#we’ve been getting so much barb content

[arvandus]

[skbeaumont]

Just a Graze | Joel x Reader oneshot

One-shot Joel/Reader. Previously posted in two parts but thought I'd make a masterpost for this one.

Summary: Joel comes back injured, and while you patch him up the tension that's been building for several months threatens to break.

Tags/warnings: dirty talk, explicit content, language, injury detail (not explicit), MDNI, sexual tension, PIV, oral (F receiving), FILTH

Word Count: 4.3k

Joel’s bleeding when he gets back. The screen door clatters shut behind him, wire shuddering against the wood, and you look up from the table. His face is set, a solid frown painted across his features – nothing unusual – but there’s a downward turn to his mouth that you recognise as a pained expression. He steps in and leans against the counter, one hand on the warped wood, the other pressed against his shoulder. Blood seeps through his fingers, clotting around his knuckles, staining his jacket red.

“I’m okay,” he says as you spring up from your place at the dusty kitchen table, “it’s just a graze.”

“Bullet?” You ask, ignoring his attempts to wave off your concern.

“Barbed wire,” he says, letting you lead him further into the cabin, toward the misshapen couch, “stupid mistake, I didn’t see it.”

The shotgun clatters onto the floor at his feet as he collapses onto the couch with a groan. He doesn’t protest as you pull his fist away from the wound, your hand warm against his wind-chilled fingers. The cut isn’t deep, but the wire has torn through his jacket and shirt down to the flesh of his shoulder, leaving a jagged cut that’s oozing blood.

“You must be getting old,” you say, standing to search through your pack for the first aid kit, “your eyes are going as well as your ears.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with my eyes. Or my ears.”

“Sorry?”

“I said, there-” he notices your grin, the glint of mischief in your eye. He sighs heavily. “You’re a damn pain in my ass.”

You huff out a laugh and pull a kitchen chair across to sit opposite him. You open the first aid kit – which is really no more than a small washbag stuffed with a bottle of Lysol and a handful of bandages – on your lap, pull out the disinfectant and start unscrewing the cap. “Can you take your jacket off?” You ask, and he nods, starts unzipping it and pulling it off of his uninjured arm. He winces a little as he peels it past his bad shoulder, shakes it down his arm and lays it over his lap, frowning at the gash in the fabric.

“I can patch that up when we get back to Jackson.” You say.

“Ain’t going back ‘til we’ve something to bring back.” He replies, and now it’s your turn to sigh.

“We’ve got two deer and a whole family of rabbits, Joel. There’s nothing else out here for us to get.”

“We both saw that clinic complex, and I ain’t arguing with you about this again. Winter’s well on its way, and we need as much medicine as we can get to make it through. I almost got in today – would have, if I hadn’t got caught on that damned barbed wire. We’ll both go back tomorrow.”

He fixes you with a hard stare, one that makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, though whether it’s through fear or something else, you’re not sure. You’ve been partnering up for a couple of months now, going out on hunts and supply runs, growing slowly closer over long hikes and cold nights camping out under the stars.

At first, he intimidated you. He was cold, harsh; a solid bulk of a man who never smiled and rarely spoke, except to tell you to keep your voice down or stop walking so loudly. But then, gradually, he’d started loosening up around you. A few weeks ago he’d cracked a smile at a joke you’d made – something stupid about a bird in a tree, the kind of joke your dad used to make when you were a kid – and then that smile had grown into a deep chuckle a couple of days later, and then a conversation, whispered and illusive, under a starry sky last week.

This latest trip outside Jackson had been the most enjoyable yet, conversation flowing easily between you, and you were starting to suspect that the strange swooping feeling in your stomach that arose each time he looked at you, or bumped against you as you walked had a lot less to do with how intimidating he could be, and a lot more to do with him.

Now, locking eyes with him over the opened bottle of Lysol, his eyes dark and with an argument boiling up between you, that feeling blossoms into something hot and delicious, stirring a fire in your belly that makes you bold.

“From where I’m sat,” you say, tipping the bottle of Lysol so that the disinfection pours out onto a clean swab, “you don’t seem to have much choice about what we’re doing next. You’re hurt, and I need to patch you up, so stop arguing and take your shirt off.”

He opens his mouth to argue but shuts it again, eyes flicking up to your face. A hint of red creeps up his neck, settling high on his cheeks, tinging them scarlet in the low light of the cabin. You keep glaring at him. He lets out a long breath through his nose and moves to unbutton his shirt. The shirt is old, vintage, even – probably older than you – with mismatched buttons and a crumpled, frayed look. It comes apart easily, Joel’s fingers working down the buttons nimbly until he reaches the bottom. He pauses there, looks up at your face. You look away, because heat is creeping up your own neck now, hot and unbridled, as he pushes the shirt off of his shoulders and lets it fall open onto the couch behind him.

After his dark eyes, the most notable thing about Joel is his stature. He’s tall, and broad enough to fill any room he’s in. You’ve seen him lift grown men like they weigh nothing, watched him pick up a dead deer and throw it over one shoulder without so much as a stumble. Last month you went out on horseback to scope a potential hunting ground, and, sitting behind him in the saddle, you couldn’t see anything past the triangular bulk of his shoulders, your hands clasped easily around his waist. So, yeah, you know he’s strong, could tell anyone that the man is built. But when you look at him in the half-light with his shirt off, uncovered by layers of leather or plaid, the sight still sends blood rushing to your face.

His shoulders are broad, curving into thick biceps that tense as he raises a hand to scratch, self-consciously, at the back of his neck. There are small scars littering his chest, running down in narrow white slices to his belly, which is softer than the rest of him, sloping and scattered with coarse hair that continues below the buckle of his belt. You want to press your face into it, kiss the contours of his bellybutton and the plains of his chest, up to the juncture of his throat, which bobs as he swallows, eyes shifting to catch yours.

“You gonna patch me up or just stare?” He asks, and there’s something teasing in his voice, something that causes heat and slick to pool in between your thighs. “I- you’ve got a lot of scars.” You say, stupidly, tipping more Lysol onto the cloth you’re holding.

“Had a lot of run-ins with barbed wire.” He replies, the words turning to a hiss when you press the wet cloth to the cut on his shoulder.

“Should be more careful.”

“Now where would the fun be in that, darlin’?”

Oh, that’s new. You’ve heard him call Ellie pet names before, laughed when she rolls her eyes and shirks away from his affections, all fifteen years old and too cool to be coddled. But he’s never called you anything but your name – never so much as shortened it to a nickname like almost everyone else does. You flick your gaze from his wound to his face. His eyes are dark, expression unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze makes you look away, cheeks reddening. You pull the cloth away from his arm and start wrapping a clean bandage around his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says, after a pause. “I forget, sometimes. Recently.”

“Forget what?”

“That you’re young enough to be my-” He cuts himself off here, “that you’re a hell of a lot younger’n I am.”

This makes you laugh out loud, a huff of breath exhaled. You’re still opposite each other, him on the sofa, knees spread wide, you in the kitchen chair. If you inched forward only slightly your own legs would be between his.

“Old days I’d have been old enough to drink and drive, and more than old enough to flirt, Joel.”

“That what you want? You want me to flirt with you?” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

You shrug and hold his gaze. “I think it’s what you want too. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I can’t see you.”

You have. He thinks he’s being discrete, but you’ve seen how his eyes linger on your legs, how he can’t help but drop his gaze to your chest when you wear something low cut. A few weeks ago you’d seen him adjust himself in his jeans when you stripped down to your underwear to bathe in a stream you’d come across after two days out searching for supplies.

“And how’s that?” He asks. You have to hold yourself back from leaning forward and kissing the worried crease of his mouth.

“Like you’re a man dying of thirst and I’m an oasis.”

He scoffs at that. “Shoulda been a writer, sweetheart.”

“And how does this story end?”

“Ends with you walking away from me like you should’ve months ago. This,” he flicks a finger at himself and then you, “ain’t happening.”

“Why not? You want it, I want it. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Problem is,” he slides his arms off the sofa, reaching back to pull his shirt back up over his shoulders, “you think you know what you want, but you don’t.” He starts buttoning the shirt, fixing you with a stern look. “Trust me.”

He tries to stand but you put your hands on his knees, holding him in place.

“No way,” You say, your heart thumping in your chest, “you don’t get to decide what I do or don’t want.”

“What do you want? You want me to fuck you? Want me to spread your pretty little legs out across this couch and make you come on my tongue?”

Yes. God, yes.

“What if I do? What if that’s exactly what I want you to do?” You slide your hands further up his legs, holding him down on the couch. If he wanted to, he could push you off easily, but he doesn’t. When your fingertips reach the tops of his thighs he slides his hands over your wrists and pins them where they are, stopping you moving any higher.

“Find someone your own age, sweetheart. Someone whose knees don’t creak when the stand up. Someone who can make you happy.” And then he’s standing up, moving your hands off of him with ease, stepping around you in the kitchen chair to stride to the other side of the room, the tension collapsing in on itself as he tells you to get some sleep, that there’s more work to do tomorrow.

*****

The next morning brings rain. It hammers against the walls of the cabin and drips in through the leaky roof. Joel stands at the window, one hand on his hip, silently looking out at the downpour.

“Tell me you’re not considering going out in this?” You say, moving up behind him to peer out at the lashing rain.

“Might ease up later.” He says, turning to face you. “There’s enough to do in here to keep us occupied, anyway.”

“Guns?” You ask.

“Guns.” He agrees.

Joel’s fanatical about keeping the guns clean and working. It makes sense, you suppose. You don’t know much about his past, about how he and Ellie ended up in Jackson, but what you’ve heard, the snippets Ellie’s confided in you over quiet conversations, makes for grim listening. To Joel, those guns mean the difference between life and death.

And so you both sit at the kitchen table, meticulously cleaning Joel’s shotgun and your pistol, passing cloths and gun oil between you. You make casual conversation as you go, neither of you touching on the events of the previous evening. After he dismissed you last night you’d gone straight to bed, tucked yourself into the dusty single bed in the bedroom while Joel took the couch. Your dreams had been hazy and pleasant, and you’d woken up flushed.

You’re sliding the magazine back into your pistol when Joel jumps and swears, pulling his hand back from where he’s trapped his finger in the loading mechanism of the shotgun. A tiny bead of blood wells up and spills over his fingertip and he sighs heavily. You reach out and take his hand in yours to examine the cut. It's tiny - you've seen paper-cuts do more damage - but Joel's frowning like he's in pain.

“You’ve gotta stop being so clumsy.” You say.

“I’m not clumsy.” He replies, letting you turn his hand in yours, watching you watch his thick fingers, take in the breadth of his knuckles.

“No?”

“No. It’s-”

You're not sure what makes you do it - maybe it's frustration still boiling over from yesterday, maybe it's the way Joel looks at you as you clasp his large hand in your own smaller one -  but before he can finish speaking you pull his arm across the table and wrap your lips around his finger. You snake your tongue over the pad of the digit and the noise he makes then - a breathy, broken groan - sends fire surging through you, heat coiling between your thighs.

“Distraction.” He finishes.

When you pull your mouth away and place a wet kiss to the palm of his hand, he slides his fingers across your jaw and up into the mess of your hair. His hand is hot against your scalp, curving around the back of your neck, leading you forward so that he can fit his mouth against yours across the table.

Pleasure flutters out from the pull of his fingers in your hair, and his lips are soft and dry until he opens his mouth to you, guiding your tongue into his mouth, pressing his into yours. It’s slow at first. Tentative, as though he’s waiting for you to push him away. But you’ve never wanted anything more, and when you moan against his lips he stands, bracketing your face with both hands to pull you up from your own chair.

It’s a messy walk backwards from the table. You bump against the broken coffee table, pull away from his mouth to curse and rub your shin, but then he’s falling back onto the couch, pulling you down into his lap so that your thighs are bracketing his legs.

You pause like that, looking at each other, both breathless and dazed, lips bruised.

“This what you want?” He asks again, placing his hand at your jaw gently. His fingers are thick, hand so large that his thumb rests at your temple and while his index finger sits under your chin.

“I want you, Joel. Please.”

When he kisses you again, it’s hungry and animalistic. All pretence of hesitation is gone. He presses his mouth to your throat, lets his teeth scrape the delicate skin below your ear.

“This is still a bad idea.” He says, voice breaking when you roll your hips against his. ”Shit.”

“Please, Joel.” Your voice sounds tiny, shrill to your own ears, desperate and pathetic, but Joel bites at the juncture of your neck and it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except the feel of his hands on your hips, guiding you against him, pulling your clothed cunt against where he’s impossibly hard in his jeans.

“I’m gonna take this off.” He says, pulling at your shirt, tugging it up over your head. “And this.” He runs a hand over your covered tit, pinches your nipple beneath the thin fabric of your bra, rolls it between his finger and thumb while his other hand slides up your back and unclasps it. It falls between you, forgotten immediately.

“Fuck, darlin’, look at you.” He says, running the knuckle of his index finger over the swell of your chest, down along your ribs and across one hip. He lets his hand fall away, brings it back up to the side of your face, pulls your lips back to his and drags your bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth.

Pain and pleasure blossom through you, make you scrabble at the buttons of his shirt, fingers shaking as you try and get them undone. He helps, slides the shirt off of his back, careful where his shoulder is still sore. He balls it up and casts it across the room, then grips your hips and lifts you, turning you onto your back on the sofa, pressing himself between your open thighs. The change in angle presses the seam of your jeans against your clit, a jolt of pleasure rocking through you.

“You ever done this before?” He asks, hovering over you, dipping down to press a chaste kiss against your collarbone.

“I ain’t that innocent, Joel.” You reply, gasping when he pulls your nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth. “Have you?”

This earns you a deep chuckle, a hushed whisper against the back of your neck, “I’ve been doing this since before you were born, baby.”

And, fuck, that shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does. It has your hips lifting up, seeking out friction. Joel notices and slides down your body, dropping onto his knees on the floor. He runs one hand up the inside of your thigh, presses his thumb expertly against your covered clit.

“I’m gonna take these off now, and then you’re gonna come on my tongue. That sound okay?”

You nod, voice lost as he undoes the button on your jeans and pulls them down in one motion, pushing them away in the direction of his discarded shirt.

“Look how wet you are for me already.” He glides two fingers over the front of your soaked underwear, up to the waistband to hook them off.

And then he leans forward, presses light kisses up your thighs until he reaches your cunt. He pauses, blows a cool strip of air against you that has you trying to close your legs, but his hands are there, pinning them open for him. When he seals his lips over your clit and drags his tongue over it you thread your fingers through his hair, pull at the black-grey strands. You squeeze your eyes shut but he pulls away, chastises you gently.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” His voice is like molten chocolate, rich and dark, pulling you back so that you gaze down at him.

He swipes his tongue over your slit, gathers the slick that’s pooling there. He’s like a man possessed, eyes dark, hair standing up on end from where you’ve run your hands through it, cursing and moaning as he slides his tongue over your clit, starting up a firm and consistent rhythm that has you bucking against him. His hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, his forearms corded with muscle, biceps flexing up to those impossibly broad shoulders.

“You gonna come on my tongue?” He asks, hardly breaking away from you to grunt out the question.

“Yes, Joel, fuck, please.” You can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, can hardly force yourself to keep your eyes on him where he kneels between your thighs like you’re an altar and he’s a lonely priest begging for repentance. It’s this thought – the idea of him worshipping you, tongue lapping over your clit, his eyes blazing with lust – that tips you over the edge. Your cunt clenches around nothing, body wracked with pleasure as you come, hard, on his tongue. He grins into your cunt as he feels you come apart against him, continues pressing sloppy, wet kisses to your pussy as you come down from the high, limbs shaking. When you finally push him away, overly sensitive and buzzing with pleasure, he rocks back on his heels, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Your pleasure is painted across his face, his greying stubble wet with your slick.

He crawls back up onto the couch between your thighs, dips his head to kiss you. You taste yourself on his lip; on his tongue when he sweeps it against the back of your teeth, heady and sweet. He presses himself against you, drags the front of his jeans over your bare skin. The buckle of his belt catches against your bare stomach and you hiss into his mouth, reach down to unbuckle it. It comes off easily, falls to the floor with a dull thud, and then you slip your fingers through the buttons of his jeans, undo them quickly, desperate to get them off. He stands briefly, pushes them the rest of the way down his thick thighs and then kneels back between your legs. Immediately you slide your hand into the waistband of his briefs. He feels like velvet wrapped around steel, hot and delicious in your fist. He groans into your mouth as you palm him desperately, sliding delicate skin over the head of him, feathering the pad of your thumb against his slit. When you draw his cock out you break away from his needy mouth to look. He’s big: thick, curving slightly to the left, head already weeping precum.

“Fist feels so good wrapped around my cock, sweetheart.” He tells you, “You gonna let me fuck you?”

It’s the easiest yes you’ve ever given. He chuckles darkly at your needy reply, pushes his briefs the rest of the way off and wraps his own fist around his cock. He slides himself over your cunt, coating himself in your juices. Then he’s notching the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, sucking in a breath as he pushes in gently, slowly, stretching you out deliciously.

“Good girl,” He murmurs, easing himself deeper, feeling you flex and clench around him, “good fucking girl.”

He stills when he’s fully seated inside you, sucks at a spot under your jaw that makes you gasp with pleasure, runs one big palm up your body to paw at your breast, trying to collect himself, twitching inside you with the effort of staying still.

“Cunt’s so goddamn tight, baby.” His voice is broken, pitchy and breathy against your ear.

You run your hands over his back, feeling out the breadth of his shoulders, the thin scars that lace across them, his muscles bunching and flexing beneath your fingers when he finally – finally – starts to move inside you, rocking his hips into yours, dragging himself all the way out and then gliding back in. The head of his cock hits something inside you that sends white hot pleasure jolting through your belly. The cabin is silent now – the rain has stopped – the only sounds are your frantic breathing and low, breathy moans, and Joel’s whispered praises as he rocks against you.

Good girl, so fucking good for me, letting me fuck you like this, cunt so tight around me, could come just thinking about it.

It’s dirty and sloppy and fucking incredible. The power you’ve seen him exert on infected and drunkards and raiders suddenly coiled over you, his muscles pulling you taunt against him when he changes the angle, sits up, pulls you with him so that you’re riding him, his cock somehow buried deeper in your cunt, your thighs bracketing him. You can feel yourself growing closer to release again, pleasure notching up in your belly like fire spreading. Joel shifts slightly again, makes space for his hand to come between you, places his thumb against your clit and presses, draws out slow, gentle circles that match the pace of his thrusts.

“Need my thumb on you clit while my cock’s buried inside you, sweetheart? Gonna come again just like this, huh? Dirty fucking girl.”

His words are like fuel on the fire and within seconds you’re moaning and shaking, cunt clenching around him as you come, harder than before, on his cock. Joel fucks you through it, keeps the steady pressure on your clit.

“Gonna make me come in this tight little pussy,” He says, and you know you shouldn’t, know you should make him pull out, but he feels so good inside you that you grind down on him telling him yes, please, fist your hands into his hair to pull his mouth against yours. The kiss is desperate and messy, all teeth and tongue. He hisses into your mouth as you buck your hips and drive them down on him, and then he’s swearing, fingers digging hard into your hips.

"Jesus, you feel so fucking good, baby, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna- shit.” He pulses inside you, painting your cunt with his come, hot and wet inside you.

You continue rocking against each other, slowly, coming down from the high. When he slides out of you and shifts away the old sofa groans out in protest, springs creaking. It makes you laugh, breathless, racking laughter than drives away the sudden realisation of what you’ve just done, of how you’ve indelibly changed the way you look at each other, the relationship between you.

“That was… fucking hell, Joel, that was incredible.”

He’s looking at you sideways, his hair still a mess, stubble still coated with your slick. He’s naked and vulnerable and you think it might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. When he leans across to slot his lips against yours you grin against him, trying not to think about what happens next.

[thatwildnya]

Ch. 6: Filling the Powder Keg part 1

TW: none

chatters

Wild: As I promised after the Riddle poll, here is the next chapter for the centaur au! Riddle won't be making his entrance just yet, sorry to disappoint you Riddle lover's. Today we'll be welcoming Vil, Leona, and Ruggie into the story. Although the spotlight is mostly on Vil for this chapter, the other 2 don't get a single line. But don't worry, they'll get their turn later!

nya: this chapter was originally gonna longer but i convinced wild to split it in 2 parts since its been so long since she's posted any actual content for the au. praise me for my hard work.

Vil: leopard

Leona: manticore (no barbed tail)

Ruggie: spotted hyena

This time you were able to catch him in the act, opening the door just as you were about to leave for your weekly trip to the grocery store. Maybe this was a sign from higher powers you should plan to return before afternoon.

“Ah! My beloved nepiece!” Everyone's favorite bird man greets you as you open the door. You step back in surprise, startled by his loud squawking. You weren’t exactly paying attention. Or particularly wake.

“Good afternoon!”

“Hi…”

He steps aside to reveal, surprise surprise, more pets to live in your wonderful shack of a home. (read: it is not wonderful you bake when it’s hot and freeze when it's cold) Though you could see two of them standing behind him even if he hadn’t. Centaurs tend to be quite tall. It is very important for people to know how big a centaur gets if they aren’t fully grown before adopting.

“Meet your new friends! This here is Leona, he’s a manticore.” Leona was taller than Idia to your surprise. The merboys sometimes talked about other centaurs that had been ripped from their homes when asked about their lives before coming to live with you. They had talked about how they’d seen two males and three females being dragged past their tank to be used for breeding. The males came up to Idia’s around shoulders. The females were just small enough to be visibly shorter than the males.

Maybe it was the wings. Those big leathery wings.

“The little one hiding is Ruggie, he’s a hyena.” you internally scream noticing the little yeen, he was hiding under the soon to be introduced pet. His big eyes stare up at you with curiosity. You wanted to squish his cheeks and rub his belly. Your hands itched to do just that.

“And last but not least, meet Vil! He’s a leopard and trained to be a show centaur.” Vil was studying you out with a frown, not bothering to hide his disapproval. Rude much.

“Now, we must make haste! The truck is due in two hours or I’ll have to pay extra!” Crowley slips past to set aside his hat and cane that would get in the way, “help me move the furniture!”

With a groan you spin on your heel. Tossing your bags to the side, you tell a blurry eyed Idia and bottle sipping Ortho to lend your uncle a hand.

“RISE AND SHINE BOYS.” you yell up the stairs, “GET UP. WE’VE GOT SOME NEWBIES.”

A sharp pained yelp followed by the unmistakable clamoring of fighting began above.

“Knock it off you three!”

“Deuce started it!” “Because you stepped on my tail!” “I wouldn’t have if Sebek quit pinning me down with snuggles when we sleep!” “I don’t do that!” “Yes you do! You’re worse than Deuce!” “Stop lying! Me and Sebek don’t do that!” “I’d never snuggle with a lowly dog!”

Finger starts tapping the railing.

“I’m a wolf! Not some dumb domestic pet dog!”

“But you roll over for master whenever they start petting you! You won’t even fight them if they take away something you’re chewing on! That’s what a pet dog would do!”

Eyes close.

“Well at least I can hunt!”

“I can do that too!”

“Barely! You were fed and spoiled by Lilia and Malleus while I fended for myself!”

Fingers pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Hey you wouldn’t have lasted a day if I didn’t help you! You were a big crybaby that ran away from everything! You’d be dead without me!”

“You were so bad at hunting you could only dumpster dive for food! We’d be starving if I didn’t pick up your slack!”

“Well I’m braver! You’d cower and hide whenever a cat so much as looked at you!”

“You’re scared of cats? Hahaha! A dog scared of cats!”

Head tilts to the ceiling.

“Sh-shut up! Alley cats are mean! Your spoiled butt wouldn’t get it!”

“Nuh-uh! I’m not spoiled!”

“Yeah you are!”

“You’re both spoiled!”

Eyebrow twitches.

“Shut up Deuce!”

“Make me you stupid heads!”

“Fine, I will!”

Eyes open.

“BOYS GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW OR ELSE.” your foul language puts an end to the squabbling.

“That’s bad language~” “master shrimpy said a bad word!~” your eye twitches, “if you have time to eavesdrop you have time to unpack you slimy pool noodles.”

“We weren’t eavesdropping.” “yeah, you’re so loud I bet the neighbors heard your potty mouth!”

Spinning around you grab the naughty twins by their waists and head for the entrance.

“Shouldn’t we wait on the porch? We might turn back in the middle.” Jade points out as you take them with you outside.

“Bad boys get to suffer in the sun.” you drop them once you’re out of the shadow cast by the porch ceiling.

“But our fins will dry out!”

“Yeah we can’t hide them yet!”

“Do you hear that? It’s the sound of me not giving a fuck.” a smile creeps on your face as the two whine and groan, calling you a bully and spitful potty mouth as they half heartedly dig their webby hands into your thigh. You tune them out. Azul will definitely make fun of them if they end up having to army crawl to get back inside.

~~~

One hour later of Vil shouting to be careful with his boxes and furniture you finally find a moment to take a breather. Fanning yourself with your shirt you think about how sore you’ll be in the morning. And you need to shower less you desire to be stink eyed at the store.

A shadow looms over you, blocking the ball of gas frying you alive. You look up, smiling at your light blocking savior, “Thanks Silvs.”

The foxboy returns your smile, offering you a glass of water. You accept, leaning back into his soft chest as he settles behind you. His hands slip under your arms to rest in your lap. The subtle ba-bump of his heart adds to the chill atmosphere he’s always surrounded with. Too bad he was warm blooded, you wouldn’t be cooling down as much as you’d like. But you will suffer. You want a backrest.

Enjoying the silence you watch the others continue with their labor. A laugh is shared when a dust cloud is sprung from a dropped moving blanket, sending multiple into a sneezing fit. The sight brings up memories from when you’d first moved in. Silver had daily sneezing fits until you did a proper dust of all the parts of the house you frequented. You had some videos of him sneezing up a storm. Your favorite was the one where he sneezed with so much force he ended up tumbling backwards into a sleeping Lilia. The father son duo’s shocked faces were priceless. Nothing in this cruel world could ever convenience you to delete this treasure of memory.

You find yourself taking his hands in yours as you mosey through memory lane. His hands were so much bigger than when you first met. Before his dwarfed yours. Now the opposite was true. Eek this mushy stuff suddenly has you feeling old.

“Do you want me to go shopping with you?” he speaks while you stretch forward to grab a paw for toe bean squishing, “you look pretty exhausted.”

“Yes, that'd be wonderful thank you. I’m sure mister fancy pants over there is going to be a picky eater.” Silver chuckles, massaging your shoulders. His toes curl slightly when you squish them.

“Better keep father away from the kitchen in that case.” you share another laugh.

~~~

Surprise surprise! Both Silver and Vil tag along to the store. The leopard had insisted on coming to make sure you got the right ingredients for his meals. And dear lord were you glad Silver was there. Not even 15 minutes in and you were an inch away from blowing a gasket. He was truly your guardian angel in these trying times.

Vil wouldn’t allow the purchase of any frozen foods and forced you to learn how to tell if the fresh fruit and vegetables weren’t prematurely picked or over ripe. He wouldn’t let you buy any premade meals, criticizing you for feeding your pets something so unhealthy. He wouldn’t even let you buy the cereal the younger boys liked, saying it was too sugary for them.

By the time you made it to the bakery section you were fuming. Silver had kept trying to reason with Vil but only managed to succeed a few times in getting him to come to a compromise. Bless this beautiful young taur for being your rock in these trying times.

“Don’t get the loafs that are about to expire!” Vil swatted at your hand like a toy for the umpteenth time, “besides this brand isn’t nearly as healthy as…” he starts another tangent, padding over to another display table to get the “correct” bread. You grit your teeth, hand clenching. Silver sets a hand on your shoulder with a squeeze, doing his best to ground you. You give him a strained smile.

While he’s picking the “correct bread” you slip away to grab something for dessert for the welcome dinner for the newbies.

“Now what do you think you’re doing?” Vil hissed seeing you return with one of those large cakes that could be used for any special occasion. Or if you just wanted cake. Nothing wrong with getting cake for the hell of it.

Your grip tightens on the dessert, “it’s tradition to have a welcoming dinner for new residents.” you state simply. You swear if he pushes your buttons one more time…

“Well there’s no need to buy low quality desserts like that. We will have one professionally made, I will not eat something so cheap. Put it back.”

Okay, that’s it fucker.

You open your mouth to tear him a new one-

“That’s enough.” Silver puts an arm in front of you as he steps forwards, baring his fangs at Vil, “you have been nothing but rude since you arrived, ordering them around like they’re your servant. You seem to have forgotten they are the one in charge, you are not higher in the hierarchy than them. If anything, you are at the bottom considering you have only just arrived.” Silver walks to stand in front of Vil. The leopard centaur has gone quiet, his ears flat against his head as the taller continues.

“It’s time you learn your place and act accordingly. If you don’t you’ll have more than me stepping in to show you.” color you both surprised. Silver had never bared his fangs at anyone before. Not even when Floyd was trying to annoy him into fighting him.

Sure you knew he was protective of you. It was because of him Floyd and Jade no longer drew blood from you when they were being playful. Silver had dove into the tank and dragged both of them out with ease after seeing them chomp down on your arm hard enough to make you bleed. He held them down until they’d stopped thrashing. Not once did he growl or cause harm other than when he fished them out. He just, sat on and stared them down. After that they gave him the same respect they gave you and Lilia.

Then there was when Sebek and Malleus accepted you as their master. Sebek didn’t take well to others taking up Malleus’ attention. He’d get extremely aggressive and snap at you for the smallest things concerning the dragon. It only got worse when Deuce and Jack were added to the mix. He was especially aggressive with Deuce, who had taken a particular liking to Malleus as a fellow reptilian.

Your fox knight had lost it on Sebek after he chomped with enough force to break two of your fingers. Silver had chased him damn near around the entire house. He was screeching at him with his high pitched bark the entire chase, nipping at his tail. You had to hold the poor gator in your arms away from him until Deuce and Jack were able to get the other two's attention as they were enjoying some flying time.

Sebek only gives you love nibbles now.

Oh and there was that time Grim nearly set your ass on fire when you made him share one of those double popsicles because you only had two and there were four of them. Silver seemingly materialized from thin air to snatch the gray kitten away before he’d even stopped being a mini flamethrower.

Also there was that one occasion with a group of karens and kevins that felt entitled to your property. They had been using your yard as a spot to let their dogs run around before you’d taken up residence. They never picked up after their pooches and got mad when you had the boys get rid of the overgrown garden (if it could even be called that by then). They’d been taking whatever vegetables there were in the mini jungle to eat while their untrained purebred pups had a field day.

One karen had a large dog that would attack any animals it saw outside the group. It made the mistake of going after Jack and Ortho. The two were chasing a butterfly while you were hanging up laundry. The dog bolted straight for them as soon as it was free from the car. Unfortunately Silver was helping you with the laundry.

Least to say none of them trespassed again.

…

Okay, maybe you shouldn’t be so surprised.

Anyway, I digress.

Vil didn’t submit completely, only shrinking back slightly and holding Silver’s glare. Thankfully the fox has settled down a lot since the incidents above. Acknowledging the leopard’s behavior change with a snort, he took the cake from you to put in the cart.

“Ruggie likes donuts more.” Vil mutters, now refusing to look at either of you. Ears slightly drooping, he mumbles the hyena doesn’t have a favorite flavor in particular but gets really happy if they have icing and sprinkles.

Silver waits for your okay before heading back to the bakery for some swapping.

Vil follows behind you for the first time since you entered the store, staring at the ground. He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the trip.

[arhvste]

❝bokuto, atsumu, suna and aran introducing their s/o in an interview❞

bokuto koutarō

→ E X C I T E D

→ why wouldn’t he be though?

→ he gets to finally introduce his wonderful s/o to the world

→ when his pr team gave him the green light, he didn’t hesitate

→ “ah bokuto! great playing today, might we ask who this is beside you?”

→ “this is y/n! aren’t they good-looking?! i’ve found myself a keeper huh?”

→ rambles on and on about you

→ no off switch

→ “so uh bokuto, do you mind talking to us about your opinion on your game performance today?”

→ “yeah lemme just finish telling you about this time y/n and i went on extreme fishing abroad! 🤩”

→ reporters are kinda like 😀 while he talks about you

→ fans are o b s e s s e d

→ #bokuy/n #stany/n #couplegoals are trending

→ twitter LOVE y’all

→ they love that bokuto doesn’t give af about what the reporters are saying 💀

→ he only seems to want to talk about you right now

→ it’s not like he’s purposely doing it though

→ he’s been wanting to talk about you for so long he’s just excited he’s finally allowed to

→ when you guys meet fans after the interview bokuto stops to chat to every single one

→ they love yourself and bokuto’s dynamic and laugh and joke with the two of you

→ a TON of group fan photos

→ bokuto fans are now y/n fans too

→ they literally decide you and bokuto will be married some day so they might aswell stan now

→ they’re gonna be looking out for you in future appearances with him

→ and you can bet yer ass that bokuto is gonna bring you along and show you off every chance he gets

→ fans are well fed by bokuto and it’s a fact

miya atsumu

→ literally almost fought with his pr team when they told him to wait a bit before introducing you to the public

→ “miya, your fangirls will most likely react badly if you introduce them right now.”

→ “yeah and? let em 🙄”

→ atsumu IGNORES his pr team and does it anyway cause he thinks it’s stupid about worrying what his fans will think

→ it’s not their decision who he dates 😡

→ anyways, he brings you on a talk show interview

→ “good evening miya-san, and whos this youve brought along with you?”

→ “this is y/n, aint they gorgeous?”

→ he is SHAMELESS about flirting with you on air

→ “yer so stunning tonight ya know? just wait till we get home 😏”

→ “m-miya-san! i think we should edit that out...”

→ fans have mixed reactions tbh

→ ya can’t please everyone ig

→ atsumu couldn’t give two shits though 😹

→ this man LIKES AND RETWEETS fans that are bashing other ones for not stanning them as a couple 💀

→ his pr team won’t stop ringing his phone to stop

→ doesn’t care at all, he’s always been transparent with how he likes his fans to behave why would this be any different?

→ in the end, more people start to stan after they see how seriously he’s taking this

→ since he genuinely seems to care and love you, they suppose they can stan y’all as a couple 😐

→ i’m sorry you guys aren’t trending the same way bokuto and his s/o were though 😹

→ give it a month though and a few magazine covers together and you have everyone wrapped round your finger and his fans start to like you more 🤪

→ more than atsumu in fact

→ because you’re so nice to his fans they just kinda convert 💀

→ atsumu doesn’t really mind tbh he’s just glad that you’ve been accepted and he doesn’t have to worry about people stepping too much out of line

suna rintarō

→ another one who doesn’t really care

→ he doesn’t exactly go out of his way to hide you but you guys aren’t big on pda either

→ suna leaves his fans GUESSING and doesn’t even know it

→ his fans literally s c a v e n g e for any little detail or anything about you because you and suna rarely go out and make a big scene

→ y’all are probably just grabbing lunch and his fans have several conspiracies over who you are what what the two of you are doing

→ it’s a whole big thing on his side of the twitter stans

→ suna doesn’t know about this because he’s not even on his own side of twitter 💀

→ suna’s timeline is a ton of stuff to do with gaming because i know this man streams with kenma sometimes

→ y’all can’t tell me that these two wouldn’t stream together and have an elite friendship after the timeskip 😡

→ and somehow suna made it onto barb stan twitter

→ no clue how he got there but he’s not mad about it because he thinks they’re funny af and is now a secret barb himself

→ anyways, eventually the two of you are caught on the street by an interviewer

→ and suna’s just there answering their questions like this 😐

→ he just wants to go grab some milk from the store with you can the reporters just gO away 😡

→ attention is then turned to you after the irrelevant small talk the interviewer had with suna

→ “oh ahahah just wondering... who’s this with you we’ve all been dying for an answer!”

→ “huh? you have? why? it’s just y/n my s/o it’s not that deep bro 🥱”

→ he doesn’t make a fuss about it and neither do you because like suna said it’s not that deep

→ the interviewer is just like 👁👁 and then thanks you and leaves

→ well that was easy wasn’t it?

→ that answers their months worth of questioning ig

→ you and suna later discover about the ongoing theories as to who you are and what you are to suna

→ from then on, the two of you MESS with his fans and constantly leave them guessing as to whether you’re together fr or not because y’all think it’s funny how much they care💀

aran ojiro

→ his pr team don’t even tell him to keep you from the public

→ this man is going to introduce you respectfully and properly and they know this

→ one of the few pro athletes who don’t need to have their social life kept on a leash because he goes the right way about it 😎

→ he brings you along to a magazine interviewing when you tell him that you’re comfortable with going public

→ oh btw, absolutely NO pressure from him to go public everything’s done in your own time

→ mf KING 😡🤚

→ straight away he’s making sure that this interview is based on your relationship rather than just him

→ “hey everyone, this is y/n my partner! they’re going to be joining me today!”

→ the interviewers LOVE you both

→ absolute dream to work with you guys

→ your dynamic is 🧑🏽‍🍳😙👌

→ every so often there’s a question about a recent games he includes you 😼

→ “so regarding your recent game, how well do you think you performed?”

→ “i think i was okay but definitely not at my best, it comes across differently watching from the sidelines though doesnt it! y/n, how did ya think i played from watching from yer perspective?”

→ see !! this man is including you every chance he gets 😩

→ fans adore you

→ literally deem you their parents 😎

→ just like bokuto, aran is wonderful to his fans

→ talks to every single one of them because he was raised to acknowledge anyone who politely acknowledges him

→ has full on conversations with as many fans as he can with you

→ tells them mf STORIES about the two of you and how you met etc

→ his meet and greet is literally story time with aran and y/n

→ fans are quiet and all stand around the two of you as you both tell little stories and stuff about your relationship

→ again, so many group photos

→ you guys literally become the parents of his fanbase

→ some fans are already planning your wedding for you on twitter 💀

→ aran doesnt mind though

→ cause he might just take a few of their ideas when he marries you for real 😏

general taglist → @atsumuwoah @bloody-bella @bbymilkbread @miracleboy420 @doggonudez @atsunakaashi @peteunderoos @saturnfarie @toffees-main @zumisace @boosyboo9206 @totorosleaff @27kei @babyybokutoakaashi

please send an ask to be added / removed from my taglist

ALL CONTENT BELONGS TO @KUROOSKULT ON TUMBLR 2020 PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, CHANGE OR PLAGIARISE

[delllamortes]

Oh im like a cat magnet it wouldnt take long. my cats are just assholes, i wonder where they get that from (hint: me)

barb is also an asshole most of the time but i love her anyway 🖤 cats are just Like That

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

oasis

Peter Quill x Reader

Prompt: “can we share the blanket?”

Summary: quill catches you building a blanket fort to surprise groot with, and surprises you by helping. the two of you decide to test it out before the crew get back, and he shows you a side of him you haven’t really seen before.

Warnings: smut, fluff, hint of angst, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, adult language.

Word Count: 4,486

Got a Request? Prompt List: here

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You were humming quietly along with the dulcet sound of the Fleetwood Mac you’d left playing over the ship’s speakers, enjoying the way it echoed lightly down the metal walls of the corridor towards you. You made your way down to the cargo bay of the Benatar, your arms piled high with the sheets and blankets you’d just pilfered from your bunk. You cursed quietly to yourself as the toe of your slipper caught on a seam in the floor, tripping you up slightly as you went. Still, it did nothing to dull your good mood.

You dumped the blankets on the floor once you reached the quiet corner of the cargo bay you’d selected earlier, joining the stacks of pillows you’d already brought out between two shoulder-high storage crates. You smiled, pleased with yourself, releasing a happy sigh before setting about your self-appointed task. You never got hours like this, peaceful, simple moments without the sounds of crewmates arguing or the clattering of metal on metal. You loved your life with the Guardians, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t sometimes crave the quiet.

You bent over, searching through the stack of blankets for the biggest.

“Not that I mind the view, but you wanna tell me what you’re doing with my bedding?”

You jumped, startled, before arching your neck to look back over your shoulder. Peter Quill was standing behind you, leaning his shoulder against the ladder to the cockpit with his arms folded across his chest. He’d removed his jacket since re-boarding, the short sleeves of his tee shirt showcasing the muscles in his arms. He had an eyebrow raised in wry amusement, a trademark smirk on his lips. You rolled your eyes at him before turning back to what you were doing, unsure if you’d imagined his gaze lingering over your backside.

“Your bedding is safe. This is all from crew quarters,” you assured him. Both you and Mantis struggled with the cold of the ship when you were off world, so you’d made it a mission even before she’d joined the crew to always have more than enough blankets on board. They’d kind of become bulky souvenirs of the planets you visited, and you usually kept them stacked in a locker in the corner of the bunk you shared with her and Gamora. Thankfully now that you’d all upgraded to the Benatar, you had more space – while Quill, as captain, still had his own private quarters, there was now an extra bunk for Drax, Rocket and Groot to use. You glanced down at the pillow in front of you. “…and a few from the medical supply crate.”

“What, you finally got sick of hearing Drax’s snoring through the wall?”

You turned around to face him properly, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Are you kidding? It’s like white noise to me now. I don’t think I could ever sleep again without an active sawmill present.” Quill chuckled. “What are you doing back? You guys only left like an hour ago.”

He shrugged. “Xandar gets boring fast.”

It was your turn to raise a brow. “There’s a whole planet out there full of gullible idiots, pretty women with loose morals, and plentiful booze. What more could you want?”

“Wow.” he snickered. “I feel seen.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “So? Why couldn’t all the wonders of Xandar’s seedy underbelly hold your attention, Star Lord?”

He ignored the question, the easy smile still on his lips. “The hell are you doing, Y/N?”

“Why don’t you come join me and find out?”

He gave you a smirk, the glint in his eyes mischievous. “Can we share the blanket?”

“I think there’s more than enough to go around,” you said dryly, and his smile widened. Your impatient answers to his flirty remarks always seemed to entertain him. Which was probably why he kept doing it. “But that would be the idea.”

“Huh?”

You pulled one of the pillows to your chest and wrapped your arms around it. “It’s a surprise. For Groot.”

“Is he sick of Drax’s snoring?”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, standing and shaking out one of the largest, heavier quilts. You flung it over the crates, letting it hang over them like a canopy. “I’m building him a pillow fort, jackass.”

“A pillow fort.”

“Yup.”

“A pillow fort.”

You gave him an exasperated look. “Quill.”

“Why exactly?”

“C’mon, dude.” you said, tossing a pillow at him. He caught it, one-handed, with a grin. “Didn’t you ever build a pillow fort as a kid?”

Peter was quiet for a moment before he made a show of rolling his eyes and shrugging. Still, a small smile teased at the corner of his lips. “Want a hand?”

***

You sighed in satisfaction, wiping your hands together as you surveyed your work. The two of you had, on his suggestion, shoved the crates back against the wall, and in the little alcove you’d created together was one hell of a pillow fort. You’d draped sheets and blankets over the entire thing and layered more over the metal floor. Pillows had been thrown into haphazard piles, making the whole thing seem like some kind of gaudy, cozy nest. Quill had surprised you by rigging the string of lights he and Rocket sometimes used to do repairs at night to a much lower brightness and had hung them around the makeshift tent like the fairy lights you’d had as a kid.

“I think it’s safe to say that we nailed it.” you said proudly, holding up a hand. Peter grinned beside you, slapping it with his own in a high-five. “Groot is gonna love it. Storytime was always better in a fort when I was a kid.”

“Wanna try it out?”

You grinned widely at him, and the two of you dropped to your knees at the same time. Peter held the ‘door’ open for you, letting it drop closed behind him as he crawled inside after you. You turned to collapse happily among the cushions, sighing contentment as you stretched out languidly. Peter took a similar position beside you; the two of you barely fit inside, his shoulder bumping against yours. You bent your knees and drew them up towards you to bring them inside the fort, and you hooked one over one of his. He had his bent as well, and your foot dangled a couple of inches off the floor. He tucked his hand behind his head, looking over at you with an amused smile.

“Comfy?”

Peter looked up, considering the fort. “Y’know, I don’t think we made it big enough.”

You furrowed your brow, turning your head to look at him. “What d’you mean? Groot and I will be fine in here.”

He shrugged. “I’m just sayin’, we barely fit in here as it is…”

“Why, Peter Ignatius Quill,” you said teasingly, laughing when he cocked an eyebrow at you. “Are you saying that you want to join us for story time?”

“You know that’s not my middle name, right?”

“I blanked.” you admitted with a shrug. “What is it?”

He laughed loudly, the sound breaking through the peaceful bubble the two of you had created between the blankets. “It’s Jason!”

“My bad,” you giggled, shying away from his as he reached out to poke you in the side. “It was the first thing I thought of!”

“Think of something cooler next time!”

“Alright, alright…” you surrendered, turning your head towards him and reaching over to prod his arm with a fingertip. “But don’t dodge the question. Are you – the big, bad, space pirate leader of the Guardians of the Galaxy—saying you would like to come read children’s stories with me and Groot?”

“It is such a turn on when you start describing me like that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Seriously, I get all tingly, all the way down to my—"

“You’re still avoiding the question.” you said pointedly, cutting him off. He breathed a quiet chuckle as you did, his bottom lip catching between his teeth. “Story time?”

“Well, why not?”

“You know we’ve moved past picture books, right?”

He smacked you lazily on the bicep with the back of his hand by way of retort, letting his hand fall back to rest on his stomach. He interlocked his fingers above his belt buckle, the picture of casual relaxation. Your leg was still thrown over his, your calf pressed against his inner thigh. His gaze returned to the canopy above, and you studied the angle of his jaw absentmindedly, your eyes tracing along the dusting of strawberry blonde stubble that seemed darker in the muted light. “I spent a good chunk of my quality time building this stupid thing, I should get some use out of it.”

You raised a cynical brow, amused. The two of you never could help but poke at each other with childish barbs and banter, maybe even more so than the two of you dished it out to the other members of the crew. Maybe it was a reflex at this point, but it was still always entertaining. You affected an offended tone as you spoke again, even with a smile on your face. “Well, if you think it’s so stupid, why’d you spend all this time on it?”

“It’s not…” Peter sighed, shaking his head. “Sorry. It’s not stupid. It’s just…”

Your brow furrowed as you watched him struggle to find the words. You sobered, surprised that he hadn’t caught you in your joke. Instead, he seemed… flustered. “Quill?”

“You know, I forgot about it ‘til now.” he said ruefully, almost disbelievingly. He raised a hand to run his fingers through his hair. “…I used to build these when I was a kid.”

“Yeah…” you said slowly, confused. “I mean, a lot of kids did…”

He sighed, shaking his head. “No, I mean when my Mom got sick.”

“Oh.”

It was all you could think to say.

“It got… it got really hard, once she was hospitalized.” he said, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. His voice was soft and thoughtful, almost as if he’d forgotten you were there. Even so many years later, you could hear the thread of pain in his words. He reached up to touch his fingers to the edge of one of the blankets. “I built one of these one night, and basically never left it. I’d tuck myself away in it for hours with my Walkman and just ignore the rest of the world. Got to the point where I didn’t even come out for meals; Grandpa had to drag me outta there every day for school.”

You hesitated a moment before reaching over slowly and covering his hand with your own. “Peter…”

His eyebrows twitched upward as he looked down at your hand in surprise. You felt his hand turn under yours, his fingers smoothing almost carefully over your skin as he took hold of it. He looked up, turning his head to meet your eye. “You never call me that.”

You could feel the rise and fall of his stomach against your fingers with each breath he took. The edge of his belt buckle brushed against your knuckle; a stark coldness compared to the surprising heat of his body.  You meant your response to be cavalier, dismissive even, at this sudden change in the atmosphere between the two of you. Instead, it came out softly, barely more than a murmur. “Sure, I do.”

He shook his head, a small smile curving at one side of his mouth. Even though neither of you had moved, he seemed so much closer to you now, the two of you shoulder to shoulder. “No, you don’t. Not really. Closest you’ve ever gotten was tacking ‘Ignatius’ on it just now.”

You shook your head in amusement, smiling back at him. “It was a joke.”

His thumb brushed rhythmically over the back of your hand, his head turning to look back up at the blankets above you. “Sure it was.”

“What do you care?” you said teasingly. “I didn’t think you liked your first name so much, Star Lord.”

He shrugged the shoulder pressed against yours, meeting your eye again. His eyes were dark in the dull light, shining with amusement and affection. They were almost magnetic, and you felt warmth rise in your cheeks as your gaze fell to his lips briefly. You felt his hand squeeze yours, and there was a charming, knowing quirk to his lips that made your heartbeat quicken.

You swallowed as he leaned towards you, and when he spoke, his lips were barely an inch from yours, his voice was so soft that you almost didn’t hear it over your own heart.

“I don’t mind it so much when you say it.”

Peter’s lips met yours, brushing against them in a chaste, whisper of a kiss. It was soft and gentle, his nose bumping against yours. His tongue touched your bottom lip as you parted them to breathe, his thumb still smoothing circles over your hand. You felt a shiver tingle its way up your spine, and his other hand came up to slide over the leg still thrown over his as he rolled onto his side to face you. His tongue slid languidly over yours, and you could feel his smile as he kissed you more deeply.

You exhaled shakily against his lips as his hand smoothed up your thigh, and he gave a light snicker as you parted, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Apparently you really like it.” you said after a moment, your voice unsteady. He grinned, his hand still trailing slowly up your leg, and your breath caught as it teased down to your inner thigh. He moved to kiss you again, but you pressed your free hand to his chest. “Peter.”

He smiled softly and reached up to tuck hair behind your ear, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “Yeah?”

“What exactly are we doing?”

He smirked, his face moving towards yours again. “Want me to draw you a diagram?”

Peter kissed you again, his hand on the side of your neck. You let it linger for a moment, your fingers curling in the front of his shirt and tugging him closer. Peter responded eagerly, his hand moving down to take hold of your hip and pulling you towards him. You rolled onto your side, and Peter slung your leg up over his hip, his hand sliding up the back of it. It lingered just below the curve of your ass, gripping your leg almost possessively.

You felt his hips press suggestively into yours, and you couldn’t help but whimper against his lips, your hand tugging at the hair at the back of his head. Peter chuckled as you did, and you pulled away, embarrassed by your reaction.

You moved your hand to his shoulder, avoiding his gaze and looking down at his chest. You took a steadying breath, willing your heart to stop pounding. “Peter.”

You could feel a quiet laugh in his chest, his hand moving up to your waist. You shivered as his fingers ghosted up under your shirt to tease at bare skin. “Y/N.”

Your lips parted, intent on questioning him again… to ask what you were doing, where this sudden change in your friendship had come from… to ask what would happen later, if you didn’t stop. But then you felt the gentle, affectionate brush of his lips against your forehead, and suddenly, you didn’t feel the need to talk anymore. Instead, you met his eyes for a moment before you kissed him again, cupping his cheek in your hand.

Peter smiled into the kiss, the hand on your hip moving to the small of your back, urging you closer to him. The cold metal of his belt buckle was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, and your ran your other hand down his stomach to the hem of his shirt. He groaned lightly into your mouth as your fingers crept under his shirt to caress the smooth skin of his stomach. You traced your nails over the muscles, and they twitched in response.

His hand moved to your ass, squeezing it eagerly and urging you closer. Peter slung his hips into yours, and you whimpered into his kiss at the feeling of him hardening against your thigh. Your hand moved to his side, and he broke the kiss with a light laugh, his face falling to the crook of your neck.

You grinned widely. “Are you ticklish?”

“Pfft, no!” he scoffed obnoxiously, wriggling away from you as you ran your fingertips across his waist again. “You—”

He caught hold of your hands, forcing you onto your back and straddling your waist. He pinned them on either side of your head, a cocksure smirk on his face as he looked down at you. “Now you’re in trouble.”

You snickered, wetting your lips with your tongue. You pushed your hips up into his suggestively. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Star Lord?”

His grin widened, interlacing his fingers with yours and moving them above your head as he bent down towards you. His nose brushed lightly against yours, his mouth hovering teasingly above yours. You arched up to kiss him again, and he moved out of reach playfully, instead trailing kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck.

He lingered over your pulse point, and your eyes closed, a light moan escaping you as he sucked a mark into your skin. “Oh, well, that just sounded… cute.” He murmured against your skin, releasing your hands, and tugging your shirt up over your stomach. “But, that’s not what I’m looking for.”

He moved down to press kisses down your stomach, and you ran a hand through his hair. He leaned into it as he undid your jeans with practiced ease, and your hand tightened reflexively as he tugged them roughly down your thighs. Goosebumps erupted over your legs, his nose ghosting over your stomach and his teeth catching the waistband of your underwear and snapping it against your skin teasingly.

“And what exactly are you— Oh!” you jerked under him as he forced your legs apart and bit your inner thigh, his hands gripping tightly at your hips as he lathed his tongue over the mark he left behind.

“Closer…”

“I’m not ticklish, Quill.” you told him, rolling your eyes as you caught on to what he was trying to do. “But I— fuck, Peter!”

You bucked under him as he pushed your underwear to the side and rolled his tongue against your clit, your hand tightening in his hair. He snickered at your reaction, the sound devolving into a groan as your nails scraped against his scalp, his stubble agitating the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he brought you undone with his tongue.

The lights danced behind your eyelids as Peter slid two fingers inside you; tucked away in your little oasis and feeling everything he did to you made your heart flutter and your stomach tighten. You grabbed at the pillow under your head as you rolled your hips up into him, your chest heaving. “Pete—fuck, don’t… God, I’m gonna—”

He sucked on your clit and you came, arching up against him and your thighs clenching around him. You moaned aloud as you did, too loud for your little hideaway, eyes squeezed shut and toes curling. Peter continued to slowly pump his fingers inside you as he moved up to kiss your hip softly before straightening into a kneel between your legs. He watched his hand, his thumb circling lightly over your clit. He broke into a wide smirk as you twitched at the sensation, his eyes travelling up your body to your face. “Yeah, you love it.”

You bumped your knee hard against his side by way of retort and he finally withdrew his hand with a grin, holding your gaze as he licked his fingers clean. “You’re an ass.”

“Yeah?” he ran a hand up your thigh, his other unbuckling his belt. “What are you gonna do about it?”

You pushed yourself up onto your elbow, fisting a hand in his shirt and dragging him down for a kiss. It was long, and languid, his tongue sliding over yours, his hand on your hip and his thumb hooked in the waistband of your underwear. You broke away to tug at his shirt pointedly and he straightened to pull it off. Your eyes followed the muscles of his arms, your hand smoothing over a pectoral as he leaned down to kiss you again. He dropped the shirt to the side, moving to remove yours as well.

You stopped him, urging him back down onto the cushions. You swung a leg over his hips slowly, running your hands down his chest before pulling off your shirt. Peter’s eyes dropped heatedly to your chest as you unclipped your bra, his lips parting. He looked almost awed as he stared up at you, his face cast in shadows by the dull lights above you. Your spine tingled at his expression, and you held his gaze as you ran your hands over your chest and rolled your hips slowly over his.

Peter’s head fall back against the pillows at the sensation, his eyes closing and a soft groan slipping between his lips. The sound was intoxicating, as was the feeling of the hard length of his erection pressing up against you. You bit your lip, brow creased as you slowly continued to grind against him. His hands slid up over your thighs, squeezing them rhythmically with every roll of your hips.

You scratched your nails lightly down his stomach before unfastening his pants and wrapping your fingers around his cock. His breath caught as you did, leaving him in a shaky sigh as you stroked him, moved your underwear to the side and slowly sunk down onto his erection. “Jesus Christ, Y/N…”

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly, offering him a cocky smile of your own. “You love it.”

He laughed quietly, taking hold of your hips as you began to fuck yourself onto him slowly. You leaned forward to take hold of his biceps, enjoying the feel of the bulging muscles under your hands as you rode him. He encouraged you to grind against his pelvic bone and you whimpered; you could feel him stretching you wonderfully, each corkscrew of your hips sending sparks dancing up your lower back.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he muttered, watching you with half-lidded eyes. He ran a hand up your side to your ribs, his thumb resting along the curve of the underside of your breast. “You’re like… fuck, you’re like…”

“Having trouble finding the words there, Star Lord?” you teased quietly, your head lolling back, your eyes closed. You moaned as he pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

“Can’t help it,” he replied, exhaling slowly as you down to press kisses to his collarbone. His hand moved to your hair, bunching by your ear, and you felt his lips brush the top of your head. “None of my blood is exactly rushing to my brain right now.”

“I’m flattered,” you joked lightly, nipping playfully at his throat.

“But I can say: you call me that again, and this’ll be over a lot quicker than it should be.”

You giggled into his neck, kissing him headily before straightening again. You ran your hands up your sides, bouncing languidly on top of him. Each rise and fall had him sliding against your g-spot, and you bit your lip, your eyes rolling back as his hand returned to your sex. He circled your clit with his thumb and you moaned brokenly.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got fucking fantastic tits, sweets?”

You whined, cupping your breasts and squeezing. Your hips jerked as he pinched your clit, and he swore, thrusting up into you. “Somehow, it – oh, fuck, Peter—”

“God, you’ve got the sweetest voice,” he sat up, his free hand ghosting up your side and gliding over your chest. You shivered at the feeling of it, falling against him, your hips never stopping. Peter’s fingers quickened on your clit as you wrapped your arms around his neck, and he murmured in your ear as you tightened around him, an intoxicating mix of sweet nothings and cursing. You ran your fingers through his hair, clinging to him s you felt your orgasm approach.

Peter wrapped his other arm around your waist and bit down on your shoulder, and you came with a cry, hips stuttering against his as each wave of it hit.

Peter hooked his fingers under your chin and raised it gently from where your face was buried against his neck, pressing a kiss to your temple… your cheek… your forehead… the tip of your nose… as you came down, before cupping your face in his hand and capturing you in another breath-stealing kiss.

You rode him unsteadily as your hips shuddered with aftershocks, your thighs squeezing around him. Peter grunted against your lips, his moan muffled as he came, still buried inside you.

“Y/N…”

You kissed him again, your chest heaving against his, eyes fluttering open as you finally caught your breath. “Mmm?”

He grinned at you, pushing hair out of your face with a careful hand. “Yeah. You love it.”

You shoved at his chest, smiling as he laughed in response. You climbed off of his lap shakily, your face warm. “You’re such a—”

Peter let himself fall back against the pillows again, refastening his pants but not bothering with his belt. “Heartthrob? Casanova? Sexual—”

“Deviant?”

Peter smirked, reaching up to ruffle your hair. You ducked away from him, smacking at his arm as you found your bra and clipped it back into place. “Where’re you going?”

“The last thing we need is for the crew to come back and find us like this,” you pointed out, tugging on your pants and the first shirt you grabbed. “Rocket’ll never let us hear the end of it, and Drax’ll be… Drax.”

“That’s a good look on you.” Peter said, his hands tucked behind his head. You looked down at yourself; you’d pulled on his shirt instead of your own. You flushed, but he caught hold of your wrist before you could pull it off again. “Leave it.”

You smiled down at him softly, tucking hair behind your ear. “Isn’t that just as obvious?”

Peter’s hand moved down to your hand, delicately interlacing his fingers with yours. “Would it be so bad?”

“You… you want the others to know about this?”

He pushed himself up onto his elbow, his free hand sliding against the side of your neck and giving you an affectionate smile before pulling you down for a soft, lingering kiss.

.

.

.

.

tags: @peterquillthecutest @lovely-dreamer19 @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink​ @s0ftness​ @bombardia​

if you would like to be tagged in future stories for quill or any other character, please let me know :) don’t forget to like/comment and please reblog :)

[astaroth1357]

Leviathan's Odyssey 9 (End):

Isolation

*Lucifer is in the Student Council room collecting paperwork when he hears his phone go off… It seems like Barbatos is messaging him yet again... For the third time this week. Though he dreads whatever news it brings, Lucifer checks his messenger and lets out a long sigh when he gets his confirmation*

*Levi was sent home early… again. He hasn’t been present for a full day of classes in nearly a week and Barbatos is beginning to get on Lucifer’s case about it… Diavolo placed a lot of trust in the eldest to bring his brother under control, but it hasn’t exactly been very successful and his butler sees no problem with applying the pressure in his lord’s stead. Though he wouldn’t call this latest message a threat of expulsion, he can sense they’re getting dangerously close…* 

*normally, Lucifer would wait for the day to finish himself before returning to the House and giving Levi a lecture, but that approach hasn’t been faring well… Though he loathes to be absent, who knows what trouble his brothers could get in, he sends his response to Barbs and goes to collect his things. He has been thinking up a few solutions to the “Leviathan Problem” and it’s about time he started enacting some, but first he needs to do some shopping*

*it isn’t hard for Lucifer to find what he was looking for in the shopping district and he makes it back to the House about an hour before classes would officially end. He already knows where Levi would be, he’s been nothing is not predictable since he first came home with them... In many ways, he still has the mindset of a combat survivalist. He quickly grew territorial of the room they gave him, he tries to grab as much food as possible at meals, and every new person or situation is treated with hostile skepticism... Their brother may be home, but he certainly isn’t “back." Not yet anyway...*

*when Lucifer ascends the steps to go to Leviathan’s room, he tries knocking on the door first. Levi had taken to making ridiculous entry passwords again, an encouraging sign, but that was mostly because Lucifer forbade him from issuing trial by combat to newcomers… Unfortunately, today there wasn’t any voice on the other side… Lifting the lock on the door is child’s play with just a little magic, so after giving his brother ample time to say something, Lucifer opens the door himself*

Lucifer: Leviathan? *he pokes his head in with a bit of caution, Levi could still be quick to lash out if caught off guard*

*Lucifer’s eyes scan the dimly lit room, with only the soft blue glow of the water tank behind a glass wall offering him any light. They discovered quickly that Levi’s skin would dry out at an alarming rate without some access to water. Their first fix was to give his room a bathtub that he could soak in, but due to its narrow size Lucifer eventually had an aquarium installed for him instead. He could climb in and out from a gap near the ceiling and it had more room for him to move around freely. That seemed to resolve the issue, but Levi still remained fond enough of the bathtub to keep it around*

*he half expected to find his brother in said tub, back to the doorway and trying to ignore him, but instead he sees a black figure curled up at the bottom of the water tank. He recognizes Levi, even in his newest form - or at least the form that they taught to him once he was on dry land. While in the ocean, Levi never needed to be rid of his gills or scales, they were practical for swimming but not so much for daily life. His new form kept his tail, horns, and patch of scales here and there, but it mostly allows him to pass as an average demon. He can maintain an even milder appearance without any of the extras, but he doesn’t seem to like it as much… He always complains of feeling “too small” without his tail*

*Lucifer steps into the room and closes the door behind him. Under all of that water, Levi probably didn’t hear him knock… Or maybe he did and didn’t feel like answering. He found it hard to pinpoint just what his brother could or couldn’t do anymore… When he gets into the room, he sets a white grocery bag he had been carrying on a nearby table. He’ll have to bring up its contents at the right time… He needs to speak to Levi first.* 

*Lucifer goes to the glass wall and gently knocks his knuckles against it. The black bundle in the water stirs and Lucifer watches as Levi's tail slowly begins to unravel from his body... Soon enough, he’s looking his brother in the face but he doesn’t look very happy to see him… He rarely looks happy to see anyone frankly…*

*Lucifer points up to the edge of the tank and gestures to his ear, signaling that they need to talk. He’s almost surprised at how easily Levi obliges this time, pushing off of the aquarium floor and swimming up until he’s above the surface. After taking a gulp of air, he leans over the edge of the glass - seemingly unbothered by the droplets of water that cascade to the floor.*

Levi: What do you want, Lucifer?

*Lucifer tries his best to look stern, but not overly angry. Though Levi is far less dangerous inland than he was by the ocean’s shore, he’s no less irritable... If this conversation is going to happen, he’s going to need to keep his composure for a while longer*

Lucifer: Barbatos informed me of what happened today… 

Levi: And?

Lucifer: Annnd, we’ve already been over this, Levi… You can’t keep stabbing your fellow students with forks. 

Levi: If you gave me my trident back, then I wouldn’t need to use them.

*Lucifer groans a bit and fights the urge to rub the bridge of his nose… Of course he’s in a mood again…*

Lucifer: Don’t play games with me, Levi… You know what the real problem is here.

Levi: Yeah, it’s the stupid school! I hate going there...

Lucifer: Levi, Lord Diavolo was very gracious to offer you a place in his academy and a seat on the student council, no less. And being one of his military officers now also puts you in a position of great importance... Your actions reflect on him and his kingdom as whole-

Levi: I know all that already, I heard you the first time! *Levi leans his chin against the edge of the glass, but still doesn’t look any happier. To his credit, he has been trying to yell at his brothers less... So it’s not too surprising to hear his voice suddenly drop down to solemn whisper*

Levi: … You know what everybody calls me there? The “Fish Freak...” They say I smell like a beached whale… *Lucifer blinks at the revelation, because this is news to him*

Lucifer: Is that so…?

Levi: Everyday. And you know what else? They trip me in the hallway or throw my things in the fountain. Somebody even left a dead squid on my desk! *a familiar look comes into his eyes now, one burning of hatred - but this time not directed at brothers...*

Levi: They’re lucky I only have forks right now...

*a part of Lucifer wants to be fine with Levi sticking up for himself… The Demon World is a cruel and harsh place where intimidation is often the best answer. He and his brothers had to learn that the hard way… But Diavolo’s goals are peace and unity - the academy was even founded with that in mind… His students should be shying away from such barbaric tactics and the council has an example to set… As much as it pains him to say it, Levi’s actions are unacceptable…*

Lucifer: Tell me the students’ names and I’ll have them punished. I guarantee you that... *takes a deep breath to prepare for what he must say next…*

Lucifer: … But you can’t keep causing trouble like this, Leviathan. Lord Diavolo has a strict code of-

*Lucifer watches as Levi groans and lifts his head off the glass, though this time he looks more frustrated than enraged*

Levi: There you go again! Diavolo this and Diavolo that!! Don’t you ever think of anything else??

Lucifer: That’s Lord Diavolo to you, and of course I do. But this isn’t the Celestial Realm anymore, Levi, and we need to adapt to his rules. *Levi’s eyes narrow at him, seeing an opportunity to dig in the knife…*

Levi: There’s adapting and then there’s ass-kissing... Which are you doing, Lucifer?

*and like that, for just a moment, Lucifer wants to abandon the whole project. He wants to leave Levi to wallow in his tank and go back to more important matters... He wants to throw his gifts into the garbage and just forget he ever bought them! His anger must have been plain to see, because Levi looks almost regretful for a second as he pushes back from the glass*

Levi: … Yeah. I didn’t think so.

*with that, Lucifer watches his brother sink back underwater and return to the floor of his aquarium. He honestly has half a mind to just turn and walk away, at least until he sees Levi curl up on his side against the store bought sand. He draws legs into the fetal position and faces his back the glass wall, letting his tail once again curl around his body as he goes back to laying in the water… alone…*

*the lonely image is enough to bring Lucifer back to some sense… Had he really forgotten why he was there so easy? With a steadier mind, he gently places a gloved hand against the surface of the glass, watching Levi from behind the wall between them…*

*his brother fell from Heaven then had to survive on his own… when he came back, he not only found out that his family had been living like royalty, but they hadn’t even been out looking for him in a long time… Now he’s been ripped from the home he’d grown accustomed to and thrust into a culture he barely understood…*

*Was it any wonder he was struggling? Was it any better for him in the Devildom than it was beneath the sea? Would it have been better to just let him stay where he was comfortable…? These thoughts have plagued Lucifer for some time, but he wouldn’t dare break up his family now…* 

*Maybe... Hopefully… Levi just needs an outlet to help him cope...*

*Lucifer knocks on the glass a second time, but it’s not an angry pounding or anything. Levi must not have expected that, because he actually looks back at him in mild surprise. Lucifer signals once more for him to get out of the water before stepping aside to grab the grocery bag from before. Intrigued, but cautious, Levi swims back up to the surface and pulls himself up to the edge*

Levi: … What’s that?

Lucifer: Something I bought for you. *Lucifer picks up the bag and goes back to the tank. Levi’s eyes widen slightly with shock*

Levi: You bought something… for me?? Why?

Lucifer: It’s something that I think you’ll like… I’m told it’s very entertaining and hopefully it has all the… violence that you’ve grown accustomed to... 

*he digs into the bag and pulls out two things, a DVD box-set of something called “My Life as a Demonic Pirate Defeating the Seven Lords of Hell” and a paperback book with a cute looking mermaid on the cover under the same title*

Lucifer: Levi. Have you ever heard of something called anime?

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

[rufousnmacska]

Only You

A Manorian arranged marriage fic requested by an anon.

Huge thanks to @itach-i for her help and advice with plot and beta reading! ❤️

Previously, in Part One

Previously, in Part Two

*

PART THREE

*

Manon jumped at the knock on her door. She’d sat up all night watching the fire slowly die, unable to sleep. Stiff from sitting in a chair in a cold room for so many hours, she moved slowly to the door. Expecting Glennis, she was surprised to find Yrene waiting to come in. The healer’s smile disappeared when she got a good look at Manon.

“I’m sure I look how I feel,” Manon said by way of greeting. She turned and went back to her chair.

Shivering, Yrene tried to get the fire going again, adding some kindling and blowing on the few stubborn embers that remained in the fireplace. The flames caught, but it would be a while before any heat radiated from it. She sat opposite Manon, watching her carefully.

“Just say it,” Manon said.

“Say what?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

She’d come to consider Yrene a good friend over the last two years. The woman was kind and an exceptionally talented healer, helping Manon overcome some of the darkest moments of her grief. Yrene also helped her navigate her way through the complexities of her relationship with Dorian, giving her advice and translating some of the human customs she didn’t understand. Like exchanging gifts. Manon had never given or received a birthday gift before. Yrene not only helped her find one for Dorian, she listened without judgment as Manon explained how foreign the concept was to her. The idea for the memory book had come to her after imagining what Yrene might get if Dorian and Manon were marrying.

Yrene sighed, resting her head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve never seen this room before,” she said, absentmindedly. “It’s quite lovely.”

Manon glanced up. The ceiling was painted like the sky at twilight. A deep, rich blue turning black with stars scattered across it. It was beautiful, and it reminded her of those frozen nights she and Dorian and the Thirteen spent camped in the Fangs in search of the Crochans. She recognized a constellation or two and realized it was likely the same night sky. She didn’t think there was enough time for him to have commissioned the mural between her accepting the invitation and now. But she’d learned long ago that it was foolish to underestimate Dorian’s love of grand romantic gestures. Whether it had been completed for this visit or not, the intention was the same. She leaned back to examine the stars, smiling slightly as memories came rushing back – Asterin teasing Dorian about his pretty blue eyes, Vesta’s shameless flirting that often came dangerously close to provoking Manon’s jealousy, Sorrel gifting Dorian an Ironteeth blade that he still carried, Ghislaine getting caught up in talking about books with him. They’d only traveled together for a couple of short months. And yet despite the hardships, there was so much good to remember. It made her think of the memory book, and how much she wished to be sharing it with him as his wife.

“Josie asked for you the other day,” Yrene said, drawing Manon’s attention back down from the ceiling.

“She said my name?” Yrene and Chaol’s daughter had just begun forming complex words the last time Manon had seen her.

“Well,” she said with a shrug, “it was close enough that we knew who she meant. She mixed up the words a wee bit, so it came out Ma Nauntie instead of Auntie Manon. She’d seen one of Adarlan’s wyverns flying over the castle and thought it was Abraxos.” Yrene was grinning at the memory. “I’m afraid she butchered his name. But we’ve got her trying Brax for short.”

Manon was returning Yrene’s smile, but she didn’t know what to say. For as fond as she’d grown of Yrene, she’d come to care for Josie just as much. Would she ever see them again after today?

As if reading her mind, Yrene said, “I know it might be hard for you. To come here again. So I was thinking, maybe someday we can visit you?” Tears spilled from Yrene’s eyes and she pulled out a handkerchief.

“Of course! You can come back with me tonight if you wish,” Manon said, stretching out a hand. Sometimes it still felt strange for her to offer comfort to others. But it was something Yrene knew about her, something she never called attention to. And now, the healer leaned forward to take Manon’s hand in hers.

Yrene tried to smile but it just made her cry harder. She stood and walked away, taking a moment to blow her nose and dry her eyes. When she returned, she said, “Please don’t marry that fae prick. He’s not good enough for you. And I don’t trust him.”

Manon laughed, part of her shocked at the possibility, the other shocked at hearing Yrene swear. “No need to worry about that,” she said, further amused by Yrene’s exaggerated relief. “I no longer have plans to marry anyone. A consort isn’t required either. So, when the time is right, I shall only be in need of a … What was that word you so eloquently used just now? I will only need a prick.”

Yrene’s cheeks reddened as she laughed. “Is it not the best word for him?”

Manon grew serious, thinking about her evening with Fennick. He’d been too flirtatious and self-absorbed, and a bit rude towards the others at the table with them. But based on her experiences with fae males, Fennick’s behavior was typical, with Rowan being the exception. Yes, he was arrogant, but he’d also expressed sympathy for the Thirteen, and shared his past heartbreak with her. She knew what Dorian thought of the prince and wasn’t surprised that Yrene would also dislike him.

“Why don’t you trust him?” Manon asked.

Yrene sighed and bit her lip as she searched for an answer. “It’s mostly a gut feeling. He barely addressed Dorian. And him telling us about coming here to find a mate didn’t endear him to anyone. Even Eveline thought he was an ass.” At Manon’s expression, she offered an apology for mentioning the young woman.

“No, don’t worry about that. I’m more interested in what you said about Fennick. He came here looking for a mate?”

“That’s what he said. Some tale or superstition of his grandmother’s claiming fae would find their mate at a wedding. It sounded made up. And when Eveline told him there were no other fae invited, he said he could have a bond with a human or witch.” Yrene shot her a wicked grin. “Dorian wanted to hit him, I could tell.”

Her own lips twitched upward at the thought. But her mind shifted quickly back to Fennick. She’d known of his intentions from the letter. But why antagonize Dorian? Yes, the male was conceited, but he hadn’t struck her as stupid. Yrene was watching her expectantly, but Manon just said, “Well, regardless, you don’t have to worry about him. I don’t intend to see him after today.”

“Thank the gods,” Yrene said, apparently letting the subject go.

Manon knew Yrene had an extra sense about people. Whether it was her healing magic or just her ability to read others, Manon didn’t know. But she trusted Yrene’s opinion and knew it wasn’t clouded by jealousy like Dorian’s. Yrene’s relief set off warning bells. Manon needed to think, and she welcomed the distraction it offered as she waited for the ceremony later today.

“Where is Josie now?” she asked.

“With Chaol. Actually, I should be getting back.”

“Do we have time for an early lunch before the ceremony? You could bring her up here.”

Yrene beamed at the offer, promising to return with her child in a few hours.

After the healer left, Manon bathed and dressed. She sent her guards off on separate errands, giving them the names of castle staff who might know the gossip that was most difficult to come by. Then she set out on her own search for information, something she should have done sooner.

***

Dorian heard shouting from the main stable and poked his head through the door. The head groom was sending stable hands off in every direction, calling out reminders about the diets of certain horses. She saw Dorian and walked over to greet him.

“Apologies, Your Majesty. One of my lead grooms didn’t show up for work this morning and we’re scrambling to get the horses fed.” The woman grabbed hold of a young boy and turned him around. “Other way, lad. And be careful. That horse bites.”

Dorian smiled. “Don’t mind me. I’m just headed for the wyvern paddock. Have they been fed yet?”

Only half listening, she nodded, then turned back to the chaos surrounding her. “Last time I give so much responsibility to one person,” she muttered.

Continuing around the main stable and towards the far end of the yard, he saw a figure standing by the building that housed the wyverns and stopped. But it was only Glennis. The white hair had fooled him for a split second. She was feeding a small, bluish gray wyvern.

“I thought you’d never give up your broom,” he said, holding out his hand towards Abraxos. The little wyvern snuffled against his palm and Dorian rubbed his snout.

Glennis waved a hand, feigning irritation at her new mode of transport. “Neither did I until this little trouble-maker hatched out of an egg.” She tossed a chunk of meat to her wyvern, then moved on to the next one. Apparently Abraxos had already received his breakfast. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” Glennis said, “the wyverns are more comfortable to ride. Especially for old witches like me.”

Dorian laughed, giving her his best smile. “Who are you kidding? You’re still young.” She snorted and waved him off again. As she fed the other wyverns, he turned back to Abraxos.

Fearing this would be his last chance to see the wyvern and hoping no one else would be here, he’d gotten up early to visit. Not that he’d actually slept. He couldn’t remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep. “Hey, Brax,” he cooed, stepping through the gate into the stall. The wyvern curled his long, barbed tail around Dorian’s feet as he continued petting his snout. Dorian pulled a small bouquet of flowers from his cloak and laughed as a low, contented sound rumbled from Abraxos’s chest.

“He’s not like that with just anyone.” Glennis was standing behind them. “Flowers or no flowers.”

“I know,” Dorian said.

“She’d be mad to see you spoiling him so much.”

He huffed a laugh. “I know.” But he didn’t stop.

Glennis knew why he was here and went back to spoil her own wyvern, giving him privacy.

After a while, Dorian inhaled, long and ragged, his breath pooling in the morning chill when he released it. Abraxos watched him, seeming to know this was a goodbye. The wyvern let out a sad whine and Dorian tipped his head forward to rest against Abraxos. “You take good care of her for me, Brax. All right?”

Abraxos huffed in agreement, enshrouding Dorian in a cloud of hot air. The pungent smell gave Dorian the perfect excuse for the tears that had gathered in his eyes as he said goodbye to the little scarred wyvern.

Glennis was not so easily fooled. She knew the reason for the shimmer in his eyes, but said nothing as they started back to the castle together. The main stable appeared to be under control and Dorian waved to the head groom as they passed.

“You were married to a Crochan prince,” Dorian said, breaking their silence as they climbed a hill. “Was it arranged, or did you choose each other?”

For all her talk of old age, Glennis didn’t struggle with the incline. “A bit of both. We’d known each other forever, and our parents had thought it was a good match. There was never any formal agreement but they encouraged us. It was a bond forged of love.”

“So, you were mates then?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling her cloak up around her neck as they reached the top and were exposed to the wind. “But witches don’t have mating bonds like the fae.” She stopped walking to think. “It’s not a tether, not a physical thing like it is to the fae. There’s no silent communication, no feral territoriality. It’s just a stronger connection than a normal relationship. Why are you asking?”

Dorian tried to shrug it off. “Just curious.” They started walking again and he moved so he might block the worst of the wind from reaching her. “Then it has nothing to do with witches having fae blood? I mean, Manon must have more than the average witch since she comes from a lineage without much human involvement.”

Glennis frowned. “Hmmm, maybe. I’d never really thought of it like that. Our fae blood is so diluted, I’m not sure that it really makes a difference.” She stopped, and by her sad eyes, he knew he’d failed to fool her again. “You think Manon is your mate.”

He wanted to say yes. How else to explain the depth of his feelings for her? That constant tug in his chest. Light as it may be, it still connected him to her. Perhaps it was the fae blood in her, making a mating bond between them stronger than with other witches. But then, wouldn’t that also make it more possible for her to be Fennick’s mate? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to go down that path. Not after a long night of fighting the worst his imagination could come up with.

Maybe what he had with Manon was just love. A strong love of two people who completed each other, filled in the pieces that were missing and held the other up when darkness set in. That would be enough, Dorian knew. He didn’t need a mating bond to love her.

Glennis was still waiting for his reply. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “I don’t think it matters.” He’d meant the words differently than she took them. But when sorrow crept across her face, so deep it made his chest ache, he knew what she was thinking.

“No,” she said. “After today, I don’t think it will either.”

*****

Manon sat rigid, her eyes facing forward, ignoring all the stares and words whispered in her direction. She and Glennis had blessedly been ushered to a spot with only two available seats, ensuring Fennick could not sit next to her. Giselle and Lara were positioned nearby, but out of the way of other guests. Hearing Fennick’s voice as he took his seat a couple of rows behind them, Manon exchanged a look with Glennis.

After her lunch with Yrene and while they readied themselves for the ceremony, Manon and her guards had discussed what little they could find out about the prince. The two witches gathered minimal gossip from the castle workers. The prince had brought no attendants or valets of his own, and he’d made a show of turning down the head steward’s offer to provide him one. It wasn’t unusual for a noble to eschew servants, even for a long and important trip such as this. But it felt off given his formality and haughty nature. Of course, it kept him out of the streams of gossip among the staff.

Manon had gone herself to the royal library, hoping to find some information on Fennick’s lineage. The Whitethorn clan was old and spread out in the fae lands across the sea. And with his age, she thought perhaps he’d been mentioned in a genealogy or even history book. But the librarian had been unable to find anything substantial. The only occurrence of his name was in a recent book about the fae that included trees of the older families. Fennick was indeed a second cousin to Rowan and Sellene, stemming from a side of the family that Maeve had passed over when it came to titles and lands. How he’d risen to prince so quickly, she didn’t know. Sellene, ever practical and shrewd, had not seemed the type to toss out prestigious titles to just anyone. Nor was she the type, Manon realized, who would send an extravagant gift in an attempt to brag about her kingdom’s wealth.

They’d found nothing, and what little she did know made no sense. And yet, it left her unsettled. Glennis too. But, like the others, her grandmother had hated him from the start. In her mind, Manon had already dismissed him as a possible consort or provider of an heir. Yet she was still more ambivalent about Fennick’s flaws than Glennis and Yrene. His story about the human woman he’d almost given up his immortality for had touched a very raw nerve and stuck with her. Whether it was the faint similarities to her own situation, or just that she pitied him, she was unsure. Perhaps Yrene was wrong. And Glennis.

That was what unsettled her the most. It seemed impossible that both of them would misjudge the male. If only she weren’t here for Dorian’s wedding. Everything from her wits to her instincts were off kilter because of it, and she didn’t trust herself. Then again, if not for this wedding, she’d never have met Fennick and wouldn’t need to concern herself with him. The one good thing to come of it was the distraction it had provided her today.

There was movement at the front of the large chapel and Manon used every ounce of control to keep her face calm as Dorian and Chaol walked out towards the podium behind which the priest stood. Dressed in an azure jacket that brought out the brilliance of his eyes, he looked even more handsome than he had last night at dinner. Damaris hung from his side, and with his crown, he looked like a warrior king of old. This was it then, she thought, praying uselessly for more distractions or delays. Anything to keep her from having to watch Dorian pledge himself to another.

When he and Chaol took their places, the strings began to play a soft, beautiful melody. She couldn’t help herself and looked right at Dorian. He was, of course, staring at her. And for that moment, she pretended that she was walking to meet him. That she would be taking him as her king, becoming his queen, instead of Eveline. The hint of a smile caught his lips and she suspected, hoped, that he was imagining the same thing.

It wasn’t until Chaol lightly touched Dorian’s arm, drawing a frown in response, that she noticed the music had started over. She turned to Glennis and saw confusion, which was mirrored on the others in the crowd. Her grandmother stretched around to look back at the front entrance where the bride should have been standing.

“Maybe she has cold feet,” someone muttered.

In the first row, Lord Frey was turning red with rage. And right before he could jump up to go find his daughter and likely drag her down the aisle, Yrene came running in with a note in her hand.

***

Dorian hadn’t noticed anything. He’d been too busy looking at Manon. She was seated, so he couldn’t see the entire thing, but this dress rivaled the one she’d worn last night. A silvery gray color that matched the shimmering wings of her wyvern, the dress had a neckline that stretched across her collar bones, from shoulder to shoulder. Hanging down over her chest was a single red ruby, large enough to fit within the eye in the pommel of his sword. Her hair was braided into a crown atop her head. Despite their fight, despite everything, he smiled at her, unable to tear his gaze away. Unable to keep from wishing it was her walking towards him today.

Until Chaol tapped his arm and brought him back to reality. Where the musicians were fumbling to begin the processional again. Where Lord Frey was staring daggers at him for admiring Manon. Where Yrene was walking up the aisle instead of Eveline. He hadn’t even noticed Yrene wasn’t seated before them.

Trying to keep her voice low, she handed Dorian the letter she carried and said, “She’s gone. This was all she left.”

With so many eager ears and the heightened acoustics of the building, everyone heard her. Immediately, the chapel was in an uproar. Some guests were shocked, upset to see their king abandoned at the altar. Others were watching the scene unfold with glee, anxious for the tales they could tell afterwards. The priest stood with his mouth agape. Lord Frey was reaching for the letter, sputtering curses and pushing back the lords who’d allied with him. They were gathered around him, clamoring for an explanation. Manon and Glennis both stared wide-eyed at him, unsure how to react.

Dorian spun away from Lord Frey’s grasp and began to read.

Your Majesty,

Please forgive me for the lateness of this wedding gift. I had hoped to have it weeks ago, but my father is a paranoid man with many hideaways, and my efforts were delayed.

My father is not what he seems. He lost most of his gold during the war and has been pretending to be wealthy ever since. He fears nothing more than losing his title and being relegated to a life of poverty. His complaints to his neighbors about your rule were nothing more than talk. Is wasn’t until he was approached from afar that the talk turned into real threats of rebellion.

I was aware that someone was pushing my father down this path, offering to pay a rich reward for his work, but I didn’t know who until just an hour ago. A friend was finally able to procure some messages sent from the foreign party to my father as proof of their plan. They have been placed in your valet’s safe keeping. Ruben was always kind to me, and I believe him to be a trustworthy attendant to you.

I am sure you are curious about who is funding my father’s play at rebellion. I must confess I was shocked and confused to learn that Prince Fennick is behind the plot.

According to the messages, the prince had heard of my father’s money woes and came to him with a plan. My father was to stir up trouble among your nobles then offer up my hand in marriage as the only way to appease him and prevent a war.

I cannot be sure of the prince’s motives, but I suspect he has had his eye on your beloved witch queen for some time. I trust you will be able to get the details out of him.

I must also ask your forgiveness for my dreadful conduct in leaving you like this. The truth is, I am in love with a man named Costis, a groom in your stables. We had planned to run away, but my father pulled me unwillingly into his scheme before we could manage it. Costis was able to acquire the letters just this morning. As I have been freed from my father, we are now off to live our own lives.

I said above that this is my wedding gift to you. Of course, as we are no longer getting married, I do not give it to you as a wife to her husband. Instead, I offer this to my King, who is also now free to be with the witch he loves.

With hope for a long and happy life with your queen,

Eveline

 Dorian wasn’t sure if he was breathing. He rubbed at his eyes, skimmed over the message again and again, making sure it was real and not some figment of his overwrought imagination. Passing it to Chaol, he ordered him to arrest Frey. And then he found Manon in the crowd and ran to her.

Her face held a million questions, but there was no time. They’d waited long enough. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her. After a second’s hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back. He thought he heard someone yelling but it faded away, just like everything else around them.

The world, his world, was here in his arms. That’s all that mattered.

When they broke apart, the chapel had quieted down. Manon opened her eyes slowly, as if coming out of a trance. “Marry me, witchling,” Dorian said, letting his wild grin take over his face. “Not today. I want our friends with us. But please, will you marry me? Be my queen? The only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Manon began to laugh, and the sound of her joy was like a balm to his heart, repairing all the cracks and pieces that had broken off in the past months.

“Please,” he repeated. “If you want me to beg, I will.”

She laughed again before cupping his face in her hands and nodding. “Yes. I will marry you, princeling.”

Some of the guests began cheering, others were still reeling by the turn of events. Chaol and Yrene were next to them, hugging Glennis.

Dorian turned to see Lord Frey in shackles, being hauled off by the royal guard. A glance to Chaol told him they still had one other person to deal with. Signaling to his remaining guard and Manon’s sentinels, he walked to where Fennick still stood, an expression of deepest insult on the prince’s face.

“Fennick Whitethorn, you are under arrest for plotting to overthrow Adarlan,” Dorian said. Manon looked between him and Fennick, speechless with shock.

The male was stricken with outrage. “What? What the hell are you talking about? When I return to Doranelle, this will not be forgotten! Sellene will not stand for this!”

“I suspect Queen Sellene is not aware of what you’ve been up to,” Dorian countered, noticing Ruben enter the chapel. His valet waved a stack of papers for Dorian to see. Dorian nodded and motioned for Chaol to fetch them. To Manon, he explained, “Eveline found proof that our good friend Fennick was paying Lord Frey to carry out this sham. He wanted me out of the way to pursue you.”

Manon’s eyes narrowed and he saw the anger and embarrassment rise in her like a flood. It was a level of rage he’d never seen on her before. And hoped to never see again.

She turned and glared up at Fennick. He immediately began accusing Eveline and Lord Frey of lying, accusing Dorian of making it up to escape the wedding. But she said nothing, just watched him grow more pathetic as he spouted increasingly ridiculous excuses. When he had nothing left to say, Manon cocked her arm and punched him in the face, sending him shuffling back and twirling around before he thudded to the floor, unconscious. Her witches picked him up and dragged him out, following the royal guard to the dungeon.

*****

After an abbreviated un-wedding dinner, Manon walked with Dorian to the top of the king’s tower, past her guest rooms to the suite she would now be sharing with him. There was much to be discussed and worked out. While their marriage would be a good alliance for both kingdoms, compromises would have to be made. Including, Manon informed him, splitting their time between the two capitols.

Dorian had agreed before she even got all the words out. “I don’t care where we are, as long as we’re together.”

“We can’t be together all the time,” she said, trying to be sensible as she stood before him, staring in wonder at his proximity, listening to his heartbeat. He was taking his time pulling the pins from her hair, one by one. Manon wasn’t sure if sensible was possible right now. The heartache of the last six months, the explosive revelations of hours ago, she exhaled and let it all go, as if the winds could carry it away across the sea. Right here, right now, it was just them. Sensible talk about kingdoms and politics could wait.

“I beg to differ,” he said, reaching around her head for a pin. The movement brought him blessedly closer.

“There you go again,” she purred. “Begging.”

Her hair was free of pins and he began to undo the braid, letting it fall through his fingers. “Only for you, witchling.”

She continued to watch him, getting lost in the perfect smile that hadn’t left his face in hours. When Manon reached up and ran her fingers over his dimpled cheek, he made a little gasp and turned his attention from her hair. “You said last night that I don’t belong to you, but you belong to me,” she said.

“I did.” His smile faded, his voice a deep whisper.

“You were wrong. I am yours and yours only. There is no one else I would give myself to.”

Dorian took her face in both hands and kissed her, and she felt his smile return. “Only you.”

Clutching her hand, he led her to the bed where they took their time undressing each other. She lay back on the bed, losing herself to the charged heat of his touch, the soft fullness of his lips.

“Only you,” she murmured, feeling his mouth curl up against the inside of her thigh.

Dorian took his time, for they had that now. Time to tease and caress every inch of her, time to nip at her ears, time to shift her hips to sink deeper inside her, leaving her breathless and needy for more. And after an eternity where he sent her spinning over the edge again and again, he joined her, calling out her name as if it were his home.

When their euphoria faded, Dorian fell onto the bed next to her, pulling her close as they fought to catch their breath. “And you say I’m the one who always begs,” he teased.

They slept in the next morning, not getting out of bed until almost noon when Ruben knocked and demanded they eat something. There were other things to see to, guests to say goodbye to, and then finally, that night after dinner, Manon and Dorian went to the dungeons.

The second Lord Frey saw them, he dropped to his knees. “Please, Your Majesty. I only wanted the money to rebuild my estate. I never intended to bring about war. Please, please …”

Manon was surprised by the sudden turn. Just yesterday at the ceremony, he’d been trying to urge his allies to stand in support of him, ultimately resorting to screamed threats that had the opposite effect. And now, he was on his knees, pleading for his life.

“You’re accused of treason, Frey,” Dorian said. The man flinched at the loss of his title. “If you really want to continue confessing, be my guest. But you may want to wait for a judge.”

The man shook his head, befuddled. “You … you’re not going to hang me?”

This man had almost destroyed their lives, bringing Adarlan to the brink of civil war. Dorian had every right to punish him harshly. They’d discussed how to handle these interrogations over dinner, though they had not expected it would be this easy. It seemed that Frey was a coward at heart and had been a poor choice of conspirators for Fennick.

Dorian said, “I won’t hang you. If you tell me why.”

Frey heaved a sigh of relief, though he had the sense to still look nervous. “Before the war, Duke Perrington forced me to help fund some of his work at Morath.” At Dorian’s dubious look, he added, “I swear I did not know who he truly was then. I was acting in the best interest of my kingdom and my holdings. But … he bled me dry, offering promises of future reward that never came. And then he was revealed to be Erawan, leaving Adarlan devastated. I had enough in my vault to maintain appearances, but nothing more. Prince Fennick approached me earlier this year with an offer that would allow me to regain my former wealth. I was to stir up dislike for you and get support from other nobles, enough to pose a credible threat to your throne. When talk of rebellion grew to a boiling point, I would demand you marry my daughter. Her hand in exchange for appeasing your enemies.”

“And what was your payment?” Manon asked.

“Gold,” Frey said simply. She arched an eyebrow in a silent demand for more, and he sank miserably onto the floor. “And the promise that when an heir was born, the king would be eliminated, leaving me as regent.”

The gold was expected. But the threat of assassination came as a shock. Dorian was speechless, trying to process how close they’d come to ruin. Frey eyed him, fearful that the earlier proposal to spare him from hanging would be dismissed.

“What did he stand to gain?” Manon continued. Frey seemed oblivious to the fact that he would be installed as a puppet. Or, more likely, set up as Dorian’s killer and disposed of himself.  

“Prince Fennick would be able to marry you. He told me all about how the two of you met during the war.” At Manon’s surprise, the man hesitated. “He said that he had fallen in love with you, that you were his mate. But you were attached to King Dorian. He believed the only chance he stood was to have the king removed from the mix.”

Manon and Dorian said nothing as they stared at each other. Frey returned to begging for his life, mistaking their silence for anger at the dark depths of the scheme. He was still calling out to them for mercy as they left him with a guard.

When they reached Fennick’s cell further down the dank passageway, they found the fae stretched out lazily on a cot. His eyes were closed, and something about the scene made Manon’s temper boil to the surface. Dorian cleared his throat, and the fae could no longer pretend they weren’t there. He stood and looked between her and Dorian.

She’d thought perhaps Fennick might still be projecting the indignant fury of the night before, or something worse. But he wore the same confident expression he’d had when she first met him.

“I wasn’t lying about that woman I loved. Mortals are fickle. And they die so easily.”

It was directed at Manon, but Dorian asked, “Was that a threat?” She knew he was keeping his magic on a tight leash, but the air still crackled with it.

Fennick huffed a laugh, ignoring the question and Dorian. “Immortals such as you and I should not debase ourselves by associating with humans. Maeve and I rarely saw eye to eye, but the restrictions she placed on who could settle in Doranelle were something on which we could agree.”

“It seems to me your human was the smart one,” Manon said, somehow controlling the urge to maul him. “Escaping your clutches was the best thing that could have happened to her.”

He grinned at her, his sharp canines flashing, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Who said she escaped me?”

Here was the male she’d been worried they might find, the one kept hidden under the fancy clothes and courtly manners. The one who thought he could take their kingdoms as his own.

“So, you hate humans?” Dorian asked, lightly. “That’s what this is all about?”

Fennick finally turned to acknowledge him. “I don’t particularly care for them. But no, Your Majesty, that’s not what this is about.” Dorian’s title came out of his mouth as a sneer. “I had just as much right to Maeve’s throne as any Whitethorn. To simply hand it to Sellene, as if it were some cheap trinket to be tossed at whoever stood nearest was a disgrace.”

“We had nothing to do with that,” Manon said.

“True,” Fennick agreed. “But there were no other kingdoms as vulnerable as yours. Or as valuable, what with all that gold you have hidden in the Wastes. The Witch Kingdom was the perfect place to start.”

Manon growled at the insult, but Dorian asked, “Start what?”

“My rule,” he said simply. To Manon, he added, “Having you at my side was to an extra reward. I understand the valg king wanted you for his queen. I must confess, that piqued my interest.”

She shuddered at the mention of Erawan. It brought back memories of the way his eyes would crawl over her, possessive and hungry. The valg king had planned to keep her as his own. Much like this fae.

Dorian’s restraint was reaching its limit and the air felt suddenly cooler. His voice was just as icy as he asked, “Rule what?”

“Everything.” The word was slick, as if coated in venom.

Something had changed in Fennick’s manner with the confession. Gone were the handsome features and polite way of speaking. Locked in a cell, his hair disheveled and clothing dirty, he looked like a different creature. She’d known fae could be feral, animalistic. She’d experienced it, barely survived it. But watching him speak these words, Manon wondered if she’d truly ever seen the transformation before.

“You searched for a desperate Adarlan noble,” she said, “one with a marriageable daughter, one who could be paid off to extort the king. All to force Dorian into an arranged marriage, seduce me to steal my kingdom, then kill him for his. Do I have it right?”

Fennick’s eyes narrowed on Dorian and he grinned. “The seduction part is right, at least.”

Manon flew at him, her iron nails extended and desperate for blood. Bars or not, she wanted to scratch the bastard’s eyes from their sockets. But Dorian grabbed her by the waist and held her back. She struggled against him briefly before calming down. When he let go of her, she still shook with the desire to hurt the male. This fae prince had truly thought he could conquer Erilea? She wanted to scream in his face that he was a fool. But she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to bring more attention to how close he’d come to setting his plan in motion. And to her own foolishness. She’d let this monster touch her, dance with her. She’d pitied him when he deserved nothing but revulsion.

Dorian stepped up to the cell door, eyeing Fennick with a sly smile. “It’s funny that you think you could try to play us against each other.”

The male shrugged, unconcerned. “It was worth a shot. You are only human.”

“I may only be human,” Dorian said, “but I have something you don’t.”

Instantly, Fennick was slammed backwards by invisible hands, thrown up against the grimy stone wall and held there. He tried to speak but couldn’t. Somehow, Dorian had cut off his voice. The male’s eyes bulged in rage.

Manon watched Fennick struggle against Dorian’s magic, her enjoyment of the spectacle growing with each vein that popped out on the male’s neck. Speaking to Dorian, she mused, “Do you think he’s even a prince?”

“From his branch of the family? The one even Maeve ignored?” Dorian taunted. “No, I doubt it. And Sellene certainly played no part in this. He’s here on his own, likely without a coin to his name.”

“That reminds me,” Manon said, turning back to Fennick. “Your intricate plan had at least two big flaws,” she said. “Your reliance on using the Witch Kingdom’s gold was misguided, I’m afraid. The gold we have is mostly still in the ground, unrefined, and worth next to nothing. And your pathetic attempts to seduce me and make me think we might be mates …” She trailed off, swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat at the words. “My mate stands beside me now,” she said, feeling Dorian’s gaze settle on her. Whatever connection they shared, whether it was love or something more, they were mates in each other’s eyes.

Fennick had gone still, a silent, malevolent rage simmering off him. She glanced at Dorian, who loosened his magical hold and let the fae drop to the floor in a heap.

Jumping up, Fennick sprang towards the bars holding him in, teeth bared, his hands reaching out to strike her. Dorian had them shielded. And when his fists were repelled by nothing but air, Fennick screamed. “You bitch! You don’t know-” The fae was thrown back against the wall, his voice cut off again.

“I’ve heard enough,” Dorian said, his face twisted as he struggled to control his magic so as not to kill the male.

Before they left, Manon said, “A messenger has been sent to Sellene, outlining all you’ve done and what you will be charged with. If she asks for you back to throw in her own cells, we may oblige.” When he didn’t seem to care, she added, “And a messenger was sent north to Terrasen. I’m sure Rowan will be interested in hearing about what you’ve done using the family name.” For the first time, real fear flashed across Fennick’s face. Manon smiled, wicked and slow. “You’re right to fear him,” she said. “But I fought with Sellene in the war. She is just as fearsome as Rowan. Why do you think they made her queen?”

By the time they walked back past Frey’s cell, it had been emptied of its prisoner. In exchange for his promise of testimony, he’d been moved to a cleaner section of the dungeons. And when they started up the twisting stairs, Dorian released his magic. They heard a thud and a string of loud curses.

Manon was silent as they came out into a room just off the main entrance hall. Even though she never fell for Fennick’s advances, had never come close to letting things progress in that direction, she’d excused his behavior. The fact that he’d marked her as a fool, marked her kingdom as vulnerable, marked Dorian for death, left her dizzy with guilt and fear. While Glennis and Yrene were happy to be proven right about him, Manon felt adrift, as if her instincts had abandoned her.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Dorian said, motioning the steward over to them. She didn’t hear what he requested.

“I know. But it feels as though it is.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I was duped as much as you were. Thank the gods for Eveline and Costis.”

“Yes,” Manon agreed. “I wonder where they will end up?”

A boy returned bearing two heavy cloaks. Dorian took them and smiled. “I don’t know. But we should find them and send them a wedding gift.”

He draped a cloak over her shoulders and put the other one across his own. Clasping her hand, he led her out of the castle and in the direction of the stables. Abraxos stretched his long neck and arched his back at the first sight of them, excited for their late visit. Manon hugged Dorian tight, thanking him for knowing exactly what she needed at the exact right time. They climbed into the saddle and with a whoop from his rider, Abraxos took off into the star filled night.

***

The following summer in Rifthold, after a week of festivities that brought the Terrasen Queen and her entire court, the Queen of the Western Wastes, the future Emperor and Empress of the Southern Continent, the newly crowned King of Wendlyn, the Queen of Doranelle, and other royalty from across Erilea, Dorian and Manon were finally married.

That night, after the ceremony, as they lay in bed pointing out familiar constellations that had been painted on the ceiling of the royal suite, Dorian pulled a package from the bedside table. Silently, he presented it to his queen. Manon took it, bemused and unable to tell what was under the wrapping. When she tore it off and opened the box, she found a beautiful, leather-bound book.

Stamped in gold lettering on the cover were their names, Manon and Dorian.

“Is this the same …?” She trailed off, knowing the answer before finishing the question.

Dorian shook his head. “No, but Glennis told me about the one you got. I thought we should have our own. Open it.”

She flipped through and found some of the pages in the beginning already filled in. There was a family tree for each of them. Dorian’s included Chaol, Yrene, and Josie. And Manon traced her fingers over the names of the parents she’d never met, and the sisters she had lost.

Then a page titled How We Met. It was mostly blank, except for where Dorian had written

She saved me.

Manon stared at it for a long moment. Then suddenly, she jumped out of bed and went to his desk. After a moment of searching, she found a pen and bottle of ink. Underneath his words, she wrote

He saved me too.

Over the years, the book was carried back and forth between Adarlan and the Witch Kingdom, never leaving the possession of the King and Queen. Its pages were filled with memories, happy and sad. Memories of theirs and of others. Births, deaths.

And when the book was passed on to their daughter, she read her parents love for her and each other in every word. For they were lucky. Rhiannon’s parents were a love match, and she’d promised them she wouldn’t settle for anything less.

The end.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I hope this ending made up for the pain and angst everyone suffered through! ☺️

You can find my writing master list here or on AO3.

@itach-i  @bookishwitchling  @manontrashbeak  @awesomelena555  @jimetg98  @over300books

[eveningstar1516]

Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 12

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so..., Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence. AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A/N: I gotta Discord server guys! It's primarily Obey Me but other fandoms are welcome as well. It's kinda baby and dead so me and the other members are looking to revive it and we'd love for you to come join us. A roleplay area is included :) https://discord.gg/F3YEmDZCPS Please remember to read and accept the rules once you join for access to all the channels. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Previously:

I faced the edge, ready to jump when I realized I had forgotten something. Turning around, I looked God straight in the eyes and threw the strongest right hook I had ever thrown in my life before jumping backwards, tucking in my wings and closing my eyes. A content sigh leaving my lips as I let the darkness engulf me whole.

I’m coming guys. Wait up for me ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ CHAPTER 12 - Welcome Home (2132 words)

I woke up sometime mid-fall. The initial shock caused me to blackout. Now that I was falling, all I could hear was the wind around me and the sound of someone's pained gasps and screams. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered that the screaming was my own. My hands flew to my head and my wings wrapped around me. My wings felt like they were melting off. When I managed to open my eyes, I watched as the once pure white wings slowly fade to black. The center of each feather shining with a deep blue. My clothes started transforming at around midway. The last thing I registered was a swirl of magic surrounding me before I blacked out once again from the pain.

I woke up in a small crater. The first thing I noticed was the white hot pain all around my body, specifically my back. Using what little strength I had, I pushed myself up into a sitting position and cocooned myself in my 4 wings. Wait 4! Painfully, I stretched my wings out and noticed that my top pair had burnt off. Looking down, I noticed that my attire didn’t change much either. I stayed in my celestial garb, but all the white now turned black. The gold accents became a midnight blue. A black cape hung off my shoulders with a blue inner lining. I reached towards my head to feel for my horns but was shocked to find nothing there.

Despite feeling numb all over, I tried standing up to take in my surroundings but I just collapsed right back down. Instead, I took to crawling. I appeared to be in a garden of sorts. I found my way over to a fountain, and peered into the water taking in my reflection. I looked like I had just left a battlefield, but what surprised me the most, was the small black halo over my head. Lucifer told me that when they fell, their halo’s shattered and horns grew in their place, but my halo was still there. It was a small ring of black fire instead of light. I tentatively reached up to feel it, noting that it was cool to the touch and whatever I did, didn't disturb it.

I looked around the garden, something was strangely familiar about it but I couldn't place my finger on it. All of a sudden, I heard shouting and hurried footsteps. I turned around to see what looked to be a squad of guards rushing towards me. Before my fogged mind could register what was happening, 2 of them tackled me to the ground and secured my wrists and wings behind my back. One of the guards hands brushed over my halo and I could feel a disturbance in the fire before he screamed. His hand had been severely burned. The guard whom I assumed to be the leader of the group barked out orders to bring me to the throne room. My mind having finally caught up to the situation realized why the garden and uniforms looked familiar. I was in the Palace Garden! I felt the guards grab my shoulders and pull me off the ground as I got dragged off; my whole body still aching all over.

I knew I couldn’t take the guards in my current condition so I stayed silent and looked around as I was being led to the throne room. The hallways all looked as familiar and welcoming as they had when I first arrived in the Devildom as a human. There were a few notable differences such as the added portraits. Eventually, we stopped in front of the throne room and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. One of the guards opened the door as 2 of them grabbed my shoulders and pushed me onto my knees in front of the king. Hissing at the pain, I kept my head bowed for a second before looking up.

Raising my head, I saw Diavolo sitting on the throne. His demon form had some subtle changes. He wore a little less accessories but the most notable change was the crown adorning his head. The once prince, now king, looked as majestic and regal as he always had been. His once carefree demeanour, now replaced with a presence that demanded respect. He looked like he was born to lead. Before anyone could say anything, I locked eyes with Diavolo and smiled. “Long time no see my Lord, or perhaps, my King would be more appropriate.” I saw the recognition of my voice flash in Diavolo’s eyes, a momentary expression of disbelief flickered across his face before he ordered the guards to release me. “But my Liege-” “Need I repeat myself? I ordered you to release them. You’re all dismissed.” The guards now scared of any repercussions that would arise, quickly released me, bowed their apologies and left. Carefully I stood up, rubbing my wrists before Diavolo came up and captured me in a bone crushing hug. I hissed in pain. “Ah! Hehe, I missed you too Dia.” Diavolo squeezed a little tighter, tears starting to pool into his eyes. “Uh, Dia. I still hurt from the fall and I kind of need to breathe. Please?” Diavolo released me with an apologetic look. Gently holding my chin, he looked into my eyes. I smiled back. “You’re here. You’re really here. I’ve missed you so much. We’ve missed you so much.” Diavolo leaned down as I embraced him. Whisper-crying onto my shoulder. “I know. I did too.” Patting his back I let him stay there for a little. “There there big guy. Where’s my happy go lucky prince hmm?” At this, Diavolo let out a laugh. Composing himself he stood up and flashed me his signature smile. De-powering, he pointed to his chest. “Still here, but not the prince anymore.” “That’s right. You’re a King now! I hope this means less pranks and spontaneous schemes are going to be pulled on the brothers?” “I wouldn’t say less, but definitely less frequent.” Barbatos walked into the throne room and dropped the papers he was carrying. A hand went to cover his mouth as he stood in shock. I made my way over to him and gave him a hug. “Hey Barb. I’m back.” Barbatos hesitated for a second. The time demon was still in shock from my appearance before he returned the hug. He held me tightly against him while being mindful of my injuries. “Your wings.” Releasing the hug I looked at them. “I know. It hurts, but it’s more of a phantom pain. I lost the top set.” “You look just like Lucifer did before he fell.” Diavolo remarked, reaching for my halo. I stepped just beyond his reach. “I wouldn't do that. One of the guards touched me and badly burned his hand.” “This is interesting. Why did the brothers lose theirs but yours only changed?” Barbatos thought aloud. “I don’t know. I wish I did but I don’t. Speaking of Lucifer and the brothers, where is he?” “Ah, I thought you’d ask that. He’s here in the palace working. I do warn you though, he hasn’t been the same since you left.” “Let me guess, he buried himself in work and reverted back to his old self from before we met?” “Well yes, but 10x worse.” “Can I see him?” “Of course! Follow me” Waving bye to Barbatos. I followed Diavolo out of the throne room. It was now that the rest of the pain from the fall wanted to hit. As soon as we left the throne room, I almost collapsed and had to lean against the wall for support. My back was killing me and my legs were numb. Diavolo saw me and caught me halfway. “Y/N! Are you sure you’re alright?” “No, no I don’t think so, but I did expect this to happen.” “Do you want me to call a physician?” “No, I’ll be fine with some rest. I just want to see him.” “Alright. You can lean on me.” “Thank you.” Walking around the halls with Diavolo, we caught up on some stuff going on in the Devildom. I promised to tell him about my time in the Celestial Realm after I’ve gotten some rest. Sometime later, we stopped in front of an office in the east wing. Diavolo knocked on the door. “Lucifer. You have someone who wants to see you.” Diavolo opened the door as I

stood behind him. I heard Lucifer sigh. “I would love to my Lord, but I’m afraid these need to get done before I am available to see anyone.” Seeing the opportunity, I chose to seize it. Stepping around Diavolo, I saw Lucifer still looking down at the documents on his desk as I announced myself. “Aww, so does that mean you don’t want to see me?” Lucifer dropped his pen, his head shooting up to look at me. His face, a mix between shock and hope. I made my way over to his desk as he stood up and walked around to meet me halfway. He stopped in front of me looking very conflicted. Slowly, his hand made its way up to cup my face. “Y/N?” I would have missed that whisper if I wasn’t paying attention. I put my hand over his and turned my head giving him a small kiss against his palm before closing my eyes and leaning into him. “Yes. I missed you.” Lucifer lost his composure and pulled me protectively against his chest, my head resting just above his heart. His head resting on top of my own. “Lucifer, their halo-!” His hold was tight, but comforting, holding on as if, if he were to loosen just a bit, I would disappear. I looked up to see my halo had dissipated, making room for Lucifer. I pulled away from him. “How? How did you not get burned?” Lucifer looked at me and Diavolo, confused. Then he saw the black ring of fire atop my head. “How did you retain your halo?” “I don’t know. But when other demons touched it, they got severely burned, but you're just fine.” Diavolo crossed his arms, thinking. “Maybe it doesn’t affect higher ranked demons?” “No, it still does. I felt the heat when I got close to you Y/N.” “Maybe it’s because Lucifer was once an angel?” “Perhaps. I can still sense some grace within you. You didn’t lose all of it when you fell like the rest of us.” “Neither did you Lucifer.” “What?” “You still retained a small portion of your celestial power and grace. Perhaps, the halo won’t harm demons or angels with grace within them. It will do its job and repel true demons.” “In that case, I should probably stay away from Satan, huh?” “I don’t know. Satan was born from Lucifer so he might have some trace of grace within him. I wouldn’t test it, but I would be cautious. Take the day Lucifer. Take care of them.” “Thank you Diavolo.” With that, Lucifer shifted into his demon form. Wings encompassing the both of us. “We will catch up later Y/N. Get some rest.” “Thank you Diavolo. Nice to see you again.” Lucifer muttered a spell teleporting us to his room.

Now in the privacy of his own room, his walls fell down. Lucifer held me tight. His head bowed down, resting on the crook of my neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” The tears flowed freely as he cried on my shoulder. I maneuvered us towards the bed as sat down as Lucifer kneeled to match my height. I put my arms around his back, fingers running through his hair. “It’s not your fault Lucifer. Please don’t blame yourself. I’m alright, and I’m here with you. Please don’t be sorry.” Lucifer lifted his head from my shoulder, taking me in properly for the first time. His hand made its way to my wings, softly stroking the blackened feathers. His fingers traced the base of my wings on my back when he noticed the scarring. “Your top pair.” “I know. It’s alright. I’m still numb there so I can’t feel it.” “You look perfect in my clothes. They were made for you.” “No Lucifer, they were made for you. I just borrowed them.” Chuckling, he leaned forward and leaned his forehead against mine. “Welcome home”

I spent that night cuddled close to Lucifer. After I bathed, he tended to my injuries and wrapped my upper back where my top set of wings once were. We layed in bed together, Lucifer holding me protectively against him as we fell asleep to the sound of our heartbeats, beating in sync.

[wallgirl]

The Little Nereid Part 9

Record of Ragnarok fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Word count: 2,800

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful.

Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. There will be some graphic violence in the future.

Updated regularly, multiple times a week; will have about ?15? parts total.

---

"Dynamene," a soft voice nudged her hours later. "Dynamene, wake up, we're almost there."

Dynamene opened her eyes groggily and looked up at Eione, whose shoulder she was still leaning against. "Huh?"

"Home; we're almost home." Eione smiled and drew back the carriage curtains to show her, letting in the bright sunshine. Dynamene sat up, quickly awoken by the warmth of the sunlight, and pressed herself to the window.

The rocky terrain and stormy weather had completely disappeared, giving way to rolling green hills lined with thick forest and sandy bluffs. The sky was clear without a cloud in sight, and Dynamene drank in the view of the pristine ocean under the bright blue sky. The gentle waves broke with crests like diamonds in the bright sun, before fading back into the cerulean waters. Dynamene's face lit up and she turned back to Eione, beaming. "It's just as beautiful as I remember."

"Isn't it?" Eione grinned. "We're nearly there. Just around this bend..."

The line of carriages rattled down the well-worn dirt road, turning around a thick grove of fig trees before beginning the final descent down a steep hill.

At the bottom was a sandy delta, flanked on the far side by a gorgeous palace made of sandstone and marble. The palace looked as if it had grown out of the bluffs as a natural extension of it, the exterior asymmetrical and rough but pleasing in a busy way. Sea glass in every color wrapped in whimsical patterns around the pillars and windows before winding down to the ground and forming a mosaic walkway to the entrance.

The ocean flowed into a cerulean lagoon before the palace, where the mouths of several small rivers met. Around the lagoon were large tide pools in which Dynamene could spot people and merfolk playing and basking.

There was a sudden shout from the distance, and the people began to stop what they were doing, looking towards the carriages. Then there was a loud chorus of calls and cheer, and the people scrambled in every which way. A trumpet sounded; now everyone knew that the Nereids were nearly home.

Before Dynamene could say anything, a booming voice came from the oceanside. "Greetings, Nereids!" She turned towards the other window to see a parade of merpeople headed by a handsome merman keeping pace with the carriage, leisurely leaping out of the water to speak to them. "Welcome home!"

Eione leaned over Dynamene and threw the window up. "Aye, merfolk! I thought I smelled fish!"

"Nay, Nereid," the merman replied smoothly. "It is yourself, I reckon." He gave Eione a mischievous wink.

Eione feigned a gasp of offense and flicked her hand. A spray of ocean water splashed the merman's face, but he laughed easily. "We will tell your parents of your arrival. Welcome home!" With that, he and the rest of the group sped ahead down along the beach, their tails glimmering in reds and greens under the surface of the water.

"Ah, that slimy fish," Eione tutted, but she tossed her hair in amusement. "It's so good to be back." She took in a deep breath before exhaling dramatically. "I can breathe here, you know?"

"Yes. Yes, I do," Dynamene whispered, unpinning her travel cloak. It was if the weight of the world had fallen off her shoulders with the fabric, and she began to help Eione get their bags sorted.

Minutes later, they had arrived before the palace. Beings of all sorts had gathered to greet their arrival with much a-do; fresh-water nymphs, dryads, fauns, satyrs, and merfolk. Familiar faces were on every side, and Dynamene lost track of the number of hugs she'd clasped with people she hadn't seen since goodness knows when. Old jokes were exchanged, and new ones made, as the crowd helped the Nereids unload their luggage from the carriages.

"Dynamene!" Actaea called from where a dryad was helping her lift down a trunk. "Look who it is!"

Dynamene turned and erupted once again into a wide smile. A boy with messy chestnut hair and freckles like hers was running down the path from the palace towards the group. "Dynamene!" He shouted. "Actaea! Eione! Everyone!" He flung himself into Dynamene's arms, and she squeezed him tight, rocking from side to side.

"Nerites," she whispered happily, taking the scent of seawater in her little brother's hair. "It's so good to see you again."

He pulled back to look at her with a frown. "You've gotten taller again. But I thought I would get taller than you someday?"

Dynamene laughed and ruffled his hair lovingly. "I think you have a few more centuries yet, little brother."

"That's fine," he replied. "As long as it happens someday." He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards one of the inlets. "I can't believe you're finally here! Even Elasippus came to greet you all today, too!"

Dynamene knelt down at the edge of the small bluff. Basking in the shallow water of the pool was a young merman, barely out of boyhood, with strawberry blond hair strung with ocean droplets and a shimmering green tail. He looked up in surprise at Dynamene. "Hello, Dynamene."

"Elasippus!" She smiled at her brother's friend warmly. "It's been too long. Your tail's gotten longer, hasn't it?"

"Um, yes," he answered shyly, fins curling back and forth. "I just thought I'd come and say hello, since I've known you all for so long..."

"Don't be awkward, Elas," Nerites sighed. "We've been best friends for ages; it's okay to talk to my sisters."

Dynamene laughed. "It's okay, it's been a few years. It's still weird to see that you two have gotten bigger, though," she sighed. "I guess I still remember when you were both little tadpoles, crying when the sand got in your eyes."

"Hey, we're not crybabies anymore!" Nerites protested. "Actually, me and Elas have been exploring a lot recently. We found this underwater cave that's full of oysters, and we've been collecting them to harvest. Some of them even have pearls. We're gonna go again today, actually. If you want, you should come with us!"

"When? Now?" She asked in disbelief as Nerites pulled on her hand.

"Yeah! Come on!"

"Well..." She looked back at her other sisters, who were still bringing the luggage in.

"Go ahead, Dyna," Ianeira called. "We'll join you in a little bit."

"Scratch that," Eione jumped in, boldly tossing off her peplos and chiton. "I'm going with now. Come on, Dynamene! Last one into the water is rotten caviar!" She took a running start and dove head-first into the rippling water.

"Well, if it's alright with everyone else," Dynamene sighed dramatically, undoing her own peplos. "I suppose..."

And bolstered on by the happy exclamations of her brother, she dove in.

---

Hours later, Dynamene pulled herself back up onto shore, breathless from laughter. "Here," she tossed a pearl to Nerites. "Almost dropped that one."

The other Nereids broke the surface close-by, laughing and wringing out their hair. "Did you see how fast Thoe dissipated when that ray went by?" Eione teased. "I thought she was a cloud of silt for a moment."

"Hey, those things have barbs, you know," Thoe sniffed as she smoothed her wet bangs away from her forehead.

"I wish we could've seen some whales," Callianassa sighed as she finished reforming her hands. She gave her fingers a graceful wiggle. "It's been forever since I've heard a whale call."

"There are a lot of whales at the next cove down. They came here for the birthing season," Elasippus told her as he carefully pulled a strand of seaweed from his hair. "We can show you later if you want."

"We gave a few of them nicknames," Nerites added, looking up from where he was admiring his satchel full of freshly harvested pearls. "Two babies have been born so far; we named one Fig and the other Olive."

"That's so... unimaginative," Dynamene teased him good-naturedly, and he splashed her with water.

"You come up with better names, then!"

"I will," she replied, sticking her tongue out at him.

"I bet I can come up with better names than both of you," Ianeira said, splashing them both. "Just give me until after supper."

"Speaking of supper, I'm starving," Eione groaned. She pulled her sandy chiton back on over her head before giving her hair one last shake. "What's on the menu?"

"Why don't we go inside and find out?" Ianeira said. "It must be nearly time to eat, anyways."

"Sounds good to me," Dynamene affirmed, gathering her clothes back up to get dressed. She paused for a moment, scouring the sand.

"Looking for something, Dynamene?" Elasippus asked.

"No, it's fine, just found it!" Dynamene sighed with relief. She brushed the sand away from where it had lightly blown over her bracelet. "False alarm." She quickly drew it back onto her wrist, carefully dusting any remaining sand off.

"That's pretty," Nerites said in awe. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh, um," Dynamene blushed, smoothing her wet hair away from where it clung to her neck. "Lord... Lord Poseidon gave it to me not long ago, as a birthday present."

"Really?" He asked in surprise. "Wow. He didn't get you guys jewelry, did he?" He asked the other sisters tactlessly.

The sisters exchanged a silent look for half a moment before Ianeira cleared her throat. "Come on, everyone! I'm sure Mother and Father would like to see us at long last as well."

The rest of the girls finished dressing and began to make their way up the beach towards the glittering palace. Nerites said goodbye to Elasippus and ran after them.

"Dynamene, are you coming?" Actaea asked, pausing to look back at her younger sister. Dynamene was still carefully braiding her hair.

"I'll be there in a moment!" Dynamene called back, waving her on. "I just want to finish braiding my hair before it dries again. I'll meet up with you guys at the palace."

"Alright, don't be too long!" Actaea disappeared over the sandy hill, leaving Dynamene alone with Elasippus.

Elasippus remained for a moment, watching in fascination as Dynamene wove her hair back into two braids. "Beautiful," he whispered.

"Mm?" Dynamene looked up.

"The bracelet," he said hastily. "Lord Poseidon was very thoughtful. It's gorgeous."

"Isn't it?" Dynamene sighed and held out her hand so the merman could take a better look. "It's mother-of-pearl, my favorite."

"So it sounds like you get along with him, huh?" Elasippus swam in an idle circle. "That's good. I hear he's not so easy to be around."

"No, he's not," Dynamene admitted. "But, you know..." She remembered the times on the beach with him, and the way he had brushed her hair back. "He's not so bad, deep down." She began to blush.

"I see," Elasippus said slowly, watching Dynamene's face turn pink. "If you say so." He turned to look at the setting sun. "You and your sisters are really brave, you know. I don't think I could ever live with him. Not after what happened with his brother."

Dynamene stared at him for a moment blankly. Then she realized what he was referring to - Poseidon's killing of Adamas.

She stared back down at the ocean. "I suppose so. I guess I can see how that would make people... uncomfortable."

"Does it bother you?" Elasippus asked earnestly, tail flicking.

Dynamene bit her lower lip. What happened with Adamas was justified, wasn't it? I don't know all that was said between them, but Adamas did want to start a civil war, right? So... Is Poseidon really in the wrong for what he did? "No. I... I think he did the right thing," she said, but her voice was shaky.

Elasippus sensed her discomfort and frowned apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make things awkward. It's none of my business. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's alright," Dynamene said quickly. "It's an honest question. I suppose I just don't really think about it much. We'd only been at the palace for a century when it happened, and I was still just a child, so my sisters didn't say much about it around me." Her thoughts went back to that day; what little she remembered of it, that was.

The Nereids had left the palace to picnic on the beach that fateful afternoon. They didn't want any part of Adamas's visit; he was nothing but a jealous troublemaker, and they wanted no part of whatever ill-will he brought.

But when the sound of marble breaking echoed out from the palace, they had rushed back out of concern for their master. Dynamene remembered tagging along behind Actaea, barely able to see past the rest of her sisters as they crowded into the great hall where Poseidon had received Adamas...

"No, don't look," Actaea had said suddenly, covering Dynamene's eyes with her hands. "Don't look, Dynamene." Her sister's voice had wavered in horror. She had immediately steered Dynamene back out of the room, rushing her as fast as she could go. But Dynamene's ears were free, and she heard the rest of her sisters gasp and scream at the sight that greeted them in the great hall.

They hadn't been expected to clean up the mess. Poseidon had ordered them to leave the body where it lay, and continue on with their day as if nothing had happened. The other unseen servants of the palace took care of Adamas's body and the wreckage, and the following day, the great hall was spotless. The wall had been repaired, the table replaced, and no sign remained of the gory mess that Poseidon had made out of his older brother.

Dynamene shuddered at the memories. "Even now, no one speaks of it, especially at Lord Poseidon's palace. That's what he wanted, so we must obey. I don't think we would talk about it even if we could, though. It was so brutal." She swallowed. No one likes remembering that day. That was the first time we truly realized how powerful, and dangerous, Poseidon was.

"That's awful," Elasippus sympathized. "I hope it doesn't haunt you too much."

"No," Dynamene sighed. "No, I guess I owe Actaea for that. I never saw the... aftermath of Poseidon and Adamas's argument. I hear it was a horrible sight."

The two of them sat in silence for a while longer, neither of them knowing what to say. "I'm sorry," Dynamene said finally, getting to her feet. "I didn't mean to make things so dreary."

"No, not at all," Elasippus said quickly. "It's good to talk about things like that sometimes, right? If you ever want to talk about it, I'll listen. It doesn't bother me too much."

Dynamene smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Elas. I'm glad my brother is friends with you."

Now it was Elasippus whose face was pink. "It's... It's nothing much, we just have fun together. I'm glad I got to see you all again today."

"Me too. We should all meet again before we go back to the palace," Dynamene beamed. "I had a lot of fun today."

"I'm glad," Elasippus smiled back. "See you later." He sank back under the amber waves.

"Bye," Dynamene called after him. She watched his tail splash through the surface for a ways before he dove deeper into the water, returning to his underwater home. Left alone with her thoughts once more, she sighed.

I'm sure what Poseidon did was justified, even if it was violent. Over the top, even. Terrifying. But I guess that's just how Poseidon is; why would someone like him hold back? I know he'd never hurt us, at the very least.

She stared out at the setting sun, lost in thought, twisting the bracelet around her wrist.

Poseidon... I hope things are okay back at the palace. I hope the visit with Hades went as well as can be expected.

If you were here, I wonder... What would you say to me? She looked away from the sun's burning orange rays to the ocean. The dark hue of the water brought to mind Poseidon's eyes, so beautiful, yet so often cold and empty. Lately, though... Was it just her imagination, or was there truly life in them when he looked back at her?

 Would you tell me that you don't regret what you did? Even if you'd never harm me, surely there are still times that you hurt others. Or was Adamas an isolated event?

 She sighed before turning to make the journey back to the palace. This trip was meant to be relaxing, and worrying over the past did no good. Surely everyone was wondering where she was by now.

---

Author’s Notes: Another chapter that took on a life of its own. I think it'll work okay, though.

Next chapter is one I've been waiting to write almost since I started this fanfic. So much angst. I can't wait.

[refinedbuffoonery]

Flawless (1)

A Heist/Ocean’s 8 AU // Masterlist 

This story has been rattling around in my head for months now, and I’m so excited to finally share it with you! I’ve been describing this as an Ocean’s 8 AU, but it’s based more on the concept of the movie than the actual plot, although a few of the basic scenes are the same. Regardless, I have big plans for these girls. Content warnings for this fic are listed on the masterlist (link above). 

*****

“Good morning,” the parole officer said. “Please state your name for the record.” 

“Riley Davis.” 

“Thank you. Miss Davis, the purpose of this hearing is to determine whether you are likely to break the law again if released. According to the record, this is your first conviction, and you have never been suspect in another criminal investigation. During your time in prison, you kept to yourself and were well behaved.” The man looked up from her file. “As you know, parole is not a right. Parole is an immense privilege, Miss Davis, one you should not take lightly.” 

“I agree,” she said. 

“Good. What would you do if released?” 

Riley paused, thinking through her answer. “I would settle down, find a good job, fall in love, maybe have kids. I’ve learned my lesson, sir. It was a mistake. Now all I want is to lead a simple, happy life.” She placed one hand over the other, crossing her fingers on her covered hand. 

He squinted at her for a long time, like he was trying to read her mind. Riley painted her face in remorse. After several minutes, the parole officer relented and, apparently satisfied with her answers, said, “Very well.” 

Riley breathed a sigh of relief. By the end of the day, she’d be free. 

The officer continued, “The following are the conditions of your parole. You will report to me, in person, every two weeks until your parole period has ended. You may not cross state lines without my express permission. You must find and maintain steady employment. You may not use drugs or alcohol, nor enter any drinking establishments. You may not possess firearms or other weapons, and you may not associate with other persons with criminal records. In addition, you must obey all federal, state, and local laws, and generally be an upstanding citizen. If you do not follow these rules, Miss Davis, you will find yourself back in custody. Do I make myself clear?” 

Riley nodded. So close. “Yes, sir.” 

Extending his hand, the parole officer said, “Congratulations, Miss Davis. You are now a conditionally free woman.” 

“Thank you.” Riley shook his hand. 

The rest was all a blur. One minute she was sitting in a cold, metal chair with her wrists cuffed to a table, and before she knew it, Riley found herself changing out of her atrocious orange jumpsuit and pulling on skinny jeans and her buttery soft black leather jacket. Wearing real clothes didn’t hide the fact that she looked like shit, but in that moment Riley didn’t care. She was getting out of prison. 

After two years, one month, and four days, she was finally being released from prison. 

Two officers walked her to the exit. Opening the door, Riley squinted in the bright afternoon sunlight. She found herself in one last cage of chain-link fences with coils of barbed wire arching over the tops, and Riley quickened her steps through the open gate in front of her. 

A familiar face waited in the parking lot, perched on the back of a motorcycle. “Welcome back,” Nikki Carpenter said. The pair shared a conspiratorial grin. 

Riley hadn’t known who the officers called to pick her up, but perhaps her best friend coming to take her home was the universe’s repayment for the last two years. Nikki handed Riley a helmet before putting on her own and swinging her leg over the sleek, white bike. 

Riley started to put the helmet on and hesitated. She turned, looking back at the concrete cage she’d spent the last two years of her life in. Even though her sentence was only three years, the nagging voice in the back of her mind had reminded her every day that she might not make it out. Taking a shaky breath, Riley vowed to herself that she would die before finding herself on the wrong side of those fences and walls again. 

Never again. No matter what. 

Nikki must’ve noticed her hesitation, because she rested a hand on Riley’s shoulder. “You okay?” 

Still facing the prison, Riley couldn’t form the words to respond. 

“Hey. Thank you,” Nikki added softly. 

Riley didn’t want to deal with the implications of that ‘thank you.’ Not yet. Finally tearing her eyes away, she said, “Let’s get out of here.”

*****

“God, I need a drink,” Riley said as soon as they entered Nikki’s cozy two-bedroom apartment. Located in the heart of downtown LA, it was on the top floor of her building, so Nikki wasn’t subject to loud overhead neighbors stomping and dropping things in the middle of the night, but the elevator moved at a glacial pace and descending twelve flights of stairs was a bitch. Riley preferred residences that were easier to vacate—in case of emergency or unfortunate run-in with the feds—but it was nice enough. 

Nikki raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t avoiding alcohol a condition of your parole?” 

Riley shot her a withering glare and strode into the kitchen. She opened the white-painted cabinet above the stove, revealing Nikki’s extensive stockpile of wine and hard liquor, and dug around until she found the mason jar full of moonshine hidden in the back. Taking a big swig, Riley held Nikki’s gaze, daring her best friend to try to stop her. 

Nikki simply opened the fridge, pulled out some sort of leftovers, and put them in the microwave. While she waited, Nikki studied her. This is what it feels like to be an animal at the zoo, Riley thought as she squirmed under her friend’s scrutiny, crossing her arms over her chest. Riley took another big gulp of moonshine, letting the clear liquid burn her throat and make her stomach churn. 

The microwave beeped. Nikki grabbed a fork and the food and held it out to Riley. Content to doom herself to the worst hangover of her life, Riley shook her head in dismissal. 

“Eat,” Nikki commanded. She tugged on the waistband of Riley’s jeans. “You and I both know those weren’t mom jeans when you bought them.” 

Riley blinked. She’d eaten less while in prison, but it never seemed like a big deal. But the way Nikki was looking at her...she might as well have turned into a skeleton. Suddenly self-conscious, Riley obediently traded her drink for the food—lasagna, she realized—and settled onto the couch. 

After two years of cardboard-flavored prison food, the lasagna tasted like heaven. 

Riley waited until Nikki was mid-gulp before announcing, “I’ve got a plan.” Her best friend nearly choked. “Want to help me get the gang back together?” 

“What’s your plan?” Nikki ground out between coughs. 

Riley grinned. “I figure it’s time we go on that little trip to Paris we’ve always talked about.” 

Nikki shook her head. “Damn, you’re one crazy bitch, Riley Davis. You know that?” She paused, contemplating. “I’m in.” Handing back the moonshine, Nikki added, “But tonight, I say we get drunk and celebrate your freedom. Deal?” 

“Deal.” 

Thirty minutes in, they’d finished the whole jar of moonshine, and Riley’s head spun. She stumbled into the kitchen in search of water, suddenly grateful Nikki had made her eat a substantial meal before drinking. 

“So,” Riley slurred. “How’s it going with that boyfriend of yours? The cute blonde one.” 

Nikki groaned. “You mean the big fat liar? Fabulous.” 

“So it all blew up in smoke.” 

“You have no idea.” Nikki shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth. “Anyway, I’m back to being single, but Sam and Desi are still as insufferable as ever.” 

“Think they’ll get married?” 

“No way. That’s just one more thing they’d have to deal with if they ever have to fake their own deaths.” 

“On the contrary,” Riley drawled, “they should take out disgustingly large life insurance policies and then take turns faking their deaths every time they run out of money.” The idea sounded flawless to her drunk brain. “I’ll help them with their new identities for a cut.” 

“How big?” 

“Twenty percent.” 

Nikki snorted. “Like they’d ever agree to that.” 

Riley snuggled up to Nikki as they settled in to watch a movie, ducking under Nikki’s arm and using her boobs as a pillow. As Riley’s eyes caught Nikki’s laptop charging on a nearby table, her friend’s babbling about what chick-flick to watch faded into white noise. Riley’s fingers twitched. It’d been too long since she had the comfort of a keyboard beneath the pads of her fingers—since she felt powerful, the way Riley always did when armed with a computer. 

Too long, in fact, since she’d had any agency at all. Riley banished the thought before Nikki could notice where her attention had wandered. 

The movie turned out to be one they’d seen a thousand times, but Riley didn’t mind. Honestly, she needed the familiarity, not that she would admit that to Nikki. Even drunk, Riley loathed to reveal any sort of weakness, no matter how small and insignificant. 

Nikki pinched her side. “You’re brooding. Stop it.” Riley grumbled, but she let the movie distract her all the same. 

When the credits rolled, Riley glanced up at Nikki and found her friend already staring down at her as she rubbed Riley’s head. That caged animal feeling resurfaced. It was moments like these when Riley hated how well Nikki knew her, making it that much harder to hide everything going on in her head. 

In an attempt to escape, she said, “I’m thirsty. Let’s celebrate.” Riley forced a giggle as she walked back to the kitchen, grabbing two wine glasses from the cabinet. Everything in Nikki’s kitchen was exactly where it was two years ago, the layout as familiar to her as her own. Did she still have her own? Riley was too drunk to remember what happened to the spacious penthouse apartment of a convicted felon. 

“Riles, nooooooooo,” Nikki whined. “We are so drunk already. We cannot drink any more.” 

“Relax.” Riley rummaged through the fridge, pulling out the milk and a bottle of chocolate sauce. She filled the wine glasses with milk, then added an ungodly amount of chocolate, giggling again when the bottle made a fart noise. Riley didn’t mix it very well, but she was too drunk to care. “Your chocolate milk, milady.” She held out the better mixed of the two, keeping the worse one for herself. Nikki accepted. 

Riley held up her glass in a toast. “To freedom,” she said. “And doing whatever the fuck we want.”

*****

“Phone,” Riley demanded the next morning. Nikki handed hers over without even looking up from the scrambled eggs she was making. Riley unlocked it on the first try. “You haven’t changed your password in the last two years? C’mon, you know better than that!” 

“My password is twenty-nine characters long! I don’t think anyone is going to…Wait you still remember it?” 

Riley scrolled through Nikki’s contacts with one hand, the other busy stuffing her face with toast. “Obviously,” she said through a mouthful of cinnamon swirl bread. 

“Damn,” Nikki muttered, turning back to her eggs. 

Riley found the name she was looking for. Desi Nguyen. The call nearly went to voicemail before the woman on the other end snarled, “What?” 

Riley couldn’t help her grin. “I’m out, and I’ve got a job.” 

“Good for you. Let me know how long you last living the clean life.” 

“No, you jackass. A job. You in?” 

Desi didn’t even hesitate. “Hell yeah I’m in.” 

“Great,” Riley said, “and since I’m assuming Cage’s mouth is too occupied to answer, tell her I say hello.”

“Fuck off,” Desi growled, but it came out just a tad breathless. She hung up before Riley could make a snarky comment about being right. 

“So,” Nikki asked. She dumped the scrambled eggs on two plates. “Are they in?” 

“They’re in.” Riley smirked, gratefully accepting her plate. She sat down at the kitchen table and resumed scrolling through Nikki’s contacts. Riley reached the bottom of the list, but the name she was looking for wasn’t there. Riley checked again to make sure she hadn’t overlooked it. 

“Why isn’t Leanna’s number in your phone?” Nikki kept eating. “Nik,” Riley pressed. “Why don’t you have her number? What happened while I was...gone?” If Nikki noticed how she’d stumbled over the last word, her friend didn’t let on. 

“Leanna got out. Got clean. She’s CIA now.” Nikki’s cold stare was clear. Do not ask me about this again. 

“Oh.” Riley hadn’t seen that coming. “How the hell did she pull that off?” 

“She’s good at making people disappear,” Nikki said matter-of-factly. “Guess she finally used her skills on herself.” There was more Nikki wasn’t saying, but Riley didn’t push her. 

They ate their scrambled eggs in silence. 

As she cleared their plates, Nikki said, “So tell me about this plan of yours. Are we really doing it?” 

“If by ‘it’ you mean the heist of a lifetime, then yes. We are absolutely doing it.” Riley swung her feet onto Nikki’s now-vacated chair. “I had two long years to figure out exactly how to pull it off. All I need now is my team.” 

Nikki raised an eyebrow. “Your team? Last I checked, the Five Eyes were our team.” 

Rolling her eyes, Riley snarked, “Semantics.” 

“Whatever.” Nikki was clearly upset, but Riley couldn’t bring herself to care. “I’m going to take a shower.” 

“Don’t drown,” Riley replied automatically. 

As soon as she heard the rush of water moving through the pipes, Riley snatched Nikki’s laptop. Once again, the password was still the same. Nikki took long showers, so Riley figured she had at least thirty minutes to find the information she needed. 

Hacking into the CIA’s employee database was all too easy for someone like Riley Davis. She practically had the secrets of the universe at her fingertips, but Riley didn’t waste time snooping. All she cared about was one name: Leanna Martin.

[stormkrigeren]

Whumptober Day 1!

Link to the Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34210837/chapters/85120435

Title: Bound - Lois

Prompt: No. 1 ‘All Trussed Up And Still Nowhere To Go’ - “You have to let go”, barbed wire, bound

Word Count: 2475

Lois preferred rope over handcuffs, and duct tape over rope. Duct tape was best because it was surprisingly easy to break, but she was rarely lucky enough to be tied up with it. Lois could tell that today wasn’t her lucky day the moment the goon wrapped a length of plastic boating rope around her wrists and yanked it tight.

She loved her job. The title of ‘investigative reporter’ practically gave her a free pass to be as nosy as she liked (and Lois was admittedly quite nosy) while also revealing the truth on a variety of issues, affairs, and dealings. No one would blink twice if she walked into a warzone or gang territory or some crooked mogul’s office with a pen handy and far too many questions in her head, and no one was surprised when her life was threatened only for her to diffuse the situation a few minutes later. That was just how Lois worked, and she loved it.

The one and only issue with her job was the fact that if her life wasn’t being threatened, her freedom probably was. Sometimes it would just be a threat to get her so discredited that no one would ever publish her works again, removing her freedom of speech, but Lois was good at her job and no one ever found anything to discredit her on. So more often than not whatever fraudulent idiot she had revealed that day would instead tie her up and leave her in a warehouse somewhere until either the police or her boss showed up with a ransom because investigative reporters, especially ones named Lois Lane, were surprisingly valuable (the highest number she’d ever heard was close to a million, which of course didn’t pan out, but it was interesting to think about).

Today had started out pretty normally - Lois had woken up, gotten ready for the day, and taken the subway to work like she usually did. Upon arriving at the Daily Planet’s Head Offices in the Upper East Side of the city, she had clocked in and gotten to her desk with the intention of kicking off the work day with a little bit of research and note-taking in preparation for her interview with some S.T.A.R Labs higher-ups that afternoon. The company had received a contract from the Department of Defense to investigate and research the Kryptonian scout ship that had crashed in downtown Metropolis and was now in government custody. Any Kryptonian 'artifacts’ found in or around the ship were catalogued by S.T.A.R Labs before being transferred to various labs and other research companies around the nation for studying, the biggest transfers usually being made to the S.T.A.R facilities in Central City and Metropolis, and third-party contractors such as Kord Industries, LexCorp, and WayneTech. The distribution of findings for individual research was all well and good, but a whistleblower had recently come to Lois with some disturbing finds: some of the artifacts, especially alien weapons, were disappearing from large shipments without a trace.

When the time of the interview drew near, Lois checked in with Perry before catching a taxi to the S.T.A.R Labs headquarters downtown. Her appointment was with a few scientists from the company’s board of directors that worked with the Kryptonian scout ship the most, and luckily for them, all three of them had enough tact to not back out of the meeting when they realized that the reporter the Daily Planet had sent over was in fact a lady on the high road to a Pulitzer Prize. A board room was procured for their usage, and Lois, being well-familiar with the drill, started her recording app, pulled out her notes, and started doing what comprised the bulk of her job as an investigative journalist: asking questions.

How was work on the Kryptonian scout ship progressing? Had any significant discoveries or breakthroughs been made so far? What sort of artifacts were they dealing with, and how did they decide which ones to distribute for outside research? Were the scout ship’s contents primarily weapons, or other items? What was the company’s response to rumors about misplaced shipments?

The scientists happily answered her questions, occasionally going off on a tangent about some discovery or the supposed usage of some unknown object but otherwise provided Lois with some pretty good fuel for her next article up until she came to the final question. All three of the researchers shifted uncomfortably in their seats and exchanged the briefest of nervous glances before Dr. Rhems, the head consultant for their Kryptonian armaments division, launched into a spiel about how their cataloguing system was infallible and they had not seen any evidence that items were missing, the rumors had to be false or else they would have known. To solidify his claim, he even offered to show her their records and prove that whatever data people were basing their opinions off of had to be wrong. Lois immediately took him up on the offer.

Taking his fellow scientists’ leave, Dr. Rhems led her through the building before finally stopping outside a door that supposedly led to where the Labs kept their records pertaining to the Kryptonian artifact research program.

“You have to understand, Miss Lane, that S.T.A.R Labs is not the only facility performing research on Kryptonian weaponry,” he explained as he fished a key card out of his pocket, nearly dropped it, and finally managed to tap it against the scanner beside the door, “It’s quite possible that one of the other contractors involved in the program may simply not be cataloguing their artifacts correctly-”

“They are,” Lois snapped back as she followed him through the doorway, “The issue is within your own company. The records available to the public show that half of the missing items disappear while still in your system. I know this seems a little far-fetched, Dr. Rhems, but it's looking like there are some shady dealings going on within your facility to steal Kryptonian weapons, and possibly other items, without your knowledge.”

“That’s impossible! This is one of the most secure facilities in the state, and every one of our employees has undergone rigorous background examinations. Surely this must be some sort of journalistic ploy to discredit S.T.A.R Labs, Miss Lane-”

“With all due respect, Dr. Rhems, please stop trying to dissuade me before I’ve seen your evidence against the so-called ‘rumors’. I’ll make my decision on what to tell the public once you can prove to me that the accusations aren’t true.”

Dr. Rhems paused at that, stopped in front of a laboratory workstation and glanced quickly between Lois and the racks of Kryptonian armaments on the far side of the room - apparently this lab was where they were stored for cataloging and documentation.

“Well,” the doctor said finally, “if you’re so sure you cannot be persuaded...”

The scientist tapped a button on the workstation’s keyboard and Lois distinctly heard the door behind her lock shut with a hydraulic hiss and low shunking sound. Before she even had time to turn around, Dr. Rhems was pulling what looked too much like a genuine Kryptonian sidearm for comfort out of his labcoat and levelling it at her head. There was no doubt in her mind that it was real, and Lois should know - she had used one.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Miss Lane,” Dr. Rhems confessed, “But I am going to have to ask you to comply while Caleb ties you up - don’t want you getting away before we’ve come to an agreement, you see.”

At his behest, mostly because she was unable to do otherwise with a Kryptonian sidearm pointed at her, Lois took a seat in the chair the scientist pointed to and waited in silence to see what he would do next. Dr. Rhems typed another command into the workstation console and the door unlocked to slide open just enough for a nervous-looking intern to slip inside before the door locked shut again. The young man had apparently been given orders to follow them and wait outside the lab until his boss let him in, and after a brief, curious glance in the reporter’s direction, he immediately got to the task assigned by fetching a length of plastic rope - the kind typically used for camping due to its lightweight nature - from a desk drawer and using it to tie Lois’ hands behind her back. Under Dr. Rhems supervision, he tied the knots as tight as he could before proceeding to tie her ankles to the chair legs, and though Lois hated to admit it, she was thoroughly stuck where she was.

“You can’t keep me here for long,” Lois reminded Dr. Rhems, holding back a wince when the uncomfortable cordage bit into her ankles and resisting the urge to give Caleb a solid kick to the nose went he bent down to adjust the rope, “My editor will wonder where I am if I don’t check in soon, not to mention the fact that I’m legally under the protection of both the US government and the Kryptonian remnant. I just have to scream ‘Superman’ and someone will be here within ten seconds.”

If she stated that last sentence a little louder than necessary, Dr. Rhems didn’t notice and simply cocked the blaster (improperly, Lois noted) as Caleb finished tying her up, “You won’t scream. You wouldn’t dare.”

“Maybe I will,” Lois answered, resisting the urge to smirk. Dr. Rhems apparently had enough confidence to do so himself, and shook his head self-assuredly.

“As you said earlier, Miss Lane, you should wait to hear my side of the story before forming an opinion,” he stated calmly, “Let’s start with a simple fact: alien artifacts created in and designed to be used in an environment different from Earth are a little difficult, and expensive, to maintain. Sure, the technology works here, but until we can fully understand it, we have to ensure that it does not deteriorate or lose function when not used properly. I would read you a few excerpts from my paper on the apparent bio-technological advancements in Kryptonian technology that make their mechanism borderline-organic, so simultaneously holding some level of innate intelligence or purpose but also being susceptible to deterioration if not maintained, but we don’t have time for that now.

“Without going into too much detail, S.T.A.R Labs is not getting the funding it needs from the Department of Defense. No significant advances or research is able to be done without money, Miss Lane, and we don’t have a lot of it,” Dr. Rhems continued, “The solution? Getting rid of artifacts we do not have the facilities to maintain while also making a little bit of cash - in short we’ve been selling Kryptonian technology to foreign buyers.”

“You mean stealing and profiting off of property of the US government, not to mention that the UN is currently trying to rule both artifacts and the scout ship itself as property of the Kryptonian remnant,” Lois corrected him. Damn, she was pretty sure she was losing feeling in her hands considering how tightly the intern had bound her, but if she could just slip one hand out of the rope…

“Everyone knows the UN won’t succeed in the ruling - that technology is far too valuable to belong to a couple of do-gooder extraterrestrials,” Dr. Rhems answered, “And before you ask what I’m going to do with you or why I’ve decided to tell you all this, the answers are simple: I’m going to ransom you and get a bit of extra ‘funding’ out of it, and once your ransom has been paid and you are released, you are going to write me an article about the corruption going on in our own Department of Defense that has led to the gross underfunding of essential research facilities such as S.T.A.R Labs.”

“And just who do you think is going to pay my ransom?” Lois asked. Her plan was to keep him talking, keep his focus off her and the fact that after rubbing the skin raw and nearly spraining her wrist, she had just about managed to get her right hand out of Caleb’s tightly-but-poorly-tied attempt at binding her up. Poor kid - he hadn’t done too bad of a job considering that typing would be a pain-in-the-ass tomorrow, but it wasn’t enough to keep Lois off her game. Dr. Rhems was still going off about who he was going to call for the money for her release when she got both hands free, and right on time the thick laboratory door crumpled beneath a hand strong enough to bend steel as Superman himself stepped into the room. Lois wasted no time when the two S.T.A.R Lab scientists were distracted by his arrival, and she lunged at Dr. Rhems to knock the blaster out of his distracted grip, cock it for firing (properly, she noted), and point it at the bastard’s head.

“Well, Dr. Rhems,” she couldn’t help but announce with a smirk, “It looks like I was right about those missing shipments.”

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

It was Perry who picked her up from the S.T.A.R Labs facility after Lois was done giving her account to the police - part of her wished it had been Superman who flew her back to the Daily Planet offices, but he was still busy talking with an officer about the two scientists who had been holding Miss Lane hostage - and after a short drive back to the familiar newspaper building, it was Clark who first noticed the blisters covering her wrists and insisted on getting the first aid kit to treat them. Still, Lois ended up looking after the injuries herself, mostly because Clark, despite his kindness, strength, and adorable handsomeness, was a bit on the squeamish side and still had work to do. It wasn’t the worst she had ever dealt with - her wrists only required some antibacterial cream and bandages, whereas her left ankle had nearly been sprained when she lunged at Dr. Rhems with her feet still tied to the chair and required a bit more care in the form of an ice pack. Despite her injuries, Lois was having a pretty damn fine day - her typing skills weren’t as affected as she had imagined, her phone had still been recording throughout the whole hostage situation, and she had enough evidence pieced together to make the leading story of the evening edition. A sprained ankle and wrists that were raw as fuck after trying to wriggle her way out of plastic boating rope of all things were a small price to pay for the front page.

[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt90

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

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As Damian walked to Chloe’s suite his scowl sent multiple employees in the opposite direction. The text Chloe had sent him late last night had put him in a far worse mood than usual. He’d spent the morning yelling at everyone he could think of for not warning him Selina might be showing up in Paris before his father. He’d come to the hotel to warn the woman to stay away from Marinette and her family. Chloe he figured could handle herself. Selina either wasn’t in her room or was ignoring him so now he had to bother Chloe to let him in the room. He knocked on the door. Then did it louder when she took too long to answer. He was about to knock a third time when the door was jerked open by his father’s very annoyed looking fiance.

“Will you keep it down, you’ll wake them.” He was too stunned to answer at first, but his mouth recovered quickly.

“I’m not going to be quiet just so you can clean Chloe out. The girl may be obnoxious but you’re my responsibility until Father gets here to keep you in line.” He cringed internally as soon as he said it but remained completely stoic on the outside. He always overreacted when he had to deal with her but there was no way he would back down now.

“I’m perfectly capable of being responsible for myself and I would be insulted that you’d think I would steal from a teenager but you’ve always seen far more deficiencies in me than I actually have. If you don’t believe me though, you can always ask him.” She pointed to the side and he saw Digg in a chair, reading. The Kwami didn’t even bother looking up. Instead of talking he turned and went to Chloe’s bedroom door.

“Damn it Damian. I told you they’re sleeping, leave them alone.” He rolled his eyes but did pause long enough to respond.

“Marinette won’t wake for anything less than an airhorn and I’m more than willing to risk Chloe’s temper to make sure you’re supposed to be here.” He stopped when he jerked the door open though. The girls were indeed sleeping but they both looked horrible. It was obvious Chloe had been crying and he was honestly a little afraid she’d kill him if she knew he’d seen her in such a state. Marinette looked incredibly pale and… small. He tended to forget just how little she was when she was awake because of her personality but asleep… she looked weak and frail and he did not like that. Plagg and Tikki looked up at him from their position on the girl’s pillow and Damian just gave them a nod before he slowly shut the door.

“Just because you want to see the worst in me doesn’t mean everything out of my mouth is a lie.” Damian just rolled his eyes before turning to Digg.

“Make sure you keep an eye on her.” The Kwami just grunted at him. Selina pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a sigh. It sounded resigned.

“Damian, come out to the balcony so we can talk.”

“Absolutely not. I don’t have anything to say to you.” He was not about to listen to another lecture on his behavior, let alone one from her.

“Please. We need to find a way to at least be civil with each other for your father’s sake.” He opened his mouth to tell her that hell would freeze over before that would happen but paused as Luka’s face flashed through his mind with a disapproving frown. After his outburst at the bakery, Luka had asked him about what was going on. No matter how Damian explained it the other boy still seemed to think he needed to be the one to change his mind. At the same time, Selina had never really asked to talk to him before either. They’d just traded barbs and went their separate ways. As much as he hated the idea of compromise it couldn’t hurt to just listen and tell her how ridiculous it was.

“Fine. You can talk but I doubt it’ll help.” He went to the balcony without waiting for her and just leaned on the railing. She followed a minute later but didn’t speak right away.

“We’ve never actually talked about why you have such an issue with me.” He shot her a bland look.

“Because it’s obvious.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I’d still like to hear you say it.” This was pointless. But if he left now chances were his father and/or brothers would corner him later and that would be even worse.

“You’re a thief for starters.”

“And you were an assassin. People change Damian. I haven’t stolen anything that wasn’t necessary for a mission in over a year.” He wanted to argue with that, but he couldn’t come up with anything. He’d even been tracking robberies to see if anything looked like her and come up empty.

“It’s not the same thing. I didn’t know any better.” She let out an annoyed huff.

“And you think I did in the beginning? Unlike you no one was there to pull me out of that mindset. Once I was on my own I only stole from people who could afford it. When it’s the only life you know, the only skillset you have, it takes a lot to make you change. It takes a lot to make you want to change.”

“Then why now? You and Father have been going back and forth for longer than I’ve been in the picture, what’s so different now?” She frowned at him.

“You’re kidding right?” He just shook his head and she was looking at him like he was insane. “Damian, you almost died when you and Bruce came to pull me out of that situation in Rome and that would have been my fault. I realized two things. Bruce was actually serious about wanting to marry me this time, and I would jump off Wayne Tower before I let him endanger one of you for my safety again.” That… was not what he expected. He’d been so angry with his father for going in the first place and he’d still been arguing when the guard came up behind and shot him. He’d almost died because he was more focused on telling his father why he shouldn’t be dating Selina than doing his job.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Damian didn’t know which of them was more surprised that those words left his mouth.

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[crimes-inc]

Whumptober Day 1

CW: blood, injury, death threats

2130 words (I really don’t know how it ended up this long, it’s 1:45 am on day 2 oh god)

Let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming prompts or need certain things tw tagged!

All Trussed Up and Still Nowhere to Go

Barbed Wire | Bound            

The sign on the self-storage entrance stated they closed at 10. Yet here he was at the exit at 9:47 rattling the padlock uselessly against the surrounding metal of the gate.      

Chase stubbornly, and perhaps desperately, gave it one last shake before turning away with a grimace. There’s no way they closed-up shop early with him still inside, right? He only had a few boxes to store away between moves and hadn’t been here that long, maybe half an hour. Hell, he signed a check-in sheet, wouldn’t they be responsible for making sure everyone had signed to check out as well?

The smart thing to do would be to give the owners a call, but Chase had decided to just leave his phone in his car to avoid losing track of it while he moved a few boxes back and forth between the unit and the parking lot. The “smart thing” wasn’t an option.

“Not exactly well-known for ‘smart things’ anyway.” he muttered to himself.

God, he could kick himself. If he ended up stuck here all night, then the morning wasn’t going to be too bright once his phone is blown up with missed messages. Stacy would be as pissed off as ever and just use the incident as another nail in his parental rights coffin, regardless of whether the kids were involved or not. Explaining his humiliating plight to Jackie or Schneep would just lead to two different well-meaning lectures on shit he already knew but can’t seem to get right. Maybe Marvin would laugh the whole thing off but the magician’s attitude towards danger and plain dumbass-ery seemed to change with the tide so there was no telling what he’d say.

Damn it, Chase, think! That’s later, focus on NOW. he chided himself.

He straightened his snapback hat and strode away from the padlock. Someone had to still be floating around, or maybe there was another exit he could use that would automatically lock behind him. After all, he figured the gate, fence, and locks were mostly there to keep people from getting in, not out.

He stole a glance at the high fence surrounding the lot, razor wire lining the bottom and three strings of wire leaning outwards towards the top. Yeah, definitely meant to keep people out. Still, that looked like a wickedly dangerous climb. He’d rather risk the sleepless night inside than getting torn to shreds to get out if he didn’t have to.

He straightened up and walked around the main office, also locked of course, but there was a security camera attached to the awning. Maybe if he…?

Chase jumped up and down waving up at the little white device. It was a long shot but maybe somebody was watching or could send someone his way at the very least. If not, well… if someone ever looked back at the tape, they’d get a little entertainment from the idiot hopping around on-screen. Not so different than his youtube channel if he was honest.

Chase checked his watch again: a crappy digital thing his daughter dug out of a box of Cheerios after he accidentally drowned his Apple Watch in the kitchen sink. “It’s glow-in-the-dark!” She’d declared to him with a proud grin. Chase gave a sad smile back at the face of Shrek strapped on his wrist. He hadn’t seen her face in weeks now.

He swiped at his eyes, recomposing himself. Hell of a time to get swept up in his broken family situation. It was nearly ten now, if there were any remaining workers around, he needed to find them quick.

“Hello?” he shouted, “Anyone still here? Kinda locked in…”

Chase made his way further into the maze of units, keeping his eyes peeled for an employee, caught between hope and hopelessness with each step he took.

Eventually, as he started closing in on the opposite end of the lot, he heard footsteps. He perked up and walked toward the sound.

“Hey, is someone there?” he called out. “Gate’s locked up front and I—”

The sound of the footsteps quickened its pace, and, wait, that sounds like a second pair but it was coming from…

Chase pivoted around in place just in time to see a man bring a pipe down on his head.

He came to in a daze, eyes fluttering open and closed, only vaguely aware of someone dragging his limp body along the pavement. He didn’t even remember falling, and his head was pounding heavily against his skull.

“—thought you said the place was cleared out!”

“Look,” the man gripping Chase said, “I saw closing shift take off, how was I supposed to know some idiot would still be wandering around?”

“Maybe the fucking remaining car in the parking lot would have tipped you off, Shane!”

“What the fuck do you want me to say? I only saw what the cameras were showing before shutting them off completely.”

A third voice joined in, “Shut up, that asshole was making too much noise as it is—let’s just hope he’s the only one around, we’ve pulled too many strings to turn back now.”

Chase felt himself get propped none-too-gently against the outer wall of a unit. He didn’t dare open his eyes. Whatever situation he’d stumbled into, he wasn’t in safe hands and any struggle he put up in his disoriented state would be a losing battle from the get-go. By the sound of things, these people had managed to break into a unit and were rummaging for goods.

The man knelt next to him again and held Chase’s arms together. The loud, sticky sound of duct tape rang out before Chase felt it be looped around his wrists a couple times. Once secure, he stood and turned away.

“Okay then,” the man—Shane—said in a more hushed tone, “the job’s not blown. But what do we do with him, Joseph? I don’t think he got a good look at me before I took him down. We might be able to set him loose once we clear out.”

“That’s a mighty big assumption.”

Chase tensed as the man named Joseph stepped closer to him. A hand was placed on his shoulder as he was shifted forward. He felt his wallet and car keys be slipped out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“Hm. No phone. Eh, we’ll check his car later. See if anyone knows he’s here.” The man mumbled to himself. No one spoke as the contents were searched through.

Chase’s mind was becoming frantic. This seemed beyond just petty theft. While he was glad he hadn’t let on that he was conscious for fear of immediate and violent action, he didn’t know how he’d get out of this without a clear look at his surroundings and his arms taped up.

“Chase Brody. Ugh. Family type, good god, there’s more fucking kid photos in here than cash.”

Joseph paused another moment, most likely pocketing whatever cash Chase had had on him before. Chase was doing his best not to so much as swallow.

“No cops, no witnesses.” He announced, “I’m not blowing this job because some motherfucking dumbass was in the wrong place at the wrong time. We’ll drive him out a few miles and get rid of him. Edith, drive his car over and we can just dump him there. See if the client will throw in a bonus for the trouble.”

As his car keys were tossed to the woman named Edith, Chase snapped his eyes open and kicked Joseph’s legs out from beneath him, causing him to stumble to the ground. Chase shot up as quickly as he could and sprinted away from the thieves. Blood was pounding in his ears. Shit, he didn’t know where to even go. The main gate was still locked, those assholes had probably managed to cut their way through the fence. That probably wasn’t an option for him since he didn’t know where it was or if there were more of them…

He heard cursing somewhere behind him, prompting him to go faster and take a turn down another row. He wasn’t getting out of here, he wasn’t getting out of here. It would only be a matter of time before they caught up to him and they might just kill him on the spot now that he’s proven himself a runner.

At least I managed to get a decent shin-kick in before I die. Chase thought.

He shook the grim thought away, no, he wasn’t dying here tonight and he wasn’t going to uselessly beg to be let go. He was getting out.

Chase began chewing at the frayed edge of the duct tape on his wrists, shimmying his hands the best he could. It was only a little bit of give, but he pumped his wrists sharply against his chest. It took a few tries but finally on the third try, the twisted duct tape broke free.

He peeled the grey adhesive away from his skin and made a sharp turn directly for the tall, barbed fence. He leapt up as high as he could, his right hand just barely missing a barb, and started maneuvering his way up.

“THERE!” a shout came from behind him. Too frightened to look back, he started climbing faster. While trying to be careful about his hands, the soles of his shoes seemed to keep getting snagged on the jagged metal forcing him to stop and kick himself free every few inches higher he seemed to get.

“I’m gonna cut him off on the other side—”

“Don’t bother, Shane, the fence will tear him to shreds before he reaches the top. He’s got nowhere to go.” Joseph said, “Grab his leg. Once he falls, hold onto him, and I’ll tear him into finer pieces.”

Chase kicked his foot free and started grabbing blindly higher. It was just blood, just a few punctures and cuts, he was going back home alive tonight. Scars, be damned. He could feel someone’s hand flail at the cuff of his jeans below him, urging him to climb faster, not daring to look down.

He reached the top. His hand reached the top of the bar to keep his balance, and he hoisted his legs up to stand on it precariously. The way the fence curved the three lines of razor wire outward was going to be tricky but he could—

The fence shuddered beneath him, as the man Joseph threw his weight against the chainlink below, Chase’s foot fell forward and he fell against the three wires bodily, barbs, piercing his shoulder and chest through his shirt. He let out a short scream, trying to free himself from it. The fence shook again as Chase picked himself slowly off the wires, flinging his left leg over to the other side, not quite reaching a foothold below him. His other leg grazed against the wire again, blood slowly cascading down his calf.

His left foot finally managed to find a resting point and he gripped the wire with his hand as he started to work his whole body over and down—the fence shook a third time. Both feet slid out from underneath Chase as his shoulder and hands caught all his weight against the wire, making a slick, sharp red line from the crook of his elbow to his shoulder, and his hands spilling blood through his grip. He released the wire and reached for a lower hold when his other hand let off too soon sending Chase to the ground below.

He landed hard on the ground, just outside the self-storage, one leg partially caught in the coil of barbed wire waiting at the bottom. His body screamed in agony, though Chase himself was breathless, the wind knocked out of him from the fall. He scrambled to his feet, adrenaline and desperation taking over and ran. Whatever profanities and threats were being shouted behind him being drown out in the wind and the turmoil of fear echoing in Chase’s mind as he bled and ran away, away from his captors, his would-be murderers.

Eventually, the injuries began catching up to him, though it seemed the thieves had not. Shit, he was going to need a fuck-ton of stitches. What had started as minor abrasions had become horrible, open and freely-bleeding gashes. Hopefully the hit he’d taken to the head earlier would become nothing more than a goose egg.

The humiliating phone call to his friends about being locked in a self-storage was seeming like a great idea about now. Fortunately for Chase, an upcoming 24-hour convenience store was waiting for him just ahead, and inside, a man with a red hoodie and a slurpee was working the counter tonight.

[vivilove-jonsa]

Yours Before I Knew

Again, since we’ve got some lovely new Jonsa-themed headers for WIP Wednesday, I’m dusting off some old drafts to share some things.  I can still call it a work in progress even if I’ve only completed two chapters in a year, right? *sighs*  (You can find the lovely Canon-themed headers here if you want to use one)

This is a Rhaegar Won/Arranged Marriage AU that I’ve been wanting to write for ages but am easily distracted from and it may never see the light of day on ao3 so here’s the first two chapters in case anyone wants to see what I’ve got.  Fair warning, it’s all set up for Jon and Sansa marrying with a side of scheming so probably pretty dull :(

****

Chapter 1-ELIA 

The queen sucked on an orange wedge relishing the sunshine as the clacking of wooden swords silenced the morning songbirds.  She did not mind that.  All her life, she’d known the sounds of boys and men training every morning.  

The stone walls of her little courtyard had been baking in the sun since it rose three hours earlier. Touching those walls might lead to a burnt hand now.  But Elia would not touch them.  She was content to enjoy the radiated warmth of them as she broke her fast and watched the boys, her son…and Lyanna’s.

Not everyone loves the sun as the Dornish do and the Sun does not love everyone.

The Dornish had been infuriated with her husband of course, none more than her brothers, but they had stayed true to the Iron Throne.  When Robert’s Rebellion had ended with the usurper’s death outside the city walls, they had remained Rhaegar’s subjects though silently sullen over the insult he had done their princess.

Heeding the advice of others, Rhaegar had chosen to avoid single combat with Robert Baratheon and instead made overtures to Tywin Lannister, appealing to the man whose ego his father had wounded more than once with promises of a better reign in the future.

And despite his melancholic outlook in general, her husband chose not to dwell overly long on his part in his father’s removal from the throne nor the circumstances surrounding his death.  Lord Tywin’s men had done all the dirty work for their new king and the unpleasantness had been swept away like filthy rushes to be replaced with fresh, sweet ones.  

But not everything had been forgotten and not everything had been swept out the door either.  

“Do you yield?” she heard Aegon cry, an edge of triumph in his childish voice.

“Nay!”

Elia scowled and continuing sucking on her orange wedge.  The boy was stubborn.  Aegon was a year older.  He was taller and a bit broader.  But Aemon would not yield until he was on the ground and pinned, usually with Aegon shoving his face into the stones if the master-at-arms did not stop them quick enough. Always determined to prove himself, Aemon fought like a wolf.  No doubt the stigma surrounding his birth and his questionable place at Court plagued him.

Like a wolf. Elia smiled despite herself.  That was what he was.  He is no true dragon.  

“That’s good, Jon!” the master-at-arms said as the tempo of the clacking wooden swords increased.  

Jon.  He preferred to be called Jon.  It was the name his uncle had given him when he’d taken the child and his sister’s bones out of Dorne before he’d learned of his friend’s death.

Lord Stark had been spared by Rhaegar.  Some whispered that he should’ve met a traitor’s end but their shared grief over Lyanna had stayed her husband’s hand.  Elia did not object to it though she would’ve thought Rhaegar might’ve stripped him of his title and lands at least.  However, the Northman had been allowed to return to his frozen forests, grateful to be reunited with his wife and young son.  He’d only been south of the Neck once since the end of the war.

Rhaegar had permitted the boy to be fostered in Winterfell as a babe before sending for him when he was six.  “The North is in his blood.  It is where he will fight his greatest battles…and where he will die someday perhaps,” her husband had once said.  Rhaegar’s obsession with prophecy had only grown with the passing of years.

The North was a place that held little interest for Elia but she was aware of their own discontented murmurs.  Nevertheless, Lord Stark had kept the vast kingdom under control and helped stop Balon Greyjoy’s ill-fated rebellion recently even though many of the Northmen held no love of the Crown.  And why should they?  Aerys had killed Lord Eddard’s father and brother after Rhaegar had made off with the Stark girl inciting the rebellion to begin with.  

The fact that Rhaegar had married Lyanna in a secret ceremony, pressuring the High Septon to allow the practice of polygamy as the Targaryens of old had, had not tempered their displeasure.  Most did not believe Rhaegar’s talk of prophesies or Aemon’s potential role in some war to come but no one said as much to the king.

“My lady?  May I join you?”

She tilted her head in acquiescence.  “Have you come to watch them?” she asked once Rhaegar had taken a seat and kissed her hand, his courtly manners undimmed despite the strained state of their marriage.

He looked towards the courtyard for a handful of seconds, watching the battle below with an indifference she couldn’t understand.  “I’ve spent my morning closeted with the Hand arranging betrothals.”

“Whose?”

“The children’s, both mine and my father’s.”

Elia swallowed her disquiet and brushed her hands along her silk skirts.  “Did Viserys have objections?”

“Objections to Arianne? Why would he?  And it was agreed to long ago.”

“And Daenerys will marry Quentyn?”

“She will.”

“Doran will be pleased.”

He hummed softly in response.  She knew the young princess’s opinion would not be sought.  Elia felt sorry for the girl and her own daughter but it wasn’t as if she’d been given any choice in the matter of her own match.  It was the lot of all highborn girls whether they carried the title of lady or princess.  And besides, Quentyn is a sweet boy.  

“And who are our children to marry?”

“Rhaenys will marry Willas Tyrell.”

“You’d marry my daughter to a Tyrell?” she asked sharply, her earlier acceptance of the fate of highborn girls quite forgotten.  

“The enmity between your family’s house and the Tyrells should end.  Willas bears no ill will towards your brother nor Oberyn towards him. It’s time the rest of you follow suit.”

Elia bowed her head, knowing that any argument would be fruitless.  Rhaegar was not his father but he would not be talked out of a decision easily either.  

“And Aegon?  Who is to be his queen?”

“I had thought to heal another breach.  The North is vast and anger lingers there.”

She could not be silent on this.  “You will not marry my son into her family!”  

Rhaegar’s eyes moved from the boys below to his wife, that strange distance in him so visible.  If he was blood and fire, why were his looks always so cold?  She contained a shiver but dropped her eyes.  She rarely spoke so heatedly towards him.  Her rages would do her no more good than her sweetness in this case regardless, she feared.

“I had thought to. I’ve decided differently.  Tywin has been a faithful servant and Cersei serves you well.”

Tywin had decidedly differently is what that meant.  And Cersei...  “She hates me.”

“Nonsense.”

“You see her beauty and her smiles.  You do not see her contempt.  You do not hear her barbed words.”  You only see what you wish to when you bed her, the wife of your best friend. She would not dare speak those words.

“She won’t be marrying Aegon, her daughter will.”

“Myrcella?”

“Yes.”

“She’s only three.”

“He’s only eleven. They’ll marry after she flowers.” He softened marginally.  “It is only a betrothal, my lady.  If things change, things change,” he shrugged.    

She stewed over that before asking about Rhaegar’s third child.  “And Aemon?”

“It is my hope that match will end the rumbling in the North.  He will marry his uncle’s daughter, the eldest girl.”

“Lady Sansa?”

“Um…yes, that’s her name.”

Did he know it to begin with? she wondered.  No matter. This arrangement did not matter to her. It suited her.  She’d have Lannisters and Tyrells as her children’s good-parents.  Wasn’t that enough to worry over?  

Who cared if Aemon, or Jon as he preferred, went North someday?  It wasn’t that she disliked him.  It was just that he was a constant reminder of things that Elia would rather forget. He’d go North and marry the Stark girl. Maybe she’d never see Lyanna’s son again if he did.

But Rhaegar had other plans as always, it would seem.

“Aemon will marry Sansa Stark once they’re of age, get an heir by her and then…we’ll see where I need him most.”

“Where you need him most? I don’t understand.”

Rhaegar did not answer.

“Well done!  Well fought, boys!” the master-at-arms cried a moment later.

Elia’s expectant smile curdled when she saw Aegon clutching his hand, his wooden sword on the stones at his feet and Aemon doing a poor job of hiding his delight.  The North could have Lyanna’s son.  She could not say she’d miss him here.  

  Chapter 2-JAIME

 Ser Jaime Lannister of the Nights Watch strolled along the corridors of the Red Keep towards the chambers occupied by his twin sister Cersei.  He caught his reflection in a mirrored panel.  He didn’t look half bad in black.  He felt no more soiled in it than he had in his white cloak.

Due to his father’s role in winning Rhaegar his crown, Jaime had not been beheaded for his own rather hands-on part in seeing an end to Aerys’ regime but he had been discharged from the Kingsguard and sent to the Nights Watch for killing his king.  

He hadn’t stayed there very long.  

It was cold and inhospitable and his fellow brothers in black had all loathed him.  He hadn’t gone out of his way to make any friends there to be honest.  They were all beneath him, none could hold a candle to him with sword or lance and the North was clearly not for him.  

So, when Lord Commander Mormont had been lamenting the lack of able-bodied recruits to fill their numbers and man the Wall, Ser Jaime had graciously offered to go South to the king and his father the Hand and see to it a regular supply of warm bodies were sent the Lord Commander’s way.  It didn’t matter that most of them were the excrement of the lowest pothouses or the ague-ridden sweepings of dungeons, Jaime knew Mormont would take them, desperate as he was.  And so long as the recruits kept arriving, Mormont did not recall Ser Jaime to his post. That suited Lord Tywin and, since Jaime avoided making a nuisance of himself around Rhaegar, it seemed the king was content for him to remain and ignored him for the most part.

He gave me a life sentence meant to humble me for killing his father but knew it was necessary if he was ever going to ascend to the throne himself.  Besides, he’d have no city to rule from if not for me.  

He had fallen into a little place here at Court.  He competed in tourneys here and there, not enough to draw too much attention to himself though.  Mostly, he assisted the master-at-arms in drilling young guards as well as the young princes.  Occasionally, the Small Council would ask him questions about the Watch.  He was as ignorant as most of them but he spoke the words he thought they wanted to hear given the current mood.

It was infinitely preferable to stalking along the top of the Wall or overseeing the digging of new latrines in the frozen shit hole that was Castle Black.  He wasn’t even sure what the Nights Watch’s purpose was anymore. The ragamuffin Wildlings who made it over the Wall once in a while weren’t any true threat to the Seven Kingdoms and it’s not like that could all breach the 700 foot edifice in their way.

As for his pupils, Viserys was quite hopeless and Jaime had been glad to see the back of him when he’d left for Dragonstone a couple of years earlier.  Aegon and Aemon, or Jon as the boy preferred, had some promise though, the younger boy more than the older.  

His twin sister Cersei was at Court as well, one of the Queen’s ladies, while his father had chosen to leave Tyrion behind at Casterly Rock, out of sight and out of mind.  

He rapped upon his sister’s door and entered when a maid answered.  Cersei stood before a mirror adjusting the emerald green gown encrusted with gold she wore which highlighted the eyes which matched his own, whilst her golden hair shone in the sunlight.

“What do you want?” she asked irritably as her maid clasped a great diamond and onyx necklace around her throat.  

You, he mouthed, earning him a scowl.  Theirs was not a typical brother-sister relationship to say the least.

“Connington’s here,” she said in a conversational tone next.  “His ship arrived in the harbor last night.”

Her husband, Lord Jon Connington, was one of Cersei’s least favorite people to see.  Gratefully, he spent most of his time in his castle while his wife spent most of her time at court.  

Only five years older than the bride he’d been gifted as a reward for his faithful services during the rebellion, Connington appeared a withered old man when stood next to Cersei these days.  Jaime highly suspected she was slowly poisoning him…or having someone do it for her.  He honestly didn’t care if it was so.  The oaf did not deserve Cersei.  A good thing the children weren’t his.  

“And did you entertain your husband when he arrived last night?” Jaime asked mockingly, his gloved hand tracing her pale throat when the maid was dismissed at last.  

“There was no need. He was eager to spend as much time as possible with the king.”  Connington would rather lick the king’s boots than his wife’s teats.  That suited Jaime just fine.    

“And who was the king eager to see last night?” he whispered in her ear, the hand at her throat squeezing ever so slightly.  

She jerked her chin and stepped away from his touch.  Jaime clenched his fist and told himself it didn’t matter.  The children weren’t Rhaegar’s either.    

Saying no to Rhaegar after carefully flirting and teasing her way into an affair with him would be foolish though.  Cersei had her reasons, no doubt.  Regardless, she was still his.  She was part of him.  She would always be his in a way the others never could be, not her husband who she spent less than fifteen minutes at a time in the company of if she could help it and not her current and practically acknowledged lover, the king.  

Deciding he didn’t wish to quarrel today, he asked after her children.  My children.

“Myrcella will be queen someday.  Father has arranged it,” she told him, clearly pleased.

He nodded.  It was neither here nor there to him.  Cersei had warned him not to get too close, not to appear too doting so as not the raise any awkward questions and he’d followed her lead.  He hoped Myrcella would be treated well by Aegon but that was the extent of his interest. They were only little children for now.

“That will be something…for you to be the mother of the queen.”

A dangerous glint appeared in her eyes as a cold smile formed upon her crimson lips.  “Yes, the mother of the queen might be enough for some.”

The door burst open a moment later.  “My lady! The Queen!” the maid from earlier gasped.  

“Oh, dear.  Whatever is the matter?” Cersei asked, the sweet concern in her tone not fooling Jaime for an instant.  “Forgive me, brother.  I must go to her,” she said once all had been relayed, a sudden pain in the stomach and the queen had vomited blood after breaking her fast.

“Of course, sister,” he bowed.  “You are one of her ladies.  You must attend her.”

And I will follow you.

Outside Queen Elia’s chambers though, he was halted by the youngest member of the kingsguard. Cersei hastened within and he took up a post of sorts opposite the knight, Ser Garlan Tyrell.  

“Has the king been notified?”

“He has, Ser Jaime. He’s expected to arrive soon.”

The pounding of feet soon met their ears but it was not the king rushing to his wife’s side.  It was her children and the king’s other son.  

“Let me by, Ser Garlan!” Princess Rhaenys shouted, her dark curls bouncing as she stood.  The knight bowed and stood aside as the princess and her younger brother headed in.  But before Jon could pass the threshold, Rhaenys rounded on him.  “Not you!” she hissed.  “She won’t want to see you!”

The boy’s crestfallen expression was quickly hidden by a jerky nod.  He would not be wanted by any of them.  It shouldn’t surprise him.  He really shouldn’t allow it to wound him by this point and yet it was plain it always did. Jaime might almost feel sorry for him…if he was much given to sympathy for others outside of himself and Cersei.

“Come along, my prince,” Jaime said affably, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders to guide him away. Out of sight, out of mind. They looked nothing alike but Jon always reminded Jaime a bit of Tyrion, a motherless boy, unwanted and unloved by most everyone.  Jaime had an undeniable soft spot for his little brother so maybe he had a touch of one for this boy as well.  “It’s been a fortnight since I’ve seen you practice with your lance.  You can’t be a knight if you never master it, you know.”

“Yes, Ser Jaime,” Jon said, looking back over his shoulder once before he allowed himself to be led outdoors.  

All morning, he drilled Jon in the lance and then swords.  He was getting quite good…for a boy of ten.

When the bells began to toll, they had just stopped to sup on roasted hen, shallots and crusty bread.

“What are the bells ringing for?” the boy asked.

“You know, don’t you, Jon?”

The queen was dead.  

Those dark grey eyes widened and the long pale face grew paler.  He looked remarkably like a Stark to Jaime.  There was little of Rhaegar in him.  

A member of the kingsguard came to share the news as night fell.  The king was said to be in seclusion and Elia’s children were with their attendants.  No one came for Jon so Jaime sat with him.  The boy cried bitter tears for the step-mother who had never loved him but never treated him unkindly either.  

Jaime allowed him a second cup of wine and soon the child was dozing in a corner while Jaime wondered how his fair sister was managing her performance, the aggrieved courtier and friend, so concerned for the welfare of Elia’s children whilst maneuvering and plotting for the day she might be Rhaegar’s queen.

Mother of the queen might be enough for some…but not Cersei.  

[goodomensblog]

Denial

I feel like Madame Tracy, who shared a body (and thoughts??) with Aziraphale for a hot second, would absolutely have picked up Aziraphale’s very obvious head-over-heels adoration of Crowley. So naturally, here’s my 2,000 word fic about her cluing in an oblivious angel to his own feelings. 

Denial

Inhabiting a new body was usually quite a lengthy process, and that wasn’t even including the paperwork. There was actually a very good reason why celestial beings didn’t just slip into human skins whenever they felt like it - beyond the moral quandary, of course. Much in the same way that no two humans are exactly alike, neither are angels. A human must try on shoes for size, and so must an angel, well - try on bodies, that is.

As the apocalypse was imminent, Aziraphale did not have the luxury of choice.

So Aziraphale had taken what he could find, and what he’d found was Madame Tracy.

If Aziraphale’s old body could be likened to a six thousand year old comfortably broken in, yet remarkably cared for pair of loafers, Madame Tracy’s was a pair of stiletto heels, fresh out of the box and half a size too small.

Not that Aziraphale wasn’t grateful. Really, he considered himself fortunate to have found a body that could accommodate him at all. It just...really wasn’t very comfortable.

It’s not a walk in the park for me either. I appreciate the metaphor though. The heels, I mean. Terribly uncomfortable, breaking in a new pair.

The voice was high and saccharine and seemed to echo around the space of his head. Or rather, he amended, within her head. He was, after all, the intruder here.

I appreciate that acknowledgment, Mr. Aziraphale, Madame Tracy sniffed.

I do apologize, Aziraphale thought, consciously shaping his wandering thoughts into words. I’m afraid sharing a body is very much a new experience for me.

You’re not alone there, love.

No, I suppose not, Aziraphale said. And when he smiled, it was Madame Tracy’s red painted lips which parted.

Now, what exactly is it that we’ve got to do?

First of all, get through that gate, Aziraphale thought, squeezing the brakes as Madame Tracy’s scooter sputtered to a stop.

Before them, the Tadfield Air Base loomed.

The man out front’s got a gun.

So he does.

As Aziraphale struggled to park the scooter - hindered by Madame Tracy’s attempts to commandeer her hands to help - he noticed that it was quite a large gun, at that.

By the time the scooter was settled, the soldier stood before the gate, gun cradled against his front.

Mr. Shadwell marched up, brandishing a grimy finger.

Oh dear, thought Madame Tracy.

“You see this finger Laddie? This finger could send you to your maker.”

Good God, the man is going to get himself shot.

Yes, Madame Tracy agreed. Please do something.

Aziraphale stepped in front of Shadwell, waving Madame Tracy’s purple gloves through the air.

“It really is vitally important that we speak to whoever is in charge-” he started.

From their lips, Madame Tracy’s voice interrupted, “He’s telling the truth, I’d know if he wasn’t.”

Lord, Aziraphale thought, save me from the whims of foolish mortals.

Madame Tracy’s annoyance flared hot and bright in their shared headspace.

Aziraphale flared his own annoyance right back and took control of their mouth.

“-would you please stop interrupting? I’m trying-”

Madame Tracy took it back.

“-yeah I just thought I’d put in a good word for-”

“I understand, but-”

“Will you please be quiet?” The guard ordered, impatient and confused. “Both of you?”

Well now you’ve done it, Madame Tracy tutted.

I’ve done it?!

“I mean, Ma’am,” the soldier continued, licking his lips, “I must respectfully ask you to-”

He was interrupted by blaring music.

A bebop, Aziraphale thought, and twisted round, heart in his throat.

Pardon? A what?

A car roared round the bend.

Normally when one describes a car as roaring, what they are describing is the sound of a working engine.

In the Bentley’s case, it was not the engine.

Unfortunately, the Bentley roared because it was literally on fire, and the flames were exploding and crackling, making awful noise as the vehicle flew over the darkened pavement. Contributing to the roaring was the metal frame, which beneath the considerable heat, had begun to fracture, and was now squealing its death throes.

None of the roaring could be attributed to the engine as by now, it was little more than a blackened husk and didn’t actually appear to be powering anything.

Oh my, thought Madame Tracy.

Indeed, Aziraphale thought, staring uncomprehendingly at the flaming car.

It was Crowley’s car. That much was clear. Up until now, Aziraphale had never seen it quite so...inflamed, however.  

The guard, Mr. Shadwell, and the united persons of Madame Tracy and the angel Aziraphale watched, transfixed, as the conflagration of heat and steel skidded to a halt before the barbed wire fence. Cacophonous music blared from speakers which had surely long ago melted.

The door swung open and - oh.

There was a flutter in Aziraphale’s - er, well technically Madame Tracy’s stomach.

From the vehicle, a lanky figure unfolded. Heedless of white flames, he swung the door closed behind him. The music evaporated as though it had never been.

“You wouldn’t get that sort of performance from a modern car,” he called, flippant. As if his cheekbones weren’t marked with soot, and his black, fitted jacket, not thoroughly singed.

Aziraphale took over their shared mouth without a thought. 

“Crowley,” he said, like a sigh after a long held breath.

Crowley? Madame Tracy probed at Aziraphale’s thoughts, curious.

As Crowley sauntered away from the burning car, carelessly swinging Agnes Nutter’s book at his side, Aziraphale finally registered the question.

Oh, ah yes. Crowley is a demon - but a very good one, even if he doesn’t like to admit it.

I see, Madame Tracy thought back.

Aziraphale could feel her gearing up for another question - and he fought against annoyance, because he was in her body, but Crowley was here now and they had things to do. Like avert the apocalypse.

So how do you know each other then?

That, my dear, is a very long story. Suffice it to say, we’re friends.

Ah.

Crowley strolled over, shades down and flames licking at his back, and Aziraphale conceded that Crowley was quite good at making an entrance. Not that those sorts of things mattered in the end - but, ah - well, there was something to be said for style, Aziraphale supposed, gaze following Crowley’s sauntering approach.

Aziraphale felt a flash of amusement from Madame Tracy’s side of the head.

Now what? Aziraphale thought, and was immediately horrified by how rude it sounded, echoing around the shared space.

Nothing dearie.

But then, Crowley was speaking, and Aziraphale found his attention most immediately diverted.

“Hey Aziraphale! See you found a ride.”

A ride? Madame Tracy huffed.

He didn’t mean it like that-

“Nice dress. Suits you,” Crowly added, sidling up beside them.

“Ahh,” Aziraphale managed, and was embarrassed to feel his shared body flush with warmth. Had he done that? Or was it Madame Tracy-

All you, I’m afraid, Madame Tracy answered - and did she sound smug?

Ah.

He’s very handsome, isn’t he? Your demon friend.

He - why - what?

Aziraphale vaguely wondered if the prolonged sharing of a body was having a negative effect on his angelic essence, as he couldn’t seem to formulate a coherent thought.

And then Crowley was at his side, brushing shoulders with him - no Madame Tracy - no - oh confound it!

“This young man won’t let us in!” Aziraphale burst out, once more taking control of their mouth.

And then - oh dear - Crowley was leaning in.

He smelled of spice, and charcoal-

And burnt rubber, Madame Tracy added, unhelpfully.

Madame Tracy’s body was just slightly shorter than Aziraphale’s had been, so he found himself craning his head back just slightly more than he was used to. Crowley’s dark gaze flickered over Madame Tracy’s face, as though trying to find a trace of Aziraphale within it.

Aziraphale, quite unconsciously, forgot to breathe.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a moment, but for both Aziraphale, who was, for some strange reason, distracted by the sheen of sweat that had collected on Crowley’s soot stained upper lip - and Madame Tracy who did, inconveniently, require oxygen, it felt much longer.

Aziraphale blinked. Pressing his lips together, he swallowed.

Crowley leaned back and grinned, apparently satisfied. Flashing them a wink, he said, “Leave it to me.”

His voice was low, assured, and Aziraphale didn’t have time to consider the way it made something flip in his stomach - because Madame Tracy was hissing in their head.

Could you please breathe Mr. Aziraphale?

Oh. Right. Of course.

They drew a breath.

Better.

With a bounce in his step, Crowley strolled toward the tense guard.

He’s a friend, you said? Madame Tracy thought, looking pointedly at Crowley’s back.

A very good friend, Aziraphale amended. We’ve been through quite a lot together.

And it was impossible not to think of nights at the Globe, shoulders pressed together in the crowded theater, of quiet, content meals taken in elegant restaurants, of late nights spent drinking and reminiscing on centuries long past. Or, alternatively - the cold burn of metal around his wrists in that jail cell in Paris, and the feeling of utter elation upon hearing Crowley’s voice in the darkness and knowing he was saved. And that church in England, when Crowley had danced upon holy ground to come, once again, to Aziraphale’s aid.

I see, Madam Tracy thought - though Aziraphale was unclear as to exactly what it was she was supposed to have seen.

Before he could ask, Crowley was speaking.

“Army human!”

Aziraphale looked on, satisfied in the knowledge that the situation would be handled. Crowley had said he would take care of it, and so he would.

The Antichrist had risen, the world was on the edge of annihilation, and Angels and Demons eagerly awaited The Last War. But - now Crowley was here.

It was a comfort in spite of it all.

And then Madame Tracy piped up again. Hm. Yes, now I get it.

What are you even talking-

“My friend and I have come a long way, and-”

The sharp ringing of bells cut him off. And then the gate shuddered open.

Crowley and the guard stared open-mouthed as four children on bikes raced past. Pedaling furiously, they entered through the open gate.

- and then Crowley’s car exploded.

From that point, time shot forward - from the merciful splitting of Aziraphale and Madame Tracy, to the showdown with the four horsemen, to the rising of Satan himself - until Crowley stopped everything, time included.

It was only for a moment, of course.

And then Adam had done what no one else could. With one single, simple statement, he changed everything.

After that, it was all mercifully anticlimactic.

Adam’s father took Adam and the other children home, and Anathema kindly offered to squeeze the remaining adults into her car to drive them as far as the village.

It was quite a walk back to the vehicle, however, and as they walked, Aziraphale’s mind turned over the frankly mind-boggling events of the previous hour. The apocalypse had been started - and thwarted. And Adam had succeeded, so the world still turned round.

It was a lot to take in.

Crowley walked ahead - forced into a brisk pace by Shadwell, who was in hot pursuit, asking pointed questions about his eyes. 

Aziraphale, walking at an easy stroll, watched the demon from afar, thinking of all Crowley had done to avert the end of the world. Aziraphale certainly wouldn’t have been able to do it without him, of that he was sure. He should tell him - or congratulate him, perhaps? On an apocalypse well averted.

Aziraphale hurried to catch up, still deciding precisely what it was he wanted to say, when a soft touch drew him up short.

Madame Tracy sidled up beside him, linking her arm through his.

“Busy day,” she murmured, red lips curving in a tired smile.

“Indeed it was.”

“It wasn’t so bad, sharing a body with you. At least for a little while. A few more hours and I would have been ready to kick you out though.”

“Thank you. For sharing with me,” Aziraphale said sincerely. “It’s because of you I was able to get to Tadfield at all.”

Madame Tracy nodded and hummed. “It’s strange. Though what we went through should, by all rights, be unforgettable, my memory of recent events is already becoming a tad fuzzy.”

“Adam,” Aziraphale mused, tilting his head. “When he - er, fixed things, he may have turned back the clock, in a way.”

“Will I remember all of this then?”

Slowing, Aziraphale patted her hand.

“I don’t know,” was his honest answer.

“Well then,” Madame Tracy said, slowing with him. “Best get this out before I forget about it then”

“What’s that?”

“What are you going to do about that demon of yours?”

“Do about-” Aziraphale stuttered, “my demon?”

“Crowley,” Madame Tracy leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.

“What about him?”

“Oh come now, I heard quite a bit when I was in your head.”

“Wait, what did you hear?” Aziraphale questioned, equally confused and alarmed.

“I know how you feel,  Mr. Aziraphale,” she said, gentle.  “About him.”

“How - how I feel?”

“Yes. Don’t tell me you haven’t realized.”

Aziraphale, like all creatures, was in possession of a set of instincts. His, celestial and finely honed, warned him against extended introspection regarding Crowley - because angels were naturally predisposed to favor the status quo. And Aziraphale had always known, with Crowley, came the potential for world rending change. Change that Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

Pressing his lips together, Aziraphale glanced down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come now,” Madame Tracy said, giving him a nudge. “You know. It was written all over your thoughts.”

“What?”

Madame Tracy sighed, “That you’re in love with him, dear.”

The thing about denial is, it works only so long as an individual is able to actually deny the truth. And for Aziraphale, who was forced to face the truth so plainly stated, denial slipped through his fingers like ice melting to water.

Aziraphale’s steps slowed. And stopped.

In the distance, Crowley strolled, his lanky figure silhouetted by the oranges and reds of the setting sun. Aziraphale knew in the depths of his very being, he’d follow Crowley anywhere. And now, with truth rearing its ugly head, there was no denying why.

Aziraphale blinked, suddenly aware of all he stood to gain - and with Heaven and Hell out for blood, all the more he and Crowley stood to lose.

There, in the quiet forest, with the sky alight in warm pastels and the demon whom he could no longer deny he loved walking oblivious, just out of earshot, Aziraphale did something he hadn’t done in centuries. He cursed twice within twenty four hours.

“Well fuck.”