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I am way too eager to share this with all of you! My @elucienweekofficial submission for Day 3- Exploration!

I just imagine Lucien and Elain, exploring the different courts together, while also exploring each other's bodies~ You can't tell me that their sex magic won't heal spring!

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‧₊˚𝑬𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌* ‧₊

The Fox and the fawn, commissioned by: @amandapearls @foreverinelysian @areyoudreaminof @acourtdelaluna 🌸

Art by me

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no grave could hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her

Happy @elucienweekofficial from @the-lonelybarricade, @velidewrites, @ablogofsapphicpanic and myself!

Art by @lib-arts, please credit the artist if you repost!

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What We Keep | All The Ways We Stay

Tyrrendor Week Masterlist

Summary: On an ordinary afternoon in Aretia, a ruined batch of tarts and a quiet engagement ceremony become memories the Tyrrish children will carry for the rest of their lives. From Bodhi's memory in Bloodline 4.

Note: For Tyrrendor Week Day 3: Culture - @empyreanevents. I am totally using tyrrendor week as an excuse to post these ATWWS one shots.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.1k

The tarts were a disaster, and no one had the heart to say it.

Calia Durran stood proudly in the center of the kitchen, holding up the tray like it was something to behold. A dozen slightly burnt apple tarts—misshapen, heavy on the rosemary, and suspiciously sticky—steamed in the late afternoon sun.

“They smell… interesting,” Garrick offered carefully, nudging Bodhi with his elbow.

“They smell like burnt regret,” Bodhi muttered.

Xaden remained stone-faced as Calia placed one on his plate. Wrenley, as always, was the first to reach for hers.

“I’m sure they taste amazing,” she said, biting in with a smile so warm it could have melted the ash-blackened crust. She winced barely—but only Bodhi noticed. “The best thing I’ve ever tasted,” she declared with wide eyes.

Calia lit up, radiant as the spring sky. “Oh, Wren, you’re too sweet.”

Bodhi’s chest ached. Not because the tart was awful—though it absolutely was—but because of that look on his mother’s face. Like she believed it. Like Wren’s words had made her week.

He took a bite of his own and chewed with all the resolve of a soldier in training.

Across from him, Xaden made brief eye contact and gave a barely perceptible nod: solidarity. Garrick immediately tossed his overripe mistake out the window the second Calia’s back was turned.

She bustled toward the sink, humming under her breath. Bodhi set his fork down, wiping his hands as the front door opened.

“Ready?” his father asked, stepping into the kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up, his short beard neatly trimmed, and a familiar glint of warmth in his eyes.

“For what?” Garrick asked, mouth still full of water he’d chugged to recover.

“There’s an engagement blessing ceremony in town this evening. I thought we’d attend.”

Wren’s face lit up instantly. “Really?”

Bodhi’s father gave her a fond smile. “Really. You’ve all heard about a dozen of them by now, but I figured it was time to explain it properly. Let you feel it.”

“Do I have to wear something fancy?” Garrick grimaced.

“You can, but no one’s obligated to look good in a blessing. Just be respectful.”

They set off not long after, walking down a winding stone path that led from the Durrans’ home toward the main square at the edge of Aretia. The village glowed in the gold haze of evening. Flags hung between trees, warm lanterns casting soft light against walls.

They arrived at the edge of the square just as the drums began.

Soft, steady—like a heartbeat—thudding from somewhere on the outskirts of the crowd. Everyone quieted instantly, turning toward the woven arch assembled at the center of the clearing. It was made of twisted branches from flamewood trees, their black bark gleaming with ash-colored shimmer, bound by crimson cloth knotted in loops of three. Red for commitment. Three for the past, present, and future.

Bodhi had seen it before—dozens of times. The traditions weren’t flashy or loud like Navarri celebrations, or as formal as Poromish courtships. They were simple. Grounded. Human.

Beside him, Wren craned forward, drawn to every motion. Her hands curled in front of her like she didn’t want to miss a single detail. Her eyes were wide in the way they got when she read something beautiful—like she was trying to etch it into memory.

The couple stood opposite each other beneath the arch, barefoot in the dirt. No flowers. No jewelry. Just a shared silk cord, dyed a color they felt represented them, passed between their hands as an elder wound it three times around their joined palms.

“The joining cord is Tyrrish silk,” Bodhi’s father whispered to the group as they watched, reverent. “Woven by both families together in the weeks before the blessing. It’s said to hold the breath of everyone who was important in their lives.”

“That’s… beautiful,” Wren whispered back, her voice barely audible over the hush.

“It’s a reminder,” his father continued, “that every promise made between two people ripples outward. Through community. Through legacy. Through time.”

The elder spoke next—not from a script, but from memory. The blessing was passed down orally, adjusted over time but never written. It began with acknowledgment of the family lines, tracing back at least three generations for each partner. Then it honored the sacrifices of ancestors. Then finally, the joining itself:

"You do not walk alone into the dark. You carry the flame of those before you and light the path for those who will come after. What you build will matter—not just in the warmth it gives, but in the stories it leaves behind."

Wren’s breath hitched, and Bodhi turned slightly to look at her. Her eyes shimmered—not with tears, not quite. But with something close to longing. Maybe hope.

Xaden was already looking at her. The lines of his face soft, unguarded in a way Bodhi rarely saw. Wren glanced up and met his gaze.

“I want that,” she whispered, voice like ash and wind and wonder.

Xaden’s answer was quiet, but firm. “I’ll make sure it.” It was whispered into her hair as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

That was the moment Bodhi knew. Not just that they were in love—but that they would last. That the string of fate had already knotted them together, invisible and absolute.

And still—he wished, for the barest second, that she had looked at him like that. Just once. But she hadn’t. She never would.

So he turned away and focused on the elder again, whose hands now lifted the joining cord from the couple’s palms and held it high above their heads.

“This knot is yours to keep,” the elder declared. “Not to bind—but to remind.”

The crowd broke into soft applause. Not loud—never loud. A Tyrrish blessing wasn’t about spectacle. It was about grounding love in place, in tradition, in the bones of the land and the roots of the people.

As the couple stepped up and embraced, Wren exhaled, eyes bright as she clutched Bodhi’s sleeve.

“Do you think they’ll remember that moment forever?”

Bodhi nodded. “I think that’s the whole point.”

Behind them, Garrick elbowed Xaden. “You better figure out how to braid silk.”

Xaden just looked at Wren again—quietly, like she was already his promise made flesh.

And Bodhi looked at the knot in the elder’s hands, wondering how something so small could hold so much.

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo @fictionalrelapse @poisonivy2267

Chasing Shadows: @hiraethjules @fangirling-galore @sande5098 @javden @littlepippilongstocking @what-will-be-your-verse @xadenstyles @daisydark @messageforthesmallestman @taleiaargenis @littleemissperfecttt @nesiris21 @samriddhisingh @helo1281917 @simplyyspring

Bloodline: @theseinfernalangels @bodhiscurls @violent-little-thing @nisarelle @simplyyspring

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You & I | All The Ways We Stay

Tyrrendor Week Masterlist

Summary: Ten years later, Wrenley returns home following her mother’s sudden death . As she drowns in quiet grief, her closest friends try to pull her back to herself—but it’s Xaden, the boy she’s never stopped writing, who reaches her.

Note: For Tyrrendor Week Day 2: Home - @empyreanevents. I am totally using tyrrendor week as an excuse to post these ATWWS one shots. I'm also super late cause I've been busy but I'm playing catch up.

Warnings: grief, off page death of Eden Tavis

Word Count: <1k

They didn’t recognize her at first.

Not at a glance, anyway. She rode in at dusk, shoulders hunched, hood low, her posture too still for someone who once couldn’t sit still through a dinner conversation. Her father rode beside her, posture stiff and formal, but it was clear that this trip—this return—wasn’t about him. It never had been.

Wrenley Tavis had come home, or at least, to the closest thing she still had to one.

Garrick saw her first, stepping forward instinctively when the cart came to a stop. It didn’t feel real until she swung down from the bench, her boots hitting the gravel too quietly for the sound to match the moment.

She looked older. Not in the way of age, but in the way of grief.

Her eyes scanned past Garrick, Bodhi, Liam, and Imogen like she was looking for something specific—no, someone. And when she didn’t find him, she simply asked:

“Where is he?”

She didn’t speak much the first two days after that.

Not unless she had to. Her words came slow, like they had to be coaxed through layers of thick wool. Her old room was warm, well-kept, facing the eastern fields, but her gaze really left the stone all beside her bed.

They tried. Gods, they tried.

Garrick brought her the old book of Tyrrish tales they used to pass back and forth as kids—spines cracked and pages dog-eared from days spent under the old oak canopy. She thanked him, placed it on the bedside table, and never picked it up again.

Bodhi tried to get her to go on walks with him. “Nothing crazy,” he promised. “Just movement. Might help your head.”

She only rolled away, burrowing further into her bed.

Liam coaxed her into the orchard on the second morning. They used to race there, years ago, dodging gnarled trunks and leaping over roots like wildlings. He tried to bring that memory back to her. She smiled, once. But it didn’t reach her eyes.

Imogen was the last to try. She didn’t offer books or walks or memories. Just quiet companionship. They sat together in the library for hours, pages turning, Wren occasionally brushing her thumb over the spine of a book without ever opening it.

“I think,” Imogen whispered later to Garrick and Bodhi, “she’s more gone than here.”

Xaden returned from a diplomatic trip with his father on the fourth day.

Rain slicked his clothes to his frame. His jaw was sharp with exhaustion, dark curls pressed to his forehead. He barely noticed the others waiting under the overhang until Garrick spoke.

“She’s back,” he said simply. “She asked for you the moment she arrived.”

Xaden didn’t need to ask who she was. His father had gotten the letter from Harlow while they were in Lewellen,

He turned and headed toward the garden paths without a word.

Wren stood under the stone archway where the moss grew thick between the bricks. Her cloak clung to her limbs, soaked and heavy, but she made no move to find shelter.

She didn’t turn when she heard him coming. Didn’t move at all until he was close enough for his shadow to stretch over hers.

Then she lifted her head.

And in that moment, the girl who hadn’t cried, hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words in three days—broke.

Just a breath. A stutter. A small, desperate sound caught in her throat.

She reached for him like she’d done it a thousand times. Like it was muscle memory. Like her hands didn’t know how to do anything else.

Xaden caught her before she could fall. His arms folded around her, sharp armor pressing to soft edges. And she shattered.

No sobbing. No wailing. Just her forehead buried in his shoulder and her fingers clutching his collar like if she let go, she’d fall right through the earth.

He didn’t say a word. He just held her tighter.

The next day, she ate breakfast in the hall with everyone.

She didn’t say much, but she sat with them—Bodhi beside her, Imogen across, Garrick and Liam on either end, while Xaden sat on the opposite sie of Bodhi, placing her favorite foods onto the plate as she slowly ate. Her posture was still stiff, her eyes distant, but she was there.

The day after that, Bodhi found her waiting just outside of Riorson House.

“Can we walk?” she asked softly, nodding towards the quite streets of Aretia.

Bodhi smiled and offered her his arm before they walked together in silence. By the seventh day, she started being around the whole group more. Still silent but present now.

But the biggest change was always visible when Xaden entered the room.

Wren would lean subtly toward him, like her whole body knew he was safe. When they walked the halls, their hands would brush. They didn’t linger. They didn’t talk about it. But it was there—in the way her laugh came easier with him nearby. In the way his eyes found her before anyone else.

There was never any declarations, speeches, or labels.

But they didn’t need to.

Because when she sat in the library room with her friends and leaned her head on Xaden’s shoulder, her breath slowing for the first time in weeks—when he found her curled in a reading alcove and tucked her legs over his without needing an invitation—when he said, “You don’t have to be fine,” and she replied, “I know,” and meant it—everyone else saw it.

That quiet, unshakeable thing between them. The kind of thing built slowly. Year by year. Letter by letter. Loss by loss. The kind of thing that doesn’t have to be spoken aloud to be true.

The kind of thing that stays.

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo @fictionalrelapse @poisonivy2267

Chasing Shadows: @hiraethjules @fangirling-galore @sande5098 @javden @littlepippilongstocking @what-will-be-your-verse @xadenstyles @daisydark @messageforthesmallestman @taleiaargenis @littleemissperfecttt @nesiris21 @samriddhisingh @helo1281917 @simplyyspring

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🥹🥹🥹

Little Futures | All The Ways We Stay

Tyrrendor Week Masterlist

Summary: Before the rebellion, seven children play in the nursery while their parents watch with fondness and quiet hope, joking about the futures their little ones might grow into.

Note: For Tyrrendor Week Day 1: Childhood - @empyreanevents. I am totally using tyrrendor week as an excuse to post these ATWWS one shots. I'm also super late cause I've been busy but I'm playing catch up.

Warnings: none

Word Count: <1k

The sitting parlor adjacent to the nursery was sun-drenched and comfortably cluttered — half formal, half surrendered to the inevitable chaos of children. The walls held elegant tapestries, but the floor was scattered with wooden toys, worn blankets, and an occasional stray sock.

The grown-ups had retreated to one of the low couches, cups of tea in hand, the air buzzing with quiet laughter and the distant echo of young voices from the playroom.

“They’ve barricaded the toy chest again,” Calia Durran said, squinting over the top of her teacup. “It’s the third fortress they’ve built this week.”

“That’s because Wrenley keeps assigning Garrick to defense,” Harlow Tavis replied with dry amusement, elbow resting on the arm of his chair. “She’s got the entire operation organized by snacks and pillow hierarchy.”

Thalia Riorson leaned forward to watch as her son and Harlow’s nephew shoved cushions against a blanket wall. “And of course Xaden follows her lead.”

“He thinks he’s in charge,” Issac Mairi murmured. “Until Wren tells him otherwise.”

“She has the command instincts,” Calia said, swirling her tea. “Give her five years and she’ll be running this province.”

“She’s four,” Harlow reminded her with a raised brow.

“And already bossing the boys around.”

From the far room came Bodhi’s exasperated voice: “No, Liam! That’s not how you play! You offer something first—”

“I offered a ROAR!”

“That’s not an offer!”

Thalia grinned into her cup. “Bodhi’s going to be a tactician someday. You can see it.”

“He’s organizing playroom trade agreements,” Calia agreed fondly. “I caught him using dried apricots as currency last week.”

Issac chuckled. “Imogen helped him set the price list.”

“She’s more dangerous than she looks,” Thalia said. “Too quiet. Too observant.”

“She’s the one who gave Xaden the idea for that trap they set outside the kitchens,” Harlow muttered. “The kitchen staff is still mad.”

“And Garrick tripped it,” Calia added. “Proudly, I might add.”

“He volunteered to be the decoy,” Harlow said, not even pretending to sound annoyed. “That’s loyalty.”

“That’s recklessness,” Calia countered.

“Same thing at that age.”

A loud crash came from the next room. No one flinched.

“Xaden’s fault,” Thalia said immediately.

Wrenley’s voice rang out: “We said no jumping from the bench!”

“I slid,” Xaden argued.

Imogen, ever helpful, yelled, “I told you the dragon wings wouldn’t catch you!”

“Who gave him wings?” Harlow asked.

“Liam,” Issac and Calia said in unison.

There was a beat of silence before they all burst out laughing.

“They’re chaos,” Thalia said affectionately. “But I look at them and wonder…”

Calia nodded. “Who they’ll become?”

“Exactly.”

“They’ll take over the world,” Harlow said dryly, but there was something warm in his voice. “Just not quietly.”

Thalia pointed toward Xaden and Wrenley, still deep in fort negotiations. “She’ll lead. He’ll follow. Not because he has to, but because he chooses to. That kind of loyalty isn’t common.”

“And Garrick will argue with them both,” Harlow added.

“Loudly,” Issac said.

“But he’ll never leave their side,” Thalia finished.

Calia looked toward Bodhi and Imogen, who were currently rearranging a book display and scribbling on scraps of parchment. “Those two? They’ll out-think us all. Write new systems. Quiet power.”

“And Liam?” Thalia asked.

They all looked to the smallest of the older kids, currently galloping around with a blanket tied around his shoulders and a stick held like a sword.

“Joy,” Issac said softly. “He’ll bring joy. He already does.” Issac’s smile faltered slightly. “He wants to protect everyone. Especially Sloane.”

They turned just in time to see the two-year-old curled up beside Imogen, babbling softly, half-asleep with a cookie in her hand.

“She’ll be the quiet storm,” Thalia murmured.

“No,” Harlow said. “She’ll be the anchor.“

There was a long pause.

“They don’t know,” Calia said after a moment, “what kind of world they’ll grow into.”

“No,” Harlow agreed. “But we do. So we make it better while we can.”

“And teach them to hold each other,” Issac added. “Because one day, we won’t be able to.”

From the other room, Wrenley shouted, “GARRICK, IF YOU TRADE OUR LAST COOKIE FOR ANOTHER STICK I SWEAR—”

Xaden laughed so hard he fell off the pillow stack. Again.

The parents just watched. Together, their children were a storm waiting to be born. But right now — right now, they were just kids. Dreaming in forts. Building bonds they didn’t yet know they’d die to protect.

And if the adults carried the weight of futures not yet spoken aloud, they never let it show.

Not today.

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo @fictionalrelapse @poisonivy2267

Chasing Shadows: @hiraethjules @fangirling-galore @sande5098 @javden @littlepippilongstocking @what-will-be-your-verse @xadenstyles @daisydark @messageforthesmallestman @taleiaargenis @littleemissperfecttt @nesiris21 @samriddhisingh @helo1281917 @simplyyspring

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was gonna write tonight but got a little too tipsy. the fics are slowly (very slowly) coming along

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ok so i didn’t write today but i did spend three hours staring into the void while thinking about a plot point i haven’t gotten to yet. so that’s basically writing. it’s the vibes that count.

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i swear i’m trying

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Thank you to everyone who participated in Garrick Week! There were a total of 54 entries! Below is a compiled list of all the works submitted this week. You can also check out the AO3 collection to view some of them there.

Day 1: Focused

Priority Shift by @dragonridersandhighlords

Professor Tavis by @garricks4thwingqueen

Why Not Make It A Game? by @alexandia03

Garrick's Super Focus by @siobhanbooks

Sleepwalking Pt. 1 by @oh-no-its-dragons

Focus by @/istarbel

Up All Night by @lightningnshadows

Day 2: Gentle Giant

My Favourite Version Of You by @bodhiscurls

Not With Me by @/dragonridersandhighlords

Those Summer Nights by @/oh-no-its-dragons

Gentle Giant Headcanons by @/garricks4thwingqueen

The Gentlest Giant by @/siobhanbooks

Sweet Nothing by @violencelittlething

What My Heart Yearns To Say by @/alexandia03

Gentle Giant by @/dawntime52

Becoming A Nest by @/lightningnshadows

Day 3: Distance

Love Letters by @theseinfernalangels

Distance by @/alexandia03

I Can Go The Distance by @/siobhanbooks

Distance Will Not Separate Us by @garricks4thwingqueen

Cross The Seas by @annie-creates

I Counted Miles To See You by @/violencelittlething

To Reach You by @/dragonridersandhighlords

Go The Distance by @togeppy

To Be Near Her by @/dawntime52

How (Not) To Manifest Your Signet by @/caelge

Distance by @/istarbel

Let’s Go Home by @/lightningnshadows

Sleepwalking Pt. 2 by @/oh-no-its-dragons

Day 4: Runes

Runes & Chradh Headcanons by @/garricks4thwingqueen

Bribing Fate by @/alexandia03

Sleepwalking Pt. 3 by @/oh-no-its-dragons

Runes Of Tyrrendor by @/siobhanbooks

Tagged With Runes by @/lightningnshadows

Day 5: Loyalty

A Silent Vow Of Loyalty by @/garricks4thwingqueen

I Choose My Loyalties by @/annie-creates

Sleepwalking Pt. 4 by @/oh-no-its-dragons

Wherever You Will Go by @megmoonlightmeg

Three Years (And Ten Days) by @xadensbiceps

As Loyal As A Bear by @/siobhanbooks

Crisis Of Faith by @/alexandia03

Loyalty by @/istarbel

Quiet Moments by @/lightningnshadows

Day 6: Second LT

Protecting Your Favorite Second LT by @/garricks4thwingqueen

Second LT by @/istarbel

Midnight Call For Help by @/lightningnshadows

Day 7: Free Day

Always by @perfectwrites

Run For The Hills by @/bodhiscurls

Best 4th Of July Ever by @/garricks4thwingqueen

Secrets And Lies by @/annie-creates

No Feelings by @quietstormxr

Feelings And Misunderstandings by @silverspringzzz

I Told The Stars About You by @/alexandia03

Wild Duck Hunt by @/lightningnshadows

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stardew valley but make it romantasy

You know what we need?

Fourth Wing and ACOTAR video games with customizable characters and an ungodly number of love interests.

Just casually romance any character that plays an important part in the storyline and level up the relationship(s) to a certain point to earn a wedding or something.

Just an Idea lol

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ur gonna be excited ab this one 😝😝

another brennan fic coming when i can manage to finish it & i’m working on an imogen req so keep your eyes peeled 💃🏼

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another brennan fic coming when i can manage to finish it & i’m working on an imogen req so keep your eyes peeled 💃🏼

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gentle giant

garrick tavis x reader (angel!)

words: 2.1k

🏷️: smut, first time in the relationship, mentions of penetration being painful, but they stop and do alternate activities, because how are these fantasy heroines always taking pipe the size of their forearm with no lube or anything, thigh riding, gare gets a handy and loses his mind a little, mentions of size difference between you, but I tried to just emphasize him being big instead of saying you are tiny because not all of us are violet sized, especially not myself, you wear his shirt and it’s implied to be big on you, his hands are bigger, he’s taller… I think it’s easy enough for everyone to relate. this is kinda rushed but when I saw the prompt for today I knew I had to finish this draft that literally had the same title already! posting with 1h20m to spare 🥳

“Are you sure you want to— oh, fuck,” Garrick breathes, his grip on your waist tightening as you lower yourself down.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Your words are cut with a soft whimper as you sink lower, stretching around him. You’re trying to keep your cool, but he can feel your thighs shaking, feel you squeezing him so fucking tightly, your breaths coming out in pathetic little pants as you try to adjust to the thickness.

“Angel,” he says softly, moving his hands to your waist. “If it’s too much, we can—”

“I can take it,” you interrupt. “Just give me a second.”

Maybe if you shift your hips a little, you can get a better angle, and it’ll stop feeling like you’re being torn apart.

Nope. That’s even worse.

Hold your breath, then, so he can’t tell how much it hurts, and you don’t kill the mood. This is the first time you’ve done anything more than kiss, after all. It should stop hurting after a few minutes, right? Just power through, and…

It’s too easy for him to lift you up off of him and sit you on his thigh, wrapping his arms around you and stroking your back. “I don’t want you to be in pain, Angel. We should stop.”

“M’ sorry,” you say in a small voice, working your head into the side of his neck.

“Don’t apologize, Angel. It’s okay.” He continues smoothing his palms up and down your back in slow, grounding movements. “What do you want to do? We can go to sleep, or just cuddle for a while… or we could have some fun in a different way.”

You pull back to look at him. “I didn’t completely kill the moment?”

He’s grinning ear to ear. “Are you kidding? I have the most beautiful woman on the continent sitting in my lap with no pants on, and it turns out that my dick is actually too big.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. Of course he’d find a way to joke about this, and make it feed his ego. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

You sit up straighter and guide him back into another kiss with a hand on his jaw, stroking your thumb over his cheekbone.

His hands find your waist again, slipping underneath your — his — shirt, and smoothing up your ribs to rest just below your breasts. He’s always been touchy with you, but even after being the two of you a couple for a few months now, he’s still a little hesitant to touch you anywhere intimate, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. It’s cute, really.

You reach down, settling your hands on his wrists and guiding his hands up to where he really wants them to be. He’s gentle, massaging the soft skin and brushing his thumbs over your nipples. It’s a new sensation, a soft, buzzy pleasure that adds to the desire growing within you.

The kisses had started off gentle, slow and loving, meant to reassure you that he still wanted you despite your difficulties, but now it’s more than that — you’re back to the same eager, frenzied makeout that had started this whole thing off.

He pulls back for air, and you whine softly, scooting closer.

He gives you a sly smile. “Someone’s needy. You enjoying yourself there?”

Your cheeks warm as you realize what he’s talking about — you’ve been rocking your hips against his thigh for the past few minutes, in search of any kind of stimulation.

“If you want to get yourself off like that, that is more than fine with me.”

There’s no denying that it felt really nice, but could you really make yourself cum that way?

It wouldn’t hurt to try, you suppose.

You nod shyly, giving another exploratory rock of your hips against his thigh. It’s perfect for this; wide, firm, but pliant enough to be comfortable. Just like the rest of him — thick muscle, with just the right amount of softness covering it, good for sparring and cuddling and several other things, including this. And there’s just something about the size of him, the way he towers over you, and how much bigger he is than you, that makes your heart race.

Is it a little superficial? Maybe. But he feels the same way about you.

The first time he’d seen you wear one of his shirts, that draped down to your thighs, just long enough to cover your ass, he’d forgotten how to speak. Even before you’d admitted your feelings to each other, he’d loved comparing the size of your hands, making jokes about being able to see over the top of your head, and being able to move you around effortlessly, guiding you through crowds or sitting you in his lap like this…

And he’s always loved your softness — both the feel of your skin, your hands smooth and soft compared to the roughened skin of his palms from all his training and exercise, and the plush of your body, so easy to relax into, to cuddle up with and rest his head on, to knead in those giant hands of his while you do things like this…

He pulls back, his nose brushing against your cheek. “You mind if I help myself out a little?”

You shake your head no; of course you don’t mind. If anything, watching him is going to help you get there.

He wasn’t lying about you not having killed the mood — he’s still hard, aching with need. And even held in his own hand, he still looks giant.

You take mental note of the way he’s doing it, the lazy pace and the way he twists his hand when he reaches the top before sliding back down, soft little sighs leaving his lips every now and then.

He probably does this quite often, to know what he likes. He might have even done it while thinking of you — you’ve certainly spent more nights with your hand in your panties and his name on your lips than you’d ever admit.

As good as this feels, it’s tiring. Your legs were already aching from the day’s training, and this isn’t helping you at all. You sigh in frustration, your hips slowing, but you continue to rock back and forth, sitting up a little straighter to reach his lips.

He’s always known exactly what you want, and what you need — you gasp into his mouth as he takes over, sliding you back and forth over his thigh with minimal effort. This is much better, enabling you to concentrate on the feeling of the muscle rubbing against your clit instead of the ache in your hips and thighs.

And it’s godsdamned sexy how strong he is, how he can handle you any way he pleases.

He leans forward, his other hand sliding up your neck to tilt your head back, allowing him access to the side of your neck.

Despite this being the farthest you’ve ever gone together, Garrick has clearly established that no inch of your skin will go un-kissed, or otherwise unloved. He’s an excellent multitasker — his lips are still on your neck, one hand helping guide you back and forth against his thigh, the other hand having returned to your chest, just playing with you, groping and stroking and pinching, just seeing what you like.

It’s soft little circles of his thumb that seem to have you the most vocal, arching forward into his touch. He’ll keep doing that, then.

“Gare,” you breathe, your hand finding the one that rests on your hip, your fingers curling around his.

He pulls back from your neck with a soft, wet sound — there’s definitely going to be some bruises there tomorrow, that Xaden will tease you both for relentlessly — and even with your eyes closed in concentration, you can hear the smile in his voice. “Aww, are you close, angel? You wanna cum for me?”

“Yes,” you gasp, pushing your hips forward to help him, and help yourself. “Yes, please, keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“All of it.”

He’s a perfect soldier, excellent at following orders. And he’d do anything you asked without hesitation, especially if it pleased you like this. His lips return to the side of your neck, sucking at your pulse point, continuing those little strokes of his thumb…

You nearly sob as it washes over you, your inner muscles clamping around thin air, and your hand clutching his. He rocks you back and forth a few more times to help you ride it out, still mouthing at your neck, but after a moment it becomes too much — you start to squirm, squeezing your thighs together around his, which he takes as a sign to stop.

You slump forward against his chest, dazed and a little bit in awe of the fact that he just made you cum without laying a finger on you. Your tummy feels fuzzy, your whole body relaxed… and your pain appears to have ceased, which is an added bonus.

You’re vaguely aware of his hand rubbing your back. He's talking to you, cooing praises into your ear. “Did so good, angel. N’ I’ll never get tired of seeing you in my clothes.”

You stifle a yawn, lifting your head up enough to give him a kiss. Your lips land more toward his jaw than his mouth, but that’ll have to do for now. “Thank you,” you add. “Felt really good.”

He reciprocates your kiss, a soft peck to your temple. “Anything for my perfect girl. S’ late, you wanna go to bed?”

“In a bit,” you murmur, smearing another kiss against his jaw as you reach down again, wrapping your hand around him. He gasps in surprise, his thigh tensing underneath you. “Is this okay?”

“Uh-huh,” he breathes, his eyes still locked with yours, subconsciously pushing his hips into your hand, rutting forward into your touch.

You hum happily, boldened by how quickly he’s falling apart beneath you. “Felt so good grinding on your thigh like that. All that strong muscle, and the way you could move me so easily…”

You punctuate each sentence with a slip of your thumb over his tip, watching the way his abs clench as he squirms underneath you.

“Oh, just like that, Angel,” he breathes, “Fuck, your hands are so — soft, feels so good… so much better than — fuck — better than mine. Not gonna last.”

You hum against the side of his neck, kissing and sucking at the skin just above his collarbone, where his relic ends.

He whines, his hips pushing against your hand faster now, his desperation increasing. “Please,” he gasps. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” you murmur. “I’m not going to stop. Especially not when you asked so nicely.”

He buries his face in the side of your neck, his fingers digging into the softness of your hips.

If you thought his needy little whines were pretty, then the sound he makes when he cums is absolutely gorgeous — it’s a shame that it’s muffled by your skin. You’ll have to do this again soon, so you can hear it properly.

His thighs are shaking, and your hand is covered in his spend, but just like he did for you, you don’t stop right away, just slow down and let him ride it out. “Holy shit,” he pants, catching his breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum that fast before. That’s actually a little embarrassing.”

You can’t help but giggle, pleased with yourself. “You’ll just have to show me how long you can last, then.”

He groans. “Don’t say shit like that right now. You’ll get me hard again.”

“Oh nooo, we can’t have that.”

“Not tonight, at least. We need to get some sleep.”

“Fair enough,” you agree through a yawn.

You’ve both already showered, and used all your energy for the day, so a quick wipe-down is enough until morning, and then it’s back to your normal routine of getting tucked into bed together. You’ve only used your own bed twice since getting your own room a month ago, now. You might as well just share his room, at this point, but there’s only one desk and one closet, which would cramp things up.

“Angel?” he asks softly, before turning the light out.

You hum in reply, eyes already closed.

“I really enjoyed tonight, even if it wasn’t what we planned.”

“I did too. Was fun.”

“Good,” he says quietly. “I just don’t want you to feel bad, or anything. Really.”

“And that right there is why I love you so much,” you murmur, scooting over to rest your head on his chest. “You’re big and scary, but you’re really just a gentle giant. With me, at least.”

“Only with you,” he agrees, stroking a hand over your hair. “I have a reputation to maintain, y’know.”

“Mm. Can’t have people finding out that you’re a big softie.”

“They’ll put it together eventually. But not today.”

[simplyyspring]

wanting to write but not having the energy to because of medical stuff is so fun 😝😝 garrick week is haunting me right now

[simplyyspring]

Bloodline | S E V E N

masterlist | Bloodline Masterlist | ATWWS Masterlist

Summary: Faced with a choice between walking away or risking everything to help someone, Kaelin makes a decision that could change everything. Meanwhile, Bodhi is forced to reckon with the consequences of pushing Kaelin away, and his frustration boils over in unexpected—and destructive—ways.

Notes: 

Warnings: self sabotaging behavior, relationship fallout, Bodhi is kind of an asshole here.

Word Count: 2k

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

previous part

K A E L I N

Sundays in the Archives usually belong to the scribes.

The other quadrants know better than to bother us unless it’s urgent. So when I round the corner toward the central tables and spot Jesinia and Aoife already deep in discussion, I think nothing of it. Jesinia’s perched at the end of a worn oak desk, fingers flying in a blur of sign, while Aoife listens and scribbles something down in that little green notebook she always carries.

Aoife gives me a quick smile when she spots me before standing and disappearing between the shelves, the notebook tucked under her arm.

Jesinia starts to return to her notes, but then Violet Sorrengail walks in.

My steps slow. Violet is no stranger in the archives, but her black uniform is still a surprise when I do see her.

She doesn’t say anything—just lifts her hands and signs something to Jesinia. Her movements are smoother than they were last term, more confident. It’s deliberate. Practiced.

Jesinia’s posture straightens. Her eyes flick toward the back of the Archives. Toward Aoife.

And then, without a word, she signs back.

I can’t see what Jesinia is signing but I catch a single sign from Violet and my stomach drops.

Wards.

I’m quick across the space, startling Jesinia when I stop beside them and sign. “Why are you asking about the wards?”

“Kaelin?”

“Answer me, Vi.” I whisper, still signing so Jesinia can understand.

Jesinia shifts beside her. “She asked for old construction theory,” she signs. “Nothing classified.”

I narrow my eyes. “That’s a thin line, and you know it.”

“She wasn’t asking about active defense zones or current structures—just origin sources. Foundational history.” Jesinia signs softly.

“Foundational history,” I echo, then pivot back to Violet. “Why?”

Her shoulders stiffen. “I can’t tell you.”

“Violet.”

“Trust me. Please, like old times.”

I stare at her, trying to piece together what she’s not saying. “Are you looking into details on the wards or how to build your own?” I say aloud but I’m signing something completely different.

Violet doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t have to. Her silence confirms everything.

“This is reckless,” I sign finally. “You could get Jesinia expelled for this.”

“She offered,” Violet signs.

I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Gods, you’re both ridiculous.”

Jesinia offers a hopeful look. “You’re not going to report us?”

I shoot her a flat stare. “What do you think?”

She grins.

I turn to Violet. “You’re lucky I’ve noticed some strange things going on around here. But if I’m in, I want full transparency. No more half-signed secrets or back-corner conversations.”

Violet’s brow furrows. “You’re helping?”

I sigh. “Yes. Someone has to keep you alive long enough to learn something.”

Jesinia looks like she might throw her arms around me. I wave her off before she gets the chance.

“Jesinia will find the books. I’ll deliver them to you in your quadrant,” I add, keeping my voice low as Aoife rounds the far corner and returns to her seat. “Let me walk you out.”

Violet nods, falling into step beside me as we slip from the Archives into the wide hall. Our boots echo against the stone, the corridor quiet in the way only Sunday afternoons can be.

Once we’re a few turns away from the door and out of earshot, I glance sideways at her. “What are you really trying to uncover, Vi?”

She grins. “It’s good to see you too, KaeKae.”

I groan, shoulder-checking her lightly. “No one’s called me that since we were kids running around outposts in mud-stained clothes.”

She shrugs, unbothered. “Thought it might break the tension.”

“You’re not doing something that could get you killed… right?”

“Define ‘get me killed.’”

“Violet.”

“I can’t answer that,” she says, quieter now. “I just need you to trust me.”

I stop walking. She halts with me. “At least tell me something. Anything. You owe me that much.”

She sighs, then cracks a smile. “Cam’s in the Riders Quadrant.���

I blink. “Cam? Camlean? As in the crown prince?”

“He’s going by Aaric now.” My jaw drops as Violet speaks. “That Camlean is training for the Gauntlet right now.”

I laugh. “His father is going to lose it when he finds out.”

Violet snorts. “Right? I’d pay to see the king’s reaction. No way Aaric doesn’t bond at Threshing.”

“He’s good, then?”

“He’s good,” she says, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “But I guess we’ll see in a month.”

The clocktower chimes, the long brass tones echoing down the corridor. Violet glances up, wincing.

“I’ve got to get to training. I’ll see you in Battle Brief tomorrow.”

“Vi, wait.” I reach into the pocket of my robes and pull out a folded parchment, the edges creased from how long I’ve held onto it. “Can you make sure Bodhi gets this?”

“Bodhi, huh?” she says, lifting an eyebrow.

I push her shoulder. “Get going, Violet.”

Her laugh trails behind her as she jogs off, tucking the letter away with a promise in her eyes.

I stand there for a moment longer before turning the other direction—toward the one place I’ve been avoiding for two weeks now—hoping the letter is enough.

Hoping it’s not too late.

B O D H I

We need to talk. On a serious level. Parapet. I’ll be waiting.

She didn’t sign it, but I’d recognize Kaelin’s handwriting anywhere. I loops on certain letters and is pressed too hard in some places like she couldn’t decide whether to actually write it or not.

Either way, I read the message three times before I move.

The sun is low by the time I make it up the winding stairs. Wind rushes across the open parapet, colder than it should be for this time of day, and Kaelin’s already waiting—standing at the midpoint, arms folded, her robe whipping around her legs.

She doesn’t look at me when I approach and I stop just beside her, close enough to speak but far enough that she won’t mistake it for comfort.

“You came,” she says.

“You asked.”

“I wasn’t sure you would.”

We fall into silence. The kind that isn’t quiet at all, because there’s too much left unsaid between us.

Eventually, Kaelin speaks again. “I don’t want to fight but I want the truth.”

I swallow, bracing myself, but she beats me to the punch.

“You’ve been different since you got back,” she says. “Distracted. Paranoid. Angry. You snapped at me like I was the enemy, Bodhi. So either tell me what’s going on with you—really—or stop pretending that we’ll get through it.”

The wind tugs at my collar. I try to find the words, but everything feels like a trap. Like saying too much could cost everything. I shake my head. “I can’t—”

“Then just answer one thing,” she cuts in. “Why is Violet Sorrengail researching wards?”

That pulls my attention. “What?” I ask, sharply.

“She came to the Archives earlier,” Kaelin says. “Asked Jesinia for texts about how the First Six built the wards.”

The world slows around me. Fucking Sorrengail.

Kaelin watches me closely, and when I don’t answer right away, she breathes out something halfway between a laugh and a scoff.

“You know why, don’t you?” she says quietly.

I look at her—really look—and everything in me wants to say yes. To tell her about Aretia. The revolution. The truth. But I can’t, not yet, not with so much at risk.

“I can’t tell you,” I say, the words like broken glass in my mouth.

Kaelin’s face stills. Her shoulders lift slightly as she inhales, controlled and measured, like she’s holding herself together by sheer will.

“I knew it,” she says. “I knew you were keeping something from me. I gave you the chance to be honest, and you still won’t take it.”

“Kaelin, it’s not that simple—”

“It is.” She turns fully to face me now, the wind ripping through the silence between us. “It is that simple. You either trust me or you don’t. And clearly, you don’t.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

She laughs once, but there’s no humor in it. “Don’t bother.”

She starts to walk past me, but I reach for her wrist. She pulls out of my grasp before I even make contact.

“I don’t want protection, Bodhi,” she says. “I wanted you.”

“Kae—”

“You’re allowed secrets, Bodhi, the gods know I have my own. But this sounds like life or death, and I deserve the choice to stay or run.” And then she’s gone—her footsteps fading down the stairs, her absence louder than the wind that follows.

Battle Brief is the last place I want to be.

Professor Devera is droning on about troop supply routes in the eastern provinces like any of us are going to be stationed there in the next two months. Imogen is beside me, pen scratching across the margin of her notes like she actually gives a shit.

I don’t. Not today.

All I can see is Kaelin—at the front of the room, seated straight-backed with her quill dancing across parchment as she records every word.

She hasn’t looked at me once during the entire briefing.

I slouch a little deeper into my seat, arms crossed over my chest, eyes locked on her like that might force her to just look. It doesn’t.

“You’re not subtle,” Imogen mutters without looking up.

I grunt in response.

“I’m serious, Bodhi,” she adds. “If you stare any harder, the parchment is going to catch fire.”

“I’m just listening,” I mutter.

She snorts. “No, you’re brooding.”

I ignore her and flick my eyes back to the front. Kaelin tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as Markham says something about her, praising her for keeping all of their reports organised, and she smiles. That’s the worst part.

She smiles like nothing’s wrong. Like she didn’t walk away from me last night, from us.

The briefing drags on and I take in none of it.

By the time Devera finally dismisses us, I’m practically vibrating with tension. Kaelin is gone the second the bell rings, vanishing into the scribes’ side corridor without a backward glance. Imogen raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t comment.

Wrenley, however, is waiting just outside.

She falls into step beside me, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

“You good?” she asks casually, too casually.

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t hear a single thing in there.”

“Noticed that, did you?”

Her tone shifts slightly. “Hard not to when you spent the whole briefing staring at Kaelin like she personally killed our parents.”

“Maybe don’t start.”

She stops walking. I don’t. So she calls after me, “Seriously, Bodhi—what’s going on with you?”

I freeze. I should brush it off. I always brush it off. But I don’t.

Because my chest still feels like it’s splintered in half, and the weight of Kaelin’s absence is suffocating, and because Wren, of all people, should understand what it’s like to feel someone slipping away.

“You want to play therapist?” I snap, turning toward her. “Maybe focus on your own failing relationship instead of picking apart mine.”

Her face freezes. That one hits hard—and I meant it to.m“Excuse me?”

I keep going, bitter and stupid. “What, Xaden’s not answering your letters fast enough? He and Violet spending a little too much time together again?”

Wren’s jaw clenches, her eyes narrowing like a storm gathering.

“You don’t get to do this,” she says, low and dangerous. “You don’t get to use me to deflect from whatever you did to push Kaelin away.”

I open my mouth, but she cuts me off.

“I’ve been trying to help you. Because I care. But if all you’re going to do is throw shit at everyone who calls you out, then maybe Kaelin’s better off walking away.”

She turns and walks off, boots striking hard against the stone corridor.

And I stand there, hollowed out and furious, but not at her. At myself, because she’s right like always.

next part

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Bloodline: @theseinfernalangels @bodhiscurls @violent-little-thing @nisarelle @simplyyspring

[simplyyspring]

fuck this is so hot 😩

Priority Shift

Garrick Week Masterlist

Summary: When Garrick returns from a mission too focused on duty to breathe, you remind him—very thoroughly—what deserves his attention first.

Note: for Garrick Week Day 1: Focused - @empyreanevents

Pairings: Garrick Tavis x Reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, Oral sex (M receiving), P in V sex (reader on top), dom reader/sub garrick, hair pulling, Brief emotional vulnerability / grounding intimacy, Mentions of injury (non-graphic)

Word Count: <1k

He’s fresh from the field—still in uniform—and he won’t look at you.

Not really.

Not beyond a tight nod and the clipped, formal: “Report first. Then I’ll get cleaned up.”

You lean in the doorway of your shared quarters, arms crossed. “You’re not going to sit? Eat something? Let someone check your shoulder?”

“I’m fine.” Garrick shrugs off his jacket, revealing the bruise peaking out from below his sleeve. “Briefing first.”

He’s infuriating when he’s like this. Stubborn. Rigid. Every movement too efficient to be human.

You watch him try to unbuckle the straps for his sheaths one-handed.

“You’ve been gone six days, and your first instinct is to go find Brennan?”

“It’s protocol,” he mutters, still not looking at you.

So you walk in slowly. Let your steps echo against the stone until you’re standing in front of him. “I’m going to need you to look at me when I’m talking to you.” Your voice drops an octave, enough to show how serious you are.

His head jerks up, eyes sharp.

And then you grip tightly to his shirt and tug him forward.

He doesn’t move at first. Not even a twitch. Just stares at you like you’re something he hasn’t had time to process yet.

But the moment your fingers skim the line of his jaw—the moment your voice softens and you whisper, “You’re allowed to put yourself first sometimes, Garrick,” his composure cracks. Slightly.

He exhales hard through his nose. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t—I have to give my report, and I can’t—” His voice hitches when your hands slide lower, unfastening his belt. “I can’t focus when you’re doing that.”

You smile, slow and knowing. “Exactly.”

You press him back against the desk, shove the discarded harness aside, and drop to your knees.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

You palm him through his trousers, slow and deliberate, watching the line of his throat as he tips his head back and grits his teeth.

“I’m supposed to be—” he chokes on his breath when you mouth him through the fabric, “—gods, I’m supposed to be—”

“And yet,” you say sweetly, popping the button and dragging the fabric down just enough to free his cock, “you’re here.”

He’s already hard. And twitching in your hand as stroke once, slow, watching him flex.

“I’ve missed this,” you murmur. “Missed you. But if you’d rather go give your little report…”

“Don’t,” he snaps, voice wrecked. “Don’t even joke.”

“Then shut up and let me thank you for not dying.”

You take him into your mouth—slow, wet, controlled. His hips jerk and a hiss escapes between clenched teeth.

“Fuck, you’re evil,” he groans, threading his fingers through your hair and fisting it tight.

But he doesn’t stop you.

He can’t.

Every time he tries to pull away—muttering about duty or time or focus—you hum around him, and he forgets his name.

It doesn’t take long.

When his thighs tense, when his breath turns ragged, you pull back and rise, pushing him back.

“No,” he rasps. “I’m not done—”

“Oh, I know.” You say, guiding him down into the chair and straddle him, pulling your shirt over your head (the only thing that was blocking him from your body) and tossing it aside.

His hands immediately go to your hips, grip punishing. “You can’t do this to me right now—”

“I am doing this.” You line him up and sink down in one long, slow motion.

Garrick curses under his breath, every muscle in his body straining not to thrust up into you.

“Still want to go to that meeting?” you whisper.

“No,” he gasps. “Fuck—no. Just—move. Please.”

You rock your hips, keeping the pace slow just to watch him fall apart.

Every time you clench around him, he shudders. Every time your fingers drag across his chest, he exhales like you’re breaking something open inside him.

His eyes lock on yours, pupils blown. “You don’t understand—this is the only time I feel like I can breathe.”

“I know.” You cup his cheek. “That’s why I’m not letting you go yet.”

He chokes on a broken moan and bucks up into you, pace turning desperate, wild. One hand wraps around your waist, the other grips your thigh hard enough to bruise.

“Not gonna last,” he warns.

“Then don’t. Come for me.”

And he does—eyes locked on yours, mouth parted, whole body trembling as he pulses deep inside you.

But you don’t stop.

You roll your hips slowly, dragging him through the overstimulation, watching his jaw go slack as you push him into a second orgasm.

“Fuck—gods—you’re going to kill me—”

You kiss him, deep and claiming. “I want you wrecked before you even think about going back out there.”

He pants against your lips, dazed and pliant.

Then finally—finally—he kisses you and exhales like a man who’s finally let go.

“I’m focused,” he murmurs.

You smile. “On what?”

“You.”

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