm around her waist. Lucy smiled, letting herself fall into the position she knew Ona wanted. She pressed her face against Ona’s shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of her skin as her breathing slowed.

Within moments, both of them were drifting off.

…

"Mommy, mommy!"

Lucy jolted awake, instantly recognizing Lucas’s voice. As she sat up, a pounding headache reminded her of last night.. well…their night had ended only a couple hours ago.. a night with just a bit too much wine and far too little sleep.

Lucas padded into the bedroom, his wide eyes already glassy with tears. Lucy met him halfway, crouching down and putting a finger to her lips. "Shhh, Lucas," she whispered. "Let’s not wake Mama."

Behind him, Diane stepped into the room, her expression equal parts amused and annoyed. "Shhh, Lucas," she mocked in a whisper, waving a hand in front of her nose. "Good grief, Lucy, do you ever open a window in here? It reeks of s-"

"Mom!" Lucy’s voice dropped to a stressed whisper, her eyes widened as she quickly covered Lucas’s ears.

Diane frowned. "Sweat. Lucy. Good grace, get your head out of the gutter." She plucked a T-shirt from the chair and tossed it toward Lucy.

Lucy caught it out of the air and put it on.

Lucas tugged at Lucy’s hand. "What’s sweat?" he asked, his voice still wobbly from crying.

Lucy ignored the question for now, focusing instead on her son’s tear-streaked cheeks. She gently brushed them with her thumb. "Why were you crying, sweetheart?"

"Oliver no estaba aquí cuando me he despertado," Lucas sniffled. "La abuela ha dicho que Oliver se quedado con el tito Joan. Yo también quiero eso."

"Oh, I know, baby," Lucy said softly. "You like sleepovers too. Next time, okay? You were already asleep last night when we made the plan."

Lucas nodded reluctantly, "and I didn’t know where you and Mama were," he murmured.

Lucy kissed his cheek. "Right here, love. Mama and I were just a little tired this morning."

"But what is sweat?" Lucas asked again, his curiosity overpowering his earlier sadness.

"Eh… el sudor?" Lucy hesitated, trying to explain. "You know, when you exercise or work hard… you sweat. It kind of stinks."

"Bleh!" Lucas scrunched his nose in mock disgust, giggling.

"Yeah, bleh," Lucy chuckled, guiding him toward the hallway as she realized his voice wasn’t exactly quiet, and Diane was already standing waiting in the doorway.

"Do I stink too?" Lucas asked, his question making Diane laugh.

"No," Lucy smiled. "But you will when you’re older."

"Why?"

"I don’t know," Lucy said, amused by his persistence.

"So Grandma stinks the most?" Lucas announced with absolute certainty. ´´Cus grandma said she´s really old.´´

Lucy bit back a laugh, glancing at Diane, whose unimpressed expression said it all. "Yup," she teased.

‘’Mom?" Lucas asked as they headed down the stairs. "Are you coming with us to breakfast?’’

Lucy sighed, trying to keep up with his rapid-fire questions. "What do you mean, baby?"

"Grandpa and I were thinking of going out for breakfast," Diane said from behind them. "But we can also take just Lucas." She offered.

"That’s a nice idea," Lucy said, pausing on the steps. "But yeah, I think we should let mama sleep a little more, and I was planning to clean up a little."

Lucas pouted, tracing a line from the logo on Lucy´s shirt with his pointer finger.

´´Isn´t that fun?’’ Lucy tried to cheer him, ‘’you get grandpa and grandma all for yourself, bet Ollie will be jealous when you tell him when he’s back.’’

All of a sudden Lucas brightened, Lucy hadn’t expected her convincing was going to work that well.

But that wasn’t what had come to Lucas’ mind, "can Alejandro’s moms come?"

Lucy froze mid-step, nearly missing the next one. Alejandro’s moms, oh no. Sobriety hit her like a bucket of ice water as she realized Carmen and Rosa were still in the house. She could only pray they had been fast asleep the whole time, the thought of them hearing… anything… was mortifying.

"Uh, Carmen and Rosa will need to head home," Lucy said, recovering quickly. "They have to get back to Alejandro and Misa, right?" She adjusted Lucas in her arms, smiling to him. "So it’ll just be Grandma, Grandpa, and you."

Lucas seemed to accept this answer, snuggling into his moms neck as they reached the living room.

"Good morning," Lucy greeted brightly, her voice a little too chipper for someone who had barely managed three hours of sleep. If she acted normal, maybe her friends would too—at least, that was the hope.

Carmen and Rosa were seated at the breakfast table, both cradling steaming mugs of coffee. Lucy quickly learned that her mom had helped them rummage through the kitchen to get breakfast started. Relief tugged at the corners of her lips—at least they hadn’t woken up completely helpless.

Lucy moved to the coffee machine and began preparing a fresh brew, the rhythmic hum of the machine oddly grounding. Glancing at the table, she spotted two mugs that had already seen use.

"Anyone want another cup of coffee?" she asked, retrieving almond milk from the fridge. “Or something else to drink?”

"I can probably use another," Carmen said with a tired laugh, stretching her arms over her head. "The party was amazing, but I haven’t been this wiped in ages." Her gaze flitted to Lucy, amused.

Lucy let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. They’re acting normal. Thank God. A small smile broke across her face.

"Yeah, I’ll take a refill too," Rosa chimed in, tipping back the last sip left in her mug before holding it out toward Lucy.

Lucy busied herself making the coffees, the quiet hum of domesticity settling the awkwardness. As she handed the mugs back to Carmen and Rosa, they offered warm thanks.

After breakfast, the two women began to gather their things, their easy chatter punctuated by a few lingering yawns. Lucy followed them to the door, Lucas happily babbling in his grandmother’s lap in the living room.

Hugging Rosa goodbye, Lucy watched as she made her way to the car, calling back over her shoulder, “Thanks again for everything—it was so fun!”

Carmen lingered for a moment, her lips quirking into a sly smile. "Just so you know, next time we’ll order a cab," she said lightly, crossing her arms. "Or maybe we’ll stay in the guesthouse."

Lucy froze, the color draining from her face before rushing back in a hot flush. "Fuck, so you heard… I’m so sorry, I—" she stammered, her words stumbling over themselves. "We didn’t realize, sorry that you—"

“Relax, ‘’ Carmen cut her off with a wink, her expression amused and teasing rather than offended.. ‘’And to think you dared to call us gross yesterday,” she quipped, giving Lucy a playful slap on the shoulder.

Relief flooded Lucy’s chest as Rosa’s voice called from the car, urging Carmen to hurry up.

"I’ve got to go," Carmen said, walking backward toward the driveway. "See you Monday, amiga."

"Yeah, see you Monday," Lucy replied, still flustered but recovering. "Seriously, sorry again."

“Don’t worry about it,” Carmen called with a laugh, waving as she climbed into the car.

As the vehicle pulled away, Lucy shut the door firmly, leaning against the cool surface for a moment. She let out a low groan, her forehead pressed to the wood.

"Okay," she muttered, exhaling sharply. "That could’ve been so much worse."

Shaking off the lingering embarrassment, she straightened and headed back to the kitchen. The warm morning light streamed through the windows, casting the room in a peaceful glow that did little to soothe her frazzled nerves.

A few minutes later, Joaquim appeared at the side door, a backpack slung over one shoulder and sunglasses perched on his head. He chuckled as his gaze landed on Lucy, still in just a T-shirt and underwear.

"I’m guessing it’s just Lucas coming with us?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lucy rolled her eyes playfully, a genuine laugh slipping out. "Yeah, we made it a bit too late last night," she admitted with a sheepish smile.

Joaquim let out a hearty laugh, his warm, familiar tone cutting through any lingering tension. "Well, I’m glad you had a good birthday," he said, his eyes crinkling with affection. He glanced around before holding up his phone. "Do you have any idea where I can take your mom and Lucas for breakfast? I’ll call for a cab."

"Ofcourse, wait let me help," Lucy offered, moving to get her own phone and walk towards her dad.

…

After Lucy’s parents and Lucas had been picked up by the cab she had ordered for them, she found herself walking back to the bedroom.

Though she had told herself she would clean up, the exhaustion from the night before weighed on her, making the task seem impossible. She searched in her contacts and texted Ona’s second PA, asking if she could have their cleaning lady come by to clean the entire ground floor of their house, but not to come upstairs.

And If the usual can’t make it, just get someone else, she added, her fingers tapping out the words quickly. The side door is unlocked and the alarm is off, I need it done asap, thank you.

It was one of the perks of being wealthy that Lucy enjoyed. She could afford to have things taken care of when she didn’t feel like it. She knew it was a crazy thought, one that would’ve made her old self laugh at her, but right now all she wanted to do was get back in bed.

She entered the bedroom and set her phone aside, stretching her body to relieve the tension in her muscles before quietly slipping into bed.

As soon as she laid down, she realized there was indeed a smell lingering in the room. She reached for her phone again and opened a couple of windows using an app on her phone.

The cool morning breeze started to filter in, and with it, the fresh air that slowly began to clear the room.

Lucy’s eyes moved over to Ona, who was still curled up in bed. A gentle smile tugged at her lips as she watched her wife stir, slowly turning to face her side of the bed. Lucy shifted closer, her body almost instinctively seeking the warmth and comfort of Ona’s presence, though she stayed quiet, not wanting to wake her.

Ona, stirred again and closed the gap between them, cuddling up against Lucy. The soft warmth of her skin felt soothing. A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, just the sound of their breathing filling the room.

Ona started tracing patterns along Lucy’s chest, her eyes opening slowly.

Lucy mirrored Ona, but traced her fingertips along Ona’s arm and shoulder instead.

It felt like Ona was about to say something.. she didn’t know why she felt like this but Lucy was sure that Ona was thinking about something. ‘’What is it?’’ she asked softly.

‘’Hmm?’’ Ona cleared her throat, ‘’what?’’

‘’I’m pretty sure I can hear your thoughts turning.’’ Lucy said, she stroked Ona’s head gently, playing with her hair, ‘’you know we can talk about everything right? like the stuff with the therapist and-’’

‘’-its not that.’’ Ona interrupted her, she turned and pushed herself up to look Lucy in the eyes before shyly looking away again just as quickly.

‘’what?’’ Lucy asked, getting very curious now.. and a little concerned.

"It’s not what you think," Ona murmured against Lucy’s shoulder, her voice soft and hesitant. "I just had a silly thought… I don’t even know why."

Lucy shifted slightly, her hand gently running down Ona’s back. "Tell me," she encouraged.

"-Do you think…" Ona’s voice dropped, leaning closer until her lips brushed the shell of Lucy’s ear. "Do you think I’m too old… for us to try for a third?"

..

Personal Records Masterlist

[mjsharpcraft]

10 Pcs Chef Set

[aramis-dagaz]

Writober Day 3: Blade, Dwarf

((Jacky is from Faded Scars and used with permission))

The shop’s bell rang clearly over the din of rushing water, creaking wood, and the grinding of metal on stone.  There was no counter, cash register, or any other trappings of a store, just countless knives hanging from the walls and resting upon the tables.  Kitchen knives, hunting knives, skinning knives, but mostly mundane cutlery.  All, however, gleamed in the sunlight as Jacky stepped inside.

“Be there in a moment,” a roughly feminine voice said from the open doorway across the room.  She didn’t shout, but the deep strength in her voice helped it carry over the noise.  The grinding ceased after a few minutes, and a dwarven woman emerged from the other room, one thick arm holding up a sleepy mastiff child while her other hand adjusted a strip of brightly-patterned cloth over her eyes.  She walked over to the lone chair by a wall and gently set the child down on it.  She pulled a thick cord of rawhide from a pocket and gave it to him, tiny hands sleepily grabbing it and pulling it into his heavily jowled mouth to chew.  A faint smile passed over the dwarf’s face as she gently patted his head, then she stood up and turned towards Jacky, her expression as unreadable as stone.

“Now,” she said, her voice flat, “what kind of knife are you looking for?”

“Actually, I was hoping you could fix one for me,” Jacky replied.  The knifemaker held out a hand, and Jacky pulled out the broken knife from her satchel, gently placing both pieces in her calloused palm.

The knifemaker’s brow furrowed as she turned over the broken blade in her hands, her head never moving.  “A Greenfield blade,” she said.  “Imported.  Very common, decent enough steel.  Will serve you well for many years if you take care of it.  Most don’t.”  She ran her rough fingers over the ragged edges where the blade fractured, her face pensive.  Finally, she turned towards a wall of brightly shining blades, her hands gently brushing each one.

“I have several Inventory Bladesmith hunting knives here,” she said, then chuckled dryly.  “They don’t do much of that anymore, it’s all factory-produced and ground knives these days, but they use good steel.  Keeps an edge well, especially after I’m done with them.”

“W-Wait a minute,” Jacky interjected.  “I’m not looking for a new knife, I want to get my old one repaired.”

The knifemaker paused, her fingers rubbing against the broken blade.  “I cannot.”

“Wait, what?  I was told you could fix any blade.  Why not?”

The knifemaker sighed.  “Many try to cling to the past, to the way things were.  The way we once were.  We are forged, shaped, tempered, and honed.”  She took a knife off of the wall, the light glittering off of it as she gently ran a finger along its length.  “New.  Perfect.  Or so we like to think.”  A worn and scarred hand held up the broken knife.  “No one is perfect.  No one escapes the knicks, stress, and damage in this life.  It weakens the steel in us, our resolve.  And one day, be it pride, a mistake, or misfortune–”  She made a tch sound, her fingers imitating the shattering of metal.  “–we break.  Physically, mentally, spiritually, morally.  Each according to their own circumstances, but always in one of a handful of similar ways.”

She put the shining blade back on the wall.  “So we try to go back.  But steel, once broken, will never be the same, never as strong.  You are better off accepting that and just buying a new blade.  It can be the same as your old one, but you will have to start again.  If you try to cling to the past, then you will never be as strong as you once were or could be.”

Her hand brushed past more knives, then picked up a hunting knife.  “Here, this one,” she said, handing it to Jacky.  “Take it, see how it fits you.”

Jacky stood mutely for a few moments, then took the knife.  The blade was a couple inches longer than her old one, but despite that it felt light and evenly balanced in her hand.  She examined it closely, moved it around, got a feel for it.  It wasn’t the same, but something told her that she could get used to it.  It certainly seemed well-suited for her lifestyle, probably even more so, she had to admit.

The knifemaker nodded as she took the knife back.  “I will replace the handle with your old one’s.  Come back in a couple hours.”  She turned to walk to the back room, then stopped.

“Was this your father’s knife?” she said over her shoulder.

“Y…yes, it was.  It’s all I have left of him.”

The knifemaker nodded.  “Then I will make sure to honor him properly.  Come back in a couple hours.”

She turned her head the other way and gently whistled.  The mastiff child, rawhide hanging loosely in his mouth and almost ready to topple over, snapped his eyes open and clumsily climbed down from the chair, waddling over to the knifemaker and grabbing her hand.

A faint smile grew on the knifemaker’s face.  “Come child, we have work to do.”

[ragingbookdragon]

Beauty and The Beast Walker

Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Word Count: 4.5K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Yeah...I'm gonna make a new story :)

**********************************************************************

Up above the great hills of Evendim, Emyn Uial as the elves called it in Sindarin, farther northeast of the Blue Mountains, was a decent sized city filled with humans. Given its name from the harsh winter and the considerable number of tombstones, Wintergrave had made a mark on the map after surviving through the centuries on pure spite and resilience of the men and women forged by the frigid cold that came down from the mountains above. The people of Wintergrave were tough, hardy, driven to survive in a land set out to kill all life below. Yet, they managed, and from the first settlement, a city had built itself.

It wasn’t exactly a holiday destination, only those wishing to test their strength in hunting or trade with the elves of Grey Haven or the humans of Bree, as their trade routes had extended that far north, but it was a location filled with timber, ore, and quarries. Elves, men, and hobbits alike sent word to Wintergrave when it came to wanting supplies. The marble quarries surrounding the city were desired by elves to make floors, walls, and statues with. The timber and ore built houses and hobbit holes for the men and halflings. Wintergrave had become a wellspring of richness. And visitors, especially those who had particular talents that helped the citizens of Wintergrave, were paid handsomely.

Which is why when word of the arrival of a blacksmith into Wintergrave had spread, a dwarven blacksmith at that, the entire town was readying every blade, every axe, every kitchen knife they had to be sharpened, others readying orders to be made. Word spread like wildfire about the onyx haired dwarf who struck a hammer with the fury of a dragon and took all the orders given, charging a rather expensive price, but given the results from the blades and armor he’d shown, it was worth it.

He'd taken up residence in one of the cabins farthest from the town, away from prying eyes, and only came into town to deliver orders or buy food. Hardly ever did he step foot where many of the city were, even to the bar. He never came to the tavern, and that’s what most people who weren’t coming for building materials came for. Only The Snow Veiled Barrow had a wine made from Bleakberries, a fruit only grown in the harsh ground of the frozen wasteland. Though dwarves were fonder of ale, alcohol was alcohol, and it bothered her quite a lot that the blacksmith had not once set foot in her tavern whether it to be eat a hot meal or enjoy a drink in solace.

She had, of course, taken it upon herself to at least make it known to the dwarf that he was welcome to come inside whenever he wished. That being said, going outside the city gates into the wilderness where the wolves and much worse beasts ran wild wasn’t exactly her favorite pastime—not that she couldn’t handle herself, she just preferred to have others hunt for the meat she used for meals.

It was well past sundown when she finally made it to the cabin he resided in, a small place, quaint even for a human but perfect for a man his size. The windows and door frame had been replaced as well as the glass panes, no doubt he’d secured his place of residence before getting to work.

Careful not to drop the bundle of fresh bread and cured meats in her hands, she kicked the door a couple times, calling out, “Blacksmith! If you are home, I wish to speak. I mean no ill will.” to ease him of grabbing a sword or axe.

Heavy footfalls echoed from inside and the locks flicked from behind before the door swung open to reveal the less than pleased dwarf; he merely glared at her, evidently not wishing to be bothered. “I do not take requests at this hour. Come back tomorrow.”

As he started to close the door, she stuck the toe of her boot in between the frame and halted it. “I’m not here for a request. Believe me, if I wanted a weapon, you’d have made it by now.”

“What do you want?”

“Well for starters, it’s freezing out here. Perhaps invite a lady inside for a moment?”

“You? A human woman enter a dwarf’s home? I can hear the hysteria and accusations rolling in now.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve an awfully cynical mindset, Blacksmith. I’m only here to deliver something to eat.”

At that, he opened the door and cocked a brow. “Why?” it was suspicious, and then his voice turned almost accusatory. “Do you not think I’m capable of feeding myself?”

“Distrustful as well,” she muttered, and held out the bundle. “You’ve not once stepped foot into the tavern in town. While I find it understandable that you do not wish to engage with Men, I do find it rather odd you’ve never come in for a drink.”

“So, you think dwarves are drunks?”

“Have you ever perhaps tried not reading so deeply into things that aren’t there? We live in the ass of Middle Earth. The nights are long and freezing. Liquor warms.” She waited until he took the bundle. “All I’ve come to do is deliver this and offer a seat whenever you wish. If you decide not to, I won’t be upset. But know I am someone you can trust.”

As she parted from the door, he called out, “Why should I trust you?”

“I own the tavern, Blacksmith,” she replied, putting up her hood. “I know everyone and everything that happens in this city. My knowledge, and friendship, is unassailable.”

He watched with narrowed eyes as she disappeared into the whipping snow back along the road.

***

He felt eyes on his back, knew someone was waiting to talk to him, but they were going to wait an awful long time. Steel had to be tempered in order to be forged into something great. It was only after the hair had risen along the back of his neck that he finally put the hammer down and looked behind him. A scowl came over his face as he saw her sitting in the chair beside the door.

“Blacksmith,” she greeted. “So glad you finally decided to notice me.”

“Apologies for the wait,” he practically sneered, and she merely waved him off.

“Oh, I’m not upset. Patience is a flower that grows in few gardens and believe me, the garden I have sowed is quite prosperous.” She crossed a leg over the other. “You’ve still yet to come into the tavern. Are you avoiding me, Blacksmith? That hurts. Most men wouldn’t dare avoid someone as beautiful as me.”

Her tone dripped with flirtation, but he was in no mood to play, even if what she said was true—she was absolutely beautiful, a goddess in flesh. “I’ve work to do. Unless it’s to request an order, I suggest you leave.” He pushed a lock of hair back, wiping the sweat from his brow, and looked at her, taking in the smirk, narrowed gaze, and— “You’re joking?”

She rose from her seat, tutting, “Blacksmith, please, I would never joke about money.” Pulling a hefty sack of gold from behind, she held it up. “I want you to make me a dagger. A very pretty, and useful dagger.” Pulling another, much smaller bag from behind, she handed it to him. “With these inlaid in the hilt.”

He opened the sack, wide-eying the sapphires, rubies, and emeralds in the velvet bag. “How…?”

“As I said, it pays to be my friend.”

“So, you’re buying me off?”

“In easier ways. Dwarves are honor bound, are they not? Also, it’s a rather heavy bag of gold. Enough to give leave of a few jobs if you wished.”

He glared at her, obviously weighing it on his mind before he sighed through his nose. “Fine. I’ll make your dagger.”

Her smile irritated him to no end, and she handed over the sack. “Wonderful. When can I expect my weapon?”

“Depends on the intricates of the hilt. A week. Two weeks. The month’s end.”

“Ah, so expect the unexpected?” she nodded knowingly. “Such a game I despise playing. As much as I’d love to stand around and chat, I’m afraid I must return to work.” As she walked off, she paused and turned, pointing around. “And do open a window. It’s stuffy in here. Like I’m underground.”

***

It was actually a month and a half before the dagger was finally done, and it was too much of a surprise when he stepped inside the crowded tavern. She didn’t even realize until she’d turned, put a tankard down, and jumped a foot in the air at seeing him at the bar.

She put a hand to her chest. “Give a woman a heart attack why don’t you, Blacksmith?”

He ignored her, putting the cloth on the bar. “It is done.” Undoing the ties, he flipped open the cloth and there lay a shining steel dagger, golden hilt with gemstones arranged in a delicate pattern.

Picking it up, she smoothed her hand along the blade, flipping it over as she felt the weight in her hand. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, eyes glimmering with something more than desire.

“Sharp too,” he bit out, already tired of the stares.

“Enough to kill a man?” she asked, eyes dropping to his gaze, and he stared back at her.

“As many as you wished.”

Her smile was bewitching, and she tipped her head to the end of the bar. “Sit. I have something in return.”

“You’ve alrea—”

“I said sit,” she commanded in a tone that had indignation rising on his face, yet he huffed and took a seat.

She disappeared behind the wall and came back minutes later with a bottle. A very aged bottle. “This,” she said, placing a goblet before him. “Is something I think you will enjoy quite a lot. I picked it up from a trader a few years ago.”

He watched as she uncorked the bottle and poured a dark, amber liquid into the goblet. “What is it?” he asked, picking it up to smell it. Notes of buttery caramel, oak, and pepper wafted up his nose and he closed his eyes, enjoying it.

“Whiskey. From the halls of the ancient dwarven kingdom Erebor.” His eyes opened and he stared at her, disbelief in them as he looked down at it. “Go ahead. Try it.”

Seeing his reflection in the goblet staring back at him, he lifted it to his mouth, taking a small sip. Something flickered in his gaze as he pulled the cup away and muttered, “It’s not of Erebor.”

She scowled. “It better be, I paid quite a sum for that.”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t get stiffed on deals. It’s real.”

“No, it is not. I am telling you it is not.” His tone had grown from calm to anger.

“I doubt you would know of what liquor comes from Erebor.”

The scratching of a chair on hardwood garnered the attention of all the tavern folk as they watched the scene unravel before them, the dwarf, standing, hands on the bar as he growled darkly at her, “I know what comes from the halls of Erebor, human. Do not speak of things you know nothing about. You have no right.”

She was silent as he disappeared from the tavern, slamming the door shut behind him. Humming, she picked up the split goblet and began cleaning it, turning to the others still staring with, “What are you lot staring at? Mind your own.” They went back to their drinks and food whilst she silently made note to visit the old historian.

***

“Master Bjolling?” she called out as she stepped inside the old man’s home. “Master Bjolling where are you?” she walked around the counter, down the steps and into the grand library the bookkeeper had. “Master Bjolling,” she sighed fondly, catching sight of the old man huddled over a desk.

He popped up, turning around to see her, blinking behind the large lenses he wore. “My word, is that you, my lady?”

She smiled. “Good evening, Master Bjolling. How well you fare?”

His smile was covered by his bushy mustache, but he greeted her with kindness and joy. “Wonderful! It’s quite a joy to see you! Shall I put on some tea this evening? Maybe some sweets and pudding?”

“As much as I would love to, I need you to look up something for me. Would you mind?”

“For my lady? I would charge into the flames of Utumno for her.”

“You flatter me,” she smiled.

“Now,” he said, cracking his fingers, pulling at the long tunic he wore. “What knowledge do you seek?”

She took a seat in the cushioned armchair, crossing a leg over the other as she laced her fingers on her stomach. “Knowledge on the dwarves.”

“There are many clans across the land. Which do you wish knowledge of?”

“The dwarves residing in the Blue Mountains southwest of us, what kingdom do they originally hail from?”

Bjolling frowned as he fiddled around a shelf pulling out a leather-bound booklet. “If I do recall,” he started, reading through the journal. “My predecessors wrote their arrival down. Ah, here we are. Erebor,” he said.

“Tell me of Erebor.”

Bjolling hummed curiously as he started walking around, going from section to section, staring up and down at the numbers. “This doesn’t have to do with that dwarven blacksmith fellow shouting at you in the bar last weekend, does it not?”

“It might,” she answered. The old man deserved at least half the truth. “I’m simply curious about the land is all.”

He seemed satisfied with her answer as he stopped in front of a particular shelf and looked up. “What information on Erebor do you seek?”

“Do you have anything on the royal family of Erebor?”

“Hmmm…perhaps? Dwarves aren’t exactly notorious for being open on history.” He dragged a large, ceiling length ladder down the line and climbed it, pulling books from the shelves, flipping through them before he found one that seemed to call to him. A large book, bound with blue leather. Bjolling pulled it out and climbed down, setting it on the table.

As she rounded the end, he flipped it open and started reading to her. She listened to him tell of the tale of how Erebor came to be, blessed by the Sons of Durin, a prosperous city under a mountain rich and powerful.

“—all changed, of course, with the arrival of Smaug, a fire drake from the North. He ransa—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, and he looked up over the rim of his glasses.

“My lady?”

“Who was the king during this time?”

Bjolling eyed her curiously before flipping back quite a few pages. “Let us see, I do believe it was Thrór.”

“Did he have any children?”

“His only son was Thráin.”

She frowned. “No, too old.”

“My lady, what are you looking for?”

She sat down on the seat beside him. “I’ve reason to believe our resident blacksmith is from Erebor.” Propping her hand against the side of her head, she asked, “Who were his children?”

“Thráin’s?” he flipped another few pages. “Records state he had three, Thorin, Frerin, Dís.” Bjolling looked at her. “My lady, might I ask what you intend to do with this information?” his expression turned solemn. “Please don’t tell me your idea is to extort this man? If he is of Erebor, he has nothing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, the hills of the Blue Mountains are filled with riches.” To ease his mind, she added, “But to give you peace, my intentions are not to extort him for a thing.” She rose from the seat. “Thank you, Master Bjolling. Your help is always appreciated.”

He smiled as she bent down and kissed his head. “For my lady, I happily assist.”

***

By the time he made it back to his cabin, he was practically dead on his feet, only wishing to fall into his bed and sleep until the sun rose the next day. As he unlocked the door, he took note of the fire blazing in the hearth, filling him with caution and warning as he pulled out his blade and entered carefully. He saw nothing at first, looking all around the room for any signs of thievery or attack, yet none showed. He began to put his blade away when—

“Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór. The rightful King Under the Mountain.”

He jumped, spinning around to point the blade at the woman in the corner of the room, watching him with a hidden gaze; he glowered at her. “How did you get in here?”

“I have many skills, your majesty. Picking a lock is just one of many,” she replied. “I have questions for you.”

“I’m in no mood to answer a single one. Get out.” When she didn’t move, he leveled the sword on her and threatened again, “Get. Out.”

She merely looked at the point of the blade then to him. “Put your sword away dwarf before you start a fight you will never walk away from. No matter your age and experience, I will finish what you start.”

He twirled the sword in his grip and retorted, “I would like to see you try, woman.”

She stood up before him and for once in his life besides the terror of Erebor’s fall, Thorin Oakenshield was terrified as she bared her teeth, canines growing into inch-long fangs, and the walls shook with force equal to a hurricane as a guttural growl escaped her throat. He took a step back, sword faltering, and she closed her mouth, head tipping up.

“My family has long protected this land, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór. Do not assume that my strength is limited to that of my body. Challenge me again and it will be your last.”

He stared at her. “What…are you?”

“The correct term far east would be skin-changers. Here we are called beast-walkers.” She sat back down. “My family line was infected with a disease that turned us into great beasts, giant two-legged wolves. Over the centuries, my family’s blood has changed and instead of our turnings being random, we can control it.” Her eyes turned to the moon outside. “There is, of course, still a desire to run wild under the moonlight.”

“Why reveal this to me?” he asked.

“Well, before you intended to get your throat ripped out, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór. I came to apologize to you.”

He cocked a brow. “You can stop calling me that. Thorin, is acceptable.”

“Thorin,” she corrected.

Dropping the sword on the table, he looked at her. “Why do you wish to apologize to me?”

“I insulted you the other week. Of course, part of the blame arises from you refusing to disclose who you are, but I let arrogance get the better of me.” She met his gaze. “I apologize. You, in fact, know better than any what comes of Erebor.”

Thorin made a noise in his throat, and he sat down on a chair across from her. “The less who know of my name, the safer it is to work and travel.”

“Understandable,” she agreed. “There’d be quite a ransom note sent to Ered Luin for the return of the rightful King Under the Mountain.” Her eyes found the snow again outside. “I don’t envy you, Thorin. It must be a heavy mantle to wear.”

“I wear it with pride,” he retorted, and she snorted.

“Spoken like a true dwarf.” They fell silent, watching the snow fall in peacefulness.

Uncharacteristically, Thorin admitted quietly, “I’m leaving here soon. At the end of the month.” He bother to look over at her, even when he felt the weight of her surprised gaze on him. “I’m starting a company. To retake Erebor from that damned serpent. To restore my home.”

Her lips pursed in a look of hidden surprise. “Truly? Even the dwarven kingdom at its height couldn’t even stop him. What makes you think you can?”

He looked over at her. “I feel it.”

“You feel it?” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “Gods help your company, feeling isn’t reliable.”

“You wouldn’t understand, human.”

“Perhaps not. I’ve never left Wintergrave to fight a dragon that could eat me in one bite.” She hummed. “I have done crazier things though.” Her eyes found his. “This company, I assume it will be comprised of warriors?”

“Indeed.”

“Would you like help?” she offered, and he cocked a suspicious brow.

“What are you after?”

“I assume unless I tell you, I’ll never be able to join?” his silence was her answer and she sighed. “Wintergrave is ancient. Its people are old. The young ones venture out east to the warmer lands for a better life. This city will never die, but at some point, you have to know when to let go and move on. It is time for me to move on.”

“I thought your family has protected this land? Are you going to ignore your duty?” he practically accused her of derelict duty.

“You assume I am the only beast-walker here. Others will keep the fire going. I wish to move on. If I’m to die, it won’t be pouring drinks to drunkards. I’ll die for something.” She held out her hand, waiting until he cautiously held his out the same; she took it, and he was surprised how warm she was, almost burning like fire. “Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, if you would will it, I will join you on this quest for Erebor. My strength and expertise are yours.”

He gazed at her. “You would do this for someone you don’t know? Without wanting reward?”

“Well, if we do manage to retake Erebor, I’d certainly enjoy being able to run a tavern somewhere in there. I am quite good at it, if you recall.”

Thorin chuckled, shaking her hand. “I will see what I can do once we reestablish Erebor.”

She smiled at him, pulling her hand away to rise from her seat. “I shall make preparations for my leave. I doubt I will ever make a journey back to Wintergrave in the future. It will be imperative to find a suitable family to take over my tavern. And to gather my belongings needed to take.”

“Have a lot?”

She shrugged. “Not so much material that is important. I have quite a mass of gold built up over the generations. I’ll have to prepare it for travel to the Blue Mountains.”

“Why?”

“What good is a mountain of gold if it’s not used for the better of something? You live in a cabin with little. It’s not difficult to understand that you send the majority of your sums back to your people.”

“You would give my people your gold?”

“Not all of it. A woman has to have something to live off of.”

Thorin rose. “You honor me and my people in the Blue Mountains.”

She tipped her head. “I will take my leave for the evening.” As she walked off, she turned, meeting his eyes. “Thorin…”

As she trailed off, he cocked a brow. “Yes?”

“Never mind,” she said, shaking her head. “Good eve.”

The door closed behind her and Thorin listened as an otherworldly sound echoed from behind the door, then a blood-chilling howl shook the walls; he turned to the desk, pulling a piece of parchment out to begin writing out the call for his company.

***

The city had practically sent the two off with more food, supplies, and gold than the two could do with. Still though, Thorin couldn’t say he was displeased with it. His companion hadn’t said much since they’d left, and he couldn’t help but watch her when he had the chance to. She looked ready, willing, for anything. What was so different was her garb. No longer dressed in the floor length dresses she typically wore, but a set of darkened leather armor, silver designs sewn into the side as well as silver buckles. Her back was held set with a wooden bow and at her side, the dagger that Thorin had forged for her along with a silver long sword—that, he recognized as elvish, and he fought the urge to sneer and scowl at it. Her face was covered with a mask, cut off just above her mouth, silver faceplate in the make of a wolf—he found she had quite a fondness for silver.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable as they travelled, and he felt comfort growing in him at having her at his side. Which was odd because Thorin didn’t trust anyone he’d never fought with. If he couldn’t trust them to cover his back in battle, how would he know they wouldn’t stab him in the back.

“You’re thinking awfully loud, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór.”

He rolled his eyes, griping, “I thought I’d said to stop that.”

“You did, but I find it annoys you and amuses me, so I shall continue.” She looked down at him. “What are you thinking about?” he opened his mouth and she added quickly, “And no need to hide it. We’re going to be together for a while. If we can’t be honest, we won’t work together.”

He ignored the urge to roll his eyes again but conceded. “I find it difficult to trust you since we’ve not seen battle together.”

“We will,” she replied, staring straight out to the road. “Your worst trust should be that I won’t eat you.” She accentuated her point by flashing her teeth with a grin. “I already gave you my word, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór. Find it in yourself to trust me already.”

“Why should I take your word seriously?”

She pulled the reins and halted her steed, Thorin following in suit; she stared him down and said, “Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, at the end of the day, all a man has is his word. His word is his hope, his truth, his livelihood, his honor. I do not have a title to hold my honor to, but I have generations of protecting my home and doing what is right no matter how difficult to hold it.” She took the reins again. “My word is my honor, just as your word is yours. If you keep your word that you will protect me, then I shall keep mine and protect you. Nothing less.”

Thorin grunted, falling back in to suit beside her. “Apologies.”

“Save those for something serious,” she replied. “We’ve a long road ahead of us.” Looking at him, she asked, “Where is our first stop?”

“The Blue Mountains.” He gazed into the distance. “To collect some old friends.”

[umbry-fic]

dear

Summary: It would all be easier if he could learn how to stop loving her.

He could only hope that she had learned how to stop loving him.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel, Original Character Relationships: Lloyd Irving & Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving & Original Character Rating: G Word Count: 2694 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 14/02/2024

Notes: This is a sorta sequel to Swaying from Season to Season - it's a possible future that I can see happening after that fic. This was written to Calc., From Y to Y and Dear.

Happy Valentine's lmao

~~~

Letting out an exhausted sigh, Lloyd wiped the sweat from his brow, stretching to get rid of the dull ache that had built up in his back over his hours of labouring in the smithy. Scrutinizing the newly forged dagger that lay on the anvil, the metal still glowing red from the heat of the forge, he nodded in satisfaction. The runes he had painstakingly carved into its blade until his fingers had hurt from how tightly he’d been gripping the carving knife snaked gracefully across the metal, gently glowing as it absorbed the ambient mana from the air.

It looked perfect, ready for -

A set of steady knocks echoed from the direction of the door, a soft voice calling out. "Uncle Lloyd?"

Speak of the devil.

A girl with a small smile on her face greeted him on the other side of the door, her hands clasped before her. The tight knot of worry in his chest that had been tied the moment he'd seen her off at the Iselian gate finally dissolved, leaving him to breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of Marianne without a scratch on her.

"Back from Palmacosta already, Mari?" he asked, ushering her in and shutting the door behind her. "I'd almost forgotten what you looked like!"

"I've only been away for a month, Uncle," she mumbled, taking careful steps across the wooden floor, her gaze wandering across the interior that she hadn’t laid eyes on in quite a while, but could probably still navigate with her eyes closed. Spotting the fresh dagger, the green eyes she'd inherited from her father widened, and she rushed over with stars practically twinkling in her eyes.

"It's for you," he confirmed, though it had likely been obvious from the beginning. Barrelling into him with enough force to knock some of the air out of his lungs, she thanked him profusely, her tiny smile melting into a real grin.

She was no longer the young child that had been light enough for him to pick up and swing in the air until she was shrieking with giggles. The years had gone by, his back had begun protesting, and she’d shot upwards in height, becoming more and more like her mother - packing away her emotions and sewing up the gap that contained them as she showed others only what they wished to see. Still, he was glad to be able to pull a real smile out of her.

Leading her to the kitchen table, he went to the pantry to get some sandwiches - slathered with fruit jam, just the way she liked it. He'd been making them every day for the past week, anticipating her return to Iselia; feeding them to Noishe when no one came calling. If Noishe saw another of these sandwiches, Lloyd suspected that he would get a faceful of angry dog.

"How's your father?" Marianne asked as she delicately nibbled on the corner of a sandwich. "Your last letter mentioned he’d caught something…?”

"Oh, it was just a cold that was running through the village. Dad's sleeping off the last of it upstairs," he answered, taking a seat himself. "What about your grandparents?"

"They'll be fine. It was nothing too serious, in the end, just seemed that way.” Face brightening, she placed her sandwich back in the centre of her plate. “You know, I ran into Uncle Genis at Palmacosta last week? He’s helping with classes at the Academy again!"

"Let me guess, he tried to get you to study?"

The scene was easy to imagine. Genis, bearing a serious expression as he stacked book after book in front of her for her “required reading”, ensuring she absorbed all of it until the light of dusk painted the classroom in warm orange strokes.

And when she had finished it all, he'd let her dictate what they did after, doing his very best to put a wide smile on her face.

Lloyd chuckled at the scowl that stretched across Mari’s face. "It was so boring. It's not my fault I'm no good at anything to do with magic! I'm better with my dagger anyway. All thanks to you, Uncle!"

"Well, glad I could help." A smile played on his lips as he watched her pout, her posture no longer the ramrod straightness it had been when she'd walked in. Still, she held herself with a grace that she couldn't shake after years of enforced practice. She was the very picture of her mother, down to the golden hair spilling down her back, even if she had inherited none of her clumsiness.

As he had with her mother, he refused to let her feel like she was alone. No child deserved that, regardless of the role they were supposed to play and what the Church felt about the matter. Even if they felt as if they dictated her every action - what she wore, what she said, the company she kept - they did not dictate his.

"And you know, my offer still -"

"No, Uncle," she shot down firmly, expression smoothing into neutral emptiness as she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but my choice hasn't changed. I don't want you to accompany me on the Journey of Regeneration."

Falling silent, he wondered if he was imagining the shadows lurking in her gaze, too dark for someone so incredibly young.

"The village needs you, you know! You're the best swordsman here. You'll have to protect this place when… After I’ve left for the Journey." She picked up her sandwich once more with stiff motions, gaze trained on the wooden surface of the table like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Can we talk about something else now?"

Steering the conversation away from their current topic was an easy enough task. There was much to discuss - all that she had done in her month in Palmacosta, and every event that had disrupted the sleepy routine of Iselia.

It was natural that she wouldn't want a reminder of the pressure that sat square on her shoulders, forcing her to be the symbol of hope for every person in this slowly dying world. It was enough that most people would only ever see her as her title - he wouldn't add to that weight. Here, she could excitedly talk about any topic under the sun while kicking her feet under the table. That was how it had always been, and how it always would be. Here, she could just be a child without a care in the world.

Swallowing the thought that he was missing something, he let the conversation wash over him - ranging from the many dogs she had accompanied her mother around Palmacosta to name, to some of the more out-there blacksmithing requests he’d gotten from the people of Iselia.

"Thanks for the sandwiches!" Marianne beamed.

Blinking, he glanced out the window and realised the sun was beginning to set, the sky composed of messy dashes of red and pink. Had it really been that long? Pushing himself to his feet, he began to clean up the table, sweeping up the plates with breadcrumbs scattered across them.

"Could you accompany me back to the village, Uncle?"

He froze on his way to the sink, slowly turning to face her. "I wouldn't want to intrude."

Her green eyes were fixed on him, subjecting him to the same searching stare her mother had used to give him. She could not possibly have known anything, for neither he nor Colette had ever breathed a word after her wedding, and yet...

"Father stayed behind in Palmacosta to be with grandmother and grandfather for a while longer, so it's just me and mother. Besides, I've missed you! It's been a month. Come over, and we can have dinner together."

"I... Alright," he agreed, swallowing to clear his suddenly incredibly dry throat. Gingerly placing the plates into the sink, he cursed the shaking of his hands, letting them curl around the amateur medallion that still sat over his heart.

He had not taken it off in the close to two decades that had passed.

"Come on then," he sighed.

~~~

The guards nodded politely when they entered, the villagers they passed waving hello to them. The villagers, as a whole, had gotten a lot friendlier once he'd taken over from Dad as Iselia's blacksmith, and even more so once he'd started training the town's guard. Somewhere along the way, he'd become just another familiar face, despite being shunned as a child for his origins.

Marianne's expression had shuttered along the path through the forest, her steps growing stiffer until she was walking in the graceful manner that befitted a Chosen.

The sight made sorrow flood his heart, remembering the days when she would grab his hand and swing his arm with wild abandon as she ran through the village, a toothy smile lighting up her face. Her head had barely reached his thigh back then. He said nothing, however, knowing he couldn’t change her mind.

"Mari! Just who I wanted to see!" One of the other girls from the village called out, beaming as she slowly divided her red hair into bunches, painstakingly threading them into braids. "Won't you come over and help?"

"Oh, it's Amber! Uh, see you, Uncle!" Marianne hurriedly whispered, a touch of red colouring her cheeks as she broke away, life flowing back into her steps.

He couldn’t help the amused chuckle that slipped from him as he continued alone, steps faltering as he spotted the familiar porch he had spent many an afternoon pacing back and forth on, waiting for Colette’s cheerful voice to reach his ears.

"Lloyd?"

And then he was meeting those familiar blue eyes, still capable of taking his breath away. Sometimes, he still felt like that naive teenager, watching her under the starry night sky and realising for the first time just how beautiful she was.

He greeted her with a nod, words still escaping him as he carefully began to construct walls around his fragile heart.

Every time he met her, he could see every version of her he had known. The cheerful child who had approached him with no fear, the girl wrapped in melancholy who had kissed him with tears on her face, and the woman who had faced her preordained fate with her head held high.

And now, the mother, seated on the porch and enjoying the wind on her skin. Happy, he hoped, for that was all he had ever wished for her.

Colette levelled him with the same piercing stare her daughter had subjected him to less than an hour ago. "It’s no use lingering out here. Come in," she said, slipping into the house like a silent ghost.

He'd seen her, plenty of times over the years. They were still friends, after all, and they met up with Genis to catch up all the time. Not as much now, given that both Genis and Raine had left Iselia. Raine to perform archaeological research all around the world, and Genis to wander from place to place, occasionally returning to the Palmacosta Academy to help out. Perhaps time had inevitably caused them all to drift apart somewhat, but they still found opportunities to steal little moments together.

But he could count the number of times he’d been truly alone with her on his fingers alone. He’d avoided such occurrences, trying to forget the pain of a heart that had never healed, and not wanting to make things any harder than they already were. He had never wanted to hurt her at all, but he had inevitably done so - simply because he had committed the sin of having held her hand, dreaming of a life that they could spend together.

Yet still he wished to see her, with all of his heart - wanting to hear the sound of her laughter, see her bright smile, feel the brush of her hair against his arm.

He was still chasing it, that summer day when he fell in love with her, even if it had long drifted out of his reach - a shimmering facade that continued to taunt him.

Following Colette into the kitchen, he automatically began to help her out with dinner, the two of them settling into the same easy rhythm they had always shared, without a need for words. It was a wonder it hadn’t been lost over the years, but it lived on, ingrained deep in both their hearts.

“How was Palmacosta?” he asked, breaking the silence for the first time as he collected a few dishes to take to the dining table.

“Loud,” she replied mirthfully. “Lots of dogs, though.”

“Same old, then,” he mumbled. It had been a few years since he’d needed to travel so far to deliver the finished product for a custom request, but it seemed the bustling town hadn’t changed much.

“I’m sure Mari already told you, but we ran into Genis. It was nice seeing him again,” she said, helping to carry out the rest of the dishes as they both got seated, waiting for Marianne to return from whatever corner of the village she’d wandered off to. “It really has been a long time since we’ve heard from him.”

“Close to a year and a half. I do hope he visits Iselia soon or sends a letter, or the next time we all get together, I’m letting Raine do the cooking.”

The bright laugh that left her at his words made him smile, even as he refused to let the flimsy walls surrounding his heart drop. It was so easy to forget, sometimes, that anything had changed, but he would not let himself fall into an illusion that could not last, that would only shatter into shards with wickedly sharp edges that could easily slice his heart into ribbons once again. It would not be fair to her.

Her blue eyes, alight with amusement, met his gaze for a moment, before sliding away when the sound of muffled voices filtered through the open doorway.

He could see Marianne, lightly blushing as she conversed with the same girl from before on the porch, their fingers threaded together. Saying goodbye, if he had to guess. He was also witness to the moment a wave of sadness swept over her as she reluctantly pulled her hand away, her expression downcast.

Colette’s bottom lip wobbled, and he reached out on instinct. Curling his fingers to dig his nails into his palms, he set his clenched hands back into his lap.

She always did that when she was upset. She would take a deep breath and push it all down, refusing to let any of it out. And once, he would have held her close as she let her face crumple into tears, hidden in his chest as he rubbed circles into her back.

His heart twisted now, watching her, but he had lost the privilege to comfort her long ago.

Perhaps it would have been easier if he could simply lock away this beating heart of his, if he could learn how to stop loving her. If laying eyes on her and hearing her voice did not leave him aching to reach out to her, a knife slowly twisting its way deeper into his vulnerable flesh. But he did not wish to forget, all that they had shared - every moment in the past, and every future that might have been.

He could only hope that she had learned how to stop loving him.

When Marianne sat down at the dining table, every trace of sadness had been wiped from Colette’s face, only a tranquil smile remaining as she greeted her daughter. Mari’s face, too, was devoid of the sadness that had plagued her just moments ago, and Lloyd could not help but wonder.

If he'd been brave enough to take Colette’s hand and run all those years ago, regardless of her protests, would anything have turned out differently?

"Let's eat, shall we?" Marianne said, shattering his train of thought.

Contemplating all the different futures that could have been was no use to anyone.

They were all lost to him now.

[paytato435]

Chapter 3: You His Pet or Somethin'?

The Knife Set

Leo was in a pickle. He hadn’t realized how big of a pickle yet though. Like, he thought it was maybe one of those cocktail sized ones you’d skewer onto a sandwich. As it turned out, he’d discovered pickles could get pretty big. Like, he was pretty sure Raph could fit in this one- this metaphorical pickle anyway. Not a literal pickle… are there any pickles in the fridge now? He was getting a little hungry now that he thought about it…

“So it was you?!” Mikey’s voice broke in surprise as he had just watched his older brother turn one of his kitchen knives into a mystic katana.

Leo froze. He had not seen the box turtle behind him. Turning his head just slightly, he could see his little brother in the doorway, his finger pointing accusingly right at him.

“You’re the one who keeps stealing my kitchen knives!”

“Stealing?” Leo asked, touching his finger to his lip. “I was just borrowing the one…”

“LIAR!” Mikey stormed into the kitchen and gestured to his knife block, where, of the dozen knives that had been there less than two weeks ago, there now remained only two.

“You keep using my knives to make more swords!”

Leo bit his lip.

“Look, it’s not my fault they keep breaking under the pressure-”

“You’ve broken them?! HOW?”

“I don’t know, I guess they just aren’t as strong as you’d think they’d be,” Leo shrugged, twirling the new katana into his scabbard.

“Kitchen knives are meant for chopping food, not hacking apart bad guys!” Mikey sobbed.

“Well what am I supposed to do then? I need my katanas!”

“Go ask Todd to make you another garden trowel, I don’t know! And get me a new set of knives!”

Leo sighed loudly. Asking for a new set of knives was fair, but it would be a huge pain. He was also having trouble getting a hold of Todd. Turns out his puppy park was going through some legal trouble about zoning requirements or something, his forge likely included. Maybe Leo could just buy himself a knife set too, but he was really tired of his swords cracking under the pressure.

“A garden trowel as a sword?” Leo and Mikey snapped their heads around to see Casey sitting at the breakfast bar, not even four feet away from them.

“How long have you been there?” Leo asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Long enough,” Casey shrugged. “But really, tell me how a garden trowel makes for a good sword.” His tone pitched up in questioning.

“I thought you knew everything about us,” Leo tipped his head. “We can make our weapons out of pretty much anything, as long as we have our ninpo.”

“Well yeah, I knew that, but wouldn’t an actual sword work better?” Casey asked, shoveling around his cereal with a spoon.

“I don’t suppose you have one lying around here somewhere?” Leo asked, lowering his head and jutting his chin out.

“Jus’ get Synth to make you one. Thas’ what you did in the fujure,” Casey said through a mouthful of cereal.

“Synth? Who’s that?”

Casey’s eyes widened as he took a bite of Frosted Flakes. (He’d been getting more adventurous with his food choices lately.) “You don’t know Synth? The greatest swordsman of all time?!”

“Ok I’m going to pretend you didn’t just rank me below anyone else in terms of swordsmanship and skip to the part where I say; nooooo?” 

“Well you should, if my memory serves, he works for the Battle Nexus.”

“For Big Mama?” Mikey piped up. “Sounds like he’s probably up to no good.”

“He made… makes weapons for her champions,” Casey explained, fidgeting with his hands nervously. “As for Big Mama, I can’t say whether or not he’s a fan of hers. He’s not big on talking about himself. He did get along well enough with you though, Leo.”

“I can’t imagine he’s cheap,” Leo scoffed. “After that last Jupiter Jim premiere I’m broke!”

“You really should get a job, Leo,” Mikey gave him a side-eye, but Leo waved him off.

“I’m sure you can work something out with him,” Casey encouraged, smiling. “Sensei always had a way of brokering a deal.”

Leo was not at all surprised to hear he was still very much the face-man in the future. But at the same time, he still wasn't used to hearing someone talk about himself like he knew more about him than his own self. It felt tangential to the whole Hamato destiny stuff, like he just had to be what they told him to.

And while a part of him wanted to resist the idea based solely on contrarianism, Casey’s bowling ball eyes were just so damn reflective. Like, Leo thought his face might explode or something if he didn’t go along with it. So he took a step back and thought it over. What was the worst that could happen?

“All right, sure. I’m sure we can check out this Synth guy on our way back from like… wherever Mikey gets his kitchen utensils from,” Leo conceded, straightening up.

Casey froze.

“We?” He sputtered, only to frantically grasp at the bits of cereal he accidentally sputtered onto his chin.

“Yes, we, this is your idea isn’t it? You, me, and Mikey,”

“Why do I have to go? You’re doing this for me!” Mikey cut in.

“You know I’m not going to get the right set if you don’t come with us,” Leo pointed out.

Mikey made a 'I wish I could say otherwise but we all know better' face.

“Leo, I… you know why I can’t go up there…” Casey stumbled, shrinking into his chair. “It’s, it’s all so open…”

In a completely necessary gesture, Leo whipped out Mikey’s ex-kitchen knife and pointed it right down Casey’s nose.

“You can’t hide down here forever kid. If this means anything to you then you’re coming with me.”

“It doesn’t,” Casey shrugged. “It’s your sword.”

“Oh come on!” Leo collapsed over on himself. “You aren’t even a little bit invested in my path to becoming the greatest ninja of all time?”

Mikey popped up next to Casey and made him jump.

“What Leo is trying to say, is that he wants you to come with him because we’re family and we should spend more time outside together. And it’ll be fun!” Mikey starting doing a little dance up at that last bit, shaking invisible maracas.

Casey looked like he was starting to regret his own idea, but eventually nodded.

“Yeah! Team Baja Blast is headed out, baby!” Mikey jumped onto the bar table and pointed at the ceiling.

“Wait a minute, you’re broke!” Mikey pointed back down at Leo. Leo looked away.

“You were gonna make ME pay for the knives that YOU ruined!”

“I didn’t say anything of that nature,” Leo scoffed. “Casey, how much money do you have?”

Casey started to pull out his wallet but Mikey stopped him.

“Oh no no no NO!” Mikey scolded the slider. “You are not putting this on him!”

“Well how am I supposed to get you your knife set huh?”

Mikey squinted one eye and jabbed it into Leo’s plastron.

“Get. A. JOB!”

-

“You his pet or somethin’?”

“I don’t get it Casey, how am I supposed to be a ninja, a student, and have a job all at the same time?” Leo whined as they walked to the Grand Nexus Hotel. Without the money to pay for his lost knives, Mikey refused to join them. Leo would have to pay him back another time.

“How should I know? I have just as much experience as you here,” Casey raised his arms helplessly. But when Leo looked over to him he was smiling wickedly.

“What with that face?” Casey knew that look all too well.

“Do you think I could make money being a ninja?” Leo asked, tipping his head to one side.

“Like a mercenary???” Casey asked, concerned.

“I was thinking more like a bounty hunter,” Leo shrugged, crossing his hands behind his head.

“And who’s paying you? I can’t see you working with the police.”

“Oooooo now there’s an idea,” Leo spun around walking backwards. “Take money from bad guys for taking out bad guys.”

Casey tried to process what Leo was saying, but Leo kept going.

“Pops and Raph would hate that though,” he shrugged, dodging between people. “Honor and all that. Man, it blows that Pops is being more stingy with money lately.”

“Sorry,” Casey lowered his head. He knew that their allowances had spread out thinner now that Casey was living with them.

“Aw shit, no man, I didn’t mean it like that,” Leo corrected himself. He sighed. “Maybe Hueso will let me work for him. Surely he’s gotten over the unicorn incident by now…” Leo started mumbling to himself, so Casey turned his attention to the city around him.

It was still intimidating, for sure, but he was starting to think the walks with Mikey had helped some. The worst part by far were the cars. He couldn’t believe that there were machines that could fly past him at the speed of Krang hounds and that was safe and normal. He had been in the Turtle Tank, sure, but it was a whole other thing to be surrounded by hundreds of them.

They came out of nowhere, stopped suddenly, and everytime he heard a horn… he was over it, man. The only thing keeping him grounded was Leo. The way he moved through the crowds so easily, the ease at which he navigated town, Casey had a hard time believing this was the same world his sensei grew up in. Surely he’d fallen into some stranger alternate universe.

“We’re here!” Leo announced, waving his hand in front of Casey’s face. He blinked. He hadn’t realized he’d spaced out.

“It’s huge!” Casey gasped. It dwarfed every other building on the block, and that was saying something.

“Duh, Big Mama doesn’t do anything that isn’t big,” Leo rolled his eyes. “Speaking of, you do have some idea of how to get to this Synth guy, right? I’m not itching to be making a deal with her.”

Casey folded his hands in front of his chin and gave an empty smile.

“You have no idea what we’re doing, do you?” Leo guessed.

“No…?” Casey lied to nobody.

Leo nodded.

“I’m starting to see some resemblances between each other,” Leo winked. “Let’s go!”

-

Casey had never been in a hotel before, but he was pretty sure they weren't usually bigger on the inside than on the out, nor did he think every bellhop could possibly look exactly the same as one another.

Thankfully, Leo walked in like he owned the place, so all Casey had to do was follow.

Leo made his way up to the front desk, where a fox yokai as desk manager stood at attention.

“Do you have a reservation, gentlemen?” he asked, barely glancing at them.

“We’re here to see Master Synth, my fuzzy friend. Does he have a minute to spare?” Leo announced, his hands on his hips as he gave a confident smile.

The fox sighed and pulled out his radio.

“Synth that turtle from the Kraken fight is back again,” he groaned. “And he’s brought a friend. Says he wants a minute.”

A voice like tin cans dragging on cement answered with a concise “Nah.”

“Nah?” Leo raised his voice.

“Nah,” said the voice again.

The desk manager put his radio away.

“Sorry about that gentlemen, he’s busy.”

“That wasn’t very professional of him! He didn’t even hear what we came here for!”

“I could redirect you to someone else if you let me know what you need,” the desk manager offered, but he was clearly hoping Leo wouldn’t take him up on the offer.

“Do you have anyone else who makes swords? Preferably ones that don’t break under mystic influence?” Leo stuck his hip out to one side.

“All of our weapons manufacturers are contractually obligated to only make weapons for the Nexus,” the fox explained. “You’ll need to take your business elsewhere.”

“A contract? Is there any way we can get him out of it?” Casey asked.

The fox laughed.

“Nobody wants out of a weapons deal with Big Mama,” he sneered. “It’s the most lucrative business in the Hidden City; and Synth’s the best there is. You can’t afford him.”

Leo pouted, and turned away from the counter.

“Fine, we’ll go look elsewhere.”

Casey turned to follow him, but with hesitation. He’d never seen Leo give up this easily. Unless…

When they’d put some distance between themselves and the front desk, Leo gave him his classic mischievous grin.

“You have an idea,” Casey smirked.

“Come on, it’s about time we do some ninja sneakin’ about.” 

-

With a little assistance from a briefly unattended laundry bin and a service elevator, the boys quickly found their way to one of the lowest basement levels of the Grand Nexus Hotel.

“You wouldn’t happen to know your way around down here, would you?” Casey asked Leo as he shifted in the bin to pull out his phone.

“I haven’t been this far down before, but I’ve never seen Synth either so I figured he had to be somewhere I haven’t been,” Leo grunted, pulling on a pair of bellhop trousers in the cramped space. As he brought them up, he elbowed Casey in the face.

“Hey, watch it! You know you could just step out of the bin and put that on.”

Leo hopped out and adjusted the bellop's hat atop his head.

“I got a map.”

“A map?” Leo said to the suspicious laundry hamper as the elevator dinged. “How’d you-?”

But the doors were opening and staff were waiting to get on.

Leo quickly pushed the bin out into the hallway, apologizing as the confused staff members scooched around him as best they could. Once the door closed, Casey poked his arm up from under the towels and pointed down the hall.

“That way, and to the left at the end of the hall.”

“Casey, did you hack your way into the Nexus servers?”

“I have my ways,” he whispered. “Trust me.”

Leo could see the faint purple glow of Casey’s phone jostling around as he pushed the cart in the way he was directed. This kid was good.

When he turned the corner, Leo saw that the hall widened out significantly, and that the usual wallpaper and decor gave way to solid stone. The lights overhead became cold white fluorescents. The bin’s wheels bumped over the rubber stop of the end of the carpet and onto worn asbestos floor tiles.

“What are we looking for?” Leo whispered.

“Third door on your right,” Casey whispered back, readjusting himself.

The doors were metal painted in chipped orange paint, and were padlocked shut. Leo guessed 8008, but the lock buzzed red.

“What are you doing?” Casey asked, hearing the noise.

“Do you have a way to unlock the door? I left my purple at home.”

Casey popped his head out and looked at the lock.

“Did you try boob?”

“Of course I did!”

Casey glanced back at his phone. “Huh, that usually works. Give me a minute…”

“WHO’S OUT THERE??”

The boys jumped, and Casey nearly fell out of the laundry bin. It was that awful grating voice from before.

“Uh… room service?” Casey answered, his voice cracking.

“I didn’ order any-” but Synth made the mistake of opening up the door for them, and Leo pushed right on by him to get inside. “-hey!”

Leo looked around the room and whistled in awe.

“Hey hey, this is a pretty sweet shop you got here Synthia, you might make my brother jealous.”

Casey hopped out of the cart and looked around too, and looked just as impressed. There were swords, spears, and all kinds of blades hanging around everywhere. From the ceiling, mounted to the walls, in barrels and crates around the edges of the room, anywhere there was room, there were sharp edges to fill the space. There were a couple workbenches in the back, an anvil, and a massive forge blazing brightly in the otherwise rather dark room.

“You’re that turtle from the front desk!” Synth growled, keeping the door open. “You need to get outta here. You're not welcome!”

He was a short, bobcat-like Yokai, with red fur and cloven feet like a goat. He was shorter than Casey, but Leo guessed he was probably a few years older than himself

At first glance he was afraid this Synth would lack experience, and Casey seemed to be appraising him too; but he appeared excited enough to see the yokai, so it seemed he was exactly the man (or teenager) Master Leonardo had praised to heaven and back for.

Leo rolled his eyes.

“Chill man, we just wanna talk.”

“Yeah, sure,” he rolled his eyes in turn. “An idiot with a kitchen knife in one of his scabbards and nothing in the other only wants to talk.”

“You can tell it’s a kitchen knife?” Leo asked, drawing the sword out.

Synth closed one eye and made a face.

“I’m not takin' commissions,” he asserted.

“Would you please reconsider?” Casey asked, folding his hands.

“Why would I?”

“Because I’m the greatest ninja the world has ever seen,” Leo smirked.

“Yeah,” Casey crossed his arms and stood next to him. “Leonardo’s the greatest swordsman alive.”

Synth’s ear twitched and looked Casey up and down.

“You his pet or somethin’?”

“Pet?!” They both repeated at the same time.

“The kid’s followin' you like a puppy.”

Leo made a face and glanced down at Casey who was standing a little close to him.

Casey inched away.

“He’s my sidekick,” Leo recovered.

“Right… well, I’m sorry, dudes, but I can’t help you with your little situation.”

“Yeah yeah, we heard it all upstairs,” Leo puppeted his free hand. “You got a contract blah blah blah. But I need swords or I can’t ninja!”

“You don’t even have anything to offer!”

“What if you taught him how to make swords?” Casey suggested.

“That’s even worse!” Synth roared. “Do you see my output? I don' have the time nor the energy to waste on teaching some idiot swinging a steak knife around!”

“Hey, this idiot has feelings,” Leo pointed out.

“Wait a minute,” Casey moved over to a stack of crates on one wall.

“Get out!” Synth growled.

Casey pulled out a sword.

“Get your hands off that! I’m calling security!”

Casey gave him a “try me” face.

“No you’re not,” he blew on the surface of the blade and a poof of dust kicked up into the air.

“You’re overstocked. You’re bored as shit.”

Synth’s ear twitched again. Leo wondered if the tic meant anything.

“You…” Synth glared but shut the door. He moved to the back of the workshop, gesturing for them to follow.

Now we were getting somewhere.

Behind his workbench and nearly out of view sat a grindstone. As he approached it whirred to life on its own, as if by magic. Well, it probably was magic. Synth grabbed the nearest blade to him, some wicked looking machete, and started grinding away at its edge.

“They’re always listenin',” he growled quietly, in a voice that was barely audible over the racket he was now making.

“Big Mama?” Casey asked, curious.

Synth nodded. “And others. I’ll be brief. Run of the Mill, 10pm.”

That was brief.

Synth watched Leo, and realized he was waiting for a response.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he shrugged.

Synth immediately stopped the grindstone and moved to the radio on his workbench.

“Security, I have two idiots lost in the basement. Please extract.”

“Two, devishly handsome idiots,” Leo corrected.

“Devilish,” Casey corrected Leo.

“What he said.”

-

They had almost made it out of the hotel without incident, when it just so happened the crime boss herself was just stepping in through her own front door, a leather lavender clutch in one hand, and her hair tied up in a messy silver bun atop her head. By the dozens of assistants behind her, it appeared she had just returned from some kind of shopping trip.

“Oh! Look who we have here!” Big Mama strutted right up to Leo.

“It’s been a minute, turtley-boo, how was saving the world?” she peered over at him expectantly over her glasses.

“It was… great…” Leo smiled uncomfortably. “I have a son now.”

Big Mama giggled and stole a glance at Casey.

“Ah yes, I saw you on the news. A new friend of the turtles.”

“Casey, this Big Mama. Mama, this is Casey,” Leo really looked like he wanted to take a step back.

“Why so teedly tense?” Mama asked, raising her eyebrows. “I think we’re good friends now, don’t you think? I helped you save the world, you saved the world, which in turn keeps business as usual. You’re always welcome here,” she winked.

Leo didn’t appear convinced.

“So, what brings you here, turtley-boos?”

Casey flinched.

“Oh, Casey’s not a turtle,” Leo corrected her. “He’s a human.”

Mama rolled her eyes.

“Of course, dear, I only meant to be inclusive,” she gave Casey a wicked grin.

“If I had more time, I would love to get to know you, little one. We’re all family here.”

Casey swallowed nervously.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Mama, we were just escorting these two off the premises,” the fox yokai had appeared at her side.

“Ah, that would explain the security,” Big Mama nodded to the musclemen behind Leo and Casey.

“Sneaking around?”

“I- we…” Casey tried to find an explanation, but Big Mama just started giggling good-naturedly.

“Don’t worry your devishily handsome faces, boys,” she assured them. “Mama has a way of finding things out. Enjoy your evening!”

And then she moved past them as if none of that had even happened.

-

“That was beyond weird!” Leo pointed out once they were safely back underground.

“What do we do now?” Casey asked. “It’s clear she knows we’re meeting with Synth this evening.”

“Wait really? How’d you figure that?”

Casey smacked himself in the forehead.

“She mispronounced devilishly just like you did and then told us to have a good time this evening! We’re supposed to meet Synth in the evening!”

"It was evening when we left, Case, I think you're being a little paranoid."

“So should we still go?” Casey asked, crossing his arms as they entered the lair.

“Why not? Are you afraid of Big Mama or something?” Leo threw himself over the back of the couch, his carapace hitting the seat cushion and his legs flopping over onto one side.

“Shouldn’t I be? She’s like, a crime boss isn’t she?”

“Nah…” Leo smirked as he flipped the tv on. “Well yeah, she is. But we can take her.”

“You sound really full of yourself, you know that right?” Casey told the slider, crashing beside him. “Didn’t you say she once trapped the entire city of New York? And she manipulated the Shredder? And she imprisoned Master Splinter for a decade?”

Leo rolled his eyes.

“Ok, you might have a point. I’ll see if Raph and Donnie wanna go with us.”

Casey jumped a bit, but thankfully Leo didn't seem to notice.

“Wait, why not Mikey?”

“He’s going to Draxum’s tonight, and… the whole knife situation.”

“BROKE-ASS NINJA!” the two of them heard Mikey shout from his room.

“Is there something wrong with inviting the others?” Leo asked, lowering his brow.

“No, it’s fine,” Casey settled back into his seat and looked at the tv. “I was just curious.”

"You've been spending a lot of time with Mikey by the way, why is that?"

"You jealous?" Casey smirked.

"What? No! I'm just observing."

"And what have you observed?" Casey kicked his legs up over Leo's. 

Leo squinted. Casey gave him a shit eating grin.

"Isn't it rude to have shoes on the couch?"

"You're right, I should take them off."

Casey promptly kicked his shoes off onto the floor and put his feet right back where they had been.

Leo's face scrunched up in horror by the pungent smell.

"That was not what I meant!" he said as he scrambled to sit up right and get away from the offending appendages. Casey couldn't help but crack up laughing as the slider made a series of dramatic and unnecessary gagging noises.

"Jeez dude, do you ever shower?"

"It's not that bad," Casey defended, crossing his legs under him. "You just don't have humans around here enough."

"April's over here all the time!"

"April doesn't count! She doesn't live here!" Casey pointed out.

"Are you saying we need more people living here?"

"No?" Casey pouted, stumped. "Whatever."

Previous Masterpost Next

Notes: Teenage boys are gross.

[maglorslostsilmaril]

5 Times the House of Finwe Fought and 1 Time They Didn’t

read on ao3 here

Looking back, Nolofinwe wasn’t surprised at how quickly their nice family dinner had gone downhill. It was one of those rare nights his elder brother would leave his room or the forge to dine with the rest of the family, and, as always, he’d tried to remain stubbornly hopeful that maybe, just this once, they could get through one meal without conflict.

Alas.

It had started out alright, at least. Feanaro had stalked into the room just as the salad plates were set upon the table, looking slightly less thunderous than normal as he took his usual spot to the right of their father. The candles along the table flickered happily, and the fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow about the room. Not one scathing word was shared as the soups and salads were served and then taken back to the kitchen, only quiet conversation between his father and older brother, and Nolofinwe had felt his mood begin to rise.

Feanaro had been kind to him and his siblings when he was younger; it was only once Nolofinwe had begun to mature that he’d begun to find himself on the receiving end of his bitter words. Despite the mistreatment from Feanaro the past few years though, Nolofinwe was still eager to rebuild the relationship he’d once had with his brother. He wasn’t even sure what had changed between them, to be honest.

At that time, the main meal was brought out. Roasted pheasant, potatoes and greens, Arafinwe’s favorite. Across the table, his little brother clapped happily when he saw the food placed in front of him, already portioned by the chef so that his small, clumsy hands would not have to handle a knife. Out of the corner of his eye, Nolofinwe thought he saw Feanaro smile fondly at their little brother’s excitement, but the expression was gone so fast he wasn’t sure whether it was just wishful thinking.

“So, Curufinwe, I’ve heard that you plan to travel to Mahtan’s halls when you come of age in the next years?” Indis said politely a few moments later. Nolofinwe paused momentarily, and he felt his sisters do the same. It always came down to something small, whether or not their dinners would end in disaster. Finwe gave his eldest a warning look, but to Nolofinwe’s surprise, Feanaro did not seem inclined at all to send a scathing remark back at his stepmother. In fact, it almost seemed like the constant dark look on his face brightened slightly.

“I do.” He replied. There was a hint of pride in his voice, and the beginnings of a smile on his face, a rare occurrence in the presence of his stepmother. Findis visibly relaxed from where she sat between Nolofinwe and Feanaro, blonde curls bouncing merrily. “I’ve become, ah, acquainted with his daughter Nerdanel; she assures me that I would feel most welcome there.”

“Well, that’s just wonderful.” Indis smiled. Nolofinwe was shocked to see Feanaro nearly smile back at her. Maybe this family dinner would end alright after all.

“I agree!” Finwe said, beaming with pride. Whether it was for his eldest’s accomplishments or his lack of biting words towards his wife, Nolofinwe couldn’t tell. “In fact, Feanaro, I truly think-”

There was a sharp hiss of pain when Finwe reached out to lay a hand on his eldest son’s forearm, and their father frowned and recoiled immediately. “Naro, are you alright?”

“Fine,” his brother gritted out, face darkening once more. “Merely a burn from the forge.”

“Are you sure?” Nolofinwe’s mother asked worriedly, making to stand from her seat at Finwe’s left. “A burn is not an injury to take lightly. Surely we could find someone to rebandage-”

“I said it’s fine!” Feanaro snapped, pushing away from his seat. The chair toppled to the floor behind him with a loud crash. His sisters stiffened, and little Arafinwe’s lower lip wobbled dangerously.

“Naro, please,” Finwe pleaded, an anxious look on his face. Feanaro’s face only grew stormier as he clutched his injured forearm to his chest. “She was just trying to-”

“I don’t care what she wants!” his older brother exclaimed. “I said it’s fine, do you not trust me? I don’t need her trying to mother me! I already have one, in case you’ve forgotten!” Findis winced beside him, and Nolofinwe felt himself to do the same. It always came down to that, didn’t it? No matter what his mother tried, his half-brother would never see her as anything but a mal-intended replacement for Miriel.

“That’s not very nice!” Irime piped up from across the table. She was growing bolder every day, and Nolofinwe was proud of her for that, but it appeared self-preservation was not accompanying it. No, Feanaro would never hurt one of his siblings. He just feared that Lalwen would lose her love for him should she never see any side of him but his fierce, unrelenting anger. Miriel had named her son well.

Thankfully, Feanaro said nothing, only stalking out of the hall. His footsteps echoed through the hallways as the rest of the family sat in uncomfortable silence.

Later, Nolofinwe walked past his brother’s room on the way to his own, only to find Feanaro’s door cracked and his father’s voice coming from inside. Curiosity overtook him. He paused on the other side of the door and stood as still as he could, trying not to breathe.

“You know that it’s cruel to treat your stepmother in such a way, do you not, Naro?” His father said. Nolofinwe could almost picture him seated next to Feanaro on his brother’s bed, arm wrapped across his shoulders.

“Yes, Atar,” Feanaro mumbled back. His voice sounded strangely wet, like he’d been crying. “You won’t believe me if I say I’ve been trying. I just get so angry and not even at her. It’s just that every time I see her I’m reminded of what I don’t have. Her and the rest of them are just reminders that Amme isn’t coming back. I can’t get close to them. Not when they’re only here because Amme isn’t.”

Nolofinwe huffed, stepping away from the door and continuing down the hallway. If that was how Feanaro felt, then fine. He’d stop trying to win the love and approval of one who refused to even think about giving it to him. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he scrubbed them away. His older brother wasn’t worth this sorrow.

[delicioustriumphsweets]

The Damascus Kitchen Knife Revolution: Transform Your Cooking Experience in 2024 

In the world of culinary artistry, the tools you use can make all the difference. One such tool that has taken kitchens by storm is the Damascus kitchen knife. Renowned for its incredible sharpness, durability, and striking appearance, these knives have become the go-to for both home cooks and professional chefs.  

The Damascus Kitchen Knife: A Revolution in Cooking 

The Damascus kitchen knife is much more than a typical blade. It combines ancient techniques with modern innovation, creating a tool that offers both functionality and aesthetics. In 2024, more home chefs will turn to these knives to enhance their cooking experience and efficiency in the kitchen. 

What Sets Damascus Kitchen Knives Apart? 

Damascus knives are unique because of their signature wavy patterns, a result of layering and folding different types of steel. But their appeal goes far beyond looks: 

Unmatched Sharpness – The intricate layering of steel allows for an incredibly sharp edge that stays sharper for longer compared to conventional knives. 

Superior Durability – The combination of metals creates a strong, resilient blade that can withstand heavy use without losing its edge. 

Perfect Balance – The ergonomic design of Damascus knives ensures a well-balanced blade that feels comfortable in the hand, reducing strain during long cooking sessions. 

The Art and Craftsmanship of Damascus Blades 

One of the reasons Damascus kitchen knives stand out is due to their intricate manufacturing process. Skilled artisans layer and fold different types of steel to create distinctive wavy patterns. This technique, passed down through generations, results in blades that are not only functional but also works of art. The attention to detail in forging these knives means every blade is unique, offering a personalized experience for every cook. 

How Damascus Kitchen Knives Can Transform Your Cooking in 2024 

As more home cooks and professionals invest in quality tools, Damascus kitchen knives are becoming an essential part of the modern kitchen arsenal. Here’s how they can enhance your cooking experience: 

Precision Cutting – Whether slicing vegetables, carving meat, or filleting fish, the razor-sharp edge of a Damascus knife provides unparalleled precision. You'll notice the difference in the consistency of your cuts, which translates to more evenly cooked meals. 

Enhanced Safety – With a sharper blade, you’ll apply less pressure when cutting, reducing the chances of slipping and accidental injuries. 

Long-Lasting Performance – Unlike cheaper alternatives, a well-maintained Damascus knife can serve you for years, making it a worthwhile investment for serious cooks. 

Caring for Your Damascus Knife: Tips for Longevity 

To ensure your Damascus kitchen knife stays in top condition, proper care is essential. Here are a few tips to extend its lifespan: 

Handwash Only: Avoid putting your knife in the dishwasher, as harsh detergents and heat can damage the blade. 

Regular Sharpening: Use a whetstone or professional sharpening service to maintain the blade’s sharpness. 

Proper Storage: Store your knife in a protective sheath or knife block to prevent damage to the blade. 

Conclusion 

The Damascus kitchen knife revolution is well underway, and 2024 is the perfect time to join in. With its unbeatable combination of sharpness, durability, and beauty, a Damascus knife can truly transform your cooking experience. Whether you're a seasoned chef or a passionate home cook, investing in one of these knives will not only enhance your kitchen’s functionality but also bring a touch of elegance to your culinary creations. 

[kdhome]

Elevate Your Culinary Space: The Allure of Luxury Kitchenware and Supplies

In the world of modern homes, the kitchen is more than just a place to prepare meals. It has become a hub for socializing, creativity, and personal expression. And just as interior design plays a role in shaping a home’s overall aesthetic, the quality and design of the kitchenware you use can significantly impact both function and style. Enter luxury kitchenware and luxury kitchen supplies — where craftsmanship, innovation, and design converge to transform your kitchen into a high-end culinary haven.

Why Choose Luxury Kitchenware?

When it comes to selecting items for your kitchen, luxury kitchenware offers unparalleled advantages. From precision-engineered tools to artisanal tableware, these products go beyond basic functionality to enhance the entire cooking experience. Here’s why you should consider investing in high-end kitchen supplies:

Superior Craftsmanship and Quality Materials

Luxury kitchenware is made with premium materials like high-grade stainless steel, copper, or even hand-forged ceramics. These materials ensure durability and often come with extended warranties or lifetime guarantees. With luxury kitchen supplies, you don’t just buy an item, you invest in quality that will last for years, if not decades.

Enhanced Performance

Whether it's a chef’s knife that cuts through produce like butter or a set of pots and pans with unparalleled heat distribution, luxury kitchenware is designed for optimal performance. These tools are crafted with precision, ensuring that your cooking process is smoother, faster, and more enjoyable.

Aesthetically Pleasing Design

One of the biggest draws of luxury kitchen supplies is the attention to design. These items are not just functional; they also act as statement pieces in your kitchen. Imagine sleek, polished cookware hanging from a suspended rack, or artisan-made serving bowls as a centerpiece on your dining table. Luxury kitchenware is designed to enhance the beauty of your home while being incredibly practical.

Key Pieces of Luxury Kitchenware to Elevate Your Space

Now that we understand the benefits of luxury kitchenware, let’s explore the must-have items that every high-end kitchen should have. Whether you're an aspiring home chef or just someone who enjoys hosting, these luxury kitchen supplies will take your culinary space to the next level.

High-Quality Chef’s Knife

No kitchen is complete without a high-quality chef’s knife. A staple in any professional or home kitchen, this tool is an absolute necessity for prepping meats, vegetables, and more. Luxury knives, such as those made from Damascus steel or carbon steel, are renowned for their sharpness, balance, and longevity. Brands like Shun or Wüsthof create chef’s knives that not only cut flawlessly but also offer an ergonomic design to prevent strain during long cooking sessions.

Copper Cookware

When it comes to luxury kitchenware, copper cookware is often the first thing that comes to mind. Known for its superior heat conductivity, copper pots and pans are a favorite among professional chefs. They heat up quickly and evenly, providing better control over the cooking process. Brands like Mauviel offer hand-crafted copper cookware that is not only functional but also exudes timeless elegance.

Custom-Designed Cutting Boards

A cutting board may seem like a basic kitchen item, but luxury kitchenware brands have redefined it. Handcrafted from exotic woods like teak or walnut, these cutting boards are durable and can double as a beautiful serving platter. Brands like Boos Block provide custom-designed cutting boards that are not only functional but also stylish.

Designer Dinnerware

When entertaining guests, your dinnerware can set the tone for the entire evening. Luxury kitchen supplies include designer dinnerware sets made from bone china, porcelain, or hand-painted ceramics. High-end brands like Hermès and Wedgwood offer timeless designs that elevate the dining experience. With delicate patterns and premium materials, these pieces are both practical and decorative.

Professional Stand Mixer

For baking enthusiasts, a professional-grade stand mixer is a game-changer. KitchenAid’s Artisan series, for instance, offers a range of colors and finishes to suit your kitchen’s design while providing powerful mixing capabilities for dough, batter, and more. Investing in a stand mixer from a luxury brand ensures longevity and top-notch performance.

The Importance of Luxury Kitchen Supplies for Entertaining

If you love to entertain, luxury kitchen supplies can help elevate your hosting experience. From chic barware for cocktail hours to elegant serving trays for canapés, these items turn an ordinary gathering into a sophisticated affair.

Elegant Serveware

Luxury kitchenware brands often offer unique, hand-crafted serveware that adds a touch of elegance to your meals. From silver-plated trays to hand-thrown ceramic platters, these pieces are designed to impress. Whether you’re serving hors d’oeuvres or a multi-course dinner, luxury serveware will enhance your presentation.

Artisan Barware

For the cocktail connoisseur, artisan barware is a must. Luxury bar sets come with everything you need to craft the perfect drink, from gold-plated shakers to hand-cut crystal glasses. Renowned brands like Waterford create glassware that reflects light beautifully, ensuring that every sip feels like an indulgence.

Premium Coffee and Tea Accessories

No kitchen is complete without the tools to make the perfect cup of coffee or tea. Luxury kitchen supplies include high-end espresso machines, tea sets made from fine bone china, and artisanal coffee grinders. Brands like Smeg and La Pavoni offer retro-inspired designs that combine function with style, making your morning coffee ritual an elegant experience.

Sustainability in Luxury Kitchenware

Luxury kitchen supplies aren’t just about aesthetics and performance; many high-end brands also focus on sustainability. From eco-friendly packaging to the use of responsibly sourced materials, luxury kitchenware often comes with an emphasis on environmental impact.

Reusable Storage Solutions

Gone are the days of single-use plastic wrap and bags. Many luxury kitchenware brands now offer reusable silicone or beeswax wraps, as well as glass containers with bamboo lids. Not only do these products reduce waste, but they also add a touch of class to your kitchen organization.

Ethically Sourced Materials

Sustainability is increasingly becoming a priority in the luxury kitchenware market. Many companies, such as Le Creuset, focus on ethical sourcing and responsible manufacturing processes. When you invest in luxury kitchen supplies, you’re often supporting brands that care about the environment.

Conclusion

Investing in luxury kitchenware and luxury kitchen supplies is not just about owning aesthetically pleasing items — it’s about enhancing your entire culinary experience. With superior craftsmanship, exceptional performance, and beautiful design, luxury kitchenware transforms your kitchen into a space where creativity and efficiency thrive.

From artisan cutting boards to copper cookware, these high-end products are designed to last and elevate both your cooking and entertaining experiences. By focusing on quality and functionality, luxury kitchen supplies offer more than just everyday use; they become a part of your kitchen's identity and your lifestyle. Whether you are a seasoned chef or a casual home cook, luxury kitchenware brings both joy and refinement to the heart of your home.

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