#i have wrung out all my love for you in this fic and the ao3 notes and stuff

[httpsserene]

I LOVED daniel ricciardo x max verstappen x reader!! could you write a part 2?

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙��𝖔𝖓

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐞: 𝐊.𝐎. !

summary: Okay, Daniel may have won the first round. He cleared her dry spell with no problem and used Max to do it, too. That’s completely fine, she will never complain about experiencing some of the best orgasms of her life. But, Max (the man unable to not have the last word) coerces her into giving Daniel a taste of his own medicine.  As soon as they can manage to walk on two feet, without a wobble. Mark their fucking words.  pairing: daniel ricciardo x max verstappen x fem!black!reader content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. author recommends reading part one before this. polyamory. threesome. massages. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. safe, sane, and consensual. bondage. safeword mention. unprotected sex. ruined orgasm. handjob. oral sex (male receiving). edging. crying during sex. praise kink. nipple play. dom/sub ig? joking during sex. dom!max verstappen. switch!daniel ricciardo. sub!reader. vaginal sex. anal sex (male). sex toys (butt plug). frottage. don’t like don’t read. no beta we die like men. edited by the author, though. this is a fictional depiction of real-life people, and this is not an accurate representation of them. word count: 4.3k words

author’s notes: to all the lovely readers who begged for a part two of my f1 kinktober special | overstimulation kink w danny & max. these tags may look crazy...okay, they are but the fic is reasonably crazy i would say. this was humbling to write, you have been warned. my 2k followers special comes to its end with this final installment and there will be no part three of this fic < 3. i may repost this on ao3 in a week or so, for ease of reading as i know long fics on tumblr are kind of annoying :)

(i'm going to take a little pause from writing daniel ricciardo fics but those of you that have requested things for him i will get to them in due time xxx)

prev part 1 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents↻

Your body feels like it’s been wrung out: legs wobbly, thighs bruised, hips aching, back broken, and numb with heat between your legs. You refuse to wear pants as the friction is too paralyzing to take more than a few steps. Loose dresses are your best friend–for the first couple of days, you even went commando around the ranch—thank god neither one of your boyfriends clued into that. 

However, it’s not like you disliked the oversensitivity and aching muscles that came after sex. You loved the feeling even more as it was the first time you’d been properly fucked in a few months. Having that unending thirst for Max and Daniel quenched; it’s heightened how you experience life. You swear that your vision feels sharper, your melanated skin softer, anything you eat tastes better than delicious, the homemade lemonade is sweeter, and most importantly, your desperation has calmed. While you love life on the farm, where living has become succulent under your senses—Max’s attitude has done a complete 180°.

His energy is completely subdued. It’s like Daniel drained the cum and brat out of him. Max is all stuttered words when he makes eye contact with either of you, blushing fully at the lightest tease or brush of skin, voice soft when he speaks, usual bluntness replaced with shyness, and he’s even clingier than normal. If he hasn’t glued himself underneath Daniel’s arm, he’ll be plastered against your back.

You wonder if he’s embarrassed that Daniel changed their “plan” on him at the last minute, or if it’s because Daniel used him as a tool to get you off—but, asking Max would only scare him away or cause the brat to resurface…so you don’t verbalize your theories. You find Max in this state more adorable than usual, and you won’t complain if it means a surplus of Max-cuddles.

Yet, the figurative rug is pulled from beneath your feet when the three of you go Christmas shopping. Daniel had separated from the two of you to go pick up a gift for his nephew, leaving you and Max alone to browse through knickknacks that decorate the shelves. Your eyes were caught by cat ornaments that looked exactly like Jimmy and Sassy but before you could reach out to grab, them Max grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to hide in the next aisle over.

“I want to break Daniel with so many orgasms that he won’t be able to speak by the time we’re done with him,” Max states bluntly. The brat is back.

“Regulate your volume,” you whisper-yell at him, hand moving to cover his mouth as you look around to see if anybody heard your Dutch boyfriend, “We are in public and you decided now is the time to bring this up?!”

He pulls your hand off his face, looking at you with wide eyes, “But, liefje–c’mon! Daniel’s been way too smug recently. Whenever I’m around him he doesn’t miss the chance to mention how he made me cry—made you cry, too!”

“Inside voice, Max,” you bite out, continuing to look at the Christmas decorations in this aisle.

“Fine,” Max whispers, rolling his eyes, “Technically, it’s another Christmas present for him if you think about it.”

“I’m trying not to think about it if you haven’t noticed.”

“Don’t you want to even the board? Imagine it: Daniel underneath the two of us, and we’re overwhelming him with pleasure. Doesn’t that sound like a good time?”

You stop walking abruptly and Max runs into your back. You spin around and stare at him with narrowed eyes and a flared nose.

“You seriously thought the best time to discuss this is in the middle of a family-friendly store, where our boyfriend is picking up a gift for his nephew?”

“Yes.”

“If you stop talking about it for the entire time we’re shopping today, I’ll consider it. We can discuss this when the phantom feeling of his cum on my skin goes away.”

That evening, you and the Dutchman watch Daniel fix a motorbike out in the driveway from the garage. He’s shirtless, sweat dripping down his face and back, you can see every muscle engage and relax as he moves. He’s silhouetted by the Australian sunset and you hear Max choke on his breath when Daniel’s loose jeans slip down his hips, exposing the waistband of his briefs—twin sighs of disappointment leave you both when he catches and drags them back up. With shaky hands, you grab the pitcher of lemonade you prepared to pour a glass for each of you. Ignoring how you missed the glass on your first few attempts, you two bring the drinks to your lips and dry the cups embarrassingly quickly to satiate your desperation—the lemonade doesn’t help. 

Daniel finishes with the bike and wipes his hands on a towel he had tucked into his back pocket, looking your guys’ way. He smiles brightly—shamefully, you wave in response and Max tucks a nonexistent strand of hair behind his ear; the two of you are acting like school girls with a crush. 

The Australian stands and in a few relaxed strides, he comes to a stop in front of you two. 

“Can you pour me a glass, sweetheart?” his request rumbles out velvety.

Stuttering, you scramble to do as he asked and find that Max has reached for the pitcher as well when your hands bump into each other. The two of you freeze and stare at each other with wide eyes; Max’s blush blooms red across his face and yours warms the brown skin of your cheeks. Daniel’s chuckle of amusement snaps you out of it; Max pours the drink, and you hand it off to the Australian, avoiding eye contact. He brings the glass to his lips and drains it dry. You and the Dutchman stare with gaped mouths, watching the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, whimpering and pressing your thighs together at his ah in satisfaction when finished. 

He leans down to place the glass back on the tray and smirks at you and Max, “Absolutely delicious. It almost tastes as sweet as either of you is acting right now.”

Both of you stay silent, squirming in your lawn chairs. Daniel takes a second to slowly press both of your mouths closed with a nudge of his fingers before straightening up and clearing his throat.

“Thank you for the drink, sweetheart,” Daniel cocks his head to the side in question, before winking, his smug aura radiating off of him, “Or should I say, ‘sweethearts?’ As both of you seemed so eager to help me quench my thirst.”

Your mouth pops open again and Max audibly whimpers next to you. Daniel laughs and walks to enter the house, “Don’t feel afraid to join me in the shower.”

The plan is set before Daniel’s out of the shower. You’ve changed into a black mini slip dress, curls loosely cascading down your back as you’ve draped yourself on top of the bed sideways, face-down on your tummy, not caring how the back of your dress has ridden up a couple of inches. Max laid himself on his side next to you, dressed in a navy Enchanté shirt and a pair of Daniel’s briefs that hug at his thighs a little too tightly, and plays with the bottom hem of your dress, letting his fingers drift underneath to press at bruises that haven’t healed from that night. 

At the sound of the shower shutting off, the two of you glance at each other; Max checking in with you one last time before you guys follow through with the plan. At your nod, Max presses a soft kiss to your lips and goes back to fiddling with your dress. You rest your head on your folded arms and as your eyes flutter shut, the bathroom door opens.

You hear Daniel humming some country song and he gets about three steps into the room before he stops abruptly.

“Well, if I had known this would be waiting for me out here, I wouldn’t have spent a lifetime in the shower waiting for you guys to take me up on my offer.”

Max makes a noise of confusion, his hand pausing at your hemline, “What are you talking about? We just thought it would be nice to give you a massage—you know, prevent any muscle tightness from when you were hunched over the bike.”

“Is that so, pretty girl?” Daniel questions you, looking past Max. He’s dried off from his shower already, skin gleaming thanks to your cocoa butter lotion he probably stole, hair still damp but not dripping, and a towel wrapped around his waist. You’re sure he’s trying to sniff out any weakness; to see if he can bend you into revealing Max’s agenda for tonight. Little does he know that you’re not an accomplice, you’ve put a good amount of work into this plan too.

In response, you offer a small smile and hold up a bottle of massage oil that was previously tucked into your side. Daniel’s narrowed eyes flit between the two of you, and then he relaxes, shrugging loftily as he motions for the two of you to move so he can lie down. 

“Okay, sure,” Daniel laughs, falling into the bed as soon as the space is available, lying flat on his stomach, face planting into the pillows and his next words are muffled but loud enough to understand, “You don’t have to use ‘giving me a massage’ as an excuse to feel me up, but I’m not going to turn it down if you’re so willing to do so.”

You and Max are kneeling on opposite sides of Daniel’s body on the bed, resting on the heels of your feet, and you muffle a giggle at Max rolling his eyes at your boyfriend’s words. The younger man slaps his hand on Daniel’s back, grinning at the stifled yelp that sounds from near the headboard, and coos sarcastically, “Do you think you can handle that level of pain? Considering this is a deep-tissue massage?”

You drizzle a nice amount of oil on the middle of his back, letting your laughter escape as Daniel pleads, “Woah—hear me out, what about a regular massage? I would like to end this massage without crying from soreness, please.”

Slowly the two of you turn to look at each other, smiles spreading across your lips, and Max murmurs, “Oh. You’ll be crying by the end of this.”

You ignore Daniel begging for mercy underneath you and beginning massaging. For all of the Dutchman’s ribbing, the two of you are gentle. Your hands soothingly rub any tension out of his back; the two of you are only doing this to melt Daniel into the bed. He protests and grumbles through the both of you digging into his shoulders, but quiets as you make your way down his back, practically moaning when you push a knot out from behind his shoulder blade. Max manages to wrangle out a whimper when he presses his thumb into the dimple of his lower back. Neither of you gets close to the towel resting low on his hips; you want to keep him as calm and unaware as possible, but getting close to that towel would do the opposite. When Daniel’s breathing slows and his sounds of relief start to lessen, Max gently coaxes Daniel into rolling on his back with ease.

The brunette’s eyes flutter open, but you tut disapprovingly when his gaze meets yours. With a kiss on his forehead, Daniel closes his eyes at your word, not fighting you for a second. And from that point, you and Max begin conditioning the older man to get used to only having one pair of hands on him at a time. Max massages his chest, you take a break, you massage his chest, Max takes a break; and as Daniel starts to relax at the rhythm, you guys slowly increase the length of your breaks. 

Until the breaks get long enough to slip the ties that you guys fastened to the headboard out.

Daniel was so entranced at the sight of you and Max sprawled on his bed that he forgot to examine his surroundings. They’re silk ties, with pre-made straps for you to tighten as soon as his hands are inside them. The two of you take it to the next step; you each begin to massage his arms (still employing your regular breaks), raising them upwards to “get a better angle.” Daniel doesn’t even shift at the change, he just hums under his breath when either of you soothes across a good spot. And with little effort, you and Max raise both of his arms and smoothly slip his tattooed hands into the ties, tightening the straps in the blink of an eye.

The older man startles, eyes flying open as he tries to yank his wrists free of the binds, “Uhhhh, what the fuck?”

Both of you watch as Daniel tries to free himself without any luck, enjoying the show as the silk ties prove they won’t give out. Chills shudder down your spine as your older boyfriend tries to order the two of you to release him, but he must see the feral glint shine in your eyes because he switches to asking when neither of you moves.

“You know what to say if you really want us to let you go, Daniel,” Max states bluntly, pulling off his Enchanté shirt easily. 

You hum in agreement, straddling the Australian’s hips and simultaneously tugging your slip dress over your head and tossing it to the side, exposing your bare body before seating yourself on the bulge showing through the towel. Daniel chokes out a curse, his eyes dancing between yours and Max’s bodies being dangled in front of his face without being able to touch.

He tests the binds for any give half-heartedly before sniffing dismissively, jaw tightening as he challenges Max, “Do your worst, baby.”

Max scoffs out a laugh, “That is the plan.”

From there you and Max turn into savages. Both of you bypass kissing Daniel, pressing lips and biting bruises along his neck and torso instead. The man can only cry out as Max terrorizes his nipples with teeth and pinching fingers while you paint marks on his hipbones and navel. The older man isn’t convinced that the night will end without the two of you seriously attempting cannibalism but the thought is pushed away when the towel is tugged off his hips.

Max laughs mockingly and flicks Daniel’s already-hardened length, “Well, this will be even easier than we thought, liefje.”

“I was half-hard from the minute you guys put your hands on me,” Daniel snipes, “Don’t let this go to your head.”

You raise an eyebrow in question, tilting your head to the side innocently which contrasts the strong grasp of your hand around the head of Daniel’s cock, “Isn’t that a compliment, though? Anyways, it clearly went to your head.”

Daniel groans in pleasure as you start to rapidly stroke along his quickly reddening length, “That was a terrible pun–fuck–but, I’m only letting it slide because your hand is on my cock.”

He bucks up into your fist and you release him immediately, smiling as you see him choke down a whimper of disappointment. The older man isn’t left alone for long, as Max drags the tip of his index finger along the slit of Daniel’s cock before flattening his palm across the head and roughly circling it to overwhelm him with an alarming amount of pleasure-coated friction. 

The brunette can’t stifle his cries this time nor can he buck his hips, thanks to the Dutchman pinning him down with his free forearm. Max pulls both of his hands away quickly, delighting in Daniel’s sounds of displeasure, the two of you watching as he attempts to chase a hand that isn’t there anymore. His length is throbbing, pulsing angrily, redder than the blush that stains his tanned chest. You swallow wantingly. Both of you thought that you would be able to get a few more rounds out of a handjob, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Max gets his hand around the base and yours circles the tip. Simultaneously, the two of you start rubbing him off in time, keeping your fists just tight enough and your motions just quick enough to hurtle Daniel to the edge. He throws his head back into the pillows, hips freely bucking as neither one of you attempts to stop him, his hands pulling against the ties all the while,

“You can cum whenever you want, Daniel,” Max states.

The older man lets out several pants of desperation, calling both of your names as he nears his climax. And when you both see the telltale sign of Daniel’s chest rising and falling heavily, you release his cock.

“No! Wait–shit,” he tries to gasp, but it’s too late. His cock starts leaking, jerking pathetically as cum drips down his length in ribbons—his orgasm ruined. Dry sobs escape his lungs as he humps the air, looking for friction that isn’t there, continuing to beg for a hand even as he struggles to breathe as a result of the unsatisfying release.

You let him come down hard, offering support in a quick squeeze of the meat of his thigh over his tattoo. When he catches his breath, his eyes flutter open. Max sees the wetness gathered in the waterlines and moves in the blink of an eye, enveloping Daniel’s still-hard cock in his mouth. 

The Australian’s back arches off the bed, hips racing forward then backward as he cries out, unsure if the feeling of Max’s mouth is good. Both pairs of your hands fly forward to still Daniel, forcing him to feel every crevice of Max’s tongue and throat, trying to bring him to another orgasm as quickly as possible. It works, Daniel stops fighting and starts obeying, rolling upward into Max’s mouth, whimpering out depravedly as he struggles against his binds again. You see his abs start to undulate in waves, a second orgasm trying to form and you slip your hand underneath Max’s chin, lightly squeezing at Daniel’s balls—and the tears fall as his release slams into him like a semi-truck.

The younger man swallows around Daniel, humming as he does it, yet the bobbing motion of his head doesn’t stop—Max is going to try his hardness to prevent Daniel from going soft, even as the older man tries to fight and twist away from the wet grasp of his throat. The Australian’s tears paint his cheek as he sobs messily, and you’re quick to check in with him as Max’s mouth is occupied.

“Daniel, color?” you manage to make your voice sound steady, but your thighs are trembling, your cunt pulsing with wetness and need. 

The man whimpers, eyes unseeingly looking down at you and Max as he cries messily, “Green.”

You moan breathily, finally giving in to your urges and rushing forward to messily kiss Daniel. You let him cry into your mouth, nipping at his lips and tasting his tears before pulling away. Max pulls off Daniel’s cock with a reedy gasp and moves backward quickly so you can slip in between them, seating your cunt atop the half-hard length and beginning to grind along him. The brunette makes a sound as if he’s been punched in the gut, arms pausing in their fight against the ties before they resume with renewed strength. Daniel scrambles to get his feet underneath him, trying to buck off the hot, wet drag of your cunt against his cock. It’s pulsing so violently that he swears he can feel it in his throat. 

Max knocks his feet down, and tugs Daniel’s chin to look at him with a hardened grasp, with his voice rough and croaky he commands, “Can you give us one more, Daniel?”

Daniel's glossy, brown eyes stare at Max without answer, mouth parted as drool slips from the corners of his lips. The Dutchman’s brow tightens with worry and he releases his chin to pull you off. But, before he can stop you, Daniel gasps out desperately.

“M’ green—please, please, Max,” Daniel nods viciously, “Green, green—one more.”

The younger man soothes Daniel with sweet words, praising and comforting him as he leans forward to pepper his lips and neck with kisses and kitten licks, pausing to motion you to continue. 

You line up Daniel’s cock easily and murmur out a ‘thank you’, before sinking down and not stopping until your ass meets his pelvis, uncaring of how he attempts to shake you off. His body is reacting in too much, but Max and you both see and hear how his brain interprets it as too good. 

You keen in pleasure but your noises are deafened by Daniel’s cries and begs for relief. Well aware that you have to get yourself off so Max can have a turn, you find that toe-curling angle with the help of Max directing your hips, holding yourself steady with one hand behind you on the bed and the other drawing rapid circles on your clit. Max moves to let you rest your back along his chest, your frizzed curls a mess as they bounce with your movements. 

The visual stimulation of Daniel in front of you moaning and heaving for more, the frantic twitching of his length inside of you, the sound of your skin slapping against his, and Max’s voice ghosting right by your ear, the ‘good girl’ that left his lips taking a second to process; all of it pushes you into the abyss. You don’t know if it’s you or Daniel that screams, your blood rushing in your ears and your vision flashing white clouds your mind as the explosion of pleasure burns your nerve endings. 

With a choked ‘fuck,’ you slump over, slipping off his twitching cock and slinking down next to Daniel as you shiver and shake through the last dregs of pleasure. Max flutters over both of you, unsure if he should keep pushing the limit, but both you and Daniel yell confirmations of “Green!” that have Max ripping off his briefs, reaching between his legs and whimpering as he carefully tugs out the plug he’s had in for the entire time.

Daniel’s eyes roll in disbelief, his brain exhausted to the point where he can’t string together any words to communicate his confusion.

Max huffs out a hysterical giggle, one hand stroking along his cock as he tosses the plug off the side of the bed. “Fuck–you were in the shower forever, Daniel. I’ve had that in for too long.”

The younger man shakes as he lowers himself on Daniel’s cock, bottoming out with a whimper as he mouths down at Daniel, “Just one more, baby, okay? Make me come, yeah?”

The older man’s moan is curdled with overstimulation, but he finds the will to get his feet underneath him and shakily thrust upwards into Max, hoping somehow that that’s enough. Max lets his head fall back in pleasure, thankful for the moving pressure of Daniel’s cock inside of him rather than the consistent annoyance of the plug holding him open. Coupled with the stretch of his rim and his hand furiously twisting along his length, Max reaches his peak quickly.

Before taking the plunge, he chokes out words of praise at Daniel and you rush to do the same, understanding that Max is attempting to push Daniel over the edge as well. You see tears of frustration build in Daniel’s eyes as he struggles to fully give in, and you fall forward to tug at his nipples with your teeth, reinvigorating Daniel’s attempts at slipping from the silk ties. At the sight, Max shouts, body tightening and then relaxing as he strokes out ribbons of cum. Daniel’s hips stutter when the first drop of cum lands on his skin and you feel his lungs halt as the strongest orgasm—most likely dry, at that—wreaks havoc upon his body.

His body goes limp underneath the two of you, and his hands droop in their binds. You speedily untie Daniel’s arms as Max slowly slips off the man’s rapidly softening length, trying to lessen any unwanted stimulation for the unaware Australian. You catch his arms before they fall against the bed, rubbing your hands against them to coax proper blood flow in them. Spent, Max stumbles to Daniel’s side, taking one arm out of your hands and matching your movements.

“Good job, liefje,” Max breathes out, smiling up at you with an exhausted smile, his hair drenched with sweat and falling in front of his eyes. You blush and kiss him sweetly, “It was your idea!”

Max shakes his head, pausing his hands to reach down and brush Daniel’s curls off his forehead, “No; you made half of the plan. So, it was our idea.”

The Australian groans, eyes fluttering open but they’re still clouded enough that you both know he’s going to need more than enough TLC tonight, “ —idea made me think i w‘sgonna die.”

Max laughs, rubbing circles around the man’s temple, “I guess we forgot to factor in your old age as a variable, didn’t we, liefje?”

Daniel’s face flutters in displeasure at being referred to as “old,” even when he’s not quite come down, “Mean, Maxy.”

You giggle, “That’s what he calls mean out of this entire experience?”

The Dutchman presses kisses to both of your foreheads before he stumbles out of bed, “I’m going to grab some fruit and cream for Daniel’s wrists. Should I grab anything else?” He directs the question to you.

Of course, the Australian jumps in before you have the chance to respond, “Lemonade, please.”

© httpsserene2024

[ms0milk]

✧ forget-me-nots ✧

trying to pass on some of the appreciation I receive here because it's crazy to break the 4th wall for a second and really internalize how this community is driven by creativity and mutual loving. here's a list in random order of my most dear to me loves + a few nonmutuals whose work i think of often, and the pieces that remind me most of them

when they come for you in the night (thorfinn x reader) | @gardenofnoah

the depth of dive i had to take through your blog to find this is just.. the moment i hit "when you’ve known nothing but cruelty, kindness would surely be terrifying" it was game over. thorfinn came so so to life and this was such a stunnning introduction to your style. youve written so much now and i find myself always totally stunned! but i still always think of this one first. (i give it all to you also spills out of my brain sometimes while im trying to go about the world and was a close contender + this bkg x feral creature little piece of wonderful)

you. that's what happened, you (maki x reader) | @neiptune

you already know, i would be a godless liar if said i didn't think about this weekly; the maki rizz is heretofore unmatched, this piece went above and beyond all req expectations, “hold my hand, they’ll think something’s wrong if you don’t” will be the epitaph on my tombstone. you have the power to make me love all those boys ive never even thought about, and when it was time to write for my actual wife you cracked your knuckles and made sure id never be satisfied by another! (aint that the worst thing you ever heard also reminds me of you sm, eren aot of all people)

unsubtle pro shinsou drabble | @moonbeamwritings

i can feel the heat of shinsou's crush through both our screens it is just perfection!!! what a dweeb. love to send this to myself so its easy to find and reread on the regular

To Shape a Home (bkg x reader) | @kweenkatsuki-fics

not only do the stardew vibes shine through every corner, this fic was carved out with such care it makes the relationship + bkg's growth all the more precious! "yer nothin’ to go nuts over." was an insane introduction and the two of them only got better and better and sweeter and stickier with time (ao3 tagged bc i cant find your beautiful masterlist marquie sosrrrrry)

bittersweet (vash x reader) | @heich0e

i remember exactly where i was when i read this for the first time and I remember how excited I was to find a vash fic after so long loving trigun! i didn't even know the new series had been released yet! this was agonizing, such a soft characterization for both, and the desert was so palpable-- the setting really added so much spice to an already seasoned piece

hanafuda (tanjiro x reader) | @cherryblossomsenpai

way way back in 2022 this was one of the first tanjiro pieces i ever read that really made a romantic argument for him. love his exhaustion, exasperation, fear and relief all wrapped up in one hug "The rest of his lecture is indecipherable," bc he's just crying so hard! total sweetheart, so in character

kirishima drunk girl wrangler | @mechamedusa

dusa🫱🏻‍🫲🏼kirishima ofc your kiri thoughts are unmatched and this one is so quintessential, when i think of him i think of you. he is so wrangler shaped! the perfect boyfriend, your mind is a treasure trove

wedding vows (hashira x reader) | @meowzfordayz

to my very first friend <3 you'd think the piece i associate most with you would be one of giyuus and you write so so impressively much it was hard to decide, but this hashira drabble wrung me by the neck when I first read it, and it still crushes me that your kyojuro isn't a real man i can go outside and hunt for sport. "I have an energy bar in my suit pocket — just in case." a snack for his partner at their own wedding put me down, love your mind always

sleepy rengoku drabble | @vampcubus

my femdom queen! why was it so hard for me to remember which character this was written for? reader's rizz blinded me, thank you for introducing me to dom!reader works bc now every sexy hc i have is filtered through the puppysub filter to make all those big strong boys tastefully more submissive

anything to do with anika~ | @ltadoriyuujl

love your oc, she's such a caring nuclear bomb! loved reading your wonderful chara exploration piece and being able to write for her myself! what a trust fall

the only exception (yuuji x reader) | @touyangel

yuuji is such a boyscout at the end of the world, even in total tragedy he is kind and calm and caring. thinking about "If he wasn’t teaching you how to decapitate something that used to be human, it might have been romantic." this one hurts so so good and very easily convinced me love on him. even with all the choso pieces of yours I adore, this yuuji piece reminds me most of you (this sick choso drabble is a close second!)

menthol (aki x reader) | @cyancherub

the smut hall of fame all time champion on my knees on the floor kicking my feet and smiling, love the characterization in this piece! car guy/childhood friend/overprotective/smoke sess/ so intimate and perfectly filthy. a tried and true classic, this is a blessing

fill my little world right up (aizawa x reader) | @shibaraki

the fic of all time yeah, WHAT a way to be introduced to your writing and what a privilege! this piece is just a beating heart, every action and character introduction felt like a memory, the love was so palpable. reread this one all the time, can't believe it's free, want to bind a copy for my bookshelf

cor unum (sukuna x reader) | @vampyrsm

this was the first writing i ever saw from you and in an effort of solidarity (im finishing a longform fic as well and holy fuck) i've very recently started reading and can already tell how much care you had for this world and its characters. the dedication to setting and history is so cool and rare in reader fics, can't believe you're letting us read all this for free! what a tome, seriously looking forward to it (and this bkg thought abt crowded places! mmm)

i love you more than being seventeen (nanami x reader) | @strawberrystepmom

this fucking guy oh my god, this fic almost put me in the hospital, so so glad you reposted. "hey. I love you." OOhhhHHGoowwAWAWAAAA this is such a timeless character piece-- nanami running away from this word he hates, job he hates, girl he loves, and coming back to it all knowing he'll die and knowing its worth it. i get chills

strawberry stars on my lips (bkg x reader) | @willowser

breaking the rules of speed dating is insanely romantic, probably the most romantic thing someone has ever thought of and this is the piece i think of when i think of your blog. bkg is simultaneously so constipated and so vulnerable i almost feel like i have to cover my eyes for him and it is sugary sweet in the best way. happy hiatus!

[sequinsmile-x]

Smoke Signals

On better days, when the good outweighed the bad, when she could see the innocence in her sons’ eyes or sat with her husband on the porch swing he’d built for her just because she said she wanted one, she liked to think she’d earned this. That everything she’d ever been through, every terrible, awful, thing had led her right to this. 

Emily has a bad day, hundreds of miles away from Aaron, and he goes to see her.

-x-

Hi friends <3

This is dedicated to all my pals on Twitter (I will never call it X haha) who asked very nicely for a fic along these lines haha and the idea wouldn't leave me alone. Plenty of soft Hotchniss - which I think is perfect for a Friday night.

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: None!

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily sighs as she steps into her hotel room. Her shoulders slump as soon as she’s behind the closed door, the weight she’d been pretending wasn’t pressing on them all day forcing her forward towards the bed. She huffs as she sits on the edge of it, leaning forward and pressing her elbows onto her knees and her face into her hands. 

It had been a long day at the end of a long few weeks. Back-to-back cases, each more awful than the last, and interpersonal issues on the team had left her more wrung out than she had been in as long as she could remember. She’d spent much less time with her family than she wanted to, recently all too fleeting moments with her husband and children that just weren’t enough to counteract everything else. Seeing them, spending time with them and reminding herself of all the good there was in the world, the innocence she’d never failed to find in the laughter of one of her sons or the smile they’d all inherited from her husband an essential part in warding off her bad days. 

It was something that had started years ago when Aaron was simply her friend she’d been in love with for as long as she could remember. He’d shown up on her doorstep the morning after she’d told him she had a bad day, a conversation between the two of them on the jet that she never could have anticipated would turn into everything it had. It was a moment she could trace it all back to, the first glimpse of radical honesty between the two of them that had started to shift their relationship into what it now was. He knocked on her door so early she was still in her pjyamas, his eyes wide as she opened the door as if that was the first moment he’d considered she might have still been in bed when he got there. 

He’d asked if she wanted to go for breakfast, to have a conversation with someone who understood at least some of what she’d been through, an unusually vulnerable smile on his face as he looked down at her doormat as he said he knew what it was like to feel unsafe in his home. She’d said yes without really thinking about it, finally pulling the door open to let him into her apartment and she’d smiled shyly at him, hyper-aware of how short her sleep shorts were as she told him she needed to go change and that he could sit in the living room whilst he waited. 

When she walked out of her bedroom and found he’d cleaned her kitchen, dishes she’d ignored for days washed and dried and the surfaces wiped down. It was the first time she thought he might love her too. 

She blows out a breath as she pulls her phone out of her pocket, a genuine smile ghosting across her face at the picture she had set as her wallpaper. It was taken just a month ago at Jack’s 14th birthday party. He was standing in between Emily and Aaron, wide smiles on all of their faces. Issac was standing in front of Aaron, proudly displaying his gap-toothed grin, his first baby tooth having come out just the week before, and Elliot was sitting on Emily’s hip - the 4-year-old always keen to be as close to his mother as possible. She gives herself a second to stare at it, to run her finger over their faces, to try and absorb some of the good that radiated off of them through the screen, and then she unlocks it, searching for her husband’s contact so she can call him. 

He’d retired when Issac was born 6 years ago. 

They’d discussed it at length throughout her pregnancy, both of them aware that if they had made the choice to expand their family they had to make some changes, that it wasn’t fair to Jessica to continue to rely on her like they always had with Jack. They’d argued about who should leave the BAU more than once, each of them demanding it should be them. Eventually, Aaron had won out. He’d talked through her reasons for wanting to leave with her, helped her understand that her choosing to continue working wouldn’t make her turn into her mother. He knew without her having to say anything that was at the centre of her insistence to leave, that she wanted to break a cycle he knew she would never repeat, and he helped her through. 

The day he’d retired had been bittersweet. It was the end of something, the end of a career he’d given so much to, that he’d lost so much to, but the start of something new. A beginning found in an end that even just a few years previously was a step he wouldn’t have taken. He’d told her one night, his head on her bump, his cheek pressed against her skin as Issac shifted under it, that he didn’t want to waste his second chance to have a family. That he felt lucky he’d been given one and he wouldn’t screw it up for anything. 

It worked for them. She’d found it hard to go back to work after Issac, and she did again just a couple of years later when she had Elliot, but she adjusted. Got used to how her life looked now, how it all rested on the balance of the horrors she would see in her job, the difference she could make there, and the peace she found with her Hotchner boys. They were her port in the storm, the safety net she would always know was there, the home she’d never had until that early morning when Aaron knocked on the door of her old apartment. 

She closes her eyes as she holds the phone up to her ear, her teeth clenched tight as she tries to fight off the tears burning at the back of her eyes. He answers on the second ring, his phone always close by when she was away, and she feels the hole in her chest bloom with love for him the second she hears his voice. 

“Hi, sweetheart.”

She opens her eyes and tears spill down onto her cheeks. She immediately wipes them away, “Hi.” 

She can practically hear his frown, can picture the look on his face, and she knows she’s been caught out with one word. 

“What’s wrong?” 

She wants to lie. She wants to tell him everything is fine, that she’s just tired, but she can’t bring herself to. A long time ago, she would have, but she can’t bring herself to lie. She hadn’t been able to for years. Not to him, not when the desire to talk things through with him, to bask in his comfort, outweighed the deeply ingrained need she had to save face.

She chokes out a noise between a laugh and a sob and she shakes her head, “It’s just…it’s been a bad day.”

“I’m sorry, Em,” he replies, and she wants nothing more than to sink into his embrace, to settle into the impossible warmth that followed him like a shadow. A sanctuary just for her and their sons, a place of safety she knows she could never live without again. “Bad case?” 

She hums as she shifts up the bed, not bothering to take her shoes off as she sits on top of the bedding, her back now against the headboard.

“Terrible case,” she mutters, “The victims are all teenage boys, it all hits a little too close to home,” she says, purposely holding back the fact they were all sandy-haired and looked like their eldest, not wanting him to feel the way she was right now, “And the team are…” she laughs mirthlessly, “Let’s just say, I don’t know how you were the boss as long as you were.” 

She disliked the politics of it, how the decisions she made even as the Unit Cheif had ramifications. It’s why she’d turned down a recent offer to become the Section Chief. She didn’t need the money and she definitely didn’t need the expectations that came with it, the hassle that inevitably came with getting any further up the food chain than she already was. 

The team were tired, furious at the back-to-back cases as if she wanted to be here, as if she wouldn’t also rather be at home with her family. They’d barely slept and were all running on fumes so emotions were high and fuses were short. The slightest thing set each other off to make sniping comments over paperwork issues or disagreements about the profile they were building. 

“Well,” he replies, his drawling voice enough to let her know he was smiling, that he was about to try and cheer her up, “At least you don’t have to try to manage you. I had that to deal with on top of everything else.” 

She laughs, the sound escaping her before she can hold it back and she shakes her head even though he can’t hear her, “Hey,” she says, injecting purposeful indignation into her voice, “I always apologised in your favourite way.” 

“You’re right, you did,” he says as he clears his throat, “Can I help?” 

“Are the boys there?” She asks hopefully, wanting nothing more than to hear one of their voices, but Aaron sighs, letting her know without saying anything that she wouldn’t get a chance to speak to them tonight, “Oh, that’s okay.” 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he replies, “Zac and Eli are in bed. Jack is out with his friends with a strict curfew of about half an hour from now.”

“It’s not your fault,” she says, wiping fresh tears from her cheeks, “I think I’m just tired.”

“Try and get some sleep, Em. You’ll feel better for it.” 

She hums and rests her head back against the headboard, blowing out a shaky breath, “Yeah,” she chokes on a laugh, “I could really do with a hug right now.” 

He’s silent for a few seconds, and she briefly wonders if the call has dropped before he replies, “Well, the moment you get home I’ll hug you as much as you want to.”

A genuine smile spreads across her face and she presses her lips together to try and contain it, the expression at odds with how she was feeling, “Be careful what promises you make, honey. I’ll hold you to that.”

___

She can’t sleep. 

She spends hours tossing and turning in her hotel bed, her frustration increasing with every passing minute that sleep evades her. She sighs as she looks at the clock on the nightstand and sees it’s just past 3.30 am, she sits up, growling in irritation as she runs her fingers through her hair. She’s about to consider just going back to the precinct, keen to get this figured out as soon as possible so she can get home, when she hears a knock on the door. She frowns, frozen in bed for a moment, wondering if she’s imagined it, when she hears it again. She climbs out of bed, adjusting an old t-shirt of Aaron’s that she’d brought to wear as pjyamas so it falls back into place over her thighs, and she walks over to the door. 

She gasps as she looks through the peephole, her hands already undoing the locks on the door of their own volition, and she chokes out a laugh as she pulls it open and finds herself toe to toe with her husband. 

“Aaron…” she says, shaking her head, “What are you doing here?” 

He shrugs as if it’s nothing, as if he shouldn’t currently be hundreds of miles away in their home, and he smiles at her, “You said you needed a hug.” 

For a moment, it’s almost 8 years ago. She’s in her old apartment and he’s on her doorstep, the smile she would never have admitted to herself at the time made her stomach swoop painted across his face. His casual kindness fills the space between them as he offers his time up to her as if it weren’t one of the most precious things in the world. 

She briefly wonders if she’s dreaming. If she fell asleep at some point and imagined that he was here, but the second he steps towards her, the door to her room closing behind them, and pulls her into his arms she knows it’s real. No matter how used to his touch she was, how much it was an essential part of her life, she was never able to get it right in her dreams. Her love for him, and his love for her, better than anything her subconscious could come up with even after years of real-life experience. 

She sinks into his embrace, her face against his chest as he wraps his arms around her. She hooks her arms around his back, not caring that she’s slightly encumbered by the go-bag slung over his left shoulder, and she breathes him in. She settles into him, her eyes closed as he runs his hand up and down her back and kisses the top of his head. Her brain finally catches up with her and she pulls back to look at him, her eyebrows furrowed together. 

“Wait, what are you doing here?” She asks, “What about the boys?” 

He smiles and raises his eyebrow at her and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, “14, 6 and 4 seemed like a good age to leave them alone for the first time,” he quips, his smile only getting wider when she glares at him, “Garcia is currently sleeping in our spare room and I’m assuming the breakfast she’ll make for them tomorrow will have more sugar in it than we usually allow them in a week.”

She laughs weakly, “Pen came over?”

He nods as he lets her go briefly enough to re-lock the door to the room and then he guides her to the unmade bed, his bag joining hers on the floor, “I called her, told her I was worried, and before I could even ask she was already suggesting she came over to stay with the ‘Mini Hotchs.’”

She shakes her head, “This once I’ll let the nickname for the boys slide,” she shifts as closely to him as she can, “How did you even get here? We spoke 6 hours ago you couldn’t have possibly got a flight in that time.” 

“I drove,” he replies, hooking his arms around her shoulders, resting his cheek on top of her head, “The roads were quiet.”

She hums and reaches for his hand to press their palms together, forever obsessed with the difference in size, how it never failed to make her feel safe, “I guess it's lucky I was on the East Coast.” 

“I would have driven to the other side of the country if you needed me, sweetheart. There’s nowhere I wouldn’t go and nothing I wouldn’t do.” 

She looks up from their hands and is unsurprised to find sincerity splashed across his face, love for her almost seeping from his pores. She cups his cheek and drags him in for a kiss, sighing contentedly into it as his hand skips up her thigh and lands on her hip. She pulls away and rests her forehead against his.

“Thank you,” she says, the words feeling inadequate, “I…you didn’t have to-”

“Yes I did,” he replies, cutting her off as he pulls back to look at her properly, his palm on her cheek as he smiles softly at her, “You were having a bad day.” He makes it sound so simple that it makes her ache, tears gathering in her eyes again as she shakes her head at him, overwhelmed by the love he had for her, for their family, that sometimes still didn’t feel real. He wipes away her tears as they slip from her lashline, “Hey, you’re okay, Em,” he says, tucking her against his side as he pulls her so close she ends up in his lap, the material of his jeans scratching against her bare thighs, “I’ve got you.” 

She cries like she never would in front of anyone else, her face warm and sticky against his neck as she sinks into him and the comfort he always brought. She had spent most of her life without love like this and thinking she’d never get it. She never thought she would have someone who would love her enough to drop everything and drive to her just because she said she needed a hug. It overwhelms her and it makes her wonder what she’d ever done to deserve it, to deserve him. On better days, when the good outweighed the bad, when she could see the innocence in her sons’ eyes or sat with her husband on the porch swing he’d built for her just because she said she wanted one, she liked to think she’d earned this. That everything she’d ever been through, every terrible, awful, thing had led her right to this. 

“It’s so stupid that I’m crying,” she says, sniffing as she extracts her face from his neck, “It’s just a bad day.”

“It’s never just a bad day, sweetheart,” he says, wiping her cheeks, “And is it we always tell the boys?”

She smiles, her cheeks warm as he uses the comforting tone he always used when the boys were sad or hurt, “That their feelings aren’t stupid.” 

“Exactly,” he says, leaning forward and stamping a kiss against her lips, “So yours aren’t either,” he stands up and offers her a hand, pulling her up as she accepts it and she immediately leans against him, “You need some sleep, we both do,” he says, running his fingers through her hair, “Is it fair to assume you haven’t slept at all?”

She narrows her eyes as she pulls back from him, “You think you know me so well.” 

He smiles and kisses her, “I do. Very well,” he kisses her again and pulls back, “Get into bed, I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”

She nods and separates herself from him. It feels almost impossible, as if a magnetic pull is dragging her back towards him, but she does it, climbs back under the covers she’d found no rest in so far that evening. She watches as he gets changed, her eyes flicking over long-healed scars, the marks on his skin as familiar to him as her own, before they get covered with his pjyamas. He slips into bed next to her and she immediately curls up around him, her head on his chest and her leg thrown over his hip. She hums contentedly as he wraps his arms around her, one of his hands on her thigh and the other on her back, his palm warm through the material of her t-shirt. 

“Elliot made friends with the new kid at preschool today,” Aaron says, his lips against her forehead, his hand running soothing circles on her back, gently lulling her to sleep with his touch and his soft words about his son, a story from home that he knew she needed without needing to be told, “He told me all about it when he got home.”

She smiles, love for her youngest blooming in her chest, the flowers of it almost making it hard to breathe, and not for the first time, she wondered how she had made someone so perfect, “He did?” 

“He did,” he confirms, kissing her forehead before he carries on, “He said he showed her around and gave her part of his cookie.”

She sighs contentedly as she closes her eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep as he tells her about their son’s day at school, his voice and touch soft as he reminds her that even on the bad days she has good things in her life. 

-x-

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[justporo]

Dumb Ideas

"Staeve's arm was around the vampire’s shoulder who - like every night - acted like he was disgusted by all the affection but leaned into it as soon as one of you tangled their limbs with him. You had one arm slung around the pale elf’s mid with your head on Astarion's shoulder. Which also had the advantage of Staeve being able to caress your cheek and play with your reddish-brown hair - or pinch your ear. Meanwhile you were in the perfect position to nudge the half-drow's side whenever he got too feisty."

Staeve and you decide it's a good idea to pierce each other - while Astarion can't stop commenting on how idiotic that is...

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: So uhm, @velnna has allowed barbies being smashed with his Staeve and... my brain started to think of a sweet polycule with Staeve, Astarion and my own girl, Tav (the hero to almost all my fics)... how could I resist? And you might be saying "Poro, isn't this very self-indulgent?" to which I would agree, but have you considered that I am down bad for this half-drow? So, @velnna, big thankies again for letting me borrow Staeve again, he's wonderful as are you! &lt;3

Pairing: Astarion/Staeve/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: well, they pierce each other, so don't do this at home, kids? Wordcount: 4,5k

In today's spoils from taking out the occasional bad guys on your way to bigger fish you had to fry in Baldur's Gate, there was something a bit peculiar.

Quite obviously just before you had gotten to these bandits they must've relieved someone else of a lot of jewellery: beautiful golden necklaces, amulets adorned with shimmering stones of all colours under the sun, delicate silver bracelets - and a surprising amount of piercings.

Back in camp now after a full day of adventuring, the party had started sorting through the valuables.

Staeve was just inspecting the pieces when you came over to him and the vampire. He was turning them around in his fingers while Astarion was captivated by a collier with rubies that matched the colours of his eyes very nicely.

When the half-drow saw you coming out of the corner of his black and teal eyes he looked up and threw you a grin: “Looks like I got myself an upgrade for my ears.”

He winked and immediately pocketed a few golden earrings - just to be sure to have them. You raised an eyebrow at the rogue: “Who says it's only you getting some new ones, eh?”

Stepping closer you grabbed Staeve's hand which still had some more gold rings and bars in it. And then while getting so up close and personal with him that the tips of his forest green hair almost tickled your face you wrung the remaining pieces out of his hand. He let you. And grinned benevolently at your audacity - thieves among each other.

“Sharing is caring, love,” you whispered and mimicked his wink from before exaggeratedly and stood on your tiptoes to press a quick peck onto the half-drow's lips. You felt the corner’s of his mouth curl up more as you kissed him. 

“Oh, don't worry, there is plenty to go around!” Staeve declared cheerfully and opened up his other hand with much more loot.

You narrowed your eyes at him while he rewarded you with a shit-eating grin. “There should be enough for all of us, even for Karlach. Although I'm not quite sure how many she might have,” Staeve mused and looked around to find the barbarian enthralled by Gale explaining to her in excruciating detail how to recognise a real diamond over a fake one.

“Or maybe we could do new ones. Especially since I don't know what these are for,” he held up some half-moon shaped pieces with a bar connecting the curve.

You just shrugged.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Astarion had snuck up behind you in the meantime. Having - just like Staeve - secured his more than fair share of the spoils already.

“If you're intending to pierce your nipples, darling, I'd be more than interested to see that. Because that's what those are for,” he explained and pointed one of his long fingers at the thing Staeve was still turning around in his hands.

“Or maybe our sweetheart Tav would like to try that out?” Astarion teased as he stepped up even closer  behind you and you felt his hands suddenly cupping your breasts for a short moment and squeezing them upwards - making you yelp. “I'm sure it would suit you terribly well and would make for some extra fun for Staeve and me,” he haughtily whispered close to one of your pointy ears while he tried to make eye contact with Staeve. But the half-drow was too mesmerised by the sight of long elegant fingers presenting a quite alluring view of you exactly in front of his face.

And before you could swat the vampire’s naughty hands away he had already disappeared again with roguish quickness, just laughing. But you wouldn't let yourself be treated like that - not in public anyway. So you went after him, trying to get some revenge.

Meanwhile Staeve held the supposed jewellery for a nipple in front of his chest and looked at it curiously, his lips pursed. Then he simply shrugged and went after his two lovers who were hissing and swearing at each other somewhere at the back of today's campsite.

***

The rest of the party had split up the loot with everyone humming contentedly about the sudden wealth you had fallen into. Astarion had put on the ruby collier to everyone’s entertainment and Karlach had been happy about the still huge amount of new piercings she could take her pick from. Quite some more jokes about how other companions could adorn different parts of their body were made over a generous dinner. The wizard had thrown in a little extra effort and ingredients to celebrate the unexpected financial triumph for it to everyone’s delight.

And once everyone had had their fill of food, laughter, amiable companionship and the sun had set, everyone had retired to their tents - or each other’s for some.

Astarion was languidly laying on the pillows in front of his tent reading, one leg casually angled, the other splayed. He hadn't stayed solitary for long.

Staeve and you had bundled up with him like it had become second nature for all of you: Astarion in the middle, all smothered by you, the other rogue and your joint, multiplied love for him.

Staeve's arm was around the vampire’s shoulder who - like every night - acted like he was disgusted by all the affection but leaned into it as soon as one of you tangled their limbs with him. You had one arm slung around the pale elf’s mid with your head on Astarion's shoulder. Which also had the advantage of Staeve also being able to caress your cheek and play with your reddish-brown hair - or pinch your ear. Meanwhile you were in the perfect position to nudge the half-drow's side whenever he got too feisty.

On top of that you had hooked one leg around the vampire's while Staeve had one of his threaded through the angled one. Effectively you had all immobilised each other as you lay there all knotted.

You were talking about and presenting each other the pieces of jewellery you had saved for yourself, talking about which fit whom better. Or, Staeve and you did. Passing the delicate golden earrings between you, just over where the vampire held his book.

Astarion just occasionally threw in some teasing commentary and eyed the glinting ornate pieces - more than once trying to swat them out of your hands when he got too annoyed with the two of you disturbing his peaceful reading.

Having two lovers so eager and physically affectionate was surely a blessing for the tortured soul and body of the vampire - but it still took him some getting used to. So his usual coping mechanism was to be sassy about everything. Staeve and you knew that by now and usually took it as a hint to give your third a bit more space - however that may look like in the moment.

Right now you had each picked out several pieces and were getting bored anyway. The conversation drifted off. Peaceful silence spread between the three of you.You were toying around with the laces on Astarion’s shirt while Staeve had stuck his nose in the vampire's curls and pressed soft kisses to his scalp.

With your other hand you fidgeted with one of the piercings, letting it wander around your fingers. And while it made another turn around them, a thought slowly formed in your mind. But before you could voice it, someone else broke the quiet moment.

“You two are terribly silent - it's disturbing,” Astarion burst out after a while of neither you or the half-drow saying anything. Sassy, just like you were used to.

“First you're annoyed by us talking and now of the opposite. Make up your mind, darling,” Staeve muttered flatly and softly bit into one of the vampire's pointy ears.

Astarion hissed and snapped his face around to his insolent lover. Pushing him away with his long fingers splayed over the half-drow’s face, his pale skin contrasting with Staeve’s darker skin.

“I was annoyed at you for passing things right in front of my face while I am trying to read,” Astarion snapped back. “Also usually when the two of you are silent like this one of you is about to come up with a really dumb idea that will come back to bite us all,” he snarled in response to the other rogue’s complaint and Staeve grabbed his hand off his face - but not without a small kiss to it.

“You're one to talk Mr ‘I-am-not-a-details-person’,” Staeve gave back, unwilling to be called out by someone with so little talent for coming up with plans himself.

“Rich coming from someone who repeatedly almost got himself killed with his stupid need to throw himself at every blade pointed at Tav or me, my love,” Astarion snapped back again.

The two of them kept bickering and teasing each other playfully until Astarion rolled his crimson eyes and decided to end the argument by grabbing Staeve's face and kissing him. Up until both men were merely softly humming and moaning, content with being wrapped up in each other.

This so far had always ended any dissonance between the three of you for good. No opportunity for arguing when mouths were occupied otherwise.

You observed the scene as those two turned more to each other, laying on their sides. You moved so you were basically spooning the vampire, your head still on his shoulder but now from behind. You let your hand wander from Astarion’s waist to Staeve’s hand that was cupping the vampire’s cheek along with the kiss. Letting your fingers softly trace down his freckled arm and eliciting a light shiver from him. His eyes flew open, gaze softening at you and your soft caress. The three of you stayed like that for a long time, making you almost forget your idea.

“But what if we actually got some new piercings?” you posed as a question when the two rogues finally broke their kiss and stared tenderly at each other after.

Staeve's gaze immediately snapped to you and he began grinning, face lighting up with some radiant energy. You could always count on him for a quick and probably somewhat stupid idea.

“Absolutely not,” Astarion exclaimed though and huddled around so he lay as before, picking his book up again and forcing both you and Staeve to readjust positions again. Well, his standpoint on the whole thing was clear.

But Staeve and you were still grinning at each other in agreement.

“You do whatever you imbeciles want but no one is touching me with a needle!” the vampire reiterated and shimmied himself around deeper into his pillows. A steep wrinkle formed between his furrowed brows as he made a show of focusing on his book again, basically making the pages snap as he opened it up at his bookmark. But Staeve was already up and about to grab supplies for your endeavour.

“Your loss then,” you whispered to Astarion and leaned over for a quick kiss to take the frown of his face. It worked quite nicely.

“Don't let Staeve poke your eye out, darling,” Astarion purred when you pulled away again, raising one of his eyebrows.

You stuck your tongue out at him and made to get up. But the remaining rogue quickly grabbed for your wrist and pulled you back onto him for a longer, deeper kiss - arm around your waist so you couldn’t so easily escape.

“Don't poke out his either, sweetheart,” Astarion mumbled when you withdrew “I like my lovers each with both their pretty eyes.”

You gave him a peck onto the tip of his nose.

“Well, who says I'm not doing the nipple piercings after all?” you retorted and jumped up to go after the half-drow while Astarion offered you a fiendish grin at the proposition.

Shortly after, you and Staeve had returned with supplies: needles out of your packs, strong liquor from the camp supplies and of course some suiting gold rings.

Despite the expressed interest for something else, you had decided to let Staeve pierce your bottom lip so you could put a ring through it. And now after he had poured some alcohol over the needle you were sitting in front of each other with crossed legs - while Astarion watched from the back with a perpetually raised eyebrow.

“Have you done this before?” you asked the half-drow as he bit his lip and obviously didn't know how to get going.

“Of course! I've done all my piercings myself. Also pierced others before,” he answered and kept inspecting your lips as if there was something new to see. As if he wasn’t staring enough at them every single day already.

You eyed Staeve's ears and the rings dangling from them. Some of the spots had healed a little roughly it seemed. “And all your victims so far still live?” you asked sceptically and grabbed the bottle of liquor that Staeve still had beside him to take a good swig from it. Staeve pressed his lips into a thin line as he watched you drink, clearly not even thinking the question worth an answer.

“Having second thoughts, darling?” Astarion threw in sarcastically, staring at you from under his brows when he had seen your questioning glance at Staeve's answer.

“I'm surprised you'd let him put a needle into you. Some days I'm surprised he remembers to use the pointy end of his dagger,” the vampire continued while letting his eyes drop to his book again and pointedly turned over to the next page.

Staeve puckered his lips and stared down Astarion who must've felt it and lifted his gaze again to stare right back. “Just leave me something to kiss,” the pale elf concluded and went back to reading.

The half-drow sighed and grabbed the bottle of liquor from you and also downed a fair amount - not exactly adding to your trust in him. But with some liquid courage within him he cracked his neck and made to get to work.

He softly grabbed your bottom lip between his index and thumb, softly tugging. His teal eyes flitted over it while he hesitantly brought up the needle to it. Meanwhile your silver eyes remained firmly on your partner, watching as his lips slightly parted and a light frown formed on his face. Silence spread for a few long heartbeats.

“Your hands are trembling, love,” you muttered, with as much clarity as your caught bottom lip allowed for.

Staeve's eyes jumped to yours, a hint of desperation lit up in his eyes.

“How am I supposed to do this with you staring at me like that, sweetie, hm?”

One of your eyebrows jumped up, lips curling into a smirk.

“So what you're saying is I am distracting you with my piercing eyes?” you teased.

Staeve rolled his eyes at you but smiled. And both of you heard how Astarion clicked his tongue at you.

“I don't want to hurt you,” the half-drow whispered once he had shaken off your stupid joke.

“Surprisingly this doesn't seem to be a common problem with you,” you gave back slightly breathy and watched a soft shade of pink colour Staeve's cheeks.

Then he tugged harder on your lip, making you whimper slightly in the process. “Well, if you say so, Tav,” your lover teased in a low tone, leaning ever closer to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, biting his own lip now.

“Please, don't have too much fun without me,” Astarion commented from the back in a mockingly dry and bored tone.

Your eyes jumped to the vampire who wasn't even looking at you.

And suddenly you felt a sharp sting that caught you off guard. A single yelp left you, then you looked back at Staeve and - blinking a few times to manage the pain - realised that he had pushed the needle cleanly through. He grinned triumphantly at you.

Without letting go of the needle he grabbed the golden ring you had picked out and carefully threaded it around your bottom lip once he had pulled the needle out. Then he softly dabbed off some blood with some clean cloth.

You didn't even further react to all of it until he finished his job with a very delicate kiss on your lips (that still sent another sting of pain through the wound but you barely minded).

“There you go,” Staeve grinned at you. “Looks hot!”

You grinned back and flinched only a little when you felt some pain from the movement.

“Turn your head for me, darling?” Astarion demanded back from his vantage point. You obeyed and underlined your new accessory by adding a playful wink. The vampire rewarded you with his signature smirk and hummed approvingly: “I have to agree with you, Staeve darling, it does suit her.”

The half-drow puffed out his chest in pride, extremely satisfied with himself and his work. He kept looking at you, eyes wandering over your new piece of jewellery again and again.

Then, while pain began to slowly throb through your lip you got up from your cross-legged position.

“Now your turn,” you said as you got up and grabbed a fresh needle. Staeve's mouth moved silently as you quickly poured some of the alcohol over the needle and were already reaching for one of his ears. He had opted for another earring for a longer row down his pointy ears.

What he had not opted for was how fast and eager you were to get to it now that you were already dealt with. He lifted his hands defensively and leaned away from you.

“Don't you just want to take a break first, see how you are with the pa-” “Don't chicken out on me, darling,” you immediately interrupted him and grabbed for his ear with a wicked grin and glint in your eyes.

Staeve yelped and still tried to lean away from you despite you already having a grip on him. This went on until he lost balance and toppled over. You had no problem with this and quickly followed him, climbing onto him until you were straddling him - his ear still in your grasp and in your other hand the needle.

“Love, I'd really appreciate some of the restraint I showed towards you,” the half-drow pleaded, one hand still held up to guard himself and with the other holding himself slightly upward to not fully lose control of the situation.

“Looks like someone delights a lot more in pain than you do, Staeve love,” the vampire once more threw in. This time he had actually lowered his book. This was all way too entertaining now.

You answered your vampire with another fiendish grin, then looked at the rogue beneath you once more.

“Have mercy, darling!” Staeve pleaded once more but you saw now how he could barely contain a grin himself. The twitching corners of his mouth gave him away.

“This is going to be it, Staeve? This is how you'd beg when she basically has you by the balls? Pathetic,” Astarion teased ruthlessly and then clicked his tongue again. Staeve and you shared a glance. Both of you knew the vampire would make much more of a fuss would he be in the half-drow’s position now.

The rogue beneath you made a slightly despaired noise, then took another breath and looked you straight in the eyes: “Alright, you know what. Tav, ge- wait a second!” He interrupted himself and grabbed the bottle of liquor again, downing the rest of it with impressive speed.

“Get it over with,” he finished and then turned his head slightly to give you better access to the side of his head. He was still eyeing you cautiously.

And as you moved in until the needle was almost touching his ear, his free hand snapped up and grabbed your hand: “Count to three? Please?”

His eyes were genuine this time when he asked that of you. Your gaze softened, your hand with the needle dropped slightly. And with your other you softly let your thumb wander over your lover's much darker skin.

“You don't have to do this, Staeve,” you whispered and let go of his ear to softly cup his cheek and turn his face around to you. You softly pressed a kiss to his lips, biting through the pain immediately shooting through your lip doing this. Staeve let go of your hand to mirror you, the pad of his thumb softly stroking over your cheek as you kissed.

But when you lifted your head up again you saw the determined glint in his eyes, being sure he wouldn't pull out of this, no matter what.

“Hells no, I want to do this. Just - count to three,” he asked of you. You simply smirked and grabbed his chin to turn his head back to the former position.

“Ready?” you asked and felt how some nervousness welled up inside you too as you carefully aligned the needle with your partner's ear.

Staeve slightly nodded as he looked at you. He trusted you after all. Even Astarion was still watching right now.

You took a deep breath - as did he. Your eyes were firmly on him.

“One,” you said - and pushed the needle through the half-drow’s ear.

Naturally, you took him fully by surprise. His mouth opened, ready to let out a yowl of pain but then realised it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought. “Oww?” he made, more question than exclamation of pain, while you already pulled the needle through and fiddled with his new earring.

“Well, I could do that again anytime,” Staeve boasted afterwards and leaned forward - until he had to wrap his arms around you to stop you from falling off his lap. You grabbed a cloth and cleaned up his ear while he kept grinning at you insufferably and you pouted at him for how easily he swatted away his hesitancy from before.

“You like it, darling?” he shouted towards Astarion fishing for a compliment like you had gotten and meanwhile fully ignored your attitude.

The vampire rolled his eyes then nodded in exaggeration at Staeve, putting on some massive histrionics. Then he rolled his eyes again and went back to reading.

“Are you guys done now? Can I finally read in peace again?” Astarion spat towards you as Staeve let his hand wander up your back and rubbed the tip of his nose against yours.

“Still no nipple piercings for you?” the half-drow suggested cheekily and threw his other lover a glance. But the addressed vampire just stared at him in annoyance for his insolent proposition and shook his head - moving up his book to block both of you out of his view while he muttered something under his breath. Something about what he must have done to end up in this situation.

And while he kept softly muttering to himself, Staeve looked back at you, softly motioning towards Astarion with his head and a slight grin on his lips. You immediately fully understood his intention.

Without further need for communication the two of you dashed back towards your third and smothered him in between you: showering him with kisses while wrapping all of your limbs around him. Basically giving him not a single chance to escape your joint affection. The book was quickly wrestled out of his hand and discarded to the side.

Of course the vampire took it with hissing and many very verbal complaints but he simply couldn’t resist his partners showering him with the love he deserved. In the end he let himself be happily swept up between the two of you. All of the affection making him almost forget that it hadn’t always been like that.

It took a while before the tangle of limbs calmed down again. By the end you were almost in the same position again as you had started the whole night with, neatly wrapped up in each other.

Astarion looked at the two of you softly since you had seemingly used up all of your chaotic energy for the day.

When he took in your face, one of his eyebrows jumped up as he looked down to your freshly pierced lip. By now you could certainly feel it swell up and how it began to throb in pain.

Before you could question his intention, Astarion leaned towards you and softly licked up a fresh trickle of blood from the wound. All while retaining eye contact with you and sending shivers down your spine. Afterwards his lips stayed for a kiss - cautious of course, to not cause you more pain. You would have loved to deepen the kiss more and see where it could possibly lead. But you knew the pain would make you regret it and so it remained quite chaste.

When the kiss ended, Staeve immediately inserted himself back into the situation: “And are you taking care of my ear too, or…”

“I’m definitely not going to lick your godsdamned ear, Staeve!” Astarion answered with a snarl.

The other rogue pouted.

And that surprisingly was all that had been needed for Astarion to give in despite himself. With a loud sigh, he turned over and softly pressed some light kisses to his lover’s new earring. Staeve grinned at him contentedly and drew him back in for another open-mouthed kiss that went on until all of you slowly felt the exhaustion of the day finally catch up with you.

Slowly the three of you settled into serene silence: only the campfire still crackling, soft breaths drifting off into the aether and the sound of two hearts beating for three filled the night now.

It would have been perfect to just drift into your dreams now - if only it hadn’t been for the pain that now really kept bothering you.

You caught Staeve’s gaze and saw the same agony mirrored on his face - especially since he was laying on the side of his freshly pierced ear. You made a face towards your half-drow partner. He answered you in like.

But neither of you would have bothered to get up and do something about it. Especially not if it meant letting go of your vampire for only a second.

But Astarion noticed anyway.

“Regretting the consequences of your actions, darlings?” he teased with a bit of bite in his tone. But when both you and Staeve made big eyes at him, he simply sighed. Then he tried to detangle himself with quite some effort and got up.

“Where are you going, Astarion? You can’t just leave us here, not if we’re hurting!” you exclaimed and immediately shimmied over into Staeve’s open arms since the spot between you was empty now.

“I’m going to get the druid to fix you up. I can’t have you die of an infection because of this. Not before either the tadpole or I get to you,” Astarion responded with some annoyance masking his actual care for the two of you as he was already stomping away.

“Or do you rather want me to get Shadowheart?” the vampire teased you.

Staeve and you looked at each other. Both of you could imagine the amount of judgement you’d receive from the cleric.

“Halsin,” you exclaimed in unison and heard Astarion laugh slightly in response. And then you waited until your temporary missing piece returned to make the three of you whole again.

Taglist (DM if you want to be added please): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes

[slytherhys]

Hello, fellow Elriel!

This is your Elriel Month fic exchange announcement. Remember to not post this Ask until the days of your prompt (feel free to post your fic directly to this ask). 

Gifting: @rahjasmine

Prompt: Hold Tight and Don't Make a Sound

Tropes: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/comfort, HEA, smut

Send @elriel-month an ask if you have any questions. Can’t wait to read it! 🦇🌹

This is my Elriel Month gift for the lovely @rahjasmine and I really hope it's to your liking! 🦇🌹 I did my best to include all the tropes you requested (because why not!) with a side of plot (mainly inspired by a few Elriel Theories).

Hope I met your expectations. Happy Elriel Month, love ❤

To Have & Forget

A/N: I’m a complete sucker for Hunt calling Bryce sweetheart throughout HOEAB so I’m making that Azriel’s pet name for Elain because if SJM recycles plotlines, why can’t we recycle pet names!

TW: Swearing, Explicit Sexual Content, Blood and Injury

Word count: 3.8k | You can also read this on AO3!

The first thing Elain noticed when she came to her senses was the sound of flying.

She could feel the wind, cool and brisk on her face, just as she could feel the warmth of something, someone holding her in their arms. Her mind felt like mush, tired and wrung-out, and she could barely bring herself to open up her eyes and take notice of where she actually was.

That is, until the memories of tonight flashed through her mind, making her entire body lock. She felt the comforting squeeze of the arms around her, but Elain was beyond logic. All she could think about was the empty clearing in the middle of the woods, so still it wasn’t natural; the sticky, oily feeling of being watched; the foul scent of sulphur and salt and rot overcoming her senses as she reached for the trunk of the tree, looking for the onyx box they had been sent to retrieve.

All she could think about was how she had ignored it all – how they had been easy prey because Elain had been too distracted to wonder why she couldn’t feel the heady sense of Koschei’s magic, why the tingling in her arms seemed to be spreading through her body.

When Elain finally realised they had fallen right into a trap, it was already too late. She barely had time to turn around and cry out in warning – eyes wide as she watched an arrow move straight in Azriel’s direction – she was falling to the ground, eyes milky white and unseeing.

Sweet, sweet Elain¸its oily voice had grasped her mind, sending a hot slice of pain down her spine¸ You can’t protect him for me. She had whimpered, even as her lips remained shut. I’ll find him when the time comes, sweet, sweet-

“Elain,” Her eyes snapped up at the sound of her name on his lips. Azriel was looking down at her with a frown of concern across his features. “Hold tight,” He rasped, panting slightly. “We’re nearly there.”

She didn’t ask where there was. She supposed it didn’t really matter if it meant they’d be safe.

Elain wasn’t entirely sure how they had managed to get out. How Azriel had evaded an arrow he had not seen, how he had survived an attack from what had been at least ten sentries, when he had been staring at her, dread clear on his face.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she had survived either. She had heard the footsteps, she had heard snickering and vile jokes even through the daze of her visions. She had raged at the knowledge that she was going to die at the hands of her own incompetence. That she had failed, yet again, to understand what her visions meant – that the onyx box they had promised she’d find was a deception sent by someone else.

And Azriel – Azriel, who had seen her, who had never doubted her, her powers – would die too. Just like Rhysand had warned her about.

And yet, there she was: in the arms of the Shadowsinger as he landed softly on the ground. She looked up at him, dazed and confused as she tried to make sense of what had happened. Azriel, however, betrayed nothing. He just stared back at her, an inkling of concern still lingering in his eyes. He seemed reluctant to let her go, slowly setting her on the ground before clearing his throat.

“I’ll get us a room.” He rasped and before Elain could answer, he was turning away and walking inside a lovely stone cottage – an inn, she noticed with a frown. How Azriel knew of its existence was beyond her, but Elain couldn’t bring herself to care. She simply followed him, aware of his curious glances as they walked inside.

On any other day, Elain would’ve gasped and fussed over how incredibly charming the inn was, but feeling entirely too drained, she barely paid attention to anything at all. Not the paintings that seemed to move whenever no one was looking, not the elderly fae watching her with a curious expression from beyond the counter, and certainly not to what exactly Azriel was saying. She didn’t care for the curious stares from the patrons of the inn, she didn’t care for the fact her hands had been scrapped raw, pebbles indented to her scarred skin from when she fell to the floor.

You can’t hide him from me, sweet Elain. I have waited too long.

“Elain?”

She blinked, clearing the fog away as she took a step towards Azriel, who was standing in the middle of the room, looking at her like he was waiting for her to break apart. She looked around, not having realised she had already followed him into the room they’d be staying in. The modest bed, the wooden dresser and a small bathroom that would serve them just fine for the night. She didn’t ask if she was sleeping anywhere else – she assumed Azriel was as fond of the idea of spending the night separated as Elain was. Which is to say, not fond at all.

She eyed him, taking him in for what felt like the first time tonight and gasped.

There was a vicious tear on the shoulder of his Illyrian leathers and blood dripped down his arm.

An ugly, open wound and he had carried her for miles and miles until they were safe enough to land.

Without thinking, Elain moved, entering the bathroom without a glance back. Azriel said nothing, simply watching her with a frown as she grabbed every cloth she managed to find, looking for something, anything she could use to clean the wound. She ended up just filling a small bucket she found by the bathtub with cold water.

“Sit on the bed, please.” She rasped, her throat still raw from screaming. Azriel raised an eyebrow, though she could see he was paler than before. She set down the bowl by the bed, glancing at Azriel.

“I’m fine, Elain.” He reassured her, looking everything but fine.

She stepped closer, poking his chest. “Sit.” A poke to the chest. “On.” Another one. “The.” Another one. “Bed.” She said, shoving him softly.

“I’m fine,” He grunted. She tutted, pushing him until he was sitting on the bed, wincing at the brisk movement. Elain gave him a pointed look which Azriel promptly ignored, closing his eyes, and throwing his head back as he waited for her to start.

Elain tried not to take notice of his powerful neck, his strong jaw, and his plush lips. She focused instead on the cloth in her hands, flinching as cold water covered her hand. Then, as gently as she could manage, she patted the wound, pulling the fabric away to rinse it and start again.

She had repeated the process at least four times when Azriel spoke again, startling her. “What did you see?” He asked softly, as if not certain it was okay to ask such a thing.

Elain eyed him cautiously. She had to talk about it – she knew she did. She had put his life at risk because of it – she owed him that much. Still, every word tasted like poison ivy on her tongue. “It was him.” She murmured, still cleaning his wound even as his muscles tensed at her words as if he knew the name that was about to leave her lips. “It was Koschei.”

Azriel’s head snapped towards her, eyes unsettled as he tried to make sense of her words. Elain simply dropped the bloody cloth, reaching for a clean, dry towel and tearing it apart until only strips of it remained.

He was silent for a moment before saying, “It was a trap.” Elain nodded once, unable to meet his eyes. She began wrapping his shoulder with the strips of towel instead. “He knew we were coming.”

Elain flinched. “The vision I had in Velaris, about the box…” She shook her head, a pit forming inside her stomach as she finally admitted what had been running through her mind for the past hours. “He managed to trick me. He corrupted my own mind enough that I believed it was my own power doing it.” She whispered, eyes pinned on the makeshift wound wrappings covering the upper half of his arm. “It was my fault.” She felt her shoulders drop with the weight of her admission.

“What did he tell you, Elain?” Azriel asked softly and it was only then Elain realised he was reaching for her; gently cradling her face with his beautiful hand. Her face crumpled as cold dread filled her veins all over again. Because she did not want to think about it. She did not want to accept it.

Still, Elain looked into Azriel’s hazel eyes for the first time since they’d arrived at this tiny room. “He’s looking for you.” She whispered, yet the words felt just as biting as they had when Koschei had first hissed them inside her mind.

Azriel swallowed dry, nodding as if he had been expecting that. “Was that it?”

“I’m not sure-”

“You can tell me, sweetheart.” He assured, and Elain nearly burst into tears at his gentle tone. That he was comforting her when he was the one being threatened spoke of character.

“He says he’s been waiting for too long, that you can’t hide from him.” Her voice trembled. She leaned her face further into his touch, feeling like a coward for not being able to offer the same comfort he was giving her. “That I c-can’t save you.” Azriel went still, eyes locked on her face. But Elain wasn’t done – with a new sense of courage, she squared her shoulders, brown eyes never flickering away from as she promised, “There isn’t a thing that would stop me from saving you.” She frowned. “No matter how dreadful I am with a dagger.”

“You can handle daggers just fine, sweetheart.” He teased, but Elain only frowned further, unable to joke when things felt suddenly so grave.

“We need to leave the Continent, Az.” She turned around, escaping his touch as she took in her surroundings. The unlocked door, the unprotected window…By the Cauldron, they were only on the second floor and Mother knew what those bandits were capable of. If they had followed them.

“Elain,” He urged again, pulling her by her hand until she was standing between his open legs. “Elain, sweetheart, look at me.”

Elain stopped, panting as she turned to look at him, despair spreading through her chest until she could hardly breathe.

“We’re safe here.” He promised. “No one’s getting to me tonight.” Elain flinched slightly at the word tonight, and it was all she could do not to throw her arms around his shoulders, kissing him until they could both forget what had happened. Whatever awaited them out there. “We’ll leave for Velaris at dawn. We’ll tell Rhys and Feyre what happened and take it from there. Everything will be okay,” He pulled her closer, staring into her eyes with unshakable certainty. “We’ll be okay.”

Elain couldn’t escape his gaze, enthralled by the intensity hidden in those hazel eyes. She hadn’t even realised how close to him she had gotten. How all she could smell was him, all she could see and feel was him. His hands gently resting on her hips, his long legs trapping her between them, his breath caressing her mouth. Suddenly Elain’s heart was racing for an entirely different reason.

Memories from the night of Solstice flashed through her mind, alarms blaring inside her mind as she thought of doing something very silly like kissing the Spymaster. After that fated night, they had gone months without talking. Azriel had made himself scarce, keeping busy with all sorts of missions away from Velaris, and Elain… Elain had buried herself in work, in training with Nuala and Cerridwen, in being there for her younger sister as she recovered from a traumatic pregnancy. All thoughts of Azriel, of that necklace, of almost-kisses, had been promptly pushed aside, kept in a box, and hidden from view. Now, as she stared at him, her heart racing inside her chest, she wondered if maybe tonight – just tonight – they could have this.

She parted her lips, and his eyes dropped to them.

“We’ll be okay.” He whispered again, and Elain suspected they were no longer talking about Koschei.

Elain took a shaky breath. “Az.” She pleaded. Because she couldn’t handle the bite of his rejection again. Because she would shatter into a million pieces if he didn’t kiss her, claim her, and show her he was truly there; alive and safe.

“Sweetheart, we shouldn’t-” He started, even as his lips came closer to hers.

“We’ll pretend.” She interrupted him gently, her own hands reaching for his soft hair. “For one night, we’ll pretend we should. We’ll pretend there is nothing in this world but us.” She tried, feeling raw where she stood. “We’ll just pretend.” She murmured as if it were truly that simple. As if they could just get lost in each other and consequences be damned. Forget about her murky visions and her damaged mind. About the threat to his life.

She felt like she had stopped breathing as she waited for him to say something – do something.

But then Azriel was cradling her face yet again, pulling her into his arms and kissing her so fervently, so thoroughly Elain’s knees buckled. Azriel inhaled shakily, grabbing at the back of her knees until she was straddling his hips and the feeling of him, hard and ready under her, made her head spin. His every move spoke of urgency, of a thirst to feel her. There was no softness, only pure, desperate need.

“Yes,” She said, her own desire an inferno burning inside of her, flaring everywhere their skin touched.

His scarred hands reached for the hem of her grey dress, swiftly pulling it over her head until she was in nothing more than her bra and panties. Azriel groaned at the sight of the blue lace, reaching for her chest with an expression on his face akin to reverence. Elain dropped her head back, shivering as his rough hands teased her sensitive nipples over the lace.

Azriel leaned forward, inhaling the scent of her bare neck, licking, and tasting her. Elain moaned, hips rolling bucking against his lap.

“You need to be quiet, sweetheart,” He mumbled, eyes never leaving hers even as he slowly pushed the bra straps down her arms. “Or I won’t give you what you need.”

Elain nodded franticly, biting her lip as she watched him drop his head and wrap his lips around her now bare nipple. She tried to obey – she truly, truly did – but the feeling of his talented tongue teasing her sensitive skin made her delirious, crying out loud enough that the sound echoed through the empty room.

Azriel squeezed her hips in warning, his hands keeping their path as they traced her curves reverently, each movement speaking of the crazed, rushed need to have her in his arms.

He wrapped a scarred hand around her jaw, pulling her down until he was kissing her, moaning into her mouth just as Elain felt his other hand reach for her covered centre. She gasped, her legs shaking as his fingers swiped at her.

“You’re dripping for me,” He groaned, nimble fingers circling her cunt in a tantalising rhythm that had Elain panting, her own hands exploring his body until she was wrapping her hand around his clothed cock. She stroked him once, twice, three times until Azriel was cursing under his breath, bucking his hips as Elain rushed to free him.

“Azriel, please.” She whimpered against his lips. The feeling of his throbbing, naked member on her hand sent a shot of adrenaline down her body and for a second it was as if Elain had stopped feeling her own body. There was only her hand wrapped around his cock, his fingers teasing the entrance of her soaked cunt.

“Fuck.” He muttered, lips swollen and red. Elain whimpered in agreement, head dropping to his shoulder as he thrust one thick finger inside of her.

“Feels so good.” She managed to say, eyes closed as he set a punishing pace that had her rolling her hips, fucking herself on his finger. Pressure built around the base of her spin, her walls fluttering around his finger. Elain only had the time to bite into his shoulders as she felt herself fall over the edge, clamping around his finger as her hands reached for his body. She needed to feel his body pressed against hers, needed to be as close to him as possible.

“I need to fuck you,” Azriel said with a pained groan. “Now, sweetheart. Please.” He moaned and Elain, still a bit dazed from her own orgasm, was all too happy to oblige.

She held on to him, raising slightly to her knees as she reached for his hard, aching member again, pressing it against her entrance. They both groaned at the feel of it, eyes locked as they took in the enormity of what they were about to do. Elain didn’t give them time to regret any of it – she simply slid down, moaning as the feel of him stretched her, filled her until she was panting, ready to burst.

Elain had been with other men, but none of them compared. Nothing had ever felt like this. She was pure need and raw desire, a primal longing ringing through her as she felt like clinging to him. 

Azriel cursed, stilling her hips as he stared at her with hooded eyes. “You can’t make a sound, sweetheart.” He warned her again, reminding Elain they were in a dingy inn in the middle of nowhere, thin walls and precarious locks the only thing keeping them protected from wandering eyes. Elain could care less, but a zing of arousal went down her spine at the thought of obeying the male under her, of being good to him.

When Elain was about ready to come apart around his cock, Azriel finally reached for the globes of her ass, squeezing them and manhandling Elain until she was moving again. She could feel every ridge, every throb of his cock as she rode him, making them both moan into their kiss.

“Elain,” Azriel panted, spreading his knees and thrusting from under her, one of his hands reaching for her jaw as he kept her right where he wanted her.

She was riding him, yet she was completely at his mercy, unable to do anything but take every thrust of his cock, the bite of his hand grabbing her ass, the gentle way he was holding her jaw so he could taste her lips as he fucked her.

The breath in her lungs grew scarcer and her eyes started to flutter as she felt the familiar tell-tale of an orgasm. Az moaned.

“Fuck, you’re gonna come for me?” He rasped, eyes blown wide as she took her in. The way he was staring at her made warmth spread through her entire body. She felt one scarred hand circle her clit, soft enough that it nearly drove her mad. “Let me feel you come around my cock, sweetheart.”

“Azriel, I’m-”

“Come for me, Elain.” He ordered, and her name on his lips was enough to send her straight over the edge. Elain shattered around him, her legs shaking as pleasure rushed through her body, numbing her limbs. Before she could cry out, Azriel was kissing her, his tongue seeking hers. “Shit.” He muttered, his hips shuttering as he thrust into her, seeking his own pleasure.

“Come inside me, Az.” Elain muttered dozily. “I want you to fill me with your cum.”

He wrapped his arms around her body, pulling her into him as he came inside her with a moan. “Fuck, Elain.” He thrust into her clumsily, emptying his seed into her.

She fell against him, head on his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, feeling Azriel’s ragged breathing under her, his arms still wrapped around her.

“Elain,” He said her name softly, and something inside her seemed to settle at last – even as fear tied her stomach in knots.

How foolish of her to think they could just pretend. How foolish of her to think one night would ever be enough.

She pulled away, her eyes meeting his in the darkened room. Elain swallowed dry, her heartbeat so loud she could barely hear her own whisper. “Do you regret it?”

Azriel’s expression was uncharacteristically open – enough so that Elain could read the confusion, the disbelief that came across his features for a brief moment. She shut down the tiny voice that told her she ought to feel elated he felt comfortable enough to show her his emotions, but all she could focus on was the fear seizing her chest, telling her that to him, one night had been more than enough.

Azriel watched her closely, seeing all that. Understanding her, like he always did.

So, with Elain still straddling his hips, he reached for her and kissed her. Slowly, reverently. Elain felt her breath catch, her mind clear as his tongue sought hers. She brought her hands to his jaw, begging him for more, crazed with the realisation of how much she had longed for him. Azriel, however, kept his lazy pace. Tasting her like they had all the time in the world.

He pulled away, his eyes clear and intent as they locked on hers, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “The only thing I regret is that you think this will be a one-time thing, sweetheart.” He rasped, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Elain chuckled softly, even as a shiver ran down her spine at the sinful promise ringing in those words. She wanted to hold him in her arms, to ravish him again and again, until dawn came, and they had to leave the Continent behind. But she knew this moment to be too fragile, too raw for there to be space for anything but the truth that floated between them. That there wasn’t a world where they could keep apart from each other any longer.

So, Elain let his promise settle down deep inside of her, an answering smile rising on her lips.

And later that night, when he had already fallen asleep in her arms, his head lying on her chest as she played with his hair, she let her own truth settle deep inside of her.

Now that he was finally hers, there was nothing – no one – that would be taking Azriel away from her. No pesky mating bonds, no prying High Lords. And certainly no manipulative, mad, ancient Gods - no matter how powerful they were.

She would make sure of it.

[randomwelcomehomestuff]

Unfinished Business: a Welcome Home Corpse Puppet AU fanfiction

A/N: Just here to let you know that I'm not creative. Like, at all. This is a fanfic of a fanfic inspired by a fan-made AU of a completely unrelated work, but I couldn't get it out of my head so maybe now my brain will be at peace so I can work on my original story (or it will come up with fifty other fanfic ideas because that's more fun than editing).

Anyway, Welcome Home belongs to Clown/partycoffin, the Corpse Puppet AU belongs to @sketchquill, and the fanfic this is based on is a Corpse Bride/Nightmare Before Christmas crossover fic called The Undead Groom by moviefan_92 on Ao3.

Spoiler Alert for all of that media, plus a little for the novel The Pumpkin Queen just because there's a reference here and there, but not too much.

Also C/W: There's a lot of major character death in here.

I may add more to it later if inspiration strikes. Let me know in the comments if you are interested in that.

Okay, I'll shut up, now. Here's the fic.

The carriage jostled down the muddy dirt road. You wrung the handkerchief in your hands as you gazed out the window at the grey sky, occasionally distracted by the raindrops trailing down the glass. Try as you might, you just couldn't cry. You wanted to, but no tears would come.

At least the dreary weather was appropriate for a funeral.

Howdy was watching you. He wasn't one to judge his spouse's appearance, but he did decide that funeral black did not suit you particularly well. Not when he'd seen you in so many other bright, cheerful colors, when you had been happy. When you were like this—mourning—the sparkle in your eyes was gone. He thought you were beautiful when you were happy, somehow still hauntingly so when you were sad, but he would be lying if he said he didn't prefer seeing you smile or laugh.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “I know you and Eddie were close.”

You sighed. “I'll be fine. This isn't my first time dealing with grief.”

Yes, Howdy knew that all too well. The first several days of your marriage had been more awkward than they probably should have been for... obvious reasons. Any time he caught you staring despondently out the window, he knew deep down that you were thinking of Wally.

That didn't have a negative impact on your marriage, though. You were strong and optimistic, and Howdy shared many happy memories with you. You taught him how to play piano, and he in turn taught you how to garden. You even started a small orchard together. Howdy couldn't think of many more signs of a happy home than the smell of apple blossoms in the garden and hallways filled with the sounds of music and laughter. You were comfortable, and your fortunes were secure, (that was the most important thing to both of your parents, and neither of you could ask for much more than your parents' satisfaction).

Most of all, you and Howdy loved each other. Howdy had accepted long ago that yours was a love built off of friendship and mutual respect rather than romance, but it was enough for him, (considering what he grew up witnessing from his parents, he counted that as the greatest success of them all). You recently celebrated your copper anniversary, which baffled Howdy. How could seven years fly by so quickly? Thinking back on everything, he knew that he was completely satisfied with where his life was, as long as you were by his side and happy.

Which is why he hated to see you so sad. He wouldn't rush you through your grief, but he could at least help lighten the load. “Would you like to talk about it?” he asked.

You looked down at the handkerchief in your hands, wadded up beyond recognition, but still as dry as it was when Howdy handed it to you. You smoothed it out over your lap and stared at Howdy's initials embroidered in green in the corner.

Howdy watched you, patient. A deep rumble of thunder rolled through the sky outside.

“I just... hate how somber it was,” you said.

“Funerals typically are.”

“I know, but Eddie wouldn't have wanted that. He was so much more cheerful and... and colorful than that. He'd want people telling funny stories about him and celebrating his life, not... just standing in silence while the dirt is thrown over his casket.” Your shoulders stiffened. “I should have said something.” Now you could feel the tears building up, but they simply would not come. I should be crying. Why am I not crying?

Howdy leaned forward and took your hand, and you finally looked into his eyes. He was smiling. “He's in a better place, now.”

You smiled at that. Seven years ago, those words would have felt like a hollow attempt at consolation, but now they were a real comfort. Howdy was there when the dead came up to the Land of the Living. He witnessed Eddie and Frank briefly reunite. Now they would never be separated again, and he knew it as well as you did.

Perhaps that was why you couldn't cry: you knew that good things were waiting for Eddie on the other side.

The tears finally spilled over and rolled down your cheeks, but they were not tears of sorrow. You were happy.

Howdy used two of his free hands to cup your face. His smile was soft and understanding as he thumbed away your tears. You stood and shifted over to the seat across from you so you could sit beside him, and his four arms wrapped you up into a tight hug. He pressed a kiss into the top of your head, like he had so many times before. “Everything will be alright,” he whispered.

“I know,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

Lightning flashed outside, followed by a loud clap of thunder. You gripped at Howdy's coat as he leaned forward to look out the window. “That storm is getting much worse.”

“Should we stop somewhere?” you asked.

He nodded. “Most likely.” He reached up to knock on the ceiling of the coach. “Johnson? How are the roads looking?” he called.

Johnson, the driver, shouted something back to Howdy, but his voice was drowned out by a deafening crash. A blinding white light flooded the carriage and the horses whinnied outside in terror. You tried to lean forward to look out the window, but the horses bolted and the momentum sent you crashing to the floor of the coach. You could hear Johnson yelling. Howdy grabbed your arm and tried to haul you back into the seat, but when you looked out the window, what you saw made you freeze.

Lightning had struck a nearby tree. It was on fire. Johnson seemed to have lost the reins, because you could see them flapping in the wind by the window. Howdy was calling your name. Johnson was screaming at the horses to stop.

The carriage was passing the flaming tree right as it started to crackle and groan.

You jumped back into the seat and grabbed Howdy. One of his hands grasped the back of your head and his body tensed around you as if he was bracing himself.

It only took a few seconds—three at most—but it felt like an eternity.

Wood splintered around you as the carriage shattered. A heavy weight came down on you and Howdy, and for a brief, macabre moment, you were amazed by how fragile your bodies really were.

Then everything went black.

There was nothing but darkness for a long time. You tried to move, tried to call out for Howdy, but nothing happened. You were just... nothing.

That thought scared you. There was so much more than that. Light. Color. Noises and smells. Life. You couldn't be nothing, that just wasn't possible. You had memories and goals. You had a spouse and a family. You had an estate to attend to you. You couldn't just... not be.

Panic twisted your stomach into knots, clawed its way up your throat, and came out of your mouth as a scream: “Help! Help me!”

“Alright, alright! Calm down!”

You stopped. That voice sounded familiar, but you couldn't quite put your finger on who it was.

Then you heard another, timid voice. “Is it always like this?”

That one you did recognize, because you had just heard it a few days ago. It was Eddie. Your instinct was to gasp, but you couldn't. I can't breathe. Oh, God, I can't breathe.

The first voice spoke again: “Often, yes. It all depends on the person and how at peace they are.”

There was a shuffling nearby. It was odd, despite the panic coursing through you, your body was strangely... calm. You expected your heart to be thumping fast and heavy in your ears and for your palms to be sweaty, but there was nothing.

The space above you shifted with a low creak and light stabbed your eyes. You flinched, blinked, then stared at the two faces above you blurring into focus.

Eddie and Frank were leaned over, looking down at you. They both offered you sad, soft smiles.

Your neck was stiff as you looked around. Your were laying in some sort of bed. It wasn't comfortable; even though it was all silk, there was no cushion, and the pillow at your head was much too small. Your mind was sluggish like you had just woken from a long nap. You had to blink several times and crane your neck to the left before you realized that Frank was holding open a lid.

You were in a casket.

Your tongue felt like cement in your mouth as you stammered, “Am... am I d-dead?”

Eddie gave you a pitying look. “Oh, Y/N.”

“Come on,” Frank said, “the sooner you get on your feet, the better you'll feel.” He and Eddie grabbed you under your arms and hoisted you out of the casket, which was sitting on a table. They helped you find your footing and Frank instructed you through some stretches to shake off the rigor mortis. You took a moment to look around.

You were in a sort of cavern, full of other caskets sitting on tables. Some looked new, others old and decayed.

“Where are we?” you asked.

“The Land of the Dead. Specifically, an offshoot of our village, just below the graveyard where you were buried,” Frank said.

You felt dizzy. “So... the crash... I didn't make it.”

Eddie put his hand on your shoulder. “No one made it except the driver. When the tree fell, he got thrown off, but he survived. Poor man blames himself for what happened. Thinks he should have kept better hold of the reins or suggested you leave sooner to avoid the storm.” He squeezed your shoulder. “They say you and Howdy died in each other's arms.”

“Howdy...” Your stomach was churning and you wondered if you could still get sick even if you were dead.

Eddie nodded. “Frank had to break a couple of rules, but we went to the Land of the Living to see your funeral—”

“From a safe distance, of course,” Frank interrupted.

“Of course. Your parents spared no expense. They got you a big, beautiful gravestone and there were flowers everywhere. You and Howdy were buried next to each other in the outfits you got married in.”

You glanced down at yourself for the first time and realized he was right, you were wearing the outfit your mother had picked out for your wedding, complete with your wedding band on your left hand.

Not only that, but you were also wearing the other wedding band on your right hand. Wally's wedding band. It was the same ring Wally had worn all those years ago, after you had practiced your vows in the woods. You ended up keeping it for myself since Howdy's mother insisted that you purchase new rings for your next attempt at getting married, (”I'll have no cursed rings at this ceremony,” she said). You could never bring yourself to get rid of it, though, and eventually fell into the habit of wearing it on your right hand while you wore your actual wedding ring on your left.

You were surprised that you had been buried with it, considering everything. Perhaps your family decided that since you wore it all the time, it held sentimental value to you and you'd want to keep it. Or, you shuddered to consider this, your hands were too swollen to get it off.

You shook those thoughts away and looked back to Eddie. “Where is Howdy?” you asked. “If he was buried next to me, shouldn't he be here?”

Frank and Eddie exchanged a glance. “We aren't sure where he is,” Eddie said.

“We've been keeping an eye out for him, but we think he's gone to the upstairs,” Frank added.

“The upstairs?”

“Heaven, Paradise, Nirvana, whatever you call it. You can go to whatever version of the afterlife you choose once you pass on. Unless you're someone like Julie.” They frowned. “Someone like that who has caused suffering for others doesn't get a choice. She's downstairs.”

“So, if there's an upstairs and a downstairs, where are we? The ground floor?”

Frank's mouth twitched into a smile. “Something like that. The people who end up here usually either can't make up their mind where they want to go or have unfinished business. You could join Howdy upstairs, if you wanted.”

You considered this, but the idea made your head spin. Where exactly did Howdy go, and how would you go about joining him?

Frank nodded to a nearby hallway. “We can talk more about this, later. Come on, the others are waiting to see you.”

The others. You perked up a bit remembering them. Sally, Poppy, Barnaby, even your old dog, Scraps. You followed Frank out of the cavern, and Eddie fell into step beside you, whistling a cheery tune as you walked.

The bells were already ringing by the time you reached the village, and as you got closer to the old tavern you could hear a chorus of voices all calling out, “New arrival! New arrival!”

Eddie chuckled beside you. “Poppy is up to her ears in cooking. They just had a Welcome Feast for me the other day.”

You tried to swallow, but your mouth was too dry. God, Eddie's, funeral was just the other day, and now here you were. You weren't sure if you could take part in any kind of feast; your mind was still reeling from everything that had happened.

You entered the tavern and were immediately greeted by Sally, the tragic Shakespearean actor, who gripped your hand and was roughly shaking it as soon as you stepped through the door. “Well, it's about time you showed up!” she said.

“Easy, Sally. Y/N is still adjusting,” Frank said as they came in beside you.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sally said as she tugged you across the room and sat you down at a bar. “So how'd it happen?”

You cleared your throat. “Um. A carriage accident.”

She whistled. “Wow, that's a rough way to go. Do you remember any of it?”

“Not really. I got knocked out pretty quickly.”

There was a loud thud beside you as a familiar, tall blue dog plopped down in the seat on your other side. “Welp, that's good at least,” Barnaby said as he handed you a frothing mug of beer.

“Sure is. Not remembering violent deaths makes the transition a little easier.”

Barnaby leaned over, his eyeball rolling into his right socket, and peered at you. “And judging by all the schmutz on your face, I'm guessing it wasn't a pretty sight.”

“Schmutz?” You gently touched your face and realized that you had a very thick layer of makeup on.

“Oh yeah! We need to get that off you right away. It looks awful.” Sally stood up and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Poppyyyyyy! I need a mirrooooooooor!”

“One moment, please!” a high-pitched, crow-like voice squawked from the kitchen. “Goodness me, I'm going to start molting again from all these feasts.” Poppy walked into the space behind the bar, wiping her wings on her apron, and she looked up at you. “Oh, my dear Y/N. I heard the rumors, but I didn't know if they were true. I'm so sorry.”

You couldn't help but smile at Poppy, remembering the way she comforted you when you first came here and were scared out of your wits. “I'm fine. It's good to see you again.”

She smiled back at you before digging through her apron pocket. “Let's see, I think I have a mirror in here, somewhere. Ah!” She withdrew a tiny hand mirror and handed it to you. “Please don't be insulted, but whoever did your funeral makeup certainly did you a disservice.”

You looked into the mirror and blanched when you realized that they were right. The makeup didn't match your skin tone and made you look horribly discolored, and they seemed to try and make up for that by applying huge splotches of rouge to your cheeks and lips. You grimaced at your reflection.

“Uh huh. Here,” Sally said while handing you a rag.

You went to work cleaning up your face and neck, scrubbing the makeup away. You froze when you glanced at your reflection again and noticed just how much you had changed. Your skin had taken on a bluish tint, and you had massive stitches across your neck and down your right temple. You gently prodded at your temple and flinched when a fraction of your skull shifted under your touch. No, the accident wasn't pretty at all.

Sally noticed this and took the rag and mirror from you. “Here, I'll finish,” she said.

“You'll get used to it,” Barnaby said as Sally got to work. “Imagine how Poppy was when she first got here and saw that half of her face was missing.”

Sally finished and nodded with satisfaction. “There. Now you look like one of us!”

“The stitches are a nice touch, too. Makes you look like a pirate,” Barnaby said.

Sally gasped. “Oooo. We could do a production of The Pirates of Penzance! Are you a good singer?”

“Me? Well, uh—”

Barnaby laughed then stood up. “Care if I go ahead and audition?” He started singing “I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General” before anyone could protest, going out of his way to use a silly voice and make larger-than-life funny gestures.

Eddie took Barnaby's seat beside you and helped himself to the drink that Poppy put down in front of him. “So, what do you think you're going to do now?”

You pondered this for a moment. “I'm not sure. What can I do?”

“Whatever you want, really. You could move on to another afterlife upstairs, or you could stay here. Take care of whatever unfinished business you have.”

You shrugged. “I guess that's why I'm here, huh? I just can't make up my mind?”

Poppy leaned against the bar and giggled. “Oh, no. I think you do have unfinished business.”

You tilted your head. “What?”

Sally's attention was brought back to you and she propped her elbows on the bar, giving you a sly smile. “Oh, yeah. And I bet we all know what it is.”

“I'm confused,” you said.

“Oh, come on. Do we really need to spell it out for you?” she said with a groan. “How about the guy you almost drank poison for?”

Your eyes widened. “Wally?”

Sally and Poppy both nodded. Barnaby gave up on his performance when he realized no one was watching him juggle three empty beer mugs and approached you again. “Sounds about right,” he said.

“But that's not possible. Wally, he... he's gone. I saw him disappear.”

Frank approached you from behind and placed their hand on your shoulder. “He's not gone. Souls don't just disappear like that.”

“Yeah, and he visited us a couple of weeks ago,” Barnaby added.

You felt something deep within you—your heart, maybe? even though it wasn't beating anymore?—jump up at the revelation. “Where is he? Upstairs?”

“Nah, I think Poppy would have let us know if he was living in the attic.” Barnaby laughed when Frank gave him a sharp glare.

“Not precisely. Last I heard, he's residing in another in-between kind of place. It's a little bit harder to get there since it's separate from our world, but he's figured it out well enough that he still visits us from time to time,” Frank said.

Your throat clenched like a fist and your eyes were stinging. You pressed your hands against your mouth and sniffled.

Poppy grinned. “I knew it.”

“Please. We all knew it,” Sally said.

“How do I find him?” you said.

Frank put a hand to his chin. “Well, he told me that there are a couple of ways to get there, but for most of them you have to know what you're looking for. I haven't been able to go there, myself, so I won't be very much help, there.” They tapped his jaw and hummed a bit in thought. “I suppose I could give you the spell I gave Wally before. It's a bit of a gamble, but I'm sure it won't be much of a problem for you. It's a spell to help you find your heart's desire. I gave it to him when he first got here in case he ever changed his mind about that unfinished business of his, and he kept it with him for years. Didn't use it until that day in the Land of the Living.”

You remembered that moment vividly, when you watched as Wally's body dissolved into hundreds of blue and grey butterflies. “That was a spell? I thought he was gone.”

Frank shook his head. “I think once he decided that he was satisfied, he needed something to help him move on. He's happy where he is now, if not a little lonely.”

You hugged yourself. You had never considered the possibility of seeing Wally again, and now that you were told that it was possible, your heart seemed to sing at the idea. But something was holding you back.

“What about Howdy?”

Frank sighed. “I can't help you with that. I'm afraid that's a decision you'll have to make on your own.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Eddie said, “you're not limited to one place. You can visit each afterlife whenever you want. I visited my parents in the upstairs the other day, but I'm staying here to be with Frank.” As he said this, he took Frank's hand and gave them a sweet smile. “So, uh, if you want to see Howdy again, you can. But you don't have to stay anywhere. You're free to do what you want.”

That seemed to loosen some of the tension in your chest. You took a deep breath and let your heart take over. “Okay. How do I use that spell?”

Frank smiled. “We'll need to get some things out of my office.”

You stood and followed Frank out the door. Sally whooped behind you, “Woo hoo! Lover boy's getting his partner back!”

“We'll have that Welcome Feast another time, alright?” Poppy called.

Barnaby just hummed to himself, considering adding another verse to “Remains of the Day” so that the story would have a happy ending, after all. Then again, he'd probably have to sacrifice the catchy instrumental part in the middle so the song wasn't too long, and he wasn't willing to do that.

You and Eddie stood in silence as you watched Frank dig through his various supplies. He scrutinized their spell book as he carefully measured and combined the ingredients. When they were finished, he handed you a small capsule the size of a marble.

“This is it?” you asked.

He nodded. “It looks unassuming, but it is a very powerful spell. All you have to do is crush it in your hand and you'll be sent to wherever your heart's desire is. Though, you may need to try and focus on one thing, or else you may get sent to the wrong place.”

“But don't worry. If you get lost, just find a graveyard and enter a crypt to go underground, and you'll find a village associated with that grave yard. You should be able to find your way back from there,” Eddie said.

You nodded, staring at the capsule in the palm of your hand.

Without warning, Eddie pulled you into a hug. “Take care of yourself, okay, bud? And you'd better visit us all the time, or I'll come find you, myself.”

You smiled and leaned into his hug. “I will. I promise.”

Frank sniffed and cleared their throat, trying to hide the fact that you reminded him of themselves when he was young and fell in love with Eddie for the first time. “Alright, go on before Eddie decides to make you stay here.”

You turned to Frank and gave him a hug, too. “Thank you,” you whispered.

They awkwardly patted your back. “Of course.” He led you out to his balcony that overlooked the village. “I will warn you, it may be a bit of a bumpy ride.”

You walked to the edge of the balcony, looked back over your shoulder at them as Eddie put his arm around Frank. You took a deep breath—just out of habit at this point, and it was an odd sensation to feel your lungs stretch for the first time in a while—then turned your face up. You closed your eyes and pictured Wally, wherever he was, then you squeezed your right hand until the capsule burst and a fine powder spilled out between your fingers.

Nothing happened, at first. You opened your eyes again and looked down, wondering if you'd done something wrong.

But then you felt another strange sensation: an unraveling, like your body was falling away from you. A gust of wind swirled around you, your feet and the tips of your fingers tingled, and your body transformed into hundreds of butterflies.

Just like Wally.

Normally, you would have been frightened. You weren't. Your heart jumped up in your throat with excitement. You almost laughed, but your face and mouth had been transformed by then.

You were jumbling, fluttering, riding on the wind current, spread out in a great cloud of delicate wings. You tumbled through the air, trying and failing to grasp what was happening and where you were going. The world flew past you in a blur. You felt free.

You jolted when your feet suddenly met solid ground. You blinked, held your hands out in front of you and found them whole again.

You were in a circular clearing in the middle of a grove of trees. You spun around in a circle, taking in your surroundings. The trees were all tall and dark, and each tree on the edge of this clearing had a door carved into it. A four-leaf clover, a big red heart, a Christmas tree? An Easter egg? These were all symbols associated with holidays.

“Oh!” a quiet voice sounded behind you. You turned to face them and stared, slack-jawed, at the person who met you. She was a tall, slender woman standing at the edge of the grove. Her skin was made of a blue fabric and she had long, red hair and wore a colorful, patchwork dress. A small basked was hanging from the crook of her arm, stuffed with sprigs of lavender. Her round, glassy, babydoll eyes blinked at you. She smiled and dipped her head down. “I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting to find anyone else here.”

You struggled to find your words as you were still wrapping your head around the concept that a giant rag doll was talking to you. This was all a lot for you to take in one day. You coughed and said, “No, I'm sorry. I'm just... looking for someone.”

The woman tilted her head. “Is that so? Who are you looking for?”

“A man named Wally Darling. He's a...” You hesitated, unsure how foreign this would be to her.

But she finished the sentence for you. “A corpse? Like you?”

You smiled bashfully. “Yes.”

The woman grinned even bigger. “Then it's a good thing I found you. He's from the same town as me.”

That jolt of excitement shot through you again. It seemed like the spell that Frank made for you worked like a charm. “Really? Can you take me there?”

“Of course.” She walked up to you, her stride small and with a noticeable limp, thought she didn't seem to be in pain. She held out her hand. “My name is Sally, by the way,” she said.

Another Sally, you thought. You shook her hand and introduced yourself. She nodded, then motioned to the side toward a tree with a door shaped like a jack-o-lantern in it. “We'll be heading to Halloween Town. This is the fastest way there,” she continued. She limped to the tree, turned the knob that was disguised as the jack-o-lantern's nose, and the door swung outward. You cautiously approached it and looked down into the hollow tree. There was nothing but darkness, and the door opened to a steep drop-off that you couldn't see the bottom of.

“I find it easiest to just close my eyes and jump,” she said. “I know it can be a bit intimidating sometimes, but I promise, it's perfectly safe. My husband and I come through here all the time.”

You swallowed, grabbed hold of the doorway, and shut your eyes. A gentle breeze blew through, carrying the comforting scent of fallen leaves and caramel apples. A smile crept onto your face, and you pulled yourself through the doorway and jumped.

There was only a second of free fall before you landed smartly on your rear end in a giant pile of leaves. You grunted and clambered to your feet.

Sally appeared beside you. “Are you alright? That happens a lot for first-timers.”

You straightened up and said, “Yeah, I'm fine. Not like I can get much worse.”

She giggled at that and motioned for you to follow her. You walked together down a dirt path that cut through the woods and she asked you about where you came from and how you got here. She was a good listener as you told her everything.

“How do you know Wally?” she asked.

“We, um...” Your face heated up and you found yourself fiddling with the band on your right hand. “It's a long story. Let's just say we're... old friends.”

“I see,” she said with a knowing look that made you blush more. But then she looked forward and said, “Here we are.”

You both crested a hill and looked down on an archway with “Halloween Town” spelled out in black, iron letters. A large town bustled with activity down below. The architecture was conflictingly made of a combination of twisting, curving lines and jagged, sharp angles, and the citizens seemed to enjoy and monochrome color palette with occasional splashes of bright color. You followed Sally down the path and entered the town.

You had to keep yourself from gawking when you saw the first couple of citizens gathered in the town square: a wolf man dressed in tattered flannel chatting with a bulking man dressed in overalls with an axe stuck in his head. They both gawked at you, though, when you came into a view.

“Look! Queen Sally has brought in someone new!” the wolf man exclaimed with a gravelly voice.

You glanced at her. “Queen Sally?”

She blushed. “Ah, yes, I didn't mention that. I'm the Pumpkin Queen.”

“Oh!” You fumbled and started to bow, but Sally stopped you.

“Please, don't. That's exactly why I don't go around announcing that to everyone. Just treat me like you would anyone else.”

You nodded. “Sorry.”

“And don't apologize, either.” She hooked her arm around yours and said, “Now, let's go find Wally.”

She led you away, but not before you noticed that a trio of women, (witches, you guessed, based on their clothes and pointed hats) had gathered around the wolf man and were whispering conspiratorially.

You hadn't gone far before you stumbled upon two more citizens: a man wearing a long trench coat and tall, thin top hat, and an even taller, thin, and gangly skeleton dressed in a pin-stripped suit with tails on his coat and a bat bowtie. They were both leaned over something on a table.

Sally perked up a bit beside you. “Oh, that's my husband over there. He may know where Wally is.” She waved her free hand and called, “Jack! Jack!”

The skeleton looked up and his face split into a wide, toothy grin. “Sally! Perfect timing! Mr. Hyde and I were just testing out his newest creation. Would you care to see?”

She nodded and walked to the table, where Jack presented her with a large, orange bowl of candy with a small sign taped to the front that read “Just Take One.”

“A seemingly normal bowl, yes? Perfectly welcoming to trick-or-treaters.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

“Go and take a piece. Just one.”

Sally did as he said a delicately picked up a wrapped piece of butterscotch. She waited a moment, then raised a brow at him. “Is that all?”

“Precisely, because you were good and only took one. Now, pretend you are a greedy trick-or-treater and try to grab a handful.”

Sally nodded and drove her hand into the bowl, grabbing a large handful of candy, when a ghostly hand jumped from within the depths of the bowl and grabbed her wrist. She gasped, startled, then laughed. “What fun!”

Jack clapped Mr. Hyde on the back. “You see? A brilliant idea! I knew you were an excellent choice for the knew town scientist. Well done!”

Mr Hyde chuckled, pleased with himself. “You flatter me, Jack.”

Sally gently tugged at Jack's arm and whispered to him. He looked at you and his eyes lit up. “Oh, my apologies! I was so caught up in my work, I hadn't noticed you there.” He swept into a low bow. “Jack Skellington, Pumpkin King and Co-Representative of Halloween.” He stood upright and draped an arm over Sally's shoulder. “And you've already met my wife and partner, Sally.” He looked you up and down, then beamed. “We don't get very many new faces, but you seem like you'll fit right in, here.”

You cleared your throat and said, “Actually, Mr. uh, Skellington—”

“Please, Jack is fine.”

“Jack,” you corrected, “I'm actually looking for someone. Wally Darling?”

He raised a brow and glanced at Sally, who only smiled up at him. “Your name wouldn't happen to be Y/N, would it?”

Your eyes widened. “Yes. Why?”

“He talks about you all the time. Oh, he'll be over the moon when he sees you!”

You could have sworn that your heart thudded hearing that, but that couldn't have been possible, could it?

Jack tilted his head and hummed. “I just saw him a moment ago. I may know where he is. Follow me!” He let go of Sally and strode away. You glanced at Sally and she nodded to you, urging you forward, then you jogged to follow the skeleton.

Jack led the way down a twisting cobblestone path that led out of the town and into farmland that mostly consisted of pumpkins. He led you through a graveyard and up a steep hill, and his long strides took him up the hill faster than you could keep up with. You couldn't run out of breath, anymore, but that didn't stop your muscles from aching as you hiked after him. As you reached the top of the hill, you could see another hill in the distance that made the shape of a spiral. As you took in the view, your gaze wandered from the massive spiral and down to the bottom where another there was another pumpkin patch.

You froze when you saw him. There was no mistaking him with his blue, patchwork skin and signature hair style. He wasn't wearing the wedding tuxedo anymore; now he donned a simple white shirt and blue striped pants. He was seated at a stool in the middle of the pumpkin patch with an easel in front of him, hard at work on a painting. You would have gasped if you still had breath, and your body moved before you completely comprehended what you were seeing.

Wally.

As you came closer, you could see that he was recreating the view of the spiral hill on his painting. His back was to you, and he hummed quietly as he worked, so deep in thought that he didn't notice you and Jack approaching until Jack called his name.

“Wally! I thought we'd find you here.” Jack leaned over Wally's shoulder and looked at the painting. “Ah, is this my commission? It's coming along swimmingly.”

All you saw was Wally's side profile as he smiled up at Jack. “Thank you. I'm just touching up a few details, right now. It should be finished in a day or so, when it dries.”

“It will be a wonderful anniversary gift. Sally will love it!”

Wally turned back to his painting, and Jack glanced at you like he'd just remembered you were there. “Actually, Wally, I needed to speak to you.”

“Hm?”

“It seems,” Jack said, putting his hand on Wally's shoulder, “that someone is here to see you.”

Wally gave Jack a confused look, then turned.

His eyes widened, and the paintbrush fell from his limp fingers.

Neither of you moved. His eyes trailed up and down your body. He stood, took a few hesitant steps forward, and said, “Y/N?”

You smiled. “Hello, Wally,” you said.

Jack was beaming.

Wally blinked, then shook his head. “I'm dreaming.”

You almost laughed. Your hands were shaking. “No, you're not.”

“I am. You... you can't be here. It's not possible.”

“Wally...”

“I'm going to open my eyes, and you'll be gone.”

You approached him, took his hand, and pressed it against your face. His eyes dilated and his mouth fell open.

“I'm here,” you whispered.

He studied your face, and his fingers trailed down your jaw and to your neck, where they found the stitches. He glanced at them, and his mouth opened wider. “Oh...” His other hand found your neck and he gently traced the stitches. He gently turned your head from side to side as he looked you over like he was just noticing the bluish tint your skin had taken, and his gaze fell on the stitches on your temple. “What happened?”

“A carriage accident.”

He covered his mouth. “Oh, no...”

You took his hand again. “It's alright. I don't remember anything.”

You noticed tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

You cupped his cheek. “Don't be. I'm alright.”

Jack coughed. “I believe you two will be wanting some time alone?” He leaned down and whispered to Wally, “I recommend the top of Spiral Hill. Very romantic spot.” He winked, and Wally started to blush.

“Thank you,” he mumbled before he gripped your hand tightly and led you toward Spiral Hill. You trudged to the top together, hand in hand, and you looked out over the view of the graveyard and pumpkin patch, grey and black with dots of orange.

Wally turned to you and took a tight hold of both your hands. “Tell me everything.”

You didn't speak, because with him holding your hands I noticed something for the first time. When you had met before, when you were still alive, whenever he touched you his skin was always freezing cold. Now it wasn't. You realized it was because we were the same temperature. It made you want to hold him closer.

“I already told you, I was in a carriage accident.”

“No, no. I mean... tell me about your life. What happened after I left?”

“You want me to tell you all of that? Right now?”

He nodded. “We have all the time in the world, now.”

You grinned, and then you did just that. You told him about your marriage to Howdy, the relationship you had formed, the good and bad times, and you told him that during those seven years, you never forgot him. You were afraid that he would be upset or sad when you told him about your marriage, but he seemed to be the contrary.

“I'm glad,” he said. “I was hoping I was making the right decision. It's good to know that you lived a good life after I was gone, even if... even if it was a short one.”

He had looked away, and you gently cupped his cheek so that he would look at you. “The others in the Land of the Dead said that the reason I stayed behind was likely because I had unfinished business. At first, I didn't know what they were talking about, but I think I do, now.” Despite building up to that, you suddenly became bashful and couldn't quite find the words.

Wally touched your hand on his face and leaned into it. “You were looking for me?”

You nodded. “The thing is... I missed y—”

He interrupted you by pressing his lips to yours.

He had only ever kissed you once before, that night on the bridge. You weren't sure if that even counted since you fainted when he did. You remembered being terrified back then, your stomach swirling and your heart thumping so hard and fast you thought you were about to have a heart attack. You remembered how cold his lips were, and how dizzy you were from the fear.

This was different. Obviously, you weren't afraid, now, but it was more than that. It was rushed and passionate, not the formal seal of the vows that Wally had done before. And it was warm. You still felt dizzy, though.

When he pulled away, you stared into each other's eyes for a moment, then you took his shoulders and pulled him back to you for another kiss. Your hand went to the back of his head and your fingers tangled into his soft hair. His hands trailed up and down your back. You gripped each other as if the second one of you let go, you'd be lost forever. You finally pulled away again when you heard the sound of an applause in the distance.

At the top of one of the nearby hills, a small crowd of monsters and ghouls had formed, and they were whooping and cheering. Jack and Sally stood at the center of the crowd, smiling up at you as Sally leaned into Jack's shoulder.

“So much for alone time,” you muttered. You turned back to Wally to see him beaming up at you. His eyes sparkled.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up into a twirl. You yelped in surprise and gripped his shoulders. He laughed heartily as he set you back down, then he leaned his forehead into yours, and for a moment you simply relished in each other's company.

“Thank you,” he said. “I've missed you, too. I know that I was selfish before, but I really am glad that you came to find me.”

You were surprised to feel your heart melting a bit when he said that—it seemed that even if your heart didn't beat anymore, it was still capable of swelling and melting with emotion.

The ring on your right hand glinted in the moonlight. A knot formed in your throat. “I think... I think I know what my unfinished business is, now.”

Wally tilted his head, curious.

You took the ring off your finger and held it up to him. “I want to try again. Properly, this time. Nothing in our way, and no interruptions. I want to give you the wedding you deserve.”

Wally's eyes widened a bit, then he chuckled and shook his head. “It was never just about the wedding, you know. I wanted true love. A happy ending.”

“Exactly,” you said. “I want to give you that. A big, beautiful ceremony to celebrate true love, and a real happily ever after.” You cleared your throat, suddenly nervous. “If you'd like that, I mean.”

He broke into a wide smile. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

You nodded. “Yes. Will you marry me? Again?”

He laughed again and pulled you into a hug. “Yes. If you will have me.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into the hug. “Of course I will.”

You finally pulled apart once again to slip the band on Wally's finger, right where it belonged.

A/N: Yes, I already know I'm cringe. Don't look at me.

[acourtofladydeath]

Poly+ ACOTAR Week Day 1: Beginnings

All his life Nyx has been raised by his parents, Rhysand and Feyre, and their mate Tamlin. One day he decides to ask him mom how their bonds snapped and she is more than happy to oblige.

Inspired by the storytelling in "The Princess Bride" and "How I Met Your Mother" this is angsty, fluffy fun.

So excited to kick off the first day of @polyacotarweek with one of my favorite trios, Feytamsand. Start reading below, or read the entire fic on AO3 here!

“Mom!” I shouted through the hall of the River House. It was her day off, which probably meant she was painting. The River House had a state of the art studio for her to work in, but she typically painted wherever inspiration struck. Which means she could be anywhere. 

The house was entirely too large. Something I loved growing up when I wanted to hide, but hated when I needed to find them. Sure, we could mind speak, but once I walked in on my parents having daemati sex, something I literally didn't know existed before then. After that, I refused to communicate that way unless there was an emergency. 

“In here Nyxie!” She called back from the library at the end of the hall. It had a huge window overlooking the Sidra and sunset. Throughout the day light cast through the window, ricocheting through the room. As it traveled it glanced across the wide array of books, some gilded and some plain, painting the floor in its own way. With the kaleidoscope of colors and dancing light, it was one of mom’s favorite spots to paint. Aunt Nes spent most of her time here when she visited, but today it was just mom. 

“What’s up, baby?” Mom said as I walked in. Covered head to toe in paint, she turned to look at me and wiped even more on her apron and one of her mate’s old shirts. Now which one, I wasn’t quite sure. But judging by those giant, billowy sleeves and the gauzy white linen fabric I had a pretty good guess. 

“I’m not a baby anymore,” I scoffed from the doorway. There was no way I’d get any closer to her like this. Last time she hugged me while painting it took three baths to get it all off and my clothes had to be burned. 

“Nyx you are thirteen, you are definitely still my baby. Even a hundred years from now you’ll still be my baby. I’m your mother, that’s how it goes.” She smiled softly at me then, one of those smiles that told me she was thinking about the past and the future all at once. They were my favorites. 

“What did you need? Or did you just want to watch me paint?” My mom asked, slight worry in her eyes. I’d never been great at schooling my expressions like dad was, mom and I had that in common. We both wore our emotions on our sleeves for all to see. 

I sighed, settling in to ask the question that had been gnawing at me for some time now. “One of the kids at school said something today that bothered me,” I rubbed at the muscles in the back of my neck with one hand, my gaze cast down on the floor as I tried to find the right words. 

It took me several long breaths, but mom waited patiently even as I felt her own anxiety build. “They said…” I let out a long sigh, there really was no good way to say this. “They said it’s not fair that I have two High Lords for parents, or for you to have two mates. And it’s not the first time, either.” 

Mom wrung her apron uneasily between her paint streaked hands, her art now completely forgotten as she focused on me. “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this love. We knew people might say things like this, Nyx. I wish I had better answers for you, but the Mother gave your fathers and I each two mates.” She looked up at me with apology in her eyes, something I never intended and didn’t need to hear from her again. “I never wanted it to affect you negatively though.” 

“I know mom, and I know we’ve talked it to death.” I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “It’s just still a lot, you know?” A thought struck me then. I knew my parents were all mates, I knew they’d met around the time of Amarantha’s reign under the mountain. We’d had a lot of conversations that time so I wasn’t caught off guard if other kids or parents mentioned it, but still…

“How’d you all find out anyway?” 

Mom cocked her head slightly to the side, her brow furrowed just a bit. “What do you mean?”

“How’d you find out you’re all mates? I mean, we’ve talked about the mountain and how you met them, but I’ve never really heard the full story of how your bonds snapped.” 

A secretive smile slid across her face then, and my mom straightened her head toward me. “Would you like to hear the full story? I think you’re old enough now.”

“Only if you promise to spare the gross bits…” I said, internally cringing as the unbidden image of mentally walking in on them flashed through my mind again. Fighting back a shudder at the memory I continued,  "But I am pretty curious.” I smiled slightly, and her own brightened wide enough to light the whole room. 

“Are you too old to sit on mom’s lap for story time? I can change out of my paint clothes first, I know you’ve taken after your dad with how much you care for your clothes.” she asks, humor alight in her words. 

I feel the heat of a blush on my cheeks as I answer. “Definitely too old for sitting on your lap…but maybe not for the couch…” She knew what I meant. When I had bad dreams or hard days at school, sometimes I’d lay on the couch, head in her lap. It felt too juvenile to use the word ‘cuddles’ but I guess that’s what it was. A kid’s allowed to cuddle his mom right? 

A few minutes later, mom was back wearing leggings and one of her favorite sweaters. She sat on the couch next to the big window in the library and patted the seat next to her, warmth filling the space between us. I pushed off the wall from where I stood and went to join her. As I settled in, she began her story. “Alright Nyx, let’s start from the beginning. Here’s the story of how I met your fathers.” 

Continue reading at the first cut on AO3.

Please let me know if you would like off or on my taglist!: @pippsmcgee @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @bubybubsters @queercontrarian @yanny-77 @fieldofdaisiies @iftheshoef1tz @secret-third-thing

[scorpionrising]

there's an ache in you, put there by the ache in me (pt. 1: the road not taken looks real good now)

pairing: aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc word count: 8971 content warnings: explicit sexual content, major character death, cheating/infidelity (not really, but also kind of – it'll make sense when you read it), will add to this list as needed read part 2 here

notes: this is also cross-posted to ao3, as that is my primary place for posting, if you would prefer to read there. this author is fully team black, so proceed with caution. background relationships include cregan/jace/baela and luke/rhaena. feel free to read heavily into daena and rhaenyra's interactions too if you so choose

before reading, please be aware that this is an AU of a completed fanfiction i have written called fireplace ashes. you really don't need to have read it though to read this, as it's pretty self contained. all you need to know at the start:

daena velaryon is the youngest daughter of rhaenys targaryen and corlys velaryon; the same age as aegon. she claimed vermithor when she was eight and laenor was her favorite person in the world growing up, so she loves her nephews very much. she is betrothed to jace and neither of them are happy about it. when rhaenyra sent luke to storm's end, daena went with him. when he chased after luke, she stopped him, and this is where we leave off...

edit, 12/18/2023: because i forgot to mention this before posting — re: any references made to sarya. sarya is an oc from the fic i wrote that this is based on. she is daena’s handmaiden with whom daena has had a clandestine relationship that is so doomed by the narrative that they are both entirely aware of it

Daena and Aemond spoke more and more with each passing day. Mariyah was still sick, confined to her bed and face growing paler as the storms raged outside. Aemond had grown surprisingly competent in dealing with the barn animals, so she spent a majority of her days attending to Mariyah.

“Perhaps it was a miracle,” Mariyah said in a croaking voice as Daena wrung out a cloth to lay atop her forehead.

“What was?” Daena asked. 

“Stumbling upon you,” Mariyah said, closing her eyes as Daena laid the cloth down. “The gods knew.”

“What did they know?” 

“That I would die, and they ensured I would not die alone.” 

There was a faint smile on her deeply lined face, as though she were at peace. 

“Oh, don’t say that,” Daena said, taking care to smooth down Mariyah’s gray hair. 

“Ever since my Royce passed three years ago, I’ve been waiting for the gods to take me. We never had children, you know.” Mariyah’s muddy green eyes sprung open and she reached out a wrinkled hand to touch Daena’s face. Tears began brimming as she spoke once more. “I’ve been alone for so long. It’s been wonderful, having you and your husband here.” 

Daena partly hated herself for lying to Mariyah, but if it gave the old woman comfort in her last days to think she was providing aid to a happy couple in love, she would continue the charade until the moment the storms broke. 

“I’d like you and Jack to keep the house,” Mariyah whispered. “Let it be your shelter. Go to Essos if you wish, but let the house remain standing, I beg. Let it still be filled with love even once I’m gone.” 

Feeling tears in her own eyes begin to well, Daena nodded. If this was a way to settle her debt with Mariyah, she would declare this house as royal property. It would be a hunting getaway for her ancestors for years to come. It would never crumble as a way to pay thanks to the woman who saved her. 

“Of course,” Daena said finally. “We’ll take care of your home.”

“Make it your home,” Mariyah begged. “Make it yours.” 

“We will,” Daena promised. “We will.” 

Mariyah nodded, contended by Daena’s words, and her eyes fluttered close once more. Her chest stuttered, but then began to rise and fall in time. Pursing her lips, Daena pulled the covers up the Mariyah’s chin and removed the damp cloth from her forehead. She let the water pitcher rest on the bedside table and filled a glass with water in case Mariyah woke up thirsty. 

When she went down the stairs, Aemond was sitting by the fire in the main room of the house reading. The candles were dim, burnt down to the wicks around him. They would have to replace them on the morrow with the new ones. 

“What are you reading?” she asked him.

He glanced up from his book and pressed his lips together. “A book of Lysene poetry. The old woman is more learned than I thought.” 

“Her name is Mariyah,” Daena said, scowling and taking a seat in the chair across from him. She pointed her feet out and let the flames warm her bare ankles. “You ought to have some respect, you know.” 

He scoffed at her but did not look back down at his book. Instead, he met her eyes brazenly. Despite herself, she delighted in the way the flames licked at the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. The question was on the tip of her tongue, begging to be asked, but she could not find the words in actuality. 

“Our families think us dead,” Daena whispered instead, staring into the flames. 

“And whose fault is that?” he retorted. 

She flexed her fingers and clenched her jaw, wondering what it might be like to fling her fist into his jaw. 

“What if we stay dead?” she asked him.

“If you’d like me to kill you, just give the word,” he said through his teeth. 

“Not like that,” she snapped. “I just— Mariyah told me when she dies she wants us— or Alyse and Jack, rather— to keep the house… and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to stay here and live a simple life.” 

“You wouldn’t like that,” Aemond said. He closed his book and set it aside on the floor by his feet. “It would bore you senseless.”

“You said the same thing about my marriage to Jace,” Daena pointed out. She flexed her feet and tilted her head back to stare at the dark ceiling. “It would seem I am destined for a life of dreadful boredom.” 

She sighed loudly and pushed her braids off her shoulder to fall over the back of the chair. Aemond’s eye was trained directly on her face, seeming to see through her to her very soul. 

“Would it not be better to be bored on my own terms, living my own life rather than forced into a loveless marriage?” 

“That would mean abandoning your family,” he pointed out, “which you would never do.”

She huffed and dropped her hands onto her lap. “You’re right. But it’s nice to pretend, I suppose.”

“What’s the point in pretending?” he asked her. “We are not children.” 

“You’re infuriating,” she snapped. “We’ve been stuck here for days on end with nothing to do, knowing our families are preparing for war! What’s the point of any of it? Why shouldn’t I imagine an easier life?” 

“Because it makes you a coward,” he told her as though it were the simplest thing in the world, voice too placid for her liking. “You cannot run from your destiny, Daena, no matter how hard you might try.”

“I’ve never run from my destiny,” she said defensively, remembering the way Helaena looked at her and whispered ‘Dragonslayer’ all those years ago.  

He hummed and turned to the flames, barring the sapphire in his eye from view. All she could see was the unmarred half of his face, and she could see the strange little boy in his bones. She had quite liked that boy, but she thought he might be long dead by now. 

“I hope they betrothed Jace to Baela in my absence,” she confessed in a small voice. “She could love him in a manner I could never bear to, I think.” 

He slid his feet forward. The house shoes Mariyah had provided for him were neatly placed at one of the chair legs, but he wore thick woolen socks all the same. The heal of one of the socks was fraying and the other was drooping so low that she could see his bony ankle poking out from beneath the pants that were too short for him. It made him look disgustingly human. 

“Which Baratheon girl were you going to marry?” 

“I do not know,” he said. “Whichever one I found the most tolerable, I suppose.”

“How romantic.” She smirked a bit to herself and adjusted her weight in the seat for a more comfortable position. “I envy the smallfolk in this. They are allowed to fall in love before they marry. We must make an attempt at love only after the wedding, if at all.”

“I’d take a castle and not having to cook my own meals and slaughter my own animals over love any day,” Aemond said. 

She frowned, pitying him not for the first time and likely not for the last. 

“That’s terribly sad, Aemond.”

When he did not respond, she sighed and stood up. 

“I will be going to bed now, I think…” She made her way across the room and faltered, turning back to look at him. He was staring into the empty seat. “Goodnight, Aemond.” 

He turned. “Goodnight, Daena.”

With a strange, heavy feeling in her chest, she settled into the bed she made for herself on the floor and laid her head down. Tonight, sleep would not come, no matter how strongly she yearned for it. She tossed and turned, trying to find an acceptable position. Sometime later, Aemond entered and blew out the candles. She listened to him shuffle around and settle down. Once he laid down, he was still. She heard his breaths turn deep as sleep took him over. Irritated by that, she groaned into her pillow and flipped to attempt to sleep on her back. 

“Just come up here.”

Her eyes sprung open despite the total darkness. She had thought him fast asleep by now. 

“What?” she asked. “Don’t be absurd, Aemond. That would be—”

“I do believe we are far past what is and is not proper at this point,” he told her. “The bed is plenty large enough for two.”

She thought of what her mother and father might say, of what Sarya would believe, of what Jace and Luke might think of her. To share a bed with the enemy was bordering on treason, but was Aemond truly an enemy? Not to her, she thought a bit shamefully. 

“You are just saying that to lure me in with false pretenses so that you might sully my name and reputation later on,” she accused, though she knew it was rather halfhearted. 

“Gods be good,” he grunted. “Daena, just come up here and sleep.”

“Fine,” she muttered, hating herself for being so weak. 

It was merely because her back was beginning to ache all through the day from sleeping on the floor for the last two weeks. That was all. Nothing more. 

Pillows in hand, she climbed up and made herself comfortable on the bed. She was deeply conscious of Aemond laying stock still beside her, pale skin exposed. Heat from his body radiated towards her and she was mindful not to curl into it, instead turning her back to him and squeezing her eyes shut. She prayed for the storms to end early and for Vermithor to finish healing soon to take her away from this place.

Forgetting she had not gone to sleep on the floor, she was confused when she woke up to warmth and soft cushions and a weight thrown across her middle. She opened her eyes to find Aemond’s head tucked into her shoulder, hand splayed over her stomach. Instantly, she stiffened. This was an intimacy she had only known with Sarya. A traitorous part of herself was glad for it, having missed the feeling of falling asleep wrapped up in another. She quickly murdered that thought and turned onto her side to attempt to slip out of Aemond’s grip. Thankfully, he was a deep sleeper and did not awaken from her efforts. If it were up to her, he would never learn of this.  

Mariyah passed four days later in her sleep, and Daena found that her heart was broken. Mariyah, who had been so deeply kind and had taken in two strangers without a thought, was dead and the world was worse off for it. 

“We have to bury her,” she insisted. 

“Look outside,” Aemond said, gesturing to the raging rain and wind. “You want to dig a grave?” 

“It’s either that or we let her rot in here,” Daena argued. “Don’t be so cold hearted, Aemond.”

“Fine,” Aemond hissed. “You can dig the grave yourself. I want no part in it.” 

And so she did. Wrapped in the cloak Mariyah wore the night she took them in, Daena marched outside with a shovel and began digging. The grave was shallow, but it would have to do. With all the rain, wind, and mud splattering up onto her face, it was nearly impossible to see what she was doing. Lightning cracked through the sky and a branch snapped off the tree just to her left. 

When she turned to go back to the house, Aemond was already walking out with Mariyah’s body wrapped neatly in one of the blankets from her bed. Clearly, he had changed his mind. She was sure she was crying, but she was thankful to the rain for obscuring it from Aemond. Her throat closed as he gently laid Mariyah into the grave she dug. She had never seen him capable of such gentleness before.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

If he heard her, he offered no response. Instead, he took the shovel from her hands and began to cover Mariyah’s body. He moved quickly and methodically and did not even spare her a glance. With every day they spent together, she realized that she understood very little about the prince. He kept his motivations so close to his chest that she was constantly, utterly befuddled by him. Once he was done covering the grave, he stood at Daena’s side—as though waiting for her to move. 

“I wrote to you,” she heard herself say, voice hushed in confession. “After that day on the rocky island, I wrote to you.”

“Yes,” he said.

Something within her shattered. She had hoped ceaselessly that the raven had been lost, or that someone else had gotten the letter and kept it from him. That day on the rocky island with him had been one of the best she ever had since Laena’s death, and now they would never ride dragons together again. Her eyes burned. 

“Why did you never write back?”

“It seemed pointless,” he said, very pointedly not looking at her. 

“I must confess,” she said, “I do not understand your reasoning.” 

He flexed his hand, splaying his fingers out. He rounded on her, shoulders set back. The cloak’s hood was low on his forehead, but she could see the deep indigo of his eye clear as day. There was confliction written in his iris, and then determination as a muscle in his jaw ticked. 

“Three years ago,” he said, voice hard and cold as sharp steel, “I had intended to ask for your hand.” 

It should not have surprised her, with everyone around her back then telling her that he was attempting to court her, and yet it did. The dragon brooch he had gifted her was proof enough of that, but she still had been so blind to it. She had thought it a friendship, and him no more than a boy with a crush. She had no idea that his feelings had ran so deep. 

“After that day on the island, I went to my mother and told her my plans. She forbade it and told me I was not to see you again, on account of your allegiances.” 

“Oh,” she whispered. “Aemond, I—”

“It matters not,” he said. 

“Of course it matters,” she said.

A great gust of wind hit her directly in the face and blew the hood of her cloak off, but she made no move to fix it or run for shelter. This seemed too important. 

“No,” he snapped, “it does not. Why bother fixating on the past and things that will never be?” 

“Tell me something, then,” she said, pushing her shoulders back. “That stone in your eye. Is it not the sapphire I gave you?” 

“It serves as a reminder.” 

“What could it possibly remind you of?”

He stepped closer to her. “The things I will never have.” 

“Why would you want constant reminders of that?” she asked him. 

“Because so long as I am reminded of what I cannot have, I will not be so foolish as to think of what could have been.” 

Again, she found him terribly sad. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched his arm. 

“You must allow yourself to want things,” she insisted. “Constant restraint is no way to live. Take what you want, Aemond, and let yourself feel.”

Unable to bear it any longer, she backed away from him and reentered the house. She ripped the cloak off and left it to rot on the floor. She was covered in mud and soaked to the bone. It was terrible, disgusting, infuriating. She was not entirely sure what it was, but it was just as likely to be the muddy clothes as it was Aemond’s attitude. She could not fathom how he could possibly be so cold about matters that deserved only warmth. He was sharp, cutting and slicing with his words, as he spoke about wanting to marry her. In this moment, she would have liked nothing more than to skewer him. 

Pulling at the strings on her dress, she began the process of disrobing for a bath. She wanted to be rid of him. She wanted to be clean. 

She relaxed in the tub until her fingers shriveled and the water turned cold. She dunked her head one last time and stood to leave, but then realized the flaw in her plan. In her haste to take a bath, she had neglected to collect a towel to dry off with or fresh clothes. 

“Shit,” she muttered, knowing she would have no choice but to call for Aemond’s aid. 

Surely, he would never let her forget this. Especially not after what he just admitted to her. Would he think she was trying to seduce him? Grimacing to herself, she drew her knees to her chest and called his name until she heard his footsteps approach the door. 

“What is it?” he asked, sounding just as irritated as she had expected. 

“I—” It was already humiliating. “Could you please bring me a towel and chemise? I forgot.” 

He made a noise that could have been mistaken for a snort behind the door. Without voicing his assent or denial, he walked away. Gnawing on the inside of her cheek and absentmindedly scratching at her clavicle, Daena debated her options. She glanced a bit disparagingly at her discarded gown from before. She could put that back on, but the thought of it was entirely unappealing. 

Then, without warning, the door flew open. Jolting in surprise, Daena quickly drew her knees even closer to her chest to attempt to save her from even more indignity. 

“Here.” He held out a bundle of fabrics. “Where do you want them?” 

“Um, just… The floor is fine. Thank you.”

He nodded and she watched as his eye flickered from her face to the harsh scar on her shoulder, visible no doubt from the manner in which she was hunched over to prevent him from seeing her more intimate areas. Having let him see the scar, now, she perhaps would have rathered him see the other parts of her. Somehow, the scar felt leagues more intimate than her breasts. 

“It happened in the Stepstones,” she said, unsure why she kept him in here. 

She really ought to have sent him away, and perhaps in every other life she did. But, in this one, she did not. 

Aemond’s cheeks darkened in a flush. 

“How?” he asked. 

His eye was trained so singularly on her face that she knew he was making a concerted effort not to look elsewhere. 

“I was fighting on the ground,” Daena explained. “Turned my back on an opponent I thought was dead.” 

Could he hear the undercutting questions in her words? Can I turn my back to you, Aemond? Can I trust you? Once, she might have said yes easily.  

“I hope you gave the craven the death he deserved,” Aemond said, nodding sharply. “There is no honor in that.”

She looked at him, and he her. Slowly, she felt the barest of smiles tug at her lips. Each and every day, he surprised her. Whether it was good or bad, she did not know, and she suspected she would not know until it was far too late. 

Without another word, he left the room. Left alone, she dressed herself slowly. 

Three years ago, I intended to ask for your hand. If he had done it, she would not have wanted it—and yet, she could not help but think about how different things would be if he had. Would things be better? Perhaps so; she could have bridged the gap between Luke and Aemond. That alone would have certainly changed a great many things.  

Perhaps the time on the island had driven her mad, but she felt her bare feet pad along the floor until she found Aemond in the bedroom. Again, he looked achingly human. His bony ankles were visible beneath of cuff of his breeches, and his soft tunic was bunched up at the elbows. She stood in the doorway, merely watching. If he was aware of her presence, he gave no indication, and even if he was; he was surely unaware of how entranced she was by the way his hair fell in silken sheets around his shoulders. He was as severe as he was beautiful.

“Answer me this,” she said, breaking the silence.

His shoulders drew taut as he slowly turned to face her. 

“What makes you believe you could never have me?” 

He scoffed. “Our families are at war. Even before, it would have never been possible.” 

She would have agreed to it, had the matter been raised. Seeing him in such mundanity, tending to animals and reading under the low light of the candles, made it impossible to hate him. He was no enemy. He was merely a man led astray, but his heart was good and his soul nowhere near as black as he would like her to believe. 

“Do not think of our families,” Daena said. “Think only of yourself and how you feel. That is how you take care of yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to bed.” 

Fingers curling into the material of the chemise at her thighs, Daena pushed past him and began to pull at the bed covers. Whatever she had been thinking before, it was a spark of delusion and madness. Clearly he could not see past his inflated sense of self, and he never would. And she was merely entertaining it because she was bored. Grimacing, she fluffed violently at her pillow. 

His long and slender fingers wrapped around the crook of her elbow, and he pulled her towards him without any sense of warning. She was not proud of the gasp she let out in response; sharp and high-pitched. The sapphire embedded in his eye socket—the sapphire she had given him—glinted in the candlelight. He was so close. 

“Could I have had you?” he asked, voice low and rushed. 

“I would not have minded if you asked,” she answered. 

Aemond’s grip on her tightened, and if he clenched any harder she was sure bruises would begin to take form. She considered, briefly, smacking him away, but she did not mind the weight of his grip in all truth. She and Sarya often gripped one another in far greater passions. Besides, she liked seeing Aemond unfurled. 

“I have always known what you are, Aemond,” Daena whispered. 

“And what am I, my lady?” 

“A strange boy with a crush,” she said, tilting her head back. “But I have always been more than fond of strange things.” 

She really ought to have expected it after goading him, but his kiss shocked her all the same. His lips landed on the corner of her mouth, sideways down her chin, as though he were unused to the act. Adjusting, she tilted her head to the side to turn the kiss into a proper one. His hands, clutching her hips in a vice, burned at her skin through her chemise. Enthralled by the feeling, she curled her fingers around the sides of his neck, bringing one hand up into the roots of his hair. 

However inexperienced he was, he made up for it in enthusiasm. Aemond grasped at her, trailing all across her body as though he were attempting to create a map of her bones. She pushed up onto her toes, tightening her grip on his hair, and gnashed her teeth into his mouth. She took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down just beyond gently. When his mouth fell open, she slipped her tongue against the roof of his mouth. His hips jolted against hers as a sharp gasp tumbled from his lips. 

“Are you going to take me or not?” she mumbled against his neck.

“Please,” he gasped out as she scraped her teeth against his skin. 

“Do you want me, Aemond?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” she whispered, tugging on his hair. “How do you want me?” 

He groaned, low and guttural; rigid against her. His grip only tightened. 

“I want—” His head fell forward, atop hers. “I want to taste you.”

Daena pulled away from Aemond, a wicked grin spreading across her full and swollen lips. Holding eye contact, she stepped backwards until she was sat upon the edge of the bed. Then, with Aemond’s attention captured entirely, she spread her legs and pulled the hem of her chemise up slowly, tantalizingly. 

“Get on your knees, then,” she said.

Aemond fell without a blink. His fingertips traced along her ankles and then slowly crept up her leg, flexing his entire palm against her skin once he reached her thighs. She could feel his breath against her, his mouth open but still so terribly far from latching onto her as she wanted him to. 

“My prince,” she groaned, reaching for the top of his head. “Please.” 

He complied, pressing his tongue flat to her. There was no hesitation in his actions; he licked with confidence and precision, shocking her because she struggled to imagine him experienced. He groaned against her, hooking his arms beneath her thighs and pulling her as close to his face as possible. She was unable to keep the shrill moan from escaping her throat. 

“Aemond,” she gasped. It was a breathy sort of thing, pulled in a wisp from her lungs. “Use… fingers!” 

Ever the apt listener, he dipped a single finger into her. The moan she let out then was a pitched and trilling squeal. His single finger was the size of two of Sarya’s and reached to far deeper places than Sarya’s petite hands had been able to reach. He pumped the finger in and out, slowly and surely, and grinned against her. Two more fingers then, shoved inside her at once. She collapsed backwards onto the bed with a loud moan. He was relentless in his ministrations, going at a rapid pace until she was writhing and squirming and gasping for air. Swiping her arm over her forehead, she pushed herself up to look down at him. 

His face was covered in her, glistening in the flickering, dying light. She swiped her tongue across her bottom lip. She grabbed a fistful of his tunic and yanked at it to get it off him. Catching on, he moved to help her. There was a heavy silence between them, but he moved onto the bed—hovering over her—without her even needing to tell him what she wanted. 

She stared up at him, lips parted ever so slightly. His hair hung down in a silky curtain, framing his face. Palms shaking, she reached up and pressed her hand to his face. She arched her neck up and brushed her lips softly, gently, tenderly over his scarred forehead. The sapphire buried within his eye socket seemed to glow, keeping her attention rapt. Her thumb trailed along the underside of his eye, brushing against his long lower lashes. He was silent in her arms, stoic above her. 

Afraid to speak, lest she say something too intimate, too weak, too revealing, she pulled his face down and licked herself from his lips. His teeth gnashed against her lip as though he wanted to swallow her whole. Briefly, as she fumbled with the buttons on his breeches, she thought she might let him. They did not speak, not even as she pushed him up against the headboard and sat herself on his lap. He was hard against her inner thigh, but she ignored it for the time being. Instead, she tugged his mouth down to her neck. He licked, bit, and sucked at the flesh, drawing heavy gasps for air from her lungs. 

Chemise sticking to her with sweat, Daena pushed him back to begin ripping at the strings to get it off her. Aemond picked up on it and yanked the shift roughly over her head. His eye flickered down to her heaving breasts and a spike of confidence shot through her when she noticed how his cheeks flushed a darker shade at the sight. 

“Daena,” he gasped out, voice heady and broken. “I… want—” 

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” she promised, moving her hands to cradle his face. 

Pulling him in for another angry kiss, she shifted her hips so that she could sink herself down onto him. It was a sensation she had never felt before, reaching places she had never known existed. Tears she did not quite understand burned in her eyes, but she continued to sink down until there was nowhere else for her to go. A groan that sounded more animal than human burst from her as she collapsed against his chest. His hands were hot as coals against her thighs, fingers sure to leave burnt impressions. 

Delirious, she dropped her forehead against his and began to move her hips in slow, rocking circles. He swore quietly, tightening his grip on her legs. 

“Seven… hells,” he grunted.  

She continued until she found a pace that cut her breath off at the base of her throat, where the tip of him hit a place deep within her that caused her vision to go black and her jaw to go slack. 

“Aemond.” She exhaled his name, unable to think of anything else but the man beneath her. She wanted to burrow herself within him and find a home within his bones, tucked into his ribs. Every bit of him had invaded her, and she was loath to let it end. This bubble they had created; she wanted it to exist for as long as she could sustain it. Here, they were leagues away from the people they had been and the circumstances that brought them to this island. Here, they were just Alyse and Jack. Here, they were free. 

She let him spill within her after she reached her peak, and then collapsed once more against him. It was easy to fall asleep, exhausted and spent, within his arms. 

Daena awoke with the first light of morning, as she always did. Naked and sticky with the dried sweat of the night before, she and Aemond were still tangled together; his face pressed into the crook of her neck. She was flooded with a wretched sort of feeling, unable to bear being within his grasp. As gently as she could, she removed herself from his arms and reached down to the floor for her chemise. She dressed quickly and sprinted away from the room. 

Unsure if it was more shame or guilt that was flooding through her, she tucked herself into one of the armchairs by the unlit fire and stared into the blackened hearth. If she ever got away from here—if they ever got away from here—how could she possibly hope to look her family in the eye? How could she face Luke, knowing she had sworn to give the uncle who tormented him anything he wanted whilst in the thralls of passion. 

A mistake, she decided. That is all it was. A mistake driven from flaring tempers and boredom. That was all it could be; nothing more. 

Even so, she could not help but wish in the deepest and darkest depths of her soul for the opportunity to make the mistake again. 

A noise from the bedroom informed her that Aemond had woken up. When he came into the main room of the house, their eyes met. After perhaps a moment too long, he tore his gaze away from hers and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table and stalked back into the bedroom with that infuriating slow strut of his. 

They did not speak that day, nor the next. Daena resigned herself to sleeping curled up in the armchair, drawing idly on loose slips of parchment she found around the house until she fell asleep. She mourned the tenuous friendship they had begun to restore in the days past as she did her best to ignore the growing knot in her neck from sleeping in the chair. It truly felt as though they were destined to be on opposing sides, never to truly know each other. She wished he never told her he wanted to marry her. Now, her mind was consumed by thoughts of what could have been and what could still be. It was also how she knew him a liar; if he did not dwell on the past, then he would have forgotten the matter entirely. But he had not, and so she knew he did care. 

She would have agreed, she thought to herself as she drew Vermithor’s scales. If he had asked her, she would have married him. It was a terrifying, fleeting thought— and perhaps it was a betrayal of Luke, of Sarya, and, now, of Jace. Still, she could not deny that she liked Aemond well enough. She had been fond of him even when they were children and he smashed her head with a rock. She enjoyed his presence, despite his generally unpleasant demeanor. He was a friend, and she would have liked to marry a friend. She could have been happy in a marriage of friendship. If he had been allowed, she would have accepted. 

But perhaps he was correct, and there was no use on dwelling on these things. What did it lead to but unhappiness?

She was curled up in a chair by the fire while Aemond tended to the barn animals, proving once more that he cared far more deeply for things than he liked to pretend. She flipped the page of the parchment back to the portrait she had drawn of Aemond while he slept. In the sketched plains of his face, she could see the strange and innocent boy beneath the cruel man. Pursing her lips, she tore the page and crumpled it. Just as he said, no use in dwelling on things she could not change. 

He entered in with a wet gust of wind behind him. He made a grumbling noise as he kicked off his boots and undid the cloak, which really only served to make her laugh. He glared in her direction and stalked off, likely to wash up from being in the barn. Heaving a great sigh, Daena got out of the chair to scrounge together a meal for them. They ate like the smallfolk in Flea Bottom, and Daena was miserable for it. Their lack of communication made the bland food all the worse. 

She brought the pot of stew to the hearth and let it come to a boil. Mariyah, in all her elderly wisdom, had planned on a long hurricane season and had gathered enough produce to last them the entirety of it. Aemond emerged from the washroom just as she was removing the pot from the fire. She offered him a tight smile and averted her eyes to began spooning stew into bowls for them to eat. 

They sat silently on opposite sides of the table, pointedly not looking at each other. It made her want to scream and cry and rip her hair from its roots and throw the bowl at him. It was suffocating, and she just wanted to be done with it.

It was he, who broke their days-long silence, pushing his bowl away from him and leaning back against the chair. “I apologize,” he said stiffly, “for taking advantage the other night. It was… unworthy of me.”

Daena stared at him blankly, astounded. Then, a laugh that could be classified as nothing other than a cackle burst from her lips. His lips pursed at the sound, clearly displeased by her reaction. 

“That is what you apologize for?” she asked, gasping for breath between words. “Oh, Aemond… I am hardly a blushing maiden.”

At that, a flush crept up his cheeks. 

“The other night might have been a moment of weakness that can and will never happen again, but you did not take advantage.” 

“Well, I apologize nonetheless.” His cheeks were flushed with blood. “And, yes. Never again.” 

She bit the inside of her cheeks as her mind cycled through all the motions of their mistake. As far as mistakes go, it had been her most enjoyable one. 

“You ought to sleep in the bed again,” Aemond said after another long silence as they cleaned up the kitchen. “I can tell your neck is bothering you.” 

Her hand flew to the crook of her neck on instinct. She ripped it away just as quickly. 

“I’m quite fine.”

“Then allow me to take the chair or floor.”

“No, that is not necessary,” she insisted, turning away from him to stare out the window. The rain beat mercilessly on the glass. Like it was trying to bring not just the home, but the entire island down. “You sustained more injuries than I did in the fall, and the fault for that lies in my hands.” 

She chose to leave out the fact that it was his actions that forced her hand, because at this point that was neither here nor there. 

“Then perhaps I sleep in the other room—”

“Mariyah just died on that bed!” Daena exclaimed, half scandalized. She was tired of this conversation. “We will continue as we have.” 

“Daena, you cannot—”

“And yet, I will!” she shrieked. Instantly embarrassed, she sucked in a long, slow breath and turned back around to face him. “It is different for me.” 

He said nothing, merely staring at her. Gods, how he infuriated her, how he wiggled beneath her skin and stuck there, how he could see right through her. 

“If anyone were to discover we were here alone, you would be perfectly fine. I would be…” She thought back to what he hissed at her when he woke. “Ruined.” 

He opened his mouth to speak, but she pushed on. 

“Our mistake, for you, is a story to tell someday. For me, it is nothing less than betrayal.” 

“Betrayal.” He scoffed, a sudden glint of venom in his iris. “And what do you call my part, then? Do I not betray my family every moment you remain breathing?” 

“Kill me, then, and be done with it!” Daena threw her hands up. “Please, I beg you. Do it, because I will never be able to kill you as I know I ought to.” 

He blinked at her, stunned into silence by her manic plea. Frustrated tears brimming in her eyes, Daena stomped away from him and into the washroom. She sank to her knees and remained there until she heard no sounds of movement. Praying that it meant Aemond was asleep, Daena crept out and back into the main room. 

She was stopped in her tracks, however, by the sight of Aemond fast asleep on the very armchair she had made her bed the last few nights. One leg was propped up on the cushioned footrest while the other was sprawled onto the floor. Even in her hatred of him— if she could call it that— she was touched by the display. There was hope for him yet, goodness that bubbled beneath the surface. In an effort to repay the kindness, she grabbed a quilt from the chest by the fireplace and laid it over his lap. 

They had perhaps left things worse than they ever were before between them, but Daena would deal with those consequences once morning came. Now, she was bone weary and just wanted to sleep. She slept like the dead once her head hit the pillows, though in her dreams Aemond’s face taunted her. In the morning, she woke with a deep, aching need between her legs. Disgusted with herself, Daena kept herself confined within the walls of the bedchamber until she thought she might collapse from hunger. When she pulled the door open, however, she found herself face-to-face with Aemond—a plate of food and mug of mead in hand. His mouth fell open just a bit as she tripped herself to avoid walking right into him. 

“You have not eaten,” he said in a hoarse voice. “It is getting late… I thought you might like some food.”

“Thank you,” she said, unable to do much anything else than focus on his lavender iris boring into her. “How very thoughtful, my prince.” 

“Aemond,” he said suddenly. “Just— Call me Aemond.”

Oh. 

“Very well,” she said. “Aemond.” 

“I wanted to thank you… for the blanket last night.” He shuffled closer infinitesimally. The mug was shaking ever so slightly in his clenched fist. “And, I was thinking… here, we can just be…” 

She pulled the plate and mug from his hands and dropped them onto the small table in the room, discarded to be forgotten. Sighing, she pushed her braids over her shoulder and turned back to him. Did she haunt his dreams as he did hers? 

“We can just be… what, Aemond?” 

“I—” He opened his mouth and closed it thrice. “You said to take what I want.” 

A whirling thrill spiked in her blood, the ache inside of her leading her straight to him.  

“A mistake it might be, but what does it matter?” he asked. “We are alone.”

“I suppose it doesn’t,” she admitted. 

Taking him to her bed once, twice, or however many times mattered not so long as it ceased once they returned to where they belonged. She just liked to see him finally breaking free of that hardened shell he encased himself in. He kissed her, then, and she forgot all about her hunger for food. All she hungered for was him. His fingers yanked at the curls at the base of her skull, forcing her head back so that he could kiss down her jaw and neck. 

There were no words shared between them. Perhaps that would be too personal, too indicative of their wrongdoing. Neither took the time to undress, merely hiking up her chemise and shoving down his breeches.  They fell backwards onto the bed just as he pushed himself inside her. She gasped into his mouth, digging her nails into his cheekbones and looping her legs around his waist to pull him close. 

They continued at that pace until they were fully spent; collapsed upon one another. Daena yawned loudly, reaching her hand out to grab hold of the apple Aemond put on the plate for her. The generosity of it did not escape her; those apples seemed to be the only thing that made him even a shade of content. She took several bites of it before offering it out to Aemond. As though it were a natural sort of thing to do. And he took a bite from her hand, half convincing her this were a dream. When the apple was nothing but a discarded core and the bread nothing but crumbs, it was Daena who pounced on Aemond. Now that she had been given a taste, she was insatiable. And it seemed, so was he. 

But, it was more languid this time. He did not hurry himself as he mouthed at her neck and began to pull at the strings on her chemise. She wanted to touch him, but quickly lost all means to do so when he pulled her chemise off and began to kiss down her torso. Her breath hitched at the base of her throat and delirium flooded her veins as she became enthralled in the pleasure she wrought from him. 

“Seven Hells,” she groaned out, tossing her head back against the pillows. 

She could feel Aemond’s lips curl upwards into a smile as he traced his tongue along her hip bone in response. 

Much later, when they had tired themselves out entirely, he laid himself down beside her, resting his head on her bare chest. It was strange, how easy it was to simply be with him— and it terrified her as much as it befuddled her. But, then, it had always been easy with Aemond. They fell asleep like that, tangled together, pressed closer than close. Daena had never slept better in her life. 

“I would never ruin you,” he spoke quietly against her collarbone one night some weeks later. She had long since stopped keeping track of the days as they passed, dreary and thunderous as they were. 

Daena stilled beneath him. “What?” 

“Your reputation,” he said, “I would never allow it to fall to ruin.” 

For some reason, she believed him and kissed him hard on the mouth for the first time outside the thralls of passion. He returned the kiss with vigor and they fell asleep in the middle of it, which she had also never done before. 

When morning came, she awoke to a thunderous roar outside her window. Gasping, she shot up and looked around, scrambling to pull her chemise over her head. She knew that roar. Barefoot and without any protection from the weather, she sprinted outside, past Aemond who was slowly blinking his eyes and sitting up from the commotion she caused. Toes digging into the mud, Daena ran from the house to Vermithor. 

His bronze scales were like the rays of the sun amidst all the rain. Grinning, she flung herself forward. 

“My brave boy,” she wept, pressing her forehead to his snout. 

He snuffed and knocked his snout against her head. Laughing, she kissed one of his horns and stepped back to examine him. 

“How is your wing, hm?” she asked, walking around to take in his form.

He flared his wings out as though to prove he was in perfect condition. She reached her hand out to stroke the wing that had been injured when they took down Vhagar. She could see the scar tissue, but the tendons were healed and strong. She could go home. As though sensing her realization, he tilted his head back, opened his jaws wide, and screeched so loud that the trees shook. His hind legs stomped the ground, as though he were preparing for takeoff. It was everything she wanted to hear. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond shouted, standing in the threshold of the doorway.

Vermithor’s neck snaked around and he positioned himself firmly between Daena and Aemond. He remembered Aemond from the attack, and he did not trust the prince. Laughing at her dragon’s protection, she stepped forward and placed her hand on the underside of Vermithor’s jaw. He grumbled quietly and settled. 

“Umbagon,” she ordered before walking back to the house.

Aemond was staring at her like he found her mad. At least that had not changed. She pushed her wet braids from her face. 

“Vermithor is healed,” she said. 

“I can see that,” he said. He held out a large blanket for her. “Come inside.” 

Feeling the chill suddenly, she stepped in and allowed him to pull the blanket over her shoulders. His hands stayed on her shoulders, rubbing over her upper arms to help warm her. She furrowed her eyebrows and stared up at him. His face was pulled taut and there was concern evident, his lips pursed as he took care to help her dry off.  

“What?” he asked, seeing that she was staring.

She cleared her throat and averted her gaze. “It’s nothing.” She smiled to herself and tilted her head to the side. “Well, it is nice to see you care.” 

He frowned. “When have I ever given you the impression I do not care for you?” 

That response took her by surprise. It was shockingly earnest, coming from him— but that had been a running theme with him in the last few days. 

“Aemond,” she whispered, lifting a hand to his scarred cheek. 

It was absurd and utterly mad of her, but a sudden shot struck her like lightning. It would be so very easy to love him. Her love for Sarya had not lessened in her time on the island, but there was merely more space in her heart than she once thought. She would never be able to pursue it, of course. She was betrothed and he… Aemond was a traitor and an attempted kinslayer. And all that to say, she still wanted him. Something sinister had overtaken her in the last three moons, sunken its claws into her skin and dripped its poison onto her tongue. 

She was fond of him, desired him, enjoyed him, but she had a duty now that Vermithor was in flying condition. Aemond was a traitor and an attempted kinslayer, and she needed to bring him to justice. 

“I will come quietly,” he said softly, reaching out and gingerly curling the loose end of one of her braids around his finger. She had a keen memory of her own fingers wrapped in his hair. “I will surrender and bend the knee if that is what you wish.” 

“What I wish?” she echoed. “And what of your wishes?” 

It was as though the island emboldened him, pulled apart his strong defenses and left him bare but more confident than she had ever seen him. 

“I wish for whatever will keep me in your life, my lady.” 

“You can’t mean that,” she whispered, hardly daring to believe it.

She was not immune to the effects of dashing confessions made, easily swept up in the romance of it all. It was her most foolish trait, but being aware of it did not subdue it. It only made her aware of the breadth of stupidity she was capable of. 

“You took my eye. You took my dragon. Take my heart as well; it is yours.” 

Her cheeks burned under the weight of his gaze and words. Mouth dry, she crafted the most intelligent response she could muster. 

“I did not take your eye.”

He shrugged, as though his reasoning were the only sort that made sense. Perhaps he would have preferred it to have been her. Their injuries were settled like scores, canceling the other out— even if he had gotten off far worse than she had. In his mind, it should have been her, and so it was it seemed. Or that he held her in just as much blame as he did Luke. 

“And as for Vhagar—” Her own voice betrayed her, choking off in an unbecoming squeal. “I wish I could have stopped you without killing her.” 

Aemond looked away from her then, finally pulling his face from her palm. She tucked her hand back under the blanket he provided her as quickly as she could so as though it were never there in the first place. Then, he surprised her yet again. 

“I know.” It was a simple thing. “I forgave you a long time ago.” 

She furrowed her brow, a million and one questions racing about her mind, but she kept them to herself. 

“You will come without fight or argument?” she asked slowly.

“I will,” he confirmed. 

Bewildered and pleased alike, Daena observed him for a moment before ultimately deciding he seemed honest.

“Then we must dress. It is at least a half day’s flight from here to Dragonstone.” 

They did not speak again as they readied themselves for departure. What was there to say, really? They had, for better or worse, betrayed their families and themselves by falling into bed with one another, and now fate had come knocking. They both knew that on Dragonstone he would likely face imprisonment at best. There was always the threat of execution, but Daena was not sure Rhaenyra, even at her most bloodthirsty and vicious, had it in her to be a kinslayer. No, Rhaenyra would not take her brother’s head, but she might strip him of all titles and inheritance and send him to the Wall where he could never be a threat to her again. And rather stupidly, Daena did not wish for that. Perhaps this was what Aemond wanted all along; for her to trust him, to vouch for him, to be more than fond of him. 

That decided it for her. Upon arriving to Dragonstone, what happened here on the island would fade into the past. She would dedicate herself to whatever war effort there was and accept her fate as Queen after Rhaenyra. “Whatever claim to the throne I have left, you are it’s heir now. Both of you.” Daena would never be able to forget the sheen of sweat covering the older woman’s body, the way her face was scrunched up in pain and her voice quivered as she laid out commands for her oldest son and Daena. 

There was a truth about Daena Velaryon that Sarya had always seen: For her family, Daena would sacrifice anyone and anything, including herself, and let the entire world burn to ashes. And as Aemond perched himself behind her on Vermithor’s saddle without complaint, she wondered if he saw it too. An unstoppable force meets and immovable object, and whatever happens in the aftermath is only nature. And yet, Daena did not think she would go so quietly if the roles were reversed. 

“Sōves, Vermithor!” Daena yelled as loud as she could over the violent winds and rain, already soaked through to the bone. 

Without complaint or hesitance, Vermithor roared and took to the skies. 

Aemond and her did not speak for entire flight, and Daena was glad for the silence as the black sand beaches of Dragonstone grew ever nearer. It had been a year’s quarter since she left Dragonstone for Storm’s End, and war had been brewing when she did. There was no telling what they would find when they landed.

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

Click My Heels But I Am Stuck Here - Chapter One

Pairing: Rolan x Tav

Work Summary:

Rolan is battered, beaten and exhausted. After everything he's been through to get to Baldur's Gate, he still has no reprieve from violence and prejudice.

But wouldn’t it just be so sweet to fuck his master’s pretty little wife?

AU where Tav is Lorroakan's wife.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Epilogue

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1710

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist info

Notes:

I was trying to write the next chapter of my fic Learn to Love Again but I literally couldn't do anything else until I'd started writing this.

Warnings for infidelity, arranged marriage, abuse, implied sexual assault, violence, anti-tiefling racism, and Lorroakan

---

The doors to Sorcerous Sundries were heavy. They would be hard enough to close on a good day, but today, when Rolan’s ribs felt as though they were screaming at him, it was taking all his energy to shift them.

Would that he had the energy to cast telekinesis, but his magic was also drained. Lorroakan had foisted a lot of menial magical tasks on him today, and he needed a long rest before he could think about casting anything more than a cantrip right now.

The doors had almost closed when he heard a cry of “Wait!” It stopped him in his tracks because he recognised the voice.

An arm shoved its way through the narrow gap left by the door and then his master’s wife wiggled through the opening, undoing some of his hard work in the process. She was clutching her bag to her chest.

“Thank you,” she said, “I didn’t want to have to walk all the way back to the upper city.”

It wouldn’t be the first time. A few tendays ago, she’d gone for an impromptu lower city shopping spree, and made it back to the shop ten minutes after he’d locked the doors. When she’d turned up on the doorstep of the tower, in fine spirits but looking rather sweaty and tired, Lorroakan had taken it out on Rolan’s skull.

He had waited until his wife had gone off for a bath, and then he’d cornered his apprentice, hissed something about forcing the lady of the tower to walk several miles alone at dusk, and slammed his head into the wall.

Even as his vision whited out, he had to bite his tongue. He had long since learnt that excuses and arguments meant more beatings, so as much as he wanted to point out that it wasn’t his fault that Lorroakan’s wife was late, he kept it to himself.

All of this to say, as she scooted past him into the shop, it took all of his energy not to glower at her. The sweet, flowery scent of her perfume assaulted his nostrils. The bag she was holding moved, and Rolan realised that it wasn’t a bag at all, but a fluffy, white cat.

So surprised was he that he said, “Where did you get that?” and then cursed himself immediately. If Lorroakan heard him talking to his wife without all the requisite, snivelling titles he’d bestowed upon her, he’d surely have wrung his neck.

“He was wandering around the lower city,” she said, shifting her grip on the cat. She was holding it like a baby, and it seemed perfectly content, curled up in her arms and purring loudly.

Rolan nodded jerkily, uncertain what to say to that. He was sure Lorroakan wouldn’t be please about his wife bringing an animal home, but of course, she wasn’t the one who would see the consequences of his displeasure. She scratched the creature behind its ears and then headed off towards the portal that led to the tower.

With the last of his strength, Rolan slammed the door shut and locked it.

By the time he made it through the portal back to the tower, he could hear raised voices.

“I can’t just leave him, he thinks I’m his mother!”

“Tavya, you cannot just bring any mangy old stray to Ramazith’s tower! We’re already full up on strays!”

At the sound of his master’s voice, Rolan instinctively drew back into the shadows to try and evade his notice. The two of them were out of sight. From the sounds of it, they were on one of the upper balconies.

“Strays?” She sounded slightly affronted. “The tower is hardly full. And it’s magic. Can’t you just make more rooms?”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT! You have no idea what kind of diseases-”

“I live here too!” Tavya snapped back at her husband. “But if you’d rather, I can take Myshka and go and stay with my father.”

Lorroakan scoffed. “He’d send you right back to me.”

Rolan edged forward until the couple were in view. Tavya was still clutching the cat to her chest, and Lorroakan’s face was almost as red as his hair.

“Well, perhaps I’ll get myself a room at the Elfsong then. I’m sure my old friends will be happy to-”

Lorroakan hurled his goblet at the wall, effectively silencing his wife. Red wine splashed over the one of the bookcases. Rolan winced. Lorroakan had evidently been drinking even before this conversation had started.

To Rolan’s surprise, his master took a few steadying breaths. Lorroakan had never given him that courtesy.

“Fine,” he said, sounding slightly calmer. “You can keep the wretched beast. Just keep him away from me.”

“Fine,” said Tavya. “I’m going to get started on dinner.”

Lorroakan didn’t move as his wife swept off down the corridor. Rolan realised too late that he should’ve taken the opportunity while they were distracted to sneak off, but he had been too engrossed by their conversation to do so. His master’s gaze fell upon him and he watched his face twist into an unpleasant smile.

“Enjoying yourself, boy?” he snarled. “You like listening in on my conversations with my wife?”

“I wasn’t-” Rolan started, but Lorroakan raised a hand, silencing him.

“Come here.”

Rolan’s knees were trembling but he knew better than to argue. He didn’t make eye contact as he climbed the stairs and approached his master, but he could see that Lorroakan was still smiling.

As soon as he was in range, Lorroakan slapped him. Rolan barely even flinched. As punishments went, it was fairly mild. He stepped into Rolan’s space, breathing heavily. Rolan fought the urge to back away.

“If I ever catch you spying on me and my wife again, you’ll get a lot worse,” he spat.

Rolan just nodded. It would be futile to say that the room Lorroakan and his wife had been arguing was hardly private. Rolan would’ve had no choice but to pass them to get to his room. His master grabbed his jaw suddenly, unexpectedly.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you, boy,” he hissed.

“Yes, master Lorroakan.”

He shoved him away. Rolan’s back hit the edge of the balcony and his ribs protested fiercely.

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

Rolan didn’t need to be told twice. He hurried off down the corridor towards his room. As he rounded the corner, he almost collided with Tavya.

“Sorry. My lady,” he said, clearing his throat. The motion made his ribs ache, and he instinctively brought his hand up to cradle them. Tavya looked up at him, a flash of concern in her big, dark eyes. She had finally put down the cat, and her dark blue dress was covered in patches of white fur.

“Rolan, are you alright?” she asked, and he felt a spike of rage.

Of course not, and it’s your fault.

“Yes, my lady, thank you.” He rushed past her before she could stop him, and scurried off to his room with his tail between his legs, feeling more pathetic than he had in months.

Lorroakan’s rage he could handle. He had gotten used to it in the months he’d been here. But what he couldn’t abide was the pity in Tavya’s eyes. It made him want to punch something.

Since his bedroom door didn’t have a lock, he used the last dregs of his magic to cast arcane lock and then threw himself down on his mattress. Lorroakan hadn’t even seen fit to provide him with a bedframe.

He was breathing hard. He needed to relieve his frustration somehow, and there was only thing he could think to do right now.

Clumsily, he removed his robe and then unbuttoned his trousers. He hadn’t jerked off in a tenday or more, so it only took a few strokes before his cock was approaching full hardness.

His mind went to Tavya. Infuriating she may have been, but she was also undeniably beautiful. The daughter of a patriar, she had noble features, and long dark curls that fell almost to her waist when she let it, though it was usually braided back.

She also had the small, rounded ears of a human, which Rolan couldn’t deny intrigued him. He’d never been with a human before. She was petite and delicate, but with womanly curves that were hard to ignore.

And wouldn’t it just be so sweet to fuck his master’s pretty little wife?

He imagined the pleasurable moans she’d make as he drove into her from behind, forcing her face down into the mattress with one hand. Would she beg him to let her cum?

Had she ever had a tiefling? Or would his ridged cock hit places inside her that she’d never even known existed before? He was well-endowed, but had no idea how that compared with his master.

He thought about her on her knees. Maybe she’d let him shove his cock in his mouth and fuck her throat until her eyes were watering. She behaved like such a brat, and her husband indulged her, but not Rolan. No, she would service him and let him use her for his own pleasure, like his own personal little fucktoy. Then perhaps he’d pull out and spill his seed all over her pretty face and tits, painting her as his own.

His hand on his cock sped up. He pictured her spread out beneath him, his tail curled around her ankle to keep her legs apart, his cock pressed against the entrance of her cunt. He imagined the sensation of her stretching around him, squeezing his cock to try and mimic the feeling.

Oh, Rolan, you’re so big.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her voice.

Take me, I’m yours.

Cum splattered all over his hand and stomach. For a moment, he lay there, just listening to the sounds of his own breathing. Then the regret began setting in.

First of all, he regretted not fully removing his clothes. He wiped his hand on his already soiled robe and began to clean himself up.

He tried not to feel guilty about fantasising about Lorroakan’s wife. Gods knew that his master deserved it. But Tavya didn’t.

Gods he was pathetic.

Next Chapter

[verfound]

FIC: "Luka's New Bike" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

Read on Ao3

Prompt 68: Learning to Drive/Ride a Bike

When Luka had first expressed interest in getting his motorcycle license, it had been for a more practical reason than anything else.  The Captain had had a bike for as long as he could remember.  She’d also had the old van, but it was easier to get around for her day-to-day needs on the bike and the van really only came out if she needed to haul something.  He’d spent a lot of time on the back of her bike growing up, so somewhere in the back of his mind getting a bike when he was old enough just seemed…practical.

Plus, he already rode his bicycle  everywhere, and he loved it.  He did.  But sometimes you needed something…faster.

He’d started working on his license as soon as he’d turned sixteen.  The Captain had already warned him the process could take years – at least two to get his A2 license, and he couldn’t even start on that until he’d had his B license for a few years.  It would be another two until he had his full A license, so he had known from the start he’d probably be twenty before he could get his own bike.

…but he’d been delivering pizzas since he was fifteen.  Busking on random street corners even longer.  Picking up odd jobs catering or helping the Captain or teaching guitar where he could.  He hadn’t managed to sell any instruments yet, but he was skilled enough to do a damn good repair job – and that skill was invaluable among his classmates, who were all willing to pay his cheaper prices instead of going to some of the more expensive mainstream shops.

And then Jay had asked him on tour, and while Luka still wasn’t entirely sure the road was the life he ultimately wanted…the paycheck was nice.

It was almost too easy, procuring a decent bike, after that.  He could have even afforded a more than decent bike, but he wasn’t greedy.  He just wanted something that ran well.

And now that he was back in Paris, A license and keys to his new bike in hand…he had just wanted the damn thing because he liked bikes.  They were practical.

But this…this was a decided perk.

When he jogged down the gangway that morning and made his way to the street just to find one Marinette Dupain-Cheng sitting on his new bike, her creamy thighs pressed against the sleek black metal like…he knew it was summer but who gave her permission to wear shorts that short????  She couldn’t ride in those.  She’d burn herself.  The soles of her flats would melt against the exhaust.

…but damn if she didn’t look…

“Excuse me, mademoiselle,” he called, hoping his smile looked more easy-going and less leering as he approached.  She looked up, her entire face lighting up when she saw him, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.  How did she always manage to do that…?  “Are you sure you’re old enough to be sitting on that?  I’ll need to see your license.”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed, grinning at him.  “Isn’t that my line?  I’m the one starting at the Ministère next year.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going to be a cop,” he chuckled, shaking his head.  “Well.  Maybe I can.  Ma almost shit a brick when I told her.”

“It feels like a good fit,” she said, smiling softly at him.  She looked back at the bike beneath her, her smile growing as she wrung her hands on the handlebars.  “Even if the company wasn’t going under, I hated working for Gabriel.  Even if I hadn’t…most of them there hate me, anyway.  I’m the intern that unmasked Hawkmoth, remember?  I’m the reason most of them are losing their jobs.”

“You saved Paris,” he said, frowning.  In more ways than one, he thought, even though the rest of the world only knew about her involvement outside of the mask.  “Marinette –”

But Marinette was sick of talking about Agrestes.  She had been for a while now.

“Anyway!  The Ministère!” she said, bouncing a little in her seat.  “Think you could show me how to work this thing?  I’ll need to start studying for my own license, if I want to be on the force.”

“Your B license should be fine for that,” he said, his smile slipping a little at the way she just…dismissed the whole Gabriel thing.  He felt he should be concerned about that.  She looked back at him, a pout on her lips.

“It should be fine, yes, but what if I want to ride a bike?  Not a cruiser?” she asked.  She looked back at his bike, smiling again.  “I always loved riding with my nonna.  And your bike looks so cool, Luka.  Could you take me for a ride, at least?  If you won’t teach me?”

“I never said I wouldn’t teach you,” he said.  He stepped up behind her, his hand finding the small of her back.  “I can teach you.  But maybe let me get used to her first?  I’ve only ridden her home.  I can’t teach you on a bike I’m not familiar with.”

“Her?” she asked, giggling.  “Your bike’s a her?  Should I be jealous?”

“Every bike’s a her,” he said, rolling his eyes.  “Like boats.”

“So I should be jealous,” she said.  He looked up at her, his eyebrow lifted.  Her cheeks flushed, and he felt dizzy again.  “…I missed you, you know.”

“I missed you, too,” he said without hesitation, because it was true.  He had.  Terribly.  Sometimes, he thought she was the main reason he still hadn’t committed long-term to Jay’s plans for him.  How could he, when Marinette was back in Paris and he wasn’t?  “You…you look good, Mari.”

“Just good?” she teased, her eyebrows lifting.  She looked down at herself with a frown.  “I was hoping for a little more than just good.  I dressed down for you, Couffaine.”

…he was pretty sure his jaw had dropped at that.  His mouth certainly felt dry enough, like it was hanging open, and she was certainly smirking enough, like she had gotten one over on him and knew it.  She ducked her head, her bare shoulders bobbing with her giggle, and when she peeked up at him there was a glint in her eyes that made him swallow.

“You…are horrible, Marinette,” he chuckled weakly, shaking his head.

“No, that’s you,” she said.  She tapped her fingers on the handles, glancing at the watch on her wrist.  “Do you realize you’ve been standing here almost five minutes now, and I haven’t seen you in almost five months, and you still haven’t kissed me yet?  What’s up with that, Luka?”

He hesitated again at that.

“I…wasn’t sure you’d want me to,” he said.  Their last kiss…it had been kind of amazing, but she hadn’t brought it up since he’d left.  She’d kissed him, and sent him on his way, and then they’d never talked about it again.  Nothing had changed, even if for one dizzying, amazing moment it had felt like everything had.

Of course he’d wanted to kiss her again.  And again.  Often, every day, for the rest of their lives, if she was willing.

He just…hadn’t been sure she’d be willing.

He’d never been the bravest, when it came to her.  After the last time…well.  He’d always been afraid of screwing things up again.  He’d never been brave enough to push for more again, because if he did and she didn’t want that and he lost her completely…

“…huh,” she said, tilting her head to the side.  He frowned, but she was still smiling at him.  “I always thought Juleka called you stupid because you were her brother.  I never actually thought it was true.”

“…hey,” he laughed, shaking his head, but then her hands were fisting in his jacket and tugging him closer, and his hands quickly found her hips when for one precarious moment she started to lose her balance and the bike wobbled.  He swallowed when she was suddenly so much closer, and he looked up at her to find that dangerous little smile was still on her lips.  “You really want me to teach you how to ride?”

“I want you to shut up and kiss me,” she said.  Her grin grew.  “For a start.  We can talk about the bike lessons later.  Maybe after you take me for a spin on this thing.  After you kiss me.  I’ve been waiting five months, Luka.”

“You never said anything, Marinette,” he reminded her.

“Would it really be fair of me to whine about how much I missed you, how much I wanted you back home for kisses and snuggles and all the coupley things we could be doing if you just stayed, when you were supposed to be focusing on your job?  I wouldn’t do that to you, Luka.  It’s your dream,” she said.  He shook his head, smiling.

“You’re my dream, Marinette,” he said.  “Music…music will work out.  Somehow.  Please, go ahead and whine about those things.  I need to hear them.  How else will I keep my priorities straight?”

“Ok,” she said, nodding.  “Then I need you to kiss me.  And stick around for a bit so you can teach me how to ride a bike.  But mostly the kissing.  I really need you to stay for the kissing.”

He brushed the backs of his fingers against her jaw, dragging them along her check until he was tucking her hair behind her ear.  She grinned up at him, and he grinned back as he leaned in.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he breathed before pressing his mouth to hers.

They…didn’t actually get to any bike lessons that day.  Or biking.  He made some perfectly valid argument about shorts and burns that sounded reasonable at the time, but he was also pretty sure his point in pointing out her shorts had not been to get her out of them.

…he wasn’t complaining when that’s what ended up happening anyway.

And he wasn’t complaining about anything that followed.

…they had time.  They could ride the stupid bike later.

He wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

HP Rec Fest Day 12 - A WIP You're Following

I have two picks for Day 12 of the @hprecfest. Actually, I'm following a bunch of WIPs (the Hinny corner of the fandom is truly spoiled right now!), but I've picked out these two as a vote of confidence for two authors that I know have faced some challenges this year.

Firstly:

The Path From You by @takearisk-ao3

Hot Auror Harry? Check! Feisty, independent, Ginny? Check! Huge amounts of pining, miscommunication, top notch mystery, stubborn idiots, romance, action, all written with warmth and humour that leaps out of the screen at you - literally the works? Check! Honestly, this has everything - I love it so, so much. I'm probably due a re-read:-)

Rating - M

Relationships - Harry/Ginny

Summary:

At 22, Ginny had lived through several lifetimes worth of misery. She’d been deceived, betrayed, and possessed; her very soul almost wrung out into nothing. She’d been subordinated, humiliated, and tortured; lived almost an entire year surrounded by enemies. Fought Death Eaters and dementors and giant spiders. Been heartbroken, anguished, and grief stricken. Lost friends and mentors and a brother.

And through it all, she’d survived… because of luck, or sheer force of will.

Maybe a little of both.

If she could suffer and endure and prevail through all of that, she could live through some anonymous wanker plaguing her with badly written poetry.

Secondly:

Quidditch Is For Losers by @fizzyginfizz

The original novels from Ginny's POV. We're up to the start of the POA arc, and I lapped up every word. I've read a few fics that include COS from Ginny's POV and this is by far my favourite - the portrait of how she slips from into the darkness, and the way her brothers rally to pull her back again is just gorgeous. I'm so excited for what's to come next!

Rating - M

Relationships - Harry/Ginny, ALL of the Weasleys being awesome

Summary:

Ginny Weasley’s Ultimate Awesome Life Plan™: - Go To Hogwarts and Be Better Than Ron at Everything. - Become Youngest House Player In A Century. - Earn Universal Admiration for Quaffle Juggling and Brilliant Brilliance. - Be Best Friends with Harry Potter.

*order of accomplishment may vary because: Pfft. Details.

Sometimes, life decides to bollocks up Ginny's plans.

[frownyalfred]

Gonna pile on here as another fic author: I don't think most people realize that authors can and do read public bookmarks, but oh god I wish they would, it's somehow worse then getting outright hate in the inbox

I write popular stuff like you, which I think makes it worse? (which is also why this is on anon lol) People assume I'll never see them say my fic is overhyped or too long, I guess

I have a lot of grace for the accidental public bookmarks. I know it happens sometimes. I've seen this argument wrung six different ways on the ao3 subreddit, and the conclusion I always come to is this: even if it's not done with malicious intent, it does affect authors. And you can't just expect authors to ignore a bookmark that 1) they cannot remove and 2) is slapped right onto their fic for everyone else to see.

It's like walking up to a busker playing piano on the subway and leaving a permanent sticky note on their keyboard that says "6/10 meh could've been better" that they can't ever take off. And they just have to look at it, and make their peace with it, which are important things for creators to be able to do, of course, but puts the onus of being the "better person" solely on the author?

"Well don't look at the bookmarks" "it's not a bad rating" "bookmarks are for readers, not authors" I GET these points. I am also a reader. I read and use bookmarks as recs. But giving out unsolicited criticism, regardless of venue, has always been seen as distasteful. Especially when the things being criticized are done 1) for free 2) in the author's spare time and 3) are so easy to suppress/crush with one poorly-placed comment or bookmark.

I don't say this to rant about how my own writing has been impacted by bookmarks, because while I'll bitch about it here, I'm not really thinking about myself. I'm thinking about the baby author or the new fandom arrival whose success and presence in this fandom is so tenuous, that one bookmark can knock them out of the game entirely. I'm talking about when we forget that there are real people, with real lives, on the other side of that ao3 username. The people who have quit writing because of stuff like this.

I'm not saying you have to like every fic. I'm not saying you can't rec fics to others with valid criticisms attached -- we all do it! Hey, I loved this fic but it's a little rough at the start! I've said that so many times. Would I ever put that in my public bookmark of that work? Absolutely not.

If you've erred with public bookmarks, it's not the end of the world. Make them private or maybe add some thoughts to the bookmark other than a rating. I've seen too many rating "codes" to believe it's all innocuous mistakes. And trust me, slapping a 2/5 on a poor little oneshot is one of the worst things you can do to a new or aspiring author.

/endrant

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 25: Surgery

In a shocking twist, I chose fluff for today's @whumptober prompt. This is another of my BucciaratixOC fics, from the actual Hearts of Gold series this time :)

Prompt: Surgery, stitches, being monitored, 'it's for your own good' Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 5 (Hearts of Gold verse) Character: Bucciarati

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Read on Ao3

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Bed Rest

(Hearts of Gold Verse) After Bruno has to undergo an unexpected surgery, Maria is determined to keep him resting if she has to physically tie him to the bed herself.

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“Here are some care instructions for his stitches and medicine dosages. If you have any concerns feel free to call.”

“Thank you,” Maria said as she accepted the small bag of papers and pills from the nurse before heading toward the room Bruno was staying in.

Her husband looked very wan and wrung out lying in the bed. He still smiled when he saw Maria though.

“Ready to go home?” she asked him as she smiled back.

“Very,” Bruno replied tiredly, already attempting to sit up before his face creased and he brought a hand to his stomach.

“Stop that,” Maria said firmly as she hurried over and pressed him back gently. “Leone’s coming with a wheelchair in just a minute.”

“I can walk perfectly fine once I get up,” Bruno tried to insist, but Maria shot him a look.

“If you fall they’re going to keep you in here another night.”

He huffed a sigh but settled back.

It had all started with a persistent stomach bug and fever that Bruno had chosen to ignore and claimed he ‘was fine’ to go out on a mission. Maria could still hear Fugo’s terrified voice over the phone when he had called to tell them that Bruno had collapsed on the mission with severe stomach pain. With Giorno currently in Milan with Mista and Narancia it had been an obvious trip to the hospital.

Maria got there just in time to see Leone and Fugo arguing with Bruno.

“You cannot use Sticky Fingers to take your own fucking appendix out!” Leone snapped.

“Then I’ll wait for Giorno,” came the strained reply.

“You can’t wait that long, they said it’s a miracle your appendix hasn’t already burst!” Fugo added.

Maria was going to put a stop to that line of thinking right now. Fugo and Leone both looked up in relief as she came in and strode over to the bed.

“Bruno, you’re having the surgery,” she said firmly.

Bruno shut up and turned pale and quiet. Maria didn’t miss the uneasiness on his face that had nothing to do with the pain he was currently in. She leaned over the bed and took his face between her hands.

“My love, it will be alright.”

“I can’t believe this happened,” he muttered.

“It can happen to anyone,” Fugo said. “Just be glad it’s not more serious.”

Bruno looked away and Maria stroked his jaw, feeling the tenseness from the pain in how tight he was clenching it. “I promise I’ll be there when you wake up.”

Bruno relaxed slightly and tilted his head up searchingly. Maria kissed him deeply before straightening up. “You’ll be all right, Bruno.”

She had been there when he woke up as promised, and stayed at the hospital with him while they kept him for observation for a couple days after the surgery. She knew how much Bruno hated hospitals and because of that, was well aware that he hadn’t gotten much proper rest there, so she was just as eager to bring him home as he was to get there.

She just hoped that she would be able to convince him to stay in bed once they returned to the mansion.

Leone came into the room, pushing a wheelchair in front of him. “Hey, you ready to go?” he asked.

Bruno nodded tiredly and thankfully allowed Maria and Leone to help him up and into the wheelchair. Even that movement seemed to exhaust him and he settled back as they made their way out of the hospital to the car Leone had pulled around.

They helped him into the passenger seat and Bruno leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

“You’ll have to catch me up on business once we get back,” he murmured as Leone started the car. “I know I’ve missed a lot.”

“Not gonna happen,” Leone said firmly. “Your job for the next few days is resting. Fugo and I have things covered, and Risotto and his team are helping out with some of the local stuff.”

“You can at least keep me up to date—”

“No, because as soon as we start telling you anything you’ll want to take over for yourself.” Leone gave him a look. “Think of this as an opportunity to relax, Bruno. You get so few of those.”

“Exactly,” Maria added.

“I can’t really relax when I’m doped on pain meds and risk ripping my stitches out every time I move,” Bruno muttered.

“We can catch up on movies we’ve wanted to watch,” Maria offered. “Are you really that upset with the thought of spending a few days cooped up with your wife?” she teased.

Bruno smiled wryly. “That’s the only nice part about this.”

They got back to the mansion and Maria and Leone helped Bruno out of the car.

“Careful,” Leone cautioned. “We can go as slow as you need.”

Bruno grunted in annoyance, moving actually quite slowly. It was a long trek into the house and upstairs to their room and Maria felt bad for how exhausted Bruno looked when he finally got there and settled on the bed, a hand pressed to his stomach as sweat beaded on his brow.

“Try to sleep for now,” Maria coaxed, moving the blankets and pulling them over him. “I’ll wake you when it’s time for your next dose of medicine.”

Bruno nodded tiredly, eyes already shut as he seemed to drift off in exhaustion.

Maria kissed his brow softly before she pulled Leone from the room and headed downstairs to where Fugo and Trish were waiting.

“Not one peep about business to Bruno until he’s recovered, okay?” she said firmly.

Fugo and Trish both nodded.

“Agreed,” the blond replied. “Abbacchio and I will handle everything until Giorno gets back.”

“And I can help keep an eye on him if you need to run out, Maria,” Trish promised.

“Thank you,” Maria said gratefully. “We will see him to full recovery together.”

But it was easier said than done, because Bruno was, if nothing else, incredibly stubborn. And he was also not good at bed rest.

Maria was slightly surprised to find that he slept most of the afternoon. She woke him in the evening to eat a little and take his medicine but he fell asleep quickly afterward to her relief.

Maria joined him soon enough. She hadn’t gotten much sleep the last few days either while watching over him in the hospital. She curled up next to her husband and fell into an actually restful sleep, knowing they were both back home.

It lasted until early morning when she was woken by Bruno’s soft sounds of discomfort as he shifted in bed.

“Are you alright?” she asked sleepily, reaching out for his arm.

“I’m just uncomfortable,” he replied tiredly.

Maria pushed herself onto an elbow to look at the clock, seeing it was several hours past his next dose of pain medicine.

“Your pills should help. Let me go get you a glass of water.”

She got up and headed to the bathroom returning with a glass and helping to prop Bruno up against the pillows before handing him the water. She took out his pills and pressed them into his other hand so he could take them dutifully.

“This will probably be the last dose of these I’ll take,” he told her. “They make me too tired.”

“That’s the point,” Maria said. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I can’t rest forever. Besides, regular pain killers will do perfectly fine for me. I’ve had worse.”

Maria stared at him balefully, but Bruno ignored her, leaning back against the pillows. She sighed and tucked him back in. “Anything particular you want for breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry enough to have a preference. Nothing too heavy,” he said.

Maria nodded and pulled on her robe as she made her way down to the kitchen.

Leone had already made a pot of coffee, and she gratefully poured a cup as she assembled a breakfast for Bruno. By the time she got back up to the room, she found Bruno on his phone, brow furrowed.

“When you see Fugo, could you please tell him to come up and see me?” he said. “He’s not answering my texts.”

“He won’t talk to you about business,” Maria said firmly as she set the tray on the side table.

Bruno looked up at her indignantly. “Maria—”

“Bruno, no,” she cut in, moving her hands to her hips. “You are on bedrest only for the next few days. No work, not even from bed.”

“That’s unrealistic. Fugo would agree.”

“Would he?” Maria raised an eyebrow. “Feel free to ask him yourself then. I’m sure he’ll be up later to check in on you.”

Bruno sighed and started eating.

“When you’re done, I’ll change your bandages. Would you like me to help you bathe first?”

Bruno closed his eyes with a grateful nod. “That would be nice. I despise the smell of hospital.”

Maria agreed and went to set up the bathroom while he finished eating. They’d preemptively put a chair in the shower to make it easier for Bruno, and though he couldn’t get his stitches wet, Maria could position the chair so she could wash Bruno’s hair more easily.

When he’d finished eating, Maria reappeared with a smile. “Time for your sponge bath, Signore Bucciarati.”

She helped him slowly into the bathroom and got him undressed before sitting him in the chair. Bruno closed his eyes and seemed to relax as she washed him gently with a warm soapy cloth, careful around the tender area on his lower belly. When she had finished, she leaned him back slightly and washed his hair. Bruno gave a pleased groan as she massaged his scalp with her fingers.

“That feels very nice,” he murmured.

Maria bent to kiss his damp forehead. “You should be pampered during your recovery. That’s the best part, you know.”

Bruno smiled slightly. “You do spoil me, amore.”

Maria gave a coy smile as she rinsed the rest of the soap out of his hair and turned the water off. “Let’s get you dried off.”

She patted him dry gently and blow-dried his hair so he wouldn’t have to sleep on it wet. When she was done, she carefully cleaned his incision before taping fresh gauze over the stitches.

After helping Bruno into a clean pair of pajamas, she put him back in bed.

Bruno grumbled, seeming exhausted after just that.

Maria made sure he was comfortable before she went to see to a few things around the house, checking in on Fugo and Leone in the office.

“How is Bucciarati this morning?” Fugo asked her.

“He’s still tired. Which is good honestly,” she replied wryly.

“Yes, I’ve been dodging his texts since he got up,” Fugo snorted. “He’s going to be even more of a menace once he stops taking the good pain pills.”

“If he had his way that would be sooner rather than later,” Maria said. “But he’s not getting his way this time.”

Fugo smiled. “You don’t know how happy it makes me that he finally has someone around who will make him see reason.”

“I am trying my best.”

Maria really was trying her best. That day went by okay. Bruno mostly slept and they watched a couple movies in between but she could tell he was getting restless already, trying to ask prying questions when Fugo and Leone came to check in on him.

It didn’t get really bad until the next day though when Maria left for a little while to see to some chores and came back to see her husband sitting at his desk with his laptop.

“What are you doing out of bed?” she demanded.

“Maria, I can’t stay in bed forever. I’m just checking emails.”

She strode over and closed the laptop, facing him firmly. “No business until you’re recovered!” she snapped.

He furrowed his brow. “It’s not going to help anyone if they have to catch me up on everything I missed. I’m simply trying to stay informed.”

Maria continued to glower at him until he rolled his eyes tiredly and made to stand up.

“Very well.”

He winced as he pushed his chair back and Maria quickly ducked in to help him to his feet, keeping hold of him as he shuffled back over to the bed. “See, you can still barely get around. Please stay in bed unless you have to use the bathroom.”

Bruno huffed, slumping back against his pillows. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had let me use Sticky Fingers.”

“You would feel better if you were held together with zippers instead of stitches right now?” She raised a brow suspiciously.

He remained silent, knowing his argument was invalid.

Maria leaned in and kissed him. “It won’t be much longer, I promise. Just remember that you will be going back to the hospital if you rip any of your stitches out.”

“Reading emails will not rip my stitches,” Bruno grumbled.

Maria placed another kiss on his furrowed brow and it instantly smoothed out. “Later, my love.”

She snatched the laptop on her way out, blowing him a kiss as Bruno made a disgruntled sound.

She thought she had assuaged him for a while but when she came back to check on him after running errands, she caught him making his way slowly down the hall, one hand pressed to the wall to steady himself.

“What are you doing out here?” she demanded, hurrying over to him.

“Caught me again, did you?” he grumbled.

“Bruno,” Maria sighed. “Why do you insist on being so stubborn?”

“Because I don’t have time to be laid up. There’s business to attend.”

“Which Leone and Panna are handling. You know if anything catastrophic happens they’ll let you know, but other than that, why are you so against taking this opportunity to relax a little?”

Bruno looked away. He shifted and winced. “At least let me rest downstairs for a while, I feel so cooped up.”

He tried to leave the wall and head toward the stairs. He wobbled and shifted quickly to correct his balance, letting out a sharp gasp, hand pressed to his side.

Maria ducked in quickly to grab his arm. “The stairs are way too much for you right now,” she said firmly, letting him lean on her as she steered him back to their room. “Just a few more days, Bruno, please.”

He grunted but had little choice other than to go where she led him.

“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

“I want out of this room.”

“We already determined that wasn’t a good idea.”

“I could have made it.”

“So you wouldn’t have tripped on the stairs and ripped all your stitches out?”

“I don’t think I’m that infirm.”

He frowned up at her in indignation. Maria climbed up to kneel on the bed facing him, taking his face between her hands. “You’re not going to stay put if I leave you again, are you?”

“I make no promises.”

“I see,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Perhaps I should tie you to the bed then?”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“Is it?” She gently slid her hands down his arms and caught his wrists, pressing them back against the pillows teasingly as she hovered over him. “I think you’ve already proven drastic measures need to be taken.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but Maria leaned in and kissed him. Bruno’s lips quickly melted to hers, allowing her to deepen the kiss.

He was a little breathless when she finally pulled away.

“You think you can distract me like this?” Bruno asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is it working?”

He sighed, shifting slightly with a small wince. “This is…abysmal. It hurts every time I move, and the stitches itch.” His fingers twitched as if wanting to scratch.

Maria hummed in sympathy before leaning in again. “Then let me make it a little less abysmal?”

She kissed him again, working her way down his neck, before she released his wrists and shifted down toward his waist. She gently pushed his shirt up and Bruno let out a soft sound as she pressed her lips to the spot above his bandages.

“Is this helping at all?” she asked, peppering soft kisses against his tanned abs.

“Mmm, a little. I think I’m going to need more of this particular treatment though.”

Maria beamed as she saw a genuine smile on his face again and sat back up to kiss his lips. “Well, Signore Bucciarati, I have the perfect prescription for you then.”

[damedechance]

a tribute to What Lies Inside

an Azris fic by @ofduskanddreams

Azris in gold for @ofduskanddreams

READ ON AO3 and tell her how much you love it

If you haven't read this yet, first of all what the hell are you doing? Second of all, the final chapter was just posted so now is the PERFECT time! I just finished it and obviously it was so overwhelmingly perfect that I have to gush about it here so I have somewhere to put all my feelings

I have book hangover in only the best of ways. Reading this entire fic has been like such an absolute dream. From start to finish, I felt like I was right there along with Azriel and Eris. The magic of this ship is that the two of them each have so much potential for personal growth. They each shove their feelings far down beneath the surface, and I so greatly enjoyed seeing them come into themselves throughout the course of their narrative. I cannot describe to anyone just how FULL to bursting my heart felt when I read that final line. I won't spoil it for anyone (seriously, if you haven't read this wtf are you doing?) But it was like we were down there at the bottom of this dark, murky pool Azriel and Eris had created by refusing to acknowledge the deepest parts of themselves, and upon finishing this fic, we came up for air right along with them.

If you couldn't tell, I'm sobbing.

Not to mention, the way @ofduskanddreams (love of my life) masterfully wields words, weaving this impeccable, luxuriant prose had my jaw dropping CONSTANTLY. From lines that were so poignant in their simplicity that it wrung out my heart, to the most absurdly hilarious one-liners, to the HOTTEST and most mouth-watering details... (Eris in rings, thank you very much) I was so constantly left speechless. Absolutely gobsmacked. I am so awed that there is so much pure talent in these words, and that the entire world hasn't had the honor of getting to read them, yet. They should.

@ofduskanddreams I hope you are rewarding yourself by relaxing, and I hope you understand just how deeply this fic has impacted everyone who's read it. You truly accomplished something great within these pages. You deserve all of the praise that people give you, and I want you to remember that. This is a masterpiece. I DO remember our first conversation about this idea, and I was just as mesmerized by it then as I am now, if not more so. Take a bow. You deserve it.

[subzeroparade]

Doing the Writing Review 2023 open tag left by @tinygigas, because taking stock of the things you’ve accomplished is supposedly good for your mental health, or so I’ve heard.

(this tag is open so tag yourself and talk about your writing •ᴗ• unless this post has made you go "I should be writing" in which case, go write).

Words and fics  ➻ 151,905 words of exclusively Bloodborne work because I decided to give myself wholly and unconditionally to an almost decade-old fandom (as opposed to last year, exclusively Elden Ring) posted on AO3  ➻ 10 fics posted on AO3  ➻2 WIPs, one of which should be done by the end of the year. 

Ships ➻ Mostly Ludwig/Laurence, though I think in regards to the “Moon Divorce people come get your juice” tag, I too now count as Moon Divorce people. Also Caryll/Rom, rarepair of my heart. 

Top Fic by Kudos ➻ Litanies (73)

Top Fic by Hits ➻ The Feast We Were Promised (1,189)

Fandom Events  I organised/ran a little writing workshop for some friends & acquaintances that I think (and hope) went rather well. Everyone’s work was delightful and they took feedback with more grace and enthusiasm than many undergrads I’ve been paid to give these workshops to. 

Upcoming Projects ➻ The so-called Moon Deal fic - because I call it that - or at least Part 1 of it by the end of the year. ➻ Some short/experimental pieces if I can get around to it. Something to push me out of my comfort zone, in which I otherwise sit and refuse to budge. 

Writing Reflections  ➻ I am overjoyed to have had conversations here and elsewhere that have wrung entire fics out of me based on statements not even meant to be prompts - including, Laurence sits on Ludwig’s lap to shave him and Why does Gehrman dress like discount Dracula? ➻ The chance to do real, systematic studies of some of my favourite authors, and find new ones to add to my repertory. All writing is fundamentally derivative - so you might as well get intimate with the voices you love the most.  ➻ Under any and all flashy technical mastery and thoughtful research remains the primacy of storytelling. That’s the music. 

Thanks for reading, and especially to those who've taken the time to engage. It's WIP Wednesday, so a little snippet of upcoming work below the cut.

[cinehomophile]

Fanfic Writer Questions

no one tagged me in this but doing anyway bc i am fixating on fanfic rn lol

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 29

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 58,770

3. What fandoms do you write for? Everything but rn focused on The Deer Hunter and Mean Streets

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

words: Mean Streets hurt/comfort about internalized homophobia

yeah i want a scab today: Reservoir Dogs character study about BPD!Freddy

he wrung the dew out of the fleece, a bowlful of blood: Mean Streets dead dove about religious guilt

dreams of knowledge: Mean Streets hurt/comfort about religious guilt

Kolya: The Deer Hunter character study about immigrant identity

5. Do you respond to comments? for the most part, i think comments and replies are an important aspect of fic culture

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably in its right place.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? be sweet to me, baby is probably the happiest it gets lmao

8. Do you get hate on fics? No despite my efforts

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Generally no

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Have not in a long time but recall writing something that was RWBYxMinecraft in 2016

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? No afaik

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No but I have translated a few fics

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I have co-created a podfic with @fruitysalamander1398

14. What's your all time favorite ship? really hard to say. i think i was more insane about JotaKak than anything else but i dont have much interest in it now

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? atp i avoid starting things i can't finish. if i have a WIP i just pretend thats where i wanted it to end it my life is very easy. fic where i ship two abstract entities that i will never post and exists entirely on notebook pages and post-its

16. What are your writing strengths? Character studies, characters with complex trauma

17. What are your writing weaknesses? rich sensory descriptions bc my brain does not work like that

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? do it myself a lot but implementing is clunky and a pain in the ass

19. First fandom you wrote for? First fic I remember writing was for Little House on the Prarie when I was 9 lmao

20. Favorite fic you've written? hell is finding someone to love is definitely up there it's a very fun read. Angst and Pinging was pretty tight and cohesive i like that one a lot as well

tagging @fruitysalamander1398 @televisionamongthebees @fredoesque @meme-streets