#but some of these little moments have been rattling around in my head for MONTHS

[slothquisitor]

Neverwinter

A collection of vignettes from Liv and Astarion's time in Neverwinter in which healing is not linear. Astarion x Liv, 4.5k, post-campaign healing trauma together.

Also on AO3.

Neverwinter is more beautiful than Astarion imagined. Liv teleports them to a small alley near the main clocktower, to a warm, bright night, and a city square still filled with people. There’s a market of sorts happening, and Liv’s eyes immediately light up. They spend the evening wandering the stalls and buying silly trinkets they don’t need. After the market closes up for the night, they wander the city through gardens and unfamiliar architecture, taking in the sights. 

He’s scarcely seen Liv this open and free. As Baldur’s Gate has fallen away, so too has her tight control of her emotions. She has always been freer with him, more open, but there is a contagious joy to her as she points out the beautiful buildings, and the streets that might contain something interesting. They wander until sunrise, until their feet are sore from walking, and then they find an empty street, where Liv can cast the spell, opening the doorway to their little haven. 

They spend the first few days in Neverwinter in much the same way, though as they learn this city, pick up on its rhythms and heartbeats, they begin making acquaintances. They bribe museum guards and gallery curators to let them in after hours. They learn the names of restaurant owners and wait staff, especially the ones who don’t bat an eye when Astarion never orders food and only drinks wine. They become fast favorites of a bookshop owner when Astarion befriends the resident feline of the shop, and the owner promises to stay open late one night a week for them. 

It’s incredible how quickly a life begins to take shape here. Liv’s name opens doors, gets her access to libraries and books and researchers. She wears this notoriety better than she ever did the Vires name, perhaps it is because these people are interested in her as the hero of Baldur’s Gate rather than the daughter of a wealthy diplomat. It matters that it is something she’s done and not simply because of the circumstances of her birth. 

Astarion is slower to trust. He’s fine with acquaintances, with passing familiarity, but still suspicious of almost everyone’s motives. But he likes the messiness of life. He likes knowing names, and gathering pieces of these people he comes into contact with in order to puzzle them out. But he rarely offers up anything of himself. Still, on the nights when Liv is deep in her research, there is something oddly comforting about being alone in a crowded room. Of watching and waiting and drinking in taverns and bars and he never has to leave with anyone, he simply gets to return home. 

Perhaps someday he will not have to go out only to return home to feel like a person, but until then, this will suffice. 

***

Liv wakes alone. It’s not an uncommon occurrence. The clock in their room tells her it’s just early afternoon, and that there are still several hours before sunset. She rises with the intent to make coffee and to check in on Astarion who is more than likely in his solarium, reading or dozing or finding some other way to fill his time. 

With their arrival in Neverwinter, with the gift of this home, his restlessness has abated somewhat. He is still often moving, often flitting around, as if the space has granted him the opportunity and he must take it. She is glad they left Baldur’s Gate. 

When she emerges to the main room, he is not there. The door to his solarium is shut. That has been yet another thing to navigate together. Shut doors mean privacy, which he hasn’t often had, but they also feel ominous, like a cage. Sometimes, she’ll be reading in the main room just to see the solarium door open, and Astarion standing there for a moment before drifting away, leaving the door open.  As if he still needs reminding that he could leave at any point. 

As she approaches the door, she hears the sound of wood splintering accompanied by his frustration. She pauses a moment but when everything falls quiet inside she knocks. “Astarion?”

“I’m fine!” The answer comes quickly, almost too fast, and definitely too angry to be entirely true. 

“Can I come in?”

There is a long pause, long enough she almost wonders if he heard her, but then the door opens, just enough for her to see him. He’s covered in paint and his eyes have a haunted look about them that she hasn’t seen in a long time. His head is bowed, eyes focused on the floor. 

She keeps her tone light. “What are you up to?” 

He doesn’t reply, instead, he opens the door the rest of the way so that she can take in the scene. The solarium is a mess, every space filled with things. An easel for painting lays broken to the side, paint scattered everywhere. There are small, chipped blocks of wood in another corner, shavings and wood dust coating the ground as if he had perhaps been inspired by Halsin’s whittling. Across the room, the hastily compiled and then abandoned attempts at creative projects lay scattered, like dead bodies on a battlefield. 

“I just wanted to find something…one fucking thing I’m good at. You have your research and I have…nothing.”

She can’t even tell him that he’s wrong. They both have their shared love of books, but that has not been enough to fill his time and his days. To see the way he has desperately fought and clawed toward something in this room today makes her invariably sad. 

“Well, it’s very hard to paint when you snap the easel in half,” she says, an attempt at injecting some humor into the situation. 

He seizes on the opening. “Yes, well, I’m sure that the paint is also meant to go on the canvas itself.” He runs a paint-spattered hand through his paint-spattered hair, jutting his chin out as if he always meant to be this messy. He’s still beautiful.

“Generally.”

He looks out at the solarium with sad eyes. “I’ve made such a mess of it all.”

“It’s alright.” The magic of the house will clean it all away, it will be as if it never happened at all. In fact, she’s almost sure that if they simply close the door and ask, the room will revert back to its usual pristine self. 

“I just wanted to make something…leave something instead of taking something.” He sounds like he’s pleading with her, pleading for her to understand. 

She does. “You’re quite deft with a needle, aren’t you? Did you try embroidering something? We can buy you real supplies, not ones that will disappear to smoke.”

He shakes his head. “I…can’t do that.”

Because it had been a necessity under Cazador, a means of survival. “We’ll find you something.” 

“I don’t care if we do. It doesn’t matter,” he adds bitterly, shutting the door and walking away. It is a retreat if she ever saw one.

***

Astarion wakes, dropping out of fitful remembrance that is never quite as restful as he hopes. He reaches for Liv in the darkness, only to find her side of the bed empty. It is an odd sensation to find her the one gone. He is the one who leaves, but not always. Sometimes he is content to just be in this shared space, to listen to her steady breathing. Sometimes he curls around her and dozes, enjoying her waking up in his arms. Sometimes he returns just to be the first thing she sees when she wakes. But today, he is awake and she is not here. 

He finds her in the main room, sitting in a chair by the fire. A book is open on her lap, but she’s staring into the flames instead of reading. Her eyes are puffy, her face smeared with tears. “Is everything alright, my dear?” He knows everything is decidedly not alright, but he’s not sure what this is. So he’s trying to navigate it with care. 

She jumps a little at the sound of his voice, and turns, hastily wiping at her eyes. “Oh…I just…I couldn’t sleep.” It’s not the whole truth of it. 

He approaches the chair and kneels down beside it. “What’s wrong?”

She stares at her hands, at her book, back at the flames of the fire, but she doesn’t quite look at him. Not for a long, long time. Finally, she sighs, her shoulders folding inward. “I sent a message to Roland a few days ago.”

Her brother in Candlekeep. Percy had suggested she reach out, said that perhaps it would be welcome, and Liv had seemed thrilled at the prospect. “And?”

“And nothing. He never replied.” 

Damn it. He wishes he could yell at Percy himself for making the suggestion in the first place, for filling her with hope when clearly he was wrong. “Ah.”

“It’s just…Percy seemed so sure it would be a good thing, and I…I thought…” her words tumble short, start and stop, fall away into the quiet. 

“Thought what?” he prompts gently. 

She looks so sad, so tired, so…young when she meets his eyes. “I thought that…after everything we did…he’d want to talk to me…I don’t know what else I could possibly do or say or…”

Because she is still, even now, sure that it is some deficiency on her part, something she has failed to do that keeps her from having these familial relationships she wants so badly. In times like this, he is grateful he doesn’t remember his own family. Doesn’t know where they are or what they would think of him now. They are a shadow of his past, buried right along with the man he was. He’s toyed with the idea of looking them up, surely he has family somewhere, but perhaps some things shouldn’t be exhumed. He has watched Liv grapple with her wreck of a family. Whether she severs the connections or keeps reaching she’s hurt either way, and he hates it for her. He hates that after everything she has done and accomplished and become, she still wonders if she were different if she would be good enough for them. 

“It’s his loss. You know that, right?” 

Her hands twist in her lap, and he covers them with his own, quiets them, and tries to inject some measure of comfort. “Your family are the people that are supposed to love you no matter what…sometimes…sometimes it just makes me wonder if the problem isn’t me.”

He brings their joined hands up and kisses her palm. “It’s not. I love you, and we both know that my taste in people is impeccable.”

Her smile is a strained thing. “I just really wanted this…really wanted him to be in my life again.”

“And maybe someday he will be, but whether he does or not has more to do with him than you. You’re incredible.”

She nods like she believes it…or is at least trying to. “I shouldn’t have tried to contact him anyway.” But he isn’t surprised she did. She is always reaching out an open hand; even when others don’t deserve it. It’s her best and most heartbreaking quality. 

“You know, you don’t need him or any of them to love you. You are already so loved by so many. You don’t need them.”

“Things with Percy were just…better than I expected, and Roland and I used to be so close before…” Her words trail off. 

“Maybe he’ll come around; maybe he won’t. But just remember, you are loved regardless.”

She holds tighter to his hand, an errant tear running down her cheek. He catches it with his thumb. “Come on, you need sleep, and I need a cuddle…thankfully, both of those things are possible in the bed.”

She kisses his cheek before following him back to the bedroom. 

***

Liv discovers something about herself in their weeks in Neverwinter. She is more of an introvert than she ever believed, and unsurprisingly, Astarion is not. Astarion needs interaction and people. He doesn’t always want to be the one interacting, but he does love a crowd, getting lost in a sea-change of people. 

Liv doesn’t mind going out with him, but it is not something she wants every single night. There is something to be said for quiet. Tonight, she had kissed him goodbye and sent him out into the city while she enjoyed being utterly and completely alone. Being alone is a bit of a novelty these days.

She’s curled up on the long couch in front of the fire, enjoying a book, a glass of wine, and plenty of snacks. She’s not sure how much time has passed, but she’s not concerned. She’ll go to bed whenever Astarion returns home. 

Some time later, the door opens. Only Astarion could even open the door, so she doesn’t bother giving him more than a cursory glance before returning to the excitement of the page she was reading. He strides over and drapes himself across her lap, batting her book away, grinning the whole time. Sometimes, he reminds her of a giant, overgrown cat. 

“I got a job!”

She tries to contain her surprise and probably does a terrible job of it. “A job?”

His smile is huge, his fangs glinting in the light. “Yes! There’s a criminal that everyone is looking for. It’s quite the scandal. They’re offering five hundred gold for his return…dead or alive! Naturally, I’m thinking dead.”

“So it’s a bounty?” 

“We’d be bounty hunters!” Astarion’s excitement is palpable. She hasn’t seen his eyes this bright since their first week here in Neverwinter. “Can we please do it? It’s been so long since I’ve killed anyone.”

She sets her book down, knowing that there will be no return to it for now. “You do know that most people go their whole lives without killing another person.”

“Ugh, those people are soooooo dull. But we’re not. We’re heroes! Plus, we’d have an edge over everyone else. You can do your little scrying thing to find them and I’ll be the one doing the hurting. Please?”

She laughs, letting her fingers tunnel into his curls as she looks down at him. She’s wanted nothing more than for him to find some sense of direction, something that he can call his. “Of course.”

His smile broadens. “Really? I really thought I’d have to do more convincing.”

“Oh? Did I spoil your plans?” She teases.

He shrugs. “Just leaves me more energy for other things.” And then he pulls her down to kiss her. 

***

Sunset is almost upon the city, and Liv has bid her friends at the House of Knowledge goodbye for the evening. The newly rebuilt temple and library is as impressive as it has been useful. She still doesn’t have anything concrete for Karlach or Astarion, but she’s learned much about infernal machinery and blood curses and diseases. Her research is not only obscure, but often knowledge most consider unsavory, so she has had to be careful and specific about who she trusts with her real plans. Still, she’s met other scholars and researchers and been grateful for the comradery.

Neverwinter is filled with gardens that spring up in riots of color, that seem to grow a ways into the houses in the neighborhood she and Astarion have claimed as their own. She could cast the spell to their home anywhere, but they liked this neighborhood. It’s nice to pretend that though they’re the only ones who can see the blue-painted door tucked into the wall on this street, that this place is theirs in some way. 

She wouldn’t have minded a few more hours of research, but Astarion has found them another job to do this evening. After their first successful bounty, Astarion had made the discovery that not only is he quite good at this sort of work, he enjoys it too. 

“It turns out, no one actually cares about murder, as long as you murder the right people,” he had gleefully observed the other night while he had looked over a small stack of bounty contracts. 

Liv is just happy to see him with some direction, and if she’s being fully honest, a part of her had missed the heat of battle. 

When she steps in the door, Astarion is already in his armor. He sits at the table, carefully applying poison to his daggers, his hand crossbows set to the side, waiting. He beams as she approaches. 

“Hello, darling.”

“Let me just change and we can go,” she says, pressing a kiss to his hair as she steps around to the bedroom. 

And she is looking forward to stalking the streets with him, to working toward a common goal. They make a very good team. 

***

There are times when Astarion goes whole days without once thinking of his life before the nautiloid. He keeps a mental tally as if it is some game he can win. How long has it been since he has remembered Cazador, those two hundred years of pain? He is sure that if he can simply lengthen the stretches of time long enough that someday he will not think of it ever again, or if he does, it won’t be quite so jarring. 

Despite his best efforts, he finds himself frustrated by the memories that bob to the surface, unbidden. Moments he relives, triggered by a word or phrase or smell…things he hadn’t remembered until that moment, a new facet of the nightmare he had somehow smothered down. 

He hates the way some days still feel haunted. He had mistakenly believed that burning Cazador’s home to the ground and getting out of Baldur’s Gate…would somehow also put all that unpleasantness behind him. But there are still too many days where he finds himself trapped in his own mind, memories sharp as broken glass and drawing more than just blood. 

He does his best to recover afterward, to push on to something, anything he can use to distract himself. The tactic had worked once upon a time, shoving the disgust and the loathing down with the next conquest, but now it’s not conquests…it’s hobbies he’s trying. 

He’s shit at drawing, despite Liv’s best attempts to help him. But hand-lettering? He’s actually quite good at. His solarium is littered with pages of words and phrases. He gets a weird sort of kick out of writing words like ‘fuck’ and ‘bastard’ in the prettiest fonts. 

But even that isn’t serving him this afternoon, so he wanders into the kitchen just for a change of scenery. Liv isn’t home, spending her afternoon at the House of Knowledge knee-deep in research. Today, he’s jealous of her ability to come and go as she pleases no matter the time of day. He’s sure that walking Neverwinter’s streets would get him out of his own damn head, but even a quick glance at the clock tells him he still has at least two hours of daylight left. 

Is this the freedom he clawed and killed and fought for? To live his life watching the hands of a clock? He used to wait for nightfall with a mix of hope and dread. Getting to leave the palace was both the best and worst part of his day. Leaving meant breathing just a little easier, but it also meant that he had to go out hunting. Had to give away the parts of himself he didn’t know how to hold anymore. Had to bring some unlucky soul to their doom. He might be free, but he is still cursed. 

Nights and nightmares and horrors and orders twist themselves together in a specter of memory that seems to constrict around him. Nothing is whole, just flashes, phantom touches, echoes of pain. Distantly he knows none of this is real…these are just memories…but the pain is real for a few bright hot seconds, and he is lost. 

He is sure he hears his name. But is it spat out like a curse word? Whispered like a caress? No…it’s laced with concern and familiarity.

A warm touch of fingers on the back of his hand wrenches him back to himself. He jerks away from the touch, instinctively. “Don’t! Don’t touch me.” The words leave his mouth, venomous and sharp enough to cut. 

He is still standing in the kitchen, but Liv is there and there is a look in her eyes that tells him that she has been calling his name for a while and he has been…somewhere else. He didn’t mean to snap at her, his hands are shaking as he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. “I…I apologize. It’s been a bad day.”

Liv doesn’t move away but doesn’t draw any nearer. He can tell she is trying to hide her worry. “What do you need right now?”

He’s not sure; he glances around the kitchen for some clue as to why he even walked in here in the first place. He comes up empty. 

Liv saves him from his floundering by gesturing toward the fireplace and sitting area. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”

He follows her in silence and takes the blanket she hands him, careful not to touch him. He wraps it around himself while he collapses into the corner of the couch as if it could swallow him whole. He runs the edge of the blanket between his fingers, trying to remind himself that he is real, and he is here, and he is free. 

Liv sits in the nearby chair, legs folded up under her, watching him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” 

“Do you need to?” 

No. Maybe. Probably. He sighs. “Why does any of it still matter? I thought I was getting better…but sometimes it feels like it’s worse somehow. Is it all just a circle? Am I doomed forever to be stuck like this?” Still somehow tied to Cazador, even in death?

Liv considers his questions and weighs them as if they matter. It’s the first thing he noticed about her, just how carefully she listens. He used to think it was simply kindness, her bleeding heart. And that is part of it, but not all. She is forever yearning for knowledge, for understanding.

When she speaks, her words are soft and measured. “There’s a play I love and a character asks much the same question. She wonders if the future is just a mirage we hold out in front of us as we march around in a circle, but I loved the response the other character gave. He said that it’s not a circle, it’s a line that stretches out forever and because we can’t see the end, we can’t see how it changes…but we’re still moving forward. You are still moving forward.”

“How can you be so sure?” Because today he is not. The shadows still feel too close, too hungry. 

“Because I’ve watched you and just how far you’ve come. Don’t let the bad days convince you otherwise.”

Her words are gentle, and he doesn’t want them. He wants to yell and rage and pick a fight with her. He wants to twist this vulnerability back on her and find some way to shift the attention off of him. He wants to do anything but sit here in this moment, and it takes all of his self-control to bite back every cutting word. 

She watches him in silence, and he’s sure she’s seen. He’s sure she knows that even after all this time, his first instinct is to lash out. It makes him feel even more wretched, but she hasn’t moved, hasn’t left. 

He picks up and discards a series of words and phrases. Finally, he offers something true. “I just want to be done with him.” He had stabbed Cazador himself, watched the light leave his eyes, and told himself that it was over. But it doesn’t feel over. He worries it never will. He is tired of being defined by the actions of others. 

“You are safe. You are free. Some days it might be hard to remember that, but I will be here to remind you for as long and as often as you need.” Another promise to join the ones she’s already offered him, but like all the others, he believes it. 

He wishes in this moment that he could stand for her to touch him, that he could curl into her, burrow somewhere near her steady heartbeat. “That play you mentioned…do you have it here?”

“I do.”

“Read it to me?” The question comes out small, barely louder than a whisper. As she reads, he finds his mind swimming through the words instead of wrapped in memory, and he slowly returns to himself. 

He restarts his count. 

***

They are both in Astarion’s solarium, passing the early evening hours together, but not quite together. Astarion lounges on the chaise, reading a book. She sits on the ground, notes open and books scattered around her. Her research has shifted toward looking for the first vampire, for what began this all as if finding the root might be the answer. It means sifting through rumors and folklore, and it is slow, slow work. 

There’s a gentle, insistent connection in her mind, and suddenly her brother’s voice fills it. “It’s Roland. I’ve struggled to know what to say to you after all this time…but Percy told me about your partner and I found something.”

She freezes as the message unfurls, his voice at once familiar and not. “It’s so good to hear from you. You found something?”

Astarion looks up at her, a question in his eyes. “It’s Roland,” she manages while she waits for his response, heart hammering. 

“Probably best discussed in person. How’d you like to visit Candlekeep?” 

She sits in shock for a moment before looking at Astarion. “Do you want to go to Candlekeep?” 

He smiles. “Of course. I’ve heard there are a great many books there. Estranged brothers too, I suppose.”

“He says he found something that might help us.”

Astarion shrugs, returning to his book. “I’d settle for him apologizing to you, but if he has a lead we’ll take it.”

And just like that, another adventure hovers on the horizon.

[leafyeyes417]

To soothe myself from my last post where it’s non-Joker hate *shudders* here have this.

————————————————————————

The first three months of Danny’s stay in Gotham had been mostly quiet. No big Rogue attacks since most of them were in Arkham. Unfortunately that had come to an end. There was a mass breakout and among them was the Joker.

Danny had made friends with a couple people, during his classes, and had met his new crush Tim at a coffee shop. He was actually with Tim when they got the news about the breakout. They had been walking out to Tim’s car so he could be driven home when it happened.

Tim’s POV

He had been talking with Danny when he saw him shudder and stop walking.

He frowned, turning towards him. “Danny? What’s wrong?” He watched as Danny paled, full body twitched, then his eyes turned a glowing red that took over his entire eyes. He snarled, face almost inhuman as he turned and booked it down the street at inhuman speeds (though nowhere near Flash speed).

Scrambling Tim jumped in his car and chased after Danny, though he quickly lost him. He grabbed his com and turned it on. “Oracle, I need you to track someone.” He quickly rattled out along with the street information and Danny’s description.

“Red Robin, report.” Batman growled out.

“I was walking with my friend back to my car after we heard the news of the breakout. On the way there he froze and then… I’m not quite sure but whatever it was I don’t think he was in control anymore.”

There was silence for a few moments on the coms. Oracle spoke, “I think I found his location. The cameras are fritzing out big time in a decent area near your location.”

When he managed to get there he was honestly a little sickened. There was body parts and blood everywhere. Joker goons, from the occasional mask lying around. Swallowing he ventured deeper into the zone, having to turn off his coms due to the screeching interference.

When he finally set his eyes on Danny it was to see him arm deep into the Joker’s chest. He paused, watching as the Joker’s body fell to the floor, his heart still in Danny’s hand. He watched as Danny’s eyes stopped glowing red and he swayed, dropping the heart to bring a hand to his head.

“Danny?” He asked hesitantly.

Danny turned, a hazy expression on his face. “Tim?” He slurred out.

Quickly making his way over he managed to prevent Danny from toppling over, grimacing at the blood now coating his hand. He noticed the other bats and birds arriving on scene out of the corner of his eye, but stayed focused on Danny. “Let’s get you out of here.” He said gently as he guided Danny out of the area.

Later, after he had managed to get Danny some water and a bit of food, he asked, “Do you remember what happened, Danny?” His friend looked down at his blood covered hands. “I remember walking to your car when it was like I was being grabbed by a bunch of hands and I couldn’t move. Then… it almost felt like I was being stuffed into a box or something and everything was hazy and indistinct after that. I tried fighting it but it like catching smoke. Then I was being released but it was like I had no energy. I know you called my name but I don’t recall much until after you gave me the energy bar.”

Tim frowned, glancing at Black Bat. He saw her sign “true” and nodded. Looks like they might have to call the JLD on this one.

[bunny-jpeg]

hi love, may i have some sourdough bread and coffee with max (in a sort of twisted, claiming my rival as mine way). thank you so much and more power to your bakery 💚

bakery menu

feel free to submit your own order! i am happily working away at the bakery! clockin' in those hours!! this prompt made me shove all other projects to the side. you literally picked at two of my faves, haha. like YEAH!! so i hope you love this, this was a pleasure to write (now back to my other projects)!

sourdough bread ("i'm going to breed you.") + coffee (rivals au) served by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, rivals au, breeding kink, possessive behaviour, pregnancy, driver!reader, filth (!!!), smoking, baby trapping, missionary

you sighed and looked over your shoulder, the cigarette still between your fingers, "are you going to keep staring, verstappen or are you going to come over here?"

he uncrossed his arms and went over. he plucked the cigarette out from your fingers and took a drag, "girls like you shouldn't smoke. not very feminine."

you took the cigarette back and looked at him, "oh maxie, if you wanted a girly girl, you watched the ship sail years ago. i used to punch your bullies."

he sighed. you were right. childhood friends to rivals on the track with a dash of friends with benefits or whatever label of the month you chose to define your relationship.

max knew one thing. he wanted to mark you inside and out. he wanted to make sure that you were his. to call what he felt for you love was to call an inferno a spark. as he watched you smoke, he thought about putting his lips on your neck. he wanted to dig his blunt teeth into your throat and watch it bloom purple.

he also wanted to fuck you over the balcony, letting whoever down below know exactly where you belonged. under him. he hated you ferrari as much as he hated you in alpine only two years earlier. he always thought you belonged with red bull, not as a driver, but as a wag.

lately something else had been curling inside of him like a snake about to strike. the rattle of its tail warning his brain that this was what got him going. you. pregnant. with his kid.

end your name's legacy on the track and replace it with his. make sure that your name doesn't end up on the track for a good while, while verstappen survives, if not thrives for a long time to come. if you can't beat a rival on the track, get 'em pregnant!

you stamped out your cigarette of the cement ledge of the balcony before you dropped the butt to the ground. you looked at max, "you're staring at me like i'm a four course meal. can't find someone to get your dick went tonight?"

he had been lying for some time about getting sex elsewhere. it was impossible to sleep with other women when he was thinking about you. he even tried to find women that looked like you but it never cut it.

he snaked an arm around you middle and press his nose into your hairline, "it's been a while since we.. got together. don't you think?"

you looked at him and smiled a little, "are you asking me for sex, mister verstappen?" you chuckled, "i think that breaks several rules." you made a face.

he looked around briefly before he pulled you in for a firm kiss. when he pulled away and said, "if no one knows, is it really rule breaking?" he knew you could never say no to him, so after qualifier when he found a key card to your hotel room in his driver's room, he knew that had scored.

the sex between you two was passionate. it was never a dull moment. when he let himself into your hotel room like he owned the place, you were naked drying off after a shower.

"you dog." you said as you dropped the towel and headed towards the bedroom portion of the hotel room. max followed behind like a happy little mutt with his cock straining in his jeans.

he began to undress when you got up onto the bed. he watched you sitting at the edge while he took his belt off and jeans. you admired his toned figure. he wasn't ugly.

you had seen every phase of max, you two have known each other for far too long. that added to the rush of it all. it would make sense to anyone on the outside that you two would end up together and have like five kids. but instead the games you played were wicked.

once he was naked, he got on top of you. his impressively sized cock rubbed against your sweet pussy. he could feel the wetness against his achy tip.

"i'm going to breed you." he said softly, his blue eyes bore into yours as he made sure to tighten your legs around him.

you chuckled, "yeah right, verstappen. i think your swimmers died like a million years ago from all the racing." you held onto the pillow under your head. your legs wrapped around him tightly.

he laughed, "fine, fine. i'm joking. i think you're right." he was playing it off cool as if he didn't feel like he was going to jump out his bones at the prospect of getting you stuffed fat with his cum.

you laughed, "you and your dirty talk, verstappen. you always talk about wifing me up and me having your children. like i'm going to retire from racing." you tensed up for a moment when he eventually sank his cock into your soaked pussy.

he fit like a glove, that was how he knew. it was like he molded your pussy for him. no other man could have you and he was going to make sure of that. when he was done with you, you'd be at least five percent dutch.

that'll give you enough to give your hefty sons nice, strong names. legacy names for the track. he rutted against you, heavy, strong strokes. his cock nudged inside of you as he planted his hands on either side of you.

"you look good like this." he said as he pressed himself against you. your soft, pretty tits pressed against his chest as he moved against you.

you were only going to get more beautiful with time. the thought excited him. knowing that he had marked you in such an intimate way, a way that no other driver could. you were his, it was as simple as that!

the idea of you having another rival (or partner) made his skin crawl. he knew you better than you knew yourself. he could predict your movements easily both on and off the track. as he bullied his cock into your sweet pussy, he knew that he was the right fit for you.

he pressed his nose into your neck and continued to thrust into you. your pussy was soft and wet for him. a warmth went through his body as he rocked against you.

"i want to breed you. make you my wife. keep you home with our family. you don't need to be on the track anymore. you've scored more points than any other woman. so, it's time to settle down. we'd make some strong racers." he panted and felt the sweat down his back as he thrust into you.

you held the back of his head and whispered in his ear, "you're a funny guy, verstappen. if you get me pregnant, that kid is getting my last name. and they'll be racing under my country's flag."

he smirked to himself against your neck. you say that now, but a lot can change with time. he dug his fists into the covers and picked up the pace. he loved being so close to you.

your heart close to his. it was almost intimate if it wasn't for the hateful filth that was coming out of your mouths.

"i want you always. i want to ruin you for other men. and i'll make sure that you're not sleeping with other guys." he knew a sure fire way to prevent that, hard to fuck other men when you're full of his child.

"max. you're fucking insane." you panted as you looked at him once more. he knew that you were feeling the height of pleasure, and that honestly made him harder.

that he made you this way.

"i'm fuckin' close."

"good, good. my good wife." he purred, which only made you more turned on. god, what a possessive little freak with the breeding kink!

you clutched onto him tightly and almost bit down on his neck as you came. it washed over you and you tensed up for a moment before you relaxed. then you continued to cling onto him like a lifeline.

he liked the feeling of that and soothed you with gentle words and kissed as he felt close to his own climax.

"max... c'mon. fuck." you moaned as you dug your pretty nails into his back.

he soon after cursed loudly as he slammed his cock into you, making sure you took every last inch. he wanted to make sure that he finished far enough into you that his cum didn't have anywhere else to go but into your womb.

that was his objective. he kissed you once more as he gave a few more thrusts. you moaned into the kiss and laid there under him, breathless.

he slowed down his thrusts to catch his breath. you were still clutching the covers under you. you looked amazing under him, he was right. it was where you belonged.

he placed both hands on your stomach and started to thrust once again. one orgasm wasn't going to cut it for him. if he was going to make you a verstappen, it meant making sure his dna stuck to your sweet pussy.

you'd eventually race on sunday with cum still staining your panties and a pray that no one would notice.

-

it was july now and the heat was getting unbearable. it didn't help that sitting on your hips was a six month pregnant belly. you had spent since may in the nice little sundresses that max had picked out for you.

he was painfully doting, making sure the mother of his child had anything she needed. after all, you retirement was sudden and early. such a strong driving career cut short.

"you look so good." he'd often say and his large hands spanned your swollen middle in the hopes to feel his son shifting around. you knew the asshole got off to this.

you were trying to teach your unborn child as much of your mother tongue as possible, while he'd curl up with our middle at night and speak dutch. when you tried to stop him, he simply pressed into you further.

even parenthood felt like a small rivalry.

max believed that he won the rivalry, he was about to championship that year after blood tests came back that you were pregnant. you could've killed him when you stomped out of the doctor's office and almost strangled him.

you'd hate to admit it, but there was a domesticity that you sort of liked. while you were still trying to find things to do post-driving, it was nice to be in one place at one time. what had felt like your entire life had been on planes going between tracks. the press didn't bother you as much once the news cycle of your pregnancy died down and you could just be you.

while you wanted to kill max still, even as he was snuggled up beside you on the couch, his arm draped over your bump, you honestly couldn't ask for a better baby daddy. you wouldn't let max have his victory in your little rivalry, even as the gold ring you wore gleamed in the afternoon light, you'd never admit to your husband that he had bested you. because the way you looked at it, since you shared the same last name, it was your trophy too. <3

[selineram3421]

*whispering chant* Mermay, mermay, mermay!

Other Worldly

Part 4

Part 3

Alastor X Shy Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ selectively mute reader, italics= thoughts, cannibalism-Rosie and Alastor ⚠

They were still quiet.

Why were they still quiet?

Alastor was confused.

He gave them the option to speak normally, they could talk all they wanted after singing to him. So why wouldn't they?

One thing he forgot to take into account was that the mer was a quiet one, and only spoke out of necessity. Sure, they had spoken to Charlie. Giving the Princess and the others quite the surprise, but they hadn't spoken to him.

It's been a month.

Why not speak to me? I'm a wonderful conversationalist! We could talk for hours! He thought with an annoyed smile.

At the moment he was up in his radio tower, finishing up a broadcast and putting on some music. Muttering about how the siren must be too intimidated or too shy to speak to him.

What he didn't notice was his shadow leaving his side.

.

You paced back and forth in front of the Radio Demon's hotel door.

Can I go in? Am I allowed to? You kept asking yourself. I mean, it was the other half of the room that I'm allowed to use but I don't know if I can go in through the first half. You sighed. I should have just asked before coming here.

There was an odd rattling chuckle behind you and then you felt something pull you down.

"Whoa!", you yelped and looked down to find Alastor's shadow grinning. "What are you-!"

Everything went black as you were pulled into the darkness.

You closed your eyes out of instinct and held your breath, scared that something bad might happen. There was the sinking feeling in your stomach as you felt the shadow drag you somewhere before everything just stopped.

Then you heard the wind rustle the leaves, feeling it brush across your cheeks. Peeking an eye open, you saw that you were where you wanted to be.

The fireflies were out and blinking their lights, a few landing on the tall grass nearby the wooden dock that went out a few feet in the water. You heard the shadow make another noise and turned around to find them behind you.

"Thank you.", you smiled at them and started to take off your shoes.

The shadow tilted its head at you. confused until you started to take off your pants.

It hissed and turned away.

"Sorry! Sorry, forgot you were there.", you apologized but continued to take off the bottom half of your clothes. "Last time I fell in water, my pants ripped and those were my favorite.", you explained. "Maybe I should just wear long skirts or something."

With the bottom half taken care of, you left your shirt on and jumped into the water, laughing as you made a big splash. The feeling of your legs turning into a fin felt comfortable, you just hated when you had to get your legs back. Lifting your tail fin up, you started to push yourself closer to the middle of the water.

Then you noticed the shadow in the water, moving like a snake to get to your side.

"What are you doing?", you asked but just let the shadow swim around you in the water.

Closing your eyes, you decided just to stay put and float. An activity that you haven't done in a long while since dying.

A minute to relax couldn't hurt.

.

Alastor noticed his shadow was missing after it didn't appear when he tried to call for it.

How odd.. Where is that rascal? He thought and got up to search for it.

Feeling the static from his shadow, he found that it lead to his hotel room. It's not odd but usually the shadow stuck near him and followed orders. Something had its attention.

As quietly as he could, the deer demon opened the door. A quick glance, nothing was out of the ordinary, so he walked in and closed the door behind himself. Following the static, he found his shadow went deep into the bayou.

Let's see what you've got now. He thought before making his way through the brush.

The Radio Demon made a list of ideas of what his shadow could be doing. Messing around with one of the crocodiles, hunting one of the little creatures, or something entirely different that he hasn't seen it do already.

That's when he found the dock, spotting his shadow with a sleeping mer.

"Well this explains it.", he crossed his arms. "I suppose I don't really need your help, though it would make it easier if I did have it."

All his shadow did was make a rumbling pur.

"Yes, yes. You're comfortable but don't make this a habit.", he waved it off and turned to face away from the water. "I'll leave them in your care.", he said before leaving.

As he made his way over to Cannibal Town, he thought of getting something for his little mer.

Perhaps I can make them a little safe haven to get them more comfortable... Yes, that should work.

The bell of the emporium door rang as he stepped through and greeted his friend.

"Rosie! How lovely it is to see you!", he said with a genuine smile.

"Alastor! Where have you been? Honestly, after hearing about that little fish, I thought you'd give me a clue on what happened next.", the black eyed woman walked over and linked arms with the man in red, guiding him over to her office.

"I do apologize but I have good news!", he said as they both entered the office.

It was a familiar sight for him, the pink-ish wallpaper and the plush cushions on the couches. A few plate platters with snacks on the coffee table, tea, and eating utensils. Quite the relaxing room.

"Well don't keep me in suspense.", Rosie released his arm and took off her hat, setting it aside before sitting on one of the couches. "Would you like a snack? I've got some cut up thigh meat."

"Sounds lovely, don't mind if I do.", he sat on the couch across from her. "Now, for what you've been asking."

"Go on.", she said, getting the plate of thigh meat on the coffee table.

"I finally got the little mer to make a deal with me but the only problem is that I don't own their soul."

"And why not? You'd never make a deal unless you got something worthwhile out of it.", Rosie asked.

"Ha! I've got all that I wanted at the moment.", he grinned. "I've got half of their powers and get to listen to them sing.", his smile widened. "Now all I have to do is make them more comfortable until they give their soul to me willingly."

"Alastor, I hope you're not doing anything to hurt the poor thing.", Rosie placed a fork on the table and took her own to stab into the thigh meat. "Quiet one like that should be taken care of."

"Of course not!", he said to ease his friend's worries. "Which leads me to what I wanted to ask."

Alastor picks up the fork on the table and stabs it through a big slice.

"Do you have anything that would catch a siren's eye?"

*lying in bed, sick* Mermay, Mermay, Mermay!

~Seline, the person.

Part 5

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @carino-rata @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @ceafighter @xalygatorx @xangel-8 @big-brother-problems @mspurpl3 @chewbrryarts @willowbrookhoot

@+ in the comments +

ML I Alastor🎙️ | OW🦀

[v3nusxsky]

Hi mars!

Can you do Alpha Brienne of Tarth x Omega Reader for (Omegaverse/ in heat) smut and basically write the smut. And write bonus where reader falls pregnant.

Thanks for all your hard work mars hope you have a good month!

#v3nusxsky #Kinktober bingo 2024

My alpha

*Authors note ~ I’m so nervous to write for Brienne of Tarth, so this may be the only one I ever do but I hope you all enjoy my best attempt at it*

Trigger warnings~ alpha Brienne, omega r, knot, breeding kink, begging, praise kink, pregnant reader, another alpha is a dick, protective brienne, claiming, umm smut?

Prompt~ see ask^^^

You always hated when she had to leave. You knew she hated it to. But her sense of duty drove her to follow her orders. It had been days since she left, clad in her shiny armour. You spent most of your time nesting, the signs of heat beginning to rear its head causing you to head out to the market and grab some essentials before locking yourself away to wait out the heat. With your alpha gone, life became harder in the sense, going out alone was scary, you often woke in the night whining for her. But you still had to carry on.

Your scent is what alerted him to you. The incoming heat giving you a more potent vanilla with a hint of cinnamon scent, your scent wanton throughout the market. You soon found yourself trapped, looking at some vegetables for the soup you planned to make, his heavy stance towered over you in a threatening way. Unlike your alpha, the scent of this beast horrified you. You instantly shrunk back into yourself, desperate to get away from the situation you have unknowingly stumbled into.

His chunky fingers made their way to your neck, wrapping around the slender column enough to slightly hurt. “Get off me” you growled to the best of your ability unable to ply this mans hands from your throat. “Pfft, poor ‘mega thinks she can tell me what to do. Omegas are good for nothing, only to be holes for us to rut into. To use. And your dumb little omgea brain is begging for a strong alpha like me to claim it. To ruin you for anyone else. I can’t promise to be gentle but I can state your heat, treat you like a common whore.”

You whimpered as an unknown figure ripped this man from your personal space, dropping your basket as you shook and gasped for air. That’s when you heard her growl, “touch her again and I’ll kill you. She’s not yours. Not claimable. She’s mine. So fuck off.” Brienne. She is home. “Bri?” You choked out. “I’m here, it’s okay. You’re safe my lady. I’m here” she mumbled coming to gather you in her arms. In this moment you realised she was still clad in her armour, mud caked in her short locks, her cheekbones almost black with dirt. “Let’s go home my love.”

Once the shock had worn off, your heat really rattled through your body. Now your alpha was home it only seemed to worsen. And as she was bathing, the tense muscles loosened under your watchful gaze. You could hardly help the needy mewl that left you. “Bri” you whined as she purposefully flexed her bicep, “I-i need.” You trailed off, you knew what you needed, so did she. That was made evidently clear when she turned to exit the bath. Dripping with little water droplets, her now clean skin and raging hard on was on display for your gaze. “Alpha” you whimpered pressing your thighs together subconsciously causing her to growl. You didn’t need to hide. Not from her.

Her lips were on yours before she scooped you up and took you to the bed, the fire crackled away bathing the room in a beautiful orange glow, the heat caressing her bare skin. The way she towered over you, raw muscle power on display. You had to hold back a moan as she practically tore your night dress from your body. The way she practically devoured you with her eyes caused you to react on instinct, swiping a droplet of water from her neck with your tongue. “Please. Please alpha need you” you whimpered clinging to the woman’s back, desperately trying to press your chest into hers. “Smell so good omega” she murmured appreciatively before dropping kisses to your neck. Warm wet and deliciously addictive kisses were now being bestowed on you.

“Please! Please alpha I really need you. Make me yours” you whimpered, flinging your head the slide displaying her claim on you. And that was her final straw that snapped. Brienne immediately allowed her own desires to seep out, your neck and chest was littered in love bites ash she trailed her way to your aching cunt. She couldn’t help but swipe her finger on your slick covered thighs before bringing the finger to her lips. Dying to taste you. Hearing her little whine at your taste, well if you didn’t need her before you sure as hell did now.

Luckily she didn’t make you wait any longer, taking her hard shaft in her hand to guide it through your slick heat, the bulbous head nudging your clit repeatedly. “Please oh please alpha please” you mewled dumbly as you tried to spread your legs wider, exposing your leaky cunt to the knight. The moment she started to push into your core you could’ve cried. She feels so good, stretching you out in all the right places as you clamp down on the intrusion. “So good omega, so good for me. Mmm missed this” she grunted trying to give you time to adjust to her sheer size. Your nails scraping down her back as you whimpered full of need and lust. “Need more alpha. Please. Want you to knot me. Claim me. Please alpha. Just want to be yours” you couldn’t help but practically sob with need.

You know your lover can be brutal on the battle field but the way she pulls out of your weeping cunt only to slam back into it is the most brutal she’s been with you in bed. You’d be lying if you said you hated it. In fact all you could do was allow your alpha to manhandle you to dig in deeper. Her pace was punishing as your hips slammed against each other. Your high pitched moans as the head of her cock bumped against your cervix and her grunts of effort filled the room.

“Please” you whined once again barring your neck to the woman, “claim me alpha.” Brienne was certainly affectionate with you, but the way she forced herself deeper into your welcoming core as she sank her teeth into your original mark caused you to cum and cum hard. Happy mewls clawed their way from your throat as you milked her shaft for everything it was worth. “Please alpha. Want you to knot me. Please.”

“Wanna make sure you’re full. Make sure everyone knows you’re mine” she growled not easing up on her efforts as her knot began to swell at the base of her cock. “Gosh you’d look stunning full with our pups. Want you to take all of it omega. Wanna stuff you full. Take my knot” she growled as the knot slipped into place, her white hot spurts of cum aimed perfectly at your cervix, causing you to experience your second orgasm of the night at the sensation of her filling you up. You stayed like that, joined sharing sweet kisses and promises. You could only hope she’d managed to breed you, yet again the thought of her trying again just made you needy all over again.

A few weeks later, brienne placed a sweet kiss on your mouth before sinking to her knees, clad in her armour, to press a kiss to your growing stomach. “My lady” she murmured affectionately taking your right hand and bringing it to her lips. “Be safe my lady, I’ll be home soon.”

Word count~ 1240

[scaredpigeons]

“Let me look at you.”

kaveh x fem!reader

Nsfw 18+ MDNI. Smut. Pussy inspection, teasing, light oral (fem receiving) Kaveh’s a bit mean, but not really and we like it. Established relationship, childhood friends to lovers, yes you both live in Alhaitham’s house still cuz I’ll never separate my otp

———————

You hear the rattle of a doorknob, unable to open. 

Then a thud, as if something hit the door. 

“Darling?” Kaveh’s frustration leaked into his voice. “Are you in there? I forgot my keys again.” 

You smiled, and rose from the sofa to open the door. Your sweet Kaveh stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped and white knuckling his mechanical toolbox, looking at you miserably through his brows. 

“Welcome home,” you stepped aside, allowing him to trudge into the entrance. “ I would ask how your day was…” 

“You would not believe the day I’ve had. I don’t even want to repeat some of the atrocities I had to witness today, let alone the absolute crimes against art as a whole— and I had to just sit there and let him drone on and on!— AND regardless of my experience and clear expertise on the subject, this—this monster absolutely refused to budge on— seriously my love, who in their right mind requests five inch thick mullions on stunning lancet arched windows?! The man's wife wanted them to be Sumerian rose stained glass— which I already ordered the exact amount for, at double the usual rate so they could have it installed in time for their daughter's birthday— and suddenly the man wants mullions?!” 

Your romantic relationship with Kaveh might have been fresh, but being friends with him since childhood gave you plenty of experience with these kinds of moods. You knew this spiral would only ruin his evening, and if left to fester it would consume his entire month. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You asked timidly, not wanting to send him into another rant, but not wanting your silence to convince him you don’t care. 

Kaveh huffed, and turned towards you. “Unless you can tell this imbecile of a client that—“ He paused, actually looking at you for the first time since he walked into the house. 

Since moving in with him and Alhaitham, you’d certainly made yourself comfortable in the space. 

The house had little pieces of you scattered here and there; a lavender throw pillow on your favorite couch, new mugs in the cupboard, a framed photo of the three of you from your last trip to the desert—smiling and laughing in the sun while camped at an oasis, but nothing showed how comfortable you were there more than how you dressed around the house. 

When the two of you became adults, you rarely ever saw each other outside of the akadeymia and Lambads tavern, so respectable formal wear was what you wore often. When you started coming over and rekindling your bond with Kaveh, you wanted to impress him, to be attractive to him, so you always dressed your best, always done up. But now…

He gazed longingly at your thighs peeking out from beneath one of his oversized shirts, buttons only done up halfway so that the majority of your chest was visible, placed to just cover your nipples in case someone came home during the day. Your hair was pinned back away from your face using a multitude of his own hair pins, and your face glowed as if it was recently washed. 

You were the pinnacle of beauty to Kaveh. So comfortable in his life— like you were meant to be there all along. He sighed, releasing his tight grip on mehrak to let him hover in place just beside him. 

“Actually, yes.” He sighed again, releasing the tension in his shoulders as he gestured for you with his arms. “Come here, let me hold you for a moment.”

You smiled sweetly and curled up into his embrace, humming happily as he rested himself at the junction of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and groaning a little beneath his breath. 

“You’re perfect, you know that?” He said wistfully. 

You giggled, dropping your head to his shoulder to hide your intense blush. “Stop that! I’m supposed to be making you feel better, dummy.”

“Just having you here like this makes me feel a bit better, love.” He pulled back a bit. “Come now, let me look at you, there’s no need to hide.”

Despite your flustered state, you unwrapped yourself from him, cheeks warming even more at the way his eyes raked across your body.

“You like when I look at how beautiful you are, don't you?” He said, holding your hand in his with a gentle squeeze. Though his tone was still gentle, there was something burning beneath his gaze that had warmth pooling into the pit of your stomach. 

He grinned then, suddenly a bit mischievous in nature. “You know what would really help me de-stress, love?” 

If you hadn’t seen where this was headed before, you certainly knew now— though that didn’t make you any less flustered. Even after so many months, physical intimacy with Kaveh still worked you up just as badly as it had the first time. 

“I’ll do anything for you, Kaveh. You know that.” You murmured, cupping your own cheek in embarrassment.

You feel a light pressure around your limbs and waist, and suddenly you are hoisted into the air, hands together above your head and legs spread. 

“Wait—what?!” You tried to struggle, but the grip that he had mehrak put you in was unshakable. You’d seen Kaveh use this function with mehrak countless times; to swing his claymore, to move building materials, but never once had you seen it used on anyone else. “K-Kaveh! What are y-you doing?!”

His head appeared between your legs, though he was still standing, and you could see now why he had hoisted you so high into the air. 

“Just stay still for me, yeah? I want to look at you.” 

“B-but—“

You were silenced by his long, cool fingers pushing his shirt from where it covered you, and your legs spread even wider, exposing you in your entirety to him. He smiled as he hooked his fingers into your panties, sliding them down your thighs and onto the floor at his feet. 

You continued to squirm as your face bloomed with heat, trying to look away but entranced to watch him as he spread you apart, looking at your center with intense eyes. 

He wiggles your labia around a bit, spreading you open and watching as the strands of your slick glisten between them.

He’s torturing you. Eyes never leaving your cunt as he gently thumbs at your clit, watching it twitch and relishing the moans you can’t bite back. 

The teasing makes you ache, it makes pressure form behind your glossy eyes and deep inside you somewhere shameful. You can feel yourself clenching around nothing as he toys with you, poking and rubbing here and there as if to make sure his eyes don’t miss a single part of you. 

He sees you struggling, and a laugh emerges— light and airy from his chest. 

“Please… you’re teasing too much this time, Kaveh.” You manage to whimper. 

“Oh?” He says, eyes still unwavering from your leaking hole. “What is it you want, my love?” 

You keened, so frustrated with his not-enough-touches and the fact that he’s making you say it. You tried wiggling from the hold on you once more, but it only served to satisfy him more. 

“Please!” You begged. “Please make me cum!” Your blush burned. You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him, to feel him. 

He hummed contently at your cries, finally looking up at you. His gaze burned with a lust so intense you don’t think you’ve seen it since the first time you ever shared your bodies with one another. It was an all consuming flame, and unlike the first time— this one didn’t startle you. 

Kavehs passion was one of his best qualities, and seeing it take on this form, this desire for you— to have you, to make you his— was something you came to crave. 

“Not yet.” He said. Tone leaning towards condescending. “I’m busy looking. You’ll let me keep looking, right?” 

His gaze trailed back down your body to your aching core, where he continued to run his fingers along your folds, eyes heavy with lust at the slick he touched there.

“After all,” he said. “You're so very pretty, and you know how stressed I get. And playing with this pretty pussy of my very own helps sooo much, you know that dont you?”

His words were dripping in sex—in demeaning condescension, and you were about to explode because of it. You squirmed and struggled more, moaning and crying out at the weight of his heavy gaze, and the lightness of his thumb across your clit. It throbbed, sending waves of need up your limbs and making your hips buck against his touch.

“I really enjoy playing with you like this,” He said darkly. Times like these were the only moments Kaveh ever spoke down to you. He was typically very doting, loving, and non confrontational when it came to your relationship. But when you hear his voice sink like this, hear him speak as if he owns you, it sends your brain into overdrive. 

Finally, finally he brings his tongue up your center, taking a nice firm lick from your clenching hole to your aching clit. He seems to add just the tiniest bit more pressure as his tongue rakes over your clit, and you squeal. 

A low, shuddering orgasm overtakes you, and you crumple into it, trying to milk it for all its worth. You’re shocked that he keeps his tongue gently moving over your clit when he realizes what’s happening though he never moves to make it more intense. He works you through it gently, drinking up your cries of pleasure. Your clit throbs dully with each wave of your orgasm, and right before it becomes something closer to painful, he stops. 

His large hands grip your thighs, and he watches as you continue to twitch with the aftershocks. He watches your orgasm subside, and laughs when you start to squirm needingly so soon after. 

“Awe, poor sweet thing. Not enough?” 

Your fucked out expression was nearly enough to break him. Tears streamed down your flushed cheeks, your eyelids drooped and heavy from the aftermath, but still sparkling with lust from the need for more. 

Truly, Kaveh never felt more blessed than when in these moments with you, and he truly couldn’t even remember the specifics of what exactly had made him so unhappy in the first place. 

He was sure he’d remember eventually, and go back to having more work to do, but for now, he’d rather just enjoy the fire you’ve brought from within him. 

“Alright, alright.” He smiled. “I wasn’t done with you yet anyways.” 

[clockwayswrites]

Little Living Bones Part 2

Part 1 WC: 816 CW: necromancy

As soon as he could stand, Danny scrambled back to the teleportation sigil he had scratched into the dirt when he first arrived in Madagascar. He was always sure to have an out, and he really needed one right then. The tiny skeleton was clutched against his chest. Danny could feel the thin rib bones moving as if the little creature was breathing.

Somehow he made it back through the winding streets to the hotel he was staying at. He locked the door, set the skeleton on the tiny desk that was shoved under the window, and backed up as far as he could in the shoebox of a room.

“Okay,” Danny whispered, his voice mostly lost in the hum of the window unit. His eyes were locked with the hallow skull of the little gecko. “So you’re alive now. Again. You’re alive again.”

The gecko tilted it’s head. Their head? They were alive now, they weren’t a thing anymore.

“You’re alive and I did that. Okay, right.” His hands were shaking. When did he start shaking so badly? “That’s… alright. Guess you’re my responsibility now? Good thing you don’t need to eat, I have enough trouble feeding myself.”

His laugh was stilted in heavy humidity of the air. Danny could feel the nerves bubbling up under the sound, threating to turn it hysterical if only he could get any air in his lungs. When had he stopped being able to breath?

Danny sat down hard on the ground, tucked between the edge of the bed and the wall. When Danny had managed to get his breathing back under control and uncurled, he found himself face to skull with the little gecko. Impossibly, the little one looked worried.

Exhausted, Danny rested his head on his knees. “I guess I’m not being fair to you. Here I brought you back to life and I’ve just been ignoring you. I’m sorry little one.”

The little lizard moved in such a way that their bones gave a little rattle. It was kind of a pleasant sound. Danny smiled, just a little, and reached out to run a finger over the skull.

“I don’t know if you’ll, um, last—” though the idea of lizard falling apart to death again made Danny’s breath hitch again “—but even if you’re only around for a little, I guess you should have a name.”

Carefully, he picked up the skeleton and set them on his shoulder. Danny stumbled as he pulled himself up off the ground. “And I guess I should have some water.”

He pulled his dinged metal waterbottle out the side pocket of his rucksack before rooting around in the front one for his notebook. Settling on the rickety chair at the tiny desk, Danny found a blank page to write on. He tapped his pencil against the paper a few times before he he started to just list any name that came to mind.

By the time he had managed to fill most of the page with names and was just scribbling idle lines in the bottom corner, Danny was feeling frustrated. None of the names felt right. He had tried names from all over his travels, but nothing was clicking.

“Well, what name do you like?” Danny asked the gecko, who had crawled down to sit on the desk during the process.

The little thing tilted their head.

“Names, which do you like?” Danny asked again, tapping the paper.

The gecko watched the finger for a moment before waddling over and flopping down on the overlapping curves Danny had doodled in the corner.

Danny gave a tired sigh. “Sure, why not.”

-

A few months later, Danny stepped out of an alley and onto the streets of Paris. He had to consult his half legible note a few times to get to the set meeting place. The hunched, trench coat shrouded form of Constantine was easy to pick out where he was slightly tucked back in a different alleyway.

“Hey, Constantine,” Danny called out as soon as he was close enough not to draw too much other attention. The crowd was sparse, but there were still people milling about even at the late hour.

Constantine turned to greet Danny and froze— going still in a way that for the man was downright creepy. It made Danny’s hackles go up.

“What?” What was that look for? He was clean and fed and had even splurged and gotten his coat dry cleaned before meeting up with Constantine. So what if he’d been alone for several months now.

He’s fine.

He has a pet now.

“Kid,” John said slowly.

Oh, John wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the lapels of Danny’s coat and who must be peaking out of it.

“What the hell is that, kid?”

“This is Squiggles, they/them. Constantine, Squiggles. Squiggles, Constantine. No biting, either of you.”

-----

AN: And things completes this little fic: the origins of Squiggles the Undead Gecko! And proof that Danny is a necromancer? Maybe, maybe not. This will probably by the second fic in the story, the first being done by Moku and and explaining how Danny met Constantine! You can find her first part of that in the masterpost.

Stay delightful, darlings!

Please remember that I'm no longer tagging people due to the shadow ban! If you go to the master post, you can subscribe there for update notifications!

[kimoralov3]

something old

pairing: colin bridgerton x reader

description: colin runs into a familiar face during his travels

word count: 1506

a/n: i wrote this MONTHS ago at the point guys. tagging @arkofblake and @ivysprophecy because they were my main motivation to finish it lol

The sound of rattling carriages and horses filled Colin’s ears as he walked down the streets of Spain. Many would assume that his favorite part of the season would be the parties, but no; it was moments like these. After the season had ended and he could finally escape from power hungry mamas and desperate debutantes. 

Colin had decided that he would take a walk around that day, enjoy the pleasant scenery the city had to offer before departing later on that week to Greece. In fact, he was so wrapped up in the beautiful scenes around him, he didn’t notice the figure headed straight for him.

“I am so sorry, I should have been paying more attention to where I was walking.” He spews out quickly as he helps the person he bumped into steady themself. “Miss Y/N?”

“Mr. Bridgerton.” Y/N says with a fond smile as she pats the dust off her skirts. “When I said that I hoped to run into you soon, I did not mean literally.” She says playfully.

Colin gives her a bashful smile. “I deeply apologize, I was caught up in the beautiful scenery.” He says as he clasps his hands behind his back.

Y/N’s smile turns kind as she waves Colin’s apology off. “It is quite alright. It happens to the best of us.” She says as she makes final adjustments to her skirts.

“So, what brings you all the way to Madrid? I didn’t take you for much of a traveler.” He says as a way of making conversation.

“You would be right, but I decided to be a bit adventurous for once.” She explains with a cheeky smile. “Besides, this could be my last year to do so freely before getting married.”

Colin’s mouth turns down slightly at the mention of that. Yes, he supposes that Y/N was getting a bit old for the marriage mart in some people’s eyes. He never really thought much of that fact when it came to Y/N. He usually focused on her and Daphne’s friendship. Although recently, he was a bit ashamed to admit that his thoughts had strayed more towards that of the romantic variety. 

“Well, if it is adventure you seek,” Colin says as he puts on his most charming smile. “Allow me to be your guide.” He says as he holds out his arm for Y/N to hold onto. 

She gives him a playful look as she loops their arms together. “My mother always did tell me that the Bridgerton boys were trouble. Will you be proving her right?” She asks as they begin walking down the busy street.

“That depends. Are you looking for trouble?” He asks as he places his hand over her’s, looking down at her. A snort escapes Y/N’s lips, causing her to clear her throat.

“No, of course not. I am a lady after all.” She says in mock seriousness, resulting in an unbelieving look from Colin. “Alright, fine. Maybe I am looking for a bit of trouble. Do you know where I could find some?”

“Of course I do. I am a Bridgerton, after all.” He says as the two of them side step a man chasing after a little boy. “But I could never take a lady to such places, especially not a lady as beautiful and sophisticated as yourself.” 

“Beautiful and sophisticated? Colin Bridgerton, when did you become such a skilled sweet talker?” She asks as she looks up at him, her lips open slightly in amusement. 

“Every man becomes a sweet talker when there is a beautiful woman in his presence.” He says, lifting Y/N’s hand up to press a kiss to her knuckles before continuing their trek down the bustling city.

—

“Colin Bridgerton, you get back here this instant!” Y/N shouts as she chases after the older male. The sound of Colin’s laughter fills the air of the field as he manages to maintain a safe distance between himself and the owner of the book he was waving over his head.

“What is the point of traveling if you keep your nose buried in a book the whole time?” He asks as he dodges her attempt for the book.

“It is a very normal thing to enjoy a light bit of reading when you are sitting in a field in the middle of nowhere, I will have you know.” She says with a huff as she releases her grip on her skirt. 

“I am well aware of what is acceptable behavior at a picnic. Are you?” He teases, once again holding the book out of her reach. 

“Is Colin Bridgerton lecturing me about acceptable behavior? After he has spent the off season traveling with me — unchaperoned, might I add.” Y/N points out as she finally snatches the book from Colin’s grasp, tucking it under her grasp. 

Colin smiles at that, offering nothing more but the shrug of his shoulders. “I never claimed that all my behavior was acceptable.” 

“It certainly is not. Who knows what the people of the ton would think if they saw the two of us together like this.” She says as she walks back to the blanket they had set out, Colin following closely behind. “They would probably demand that the two of us marry at this very moment.”

Colin chuckles once again as the two of them lay back on the blanket. “Well, what the ton does not know will not hurt them.” 

“You are right about that, Mr. Bridgerton.” She says with a smile before returning her attention back to her book. There’s a few minutes of silence before she speaks up again. “Why did you invite me to join you on your travels?”

“You are one of the only friends of my sisters that I can actually stomach to be around.” He replies easily, although he knows deep down that that is not the only reason he allowed the young lady to venture through the lands of Europe with him. 

“Colin, do you think me an idiot?” She asks as she sits up, firmly shutting her book. Colin sits up as well, resting his weight on his forearms. “I am not a child. I know very well what this would all mean under… different circumstances. So be honest with me. Why did you bring me?” 

“Y/N, I–” He begins, cutting himself off as he tries to find the proper words. She has a point. If this had been a random girl he had met along the way, things would have turned out very differently. But these weren’t different circumstances. 

This was Y/N, someone who he’d known since he was a little boy. Someone who always showed kindness to him, especially when others couldn’t find it in their hearts to do so. 

This was Y/N, who told him that his future wife would be lucky not because of how he looked, but because of how kind he was.

This was Y/N, the girl that he had spent years chasing after, even if neither of them truly knew it. And he would not lie to her; not anymore.

“If you want me to be honest, I will be.” He takes another moment to collect himself before continuing. “I invited you to travel with me out of my own selfish wishes. In hindsight, it wasn’t the best idea. But I would not trade the time we’ve spent together on this trip for anything. And I mean that.”

By the time that he had finished speaking, both of them had tears in their eyes. Y/N lets out a wet laugh as she wipes away her tears. “My, you certainly have a way with words.” Colin smiles at that, gently placing his hand over hers.

“They make an appearance when I need them most.” He says softly as he runs his finger along her knuckles and the back of her hand. 

“I must say that I also share those feelings.” She whispers as she stares down at their joined hands. Colin pauses for a moment before standing, pulling her along with him. “What are you doing?”

“Never the matter, come with me.” He says as he starts rushing back into town.

“Colin, our stuff!” Y/N says with a laugh as she struggles to keep up with him. Colin smiles back at them before continuing his determined journey back into town. 

The two of them stop at a stand selling jewelry, Colin turning to face Y/N. “Pick one. Any one you want.” Y/N gives him a confused look, prompting a boyish grin to spread across his face. “A lady should choose her own engagement ring, don’t you think?”

Y/N is clearly shocked at his words, her eyes blinking rapidly. “Are you being honest?” 

“We just ran all the way here from a field, this would be a strange prank to play, would it not?” Colin says with a soft laugh. “Pick the ring that you feel suits you best.” 

“You are the most unbelievable man, Mr. Colin Bridgerton.” She says in awe as she looks over the fine assortment of rings. 

Many might think that Colin’s grin could not possibly grow any wider, but it did. As it always did around Miss Y/N— soon to be Lady Y/N Bridgerton.

[loveyjeongie]

Momo Unnie!

word count: 1,972

who: nd!little!momo, cg!nayeon (+middle!dahyun for a sec if u squint very hard, jihyo who is also having a bad day, sana)

“Momo unnie can you help me take out the trash?” “Unnie could you help me with this assignment?” “Momo-ya can you go to the store and grab some milk? We’re all out” “Momo unnie!! can you come here?” “Momo!” “Unnie-“

All day long Momo has been tugged around, back and forth while listening to her name being called from all angles of her apartment. At this point her head was beginning to throb with the worst headache she’s had in months. She wondered how many more times she could hear anything at all before her body exploded.

It bothered her specifically because when she woke up this morning, she was in a good mood. Made her bed, showered, ate some frozen waffles that weren’t for her but she couldn’t resist anyways, and despite her jumping a little more than usual at things, she felt okay. Then her presence started to become a popular request.

“Momo unnie, can you take out the trash for me? I’m running late to drop off Chaeyoung and Tzuyu at their workshop.”

“Sure Ji, leave it to me.” She smiled and thought that it was a simple enough favor she wouldn’t actually mind much, and the garbage was stinky anyways.

Momo took the bag out and tied it into a knot, throwing it over her shoulder. As soon as she reaches the front door, she hears her name again.

“Momo unnie! are you gonna be out long?”

“Nah, i’m just taking the trash out for Jihyo. What do you need, hyun?”

“Oh thank god— I was worried you were going to be gone forever, can you help me with this assignment for my music class?”

Momo hesitated a bit. That would definitely take longer than the trash favor.

“Uh, yeah I guess I can. Let me take this out and i’ll come by your room, okay?”

Dahyun yelled back a “thanks”, already back up the stairs and halfway through her own doorway.

————————————

“Okay, I think you’re doing really well with this part. If you practice it a little more i’ll help you record it so you can send it to your teacher, if you want?”

“Really?! that would help so much unnie, thank you.”

“Of course, if you need any more help just let—“

“MOMO-YA!!” Momo covered her ears as both girls turned around to see Nayeon standing in the doorway.

“Why are you yelling?!” even though Nayeon was normally a loud person, her brain felt like it just rattled inside of her skull.

“Sorry! Can you go to the store please, we’re out of milk.”

Momo sighed. Yet 20 minutes later she appeared back in the kitchen with a gallon of milk and a chocolate bar in her hand.

She moved to the living room, where she sat down on the couch and began to munch on her candy and the cup of milk she poured herself to go with it. She didn’t really feel like she was there. The tv was off, because she was already starting to feel like things were getting too loud, and she just wanted silence. Her brain was beginning to feel incredibly off. Each time she chewed, it made her feel better.

“Is that candy?” Momo jumped and covered her ears again as Sana suddenly popped up behind her on the couch.

“It’s… a chocolate bar. Just got it from the store.”

“Oh!! Can I have a piece? Please please please please unnie~”

She felt her eyes watering, and yet she couldn’t say no. Not when Sana was looking at her with her signature pouty face that always got her everything she wanted. Even tho it was all that was grounding her at the moment.

“Uhm I guess you can…” She looked down at the wrapper and took the chocolate out. “Here, have the rest”

“Thank you unnie!!!” Momo felt herself flinch for the third time that morning.

————————————

Finally, Momo had gone back to her room. Lying in her bed had quite literally never felt better. She contemplated putting her headphones on, but it seemed quiet enough as everyone had gone back to their rooms and were keeping themselves busy so she trusted it to stay that way for a while. Her mind started to wonder, until she was just beginning to doze off and could faintly hear the front door open and close along with someones muffled speaking. There was some more banging around downstairs until it relented and Momo began to fall back into her slumber. That is, until…

The door to her bedroom flung open.

“Unnie.” She didn’t want to move at all, so she pretended she didn’t hear Jihyo from the doorway.

“Momo unnie. Get up.” Her brain started to panic a little bit due to her acting proving to be unsuccessful. But she knew something was up because Jihyo sounded aggravated. Why was she mad?

“UNNIE! GET UP!” her voice was loud, and Momo’s body was shaking— both from her own anxiety and from the sudden closeness of Jihyo who had moved the blanket and was poking her shoulder hard enough to get her to move.

“W-what is it, Ji?” she smacked her hand away and sat up on the side of the bed to face her.

“Are you the one who got milk?”

She blinked. “Yeah?”

“Well, you left it out on the counter. You also left your dirty cup on the couch. Don’t you know how to clean up after yourself?! Please go put them away, I have to cook Dahyun dinner.” With that, Jihyo turned on her heel and went downstairs.

Her head felt bad. Momos head felt really bad. She didn’t understand why the milk was on the counter or remember how the cup got on the couch. Was she processing things right? She could almost hear the blood rushing to her head, and the tears flooding her eyes begging to overflow. Momo was incredibly overwhelmed but she shouldn’t cry— it’s simple. Jihyo just wants her to clean something, thats all.

Momo stood up and left for the kitchen. Her steps were a little bit wobbly and she really did feel very bad. She almost couldn’t tell where she was.

Reaching where Jihyo had gone, she walked to the counter and put the milk that was there in the fridge. It felt heavier in her hand than normal. She also got the cup from the couch and brought it to the sink.

While the water from the faucet filled the cup, she watched until it spilled over and began running over her hand. She felt really weird, she could see the water but for some reason didn’t really register feeling it. It felt like she had stood there forever, until a hand reached over and turned the faucet off.

“Unnie! You can’t let the water run like that! God, that reminds me that the water bill is due today, did you pay it? that’s one of your bills you know.”

Momo just continued to stare at her hand holding the cup in the sink. It was cold, and she didn’t really understand what Jihyo was saying to her. She couldn’t process anything at all. All she could think about was how badly she wished it was quiet, how tired she was of hearing her name, and how small she felt.

It happened so fast she didn’t even know what was happening. A cabinet door closed a little too harshly and she dropped to her knees on the floor sobbing, shoving her fingers as far into her ears as she could— even tho it hurt.

“Unnie? Unnie— what happened?!” Jihyo mirrored her on the floor in front of Momo trying to figure out why she was crying. Momo couldn’t say a word but the closer Jihyo got to her the more she thrashed around trying to get away.

Hearing the commotion, Nayeon had left her room. “Hey guys why are you making so much noi—“ She paused as she observed the scene in the kitchen.

Jihyo turned to her, asking for help.

“Oh, unnie— I don’t know what happened! I was talking to her and trying to get stuff out of the cabinet for dinner and then all of a sudden she started freaking out! I didn’t mean to but she won’t even let me touch her.”

Looking back over at Momo, Nayeon knew immediately what was wrong, and told Jihyo that they’ll order food later and to go to her room for a little while. Carefully, she sat down next to Momo on the floor.

“Hi my sweet girl,” Nayeon tried really hard to leave her voice barely above a whisper so that she didn’t startle her. “You don’t look like you’re feeling too good right now.” Momo shook her head side to side frantically.

“That’s okay, can you tell unnie how old you are? it’s okay if you’re not sure.” Again, Momo shook her head.

“Alright darling, is it okay if i touch you?” At that, the younger girl threw herself into Nayeons arms still sobbing. She held onto her and rubbed her hand in circles gently around her back, putting a little bit of pressure to help her feel better. Nayeon looked down and saw that Momo still had her fingers in her ears, and that they were beginning to turn pretty red.

Leaning down and kissing the top of her head, she took it as a hint to what was actually wrong.

“Is it too loud baby?” This time Momo nodded her head the other direction. Nayeon picked her up and decided to bring her back to her room to avoid anyone coming out and making even more noise.

Sitting Momo on her bed, she crouched down in front of her and gently gripped her elbows. “Can you take your fingers out of your ears for me darling? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” Momo whined and seemed to push them in even further. Nayeon panicked a little until she remembered about the headphones Momo left in her room for times like this. She didn’t know where she had left them so she began searching through the drawers in her desk and closet until she found them inside the backpack hanging off the back of her chair. Relieved, she brought them back over to Momo and tapped her just enough to get her to open her eyes.

“If you take your fingers out, we can put these on and you can feel a lot better my love.” Momo looked down and hesitated. It was her favorite pair of headphones that she had decorated with Nayeon a few months ago, and they had made sure they got the quietest ones possible. Which is exactly what she wanted right now.

Momo slowly removed her fingers from her ears, grimacing at the soreness and how loud it was again until Nayeon placed the headphones over her ears as soon as she could. Both girls sighed with relief as Momo felt better and Nayeon was glad that Momo felt better.

“Now, do you want to take a nap with me my sweet girl? I’ll even let you hold my bunny” She pulled her sleeves over her hands and wiped the tears that were still stuck on Momo’s cheeks and smiled at the nod she gave.

She tucked Momo into her bed— with her bunny— and quickly sent a text out to their group chat not to knock on any doors or come into their room until later.

Getting under the covers next to her, Momo slid over with the stuffed bunny in her arms and rested her head against Nayeons chest. “If you wake up and need anything just let me know, okay? i’ll be right here.”

Momo definitely still did not feel very good, but at least it finally felt quiet.

[merrybloomwrites]

You Can Start a Family (Extra: First Earthquake)

Summary: Y/N experiences an earthquake for the first time. She and Harry have a bizarre serendipitous moment.

AN: I felt an earthquake for the first time yesterday and it inspired me to finally write this silly story that's been in my mind for nearly a year.

Previous Chapters:

Main Story: One ; Two ; Three ; Four ; Five ; Six ; Seven ; Eight ; Nine ; Ten

Sickfic Part 1 ; Part 2

Mitchrry Prequel

Fan Reactions

Holiday Blues

Mitchryy Reunion

Getting High

Word Count: 1.1K

CW: earthquake, injury, blood, vomit

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you moved to Los Angeles to live full time with Harry, Mitch, and Sarah, you had a million questions. One thing you were almost embarrassed to ask about was earthquakes. Luckily, none of them laughed about your concern. They’d all experienced a few themselves. While most were small, they can each remember at least once or twice that they’d been genuinely worried during a fairly large quake.

So, they listened to your worries, told you what to expect, and shared what they’ve been told to do in order to stay safe.

A few months in, there’s a mild earthquake. The doors rattle, the mirrors and art on the wall shake, but no damage is done, and it only lasts a few seconds. You report to your friends back home that you finally experienced one.

But now is the first time you truly get shaken around. Harry, Mitch, and Sarah are all in the basement studio working together on new music. You’re upstairs in your little home office answering some emails.

You’re sitting at your desk in the corner of the room when everything starts to rattle. It’s small at first, but quickly you know this is much bigger than last time. Immediately you think of what you’ve been told to do in this situation.

The number one piece of advice you remember is to get under a desk or table. Your glass desk, however, doesn’t seem like the best choice.

There’s a sturdy coffee table in the middle of the room and you start to make your way over to it, stumbling due to the floor shaking beneath you. Suddenly, something slams into the back of your head, but adrenaline keeps you moving forward. You finally dive under the table and ride out the end of the earthquake.

Moments after the shaking subsides, you hear three sets of footsteps running up the stairs. Mitch bursts into the room first, Sarah and Harry right behind him.

“Love, are you okay?” Sarah asks as she helps you out from under the table.

“Yea, I just think something hit my head,” you reply and glance around the room. On the floor is a large decorative vase that normally stands in a recessed shelf on the wall. You point to it and say, “That. I’m fairly certain that hit the back of my head.”

“Let me see,” Harry says, his hand going to your hair. You hiss in pain, and he pulls back. “Shit,” he quietly breathes out, and you all look at him. His fingertips are red and wet. Blood. Shit is right. You’re definitely bleeding.

“How do you feel?” Sarah asks.

The adrenaline is wearing off, and that, mixed with seeing physical evidence that you’re injured, has the pain finally setting in.

“My head’s starting to hurt,” you reply. “And I feel a little bit dizzy.”

“You need to go to the hospital,” Mitch says. “C’mon, I’ll drive.”

Harry helps you stay steady all the way out to the car. You assure everyone you’re fine, it’s just a scratch and a headache, but the three of them don’t listen. They rush out of the house, stopping only to grab shoes and a towel to hold over the wound. Mitch drives, Sarah is in the passenger seat, and Harry is in the back next to you, keeping pressure on the cut.

On the drive over you start to feel nauseous. It’s manageable at first, but steadily gets worse. There’s nothing in the car to be sick into, and you ask Mitch to pull over. You guys are literally on the freeway, and you can tell Mitch isn’t comfortable with stopping there, but then he sees the panic on your face and does as you’ve asked. He finds a safe spot and pulls onto the shoulder.

The second the car is in park you open your door and lean out, throwing up on the side of the road. It’s not a fun feeling, but you do feel a bit better once you’re done. You get back in the car and roll the windows down, hoping fresh air will help.

Just before driving off, you look out the window, and something you see just ahead has you laughing.

“What’s happening right now, why are you laughing?” Sarah asks. You look at the concerned faces of your girlfriend and boyfriends and say, “Please look at where we are right now,” while you continue to laugh.

You can tell when they all see it. Because they join in laughing. Just ahead is an iconic sign stating, “Harry Styles threw up here”.

“What are the fucking odds of that?” Mitch says in disbelief.

“Someday, someone’s going to ask us how me and Harry knew we were right for each other,” you say. “And I am absolutely going to tell this story. Because obviously we’re soul mates if we’ve both randomly thrown up on the exact same stretch of LA freeway.”

“Damn straight we are,” he says with a laugh. “But your head is still bleeding a bit so let’s get moving again.”

Mitch and Sarah immediately shift back into worried mode along with Harry, and you hold back a giggle at how protective they always are over you. Even if you feel they’re sometimes a bit too much, truthfully you love how well they take care of you.

Sarah goes into the hospital with you, hoping you’ll stay more under the radar than if Harry was inside. It’s pretty crazy in the emergency department, the earthquake causing a good number of minor injuries, but they move as efficiently as possible.

Sarah holds your hand as they use glue and your own hair to close the small laceration on your head. You’re fascinated to learn that there’s a technique to close head wounds using a patient’s own hair as sutures. But if the squeamish look on Sarah’s face is anything to go by, she doesn’t share this thought. Luckily you don’t have a concussion, and the dizziness and nausea were just from losing blood.

You’re relieved to finally get back home. It’s unsurprising that Harry, Sarah, and Mitch all dote on you for the remainder of the day.

Nearly a year and a half later another earthquake hits. This time all four of you are in the dining room, and you barely have a moment to process what’s happening before arms wrap around you and pull you under the table. Mitch holds you tight, Harry doing the same to Sarah next to you, and you make it out of this one with no injuries.

A couple weeks after that you do a podcast with Harry. Sure enough, the woman hosting asks about when you two knew you were meant to be. Harry sees your smirk and begins to laugh before you even start the story of your first earthquake experience.

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AN: Thanks for reading! Hope the science about earthquakes and hair apposition technique is right lol

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz@fictionalmensblog@buckybarnessimpp

[mpsansy]

A View In The Garden

Idk what the heck to title this, I haven't written a fanfic in such a long long time :P

Also this has been sitting in my drafts for too long and I needed to share it already. So enjoy the bond Casper will have with his uncle Stinkie!

___

There wasn't a breeze out on this late morning. And by the off chance there was, the young spirit wouldn't have felt it anyway. Couldn't really feel most things if he was being honest with himself. Especially the three uncles that were currently resting within the manor.

But that wasn't really important to him right now. What was important, however, was the new greenery that was sprouting up. With a little convincing and pleading, both Casper and Kat were able to create a colorful landscape in the garden. Initially looking otherwise devoid of life before they started.

It was perhaps the one thing that caught one of Casper's uncle's eyes before darting off, as if to play off his interest at the display.

___

Casper, alone for the meantime, was in pure amazement. Previously when looking for flower seeds so many months ago with Kat, Casper with much enthusiasm, picked out the best flowers for the garden. All with no assistance needed from her.

For a moment, it was fascinating for Kat to see his understanding of most of these plants he picked out. They must've really meant something to the boy to have been picked out with no hesitation.

Unfortunately, she wasn't here to enjoy the garden with Casper. Something with applying for some big school, but either way, he was happy for her. She's doing all kinds of different things now. Things he was very happy with listening to from time to time.

___

The child didn't realize how far time had passed until one of his uncle's came from within the manor. He didn't seem to be in such a bad mood himself, because his call for his nephew was at a normal volume. Unlike his other two uncles who could practically rattle bones with their voices.

Casper looked up to face the uncle who called him. A smile plastered on his face.

"Oh! Hey, uncle Stinkie." He called back. Smile still present.

"What's the deal, shortsheet?" Stinkie asked, floating a bit closer to his nephew. "Have you really been out here all this time lookin' at JUST flowers?"

Casper shook his head.

"Not just flowers. There's more things I've been looking at!"

"More?"

"Mhm!"

Color the other ghost curious, cause once he got to where Casper was resting at, he saw it. Bugs. For most that would probably be uninteresting, however for these two? It was something mesmerizing.

"I don't think I've seen these little critters here in a long time." Stinkie commented to Casper. A few bees passing by, landing and collecting pollen from the newly bloomed flowers.

The boy nodded.

"I think because of all the gardening me and Kat have been doing. It got their attention."

All around the two, life was booming. And Casper tried to show his uncle all the different bugs that were appearing left and right. Besides the bees, there were others. Ants, beetles, caterpillars, you name it. It was all there.

Matter of fact, Stinkie had a response to all this. He was talking about all the different types of bugs Casper had listed off. It's benefits to keeping nature going strong. Especially for a garden such as this.

And for some reason, it felt like Casper had already heard this kind of talk from his uncle before. But this is the first time they've really had a normal conversation. So it was strange.

"Uncle Stinkie, how do you know all this stuff?"

"Hm, what do ya mean?"

Casper continued, now feeling a bit embarrassed to have temporary interrupted his uncle's lecture on bugs.

"Well, I've never seen you interested in stuff like this. I mean, it's really nice to hear it! Honestly."

Stinkie couldn't answer that question initially. With turning his head to Casper briefly and then to the ground. Bringing a finger to tap on his chin. Thinking.

Finally came a response.

"Casper, I'll be honest with ya. An' don't tell the others about this. But I think I'm startin' to remember things."

Casper looked confused.

"Remember?"

"Y'know, like, remember things before being a ghost."

"Oh..."

Give it a second.

"OH!!"

There it is.

"Really?!" His voice came out louder than it should've, quickly clamping his mouth shut.

"Really?" Casper asked again, quietly this time.

Stinkie couldn't help but snicker. Soon nodding to the boy. Looking back to the bugs who had not a single clue of the spirits viewing them.

"It's kinda weird. Didn't even know I had a feelin' of recallin' stuff like this before."

"Does Stretch and Fatso know?" Casper asked. "That you're remembering stuff now?"

A pause, followed with Stinkie's head tilting to his nephew.

"Mm, nah. Just happened recently. S'ides, I'm sure they'd be bored outta their minds hearing me ramble about this new discovery. Better to not make a fuss about it."

Guess he's right about that. They were usually just fixated on the TV than sitting down to hear a random fact about a topic Casper was interested in.

Still, he didn't think his own uncle was finding his memories. Something to ask him more about later.

"I like this though." Stinkie commented, breaking his nephew's train of thought. "Just somethin' about it feels sorta. Nice."

Casper couldn't agree more. And was so happy to hear such a thing coming out of his uncle. It felt so sincere. Something that didn't come often with any of them.

"Yeah."

___

"Say, Casper?"

"Yes, uncle Stinkie?"

"Would you be interested in plantin' more flowers here? I can help if you don-"

Stinkie didn't manage to finish his question. Because in that instance, the boy immediately answered.

"Of course you can! I don't mind at all! But... uhm..." There comes the nervous tone in the boy's voice.

"You think uncle Stretch and Fatso would get annoyed by us spending time outside? And me not inside doing chores?"

"Ah, fuck 'em." Oops. That came out by mistake. Nothing he could do other than cover his mouth.

"Uncle Stinkie, language!" Casper said with an exaggerated gasp, pretending to be shocked at the use of his uncle's profanity. Honestly he's heard so much throughout the years that he could put them in a book.

"... I think it'd be nice ta change things up though. But maybe keep it between us. The rememberin' part that is."

"Yeah, right!" Casper with such excitement couldn't help but wrap his arms around Stinkie. And instead of shoving the child off. He let it be. Smiling as he went to pat the top of his nephew's head.

"Let's get back inside though." Casper said, letting go of his uncle and beginning to float up. "I really don't want to hear Stretch screech his head off about how long we were outside."

"Good idea, bulbhead." That comment was all Stinkie said before following his nephew's lead back inside.

Hopefully they would get to have this time again soon.

[nelapanela94]

The tiny bell dings over your head, and the whole place smells of chai. Steam rises from the cups, teaspoons clank against the china, whirlpools ease the warmth. Straws squeak, ice cubes rattle. The black and white checkered floors glitter—a work done by a lunatic. The menu is displayed above the countertop on a chalkboard. Product of the month—most likely product of the season: iced coffee. Only white-haired people stick to the traditional drinks.

You tilt up the brim of your summer hat and your eyes dawdle the list.

Who chose the names?

A bunch of kids.

“Welcome to—”

That voice. The coarse lilt of an accent long dead for your ears. Rebirth of those years when you scavenge to make a living. That voice drags you to the damp city that smelled of sewage and dung, bare feet, frayed clothes, gray eyes.

“Levi.” You whisper the name that’s been ambling the corridors of your memories, it feels off to taste those syllables in your tongue.

The remnants of war are etched on each bumpy scar and in the unpaired gait, some salt sprinkles his raven hair on the sides, and little wrinkles have formed at the corners of his eyes.

He’s handsome, as always, and he’s frozen, as if he’s seen a ghost.

“So, you made it.” You smile. “Your dream. Remember when you said dreams weren’t for people like us.” Tears pool at the corners of your eyes.

“You—” He moistens his lips. Suddenly, his brain can’t stitch a full sentence. He breathes. “You are…” He gulps. Of all places, your paths cross here.

“Alive?”

One corner of his lips quirks up into a half smile. “Here.” He looks down to your left hand, a girdle of untanned skin cinches around your ring finger. Then your gazes meet, and you say, “During the rumbling. He didn’t make it. To continue wearing it was pointless.”

“I missed you.”

“You weren’t there.” You blink your tears away. “I had no other choice. He was my way out—”

He squeezes your hand.

The shop is not bustling at the moment, and Gaby and Falco will clock in soon.

There’s too much to catch up and the cups are too small.

A story of the right person at the wrong time.

@stygianoir @lamees004 @lovolee3 @notgoodforlife @svftackerman @apolloshaiku @luvjiro @roralore @mikakayyyy @noctemys @galactict3a @son-of-a-banchi @sjdsarah @ackermendick @thnmdmn

[rom-e-o]

✨As Good As Gold✨ (Modern AU) (Ebenezer/Constance)

Here is part one ... because this alone was 23 pages. ^^;

I, um, get a little invested when writing these two. Just a smidge. Oops, haha.

Also, this store features Ebenezar Charles Scrooge ("Wolf") and Bess Scrooge (kudos to @quill-pen) and is a follow-up to her AMAZING fic, "All The Little Breaks" that she blessed me with after an ask. Since then, the inspiration has been churning! She also helped write and check the Wolf/Bess sections as well. (Seriously, they are such a delightful couple, every moment with these two is so enjoyable!)

Enjoy!

STORY IS 18+ for some explicit content. Minors DNI.

“You have everything you need, yes? I tried to make sure her bag was completely stocked.”

“Yes, yes, I do. And you most certainly did. I think this diaper bag weighs more than five babies altogether.”

“W-Well I wanted to make sure you had everything while we were away, just in case! I know you have a spare key to the apart—um, flat, but you’re already doing Ebenezer and I an amazing favor by watching her. I don’t want to cause any trouble or extra trips.”

“Connie, I think you packed well enough for Starla to stay with Wolf and I for months. Seriously, girl, you packed her a snowsuit … it’s July – almost August. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

The tone of Bess’ jest was playful, but it sparked mild alarm in her friend.

“Of course not! I promise, we’ll be back—”

“I’m joking,” she said. “I know you two will be back, punctual as ever.”

A familiar bark thundered in the background, causing Bess to laugh. “Yes, yes, we haven’t forgotten. Starry’s gonna need a good bodyguard, Prudence. You’re up for it, right?”

The mastiff’s loud bark echoed proudly from the phone’s speaker. She swore the timbre of her call rattled the phone’s delicate inner workings.

As Elizabeth “Bess” Sullivan playfully ruffled Prudence’s ears and beamed at her friend from the other side of their video call, a red head of hair slowly peeked in from the bottom left corner of the frame. Mere moments later, a string of burbles accompanied the surprise guest, and their bright blue eyes slowly entered the camera’s view.

When those icy-blue eyes landed on the likeness of their mother on the other side of the screen, the baby let out a peal of laughter. Her tiny fingers sought the screen, seeking the familiar warmth and vetiver scent of her mother. “Ba … ba!”

Constance’s eyes welled up briefly as she saw her baby reaching for her on the other side of the video call. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she blew her beloved little girl a kiss. “Hello, Starry! Oh, there she is, my beautiful girl!”

Starla burbled a reply that was absent of tangible words, but the emotion was conveyed superbly through her gummy smile and chubby, flailing arms.

“Yeeees, that’s your mama,” Bess said, laughing at Starla’s enthusiasm as she dropped a loving kiss on top of her head. “She’s going on a trip with your papa. For their wedding anniversary – before you were ever born, cutie pie! But don’t worry. They’ll both be back in a week, okay?”

Starla paused to stare at the screen, then scrunched her legs up for a round of excited kickies. “Eeehee! Wa-ba!”

Ebenezer Scrooge glanced over from the driver’s seat of his McLaren, smiling softly at his beloved baby’s coos and clucks. Seeing his interest, Constance pivoted the phone in his direction, allowing him to see their child. The man smiled as he saw his beloved, redheaded daughter examining the phone screen as if she was peering through a portal to another world.

When she spotted her father, she squealed with laughter again. “A-ba!”

The man’s heart softened at the display, almost to the point where it ached. If he looked too long, he feared it may cave a hole in his chest until he ultimately resigned himself to turning the car around and driving en route back to London. He missed his sweet daughter already but was eternally thankful for his brother and sister-in-law’s generosity in watching her. He and Constance desperately needed a holiday away together, he knew. Not only to reconnect after Starla’s birth, but to reconnect as husband and wife again.

In the meantime, he knew his daughter would receive the utmost care under the watchful (and extremely detail-oriented) eyes of his twin brother and sister-in-law. It helped soothe the burn of being away and refocus his mind on reconnecting with his wife, which he more than wanted and needed. They’d both been operating at a deficit of affection for many a fortnight, and it had worn them to threads. In fact, he’d begun to crave her, and her, and her happiness, more than air in recent months.

Spurred by sentimentality, his hand lofted from the gear shift for a moment to take Constance’s free hand and kiss it, his lips pressing firmly against her knuckles. The metal of her wedding band was cold against his lips.

The woman bloomed under his affection, and she turned to grace him with an affectionate smile that he hadn’t seen grace her features in months.

Gods above, how he’d missed seeing her happy and hearing her laughter, he thought. Had it not been for the fact that the country roads were as windy and uneven as they were, he would have retained his grip on her hands a few precious seconds longer. Simply feeling the familiar way her hand molded to his – their palms flattened together and fingers entwined – made his breath stall in his lungs. Alas, as they neared another turn, he reluctantly relinquished her hand to shift down a gear to more appropriately take the next turn on the unpaved road.

“We’ll be back soon, my little love,” he told Starla, his voice a touch cloudy. “Bess, if anything happens—”

“I’ll call Magda first. If it’s a real emergency, then we’ll call both of you.”

“But—”

“But we’ll still take tons of pictures to share with you both once you return.”

Both parents begrudgingly acquiesced to that. While they trusted Bess and Wolf with their daughter’s life, they couldn’t help but worry a bit. It was in their nature as a pair of perfectly matched worrywarts.

Their little girl had come off a nasty bit of colic and a fever, so naturally, they wanted to make sure she stayed in sterling condition. Their fears were further assuaged by the fact that Bess was a seasoned labor and delivery nurse, but small flecks of worry persisted for the sole reason that she was their baby, and it would be impossible for them to not worry at all.

“Have fun!” Bess said, bouncing the giddy baby on her knee. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you two! And Con, flat shoes. Do not break an ankle out there.”

The call ended after one more round of thank-yous and goodbyes to their daughter and Bess. Once the screen went dark, Constance leaned back in her seat with a deep breath and put her phone to her heart. “Oh, I miss Starry already.”

“It’s our first time away since her being born,” he agreed softly. The epiphany occurred to him as the words left his lips.

“It feels so strange for her to not be in the backseat, giggling away.”

On cue, he glanced in the rearview mirror, only to see that Starry and her car seat were both absent.

“I know …” Ebenezer said, his hands turning the steering wheel so the car made a slight right into another road, “But she’s in amazing hands, my dearest. Bess and my brother would do anything for her. That includes spoiling her.”

Constance laughed. “I don’t mind that.”

She sighed in resignation, slipping her phone back into the side pocket of her Telfar shoulder bag. “Speaking of Wolf and Bess, I have a calendar reminder set to send a very large bouquet, dark chocolates, and some Gurkha cigars to their flat for their trouble once we return.”

Ebenezer gave her a sideways smirk. “One step ahead, as always.”

“Well, don’t say that just yet,” she muttered, “That’s the last, and only reminder, I set. Everything else can wait until we are back. I am agenda-less from here on out.”

One of his bushy brows quirked upward. “Truly?”

“Well, our official calendars are clear,” she reminded him slyly, “As you well know, sir. I manage your calendar.”

“A task you are all too talented at,” he quipped. Sometimes, he swore his wife had the ability to bend space and time with how she could arrange meetings, deadlines and video calls in such a way that they slotted together like natural puzzle pieces. She could cram thirteen hours of work in an eight-hour day; a feat which wasn’t always a virtue.

“We are appointment-free and out of office for the entire week,” she continued. “I made sure to set up the automatic email replies and changed our phones’ answering machines on our last day clocking out.”

“Very good,” he said. “Though it’ll be a struggle, I’m sure, to not check your laptop. I know how you feel about emails and seeing that number in your inbox tick up.” He hated it too, so he had no room to talk.

“I left it behind.”

He paused before turning to her, eyes blown slightly wide in stupefaction. “You … I beg your pardon?”

“I left my laptop back at the flat,” she repeated, slowly glancing over to check his reaction. His reaction seemed to spur some hesitancy. “I figured … that would be best. I want to focus on us, not work of any kind.”

It was a confession that, without context, might have seemed mundane or a futile attempt to fish for shallow admiration. Yet, in that moment, Ebenezer felt a surge of admiration shoot through him.

Last month, the two had gotten into a heated disagreement – the climax of many weeks of Constance overworking herself to exhaustion and leaving Ebenezer single-handedly to care for Starla – and he’d yelled at her and tried to throw the damn laptop away. For weeks after the stressful birth of their daughter, the device had served as her excuse to hunker down in her dark office and prattle away on her keyboard into the wee hours of the night, often missing meals and quality time with family. The tedium had lured her into a sinkhole with no bottom, pulling her deeper down by the day. She’d avoided coming home on time many nights and often left before sunrise the following day. It had seemed as if she couldn’t stand to be near him … as if she was ashamed to be with him.

After a while, he’d started to mirror her actions.

Bess had later determined the root cause of the behavior to be a severe case of “baby blues” and intrusive thoughts combined with Constance’s borderline compulsive desire to be perfect and independent.

Looking back, it had seemed so obvious she needed therapy and help.

Yet, in the moment, he’d been frustrated, terrified, and felt … neglected. Like she was falling out of love with him and giving up on their daughter. There was also the fact that Starla’s birth had almost killed Constance as well, and the dread he’d felt that day watching her face go white in his arms had gnawed at his nerves to the point of fraying. Sometimes, when he slept, the ghoulish vision haunted the corners of his nightmares.

He’d felt so powerless to help her, and he’d detested the feeling. The thoughts had spurred him to mania. One fateful day, he’d tried to throw the device in the trash, and they’d scuffled. In a cloud of panic, she’d shoved him hard into the bookshelf, burying him in a small pile of books and knickknacks as a result (thankfully, the quartz paperweight had missed his head).

When he’d opened his eyes, she was gone ��� have sprinted out into the rainy streets without her keys or cell phone.

Never before had he felt such fear. For a horrifying moment, he entertained the notion that her shrieked sentiment of “leave me alone!” would be the last words he’d ever hear from her.

The incident ended with them reuniting at his brother’s flat. He’d been worried so sick for her safety and had apologized over and over for scaring her. She’d done the same, begging his forgiveness and apologizing for starting the miscommunication. She’d said she had wronged him and their daughter too many times over. She’d sworn, with a firm hand over his heart, that she would do better.

And, weeks after that fateful day, she had kept her promise.

In addition to seeing a marriage counselor together, she had begun therapy (a long overdue need for after her marriage to her abusive ex-spouse, Orin) and was taking longer breaks from work. She maintained a strict cut-off point for all after-hours emails and inquiries, and maintained a strict 9-to-5 schedule, plus multiple breaks.

After a nearly four-week period of watching his beloved wife spiral into the same workaholic tendencies that had almost completely ruined his life beyond salvation, Constance was coming back into herself.

She’d started smiling again. Laughing again. Making lunches for their friend group again. She was always home in time for dinner, and had also started cooking dinner again some nights, making it a responsibility the couple loved to share. The woman was even taking days off in the middle of the week to be with her daughter, even if it met dealing with an irritated client days later.

Now, they were taking an extended holiday together to a remote cabin, and she had left the laptop back at the flat.

She’d left work, literally and figuratively, behind.

“That is … wonderful,” he said. It took him a bumbling second to find the words, though they did little to convey the extent of the joy he felt. Mirth sprang forth in the form of a disbelieving chuckle. “I-I … am proud of you, my dear. That’s a triumph.”

Feeling the genuine love behind his words, Constance allowed herself the indulgence of savoring his praise. In a perfect world, they would have never squabbled so horribly, she supposed. Yet, for all the ugliness that it had brought to the surface, it had also brought them closer in some ways.

Those other ways, there was still much work to do. But … in every adult relationship, wasn’t there always, to some extent?

“Thank you,” she admitted softly, almost serenely.

“You are most welcome. The pleasure is all mine.”

His voice held warmth that she had missed. Even sitting comfortably, it made her weak to her core to hear him sound so pleased, so strong, and yet so fragile all in one breath.

She was tempted to lean over and kiss him, but with how rugged the roads were, it was best not to risk any distraction. Besides, the sun was already high in the sky, and they were due to arrive at their rented cabin in half an hour. With the way they’d planned their route, they would arrive just in time to get settled before enjoying supper. Constance had plans for that.

Once the car was parked and they were settled, then they could officially begin their vacation. She was over forty years old, she reasoned. She could be patient a little longer, despite her urges to get a little rambunctious to make up for lost time.

After all, the last thing they needed was more unsteady ground.

Of all the destinations the couple had stayed in during their first year of marriage, this one had to be the most stupendous, Constance thought.

The pictures she had viewed of the listing online did not do the quaint cottage justice. The cottage was crafted from logs of fragrant cedar in rustic red tones that matched the other conifers that sprouted proudly from the soil in the forest nearby. The cabin stood one and a half stories tall, and bore its weight triumphantly on a flat expanse of land at the crossroads of a dirt paths. On one side of the abode was a field of billowing, golden wheat that seemed to stretch to the tree line miles away. On the other side of the house was the showstopper – a fenced, sprawling field of blooming sunflowers, all turned toward the blazing summer sun in worship.

There was a place to park the car next to what appeared to be the mostly bygone remains of a horse’s hitching post. Once Ebenezer shimmied the vehicle in the alcove and turned off the engine, he stepped out and rounded to the other side to open the passenger door for his wife. He offered her a hand, and she gratefully accepted it.

As she stepped out and up, she beamed at the sight. “Heavens, this is even more lovely than I thought.”

She inhaled deeply, struck by how honey-sweet the air was in her lungs.

“It’s quite beautiful out here,” Ebenezer said, equally fascinated as he took a moment to appreciate the surroundings, before then looking back to admire his wife. Somehow, in the countryside air and sunshine, she seemed to glow even more than she did in the city.

“Look – the sunflower field is enormous,” she said, drifting closer to the edge of the fence for a better look. “It’s like a cornfield with how dense it is! I didn’t know sunflowers could bloom like this in England.”

“I must confess, I’m shocked as well. One or two sunflowers is one thing, but this is … quite extraordinary.”

“Well, the countryside gets the point of incredible views this time around! Not that I don’t love the city – it’s my home, but I think the sunflowers will be kinder to wake up to than London traffic.”

“Ha! Some die-hard Londoners would still fight you on that.”

One word of her sentiment snared his attention: countryside. Not another person, or building, for miles. If he squinted down the road, he could see the start of a tiny, historic town on the horizon, the little brick buildings looking like flecks of pepper against the hills. Well, at least there was some civilization within eyesight. For two city folks like them, that was reassuring. The two were looking to get away from the world for a moment, not go completely off the grid. Neither of them were equipped for that, or had the desire to be survivalists.

Just to be safe, he checked his phone. Perfect reception and Wi-Fi. That was good.

As he set about unloading the luggage, Constance approached the front door to get them inside.

“Let’s see, the check-in instructions from the owner said to look for a ‘key in a snail,’” she recited out oud. “No code or box. Hmm.”

She swayed her head across the expanse of the spacious front porch, looking for anything that fit the description. Sure enough, perched in the corner of one of the front window’s large outer sills was a golden, ornamental snail sculpture that was about the size of a baseball. Gingerly, she reached out and curiously pulled up on the shell. It lifted with minimal force, and inside, a house key glittered against a felt inlay.

Not the best security system, she thought as she took the key and slipped it in the lock.

“There we go.”

There was only one key, it seemed. For safekeeping, she immediately pulled out her own personal keyring and looped it onto the bundle. It seemed the two would need to stay together for most of their holiday. She was quite alright with that.

Just as she finished the task, she noticed a familiar shadow and heard recognizable footsteps behind her. She turned to see her husband – her beloved Adonis, hoisting their bags onto the porch.

She lingered back a few paces to give him room to drop the bags and open the door for her, as he always was keen to do. As he did so, she bid him a ‘thank you’ before motioning to step inside.

“Hold one moment, darling.”

Just as she paused, she felt his strong arms loop across her shoulders and under her knees. He all but swept her off her feet, grinning all the way up as she let out a gasp of delighted surprise.

He carried her over the threshold of the cabin with two, long-legged strides. All the while, she clung to him and beamed a smile that could ravel the rays of the sun itself. Her feet kicked slightly, one of her nude heels practically falling away.

Once they were safely on the other side of the front door, effectively christening the temporary abode for their stay, he deposited her carefully back on Earth. The man didn’t relinquish his grip until her feet were firmly planted on the floor, and even then, their lips remained locked for an extra half-minute as she praised his strength with a deep kiss.

When they finally broke apart, their attention turned to the entryway table, which was adorned with a handwritten card from the cabin’s owner, a box of frilly cakes, and the largest bouquet of pure white lilies Constance had ever seen.

“Ah, good,” Ebenezer remarked, “The flowers arrived. And they look perfect.”

“Did you plan this?”

“I cannot take credit for the card and cakes, I’m afraid. The flowers, however, are my doing. I know you love lilies, but we can’t have them in the flat.”

Lillies were one of Constance’s favorite blooms, and their beauty to her was only heightened by the fact that they were incredibly poisonous, from petal to pollen, for cats. Two feline companions called their flat home. Sunshine, a beloved feline that Constance, Bess, and their companions Gal and Addie ‘shared custody’ of; and Patience, their most recently adopted feline companion (and Prudence’s most beloved little sister).

A lifelong lover of cats, Constance would have been beside herself with grief to put the precious creatures in any sort of peril, let alone for a selfish reason.

With no felines in the cabin, they were free to enjoy the lilies for the entire week. He’d taken advantage of the scenario and ordered a triple-digit bundle that was hearty enough to survive their entire stay. When she was preoccupied with a phone call one morning, he’d even called ahead and specifically asked the owner of the cabin to pick them up and place them inside. Lo and behold, she’d gone far above and beyond his request and added her own gifts to the assortment.

“Oh, Ebenezer! You shouldn’t have!”

“Nonsense. You deserve the best, let alone fresh flowers you adore.”

Constance swayed forward to admire the bouquet, inhaling the sweet smell of the flower that often leant it glorious aroma to all her favorite perfumes, before reaching for the card.

Ebenezer and Constance,

A first wedding anniversary is a wonderful time – enjoy it smartly, along with the frilly cakes! The flavors are lemon curd, maple, and vanilla bean. The lemon is my favorite. The bakery in town is incredible, just make sure to get there early.

Have fun!

-Olivia S.

“She is wonderful,” Constance said, passing the note to Ebenezer for him to read as well. The couple would be sure to send her many referrals down the line.

Peering past the entryway, the cabin opened into a warmly lit foyer. The logs making up the indoor walls were cut to perfection and appeared freshly oiled. The sheen only made the red color, as sanguine as freshly turned autumn leaves, pop even more against the herringbone floors. The furniture itself was rustic in design, with an emphasis on large silhouettes and ample cushioning. The pillows and tufted blankets blazed with a myriad of rich patterns and jewel tones, all featuring unique smocking patterns that gave each piece its own equivalent of a human face. It kitchen, located right across from the front door, featured modern appliances spliced in with old-world accents made from polished sheet rock.

The coziness continued into the bedroom, which featured large windows, lace and velvet drapes, and a very large oak-framed bed with linen sheets. They’d most certainly make use of that.

In the meantime, they dropped their suitcases there and continued on for the moment.

One piece that attracted their attention immediately was a lacquered cabinet in the corner, located just on the other side of the living room’s main media console. The crown jewel of the cabinet was an antique Victrola phonograph that sat proudly at the top, its parts made of shining brass without so much as a speck of oxidized green. The morning glory horn at the top was painted a shade of deep, wine-drunk purple that shifted slightly into a petal pink toward the tips. The top and sides boasted a distinct, tiger maple veneer that was distinctly antique the carried the aroma of linseed oil.

While Constance busied herself putting away the sparse number of groceries she had brought in a cooler bag from home, Ebenezer curiously sauntered over to the device to inspect it. A simple flick of the fingers was all it took to open the cabinet and reveal a modest collection of records inside. He discreetly thumbed through the collection and was relieved to find that Olivia appeared to fancy classical music as much as they did, for it made up a solid majority of the collection. Perfect. Swiftly, he made his musical selection and slipped the record from its sleeve and onto the original, pine-green velvet pad.

Just as Constance finished sorting the produce and poultry in the fridge, the opening strings of “String Quartet in F Major, Op. 3 No. 5: II. Andante cantabile” by Hoffstetter met her ears. The notes danced through the air like aloft dandelion seeds, the melody spritely and energetic before taking a slower, romantic swing. Recognizing the melody, Constance was lured from her task and into the living room, her eyes brimming with both glee and curiosity.

There, Ebenezer poised himself proudly before dropping into a gentlemanly bow. He extended a hand in a silent request for a dance. In his loose linen shirt and crisp trousers, silver hair slightly tousled and lips drawn into a hopeful semi-smirk, he looked the part of a dashing man laying his heart bare for his lover.

Constance was quick to oblige, drifting into his arms like a swan taking its first strikes onto a crisp lake.

One larger hand fit perfectly into the hourglass-shaped notch in her waist, and they began a delicate waltz.

Even in an unfamiliar space, neither of them missed a single step, all while their eyes never strayed from the other’s.

Their trance lasted until the mechanical parts ground to a halt as the record ended.

 “You brought groceries?”

“Just a few! I didn’t know what would be available in town and how readily, so I brought just a few items. Besides, I have a special plan for dinner.”

“Really? Well, color me fascinated.”

That special plan was making her husband a dish that she’d had the recipe memorized since she was a teenager. The recipe essentially mirrored what many others called chicken with browned butter and fresh sage, but Constance had been introduced to the dish by her mother Theresea, who had shown her how to prepare the dish one day in their New York apartment.

Her mother had told her over a hot stovetop, “Darling, this is the meal I made for your father on the date right before he proposed to me. Make this dish for the man you want to be your future husband, and he’ll be putty in your hands! I’ve shared it with three associates, and they all experienced the same thing. Use your power wisely, dear. The path to any man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Is it really that tasty, mama?”

“The taste is quite important, dear, but that’s not all. It’s a dish that proves that you have skills in the kitchen. That you’re an adult who can cook, not simply assemble ingredients. You can make something both hearty and savory, and without a ton of fancy ingredients. It’s a dish that shows you aren’t just a maiden looking to impress a beau … it shows you’re a woman worth pursuing as a wife.”

Constance had never had the opportunity to make the dish for her first (and ex-) husband, Orin. She’d graduated from university in Maryland, come home, and he’d proposed to her after a celebratory round of drinks. Any romance of their union had been officially ruined after their honeymoon, and from then on out, he always requested a specific menu for dinner. She was never permitted to choose. After a while, the desire to cook at all had extinguished itself, and food was replaced with warm whiskey and other substances to kill the pain.

With Ebenezer, however, she’d taken a chance and prepared the dish for him one night after they’d been living together for a few months. It wasn’t the first time she’d made dinner, but it was the first time she had prepared that dish specifically. She paired the dish with bakery sourdough, a kale and sunflower seed salad, and a 2011 Cabernet.

She had been paranoid at the time that her cooking skills were rusty, but that night, the very slender gentleman had cleaned his plate, crust of bread and all.

“I think that may be the best meal I’ve eaten in my entire life,” he’d told her. “Absolutely sensational, Dear. You outdid yourself.”

“Really?”

“Truly. I would eat more if I could, but I’m positively stuffed.”

Sure enough, just a few weeks later, that ring was on her finger, and they were planning their wedding together.

Was the recipe a family secret turned into a real love spell? Likely not, but she certainly couldn’t argue with the results.

“Would you like some help?” he asked, rolling up the cuffs of his linen shirt.

Constance made sure to get an eyeful of his sculpted forearms before moving her eyes north to his visage. “Well, I was going to say that you should get comfortable and enjoy some brandy after the long drive, but … if you really don’t mind, I’d love that.”

“Really?”

“I always enjoy cooking with you.”

That decided it, as far as he was concerned. He all but skipped into the kitchen, eager for nothing more than to spend time with her.

They worked side-by-side in the kitchen for the next half hour, preparing the poultry and browning the butter in tandem. All the while, Ebenezer asked questions about the recipe, inquiring about amounts and the specific brands of some ingredients (like the butter).

As they worked, they sipped a freshly uncorked Malbec, a shared favorite of theirs.

“So, your mother taught you this recipe, did she?” Ebenezer asked while chopping the fresh garlic. Julienne first, then brunoise.

“Yes. When I was just a teenager. I learned it quickly, as it’s pretty simple. Sometimes the best recipes are.”

“You should still write it down,” he suggested with a smile, giving her a longing gaze. “Pass it down to the next generation. Starla might make it one day as one of her favorite recipes.”

“Mmhmm. Perhaps one day, if she’d like.” Thankfully, they still had quite a bit of time before then.

The cryptic response earned a slight brow waggle of amusement but was quickly forgotten as she directed him to add the garlic to the butter pan.

He scanned the other ingredients scattered on the counter and noted a bottle of cheap, brown-bottle sherry. They used it often in recipes back home, so she’d brought an extra for their trip. “Shall we add a splash?”

“Mm … there’s no other alcohol in the dish, so it shouldn’t conflict with anything. Let’s try it.”

Another ten minutes later, and the meals were plated. They moved from the kitchen to the cabin’s quaint dining room table to eat. It was a small, circular table, which forced them closer than usual. Neither complained in the slightest.

“Heavens, I should have brought tapered candles,” he teased, “That’s all we’re missing for a classic romantic table setting.”

Constance gave him a good-natured chuckle as she refilled his glass of wine. “Let’s not get too crazy on our first night of vacation.”

They shared a laugh, clinked their glasses, and began to eat.

Immediately after the first bite, her eyes lit up. “Wow. Ebenezer, that splash of sherry was a wonderful idea!”

He gave her leg a playfully jostle with his foot. “Told you so.”

 As the tranquil night’s sapphire shadow stretched across London and the speckling of cities surrounding it, Bess found herself stirring.

As she rose from her bed, she furrowed her brow in confusion. Normally, she was awoken by noise, a dream or – something. At least her phone alarm. In this case, the woman had to take a beat to let reality coalesce around her before she realized what had awakened her.

She moved her hand to the other side of the bed, seeking the familiar warmth of her fiancé, who always rested right beside her, and usually had at least one arm around her. As she suspected, his spot was vacant. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, it only took one survey of their bedroom before her eyes landed upon the familiar outline of her soon-to-be husband.

Ebenezar “Wolf” Scrooge was crouched over the bassinet in their room, grinning from ear to ear as he chattered nonsense at Starla. Even from the bed, she could hear her little giggles and coos in response to his playful chatter.

Bess sat up fully, bringing her knees up slowly before crossing her arms. “I didn't hear her cry.”

“She didn't,” Wolf whispered, “I got up to use the loo and just peeked in at her when I came back and she was awake, cooing and smiling up at me. I think the toilet flush might have roused her; we might want to consider using the guest bathroom through the nights she's here.”

“Good idea.”

For the next few moments, Bess was a captive audience as she observed Wolf gently poke at Starry's tummy. The act earned even more of those adorable giggles.

Then, just when she thought she couldn’t smile wider, one of the babe’s chubby hands lofted to grab his nose and squeeze it. Bess laughed, then quickly smothered the sound with the back of her hand.

Letting out a light squeak in surprise, he then chuckled. “My! S-Strong grip already, haha.”

Starry roared with laughter at his reaction, bicycling her onesie-covered feet in the air.

“Oh, now she's very much awake. My, oh, my … well, what should we do about that? We can’t have you awake for too long – you’ll be cranky later. Here, up you go.”

He gingerly reached into the bassinet and picked her up. Scrunching her legs, she immediately calmed down as Ebenezar allowed her to rest upon the warm expanse of his chest. By the time her coos quieted, his arms had already wound around her protectively.

“Well, how about we take a few laps around the flat?” he asked her in an amusingly conversationalist tone. “That always calms my mind. Does that sound alright, little one?"

“…Weh. A-ba!”

“Hah. Very good. Clever girl.”

As he cradled her, he hummed a soft melody, the tones reverberating from deep in his chest. The act almost immediately made the little redhead’s eyes heavy, but she stayed awake, occasionally squirming against her comfy confinement.

Moving slowly, he walked her down to the flat’s main living area. “Now, my dear, for an exclusive tour of the chateau. To your left, you will see the electric fireplace – we’d love to use it with you, but you need to be in a playpen for that. You’re just a little too curious with those hands of yours.”

Exemplifying his point, Starla reached up and tried to grab his nose again. Veering his head away in the nick of time, he smirked and wagged a finger at her. “Now, now. Fool me once, and only once, little one.”

She giggled again, as if she understood she’d been caught red-handed and reveled in the mischief of it.

The next stop was the veranda for some fresh night air and to show her all her auntie's outdoor plants and garden boxes.

“Look at these pretty-pretties, Little Star,” he said, pointing at the vibrant clusters of petals amidst a sea of evergreen. “These are called ‘marigolds’. These ones are very special, because they bloomed the very day you were born. And Auntie Bess has kept them healthy and strong since then. Aren’t they lovely?”

“…Beh?”

“Haha, yes.”

He patted her back and brought her back inside before the chill proved to be too much for her. She squirmed slightly, burrowing herself against his chest, seeking warmth. The sensation nearly stole the breath from his lungs, and he fought the urge to grip her form even more protectively.

Bess traipsed behind them softly, deciding to grab a midnight snack while everyone was already awake. After all, with a baby in the flat, their already normal schedules would surely become vastly out of whack in the coming days. It would be prudent to adapt, and steal moments of sleep and substance whenever possible.

As she walked to the fridge and reached inside for a carton of blueberries, she watched them the whole while. With each observed interaction, her heart just turned to utter goo. She always knew her Wolf would make the most adorable father.

If only she could give him one of his own, she thought with a familiar ache of melancholy. She wished with her whole heart for it to be possible, but some things simply weren’t meant to be. That didn’t mean it didn’t well up tears in her eyes on those particularly hard days.

But she knew he'd be an amazing dad to any child that came into their life, however they decided to go about it.

In the meantime, they would have plenty of company and precious moments to fill their cups with in the interim.

As Wolf drifted into the kitchen, the couple shared a soft forehead bump.

“Did my garden meet her standards?” Bess asked, keeping her voice low.

“Nothing short of stellar.”

When they parted, they glanced down in tandem to see that Starla had finally fallen asleep. With the grace of the lupine creature he was nicknamed after, Ebenezar made his way up the stairs to deposit her back in the safety of their quiet bedroom. After closing the door (leaving it open a crack), he made his way back downstairs with a yawn.

Bess awaited him, having already prepared him a serving of blueberries. She also pulled some strawberries from the fridge, which he was never one to say no to.

“It’ll be dawn soon,” Bess said as she slid him a plate with a soft smile.

“I woke you up. I apologize.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said softly, reaching over to lay a hand on his arm, “Besides, seeing you like that with her … that was worth waking up for.”

Tenderness touched the corners of his eyes, relaxing the muscles of his face ever-so-slightly. His larger hand moved to cover hers, giving it a slight squeeze.

“It … does make me think, I confess,” he admitted.

“It makes me think, too,” she admitted softly.

A beat passed before Ebenezar seemed to sense the remorse in her voice and moved around the kitchen island to pull her into an embrace. His hands rubbed up and down her spine as her head found its favorite spot right over his thumping heart. As her hand laid over the plane of his robed chest, she could still feel the heat there from where Starla’s weight had rested mere minutes earlier.

“We’ll have a family someday,” he promised his fiancée. “I know it.”

She nodded, believing him, and believing it in herself too. He always inspired the best of her good faith, not just in others, but in herself.

“Yes,” she replied shakily. “Yes. We will.”

Somehow, some way.

With sunrise mere blinks away, Ebenezar offered to fill the kettle to start some tea. Since they were snacking, they might as well start their day, he reasoned. They both had the day off, which made the decision even easier.

As he prepared the tea, she moved their morsels to the living room area. Bess then drifted to the window shades to raise them in anticipation of the sunrise.

“You think those lovebirds are up yet?” Wolf asked as he set the kettle to boil. “Their internal clocks are sharp as tacks, and if Starry rouses as easily at home as she does here, I’m tempted to take bets on if they’ll sleep in at all.”

“I hope so,” Bess said, yawning into an open palm. “Connie especially. Those weeks when she was going into work early … she was setting alarms as early as three in the morning.”

“Gods above – whatever for?”

“Compulsion, guilt … many reasons. Anyway, they seem to be doing better since the incident, and according to Adonis, she’s started sleeping again.”

And cuddling, she thought secretly, remembering when Connie had called her in excited tears after her and Adonis had woken up entangled in each other’s arms for the first time in months.

“Thank goodness,” he said. “Especially as a new mother, she needs sleep. Connie is just as bad as you at putting other matters at hand before herself, after all.”

“I’ll let that comment slide since it’s still early, sir, and we both need caffeine.”

He chuckled from afar.

“Well, if anyone can get her into bed, I venture it’s safe to say that your brother can.”

Wolf made a noise of vague disgust as the electric kettle beeped, and he went about measuring the tea leaves for two mugs.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she teased, sitting up to look at him from the other side of a tufted armchair. “And even if I did, am I wrong?”

“Ugh.”

“Darling, they have a baby,” she laughed, “Certainly you know.”

“Know WHAT, exactly?” he challenged, his accent flaring up with the question. “That adorable little gummy-mouthed angel was delivered first-class by the stork. Or she sprouted up in a cabbage-patch. Or perhaps Constance has perfected the art of mitosis. Whatever way that little sun drop came into being, she certainly didn't come from MY brother. My brother is as endowed and capable of relations as a Ken doll. Clinging to that fact is the only way I can sleep at night, I’ll have you know.”

“That's a little dramatic, don't you think?”

“Be sent an accidental sext by one of YOUR family members and see what insanity YOU come up with to cope with the trauma, Elizabeth.”

Bess let out a musical laugh, and the sound was beautiful enough that any unpleasant imagery lingering in his mind was immediately sanctified by the heavenly ring of her voice. Unfortunately, she was quick to clap a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of mirth. He stiffened as well, realizing why she’d suddenly gone stone silent.

Glancing up the flat’s stairs, she paused as her midnight eyes rested on the overlook window that showed their bedroom, a nightlight for the little girl casting ghostly silhouettes against the glass.

His eyes followed hers, his body not moving an inch. He was frozen mid-step, a steaming mug in each hand, eyes wide and lips rolled between his teeth.

When no giggles or cries wafted from the open door, they both relaxed in tandem. Heaving matching sighs, he crossed the threshold of the room to deliver a mug of tea into her hands.

“Thank you,” she mouthed out.

“You’re very welcome.”

Bess scooted over in the spacious armchair, patting the space beside her. Rolling his eyes (the loveseat would be more practical) he was powerless to resist her. He slowly settled down beside her. The tight confines meant that she had to scoot into his lap for them to both be seated together.

Predictably so, neither disagreed.  

Perhaps it wasn’t the best place in the flat to sit side-by-side, but it was a damn fine place for a pair of engaged lovers to snuggle up.

It also happened to be the best place in the flat to watch the impending sunrise.

While one couple was slowly waking up from their restful slumber, another couple had avoided sleeping altogether.

As it turned out, the lovebirds had not gotten a wink of sleep that night.

With a straw-soft gasp, Constance ground her hips down, stuttering frantically on her descent. She moved briskly, chasing a final, blinding surge of pleasure as her and her husband’s hips swayed with piston-like precision toward their goal. She sat atop him, straddling his hips, hair thrown back over her shoulders while her hands sought the wide expanse of his chest for balance.

They’d gone to bed rather late after dinner, after spending many more hours dancing in the living room and sharing glasses of wine. By the time they finished their last dance, their lips had come together in a series of increasingly frantic kisses. He all but walked her backwards into the bedroom, unzipping her dress and kicking off his slippers with ease.

He’d then lifted her up, thrown her on the massive oak-frame bed, and made passionate love to her there for hours. The foreplay alone stretched into the night, with them worshipping each other’s bodies with grasping hands and cradling thighs. Lips explored, tasted and savored velvety areas that the other would never dream of letting another human being see, let alone touch.

When their bodies did finally come together, hips bucking in tandem and throats raw from screaming each other’s names, the beginning rays of dawn had begun to peek over the horizon.

With one last sob of pleasure, Constance sank down hard and threw her head back, her body spasming around the contour of him. Drawn and sweat-slicked, she rode the waves of release with frantic gasps, all while her husband’s massive hands clamped onto her hips and helped amplify the force of her sways.

“That’s right, give it all to me,” he coaxed, his voice hoarse but firm. “All of it. All of it, darling.”

With one last exclamation of his name in the otherwise soundless bedroom, she let out a whimper of relief.

Slowly, her arms began to bow from strain. Ebenezer released her hips and went to hold her elbows, his strong hands fitting around the joints easily. Taking all the strain off her exhausted body, he supported her on a slow descent.

“There you go. Slowly. I have you…”

He rolled to his side and guided her onto the mattress, where he took the initiative of shimmying his hips away from hers. With a nod of permission, he pulled out as gingerly as possible, as they were both quite over-sensitive.

While Constance laid on the bed and caught her breath, he discreetly removed the condom, tied it off, and tucked it into the wastebasket that they’d pulled near the bed hours before. It wasn’t the first condom they’d used that night-turned-morning.

When he turned back to her, the visual of her nude body reclined against the bed – her ample bosom heaving and red hair draped over the pillow in tousled ringlets – captivated him to stillness. One of her hands had lofted to her chest, laying over her heart, as if she was trying to caress it into calmness.

He gazed upon her like she was a painting to be admired. The spell was only broken when her cornflower blue eyes opened to meet his. Still breathless, she smiled and reached out to him. To touch him. To hold him.

He was quick to twine their fingers, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss there.

Gods, when was the last time they’d made such passionate love, he wondered. It had to have been before Starla was born. And for hours – literally until dawn? That, he knew, they’d never done before.

He was sure his muscles would be screaming at him in the coming days (and rallying himself would take a moment – he wasn’t a teenager anymore), but sod it all, it was beyond worth it.

He kissed up the length of her arm, relishing in the laughter he earned as his other arm swept her close, gathering her just so her back was pressed to his furred chest. She was putty in his embrace and moaned in soft delight as his arms crossed around her with possessive adoration. Even after being joined for hours, he still wanted to cradle her close, sweat and musk be damned.

When his lips finally reached the destination of her cheek, he spent an extra moment lingering there.

He laughed, and with his lips still pressed to her skin, the feeling sending a tingle through her. The effect lured a smile to her lips, and she languidly stretched her arms out in front of her as he continued to dot kisses along the back of her sun-kissed shoulder blades.

“Gods above, you are fantastic,” he whispered with the reverence of a man reciting a mantra by heart.

With one last squeeze, he released her so they could lay side by side more comfortably. Most importantly, they could also gaze in each other’s eyes, which was a post-coital ritual he insisted upon. In his mind, to drift into the haze of slumber without glimpsing the eyes of the woman who had brought him to ruin was borderline heretical.

However, once he opened his arms, he was alarmed to see her rise from the blankets. For a panicked moment, he was thrown back into the memories of the days when she would shun his touch and rise from bed immediately to leave him, turning his back on him to succumb to the tedium of work.

Without realizing it, his hand had nearly shot out to snatch her back.

Yet, this time, she did not leave the bed.

In her naked glory, she instead rose and turned to the massive window that backed the impressive bed. She drew the curtains, and he squinted against the light.

She then undid the latches, snapping them open with ease, and hoisted the pane high over them. Fresh air swelled into the bedroom like a crescendo of music. After all, their activities had made the bedroom quite stuffy, and while the lingering perfume of sex was intoxicating, it was far from refreshing.

The second the glass lifted, a wave of sunflower-scented air rolled in. The crispness immediately brightened his senses.

“There we go,” she said before slowly drifting back down to him.

That was when she noticed his hand, still partially extended to her.

Noting his reach, sadness touched her eyes for a moment before she took his larger hand between hers. Breath fluttered in his lungs as she closed her fingers around hers, she pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The declaration was punctuated with a resolute stare, her perfectly plucked brows slanting inward as she studied his face … studying to see if he believed her.

He answered her inquiry by luring her back onto her back, where he covered her smaller frame with his wider one.

Before he could stop himself, he spoke the words, “Kiss me again, please.”

He felt foolish for a moment, asking for a kiss of all things after their prolonged coupling. Yet, Constance answered without a smidge of hesitation. Her hand snaked upward, fingertips skimming the shape of his jaw and feathering through his sideburns. Cupping the back of his head, she tangled her fingers in his silver locks and nudged him down. He descended upon her as she rose to meet up, their mouths meeting again. Chastely. Sweetly.

Lovingly.

 After a shared shower, Ebenezer donned a new linen shirt and pair of trousers in the thinnest material he had. It was to be a slightly warmer day than before, and unlike the day prior, he had a small itinerary for the morning.

“My dear, I’m going into town to fetch breakfast from that little bakery Olivia mentioned,” he said from his station in from of their bedroom’s large vanity. “It should be about a thirty-minute walk. I could drive, but it’s not that far.”

While he spoke, he snapped his antique, silver Piaget on his wrist. He slid the watch face into a proper position, he checked his freshly dried hair in the mirror before angling his eyes toward the reflection of the open ensuite bathroom door behind him.

Moments later, Constance padded out, donned in a terrycloth robe and her hair freshly curled and make-up applied to perfection. Her eyes and lips were more naturally adorned than usual, allowing him to appreciate the natural shape and color of her features.

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” she enthused.

“You’re more than welcome to join me.”

“I might … um, how are your legs?”

He laughed. “Sore, but not terrible. A stretch and some exercise will do them good. How about you? You were the one doing the more, erm, physical work last night.”

It was true. Her legs felt a little wobbly, and she was definitely tender in other areas, but not to the point of no return.

“Would you mind waiting for me?” she inquired. “I promise I’ll dress quickly – Olivia said to arrive early, after all.”

“Well, of course! I’d love your company. We can drive if—”

“No, no, a walk sounds lovely!” she said.

“…You’re sure?” he asked.

There was layered reasoning to his question that extended far beyond their intimacy the night prior. Thanks to her ex-husband, Constance had a previously snapped femur in each leg that each had required many years of potent (and highly addictive) pain medicine to manage, on top of other substances she’d already been using at the time. It wasn’t until recently that her legs had healed to the point where she no longer required daily pills or physical therapy.

Nonetheless, her legs were weaker, tired easily … and she was also an incredible klutz. It was as adorable as it was concerning, and as much as he enjoyed catching her, he still worried for her.

He was a man in love, and as such, he worried and toiled over her, especially considering their recent incident.

“Darling, the figures can wait.”

“No, they can’t. The client turned them earlier today. It’s the last of the month – if they don’t go in this report before the end of business hours today, they’ll be added to next month’s expenditures. It’ll throw everything off!”

He’d always worry about her. Her determination to survive was also a compulsion to action. When the jaws of a bear trap snapped shut, Constance would tear herself free, no matter the pain and blood. That was the problem.

“We can afford to eat more than a fair share of checks. Please. We can figure it out and re-balance tomorrow.”

“I’m so close, Ebenezer. I can do it.”

“I know you can, Constance. That’s not the issue. It’s just—”

“I promise I’ll be only a moment,” she said. “Wait for me?”

“I just need to input a few more lines, Ebenezer. Please, go on without me. I’ll be just along in just a minute.”

No sooner had the man agreed and sat down in the living room armchair that she reappeared again, fully dressed in a silky maroon midi-dress, synched at the waist. A pair of espresso-colored wedge sandals (not stilettos, bless her) completed the ensemble. She wore her hair in a simple chignon, her second favorite way to wear her hair.

He checked the time with his watch, brows arcing into twin horseshoes. “That was fast.”

She had certainly kept her promise, he noted with great pleasure.

After a quick detour to the kitchen island to grab her shoulder bag, the two set off.

(Part 2 coming soon - thank you for reading!)

"No fog, no mist. Clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold—cold, piping for the blood to dance to—golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells—oh glorious, glorious!" ~ A Christmas Carol

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Isobel, Before

On something of a whim I decided to compile, in chronological order, the flashback segments from Isobel's POV that are woven throughout Moon-chosen, Moon-guided. I was curious how they'd read, and it turns out I quite like how they do - so here they are posted as a standalone little prequelish thing, a series of windows into a developing relationship and some family drama. This includes the segment I wrote for the upcoming third chapter, so consider it a sneak peek of an update that will take me a little while longer because it decided to develop a plot or some such nonsense, you know how it is. The years are my own very rough guesses, trying to somehow work around the Spellplague while keeping it all approximately a century before the main plot of the game, so don't take them too seriously.

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm, Ketheric Thorm Length: ~8000 words Rating: M, for canon-typical violence (including temporary character death) and sexual content

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1381 DR

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It is an unusually warm and bright summer day for Reithwin, the relentless sun urging you to rush your errands around town and make your way home to the merciful shade. And it is upon your return there that you find the glorious Dame Aylin laying waste to an army of training dummies in the otherwise empty practice field beneath Moonrise Towers. 

You steal a moment to watch and appreciate the spectacle that is her entire being in perfectly orchestrated motion, uncharacteristically free of her ever-polished armour, sleeves rolled up - a vision of ferocity, even if it is against such laughably unworthy foes.

It calls to your mind, amusingly, the poor announcer in your father's audience chamber a little over a month ago, so very unusually formal and far too visibly nervous, struggling to rattle off one too many titles.

The Valiant Dame Aylin Silverblood, Undefeated Sword of the Moonmaiden, Paladin and Daughter of Selûne. Arriving as formal Emissary of Our Lady of Silver, speaking in Her name.

She turns when she hears you clearing your throat to announce your presence, an indulgent while after your arrival. Ever so slightly out of breath, with a subtle sheen of sweat on her radiant brow, she inclines her head with respect. "Ah! Lady Isobel. I was just thinking of sending to fetch you. A request, if you please."

"Of course, Dame Aylin." Anything for the resplendent emissary, you want to add, only half-teasingly. It is frustratingly difficult not to act a smitten fool around her, and sarcasm has proved a feeble defence from her charms.

Her request, however, is nowhere near anything you might have anticipated.

"I would have you meet me in the sparring ring, if you are willing."

You blink. "I-- pardon?"

"You are no mere lord's daughter, nor are you simply the demure local healer. I can tell by your bearing you have training. Not the typical mace of the clergy, no," she hums, as if in thought, looking you up and down quite brazenly, appraisingly. "The rapier, perhaps, along with a dagger for the offhand? No, rather, the quarterstaff--"

"The spear," you cut her off. And the lofty, approving tilt of her chin is so fetching as to be insufferable. "I can protect myself, you're right. My father is an accomplished general, after all," and stiflingly overprotective to boot, but that part you bite back and keep to yourself. "It is only fitting. Besides, any devotee of Our Lady knows how important it is to be able to fend for oneself."

"Show me, then, general's daughter," she gestures to the packed-dirt training ring with a grin. "I grow quite bored of this straw-filled wicker regiment I have been pitted against."

She's got a good head and a half of height on you. Her reach outclasses yours quite overwhelmingly. She is visibly broad and strong and unshakeable as a mighty fortress. And though you do indeed have training, the martial arts were hardly your main focus - very much unlike her.

A challenge, truly, but one you cannot help but suddenly crave.

"Fine, then, I accept." A giddiness washes over you as you speak, and your head feels oddly light. The heat and humidity of the day, surely. Treading dangerous ground, Isobel.

Aylin immediately goes over to the training weapon racks to put away the blunt sword she has been using, and you follow her.

"I have trained in arms of all sorts, but I find I most favour the greatsword," she muses as she rummages, retrieving two wooden staves with padded ends, testing their weight. "The spear I must confess I have neglected somewhat, in recent times."

You smirk as she hands you a staff that has evidently passed inspection. "There is no need for excuses, Dame Aylin. When I trounce you, I assure you it will have been fair and square and well deserved."

You expect the hearty bellow of her laugh, some lively banter in return, an exclamation, Ho! Instead, she inclines her head in a respectful gesture, and does so with a surprisingly soft smile and oddly inscrutable gaze in your direction. "I would expect no less of you, my lady." 

You look away hastily, wipe the sweat from your hands and put on the leather gloves from your belt. The day has been far too hot for them and the afternoon sun is still beating down fiercely, but you are not about to embarrass yourself and risk losing on the technicality of a splinter. 

Then, you face each other.

Her stance and the way she holds the wooden training weapon speak of years, decades… centuries of experience, perhaps. It is hard to truly imagine, and you find you do not really know. Immortal, yes, but… well, since when? Does she have a universe of deeds and escapades on you, a hundred lives lived to the fullest, or merely the knowledge that they lie ahead of her?

When could it possibly be polite to ask such a thing?

You shake away the distraction of your thoughts, just in time to block a quick, testing blow aimed at your own weapon. A tease, really, hoping for a reaction you know well enough not to provide.

She continues with the probing attacks, none of them with any real force behind them, and you think how under normal circumstances it might be a good strategy to let your opponent waste her strength and tire herself out like this - but you know better. You have discreetly observed enough of her training sessions to know that if she is anything at all she is tireless.

But she is leaving it up to you to attempt anything other than these light provocations. So you do - you would hate to disappoint, after all.

You strike out high at her head, once, twice, then at her front leg, swift as a viper, and when she moves her weapon down to parry, you jab at her shoulder and step back in time to avoid the afterblow. 

"Oh-ho! An excellent feint, perfectly executed!" The joy that lights her face even as she rolls the struck shoulder is so infectious, you can't help but laugh breathlessly, warmed by this small triumph. "I was indeed correct in my assumption - the most noble Lady Isobel is not to be underestimated. Her skills and merit extend far beyond even the lofty requirements of her duties - be they of the court or of the faith."

The next strike you attempt, flushed with both the heat of the day and the effusive praise, is met with far more resistance, and soon you are exchanging blows with vigour. She repays your shoulder blow with a tap to your hip, then tries to strike the staff from your hands in a disarm you just barely avoid with a well-timed tilt.

Your next attempt at a feint is parried at the very last moment, but you do not retreat, and so you end in a bind. She is much stronger than you, yes, but your angle is superior, and you can see her straining to stay in position, close to that ever-important centreline, and keep her balance. A bead of sweat trails down her neck to her collarbone, and it takes you a moment to realise you are following it, rapt. It takes you another moment to register she is staring at you just as raptly, even as you feel your hair sticking to your temples and realise the paint around your eyes is likely a smudged mess.

Distraction. An opening if you've ever seen one.

"Do you know, when I heard an emissary of Selûne was coming to our town, I did not expect her to have a bard's silver tongue on her." Instead of moving to disengage and putting distance between you, you draw even closer to her, until your mouth is almost at her ear. "In more ways than one, perhaps?"

Her eyes are wide and her cheeks are flushed silver, shining. It is the oddest and most captivating blush you have ever seen, made only more so by the closeness of your study.

And of course, the moment of distraction proves sufficient for that slight shift you needed. The great oak topples with so little effort - leverage, always, the key. Her reaction is faster than you anticipated, however, and so with the force of her riposte you go down right after her. Foolish of you, really - the thought has time to rush through your mind as your sense of balance disappears - to underestimate an accomplished paladin so.

In any case, within moments, Aylin is on the ground, and you land atop her. You have enough presence of mind, somehow, despite the proximity and the warmth and the, well-- to reach for where your weapon started to roll away and press the end of it lightly against her neck. "Yield?"

She raises her hands, palms up in surrender, and nods, struck speechless for once.

You scramble rather gracelessly to your feet in all your triumph, and offer her a hand up. She accepts, then somewhat disappointingly lets go to dust herself off before you've had a chance to fully appreciate the feel of her hand in yours.

"Well!" Aylin turns the bright glint of her full attention on you, charmingly tousled still. "I see no point in struggling to prolong a losing battle. A challenge, skillfully won." She steps closer to you and inclines her head in a slight bow. "Besides, I can tell my yielding on the field of battle pleases you, and I am not one to deny a lady her pleasure."

All of it spoken with a smile, and a shockingly honest, unmasked, open, and entirely unabashed look in her eyes. Damn her.

You do your best, feebly, to catch your breath and return to something resembling calm propriety. And you fail to squash a niggling doubt. "Thank you for the bout, Dame Aylin. But… honestly now, were you holding back?"

"Only as much as is appropriate for the training ring, of course. One is never to exert one's full might in these circumstances, as you well know." She shakes her head, a small frown furrowing her brow, and you can't help but feel this is a recitation she has been made to repeat until it stuck, something she had to deliberately become aware of after getting carried away one too many times. A thought to file away for later, perhaps. "But not in the sense you doubtlessly meant, no. I would not pretend and deceive after asking a fair duel of you. Such things are beneath Dame Aylin."

The heat floods your cheeks again. Damn her phrasing. 

"Ah," she clears her throat. "The day has grown too hot for martial pursuits, I fear - let us retire."

She offers you her arm, ever gallant. You allow yourself the bold indiscretion of taking it only after you have peeled off your gloves and tucked them back in your belt. You've not known Dame Aylin for a very long time, but you are well aware she is possibly the least subtle creature in all of Faerûn. The ill-concealed catch in her breath and stiffening in her shoulders as your skin meets hers is a treasured token you stow away for further contemplation.

It is a regrettably short walk to the pleasantly shaded entrance hall of Moonrise.

-

1382 DR

-

Sharran forces dare attack even here, in the shadow of your father's moonlit fortress, in the very heart of a famously devoted Selûnite region. Perhaps they heard, or tortured out of some poor soul, that their hated Moonwitch had sent an emissary.

But the emissary does not seem to be quite what they expected or prepared for.

You've heard of Dame Aylin's exploits, of some of the many glorious deeds to her name - well, to be quite honest, you've deliberately asked around for them and chased down all the tales, however ridiculous they seemed, with somewhat concerning single-mindedness. But none of them, not even the most outrageous exaggerations with all the force of poetic licence behind them, can compare to actually seeing her in the heat of battle.

It is certainly dangerous to be so distracted in the midst of a clearly planned and organised assault on your home, and it is especially egregious to keep looking up, chasing a vision as it flies somewhere high above all of you, soaring over the head of your father's statue gracing the centre of the embattled town square. But she is so utterly glorious and radiant and filled with unquestionable purpose in all that she does, and you are utterly beyond help.

"Selûne, Moonmother, in Your name!" The clear voice suddenly rings out from somewhere close by, drowning out the din of battle in your ears. You turn just in time to see a flash of silver light engulf one of the masked attackers, burnished black disks brazenly displayed on their armour, and, well, you are not the only one smitten.

But then - disaster. Three of Moonrise's most recently recruited silver-bedecked guards find themselves stumbling into a group of enemies that close a circle around them. You see one of them fall, gripped by inky-purple strands, before you can even start to intone a spell; another one loses his footing and opens himself up for a deadly blow.

Quick as lightning, Aylin rushes down and forward, pushing the stumbling guard fully out of the way. Instead of him, the cultist's scimitar finds purchase in her gut, sliding through a gap between armour-plates like butter, and another's obsidian-black axe bites into her shoulder.

The sound it makes, that Aylin makes, draws a shout from you. A bolt of moonlight dispatches the first cultist, rage and terror somehow making your aim uncanny, and you step forward to bathe the rest of his nearby comrades in deadly, burning radiance before he has even hit the ground.

After this, the battle is over as quickly as it had begun. The last of the attackers falls on her own blade rather than be captured and questioned, crying out some pitiful, ill-conceived mantra about secrets. 

You find you do not care: your world, for the moment, has sunk down to the breadth of one woman lying on the trampled ground in a distressingly rapidly growing pool of silver, the guards she saved hovering around her in a mix of awe and alarm.

They let you through without hesitation - you are a cleric, after all. A healer. But as you drop to your knees at her side and attempt to assess the damage, you can tell you are too late.

Your hands fly in well-practised movements all the same.

"Do not worry, fearsome, fair Isobel," Aylin manages, breathily, barely audible, around a mouthful of blood. Her hand makes a very weak attempt at a dismissive wave, or grabbing your wrist to stop your ministrations, you cannot quite tell. Her helmet and her wings are both already gone, and the silver burning in her gaze just moments ago is a weak flicker. "I--"

Her eyes flutter closed and she falls limp beneath your hands and you--

--do not have time to even begin to comprehend what has happened before she is gasping awake again, coughing and groaning, spitting up a clot, trying to sit up.

You gape for a moment, then help her in her efforts, lean her against your chest. The weight of the armour feels like it might crush you, but moving away feels unthinkable.

"No tears, no," she mumbles, half-coherently, as you strain to understand, as a gauntleted hand reaches up to brush against your cheek clumsily. "So mundane a blow cannot… truly fell… Dame Aylin."

It is one thing to be aware of it in theory. Another thing entirely to witness it. Immortal.

There is a crowd gathered around you by now, you register faintly. People crying out prayers of praise and thanks to the Moonmaiden, for Her infinite wisdom and Her endless gifts and the indomitable daughter-champion She has blessed you all with. You feel a tug in your chest, like you should be joining in; like you would be the one leading the prayer in ordinary circumstances. 

But you feel terribly far away from it all even as Aylin's breath grows more steady as she leans against you. You see her smile, still bloody, and understand only the most general sense of the reassuring platitudes she is whispering at you. 

You bring her to the House of Healing with the other wounded of the battle and insist rather possessively on treating her yourself. Only afterwards do you tear yourself away from her bedside to take full stock of damage and casualties while she sleeps it off. 

Your father rushes to embrace you tightly as soon as he catches sight of you from the House's grand entrance, and you let yourself cling to him for a moment. You do your best to assuage his worries, claim - lie - that you were in no real danger, insist on continuing to help here where you are most needed as he returns to his gubernatorial duties. And somehow, miraculously, he lets you go.

As you help the dutiful sisters with the worst of it, you finally manage to focus on murmuring your own prayer of thanks. It helps clear the long-clinging fog from your mind. And it helps, truly, that you count no deaths among Reithwin's faithful - the only fallen today are Shar's to claim if she deigns to do so.

Well - and then there's Aylin.

You go to check on her in the morning, after you've managed - been forced into, rather - a very brief nap. 

The glorious and apparently unconquerable Dame Aylin is awake, reclining against the headboard of the only occupied bed in that wing. You don't recall requesting she receive any special treatment, and she doesn't look too pleased with being singled out as if in a place of honour - in fact, she mostly looks bored. She is frowning down at herself, plucking at loose threads hanging off of the bandages that cover most of her shoulder, chest, and abdomen - your own handiwork.

You step into the room and set down the basin of fresh water and an assortment of healing supplies with a deliberately loud clatter, jarring her out of her reverie. The moment she sees you, an expression of blatant joy dawns on her face. You try very hard not to read too much into it.

Instead, you make very standard proper-bedside-manner-dictated small talk as you peel away the gauze. The wounds are mostly healed, as you would expect from your application of any and all magic you had remaining that night, but there is a small line of gold running down towards her left side, where the blade bit in and through, and another one cupping across her shoulder. Oddly beautiful for what is presumably a scar - and highlighting the marvellous build of a finely muscled torso, pipes up a segment of your mind that has no place around a sickbed.

You wrench yourself back into professionalism and lightly press down with your fingers, following the shining gold, the freshly knit-together skin, still reddened and bruised in places. "Do you feel any pain when I do this?"

"None at all," Aylin answers resolutely, entirely back to her old self. But then- "Ah," she winces as you find a particularly sore spot, expression wry, "it would appear I spoke too soon." 

You trace back up, murmuring incantations, letting the cool, healing relief flow from your fingertips.

The way she is unphased by all of this seems… uncanny. In fact, she shows more concern for you, completely untouched by the battle, than for herself. It is oddly and slightly frighteningly flattering, in retrospect, that she used her dying breath - well, this particular dying breath - to reassure you. 

And it all makes much more sense now, as things slot into place. The recklessness of her fighting style, of her whole manner. The way she shrugged off blows and rushed ever forward, where the battle was thickest and fiercest.

But now you've seen she is immortal, yes, but not invulnerable, however much she might like to act like she is both. And if she pulls herself out from literal death, no matter the scope of the wounds, she does not seem to magically heal much past that - the evidence is before you now. You can already picture her merely patching herself up with her own healing magic in the middle of the fray, as if in passing, just enough to enable her to storm on. All while her enemies gape and turn tail when they realise the futility of standing against her.

"I only hope you did not worry overmuch, Lady Isobel. It is in my nature, inextricable from my being. I cannot fall, not truly. But I keep the reminders, sometimes - wrought in gold."

Then she very cordially points out a few more, as if to indulge you. Some bigger, some smaller, some thin lines, barely there, some wide and jagged. But all of them bright gold seams, seamlessly integrated into her skin.

"Why not silver?" You blurt out, then feel your face burn with embarrassment. And then a mild but growing horror as you think back to the silver staining your hands and robes as you knelt on the damp cobblestones. This is in turn chased away by an odd warmth as you recall how she murmured your name and reached for your face. 

Aylin, however, guffaws joyfully, stopped short only by a sudden wince as she pulls something still tender.

"Would you believe - I do not know? It is simply how I am, how I have always been. Perhaps I shall ask my Mother to elucidate, when next we commune." Then she beams at you. "What a joy and pleasure you have proven to be, Lady Isobel. To make me consider things about myself I have never had cause nor inclination to before. A rare treasure."

You blame your lack of sleep on the ease with which she is managing to fluster you without even seeming to consciously try, so you do your best to keep your response polite and nothing more. "The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, Dame Aylin. All of Reithwin treasures your presence and is grateful for it, especially after tonight."

She looks up at you and you meet her gaze, pausing in your ministrations. She looks disappointed, if anything, and the disappointment is shared - those are not the words you truly wish to say to her. And you cannot quite explain to yourself why you feel like a sudden distance has sprung up between you, after months of a beautifully built-up rapport, laid on the foundations of those first few shared star-struck gazes. Why this one out of all the many reminders of her divine nature has shaken you so.

As you continue reapplying bandages and keep distractedly checking in with her about the tightness, she catches your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. "My wounds are a distant memory, for they are being tended by fair Isobel--"

There is a naked determination writ all over her face now. It brings to mind her battlefield bearing, more than anything else, but her eyes are wide and soft and almost pleading.

"Truly, I am in the best of hands." A kiss again, and she lets the hand go. It is a perfectly polite and courteous gesture. Nothing… scandalous. But there is a clear ardour to it you did not acknowledge before. Calling attention to a line you have not yet crossed, but that you have both, perhaps, been toeing for a while.

Then she moves to sit up fully, even through visible winces, and shrugs off the steadying hand you place on her shoulder.

"You are the worst patient I have ever had," you state dramatically, laughing. She merely cocks her head in response, so very winning and charming even when still covered in blood, dirt, and partially unravelled bandages. "I will go get some more fresh water so you can clean up - though we've already ruined these sheets, I fear."

But you do not move, despite your words. Your eyes have not left hers in what seems like hours, but can't have been more than a minute. There is a blatant yearning there that you know is reflected in your gaze, that you have both become utterly incapable of hiding.

"I would ask, greedily, another boon of my most gracious healer," she murmurs.

"Oh?" You lean closer, ostensibly to hear her quiet words better. "Why, Dame Aylin, after your valiant performance tonight, I might just grant it."

You are almost nose to nose when Aylin speaks up again, her throat visibly working, her entire impressive self working up the courage to leap the distance - and you find you very much want her to.

"A kiss, then. To drink but once from the lips of the incomparable Lady Isobel Thorm would soothe all that ails me, seal all my wounds."

You watched this woman take an axe to the shoulder and a sword through the belly, and only now does she sound hesitant. Nervous. Afraid, even. The smallest of trembles in that rich, regal voice.

"If… if I have misread, if I have misinterpreted your intentions, I beg your forgiveness with all possible contrition…"

Your reply is wordless as you surge forward, boon happily granted. The first of many to come.

-

1383 DR

-

The dinner is only slightly awkward, as far as these affairs have gone in the past. The most notable thing about it is that your father, it seems, has learned from last time.

First of all, Balthazar isn't here - wasn't invited, or had to beg off due to some undoubtedly important business. What your father sees in that man and why he holds his advice in such high esteem is quite beyond you. It is an amusing thought, however, that he, too, might have suffered from the horrible awkwardness and simply invented an excuse for this occasion.

Second - oh, Lady Arianella Bormul had been lovely, the very picture of elegance and rather breathtaking grace. With a crown of curls you felt a stab of envy over, and a perfectly cut gown that accentuated every curve of her and every dark blush shade of her skin. Carrying herself like a queen in the dining room, but perfectly polite and amicable in the conversations you two were inevitably forced into afterwards, with intriguing flashes of a cutting wit. But you shared so very little. And she was beautiful like a work of art whose objective qualities everyone agreed upon, you included, but that just were not to your personal taste.

Now you wonder just how obvious you'd made it.

As your father shoots you pointed glances from across the table and over a deliberately placed carafe of wine, you allow yourself, briefly, an entire slew of unkind thoughts. About how maybe things would be different if your mother were still here. About how much easier it would be if you had siblings, so that the entire future of Reithwin and the Thorm family and your father's heart didn't rest on your shoulders. About how selfish you truly would like to be. 

Then you shove it all back down and smile at the guests around the table, and offer your opinion about the most excellent skills of your local mason's guild and their potential for expansion.

The young Lady Jana Whitburn is strategically sat right across from you, as her father and yours conduct the important conversations on venison and marble and slate trade that this visit was ostensibly arranged for. She is tall and broad and clad in a marvellously fetching brocade suit of dark green. Her mother, rather obviously focused on you since their arrival in what is clearly a tactical division of duties agreed upon in advance, talks about Jana's successes in the tournament arenas across the Coast and her pending performance in Waterdeep's Field of Triumph. She herself, in a pleasantly deep yet melodic voice, mentions being interested in jousting, as a means of keeping her riding skills sharp while she is not out and about keeping her family's lands safe. Tilts her head at you with a winning smile at the conclusion of one adventurous story or other, the sharp cut of her chiselled jaw accentuated in perfect candlelight. You smile back, and poke half-heartedly at your tasteless dessert.

Later, you take her for a walk in Reithwin's small but well-kept gardens. She very gallantly offers you her arm, and you take it. Your father and her parents beam, and you contain your sigh. But when you look up at your companion, you are slightly surprised to notice that there is something brewing behind her eyes as well.

As soon as you are out of eyesight and earshot, you stop, take your hand off her arm and turn to face her.

"My apologies, Lady Whitburn…"

She almost winces when you address her, and shakes her head as if she is trying to physically shake off the formality and the trailing remnants of the dinner atmosphere. "Jana, please, Lady Thorm." 

"Jana, then," you smile your most agreeable smile, "and so I must be Isobel, no?"

"Of course, Isobel," she smiles back, but it is clearly strained, and you feel nothing so much as pity.

"Listen, Jana, I…" You hesitate, struggling to put your words into polite, inoffensive shape.

All this does is highlight the lack of Aylin, the lack of the connection and utterly natural understanding between the two of you. The ease. Even when there was supposed to be some fundamental and unbridgeable rift between you, according to your father.

"I'm afraid my father has misled you and your family - not out of any desire to harm, nor with ill intent. But, you see, I… I already have a lovely woman courting me. Well, rather further along than mere courting, I would say…"

To your surprise, Jana bursts into laughter, light and clear, and you are spared the embarrassment of elaborating further.

"Isobel, you cannot believe what a relief that is for me to hear."

You pause, a bit taken aback by the enthusiasm of her response. "Oh?"

"I'm afraid I count myself taken as well. Now, make no mistake, you are perfectly charming, and a delight in conversation. But," she waves a dismissive hand, "the heart wants what it wants and all that."

"That it does," you agree, and this time your smile is genuine. A tension you had gotten so used to seems to melt away from your shoulders, and the two of you resume your stroll among the gardener's latest offerings. "My father, well… he's a shrewd man. You and my Aylin would get along splendidly, I think. You seem very much alike in many ways."

"As would you and my Iona. She is training to be a cleric too, an acolyte of Ilmater. I swear, the realms have never seen a more patient and kind creature. Whenever I visit her at the temple I take a moment to observe her finishing her rounds - the way she all but glows with compassion is--" Jana halts both her words and her steps, slightly embarrassed, as if she has only now caught herself in her charmingly lovestruck enthusing. "Ah, but I've gone off on a tangent, haven't I?" 

You cannot help but smile at the sight of someone so utterly, beautifully enamoured. It is, after all, a feeling you happily know all too well.

"Please," you gesture at a bench behind some conveniently tall rose bushes - one of your favourite spots. "Don't stop on my account. Though, of course, now I can't help but wonder… what is your family's objection to the match? If you don't mind me asking," you add hastily.

Jana gives a wry smile as she takes a seat. "My parents would prefer someone of much higher birth for me." 

"I think mine would prefer I set my sights lower," you chuckle ruefully.

Jana's interest seems to be piqued. "Is that so? I've heard some… rumours, since our arrival. I've been wondering about, well, what kernel of truth spawned them."

"Have you, now?" You arch an eyebrow, allow a bit of bite into your tone. "You've barely been here a day - I wouldn't have taken you for a gossipmonger."

"You'll have to forgive my natural curiosity," her grin is as easily charming as it was during the dinner, but now, in the unexpectedly pleasant atmosphere of friendly understanding, you allow yourself to fully appreciate it, and to grin back. "But you must admit it's a bit unusual, Isobel. A celestial paramour… I suppose your father wants you to look lower than the very moon in the sky?" 

Her dramatic gesture in the general direction of said moon earns her a giggle, which she seems to take as encouragement.

"Is it true she single-handedly took on a score of Nightcloaks and won?"

You think back over the many rousing tales of victory Aylin has shared with you, and when nothing rings a bell you realise she must be talking about the raid last summer.

"You mean here, when the Sharrans dared to attack Reithwin?" It's hard to contain your amusement at her eager nod. "Well, it wasn't exactly single-handed and there were no Nightcloaks among the Sharran forces, but I can confirm she was certainly impressive."

You decide to leave out the part about Aylin dying and coming back right before your eyes. It is something you've yet to discuss with her, more than a full year later. Something you've no idea how to bring up, and something that inspires in you feelings you cannot quite define.

Something you know you will have to confront, one day.

For now, you sit on a secluded bench and shirk familial duties with a fellow highborn daughter. The two of you trade stories for the rest of the evening, and by the end of it you feel like you've known both Jana Whitburn and Iona Bluewater for years, and find yourself rather invested in the future of their relationship. In turn, you hope to have painted a picture of an Isobel who is more than just General Thorm's daughter, and of an Aylin who is something besides her divine silver bloodline.

You part amicably when the time comes, even promise to write to one another. Later on, the leave-takings complete, both of you having played your respective parts well enough to buy yourselves some very brief reprieve, you go to retreat to your room. Every stair you climb still seems to drop your heart that much deeper into a listless moroseness.

The air in your room is heavy and stale after the garden's freshness, so you decide to take your brooding out to your balcony. You may have won a friend today, but your father will be in a dour mood when he finds out his attempt has once again fallen through. And then how long until he plans another? Or turns to something else? No, this was simply untenable--

A gleaming Aylin alights on the balcony and pulls you into an embrace in a single, elegant movement, and it is like the Moon rising to dispel the dark of a cloudy night.

The first thing you notice as you are subjected to one kiss after another is that your beloved seems to be of a rather amorous disposition. You still wear your jewels and your finest silver-blue gown, the picture-perfect lady. But with the way Aylin's hands are wandering you sense this might not be the case for very long.

You place a hand on her chest, the metal pleasantly cool against your palm, and she stops, looking at you both questioningly and with blatant yearning.

Which should be ridiculous. You were barely apart for a day! You've gone longer without seeing each other when Aylin flew away on some divinely ordained quest or mission or another. But the feelings you read on her face are a perfect reflection of your own, and you are sick of the very thought of denying them. Instead, you throw your arms around her and draw her close once more.

"I missed you," you murmur the truth into her neck, just above the edge of her gorget, into that bit of unearthly pale skin that is always so conveniently available for you to kiss.

"I have dutifully stayed away, exactly as you bade me to," Aylin doesn't sound too disgruntled, and for that you find yourself both grateful and relieved. "But your guests are gone at long last, and so I consider my duty done."

You suppress a scowl at the bitterness that rises in you - because yes, you did pull Aylin aside and request, against the palpable wishes of every fibre of your being, that she not show herself around Moonrise today. All in the ultimately futile pursuit of appeasing your father, in a way so shallow and childish and stupidly obviously temporary that you feel a flare of anger - disgust, even - at yourself for not standing your ground. For going along with it all in the first place. But the slight yet audible disdain Aylin puts on the word guests is too conspicuous, too intriguing, and so your curiosity trumps your rising guilt.

"Do you have something against the Whitburn family?" Surely, if there was something objectionable about them, your father wouldn't have invited them the way he did. Aylin would have warned you of anything sinister. But then, suddenly, a different, more darkly amusing flavour of thought arises. "Or do you merely not like Lady Jana Whitburn?"

Aylin huffs, tilts her head with an unconvincing nonchalance. "She seems a fine woman. A knight with several deeds to her name - in particular some courageous outings against a local Cyricist offshoot, very recently. I hear she conducted herself with utmost skill and bravery."

"You've looked into her, I see?" You ask teasingly. Aylin's frown alone is an entire hundred-page novel. "Aylin. Are you jealous?"

The tinge of possessiveness in the way she holds you against her chest is clear to you now. You also find you have no complaint to give.

"I cannot help but feel this latest attempted match is… rather shrewdly targeted. Do you not find it so? Why, I would near take it as a slight."

With some reluctance, you pull away the slightest bit in order to face her properly.

"Aylin, look at me," you tilt her chin up, make her meet your eyes, reaching over to smooth the thundercloud away from her brow. "Forget about it, about them. I would have none but you - you know this by now, I hope. Only you."

Forever, you dearly wish you could say, sometimes. Your fingers trace down her cheek and to her lips as you watch her ire pour back into fervour. 

"Isobel, I swear, from the moment our eyes met, I--"

You interrupt her with a kiss - she is too striking and too beautiful and too achingly, passionately devoted not to.

The entire situation is a problem to solve, and a mounting one. You can tell by your own rising annoyance and resentment each time the subject comes up that you cannot entertain your father's attempts at denying your relationship for much longer. But you can sense in both your and Aylin's current moods that any discussion will be anything but productive.

You break apart, but stay close enough for you to whisper against her mouth. "Why don't we stop wasting time, and instead of wallowing in misery, you take me to bed."

A different frown creases her brow now as she inclines her head towards the door you left ajar behind you. "Your bed? Here?"

You glance back as well, almost drawn in and through the imposing towers of Moonrise and all it represents.

"Yes," you reply with little hesitation. You decide then and there to be done with this farce. No more flying away to stay at Last Light, or utterly unsubtle attempts at sneaking off, slinking back before dawn only to present yourself downstairs come morning, unacknowledged but fooling nobody. There are other methods in your arsenal besides pointless subterfuge. "And tomorrow - if you wish to join us, of course - I would like to invite you to breakfast. Where you will sit at my side."

Where you belong, you swallow back, keeping your mock-proclamation formal. Where the world should and will acknowledge you belong.

Aylin's smirk reassures you she understands fully how you intend to play this. "How could I decline my lady's invitation?"

You tilt your chin up, the picture of a lady issuing a decree, even as your lips curl into a smile. "Despite any slights, intended or not, and protests from my family, it is an honour to have you here. I will see that it is better demonstrated, as it should have been from the start."

Or perhaps it would be better to say how it was at the start, before Ketheric Thorm's welcome for Selûne's emissary cooled down to an icy, formal tolerance - of course, exactly as your and Aylin's relationship blossomed, decidedly informal, regardless.

Aylin's mouth is hot on your neck as she effortlessly lifts you up and carries you inside. You feel her grin through her kisses. "I think, Isobel, you'll find the honour is all mine. And so is having you. Here or anywhere else."

You cannot help but laugh, taking her face between both your hands and peppering it with kisses in return, always delighted by her utter lack of both subtlety and hesitation.

Once Aylin plants you on the bed and herself between your thighs, your dress lost to some darkened corner and her gauntlets lost to the aether, she leaves little room for thought or speech. Relentless and utterly driven, she refuses to stop until your legs are jelly, your head is void of all concerns, and your heels have all but left dents in her backplate. 

Her face both glows and glistens when she rests her cheek against your stomach at long last, alight with some private amusement and sheer pride. You thread your hands through her hair and catch your breath, and for a little while simply bask in her presence.

She stretches out a bit, unfolds her wings just enough to let fluffed-up, ruffled feathers settle back into place, and you sigh at the sight. So magnificent in her devotion, your angel.

Aylin next makes a show of licking at her fingers with a pleased smirk, then her lips for good measure. "I may not have been invited to the evening's festivities, but my darling, ever caring, ever thoughtful, provides bountiful nourishment nonetheless. It is the height of honour, to have such a delight saved for me alone."

You flush and squirm, and would like to state something rather precise and factual about moon cycles and the workings of your mortal body. "Aylin!" You throw an arm over your burning face instead. "Gods, you say such things…"

"But you take such delight in it when I do," she replies, tilting her head faux-innocently.

"I adore it. I adore you. Come here and I'll show you just how much."

This is what prompts her to finally take a moment to dismiss her armour, bringing her next to you in a heartbeat. You take another precious few seconds to marvel at how perfectly she fits into your arms, like she was made to be there, instead of for any divine mission.

You spend the night curled around each other in a too-small bed, both of you choosing to be utterly brazen.

-

1385 DR

-

You were very young when your mother died. The searing, half-understood pain of her departure had time to dull into an ache, then into a sense of absence you have grown up with, that will always be yet another part of you. You keep her final letter, and reread it less and less as the years and then decades go by. You can hear and feel her words just as well in the soft, warm moonlight that blankets Reithwin on blessed nights. It makes you feel like you can firmly grasp and hold and understand all that she tried to leave you with.

There is a distinct sense that she is proud of you. That she will see you again one day and tell you so herself. So you smile up at the Moon, the ever-changing treasured constant in your life, and bask in the pale, gentle love you receive in return. 

When you lost a mother, Reithwin lost its head cleric. In the years since, it has had only interim duty-bearers. And you understood, years ago, even as you settled into a promising role in the House of Healing, that you were being looked to as the replacement.

And true - this has ever been your calling. You feel you were born for this service, sometimes, so easily does it come to you - the deeply felt devotion, the lightness of moonlight always ready at your fingertips, the sheer awareness of Her presence, of all She gives and provides and strives for. A cause so good and just and right you would barely deign to call it a choice - though a choice it is, always, freely made by you, again and again and again.

So when you reject the notion of taking up office at Reithwin - at least for the foreseeable future - and announce your plan for undertaking several pilgrimages of increasing length and complexity, it causes a stir among the clergy and a dark thundercloud to settle upon your father's brow.

The further away the locations you list as you stand before him in his study, oddly formal, the deeper his frown becomes. By the time you mention leaving Waterdeep and the House of the Moon and the settlements on the way to Neverwinter, he raises a hand to cut you off.

"I do not think this is wise, Isobel. There is need of you here. The roads are perilous--"

"I can take care of myself. You know I can, papa - you've seen to that. I have trained and prepared for this all my life." Then you smile, hopeful, and make your biggest misstep. "Besides, Aylin will be there to protect me, should the need arise--"

"Of course she will," you catch the mutter under his breath and your mouth slams shut.

You take a deep, steadying breath, and reach across the desk to lay a gentle, reassuring hand on your father's, meeting and holding his heavy gaze. "Reithwin is my home. No matter where the road takes me, no matter how far, I'll always come back. And to you as well, papa."

Reithwin, ancestral seat of your family, safe and idyllic, surely does not need you as much as the wide world; the vast, colourful, challenging variety of the realms. There is so much you can do, and offer. What good are gifts if you are not going to use them? Hoarding them, hiding away, sheltered - no, you refuse to be a waste.

"I need you here, Isobel."

There is an edge of desperation to your father's voice that makes your breath catch and your eyes burn. A pain that calls to mind, oddly, the sting of the black ink being slowly applied around your lids, a needle shaping the curl of the holy symbol down towards your cheekbones. 

And there it is, perhaps - the real root of the struggle at hand.

"I can't be your little girl forever," you exhale, frustration mounting, somewhat undercut when you see the naked hurt on his face. "I can't be just that," you amend. "I have an entire life to live. My own life."

"With Aylin," he suggests darkly. Disapprovingly. "And when she carelessly discards you, a mayfly in her eyes--"

"Is that what this is truly about, again? Father," not quite papa at the moment, no, as you try so very hard to keep your calm in the face of your own rising irritation, "must we?"

"How can I not, Isobel? When she has clearly been feeding you this - this drivel."

"It has nothing to do with her!"

The doubt is writ plainly all over his face, and you bristle. Fine. If he is not ready to relinquish his chokehold over Isobel Thorm, cherished daughter, then he will have to reckon with Isobel, accomplished cleric of Selûne, and prospective Silver Lady initiate. You let go of his hand and step back, square your shoulders demonstratively, stand up ramrod straight.

"Our Lady champions and rewards self-sufficiency, agency, travel, and discovery - of ourselves, the world around us, and all in it who might need guidance or help in any way. It is mine to freely give, and I intend to do so, wherever I am needed. In Her name."

You turn and leave without waiting for your father to scrounge up a response.

It is the last conversation you have with him for a century.

-

It happens so very quickly, for something that would rewrite the fate of your home and all you ever loved for the next hundred years. Like a carelessly tossed pebble turning into a rockslide.

An ominous chill that barely has the time to register fully; a bark-whine from Squire, cut short; a searing pain in-- through-- your side and your chest, fading into numbness within moments, so fast that you barely choke out a desperate blood-drowned breath as blackness swarms the edges of your vision; a frantic cry of Isobel! ringing out from somewhere above or below; and then--

nothing

and nothing, and nothing, and nothing.

[jacksdinonuggets]

I forgot to say baby space that I wanted her in so here's another idea.

Vaggie started acting like a baby and crying more and needing more attention and Charlie or Carmilla was confused until they realized that Vaggie was younger than usual.

Also can we get Charlie in babyspace as well, I don't have any ideas though.

If you also do my second request make it separate from the first one if you think their two in one.

Finally did this after like 2 months. Sorry that its short, writing has been really hard for me to do lately. I have like 12 W.I.Ps that i tried to make after having a sliver of motivation.

__________________________________________________

Vaggie sighs and falls onto her and Charlie’s bed. She was so exhausted. During the week, a couple of the residents for the Little program needed to be taken care of and of course, Vaggie was the only one who could do so, as everyone else was busy. Not to mention that Charlie also regressed most of the week, making it ten times more stressful. Tired was a massive understatement to how she was feeling.

“You okay, Babe?” Charlie asked, putting down her phone. She was sitting on the couch by the window.

Vaggie sighs and sits up. She really didn’t feel like talking but knew she would have to.

“Y-yeah, I’m just…really tired,” She answered

“You sure? I know this week has been really stressful for you…” Charlie points out. She walked towards the bed and sat on it.

Vaggie whines and crawls towards Charlie, snuggling up in her lap. She had slipped without even realizing it. Seeing her Mama sometimes did that to her.

“Aww, is someone feeling little?” The princess teases, stroking her hair. Vaggie makes a little whimper and tries to curl up.

“It’s okay, sweetie, you can be little,” She pats her back and starts to sing softly, trying to help her relax. 

(in this fic) Vaggie usually regressed to toddler age so Charlie assumed that she was feeling around that age group. She was a little worried when Vaggie started to get extra clingy. She was confused since she wasn’t always like this. 

Charlie got her changed into a pullup but when she went to wash her hands in the bathroom, Vaggie started to cry. Like, loudly crying. Charlie had to quickly return to calm her down. It was very concerning how upset she got when she left for a few moments.

“Shh, it’s okay baby,” She picked her up and bounced her, trying to get her to calm down. This was like nothing she had experienced before. Eventually, after a while she calmed down.

Charlie had tried to ask Vaggie some questions but she wouldn’t answer. It was like she was non-verbal. 

Later, when Vaggie was happily playing on the floor with her stuffies, she burst into tears. Charlie was confused and rushed over, trying to figure out what was wrong. 

“Baby, what happened?” Looking down, she had realized that there was a tiny puddle underneath Vaggie. Her pullup had leaked.

When Charlie realized the problem, Vaggie started to cry even more. She just felt so uncomfortable and icky. The only way for her to express her feelings was to simply cry.

“Shh, it’s okay, Vaggie,” Charlie said, picking her up and setting her down on the changing mat, “Baby, h-how old are you feeling?”

Vaggie sniffled and shook her head. 

“Are you feeling…younger than normal?”

She nodded

So, As Charlie wiped her down, she made sure to baby her even more. When she got her diapie taped up, she blew a raspberry on her tummy, causing her to burst out with laughter.

After realizing that she was likely in babyspace, Charlie decided to take out the more baby friendly toys, like rattles and sensory objects. She would have her in her lap while Vaggie would be absolutely amazed by the crinkling noises of her small blankie. 

Vaggie fell asleep while cuddling with her Mama a few moments later, relaxed and baby.

[ateriblewriter]

A Little Bird (m.m)

Mason smiled at her, a happy lovesick look on his face. She looked so perfect to him. He had been pinning over her for a couple of months now, to concerned with not screwing up their friendship to make any sort of move on her.

But the other night, while they were out celebrating their most recent win, her brother mentioned something about her liking him like that. And in a weird way her brother kinda gave him his permission to ask her out, an opportunity he wasn't about to pass up.

So there he stood in the kitchen of his friends' house, watching as she sat the kitchen table reading her book. Her back was facing him, but he knew from the amount of times he watched her reading, that her brows were furrowed and nose scrunched in concentration.

This was his moment, his opportunity. She was right there.

Placing the caffeinated drink and muffin he had gotten for her in her line of sight, Mason wrapped his arms around her shoulders and leaned in his lips hovering right behind her right ear.

"Hi Annie" his lips brushed against the soft skin. He felt the tension in her shoulders slip away as she slightly reclined into his arms and tilted her head back so she was looking at him upside down.

"Hello Mase." Annie Zegras said while setting her book down. It was some cheap romance book that was dry and missing the point of the genre. She was glad for the distraction that the cute boy brought, although it was probably only temporary, he was most likely here for her brother. "What's this?"

"That is a blueberry white mocha and savory muffin from that place around the corner that you like some much." He rattled off her regular order that she got from the shop. Trevor may have mentioned it to him at one point in time.

"Oh my god. How did you know that was my favorite." Annie's eyes got a little brighter as she dove into the breakfast Mason brought her. She took a chunk of the muffin and offered a piece to him, but he declined. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. But seriously how did you know?"

"A little bird told me that." Mason sat in the chair her to her, watching her being so happy at the small gesture. She was so pretty.

"And does that little bird have a name?" Annie closed her eyes and took a sip of the warm drink, savoring its flavor before looking over at Mason again.

"Of course not! Birds rarely have government names." He shook his head at her, his curls falling back in his face.

"It was T wasn't it?" Annie laughed at his joke, a sweet sweet sound to his ears. "Oh by the way I think the guys are upstairs playing some video game or something like that."

"I'm not here for them. I'm here to see you." Mason admitted. His heart has pounding in his chest. This was it. "Annie, I want to, um, would you like to ..." he breathed.

If only he get his words out, but the cat got his tongue. He couldn't form words. God, she was going to think he was weird and never speak to him again.

"Yes" She whispered as if she were reading his mind. A smile graced her lips as she repeated her answer to to his non existent question. "Thursday night, after the game, it'll be late, but I think I can get us a reservation somewhere."

Now it was his turn to seal the deal with a nod and mumbled yes. Mason grabbed her hand, giving a little kiss. Annie blushed and when he let go of her hand, she rubbed his cheek with her thumb. They were both smiling like crazy at each other.

It was a date.

Let me know what y'all think

prompt #1047 from @creativepromptsforwriting