#How can anyone deny themselves the pleasure of my company?

[bygone]

At certain times I have no race

“At certain times I have no race. I am me. I belong to no race or time. I am the eternal feminine with its string of beads. I do not weep at the world--I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife. I have a strong suspicion, but I can't be sure, that much that passes for constant love is a golded-up moment walking in its sleep. Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. Sometimes I feel discriminated against, but it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can anyone deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It's beyond me. There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” ― Zora Neale Hurston

[gabster-fabster]

So I was listening to Madds Buckley’s ‘Sunset on Summerville’ Album about MHA and couldn’t help but notice that a lot of the songs could fit Umbrella Academy characters. I wrote this in like five minutes so it may be a bit jumbled but I hope you enjoyed.

One/Luther to me is Scotch Tape and Cellophane. The first verse when taken at face value is frustrated with the stickiness of the tape, forcing the singer to suffer while unwrapping the gift. I thought of this like the struggle of Luther and Reginald. Everything Reginald did stuck to Luther and even though his intentions were clear, he wanted his kids to suffer and Luther to be hidden away from the world. The rest of the song is more silly and loving, which shows the character growth Luther went through. He started as a leader type but grew into a very silly and loving character and the transition is mirrored in the song.

Two/Diego would be Little Big Boy. I originally thought that this would fit Five but listening to the song more and more made me change my opinion. Diego has this need to be seen, a need to prove himself. This is shown in his conflict with Luther and his vigilantism. He’s so determined to show everyone that he is the best, due to the fact that he feels as though he is a small fish in the metaphorical pond. The metaphor for water also fits with him since his power in the comics is breathing underwater but that’s less relevant to the comparison. He always wants something out of his reach, something bigger than him, saving JFK, being Number One in the Umbrella Academy. His desperation to prove himself makes him seem like a child vying for the approval of his father even well into adulthood, hence the ‘Little Big Boy.”

Three/Allison is Ambrosia Wine; she can give pleasure or pain, she can rumor someone to shoot themselves, but also to fall in love with her. Her power is quite literally giving people temptations and making them give into them. She is also known by many names and epithets due to her acting career. You cannot deny her, she is quite literally an urge you cannot ignore. This comparison is pretty self explanatory but it’s cool to draw it anyway.

Four/Klaus is Hawk in The Night. This one is more of a broad commentary of how Reginald wanted him to be. Hargreaves wanted Klaus to be powerful, to be obedient. The song is sung from the perspective of someone telling Hawks about how they are happy how he lost himself in his training and childhood, likely his handler. While Klaus didn’t meet the expectations set for him, he lost himself in drugs. The phrase ‘we raised you right’ comes up many times and it shows the self righteousness felt by both Hargreaves and the Commission. Reginald wanted to train Klaus so that he had the potential to be Number One and in doing so caused Klaus to lose his childhood and to shove down himself, desperately clawing at the world that wronged him. Hargreaves wanted him to be empty and emotionless, obedient like One was, and in doing so raised him ‘right,’ with days in the Mausoleum and traumatizing him so much that he had to turn to drugs and not tell anyone he was struggling because both him and Reginald had so much pride.

Five would be Child of Ashes. The warped sound of the song highlights the fact that he’s so much that his mind is a bit twisted. He is a child of ashes and without a home, raised in the apocalypse where his only company was burned buildings and the memory of his dead siblings. The song can also be seen as the manipulatings of the Handler. Telling him that his family won’t care for him now that he’s killed so many, and that he would be better off staying with them. The last line ‘We can watch the world decay,’ only reinforces this. The Handler wants him to stay and watch as his family dies again, in the same inevitable way. He has nowhere to run, his only home for so long was the ashes of the world’s end. The song is only about a minute and a half long so there isn’t much to analyze but it’s sad in its brevity.

Six/Ben is Sunset On Summerville. The sun is brought up again and again, a metaphor for life, the sunset and night being its opposite death. Ben is waiting for Klaus to realize that life is worth living, waiting with him. He is in twilight, the area between life and death, and everyday he is being called to the beyond, but he won’t give up on Klaus. The moon, or death indeed casts a cold light, we see this in the other ghosts that Klaus interacts with, it is so easy to give in to the despair but Ben finds comfort in his brother, the moons frigidity ‘only lasts the night’ but Klaus is there, a warmth or a beacon, a light like the sun of life. This reminds Ben that waiting is worth it. Waiting for Klaus to get sober, to stop being scared of his own power. While Ben longs to live again, he accepts the fact that he can’t, but seeing his siblings live and grow is enough for him to evade the cold embrace of death totally.

Seven/Viktor is Reach. This is actually what got me thinking of this whole thing. He is jealous of his siblings, she wants the spotlight they have. He wants the powers, the acknowledgment from their father. He works so hard, becoming exceptional at the violin, but it is impossible to become exceptional in the eyes of Reginald. He is constantly asking himself what he is doing wrong and when it will be his turn to be in the spotlight. He writes his book to try and lash out and get that spotlight, but instead it makes everyone shun him. He wants his life to be easy, while reaching for something he thinks is out of his grasp. He is left behind, his siblings have training, missions, but he has isolation and his violin. He is bitter, and in Season 1 this is very apparent. He harbors so much anger and frustration that it overflows into all of his actions. Also, fun little factoid, during the line ‘Why can’t I excel at something…like you’ like you is repeated six times, six times for his six other siblings who have powers.

If I had talents in creating edits or art I would make videos of these characters to these songs but alas. Hope this makes sense!

[inafieldofdaisies]

💭 I’m dying to know Cal’s thoughts about Cooper

now, this would be in an AU where Sabrina and Savannah aren't staying at the ranch after the start of the Reaping.

we're going Goldilocks-esc hehe (totally blame Calahan for this parallel), with a side of destruction of property and other things. 🤷‍♀️ NSFW, kinda?

"Another one, gorgeous.", Calahan called out to Mary May, who was at the far end of the bar, speaking to a customer. That night, he found himself over John Seed's general existence and stifling presence in the region on an new level. She didn't make him wait long as she refilled his drink again, then asked, "Should I just leave you the whole bottle?" "Fuck. Might be a good idea. Thank you." Minutes passed where he searched for tranquility at the bottom of the glass, but that never came, his desire to cause destruction didn't die down. The Spead Eagle was more full than usual, but people kept their distance from him, sensing his sour mood. Must be something about my face. Or more likely his bloody knuckles after he had gotten carried away with another capture party sent his way. The bell above the bar's door signaled the arrival of a new patron, but he didn't bother to turn around. "A toast to you fuckers. Hope you ain't too hot down there.", he muttered out loud and raised his glass. At that exact moment, the empty seat next to him finally became occupied. A cowboy hat was placed down on the bar next to his hand. "What are we celebratin'?", the newcomer asked, which made Calahan's eyes shift to him. "The death of more of John's men.", he replied as he took in the blond guy he hadn't seen around the Valley before. "I'd drink to that. With pleasure.", the stranger smirked as he lifted a finger to Mary May in a sign he wants a drink. While he waited, he reached out a hand to Hartley, "Cooper McCoy. Howdy, Deputy?" Calahan grunted, letting Cooper's hand hang in the air, as he found himself dreading anyone's company. After a beat, the man took the hint, giving up on the handshake, but still smiling as he concluded, "Someone ain't in the mood tonight, huh?" Hartley took another swig, paying more attention to the liquor as it slid down his throat than to his words, hoping the newcomer would give up on socializing soon. "How about we make things fun?", Cooper broke the silence again, clearly set on turning him into his drinking buddy for some reason, "I sure can use it, you look like it, too." What the hell. I'd bite. "What do you have in mind?" "We hit John's ranch, heard he would be away tonight… why not have his blood pressure raise up a little when he returns?", Cooper quirked an eyebrow. "You're speaking my language now.", Calahan smiled at the idea, at endless possibilities the plan presented.

"Shall we then?", Cooper didn't wait for a reply, instead he put his hat back on and grabbed the bottle left at the bar and strode outside. "I'm heading out, gorgeous.", Hartley announced, and Mary May gave him a nod paired with "Stay safe." As he passed through the door and was hit by the night air that sobered him up, his eyes found Cooper standing by a pickup truck. The second he saw him, he climbed in the driver's seat, and Calahan wasted no time before he got in as well. He laughed internally at the thought of how Sabrina would warn him about going places with strangers he'd just met, but in the times of a war with a cult, you had to learn to lean on people. He couldn't deny he had a good feeling about McCoy as the man sped off towards John's ranch. Minutes later, they were breaking the side door's window of the bastard's house and letting themselves in. It didn't take long before the first floor was completely trashed. A record truly. "We're just getting started, Deputy.", Cooper cheered as he threw Joseph's portrait in the fireplace while Calahan took a swig from the bottle of liquor before passing it to him. "I'm heading upstairs, have been dying for a proper, uninterrupted shower." Hartley took the stairs two at a time as he heard more sounds of destruction coming from the living room and dark laughter. He checked each door until he found John's bedroom, taking his sweet time to rummage through every drawer for anything of interest before emptying out whatever he could on the floor. The bastard's clothes ended in a huge pile at his feet.

Should I burn them? Or throw them over the balcony? Nah. Focus. Shower first.

He marched over to the bathroom, eyeing the crimson bathrobe that hung on the door with disgust. For him, it was another symbol of John's hypocrisy. Living his best life while we're all fighting to stay alive. He striped off his clothes, jumping in the shower, reveling in the quiet and the feeling of the hot water against his tense muscles as it finally washed away the blood from his most recent fight. When he exited the stall, he grabbed the robe and put it on, then picked up his clothes on his way out. When he returned to the bedroom, Hartley found Cooper lounging at the edge of John's bed. "What are you up to, Goldilocks?" "It got boring without ya.", Cooper chuckled as his blue eyes ran over his body, "Damn, even his robe has their goddamned symbol?" "Yeah.", Calahan muttered as he lit a cigarette and made a move to grab the bottle from Cooper's outstretched hand, but the man had other ideas. He discarded it on the bed and rose up, coming closer to Hartley. His gaze was glued to his as he snatched the cigarette from his lips and took a generous pull from it. "Stealing my nicotine now, Cooper?", Calahan teased. "Want me to return it, Deputy?" Before he could remark anything about the strange suggestion, Cooper clashed his lips to his, blowing the smoke into his mouth before backing away with a satisfied smirk and passing back the cigarette. Now, that's a surprise. They stood with barely any distance between them, facing each other while Hartley smoked, Cooper's gaze darkening more and more as the cigarette shortened. "Up for some more fun?", he muttered as Calahan put it out finally, tossing the bud on the ground for John to find. His partner in crime's face revealed nothing of what he had in mind. "I'm listening." "Maybe we try that bed of his? Get rid of your bad mood completely… Been told I'm good at that." When Hartley didn't reply right away, uncertainty flashed in Cooper's eyes for a brief second. "Taking the Goldilocks role seriously, I see.", Calahan uttered out as his hand tangled in his blond locks, pulling him closer as he added, "Sounds like a plan." Their lips met in an actual kiss this time while Cooper's fingers undid the belt of the bathrobe and slipped underneath the material as Hartley asked, "You gonna put that hat back on for me or?"

Prompt: Send 💭 to hear my OCs most recent thought about your OC.

[toxicsquad]

would the characters mind becoming a cat parent? I've got a kitten and he's officially my son, my life, my everything, and no one will receive as much attention as this cat (except for my dog)

Hi anon! In our team we also love animals, and cats have a special place (we have more than one at home). So it's a pleasure to answer this question and imagine how compatible our characters would be with a little feline.

Zihel: Certainly wouldn't be someone who would take in a kitten for the joy of it (nor would anyone ever recommend that this demon take care of such a fragile living being). But… If he ever had one, it would probably be a stray kitten that would have ended up following him around, ignoring the demon's efforts to scare him away. And, who knows, maybe it would win a little spot in the demon's scorched heart after proving to him that it's a small survivor that, by hissing and scratching, doesn't even fear those who are bigger and stronger than him.

Pin: He's more of a dog person than a cat person, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like all animals (including insects and other things most people find unpleasant). He would love to have a pet, but the brotherhood won't let him. So when no one sees him and he has free time, he feeds and plays with the stray cats around Raziel's church.

Ariel: His life is too busy and, above all, too self-centred to take care of another living being… But, if he ever had the whim to have a cat, it would probably be a pedigree cat. Probably a cat with a diva's name, and who would have more style than many humans. Ariel probably wouldn't like to find everything full of fur, but perhaps he would end up enjoying the silent but faithful company of a cat.

Akane: She has a lot of affinity with these animals. She likes how independent and agile they are, that they know how to take care of themselves and at the same time have that demanding point that lets you know what they want. Sometimes, especially at times when she has felt lonely or low mood, she has considered the possibility of adopting one…. But she has always put the idea out of her mind, because in her current situation she doesn't feel capable of looking after something that depends so much on her. She would be afraid that she would do it badly or that it would end up lost because of her.

Kyeran: To Kyeran they are very spiritual and free animals. Perhaps he would not look for any to take home, precisely because of these beliefs, but of course he would never refuse help or care to any stray kitten that came to the camp. He would feed and care for it as best he could, but always leaving it free to return or not, and of course any animal would feel safe and attracted to Kyeran's calm and gentle energy. A funny image would be to see Kyeran doing his yoga routine with a curious kitten messing up the balance of all the poses.

Maske: With their way of life and their risky job, a cat couldn't enter Maskeguy's life, or so he thinks. They can't say they don't like them, and if they were in an extreme situation where the kitten's life would be in danger, they would resign themselves to taking care of it. Temporarily, at least, until they can find them a decent place to live. Of course, they would not lack any kind of care, and even if they tried to deny it, they would end up getting very attached to the little one… But they would still think the cat would be much better off with someone else, rather than with them.

Hasiel: Everything he knows about cats he's read in books, or in the typical kitten videos on the internet… So he has never thought about living with any feline, and if he had to, he would probably be a bit uncomfortable at first, and he would find this little animal with chaotic impulses unpredictable. One minute they're begging for affection, the next they're biting you and running away… What kind of logic was that? There aren't even answers in the books, humans haven't yet fully understood the nature of cats, so an angel like him, even less so… But we certainly think that, if he were to spend time with one, he would make a perfect companion for Hasiel.

Joe: The question is… Would a cat mind being Joe's companion? Because that would mean being her personal doll… Having his own social networks, being dressed up with accessories all the time, and being asked for impossible tricks. Poor kitty. The truth is that their life would be a bit chaotic, including that sometimes Joe's dispersed brain would forget to feed him… It's a good thing she's not allowed to have pets at church, apart from Chewy, her emotional support goat.

Arael: Like all cute things, she loves kittens and if possible, yes, she would make a good cat mum. She would be the perfect companion for her video game time, and it's said that cats can tell how people feel, so she would relate to them quite a bit. Unfortunately, Hanael would never allow her to have them in the church. So she would probably volunteer at a shelter of some kind so she could be with them.

Ask masterlist

[eupheme]

Penny For Your Thoughts

masterlist

Alfred Pennyworth x F!Reader

Rated E - 5.2k

Tags: age gap, oral sex (f & m rec), light daddy kink, praise kink, fingering, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, PiV, creampie, fluff, Alfred is a service dom and a gentleman

A/N - I don’t know what this is - I just thought Alfred looked pretty dilf-y in The Batman and then I ended up here (and a big thank you to some sweet, encouraging friends when I casually brought this up 💕)

You can’t help but wonder about the Wayne family. But it’s not Bruce, the young billionaire, who’s caught your eye… it’s someone else entirely.

You could see them from your seat at the crowded bar the moment the two men enter. It was a bit of a surprise, given his reclusive reputation, but at some point anyone who was anyone showed up at the Parliament.

It was a place of wealth, of secrets, trading pieces of paper worth more than their weight in gold in dark, tucked away corners. You'd already done your part for the night, a sealed envelope subtly tucked into a purse as you kissed their cheek in greeting, pulled them in for a hug like an old friend. Nothing more than a messenger, never stepping beyond the open bar floor to the split pathways of deeper, darker rooms.

They separate, the younger man's face grave as he moves on, and you’re more than a little curious how he knows the way, maybe a bit more so if you didn't dislike him so much.

Bruce Wayne was fascinating, you couldn't deny that, but you'd already spent your share of evenings in his company - galas by your clients, and over the hours had experienced little more than a few minutes of conversation, and even less than that of eye contact.

You'd done 'moody' before, and that was an unpleasant experience - but they had nothing on him.

No, your interest was turned elsewhere, to the older man leaning against the bar, sharply-dressed, cane in hand. He had become your idle fascination - Alfred - Wayne’s butler. But personally, you weren't so sure.

Accents and fine clothes were common, you had a few wealthy friends and had observed first-hand, but they all seemed to fit into a mold that he did not.

They did not hold themselves like he did, have scars that cleaved one of their brows in two. Watched with careful eyes, like he was now - too focused on Bruce’s retreating figure to notice you sliding, drink in hand, onto the stool next to him.

“Mr. Pennyworth.” You greet him, and he takes your offered hand, squeezing it gently.

He greets you, your name sounding sweet on his tongue. If he’s surprised, he does not show it.

"Always a pleasure to see you, miss."

You adjust, smoothy crossing one leg over the other, the hem of your dress riding high on your thigh. He throws a quick look towards the arched doorway in the back, the one painted a deep, burgundy red, where Bruce stands talking to two men, their heads bowed.

But then his attention shifts, those grey-blue eyes just on you.

“I didn’t expect to see you here. This doesn’t seem to be your usual spot.”

Alfred smiles, voice friendly but evasive, “Just here on business, miss. What about yourself?"

“Same,” You smile back, “Though I've already done my rounds. I've been waiting for the traffic to die down so I can grab a cab."

There’s a brief lull as you tip your drink back - a cocktail of sparkling water, fruit and herbs that makes your throat burn, almost missing the quick, subtle path his eyes make down your form.

You’ve wondered about him before, what he does all day. If he ever goes out. For the most part you’ve only seen him with Bruce, as a driver, or escorting him like this.

Does he ever get lonely, up in that tower? He’s a handsome man, does he have someone? A lover, an old flame, that he returns to, night after night.

You’ve thought about that last question more than you’d like to admit.

Fortune favors the bold, and you don’t know when you’ll see him again.

Carefully, you prod.

“Too bad you’re not here for fun, instead.” You set your drink down on the napkin, creating a second, matching wet ring, “That would’ve been even more interesting.”

He hesitates, blinking as his lips part, and you wonder if he interpreted it the way you meant, or maybe another way entirely.

“You flatter me,” He says after a moment, smile is small, rueful, “But I think I am far too old for that sort of thing."

That makes you grin, a surprised laugh bubbling from your throat, “That’s ridiculous.”

Your smile softens, your chin balancing in the cupped palm of your hand as you lean in, just a tiny bit, "Maybe you haven't met the right girl yet."

“Ah.” He breathes out the word, and your eyes drop to his mouth, “Perhaps someone more like Master Wayne…”

That grabs your attention and you laugh, a small shake to your head, “I am certain Mr. Wayne is not interested, nor am I-“

Your words are cut off, as the man himself appears just over the older man’s shoulder, his brows furrowed. But Alfred’s eyes linger, just a moment too long, before he’s turning to greet him.

“Just missed them. They’re at the other-”, Bruce’s voice is gravely, tinged with irritation. It’s then that his eyes flick up towards you, and he halts, while you smile politely.

He takes a step back, turning again towards Alfred, “I have to go. I’ll be home later.”

To his credit, he does incline his head towards you in farewell, your eyes meeting the briefest flash of blue before he’s sweeping out the door, his long coat billowing like a cape as he steps into the street.

Your eyebrows raise. Moody, for sure.

“My apologies,” Alfred’s smile is tight as he turns back towards you, “It appears my business has been concluded.”

“Seems like,” You smile, “It was really nice seeing you.”

He hesitates, before making a private decision, “Allow me to offer you a ride home. I believe you’re on the way, and it’s the least I can do.”

The crook of his arm is offered and you take it, slipping your hand under his elbow to rest against a strong forearm, your own coat tucked under your arm.

“Thank you. That would be lovely.”

———

“This is me.” You gesture towards the brick apartment just up the street, the tidy concrete steps leading to a sage-green door.

The drive over had not been long, the leather seat soft under your thigh, the heat turned up against the perpetual sprinkle of rain outside. Though short, you had plenty of time to think, letting your mind wander.

Wondering if he’d stay if you invited him. If his calm, strong presence would flow into that space. His voice low in your ear, strong hands on your hips as he ruts into you, fills you-

These lewd thoughts are interrupted as the car slows - there’s an empty space nearby, and he effortlessly parks, the engine idling quietly.

“Thank you for the ride, Alfred,” Your hand rests on the door, as you pluck up the courage again. You’d both been dancing around something before, and the heavy weight of it still seemed to linger.

“Would you come up if I asked you?” You glance sideways at him as you ask, barely catching the way his hands go still on the wheel.

“Oh,” Alfred blinks, caught off guard by your question, but it’s not a rejection - the leather seats slick under the silk of your dress as you adjust to face him, your elbow resting against the center console.

“It’s uh, been a while.” He hedges, eyes flicking from your face as you inch closer, to where your fingers reach out to touch his knee.

“I don’t mind if you’re nervous,” Your smile is small, encouraging, “I’m a little nervous too.”

At that he laughs, little more than a low huff of breath, just as your hand splays across his thigh. His head tilts, close to yours, enough to where your noses almost brush.

“That’s not what I said, dove.” His voice is low, an edge to it that makes your thighs press together, your head tilting as your eyes close.

It’s an offer, and after a moment he accepts, lips warm against yours as he leans into you, swallowing your soft moan - his palm cupping your jaw, the space under your ear. He kisses you, his touch firm, groaning when you deepen it, prickles of heat running up your spine when he lets your tongue brush against his.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded when you draw back, watching the way his tongue swipes over his lower lip, “Come inside.”

For a second his jaw tightens, another soft, low, almost incredulous sound - before he shakes his head in gentle resignation.

The ignition turns off, the headlights going dim in the evening light.

“Alright.”

———

You take the steps two at a time, a nervous energy making you jittery - while he takes each one at a slow, steady pace, always one step behind, his coat and cane tucked under his arm.

His hand covers yours when you fumble with the lock, strong fingers wrapping around to fit the key in, the other hand at the small of your back to guide you inside.

Your apartment is how you left it - small, but tidy, a combination living room and kitchen filling the entrance, your white bedroom door tucked off to the side.

“Bedroom?” You ask, taking a step towards the door, but his hand is still on yours, using it to tug you against him.

Alfred turns, taking you with him, your back pressing against the front door as he crowds you, head tilting to kiss you again.

Your hands wrap around his shoulders for balance, his hands bunching the soft fabric at your waist, tugging up the hem so he can fit a thigh between yours - rocking it snugly against you, giving you something to grind down on.

His tongue is sweeping into your mouth, warm hands cupping your jaw as you grind against him, low sounds coming his throat when you whine. You can feel him, half-hard from where he pressed against you, and you want more - want him.

Your hand comes down to cup him, fingers wrapping around and squeezing - breaking the kiss as he groans out loud, rocking into your touch.

“Bedroom.” He answers huskily, keeping you steady as he steps away, fingers trailing from your jaw to your shoulder, down your arm.

You lead him there, through the doorway, into the little safe haven of your room. The bed dips as you sit down on the edge, reaching for the criss-crossing straps of your heels.

“Allow me,” He’s already kneeling, palm cupping the meat of your calf, fingers deftly tugging at the straps, gently removing the shoe from your tired foot before tucking it next to your nightstand.

He repeats the motions, warm hands brushing over the bare skin of your legs, until he carefully places your other foot on the woven rug. It’s hot, really fucking hot, and you’re not sure why - his touch gentle and not all that scandalous, but just seeing him between your legs…

You let your thighs fall open as he still kneels, wide enough to stretch the hem of your skirt across your thighs, watching with baited breath, your lower lip pinched between teeth. Watching as his eyes follow the path of skin, up your clothed cunt, where you can feel your heartbeat thudding.

He breathes out a rough breath, before murmuring, “Stunning.”

You don’t know if he means you, all of you, or just the scrap of fabric that has to be soaked through, but you hike your dress up a little further, just as his hands slide from your ankles up to the outside edge of your knee.

With careful fingers he pushes your dress up the rest of the way to your waist, fingertips pressing into your hips as you lean back on your elbows, letting him fit between your thighs.

“Please, sir.” His natural elegance feels like it needs a title, though there’s a short jerk of his head as his mouth and then nose brushes over the bare skin your lower stomach.

“Not sir.” Alfred grits out, lips touching the lace covering your mound now, so close to where you want him.

“Mr. Pennyworth?” You offer lightly, and his eyes flick to your now, bright and glittering as he gives his head a minute shake.

“No, not that either. Just-“

“Alfred,” you coo, smiling as your hips shift, a shallow rock upwards, “If you wanted me to call you daddy, all you had to do was ask.”

Fingers dig into your hips, harsh and pinching, his focus forgotten as he gives an involuntary groan, his hips rutting against the side of the bed.

Your eyebrows lift, your lips forming a soft “oh” of interest, but he’s giving you a warning look, his voice low, “That mouth, darling, is going to get you into trouble.”

But he’s wrong, it’s his own mouth that will - because it’s pressing against your lace-covered pussy, his tongue flattening against the damp patch. Your hips jerk against his lips as you cry out, his hands moving around your hip to cup your ass, to keep you pressed flush against him.

He groans against you, loudly, the fabric darkening under his tongue and your wet cunt, tasting you over it - until his fingers tug the fabric to the side so he can lick you properly.

The trace of his tongue is slow, a low groan in his throat as he parts you, tongue pressing between warm, soaked folds.

“Oh,” he grits out, only pulling back to peel your panties down you legs, “I could eat you all day.”

Alfred’s mouth covers you then, licking and kissing, beard scraping your inner thighs as he presses himself as close as he can, tongue teasing at your clit until you’re moaning, chasing the building pleasure.

You skin feels hot - confined in all these layers - fingers tugging clumsily at the hidden zipper of your dress, wriggling the fabric over your head the second it’s loose enough, losing it over the edge of the bed.

When you look down again he’s watching you, lifting his head as your slick clings to his lips, eyes roving over the matching lace covering your breasts, the bare expanse of your skin.

“Can I touch you, dove?” He asks, his breath hot against your thigh, all the while carefully removing his cufflinks, a wink of his gold watch disappearing into his trousers, before he rolls his sleeves up.

“Yes,” you all but beg, watching more skin appear with each roll, until both arms are bare.

Alfred hums a low sigh, hand drifting from your arm to between your spread thighs, almost reverent in the way he glides a finger across your clit. You hope he stays there, teasing the sensitive bud, but he keeps moving downwards, tracing your opening, gathering your slick before pressing in. Your stomach jolts as he sinks deep to the knuckle and thrusts, easing your ache for more.

His position adjusts, pulling back so he watch as he works another in - and this time you whimper with the gentle stretch. But you’re watching too, the flex of muscles in his wrist, the base of his fingers slick and shining.

“Gorgeous,” Alfred murmurs, before his head dips down, kissing your clit before he licks it, making your thighs tremor, your fingers claw at the sheets. The pump of his fingers match the steady flick of his tongue, before he curls and drags them against your inner walls.

He’s watching you as you yelp, doing it again, pushing in, curling, and your mouth falls open in along moan, your hips flexing needily into his hand, his mouth.

“Again.” You whimper, and you think he smiles, his lips replace his tongue as he sucks at your clit. Always dragging over that same spot, each one drawing your breath faster, heat growing in your belly as his fingers thrust.

Your chest feels tight, unable to get enough air with each of your short breaths, vision going hazy as he fucks you on his fingers, and fuck - you’re so close, your muscles going stiff as you clench down around him.

The words that spill from your lips are babble, a whimpered mess of your desires, “Fuck me, oh god, please-“

His head lifts for a moment, his fingers pounding into you, his voice gentle and coaxing, “I will, darling. Anything you want. But I need you to come for me first. Can you do that for daddy?”

Oh god, this man is going to ruin you, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks, blossoming across your chest at his words. You’re impossibly wet, wound up, and all you can do is nod, barely squeaking out a “yes” before your vision starts to go hazy, eyes unfocusing as the pleasure crashes within you.

Your head tilts back as your back bows, gushing against his tongue as your cunt pulses around the fingers that continue to move - wave after wave until your hand grasps from him, almost pushing you into overstimulation.

“Oh god,” you moan in a sort of dazed shock, your limbs going limp as he carefully withdraws his fingers, before kissing down until his tongue can slip against you, tasting your release and making your thighs flex.

“I thought you didn’t like that name.” You accusatory question is soft in your afterglow, the pleasure still blooming in your core.

“Ah, that’s not what I said, either.” His lips quirk up, moving to stand next to you by the bed, working at the shining buttons of his vest, you rising quickly to help.

He’s hard, achingly so, his hips jutting into your touch as you loosen his belt, seeing how he strains against his trousers.

“In fact,” Alfred considers, watching the way your hand reaches for the button, “I seem to really like it when you say it.”

That makes you preen, leaving him to work on the small buttons of his shirt, his tie, as you wrestle with his belt. You make short work of the zipper, tugging his trousers down, seeing the dark, soaked mark against the tent of his boxers, where he’s leaked through the fabric.

You mimic his movements before, kissing the clothed curve of his cock, earning a low, moaned curse. Fingers bite into his hips, dragging the boxers down to his calves, his length bobbing free.

It should be the first thing you notice, but it’s not - your eyes are drawn to the snarl of scar tissue curving up his hip, the healed slashes near his stomach now that his shirt is unbuttoned.

He’s gone silent, giving you nothing. Secrets are treasures here, more precious than gold. Maybe you’ll earn them, someday, but that someday is not tonight. Instead of asking, you press a kiss to his hip, then lower, until your lips drag along his cock, down to the flushed tip.

“Christ, darling-,” He groans through gritted teeth, as you take him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around him as you bob your head, slicking him up.

You make it down, slowly, to the base, his cock choking you, filling your mouth. After the way he touched you, fucking you until you saw stars - you’d deep throat him, swallow him down if he wanted.

But instead his lips part, his hips carefully still except for the occasional small thrust, his hands cradling the back of your head as you gaze up at him, watching. Seeing the way he groans appreciatively when you suck on him, when your fist wraps around him and pumps, your tongue licking at the sensitive glands at the tip.

He’s thick, achingly hard in your hand, the tip of him salty as he leaks onto your tongue. Your hand drifts down between your legs, to where the slick clings to your thighs, teasing at your clit - and he does jerk then, his cock sliding against your wet fist.

“You are, god-“ He tries to find words and fails, sucking in a shaky breath, “I promised to fuck you dove. If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to.”

You press harder at your clit when you hear him say “fuck” in the nice voice he has, your eyes drifting closed. You want to make him say it again, say more filthy things to you.

But instead, you’re eased off his cock, leaving it to hang heavy between his thighs as he steps out of his pants and boxers. Smiling, you scoot back on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, watching as he peels off socks, laying all the folded garments on the chair by your desk.

The bed dips as he eases onto it, settling smoothly on top of you, fitting between spread thighs. You lean back, just as he mouths at the soft skin of your neck, down to your breasts, your other hand reaching for him, fingers digging into his shoulder.

Teeth scrape over a lace-covered nipple, the slight pain blooming into pleasure, his lips closing around the tight bud and sucking. Fingers pluck at the clasps, until his mouth is on your bare skin, leaving both of you moaning.

“Oh, just like that.” You beg, his thumb swiping over one nipple, his tongue running over another. It has you clenching around nothing - molten, and you think that would come just from this if you could.

His hips dip down, grinding into yours, his cock trapped against the curve of your thigh. Mouth meet as he moves, sweeps tongue and soft sighs, liking the taste of yourself on his lips.

Slowly you rock against him, seeking friction, until you feel his cock brushing against your folds, moaning into his mouth.

You press your lips greedily against his cheek, mouth at his jaw, “I need you in me, now.”

He groans, the shift of his hips slicking his cock against your cunt, sliding over your lips, almost frictionless with how soaked you are.

“Indulge an old man darling, once more.” His voice is low, teeth gritting, “Use that smart mouth.”

Oh. You can feel yourself clench, your muscles tightening, breath hot against his neck, “Fuck me, daddy. Please.”

The sound he makes is sinful, a hand working between the two of you to line himself up, his tip pressing against your entrance.

But then he stills, lips parted in effort, pulling back to look at you, “Do you have protection?”

You nod, leaning and stretching to hook a finger around the knob of your bedside table, cracking the drawer open, “I have condoms if you want them.”

“If I want them.” He repeats, lips brushing your temple, “But what you do want, dove?”

You were right about him being perceptive, and you squirm beneath the weight, of both his body and his gaze, your eyes sliding away.

“Tell me.” Alfred draws you back with a palm against your cheek, an assertive edge to his voice, “Anything you want”.

Under his gaze it’s hard not to feel flushed, needy. Your confession slips out, coaxed by the look in his eyes, “I want-… I want you to come in me. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

You’re scrambling to explain as his eyes close, his head dropping to the crook of your neck, “I’m clean. On the pill, too, I-“

“Fuck.” His hips shift, just staring to sink into you, your hands gripping his biceps, “Perfect, oh-“

His head lifts as he shifts his hips, as the blunt tip of his cock nudges forward, watching the way your lips part on a rough moan, your eyes widening as he sinks into your heat.

Slowly, he thrusts, pulling out half-way, before sliding back in, and you’re clenching at the feel of the sweet drag of him against your walls.

Again, and then again, the sharp punch of him filling you, the clap of skin on skin as your heels dig into the mattress, rocking your hips to meet him.

Until he’s pushing up onto his knees, hands on your waist to keep him deep, your thighs spreading wide as he curves over you.

The harsh slap speeds up, the thick stretch of him sending your body jolting, a slow bounce and rock of your hips beneath his hands. It’s more than you could’ve imagined, your earlier fantasies disappearing with wisps of smoke, replaced with the way he’s grinding against you now.

“Look at your tight, perfect cunt,” he murmurs, his hand sliding over your breasts, stomach, down to rub against your clit. “You’re taking me so well, aren’t you?”

The wet swipe of his fingers steals your words, any response you might have disappearing as you stare up at him, breathless, the grit of his jaw, the downcast eyes as he concentrates on where you’re connected.

He shifts, your legs catching on his hips, knees pressing against his chest, the angle changing until he’s hitting that spot he stroked with his fingers. You tremble under him, finding your voice with a hoarse cry, and those eyes flick up to yours.

“There?” He rasps, his hips drawing back, rutting against the spot again, “Like that?”

“Please,” you beg, and he obliges, an arm wrapping around your bent leg to hold you in place, his fingers rubbing your clit in small, tight circles.

You can feel it build, the hot pressure in your core, the tight wind until you feel like you’re about to snap.

“Oh, don’t stop,” You whine, rocking your hips to meet him, chasing the pleasure that’s about to spill over. Your head tilts, muffling your cries into your arm, bent so you can hold onto the sheets.

“Don’t hide your sweet sounds from me,” Alfred groans with an effort, “Let me hear you.”

You wonder if he’s close too, and it’s his voice the thought of him that has you gasping, clenching hard around his length. Your vision goes hazy, his face, the room around you dimming as you pulse, muscles feeling tight and you moan.

“God you’re gorgeous when you come.” His hips slow, but his fingers continue to circle, more gently, slick with your arousal, the seep of your release on his cock.

It twinges, your pussy still sensitive from your orgasm, and you’re still breathing hard as you come back down, pushing up on your elbow as you find yourself again.

His brow is furrowed, held still above you except for the smallest rock of his hips, lips parted as he exhales through them, holding himself back.

“What are you-?” You ask, your skin feeling alight, tingling, his fingers continuing to work at his clit.

The look he gives you is heavy, dark with need, “I want you to give me another, okay?”

Your laugh is strangled, half-whine, half-groan, but you can’t ignore the soft coaxing of his fingers, the feeling of his cock pressed so deep.

“I, haven’t, I-”

But he continues, his hips moving just a little bit more, keeping himself as deep as he can with short shallow thrusts, “You can do it darling, I know you can.”

You clench and he groans, a rough, broken sound, pushing forward until your knees are brushing your breasts, your head tilting up as his tilts down.

The slap of his hips is loud, your cunt soaked and taking him easily, your hand hooking around his neck so you can drag his mouth to yours, swallowing his groans.

Your breathe him in, the feeling of his weight on you, the tight feeling in your core. The harsh gasp of your breath, you body jolting with his thrusts, fingers scrambling against skin as you cling to him.

His name is sweet on your tongue, choked out as it hits you by surprise, your back bowing as your thighs clench, warm, sharp waves radiating from your core. You’re coming again, not as strongly as the first time, but it still leeches the energy from you, leaving you soft and boneless.

“Fuck,” Alfred groans, feeling your tight, wet heat gripping him, “There’s a good girl.”

He’s been holding back, you can feel it in the way he grips you now, wrapping his fingers until they grip the flesh of your hips, the way he thrusts, chasing his own pleasure now.

Sweat beads both your foreheads, your mind still swirling with sweet clouds and limbs leaden against your bed.

He implied that you might get into trouble, and now you know you are - knowing that after tonight you’ll want this again, want him.

But from the way he’s gazing at you, like he’s still unsure this is happening, like you might be just a dream, makes you hope he’ll want it, too.

“Oh fuck, I’m going to come.” Alfred grits out, his hips not quite as steady, a tremor in his arms, “Going to give you want you wanted.”

You plead for it, the slap of his hips turning into a sloppy grind, and he falls over the edge to your voice, the soft sighs of “please, come in me, I want to feel you, please-“

His groan is rough, broken, as he buries himself in you, face against your neck, bodies molded together as he spills inside your tight cunt. Filthy groans and praises twining together until it turns into wordless groans, until he’s spent all of himself in you.

The weight of him presses against you as he catches his breath, his exhale hot against your cheek as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You feel sleepy, content, and it’s only when he stirs, sliding himself carefully from you, that you can bring yourself to move.

“That was-“ You smile lazily, unable to find words. The only time you’d come more than once was with yourself, and the memory already makes you feel flushed, even with the dull ache between your thighs.

“Quite.” There’s a softness to his smile, one that makes your chest feel tight and fluttery. He helps you sit up, and you leave him to clean up, slipping on the soft bathrobe hanging from the hook in the bathroom.

When you come back he’s already dressing, shrugging on the dark vest, adjusting the watch on his wrist. You feel shy then - young, unsure what to do.

He sees you then, hovering in the doorway, and his look falters, “You want me to stay.”

You’re not sure if it’s a question, and neither does he.

“I would if I could, and I mean that.” His voice is gentle, soothing, moving until his palms can run over your upper arms.

And you believe him, because how could you not - after all that has happened?

Walking him to the door, you shiver as you open it, the rain outside still coming down. It was a strange feeling, like no time and yet hours had passed, but it was still the same night, the same rain.

But now there’s a bright spotlight above that seems to cleave the sky in two - it’s been appearing a lot more often these days. You don’t know him well enough to say “drive safe”, but you wish it, quietly in your mind.

The doorway digs into your shoulders as your lean against it, pulling your fluffy robe tightly around you.

"Will I see you again?" Your voice sounds small, caught by the sharp wind outside.

He pauses on the step, his head tilting just barely to the side, "If that is what you want."

You worry your lip between teeth. You do want that, right now more than you’ve wanted anything. But you still feel nervous about putting the thought out there, exposed, “What about what you want?"

Lips curl in the hint of a smile, illuminated by the light on your doorstep. His hand lifts yours, lips brushing across your knuckles.

"You will see me again.”

You watch until the car disappears into the night, until the cold creeps under your robe.

Even then, you can’t hide your smile.

(If you made it this far please know that I appreciate and love you so much 💖)

[cigarettesandslushies]

destress // jd x stressed!reader

jd helps you destress from studying for midterms 

word count: 1,700 

tw: language, smut, ambiguous gender but was written for a female!reader in mind

requests & questions

Note: Hello! I’m a new writing blog! I am an aspiring writer and thought it would be fun to get in some practice by writing for some of my favorite fandoms. I’ve been wanting to write JD x Reader fics for a while so I’m happy to finally be doing that. Please feel free to send in requests! This is my first-time writing smut so be gentle with me (even if JD isn’t being gentle with you). -Ellie

“Shit, did a fucking tornado hit your room?”

You didn’t acknowledge the intruder that entered through your bedroom window. You didn’t have the time to. With multiple midterms coming up that you weren’t the least bit prepared for, every second from now until then was precious.

“Not even a hello, darling?”

You could tell that a brow of his was quirked, teasing. He very well knew that midterms were next week. Though, compared to you, he couldn’t give less of a shit. How you wish you could do the same.

“JD, not now.” You warned.

He stood, appraising your midterm wrecked room quietly. Notes, textbooks, and wrappers galore decorated various surfaces, from the floor to the bed to your vanity.

He walked, watching each step as he made his way towards you. You were hunched over your desk, nose deep in one of your textbooks. Your highlighter was tapping against the wood of your desk, keeping time with the anxious bounce of your leg.

He was behind you in the next moment, resting his head against yours. He placed his hands on your thighs firmly, slowing your movements. You took a deep breath, setting your book down. Your head titled up, moving his head from yours in order to meet his gaze.

A slight smile tugged at the corner of your lips upon seeing him. God, he was such a better sight than statistics.

“Hello.” You murmured.

He matched your smile, dropping his volume to yours. “See? Now was that so hard?” He pressed his lips against your forehead. “Hello, darling. How are you? Did you miss me?”

You rested your head back against him. Your eyes fluttered closed, enjoying the warmth of his body. “No. Not even a little bit. Statistics has been the best company.”

“Oh, really? I’m going to wager that stats is fucking you pretty hard.” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Maybe even harder than you.”

“Are you challenging me? You know I always win.”

You took a deep breath. The slight smile gone from your face and replaced with a deep frown. Your eyebrows pulled together, your face scrunching to meet the stress headache growing.

“JD, you know on any other day I would want you to win. I can’t.”

“Come on, give me just an hour.”

“Bullshit.” You were quick to reply. Your eyes flew open to stare up at him. “Like we’ve ever gone just an hour. You keep me for multiple hours which I don’t have. I’m already losing sleep as it is. I promise you can keep me up some other night but tonight-“

He stepped back, grabbing the back of your chair, and spinning you to face him. “Darling,” he drawled slowly. “You’re losing it.”

You blinked once, your gaze falling into your lap as you processed his words. Your hands met your head, elbows resting on your knees as you curled up into yourself. “I know.” You spoke into your hands. “God, JD, I’m so fucking stressed. I have so many midterms to study for without enough hours in the day. I can’t fail these. They’re worth so much of my grade. It will ruin my GPA if I get anything less than-”

“Sh, sh…” he crouched, leveling himself with you. “How about we round up your teachers in an abandoned building and blow it up, hm? Would that make this all better?”

You would have laughed if you didn’t know that he was completely serious. This boy would do anything for you. He’s proved that time and time again. “Getting rid of the teachers wouldn’t get rid of the classes themselves. I’d still have to take the midterms eventually.”

“You’d at least get more time.”

“True.” You agreed. Another deep breath and you lifted your head from your hands. “I think it would just be easier for me to study. It would take time and planning to pull it off and anyway, do you want to go through a whole grieve fest at school?”

“It would make for an interesting week.”

“You aren’t funny.”

“No, I’m hilarious.” He took your hands in his, pulling you up from your seat. “Fine, no offing the teachers, but you know the more that you try to cram all that shit in your head, the more it will spill out. Breaks are healthy, recommended even.”

A finger under your chin, a thumb resting below your lip, he brought his face closer to yours. He was close, too close. You smelled his last cigarette and a cherry slushie lingering in his breath.

“Let me help you destress.” He ghosted the words over your lips. How could you ever think that you could deny him? How could you ever think that he wouldn’t get his way?

All it took was a quiet please and his hands were everywhere.

With one swift movement, JD knocked the contents of your desk onto the floor. With another, you were sitting on top of it, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He caught your lips with his, too slow, too gentle.

You didn’t have the patience for his teasing.

You intertwined your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer. You pressed your lips harder against his, showing him your eagerness to have him, just as he wanted.

You could feel him smirk against your lips, his hands moving to undress you from the waist down.

“Well, would you look at that? For someone who didn’t want to even acknowledge me, you sure are eager to have me inside of you.”

You bit back a moan, his words touching you before he even laid a hand between your legs.

Fucking asshole and his way with dirty talk.

“Jason Dean, you’re a pain in my ass.” You replied breathlessly.

A low chuckle followed as you dragged your lips across his jawline in a sporadic series of kisses. You bucked your hips up towards him, a sign for him to hurry the hell up and take you already.

You would have been surprised if he actually took the sign instead of ignoring it and taking another direction.

“Nu uh, darling. I can’t shove my cock in you and fuck you into the desk until the wood chips just yet. With how stressed you are over midterms, I’m not sure if you can handle it. So let me loosen you up first, hm?”

He didn’t wait to slip a finger inside of you, then two, and then three. You leaned back along the desk, your elbows barely keeping you up and steady. He set a rhythm, relishing the sounds that you made for him and him alone. Whimpers, gasps, and moans alike were all tangled with his name.

He felt you were getting close. He could always tell, sometimes before you even knew. You never quite knew how close you were to falling off the edge until he was pulling away from you, leaving you empty and longing for him to fill you again.

Just like he liked it.

“JD,” you breathed shakily. You didn’t realize that your elbows had failed you early on and you were lying completely flat against the desk. You shifted your weight, lifting yourself back up and onto your elbows once more. Your eyes narrowed when you caught his gaze.

“What? Did you not want to cum on my cock after all?” He asked innocently, a contrast to the words that came from his mouth.

“God, I could kill you.”

“There can be only one killer in this relationship, darling.” He drawled, undoing his jeans. He was hard and so ready to fuck you until you couldn’t remember the population versus the sample. He hesitated, almost expecting another retort, another “you’re not funny”, but no. You weren’t going to drag this out any longer. You wanted him now.

You needed him now.

“JD, please. For the love of god, fuck me.”

He didn’t even have to ask for a please. He knew that meant there was nothing else in your head but wanting him to fuck you.

Would there ever come a time that he wouldn’t get exactly what he wanted?

“Only because you asked so nicely.” It only took a single beat, a single thrust before he was inside of you completely, barely giving you a chance to adjust to him. You let yourself fall back onto the desk, crying out his name.

The rhythm he set was faster, rougher. His fingers curled over your shoulders. His hands pushed you down as his hips pushed you up. Every thrust was met with force. He never let you move. He did the moving for you. He was in full control, using your body for his pleasure which just so happened to cause you pleasure.

A perfect match, that’s what he said, and you believed it. He knew exactly where to hit the tip of his cock to make you-

“JD, I’m getting-”

“Mmm, I can feel that. I didn’t think you could get any tighter.”

“JD-”

His lips caught the rest of your whine. His movements were sloppier now, his hands messily tangling themselves in your hair. He was close too.

As he pulled back ever so slightly, he uttered three words. “Cum for me.”

With that, you came undone and he followed closely behind. Screams and moans of ecstasy were muffled against one another’s lips. It took a few moments for the both of you to catch your breath. He waited until your breathing steadied to pull out.

He pressed his lips against your forehead. “There. That should get you through stats.”

You laughed. “It should, but is it going to get me through French?”

“Finish studying for stats and we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Let’s get you cleaned up and while you finish studying, I’ll go get you some real food. No more of this granola shit.”

He began walking towards the bathroom but stopped halfway across your room. He didn’t turn to look at you when he said:

“You’re one of the smartest people I know. I know it’s not much coming from a town full of slaves and blanks but if there’s anyone who can pass these midterms it’s you.”

He continued walking.

[minor-solemnity]

Truth Will Out

Tag List: @jinxqsu @riddles-wifey@naps-and-lemons @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute

Content warning: Smut, light bdsm, power dynamics and a questionable use of veritaserum

A companion piece to Tender, We Lay Bound

His smile turns wolfish at the slight tremor in your voice and he cocks his head to one side, the hand that isn’t holding the vial, moving slowly up your calf, up the curve of your knee before flattening across the meat of your thigh and stroking the sensitive junction where your thigh meets your pubic bone. “Do you trust me?” He asks, which isn’t exactly an answer, but you think that’s maybe the point.

It starts, as most things with Tom do, with a hand on your lower back and his voice, soft and low in your ear, “I’d like to try something tonight.” It’s really incredibly unfair that he chooses the moment when you’re about to walk into Potions to whisper this to you because now you’re going to be distracted all through your assessed brewing of Veritaserum. Judging by the smirk that curls Tom’s lips as he takes his place next to you at the front of the class, he’s fully aware of this. He lays his equipment down neatly in front of him, looking for all the world, like every teacher’s wet dream: prepared, inquiring, and engaged in the lesson. You know him better though, you know that he’s actually the devil incarnate, and is currently enjoying your flustered attempts to pay attention to what Slughorn’s saying about the forthcoming lesson.

Slughorn waves his hand to signal for you all to start gathering ingredients and Tom leaves to fetch the things you’ll both need. You’ve been brewing your batch of Veritaserum for the past month and today will reveal whether or not you’ve succeeded. The mark you get in for this potion will count for a family large portion of your overall grade, and it’s a good thing that you’re partnered with Tom, because whilst you might be one of the best in the class, your mind is so far from the task at hand that you know you’ll be relying on him for most of the more focussed aspects of the brewing today. You also know that Tom is probably cognizant of this fact and planned it as such.

Damn him. If he didn’t make you so weak at the knees, you’d have hexed him by now.

“Was that really necessary?” You ask when he returns, snatching the caladium root out of his hands. You start shredding the delicate roots with a little more force than is probably good for them, and besides you, Tom tsks.

“I’m quite sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you should be a little gentler with those,” He gestures to the roots. “We wouldn’t want to do poorly on this test because you’re a little riled up, would we?” Gods, you hate it when he teases you. Well, no, that’s a lie. Most of the time you love it when he teases you, but usually, you’re not in a Potions class with half your grade hanging over your head.

He chuckles lowly at your expression which is one of annoyance and indignity and spends most of the rest of the class alluding to the plans he has for you whilst expertly managing your potion so you can continue to daydream about what he might mean. It doesn’t escape your notice that Tom pours an extra vial of the Veritaserum when the time comes to present Slughorn with your finished product. He slips the extra into his pocket and raises a finger to his lips before you can question him.

You manage to avoid Tom for the rest of the day, which is good for your sanity for two reasons: firstly, whenever he had spotted you, he had given you a knowing look and found a way to touch you that from an outsider perspective would look entirely innocent but had left you dizzy with anticipation and unable to focus on anything other than the mysterious things he had in store for you. Secondly, and you’ll never admit this to him, your overactive imagination has run away with itself fantasising about the night ahead, and the way that he looks at you makes you think that he somehow knows exactly what you're thinking. You’d rather save yourself the embarrassment of his smirks and wry hums of amusement.

***

Of all the evenings for Tom to be busy with his Head Boy duties, it obviously has to be today. You’re fairly sure he’s planned it like this because you know him well enough by now to know that that he likes it when you’re a little on edge. His desire for control and power over the people he surrounds himself with manifests itself in multiple ways: with his friends, he leads with an iron fist, viewing disobedience as a betrayal; with his professors, he charms and manipulates until he has them wrapped around his little finger; with you, it’s slightly different. Your family, whilst not doing badly, cannot open doors for him the way the Maylfoy’s can, and you’re smart, but not outrageously so, so the impetus to use you for your talents isn’t there either. When Tom tells you that he wants you for your company and your companionship, you believe him. No, with you, his want for control manifests in slow touches, whispered commands, and a desire to see you fall apart in a way you refuse to do for anyone else.

His dormitory is empty when you enter, which is hardly a surprise; his roommates know when to make themselves scarce and to leave you privacy. You take a moment to gather your wits and to try and calm your nerves before you take a seat in the centre of his bed. The minutes tick by excruciatingly slowly, and you fight with your school tie, trying to guess if he would like it if he found you naked and waiting or if he wants the pleasure of undressing you himself. It all depends on his mood which can as mercurial and changing as the tides. You settle on a compromise, more because you’re impatient and excited and restless. You abandon your robes, leave your tie on the desk beside the bed, and unbutton the first three buttons of your shirt before settling back against the soft pillows and try to focus on the book you’ve brought with you.

The door clicks open and shut and you startle at the noise. Tom leans against the doorframe, half-hidden in shadow, a tempting and dangerous sight as he appraises you slowly. You swallow around your nerves, and your throat constricts as he loosens his ties and walks over to you, predatory and sleek, like some sort of wild cat, all tightly controlled power ready to be unleashed. It makes your mouth water.

He more or less crawls up the bed and you let your legs fall open to accommodate him. He reaches forwards and cups your jaw in his hand, his fingers splaying so that he cradles your head and you instinctively press your face into his hand, seeking contact and heat and protection. “Have you been waiting for me for all this time?” He says and you nod, eyes slitting to watch his pleased smile at your response. “Good girl. Are you ready for me?”

“I thought you might like to take care of that,” You murmur and you can’t deny the way excitement leaks into your voice. He hums approvingly and pulls away, just a for a moment as he reaches inside his robe to retrieve a small vial of clear liquid. Your eyes widen slightly at the Veritaserum dangling delicately between his fingers. “Is that what I think it is?”

His smile turns wolfish at the slight tremor in your voice and he cocks his head to one side, the hand that isn’t holding the vial, moving slowly up your calf, up the curve of your knee before flattening across the meat of your thigh and stroking the sensitive junction where your thigh meets your pubic bone. “Do you trust me?” He asks, which isn’t exactly an answer, but you think that’s maybe the point. Tom has a strange thing about trust; he likes it when you prove your loyalty to him. Drinking a potion where you’re not entirely sure what the effects will be is definitely something you can see him enjoying.

Slowly, hesitatingly, you nod and he pushes you back against the pillows. He brushes his thumb against your lower lip and pushes two fingers inside your mouth. Heat and desire lick like flames across your skin and your thighs clench in anticipation and need. He lets you run your tongue over them, suck them slowly before he removes them and pinches your chin to keep your mouth open as he pours a few drops onto your outstretched tongue. “That’s it, such a good girl for me,” He says, barely more than a whisper in the heavy silence that surrounds you. His eyes are dark with want and gratification, and he begins to undo the buttons of his shirt, revealing smooth, pale skin that you want to lick.

He leans over you and kisses your jaw and trails bruising kisses against your neck, humming softly when you gasp. “Do you want me to touch you?” He murmurs into your skin and the potion, which you can now confirm was Veritaserum, works its magic and you feel a compulsion to answer.

“Yes, please, I want—” Your words are cut off by a low moan as he brushes his fingers over your underwear which are already damp with your desire for him.

“So wet for me, already.” He’s playing with you at such a leisurely pace that your pleasure is mingled with frustration but when you try to shift your hips closer he pushes you back against the mattress. “So impatient, tell me, darling, how do you want me to touch you?”

You begin to realise exactly why he wanted to use the Veritaserum because you want so many things, you want his fingers and his mouth, you want him to kiss you, to undress you, to play with you until you can’t think let alone talk. These are not uncommon wants when it comes to Tom, but you’re normally too embarrassed to voice them to him, no matter how much he enjoys listening. Now, with the Veritaserum, it’s as though your voice acts without you telling it to, the words tumbling from your lips unbidden and a deep flush rises up your chest and neck as you whimper, “I want… I want you to take my clothes off now, and I-I want you to, fuck, I want your mouth.” You feel overexposed and vulnerable admitting this to him and your eyes are squeezed shut tight because even looking at him is too much right now.

He rewards you for your forced honesty by giving you exactly what you asked for, peeling your underwear down your legs and burying his head between your thighs, lapping at your folds like a parched man. It’s glorious, it always is and soon your clothes are discarded and you keep babbling away, asking and requesting until you’re incoherent. Even though he is the one acquiescing to your every whimpered desire, Tom is still firmly in control. Every sentence out of his mouth is framed as a question, forcing you to answer honestly even when it makes you blush and squirm. Every one of your fantasies is laid out in front of him and the fact that he could ask you anything and you would be compelled to answer truthfully is never far from your mind.

“Look at you, if only you could see yourself,” Tom mutters, his voice rough with exertion, sweat beading in the dips of his collarbones as he pushes you against the pillows, one of his hands reaching and pinning both of your wrists above your head. “Do you like the sound of that? Would you like to see me fuck you? Do you want to see how wrecked you look?”

“Yes.”

Neither of you lasts very long after that. You cling to him desperately, your legs locked tightly around his waist as his breathing grows erratic. Your entire world is narrowed down to Tom and the feeling of his body moving against yours. Everything feels strangely floaty and distant, yet still incredibly intense as if your mind and body can’t quite comprehend what’s happening and is just rolling in sensation and emotion and feeling. The heat that had encompassed you before he even entered the room grows hotter and the flames of your desire burn brighter. You feel your orgasm build low in your belly, a tight ball of tangled nerves that snowballs and crashes over you as you shake with barely contained need. Tom grips your hip, pulling you somehow closer, and licks a wet stripe between the valley of your breasts, his teeth catch your earlobe and you shudder with overstimulation. He lasts another three strokes before he comes with a shaky gasp, his lips brushing yours.

For a moment after, you just lay there, a tangle of limbs and sweat and body heat. Eventually, though, he rolls off of you, and you stretch your aching limbs before snuggling into the duvet. It’s when he passes you a small vial of a swirling grey-silver liquid that what you’ve just done truly hits you. You swallow the antidote hastily and the empty vial falls from your grasp. You feel suddenly overwhelmed and strangely bereft. Blindly, you reach for Tom, searching him out for contact and comfort and reassurance.

“I… Was that okay?” You ask unable to hide your worry that you’ve somehow let him down. Tom immediately moves to wrap you in his arms, dropping a soft kiss to the top of your head.

He tilts your head to face him and his eyes search yours, a small frown marring his forehead. “Darling, you were perfect,” He murmurs, seemingly understanding implicitly what you’re really asking. He tucks you closer and presses his lips to your cheek. Considering what you’ve just been doing, it’s all very chaste. “Come here, let me look after you.”

Feeling slightly more relaxed, you bury your head against his chest and allow him to do just that.

A/N: So this is a companion piece to Tender We Lay Bound. Obviously, you don’t need to read that for this to make sense, but I wanted to explore the power dynamics that would lead to the aftercare in that fic. I wanted to say here that the characters here trust and love each other, but this is honestly pretty bad BDSM etiquette and a seriously under-negotiated kink and scene. Obvs, this is fiction, so whatever, they’re all good and happy, but all kinks should be negotiated and discussed and all scenes should be planned and talked about by all parties involved. I hope you enjoyed and I just wanted to add this because ya know, it's important!

[nicole-lynne]

Pool Party Disaster

Notes: Well y'all, because I'm the worst, this has been sitting in my drafts for the better part of a year. It was supposed to be for @kayteewritessteve's writing challenge...and then I lost every single motivation I had to do anything I enjoyed. So it's 100% late and who knows how it really turned out. But I finished it so here ya go!

Description: Steve and you are in a secret relationship, but it may not be so secret anymore after some semi-public sex.

Based off the prompt: "I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one would notice."

Warnings: NSFW +18. Minors DNI.

You watched lazily as a bead of water rolled down Steve’s shoulder blade, past the dip of his back, and disappeared into his swim shorts. In a large group of people, you knew you should look away, but it felt impossible to drag your eyes away from the place where the shorts hugged his muscular thighs.

“You know you’re drooling, right?”

Snapping your eyes in the other direction, you shifted to find Bucky hovering behind your chair with an annoying smirk on his face. Folding your arms roughly, you ignored the heat in your cheeks. “I was not.”

“Yes, you were.” Bucky said as he moved to sit in the pool chair next to you. “But it’s okay, I don’t think anyone else saw.”

“There was nothing for anyone else to see anyways.” You said snarkily.

“You two aren’t discrete at all, you know? Steve practically popped a boner when you walked out in your suit. Somehow all these other idiots just haven’t put two and two together yet.”

Truthfully, you weren’t surprised that Bucky had figured it out. He was Steve’s best friend and a trained assassin. It’d been more surprising to you that it had taken him this long. You and Steve had started this, whatever this was, over a month ago and no one had mentioned it yet.

There was a part of you that wanted to deny it just for the satisfaction of seeing Bucky question himself, but the other part felt relieved that someone finally knew. And as you glanced over at Steve, laughing with Thor about something, you knew, no one denies Steve Roger. He’s the kind of guy that girls trip over themselves to get a few moments of attention.

“Look, Buck-”

“It’s fine, it’ll be our little secret.” He squeezed your arm lightly, clearly seeing all of the thoughts on your face. “Why not let you two have your fun while you can. You know Tony will blow a gasket once he finds out.”

The idea of your brother finding out about your budding romance with the supersoldier wasn’t exactly something you wanted to think about today. Clearing your throat, you gave Bucky a smirk with a bit of gratefulness behind it.

“Although, I’m still amazed you’ve been able to keep it a secret from the little play-boy genius.”

“It’s not like we’re making out right in front of him, Buck.” You said, irritated.

“No, you were just practically undressing him with your eyes like a love-sick teenager.” Bucky guffawed loudly, and you shoved him backwards futilely. He stayed planted to the chair, snorting at your weak attempt. “Okay, fine, I’ll drop it. I’m just saying, you better get a plan together before Tony stumbles upon it on his own. After the Accords and...well, you know he’s not Steve, or my, biggest fan.”

“I know...you know I don’t blame either of you for that though.”

“We know you don’t, doll. It’s still hard to live with.” Bucky said with a grimace.

“Buck, it wasn’t you. And I’m glad Steve protected you from Tony. You’re his best friend and he needs you in his life.” Reaching forward, you squeezed his hand until he looked up at you. “Besides, who else would annoy me if you weren’t around.”

“You know you love me.” He scoffed, giving you a big grin. “So what are you guys gonna do?”

“Eventually, we’ll work on a plan, but for right now, thanks for keeping it quiet. You’re a great friend, even if you are a sadistic ass sometimes.” You smiled and patted his leg before standing up and moving towards the patio door that entered into the huge kitchen.

To your back, Bucky shouted, “Baby, you don’t even know the half of it,” making you shake your head and giggle. Sliding the door closed, the rest of the noise from the backyard hushed to a dull roar.

You made your way toward the island, in search of something to snack on. Finally you located some tostitos - score! Pulling out a handful of chips, you turned to watch the party through the glass panes that took up the whole fourth wall.

You were pretty sure that Tony had invited the entire company for his barbeque and no one dared to decline. He wasn’t exactly scary or anything, but he definitely liked things a specific way and he always made a mental note if someone wronged him - in his eyes. That was the reason it was so hard to admit this thing with Steve. It wasn’t a secret that Tony didn’t like Steve and he wouldn’t be too happy to know that his little sister might be falling - hard - for the supersoldier.

The sound of the door opening and closing brought you back to reality and you looked up to find Steve watching you intensely from the other side of the kitchen. The light framed him, reflecting on the few drops of water on his chest, and his hair was spiked from where he’d run his fingers through it.

“Hey there, soldier.” You said, smiling sweetly at him.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He replied, walking around the island to you. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“Yeah, it’s alright. Not as much fun since we have to keep our distance.”

“Seemed like Bucky was keeping you company.” He said curtly, his gaze focused on the solo cup on the counter.

You raised an eyebrow, “um, yeah I guess so.” Steve hmphed grumpily. “He was teasing me about being so obvious while I checked you out. He said we’re not discrete enough to be having such a naughty fling.”

Surprised, Steve lifted his eyes to meet yours. “Oh. I thought... Well, I thought he might be-”

“Hitting on me?”

“Something like that.”

Reaching forward, you slipped your hand into his. “He wouldn’t be dumb enough to do that, Steve, when I’m so obviously into you. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you all afternoon.”

Steve let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. “I’m sorry, doll. I guess it’s just seeing you like this has my head all cloudy. It’s hard not to imagine every guy being attracted to you looking like that.”

“Are you serious? I’ve been watching these vultures circle you all day hoping to get a shred of your attention. It’s ridiculous.” You laughed haughtily and hopped up to sit on the counter top. “I think one girl jumped into the pool in front of you like six times trying to catch your eye.”

“Really? I haven’t even noticed.” Steve said, amusement in his voice, as he moved to stand between your legs. “I was too busy focusing on how incredible you look and how much I wanted to have you wrapped around me.”

You let out a shuddered breath as he dipped his head down to press a kiss against your exposed shoulder while his hand moved under your top and pinched your hard nipple. Every time he talked like that, so different from his public image, it made you black out. There was only the tiniest voice telling you that anyone could walk in at any moment.

“You’ve got to stop talking like that or I won’t be able to control myself.” You panted, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one had spotted you through the tinted glass.

Steve’s lips trailed up your neck until his teeth nipped at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. “What if I don’t want you to control yourself?”

Lord have mercy, this man was going to kill you.

“I’ve been so desperate to have you all day, sweetheart. I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one would notice.”

“What if someone’s watching?”

“No one’s watching us. They’re all too scared of Tony to look for us.” His fingers on his free hand traced back and forth along the tops of your thighs, leaving goose bumps where he touched.

“Aren’t you?” You forced yourself to ask.

Steve leaned back to look at you, “Scared of Tony? Nah. I’ve fought him for the people I love before, and I’ll do it again if I have to.”

You couldn’t help the smile that grew from his words and shifted closer to his body, letting the heat of his skin radiate through you.

Breaking the silence, Steve’s gruff voice said, “Now do you want to explain why you snuck out of my bed before I could have my way with you this morning.”

You hadn’t meant to leave him hanging this morning, but you’d been late for your meeting already, and if the hard-on pressed against your ass was any indication for how the rest of your morning would go, you couldn’t risk being any later.

“I-I was late for a meeting that I couldn’t miss.” You managed to stutter as his mouth trailed down and sucked on the pulse point in your neck, knowing that always drove you crazy. “I’ll make it up to you tonight, I promise.”

“I don’t want to wait until tonight,” He nudged your thighs apart more and ran his index finger along the edge of thin material covering you, rolling your nipple with the other hand. “I want you now.”

Before you could protest, he pressed his thumb against your clit through the bottoms and captured your mouth in a kiss, swallowing your moan happily. Your lips parted and his tongue slipped against yours. In just a few moments, he had you worked up and you were grateful that the swimsuit was absorbent. Then, with no hesitation, he broke your kiss and dropped to his knees, his pupils blown with lust.

“Steve,” you hissed, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’ve been dying to taste you, sweetheart.” He said as he pulled the fabric to the side hastily and ran his tongue through your slit. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan and, instantly, you ran your fingers through his hair. “God you’re amazing.”

“Don’t stop.” You breathed out.

Quickly, he sucked your clit and flicked his tongue back and forth over it, causing your eyes to roll back with intense pleasure. His finger teased at your entrance and, with one look up to your blissed-out face, he pushed in one finger to the knuckle.

As slow as he could, he dragged his finger out of you, hooking it just right against your g-spot, then pushed it back in. Each time, playing with your clit in the same rhythm. You were dripping wet but Steve wasn’t letting any of it go to waste. The warm feeling was growing in the pit of your stomach and you knew this orgasm wouldn’t take long at all.

You were beginning to regret not waking him up this morning.

His other hand cupped your ass and pulled you closer to his face just in time for him to hit your g-spot and your clit at the same time, pushing you just over that edge. Fire raced through your veins as you rode out your high, his moans sent vibrations through your body that made you buck against him harder. His hands gripped you tightly to keep you sat on the counter until you started to come down, his mouth still working against you in gentle motions before letting your suit snap back into place.

Slowly, he pressed a soft kiss to each of your thighs and stood up, letting you pull him in for a kiss and you moaned as the taste of yourself hit your tongue. You let your hands roam down his chest to stop at the top of his shorts. Only hesitating for a second, you pulled them down enough to reveal how hard Steve was.

“Can I fuck you, baby?” His breathing was ragged, his lips brushed against yours, as you pumped him in your hand.

All your inhibitions went out the window and all you could do was whimper in response. With one swift motion, he jerked your suit to the side and pushed into you, both of you groaning in pleasure. He didn’t pause to give you time, instead, he began thrusting into you mercilessly.

Your head tipped back, letting him drop his lips to your exposed neck. He slammed into you over and over, rocking your body on the counter, and you dug your nails into his shoulder, desperate for something to ground you.

“Feels so good, sweetheart.” Steve murmured. “Were made for my cock.”

His dirty words made you moan, and you tightened your legs around his waist in response. Slipping his hands under your ass, he lifted you up so he was hitting a deeper angle. With the change, you slipped your hand between your bodies and started circling your clit, bringing your orgasm closer.

“Don’t stop, Captain.” You huffed.

The second you used his title, his eyes darkened with lust and his speed picked up as he stroked into you roughly. Each time, he hit the perfect spot and your eyes rolled back in your head. Your hand had stopped moving, distracted by what Steve was doing. Pushing your hand to the side, Steve moved into the spot and rubbed in sync with his movements.

“You gonna be a good little girl and cum for me?” He growled.

A few more thrusts and your orgasm washed over you and you clenched around his dick in pleasure. Immediately, he attached his lips to yours in a passionate kiss and you slipped your hand into his hair to tug him closer. He pulled out of you two more times before he faltered and his own orgasm hit him. You could feel him pulsing in you and there was no stopping your own body squeezing him for everything he had.

Both of you were panting, trying to catch your breath, occasionally making eye contact and laughing about what had just happened. Gently, he pulled out of you and tucked himself back into his shorts before reaching for a few napkins on the counter and cleaned you up as best as he could.

“Thanks, soldier.” You giggled, adjusting your suit bottoms.

Steve opened his mouth to respond when FRIDAY interrupted. “Mr. Stark requests your presence in the study.” All the bliss drained from your body instantly. You whipped your head around to look at Steve but his face was already hard as stone. Sliding off the counter, you dragged yourself toward the study with Steve trailing behind you, silent as a shadow. You lingered at the door for a moment before pushing the door open and walking in.

Behind the desk, Tony sat back in his plush chair with his hands steepled together. His lips were tight together in a harsh line and he was glaring daggers into Steve behind you.

“On the counter? Really? I eat there.” Was all he said.

“H-how did you know?” You squeaked.

“I always ask FRIDAY to inform me of any... inappropriate behavior when I throw a party.” Tony raised a brow incredulously, “People are animals and can’t keep their hands off each other in public, clearly.”

“Hey,” Steve snapped, “keep it respectful.”

“Why don’t you take your own advice, Cap.” Tony jumped up. “That’s my little sister you had your filthy hands all over.”

You blanched at the thought of Tony seeing what you’d just done.

“I’m sorry that you had to find out this way, but that doesn’t give you the right to judge either of us.” Steve took a step toward Tony. “I’m well aware of some of your indiscretions in your past.”

“Indiscretions are way different from absolute betrayal.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic now, Tony.” Steve ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “I think I deserve to be dramatic after my sister was being railed on my kitchen counter.”

“That’s enough,” Steve stood in front of Tony and balled a fist into his shirt roughly, “you’re not going to talk about her like that again.”

Neither of them paying attention to you, you backed up and dropped onto the couch. Tears swelled in your eyes and rolled down your cheeks. This was the worst case scenario of your brother finding out - no, this hadn’t even come up in your list of worst case scenarios. You were absolutely mortified that a moment like that had been captured on camera.

Not able to stop it, a sob slipped from you and you buried your face in your hands. Steve’s eyes moved from Tony’s face down to you, instantly releasing Tony’s shirt and moving to your side.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry.” He wrapped his arm over your shoulder and tucked you into his chest, making you cry harder, your body shaking violently.

“Ahh kid, I...” Tony trailed off, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Steve glared at Tony harshly, then leaned down to kiss your head. “Baby, I need you to try and take some deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”

Lifting your chin with his fingers, he waited patiently until you made eye contact with him. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, but Steve didn’t judge, only waited until you nodded slightly. He took a deep breath and you followed his motions, inhaling deeply, holding at the top, and releasing it slowly.

Steve held your focus as he breathed with you until you stopped shaking and the tears were dried on your cheeks. He gently cradled your face, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs, before kissing the tip of your nose.

You knew, without a doubt, that you loved Steve more than anyone you’d ever been with. The fact that he’d helped you through this breakdown had just made it more clear that he was the one you wanted to be with. Your eyes fluttered shut and you worked up the courage to look at your brother. Turning to him, you grimaced at the blank look on his face.

“I’m sorry about how you found out, Ton. But I’m not sorry for loving Steve. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m not going to let your own emotional problems get in the way of my happiness.” You croaked, your throat raw from crying.

Tony’s face fell and he had the decency to look ashamed. “Kid, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry for what I said. I guess I was just in shock at...”

“I know this isn’t easy for you, but believe me, this wasn’t how I wanted you to find out either.” Steve squeezed your hand in support and you gave him a small smile.

“You really care about her, Rogers?”

“No, Tony.” Steve said and your head snapped up to see him grinning at you, “I love her. I’m in love with her.”

Not having a care in the world, you launched yourself at him to give him a huge kiss. Steve chuckled but kissed you back with the same enthusiasm. Tony groaned and grumbled until you leaned back, a blush on your cheeks.

“Look, I guess this all fine and dandy, but let’s try to keep the displays of affection in front of me to a minimum. I already have to bleach my eyeballs and I don’t need any more reasons.” Tony headed toward the door, avoiding looking in your direction again. “And Cap, if you hurt one hair on my baby sister’s head, I will blast your ass all the way to Wakanda.”

You and Steve bust out laughing and you let him haul you to your feet. He held your face affectionately and you leaned into his touch.

“Since we’ve got Tony’s blessing now, you want to sneak home for round two?” He teased.

“No way, Captain. Now that we’re free, I’m planning on spending the whole day with you in the pool.” You took his hand in yours and pulled him to the door. “Besides, I’ve got to show all those girls who you belong to.”

“Belong to?” Steve darted forward and flipped you over his shoulder, smacking your butt playfully. “I think you’re all mine, baby.”

[hurston-neale-zora]

"I made up my mind to keep my feelings to myself since they did not seem to matter to anyone else but me."

- Zora Neale Hurston, Dust Tracks on a Road

"I am not tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes. I do not mind at all. I do not belong to the sobbing school of Negrohood who hold that nature somehow has given them a lowdown dirty deal and whose feelings are all hurt about it. Even in the helter-skelter skirmish that is my life, I have seen that the world is to the strong regardless of a little pigmentation more or less. No, I do not weep at the world—I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife."

- Zora Neale Hurston, Dust Tracks on a Road

“Sometimes, I feel discriminated against, but it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can any deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It's beyond me.”

-Zora Neale Hurston

I was born January 7th, 1806 of two former slaves, I didn’t finish my education as a child so I went on to join a group that performed. I got my education later from Howard University, Barnard University where i would study under Franz Boaz, and then move on to Columbia University. I became and author, and anthropologist, and an ethnographer. My work did not receive its flowers until after my death, January 28th, 1960. I was not defined by the color of my skin. I am Zora.

[elizabeethan]

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 14 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: Here comes the whump!! There's a good amount of violence in this chapter (well, not really, but it's more than I've ever written). As always, if you need more details you can message me!

Rated M

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Read on Ao3

~~~~

“Hello, hard worker,” she hears from the door as it creeps open. Looking up from the blank screen, she smiles at Tink. 

 “Hi,” she greets in return. “How are you?” 

 Tink gives her a smirk and chuckles. “Probably not as good as you are.” Emma’s eyes widen and her cheeks turn hot at the implication. She doesn’t even know what Tink is implying, but she does know that she’s pretty experienced in all things related to sex, so her assumtion probably has some backing. “I’m not gonna say anything,” she finally consoles. 

 “You know?”

 She moves into the room, the door already shut as she makes her way for the chair Killian usually sits in. “He didn’t tell me, if that’s what you’re worried about. But when he mentioned leaving, and when he mentioned getting you out, specifically… It was obvious.” 

 “Oh,” Emma nods, biting her bottom lip into her mouth. It’s sweet that the way he talks about her gives him away, but she can’t help but feel nervous about it. Could he be giving himself away to just anyone? 

“It’s also obvious that he loves you, just so you know. But only because we’ve been friends for so long.”

 She takes her words as consolation. They’ve been each other’s only friend for years, learning each other emotionally and physically, so it makes sense that Tink would figure it out before anyone else does. “Thanks,” she says with a smile.

 “And I don’t want you to worry. He ended things with me the night you came here. He and I are friends before anything else; I’m just happy that he’s so happy.” 

 “I wasn’t worried,” Emma says truthfully. “I trust him. And… and you.” 

 “Good,” she says pleasantly, her smile meaningful as she seems to understand Emma’s sentiment; her implication that they’ve become friends, too. “So I guess you’re just sitting here and wasting time until we can go, huh?” 

 “Yeah,” she laughs. She enjoys Tink’s company. It’s easy to laugh with her, her lightheartedness contagious despite them both knowing the danger they're in. Killian has been quietly planning their escape, and it’s almost time to go, so the danger is getting more and more real as the minutes tick on. 

 They sit for a while, joking and laughing together, and Emma reflects silently on how nice it is to have a friend. Killian’s been her friend from the moment they met, but she hasn’t felt this close to another girl in all of her life. She hasn’t felt supported and genuinely liked by another girl since she was a kid, before the runaways and the homelessness left her completely and utterly alone. 

 “You seem happier,” Tink reflects with a soft smile. “The first time we met… Just-- I’m sorry, Emma. I should have been nicer to you. I’m just glad things are starting to look up for you now.” 

 “Thank you,” she smiles. “It’s nice having a friend.” 

 “Yeah,” she laughs. “Elsa’s nice but… I don’t know.” 

 The conversation takes an unexpected turn, guiding Emma down a path she didn’t know was there. The inclusion of Elsa in their discussion of friendship should seem natural enough, but Tink’s suggestion is that she isn’t as good a friend as either of them are to each other. 

 “What?” she asks, easily letting her confusion be known.

 “Something about her,” she answers with a shrug. “I never trusted her. Killian does, though.” 

 “Well, she’s almost like his sister-in-law, right?”

 She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “Yeah, I guess. Not like that seems to mean much to her. Her loyalty lies with her family.” 

 Emma’s eyes narrow suspiciously, wondering what on earth Tink is talking about, where she’s gotten this idea, and what she could possibly know that Killian doesn’t. Killian is Elsa's family. “What are you--” 

 “Hi,” Killian says as he pushes the door open. She bites down against the smile teasing at her lips. 

 “Hi,” she whispers back. “Everything okay?” 

 She wasn’t expecting to see him today, not in the middle of the day, at least. But his arrival is nothing short of a pleasant surprise. It’s not entirely unusual for him to pop in during the day and see how things are going for her, but they should be lying low to avoid stirring suspicion, especially after their risky meetup in the bathroom last night. 

 “Aye, just checking in,” he answers as he bends to plant a kiss to her forehead. “Morning, love,” he says to Tink.

 “Good morning, fearless leader. Everything all set for today?”

 “Yes, indeed,” he answers playfully. She hasn’t ever seen him this light and happy outside of his bed when they share it together. The prospect of finally, finally leaving is a weight lifted off of all of their shoulders, and it’s clear that his spirits are lifting the closer they get to implementing their escape. “Just taking care of some last minute details.”

 Tink nods knowingly, and Emma immediately wonders what he’s talking about. Without her having to ask, she turns to Emma and explains, “convincing Elsa to go will take a certain level of… finesse.” 

 “Not to worry,” Killian consoles gently, placing his hand on hers and giving her a soft and loving smile. It’s the one she knows he saves just for her-- the one she never saw until they started to get close. “I’ll take care of it. I’m about to go and talk to her now, I just couldn’t resist giving my lady love a kiss before I went.” 

 She giggles like someone who has never felt pain before and he bends towards her, planting a soft, slow kiss to her lips that leaves her craving more. She’ll always crave more. And soon, she won’t have to deny herself the pleasure of being with him

 ~~~~

 They’re almost ready. Robin and Killian just need a few more things, some food and clothes and weapons with which to defend themselves, before they're ready to depart. Emma has already shaken enough from Neal’s safe to last them, and she’s certain that he hasn’t noticed and likely won’t until long after they’re gone. The availability of Gold’s yacht is certainly convenient as well, but they must be careful to load their supplies at the last minute, just before they're ready to leave, to avoid being caught.  

 Really, all that’s left is to round each of them up. Tink is more than ready, the two of them dreaming of fleeing for years and finally ready to take action. Robin has been silently wishing his life to be different since he was born into the club. The only person he truly worries about is Elsa, because she’s been gaslighted and unfortunately hasn’t been able to see past their tactics. She spent most of her life here, her mother bringing her and her sister into this lifestyle when they were just children. Now, he has to go against decades of brainwashing to convince her that it’s dangerous here-- that it’s not worth the risk that comes with staying.

 He’s just stepping out of his apartment, having just dropped off some groceries, when it happens. He doesn't even see who does it. He isn’t sure who hits him and with what. But in the blink of an eye, his hopes are dashed as his world goes dark.

 ~~~~

 The blackness fades slowly, the buzzing around the edges of his vision dissolving as he comes to. He moves to scrub his hand over his eyes, but it doesn’t move, prevented by the rough material around his wrist. His other stays put as well, the same material keeping him still. 

 Of course, he thinks in the darkness of the muggy, dank room. Of course this is happening. They were so happy-- they were so close. Of course they’re found out just before they planned to leave.

 “Ah, he lives. Glad you didn’t knock him out too hard, Neal.” 

 “I want him to suffer some more before I do.” 

 He wants to roll his eyes, but when he tries, he’s met with innumerable pain. Neal must have done a number on him, his eye swollen and painful. With each breath, his ribs sting and he hisses. He mumbles, “Bloody hell,” but it’s probably a bad idea. 

 Another fist strikes the left side of his face, further damaging his skin and the bone and tissue underneath and making him cry out. “You’re in for it now, Hook,” Neal hisses. “Elsa told Peter what you did, and I'm gonna make you suffer for it.” 

 He lets out a pained groan, blood trickling from his cheek. He tries again to wipe it away, but the ropes stop him, burning the tender skin of his wrist. “Elsa?” he asks in confusion, still fighting against the haze that’s perpetuated by another strike, this time to his right cheek. His neck cracks in such a way that can’t be good news as his head is whipped to the side.

 “That’s right. Did you expect loyalty from your family? Good luck with that. Unlike you, she understands that we are her family.” 

 Something hard whacks against his shin, making him cry in pain again. It’s not a fist; more likely to be a metal rod or perhaps a plank of wood. “That’s right, Neal,” Peter praises. “We’re all family. Elsa doesn’t have loyalty to only one.” 

 “Because you’ve brainwashed her,” he argues, met with another strike against his already stinging ribs. 

 “We’ve enlightened her. She’s dedicated to her family.” He isn’t even sure which one of them speaks as Neal delivers another sharp blow to his chin. 

 His ears ring as Neal’s open palms meet them, clapping both sides of his head at once and making his eyes grow wide in breathless agony. He can barely make a sound in response, his jaw dropping but any noise in protest stuck in his throat. 

 As the fog in his brain clears after a few moments, Neal allowing him to recover slightly before continuing his torture, he finally speaks again. “She also told us how she found out. She overheard you in the bathroom. During Rufio’s funeral. You sick bastard.” 

 His hand finds Killian’s throat, squeezing firmly until one eye starts twitching and his lips begin to go numb. Then he squeezes harder. 

 “Tell him what she heard, Neal.” 

 “You murdered Rufio,” he accuses knowingly, and Killian realizes that any sense of privacy that he and Emma thought they had was false, even with the door locked. Elsa must’ve gone to use the bathroom they commandeered, and she must’ve been forced to tell Peter and Neal what she overheard when she was caught, too. 

 “And what else?”

 “She heard you attacking my girlfriend,” he hisses, throwing Killian back until his throat is released, although it’s at the expense of his back as the chair tips and he lands solidly against the concrete ground. “She heard you trying to take advantage of her!”

 He lets out a rasped, choking sound as Neal’s boot pushes against his throat, barely giving him time to recover from his last assault. He can’t breathe, the muscles in his neck protesting against the firm weight pressed to him. He isn’t sure if the back of his head hit the floor when he collided with it, but he knows that would be bad. 

 “You fucking bastard!” Neal screams, clearly not worried about their location or activities being given away by an excessive noise level. “You tried to ruin her? Why?!” 

 Neal’s question needs to be answered with finesse. He can’t say anything that will imply that Emma was in any way a willing participant in their activities. He can’t let Neal find out that their affair is two-sided-- that they love each other. That they plan to run away together. 

 Of course, the possibility of their plan actually going off at this point is slim. Honestly, Neal might kill him tonight, his derangement making it impossible for him to see that Emma wants out just as badly as he does. 

 “Answer me!” he finally screams again, removing his boot and driving it forcefully into Killian's ribs. He can’t even double over, or roll onto his side to ease the pain, because he’s still bound to his chair. “Did that whore let you soil her? Or did you force yourself on her?” 

 “She had noth-- nothing to do with it,” he gasps, barely able to speak, barely able to breathe. “It meant nothing; she means nothing to me. I just did it to piss you off.” 

 Neal kicks his broken ribs again and Killian sees white. His vision blurs in response to his torment, but he hopes he doesn’t pass out because he knows he might not wake up if he does. It would be so easy to give into the blackness that clouds the outer rim of his sight, but he can’t. 

 “You took advantage of her. She’s weak, she can’t defend herself. She doesn't know what’s best for her. How dare you?” 

 “Aye,” he agrees painfully. It hurts to admit this in falsity almost as much as it hurts when Neal’s heel drives into his stomach. 

 He hears Peter say something, but his voice is tinny in his ears and he can’t make out his words. He’s slipping under the blanket of unconsciousness, the numbness taking over far too intriguing as he lets his eyes fall shut and his mind go black.

 ~~~~

 “Bring him out,” Peter commands, his violent voice making Emma jump in her seat. She can’t help but notice that her chair has been placed suspiciously closer to Neal’s than it usually is. He sits beside her, his body still and rigid and his eyes staring straight ahead. His face is threatening and tense, his jaw locked. “I need everyone to see what happens when you betray this family.” 

 A family meeting was called unexpectedly, interrupting Emma's sham of dedication to her research. She and Tink stared at each other, terror written across both of their faces as they stood and followed the small crowd to the intimidating room, met with Peter looking absolutely irate at the head of the table. Neal’s knuckles are bruised and bloodied, she’s realized.

The door opens slowly, two men dragging along a limp and seemingly lifeless form before throwing him into a chair and laughing when he groans. 

 Killian. 

 Emma stiffens, her eyes stinging and filling with tears that she immediately works to blink away. She bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood. She can’t let anyone see her reaction to seeing him like this, but the fact is, she thinks she might be dying on the inside. 

 He’s so broken, so mutilated. The bruises on his face make him almost unrecognizable, the swelling of his eyes and chin and cheeks distorting his beautiful features painfully. He’s holding his arm over his middle, likely suffering from some injuries to his ribs. He looks like he can barely breathe. There are deep purple bruises painted around his neck, taking on the shape of someone’s angry fingers. 

 The same angry fingers grab for hers, and she knows immediately that Neal has done this to him. He’s hurt her endlessly, but now he’s battered the man she loves, and this cannot stand. 

 “Tell the men what you’ve done, Hook,” Peter insists. One of the men holding him upright in his chair, Walsh, snickers madly. 

 “I--” he starts, his voice rough and tattered. Walsh laughs as he pushes his hand against one of his bruises for sport, causing Killian to wince. “I killed Rufio.” 

 The men around the table gasp, each of them straightening and making as though they’re about to stand and hurt him even more.

 “And what else?” 

 “I tried to damage Neal’s property. I manipulated her; I told her lies to make her believe that I felt something for her.” 

 The words are rehearsed. They trained him in exactly what to say. But still, she feels a stab in her heart at him announcing that she means nothing to him. “And tell them why.” 

 “Because I’m mad. I wanted to cause Neal pain. And I--” he cries out again as Walsh pushes his finger against another angry bruise, laughing at his response. “I want to cause the club to suffer.”

 “He wants the club to suffer, and he’s succeeded. I want everyone to take a long, hard look at the man who used to be our brother. Killian Jones is a dead man. He’ll die at sunrise, but for now, he’s to act as a symbol to anyone considering betraying the club. We’re a family, and we will not be trifled with.”

 The crowd around the table cheers loudly in agreement, each of them getting riled up in response to Peter’s ostentatious speech. He continues, “As for the Kings of Elsinore, we’ll continue our plans of attack. I don’t know about you lot, but I’ve about had enough of people who want to see us suffer. No one messes with the Lost Boys and lives to tell the tale!” The men cheer, fists banging against the table and making Emma jump. “They Kings will be a symbol for any other club thinking of going up against us. We are the rulers here! Prepare for battle, men. At dawn, we raid the Kings’ clubhouse!” 

 She’s silent as the room empties slowly, everyone who walks past Killian giving him some form of further physical punishment as they make their way out the door. Soon, it’s just Robin who remains, staring angrily at Killian, and Neal by her side. 

 “Ems,” Neal says darkly, and her blood runs cold in sudden fear. She’s been so consumed with worry and anger for Killian that she hasn’t even considered the repercussions from Neal at them being discovered. 

 She turns to face him nervously, her fingers shaking as she grips the arms of the chair. “Yeah?” she nearly whispers. 

 He gives her a soft, if not terrifying smile that she thinks is an attempt at being comforting. “I forgive you.” 

 Her brows raise on her head, almost meeting her hairline, and she asks, “You… what?” 

 “I know this bastard manipulated you. I know you’re not… Well, I know you're naive and desperate for attention wherever you can get it. Hook trying to seduce you isn’t your fault. I forgive you.” 

 She nods weakly, feeling as though she's in a trance. In a moment of clarity and brilliance, she decides to go along with his thoughts and says, “Can I have a minute with him? I need to look into the eyes of the man who… who tried to hurt us.” She chooses her words carefully, saying exactly what she knows will coerce him into giving her what she truly wants.

 “I don’t know, baby,” he shakes his head, taking her hand and roughly dragging it towards his mouth. “That’s not your brightest idea.” 

 “Robin’s here,” she reasons. “Look at him-- he’s just as mad as we are that his friend betrayed our family. He’ll keep me safe.” 

 He gives her another leering smile that she’s sure he thinks is sweet and winks. “I guess you’re not so useless up here after all,” he concedes, tapping his finger against her temple. She forces herself not to flinch away. “Rob,” he barks as he stands, “keep her safe from this asshole.” 

 “‘Course, mate,” Robin answers, taking Neal’s hand and shaking it. “I’ll watch him like a hawk.” 

 Neal is out the door in an instant, not bothering to say anything more to Emma in favor of shoving against Killian’s shoulder on his way out. 

 She's still for a moment, taking in the grievous sight of him and barely able to move. It takes her just a second after he lets his eyes fall shut and a weak breath fall from his lips to hurry to him and take his hands. “Killian,” she pleads in a whisper. 

 His brows screw together in pain and she pulls back, but his grip on her hand tightens. “I’m sorry,” he struggles. 

 “No,” she cries, pressing her lips firmly to the top of his hand, the one part of him that hasn’t been battered violently. “Don’t say that, baby. It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine.” 

 “I didn’t mean it.” He opens his eyes, or tries to, one of them almost completely swollen shut. She’s met with his genuineness, and it breaks her heart. 

 “I know that,” she promises. “You didn’t have to take all of this punishment just to keep me safe.”

 “They’ll never hurt you,” he vows, and it’s like he's promising himself, too. She stands, bending at her knees so that she can look at him head on. His bottom lip is swollen and bloody, but she plants a kiss there anyway. 

 “I love you,” she tells him seriously. “I’m so sorry.” 

 He doesn’t respond-- she doesn’t think he can-- but she does feel him squeezing her hand once more and bumping his likely broken nose against hers.

 This is her fault. He wouldn’t be here if not for her. If not for her making stupid mistakes and getting caught up in ridiculously dangerous situations, she wouldn’t be here and he would be okay. He wouldn’t be bleeding and bruised and have cracked ribs, and she wouldn’t be worried about his lungs being punctured or his skull being fractured. She would be alone, she would be lost without ever knowing him, but at least he would be okay. 

 “We have to get him out,” she says to Rob after a few moments of thick and desperate silence. “He needs help; he needs a doctor.” 

 “I know,” he nods in agreement. 

 “No,” Killian begs weakly. “Just go. Leave me, please. Don’t risk getting caught--” he cuts himself off, gasping in pain as he tries to move in his chair. “Please.” 

 “Killian, no offense, but shut up,” Robin says. “We’re all planning to flee. There’s not a chance in hell we let you die while we walk free.”

 “Right,” Emma breathes, relieved to hear that his friend feels the same as she does. “It’s almost dark. Do you think anyone will be here much longer? Can we sneak him out?” 

 “Rob,” he practically whimpers, letting his head drop back as his breath catches against the pain in his throat. “Please. Don’t put her in any more danger. Please.” 

 The room falls silent again as Robin considers his friend’s pleas, looking between the two of them pensively. Honestly, she doesn't care how it’s done. She just needs to make sure that Killian is out of here and away from danger as soon as possible so that they can follow through with their plan. 

 “Alright,” Robin concedes. “Emma, you should go back with Neal. We still don’t want to tip anyone off to our plans. I’ll get him out since I’m supposed to be keeping watch anyway. But at that point, we’ll both be wanted by the club. Round up Tink and Elsa and meet us. You talked to them both, right?” he asks Killian. 

 He shakes his head. “You have to check on Elsa first,” he insists. “Leave me and make sure she’s alright. She told them--” He gasps again, and Emma rubs her thumbs over the tops of his hands. When he looks into her eyes, he says, “She’s how they found out.” 

 “What-- she what?” 

 Emma’s dumbfounded, shaking her head in thought, unable to wrap her mind around the betrayal. It isn’t until her conversation with Tink makes itself known in her memory that she realizes what she meant. 

 Elsa’s loyalty lies with her family.

 “Emma, please, check on her. They probably tortured it out of her.”  

 She nods, if only so that she doesn’t cause him any further distress as she figures out the truth. There isn’t much about this lifestyle that makes sense to her, but one thing that seems abundantly clear is the fact that Elsa has never been as loyal to her brother-in-law as he has to her. Emma doubts very much that Elsa was tortured at all, much more likely to have given up the information freely. 

 “I will,” she promises, kissing the top of his left hand. “I’ll meet you soon. I love you.” 

 “I love you,” he whispers, letting his eyes fall shut. 

 When she stands, she makes anxious eye contact with Robin and says, “Get him out of here. He needs to see a doctor.” 

 “I will. Grab Tink and Elsa and meet me at the docks when you can. I’ll wait a few hours before I start looking for you.” 

 She nods, making her way towards the door and making a silent vow to herself. She’ll grab Tink, and she’ll prove her own hunch about what Elsa has done to Killian. 

 ~~~~

 Robin has just gotten to the docks, tucking his friend away safely on the boat they’ve pilfered, when he hears the footsteps. He got Killian to the bed, cleaned his wounds-- although he didn’t look much better when he was done with him-- and gave him some rum to help him sleep before he heard someone rustling above deck. Only it’s too soon for Emma to be back. As he steps out of the cabin, he sees a shadowy figure on the dock. 

 “You,” the figure calls, making their way towards their stolen boat. Robin nervously reaches for his gun and points it at the shadow. They reach for something as well, holding it up before themselves, and Robin cocks his gun in response. 

 “I’m armed,” he warns.

 “FBI.” 

~~~~

~~~~

Tagging:  @courtorderedcake​ @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda​ @kday426​ @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​ @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot​ @ebcaver​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @superchocovian​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @tiganasummertree​ @gingerchangeling​ @jrob64​ @onceratheart18​ @xhookswenchx​ @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @dancingnancyy​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​ @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells​ @hollyethecurious​ @ouatpost​ @daxx04​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @donteattheappleshook​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​ @xsajx​ @itsfridaysomewhere​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @rapunzelsghosts​ @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice​ @batana54​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @deckerstarblanche​ @zaharadessert​ @xarandomdreamx @hookedmom​ @pirateprincessofpizza​

[catxsnow]

TIM DRAKE SMUT ALPHABET

I’m bored so I complied all the Tim smut alphabet requests that I got several weeks back into one post so it’s easier to read lol. None of these are new, they’ve all been posted before, just making it for you new comers! 

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Tim likes to have a shower with you after. There’s nothing more sensual to him than washing each other’s bodies. The mix of sweat and cum that you guys made together, are washed away together. He just wants to take care of you at all times.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your favourite body part of his is his back. He’s got the nicest, muscular back and it’s the sole reason that you always offer to give him massages (which nearly always end up with sex)

His favorite of yours is lips/mouth. He loves kissing you, the sounds that you make, and mostly when their wrapped around his dick.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As I said in the body part ^ Tim loves your mouth and he sure as fuck loves to cum in it. There’s nothing sexier to him than watching you swallow his load. It’s his favourite place to cum.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Tim once jacked off while he was out on patrol. You begged him all evening to stay home and he promised he wouldn’t be long. That was a lie, he had been out all night and you needed him. So, you sent him a rather extensive video of you pleasuring yourself and he couldn’t take the wait to get back across the city to see you.

E = Experience 

Tim knows what he’s doing, but he hasn’t been with that many people. He’s mostly learned and adapted to what you like rather than base what he knows off of his past. It’s more important to specialize in exactly what feels good for you rather than what he assumes you like. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Tim’s favourite is the face off (idk what it’s actually called sorry) When he’s sitting up and you’re riding his cock. He loves this because he get’s to have that closeness to you and it’s more sensual. It’s a versatile position - the bed, his office chair, the batcave chair, the training mat - His office chair.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.

Depends on the location. In his room? Tim will crack a joke here and there just to keep you entertained. In his office though, boy oh boy is he completely different. Tim’s already got his big boss attitude from his long day’s work and he definitely keeps it up with you. Bossy Tim is a whole new level of hot. 

H = Harmony (do they like music in the background?)

If he’s in his room, he’ll put some music on in the background. Nothing with lyrics, just instrumentals. Never too loud either, he wants to hear you more than he wants to hear the music. However, if any of his brother’s are staying in the same house as him, he always turns the music up loud enough to drown out your sounds. No way is he letting his brother’s know just how hot you sound when he’s fucking you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Tim’s pretty romantic. He doesn’t want to fuck you like you’re some kind of whore (but enjoys it on the occasion). He’d rather praise you and enjoy how close the two of you are.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Since dating you, Tim doesn’t jack off very often. He only ever does if you’re apart and you ask him for a video of him. Just because Tim doesn’t feel the need to masturbate while he’s away doesn’t mean the same for you. You’re begging him through text and telling him how much you miss his cock in you. Tim makes sure he’s extra vocal as he’s thinking about you sucking him off rather than only having his hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Tim likes some light bondage. He loves when your hands are tied up and you can’t aid to your own pleasure (even though he does a good enough job on his own). Nothing too crazy. He hates when you do it to him though, Tim needs to have his hands on you at all times.

Orgasm control. He doesn’t pull this very often but he’ll make you wait to cum. If you cum without him saying, he’ll go through it again and again until you get it right.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Like I said in my previous post, he’ll fuck you in his office. It might not be the most comfortable place, but there’s no better feeling that having you bent over his desk while he’s pounding into you. He sound proofed his office just so you didn’t have to hold back your moans.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Tim see’s you in lingerie and he’s done for. He think’s it’s unbelievably sexy and he won’t waste a second to fuck you without taking it off. The worst is when you send him a picture of you in it while he’s at work. Half the time he leaves the building just to show you how hard you make him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Tim hates the idea of cuckholding. Literally the idea of another man fucking you while he just watches is his worst nightmare. He’s the only one allowed to bring you pleasure. Tim wouldn’t be opposed to a threesome though

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to receive. Tim loves getting head from you. However, he also loves when you sit on his face too and boy is he good at it. Tim’s learned just the right combo of licking and sucking. You put a kink in his neck one time from it and Bruce questioned what had happened. Thank god he was a great liar.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Tim’s more slow and hard. He doesn’t want to rush things with you but he wants to slam his hips so hard that you’re seeing spots. He’s more about getting as deep as he can rather than as fast as he can.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s not a huge fan. Tim likes to prolong fucking you when he can, so when you guys are rushed, he knows that he’s not doing his best performance. He’ll do them when need be but it’s not his ideal time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Look all I’m saying is that Tim would, has, and will fuck you in his WE office. It’s his company and he can do as he pleases in his building.

Tim has his classic positions that he preferences but he is willing to try new things if you bring it up.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Tim can go a lot of rounds, like a lot. However, he doesn’t last particularly long. He loves being inside you, and the pleasure of it all is sometimes just too much for him to handle. He never quits until you’re tired though - he could go all night if you wished. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Tim doesn’t own toys for himself but he bought some for you. He encourages you to use them when he’s away on missions and he nearly cums in his pants when you send a lengthy video of you using them. He uses them in bed occasionally too if he’s on the mood to over stimulate.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He teases you just enough to get frustrated. Tim knows your limits better than anyone else, he knows when you’re on the edge of cumming and he knows exactly when to stop. He’ll deny your orgasm but if he does it more than once then he’ll make it up to you for the rest of the night.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not that loud. Tim will express how he’s feeling rather than making noises. He’s king of dirty talk which came out of nowhere with how awkward he can be. Tim constantly praises you for what you do and you know if you get a long moan out of him then you’re doing one hell of a good job.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

As CEO of WE, he had important business dinners he attended to and most times you went with him.  Tim was feeling ridiculously bold one night. You guys saw side by side and not even ten minutes into the night he was slipping his hand between your thighs and teasing you through your underwear. It was the first time that you had worn a short dress to the dinner meeting and you regretted it. Tim never brought you close enough to an orgasm but the endless teasing all night had led to the most intense sex you ever had with him.

X = X-marks the spot (where’s their favourite place to give/receive hickies)

Tim loves to leave them all over his chest. He knows they’re there, but no one else does. He only wants you and him to see the marks he leaves on you. As much as you like leaving them where everyone can see, he’s got a multi-billion dollar company to run and people already see him as childish they don’t need another excuse. You settle for right where the edge of his suit would be, sometimes they just barely peak out.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Tim can fuck as much as he wants. He’s not constantly horny, but if you’re in the mood then he’s not gonna deny it. Tim’s sex drive isn’t intense, but he can’t go over a week without you either, he’ll go crazy.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends. Tim’s used to being awake for a while so if he needs to stay up afterwards he can. However, he loves falling asleep with you in his arms right afterwards if he can Cockwarming maybe. 

[aliynavenus]

DamiRae Fanfic: New Years Eve 

(Authors Notes: I’m late ik. Most likely won’t be that good. It was just an idea I had and ik I’m late with posting it but here it is. Don’t have high hopes. Really. My writing could be worse considering I haven’t wrote in over 4 months ahhhhh i’ll shut up so you can read and judge.)

She almost felt awkward with him being here. It’s not like it’s the first Damian has been in her room. Though this was different. They were friends, close friends in fact. Companions in which they understood each other including the bond that they shared ever since the first week they met, it may have been such a long time ago but they never felt the need to find some kind of reverse spell to erase it. 

They may not have want to admit it. But they like that link shared. It was a disclosure that made them feel less lonely in their life. 

“Are you sure it’s alright to go with you?” She yelled loud enough for him to hear her while he was getting dressed in her bathroom. 

“Of course, it’s New years eve. You shouldn’t be alone at the tower.” his words were muffled yet she heard him. 

Right. New Year’s Eve. She didn’t mind spending it alone, though Damian insisted her to come with him to his father’s annual new year’s eve charitable gala. When she denied, the next day Bruce mailed her an invitation, which surprised Damian just as much as she was. 

Taking by how long she was thinking, Damian cleared his throat echoing back with hesitation “If you’d like we could stay here and not attend I can make an excuse to my Father.” 

A small smile was tugging the corner of her mouth realizing how considerate he was of her. He knew her well. Knowing the dislike they both shared for over crowded meaningless parties or crowds. Although...

That wasn’t negotiable. Denying an invitation from Bruce Wayne--scratch that--The Batman was more terrifying then having to face her own damn father. “No th-that’s alright. It’ll be nice. I don’t mind going.” 

That wasn’t the problem. Being seated, looking at herself in her grey vanity mirror. She felt pathetic even thinking this but she felt insecure in going. She glanced down at her off the shoulder tight maroon dress--that was obviously Donna’s-- it barely filled up her small chest. Great, just to top off her one of many insecurities for tonight. The lavish dress that Raven had no idea could even exist in Donna’s messy closet. She felt weird. If that was even the word to describe it. 

Glancing at the side of her mirror she could see the small reflection of the of her bathroom door slightly open. A string of heat spread across her cheeks having a visual of Damian’s bare tan back covered in scars and bruises, some fading yet some were still fresh. His shoulders were broader, muscles taking up his biceps, he wasn’t too muscular like his father but he sure was getting there. 

 They may have not been together or anything like that. But she felt good when she was around him. Forgetting all the thoughts that reminded her of being a sinful demon’s daughter. He made her feel normal without even realizing it. 

“You seem lost in thought.” Damian’s voice knocks her out of her thoughts, as he comes out of her bathroom. Fully dressed in simple black trousers with an olive oxford, sleeves rolled up making him look too damn irresistible. In the years she’s known him he was always the best at hiding his emotions. Never showing any sign of what he was thinking, it made her feel powerless.

It was almost if he was ready to seek girls attention, though that was never his intention. It almost bugged her even more in fact. How can he look like a god himself, without trying. 

“Nope, I’m okay.” she clears her throat wanting the linger of her thoughts to disappear. She stares at his chest, noticing the small specks of Titus’s fur stuck onto it. Good thing she always had a spare lint roller in her vanity drawer. “You have some Titus’s fur on you.” 

Getting up from her seat, she walks over her to him. Damian was easily a head over her, she felt so small compared to him despite her being a year older than him. 

Damian’s jaw tightened as his eyes wandered around her body slowly. She didn’t want to look directly at him yet, in fact it made her knees become weak if his stare kept boring into her.  

 Rolling the roller on top of his chest, it wasn’t a lot but just enough to leave a clean slate. His signature scent of fresh wood and ginger corrupted her, leaving her want to be filled with his fragrance. Raven looked up at him, his eyes already staring down at her. He looked tense, almost like he was battling with his own inner thoughts that she couldn’t comprehend. His emeralds with specks of gold sprinkled onto his irises. His eyes it was like they were imprinting onto hers. 

“You look beautiful.” 

What? His soft voice, almost like a whisper that he didn’t want to be heard. She could have sworn that she could see a slight rush of pink onto his cheeks, to the tip of his ears. Yet he didn’t show any feature of his face of embarrassment, always hiding how to react. 

She wasn’t any good in that realm. Slowly looking down to bite down a smile that was creeping on her lips. “Thank you.” 

Warmth rushed up her skin, as she felt his fingers caress her forearm. His thumb running slowly back and forth as if he was taking in every part of flesh. She could practically feel his stare boring into her when she lifted her head up. Everything that was felt upon her felt gentle, his touch, his stare, everything. 

If she was being honest, she’d rather stay in this moment with him. She’d rather stay at the tower with him alone. She wanted to have him touch her more. She wanted this to herself. Was it a selfish wish? 

“Don’t leave my sight. I want you near me.” 

Damian’s voice was a low rumble.It was more a command than a request. The words coming out clear and rough against her. It made her body feel as if it was just electrocuted. It made her feel small, not knowing what quite to say. Raven waited for him to continue. But he never did. Instead he stayed quiet, avoiding her stare that she so desperately wanted to meet. 

She wanted to say something. Anything. But the words never left her lips. A silence stretched between them. 

Damian’s hand left her forearm already missing the touch of his hand. She saw his hands digging into his pockets, clearing his throat. “We should go, my father is most likely waiting.” 

All she was able to do was nod and walk to her grab her heels. 

----------

At the gala 11:13 p.m (Been there for an hour) 

She wasn’t having fun. Now that she thinks of it, she should’ve accepted his idea in staying home instead. There wasn’t anyone she knew here, all of them either being business owners to reporters to simply models from heaven. 

Her insecurities were through the roof when she stepped foot in the Wayne Manor. The flashing gleaming chandelier lights, the polished floor of marble, the endless crowds of people faking smiles to each other while being handed drinks every 2 seconds. Women, even young girls dressed elegantly with beauty that was beyond compared.

Honestly did Bruce make everyone who was gorgeous attend the manor. Of course the men here were handsome too but none quite compared to Damian. 

Who might she add, has been charged by the many reporters and young--next heirs to be--women who threw themselves onto him when they first got there. 

Yeah. There was no way of getting near him with the herd of people surrounding him. 

Raven shifted towards the wine table, azar it was new years eve she might at least try to enjoy herself. Taking a glass of filled wine, she took it in sip by sip. It may be practically impossible for her to get drunk since her powers can easily be consumed over it, she did get the euphoric pleasure for a few minutes. 

Her feet ended up drifting her towards the small isolated balcony at the end of the hall. The wind was cold, but it felt fresh against her skin. 

“Don’t leave my sight. I want you near me.” 

She kept remembering over and over. They were simple words, but they struck her. His tone, his eyes, his short breaths, everything was so still. He processed her at that very moment, and she was ready to give in. She wanted to think the way she did, she wanted to consider maybe for one second think of the thought that maybe, just maybe he felt some sort of way towards her--

Though that wouldn't be accurate. Damian would never. Who was she kidding, truly. 

“You look like you need a friend.” Turning to hear the familiar voice.

“Roy?” She was taken aback. She hasn’t seen Roy aka Arsenal since he left the Titans a year ago, going solo even though he was only a year older than her.

Turning her body following his movement as he placed himself next to her leaning against the balcony.  “I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

He chuckled, revealing his dented dimple on the side of his cheek. His simple red oxford with grey trousers complimenting his darken red ginger hair. “I should be the one saying that. Didn’t think gala’s were your thing. You’re kind of outta your element don’t ya think.” 

Roy leveled the extra drink he had in his hand to her, eyeing her waiting for her to accept his drink. 

A relieving sigh, her breath dusting into the cold air. “Thank you.” She took a sip, “I am out of element, Bruce invited me to come along with Damian. You?” 

Roy shrugged, “Oliver’s here, half of this gala is for charity and since I’m most likely the next heir to his company he wanted me to come talk to a few business people about profits, marketing, you know.” 

Raven nodded, taking another sip of the smooth flavor that danced on her tongue. She knew nothing of that but she rather pretended she did. 

A silence stretched between them, “So you came with the snarky brat tonight, hmm. As a date?” 

Raven almost coughed up her saliva, “N-No of course not.” she gestured her head towards Damian who was talking to a pretty tall brunette with blue eyes like Donna. “She’ll probably be a better date then I will ever be for him.” 

“Oh?”  He sounded intrigued. “And why do you say that?” 

She couldn’t tell if the wine was kicking in, but she knew it wouldn’t last long considering her powers will only take it over. But right now she didn’t care. She turned her whole body to take the sight of Damian and the girl, “Because Roy, look at her--look at them.” She motioned towards them with the drink still in her hand, “They look like that perfect ideal couple that I see in every damn cover on Donna’s magazines. She belongs in this world. I don’t. Oh azar, I was never supposed to belong with anyone in the first place. But him, he may be snarky, stubborn, and so stupidly difficult but he belongs with good. He needs good. I’m still learning how to just be that right now.” 

Her whole voice felt raw and fragile in the back of the throat, the glass that was once full of wine now was gone. Roy sighed leaning his neck back, looking up at the sky. “You and him were always so gullible.” his words were so quiet, as if it wasn’t meant to be heard. “Damian doesn’t need good. What he needs is someone to understand that weird obnoxious mind of his. You really think these females will ever understand him, understand the Al-Gual part, the Wayne part, the Titan part, the jerkoff part especially. I don’t think so, Rae.” 

Raven sighed turning to face Roy. His tone, his facial features, his posture, everything seemed so easy to read off of him. He was being genuine, helpful, caring yet cautious of his words. “He really is something else.” 

“Yea, a real pain in the ass too.” Roy chugged down the last ounce of whatever strong alcohol he had. 

“I could say the same to you, Harper.” 

Raven bit her lip when she heard Damian’s voice. Oh Azar, what happened to him talking to that girl. 

Roy didn’t even look startled, keeping his stare directly at Damian. She almost forgot how much they never really could handle one another but only minerly had to tolerate each other during missions.

Damian's eyes were dark, his jaw ticked. No longer having that warm fake persona he put on for people. “Harper.” 

“Wayne.” Roy nonchalantly said putting his arms up. “I didn’t do anything to her.” 

“As you shouldn’t be.” The tension between their voices was like a ticking time bomb. “I’ll be taking her for now.” Damian's fingers intertwining with hers escorting her out of the balcony. 

Her mind felt hazy with the sudden pull of Damian. She gave a smile waving off to Roy who was trying to hide a slick smile at them. “Happy new year, Roy” 

“Happy new year’s Rae.” 

--- 11:46 --- 

Raven looked around where Damian was taking her, having no idea what hall they were in but was only grateful that no one was in near sight. “Where are we going?” Her mouth finally working, she suppose the wine was wearing off. 

“Alone.” was the only thing that managed to leave his lips. Yet it sounded like there was more to be said. His eyes never meeting hers like he was having his own war inside of him. 

He was angry. 

Finally pulling them into a room on one of the highest floors. He escorted her in, turning on the dim lights behind her. The room was simple, almost no decoration, a bed in the middle, along with some simple books scattered, swords hung on the wall. 

“Why am I here? It’s almost New Years shouldn’t we be downstairs.” pause. “Shouldn’t you be faking a personality for people right now.” 

Yup the alcohol was still in her. Or maybe it wasn’t just the alcohol anymore. 

She almost hated how annoyed her voice sounded.  Though part of her drunken speech to Roy did make her hate Damian right now. Him saying she should be near him tonight when really he was the one playing distant heir the whole night. 

Damian leaned back on the door crossing his arms, his jaw ticked again. His eyes were a shade darker, nothing sort of gentle behind them. “Why were you with him?” 

Damian completely ignored her questions. Raven gave a dry chuckle; it only made her want to bite back, “Who? Roy? At least he was keeping me good company, rather than you being tossed around by every stranger.” 

“You really don’t--” Damian stumbled, he was biting his tongue. He wanted the words to come out of him so she could easily see it. He was frustrated knowing well he wasn’t going to win against her. 

“You don’t get it Raven.” pause. “I wanted to be with you this entire night like I said.” He glanced away from her, “When I told you that, you didn’t respond. I felt foolish for saying what I said to you Raven. I thought maybe I managed to push you away, I hated myself after that. Even now I hate this. I hate not knowing whatever I feel when you’re around me. Whenever your aroma consumes me, I could practically fall to my knees for you Raven.” 

This couldn’t be.

Did he..? 

Damian scratched the back of his neck, gesturing his hands in the air, “And when I saw you with that imbecile. God I wanted to steal you away from him, I didn’t care.” 

Every step he took to her, was just a request she wanted to make to just fall before him. He gently brought his hands to cup her cheeks to look directly into his eyes. Nothing was fake, his eyes, his eyes. This was all him. Everything she’d never expect from him, “I told you to be near me tonight because you look so beautiful. I didn’t want anyone even taking the sight of you. Your too fuckin diserable even more me.” 

Like her….

Tracing her bottom lip with his thumb, she wanted this, wanted him. 

Bringing her fingers to wrap around his wrists, she lifted herself up to touch her lips with his. Damian’s lips were rough against hers but she liked it. 

-------- 11:53 ----- (Damian's Pov) 

Their lips crashing together was a different euphoric sensation he hasn’t felt. His fingers were tangled into her soft hair, running along the back of her neck. His tongue sliding across her lower lip, her taste, her stroke with her tongue mingling with his was just too damn good. He wanted to conquer every part that he could, admire her with his reach. 

Every touch that he made on her made him feel unworthy, a damn perfection she was that he felt unworthy of. 

Raven’s breaths were short, hot as she was having a few touches of fun of her own for him. Her fist clenching onto his shirt pulling him tighter while the other on his bicep, her touch was burning into him that he hoped would leave a mark on him. 

He took in no time to trace her body downward, admiring every dip and curve on the formatious tight dress she had. Leaving small pepper kissed onto her neck, and open shoulders

Raven winced, and it was a lavish melody he wanted to hear again. Licking, and biting every part of her open bare skin displayed on him. He wanted people to know she was his. Just as she should be, just how she should have been. “Damian” 

He shivered at the way his name sounded on her innocent voice. Coming back up to capture her lips he needed. He took this time to grab her thighs, lifting her up. Raven cupped the back of his neck and cheek to keep her well balanced not wanting to miss a single taste of him. His mouth dominating over hers so slowly, teasing her, biting her, over and over again.  

Walking towards the bed, he seated himself so now she was on top of him. Damian pulled away for a second, he was admiring her. Hell, he was taking in every part of her, her fists bunched into his shirt surely causing wrinkles he didn’t care for, her hair becoming slightly messy but still looking so utterly perfect, her elegant dress now being bunched up revealing her velvety thighs before him. Her lips were now pouted, bigger than her normal size. Damian leaned her chin towards him coming in gently to place small kisses on the small bruises on her lips that were faded from his bites. 

He was known to be rough yet she didn’t seem to mind at all for him. 

“You are too good for me, my beloved.” 

Damian could feel her goosebumps form on her arms, he tried hiding his smile from her. Raven only managed to shake her head, causing Damian to run a lingering touch on her back, “Tell me you’ll let me stay by your side, Raven” 

Raven let out a relieved laugh, her iris eyes lighting up with bliss. It was a sight he’d love to see over and over if he can. “Don’t leave it and I won’t leave yours.” 

Grabbing side of her cheek, fiddling with her hair. He wanted nothing more than to stay by her side for as long as she’ll let him. He cared--no--treasured her. 

All his life he understood everything, there was never a question or puzzle he couldn’t solve. Everything was simple for him.

But her. Raven. 

Damian was never able to understand, he felt sinful when he had thoughts about her, thoughts about them simply being together. He didn’t think she’d accept him then more than a teammate. He was fucked up. He never saw her as a weapon that was destined to be. 

She was pure to him. A soul to protect. To keep safe. 

Shouts and bottles of corks were muffled through the room hearing everyone chanting happy new years. He stared back at her running small circles on her back. “I promise, Happy New Year, my love.” 

Bringing his lips to collide again with hers. Raven chuckled, against him. “Happy New Year” 

Now the only thoughts left were wondering how in the hell were they going to manage to keep this a secret from the team and his father.

[morganaseren]

Warden Niamh/Warden Bethany AU

So because there seemed to be interest in the idea, I decided to expand on the second prompt on this list of AUs I made for Bethany and my Niamh Cousland.

Since Bethany is a Circle Mage in Niamh’s canon verse, I really wanted to experiment with Bethany in one of her other potential routes We don’t talk about the ones where she died not long after escaping Lothering or down in the Deep Roads. Like, what are you talking about? Lalala~ and see if I could work together a happier ending than what the games canonically gave her.

Like most of the AUs I’ve already written about though, this is just a snippet into the verse, so it’s not as polished as I’d like it to be, and the pacing isn’t on par with my main fic. However, there are still 50+ pages for your reading pleasure! Depending on reader interest, I’ll be more than happy to write more about this or other AUs once OtSttCA is completed.

Disclaimer: Any section written in present tense beneath the Read More contains notes or scenes that I’ve yet to expand upon properly.

CliffNotes version of what goes on:

This whole thing takes place sometime after Bethany becomes a Grey Warden and continues on through the years-long breaks between the Acts of DA2. The epilogue will be set sometime after the Trespasser DLC is completed.

Niamh is the Grey Warden who Morrigan chooses to do the Dark Ritual with, and through the obvious use of magic, Kieran is conceived. Because of this, Niamh’s sister Saoirse escapes her otherwise canonical death and gets to be happily married to Leliana.

Because of their mutual respect for one another, and the fact that Niamh went through the trouble of finding Morrigan through the events of the Witch Hunt DLC (she was worried about her friend and their son), she and Morrigan remain in close contact and co-parent Kieran together. Their relationship is often mistaken as a romantic one though.

Bethany eventually falls in love with Niamh over the years, but because she believes the other woman is in a relationship with Morrigan, she keeps her feelings to herself. As such, this is obviously going to be a slow burn romance much like OtSttCA.

Bethany only confesses (albeit by accident) when Niamh nearly dies during a darkspawn ambush when the two woman accidentally find themselves trapped down in the Deep Roads.

There’s a romantic kiss out in the rain along with a semi-NSFW scene later on, which explains why the Read More is in place beyond the fact that this is already super long despite the fact that it’s unfinished...

They both go off in search of the cure to The Calling not long after the Kirkwall Rebellion, and they both eventually get married sometime after the Trespasser DLC with Divine Victoria (spoilers: it’s Leliana) officiating their wedding.

Interested so far? Click below to read more!

“You’re originally from Ferelden, no?” Stroud asked, drawing Bethany’s attention from where she’d been listlessly staring at the cobblestones as they walked away from Amaranthine’s sea port.

The city itself seemed to be thriving with fishmongers and traders of all kinds rattling off their wares to passersby. Save for the workers carrying about lumber and other building materials, one might not have even believed that Amaranthine had suffered its fair share of woes during the onset of the Fifth Blight or the consequent, mysterious darkspawn attack upon its walls nearly a year later. Still, the denizens of the arling were ever a hearty people. For whatever hardship befell them, they continued to persevere. 

She supposed she couldn’t bring herself to be too surprised by that.

The Storm Coast had spawned some of Thedas’ most fearsome raiders once upon a time, and they had proven the bane of Orlais in the rebellion that had spanned over half an Age. For the empire’s trespass upon their freedom, they had fought back with a ruthlessness that matched the raging waves of the sea that was as much a home to them as the land. In the face of such an unsympathetic enemy, they depended on one another to see themselves and each other through to another day. Such faith eventually earned them the liberation they had long sought against Orlais.

Bethany could still see evidence of such camaraderie in the way the people greeted one another so whole-heartedly, stopping to make conversation or help with the transportation of wares. It was such interaction that she’d miss in all the time she’d been away.

Kirkwall had lacked such sincere enthusiasm.

Still, in the two years since she’d left it, she was finally back home, but Bethany knew it was yet another decision she hadn’t had a say in. She hadn’t agreed to returning to Ferelden any more than she had agreed to becoming a Grey Warden. Her jaw clenched, remembering how her sister had simply handed her over to them even when faced with the proposition that they’d likely never see one another again.

Was it really so easy for you to leave me behind, Sister? she thought bitterly, and perhaps upon sensing her melancholy, Stroud changed the subject.

“I realize it seems a rather abrupt choice in returning you here, but what I seek is far too dangerous for someone so new to our way of life to accompany me with,” he explained. “I’m meeting with the Warden-Commander of the Fereldan branch so that I might share some information in the event that things go awry. Their group is smaller than the ones seen across Thedas, but no one can deny their efficiency.” Stroud spared a small chuckle at that. “A bit like your sister and her crew, I suppose; I thought perhaps you would be more comfortable in such a setting.”

It had been a thoughtful suggestion; Bethany knew that. Still, she couldn’t help but sigh. She had always felt that the individuals whom had made up her little social circle were more Emrys’ friends than they had ever been hers. Her older sister had the type of presence to draw anyone to her with her rakish charm and absolute battle prowess.

…which was the exact opposite of her.

As an apostate, it was far easier to stay out of trouble by being unobtrusive. If she gave the Templars no reason to suspect her, she wouldn’t be taken away from her family and the quiet life she had always known. Yet, for all her trouble—and for all her desperation to abide by the rules of a society that had long hated mages like her—she had found herself alone anyway.

Bethany sighed as she looked down at the blues and silvers of the brigandine and tabard of her outfit that signified her status as a Grey Warden. Even with her staff openly displayed across her back, she supposed she no longer had to fear being turned into the authorities. Save for a few curious glances, no one so much as batted an eye at them.

She wasn’t entirely convinced this new life was better than the one she’d left. She could have dealt with the ever-present uncertainty in Kirkwall and the endless, interpersonal squabbles of their ragtag group than spending the remainder of her years surrounded by strangers and fighting darkspawn.

But the choice wasn’t hers to make.

Very little ever was.

---

“So that’s Velanna. She took over as Archivist for our branch when the Warden-Constable was promoted to her current position by our Commander,” Nathaniel said as he took Bethany and Stroud through a tour of Vigil’s Keep since the fortress’ respective Warden-Commander and Warden-Constable were currently out on business.

Their latest stop was a library filled with seemingly endless rows of bookshelves and even more that lined the walls of the chamber that consisted of three separate levels. It was impressive, and Bethany was half-convinced she could have spent an Age in this room alone and never be able to read the entirety of its collection.

At Nathaniel’s commentary, she spared a cursory glance at the woman writing intently at one of the tables furthest away from them, paying little mind to her audience. As was typical of most elves, Velanna was a slight woman. Her hair was a shade of blonde so pale that it was nearly white, but there was a surliness in her pensive expression that gave Bethany pause. It was something that suggested the other woman didn’t welcome the company of others easily, and she seemed to have been proven right by Nathaniel’s words.

“Don’t mind her if she’s a bit standoffish at first. Velanna’s usually that way with everyone until she starts warming up to them,” he assured.

“Oh?”

“Yes. She didn’t really like humans all that much to begin with—hardly a surprise considering how terrible some of them were toward her former clan. Truthfully, I think the only people she really respects are our commanding officers—the Constable mostly though.” He spared a soft chuckle at that. “Granted, the Warden-Commander could lead a damn army from one side of Thedas to the other, but only her sister has the type of negotiation skills that could somehow end up with a High Dragon allied with a sheep of all things.”

“Probably a good thing,” said Varel—the Keep’s seneschal. There was amusement in his dark eyes as he stroked his beard, which had long grown grey with age. “Actually succeeding in getting the Warden-Constable angry is a terrifying sight to behold.”

“Please don’t remind me; I still have nightmares from our first meeting…” Nathaniel muttered with a shudder.

Bethany found that curious, but before she could begin to question him, she saw how he blinked at further movement inside the library. She followed his gaze to see that a dark-haired, dwarven woman had entered through one of the side entrances, carrying two, steaming mugs. One had been set before Velanna, who whispered something quietly, but both of Bethany’s brows rose when she saw how the elf’s cheeks quickly reddened by the kiss that had been pressed to them by her latest visitor.

“Ah. And that’s Sigrun there—another one of those few, honored individuals who Velanna won’t immediately snap at,” Nathaniel remarked humorously.

The tour then continued elsewhere with the party entering the Mess Hall. While neat and tidy, it would have otherwise been unremarkable were it not for the lone dwarf snoring loudly atop one of the tables—an empty cask by his side. Bethany and Stroud shared bemused glances while Varel only cursed next to them, running a weary hand down his face.

“I told you we needed better locks for the cellar if we’re to keep Oghren away from the wine stores,” Nathaniel deadpanned.

Oghren grumbled nonsensically in his sleep before promptly rolling off the table and right onto the floor, loudly overturning more than a few chairs in the process. Despite the fall, he continued to doze away, and his snoring only seemed to grow in volume. They then watched as the poor seneschal wearily hauled the dwarf back to his quarters before he could cause another incident in front of their guests.

“…well, that was Oghren,” Nathaniel muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a weary sigh. “Quite the interesting fellow, that one. With him, you’ve pretty much met every Warden in the Keep save for—”

He was interrupted by the sound of voices coming down the hallway.

“I told you that I’m more than capable of walking on my own!” protested a feminine voice, irritation evident within it.

“Says the woman who was nearly side-swiped off a cliff by an ogre,” came the deeper timbre of another woman’s amused reply.

Unlike Nathaniel or herself, the latest arrivals didn’t seem to bear the typical, Fereldan accent or even Stroud’s Orlesian one from what she could tell. Bethany could hear how some of the vowels lilted somewhat as they spoke.

“It didn’t really give me any choice in the matter,” was the dry response. “It was either stand before its charge or risk the family in the wagon being swept over the edge instead.”

“I was hardly questioning your bravery, Sister. The people in that caravan certainly wouldn’t, but perhaps leave the more death-defying stunts to those of us with the armor to handle it, hm? I shudder to think what our brother or Aunt Eithne (writer’s note: pronounced Eth-Nah) would say once they find out about this...”

“Perhaps that you were lazing about while I was doing all the work as per usual.”

“Hey!”

Two women appeared in the doorway of the Mess Hall then, and Bethany was startled to find that one of them rivaled her older sister in both height and size. She was a warrior through and through if the impressive greatsword over her shoulder and her overall physique was any indication. Her mane of hair was the color of pale wheat, the length of which was held in a braid that trailed down half her back, and her eyes were a deep, stormy grey. The woman she was carrying—her sister, according to their conversation—was much slighter in comparison.

Rather than sharing in the warrior’s blonde-haired looks, hers was a stark, raven-black. The loose curls trailed to roughly chin-length with a longer fringe that covered one of her eyes—the color a whisper of smoke than the darker grey her sister had. The woman’s arms were also crossed over her chest as she regarded her sister—deeply-unimpressed—before her features cleared at the sight of their visitors.

“Ah. Stroud. Glad to see you and your companion made it across the Waking Sea safely. We weren’t expecting you both for at least another day, or we’d have sent an escort to meet you at the port.”

“No need for the trouble. The winds were kind during our voyage, Warden-Constable,” he said before tilting his head in concern. “Although it appears we’ve arrived too late to help you both. Has the darkspawn presence been more troubling as of late?”

The warrior whom Bethany deduced to be the Warden-Commander merely snorted. “They’re not as plentiful as they were a year ago thankfully. With Niamh’s and Velanna’s respective magic, our branch here has slowly been sealing any access tunnels we’ve come across, but our enemy may just be as awful as vermin with how they manage to reappear in other areas.”

“The incidents have been isolated so far as we can tell, but they’re capable of disrupting travel all the same. On that note…” The Constable trailed off as she turned her gaze toward the Warden who had been showing them about the Keep. “Nathaniel, we have guests from the caravan mentioned earlier. As it’s getting rather late, Saoirse and I decided it was best not to press our luck by letting them travel so soon after the darkspawn attack. Could you and Varel direct them to the guest quarters? We’ll arrange an escort for them to Amaranthine first thing in the morning.”

He pressed a fist over his heart respectfully as he bowed his head. “Of course.”

“Wonderful. Now—”

“Now we get you back to your quarters so that we can tend to your injuries,” her sister interrupted, cheerily grinning when it led to the other woman scowling outright, as if she had been reminded of her current position.

“And I’m more than capable of walking there on my own. Put me down!”

“And risk you further injuring yourself? What type of sister would I be if I were to allow that to happen? Now then!” The Commander directed a smile Bethany’s way, and she jerked in place at the sudden attention. “You’re the latest to join our Order, aren’t you? Stroud mentioned you were a mage. I don’t suppose you know any healing magic, do you?”

“Oh.” Bethany blinked. “Um, well, yes. I have some experience with it.” She had tended to her sister’s and their friends’ injuries often enough back in Kirkwall.

“Excellent. Would you mind tending to Niamh here as best as you can while I go find Velanna? I’m pretty sure my sister fractured a few ribs in that fight earlier.” She chuckled. “And don’t worry if she gives you any trouble; she has a history of being a terrible patient,” she added, earning a pained grunt for her troubles when the woman in question elbowed her sharply in the chest.

---

And before Bethany knew it, she found herself alone with the Warden-Constable in her quarters.

She was trying not to blush at the sight of the woman reclined against the propped pillows at the headboard of the bed. Modesty didn’t seem to be an issue for the other mage. Without another word, she had undressed—with a few occasional winces here and there as the movement pulled at her injuries—and was now bare from the waist up, save for the bindings around her breasts.

Bethany couldn’t help her own wince when she saw the livid bruising that covered the right side of the woman’s torso. It almost looked like the trunk of a tree had been slammed against it if the abrasions and bits of bark embedded into the cuts were any indication.

And she kept insisting to try and walk on her own with an injury like this? she thought in absolute disbelief before delicately pressing the tips of her fingers against the bruise. Despite being as gentle as possible, it still drew a sharp hiss from the Warden-Constable, and Bethany jerked her head up to see the other woman’s clearly pained visage.

“Sorry!”

“No, it needs to be done. Keep going,” she insisted even as pale eyes closed themselves to focus on breathing in and out evenly—albeit with some difficulty.

With permission given, Bethany laid her hand out over the woman’s side, drawing her magic out with a silvery-blue light. From there, she began sounding out the extent of the Warden-Constable’s injuries by feeling where it burned hottest beneath her palm—an indication of how bad the damage was. There was always a tickling sensation that spread out to her fingertips whenever she gently coaxed broken bones back into place. It was akin to puzzle pieces slowly sliding back together before she could encourage them to heal, and she waited for the pulsing waves around them to fade into a dull echo before focusing on the next fractured bone.

As for the bruised muscles surrounding them, they were far easier to deal with. Bethany poured magic beneath the skin in gradual increments—droplets of rain spilling into a cup one by one—until she felt the burning heat simmer down to a more bearable ache. She continued the process, slowly sliding her hand along the woman’s side until the patchwork of blues and blacks which had covered its expanse faded into a yellowish tinge and the superficial cuts had closed themselves. Bethany pulled away then with a satisfied smile.

“What song was that?”

Bethany blinked, turning her gaze up to see silvery eyes staring at her curiously. “Hm?”

“You were humming something while you were healing me.”

“Oh.” She felt heat gathering along her cheeks at the revelation. “It’s an old lullaby my mother used to sing to me. When my father first taught me healing magic, I used to hold my breath while I was performing the spell, but as you can imagine, it’s not a very sound idea unless you want both an unconscious healer and patient.” Embarrassed laughter spilled out of her then as she brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear self-consciously. “After a time, I learned that humming a few songs was useful in reminding me to breathe.”

“I see.” The Warden-Constable smiled, looking a great deal more relaxed as she reclined further against the headboard. “Well, thank you.”

“Of course.”

The Warden-Commander walked in then with Velanna in tow, and the warrior seemed surprised to see her sister still in bed. “Did you actually manage to get her to stay there the entire time?” she asked incredulously.

Bethany blinked in confusion at that since her patient had otherwise been well-behaved. As it was, she could only nod tentatively, causing the other woman to grin openly.

“Hah! Well done! I didn’t expect Stroud to send me someone who could cow her into submission.”

The Warden-Constable’s eyes narrowed then. “It was not my hearing that was damaged in that fight, Saoirse. You would do well to not make such comments before me,” she deadpanned, and despite the threat, it only drew hearty laughter from her sister, who soon drew her attention back to Bethany.

“Stroud said your name was Hawke, right?”

She shifted uncomfortably, having grown too used to her surname being used to refer to Emrys, but she nodded all the same. “I’d prefer just to be called Bethany if that’s alright.”

“Ah. Understandable. Can’t tell you how many times my sister and I both answered ‘yes’ in the same room whenever someone called out for a Warden Cousland.” She smiled. “In any case, welcome to the Fereldan branch of the Grey Wardens, Bethany. We’re glad to have you with us.”

---

After that, Bethany settles into Vigil’s Keep.

She sends letters home every now and then, but they’re usually only addressed to her mother. They’re never really long—just enough to let her know that she’s alive and well. Although Bethany realizes it’s a petty thing, she doesn’t ask about Emrys or send her anything for that matter. She’s still angry and resentful that her older sister managed to escape their adventure down into the Deep Roads unscathed while she got cheated out a future, leaving her to a life of killing darkspawn until the Calling finally takes her into the abyss of death. 

Melancholy is ever her constant companion, but eventually, she gets paired with Niamh for missions, who teaches her much about their duties as Wardens over the months, which takes them all around Ferelden. They deal with darkspawn sightings and document areas where they’ve sealed off underground routes into the Deep Roads with earth-based magic, hopefully preventing them from returning so regularly to bother nearby provinces.

As partners, they slowly become closer.

---

"Do you regret it?" Bethany asked one night as they sat by the campfire, watching as Niamh effortlessly flicked a hand to control the size of it just as a strong wind passed beneath the rocky overhang they'd taken shelter under. "Being a Grey Warden, I mean?"

Niamh paused, giving the matter some thought. "There are worse things to be, I suppose." She shrugged. "For a time, I hated the idea of being a mage because it took me away from my family. However, my being a Grey Warden was likely the only thing that saved me from being slaughtered with the rest of them when Howe plotted his coup. It likely also saved me from dying at the hands of my colleagues in Kinloch Hold when one of the Senior Enchanters overthrew it with blood magic and his followers.” She looked over at Bethany then. "Truthfully, I enjoy being able to see more of the world than through the cage the Chantry kept me in. I like the experience of being a part of it even in the moments that people dislike most."

Niamh held a hand out past the edge of the overhang, casually catching droplets of rain in her palm. Bethany watched as a slow smile spread across her features at the sound of another crash of thunder, and she couldn’t help how her own heart seemed to quicken upon seeing that serene expression.

"Our lives are more finite than they ever were," Bethany said distractedly, knowing all Wardens had only a few decades at most after their Joining.

"They are," she conceded. "That’s why I intend to make the most of it." Niamh's expression then turned sheepish as she turned back toward her. "I’m sorry. That probably wasn’t the answer you were looking for, was it?"

"No," she admitted, but as mellow as the other woman was, she was hardly surprised. Niamh had a way of remaining positive despite everything else life seemed to throw at them. Bethany smiled in spite of herself. "It was an honest one though. Thank you."

---

Every day is always an interesting adventure.

If not darkspawn, they deal with brigands out on the road or aid people across the countryside. To Bethany’s surprise, their help is openly requested sometimes when they reach a new town or village. Following the Blight, the utter bravery of the Grey Wardens had earned them Ferelden’s deepest respect. Thus, despite the fact they’re two mages traveling about, their regalia draws easy admiration and conversation alike.

It’s admittedly an odd feeling to have as a mage: to be wanted.

Bethany slowly grows to enjoy it though, especially when she can help with her magic so openly without being reviled for it.

Sometimes the jobs asked of them are simple enough: deal with a band of thieves, rid the area of rabid animals encroaching too close to farmland, helping out with some odds and ends around the village, etc.

Given that Niamh is a veteran of the Fifth Blight, Bethany also ends up learning a lot of survival skills from her during their travels together. She’s endlessly amazed by how the other mage utilizes her magic in combat and with other tasks such as hunting or fishing.

Bethany’s understandably shocked when she realizes that Niamh knows how to shapeshift, often scouting the skies as a raven to search for any nearby danger or roaming the wilderness as a sleek-looking, black wolf to hunt for game. It’s an unexpected revelation, especially since the other woman admitted to having been a part of the Circle most of her life before being recruited as a Warden.

She’s never met another mage so intriguing.

While Anders had been a benevolent healer, offering his skills to those most in need, it was his restless anger—an almost blind righteousness—over the plight of mages that gave Bethany pause.

Merrill was sweet in comparison, of course, and Bethany never minded talking with her even if there were the occasional cultural gaps that led to amusing misunderstandings at times. Still, the other woman held an interest in blood magic that Bethany wasn’t entirely certain she was comfortable with. After all, she had grown up hearing about the dangers of such magic from the Chantry. Then again, Andrastian religion also denounced who she was as a person as well, which was depressing in its own right…

While Niamh’s aptitude for elemental magic alone is impressive, Bethany is certain the woman’s shapeshifting draws upon some form of ancient or arcane magic—something well outside of the Circle’s teachings. It draws her curiosity endlessly. As such, Bethany asks her about the skill one day. Niamh just smiles, idly toying with the wooden ring that sits on a cord of black leather around her neck, revealing that a former companion taught it to her.

And that’s how Bethany learns about Morrigan.

---

“What?” Bethany exclaimed when Saoirse revealed how she was able to survive the slaying of the Archdemon. “You’re telling me that she and Niamh were able to…” She trailed off, trying to fight the blush burning across her face as her mind began imagining the possibilities of how such a conception was possible.

“You know, I thought to ask Niamh the technicalities of it once, but given she’s my baby sister—and obviously lacks the essential, uh, tool for the matter—I just decided it was best not to pry,” Saoirse answered dryly. She idly waved her hand about. “I don’t care to learn about her intimate life any more than she cares to know about mine,” she added before the corner of her mouth lifted into a lazy grin. “But for all intents and purposes, Kieran is my nephew, and Morrigan’s very much family now despite her protests to the contrary.”

“And he has the soul of an Old God?” she asked quietly as she turned to look at Kieran and the two women who were his parents.

Oghren had heard of their latest visitors and was—

Bethany squinted in confusion.

He was doing some type of weird jig in front of the baby, who was currently in Morrigan’s arms. Unfortunately, the erratic, uncoordinated nature of it did nothing to amuse him or his mother. Seemingly uncomfortable by the sight, Kieran gave an unhappy whine before reaching out toward Niamh, little fingers grasping repeatedly in her direction. Morrigan transferred him easily into the other woman’s arms when it was clear she wouldn’t mind holding him, allowing her to dryly berate the dwarf while Niamh comforted their son.

“So Morrigan says, yes,” the warrior answered with a shrug. “I originally turned down her ritual because I couldn’t bear the thought of subjecting an innocent life to such a fate, but I can’t be mad at the result. I still have Leliana because of it, and I can see how much Niamh adores both Kieran and Morrigan.” Her smile softened. “She has a piece of the happiness that I always wanted for her—something Niamh felt she could never find in this world, terrible as it is for mages at times.”

Bethany couldn’t help but agree at the latter sentiment.

Looking at the three of them, they certainly did seem like a happy family. Still, Bethany couldn’t help but feel some small pang of envy. While she had discovered that Niamh could draw just about anyone into easy conversation with her, she was rather private about her personal life. It wasn’t until recently that Bethany discovered she was even in a relationship—let alone one involving another woman. She had no issue with the idea or with Morrigan for that matter. The other mage was well-matched with Niamh on the basis of intrigue alone, but…

Bethany bit her lip.

After all those long months together with Niamh, she couldn’t help but feel—

Bethany nearly swallowed her tongue when she realized sharp, golden eyes were staring at her over Niamh’s head—as if somehow reading her thoughts. Morrigan was tall for a woman of Fereldan origin, but not nearly as much as Saoirse. With her dark hair and pale skin, she was as bewitching as she was powerful—her magical aura a fount of seemingly endless, wild energy. Bethany almost felt like prey beneath the other woman’s gaze, and she averted her own nervously.

Thankfully, Morrigan made no comment about it, but Bethany did wince when she heard her suggest turning into bed early to Niamh. She and Kieran had arrived relatively late in the day after all, so they were no doubt tired from their travels. Niamh gave no objections, and they soon headed off to the woman’s personal quarters.

Bethany sighed soundlessly.

She was no stranger to infatuation. Her attraction to Leliana back in Lothering was a testament to that fact. Granted, it was also somehow deeply ironic that her commanding officer was now married to the same lay sister who had since gone on to become the Left Hand of Divine Justinia.

Sometimes she couldn’t help but think the Maker enjoyed toying with her in subtle, annoying ways. In any case, like with any other infatuation, she would just have to wait for the one she had on Niamh to run its course.

It couldn’t last forever after all.

---

Spoilers: it does.

---

During one of her occasional visits, Morrigan left Kieran temporarily in the care of Niamh to follow up on a magical lead involving some of her arcane research. As they weren’t needed outside of Vigil’s Keep for anything, Bethany also got to watch over him as well, and as she did, she brought up a question that she had long been curious over.

"You said you started the ritual with Morrigan when you were already a Warden, weren't you? I thought Wardens became barren after the Joining though?"

"Hm. That's the assumption, yes," Niamh said as she idly waved a stuffed griffon over Kieran, delighting the baby instantly as they laid on the floor together. "I’d been a Warden for a little over a year at that point. Perhaps it was still soon enough that infertility hadn’t affected me yet, or the spell did something to compensate for it."

Bethany just nodded as she looked over at the two of them. "I see bits of you in him."

"Do you?"

"Yes," she admitted easily enough. "There's his sweet nature, the way he seems far too clever for his own good at times, and how his eyes light up whenever he smiles or laughs."

Niamh chuckled, flattered over the assessment. "Morrigan and I are always arguing about it. I see more of her than me in him, but then she retorts that he’s retained my love of sweets and just about every known creature in existence." Her smile widened when tiny, grasping hands finally succeeded in pulling down the stuffed griffon in her hands, and Kieran wasted little time in snuggling the toy to his chest with a pleased hum.

"Do you regret not being able to see him whenever you wish?"

"Sometimes," Niamh answered, "but Morrigan’s mother…" She trailed off with a frown even as she ran a hand affectionately through her son’s hair. "She’s powerful, and she’s hurt her before. I can understand her caution. I’m willing to go years at a time without seeing them if it means they’re safe."

---

Morrigan eventually returns, and she takes Kieran with her to hide and do magical stuff as Empress Celene’s Arcane Advisor in Orlais as per canon.

Several months pass.

Although Niamh had professed to understanding the need for her little family’s relocation, the distance means that visits from them are now few and far in between. Bethany can see how much the other woman misses them and how she worries about their safety. She often catches Niamh distractedly playing with the ring on her necklace, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

As if anticipating that, Morrigan does send letters to Niamh every now and then, and Niamh’s entire expression lights up every time she receives them, learning how the other woman and Kieran are fairing in Orlais along with how their son continues to grow by leaps and bounds.

She cannot fault the happiness Niamh has found with Morrigan, but it also serves as a constant reminder of what life will never offer to Bethany.

Eventually, it gets to a point where Bethany grows resentful of their relationship because her own feelings for Niamh are just so strong by then. It causes her to lash out at Niamh one night in camp, angry with how calm and positive she always is despite knowing they all have a death sentence over their heads.

---

"What world do you live in that you see it through such an idyllic lens?! You can wax poetic about this life all you like! I never asked for this! I never asked for the darkspawn to steal what little I had from life only to be made the gatekeeper against the very things I despise most in this world!"

And Niamh was quiet for the longest time, having stopped mid-sentence over Bethany's sudden tirade. As the silence continued to drift over their camp, so too does a veil of sudden cold air, and Bethany realized far too late that she’d crossed a line with the other woman.

"No one does, really," Niamh admitted at last, the warmth gone from her voice. "Save for Saoirse and my brother, I lost most of my family, but the terrible thing was that it wasn’t even darkspawn that killed them or even the Blight. It was just one man’s petty greed for what he felt was owed to him. He pretended to be my family’s ally for decades, and under the cover of night, he used his men to slaughter nearly the entirety of my bloodline. My parents, my sister-in-law, my nephew… He was only eight when it happened, you see. Oren wanted to a warrior like my siblings. He was trying to defend his mother with one of those wooden swords young boys tend to play with, but against the likes of Howe’s men...”  She clenched her jaw. “They gutted him just like everyone else."

Another pause stifled the air between them even as Bethany stared at Niamh, horrified.

"Darkspawn are terrible, yes, but they’re not always as terrible as people," Niamh said, eyes narrowing as she looked into the fire. "We can be so far worse. If I'm at all patient, it's because I try to be kind in a world that offers so little of it. I want to believe it can be better than it was before. I want this to be a better place for our people, but I also want to ensure that tragedies like that never happen again. That the people caught in the middle—victims of simple circumstance—don’t have so suffer. If it means I must be a Grey Warden in addition to a mage, then I accept it. To do otherwise damns them as much as me."

With that, Niamh then gracefully rose to her feet and headed back to her own tent, leaving Bethany alone at the campfire.

The rest of their journey back to Vigil’s Keep passed without much conversation between them despite Bethany’s attempts. Niamh only said enough to give a suitable answer, but she never offered anything more beyond it. A vault door had seemed to close behind the cool grey of the eyes that had long enraptured her, offering little warmth. It was clear Bethany was no longer privy to the other woman’s innermost thoughts and feelings

Niamh wasn’t petty, however.

She still hunted when necessary so they didn’t starve, and as was long part of their agreement together, Bethany continued to cook whatever game she caught. Other than that, however, Niamh offered no friendly greetings in the morning when they woke or any words that allowed her to wander off peacefully into the Fade as she slept.

Bethany didn’t realize just how much she’d miss them.

---

When they finally return to Vigil's Keep, Saoirse is confused by how quiet and despondent her sister seems to be. Given how amiable Niamh normally is, she has a right to be concerned.

She pulls Bethany aside one night to ask what happened since they normally get along so well, but Bethany and Niamh haven't even spoken a word to one another since their return.

Bethany ruefully explains the situation, but she doesn't reveal the actual reason why she lashed out to begin with. As such, Saoirse just assumes it was just the usual stress of being a Grey Warden.

---

"Ah. It happens to the best of us, really. Here." Saoirse handed Bethany a tin box. Something Orlesian, according to the script on it. "Leliana’s currently away on business in Val Royeaux, but she sends care packages out to me whenever she can. This one's for Niamh though. It's tea," she explained with a laugh. "She loves this stuff more than anyone else I know."

Bethany still felt badly over the situation however.

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“Oh, Niamh’s too well-mannered to outright ignore someone,” Saoirse insisted with a brief snort. “If anything, she becomes more… Well. ‘Distantly-polite’ as my wife would describe it. Besides, I have it on good authority that she never turns down a good cup of tea.” A lazy, conspiratorial grin played on her lips then. “Especially if there’s a spoonful or two of honey in it.”

That eventually culminated in Bethany making tea for Niamh that evening, who had been locked away in her office as of late. Bethany was still nervous despite receiving permission to enter the room, allowing her to face the woman who she hadn’t seen in nearly a fortnight. Concern grew within her when she saw the shadows beneath Niamh’s eyes—a familiar indication that she had been working far too hard. She watched as Niamh struggled to blink the exhaustion from her eyes as she regarded her, but she otherwise said nothing, simply waiting to hear what Bethany required of her.

“I’m sorry," Bethany said at last, contrition clear in her voice. "This isn’t the life I would have wanted for myself, but I shouldn’t have lashed out at you when you were merely trying to help.” She held out the still-steaming mug of tea in her hands—the very thing Saoirse had convinced her would make for a suitable peace offering. “Here,” she offered with a tentative smile. “If you’re going to be working through the night again, you should at least drink something.”

For a time, Bethany believed the other woman was just going to remain silent. It would have been well-deserved given how terribly she behaved the other week, but then Niamh reached out to gently take the mug from her.

"Thank you," she said at last, the ice slowly melting behind those wintry eyes, and as they did, Bethany could feel the vice around her heart gradually unhinge itself in relief.

---

Things pretty much go back to normal between them.

Niamh and Bethany are back on the road again, especially after several reports of wandering darkspawn near the outskirts of a town.

As expected, however, Bethany's longing toward Niamh is still there—constant as an evening star. Even with the taint of death coursing through them, Niamh’s aura emanates with so much life—like a forest in winter, cool and refreshing with the scent of pine buried beneath its depths, waiting to burst into spring’s lively greenery with just the barest spark of magic.

It fascinates her.

She often wonders if such single-minded focus is a side effect of the Joining other than the enhanced physical strength and the ability to sense darkspawn. She feels a hunger that is never sated, a thirst that is never parched, and also…

Amber eyes wander over to where Niamh is disrobing to bathe in the nearby river, and she catches sight of the elegant play of muscles along her back before she studiously turns her gaze away. She feels the way her face burns even as she feels something else stir in her veins.

---

While still traveling, they get attacked by some hapless bandits, and while the two women aren't hurt, they manage to lose one of their tents to a stray grenade.

They end up sleeping in the remaining tent together, but it’s small, and they huddle together inside it for warmth against the pouring rain outside.

Bethany is surprised when she unexpectedly wakes up in Niamh’s arms—one is around her waist, and the other is curled behind her shoulders—which pull her closer in sleep. Sometimes she’s amazed at just how warm the other woman is, and although she knows she should pull away to avoid any awkward conversations in the morning, she can’t bring herself to do so. This is probably as close as she’ll ever get to the intimacy she desires with Niamh, and while the moment won’t last forever, it’ll be one more memory she can cherish—something no one else can ever steal from her.

Idly, Bethany listens to the rain outside—now a gentle pattering instead of the rage of a growing storm—falling against the material of the tent, and the sound is so rhythmic that she begins to doze off again.

---

Sometime after that, they receive a letter from Stroud, who requests their assistance with a matter out in the Free Marches. Saoirse stays behind to oversee things at Vigil’s Keep, which leaves Niamh and Bethany to travel across the Waking Sea with Nathaniel as additional support.

They arrive in Kirkwall several days before the qunari invasion begins in full, but not long after they do, Nathaniel’s reconnaissance around the city reveals something terrible:

Bethany’s mother was murdered.

Bethany is understandably upset, but Niamh and Nathaniel do their best to comfort her. They end up holding a small wake in honor of Leandra.

By the time they manage to rendezvous with Stroud, the qunari invasion has already begun, and they’re caught in the middle of it, leading to the Wardens running into Emrys Hawke and her companions.

Emrys obviously wants to talk to her little sister, but Bethany is resistant to the idea since her emotions are still riding high with the news of their mother’s death and the ever-present resentment regarding how she was made into a Warden without her say so on the matter.

Niamh recognizes Bethany’s tension and politely tells Emrys to leave the matter be for the time being. There is little point in having a conversation if one half of the party isn’t ready to have it after all.

Running on adrenaline, the warrior objects and tries to push her out of the way, but Bethany retaliates immediately on Niamh’s behalf. She presses her hand against her sister's chestplate and essentially shoves her back several steps, momentarily forgetting her Warden strength. Both Hawkes seem surprised by the ease in which she can do that.

---

“Bethany?” Emrys uttered in confusion, especially as her sister outright glared at her.

"You do not accost Warden-Constable Cousland that way!"

“Wait… ‘Cousland?’” Emrys looked over to the woman in question, taking in the obvious staff situated across her back. A wolf’s head ornament adorned the top of the weapon in exquisitely-sculpted silverite, and her eyes slowly widened in realization, remembering tales of the mage who could bend the very heavens to her whims. “Wait, you’re the Storm Wolf of Ferelden? Sister to the Hero of Ferelden?”

The woman merely gave a long-suffering sigh in response. “I suppose I was being too optimistic in assuming Leliana’s tales would’ve lost their weight this far past Ferelden’s borders…”

---

Despite the chaos ravaging itself across Kirkwall, the Wardens can’t stay to help. As such, they’re not there to see the end of the invasion. It isn’t until Bethany returns to Ferelden with the others that she receives a letter from Varric, saying that Emrys nearly died in her duel against the Arishok.

While Varric takes the time to mention that Emrys is recovering, and that her bravery led to her becoming Kirkwall’s Champion, the idea that Bethany had nearly lost the very last member of her family is so shocking that she's left inconsolable one night.

---

"I was such an absolute wretch to her before we left, and she nearly died afterward!” she wept when Niamh came to check on her in her room. “She’ll never forgive me!"

The other woman’s eyes are sympathetic as she held her in her arms. "Don’t be so sure."

"How can you say that?" Bethany demanded as she looked up at her, eyes red and swollen with grief.

"I’ve seen the way you talk about her, Bethany. The memories stir up more than just hurt within you,” she explained. “They light your eyes up with joy in remembrance of them. I’m sure she misses you and wishes things had gone differently. She wouldn’t have bothered sending all these letters to you otherwise over the years.

"My siblings did the same when I was still in Kinloch Hold, where I often wondered if my family had forgotten all about me. There were times I feared my being a mage would have meant their love for me would have gone away, but it didn’t. I received letters from them all the time—sometimes over the most asinine things like Saoirse’s warhound tossing bits of her armor into the pig pen." Niamh rolled her eyes, but Bethany could see the fondness in her gaze before they refocused on her.

"Your sister has asked for nothing in return even in the times where you never sent word back. I won’t tell you how to resolve this. You were right in saying that no one truly asks for this life, but I believe she only had the best of intentions when she entrusted your safety to Stroud. Trust in that if nothing else, and if you still find the matter wanting, tell her so." Something sad and brittle lingered on the smile she shared with her. "The what-ifs hurt more than the reality of things at times. No one deserves that."

---

Niamh helps to cheer Bethany up over the course of several weeks.

They’re off in a nearby town, investigating more sightings of darkspawn, and Niamh goes downstairs to pay the innkeeper for breakfast while Bethany packs up some of her belongings to continue their journey. When she reaches for her staff, she blinks, startled to find an ice flower blossoming on the end of it. She stares in surprise at the door the other woman had left through because there’s no way someone else could have done this.

It's almost like something out of a scene from one of those romantic tales Leliana used to tell her back in Lothering. She had thought them nonsense at first—that surely no one actually did such sweet things in real life—but now…

Bethany gently brushes her fingers over the beautifully-conjured petals and leaves, feeling the cool aura radiating from them.

Now she’s not so sure.

---

During their travels, they’re ambushed by darkspawn, and in the middle of the fighting, the ground manages to crumble beneath both women’s feet. The fall is long and painful as they slide down an old mine shaft, and soon they find themselves down in the Deep Roads. Unfortunately, it's an area they haven't charted yet, so they have no idea where they even are.

They have rations from the last time Niamh hunted and smoked some game, but they know it won't last forever. They can feel the press of darkspawn everywhere against their senses, and it's difficult to get any real bearing down in the tunnels because of it. The ambushes are sporadic throughout the days as they try to find their way back to the surface. They have taken to sleeping in brief shifts so they’re not caught unaware.

One fight lags on long enough that they have to retreat, but their enemies lead them right into the lair of a broodmother.

Bethany has never seen something so hideous in all her life, but when she turns briefly to Niamh, she’s disquieted to find the other woman looks more terrified than she's ever seen her. She barely has time to think over that before the darkspawn attack them again, but now they have the broodmother and her various tentacles to dodge as well.

The fight rages on for quite awhile, long enough that Bethany voices the thought they might never see Vigil's Keep again.

---

“No.”

"Niamh—"

"No!" she repeated firmly, glaring as she lashed out with an arm, incinerating an advancing line of darkspawn to their right. "I am getting you out of here! I swear it!"

You.

Not us.

What are you planning, Niamh? Bethany couldn't help but think worriedly.

Then she felt the sudden rush of magic—causing Bethany to almost stumble in place at the overwhelming sensation—as Niamh’s aura manifested itself more tangibly in an array of colors. Blinding arcs of lightning and lines of roaring flames raced across her form, and Bethany could see her own breath forming in rapid, exhausted puffs as the temperature inside the entire cavern seemed to drop even as the stone walls rattled ominously from the breadth of absolute magic being conjured.

The power of it was soon unleashed as Niamh slammed her staff end into the ground, allowing countless rays of energy to simply explode from her body. They radiated out like spectral hands of vengeance, and the cries of the darkspawn were nearly drowned out entirely as utter destruction rained down upon them. Each blast hit like deafening peals of thunder, and the echoes of them spanned for several long heartbeats, leaving Bethany’s ears ringing even after everything eventually fell silent.

As the dust and debris finally settled from the turbulent winds, she could see the other mage leaning heavily upon her staff, utterly exhausted. Each breath she took seemed to be a laborious effort, but Bethany watched as those eyes remained keenly alert to their surroundings, waiting to see if any of the darkspawn she had laid waste to would try and attack them again. They both tensed upon hearing the low, wailing groan of pain, and they looked to the far side of the cavern to see the broodmother still alive—albeit barely.

While already repulsive, it was now a macabre mass of flesh, bleeding sluggishly from the wounds inflicted by Niamh’s attack. Bloated skin bore severe burn marks, and entire chunks of flesh were missing. One of the broodmother’s arms had been severed completely, but the heat from one of the elemental attacks had unintentionally cauterized the fat stump even if Bethany grimaced upon seeing the pink-tinged bone that still protruded from it. The broodmother’s entire form seemed to slump back with what they assumed was her final breath, but then the sudden sound of earth breaking behind them alerted them far too late to a final danger.

Bethany turned her head just in time to see a lashing tentacle sprout from the ground, and her mind barely registered the sight of it before she heard the frantic call of her name along with warm hands pressing against her side.

"Bethany!"

As if time had slowed itself, she watched in horror as Niamh pushed her out of the tentacle’s swooping path, but in doing so, the other woman took the brunt of the attack entirely. Niamh was sent flying into one of the naturally-formed pillars of the cavern, impacting it hard enough that it broke at its center, raining rubble down upon the mage resting eerily still at its base until she was buried beneath it.

Bethany’s eyes remained fixed on the sight even as she shakily rose to her hands and knees. An overwhelming sense of disbelief overtook when her longtime partner didn't emerge at all out of the stone pile. In fact, there's a terrifying lack of anything in that direction.

Nothing of the taint in Niamh's blood.

No sound.

No magic.

Just... nothing.

Distantly, she could hear the half-dying moans of the broodmother somewhere beyond her peripheral vision. Although Bethany was all too aware of how dangerous her current situation still was, all she could feel was a staggering rush of absolute rage building inside her. It seemed to grow with every beat of her heart until she could hear it pounding inside her ears—a drumming sound of accusation over the fact that she had been powerless to help someone dear to her yet again.

It was her anger that gave birth to the sudden burst of power—whether a second wind or simply a dying gasp, she didn’t immediately know—but Bethany whirled to face the grotesque beast, magic already gathering within her hands. With an infuriated cry, she pressed her palms out, and she felt the immense displacement of air around her immediately as she summoned enough force magic to take up almost the entire space of the cavern. The pressure of it proved too much against the broodmother, and Bethany watched impassively as its enormous body was flung toward the far wall with enough violence that it was reduced to a grisly splatter of darkened blood, pulverized bone, and putrid meat.

With its death, Bethany felt the presence of darkspawn waiting beyond the cavern retreat even further, as if afraid of tempting her fury. Safe from any immediate threats, however, she wasted little time in rushing over to where she last saw Niamh. She used her hands and magic to try and dig her out beneath the rubble, but when she found her, fear took hold of her immediately when she realized the other woman wasn’t breathing anymore. Desperately, Bethany tried to use her healing magic in an attempt revive her, but to her utter dismay, the chest beneath her hands remained impossibly still.

“Oh, no…” she breathed. “No. No! You can’t be dead! Niamh, get up!”

But her cry fell on deaf ears.

Despite her best efforts, no matter how much healing she tried to force through the other woman’s veins, Niamh didn’t respond. As each minute continued to pass by in silence, Bethany began to wonder what she’d have to tell Morrigan if she ever made it back to the surface, let alone the little boy with Niamh’s kind smile. It would be such a terrible thing, she knew, informing them the woman they loved died trying to save her.

Just like everyone that ever entered her life.

Leaving before she even got the chance to give her goodbyes.

Bethany withdrew her healing magic and began conjuring lightning beneath her hands instead—the same way Niamh had taught her once upon a time—desperate for anything that could attempt to shock some life back into the other woman. Niamh’s body jolted with each burst of power, head lolling about along the dirt, but she still remained impossibly beyond Bethany’s reach—perhaps now wandering past the Fade and into the Maker’s embrace.

At the thought, her anguish soon gave way to anger.

“Damn you, you selfish wretch!” she shouted as she pressed her hand over the woman’s sternum with another pulse of electricity. “I never asked you to try and save my life! You don’t get to do this to me! You don’t get to just leave me here when I never had to chance to tell you everything! Not when you don’t even know I love y—”

Just as she went to jolt the other woman again, Bethany felt a hand firmly wrapping itself around her wrist.

Shocked, she looked up toward Niamh's face, especially as she heard a very weak cough. The other mage hadn't opened her eyes yet, but she saw how the still blue-tinged lips began to move—too soft for her to hear anything. Bethany lowered her head to listen more closely and soon heard a quiet question.

"...are you alright?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and fresh tears began to fill Bethany's eyes again in spite of herself.

Even after everything they had both suffered through, Niamh's first concern had still been solely for her.

With a shaky breath, she carefully curled herself up against Niamh’s form, crying silently even as she rested her hand against the other woman's stomach to continue and apply weak, healing magic.

That was how the other Wardens found them later.

"There they are."

Bethany didn’t pick her head up off the floor, but there was little mistaking Morrigan's distinct voice. Saoirse’s own followed soon after.

"I owe you my thanks for this, Morrigan."

“Thank your sister; I would not have been able to find her were she still not wearing the ring I gave her years ago.”

A weary chuckled greeted the mage’s words. “Ever the sentimental woman, my little sister…”

The sound of heavy footsteps treading closer caused Bethany to look up, and she could see Saoirse kneeling down next to them. The warrior’s face was worn with stress, but there was nothing but relief in her eyes as she saw them both together. "It appears I owe you my thanks as well, Bethany." She jerked her head up then, shouting out an order. "Get a litter for them now!"

"But I'm not nearly as injured," Bethany protested, drawing her hand away from Niamh’s body self-consciously, especially when Morrigan appeared and began to take over healing and stabilizing the woman’s condition with fresh magic.

"No," Saoirse admitted even as her lips lifted up into a tired smile. "But you and I both know what a terrible patient my sister is. I’ll be depending on you to make sure she behaves herself if she wakes up during our trek back to Vigil’s Keep.” She gently clapped a hand over Bethany’s shoulder. “Thank you. I owe you a debt.”

“Warden-Commander—”

“No. Niamh and I have lost enough in our lives. It would have hurt me to lose her as well.”

---

Niamh remains unconscious for several days as she recovers back at Vigil's Keep.

Bethany and Morrigan basically take turns looking after her.

Despite the other woman’s position as a member of Orlais’ Imperial Court, it seemed Morrigan returned to Ferelden after receiving a frantic letter from Saoirse, saying that Niamh and Bethany had been missing for several days following a routine mission.

As mentioned in the previous section, Morrigan gave Niamh a ring, which would allow her to find her were she ever in danger. It proved especially useful when Niamh and the other Wardens were imprisoned in Fort Drakon, where Saoirse essentially put her foot in her mouth and ruined their attempt to sneak Queen Anora out of the estate she had been held captive in.

I believe the ring is only canonically available if a player is in a romance with Morrigan. However, I’m headcanoning that because she held Niamh in such high esteem, she gave it to her anyway.

Kieran is also present at Vigil’s Keep because there’s no way Morrigan was leaving him behind in Orlais. He’s about five years old at this point, and he’s grown to inherit both his mothers’ looks. A crown of dark, loose curls sits atop his head much like Niamh’s, and he even fashions a forelock like hers, which hangs in front of his right eye. His gaze is a piercing shade of gold reminiscent to Morrigan’s own. As a possessor of an Old God Soul, he’s also begun to speak cryptically at times, which is understandably jarring to those around him.

Bethany happens upon one such conversation by accident, and she immediately pauses in the doorway when she sees Morrigan and Kieran standing at Niamh’s bedside.

“Sire was caught within the paths of the Fade, Mother. She heard the voices of old ghosts calling to her, but she didn’t follow them.”

Morrigan indulgently runs a hand through her son’s hair. “Indeed; she did not.”

“She missed them though, but she still returned to us.”

“Of course. Why would she desire an eternity without you?” she asked with a fond smile, causing Kieran to giggle.

“That’s not why, Mother! Not completely.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She would have missed the Sunshine too much. She’s been following her warmth for years. It would have hurt her to be without it.”

Kieran’s words pull at Bethany oddly, but she soon pushes them out of her mind and quietly walks away, feeling too much like an intruder upon the small family.

Thankfully, Niamh regains consciousness not long afterward, and everyone is understandably relieved by this news.

As per usual, however, Niamh proves herself to be an exceedingly stubborn patient, but perhaps wanting to set a better example for Kieran after her near-death experience, she remains in bed for the duration of her recovery. The other woman doesn’t seem to mind too much, especially given that her son continues to keep her company, telling her of the various odd things he’s seen around Orlais and the even odder people.

After several weeks under Morrigan’s watchful eye, the witch begrudgingly says that Niamh's okay to begin light duty around the Keep, relieving the other mage immensely. She goes out herb-gathering, an excuse just to get out of the fortress, and Bethany volunteers to go with her.

Things are quiet between them for a time as they begin picking up elfroot to place in the shared basket between them. Their conversations as of late haven't been of anything too substantial. A good thing, Bethany thinks, considering her feelings for her and how close she’d been to revealing them. Soon, however, they're caught in the middle of a light rain shower, and Bethany says they should head back. She begins to lead their way out of the forest when Niamh’s words stop her in her tracks.

---

"I was waiting for you to say it again, you know."

Bethany looked over her shoulder in surprise to still see Niamh standing in the middle of the clearing, her gaze expectant. “What?” she asked nervously.

"When I nearly died, I heard you say something… significant to me,” she revealed, causing Bethany’s heart to pound as she stared at her in disbelief. “However, when I recovered and you never repeated those words again, I thought it might have been little more than a fever dream of mine." Niamh's smile turned sad then when Bethany said nothing else to her words. "Perhaps it was after all... I’m sorry. I’ve made this rather awkward then, haven’t I?” She took a few steps closer, reaching toward the basket of herbs Bethany still held in her hands. “Here, let me—”

But Bethany just let it drop to the ground before she reached out to grab the collar of Niamh’s cloak. The other woman seemed taken aback, but before she can even begin voicing a question, Bethany pulled her forward to kiss her desperately in the rain, swallowing her gasp of surprise.

As far as first kisses went, it was a touch awkward as their teeth clicked together, lips mashed between them. Bethany felt a moment of panic as Niamh pulled back, but before the urge to run away in mortification could overtake her, a warm palm pressed itself against the back of her neck, keeping her in place. There was the brush of knuckles as they ran along her jaw, and Bethany was just able to catch the silver of Niamh’s eyes before all thought fled from her mind upon feeling the soft press of the other woman’s mouth on hers.

Bethany followed into the easy guidance being offered, and they both soon settled into a comfortable rhythm that sent pleasurable shivers down her spine. She felt light-headed with giddy delight, and her hands reached out to hold onto Niamh’s hips, helping to ground herself there, as their kiss continued. There was a soft sound as Niamh sighed contentedly into her mouth, as if she had been waiting just as long for this moment between them.

The thought seemed almost too impossible to comprehend, especially when she knew Niamh was committed to someone else. As such, Bethany pulled away first despite the sound of protest it caused. Despite her resolve, Bethany was reluctant to pull away from Niamh entirely, so she settled for gently leaning her forehead against the other mage as they panted quietly in the rain.

"I'm so sorry," she said breathlessly, practically speaking the words against Niamh’s lips. "It wasn't my intention to interfere with your relationship with Morrigan."

As close as they were, there was little mistaking the clear confusion in the eyes across from hers. "'With Morrigan?'" Niamh repeated. "What does she have anything to do with us?"

"But… I thought—” Her brows drew together in consternation. “Aren’t you both together?"

"What? No," Niamh answered, almost amused by the idea. "When we laid together for the ritual, it was an agreement of mutual benefit meant only for that night. She's not—Well." An exhale of breath escaped her in the form of laughter. "Morrigan's admitted she's not interested in women—or anyone, really—in quite that way, but none of the male Wardens with us at the time dared to lay with her even if it meant sparing us all from death. She trusted me, and I her. I consider Morrigan one of my dearest friends, and we share Kieran together as a result of that night, yes, but we are certainly not bound together as others seem to believe."

And Niamh’s answer suddenly changed everything.

What Bethany had been feeling, what was now possible between her and Niamh...

She couldn’t help but smile as she finally realized she could have a bit of the happiness she’d always wanted for herself.

---

So everyone knows that they’re a couple after that.

Niamh becomes more overt in the romantic things she does for her—the very same things Bethany had thought were the woman simply being thoughtful. She finds out that Niamh had apparently been interested in her for awhile and had actually been ready to confess her feelings a few years ago, but their first argument, where Bethany had accused her of being too idealistic, had stemmed the thought immediately.

Niamh had been understandably heartbroken by the words, which was why she’d had been so despondent for weeks following the incident, believing Bethany had no romantic interest in her whatsoever. The apology in her office later had restored their friendship, and while Niamh had been disappointed it likely would never evolve into anything more beyond that, she was still determined to be a good friend to her if nothing else. 

Bethany’s completely exasperated at the idea that they could have been together long before now, but she realizes it was likely better this way.

She had needed time to get over her anger and resentment regarding her life as a Warden.

She needed time to get past her guilt and the complicated thoughts regarding herself and her faith.

And she needed time to grow into herself and discover who she was as a person.

She’s grateful that Niamh’s been so kind and patient over the years, and Bethany finds great joy in the new facet of their relationship together.

They’ve kissed and been involved in heavy makeout sessions around Vigil’s Keep—much to the exasperation of their colleagues—but barring the incident that led to Kieran’s conception, Niamh’s been celibate for years, and canonical dialogue in DA2 reveals that Bethany’s pretty much a virgin. As such, she’s understandably very shy and nervous about the whole thing. However, she knew every part of her would be in good hands with Niamh when they finally reached that point.

Their first time together takes place several months after their first kiss, where Niamh tries her utmost to make it a memorable thing for them. She takes Bethany to a grove they frequent together outside of Vigil’s Keep for a midnight picnic. The moon is full, and the skies are clear, revealing an endless sea of stars. Little fireflies dance over the surface of the lake while they sit on the grass along its shore.

It’s a casual reminder that for all their hardship, life goes on and finds a way through a magic all of its own.

They stargaze for and handfeed each other little bits of food in between kisses, but soon things start getting a little more heated. Niamh gently tugs Bethany onto her lap, who follows willingly, settling her knees on either side of the woman’s hips. Bethany takes some initiative of her own, pushing at Niamh’s chest slowly until she lowers herself against the grass, and then…

---

Bethany’s breath caught in her throat upon seeing Niamh’s features haloed by the soft glow of the little fireflies. Normally pale eyes had darkened at their edges with both pleasure and interest as she regarded her, leaving Bethany flushed, especially as she realized she doesn’t quite know what to do from there on out.

Perhaps having sensed that, Niamh reached up to gently run a thumb along the corner of her mouth, and Bethany barely resisted the urge to press her lips against the pad in a kiss as slim fingers then went to cup her cheek gently.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” Niamh reassured as she brushed a few strands of Bethany’s hair behind an ear. “I quite like kissing you.”

But Bethany did want to.

She knew Niamh had more experience with sexual intimacy, and she worried she couldn’t be able to compare against the woman’s past paramours. There was no expectation in those starlit eyes however. Niamh was as relaxed as she had been when they first started, and Bethany knew she would have been more than content to lay with her beneath the stars if that was all she desired. She was always considerate with her feelings, never pressing her to do more than she was ready.

Thus, Bethany knew Niamh would be patient with her during their first time together.

“If I asked, would you show me what to do?” she whispered tentatively, and she watched as the corners of those lips turned up into soft smile.

“Always,” Niamh answered, gently tugging Bethany’s hand toward the buckle holding the front of her leather and steel-riveted brigandine closed. “Here. Help me out of this first please.” 

From there, Bethany quickly realized it all wasn’t quite as simple as the tawdry novels Isabela used to loan her made it out to be. Nothing really prepared for the warmth of the flesh beneath her fingertips as she gradually disrobed her lover of the layers that made up their Warden regalia. Fortune favored the bold, she knew, and she experimented by pressing kisses against skin as more was revealed to her. She smiled against Niamh’s sternum—pleased—when she heard the exceedingly rare quiver in her voice.

As promised, however, the other woman continued to give suggestions on what types of touches would best give pleasure, but she also allowed Bethany to set the pace of whatever she felt most comfortable with. With each encouraging whisper against her ear, each caress and rock of her hand became more confident. When Niamh shuddered beneath her for the first time—the barest hint of magic curling against her own—as she reached her peak, Bethany was convinced that she had never felt more triumphant.

And she didn’t think she had ever felt so unfettered when Niamh later returned the favor by kissing a line of fire down her bare body. Those mist-grey eyes never left her own gaze though. Bethany had long known how attentive the other mage could be. As their lead tactician, there was always a studious quality in how she approached anything set before her.

Feeling the full magnitude of that attention focused solely upon her, however, was another matter entirely. Niamh stared at her as if she had hung the very moon and the infinite tapestry of stars into the night sky. It was like she was her very reason for drawing breath, and the thought of that brought forth a stunning wash of emotions over her as she saw the clear reverence in those eyes—so much so that she couldn’t help the tears beading themselves across her lashes nor her soft, surprised exhale of laughter when Niamh leaned up to gently kiss them away.

It was only when she assured her lover that she was ready to continue that Niamh returned to her exploration. The woman was committed to learning every part of her, gauging every physical response—the touches that made her moan breathlessly or sigh in contentment with the press of lips against her skin—before reacting accordingly. She felt that dedication most vividly as a warm mouth settled between her thighs and began working itself thoroughly there.

Bethany couldn’t help but break eye contact with Niamh as she threw her head back against the cool grass, lost to the new but pleasant sensations coursing their way through her body. Her hips seemed to move of their own volition, especially as the almost overwhelming heat of a tongue pressed itself flat and lapped languidly at her.

After a time, it felt like she was freefalling, and she blindly reached out toward Niamh. One hand sank itself easily into the tousled waves of raven-black hair, but with the other, Bethany found slim fingers gently intertwining themselves with her own. There was strength and reassurance within the warmth of that grasp—a steady tether to ground her—even as Niamh continued with her ministrations, quickly unraveling the foundations of her world.

Were you the answer this entire time?

Were you the one whom my heart was always waiting for?

Bethany found her answer just as her climax crested over her.

---

The next scene takes place several months after Niamh’s and Bethany’s first time together but just before the Kirkwall Rebellion.

Niamh heads over to Amaranthine to see her aunt, Eithne Mac Eanraig, since she's the Arlessa there.

Now, here’s where I’m veering off from canon.

Per the events of Awakening, the Warden ends up becoming the Warden-Commander, and for their services during the Fifth Blight, Vigil’s Keep along with the entire arling of Amaranthine was given to the Grey Wardens. The fortress and the territory originally belonged to the Howes, but after Rendon Howe’s betrayal, all titles and properties were stripped away from them. As such, the Warden-Commander would also become the Arl or Arlessa of Amaranthine.

Per my headcanon though, Saoirse felt that she couldn’t tend to both her duties as a Warden while also ruling over the arling. Thus, she suggests to King Alistair to let her aunt oversee it instead.

While Eithne is technically my own creation, it was canonical that Eleanor had three siblings prior to marrying Bryce Cousland. All the children of Bann Fearcher Mac Eanraig—also known as the Storm Giant—were exceedingly skilled raiders although Eleanor was the most infamous of them. Still, I headcanon that Eithne’s own prowess allowed her to take over as head of the family and their impressive fleet after her father’s death sometime before the events of DAO.

I also headcanon that the Mac Eanraigs and their fleet proved instrumental during the Fifth Blight, allowing desperately-needed supplies to travel to the country without fear of them being intercepted by pirates. When the reconstruction of Ferelden began in full following the defeat of the Archdemon, Eithne opted to expand the services of her family’s fleet, offering to escort any incoming and also outgoing cargo ships. This allowed trade to flourish in Ferelden since the threat of piracy was reduced greatly against the might of the former raiding family and their respective crews. With goods being consistently transported and received, it led to the otherwise pricey import and export tariffs being lowered significantly.

It expanded the influence of the Mac Eanraigs considerably to say the least, and while they were of minor nobility compared to the Couslands, the family was already well-respected for their long connection to the Storm Coast and their role in the Fereldan Rebellion as well as the Fifth Blight.

As such, no objection was given by Ferelden’s Bannorn when the Mac Eanraigs were consequently raised further in nobility by the decree of King Alistair and Queen Anora, allowing Eithne to officially be named Arlessa to the city of Amaranthine.

---

"Aunt Eithne," Niamh began, walking into her office, "may I have access to the castle's forge?"

The older woman was sat behind her desk, looking through various reports when she glanced up at her. Kind, weathered features warmed instantly. "Ah, there's my wee Storm Pup," she said as she rose to her feet to meet her. "You know you’re welcome to anything within the castle, lass. I take it that blacksmith of yours is being stubborn at Vigil’s Keep again?"

As per usual, Niamh found herself looking up at her aunt as she rounded the edge of her desk. While her late mother Eleanor had been roughly her own size, the Mac Eanraigs as a whole towered over most people with their intimidating height and broad-shouldered frames—traits that Fergus and also Saoirse inherited as they grew into adulthood. In her youth, Niamh remembered that her Aunt Eithne had also possessed her mother’s pale blonde hair, but it had since turned silver with age and was now kept in a neat braid that dangled in front of her right shoulder. She imagined that Saoirse would likely resemble their aunt greatly in looks over the next few decades.

…provided they find a cure against the Calling first, of course.

Morrigan’s arcane research had turned up several possibilities, but the latest one she’d found seemed especially promising. Still, Niamh put the thought from her mind momentarily to answer her aunt’s question.

"You and I both know Master Wade won’t allow anyone to go near his forge. He’d pout for weeks on end before we could convince him to resume work again,” she said dryly before shrugging. “Just as well, I suppose. He can’t keep a secret to save his life. What I have in mind is more of a personal project."

Dark grey eyes blinked. "Oh?" she intoned curiously.

"It's... Well." Niamh shifted from foot to foot, a tad nervous to put her thoughts into words. "I'm making matching torcs for Bethany and I, so—oof!"

No sooner after she had stated her purpose did Niamh unexpectedly found herself drawn up into a crushing hug by her aunt, who lifted her clear off her feet with the force of it.

"Haha!" Eithne crowed with delighted laughter as she twirled her about. "Wait until I tell your uncles about this! Why, it’s been ages since we’ve had a wedding in the family!"

"We had one a year ago for Fergus and Olithia," Niamh corrected hoarsely as she tried to wriggle out of her aunt's grip to little avail. Corded muscles built over a lifetime at sea ensured the woman’s strength was nigh unbreakable. "And there was another for Saoirse and Leliana before that."

"Details, wee niece, details," she brushed aside when she placed Niamh back on her feet again, placing large hands over each of her shoulders with a grin. "Honestly, I was half-convinced my ashes would be scattered across the sea before I saw my last niece be married off! Dermot!" she called out loudly beyond the walls of office to her second-in-command, leaving Niamh wincing from the sheer volume of it. "Break out the casks! We’re celebrating tonight!"

Niamh merely sighed, somehow glad that Bethany was currently away from Vigil’s Keep with Nathaniel to tend to a matter out in another seaside province. There was no way she’d be able to surprise her with a proposal otherwise.

---

Bethany didn't know what to really expect when Niamh took her out to their favored grove, but then she was offered a… necklace of some sort. It was thick and sturdy but exquisitely-crafted. It formed an incomplete circle, but there was no clasp holding both ends together. As she took the necklace into her own hands, she found there was a certain pliability to it as she stretched the space between the twin, silverite wolf heads open a bit more.

"I spent weeks getting the details just right," Niamh admitted. "The hardest part was finding the perfect bits of citrine to match your eyes," she added, pointing to the small, gemstone orbs held in the maw of each wolf.

"You made this for me?" Bethany asked, awed.

"Yes. It’s a custom from the maternal side of my family. They’re generally gifted to those of status or individuals who have achieved great deeds. The more bands woven together designate one's importance." Niamh's expression turned somewhat sheepish then. "I don't think it needs to be said that I think highly of you."

Bethany looked at the thick braiding and saw that there were at least five bands wound together in a cord and then welded together.

"I..." Niamh wet her lips briefly, as if caught beneath sudden nervousness. "I realize marriage is usually just a matter of settling titles and heirs, but I believe you know by now that my family tends to eschew commonly-held norms. As such, I would consider it a great honor if you were to become my wife. As for anything official—a wedding for instance—we needn't concern ourselves with it right away. Not if you don't wish to certainly." Silver-colored eyes rolled themselves. "Honestly, my family uses any type of excuse available to throw a celebration. They’ll likely still drink the night away, knowing that I’ve finally settled down with someone."

Bethany couldn’t help but laugh at that. "They were that invested, were they?"

"Before you, they had a tendency to think I was more married to my duty within the Order, and I can’t say that were not wrong in thinking so."

"And that’s changed?"

"Well... I was managing day by day as well as any of our comrades, but I won’t lie in saying that there came a point when you were all I could ever think about in the many moments in between."

It was… quite the confession.

In an instant, all the stories her mother had ever told her of romance paled in comparison to this moment.

"Yes," Bethany said at last, watching as the ghostly-grey eyes across from her widened, but there was little hiding the hope building within their depths.

"Yes?"

"Yes to the—" She stumbled a bit over the word. "—torcs, you said?” Bethany asked in clarification, earning her a nod along with a very relieved sigh. “I don’t want a ceremony.” She bit her lip as she stared down at the thickly-braided necklace. “At least not just yet, but I like the idea of the promise these contain.”

“You would like to have your sister here when the time comes,” Niamh deduced understandingly. “Very well.”

“You can wait?”

A very warm smile burnished beautiful features that she had long fallen in love with so many years ago. “A Chuisle Mo Chroí,” she began, voicing an endearment that never ceased to make her heart flutter, “for you, I would gladly wait a thousand Ages and more.” (Writer’s note: A Chuisle Mo Chroí is phonetically pronounced Ah Khush-lah Muh Kree and means “Pulse of My Heart.”)

The words earned her a heartfelt kiss of gratitude. If Niamh noticed Bethany was trembling, she said nothing of it. In fact, they both had little to say at all as they slowly lowered themselves to the grass and surrendered themselves to the night and the promise of everyday thereafter.

---

The Kirkwall Rebellion still happens in this verse, and because Saoirse's busy butting heads with the higher-ups at Weisshaupt, she sends word to Niamh, asking her to go to Kirkwall to provide Leliana backup if things get bad. Bethany is concerned as well about the well-being of her sister Emrys, and she asks to go with her. Niamh, of course, can't really deny her anything, so they both take the fastest ship across the Waking Sea.

---

"There you are," Bethany declared when she managed to come across her sister and her companions despite the chaos around them. She settled her staff over her back, walking through the tangle of defeated Templars around her to meet them. "We’ve been looking everywhere for you. I'd almost feared you were dead."

Emrys hadn’t expected Bethany’s presence in the city, but she’s beyond elated to see her. At her words, the warrior merely preened. "As if they'd be able to best me. And, uh, what’s this about 'we?'" Emrys asked, confused. “Did you bring the other Wardens with you?”

“Just one.”

As if attuned to her thoughts, Niamh made her entrance then by Fadestepping through a handful of Templars—who had arrived on scene as backup—freezing them in their tracks. She and Bethany had momentarily split up to try and cover more ground in search of Emrys.

Bethany arched a brow at her sister while gesturing toward her lover with an emphatic wave. "You remember Warden-Constable Cousland, don’t you?"

Emrys had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed as she recalled their last meeting, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she regarded Niamh. "Oh. Yes. Uh, about the last time we met—"

But Niamh seemed amused more than anything, waving aside the apology graciously. “Bygones, Champion. No need to worry yourself about the past. My sister’s a warrior as well; I’ve fared worse on the rare occasion."

"In any case, Sister, if you need help, we’ll gladly give it."

“Really?”

“Yes. I…” Bethany swept a bit of hair behind her ear nervously, but as Niamh settled alongside her, offering her wordless support, she continued on. “I wanted to apologize for what happened down in the Deep Roads and for how we parted the last time I was here. You saved my life, but I couldn’t see past my own anger back then. I’m sorry,” she whispered, contrite. “I should have said it long before now. You’re all I have left of our family, so if you need help against the Templars, say the word.”

Emrys looked beyond thrilled at the prospect of having her at her side again. “I’m certainly not going to turn away help now of all times, but…” She shot a look of confusion over toward Niamh. “I thought Wardens weren’t to involve themselves in political matters?"

The other mage merely sighed. “While true, that follows a line of policy that my sister and I strenuously object to, especially given the matter involved here. She and I will deal with the leadership at Weisshaupt later if need be." Slim shoulder shrugged themselves then. "Of course, even if my sister-in-law weren't nearby, Bethany wanted to help, and that was good enough reason for me to be here."

Emrys’ dark brows rose at the claim, and she immediately turned a searching gaze over toward Bethany, who couldn’t help but turn her own away, flushing somewhat.

"Yes… Niamh and I are a bit of a package deal these days."

Unfortunately, the minor shift in movement allowed for something else to be revealed, and Isabela took notice of it immediately as her eyes darted toward the area of her neck just beneath the collar of her uniform.

“Wait… is that a torc?" she asked, brows raising, impressed.

“A what?" Emrys asked, flustered, especially when she saw the matching one that Niamh was also wearing.

“It's a little bit of tradition from my mother’s side of the family,” Niamh explained. “They’re beautifully-crafted pieces of jewelry, but they can be as symbolic as rings, especially in the ceremonial sense."

"'Rings?'" Emrys parroted with a choke. “‘Ceremon—’” The warrior paled instantly as she realized the implication, shakily pressing her hand against a nearby wall to steady herself when she began swaying in place. “Oh, Maker’s breath… I think—I need a moment,” she murmured, and Bethany watched—concerned—when Emrys practically folded in over herself, working to catch a breath. After a time, Emrys’ comically-wide blue eyes turned over to Niamh. “You’re married to my baby sister?"

"Engaged, technically," Niamh answered, blinking owlishly at her reaction. “I proposed to her before we left Ferelden."

---

Annnnd then Saoirse shows up because she got worried about Leliana, and she and Emrys get along like peas in a pod. They’re exceedingly competitive with one another though...

---

“Hah!” Saoirse crowed, grinning smugly at Emrys as she rested the flat of her greatsword along her shoulder. “Is that the best Kirkwall’s Champion can do? I managed to neatly cleave my opponent in half.”

Emrys merely scowled, matching pace with Saoirse as they marched toward The Gallows. “Only because I helped! Besides, that strike wouldn’t have held against him if he had a shield as well!”

“Yes, it would have!”

“Lies!” Emrys scoffed. “It would have been caught halfway through the shield before you would have been able to reach his armor!“

“Not with the proper leverage it wouldn’t have!”

As they argued heatedly about sword techniques, Niamh and Bethany shared a long-suffering glance with one another before moving on ahead of their respective sisters.

“Warriors…”

“Indeed.”

---

Eventually, this all culminates in that huge battle at the end of DA2, where Meredith is defeated. As per canon, it becomes clear that it’s no longer safe for Emrys and her companions to remain within the city without eventually facing possible repercussions from the Chantry. As such, they begin scattering to the winds not long after the end of the rebellion.

---

"You could come with us, you know," Emrys suggested.

Bethany looked over to where her sister stood next to Isabela, ready to board the ship that would take them to Antiva. Emrys’ expression was almost painfully hopeful, but Bethany knew it wasn't meant to be. Although she had resented it once upon a time, she had a duty to the Wardens, and she would not easily abandon it. She said as much to her sister.

"No. Niamh currently seeks a cure that affects the lives of every Warden."

"A cure for the Calling?” she asked, surprised. “Is that even possible?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. She is easily the cleverest person I’ve ever met though. If there is a solution, she will be the most likely one to find it, and I will not stand to be apart from her."

"I see.” Emrys rubbed the back of her neck, shoulders slumping somewhat. “So… this is goodbye again."

It was admittedly a bittersweet feeling, knowing that this had been the first time in years they had seen one another and it would likely be several more yet before they would meet again.

"For now,” she answered quietly. “You have your life, Sister, and now…" She glanced over at Niamh, who was talking to the captain of a ship heading back to lands far to the west—ones that had never been touched by the Blight, according to Morrigan. “I have mine.”

Emrys followed her gaze. “You seem happier."

"I am."

“That’s all I ever wanted for you, you know? Just to know that you were happy.”

“I know that now." Her smile turned more genuine as she stepped forward to wrap her arms around Emrys, hugging her for all she was worth. "I wish the same upon you always. Safe travels to you and Isabela, Sister."

---

And as mentioned in the bullet points up above, they spend several years traveling abroad. Some days are harder than others as they meet their fair share of challenges, but Niamh and Bethany support each endlessly through it all.

They both return to Ferelden several years after the Trepasser DLC when they’ve found a cure for the Calling. With the taint purged from their bodies, they’re guaranteed the long life that would have otherwise been denied to them. As such, Niamh and Bethany finally get married—torcs gleaming bright—as Leliana as Divine Victoria officiates the wedding.

---

And that’s pretty much it.

I have about 20 pages of random scenes I’ve yet to elaborate on for this AU, including one for the huge battle at the end of DA2, so while I don’t see it as being nearly as long as OtSttCA, it’ll likely make for quite the lengthy read when I finally get a chance to work on it properly.

Still, if this verse interests you, leave me a like, a comment, or just swing by my inbox to tell me your thoughts! Until next time, readers! Take care!

[bobathirstaccount]

Hard to Find Someone Like You

Boba x fem!reader, slow burn to smut, some romance, fair amount of plot, Post-Mando 2 Boba

You are a merc serving under Fennec at Fett’s Palace. It’s business as usual until a certain helmet starts tilting in your direction...

Translations (Mando’a)

Linibar - need [for purposes of this story, “needy”]

Mesh’la - beautiful

Translations (Twi’lek)

Seela - dancer

TW: unprotected sex

— 1 chapter left —

***

CHAPTER EIGHT

A new batch of girls had come to the Palace to work. The third floor club was expanding. You decided to go check out the new section one night. You met Ayy there. She was now a house manger for the seelas. She took you to the best booth and snuggled into it with you. She gossiped about the new girls and how the expansion was going to you. You relaxed into the conversation and took in the new room.

A murmur ran through the club. You looked towards the entrance. Boba stood there, looking fierce in his armor. Ayy gasped and jumped up. Before anyone else could get the gumption to approach him, Ayy met him. She led him over to your table and he settled in next to you. You were now sandwiched between Boba and Ayy. You were happy.


A group of dancers had formed on the nearest stage. They were dancing, but also exchanging glances between themselves while curiously peering at Boba. One of them broke off from the shy group and slunk towards your table sexily. You could not deny she was amazingly beautiful. She bowed in front of the table, then crawled around the booth to Boba. “Let me make you feel good, baby.”

She ran her hands over his cuirass. Ayy tensed. Boba sat unconcerned, effectively ignoring her for the time being. She was playing with a time bomb. She ran a finger down his visor, then leaned in and licked the side of his helmet. She moved closer still and boldly ground her ass against his groin. He didn’t move. “Baby, maybe sometime I can make you feel even better...” she continued to grind, turning to face him. At this Boba tilted his helmet in your direction, “At her pleasure only.” You dagger eyed the girl. Her lekku twitched nervously and she took off. Boba laughed. “Remember you can’t kill the dancers.”

“Thought never crossed my mind.”

”If looks could kill, mesh’la. I might be dead too.”

You smiled nastily at him, and ran a hand over his crotch, “How much you like that anyway?” You raised your eyebrows.

”Not at all, as you can tell,” he said laughingly.

You smiled at this, secretly pleased. Ayy cleared her throat. “Maybe I should get back to work.”

Boba turned his helmet towards her, “What about her, cyar’ika?” He lifted you onto his lap and wrapped his arms loosely around you. Ayy’s eyes grew wide, and she looked from him to you a couple times. You smiled, “He’s just joking. Get outta here before he really starts teasing you.” She took off hastily.

You turned to him. “She’s my best friend, don’t scare her like that.”

He shrugged, “I was only half kidding.”

You eyed him, “Cut it out.”


He laughed, “You know you are the only one for me.” This admission made you blush, and you leaned forward to kiss... his helmet. He squeezed you. “I wish that was my lips.” You ground down into him, “Soon.” He moaned softly and you felt his erection against you. You smiled, satisfied and putting the dancer fully out of your mind. Boba ran a hand down your thigh, tickling you slightly. You laughed, twitching. He reversed the motion and ran his fingers up to the v of your legs. You mmmmd and licking your lips, spread your legs wider. You turned your upper body towards him, leaning the side of your face against his helmet. He played with you under the table. You sighed, fidgeting at his ministrations.

“Want to take this somewhere else?” His question startled you out of your lust-struck daze. “Mmm, yes,” you whispered. You slid off his lap and grabbed his hand. You led him out of the club, the crowd watching the two of you exit together.

You drug him down the corridors towards your suites. “What’s the rush?” He teasingly said. You felt your pussy throbbing. “I wanna fuck, that’s why,” you retorted, turning your head to look at him impatiently.

“We have all night,” he continued to resist you, walking at an ambling pace.

You tugged on his arm like a child having a tantrum. “Babe I swear... Come on.” He laughed softly, but remained unmoved. Your eyes darted around for something, anything.... they landed on a hallway that led to the old slaves’ quarters. No one lived there now. You redirected your course and pulled him into the hallway. You leaned your back against the wall and pulled him to yourself.

“Here?” He seemed surprised.


“You’re being so difficult right now,” you huffed. He grabbed your neck, letting his thumb brush over your collar bone. He slowly drug his thumb up your throat to your lips. “Linibar, mesh’la,” he murmured.

You bit his thumb. He hmmmed at you. You started to pull your dress up your body. He took a step back to watch, moving his hand from your face to the wall next to your head. You pulled your dress up to your waist, exposing your pussy. You lifted one leg to wrap around his hip. He grunted and grabbed your other leg, pulling it around his other hip. You ground your bare pussy against his pants, enjoying the sensation of the rough fabric as well as the bulge of his cock. He groaned and interceded to undo his pants, pulling himself out. He drug himself through your wet folds, poking your entrance. You moaned loudly, squeezing your legs. He resisted you again, still teasing. You made a frustrated noise and grabbed his hips with your hands, pulling him to you. He circled around your entrance, making you quietly squeal. He pushed slightly into you and pulled out, circling again. Your arousal seeped out of your pussy. He coated the head of his cock with it, “Good girl.” You squirmed, pleased with the praise but increasingly needy for his cock.

“Baby please, fuck me,” you moaned breathlessly, feeling like you were about to explode with desire. He finally relented and dipped the head of his cock into you. You moaned and squeezed your legs again. He let you push him inside of you. “Oh, Maker, yes, baby,” you whispered, feeling him inside of you. He pulled out and pushed back in, slowly fucking you. You squirmed and wheedled.

“You want more, mesh’la?” You nodded your head, eyes hooded with desire. “Ask for it,” he stilled deep inside you. “Mmm baby, please baby I want you to fuck me hard against this wall,” you purred. He made a pleased noise and started to pump into you, making you yelp. You spread your legs and wrapped your arms around his neck, closing your eyes. He pounded into your pussy, stretching you deliciously. You felt your orgasm building, heat pooling in your pussy. “Baby let me cum on you, please,” you whimpered. He grunted and gripped your ass cheeks tightly, railing into you. “Cum for me, mesh’la,” he panted. You moaned and squirmed against him, your orgasm rolling through your pussy, making your limbs go limp and your heart race. You clamped down on his cock as he continued to fuck you. “I, ah —“ he tried to speak.

”Cum in me baby, please cum in me while I’m cumming on you,” your pussy was still spasming around his cock. He moaned and leaned forward, his helmet smacking against the wall. He jerked up into you sharply several times, grunting obscenely. You moaned and started to cum again, little aftershocks. Finally he stilled in you, moaning into your ear from behind his helmet.

You loosely held yourself to him, exhausted and trembling slightly. He held you both up against the wall, panting. After a minute you dropped your feet shakily to the ground. He leaned back, adjusting himself. You smoothed your dress, your inhales heavy and sharp. “What was the rush?” He ask innocently. You playfully slapped his shoulder, smirking as you did, “When I say I want to fuck, I want to fuck.” He laughed raspily and scooped you up into his arms.

***

“Ayy, what does riduur mean?” You asked casually. It was one of her days off and she was helping you clean and organize your ship.

She shook her head, “Not sure. I think it means partner or something. Ask Numa, she knows more Mando’a than I do. Why, he call you that?”

You nodded. She considered, “Maybe it means romantic partner or something. Like, girlfriend?” You smiled at that. Maybe.

***

Weeks turned to months. Din and his Mandalorian loyalists had temporarily moved in until they could retake Mandalore. You had slowly gotten to know and trust Din. You could see why Boba had gone to help him. One day you found him on a walk. You sidled up to him. “Company okay?” He turned slightly to look at you, “Of course, Y/N. How are you?” You walked together in a comfortable silence after exchanging small pleasantries. You remembered the Mando’a word. “Din, can I ask you to translate something for me?”

“Sure.”

“Riduur.”

“What?” His stride hitched. You thought you had misremembered the pronunciation and squinted, trying to figure it out. He finally said, “It means... spouse. So, if it were said to you, wife.”

Your skin tingled. “Really?” You asked stupidly.

He tilted his visor at you, “It is my mother tongue.”

“Sorry. I mean...”

He waved his hand, “You don’t have to explain. I know you and Boba have a very... special relationship.”

You flushed and thought about Boba. You still stood at his left hand side while he was on the throne, but something had changed since the dog fight. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Others seemed to notice the change too. They increased their deference to you. Some didn’t dare to make eye contact with you. Ayy told you the dancers had learned some were afraid to accidentally touch you. Somehow the word was out: you were the Great Fett’s one and only partner.

“He.. we.. I love him,” you confessed, shocked at yourself.

Din paused in his walking and turned to fully face you. “Good. He deserves that.” Then he turned and you continued your walk.

“So, when will you try to retake Mandalore?”

He seemed surprised, “Soon. I’m surprised Boba didn’t mention it to you. I guess he doesn’t want you to worry.”

“Is he going with you?”
There was a slight pause, “Yes.”

“Then so am I.”

“He’ll never allow it.”

“He doesn’t control me.”

“He’ll still never allow it. He’ll chain you to the wall here before he lets you come.”

You smirked at that. He was probably right.

“I deserve to come. I’ve proven myself,” you countered.

He shook his head, “I know him and I can tell how he feels about you. It’ll never happen.”

You sighed. You’d take this argument up with Boba. You didn’t need to convince Din. The two of you continued in silence.

***

You came out of your hiding place after Slave 1 had gone into jump space. Arguing with Boba had proven pointless, though it had led to some great sex. There was no way you were letting Boba go into battle without you. The thought was absurd.

Fennec saw you first. Her facial expression was one of respect mixed with horror. Din saw you second. He straightened and looked towards the cockpit. You nodded and walked towards it, towards what you knew was going to be a blow-out fight.

You entered the cockpit quietly, but you knew Boba sensed someone was there. “I’m... here.” There was no point in putting it off or trying to be clever. He put the ship in auto pilot and stood up, facing you. He wordlessly closed the gap between the two of you.

“You disobeyed me,” he said, voice low.

“Don’t talk like that. I’m your riduur, remember,” you countered, remembering your conversation with Din. He froze. “I guess you got that translated,” he said dryly.

You put your hands on his chest and stared up into his helmet. “Let me be your riduur. Let me stand beside you.” He was breathing hard. “You do. Just also slightly behind me... when it’s dangerous.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your hands to your sides. “What happened the last time you got in a scrap?” Boba asked pointedly. You paused for a moment, remembering your painful recuperation in the Daesha.

“You will take one of our smaller ships and return with Fennec. You’ve also left my throne unmanned.” He said testily. You gulped guiltily. You had thought about that... momentarily.

“Just send Fennec.” Was all you said.

“Absolutely not.” He grabbed your wrists lightly, pulling you to him. You looked up at him, wondering what he was thinking. He dropped your wrists. They had extra weight on them - he had slipped binders on to you. You looked at him, stunned.

“Don’t look surprised. What else can I do?” You stomped your foot.

“Boba this is not fair —“

“You are not on the same level as Fennec, Din and I. The others I don’t care about. Just you.” He fixed your hair as you glared at him. Din entered the cockpit.

“What’s the new plan?”

“Fennec is returning to Tattooine with Y/N. To make sure she goes,” he added. Din shook his head, “Y/N is handy in a dog fight.”

You both could tell by Boba’s posture that Din was in trouble. He tried to back pedal, “Well I mean that was one time so I can’t possibly...“ He trailed off. Boba gripped the back of a seat sharply. The leather made squeaking noises as he continued to squeeze the life out of it with one powerful hand.

“So looks like them returning is the best plan,” Din finally said, looking from Boba’s hand to his helmet.

“Glad you agree but it really didn’t matter,” Boba grabbed you and slipped past Din. He presented you to Fennec in binders. “Take her and return to the Palace. Stay. There.” She looked from him to you. “Sure.”

***

”Lover’s quarrel?” Fennec asked on the way back.

You sighed angrily, “I wanted to be there to fight with Boba. Instead he sends me away like a child.”

She looked at you, “You know you’re the only person he would argue with about such a thing.”

“Yes.”

“And he trusts you to sit on the throne in his stead.”

“Yes,” your annoyance grew, but you couldn’t ask her to stop talking.

”Can’t you be happy with what he can give you? He is not perfect but he loves you fiercely.”

You swallowed hard, guilty.

“Why do you want to be there so badly? Pride?”

You considered. “Partially. But I also want to be there to have his back.”

She smiled. “That’s admirable and romantic, but Boba has plenty of back up.” She paused for a moment, “Which honestly he doesn’t need.”

You sighed. She was right. Were you being stupid? The two of you slipped into silence.

“So I’m just supposed to sit at home then?” You broke the silence.

“If by that you mean sit on his throne, then yeah, I guess.”

***

You and Fennec returned to the hanger without incident. She offered to take the throne room, so you wandered around the palace, thinking. You decided you had been a bit of a brat, and resolved to talk it over with Boba when he returned. You wandered outside. It was getting dark. You watched the suns set, waiting to hear from Boba and the others. The stars popped out of the night sky. Dusk was over. You stared up at the stars, wondering what was happening on Mandalore.

A droid appeared. “Madam, Ms. Shand summons you to the throne room urgently. “ You turned to it, “Why?” “She did not say, madam.” You thanked the droid and took off at a moderate speed. You arrived at the throne room to find Fennec pacing. “What’s wrong?” You had never seen her like this before. Worried.

“Oh Y/N, there you are. We got a communication from Din and some of the others. Boba and about half of Din’s loyalists have been captured.”

You stood there, unable to fully comprehend what you’d been told. Finally it sunk it. You turned to her, furious. “How did this happen?”

“He... sacrificed himself and Slave 1 to ensure Din’s escape. Din faces certain death right now on Mandalore; Boba is a political prisoner.”

“That makes me feel better.” You glared daggers at her, your fury still increasing. He had done this to himself? “I’m leaving now.”

“No; our instructions are —“

“Your instructions can be whatever you want. I’m tired of listening to people tell me to wait or stay. I’m going.” You turned on your heel, ignoring Fennec’s pleas.

[missjanjie]

Taste of a Poison Paradise | Chapter 7

Title: Taste of a Poison Paradise Summary: Life at Jackie Cox’s strip club, Poison Paradise, isn’t just lapdances and g-strings. There’s enough drama, lust, and heartache to rival any soap opera. None of the girls know what to expect on any given shift, especially while navigating their torrid, complicated relationships. Word Count: ~3k (this chapter) / ~21.2k (total) Relationship(s): Lemyanka (Lemon/Priyanka), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode), Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Jaidie (Jaida Essence Hall/Jackie Cox), BVK (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo/Kameron Michaels), Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx) Rating: E

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: Denali and Jaida collaborate, Rosé's roommate takes care of Lemon, and Jan and Nicky go to Paris.

-

Jaida glanced over her shoulder as she adjusted the lighting setup in her room. “Now, are you sure this is gonna get the reactions we want?”

“We can’t be sure about anything other than death and taxes,” Denali pointed out, “but my gut is telling me this is exactly how we kill two birds with one stone.”

Although she wasn’t completely convinced, Jaida decided to trust Denali’s judgment on this. She was the one that had been doing this for a living, after all. If she says filming a scene together could be both the final push Jackie needed to come to terms with her feelings and ignite a spark of either jealousy or passion (or both) in Rosé, she just had to trust the process, right? “Alright, let’s do this.”

“You could be a little more enthusiastic,” Denali remarked in mock offense before turning the camera on.

“Sorry,” she exhaled, “I just need to get in the zone.”

After a brief moment to hype herself up, Jaida was ready to go. She and Denali admired themselves in the mirror, at the lingerie they were both wearing, then began filming. They didn’t bother with pretenses – their viewers didn’t want a preamble or plot, they wanted two hot girls having sex, and it was something they could readily oblige with.

They started by making out, hot and heavy and full of pleasured sighs and breathy moans. They peeled the lingerie off of each other, taking time to kiss and grope the newly exposed skin, getting each other worked up until they were naked and ready.

Jaida pinned Denali’s wrists above her head with one hand and with the other, eased one finger, then another into her, thrusting and curling her fingers into her. “Good girl,” she praised, “taking me so well.”

And Denali fell into her role perfectly, which wasn’t particularly difficult when she was with someone as skilled as Jaida. She tossed her head back and moaned out, arching towards her fingers. “Fuck, feels so good,” she whimpered. Her body rocked in perfect tandem with Jaida’s fingers, and when the other woman switched to using her tongue instead, her moans only got louder and her body moved more fervently.

Jaida gripped onto her hips firmly, keeping her just steady enough to alternate between sucking on her clit and thrusting her tongue in and out of her. She could feel when Denali was about to come and doubled down on her efforts, fucking the smaller girl through her orgasm and not relenting until she was certain she was spent, then even a moment longer for a final touch of overstimulation.

They shared a few calm, chaste kisses as they recovered, then Jaida shifted so Denali could get up and turn the camera off. “I’ll edit it, should be good to go by tomorrow,” she assured with a smile. “That was great, by the way. Jackie’s in for a treat once she comes around.”

“Thanks,” she couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. “Here’s hoping.”

------

“Hey, listen,” Rosé poked her head into Mik’s room on her way out for her morning shift. “Check in on Lemon every now and then if you can. She’ll be out cold with a hangover until noon, but, you know, after that.”

Mik looked up from her phone and nodded. “Sure, gorge. It’s so refreshing to not be the messiest bitch in the house.”

Rosé rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Mik. It’s never taken her this long to bounce back from a girl, and she wasn’t even in a relationship with Priyanka.”

“Like I said.”

She sighed, knowing that her roommate had a point. “Okay, sure. Just make sure she isn’t completely shitfaced by the time I get home, she missed her last two shifts and I promised Jackie she’d show up at least mostly sober.”

“Relax, I’ll take care of her,” she assured, then waved Rosé off, waiting until she heard the front door close before laying back down. She still had a few hours before she had to be on Lemon duty.

But it didn’t take a few hours. It had only been an hour and change before Lemon wandered out of her cousin’s bedroom and, upon realizing Rosé wasn’t there, into Mik’s. “Did she go to work?”

“Did no one teach you how to knock?” Mik asked as she sat up, then added, “yeah, she left a little while ago.” She rubbed her eyes and looked the blonde over, and she looked as rough as Rosé had made it sound. “Jesus…”

Lemon rolled her eyes. “Spare me your pity,” she mumbled and flopped backward on Mik’s bed. “I’m aware of how fucked up I am.”

“Admitting it is the first step,” she shrugged, then smiled slightly when Lemon almost laughed. “You just want some company, then?”

She pushed herself up, only to shift and lay by Mik’s side. “You don’t mind? I know I’m no one's first choice to keep around these days,” she murmured.

“Oh, shut up,” Mik scoffed and shook her head. “You know everyone’s worried about you because they care about you.”

“Not everyone.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, silently figuring out what she could do to pull Lemon from this mindset. “I could offer you some distraction sex in this trying time.”

Lemon tilted her head. “Yeah? Because I’m about to take you up on that. This is the longest I’ve gone without getting any in ages.” She got up and straddled herself across Mik’s lap and pulled her shirt off. “Let’s do this.”

Mik’s brows rose at the blunt quickness of Lemon’s decision, but it didn’t deter her in the slightest. She sat up and tugged her shirt off and tossed it aside, then leaned up and kissed Lemon as her hands rested on her ass. “I’ll take care of you,” she assured before flipping their positions so the blonde was now underneath her.

“Please,” she exhaled, arching her hips up to wiggle out of her shorts and toss them aside.

“So eager,” Mik cooed as she ducked down to kiss at her neck. “Just how I like them,” she added, smirking to herself as she moved a hand down Lemon’s body, stopping between her legs and using two fingers to rub her clit.

And Lemon couldn’t have denied it if she tried. Instead, she just let out a moan and arched into her touch.

Mik smirked, moving her head between Lemon’s thighs, sucking on her clit as she eased one finger into her, letting it curl as she thrust slowly. She waited until she felt Lemon start rocking against her finger that she added another, thrusting, curling, and scissoring them inside her, feeling the way her body writhed and the sounds of her moans.

Lemon hadn’t realized just how badly she had needed this until waves of pleasure crashed over her body. Now, her only challenge was not letting her brain wander to anyone but Mik. The very last thing she wanted was for Priyanka’s name to spill past her lips while another woman was fucking her.

And Mik was oblivious to Lemon’s train of thought. Her goal was to get her off, plain and simple. So, her ministrations were steady and firm until she could feel the other girl come, fucking her through it until she was sure she was spent. “You good, princess?” she asked gently.

“Yeah,” she exhaled, laying flat on the bed. “As I’ll ever be.”

------

“Priyanka?” There was silence, followed by a more forceful “Priyanka!”

“Hm?”

“Are you on your phone right now?”

The question, and the harsh tone it was asked in, jolted Priyanka into reality. “Um… I thought it might be an emergency,” she replied, knowing her voice wasn’t as convincing as she would’ve liked it to be. But she didn’t know what she expected when she decided to check instagram while her fiancé was having sex with her and perhaps should have been more subtle.

“Come on,” he groaned, “if you’re only gonna let me hit it once a week, you could at least pretend to be into it.”

Priyanka rolled her eyes, which of course he couldn’t see, and set her phone aside. “Sorry, proceed.”

Luckily for Priyanka, a few fake moans were enough to convince Mark that she was into it, which she repeated a few more times until he came, and she went right back to scrolling through instagram while he threw the condom out.

He laid down beside her with his hands behind his head. “My mom wants to take you dress shopping. She said you can bring your maid of honor or whoever too,” he told her.

“Cool,” she replied, as if her heart hadn’t dropped into her stomach, “I’ll text Scarlett.” It made much more sense that she would pick her best friend since college to be her maid of honor as opposed to one of the girls from the club. She loved the girls, but it would just be too messy. She wasn’t sure if she was even going to invite them at all. Maybe some of them would understand, but she knew for sure all hell would break loose if Lemon was anywhere in the vicinity of the venue.

———

“Something on your mind?” Mark asked tentatively, knowing more often than not it was pointless to try to ask.

“Just… thinking about how much we have to do for the big day.” She only ever referred to it as ‘the big day’ — ‘wedding’ made her stomach churn and it was hard for her to say without gagging. But that wasn’t enough for her to call it off. She was in this too deep, how could she ever turn back now?

She couldn’t, that’s how. No amount of sickness in her stomach or pain in her heart would break her free of this. At least, that was what she would keep reminding herself.

“What do you think of the room, ma chérie?” Nicky asked as she led Jan into the hotel suite they would be staying during their weekend getaway.

Jan’s eyes widened as she looked around. It was nearly the size of her apartment back home and decorated with the elegant Parisian flair she had only seen in fashion magazines. “It’s gorgeous,” she exhaled, setting her suitcase by the bed and walking around for a better look, wandering into the bathroom. “That is the biggest tub I’ve ever seen,” she said as she came back out.

Nicky chuckled fondly as she watched her girlfriend dart around the room like a kid in a candy store. “This is the reaction I was hoping for,” she hummed, wrapping her arms around Jan when she finally stood still long enough for her to do so.

“Nicks, this is so beautiful,” she gushed, kissing her sweetly. “I know, at least financially, this is easy for you, but I still appreciate you doing it for me.”

“I would still try to do the most for you if it was difficult,” she replied with a soft smile, gently caressing Jan’s cheek. “I love you,” she added in a voice barely above a whisper.

Suddenly, the room didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Nicky and hearing those words come out of her mouth. Her heart started racing and she pulled her into a deep kiss, her hands cupping her face to hold her in place. “I love you too,” she murmured against her lips.

Nicky hadn’t even realized there was such a weight on her shoulders until it lifted with those four words. She melted into the embrace, nothing in the world could have made her happier than being there with Jan, now knowing they loved each other. “As much as I would like to show you exactly how much I love you by fucking you within an inch of your life, we have dinner reservations in an hour, and there’s a surprise for you in the closet that will be part of it.”

Jan looked at her curiously, letting go of her face and walking towards the closet, her eyes going wide when she opened it. “Oh my god, this is beautiful. And it looks like it’ll fit perfectly, which, no offense, I didn’t expect from French fashion.” Being five-foot-four and a size eight meant she was generally fine with mainstream clothing, but when it came to lingerie and ‘high fashion’ she was often, to put simply, shit out of luck.

“I had a friend alter the dress to your measurements. I know it isn’t easy to fit your triple-d breasts, as much as I enjoy them,” she hummed.

She bounced excitedly on her heels as she took the dress off the hanger and got changed. “It fits perfectly, I love it, baby,” she beamed.

Nicky smiled warmly as she got changed as well. “Then let’s go, I’ve got to broaden your palate to French cuisine. I promise I won’t make you eat any snails.”

------

Denali’s video with Jaida was burned into Rosé’s mind. She was frustrated — she had no right to be jealous if Denali wasn’t her girlfriend, but seeing another woman fuck her — a woman who knew what she was doing in bed — made her blood boil. But when Denali invited her over after work, it all clicked. She wasn’t oblivious, she could put two and two together and realize this was a ploy to get some extra attention.

“If that’s how she wants to play,” Rosé said to herself, “it’s game on.”

“Hi, Rosie,” Denali greeted cheerfully as she let her in. “How was work?”

Rosé didn’t have time for pleasantries, unceremoniously yanking Denali into her bedroom and pinning her to the door. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Getting me all worked up by letting Jaida fuck you on camera. You can act like you were just helping out a friend all you want, I know you were trying to make me jealous.”

Denali’s heart started racing and her face felt hot, but she did her best not to let her expression falter. “And what if I was?”

Her grin darkened and she tilted her chin up with two fingers. “Well then, Mommy’s just going to have to give you what you want, aren’t I?” She backed off of her, hands on her hips. “Go on, grab the strap and get undressed.”

“Yes, Mommy,” Denali breathed out, grabbing the strap-on from her drawer and setting it on the edge of the bed before stripping out of her clothes and tossing them aside.

Rosé smirked, undressing and fastening the harness around her hips, then took her sweet time rifling through another drawer. She knew where Denali kept her silk ropes, but it wouldn’t be a punishment if she didn’t drag it out to tease her. “Here we go,” she finally pulled one out and walked back to her. “Don’t give me that pout. You wanted my attention so badly and you got it,” she clicked her tongue as she tied her wrists together with her arms above her head.

And she knew she couldn’t argue with that, so she lay in place and watched as Rosé slicked up two fingers with lube, easing in one after the other, instantly arching up into the contact.

The taller woman allowed it, thrusting and curling her fingers into her until she deemed her ready, then eased her fingers up and lubed up the dildo, gently guiding it into her and giving her time to adjust before she started to thrust. And she knew she didn’t need to stay gentle for long — that Denali preferred it rough and could take her fair share of manhandling. So, she started thrusting hard and fast, keeping a bruising grip on her waist.

Denali whimpered and moaned, her hips bucking up as she eagerly begged for more. She kept up with Rosé’s fervent pace, though her hips started to jerk more erratically when Rosé began rubbing her clit as well.

“You gonna come, baby?” she cooed. “Go on, come for Mommy,” she prompted, then continued to thrust through her orgasm. She waited until Denali laid flat and spent on the bed, but didn’t move. When the woman underneath her looked up inquisitively, the smirk returned to her lips. “You didn’t think I was done, did you?” And after a beat of silence where Denali realized what she was in for, Rosé began thrusting again.

The cycle repeated longer than Denali could’ve anticipated. After the third orgasm, she started to feel lightheaded, after the fifth, she could barely keep her eyes open, let alone focused on anything.

And mercifully, when Rosé realized she was about to tap out, she stopped, pulling out of her and untying her wrists. She tossed the rope aside and shimmied out of the harness. “There we go, you were so good, baby,” she praised as she got the two of them under the covers. “How are you feeling?”

“‘M good,” Denali mumbled, cuddling up to Rosé and nuzzling her head into the crook of her neck. She didn’t have the energy to stop and think, to overanalyze her actions and stop herself from crossing the line between friends-with-benefits and… something more. That didn’t matter. What mattered was Rosé being soft and warm and very attentive when it came to aftercare.

“Do you need anything?” she asked gently. “Water? Something to eat? Advil?” As comfortable as she was in bed with her, she would’ve gotten up at the drop of a hat if need be.

But Denali shook her head. “I’m fine, Rosie,” she assured in a soft, sleepy voice. “Just don’t move, I need you to be my body pillow.”

“Go ahead, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” Rosé promised. They laid in comfortable silence, though it left her alone with her thoughts. She started to analyze her feelings when she saw the video, the possessiveness for someone she had no claim to. Even though they were both single, she had the wherewithal to realize this could go down a similar path to Lemon and Priyanka’s if she wasn’t careful. “Hey, Denali, I—”

Oh. She was asleep.

“Maybe next time,” Rosé murmured to herself.

[artificialqueens]

Taste of a Poison Paradise, Chapter 7 (Multi) - Joley

Chapter Summary: Denali and Jaida collaborate, Rosé’s roommate takes care of Lemon, and Jan and Nicky go to Paris.

ao3 link

Jaida glanced over her shoulder as she adjusted the lighting setup in her room. “Now, are you sure this is gonna get the reactions we want?”

“We can’t be sure about anything other than death and taxes,” Denali pointed out, “but my gut is telling me this is exactly how we kill two birds with one stone.”

Although she wasn’t completely convinced, Jaida decided to trust Denali’s judgment on this. She was the one that had been doing this for a living, after all. If she says filming a scene together could be both the final push Jackie needed to come to terms with her feelings and ignite a spark of either jealousy or passion (or both) in Rosé, she just had to trust the process, right? “Alright, let’s do this.”

“You could be a little more enthusiastic,” Denali remarked in mock offense before turning the camera on.

“Sorry,” she exhaled, “I just need to get in the zone.”

After a brief moment to hype herself up, Jaida was ready to go. She and Denali admired themselves in the mirror, at the lingerie they were both wearing, then began filming. They didn’t bother with pretenses – their viewers didn’t want a preamble or plot, they wanted two hot girls having sex, and it was something they could readily oblige with.

They started by making out, hot and heavy and full of pleasured sighs and breathy moans. They peeled the lingerie off of each other, taking time to kiss and grope the newly exposed skin, getting each other worked up until they were naked and ready.

Jaida pinned Denali’s wrists above her head with one hand and with the other, eased one finger, then another into her, thrusting and curling her fingers into her. “Good girl,” she praised, “taking me so well.”

And Denali fell into her role perfectly, which wasn’t particularly difficult when she was with someone as skilled as Jaida. She tossed her head back and moaned out, arching towards her fingers. “Fuck, feels so good,” she whimpered. Her body rocked in perfect tandem with Jaida’s fingers, and when the other woman switched to using her tongue instead, her moans only got louder and her body moved more fervently.

Jaida gripped onto her hips firmly, keeping her just steady enough to alternate between sucking on her clit and thrusting her tongue in and out of her. She could feel when Denali was about to come and doubled down on her efforts, fucking the smaller girl through her orgasm and not relenting until she was certain she was spent, then even a moment longer for a final touch of overstimulation.

They shared a few calm, chaste kisses as they recovered, then Jaida shifted so Denali could get up and turn the camera off. “I’ll edit it, should be good to go by tomorrow,” she assured with a smile. “That was great, by the way. Jackie’s in for a treat once she comes around.”

“Thanks,” she couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. “Here’s hoping.”

——

“Hey, listen,” Rosé poked her head into Mik’s room on her way out for her morning shift. “Check in on Lemon every now and then if you can. She’ll be out cold with a hangover until noon, but, you know, after that.”

Mik looked up from her phone and nodded. “Sure, gorge. It’s so refreshing to not be the messiest bitch in the house.”

Rosé rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Mik. It’s never taken her this long to bounce back from a girl, and she wasn’t even in a relationship with Priyanka.”

“Like I said.”

She sighed, knowing that her roommate had a point. “Okay, sure. Just make sure she isn’t completely shitfaced by the time I get home, she missed her last two shifts and I promised Jackie she’d show up at least mostly sober.”

“Relax, I’ll take care of her,” she assured, then waved Rosé off, waiting until she heard the front door close before laying back down. She still had a few hours before she had to be on Lemon duty.

But it didn’t take a few hours. It had only been an hour and change before Lemon wandered out of her cousin’s bedroom and, upon realizing Rosé wasn’t there, into Mik’s. “Did she go to work?”

“Did no one teach you how to knock?” Mik asked as she sat up, then added, “yeah, she left a little while ago.” She rubbed her eyes and looked the blonde over, and she looked as rough as Rosé had made it sound. “Jesus…”

Lemon rolled her eyes. “Spare me your pity,” she mumbled and flopped backward on Mik’s bed. “I’m aware of how fucked up I am.”

“Admitting it is the first step,” she shrugged, then smiled slightly when Lemon almost laughed. “You just want some company, then?”

She pushed herself up, only to shift and lay by Mik’s side. “You don’t mind? I know I’m no one’s first choice to keep around these days,” she murmured.

“Oh, shut up,” Mik scoffed and shook her head. “You know everyone’s worried about you because they care about you.”

“Not everyone.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, silently figuring out what she could do to pull Lemon from this mindset. “I could offer you some distraction sex in this trying time.”

Lemon tilted her head. “Yeah? Because I’m about to take you up on that. This is the longest I’ve gone without getting any in ages.” She got up and straddled herself across Mik’s lap and pulled her shirt off. “Let’s do this.”

Mik’s brows rose at the blunt quickness of Lemon’s decision, but it didn’t deter her in the slightest. She sat up and tugged her shirt off and tossed it aside, then leaned up and kissed Lemon as her hands rested on her ass. “I’ll take care of you,” she assured before flipping their positions so the blonde was now underneath her.

“Please,” she exhaled, arching her hips up to wiggle out of her shorts and toss them aside.

“So eager,” Mik cooed as she ducked down to kiss at her neck. “Just how I like them,” she added, smirking to herself as she moved a hand down Lemon’s body, stopping between her legs and using two fingers to rub her clit.

And Lemon couldn’t have denied it if she tried. Instead, she just let out a moan and arched into her touch.

Mik smirked, moving her head between Lemon’s thighs, sucking on her clit as she eased one finger into her, letting it curl as she thrust slowly. She waited until she felt Lemon start rocking against her finger that she added another, thrusting, curling, and scissoring them inside her, feeling the way her body writhed and the sounds of her moans.

Lemon hadn’t realized just how badly she had needed this until waves of pleasure crashed over her body. Now, her only challenge was not letting her brain wander to anyone but Mik. The very last thing she wanted was for Priyanka’s name to spill past her lips while another woman was fucking her.

And Mik was oblivious to Lemon’s train of thought. Her goal was to get her off, plain and simple. So, her ministrations were steady and firm until she could feel the other girl come, fucking her through it until she was sure she was spent. “You good, princess?” she asked gently.

“Yeah,” she exhaled, laying flat on the bed. “As I’ll ever be.”

——

“Priyanka?” There was silence, followed by a more forceful “Priyanka!”

“Hm?”

“Are you on your phone right now?”

The question, and the harsh tone it was asked in, jolted Priyanka into reality. “Um… I thought it might be an emergency,” she replied, knowing her voice wasn’t as convincing as she would’ve liked it to be. But she didn’t know what she expected when she decided to check instagram while her fiancé was having sex with her and perhaps should have been more subtle.

“Come on,” he groaned, “if you’re only gonna let me hit it once a week, you could at least pretend to be into it.”

Priyanka rolled her eyes, which of course he couldn’t see, and set her phone aside. “Sorry, proceed.”

Luckily for Priyanka, a few fake moans were enough to convince Mark that she was into it, which she repeated a few more times until he came, and she went right back to scrolling through instagram while he threw the condom out.

He laid down beside her with his hands behind his head. “My mom wants to take you dress shopping. She said you can bring your maid of honor or whoever too,” he told her.

“Cool,” she replied, as if her heart hadn’t dropped into her stomach, “I’ll text Scarlett.” It made much more sense that she would pick her best friend since college to be her maid of honor as opposed to one of the girls from the club. She loved the girls, but it would just be too messy. She wasn’t sure if she was even going to invite them at all. Maybe some of them would understand, but she knew for sure all hell would break loose if Lemon was anywhere in the vicinity of the venue.

———

“Something on your mind?” Mark asked tentatively, knowing more often than not it was pointless to try to ask.

“Just… thinking about how much we have to do for the big day.” She only ever referred to it as ‘the big day’ — ‘wedding’ made her stomach churn and it was hard for her to say without gagging. But that wasn’t enough for her to call it off. She was in this too deep, how could she ever turn back now?

She couldn’t, that’s how. No amount of sickness in her stomach or pain in her heart would break her free of this. At least, that was what she would keep reminding herself.

“What do you think of the room, ma chérie?” Nicky asked as she led Jan into the hotel suite they would be staying during their weekend getaway.

Jan’s eyes widened as she looked around. It was nearly the size of her apartment back home and decorated with the elegant Parisian flair she had only seen in fashion magazines. “It’s gorgeous,” she exhaled, setting her suitcase by the bed and walking around for a better look, wandering into the bathroom. “That is the biggest tub I’ve ever seen,” she said as she came back out.

Nicky chuckled fondly as she watched her girlfriend dart around the room like a kid in a candy store. “This is the reaction I was hoping for,” she hummed, wrapping her arms around Jan when she finally stood still long enough for her to do so.

“Nicks, this is so beautiful,” she gushed, kissing her sweetly. “I know, at least financially, this is easy for you, but I still appreciate you doing it for me.”

“I would still try to do the most for you if it was difficult,” she replied with a soft smile, gently caressing Jan’s cheek. “I love you,” she added in a voice barely above a whisper.

Suddenly, the room didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Nicky and hearing those words come out of her mouth. Her heart started racing and she pulled her into a deep kiss, her hands cupping her face to hold her in place. “I love you too,” she murmured against her lips.

Nicky hadn’t even realized there was such a weight on her shoulders until it lifted with those four words. She melted into the embrace, nothing in the world could have made her happier than being there with Jan, now knowing they loved each other. “As much as I would like to show you exactly how much I love you by fucking you within an inch of your life, we have dinner reservations in an hour, and there’s a surprise for you in the closet that will be part of it.”

Jan looked at her curiously, letting go of her face and walking towards the closet, her eyes going wide when she opened it. “Oh my god, this is beautiful. And it looks like it’ll fit perfectly, which, no offense, I didn’t expect from French fashion.” Being five-foot-four and a size eight meant she was generally fine with mainstream clothing, but when it came to lingerie and ‘high fashion’ she was often, to put simply, shit out of luck.

“I had a friend alter the dress to your measurements. I know it isn’t easy to fit your triple-d breasts, as much as I enjoy them,” she hummed.

She bounced excitedly on her heels as she took the dress off the hanger and got changed. “It fits perfectly, I love it, baby,” she beamed.

Nicky smiled warmly as she got changed as well. “Then let’s go, I’ve got to broaden your palate to French cuisine. I promise I won’t make you eat any snails.”

——

Denali’s video with Jaida was burned into Rosé’s mind. She was frustrated — she had no right to be jealous if Denali wasn’t her girlfriend, but seeing another woman fuck her — a woman who knew what she was doing in bed — made her blood boil. But when Denali invited her over after work, it all clicked. She wasn’t oblivious, she could put two and two together and realize this was a ploy to get some extra attention.

“If that’s how she wants to play,” Rosé said to herself, “it’s game on.”

“Hi, Rosie,” Denali greeted cheerfully as she let her in. “How was work?”

Rosé didn’t have time for pleasantries, unceremoniously yanking Denali into her bedroom and pinning her to the door. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Getting me all worked up by letting Jaida fuck you on camera. You can act like you were just helping out a friend all you want, I know you were trying to make me jealous.”

Denali’s heart started racing and her face felt hot, but she did her best not to let her expression falter. “And what if I was?”

Her grin darkened and she tilted her chin up with two fingers. “Well then, Mommy’s just going to have to give you what you want, aren’t I?” She backed off of her, hands on her hips. “Go on, grab the strap and get undressed.”

“Yes, Mommy,” Denali breathed out, grabbing the strap-on from her drawer and setting it on the edge of the bed before stripping out of her clothes and tossing them aside.

Rosé smirked, undressing and fastening the harness around her hips, then took her sweet time rifling through another drawer. She knew where Denali kept her silk ropes, but it wouldn’t be a punishment if she didn’t drag it out to tease her. “Here we go,” she finally pulled one out and walked back to her. “Don’t give me that pout. You wanted my attention so badly and you got it,” she clicked her tongue as she tied her wrists together with her arms above her head.

And she knew she couldn’t argue with that, so she lay in place and watched as Rosé slicked up two fingers with lube, easing in one after the other, instantly arching up into the contact.

The taller woman allowed it, thrusting and curling her fingers into her until she deemed her ready, then eased her fingers up and lubed up the dildo, gently guiding it into her and giving her time to adjust before she started to thrust. And she knew she didn’t need to stay gentle for long — that Denali preferred it rough and could take her fair share of manhandling. So, she started thrusting hard and fast, keeping a bruising grip on her waist.

Denali whimpered and moaned, her hips bucking up as she eagerly begged for more. She kept up with Rosé’s fervent pace, though her hips started to jerk more erratically when Rosé began rubbing her clit as well.

“You gonna come, baby?” she cooed. “Go on, come for Mommy,” she prompted, then continued to thrust through her orgasm. She waited until Denali laid flat and spent on the bed, but didn’t move. When the woman underneath her looked up inquisitively, the smirk returned to her lips. “You didn’t think I was done, did you?” And after a beat of silence where Denali realized what she was in for, Rosé began thrusting again.

The cycle repeated longer than Denali could’ve anticipated. After the third orgasm, she started to feel lightheaded, after the fifth, she could barely keep her eyes open, let alone focused on anything.

And mercifully, when Rosé realized she was about to tap out, she stopped, pulling out of her and untying her wrists. She tossed the rope aside and shimmied out of the harness. “There we go, you were so good, baby,” she praised as she got the two of them under the covers. “How are you feeling?”

“‘M good,” Denali mumbled, cuddling up to Rosé and nuzzling her head into the crook of her neck. She didn’t have the energy to stop and think, to overanalyze her actions and stop herself from crossing the line between friends-with-benefits and… something more. That didn’t matter. What mattered was Rosé being soft and warm and very attentive when it came to aftercare.

“Do you need anything?” she asked gently. “Water? Something to eat? Advil?” As comfortable as she was in bed with her, she would’ve gotten up at the drop of a hat if need be.

But Denali shook her head. “I’m fine, Rosie,” she assured in a soft, sleepy voice. “Just don’t move, I need you to be my body pillow.”

“Go ahead, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” Rosé promised. They laid in comfortable silence, though it left her alone with her thoughts. She started to analyze her feelings when she saw the video, the possessiveness for someone she had no claim to. Even though they were both single, she had the wherewithal to realize this could go down a similar path to Lemon and Priyanka’s if she wasn’t careful. “Hey, Denali, I—”

Oh. She was asleep.

“Maybe next time,” Rosé murmured to herself.