#Chapter 4 is currently being written i promise

[anxiouscr0w]

Sssso I finished my assignment, and my hand is cramping so hard. So here, a 2 minute doodle of a future scene in my fic Emotional Support Staff LMAO

ft. an idiot (me)

[dashuisofanubis]

Okay whatever multichapter fic I write next its going to have shorter chapters 😅

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

Preludes and Nocturnes - Part 2

Paring: Rafe Cameron x InnocentPogue!reader

Summary: Rafe discovers your hidden talent and now he has seen it, you have his full attention.

PART 1 is here if you haven't read it

Warnings:  18+ Smut. Darkish!Rafe. Virgin!Reader. Romance, Angst, Dub-Con, Fingering. Not Proof-Read so mistakes are my own.

Word Count: 8.3k words (Rafe has released the writing beast in me)

Author Note: Hello lovelies! So happy you enjoyed the first part.  Here's the second. I thought it would just be just a second part but the more I wrote the story just kept unfolding and I really want to do it justice. (I think part 1 and 2 together is the longest I've written for any fic character) So in order to really get into the angst and it not be too long its going to have to be 3 perhaps 4 parts (not sure yet) Anyway I'm currently writing part 3 so it won't be too long before posting. One thing - there's only one piece of music with this part and I would suggest playing it and leaving it running while you read the rest of the chapter.

Thank you for reading and sticking with the story and if you enjoyed it please reblog. It helps to spread the love.  Much love and take care. ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

The soft glow of your phone, quietly vibrating beside you, nudged you out of your peaceful slumber. Still shrouded in a groggy haze, you instinctively turned away from it. Without even a glance, you knew who the messenger was, and the mere thought that he had sent another text caused a weary sigh to escape your lips.

Rafe's persistent attempts to connect since that unforgettable night had been unrelenting. Ignoring his calls was relatively easy (you had silenced his number), but his text messages proved more difficult to dismiss. Simple words like "Hey," "Hi," and "Talk to me" consistently lit up your phone at all hours, serving as a gentle yet persistent plea for your response—a response you couldn't bring yourself to give, yet somehow couldn't bring yourself to block him outright either. Ultimately, you opted for what seemed the only rational strategy, although in hindsight, it may not have been the wisest: complete avoidance.

But, in truth, none of that mattered. Not when your waking thoughts and dreams were dominated by memories of Rafe, endlessly replaying the night you shared. The feeling of being completely overwhelmed that night, your pleading words that it was all too much, that you needed to stop, were still fresh in your mind. How Rafe merely smiled in response and declared it was only the beginning, sealing his promise with a kiss.

And as he kissed you slow and deep, Rafe was true to his word. His middle finger wormed its way back between your legs. He found your sensitive clit already swollen and slippery with your slick and rubbed the nub in gentle circles in sync with his languid kiss. Slow and steady, minutes ticked by as Rafe dragged out your pleasure, watching you patiently, drawing back his finger whenever he felt you were close, his tongue lazily circling yours, as you both breathed as one. Until finally, finally, he allowed you to cum.

Your body exploded for him, blinding white pleasure saturated your senses leaving you crying and shaking while Rafe whispered soothingly against the shell of your ear "That's a good girl. That's a good girl."

Your unforgettable night with Rafe was unparalleled, surpassing all previous experiences, including those with your first and only boyfriend, Jake. Granted, you had not given Jake the same liberties, but even with the awkward kisses and over-the-clothes groping that marked your brief relationship, Jake had never elicited emotions remotely comparable to what Rafe managed in just one evening. What Rafe stirred effortlessly within you was a different beast entirely — something desperate, needy, and vulnerable. The sensation was so powerful that even three weeks later, it remained, smoldering like a steadfast ember, ready to reignite under the right conditions.

This realization filled you with absolute dread. The sudden understanding that it was Rafe- Rafe Cameron that held the power to shape your desires, ignite unknown cravings, and provoke illicit responses from your body that you couldn't control, was utterly terrifying.

You had often heard tales of girls falling for the proverbial 'bad boy,' forsaking their better judgment for some reckless charmer, and had always scoffed at such narratives. The thought of you succumbing to such feelings or desires was, until recently, beyond the realm of your wildest dreams. It seemed, however, that you were not as immune as you had once believed. All it took was the right—or perhaps, in this case, the wrong—person to stir those latent desires to the surface.

The sheets felt like an unwelcome weighted blanket on your body, pressing you down as you twisted and turned, desperately trying for sleep to come. But it remained stubbornly out of reach. Instead, you found yourself overwhelmed by a flood of polarising emotions.

Chief among them was a sharp sting of shame from that night with Rafe—a shame born from the startling responsiveness of your own body to his, and a gnawing guilt that it was Rafe, of all people, who had elicited such a reaction.

Yet, beneath the layers of guilt and shame, another emotion stirred, one you fervently sought to squash: a thrill of excitement at how utterly alive you felt being dominated by him and the confusing, even more, inescapable undeniable truth—you had loved every single intoxicating minute of it.

In a small town of no more than 7000 souls, you had turned avoiding Rafe into something of an art form. It wasn't difficult, really. Your comfort zones were galaxies away from the crowded, noisy spots that seemed to magnetize him. Bars, clubs, and bonfires weren't your scene anyway.  Your day-to-day orbit included exam prep and college applications, mostly done at the library for a change of scenery, relentless babysitting shifts, and quiet trips to the edges of the out sticks with your cousin to catch crawfish —far from the exclusive circles of Figure 8. 

Life was, if not exactly smooth sailing, at least predictably turbulent. Everything seemed under control, except for one tiny, nagging detail: Rafe. And your near-pathological commitment to avoid him.

On an average day that seemed to blend seamlessly with the rest, you were navigating your way through a series of errands for your dad. The North Carolina sun was blazing overhead casting sharp shadows. As you rounded a corner bathed in this bright, unforgiving light, a figure suddenly materialized. At first, it seemed like a trick of the heat, an illusion stirred up by the sweltering atmosphere. But as your eyes adjusted, recognition dawned. It was Rafe, but he looked... different.

Your gaze drank in the details, lingering over the notable changes—the buzzcut that gave him an even more dangerous edge, the way he stood taller, seeming to tower over the world, the newfound confidence that rolled off him in waves, a palpable energy that dared anyone to challenge him.  But the transformation wasn't just physical. An undercurrent of danger clung to him like a second skin.  He looked like he had seen things. Done bad things.

Reality came rushing back, slamming into you like a tidal wave, you tried to reverse course, turning on your heels to disappear from his line of sight. Yet, your reaction came a second too late. Rafe had spotted you, and maybe if you hadn't just blown most of your cash on groceries, you would've dropped them and run.

Rafe's speed was unrivaled. With just a few long strides, he effortlessly caught up to you. Firmly grasping your arm, he swiftly spun you around to face him, and there, you saw your own reflection in his Ray-Bans. He slid the sunglasses onto his head, revealing his piercing blue eyes. He made no attempt to hide the whirlpool of emotions swirling within them.

"That's not very neighborly of you," he said. His words were clipped and tinged with anger, yet something in his expression softened slightly as he gazed at you. Was it relief? Disappointment? It was difficult to determine, but one thing was clear—his emotions were just as tumultuous as yours.

"I forgot something—"

"Oh, you forgot something?" His grip tightened, decreasing the space between you.

"Yes, from the supermarket—"

"What, the one over there?" he asked, casually gesturing over his shoulder in the opposite direction.

"A different store."

"Right, right. Well, I'll walk you there."

"No! I've changed my mind," you protested, shaking your head. Your feet instinctively shuffled backward as you attempted to free yourself from his grip. His laughter was low and dry, his hold on you tightening.

"I need to go, Rafe. Let me go. I have to get home," you pleaded, desperation edging your voice.

"You heard her, country club. She said 'Let go'." The forceful tug-of-war between you and Rafe abruptly seized as both of you turned to see Barry approaching. You'd never directly interacted with Barry, but tales of his local thuggery and drug dealing were well-known to you. He greeted Rafe with a familiarity that, given Rafe's reputation, was not surprising.

"This doesn't concern you, man. Keep moving," Rafe commanded, his gaze fixed on Barry.

"Well, I did hear her say 'let her go'," Barry remarked, positioning himself beside you.

"Yeah well, she doesn’t know what she wants," Rafe retorted, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he pulled you closer, positioning himself between you and Barry.

"Just let her go, man—"

"Fuck off," Rafe spat.

Unfazed, Barry squinted and leaned in closer. "You realize how this looks, right? Out here in broad daylight?" he warned.

“Keep walking,” Rafe's jaw clenched as he squared off against Barry.

"Do you not realize what you are doing, bro?"

"I said keep walking," Rafe said icily, maintaining eye contact.

An unspoken exchange passed between the two men, concluding with Barry retreating, hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. “Alright then,” he conceded. “You do you, country club. You do you. But don't come crying to me when this shit backfires. I warned your J.Crew lookin' ass.”

After Barry's departure, Rafe scanned the surroundings before returning his focus to you.

"Where's your car?" His question hung heavily in the air as you looked up at him, fear evident in your eyes.

“Hey, I asked you a question,” Rafe's voice softened, his hand gently shaking your arm. “Where's your car?”

"It's...it's not working,” you whispered.

“You walked here?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

A smirk crept across his lips. "Well, aren't you in luck? I'll give you a ride."

"No, that's... I can walk. I planned to walk—"

"Don't. Don't do that. Don’t act dumb, alright? It's nearly a hundred degrees out. What- you planning on collapsing on the side of the road?" His tone was surprisingly gentle, even as he grabbed the grocery bag from your hands. "Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill, yeah? Barry's already acting like a fool. We don't need a full circus," he stated, heading towards his truck and leaving you with no choice but to trail after him.

Rafe held the door open for you, assisting you as you climbed onto the plush leather seat. After handing you the grocery bag, he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. In a subtle move to put some distance between the two of you, you placed the grocery bag in the middle.

Rafe started the truck, rolled up the windows, and activated the air conditioning. The truck pulled out of the parking lot, beginning a mostly silent ride.

Apart from the occasional glances Rafe threw your way, the journey remained relatively quiet. He made no attempt to hide his attention, his thumb rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, and you felt like you were suffocating despite the AC. You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"You look good..." Rafe stated, punctuating his words with an approving nod. The compliment stirred a flurry of emotions within you, leaving you feeling disoriented. As your heart pounded like a war drum, the silence seemed to morph, becoming dense and strangling.

"Thank you," you muttered trying to fill it. Your gaze firmly on the road ahead.

"How's your dad?" He asked, initiating a light conversation about your dad's well-being. You answered his questions with measured caution, unsure of his intentions. You informed him that your dad was coming home tonight and you intended to cook him a meal since he practically survived on sandwiches during the week in Burnsville. Rafe's thoughtful nods suggested he was listening, but there was an undercurrent of ambiguity that left you uneasy.

"What are you planning on making for him?" he asked with a semblance of innocence.

Your voice wavered as you listed the dishes, each word revealing your growing vulnerability. Anticipating his next move or comment, your heart raced and you braced yourself for what felt like an inevitable confrontation. You kept thinking he'd ask about the unanswered calls, about his ignored messages.

"Wow, you’re a real cook, not just a 'barely-can-boil-water' cook."

“I manage,” you replied.

Rafe hummed in agreement, his thumb still tapping the steering wheel albeit slower; more measured. “You know, Wheeze misses you.”

“I miss her too. How is she?”

“Good. She’s got exams coming up, so she’s been focusing on that. She's also got herself a little girlfriend."

"You seem to approve. Let me guess, Kook?" you asked absentmindedly.

"Nah, Pogue," he corrected, emphasizing the 'P'. "I guess we like what we like, huh?" he said, eyes raking over you.

Silence followed as Rafe steered away from the main road, venturing down an isolated street lined with beech trees. Decaying houses dotted the landscape, separated by wild stretches of tall bluestems and switchgrass.

"You should, you know… come by the house. See her sometime. I know she’d like that."

“Oh- I.. I would but I can't," you stammered, shaking your head "I have college applications to finish. Maybe sometime after."

“Right, right… college... applications... where are you applying?”

"Um… Kildare Community, Piedmont, Sun Valley, Crystal Coast Community--"

"What about Juilliard or Berklee? You applying to any of those?”

His question caught you off guard, and you turned your gaze towards him. Under the sunlight, his handsome profile seemed almost otherworldly.

"I hadn't really given it much thought," you confessed, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

His eyes fixed on yours, curiosity flickering in them. "Why not?"

Your answer was simple, albeit hard to articulate. "I can't afford it," you said with a shrug. Your eyes back on the unfolding road ahead when his gaze became too much.

"Don't they offer scholarships?"

"Yeah, they do. But the competition among applicants would be intense-"

"So? You're talented. Apply." he said matter of factly. "There are folks on the cut dreaming of an escape, with squat to show for it. You? You have options..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. "Don't squander it. Not here and definitely not at some shitty community college."

Taken aback, you struggled to find a response, and it didn't help that you could feel his eyes on you, evaluating your reaction. The remaining ride passed in silence, and by the time he pulled up outside your house, you were more than relieved.

"Thank you, Rafe," you said, quickly reaching for your grocery bag, but Rafe stopped you.

"So, that's it? Just 'thank you, Rafe?'" he asked, his jaw shifting restlessly from side to side, as though words were on the edge of his tongue, fighting to break free.

"Oh— I'm sorry, I should've offered to cover the gas. I don't have much on me, but I can--" Your words were cut short by Rafe shaking his head.

"I don't want your money."

Fear prickled your skin, "Then what—what do you want?" Swallowing nervously, you awaited his response.

Rafe's gaze flitted to your lips then back to your eyes "A kiss." he said.

Your head jerked back, unsure you'd heard him correctly.

"A kiss?" you echoed, attempting to digest his sudden proposal.

"Yeah, just a kiss," he replied. His voice was so steady, so devoid of emotion, it was as if he was merely commenting on the weather or asking if you had the time.

Your query rang out once more, uncertainty creeping into your voice, "A kiss?"

"Just one. One kiss and we call it even." Rafe's lean-in was deliberate, his index finger lightly grazing your jaw, igniting a trail of warmth along your skin and unsubconsciously you leaned into it.

"A kiss," you whispered back, your eyes locked onto his. Perhaps you didn't want things to escalate into a fight, but maybe, just maybe, a part of you wanted to kiss him. Taking a breath to steel yourself, you leaned in, brushing a swift kiss against his cheek. Almost instinctively, his lips followed, seeking yours.

"That's, that's not a kiss," Rafe breathed, his eyes growing progressively darker with each word he spoke.

Gently, Rafe curled his fingers around the back of your neck, drawing you closer. His attention was solely focused on your lips. As if under a spell, you relented, delivering a brief, innocent kiss onto his lips. But just as you began to pull away, Rafe halted you, his fingers remaining intertwined at the nape of your neck.

"Nah, that doesn't count."

"I kissed you, Rafe—" you began, your voice trembling.

"No, no. You owe me a real kiss for all the unanswered texts and the missed calls..." His words triggered a surge of panic within you and you tried to pull away, but Rafe held you firm, his gaze burning into your own. "I was worried about you. Did you know that?" he asked, his eyebrows creasing in confusion.

"We had fun. I made you feel good and then you just...." He paused, collecting his thoughts, his eyes darting between your lips and your startled expression. "I thought something had happened to you. But then, I woke the fuck up and realised you were safe - you just ghosted me. You know, I even contemplated driving over to your house? But I knew your dad wouldn't appreciate that. I thought I might never see you again, and then...there you were."

Rafe's words gushed forth like a sudden revelation. "There you were, shopping for groceries to cook for your dad, playing the dutiful daughter, blissfully content in your little world, while mine was hell." He spat out the words with venom, his fingers tensing at the nape of your neck, pulling you so close that his lips were mere millimeters from yours. His eyes, swirling with turmoil, locked intensely onto your eyes, which were now brimming with unshed tears.

"So, while I'm relieved you're okay," he started, his lips curving into a slight pout as he painstakingly enunciated each word, "You owe me. You owe me for thinking about you. You owe me for worrying about you. Now, open your mouth."

"Rafe," you whispered, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks.

"I said, open. Your. Mouth." His voice hardened, his command leaving no room for doubt.

Your broken sob was all it took for Rafe to swoop in, kissing you passionately. His tongue probed the depths of your mouth, and you willingly complied, feeling the unmistakable force in his movements - raw, desperate, determined.

With each passing moment, Rafe deepened the kiss, leaning into you even further. He poured in his passion, demanding that you returned it with equal intensity, leaving your head spinning and your heart aching. The sheer intensity of the moment left you gasping for breath, and as Rafe's lips left yours to press desperate, kisses against your cheek and down the column of your throat you felt like you couldn't breathe at all.

"Please, I have to go, I have to," you managed to muster, pulling his fingers away and pushing him back. With a surge of determination, you grabbed your grocery bag and yanked on the passenger door, only for Rafe to swiftly reach over and slam it shut.

You turned to face him, struggling to catch your breath and see him through your teary haze. Rafe's face portrayed a picture of calm, cold calculation, with only the harsh puffs of air escaping his lips marring that composure. "You're making this difficult," he uttered, his voice echoing the icy chill of his demeanor. "It doesn't have to be."

Rafe relinquished his hold on the door, and you seized the opportunity, yanking it open. You nearly lost your balance in the process but managed to catch yourself just in time. Without daring to look back, you bolted towards your porch. Only when you heard the grating sound of his truck pulling away and tires screeching against the gravel did you risk a glance back.

The rhythmic splash of water against the wooden planks of the dinghy was the only sound as you and your cousin worked in tandem, freeing the crawfish from their nets and emptying them into plastic buckets filled with fresh water.

The usual serene ambiance of your shared task was disrupted by the thickening tension in the air, both from the approaching storm and from the heavy silence your cousin seemed eager to shatter.

"You know," she began, her voice deliberately casual, "Konnie's been running her mouth again."

You looked up from the net you were shaking above the bucket of cold water, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, yeah? What crazy story has she cooked up this time?"

She hesitated, then said with faux nonchalance, "Something about seeing Rafe with a girl yesterday. Says she looked a lot like you."

"What?" You froze mid-shake, a flicker of surprise crossing your face.

"Wild, right?”

Forcing a laugh, you attempted to balance surprise with casual dismissal. "Konnie's always been good at making stuff up."

She glanced sharply at you, her gaze assessing. "It's not ‘making stuff up’ if Barry was there to corroborate it."

The weight of the revelation pulled at your focus.

“This sounds like something out of a K-drama," you whispered, your focus back on your trap.

"Isn't it just? Our Kook King looking down on half the town like we're nothing but shit beneath his shoes, is with a Pogue. An actual born and bred Pogue. I don’t know if that’s rich in irony or if it makes him a hypocrite?" She laughed bitterly.

"Both, probably, if it were true. But it’s not.”

She nodded slowly. "Right well, Konnie said Barry tried to stop Rafe from making a scene. Why would Rafe be making a scene?” she asked, her eyes locked onto you.

Your fingers tightened around the net, your heart beating in your throat. "I don't know. It's the outer banks. People talk. They get things wrong and--"

She sighed, leaning closer. "Is there something going on between you and Rafe?”

“No, there isn't—"

“Because if there is, I need to know. Like, are you sleeping with him-“

“No!”

“Then are you dating him?”

“No- it’s not like that." You said shaking your head profusely.

"Then what's it like?"

"I babysit his sister you know that—" you faltered under your cousin's intense gaze. "He just happened to be in town when I was grocery shopping and he gave me a ride home. Nothing happened.”

Your cousin gave out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "A minute ago you were acting like it was some baseless rumour—”

"Because you were freaking me out! What else was I supposed to say? You just came at me with a bunch of questions like I did something wrong" You said, your face hot.

You couldn’t help but notice your cousin’s frustrated sigh.

“Look, I’ve got your back, regardless of whatever is going on here. And I can’t tell you how to live your life, that's for you to decide. But, Rafe-- Rafe is not the type of guy you want to be involved with in any capacity. I thought you knew that.” The distant growl of thunder underscored the urgency of her words.

“I do, and I’m not,” you said, licking your lips.

“Good. Because Rafe would never risk being seen in public with a Pogue, let alone put his reputation on the line for one. If you get involved with him, you'll be the one who ends up getting hurt."

"I know," you murmured in agreement.

She nodded and looked up at the darkening sky. "Good. Just making sure we're on the same page is all."

"We are," You nodded, barely able to meet her eyes. "We should hurry," you said quietly. "A storm's coming."

During the subsequent week, Rafe had surfaced in your life more times than in the previous three weeks of no contact. Initially, you brushed it off as mere coincidence. You saw him at the market, then again at the docks, immersed in intense conversation with his friends, and once again at the wreck when you went to pick up food. Each encounter was brief, like an encounter with a spectre and each time you slipped away, thankfully, unseen.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you assured yourself that he wasn't intentionally seeking you out. You dismissed these run-ins as sheer coincidence. That's what you convinced yourself, at least.

Until the Library.

Your heart stuttered as you spotted him through the double doors just as you were about to exit. There he was, nonchalantly leaning against his truck, eyes concealed behind Ray-Bans and his arms folded.

Despite the casual stance, his presence radiated terrifying, intimidating energy. His posture, his unwavering gaze, his patient vigil - it all pointed towards one intention. It felt like you had been doused with cold water when realization struck-

Rafe was waiting.

For you.

Two choices lay before you. Either you could escape through the back door or find a window to climb out of. But deep down, you knew these would only delay the inevitable. It was time to confront the situation. Harnessing every ounce of courage, you resolved to put an end to this.

Usually, you'd carry only a handful of books, but today you had filled your tote. The thought of smacking Rafe in the head with it seemed like a good option. Adjusting the strap on your shoulder and gripping the bag firmly, you pulled the brass handle, flung open the door, and strode down the library’s stone steps, your chin lifted high.

A grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat split Rafe's face, his teeth flashing with amusement as he watched you. But you didn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence. You breezed past him, leaving him behind in your determined stride.

Not long after, Rafe slipped into his truck and drove alongside you, his arm hanging out of the window, eyes flicking between you and the road.

"It's gonna rain, you know." he said. His voice, smooth as silk, echoed around you. You kept walking, acting as if his words had fallen on deaf ears, yet they hung ominously in the air.

"It's gonna rain, you know," Rafe repeated, amusement tingeing his tone.

"I heard you the first time," you snapped, your voice sharper than you had intended.

Rafe whistled in surprise. His grin only widened, “Come on, don't be like that. Get in. I'll give you a ride."

You faltered for a moment at his offer, but quickly regained your stride. "I don't need anything from you, Rafe."

"Sure about that?" He drawled, his truck moving at the same steady pace as you.

The thrum of your heartbeat in your ears underscored your steely resolve, refusing to meet his gaze. The truck's engine growled ominously at your side.

"You know, a ride with me wouldn't be so bad. In fact, you might enjoy it”

"I'd rather get hit by lightning," you fired back, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead.

Rafe removed his sunglasses and lightly tossed them on the dash. His silence was heavy, bearing witness to your defiance before his voice returned, a touch of impatience coating his words. "So how much longer are you planning to keep this up?"

“What do you mean? Keeping what up?”

“Running...pretending like you don’t give a shit—”

"Who said anything about running? I'm walking away. There's a difference."

"Oh, is that what this is? Right. Right." He drawled, the truck maintaining its constant presence by your side. "Well, it looks more like running to me."

"You can think whatever you want, Rafe. I really don’t care" Your words were as icy as a protective shield, distancing you from his unnerving scrutiny.

"You know," he spoke after another pause, his voice melting into a softer, intimate cadence, "You'd think I'd be bored by now but nah, I like these little interactions of ours. I look forward to them, actually…”

"Don't," you managed to whisper.

"Don't what?" He questioned, feigned innocence in his tone. You could hear the smirk in his voice, a symbol of triumph despite your rebuffs.

"Just leave me alone, Rafe."

"You know I can't do that," he declared with unshakeable certainty.

"Why not?" You shot back, halting to confront him and Rafe hit the brakes. As you turned to face him, the first drops of rain began to fall, soaking your skin and hair. You surrendered to the sensation, letting the rain blur your surroundings into an indistinct haze. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

A fleeting wave of vulnerability crossed Rafe's face, causing his confident smile to momentarily falter. "You know why..." He began, licking his lips, as if the weight of his next words were a challenge to articulate.

"No, I don’t. Aren't there plenty of Kooks you should be chasing after? Isn't that supposed to be your speed, anyway?" Your voice was laced with a mix of frustration and genuine curiosity.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes unwavering, locked onto yours. "Okay, you want me to spell it out? Fine." Leaning in just slightly, ensuring every word landed with intent, he said, "I like you, yeah? Not some Kook or a Touron. You." And then, softer, almost a whisper against the backdrop of the rain, "You know I do." The quiet intensity of his affirmation sent shivers down your spine. It was a truth both of you had danced around, a truth as terrifying as it was undeniable. Time seemed to stretch in that moment, punctuated only by the drumming rain and the frantic pace of your heart.

You swallowed hard, battling the storm of emotions threatening to spill out. "Well, you have a peculiar way of showing it," you managed to say, your voice quivering with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. His unexpected honesty had pulled the rug out from under your feet, leaving you reeling. "You've been stalking me, trying to intimidate me, forcing me to do things I don't want to--"

"Forcing you?" Rafe’s gaze hardened as he studied your face. "Forcing you? I’m forcing you?”

“Yes, Rafe. Forcing me,” you protested, the words tinged with desperation, a last-ditch attempt to create distance between you two.

Rafe chuckled under his breath as he shook his head. “I'm forcing you, but you came harder than you've ever done in your entire life just from my fingers. I'm forcing you, but you came so many times you could barely remember your own name--"

"I never wanted any of that! I didn't ask for any of that—" You tried to reason only for Rafe to silence you with a frustrated roar, his hand banging on the steering wheel.

"Get in the fucking truck!!"

"No!" you laughed shakily “No. in fact, I'm perfectly fine. Right. Here." you declared defiantly, tilting your head back to let the rain wash over you. A temporary respite came with your eyes squeezed shut. When you dared to open them again, Rafe was still there, an unwavering, persistent figure.

With another heavy sigh, Rafe surrendered. "Alright." he nodded bitterly "Alright, You're really gonna make me do this, huh?"

"Do what?" you retorted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Before you could decipher his next move, Rafe abruptly killed the engine, flung open the door and stepped out into the torrential downpour. The heavens seemed intent on soaking him through. Droplets of rain lashed down, darkening his shirt until it clung to his chiseled torso, revealing the muscular contours beneath.

"What the fuck," you whispered under your breath, your heart racing from his unexpected action. There he stood, defiant against the torrential rain, every drop sliding down his chiseled features, his piercing eyes never wavering from yours.

Time seemed to stand still until, driven by some invisible force, Rafe lunged forward pulling you into his embrace, his lips fiercely meeting yours.

His lips was soft. Not demanding and you found yourself responding instinctively. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as your hands moved to grip the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. You could taste the rain on his lips, mingled with the hint of sweetness from the soda he had been drinking earlier. The world disappeared.

There was only him.

The kiss deepened, Rafe's hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your rain-soaked hair, while his other arm snaked around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. His touch sent a shiver of anticipation running down your spine, setting your nerves alight. The rain beating down on you both seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the thunderous pounding of your heart.

His lips moved with a fervor that left you breathless, each stroke of his tongue against yours an echo of the underlying passion and yearning that had been simmering beneath the surface. Every sensation, every emotion was amplified tenfold in the shared intimacy of the kiss. You surrendered completely to the moment, losing yourself in the touch of his skin, the strength of his hold, and the intoxicating taste of his lips.

Eventually, the kiss slowed, the initial fervor simmering into something softer, sweeter. Rafe broke away, his breath shaky. His eyes held yours captive, and a flush crept onto his face. His fingers traced a path down your cheek, before he finally stepped back.

"We can do this two ways," Rafe murmured over the steady patter of rain on the truck's roof. Pure mischief danced in his eyes as he stated, "I can drag you kicking and screaming and trust me, I’ll enjoy every minute of it, or you can walk and get in on your own. But either way - you're getting in the truck. Your call."

Wordlessly, you pivoted and moved towards the truck, your boots crunching against the rain-dampened gravel.

"That's what I thought," Rafe replied, a victorious grin splitting his rain-speckled face as he caught your fleeting glare. Unruffled, he stretched out his hand, popping open the weather-beaten door with a familiar creak lost in the drumming rain. His hand was warm and steady as he helped you up into the seat, the fabric of your clothes already beginning to stick to the leather.

In one fluid movement, Rafe navigated around the truck, momentarily swallowed by the spray of the falling rain before reappearing on the driver's side. With a clunk, the door closed behind him, sealing out the chill and sound of the heavy rain. His wrist flicked, the ignition turning over and the engine’s steady rumble intertwining with the rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the roof.

Leaning over the seat, Rafe's momentarily searched around the back. When he reappeared, he held a well-used, grey fleece jacket, its fabric softened by countless washes.

"Here," he offered, his voice barely louder than the muted patter of the rain against the windows. He extended it towards you, his fingers brushing against yours in exchange.

"Thank you," you replied, accepting the jacket. The fleece was surprisingly warm, a welcome contrast to the chill spreading through your rain-soaked clothes.

Rafe maneuvered the truck through the storm your house barely discernible in the relentless deluge. He parked close to your porch, an unspoken gesture to spare you from the worst of the rain. When he switched off the engine, the absence of its rumble made the cab feel suddenly small. The silence that enveloped you both was thick, charged with unsaid words and emotions neither of you didn't know how to share.

Rafe turned to face you, the dim glow from the dashboard lights casting a soft luminescence on his features. Rain droplets traced shimmering paths down his face, catching on his eyelashes and hanging at the tips. His gaze held yours, searching, longing, a question lingering in his eyes.

Swallowing hard, you broke the silence. "Want to come in?" The words hung in the air, tender and tentative. "Maybe dry off a little before hitting the road?"

"Make yourself at home" you said.

With a click, you turned on the side lamp, illuminating the cozy sitting room in a warm glow. You excused yourself, leaving Rafe momentarily to fetch some things for him. From the hallway closet, you grabbed a clean towel, and after a brief rummage through your dad's wardrobe, you found a red plaid shirt that might fit him. Deciding to change yourself, you quickly slipped into a comfortable, loose faded shirt and denim shorts.

Upon your return, you found Rafe intently examining the family photos that adorned your walls. The captured moments were a mix of joyful events and everyday life: you proudly holding up your first caught fish, a close-up with you and a school friend age seven with your front teeth missing, an affectionate snapshot of your parents in a tender embrace, and a cherished image of baby you, seated on your dad's lap at the piano. Each photo was a silent testament to days that were simpler, happier.

Rafe, towering in your small living room, shifted his gaze to the old piano settled in one corner. The instrument, though aged, held a simple grace.

“It’s not as grand as the one at your place,” you remarked gently, catching his attention. As his gaze shifted to you, there was a perceptible pause as his eyes traveled down to your legs and then resettled on your face.

"But it still has its charm, right?"

“I guess,” you shrugged, closing the distance between you two and handing him the towel and shirt.

Your fingers brushed with the exchange, sending a thrill through you. With a grateful nod, Rafe dried his head and face. He began to unbutton his shirt, pulling the wet fabric from his slacks, peeling it off his body. As he revealed inch after inch of lean muscle and beautifully tanned, unmarked skin, you couldn't help but admire the flawless appearance—a testament to his privileged Kook life.

“Can't take your eyes off, can you? Want a guided tour?” He teased.

“Dream on, Cameron,” you shot back, attempting to sound casual, but the playful glint in his eyes suggested he knew exactly the effect he was having on you. The sound of his confident chuckle filled the room with warmth.

“How long have you had it?” he inquired, head tilting towards the piano.

“You mean Betsy?”

Rafe smiled “It has a name?”

“Of course. We've had her as long as I can remember. My dad got her before I was born. She’s older than I am,” you confessed with a fond smile.

"Go on, play for me," Rafe murmured, the timbre of his voice making it feel less like a request and more like an intimate invite.

The memory of the last time you played for him, and what had ensued, made you take a deep breath. But you shook off the feeling, reminding yourself that your bench was, luckily, a one-seater. "I'll play," you said with a small smile, "but you've got to promise to behave."

Rafe chuckled, leaning back on the couch, wearing your dad's shirt but leaving it unbuttoned. His smirk was wicked and teasing, the very embodiment of temptation itself. "No promises."

Rolling your eyes. You took a seat on the bench and began to play, allowing the music to flow through your fingers. Each note resonated with the room, reflecting the myriad emotions swirling within you. The gentle glow of the room's lighting seemed to dance in tune with the melody, casting warm and shifting shadows. The scent of the rain outside mingled with the familiar smells of your home, creating an atmosphere of nostalgia and present moments intertwining. As the final note lingered in the air, caressing the silence that followed, you turned to find Rafe's gaze fixed intently on you. His eyes, laden with intensity and yearning.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice filled with something deeper, something unspoken. He leaned back against the sofa, extending his hand to you.

With a deep breath, and a flutter in your chest, you walked towards him, finally straddling him, feeling the warmth and strength of him beneath you, knowing that this moment was a milestone, a turning point in whatever it was that was unfolding between you two.

Rafe's fingers delicately trailed along your thighs, taking in every curve and contour. He lingered for a moment on a mole on your left leg, brushing his thumb over its slightly elevated surface. Every touch ignited a fire on your skin, an intimate dance of warmth and desire. As his hands continued their exploration, they ascended up your sides and Rafe sat up.

Suddenly his hands wrapped around your neck, tipping your head back with a possessiveness that made you gasp. The raw strength in his grip was undeniable; he held the power to hurt you. But somewhere deep down, amidst the swirling mix of emotions, you felt an unwavering trust that he wouldn't.

With your head tilted back, you found yourself drowning in Rafe's gaze. He examined your features, delicately turning your face this way and that, softly illuminated by the nearby lamp. Every aspect of your countenance seemed to fascinate him, but it was his own features — the small scar above his right eyebrow, the striking high cheekbones, thick lashes, and those mesmerizing blue eyes — that captivated you in return. When those very eyes briefly lingered on your lips, and his thumb gently brushed against them a sharp inhale caught in your throat.

"So fuckin' pretty," Rafe breathed, the weight of his words heavy in the brief silence that followed. Then, with an urgency that stole your breath away, he captured your lips with his. His kiss was both tender and powerful, a dance of tongues and unspoken passion.

His hands moved from your neck, sliding beneath your shirt finally touching bare skin to wrap around you. The world seemed to tilt as he expertly turned, positioning you beneath him without breaking the kiss.

Rafe's fingers found the buttons of your shirt. Each one he undid was like unwrapping a gift, each sliver of exposed skin driving him further into a fervor kissing you deeper until he pulled away from your lips altogether to look down and savour your breasts.

“I knew it…” he whispered “You’re gorgeous...” and wasted no time in swirling his tongue around your pert nipple before sucking it into his mouth. His other hand kneading the tender flesh of your other breast oh so softly.

Rafe's touch sent waves of electricity coursing through your body, each sensation igniting the desire between your thighs. With every gentle tug, every teasing bite, you surrendered to your longing, your moans a symphony of need. While dampness formed at your core, evidence of your escalating arousal.

Leaving your nipple, his lips sought your cheek, his fingers deftly finding the button of your shorts, effortlessly undoing it. "I couldn't stop thinking about the way you squirted for me." he smiled, his voice a soft murmur in your ear.

"Ugh- Rafe, don't-" You couldn't help but groan, your hands instinctively covering your face in a mix of bashfulness and embarrassment.

"Come on, babe don't hide from me now," he urged, gently moving your hands away from your face. His unwavering gaze bore into you, with a magnetic intensity that held you captive. "It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen," he continued, his words wrapping around you like a sensual embrace. You responded with a mix of eye-rolling and a self-conscious laugh, but Rafe's touch on your jaw stilled your reaction.

"I'm serious," he insisted, his eyes locked onto yours. "Watching you moan for me all desperate and sweet. Feeling your pretty little pussy swallow my fingers... and then knowing I made you feel so fucking good you couldn't help but squirt…” Rafe groaned “Baby, I jerked off to the thought so many times I'm surprised my dick hasn't fallen off." he chuckled. "All I could think about these last few weeks was watching you cum. I wanna watch you cum." Rafe's words were a soft murmur, his unwavering gaze locked onto yours.

Adjusting his position slightly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans shorts, a deliberate slowness in his movements as he eased them down your body. His breath quickened, his eyes devouring the sight of you in your white panties, damp with the evidence of your arousal.

Moistening his lips, he carefully tugged down your panties, guiding your legs free from their confines. He stared at your pussy taking his fill.

"Pretty as a picture," he whispered. Settling in beside you, he rested his head on his palm, his gaze fixed upon you. "I want to watch you cum, but this time..." Rafe tenderly parted your legs, cradling your knees and exposing you fully to the room's golden light. "This time, I want to see everything," he murmured.

His fingers traced the contours of your mound, the subtle hills and valleys of your skin. A light dusting of pubic hair added to the texture he was exploring. There, at your slit, a glistening collection of your arousal had formed. With a gentle touch, he collected a bead of it on his fingertip, his eyes locked onto your face. Bringing his finger to his lips, he sensually tasted you, an intense hunger gleaming in his gaze.

"I’ll need to eat this pussy too..." he murmured, nodding as if confirming an important task on his list of things to do. "But let's take it one step at a time, yeah? Don't want you running away from me anytime soon." His words held a trace of humor, a playful acknowledgment of the strained heated desires between you two. You were about to chastise him but his lips captured yours in a hungry kiss. While your mouths entwined, Rafe's finger moved back to your clit, his gentle movements coaxing a moan from your lips.

Just as you were sinking into his heavenly touch, Rafe broke the kiss and gently pulled his finger away from your clit. The absence of his touch almost prompted a whine from you, but Rafe quickly quieted you with a gentle shush. With a practiced finesse that revealed a glimpse of his dexterity, he employed his teeth to deftly remove the signet ring that encircled his finger. The ring glided off smoothly, lingering briefly within his mouth before finding its place in his pants pocket. His voice, laced with desire, broke the silence in a husky murmur, "Can’t go deep with a ring in the way, can we?” With deliberate intent, he returned his two fingers between your folds and wormed them inside you.

"Oh god, oh shit-" The fabric of Rafe's (or rather, your dad’s) shirt twisted beneath the force of your grip, your fingers curling and clenching as a flood of both pleasure and pain surged through your core. He was not lying when he said he was going to go deep.

Admitting comfort at this moment wouldn't be honest, not with the way his fingers were delving inside you, pushing against your tight channel. The fine line between discomfort and pleasure was being treaded, a line that teased just on the cusp of crossing into one or the other. Strangely, there was an undeniable allure in feeling so exquisitely full and it dawned on you that even with the mingling pain you liked being full.

With a mix of awe and submission, you embraced the realization that this was indeed what your body was designed for—an intricate dance of taking and being taken. The recognition of your body's innate capacity to accept him, to welcome him so completely, was a mesmerizing revelation that you couldn't help but marvel at.

As your gaze drifted downward, you couldn't help but raise an intrigued eyebrow at the sight that greeted you. His long, skillful fingers moved sinfully, withdrawing and reentering, each motion leaving them glistening with the evidence of your arousal. The sight and sound was hypnotic, and as a drawn-out moan escaped your lips, you couldn't help but notice Rafe's gaze following suit, his own reaction mirrored in the form of a needy groan.

"God, look at you. Taking it all the way to my palm... making a pretty mess." he quipped, his voice trembling with desire as a shaky chuckle escaped him. "Does it hurt?"

You gasped in response, the honesty ringing true in your voice, "A little."

A low, almost guttural groan escaped Rafe's lips, his tongue darting out to moisten his suddenly dry lips. "Yeah, but you like it, don't you? That slight twinge of pain. Hurts good, doesn't it?"

A slow, almost reverent nod escaped you as your eyes rolled backward, caught in the riptide of sensation. Your hand joined Rafe's at his wrist, a desperate yearning to connect more deeply with the source of your pleasure and the exquisite ache that accompanied it. You craved the sensation of his every stroke, each movement a testament to his mastery over your desire. Your hips began to sway, an instinctual response, seeking more friction, a little extra pressure to tip the scale just a bit further into pleasure. When you started to pluck and gently pull on your nipple you had finally reached it.

"Shit. That's it. Take what you need, baby.” He whispered. His tongue made its way back to your other nipple sucking on the tender flesh while he stared up at you. His gentle tongue swirling and firm hard fingers relentlessly drilling and your own hand gently plucking had you seeing stars and then some. You could feel his cock, thick and stiff brushing against your side as he rutted slowly against you seeking friction and for the first time you began to whine in sheer desperation, wishing he had fucked you with his cock instead.

"Use your words, baby," Rafe's voice held an almost teasing quality. "I want to know how good it feels—for next time when you accuse me of forcing you..."

You should have been mad, outraged even, by his audacity. But there was a magnetic pull in his words, a spell that rendered your protests powerless against the tide of pleasure that had you firmly in its grasp. The chorus of moans that spilled from your lips was a testament to your surrender "Don't stop- feels so good. Oh god, ‘m close. So close. Please Rafe-- please.. please... please.." Your words quivered with a mixture of urgency and need, punctuated by the ragged rhythm of your breath as your body shook.

As if on cue, Rafe applied a cork-screw motion, his fingers expertly stroking your G-spot with fervor. Your orgasm surged forth, violent and all-consuming. Waves of ecstacy coursed through your body, compelling your abdomen to convulse, and your leg to kick, a response to Rafe speeding up his efforts, fingers plunging deep while his thumb orchestrated rapid blissful circles on your clit.

"OH, FUCK-- OH RAFE!!!" Your voice filled the room as you were swept away in the throes of your orgasm. You couldn’t help but soak his fingers, and like a breached dam, overflowing and cascading, so too did your juices overflow as it trickled down to the cleft of your ass.

"Fuck—" Rafe hissed, his voice strained. "Ah, shit!" he sneered through clenched teeth. Overwhelmed at the sight, feel and sound of you screaming his name, his hips involuntarily jerked as he came. An untouched release that left him gasping for breath. His moans blended with yours, a beautiful song of shared pleasure that only ended when he leaned in for a messy kiss.

His gaze never wavered; it feasted on every second of your reaction and revelled in the glorious aftermath. You were glowing, skin flushed and alive from the intensity of your climax. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat glistening off of your exposed breasts. Legs still spread, revealing the slippery mess with his fingers buried deep in you.

If you weren't so strung out from your orgasm, the opportunity to catch a glimpse of something more in his expression might have presented itself. A fleeting flicker of his unwavering fixation taking root, a mere hint of the deeper obsession he harbored for you. But instead your eyes closed, your lips forming a satisfied, lopsided grin. You couldn’t think. In fact, you couldn't care about anything at all.

Feedback is always appreciated. Lots of love until next time and thanks for reading.

UPDATES - PART 3 / MASTERLIST

[syrikif]

Gamer Etiquette

Kodzuken x Streamer!Y/N

Pairing: Kenma Kozume x Fem!Reader

Genre: SMAU + Written, Strangers to Lovers, Romance, Fluff, Humor, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Streamer/Youtuber AU

Content Warnings: Sexual jokes/content, mention of death threats, mature language

Upcoming content creator/streamer, Y/N, has gone viral for lots of things. Her infamous dumb moments, her blended cookie recipe (which tastes better than it sounds), the way she rages at her friends during games, and about a hundred more.

But her most recent viral moment? Accidentally knocking famous streamer, Kodzuken, off the Bedwars map and making him lose his two year winning streak.

Now with more attention (and hate) than she ever asked for, her only option left is to go to the source: the man himself, Kenma Kozume.

Created: October 6, 2023 Completed: (Ongoing) Update Schedule: I’m currently in the process of moving so just whenever I can :)

Masterlist:

Important Profiles: Y/N's Group Kenma's Group Prologue: Daddy Kink Cat Distribution System Chapter 1: Thirst Trap Hospital Food Chapter 2: Bedwars 🖊 Boredom 🖊 Chapter 3: Trending One Game Chapter 4: Calm Guilt 🖊 Chapter 5: Unhinged One in a Million Chapter 6: Cuddle Buddies 🖊 Casual Chapter 7: Rating The Cat Girl Chapter 8: A Dozen Men Little Things 🖊 Chapter 9: Scaredy Kitten Disappearing Act Chapter 10: Chapter 11: tbc . . .

Author's Notes:

Hey guys! This is my first post on Tumblr and the first SMAU I've ever written. Which, kudos to everyone else who makes SMAU's because they are a lot of work.

Just some basic info before you begin reading:

Y/N uses she/her pronouns and is feminine presenting.

Every chapter will have two parts, one part from Y/N's point of view and one part from Kenma's; the order will differ depending on the chapter.

Every update will be a double post so make sure you know you’re reading the correct one first, and reading both of them.

Time stamps don't really matter unless explicitly written by me so you can just ignore them :)

There will be both written and social media elements; written parts will be marked with a pen (🖊).

And I'm gonna be honest, while I love the anime I haven't actually watched it in a long time and I was never able to finish season three. That being said, if anything I write seems out of character for anyone just bear with me I'm trying my best lol.

Please feel free to give me any feedback and/or criticism to help me improve. And if any of the links aren't working just let me know and I'll try to get it fixed ASAP.

If you have any questions, don't feel too shy and reach out if possible; I promise I'll answer to the best of my ability.

(Also, just comment if you'd like to be on the taglist.)

Hope you enjoy the story :)

[partially-controlled-chaos]

New Life Shall Prosper, ch. 2

Pairing: Halsin x Reader (as gender neutral as possible, given the context)

Rating: T? (not really smut but there's some heavily implied in previous chapters. pregnancy related bits, tad bit of gore)

Warnings: There's not full blown smut but it borders on the edge, mentions of illness and pregnancy, mostly just fluff

Summary: Months after the fall of the Absolute, you and Halsin have carved a happy life for yourselves within Thaniel's Realm, making a safe haven for all. A life full of hope and prosperity, only enhanced once you discover the very real possibility that you are with child.

Word Count: 11.5K

an: This ended up taking so long because it went through three rewrites and it's still massive. BUT I did finally get it posted. There will be one more chapter, possibly two with how I shifted some things, but there's at least one more coming! Thankfully, because I did rewrite and move some things around, about half of the next chapter is already written. Mostly proofread, but I was tired when I posted this so I'll update it later for any mistakes. Thank you to everyone that has enjoyed this so far!!

Follow up to this post.

Read on AO3 here if you prefer!

Find chapter 1 here! Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Masterlist

Loving, tender kisses peppering your exposed shoulder and a heavy dip in the bed roused you from your slumber. Slowly, your eyes blinked open as they adjusted to the light, your vision blurry until you could make sense of your surroundings. You recognized the lumbering shape of your beloved druid. With a content smile on his lips, Halsin loomed over you; his arms supporting his weight above your head as his knees dug into the bed by your hip, causing your body to slightly slope downward.

“Good morning, my heart,” he said softly, “how did you sleep?” 

“Fine, but I would do better if you would let me sleep a bit longer, love.” You said groggily as you turned your face from the beaming sun. You heard Halsin chuckle as he littered more slow kisses to your cheek.

“As much as I would love to, dear heart, I’m only doing what you asked of me.” You groaned as you buried your face to your pillow, his comment jogging your memory from the night before as he slid from atop you. Since your discovery that you were with child, you’d noticed significant changes to your energy levels. Being one to typically rise early, you’d found yourself sleeping in later each morning and desiring a nap around mid afternoon. Not that you wouldn’t mind to sleep in every once in a while, it just wasn’t suitable to your current lifestyle. You and Halsin were both early to rise and late to bed, filling your day with growing and expanding the area you now called home. Plants needed harvesting, home needed building, children needed enrichment and growth, and all of it simply couldn’t be done if you slept half the day away.

So, to counteract your sudden inability to wake up at a decent hour, you had practically begged Halsin to wake you in the mornings if you were still asleep when he returned from his daily patrols. He reluctantly agreed, wanting you to rest in accordance to what your body wanted, citing that you should be listening to the call of nature and not the call of a city. When you had finally convinced him, you made him promise that he would make sure you would rise and not go back to sleep, something you could kick yourself for now that the moment had come.

“Come on, my love,” he said as he pulled the blankets from your body and exposed you to the cool air of the room, “there’s much to do today and I made a promise.” With a groan of false annoyance, you rubbed your eyes and finally sat up. Halsin stretched out along side you, effectively taking up as much of the bed as he could to dissuade you from crawling back in. His head rested on a closed fist, sitting up partially to still make conversation. 

“And what business do we have planned for today that requires such an early start?” You asked as you draped your legs over the edge of the bed, your arms stretching high above your head with interlocked fingers as your back arched forward. When you were done, you glanced over to Halsin after not hearing a response and you found him gazing at you. His eyes slowly traced along your body, a tender smile across his face the lower his eyes traveled. 

“Or did you have something else in mind?” You asked in a low voice as you reclined back as best you could, given that the bulk of his frame was in the way. 

“With you? Always,” Halsin said with a smirk before offering you an affectionate kiss to the lips, “but there are some matters that require our attention.” His smile had faded by the time the final words left his mouth and his face had lost its softness. It seemed that his need to wake you stretched beyond your request for a wake up call.

“Is something wrong?” You asked as you straightened again. The change in his demeanor was enough cause for concern for your to snap out of your groggy state of mind. Since the fall of the Absolute, there had been very few times that you’d seen Halsin return to his duty driven mindset and he was teetering dangerously close to that precipice. Something was gnawing at his mind, although you weren’t sure what.

“Not quite, but there’s potential. It’s… it’s better if I just show you. Let’s take a walk when you’re dressed.” With a slight degree of hesitation, you made your way to your feet and began to dress. With a lingering yawn you tugged on your small clothes to cover yourself a bit more as you toyed with your hair, trying to your best to brush away the evidence of sleep. You smiled to yourself as you noticed Halsin watching your every step, his admiration for you never faltering even if you did the most mundane of tasks. He looked as if he was lost in a daze; his expression was no more than a lazy smile and half-lidded eyes. 

“If you keep looking at me like that,” you said as you caught his gaze, “you’re going to have to do something about it.” With a hearty laugh and a quick shake of his head, the druid sat up from the bed, his eyes still glued to your body.

“Although you are the epitome of nature perfected, my heart, you’re not picking up on what I am.” You raised an eyebrow, your head cocking at the comment.

“And what would that be?” You asked softly. Without another word, he made his way to his feet, offering his hand for you to take with a knowing smile. 

He guided you to the standing mirror by the water basin, turning you until your back was pressed to his chest and you both were reflected in the glass. You watched the reflection as his head leaned forward, pressing the softest of kisses to your still bare shoulder as his hands traveled the length of your body, stopping along your waist. You felt his hands lightly grip your hips, angling them forward until he had you in the perfect position. When his hand left your hip and slowly caressed the skin under your navel, you finally realized what Halsin was so transfixed on observing. There, in the reflection of your mirror, you noticed the slightest of swells to your lower belly. It wasn’t a large bump, but nevertheless it was the smallest of bumps beginning to form. After weeks of seeing no progress, you were now staring at the reflection of a pregnant belly.

“Hells, I hadn’t even noticed,” you said softly as you turned your reflection in the mirror to make sure you saw what you thought you did, “and when did you make this discovery, dear bear?” Your eyes were stuck to your reflection, wholeheartedly admiring the tiny bulge of your lower belly. Although you were still early on in your pregnancy, just seeing the evidence of your growing child filled you with an immense sense of joy and almost disbelief. Until now, the idea of being with child didn’t seem real. Other than a bit of morning sickness and being a bit more tired than normal, at times you forgot you were carrying a child. But now, with the proof of one in front of your eyes, it felt more than real.

“Last night,” he whispered in your ear, “after your bath.” You hummed softly as the memory of the previous night flickered in your mind. You had just barely stepped from your bath before you had felt Halsin’s lips and hands caressing your skin and curves, ravishing you until you both needed another washing.

“Well, then,” you said playfully, “that explains your sudden urge last night.” Halsin said nothing, but the low growl and gentle bite to your earlobe confirmed your statement. 

After lingering a few moments more to admire the growing bump to your frame, Halsin’s hands left your hips and left you to finish dressing for the day. You said nothing to each other as you hoisted up a pair of trousers and clean shirt, however the silence between you was not strained. Something was on Halsin’s mind, but whatever it was, was not directed towards you. When you had finished dressing and signaled you were ready to go, you were met with the same loving gaze and tender touches. This set your mind a little more at ease even though you were still curious as to what had gotten the druid so tense. It must be something in the community, perhaps the sense of duty, or maybe an issue with one of the refugees. Either way, you were determined to help him through it and set him at east once again.

You walked through your home together, hand in hand, and walked at a pace that wasn’t quite a stroll, but also wasn’t hurried. It had been a while since you had walked the city together, usually preferring to go your own ways and meeting again at the end of the day, so you quite enjoyed the change of schedule. Halsin’s large hand engulfed your own, holding it securely and offering a sense of peace and protection. You eventually made your way to the opposite side of the town, stepping from the cobblestone streets and into the beginning of the wood line.

“Where are we going? I thought we had business in town?” You asked as you continued your stroll, making note of the slightly firmer grasp that he now had on your hand.

“Business, yes, but it’s out in the forest on the outskirts of the town.” Halsin’s vague answers made your shoulders tense. You were not opposed to surprised, but you felt that this one would most certainly be unwelcome.

“Care to enlighten me? You’re not one to keep secrets, my dear.” You nudged Halsin with your shoulder as you walked, hoping it would make him open up and no longer keep you in the dark. You were impatient, wanting only to see what he was leading you to. 

“I promise, it’ll be easier if I just show you, just be patient. We’re close now though, as much as it pains me to say it.” You picked up on the slightest hint of dread in his voice, the droop on his face only confirming your observation. 

Admittedly, you had been utterly confused by Halsin, not understanding his sudden hesitancy to explain anything. He was always open with you, even with the most grueling of topics, and you were thankful for that. Both because you appreciated being in the loop of knowledge, but also because you didn’t want him to share the brunt of responsibility alone. He had done that enough in the past and it was high time he was able to share his burdens. Before the fall of Ketheric Thorm, you had made a promise to Halsin to help him through any hardships and even though it had been some time since you’d defeated Ketheric, your promise still stood. It always would. It was your vow to him and you were determined to uphold it.

After some time, you both had made your way to a small clearing on the outskirts of your established community on the line where your home met untamed wilderness. With your hand still firmly in his grasp, Halsin took you to one of the first trees along the tree line, walking you to the backside. There, just above your line of sight, was a symbol meticulously carved into the bark. A skull seated partially in a triangle, the outstretched fingers of a hand adorning it like a crown. You recognized the symbol immediately and a familiar twinge of unease settled in your stomach and your breath caught in your throat. Months after the battle, you were staring at the freshly carved symbol of the Absolute.

“I noticed it yesterday when I was roaming,” Halsin’s voice broke the silence and the tension of the moment, “a defilement of nature and a perfectly good scratching post.”

“By the gods.” You whispered softly as your eyes spotted the marking on the tree. You reached out slowly, your fingertips barely grazing the carved symbol in the tree, almost afraid that it would hurt you in some way. 

“You’re certain this is new? This isn’t a remnant of a few months ago?” You knew the answer, but still felt the need to ask. It was a fresh, clean mark; something that had only happened in the past day or so. But, there was one small part of you that hoped and prayed it was a relic from all those months ago.

“Oh, very.” He said as he traced his finger along the carving, “Look at the flesh of the tree. It’s still weeping sap and the cut hasn’t yet browned. It’s recent, my heart.”

Your breathing was slow and methodical, an attempt to keep your rising fears at arms length. For a brief moment the idea crossed your mind that somehow the Netherbrain had survived the final battle and was once again enchanting mind flayer tadpoles, but you were certain this wasn’t true. The Netherstones had done their job of convincing the brain to destroy itself and there was no denying that the same brain that had sunk into waters surrounding the city was anything other than dead. 

You then remembered the dying man and his siblings you had met on the road very early on in your journey. The man had been infected with the parasite, but his siblings remained free from a worm of their own crawling in their brains. However, they still followed the teachings and the call of the Absolute, despite not being True Souls themselves. You quickly realized that this mark wasn’t left by someone infected with the tadpole, but by someone who still believed in the Absolute. Someone who believed in the teachings and the power it offered enough to begin a resurgence of the cult, even if there were no tadpoles. The idea wasn’t that far fetched. You knew of plenty of instances where cults or even important figures that had fanatics that carried on the legacy of the entity. The most notable one that could come to mind were the handful of people that served the Szarr palace in the hopes of serving a vampiric lord simply because they were enthralled by him.

“I don’t think it’s cause for concern just yet, although we must be vigilant.” He said as he pulled is hand from the bark, “I roamed the woods the entirety of yesterday as well as this morning. This is the only symbol I can find and I haven’t found anyone lingering. Whoever left it, left it as a warning, but is gone from the area.”

“You don’t think it could be someone in town, do you?” You asked after you’d worked your way through your thoughts. 

“It’s possible, but highly unlikely. You know them better than I do, so you must know how everyone feels about the Absolute. These are children and adults who lost their homes and had their lives uprooted because of this cult, I don’t believe anyone would be a follower. Unless you think otherwise?”

“No, not at all,” you said as you continued to observe the marking, “but it’s not out of the realm of possibility. As you said, remain vigilant. Let’s see what comes of this.”

“I sent out a scouting party late in the afternoon. They plan on looking further into the forest and beyond to see if they can pick up on any trail. I would go myself, but if there is no pressing need for me to go out then I would prefer to stay here. I have many people I want to protect.” He lightly pressed his hand to your newly discovered bump, lingering for a moment before pulling away.

With another brief look to the symbol, you were ready to leave and return to the safety of your home. You understood why Halsin would always patrol the community and the surrounding area each morning, but you never thought anything would ever come of it. Maybe it was the lull of a peaceful home or perhaps you had just gone soft after the final battle, but this new discovery had caught you off guard. Any sort of resurgence of the cult could lead to disastrous consequences and it threatened the safety of your very home. There were already so many men and women that had been lost and displaced, not to mention the dozen upon dozens of orphaned children you were now in charge of, and the thought that they could face it all again made a shiver run down your spine. To top it off, you were now welcoming your own little one into the world; a world you assumed was safe. 

“Thank you for telling me,” you said as you began the long walk home, “I’m not sure what to make of it, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“Don’t let it burden your mind and unsettle your nerves, my heart,” Halsin said as he reclaimed your hand with his, “our home is safe.” You pulled Halsin’s arm around you as you walked, allowing his hand to rest on your lower back as you leaned into his frame. He was right, for the time being your home and community were safe, and you felt even safer being wrapped in his embrace.

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It had been many weeks since your discovering of the carving in the woods and thankfully everything remained quiet. Life carried on as it had been and you frequently tucked the memory into the far recesses of your mind. You sat cross-legged on your bed, the back of Halsin’s hand rested on your rounded belly as you carefully plucked splinter after splinter from his fingertips. You gently traced your fingers over his, feeling for any more pieces of wood stuck under his skin. Although he was already a skilled whittler, Halsin had recently taken up woodworking. It was a hobby you found to be surprising, but when you learned he desired to master the craft simply because he wanted to hand carve a crib for your little one, you couldn’t be happier. Since then, you always made it a point to pluck any pieces of wood from his fingers. 

The partially completed crib sat against the wall of your bedroom, still needing a few finishing touches before it ready for a sleeping baby, but there was still time before it would be needed. Despite needing a bit of sanding and polishing, the crib was absolutely beautiful and incredibly detailed. It taken him a few weeks, but in that short time he had crafted the piece completely by hand and with copious amounts of love. He had even gone so far as to carve the smallest of details along the head of the crib; a parade of carved bear cubs wandering through the beauty of nature and swirls that mimicked the patterns of his tattoos adorned the wood panelling. 

With a final look over his hands, you had decided that you’d pulled out any remaining fragments of wood, lifting his large hand from your belly. You held your palm against Halsin’s, taking note in the difference in size. His hands engulfed yours, two of his knuckles easily able to overshadow your fingertips if he were to bend them. Your eyes traveled from his hands and along his arms, observing just how large they actually were and how they seemingly continued to grow at they reached his broad shoulders. You laced your fingers with his as you continued to look him over, not noticing the adoring look on Halsin’s face in the process.

“Is something troubling you, my heart?” He asked as he brought your hand to his lips, softly kissing your fingers.

“Not at all,” you said as his voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you shifted to your regular spot on the bed, “just doing a bit of thinking.” You adjusted the pillows under your head until you were comfortable on your side. With a gentle pat, you motioned for Halsin to join you.

“Do tell, my heart.” He followed your invitation, reclining on his side as well, positioning his head against his hand as he gazed down at you. Gods, you would never tire of the way he looked at you. His gaze was always filled with the utmost admiration and infatuation, which had only increased in the recent months. 

“You are rather large for an elf, you know.” You brought your hand to your head, mirroring Halsin’s pose as you spoke.

“Is that so?” Halsin cocked an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his lips at your comment. 

“Oh hush, love,” you said with a chuckle, “you know I mean no harm. It just has me wondering about this dear little one of ours.” You ran your hand along the side of your belly with the thought, still in disbelief that you would be having a child in a few months.

“Are you afraid our child might be taller than you one day?” He teased, placing his hand atop yours, seemingly sensing the worry gnawing at your mind.

“Not at all, but I am worried about having to somehow birth a baby the size of quasit if they end up taking after your size.” You chuckled softly, although the thought was seriously lingering in your mind. Elves and half-elves were typically small in build, but Halsin was of course no normal elf. Simply comparing the size of his hands to yours indicated just how big he truly was. So it was very well in the realm of possibility that your newborn would be well above average in size. 

“I don’t think they’ll be quite that large my heart,” Halsin said as he ran his thumb along your cheekbone, “but even if they are, I’ll be there for you. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” You whispered. Despite facing the end of the world, the idea of childbirth terrified you. You knew the risks associated with the birthing process and it was a daunting prospect. Healing couldn’t be offered until after the actual birth, so knowing you’d have to endure the hours long process without aid unsettled you.

“Will you be there?” You asked after a moment. You knew it was a dumb question; Halsin wouldn’t dare the miss the birth of his first child or leave you to deal with the trauma of birth alone, but with your hormones fluctuating the way they did, it was nice to have the confirmation. 

“Of course, my heart. It’s not even a question.” He quickly kissed your lips in reassurance, “Put your mind at ease. I will be there for the entirety and afterwards.” 

Halsin pulled you towards him, nuzzling his nose against the crown of your head, kissing it softly. In turn, you rested your face across the expanse of his chest, taking in his natural warmth and scent as you felt his hand slowly run along your back, soothing your worry. You hummed as you melted against his touch, your muscles finally relaxing after a long day. 

“Have you heard anything about the symbols you found?” You asked after a long yawn, the desire for sleep finally catching up to you.

“Last I heard,” Halsin said after a long period of silence, as if he was hesitant to say anything, “there was a small group of followers to the north. Goblins, mostly. And a few orcs if what the scouts have said can be relied upon. Don’t let it bother you tonight, my heart. It can be discussed in the morning.” With your eyes suddenly heavy, you didn’t argue his plea. 

Given that it had been many moons since you first discovered the markings on the tree, you weren’t too concerned with the lingering cultists being an immediate threat, but it still crossed your mind frequently. Between the ministrations along your back and sound of Halsin’s steady heartbeat against your ear, you found yourself drifting off to sleep, securely nestled in the embrace of Halsin’s strong arms.

**********************************************************************************************************

“It’s a good thing I’m better a wielding a sword than I am a knitting needle,” you said as you observed your work, “otherwise we’d all be mind flayers by now.” You held up the infant sized sweater you’d spent an hour knitting, your nose scrunching in distain when you realized not only was it far too big for a newborn, but lopsided with different lengths on the sleeves and a warbled neckline. 

“Well,” Halsin said with a chuckle as he looked up from his whittling, “let us give thanks that nature has blessed you with other talents.” Although he had already finished the beautifully crafted crib, his whittling hobby had picked up even more now that you were close to your due date. Small ducklings, bear cubs, tiny bunnies, and even squirrel kits were all figures he had started carving, the idea of having a child of his own clearly influencing his design choices. Lately, many quiet afternoons were spent like this, with you and your beloved elf taking much needed downtime together, happily preparing for the arrival of your little one. 

“I’m sorry,” you said with feigned hurt, “but are you telling me that this isn’t the beauty of natures creation?” You saw his attempt to hide the smirk threatening to come across his face as he eyed your knitting once more, chewing on the side of his lip to keep it from rising.

“I would, but you made it, my heart, not nature.” You snorted and playfully knocked Halsin’s arm with yours before unraveling your hard work in an attempt to remake it.

The two of you were lounging in the center of town, reclined against the large oak that had miraculously been renewed with life when the shadow curse had been lifted. You leaned against one of Halsin’s large arms more than the tree, trying to find some relief for your aching back. If your calculations were correct, you still had roughly two months left before you were set to give birth, but you were heavily struggling with the physical toll it took on your body. Your back frequently ached and pain would settle in your hips, making sitting anywhere absolutely abysmal, not to mention trying to get up by yourself. 

Despite this, you could never say you were too burdened with your condition. Halsin always went out of his way to make sure you were as comfortable as possible, which always filled you with a sense of adoration and love. He was always quick to offer a soothing back rub if your muscles were tense from a long day or if the pressure from your growing little one made your bones ache, making sure to massage deeply and slowly until you melted under his touch. Or if you were overtaken by a sudden craving for a particular food, he would be sure to bring you whatever you desired to your hearts content. He would frequently soothe your emotions if you were overcome with confusing hormones, being by your side until you worked through whatever was plaguing you and would stay until he could see you smile again. 

In all of this, his desire for you never faltered; if anything, it was stronger than ever. It wasn’t always sexual, however. His desire to just be close to you only grew stronger the more your abdomen grew. Gentle touches across your back, arms touching when sitting together during supper, holding you snugly against his body while you slept; anything to stay close to you. The same sentiment held true even in ursine form, of course. You frequently found yourself sitting beneath a tree or in a sunny field with the head of your bear placed gently in your lap during a midday nap or felt a wet nose nuzzling against your swollen belly. 

Not to say that his more intimate desires for you wavered in the slightest. It was hard enough for you to keep your hands off each other before the discovery of your pregnancy, but had only intensified since. Many nights were spent in each others embrace and were filled with soft kisses and playful bites. Each time was always gentle and seemed to feel more loving than the last. In every aspected you could imagine, Halsin was the perfect partner; not that you had imagined any less from him. The love you had for him had only intensified in the recent months and you could see the same sentiment reflected from him each time you caught him staring at you. His eyes always filled with softness and love, something that made your heart melt on a daily basis. 

A shift in placement of your baby made you grunt, your side now aching with the pressure of some appendage now pressing into your ribcage. You sat up from your position against the druid, leaning forward and side to side to try and stop the pain. As much as you loved the feeling of the tiny bits of movement here and there, you couldn’t help but groan whenever the child landed in a particularly inconvenient spot. Occasionally you’d feel a kick here and there, but you mostly just felt the entire body of your child moving in your abdomen. Despite being near you constantly, Halsin had yet to feel a kick or a bit of movement from your belly. It always seemed to stop when he placed a hand on your stomach to feel for movement. You felt them, of course, but wished Halsin could do the same. 

“Is everything all right?” Halsin asked as he noticed your movements. He placed his whittling knife and piece he’d been working on to the side, turning more towards you in the process. His large hand slowly worked its way up and down your back, trying to rub out any knot or muscle tension.

“Oh yes,” you said with a sharp inhale, “I just feel as if I have a foot in my ribs. Right in here.” You took his hand in yours, sliding it from your back to the side of your belly where the pain was, hoping he would finally have his change to feel the baby move. His thumb lightly caressed your stomach in an attempt to encourage the tiny little foot to move.

“Well, given the circumstance, I’d wager and say you probably do.” He said with a laugh. As the discomfort in your side finally subsided, you found yourself reclining on your hands with your legs extended in front of you. The change of position seemed to move your little one just enough to alleviate the discomfort and you finally had a moment of relaxation. Your head fell back and lightly brushed against the trunk of the tree, your eyes closing as you felt a gentle breeze across your face. 

Halsin’s hand remained on your belly, gently running it along the side and around the front until it eventually settled on top. With a deep sigh you finally opened your eyes, your head rolling to the side to meet Halsin’s gaze. However, instead of meeting your eyes, his own were fixed to his hand atop your stomach, a grin spreading across his lips the more he lingered, but there was the faintest hint of something else in his eyes.

“What’s on your mind, my love?” You asked softly as you took in his expression. He was lost in thought, his mind drifting as you both sat in the coolness of the shade and you returned to your former position. Your hand rested atop his for a moment before sliding up his forearm and back down, the ministrations finally grabbing his attention from his deep concentration. 

“Everything,” Halsin said after a long pause, “as always. But I have to admit that as of late I find myself worrying about you, mostly, my heart.”

“How do I worry you? Is it the baby?” You asked, surprised at his answer, “Please, tell me. Let me ease your mind. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to me.”

“Well, partially it’s the child. In my many years I’ve seen countless others give birth and I’m aware of the risks. I know the dangers child bearing can bring and leave in its aftermath. So I have my concerns in relation to that, but most of my concerns lay outside of that.” His palm light trailed across the expanse of your belly; his touch soft and loving.

“Tell me, then, please.” You lightly brushed a few stray strands of hair from his face, tucking them behind a pointed ear. 

“We’ve discussed this before, but I have to ask,” he paused as he spoke, that rare look of vulnerability flashing across his face as he tried to form his words, “are you happy? Truly happy? With everything that’s come after the Netherbrain, I mean. Can you say for certain that you are satisfied and content with the life we’ve built here?”

“Halsin, my love, I couldn’t have dreamed of a happier life.” The hand that had brushed through his hair came down his neck and finally rested on his chest, directly above his heart. “Why would you even need to ask such a question?”

“To ease my mind, I suppose. I pulled you from a life of praise and newfound opulence that came from saving Baldur’s Gate only to thrust you into a life of quiet, often thankless, servitude. I just want to be certain that this life is something you want and not something I’ve forced you into; especially now that you are so close to having a child. I don’t want you to have regrets.” He spoke quietly but surely.

“I don’t want or need the praise and wealth the city offered. You, though? You I need. And I can’t go without you for even a second. I chose to leave with you to build a life here because that’s what I wanted. We both did. You didn’t force me into anything. In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, I had to practically beg to convince you that it’s what I wanted, did I not?”

“Oh yes,” he said with a slight smile, “I believe I recall you calling me an ass.”

“I was terrified of you turning me away!” You couldn’t help but laugh at the memory, “You can’t blame me for my words when I wanted nothing more than to follow you and be by your side. And to this day there is nothing I want more. I would choose this life we’ve built and I would choose you again and again.”

You leaned forward slightly, trailing your hand back up along his neck and chest until it rested on his cheek, gently pulling his head towards you until your foreheads met in a gentle caress. You’d come to adore your frequent forehead touches with the elf, almost enjoying them more than a kiss in a moment like this. It was a simple, intimate gesture that brought the both of you so much comfort in moments of insecurity and uncertainty. 

“And I would do this all over again in every lifetime, my love. In every possible form we may find ourselves in. All without an ounce of hesitation or regret. And now that we’re having a child? My dearest love, my heart is full. We have built something truly wonderful not only in this community we call home, but something wonderful and beautiful in this tiny little child we’ve created.” You lingered against his skin for a moment more before finally pulling away, your hand still cupping his cheek as you spoke again.

“Halsin, please, don’t every worry that you’ve taken me from something. In reality, you have given me the greatest gift possible. Release those fears from your mind. They hold no weight here.” You whispered softly before pressing a gentle kiss to his tattooed cheek.

“You truly are a gift from Silvanus himself, my heart. You’ve brought back the youthful optimism and stamina of this old, pardon…older druid, my heart.” You smirked at his attempt to remember your distain for referring to himself as old, appreciating the effort. 

“Trust me love, if my condition is any indication of how spry you are, I’d say you have the vigor of someone just barely over a hundred.” You said as you began to recline back again. Not satisfied with your quick contact from earlier, he gently took your chin in his grasp and pulled you to him until your lips softly connected. A string of slow, soft kisses soon followed, along with praises coming from each of you after each brush of your lips. 

Shouting from across the town square broke the serenity of the moment. You and Halsin both turned in the direction of the commotion, instincts immediately springing into action at the sound. Screams of terror and anger could be heard behind you, steadily growing louder. You were still struggling to even begin to get up when Halsin told you to stay where you were; a command more than a request. Before you had time to argue, Halsin had rushed the the cause of commotion, leaving you on the ground struggling to stand.

“Gods above.” You muttered to yourself as you finally managed to get to your feet, using the tree as support in the process. As quickly but as carefully as you could as to avoid disrupting your little one, you hurried to the sound of the commotion, despite Halsin’s request fo you to stay put.

You had gotten to the town square just in time to see what the commotion was. The freshly deceased body of a war painted goblin was splayed along the ground, its throat having been quickly sliced apart by the enraged cave bear looming over the corpse. You immediately knew the bear to be Halsin, who had no doubt changed at the first sight of the attacking goblin. Two other goblins had accompanied the deceased one, but had quickly turned tail in fear at the emergence of the bear. Not to the surprise of anyone in the community, Halsin quickly chased after them, releasing a roar loud and deep enough that you could feel the reverberations in your body. He would no doubt make quick work of the intruders, giving you the chance to ensure there were no other lingering goblins or nasties before checking in on any potential injuries. 

With your hand placed on the underside of your belly for support, you squatted next to the slain goblin, taking note of the silver pendant hanging around its neck. You felt a cold chill run down your spine when you saw the symbol of the Absolute within the safety of your home. Anger surged within you as well, cruising yourself for not handling this problem sooner. Thank the gods that no one was injured, other than the goblin, but the experience was enough to shake everyone. Thaniel’s Realm was meant to be a sanctuary for the lost and lonely, safe from threats of any kind and a place to live in harmony with nature. Now, however, that safety had been shattered and danger was no longer a looming threat, but a real and bloody reality.

You spent the rest of the afternoon checking in with everyone, ensuring their safety and checking for wounds. The children of the realm were shaken by the events of the day, but they were resilient. They had faced too many hardships and dangers with the threat of a mind flayer invasion and Netherbrain control for them to be running from a handful of goblins, but you wanted to be there to lend a hand to hold and a lap to sit on if needed. The nightly supper and bedtime stories for the children continued as usual once the remnants of the mutilated goblin had been cleared away, the usual nightly feel of home returning once everyone had a full belly. You walked home quietly, your mind racing with the events of the day and your emotions high strung. With a grunt of effort you sat on the few steps that led to entrance of your home. You sat in silence, absentmindedly running your hands along the expanse of your stomach as you waited for your druid to return.

**********************************************************************************************************

It was well past nightfall by the time Halsin finally returned home to you, bloodied and still in bear form. Even though you were certain would never harm you while in wild shape, there was no denying just how intimidating his form was. His snout was absolutely drenched in goblin blood, splatter even reaching to the top of his head, and you could feel the hot pants of his breath against your legs as he approached. There was the faintest glow still present in his eyes, making it very clear that he was still deeply angry about the situation at hand. The low growls emitting from his chest could be felt in your bones as you gently reached out to place a hand on the underside of his chin. You could feel his pulse begin to return to normal as your fingers brushed against his pulse point, despite the thick layer of fur between his skin and your fingers. 

“Come along love,” you said to your bear softly, “let’s get you cleaned up.” His sharp claws were also covered in blood, bits of flesh and cloth dangling from a few of them. Given the sight of him, you didn’t want to imagine what was left of the goblins that had stormed your home, if there even remains at all. Either way, Halsin was drenched in assorted viscera and could do for a warm bath; both to clean and to soothe. 

Once you pulled your hand from his chin, the bear erupted in a familiar flash of light, ending the wild shape of the bear and transfiguring Halsin back to an elf, who was just as bloody as the bear. He was still breathing heavily after the transformation, remaining silent as he rolled his neck and shoulders and shook out any remaining feelings of the bear. He closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself a calming breath before look back to you, his gaze much softer but no less expressive. Despite the intense rage you had witness earlier, he was as gentle as ever with you. With a soft touch, he helped you to your feet before quickly looking over you, checking for injuries. After reassuring Halsin that you and your child were fine, you led him inside and drew him a warm bath.

Once he had seated himself in the water of the washtub, he began to calm and relax more, the temperature of the water helping to ease any remaining tension in his muscles. After he had seemed to cool off a bit, you set to work. With a soft cloth and a gentle touch, you began washing the dark blood from his face. Starting with his forehead and working your way down, you worked quietly, not sure of what to say to ease his mind more. With each wipe of his face, you dunked the soft cloth back into the water to rinse it before returning to his skin. When you wiped away the last of the blood from his chin, he finally spoke.

“We cannot afford to sit idly anymore.” He said as you shifted your attention to the rest of his body, wiping along his chest and down his arms meticulously.

“No,” you murmured as you checked for wounds along his shoulders and arms, “we can’t. We can head out in the morning? The next day perhaps? Figure out where the group is, how strong they are, look at the defenses-” Your speech was quickly cut off before you could finish your thought.

“We? I hope you’re not suggesting that you come along as well.” His brows knitted together at your response, utterly bewildered that you would even suggest such a thing.

“Of course I am,” you said quickly, “I can’t sit at home and twiddle my thumbs and expect you to handle it all. I told you when we first came here that we share the responsibility of our home. It’s not your burden to bear alone, Halsin.”

“And you have done an absolutely beautiful job of doing so, my love, but you must stay here.” His hands lifted from the tinted water, reaching out to cup your cheeks with his palms. He looked you in the eyes, holding a stern gaze with you.

“The people here can survive without us for a few days. They’re not completely helpless. They already do most of the cooking and running of the market and the children will be fine under their watch.” You tossed the cloth into the water, standing in the process. Now was not the time for arguing; it was the time for action. Your home had just been invaded and arguing over who should go and when was irrelevant in your eyes. You were both more than capable of dispatching goblins. You pulled a towel down from a nearby shelf after hearing Halsin hastily step out of the water, patting him dry as you checked his lower body for injuries as well. 

“Yes, they can. They are prospering beyond what either of us could have imagined and in such a short time. And we are prospering ourselves,” he softly placed a hand on the peak of your belly, “and we cannot risk losing this blessing.”

“I can take care of myself,” you scoffed at the remark, “it’s not the first time I’ve faced a handful of cultists, my dear.”

“You would be a target.” He said firmly, not relenting in his stance on the matter, “If the remaining followers of the Absolute are just as vicious as I remember then they would target you in an instant. Just by looking at you, it’s no secret that you’re carrying a child. I don’t even want to think of what they could do to you or the child if they managed to get a hold of you.” 

You could hear the fear in his voice, despite the firmness in which he spoke. Unfortunately, he was right. Being only a handful of weeks away from going into labor, your belly extended far and would only get bigger from here. Targeting you would be the easiest way to distract a raging cave bear or sword wielding druid. And, realistically, you were in no condition to travel, let alone fight. You had a hard enough time earlier in the afternoon just to get up from the ground. Traversing the land, sleeping on the ground, and battle would not only be uncomfortable, it would be impossible. Not to mention the risks it could pose to your child. It could result in an early birth or a loss of the pregnancy altogether. Plus, the idea of toting around a newborn while trying to hack away goblins would be less than idea.

“I know,” you sighed, resigned to the truth, “I know. It’s agreed then, I’ll stay.”

“Thank you, my heart,” his hands landed on your shoulders now, “if the scouts’ information is correct, it should only be a few days walk to their encampment. Give it a ten-day and we should all be back home.”

“What about you? Are you not staying with me?” It was your turn for confusion to cross your face. You knew Halsin would want to leave with them to battle the upcoming fight, but you needed him at home with you; albeit for more selfish reasons. 

“Someone has to lead them,” he said, “they are capable, but they need a leader for battle if it comes to that. And given that most of our neighbors are children, I need to be the one to lead them.” You shook your head, understanding his logic, but disagreeing fully.

“And what happens if you get hurt? Captured? Killed? What then?” The pitch of your voice increased, emotion beginning to get the better of you.

“Were you not just willing to walk into a battle with me while with child? Why has that changed all of a sudden?” He huffed at your reaction, not understanding why you both couldn’t see eye to eye on the situation. 

“Because if I’m with you out there then I can see you. I can see with my own eyes that you are safe and alive. If I stay here and you go out there, I’ll be left in the dark. I won’t know if you’re alive or if your corpse is rotting on the side of the road somewhere. Maybe captured and left in a cage to starve or something even worse. I need the peace of mind of knowing with absolute certainty that you’re still breathing, my love.” You’d already saved Halsin from a cage once before, so you knew it was possible for it to happen all over again or worse. No. You needed him home so you could make sure he was safe. Safe to remain with you and safe so he could meet his child.

“If I fall in battle then that is nature’s will. And I’ll have died making sure that you, this community, and this little one are safe. It would be a sacrifice made with love; that I can assure you.” He said softly, trying to ease you into the reality of what was needed.

His words squeezed your heart, making you push from his embrace in recoil. Your lips quivered as your eyes became wet, your breath hitching in your throat. Without another word, he pulled you into him, your arms pinned between his chest and yours. Your cheek was pressed firmly to his bare chest, still slightly damp from the bath, and you felt your throat burn with the anticipation of a sob. You couldn’t think of that; of the possibility of Halsin leaving and never returning because he was killed by an off shoot of a cult you’d already defeated once. He held you tightly to his chest as best he could, given the size of your belly, and kept you there until your breathing had slowed and you could speak without your voice cracking.

“I can’t do this alone,” you said after you’d calmed a bit, “I need you here.” You voice wavered as you spoke. Your memory flittered back to the months you travelled together on the road, camping where you could and bringing the best suited to battle. It was often that when you asked one of your other members to stay behind for a spell, they would always question your judgement. They trusted you with their lives, but there was always the hesitancy of staying behind. Like you in this moment, they felt as if they would be the best choice to bring along. After all, what harm could befall your or everyone else if they came too? As much as you found the back talking to be a nuisance, you finally understood why they would do it. It wasn’t to be in control or undermine your judgements, but it was done simply out of a desire to protect.

And now, you wanted to be the one to protect Halsin from whatever dangers he may face. You had both worked too hard to reach the bliss you’d settled upon to let it be unraveled by a handful of goblins and vagabonds. However, you knew in your heart that you couldn’t go. You were a liability and a target. You needed to stay, much to your dismay. But, despite your sudden realization, you still couldn’t wrap your head around why Halsin specifically needed to go. He needed to stay; for both his sake and yours. The idea of giving birth scared you more than facing the Absolute, but more so the thought of your child losing their father before they could even meet weighed more heavily on your mind. Wherever you need me. That was always what he told you when you asked him to stay in camp. He never questioned or argued or requests then, so why is he now? Why did he have to be so stubborn at times?

“And you won’t be, my love,” he softly kissed your temple again, “but those that are going need guidance and I should be the one to answer that call. I’m not venturing forth because I want to roam or feel the rush of battle. Protecting this place we’ve built, and all those in it, are my duty now. You, my heart, and our little one are my duty. To keep you both safe. As I said, it shouldn’t be more than a ten-day. I’ll be back long before this chid of ours comes; you have my word.”

**********************************************************************************************************

Sleep would not come to you in the night. The thought of Halsin leaving you for a ten-day at minimum, potentially more, kept you wide awake with a knot in your stomach. You lay on your side, your back pressed firmly to Halsin’s chest as he slept lightly beside you. His breaths were absent of his typical snores, signaling that he was having trouble sleeping himself or a lesser quality of sleep at the very least. His arm was wrapped securely around you, cradling your heavily extended belly as his gentle breaths tickled the hair on the nape of your neck. 

Moonlight trickled in through the window, painting the room in an ethereal glow that would have been idillic if it wasn’t for the foul thoughts swimming in your brain. You knew Halsin was more than capable of surviving against a small band of crazed cult worshippers, but you still had your doubts. Saving your beloved bear from a cage in a goblin camp was the first time you’d met the man, so that particular memory kept eating away at your mind as you tried to sleep. If he did end up captured, or worse, would mean that he would be stuck in whatever gods awful place the remnant cultists were holed up in until someone, more than likely you, could find him.

However, that alone would have to wait until after you birthed your little one because ultimately, Halsin was right. You couldn’t afford to go out adventuring in your current state. You had a hard enough time standing from a seated position due to the size of your ever growing abdomen, so to actively battle someone and not injure yourself or your child would be practically impossible. So, you’d have to wait until after you gave birth, but would also have to decide on how long to wait until after they were born. You couldn’t bring a newborn on the road with you and you also couldn’t bring yourself to leave them home. Suddenly, as if he could sense your unease and inability to rest, you felt Halsin stir beside you.

“Rest, my heart.” He all but growled in your ear, his grip around your tightening around you slightly as he shifted himself again, “You’re going to worry the little one into the world far too early if you don’t ease your mind.” His voice was groggy from sleep, but still firm enough to get his point across.  

With a huff, both from annoyance exhaustion and discomfort from the amount of effort it took to move because of your pregnancy, you rolled to your opposite side. You couldn’t be as close to him as you would have liked, given the size of your bump, but you managed as best you could. With your nose nestled into the warmth of the crook of his neck and your arms squeezed between you, you finally found a comfortable position that may allow for the slightest amount of sleep. Halsin’s strong arm surrounded your body once again, his arm lightly tracing patterns along your back in an attempt to soothe your nerves. Eventually, and much to your gratitude, you managed to settle into a slumber. It wasn’t the most peaceful night you’d had in a long while, but you couldn’t argue that some rest was better than none. Your sleep was dreamless; just a dark voice of silence.

Come morning, the familiar embrace of Halsin’s lips to your forehead and calloused hand cupping your chin caused you to stir, your mind slightly foggy from the haze of sleep you’d finally managed to settle into. Your lover was hovered over you, planting his usual loving kisses to your skin to gently rouse you from your slumber. You hummed softly at the touch of his lips, reaching up to place your hand over his only to come into contact with his old bracers. The wood was rough under your touch; familiar yet a stranger in these past months of bliss. When your mind finally cleared of your slumber, you realized he was already dressed for the day, ready to take to the road in pursuit of the Absolute assailants. 

“First light was agreed upon, my love. Otherwise I would stay here with you for every precious moment.” He said as you sat up, the resurgence of dread filling you. With a deep sigh, you quickly pulled on a loose fitting outfit with the intention of seeing Halsin off for his journey. You still disagreed with him leaving, but you also knew there would be no changing his mind or stopping him. He was leaving out of duty to protect both his home and his growing family, and he was more than willing to die for both.

“A kiss for the road?” You asked softly after you’d pulled on your quick outfit, meeting him to the main threshold of your home.

“Of course. As if you even had to ask,” Halsin said as his hands rested across your shoulders, "It is as I said before you faced the Netherbrain, this shall not be our last, my heart.”

His lips pressed firmly to yours, but there was still the softness you adored. He was always so, so gentle and loving with you. You gripped the edges of his old armor firmly, desperately trying to keep him as close to you as possible as you shared your parting kiss. He groaned against your lips, not wanting to part from you and only desired to hold you to him, but you both knew you needed to part ways so he could meet the scouting party across town. After all, the sooner he left, the sooner he would return to you and your child.

“A ten-day, I promise.” He said as you finally parted ways, meeting your gaze with soft eyes that almost threatened to form a tear.

“And not a day more.” You said it almost as a command, but you also muttered it as a prayer. 

With a brush of his nose to yours, Halsin pulled from you, his eyes lingering on your features for a moment longer before his gaze drifted to your abdomen. He knelt to one knee in front of you, placing both hands on either side of your belly before pressing a lingering kiss to the area above your navel. Once his lips parted, he pressed his forehead to the same spot and you could hear him muttering a prayer to Silvanus for safety and guidance. You placed your hands along his, bowing your head to join in on his prayer. Before long, he finally stood

“Not a single day more, my loves.” He repeated when he finally lifted his hands from your body, turning to leave as he did. You shared one final look to each other before he eventually left, calling out his love for you one more time. You leaned against the doorway to your home, your eyes fixed on Halsin as he made he way across the realm.

When Halsin’s bulking frame finally faded from your line of sight, you couldn’t help but sigh as you strolled your way back inside your shared home. The exhaustion from the terrible nights sleep was still weighing heavily on your tired eyes and with Halsin’s fate in the hands of Silvanus, you decided to try and rest more. There was much to do around the area, but for now the people of Thaniel’s Realm could carry on with your absence for the morning. You plopped down on Halsin’s side of the bed, a grunt escaping your lips in the process. Just as you prepared yourself to crawl back under the covers, you felt it. 

You could feel the tiny, glorious little kicks from inside your belly. You smiled at the feeling, running a hand along the patch of skin where the kicks were most prominent. It was always a strange sensation, but a most welcome one. The small amounts of movement you could feel coming from your little one always reminded you how worth the hardships of child bearing were. Every morning you woke up ill, every piece of food that made you nauseous, and each ache and pain your body endured were always worth it just to feel the small signs of life coming from within. You sometimes felt guilty when you felt the movement, a feeling a selfishness always coming to a head when you failed to make it to Halsin in time for him to have a feel for himself. Throughout the entirety of your pregnancy, he had yet to feel a kick from your beloved little child.

When the movement from your belly lasted longer than usual, you decided to make a final attempt at allowing Halsin to sense the movements for himself. Without a moment to spare, you quickly made your way to your feet and out the door to your home, your hand placed firmly along the side of your belly to keep track of the movements. With the grace of a deer crossing a meadow, you flitted your way through town, which was unusually busy and full of residents saying goodbye to those traveling with Halsin. With a string of apologies and pardons, you weaved your way through the crowd, being careful to avoid any collisions. You weren’t sure if Halsin was still even in the town, considering he’d gotten a head start to the journey to the entrance, but you were determined to try your hardest to let him experience the feel of his child.

When you made it to the town square you paused, both to scan the crowd for the druid and to rest. In general, movement had become harder for you the more your abdomen grew, causing you to tired easily and not do a much as you were accustomed to doing. You inhaled through your nose and exhaled slowly through pursed lips as you continued to look for Halsin. You took a few steps forward and were delighted to see that your quick footsteps would soon be rewarded. 

“Halsin!” You called when your eyes finally spotted him, quickly ushering him over to you with a wave of your hand, the other placed along the side of your extended belly. Halsin’s head quickly snapped in your direction, seemingly hearing the urgency in your voice as his gaze settled upon you. He had been conversing with Thaniel before you interrupted, but he wasted no time in giving a quick, light pat to the boys shoulders to excuse himself before he made his way to you. His steps were quick, bordering on a jog as he approached as quickly as possible. 

“I’m here, my heart.” He said as he came to you, “Is something wrong? What can I do?” You now realize that your excitement had come across as potential cause for concern and that concern had quickly consumed his mind. His face was stoic, but with a quick glance to his eyes you could see the worry building. His hands had instinctively made their to your arms, holding you close as he searched your face for answers. There was a twinge of guilt that made its way through your mind with the realization you had instilled fear in your beloved druid, but knew that concern would quickly melt away once he realized why you’d come to him to urgently.

“Nothing,” you said as gently as you could, your excitement almost taking your breath away, “Nothing’s wrong; far from it. Just…just wait. It’ll come back.” Without giving a more detailed explanation, you took his large hands from their place along your arms and moved them to your abdomen. You both stood there in silence, staring down towards your stomach as you waited for another sign of movement.

“There!” You whispered as quietly as possible, but your excitement had still gotten the better of you, “There, my love. Do you feel it?” You placed your hands atop his, pressing them lightly to your belly with the hopes he could have his first feel the feather light kicks coming from within.

The worry that was written across Halsin’s face quickly disappeared and was replaced with a look of what you could only call bliss. The fear in his eyes softened and his eyelids seemed to droop. His lips pulled into a smile and you could swear you caught the faintest glimpse of a tear threatening to fall to his cheeks.

“Yes, my heart, I do.” Halsin whispered as he pressed lightly against you, desperately wanting to feel another gentle bit of movement. As quietly as he could, the druid gave a gentle chuckle as if he was in disbelief in what he was feeling.

“I was afraid it would stop if I kept walking,” you explained as he shifted his hands around your front side to feel more, “I didn’t want you to miss this.” 

With his hands still cradling the swell of your belly, Halsin leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours, sighing happily as he felt another kick against his palm. Several kicks later, you felt him lean more heavily against you, almost nuzzling as his shoulders and muscles relaxed with your touch. He basked in the feeling of his little one moving against your combined touch. You hummed in contentment as you felt him rock you both back and forth slowly, as if you were entangled in a slow dance together. In that moment, despite being surrounded by dozens of people, there were only the two of you, standing together as one to bask in the warmth and joy that was the child wriggling in your belly. Nothing else mattered except the safety of the embrace you shared and the soft, tiny kicks you both could feel.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your skin, “for everything. For allowing me this moment.”

“Just be sure to be back before this child is born, love,” you said softly, “I want you to enjoy many more.” Your eyes opened only to be met with his soft gaze. You’re not sure how long he’d been looking at you, but the warmth behind his eyes made your heart flutter.

“Oak Father preserve you, my heart.” With a final lingering kiss to your forehead, Halsin reluctantly pulled his hands from your belly as he took a step back. 

“You as well, my love.” You said quietly. You knew that if you spoke any louder your voice would crack and tears would spill from your eyes. You understood and respected his obligation to protecting the community he had worked so hard to build, but part of you wanted to be selfish and keep him home. You had seen him in battle many times against the Absolute so you knew his strengths, but you also couldn’t shake the memory of your first meeting in the goblin camp. There was always the very real possibility that he could find himself captured once again or even killed and that thought terrified you to your core. You didn’t want to see anything happen to him for a variety of reasons, but the biggest one being the child the two of you were getting ready to bring into the world. 

After everything he had gone through and the misery he’d endured for centuries, he deserved this. He deserved to be there to welcome his child in his arms and drink in those first precious moments. You wanted to see the joy in his face in watching that child prosper in the land he held dear to his heart; to see them flourish and grow to respect the balance between nature and civilization. And, more selfishly, you wanted him there when you gave birth. You were terrified to be alone for that and only wanted his soothing presence there to help you though it all.

As you watched the last of the scouting group leave the gates of the community, you turned to head back towards the market. It would soon be time for dinner and with Halsin now gone, the duty of the community now rested on your shoulders. You offered a quick prayer to Silvanus for the safety of Halsin and the scouting party, but also that your merry band of children would enjoy your nightly bedtime stories in Halsin’s absence.

Tag List: @incrediblethirst, @reignydeys, @thoughts-of-bear, @im-eating-rn, @beardedladyqueen , @simplysaying @emorylovescats, @distelsterncat, @cryingoverpixelsetc

[maryonaccross]

Dear fellow team green fans, I’ve finally managed to make a list of fanfictions on AO3 that every team green fan should read;

(Most of these aren’t aggressively team green but focus on team green characters and explore them in interesting and respectful ways )

Fist we have the holy trilogy:

1. Burning Jasmine by our national treasure @scalyfreaks and literally anything else that she writes (BJ is a beautifully written Aegon centric alteration of the dance of the dragons)

2. See, what happened was by @daylander1000 / Daylander on AO3 (the best Aemond centric fanfic I have ever read. If you dislike the strong boys and how Baela and Rhaena were done dirty in the show and love angsty preteens and “dark fluff” as the author herself describes it this is the jam)

3. All of @dulcewrites fanfictions are an absolute must for any team green fans (she handles the characters with such care and the humor is amazing)

Then we have the category that I like to call JUSTICE FOR ALICENT:

1. Springs end by Navree (long one shot that explores Alicent’s feelings at the beginning of her marriage to Viserys, beautifully written, I cried)

2. Give me back my girlhood it was mine first by JustA_Person (beautiful multi-chaptered fic that dives headfirst into Alicent’s depression at the beginning of her marriage and does not shy away from roasting the fuck out of Viserys and is currently heading towards a rekindling of the relationship between Alicent and Rhaenyra)

3. In your grave by 136108 (short but brilliant one shot on what Alicent should have told Viserys on his death bed)

Then we have Daemon and Viserys haters must read section staring;

1. Sins of the father by SelfProclaimedUnicorn ( ABSOLUTE MUST for any Daemon haters out there, this is the best there is. This fanfiction centers around two children Daemon has with Rhea Royce at the beginning of his marriage and follows them in their childhood and teenage years (the children are the same age as Rhaenyra and Alicent). This is one of the best written team green fanfictions I have ever read and it tells the story in such an intelligent and thought out way with some perfectly seasoned Daemon bashing sprinkled all over it. It also holds up so well considering that its plot is unlike any other team Green fanfiction out there and centers around characters that aren’t really explored enough. Oh and it also addresses the suffering Aemma went through trapped in marriage with Viserys which is always a great touch)

2. Out of the mouth of Babes by UnknownEnigma ( beautiful six chapter fanfiction exploring Aemonds relationships with Viserys that shows Viserys’ neglect and cruelty in all its glory and ends in a very satisfying way)

And then we have a few more brilliant fan fictions that I don’t really know how to sort into a category:

1. Lose your Ego by Fjlh (this series just started and is about Aegon USING HIS BRAIN and fighting for his claim. Very promising so far)

2. The sky is always red above Valyria au by Aifsaath (beautiful series of one shots about Aegon x Baela that explores the trauma of growing up with a father that maritally rapes your mother)

3. Lady Dreamfrye by Ai_Megurine (story about Sansa Stark being reborn as Helaena)

4. I’m never gonna love ( again ) by @crescenthoax (very interesting Aegon x oc fanfic )

5. My hand was the one you reached for by haught_hightower ( explores Alicent’s relationships with Criston and her children )

6. a poison tree by Juliet_Capulet ( very detailed and well written story about the younger brother of Daemon and Viserys returning to the capital with his daughter, after the death of his wife and witnessing Viserys’ brain dead decisions unraveling while forming a bond with his nieces and nephews. Full of Daemon and Viserys Bashing)

I hope you enjoy, it took me a real long while to find some of these gems

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 7

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 13.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Reader being self-conscious as usual. Some conversation about blood/vampire eating habits. But mostly this is just unabashed fluff and flirting. Summary: Allison helps you get ready for your first date with Max, and as scared as you are, you are equally excited for the night ahead. Notes: For our chapter banner this week: the White Horse Tavern! A real and very lovely place in Newport, RI. May or may not actually be owned by vampires, though...I'll have to get back to y'all on that...

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

It’s cute, utterly charming really, the way that you are currently freaking out in your bedroom. Max isn’t trying to eavesdrop, but you are being so loud that he can’t help but listen. Especially at first, when he wanted to make sure that you weren’t hurt. After the initial scream, he realizes you were panicking about the date he had formally asked you on. Deciding that visiting the dance studios deserved a little bit of flair. He had asked you if he could take you to dinner beforehand. You’re his soulmate, you deserve effort. Something that you’ve obviously received precious little from by the previous asshole in your life. For once, Max wants to make sure that you completely forget about that douchebag. Never jealous of anyone’s previous lovers, he wants to make you realize that you were just having a bad dream for the past ten plus years. Now you are awake, now you can enjoy yourself.

"Alli, you can't be serious?" Nearly clutching the dress that she brought over for you to borrow in two shaky hands, you look over the skimpy black number with trepidation. This is your fault. You know that. You're the one who went to the cheese shop at the end of her shift this afternoon to get some advice. She had sent you home to pull out your most comfortable pair of dancing shoes and swore to provide the perfect dress if you just promised to trust her. And you do trust her. She has never given you any reason not to. But this dress is short.

“Come on, it’s perfect!” She’s grinning from ear to ear, ecstatic for you and your date. It makes perfect sense now why Max had been hovering around you as a bat. You’re his soulmate. It’s so romantic, she wants to cry. “You’ll look amazing and Max will be panting to get under it!”

“It’s just the first date,” You remind her, nervous at even the mention of any kind of intimacy. Not because you don’t want Max — but maybe instead because you do and you haven’t felt that in so many years.

“The first date with your soulmate.” She reminds you with a smirk. “He’s supposed to be your perfect match, so it’s okay to put out on the first date.” She teases.

“He’s also my housemate, so if I do and that’s all he wanted from me it’s going to be awkward as hell.” It’s not that you think that of Max. It’s that the voice of doubt in your head is still loud and clear over everything else. “I’m just... I’m nervous.”

“Do you honestly think he would have joined a coven of witches at a Mabon celebration if all he wanted was the good-good?” She asks, arching a brow curiously.

“Well…no.” You snort, shaking your head at Allison. “And if you ever call it that again I won’t tell you if it actually happens.”

Laughing, Allison waggles her brows. The term was meant to disarm you and it worked. “Fine.” She huffs. “But I want details. Vampires are supposed to be incredible lovers.”

“You could always find out for yourself.” Aware of what Max had mentioned about their superior hearing, and unsure if Eddie is at home at the moment, you lower your voice measurably. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Eddie lately.”

"What?" Her lip immediately goes between her teeth and she blushes furiously. "We are just — you know — uh, collaborating for the masquerade."

“Mmhmm.” Drawing out the sound incredulously, you grin again and eye the dress in her hands. “Tell me everything and I will try the dress on. Just to see.”

"He's nice." She hands you the dress in exchange for information. "I like talking to him. He's — well, he's just so...human."

“He is very nice.” The short dress has a beautiful, flowy skirt that will be great for dancing and you disappear into your dressing room with it with trepidation. “And he likes you! It’s even obvious to me and my observation skills suck.”

"Please...." She rolls her eyes, even if you can't see her. "I think he's just being nice because he wants to join the coven."

“If that was the case, he’d be making nice with everyone, not meeting you in town to take you out for coffee.” Having found out that that was where Eddie was on the night that you and Max had been left to eat dinner together, you found that there was no possible way to be upset about it. Things with Max are…they’re moving forward in a way that makes you nervous and giddy. And whatever is growing between Eddie and Allison is obviously mutual.

She huffs and bites her lip again. "We have a lot in common and I enjoy talking with him. Even though he's been in college forever, he's still enthusiastic about learning. He's even talking about coming out to the farm."

“That sounds like fun!” Finding the zipper on Allison’s strappy black dress takes a second, but you’re able to exchange the one you’ve been wearing all day today for the one she brought for you to borrow. The deep v-neckline and cutouts in the back are more skin than you’ve shown in years but you know instinctively that it’s the kind of thing Max will love. Fashionable and daring. The kind of girl he deserves even if it’s not the kind of girl you feel like. “Okay…um…I’m coming out.”

Allison gasps as you emerge from your dressing room, nodding immediately. "It's perfect, you can't convince me otherwise. Look at yourself!" She squeals as she guides you towards a mirror.

"Kind of weird that we're the exact same size..." Even standing directly in front of the mirror you can't bring yourself to look up. To look at yourself in any kind of positive way whatsoever. It's like it's been beaten out of you as if you were a stray dog. "It fits well."

"I'd be lucky if I still fit in it." She huffs. "Too much cheese. But you, you've got such a perfect figure to pull this off."

"No such thing as 'too much cheese'," you gripe, shuffling slightly in front of the full—length mirror. You're just staring at your shoes and fighting with yourself to figure out if you're brave enough to look up. "Do you...think he'll like it?" If he does, it doesn't matter what you think anyway. Max's opinion is the only one that matters.

"I think he will love it." She assures you, reaching up and touching your shoulders. "It will restart his non-beating heart."

"Apparently only one thing can actually do that." Digging into your armoire for a sweater, you come out with one that is midnight blue and black with little gold stars stitched all over it. It's still cold out, after all, and this will help you to feel a little less exposed.

"What is that?" She's always been interested in the dynamics of vampirism but she's too polite to ask Eddie to answer her questions.

"Apparently..." Clearing your throat slightly and pulling your sweater tight around your shoulders, you glance up and meet Allison's eyes in the mirror. "A kiss from their soulmate."

"Ohhhh now that's the most romantic thing that I've ever heard." She moans, softening visibility and looking amost wistful at the thought. "Come on, Dolly, that's just so romantic."

"I told Max that it sounded like something out of a romance novel." Which is a sentiment that you stand by very firmly. "Who knows how true it is. But it's sweet to imagine."

"Maybe you will find out tonight." She offers with a sincere smile, not wanting to tease you. "I really think he likes you, Dolly. All that time as a bat, visiting you? Being near you. He was drawn to you."

"I still can't believe that was him." She knows all about those nighttime visits of course. You hadn't thought it was a big deal to tell her about the little bat that visited you, but now you see that it was all so much more important than you realized. And she had known the entire time, but never made you feel silly for not guessing. How could you?

"It's sweet." She hums, smiling again. "I want to see him again like a bat. It was so cute to see him on your shoulder, cuddling into your neck."

“He said he didn’t mind transforming again sometimes if I wanted him to.” Suddenly you feel like you should be busy again, and you move to your jewelry box out of nerves. “He knows that I found it…comfortable. But we might get a pet for the house.”

"Okay, so Max would change into a bat to comfort you, and you still wonder if he likes you?" After spending time with you, she's learned of your ex and she understands your trepidation. "I don't think you should."

“I just…” You sigh, feeling your shoulders start to curl, and you take two long breaths in and out to prevent it. “I hope I’m more than a novelty to him, that’s all. His life is so long. It’s forever and I’m not saying he has to propose or anything crazy. I just…I would like to think a person should feel important to their soulmate. I haven’t been important to anybody since my parents died.”

"You know how long Cookie lived." Allison reminds you. "You could do the same. She—" She pauses for a moment. "Her decision to no longer prolong her life was a very serious one. But until she stopped taking her soulmate's blood, she looked no older than forty."

“Why did she stop?” That has never truly made sense to you. If someone was happy with their eternal life, why on earth would they give it up?

She sighs softly. "It— a very power spell was cast. Meant to last through time until death." She explains quietly. "It was the only way to break it and it was important enough to her to break it."

“What sort of a witch would cast something that depends on life or death?” The idea strikes you as positively cruel, but of course you can’t know what the spell was or the circumstances.

"One that knew that her soulmate could provide her with immortality." Allison explains. "It was...done in anger. Hopefully regretted, but nothing I could find could break it. Cookie spent years trying to break it."

“That’s awful.” As angry as you had ever been in your life at certain people or certain circumstances, you can’t ever imagine that type of anger. Not to mention you’ve never done much spell work beyond lighting a candle or floating an object across a room. And you’re woefully out of practice at even those.

"It was...complicated." Allison hums, "from what I've heard. I never got to meet the person." She knows more of the story, Cookie confided in her in an effort to find a way to break the spell, but she wouldn't betray the woman's confidence, even in death. Especially when it was his place to explain.

“I hope that everything worked out the way she wanted it to, then. Even if she isn’t here to see it.” Concentrating on your jewelry box is the best you can do and not get upset for no reason — but something about the whole situation just makes you overwhelmingly sad.

Allison bites her lip but just makes a non-committal sound. “So where is Max taking you for dinner?” Wanting to change the subject, but also genuinely curious as to your first date details.

“He said there was a vampire-owned restaurant on the island that was really nice.” When you had insisted that dinner wasn’t necessary because he didn’t need to eat food, he had come back with the alternative of a restaurant that also discreetly served blood to discerning patrons. That had been enough to make you agree. “It’s…a tavern? The White Horse Tavern?”

She’s impressed. Whistling lowly, she nods. “It’s only the oldest tavern in the country.” She tells you with a grin. “Super swanky, so it sounds like Max is wanting to do things right. Dinner, dancing….” She sighs. “Sounds incredibly romantic for a first date.”

“He really…he doesn’t have to make a big deal out of it.” And you had told Max that, but he had only shaken his head and told you the restaurant would be perfect. “It’s very romantic, but I guess I’m just…a little worried I won’t live up to it. And I would hate to disappoint him.”

“Why would you disappoint him?” She asks. “He knows you. This isn’t a blind date.”

The irony of that observation makes you laugh dryly, and you turn to look at her instead of searching for earrings. "It was supposed to be," you tell her honestly. "We were supposed to go on a blind date. In college."

“Really?” Her eyes widen. “What happened? Why didn’t you go? You mean you could have known Max this entire time?”

“He had an emergency that night. He couldn’t come.” There is such an ache in your heart realizing that — if things had been different — he could have graduated as a human and you could have been together for ten years already. “Everything could have been so different.”

“Do you—” she pauses for a moment. “Do you resent him for that? Because of being with your ex?”

“No.” Surprisingly enough, that answer is easy. It isn’t Max’s fault that Derek was in that bar that night. He had his life turned upside down in a completely different way. “I just wonder what the second chance will be like.”

“While Max can be cocky, he’s also more mature than he would have been ten years ago.” Allison tells you. “So I think it will be very good for both of you.”

"I hope so." That hope is a long buried feeling for you, and while you feel silly for admitting it...Allison has never been anything but welcoming, friendly, and supportive with you. She's the friend you had dearly missed having for all these years. "I'm different than I used to be, too. I just hope we're not too different."

“Eddie told me that Max, uh, he had a second chance.” Allison admits. “That he lost all his scars? So if you had changed too much, wouldn’t your birthmark never reappear?”

Startled by the solid logic of that thought, you almost reel backward, standing up a little straighter in surprise. "I guess...I never thought of it like that."

She smiles, happy that she could reassure you in some small way. “Then remember that the universe chose you as his soulmate, twice.”

"What about your soulmate?" She's never talked about it before but you feel like this is the time to ask if there is ever going to be one.

“I don’t think I have one.” She admits quietly. “I’ve never had scars, birthmarks or anything.” She shrugs. “Some people don’t.”

"Maybe your soulmate just didn't want to mark you up because they already know you're perfect just as you are." Of course, Allison is right. Some people just don't have soulmates. But that kind of loneliness is not something you would ever wish on anyone as kind as she is.

“Who knows?” She’s very doubtful of that, but it’s sweet that you would want to comfort her. “It just means that I get to enjoy everyone else finding their soulmates.”

“And you can make your own decision for your life. Whatever that decision turns out to be.” There is a matching set of jewelry in your box — a necklace and earrings that all bear golden crescent moon pendants with a little blue stone hanging like a star inside it — and you pick those out to wear tonight. “My parents weren’t soulmates, you know. They just loved each other. Fiercely and with everything they had. Just because someone isn’t your soulmate doesn’t mean they’re not going to be good for you.”

“They weren’t?” She asks curiously, tilting her head in shock.

“No.” The earrings slide into place easily and the matching necklace is a comfort, making you feel a little less exposed in the outfit you’re wearing. Makeup is the last touch. “They met at my mother’s work. She was a librarian and Dad was doing research for his doctoral thesis. She dropped a book that she was trying to get off a high shelf and he picked it up for her. That was that. They were inseparable for the rest of their lives.”

“That’s so sweet. They were both witches too?” She remembers you talking about being raised a witch, but didn’t want to assume.

“My dad was a Bishop on his mother’s side.” It was always a point of pride for him, to be descended from one of the Salem witches, and so it is for you as well. “Mom didn’t know her family, but she was a witch by her own devices, I guess.”

“Was she adopted?” She wonders, asking delicately.

“She never really talked about it.” Which had always struck you as strange, and then was downright inconvenient later in life. “She used to call Dad’s parents her adoptive family and stuff like that. We weren’t close to them, though. I guess they didn’t like that he moved away from Massachusetts, but they liked Mom well enough. They were everything I had and then…they were gone.”

“That’s so horrible. I’m so sorry. I know that it’s hard to lose a parent.” She murmurs softly. “Even worse to lose both at the same time.”

“That’s…kind of why this has been so nice,” you admit, turning to look at Allison again. “I know I didn’t know Cookie. And that we were only loosely related. But it’s kind of like getting my family back. Or as close to it as I’ll ever come, anyway.”

Allison reaches out and takes your hand. "I hope that you know that we will happily be your family. Found family is the ones that you love the most."

The sincerity of the moment cracks something tight in your chest, and before you know it you’re pulling Allison in and hugging her tightly, just willing yourself not to shed tears into her oversized sweater. “Thank you.” Two shattered words, but they are the best you can do at first. Until you manage a deep breath and huff out a half—laugh before pulling away again. “You’ve been so kind to me right from the start. All of you have. And I can’t possibly say how grateful I am. It’s…well, it’s been years since I’ve had a close friend and you’re just…you’re the sweetest woman in the whole world.”

"I felt that you had the kindest energy." She admits, "just that you were...lost. But now it seems that you have found yourself. You are finding yourself, who you are meant to be."

“Whoever that ends up being,” you squeeze her shoulder gently. “I owe her, at least in part, to you.”

"No." She shakes her head, smiling at you as if you were the most precious thing. "You have done this all on your own. You just let are letting her shine through."

“You’re the sweetest person in the whole world.” And she’s yet one more unexpected part of this whole wonderful situation, which you find yourself grateful for all over again. “You should go see if Eddie is home, honey. No sense in letting him sit at home alone while Max and I are out, right?”

She bites her lip again, a habit of hers when you mention Eddie. "I think I will." She decides with a small grin. "Wish me luck."

“Good luck.” Although you don’t think she’s going to need it. Not when it comes to Eddie.

"Do you want me to help you finish getting ready?" She offers, tilting her head playfully.

“It’s just my makeup left, and I can manage that.” The vintage purse you’ll be taking is already packed, and a moment alone to remind your reflection that this is a good thing, not something to be afraid of would probably be good. “Go and have your own fun night, honey. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”

She turns to walk slowly to the door. Turning at the entryway and watching you as you admire or maybe critique your looks in the mirror. "You look amazing and I know tonight will be perfect." She predicts with a wink. "Let me know if you are still up for brunch tomorrow or if you need some recovery time."

“There will be nothing to recover from.” Still, you shoo her toward the door playfully and smile when she worries her bottom lip between her teeth again but makes her way straight across the second floor hall, through the shortcut to Eddie’s room.

******

Max checks his suit, feeling slightly guilty that you are so worked up. Maybe he should have eased you into this. Maybe something more low key was what you are interested in. The flowers he had bought are already sitting in a vase, at Mrs. Taylor’s insistence, and he wonders if he should even give them to you.

Sitting down at your vanity, the clock says five minutes until you promised Max you would be ready and you line up your makeup and brushes with practiced precision. Nothing can or will go wrong tonight, you have told yourself over and over all day long. It is far too important. But the moment you look up at your mirror, your eyes connect with the carnival photo booth snapshot of you and your mother from when you were twelve years old, and you breathe a soft sigh. “You’d like him,” you promise your mother out loud. “He’s sweet. And doesn’t like it when I get in my own way. Which is…it’s a relief.”

Max decides that he will bring you the flowers. Every woman deserves romance, especially from her soulmate. He gives you another minute before he’s knocking on the door, not wanting to rush you, there’s plenty of time built into the night.

The knock is a nice gesture, given that you both know what tonight is and he knows you’re inside. Still, you exhale slowly and open your bedroom door exactly the same as if it had been the front door of your house that he was picking you up at. The suit he picked out is immaculate, with a crisp, clean shirt and no tie to make it a little less formal. And you had meant to compliment him when you opened the door. You really had. But all the comes out is a soft “Wow…” instead.

He chuckles, charmed by your honest reaction. “Is that for me or the flowers?” He asks, holding them up for you to see properly.

“Can it be both?” You ask, embarrassed to admit that you hadn’t even noticed the flowers until he held them up.

“I’ll take that.” He flashes you a grin before he slowly peruses your dress with appraisal.

“If you don’t like it, I can change.” The offer is immediate, unable to read his expression and figure out whether or not he approves of your borrowed dress.

"Don't you dare." He insists, frowning at the mere idea of you changing. "You look...stunning. I don't know if I should change. Make myself more presentable."

“More presentable?” Huffing at him even as you step aside to let him into your room for a moment, you just shake your head. “That suit would make Frank Sinatra jealous. You couldn’t possibly look more presentable.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, have you looked in the mirror tonight?” He asks as he sets the flowers down and turns to you to take your hands and holds them wide to get a better look. “You are breathtaking and that’s saying something, coming from a vampire.”

“Allison let me borrow it,” you admit, feeling your cheeks heat almost uncontrollably at the compliment. “She, um…she helped me get ready. Now she’s going to spend some time with Eddie while we’re out.” It makes you feel less guilty to know neither of them will be lonely. The idea that your happiness comes last has been pervasive for a long time, but you’re trying to be cognizant of it. To shake it.

“Well, she needs to help you spend some of that money buying flirty, fun dresses like this to wear.” He hums. “Because I can see having regular dinner and dancing dates with you.”

“I’ll have to tell her you approve. And the flowers are beautiful, by the way.” The burst of red, orange, and yellow that now sits on your nightstand is brilliant, and you pick up your purse from beside it. “Are you ready to go?”

“Whenever you are, Queenie.” His hand hovers for a split second before resting on your lower back. Guiding you towards the door of your rooms. The door that he had left open to make sure you were comfortable. Just because he lives here doesn’t mean he will impose.

Shutting the door behind you and heading for the stairs, you can hear the soft sound of laughter from Eddie's room. It sounds like they're going to have a wonderful night ahead of them and you note with interest that even though you don't feel any warmth from Max's hand on our back there is still a solid presence there beside you. "How was work today?" Instead of dwelling, you turn all of your attention to Max, wanting to hear anything and everything he has to tell you about his workday.

“It was pretty good, I have a new line on another business deal. Hopefully it will pan out. What did you do besides worry about tonight?” He asks curiously.

He does have a point. You went panicking to Allison, after all. But you smile at the question anyway. "Mrs. Taylor and I nailed down the menu for the masquerade this morning."

“Oh really?” His brow shoots up and he grins. “And what will we be feasting on during the masquerade?”

"The menus that she had mocked up were seven, ten, and twelve courses." As much as you had respected the dedication to the Gilded Age theme, it had seemed a little too much to you and eventually you and your vampiric housekeeper had whittled the ideas down to the best of four courses. "It will be potato leek soup, a fish course with asparagus and hollandaise, chicken...something or other...I think she said it's called Lyonnaise? With mashed potatoes as the main course, and then champagne and strawberry cake for dessert that she said was Cookie's favourite. It felt like a nice way to pay tribute to her." Of course there was discussion of vegetarian options being needed, but when tickets are bought people will have the chance to indicate that they don't eat meat and then that bridge will be crossed when necessary.

“And I am assuming that there is an assortment of finger foods that will be served between dances?” He asks, amused by the dedication.

"According to Mrs. Taylor, it should be several different kinds of drinks and a few sweets to choose from on a buffet table in the dining room." The immense amount of work had shocked you when Mrs. Taylor had laid the whole thing out, but she assured you that she and Renee had everything in hand with just a little extra help from Mr. Taylor and Mr. Finchley. "Then, of course, there's the breakfast for whoever is still left at sunrise."

“This is going to be an amazing night for Newport.” He predicts. “Like nothing they’ve seen for years. I bet they will be clamoring for it to become an annual event.”

"Hopefully it's not too much on Mrs. Taylor and Renee. They're both very excited but it sounds like a whole lot of work to me." At the bottom of the stairs, Max opens the door for you and ushers you through with a smile. "If it becomes something annual I'm going to insist on having extra help for her next year. I know they're both...superhuman, but they shouldn't have to overdo it."

“You know they don’t even break a sweat, right?” He asks as he moves his hand from your back to offer his arm to escort you down the steps.

"They can still only do one thing at a time. Four people cooking for that many guests is a tall order for anyone." He acts like it's the most natural thing in the world to escort you down the front steps and out the front door like a perfect gentleman. Meanwhile you are all but swooning at his side over just the simple act of having an arm offered to you.

“That woman loves to care for people.” He reminds you with a chuckle. “I would say she lives for it, but we both know that’s not true.”

"She exists for it?" You offer with a soft chuckle.

“That’s the way to put it.” Max chuckles and opens the front door to show that his car has been brought forward. Waiting for you.

So far all you've done is walk to his car together but already you feel like a princess. Maybe the bar is set a little too low, or maybe he's doing all the right things — you really can't tell. What you do know, as Max closes the passenger side door and rounds the hood of his car in less than the blink of an eye to get in beside you, is that this is definitely how you always dreamed of dates starting out.

Max buckles his seatbelt and looks over at you with a slight smile. “Are you ready, Queenie?” He asks softly. “If you want to go home at any time, you let me know.”

He's being so gentle with you that it's heartbreaking and heartwarming all at once. The idea that you need to be handled with such a soft touch is a little embarrassing, but the fact that he is being so caring without any kind of request or even indication on your part is just...well, it's just about the sweetest thing you've ever heard in your life. "I'm okay," you promise him, reaching out to put your hand softly over his on the gear shift. "I know you heard me being anxious earlier, but I've been looking forward to this since you asked." And more than that, you've been looking forward to a first date with your soulmate for your entire life.

“Good.” Max hums, turning his hand so you can slide your fingers through his if you want. “I want you to enjoy yourself. There’s no expectations for tonight. No pressure. I just want you to have a night that we should have had ten years ago.”

"Ten years ago it would have been chicken wings and a jukebox in a bar." Which isn't a bad thing, but it isn't what you dreamed of. What you've dreamed of is much closer to this: your fingers fitting neatly through his as he pulls away from the house on your way to a beautiful dinner and a night of dancing. "Let's call tonight the...grown up version."

“The grown up version.” Max hums as he pulls out onto the street. “Well, it’s a good thing then. I wouldn’t have known how to dance then.” He reminds you. “Now I can waltz with you properly.”

“To be honest I never assumed my soulmate would be a dancer.” It’s a perk, obviously. And one that you hold very dear after so many years without dance in your life. But never something you considered mandatory. “It’s like the icing on a cake I already know I like.”

“I think that it’s complementary.” He agrees. “It’s something that we can do together. And neither one of us has to pretend to like it.”

“What else do you like to do?” Other than his work, and having a few things in common like reading and dancing, it occurs to you that you don’t know much about him.

Max smirks. “I like to play poker.” He admits. “There’s this monthly game I’m in. High stakes, pretty much a two day event.”

“High risk, high reward.” Just like his sales deals, you note. He’s mentioned some of them being for upwards of a few million dollars. “I can’t say I’ve ever been great at cards but I do like to play sometimes.”

“Maybe we can play sometime?” He offers. “There’s some lower stakes games, just for fun.”

“I used to play poker for M&Ms with my Dad,” you admit, smiling at the memory. “Any game can be lower stakes if you let it.”

He chuckles, knowing that is true and refrains from offering to play strip poker. “What else did you do with your dad?”

“He liked to paint.” It’s been a long time since you’ve talked about your parents to anyone, but since coming to Newport your family and your past has seemed more relevant than ever. Almost like they had gone on a terribly long vacation instead of being violently ripped from you the summer before you started college. “He would take me to art museums and was the only Dad in my Mommy and Me Painting Class when I was little. We’d play card games and board games and plan all the trips around the world that we would take when I got older.” The last memory makes you shrug, eyes cast down at the floor of Max’s sports car. “We never got to take any of the trips we planned, but it was a fun way to pass a rainy day. It made me think for a while that I could be a travel agent when I grew up.”

“I’m sorry that you didn’t get to travel.” Max tells you quietly, wishing he had some memories like that with his parents. Maybe it would have made it easier when he was alone. But he doubts it. “You should travel.” He tells you. “Go all the places you planned with him. A remembrance trip once a year maybe.”

“I’m not very good at being alone.” Maybe it’s why you stayed with Derek so long. Maybe it isn’t. You can’t be too sure either way, but you know that being lonely is one of your least favourite feelings in the world. “But maybe I’ll try. If…there isn’t someone to come with me, I mean.”

“You don’t have to be alone, Queenie.” Max promises. “There’s your coven, I’m sure any one of them would love to go on a trip with you. Eddie loves to travel and of course, I will go wherever you wanted anytime.”

"You say 'of course' like it's the easiest thing in the world." Your fingers curl around his palm instinctively, afraid to let go of him now that you're allowed to be close in any small way. "But it...it means everything."

“You are my soulmate.” He stresses quietly. “Even if platonic soulmates was all you wanted, I would want to spend time with you.”

"It's not." He's pulled up to a stoplight on Bellevue, and even though your voice is quiet, it's sure. You're just not quite strong enough to look up at him while you say it. "It's...not at all what I want. I just need you to be patient with me. While I...I don't know...figure out how to not be so scared anymore."

“I have eternity.” He reminds you with a grin, wishing he could banish the sadness and fear in your eyes. “And you can have that too.”

"That's a very big offering considering it's only our first date." Trying for a little bit of humor — to lift your own spirits as well as his — you squeeze his hand again when the light turns and he pulls through the intersection. "Let's see how we feel about living in the same house and dancing together and maybe we'll talk about eternity after that. Sound good?"

He squeezes your hand gently. “That sounds like a good idea. Sometimes I get ahead of myself.” He winks before he looks back at the road.

******

It takes a whole six minutes to get from the front gate of Chateau-sur-Mer to the White Horse Tavern, according to the clock on the dashboard of Max's Lexus, and when he pulls into the parking lot the place seems to be completely full to the brim. There's no loud music or bright lights like you might have expected at some place called a tavern, but instead there are people in very smart clothes streaming in and out of the building alternately — and once you're inside there are white tablecloths and lovely candles on every table.

“Now you see why I thought of this place.” He murmurs in your ear, his hand on your back again. Not possessive, but protective. Guiding you up to the host stand. “Reservation for Phillips, table for two.” He responds slightly smug when asked for his name. He is smug about having you here, proud that this date is happening. Eager to learn more about his pretty soulmate.

"Right this way." The hostess smiles politely and leads the way, bringing the two of you to a table in the corner surrounded by other chattering couples on dates enjoying the warm glow of romantic candlelight.

As soon as you are seated, the sommelier comes over. “Good evening.” He smiles charmingly. “May I interest you in our vast selection of reds?” He asks, aware that this reservation includes a vampire who would be wanting a glass of their blood infused wine. Without even looking at you, Max shakes his head. “No thank you.” He hums. “My soulmate and I do not drink.” Even if you had said you are okay with it, Max is aware that anything resembling alcohol could stress you and that’s the last thing he wants tonight.

"Max." His hand is on the table and you put yours on top of it, giving it a squeeze like you did in the car. "It's okay. I promise." What he needs to sustain him and what you need are two vastly different things, and you are not going to be the reason that he skips having blood with this meal and ends up...weak or sick or whatever happens to vampires when they don't get enough blood.

He shakes his head seriously. “I was an asshole at the beginning about it.” He admits. “I didn’t know and there are are options here, just like Mrs. Taylor’s menus for us.”

“…very sweet of you.” Only the end of the sentence is really audible, mostly because you’re so dumbfounded by the idea that he is putting you before and above himself. In your whole life, maybe only your parents have ever done that for you.

The sommelier just gives a confused smile and nods, drifting away from the table. “I didn’t embarrass you, did I?” Max asks, frowning at the shock on your face. He had hoped you would appreciate his gesture, and he wasn’t doing it to show off, he genuinely wanted you to feel comfortable tonight with him.

“Not at all.” The slightly misty look on your face is from how touched you are at the gesture. “I just…you know I’m not used to anyone doing things for me. Emotionally, I mean. Or any other way. I still feel like apologizing every time Mrs. Taylor makes a meal or Renee makes clean clothes magically appear in my room. But you…” With a soft sigh and shake of your head, you offer him a smile. One where you actually manage to look him in the eyes. “I always thought I would be the one taking care of my soulmate with whatever he needed. But you’re the one taking care of me.”

He wants to chuckle, but he can’t. Now when your eyes practically hypnotize him. He’s never felt a pull like that and he shakes his head slowly. “We take care of each other.” He reminds you, “head scratches?”

“Are you asking or reminding?” Either way, the smile on your face gets broader and you can feel that growing familiar feeling of warmth in your cheeks.

“Reminding you.” He grins back at you and winks. “It’s probably the most relaxed I’ve ever gotten as a vampire.”

“Then we’ll have to make it a regular thing.” You can promise him that. The seemingly little promises mean so much when they all stack up together.

“That would be nice, but only if you enjoy it as well.” He knows that you might just agree to keep him happy and that’s the last thing he wants.

"Do I enjoy sitting with my soulmate's head in my lap, seeing him terribly relaxed while I read a book or we watch tv together?" This time when you laugh it's just one huffed chuckle, and it's in near disbelief. "Honestly? It might be the closest to bliss I've been in years."

He smiles at that, squeezing your hand again. “Good.” He hums, nodding towards your menu. “Take a look and see what you want to eat, Queenie, we have dancing later on.”

You don't even have to ask to know that he'll be ordering steak tonight, and as rare as possible. The habit makes perfect sense to you now and you'll never say another word about it. The menu is high-end gourmet and apparently all locally sourced from the list of farms on the bottom of the menu, and for a moment you feel tremendously out of place again until you glance up to find Max smiling at you. And that one little act, that seemingly coincidental timing and easy gesture, has another layer of anxiety and fear slipping away from your heart as easily as water drips down a window. "I've discovered I like duck," you confide after a few minutes of looking over the options. "I had never had it before, but Mrs. Taylor is a miracle worker. Do you think theirs will be as good as hers?"

“Doubtful.” He snorts, shaking his head. “Not unless Mrs. Taylor is moonlighting as the chef here.” He jokes. “She has been to practically every chef’s school in the world in her lifetime.”

“She should be teaching at them. Or opening one of her own.” You know, though, that she would never be as happy teaching as she is taking care of people. It’s a lovely thought, though.

“Never happen.” He promises. “Mrs. Taylor is vowed, willingly—” he adds because he knows you might think otherwise. “— to serve your family line for eternity.”

“She’ll be free to do whatever she wants soon enough, then,” you remind him gently. “We’re not exactly going to be populating that house with little half-vamps.”

“Except you can have an absurdly long life, even as a human.” He points out, sure you haven’t even thought about it.

“I—” Technically, he’s correct. You could have as long a life as Cookie did or even longer. But you can’t even fathom that he would want to spend months or years with you, let along decades or centuries. “That is…something we’ll talk about together. You and I.”

“Okay.” He won’t push, it’s just the first date, after all. Instead of continuing on the same vein, he looks around the tavern. “So, who do you think is a vampire?” He asks playfully.

“Hmmm.” A game is definitely something you can get behind, and you look around the crowded dining room full of well dressed patrons with the air of someone who knows exactly what they’re looking for instead of just being the clueless little human that you are. “I’m going to say…” your eyes fall on an impeccably well-dressed man in an elaborate suit and his pale dinner companion in her lace dress. “Those two. Aaand…the table of four over by the fireplace. I think the girl is introducing her new beau to her sires.”

Max lifts a brow, impressed by the fact that you have clock that correctly. “Good eyes.” He chuckles. “The two are, she’s a baby vamp, too.”

“It turns out that once I realized I was surrounded by vamps, it got easier to see the differences.” There is also a particular, peculiar way that they hold themselves — that all vampires seem to hold themselves. As if they have innumerable secrets. And the older they are, the more secrets they accumulate. Which, you suppose, must be true after a point.

“Really?” That makes him sit up slightly. “What differences?”

“I don’t know if I can describe it properly.” For a moment you pause, when the waiter arrives to bring you both water and ask if you’d like an appetizer. Max orders the specialty charcuterie board and you have to imagine that there are raw things involved for him as well as the regular cheeses and spreads for humans. “It’s like…your shoulders are always a little straighter. Your gaze is more direct. And there’s something…I dunno…elegant? Maybe? In the way you all move. Like it takes so much less effort or you’ve maximized the economy of all of those movements somehow. I can’t describe it properly.”

He smirks slightly and leans in. “We are elegant?” He asks, intrigued by the fact that you are not scared. Perhaps even enjoying that he is a vampire.

“Of course you are elegant, but I didn’t notice until after that you all sort of…have a certain grace.” Shrugging self-consciously, you do notice that he doesn’t let your hand slip away from his on the table. “It probably sounds funny,” you murmur in defeat.

“It doesn’t. It’s actually— I think it might be the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.” He confesses. “People always say ‘you’re hot’ or ‘I want you’ but no one ever tells me I’m elegant.”

“You are hot.” The admission comes with screaming hot cheeks and eyes trained back down at the table, but it’s true. “I thought so the first time I saw you…”

There’s a hint of heat in his smirk, not nearly as play—boyish as it might have once been. “Glad you thought I was hot.” He hums proudly. “Sexual attraction is key to a healthy romantic relationship.”

“And you’ll always look that way.” It’s not a fun thought to have, but you’ve had it twice already. He will always be young and handsome, and you will inevitably get old — even if you choose long life it will still happen eventually.

He snorts. “We age just not as fast as humans do.” He admits.

“So slowly that it’s imperceptible?” It’s a guess, but you nod your head in understanding. “I’ll get everything down eventually, I promise. This is all still…just days’ old information to me.”

“I don’t expect you to be an expert, sweetheart.” Max tuts. “Hell, I’m still learning about vampires.” He flashes you a grin. “And I’ve been one a lot longer than days.”

"What do you like about it?" You ask, looking at your connected hands before you look back up at him. "There must be something you like about the change."

“Smell is better, hearing is better.” Max shrugs slightly. “I’m a better version of myself.” He snort slightly. “The no need for sleep helped when getting my MBA.”

“It certainly gives you more time to get things done.” Thinking on it for even a second though, you laugh a little. “If I had had that in college I think I would’ve done twice as many competitions and probably added a second major, just because I could.”

He chuckles and winks at you, “That’s my girl.” He hums fondly, not even thinking about it until it comes out of his mouth, but you are his girl.

Finding it fond instead of possessive — as the comment would have been from the last person who might have bothered to call you such a thing — hearing it from Max actually makes you proud. Maybe neither of you is perfect, but you seem to fit together in all the right ways. Maybe that's all that soulmates are, ultimately. Just two people — or in this case a witch and a vampire — who fit together just right.

The meal is ordered and it’s a delightful surprise that there’s no lull in the conversation. Beyond ballroom dancing, at your core, your values match up. At least, Max’s values now, after the incident with Evan. Shockingly enough, he tells you about it.

"I can't believe that's even possible." The ordeal with his former friend, roommate, and coworker aside, the way Max describes what was basically his return from complete obliteration is just wild. "It sounds like...like magic...if I'm honest. Your sire managed to bring you back from...nothing." From his description, he was less than a undead body at that point. Something terrifying to imagine and terrible to contemplate. The idea that your soulmate could have been completely lost to you isn't exactly knew considering you thought it was dead, but knowing the truth makes it feel even more terrible. "If I ever meet your sire, I'm going to have to thank him."

“I have no doubt you will.” Max wonders when the old man will reveal himself to you. What his end game is. He always had one, that’s certain. “I am starting to figure out why I was brought back.”

"You think he had an ulterior motive?" You would think it would be enough just to be able to save his family, but you don't really know how loyal vampiric families are to each other.

“Absolutely.” His answer is instantaneous. Resolute. While he doesn’t know the details of why he was brought back, he had been for one reason.

"You're very certain of that." Which does, you admit, surprise you. "I take it he's not a sharing kind of guy? He didn't clue you in on why?"

“My sire is…an enigma.” Max admits, almost fondly. He has often been envious of the elder vampire’s flair and mystique. “He is legendary among vampires and I’m not so certain he doesn’t divulge information because it is his nature or as a way to play into his reputation.”

"Maybe it's both?" The two of you are still sitting at the table with intertwined hands even after your demolished appetizer has been cleared away. It's so unexpectedly sweet that it makes you feel a little bit...gooey. Like you might melt right into your plush upholstered seat. "Maybe the reputation came because he has a little flair for the dramatic, and now he just likes to play into it and keep it going? You said he's quite old now, right? Maybe it amuses him."

“Yes. That is probably a lot of it.” He agrees. “You will like him I think.”

"Are you saying I have a flair for the dramatic?" Raising one eyebrow and shooting him a grin, you can't help but smile along with him. You did, once, have a wicked dramatic side. Inherited from your mother and dearly cherished. It was an endless source of amusement.

“You ballroom dance and you love reality tv shows.” He snorts playfully. “Of course you have a flair for the dramatic. I can’t wait to see you show out at the masquerade.”

"If you think I'm bad with Dancing with the Stars, wait until you see me on a 90 Day Fiancé binge." That really only happens when you hit your cycle, but it's still a sight to see — you tucked up in your bed under three blankets with a bowl of popcorn and a box of tissues crying about love is just...a side of you that you normally keep hidden. But somehow you have a feeling that Max would understand.

“Yeah? Who’s your favorite couple?” Max asks curiously. “I like Angela and Mike, but sometimes she’s toooo much, you know what I mean?” He spends a lot of nights binge watching things, since it’s not like he sleeps and unfortunately, not many human businessmen work after midnight.

The way you just stare at him is nearly comical, like your brain hasn’t quite caught up with you yet, and when it finally goes you realize your mouth has been open and you snap it shut like the little boy from Mary Poppins. “I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised,” you huff, laughing softly at your own reaction. “We should have things in comments. Soulmates and all that…”

“Babe, I’m also a little dramatic shit.” He confesses with a chuckle. “I mean, who really changes into a bat to spend time with someone because your over-the-top douchbaggery has made them uncomfortable, but you’re intrigued by them?” He asks, making it seem like he is the total asshole he believes he is.

“That’s…pretty true.” And it draws another laugh from you just imagining the thought process he went through to even think of doing it in the first place. “I have to admit, though. It made me feel like the missing goth Disney Princess and I kind of loved that.”

“I’m happy to make that secret fantasy come true.” He grins, nearly beaming proudly at the idea of sparking some inner desire. “And as a bat, I can actually sleep?”

“Compacting a big vampire into a tiny bat body must take a lot of effort.” Or, at least, you imagine it does. It’s more or less breaking the known laws of physics, after all.

“It does.” Max admits with a slight shrug. He will minimize the idea of the energy it expels because he doesn’t want you to ever feel bad for wanting the bat to cuddle.

“Well, you only need to worry about all that energy when you want to, now,” you insist, being respectfully nonspecific because you can see the waiter approaching your table with your dinners. “You never need to be anything besides yourself with me.”

“I appreciate that.” He wonders if you are so accepting and accommodating because of the past relationship or if it was just you. “I hope you’re hungry, this place is supposed to have amazing food.”

It would be cheesy or clingy or just too much to tell him that you’re actually disappointed the food is here because you have to stop holding his hand. You sit back though, politely thanking the waiter and letting your mouth water over how good everything looks and smells when your plates are set down. “Thank you for this,” you murmur when the waiter has gone again, looking tentatively back toward Max’s face. “We didn’t have to do anything at all and knowing you’re my soulmate would have already made the time we spend together special. But this is…it’s really beautiful. And I’ll never forget it.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part of the night.” He promises with a small wink. “Before I’m through with you, your body will be sore and you’ll be breathless.” It sounds dirty, but he’s talking about dancing.

“Max.” Your cheeks burn at the innuendo but you can’t even pretend to dislike the feeling. For the first time in…maybe years, you’re free to let yourself enjoy life. And that’s all thanks to him. Let night really might be the first time you’ve considered masturbating in longer than you would like to admit. And that is thanks to Max, too.

“What?” He tuts playfully, fully aware that your heartbeat has sped up. “Dancing should make you sore and breathless if you’re doing it right.”

“Sure.” But the thought is there, and the playful, bubbly, flirtatious woman that you used to be a long time ago floats the surface unchecked. “Dancing definitely does that,” you agree, tucking a smirk into the corner of your mouth.

“So many dances.” He likes that you are flirting back. Your eyes are practically sparkling with mischief and it’s miles apart from the scared mouse he had met when you arrived. “Tango, waltz, horizontal hustle, foxtrot.” He ticks them off on his fingers like he’s doing down a list.

The mention of horizontal hustle warms you through with a flush of embarrassment and — admittedly — arousal and you pick up your fork very properly without the smirk ever leaving your face. “The girls I danced with always called it ‘getting a new tango partner’ when they started seeing someone new. Slightly more discreet of them, considering our teachers were mostly prim middle-aged ladies.”

He hums, amused by the phrase and he runs his tongue over his teeth, toying with his incisor. “It’s allllll in the hips.”

It shouldn’t be sexy, the way you know for a fact that his teeth are certified weapons and he is just casually running his tongue over them…it makes you wonder just what his tongue might feel like running over other things. “Hips,” you hum, watching him lick his lips subtly. You can’t tell if he did it on purpose or not but it’s distracting as all hell. “I’ll remember that.”

“You do that, Queenie.” He winks at you and scoops up his fork to steal a bite of your food from your plate. He’s not going to eat it. God no, it’s too cooked for his liking, but he turns the fork around and offers you the bite. “Tell me how it tastes.” Despite not liking human food now, he misses the tastes of things.

He can absolutely hear your pulse, there’s no way he can’t when it’s pounding in your ears like a hammer. But putting your lips around his fork is perilously close to put your lips around something else of his and you close your eyes against just how tantalizing that thought is when you’re seemingly getting your sex drive back all at once.

He bites his lip when you moan, taking the bite of food. Sure that you are completely unaware of how erotic it sounds. Knowing that you aren’t trying to entice him, but just like that natural curiosity to know more about you, that attraction is something he’s helpless against. All he can do is control his reaction.

“I know you’re not big on this kind of food anymore, but that’s fantastic.” You tell him, letting the flavour linger on your tastebuds happily. Truly good food is such a luxury that you have a hard time imagining giving it up, but that’s just you.

“I used to love all kinds of food.” Max admits with a guilty grin. “Favorite thing was trying new restaurants. New foods.”

“I hate that that isn’t fun for you anymore.” To lose one of life’s simple pleasures is a shame, even if the tradeoff has many more benefits.

“It’s okay.” Max hums slightly. “I can taste what the human donor has eaten through their blood.” He admits with a grin. “Although it’s a little muted since the blood is chilled and reheated.”

“So…if it was warm from the source…it would be better?” Trying to understand the logistics of his vampirism is going to be key for you, and that means even the parts that don’t seem very savory to talk about.

“Yeah.” He shrugs slightly. “I don’t look for donors anymore.” He explains. “If someone were to offer? I might would have taken them up on it before the other night, but I wouldn’t now.”

“Is it…” As the two of you start to eat in earnest, it almost feels like the conversation should have trended this way. You are, after all, talking about his survival. “Is it a very…meaningful connection? Is that why?”

“It’s….” He pauses for a moment. “Intimate. Almost sensual to the point of turning sexual.” He looks at you intently, his eyes drilling into yours and he hopes that doesn’t offend you. “There’s nothing more intimate than taking a part of someone into your own body, right?”

“I suppose I never thought of it like that before.” Before a few days ago you had honestly never given it much thought at all, but knowing what you know now? You spend almost all of your thoughts on the subject.

“It doesn’t hurt much.” He promises, thinking you might be worried about donors. “Just a sharp pinch and then it feels good. But I won’t be drinking from anyone, I think that’s not fair when you have a soulmate.”

“It’s really that intimate?” From what he’s said, it suddenly makes much more sense to you why people would succumb to the feeling quickly, and you nod when he looks at you meaningfully. “If it’s something I’m ever going to consider, I want to know about it,” you explain. “That’s all.”

“I would never ask.” He doesn’t want you to feel like he expecting you to become his meal plan. “I hope you know that.”

******

Dinner passes with slightly lighter conversation, where you learn that you both like fall and winter better than spring and summer, and that Max used to love cookies more than anything other dessert.

The dance studio that you go to is run by a very sweet woman called Miss Valerie — who apparently named the studio for herself — and is full of all sorts of different people when you and Max are ushered into the main studio for free dancing. A laptop in the corner is playing a personalized playlist and there is a card table with drinks and snacks in a different corner which looked like some people had added to upon their arrivals. It was a night of chit chat — as soon as people heard about the masquerade they instantly wanted to know every detail — but it was fun, too. Max stayed by your side, talking up the masquerade and excusing you from conversation to dance a little more when he sensed you getting nervous.

Dancing with Max might be even better now that you know he’s your soul mate. His gentleness and steady presence leading you through every dance is mixed with so much care that you could just about cry, but there is a mounting otherness in every touch that can only be compared to the first time you allowed yourself to explore any kind of sexuality. Like you’re waking up, and instead of curiosity being what drives your own fingers in the night, it will be the memory of hearing Max’s voice in your ear or feeling his touch on your skin. He had even lifted you a few times in certain dances and it was the most literal sweeping off your feet you could ever possibly contemplate. By the time he pulls into the driveway it’s so late that you’ve lost track of the hour completely but you know you’re going to keep holding his hand until the very last second.

“I think I’ve kept Cinderella out past midnight.” Max teases as he cuts the engine. “But lucky me, you haven’t turned into a pumpkin yet.”

“No.” There’s a note of bashfulness in the way you shake your head, even though you feel bolder tonight than you have in years. “I wouldn’t dare. How could I dance with you again if I was a pumpkin?”

He grins, his teeth flashing white in the darkness of the car. “That would be such a shame, Queenie.”

“It really would be.” Dancing with Max had been like floating on water, and your face burns with pleasure and embarrassment remembering even half an hour ago.

“Would you like to keep dancing?” He asks, bringing your hand to his lips. Anyone else, it would be an innuendo for something else, but with you, he’s asking if you want him to take you to the ballroom. He had loved every second of you being in his arms and of dancing was the only way, he would dance all night.

“Am I a sissy if I admit I’m tired?” Still, your fingers tingle under the press of his lips, and knowing what you now do about his exceptional hearing means you’re sure he heard you hold your breath. “I haven’t danced that much in years and my feet aren’t as calloused as they used to be. But—” The thought is there. The intent. But you can’t quite bring yourself to form the words right away. It’s like you don’t trust yourself. Which, to be fair, you don’t.

“Not a sissy,” he huffs slightly at your ease of insulting yourself. “Human.” He reminds you that he might have the ability to stay up indefinitely, but you do not. “But?”

“I was…” It feels silly to admit it, but you would be horribly sad if the night ended here. Having him close feels like a missing piece of yourself has slid into place. “Going to ask if you wanted to come upstairs,” you admit quietly. “But that’s silly. You live here. Hell…your room is right next to mine.”

Max tilts his head, tsking slightly. “Queenie, you never need to feel silly talking to me. You meant come to your room, didn’t you?” He asks quietly, squeezing your hand gently.

“I don’t want tonight to be over yet.” His hand around yours is cool and comforting, but there’s an electricity in it that is so old that it must have been called something far different before it was called a spark.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Max smiles at the shyness in your tone, the mere embarrassment. “How about this? Why don’t I make you a cup of my famous hot chocolate while you change into something causal, and I’ll meet you upstairs?” He asks, lifting a brow.

His knack for the exact right gesture is something you’re learning isn’t accidental. The effort he is putting into spending time with you is very intentional, and makes you feel like the single most special person in the entire world. “I’ll find a book that is less than a hundred years old, just in case. How about that?”

“Whatever you want to read, sweetheart.” He promises, happy that he had phrased it correctly. He doesn’t want you thinking he assumes you’re going to sleep with him. “But first, I need to walk you to the door.” In the blink of an eye, he’s out of the car and around to your side, opening it up for you to climb out.

“I’ll never get used to that.” You’ve seen him do it now five or six times and it takes your breath away without fail. This time, though, the thing taking your breath might also be the soft smile on his face as you put your hand in his and let him lift you effortlessly out of the car.

“It’s handy.” He admits with a chuckle, closing the door behind you and turning to walk up the front steps. “I’ll be able to change into some sweats after making your hot chocolate too.”

“Does this count as post-gaming our own date?” Leaving his car behind to walk up to the house, your hand stays in his and you lean slightly into his side just on instinct. He feels so safe and you can’t possibly put into words how grateful you are for that.

“More like a casual continuation. The wind down, if you will.” He enjoys your warmth, humming softly at the feeling. You have seemed more comfortable around him as the night has gone on and Max deserve brownie points for ignoring the whiffs of arousal he’s detected.

"I like that." You also like the way he almost sounds like he's purring when he hums, but maybe that's your imagination. Remembering the little sounds he would make in bat form. "I like the idea of being able to share all the versions of ourselves."

Max opens the door to the house, hearing a sound from Eddie’s room that makes him smirk. “If you can’t share everything with your soulmate, who can you share them with?”

"What is it?" His question was rhetorical, you know that, but he looks amused and his eyes darted away from you for a second before coming back.

“Allison is still here.” He tells you, putting his finger to his lips like it’s a secret.

"And she claimed Eddie wasn't as interested as she is." You shake your head at that as if the two of you were some wise old mentors finding out your protégés had finally taken your advice. "I guess tonight was a good date night for everyone in the house, then."

Max winks at you as he closes the door behind the two of you. “Like to think ours was better.” He teases. “Now, go take those shoes off, Queenie and I’ll make your hot chocolate. If you’re lucky, I might even be talked into a foot rub for your dance sore feet.”

"I would never make you do that." More than half your life in ballet, ballroom, and jazz classes means that your feet are...not exactly going to end up in shoe ads any time soon. But it's sweet of him to offer, and you squeeze his hand before you let it go. "I'm going to go up and change. You can just come on in when you're ready."

“I’ll knock, just to make sure you aren’t still changing.” He promises with a wink before he zips off to the kitchen.

You deftly avoid Eddie's room as you go upstairs, going the long way to your room all the way across the house before you hang your sweater and release yourself from your shoes — much to the relief of your aching feet. Despite the small pain, though, you wouldn't change anything about tonight. Your dress is exchanged for a favourite t-shirt, worn thin from constant use and sporting the logo of a theme park that you went to with a bunch of friends in college when you all decided that you just needed to get away for the weekend. It hangs long on your torso, skimming past the edge of your yoga pants, and you wipe off your makeup before getting into bed with a copy of a murder mystery by Alyssa Maxwell that was most definitely published in the twenty-first century.

Max hears you settle down and is at your door in an instant. He had made the hot chocolate quickly and of course changed before you had finished your nightly routine, waiting until you were done. Two light taps on the door is the knock he gives, waiting for you to answer before he turns the knob.

"Come in." The door is just feet from your bed, and when he cracks it open he's dressed in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants with a steaming mug in his hands. "Hey." As soft as it is on your lips, it's mostly out of surprise. Max is always immaculately dressed, and the revelation that he even owns a t-shirt is a pretty big deal. Not to mention the way his broad shoulders stretch the faric, or the way his gray sweatpants (bearing a small embossed collegiate logo near the pocket) hang onto his trim hips, which is wickedly distracting.

“Hey you.” He slips inside and closes the door with a grin. “You look comfy as can be in that bed.” He teases. “Is there room for me?”

"It's a big bed." Knowing that he won't pressure you gives you an immense feeling of relief, and the boldness to actually invite him in like this. You haven't even kissed yet. There is no way you would go all the way to sex tonight. But this closeness? You're craving it. "I'm pretty sure I can fit you in here. Might have to cuddle, though."

“I’ve been told I’m pretty good at cuddling.” He hands you the mug of hot chocolate and barely resists the urge to jump into the bed.

“I’m going to be spoiled forever if you keep making me this cocoa,” you warn him, ready to take the first sip despite the steam still pouring off the mug from underneath the perfect swirl of whipped cream. “That coffeeshop should be crying over losing you, if this is what you were doing as a barista.”

“I learned that girls love a perfect hot chocolate, but also, I loved one.” He laughs as he settles down beside you. “I’ll make you one every night if you want. I actually kind of miss making coffees and things like that. It was fun and easy.”

"I would have been in that shop every single day," you admit. The first sip of cocoa is just cool enough to take, and it rolls through you like a warm hug in the very best way. "For..." Bubbling just beneath the surface, a smile spreads across your lips that you just can't contain. "For more than just the cocoa."

“I knew it.” He crows, leaning in with a triumphant look on his face. He puts his lips just a bare millimeter away from your ear. “A whipped cream junky.”

Your breath catches like it always does when he gets so close to you, and your eyes flick up to his as you all but hide your face behind the mug in your hands. "Right..." you nod slightly in agreement, but when the smile returns to your lips it morphs into shaking your head 'no' and your tone dips to teasing. "Whipped cream. That's it."

“Indulgent, creamy….” He’s teasing you, maybe himself a little as well, but he loves the way your heart skitters slightly. It reminds him of a bird being startled, except this is a joyful thing. “Satisfying. What’s not to love?”

"You're incorrigible," you observe with a pleased grin, knowing full well that you have done nothing but encourage him tonight. It's the best night — let alone best date — you've had in ages. And that's so much of why you're not ready for it to end. This is the side of Max that you always want to have with you.

“Confident.” He corrects you with a grin of his own. “Cocky, maybe even a little conceited.”

"Filling in the gaps where I have no self-confidence of my own." In many ways you really are a balancing point to each other. He lifts you up and you ground him. It keeps you interested to see what he'll do next and you can only hope that it gives him a place to feel relaxed with you. Like he can let down his guard with you. "I think...if you want to...we should go back to that studio again next week." They had invited you both eagerly, and Miss Valerie herself had loudly mentioned having a spot on their competition team for another couple if they ever found anyone who was interested. If you were ever going to pin a number onto your dress again, you would want it to be with him. His over-confidence seems to be rubbing off on you, at least a little, and giving you another nudge toward boldness. "I really loved dancing with you tonight."

“It would be unfair really,” Max hums. “To deprive them of our presence. Our talent from the dance floor.” Part of it is an adopted act of confidence, but there is something magical about dancing with you. It’s easier than any other partner he’s ever had. “So I don’t think we should. Deprive them. Give the couples something to aspire to.”

The giggle that he pulls out of you is probably the closest to effervescent that you've ever managed. There is something about the way you feel when his attention is on you that is undeniable. When Max's focus is on you, the rest of the world falls away. "I wouldn't be surprised if it's more jealousy than aspiration," you tell him honestly, taking another sip of your drink. "I'll have the most handsome partner in the room."

He can’t help but preen slightly. “It helps when your partner is the most gorgeous creature you’ve ever laid eyes on.” He murmurs sincerely. Since meeting you, getting to know you, you’ve gone from pretty to stunning in his eyes.

"That's sweet of you." As much as you want to believe that he's telling you what he believes to be the truth, it's so hard to wrap your head around. There has been far too much of your life spent being told all the things that were wrong with you that it feels impossible to believe that someone like Max could find you beautiful. But gods...you want to.

He groans quietly, closing his eyes and dropping his forehead to your shoulder. He should pull away, but your warmth is too intoxicating. “Queenie, I have a confession to make.” He whispers.

Here it is. Steeling yourself for the inevitable rejection you know that you deserve, you put your mug on the table beside your bed without unsettling his forehead. You'll make yourself the smallest presence possible in his life. You'll stop the formal dinners and just let him forget you even live in the same house if he doesn't decide to move out altogether. And you'll sure as fuck wait until he's gone to cry the tears that are already pressing at the back of your eyes. "What is it?" You don't want to ask the question, but you have to. The way your heart is already sinking tells you right away how much this is going to hurt.

He hates that your tone has changed, your body has shifted slightly. He wonders if he should have even opened his mouth, but he wanted to be honest with you. Pulling back slightly, he looks at you with a sense of anger at himself for being so unable to control himself. “I want to kiss you.”

"What?" Pushed out on a single breath, it feels like all the air has been knocked out of you all at once and your eyes blow wide when you look up at him.

“I told myself I wouldn’t push you, and I’m not.” He promises quickly. “I would never push you for anything you aren’t ready for, but I can’t help but think about it and if you want me to leave or move to the chair so I don’t make you uncomfortable, I will.”

"Please don't." Immediately reaching for him, your hand lands on his arm and your fingers squeeze, keeping him close even when you feel like your heart is going to pound out of your chest and you might forget how to breathe. "Don't like don't move away from me. Not don't like don't kiss me. I—" You might vibrate straight out of the bed in disbelief. "I really want to kiss you, too."

“You do?” Despite flirting, Max hadn’t considered that you might actually want to kiss him.

"I was getting ready for you to tell me that you wanted to end this before it started." Which feels terrible to admit, but you want to be honest with him. "Honestly, I...sort of figured you would have been able to...to smell how much I want to kiss you?"

Biting his lip, he considers lying to you, but he nods. “Just because you’re body is telling me yes, doesn’t mean your mind is.” He murmurs quietly, laying a hand on your arm and rubbing it gently. “I was a fucking horndog in the past, but I know boundaries.”

"I don't know how much else I'm ready for." Your hand covers his on your arm long enough to feel the difference between your burning skin and his cooler body, before your hand moves tentatively up his arm. Being allowed to touch him while you're dancing is so very different from touching him in your bed. "But I know I'm ready for this."

Max slides an arm under your body to pull you closer, shifting slightly so both of you are laying on your sides facing each other. “Queenie,” he leans in and nudges his nose against yours, eyes watching you closely. “May I kiss you?”

"Yes. Please." As far as enthusiastic consent goes, you really can't be more explicit and you don't want to just jump the gun and kiss him without answering. Lying in his arms in your bed is the last place you expected this to happen, but now that you're here it's like a dream.

He licks his lips, wetting them as his eyes flicker down to yours. Somewhere between your first sip and now, your cocoa has been pushed onto the nightstand and he can hold you without fear of spilling something hot all over you. “Good.” He murmurs, leaning in to take in your scent, mouthwatering and thick like ambrosia, before he lowers his mouth to yours.

______

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Including Sunlight

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 4

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pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, fluff, Frank having unhealthy coping mechanisms

a/n: I'm so sorry that this update is late, everyone! I've had a wacky month and it has completely thrown me off. Huge shout out to @xxdrixx for reminding me (again XD) to post what I'd written, and to my loves @madschiavelique and @gracethyomen for helping me plot the upcoming angst arc!!!

w/c: 5.9k

You hadn’t known Frank for very long, but that didn’t stop him from becoming a necessary fixture in your life. Needing Frank was similar to needing light, or fresh air. Sure, you could go without it for a bit, but it would drastically reduce the quality of your life. 

Two days into his “business trip” (which you assumed was a cover for some illegal shenanigans because what sort of freelance construction worker has business trips), you were missing Frank something awful, and it seemed like Max was too. Though you’d tried your best to stick to the existing routine Frank had explained to you, the dog would get mopey in the evenings, laying his head on your lap with a dramatic sigh as he stared longingly towards the door. 

Frank hadn’t so much as sent an emoji since his departure, a fact that highlighted his already glaring absence. You had no idea if he was even alive, but you refused to go down that path knowing you’d never make it out of that endless anxiety spiral. Hoping not to bother him while he was away, you’d refrained from reaching out. Until Max’s heavy sighs were too much for you to bear. 

“I’ll see what I can do, buddy.” You promised, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of his pouting face. 

Sending Max’s sulking portrait off to your stoic neighbor, you included a message. 

You: I think he misses you. Hope you made it safely. ❤️

You were about to set your phone down, not expecting him to respond, but your phone buzzed immediately. 

Frank: Sorry, bud. He behaving for you?

You: He’s being a perfect gentleman. Please come back to us in one piece. 

Frank: Cross my heart. 

Smiling at the fluttery sensation in your chest, you set your phone down and resumed petting the pitbull taking up residence on your lap. 

Come back to us. A poor imitation of your melodic voice played throughout his brain on a loop as he got settled in the motel and began recon. It had been hours since you’d texted him and Frank couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not that he could ever stop thinking of you; the only thing that had kept him going through the bland, cross-state drive was the knowledge that he had you to return to.

And didn’t that terrify him. The knowledge that he had forged a connection valuable enough to anchor him on bad days should have triggered his factory reset. Cut all ties, change home and job, never look back. But you made him weak–sapping the resolve out of him with your doe eyes and intoxicating personality. He’d never be able to leave you like that, even if his proximity to you would get you killed.

Gritting his teeth, he began disassembling his rifle for the umpteenth time, hoping the familiar rhythm would provide an opportunity for his mind to claw its way out of the paranoid spiral it was currently parachuting down. Because it would do him no good to imagine the ways this could all fall apart. The high that your genuine care ignited in him was a hard one to shake, and he craved your affection more than any drug. 

Frank was no stranger to being forgotten, hell, most days he wished for it. Disappearing into the shadows made his work easier and it had helped him prevent situations like this, like you, in the past. Yet here he was, three states away, feeling desired and significant because of four little sentences of fucking text. You were a goddamn miracle. 

Placing the final piece of his weapon back into its place, he drew his hands towards himself, examining them. Given the nature of his work, both legal and less than, the skin was rough and littered with impressive callouses. Streaks of gun oil, dirt, and general grime lingered on the pads of his fingers and under his nails, a testament to the indelicacy of his job. How could he allow himself to touch you with these hands?

How could the universe allow him to indulge in something so pure, after what he’d done? 

He’d given you his name, his real one, but there was no way you knew the extent of his crimes against the people in your city–if you did, you’d surely never speak to him again. Before meeting you, he’d never questioned his choices. Wiping the murderous, sex-trafficking and drug-dealing scum from the face of the Earth was his purpose, and he lived it with pride. Pulling the trigger, releasing bullet after bullet into the chest of some criminal douchebag, it was the only reason he had the energy to keep going after the loss of his family. 

But the violence, that he’d made peace with, it separated him from the rest of society, kept him from forming attachments with people as delicate as you. Not to mention, you valued an honesty he couldn’t provide, and a stable relationship would require it…not that he was intending on pursuing that with you. Right?

Sighing wearily, he pinched the bridge of his nose, heart pummeling his ribcage. You deserved to know the truth about who he was and what he’d done, but Frank wasn’t sure he possessed the courage to break that news to you, to risk losing you forever. 

Shifting uneasily on the fraying wicker chair, Frank studied a chip in the faux wood of the table he was seated at. Rubbing a thumb over the exposed plastic, he pondered his next move. His short recon session had verified Madani’s hunch that the arms dealers operated after dark, like most criminals, but sitting around the dingy motel room until then was a one-way ticket to insanity. 

As if his body was pitying his moment of unprecedented indecision, his stomach growled ferociously. Fuck, he could use a decent meal and a hot cup of coffee. Plucking his keys and handgun from the nightstand, he shoved his arms into a black canvas jacket before braving the outside world. 

Digging your glove-covered fingers into the laminated dough, you folded it over itself a few times before placing it back in its designated proofing bin to rise. Taking another lump of the yeasted mixture into your grasp, you savored the pleasant cushiony feeling beneath your hands as you worked, the slightly fermented smell of raw bread swirling around the kitchen as you flipped the mass. 

Your heart thumped serenely as you kneaded the dough at a steady pace, creating a beautiful rhythm you were more than familiar with. It was music, of a sort; the pulse in your ears acting as the bass while the cacophony of rattling spice jars and cracking eggshells composed unique melodies unlike anything else. 

Life was complicated, but food was simple. Customizing pastries and generating new recipes was an outlet for any emotion you could dream of. Tugging at the strands of dough helped soothe the tension in your shoulders, a symptom of the intense restlessness you’d been feeling since Frank left. Though his text had confirmed that he was alive, you couldn’t help but wallow in a feeling of gut-wrenching regret as you lived without him. If something happened to him out there, you’d never be able to tell him–

Shaking your head fiercely to clear the anxious thoughts from your mind, you raced to the walk-in, once again pouring your jittery energy into a recipe rather than letting your composure erode into nothing. Stabilizing the precarious tower of ingredients you’d stacked with your chin, you tread cautiously over to a clean station, unceremoniously dumping the contents onto the steel bench before popping your head out to the front. 

“Stace, you want somethin’ to eat?” You called to the girl, who was currently standing by the register on her phone. 

“What are you making?” She barely lifted her head with the question and her ambivalence made you snort. 

“Oh, you know, same old.”

With a small shrug, Stacy nodded. “Sure, why not.” 

Grinning, you ducked back into the kitchen and popped the lid off of the industrial blender, quickly whipping up two vibrantly colored and impeccably garnished bowls for the pair of you. Passing a spoon to Stacy, you smiled as she dug in eagerly.

“What, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning?” You giggled, reveling in the way her eyes lit up as she ate. 

“Had a feeling you’d be cooking up a storm today.” Stacy replied, tilting her head at you knowingly. “You tend to do that when you’re mopey, and I’m never opposed to a free meal.”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed in defiance. “I’m not ‘mopey’.” 

“No?” Your dark-haired friend smirked. “That’s why you’re staring at that stupid bowl like it killed your family?” 

Ignoring her pointed look, you angled the bowl slightly differently before pulling out your phone. 

“It’s a pretty meal. I wanted to take a picture.” You reasoned, snapping a few photos of the deep violet mixture. 

“To send to lover boy?” Stacy snorted, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

“No! I mean, maybe, I guess. I mean—“ You spluttered and Stacy laughed boisterously. “Shut up!!” Pouting, you shoved your phone back into the pocket of your apron and stuck a spoon into your breakfast. 

“C’mon, princess, don’t let my teasing interrupt your pitiful flirting attempts. I’m sure he wants to hear from you.” Stacy’s expression was nonchalant, as always, but her gaze softened when your shoulders slumped. “I’m serious. He’s like, embarrassingly into you.” 

“I think you might be confused about which of us is ‘embarrassingly into’ the other.” You whined, burying your face in your hands. 

“Oh you’re pathetically head over heels for him too, that’s why you have no game.” 

Scoffing, you shoved at her shoulder. “You know what, I don’t need to be insulted like this. Get out of my kitchen.”

“It’s not insulting, it’s true!” She chuckled, eating the remaining few bites of her food as you struggled to force her out the double doors. 

“Out, out, out!” You panted, finally getting her across the threshold. 

The whoosh of air from the batwing doors blew stray hairs from your face, giving you pause. Did it matter why you reached out to him? He seemed to appreciate it…

“Fuck it.” 

Frank turned the cheap off-white mug in his hands, letting the quickly fading warmth seep through the material and into his palms as he looked out the streaky window. A gray hue had settled over the rural town he was camped out in, courtesy of the building storm on the horizon. The clouds mimicked his mental state, growing darker by the minute as the world remained stagnant. 

A low buzz caught his attention, his hand shooting out to stop his phone from vibrating off of the table. Flicking the screen open, his heart swelled with affection, like a ray of sunshine peeking through the barrier in the sky. 

You: *image* It’s official, I’m becoming a hipster. I was more concerned about this photo than eating my breakfast.

Not attempting to hide his smile, Frank shoved his empty cup aside to free his thumbs. 

Frank: Well, it looks so good, I might have to forgive you. What is it?

You: A smoothie bowl, very easy to make and quite tasty.

Frank: Never had one of those before. Looks good though, sunshine.

You: Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll make you one sometime.

Frank inhaled deeply, imagining that you were nearby and he could smell your soft vanilla soap. The thought of you cooking for him upon his return warmed his heart while simultaneously cracking it in two. He missed you dearly. Drawing his forearms into his chest, he took a picture of his own food, frowning at the grainy quality of the picture as it sent.

Frank: It ain’t as pretty as yours, but I’m eating breakfast myself.

The remnants of a stack of bland pancakes and some tough bacon paled in comparison to the gorgeous, speckled smoothie thing you’d sent him. Why it was in a bowl and not a cup, he wasn’t sure, but clearly you knew what you were doing so who was he to judge? A few seconds passed and Frank briefly wondered if he’d said something wrong. Before he could preemptively apologize, another bubble appeared on the screen.

You: Glad you are able to feed yourself without my help. I was starting to wonder…

Frank: Oh shut up, you goof. I do miss your cooking though.

You: Just my cooking?

His fingers hovered over the glass display, his brain scrambling for a response that didn’t reveal just how gone he was for you. In the end, he couldn’t find one.

Frank: Not just your cooking, honey. I have some work to do, but take care of yourself and Max for me, will you? 

You: Of course, Frankie. Have a good day :)

Frank: You too, sunshine.

Clicking the power button on his phone, Frank flipped it over, settling his head against his rough hands and massaging his forehead. Coward.

The shrill ringing of his alarm shattered the remnants of his uneasy slumber. Whipping his arm out from under the sheets, he stopped the piercing noise with a frustrated growl. Sitting up was a process, thanks to the new bullet wounds in his shoulder and hip—a true testament to how sideways yesterday night had gone. Madani’s brief had implied that this would be a cut and dry operation. Get in, confirm the sale, contact her team, leave. He’d been given strict orders to not shoot unless absolutely necessary. 

Which was a great plan, in theory. Frank was more than on board with it, even if the whole “no shooting” thing lengthened the process. If it kept him on Madani’s good side, and still managed to get him home before Lisa’s birthday, he could live with it. 

Apparently, the rookie member of Madani’s team was not so thrilled with Frank “stealing” so much of the glory. After Frank’s recon session and subsequent confirmation of the sale, the former Marine was about to call for backup when a scrawny 20-something kid darted into the dark warehouse after the arms dealers, holding nothing but a goddamn glock. Anticipating bloodshed, Frank was grumbling and sprinting after him before the gunshots started. 

Pulling the kid out by the straps of his ill-fitting bullet-proof vest was a task Frank managed by the skin of his teeth, procuring two moderate injuries in the process. Of course, the knowledge that the FBI was on their tail sent the arms dealers into a frenzy. Frank was sure they’d crossed state lines before Madani was even done screaming. Honestly, he half expected the poor woman to have steam coming out of her ears–she’d cussed at the kid with words even Frank considered impolite. 

Not that he could blame her, he was fuming all the same, especially when Madani had explained that he wasn’t off the hook for the mission and should head back to the motel to await further instructions. As if he was reliving it, the conversation that followed played in his head on a loop, their screaming match echoing off the walls of his brain. 

“For fuck’s SAKE, Madani, I did what you wanted–why should I be punished for the stupidity of this asshole?”

“Oh, he’ll be dealt with, believe me. But the agreement was to get Roshev and Miller into my custody. Not give my team a half-assed warning and head back to New York scot free.”

“Half-assed–you’re fucking joking. I had to ditch the objective to rescue YOUR DAMN AGENT.”

“Go back to your room, Frank. I won’t ask again.”

“You’re not–”

“That’s an ORDER, Castle.”

So here he was: waking up on a shitty mattress, his skin and hair still streaked with dirt and blood (because the crappy water pressure and freezing temperature had infuriated him to the point that he’d cut his shower short after cleaning his wounds), in pain and in desperate need of a better cup of coffee than anyone around here was capable of brewing. 

On top of that, it was his dead daughter’s 18th birthday–a fact that hung over him like a cloud of poisonous gas, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs, and he was powerless to stop it. He wanted to scream, to cry, to grieve for her, to do something, anything–but instead he was fucking stuck here, beneath Madani’s thumb until she tired of him. 

It was naive to think that he’d be home today, maybe drinking coffee that you had made specifically for him, bringing flowers to the cemetery, taking Max for a walk, trying to have a quiet day in Lisa’s memory instead of waiting around to deal with two scumbags who got paid to arm other criminals. He should have just shot them.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a rough hand, he stalked to the bathroom to clean up–given that a man covered in blood would probably scare the poor waitress at the diner down the street shitless. As he was rubbing a towel through his hair, his phone buzzed–presumably with a curt message from Madani about something else he’d done wrong. Groaning internally, he braced himself for another argument, but it never came. 

Instead, his phone had an unopened message from you. Flicking open the home screen, he felt a weight fall off his shoulders as he pulled up the photo you’d attached. 

It was a beautiful picture of you holding a basket of vibrantly colored cherries in the midst of some sort of farmer’s market. Your delicate features were highlighted by an array of pinks and oranges, courtesy of the sunrise in the background. Your smile was bright, your eyes sparkling as you beamed at the camera. 

Your first message was a simple explanation of your morning activities. 

You: It’s market day! I bought these gorgeous cherries to make some tarts. I’ll save you one ;)

As he was rereading the message, allowing his general irritation to fade as thoughts of you flooded his brain, his phone vibrated again. 

You: Thinking of you today. I’m just a text away if you need anything ❤️

Sinking down onto the motel bed, his throat constricted as he processed the sentiment. He was surprised that you remembered today was hard for him, even more so that you offered to be a line of support. But that was exactly who you were, wasn’t it? Someone who cared so deeply for the people around her, and for some fucking reason that included Frank. 

Typing and retyping a response to you, Frank blew out a breath. He felt almost…jittery. 

Frank: Thanks, sunshine. That means a lot. I’m looking forward to that cherry tart when I get back. 

You: I’ll make you as many as you want, Frankie. 

Lips twitching, he imagined you whirling around your kitchen in one of your signature patterned dresses making him a special batch of pastries. His heart squeezed painfully; your absence was taking a toll on him that he had not expected. Before he could consider his next message to you, Madani’s number flashed on the screen, indicating an incoming call. Lips curling into a silent snarl, he answered. 

“What, Madani?” He rumbled out.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.” Her response wasn’t meant to dig under his skin, she simply meant it as a superficial jab, but the inclusion of the pet name he associated with you ignited a white hot anger in his gut, feral and hungry. 

“The fuck do you want,” He bit out. 

“Watch your tone, Castle. Remember who owes whom a favor here.”

Rolling his eyes, he brought out a more polite tone. “Yes, ma’am.”  

She huffed across the line, “Fuck you too. We found them. I’ll send the coordinates now.” 

“Lookin’ forward to it.” He ended the call.

Stretching your legs as best you could beneath the hefty pitbull, you sighed. 

It had been hours since Frank’s last text and you were not handling it well–the image of the little typing bubble on his side of the text chain haunting your every moment. Logically, the presence of those three flashing dots just meant he had started to type something and then forgot or had something else to attend to, but that knowledge didn’t quell the anxiety growing in your chest. 

He was out there, doing god knows what, on his daughter’s 18th birthday, presumably alone and hurting–and there was nothing you could do but wait. And cook him a lasagna of course. Which you had, giving your apartment the pleasant aroma of onions, tomatoes, and ricotta cheese as the dish baked. 

Your consciousness vibrated with the tenacity of an anxious chihuahua, listless with boredom and concern about your sweetheart of a neighbor. Squirming out from under Max’s head, you chuckled as the sleepy pitbull huffed in annoyance. “Sorry, bubba. I need to move around.”

In the final 30 minutes that you lasagna baked, you managed to throw together some simple pastry dough and pull out the small basket of cherries from your fridge. Popping one of the scarlet fruits into your mouth, you began to pluck the remaining stems off before removing their pits. Once they’d been sufficiently prepped, and your hands were adequately smattered with droplets of maroon fruit juice, you dumped them unceremoniously into a pot to create a compote. It didn’t necessarily pair well with lasagna, but you’d promised Frank a cherry pastry. 

Originally, you’d considered making him a cherry basil frangipane, identical to the ones you’d stacked in the bakery’s display case that morning. But, after the day he’d probably had, you figured he’d want something…less intricate. The compliment you’d given him during his first visit to the cafe still held true–Frank was simple and honest. He wasn’t difficult to please, but fancy words and expensive ingredients alone wouldn’t cut it. The food had to be good. So, you pulled out all the stops, making a recipe that you hadn’t made since you lived with Leo: cherry turnovers. 

Unlike your wonderful neighbor, the majority of patrons in the city needed a reason besides quality to continue giving you business. Elaborately decorated pastries and unique flavor profiles were what kept the cafe in business, so you hadn’t tried selling a modest dessert like these since your first few weeks at the Rainy Day Bakery. It was familiar, comforting even. You hoped it would bring Frank similar satisfaction. 

Trading the bubbling lasagna for a tray of triangle-shaped pastries, you brushed your hands on your hips. Re-covering the pasta dish, you hurriedly cleaned your kitchen, wiping away the traces of flour and sugar that inevitably dusted your countertops after you baked. As you rinsed out the mixing bowl, a high-pitched whimper popped the bubble of silence surrounding your apartment. Sitting rigidly by the door to your apartment, Max’s dark eyes pleaded with you. 

“Gosh, you’re right, bud! It is dinner time. I’m sorry, I got carried away. Let’s go get you set up, huh?” 

Snatching Frank’s spare key from your counter, you attached Max’s thick leash to his collar and jogged him back to his apartment, adding an extra handful of kibble as an apology for making him wait. Stroking his short fur a few times, you slipped the key into your pocket, scurrying back over to your apartment to grab the turnovers before they caught fire and reduced the building to ashes. 

Carefully balancing the pastries and lasagna in your hands, you marched back over to Frank’s apartment. Pretty soon, and with only one close call, the food was lined up on Frank’s countertop to cool. Brushing your hands together, you admired your handiwork. 

“Please tell me ya haven’t been sittin’ here with the door open all night.” 

The gruff voice behind you made you jump in shock. Whirling around, your fear morphed into pure joy as you took in the ruggedly handsome man before you.

“Shit, Frankie! You snuck up on me.” You practically squealed, rushing to hug him in greeting. He grunted as you slammed against him, hissing as you squeezed your arms around his hips. Eyes widening in realization, you started to pull back. “Oh fuck, you’re hurt, aren’t you? I’m so sorry, I–” 

Before you could unwrap your arms from his body, his broad hands splayed across your back, muscular arms tugging you back against his firm chest. 

“‘M fine, honey.” Came Frank’s soothing rumble. You felt him press a kiss to your crown before he buried his face in your hair. “Missed you like crazy, sunshine.” His voice was soft, as if he didn’t want you to hear the darling confession. 

“God, I missed you too, Frankie.” You chuckled, your eyes prickling with tears, your body in awe of your own honesty. With his stubbled chin atop your head and his thick arms around your waist, you felt entirely sheltered by his body. He’d created a bubble of safety and serenity for you, as he always did. 

Remaining in his arms, you shifted out from under his head to examine him. Though you’d felt it across your scalp, his beard was noticeably overgrown and in need of a trim. His hair greasy and mussed, streaked with grime, just like his face. The skin of his face was tinged red, with blush or sunburn you weren’t quite sure, and the bags under his eyes were deep. In spite of yourself, your bottom lip stuck out, brow pinching in concern. Bringing a hand up to cradle his face, you stroked a thumb gently over his cheek, careful to avoid the sizeable bruise across it. 

“Oh sweetheart. What did they do to you?” You asked quietly, feeling choked up as the hulking man nuzzled into your touch, his eyes falling shut with a weary sigh. 

“It’s nothin’.” He murmured, his words worn out—as if he’d spoken them so many times they’d lost all meaning. 

“Then it shouldn’t take long to get you cleaned up.” You smiled, the gesture not making it to your eyes. Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to his prickly cheek before unwinding his arms from your waist. He started to retract his arms, to tuck them against his sides, but you caught his fingers with yours, grasping his hands tenderly. “Come sit, sweetheart. You must be exhausted.” 

The poor man didn’t argue. Instead, he let you tug him to the couch and sit him down, his lips twitching with fond amusement when you tucked a blanket around his shoulders. “This ain’t mine.” 

You shrugged, the hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. “I redecorated.” 

“I was barely gone three days.” Frank snorted, rolling his eyes at you. 

Poorly stifling a smile as you pretended to be annoyed, you spoke as though it was obvious why you’d done it. “Your apartment is freezing, Frank. Did you want me and Max to get hypothermia while you were gone?” 

He huffed a laugh. “Still bossy.” Letting his head tip back to meet the spine of the couch, his eyes fluttered shut. Your cool touch manifested on his cheek once again. 

“Do you have a first aid kit, Frankie?” 

“Under the bathroom sink.” He answered, his words slurred ever so slightly with fatigue. He received a slight squeeze of his arm in response, your warm fingers leaving a lasting imprint on his skin. 

A year ago, he would never have let himself have this—a moment of peace. Time to let his guard down, to trust someone else to ease his pain. But the combination of his aching body, his heavy eyelids, and your fussing nature had him letting go of a tension he’d held for years, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Soft footsteps alerted him to your presence. Though his eyes were closed, he could hear you shuffle into a crouch, your chest positioned at his knees. 

Stifling a groan, he straightened his posture, wincing slightly as the motion tugged on his day old stitches. His eyes immediately focused on your adorable form in front of him, your own gaze roaming over the various bruises covering his visible skin. Dipping a washcloth into a small bowl of water, you gently lifted his wrist, washing away the dried blood on his knuckles. As you worked, a small river of dirty water–tinged pink from his scarlet blood–dripped down his fingers and onto your dress. 

He watched the trio of droplets fall, time slowing as if to highlight the moment that reignited his anxiety. Splashing across the multicolored fabric, the liquid seeped into your skirt, staining it as you held his hand. Your kindness was endless, and his presence was tarnishing it, ruining it, ruining you. 

Jerking his hand backwards, he cradled it close to his chest. “Lemme do this. I’m gettin’ blood on your pretty dress, sunshine.” He started to stand but you shook your head, gently pushing him back into the cushion and taking his hand in your grasp once again. 

Looking directly into his eyes with an intensity that you always seemed to carry, your lips curved into a small smile. “Frank, it’s just a dress, sweetheart. I promise it’s ok. Let me help you?” With your free hand, you stroked a wayward strand of his hair off of his clammy forehead.

Despite the fact that your gaze conveyed your desire to continue patching him up regardless of his answer, your tone was stilted–giving him the option to deny your help. 

“You’re too sweet for your own damn good, you know.” He sighed, letting his arm go limp in your grip to let you finish what you’d started. 

“Well, you’re too stoic for yours. Makes us quite a pair, doesn’t it?” Your eyes glimmered roguishly, your smirk encouraging him to roll his eyes. 

“Whatever you say, sunshine.” He snorted, knowing full well that you were right. 

You made quick work of tidying up the split skin across his knuckles, moving on to the bruised skin of his cheeks. 

“Didn’t know you were growing this out, Frankie.” You quipped, tugging gently on the untamed curls of his beard. 

His lips twitched, revealing a glimpse of his teeth as he smiled. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Whaddya think?” 

Making a great show of shuffling back to study his face, you tapped your chin. “I like it.” 

“You do? Last time it was this long, everyone thought I was some sort of hipster.” 

Shrugging, you focused your eyes back on the cloth in your hand. “I always like how you look, Frankie.” 

Frank’s breath caught in his throat, unable to quite make it to his lungs. Thankfully, he could blame his lack of response on the fact that you were rinsing the injuries on his face, rather than his own lack of emotional intelligence. 

Eventually, you heaved out a breath, looking at him with a raised brow. “Did you want me to look at whatever’s bothering you here?” You asked, gesturing to his hip. 

“If I told ya I have no idea what you mean, would ya call me on it?” He grumbles, not quite sure how he’d feel revealing that much of himself to you. 

You thought for a minute. Nodding once, you answered. “I’d roll my eyes, but respect your desire for privacy.” 

Swallowing thickly, he huffed a nervous laugh. “Fair enough.” With two fingers, he tugged his loose shirt up and over his head, not bothering to disguise his grimace as he rotated his injured shoulder. Pulling the waistband of his pants down an inch, he suddenly felt a surge of fear, not sure how you’d react to seeing his array of scars. 

Inhaling sharply, you traced around his stitches with a finger. “Oh, Frank.” 

“It’s—“

“It’s not nothing.” Taking his hands again, your intensity returned. “You mean something to me. Seeing you hurt…it’s never nothing, ok? Not to me.”

A lump formed in his throat, he nodded as he tried to swallow it down. “Sorry.” 

“No apology necessary,” You squeezed his hands, placing a tender kiss on the raw knuckles of his right hand before grabbing a roll of bandages from your pile of supplies. “I’m not upset that you’re hurt. I just don’t want you to be afraid to lean on someone else for a change.” 

You dressed his larger wounds in contemplative silence, your soft skin a welcome change to the rough contact he was used to. 

“How’d ya learn to patch people up, sunshine? Playin’ nurse for other neighborhood menaces behind my back?” 

You giggled. “You’re my only patient currently. Cross my heart. I’ve just gotten used to first aid after injuring myself my whole life.” 

Bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, Frank’s brow furrowed. “Injurin’ yourself? What do you mean?” 

Eyes widening in realization, you shook your head. “Not intentionally! I’ve just been a klutz for as long as I can remember.” Chuckling sheepishly, you added, “Takes a toll every once in a while.” 

Laughing with relief, he traced a finger along your jaw as he withdrew his hand from your face. “Ah, gotcha. Christ, had me scared there, pretty girl.” 

Your face flushed with heat at the new pet name. You tied off the fresh bandages and stood up. “You should be good to go, unless you’ve got any other areas that need to be looked at?” 

Blushing as his mind traveled to less innocent places, he shook his head. “I’m fine, honey. Thank you. Really.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” You winked at him, heading to the kitchen to dispose of the dirty water and trash. As you rinsed the last of the grime from the bowl you’d used, Frank moaned behind you. 

“Holy shit.” His words were mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, the other half of a cherry turnover in his hand. Swallowing with another horrifically attractive noise, he lifted the dessert in a gesture. “Did you make these?” 

“Yes, but they were for after dinner!” You scolded, your smile completely betraying your feigned annoyance. “Cherry turnovers. Do you like them?”

“No, they’re awful.” Frank deadpanned, shoving the rest of the pastry into his mouth ungracefully. You giggled, uncovering the lasagna before he could reach for another turnover. 

“Would you like some actual food, you heathen?” You asked through stray laughs. 

“You made me a lasagna?” 

“Thought you might want some comfort food today. So I made two of my favorites.” 

“Thank you,” Frank spoke your name gravely, as if it was a prayer. “God, sunshine, I dunno what to say.” Your heart ached as his voice cracked around the words.

“You don’t need to say anything, handsome. Just eat, so you can rest soon, yah?” 

Frank couldn’t help but let the tension he’d been carrying for days roll off his back like droplets of water, his eyes crinkling with fondness as you puttered around his kitchen as if you had it memorized. You plated two hearty servings of lasagna and took a seat next to him, handing him a fork. 

“I’m glad you made it back safely.” You smiled, your gaze more timid than he’d ever seen it. 

“Me too, sunshine.” After placing a kiss on your forehead, he speared the fork into the food on his plate, taking a massive bite. 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” Frank groaned, beaming at you. 

Laughing brightly, you took a bite of your own, overjoyed to have Frank to eat with again. 

Thanks for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484@xxdrix@smhnxdiii@mattmurdocksstarlight@danzer8705

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Civilian Asset 4.

Polyamorous/femme/female reader x multiple

Summary: Still far from home and far from well.

Master List / Prev Chapter

Warning: 18+ (fairly tame chapter, but stands for entire series)

Tagging: A couple folks have asked about tagging. Unfortunately tagging breaks my posts, so I don't keep lists. But I DO reply to each comment on each chapter when I post something new. So it's like a hand-written invitation delivered by butler to your inbox.

A/N: Tumblr is being weird with links, and I'm not sure how to fix it. Had an extremely rough month really working on a piece about school safety... enough said. And I've been sick. So. Ya'll mean the world, thank you for your continued support!

4.

You’re drowning in a sea of hands.

They push and pull like ocean currents, and you’re as helpless in their merciless grip as a swimmer in a riptide, tumbling so deep you can’t remember which way is up. There’s air, but an arm around your neck presses on your trachea. Suffocating you. No matter how much you claw and wheeze, it only tightens, slow and inextricable. The worst kind of promise building in the pressure.

Thousands of strangers’ fingers paint you with intent, sweaty and slick. Each hand wants something. Maybe they’re working in chorus, or maybe each one is out for itself. It’s impossible to tell by the way they paw, snare, and grab at you. Whatever they want is inside. Deep in your belly or hiding in your spine, some key or secret blunt nails work to pry out. They won’t be satisfied until you’re swallowed, torn apart, and sorted into pieces.

The dark smells like old carpets, bird shit, and rust.

Waves of touch tug you in opposite directions, twisting your arm behind your back and your foot over your head. It’s chaos. And it hurts. But they’re all moving you, hauling you into a hell that sounds like war. You’ve never heard gunfire like this. Only three clean shots from a distant sniper rifle. But the cacophony ricochets with dozens of automatic weapons, and the hands scratch and dig into your skin, greedy for your fear as you sink into the echoes…

And wake with the gunfire still in your ears.

Sharp, jolting breaths lift your shoulder, punching through your chest with a salty aftertaste from the tears and mucus trickling down the back of your throat. Everything else locks in place. Your legs are too achy to move. Your eyelids stick open, drinking in shadows. Lying on your side, you not only hear but feel your pulse beating in your ears, and it takes several minutes of wading through too many confusing sensations before you know where you are and why everything’s stiff and sore.

The room is dark. Only a crack of light spills under the door. It’s proper country dark outside, too, pressing black against the window.

It’s raining.

No gunfire. No danger. It’s only precipitation battering against the glass. You are as safe as you can be, given the situation, and the men downstairs would be shouting and kicking in the door if something had gone wrong. Bullets would pierce the walls, shatter the window.

Even though you know it’s just the weather, you’re half convinced a dozen soldiers have opened fire on the room.

You try waiting it out.

Maybe it will stop or you’ll remember you aren’t afraid of the rain.

But it doesn’t, and you can’t bear it, so you get up and head for the glow behind the door. Hopefully the rain isn’t so loud downstairs.

The hall light bathes the space yellow in a way your shattered internal clock reads as daylight. Open doors to the bathroom and the second bedroom loom dark in contrast, like caves along a hiking trail, and the stairs will challenge you as much as a mountainside when you work up the nerve to descend. First you take time to wipe the salt track off your face with cool tap water. The pillow should keep those secrets. You don’t need to wear the evidence.

The adrenaline rush fucked off some time ago, and even after the nightmare you’re left with nothing but clinging paranoia. That doesn’t make you calm. Your anxiety feels like breath on the back of your neck, or eyes squinting through hidden peepholes, prickling over your skin with the assurance that something, somewhere is off, and you shouldn’t leave yourself exposed.

Logically, the men downstairs are no threat. Quite the opposite. You don’t feel logical. Your collection of hurts urge you to hide under a bed. In a closet. To stay out of sight as you lick your wounds.

The soldiers have your life in their hands, and that requires inordinate amounts of trust. There’s a gap you can’t cross. You’ve known them for a few hours. They killed people, and then they stopped your bleeding and sent you to bed. That’s too much and not enough for friendship.

You’re also, on a much shallower level, wildly aware that you’re the odd one out. The only woman. The only stranger. The only civilian.

It’s like standing in the cafeteria on the first day at a new school and wondering where the hell you’re supposed to sit.

Studiously avoiding your reflection, you leave the bathroom and begin your hike downstairs. Each step is a mile. You count them, congratulating yourself on your progress as you balance with your hand on the wall. In yesterday’s – today’s? – struggle, you used muscle groups you didn’t know you had and used known muscles in new and interesting ways they disapprove of. Everything is a little harder, and every step a little wobbly, and thankfully no one pops around the corner to see your tremorous pace.

Shadow creep over the lower steps where the hall light can’t quite reach, but a bright puddle spills out from the kitchen, and you follow it like a little moth.

Rain patters against the windows here, too, but the drumming on the roof doesn’t reach through the upper floor.

You’ll take it.

The kitchen opens around you as you step through, and your eyes flick up from your feet as a figure moves in your peripheral.

“You’re up.”

It’s the Scot. He’s divested himself of the tac vest, though a handgun peaks out from a holster under his jacket. It’s a good sign that he’s less armed than this morning, though. It gives you hope. A step towards de-escalation and a normal state of being where locked doors mean something and you get to sleep in your own bed.

The kitchen’s a little chilly, and your arms fold of their own volition. You stuff your hands out of sight, hiding your most obvious injury as you wince out a smile and try not to make things awkward.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t ask if you slept well. You appreciate it. Instead he fills the electric kettle and pops down the tab before even asking, “Tea?”

Since it’s already too late to say no, you nod, taking a seat at the table to spare your shaky fawn legs. “Thanks.”

The clock over the sink reads 9:07, so it hasn’t been dark for long. You’ve slept away the day, and now you have a long night of worry and stilted conversation ahead. What the fuck are you supposed to talk about with these people? Or are you supposed to converse with them at all beyond basic pleasantries?

Tea might make everything better, or the caffeine may make everything just a little worse. A warm drink does sound nice, though.

A heavy jacket still flush with body heat drops over your shoulders, and you freeze like a cat suddenly trapped under a blanket.

You feel your eyes go big and know you’ve made the moment weird as you peer up at the burly Scot. The fabric’s heavier than it looks, and it smells like the man. Something sweet hidden under whiskey and aftershave. The weighted warmth feels like security made cloth, and the comfort tangles with the acidic terror still hissing in your belly.

The man beams. Chortling, clearly delighted with himself, he rearranges the collar to sit right around your neck without pressing on the bruises.

“Dreich weather,” he says, stepping away to throw a tea bag in a chipped white mug. “Need to keep warm.”

Your fingers lift to the worn seems along the zip, pulling it just a little closer, like folding yourself into a cocoon. He’s given you a hug, you realize, without invading your personal space. It’s shockingly considerate, and you swim through treacle-thick thoughts for the right words of thanks, but they roll back down your throat before you can express yourself as you look back up to an eyeful of distraction.

Without the jacket the soldier’s a walking gun show, and you aren’t thinking about the weapon clipped to his belt. His snug, dun t-shirt showcases his broad shoulders and the sculpted trunks he calls arms without clinging to his tapered waist. His golden tan practically shines against the dull cloth and muted colors of the kitchen. Veiled muscles roll along his back as he reaches into an upper cabinet for a couple more mugs, and you flick your eyes down to the places the varnish has cracked off the table so he doesn’t catch you staring.

It's patently unfair that such an attractive man is paying so much attention to you when you’re too sick with shock and fear to do anything about it.

He slides the tea into your line of sight, and manage to mumble, “Thank you,” without imploding, exploding, or falling into a heap of embarrassed chunks.

“Ye’re welcome.”

He’s added sugar. Did you miss him asking how you took your tea? Doesn’t matter.

You only just notice the soft footsteps approaching from the open doorway leading to the living room before a shadow cuts through the yellow kitchen lights to your left. The captain nods down at you as he heads towards the half-steeped cups waiting by the sink, greeting his sergeant with a rumble. With cup in hand, he turns, propping a hip against the counter as he pulls you into a conversation.

“Was plannin’ on sending Gaz to check on you in another hour, make sure you were alright.” He speaks as he sips his tea, leaving his voice a little muffled, indirect in a way that suggests awareness of things better left half-acknowledged.

Taking your cue from the leader, you hide behind your mug.

“No need now.”

The tea’s very nice, actually. The warmth soothes your aching throat and pairs well with the gentle warmth of Soap’s jacket. A hug inside to complement the hug outside.

The captain lifts his eyebrows, pausing between sips. “And are you?”

Despite his careful tone, the question hits with a sharp edge, slicing between the plates of armor you assembled over the bathroom sink before braving the soldiers’ company. Are you alright? You flinch setting down your mug, and the drink sloshes up to the rim. Just shy of a spill.

Washed face of no, you must look awful. Your eyes always go red and puffy after too much crying, and you can’t banish every trace of your little breakdown, no matter how hard you try.

“I thought I’d spare us all the awkwardness of a bunch of soldiers trying to handle a crying woman.” Make it a joke. Make it light. Maybe it will float away and take those probing questions with it. You desperately need a distraction, something to pull the focus off your welfare and back to things these men are equipped to handle.

“What happens now?” you ask.

Soap scoffs into the third cup. “Try not to die.” The captain swats him over the head, grazing the mohawk, and the Scot chokes, spluttering tea out his nose as he hastily adds, “Of boredom.”

“Laswell called while you were asleep. She has things in hand. In another day or two she’ll have enough free resources to help us handle the cell here without drawing the wrong attention. Until then we sit tight.” He smiles with his eyes and the shape of his face. The mustache hides most of his mouth when he angles his head down to meet your eye, but there’s no mistaking his expression. “Keep you safe.”

He’s as bad as subordinate.

The military issue clothes reveal enough of his shape to spark your interest in any other situation, and he moves with confidence you’d like to reach out and taste. Those smiles of his don’t help.

As you sit stewing in your own flatfooted frustration, your stomach decides you haven’t done enough to humiliate yourself and kicks off with a growl.

You press a hand flat to your gut. Soap laughs as your face heats, and if you weren’t on the verge of starving you might’ve sprinted back up the stairs to hide in the room Gaz said is more or less yours.

“How long since you ate?” the captain asks.

Too long ago. This is a military man, though, and they like specifics. You think back, leaping from abduction to fleeing to the club lights and blood. “More than a day. Day and a half, I think.” That sounds right. The last meal you remember is lunch the day prior.

Huffing, the Scot turns back to the cabinets, rustling through a collection of tins and boxes. Nonperishables. Of course. A safehouse wouldn’t stock anything liable to spoil in the months or years between visits. At least you don’t see any MREs lurking in the depths. The past twenty-four hours have seen enough horrors.

Squinting at the expiration date on a can, Soap asks, “How do you feel about beans?”

[aufi-creative-mind]

Updates about what I have been up to.

Things that are in progress!

Currently, my main focus is on completing the LU Spirits series (Formerly known as Farore's Spirits). It is my most ambitious personal project - 9 (12) part series - that I am undertaking by myself. I hope to finally fulfill a 5 year long promise to myself to give this series the artistic glow up that it deserves.

I am also part of the upcoming Denouncement of War: A Hyrule Warriors zine. So do check this out if you are a fan of the OG Hyrule Warrior games!

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Things that I want to work on.

I plan to shift more focus towards my BotW-TotK Family and Legacy series. I have a lot of stories that I want to show to you all about Link's family and their individual character stories, Pre-Calamity, Post-Calamity and even present day BotW-TotK events. That includes fan fiction stories, including one I have started - Getting to Know You. You can read the first two chapters on A03 and HERE on this blog.

Chapter 3 is slowly being written out with a potential Chapter 4 planned as well.

I also have three folders worth of other Zelda concepts and stories that I want to show as well. Such as the pre-TotK Zelink sketches that I had impulsively made in the lead up to TotK's release last year. I might release them as soft sketches rather than fully rendered pages.

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Things that are put on hiatus...

I have been asked by several people about my LU: Sword's Reveal comic pages and whether I am continuing it. And unfortunately, I will have to put it on hiatus until further notice.

This is because I started that comic long before TotK's release. Specifically when Nintendo made that delay announcement with that teaser of the decayed Master Sword. And the hype that created. So I was originally running on that hype energy of the unknown then. And the other reason was that....I lost the original script for the comic. And what notes I was able to retrieve no longer reflects on what I now know from completing TotK and what have in mind for the story.

So I'm not abandoning the LU Sword's Reveal comic! But it will be some time until I am able to come back to it and rework on the script and the draft pages.

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Things that I am thinking of doing...

For those who may not know, I work as a liasion officer in medical accommodation for families with sick children. And as such, it does take up a lot of my time and energy - physically and especially emotionally - that I am unable to dedicate as much time to making art as I wanted.

I have been considering opening a Ko-Fi or even a Patreon account, but still unsure on how to go about it. I would love to hear your suggestions or feedback on this one!

.

So if you've been able to reach this far into this update. Thank you so much for taking your time and wishing you all the good vibes!

[otrtbs]

this is going to sound so strange, so I apologize, I promise I'm normal I just have a really good memory. But I randomly noticed that the word count for Art Heist, Baby! has gone up a few hundred words, & I was wondering if you're adding to it? I remember a little while ago you posted on here about wanting to secretly add scenes to fuck with evil tiktokers who were illegally binding your book (a noble pursuit) but I would love to read the extra scenes! Even if it means rereading the whole thing, I am honestly always looking for an excuse. So yeah, I was just wondering. Thanks! <3

SCREAM!! hello!!! no not strange don’t worry you’re so good!!!

i am currently in the process of trying to edit it (<- says girl who is moving veryyyyy slowly through it. like im on chapter 4)

it’s mainly to clean it up and make it readable to other people outside of me! so not a *whole* lot is being added to it aside from, like, commas n stuff. i am desperately trying to keep the integrity of ahb! as originally written (<- says girl who constantly twitches her eye and wants to scrap chapters as i read through it, but i breathe through it)

i mean, there will be a few sentence changes and variations but hopefully nothing too noticeable and nothing like added scenes (i’m pretty sure. as of right now. the plan is NOT. to do that. for real.)

so i hope this clears things up a little!! <33

[an-abyss-of-stars]

Fic Updates!!

(Yes, I'm back with these 😂)

Update notes for:

It's Visceral And It's Cruel

Burnt Over And Over Again

He Saw Her At Daybreak

Struck By Fire Drowned By The Sea

*Burnt Over And Over Again* (Modern Au)

So I am currently working on this MAJOR sex scene for the upcoming chapter (chapter 5). BUT I'm actually in the process of reworking it. The initial draft was like 80% finished 🤣💀

I'M SORRY, I was actually so close to being ready to edit and then post. But the further I went with that version, it just wasn't giving what it was meant to give. And to share my thoughts/struggles with this plot point/scene without spoiling the entire scene. If y'all remember, chapter 4 has Rhaena and Aemond bickering like an old married couple in a nightclub in Prague. And as their drama progresses, Aemond finds a way to get Rhaena alone so they can have a private tense conversation. Their sexual tension builds up to a point where they HAVE to do something about it.

Semantics I guess, but there's a ✨mood✨ I'm trying to convey and it's SOO hard to convey it genuinely, idk why 🤣 Like Rhaena is in denial, but she's CLEARLY still very attracted to him. And he's down so BADDD for her, but he's also really frustrated and annoyed with the current state of their relationship. Like the sex isn't going to be all that frantic, because of the way I've slowly built the tension. But at the same time, Aemond's frustration still needs to be present? At least I want it to be? Like I want him to coax her into this, because deep down she definitely wants it, she's just in denial.

Am I making any sense? I don't really know 🤣 I just don't want it to sound like coercion, and that feels like such a fine line with this scene for some reason 😩 like he's definitely not forcing her to do anything, but he is leading this whole thing. The key for me, is making it really feel like she's down for this and welcoming it all physically even if she's still trying to keep him at arm's length emotionally... UGHH it's a fine line fr.

My goal is to update this fic before I move onto any others. So fingers crossed for meeee 😭

(I'm also working out some more background lore for this modern au universe, like what everyone in the family does career wise, I'm working out who has pets and whatnot, expanding the lore of Rhaena's former relationship with Dalton since I initially made it rather vague...SOOOO get ready for this whole story to expand as it goes. Because I kinda want this story to be a bit more than short fic now 😂)

—

*It's Visceral And It's Cruel* (reg medieval time period)

Nowww this is my bread and butterrrr 🤣 I have about 13k of next chapter (chapter 9) written and ready for editing. BUT I still have about 5 scenes to go, or at least those were scenes I originally planned to include in this chapter.

I'm starting to think adding in all of those scenes will make this chapter TOO long if I include them all here 💀 like I added in two extra scenes to make the narrative flow in a more interconnected manner. But in doing that, it's definitely going to make this chapter too long. And the final scene I initially had for this chapter was going to be the Royal Hunt shenanigans. And THAT is a scene/plot point that needs a lot of time/words dedicated to it. Especially since it's going to be written from Aemond's POV, and that boy is going to be going THROUGH it watching Rhaena purposely flirt with literally every other man there EXCEPT for him 🤣🤣

So I think I'm going to move the hunt over to chapter 10 (even though I promised it would be here 😭😭). Because logically...like I must 😂 I can't let this chapter be 40k in length, I'd take DAYSSS to edit it if I did🤣💀

—

*He Saw Her At Daybreak* (horny married Rhaemond Fic)

UMMMM I actually have no clue when I plan to work on the next chapter LMAO 😂 There are a few things I need to map out plot wise. Like slight spoilers:

But here are the scenes I'm planning on including in chapter 10:

• Actually showing Aemond flying over to Driftmark and interacting with Grandma Rhaenys (for the Spice Towk salt that Rhaena craves).

•Aemond and Aegon actually discussing their mother returning to court for the birth of the baby.

•I want to slip in a sex for Rhaemond, since ya know, this IS the horny fic 🤣and this is my last chance to include the lactation kink before the baby gets here, so I must do it 😂 I'm also thinking that scene could definitely start with pregnant Rhaena being a little self conscious about her body before a family event. Like I haven't had much of that insecurity mentioned for her.

•The family event being the Valyrian equivalent Yule/Christmas holiday event, that's going to be like a nice wholesome gift giving scene. Targ family shenanigans.

•ALL culminating with Rhaena's water breaking and the baby finally coming. Like this baby is COMING in this chapter, most definitely 😂😂 we are ending the chapter with Rhaemond happily holding their newborn baby.

So there's a lot to write, and I'm still only on the first scene 💀💀 but hey, now the 10 of you so still tune in, have an idea of what's to come! 😂😂

—

*Struck by Fire, Drowned By The Sea* (Pirate Fic)

LORD, I PROMISE I HAVEN'T FORGOT ABOUT THIS ONEEEE. AGHHH oddly enough, like this writing process feels like the sex scene in BO&OA, I can't seem to land on the vibe™ for the next chapter (chapter 5). And it's not even a sex scene, so Idk why I'm overthinking it all 🤣🤣

It's weird, really. I usually have a really easy time writing from Aemond's POV for my other fics, but since Pirate Captain Aemond is more of a mystery to both Rhaena and the audience. It for some reason feels a lot harder 💀🤣 like it shouldn't be, but it is 🤣🤣 I've rewritten/restarted this chapter at least 6 times trying various ways to tell the same scene, seeing how much I should give away in his inner thoughts or not. And I just haven't landed on a good ratio for him, like we all know this IS Aemond. But there's still so much of his past that hasn't been revealed, and it's all still a mysterious element for captive Rhaena, she's still trying to figure him out... especially since they've never really met until now.

Their relationship is going to be SOMETHING wild, if I can get past this damn chapter 🤣🤣

—

This just feels like me explaining in depth, four various types of writer's block 🤣🤣

Anywaysss, if any of y'all have any suggestions or helpful ideas, for any of these fics, I'm very open to them 💖

[waytooinvested]

Fandom creators tag game

1. What sort of content do you create, and what is the thing you’ve made that you’re most proud of? Mostly I write fanfiction. Sometimes I make little needle felted character dolls. Over all proudest is probably still The Hands I Used to Touch (Call the Midwife), but for my current fandom (Supergirl) it's Forgotten, Not Forgiven, as that is my latest big project and home to all the fluffy supercorp that I need in my life (okay not in the published chapters but IT WILL BE EVENTUALLY I PROMISE)

2. What fandom(s) do you create for? Right now just Supergirl, and I have only written three fics for that one so far (but hopefully more to come!) Before that it was Call the Midwife.

3. What is your current favourite ship (or brotp if you prefer), and how controversial is it? Supercorp, ie Kara/Lena for Supergirl (I know, I’m so quiet about it on this blog you would never have guessed). It occupies an interesting space of being simultaneously entirely non controversial in that it is by far the biggest ship I have ever engaged with, while also being extremely divisive, both within and beyond fandom spaces. But I arrived here LONG after most of that had happened, and am now just happily playing in the sandpit of creative space while the bones of drama stay *mostly* buried. Always a bit of a shock when one rises up to try and kick down your sandcastle though (yes, I am aware that that is a mildly horrifying visual)

4. For your answer to question 3, are they canon? They are not (TECHNICALLY), but there is enough raw material in canon to build The São João Baptista, and that is enough for me. That and the 21,302 (and counting) fics with their relationship tag on AO3.

5. What was your first fandom, and how old were you? The first I actually engaged with other fans over was Call The Midwife in my early 20s, and that was because I snapped after seeing one too many tv lesbians get hit by a car.

6. What is your most unhinged fandom creation to date? Unhinged is not really my brand so I don't really have anything good for this one. Is Kara gets accidentally miniaturized unhinged? Or a bait and switch Lena "villain" arc? I think probably not really to either, but that's the closest I've got for this fandom so far...

7. Do you remember what started you off creating fandom content, and if so, what was it? The aforementioned incident between Delia and a car, which left her with amnesia and taken away to Wales mere moments after she and Patsy had moved in together. But I’m over it. Honest.

8. Do you let people you know in real life see your fandom creations? Not usually, I get shy about it. The exceptions are my wife (but we met via fandom so that one maybe doesn’t count) and on occasion my best friend, who talked me round by being an enthusiastic sweetheart.

9. How do you feel about fanworks of fanworks? Has anyone ever made something based on a thing you made? A few people have made fan art for my fics and it felt like the absolute highest compliment that could be paid to my writing. It was amazing to know that something I wrote meant enough to people to inspire them to go and create their own thing from it, and I loved getting to see other people’s takes on the version of the characters/story I had created. I think it's one of the best things about fandom communities! But I do understand why other people might feel differently about something they have poured so much of themselves into making, so I guess the main thing is trying to be respectful with it, crediting the source, and accepting people's boundaries. Basically I think we should all just be kind to each other and have fun.

10. What feeling do you most often try to evoke with your creations? I'm generally seeking my own catharsis through writing fix-it fic for painful things that happened in canon, so I guess a certain amount of pain followed by the eventual fluffy feel good satisfaction of resolution, but honestly I consider it a win if I can evoke a whole spectrum of emotions along the way.

11. Has someone ever paid your work a compliment (in any form) that has stuck with you, and what was it? Someone once liked my fic so much that she married me about it, so it’s hard to beat that haha. But on a more usual level, people making fanart for my fic was a HUGE one. And also just when people have left particularly in depth comments, commented on every chapter, told me they're rereading or that a fic of mine was their favourite etc... Basically just knowing that something I made has really meant something to someone gives me all of the warm fuzzy feelings, and I am very grateful to each and every person who has taken the time to tell me so!

12. What’s your favourite thing someone else has made that you’ve seen in the last 24 hours (and link it if you can find it again!) Originally I had the bouquet toss ficlet by @fazedlight here, because it just captures the characters so beautifully, but then I left this sitting in my drafts and it is now more than 24 hours ago that I saw it, so I'll add this adorable art by @awaitingrain, because LOOK AT IT! They are so cute??! Also I relate to gentle nomming as a display of affection XD

13. Give a small sneak preview of something you’re working on right now (eg a couple of sentences of fic from a WIP, a gif set theme, a small piece of a larger picture, whatever you feel happy to share) "Lena Luthor was dangling from the side of a cliff, nothing between her and the vast chasm of space below but the small jutting nodule she was clinging to to keep from falling.

How the hell had she ended up here?

Well. She knew how of course.

Kara Danvers was how."

14. Have you ever seen/read anything made by the person who tagged you? If so, what was it and what was your favourite thing about it? (pick a favourite if there are several) SO MANY!! it’s hard to pick a favourite of hers honestly because she is a RIDICULOUSLY good writer, but I’m going to go with The Next Best Thing by @cynicalrainbows. I don’t tend to read many kidfics but this one is the absolute best I have come across, she captures the child perspective fantastically well while also being incredibly engaging and entertaining to an adult reader. It is what successfully pulled me into reading Six fanfic despite (at that point) never having seen the musical. Even if you haven’t either, I wholeheartedly recommend checking it out. Or go and read her new Paperdolls fic and help grow that fandom, which I think currently has all of two people in it!

15. Do you leave comments on fandom works, and if so how would you describe your comment style? I do! I know how much I love it when people do it for me, so I try to leave comments on every chapter of the fics I read (or add tag notes for tumblr art/fic reblogs), and give specifics about what I like about it. Sometimes I just fully liveblog the fic reading experience, which is always fun. I also find it makes you engage and appreciate the work more because you’re taking your time to really think about it, AND it makes an author happy to receive (at least so I hope), which makes me happy.

16. How many works in progress do you currently have? Will you finish them all? Not counting a couple of dump documents of ideas and snippets, technically 3, I guess? One is Forgotten, Not Forgiven (Supergirl) which is my big one and will definitely be finished. The others are less certain – Storybooks and Siren Suits (Call The Midwife) is the one kidfic I have ever written, and is both my longest story at 151,020 (published) words, and also the one I am least likely to finish, because it has been stuck on the same chapter for around 3 years now. The other is Small Problem… (Supergirl) which could be counted as a finished oneshot, but I will probably end up adding further Adventures of Tiny Kara at some point.

17. what’s the longest it’s ever taken you to finish a fandom project?Well, see above re: 3 year stall on new updates. For actually fully finished and published stories I think it was around 6 months.

18. Describe the thing you made most recently in a way that is technically true, but also completely misleading. Link the thing if it’s published! Lena discovers Kara in Lex’s bed, then decides to lure her into friendship under false pretenses. Alex helps her do it. Forgotten, Not Forgiven.

19. Do you ever engage with fanworks for a fandom you’re not in? Which one(s) and how did you get into it? See above re: getting into fanfiction for Six!

20. Recommend a fan work from your fandom to your followers That’s tough because there are so many amazing ones, but I think I will go with I Guess I Live Here Now by @fabulousglitch, because it was both the first fic I really got into for supercorp and also contained everything I wish the characters could have had in canon. I know I am several years late to the party so if you are in the supercorp fandom you have probably already read it, but if you haven’t read it GO READ IT, IT’S SO GOOD!

Suggested tag list, but there are no rules here, follow your heart.

A mutual you have never actually spoken to but think seems cool @nottawriter

The most recent person whose content you engaged with (eg read a fic, reblogged art, whatever form you feel best fits) @sideguitars (and I still owe you a comment on AO3 for that!)

Someone whose content you saw via tags/reblogs and you followed them because of it @sssammich

Someone in your fandom that you think makes cool things @fazedlight

Someone in a different fandom that you think makes cool things @havaamina

Someone you always tag on things like this @cynicalrainbows

Someone you have never tagged before @thatonebirdwrites

Someone you would like to get to know better @thecasualqueer

Someone who makes art you like @pea-green (I don't know if you still do fandom drawing/writing these days, but your commissioned art is still up in my house/in my profile picture and I love it so much)

Someone who writes fics you like @fabulousglitch

[aloneinthehellfire]

AloneInTheHellfire's Masterlist

About Me

fic recs

currently written for: steve harrington, eddie munson, robin buckley, billy hargrove

Stranger Things

MAIN SERIES

Raining Hellfire 4 Seasons, Extras [on hiatus until ST5]

[an episode by episode story incorporating fem!reader]

Since moving to Hawkins just two years ago, you found that nothing ever really happened in this town. That was until the day you felt your life change. From meeting a boy to Will Byers’ disappearance, you could just feel that 1983 was going to be different.

The question is, was it changing for better… or for worse?

Fortress Of Memories 14 parts [completed]

Y/n Byers and Eddie Munson were killed in the battle. Vecna had claimed their lives and murdered them right in front of their friends’ eyes. They died heroes, saving the town that hated them both. And now, months later, the first New Year since Hawkins’ destruction had come around. But no one celebrates. Instead, they are entering hell to finally stop Vecna. They were prepared for everything. Or… so they thought…

STEVE HARRINGTON

SERIES

Gates Of Hell 17 chapters [ongoing]

Hawkins swarmed with monsters, quarantined from the rest of the world, few survivors. Steve Harrington and Y/n Hopper are forced to survive together, knowing that despite their hatred, they need each other to make it out of Hawkins alive.

Eight Months 5 chapters [completed]

Y/n went missing at the end of spring. A note was left explaining that after her father, Bob Newby, died, she just couldn’t bear to stay in Hawkins. The others were shocked but after gaining no leads on where she could be, they had to accept that she was gone. But when summer rolls in and Hawkins starts getting scary, Steve and Dustin find themselves venturing into a Russian base and uncover more secrets than they bargained for.

ONE SHOTS

Snippet: When Blue Meets Yellow 807 words

Here’s a sneak peek of a ST3 story I am currently working on. I really wanted to write a Steve x Reader story so let me know if it’s something you’d want :) And I promise the story is much more interesting than just two idiots in love

Missing 2.8k words

Straight after the Battle Of Starcourt, panic was in the air. The mall was going up in flames, another Hawkins cover-up, as the kids reunited with their families. Everyone was on-edge, especially since they barely escaped with their lives. Their minds were running a hundred miles per hour as they couldn’t focus on one thought. But not Steve. All he could think was that in all the chaos, you were no where to be found.

Senior Prom 2.4k words

20th April 1985 was the scariest night of Steve Harrington’s life. He may have battled with demodogs and abusive step-brothers, but the Senior Prom would really put his nerves to the test; he was about to confess his feelings to a girl he had taken for granted for too long.

EDDIE MUNSON

SERIES

It's You and Me, Always 10 chapters [completed]

You and Eddie have been best friends since elementary school and you both assumed that friendship was all you were destined for. However, when you both experience Chrissy’s supernatural death, you are pulled into the secrets beneath Hawkins and find that your feelings for eachother aren’t what they seem.

ONE SHOTS

The Crawl 3.5k words

Hawkins had fallen from Vecna’s curse, taking friends and family with it. They claimed it to be an earthquake but you knew better; you had seen it all unfold in the Upside Down itself. You had watched the boy you loved die in your arms, leaving him where he lay in the chaos of an escape. The guilt tore at you for days. He was gone. At least, that what’s you thought…

Freak's Best Friend 3.4k words

Eddie Munson was being hunted. After Chrissy Cunningham’s death at his trailer, the town had named him a murderer. He didn’t do it, of course. There were supernatural forces at bay that no one but a small group of people knew about. But that didn’t stop Jason Carver and his basketball teammates from taking matters into their own hands. Eddie stayed hidden, much to the party’s request, until Jason found the ultimate leverage to use against the ‘freak’; you.

REQUESTS

Perfect Is A Feeling (eddie x chrissy fic) 1.3k words

Years after the battle of Hawkins, Chrissy and Eddie were lucky to have survived. They celebrated with a date… and then another and another until it felt like a lifetime had passed. Now, they’re married, living in a house of their own with a 3 year old daughter. Chrissy never imagined she could be this lucky.

In Love And Grief 5k words

El Hopper was unsure to her older sister’s behaviour. After the fall of Hawkins, you had been avoiding everyone, and they knew it was because of Eddie. His death had shaken your core. But El never truly understood until she caught a glimpse of how powerful grief really is.

ROBIN BUCKLEY

SERIES

The Pariahs That Saved The World 7 Chapters [ongoing]

When Vecna comes to town, Robin and her friends need all the help they can get in the final battle. The gang searches for an old friend she's never met before. But what Robin didn't know, was that the help would catch her attention in more ways than one.

BILLY HARGROVE

REQUESTS

I Wanna Be Yours 2.2k words

Billy Hargrove has been dating Y/n Wheeler for a few glorious months. Considering their friends, they decided to keep it a secret. His friends didn’t like her. Her friends didn’t like him. And neither of them were upset about that deal as long as they were together. But when things start to test this theory, Billy has other plans…

Greatest Fear 2.3k words

After his fight at the Byers household, Billy Hargrove has only one place to go; to your trailer.

[cowboydisaster]

Update!

Hello!! Firstly, I'm sorry for being MIA for a while. If anyone at all has stuck around, I thank you. And if you didn't, I understand. I'm gonna try to address all the most asked questions in my inbox here because it'll take me a while to go through them individually-- there was a lot so if i didn't get to yours I apologize!!

1. are you going to update The Fire In Your Eyes?

I'm not gonna lie to you guys, I honestly don't know. Obviously I want to finish it. I put so much time and effort and thought into every update and hyperfixated on it for a long time, so to see it sitting untocuhed kills me. I still have plans for the ending and where I want it to go, but I'm struggling to write it down. I hope to keep updating it, but I don't want to be a writer who promises updates and then orphans a fic, so I'm not promising anything.

2. are you going to keep writing/posting?

Yes! If you follow my ao3, you'll see i still post. For the past year, I've been solely focused on rdr2, but in the past few months away from tumblr, I've branched out by trying some new games and watching some new shows. I fell into the cod Fandom, which I'll talk more about in the next paragraph. In short, even while away from tumblr, I never stopped writing, and i don't plan to, I just haven't written for rdr2 in a while.

3. are you abandoning your blog?

no! I am, however, updating it to my current interests. It's going to be a multifandom blog. I'm gonna change up the vibe a little bit, revamp it, and add my new characters. I'm writing for Simon Riley now, so expect to see him a lot on my blog. I also might write for Price cause the daddy issues are daddy issuing.

4. how are you?

Im good i think!! For the first time in a while. So much has happened since I left. I moved, my dad abandoned me, I started back at uni and started working a lot more. So I'm busy and dealing with a lot, but I feel okay!

to wrap that all up:

if you're still here, I really really appreciate you. Im still going to write for the rdr2 fandom, I'm gonna add writing to the cod Fandom. If you have any cod requests, PLEASE send them in because I have hundreds of requests for Arthur Morgan and zero for the 141 boys, so I'm starting from scratch there. Also, as a heads up, im going to be changing my blog a good bit with a new layout and fixing up my masterlist and everything, so look out for that! also, keep an eye out because im going to be posting a two simon riley fics on here either tonight or tomorrow!

I love you all. I'm so excited to be back, and I'm excited for this new chapter of my blog. 🩷🩷

[ar-feyniel]

Daemyra fic recs

It has been a while since I did this, and I feel like it's time for a new post [i am totally procrastinating writing with this, yes].

Sharing my current favs, both WIPs and finished, modern and canon! 1. milk teeth by @luthien-under-bough - WIP, canonverse, 18k, 3/6 I am convinced that this fandom has a collective lactation kink, and this fic perfectly encapsulates it. It's beautifully written, really explores Rhaenyra's mind, and the build-up is amazing so far. Also the tags are promising A FEST in the future chapters.

2. Worth a Thousand Words by @anamazingangie - WIP, modern, 160.5k, 16/18

Look, I could write a thesis on this work, really. There are so many details, so much nuance, so many FEELINGS, and also superb smut, of course. Every time this fic got an update, I had to clear my calendar and sit undisturbed *for hours* to really process everything. The premise is controversial, yes, but there is so much DELICIOUSNESS to this controversy and *this* level of codependency. 11/10. 3. the shadow of a white rose (in a mirror of silver) by @awfullylongtime - complete, canonverse, 73k, 6/6 A beautiful story about Viserys being an asshole and true love prevailing. What if Rhaenyra was instructed to kill her uncle on their wedding night? Would she succeed? Or would life prevail over death?

4. Every Bait and Switch Was a Work of Art by @grandlovescheme - WIP, modern, 40.7k, 7/?

Deep inside, I am a James Bond girlie - and this fic perfectly scratches this itch for me with the INSANE sexual chemistry and secret agents setting. The writing is also incredible, you will be hooked from chapter 1! Bonus! 5. incendium by @anamazingangie - canonverse

Technically not a fic but a series, but it has one of the best smut pieces in the fandom. Literally feral about this.

Well, these are my current favs that I have been reading and re-reading, and I hope you enjoy at least some of them <3