#they’re quite tasty | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katsu28 · 3 months ago

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summer's golden haze - chapter one

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: a small town somewhere in beautiful greece, early morning coffee runs, and the cute boy that you keep running into. (4.8k)

warnings: sort of shy!reader, a bit of swearing, lando being both smooth and a little awkward

a/n: series masterlist coming soon :)

“That guy is totally checking you out.”

You reluctantly drag your attention away from the truly addicting pasta you’d ordered to meet your friend’s gaze across the table, slightly suspicious, but also a little curious as to what she’s talking about.

Samira is grinning knowingly at you already, mischievously, like she’s got a tasty bit of information you don’t know about. Probably not tastier than the food in front of you, but your interest is piqued nonetheless.

“What guy?” You sigh, giving into your curiosity quite easily. She arches a perfectly sculpted brow at you, then tilts her head to the side discreetly, and you follow her gaze towards—

Oh. That guy.

You saw him on your way to your seat at first, a group of four guys sitting a few tables away in the same patio area of the restaurant, drawing your attention even before you’d sat down. Artfully messy brown curls swept up out of his face, thick dark brows framing bright eyes crinkled with laughter at something his friend had said, you’d felt yourself growing conscious of the man’s existence with just one glance.

And then his gaze had flicked to your friends passing his table, but more importantly, your own gaze, and you’d nearly stumbled on your own feet.

Your cheeks had grown hot at the intensity of his stare following your path to your seat, not to mention the embarrassment that had flooded your veins at the thought of nearly eating shit in front of this very attractive stranger.

Had you grown the nerve to look back at him at the time, you would’ve seen his lips quirk into a goofy grin, as well as all the shoving he’d gotten from his friends as they’d caught wind of his unabashed staring.

Now you’re almost done with your meal, and you could swear you’ve felt him looking at you plenty more times. Not that it mattered at all, because your eyes have been firmly glued to your food and your friends only.

Okay, so you might’ve hastened a few covert glances over in his direction too, but he’s been chatting away to his friends every time, so maybe you’re just making nothing into something.

“Don’t even try to hide it, you’ve been making eyes at him too, girl,” Your other friend, Maren, pipes up, elbowing you in the arm playfully. The last of your girls, Camille, nods her agreement, smiling gleefully. “He’s hot.”

Right, so perhaps not as covert as you’d thought.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” You reply, spearing another piece of pasta through your fork. You’re kicked under the table at that moment, hard enough to warrant the whine that escapes your mouth. “What?” Now you're met with three pointed glares your way. “Okay, fine. Yeah, he’s cute.”

“Go talk to him!”

“Go flirt with him!”

“Absolutely not!” You exclaim. Your voice comes out louder than you intend and you duck your head quickly, worried you’d disturbed the peace of the quiet area. “He’s probably got a girlfriend already or something.”

“If he does, she better dump his ass because he's been giving you fuck me eyes all damn night.”

“No, he has not,” You hiss, which only gets you yet another look from them. You’re starting to get tired of all these looks, actually. “Has he? I mean—are they? Fuck me eyes?”

“Oh yeah, he—”

Camille clears her throat, cutting Samira off. “No, they’re not,” She assures you, placing a hand over yours. “He’s been smiling every time he looks over.”

“Maybe he’s looking at one of you guys?”

“He’s definitely been looking at you.”

You bite your lip, nose scrunching skeptically. You haven’t really been the subject of any guy’s attention before, let alone one as handsome as this one. You’ve learned it’s better not to get your hopes up when it comes to certain situations. This seems like one of them. “Are you sure?”

“If I’m wrong, I’ll give you back your share of the villa rental.”

“Can I get that in writing, or…?”

Before any of them can come up with a smart remark, a plate is placed into the center of the table, on which is a large square of baklava, light and flaky with that sweet, sugary filling spilling out the sides of the piece that almost makes your mouth water. You’d seen it in the dessert section of the menu earlier, but had decided against ordering it in favor of trying an appetizer instead.

“Oh, excuse me? We didn’t order this,” Maren speaks up, looking up at the waiter.

He does a half turn, sweeping an arm in a vague direction. “It is from the gentleman in the blue shirt.”

You follow his gaze, and fuck, your heart skips a beat in your chest, because it’s him. It’s the same guy you’ve been drawn to all night, and he’s actually looking right back at you this time. His hand comes up in a wave, then back down to his side almost immediately, like he’s worried about it seeming too eager, before settling with a reserved nod. All the while, he’s still got that smile gracing his face that makes your stomach flip flop.

“He sent over a dessert?!?! I am so keeping that money, girl,” Camille hums, picking up her fork to dig in while Samira and Maren voice their agreement.

You, on the other hand, well…you’re not sure what to think. You appreciate the gesture, but you're also confused. Why did he send something over? What did he want?

It doesn't occur to you that he’s truly taken an interest in you until you're huddled outside with your friends talking next steps of the night. Whether you want to keep exploring this new place, or call it a day and go home. You’re firmly on the latter’s side because you're tired. But you’ll go along with whatever is decided.

The guy and his friends have coincidentally left the restaurant at the same time as you did, judging by the sudden commotion that erupts behind you. Like a moth drawn to a flame, your gaze lands on him yet again, only this time, you actually lock eyes with him. Something jolts through you, something electric up your spine like a tiny shock. Something you’ve never felt before. You shove the foreign feeling deep down, no matter how much you’d like to explore it.

He looks away, teeth sunk into his bottom lip to quell the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and you avert your wandering eyes too, before anyone else notices. Evidently you’re a little too slow, because all three of your friends catch on instantly.

“Go talk to him already.” Camille says matter-of-factly.

“No, I—what do I even say?”

“Maybe hello would be a good start?”

You press your lips together, unimpressed, and you get a snicker in return, something about how you're not asking for his hand in marriage, you’re just trying to make conversation. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to him, it’s that you’re not exactly sure how to approach it. You’ve already convinced yourself of the worst, but to possibly have it play out in real life is a tangible fear of yours, and always has been.

One of your girls (you’re willing to bet more money it’s Maren) gives you a not so gentle shove towards him, as does one of his friends over in his group. Now you’ve got no choice. You meet each other in the middle, just looking at each other for a few moments. It’s awkward and you have half a mind to turn and go, but then he speaks.

“Hey,” He says.

“Hi,” You reply shyly, shifting on your feet nervously. He shoves both hands into his pockets. He looks a bit nervous too, which does a significant wonder to calm you. “Thank you for the baklava. It was delicious.”

“Yeah, of course. Glad you guys liked it. Figured you can’t go wrong with a classic.” He bobs his head, shoulders creeping up towards his ears in a shrug before dropping back down. “I’m Lando, by the way.”

Lando. It’s not a name you’re expecting, but it suits him well.

He sticks his hand out almost instinctively, like he’s been conditioned to do so. Maybe he has, considering the aura of professionality it gives off when you do shake his hand.

His palm is smooth and warm against yours, long fingers curling around your hand like the sincere smile that curls his lips as you tell him your name in return. Dimples bracket his mouth on both sides.

The handshake almost lasts a little too long for two people who’ve just met literally a few moments ago, as does the way his eyes linger upon yours.

Even in the dark of the night, illuminated only by the warm glow of the lamps above you, you can see him much better up close. His sunkissed skin does little to hide the flushed pink on his cheeks that travels down to his chest, disappearing under the generously unbuttoned blue linen. You feel exposed under his intense gaze, looking back at those mesmerizing eyes. Blue, green, gray—maybe a mix of all three, you’re not sure, but you can’t help but want to figure it out.

Then you remember that you don’t know this guy at all, and it brings you back to reality.

“Lando, like…the guy from Star Wars?” You ask. It breaks the invisible tether between the two of you and he smiles, laughs a little bit too.

He shrugs casually. “Not according to my mum and dad, but I do get that a lot.”

“You must get tired of hearing it from people then.”

His head tilts to one side, smile going endearingly lopsided. “Depends on the person. Like, I didn’t mind when you said it just now.” You’re not sure how to respond to that, so you just smile, and he takes your reaction in stride, moving on. “Are you guys from around here, or…”

“No, actually, we’re—um, we’re just here on holiday.”

“Oh, same! Yeah, we’ve been here a few days now, it’s been great. Is this your first time in Greece?” He asks, smile turning warm. You nod. “Have you checked out the local market yet?”

“Can’t say we have yet, no. We just got in the day before last, so…still figuring out our footing first. But I’ll keep it in mind, thank you!”

Lando inhales sharply, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Hey, y’know, if you want, maybe we could—”

“Oi, Lando! Let’s go, mate!”

He glances back over at his friends, one of whom is waving for him to return to his group rather wildly, before turning back to you. Whatever he was about to say is lost now, because he shrugs loosely. “Guess that’s my cue,” He sighs. Then his gaze softens, smile turning a little hopeful. “Will I see you around again? Small town and all.”

“Uh…I dunno. Maybe, if it’s meant to be.” You have to try with all your might not to take the statement back, even though you really, really want to.

If it’s meant to be—who the fuck says that? Like fate has anything to do with this miraculous interest Lando seems to have taken in you. If you were him, you’d find your words quite off putting. Instead, he smirks, crooked and cute.

“Meant to be,” He repeats, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah alright, I’ll take my chances. Have a good night.”

You bid him a soft goodnight, barely able to stifle the giggle that spills from your mouth when he nearly trips over the cobblestones on his way back to his friends. He’s awkward, you think, but still confident. It’s cute.

Lando stays rooted in your mind the rest of the night, all the way up until you’re lying in bed, waiting for sleep to take hold of you. It’s weird to think this much about a guy you’ve just met, a guy who you’ve only had one conversation with and have left things up to chance in terms of seeing him again.

-------

You’re the first one awake this morning, roused from your sleep by bright sunlight pouring through the window, even through the curtains. Contemplation of going back to sleep crosses your mind, but it’s no use. You’re up now, so you might as well make the most of your early morning.

You love your friends dearly, but some alone time sounds like heaven right about now. There’s a coffee spot not far from where you’re staying that you remember seeing on your way in that seems like a perfect match to your solo walk, so you head there. You’ll be a nice friend and bring coffee home for when they eventually wake up too.

After dropping them a text letting them know you’ve gone out, you set off. The walk back into town is short but serene, a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of your daily lives, and a reminder of why you’d all decided to vacation in this particular region of Greece in the first place.

Someone calls out something that sounds like your name before you can step into the shop and you pause, casting a glance around to see if your ears might be playing tricks on you. You’ve only been here a few days, and the only other person who knows you other than your friends is…Lando.

You squint a little harder to see through the glare of the sun, and lo and behold, there he is, hands linked behind his head. The grin that lifts your face is almost embarrassing, or would’ve been had Lando not been so eager upon seeing you wave at him.

He’s clad in athletic shorts and a cutoff tee that shows off muscles you’re trying your very hardest not to stare at as he makes his way closer, curls tucked away in a baseball cap pulled low on his head. Headphones dangle from around his neck, and he’s panting, chest rising and falling heavily very clearly once he’s stopped in front of you.

“Hey, good morning! I thought that was you,” He breathes, attempting to catch his breath. “Early riser too, I take it?”

“Honestly, not usually! The sun decided I would be today, though, so…here I am.”

“Here you are. Guess it was meant to be then, huh?” He chuckles, reaching up to flip his cap backwards. If you thought he was tan the night you met, he’s even tanner in the sun, bronze skin stretching over sinewy muscle that flexes as he sweeps a hand through his hair before tugging it back down in one smooth motion. “Doing a coffee run?”

“Yeah, I’m the only one of us awake at this hour so I figured I’d bring them back a little something.”

“You’re a saint. I’d let my mates suffer if it were me,” Lando snorts.

You shrug. “Guess that’s the difference between the two of us.”

“Yeah?” He hums, looking amused. “What else is different between you and me?”

“Well, first of all, I would never be on a run at eight in the morning. Is someone punishing you, or is this a self-inflicted torture type thing?”

That gets another laugh out of him, shoulders shaking with mirth. “Gotta keep in shape or my trainer might try to kill me with workouts instead.”

“You’re an athlete?” You pry, intrigued. He looks the part, you think. Lean but not skinny, strong but not massively built. A runner, maybe?

Lando freezes a split second, rocks from foot to foot, scratching at his nose. “Kind of, yeah.”

“What’s your sport?”

“Uh…golf. It’s more like a hobby than anything else.”

“Golf,” You repeat, an amused smile poking at the edges of your mouth. “Can’t say I know a thing about it.”

“Oh, it’s definitely something else, for sure. Super intense stuff, really grueling.” His words say one thing, but he’s grinning like he’s pulling your leg, lip pulled between his teeth in that same way as last night, nose scrunching adorably as he bobs his head quickly to further sell it.

“Sure, if you say so. But d’you think your trainer would get mad if you cut your super intense training short to grab a cup of coffee with a friend?”

You’re almost expecting him to say no, but Lando perks up instead, eyes crinkling happily at the corners. “Not at all. Shall we?”

Over coffee, you find that Lando is an excellent conversationalist—funny and a good listener, an even better storyteller. He asks about you without seeming pushy or prying, and because of that you feel yourself relaxing a bit in his presence. Opening yourself up to the possibility of a good thing with him, no matter how short or fleeting it may be, whether it’s friendship or something more.

A few weeks of summer in a place you've never been with a boy you don’t know is the time to be a little bolder. Chances are you’ll never see Lando again after this trip, so why not loosen up just a little bit?

It’s only when more people start to trickle into the shop and you start to notice Lando’s eyes shifting over your shoulder more that you realize you’ve been here with him for a while now. And judging by the dozens of missed calls and texts from all three of your friends on your phone when you go to check it for the first time since you’d left, you’ve been gone a lot longer than you said you’d be.

You know them well enough to know that they’re not above calling the local police to send out a search party for you if you don’t find your way back soon.

“Friends wondering where you are?”

You nod, sending a quick message that you are indeed alive and not kidnapped like they feared, before tucking your phone away again. “Guess I better get them their coffees for sure now, or else they might not let me back in the house.”

“Lemme buy it for them,” He offers sincerely, offering you a lopsided grin. You shake your head rapidly at the suggestion, but he continues, “I’m the reason you’ve been gone so long, the least I can do is buy them drinks. Call it an apology for making them worry, yeah?”

“You really don’t have to, Lando.”

“I know. I want to,” He insists, looking truly genuine. First dessert last night, now coffee today. You have half a mind to push back a little more, but you get the feeling Lando is as persistent as he is handsome, so you taking a firm stance on something like this seems like a moot point. Giving in, you nod, and he mirrors it, looking proud.

He lets you take the lead in reciting your friends’ orders once you’ve made your way back over to the front counter, stepping forward with a hand to the small of your back to pay for the drinks before you have any bright ideas to pull one over on him and pay for them yourself.

The barista smiles politely, pen hovering above a cardboard cup. “And a name for that?”

Lando casts a furtive glance around the area before leaning in and saying his name quietly, as if he’s worried he’ll run into someone who he doesn’t want to see. You notice, but don’t really pay it any mind. You understand far too well not wanting to talk to someone you're unprepared for.

Soon enough Lando’s got the drinks in hand and you’re back outside, and he’s smiling again. You’ve noticed he does that a lot when he looks at you. You’re sure you’re the same way with him.

“My mates and I, we’re planning on having a little barbeque at our villa tomorrow night. You should come,” Lando says encouragingly, tilting his head to the side. When your brows raise in surprise, he hastily adds, “And your friends too, obviously. We’d love the company.”

“Ah! Um, I dunno. Wouldn’t wanna crash your thing.”

“You wouldn't be. Seriously, come hang out. We’re fun, I promise!”

“I just—I forget if we’ve got plans, that’s all.” You’re not lying when you say it, you truly forget if you’re free tomorrow night. Most of it stems from your awful memory, but a small part of it attributes to how your brain kind of stops working properly around Lando.

“Right, well, you figure that out, and if you find you’ve got a free evening,” He balances the drinks deftly in one hand, the other fishing his phone out of his shorts pocket and swiping at the screen briefly before holding it out to you, “text me, let me know.”

You’re not sure where you find the boldness to tap your phone number into his contacts, but you do it with confidence, saving it under your name and a smiley face.

“Cute.” Lando smirks, chuckling as he sends a simple hi so you've got his number too. “Now, I believe these are yours, and…maybe I’ll see you tomorrow? If it’s meant to be.”

You smile at the mirroring of last night’s words from him as you situate the cardboard tray in your own arms. “Maybe.”

The smile hasn’t left your face even by the time you arrive back home, because you’ve been thinking about Lando the whole way. For a stranger you’ve met only yesterday, he’s sure been occupying a lot of space in your mind. You aren’t entirely sure how to feel about it.

You’re already prepared for the berating you’re about to get as you close the front door behind you carefully, making your way to the kitchen.

“Where the hell have you been?”

You look up to see all three of your friends sitting around the kitchen table, and none of them look particularly happy. You smile innocently, holding up the cardboard tray of drinks up as a peace offering. “Coffee?”

“It better come with an explanation.”

Nodding vigorously, you dole out each drink to your friends. “It does, I swear. I didn’t just disappear, I ran into—”

“Hold the fuck on. Why does this say Lando? Why is that man’s name on my cup—”

“Oh my god, you did not get coffee with him without telling us!”

“You bitch!”

That’s how you end up telling them the whole story—running into him in town, talking for ages, and that brings you to your next point.

“We don’t have any plans for tomorrow night, do we?”

“There’s the vineyard tour in the afternoon, but that should end around five. Why?”

“Lando invited us to a barbecue at his villa,” You say quickly. That gets their attention immediately, all of their eyes widening in the same shocked looks. None of them answer your question though. “Is that…something we’d be interested in?”

Samira is the first to snap out of it, mouth curving into a playful smirk. “Invited us, or invited you?”

“Definitely just her.”

“Whatever! Do we wanna go or not?” You grumble, doing your best to fight the grin threatening to overtake your face. The thought of him wanting to spend time with you brings you a teensy bit of satisfaction.

“Of course we’re going!”

After they’re done poking fun at you, you’re able to take a moment to top out a quick message to Lando. That barbecue invite still up for grabs?

You're not expecting an immediate answer, but your phone dings with a text back before you even set it down.

Lando: Of course. Plans fell through?

You: seems like you’ve really made an impression on my friends

Lando: Not sure whether to be scared or flattered…

You: your guess is as good as mine! we’ll find out tomorrow :)

Lando: Brb gotta go call my lawyer and update my will

“You’re texting him right now, aren’t you?”

You look up from your phone to see Camille leaning in the doorway to your room, a soft, knowing smile on her face. “Yeah, he—uh, he says he’s looking forward to meeting you guys again.” She comes to sit beside you, looking like she wants to talk about something. You set it aside, head tilting in a silent question.

“Do you think you’ll stay in contact with Lando after we leave?”

“I’m not sure. Haven’t really thought about it all that much, to be honest.”

If you do think about it, you haven’t even known Lando for more than a day. You’ve only just met him yesterday, seen him twice, one of which was completely spur of the moment. So what if that spur of the moment encounter was the most connected you’ve felt to someone in a long time?

You don’t know him, and chances are, he’s not looking for anything serious. You don’t even know if you’re looking for anything serious.

“It’s okay if you want to.”

“I shouldn’t want to,” You say. It feels like you’re trying to convince yourself more than anything. You look to Camille for an answer, but she just pats your hand. “Right? I’m never gonna see him again, so I shouldn’t get attached.”

“You don’t know that for sure, do you?”

“I guess not. It feels scary, though. Opening yourself up to something when you don't know what’ll happen.”

Camille hums, a placating, even comforting sound to soothe your worries. She’s always been pretty good at getting you to see the brighter side in things. “There’s fun in that too. Being spontaneous, surprising yourself. You never know, Lando could be just the thing you need, the one you didn’t know you were looking for. And if not, you don’t have to see him again. A win-win, I’d say.”

She leaves you alone to your thoughts after that, left to ponder what exactly it is you want. It might be stupid and entirely over-optimistic of you, but Lando has already pulled you in. You’re not sure what it is about him. He makes you want more, want to know more.

Whatever happens will happen, and if things don’t work out…well, Camille is right. You never have to see Lando again.

His name flashes across your screen later in the night, right before you’re about to go to sleep. You’ve been texting back and forth all day, but this one is different. He’s video calling you right now.

You stare at his name for longer than you should, finger hovering over the answer button a few beats before pressing it. His face pops into view once the call connects. Like you, he’s sitting in bed, leaned up against the headboard, cozied up in a soft looking jumper. He looks like he’s moments away from drifting off, but he called you, so he must want to talk.

“Hi,” You say softly.

“Hey, you.” He smiles, warm and sleepy and all squinty in a way that makes you want to crawl through the screen and tuck him into bed with a kiss to his forehead. “You must be tired.”

“Eh, I’m alright. Why?”

“‘Cause you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

You let out a wildly unappealing snort of laughter at his poor attempt at a pick up line. “That’s terrible! Oh my god, that was awful, Lando, seriously.”

“No?” His smile grows giddy, shoulders shaking with his chuckles. “Yeah, it was pretty bad, wasn’t it? Got you laughing though.”

Conversation falls into the same easy nature as this morning, like you’ve known him for ages. He makes you laugh until your ribs hurt, smile until your cheeks feel the same. It still amazes you just how comfortable you feel around him, as someone who usually takes a while to warm up to people.

Maybe you should take it as a sign.

A jumble of muffle voices offscreen some time later makes Lando squint. “Hang on, I’ll be right back. Don’t hang up. ” He lets the phone drop onto the bed, checking once to make sure you’re still there before disappearing from sight.

You hear his footsteps fade, then more voices you can’t quite make out. Someone laughs off in the distance, and then he’s back, resituating himself with the remnants of an amused grin on his lips.

“Everything okay?”

“My mates are yelling at me to turn off the light, so I’d better go,” He sighs goodnaturedly, lips turning down into a frown. Then he yawns widely, and you realize how late it’s gotten since you’ve picked up his call. Losing track of time when you’re talking to Lando seems to be a recurring theme. “I’m glad you’re coming tomorrow.”

Your breath catches a little in your chest, both at his words and the way he’s looking at you through the screen as he says it, nothing but genuine. “Me too.”

You’re starting to think this whole try not to get attached thing is going to be much harder than you thought.

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#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando norris x fem!reader #ln4 #ln4 x fem!reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris series #lando norris imagine

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piastappies · 4 months ago

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ᯓᡣ𐭩 FORTS AND DADDY TIME! ᡣ𐭩ᯓ

pairing. oscar piastri x leclerc!wife!reader

summary. when you need to stay at work for longer than expected, you leave oscar with your daughter. when you come home earlier than your husband thought, the cutest scene plays in front of you.

notes. tysm for loving my previous dad!oscar fic!!! this one’s also not proofread but lets pretend like there is not a single mistake in here 😙😙😙

days like this were the hardest, especially with the thought of oscar’s summer break inevitable ending occupying your mind. every year, you wanted to make sure you had spent the maximum time with him and chloe, before parting your ways for a while again. going back to the office, while you were spending the precious time with your husband and daughter, was something you hated, mostly, because chloe was the biggest daddy’s girl on earth. some people might’ve gotten jealous over the fact that they’re not their baby’s favorite parent, but you loved watching oscar interact with chloe.

but honestly, leaving them alone was still a bit of a stressful situation for you and your emotions were all over the place as you tried writing down all the necessary things just in case oscsr forgets, which wasn’t likely to happen, but still — you wanted to be more than sure.

“baby, i know how to look after chloe.” oscar laughed softly, his arms wrapped around your waist as he stood behind, placing a single kiss on your neck. “we’re gonna have much fun today, right, squish?” he asked, when the little girl leaned on his leg, looking up at the two of you with a sweet smile. she nodded eagerly, earning a small chuckle from you.

“i good girl.” chloe replied confidently, wrapping her arms around oscar’s leg, wanting to stay as close to him as possible, despite it was you the one leaving (even if it was for a few long hours). “mommy good girl, too! and daddy good girl, too too!” the two of you had to stifle a laugh as your daughter praised you on being good girls.

a few minutes later, quite a couple of reassuring words from your husband, a few wet, sloppy kisses on your cheeks and a literal push out of the door and oscar was left with your little squish. at first everything was calm, chloe was sprawled out on the carpet, playing with her little’s pet shops collection, making a little voice-over, while your husband was preparing a strawberry smoothie for her.

though, before he knew it, he was dressed in one of your dresses, wearing a plastic tiara on his head with stickers plastered all over his cheeks, while sitting at chloe’s small, colourful table with some of her favorite plushies (a panda named jimmy, a koala named arty [after her favorite uncle], ginny the giraffe and daphne the dolphin).

“c’mon, princess squish, do a spin for daddy.” oscar smiled, watching as his daughter did a spin. he helped her get into her purple tutu dress, put a tiara and a few hair clips in the strands of her blond hair. to make her princess tea party experience even better, he took some of your eyeshadow palettes and put some on her to match her purple dress.

“i so pretty, daddy!” she squeaked happily, doing a little dance. “tea?” she asks as she plops down on her dad’s lap, pouring a pretend tea into his pink cup. “tasty, tasty.” she nodded, taking a sip.

“yeah, you’re my pretty princess, squish.” oscar chuckled, earning himself one of the most beautiful views in the world — his daughter grinning, showing him her baby teeth. your husband couldn’t help but to grin back at her, feeling her little arms wrap around his neck as she went in for a hug.

oscar was a sucker for moment like those, as much as he wished you were there to witness it, he loved spending time with chloe, seeing her grow up every day, noticing those slight changes in the way she constructed her sentences and how the incoherent babbling started to turn into actual words and sentences. he was counting down the days till she was old enough to not tire you out whenever on a flight, so he could see her happy face after a race and to show her the beauties of the world on a free day. god, she was the the most important person in the world for him in a way he could drop everything to make sure she was happy.

his heart ached painfully, every time he was away from you and chloe for longer than a few days and with his hectic schedule. everything seemed to be a lot better, when his lucky charms were next to him.

the princess tea party went on for almost another hour until the princess hosting it started to slowly get tired and tired, snuggling up to him after they finished cleaning everything up. it took them some time, because she had to give each of her plushies a few kisses before placing them in her bed, tucking them in. “you’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you, baby?” he chuckled, watching her as he leaned on the doorframe of her room.

she tilted her head with a tiny smile as she ran towards her dad, unfortunately, she tripped on the edge of the carpet, scraping her knees at the friction as she fell. tears started falling down her cheeks in an instant and oscar’s heart broke in half. he knew accidents happen all the time, but he wasn’t prepared for one involving his daughter, when he was all alone, even if it was just a small scratch.

“shh, hey, what’s with the fuss?” he asked in a calm voice, gently picking her up. your husband placed a few soft kisses on chloe’s wet cheek to calm her down. “s’okay, daddy’s gonna take care of your ouchie.” he reassured as she nuzzled her teary face against his neck, sniffling quietly.

“fait mal, daddy.” she sniffled. oscar was glad that once in a while, your brothers wanted to mess with him and spoke only in french before chloe was born, so he could pick up on what his daughter was saying. hurts.

“i know, squish.” he sighed, gently sitting her down on the couch, telling his baby to sit still, while she tried to wipe away her flowing cheeks. he sprayed antiseptic on her scratches, holding her hand with his free one. a small gasp left his daughter’s lips as the spray coated her ouchies. “such a brave, girl.” he coaxed, placing two band-aids on her disinfected knees (with puppies, of course). when her face was no longer in tears, a sad pout appeared on her lips, making oscar’s stomach turn.

“how about, we make a blanket fort and watch some cartoon before you go to sleep, hm?” he suggested, the pout disappearing in a second, being replaced my a grin. a blanket fort? that sounds super cool. he pulled a few chairs together, putting a blanket on top of it as chloe’s eyes widened in shock and excitement.

the final product was breathtaking, at least for chloe, because oscar did everything he could to make the blanket fort look magical as he put pillows on the floor, put up lights and brought his ipad to play chloe’s favorite movie.

before he knew it, his little girl was curled up against his side, his hand gently moving up and down against her back as her head rested on the side of his chest. her eyes were slowly closing, but she wanted to stay in the fort and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with a tantrum of a sleepy, cranky little girl.

when you came back from work, the apartment looked clean, as if oscar sedated your little ball of energy and hired a cleaning company. that was your thought process, until you noticed a blanket fort in the living room and your heart melted like a chocolate in a water bath. you quietly took off your shoes and tiptoed to the fort, peaking inside. seeing the view completely shattered your heart in the most positive way possible.

“you’re back already?” oscar asked quietly, not wanting to disturb chloe’s sleep as she was laying down on his chest. “thought it’d take a little longer.” he smiled affectionately at you.

“think there’s some room for me?” your mouth curled into a small beam as he nodded, quickly taking a spot next to him, finally noticing that he’s wearing one of your dresses and you had to stiffle a laugh.

oscar noticed your expression and groaned quietly. “we had a princess party.” he explained, though the pretend angered look quickly dissolved, replaced by a playful smile. “your daughter didn’t let me be a prince, so i had to stole one of your dresses. i’ll show you the photos tomorrow morning.” he kissed your temple as you snuggled up closer, your hand gently rubbing chloe’s back.

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dycefic · 2 years ago

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Tom Saves The World

Everyone knows that it’s super-heroes who save the world. They fight the aliens, or the monsters, or the bad guys. And mostly, that’s true.

But not always.

I’m a psychic. The thing is, my range isn’t that great. I don’t have much detail more than about 36 hours out, 48 for something really big. I’d had a nebulous sort of bad feeling for about a week before this one finally hit, and it was big. Something very tough and very supernatural was going to come up out of the harbor of Nova Roma, and the death-toll was going to be high. Crazy high.

I did all I could. I told the Unaligned Supers Job Placement Agency, and they put the word out to everyone on both sides of the Line. The Henchman’s Union don’t like natural disasters any more than anyone else, and they’re often quite helpful against eldritch horrors and stuff like that. Things that don’t hire henchmen and ruin the property values.

The trouble was, nobody big was around. The only really big team of heavy hitters on the West Coast were away dealing with some sort of doomsday cult - I never was clear on what that was about - and Guarde and Dog Fox were out of touch and even Mx Frantique was out of town at someone’s wedding. It was going to happen in less than two days and we couldn’t find anyone to help and I was seriously considering calling in some kind of bomb threat or something to get people away from the docks, at least.

And then, about eighteen hours out, it just… went away.

Which never, ever happens.

My powers might be short range, but they’re reliable. I don’t get stuff wrong, and I hadn’t been able to find any way to prevent what was going to happen, or even been able to identify anyone who could. But someone did. Someone had done something to stop the threat, something that happened literally while I was opening my car door. When I reached for the handle, thousands of people were going to die. By the time the door was open, there was no threat at all.

At first I thought it must have been a ranged thing. Like, whatever I’d been seeing (all those teeth, I saw them in nightmares for months after) had been distracted by something tasty on its way here and gotten off track, that it’d come up somewhere up or down the coast. My range isn’t that big, either. Anything outside about thirty miles might as well be on Mars for all I know about it. So we kept a watch out, and warned the chapters of the Union and the Agency in other cities.

But nothing happened. Nothing at all. I couldn’t explain it, and I was really unpopular for a while. Supers do NOT like people who cry wolf. There’s enough freaky shit we have to deal with without someone panicking everyone with a dire prophecy that fizzles out.

Thank all the gods that Tunny showed up. Nobody’s really sure what Tunny actually is - sentient fish creature, some kind of really mutated human, an alien, or what. She changes her story a lot. But she’s pretty friendly, especially for a twenty-foot-long horror-movie-mermaid-thing with four arms, so when she came into harbor to pick up some supplies a guy from the Agency went out to tell her what I’d seen. I’d gotten a wharf and dock number, so she went down to check.

I don’t think anyone had ever seen Tunny scared before. Her English wasn’t good enough to really explain what she’d found hibernating down there, but it was something very old and very powerful and very dangerous, and if it’d been woken up my vision would just have been the start of the crisis.

She rounded up a bunch of whales to help her move it, once she was sure it hadn’t been agitated and wasn’t likely to rouse if moved carefully. They towed it out before dawn, not wanting to scare the civilians, and when I saw the footage from the helicopter the Union sent up, when I saw how big the swell was, how many whales were pulling, I swear I nearly crapped myself. No wonder I’d been getting hints a week in advance. Somehow we dumbass humans had built a whole fucking city almost on top of some kind of Ancient Old… THING, and eroded the sea-bottom until it was exposed, and if someone hadn’t done whatever it was we’d all have been dead long before Tunny arrived. And not just all as in ‘all of Nova Roma’, it could have taken out half of the continent... or all of it.

It took me years to find out what happened. YEARS. It turned into a kind of hobby, tracking everything that might possibly have come into contact with Wharf 38 on that particular day.

And what I found, eventually, was a city employee named Thomas Briggs.

I’d found out early on that 38 wasn’t in good repair. Not that bad, but not great. It was old, things were getting a bit saggy in a few places, but there’d been no sign that anything was likely to fall off on the day. It had sat there for a couple of years after the crisis that never happened,, doing its job without problems then been rebuilt without any drama at all.

Entirely, completely, and totally because of Thomas Briggs.

The story, when I finally pieced it together, went like this.

There’d been some project or other to build some sort of high-budget science project over on the other side of the harbor, hanging it off’ve Pier 8, the furthest out on that side. Something about tracking sea-life or ships or something. My conversational English is near perfect, I’ve been here for years, but I don’t speak science nerd in ANY language. It’d all been approved, some university was covering most of the cost, it was all gonna be fine. And it was gonna be over on 8 because that side of the harbor is the shallow end. It’s where the sailboats go. All the big stuff that would block visual sensors and deafen the thing with engine noise was over in the thirties, in the real deep water.

They were almost ready to install the thing when a bunch of rich dudes suddenly got their panties in a bunch over having a big sciency tower thing ruining the view from their yachts, and tried to get it moved.

To, and I’m sure you guessed this, Wharf 38.

Which was completely insane. It wouldn’t be able to do its job over there, it’d be way more in the way, and (although they couldn’t have known it) the installation would definitely have woken up the Thing sleeping by the wharf and we all would have died. But rich dudes with yachts don’t care about that stuff. They’d bitched out and bribed up their friends on the city council, and those friends had done their thing, and the scientists had been left in the dark, and it’d almost gone through. They’d figured to install it right away, so that when the science guys found out it’d be too late and they’d either have to pay a lot to move it or just use it where it was.

Enter Thomas Briggs.

Mr Briggs, Tom to his friends, didn’t give a crap about the yachts or the science. He was a senior money guy for the commercial wharfs, the one who figured out things like how much money they’d take in in a quarter, and what the repair budget should be, stuff like that. He found out about this thing two days before the disaster would have happened, and sat down and did the math.

Then he sent out an email to the guys trying to push this through, and he ripped into them like they’d threatened to knife his mother. I got my hands on that email, and I didn’t understand a lot of it any more than the council guys would have. It was ALL numbers. But at the top he wrote it out in plain English. Pier 8 was new, and rated to handle the weight of the thingy. Wharf 38 was going to be scrapped in a few years, and it was NOT rated for that kind of structure. Pier 8 had plenty of room around it. Wharf 38 was already a tight fit for the big commercial ships, and adding a structure sticking out on one side would block off at least half of the wharf to those ships completely.

Bottom line, putting the thing on Wharf 38 would cost the city hundreds of thousands of dollars more per year than putting it on 8, AND the city would have to eat the cost if 38 collapsed under it which it could easily do, AND the city would have to pay to move it in a couple of years anyway when 38 was due to be rebuilt.

And he cc-ed every important person he had an email address for, including the mayor, the anti-corruption people, and several reporters.

He must have sent that email right when I was opening my car door.

The whole plan collapsed right there, and some people got fired. There was no news story because the whole plan got killed before the reporters even got to the right office. The installation was started on Wharf 8 a few weeks later and I never connected it to a commercial wharf on the other side of the harbor.

One email, and a man who I never could have located in time, a man who had no powers at all, a man who was just conscientiously doing his job looking after the city’s money saved the city, and the continent, and maybe even the world.

Who could have predicted that? Not me, that’s for damn sure.

I can’t deny that I went home and got drunk off my ass that night. Just thinking about how close that had been made my hands shake. One man. One honest man who’d done the math.

I put the word out, once the hangover wore off. What had happened. That Thomas Briggs was the reason we were all alive and everyone better make his life real nice from now on, because he’d done what none of us could do and nobody but the supers would ever even know it.

He’s got a lot of luck coming to him, I can tell you. We don’t forget debts like that.

And I knew that’d freak him out, because honest men don’t like it when people start doing them a lot of favors for no apparent reason, so I tracked him down at the little bar where he likes to have a quiet beer on Friday nights before he goes home. Hell, I was the one who’d gone through it all, back then. I should get to tell him.

I sat down beside him at the bar and looked at him. I saw a thin, small, balding man who looked like he worried too much and didn’t get enough sleep, with lines around his eyes. Yeah, he looked like a man who’d do the math. “Thomas Briggs?”

He blinked at me through his glasses. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“No, you don’t. My name’s Barkhado Omar, and I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” I offered him my hand and he shook it, still looking confused. Which was fair, ‘cause I doubt a lot of seven foot tall Somali women came up to him in bars even when he was young. He’s got to be close to retirement now.

He frowned. “Looking for me? Why?”

I smiled at him. “Tom, let me buy you a drink and tell you about the day you saved the world.”

It’s usually us who save the city, or the world. We have all the intel, all the advantages, all the powers.

But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s someone like Tom Briggs, doing the right thing at the right time and never knowing that he changed the course of history.

Wild, huh?

This story is a direct result of me and my ex chatting about how different the entire Marvel Universe would have been if Jean’s first ‘resurrection’ - being found in a life pod under a wharf, IIRC - had happened at like... any other time. Earlier. Later. It would have changed SO MUCH.

And we speculated about how it could happen, how someone just puttering around in middle management might have unknowingly saved countless lives, prevented Madelyne’s corruption, the legacy virus, all of it, just by postponing that particular set of repairs a bit longer.... and I couldn’t resist writing a version of the story in which Tom does, in fact, save the world.

#short fiction #dyce's supers universe #comics inspired #sometimes something just goes right #horseshoe repair

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m4rv3l-girl · 2 months ago

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Plums

Bucky x Y/N

Love’s a weird thing. Especially when you’re an 109 year old super soldier.

Requests open!

Warnings: None. it’s just fluff - and a brief kiss at the end.

Bucky Barnes was a man of few words, especially after Steve left. He was adrift at first, unsure of where to place his loyalty or even his feet. Y/N, though, had stuck around. She was there when things got too quiet, there when he needed someone to listen, and there when he just needed silence. Over time, their friendship had become his anchor, something stable amidst the ever-shifting tides of his life.

It was a normal day, or at least as normal as days got when you were Bucky Barnes. He’d been out on a long walk through Brooklyn, getting a bit of air and space to clear his mind. The breeze ruffled his hair, the sound of cars and conversations filling the space between his thoughts. When he came back to his apartment, he kicked the door shut behind him and tossed his jacket on the couch.

That’s when he noticed it.

A small, brown paper bag sitting neatly on the kitchen counter.

He frowned, stepping closer. It wasn’t often that random grocery items showed up in his apartment. And then he saw it—the top of a plum peeking out from the crinkled paper, the dark purple skin almost glossy. His heart did this weird little flip. Y/N had bought him plums.

He picked up the bag, a smile tugging at his lips, and that was when he heard her voice.

“Oh, you found them!” Y/N leaned against the doorway, beaming, arms crossed with a satisfied expression. “You like them, right? I remembered you mentioned it. So…I got some at the market today.”

Bucky stared at her, his fingers still clutching the bag. Something soft and warm curled around his chest, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. She had remembered. Out of all the random things they’d talked about, she remembered his offhand comment about loving plums.

And she’d bought them for him.

“You remembered that?” His voice came out a little rough, not quite what he intended, but Y/N didn’t seem to mind. She just shrugged, biting her lip in that cute way she did when she was nervous.

“Of course, I did, Buck. It was kind of random, but I figured—hey, why not?” She chuckled, pushing herself off the doorframe and walking over to him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Besides, you need some fresh fruit in your life.”

Bucky swallowed hard. His gaze flicked between the plums and her. The realization hit him so fast and so hard that it almost knocked the wind out of him..

He was in love with her.

Not the friendly, you’re-my-best-pal type of love. No, this was deeper, fiercer, and infinitely more terrifying.

His thumb brushed over the top of one of the plums, and he looked up at her, eyes softening. “Thanks, doll,” he murmured, his tone gentler now. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?”

Y/N smiled, a little shyly, and reached out to poke the metal arm. “I know.”

Bucky set the bag down, taking a slow step towards her, his voice dropping as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Trying to drive me crazy, kitten?”

She blinked up at him, all wide eyes and innocence, though he knew she could be just as playful. “What? Me? Drive you crazy? I’d never…”

“Uh-huh.” He closed the gap, their shoulders almost brushing now. Her scent hit him—something sweet and tasty—and it took everything in him not to just pull her into his arms. Instead, he bent his head down, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. “You’re doin’ a pretty good job at it, though.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and Bucky felt a surge of satisfaction at the sound. She looked up at him, trying to play it cool, but the slight flush on her cheeks gave her away. “Bucky, they’re just plums,” she said softly, her voice teasing but with a hint of nervousness behind it.

“Yeah, but you remembered,” he replied, his tone almost reverent. His eyes softened, and for the first time in a long while, Bucky felt…happy. Not just content or less haunted, but genuinely happy. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You always remember the little things.”

Her gaze met his, something unspoken passing between them. The air around them seemed to hum, filled with something electric, something more than friendship. Bucky could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a mix of excitement and fear clawing at him.

“I do,” Y/N whispered, her lips curving into a soft smile. “I care about you, Buck.”

There it was. The simple truth.

Before he could second-guess himself, Bucky cupped her cheek, his metal hand surprisingly gentle against her skin. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her forehead, then her temple, lingering there for just a moment. “You’re my best girl, y’know that, darlin’?”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed, her breath catching again. “Am I?”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his blue eyes locking with hers. “Yeah, doll. You are.”

And then, before he could stop himself, Bucky kissed her. It was hesitant, tentative at first, and he was genuinely afraid she’d pull away. But when she kissed him back, locking their lips together in a jigsaw of love, all of that hesitation melted away. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N was smiling up at him, her lips still slightly parted. “That was definitely worth the plums.”

Bucky chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers. “Yeah, kitten. It was.”

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #marvel #buckydeservesplums

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tkingfisher · 1 year ago

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This is possibly the most perfect tomato I have ever grown and given that I live in the land of humidity, erratic rainfall, leaf spot and blight, I feel as if I have gotten away with something.

Cultivar is “Kewalo,” developed at the University of Hawaii, tolerates heat and humidity, and is incredibly disease-resistant for an open-pollinated variety. They don’t quite have the flavor of, say, a Cherokee Purple, but they’re still tasty.

#tomato #gardening

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aesethewitch · 7 months ago

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Learning to Cook Like a Witch: Using the Scraps

Cooking can create a lot of waste. From peels and rinds to bones and leaves, people throw away quite a lot of scraps in the kitchen. And witches, as you may know, are experts in the art of the cunning use of whatever we’ve got around.

As a witch who spends a lot of time in the kitchen, I’ve had ample opportunities to get creative in my cooking craft. It helps that I grew up in a household defined by scarcity: not our own, by the time I was conscious enough to remember, but my parents’ poverty. It colored the way I learned to cook, using everything I possibly could, making enough to last, preserving what I didn’t immediately use, and creatively reusing leftovers and scraps.

There are some topics I won’t necessarily cover here. Composting is an option, but there are some bits of food scrap that don’t need to be composted — they can be saved and repurposed for all sorts of things, magic and mundane. Likewise, recycling, buying sustainably, and growing your own food when you can are all great options for reducing household waste in the kitchen.

For the purposes of this post, I want to focus specifically on food scraps. This is an organized list of kitchen scraps that I’ve used in a variety of other dishes and projects. I’m focusing primarily on food waste, not so much on packaging (such as reusing egg cartons, milk containers, boxes, and so forth).

Vegetable Scraps

Freeze leftover vegetable scraps to make stock. This is a fairly common bit of advice — save bits of leftover vegetables to make a vegetable stock or another kind of stock. It’s good advice! I keep a bag in my freezer that I put vegetable scraps in to save until I’m ready to make a new batch of stock. Not all veggies should be saved like this and used for stock! Some make stock bitter or otherwise unpleasant-tasting. Personally, I tend to freeze these for stock:

- The skins, ends, and leftover cuts of onions (just be wary of the skins; too much will make your broth bitter) - The ends of celery (not the leaves — they’re bitter!) - Corn cobs - Garlic skins, ends, tiny cloves that aren’t useful otherwise, and sprouted cloves - The ends of carrots (also not the leaves) - The ends of leeks - Pepper tops/bottoms (not the seeds)

I would recommend against putting things like potatoes, brussels sprouts, cabbage, and leafy greens in there. Potatoes don’t add flavor, sprouts and cabbage make the whole thing taste like those foods, and leafy greens end up bitter. If something has a strong, distinctive flavor (beets, sprouts), I wouldn’t add it to my freezer bag. These scraps often form the veggie portion of my Sick-Be-Gone Chicken Broth spell recipe!

Regrow leeks, green onions, and celery. Pop these in a bit of water and watch them grow back! It’s a fun experiment, and you’ll never have to buy them again.

Plant sprouted garlic. Aside from the fact that you can still cook and eat garlic that’s sprouted, you can plant a sprouted clove in a pot. Care for it well enough, and you’ll end up with a full head of garlic from that one clove!

Fry potato peels. Anytime I make mashed potatoes or peel potatoes for something, I always save the peels. Give them a thorough rinse and shallow-fry them in oil, turning them over until they’re golden and crispy. Toss them in a bit of salt and pepper while they’re still hot, and you’ve got tasty chips to snack on while you cook the rest of your meal! No need to cover them in more oil or anything — the heat will cause the salt to stick right to them.

Save leaves for pesto. Yum, yum, yum. Pesto isn’t just all about basil, you know. Save the leaves from carrots, beets, radishes, and even celery to grind up alongside basil, garlic, salt, and lemon juice for a delicious pesto recipe.

Fruit Scraps

Save citrus peels. Peels from oranges, lemons, grapefruits, and other citrus fruits have a multitude of uses. Candy them for a sweet treat, dry them to add to potpourri or incense, or save them to put into a simmer pot for bright, sunny energy.

Juice the whole fruit. Again, thinking mostly about citrus fruits, when you need the zest from something but not the rest, don’t just throw away the fruit. Squeeze out all the juice you can. Even if you don’t need it right now, you can freeze it to use later in simmer pots, fruity waters, or anything else that needs a touch of juice.

Turn extra fruit and berries into jam or syrup. If you’ve got berries and fruit that are about to go off, or maybe the ends of strawberries, don’t toss them! Look up recipes for jam of the specific fruit you’ve got or make an infused syrup. Syrups in particular can be used for cocktails, teas, and desserts for an extra magical kick.

Pickle watermelon rinds. That’s right. Pickle those suckers. They’re so tasty. I’ve seen people make kimchi with watermelon rinds, too, though I’ve never tried it myself!

Save seeds for abundance work. Seeds in general are great for spells geared toward long-term success, new beginnings, and — when there are a lot of them — wealth. Different fruit seeds have properties that tend to correspond with the fruit they come from, so consider their potential purposes before you just toss them! (Note also that some fruit seeds are toxic; these would be suitable for baneful workings.)

Keep cherry stems for love magic. Have you ever done that thing where you tie a cherry stem with your tongue? If I’m eating cherries, I like to save some of the stems for love workings. Tie them into little knots like you might with string while envisioning ensnaring the love you’re looking for. I wouldn’t do this with a particular person in mind; binding someone to you is almost never a good idea. I’ve used it to attract specific qualities in a person of romantic interest: attentiveness, humor, kindness, and so forth.

Use pits to represent blockages, barriers, and problems. I most often use them in baneful workings, typically jammed into a poppet’s mouth or throat to keep someone from talking shit. It could also represent a sense of dread in that way — a pit in the stomach, uneasy and nauseating. But you could also use them in the sense of removal, ritualistically removing the pit or problem from a given situation.

Herb Scraps

Freeze or dry extra fresh herbs. Different drying techniques are ideal for specific herbs. I’d suggest looking up recommended methods before sticking anything in the microwave. If you’d like to freeze your herbs instead, I typically will lay them on a damp paper towel, wrap them up, place them into a freezer-safe bag, and then put them in the freezer. Most herbs will keep for a couple months this way. When you want to use them, pull them out and let them defrost right on the counter.

Make pesto. Again, pesto isn’t just basil! Experiment with tossing in different scraps of herbs to find out what combination you like best.

Reuse steeped tea. Particularly when I use loose herbal tea, I like to lay out the used tea to dry out. It can be burned similarly to loose incense, though the scent may be somewhat weaker than with herbs that are fresher or unused. I find that it’s fine, since I’m sensitive to smells anyways.

Toss extra herbs into your stock freezer bag. Just like with vegetables, extra herbs make welcome additions to a scrap stock pot. I always make a point to save sage, thyme, marjoram, and ginger. You can add just about anything to a stock pot, but be aware of the flavors you’re adding. Not all herbs will match with all dishes.

Protein Scraps

Dry and crush empty egg shells. This is one most witches will know! I use crushed egg shells for protection magic most often: sprinkled at a doorstep mixed with other herbs, added to jars, and spread around spell candles.

Save shrimp, crab, and lobster shells. They’re a goldmine of flavor. Toss them into water with veggies and herbs, and you’ve got a delicious, easy shellfish stock. Use it to make fishy soups and chowders that much richer.

Don’t discard roasted chicken remains. Use them for stock, just like the shells. I like to get rotisserie chickens on occasion since they’re ready-made and very tasty. Once all the meat has been stripped off the bones, simmer the entire carcass with — you guessed it — veggies and herbs for a tasty chicken stock.

Reuse bacon grease for frying. After cooking bacon, don’t throw away the grease right away. Melt it over low heat, strain the bits of bacon out, and pour it into a jar to put in the fridge. You can use it to fry all sorts of things, but my favorite thing is brussels sprouts. They pick up the delicious, salty, bacony flavor from all that rendered bacon fat. So good.

Other Scraps

Use stale bread for croutons or bread crumbs. When I reach the stale end of a loaf of bread, as long as it isn’t moldy, I like to tear it into pieces and toss it into the oven for a little while. Let it cool and then pulse it in a food processor, and I’ve got delicious bread crumbs! Or, cut it a little more neatly, toss it in oil and seasonings, and then bake, and now I’ve got homemade croutons for salads. You can really hone your herbs for both of these, tuning them to be perfect for whatever spell needs you have.

Small amounts of leftover sugar. I don’t know why, but I always end up with a tiny amount of white and brown sugar in the containers. This can be used in teas, of course, but I like to offer it up to spirits. In particular, my ancestors tend to appreciate a spoonful of brown sugar stirred into a small, warmed cup of milk. You can also look up mug cake or single-serving cookie recipes; often, they’re cooked in the microwave, and they only need a little sugar to make!

Keep vanilla bean pods. Vanilla is fucking expensive. When I have a little extra and want to really splurge for a special occasion, I’ll get a couple pods. And because they’re so expensive, I hate wasting any part of them. They’re good for love magic, sure, but you can also toss the spent pods in a jar full of sugar to make vanilla-infused sugar. I’ll often use the pods to make infused milks, too; warm the milk over low heat, add the pods, and let it steep like tea. It goes great in teas and desserts. For a nice self-love spell, sometimes I’ll melt chocolate into the vanilla milk and make hot cocoa!

Save the rinds from Parmesan and Pecorino Romano cheese. You might not be able to just bite into these, but they’re fabulous additions to a stock pot. They add a rich, umami depth to the flavors. I also like to throw these into pots of tomato sauce to add even more flavor to the sauce.

Used coffee is still coffee. After I make a pot of coffee, I’ll sometimes save the grounds by letting them dry back out. I wouldn’t make another cup of coffee with them, since all the flavor’s gone, but they’ll still have attributes of energy generation and smell great. I like to pack used grounds into sachets to hang in places where I want to encourage more energy and focus, replaced every few days or so. Coffee grounds also have high amounts of nitrogen in them, which can help plants thrive; just be careful about pH values in the soil! You don’t want to hurt your plants with too much acidity.

Final Thoughts

I hope you found these tips helpful! There are a ton more ways to save and reuse kitchen scraps that would otherwise go to waste. Sometimes, tossing stuff into the compost or trash can’t be avoided. But I’ve found that being aware of the possibilities can help diminish the amount that gets wasted.

If you have questions or other suggestions for reusing kitchen scraps, feel free to drop them in my inbox, reblogs, or replies. And if you did enjoy this post, consider tossing a couple dollars in my tip jar! Supporters get early and sometimes exclusive access to my work, and monthly members get bonuses like commission discounts and extras. (:

#aese speaks #witchcraft #witchblr #kitchen witch #kitchen tips #food magic #hearth witch #kitchen magic #kitchen witchcraft #cooking tips #beginner witch #witchcraft 101 #witch community

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sunnie-angel · 1 month ago

Text

A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out

Part 2: Pretty Woman

fem!jason todd x fem!reader summary: reader convinces her girlfriend jay to dress up tags: teasing, sexual tension, groping, cunnilingus, thigh riding rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.2k a/n: honestly just an excuse to put jay in cheetah print

Your girlfriend in her steel toed boots, rotating closet of identical tank tops, worn in jeans, and leather jacket is hot. Capital H O T hot. You are absolutely not complaining about the way she dresses, especially when she’s looking at you like you’re something particularly tasty. No, it’s just – she makes you feel so pretty, that’s all. She makes you feel dainty, delicate in her hands, the belle of the ball on the arm of the most handsome woman there. You love the way she makes you feel, you love the way she lets you do her hair sometimes, and you just want to make her feel happy.

So it’s with that in mind that you start planning. Slowly start adding images to your pinterest board, start looking up hair and makeup tutorials. Flag certain items in your online shopping cart for when they go on sale, just so there’s no fuss when the items do turn up in your closet. Primp and practice, collect and wait until just the right moment. For the right mood to strike. And when it does, you’re ready.

You’re curled up on the couch, head resting on Jay’s stomach as you watch old reruns of Dynasty on the tv. She’s got a hand resting on the side of your face, fingers stroking softly as the lights from the screen flicker across your face.

“D’you think they’re pretty?” You ask her, not looking up from your comfy position.

“Who, the actresses?” Her fingers still on your face as you move your head to nod. “I guess, though their fashion’s pretty dated.”

“Yeah but don’t they look so gorgeous and confident though?” You continue to prod. “Big hair, bigger attitude.”

“O-kay,” she drawls, clearly just humouring you but it’s an opening.

“Doesn’t that remind you of anyone?” You tease, starting to push yourself into a seated position.

“What, you don’t mean me?” She squints at you like if she looks hard enough she can see the exact shape of the head damage that put you in this mood.

“Uhuh,” you nod, eyes bright and enthusiastic. “ A little bit of primping, a dab of red lipstick.”

“And then what?” Jay asks. “You turn me into some tv villain sleeping with her ex-husband’s mortal enemy?”

“Um,” you stutter, suddenly shy. “More like the morally grey lesbian that seduces her daughter?”

Jay grins because now she’s got the gist of your plan unfurling into the palm of her hand.

“Yeah?” She teases. “You want me to seduce you?”

You nod, vigorously.

“Okay fine, turn me into your soap opera lesbian then.”

You squeal and grab her hand, drag her off the couch and ignore her rolling eyes at your excitement. Push her down into the vanity seat as gently as you can while dashing around to grab things from their hiding places. Jay looks at you in the mirror as you start to backcomb her hair.

“Is this you preparing for the outcome you wanted again?” She asks suspiciously like she already knows the answer.

“Might have been,” you say, already nearly done with shaping her hair.

A fog of hairspray brings it all together, Jay coughing and swatting at your ass to leave off. Grinning, you spin her around in the chair and start on the makeup. End up sitting on her lap, legs splayed, as you swipe bold oranges and gold across her eyelids, too engrossed in your work to notice the way she’s palming at your ass. A careful hand applies a crisp line of red lipstick to her pout. Grabbing a tissue, you hold it up to her mouth and tell her to “Bite gently.”

She does, eyes never leaving yours with a hunger in them that’s not quite appropriate for prime time television. With a careful finger under her chin, you turn Jay’s head side to side to make sure you haven’t left any spidery mascara marks or fallen glitter. Satisfied with your handiwork, you push off her lap, only suddenly just realizing how far up your skirt had ridden.

“There’s an outfit laid out in the closet,” you tell her, hands fidgeting with your skirt hem. “You don’t– you don’t have to wear all of it if you don’t want to, but um, I’d really like it if you did. I’ll just um, just wait here for the grand reveal then?”

Sighing the heavy burden of the long suffering, Jay walks to the closet, trailing a lone finger down your shoulder as she brushes past. Inside just as you said is an outfit, or, what should be an outfit only there is barely enough fabric to qualify as such. Grumbling she throws her clothes in the laundry basket and starts inspecting what you’ve gifted her.

“Hey these underwear are missing half the fabric,” she calls out to you, holding out the glorified strings of cheetah print, trying to figure out which bit is supposed to actually cover her.

“Thongs just always look like that!” You call back.

“Well I hope you didn’t pay very much for them,” she continues to grumble, finally figuring out how to slide them over her hips without turning them into a garotte.

Pulls the high cut of the waistband up over her hip bones and admires the way they make her look curvy. The bra – the bra almost makes her laugh out loud. That same loud cheetah print only stuffed to the gills with padding. It’s probably 80% padding and the balconette cut means there’s basically no cup for her actual boobs. A very far, far cry from her usual sports bras, but she’ll bite. Has to adjust and play around with it to stop her nipples from wanting to spill out but she’ll admit her tits look good. She will be asking you later about why you had a lingerie set in her size just lying around though. A tight, tight pencil skirt that has her jumping and shimmying to get on goes on next, the stretch of the fabric smoothing out the harsh lines of her. A thin, see through button down is all that’s left. With a snort she simply knots it, already knowing that the hassle of the tiny buttons won’t be worth it. Not with how she plans the rest of the night to go.

Taking a breath, she allows herself a moment to just look at herself in the long mirror. Twists to admire what the skirt does for her ass, the line of her legs. She looks... powerful. The kind of beauty that crushes lesser beings underfoot with casual cruelty, sharp edges tempered by the fullness of curves Jay was never sure she’d really have. Wild. Her muscles make her look dangerous and wickedly feminine, red lips curling up at the corners at her thick thighs test the limits of the skirt seams. The way the shirt clings for dear life across her shoulders, make her an hourglass figure to kill for. Oh you knew what you were doing, dropping hints about seduction, but Jay’s gonna make you regret not being honest about it.

With a swish to her hips that is enchantingly new, Jay walks back into the bedroom. She savours the instantly glassy look in your eyes. The sweet little parting between your lips and the harsh bob of your throat as you swallow. Walks right up to where you sit on the bed and uses her height to loom over you. Your legs part automatically and she slots herself between them like she belongs there. She ghosts the back of her hand down the side of your face and you close your eyes and shudder.

“Like what you see, sweet thing?” She teases. You nod blindly and press your face into her hand. “Such a good girl, getting everything ready for me like this.” You sigh as her fingers card into your hair, cups the back of your head. “There’s just one teeny, tiny, little problem.” Your eyes fly open, brows creasing with confusion. With one hand Jay pulls on the knot keeping her shirt closed, exposes her breasts to the cold air of your bedroom. “My tits are sore from this teeny, tiny, little bra. You’re going to put that conniving little mouth to work and make them feel better.”

The hand cradling your head turns to iron, guides your face to her chest and plants it right in her cleavage. It takes a few slow seconds to realize what’s expected and Jay’s fingers tightening in your hair before you start to move. Quickly you begin to mouth at the warm flesh of her tits, laving your tongue over their heavy weight, kissing and sucking little red marks into them. Use your empty hands to massage them, squeeze at them the way you’ve been to ever since she walked out and tied your tongue into knots. Carefully free one breast from its confines and latch onto her dark nipple. Tease at it with your teeth until you can feel her panting. Your hips start undulating, desperate for friction at your throbbing core. The wet core of your panties brushes against her leg and the iron grip on your head pulls your off of her breast with a wet sounding pop.

“I generously let you play with my tits but you just had to get greedy, huh?” She taunts. Steps back and has you moaning at the loss of her. “Thought your gluttonous little cunt deserved more.” With a broad hand she smacks between your legs, has you writhing and whimpering only held up by the hand still in your hair. With disgust she throws you back onto the bed and crawls up your body. Shimmies the tight skirt up around her hips, just the thin string of her thong keeping her covered. “I’m going to ride your lying little tongue,” she tells you with a cold kind of disdain. “Your hands are going to stay on my ass the entire time and if you’re good and make me come, maybe I’ll let you grind on my abs after.”

Your keen gets cut off by Jay seating herself over your face, hands scrabbling to grab onto her plush ass. You tongue aside the wet fabric of her thong and start sucking. Seal your lips around her hole and grind your nose into her clit. Use your hands to encourage her to use you. Tongue at her entrance until she starts swearing, knuckles white around the head board. Slick coats your mouth and chin. Stiffening your tongue, you start to thrust inside of her and she grinds down on you. Throws her head back and arches her back in a way that pushes her breasts out. Entranced, you lap at her cunt reflexively as she starts riding your face in earnest, tits bouncing rhythmically. You throb between your legs, hips meeting nothing but air as you squirm beneath her.

Urging her on, you start to tongue fuck her in earnest, desperate to make her come in your mouth. Jay takes one look at your wide glassy eyes and grins wickedly, instantly understanding what part of the show has all your attention. Reaching behind her, she unclasps the bra and shrugs it off, lets her tits fall heavy. Arches her back artificially and starts to feel herself up. Moans as she tweaks and pinches at her own nipples, hips grinding faster against your tongue. She comes just as you start to give up hope of being good for her, thighs clenching around your ears and slick dripping into your throat, slow fire lighting up her veins.

With a heavy sigh she rolls off of you, sits next to your head as she fixes her skirt. Carefully you keep your hands to yourself as your roll onto your elbows to look up at her. Very intentionally you don’t grind your aching core into the mattress. Jay strokes her thumb over your cheekbone, then uses her hand to tilt your chin up, admiring the way your face glistens in the light.

“My, my baby girl’s a messy eater,” she chides, your face flushing warm. “M’gonna have to teach you better manners.” She tuts.

“Was I–” you clear your throat “Was I good though?”

“Yeah baby, you can have your reward,” she says affectionately. Scrabbling on the bed you straddle her, almost crying out in relief at finally having something to rub up against. “You’re gonna have to do all the work though,” she tells you, warm hands coming up to steady your hips.

You groan and start grinding, her hands guiding you. Strung tight already and achingly turned on, you know its not gonna take much. Your panties are disgustingly wet, soaked through and practically dripping. Frantic, grind as fast as you can, plant your hands on her chest and bear down on her taut stomach. Your thighs already burn and you whine in frustration, pleasure not building fast enough in your gut to satisfy you. Jay reaches up a hand and cups your breast through your t-shirt. Brushes a thumb over a sensitive nipple and you’re crying out as you come on her stomach, legs shaking and cunt quivering.

Exhausted, you slump over on her chest, face buried in her neck. She pets a hand over your hair and coos as you shake against her warm skin.

“There she is, there’s my good baby girl.” You sigh and try to wriggle closer at the praise. “See what being patient gets you? Now come on baby,” she says, rolling you onto your back on the middle of the bed. “Let’s get these sticky panties off. I want to see whose lips this lipstick looks better on.”

series masterlist | part 1 | part 3

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #fem!jason todd #fem!jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd smut #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #sunnie writes 🌻#a fever you can't sweat out series

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navybrat817 · 1 year ago

Note

Does Stud know what Smartie is getting him or will he try to get a hint?

He doesn't know, nonnie.

Cookies and Hints

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky tries to get hints about his gifts as you bake together.

Word Count: Over 1.1k

Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, teasing, implied smut, humor, slight feels (it’s me, okay), talk of celebrating Christmas, Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?).

A/N: More short and sweet for Stud and Smartie. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

There was something sweet about baking with Bucky. The kitchen became a hub for communication and collaboration as you made something tasty together. It was a way to be fully engaged and present with each other while creating new and happy memories. You looked forward to those moments together.

Even when Stud tried to drive you crazy.

You pinched the bridge of your nose before you scooped the last of the cookie dough onto the tray. “For the twentieth time, I'm not telling you what your gifts are,” you said.

You had just finished wrapping his presents this morning since you didn't want to wait until Christmas Eve. How you managed to sneak them in without him getting a glimpse was a proud moment since he was much stealthier than you. You wanted to surprise him and he was making it more and more difficult.

Especially since he kept giving you puppy dog eyes.

“First, I did not ask you twenty times,” he said, leaning against the counter as he watched you open the oven and carefully placed the tray in. “Second, I’m not asking for you to tell me what the presents are. All I asked for was a hint.”

“See, but if I give you any hints, you’ll figure out what they are,” you told him, setting the timer on the stove. “You're a smart man.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” he smiled almost sheepishly, which made you smile in return. He deserved all the praise. If no one else would give it to him, you would. “But I really think one tiny little hint wouldn't hurt.”

He doesn't know when to quit, does he?

“You were totally that child that went looking for your presents, weren't you? Wait, did you go into my room?”

Bucky placed a hand on his chest, a wounded look in his blue eyes. “Do you really think I'd go into your room without your permission?” he asked, the corner of his lip twitching. “I could also get the cats to ‘play’ with the wrapping paper. I mean, you can't blame them if they’re curious.”

Fair.

You thrust a finger in his face as you spun toward him. “James Buchanan Stud Barnes, don't you dare trick the cats into doing your dirty work. And I am not giving you a single hint and that is final,” you stated.

Of course, your attempt at intimidation didn't deter Bucky. Not when he locked eyes with you and wrapped his lips around the tip of your finger. You sucked in a deep breath when he flicked his tongue against it, the same way he did against your clit when he went down on you.

Oh, fuck.

As if he knew your womb clenched and panties dampened when he released the digit from his sinful mouth, he smirked and winked. “You sure about that?”

Jutting your chin out, you nodded. “Yeah because I used your full name, so… There.”

There's that stellar education of mine put to good use.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” you began, reaching over to grab the used mixing bowl with as much grace as possible when he tampered down a laugh. “I need to clean this and you need to stop distracting me.”

“You know we can clean together and you can still give a clue,” he pointed out, reaching for the bottom of his T-shirt as you walked to the sink. “And if I really want to distract you, I can take this off.”

“Keep your shirt on,” you ordered, thinking it over as you turned on the water. “For now.”

You faced the wall as you rinsed the bowl, determined to stay strong. You wouldn't break. Bucky didn't need any hints. Not a single one.

You straightened up when he came up behind you and placed a hand on each side of the sink. Why did he have to smell so good? You didn't turn around, but you felt your heart speed up as the heat rolled off his firm body.

“Come on, Smartie,” he breathed low against your neck, his nose brushing along your skin. “Just a little hint and I won't bother you for the rest of the day.”

Maybe I want you to bother me.

You closed your eyes and almost dropped the bowl when his lips followed the path. “You're not playing fair,” you whined.

He chuckled as he pushed against you, letting you feel the outline of his cock. “Neither are you,” he groaned when you moved your hips back against him.

“You started it.”

“And I'm more than happy to finish it,” he promised, gently nipping over your pulse. “As long as it's inside you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Before you allowed him to do exactly that, you managed to spin around in the cage he made so you could face him. “You really want a hint?”

His face softened as he reached behind you to shut off the water. “Only if you really want to give me one.”

“Okay. Here it is,” you said, leaning in so your mouth touched his ear and smiling when he shivered. You wanted his heart to race the same way yours did. “Your gifts were all bought or crafted with love.”

It wasn't a clue at all, but it would tell Bucky all he needed to know. That no matter what you gave him, you selected and crafted them with care. Because he was your special guy and you wanted to spoil him a little.

The way he no doubt spoiled you.

You smiled widened as you leaned your head back. You thought baking cookies together was the happy memory you would make, but seeing the happiness in his eyes as he gazed at you warmed your heart. It was a look you cherished being on the receiving end of.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he gently admitted, his gaze drifting to your lips before he closed the gap and kissed them. “Now that I have my hint, I need to taste you before those cookies finish baking.”

Yes. Spread my legs wide open and taste how sweet I am.

“Mmm. I may need to finish cleaning,” you teased, his large hands gripping your hips as he moved you away from the sink.

“Why clean now since we’re going to make it dirty?” He questioned, lifting you and placing on an empty spot on the counter. “And after I’ve had my fill, you’re gonna let me frost your cookie.”

“Bucky, no,” you giggled as he tugged at your pants, knowing full well you’d let him fill you up.

“Bucky, yes,” he smiled.

And as the scent of the sweet and sugary cookies filled the kitchen, that was exactly what he did.

We know he'll love his gifts. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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thehighladywrites · 1 year ago

Text

The Airhead Chronicles

…and the surprise

pairing: cassian x bimbo reader, inner circle x reader, nesta

summary: Not being able to avoid his family anymore, cassian brings you to meet them, despite the new bond. You all get along great and someone particular catches your eye👀 does the night end as amazingly as it began, though?

warnings: tragic backstory, reader’s mysterious aura is finally explained, i’m so sorry but i’ll have to villainize Nesta in this but I love her and will make a fluff fic with her soon

amara’s note: i’m sorry this took a while, life was kinda hectic but it’s all good now. This is quite a short bc i’m trying to build up some angst…

part one part two part three

“Wha- Rhysie? What are you doing here?” Confusion washed over you as Rhys appeared, equally bewildered.

“This is mine and Feyre’s home, we live here, y/n. What brings you here?”

Your puzzled expression deepened. This wasn't adding up. You were supposed to meet Cassian's friends. Maybe you'd gotten the wrong house.

“I’m visiting my mate's friends. Look, I even baked a cake! Doesn’t it look so tasty?” You held up the cake as you flashed him your usual smile as he nodded absentmindedly.

“You two know each other?” Cassian's raised eyebrows reflected his confusion.

“Cassie, this is Rhys. He’s the friend I’ve been telling you about. You know, the one that helped me move and who I work for.” You introduced Cassian to Rhysand, unaware they'd been friends for half a millennium.

“Y/n, why don't you come inside? Feyre and Nyx are here too. I know they’d be thrilled to meet you,” Rhysand suggested, maintaining eye contact with Cassian, whose expression remained unreadable.

“Oh, I wish we could stay, but we have to like go. Gonna meet my handsome man’s friends, and just between us, they’re like super important people, so I need to prepare myself. But you might now them since you’re high lord.” You leaned in, whispering lowly.

Cassian squeezed your hands reassuringly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Go ahead and say hi, I’ll just talk to Rhys for a second.”

With a smile, you kissed his cheek and skipped inside to greet with your dear friend Feyre and favorite little guy, Nyx.

Cassians pov:

“You want to tell me how the hell you know her?” Cassian struggled to process the revelation. The idea of you and Rhys already knowing each other left him in disbelief. He couldn't fathom how he was being vexed by your super amazing friend, only to find out he was Cassian's friend too.

“Listen, I didn’t know you were mated or anything. I’ve known her since we were faelings.” Rhysand raised his hands, signaling that he harbored no ill intentions towards you and hadn't done anything wrong.

Cassian backed away, hands on his hips, strolling to the drink cabinet. He grabbed two cups, plopping down on the sofa and ruffling his wings in a mix of frustration and contemplation.

“Rhysie, I’m not going to eat you up, unless you want me to. Come sit down and just talk to me.” Cassian huffed, a hint of amusement in his expression as he noticed Rhysand practically glued behind his desk. With a roll of his eyes, Rhys rounded the table and settled down next to his friend.

They sat in silence, downing their third glass of Rhysand's expensive scotch. A nod from Rhys indicated he was ready to explain everything, and he met Cassian's gaze as he began.

“Alright, so when me and my sister were younger, my father made us switch from our private education in Velaris to Hewn City. The bastard claimed he wanted us to toughen up a bit. It was pure evil if you ask me.” A disgusted expression crossed Rhys's face as he recalled the horrors the new educators put him and his sister through in an attempt to toughen them up. The treatment was truly horrible for all the children there.

“There, I met Y/n and her sisters. They were downright horrendous towards her, and so were her parents because she wasn’t learning as quickly as us. She was also highly sought after due to her beauty and kindness, something her sisters envied. Her father is the Master of Coin, so they're loaded, and they had us do classes together. All the masters' children had classes together, separate from the other children of the city, to showcase how higher educated we were, in my father’s words.”

Rhys sighed, taking a sip of his drink before continuing, “Me and Selene befriended her, and you should’ve seen how jealous her sisters were. As heir, I had a lot of ladies interested in my title, and her sisters were among them. So they spread lies, telling everyone how I was bedding her as mere teenagers when, in reality, I was teaching her the work our educator couldn’t be bothered to teach her. After the rumors spread, her parents pulled her out of school to stay at home and learn her place in the court—how to talk to suitors, how to dress and act in front others with higher titles. She was raised like some sort of prized horse, ready to be sold. It was disgusting, the number of times her parents tried to marry her off for the sake of a title. Every time they tried, I intervened.” He smirked at the memory of your parents angry faces as the high lords son interrupted yet another proposal.

Cassian was shocked, slowly taking in the information as he nuged Rhys to continue.

“So, what happened when you became high lord? Did she stay in the city or did she move?”

“After I became High Lord, I finally banned forced marriages and made it punishable. Her parents suddenly found no need for her, so they told her that she either found someone appropriate herself and convinced me it was love, or they would’ve gotten rid of her.”

Cassian's jaw tightened, his fist instinctively knuckling up. He was seriously one second away from flying there and taking matters into his own hands.

“So I told her parents that she was marrying a well-off lord in the Day Court and that she’d be well taken care of, not that they really cared.”

“And, before you jump to conclusions, yes, I did ask her if I should take care of them for her, but she's not keen on the idea. She's way more merciful than I am. Y/n actually asked me to keep my father as the Master of Coin and, believe it or not, she told me not to kill them. According to her, it's better to let them live and witness her thriving one day. Quite the plot twist, no?” Rhysand smiled at your words, thankful that he had a friend to help him survive back in the city.

His smile faded as he remembered the 49 years he spent away from his family friends and city.

“I got her a house in Aetherian Crest, and she has lived there ever since, even during Amarantha’s reign. The only ones who know she exists are Feyre and, well, Nyx too, but he isn’t old enough to understand that.”

A shared laugh echoed through the room at the mention of Nyx, the thought of the little one adding a touch of warmth to the heavy conversation.

Cassian, still perplexed, glanced between Rhysand and the glass in his hand. He couldn't quite grasp what you worked on and the role you played in his life.

“She says to work for you. What exactly does she do, and why did you have her swear to secrecy with that bargain tattoo?” Cassian's irritation grew as he contemplated the idea of you engaging in something so dangerous that it required an irreversible oath.

Rhysand took a deep breath, sensing Cassian's increasing irritation.

“Y/n handles delicate matters, specializing in extracting information from people. Her bubbly personality and openness make it easy for others to confide in her. Y/n oversees a team, playing a crucial role in our court. She chooses to stay hidden because she doesn’t want the weight of our responsibilities. The intel she gathers is extremely essential; I pass it on to Azriel, who acts based on her information. You know those thrilling missions you love so much? Many are based on her information. She is absolutely irreplaceable and knows everything about every court. I made her swear the same oath that you all have sworn for the protection of Velaris.”

Cassian was stunned, yet it all made perfect sense. It dawned on him that he had shared his childhood and spilled secrets to you in just a few weeks. It had taken him centuries to truly open up to the inner circle, and here you were, extracting information within a matter of days. You were so smooth; he hadn't even noticed it happening. Your ability to weave into his life seamlessly left him both amazed and, oddly, more enamored with you.

It would be insulting to express surprise. Cassian had a hunch that you were doing something extraordinary; he just didn't know the specifics. Now that he had the full picture, he felt an overwhelming sense of pride and admiration, realizing that you were even more remarkable than he had initially thought, if that was even possible.

“What? You thought we only had boring study sessions together? Me and Selene taught her how to spy, just the basics of listening for information; the rest is all her.” Rhysand snorted, raising an amused brow at Cassian while taking a sip of his drink.

Cassian sat back, absorbing the revelation. A mix of awe and admiration colored his expression.

“Damn,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on Rhysand. “I didn't know all this about her. Rhys, I'm proud of her. More than I thought possible. Fuck, I’m falling even harder for her, if that's even possible.”

Rhysand chuckled at Cassian's reaction and clapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations on the bond, brother. You'll find you fall for her in ways you never imagined. It's normal when you're bonded, trust me. The other day, Feyre showed me a new move she had practiced and I fell even harder.”

With a shared laugh, Rhysand and Cassian returned to the gathering, joining you and the others for dinner. The weight of revelations lingered but was set aside for the warmth of camaraderie, good company, and a meal shared among friends.

—

As he explained that the friends you had come to see were Rhysand and the rest of the Inner Circle, a blush crept onto your cheeks. The realization hit you – you had interacted with them so casually, forgetting for a moment that they were the most significant figures in the Night Court. But they were so nice to you, so did it really matter that you talked about ideal sex positions with the girls?

Seated at the dinner table, everyone enjoyed the meal together. You found yourself leaning into Cassian, the atmosphere around the table filled with laughter, shared stories, and the comforting feeling of being among friends.

Azriel had been sneaking glances at you, not really making much conversation, but occasionally cracked a dry joke or expressed his opinion on topics when asked. He found you interesting, not anything scandalous, he just knew there was more to you, his spymaster instincts picking up a mysterious vibe from you.

Amren just looked at you from head to to, nodding with a tiny movement, one you almost missed, and kept to herself the entire dinner, disappearing the second the food was gone.

Elain had been the most welcoming and openly discussed similar interests with you. She seemed to bond with you the most, appreciating your shared interests. You found her adorable and had complimented everything from her dress and hair to the flowers she planted on the table.

Later, in the sitting room, you and Cassian settled on the sofa, and Elain sat across the room. Eager to chat with her, you sauntered over, sitting extremely close.

Leaning in, you began, “Elain, I find you really, really cute. You remind me of a deer; I love them, they’re so adorable. And i heard tou killed the king of hybern. You’re soo brave!! ” Your words hung in the air, creating a bit of a nervous atmosphere, but Elain let out a small giggle at the proximity and the compliment.

“Ohh, thanks. You’re very pretty too. I like the bows in your hair. And it was nothing really, just protected my sisters.”

Your eyes widened at her cute stutter and the way she squirmed. Gods, she was sooo cute you thought you were gonna die!! You so desperately wanted to be friends with her.

You smiled at her one last time, leaving her with a pounding heart and a nervous smile. You skipped happily back to Cassian who looked mighty amused, ready to enjoy the rest of the evening with his mate.

—

Later during the evening, your arms wrapped around his massive bicep. Leaning your head on it, the warmth of the meal making you sleepy, you scooted closer to Cassian, placing both of your legs on one of his thighs as you rested on his arm.

In that moment, safety, warmth, and reassurance radiates from your mate.

“Cassie, I wanna sleep. M'soooo tired,” you mumbled against his warm skin. His rich laughter rumbled through his body, making you smile like a fool.

Holy fuck, you were so in love with him.

“It’s okay, baby. Do you want me to fly us back to your home or do you want to sleep in my old room?”

You perked up at the thought of seeing his old bedroom, filled with everything that defined him.

“Yes, please! Your old bedroom sounds super cool. Can't wait to see it. And, you know, maybe I could blow you or something?” you said, mundane, as if you were discussing the weather or the latest book you read

Honestly, like, who even cares if anyone hears you talking? It's totally okay to wanna please your mate, right? Ugh, people and their silly fucking rules, it was driving you crazy. If you wanna announce to the world that Cassian fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, then you totally should, no questions asked!

Giggles and laughs filled the room at your crude comment, everyone a bit tipsy after several bottles of wine were shared between you.

—

Cassian's strong and sturdy body carried you on his back as he gave you a piggyback ride through the house, providing a private tour before reaching his designated room in Rhysand's massive estate.

With your boobs pressed softly against his back, you tightened your arms around him, excitedly expressing your dirty wishes for what you wanted to do together.

His arousal was evident as his pants tightened around his cock.

His heart craved to cherish you eternally, eager to bring you joy in every way possible. In this short time, Cassian found himself wholeheartedly falling for you. Filled with a urgency, he yearned to share just how much you meant to him and the extraordinary lengths he'd go, wrapped in those three words and eight letters.

But life wasn’t a fairytale, especially his.

His body froze in shock as he swung open the door, completely taken aback by the unexpected sight of his old lover standing in the middle of his room. Her hands fidgeted nervously before a palpable wave of hatred emanated from her eyes as she shifted her gaze towards you, intensifying the unexpected and shocking nature of her visit.

You, still on top if Cassian, missed the tension in the air as he locked eyes with his old lover. The atmosphere crackled with unresolved emotions.

Cassian, with you still on his back, shifted uncomfortably, trying to gauge the situation.

He took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of the unexpected encounter. “Nesta,” he said her name with a forced calmness that couldn't hide the turmoil beneath the surface. “What are you doing here?”

Nesta's lips curled into a bitter smile, and her gaze never wavered. “I heard you found someone new. Thought I'd see what kind of female you thought could replace me.”

Your heart raced, realizing the depth of the history between them. The room felt charged with a mixture of tension and heartache.

“Cassie, who is she?”

You hopped down, stepping back, a rush of emotions hitting you as you witnessed a scene too familiar. Many before had desired to take you to bed but had never chosen commitment, leaving you with a lingering sense of being used and discarded.

In that moment, you couldn't help but feel the weight of past disappointments. Praying to every god, you desperately hoped this wasn't another painful chapter repeating itself.

Cassian wouldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t fuck you and toss you aside for a past flame, right?

You were utterly convinced that he couldn’t change that quickly.

So why did doubt and fear take root in you?

And why did his hand tense and curl in when you tried to touch it?

🏷️ taglist: @just-a-social-casualty-1 @wallacewillow0773638 @dominika20hella10black @pinksmellslikelove @hellsenthero @val-writesstuff @paasrin

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aticklishpercivalwriter · 4 months ago

Text

Home (is wherever I’m with you) -fic

Link to Art (chosen by Perz), (credits go to @buffkagome (anby ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚) on Twitter!): Sethos/Scaramouche

Summary (by Perz): Just them being lovey dovey, ticklish boyfriends :)

Perz: Another submission by @vaporized-dimsum! This time a fic! I want to express my gratitude and deep thanks to her for this gift and allowing me to post it here for all of you to enjoy! Couldn’t stop kicking and crying at how cute this was, so aah!

Word Count: 2609

Also on AO3!

—

The Temple of Silence, as one might expect, is a quiet place. Wanderer is quick to grow fond of it compared to the racket of The Akademiya. And of course, seeing Sethos in his home and amongst his friends and family was a pleasant sight too. Not that he would ever tell him that though.

The elders adored him and were always fussing over whether he was eating enough, and the kids never seemed to leave him alone. Since Wanderer was to remain in Sethos’ presence for the duration of his stay, that meant he was fussed over and never left alone either. It was… nice.

Playing with children was like a muscle he hadn’t stretched in a long time. Still, even after centuries it felt as though it was second nature.

Sethos’ heart swelled watching Wanderer interact with the little ones. Letting them play with his hat (no, he wasn’t jealous at all), bringing him things to levitate with his Anemo Vision, chasing him as he hovered away at a slow pace. The cherry on top was the sweet sweet smile on Wanderer’s face that he managed to hide pretty well until the very end. Sethos likened it to catching a shooting star for witnessing it himself.

“What’s that look for?” He muttered when the elders called the children to them.

Ah. He’d been caught staring again. Sethos chuckled. “You’re good with kids. It’s real cute.”

“Hmph. They’re simple creatures, easily entertained. It’s not difficult to manage them.”

Sethos opened his mouth to quip but a little one had called his name. He turned and got down on one knee as they approached him. Wanderer let himself stare now that his back was turned. The intricately styled braids in his curly hair. The gold accessories and freckles. Down past his broad shoulders to his spine where his clothes parted into a tasty back wind—

Oh?

Sethos patted the child on their head as he graciously accepted the golden Sumeru roses they had gifted him. One for him, and one for their guest. He was pretty sure this little one had developed quite a puppy crush on Wanderer too. Sethos grinned watching them go. He totally knew that feeling.

“Wow, Hat Guy. You’re popular wherever you g- IIEHEHE—!”

The squeal bounced off the four walls and left a deathly silence in its wake. Both green and indigo eyes were wide with surprise, but Wanderer’s were quick to narrow deviously.

“What was that all about?” He asked with the innocence of a kitten despite his curled fingers.

Sethos cleared his throat and stood up clumsily, “A-Ah, well one of the little ones entrusted me with gifting this to you. Pretty, isn’t it?”

He shows Wanderer the gold rose and to his relief, it actually does distract him. Temporarily anyway. Enough that Sethos, against his better judgement, comes closer to tuck it behind his ear.

“It looks good on you with your dark hair.”

Wanderer feels his face grow warm, “If you say so.”

Like magnets, they draw closer to each other until their lips nearly brush.

“Was that you I heard laughing, Sethos?” Said one of the adults in passing.

The two of them broke away swiftly, cheeks burning. “U-Uh, yeah! Just me!”

The woman in the doorway chuckled, “It’s been awhile, hearing you get all giggly like that. Your grandfather loved to tickle you and cuddle you when you were small. It was so cute!”

“Really?” Wanderer echoed.

Oh no.

“Tell me more. Sounds pretty interesting.”

Sethos waved his hands wildly, “H-Haha! Okay well that’s nice! You can go now, Aunty!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop embarrassing our great and glorious leader.” She bowed to them and as she walked away, she looked over her shoulder, “And to our kind guest, do be gentle with him. He really never outgrew how ticklish he is.”

Sethos gawked at the absolute betrayal by one of his own people. Desert aunties didn’t mess around. Sure she probably changed his diapers and bathed him but—

But he didn’t have much time to dwell on it with Wanderer’s eyes pinned to him. “Never outgrew it, huh?”

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Can’t we talk about something else? Or… finish what we started?”

Wanderer’s hands instinctively tug his shirt to pull Sethos closer for the kiss he didn’t get but he stops him halfway, “Not here. We can go to my room.”

“How scandalous.”

“Well if you don’t want me to kiss you, you’re welcome to not come with me.”

Wanderer rolls his eyes and follows after him. The living quarters are like a labyrinth of hallways but Sethos navigates them with no troubles. His room is full of leathery books, a few TCG decks, colorful handmade quilts, and a blooming mini succulent garden- courtesy of his friends, no doubt. It’s a bit messy, but full of life and an irresistible coziness. Wanderer feels right at home here despite this being his first time stepping foot in it.

Sethos now tugs on his wrists and sits him on his bed before diving in to kiss him silly. Wanderer can’t get a word out about how desperate and hot and bothered he’s acting but he doesn’t mind one bit. Being caged between his arms and eaten alive has never felt so wonderful.

Wanderer laces their bodies as close together as possible, and eventually, his fingers trail down his back to that sweet patch of exposed skin and—

Sethos all but squeals in his mouth. When he breaks away with wide crescent eyes, there’s a thin string of spit connecting them.

“Oh, I’m gonna devour you.” Wanderer growls playfully, licking his lips.

He doesn’t know how but Sethos quickly finds himself hoisted onto the bed and pinned under him. He hardly gets any protest in before that awful fluttery sensation runs all over his exposed lower back. And with Wanderer seated on his legs, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon no matter how badly it tickles.

And it’s bad.

“GYAHAAHAHAH- wait- wait! Not there! Not- baahahahah!”

He muffles his laughter in his pillows and blankets. Wanderer doesn’t know if he likes that or loves it. Sethos flails his limbs uselessly when he switches from fluttering to pinching and spreading the skin along the knobs of his spine. And when he scoots down to press into what’s practically his tail bone— that gets him howling.

“AHCK- oh SHIHIHIIHIHHIT! Hat- Hat GAHAHAAHAHAAHUY! I can’t!”

“Can’t what?”

“CAHAHAHAHAAHN’T TAHAHAKE IHIHIT! PLEHEHEEHHEHEASE, IT’S BAHAHAD!! IT’S SO BAAHAD!!!”

“Is it?”

“YEHEHEHES!”

“That’s a shame. I quite like this spot. You’ll just have to deal with it, little bee.”

“Nohohoho! Ihit’s really —KYAA!! WHAT IS THAHAAHAHAHAT?!”

“A dusk bird feather that I found in this book.”

“Jeheherk! I was using thahat as a bookm- MM! Mhmhmhmhm, stohohohop ihihihit! Lehemme tahahahalk! Honeehehey!!”

The soft plume licked and curled against his back, and his giggling was sickeningly sweet when it came to feathery tickles… Wanderer scoffed, “I’m barely even touching you.”

“Bahahaharely touchihihing is still touchihing!”

“Hah. That aunty of yours was right. What would your followers think if they heard their dignified leader giggling his pretty little head off, hmm?”

Sethos whined as he pressed his face further into his pillow and hugged it tightly, shaking his head in protest. The curves of his ears were burning up.

“No point in hiding it, little bee. I’m about to make you buzz nice and loud.”

He’d hardly processed what Wanderer said, let alone how it made him feel. Actually, that happened a lot faster. Because suddenly, his fingers were scribbling viciously into his armpits and Sethos screeched.

“NAHAAHAHAHAHAHHA! OH, MERCY!! HONEY!!! MERCEEHEEHEEY!!!!”

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a merciful guy.”

“ARCHOHONS! PLEHEHEASE!! I’LL BEG- IHI’LL BEHEHEG!!!”

“Oh? I do like the sound of that. Go on then. Beg me.”

He thrashed from side to side, pinning his arms down and trapping Wanderer’s hands in that tortuous spot. No matter where he went, the sensation followed. Unbearable and so so good, although he was pretty sure whatever words he did manage to get out weren’t in any intelligible language.

For all his bucking and twisting though, Wanderer decided to sit up just enough so Sethos flopped bonelessly onto his back before he locked him in place beneath him once more. He squeaked in protest as Wanderer stole the breath right out of his lungs. His tongue against his, his teeth tugging on his bottom lip, he felt like he truly was being devoured.

And he never wanted it to stop.

If he wasn’t human, would he be able to kiss Wanderer forever too? Without needing to breathe?

Sethos weakly clutched Wanderer’s wrists as his hands cupped his face, pulling with no strength whatsoever, “Hah- Hon’- please… air. Ngh— air. Can’t bre…hah…”

Wanderer pulled away and was convinced he could get off on just the sight of him. The dizzied and delirious look on his face. Warm brown skin and teary green eyes glittering like emeralds. That stupid stupid smile, shiny and red with spit and bites. His chest heaving.

What a sight to behold.

Sethos hiccuped, “Now w-who’s the one sta-aring?”

Wanderer caressed his face gently, thumbing over his cheekbone and puffy bottom lip until Sethos swiped his tongue against his skin playfully. Then hiccuped again. Cheeky brat.

“Looks like you’ve still got some fight in you.”

Even the buzz of his words against his lips tickles. Sethos licks the seam of Wanderer’s mouth, hiccups, and grins.

“I could do this all day, honey.”

“Figured you’d say that. Now let’s do something about those hiccups.”

Wanderer’s hands slide down his face and along the rise and fall of his chest. The hills and valleys of each rib under his coasting thumbs makes Sethos chortle desperately. And when Wanderer presses into the dimples of his hips, he all but melts.

“You like this spot, little bee?” Wanderer asks playfully with his spidery scribbly touch.

“Noho-HIC —I lohove ihih—HIC- it!”

Oh it’s awful. Sethos’ hips jitter and jump the more his hands draw inward towards his crotch. There’s a pulse point on an artery there. Humans, Wanderer knew, were chock full of weak spots.

And Sethos is endearingly human.

“Aww, thahahanks, honey. Tha—HIC—t’s real sweeheet.”

Wanderer blinked, he must’ve said that last part out loud. He stills his fingers and finally lets Sethos catch his breath.

Soon enough, Sethos crawls into his lap and plops his head on his thighs like a spoiled kitty cat. He sighs so contently, like Wanderer was the comfiest spot in the whole wide world. He nearly purrs when Wanderer runs his fingers through his hair.

“Mmm… that feels so good. Keep going please.”

“Pfft. This is how you treat your guests? Shouldn’t you be spoiling me?”

“Was obliterating me not enough? You’re the spoiled one.”

Wanderer rolls his eyes, continuing to massage his scalp and caress his face. He scoots back so they’re both more comfortable and now also blanketed. The boy in his lap might as well be a sentient pile of slime condensate.

“Honey’s skin’s so smooth…” Sethos coos, “And cool to the touch, too.”

He nuzzles Wanderer’s inner thigh with his cheek before humming a pleased sigh. In an instant, the sensation makes Wanderer clip his face between his legs, making them both yelp.

“I was so comfy…” He whines, “What’s wrong?”

Before Wanderer can even answer, to his dismay, Sethos puts the pieces together all too quickly. “Wait a minute-“

“No.”

“Are you?”

“I’m not.”

He’d responded too quickly both times, telling Sethos everything he already knew.

“You are, aren’t you! You lied! I knew you were lying!!”

Wanderer backs away to the foot end of the bed but it doesn’t put much distance between them before Sethos squishes him beneath his torso. Those green eyes are sparkling with a newfound discovery and revitalized mischief.

“You lied.” He states confidently.

“Like I’ve never done that before.” Mutters Wanderer, “Get. Off. Don’t you DAHARE—“

The weight he put in his elbows topples Wanderer the moment Sethos’ hands slide under his shorts and squeeze. The tingling ripples out from his thighs like his laughter in the room.

“FUHUCK! Sehethos!! Get ohoff! No- HYAH!”

He bonks his head against the footboard and then Sethos’ head too when he wedges his way into the crook of his neck. So close to the Electro mitsudono on his nape. The raspberry Sethos planted sparked his nerves into haywire.

“You keep your secrets close to your chest, huh?” Sethos grins. “Lucky for you, I’m great at keeping secrets!”

“Pihihiss ohohoff! Get your lips ohoff of mehehehe!!”

One raspberry twines into another all along his neck. And as it turns out, that weak spot on Sethos’ hips is just another thing they both share, his fingers climbing higher and higher into his shorts to scribble at it.

“Who’s got the most kittenish little meow meow laugh? Honey does! Honey does!” Sings Sethos, blowing gentle puffs against Wanderer’s ears.

“Shuhut uhup! Stuhupid little BEEHEEHEE!! NAHAAHAHAHAHA!”

“Huh, never realized your shorts have cutouts here.”

His hands felt so nice gripping his little waist, and yet all Wanderer could do was throw his head back laughing helplessly, “SETHOS! Dohohon’t! STOHOHOP IHIHIHIT!!”

“Don’t stop it? You know I’d never deny my honey anything.”

In addition to the warm glow of his cheeks, Sethos noticed certain patterns on Wanderer’s skin began to glow as well. Up his arms and legs, converging at his chest and even twining around his neck too.

“So pretty…!” He murmured enchantedly.

His fingertip traces along the patterns of light on his skin, following them everywhere they led. They seem to shine even brighter as he did so. And Wanderer’s giggles so adorably, Sethos almost stops.

Almost.

“Cuhuhut it ohout! Whehere do youhu thihink youhu’re touchihing?”

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any cuter!” Cooed Sethos, “Do you light up when you’re feeling something intensely?”

“Ihintehense annohoyahahance, maybeheehee!”

“Aww but you seem like you really love being touched like this. You get all giggly and kittenish.”

If Sethos didn’t know any better, he might’ve briefly thought Wanderer was glowing pink. It seemed that this was Wanderer’s fear because he was quick to wriggle just enough out of Sethos’ arms to flop onto his stomach. In his worming away though, Sethos spotted the source of all his enchantment. The mitsudono on his nape.

“Ohh, is this where all the light comes and goes from?” Ponders Sethos, “Can I touch you here?”

“Haven’t you touched me enough?” Wanderer grumbles.

He spots Sethos move his hands away from him and even begin to give him some space. So his shit eating grin makes him want to forcibly remove Sethos from his own bed when Wanderer drags his hand back to his shoulder.

His hair covers some of the mitsudono, and Wanderer shivers when Sethos gently brushes it to the side. He’d always been aware of how the mark branded him. Sometimes it even felt like hot iron pressing into his skin. So when Sethos gently pecks it, Wanderer can’t help but jolt.

“Did that hurt?” Asks Sethos worriedly.

Wanderer buries his head in Sethos’ blankets. The scent of him nearly drowns out his boyfriend’s voice. He shakes his head.

“No, it didn’t. It… felt nice.”

Sethos sighed with relief, “Oh good. I’m glad. In that case…”

Wanderer’s shoulders jump as Sethos spoons him and smushes his lips against his nape. “Mwah mwah mwah!”

He clearly has no intentions of letting him go with how tangled together their limbs are. “Quihihit it!” Wanderer scoffs, “Araharen’t youhu tired of thihis yet?”

Sethos hums happily against his skin, “Of you? Never.”

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katuschka · 4 months ago

Text

Touch Starved Pups – One

Jake Kiszka x f!Reader x Josh Kiszka 4.011 words

Welcome to Part One of the story about what happens to two well-behaved, bored and horny romantics when a new feisty, worldly and hot social media manager enters the building...

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): expressive language, promiscuous behaviour, unprotected sex (or still rather just allusions to it , just setting the scene...), oral sex, handjob, kissing, twinfight, fistfight, angst, mockery, consensual teasing game that's borderline exploitative, slightly toxic behaviour...so, to sum it up, this is pure rock&roll filth, folks.

Also, if you like the story and want to get notifications for future updates, you can join the Taglist or see the Masterlist

Hooked? Read Part Two.

I know who I am when I'm alone

I'm something else when I see you

You don't understand, you should never know

How easy you are to need

Don't let me in with no intention to keep me

Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me

Honey, don't feed me, I will come back

Walking down the photo pit after all the other photographers cleared off is my favorite part of the day. Or night, to be more precise. That’s when I shine: strutting along, ready to capture all those best moments that make all you bitches go feral during AND after the show. This is my queendom. I make content for you lot. And I’m damn good at it.

How do I know that? The numbers just skyrocketed after I joined the team. Ka ching! All those poor things that came before me had no idea how to do their job. Tried to do some lifeless artsy shit that might be good for booklets and collectors’ crap that only collects dust, but not followers. They listened to what the band and their management wanted, but that’s not how it’s done. Nuh uh. I listen to you, my dudes. Your screeches, howls and cries. Some say that you’re crazy, but I know better. I’m here to observe what drives you crazy, and then I shall stir it up even more. When it comes to online content, the only thing that matters is what YOU want.

Make no mistake, I create art too. The crucial difference is that it’s not shit. Socials need candid eye candy and I’m here to provide it.

I gotta admit, they make my job quite easy. All four of them do, but the twins are human masterpieces. Born pretty, they gradually learned that they could monetize it just as much as their respective talents. I didn’t need to come up with a strategy; it’s always been there for the taking. The fact that my predecessors have been mostly ignoring this is a mind-boggling mystery to me. Those guys know for sure that they ruin your panties. I just needed to know how.

So I rolled up my sleeves and went down to the barricade to do my research. Marketing’s no rocket science. Veni, vidi, vici. I just looked at them through your eyes and your own photos, and let me tell you – you bitches aren’t crazy, you are right! Yeah, I saw it too. And I get it. Some people in the team wanna keep pretending that it’s all about the music – which is surprisingly good, by the way – but that’s not what makes you sleep in the dirt and sit on a curb for days, and then again…and again. Those sons of bitches basically fuck on stage, looking very tasty while doing so. Especially Frodo and Patchybeard. Whether it’s a guitar, a mic stand or just plain air – they just shag it! Y’all look like you can feel it, and they’re very well aware. It strokes their egos, so they just keep adding fuel to the fire. The first time I saw that, I just stood there with my mouth wide open and just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. It was a fucking orgy! And then, when it was time to walk into their bright conference room and pretend to do some serious business for a change, I put on my super serious and super professional face, and I told them what needed to be done.

Let’s just take your usual fangirl stuff and make it official. Sorry, not sorry. You crave it, so what. I keep the Facebook page artsy and businesslike for those gramps and music snobs that would go batshit crazy if they saw any more pictures with sweaty “jummies”, sparkling dicks and marshmallow balls; but anywhere else, it’s a party.

Some of you keep wondering why they behave like such frenzied horndogs all the time. My lovelies, the explanation is pretty simple. It’s because they are! You wanna know if they are like that in real life? Yes, the answer is yes! It’s good for the show, sure thing, and they’re both true born professionals creating a breathtaking spectacle. “It’s all for you, bla bla bla!” But the truth is that they’re naturals, not really much different offstage. Lusty, filthy, bad.

Just kidding. They’re sweethearts. Lust-driven, whiny pups that want to be played with. When the show is over, they both follow me backstage like the good boys that they are, wagging their tails at me enthusiastically.

Ooops, what did I just say? Lemme put my fingers to my mouth and giggle like a coy lady that I’m not. Some of you already suspect it anyway, and it was collectively decided that you should hate me with passion. I guess now I’m famous, too. D’oh!

So, yeah… When I said that it was there for the taking, I forgot to mention that I also wanted to take it. Life on tour is lonely and stressful. I’m not immune to that either. Sex helps. That’s why the rockstars of yore kept fucking everything that dared to come close while they were all high as a kite. Because why not…well, apart from the fact that unlike good sex, drugs actually ruin lives. No, I’m not a fan.

Times have changed and today’s musicians – and I’m not talking about all those wannabes with backing tracks – really need to work hard to earn their bread.They’re self-aware and sober (Take that with a pinch of salt…they’re sober while actually working.). Often homesick. Sure, some of them are still jerks or junkies. Or both. Not a fan of these either. I worked with some and it was a nightmare.

But, when I joined the Greta Van Fleet team, I found a bunch of down-to-earth and touch starved homeboys, well aware of their power but hesitant to act upon it. That’s the difference between having a huge dick and being one. They’re – and now let me let out a sob or two for the dramatic effect – gentlemen!

You know what a sweetheart with a huge dick is? That’s your dream come true. Believe me. That’s just something you want. I certainly did.

Not from the start, though. No. They treat the crew like friends and family, and as much as that was certainly a pleasant change, I wavered initially. They were all so kind and gentlemanly that I just decided to keep my friendly distance, thinking they really were such mama’s boys that they appeared to be…The impression didn’t last long. Soon I heard them making jokes and lewd comments when they thought no one was listening. Some of those comments were about my bouncy ass, too.

Men, am I right?

Alas, sweethearts’ dicks are still just dicks, and neglect will gradually take its toll. I could see right through their nervous ticks.

Jake was the first one that fell into my snares. I didn’t really pursue it; I’m not a monster. Like I said, we were lonely and stressed, and so it just happened one fine day. He craved human contact, and I was there. Life is complicated, but certain things are still pretty simple. Thank god, or whatever supernatural entity you believe in.

It was a lovely evening in his 2-storey hotel apartment. He often got those, because the others had this habit of gathering together in his room to discuss business – since it was his band – and to get shitfaced in the process.

We were both sitting cross legged on his bed, both already pleasantly booze-soaked and shrouded in semi-darkness, the only source of light being the dimmed lamps in the main room. I had been giving him a lecture on the importance of a good online presence that evening. Or at least I was trying to do that… When the others got a bit too rowdy, we retreated to his bedroom to have some privacy.

When it comes to online shit, Jake’s the most difficult one. He doesn’t like it. Plain and simple. He had created this cute mask of a smooth and aloof poet slash ancient adventurer, behind which he hides, but you bitches don’t like that. You like watching him talking to his SG in front of thousands like she’s his obedient whore. See, there’s a certain discrepancy in that. I kinda understood where it was coming from, him being in his element onstage and all that shit, but I also needed him to understand my point.

And it was tough. He’s complicated. He likes to pretend to be a tough, mysterious guy, but deep down he’s just a shy and wide-eyed fawn that bounces when you say “boo”. Not always, mind. I learned that the hard way once when I was leaving his room with scarlet imprints of his fingers on my thighs. However, drunk Jake is a meek and needy cutiepie. I could definitely use it to my advantage. So I poured us more drinks.

“I dunno, s��not really me,” he countered after I tried to explain one more time.

I showed him another one of the most recent videos. “Are you telling me this is not you?”

I grew really fond of his quiet “hahaha” every time he felt discomfited and flattered at the same time. Just like now. Stroking his chin with his finger, he shifted nervously and continued: “Well, yeah…uuum…you like this?”

That was the moment when I knew I had him firmly in my grasp. Yeah, Jakey, I reeeeally like it. Let me just show you how much.

I seized my chance. We laughed and joked and flirted and all that shit. Talking about his desirable body parts that y’all take snapshots of soon turned to physical manifestations and before we knew it, his fly was open, his fat cock hard and out and firmly in my hand. I brushed my thumb gently over his pink and already leaking head before I wrapped my fingers around his shaft once again and started pumping him slowly. He just sat there and watched me with his lips parted, both mesmerized and taken aback by how quickly things escalated. I returned his stare, looking him firmly in the eye while I quickened my pace, and his breathy exhales turned to full-fledged, loud moans. I tried to shush him by forcing my other thumb in his mouth… and that only made it worse. There were still other people in the adjacent room and the door was open, but he just wouldn’t shut up! I had to grab his chin and stick my tongue in his mouth to keep him quiet.

That sobered him up a bit. He didn’t want me to stop, he just wanted to regain control. Our tongues wrestled for a few seconds before he grabbed my cheeks and returned the kiss in such a manner that made my pussy spasm. I liked that, and we continued like that until he came all over my fingers a few minutes later. Thankfully, someone put some music on in the other room and it muffled his moans a bit, because my mouth could no longer contain them. He howled in it. It was hot.

You know, I’ve had the misfortune to cross paths with assholes who’d just throw me out after that, both satisfied and ashamed that my skills made them finish so quickly and unceremoniously, without fanfare and praises. Not Jake. He had to reciprocate AND prove himself at the same time. He’s vain, but in a good, gentlemanly way.

After everyone else left, he just fucked my brains out. It surprised me how much he wanted to kiss, and not just my lips (either kind). His tongue was running marathons all over my body, and if I remember it correctly, I think I came five times that night. Not my record, but still a very impressive first-time.

After that, he just kept crawling back to me, stopping me in empty hallways just to whisper obscene poems about my hungry pussy in my ear. Talking about how he’d feed me.

He’s a sly one: the kind of a man that would run his fingertips gently down your spine in a room full of other people, while talking casually about fucking you raw, only for you to hear. I mean, that’s exactly what he did once or twice. I’m sure our “conversations” always looked completely innocent from a distance, with only Josh sometimes watching us with his lips pursed. Sometimes his eyes even narrowed a bit. That feisty chipmunk knew from the very start, and I thought I could spot jealousy in that piercing stare of his. I enjoyed that, just as much as Jake enjoyed making me wet in public, and calling it “retribution”. Honestly, I didn’t mind. Punish me as much as you want, baby, and keep using all those fancy words while doing so. Yeah.

I’m a born provocateur, so I often just asked for more. Every time I saw him start licking his lips absentmindedly, I struck. In the end, it was always him who had to calm down, to keep it cool…to hide his hard dick.

We both loved it. It was our little fight for dominance. We teased each other and then there would be a reward.

It was a bit different with Josh. He’s a lover, not a fighter. He doesn’t need to fight for dominance and so he often rejects that role voluntarily.

At first I thought he wouldn’t be interested at all, even though his grabby hands landed on my bare skin more often than some would deem comfortable. But he’s like that with everyone! Including Bob, the chalice filler. It often doesn’t mean a thing.

I knew it meant something when he almost grabbed my ass once. I tried to experiment with the same strategy I once used on Jake: using his own weapons against him, making him cross the friendly line.

It happened during a soundcheck while I was showing him a preview of my next scheduled post. His weapon was right there, on full display, and I further accentuated it by a subtle, punny caption. It made him giggle and I winked at him.

“So, you okay with this? I mean, it’s all over the internet anyway…”

“Dear sparrow, if I weren’t okay with this, you wouldn’t be able to take such a lovely picture of it.” His hand first landed on the small of my back familiarly, just like it always did, and as we talked about other pictures in the carousel, I felt his fingers move even lower until the tip of his pinkie slid under the hem of my pants. I cleared my throat ostentatiously and he drew his hand away quickly as if I had burned him.

“You know, I should report you for harassment for this,” I said matter-of-factly, still looking at the screen, trying to look both cool and unphased, but the twitch in the corner of my mouth gave me away. A true master of reading such subtleties, he slapped his fingers with his other hand and grinned at me. “Naughty me. Can’t blame me. You just smell so nice, sparrow. What is that?”

“Hypnotic Poison.”

“Right…” He licked his teeth in a vain attempt not to grin even more. To be hundred percent sure, he still asked me if I wasn’t mad. Sure I wasn’t. I had been waiting for this.

We parted after that, minding our respective businesses, but all those fleeting glances he cast my way during the rest of the afternoon didn’t escape my attention. Later, just before the show, he cornered me in the bathroom, startling me. I almost poked my eye out with a mascara when I noticed him standing right behind me. “Jesus Fucking Christ on a stick, Josh!”

“Yeah, I’m all that.” It was obvious he wasn’t there to take a leak as he kept watching me watch him in the reflection and his eyes grew darker. I slowly turned around and ran my finger down the hem of his low neckline, even more slowly. Tentatively, almost. Never breaking eye contact and with his lips slightly parted, he let me go lower until I reached the zipper head and tugged at it playfully.

“Black velvet really suits you, you know?” I teased.

“Yeah, I know.”

Cheeky brat. You wanna play, baby? Let me show you how it’s done. I slipped the tips of my fingers under the hem of his cleavage until I found his left nipple and started running circles over it with my middle finger. His breath hitched and his eyes widened before he seemingly regained his composure and flashed me a sly smile.

“So…ummm…you and Jake are…exclusive?”

“Wow, you’re pretty straightforward,” I laughed. “No, we’re not. Just having some fun. Why?”

Why, indeed. He made it pretty clear why, and I let my tongue give him the answer he desired. After the show that very night, he knocked on my door with a shy smile plastered on his face after I opened it. I welcomed him in.

Josh never fought me. He always presented himself on a silver platter and let me do whatever I pleased. Then he repaid me when the payment was due. My initial impression of him being a pillow princess wasn’t completely off, but my god! The man can fuck! Never try to piss him off. Or you know what? DO try to piss him off, because it turns him to a jackhammer.

I once called him a sissy and the wrath that poured down on me afterwards made me see stars.

So that’s how it went. They both knew what was happening behind closed doors with the other one, and both were ok with that, as long as it didn’t interfere with their own plans. And that was just a matter of time.

To tell you the truth, I did wonder what it would be like to have them both, so when the opportunity presented itself, I would be a fool not to encourage it.

Every once in a while, there are shows where shit just happens and everything that can go wrong, does do wrong. It was one of those nights. Even back at the venue, right after the show, I saw how both their faces were twisted with tension, and maybe the best way to avoid even more trouble would have been to avoid them altogether. They weren’t the only people who had a rough night. I was exhausted, too. If I were a bit more responsible, I would have settled for a nice hot bath and a filthy book, but sadly, I’m a people pleaser. Also, nothing can calm me down better than the smell of male skin.

It was long past midnight when I heard a knock on my door.

“It’s me, Bebe. Please, let me in.”

That’s right. He gave me that nickname shortly after we started fucking, even though I teased him that he would never beat those allegation that way.

If you guessed that I indeed did open the door, you’re right. He didn’t even wait for the invitation to enter this time. The stress was doing us no good. I could smell even more troubleon the horizon, but I ignored it.

“Jake, you can’t just storm inside like this. What if I had company?” It was no use to argue with him. No longer sober to begin with, he was already making himself at home and pouring himself another drink.

“Please, Bebe, stop teasing. I need you! I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Well, tough luck! Josh asked first.”

“Oh no, no no no! It’s my turn, baby! You can’t do this to me. Tonight was hell. Call him and tell him that you’re mine.” I shot him a sharp look, so he added quickly: “... for the night. ” Well, that only made it worse.

Funny how quickly they got accustomed to the fact that I was just within reach. I would have been offended if I weren’t aware of how insolently I played with them too. Still, I should have said no, but I’m just human.

However, the whole situation was already a bit more complicated than that. “I can’t. He’s already here.”

Jake cast me a confused look before he smiled sympathetically at my feeble attempt to get rid of him. “Where? Hiding in the closet?”

“No, he’s in the shower.”

He just stood there for a short while, contemplating something, before he grabbed my cheeks with both hands and whispered sultrily: “Please, love, just a blowjob then. Your mouth can do wonders, baby. I beg you.” Noticing that I wavered, he bent closer to whisper in my ear: “You can ride my face anytime you want. You know that.”

Again, I should have said no, but the said mouth already started watering when I noticed the rapidly growing bulge. Mentally, he was already hitting my tonsils. I was on my knees in seconds. I knew Josh usually took his time, so maybe it was manageable. And if not…well, surely there was a way to benefit from the hypothetical pickle, should it happen.

And it happened. I was deepthroating him with both his hands holding my head and his head tilted back, when we heard the door open.

“Jesus fuck, Jake!”

The moment of surprise made me gag. Jake withdrew quickly and started tugging himself back in his pants, which wasn’t easy, given his current state. Josh, however, just stood there completely and unabashedly naked. “Get out!” he bellowed, completely forgetting that it was in fact MY room they were both in.

“No,” Jake spat back.

They started barking at each other like berserk chihuahuas. I swear, I was seconds from throwing them BOTH out, dicks out and all. They could keep shouting at each other in the hall or even in the main lobby for all I cared, but the wicked creature in me wanted to see how this would escalate. And it escalated majestically.

I hadn’t bothered to unpack my suitcase earlier that day. It just lay open on the floor with my purple vibrator placed haphazardly on top of my lingerie. Jake spotted it, bent down to retrieve it and before I could argue, he thrust it against Josh’s bare chest while his other hand patted his cheek: “Here, this should do. Now bugger off!”

I think I stopped breathing for a second. They teased each other quite often, but this seemed downright mean, even to their standards. I think Jake realized it too, but it was too late. We both watched the flames that appeared behind Josh’s dilated pupils and before either of us could react, Josh started after him and pushed him against the wall. And so the party started. In a matter of mere seconds, Jake fist almost collided with Josh’s jaw. Thankfully, Frodo is quite nimble, so he ducked the blow and striked back, his knuckles colliding with Jake’s forearm. Watching them wrestle like that, fuming, limbs intertwined, I was almost sorry I had no popcorn at hand. It was a comical sight: Josh still completely naked, Jake barely tucked back in his jeans.

Have you ever seen puppies fighting over a toy? That’s them. They were both so needy and neither one ready to give up. It was time to seize the opportunity, so I… started laughíng. Loudly and mockingly. They both let go of each other and turned their heads to the source of that offensive sound: me.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, leaning back on my arms and with my legs crossed, contemplating my next move. Realizing I had no panties under my punto tube dress, I decided to Basic Instinct them. Sure, nothing new, but men are simple creatures. A naked pussy is like the Moon they howl at. It’s always new. Moreover, the fact that they never saw me like this before together was surely a great bonding experience of its own. I watched their faces for more clues and grinned viciously when I saw exactly what I hoped for. See, they’re different in many ways including this. Jake licks his lips, while Josh clenches his jaw. I tutted at them, watching how they both raised their eyebrows in a silent question.

“Guys! You both know very well that I got more than one hole.”

Hooked? Read Part Two.

@its-interesting-van-kleep @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise @wetkleenex-gvf @lyndz2names @emojakekiszka @hollyco @lizzys-sunflower @fleetingjake @cheersdannyx2 @gvfstuddedmajesty @gvfmarge @dayumclarizzel @musicislove3389 @lipstickitty

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #josh gvf #jake gvf #greta van fleet fanfic #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van smut #josh kiszka smut #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka x reader #josh kiszka x reader #Spotify

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markscherz · 1 year ago

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Hello! I’m curious: when you were a little kid, was there some part of you that thought- despite all evidence to the contrary- that poison dart frogs would taste like gummy candy? I’m not saying I thought that and I’m DEFINITELY not saying I still kind of think that, but like…I have eyes. They’re the skittles of the animal kingdom

In rainforest, a frog can be hidden

as a brown or a little green thing,

so a frog that is bright and unhidden

is a warning you really should heed;

all that is bright is not tasty

not all coloured things should be licked;

Müllerian: both taste quite nasty,

Batesian: you could be tricked.

#poetry #animals #frogs #science #herpetology #scyllas-revenge #answers by Mark #do not lick the frogs #forbidden skittles

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emmawithtwoms · 12 days ago

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@wolfstarmicrofic December 8th -527 words

When Remus opened the door to his apartment, he was hit with the most amazing smell he could have ever imagined: his mum’s gingerbread cookies. He quickly ridded himself of his coat and boots, hanging his scarf and placing his gloves on the radiator, before following his nose towards the kitchen.

There he found his amazing boyfriend glaring down a tray of beautiful christmas cookies, like they personally offended him.

“Hi love, whatcha got there?”

Sirius startled at the sound of Remus’ voice, and hastily started grabbing the tray.

“Hi Moony. It’s nothing. I’ll get rid of them.”

“No, wait, they smell so good! Did you make them?”

Sirius sighed, but still did not let him see the cookies.

“Moony, really, leave it. It’s dumb. I’ll clean everything.”

Remus was not having it

“Love, please, they smell amazing. Can I at least have one?”

Padfoot looked between him and the tray, then, defeated, handed his lover one of his creations.

“Ok, but just… don’t judge. I know they’re not good.”

Moony bit into the beautiful cookie, although regrettably. It was a splendid Christmas tree shaped cookie, with green glaze and white frosting to make the streamers. Honestly, it was one of the most beautiful cookies Remus had ever seen. And not only that, but it was also incredibly tasty, and he failed to hold back a moan.

“Mhhhh, please, this is so good Sirius. Did you make them? Were you about to throw them away? Why?” Sirius looked down at his hands

“It’s just… your mum's are so much better, I couldn’t quite get them right, and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Remus was dumbfounded by this affirmation.

“Sirius wha- These honestly look like they were made by a baker, and the taste! Love, they are even better than my mum’s!”

“Really? You like them?”

“Like them? I love them! Where did you get the recipe?”

“I… might have mailed your mum and asked her to send me hers. I know how much you missed her, and how you love her cookies, so I just thought… nothing. It’s dumb.”

But it was too late, Remus understood Sirius, and the only thing he could of doing was to launch himself at his boyfriend, kissing him passionately straight on the mouth, then again, and again, while telling him, in between kisses, how much he loved him.

“You” kiss “beautiful” kiss “Star” kiss “of” kiss “a” kiss “man!” kiss

“You’re just so special, do you know that? What did I do to deserve you?”

Another kiss

“Moony, please, it was nothing, really. They’re not even that good!”

Sirius tried to hold his grumbly demeanour, but it faltered under his boyfriend’s love.

“Don’t you dare insult my boyfriend’s cookies like that! Say that they are good!”

“Moony, please-”

“Say it!”

Remus was now threatening him with the last half of his biscuit, and Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ok, ok, crazy man! They are good! Alright?”

Remus seemed satisfied at that.

“Mh, much better. Thank you.”

“Geez, how much I love you, my Moony.”

And this time, it was Sirius who enclosed Remus’ face with his hands to kiss him.

A.N: yes, I headcanon that Remus puts his gloves on the radiator, so that they stay warm and dry for when he has to wear them. If you ask me, he also puts his woolen socks on it. And his clothes in the morning while he showers.

#marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #harry potter #ao3 fanfic #wolfstar #ao3 #fic #moony #padfoot #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius black x remus lupin #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar microfics #microfic #cookies

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 5: Turn Off The Lights And Turn Off The Shyness]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, Otto being the worst (per usual), violence, serious injury, cryptic Helaena prophecies, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content including noncon (18+), dragons, demented flirting, a late-night surprise, Larys Strong returns. 😞

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Of All The Gin Joints In All The World” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.3k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

The sun would burn him, but moonlight is kind. You’re on the balcony of Aegon’s bedchamber, two chairs, two cups of wine, another full pitcher on the table between you, a glass bottle of warm rose oil like amber, like gold, freckled with curled ruby petals. You’re dressed in your usual attire, simple designs and neutral colors, greys and creams and dusky pinks; tonight your gown is a flat, inky blue that matches the night sky. Aegon is wearing his unpretentious cotton trousers—stained with splotches of pomegranate juice, his recompense before you allowed him the wine—and a tiny braid in his shaggy, silver hair.

“I look like your house’s sigil,” Aegon says as he massages rose oil onto his forearms, his palms moving in large sloppy circles over a patchwork of scar tissue; you would do a better job, but he says he wants to learn how to care for his wounds on his own. His dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—gleams in the cool, ghostly moonshine. His words are teasing, but his tone is dark, troubled, weary. “Some red, some white. All ugly.”

You smile. You aren’t agreeing, just playing along. “Our motto is better than our flag.”

“I might have been inebriated during that lesson.”

“Perpetual Resurrection.”

Aegon looks at you, confounded. “Quite the mouthful.”

“Crabs molt throughout their lifetime. They crack their own skins open and climb out. If they get stuck, they die. If they get attacked before their new shell hardens, they die. But if they live…they’re a brand new version of themselves. Larger, wiser, more powerful.”

“Spiders,” Aegon says. “You’re trying to placate me with some rousing metaphor about what are essentially aquatic spiders.”

“They’re tasty too,” you say, grinning. “Especially when their shells are still soft. The cooks would serve them fried and us kids would sit around the table ripping the legs free and throwing them at each other.”

“What, you can eat the crab whole?!”

“Yes. Once the faces are cut off and the organs scooped out.”

He pretends to be repulsed by you. “Harrowing. Revolting. This is why Targaryens have always refused to breed with your kind.”

It’s funny, but it isn’t, because it’s a little too close to what you’re both thinking. Under the moonlight, you watch Aegon with the words caged behind your teeth: What do you want most? Who are you in your bones? Where would we be if the world wasn’t crashing down around us?

He slathers rose oil on his scarred right cheek—carelessly, distractedly—and accidentally pokes himself in the eye. “Ow.”

You ask: “Why do you want to do that yourself now?”

“To prove I can. To feel ever so slightly less like an invalid.” He takes a swig of his wine and gazes out over the nightscape ocean, stars in the sky, stars reflected on waves. “I am a study in irony. I spent my whole life waiting for it to be over. I poisoned myself, wasted years, resisted any semblance of usefulness. And now I finally have things I want to accomplish, I finally have reasons to live…and I’m trapped in the flesh of some pathetic, deformed, calamitously weak stranger.” He shakes his head, despondent, still not looking at you. “I can have a body that works. I can have a soul. But I can’t have both at the same time. It’s so fucking unfair.”

“I like you exactly as you are. Body and soul.”

“Everything I own, everything I’m given…” He stares down at his palms, open and empty. “It is destroyed, gets killed, goes mad. I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“I think I’m going to be ruined either way. I’d rather you be the one responsible.”

“Angel,” he says, low and serious. And now his gaze comes back to meet yours. “Who are you supposed to marry?”

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want it to be true. Your voice is a whisper, almost lost in the night wind. “Cregan Stark.”

His eyes shoot wide, not just startled but terrified. “Stark?!”

You nod miserably. “My father took me and my sisters to Winterfell as part of a trade mission. Cregan decided he wanted me. I never encouraged it, I never desired it, I swear I didn’t—”

“No, I believe you,” Aegon says. He swallows a gulp of wine noisily, his hand shaking. “You were right. I can’t touch him. I can’t stop it. Not unless I win.”

“You don’t want the Iron Throne,” you tell Aegon, already knowing it’s true.

He snorts, a harsh derisive sound. “Who would?”

“Lots of people, I think. But not you or Rhaenyra.”

This intrigues him. “She doesn’t want it either?”

“Not from what I’ve seen and heard. Or, at least, she didn’t until Luke was killed. It changed her. I’m still not convinced she wants to be the queen, but she wants vengeance. And absolute power is a sure path to it.” And so the suffering continues, it goes around and around like a wheel, it is a debt that is never satisfied but only spread like plague.

“I don’t understand why Aemond did that,” Aegon says. His words are hushed, like he’s never spoken them to anyone but you and never will. “When he returned from Storm’s End, I held a feast for him. I had to, someone had to, someone had to pretend it was a victory instead of a murder. But it didn’t make any sense. Arrax was an inconvenience, not a threat. Luke was far more valuable as a hostage than a corpse. Aemond has always been the disciplined brother, the strategic one. I won’t claim to be clever. But I can’t find any strategy in what happened there.”

“Aemond has a temper. He is haunted, I believe. He is not above reckless fury.”

“No, evidently not.” Aegon sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair; again, his dragon ring glints under the moonlight, silver reflected off gold. “I’ll try to win,” he says. “For my family. For you.” Then he smirks, a grim attempt at humor. “Though I pity Cregan Stark for the paradise I will deprive him of.”

You do not return Aegon’s smile. “Don’t have too much pity for him. I have no expertise and I’m scared to death of it. I’d probably end up hiding under his bed, gripping the legs for dear life. He’d have to drag me out and tie me down.”

Aegon is alarmed; his storm-blue eyes are now focused, seeking. He is aware that he has wandered into a quagmire. He treads carefully. “When you say no expertise, you mean…none at all?”

“None.”

“But what about all of those anatomically-correct cock illustrations in your medical books?”

Another joke you can’t bring yourself to laugh at. You drink your wine to stop your lips from quivering, smooth the silk of your gown with a trembling hand. You see it no matter where you look: the pool of red on Theodora’s bedsheets, the dawning and inescapable realization on her face. This is her life now. This will always be her life.

Aegon says gently: “You have no expectation of pleasure.”

“It seems…inherently violent. For the woman. Even if it isn’t meant to be. Being overpowered, being invaded. The man decides when and how it happens. The woman endures.”

Aegon stares at you—biting his full lower lip, deeply somber—but doesn’t speak. He gives you the impression of someone with so many thoughts swimming around in his skull he is struggling to choose just one.

You smile dimly. “I’m sorry. I’ve made you sad.”

“I’m, um…” Aegon pauses to collect himself; he drains his wine cup and sets it back on the table. He is uncharacteristically cautious, like he thinks one unwise word will break the spell of whatever exists between you, this temptation, this need. “I’m saddened by the fact that you think of it that way. Because it doesn’t have to be…distasteful. Frightening. Coerced. It shouldn’t be, in fact.”

“I suppose I’ll find out if the Blacks win this war and Cregan Stark comes to claim me.”

Again, Aegon is exceptionally circumspect. “You’ve never wanted any man?”

“No. Never. Not in that way. Until…” You look at him, willing him to understand. I want you, but I’m so goddamn afraid to. I’m afraid of this world, I’m afraid there’s no hope left in it.

Slowly, Aegon smiles, soft and warm. And without any grasping, animalistic greed, he reaches over to rest a palm on your thigh, night-dark silk draped over skin that doesn’t flinch away from him, doesn’t even have to fight the instinct to. You place a hand on his. Your fingertips trace the gold wings of the green-eyed dragon ring he never takes off. And it is sealed like a covenant under the stars, this allegiance that neither of you could begin to explain to anyone else.

Footsteps are coming through Aegon’s bedchamber, heavy and purposeful. Otto Hightower appears in the balcony doorway. He fills the space like storm clouds flood a clear sky, like blood saturates linen. “You’re getting fat,” he tells Aegon gruffly.

“You’re getting ever more wrinkly and close to the afterlife.”

Otto glances to where Aegon’s hand still rests on your thigh and snaps: “If you’re well enough for that, perhaps you would deign to join us in the council chamber. You could shock everyone by actually acting like a king.”

Then he’s gone, taking those last echoes of the moment with him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“They know she’s here,” Larys Strong says. His audience is gathered around the table: Otto, Criston, Daeron, Grand Maester Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, the knights of the Kingsguard, Aegon slumped way down in his seat and you beside him feeling his forehead worriedly for fever. Because Aegon and Daeron are in attendance, the council chamber is one chair short. Aemond has elected to be the person to stand; he lurks, severe and silent, in a corner of the room half-lit by torchlight. Daeron is dressed in a vibrant teal, Aegon in black; Aemond wears green, dark and brooding like envy.

Criston Cole asks: “How is that possible?”

Otto sighs irritably, rubbing his forehead. “We have spies. I’m sure Rhaenyra does as well.”

“Someone apparently glimpsed the prince regent…um…” Larys searches for the diplomatic word. “Escorting her through the streets of King’s Landing.”

“Dragging is what he did,” Aegon says, glaring at Aemond. “Abducting. Attacking. Imprisoning.” Aemond, arms crossed over his chest, studies his boots and pretends not to have heard him.

Larys continues: “The Blacks don’t believe that she is here of her own volition.”

Otto’s eyes narrow. “What, they think we’ve detained her as some sort of…healer? Hostage?”

“No, my lord,” Larys says, hesitantly, awkwardly. “They don’t imagine the king’s motivations to be that honorable.”

Otto is losing his patience. “Meaning?”

Larys toys with his restless, rodentlike hands. “They think she is being…violated.”

A stilted, scandalized hush falls over the table. “Good,” Aegon says, invoking gasps and gapes. “If Green supporters believe her to be my captive, they won’t harm her. And if the Blacks think she is being held here against her will, she would be safe with them as well. No matter who wins, she is not in danger.”

“That is hardly beneficial for your own reputation, Your Grace,” Tyland Lannister says.

Aegon grins beneath cold eyes; he shows his teeth like a wolf, like a dragon. “Was my reputation so pristine to begin with, Lord Lannister?”

“No, perhaps not,” Tyland mumbles. Still, he should not have said it aloud. Otto huffs another sigh and rolls his eyes.

“So you intend to keep a Celtigar daughter in your service?” Otto says to Aegon.

“I have no doubts concerning her loyalty.”

Larys adds: “My lord, I must say, I cannot see a tactical advantage in her saving the king’s life if she retains any loyalty to Rhaenyra’s cause.”

“Then why save him at all? Why bother? He was lying there half-dead, soon to be properly dead, and she brought him back practically singlehandedly. Why?”

“Mercy,” Aemond says quietly from the corner, and everyone turns to look at him. “Many people have none of it. She perhaps has too much. And now they have grown…” He gestures vaguely, perhaps bashfully. “Attached to each other.”

Jasper Wylde is dismayed. “But the king has a wife.”

Daeron snickers. “Yes, and that has always proved to be such a deterrent in the past.”

“Daeron,” Aegon cautions mildly.

The youngest Targaryen brother obediently sobers and shows the palms of his hands in contrition. “My apologies.” He hides his face with a slurp of his wine cup.

“And what about Cregan Stark?!” Otto exclaims. “You’d encourage his outrage, his Northerner savagery? Seven hells, he thinks you’re spending your days raping his betrothed, do you imagine that will not invoke fiercer wrath, put all of us at greater risk?!”

“Lord Stark was never a reachable ally to our cause, in my estimation,” Larys says calmly.

“That’s not the point, Larys! The point is—!”

“I can offer you something in return for the heightened danger you have assumed,” you interrupt, and these men stare at you as if suddenly remembering that you are here in the room with them, not a phantom or a myth or a cautionary tale but someone real. Aegon glances over, one eyebrow raised on his drawn, perspiring face. He doesn’t know what you’re going to say either.

Otto peers menacingly across the table. “What could you possibly have to barter with? The king is well enough now. He will live with or without you.”

“I have information. I know the workings of Rhaenyra’s council in the leadup to Rook’s Rest.”

“You attended her council meetings?”

“No, but I spent evenings with my father and brothers as they discussed them.”

Otto sits back in his chair, pondering you. After a moment, he nods. “Go on then.”

“I want one concession before I reveal what I know.”

“Besides being permitted indefinite room and board in the Red Keep, which you are in no way entitled to?”

“Not negotiable,” Aegon says.

Otto chuckles, humorless, incredulous, shaking his head. “Fucking insane. Alright. What is it you want, girl?”

“If any member of House Celtigar is taken captive, I want them to be given the opportunity to swear fealty to King Aegon and receive a full pardon for their sins. If they refuse, they are to go to the Night’s Watch, not the scaffold.”

“That’s your price? That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Otto is amused. “Nothing for you? No gold, no land?”

“No.” The prospect hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Not very self-serving. So unlike a Celtigar.” Otto grins, not kindly at all. “Your terms are accepted.”

You begin. “The Greens possess great wealth, now split for safekeeping between Oldtown, Casterly Rock, and the Iron Bank of Braavos. But Rhaenyra’s funds are far more finite. My father has enriched her coffers in part with taxes placed upon houses of the Crownlands. You are always seeking new allies, people you can turn from her side to yours, Corlys Velaryon, the Dragonseeds. Thus far, you have been unsuccessful.” Otto frowns, but he is listening. “I know there are families who have compelling grievances concerning my father’s taxes. Families who have become disenchanted with Rhaenyra’s leadership…or lack thereof, they might say. Rosby, Stokeworth, Cave, Langward, Bourney, Boggs, Hardy, Chyttering. Probably others as well now. They occupy a tactically significant position, being so near to Dragonstone and Driftmark. And I believe if you wrote to them, they would answer.”

“I’ll send ravens,” Otto says. He marvels at you, like a puzzlingly strange creature, a luminescent fang-toothed fish from the depths of the ocean, a direwolf from beyond the Wall. “You don’t want your side to win this war?”

“I want the killing to stop. For both sides.”

“Well, you won’t get that. The bitch will never surrender. That hope died with little Luke Strong.” Otto glowers bitterly at where Aemond stands in the shadowy corner, but he addresses you. “That is your impression as well? She was entertaining the possibility of a truce before he died at Storm’s End?”

You steal a glimpse of Aemond, and you are struck by an unexpected stab of sympathy for him, compassion that feels like a betrayal of your knowledge of the torture he had planned for you. But what is there to say but the truth? “Rhaenyra was considering it very seriously. She and Daemon quarreled over the subject.”

“Of course they did.” Otto looks at Criston, then back to Aemond. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon,” Criston answers for the prince regent. “Very soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Otto spits like venom, and everyone else averts their eyes.

“My lord,” Larys intercedes. “There is one more matter to discuss, and I believe it will be of great interest to His Grace the king.”

Aegon is struggling to concentrate. He blinks groggily at the Master of Whisperers, his brow creased with pain. You smooth his damp, white-blond hair back from his face, threading his braid through your fingertips; you refill his wine cup and give it to him. When Aegon lifts it to his lips, his hands shake so badly he spills scarlet beads like blood down his chin. He wipes them away with his sleeve. Grand Maester Orwyle offers him a small glass bottle of milk of the poppy, but Aegon refuses it.

“Is he alright?” Daeron mutters to you.

“He’s fine. He’s tired, that’s all.”

“Waste no time, Lord Larys,” Aegon says. “I fear Grandsire’s ire has exhausted me. He’s more ferocious than a dragon. We should find a saddle that fits, perhaps Criston could ride him to the Riverlands.”

“Keep guzzling wine, I’m sure that will improve your condition,” Otto bites back.

Larys continues: “It concerns Rook’s Rest.”

Now he has everyone’s attention. “What about Rook’s Rest?” Aegon says. Instinctively, he’s begun twisting the golden dragon ring on his left hand.

“I received word one hour ago that the Blacks have retaken it.”

“What?!” Otto shouts; the rest of the table is in uproar. Criston stands and goes to conspire with Aemond in the corner of the council chamber, urgent indecipherable whispers.

“Sunfyre,” Aegon says frantically. “I have to go to him, I have to get him out—”

“He is already gone, Your Grace,” Larys replies.

“Gone…?”

“Lord Walys Mooton went down to the beach to slay the dragon once his men had taken the castle. He was burned alive.”

“Perfect,” Daeron says, beaming radiantly.

“Lord Mooton’s men fled for their lives, and when they returned, Sunfyre had disappeared. He could not be found anywhere in the vicinity of Rook’s Rest. Moreover, his footprints in the sand stopped abruptly. Which means he must have departed—”

“Into the water…?” Tyland Lannister says, perplexed.

“No,” Larys corrects him. “Into the sky.”

“Sunfyre is flying again?” Aegon asks, his face childlike, astonished.

“That’s impossible,” Criston says. “His wing was broken, I saw it.”

Larys drums his fingers on the tabletop. “I cannot conceive of any other explanation.”

“Then he’ll find me.” Aegon smiles. Sweat snakes down his temples; his face is white, bloodless, barren like the moon. “When Sunfyre is ready, he’ll find me and we’ll be together again.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Otto exhales. “The Old, the New, that ghastly Drowned one…” He waves a hand at you. “And do you have any to add, Lady Celtigar? Some crab deity your traitorous people worship?”

“I regret to disappoint you, my lord. To my knowledge we have none.”

“Three useable dragons,” Otto says, mostly to himself. “Three is good. With three, we have a chance. And if I can recruit Vermithor or Silverwing…”

“I should go with you when you and Criston march north,” Daeron tells Aemond.

“No,” Aemond returns immediately.

“If you’re going after Daemon, you could use me,” Daeron insists. “Tessarion and I can help.”

“You are needed in the Reach with Lord Ormund Hightower.”

“You just want him all to yourself,” Daeron realizes, exasperated. “You want to be able to say that you were the person to neutralize the Blacks’ greatest asset, that you won the war—!”

Criston says: “He’s not going on some suicide mission chasing Daemon and Caraxes all over the Riverlands. He’s staying with me and the army. He’s using Vhagar logically, responsibly. Right, Aemond?”

“Of course,” Aemond answers, entirely toneless.

Otto whirls to Aegon. “And when will you be able to fight again? Soon, I hope. Surely the culmination of your existence is not one single instance of utility before lapsing back into being some drunken, idiot degenerate.”

In reply, Aegon moans and crumples to the floor. Grand Maester Orwyle and the men of the Kingsguard rush to him, but Criston gets there first; when you cannot rouse the king, Criston throws him over one shoulder—increasingly difficult with each pound Aegon gains, softness and health that you consider a great victory—and ferries him back to bed. As you follow after them, you hesitate in the doorway of the council chamber. Now that Criston is gone, Otto has crossed the room and pinned Aemond to the wall. His large hands, heavy with rings, are pressed to Aemond’s chest; his face is snarling, wicked, callous.

“You have to fix this. You have to end it.”

“I know,” Aemond replies softly.

“Everything that’s happened is your fault.”

“I know,” Aemond says again, then rips free from Otto’s grasp and flees the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, Criston leads his army out of the city. They will meet reinforcements on the road between the capital and the Riverlands. There is infantry on foot and cavalry on horses; above them in a blue sky cluttered with vast, cottony clouds are Aemond and Vhagar. As they head north, Daeron and Tessarion fly south towards the Reach to rejoin Ormund Hightower and his men. In Winterfell, Cregan Stark is receiving word of where (and with whom) his betrothed currently resides. At Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are kindling rumors like dry wood in a fire. On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra is nursing her rage and paranoia like a hungry child, like a wounded man who has milk of the poppy poured down his throat. And you remain static here in King’s Landing, anchored, steadfast, something immoveable like the ocean or the shore it meets.

You can see Aegon’s bedchamber windows from the beach. You keep glancing up at them, though you know he won’t be there; the sunlight is too harsh today, the potential damage to his skin too great. In a month, he may be able to venture outside as he used to. In two or three, he might be able to fight again. He might be able to kill more than just one errant Norcross boy who dared to touch you.

“Helaena wouldn’t come down to join us?” you ask Autumn. You’re walking with her in the surf, the hems of your held aloft so the froth of the waves can wash over your ankles. Perhaps ten yards away and out of earshot, Alicent is kneeling in the sand and playing with Jaehaera and Maelor. They are her great comfort now; they are not the only purpose she has left, but they are the kindest. Their tiny hands are preoccupied with building a sandcastle and adorning it with seashells, pebbles, shards of driftwood, strings of seaweed like green ribbons. You’ve started to notice how much Jaehaera resembles Aegon, his murky blue eyes and his high cheekbones and his gentleness that no one else seems to recognize. You’ve started to see him everywhere you look.

Autumn shrugs, her face apologetic. Her hair is more than just copper in the afternoon daylight; it is fire, it is blood. “I really tried. You know how she is.”

“I’ll visit her afterwards.”

“She unnerves me,” Autumn says, stroking her round belly and shuddering. She earns her keep here by helping to look after Helaena, Jaehaera, and Maelor. Aegon treats Autumn the same way he treats his wife and children, which is to say he generally ignores her; on the rare occasion he is subjected to her presence for more than a fleeting moment, he becomes uneasy, irritable. Autumn does not appear to be offended. She says this is the best job she’s ever had. “She’s always muttering the strangest things. Caterpillars and crabs and dragons and only the gods know what else. Yesterday she told me not to dance with the half-year queen. What the fuck does that mean?”

“Helaena’s a bit different,” you admit.

“She’s inbred, that’s what she is. I can’t imagine what those kids are going to grow up to be like. A brother and sister for parents? It’s a wonder they don’t have feathers or tails.” Autumn taps the swell of her belly. “At least this one—if it’s a Targaryen after all—has had its bloodline thoroughly diluted.”

You watch her standing there in the fiery late-afternoon light, this body that has comforted, consoled, satisfied, suffered, known so many men. “What does it feel like?” you ask quietly.

“What? Being with child?”

“No, the…um…the act that led to it.”

“Oh, yes.” Autumn stretches with her hands on the small of her back and smiles vaguely, nostalgically. “That’s the strange thing. It can feel like heaven or hell or nothing at all. If the man knows what he’s doing, and cares enough to try, he can make it better for you.”

“Better how?”

She furrows her brow, shoots you a skeptical sideways glance. She is aware that you are inexperienced, but the extent of your blind spots continuously shock her. It occurs to you that perhaps naivety is a privilege; some cannot recall a time before they were acquainted with truths of the world that others consider forbidden. “You know. He’ll use his hands or his mouth to get you ready. Or better yet, both at once.”

“Ready,” you repeat, not understanding.

“Well, you see…” Autumn takes a moment to decide how best to explain. “Men change when they are aroused, yes? Women do the same. It takes longer, and it is not always so obvious. But it is vital. The more ready you are, the more comfortably he will fit inside you.”

“And what if he doesn’t get you ready? If he doesn’t have the skill, or he doesn’t believe it’s necessary, or he doesn’t even know that’s something women require?” Or he just wants to hurt you. He just wants to watch you bleed like something he goes into the woods to kill and gut and devour.

Autumn smirks cynically. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“The sizes involved. Some men are bigger than others, and women have different dimensions as well. Couples can be well-matched or not. Sometimes it isn’t too bad. Sometimes it feels like you’re being ripped apart. And that doesn’t necessarily stop after the first time either.”

“And you can’t say no.”

“You can say no all you want. But he doesn’t have to listen.”

You peer out over Blackwater Bay, sunbeams flashing on wave crests and gulls swooping in the reddening sky. But you don’t really see it. What you see are fingerprints of dirt or ash on your thighs, snow in your hair, books laden with dust, fur coats and evergreen trees, rust-stains of blood on bedsheets.

“I’ve heard that Lord Stark is a very large man,” Autumn nudges. She knows, everyone knows.

“He’s massive,” you say forlornly. “He’s taller than Aemond and twice as broad.”

“The king isn’t so big,” she says, pretending that the thought has just popped into her mind, as if she hasn’t noticed the way you and Aegon look at each other, speak to each other, find excuses to touch each other.

“No,” you agree in a whisper.

“And he’s not a brute. I can’t fairly speak to his skill, I never had him anywhere close to sober. But he has no appetite for women’s pain. That’s a valuable gem in a man, it’s like stumbling across a ruby or a pearl.”

You nod; but you don’t want to think about Autumn lying with Aegon. You don’t want to think about the child they might share. In a world so dark, it seems cruel to begrudge people creating life where none existed before. But when you picture Aegon touching someone else, that darkness seeps in through your skin like rain soaks the earth and can’t find its way out. “We’re going to the library together tomorrow, aren’t we?”

Autumn groans. “Did I agree to that? I don’t believe I did.”

She did not, this is true; you badgered, she deflected. “You’ll enjoy it.”

“I am illiterate.”

“I told you. I’ll teach you how to read.”

“Why would I want to stare at ink marks in a book all day when I could be outside in the sunshine listening to the ocean and herding inbred little freaks like sheep?”

“Because books can take you anywhere,” you say.

“I like where I am. I’ve never seen anyplace better.”

“Okay, Autumn,” you concede, smiling. “I’ll ask again tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll change your mind.”

“Say hello to Helaena for me,” she says, meandering back towards Alicent and the children. Her footprints in the sand are erased when the gurgling waves roll over them. “Maybe one of those fancy books can help you translate lunacy into the Common Tongue.”

Upstairs in her bedchamber, Helaena is standing in front of an open window. It doesn’t offer a view of the ocean; it is positioned over a courtyard of sandstone and chatting courtiers. Helaena does not seem to hear them. She gazes out into the sunset, celestial rage on her impassive face.

“He’s leaving soon,” she says, not turning to look at you.

“Who, Helaena? Aemond? He left days ago. He’s already gone, he’s on his way to the Riverlands. But he’ll be back soon.” You don’t know if that’s true—it probably isn’t, in fact—but you’re certain that Helaena misses him. Her children do too; he is more of a father to them than Aegon has ever been, not in body but in soul.

She only repeats: “He’s leaving soon.”

“Helaena, what—?”

“He’ll leave you. Then you’ll leave him. He’ll make you.”

At last, and very slowly, she revolves like the stripe of shadow across a sundial. In her cupped palms is a butterfly, shimmering gold wings and spiderlike black legs. It takes flight, flutters aimlessly through the vermillion air, escapes out the open window.

~~~~~~~~~~

A peculiar twist of fate: his palm on your forehead, his whispers through your hair. Now he is the one who has stolen into your bed when the moon and stars hang high in the darkness outside. There is a noise somewhere beyond him, disembodied and hazy, that reminds you of torrential rain: omnipresent, thunderous.

“Angel,” Aegon is saying. “Wake up. Please wake up. I have to go.”

Go? Go where? You murmur, still half-asleep: “You can’t leave.” He isn’t strong enough yet. He can’t fight, he can’t run.

“I have to. They’re here.”

“Who…?”

The answer comes from the sounds that you are only now awake enough to understand: screaming, pounding boots, slamming doors, the ravenous crackling of fire, the shrieking of dragons. You have learned all of their unearthly voices. That’s not Vhagar or Tessarion or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre… It flashes by your windows, a comet of gold and flames.

You bolt out of bed. “Rhaenyra—?!”

“Rhaenyra, Syrax, Daemon, Caraxes.”

Daemon shouldn’t be here. He should be losing battles to Aemond and Criston. “But he’s at Harrenhal!”

“Not anymore.” Aegon takes your hand and pulls you out into the hallway, the hem of your nightgown billowing around your legs, his short silver hair flying behind him. There are servants and guards rushing by you, weeping, shouting, searching for places to hide. Grand Maester Orwyle ambles towards the rookery to send out ravens. Several rooms away, you can hear Helaena wailing and Autumn trying to soothe her. Larys Strong intercepts Aegon and gives him a hooded cloak; Aegon yanks it over his bare, mutilated chest, whimpering as the rapid movement strains the red-and-ivory disarray of scar tissue that used to be his skin. “You have everything?” he asks Larys hoarsely. You notice now that the Master of Whisperers has a satchel slung over one shoulder.

“Yes, Your Grace. Milk of the poppy, rose oil, the crown.”

“Wine?”

Larys produces a bottle. Aegon gulps down half of it, then passes the rest to you. You hesitate before finishing the wine, red like the sigil of House Celtigar, like fire, like blood. “They are closing all roads out of the city,” Larys tells Aegon, speaking swiftly. “King’s Landing will be taken. We will surrender. We cannot fight a dragon, let alone two.”

“Aemond and Criston—?”

“Daemon must have outflanked them.”

Aegon grabs your hand again and does not let go as he trails Larys through corridors and down claustrophobically tight spiral staircases. “The roads are blocked,” Aegon explains to you breathlessly. “But there are secret passageways beneath the castle. I know them. Larys knows them. Daemon probably knows them too, but he has other places to be.”

And through a window of a staircase, you see him: Caraxes spiraled around the apex of the Tower of the Hand, screaming fire into the sky before descending the length of the tower towards the hoards of hysterical courtiers fleeing below, his claws jostling loose bricks that rain down on them.

The bottom of the stairwell opens up into a large, dusty, dirt-floored chamber with stone tunnels leading in every direction like spokes of a wheel. Alicent is there, sobbing wildly, and so is Otto. Otto is telling Jaehaera that she must be a brave little girl and go with Sir Willis Fell. Alicent is giving Maelor over to Sir Rickard Thorne, your once-alleged-kinfolk. The child is panicked and crying, flushed face and white hair. Aegon glances at the scene and then keeps moving, towing you along with him.

“Princess Jaehaera will go to Storm’s End,” Larys says. “Prince Maelor will go to Oldtown. They face execution if they stay. We must risk smuggling them out of the city.”

“What about Aegon?” you ask as the three of you hasten into a corridor thick with cobwebs and illuminated by torchlight. The stone ceiling is arched and perhaps seven feet tall; faintly, you can still hear the muffled turmoil of King’s Landing falling to Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“I’m going Dragonstone.” And it does not elude you that he didn’t say we. “If Rhaenyra is here, that likely means Dragonstone is vacant. I will go to the Crownlands families that you believe to be willing to betray her and beg them for support. I will take Dragonstone and prepare a counterassault from there. Hopefully Sunfyre will find me. Hopefully I’m not killed on the way.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’m going too.”

“You’re staying in King’s Landing.”

“No.” You stop dead, wrenching your hand out of Aegon’s. “No, what if you get hurt, or sick, or what if you get really bad again—?!”

“Listen!” he shouts with dire intensity, his eyes wide and pleading in the torchlight. “I can’t protect you. I can’t even protect myself. There could be bandits on the road, there could be Black soldiers, there could be animals, there could be fucking anything. I can’t take you with me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get to Dragonstone. But I know if I stay here Rhaenyra will murder me. I don’t have a choice. I have one option, and it’s not good. But you’ll be safe in King’s Landing.”

“Aegon, no—”

“The Blacks don’t think you’re here by choice. They think I’ve imprisoned you. Tell them that’s what happened and they will welcome you back. Your family will protect you.”

“Aegon, please don’t—”

His palm on your cheek, his braid coming unraveled in his hair. “You will wait out the war with them. And when it’s over I’ll find you.” Tears glistening in his eyes, his voice going soft and tender. “If I’m still alive, I’ll find you. I swear to all the gods I will.”

He’s leaving. He’s really leaving. “What can I do?” you ask, your words strangled; your throat is burning, your eyes wet. “What can I do to help you?”

And you expect him to say things you already know: Don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve heard in the Greens’ council meetings. Instead, Aegon grins as he says: “Try to get one of your three superfluous sisters to seduce Cregan Stark.”

You laugh, the sound echoing off ancient, filthy stones.

“My mother and Otto are waiting for you. You will be with them when they are taken to Rhaenyra. They are high-ranking prisoners of war, they will be spared the brutality of the Black soldiers and so will you. They will corroborate that you were my captive.”

“I understand.”

“I have to go now,” Aegon says like an apology, swiping tears from your face with his thumbs. He breaks away from you and follows Larys Strong down the tunnel. They are shadows under the torchlight, cloaks and whispers.

“Aegon,” you call after him, and he stops. I never told you what I wanted. I never told you what I feel for you. “What if I never see you again?”

You don’t know what you want him to do or say. There’s nothing that could make this right. But he soars back to you, takes you roughly and desperately, buries his hands in your hair and kisses you deeply, tasting like wine and heat and the smoke filling the world outside. He means for it to be quick, but he can’t stop. His tongue darts between your lips, his hips press to yours, you arch into him wanting more, infinitely more.

What was I so afraid of? you think dizzily. How could I be afraid of anything with him?

“Your Grace,” Larys appeals regretfully. “Please. We don’t have much time.”

Aegon twists off his dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—and slips it onto your left hand. And you’re still staring down at it, mystified, as Aegon disentangles himself from you and vanishes into the darkness.

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