#i followed this fic from its first chapter to the last and it gave me something to look forward to every other saturday i hold it very dear

[cintipede]

Martin Blackwood's terrible, no good, very bad 19th november (iteration #67)

fanart based on @formiana 's time loop fic! go check it out its incredible

[paimonial-rage]

My favorite works in no particular order:

Tipsy Tales (Anemo Boys)

Symbiosis (Ayato)

What Destiny Has Brought (Fischl)

Hello How Are You (Gorou)

Follow the Wind II (Kazuha)

Of the Same Coin (Mika)

Songs of the Wind (Venti)

Nothing Lasts Forever (Yae Miko)

Sharing a Drink They Call Loneliness (Zhongli)

Of Hopes and Prayers (Zhongli)

[milfsloverblog]

Secret Benefits (NSFW)

Part 3 (previous part here)

Sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x Fem!Reader

A/N: Listen, you guys know me, I just had to include some angst in this. So, tiny bit of angst in this chapter, and these two idiots are still convinced that the other one doesn’t want them. OH!! You can see edits I made of Larissa’s outfit in this chapter here. Thank you for the enthusiasm you all show for this fic. Enjoy! <3

You were putting your shoes on when your phone buzzed with an incoming text from Larissa.

I’m here. Xx

She was right on time, of course she was.

You had arranged that she would pick you up from your place at 3, and you would spend the afternoon getting spoiled by her.

You took a last look in the mirror, wondering if you should have opted for a lighter lipstick, not that you had enough time to change it anyway.

Larissa had told you to wear something comfortable, but not too comfortable. “A blouse and some black pants will do just right,” she’d said, and you had sent her a picture of the few blouses you owned, letting her pick the one she wanted you to wear.

Your jaw dropped when you stepped out of your flat and caught Larissa standing by her car, slightly leaning on it. She wore a suit this time, a deep burgundy suit that perfectly matched her lipstick, with a white shirt underneath. Her hair had been let down from its usual intricate updo, her silver curls falling on her shoulders and framing her soft, pale face. She was a vision, truly, and it made you stop functioning for a moment.

“Hello, darling.” Larissa flashed you a smile when you finally reached her.

“Hi, Larissa.” You smiled back, getting on your tiptoe to place a kiss on her cheek, feeling one of her hands on your waist as you did so.

She wore flats this time, and you found that she wasn’t that tall without her heels. She was still tall, sure, but it was perfect. She was the perfect height. She was perfect.

“Hop inside, sweetling,” she said as she pulled the car door open for you, letting you get inside.

The ride wasn’t too long, it was spent with her hand on your thigh as you told her about your week and how you nearly had an argument with your coworker when you’d asked to take the day off, making Larissa chuckle a little.

-

“You said you’ve never been to a place like this, right?” Larissa asked as she pushed the door to the shop open and followed you inside.

“Yeah, it definitely is a first.” You nodded, looking around at the mannequins.

A small brunette quickly made her way over to the both of you, flashing Larissa a wide smile.

“Miss Weems,” she said. “I hope you’re doing well. Would you require some help with your shopping today?”

Larissa looked down at you before looking back at the assistant.

“Thank you, Clarice, but it won’t be necessary. I will let you know if we ever need some assistance.” Larissa smiled and the brunette nodded before going back to where she had appeared from.

“Come,” Larissa said, leading you through the shop. “I was thinking, since this is your first time, that I will let you choose the sets you’d like to try on. I will, however, still pick a couple of things I’d like to see you wearing.”

You gave a nod, happy at the prospect that you’d have some free rein while still being under Larissa’s control.

She walked with you around the shop, giving you advice on which fabric was the softest, which lingerie would be better suited to wear for a whole day and which one would be better for special occasions.

It was almost hypnotising, listening to her talking so passionately about colours and fabric, watching her fingertips brushing the different sets as she spoke.

Larissa chose three pieces for you to try on. A white lace body and a sage bra and panties set. You personally picked a burgundy set, something that matched her outfit, and a royal blue one.

The woman showed you the way to the changing room, helping you carry the pieces you were to try on.

“Let me know what you think of them, will you?” She asked.

You nodded and smiled before closing the curtain and taking a deep breath.

Right, you thought, time to try on some lingerie while the hottest woman alive is waiting right outside.

You took your time undressing and trying on the first set, the blue one. It looked nice, but it wasn’t what you had expected when choosing it.

“I tried the blue set on,” you told Larissa. “It’s beautiful, but not on me.”

Larissa’s eyebrows knitted. Not beautiful on you, what did that even mean? If only she could see you, see what you meant by “not on me”. But alas…

A couple of minutes went by without another word from you until you let out a frustrated groan.

“Larissa?” You called, getting a soft hum in answer. “I can’t close the button at the back all by myself, could you maybe…”

Larissa straightened her shoulders before pushing the curtain aside, just enough to slip herself inside the changing room.

You were trying on the white body she had picked for you, your hands desperately reaching back to close the button.

“Let me,” she said gently, her fingers brushing against the skin of your back as she buttoned the body shut.

Larissa took a step back once it was done, watching as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You felt a little unconscious as you spun on your heels to show her the result. She had picked this model, after all, you thought she’d like to see what it looked like on you.

The tall woman’s breath hitched as she watched you turn around. She had picked the perfect model for you.

“May I?” She asked, lifting her hand and reaching out when you nodded your approval.

“Here,” Larissa said, gently pulling on the lace that covered your left breast and making sure it lay flat against your skin.

Your eyes never left her face as she did so, not even when her fingers brushed against the swell of your left breast and made you shiver.

She looked beautiful, she looked passionate, but there was something else there too, hidden deep inside her blue eyes. Something more primal, something the lion felt when the antelope stepped too close to it.

“Beautiful,” Larissa whispered under her breath. “It’s a beautiful piece, I suggest you get this one. But the choice is all yours today, enjoy it while it lasts.” She winked and took a last up-and-down look at you before stepping out of the changing room.

Another moment went by where you let Larissa know that the sage set, as pretty as it was, simply wasn’t your colour.

You tried the burgundy set last, smiling as you looked at your reflection. It looked great on you, and the thought of wearing underwear that matched Larissa’s outfit was arousing in more ways than one.

You took a deep breath and brushed your fingertips on your breasts, closing your eyes as you imagined them to be someone else’s fingers.

Larissa walked back and forth in front of the closed curtain while you changed back into your clothes. She had managed to steady her heartbeat, taking a couple more deep breaths to fully relax herself.

She was about to take another step when she noticed that the curtain wasn’t properly closed. She didn’t think twice as she reached up and grabbed a handful of the velvety fabric to close it, only to unintentionally catch a glimpse of you inside the changing room.

If Larissa’s heartbeat had successfully steadied previously, it felt like it had completely stopped as her eyes landed on you. It only took less than a second for her brain to register what you were doing with one of your hands splayed on the wall while the other one busied itself between your legs.

Larissa held her breath, her mouth falling slightly open as she watched you. This was better than anything she had imagined when touching herself and thinking of you. She watched for what seemed to be hours, her eyes never leaving your face, wishing to memorise every single one of your expressions.

She wanted to see you climax, she craved to know the face you’d make as you’d reach your peak, if your knees would buckle and if you’d keep touching yourself to overstimulation.

Larissa, the little voice tugged at the back of her mind. Larissa, you shouldn’t. Larissa… Larissa!

The tall woman jumped and quickly shut the heavy curtain, her knuckles turning white as she kept tightly holding onto the fabric.

Larissa closed her eyes, her head hanging low as she let go of the curtain. She hated it. Not the fact that she had caught you masturbating, no. She hated the nagging feeling in her chest, one that she knew all too well.

She remembered feeling that nagging thing for the first time as a teenager when Morticia had started getting closer to Gomez and more distant from her.

That nagging feeling had grown and grown and grown until it had seeped through the cracks of Larissa’s heart and filled her whole body.

She hadn’t been able to properly control her shapeshifting abilities back then, and so she had woken up one day with her skin tinted a deep grassy green. She had hidden in her room for a couple of days, spending hours scrubbing at her skin in the shower only to burst into tears of frustration when nothing helped.

There was nothing she could do about it, Larissa had literally turned green with jealousy.

And she felt it again, as she took a step back from the changing room, that awful nagging pull in her heart.

She was buying you lingerie, beautiful silk and lace that you would wear for someone else. For the person you were thinking about right then with your hand between your legs, the one who would get to peel those expensive pieces off your body.

And it made Larissa sick with envy. She was sure that hadn’t she been able to control herself, she would have turned green again.

If she only had watched you for a moment longer, Larissa would have caught her name slipping from your mouth barely audibly as your thighs clenched around your hand, a strong orgasm washing over you.

It took you a few minutes to fully get down from your high, your cheeks burning in embarrassment as you realised what you had done. Anyone could have caught you. A shop assistant, a customer, Larissa. That last thought made you shiver, you would have died on the spot if the older woman had caught you masturbating.

You quickly got dressed and picked two sets from the ones you had tried on, the burgundy one that matched Larissa’s suit and the white one she seemed to have loved on you.

“Larissa,” you said as you walked out of the changing room carrying the lingerie.

The woman looked up and you could immediately tell that something had happened. She did push a smile, but it wasn’t quite right, it didn’t reach her eyes like it usually did.

“Did you make your choice, darling?” She asked, looking at the pieces in your hands.

“Yes, yes. I like these the most.” You raised your right hand to show her the ones you’d want to keep, earning a nod from the older woman.

“Larissa, is everything alright? You seem a bit-“ your question was interrupted by the same shop assistant from earlier asking you if you had found anything to your liking. You showed her the sets you’d like to keep and handed them to her so she could take them to the till.

Larissa’s hand fell on the small of your back and she guided you to follow the shop assistant. She was quiet, awfully quiet as she pulled her Visa card from her handbag and paid for your items. And still awfully quiet as you both walked out of the shop and back towards her car.

She took the bag from your hand and placed it in the trunk of her car before opening the passenger door for you, only closing it once you were comfortably seated.

You didn’t know what it was exactly, but you could feel the bad energy oozing from Larissa as she sat down by your side. Something had happened, that much was clear, and you feared it was somehow your fault.

A few minutes passed where both of you remained silent, Larissa’s eyes never leaving the road. She stopped at a traffic light and your gaze fell on her hand holding the gear lever, noticing the death grip that she had on it.

“Larissa,” you whispered, your fingers gently wrapping around hers on the lever. The small gesture seemed to be enough to snap the woman out of her trance, her head turning so she could look at you.

“I’m sorry, darling. I’ve lost myself in my thoughts again.” She pushed a small smile, one that looked more sincere than the previous one. “Did you have fun today?”

“I did, I enjoyed every second of it,” you said sincerely, your thumb gently brushing her fingers. “And I don’t want it to end now.” You admitted.

Larissa looked at you for a moment, her sapphire eyes boring into yours.

Is that really all there is to it? She wanted to ask. Are you just company to me and am I just easy money to you?

“We’ll have dinner,” she said, looking back to the road when the light turned green.

“Dinner sounds perfect. Where are you taking me?”

“The Paragon.” She answered without thinking twice.

You noticed the quick look she gave to your outfit, making you shuffle in your seat.

“If my outfit isn’t appropriate for the place you’re taking me to, we could drop by my house and I’ll wear the dress you bought for our first date.”

Date, the word echoed through Larissa’s mind.

“Get in the backseat,” Larissa said, a little authoritatively almost like a teacher would.

“Sorry?” You shook your head, watching as she parked the car.

“Get in the backseat, there’s a shopping bag. Something I bought for you a few days ago and wanted to make you wear on our next…rendezvous.” She explained.

You gave a quick nod and stepped out of the car to quickly get in the backseat.

“Vivienne Westwood?” You raised an eyebrow. Even someone who didn’t know much about fashion would know about Vivienne Westwood.

“Yes, she used to be one of my favourites when I was younger,” Larissa said, turning the engine back on to drive away. “But I’ve become more reasonable now.”

You opened the bag and pulled out the piece of clothing, a long black dress with long sleeves and white patterns.

“It should fit with your flats.” She said, looking at you in the rear-view mirror.

“I absolutely love it, thank you, Larissa.” You smiled and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, earning yourself a smile from the woman.

“Get changed,” she said. “We’ll be at the restaurant in about twenty minutes.”

“Here?” You frowned.

“Well, yes, here.” Larissa chuckled as if it was the most evident thing ever. “The windows are tinted, no one can see you from the outside.”

But you can, you thought.

“I won’t look.” She added as if she could read your mind.

You stayed still for a moment but eventually gave a nod before starting to unbutton your blouse.

Larissa kept her eyes on the road as much as she possibly could, her knuckles once again turning white as she gripped the steering wheel. She could see you peeling off your clothes in the rear-view mirror from the corner of her eyes. She had to refrain from stealing a few glances, biting onto the inside of her cheeks to keep herself focused.

“Your underwear too,” Larissa said, a little too strictly which made you jump.

“I thought you weren’t looking!”

“And I’m not. But the bag is in the trunk, so I know you haven’t changed that. Pull on the middle seat and reach for the bag. I want you to wear the burgundy one.”

“Oh, wanting to match?” You teased a little, pulling on the middle seat once you had gotten rid of your bra and panties.

Larissa allowed herself one glance then, only one. She was greeted by the expanse of your naked back flexing as your arm reached inside the trunk for the shopping bag.

Her eyes snapped back to the road when you straightened up, but not before she could catch a glimpse of your side boob, her tongue instinctively darting out to wet her lips.

“You can look now,” you said once you had put the lingerie on. It wasn’t anything that Larissa hadn’t already seen.

Larissa waited a short moment before looking in the mirror, not wanting to appear too eager to watch you.

You put the dress on, muttering under your breath as you struggled with the zipper for a moment, making Larissa chuckle softly.

“We’ve arrived,” she said, parking the car in front of the restaurant just as you managed to zip the dress up.

Larissa stepped out of the car and opened the back door, offering you her hand to help you out of the car which you gladly took.

“You look beautiful,” she said, looking you up and down. “It suits you. I thought it might be a bit too long, but it’s perfect.”

“You look beautiful too,” You said, squeezing Larissa’s hand.

The older woman looked taken aback by the compliment, so much so that it made you wonder if it was a rare occurrence for her.

“You do!” You reassured her, grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you for the dress and the lingerie. I’ll wear it thinking of you.”

Larissa's body moved automatically, her hand cupping your cheek as she stepped forward, trapping you between the car and herself.

I’ll wear it thinking of you, your voice sounded in her head. Do you have any idea what you do to me, she wanted to ask. Do you have any idea what you do to me?

“Larissa,” you whispered, taking hold of the hand that was cupping your cheek and kissing its palm, successfully snapping your companion out of her thoughts. The heat emanating from her body mixed with her perfume was unbearable, you needed her to step away before you did something you would regret.

“I’m sorry, sweetling,” she said, taking a step back and pulling her hand away from you.

Your chest was heaving up and down, Larissa noticed. Had she scared you? She hoped she hadn’t. She needed to get a grip on herself and control those…urges.

She doesn’t want you, told the little voice at the back of her mind. Stick that in your brain, Larissa. She doesn’t want you like that.

And she tried, Larissa really tried to get that into her brain. But as you walked inside the restaurant together and you slipped your hand in hers, letting your fingers interlace, she couldn’t help but wonder - what if?

————————————————————————

Taglist: @raspburrythief @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @larissaoftarthweems @principal-weems09 @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant @geekyarmorel @h-doodles @azu-zu @barbarasstar @witchesmortuary @vigelvictoria @m1lflov3rrr @dumbasslesbi @crow-raven-crow @fridays-coven @lilfartbox1 @shawncantwrite @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens0girl @aemilia19 @the-bagel24 @lvinhs @thefutureisus2020 @gela123 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rando-mango @wheresmyboo @my-silver-spring @hillary-nicks @ablsk @natasha29romanoff @tallvampirelady12 @canyoufeelmyheartsayinghi @moonyboyjay @i-love-nerdy-stuff @1-800-milfdilf @musicallovinggal @scarlettssub @jasperobsidian-blog @i-write-sometimes-maybe @brienne-the-brave @slytherinthepms @non-binary-frogking @wife-of-gwendolinechristie @anjo-iludidoefudido @imnotafruitt @opheliauniverse

[shesmyboot]

Baby Severide - Chapter 9: Date Night

*Gif belongs to its rightful owner, it is not mine*

Pairing: Kelly Severide x reader

Summary: You and Kelly go on your first date night after becoming parents

Words: 1569

Warnings: implied smut, doctors, mentions of sex, mention of siblings, hockey

Read on Ao3 here

Notes: So remember how I said chapter 8 was the last of Baby Severide? Well I lied because I love this fic so so so much. Thank you for your support and join the Taglist to be notified when any of my new fics are published!

Join my taglist here

Tags: @district447 @mrspeacem1nusone @tringeorge @storiesofsvu @cfdhouse51 @skullcupcakes @whatismypurpos @carnationworld @youraveragedorkysimp @treehouse-mouse @witchywinchester99 @keabbs @marvelcharactersxreader @pensfan5871 @dhighsstuff

——

"So I'm cleared?" You asked, sitting up on the table.

"Yes Mrs Severide, you may now return to full workouts, sexual activity and carrying more than 20 pounds. Take it slow, if anything is painful or feels out of the ordinary, please give us a call," Dr Calhoun replied, "how does that make you feel? Mentally?"

"Honestly, a little nervous."

"Why?"

"What if something happens?"

"From everything that I have checked, there is no need for concern. If something happens, we're only a call away. If its after hours, head to Med and have them page me. If there's something wrong, and I don’t think there is, but if something happens, we will take care of it. There's no need to worry."

"Okay. So I'm really good to go?"

"Absolutely. My last word of advice because I've been doing this for a while and I now have two of my own, use a good lube or try it in the shower for the first few times. It makes all the difference."

You chuckled, "Thank you Doctor Calhoun, for eveything."

"If you ever decide to have more children or need a GYN, give me a call."

Dr Calhoun left the room and you collected yourself and Alexis to leave your final OB appointment for the foreseeable future. 

After arriving back at your car, you placed Alexis' carseat in the base and called Kelly. 

"Hey, how'd it go?" Kelly eagerly answered your call.

"Good, all cleared and good to go. You home from shift yet?"

"Just leaving 51. Meet you at home?”

"Sounds good, see you soon. Love you."

"Love you too."

—

“Kelly, you here?" You heard rustling in the bedroom.

“Yeah, hold on.”

The rustling continued.

“What are you doing?” You laughed.

“Found it,” he exited your bedroom holding a box. 

He followed you to the couch, a now sleeping baby nestled in the crook of your arm. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Katie sent us some stuff from New York for Alexis.”

“Katie working today? We should FaceTime her to open it.”

“How long has Alexis been asleep?” 

“Almost an hour. I fed her before my appointment and she slept the whole time.”

“How lucky are we that she’s a damn good sleeper?”

“So lucky.”

He looked at the unopened USPS box on the coffee table.

“So calling Katie?”

“Let’s do it, I’ll see if Alexis wakes up when I pick her up.”

You picked Alexis up as Kelly started the FaceTime call to his sister. Alexis awoke, but was her usual calm self as soon as she opened her eyes.

“Hi Alexis!!” Katie smiled as she answered the FaceTime call.

You took Alexis’ arm in your hand and gave Katie a little wave.

“We wanted to wait to open the package until we were with you, but I guess FaceTime will have to do,” Kelly laughed.

“Actually, let’s wait to do it until I’m there.”

“How long will that be?”

“About 30 seconds,” she giggled, knocking on your apartment door.

Kelly practically ran to open the door and hug her.

“How long has it been?” He chuckled.

“Too long,” she smiled, hugging him back.

You invited Katie in and spent the rest of the day hanging out and catching up, before finally opening the package. It was filled with NYC and Manhattan-related gifts along with a white envelope on the bottom. 

“What’s in there?” You asked, curiously.

“Open it,” she smiled.

“Tickets to the Blackhawks game?” Kelly was giddy, he was so excited.

“They’re for tonight, I’ll babysit. You guys have fun,” Katie grinned.

“Katie, I- I- I don’t know what to say,” you started to tear up.

“Don’t say anything, I’m happy to do it. I’m gonna go check into my hotel and I’ll be back in time for you guys to get to the game.”

—

“Kelly are you ready?” You called into the bedroom while bopping Alexis.

“Yup, I’ll be right there.”

He walked out of the bedroom with his Blackhawks jersey in hand, wearing one of those undershirts you couldn’t help but fall in love with.

“You gonna carry that at the game too?” You giggled.

“Don’t want Alexis to spit up on it. Put it on when we leave,” he laughed, taking your daughter from your arms.

“Katie will be here in like 30 minutes. I gotta curl my hair and do my makeup and get changed.”

“Already found something for you to wear,” he smirked, “it’s on the bed.”

You walked in to the bedroom to find your Jonathan Toews jersey and your favourite pair of jeans on the bed.

"How did you know?" you laughed. 

"What can I say? I know you well, babe."

You changed quickly and fixed up your curls.

"Katie's here," Kelly called.

"Be right there."

Quickly, you threw on some mascara and lip gloss before going to the living room.

"You look good babe," Kelly smiled, handing Alexis off to Katie. 

You leaned over and kissed him, feeling a little more like you wanted to stay in rather than go out. 

"There's, uh, breast milk in the fridge, her schedule is on the counter. Um, Sylvie's number is on the fridge in case there's any, uh, problems," your mind distracted from the kiss, you couldn’t help but giggle.

"We'll be fine. You guys have fun," Katie smiled.

You gave Alexis a hug and a kiss on the cheek, "good night baby, mommy loves you so much."

"Good night Alexis, daddy loves you to the moon and back." 

Watching Kelly love Alexis was something that made you fall in love with him more and more. Having a stable husband with whom you shared a child with was something you dreamt of since high school.

Kelly grabbed his jersey and followed you out the door. 

--

Walking out of the United Center back to Kelly's car, you were exilerated, but exhasted. The Blackhawks had just snapped their 5 game losing streak, and won with a 4-0 shoutout. That was the perfect end to your first night out after becoming parents. 

"How you feeling?" Kelly asked, "you up for Molly's or are you done for the night?"

You stopped at the car, leaning into Kelly for a kiss, "What about something else?" you smiled.

"You up for that? You just got cleared today," he asked, kissing your neck. He knew you wouldn't say anything unless you were ready.

"Bassinet is finally in Alexis' room. Seems like a great time to test things out again."

"You look so good tonight baby, we'll do whatever you want," he smiled as he went back in for another kiss. 

The traffic home was a nightmare, but by the time you got to the apartment, you were ready for anything. 

"We're home," you smiled, opening the apartment door. 

Katie was asleep on the couch, but woke at the sound of your shoes coming through the door.

"How'd it go?" You asked, going to check the baby monitor.

"Been up every 3 hours since you guys left, but she just went down about a half hour ago if you guys want to get some sleep," she yawned, packing up her purse. 

“You need a ride to the hotel?” Kelly asked.

“I have an uber a few minutes away, but thank you.”

“I have another day before I’m back on shift, wanna meet up and do something tomorrow?”

“That sounds great, I’ll text you guys when I’m ready for the day.”

You and Kelly both hugged Katie before seeing her out of the apartment. You watched her get on the elevator and then locked the door behind you as you entered the apartment. 

“Shower or bed?” You laughed, pulling him closer for a kiss by the collar on his jersey.

“Whatever you want baby,” he chuckled, pulling your jersey off, “it’s your night.”

You grabbed Kelly by the hand and led him into the master en suite. The bathroom door clicked shut and Alexis started to cry.

“Shit,” you started to laugh, resting your head on his chest.

“I’ll get her, put her back down. I’ll met you in there in a few.”

Kelly left the bathroom for the nursery and you started the water. Throwing your clothes on the counter, your hand brushed by your scar. Healed up and mostly pain free, it was still a reminder of what had to be done to bring Alexis into the world. You stepped in the shower, wincing at the feel of the water being a tad too cold, and turned the temperature to more suit the steamy theme of the evening. Kelly returned, already having left his jersey in the other room. 

“How’s the baby?” You asked.

“Good, pacifier fell out of her mouth.” He mindlessly undid his jeans and removed the tank covering his chest.  He looked back towards the shower.

“Damn, you’re-“ he was almost breathless. The two of you had been intimate all throughout your pregnancy, but the morning sickness wasn’t as attractive as you naked in the shower. 

“You gonna join me?” You didn’t have to ask twice, he was gonna obey the first time. 

He finished undressing and practically leapt into the shower. With a flick of the wrist, he tipped your chin up to make eye contact with him. Backing you in the shower’s wall, he placed his other hand on the tile for support. He leaned in and the passionate kisses began shortly after. 

[flowerandblood]

The Prince and The Fox (5)

[ modern! • Aemond x friend! • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, swearing ]

[ description: After the events of her childhood, despite her best efforts, her neighbor and the younger brother of her friend Helaena, Aemond, does not want to know her. This state lasts until a house party organized by his older brother, Aegon, during which an incident occurs that will change their relationship forever. Slow burn, angst, toxic ex-Alys, rough Aemond. This is several anon requests combined into one fic. ]

WARNING: The main plot between the characters takes place in high school. Yes, in high school. The belief that teenagers wait with an intimacy when they are in love in high school is ridiculous to me. Aemond and the character here are the same age. Don't ask me how old they are, in my country you are of the age of consent in your first year of high school and an adult in the last year of high school, so if it is more convenient for you, think about it that way and decide for yourself. In this story, I am not following the trail that they are magically friends right away, but how they become friends and what that even means. I'm writing this fic to give the perspective of young, lost people, not adult women who want to see exactly themselves in everything they read. If that's all you expect, this isn't the fic for you.

I don't want whining about this in my comments or asks. I will delete these and block you. You have been warned.

Aemond + Evans Series Moodboard

This is my first story that has its own playlist, but yes! Get in the mood! Story Music Playlist Song used in this chapter: Ooh to be ah (Kajagoogoo)

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

In the morning, she was woken from a deep sleep by Helaena saying that breakfast was ready and that if she felt like it, she could take a shower afterwards. She rubbed her eyes, not knowing for a moment where she was or what had happened.

She thanked her and swallowed loudly, remembering the scenes from the night before, wondering for a moment if it was real or if she had just dreamt it. She quickly unlocked her phone to see her message history and froze.

Oh fuck.

She pressed her lips together thinking only of how embarrassingly pleasurable what she had experienced with him was, a closeness that probably surprised both her and him.

He enjoyed it.

He wouldn't have done it if it had been any other way.

She thought she couldn't screw it up.

She felt something for him.

She was surprised to see that in the kitchen, besides their mother, was also their father, whom she saw extremely rarely, from what Helaena told her he was often away on long business trips.

"Good morning." She said softly, and he nodded with a smile, swallowing loudly a piece of bread roll he had just taken a bite of.

"Good morning."

She decided to eat something light and settled for cornflakes with milk. She almost choked on them when Aemond appeared out of the blue, apparently he had just taken a shower because his hair was still damp.

He sat down opposite her and gave her a meaningful glance that made her hot, then reached his hand for the pancakes, involuntarily running his tongue over his lower lip.

She remembered the touch of his lips on hers, how soft and firm they were, how well he kissed, and lowered her gaze, swallowing loudly as she continued eating, listening to the exchange between Aegon and his mother.

"Your tutor says you can't concentrate and you're constantly looking through your phone instead of listening to what the teachers are saying." She said lowly, apparently hoping her husband would pick up on the subject as well. Mr Targaryen looked at her surprised and grunted, glancing at his son.

"Is that true, Aegon?"

Aegon rolled his eyes, combing through his hair with an impatient hand gesture, and snorted.

"It's Sunday for goodness sake, can I have at least one day of peace?"

After breakfast she thanked their parents for their hospitality, grabbed her things and decided she would go home, not wanting to take up any more of their time, she had to study for a test on Monday anyway.

Helaena hugged her and thanked her again for the lovely time, she glanced out of the corner of her eye at her brother who was sitting at the table looking at her with an impenetrable gaze.

They had not written to each other.

She wanted to, was even dying over not having contact with him, but on the other hand she thought that she couldn't keep nagging him now, that she had promised herself that she would let it all go at a leisurely pace, that hurrying might only discourage him.

She wondered if he was also thinking about her and what had happened between them.

The next day she got up very early and ran to take a shower, excited to see him again at the bus stop, to talk again. She was afraid that it would be awkward and weird, but at the same time she couldn't get the smile off her face. She decided to wear her favourite black short-sleeved dress with a collar, fastened with big white buttons and topped it off with black trainers.

She showed up well ahead of schedule, however, she couldn't stand to be home anymore out of excitement. She could feel her legs bouncing with excitement as she sat on the bench.

She swallowed loudly when she saw him walking with his backpack thrown over his shoulder from across the street, earphones in his ears as usual. Not knowing why, she got up from her seat as he walked closer, looking at him with big eyes.

For a moment they stared at each other, not knowing how to act, she could feel her heart pounding hard.

He pressed his lips together and looked away, swallowing loudly, without even taking his earphones out of his ears.

Something was wrong.

She didn't know why she felt such a tight squeeze of disappointment when he didn't sit next to her on the bus, but somewhere in the back, sitting with his hood pulled over his head, his forehead pressed against the glass.

He took a few steps back for some reason.

She swallowed loudly, feeling tears under her eyelids, turning the other way, wondering what she had done wrong.

She wiped her cheek with a trembling hand, ashamed that he had broken her heart with such ease.

She didn't seek his gaze or his attention, subconsciously sensing that he didn't want it, trying to focus on the class but feeling only a tightness in her throat and discomfort in her stomach. She thought she wanted to maintain her dignity, that she wouldn't run after him and beg on her knees for an explanation.

If he wanted to move away and changed his mind, so be it.

She tried not to look at him while he and a few other people stood at the bus stop waiting for their bus to arrive. She shuddered, however, when she heard someone say his name, a low, feminine voice.

She turned over her shoulder and noticed how a college-looking girl, much older than them threw her arms around him, she had long, beautiful raven-black hair, she was dressed in a smart, light-coloured coat and long, black heeled boots.

She looked so mature.

"Why aren't you answering my messages? Are you angry with me?" She asked, touching his arm in a way that suggested she knew him very well.

She saw him give her a quick, frightened look, as if he was uncomfortable that she was watching the scene, and then swallowed loudly, tense.

"Not here, Alys." He replied so quietly that she barely heard it.

"Are you ashamed of me?" She giggled, a genuine smile on her lips, her eyes bright, intense green, beautiful.

She felt tears under her eyelids again and turned her back to them, quickly putting her earphones in her ears, not wanting to hear this discussion, turning on 'Ooh to Be Ah' by Kajagoogoo on her phone, feeling the tears run down her face.

She stared dully ahead, wondering if they were together, if she had miscalculated in thinking that he was inexperienced and lost just like her.

She imagined him the way she wanted to see him.

She boarded the bus first, not caring if he was still talking to her or not. She sat down in the first better available seat, and when she saw that he immediately sat next to her she pressed her lips together and stood up, wanting to change.

She felt him grab her arm, felt him say something to her, but she pulled away from him.

"Now do you want to talk?" She growled, not even taking her earphones out of her ears, not even caring what he had to say, walking to the other end of the bus, tired and frustrated by his behaviour, by the fact that he didn't know what he wanted, by deciding for himself when they were supposed to talk and when they weren't.

She wasn't a toy but a human being who felt.

She figured real friends didn't behave like that.

She waited until everyone had left before heading for the exit and saw through the window that he hadn't gone home but was waiting, his earphones hanging by his neck from under his sweatshirt. She squeezed her eyes shut, sighing heavily.

Fuck.

She stepped off the bus, pretending not to see him, but he immediately followed her, grabbing her by her arm, turning her violently in his direction, ripping her earphones from her ears.

"− what −"

"− can you fucking wait? − I'm talking to you −" He growled, and she pulled away from him, frowning her eyebrows, furious.

"Just an hour ago you were pretending you didn't know me, my friend." She said with a sneer, turning away from him again, his hand again on her arm, this time clenched much tighter.

"That hurts." She muttered as he turned her again violently, holding her wrist, his jaw clenched, fury in his eyes.

"− just − just stop for fucking second and listen − okay? −" He asked, and she sighed heavily, looking away, standing still, feeling like her heart was in her throat.

She didn't know if she wanted to hear what he had to say.

"My ex-girlfriend texted me last night saying she wanted to meet me. That she misses me. I couldn't recover from her for a long time. I didn't know anymore what or if I felt for her after everything that happened between us… you know. Fuck. I just wanted to think it all through. Alone. And instead of giving me time, like you did, she came to our school nagging me. Okay?" He asked lowly, leaning over her, and she looked at him with a pained expression.

"Whenever you have to think about something are you going to pretend you don't know me? Don't worry, from me you will never experience nagging. I don't want a friend who cares only about his comfort. I will not be your secondary solace. I regret everything that has happened between us." She said with pain and disappointment, pulling away from him and moving towards her house without looking at him.

It took me a long time to recover from her.

I didn't know how I felt.

He still loved her.

He still loved her, and yet he himself proposed that she stay with him, that she kiss him.

He wanted to see if it would feel good with another girl?

To feel better?

She threw herself down on her bed as soon as she got back into her room and burst into loud sobs.

She felt used.

She believed him.

She believed him to have pure, sincere intentions.

She pressed her lips together as she saw her display light up in the evening, the screen showing that she had received a new message from him.

She shook her head and went back to reading her textbook, not wanting to talk to him, not wanting to listen to his explanations, not wanting to be his friend or anyone else.

After half an hour, however, she got another message and then another and sighed heavily, heartbroken, wondering why he suddenly cared. She figured he wanted her now because she didn't need him, but if she just got his interest back then he would pretend not to know her again.

She reached for her phone and unlocked it, going into her messages with a pounding heart.

She pressed her lips together reading his last two messages and swallowed loudly, feeling hot in her stomach.

I told Alys I'm sorry, but for now I want to focus on a relationship with someone else and by that someone I mean you.

Oh shit.

What was she going to say to that?

She sat and looked at the display, panicked.

She herself no longer knew what she felt, what she wanted.

She shuddered when suddenly a new message appeared below previous ones.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

She decided she would do just that.

That she wouldn't answer him, she would just think about it.

Let him know what it was like.

The next day it was he who was already waiting at the bus stop when she left the house, as soon as he saw her he immediately pulled his earphones out of his ears, looking at her with wide eyes. She walked up to him and they stood like that for a while in silence.

"…did you get my messages?" He asked lowly, uncertainly, and she nodded. He swallowed loudly and hummed, as if he was thinking about something.

"Shall we go truant?"

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[huramuna]

a maid's folly - chapter 8.

dark aemond x maid ofc

minor aemond x floris baratheon work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

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summary: a new maid from the Vale arrives at the Red Keep during a tumultuous time and becomes ensnared in the One-Eyed prince's web.

we're in the home stretch y'all! after this is the epilogue and then this story will be at an end! thank you for sticking with me through my second fic ever and my (hopefully) first completed one.

this chapter may seem a bit rushed in places but i promise its for a reason! aemond going through the grief of losing rosemary and it is taking a huge toll on him to a point where he really isn't living, but rather, living his life through snapshots. i hope i exemplified that correctly!

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut, power imbalance, religious guilt, dark Aemond, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, Aemond being a touch starved weirdo, possessiveness, jealousy, this is going to be ANGSTY

(don't fear) the reaper - blue oyster cult • its been so long - the living tombstone

Death was an odd thing for Aemond. He’d never experienced it really, not in any capacity specific to him. 

The death of Laena Velaryon changed his life in many ways, technically, but the idea of her death, her corpse floating to the bottom of the sea to become fish food didn’t stir any emotions within him.

But now— that feeling… It was odd.

“Brother, there’s been an accident,” Helaena had said. 

The next words that came from her mouth were garbled as his ears rang, a high pitched throbbing echoing through his skull. He must’ve said something alarming, as Helaena, who usually didn’t wish to touch or be touched, wrapped her arms around him as his legs failed, wobbling like a newborn fawn’s. 

He didn’t really hear much of the substance of what Helaena said– there was no way around it: Rosemary was dead. She was… dead? Dead.

“Her… body? Her belongings?” he muttered, his one eye glassed over in a wet film of tears. Gods, when was the last time he cried? 

“Burned. They found her… charred near flea bottom. She’s gone to the field– away from the rats and stags…” 

“Flea bottom? W– what was she doing there?” Rats and stags?

Helaena shook her head.

“I want her things– all of them. Have them brought to my chambers.” he grunted, unlatching himself from Helaena’s hold and beginning to pace. He looked over, seeing her discarded nightgown and swiftly picked it up.

The servants gave odd looks once all of Rosemary’s things were cleared out of her chambers and brought to Aemond. They looked at him knowingly– but he couldn’t care. The opinions of sheep meant nothing to a dragon.

His chest clenched as he thumbed over a blue blanket, Rosemary’s ever familiar scent entangled into the fibers of the quilt. Aemond didn’t know much about Rosemary’s mother and only scarce details she shared about the Vale, but something about the blanket resonated within him. Sitting near the dying light of the sun as it receded over the horizon, he traced the stitches outlining the depictions of little lambs and nightingales, flitting near the moon and stars, braided into an image that felt so very much like her. 

He expected her to slip through the passageway any moment now, murmuring apologies about her lateness and throwing herself into his open arms, peppering kisses along his skin– 

She couldn’t just be dead, could she? They were plaited within one another’s being, he hadn’t asked her for a dance at a ball, nor taught her how to properly wield a blade– he didn’t even have the chance to introduce her to Vhagar, to take her flying. Aemond imagined her face, lips parted in awe as they would skim the stars above the clouds. 

He wanted to share all of it with her, share more parts of him that he thought were recused so dreadfully far into the depths of his chest– he wanted to know her better. He should’ve gotten to know her more, know every freckle and stretch mark on her body and be able to map them without eyes, able to discern what she was thinking just by the wrinkle of her nose. 

He just needed more time– more time with her, to know her more. It was already such a beautiful thing to be so intimate with someone like they had been, but there was a block. A small barrier that kept them from being linked wholly and irrevocably. 

Not the sort of walls Aemond had within himself, no– those were self-imposed, defense mechanisms against further toil to his psyche, erected ever since Driftmark. Rosemary had a barrier that wasn’t of her own volition, but rather circumstances that she was dragged into. He placed her quilt onto his bed for the time being, eye roving around the room in thought. 

His eye landed on a vase near the corner of the room. It was filled with wilting, ugly, yellow flowers. They had been bright and sprightly just days before, shoved into his hands by his wife-to-be. Not his Rosemary, of course– Floris.

Floris.

Floris.

Brow furrowed, he walked to the flowers, plucking one of the petals and snapping it between his fingers. It left an ugly, powdery yellow-brown residue. 

The barrier revealed itself. 

–

Floris was sitting in her solar, feeling elated. The wedding was coming up soon and everything seemed to be perfectly aligned– not more bumps, hitches or maid-shaped indiscretions. 

She leaned back in her chair relaxing for a mere moment before the door flew open, causing her to jump. Her eye caught a flash of white before he was in front of her, kneeled down, clenched fists on either side of her chair.

Aemond, her betrothed. His hair was a mess, his one violet eye wild.

“Hello, my betrothed,” he hummed. Heat broiled off of him like a roaring fire, the veins in his neck popping, his vessels running through his calloused hands thrumming. “I’d love to have a chat with you.”

Floris backed up on her chair, her throat going dry. “A-Aemond– this is highly irregular,” she stammered, her tongue feeling heavy and thick in her mouth. “What… would you like to chat about?”

He shoved back off of the chair, sending it and Floris skidding backwards. “I’ve heard that my poor sister’s handmaiden, she was so beloved by Helaena, has passed,” he began to pace, his arms behind his back, fists clenching and unclenching with barely contained rage, “That is quite sad, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes, quite.” Floris whispered, her gaze going to her hands. 

“Look at me.” he stopped his pacing, his one eye trained on Floris as she avoided his sight.

“... Aemond– you must… understand,” she continued, “... please.”

“Look. At. Me.” he was upon her again, standing this time, like a foreboding cloud. He just needed to look into her eyes and he would know– no need for a trial, no need for a jury or judge. Merely an executioner.

Her head raised, blue eyes meeting his one violet. They were rimmed with tears, her pupils looking like maddened slits. “I-I had to!”

It was all the confirmation he needed. His hand slammed forward, a dagger sinking into the velvet of the chair backing, just an inch from Floris’ head. “Tell me what you’ve done.”

“It… it wasn’t me– not… not all of it, truthfully,” she admitted, her voice marred with choked sobs.

“You’re pathetic,” he spat, “Tell me, who was the intelligence in your little scheme, since it obviously wasn’t you– you don’t have the gall.”

Floris’ throat bobbed as she cried, “T-That horrible man– L-Larys Strong. B-but, I didn’t… I didn’t kill Rosemary– I just… wished to scare her away. If she’s dead– it was his doing!” 

Aemond stared at her for a long moment, unblinking. “You will leave, Floris. You will leave the keep and go back to your father, tail tucked between your legs. Remember this, I am merciful in this only, consider yourself more lucky than Larys,” he backed up, dislodging the blade from the chair, lifting up Floris’ sobbing face by the chin with the point of it, “You will leave and speak nothing of this– if I ever even hear a whiff of her name coming from your mouth, I will kill you. I won’t grant you such a kindness of life again,” he nicked the soft skin of her chin, small drops of blood beading. He stowed his dagger and walked towards the door, “Consider this betrothal dissolved.” 

–

The Keep was bustling with activity for the week after Floris’ sudden departure – rumors swirled of her getting cold feet, her integrity as an intact maiden coming into question, and that she was fraternizing with Larys Strong. 

Larys, having caught wind of this, had some foresight that his nefarious doings had been uncovered. He returned to Harrenhal, effectively escaping Aemond’s retribution. Aemond was a bit agitated at the rat slipping through his fingers– but there was always time. Harrenhal was only a dragon’s ride away, he would get his soon enough. 

It all felt like a blur to Aemond, the tumultuous months after Rosemary’s death. Rhaenyra’s arrival, the trial, the execution of Vaemond by Daemon, the dinner, the toast– his father’s death, his brother’s crowning. Helaena woke up screaming many nights, demanding that the tunnels be guarded more sufficiently and she didn’t go anywhere without an escort– it was obvious to Aemond that she’d seen something that frightened her deeply. 

Aemond was to be an envoy for his brother’s cause– or moreso, his grandsire’s. Anyone with eyes could see that Aegon didn’t wish to be King, nor was fit for it. Flying to Storm’s End– he wished that his grandsire would’ve sent someone else instead. He had already disgraced himself to Borros Baratheon, and had no desire to see Floris again. 

It was raining, as was typical of the Stormlands. Vhagar growled uneasily underneath Aemond. “Umbagon gīda, uēpa riña,” he murmured, reaching up to pat her scales. Keep calm, old girl. “Nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon naejot sagon kesīr, tolī.” I don’t want to be here, either.

He landed outside of the ramparts, quickly seeing why Vhagar had been agitated. A small, adolescent dragon was fidgeting anxiously in the courtyard leading up to the castle. He didn’t recognize it, but guessed it was likely one of Rhaenyra’s brood. 

Stepping into the building, he saw him. Little Lucerys Strong– or Velaryon, if he was to be proper. 

“Prince Aemond,” Borros, the damnable oaf he was, shouted, “I assume you have come to ask for my banners for your brother, have you? Seems that Prince Lucerys has beat you to the punch, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, did he now?” Aemond hummed, his arms behind his back as he glared at Lucerys– who was no older than sixteen, “May I remind you that it ‘twas my brother, Aegon, who was crowned before the masses in the Dragonpit? My brother, the King Aegon, who wears the conqueror’s crown, bears his name and wields our ancestral blade Blackfyre?” 

Borros grunted. “That is all well and fine– but what is House Baratheon to do with Valyrian names and titles and swords? I can’t very well pick my teeth with Blackfyre, now can I? What do you have to offer to me? I suggest you speak quickly, as you’ve already disgraced my house once by sullying my daughter’s reputation.”

Anger seethed within Aemond, his fist clenching and unclenching. “We have my brother, Daeron, to offer as an option for betrothal to one of your daughters.” 

Lucerys shifted uneasily next to Borros, his hands fiddling with a piece of parchment.

“Lucerys has already offered himself and his brother, Jacaerys, to marry two of my daughters. Your brother, Daeron, is no older than fourteen. One of my daughters could marry Jacaerys within a fortnight– even if Daeron was older, how am I supposed to know that your side of the family won’t spurn us once again?”

Fucking hell. 

He felt shamed by the boar Borros– all the while, Lucerys couldn’t help but to stifle a chuckle. Just as he did at that damnable dinner. He felt his blood boiling and he had to stifle the urge to mount Vhagar and burn this castle to the ground.

The next hour was a blur. He remembers mounting Vhagar after Lucerys mounted his little whelpling– he remembers… the storm, the droplets feeling like shards of ice against his skin. His heart was beating in his ears, his taunts in High Valyrian to the boy prince sounding like echoes from someone else’s mouth. He felt like a puppet to his own savagery, the entire chase pulling from something animalistic and cruel within him, like the song of a swinging blade.

It was a sickening sound, truly. The sound of Vhagar’s jaw snapping that poor hatchling to pieces, little Lord Strong scattered over the bay. It was a sound Aemond wouldn’t forget. 

He had to imagine that Rosemary was ashamed of him, wherever she was in the afterlife, if there at all.

–

Aemond had become a shell of himself, two years of the war passing by like granules of sand filling an hourglass. The humanity of him recused back behind those walls once more, his body working through the autonomy of the primal fire that coursed through him.

He didn’t feel alive. 

He wasn’t, really.

Quite a few assassination attempts on the Red Keep were thwarted from Helaena’s plea for increased security. Guilt swirled in Aemond’s gut– it was repercussion. Punishment for what he’d done, what Vhagar had done.

He went into a self-imposed exile to Harrenhal, citing it as a military strategy to hold the fortress– but in reality, he felt he was a dead man walking. He may as well add the ghosts and curses of the ancient stronghold to his list of crimes.

The only moment of clarity he’d had was when he executed Larys. Aemond dragged the crippled man from his hiding hole in Harrenhal, and let Vhagar’s flame bathe him. It wasn’t a sizable meal for Vhagar, but satisfying nonetheless, for a moment– before he felt nothing once more.

The witch– Alys. She flitted around Aemond, whispering in his ear like a buzzing fly. He did lay with her, but would never spend inside of her. It felt like he was just going through the motions, trying to stoke a fire within himself that was long snuffed out. She didn’t feel anything like Rosemary– she was bony in all of the places where his Rosemary had been soft. After they would couple, he would send her away before she even had a chance to wipe herself off.

At night, he dreamed of her. Rosemary. Her warm hands cupping his face, murmuring sweetness to him, like a siren’s song, like the call of the void.

Then Daemon came upon his ugly bloodwyrm. 

A duel, then. 

“We’ve both lived too long, uncle.” he shouted, mounting Vhagar. 

“On that, we agree. You’ve lived too long since you killed Lucerys in cold blood.”

“Mayhaps I will arrange a meeting for you two, then, uncle?” 

It was a battle of gnashing teeth and flames, the glint of Dark Sister seen– 

His death, he was staring it in the face. His death had a face, too– Rosemary. She whispered in his ear every night that they would soon be together. This must’ve been it, her ghost telling him of their reunion soon to come.

He opened his arms, welcoming his uncle’s thrust of his blade– 

Darkness.

It was cold, cold… waves washing over him like he was bobbing across the surface of the lake.

Rosemary– where was she? Was he dead? Please, let him be dead. Let the nightmare be over.

The washing of waves came over him more, the tide ebbing and flowing over his body, pushing him. His head throbbed and he couldn’t move his arm– his extremities were cold, but his head… felt lighter. 

Opening his one eye, it was clouded in red. Red. Oh, good. He’s gone to the Hells. 

“Ser?” a voice called, sounding so far away. “Oi, Mare, come help me. He’s bleedin’ out.” 

“Gods, he ain’t look too good, Jon. Think he’s gonna kick the bucket before we even get ‘em off the stones.” 

“Leave… me…” Aemond somehow croaked out, his voice sounding like he had gargled rocks. “I’m meant… to be… dead…”

“Seems fate got more in store for you, lad,” one of the men said, “I’d be damned by the Seven themself if I leave you here to die on the shore. I ain’t going to Hell without trying, eh?”

Aemond felt two pairs of arms lift him up, their murmurs coming in and out of focus. 

“We’re gonna get ya to the town tailor, lad. Ain’t no maester from the citadel, but she can right a stitch better than any– and ya needin’ a stitch or two. Miss Marigold will fix you right up.” the other said, still not totally convinced.

The jingling of a bell was heard– all Aemond could see still was red. “Marigold! We’ve got a live one for you– he’s hurtin’ real bad.”

The scent of lavender wafted over him like a balm as the seamstress stood over him. She made a choked sound, a sob– and a finger wiped the blood from out of his eye. His vision came into focus and the ever familiar visage of his love– she was there. She was real. She was… alive? Alive. 

“Rosemary?”

“Aemond?”

A small, quiet voice was heard. “Mama, who’s there?”

[infini-tree]

episodic - part 3

< back | next >

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Summary: It's business as usual. At least it looks like it, and that has to count for something. The boys do a bit of arts and crafts. Krupp takes a step back.

A/N: literally the worst part of writing fic for CU is trying to think of pranks. they’re up there with choreographing fight scenes. also these next chapters were brought to you by: me referencing the movie’s art book i got as a gift. Locations And Fascinating Objects section my beloved…

this chapter's scene went through a lot of shuffling-- melvin was supposed to be in this one. but alas, once this was finalized he was pushed back into the next chapter. ideally. at the earliest. its been almost 4 years, i swear he actually has a part to play in this AU, he's technically part of the core secondary cast--

---------------------

Back in the present day, the boys snuck into the art room. Even now, there wasn’t a proper class for it in Jerome Horwitz, despite The Prank For Good. But because of it, Krupp never had the thought to put it under lock and key again. The doors still remained unlocked for any kid that needed it. And George and Harold had a big need. In fact, they had been caching away supplies when no one was looking.

Captain Underpants trailed behind them; he looked at the room and gave a small nod, murmuring something about being “back at the start”.

“What will we be doing this time, sidekicks?” He clapped his hands together. “Oh! I could try and ask for a carnival again–”

“NO!” both of them shouted. The hero jumped up in surprise and stayed in a low hover.

George was the quicker of the two to regain composure. “No, no– we’re doing something different.”

“Oh.”

Harold unpacked the contents of his bag. There was a ridiculous amount of flour and bottles around them, along with other plastic pails and shovels.

“Ooh, are we making a cake? Can I decorate it?” Captain asked.

George sighed. “It’s not for a cake.”

“Well, what is it for?” 

Harold dumped a bunch of flour and oil into the largest bucket with the glee reserved for children about to make a huge mixture of stuff. “Sand!”

When the hero continued to look baffled, George cut in. “With Krupp instating the grade-wide assignment gauntlet, we have to retaliate with the exact opposite of that.”

“…Recess?”

“Close!” Harold began to mix the concoction with a plastic shovel. “Summer vacation!”

“And we need to make a lot to really sell the beach vibe.”

“Oh…” Captain nodded with the confidence of someone who had no idea what that meant. He knelt down and gave a curious sniff at the flour sand, catching the faint whiff of some sort of cooking oil.  mix his own bucket the other boy handed to him.

To make a long story short, they managed to create enough of it to create a sizable layer in at least two classrooms. They hauled the first half of it to Guided’s classroom–or rather, Captain flew it over in record time. He began to push all the desks back and started to stack them high up against the edges of the wall. It reminded Harold of that one time he showed George a boardwalk on a faded postcard, tall buildings looming over sandy beaches.

“Why only two?” Captain asked as he stacked some of the desks on the teacher’s desk. “Why not make the whole school a beach?”

The boys perked up from their efforts to place the sand evenly across the classroom floor.

“‘Cause the first big tests are in Ms. Guided and Ribble’s classrooms,” Harold said.

“We’d have loved to do something big," George explained as he scattered the beach toys. "Really put the last big prank that happened here to shame–”

“But we had to improvise. Go for lots of smaller ones for the first part of this plan, you know?”

“First part?” Captain echoed. 

“Yeah!” Harold continued, ushering them all out of the room. Captain followed in a low hover, and George swept over the remaining footprints with a hand. Looking back at their work, it looked like no one was ever in the room.

“The first bit is to wear all the teachers and Krupp down. And then–”

“Bam.” he punched into his own open palm. “That’s where you come in!”

Captain tilted his head. “I thought this was where I came in?”

“What? No– I mean, we appreciate your help, but you have a bigger part to play here.”

“I do?” he asked.

“We figured you’d want to get back at Krupp, right?” George said. 

Captain was silent, his expression dumbfounded. 

“With enough pressure, he’ll back off from you and he’ll back off with all the sudden assignments!” Harold clarified. “It’ll be great.”

“We’re not sure how long he’s planning on making everyone miserable, but we’re planning for the long game.”

That seemed to make things more murky for him but the curiosity still remained. He tilted his head with furrowed brows, as if trying to figure out the connection between the two facts. “…How long, exactly?” 

“As long as it takes.” Harold gave him a good natured punch to the side. “Now come on, let’s get the other classroom set up.”

The boys grabbed his hands and led him back to the art room, chatting about what else they could do.

---------------------

The school didn’t know what hit them. 

Later that day, the fourth graders enjoyed the slices of beaches in the pair of classrooms. They made their sandcastles and moats as the teachers tried– and failed– to get their papers from their desks buried under their own students’ desks. 

And on the day after that, there was the petting zoo in the math classrooms on the same day a calculator-less test on long division was meant to happen. It was no tiger, but the kids enjoyed petting the sheep. For extra salt in the wound, there were numbers drawn in bright colors on their wool. 

Corralling the animals out was one thing. Finding out they were only Sheeps #1-6 and 8 was another, leaving all the teachers to scramble to find the last sheep of the set for the past few hours.

Apparently, the third time wasn’t the charm as George and Harold were called into the principal’s office. When they walked in, he had never bothered to close one of the desk drawers, clearly embroiled in whatever work principals do. Krupp was faced away from them, yelling into the phone.

“How many times do I have to explain it to you, there probably isn’t a Sheep #7– are you falling asleep counting them?” He turned to face them and grimaced. “I’ll get back to you.” 

He hung up the phone, glaring at them as they took their respective seats. 

“Care to explain the last few days?”

Harold shifted in his seat as he gave a glance to the other boy. “We have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We were a bit too busy dealing with the sudden wave of assignments and tests to try anything,” George added with a shrug.

“Don’t play innocent with me. The gaps in my memory are extremely obvious.” He waggled an accusatory finger at them.

“Like we said, we were busy–”

“What– watching him get bit by sheep yesterday?!” He held up his other arm filled with band aids of various sizes.

George leaned over to the other boy and whispered, “Man, they can be really vicious, huh?” 

Krupp slammed his fists onto his desk. He opened his hands. Closed them. Before pushing himself off his seat to look down at them. “Whether you’ll actually admit it, I’ll cut to the chase. Stop whatever you’re trying to do.”

“If it was us, why would we? You started it.”

“Oh, hah–” He let out an incredulous, breathless laugh at that. “I started it? You’re one to talk after all you’ve done to me. You should be grateful I don’t just hold you back right now for that comment!”

Harold was unmoved. “Man, you got so much worse– I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Oh, I can do so much worse after your little breaking and entering stunt,” he shot back. “Invading my privacy, looking into things you shouldn’t–”

“So you admit you were talking to him.”

“Now I never said anything about talking, have I?”

George and Harold leveled a glare at him, refusing to give him any confirmation or satisfaction that he was right. “So that is why you cracked down on the entire fourth grade, huh?”

“Or maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m losing sleep over mysterious injuries!” The boys wanted to speak up, but he refused to give them that. “And– and, seeing the school be nearly destroyed multiple times a week.”

“Not like you really cared about the school before,” George grumbled.

Krupp spluttered furiously, turning a new shade of red in the process. “Says the children who keep on endangering it and wasting its resources!"

“We’re saving the school!”

“From problems you made up.” He slowly made his way around his desk to them. “Is that why you made me your little stooge? Were you just tired and wanted to feel important in your little superhero fantasy? Or was getting rid of me the main motivation here?”

George stood up from his chair. “Oh, if we could have, we would have!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, it suddenly felt like the office had turned somewhat askew. Gone was the red in Krupp’s face and gone was the anger– if anything, he looked like he had been slapped in the face. His mouth opened. Closed. Nothing.

The boys were suddenly aware of the clock ticking, now that it was completely silent. George couldn’t help but be reminded of the time he said something that crossed some unseen line with his mom.

And just as quickly as the conversation was fishtailing out of what any of them were used to, the principal clambered for any sense of control.

“I’ll deal with the both of you later.” He put up a hand to rub his temples– and conveniently hid his eyes. “Get out.”

Harold blinked. “What–”

“NOW!” He whipped his arm to point at the door.

They stumbled out of their seats and ran without a second thought.

---------------------

For the rest of the last class of the school day, Harold was sitting on pins and needles as he looked at the clock. While most kids looked at it expectantly for the final bell to ring, right now he was dreading it.  He figured George was doing the same.

Krupp getting the jump on them was a matter of when today , not if, especially when he was as mad as he was earlier.

Five minutes. He glanced to the front of the class. Even Rected was struggling with the new mandate to increase kids’ work. Which, he guessed, made sense– more work for them meant more stuff the teachers had to look at.

Two minutes.

Speaking of work, he was quickly scribbling out some ideas for the next issues. Though he couldn’t help but let his mind wander off to the other prank plans they had– he figured by the way Rected was pulling at his hair, they can bring Captain in for the cherry on top by the end of next week–

The speakers screeched to life. There was a beat of silence long enough for someone to ask if Krupp called an announcement on accident, until–

“Pop science fair, end of this week,” he said tersely. “Hope you can wow the teachers, since this is now a good chunk of your mark. How much? That’s the ‘pop’ part of that.”

The kids began to groan and slam their heads on their desks. Even more heads fell on their desks as another screech echoed through the school.

“You have George Beard and Harold Hutchins to thank for that. That will be all.”

The bell rang. One by one, everyone turned his direction, some shocked, others confused, many furious. Even Mr. Rected gave a baffled look.

After dodging the onslaught of kids ready to hound him or worse due to the announcement, he found George running down the hallway for similar reasons. At some point along the way, the other boy got their skateboards and helmets. With a frantic throw, they skateboarded out of the front yard and down the quickest route to their house.

“George?” Harold said, once they turned to their street. He had been eerily silent the whole time.

The other boy jumped off his own board and pulled his helmet off. He could see how much sweat was on his forehead now.

“Change of plans–” He stomped the end of the skateboard to make it stand before quickly grabbing it. “We’re taking stock of everything tonight.”

Harold stared at him. He knew why– he could still feel a flare of indignation from that announcement.

It was like George read his mind. “What Krupp said– those were fighting words. We’re going to move the Captain Plan up next.”

He gave a curt nod.

[tj-dragonblade]

Academic Conference au? 👀

Ah, Academic Conference AU my beloved. It's actual title is An Examination of the Benefits of Inter-Departmental Fraternization (by Hob Gadling, PhD) but that's kind of a mouthful so the old label still sticks. I have mentioned this one a lot in various places; it started from the smut prompts 'bed sharing' and '"Then do it already"' and has spawned multiple chapters with a thin semblance of plot by this point. The first chapter is fully drafted but needs a little revision to accommodate details I decided on later. Second chapter is maybe half to two-thirds drafted, and there are outline-y notes and small chunks of chapters three and four. None of it will be posted until the whole thing is done, because I will not finish it otherwise. And also those evolving details I mentioned.

There have been bits and pieces of this scattered in several places over the months I've poked at it and I kind of lose track of what's been shared where BUT. Here is the opening section of the fic, which I don't think has been shared before - at least not in its entirety:

~ "He can share with me."

The grateful look on the poor harried hotel clerk's face is gratifying, but Hob didn't speak up just for her.

Dr. Dream Murphy arches an eyebrow over the chunky black rim of his glasses at Hob, mildly suprised. "Dr. Gadling," he greets, considerably less agitated than just a second before.

"If you're amenable, of course," Hob adds, speaking directly to his colleague now. "It's a single, so we'd still need a rollaway bed—if there's one available?" He glances to the clerk.

"There is," she confirms, fingers flying over her keyboard.

"Perfect. Well?" He turns to Dr. Murphy. "Better than trying to find a room elsewhere? I'll even take the rollaway; you can have the room bed."

Dr. Murphy inclines his head like some kind of old-school royalty. "Very well."

"Brilliant." Hob flashes a smile, directs it back to the clerk. "I'm in 607, Robert Gadling. You can merge his reservation with mine and get him a key, and just send up the extra bed—thanks!"

"Of course." She finishes entering the changes, programs a key card, hands it to Dr. Murphy. "Here you go sir, and again, I'm so sorry for the mix-up—"

"No matter. Thank you," he says, already turning away, and Hob flashes the poor girl one last grateful smile and hurries to follow.

Dr. Murphy says nothing until they are closed in the elevator together, and then he fixes Hob with the crystal blue eyes that have wandered in and out of Hob's daydreams all year. "I. Appreciate your intercession on my behalf, Dr. Gadling."

"Think nothing of it," Hob demurs, shrugging. He catches himself fiddling with his earlobe and drops his hand. "Not like it's her fault they overbooked and gave your room to someone else. Not your fault either. Glad to be passing by with a solution. But." He straightens up, flashes his most winning smile. "If we're going to be rooming together for the whole of this conference, please—call me Hob."

Dr. Murphy does that regal head-incline thing again; his gaze, when it lifts to Hob's, is considering. "Hob," he repeats, like tasting it, and the familiarity stirs a wispy tendril of warmth in Hob’s gut. "Then you must call me Dream."

WIP List

[xxsksxxx]

Almost Heaven

Summary:

Mulder’s attempt to find more exciting cases to investigate while stuck in the bullpen turns into another weekend trip to the forest.

Meanwhile, Scully is faced with a tempting offer that could change both her future and their lives.

This story is complete, and I’m going to post one chapter a day.

AO3 | Back to the Beginning | @today-in-fic

Chapter 3: Drivin’ Down the Road, I Get a Feelin’

Interstate 66 Saturday, November 28th, 1998, 7:30 am

Scully turned her face towards the car window, trying to cover a yawn. They were already outside the city, heading west. Leave it to Mulder to knock on her door at 6:30 in the morning, eyes bright and restless like a five-year-old on the way to the ballpark.

You could’ve said no, her inner voice pointed out helpfully. She smiled to herself. Not likely. She loved their little adventures nearly as much as Mulder did. Not that she’d ever admit that to him. Scully gave him a sideways glance. Mulder was humming along to the radio, chewing on a sunflower side. She watched him reach into the bag between their seats, pulling out another seed and licking the salt off of its shell. No, there were certainly worse places to be on a Saturday morning than being in a car with Mulder.

And he’d brought her her cup of coffee, of course. Perfect, like always. She took a sip of the still-hot liquid and felt the caffeine enter her bloodstream, waking her up a bit more.

Scully loved their little routines as of late. They’d always been close, but since their return from Antarctica, things have shifted. She glanced into her cup, watching the coffee swirl. Now Mulder brought her coffee each morning just how she liked it. And he never left the office without giving her shoulder a little squeeze or brushing her arm before wishing her a good evening. And of course, the calls where they now talked about more than just work. She’d told him about her Sunday lunch with her mother just a few days ago, both of them laughing about the stories her mother had told. And they’d begun to end those calls with wishes for sweet dreams, good nights, and long pauses. Scully closed her eyes against the warm rush that made her face flush and her heart race.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t following her own routines now, either. She didn’t even ask when she touched him wherever she felt like it these days. Scully was surprised he hadn’t called her out yet on constantly checking him over, brushing through his hair, feeling his back and chest, or just grabbing his arm. Picking up the phone after the first ring each night probably wasn’t secretive either, she sighed. Whatever was going on, it seemed to be an underlying agreement between them that they keep doing it—unfortunately, without talking about it.

What else is new? she wondered. Their unspoken communication was great, but sometimes she wished Mulder would also use words. And you’re talking to him about it? her inner voice questioned, and she sank deeper into her seat, taking another sip of her coffee. No, she wasn’t either. That was true. But that needed to change. She was tired of running in circles.

She leaned sideways in her seat, pressing her shoulder into the back so she could watch him fully. “So, where are we going exactly, Mulder? I believe you skipped that part on the phone last night.”

Mulder turned to her briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. “Does ’Country roads, take me home’ ring any bells for you, Scully?” he grinned.

She gave him a confused look. “What does John Denver have to do with our little trip? Please don’t tell me some farmer has seen his ghost in a national forest.”

Mulder laughed and then puckered his lower lip into a pout. “No ghosts, Scully. Just some good old mystery.” He pulled out another sunflower seed from the bag and put it on the tip of his tongue. “Only two more hours, and we’ll be there. You’ll get to visit the beautiful state of West Virginia. It’ll be fun,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows.

Scully sighed and turned towards the vents, trying to adjust the airflow. The windshield wipers were working at a steady pace to keep the constant rain off the windshield. “I hope you’re not planning on us traipsing around in this weather, Mulder. Nothing says ’fun’ like being soaking wet.”

“Think of it as an adventure. I know you like adventures.”

She glanced at him, feeling almost giddy with their easy banter. “My idea of a fun adventure involves less rain and more heat. And maybe a nice, cozy cabin with a fireplace.”

Mulder raised an eyebrow and winked at her. “Keep talking, Agent Scully! What about the heat?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Be careful what you wish for. I might be willing to turn up the heat—and you might not be able to handle it after all,” she playfully replied, not shying away from his look.

Mulder blinked, but was the first to break eye contact, his eyes refocusing on the road. He took another sunflower seed, chewing thoughtfully. “Ever heard of the West Virginia Mothman, Scully? I plan on making his acquaintance today.”

Scully kept watching him, a small smile playing on her lips. “I can’t say I have, Mulder. But if it’s got you fascinated, I’m not sure, it’s something I want to meet in the first place,” she quipped.

Mulder smiled at her indulgently. “Oh, you of little faith. Wait and see. We’re going to meet Mr. Murphy at ten, and he’ll show us to the clearing where he saw the Mothman.”

A clearing in the forest and a Mothman? So much for that fantasy of a weekend getaway, she sighed, leaning back in her seat. But secretly, she couldn’t suppress a smile. She loved it when Mulder got like that. His enthusiasm was utterly contagious and was one of the many things that had made the decision to stay on this weird assignment all those years ago surprisingly easy. She shook her head at herself. Mulder’s passion for the unexplainable might be charming, but one of these days it will get us killed, no doubt.

“You know, Mulder, sometimes I wonder if your mysterious creature sightings aren’t just your way of getting me alone in the middle of nowhere.”

Mulder chuckled, his eyes still on the road. “And what if you were right?”

Scully’s smile widened, and she leaned her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes. “Then I’d say you’re more of a romantic than I would have thought,” she joked lightly, but her tone held some seriousness.

Mulder glanced at her, a genuine smile on his lips. “Who knows, Scully? Maybe I am.”

[c-e-d-dreamer]

But I'm Only Looking At You: Part One

A/N: It's officially here! Happy @cassianappreciationweek lovelies! I'm super excited to see all the amazing content that everyone will be sharing this week, and I'm extra excited to share this fic with you all. We may be stretching the prompts with this, but doesn't that make it more fun! I mean, Rhys visits Cassian in this first chapter, so doesn't that fit the Brother theme? Maybe? A very big shout-out to @separatist-apologist who so graciously gave me this prompt. This fic is dedicated especially to you, fandom-sanctioned bestie! :)

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Don’t say yes, run away now. I’ll meet you when you’re out of the church at the back door

Three Years Ago

Cassian’s eyes flit across the grass that stretches out across the meadow. The tall, green stalks sway gently in the early summer breeze, twisting and twining together like dancers moving to the melody of the wind. Purple and white wildflowers bloom in small batches, a burst of color against the blue sky overhead. A willow tree stands tall and proud beside the small creek that burbles and weaves its way around the dirt and stones, and sitting beneath it, half hidden by the drooping branches, is Nesta.

Just where he expects to find her.

He takes a moment to admire her, the sight already stealing the breath straight from his lungs, already pulling a soft smile across his face. She has her knees curled up toward her chest, a book balanced perfectly on her knees, her head bowed over the pages as she devours the words. The rays of sunlight that break through the leaves and branches of the willow cut across her in golden streaks. It leaves the braid of her hair looking like a true crown of burnished gold, and Cassian knows once he gets closer, he’ll be able to count every faint freckle that’s sunkissed across her skin too.

It’s on quiet feet that Cassian makes his way over to her, using the sounds of the water to his advantage as he follows along the creek until he reaches the willow. He curls around the trunk of the tree until he can peer down over Nesta’s shoulder, until he can watch her deft fingers turn yet another page in her book.

“Hello, Nes.”

Cassian is slightly disappointed when Nesta doesn’t jump at his voice, but when she lets out a long sigh, his smile grows wide again. He steps around and settles in the spot beside her, daring to sit close enough that his shoulder brushes against hers. Nesta doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even bother looking up from her book, but Cassian doesn’t miss the way her lips are slightly pinched.

In the years that he’s known Nesta Archeron, he’s learnt every one of her expressions, every look, every tell. He’s categorized them all and tucked them close to his heart. The long withering sigh to hide a soft, amused laugh. The pinched lips to keep away the fond smile. The way those blue gray eyes of hers will blaze and narrow at him until his heart is skipping over itself in excitement.

“Enjoying the warm weather?” Cassian asks innocently, reaching forward and tugging one of the wildflowers free from the ground.

“I was enjoying the peace and quiet,” Nesta shoots back, and though Cassian can’t quite see her face from his spot beside her, he’s sure she’s rolling her eyes at him.

“Well, then, don’t let me disturb that,” Cassian tells her, neatly tucking the flower into the braid of her hair.

“Oh, believe me. I don’t intend to.”

Cassian has to bite back a smirk at the remark. Nesta always has to have the last word. He stretches his hands back behind his head, leaning against the trunk of the willow and letting his eyes flutter shut. He counts the second in his mind, already feeling Nesta’s annoyance growing with each passing second of silence. His blood practically sings in anticipation, leaping at the chance for another round of their game.

Nesta snaps her book closed loudly. “What do you want, Cassian?”

“Can’t I just enjoy your company?”

“Last time I checked, the only thing you enjoy is the sound of your own voice.”

Cassian chuckles, but he sits up properly again. “I had my final lessons today. My boarding school days are officially behind me.”

Nesta finally turns to look at him properly, and she leaves Cassian feeling as breathless as she did the first time he met her. She’s so damned beautiful, and Cassian is so enraptured that he almost misses what she says next.

“And have you decided on Cambridge or Oxford?”

Cassian clears his throat awkwardly, dropping his gaze to his hands before he explains, “neither. My father has fallen ill, and now that I’ve finished my schooling, I’ll be returning home to learn the trade and prepare to take over for him.”

“I see.”

Cassian looks up at her again, his eyes tracking the flower that still sits in her braid. The softness to her blue eyes that he swears only he gets to see. Those constellations of pale freckles that he knows must be echoed across her skin elsewhere. A strand of hair has fallen free from her updo, tumbling down along her temple, and Cassian’s fingers twitch with the urge to brush it aside.

One day. One day, he’ll be able to, he’s sure of it. He swears it. One day, he’ll have fully taken over the family business, will have made a name for himself, and he’ll speak to her father and finally ask the question that burns on the tip of his tongue.

“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” Cassian asks instead.

Nesta lets out another long sigh. “And what if I don’t wish to write to you?”

“I’ll just have to write to you then. I’m sure you’ll miss our witty repartee.”

“I assure you that is not what I will miss.”

Cassian smirks, daring to ask, “my handsome face, then?”

“You are quite full of yourself, aren’t you?” Nesta snaps, clambering up to her feet.

Cassian jumps to his feet as well. He catches Nesta’s hand before she can walk too far, stopping her steps. Her eyes snap down to the contact, fingers flexing for just a moment, a pretty dusting of pink spilling across her cheeks.

“Promise you’ll write, Nes,” Cassian requests, his voice quiet.

He’s not above begging, would drop to his knees right there in the meadow for anything she’s willing to give him. His fingers slide along her wrist where her hand is still clasped in his, and he swears he can feel her heart fluttering away beneath that touch. He wonders if she knows the way she holds his.

“I promise.”

~ * * * ~

Today

Cassian rushes down the main staircase of his home just as Mrs Reynolds closes the front door with a soft snick. His heart pounds away between his ribs, pressing a lump up into his throat, but he uses all his willpower not to let his nerves show. He clenches his hands tightly into fists and plasters on his best, easy smile as Mrs Reynolds turns back around, not a lick of surprise on her face when she sees Cassian waiting eagerly.

“Any letter today?” Cassian asks, praying the desperation licking through his veins doesn’t bleed into his tone.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Mrs Reynolds apologizes, sympathy lining her brown eyes. “Nothing today again.”

Cassian nods, not even bothering to try and push words out. He beelines for the kitchen, quickly grabbing some food before locking himself away in his office. He falls heavily into his chair, letting out a long breath. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, his fingers getting caught in the tangled strands which only adds to the dark storm cloud brewing in his chest. He feels stupid, but there’s no stopping the way his heart twists and squeezes, betraying the emotions he’s trying desperately to shove back down.

Even worse, he can’t seem to shut up that voice that claws its way through the back of his mind. It digs in and won’t let up, dark whispers feeding into Cassian’s every insecurity. He still remembers every word, every name, he heard back when he was in boarding school, from the boys, from their mothers. It didn’t matter that his family had money, didn’t matter that his father had made a name for them, didn’t matter the factories they had and everything they produced. He would always be looked down upon by all that old money of London.

With another sigh, Cassian finally shakes himself and pulls his papers close to him, determined to get some work done and take his mind off those swirling thoughts and swirling emotions. He scratches out a reply to one of his suppliers, but as soon as Cassian has signed his name, his hand pauses, grip tightening on his pen.

His gaze dances down to the bottom drawer of his desk. Taunting him. Beckoning him.

He shakes his head and goes back to writing out another response, but he barely makes it halfway through before once again his eyes are drawn to that damned drawer. Cassian lets out a groan and tosses his pen aside. He yanks open the drawer and pulls out the letters stacked neatly inside.

Just as he’s done for the past few weeks, he pulls out the most recent one, dated a month ago. He traces over the lines and loops of the ink on the page, smiling as he once again reads Nesta’s story about her sisters. He tries to find some hint, some clue, to understand Nesta’s sudden silence, the lack of a letter since his last reply, and yet he can’t find one. The letter reads just the same as all the ones she’s been sending since he left London.

A knock at his office door finally pulls Cassian away from Nesta’s letters. He looks up, ready to call out to Mrs Reynolds that he doesn’t need anything, but before he can, the door is opening. Cassian blinks a few times in surprise, his brow furrowing.

“Rhys? To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Really?” Rhys teases, stepping fully into the office and settling easily into one of the chairs opposite Cassian with all the casual grace of a Duke. “That’s how you greet me?”

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you,” Cassian chuckles slightly. “It’s just unlike you to travel all this way. What could have possibly pulled you away from London? And without a letter informing me either.”

“I can’t simply want to come visit one of my closest friends?”

“Rhys.”

Rhys lets out a soft sigh, shifting in his seat. The serious look that takes over his face has Cassian’s stomach dropping. There’s been only a very few instances that Cassian has seen that expression on his friend’s face, and none of those times ended well.

“It didn’t feel right putting this in a letter,” Rhys begins, leaning forward and meeting Cassian’s gaze head on. “I’ve known you since we were kids in school together, and you know I see you and Az like brothers.”

“You’re starting to worry me, Rhys.”

“I care about you, Cass. And I know you. I know how you feel about Nesta Archeron, how you’ve felt about her for years, so I want you to hear it from me… she’s engaged now.”

For a moment, Cassian swears the world stops tilting beneath his feet. Everything comes lurching to a hard and painful stop, throwing him off balance and sending him spiraling down and down. There’s a ringing that takes up home in Cassian’s ears, a lump pressing into his windpipe until he feels like he can’t breathe.

“What?” Cassian chokes out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Everything he had ever built up in his mind shatters right there, right before his very eyes. The way he imagined finally going back to London this summer, courting Nesta properly and the way she deserves outside his letters. The way he planned to speak with her father to officially ask for her hand. The way he could perfectly picture Nesta here, in this house, with him.

“I’m sorry,” Rhys continues, offering a sympathetic grimace. “It was only just announced, and I had no idea she was being courted, or I would have told you sooner.”

“I guess that explains why her letters stopped,” Cassian grumbles, scrubbing a hand across his face. “So, who’s the lucky gentleman?”

“Tomas Mandray.”

The humorless laugh tears free from Cassian before he can stop it. “That prick we went to school with? And Nesta agreed to his proposal?”

“Her father did. Tomas is a Viscount following his own father’s passing.”

“I’m sure no one misses him. We all knew what type of man he was.”

“Rumor has it Tomas is the same.”

That comment has Cassian’s fists clenching, anger beginning to simmer just beneath his skin. Everything within him rebels at that idea, at Nesta being subjected to someone like the fucking Mandrays. His own soul seems to snarl and growl in agreement, instincts screaming at him to do something, to stop this, to protect her.

Cassian stands up and starts gathering all of the papers and things he’ll need to spend time away in London. “Have they already started reading the Banns?”

“Tomas has apparently put in for a Bishop’s License instead,” Rhys explains, eyeing Cassian with narrowed eyes as he moves around the office. “You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”

“How do you feel about a party?”

~ * * * ~

The music of the string quartet stationed in the corner wafts through the ballroom, the light, lilting melody swirling amongst the sea of bodies in the room, around the crystal chandelier hanging high above their heads. It seems all of London’s best has come out to Velaris estate, all dripping in the latest fashion and practically clamoring for some gossip as much as excitement.

The newest ladies to be out in society and their mothers circle around the ballroom like sharks on the hunt, some even daring to eye up Cassian where he stands, but he only has attention for one woman tonight. His gaze sweeps across the room until he spies her, standing with her youngest sister, Feyre.

She still takes his breath away just as much as the last time he saw her, as the first day he met her. Her hair is styled in her usual braided crown, not a strand or pin out of place, but the golden brown color still glints beneath the chandelier’s lights. Her dress is a deep green color, a shade that contrasts well with her eyes, and there’s the faintest hint of rouge on her cheeks, drawing attention to the cut of her cheekbones.

Cassian has to swallow hard as he watches her across the room. His heart thunders away in his chest, and he can feel the way it wants to lurch right into her waiting hands, can feel the tug right between his ribs drawing him into her. He quickly glances around, but there’s no sign of Tomas Mandray, so with a deep breath to try and calm his fraying nerves, Cassian strides across the ballroom to the only woman he’ll ever want.

“Hello, Nes.”

Nesta’s attention snaps to him at his greeting, her eyes widening for a moment before she schools her expression back into cool indifference. Imperceptibly, her spine straightens, her chin raising that small bit higher, almost in defiance, but Cassian catches it all. Another of her many looks that he’s cataloged, a refusal to back down.

“Cassian,” Nesta offers coolly, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “What are you doing here?”

“Rhysand and I are good friends, if you’ll recall. Are you that surprised he extended me an invitation?”

“You traveled all the way to London for a House Party?”

Cassian chuckles, not bothering to bite back his smirk. “What can I say, sweetheart? I love a good party.”

Cassian doesn’t miss the way her lips pinch slightly together, the flare that sparks through her blue eyes. A tell tale sign that she’s fondly annoyed with him. It has his grin growing, but just as soon as that expression graces her face, it shutters away. He can practically watch as she stacks every icy brick back into place, as the mask slides firmly back on.

“Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening,” Nesta tells him, grabbing Feyre’s elbow and turning them both away.

He’s losing her. She’s going to walk away, vanish amongst the others in attendance, and Cassian knows he won’t see her again. This is his one chance before she slips through his fingers like smoke. His mind scrambles for something to say, something to keep her here, to keep her talking to him, to keep her eyes on him. His eyes land on her wrist.

“Your dance card,” Cassian blurts out before he clears his throat and finds his voice again. “I see your dance card is not yet full for the night.”

Nesta blinks a few times in surprise, glancing down to her own wrist. She tries to pull her arm out of reach, but Cassian is faster, fingers curling around the small booklet. He unfolds it carefully, scrawling his name along the first empty line he sees.

“I’m sure you don’t mind,” Cassian continues, releasing the booklet and daring to let his fingers brush against Nesta’s in the process. “It will give us a chance to catch up.”

“Nesta. Feyre. Where have you two been?”

The cool, clipped tone has Cassian finally tearing his gaze away from Nesta and meeting instead the strict and pinched expression of Eleanor Archeron. Cassian can’t say he’s ever been a big fan of the Archeron matriarch, especially with the way just her presence has Nesta’s spine straightening that inch more, has her fingers curling imperceptibly into the skirts of her dress.

The feeling is clearly mutual. Eleanor’s eyes sweep over Cassian’s frame with clear distaste, not even bothering to hide the way her lip curls. To her, he’s nothing more than a brute, but he refuses to let her ire get to him.

“Lady Archeron,” Cassian greets politely, dipping his chin in a bow.

She doesn’t show him the same courtesy, doesn’t even acknowledge that he said anything at all. Instead, the fingers of her hands curl around Nesta’s and Feyre’s elbows, and Eleanor leads her daughters away without so much as a backwards glance. Cassian can’t help but let out a quiet huff, shaking his head. At least, the night is still young.

At least, he still has his dance with Nesta to look forward to.

Though, it’s agonizing for Cassian to wait for his turn. Especially, since Nesta spends most of the dances partnered with fucking Tomas. It boils his blood watching the way Tomas’s fingers curl possessively into the fabric of Nesta’s dress, the way his hand sits dangerously low along her back, just toeing the line with what’s proper. Even worse is the Viscount’s expression, the knowing glint in his eyes, the smirk tugging up his lips. It’s all savage, male pride, and Cassian’s fists clench hard enough that his nails bite into the palm as Tomas twirls Nesta around the ballroom.

Nesta has always been the best damned thing that ever happened to Cassian. Those stormy, blue eyes had haunted his dreams from the moment they snapped to his gaze, burning with a fire that almost brought him to his knees right then and there. She never backed down from anything he threw at her, going toe to toe with him in a way that only served to further thrill and excite him, that always left him itching to go another round of their back and forth. He lived for every scoff, every eye roll, every haughty jab.

But even more so, he lived for every smile, every laugh he was able to draw out of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the first time he ever made Nesta laugh, the way the air was stolen straight from his lungs at that light, melodic sound. He craved it like a starved man after that.

Craved her.

It was Nesta that drove Cassian to study as hard as he did at school, to devour every book and every lesson. Her that drove him to work as hard he did after his father passed, to build up the factories and his family name. To build up himself into the type of man, the type of gentleman, that deserved her.

Unlike Tomas Mandray.

Nesta is the best damned thing to happen to him too, and the bastard clearly doesn’t even realize it, doesn’t appreciate it. He certainly isn’t the type of man to deserve her.

The music of the string quartet comes to an end, and finally, Nesta and Tomas pull apart from one another, Nesta dipping into a polite curtsey. When she straightens again, her eyes scan around the room, landing right on Cassian. Just as it always does, his heart gives a longing pang deep in his chest, and he just hopes it’s not too noticeable on his face.

Rhys and Az have always teased him for the way he tends to wear his heart so plainly on his sleeve. And his chosen brothers have certainly teased him for the way he tends to become a fumbling idiot wherever and whenever Nesta Archeron is concerned. But he’s determined not to fuck it up this time. Determined not to fuck things with her up. This is his chance, and he prays it won’t be his last.

With slow, careful steps, Cassian makes his way across the dance floor of the ballroom, not taking his eyes off Nesta’s face for a moment. When he’s standing before her, he holds his hand out between them, palm up and waiting. Nesta slides her hands into his, and that one simple touch has sparks skating up Cassian’s arm. He gently curls his fingers around hers, relishing in the warmth and weight, in the rightness, of having her hand in his. His other hand slides along her waist to the small of her back, fingers flexing almost subconsciously. He swears he can hear Nesta’s breath hitching in her throat when he tugs her closer, but any sound is drowned out by the string quartet beginning the next song.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Cassian says as he begins to lead them through the steps of the dance with ease. “On your engagement.”

Nesta’s hand tightens minisculely in his, but she gives no other sign that his words have struck a chord, that mask of hers still firmly in place. “Yes. Thank you.”

“How curious that you never mentioned Tomas in any of your letters.” Cassian keeps his tone light, his comment almost idle, but knows he’s hit his mark from the way her mask starts to slip, the way a flame sparks within her eyes, her mouth pinching down in a frown. “So, tell me, what is it you love about him?”

“Excuse me?” Nesta asks, her steps stuttering for just a moment.

Cassian doesn’t let it deter him, continuing through the steps of the dance as he continues speaking. “The Nesta I remember used to swear that she’d only marry for love, just like the women in her books.”

“That was a fairytale.”

“So, you don’t love him then?”

“How dare you,” Nesta hisses, stopping her steps abruptly and stepping out of Cassian’s hold. “How dare you come back to London after all these years and think you know anything.”

Cassian steps closer again, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing anymore attention to them. “I know more than you think, sweetheart.”

“You know nothing.”

That fire is blazing in her gaze now, but before Cassian can say anything more, she turns on her heel, stalking away. Cassian is quick to follow her, not giving up that easily. He follows her out the large, french doors of the ballroom and onto the terrace. The moon shines bright and full in the sky above, wispy streaks of silver blanketing some of the stars. The floral scent of the gardens floats to them on the evening breeze, the strands of Nesta’s hair blowing gently around her face.

“I know nothing?” Cassian laughs humorlessly. “Fine. Correct me, then. Tell me how much you want this marriage with Tomas Mandray.”

“You should go home, Cassian. Go back to Glasgow.”

“Not until you look me in the eye and tell me this is what you want. Not your father. Not your mother. You.”

The request hangs in the air between them, each second of silence that ticks by stifling. The music from inside pours out through the opened french doors and onto the terrace, but all Cassian can hear is his own heart thundering away, the blood pounding in his ears. He tries to will Nesta to understand, to realize that all she needs to do is say the word, that he’d do anything for her. He’d burn the world and place the ashes at her feet if she asked him to. For a brief moment, an emotion that looks dangerously like grief passes across her face, but just as soon as it appears, it vanishes, that mask sealing back firmly in place.

“Go home, Cassian.”

Nesta brushes past Cassian and back into the party, leaving him standing there alone on the terrace. He turns to watch her go, to watch her melt into the moving bodies of those dancing and mingling about. As she vanishes out of sight, he wonders if she knows she’s taking his heart with her, bloodied and bruised and straight from his chest.

He turns back toward the gardens and leans his hands against the railing that borders the terrace, fingers curling against the stone as he tightens his grip. He closes his eyes as he lets out a stuttering breath, tipping his head up toward the sky as if the stars may provide the answers he’s looking for.

She never answered his question, never fulfilled his request to declare that Tomas was what she wanted, and Cassian doesn’t think he’ll ever get that moment, that brief flash of anguish marring her face, out of his mind. He’s sure he’ll see it every time he closes his eyes. And it’s with startling clarity that Cassian knows. He knows that there will never be anyone else for him. He knows that he’d go to the ends of the earth for Nesta.

He knows that he’s about to do something very, very stupid.

—

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[hearts-hunger]

sweet peach || sam kiszka x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Sometimes, you want special attention from Sam. He reminds you that all you have to do is ask.

Pairings: Sam Kiszka x Reader | Genres: fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort | Word Count: 3k | Chapter Warnings: none, I think?

A/N: This is, like, Hollow To The Touch's fluffier sister fic. Idk why Sam conjures these angsty stories in me, but I sure do like writing them! I hope you like it too! ♡

“Look! Here it comes.”

You pointed to the model train that wove its way through swaths of flowers and low-hanging palms, a delighted smile on your face as it passed you by and chugged up to the miniature bridge suspended overhead. You followed it until it came back down to steam through a scale-model town complete with shops and a train station. 

“You sure do like that train, don’t you?”

You looked behind you and grinned at your boyfriend. “How could you guess?”

He chuckled, watching with you as the train continued to another part of the greenhouse. Sam had surprised you yesterday with a weekend getaway trip to the Biltmore, and you’d been telling him excitedly about the model train exhibit in the greenhouse since you’d gotten in the car.

“Isn’t it gorgeous in here?” you asked, looking at a display of lovely pink and orange orchids. 

He hummed in agreement. “Hey,” he said, gesturing to the small sign in the display. “These are your special orchids, honey.”

You smiled, seeing that the sign read peach dendrobium orchid. Sam had called you “peach” since your first date where you’d worn a soft pink dress, and the nickname had stuck.

“They are my special orchids, aren’t they?” you said happily. You glanced at the camera that rested against his chest, wondering if he’d offer to take a picture of you with the orchids, but he gave the flowers one last look and headed on to look at a different display.

You bit the inside of your cheek. You knew it wasn’t fair, but you didn’t want to have to ask him to take your picture; you wanted him to do it because he wanted to do it.

Pushing the thought aside, you joined him at the model greenhouse.

“There’s us,” he said. He looked over your shoulder. “And I think your train’s coming back.”

You watched the little tunnel to your right until the train came through.

“That’s my dream job, I think,” you said.

He smiled. “What, model trains?”

“Yeah,” you said, following the train through the flowers to the next exhibit. “It would be so fun to build all this stuff and set the track up, don’t you think?”

“I think it would drive me crazy to set up all this little stuff,” he said, but he wasn’t unkind. “I’m glad you like it, though. We should get a model train for your Christmas village this year.”

You smiled up at him. “Could we?”

He shrugged. “Sure. You’ll just have to keep Josh from staging train robberies with all your little village people.”

You laughed and went to take his hand. Just as your fingers glanced his, though, he took his camera and snapped a few pictures of the greenhouse roof through a spray of palm fronds.

You swallowed another pang of hurt and put your hands in your dress pockets, following him as he continued down the brick path through the greenhouse that led out to the garden.

Sam wasn’t the most overtly lovey-dovey boyfriend, that much was just a fact. You’d known it going in, and you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t that big of a deal. Most of the time, it wasn’t — you knew that he loved you, and he showed you as much as he told you. He was patient and kind and gentle with you all the time. He remembered little things you told him, things even you’d forgotten you’d mentioned to him. He was forever finding little ways to serve you, from carrying your bags to getting you coffee to everything in between, and he was the Olympic world champion of writing little love notes and leaving them where you’d be sure to find them throughout the day. He loved you, and there was no way you could ever doubt it.

But, as far as public displays of affection went, they just weren’t his thing. He preferred not to kiss in public, and hand-holding was usually met with a sort of willing indifference. He didn’t really think to take pictures of you when you were out and about, and you always had a tough time getting him to dance with you at parties. You’d learned to be okay without those things; besides, when you were home and you gave him even the slightest bit of prompting, he’d shower you with kisses and affectionate touches and spontaneous dance parties until you thought your heart would break.

But every once in a while, when you wanted it when you weren’t at home and you wanted him to start it, it would hurt. You guessed today was one of those days.

You trailed behind him out in the garden, watching the butterflies drift from flower to flower. In the shade of the long, vine-covered pergola a few paces away, a couple giggled and took a selfie as he kissed her cheek.

“Hey, peach.”

You tore your gaze away from the couple, trying to ignore the jealousy gnawing at you. “Yes?”

Sam beckoned you over, and your heart jumped for a moment; you practically skipped to his side and waited for him to take your hand or put his arm around your shoulder or something.

He nodded to the huge, wine-colored tulip amid a few pink ones. 

“Can you hold that purple one closer to the pink ones?” he asked, hunkering down and getting his camera ready.

Your heart dropped to your shoes, again. “Oh. Uh, sure.” 

You did as he said, holding the flower just so in order for him to get the perfect picture. Photography had become a hobby of his lately, especially with his fancy new film camera, and you usually enjoyed indulging his desire to get a very specific shot. Today, though, you felt embarrassed to be standing awkwardly, holding a flower for your boyfriend who didn’t even care about you.

You grimaced. That last thought had been uncharitable, and you knew it wasn’t true. Still, you couldn’t ignore the bitterness and hurt that was welling inside you with an alarming quickness.

“Perfect,” he said, grinning up at you. “Thanks, peach.”

You managed a tight smile. “You’re welcome, honey.”

Sam tried to engage you in conversation as you meandered through the garden, but you couldn’t quite muster up any enthusiasm for talking.

“It’s a great day for strolling through a garden, huh?”

“Mmh.”

“I’m glad I’m spending this beautiful sunny day with you.”

“Right.”

“I think we should buy the Biltmore and have a baby for every bedroom, what do you think?”

“Okay.” You registered what he’d said a second too late. “Wait, what?”

He gave you a slightly worried smile, cocking his head at you as if looking at you from a different angle would reveal something.

“You okay, peach?” he asked gently.

You wilted, knowing you were being rude. “Yes. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening.”

“That’s alright, honey.” He held the waist-high gate open for you as you walked to another part of the grounds. “We can go back to the hotel for a power nap or something. Or go do that wine tasting thing in the village if you’re tired of just walking around.”

“I don’t care what we do,” you said, and you smiled to soften it. “Really. I’ll do whatever you want to do.”

He frowned. “But it’s your vacation.” He ducked under a low-hanging willow branch. “You’re supposed to be the one calling the shots.”

You sighed. If that was true, Sam would be smothering you in kisses and telling every person you walked by how much he loved you and how beautiful you were.

“I hear you sighing, peach,” he said. He unfolded his map of the grounds and tried to figure out where you were. “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to twenty-questions it out of you?”

“Not twenty questions,” you said, embarrassed.

“No?” He peered over the map and through the winding shrub garden. “Glad to hear it. So, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied. “Sometimes I just like sighing.” You sighed again to prove your point.

He laughed. “Okay.” He put his map away and looked back at you.

“Would you like to go to the azalea garden or the Italian garden?” he asked. “Or somewhere else, keeping in mind that I am perfectly happy to go anywhere you want?”

You felt a sharp sting of guilt at how petulant you’d been acting. Sam didn’t deserve for you to be moody, especially not on a trip he’d planned for you, and certainly not when he’d never set the expectations you were upset with him for not meeting.

“I’d like to go to the Italian gardens,” you said meekly. “Please.”

He smiled and gave a grand, theatrical gesture to his left. “Right this way, my lady.”

You walked close to each other as you set a leisurely pace for the Italian garden, and you twisted your fingers together to keep from reaching out and taking his hand. You didn't think he wouldn’t mind if you did, but you didn't like to want things from him that he didn't want from you. You twisted the worn pearl ring he’d gotten you at an antique store forever ago around and around on your finger.

You came through the opening in the hedgerow to the long stretch of ponds lush with water lilies. Little statues were interspersed between the ponds, and you took your time wandering around to see the flowers and the koi fish that swam among their roots.

When you came near to the house, Sam stopped at a statue of a woman and a child dancing with flowers in their hair. The woman was nude from the waist up, one hand extended upwards in her dance, the other holding on to the child’s hand.

“It’s called ‘The Dancing Lesson’,” Sam told you. “Very ‘Flower Power’, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I’m sure your song is what the artist had in mind.”

He smiled, pleased he’d amused you with his joke. He raised his camera and took his time getting the picture he wanted.

“She’s beautiful,” he said, and your heart twisted with foolish jealousy. When he reached out to touch the statue, you turned and walked up the steps to the library terrace a few feet away.

“Peach, wait!”

You ignored him. You didn’t want to turn back and see him touching the statue and taking pictures of it and saying how beautiful it was. You didn’t want to feel jealous over a stupid statue, of all things.

“Peach, honey, hold on.”

Sam caught up to you and took your wrist in a gentle grip to make you stop. You felt a full-body shiver of delight at his touch that only made you feel worse.

“Let go,” you said, pulling out of his grip. He released you without protest.

“I’m sorry for grabbing you,” he said, thinking he’d upset you with his touch instead of his lack of it. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk.”

Neither of you said anything for a moment. You started to twist your ring uncomfortably again.

“What’s going on, honey?” he asked. “Are you sick?”

You shook your head.

“Okay,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

Again, you shook your head. It seemed like he was having to do twenty-questions with you after all, but you hated to tell him what had gotten you so upset when it wasn’t really his fault.

He started to say something else, but a tour group came out of the double doors that led from the library out to the shaded terrace. He gently steered you out of their way and found a bench in the far corner, pulling you to sit with him.

“Let’s just sit here a minute and cool off, okay?” he said. 

You nodded. 

“And when you’re ready,” he said, “I’d really like for you to tell me what’s going on.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Peach,” he said, gentle. “I don’t lie to you, so I don’t want you to lie to me. Alright?”

You nodded, but you didn’t say anything. He put his hand over yours after a moment, and you wished it hadn’t been a crisis that had drawn him to hold your hand.

“I want to fix it, honey,” he said, and you knew he meant it. “I didn’t plan this trip so we could sit here and be upset with each other. Help me figure out how to get my sweet peach back to her usual chirpy self.”

You felt the sting of tears. “Your sweet peach?”

“You are, aren’t you?” He squeezed your hand. “Come on, my sweet peach. Tell me what’s bothering you so much.”

“I want you to hold my hand,” you said, almost in a whisper.

He held your hand tighter, the one he was already holding. “Okay. What else?”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. You knew he deserved the truth, and he was being so patient with you; you looked up and met his eyes even though you wanted to run and hide.

“I want you to hold my hand in the garden,” you said, and your voice was wobbly. “When we walk together. I want you to hold my hand.”

He nodded after a moment. “Okay. I will. Have you... have you wanted me to this whole time?”

A tear rolled down your cheek, and before you could reach up and try to hide it, Sam had touched his fingers to your cheek and brushed it away.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said quietly. He tucked your hair behind your ear. “That makes me sad, peach. I wish you would have asked. You know I would have loved to hold your hand if you asked me to.”

“I know,” you said, and you hated yourself for how bitter you still felt. You raised his hand to your face; he splayed his fingers and cradled your cheek.

“So why didn’t you, honey?” he asked.

You met his eyes, desperate to make him understand.

 “I don’t want to make you do it if you don’t want to,” you said, the words spilling out of you now. “I always feel like I’m asking for things you don’t want to give, and then something like this happens and you say you’ll hold my hand and take pictures of me and whatever else I want, but isn’t it just because I asked you to do it and not because you want to do it?”

You stood, agitated and ashamed at your behavior. 

“I don’t ask because I don’t want to be needy and clingy, but...” You gave a helpless laugh and wrapped your arms around yourself. “I guess that ship has already sailed.”

He didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t bear the silence, and you walked over to the terrace railing and looked out over the mountains in the distance.

You heard him join you, and you let out a shaky breath when he brushed his thumb over the strap of your dress.

“I forgot to tell you how pretty you are in this dress,” he said. “I think you’re prettier than any of the flowers in the garden, peach.”

Your throat felt tight. “So why didn’t you take a picture of me?”

He sighed. “You know I’m not good at that kind of stuff, honey. It’s not that I don’t want to, it just... doesn’t occur to me. You have to ask.”

He tugged gently on a lock of your hair. “And I know you don’t want to have to ask. I understand that. But it doesn’t make you clingy to ask, and it doesn’t mean I don’t love you because I don’t think to do those things for you. I’m trying to be better about it, to be more... aware of it. But it’s not going to happen overnight, sweetheart.”

The guilt in his voice tore at you. You turned to face him.

“Do you have something you want to ask me?” he said, tender and sweet.

“Can you hold my hand?” you asked quietly.

A smile flickered across his face. “Of course I can.”

He took your hand in his and squeezed it gently. 

“Can I...” You wavered, even though he’d said you could ask. His smile was soft.

“Does my sweet peach want a... kiss?” he asked.

You blushed and gave a bashful nod.

“A kiss for my sweet peach, then,” he said, and gave you a gentle, chaste kiss. “See how easy it is? You don't ever have to worry that you're asking for something I won't give, honey. I promise.”

You leaned your head against his chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t just ask, Sam. I'm sorry about... all of this. It’s not fair of me to expect you to read my mind.”

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “But I understand why you were upset. Thank you for apologizing.”

You looked up at him. “Will you forgive me?”

“Already done.” He kissed your temple. “I promise to pay better attention and try my best to initiate more. You’ll just have to take it easy on me, okay?”

You cherished the way his touch lingered. “Okay.”

You walked together, hand in hand, back to the greenhouse and around to the azalea garden. The shrubs were in full bloom in every shade of pink, purple, and white, and birds flitted to and fro as they sang.

“Sam, look!”

Your voice was hushed as you walked carefully, quietly over to a bird’s nest in a cradle of pink flowers.

“Look how pretty they are,” you said, looking over the fragile little eggs inside.

“Peach.”

You looked over your shoulder at his voice, a smile on your face, and heard the camera shutter before you saw he was taking a picture.

“Sam,” you chided, bashful even though you were happy he’d done it.

“It’s a beautiful picture, honey,” he said. “Stay just like that.”

You did as he said, and you felt a rush of eager butterflies when he lowered the camera after he’d taken another picture. The way he was looking at you spoke more than any words, and you twined your fingers with his as you came close to him again.

“Sam?”

“Hm?”

“Will you give me a kiss?”

He grinned and did as you said, quick and sweet and gentle. “I like it when you ask me for what you want, peach. I always love to give it to you.”

You brushed his soft hair behind his ear. “I love you very much, Sam.”

He smiled, sunshine-soft and full of tenderness.

 “My sweet peach,” he said gently. “I love you very much too.”

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sorry if tumblr didn’t tag you — it’s stupid sometimes. but i’m real thankful for you, sweet peaches! and if you’re a new bestie and would like to be added to my taglist, check out the form right here!

[andydrysdalerogers]

To The Limit ~ Prologue

F1 Racer Johnny Storm x OFC Maya Levinson

Summary: He's been away from the sport for 2 years. He has 24 races to prove he belongs here. There are two things that could derail this: his family and her.

She's the one thing he is willing to push to the limit for.

This a sequel to my original story, "Following Team Orders" If you want to get caught up in my Formula One world, you can find it HERE

Future Warnings: references to a partner's death, cheating (but not by the MCs,) alcohol consumption, SMUT!, angst, racing incidents, language, grief, etc.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

Previous Chapter: None!

Story Master List // Main Master List

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

End of Season Debrief 

Johnny 

Second.  

Second place again.  

Whose cock do I need to suck just to get to first? 

Not that I think the new champion did that. I would never say anything like that about her. Steve Rogers earned that second championship. He and I had fought hard this year for it and he just edged me out.  Considering his fiancé gave everything and almost stole this championship away. But its frustrating to be right there and miss it. He earned it, this championship. But I can’t help but think: when will it be mine? 

One would think that driving for Ferrari would me I would have the best car in the world. That I could win every race. I used to think that too.  But driving in Formula One is not just having the right equipment. You must have the right team with you as well.  

In the pit, they are top notch. No complaints.  

My team principal and my engineer, well, that’s a different story.  

I’ve been with Ferrari for the last five years. I’m supposed to be winning championships. This year is the closest I have been to the top. Next year, I can feel it.  I’ll get my chance.  

“Alright, everyone settle, down” the team Principal, Nick Fowler. “Let’s review the last race and then talk about what we could have changed.” 

“A lot,” I muttered under my breath. It was still caught by my best friend and fellow driver, Charles LeClerc. He sniggers under his breath before clearing his throat and starts to pay attention. Unfortunately, my mind wanders to the night before. Sitting at that bar with Luna (the name I’ve decided to call her because the moon gave her a halo effect. That and she never gave me her name) just talking and drinking. It had to have been one of the best nights of my life.  But she disappeared in the morning after we fell asleep in my room.  

“Storm!” My head snaps back up to see Nick glaring at me. Fuck how long was I zoned out. “I need to meet with you after this.”  

“Yes, sir.” His face looks pissed. Then again, Nick always looked pissed.   

The meeting dragged on and on. Finally, Nick wished everyone a “happy holidays” and then waved me forward. “Charles, I’ll see you in France, right?” 

“Bit of skiing should be fun.  See you after the new year, my friend.”  We hugged and then I made my way to my team principal’s office.  

“You wanted to speak with me, boss?” 

“Yeah, come on in.” Nick shuffled some paperwork on his desk as I sat in front of him. “I know you’ve been waiting to hear about a contract extension. And while we haven’t picked anyone else up, we have decided not to renew your contract.”  

I must be hearing things. Nick didn’t just say that. “What? What do you mean?” 

“I mean, we decided to go in a different direction. You’ve had five years at Ferrari to make something happen. Second place isn’t enough.” He looked at me with bored eyes.  

“What do you mean second isn’t enough?  That’s the best Ferrari has been in the last ten. I’ve been getting this team further and further ahead.” 

“And yet, you can’t get the prize.” Nick stood up. “I’m sorry but you’re out, Johnny.”  

I was fuming. “You’ll regret this, Nick. I will win a championship and it’ll be under someone else’s flag. “ 

“I seriously doubt that.”  

“Fuck you!”  I stormed out of his office and went to my driver room. I’ve been in this spot for seven years and I just wasted five with the biggest asshole since Lloyd Hansen.  At least at Mercedes, with Hansen, they won championships. I started to pack up my stuff. I left most of my Ferrari gear. Just taking the things Charles had signed for me and some mementos from races I had one. My mind was swirling, I have no ride. I have no job for the next year. I sent a text to my agent to let him know what happened.  

I looked around the room one last time. As I stood there, a knock came to the door. I went to open it and was shocked to see Molly standing in front of me. “Molly?” I hadn’t seen her since our tryst a couple of months ago. She worked for Red Bull with Olivia, which was how I met her. After our night together, she told me she couldn’t do anything serious now, with the championship race being very tight.  I lost to Olivia’s fiancé but had beaten Olivia by only five points. She was good for a first time driver with Mercedes.  

“Hi Johnny, can we talk?” 

“Sure.” I let her into the room. “Sorry it's a mess but I .. was packing up for the end of the season.” I couldn’t tell her I just lost my ride. At least not yet.  

“Oh.” She looked around, stalling from the look of it.  

“Everything ok?” She looked pale and nervous.  

“No,” she shook her head. “I need to tell you something.” 

NEXT

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

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[ashesandhackles]

@hprecfest Day 10, 11 and 12

Posting three days worth of recs cos real life got in the way of posting it on their said days :P enjoy!

Day 10 - A fest fic

Nymphadora by @bluethepineapple

Written for the @womenofthehouseofblack , this fic is dark fairytale about families - families you are part of, families you have left behind and the complicated love that runs through both. The implied parallel in conversation between Andromeda and Tonks to Andromeda and Bellatrix is particularly haunting.

Summary:

Nymphadora (Greek) n. "The gifts of the Nymphs"

Andromeda could only watch as her daughter set off to war.

The Rougarou by @evesaintyves

Wolfstar.

I am big champion of reading everything written by Eve, but this fic is my favourite from her! This fic is steeped in grief and death post First War, and even as Remus tries his best to hide away from it all, New Orleans haunts him. It's a beautiful piece and I keep rereading it time and again.

Summary:

After the end of the first war, Remus goes to New Orleans to forget.

Day 11 - A dark fic

Three Knocks Upon the Door by @lunapwrites

Lily/Tonks.

This fic! Such effective imagery and contextaulisation for the quotes we know from canon. The Lily in this story has a hypnotic quality to her, and you can't help be drawn in - like Tonks.

Summary:

Knocking on wood three times is said to bring good fortune; but three knocks on your window or door without a clear cause is an omen of death.

In this case, it's a little of both.

(In which Tonks gets suspended from field duty, and takes matters into her own hands.)

First and Last and Always by Vermoulian

Sirius Black/Severus Snape.

The Snirius discord server is in love with this fic - and I can see why. It is beautifully written and makes you sit viscerally in Snape's headspace, to the point that sometimes you are discomfited.

Summary:

Black had been nearly skeletal when he came out of Azkaban, but he’d put on muscle again.

He prowled, and he loomed, and whatever earthy animal quality he’d had as a younger man had transmuted into something feral and predatory, during his twelve years of imprisonment.

Severus had his wand. He swallowed hard. His wand. Magic. His only defense, because Black outweighed him by at least three stone. But magic was more than enough. Severus had never needed physical prowess. His magical strength, and the keenness of his mind, gave him the advantage.

Except when it didn’t.

Day 12 - A WIP you are following

Beasts by @whinlatter

Ginny Weasley coming of age fic? Ginny Weasley fic that addresses all the canon gaps of Hinny relationship in a layered way? Sign me up! I have always liked Ginny, but beyond wondering about how Chamber of Secrets affected her - I never cared for her. Whinlatter makes you care about her interior life, makes you see that post war Hinny isn't going to be as easy as breathing. Basically, it's love.

Summary:

Ginny Weasley comes of age among them: the beasts, the wild things of their world.

(or: how the youngest Weasley won the Hanging Out With Hagrid Award).

Canon compliant, multi-chapter, non-linear narrative, Golden Gen, PS through post-DH (1981-1999). Harry/Ginny.

The War of Roses by @saintsenara

Sirius Black/Severus Snape.

A canon divergent Snirius fic from asenora? I slammed the subscribe button even before reading it - but having read the first chapter, I greatly enjoy the emphasis on what Azkaban has done to Sirius and I cannot wait to see where she takes this.

Summary:

Sirius Black does not die. But this does not mean that it is easy for him to live.

Or: a butterfly flaps its wings and Sirius does not go to the Department of Mysteries. What follows from that twist of fate is a story about the long, destructive shadow of a schoolboy rivalry; a story about surviving, and how surviving is sometimes more difficult than dying; a story about the fragility of beauty, the gentleness of hope, and the value of choice.

It is also a love story.

Scylla and Charybdis by @saintsenara

Severus Snape/Lord Voldemort.

I love the way Asenora writes Snape - his insecurity, his attraction to power, danger and darkness. I love how the narrative has cuts from his older self reflections, and I am really curious to see where she will take this. It also has Snirius crumbs so large that we could make a sandwich.

Summary:

Severus Snape just wants somewhere to belong.

This will turn out to be a curse.

[feelyourrush]

A Sonny Disposition || Tim LaFlour x F!OC || Chapter 001

Synopsis: Sonny, a freshman at Stratford University, is a bubbly and hyper-feminine fashion design student all the way from Australia. She's excited to be on her own for the first time, but settling into independence is proving to be more complicated than she anticipated. Thankfully, fellow student, piercing-lover punk, and hockey ingenue Tim LaFlour lives in the same apartment building as her and is more than willing to lend a helping hand—even if they seem to be from completely separate worlds. What will they learn from each other? What will they have the patience to teach each other?

Genre/tags: Pure fluff, no smut. A friends-to-lovers slow burn romance with mutual pining. Imagine two golden retrievers crushing hard on each other p much!! Slight age difference, big size difference.

Word count: 1,850

A/N: My first fic in the Matt Lillard tag! My first fic on this blog! My first fic in a long, long time. And of course I couldn't help but start a new series. Aiming for this to be a novella/shorter chapter book. Hope y'all enjoy and please leave feedback if you have it!!

"Honestly, Auntie Steph, Uncle Benny—" I let out a grunt, hoisting a large suitcase and out of the back of their trunk— "Don't worry too much about me. I'll be fine, and I know who to call in case I need any help."

They followed behind me, with Auntie Steph carrying a large dress form and Uncle Benny pushing a dolly with the rest of my things. "We know, love. We're just one call away, and your Auntie Steph has some clients downtown," Uncle Benny addressed me from behind the pile of moving boxes atop the dolly as we walked into the apartment building.

"Right. I'm down here at least twice a week," Aunt Steph said. She was a consultant for an interior design firm, handling top-tier clients. Famous actresses, hockey players, the like. I held the door open as best as I could, practically squished between the door and the railing of the small staircase up to the apartment building.

I was a few days away from starting my freshman year at Stratford University in Toronto. I was a late registrant, so by the time I got accepted, there was no housing left in the freshman dorms. Instead, I was assigned to an apartment typically reserved for the upperclassmen. It was still maintained by the university, but I supposed I still had perks. Living with the older students probably meant a bit more freedom, not that I was planning on doing much besides schoolwork.

My aunt and uncle were just like my parents, worrywarts. Except, I could at least dodge my parents somewhat; I came all the way from Australia where I've lived for the last... well, my whole life. They were busy with work so all they could do was drop me off at the airport. Between then and about an hour ago, when I met up with my aunt and uncle at the airport, I traveled alone and enjoyed it. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, and I appreciate having people who cared about me a lot—but my goodness, could they be overbearing!

I was trying to hide my anxiousness to get rid of my aunt and uncle, but I wasn't so sure how well it was working. "I know. I've got you both on speed dial," I said, flashing them one of my signature megawatt smiles as we careened my things inside.

Like in the movies, students were bustling across the lobby, traversing its small space with ease. They looked grown up, if that makes sense. I felt intimidated, to say the least, and had half a mind to pay a visit to the chancellor's office or find someone else in charge to see if they could squeeze me into one of the freshman dorms. I would take an air duct if it was all they had.

My apartment was upstairs, at the very end of the hall on the third floor. The building seemed older, less well-kept and modern like the rest of the university. The dusty spiderwebs in the corners of the ceiling and the scratched linoleum in my room gave the whole place a nice charm, though. It was lived-in, and felt grown-up, too.

I could feel the excitement set in as Uncle Benny emptied the dolly. Eventually, they plopped onto the sunken-in, emerald green couch in the middle of the living room. I laughed, watching them take their exaggerated breaths. We were a theatrical bunch.

"Somehow, we did it," Auntie Steph said.

Uncle Benny checked his watch. "Alright, honey. It's almost lunch time. We'll get out of your hair so you can get something to eat. Remember what we said."

"Of course," I said, giving them hugs as they stood up from the couch. Real good hugs, too, like the ones I'd given my family right before I got on the plane. It was a bittersweet moment, one that marked the end of my phase as that little kid who played dress up with her Barbie dolls and the beginning of my new chapter as a fashion design student. "I love you both."

"We love you too," Aunt Steph said. "We'll send our wishes."

After they left, I was so exhausted from my long journey that I thought I'd better rest, too. With a deep breath, I landed on the couch—and heard a crack of wood underneath me. I sank a few inches.

===

"Thanks so much," I said while signing my name on a piece of paper. I looked up at the gentleman with a polite, expectant smile.

"Are ya sure you don't need our help carrying this up?" he asked, raising his eyebrow at me. Behind him, a small crew of movers were transporting my new couch into the lobby.

"Umm..." I sized the couch up and down. It was about the same size as my old one, with three cushions. Knowing my parents, they ordered me something a bit hefty so it would last longer, made of real wood and all. I had the upper body strength of a squirrel, probably, but I didn't want to look stupid in front of the movers. I was grown up, after all, doing big girl things now. Surely I could move a couch by myself. Giving them all a thumbs up, I said, "I should be able to handle it. Got some friends coming soon to help me."

"Alright," the gentleman filed my papers away and gave his crew a shrug before walking out. "Have a good day, miss."

It was just me and a couch in the lobby now. "Hmm." I circled it, feeling its plastic wrap. At least I wouldn't have to worry about the cushions flying off while I was carrying this thing. I glanced over at the elevator, which was much too small to fit the couch on (and it probably would've been over the weight limit). Then I looked up at the stairs.

Not realizing I was taking up the space in front of the main entryway to the building, I heard someone clear their throat behind me, startling me.

"Uh... need a hand?"

I didn't know where to look first, because it certainly wasn't his face. He was a tall guy, at least a foot taller than me, bleach blonde, and he wore these giant black combat boots, faded gray jeans that had more than a little distressing on them, and a cut-off t-shirt that said The Ramones on it. He had a cornucopia of piercings on his face. Their silver beads reflected under the fluorescent light. I'd never seen anyone like him before.

I was probably gawking, because a second later, he spoke again. "You okay?"

I picked my jaw up off the floor. "Yeah! Yeah, totally. I just, um..." I chuckled awkwardly, patting the top of the couch.

"Did you order this thing?"

"Yes, I did," I said confidently.

"You know, the apartments come with their own couches, right?" He couldn't hide his smile.

"Yeah," I said, not so confidently anymore. For a scary-looking guy, he had a big, friendly smile. It caught me off guard, just like the rest of him did. "Mine, um, broke."

Despite his smile, I thought he was going to chew me out and tell me to move. But he looked the couch up and down, and then looked at me at least up (my lower half was covered by the back of the couch) and said, "Right. Well, I'm cool with it being here but I don't know if the rest of the guys will be."

"Rest of the...?"

Before I knew it, a slew of boys—men? students?—flooded into the apartment building, vaulting over the couch and brushing past me to go upstairs. They were all the same size and stature as him and for a second there, I was worried I would get trampled, so I stayed completely still, scrunching my face.

They were all carrying duffel bags and hockey sticks, dressed in Stratford jerseys and sweatpants. I put two and two together. When the dust settled was around the same time I realized I could ask them to help me carry the couch up, but they were already gone by then. I looked over at the guy and we seemed to be on the same wavelength.

"Do you think I could—"

"Hey, do you need—"

We chuckled, realizing we talked over each other. He said, "I got you." Then, he hollered up, "Hey! Sammo! Bowman! Could use a hand."

They spawned from above, almost racing each other to the bottom of the steps. I couldn't help but laugh at how rowdy they were.

"Oh, we got a new couch for the spot, eh?" asked Sammo, whose name was on his jersey. Bowman splayed across the couch for a laugh before hopping back up.

"This is..." the blonde guy looked over at me, furrowing his brow.

"Sonny. I'm Sonny," I smiled.

"Tim, you caught yourself a girl from down undah?" Sammo teased.

The blonde, who I knew now as Tim, continued. "....Sonny, and she needs our help carrying this to her apartment. Apartment...?"

"13."

"Damn. That's all the way at the end of the hall, isn't it?" Bowman asked.

"C'mon, boys. Sonny's new around here. Let's be polite and make her want to stay," Tim said. It was then that I noticed he also had a duffel bag and hockey sticks, which he set down outside. They each took a side and I went to lift my own, but I was met with a hand up from Sammo.

"Don't worry about this, me'lady. Don't want you liftin' up a finger." Sammo grinned.

So, I took careful steps behind them, figuring I shouldn't insist to be in the way, and watched them pivot with every bend of the staircase. This was a whole lot easier than careening this whole thing up myself. I wasn't sure what I was thinking when I let those movers leave.

Finally, they set the couch down in the middle of my room. It seemed to be no effort to them at all. I wore a warm smile.

"Thank you guys, so much," I said, holding my hands together.

"Ah, don't mention it. C'mon, Sammo, let's go." The pair left my place, and me and Tim, alone.

I chuckled, feeling a bit awkward. "You really saved the day," I said. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry," he told me. "Looks like we were at the right place at the right time." He smiled. "Well, Sonny, it turns out I'm actually in the apartment right underneath you. Number six. So if you need anything else..."

A sort of dread filled my stomach. You could hear every step you took in this place thanks to the creaky wooden floors. I was already a bit worried about bothering my neighbors with my endless nights of sewing and my impromptu dance parties, now I had to think about not bothering Tim. Strange and yet adorable and super helpful Tim. I tried to hide how horrified I was with a smile right back.

"Cool. I'll keep that in mind," I said. "Thanks again, and, um, see ya around."

"See ya."

[mrslittletall]

fic writer self-recs

tagged by: @misskriemhilds (thank you and sorry for taking forever to do this)

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers.

Alright, without further ado, let's begin:

A Storm is coming (Dark Souls) This fic came to be because I was stuck with another fic of mine and frustrated and was like "Okay, but what would happen if Ornstein followed around the Chosen Undead during the second half of the game?!" I wrote the first chapter and added chapters whenever I felt like it and then this thing had over 40 kudos despite them not having gone on the adventure yet and I was like "??? Where did'ya all come from???" And then I started to put effort into this fic. My Chosen Undead, Tempest, grew into a proper OC. The story became a clear structure and outline. And the relationship between the two grew into a slowburn mutual pining romance. That is my most popular Dark Souls fic and I consider it my Magnum Opus as a writer. I sometimes write these two still for one-shots and they always always are so easy to write. They feel like a part of me now. Thanks so much to everyone who gave this fic a chance and stayed with it. Thank you so much.

Keeping it together (Dark Souls)

This is the fic I was stuck on and why I started to write Storm. It is basically about Ornstein dealing with Artorias' death. Horribly. I had a hard time myself during writing this, living through burnout. The year 2019 was my year to heal from everything and I made good effort but then... well, you know what happened in 2020... Anyway, I struggled a lot with this fic, but I think the last chapter of this is the best chapter I have written in my whole writing career. And it only happened because I took a deep breath and then suddenly everything was clear and I knew what I had to do. Off Balance (Hollow Knight)

Ah, another case of "I am writing this on a whim." This fic came to be because of some art of teenage Hollow and I was like "Oh, I want to make fic to this art". I first thought it might be a one-shot but I got ideas and continued and then it turned into a full fix-it and PK redemption arc. You can see in this fic how it grows and the characters with it. You can see how I make WL from sad mother to the queen she is, how PK grows into the role as a father but never stops struggling and how Hollow turns from the Pure Vessel into a child that enjoys life. This fic was extremely well received and I regurlarly receive kudos on it. I am coming back to this universe, I promise. It was just... after 2022, my life turned into hell. Hollow, Pendry, Rydellia, you are waiting for me, right?

Frenzy (Bloodborne)

Is that one of my best works? Honestly, it isn't, I really need to rewrite parts of it. But it is very dear to me. The idea was "What if Laurence got too close the Amydgala and turned into a catatonic state as result?" It was an exploration of the Frenzy status. Mostly from the caretaker POV of Ludwig and a little bit of Laurence (because he is not really there most of the time in the fic). I did quite some research on the topic but I vomited out this fic in a week (YES, REALLY), so it is pretty rough around the edges. Ranni and the horrible, annoying, obnoxious Tarnished (Elden Ring) I got this idea after the Mini Ranni quest in Elden Ring. I was like "Wow, she needs someone that shuts her up." And then I though "Hm, I need a Tarnished who can annoy her to no end." And who was grinning at me?! My version of Laurence (Bloodborne), who can be a horrible annoying obnoxious asshole! So I made an Elden Ring version of him and wrote him into this story. And it WORKED! This fic actually got quite some numbers. I guess I am not the only one who wanted to annoy Ranni xD Alright, let's see how many fic writers I can think of tagging... @within-its-cave @ruthlesslistener @deluxinn @redsixwing Go on, give your fics some love!

[paganwitchisis]

"Pint Sized Terror" Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Pranks

Summary: Due to unforeseen circumstances, Astarion is turned into a small child again! Tav and the gang have to figure out how to help the tyke while taking care of him. Things aren't all sunshine and rainbows as trouble finds them. Set after Cazador’s demise in Act 3. Spawn Astarion.  

Word Count: 2,626

Rating: E for Explicit

Trigger Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Creampie, PinV Smut, Angst, kid fic, Consent, Adult Astarion Smut, Otherwise a kid fic, Magic, Consenting Adults

AO3 link is here

Pairing: AFAB Female Tav/Astarion

*Adult content is before and after the situation - when Astarion is 239 years old. I do NOT do otherwise*

Story:

It turns out elven children don’t have to sleep as long as Tav did, so when she woke up alone, she should have been concerned, but then again, he wasn’t a baby, right? What could he have gotten himself into?

“Tav! Get your child under control, or I will…” Shadowheart’s voice came from the other side of the room. Tavaria got up out of bed and laid eyes on the sight before her. On the floor was Astarion drinking something out of a glass container with Shadowheart standing over him looking fairly unhappy. She flickered magic to her hand in a warning that got Tav over to her new charge when she realized it. Astarion wasn’t drinking just anything. He was drinking Shadowheart’s special vintage wine they found in the blighted village months ago. The same wine that Shadowheart had hidden from Astarion and kept for when the absolute fell and they killed the worms inside their heads.

It appeared the young boy had drunk the entire bottle.

Scared about alcohol and the effect it could have on him, Tav scooped the young child who still held the empty glass container and she ran off to Halsin.

Thankfully the man was already awake and privy to the entire scene, chuckling at the antics the little rascal could get into. Halsin waved his hand over the tyke and green magic flowed over the child who just giggled through it all.

“It seems we’ll have one drunk little boy for a few hours, but otherwise, he is fine.”

“Mommy!” Astarion said with a hiccup. Tav sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Tav held the little guy who fell asleep as she questioned Halsin. “Don’t you have a spell to make him...I don’t know? Not drunk?”

Halsin chuckled and replied. “I wish I knew a spell like that! I can keep him asleep if it helps until it runs its course.”

Tav thought it over while looking over the sleeping child and smiled. “Keep him asleep, and if you can, can you do something about his hangover? Taking care of a child is hard, but one who is sick?” Tav shuddered. She would take care of Astarion no matter what may come, but that didn’t mean she would invite him to be sick. If she could spare him the nausea and headache of his actions, she would.

“Nothing that Lesser Restoration can’t fix.” Halsin explained and waved the magic in his hand until it turned blue. The child slept more comfortably in her arms following this.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out to be his...’mother’…” Tav said the last word apprehensively.

“Nonsense. No one is prepared for motherhood, but I am confident in you. No one knows what they’re doing at first. You just kind of wing it and make it up as you go along.” Halsin gave a warm smile and held his arms out. “why don’t you get some rest, let me handle him for a few hours. I’ll let you know when he wakes up.”

Tav thought it over for a moment and nodded. An hour nap would do her wonders, she surmised, so Tav made her way to her bunk and fell into a troubled dreamlike state.

Tav dreamt that Astarion was an adult again and was kissing her. Showing her love with gentle small touches and the endearing way his eyes would appear more rounded when he was gazing at her. He looked so vulnerable, so open and exposed in these fleeting moments. Tav didn’t realize how much she  relied on Astarion until she went a day without him. Sure, he was around, but not as she knew. Not as him.

Tav began to deepen the kiss in her dream. Astarion’s unique taste and the smell of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy reminded her of home. Tav didn’t smell his scent on his child-like self, so Tav didn’t realize how much she missed him, all of him. Tav felt his cool hands drift against her skin and fondle her breast. She felt his other hand begin to travel south – just like the last night they shared together.

She felt alone without him. She didn’t need him sexually, but after Cazador fell, Astarion expressed to her that he was enjoying sex again. They couldn’t keep their hands to themselves when they were alone and Tav figured he just enjoyed sharing his body with her. But it was more than that. It was deeper than just sex. They shared each other’s bodies, their hearts and souls when they made love. Astarion was always ever present and when they were one, it felt like she was on another level of intimacy with him. She was just missing the intimacy they shared. The times they were curled up in bed next to each other. The times when Astarion would kiss her forehead. When Astarion and Tav would bathe together and make weird hairstyles on each other with the soap and shampoo. Tav missed all of it.

Tav was starting to visualize more in her dream when a voice called out her name. Tav could feel like the voice was familiar but she couldn’t put a name to it. Not yet.

The voice called once more.

“Tav? Wake up.” the familiar voice began making her stir awake and the fog began to clear in her head.

“Mmm…” Tav moaned as she stretched her arms above her head. Tav slowly opened her eyes and Jaheira stood looming above her, except she looked...different.

“Take your charge before I teach him some manners!” Jaheira commented while handing over a giggling boy. Tav sat up and took him in her arms before asking Jaheira something she had on her mind. Tav noticed the boy was dressed in his clothes from the day before.

“Why is Astarion with you, and not with Halsin?”

“He had to use the bathroom and when I wasn’t looking, your charge…” Tav was happy Jaheira was saying charge instead of child “…got a pair of scissors. Now? He is lucky I don’t cut his hair like he did mine!”

It was then that Tav noticed why Jaheira looked so odd. Part of her hair on the bottom left side was significantly shorter than the rest. Tav blushed in embarrassment and looked at the boy.

“Astarion, no! We can’t touch other people or their things!”

At once, Tav regretted it because Astarion began to cry.

“What if we kill him? Withers can bring people back from the dead, yes? Why not have Withers bring him back to normal.” Lae’zel offered an idea. This prompted Astarion to cling to Tav and cry harder, scared of the green woman.

“No.” Withers interjected before Tav could react. She held the boy tighter to her and glared at the Githyanki.

“Mommy! Don’t let the bad guy hurt me!” Astarion wailed. Tav looked around to look for her stuffed owlbear, but she couldn’t find it, so she tried to sooth the child another way. She held him and kissed his forehead.

“No one is going to hurt you.” She reassured the child. Thankfully Karlach came up with Clive in hand and offered it to the child who took it, his cries subsiding into sobs

“Are you sure about letting him borrow that, Karlach?” Tav asked the red woman before her.

“Yeah, Astarion was the one who sewed him together. I figure it was fitting that he hold on to him considering the circumstance.” Karlach ruffled Astarion’s hair, who pouted, before he ran to her and hugged her which surprised Tav. She knew that Astarion had more in common with Karlach than some of the others, but she was surprised by his reaction. Then again, this was him as a carefree child. Not the adult she knew and loved.

“Hey buddy! Just the person I wanted to see!” Wyll came up to Tav from behind Karlach. “Do you want to take some sword play lessons while your…mother…” Wyll pronounced her new title tentatively. “gets some shopping done? How does that sound?”

“Yes!!!” Astarion jumped out of his seat on Tav’s lap and ran to Wyll who took him by the hand and led him away. Tav was thankful for their strange family of sorts as she got ready to go out into Baldur’s Gate. Tav got her armor on and asked Lae’zel, Jaheira and Shadowheart to come with her. She chose these three not because of their fighting abilities but rather their distaste for the child she was leaving behind. She didn’t want anything else to go wrong or for Astarion to feel like he was in danger. It took him so long to know what feeling safe meant that she didn’t want a comment from Lae’zel, for example, to jeopardize that.

Tav headed out and found herself a shop that had children’s items and clothing. She picked up a couple more sets of clothes, something else to substitute for his bed time clothes and she got a few toys to keep him occupied. Finally she left the store to head to the local general store for her grocery needs.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I actually preferred the adult version of Astarion better.” Shadowheart commented.

“I still think that killing and reviving him would work. Look what happened with the lance.” Lae’zel walked a little faster to be part of the conversation.

“Wait...what lance?” Jaheira asked.

“Nothing. We promised we wouldn’t speak about this…” Tav said through partly clenched teeth. She was not happy with the thought of the pain she forced Astarion to ensure as they retreated from a bad decision she made. It made Tav feel guilty. It made her want to make it up to him but the him that she longed for so much was now pint sized and couldn’t remember the lance. It made Tav’s chest feel tight and it made her feel a little down to realize there was a chance that Astarion may never come back to her. That she could be raising him until he grew old enough to find someone else. To live a life with Tav as his mother instead of his lover. Tav didn’t want to be his mother. Tav wanted to be something more than what they were. It was disturbing to Tav on some level that she missed and wanted to be held by a man who no longer existed. That she was caring for the child sized version of him seemed partly immoral but Tav was clear in her head that the man she wanted, that occupied her thoughts was the adult version. A man who went through trials and tribulations with their party.

Tav wanted the man she fell in love with.

Taking care of the younger version was something she did because she loved the man, but Tav didn’t think she could stay his mother if they couldn’t restore him to normal. It would be too painful for her.

Tav could only hope and pray to the gods and goddesses that Gale could figure out how to reverse the spell.

“You’re being rather quiet,” Shadowheart commented “you okay?”

Tav shook her head a moment and replied. “Yeah. I will be.” before heading into the store they were traveling to.

Tav picked up fresh fruit, vegetables, meats and a single piece of candy that Tav intended to use to bribe the child if need be. Tav knew the child couldn’t be faulted for not wanting Gale’s cooking. They were eating reheated fish heads and not even Gale could make that taste good. Tav tried not to spend money on food but in this case it couldn’t be helped. Plus Tav was sure everyone wanted her to make this trip so reheated fish heads wouldn’t find itself their supper for the fourth day in a row. Why was there so much fish on their travels but little of anything else?

Tav headed back and upon making it back into their room, she was happy that everything seemed in order. Astarion was trying hard to match Wyll who tried to train Astarion in the middle of the room. The others were either lounging or reading, not used to the lack of missions due to the situation.

“You have to parry those blows.” Wyll gently instructed as Astarion grew more frustrated with the lesson.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.” Astarion said and looked around the room. When he saw Tav, his face beamed.

“Mommy! You’re back!” Astarion squealed, running up to Tav with his arms outstretched. He ran into Tav, hugging her the best he could while she carried a few bags into the room.

Tav put the bags on her bed and picked the little boy up, smiling warmly at him.

Astarion was brought to the bed and was handed a piece of fruit to tide him over as she gave Gale the ingredients. Tav let the boy eat before picking him up and getting him a refreshing bath. Tav dressed him in his new pajamas just in time for Gale to be finished with dinner.

Tav took her attention away from Astarion for one moment so that she could put away his clothes when a yip and a squawk got her attention. Tav turned around to find Astarion with a handful of feathers attempting to ride Scratch, who was not having it.

“Astarion! Get down! You don’t ride pets!” Tav commanded as the youngster disembarked the dog. “And where did you get all the feathers?”

“Um… Nowhere?” Astarion answered as Tav noticed their resident owlbear limped from the side, his poor behind was red and bare of all his brown soft feathers. Tav quickly went to her pack and grabbed a Potion of Animal Speak and downed the bottle in one go.

“Are you okay? I am so, so sorry.” Tav spoke to the young owlbear who whined in pain. “Here, take this.” Tav helped the creature drink a potion of healing. Tav wasnt sure if it would help the creature but she had to try. Soon, the agitated skin was no longer pink and Tav had to ask again. “Are you alright?”

“Small person hurt me for my feathers. It isn’t your fault. I’m okay now. I don’t like little person.” The owlbear said and backed up and away from Astarion.

“Astarion! That is wrong! You do not pull out his feathers and you most certainly don’t mess with the pets in any way.” Tav chastised the young man who began to cry.

“Are you okay?” Tav asked Scratch who jumped around in place.

“Yes! I’m doing fine.” Tav let Astarion cry but she felt guilty for making him so emotional. Tav had to remind herself that Astarion was punished and that this was normal.

“Look…Astarion. You can’t just do what you want. You need to behave.” Tav tried to rationalize with the child. “Think about what it was like for the owlbear if you were him?”

“I’m sorry.” Astarion lamented and ran off to his bed to lay down.

Tav sighed in frustration and brought her hand up to her face in disappointment.

Tomorrow would be a better day...wouldn’t it?